#when did he become a jackalope? who knows. why? shut up. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sniiboo · 2 months

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Our own Little Somewhere

Astarion stood at the entrance of his tent as he did every night, book in hand trying his damndest to read. Once he heard Karlach and Gale going on about the golden sparks in Arendith's green eyes he huffed slammed his book shut, and glanced over to the fire. Did the idiots not see the truth right before them? She ate with them… but her mouth was fanged like his own, but she was a druid. He supposed it was not uncommon for them to have fangs… And Yet she bore the marks on her neck. They knew what he was, why didn't she just tell them? They weren't super thrilled about having a vampire in camp but they hadn't killed him yet.

“Fangs! Come to join in on the fun? I’m sure Arendith here would LOVE it if you did.” Karlach winked at Arendith who was braiding her hair. Arendith blushed but let the tiefling go about her affections; they'd become fast friends. Gale tossed Karlach a few apples and she started pantomiming with them in a falsetto “OH ASTARION! HOW EVER COULD I STAY AWAY FROM YOUR TEMPTING SMILE” Gale snickered before adding in his best attempt at Astarion “Oh Little Death, You make my undead heart beat again” Karlach had the two apples doing what she hoped could only look like two apples trying to make out before they ended up bruised and smooshed in her hands. “BAM Applesauce!” She started to lick her palms.

He looked to Arendith and cocked his brow, somehow he didn’t think that she would have told anyone of that little pet name that had slipped out a few times. She’d taken to sleeping under Karlach’s tent if it was raining as she’d stopped bothering to try pitching her own, he was slightly jealous that she’d become so close to the infernal ticking time bomb and the literal magical bomb. Arendith gently rubbed the forehead of the little Harlequin Jackalope she’d taken to as a familiar, before gently putting her down and giving Astarion a knowing look. He’d been forbidden to feed off the myriad of animals they’d taken to their camp. A dog, an owlbear, the jackalope, and now there seemed to be a bloody cat in the mix as well. It seemed the Ragdoll had taken to choosing him as a companion and would often slink from chasing its meals to lying in the sun on a cushion or chair while he read. It’d even on a recent occasion deemed his lap an ideal bed while he repaired his clothing one night. He would never admit it but he did find its presence comforting and found himself missing it after a nightmare or two.. or three… He watched as Arendith swayed to the forest and as her form disappeared he laid his book down to follow after her. He wasn't as sneaky as he planned, cat calls and Karlach's loud voice boomed behind him he rolled his eyes as he heard her oblivious-natured comment “Think he’s going to take her hunting?” He could just picture the rest of their friends giggling at her innocence.

Astarion caught her sneaking up to a deer knife in hand preparing to spring he leaned against a tree watching in silence shaking his head at her technique. He watched as she gripped the knife before throwing it to the ground frustrated. He stalked behind her, arms wrapping around her waist like vines “Darling, I was just thinking about you. Remembering our time together, The things we’ve shared - and I don’t just mean that lovely neck of yours. I’m growing to like the whole package, honestly. And you clearly like me too, so…”

Arendith sighed allowing herself a moment of reprieve despite her hunger. “What gave it away?” she rolled her eyes.

Astarion trailed his fingers along her jaw “I could feel it when I was getting lost in your neck. Your little shakes of excitement.” she snorted at this leaving him to his games letting the part about him barely containing his excitement at times, small noises that would escape his mouth as he fed, falling unacknowledged.

“You enjoyed it didn’t you?” he turned her around with a heavily lidded gaze.

“I will say that it was… more pleasurable than when my Master fed, however a Lady never tells.” Arendith said breathily.

“You don’t have to say a thing - I already know how you feel. Because I feel it too.” Astarion said his voice dropping a few octaves. “We could take an evening to ourselves. Get away from camp - get some privacy... I know somewhere quiet. Somewhere intimate. Somewhere we can… indulge in each other.” he trailed his hands to stroke against her pointed ear.

Arendith's flesh pimpled, and her pupils enlarged. She reciprocated the gesture before trailing her hands down his shirt and giving him a gentle peck on the lips. “Sounds good to me, Darling.”

“Wonderful. I just hope we won’t have to wait too long before we can steal away. But once we can, I promise you a night you’ll never forget.” He cooed. “See you there, Lover” he lilted before backing away stalking after the deer she had let get away.

After a successful hunt and a filling dinner, he walked up to the clearing shirt in hand to wipe the sweat and blood from his face. Hearing a soft humming he paused stealthily behind a tree, once he recognized the language as Sylvan he peaked his head around to see Arendith in the stream. So she had found his little spot of refuge… She was in the water arms wrapped around her flawless skin fingers trailing after the water drops in reverence. Astarion swallowed hard eyes blown wide in predation. She was ethereal in the moonlight, water dancing down her pale freckled breasts, Platinum Silver hair running down her back and shoulders. He steeled himself against the oncoming onslaught that tonight would bring, readjusting himself before stepping out from behind the tree as his brain screamed MINE at him. “There you are. I’ve been waiting,” he said voice automatically dropping into the roll. “Waiting from the moment I set eyes on you. Waiting to have you.”

Arendith replied without turning her head sluicing the water from her hair before combing her fingers through. “You don’t have me yet.” She turned to face him drawing herself from the river teasingly slow.

“Don’t I? You’re here. And I don’t think you want to talk.” Astarion met her at the edge of the water offering her his hand. She took it feeling the electricity run between them, eyes following him as he stepped behind her fingers trailing across her shoulders as he went. “I think you want to be known. To be tasted.” he brushed her hair to the side nosing into her neck.

She turned herself to face him drawing her hands up to his chest while shifting her body to one hip making sure to drag them close to him. Arendith trailed her hand down to palm at his clothed cock. “And what is it that you want?” she pushed her hand against him roughly giving him friction if he sought it.

“What do any of us want? Pleasure. Yours. Mine. Our collective ecstasy. That is what you want, isn’t it? To lose yourself in me?” he said face beside hers, stroking his hand up her ear. Arendith moaned breathily in his ear.

“No... I believe sex is a sharing of the soul” She kissed his chin trailing her lips down his neck to his bite mark letting her fangs scrape lightly. “Not a transaction…” she started untying his pants “Not a distraction.. At least not solely..” she worked her long elven fingers under his undergarments. Astarion tucked his head down bringing his lips to hers, he eased his tongue against her lips causing her to open her mouth for him. Precise. Practiced. Perfect.

He grabbed her under her ass lifting her against a tree, they pushed back against the other bringing an urgency to the kiss. She shoved him not ungently, his eyes widened in shock as he landed on his back. Arendith dragged herself teasingly down his body kissing a trail as she did, he lifted his hips for her to remove his pants. On her way back up she lightly dragged her fingers up his skin avoiding his leaking cock. Astarion grabbed her and pushed her onto her back, nudging into her neck as he caged her in with his body. She bared her neck for him and he eagerly sunk his fangs into the soft flesh. His mind wanted to retreat but the taste of her blood flooding his mouth forced him to awareness.

He reached between their bodies running his pale digits between her folds, delighted to find her responding as planned. Astarion unlatched his fangs from her neck lapping his tongue against the wound gently before bringing his fingers to his mouth and making a show of popping them in. He closed his eyes and bobbed his head once along their length “Delicious.” he brought his lips down to brush against hers again, and she ran her hands down his back bringing her hips to rut against his hardness for relief. He found himself wanting to push back. The slick between her legs coated her lower lips enough that when he drew his hips back to grind back down against her clit he instead found himself finding home. Arendith shuddered as he slid in, allowing a deep groan to fall from her lips.

His mind reeled from the sensations of heat and tightness around him, although his brain wanted to dissociate he found himself wanting to chase his pleasure for once. He was free to bed who HE wanted now. Damned if he wasn't at least going to get some modicum of pleasure from it. He slowly and teasingly unsheathed himself fully removing his shaft causing her to whine before he slid back in. Irrationally slow, just enjoying the feeling of her tightness peeling back his foreskin as he pushed himself further. He made a point of rolling his hips upwards ensuring his pelvic bone would push into her clit. He paused when their hips met and he felt his head nestle against her cervix. Arendith whimpered, pulling his ear lobe into her mouth, her fang running along the edge.

