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thatmaxcontent · 18 days

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Minor Angst Writing

One Piece, Sanji + Usopp (not too shippy)

TW: None in particular, it's pretty mild. Still, please stay safe!

[ Not proof-read ]

> > >

There he was, sat at the edge of The Sunny's middle railing.

The night was calm, the weather surprisingly understanding for once. Few clouds coated the sky, instead painted in a freckled light of stars twinkling between midnight blues and royal purples. The beauty of it made it seem like a painting in the extremely slow breeze.

He kicked his feet, though aware of Jinbe's presence at the ship's wheel he felt a sense of loneliness. He looked down at the sea, a few of his fluffy black curls drooped over his face. The hair that was usually up in a large bunch was now floating down with gravity alongside his body. Unsure if the oldest had even noticed him, unsure of if he cared that much.

The case was, he had been noticed. The case was, his dissociation poked at his brain. Unbearable yet unnoticeable, just like the wind.

Was he thinking about anything?

He was thinking about too much.

He picked at his skin idly, pulling around his nails. His expression remained blank, still, monotone. Not even tiredness pushed through it, was he tired? He should've been.

He blinked a few times, regaining part of his awareness. Was he just zoning out after all? He kept his eyes on the water, barely seeing his own reflection from so high up. He continued picking at his skin, observing the dark gleam of it in the reflected light of the moon. He finally pushed his lips together, furrowing his eyebrows a tad. Sighing brought no comfort to the eternal limbo of thought.

He almost jumped off once he heard a door open, managing to hold himself down as he instead turned to see who came out at this hour. He was honestly a little terrified to see the blond man in a silky black robe, flipping open a pack of cigarettes. It took the older of the two grabbing a smoke before he turned to the direction of the other to finally notice him. With a slightly raised eyebrow he hummed in mild surprise.

"You're here too. Can't sleep?" He walked to the railing where Usopp sat, taking out his lighter to fire up the nicotine. The sniper opened his mouth, his hands still picking at each other. The texture of his large T-shirt and pajama pants thankfully helped him ground himself just enough, but somehow he still choked on his words.

"... Ah... mm... y... yeah?" He tried to chuckle, looking back to the water with as little awkwardness as possible. He felt the gentle 'thump' of arms against the railing on his left side. With a breath of death the cook lifted the smoke from his lips.

"Yeah. Me neither." He approved after pushing out the smoke from his system. "What's keeping you on your feet, then?" He placed the cigarette back to his lips, tilting his head up to the sky. There was a mix of things in the atmosphere. Admiration, hesitance, sadness were the main notes with their tangy undertones amplifying an already bitter taste.

Usopp opened his mouth, then closed it. He opened it again, breathing out as he squinted. He pulled off a bigger portion of skin, the momentary pain causing him to freeze in place alongside an occasional shake. With a slow, thoughtful glance in his direction Sanji blew out smoke again.

"I haven't seen a night sky this beautiful in a long while. The weather is good too. Mother nature is truly a blessing, isn't she?" He directed his gaze back to the shades of space, sensing an immediate lift of something from the air. "Oh, uh... yeah. It's... it's really pretty." A response was formed, leading the two to sit in silence once both of them had their attention far up.

Maybe it was a minute, maybe it was a few. Maybe it was five, maybe even ten. There was really no point in counting, especially when both people had their thoughts swallowed up in meteor showers and constellations. An endearment in the eyes of the blond overtook his soul, a soft face smiling at him from the stars. He couldn't help zoning out for a while, a smile of his own carving itself onto him. His sentimentality wasn't cut off, rather a little shaken once he heard an ever so silent sniffle to his right. His gaze holding onto softness, he turned his head to the one sitting.

There were tears on his cheeks. Maybe his face had twisted to a shape, he hadn't seemingly cared to suppress it. Eventually he did open his mouth, a wet sob escaping instead of a sensible word. Aggressive, precise pulling had caused his hands to go almost numb by now.

"Hey," Sanji moved a hand to the younger's, not grabbing it as he instead pointed to it. "Usopp, stop that. Please." He moved his arm back, at the very least his words pulled a pause. He took another swig of his smoke, turning to a startled-looking figure.

"Sorry." The sniper squeezed from his lungs. He slowly lowered his hands to his sides, grabbing at the edge of the railing. His eyes returned to the water.

The cook sighed. "Does this relate to the lack of sleep?" His casual tone was met with an approving mumble. His eyebrows furrowed a smidge. "Well... you should talk about it. Maybe that'll help. Listening could help me as well." He suggested, an offering that made the younger think for a few seconds longer than usual.

"Eh... I don't... I don't want to, uh..." The sentence made it through sobs, leaving the rest to be desired with no result. He struggled as he sniffled, biting his lip a little too harshly once a warm hand patted his back.

"It's fine. If you don't want to, it's fine." Sanji assured. "I'm just saying you can. We both have time, since I doubt either of us will pass out on our feet." He additionally explained, keeping his hand on the back of his good mate.

There was a deep breath, as deep as it could be, before Usopp slouched over and covered his upper face. His frown was abysmal, one that held much more than just one night's emotional load.

"I'm..." He breathed, emptily swaying with the world. "... I'm... I.. I just- it's not like I, I have, I've gone through... bad, stuff... I me- I mean, just look- I mean just, just look at Robin, Nami, Chopper, Brook, Franky- you... I- hah, compared to- compared to you all it's, it's really just, heh, nothing, nothing at all, I'm..." He chuckled short, pitiful laughs. "... I'm just. I'm... I should, I should be... fine. I should, but I'm... just... over-reacting." He couldn't help the mixture of giggles and sobs that danced itself out. His laughs didn't even seem forced, a fact that plucked at the older's brain. He found himself placing both of his arms on the railing, huffing with clear disapproval.

"You're really going to invalidate your own feelings by saying others have it worse? Stop pitying people who are already fighting their battles. It's all just excuses to not let yourself grow. How do you think we all got our-"

"It's different." The sniper tried drying tears with his wet hands, lowering his arms atop his legs. There was a bit of confusion at the sudden clear speech, shown through squinted eyes. "... How? How is it different?", that sentence was only met with a singular 'hah' for dragging seconds. The tears had lessened, reduced to a bunch of sniffling instead.

"Usopp, how is it different?"

"... Well... you all have... purpose. Strength, skill, endurance, bravery... there's very, very good reasons... very good reasons to go ten extra mil- to go extra miles for you all."

"..."

Sanji raised his eyebrow. "Go on. Finish what you're implying." Knowing full-well where it was going he waited.

"..."

"... Why are you... wasting time. On me. Over and over again."

"We've been through this-"

"No, we haven't!" Usopp turned to the left, a face full of something. What was that, exactly? It caught the older by pure surprise. Although a twitch of annoyance gripped at his nose he held back on it. Looking into the face that was usually bunched up with silly joy, wary fear or passionate focus, all of that gone and stacked with more than there had ever been visible...

"... I'm, sorry. I just-... haven't been having a good time. At all." The turn of his head, picking of his fingers, it painted an image a little too familiar on the eyes. The cook looked at the picture painted next to him, then he leaned the visible part of his face on his hand. He huffed, resulting in yet another silent moment.

"Yeah. I get it." He eventually lowered his hand, looking down at the water alongside the other. "Sorry. I didn't mean to push it. Want to talk about it another time?" He held his cigarette, a slow and quiet mumble of approval reaching his senses. With one more blow of his smoke he put out the remains, throwing it into a metal container in a robe pocket. He then turned to the right, tapping the railing. "Alright, get on your feet." He requested more than demanded.

That sudden instruction brought a stop to the picking of skin once again, leading Usopp to slowly turn and get his feet onto the ground of the ship. He took support of the railing, moving so he could give a confused glance.

He was even more confused to feel a pair of arms around him, widened eyes looking at whatever was behind the older. He didn't know how to react, kind of unsure if he liked it...

... no, he did. He did like it. He raised his arm up, placing them around Sanji. The embrace was light, but just like everyone on that ship it was warm and reliable.

Just like every single one. And with that, he subtly smiled into the night.

#writing #my fic #short writing #one piece #god usopp #black leg sanji #fanfic #light angst

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alias-b · 4 years

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sins of my youth. 019

Billy Hargrove x OC! Evie Fenny~ Also posted to my AO3

Summary: It was common knowledge that Billy Hargrove hated Hawkins. Hated Cherry Lane. Even loathed the strange girl next door. Evie Fenny wasn’t too fond of the chaotic Cali transfer either. An awful high school tradition sparks a chain of events that changes everything, ultimately bringing two frayed souls together.

A/N: Hey everyone!! I know it's been quieter around here, but enjoy the chapter I hope! Sort of sweet filler. Billy nurses a hungover Evie back to life as they reach a common ground with their relationship. Evie returns to school as the new Keg King. Chp title is after that Depeche Mode song. TW: Light light mention of a past r*pe/abuse & Pica. Smut!!

***My tag list is wide open, just shoot me a msg to join it! Chat with me about the chapter if you have the time! Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter 19: One Caress

Death. Hot, swampy death. Somehow mixed with frigid chills.

Evie cracked her eyes to light and moaned. Loud enough to wake the body spread on his back next to her. Billy spied her. Curls spiraling endless directions. Knotted all over.

Face pressed into the pillows, Evie held her thudding brain. Figured it might be unspooling around a cracked skull. There was movement as Billy reached over her to pull the curtains further closed and block the early morning sun.

“You seriously woke up at seven with that bad a hangover. Figured you’d sleep in longer. Must be a pride thing.” Billy hummed and draped his arm over her. Casual as can be to tuck back in. He made this rumbling sound into her shoulder blade and sighed out.

Evie realized finally she wasn’t alone and scrambled up, almost tumbling over the bottom edge of the bed if Billy hadn't snatched her wrist.

“Easy!” Came the sharp hiss. “Take a moment to remember last night if you can.” Brown eyes squinted to blink at him. Blurring the gold honey of him together. Billy made a face. “Jesus, you’re looking at me like I’m taking a dump here, Evangeline.”

“Oh, jeez,” Evie fisted her curls so he let go. Her eyes began to dart, finding the events and piecing them. Little by little. “Jesus Dolly Parton Christ.”

“That’s some poetry I like.” Billy reclined, covered in a loose sheet looking his insufferable cupid self. One hand behind his head while he tapped a rhythm into his abs. Evie moaned again, curling up toward the curtains.

“I did a keg stand…”

“Oh, yeah, you did.” Blue eyes rolled. “Your highness.”

“Did I puke on anyone?”

“Just some sorry ass purple primroses.” He’d snarked with some amusement. “You almost got me, but I aimed you just fine.”

“Shit. I’m-”

“You’re gonna piss me off if you apologize again. That’s a stupid girl habit you need to shake.”

“Stupid girl habit, pfffs. I’m Billy Hargrove. I'm perfect and glowy with the face of a damn cherub. Know-it-all.” Evie huffed and mumbled to mock him but Billy continued.

“You just did to me what I did to Harrington. Figure I had it coming. I’m still Billy-The Shit-Hargrove. Smoke and mirrors as you think.” His chest rose and air blew out his mouth. “We didn’t do anything, I just helped you home as you poured your tasty heart out.”

“Yeah, uh… It’s all coming back. Argh...” Evie rubbed her face and aimlessly waved for him to stop talking. She noticed Billy still had his jeans on, no shirt. Then, spied her own outfit under the robe. “The hell are we wearing?”

“You were keen to flash me those Fenny wiles so I tied you into the drunk girl straitjacket. Took some wrangling, but I think I earned the gold,” he blinked, “and I didn’t wear anything under the denim. I figured jeans were better than you waking to my huge, raw morning wood...unless you’re into that.”

He winked which earned him that scrunchy scowl he loved to see on her face.

Evie collapsed back on her front. Cursing daylight. Lingering black makeup still smeared around her eyes.

“Okay, well, I can die now. Officially. Thank you, Billy, for bearing witness.”

“No, no, I’m nursing you back to health today. We both smell like party. Get up. Water. Pills. Shower. Gonna shower at my place and then I’m coming back for breakfast. I’ll make your birthday up to you if you’ll let me. Hope you let me, cause I’ll bug you another two months until you don’t.” Fingers tugged for messy curls until she grumbled.

Evie poked those bright eyes up.

“There was talk of a couch day. I remember.”

“You remember everything?” Thick lashes batted the vulnerability away. She softened.

“Everything. Feel like death,” she said, “but waking up in your arms wasn’t so bad.” Billy brightened, liking that. Maybe too much because he looked smug. “So, the couch. You and me. Us. Can you manage that? Relaxing with casual stimulation.”

“Oh, say stimulation again. Slower,” Billy uttered and Evie rolled her eyes. “Gonna let me come back over?”

“Maybe.” She hitched and whined, ruffling her curls. “Knowing my mom, she’s gonna stay until closing. Around six or seven tonight, she might go party straight from the shop. She's made that a habit on weekends. I don’t know, as this year is going she’s just home less. City friends. Dating. And I feel bad cause it’s almost easier.”

Billy didn’t comment.

“My throat still hurts from last night and we do smell pretty ripe...gonna shower. Clean these sheets too.”

“We haven’t even made a proper mess of them.” Billy came up on his elbows with a suggestive look. They shared another beat before his tone changed. “I should have stayed.”

“I wish you did. But, I also wish I didn’t run into Fredrick’s arms after that dance. It was stupid. We can both make idiot decisions. Still young, I guess.” Evie turned her eyes. “But, you’re here now and we’re not yelling at each other.”

“It’s a whole new world. Keg King.”

“I need to forget that.”

“School won’t. None of the schools there will forget it. Betcha even Tannen knows.” Billy pushed up and Evie followed, stretching until something cracked delightfully. “Heard from him?”

“Something with a DUI or two… I don’t know. He made his threats already.” She stopped to pet Blue, shifting the kitten off Billy’s coat while he snagged his shirt. “Tell Max I said hi if she’s around.”

“Give me thirty.” Billy took his coat, gave her ass a pat, and waltzed out. Unworried. Evie dragged into the shower. Stood there under the warm spray with her head pressed against the cool tiles. Swallowed some aspirin down and slid her eyes to the container of cherry red pins.

There wasn’t a melancholy welling inside her empty gut, but she found it odd. This craving to indulge. To swallow sharp objects and let them click around musically inside her. Make them part of her routine. Eat artificial things until she was made from them. A doll on the top shelf threatening to take a tumble.

Wet curls hung over her shoulders and breasts. Evie closed the mirror and looked at her body there. Head tilting. Towels fell around her feet. She opened her palms, arms slighting lifting in a submissive motion. Evie thought to cover herself but didn’t. Imagined a shell opening so the world could look at her. Admire her. Pluck her free and decorate her with tiny diamonds and opals. Maybe seaweed and shells like a pretty siren.

The mirror lights washed her flesh out as they would an old starlet. Flash. Romancing Evie as she blew kisses to an empty lens, hoping to be loved beyond it. She might die if they don't all love her. Want to screw her. Want to open her up and peek inside. Flash. Keep her at arm's reach if they don't like what they see. Flash. It doesn't matter because she's still a wondrous thing to covet.

She imagined several hands piecing her parts together. Painting them with deft brushes. Evie could sit on a shelf still. She could also let them loop red strings around her broken limbs. Contorting fingers walking her upon a empty stage with the same washed-out lights. Evie would be anything for them. Give anything for eyes and lights and brushes that caress her.

Hands pushed her curls back over her shoulders. Evie really looked at her body. No shame. No sex. No fear. No disgust. Just flesh and blood and muscle wrapped around bones with marrow made of that electric stardust. Flesh that offended the world, they had to fetishize her to stand her. Nothing really mattered if the lights washed her away though. The lights would tell them to love her regardless because she was the next great thing.

Flash.

Lips pushed into the mirror's reflection, breath ghosting to leave an imprint that faded as she leaned back. Her neon demon flitting out to curl and poison the world so she wouldn't have to choke it down alone.

“I don’t want to be them,” Evie sneered there, “they’ll want to be me.”

They’ll claw. And scrape. And scream. And die. Just to be a second rate version of Evangeline. Steam rose around her, placed adoring kisses upon her skin.

A kiss and a promise wrapped in that vengeful neon demon she fed and hid from the world that had ruined her. Broke her parts to pick and choose the best. A demon she still kissed and tried to preen with kindness because Evangeline tried. She tried.

Evie hadn’t been cruel. She told lies. She made messes. But, she tried and she had always hoped that would count for something. It didn’t with her father. Or Mona. Not even Fredrick, he liked her mutilated. But, Evie tried to hold onto that kind girl with fire and hopes to create music that rained to make flowers grow even bolder. She deserves something. Anything.

She was already carved out by this life. Felt like she might hit bone if she dug any further. Piles and piles of ash spilling out longing veins. Organs delectable enough to feed on from souls that sapped her vitality away. What else was there to do but scream until someone heard her? Scream for the girl she lost. The people who would never care to understand that. Scream until they were forced to scream over her. Until they were all roses falling at her feet.

As she looked at herself here, Evie wondered if that girl was even alive anymore. And if she’d already let her down. If she could be forgiven. If she could forget a specific howl of thunder that came after crackling lightning. Lips near her ear to preen so sweet.

"My little mouse-"

Flash.

Hands shaking, she thrust the mirror open and pricked her finger on a cherry pin. Blood beading before she settled it upon her tongue to devour it.

It didn’t make sense. She was happier. Today, she was better. She was in control. But, this... It was built into her. Settling comfortable with everything else. A need. A hope. A cycle. An addiction. Girlhood was a horror story written by a true romantic. This, she knew well.

Just once, Evie figured. She could wean off it. She could gather her parts and sew them back together without help. Carve the person she lost to the world in something stronger.

It’s fine. This is fine.

Flash.

Unable to see whoever was in the mirror now, Evie shut the lights out and hurried away. She pulled a long sleeve tee on with a faded floral design. Decided leggings were a god-like invention and was stuffing socks on when Billy let himself back in.

