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thelargefrye · 3 months

Text

February Filth Fest : DAY FOUR : PUBLIC SEX ... mature one - shot

pairing : outlaw!mingi x f!reader

genre : western au, outlaw au, smut, slight comedy

word count : 2.2k

warnings : language, mentions of crime, weapons (guns), mention of a bar fight, probably incorrect horse things (you've been warned), murder (yn shoots a guy)

smut warnings : unprotected sex, public sex (in an alleyway)

note : a part of a western au that i've been working on since october, so i hope you enjoy this little teaser

honorary tag : @sanjoongie

the town is thrown into a ruckus when an unknown stranger comes into town, but why exactly is he here and what does he want?

DAY THREE ↤ THE OUTLAW ↦ DAY FIVE

you knew something was going on int town when there was several older women gossiping. and not just one group, but several. someone new was in town, but who?

you knew it wasn't hongjoong, because if it was him then he would have come by to see you. not be in town and causing a ruckus.

perhaps it was just a traveler, they usually come through town to get supplies before leaving to the next town.

"miss y/n," a voice snaps you out of your thoughts and you turn your head to see one of the younger women rushing over to you. you recognize her as eunha and she comes up to you with a smile.

"have you heard about the stranger that arrived in town this morning?" she asked, voice in a whisper and you raise an eyebrow at her. curious as to what she would say.

"is that what all the fuss is about?" you ask and she nods excitedly at you.

"yes! he's got all the other girls swooning over his looks and how mysterious he is. rode into town this morning on a friesian horse and booked a room at the inn," she says and the color of the horse is what catches your attention.

"a... black horse you say?" you ask, tilting your head to the side and she nods her head.

"yeji saw it this morning and said it was the most beautiful friesian she had ever seen. those are so rare to see in these parts, expensive too," eunha says. you knew how rare that type of horse was in these parts, so it shocked you that this stranger would be riding one.

"would you excuse me, eunha, i need to finish my errands for the morning," you say and she nods, bidding you a farewell before rushing back to the other ladies.

"friesian horse, huh?" you say, clicking your tongue before you continue on your way. you'll have to talk to this "stranger" when you get back to the inn.

just as you're about to step into the inn, you halt in your footsteps as you look at the horse tied to the post outside. the horse and you look at each other before the animal lets out a few nays and sighs. it's hoof driving into the ground and kicking up dirt. you couldn't help but feel see red, fist clenching by your side as you recognize the horse.

you let out a sigh before attempting to calm yourself. putting on a smile as you turn towards the inn doors and walk inside.

"welcome back miss y/n, did you get all your errands done?" the innkeeper, sooyoung, asks as you step into the inn you had been staying at for the past three weeks.

"i did! anything happen while i was out?" you ask, walking over to her and hoping she would tell you anything about this stranger that had the town buzzing.

"got a new neighbor across the hall from your room. i would be careful though," she says, leaning closer to whisper the next part, "fella seems a little too suspicious if you ask me."

you smile at, "don't worry, i'm a big girl that can take care of herself," you say and she quirks an eyebrow at you, but doesn't question you.

"if you say so," she says and you smile before making your way up the stairs and to your room.

as you walk up the stairs, you pull the room key from your dress pocket as you reach the end of the hallway. you put the key into the lock and as you unlock the door to your room, you hear a door behind you open.

you open your room door, but don't go in. "you've made quite the ruckus in town," you say and you hear the stranger let out a deep chuckle.

you turn your body to see the stranger standing tall in all his glory as he leans against the doorframe of his room. a smirk on his face and hat tip just enough to almost obscure his eyes from your own.

and then you feel the rage you felt earlier wash over you as you look at the stranger. you drop your basket to the ground before marching over to the stranger and shoving him into his own room. you watch him stumble back, clearly not expecting you to have shoved him. he barely manages to catch himself, hands landing against his bed as he still falls to the floor.

carefully, as to not alert sooyoung, you close the door behind you before turning. mingi opens his mouth to say something, but you are quick to cut him off.

"you bastard," you said, teeth clenched tightly together, "you stole my horse!" you yell pointing a finger at mingi who looks at you with wide, shocked eyes.

"i-i didn't steal your horse!" he says immediately, as he tries to ease your anger. it doesn't work.

"then care to explain why the fuck my horse is outside the inn right now, when i sure as hell didn't ride her into town?"

"h-hongjoong said for me to take cher and ride her into town," he says, and you frown at his words but you say nothing. so he takes this chance to continue. "he sent for me to come find you, that he received a letter from yunho giving him info on this new gig."

"new gig?" you question, crossing your arms as you watch mingi stand up and sit on the bed. you takes something out of his pocket before handing it to you.

you read the letter, looking between the paper with hongjoong's handwriting and the outlaw in front of you. you turn on your heel, crumbling the paper up before tossing it back to him.

"you're lucky hongjoong saved you or else i would have shot you for riding my horse," you say before leaving the room. mingi watches as you pick up your basket before going into your room and letting the door close behind you.

its a few days later when you are walking through town near the saloon when hear a number of different shouts and other noises coming from the bar. at first you are startled by the noises, eyes darting over to the town's saloon that isn't a stranger to the bar fights that break out every now and then.

however, this bar fight felt different. mainly because you knew mingi was lurking around and being a wanted criminal in a town that frequented other outlaws and bounty hunters didn't look good for him.

"fuck..." you trail off with a huff as you make your way over to the saloon, crouching right below the window. just enough to peek and see what is going on.

and sure enough there mingi was standing in the center with his pistols out and shooting at whoever is also shooting at him.

at least take cover you dumbass, you think, rolling your eyes. you're about to reach for your own pistol, willing to risk exposing your cover to help him when you hear the neighing and whining of a familiar horse.

turning you see cher throwing her head back and forth, front legs up and attempting to kick at the three men who are... trying to steal her.

"hey!" you shout, taking your pistol out and running towards the three men. "that's my horse you bunch of stealin' bastards, get away from her!"

"now little lady–

you immediately cut one of the men off by shooting a warning shot near his feet making him jump up and yelp.

"i told you to get away from my damn horse! now get, i don't miss my shots and that was your only warning."

then men are quick to look between each other before back at you and you notice one of them attempts to reach for his own pistol and you immediately shoot the man, watching him fall over dead.

the other two run off, leaving their dead buddy and you rush over to cher, to make sure they didn't harm her.

"hey girl, i've missed you. hongjoong and san been taking care of you?" you ask with a smile and you pet the spot between her eyes on her head. she lets out a noise and you laugh before hugging her. "hongjoong at least knows how to take care of you. sannie not so much," you tell her.

"i didn't know you were some type of horse-whisperer," you hear mingi say from behind you and you turn to see the outlaw looking at you with a smile. he looks a little roughed up, but probably nothing that has bothered him before. "also, san was taking good care of her. talkin' to her just like you were," he adds.

"she's a smart girl, he better be talkin' and takin' good care of her," you say matter-of-factly. "he learned from the best after all."

you watched as mingi walked closer to you, and that's when you noticed a cut across his nose. you note that'll treat him later when you get back to the inn – if that was even possible thanks to mingi's bar fight and you killing guy.

"whoa, what happened to him?" mingi asked, kicking the foot of the man that laid dead next to you and cher.

"him and his friends were trying to steal cher, so i took care of him," you tell him, "which wouldn't have happened if you didn't leave her alone to get into a bar fight."

"listen i–

"no, not here. too many ears around," you cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips to shush him. you look around before seeing that no one was around before dragging him to the alleyway nearby.

once the two of you were alone in the alley, that was when you started to yell at him.

"god, how could you be so stupid! starting a bar fight, what if yo–

mingi cuts you off by smashing his lips to yours and effectively shutting you up. you are stunned for a second before you return the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull your bodies closer.

you tangle your fingers into his hair and mingi's hand travel down your body and to your waist. however, before he could do anything you gripped his hair pulling him away from you. he let's out a small cry at the grip you have, the two of you out breath from the kiss.

"don't think this means you're off the hook," you say with a serious tone and mingi hums before he's kissing you again.

his fingers come up to untie your dress before you're hiking up the skirt of your dress and he's undoing his pants. you watch his dick spring out, already more than half erect and you wonder if the bar fight had anything to do with it.

you'll tease him later.

you feel a sort of adrenaline run through you as you realize that the two of you are about to have sex in an alleyway that anyone could possibly see the both of you. mingi pulls your undergarments to the side before he's rubbing the head of his cock between your folds.

the two of you let out several moans as you lean against the wall in order to hike your leg up as mingi pushes his cock into you.

"oh fuck," he says, his hand coming up to move your leg to wrap around his waist as he bottoms out into you. "fuck, so tight."

mingi gives you an experimental thrust and takes your breathy moan and your walls squeezing around him as the go head. and soon he's setting a quick pace, and maybe the knowledge of being in the open is fueling his speed.

the two of you don't say anything other than a few curses here and there as mingi leans down to press his lips against your neck. his cock abusing your pussy that hasn't had a cock in it in almost a month. you were desperate to come and encouraged mingi to go faster.

"f-fuck, mingi– f-fa-faster," you say with a moan, leaning your head against his shoulder as you feel your juices begin to leak down your thighs.

mingi doesn't say anything, instead listening to your pleas in going faster and his moans fill your ears as he goes even faster than what you thought was possible.

"i-i'm close," he says in your ear, thrust getting sloppier than usual and moments later he's stilling inside of you. you feel his cock throbbing inside of you as he fills you with his seed. mingi attempts to ride through his own orgasm to help you reach your own.

you also manage to come with a cry of his name, eyes filling with white spots as your head comes back to rest against the wall. you feel your body go limp from exhaustion as mingi rests his body weight against you and the wall for support.

after several minutes, mingi pulls away from you and brushes away any stray hairs that decided to stick to your face.

he opens his mouth to once again try and say something, but you cut him off before he has the chance, "you still aren't off the hook. wait till we get back to camp."

you then fix your dress, retying it before you're making your way out of the alleyway. mingi can only watch in shock at you before he follows quickly behind you.

"hey wait!"

tag list : @frankenstein852 @watamotee33 @kawennote09 @mixling-blog @marahleiwhen @kpopnightingale @harry-the-pottypus @pyeonghongrie @sanniesbum @marvelahsobx @khjcoo @mysticfire0435 @exfolitae @dementedaly @simeonswhore @moonm1st @nvmbheart @spooo00oky @frgogh @sookacc @seongwin @burnsmepls @ad0rechuu @tunaasan @northerngalxy @silverpixiedust23 @cheesekimchi @confusedmoonchild777 @mjyungi @innieontop @iweirdthingsblog @s0obinluvr @worcesheshestershiresauce @moonlightgrleric @wineyoungie @jeongwangjessmina @lemineso

networks : @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

#lost paradise : fff.#joongfryefff24 #cultofdionysusnet #cromernet #kdiarynet #ateez x reader #ateez blurbs #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #ateez mingi x reader #mingi smut #ateez outlaw au #ateez western au #poly ateez x reader

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ddarker-dreams · 8 months

Text

Nexus II.

Yandere Blade x F Reader.

Warnings: Descriptions of Blade's body regeneration ability, Blade is just kinda weird idk, some spoilers for his backstory. Word count: 6k.

Nexus index.

The LOTUS-EATER’s maximum capacity tops out at 124. This number takes current fire codes and oxygen generator parameters into account. There are eight Arbiters — including yourself — and fifteen other employees who work The Club floor on rotation. Additionally, some automatons assist with carrying refreshments to clients. Lucky for you, those fellas aren’t on the payroll.

The other twenty-two are, though.

Nona swings her legs back and forth while sitting on the main bar’s countertop, humming a song from an underground band she likes. She’s sent you a link to their discography enough times that you recognize the URL immediately and know not to tap on it.

“Hey, mom, dad, we’re on the news. ‘IPC Places Eris Under Temporary Travel Ban While Investigating Claims of Fraud’. Why didn’t anyone tell me we were doing fraud? Was I not invited to the group chat?” Nona hums.

You glance up from your account book, sigh, then glance back down.

Meanwhile, Lear carries a hefty wooden crate from the back and places it on the floor. The sound of muffled glass clinking together can be heard, along with liquid sloshing.

“You shouldn’t make jokes like that,” he frowns. He shoos her off the counter with a wet rag, to which she takes refuge behind you. He rolls his eyes at her shenanigans, ties up his sandy hair, then gets to cleaning. “People could get the wrong idea. It’d tarnish [First]’s reputation.”

Snickering, she replies, “And casually referring to Our-Lord-And-Savior-The-Exalted-One by her first name wouldn’t?”

He bristles. “You…!”

On instinct, he winds up his arm, wielding the now dirty rag as his ammunition. He pauses when Nona points at you. Seeing that there’s no way to hit his target without you joining the casualties, he huffs, and returns to shining glasses, using excessive force this time.

Nona sticks her tongue out at him. After celebrating her victory, she situates herself on a nearby barstool, stretching her arms out beside your workspace like a content cat preparing to nap.

“You’ve been staring at that silly book forever,” she notes, exasperation coloring her tone. “I know you aren’t reading it, either. Your eyes give you away. So, what’s up?”

You shuffle in your seat. This line of questioning was inevitable as the four moons that hang everlasting in the sky, taking in everything as impartial observers. During instances like this, you envy the marvelous masses, how they can exist peacefully without living. No one asks the moon troubling questions. Or, if they do, they have more pressing issues at hand than their spoken query.

“It’s nothing,” you dismiss.

She blows a tuft of hair from her face. “Hey, Lear.”

“Mm?”

“Did you hear that?”

“Well, yes, I’m only standing a few feet away.”

“Right, right. Let me ask a trickier question then, since that one was obviously way too easy for someone of your intellect. Do you believe her?”

“I…” he swallows thickly. “... Yes?”

Nona throws her arms up. “Gah! I’m surrounded by liars who can’t lie. That’s almost worse than liars who can lie— blegh, hey, did you actually throw a rag at me?”

The rag in question slides down the side of her head and hits the ground with a sad squelch.

“I’ll do it again too. You shouldn’t bother [First]—” Lear abruptly cuts himself off at the last syllable of your name, “The exalted one when she’s trying to concentrate.”

You raise your head and frown. “Lear, I told you. Call me by my name when it’s just us. It feels wrong if you don’t.”

“Seriously? That’s what gets your attention?” Nona laments.

You both elect to ignore her.

“I know, I know. It’s just… what if he comes back?”

Silence descends and clings to the three of you like the suffocating scent of smoke. It’s there again, the uncomfortable, skin-prickling sensation of eyes sticking to you. Amber and sapphire coalesce into one, unspoken plea, forming a disconcerting shade. Nona’s visage betrays nothing, whereas Lear’s concern would be obvious from galaxies away.

You square your shoulders and try to make yourself appear as decisive as you need to sound. “I’ll know when he’s back. He’ll text so I can let him in.”

The two exchange knowing looks. It’s Nona who tries her luck.

“That’s reassuring and all, but, I think the question Lear wanted to ask is why that man’s here in the first place.”

Magenta eyes, rosy iris’, words that drip like venom-coated honey.

When you asked how you should explain Blade’s presence to your staff, she told you she’d hate to abuse her authority, and that you’re free to decide those specifics yourself. You would’ve preferred some guidance or hint at her expectations in such a pivotal situation. It’s easier to avoid a landmine if you know how to best watch your step. The uncharacteristic lack of instructions goes on to birth unease.

“My answer hasn’t changed. He’s here to act as my bodyguard until some concerns are settled.”

Nona’s lips twist to the side. “You never wanted a bodyguard before.”

“I never needed one before.”

A glass shatters violently.

You and Nona snap your head toward the noise’s origin, finding Lear’s face wound tight in pain. You both jump the counter. The remains of crystal shards are strewn across the floor, catching and refracting light. Watching your step, you make your way over to Lear, who is muttering expletives under his breath.

No, that isn’t right, you realize. His lips aren’t moving.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he tries waving off Nona, who is inspecting the hand that held the glass, “Just an accident, s’all.”

The private tumult boiling in his head threatens to overflow, stating loud and clear thoughts no one other than himself should be privy to. You grimace and focus on blocking the intrusive voice out. It’s so resounding, so sharp, that snippets penetrate through and spill their scathing secrets.

‘My fault — should’ve killed — now she’s — because of me…!’

Block it out, block it out, block it out, you chant the mantra incessantly.

Lear’s psyche wishes to illuminate itself to you in its entirety. The spotlights turn on one by one, focusing intently on the visible portion of the stage that any audience member can see. The overlapping beams penetrate the stage’s back curtain, revealing the silhouettes of the backstage crew.

You don’t want to witness these delicate inner workings. It isn’t for your eyes, his thoughts aren’t for your ears. Sins committed in days past grant you a front-row seat and sew your eyes wide open. You haven’t attended this theater in some time, so it brought the show to you.