He dragged the pads of his fingers down her body pausing to grope at her breasts, pinching a nipple. He had planned on more foreplay but apparently, their bodies were telling a different story tonight. He reached down to stroke against her clit causing her to buck her hips upwards, a nervous gasp falling from his lover's lips.

Astarion laughed internally he supposed this officially made them lovers... there was no grizzly end with Cazador having this one. He could revisit this body and mark it claiming her as his protector. His to use as he saw fit. He found that his hips had continued bucking, slowly picking up the pace, when he felt more of her sweet honey run down her channel coating his cock in thick fluid he snapped back to himself. Astarion grabbed her hips watching as her hands roamed her chest as she moaned. His skin pebbled as she tickled her fingers up his back and neck to settle in his hair grasping his head forcefully nosing into his neck.

Arendith licked a stripe across his puncture marks, her fangs dragging across the skin. Her claws scraped pleasantly across his scalp, he pulled her hips hard against him as her breathy moans dragged from her mouth he rutted up into her pelvic bone. He surprised himself when he felt his cock explode against her cervix seeking to bury itself as deep as he could go. Like it could somehow know something he didn't.

Astarion brought his forehead down to rest on hers, both of them panting. He found himself kissing her softly as he pulled out. He sat back on his legs allowing his mind to assess his current state. He’d done well tonight, secured himself an ally, and bonus points that he had enough pleasure to empty his balls into her. It’d been a while since he’d found sex enjoyable enough to do so. Of course, he’d held back, this wasn't about his orgasm, or lack of one, just ejaculating was pleasurable enough. It was about hers and.. his brain lurched back to the present as he felt a soft hand and a wet cloth come to wipe his face gently before also wiping down his glistening yet flaccid prick.

“I know it's probably weird… I’m sorry… I just… thought it might feel nice to have someone take care of you after… I figured your Master… Errr You know what? Nevermind. Forget I -” Arendith stumbled through her words. “I’m ruining things aren’t I?” she dragged her hand down her face groaning as she tossed the cloth aside. She laid herself beside Astarion nudging her nose into his side taking in a deep whiff of his scent. She purred as she noted his skin carrying her scent as she closed her eyes, slipping into a trance.

Astarion stiffly moved his arm to wrap around her unsure as to what he was doing but hoping it would lure her into trusting him further. He sighed as he closed his eyes and also slipped into a trance.

The next morning Arendith awoke to Astarion sunning himself back exposed to her. She stretched out luxuriously “Mmm not staying for a cuddle?” she decided against mentioning his scars, he’d tell her about them when he was ready.

Astarion stood still facing away from her pointedly enjoying his sun. “You sleep light. I thought you’d be exhausted after last night.”

Ahh we’re back to this Astarion, thought Arendith. Pity, she was starting to really enjoy his company, well if he wanted to still play games it was no skin off her back. “Did you enjoy it? It seemed like you weren’t fully there.”

He brought his arms down before turning his head slightly, still making a point to not look at her. “I was holding back a little, it’s true. I didn’t want to lose control. Delicious as you were, I didn’t want to go too far. Now, shall we get on? I want to go before anyone else thanks me for saving their tails.”

Arendith stood up replacing her dress and fussing with her hair. After she deemed herself presentable in the water, she raked her nails softly up his bare arm “Well if there’s a next time… If I could put up with Alistair, I can take much more from the likes of you.” she turned to saunter off leaving his mind reeling but he caught her wrist with a smirk on his face he said “Oh and don’t feel the need to brag to the others about our little tryst. Given the noise you made last night they already know.” she returned a quirked brow and a saucy smile before freeing her wrist with a quick motion swaying her hips as she went.

#astarion smut #astarion x reader #astarion fanfiction #astarion fanfic #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x oc

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gunsli-01 · 1 year

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I love how everyone heard Mikoto had d.i.d and immediately blamed the alter for the murders. Like kind of weird given we just know he has it and nothing more has been confirmed. For some odd reason the other guy has actively shown better physical restraint than Mikoto. Only beating up Es cause they wouldn't shut up and only fighting off Kotoko to the point of fending her off and nothing more. Despite their scrap she's noticeably uninjured even though he clearly won and was able to get her to back down.

He really only fought to defend himself and nothing more. Despite being more than capable when it came to taking her down completely. Cause Jackalope makes it abundantly clear that he was free and unrestrained. So, he made an active choice to go hey back off and I won't do anything. Something he's clearly stated multiple times through his repeated lines of I'll do anything to defend myself. The focus heavily being on defense and not offense.

If people stop attacking or bothering him I'm pretty sure at this point he'd just drop it. So why would he be the one to go on the offense in MeMe why would he sneak attack?? It doesn't track to me. Like I'm sorry but it feels as though some people are so interested in the poor d.i.d rep take that they're ignoring the other fucker may just be the clean up guy and Mikoto is just a murderer. It just feels like some people blamed the other personality so quickly that it says more about them than it does about Milgram. I can see how that'd make it less interesting cause people think they know everything. So, it's a closed case.

I can even admit I may be stupid cause I still don't know which of them committed the murders. It wasn't really clear on that. I'm not entirely certain which one of them did it. Especially given the points above.

I really don't know and really want to know. Though I am leaning towards it being regular Mikoto cause that makes more sense from what I've seen so far. I don't know how they'll write it and I can be proven completely wrong in time and it may just be really bad rep all the way down. Yet, I also just don't know enough to say if it is yet.

Mikoto for as nice as he is was one straw away from snapping and we literally hear him yell about breaking everything. He's also the more calculating of the two. So, he's the more likely to sneak atrack. Something that tracks with the observations we hear during the other's first fight with Kotoko in the John Doe voice drama.

This whole situation is just weird. Though it's also weirder for people to just assume that they know what the writer is getting at with just one objective fact. It also shows that the bias around d.i.d in general runs deep. So much so that just the mere confirmation of a character having it in fiction is considered bad writing immediately. Something that can very much lead to a fear and stigmatization around writing such characters at all which may very well stop folks who have d.i.d from writing about their own experiences out of fear of being bad rep or doing it wrong. Leading to no representation at all which has happened to other groups before.

I'm not saying don't call it bad rep if you truly believe it is that. People can always get better at writing and become more educated on a matter. So, voicing that's fine. I'm just saying analyze who you believe you're helping by saying that and pushing it forward. Whether it's good or bad is subjective. However, whether certain people should be represented in media and in what light they are is not. That's not subjective at all.

I want to make it very clear; I'm not saying you can't want better or healthier representation. Just what constitutes as good representation to some is not for everyone. However, that's the good thing about more representation it gives writers the chance to get it right or people seeking representation the option/opportunity to possibly find some they really like and relate to. That's not a bad thing in and of itself but it does come with pitfalls. Sometimes people don't get it right.

In this case I'm willing to stick around to possibly see someone actually get it right eventually. I don't know if that will be this but as I've made clear I don't know a lot about this particular situation and that's what makes it interesting for me. Trying to figure that out. All I can do now is hope I'm not disappointed but I very well could be.

#milgram #kayano mikoto

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yatorihell · 4 years

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In The Darkness Chapter 53 - The Patronus Charm

Noragami x Harry Potter AU

Words: 4,406

Summary: Yato begins teaching the Patronus Charm with surprising results.

Thank you @kiun for beta-ing me

Also available on Yatorihell AO3

Yato’s last class on a Thursday afternoon was Care of Magical Creatures with the sixth year students.

The class trailed behind Kuraha to their next creature hidden within the forest, with Bishamon walking ahead of Yato. This was the only class that the two of them shared alone as Kazuma hadn’t chosen Creatures as an elective, but it seemed Yato and Bishamon had a small friendship growing from their Defence training.

Kuraha picked up a bucket from outside his little groundskeeper hut as he passed. He didn’t stop as they neared the paddocks which was filled with Jackalopes, which were basically horned rabbits.