At the sound, she clenched her stomach as if he’d walk in and see the artificial fragments that made her up now. A softer breath puffed. Everything was neatly hidden inside. Soon to be a part of her shelf collection. Footsteps came to her while she bent over to toss her wet towels in the hamper.

“Can’t knock-?” Evie was spun around into an oncoming hard kiss. Lips colliding before Billy hitched and pulled out. Fireworks burst.

“Hey, I waited for that.” He winked and went into the kitchen. Owned the space. “You look like hell still, Evie. Couch. I’ll make you something greasy to eat.”

“Ugh, I won’t even fight you on this...and you’re well aware of that.” Evie fell onto the sofa. Sagged. Heard Billy clicking around. “You’re not gonna make a mess, are you?”

“Quit worrying, let the master work.” He peered at the kitten eagerly eating from her dish.

Evie heard something sizzle and flipped TV channels. Turned the brightness and volume a little lower while she draped over the sofa's arm. Tried to distract herself as the meds kicked in. Melting around her pricking pin. Billy padded back in with a paper plate. Something stacked high on it.

“What did you…?” Evie blinked and sat up to make room for him so he put the plate down. Still warm and steamy, gooey cheese oozed from fresh bread. “Grilled cheese. Oh hell, that actually looks really good.”

“I made a bunch. Stuff that hangover.” He spied her and stole the remote. Evie was too busy leaning over to pull a cheesy sandwich apart to fight him. Readily, leaning into Billy’s shoulder, Evie got comfortable there as they shared a silence. A hot, greasy meal that was perfection. Even a few laughs over the TV.

She forgot about pretty made up dolls. About that girl she lost. About whatever was trying to take its place. About screaming and thunder.

“I think we should set some ground rules for this thing since we’re obviously avoiding labels,” Evie said during a commercial, wiping her fingers on a napkin before she pushed up. “Water?”

“With ice if you really wanna impress me.” Billy kicked back and heard her scoff. “What do you mean, rules?”

“I mean,” the sink started running from the kitchen, “just...you wanna be with me and I wanna be with you and we’re not gonna bring a third party into that. Basic ‘don’t screw this up’ rules.”

“Unless you’re into it.” Billy cracked his cheekiest smile as she returned. Ice clicked in two glasses. Billy put one arm up on the couch to gesture so she tucked in there. Cups clicked and they hydrated as if a mission was afoot.

“Ah, use the coaster.” She leaned forward so they could set the drinks down. Billy rolled his eyes and sat back, legs spreading.

“You worry too much, I know how to tell people I’m seeing a girl.”

“How public can we be? If I try to kiss you or, god forbid, hold your hand at school...will you be weird about it now?”

“No, and just give me a slap if I get weird on you again.” He shrugged. “If I wanna slip you my tongue or smack your ass, are you gonna get all squirrely on me?” Billy tipped his head back when he felt her chuckle.

“Depends on who you do it in front of. I figure you’ll use your brains for that judgment. I hope.” Came the softer reply. Evie curled into the warmth of him. Stared at his neck and watched the muscles and veins shift under tanned skin. Wondered about sinking her teeth there. “You can get handsy within reason. Do that thing where one person slips their hand into the other’s pocket as they walk.”

“I’ll give you the John Hughes fantasy if you throw me a little pornstar now and then.”

“Bet you think every nasty thing you say makes me blush.”

Evie wiggled down and settled her head in his lap. Eyes snapped down to see her face crinkle with a brighter smile, still only somewhat fatigued from the night before. Curl spiraling long over her shoulders and his thighs. He caught one around his finger. Twirled it with a thoughtful expression before he looked at her eyes.

“You are beautiful, Evangeline Fenny.” Billy had to sigh it. A fierce and tender proclamation. A stunning spell cast over her like a thin veil. Twinkling jewels. Flash photography.

It became clear that they held power over each other and that this was the closest she’d ever gotten to her name in lights.

And Evie did blush. She didn’t look away from his eyes. For once. Not when they flickered to catch her gaze. Lost in Billy, she rose and turned over on her hands and knees. Leaned toward him carefully. Billy inhaled her perfume, got this fluttered look as she took his chin and tipped it to place a delicate kiss upon his throat. Another touched the line of his jaw.

One muffled sound fused them together. Evie’s back hit the couch. The remote fell with a clatter. Fingers laced, Billy shifted her hand next to her head. Saw her pause to kiss his knuckles. Tough with scars from too many fights that burst them open.

Fingertips gave this gentle caress of Evie’s hairline with his free hand. Careful as if something here could shatter. Thick lashes fluttered so she turned to look up at him there. Words crushed in her throat. Almost pleasurably.

“Open your mouth.” Billy longed to taste the fragmented syllables. Lips parted. A finger swept the kiss-puffed swell of them. “Little wider.” His own mouth curled. Thumb rubbing a circle into her chin before he came down. A vaguely sweet-salty kiss. Tangy, almost reminding him of that balmy California air.

Evie matched him. Pushed back. Cupped his face. Made a heavenly sound that vibrated into him.

And she leaned out as if struck by lightning.

“What’s your middle name?”

“What?” He laughed, watching her lashes flutter. Hand midway to touch her breast.

“Your middle name.” Evie fingered the metal pendant when it hung down from his neck. Traced a line across his collar before tucking spun gold behind his ear.

“Why?”

“So suspicious.” She tugged his tee so he’d kiss her again. Slower this time. “This, Billy, is totally a date. So, I’m asking about you about you.” Frankly, Evie wanted to know every little, silly thing there was to him.

“Feels like that perfect, lengthy ending of a date to me.” The snark had Evie pouting. Stopping anymore kisses he dared to plant. Billy gave pause. “It’s stupid. My middle name.”

“Well, now you have to tell me.” She shifted so he could drape his weight across her, one elbow planted near her head. Billy rolled his eyes. Cringed.

“Seamus.” He mumbled, sparking. “Don’t laugh. Mom chose it after an ancestor on her side.”

“Just smiling cause you told me. That’s not bad!” Evie pressed her lips when they trembled. “William Seamus Hargrove.”

“Yeah, I sound like a creepy lighthouse keeper who's really into masturbating.”

“One out of two.” Evie squealed as he pinched her side for that. “Marie!”

“Huh?”

“My middle name. Marie.” Arms looped loosely around Billy's shoulders. They wrapped each other up, spoke intimately of casual subjects. All too easily.

“Evangeline Marie Fenny.” He gave it a taste. Liked it.

“Uh-huh.” Evie’s fingers twirled idle into Billy's curls, massaging circles into the back of his warm neck. “My mom got the middle name from this famous Voodoo Queen in New Orleans. She thought to name me Christine, Wendy, or Beatrice but when I was born, she changed her mind at the last minute because she saw me and said the name just came to her from this epic poem. Said it was star-worthy so she plucked it down from the night sky and kept it as her own.”

"A star?" He panned to focus on her expression relaxing.

"It's a lot to live up to." Something to grieve deeply in that.

“Hm. Voodoo Queen. So, do you like to turn boys into creatures when they cross you? Frogs, goats, and bats maybe? For sacrifice?”

“I mean, that’s the first thing they teach us, obviously. Voodoo is actually peaceful and balanced, it just has a violent misconception because of racism. It’s an even exchange of life and energy. A relationship you build with actual effort. Signature.”

“My mom might have liked it, she was spiritual-like.”

“My aunts know more. They were pretty worked up when my mom branched out. I like to think she balances a couple religions to get by. She does the same thing with hair styling…and boyfriends.” Evie puffed, eyes elsewhere. “Just a jukebox, she changes the song by whatever is gonna comfort her most that week. I just tell people she’s open-minded and she is.”

“My dad hates your mom more than he’s hated any neighbor we’ve ever had. And we used to live across from these guys he didn’t like me talking to. Said they were living in sin. Well...he used worse words.” Billy admitted, vaguely entertained because Neil loved to spit words only when backs were turned. He was a coward. “They were always nice to me. Owned this fancy cake shop so they sometimes gave me a truffle if I was playing on the apartment steps.”

“I can picture you small. Face all messy with chocolate.” Evie gushed there. “Probably the cutest thing. Bet Neil hated them more for being sweet.”

“The one and only time he spat the word out in the open, one of those guys broke his nose. I got the brunt of that anger later, but it was worth it. Just makes me like Mona more.”

“I’m sure.” Evie blinked, sighing elsewhere under Billy’s gaze. “My mom and I have a disconnect, but I am proud of her. She’s so educated despite having me young even if people don’t know it. She’s marched for human rights and she’s braver than she knows. She always stands for something and I hope I can one day too. Even if her big, noble causes distract from her home life.”

Evie paused with this searching look. Unsure if she should indulge the thought that swept her eyes. Gently, she continued.

“I don’t think her mom ever loved her. Nana was always so cold to her, not like with the older sisters. I noticed that young. She might have liked me only cause I was her one and only grand-baby.”

“Why’s that?”

Evie flickered her brown eyes again, frowning.

“You can’t repeat this, not even to me.” A sigh followed when Billy nodded. “When my mom and dad got divorced...that Christmas break she took me back to N’awlins. They live in this big place, I used to think it was a castle. Her three older sisters, growing old together. Nana was with them until she passed away. I used to hang out in the attic when I wasn’t at their store. Going through boxes of memories.”

“Yeah.” Billy nodded for her to go on.

“My mom wasn’t supposed to be born. Nana had her sisters. She had this husband. Perfect life. A shop to pass down. One night, she was closing and a man attacked her. Held her down and…” Evie swallowed.

“Oh…”

“He hurt my Nana bad. I don’t think she was ever the same, how can you be? But, she got pregnant with his baby. Kept it and that was my mom. I think my mom spent her whole life trying to make up for it. I’m sure she knew.”

“How so?”

“My grandfather left not long after she was born and..my Nana wrote him this letter I don’t think she ever sent. It was begging him to just take Mona and love her right. It was full of apologies and, I think she was gonna kill herself. I don’t know what changed her mind. But, I found that letter and read it. It was in my mom’s things. Under the floorboards of the first dollhouse she ever made herself. She must have found it all the same. Maybe when she was my age.”

“Probably wasn’t an easy thing to find for her.”

“Right. Might explain why mom can only handle the dainty things in life. She just wanted to be loved. So, I think after that...I tried even harder to be perfect for her. I know she loves me and her mother never loved or wanted her. She tried so hard for everyone even if she’s bad with the negative. We’re friends. She always tells me I saved her life so I’m scared of letting her down. What if I can’t save her one day?” Her voice cracked so Evie swallowed a lump down to level herself.

Billy felt that prick his heart. Deeper than he liked. But, the advice still came out clear.

“That’s not your job, Evie, you need a mother. You have plenty of best friends.”

“I thought she married my dad cause she loved him, but really I think she married the first person who promised to care for her. Who whisked her away from her mother’s cold house. It worked out that he was always traveling for work. It feels like everything I thought I knew about my life wasn’t real.” Evie caught herself, eyes on Billy’s pendant. She hoped it protected him. Well enough. “But, my dad. I bet he thinks about me every day. I know it.”

It was always striking and peculiar how Evangeline spoke of her father. Billy pictured a string being pulled from her back to rattle the same peppy sayings. Over and over again until perhaps she believed it too.

Evie paused to stare at Billy thoughtfully. With the pull of her string, she switched modes to become something else.

“What kinds of things to do you like to write about?” She asked with this dreamy sort of expression crossing as if the words before were all imaginary. She was fine. Her mother was fine. Her father, he…

It was all fine. Picture perfect. Paparazzi flashing to send her into a sea of spots. Memories wiping.

“I don’t know, anything to not be here.” Billy caught himself, both of them still wrapped around each other. “Not here, I mean. I’m here.”

Billy seemed to realize how present he was and shifted off her.

“The words almost don’t sound real.” Repetition. A mild chuckle. “I’m here.” He sounded them out carefully. Evie pulled up. Stared at Billy sitting on his knees between her legs.

“That’s it.” She said. “Labels and rules aside. As long as we’re just here, I think we have a handle on this. I can manage that, can you?”

I’m here, Billy gave this closer look and nodded. Earring dangling. Fingers twisted his ring around.

“Are you going to tell Neil or Susan about this?” Evie’s question made him pale noticeably.

“Hell, no. It’s better if my dad doesn’t figure it out. Don’t like him talking to you.”

Evie didn’t argue with that.

“I don’t think I want to tell my mom, she’s just a lot when I’m seeing someone or liking anyone point-blank.” Evie winced.

“Don’t freak on me if I pull from you around my dad. I don’t trust him near you. He’ll say shit and you don’t need that.” Billy peered aside until Evie took his hand, shaking it almost officially.

“Deal. Screw Neil.”

“Oh,” Billy laughed, “you're still a funny girl, Evie.” Eager as can be, he cupped the back of her head. Kissed her into the couch. They forgot the dull aches that kept them so grounded. All giggles, she squirmed out to escape him. Left Billy breathless and tugged as she got up. “Wait, where ya going?”

“Um. My room. Duh.”

He lit up and tried to play cool which melted the second he scrambled to scoop her from the floor.

“Ah!” Evie wiggled and clung to him. Feeling his muscles bulge and strain as they always did. Made her heart sing. “We didn’t discuss this!”

“If I can lift it, it’s mine. You spent all last night challenging me, what do you expect?” Billy jostled her which had Evie wrapping her arms tighter around his shoulders. Barely squealing.

“Okay! Don’t drop me!” She squeezed into his arms and balled up. Billy laughed all the way to the bedroom. “I didn’t wash the sheets yet.”

“Even better, let’s make a bigger mess of them.” Billy dropped her playfully into the covers. Pulled his shirt off as Evie sat up. Eyes falling to the hard contours. He relished that she liked to look at him. Fingers wrapped around her wrist, encouraging the cool palm into his skin. Up the deft lines in his stomach. “You can touch, I won’t charge you for it.”

She dropped the awe and pushed from him. Laughing back into the pillows.

“You’re such a pain.” Evie stiffened because Billy dropped down to crawl up her body. Pretense gone. One hand cupped her jaw. Urged it open as fingers stroked the silky cheek. Thumb curving the swell of her parting mouth. Evie kissed the pad and let the digit slip along her tongue.

“You’re so good.” Billy shuddered when he felt her tongue whirl obediently around his thumb. Breathless. Evie reached down to undo his belt. Sly as can be.

“You’re eager.” She whispered coolly against the wet thumb tracing a line down her chin.

“I haven’t been laid much the past few months, I’m collecting. Times I tried didn’t work. Sue me.”

“Poor thing.” She cooed, working his zipper down until Billy bit his lip. Hips shimmied between her spread legs. He jerked her hips up to get the underwear and leggings off in one expert pull. “Did you think about me when you tried?”

Billy narrowed on her. Sighed as a hand slipped into his jeans. Moaned.

“Yes.” He stole himself a kiss. “Couldn’t even measure up to that kiss in the street.”

“Remind me how that went.” Evie hitched a laugh and he smothered her down. Scared the syllables with his tongue.

Billy pulled her hair for good measure, pushed his open fly into her bare skin. He didn’t waste time this hour as she moaned and pulled for him. Adjusted to find her core. Hips snapped together, both of them mostly clothed in disarray. A good ache built as he moved. Hard and intent like he was making an impression into her flesh. Into her marrow.

Evie would remember him and this time and how he played her. Totally. Neither of them would be running. This moment was about the long haul together. They kept slowing to just look and breathe. Noses nuzzling. Soft exhales in turn. Billy broke kisses to push his face up against her hair and jawline, arms sliding underneath her to cling. He let Evie whisper sweet things into his flesh. Let her hold him just as close.

At the sweetness of her coaxing, he spilled inside her. Earlier then he meant.

“Shit.” Billy started to push up when Evie’s legs caught his hips.

“Stay,” she puffed, “stay like this for a bit.” She prodded and pawed, openly needing him. So very bad.

“I’m crushing you.” He mumbled into her cheek. Trapped in heat.

“I like it.” Evie’s arms looped his shoulders. Both of them got the shakes. “I like how you feel right here.”

“You didn’t come yet.” Hot breath ghosted her neck.

“It’s okay.”

Billy blew air into her jaw. Kissed the line of it before he reached down to finish her.

“Yeah?”

“Ngh, yes.” She mewled out silently. "Oh, Billy." That was his favorite song in truth.

“Atta girl.” Billy kept planting kisses. Evie twisted with nowhere to go. Whimpered until she was locking under him. Mouth back open for his slow tongue. She reached a peak and let him slowly bring her back down.

Lips muffled into her collar. He stayed there inside her. Took every piece of comfort she offered. One hand reeled up to pet her curls. Arms kept him firm against her so he could listen to her twittering heart slow and lull. Fingers danced too delicate across flesh.

Evie whined as he pulled out. Felt the absence burn hot.

They messed the sheets. She was still pulling for him until he pushed her over. Wrapped himself around her after fixing his jeans back up. Leaving them open. Evie shifted, restless until Billy kissed behind her ear.

“Just sleep. Not going anywhere.” Billy’s words lulled her back to relax. “Quit squirming about it.”

She stilled, fingers trailing up the hair on his arm before she dropped her head to the offered bicep. Evie tilted Billy’s wrist to see the watch, groaning.

“It’s not even noon.”

“Maybe you’ll think next time before you get up hungover on a weekday before eight,” Billy mumbled into the curls.

“Only did it for the Hargrove grilled cheese.” Evie closed her eyes to sigh. "You fell for it."

“Guess we’re both screwed.”

“Mm-hm.” She let her mind flutter. Felt Billy’s hand stroking her bare thigh.

Fingers moved up her hip. Kneading the flesh. His palm trailed over her tummy and she didn’t stop him. Didn’t clam up at a boy touching her fuller areas. Billy worshiped her skin. Breath hot into dark curls. She almost wondered if he was trying for another round massaging her hip like that with dancing fingertips.

“Hard to nap when you...when you touch me.” She sounded breathless.

“Like touching you,” Billy mumbled. “Gonna figure out a way to prove it to you without the label. This thing.”

“For a boy who likes to talk, I notice certain words are hard for you.” She felt the arm under her wrapping tighter, pulling her further into his fire. “Not judging. I have problems words too.”