It requires great effort to struggle against the needle and thread that wants to practice its stitches on you. This pain that feels like your skull is being crushed beneath an anchor could ease away if you were a good audience member who sat still and mute. You resist subservience at the cost of yourself. Eventually, the lights dim. The stage’s back curtain turns opaque. The actors shift their shouts into a normal speaking volume, a whisper, then finally, stop orating altogether.

Your mind’s dictation is decided by you — the ink of Lear’s thoughts expunged.

You’re aware of your physical surroundings again.

Presently, you’re crouching down on the floor. You move your foot back to maintain balance, and there’s a crunch, warning you to tread carefully. You inhale and exhale shakily. At this sign of lucidity, Nona and Lear crowd over you, repeating your name on a loop. You check twice to ensure their mouths are indeed moving and you aren’t hearing what you shouldn’t. Once you dispel your fears, relief embraces you.

This paroxysm has run its course.

Nona’s shoulders slump. “It’s okay, it’s over. She fixed it.”

They both hold their breath until you nod in agreement.

Lear extends his hand to help stand you up, to which Nona swats at it.

“No touching,” she reminds. Sternness doesn’t sound right in her cadence. He considers arguing, only to decide against it. His fingers twitch, go still, then recede.

You have to stand on your own strength.

Neither of them knows what to say in the immediate aftermath — it’s been so long that they’re out of practice. While they think over the best-sounding platitudes, you spare your phone a glance. Several messages mar the screen from an unknown sender. The most recent is time-stamped at five minutes ago.

You grumble a few choice words.

“Mr. Personality is back?” Nona asks.

“Yeah, I’ll handle it,” you close your account book and fold it under your arm. “You both should head home, it’s late. Just let Loopy take care of the glass shards.”

Nona gives a mock salute. After a moment’s consideration, Lear nods.

And so the three of you part ways.

Your fingers blindly grope at the expanse beneath your desk. Finally, you come in contact with a protrusion, then press it. Electricity thrums then turns hushes. For peace of mind, you glide your hand through the air. A holographic keyboard flickers into existence and responds to your vigorous keystrokes. The monitor reads that your noise-canceling software is up to date. It prevents sound waves from escaping a perimeter you’ve set. It’s installed in every room on the second floor, which includes the private rooms in The Lounge, your office, and the bedroom attached to said office.

Ever since Kafka started slinking around, the software’s uptime has increased exponentially.

Unlike Kafka, Blade doesn’t sit across from you or relax on the couch against the silver-colored wall. He stands by the door that leads to the hallway like a statue. He hasn’t so much as uttered a word to you since you let him in, not that you put in much effort to rouse conversation. It isn’t as childish as him ignoring you, either, you swear his eyes haven’t left you for a millisecond.

The keyboard and monitor dissipate at the flick of your wrist.

“I know I said I didn’t have anything major scheduled this week, but the IPC’s new policy changes things,” you start. Still no reaction. Frowning, you continue, “I’ll have to break the house arrest you’ve imposed.”

He doesn’t so much as blink. You thought a little provocation might earn you some material to work with, but you thought wrong.

“Who will be there?” Blade asks.

Instead of experiencing relief that he’s broken his vow of silence, tension coils its barbed limbs around you. It refuses to squeeze or apply any pressure. No, it intentionally denies you that, for it knows pain precedes understanding. A motive, an intention. Any degree of emotion is better than an unknowable void. Frustration, you can soothe, doubt, you can dispel, but total apathy? That’s a nightmare crossed into reality.

“The other two leaders of the quadrants and myself.”

At long last, there's a sign he is indeed a sentient lifeform and not the latest android model. A flash passes over his eyes. Suspicion or disbelief, perhaps.

“Shouldn’t there be four leaders, if the city’s divided into quadrants?”

“That’s a fair assumption. As far back as our records date, the southwestmost quadrant, Arc, has rejected the idea of having any fixed governance. They act however they see fit. It’s where that man who attacked me a few cycles back was sent to, since we look down on involuntary confinement.”

“The prison planet without prisons,” Blade’s wry wording belies his flat tone.

It’s always been a divisive topic, earning scorn and acclaim alike. You’ve had the misfortune of listening to clients regurgitate talking points that were made digestible by popular media, who started the cycle by devouring journal articles they read one paragraph of. They repeat what’s been said thousands of times with the bravado of the original theorist. Normally, you’d consider it more agreeable to bash your head against a wall than speak on the exhausted topic.

So why is it a kindling of intrigue burns by a Stellaron Hunter’s offhand comment?

“What’s this? The wanted criminal isn’t a proponent of prison abolition?”

“Every decision comes at a price,” he says. “Sins should be punished.”

You blink. Sins? Punishment? Is this a textbook case of cognitive dissonance, or another beast entirely?

“What do you consider a sin?”

“Anything that defies the natural order.”

“Such as…?”

The maelstrom that envelops him is potent enough for you to feel it breathing down your neck. Your body prickles all over.

“Defying death.”

“Not inflicting it?”

“No,” Blade’s response is immediate, straight from the heart. “Taking life is permissible. It’s accelerating the inevitable.”

This callous sentiment should chill you — maybe it would, if you heeded the alarm bells ringing in your mind — but fascination triumphs over any deterrent. This isn’t a creed one stumbles into by happenstance, it’s a burden made to order. His preoccupation with death is personal. A necessity.

“Show me what it’s like to die.”

Is this request self-flagellation or redemption?

If you’re ever to fulfill the Synalink you promised, you’ll need to dig deeper.

“There are ‘sins’ committed with altruistic intentions, though.”

“Hah,” he barks out a bitter laugh. “Those… those are the worst kind.”

This is a personal slight he’s grappling with. The shards scattered around him like stardust condense, though the sight they create remains out of focus. It doesn’t have to be a sharp picture for you to discern its immense stature.

Each person’s psyche is distinct in its manifestation. This image is a culmination of everything that defines them. Their core values, history, relationships, culture, ambitions both met and not fully realized; these colors leave an indelible imprint. In truth, this detailed representation is but a single dot amidst an ocean of stars. The mind of a sentient being must be vast if it is capable of ascending to an Aeon’s status. Still, you need something to work with, even if it doesn’t encompass the full scope. A pianist cannot play their instrument if there are no keys.

This scale, this sheer magnitude that towers higher the more you crane your neck up, it’s unlike anything you’ve ever encountered.

“... You’re going to give me a run for my money, Mr. 8.13 billion,” you murmur. “Your head looks like a warzone.”

He leans against the wall with a hmph.

“With all your impending problems, that’s what you choose to focus on?”

“I can multitask.”

“Can you?” He challenges. Sensing your confusion, he elaborates. “You look awful.”

Blade must be irresistible across all genders with that nuanced level of word crafting.

“I appreciate your candidness,” you deadpan.

He shakes his head at your sarcasm. “Don’t act obtuse. Your complexion’s off, your eyes are bloodshot… everything was fine when I left. Must have something to do with your earlier delay, I take it?”

You underestimated his acumen. This would explain why he’s been sizing you up since you opened the door. His sword proficiency isn’t the only threat you should be wary of. You know to be mindful of your presentation when Kafka’s skulking about, you didn’t think he’d need to be treated with a similar caution.

“It’s nothing serious, just your typical mental overexertion. There’s a lot on my plate, you said so yourself.”

“Hm.”

Whether he believes you or not, the conversation is left at that.

Transportation on Eris functions differently than what’s commonly found in other worlds.

Traditional gas-based motors aren’t favored due to the frigid climate. Instead, a gemstone mined in the Nectary by vetted groups is the preferred resource. It contains special thermodynamic properties that can emit immense power under the correct conditions. The gemstones have been altered and assembled in such a way that they function as a railroad for insulated cabins to travel from one station to another. These paths were nicknamed 'nectar guides’ or ’guides’ by the first engineers to embed them in the ground. This is in reference to how the eight main paths lead to Perianth II’s center, built above the Nectary.

The design serves a dual purpose — it optimizes travel and the heat radiating from the ground produces light. The accommodations have outworlders in mind. Your species, the Nymphalians, have long undergone enough natural selection to survive the hostile conditions fine enough. Your species’ eyesight excels in the dark and your physiology resists the cold. Aside from that, your body functions identical to any other humanoid species. The lone visible difference is a thin white ring around most Nymphalians’ iris’. You and Lear display this quality, Nona does not.

The cabin you sit in has a quaint design. There are plush, brown loveseats lining the wall, glowing orange lights in the arched ceiling, and light refreshments atop wooden table stands. It’s split into a common area and a bedroom suite. More enchanting than any ornate embellishment are the expansive windows. You only get to see your quadrant in person during these trips to Perianth II’s center and back.

“You warm enough?” You call over to Blade, who is bundled in extra layers of clothes and wearing an especially dour expression.

He doesn’t dignify your quip with a verbal reply.

This brief jaunt has earned his ire. For someone who’d likely prefer to be anywhere else, he’s taking this guard assignment quite seriously. He explained that taking this straightforward travel route begs for people with nefarious intent to come slithering out. You could see his point, but the matter isn’t up for dispute. Recent cyberattacks have called electronic communication into question. What you’ll be discussing with the others — Chrysus of Ade and Caicias of Mele — is highly sensitive information. The IPC catching any sliver of it could prove disastrous.

“You shouldn’t be by the windows,” Blade eventually says.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a major buzzkill?”

Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t respond.

With some reluctance, you pry yourself away from the glass granting access to the outside world.

“... Just a bit longer?” You try plucking a sympathetic cord he distinctly lacks.

“If you like it so much, why not experience it in the safety of your room where your head is a less visible target?”

“It isn’t possible to perform a Synalink on yourself.”

“Have an underling do it.”

The presumptions air to this suggestion eliminates any grace you may have extended.

“The only other Arbiter capable of performing Synalinks on me was my mother,” you say. “Note the past tense.”

You experience a phantasmal ripple with him as the epicenter. It’s the weakest emotion you’ve inadvertently picked up from him, so you assume it’s nothing of consequence.

“Passing blurs aren’t worth risking your life over.”

You rise to your feet.

“How do you know that?” You challenge, heat rushing to your cheeks. “These homes, these buildings, these streets… they’re either data on my screen or conveyed to me through someone who acts like they’re listing parts in a machine. I have to see it. I have to commit each ‘passing blur’ to memory. Otherwise…”

What have I sacrificed my freedom for?

Blade’s eyebrows furrow.

“Otherwise…” you shake your head. “Forget it.”

During the ensuing silence, your phone buzzes.

You had set it on do not disturb for the upcoming meeting. A few contacts were granted an exception, meaning that this message must be urgent if it went through. You swallow the lump growing in your throat. An exhausted part of yourself reasons that it can wait until the meeting’s conclusion. It wouldn’t do you any good to get worked up beforehand, would it? The message will still be there when it’s finished. Then you’ll be able to commit all your bandwidth to its contents. This reasoning is a tempting mistress cooing at you to come join her in bed. The momentary relief will be as sweet as the aftertaste is bitter.

Responsibility triumphs in the end. After inputting the necessary passcodes, a message four words long scrawls across your screen.

The product is ready.

A simple code had been devised between you and the alchemist entrusted with testing Kafka’s synthetic tonic. The product isn’t ready yet would mean the sly woman bluffed, or at the very least, exaggerated her 70% comparison claim. You’d gladly take either. She’s sewn deceit before, she’d have no trouble doing it again. In case the alternative was true, you prepared another code; the code you just received.

You reread it once. Twice, then thrice. You check if the message came from the right number. It did. You check again.

This frantic fixation consumes you to such a degree, you don’t register the cabin jerking aside. The delay from your reflexes throws your equilibrium off. Squeezing your eyes shut, you brace yourself for an unceremonious rendezvous with the floor. Your right side does come into contact with a hard surface, except it’s sooner than you anticipated. Warmer, too.

This heat is different from what’s produced inside the Nectary’s gemstones. It’s personal, containing the distinct thrum of life. There’s also an aroma. Slightly floral, mostly spices you don’t recognize. Then there’s this steady sound — consistent enough to put a metronome to shame. A slow thump, thump, thump.

“How have you survived this long, clumsy as you are?”

Blade isn’t speaking any louder than he normally would, but you can hear him better.

“Hey, I’m… not… clumsy…?”

It’s only when you open your eyes that you’re able to piece together your current predicament.

Blade’s steadying you by your shoulders and your cheek is pressing against his chest. You always knew he was tall, but having him tower over you this close gives you a new perspective. As does the fact he doesn’t immediately shove you off after breaking your fall. Your body goes stiff enough to rival rigor mortis.

“Accident prone, then.”

This swipe has you desperate to reaffirm your authority. “You should’ve just… let me fall then! Maybe I wanted to, what do you know!”

(It sounded better in your head).

“Are you positive you’re over a century old?”

An equally snarky rebuttal blooms on your tongue, only to immediately wither, turning to ash that coats the ground.

There’s the sound of a dying star, a dirge announcing the end.

What one hears before their name is reduced to an epitaph or an alphabetized list neatly organizing the recently deceased. It’s loud, then it isn’t. Hideous, then hypnotizing. Yellows and oranges and reds swirling in a serpentine motion that mocks you for thinking you ever conquered it. Civilizations can temporarily subdue it, bend it to their will, but it’s not ever truly theirs. The sovereignty of flame is a dynasty everlasting. It may rise, it may fall, but it can’t ever be truly extinguished.

You’re sent flying back with enough power that the air is forced from your lungs. It’s as if an Aeon’s hand had pushed your body aside, dragging you to the edge of the universe. You’re released from the scorching maw and into an icy nothingness.

The planet itself is frozen for a time.

There’s no strength in your body. Your system has been injected with pure, raw adrenaline, causing your limbs to shake and ignore your commands. Your ears are ringing and your eyesight is blurry. Tears cleanse the pollutants from your eyes. A dark swath covers your body, its weight hindering your feeble attempts to move. Determination alone wills you to emerge from this shadowy cocoon.

The ringing fades and all is quiet, save for the crackling of fire.

Then the screaming begins.

You try identifying the source. You think you may have found it, then it starts elsewhere, a different pitch, a different soul lot in lament. Bloodcurdling shrieks rise alongside the thick smoke. You’re being a stretch of buildings that loom imposingly, obsidian spires reaching up to the night sky. The masonry required to maintain their reign basks in the flames. The unusual surplus of light unveils its secrets, from the cracks in the stone to the faded graffiti bored kids left behind.

The ground is uneven, unlike the glossy pavement found in the entertainment district. This dull, grayish-blue soil with the consistency of fine powder exhibits the true nature of Eris’ untreated exterior. It’s cool to the touch and takes pleasure at the chance to stain your fine clothes.

Your wandering mind is brought back upon hearing a sputter nearby. You’re not sure where you are, what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it; but you remember you weren’t alone.

“Blade…” The name comes out as a croak. “Where…?”

You can’t call out to him, it’s like cotton has been stuffed down your esophagus.

There’s movement in the corner of your eye.

You make the mistake of trying to stand. Your arms might’ve begun to heed your commands, but your legs do not. The worst insurrectionists are your ankles. The instant you try putting any weight on them, they collapse as if you were a newborn doe. Recognizing this strategy’s incompetence, you drag yourself over to where you saw movement instead. The coarse ground rubs at and scratches your skin.

Upon closer inspection, your heart stops.

The dark swath — that’s Blade.

He’s in a far worse state than you. His entire backside has been scorched, displaying angry red blisters and split skin just barely hanging on. His right arm is bent in an awkward position, most certainly broken. Then there’s his left arm, or lack of it. Clumps of limp sinew hang where his arm should be joined to his shoulder joint. The force of the impact must’ve blown it off or eviscerated it entirely.

He’s lying on his side, facing away from you. A pool of blood forms beneath him, mixing with the soil. The coupling results in a sickly mauve that creeps and seeps inch by inch.

The fire… it’s coming from the guides, you realize. The cabin has been torn to pieces!

This begs the question: how are you alive?

You should be covered in burns at the very least. Some of your clothes got charred, you think a rib or two might be broken, but you’re living and breathing. There’s a gap in your memory where the previous events should be. You try recalling whatever you can, no matter how seemingly insignificant. You were moved aside as the roaring got louder, and then there was the sound of glass shattering, heat to cold…

Blade must have intervened. Did he use the few seconds before the fire caught up to break the window and toss you out? That can’t be right; you’d have glass entrenched in your skin and burns on whichever side faced the explosion. Surely, with his inhuman reflexes, he could’ve come out relatively unscathed.

Unless he chose to shield you.