He led them further into the forest where it became more shadowy and into a small, empty clearing. Dead leaves littered the ground and every shade of darkening auburn hung over their heads as the autumnal leaves continued to fall.

Here, they were introduced to something Yato had never seen before.

Yato watched the creatures move, their hooves scuffing up the bracken and fallen leaves. At a glance they seemed to be a type of winged horse, like a Pegasus, but further inspection revealed something far more sinister.

Its skeletal body was covered by a smooth but thin black coat which defined every bone as they walked around the glade. Two leathery wings sprouted from each wither on their backs and folded at their sides, extending every now and then as they flexed. They easily had the same wingspan of a Hippogriff but lacked feathers and flesh under their impressive structure.

The face was the most unusual as they did not have an equine resemblance. Their faces were leathery and worn like their wings, dragon-like with a hooked beak at the end of its long snout. Milky-white pupil-less eyes directed their attention to Yato, and Yato understood why anyone would be afraid if they saw this creature.

“These are Thestrals,” Kuraha said. He dumped the bucket on the ground and a wet sloshing filled the air.

The class looked at him, confused.

“They are social creatures which is why there is a herd – not that you can see them,” Kuraha said gruffly. “Only those who have seen death are able to see them.”

The class shifted, eyeing each other to work out who was able to see them. Not many people had experience with death nor seen it first-hand, but in Yato’s case, he could see them clear as day.

Unbeknownst to Yato, Bishamon could see them too.

Whilst the rest of the class couldn’t see these creatures that lurked before them, Kuraha could easily demonstrate their existence.

He reached into the bucket and pulled out huge slabs of dripping meat and threw them into the air before the class. Invisible forces snapped up the heavy steaks instantly and bird-like screeches sounded from nowhere as the steaks were torn apart before their eyes.

“Those shrieks you’re hearing are the Thestrals communicating with each other.” Kuraha picked up some more slabs and threw them into the frenzy. “Thestrals can also be trained to understand a rider when asked to travel somewhere specifically.”

Kuraha wiped his bloody hands on his slacks and looked at the class. His eyepatch covered one of his grey eyes which observed the confused but understanding faces of his students.

“They can understand you, and whether or not you’re a friend, so watch what you do around them. If they see you as a threat, they will attack.”

For a moment Kuraha’s good eye raked over the students, searching for those who could perceive the Thestrals. His gaze fell on two students at the far side of the group, their eyes clearly following a baby Thestral as it approached them.

Whilst Thestrals were eerily beautiful, they could not be appreciated by those who could not see them. Kuraha gestured for the students to follow him down a worn path which led to the outskirts of the forest where the paddocks were located, each class a new creature waiting for them.

Yato watched the Thestrals for a moment longer as the class began shuffling through the thick blanket of leaves that carpeted the forest floor. Yato turned to leave as the footsteps faded, but his eye caught on two things. The bucket of meat that Kuraha had left behind, and, first and foremost, Bishamon.

Yato paused. It wasn’t like her to wait up for him.

Yato placed his hands in his robe pockets and mooched his way over to Bishamon, feet kicking up rotting leaves and small twigs. However, Bishamon didn’t acknowledge him when he stopped beside her, her gaze fixated on something ahead.

The penny dropped as Yato turned his head; a Thestral was looking straight at him and Bishamon.

“You can see them too?” Yato asked. He sounded incredulous, which may have been rude given the circumstances one had to have been through to see a Thestral.

Bishamon nodded and the eye contact between her and the Thestral was broken. It turned away from the pair, wings flexing as it headed towards the far end of the clearing.

They watched the creatures in silence, observing the herd as they sniffed the ground for remnants of food and let out gentle shrieks.

Yato thought to himself about the tragic nature of a Thestral. Invisible to those who hadn’t seen death, their presence was a harsh reminder of lost loved ones and painful memories. It was a shame that someone had to see death to see these hauntingly beautiful creatures, and it was all the more tragic when someone their age could see them.

“Who did you see?” Yato hated himself the second he said it; what an insensitive question.

Surprisingly, Bishamon didn’t seem to mind answering. “My grandfather.”

They fell into silence once again. Bishamon didn’t need to ask Yato the same question; his person was Suzuha.

Yato wracked his brain for a less sensitive topic, but the only one that came to mind was what she had done in their last Defence training class. He’d yet to ask Kazuma about it, but if Bishamon was friends with him now, then it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“So… you and Kazuma?” Yato said slowly, testing the waters.

Bishamon smiled, eyes following a baby Thestral as it stumbled around and snapped at falling leaves. “We started dating in the summer. Our families have married a few times, to keep the bloodlines pure.”

Yato realised that she was talking about the Sacred Twenty-Eight. These were ancient families that were supposedly still ‘true pure-bloods’, and Bishamon was descended from one of them. However, it could be debated that there were no longer any pure blood families; some members would eventually marry half-bloods, Muggleborns and even Muggles as the generations passed.

Yato wondered if the idea of marriage had been considered by Bishamon’s and Kazuma’s families now that they were dating.

“Do you think your parents will want you to marry?” Yato asked. “Not Kazuma, per say, but into one of the twenty-eight families?”

“My parents died when I was a child.”

Bishamon’s short answer shocked Yato. He’d known her for six years and – whilst they fought for most of them – he never knew she had no parents.

They stood in silence, the hooves of the magical creatures surrounding them rustled the leaves as they wandered around the barren glade. The baby Thestral had become disinterested in catching leaves and looked around, eyes falling on Yato and Bishamon. It trotted over to them, flapping its wings and causing an updraft of burnt orange leaves to flutter at their feet. It eyed the pail of food at Bishamon’s side and snapped its beak with a small screech.

“Can I ask how they…?” Yato asked gently. He trailed off at the end to indicate that she didn’t have to answer such a personal question.

Bishamon remained quiet and reached into the bucket. She pulled out a slab of meat that dripped some blood onto the bracken and threw it towards the baby Thestral. It reared slightly on its hind legs and caught it, tearing it apart with its razor-sharp beak and swallowing large chunks whole.

After a second of watching the Thestral, Bishamon answered. “They died in the First Wizarding War, fighting for the Ministry with Professor Tenjin.”

Yato stared at her as she threw another piece of meat to a larger Thestral who had caught wind of the free food.

‘With Professor Tenjin…’ Her parents must have been in the Order of the Phoenix. Yato kept his mouth shut and looked away, hoping Bishamon would reveal more, but she didn’t.

“I was raised by what was left of my family afterwards, but mostly it was just me and the house staff who stayed around to look after me when my grandfather died,” Bishamon continued. “As an only child, it's my job to continue my parent’s legacy.”

It sounded wrong for Bishamon, only sixteen years old, to think that her job was to continue an outdated tradition in the name of family legacy, but Yato said nothing. It was her choice and hers alone if she wanted to honour her family tradition, and she didn’t need to be told that.

But finding out her parents were in the Order of the Phoenix just like Sakura’s, that was news to him.

Yato wondered how many more of the Sacred Twenty-Eight had joined Professor Tenjin’s Order of the Phoenix, and whether or not Sakura had reached out to them. Bishamon seemed clueless about its existence, but if she knew that her parents joined the Order – and who they truly fought for – then maybe she would continue that legacy fighting the Sorcerer. He would have to ask Sakura, but since she had recruited Yukine and Hiyori as his friends, Yato would ask her to do the same for Kazuma and Bishamon.

Bishamon interrupted Yato’s train of thought in a gentle voice. “I believe you. About the Sorcerer.”

Yato looked at Bishamon, and she gave him a small, genuine smile. She had never done that before. “If you need anything, you can always ask.”

Yato nodded his head duly, not knowing what to say aside from ‘Thanks’.

Bishamon’s hair fluttered in the slight breeze as she stepped forward, carefully petting the baby Thestral which protested her departure loudly.

Yato scooped up the empty pail, throwing a glance at Bishamon with a light smile. Today, he’d seen a side to her that he hadn’t seen before, and their rivalry had ended.

After all, a friend was better than a foe.