“Still good with my mouth.” Billy shifted hair from Evie’s neck and jaw. Settling his lips there, lazy as can be. “And my hands. But, you still have something nagging you tell you I’m not being truthful about the exclusive thing. Gonna figure out how I can make that up to you.”

“If I really didn’t trust you, Billy, I wouldn’t have let you stay here.” Evie shifted around to face him, still laying on his bicep. There was plenty of fear. Fear of exposing her heart and vessels and nerves to be plucked. Fear she'd like him more than he liked her. Fear this relationship would be such an easy thing to fall into.

"That's honest." He decided, lashes batting. Evie reached up and traced this curving line near his mouth.

“Just be with me cause you want to be and try not to raise your voice if you’re upset." She dropped her hand. "It’s okay if you’re upset, you can tell me. It just freaks out when men raise their voices. It’s like thunder and I...I’m scared of thunder.”

Evie recalled the passive-aggressive way Fredrick would slam things when he was upset with her instead of outright telling her. How he’d wait until she was near tears and begging his forgiveness. Billy studied her eyes. Saw lightning flash within them. Knuckles came to her cheek. Gave an idle caress. His soft lips found her brow and lulled her heavy eyes until they began to flutter. Billy laid there and watched Evie fade, let her sleepy frame tuck into him. Under his chin. She found solace.

He thought of the men in her life and his life who raised their voices. Who hit. Who broke them down to a series of parts they can pick and choose from to make a doll that suited them best. This image they placed up carefully for protection, it may have shattered them both distantly. Billy didn’t want to be a piece of thunder in Evie’s life. Striking to make his points so she wouldn’t forget them.

But, Evie slept so soundly in his arms. Barely twitching while his hands roamed her body. Under the shirt down her bare back. Threading into fluffy locks of thick hair. These little caresses that were her lullaby. It made Billy believe with all his soul that he’d never be like them.

And it made it so easy for him to follow her in darkness.

** ** **

“You’re awfully quiet, Max.” Evie turned her head in the seat. Trees whizzed by illuminated with little flits of the morning sun.

“Just a test today, I guess.” Max had her backpack clutched close in her lap. Almost hiding behind it. She hinted a smile. “I gave Billy shit this morning.” Billy snorted in the driver’s seat, nodding. One hand idle on Evie’s knee. Hot through the denim.

“She did. Neil wasn’t around.”

“Hey...I told Will and them I’d go to the arcade. Just to hang out after school. I’ll be home before dinner.”

“Does Neil know?” Was all Billy asked.

“Yes, he thinks I’m just going to see El. Stays quieter if I’m seeing the Police Chief.” Max plucked up her skateboard. “I won’t need a ride so you guys can make-out.” She snickered while Billy swerved to park at school.

“Yeah? Beat it.” He shifted his seat, patting Evie’s knee to make her wait there. Max jumped out and hopped on her board.

“She does seem off,” Evie remarked more so to herself.

“Things at home are off, it’s making it weird for her and her friends.” Billy shut the door with a hard look. Exhaling out his nose. “It was bound to.” Evie watched Max skate down the hill around other students. Seemingly isolated. She didn’t push the subject and wiped the frown aside. Mauve lips upturned when she peered to see Billy staring at her face. Not reaching for a smoke yet.

“Got something for you.” He said instead, fishing into the front pocket of his denim jacket. “Tried to figure out how to make this official for you. Here.”

Billy dropped a silver chain in her hand without ceremony. The silver ring he wore on his middle finger hung from it. Evie wondered what he’d fidget around with now when he was deep in thought.

“I don’t have a class ring or Letterman jacket for you because I’m not a douche. But, guys do this. Don’t they?” Billy peered at Evie eyeing the ring before she met his gaze.

“It’s perfect.” She turned, gesturing so he could help her put it on. It sat lower than the little music note she usually wore. Evie debated it and pulled her dad’s necklace off, looping it around her wrist as a bracelet because she wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. Maybe it not being in plain sight would make her easier to look at for Mona. “Thank you.”

“My mom got it for me. She had it in the family and said it would fit me one day. That and this chain.” He fingered the saint pendant.

“I’ll be careful with it,” Evie promised him.

“It sits exactly where I wanted it to.” Billy flashed some pride.

“Over my heart?” Her eyes glimmered.

“Over your tits.” He laughed when she shoved at him, tugging his collar in for a kiss.

“You’re gross,” Evie mumbled, pecking him once more. She fingered the ring and beamed.

“You’re into it.” Billy turned her chin for just one more. She could live in this.

Just one more kiss.

Deciding to join the rest of the student body, they got out. Evie slung her strap over one shoulder while Billy held his bag in a wad at his side. They met each other around the car before Billy slipped his arm around her waist, bringing Evie into him. Fingers delved into her back pocket.

Every teen around them took note. It was official. Comments piled in as they passed into school.

“Great party, Evie.”

“Looking good, you two!”

“Love your outfit, Fenny.”

Whistles cast and overlapped suggestively.

“This is weird.” Evie leaned into Billy as they got to her locker. Students looked at them together. Offered winks or smiles. Students who never addressed her much before.

“You’re the keg king. What’s that saying?” Billy had shrugged. “Heavy is the head… Fine is the ass.”

“I regret you already.” Evie broke to laugh at him. “Pure poetry, Billy.” She shut her locker, paused to see Heather headed her way looking apprehensive. Another smile crossed, even fuller than the last. Heather seemed to respond and follow it.

“So, I heard I missed a piece of history.”

“Hardly, I puked everywhere.” Evie swept curls behind her shoulder. “Billy, can Heather and I have a sec?”

“Depends, am I still an asshole prick?” He leered over Evie’s shoulder.

“You’re back down to normal prick status.” Heather beamed even sweeter while Billy caught his tongue between his teeth, seeming to like that.

“I can work with that, princess.” He tugged Evie’s curls and went around them to head to his locker before the first period. Evie shifted on her feet so they walked along together.

“I know...things have still been kinda weird.”

“I just figured I’d let you and Carol work through your stuff, you know?” Heather looped her arm into Evie’s.

“Can’t without my best friend there. Sure, Carol and I are bonding, but that doesn’t… You and I went to dances together, Heather, we stayed up eating junk food and watching terrible movies. We bought our first bras together.”

“Our mothers made that day so mortifying, I think I’m still messed up from it.” Heather giggled with Evie snorting next to her. “And you got a real B bra while I basically bought a damn bandage.”

“We’re repressing the memory together.” Evie tugged her down the next hallway where Steve scrambled to snatch her into an unexpected bear hug.

“Tell me it’s true, oh my god, Evie.” He was near howling with laughter. Evie, shocked that Steve lifted her feet from the floor, stammered through the broken train of thought.

“What?” She got spun around with a cry as Heather cackled. Students hurried around them. Steve wasn't strong like Billy, but credit was due.

“You’re the keg king?” He shook her by the shoulders. “You smashed Billy’s record in front of him. In front of everyone?”

“I’m never drinking again.” Evie dropped her head to his chest, hands covering her face.

"You're my absolute hero, Eves, I hope you know that." Steve gripped Evie tighter, got close like he thought to kiss her but resisted.

“Yeah, you’re going to have to fill us in on everything at lunch.” Heather decided, grasping Evie’s hand. “Jesus, Steve, get it together.”

“Let me have this, Holloway. She's mine.” He squeezed Evie’s amused frame back into him. “He made my life hellish.”

“I’ll dedicate the win to you. How’s that?” Evie slipped from Steve, laughing now. “Lunch. We’ll give Billy shit about it together.” A wink that Steve matched, thoroughly enjoying this momentous day. Evie rejoined Heather to hurry toward class. “How about a sleepover? Us, Carol, and Max. I think she needs more girls in her life. No boys invited.”

Heather hugged her books close to grin easier.