You don’t think, you just act. First, by tearing the hem of your long skirt, then second, pressing it against the gaping wound where his shoulder abruptly ends. Gushes of crimson spill through your first makeshift bandage. You throw it aside, rip at your garments again, repeating the process in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. A Stellaron Hunter must have a robust constitution, right? He was able to act faster than you could think. He can survive this — you just need to stop the bleeding until you can get help. Kafka has to have connections with advanced medical factions.

Tears stream down your face and you sniffle relentlessly. Your hands are caked in soot and blood, the scent of burnt skin and metal clings to your nostrils. Is he going to die? Is he already dead? You can’t bring yourself to check his pulse. How could he be willing to die for you in the short period of time you’ve known one another? He could’ve concocted any excuse for why he failed Kafka’s assignment, you’re certain he’s more indispensable to their cause than you are.

Blade stirs.

You think that it’s your imagination playing tricks on you. A cruel joke to remind you that you make your living off shaping reality for others, temporarily giving them what they want at the price of never truly having it.

Or so is your conviction until he moves again.

You’ve heard of muscles twitching after death to give the false impression of life. However, you’ve never witnessed the phenomenon yourself. Is this how it works? It isn’t sporadic, his right arm is sweeping over the ground, fingers flexing. Much to your astonishment, he pushes himself up with the arm that was contorted into a horrible shape a minute ago. The pain he’s experiencing must be excruciating and yet he merely grunts as he shifts into a sitting position.

“Stop moving,” you rasp out. With your most recent bandage in hand, you go to apply pressure to the left arm socket.

He responds to your fervent desperation in a low, gravelly voice.

“Don’t bother.”

Don’t bother? Is he in a coherent state of mind? If you don’t attend to his gushing wound, he’s at risk of bleeding out. You prepare to ignore his utterance when a strange sight freezes you in place.

A white structure emerges from his raw, mangled arm socket, descending like water pouring from a pitcher. It solidifies and takes the shape of a humerus. Once finished, it goes on to create the radius and ulna. Next are the carpals, metacarpals, then phalanges. Tendons join them together, fibrous muscles envelop the bones. Finally, in the blink of an eye, fresh layers of skin build atop one another in sheets. He clenches and unclenches his newly formed hand.

If defying death is a sin, he is laden in iniquity.

“What hurts?” Blade asks.

You’re too aghast to respond. His body just stitched itself back together without any medical treatment or esoteric healing techniques. Is it possible you’re hallucinating? Can a visual hallucination be this vivid?

He reaches out. Seconds prior to his hand coming into contact with your bare skin, you furiously shake your head, flailing backward and narrowingly avoiding him. His eyes bore down on you like molten magma. He retracts his hand after a drawn-out pause.

“If you can’t speak, point instead.”

Dazedly, you follow his instructions, focusing primarily on your ankles. They’ve swollen since you last checked. The flesh is tender and puffy.

“I’ll carry you,” he says. “Stay still.”

“Wait,” you manage to wheeze out. “This area… residential… have to help…!”

A coughing spell cuts your hoarse plea short.

“That explosion was meant for you. Whoever set it off will want to ensure their job’s success.”

Blade reaches out for you again. You duck to avoid his grasp, despite the pain throbbing in your chest cavity from the hasty movement. The adrenaline must be fading if your brain is doing inventory on the damage you’ve sustained, rather than focusing on survival. Hot waves test your resolution. You grit your teeth. If you make a show of your pain, he’s not going to change his decision.

He speaks your name in a low, warning tone.

Adamant in your refusal, you point to where the cries for help are the loudest.

“It’s not my priority,” he says.

He easily grabs you on his third try and you yelp. The sluggishness of his previous attempts must've been out of consideration for you. His right arm interlocks behind your knees while the left supports your back. You thrash to no avail, his grip remains ironclad. Your struggles amount to nothing but perspiration clinging to your skin and more aches.

The nearest medical unit to this street is at least thirty minutes away, now that the guides are out of order, you think. That isn’t fast enough…! Every second counts!

In your panic, a sacred vow made decades ago is desecrated.

You cup Blade’s face in your shaky hands and stare him straight in the eye.

The previously formed shards come into focus.

It’s monumental, this psyche you’ve barged into without permission. A violation of another’s autonomy. You know this, you condemn yourself for it, yet you press on nevertheless. The previously unknowable architecture that hulks over you is of Xianzhou design. It’s pieced together by bricks as infinite as the stars in the universe, though there is no magnificent shine, only matte stonework.

This structure… is it a garrison? You wonder. Was Blade a member of the… what’s the name of their military again… Cloud Knights?

You’ve had Cloud Knight clients before. Their psyches take the likeness of their favorite, scenic expanse on the Hexafleet, the area that they cared for enough to risk their life. The skies would be blue, clouds fluffy and prolific. A sense of duty and patriotism felt palpable. Occasionally, you’d be made privy to grief’s scent carried on a breeze, perhaps from a loved one’s passing or comrade’s untimely death in battle.

This is a riddle you need to solve swiftly. With a little tampering, you can form a link. It’s immoral, a blight to your personal code, but you’ll leverage enough influence for Blade to stay and help any survivors until help arrives. Whatever consequences arise can be dealt with later.

Even with the heightened mental sensitivity from making direct physical contact, this is proving a challenge. You can see his psyche but you can’t interact with it. It’s like running your hands through vapor. For you to successfully exert enough influence to change a decision he’s dead set on, you’ll need to go deeper. Inside this fortress sits the recesses of his mind, the bottom of an ocean you’re merely skimming the surface of. The intrusion’s necessity twists your gut as if your intenses were being kneaded.

Your incorporeal form flutters to the gates, standing solitary against a leaden backdrop.

The closer you get, you become increasingly aware of a malicious entity permeating behind the doors which strain to contain it. This is the same harrowing presence you felt when he protected you from Alister. Now that you’ve spent more time with Blade, you can discern its essence is different from his, although they’re forcibly intertwined like a rope. Blade emanates this unremittingly morose energy. It’s bleak, unconcentrated.

This substance oozes a need to satiate bottomless bloodlust. It wants to sink its teeth into flesh, lacerate muscles, and slice through bone. Mayhem and viscera are its highest raison d'être. There’s no sensibility, no reasoning with it, it acts in one way then shifts on a whim; chaos inside a splintering bottle.

How is Blade capable of functioning with this slumbering beast ready to wreak havoc at any second?

Steeling your resolve, you prepare to enter.

A seal halts your progress.

Impatience urges you to dispel it. Blade’s psyche is rejecting you, any further delays will give it ample opportunity to flush you out.

The kaleidoscopic seal thrums and wards off your efforts.

Someone put this here, you discern. It’s deliberate.

What perplexes you is that the seal prohibits entry yet does nothing to contain the miasma writhing behind it. Wouldn’t whoever created it intend to keep that salivating beast at bay? It’s well-crafted too, denying your every attempt to eliminate it. Kafka dabbles in mind-altering. Could she have left this here? You know what her aura feels like — calm, confident, cunning — this seal radiates none of her trademarks.

An invisible force hauls you back.

You took too long — Blade’s psyche is expelling the foreign invader.

You blink and you’re back in reality.

Blade is grimacing, the lines on his face highlighted by flickering flame. There’s a pallor to his complexion brought on by the aggressive expulsion his mind pulled off. An act such as that leeches off of one’s vitality. He takes a moment to recompose himself, as do you. Any subsequent attempts to form a link are going to be wrung from a desiccated source. You don’t know how many attempts you have left in you,

“A first offense, I could pardon,” Blade pants out, blood-red hues shining, “A recidivist like yourself, though… can’t go undisciplined.”

Your eyes widen. How did he know your intentions so quickly? You hadn’t so much as moved yet!

There’s a dull discomfort blooming from your nape.

Your eyelids feel heavy and your breathing slows. Black spots float around in your vision. They start small, appearing as if they were polka dots, then grow to be the size of black holes. Your muscles won’t move. The unconscious realm beckons. Its gravitational pull is irresistible, a tide you can’t swim against.

What is this? Your neck… did he strike a nerve…?

“You’ll be fine,” a distant, sonorous voice promises. “Just sleep.”

The sentence has been delivered.

You’re made prisoner to a dreamless slumber.

#blade x reader #yandere blade x reader #honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #yandere hsr x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #nexus #my stuff

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precious-little-scoundrel · 1 month

Text

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

Requested: yes…Virgin!Gale + Maureen/Gale bonding

Universe: Friends in the Crucible (pacific au)

Summary: “Get laid, Buck.” Doc Egan prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve your jitters better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

Warnings: all the sex! 18+.|| both tender and feral || Doc Egan being a unorthodox but loving menace, a theme of ptsd and body tremors/insomnia -poor Gale is going through it after a whole war, drug mentions, erectile disfunction, Maureen is aggressive but everything’s consensual, usage of the word “Jap”. Graphic descriptions of Gale’s virginity loss, male overstimulation and an amusing amount of thought given to Bucky’s existence during the act … im sure that won’t lead to anything when Maureen returns to base and reports to Egan about it, right? Hahaha of course not, that would be craaazy

Word count: 10k

“Buck, come on now, it’s not a prison sentence, it’s just a little time off.”

“I don’t need time off.” Gale reiterated, a panicked sort of fierceness creeping into his tone as his appeal now stretched into something longer than the usual flippant favors Egan was customarily so eager to dole out.

“Those hands suggest ya do.” John gave a not unkind glance of sympathy at the twitching fingers rattling on the armrests of Cleven’s chair.

12 rescue missions in 15 days. Flying upwards of ten hours each. He’d done worse before, but then again, that had been when he was fresh, younger, less banged up from the head hitting the cockpit wall.

“Sending me to go watch flamingos and contemplate sand or some shit isn’t gonna make me steadier.” Gale very much feared his gripes were beginning to sound like begs, “Don’t send me off like this. Don’t.”

“Petrified of flamingos?” John hummed, glancing down at his chart as if contemplating making a note of this new malady, “Maybe if your dad had taken you to a zoo once or twice as a kid you’d not be scared stiff of the prospect.”

Cleven stared back at him with the most hurt eyes John had ever seen. He balled his own fist up to remember the rightness of his point, even if he’d delivered it about as clumsily as a marriage proposal at a funeral. “The hell would you say something like that?” Buck whispered, not even angry, just utterly lost.

“Buck, I’m just sayin’ -inability to slow or be alone, it’s classic symptoms of battle fatigue.”

“I don’t wanna sit on a beach when I could be helping, I’m perfectly capable of still helping! You know it!”

“But you can’t sleep.” John circled back to where this all began, with Gale asking if there was anything to knock a fella out when 82 hours of insomnia wasn’t sufficiently exhausting.

“Give me something, you’re a doctor! Goddamnit, John!” Gale finally broke, voice raising and fists clenched.

“Surgeon, technically.” John gave him a wane smile, “And I can’t dope up an active pilot.”

“Just an active surgeon.” Gale sneered, tit for tat on the insults.

John nodded grimly but murmured, “The day Gale Cleven becomes John Egan is a day this whole operation can pack up and go home.”

“So you're being the better man,” Gale scoffed, “-sending me to watch flamingos.”

“I’m not givin’ you shit.“ he confirmed, “Unless it’s an assignment.”

“Will it keep me outta the flak asylum?”

“If you comply to all the regulations, maybe.” Egan shrugged.

“Go on?”

“Get laid, Buck.” his friend prescribed with his peculiar brand of deathly serious compassion, “Hell, I’ll write you a prescription for it, if it soothes your conscience, but I’m serious. Serve you better than any syrette or Amphetamine.”

“That’s your ultimatum?”

“No, no, my ultimatum is that you go on a little sabbatical with one of my nurses, she’ll keep an eye on you and you can make yourself useful, helping her unload heavy shit at the aid station they’re setting up at Peleliu. My recommendation is that when she comes into your room at the end of the day and drops her knickers, you lay back and think of Wyoming.”

Major Cleven had thought of a million and one ways to bribe or ally the prospective nurse to his side of the deal once he knew which unfortunate female Egan was going to pick for this deplorable detail. Calling his friend a pimp and a bastard had done little good, threatening malpractice and a hardness of heart towards Gale’s own principles -even less. So Gale figured when the time came he’d just gently turn the well meaning comfort gal away and maybe pay her off to lie that they’d done it: for his hand’s sake.

After all, if she was willing to do this, was she even a nurse or was she someone Bucky dressed up in Red Cross arm bands like some sleazy fantasy? Gale didn’t think any of the nurses he’d encountered would be willing to go along with such a sordid “assignment.” Sure, some of them were -carefree. Indulgent. Easy, as the men sometimes called them before getting a stinging cheek that proved them wrong. But they were a proud bunch and they had earned it.

Rolling a toothpick in his cheek, Buck pondered these things while sat on the bench of a Goony Bird waiting for his nurse to hop into the cargo hold with him and off they’d go to Pelilu. The situation was made worse by the suspense of who it might be and the insulting foreignness of being on a plane but not piloting. It made Gale feel an odd sort of feeling close to self pity that he hadn’t felt in ages, not since he was a kid and the nostalgia of it wrung him out of all energy. He made himself sit on that metal bench motionless as the heat index rose on the tarmac and made up a fun little game involving trying to see if he could get his hands to stop tremoring for five seconds straight.

So far he’d lost his own wager each time. He told himself if he could make it to five seconds then the nurse Bucky had sent would be a gray haired matron and this really was just a sabbatical to lift boxes and breathe ocean air and get Gale to laugh at himself.

Then Maureen Kendeigh climbed into the hold and squeezed past their cargo of medicine crates and plopped down right next to him, leg bumping his and breathing like a race horse. “I have jogged here the entire way from administration.” she wheezed, tugging at the collar of her shirt where her glistening throat was bobbing in thirst. “Sorry I’m so late, Major. Am I late?”

It could have been Bucky sat next to him: the choice of phrasing was so familiar, the damnable ability to force forgiveness for tardiness with a single smile so predictable. Gale found dread knotting his stomach at the realization it would be her, even as a warmth spread all over him at her sweet presence that had the odd effect of steadying his hands despite the panicked fuzz of his brain at her proximity.

Oh he didn’t want this. No, no, no. He’d like to think of Maureen very much apart, apart from anything but her heroism, not her wide spread stance on the bench beside him or the idea of her dropping her knickers and making him think of Wyoming. He preferred her very much not attainable in the deeper ways and very much not what he saw himself with when all this was over. Whatever she and Doc Egan had was between them and he’d held it up like a shield to keep himself in check, a boy's code of honor about not encroaching on his friend’s girl. Even if said friend didn’t have the decency to make said girl “his” girl.

But to have Maureen dished up to him on a platter by John when John must have suspected some of Gale’s appreciation for her professional merits -it was somehow worse than any dressed up floozy or the easy new intern. He’d not be able to pay Maureen off without insulting her. Or outing Egan’s intent. Maybe she didn’t know. What if Gale spilled the beans and she was as harmless as himself? What if—

“God, Major, did you sleep at all?” Maureen’s steady fingers were gripping his expressionless face and suddenly turned him towards her, one thumb swiping a tender crescent in his under eyes.

Gale’s eyes seemed to forget blinking was a thing, they grew wide and stayed wide at her inspection and the sandy wind blowing in from the tarmac stung at them as they dried out. “No,” he found his voice and it came out more winded than hers, “you’re not late.” he lied.

Once they get to the island, touchdown and unload, there’s then three hours of driving around the pitted old warzone to the aid station. There’s more foliage the more they go, less mortar pitted earth, but the increasing tropical paradise surroundings put Gale on edge. Maureen drives them to their unexplored destination as confident and recklessly as Bucky would, little surprise there. Gale can’t help glancing at her with unabashed amusement for the way she keeps her pistol propped on top of the steering wheel with one grip, facing out like a top turret for their hood, while keeping the map balanced on her thigh.

He cradles his own BAR with loose arms, ready to use it. Sure they secured the island months ago, but still, not infrequently some Jap comes out of his hiding hole, a cave, or whatever fucking tree he resides in and surrenders. Or, conversely, some of them have charged with guns blazing or sword drawn, deciding to go out and a bang of glory and take with them whichever hapless American happens to be nearby. That Emperor worship shit ain’t happening on on Gale’s watch, and so Maureen gets to drive -she didn’t have to beg like that, he was going to let her- and he shoulders the duty of keeping his eyes peeled for the next bush becoming animate and running at them, pulled pin grenade in hand.

“Some relaxation.” he jokes as their jeep lurches into another crater. If it’s not the bomb pits it’s the massive roots crawling over the smashed earth the Marine Corps call a road.

“It’s a reverse strategy!” she informs, grin wide as a shark’s and Gale could almost draw a little pencil mustache above that top lip and pretend it’s Bucky torturing him thus -hey, that might be a good mode of thought to keep everything strictly professional- “Like when nothing else works, you kick the broken thing.” Gale politely ignores the urge to argue about being broken, that’s not her point… he hopes, “You’re all shook up,” she goes on, voice raised to be heard over the rev of her driving, “and calm hasn’t worked, so why not shake you up worse?!”