Sakura was right when she said they were on their own.

On Monday morning, a framed sign appeared on the stone wall beside the Great Hall which caught the attention of all students who had come down for breakfast. A crowd had gathered quickly, all staring at the sign, which perplexed those who were too far away to see anything aside from the grey stones. Yukine was one of those students.

Yukine cursed under his breath and pushed his way through the crowd, bashing younger and smaller students unapologetically as they refused to budge. Hiyori and Yato were at the forefront of the crowd, faces stony.

“What’s going on?” Yukine asked. He looked at Yato for an answer, but Yato wore a scowl as his eyes scanned the sign for the hundredth time.

Yukine turned his attention to the framed parchment and read the cursive font.

Proclamation: Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four

All Student Organisations are henceforth disbanded

Any student in noncompliance will be expelled

Yukine leant forward and squinted at the smaller text underneath, which was half covered by Professor Oshi’s signature and a seal from the Ministry of Magic.

“’Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Oshi)’,” Yukine read under her breath. “’No Student Organisation may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor, punishable by expulsion.’”

Shit.

Yukine looked at Yato and Hiyori, lost for words. Professor Oshi banned all clubs for no reason… or did she have a reason?

Hiyori caught Yukine’s eye and nudged her head to the side. Yukine took the hint and began making his way out of the crowd; they needed to go somewhere private to talk. Hiyori tugged on the sleeve of Yato’s robe, towing him out of the crowd behind Yukine. They made their way down the corridor and the crowd behind them started dispersing into the Great Hall, eager for breakfast, as the trio followed Yukine into an empty classroom.

As soon as the door shut behind them, they let out frustrated sighs.

“How did she find out?” Yukine hissed.

“Someone must’ve seen us,” Yato ran a hand through his hair. He was beyond irritated. They had been so careful…

“She might not know…” As soon as she said it, Hiyori knew it was a stupid idea. Why else would Professor Oshi disband all student groups?

“She can’t do this, can she?” Yukine asked. He looked at Yato for an answer, who paced the room annoyedly. After a moment he came to a stop, and the room quietened.

“Oshi is only a teacher because the Minister passed an Educational Decree to appoint her for a vacant teaching post that the Headmaster couldn’t fill,” Yato said.

They knew the vacant position was Defence Against the Dark Arts, and whilst it was true they had a bad streak of teachers, it was obvious that the Ministry had placed Oshi in Hogwarts to spy on Professor Tenjin.

“Why isn’t Professor Tenjin stopping her?” Hiyori asked. “He is the Headmaster.”

Yato shook his head. “Tenjin probably can’t defy her if the Minister thinks he’s going to overthrow him. That will just prove it.”

“We aren’t going to stop,” Yukine announced. He turned to Yato, green eyes flashing with burning passion and anger. “You said so yourself that you would train us when the Ministry banned practical magic.”

Yato nodded, felling Hiyori’s eyes on him expectantly. “I did.”

“Then train us!” Yukine exclaimed.

Deep down, Yukine knew that Yato, Hiyori, nor any of the other students would let something like a disband stop them, not when so much was at stake. The scars – mental and physical – gave him cause to continue to fight, and he wouldn’t stop until justice was done.

“We are Hogwarts’ Order of the Phoenix,” Yukine declared. “We will protect ourselves.”

October slipped by and November brought snowfall to the castle. The Quidditch teams had been allowed to reform after Educational Decree Number Twenty-Four was enforced, but Yato, Hiyori and Yukine were thankful that they didn’t have to play through the cold season.

Wintery snow drifts began to pile in the windowsills and hallway arches, refusing to melt in the cold sunshine air. The dusting of snow led to most students wrapping themselves up in their house scarves, woollen hats jammed on their head and fingers stiff with cold as they tried to put on gloves.

The warmth of the castle kept the students warm in their classrooms, but the Room of Requirement struggled to keep out the cold as the tower was surrounded by nothing but sky. Yato and Yukine decided to steal some logs from the woodpile outside Kuraha’s hut and bring them up to the classroom before their training session, igniting the fireplace for the first time that year.

Hiyori shivered as the first wave of warmth hit her as she entered the Room of Requirement. The snow had melted on her clothing as she made her way upstairs, leaving her damp and frozen, but the sound of a crackling fire was welcomed.

Hiyori pulled off her hat and scarf as she crossed the room to the fireplace, meandering her way through the few students who had arrived before her.

Yato and Yukine stood before the hearth warming their hands, a few more logs piled next to the firepit waiting to be added. Yato noticed Hiyori approaching and offered a greeting, moving to the side so Hiyori could get in next to the fire.

They had hung their sopping wet hats, scarves, gloves and robes next to the fireplace on some hooks that she hadn’t noticed, and Hiyori followed suit. Shrugging off her robe, Hiyori tutted when she saw the wet patches that had leaked through onto her jumper. Hopefully, the fire would dry them off before dinner.

Hiyori held her hands out to the fire and shivered again. “I wish they would move Herbology out of the greenhouses in the winter.”

Yukine smirked; Hufflepuffs didn’t have Herbology with Gryffindors since the greenhouses were too small. “Steal some of the gardening gloves, they’ll keep your hands warm and dry.”

“I’m not going to steal, Yukine,” Hiyori scolded.

Yukine shrugged. “Your loss.”

They stood around the fireplace, allowing other waterlogged students to huddle around the fire and warm up a bit before they started class. Defence training was going well, and they had begun to breach new topics. One that Yato was adamant to teach before the Christmas break was the Patronus Charm.

By the time the last students had trickled in, class was beginning. They took their places around the class spread out from the others, wands in hand.

Yato stood at the head of the room in front of the fireplace, arms behind his back. The flames backlit his figure and shadows of snowfall beyond the lattice windows filtered across his face. In that moment Hiyori could see that his confidence and command of the room had grown.

When Yato stood before them, they knew class was in session.

“A Patronus acts like a shield against a Dementor, using a positive force that the Dementor can feed on instead of its caster,” Yato echoed the words Professor Daikoku had told him about the Patronus charm. “To cast this charm, you need a happy, powerful memory.”

Yato looked around the class, finding Hiyori and Yukine within the crowd a short distance away from Kazuma and Bishamon.

“Close your eyes.”

The class closed their eyes.

“Find a happy memory.”

The crackle of flames licking at splintering logs in the fireplace seemed deafening. Not a whisper nor breath could be heard as they searched their memories for their happiest moments.

For Bishamon, her happiest memory was her first Quidditch Cup victory, whereas Kazuma’s was his first date with Bishamon to the Quidditch World Cup. Yukine’s was his first kiss with Suzuha in the greenhouses, and for Hiyori, it was the entirety of the Yule Ball.

“Now speak the incantation, ‘Expecto Patronum’.”

“Expecto Patronum,” the class echoed.

“Focus on the memory, open your eyes, and cast the spell.”

In near unison the class uttered the spell, wands raised. Some wands glowed with a hint of white light at the tip, others did not. The voices became disjointed as the class uttered the spell over and over, more forcefully as they willed their Patronus into existence.

Yato began pacing around the room, examining the way wands were held silently. He couldn’t really do anything to help aside from telling them to find a happier memory, as Daikoku had told Yato.

However, it wasn’t long before someone conjured it.

The first Patronus to emerge was a blur of a tail as it ran overhead. Excited gasps rang out as a few students stopped and turned, their own wand tips dying out as their attention was diverted.

Yato caught a glimpse of a Golden Retriever leaving a trail of whispery silvery-blue as it raced across the air, bounding in manic circles across the length of the room. It surged downwards and wove between the forest of legs, tongue lolling, before it hurled itself straight at Kazuma.

Kazuma grunted at the force of a would-be 30-kilogram dog slamming into his chest, wand and glasses clattering to the ground and knocking him off his feet. Concentration gone and disarmed, the excitable Patronus faded in an instant to the applause of Kazuma’s fellow trainees.

Bishamon picked up Kazuma’s glasses which – miraculously – had survived the fall, and handed them back to him on the ground. Kazuma wheezed a ‘thank you’ and picked himself up, Ravenclaw tie askew.