“I’d like that.”

~~~~~

A/N: Letting these two finally just be intimate is everything to me. Thank you so so much for reading. Comments and rbs are well loved and appreciated!! Feel free to chat with me, pretty please! Tag list & ask open. xoxo :)

TAGGED:: @80sbxtch @nottherightseason @alagalaska @alongcamedolly @kellyk-chan @10blurredsmoke10 @charmed-asylum @unmistakablyunknown @lukespatterson

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dothwrites · 4 years

Note

i love your writing! i would love to see you write a Dean/Cas "getting together" fic with maybe... #15 *Don’t tempt me* :D :D

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google doth, always taking prompts!

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It’s been four days since the moving van appeared on the street like a mirage, and Dean has yet to see the poor sap who bought 401 Kripke Drive.

The house is a damn eyesore and it’s been that way for years. Dean’s complained about it to the homeowner’s association, along with several others, but he never got any answer other than a vague The owner appreciates your concern and something will be done about the property soon. Meanwhile, the shutters were rotting and the grass in front of the property was tall enough to play a game of Jumangi in. Dean’s seen a few intrepid raccoons slithering around the property and he’d be willing to bet that there are snakes in that tall grass. Snakes. He shudders as he finishes the touches on his own (pristine) lawn.

Not that he’s become a Stepford Smiler whose only concern is his lawn, but...Look, it’s good to have a nice lawn. It gives the right impression, plus it boosts property values. And what’s the point in having a house if you’re not getting equity out of it?

Which is why Dean is so excited that finally someone’s bought the dilapidated two story at the end of the street. Finally, he can stop wincing whenever he invites Sam and Jess over. He waits, in eager anticipation, to catch sight of the person who Dean’s come to think of as his personal savior. Failing that, he waits to see the taming of the lawn or the painting and re-siding of the house or...anything.

He waits. And he waits.

After a week with no progress, he’s tired of waiting. He quickly whips up a non-offensive lemon cake (no pie; pie is for people who mow their lawns and don’t ruin his property values) and treks down the street to greet the new neighbor.

“What do you have there?” his neighbor, Jody shouts. She’s being a good neighbor and planting her yearly marigolds in her front (landscaped) lawn. “You going to see the new guy?”

“Yeah. Why, have you seen him?” This is good. Up until just a few minutes ago, Dean didn’t know that it was even a guy who had moved in.

Jody smiles. Everything about her screams I know something you don’t know. What’s worse is, from experience, Dean knows that she’s not going to share. “Sure have,” is all that she says. She smiles a Cheshire cat grin at him.

“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” Dean mutters as he heads over to 401.

The walk towards the front door is a perilous prospect. The sidewalk is pitted with holes and loose gravel decorates the surface. Grass and weeds tenaciously rip at the concrete, making the surface uneven. Dean has to watch his step in order to avoid tripping, which is probably a gift in the long run. It keeps him from noticing how the rotted shutters dangle from the windows, held on by a single, dedicated screw, or how the ugly grey paint is peeling away from the house, like it can’t bear to be there a second longer. The front steps creak alarmingly under his weight and Dean quickly makes his way up them and across the front porch. He tries to keep light on his feet, not wanting to crash through.

No doorbell. There’s just an ominous, lion’s head door knocker. Dean takes it in hand and lets it fall several times. The sound echoes.

After a few minutes, Dean’s ready to give up. It’s possible that the mysterious neighbor isn’t here. There’s no car in the driveway. Maybe he came all this way for nothing.

The door (wood chipped in several places, paint coming off of it in long, jagged stripes) creaks open.

Wow, that’s some pretty strong hash, is Dean’s first thought followed by Oh shit, because those are some seriously blue eyes looking back at him.

Then Dean gets a look at the whole package and Oh shit starts to war with Of fucking course. Blue Eyes’ owner is just as unkempt as his house, in a loose linen shirt that hangs off of his frame just enough to tease at the existence of rock hard muscles without ever revealing any. His pants look similarly like they’re a size too big, clinging to his hips by nothing more than sheer willpower. Dark hair hangs loose over the man’s forehead and the whites surrounding those arresting blues have a fine spiderweb of red running through them. Dark stubble scruffs up a jawline that, given the right circumstances, looks sharp enough to cut glass. Everything about the man is rumpled, like he went one too many times through the wash and no one bothered to hang him up to dry afterward before shoving him in a forgotten drawer.

“Can I help you?” The voice that rasps from the body takes Dean aback--It’s deep, hoarse, like he...Well, maybe like he smokes a fuckton of weed every day.

“Dean. Hi. I’m Dean. I’m your neighbor. I live down the lane at 416? I wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.” The cake is cumbersome in Dean’s arms. Having seen the derelict who bought this house, he’s not sure whether he wants to take himself and his cake screaming back to his house or to drop to his knees right here on the man’s front porch. Welcome to the neighborhood indeed.

The man blinks, like he’s taking the time to parse every word for hidden meaning. It could just be that’s stoned out of his mind, but Dean doesn’t think so. Behind the haze of the weed, there’s a sharpness in his eyes that Dean doesn’t often see. The man taps his chin, his eyes flicking up and down Dean’s body. Dean doesn’t think that he’s imagining it when they linger on his lips. “I see. Hello Dean.”

Something warm and pleased curls in Dean’s belly at hearing his name spoken by that voice. He does his best to push it aside, concentrating on the reason why he came. (Weeds, jungle lawn, peeling paint, wonder how he tastes, wonder how he sounds) “Yeah, anyway, friendly advice? I just wanted to let you know that our Homeowner’s Association are a bunch of hardasses (lies), and they’re going to get on you for the way that your lawn looks (more lies). If you want, I could pop over one Saturday morning and help you take care of it (where the hell is this generosity coming from?).”

The man looks at his lawn and then back at Dean. A vague sort of smile creeps across his face. If Dean didn’t know any better, he’d think that he was being laughed at. “Well, I thank you for the offer, but I have no interest in mowing my lawn. Uninhibited growth encourages local bee populations, as do many of what you would call weeds. So thanks, but no thanks.”

The rejection is delivered so pleasantly that it takes Dean a while to realize that he’s been shot down. When he finally makes that connection, he sputters. “You can’t...” He points one finger at Blue Eyes (asshole didn’t even tell him his name, and now Dean is forced to use one of his best physical attributes to describe him?) and spits, “You need to mow your damn lawn!”

On that rejoinder, he stalks down the stairs, jumping when one creaks underneath his weight. Asshole (Dean refuses to think of him with any sort of admiration) calls after him, “Don’t I get my cake?”

Dean whirls around, narrowly avoiding falling flat on his ass. “Cake is for people who aren’t dicks!” he shouts, before he stalks towards home, through grass so thick that it clings to his ankles.

---

The lawn at 401 Kripke Drive remains uncut. The house remains unpainted. The shutters continue on their slow journey towards the earth. Asshole (Castiel, Dean discovers, through the truly formidable stalking talents of one Becky Rosen) continues to allow his property to languish in a state of neglect, as he...Dean’s not sure what he does exactly. Keeps to himself and doesn’t spend a second thinking about the rest of these poor bastards who have to live with the sight of his ungodly property.

When the grass becomes a height that Dean would estimate as ‘mid-calf’, he acts.

Saturday morning, he putters down the street with his mower and pretends like he doesn’t see several curtains flicking back to watch him. Let them stare. Cowards. He, Dean Winchester, is personally going to save the property values and curb appeal of Kripke Drive.

His mower isn’t quiet, nor does Dean make any attempt to lessen his noise, so it’s really remarkable that it takes Cas a good forty-five minutes to stumble out of his house. By that point, Dean’s already finished up with the front and side yards and is happily working his way through the back yard.

“What...What the hell?”

Dean glances over to see the source of the complaints. When he does, his step stutters and falters. It’s almost enough to knock him off of his stride, which is impressive, seeing that he was fairly single-minded in his mission.

Castiel is clad in nothing more than boxers and a threadbare robe, which flutters open whenever he moves, revealing miles of tanned skin. His hair sticks up at odd angles and his stubble could best be described as aggressive. His eyes look clear, but they also look angry.

Swallowing hard, Dean settles for giving Castiel a cheeky wave, as he turns around to make another pass of his lawn.

This does not have the desired effect (Castiel thanks Dean for performing a necessary function of homeownership and goes inside to make a heaping breakfast, which they will consume together while discussing their plans for wedded bliss). Instead Castiel marches across the lawn in his bare feet and stands in front of Dean. Dean, not so focused on yard work that he can’t appreciate when he’s about to take off a man’s toe, releases the kill switch on the mower.

Castiel takes the opportunity to advance on Dean (it is not hot the way that he does that, or the way that he pushes himself up on the balls of his feet to erase the scant inch or so difference in their height, not hot at all). His finger pokes into Dean’s chest. This close, Dean can smell him. He still smells like weed, but instead of being eye-wateringly overpowering, it’s just a comfortable, earthy scent, mixed with something sweeter and brighter--his shampoo maybe?

“I said, what the hell are you doing?”

Dean looks at the lawn and then back at Castiel. He makes a valiant effort not to look at Castiel’s chest, specifically where the robe has opened to reveal the edges of one, dusky nipple. He fails, but he thinks that he should be commended for making the effort to begin with.

“I’m doing you a favor,” Dean says, wincing when Castiel digs his finger into his chest further. He was right--there are a lot of muscles in that frame.

Castiel goes still with rage. “A favor?” he finally asks, voice soft and dangerous. “I specifically said that I wasn’t interested in having my lawn mowed. The bee populations--”

“Oh what the hell Cas,” Dean says, rolling his eyes. “Look, if you care that much, we can go to Home Depot later this afternoon and pick out some bee friendly flowers. Hell, I’ll even help you plant them.”

Castiel doesn’t say anything to this, though his eyebrow does quirk up in what appears to be interest. Dean takes this as his opportunity. “If you want, I can even help you build a place where you could keep a hive. If you want.” (He’s never built an apiary in his goddamn life, but surely there are videos on youtube that tell you how to do that?)

“You mowed my lawn,” Castiel says, but he doesn’t sound angry about it. More...considering? He tilts his head to the side. “Were you planning on painting the house as well?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Dean answers. The shudder that shakes through his body is only halfway exaggerated. “It’s a whole fucking disaster Cas.”

Castiel hums. This time, when his eyes land on Dean’s lips, he lets them linger.

Dean doesn’t do anything to stop him.

(After Dean finishes mowing the lawn, Castiel greets him with a mug of coffee. He’s still dressed in his robe. Dean brings the coffee mug inside. It takes him a while to find his way out of the house. They don’t make it to Home Depot that day, but they do manage to make it to a dinner the next morning for breakfast. Dean does eventually help Castiel plant his flowers, though zoning regulations prohibit apiaries.

Painting the house takes a little longer because Castiel persists in looking so damn good in a pair of jeans that Dean gets distracted. A lot. After blood, sweat, and other bodily fluids are shed, the house gets painted, but by then, it’s time to fix the front steps. After that, the whole damn porch needs to be replaced. Dean keeps on finding chores to do around the house, so many in fact, that he eventually just moves in.

Was this your plan all along? he asks, lying on the floor with Cas as he stares up at the (newly finished) ceiling.

Cas lets a plume of smoke escape from his nose and smiles. Yes, it was always my plan to seduce you with unsolicited yard work. I always knew that a madman would come mow my lawn and I just wanted it to be you.

Don’t fucking tempt me, Dean says, and then there’s not a lot of talking for quite some time.)

#destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #dean winchester #castiel #neighbors!au #enemies to lovers #kinda #dothwrites

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coffee-and-wolfsbane · 4 years

Text

ANON ASK: Julian is broke and has to work in brothel to pay the rent. And Asra is his first customer

Short Fanfic: A Friendly Debt, part 1 (if I get an ask to continue this and get more rowdy with it, I absolutely will! This was so fun to do xD ) Characters: Julian Devorak, Asra Alnazar Fandom: The Arcana Word count: 2,201 Warnings: EXPLICIT NSFW, 18+!!!

Julian had to duck when he entered the brothel’s side entrance. The entire place was heavily laced with incense, and pale-red smoke curled up in the air in tantalizing swirls. The faint beating of drums almost drowned out the various sighs and moans that echoed against the lowered ceilings. “You’re not bad looking,” the madam of the brothel stated frankly, grabbing Julian’s chin and twisting his head from side to side. “You’re alright with servicing men and women?” Julian felt a blush heat up his face. “Whatever pays more,” he mumbled. The whole idea that doctors are as rich as counts is a lie. He didn’t want to get evicted from another place, so he had to make fast coin in order to pay his landlord the next morning. “Taking male clients will get some food money for you, don’t worry,” the madam said. “The patch needs to go, however.” Julian shook his head. “I survived the plague. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m still infected,” he explained under his breath. The madam let out a sharp crack of laughter. “Oh, darling. They won’t be looking at your face,” she assured Julian, and shoved him into a cramped private dressing room. “Put on whatever you think will look best. I’d avoid any bright colors, since you’re so pale. Black or red will do. I’ll come fetch you when I have a client for you.” The curtain was snapped shut in Julian’s face and he sat down on a plush cushion. He hated that his hands shook a little when he went to untie the patch that covered his greatest failure. He glanced in the mirror and tried to adjust his hair to cover the red-tinged eye. When he started poking through the sheer clothing that was available, he was relieved that it seemed clean. Julian picked up what was obviously a thong for a man and immediately threw it to the side. “The prettier you’re dressed, the more they pay,” a soft voice said from above him. Julian jerked in surprise and peered around in the dim candle light. A woman in a sheer robe had moved the curtain to the side and picked up the lingerie piece. “Here. This, underneath those silk pants and the black-edged robe will be fine. Is it your first night?” she asked. Julian took the thong back and flushed. “Y-yes, I’m waiting for my first customer.” The woman crossed her arms. “You might be waiting for a bit. The madam likes to sell to the highest bidder. If you need something for the pain afterwards, come find me,” she said with a wave of her hand, and Julian was alone again. Highest bidder, huh? Julian thought, and he quickly stripped and changed into the outfit the other working girl had pointed to. The underwear was made from some weird mesh-like fabric, and it didn’t do much to cover him. He got on the flowy pants and the robe, tapping his fingers against his thigh nervously. Julian wasn’t sure how much time had passed. The smell of the incense kept trying to lure him into a haze, and he was constantly snapping out of a dazed half-sleep. The madam shoved the curtain back and gave Julian a concise once-over. “You look presentable,” she decided. She added a jeweled clip to Julian’s hair so it stayed over his red eye. “Come on, we have someone that’s a regular and wants something new. He’s a more dominant type, so just be good and obey him, and you’ll earn the coin,” the madam instructed, taking Julian’s wrist and leading him through the winding hallways to the main lounge area. There were cushions and large pillows everywhere, and a few hookahs were set up on the low round tables. Julian tried not to look at the customers that were already getting serviced. “Don’t be so shy,” the madam hissed. “The others will sense it and you’ll be out of a job faster than one of the clients can get you undressed.” “S-s-sorry,” Julian mumbled. Deep breaths. This’ll be over soon. One night, and then you’ll never have to come here again. The madam led Julian to the back of the rooms, and there were only two people back there talking idly. The first had two girls in their lap, but the second was a good distance away, watching with an bored expression. He was smoking something that smelled like dark spices and fruit on a cigarette holder, and Julian froze when he saw the brightly-colored sash. Julian’s heart started to pound as he slowly looked up from the second person’s hands to the blue stone pendant, and then over the golden collar. His worst fears were confirmed, though, when he saw the pale lilac irises and the snow-white halo of curls. No. No, no, no, this is some sick joke. This can’t be happening, Julian thought as his stomach twisted into knots and dread filled his chest. Julian met Asra’s eyes and he knew the panic was clear on his face, because Asra actually did a double-take and then those lavender eyes locked onto Julian with a predatory intent. “Master Magician, here’s the newest addition to our business,” the madam simpered, and Julian seriously thought about bolting. “He doesn’t have much of a rind on him, though, so feel free to discipline him if he displeases you.” Asra, say you know me! Turn me away! What are you even doing here?! She said you were a regular! Julian’s thoughts became more panicked when Asra slowly set down the cigarette holder on the table and he smiled. “He’s perfect, Heather,” Asra purred, and Julian’s face lit up in a blush that was the same shade as his hair. “Go on, now. Your customer is waiting,” the madam said, and practically shoved Julian forward. He tripped on the hem of the billowy pants and landed face-first into Asra’s lap. Julian’s cheeks were burning as he felt Asra’s hand grip his hair, and suddenly he was looking up at his best friend. “Isn’t this a surprise,” Asra drawled, and Julian’s eyes widened as he tried to think of some explanation. “W-w-why are you here?” was what Julian’s panic-brain blurted out. Asra chuckled softly, and the sound made Julian’s skin break out in small bumps.”The same reason why everyone else is here, Ilya,” Asra laughed, and to back up his point, the moans and sighs around them suddenly seemed amplified. Julian tried to put his hands out to stead himself, but the only thing he could grab onto was Asra’s thighs. He had landed on his knees--don’t think about it, don’t think about it!--between Asra’s legs, and he couldn’t back away due to Asra’s firm grip on his auburn hair. “N-no, I meant why don’t you get someone different? Someone you don’t know?” Julian mumbled, his real name on Asra’s lips making his mouth dry. “Why would I choose one of these used-up girls when I have you, the famous Doctor Devorak, in front of me?” Asra taunted, arching a pale brow. “Is this a kink of yours, Ilya? Or are you hurting for money?” Julian’s eyes skittered away and he swallowed convulsively. “F-for the money,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. Asra’s eyebrows went up into his curly hair, and the grin that spread across his friend’s face had Julian shaking slightly. “Money? You’re a doctor. How can you be broke?” Asra snorted. Julian tried to lean away again, but Asra tightened his hold, cranking Julian’s head back and exposing the pale column of Julian’s throat. “Don’t be coy, Ilya. I might act nice and endearing on the outside, but in here, I’m very different,” Asra purred. “Look at me and tell me how much money you need. Now.” Julian had to dampen his lower lip a few times before his voice decided it was able to work. His hands held onto Asra’s thighs and he met his friend’s lilac eyes. “O-one thousand coins,” he whispered. “For rent. I’m two months behind. My landlord is threatening to evict me if I don’t get the money to him by tomorrow.” Asra let out a soft whistle at the number. “That’s a hefty debt, Ilya. You’ll need to work hard to get that amount of money in one night.” Julian felt tears prick the corners of his eyes. “I-I know. But between helping Mazelinka and Pasha, I barely had anything left, and what I did have I spent at The Raven.” Asra made a sympathetic noise and ran his fingers through Julian’s hair, pulling the jeweled clip out and tossing it on the table. “Poor Ilya. The useless plague doctor that doesn’t have any plagues to cure. I could help you. We are friends, right?” Asra asked, but the gleam in his eyes said his ‘help’ wouldn’t come free. Julian looked up at Asra hopefully, not catching the calculating look behind Asra’s eyes. “Y-you could? Asra, I don’t know what to say.” See? You had nothing to panic over, Julian thought with a brief flash of relief. “You won’t need to say anything, Ilya,” Asra murmured, and he grabbed Julian’s chin tightly. “I’ll loan you the money you need, but you’ll be in debt to me instead. Doesn’t that sound nicer?” he said sweetly. Some sort of alarm went off in Julian’s head, but he nodded slowly, uncertainty on his face. “I promise I’ll pay you back,” he mumbled, chewing on his lower lip. “You’ll pay me back, but I’m not interested in the coin. I want your body. How about a little game?” Asra suggested, and he leaned back against the cushions. Julian’s eyes widened when he saw a hard ridge straining against the soft fabric of Asra’s pants. “Game?” Julian repeated dumbly, and he unconsciously licked his lips. “Mmmhm. You can stop worrying about the money. After I’m done here, I’ll go to your landlord and pay your debt. But you’ll have to start making up for it now. If you use your mouth on me well enough, I won’t claim your ass,” Asra said, his thumb dragging across Julian’s lips. Use my mouth? Does he mean give him oral? Julian thought, and the incense must have been getting into his head again, because his body was humming with a slow burn. When Julian didn’t answer because he was too busy trying to get the images of other things out of his head, Asra caught Julian by the nape of his neck and dragged him forward, pressing Julian’s cheek against his hip. “What did I say about answering me, Ilya?” Asra gently chided him, but his pale purple irises flashed dangerously. Julian’s breath caught in his throat and his entire body went still. “I’m sorry, Asra,” he whispered automatically, looking up at his friend the best he could, since he was trapped against Asra’s hips. It could always be worse, Julian thought with a gulp. And if it’s only oral....it’s not like I’ve never thought about him like that. He knows he’s handsome and sexy. “I’ll do it,” Julian mumbled, and he was relieved when the pressure on his temple let up. Asra reached over them and took up the long cigarette holder again. “Before you get started, though, I want to see what you wore to entice a paying client,” Asra said, taking a long drag from the smoldering cigarette. “I didn’t know you smoked,” Julian said under his breath, and he leaned back slightly to shrug off the robe he had on. “I know, it’s bad for you and all that, but the smoke is incredibly sweeter when I’m mid-orgasm,” Asra drawled, and Julian flushed deeply. Asra held up a hand and waved Julian back. “Stand up to take off those bottoms, pet.” Julian cringed a little, but he obediently stood up, his thumbs hesitating on the waistband of the pants. The other customer that Asra had been chatting with wasn’t really paying attention, since they were preoccupied by the two girls they had hired. But the fact that Julian could be watched was making him shift nervously and start to breathe faster. Asra snapped his fingers and Julian shook his head slightly, his anxiety-ridden thoughts disappearing. “Focus on me, Ilya. Get those pants off,” Asra hummed, his voice hypnotically low and sultry. Julian had to force his eyes shut to muster the courage to whisk the soft material down his legs. He kicked them off to the side and his hands curled into fists as he fought the urge to cover himself. “Ohhhh, Ilya,” Asra groaned softly, and Julian knew his face was on fire as blood rushed to his cheeks and also to somewhere farther south. “That doesn’t hide anything. You were serious about earning that money.” Julian’s ears burned along with his face and he hesitantly cracked an eye open. Asra’s light purple gaze was focused on his groin, and Julian chewed on his bottom lip nervously. Asra inhaled another lung full of smoke and he crooked a finger at Julian. “Come on, Ilya. Time to pay up,” Asra breathed, and there was wicked anticipation on his best friend’s face. “Let’s put that smart mouth to good use.”