He squints at her, fully aware he isn’t being chummy like she is trying to be, knowing he’s being a stick in the mud but he’s dying under the uncertainty, chafing under the pretense. Does she know? Or does she not? Five times today he’s resisted the urge to slap her chest like he would Demarco’s and ask her levelly, man to man, if she knows. “If this doesn’t work then what?” he asks anyway, sober as hell despite the comedic jostling and even Maureen’s joviality dims in the face of his dour mood.

“Then we’ll have to get real unorthodox.” she replies, allowing something close to annoyance at his attitude to seep into her own expression and Gale refuses to pull his eyes off her.

Do you know? He wants to ask.

“Stop scowling at me and watch for Japs.” she snaps at him so suddenly and so heated he genuinely spooks and turns his body back towards their horizon.

It’s worse than he thought. Worse than he imagined on the times he lost the bet with his hands and let his mind go somewhere besides a practical joke from Bucky and a gray haired spinster nurse as his companion. The aid station is on the edge of the new camp, far off enough to be genuinely secluded from both sights and smells of the navy station. It’s a tiki hut, thatched roof and swinging mesh door and lovely little veranda and palm trees and waves lapping up the back steps.

It looks like the sorta place people advertise for honeymoons and Gale stares at it with a 100 yard stare once Maureen grinds the gears to park.

“Jesus.” he knows his mouth is curling in disgust and beside him Maureen huffs in disgust with him.

She jumps out of her side of the jeep, not a shred of amusement left on her face. Gale sits and stares and listens to the roar of surf and the clinking of the cooling engine.

“Not bad.” she grunts under the burden of a crate which Gale should be lifting if he could just make his legs work and his mind obey. “But I bet it’s gonna be a bitch to keep the gnats out though, so much foliage around.”

Her hips sway like a tantalizing pendulum when she jogs up the bungalow stairs, her waist somehow accentuated by the way her arms are lifted to keep the crate hoisted on her strong shoulder and Gale has the perfect seat to watch it. How did he never notice the lines on her before she was doing hard labor? Then he recalls, she’s mostly been in flight suits around him, he’s never seen her paired down to collared shirts and belted pants. How’d he never notice the lines on that gi-

“Don’t make me drive this thing in the surf to wake you up.” her slap on his listless forearm rouses him to realize she’s back out at the jeep, standing beside him looking at him as he sits here catatonic like the mental case he’s showing symptoms of being. “And take your jacket off, you’re gonna get overheated being so formal.”

“Are you in on it?” he snaps suddenly as she grins at him over his first crate. He can’t tell if she’s mocking him or not but he’s damn tired of it.

“In on what?” Her face falls.

He can’t do it. He just can’t do it and he hates himself for being such a coward. “This.” he chooses vagueness and it tastes foreign and awful on his tongue.

“It’s a week out of the cockpit in paradise, Cleven,” Maureen’s own expression holds back no disdain for his pissy attitude, “man the hell up.”

What Maureen, Gale and five other technicians had loaded into the jeep and it’s buggy in the course of two hours, takes the mere two of them close to four to unload. And that’s even with Gale keeping a rapid pace to his work like a sweating maniac, feverishly wanting to stop thinking for once. His jacket and shirt are thrown over the chairs that are actually provided as furniture in the place and Maureen’s tie lays discarded on the accompanying desk. The rooms are bare but there’s two beds in the bedroom with crisp sheets that have only a bit of pollen dusting them and there’s a desk, as mentioned, three chairs in the main room and Maureen insists they can use crates for a table.

The back room is for the actual medical aid, and Maureen insists nothing gets moved into it until she can sanitize the whole place. So they stack the boxes in the main room and in the bedroom and when the sun gets lower they’re relieved to find there’s some dubious provisions for electricity in the place.

“I can get it to work.” Gale decides as Maureen tries flicking the light switch ten times as if to see if the bare bulb will grow a will of its own and turn on for her. It reminds him so much of Bucky’s brand of idiocy that Gale almost forgets himself and reaches out to swat her hand away from the futile flicking.

“Ok, then you do that while I keep unloading.” she insists, “Won’t be able to do anything if it’s pitch dark in here.”

So Gale drags a chair over and begins to fiddle with the wires tacked to the ceiling, risking electrocution so Maureen Kendeigh can see her way around as she tromps past him again and again in the same path with yet another crate.

He’s good with his hands. Excellent, in fact, judging by how one bulb flickers then stays steady, then another and another until the inside of the bungalow is aglow with cozy light: enough light for Maureen to appreciate his sweat soaked singlet and the way it rides up his belly when his arms are up and how it’s bright enough for her to scrub the exam room effectively when laying in a room with an insomniatic Gale Cleven gets to her at 3:00 am.

As it surely will. God! -the man is as impossible as he is beautiful, and while she doubted she’d manage it with him before, the sheer amount of fury she feels towards him right now leaves no doubt. She’ll shake him up. Like a Fuckin’ Martini. And he doesn’t have to like it, probably won’t, but they’ll both feel better after. “In on it” -he’s got the gall to ask but not the balls to spell it out, she can’t abide a quasi gentleman and so far Gale Cleven’s been nothing but the genuine article. Until now, now when he can’t accept certain human things about himself like fatigue or attraction, and he takes it out on her with a sullenness belonging to a much older man.

Maureen’s fine with that, she thinks as ogles the glowing golden skin of his sheened shoulders on one of her passes with a crate, she can take her mad out on him, too. And she’s got a lot of it. More than John Egan was ever able to lick away.

By 15:00, and some change to the second hand, Gale Cleven was still awake. Little surprise there, not to him, but even though it didn’t matter he found himself thoroughly annoyed and taking it out with a lethal glare at the vague gray ceiling, lit by a massive moon over the ocean. Wire and chairs but no curtains -an oversight about the furnishings. It wouldn’t have mattered, he knew that, and still the racket Maureen was making put his teeth on edge. It wasn’t Benny’s snoring or John’s drunken mumbling but it was a consistent *swoosh, swish* of industry that had Gale feeling a mixture of guilt and determination to keep lying here while she scrubbed.

It had not occurred to him she might’ve needed this break, too. Such as it was, effective as it was not proving. He knew she’d seen some combat in the beginning at Manila, maybe even worse than Iwo but long hours doing what she was doing now, where she was doing it, was no joke.

The urge to get up and help her was strong but then, so was the crippling fear of being around her in the dead of night and inviting any more of the bossy familiarity she’d tucked him into bed with. A magnesium capsule! She’d made him take three of the maternity horse pills and told him to calm the hell down as if he didn't have ample reason to be on edge with her laying a foot away on another bed, stripped down to her cotton slip. Of course Gale would cite war horrors if anyone asked why he couldn’t sleep but to be frank, he wasn’t sure why he wasn’t managing it these days and it had started awhile ago. Before Maureen Kendeigh glowed sweaty and luminous in the moonlight while gripping his cheeks and puckering his protesting mouth and plopping pills on his lolling tongue.

Thinking of it made his face flame with embarrassment for such a childish resistance. But god, her nursley familiarity sent a cross signal to his brain each time she helped herself to his flesh and no amount of berating himself while sweating in these rough sheets could dislodge the reaction. Closer to fifteen hundred than was remotely chivalrous, Gale threw off his sweat soaked bedding and tromped into the glow of light outside their bedroom, shuffling blearily into the little exam room. He faltered for a brief ten seconds at the doorway watching her undulating movements with sponge in hand and knees on the floor, white slip clinging like a second skin from the sweat.

He felt the sudden medical urge to lick her like the cattle back home lick at the salt block, a strange way of quenching thirst. Was ninety two hours without sleep considered genuine grounds for insanity? He felt like maybe he should be keeping a diary of these fevered thoughts to report back to John and see if he needed to get turned in. This wasn’t horniness, this was salt cravings. Yeah, yeah that’s what it was.

“You hypocrite.” he felt emboldened to tease and his voice came out rough and lower than even he expected, the disuse of laying there for ages taking a toll.

Maureen looked up like she’d been spooked herself, a slip and stall of her scrubbing, hair hanging about her face so unprofessionally he realized he’d never seen it in such…disarray. “Oh, the baby’s awake.” she grinned back and he felt an indulgence settle in his gut for her he didn’t know existed, “I see my magnesium capsules were a cure all.”

“Oh yeah, knock a horse out.” he agreed derisively.

“Your eyes are droopier.” she found a silver lining and as if reminded of the grit in them, his large fists came up and rubbed them meanly.

Like a little boy, she thought, watching him in the harsh light of the bare bulb, warm wood all around him the same color as all that sweaty skin and those skivvies hanging onto the lithest set of hips she may have ever seen. Looked as if one deep breath of that lean belly and the fabric would be goners, slipping down to the floor dramatically like a woman’s pantyhose in those unfortunate comics where that’s always occurring just when she wants to cross a busy street. Maybe if she could make him belly laugh-

She wished she knew how. She wondered if he knew how.

“Got another Sponge?” he asked and she was reminded why she liked him so much.

“Top crate, there, left, there that one.” She directed him with jerks of her chin until he was at the right one, “I’m using antiseptic.” she warned.

“I know,” he answered, dropping to his knees beside her and making use of her bucket to dunk his sponge, “smell’s been givin’ me a headache.”

Maureen’s mouth twitched at his tired grumpiness, more endearing now he was still putting effort into being near the caustic shit and the way his golden hair flopped on his forehead with his scrubbing movements. If his hips were that fluid, that rhythmic in cleaning a floor, how much more could she teach him to be—“Yeah, I’m sure it’s the anti-septic giving you a headache.” she snarked.

They ate sandwiches he’d gotten from the navy camp’s mess on the back porch, letting the sea water lap at their feet. A little stale but it was a much needed breakfast and Gale brought fresh water back, too, and a report that they were nice fellas and entirely too undressed for her to ever go see. That suited her fine, they’d be a pest if they knew a woman was up here and personally speaking she only needed one man for company, crate lifting, and doing the job well. And she rather had her heart set on it being Gale Cleven. Especially now she got to stare at him under the bright morning sun with a tropical breeze and more skin on display than at a swimsuit contest. He’d put on a singlet, as if to mark that a day had begun even if they hadn’t slept the night, but that was promptly sweat soaked and tiny nipples were pebbling under it from the breeze.

“Did they ask if a nurse came with you?” she pressed him between bites.

“Yeah.” he swallowed his bite thickly and licked at the mayo collecting at the corner of his mouth with typical precision, “And I lied.”

“Well, well,” she cooed, making him roll his eyes, “how’d that feel?”

“I have lied before.” he balked.

The look he gave her was both thunderous and remincent and she repented that line of questioning, used to distinguishing in her patients whether a wound was from wartime or stemmed from childhood. “Well who’d you say came with?” she asked.

“A technician.” he mumbled, blushing for some reason.

“Mm, someone nice and hairy and stinky-“

“Stop.” he begged.

“-not anyone they’d wanna meet.”

“I did it for you!”

“-if that makes you sleep at night, Cleven.” she humored him and like lightning, the back of his hand had flicked out and thumped her on the sternum, hard.

“Shit!” Maureen clutched the place, more in surprise than pain although he’d walloped her good and well.

“Shit!” He parroted in mortification, holding his hand like it was an offensive weapon.

“What was that for?” she laughed, “Do I remind you that much of Benny? Are you missing him that bad? Is that who you pretended was with you up here? Huh? Huh? Benny Demarco, now that’s a beauty to hide under a bushel-“

She was crowding him in on the steps and he was teetering towards falling off, too alarmed at his own outburst to trust his instincts now to shove her off without causing harm -and she knew it. She pressed her advantage and crawled over him with her teasing comments about Demarco until his long body had bowed so far away from her’s it was levitating and then toppled predictably into the surf.

“Fuck it’s cold!” he wheezed out as the embrace of the old pacific drenched him and rolled him about at her feet for a few delightful moments before he got his footing and rose, shaking his hair out of his eyes and grabbing for the steps.

“Sea bathing was in doctor Egan’s regimen.” she informed remorselessly before extending a merciful hand to help him up. He was slippery and shiny as an eel coming up and the grip of his hand was as strong as she expected. And still she found it intoxicating, the duality of him as he stood there pouting and bitchy over being cooled off. “Stay right there baby, I’ll get you a towel.” she patted his chest, right where he’d smacked hers, and went inside.

“I’m not your baby.” She heard him holler to her through the door-less porch. “I’m not your baby.” he reiterated vehemently but lower again when she came out with the towel.

“Yes you are.” she argued, “For this week you’re my baby, whether that’s a literal infant or not is your choice -and don’t start arguing, you’ve got to stop it, no one’s making you do a damn thing.” she insisted, hand raised and his mouth closed satisfyingly as a result, “You’ll be my baby. I know you already had a baby, no? Our baby? Shared her with ten other men, that’s generous of you-“

“-Ensign!-“

“-so I’m not gonna be your baby. You’ll be mine and you can find me something to be for the week.” she watched closely as recognition of her logic began to dawn and settle on him, “I could be anyone. I could be Benny Demarco, for instance. If that’s who you wanna lay next to.”

Gale didn’t speak for a long while, eyes off to the side watching the surf lap at the steps and she was still standing there, holding his unused towel. “Who do you want me to be?” he asked finally and his grave perception just about winded her in its raw honesty.

“You.” she replied honestly, “Whichever version of you made it here with me.”

“An infant -a baby.” he scoffed and she was suspicious those eyes were watery. And too delayed for it to be from the salt.

“My baby.” she replied, “Never had one before.”

“With respect ma’am, that’s Bullshit.” he argued in a fierce hiss, “I know you have, with John and -and-“

“I’ve been somebody’s,” she clarified, “but I think I’ve grown out of that. You’ll be my baby, huh? It’s not marriage, Cleven, it’s a week in paradise and hopefully some shut eye, too. So do you want me to be Benny?”

Those watery eyes let one single tear go trickling down his pink cheek alongside the rivulets of ocean water dripping from his hair and Maureen had never felt a single thing heat her up quite like it. “No,” his chuckle was thick and he sniffed, “not Benny. Maybe uh, God, I dunno, I’ve never had anyone.”

“Then we can make it up entirely.” she was pleased by the idea of not being a stand-in, although god knows she and John could sympathize more about the need for that than anyone. “We’ll be castaways.” she suggested, sitting back down on the porch now the confrontation was dwindling and in full confirmation of her suspicions, he sat again beside her without fuss.

“Marooned.” he disagreed, chin resting on his hands and a boyish tug pulling up the corner of his lips. “Something insane you did landed us here.”

“Mm, took liberties with the captain's daughter, perhaps?” she teased, daring to run a finger along those golden shoulders and collect a few salt drops. He shuddered under her but stayed put.

“I’m not playing fair maiden for you.” he retorted but his eyes were fond.

“Mm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Maureen was still impossible and Gale felt his gut burn in a bizzare sort of drive to prove her wrong. He’d hardly ever felt this even with all the jokes from the boys, not even with all the temptations from the girls, it just hadn’t seemed something that needed proving. Every flea and salmon could do it, he never doubted when he got married he could manage it credibly enough.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” his voice sounded like he’d come to a decision and Maureen squinted at his profile until it clicked.

“I’ve never been married before.” she observed breezily.

“And I never planned on being married for just a week.” he replied.

“Isn’t there a film about this?” she asked, “Cary Grant gets stuck on an island and he marries his castaway but then they get rescued and there’s a first wife?”

“Yeah, I think so, actually.” he thumbed at his bottom lip in contemplation and Maureen found it endlessly distracting, along with the bird song and the ocean crash and the sunshine.

“Mr. and Mrs. Jones.” she agreed then, settling back on her elbows to stare up at the sun and let it add a few freckles, “And when it’s over and you’re rescued, I’ll be the better woman and let Our Baby have you.”

“You’ll always be the best of women, Maureen.” he sounded like the admittance took every fiber of his resolve to say, but she’d heard it before in his voice weeks ago when she was patching him up.

If a tear slipped out the corner of her shut eyes and down a sun warmed cheek, she wasn’t going to make a deal of it, not until she felt his finger catch it tenderly before it dropped from her jaw and rolled it back up.

She felt her lip wobble traitorously and perhaps there were more tears planning to follow and betray her but the shivering shock of his full lips, pressed to her bare shoulder, stemmed the flood. Maureen held her breath and kept her eyelids sealed, an orange glow of sunshine behind them as all her senses attuned to the drag of his caresses up to the juncture of her shoulder, the press of his body next to her on the porch boards, the suspenseful absence of his hands. They were soft as marshmallows, those lips, and a stray tip of his tongue caught her clavicle as he worked his way up a path that almost seemed premeditated, as if he’d thought of doing this a million times but held back. Now he allowed himself and the assured intimacy of his mouth made her body heat soar almost beyond her endurance as he crept up her throat and onto her cheek.