With that, the class redoubled their efforts.

Within minutes, whispery trails had poured from wands and formed into half-formed Patronus’ or even fully formed ones. Kazuma rendered his own once again, attempting to control the rambunctiousness and avoiding getting knocked over again.

Yato watched as something slithered out of a Ravenclaws’ wand and writhed in the air, shaking itself violently as if to fend off a predator. If Yato didn’t know any better, he’d say it was a worm.

What a tragically funny Patronus.

Bishamon conjured her Patronus next, and to everyone’s astonishment, it matched the crest of Gryffindor. If he thought about it, it wasn’t much surprise that Bishamon had a lion; she was a true Gryffindor after all.

The lion roared and shook its mane, sending sparkles shimmering down on Bishamon as she grinned up at the majestic beast that paced above her head.

Kazuma’s mouth was agape as the lion paced towards his seemingly much smaller Patronus dog, worried it may tear the poor pooch apart. However, the golden retriever didn’t seem to understand that he may have been in danger. It wiggled playfully in a bow at the lion, pawing the air every now and then as it jumped around in circles in front of the unimpressed big cat.

After a moment, the lion swiped a big paw at the dog, the way in which a cat might bat at a pest. Bishamon laughed, and Kazuma smiled when he saw their Patronuses interacting. Golden retrievers were loyal, and he liked to think that said something about his character.

The class tripled its effort at seeing another Patronus – and a lion at that – appear before them playing with the Golden Retriever.

However, Hiyori couldn’t seem to get past a bright white light on the tip of her wand as she focused hard on her memory. Yato wandered over to her and cast a glance at Yukine who also seemed to be struggling.

Hiyori didn’t seem to notice Yato, too intent on conjuring her Patronus that she didn’t see him watching her closely. Even though he couldn’t help her memory, he could encourage her.

Yato came up behind Hiyori and gently covered her hand with his own, guiding the wand upwards.

Hiyori barely flinched, although she would admit her concentration wavered at the feeling of Yato’s warm skin on hers. She could sense his face next to hers, eyes on the space ahead where she willed her Patronus to appear.

“Concentrate,” Yato said softly.

Hiyori’s Patronus burst forth as soon as Yato uttered the word in her ear, electrifying her senses and giving a surge of energy to her spell. It appeared similar to Kazuma’s at first, dog-like and shaggy, until it tipped its head back and let out a long howl.

A wolf, Yato said to himself.

He smiled and looked at Hiyori, but she was focused on her Patronus with a small, shy smile. She may have been blushing, but then again, her cheeks may be rosy from the heat of the room.

Yato turned to help Yukine, but it seemed he had managed to make his memory strong enough to reveal his Patronus.

His wand trailed thin smoke-like wisps that created a small cloud above his head. Yukine watched excitedly as it formed, hoping it would be something as strong as a wolf or a lion.

Two ears sprung up and its head popped up, alert and curious. Its stout, chubby body reared on its strong hindlegs, paws on its tummy and nose twitching as it looked around.

It was… a rabbit.

“Are you serious?! Hiyori gets a wolf and I’m a fucking bunny?!” Yukine raged. He wanted something fierce, not the Easter Bunny.

“Well, you do kinda remind us of an angry bunny, Puff,” Yato chided, using an old nickname he had given Yukine when they’d first met.

Yukine flipped him off with his free hand in response, looking at his cute Patronus forlornly. Hiyori couldn’t hide her smile when Yukine pouted angrily.

The class continued, with most students being able to form some sort of shield or even a bodily Patronus form. Yato instructed those who couldn’t to find more memories they could try in the next session, reassuring them that he had tried a few memories before he had been able to use the spell.

The class picked up their bags and clothing as they filtered out of the Room of Requirement slowly. Yukine kept watch as students filtered out in small groups to ensure that no one was watching, the fear of expulsion a genuine concern for some of the younger years if they were caught in a secret society.

Hiyori wrapped her scarf around her neck and threw her warm robe over her arm, stuffing her gloves into the pockets. A smattering of students remained in the room, waiting their turn to leave.

Yato was talking quietly to Bishamon and Kazuma were in the centre of the room. After a moment, Yato collected his things from the fireplace and joined Hiyori by the door as the final group of students slipped out and down the hallway.

“Ready?” Hiyori asked.

Yato hummed in agreement and Hiyori slipped out of the door. Yato caught the door and looked behind to call out to Kazuma and Bishamon to hurry up, but he closed his mouth quickly and slipped out of the door.

Yato let the door close softly so as to not disturb them. Yato turned, trying to get the image of what he had just seen out of his head and faced Hiyori and Yukine, who had come back from his watch-post.

Hiyori was filtering through her satchel and robes, hair curtaining her face as she searched for something.

“What’s wrong?” Yukine asked.

“I left my hat on the fireplace,” Hiyori answered.

She stepped around Yato and placed a hand on the door handle. Yato caught her arm before she could open the door.

“I wouldn’t go back in there if I were you,” Yato advised.

Hiyori paused, hand still on the door handle and looked at Yato quizzically. “Why?”

Yato smirked.

Hiyori didn’t see, but when Yato had turned to call Kazuma and Bishamon, he’d noticed a sprig of mistletoe emerging from the cracks in the ceiling and dangle above the couple.

“Because Kazuma and Bishamon are making out.”

#noragami #noragami aragoto #ilya #hiyori #yukine #kazuma #bishamon #yatori #kazubisha #in the darkness #hp au #harry potter au #my writing

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thiswasinevitableid · 4 years

Note

#7? NSFW? Sternclay? Pretty please 🙇‍♀️

7: It’s our one year anniversary fuck how does one celebrate an anniversary of rivalry and one-sided devotion?

Joseph Stern, alias Agent M, has accomplished what no other member of the National Hero Control Task Force has been able to: he has captured a member of the elusive Pine Guard.

The guard has been causing chaos for the better part of two years, bringing important projects such as oil pipeline development, ICE facilities, and start-up construction to catastrophic halts.

Stern isn’t invested in those projects, but he believes in the greater good, in law and order.

One member of the guard in particular has caught and held his attention since he first laid eyes on him. Bigfoot, or so he’s called, has eluded most of their security tapes in a way his compatriots haven’t, and has been reported as more than once saving civilians and bystanders from danger.

He also once stayed behind to ensure Stern stayed conscious after sustaining a head injury. Stern has never been able to get an explanation as to why. But after that day, puzzling out Bigfoot’s motives, his past, his personality has become Sterns true goal.

Convenient, then, that the man is currently strapped, standing up, to a holding table in his base.

“I knew word of those files would get your attention.” He stands toe to toe with Bigfoot, who growls but says nothing.

“There’s no call for that. Besides, even if you’d managed to infiltrate here without alerting me, there wouldn’t have been anything to steal. All the information on the identity of the pine guard members is up here. I haven’t shared it with my superiors yet.” He taps his head.

“So, you’re bluffing.”

“Not at all. Barclay.”

Dark brown eyes go wide with concern.

“Okay, so you got me. That doesn’t mean you got the rest of us.”

Stern sighs, counts off on his fingers, “Mothman is Indrid Cold, Jackalope is Aubrey Little, Cactus Cat is Dani Coolice, Champ is Duck Newton, Hodag is Ned Chicane, Jersey Devil is Arlo Thacker, and Echidna is Madeline Cobb.”

Barclay sags in his restraints.

“What do I have to do to keep them safe?”

“Nothing. You’re eco-terrorists, Barclay. Even if I wanted to I can’t keep the information I gained secret from my superiors.”

“You could. Like, literally. Just don’t tell them.”

“I can’t do that. I’m sorry.” The apology doesn’t come out as hollow as he needs it to, and Barclay arches an eyebrow.

“Ahem, anyway, you won’t be needing this anymore.” He lifts off Barclays blue mask (one that compliments his coppery beard), not surprised at all by the face underneath yet delighted at seeing it. He’s thought it handsome since the first time he laid eyes on it

The spell is broken by Barclay biting his hand. He yelps, dropping the mask on the floor.