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dzamie-oc · 4 years

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Smaugust 16 - Glaucus

A dragon finds himself the target of a shape change. He goes from an imposing, draconic body to one more resembling a human woman! (2015 words)

cw: death, transformation, vore (kinda), tftg (kinda??)

There once was a yellow-scaled dragon by the name of Glaucus. He passed his days collecting gold, gems, and other treasures, devouring foolish knights, and kidnapping princesses. Unfortunately, as is the eternal woe of princess-kidnapping dragons across space and throughout time, humans are fragile. Over the days and months, each kidnapped princess would fade in beauty, and thus, in worth to his hoard. Naturally, the women who fell to far to the deteriorating curse of existence soon found themselves a new, very temporary, home in Glaucus's stomach. Yet still, this brought him no joy, for his hunger could be sated just as well with knights or deer, and consuming a princess meant sacrificing a part of his hoard for the sake of its continued beauty and elegance.

One day, he was approached by a human sage, clothed in a brown robe. Glaucus peered down at the man from atop his pile of gold. "For what reason do you approach, human? If you seek my death or the release of one of my treasures, know your quest to be futile."

The human raised his hands; in them sat a plain-looking box. "This is a herb with powerful magic," the robed man explained, "if you were to feed even part of it to any of your princesses, they would remain forever beautiful. It would be as though they had never spent days and months wasting away in your cave. In fact, so potent is this plant, their lives would outlast even that of a dragon's, despite being born as humans."

Glaucus carefully took the box, opening it to reveal a broad leaf from an unknown plant. "From which town come you, o curious human?" the dragon rumbled, "I grant no treasure for your deed, but mercy is a fine reward."

"I am born of and reside in Hillsire, dragon Glaucus," replied the human. "Such a reward is invaluable, and I will be sure to tell of your mercy to my neighbors."

"See that you do," Glaucus said with a slight smile. He dismissed the human from his presence, and curled around the herb, inspecting it and thinking.

Eternal beauty, and eternal life? Surely, he thought, those were qualities the rest of his hoard had, and it would be fitting to finish off the rest of it as such. And yet, the herb was not infinite in itself; if he cut away a leaf, it would not grow back. No matter how thinly he sliced it, what tiny portions he meted out to the beautiful princesses in his hoard, it would eventually consume the last of the herb. When that day should come, Glaucus would be faced with an ultimatum: content himself with the beauties he had collected thus far, and no else, or return to his current predicament, yet with the tantalizing, false hope of an eternally beautiful hoard in front of his eyes every day.

No matter his strategy, whether he choose the first princesses, or the ones most beautiful of each decade, or some further method, the result was still the same: the herb of eternity brought with it naught but limitations. Two knights arrived and fell to his fangs and fire before Glaucus finally struck upon a plan.

Having judged the humanity of his hoard unsuitable, and with the herb itself lacking in the beauty he required of his hoard, Glaucus devoured the magical herb, snapping it up in his yellow-scaled jaws as though it were the heart of a sacrifice offered for clemency. A great, flowing energy rushed through his body, and Glaucus felt his dented scales become flawless once more, gleaming as though shined just that morning. The dragon yawned and settled down to sleep while his body consumed and used the herb.

As the morning broke, Glaucus stretched, his scaly arms sending a cascade of coins rolling down their pile. Groggy, he sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. A yawn, and another stretch, and he froze as his hand brushed the wall of his cave, knocking away the tip of a tall stalagmite, which skittered down a mountain of treasure. Confusion gripped him as he brought the hand in front of his face, brewing into horror as he realized that the scaly, yellow, yet human-shaped hand responded to his command.

He shook his head and inspected the rest of his body. His scales shone, the dim light of the cave bouncing off of them in the most appealing of ways, and an old scar along his forear- along his arm, from a lucky knight's gash with a spear, had vanished entirely. In its place was a flawless stretch of scales. However, as he turned his head elsewhere, he realized that his head, wings, and tail were all that escaped the magic of the herb. As he stood up, taking a moment to balance on two legs, he noticed, too, that he was smaller, though he let out a sigh of relief when he realized he still towered times the height any uppity human who might think to take advantage of his new body.

Glaucus's belly appeared thin and maidenish, yet a hand run over it belied the truth of powerful muscles just beyond his scales. Worse, however, were the massive scale-covered lumps on his chest. With a hand under each, he lifted and poked them, finding that they were not nearly so sensitive as he knew a human's could be, merely providing form without function. Inwardly, Glaucus sighed - lactating was such a... mammal thing to do, and he was glad to avoid it. His hands explored his head, feeling out a smoother, yet distinctly draconic head. He retained his horns, though long growths of hair extended from the top of his head to just above his wing joints. Glaucus craned his head around to look at his wings, and was elated to see that they still responded properly, flapping a few times.

Resolving to check matters of reproduction later, the dragon curled his tongue up in front of him: still long, slender, and forked. He let fire build up in his chest, drew it up through his throat, and spat it at the nearest wall. A ball of flame exited his parted jaws, slamming into the rock and scorching it. With a satisfied huff, Glaucus strode from his cave, filled with a desire to work out his frustration. He glared at nearby Hillshire, yet, as savage as he was at times, he was a dragon of his word, and had promised to spare them his wrath. Besides, he admitted, the human in robes had instructed him to feed the herb to his princesses; he did not have a hand in Glaucus's current body.

The sun shone on the transformed dragon's scales; true to the sage's promise of eternal beauty, Glaucus could not stop himself from pausing to admire his appearance, before the frustration boiled up within himself. He leapt into the sky, wings flapping automatically to keep him aloft. With strange ease, he soared past Hillshire, landing with a growl before Sylvanwood. His roar echoed across the land, before he boomed in a loud, unsurprisingly yet still jarring, feminine voice, "you who would face a dragon, face me and your death, or live to see your village razed!"

"Dragon!" shouted a helmeted knight, "not a twig of this town shall burn. Your own life is... for... feit..." He trailed off as he approached. He flicked up his visor, regarding the yellow-scaled body towering before him, then averted his gaze. "It would... not be proper to engage you, fair lady."

Glaucus growled. The minor irritation of having to use both hands to easily lift the knight was merely the spark to ignite the rage the knight had further fueled. And, as dragons do on ignition, the knight was engulfed in a billowing cloud of flame, his grunt of confusion giving way quickly to a horrible scream of agony. Smoke rose from his limp armor when Glaucus snapped his jaws shut.

A second challenge was shouted as a second human came at him, sword raised. Glaucus spun quickly, slamming the challenger across the ground. He raised his sword against him again, but a single, yellow-scaled foot held him in place, unable to lift his sword or even kick much. Glaucus smirked and lifted the cooked knight to his muzzle. It was a greater struggle than he had had in dozens or hundreds of years, but he managed to swallow the defeated foe, temporarily rounding out his magically-trim belly. He noted with a taste of satisfaction that the eternal beauty held through gorging himself, and his triumphant figure was just as pleasing to his eye as when he had first emerged from his cave.

He scuffed the trapped human underfoot, then sent him skidding several meters away. The man coughed, gritted his teeth, and charged once more; Glaucus crouched down to catch him in his hands. "Admirable, you hesitate not in your duty."

The human tried to swing his sword at Glaucus, but found his arms soon caught fast, as well. "I will not be swayed by your wiles! Be you Glaucus with a new trick, or some other beast with his scales, I am sworn to defend this village from any who would seek to destroy it!"

Glaucus regarded him dispassionately, then pushed him back, standing and taking a step back, himself. "Well, fortune favors you; the first fellow," he patted his belly, "was enough to sate my ire. But know that, had you not been so lucky, that conviction of yours would see you join him, in the afterlife if not my stomach." With that, he turned and left, taking flight and easily outpacing any who tried to follow.

He landed before Hillshire. "Show me to the man who delivered to me the herb yesterday," he commanded a nearby girl playing at the outskirts. She took a terrified step back, taking in the sight of the dragon, then nodded and bolted into the town. From his vantage point, Glaucus watched her go, and swiftly strode to a closer point around the town. The man in robes left his home and turned to greet him.

"Dragon Glaucus, did not you promise mercy to the town?" Glaucus could sense the fear in his voice, yet his actions betrayed none of it.

"I did, and thus all I have done yet was create footprints around the perimeter. Tell me, human, was this," he said, gesturing to his new body, "the intended outcome of your gift?"

The man squinted at him, holding a hand in front of his face to shield his eyes from the bright yellow scales. "Ah, I see. No, we merely sought the mercy you offered; I would have attempted to bargain for it, should you have offered a material reward. How find you such a form?"

Glaucus folded his arms - an unnatural gesture for him, yet one he knew well from his many princesses. "It is inferior to my majestic, prior form... yet, I would not describe it as a curse. I suspect my opinion will grow more nuanced through time."

"Ah, I am glad to hear that," the sage said, "and know that Hillshire is a friend to the unusual. Should you return in a friendly manner, it will be met in kind. And as your mercy shows you a dragon of your word, it is my hope that you do so."

"I will not be dissuaded from my diet nor my hobbies," Glaucus replied, cautious.

"That is not my intention, and I hope the same to be true of my neighbors as well."

Glaucus flicked his gaze over the town of Hillshire. In addition to the humans he often saw roaming towns, he spotted, too, several griffons, a few members of the beastfolk races, and even an elf conversing with a coiled naga. He looked back down at the robed man. "...consider me advised on the matter," he ventured, then crouched to take flight, springing up into the air before angling himself back towards his cave to think.

#dragon #smaugust #mythology #transformation #anthro #furry #furry dragon #v/ore #v.ore #writing #writers on tumblr #smaugust 2020 #text

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kelyon · 5 years

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Golden Cuffs 30: The Apple

Rumbelle Dark Castle BDSM AU

Read on AO3

The Queens satisfy themselves on Belle

TRIGGER WARNINGS FOR RAPE AND TORTURE

Specific trigger warnings for: forced orgasms, vaginal rape, being forced to perform sex acts on another person, forced gagging, a whole bunch of pain and misery. And fire and burns.

Also, there is a magic strap-on in this fic and I don't know if the way it's used will trigger anybody's body dysmorphia or come off as transphobic. That's not my intention. There's enough messed up stuff in this chapter, I don't want to add on to it.

The queens did not robe themselves after they took Belle away from the thorns. Both of them were still naked as they laid her on the bed in the Mirror Room. Maleficent had cleaned the blood off of her body, but Belle still felt a thousand tiny thorn-marks on her back and chest. The soft satin coverlet did nothing to ease the pain in her flesh.

The bed was black wood, the coverlet a lush, royal purple. Belle sunk into a soft feather mattress. The bed was large enough to accommodate the queens for whatever they wanted to do to her for the rest of the night. Looking down at the foot of the bed, she saw an iron ring bolted into the wood. Other rings were fastened into the bedposts and the headboard, the same as the rings and hooks in the walls of this room. All of them wide were enough for chains to be run through them.

Belle swallowed. Would they chain her again? Would they tie her to the bed and force her to stay there while they worked their evil on her?

But Regina and Maleficent made no motion to bring over the chains. They allowed Belle enough freedom to lie down on her own power.

Perhaps they knew that she was too exhausted to move, that she hurt too much to do anything but lie there. The shackles at her wrists weighed her down and kept her in place, perhaps that was enough for them. Perhaps the queens thought that they had broken her spirit. Perhaps they were right.

After the torture with the thorns, all Belle could even want to do was rest her body for as much time as she was given.

Maleficent reached between Belle’s spread legs and touched the hairless flesh that still burned with pain. “Dry as a bone,” she pouted. “What a shame. I thought you would be a good slut for us. What use does Rumple get out of you if you’re never wet?”

Belle said nothing. She wasn’t going to tell these witches that Rumple always found her wet, that it astonished him every time, that he aroused her to no end and that they were nothing like him.

“It isn’t difficult to bottle pleasure.” Regina conjured a glass vial that sparkled with a dark pink liquid. “I’m sure her master keeps her well dosed with this.”

Belle had never seen that potion in her life. “Do--do you want me to drink it?”

Regina threw her head back in a laugh. “We could do that! We could pour the whole thing down your greedy throat!” She leaned into Belle, purring threats. “You’d go mad with lust, an insensible beast desperate to be filled. You wouldn’t come back to yourself until you’d had every cock in my kingdom inside you. I could give you back to Rumple like that. The twisted little imp would have to fuck you for weeks without stopping before he could satisfy you. Would you like that, you shameless whore?”

“No,” Belle whispered, her eyes wide. “Please don’t do that, Your Majesty. Please!”

“Then keep your stupid mouth shut!” Regina growled. Then she stopped and blinked. A smile curled on her face as she considered Belle. “Actually,” an apple appeared in her hand. Like the roses that had grown from Maleficent’s thorns, the apple was as red as blood. “Actually, open your stupid mouth.”

Obediently, Belle dropped her jaw as wide as she could. Regina pushed the apple into her mouth, forcing her open. Belle’s teeth broke through the red skin and she tasted the sour-sweet juice on her tongue. After only a moment of having the apple in her mouth, she could feel the juice dripping onto her chin. It mingled with her saliva and made Belle a slobbery mess.

“And keep it there,” Regina said. “I don’t want to hear anything from you for the rest of the night. Is that clear?”

Stuffed and gagged, Belle nodded.

Sitting beside her on the bed, Maleficent giggled. “What a cute little piggy she is, all cut up and laid out with an apple in her mouth! She looks good enough to eat!”

“That is the idea,” Regina smirked. “But first, she needs a bit of a marinade.”

The queen set to work. She uncorked the vial and held the bottle under Belle’s nose. Fumes wafted up from the potion, dark pink smoke. The smell of it overpowered even the taste of the apple.

The smoke smelled like flowers. No one type of flower, not just roses or lilies or honeysuckle, but a whole garden in bloom. It smelled hot and redolent, like a sticky summer night when all of nature is alive and desperate to mate before it dies. That desperation lingered in Belle’s nose and worked into her mind. She felt her body as a flower, blossoming in the heat, as though she had petals to spread and coat with nectar, as though she needed to attract every bee that buzzed by. This feeling, this need, was not merely arousal--it was life or death. No matter how beautiful a flower was, its life was brief, and it had only one purpose--to make more flowers. Belle felt that yearning invade her. Her eyes closed and her toes curled and she opened her legs even wider.

“Looks like it’s working already,” Maleficent said, licking her lips.

“I’ll give her a little more,” Regina said. “Rumple’s whore needs to have an appetite.”

Using her longest finger, Regina poked into the neck of the vial. She tipped the bottle over so the potion dripped down to coat her finger. The sticky pink residue clung to her like honey from a spoon. Belle’s hips gave an involuntary jerk when she saw it.

“That’s better,” Regina smiled her red-lipped smile.

Belle looked at the queen and saw only crimson, saw her luscious lips, open and glistening, inviting her in. It wasn’t her own will, Belle knew, that made her want to join with Regina. The potion made her want to open herself to anyone--anything--that would take her. Already, she wanted to be taken, and she didn’t care who did it or how much it would hurt.

With her potion-drenched finger, Regina drew light circles around Belle’s breasts. Belle’s back arched at the touch, her nipples hardening instantly. The sensation was so powerful it hurt, but in that hurt, she felt only more desire. With her mouth still full of apple, Belle yelped and whimpered with need.

“Oh,” Maleficent sighed. “Such a good slut.” She sat up by Belle’s head and stroked her cheek. “You know what you want, don’t you, princess?”

Belle looked up at the sorceress, her eyes pleading despite herself. She shouldn’t ask these witches for anything. They were cruel and evil and would only cause her harm, she knew that. But she couldn’t keep herself from begging. Their potion was strong, and her body wanted--wanted--

Her body wanted everything.

Regina trailed her hand down Belle’s stomach. The potion didn’t touch her, but just the feeling of the queen’s nails against her flesh made Belle twist and squirm. To her shame, she wanted more. She knew the queens were going to fuck her, mercilessly, and in that moment she couldn’t wait for it to start.

With slow, maddeningly light touches, Regina painted Belle’s lower lips with the lust potion. The liquid wasn’t hot, but it set her flesh aflame. The heat entered through her skin and Belle felt sweat prickle on her brow. Her body quivered and shook with desire.

Maleficent stayed by Belle’s upper half. She cradled her head in her naked lap and petted her like a kitten. Her hands stroked Belle’s cheeks and hair and she made soft noises of praise.

Gradually, Maleficent’s touch went down to Belle’s chest. She held her breasts in her hands and lightly teased over her nipples. Belle let out a whine at the feeling--far too much and not nearly enough. Her body jerked toward the touch, silently begging for more, but Regina pulled her by the hips, away from Maleficent, so she could keep dousing her with the potion.

The queen sat between Belle’s splayed legs and used her fingers to spread open her secret places. Belle could feel her wetness as the queen touched her. The potion had done its work, she was drenched in arousal.

“You filthy whore,” Regina sneered. Then her fingers began to move.

The shock burst through Belle like a bolt of lightning. Regina rubbed furiously, directly on Belle’s pleasure spot. The sensation made her body curl up and tighten like a cooked prawn, but Maleficent held her back onto the bed.

“None of that, little slut,” she whispered sweetly into Belle’s ear. “My queen wants you to feel this.”

Regina’s eyes were black as she sneered at Belle. Her lips curled, but her fingers never stopped swirling over Belle’s cunt. Maleficent’s arms wrapped around her like a chokehold as Belle writhed and bit against the apple. She knew why she was being restrained: When they made her come they wanted her to have no outlet for her passion, except the one they chose.