A kitten lick to that tear track down her cheek and Maureen was whimpering from something else entirely, breaking ranks and turning her head to gaze at him, nearly stunned by how close he was, how alive, how beautiful, how blue. There were his hands now, one propped beneath her shoulder, the other cupping her cheek. Her lips were tingling with anticipation by the time he’d lowered his face far enough and brushed her mouth with his.

Maybe he’d done his fair share of kissing the girls back home goodbye, or maybe it was a talent given along with this impossible lips, or perhaps she’d wanted it so long that the final having of it sent Maureen spiraling with something oddly like obsession.

Kissing was enough for the longest time, the shore sounds and the squawking of ocean birds and the feel of Gale Cleven laying more and more atop her as his tongue met hers and danced. She scratched the back of that tanned neck like she dreamed of doing a dozen times, little scritches to his hairline that had him sagging against her kisses to the point of crushing.

She allowed herself the liberty of running her hands along his lean sides, taking in the graceful taper of his waist, the dip of his back, the sopping wet waistband of his briefs. She wondered if this is how men feel with a young girl, when there’s so much loveliness one wants to maul it and mark it and watch it respond. Anything to make him moan again into her mouth, wrenched and helpless and appreciative of her all at once, anything for him to hump his hips against her thigh in a manner so mindless he didn’t seem himself at all.

When he pulled away, dazed and winded from his own exertions, he seemed to have left behind all his inhibitions, stark need written on his face and only some doubt of what he was allowed yet remaining. “Are we gonna?-“ he trailed off, raspy voiced and trembling with suspense.

“Going to what?” she couldn’t abide it any longer, his demureness, “Say your mind, Cleven.”

“Do it.” he let out with a wince.

“Well I don’t know, Mr. Jones, you tell me. Are we gonna?”

Gale huffed and threw his head back, trying to regain some sense of mind, lip savagely pulled between his teeth. “Yeah. We are.” he decided.

“Then finish your sandwich.” she patted his waist and pushed him off.

“I can’t!” he begged with a groan from where he’d spilled out on the porch like a boneless dummy. “Not now.”

“You’re gonna need it, the water too, trust me on this.”

“Are we gonna -make love? Or go for a forced march?” he protested but lifted the canteen to his lips anyways when she gave him a look and proceeded to drink it dry.

“How would you know the difference?” she teased and he had the good humor to roll his eyes. If all went according to Egan’s plan, they oughta hibernate for twelve hours of sleep afterwards and she wanted him hydrated and ready for that. Maureen had a plan of her own, which certainly might lead to such a sleep, but it also involved not getting off that boy for love of God or money until he was as useless as a wet rag and the impertinent gnawing between her own legs was replaced by a good ache.

Cleven was staring at his sandwich remorsefully, “I can’t get this down, Maureen.” he declared with sudden finality and then, without preamble he threw it into the sea. “C’mon, Mrs Jones.” he held out his hand for her as he stood up, something close to an excited grin taking over his face.

He was so confident now, having come to a decision, and Maureen found herself naturally bending to his direction, placing her hand in his large palm and allowing him to haul her to her feet as gently as a dance partner. “We’ve got a bed.” she reminded blissfully into another kiss, anchored to his face by the persistent hands snarled lovingly into her salt tousled curls: this hair Maureen, this hair drove me mad.

“And we’re gonna use it.” he agreed, walking her backwards up the porch until he feet were skidding over the threshold, his tongue still sucking her own.

She stopped him there with a hand to the willowy plane of his belly, a regulated, principled woman to the last, and snapped the still soaked waistband of his drawers. “Off, you’ll make the sheets wet and sandy.”

Their sweat would accomplish dampening them enough in this muggy heat, they didn’t need sand and ocean water to boot. Maureen ducked beneath his arm and went back out to grab the discarded towel.

“I don’t want a trail of drips on our clean floor.”

Gale smiled softly at the usage of “our” -it felt right somehow, to share things with her. They’d been at it for some time, it came naturally like it had with Bucky and the few other boys who he knew would be something special and unlike anything else after this. It was a little bittersweet to know he was living the best days of his life, right here and now, enviable, irretrievable moments of raw connection slipping away with each drip, drip, drip onto the threshold. It was a heartache in the making and it was a spur for the moment. Back home they’d never understand, and any old observer would see nothing unique, but Gale could allow himself the rightness of sharing just one more thing. Why not cement it fully, irrevocably, as the closest brush he’d ever come to with another soul- he’d asked himself the same with Bucky, knew it was already an established fact.

Maureen’s lips were warm where they pressed to his back, the space between his shoulders, towel held to his waist. “You’re not shy of me, are ya, baby?” she whispered in his ear, thumbing at the still worn briefs.

He could feel himself this past hour hardening and softening, so many times in the space of so many minutes he was dizzy with it, the way his brain would have the upper hand and then, suddenly no, it all rushed south. Which now left shyness as the only real excuse for the way he burned and shrank and burned and shrank in turn at each of her touches.

“You gonna give me the towel?” he asked instead.

“Once it’s safe to do so.” she replied primly, in her familiar nursing voice, and he hated the shudder that tore through him. She stepped under his arm again, around him and into the house, and stood in the shade of the it with the towel spread invitingly, tauntingly. A whole yard and a half between then and she’d decreed no drips past the threshold. Gale’s cheeks burned as did his eyes, smarting with brimming tears from an odd frustration he’d only ever felt over a botched mission, an anger at not being able to bomb his target and make it worthwhile, a petty frustration he always felt before the cold rage of lost men fully registered.

Futile tears: Gale yanked the skivvies down and stepped out of them efficiently.

Maureen wasn’t smiling at him from the shade anymore, not even a smirk, she looked hungry. She looked like Bucky, taking in “a view.” Gale didn’t know ladies ticked that way -or maybe they didn’t, maybe only Maureen did. The blush in his cheeks ran down his chest and spilled onto his belly and his fists clenched without thought.

“When the man of the house,” Maureen was reciting some inane pamphlet she no doubt did not heed or else they’d never be here, “respects the whims of the lady in small matters, he will find the lady more submissive to issues of larger stake such a-“

Gale made a dash at her, to shut her up, and she fled from him to the bedroom, feet smacking on the hardwood and cotton slip fluttering up her thighs -his towel with her.

“I want you bare.” he told her when he had her, struggling in his arms before the bed, a lush friction where he pressed tightly behind her.

“Then sit,” she sounded genuinely breathy, trapped to him and he had never heard her like that before, it made him want to hold fast, “and I’ll make your dreams come true.”

It was just a slip, no garters and no braisere or girdle, yet still Gale sat himself on the bed and Maureen bit her cheek to keep from laughing at the modest way he deposited the towel on his lap, covering what she’d been eyeing and thanking her luck for. A cock as pretty as his face -now if she could just make it stand up fully.

“You ready?” she deferred to him as she stood there before the bed, being looked on with all the reverence and trepidation of a goddess by this seated acolyte.

“Please,” he nodded furiously, “please show me.”

It felt a little wrong to expose oneself in front of such an angelic being, curtainless windows throwing in the sun on him all golden and untouched, white scratchy sheets and white draped towel making it a bower of innocence for a brief moment. It also felt right, to throw off everything but what they’d been born with. Off went rank, obligations and expectations, as easily as dragging the slip over her head.

She tossed the article of clothing behind her for good measure -and dramatic effect- then noted with satisfaction the bleary eyed comprehension of her charms from Gale Cleven where he sat with his mouth hung so slack he was liable to drool.

“Incredible.” he muttered, husky and a little slurred, his hand raising without his own volition to beckon her closer, a plea, command.

Maureen swayed on her feet, nearer and nearer until she was standing above him, between his parted legs and she shuddered as he laid that broad palm on her hip and dragged it up her side in an admiring swath, thumbing at her belly and catching her ribs in his hold.

“Those flight suits of yours, they don’t…they don’t let show the half of it.” Gale declared, mesmerized, face hovering closer and closer until his lips were pressing against her flesh, right under her sternum, his forehead pressed to the underside of one pendulous breast, nuzzling as he became aware of that, bunting like a calf at her breast with his face, gone silly with access.

“Whadda ya think?” she giggled, the silliness of Gale Cleven gone stupid over making yams jiggle being the exact sort of thing that made life worth living, and being a woman exquisitely satisfying.

“They’re so goddamn soft.” he moaned around a bit of the underside, still hadn’t worked his way to a nipple. He seemed too preoccupied with their give and bounce to make a more calculated use of them. Maybe if men hadn’t been told what to do with them, they’d do what Gale Cleven was doing and rub their face against them and let them rest on their foreheads. There was a charm to this ignorance as he licked the salty sweat from their undersides with a surprisingly brave tongue.

The clumsy misuse was oddly effective for Maureen, what Gale lacked in skill he made up for in unstudied appreciation and nothing got her quite so ready as being appreciated to the point of foolishness. Her first conquest had been a boy at school who hadn’t minded tripping in his track shoes, day after day, to try to catch up to her on her bicycle, just to give her a flower or trinket. He was laughed at for his devotion until he broke the school track record next year, and Maureen was sure to remind him of her role in his success. They’d soon found a mutually beneficial reward system and Maureen had adopted that attitude as a maxim for the future, her dates and conquests may have been many but each of them in their own way had been appreciative -or else she was jumping out the window, damn the twelve foot drop out the dormitory.

No one, however, had looked quite so gifted by her mere existence as Gale Cleven did while he clutched at her hips and smushed her flesh between his hands like it were some fine dough and he was an artisan.

Discreetly, and it was easy to be so with his face buried in her bosoms, Maureen glanced between them at the tool she had such hopes for and found it, unsurprisingly, twitching and dribbling against his thigh, half hard but flapping about like a fish on dry land, the discarded towel no match for its movement. He’d need a hand, literally and metaphorically, and as she raked her nails through his blond curls and directed his slick mouth to a nipple, she felt him sag even further into her hold. Maureen weighed her next step carefully, trying to tamp down her own wants. She’d need to be sure but slow, careful not to spook him, or antagonize or embarrass.

She wondered if he even realized the same banged-up-head condition that sent him out here was most likely responsible for the jitters that kept him flopping. She wasn’t so conceited as to assume he’d not bedded a woman yet out of mere dysfunction, Cleven was a man of principle and strict notions regarding how the world should be, and he wasn’t one to build those notions on passing medical conditions.

“You like ‘em?” Maureen teased him, shocked at how hoarse her own voice had gone in the interim.

“Gonna make a home in here.” he mumbled in the affirmative, slack grin molded to the valley between them, blue eyes wide as the skies outside peering up at her.

“Got a job for you, baby.” she murmured, thumbing at the scar on his cheek.

“What’s that Mrs. Jones?” his voice alone made her mad with need, as did the saucy turn of his mouth so wonderfully foreign she didn’t know how she’d control herself until he was ready.

“Need you to lick a little landing strip, right here.” she ran her finger along the somewhat tacky skin between her breasts, sweat and his sloppy kisses having partway done the job already.

“What for?” Gale asked, hushed and curious.

“You’ll see soon enough.” she recalled how effective her nursing voice had been on him, and pulled it out now it seemed beneficial.

She had been right, with only a hesitant spark of aggravated defiance, Gale dipped his head and stuck out that pink tongue, lapping a swath up between her breasts as directed, flaming eyes locked on hers as she shivered from the breeze on spit slicked flesh.

“Again.” she told him, and his hands came up to hold her breasts apart as he did it again, and again and once more under his own direction until it was shiny and messy and his nose was gleaming, too.

“What’s it for?” He demanded once more, pink cheeked and swallowing hard as his mouth had dried out from his efforts.

“I told you, silly,” she replied casually, “it’s a landing strip.” and with as little fuss as possible she got to her knees before he’d registered the absence of her standing above him. “Gale, let go of the damned towel.”

She held in a laugh of delight at the tortured color he had grown to, veins running like so much ivy up and down him and a vibrant pink tip that matched his lips. Maureen wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to look him in the face again without thinking of this drizzling little pink mushroom.

“You oughta count your blessings, Gale Cleven, it was a close call, my coming along at all.” she informed him soberly while his mind visibly vacated his body at the repeated sighting of his sputtering cock emerging from between the pillowy press of her breasts, “It was pretty touch and go there for a bit, I was quite sure in fact, that Bucky was gonna help himself to this assignment.”

“Maureen!” Gale thundered, except his usual imposing ire was much diluted by his quivering belly and hoarse voice.

“What?” she brushed off his scandalized displeasure with a grin, feeling cocky herself as he hadn’t flagged on her in minutes and was beginning to gush in earnest, “Bucky loves the beach.”

“Sure, Maureen.”

“In the end he decided I had what it takes.” she went on conversationally, ignoring the inhuman sounds that came out of him when she casually spit on his tip, the better to work her lips around him, “These.” she clarified, pressing her breasts to his thighs as she wrapped her mouth around him and sucked.

“Fuck, hell, Maureen! Sorry, sorry, oh fuck!” -not even Gale Cleven had expected his hips to fly up that hard and fast, knocking on the back of her throat.

She laid her hands on his squirmy hips and did her best impression of a Listerine gargle round his tip, which sent a shudder through him so strong she thought he might’ve climaxed already.

“Maureen, Maureen come on, get up here, please.” now he yanked at her hair, desperate for once and that was a pleasure to hear.

“What baby?” she pulled off him.

“Gotta kiss you.” he told her firmly, and hauled her bodily up by her armpits, rolling her under him in the bed.

Kisses -sure, Gale, kisses.

He was moaning atop her, wiry and flexing his hips against her, wriggling to get between her thighs and she let him, hungry and expectant when he slotted easily in place. He pressed his lips to hers ardently, then reared back in shock at the taste of his own precum in her mouth and on her lips.

“Salty.” he whispered as if to himself before licking his lips and going back for more. “What do I need’to do?” he whispered urgently against her mouth as she rocked against him and he rocked back until they’d frustrated each other thoroughly with mere caresses.

“Put it in, my baby.” she whispered back.

“First though, don’t I need to-to do- something? Something first?” he could barely think straight but he’d heard enough talk about this, about gentlemen and the necessity of some form of chivalrous preparation. The way discipline and intuition set apart an average pilot from an excellent one. Bucky had talked a lot about getting girls ready, making them squirm, revving them up, for all his apparent disinterest during the topic, Gale had been listening.

“You’ve done it already, Mr. Jones.” she giggled, reaching between them to drag him more firmly through the wanton swamp he’d made of her. “I’m ready, I’m so ready.”

“Oh fuck, s’wet.” he mumbled the obvious before willingly letting her guide him in, his body following her tug like his cock were a leash.

“Jesus,— Gale!” Maureen choked as he bottomed out in a sudden plunge, shocked at the stretch despite the gauging of his size. “You’re so deep, oh baby you’re a big one aren't ya.”

“You ok?” he whimpered, shuddering on top of her again and again at the incomparable feeling of being inside another’s body.

“Oh yeah, yeah I’m fine,” she gasped, “Hurts so good, you can move, baby.”

“You’re so warm.” he sounded close to worshipful he was so drunk off her, and Maureen spared a moment to smirk at the fate of man: come tearing their way out of a woman to begin their lives only to spend the rest of it trying to and needing to get back in.

He did try to move, she’d give him that. And while Maureen was more than half expecting it, still, it was mildly comical to see the confusion flash across his blissful face right as the buildup was snatched from him and he was suddenly shaking into the real event before he knew it, betrayed and euphoric all at once. The muscles in his belly and back and neck seized and his hips lunged in a series of uncoordinated pumps and she could read the panic in his eyes right before they rolled back -a begrudging admittance that this was nothing at all like the steady predictability of his hand.

“That’s it baby, that’s my baby, feel nice, huh?”

Gale didn’t answer her, too occupied whimpering with a taut throat and jaw clenched so tight he could snap a hinge like that. He was shaking worse than before when the spasms subsided and the tiniest pressure to his sweat slicked neck had him buckling to lay pressed against her, half senseless from the force of his release.

Maureen had always loved this part of sex, the pliable, bewildered, smushed man atop her like she’d sucked his soul out, when he’d rendered it up to her so willingly, so desperately, forcefully even, chasing his own eventual weakness. Long limbs aligning on top of hers, the hot pants of winded breath against her breasts, the hands listlessly holding on wherever that had last tried to grip and control her. The view from above with Gale Cleven was something additional, beautiful and glistening with bronzed swaths of sun exposed skin and the pale whites of his thighs and ass making a perfect little outline of absent shorts, his golden hair tousled beyond salvaging and that luscious mouth, drooling like a babe’s.