“That wasn’t necessary.”

“Neither was unmasking me. Jesus, you never struck me as some gloaty douche but obviously I was wrong.”

That stings, and so Stern turns on his heel with a flourish.

“Careful, or I won’t share dinner with you.”

“Oh no, no gruel or power bars or whatever you joyless fucks eat for me--do you smell saffron?”

“Yes.” Stern wheels out the small cart, covered platter glistening atop it and a vase that’s too small for the bouquet sitting in it trying valiantly not to tip over. “I made us saffron rice with lamb, and red wine dark chocolate cupcakes.” He removes the cover, feeling rather smug.

“Shit that looks good.” Barclay whispers, licking his lips. Then he looks up, “Wait, made us?”

Oh lord, the confusion on Barclay’s face sends pangs through his chest. What he wouldn’t give to kiss it away.

“I, well, it has been exactly a year since we met. And I was trying to think of ways to mark the date, and I know you like cooking and food and so this seemed like a good gift.”

“...Did you make us a fucking anniversary dinner?”

“Technically? Yes.”

“Alright, Mister special agent, how am I supposed to eat it when I’m strapped to a fucking table?”

“I could, um, feed it to you? I shut off the cameras in this room so that I could do so without embarrassing either of us.”

“This what you do every Friday, strap random guys down and feed them? Sounds pretty kinky.” Barclay smirks.

“I enjoy being helpful, something a so-called ‘hero’ should understand. And I didn’t choose a random guy; I strapped you, specifically, down.”

Barclay fixes him with an amused look before shrugging as much as his bonds allow, “Fine, you clearly worked hard on dinner. May as well make the most of it.”

Stern slices a chunk of lamb, offers it to Barclay who parts his lips without hesitation.

“Holy shit, that’s good.” The blissed out look on his face is one of Sterns favorite views in the world. He hates having to pretend like he hasn’t seen it before.

As he cuts another piece Barclay asks, “You make the bouquet too?”

“Yes. I took some classes on flower language and arranging a few years back, and I like doing it.”

Another bite, and this Barclay sighs happily before cocking his head, “You just not gonna eat?”

“Guests eat first.”

“I’m a hostage, agent, not a guest.”

“My point stands.”

“Y’know, if you just undid my hands, we could eat at the same time. Make it a real anniversary dinner instead of some repressed man in black feeding me my last meal as a free man.”

“I’m not just any man in black, I’m your main rival. You said so yourself, once. And the answer is no to the unlocking.”

“Well, there goes that option.”

Stern sees him tug the strings of his woven bracelet a moment too late. He braces for an explosion or a weapon flying at him.

Instead, reality warps for a nanosecond, and then Barclay isn’t in front of him anymore. Staring down at him is what he can only describe as a Bigfoot. And honest to god, fur-covered, claw-handed Bigfoot.

A Bigfoot that is no longer restrained.

“You’re, you’re really-”

“Yep.” Barclay lunges, but instead of grabbing Stern he reaches for the cutlery, tossing it up and over the rooms computer center and far out of range.

Then he grabs Stern by the back of his neck, slamming him against the restraint table. Stern retaliates, jumping up and landing his feet against Barclay’s chest. There’s an “oof” but nothing else. Stern tries to catch him with his stunner, but Barclay avoids him easily, twisting his hands behind his back and letting go as he launches Stern into the window. Mercifully it's made of bullet-proof, triple strength glass, so he doesn’t plummet fifty stories to his death.

He’s simply pinned by his nemesis, the city lights thousands of eyes watching his defeat.

“Are you, ow, all monsters?”

“Nope, just some of us. And you’ve put me in a real bad situation, agent.” Barclay growls in his ear, “first by blabbing that you, and only you really did know our secret identities, and then leaving me no choice but to take off my disguise.”

“I, I’m sorry your poor problem solving skills caused you to reveal that Bigfoot is not merely a codenameOW.” Barclays claws pierce his suit, “Go ahead and kill me. I won’t give up any information to the Pine Guard. I’m prepared to die in the service of my agency.”

“You sure about that?”

“Yes.” He lies

“Nothing you’d miss?”

“No.”

A rumbling purr in his ear this time, “Not even me?”

“N-no, what, where on earth would you get that idea?”

“Flowers gave you away. Red carnations are admiration, daffodils mean unrequited love, and orange roses are fascination.”

“That’s a coincidence.” He grits his teeth to prevent the truth spilling out.

“Not for a guy who admitted he knew their meanings. And you know what else?” He clips Stern’s hands behind his back in cuffs designed to hold the super-strength of Duck Newton, making escape impossible for Sterns normal-human abilities “you put some wild grasses in their to fill the whole thing out.”

“So?”

“Grass means submission. You put all your feelings for me in a vase and gave me plenty of time to take them in, probably thinking it a clever in-joke to yourself. But that one? I’m betting that one was accidental, subconscious. You want to submit. Whether that’s in general or to me I have no clue.”

“Just you.” He may as well confess it. One less secret to carry to his grave.

A low, dangerous chuckle fills the room as he’s spun away from the window and shoved to his knees.

“That what you want, agent?” Barclay replaces the bracelet, becoming human before his eyes, “Want to be a good boy for me?”

He nods, cheeks hot and gaze locked on the floor until Barclay yanks it up by his hair, tearing strands loose from their carefully gelled hold.

“Aw now, no need for that.” Barclay traces the path of the blush with his thumb, voice mockingly sweet, “know your overlords like everyone to be emotionless, but there’s nothing wrong with wanting a good fuck, even if half the city can probably see it from here.”

“Oh lord.” He moans, the image sending his thoughts, his dignity, his blood, south.

Another laugh, his head yanked sideways to take in the view, “Damn, you like that too, huh? Like the idea of everyone watching while one of America’s finest begs me to fuck his face. Your superiors finding out their best agent is so needy he’d do anything for me to touch him?”

The tears pricking his eyes are from want, not shame, when he chokes out, “yes.”

Barclay turns his head forward, then up.

“Please, Barclay, please.”

“Please fuck you?”

“Yes.” He whimpers.

“Nope. Sorry, agent, I don’t sleep with the enemy, even if he gives me the worlds bluest puppy dog eyes. Not to mention, threatening the people I love is the opposite of being a good boy. But since it’s our anniversary, I think you do owe me a gift.” His fingers touch the edge of Sterns mask, “let’s see who’s been tracking me for a year.”

“Wait, don’t-” The mask tears off. The two men stare at each other, frozen, one in surprise and the other in fear.

“Joseph?”

“Hello.” He wants to look away, to see literally anything other than the betrayal on Barclay’s face.

“I, uh, I imagine this will lose me the title of ‘favorite customer’ at the Coffee Lodge.”

“You, you’ve been spying on us. You’ve been at the Lodge almost every fucking day since June, and you’re Agent fucking M, I, I can’t-” Barclay paces, fingers running through his hair, “Did you start coming just to stake us out?”

“Yes. I tracked your movements, Barclay. I’m ashamed to say I accessed the medical records of anyone in the target area who had top surgery to narrow down my suspects, and eventually identified you as Bigfoot. Once I started getting coffee at the lodge everyday it was easy to piece together who else was on the team.”

“Yeah, and flirting with me probably helped a lot.”

“Uhhhhhhhhm.”

“Oh, come on, don’t try to pretend that wasn’t part of your investigation.”

“It isn’t. Wasn’t.” He lowers his head meekly.

Barclay stops moving, sighs heavily, “Is there anywhere in this damn place that’s smaller and doesn’t have cameras?”

“My bedroom only has one. Just take down the smoke detector on the right hand side as soon as we go in.”

Barclay easily lifts him over his shoulder and trudges down the hall and into the bedroom. Rips the “smoke detector” from the wall, sparks crackling when he does. Then he deposits Stern on the bed and turns his desk chair to face it.

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes before my ride gets here. Talk.” Barclay sits down, crosses his arms while Stern attempts to sit up straight.”

“Wait, how can you know that.”