Never before had she been forced to orgasm. Rumple always sought her pleasure, but he did it as though it was a gift for both of them. He wanted her to enjoy herself as much as he enjoyed her. Even on that awful night when she had been ill--when she hadn’t wanted to come but he had made her anyway--even then he had not wanted to hurt her. Even then he had only intended the best for her. And ever since then he had stayed well clear of giving her more than she could handle. Rumple never used pleasure as a means of torture.

But now the queens knew that she didn’t want to come. The lust potion was forcing her to want it, forcing her to be wet, forcing her to whimper and whine in a desire that was no desire. If she weren’t gagged, she would be begging for them to fuck her, pleading for release. That was what her body wanted, what they had drugged her into wanting.

There were tears on Belle’s cheeks, as her head lay in Maleficent’s lap. Why would the potion allow her to cry? Why would it leave any part of her body still under her own control? Was it cruelty or kindness? Her eyes and her mind remained aware that this was a violation--even as the rest of her throbbed and shook with a frenzied ecstasy.

She cried as she came. Pleasure tore through her body like a demon being exorcised from a helpless victim. Belle convulsed and fought against Maleficent’s unyielding grasp. Her cunt clenched over and over and she wept for how much she hated every jerk. Through half-open eyes, Belle saw Regina glaring as her fingers pressed against her pleasure spot. If it was possible to murder someone through sensation, Regina would have happily done it to her.

It felt like hours before the intensity lessened. Belle’s heart raced in her chest, her insides throbbed with a feeling so strong it might as well have been pain. She tried to breathe around the apple, but her panting did nothing to ease her distress or calm her mind.

Slowly, Regina withdrew her hand from Belle’s cunt. With a look of disgust, she smeared the wetness off on Belle’s thigh.

As Belle felt her body relax, she turned into Maleficent’s embrace, and wept. The sorceress held her gently and rocked her on the bed, murmuring words of praise and comfort.

“You’re so good, little thing, so good. I know why Rumple likes you. You come like the birth of a star, you sweet girl!”

Regina was less impressed. “I hope she’s good for more than just one,” she said. “You want a turn on her too, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.” Maleficent gently pulled Belle off her chest and looked at her. “I want a chance to make fireworks on our little poppet.”

Still gagged by the blood-red apple, Belle nodded through her tears. Of course, they would both want to make her come. Of course, they would take turns and use her over and over.

“It really is the best part about women,” Regina remarked casually as she and Maleficent switched places. “Get a girl going and you never have to worry about them not being able to perform. We won’t need any more magic to keep this slut open for hours.”

Already worn out beyond her endurance, Belle trembled at the thought of hours of more torture.

Maleficent chuckled as she took Belle by the ankles and spread her limp legs. “I think you’re scaring her again.”

“Good.” Regina pulled Belle up by the shoulders and wedged herself between Belle’s body and a collection of pillows that were piled up by the headboard. As soon as she was comfortable, she yanked Belle backward into her body and started grabbing at her breasts. Belle winced at the feeling, the awful sensation that was pleasure as much as it was pain.

Between Belle’s legs, Maleficent was slower than Regina had been, gentler as she ran her long fingers overheated flesh. She made pleased noises in her throat as she pushed one finger slowly in and out of Belle’s cunt.

Still holding the apple between her teeth, Belle tried to focus on that slowness instead of Regina’s relentless pinching and clawing at her chest. In and out, Maleficent went, slow and steady. As simple as breathing.

Slow, she thought, gentle. When Rumple was slow and deep inside her, that was when she knew he was really enjoying himself. Those were the best times for both of them. Like the first time he had let her see him naked, and then he had asked her to get on top of him. That pleasure had been so slow…

Regina slapped her sharply. “Eyes open, whore. Look at us while we’re fucking you!”

Belle looked up at Regina, then down at Maleficent. They were both smirking. Maleficent was on all fours now, her pointed breasts hanging off her chest. One hand was gripping Belle’s hip and the other was pushing into her cunt. How many fingers what that woman using now? More than one, that was certain. The pace quickened, ever so slightly.

Pressed against Regina’s chest, Belle’s head lay between her breasts. For once, she was glad of the apple gagging her. If her mouth were free, she would surely be expected to use it. Strange that they didn’t want her to suck on Regina, on both of them. Surely the queens knew what a delight that could be. Maybe they had gotten enough use out of her mouth earlier. Maybe they were saving it for later.

Belle thought back to her time with Ariel. She had pleasured a mermaid by sucking on her breasts. Could either of these women make that claim? It had been a joy, then, to have a female body in her mouth. She and Ariel had been strangers, but they had been able to share themselves with one another. They had been kind to each other, pleasured each other.

There was no kindness here. The only pleasures belonged to the queens. Now, Belle was not a person who could share in anything, but an object that was being shared between the two of them. What else were they going to do to her? How else could they hurt her? What else could they take from her?

Maleficent’s pace increased yet again. She used her whole hand now, thrusting in and out in a crude approximation of a man inside a woman. Belle’s hips rose up from the bed and she heard the women chuckling. As she fucked her, Maleficent leaned over Belle’s body so she was almost laying on top of her.

“Take the apple out,” Maleficent whispered to Regina. “I want to hear her scream.”

But Belle didn’t scream for her second orgasm. The sound she made was long and low, something between a moan and a sob. Her body pulled up, away from Regina. Maleficent wrapped one arm around her back and held her up as she convulsed.

Thrashing and clenching and blubbering, Belle came until she couldn’t move. She collapsed onto the bed again, slipping between Regina and Maleficent as the two lovers reached for each other. They kissed like an attack, each of them trying to bite and swallow the other and then defend themselves in a perverse romance.

“That was amazing,” Regina gasped between kisses. “I want you to do that to me.”

“I will,” Maleficent promised. “But first, we should have the little thing make you come. I don’t think she did a good enough job last time.”

“No,” Belle whimpered, still curled into a ball. “No, please.”

Regina laughed. “Do you think the worthless worm is capable?”

Maleficent held Regina’s hands and kissed her knuckles. “If she isn’t, then we’ll split her open and I’ll get on my knees to worship your cunt while you watch her blood pool on the floor. How about that?”

“Oh, you’re wonderful!” Regina kissed a messy line up and down Maleficent’s neck. When she broke away, there were red marks on her lover’s pale skin.

Maleficent just laughed and clapped her hands in excitement. While Regina lay back on the pillows, Maleficent pulled Belle up into a sitting position.

“You heard us, didn’t you, dear?” She titled up Belle’s chin. “My queen has been so sweet to you, you’re going to pay her back.” With her hand on Belle’s jaw, Maleficent made her look at Regina.

The queen reclined on her bed as regally as on a throne. Nothing they had done that night had made her look disheveled or imperfect. Her black hair hung loose over her shoulders, as magnificent as any crown. Her dark eyes smoldered and her lips quirked into a satisfied grin. She had her legs spread, her bare folds open for Belle to see. In the cold blue light of the magic mirror, Regina’s wetness sparkled like jewels.

Pressed against Maleficent’s chest, Belle could feel the moment when the other woman’s breathing slowed.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Maleficent whispered. “Isn’t my queen the fairest of them all?”

Regina fixed her eyes on Belle. “My beloved asked you a question, whore. Answer her.”

Belle nodded and licked her lips before she could speak. “Very beautiful,” she whispered.

“Tell me,” Regina leaned forward, pushing her breasts out. “Tell me how lucky you are to get a chance to service me.”

“I can’t believe it, Your Majesty.” They had never ordered her not to lie to them, though Belle was certain that they wouldn’t like it. But she wasn’t lying.

“Tell me you want me.”

“I want to please you now more than I want anything in the world.” That also was not a lie.

Regina hummed and ran a hand through her hair and over her body. “Do you want me more than you want your Rumple?”

Belle blinked. What game was this witch playing? What did she really want? What could Belle tell her that wasn’t a lie? “There is no comparison, Your Majesty.”

“I didn’t think so,” Regina said, and she waved Belle towards her. Maleficent pushed her into Regina’s arms. “I think I’ve softened to you, pet. I’ve decided to let you kiss me.”

Even under the thrall of the lust potion, there was nothing Belle wanted less than to kiss Regina. Why would Regina want to kiss her? Did they really want her to feign affection?

“That’s a great honor for a good girl like her,” Maleficent hinted.

“Yes,” Belle said in a hushed voice. “W-Where may I kiss you, Your Majesty?”

Regina smirked. “On the lips is traditional. Or doesn’t Rumple let you do that to him?”

Rumpelstiltskin had kissed her lips on the first night they had been together, before he’d even given her the cuffs. He had kissed her the first time he’d found her wet for him.

Belle didn’t say any of that to the queen. Instead, she got on her knees between Regina’s legs and leaned in with her lips pursed. She kept her mouth closed against Regina’s lips and broke away after less than a moment. She sat up on her heels and waited.

Regina snorted. “Hardly passionate, but you’ll get there. We still have you for a while yet.” She turned to Maleficent. “Darling, why don’t you help this stupid girl? I still don’t think she knows what to do with a woman’s body.”

“Including her own, the poor thing.” Maleficent looked at Belle with mock sympathy before she took her by the arm.

Belle’s golden cuffs were covered by the iron shackles and the shackles were in Maleficent’s grip. She had no choice. She had to do their bidding. Maleficent moved Belle’s hand to Regina’s cunt and kept her hand over Belle’s. She forced her to move at the pace she set, forced her to delve deeply into Regina’s body.

Belle had never touched a woman with her hands before. Her fingers had never slid through the slick heat of another woman’s arousal. The thought had only rarely come up in her fantasies. But here she was, wrist-deep in Regina’s cunt, Maleficent pulling her hand back and forth, in and out of her lover.

For her part, Regina threw her head back on the pillows and sighed. “You’re such a good teacher,” she said to Maleficent. “Remember when you taught me?”

“You were such a fast learner,” Maleficent murmured. “So clever, so eager to please.”

Regina jerked under Belle’s hand, but didn’t let it interrupt her conversation. “Did I please you? Even then, before I knew what I was doing?”

“You were perfect.” With her hand still guiding Belle, Maleficent leaned forward and kissed Regina on the forehead. “You were always perfect.”

Regina looked up at Maleficent. Her eyes were wide and yearning. Her whole face looked open and vulnerable. She looked younger, as though she were innocent and good, as though she were a different person entirely.

“I love you,” she whispered.

Belle started at the raw honesty of those words, the unabashed tenderness of this moment. Was this what Regina had been like before she had been hurt? Before she had started hurting others? Was this what Regina had been when Maleficent had met her? Was that what Maleficent saw when she looked at her, even now?

“I love you too,” Maleficent answered.

For a moment, they were lost in each others’ gaze, and the only movement in the room was Belle steadily pumping in and out of Regina.

Then Maleficent blinked. Without looking away from Regina, she reached down with her free hand and pulled Belle up by her hair. Maleficent’s other hand stayed on Belle’s wrist, and she guided Belle’s face to Regina’s breasts.

“Suckle my queen,” Maleficent commanded. “And don’t stop until she comes.”

Belle’s jaw still hurt from holding the apple, but she had no choice. She opened her mouth and closed her lips around the queen’s darkened nipple. Obediently, she sucked in a steady rhythm. Regina’s breasts were so much bigger than Ariel’s had been.

Maleficent controlled her by the wrist and by the hair now. She pushed Belle’s face into the round expanse of Regina’s breast, squishing her nose into the yielding flesh.

“Lick her,” Maleficent urged. “Worship her like the queen she is.”

In response, Belle flicked her tongue over Regina’s nipple, darting a line over it again and again. Regina’s breath hitched and Belle could feel the shock of pleasure go through the body underneath her.

“Yes,” Maleficent sighed. “Again.”

Belle could break away long enough to take quick breaths, but she knew she had to stay focused on her task. She had used her mouth on both of them when she had been bound in the thorns and this was not that different. Now, at least, she had Maleficent to help her, to encourage her and teach her.

Regina didn’t speak for most of it. Occasionally, she would let out a deep and throaty moan--and Maleficent would answer with delight. She knew Regina’s body well, well enough to help Belle through the process of making her come.

When it happened, Maleficent was holding Regina, and the force of her passion rolled Belle over in between their bodies. Regina jerked and cried out her pleasure in a high-pitched shriek. Belle pulled her mouth away from the now-red nipple, but kept her hand between the queen’s legs. She felt her pulsing around her fingers. Maleficent covered Regina’s face with kisses as she recovered.

“That was good,” Regina said after a moment. But there was still an edge to her voice. She didn’t yet have the exhausted contentment that Belle knew meant real satisfaction.

Maleficent seemed to recognize it as well. “You’re not done yet, are you, my love?”

With a hasty kiss, Regina rolled out of the bed and went to the mirror. Curled up on the bed, Belle watched her reflection watch Regina touch a panel on the side of the mirror and pull out a secret compartment from the glass.

“I want this,” Regina said. She took a glowing, purple object from the compartment and held it in two hands. “I want to fuck the Dark One’s whore with this.”

What was that thing? It was shaped like a tapered rod, rounded on one end, the whole thing a little shorter than Belle’s forearm. The glow was surely magic. Was it a wand? But it was thicker around than any wand Belle had seen illustrated. And Regina didn’t hold it like a wand. She wrapped her fingers around the thing as if it were a scepter or a walking staff.

Belle still didn’t understand what she was looking at until Regina placed the object between her legs so that it jutted outward from her hairless mound. With a bright red glow, the purple rod was fastened between Regina’s legs. The queen stood with her hands on her hips and admired her reflection.

In the mirror, Belle saw her mouth drop open. Regina saw it too and laughed.

“You look as though you’ve never seen a cock before.” She turned away from the mirror, stroking the length of her purple phallus as she came back to the bed. “What does Rumple use you for?”

Wordless, Belle shook her head at the sight. The magical thing became a part of Regina’s body. The purple glow joined to her flesh without a seam or any kind of transition.

“Is it just that I’m so much bigger than he is?” Regina stood by the edge of the bed and

forced Belle to look at her. Her dark eyes glinted with the reflection of the glowing magic. “Tell me, is Rumple’s cock as stunted and corrupted as the rest of him?”

Belle’s mouth was dry. “You are bigger,” she answered weakly.

And it was true. Rumpelstiltskin fit so neatly inside of Belle, no matter what part of her he entered. His cock was proportionate to his body, and it was the perfect size to pleasure her.

But this thing affixed to Regina’s body was easily twice that size, longer and wider. Belle couldn’t stop staring at it. How would it possibly fit inside her? How badly would Regina break her when she tried to make it fit?

“Touch my cock, whore,” Regina almost moaned the command.

Belle reached out a hand to the purple thing. It had an odd warmth to it. Not as hot as a real body, but like a rock heated by the sun. It was a warmth that had no life in it, that could only reflect what it was given. The thing was hard, but again, like a stone. Not the strange living hardness of a real cock. It was just an object, but Regina treated it like it was a part of her.

“Kiss it.” Regina positioned herself on the bed next to Maleficent.

Belle pressed her lips to the rounded tip.

“Suck it, whore.”

Closing her eyes, Belle opened her mouth around the first inch of the thing. Magic tingled in her mouth, but the object had no taste at all.

Regina threw her head back and moaned. Could she feel what the cock felt? Was the magical object giving her the same sensations that a man would have? What else would she make Belle do to pleasure this thing?

“There is nothing like this,” Regina said to Maleficent. “Are you certain you don’t want me to make you one?”

“You know I only like one kind of prick, darling. But I’m glad it makes you happy.”`

“Do you like it, slut?” Regina jerked her hips and the false cock knocked against Belle’s teeth. “Do you like sucking on me?”

Belle nodded and kept her head bent over the glowing thing. It was the first lie she had told since they had put her on the bed.

Regina stretched out and told Belle to keep going while she fingered Maleficent. The lovers kissed and touched each other and Belle licked the absurd length of the purple cock.

“Use your mouth on all of me, whore.” Regina snarled. She spread her legs wide and pushed Belle’s head down to her womanly parts. They were still there, as ordinary as a horse’s head under a unicorn’s horn.

Belle went back and forth between the magical and the regular pleasure places. She trailed her tongue from the tip of the cock, down the purple hardness, around Regina’s pleasure spot and into her folds of wetness. It almost made her retch to taste Regina again, but Belle pushed through her revulsion. She ran her hands over the shaft and ended the journey by rubbing her fingers in the queen’s flesh, the way Maleficent had taught her. She sucked on the tip of the cock and thrust her fingers inside Regina, both pleasures synchronized.

It was nothing to serve the queen this way. Belle kept that thought at the forefront of her mind. She wasn’t doing anything wrong. She wasn’t betraying Rumple. He had ordered her to please them. She was only doing what she needed to do to survive her time with them.

Less than three days, she thought. Perhaps less than two, now. She repeated the words over and over in her mind. It would be over soon.

Above her head, Belle heard Maleficent shriek out her completion. Under Belle’s fingers, Regina pulsed and shuddered, her own arousal building.

“This is perfect,” Maleficent gasped as she twisted onto Regina’s body. “This is everything you deserve, my love.”

“No,” Regina said. “Let me show you what I deserve.”

The queen pushed herself off the bed. Caught up in the tangle of limbs, Belle tumbled off the slick coverlet and onto the stone floor. Regina snorted when she saw her.

“Stay down there,” she commanded Belle. “I’m going to show you how royalty fucks. You get on your hands and knees like a bitch in heat.”

Belle braced herself on the floor, lifting her hips up so Regina could enter her from behind. Rumple took her this way every once in a while, though more often with her bent over their table than kneeling on the floor.

They were still within sight of the mirror when Regina pushed her glowing cock into Belle. She was slow at first, as if she were savoring the feeling. Rumple often told Belle that she felt good around him, that it felt good for him to be inside her. Would Regina say the same?

As soon as Regina began to move, Belle winced and gasped. The purple cock was too long and too big around to fit inside her. With its unnatural hardness, there was no give to the thing, no flexibility. And Regina had no interest in helping Belle endure this trial. She pushed, rough and sudden, and Belle cried out. There was no fluidity to the queen’s movements, none of the dancer’s tension that Belle had learned to expect when she was joined with Rumpelstiltskin. Regina thrust and if Belle couldn’t handle it, that was none of her concern.

“This is how kings fuck their wives. Did you know that?” Regina’s breath was hot against Belle’s ear. She was bent over her, grinding against her, forcing that monstrous cock into Belle’s unwilling body. “This is the position most conducive for conceiving a child, or so they say. This is how my husband made me a woman. He fucked me this way, every night, for years.”

“I can’t--” Belle couldn’t breathe. “It hurts!”

“It always hurts,” Regina snarled. “Every time, no matter what you do, it always, always, hurts.”

“No, please!” Belle begged. “Please, Your Majesty! Something’s wrong! It’s too big!”

Regina laughed “My husband would have loved to hear that!” She pulled at Belle’s hair like the reins of a horse, jerking her head up backward. She looked into her eyes. “You don’t need to flatter me.”

“I’m not,” Belle whimpered. “Just… please… let me…”

“No!” Regina laughed again, her eyes shining with cruelty. “No, you don’t get any choices here! You don’t have any control over anything. Not even what you feel in your pretty little body.”

With that, Belle felt a jolt of magic run through her. It started in her skull and traveled down her spine and exploded in a white light behind her eyes. She was suddenly numb below the waist. Regina’s glowing cock didn’t hurt anymore. She felt it as a pressure, the hardness pounding against her bones, the length exceeding her capacity--but there was no pain.

Belle took a shallow breath. She had been reprieved. How long would it last? Had Regina taken away the pain as a kindness or just to keep her from wailing? When the queen was done would all the pain come back at once?

An awful blackness came over her. For a moment, Belle thought it might be the haze that happened when she was in pain, but this was an altogether different feeling. This was not a reaction to being in danger but feeling safe. This was the knowledge that she was in danger and that there was nothing she could do about it. Her mind dulled, as though on the verge of sleep--because no good would come of her being aware of what was happening to her. It was not a trusting submission, but a hopeless collapse.

Regina picked up her pace, pushing even deeper and faster than before. With every thrust, she jolted Belle up off the ground. In defense, Belle’s body went limp as a rag doll, following her mind in surrender. Sobbing, she covered her head with her arms and let Regina slam her into the stone floor.

In between one of these jolts, Maleficent caught Belle and kept her up off the ground. With Regina still working in her, all three of them moved onto their knees. Belle slumped forward onto Maleficent while Regina fucked her from behind.