“So this is what Bucky’s been talkin’ about.” he mumbled into her breast, cheek smashed and enunciation shot to hell.

Maureen laughed in disbelief, “Thinking of him even now? Really, he’s going to be impossible if we tell him.”

“Just sayin’, now I know.” he defended, lazily rubbing his partly softened cock inside her with a shimmy of his hips that was quickly followed by an overly sensitive mewl.

“You don’t know anything, Angel boy.” she insisted and Gale raised his head at that, sour that she’d still contradict him after thirty seconds of vigorous pumping. “Let me see your hands.”

He had some trouble recalling where he put them but eventually he found them under her hips and withdrew them from their warm shelter to present them, warily. “Well, damn.” he muttered to himself, somewhat shocked by just how badly the shakes had worsened. “Looks like that treatment backfired.”

“More of a dose dependent case, I’d say.” Maureen corrected and circled each wrist with her hands and brought them up to her lips to kiss.

Gale’s face smoothed at her softness and a shy smile lit up his bleary eyes while she felt a twitch of his spent cock deep inside her, swishing about the mess he’d made like a dog’s tail after getting pats. “You have the most beautiful hands.” she informed him earnestly and balls deep inside her she watched as one single innocuous compliment sent him scarlet with a blush. “And they’ll be yours again soon.” she promised.

His gentle expression and bright red cheeks crumpled rather suddenly and before either of them seemed to expect it, fat teardrops had escaped the blue of his eyes and rolled down the crimson flesh of his face.

“Goddamnit.” he cursed hoarsely, in an absolute rage at himself, regaining his hands from her grip insistently to bring them up to his own face, hiding from her behind harsh fists that rubbed at his wet eyes like he could grind the grief and weariness out between his knuckles.

Unbalanced as he was without hands to support him, and legs gone jellied from his fast fading pleasure, Maureen chose to capitalize on it as a nurse would a brief state of insensibility to move a patient to a cleaner cot. Remorselessly she pressed at his shoulder and lifted their still joined hips until he tipped over, rolling onto his back beneath her. “We’ll have none of that.” she told him with loving adamance from her new perch, prying his hands away and pressing them to the sheets beside his head. “The hiding, I mean.” she clarified and he looked all of hardly past twenty laying there with wobbly lips and wet eyes unobscured, “I’m a very great proponent of crying,” she went on conversationally which confused him more but kept him too preoccupied to stifle his tears, “De-sanguination is still a highly esteemed practice, you know, it means to drain the body. One type of draining often triggers the other.”

“You gonna start bleeding me?” he asked wryly.

“Oh, maybe, you’d look so pretty all streaked up.” she teased and ran a sharp thumbnail over his pinned wrist.

Well, that got him hard again. Fascinating.

“You know what’s got your hands like this-“ she whispered softly, “-probably the same reason you flop, too.”

“Huh.”

“Pretty common.” she assured.

“Quit tellin’ me I’m common.” He growled, tickling her sides and she grabbed his hands, pinning them again playfully.

“Nothing common about you, sweet baby.” she swore, leaning down to kiss him and enjoying the way he met her strongly, surely, “Gale, can I move?” she asked, half strangled by the taut string of need coiled in her belly, tugged to madness by the bulk of him still resting limply inside.

“Move?” he was perplexed.

“I’m going to die if I don’t get some friction.” she whispered, somehow shy to admit that in the face of his innocent bewilderment, “God -please tell me someone has informed you women finish, too?”

“Bucky says they clamp up so tight you can’t help but blow.” Gale recited dutifully, “Which is what just happened, right?”

Maureen grinned wide and wicked before dragging her hips up till he was barely in, then plopping down into the cradle of his hips, making him let out a “oomph.”

“Maureen?” he questioned, half knowing already he had been mistaken but hell, to go again? “Maureen- I’ll die if we go again.”

“What a way to go.” she muttered, her pace atop him increasing as did the tortured gasps tumbling from his lips. His spunk was making terribly wet, lewdly sloppy sounds of suction each time she slammed down on his cock and the visual of her exerting herself on top of him was something so blatant and jiggly he could hardly endure the visual feast of it.

“Shit, shit I can’t-“ he growled while his trembling hands latched onto her hips in a grip that was anything but dissuading. “Maureen.” he begged her for…he knew not what.

“Come on Mr. Jones,” she clasped her hands around his face and aligned their noses, rubbing like a kiss with each movement of her lower body, “you’re not one to leave your missus needy, I know you’re not. Not when you’ve got such pretty hands-“

-a shudder from him.

“and a clever tongue-“

-a whine from him that sounded close to a wounded dog’s it was so lasting.

“-or a tool this capable.”

“Maureen.” he groaned.

“Baby, my baby.” she begged, “You’ve got what I need, come on, take me apart.”

Like he trusted himself for the first time since they began this endeavor, she felt his body bow up beneath her, his arm flexing strongly across her hips, his legs braced beneath her and a heavy hand clutching her neck, then he was driving up into her with a wild abandon she only ever hoped was simmering beneath that cool exterior. When she finished he hadn’t stopped, and Maureen found herself crying out like a feral thing into the hollow of his clavicle as the brutal pummeling went on, satisfaction drug out of her over and over in harsh ruts.

“That more like it?” he panted the harsher he grew, a hand around her jaw pushing her face away from his so he might see the damage he was doing.

“Yes, yes oh baby, yes!” she swore through clenched teeth, it had been too long and each blissful peak only aggravated her further, made her hungrier, that and the fact he was so proportioned as to be a constant delight just shy of pain, “Hell Gale, do ya hear us?” she gloated, propping herself back on his thighs to watch the shiny pink of him flash in and out of her wet sheath.

Mesmerized, Gale didn’t reply, but he dragged a hand up her belly and felt for the way it tensed at each intrusion, the span of his fingers an incredible thing across her skin. “Can’t believe you can take it, easy as that.” he marveled, his thumb straying and pulling apart her petals the better to watch.

“Thumb it right there.” she directed gently, reaching down to move his calloused finger over her bud, right above where he split her apart, “That’s it, ya feel that too, huh?”

“Fuck you’re tight.” his voice cracked and his eyes shot wide again.

“Are you -?”

“Maybe.” there was a wobble of blissed uncertainty in his voice until she stopped her movements and he let out a sob before he could catch it. “Maureen, please.”

“Please what, baby?” she was chuckling at him, pushing his hair off his sweaty forehead, “I let you-“ he pleaded, still thinking things worked that way, “-now I need, please Maureen...”

“Oh you can.” she assured and his face lightened but his eyes stayed wary, “But just know, I won’t be stopping.”

“What?”

“You remember how that feels, don’t ya baby?” she reminded, gently pushing him to lie back and beginning their movements anew, “So good you can’t stand it, so messy and easy for me, so tender and much for you?”

“Jesus.” he wheezed, his lean belly caving in with his heavy pants, but she felt him throbbing inside her and his pupils were large as saucers, “You’re as mean as Bucky.” he whined, voice gone high in panicked pleasure.

“Thank you, but really I’m not.” she laughed, gently thumbing away an errant tear that rolled down his cheek. “Not quite.”

“Maureen, please, please you’re too pretty!” he begged nonsensically even as his hips began to snap into hers, invigorated and forceful.

“Hold it Gale, try to hold it.” Maureen gasped, staring down at the prettiest face she’d ever seen as his brow began to furrow, “Or don’t, all the same to me.”

“I’m gonna flip you.” he swore and a few seconds of inaction passed, marked by the slam of her hips down onto his, and she thought he didn’t mean it until she gave him a daring look and suddenly she was careening backwards, head jolting against the sheets and body laid out firmly beneath him.

“Goddamn.” she swore at the way he hadn’t dislodged an inch during the whole maneuver, suddenly pressed just as deeply as before, his hips working like a piston and his hands tight and strong on her neck. “Goddamn baby. Oh goddamn that’s good.”

“S’good?” he begged her to repeat, some dizzying natural force propelling him harder and faster and needier.

“You’re so good.” she was adamant as she hung about his neck and locked her ankles in the small of his back. “You’re so good I’m - I’m -gonna-“

“What was that about holdin’ it?” he hissed, smile cocky and smug.

“Bull ain’t out of the gate yet Cleven,” she cautioned but her hips had begun to lift of their own accord, a tremble taking hold of her, “But I’m close, I’m, i'm real cl- oh God!”

“Come on sweet Maureen, wanna make ya -wanna do it for ya. Give ya what you need, Mrs Jones.” Gale’s hoarse and sweet nothings poured hot and breathy in her ear and Maureen found herself locked and gripping him before she knew it, moaning into his neck as he moved in and out, in and out as she’d only ever dreamed of.

When she cracked her dazzled eyes open again he was panting above her, the clink of his dog tags gently bumping her chin with each sway deeper, lashes batting in a golden flutter as he too began to lose himself, slower, more drawn out and yet every bit as desperate as the first time.

“Look at me baby, look at me when ya do.” she pleaded, gently gripping his chin as his mouth fell open in a series of little noises of effort that went straight to her belly grown hot and molten with the feeling of him spurting inside.

“Ugh, ugh, ugh,” Gale was working atop her in pained delight, lips so smeared and face so sweaty he looked like he might melt at any minute, “thank you, oh fuck, thank you, sweet Maureen.” he chanted low and dreamy, again and again until he drove in once more and stayed.

Those clear blue eyes fagged in an exhausted ecstasy, his head dropping impossibly further with each ragged pant until his face was barely hovering over her breasts, neck bent and forhead slowly pressing into the swell of them. His forearms gave out and those hands of his stayed trapped beneath her shoulder blades.

“Sleep Angel baby,” Maureen coaxed, hand cradling the back of his dear head to her breasts, feeling a low lazy peace settle over her at the feel of his dead weight plugging her up and the lovely wringing out she’d just endured, “let’s just sleep, dear boy.”

Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota fanfiction #masters of the air fanfiction #the pacific #friends in the crucible #mota smut #gale cleven x oc #gale cleven #gale cleven x john egan #hints of at least #Gale x Maureen #Gale Cleven fanfic #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler smut #austin butler imagine

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fakemichaelsheen · 11 months

Text

aziraphale: *smiling*

crowley: what are you looking so pleased about?

aziraphale: oh nothing. love is in the air, that’s all. I’m surprised you can’t feel it *shudders* oh, it’s wonderful.

crowley, suddenly tense: nope, no idea what you’re on about.

aziraphale, pleased with himself: the humans. I…may have given them a little push in the right direction.

crowley, raises an eyebrow: you?

aziraphale, offended: and why not? I’ll have you know, I’m well versed when it comes to matters of the heart. I’m an angel, it’s what we do.

-earlier-

aziraphale, cautious: are you sure that’s wise? You must keep her at a distance!

maggie, chuckling: it’s just coffee, mr. fell.

aziraphale, rolls his eyes: oh yes that’s where it starts! coffee, an apple, and before you know it, you’re facing a terrifying situation where one wrong move means you could lose the one being who means more to you than anything else!

maggie: whoa *grins* who’s the lucky fella?

aziraphale: …

-present-

crowley: pffft. what a load of rubbish.

aziraphale, smug: oh and what would you know of love?

crowley: …

-earlier-

crowley, outraged: are you mad? what would you want to be in love for? love is overrated! those annoying butterflies when he does something stupid. that pathetic staring when he says something ridiculous. the fact you’ll do anything for him, he doesn’t even have to ask. the things you’ve done, the things you’ll do. who wants to feel like that all the time?

nina: um…who are you again?

-present-

crowley: …

crowley: nothing. I’m just saying you’re wasting your time, that’s all.

aziraphale, beaming: how can you say that? look at them!

crowley: *watches nina give maggie a bunch of flowers*

aziraphale: I’m so happy for them, crowley. they’ve been dancing around each other for weeks. oh, it’s a tremendous feeling, having brought two people together.

crowley, sighs: I guess.

aziraphale, glances at him: you don’t think it’s possible? that two people, seemingly from different worlds, could ever make it work? you’re not…the least bit happy for them?

crowley, shrugs: whatever

aziraphale, nods: yes, of course. whatever, indeed.

#CROWLEY YOU DENSE BAG OF WET CABBAGE. in all seriousness I didn’t mean this to be so long or angsty 😅#ineffable husbands #aziraphale x crowley #crowley x aziraphale #good omens #good omens 2 #ineffable chatfics

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preservationofnormalcy · 6 months

Text

[It is November of 2021. I am being led down a hallway that looks more like it should be on a ship than a government building. Metal walls with painted horizontal lines down its length, marked with “water depth” markers every 30 feet or so. My guide is a bored-looking man in a suit, balding, checking his clipboard. I seem to remember his name is Clarke, but he’s not who I’m here to see.]

M] Does this tunnel flood?

C] Hm?

M] The water markers.

C] Oh, those. Not unless something bad happens. She’s pretty good about it.

M] Is her name really –

C] Yth’Wa, Herald of Change. Yes. Changed it legally. Not that she gets out much.

M] …kind of an indoorsy person?

C] I mean she’s never in the outside world.

M] Not even to get food?

C] She has people for that.

[Suddenly, from doorways that lead off the hallway, we are joined by six figures wearing yellow robes that conceal their identities entirely. I smell brine and dead fish. Clarke looks back and seems to count the figures, but otherwise doesn’t react.]

M] Is this a joke?

C] Wish it was, ma’am. Hey, fellas.

[Two of the figures wave. We approach a bulkhead at the end of the hall, and Clarke spins the wheel lock. The taste of salt hits my mouth - like the seaside, like brine. Clarke enters the chamber beyond, and three of the figures follow him. Three of them wait behind me, as if waiting to escort me. After a moment’s hesitation, I enter the chamber.

It is dark, hewn from rough stone, sloping downward into dark water. I look up, and the ceiling cannot be seen in the darkness. Utility lights illuminate the path downward, a few of them trailing into the still water. Clarke takes up a post next to the door, and the yellow figures form a pattern facing the water. Two of them kneel, two of them prostrate themselves, and two raise their hands and begin a chant.

I can’t help myself. I back up, and whisper to Clarke.]

M] You cannot be serious.

C] You’re the one that wanted to meet her.

M] Who the hell am I meeting?

[Wordlessly, Clarke points to the water. A figure is emerging.

A humanoid figure, also clad in yellow robes. Her hood is pulled low over her face, only the bottom half of her face visible. She has both hands placed together, palms pressed together in a gesture of prayer. She walks calmly from the water, up the incline, and it becomes clear she must be…seven feet tall, or more. Pallid grey-green skin is visible under her hood, and her hair….not hair. Tentacles. Tendrils roll down her shoulders and chest, spill from her sleeves. Her face is thin, her cheeks are marked with slits - gills.

As she emerges, she joins the chant with her own voice. As water spills from her form, fully on dry land now, her words change to English. An unearthly, inhuman voice…but not unpleasant.]

Yth’Wa] Fathoms deep, fathoms old. Fathoms dark, fathoms cold. We leave the cradle, leave the fold. To serve the one, the Lord in Gold.

[There is a pause. Yth’Wa smiles and stands beyond the yellow figures, who are silent but have not moved from their spots. She is close to me, and seems to regard me with a small smile. Her face is…unnatural, but not ugly. Something beyond. When she speaks, it is with a strange resonance, and no small amount of amusement.]

Y] Ms Hendricks. I was told of your coming.

M] …wh…Yth’Wa?

Y] Do not be afraid.

[She moved her arms, spreading them out. Water dripped off her robes, and tentacles slipped back into her sleeves.]

Y] I am an ally of the Office. I do not harm the unbeliever, as they have their part to play in the grand Circle. The King Of All And Nothing has spoken, and we listen.

M] I don’t…I don’t know what to say.

Y] Then speak your truth.

M] ….I’m here to ask you questions.

[Yth’Wa’s smile widens. Her teeth are sharp, triangular, serrated. I look back at Clarke, who seems nonplussed. He looks at his phone and swears softly, seemingly realizing he doesn’t get reception here. Yth’Wa’s tone is not unfriendly, but somehow…as if she’s humoring me. Slight but not aggressive sarcasm rolls off her lips.]

Y] Inquisitiveness is what drew us all to the Circle, Ms Hendricks. It is a virtue worthy of the Yellow Empty. This is a holy quest.

M] I feel like I’m being condescended to.

Y] No force in the ocean could compel me to do so.

M] But on land?

[She puts her hands back together with a playful smile.]

Y] What are your questions, my dear?

M] …I was going to ask you about the poster, but first…who are you?

Y] I am Yth’Wa, Herald of Change, leader of the Yellow Circle.

M] And what is the…Yellow Circle?

[Yth’Wa gestures to the other figures in yellow behind her.]

Y] We are the children of the One Who Dwells Between. We reach out in humility and hope to the space beyond our candlelight, and we embrace what we find. Our god, the Golden Father, shepherds us into the dark void, and bestows upon us gifts that we take upon ourselves gladly.