A mild smile, “You really think I’d walk into such an obvious trap without an escape plan?”

“No.” He mutters, dejected, “what do you want me to say, Barclay?”

“The truth, genius.”

“You seem to know most of it already.”

“Yeah, but one big piece is missing; why the hell didn’t you write down our identities somewhere the higher ups could find them if something happened to you? Shit, why not just sic a bunch of agents on us when we were all at the lodge making, or drinking, coffee?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“Bullshit.”

“Because the lodge was my haven too, alright?” Stern snaps, “I felt understood there, safer than I did in any secret base. And every time Dani laughed at something Aubrey did, or Duck told some corny joke, or you smiled at me, I understood more and more why you all do what you do. I felt my commitment to my work waning. I had to do something to reiterate my belief in it. This was that something.”

Barclay is silent for a moment, taking Stern in bit by bit.

“You want to leave the NHCTF, don’t you?” He leans forward in quiet shock.

Stern nods, defeated, “I’ve been questioning our methods for some time, but always thought that what we did was in the service of keeping people safe. I’m still not fully convinced the Pine Guard is going about it the best way, but from what I’ve seen, you do a far better job of it than we do.”

“So join us. Help us figure out how to be even better.” Barclay reaches for him, takes his hand.

“You’d ask me to just like that?”

“Most of us like you, Joseph. We’re not super into Agent M, but it’s not like we haven’t noticed you’re not chasing us down as much as you used to. Also, I’d be a really crappy superhero if I didn’t at least try to recruit the smartest man I know to our side.”

Stern blushes more than necessary at the compliment.

“Okay. I’m in. I’m ready to try being a different kind of good guy.”

“Welcome to the Pine Guard.” Barclay presses the secret hinges on the cuffs, and they drop to the floor.

A fit of giggles in Sterns throat pours out into the space between them, “Jesus, I didn’t think betraying the government would feel so liberating.”

“Always knew you were a good guy, deep down.”

Another blush has him cursing his capillaries.

“Heh, you do like it when I call you good.”

“Yes. Though as you observed, I have a weakness for humiliation as well.”

“Y’know, we’ve got a little bit of time still.” Barclay leans back, and Stern perks up when his hands hit his belt.

“And it is our anniversary.” Stern sinks to the floor, covers a few inches on his knees to rests his head on Barclays thigh.

“Shit, you really are a needy little thing.” Barclay shifts and wiggles awkwardly in order to get his close low enough to give Stern the access he needs. Stern nuzzles his inner thigh, skates his hands along muscular legs, making a mental note to discover what they feel like naked and tensing in time with their owners moans.

“You’re rather, uhm, slick already. Is this where you tell me you got into heroics because you get off on fighting?”

“Nope, just on manhandling you. And you’re in no position to comment, agent.” The growl he puts into that last word has Stern melting forward. Which is helpful, in that Barclay shoves him down the rest of the way. He licks and sucks eagerly at him, moaning messily when Barclay tilts his hips up, pressing and rutting against him.

“Like I, fuck, said babe, you’ve got no room to feel smuggAH--shit that felt good--amazed I didn’t walk in on you in the lodge bathroom with some dudes dick down your throat while another one fucked that tight ass.”

Stern would like to point out that a) he would never do such a thing in a business he respected and b) there’s only been one dick he’s wanted anywhere near him in months. But he doesn’t dare pull away. Instead he whimpers, shakes his head and takes all of Barclay’s cock into his mouth.

“Hnnnshit, maybe I got it wrong, maybe you, fuck, were one smile away from falling to you knees and begging me to fuck you over the counter.”

Stern nods emphatically, pawing at any exposed skin he can find on Barclay stomach and hips, and the larger man laughs.

“Fuck, much as I wanna hold you down and come all over that handsome face, got something else I wanna do even more.” He lets go of Sterns head, nudges him back so he can join him on the floor.

“Wha-ohshit’ He gasps when Barclay rips the front of his pants off, wrapping one large hand around his cock. But when Stern tries to thrust up into the warm, tight fist, Barclay pins his hips down with one hand. There’s such easy strength in the movements that Stern tilts his head back to rest on the spotless bedspread, because baring his throat feels like the only suitable response.

Teeth just sharper than they ought to be sink into the base of his neck, but even as he arches and thrashes in response, he can’t get any stimulation on his cock. Coarse coppery hair tickles his skin as Barclay laughs, “Cute how you think that’s enough begging to get what you want.”

“Barclay, please, I, I’ve wanted this for months, it’s all I want, I will do anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Poor special agent, so desperate.” Barclay’s tone is cruel as he drags his hand up in one long, slow stroke. Stern eagerly awaits a downstroke that doesn’t come.

“Well? Gimme one good reason to indulge my pathetic new plaything.”

“I, I, I’ll be good, so good for you, let you do whatever you want, fuck.” The barest movement of Barclays hand and he sobs, “please, I just want to be good, I just want you to use me, god, please just tell me what you want.”

“Admit you’re a needy fucker who likes the fact the other cameras in this building can probably hear him begging me to-”

“I am, I need you so badly, I need this, I want you so much, I need youOHyes, yes.” He groans happily as Barclay switches to rapid strokes and drags one of Sterns hands between his legs. He keeps his fingers outside for the time being, focuses on circling his thumb and dragging the other digits in tight patterns.

“C’mon handsome, jack me off, show me how much you like your reward oh fuck, fuck, Joseph, that’s it babe, fuck that’s good.” His head drops to mouth at Stern’s neck with a moan as he grinds against Sterns palm, “shit, shoulda asked you out last week like I was planning to, coulda been doing this every night, yeah, ohyeah.” As he comes his grip on Sterns cock tightens, and even as he rides out his orgasm he’s growling, “come on agent, lemme see you ruin those fancy clothes.”

Stern comes with what sounds, to his ears, like a pathetic cry. Yet as soon as he spills onto his stomach and Barclays hand, the larger man kisses his chest, whispering sweetly, “You’re so good, did so good for me baby, you’re amazing.”

With unsure fingers, he brushes a strand of loose hair from Barclays cheek. Barclay looks up, smiling so tenderly Stern worries he’s dreaming. Then Barclay sits up, cupping his chin and drawing him into a gentle kiss, sighing happily when their lips meet.

“Is it selfish to be happy that you joining the team means I get to see you everyday?”

“Not in the least. Though you see me most days at the coffee shop anyway.”

“Yeah, but now I get to do this” another kiss, somehow twice as tender as the first, “when I do.”

Stern curls into his arms as he continues, “guess we oughta get you a codename now.”

“You know, I’ve actually given that some thought. Given that only some of you drew your names from cryptids or, um, I suppose your true forms, I think there’s room for a codename that reflects my history with secretive government agencies while staying on theme?”

“I think so too.” Barclay smiles expectantly.

“In that case,” Stern grins back, future brightening ahead of him for the first time in years, “just call me Roswell.”

#agent stern/barclay #sternclay #super hero au #prompt fill #TAZ Amnesty

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dietpitt · 6 years

Text

Wait

Fresh off the heels of the Murder Hut Stan/Reader (sfw but suggestive)

Thanks so much for the response (and nice words aww)!! Sorry I’m so slow lol. I’ve got a few more reqs to go, but if there’s a demand, I might continue this in a part 2

Hooking up with the town showman and eventually becoming his… whatever it is you want to call yourself, certainly wasn’t what you thought you’d be doing when you moved to Gravity Falls, but life is funny like that. You bumped into the guy at the local bar; he made you laugh, you bought him a drink, and next thing you know you’re at his place. Waking up the next morning to jars of eyeballs and boxes of bones in his house had you thinking you just spent your last night with the next Bundy. Thankfully though when he caught you on your way to sneak out, he explained himself instead of killing you. For that, you’re very grateful.

You’re also grateful that Stan seems to enjoy your company enough to let you hang around, though you know it’s probably mostly motivated by the free labor he gets out of you helping out. At the moment you really don’t mind. Dare you say it, you think you’re having... Feelings for this “Stanford Pines”…

No, no, no, don’t think about it right now-- not as you’re parking your car in the lot and heading to his back door, for Heaven’s sake.