When Belle looked up tearfully at Maleficent, the woman’s eyes were glowing green. Lavender smoke rose from her mouth. She pushed Belle back against Regina and blew a soft stream of green fire in front of Belle’s breasts.

The feeling was merely warm, but the sight made Belle scream in panic. She backed away from the fire and right into Regina, utterly trapped. Maleficent grinned, her eyes a devilish green. She blew fire again and this time there was pain. Belle threw her arms over her breasts and tried to curl into a ball.

“No, no, no,” Maleficent chided her cheerfully. She grabbed Belle’s throat and held her up by her iron collar. She bent her head down over Belle’s breast, opened her mouth wide enough to swallow it in one bite, and breathed a wall of fire over Belle’s chest.

The flame covered her but didn’t consume her. Belle looked down and saw her body alight in green fire. There was pain, but it was dull and distant. It was not the agony that came from immolation. She wasn’t dying. Her flesh did not char or even blister. She was on fire, but she was still alive.

Maleficent’s expression was dazed. She seemed overcome by the sight in front of her. Suddenly, she grabbed Belle’s wrist and pulled it toward her body. She thrust Belle’s hand between her legs and pushed herself against it. Belle could not resist, but nor could she add any effort to Maleficent’s goal. The sorceress could grind against Belle until the end of the world and Belle would never be able to help her.

Regina moaned loudly when she saw the fire. She shouted her love for Maleficent, her awe of her powers, her joy that they were sharing this cheap, useless whore. Maleficent responded to these exclamations, her body jerking with the same frenzied speed as Regina’s.

The queens orgasmed at the same time. Regina pulled the glowing cock out of Belle and yanked her back just before she came. The cock was long enough that it could reach around Belle’s body and spurt a thick, glowing liquid onto her chest. The purple fluid arced up onto the green flames and doused them out with a hiss of black steam.

Maleficent and Regina collapsed into each other, kissing softly in the wake of their final completion.

Belle snuck out from between them and tried to assess the damage done to her. She had no strength to get up off the floor. From her collarbone to her stomach, her skin was bright red with burns. Everything below her waist was still numb. Her heart raced. She wiped away tears. Her body shook and trembled.

She could breathe now, though she fought for every breath. It was over, she told herself. For now, at least, it was over. What else could they want from her? What else was it possible for them to do to her?

Belle felt a hand on her head and almost screamed.

“No,” she pleaded. “No more.”

“No,” Maleficent gently agreed. “Not tonight anyway.”

When Belle looked up at the sorceress, she saw that she had put on a nightgown. Black silk covered the body that Belle had unwillingly learned so intimately. She looked around the room and saw that Regina was also dressed for sleep, in a gown that matched Maleficent’s but in dark red. Regina stood in front of her mirror, combing out her hair and admiring her reflection. She was smiling, Belle noticed, a true smile, calm and contented.

Maleficent crouched down and picked Belle up off the floor. Belle leaned on the evil woman. It seemed her legs would not support her weight.

“You’ve tired us out,” Maleficent announced. “Which is something of a rarity. So we’ve decided to give you a treat.”

Belle winced at the thought of what these witches would consider a reward. “Yes?”

Regina turned away from the mirror. “You get to sleep in the bed tonight, with us. At our feet, of course, like an animal. You weren’t as good as all that.”

“But it will be warmer than the floor,” Maleficent smiled. “Aren’t you happy? Aren’t you grateful?”

“Yes, of course,” Belle said automatically. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You are so generous and kind.”

Regina smirked and patted Belle on the cheek. Around the room, candles snuffed themselves out. The queens turned down the coverlet and arranged themselves for sleeping.

Belle curled up by the footboard, lying perpendicular to the queens. The bed stank of the potion they had used on her, of all the sweat and wetness they had forced from her body or made her take from theirs. Gently, she pulled some blankets up from the mattress so that she might cover herself. She had no pillow, and had to position herself so that she wasn’t likely to be kicked in the night.

For all that Belle was exhausted, thoroughly drained in her body and mind, she could not get herself to rest. Her blood still buzzed with fear, even as she heard Regina snoring. Perhaps the potion was still affecting her. Perhaps she wouldn’t be able to sleep until she had one more orgasm.

Inwardly, Belle groaned at the thought of subjecting her body to yet another burst of forced pleasure. But it was Rumple’s order, wasn’t it? She had touched herself the last time she slept, she was supposed to do it every time. Besides, if it was what she needed, if it would help her sleep, then what could be better?

Mindful of the evil women sleeping above her, Belle spread her legs slightly, just wide enough to fit her hand against her secret places. Feeling was slowly returning to that area. Her cunt was still soaked in wetness, even as it burned in pain. She used only light and tender touches as she soothed her heated flesh.

Belle sighed and felt her body relax. When she touched herself, she felt like she was her own again. For now, her body was a part of her own pleasure and not an object for the pleasure of someone else. How good it was to have this time to herself, that she might think her own thoughts and feel her own feelings. She understood now why Rumple had ordered her to do this, so long ago. He wanted her to know what real pleasure was, what it was for her. He had wanted her to find out what pleased her, to know her own body even before he did.

That had been a gift, hadn’t it? Even though it was an order. The instruction to touch herself was a gift Rumple made her give herself, and she had never been more grateful for it. The queens could hurt her all they wanted. They could force whatever reaction they could magic out of her body. But they couldn’t truly please her. They could never give her--

“What the hell are you doing?”

Regina’s voice was tired, but no less furious. Belle pulled her hand away, but not before Regina jabbed at her with her foot.

“Are you diddling yourself in my bed? What kind of ungrateful brat are you?”

“Darling,” Maleficent murmured out of her sleep. “Stop making noise.”

But Regina only got louder. “Did you feel that useless whore? Do you know what she was doing?”

“Well, chain her up then,” she yawned. “That’ll stop the bitch from doing anything. Then come back to sleep.”

“Good idea.”

In the darkness, Belle saw a flash of blue magic. Then she heard the scraping of chains moving against the stone floor. Iron rattled through the shackles on her wrists, and she found herself pulled up to the footboard. The chains were looped to the ring in the wood, and Belle was bound in the chains.

“Oh, no,” she felt tears in her eyes. “No, please! Your Majesty, I’m s--”

“Shut up,” Regina cut her off. There was another flash of magic light and Belle felt her mouth being forced open. Something round and hard was pushed between her teeth. When Belle bit down, she tasted the sour-sweet juice.

Of course. Why not? The queens wanted quiet, and there was no better way to ensure it than by once again gagging her with an apple. While they slept in each other’s arms, Belle wept in chained silence.

#golden cuffs #rumbelle fic #just go read the ties that bind #only one more chapter of this nonsense

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shardclan · 5 years

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A draft stirred the Imperator from sleep, and he sat up immediately when he realized he was alone in his bed. Ashlesha was content to nap on his perch, but had a cat-like habit of curling up atop Lavi’s covers in the gray hours before dawn. This morning he stood outside the thrown-open doors, surrounded by the falling snow.

With twitching frills, Lavi swung himself out of bed and cautiously tip-toed toward the threshold. The snow was falling more thickly than he thought, in heavy, obscuring puffs that piled up like feathers on the pink-hued mountainside. It seemed the closer he got to the door, the brighter it was. He had been certain it was dawn from the bed, but at the threshold it looked like it was midday light diffusing through the white clouds.

He hesitated. His tailed swayed and jerked with nerves too freshly awakened to be tempered by what little sense his mind was trying to enforce on the situation. So light was the snow that even his heavy step caused barely a whisper, more like the shuffling of fine sand than the crunch of ice.

Ashlesha threw his hand out, signalling Lavi to come no closer, and Lavi quickly drew back inside the door. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

Ashlesha held his palms, letting snow pile into them even as it stubbornly refused to land in his hair or on his robes. “Temporal storm. The whole mountain is…” He tilted his head, as if to listen to the sky. “I think in the future right now.”

Lavi sighed, and his whole body sagged as he finally relaxed. “Is that all. The way you were acting I thought there was something really wrong.”

“Oh, there is. Or there will be, I guess.” He gestured down the mountain, and held out his free hand to Lavi. In a storm like this, it was not a matter of flirtation. Ashlesha seemed perfectly grounded, but Lavi could be blown out of sync by a strong gust. “Down there.”

With Lavi unable to fly, his personal lair was on one of the lower cliffs. Short enough for him to survive if he had to make a leap, high enough that no one could just barge in on a whim. It wasn’t hard to make out the strange bodies littered around at the southern shoal, staining the pink sands dark red.

“They’re all dead,” Ashlesha explained. “Wind dragons I think. Them and dozens of longnecks.”

“But who are they?” Lavi’s fist tightened around Ashlesha’s hand. “ Why would they have come here? Why would…”

Lavi squinted and swallowed before he dared to assume, but he recognized the arrows sticking out of the back of a longneck. Their heads and fletchings were smooth and menacing as the fin of an orca rising from the ocean. It was a distinct design hand-made by one of the mercenaries. One who called herself ‘the Sharkmaiden’. Given how many of the bodies had clearly been shot in the back and fallen forward toward the mountain, her claim that they were made to be fired from under shoreline waves was deadly serious.

“Why did we kill them?” he finally rasped.

“Why 'will’ we kill them,” Ashlesha corrected impassively. “It hasn’t happened yet. It’s just the storm.”

Lavi tugged at his beard. There were records of a previous ruler who used temporal storms as a sort of future sight to be ahead of trends in the local economy. It didn’t always work, these futures weren’t set in stone, but sometimes if she got a hold of just the right triggering event she could ride atop the waves of causality.

“You said you can find any magic you’ve encountered. If you gather up some samples from down there, will you be able to find them?”

Ashlesha rolled his jaw thoughtfully side to side, and answered slowly. “Yes… But it might have to wait until the storm passes for me to find the uh…living sources.”

“That’s fine. Go, before it lets up.”

No sooner had Ashlesha dropped down into the snow than he had already turned back. His expression was dour, and he folded his arms tightly into his robes. He took one look at Lavi’s confused expression, and sighed irritably. “No need for a sample. I can feel an astral’s energy all over them. I don’t know what made them come here, but whoever they are, they’ve been exposed to Katasomata’s influence.”

Lavi’s jaw clenched. “Give me your hand. We need to speak with Khatan and get word out to the Smoke Gyre.”

The blind tundra and his mate were not happy to see the imperator. In a storm like this, it was best to sleep and pray that you would return to the time you came from when it was over.

Khatan’s nose wrinkled as he listened to Invigilavi’s telling. His eyes had been destroyed by some accident in his youth, but in exchange he saw the courses of time as they came and went with the storms. “A wrong decision brought that event to pass.”

“One that I made,” Lavi guessed tightly.

“Indeed. I take it you wish to avert their deaths, or you would not have barged in so urgently in this weather.” He lazed back among the pelts and deep furs that lined the den, and stroked thoughtfully at his mane. His eyes rolled rapidly behind his blindfold. “You are well suited to preventing this future. All you need to do is choose the right company.”

Lavi waited, but Khatan said no more. He looked seekingly to the other tundra, Aishling, but he shook his head and busily stoked a small flame under a pot full of dark and aromatic brew.

“Do not ask for more,” he said distractedly. “Khatan is not a seer, and it costs him to look into the storms and see the great web of things that might be. Be on your way, please.”

Outside, Ashlesha took Lavi’s hand even as the guardian stood in a trance of thought. “You’re not thinking of going to see those loonies are you?”

“I am.” The look he gave Ashlesha could have sent an entire nursery of mirror pups scurrying to bed. “And you are not coming.”

“Lavi–!”

“Not up for discussion. The goal is to get the astrals back to the right plane, not to go to war.”

“Please,” Ashlesha scoffed, the stars inside his robe flaring with dangerous light. “There wouldn’t be a war if you called on me.”

“And that’s why you will stay here. We will get this sorted using reason, not murder.”

Hours later, under a clear sky, Invigilavi paced in front of the Starwood Portal while a ridgeback lounged on the shore, well away from the high concentration of Arcane magic. He was eager for help to come, but his mind was preoccupied with what needed to happen after it did.

With whether or not the right decision was being made.

Ashlesha more or less knew where the astral was, and the Smoke Gyre knew the area well enough to know where to begin an information gathering run for a large group of longnecks living peacefully with dragons. Finding them wasn’t the problem. It was how to approach them.

They were clearly hostile, or would become hostile if Lavi wasn’t careful. He had already talked himself out of involving any of the Focal Point longnecks. They had been among the clan’s first beastclan allies and had stayed so since the days of Clan Shard. They might very well have been valuable allies on this mission, but the last thing he wanted was to bring them into conflict and potentially get one of them killed.

The goal was to get the astrals back to their rightful plane. Not to kill others, or even be at odds with them. He was willing to go see this clan personally if it would solve things peacefully(as much as Ashlesha didn’t approve and outright hated that he had been forced to stay behind even if it was precisely because of the combination of his excessive protectiveness of Lavi and his nonchalance about the lives of other people, which could not have been a worse choice given the circumstances).

Of course, Lavi had not spent all of his youth paranoid just to grow up into the kind of drake that took stupid risks. Someone had to come with him. But knowing that and knowing who should be at his side were two entirely different matters. So he had sent word to the one person he trusted to know.

The portal hummed, and the end of a long, sturdy cane poked through. Lavi was quick to offer his arm to the slender yet imposing figured that followed.

“I didn’t think you’d come personally,” he remarked with amazement.

Azricai breathed deep of the Arcane air. The last time she had been in the Isles, it was to watch two of the most important people in her life pass beyond the Obervatory gates into exaltation. But the Isles were still where she grew up, and the old, nostalgic scent of magic and sea salt left her eyes and heart clear.

“I became the Lady Judge after many eons as Head Mediator,” she reminded, allowing herself to lean on Lavi’s outstretched hand. “And this situation sounds like it requires very attentive mediation.”

Lavi crouched subconsciously; though he wasn’t a child anymore it disturbed him to look down at her. “I appreciate having a skydancer, especially you, come with me, but are you sure? I’m not much of a fighter and your leg…”

“Are you worried for me because of this old wound or because I raised you?” Her antenna lifted and filled with his warmth and genuine concern even as his fins twisted in embarrassment. But as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t soften to him. “You are my heart’s blood, Invigilavi. But we are servants right now, of our queen and clan, and of the single purpose of restoring the Circle.”

It would have been a lie to say her words didn’t hurt. But that focus on giving all that she was to her clan was very much how he remembered her. He easily lifted her onto his shoulder to make for the ridgeback. “Maleficent will fly us to the trading post close to our destination, since I can’t. We’ll meet the Gyre there and hear his report. Based on what he says…we can decide the best approach.”

Azircai’s antennae swayed. She looked down at Lavi with gentle, apologetic eyes, but she bit her tongue against any indiscretion. There would be time later for him to be her son.

The wind off the Windchime Flats was bitter. The change in the vortex had brought ash from the fire territories into the usually crisp and clean air. In true wind dragon fashion, the merchants didn’t look much bothered by it. If anything, they seemed quite merry under their umbrellas.

“Don’t interact with the merchants too much,” Lavi warned Maleficent in hushed tones. “One of the wind astrals is also supposed to be in this area and they like to mimic the local culture.”

The shadowborn ridgeback squinted her sole eye suspiciously over the bazaar and nodded. “I think I’ll make my way a bit further east into Ashfall proper if you don’t mind.”

“Please,” said Azricai. “The Gyre will find you when and if we need you.”

They made their way to the local crossroads, where the Gyre awaited them. In the open and curious lands of the Windsinger, the wildclaw had abandoned all pretense of invisibility or camoglage and gone for blending in with the crowd. He could have been anyone at all as he chewed on a skewer of some local cuisine and lounged with his nose in a book.

“Longneck Reach,” he said over a mouthful, as if he was reading aloud. “Up on the Zephyr Steppes. Stunning view, peaceful beastclans, fascinating cave system. Ragtag bunch of everybodies all thrown together into one very protective lair living side by side with the local Longnecks.” He smiled up at Azricai. “Not unlike a certain clan of Arcanites back in the day.”

“Common experience makes good mediation,” Azricai mused hopefully. “Were you able to make contact?”

“More or less. I put up some new posters about the astrals. There was a mirror. Female. Face like I’d taken a crap on her favorite bamboo stalk.” He took another bite from his skewer and lazily flipped a page. “When I remarked on the wind astral in the area, it got quite a rise out of her hackles, yet she muttered something quite dismissive. Disproportionately dismissive, you might say. I thought it better to not push the subject.”

Azricai and Lavi shared a look.

“We’re going to meet with them. Peacefully.”

The Smoke Gyre looked up at them both, and with a shake of his head went back to his book. “As you ask. For the clan’s sake, come back safe.”

#Zodiac Response #C: Ashlesha #c: invigilavi #C: Azricai #zodiac goetia

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ko-fanatic · 5 years

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Creek Blues

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Ouran High School Host Club

Relationships: Kyoya x Nekozawa

Trigger Warnings: Depression, paranoia, possible cotard delusion, unhealthy relationship, smoking, suicide.

Summary: Kyoya has some issues. A Kyoya without Tamaki, who never met the idiotic, amazing blond... Well, it's not worth thinking about. He's not worth thinking about.

Pills eat through you like acid burning holes Through your head, your mind, your bones and enamel Handcuffed to the bed like you’re an animal I don’t even recognise you anymore

Kyoya stared at himself in the mirror, analysing every shadow and blemish that marred his pale skin, poking and prodding at his own face. He looked sick, the pills shedding what little weight he had and thinning him out into something fragile. He looked how he felt, all too fittingly. His black hair hung limp and messy, getting into his red-rimmed eyes and making it hard to see.

He liked it that way, sort of. It was hard to like anything about what he saw these days, but he could trick himself into thinking it was all okay when he couldn't see it. Like they say - out of sight, out of mind. This version of messy looked like it was purposeful; baggy hoodies and jeans with cigarette burns, trying to tell himself that the hot ash in his lungs made it all bearable. He didn't smoke often, and only one or two at a time, but it rubbed a soothing balm over his frayed nerves. It was some sort of simulated steadiness.

He grimaced slightly as he popped his pill from its package, studying it with a dead-eyed stare before swallowing it down, dry. Weren't these things supposed to fix all this? Perhaps he needed something different, or a higher mg, or maybe he was just meant to be so fucking numb and sad all the time.

The only times he was close to happy were when he was doing things he just shouldn't. Smoking, sharing nicotine stained kisses with Umehito as the handcuffs bit into his thin wrists, toes curling into the mattress and gasps and moans mingling with the occasional creak of the wooden bed-frame. Good boys didn't do those things, but they made him feel the most alive he had in a while, his nerve endings on fire and every colour and smell so vibrant.

It wasn’t like the pills, which ate through his emotions and his brain, leaving him a shell. It was exhilaration, the thrill of casting his sense of self away for a while. It wasn’t like it was all rose-tinted bliss, of course not; he had a sense of guilt, he knew how people would react if they knew, and so he kept it a closely guarded secret. It was okay, and it helped both Umehito and himself.

But despite both his medication and the ones he prescribed for himself, it never helped his reflection. It kept changing, kept getting more and more miserable, the shadows under his eyes only making the slight jut of the bony socket look even more pronounced.

Try to put you down like an old dog to sleep Cut your branches off but you’re a dying tree The doctors came and pulled the sheet up over your head You’re already dead, you just don’t know it yet

Sitting in the seat in the middle of the classroom, not too far forward but not too far back, he had to wonder if he was just dead, wandering through this ghostly facsimile of life in some effort to… what? Find some sense of inner peace? Or perhaps he was just stuck in this hellish limbo. It would make sense, with how quiet and isolated he seemed to be from every other person. Teachers stopped calling on him but didn’t ask questions as his grades weren’t bad – yet. His classmates never really bothered with him anyway, but it was like they couldn’t even see him.