M] And you’re….allied with the Office? They’re okay with this.

[Yth’Wa’s smile is slightly more amused, almost smug. Her tone is like kindly addressing a child.]

Y] It’s our world too, Meghan. We live here. We have a vested interest in keeping the things that slither around the lighthouse of the human mind at bay…or under our control. The Office often finds these skills useful. Such as your poster.

M] The….sock a Shoggoth one.

Y] Indeed. It’s an old one. You saw a ripple of waters past, Ms Hendricks.

M] Sorry?

Y] Do you know of Operation Deep Whisper?

M] I…I don’t, no.

Y] Mmmh.

[She steps forward. I’m unsure of what to do, and in my hesitation, she walks around me. Studying me, her eyes never visible but nonetheless biting into me.]

Y] You’ve met Josiah. Josiah Carter.

M] Of Psychotronics?

Y] Of those who wade in pools they will drown in. Tell me. Did he talk about the things they invited?

M] He mentioned things that…came from their experiments.

Y] Poor Josiah. He knew only half of what he unleashed.

M] I don’t think I understand.

[Yth’Wa took in a deep breath.]

Y] When men take hammers to glass, they should not be surprised when it leaks. Those at the Office, in their uniforms and titles. They frayed the real in order to see through it, and they didn’t like what they saw. What they let through. By the 1960s, the camera obscura they had made in their blind stabbing through reality had become a tear. A broken fence post, and of course things came through. Things…not under our control.

M] The things he described sounded horrific. What are they?

Y] Me and mine are…inured to them, somewhat. The Office now calls them Outsiders. Entities from other spaces, other realms, dimensions beyond ours. Beyond the veils. As you can imagine, they are often dangerous to humanity. Physically violent, or ontologically inimical to human life. Often...alien thought patterns, incompatible with the mortal mind. Ontologically incompatible - too many of them, and their reality leaks into ours...impossible geometry, mosses and fungi that degrade the integrity of realspace. Or reality, as humans see it.

M] And you can control them?

Y] More or less. Keep them at bay, influence their behavior. Sometimes they can appreciate something that thinks like them. But all that and more were slowly being unleashed through the world, a secret plague that threatened to collapse the Office’s so called normality. Beasts, anomalies, and forces threatened even our way of life.

M] So they asked the Yellow Circle for help.

Y] Indeed. I was not the leader at the time, but the Circle allied with the Office to eradicate this plague. Using resources and funding from the more mundane conflict in Vietnam, we battled the Outsider across the globe throughout the 1960s, and into the 70s. Our people call it Gul’tho Z’Thuth G-Uz, the Conflict of Brother Blood. But the Office calls it Operation Deep Whisper. It is there your posters come into play - propaganda, encouragement for a war against an enemy so alien that they cannot be understood.

[That smile again.]

Y] By the Office, anyway.

M] And it worked?

Y] You had not heard of Outsiders before you came to the Office, had you? We saved the world, Ms Hendricks. Our world.

M] I guess we can chalk that one up as a success.

Y] Indeed.

M] I don’t feel the need for most of my questions….Yth’Wa. But I guess I had another.

Y] Speak freely.

M] You were…human, right? All of you, but especially you. Who were you before you were Yth’Wa?

[There is a moment of silence. Yth’Wa looked…momentarily annoyed, her thin lips turning down at the ends in a way that made my stomach churn. But after a moment, she seemed to reset, relax her posture.]

Y] Who I was is dead. The One Whose Sign Dances saw me for who I was, and made me into something…more. More real, more truthful. Who I was is…dead. Do you understand?

M] I….I think I do.

Y] Magnificent. If you had no further questions….

[She steps forward, and I flinch. She pauses, as if attempting not to spook an animal, reaching into her robes and slowly pulling free a single scallop shell. It shined like an oil spill in the dim light, runes and markings along the outside of the shell. They hurt to look at.]

Y] If you wish to see me again, throw this shell into the largest body of water you can reach in a day’s walk under the light of the moon. I will see you, I will reach you. And we can talk.

M] …thank you, Yth’Wa.

Y] May the Shattered Lord keep you and guide you.

M] Let the…the Keeper of Yellow—- oh, god, what…what was that? I can taste it.

[Yth’Wa laughs, leaning in further, teeth gleaming in the odd light.]

Y] Truth. Oh, Ms Hendricks. You’ve tasted truth.

(Buy the poster here!)

#Yellow Circle #interview #microfiction #sci fi #sci fi horror #lovecraft #cosmic horror

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thedeathlysallows · 5 months

Text

Santa Baby

Pairing: Loki x F!reader

Summary: Think of all the fun I've missed/ Think of all the fellas that I haven't kissed/ I really do believe in you/ Let's see if you believe in me.

Warnings: Smut. Degradation, dirty talk, loss of virginity (reader's), dom!Loki, oral sex (f!receiving), breeding kink, unprotected sex, ever so slight Jotun!Loki. Loki hasn't had his redemption arc yet

Okay, so, I really have no excuses for this one. It's borderline crackfic but I did my best lol

"Nicholas!"

"Odin!"

You stand shoulder to shoulder with your brother as you watch your father embrace the Allfather. For as long as you can remember, this has been your family's Christmas tradition. After your father finishes delivering gifts all across the nine realms on Christmas Eve, Christmas Day is spent on Asgard with the royal family. You aren't sure why it's a tradition- the elves say it's because Odin was the one to gift your father his powers, to create Santa Claus as the worlds know him- but you've learned over the years it's best not to argue about it.

(There was one year you wanted to spend Christmas at home in the North Pole like a normal family... and your mom fainted from the shock. The elves wouldn't talk to you for a month (which wasn't all that disappointing if you were to be honest). So you considered that lesson learned and never brought it up ever again.)

You watch as your mother greets Frigga next, the two of them looking like the epitome of the Mother archetype. Frigga with her regal air and your mother with her kind smile. You can't imagine ever having to step into their roles and you feel relieved you'll never have to. Your brother is set to be the next Santa and his wife will be Mrs. Claus. Odin's throne will go to Thor and his wife we'll be Queen of Asgard.

All you have to be is yourself.

Free to make your own rules.

To forge your own path.

To-

"Hello, little one." Loki smiles at you fondly and steps towards you. His hands are bound in front of him and the chains draped over his body rattle with each movement.

You tilt your head, observing him closely. "Loki. I knew you were on my dad's Naughty list for the whole New York thing, so I guess it makes sense you ended up on Odin's list too."

His smile morphs into a nasty sneer as he bares his teeth at you. A guard yanks on the chain around his neck, pulling him an appropriate distance from you.

"Must we do this today," Frigga whispers to her husband. "It's the last day of Yule. Let Loki have an hour of freedom."

"And what will that hour cost us," Odin counters.

Your father raises his hand. "If I may? The kids have been working on their magic and sugar plum over here has a real talent for it. I'm sure she could keep Loki in line for an hour."

Loki's eyes burn a hole into the side of your skull as he says, "Yes. The Santa baby can watch me."

"For an hour," you add, turning to your dad. You point a finger at the jolly old man. "And only an hour."

Odin strokes his beard thoughtfully, considering every possible outcome of letting Loki free for a bit. Eventually, he bangs his staff against the shimmering golden floor and Loki's chains fall away. Loki, for his part, makes an effort not to appear too eager. He rubs his wrists and rolls his neck before squaring his shoulders and turning to you.

"I'm at your mercy for the next hour, sugar plum."

And the way he says it so seductively has you reaching the realization that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

You fidget uncomfortably, balling the ends of your long sleeves in your hands. Loki watches your twitchy movements silently. That's how he's always watched you. Ever since that first meeting when you were nothing more than a child coming to terms with her father being the Santa Claus. He's always watched you silently, thoughtfully, like he's waiting for you to decide who you'll be... and maybe, just maybe, if there will be a place for him beside you when you do decide who to be.

"I'm already regretting this," you say out loud to no one really.

No one is paying attention anymore anyway.

No one except Loki who places a hand at the small of your back and gestures in front of you with the other. "Come, we both know you're foaming at the mouth to get to the garden."

You can't help the eyeroll his words induce. "How eloquent."

"Thank you."

"I wasn't complimenting you."

Loki purses his lips, fighting back a grin. "No, you would never do that, would you?"

"Just shut up and follow me."

He pretends to zip his mouth shut and throw away the key, earning an aggravated groan from you.

If you were to be honest, you don't find Loki's presence all that objectionable. Sure, his ego is out of hand, he tried to take over your home planet, he can be a real pain in the ass, sassy, confrontational, a know it all... wait, what was your point again? Oh, right! Loki has many, many, many faults, but he's always been kind to you. Deep down you know his affection for you doesn't truly account for the monstrosities he's committed, but it does make him ten percent less Naughty in your eyes.

"When will you tell Jolly Old Saint Nicholas that I've been the one helping you with your magic, sugar plum."

Okay. Five percent less Naughty.

"Never," you say without looking at him. Instead you fix your eyes on the garden up ahead.

He clicks his tongue. "How absolutely Naughty of you. I approve."

Two percent.

"I don't need your approval. And stop calling me sugar plum!"

Loki stops walking abruptly, forcing you to turn around and meet him face to face. Or face to chest rather. He's taller than you by several inches and his broad figure almost blocks out the steadily rising sun. Hues of pink, orange, and purple burst from behind him in pastel streaks of color. The wind is soft and gentle as it wraps around the two of you, pressing your bodies ever closer. If you could paint you think you would paint him just as he is now, all soft edges and gentle eyes.

He shakes his head. "You don't need it, but you want it. You crave it, don't you, my darling?"

You think you prefer him calling you sugar plum. That feels far less intimate than hearing the words my darling come out of his mouth.

"I don't want anything from you," you say full of false bravado.

"Oh?" Loki pulls you in to his body and tilts your chin up with his thumb and forefinger. "Not even my cock? I think if I were to bend you over this balcony and fuck that tight little cunt of yours, you'd thank me by the end of it. Wouldn't you, sugar plum?"

You swallow the lump in your throat and will away the rising heat in the pit of your stomach. "I said stop calling me that, Loki."

"Then what would you prefer, hmm?" His lips are centimeters from yours, teasing you by brushing against you ever so lightly as he speaks. "You positively lit up when I called you my darling. How does my queen sound? Better yet, how about my whore?"

"Stop."

"Did you make it to the Nice list this year? No sneaking around and kissing boys behind my back?"

You grit your teeth, embarrassment washing over you with the realization that you actually enjoy having him talk to you like this. "Stop. I know what you're trying to do."

"And what would that be?"

"You want me to give up on you like everyone else. There's a past between us whether we like it or not and you want me to just... forget it. Let it go. Everyone else already believes you're a monster and you can't stand that there's one person in the world who still believes you can be good."

Silence stretches out between the two of you like a snake sunbathing on a rock. It's an almost tangible sensation. All you can hear is the air rushing through your lungs as Loki's chest rises and falls at an alarming rate.

"Is this the part where we hug and I thank you for always believing in me? Because... no, I don't think I'll do that," Loki finally says after a few painful seconds.

You huff in frustration, spinning on your heel to go back inside and forget the whole deal. You'll lock yourself in a guest room with some delicious Asgardian mead and that'll be that. This whole sexual tension thing with a man you shouldn't want in the first place will disappear along with the alcohol.

Before you can take a step forward and put you're new Christmas Day plan into motion, Loki grabs you by the arm and pulls you back. His chest presses into your back, a warm and solid wall of muscle.

"Where do you think you're running off to, sugar plum?" He bends down and whispers the words in your ear, his lips ghosting over your skin and leaving goosebumps all over your body.

"Your hour's up."

"I've still got forty five minutes."

"Yeah, well... I'm finished with this."

Loki slips an arm around your waist, grinding his hardened length into your ass. "You're through when I say you're through, and right now I want you down on your knees worshipping."

"But... we're outside..."

The protest dies on your lips as green sparks emanate from Loki's fingertips, circling the two of you before sinking back into his palm.

"There," he says simply. "Problem solved. Now if anyone were to walk by they would simply see us admiring the flowers. Now, on your knees."

You let him push you down on your knees, his long fingers curling in your hair. Through the tight leather of his trousers you can make out the imprint of his cock. You won't be able to take all of him in your mouth. There's just no way. You're willing to try though, you think to yourself as you look up into the familiar green-blue of his eyes.

He helps you undo his pants, picking up the slack when your nervous fingers tremble while untying the laces. He's eerily patient and allows you to take your time. Build your courage as it were. You want this. You know you do. You're just... nervous.

The realization strikes Loki suddenly. "You're a virgin?"

The accusation- however true- doesn't sit right in your chest. "Do you want me to do this or not?"

Loki's eyes shine bright with absolute glee. "You are!"

"Loki-"

The world swirls and warps around you, the oxygen leaving your lungs in a sudden woosh. You suddenly find yourself in your usual guest chambers. Still on your knees. Still out of breath.

"Much better!" Loki sighs happily before making himself comfortable on the large bed. "Actually, one more thing."

A fire roars to life in the hearth and the bright gold decorations littering the room turn a deep shade of emerald.

"Lest you forget who you're with," he explains simply.

"I couldn't if I tried." You look at Loki out of the corner of your eye as he lounges on the bed. His pants are undone, exposing the deep V of his pelvic muscles and a light dusting of hair. He looks at you so intently you feel like you might explode. "What?"

Loki motions for you to come closer. "I want you to come on my face, sugar plum."

You swear your body just gives out as soon as you hear the words. "W-what?"

He growls and sits straight up. "You are going to walk that pretty little arse over here, and then your are going to straddle my face, so I can lick your cunt until you come."

It takes everything in you to do exactly as he says. You aren't completely inexperienced and you aren't a complete idiot either. You know what the fire in your belly and the slickness between your thighs means. You want Loki, wanted him for years. Never in your wildest dreams did you think he actually wanted you too.

It's a Christmas miracle in your opinion.

When you make it to the edge of the bed Loki tuts at you, toying with the hem of your dress. "I meant to comment earlier, but this is the most horrid thing I've ever seen."

Your brow furrows. "Hey! Sprinkle made this for me!"

"Sprinkle." The way Loki says the elf's name almost sounds like a curse.

"You've met him before. Back a few- oof!"

Loki rips the dress to tatters in the blink of an eye. You want to hit him, curse him, something, but he moves too quickly. Instead you make a mental note to apologize to Sprinkle when you get home, and let Loki manipulate your body so that your kneeling over his face. His breath on your core sends a shiver through your body.

"Loki," you whine, gripping at his hair.

"Good girl," he moans out as you tug on the long, dark strands. "Let's see if you taste as sweet as you look."

His tongue laves at your folds, teasing you. It's strange but nice and exhilarating all at once. Your hips buck involuntarily when he finally slips his tongue inside you and he sighs happily against your skin.

"Fuck, yes," Loki groans.

You whimper pathetically.

"I need inside you. Now," he says against your soaked cunt. "I need you, darling."

All you can do is nod. Your bones feel like jelly, but you want more. You want him. You want him inside you. You want him to come inside you. You want it so badly you can almost imagine a future filled with children who have your hair and his eyes.

When he looks up at you there's a split second where you think he sees that future too.

Loki ends the moment quickly though, telling you to get on your back. He positions his cock at your entrance and you have a momentary lapse in confidence. You don't want him to stop, but he's bigger than you could've guessed, and-

"Relax." Loki presses his mouth to yours, nipping at your bottom lip. "You were made to take this cock."

You nod and angle your hips up so his tip slips inside you. Your unused muscles twitch against the intrusion, making Loki hiss out something in Old Norse. One of his hands wraps around your throat while the other pins your hips against the bed. Using this leverage he pushes his entire length inside you, swallowing your screams with his lips. Loki pumps in and out of you slowly, watching your face for signs of discomfort.

"M-more," you sigh. "Harder... more... please..."

His breath hitches. "Are you sure, my darling?"

"Yes!"

"Very well." Loki's hips snap, shoving himself even deeper inside you.

Your hands fly to grip his biceps. His skin is colder. Colder than you've ever felt it. And there's a slight blue tinge.

"Loki, fuck... oh my god..."

His hand not wrapped around your throat slaps across your cheek. "My king. Say it. Say I'm your king."

You manage a tiny nod. "You're... you're my king..."

Loki's grip tightens and his pace quickens. You can feel his thick cock sliding in and out of you, stretching you around him, forcing his way deep inside you.

"L-Loki..." You let out a short whine. "Come inside me. Please. I need it. Please, please..."

He chuckles darkly. "How pathetic. You're begging like a common whore. Is that what you are, darling? Are you my whore?"

"Y-yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes, my king."