You knock, the door opens, and—oh God, how could you not think about that grin and how it makes your gut flutter when you’re looking right at it—

“Hey,” Stan says coolly, stepping aside to let you into the home part of The Mystery Shack. “You’re here early.”

“Two hours later than usual actually, but who’s counting?”

Stan laughs, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it amusedly. “Well, you apparently.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tease, letting yourself give him the old once-over as you pass him by; the fez you could definitely stand to lose, but the white button-up he sports does a good job of hugging him in the right places. As far as uniforms go, it could use something more. A jacket, maybe?

“Hey, I saw that! You just checked me out.” He acts as if he caught you. Like you don’t “check him out” in more ways than one nearly every day of the week.

Laughing, your hands slide up to his tie, fingertips running along the bold yellow question mark at its end. “So what if I was? You gonna do something about it?” Giving the tie a playful tug, you lean in to push Stan back against the door ever so slightly—

The tie’s slipped from your grasp, leaving you empty-handed. You blink, not quite understanding what happened until Stan’s thumb brushes along your cheek, excited smile turning apologetic. “Sorry doll—believe me, I’d love to do somethin’ about it right over there on that table, but I’ve got a tour group linin’ up as we speak. Last and biggest of the day, don’t wanna keep ‘em waitin’ too long or they won’t hang around and buy merch after.”

“But—“

Stan gently moves you aside and heads towards the door to the back porch where the tours usually begin, adjusting his fez and tie in the mirror as he speaks. “Shouldn’t be more than 45 minutes—an hour, tops. Y’know how it is, sometimes there’s stragglers slowin’ things down.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” you huff, arms crossed. Okay, obviously you know this is part of the job. It’s an hour, no big stinkin’ deal. You’ll survive. But do you want to wait to have some personal time with Stan?

Absolutely not.

You join him over by the mirror, letting your displeasure show. He just laughs again. That damn laugh makes you want to kiss him even more.

“Gotta give the people what they want.” He turns, giving you a chaste, but promising kiss on the lips, catching you off guard. But he’s halfway outside before you can make it anything more.

“I’ll make it worth your while, alright?” Stan winks, closing the door behind him and leaving you in the quiet of his house. You can hear his loud, grand introduction from outside: “Welcome to The Mystery Shack, folks, prepare your minds and wallets—“

Damn him! That kiss left you restless…

Just as you’re about to head to Stan’s room to wait, suddenly you get an idea.

Pleased with yourself already, you pop into the Shack gift shop and grab a blue pine tree hat, plopping it onto you head. The iced goods machine catches your eye as you leave and you grab a red ice pop on your way out the back.

“Here we have the Mystical Totem Pole, abandoned on-site by Oregon Natives hundreds of years ago! Some say the eyes of The Great One still follow those who walk by!” Your eyes roll at the cheesey way his voice shakes.

The group isn’t too far ahead, and you jog up to join the tour, hat low over your eyes. You hang towards the back, using the wide gentleman there as cover if needed.

“The small crowd ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ as you walk past, a couple people take a picture with the flash on in broad daylight; your attention is mostly on Stan of course, watching him lean on his 8-ball cane and schmoozing them up before moving on to the final outdoor showpiece.

“And here we have the ancient and completely naturally formed, definitely not hand-carved ‘Rock That Looks Like a Face’ Rock.”

The man in front of you raises his hand, “So it’s a rock?”

“Yes, but it looks like a face.” You can tell Stan’s eyes are trying their hardest not to roll into the back of his skull. Dealing with these people takes real patience.

And you want to test just how much patience he has today, since he was so keen on testing yours.

Your hand shoots up as you lean into sight. “So it’s a rock, but is it a face?”

“No, it just lo-“ Mr. Mystery’s biting tone drops as he recognizes you, nearly blurting out your name. A flash of irritation, then amusement before he returns to his showman persona. “It’s a rock that looks like a face. Nothing more.”

Another man chimes in. “So it looks like a rock?”

You barely stifle your laughter, earning a glare from your tour guide before he turns on his heel and leads the tour inside silently.

Inside, Stan begins to show off the Sascrotch and Poly-Dactyl. Suddenly you remember your ice pop and set to eating it before it melts completely.

It’s already semi-melted, and you have to work your way from the bottom first before sucking on the side as you move to the top. You take in the room, noting the fallen antlers from the Jackalope that need to be replaced later.

“The mighty Poly-Dactyl, 4 terrifying pairs of razor-sharp wings! No touching ladies and gentleme-“

Stan’s voice halts, and you turn to see why: he’s looking directly at you, gaze dropping from your eyes to your lips wrapped around the frozen treat. What a dope.

“Y-you can buy yer very own toy replica in the gift shop, perfect for shavi-“

Noticing the sticky drip of syrup that’s dibbled down your hand and fingers, you begin to lick it away slowly, grinning as Stan’s eyes widen and his ears turn red. Good.

“Alrightfolkslet’sgetamoveon!”

Cleaning yourself up a bit as you follow suit, you can’t help but feel a bit of excitement for what’s to come at the end of the tour. Will Stan be mad? Hopefully not- you’re not interfering with the tour really, just making it a little more entertaining for yourself. And Stan too, apparently.

The next couple attractions go by, and Stan only meets your gaze once, again in a light glare that definitely shouldn’t have you feeling so happy. Recognizing the final attraction before the gift shop, you sneak ahead so you can return the hat and Stan doesn’t have the chance to stop you on the way there. Tossing your used popsicle stick into a waste bin (and noting to remember the terrible joke on it to tell Stan later), you plop the borrowed hat back on its rack and lean against the cashier’s counter, waiting for the customers to enter so you can ring them up.

And there they are, scattering across the shop to browse. Looks like most of them are interested in something. Hey, maybe your participation even helped the tour out, made Stan hustle a little.

Speaking of, Stan meets your eyes from across the room, making his way over, ready to say something and-

“S’cuse me, nice young person! I’d like to buy this magnet for my son, please.” A sweet looking old woman taps you on the shoulder, intercepting the tongue-lashing you were just about to get. “He’s 48, but I I’m still trying to get him into collecting. Old Sylvia never gives up on a potential convert!”

You glance from the beady-eyed woman to Stan, smiling wide as you reply in a voice that’s way too perky. “Of course, ma’am! Great choice, I’m sure that’ll get him onboard.”

Settling behind the counter, you ring her up, taking note of Stan circling around behind you. You can feel him watching you—he’s practically burning a hole in the back of your head.

“All set! Thanks for visiting The Mystery Shack, please come again soon. Bring your son!” You wave the woman off, helping the next two in line directly behind her before there’s a lull as the people still decide on their purchases.

Finally, you hear Stan’s voice low in your ear. “You nearly ruined my tour today.”

You keep your gaze on the customers, watching as they try and decide between the $80 big cat shirts. Panther would be your pick, but what do you know?

“Aw Stan, don’t be so hard on yourself. You did great today. Loved the dramatic pauses.”

Suddenly, a mouth is directly on your ear, hot breath hitting your neck and cheek as its owner replies: “Those lips of yours are pretty distracting. Can you blame me?”

A shiver runs down your spine, and it takes all your human willpower to not turn around on your stool and push the man up against the wall in a room full of tourists.

You reach a hand back, running it along the outside of Stan’s leg, teasing him with your touch just out of sight from those in front of the register. “You wanted me to wait, so I did.”

You can feel his grin in your hair at that before he moves away. “You think you’re real funny, huh? We’ll see about that.”

And with that, he steps away, heading over to a group of customers surrounding the creepy gold miner statue on the far wall.

If you were eager before, now you’re tempted to pull an alarm of some kind to clear everyone out. Too bad there isn’t one to be found in this house of hazards.

The words Stan left you with ring in your head— you want to know what he means. But for now, all you can do is…

Wait.

#i dont know what to fuck the spacing is doing in this but take it lmao #sherlockfreak05 #stan/reader #hunkle stan #my writing #sfw #stan

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