It was almost like the soft flesh of his face rotted away, leaving bone and scraps of ashen, discoloured skin. Everything was disintegrating, turning green and black and viscous. Nothing worked as it should, his lungs clogged with tar, his stomach shrivelled, tongue unable to taste anything but the sharp sourness of bile. For all intents and purposes, he was dead.

Maybe that’s what the pills really did. Maybe it was the doctors trying to just end his suffering, letting him rot away painlessly, no one noticing. He hated that no one saw, but he’d just hate it more if he made anyone concerned over someone as ultimately unimportant and inconsequential as himself. The pills were supposed to put him down, but it just elongated the process into something more painful as everyone recited the same phrase – “for the good of your health”.

When the bell rang, he didn’t hesitate. His satchel was thrown over his shoulder and his feet were pounding against the polished floors. Paranoia swirled in his head, and it was all just too loud. Students talking, laughing, yelling. It pounded against his head and pushed cotton through his ears. Everything felt so much, and it was impossible to escape.

“Kyo -”

He barely registered Kanan’s voice as he ran passed her, head turned away and hair in his face. He didn’t want to talk to her, didn’t want to talk to anyone; he just needed Umehito’s shoulder and nicotine kisses, and he’d be calm again. He kept the noise out of his head, turning it to blissful static.

You are sick and I hate you and love you for it You’re a wreck but I’m always going to want you

Umehito’s fingers wrapped around the cigarette as daintily as some early twentieth century starlet, appearing in the glamourous Hollywood films his grandmother liked. His own was in a slack hold, the seat of his trousers getting dirty from the filth on the step, arm resting on his knee like some wannabe punk. It clashed with his mostly neat uniform, the usually tidy hair, and his bookish glasses.

Their thighs touched, pressed into the tight space to avoid the teachers, neither wanting their reputations on the line. Gum and body spray helped mask it, but it meant nothing they were caught red-handed, or yellow-fingered. The smoke burned in his chest and settled the spiral of thoughts his mind tried to drag him into, and that’s what mattered. After all, it was better than breaking down in the bathroom or lashing out at other students like some cornered animal.

Umehito knocked their shoulders together, giving him a smile as the butt of his cigarette was ground into the concrete. “Do you feel better?” He asked, hood slung low, only half of his eyes visible. It wasn’t that bright out, clouds obscuring the light in thick layers of dark grey, promising rain. Maybe even a storm, thunder and lightning crashing furiously.

They made him feel odd, some paradoxical mix of serenity in the centre of it and violent waves of emotion, it was as stable as the rest of him – not at all.

He stood, brushing off his trousers and dropping his cigarette to the ground, not even bothering to stamp it out. Instead, he moved so seamlessly that he could’ve sworn he glided through the damp air, head tilted to the sky. Of course, Umehito followed him with that worried expression on his face, but he didn’t pay much attention until only one step separated him from the sheer drop down from the roof, his brains splattered across the gravel pathways.

“Hey,” He began, eerily calm, and he could almost feel the dread that stiffened his boyfriend’s shoulders, “If I were to jump right now, would you cry?”

Umehito breathed out sharply, but not at all surprised, something strained in the back of his throat. He shook his head, a hand reaching towards him but not touching, too frightened to push him too far, too hard, and send him tumbling down. “You know I would,” Was the sad, almost watery reply, “I’ve told you before.”

“I wouldn’t cry for me, I’d laugh and spit on my corpse – good riddance,” Kyoya thought but didn’t say, taking Umehito’s hand as he stepped down from the ledge.

I hate to see the knife always under your arm Alone at night, cutting up neighbourhood dogs You snuck me to your daddy’s bedroom Showed me all his guns You said, “Careful or you’ll blow your head off Make sure the safety’s on”

Umehito’s staring at him incredulously, almost as if he sprouted a second head. The pistol that lay between them was black, basic, barely catching the light; it almost looked like a toy. Of course, being so thin and delicate, there was no way that Kyoya could win in a hand to hand fight, so it was dealt with and a solution was found. Only to be used in dire circumstances, of course, and only if one of the bodyguards weren’t there. Scream first, shoot later. But it was intriguing all the same.

He picked the gun up once more, a small quirk to his lips as he felt the weight in his hands and just took in the situation. Umehito looked almost horrified at the reveal, which he supposed made sense, those kissable lips opening and closing without a single word.

“For self-defence,” He clarified, shifting position slightly so he could take his weight off his legs, knees bruised. All of him was black and blue, in fact, and they cropped up without warning. It was an odd thing, but he couldn’t be bothered to think on it much, “Of course, I don’t know if I really would use it. I mean… It’d be too easy to just let it all happen, wouldn’t it? Besides, if it really did get too much, I could just…”

He placed the gun against his temple, but it wasn’t even half a second before Umehito wrenched it out of his hands. He was so concerned, so determined to keep him in this tenuous connection he had to his life. It was cruel, and he knew it, but it helped him feel as if he wasn’t as useless as he thought. That he really would be missed.

“Relax. The safety’s on.”

Leaving things to die in the mud at the creek Pumping shotgun slugs out into the trees You run your fingers on the wood and feel its bullet holes It gives you something I could never give you or ever really know

Umehito just watched him as he loaded the handgun, aiming and firing the entire round into the bark of an old tree. He could tell that he wasn’t happy with this, standing in the shade with his arms crossed under his robe, but if he was that uncomfortable then he could leave. He never made him come after all, and the recent attitude Umehito had towards his actions was mostly “if it doesn’t hurt anyone, then it’s okay”.

He was just some kid who kicked out under pressure, like a stubborn mule. He’d punch and bite and kick, he’d get angry and scream, but it was all inside his head. It was all just violent fantasy that would be realised as he shot out the bullets into something that couldn’t feel. The trees just took the gunshot wounds and didn’t cry out at all, because they didn’t have a mouth. Meanwhile, his was just forced shut.

He walked forwards, shoes slipping slightly in the mud and wet leaves, examining the tan flesh the peaked out from the greyed bark. The bullet ripped straight through it, and as he ran his fingertips around the holes, he could feel the sharp sting of splinters, and he pushed a little harder, embedding them in his skin. He didn’t know why, an impulse like the one Junji Ito portrayed in Amigara Fault. An impulse you can’t explain, that won’t have a good end, but you’re still compelled to. He was oddly impulsive these days.

You are sick and I hate you and love you for it You’re a wreck but I’m always going to want you

Laying in bed, surrounded by the soft covers and Umehito’s warm arms, he felt guilt. He knew he wasn’t the boyfriend he could be, that wasn’t deserving of someone’s love, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help but spill his guts and vomit words that left a sharp sting in his throat and a bad taste in both of their mouths. He worried him and relished in it, thrived of it, like a parasite.

The thing to do would be change, or failing that, leaving. But he couldn’t do either, because ultimately, he was too sick and too selfish. Too damaged. He couldn’t mend it, not at all, and he didn’t even try.

Instead, he just nuzzled closer, Umehito’s heartbeat in his ears. His voice was soft. “You know I love you, right?”

No answer.

And I don’t want to know what you’ve done Or what you think about doing I don’t want to know, so don’t tell me

#ouran high school host club #ohshc #kyozawa #kyoneko #kyoya x nekozawa #my fanfiction

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firethatgrewsolow · 7 years

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Swiss Time - Chapter Four

**The clock keeps ticking. :-) Thanks for reading! And thank you to @ladygrange for once again holding my hand. <3**

“Wherever you want, little Natalie Grace. I’ll leave it all up to you.”

She held her breath as Robert cupped her face, the corner of his mouth beginning the curve she’d memorized.

“Little Natalie Grace.”

His voice was a whisper on her lips, and she swallowed, barely parting them.

“What do you want, love? What do you … want?”

Nat awoke with a start, sure she heard the words echoing through the room. It was just a dream. Dropping back into the pillow, she expelled a long breath. She could still smell him, feel his warmth against her chin and mouth. She stared at the ceiling, gently pounding her clenched fists into the bedding. What am I doing? Her hand snaked through her damp, tangled hair. Apparently, you’re dreaming about Robert Plant. Good Lord. She rolled her eyes as she rolled out of bed, snapping up her robe with a flourish. Time to get on with the day. Shuffling toward the door, she could make out the clatter of plates and the tinkle of crystal. Susan was up. It’s probably past noon. She clasped the doorknob, certain that with a twist of it, the inquisition would commence. She wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, you and Mr. Plant certainly got along last night.”

“Good morning to you, too, Aunt Sue.” Nat pulled her robe tighter as her eyes acclimated to the bright haze enveloping the hotel.

“There’s some tea on the coffee table. I was just making breakfast.”

She snickered as her aunt drained champagne into what appeared to be a few tablespoons of orange juice. “Nice breakfast. You don’t let up, do you?”

“Hair of the dog, girl. It’s the only way. I was out late.” Susan swizzled the thin, glass rod in her oversized goblet. “Plus, Christian thinks I drink too much. He’s probably right, so I’m taking advantage of our little getaway.”

“When are the renovations on the chalet going to be done?” Natalie gazed through the large window next to the dining table. She could barely make out the mountains in the distance.

“He says another week, give or take.” As she topped off her concoction with a final splash of wine, Susan smiled coyly. “But more importantly, what were you and Robert chatting about so quietly?”

You knew it was coming. Nat glanced back to her aunt. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You heard me. Spill it.”

Natalie poured some tea and reclined on the sofa, kicking her feet up next to the tray. “There’s not much to spill, really. Just this and that. He was curious about school and life here. Pretty much generic stuff.” She took a tiny sip, recoiling as the steaming liquid seared her tongue. “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don’t know, idle curiosity, I suppose. Isn’t that the phrase he used last night?” Susan purred, plopping next to her. “It’s not every day you get to spend the evening with rock stars.” She splayed her hand, admiring the newly acquired glittering stone on her finger. “Well, maybe it is for me, but-”

“But what?” Nat interjected, sensing something vaguely sinister in her aunt’s tone.

“Well, he just seemed, uh, rather taken with you.”

Natalie crinkled her nose as the meaning set in. “You’re crazy, Aunt Sue. I’m barely fifteen years old. The man’s old enough to be my …”

“Older brother,” Susan finished, tipping back her glass. “You know, darling, when I was your age, I was-“

“So you’ve told me. Many times. But that’s not really … who I am.” Nat blew on her tea, hoping for a change of subject.

“Ugh, you’re just like your mother.” Susan sighed dramatically, downing the rest of her cocktail. “So boring.”

“You missed your calling. You should have been an actress.”

“Oh, honey,” she replied breezily, “I am one.”

Natalie snorted. “What time did you get back?”

Pursing her lips, Susan tapped her nails together. “Hmm, I’m not really sure. Maybe around three? It was a bit fuzzy, but they were still going strong. Lots of stamina … particularly your man.”

“My man? Jesus Christ, Sue.”

“I’m only kidding. Kind of.” She winked as there was a rap at the door.

“Who could that be?” Nat peeked at the clock. It was even later than she thought.

“It’s probably Claudine. She’s bringing by some ski clothes.” Susan rose, setting her goblet on the table as she sauntered to the foyer. “You need to be properly outfitted, you know. Make a good impression when we meet them at the train to Rochers-de-Naye.”

Meet them at the … “Wait, what? We are going skiing with them? You do realize that I don’t know how, right?”

“If you look good enough, it won’t matter.” Sue paused mid-stride, her lips curling up. “Actually, that’s even better. Boys love to teach girls new things. All kinds of things,” she added, giggling at her niece’s horrified expression. “Get out of the gutter and into the bath, doll. Should be quite the day.”

A chorus of greetings filled the hall, and Natalie slunk to her bedroom, quietly closing the door behind her. She leaned against it, her heart beating a touch too fast. She had to admit she was a little excited. In a weird way, anyway. What had her aunt said? That he’d seemed taken. Padding to the floor length mirror, she twirled around, her mind drifting to the previous night. He’d been funnier than she’d expected … and he was sort of cute. Not a terrible smile, either. Shit. Even with the missing tooth. Her heart resumed its trot, and she peered back into the mirror, stilling as she spied the bright red splotch on her chin. Damn. She dusted the tip of her finger over the angry bump, and her shoulders drooped. What would he want with you? You’re just a kid.

Temples pounding, Robert lazily opened his eyes. It had been a long night of drinking, gambling and a few other more pleasurable activities, but sleep hadn’t come easily. His gaze flickered to his left, a sneaky smile slipping onto his face. His redhead, on the other hand, had. And more than a few times, he recalled contentedly, admiring her nestled form. Pity that she was bound for home in a couple days, but there would be others. He edged out from under the covers as stealthily as he could and donned his trousers, blinking at the needles of light slicing through the cracks in the curtains. Bloody hell, what time is it? He poked his head into the living area, wincing at the blinding glaze of the room. As his vision adjusted, he found the clock on the mantle, followed by John Henry on the sofa sound asleep. Robert lumbered to his friend, giving him a kick. “What the fuck, Bonz? Get up. I’ve got somebody here.”

The drummer scowled as he finally came to. “Fuckin’ hell, it’s bright. What time is it?”

“Does it matter? Go to your room.”

“Somebody’s in there. Or they were last night.” Bonzo yawned mightily, nestling into the cushions with a grin. “You’ve got the little redhead wench here, don’t you? She’s a loud one, yeah?”

“Fuck you, mate,” Robert grumbled, trudging to the bar to retrieve some tea. Cup in hand, he fell into the crushed velvet armchair, extending his legs onto the ottoman as he canvassed the view. Or lack thereof. The snow had tapered off, and the sun was filtering through the glistening fog surrounding them.

“Missing Copenhagen already?”

Robert barked a laugh, replaying the events from two days before. The Nobs. What a debacle. Whose idea had that been? Ahh, but the clubs had more than made up for it. “I told Cole to put that last place on our regular itinerary.”

“Did you see their faces when I took the bloody batteries out of the …”

“Yeah. Good, clean fun, right?” Robert angled the cup to his lips, grimacing at the cool, stale liquid. “I still don’t think we should have changed our name for the gig. Although, Christ, that woman … she was mad.” Dispensing with the tea on the table beside him, he reached for his Marlboros. “You know, I was kiddin’ that girl about it last night.”

“You mean Christian’s old lady’s niece? What was her name?”

“Natalie.” Robert lit a cigarette, watching the wooden match slowly burn down. Little Natalie Grace. Sassy thing, that one. Easy to annoy. What was it about her that made him like to tease her so much? Maybe because she gave it right back. Better keep her away from Pagey. “She, uh, might come with us today.”

“She’s pretty cute. Better keep her away from Pagey.”

Robert snickered at his friend’s prescience. “Was just thinking that.” As a sleepy voice murmured his name, he tossed his smoke into the discarded tea. “Well, duty calls, mate. See you in a bit.”

The train was packed, strange for so late in the day. Christian had offered her his seat next to Susan in the front, but Natalie had declined, her eyes moving through the masses as she hobbled to the rear. She slumped into the bench on the last row and slid next to the window, wiggling her toes in the unfamiliar ski boots as she surveyed the crowd again. Her pulse quickened as she spotted a few faces from the previous evening, but Robert was nowhere in sight. The ripple of relief quickly gave way to disappointment, and she turned to the dusty glass pane. There’s not even a view. What’s the point? She squinted in hopes of discerning a vague shape or form, but the heavy mist was unrelenting. Maybe I’ll just take the train back down and be done with it.

“Is this seat taken?”

Recognizing the gentle timbre, her heart leapt. He had come. Quelling her glee, she aimed for nonchalance. “It’s yours if you want it.”

“Why, thank you.” Amused, Robert clutched the top of the bench as the train lurched, beginning its ascent. “So generous.”

“You almost didn’t make it.”

He sank next to her, cramming his knees up against the bench in front of them. “Yeah, had a few things I was dealing with. Some stuff I had to … put to bed.”

Natalie tilted her head, sensing a joke that she couldn’t quite capture. “Where’s Jimmy? Did he not come?”

“No,” the singer replied, pulling out his gloves. “Jimmy doesn’t really, ah, enjoy a lot of outdoor sport. He prefers a, um, different kind.”

“What does that mean?”

Robert chuckled as she cocked her head again. “Nothing, love. Just … nothing.”

Nat was relatively sure that it was more than nothing as she took in his wide grin, her lips curling at the empty spot on the side of it. “What happened?”

“With what?”

She tapped her cheek. “You’re missing a-”

“Ahh, yeah, that.” Robert skimmed his tongue along his teeth, locating the vacated space. “Had a small accident a few weeks ago. Cut my forehead pretty good, too.” He brushed his fingers across the mending skin. “Coming home from a club, and, um, a tree sort of got in the way.”

“Got in the way, huh?” she asked with a snicker.

“They tend to do that when you’ve had a few ciders.” He stretched out into the aisle, flexing his legs. “But I’m alright now. Ship-shape.”

“You’re very lucky.” Natalie jumped as the train shuddered, stalling for a moment before assuming its journey. “It could have been much …” the warning dissipated as the clouds did the same, revealing a spectacular view. Her jaw dropped as she marveled at the majestic snow covered peaks surrounding them. She pressed against the glass, craning her neck to see the towns below, the houses and outbuildings resembling toys in the distance. She could feel Robert lean in behind her, his chest along her back.

“Amazing.”

The word was so soft, Natalie barely heard it, and she twisted around, her cheek grazing his chin. She quickly drew back. “Sorry.”

“You’re okay,” the singer whispered, his dimple deepening before returning to the sweeping vista.

Nat studied his spellbound visage. So boy-like. Curious and awed. She forced herself to look away, following the lines of the white capped mountains as the train crept along. The silence between them was comfortable, oddly so, lulling her into a dreamy calm. “I’m glad I’m here. I wasn’t happy at first. But now I am.“

“Not happy? What do you mean?”

There was a warmth in his gaze. He was listening, not just hearing. “My parents sent me here to … well, to get me out of the house. A new start, I guess.”

“They sent you away?” Robert asked, his brow wrinkling. “Why would they do that?”

“Things weren’t really working out. We didn’t get along. Very well, anyway.” Natalie glided her thumb along the edge of the window. “Whatever. It’s for the best. I mean, here I am … on a train in the Alps with the singer of the biggest band in the world.”

His eyes traced the splash of freckles dotted across her nose. “You don’t know anything about us, do you?”

“No, not really,” she admitted with a muted smile.

“Just the bad things, eh?” He sighed, tightening the collar of his coat. “There’s a lot of good, too, you know. And I get the thing with your parents. My dad, well, he’s not fond of all this. Thinks it’s a load of bollocks.” Robert glanced back to Natalie, his mouth curving. “Bollocks means-“

“I know what it means. I’ve heard it before.” Her smile broadened as she straightened his scarf. “You must be pretty wealthy. Wouldn’t that impress him?”

“In a way, maybe, but, ah, dad’s kind of, I don’t know, conservative,” he murmured as the car shook, gradually grinding to a halt. “Is this our stop?”

Natalie searched for her aunt in the sea of ski poles and parkas. She was standing near the door, beckoning Christian. “Yep, this is it.”

They filed out of the train, making for the supply cart behind it, and Robert hoisted their gear from the ancient, steel wired bin, flinching slightly. “Bloody hell, that stings.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My shoulder … it’s still giving me some trouble.” Depositing the skis onto the ground, he cautiously rotated it.

“If you’re hurt, maybe we shouldn’t do this. I mean, we could always take the train back down.”

“No, no, I’m alright. Just take it easy on me, yeah?” He winked as he leaned against his pole, fitting his boot inside the binding with a sharp click. As he latched the other, he paused, puzzled by Natalie’s reticence. She was nibbling her lip, examining his feet intently. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She crossed her arms. “We should definitely go back.”

“What are you talking about? I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

“Yes, I do. Christ, you’re bloody stubborn. Now, put them on, Nat, or we’re going to be …” he trailed off as her eyes slowly met his, and he caught a guilty glimmer. “Wait, you don’t know how to, do you? That’s why you want to go back.” She shrugged, giving him a shadow of a smirk. “You little minx, you told me that you’d skied before.”

“I didn’t technically say that. I believe my exact words were what do you think?”

Robert laughed, gently shaking his head as a grin blossomed on her face, lighting it up. She was more than cute. She was pretty. Very pretty, actually. He swallowed, stifling his sigh. And fourteen, Robert, fourteen. “Alright, come on, then, let me help you.”

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