Loki, seemingly satisfied by your answer, lifts your leg over his shoulder and shoves his way deeper inside you. There's a painful burn as you adjust to the new angle and pace, but the look of ecstasy on Loki's face is enough to send you over the edge again. You come on his cock once more, but this time he comes with you, filling you until it leaks out.

You aren't sure when you closed your eyes, but when you open them Loki is looking at you with a strange expression.

"My hour is up," is all he says.

#loki x reader #loki smut #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fanfiction #loki laufesyon x reader #loki layfeyson imagine

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devotedlykoneshots · 1 month

Text

PARK JISUNG: THE LIBRARIAN

Genre:🔞, minors dni, librarian theme, nothing too bad.

Word count: 3706

---------

After ending things so terribly with your family , you decided you needed a change.

A new place to start over.

So you move into a small town and take a job at a book shop.

Soon you would meet the neo fraternity brothers and a special young fella who changes the course of your life and plans forever.

It was two weeks after you began working did you notice the chaotic group of students who frequently came to the library.

Huang renjun was probably the most level headed among the group, you often caught him trying to keep the rowdy ones quiet before you would step in and remind them of the rules but the guy surely had anger issues which he frequently took out on Lee donghyuck.

You're sure the older didn't mind though.

Lee donghyuck was the trouble maker and he loved finding new ways to get under peoples skin, his friend mark Lee was often the target of his endless teasing.

Speaking of Mark Lee, he wasnt as noisy as donghyuck but it was hard not to notice his laugh which resonated throughout the library when he found something funny.

Which was mostly everything.

Zhong chenle was pretty laid back but he was a gossip king, there was nothing that went on around campus that he didn't know about.

Na jaemin was a ladies man, he couldn't help that he attracted a flock of girls everywhere he went, you had to kick him and his guests out multiple times because of his blatant ignorance to the no sex rule.

Lee jeno was also a ladies man but not as bad as jaemin, he wasn't cocky but he was confident in his abilities and he also respected the library rules.

That only left park jisung the quiet guy in the hoodie, he was polite and seemed the most mature out of all his hyungs.

He never spoke up much but you had caught him staring at you on multiple occasions before he would look away and acted as if it never happened.

It was a school night when you had to break it to the freshman that time was up and you had to close the library, you felt bad but it was late and you were in desperate need of a cool bath.

"Ah...I should walk you out" jisung offered and you smiled, hugging your bag closely to your chest and nodding in agreement.

A swarm of butterflies erupting in the depths of your belly, jisung was attractive and no one could deny that.

A crush on the quiet freshman was bound to happen.

"Okay"you agreed and walked with him towards the door.

"Text me when you're safe at

home."he said and slipped something in your jacket pocket, he seemed hopeful and you looked up at him but bit your bottom lip to hide your smile.

"I will"you promised and waved goodbye to him, walking the rest of the way home. Thankfully you didn't live too far from your job, maybe just a 5 minute walk or so.

However jisung wasn't expecting his hyungs to jump from behind a bush and ultimately surprising the unsuspecting freshman.

"Aww jisungie has a crush"he groans in annoyance as haechan pinched his cheek.

---------

The next time you see jisung is at school the following week and he arrived earlier than his hyungs, which you raised your eyebrows at.

"You didn't come here with your friends?"you asked curiously and he smiles, rubbing the back of his neck nervously and sitting down in front of you.

"Eh? No, I uh ...wanted to ask you something. Alone."he puts emphasis on the word alone and you became nervous yourself.

"What is it?"you asked him and he looks around to make sure his fingers weren't lurking around a corner before leaning over the table to whisper to you.

"Do you know how to bake?"he asked and you laugh softly at that, quite amused to be frank.

"Yes I do"you tell him and lean forward on your own, not missing the way his eyes flicker down to your lips for a moment before licking his own.

"Can you help me?"he asked as he refocused on your eyes and you lean forward, resting your chin in your palm.

"What are we baking?"you asked him, he smiles shyly and ducks his head as he becomes embarrassed.

"Muffins, mum's having a sale"your heart melts at that and you take a risk, reaching out to ruffle his hair and he hums before looking back up at you.

"Okay, what time should I be there?"you asked as if you knew where he lived.

"I'll pick you up"he tells you and you smile softly, biting your bottom lip.

"Yeah? I'm off tomorrow so give me your phone I'll give you my number"you hold your hand out for his phone and he laughs awkwardly, pulling his phone from his back pocket and unlocking it before sliding it over to you.

"You won't give my number away will you?"you asked jokingly and he smiles, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair before ruffling it again.

"Of course not"he swears and you smiled, putting your number into his contacts.

"Great"you both smile at each other and you hear a bunch of ruckus coming from the entrance of the cafeteria, it's his friends.

"I should go"he said and you tried your best not to look sad but he saw the look on your face.

"I'll call you or text you , or both, yeah I'll do both"you laugh at him again and nod, watching as he rushes off before his friends spot him with you and tease him until the end of time.

-------

Jisung arrives at your place the next day and you lock up behind yourself, getting in the car and smiling over at him. He's quick to tell you it's his friends Jeno's car so if you see any girl clothes it doesn't belong to him.

"Jisung it's fine, I promise"you have to cut him off and grab his hand, stroking his hand with your thumb to calm him down.

He bites his bottom lip as he keeps glancing down at your hands and you're just innocently fiddling with his fingers now, whipping your head to look at him as he traps them in between his own and intertwining your fingers.

You can't help the smile that takes over your face and look out of the window, jisung smiles and keeps driving before pulling into a parking lot.

"Oh, my mom is here"he said and you looked over at him in panic, you weren't expecting to meet his mom so soon.

"Sorry, I didn't know she would be here"he turns and apologizes , you shake your head as you scold yourself for overreacting.

"It's okay, I'm here to help remember"you smile at him to reassure him and he nods, getting out of the car and you get out as well.

He immediately reaches for your hand to hold and squeeze, you look up at him as you approach his mother who was sitting on the porch.

"You must be the girl my son speaks so much about"you blush at her words and look at jisung.

"Mom"he whines softly and the woman laughs, ruffling his hair.

"Thank you for coming to help, chenle just arrived and the rest of your friends will stop by later"she informs him and a look of panic crosses over both of your faces , she only laughs and watches as jisung leads you into the house.

"Your mother is really sweet"you tell him as you both make a beeline for the kitchen, he moves around to grab all of the ingredients you'd made a list of beforehand.

"Hyuck you won't believe who just walked in hand and hand with jisung"chenle gushed , the boys ended up coming over at lot sooner than they intended.

You and jisung are just in your own little world when the guys enter, somehow the boy got flour on his cheek and you couldn't ignore it any longer.

"You have a little something right here"you lick your thumb and wipe the flour off his cheek, he blushes and shakes his head.

"Look at you two, all in love twilight style"haechan speaks up being unfortunately himself.

"Haechan be normal for once , challenge failed"you shoot back and jaemin snorts at that, amused.

"Woah, where did this sass come from? What happened to the sweet Liberian?"he teased and you rolled your eyes.

"I picked it up over time, now are you gonna stand there or come over here and help us?"you asked them, jisung watched in amazement as you bodied haechan.

"Yes ma'am"mark said and immediately gets to work, by work you mean grabbing a bowl and waiting for you because he absolutely had no idea what he was doing.

"Marks like-"haechan speaks, doing a salute sign as he clowns mark one last time.

"Me when a bad bitch tell me to do something, looking real goofy"renjun takes a deep breath and sighs.

"Haechan"said boy whipped around to look at him, the room erupting in pure chaos at his choice of words.

"Yes daddy?"renjun looked nothing short of disgusted, questioning why he was friends with these people for the sixth time this week.

-------

Thankfully you guys finished making muffins in under 5 to 6 hours, with the help of jaemin which you found out was the sole reason why the guys have survived so long without their parents.

The guys invited you back to their place after to unwind and that's how you found yourself trying weed for the first time, it took a couple hits for you to get the hang of it but now you were relaxed and finding a spot next to jisung.

"Is it the weed or are your eyes always this pretty?" You ask and he laughs softly, cupping your chin with his hand and studying your face for a moment.

"You're so high right now"he said before taking another puff of the blunt that was being passed around.

"I've always thought you were pretty"you speak, unable to stop yourself from speaking your mind.

"Pretty goofy"haechan snorts and continues rolling another blunt.

"Don't be a hater hyuck"you roll your eyes but jisung brushes your cheek gaining your attention.

"You're pretty"he states, the weed giving him the confidence to say that and you're quick to act on your instincts.

Your lips moulding together for the first time and he gasps cupping your cheeks, he kisses back for a moment as your fingers run through his hair before he pulls back.

"Mmm- y/n"he pulls away but you chase his lips , your lips connecting once again and he groans softly against your lips before he's pulling away again.

"Get a room!"haechan yelled out and you both pull away , blushing again and not daring to look at the wild boy.

"Ow!"you hear him cry out from renjun slapping him upside the head.

"Shut up haechan"he rolled his eyes, leaning his head back against the couch and you got up from your spot.

"Jisung, come with me"he looks up at you and your outstretched hand before getting up, taking your hand and letting you pull him to the kitchen.

You both end up outside and you sigh at the same time before laughing at you being so in sync.

"Why are you single?"he suddenly asked and you laugh at the sudden question.

"Sorry, I'm just trying to wrap my head around why a girl like you would be with someone like me"he elaborated and you furrow your eyebrows, confused even more.

"Someone like you?"you questioned.

"A nobody, all of my friends are interesting and I'm just...me"he frowned and you cup his face in your hands.

"Don't talk like that ji, not ever. I like you for you, you're sweet and funny albeit unintentionally sometimes but I'm perfectly fine where I am right now because you make me happy"you tell him and he smiles , leaning forward and kissing your lips.

His large hands grab your waist and pulls you onto his lap, you kneel above him and he pulls back.

"So technically I'm your first love?"he asked hopefully and you smiled, his hands sliding up the back of your thighs and squeezing your ass.

"Something like that, yeah."you said breathless and leaning down to kiss his lips again, his hand grips the back of your neck and he forces his tongue in your mouth.

You can't help but moan into the kiss out of surprise and his hands kneading the flesh of your ass, deepening the kiss and taking your breath away.

You whine softly into the kiss and jisung pulls away, panting and closing his eyes to calm down his breathing.

"Jisung-"you gasp as he picks you up once he stands and carries you inside to his bedroom, your face is in his neck as your heart beats faster the closer you get to his bedroom.

"Tell me you don't want this and we can go back downstairs-"he says and you can feel his heart beating just as fast as your own, your back pressed up against the door to his room and you knew in that moment what you wanted.

"I want this- I want you"your fingers tangle in his hair and you kiss his lips with passion, he stumbles back before regaining his balance and pressing you against the door again.

His lips trail from your lips to your neck and sucks, bites and licks the skin there.

You can't help but to moan as he practically devours the right side of your neck before dipping down to leave his marks over your collarbone.

You couldn't believe the shy guy you'd met months ago was now ravishing you up against his door , his name falling from your lips and his hands squeezing your ass again.

You hear the doorknob turn and he carries you inside , shutting and locking the door behind him.

A gasp leaves your lips as he drops you onto his comfy mattress and moves to take the leather jacket off.

"Keep it on" you speak up and he stops immediately, crawling onto the bed and leaning over your body.

"You like my leather jacket that much?" He asked with a smirk and you bit your bottom lip, nodding your head and pulling him down as you wrap your legs around his waist.

"You look so hot in leather"no one could deny that and you certainly weren't about to, so jisung pulls your tank top down and your breasts spill out.

"Fuck- you're so pretty baby" you roll your hips up against his bulge and he let's out a shaky breath, you were already soaking your panties with your arousal and he takes your nipple into his mouth as he sucks on your nipples languidly.

Your eyes close and he moves to your side, still sucking and licking your nipples as he slides his fingers over the damp material of your underwear and you let out a whimper.

"Jisung" you call out to him and grab a fist full of his hair, he sucks your nipple harder and successfully draws another moan out of you.

He can feel your arousal seeping through your underwear and covering his fingers with your slick , his free hand wraps around your shoulder and rolls your unoccupied nipple between his fingers.

"jisung"you gasp and grab his hand , his tongue continues to flick against your nipple and you groan softly.

"jisung please"you cry out to him and he chuckles softly, kissing your cheek.

"I have to prep you first doll"he tells you and you whimper softly, moving around your body to kiss down the expanse of your chest.

"jisung, I need you"you whine and he laughs , lips pressed against your stomach on his descent down your body.

"baby, what did I just say?"he looks up at you with a look in his eyes that you've never seen before.

"I'm sorry"you apologize, gripping the sheets to ground yourself to reality.

"I'm going to remove these now"he said as he grabs the waistband of your pants, your heart beating faster in anticipation.

"just put it in"you say exasperated and he laughs, taking off your pants and licking the outline of your panties.

A new side of jisung that no one knew about, where did he even learn this from? The sweet and innocent boy who helped her bake hours prior, now was making her squirm underneath him.

Your underwear was the last thing to go, leaving you naked and vulnerable.

"tell me you want my tongue"he speaks as he rests his head on the inside of your thigh, using his other hand to trace mindless shapes onto your skin to tease you.

"please jisung, I need your tongue on my pussy."he hums softly, lifting his head and licking a stripe up your core and hearing you gasp.

Jisung doesn't hold back as his tongue flicks against your clit, his lips enclosing around the bud and sucking languidly , his hands holding your hips still and placing a hand over your hips to keep you in place.

Your back arching off the bed countless numbers of times as he brings you to an orgasm with just his tongue, the second time you cum is by his fingers alone and the third is simply by both just because he felt like it and he got too carried away.

You push at jisungs head as he continues to lap at your juices from your latest orgasm, he pulls back eventually and hovers his body above yours.

He places a hand over your mouth as he pushes his cock into you slowly, your back arching at his sheer size but he pushes you back down and delivering a quick thrust into you before he starts to thrust into you.

"fuck"you scream against his hand and your eyes roll into the back of your head as he continues to thrust, every thrust precise while his free hand fondles with your breast.

A pull on your nipple has you arching your back before a sharp thrust sends you back flat against the mattress, your nails digging into his back as he fucks his cock into you faster.

He dips his head to suck on a spot on your neck harshly and you whimper, holding onto him tightly before his lips are back against yours and he's forcing his tongue into your mouth.

Your tongues brush together repeatedly as you kiss messily, groans and whimpers leaving the both of your lips.

"I'm cumming!"you cry out and your hips stutter against his own, he quickly pulls out as you cum and watches as your body spasms.

Your hips thrusting into the air before he slips his fingers inside of your cunt and thrusts his fingers at a fast pace, his hand clamping down on your mouth to hide the impending scream you release.

Once you finish cumming you roll onto your side to get away from his fingers but his hands guide you onto your hands and knees.

"you think you can cum for me one more time doll?"he asked sweetly, kissing your cheek and turning your head to kiss your lips passionately.

"Jisung ah-"you whine as he enters you again and starts to thrust his hips again, his hands gripping your hips tightly and trailing his tongue up your spine to lick your sweat.

"ah- jisung, that's dirty"he just laughs at you and thrusts his hips faster, you moan louder at the pleasure coursing through your body and he continues.

He licks the expanse of your back and pulls your head back to kiss your lips again, his fingers rolling your nipples between them and you cry out.

Your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you cum again, your body falling against the mattress completely exhausted.

"you did so good for me"he praises you and kisses your lips, you kiss lazily as he takes your hands in his and guides them to his cock.

You take his cock into your hands and stroke his length, your eyes opening as he climbs up your body.

"be a good girl and finish me off"he said and you stick out your tongue, your lips wrapping around his tip as you suck and he thursts into your mouth.

Each thrust you take him deeper until you're gagging on his cock, so deep in your throat and jisung groans and praises you.

" my girls so good at taking my cock"he moans, fingers tangled in your hair.

"I'm gonna cum"he grunts and pulls out of your mouth, his hand stroking his cock quickly before he's cumming all over his hand and your face.

"fuck, come here"he licks up his mess and you gasp, trying to push him away to stop him but you're no match for his strength and he kisses your lips deeply.

The aftertaste of cum lingers on his tongue and you whimper, wrapping your arms and legs around him.

"y/n, will you go on a date with me?"he asked , the drastic change in his demeanor nearly gives you whiplash and you kiss his lips again.

"That's a yes"you mumble between the kiss and he chuckles, wrapping his arms around you as you kiss.

"I can't get enough of you"he groans softly as his lips trail down to your neck, you let out a breathless sigh.

"I'm yours, always have been since the moment we met"you speak sincerely and he smiles, you and jisung were as inseparable as you were insatiable that night.

Your love for each other will go down in history, you were just the local librarian who just so happened to have stolen his heart, always and forever.

#nct smut #park jisung smut #nct dream smut

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