"Got any more bifur or Bofur headcanons? I love them both"
AHHH tysm for ASKING anything for you I love you <3 (I ALSO love Bofur he is my fav <3) This was just a message so idk if you wanted to be anon (｡>﹏<) but regardless ENJOYY!! I only did a few but I can always write more, I love doing requests (╥ ω ╥)
Bifur ᥫ᭡.
Bifur is sort of left to his devices pretty often. Sure some of the dwarves engage him to make sure he doesn’t feel left out — especially Bofur and Bombur — but he just kinda chills on his own. If you watch, this dude is lowkey Pocahontas or Snow White because you’ll just be trudging along and you turn around to see him with a bird on his finger, a butterfly on his axe, a squirrel eating out of his hands. Literally whatever little creature is around is sniffing him. I guess because he’s pretty quiet they just kinda creep up to him and he doesn’t mind. He would only be okay with the pretty, slow insects landing on him, though. I think he’d swat at a spider, grasshopper, or any kind of frantic flying insect; gives him the heebie jeebies.
I think he would also do weird stuff when nobody is looking. You know when you’re near a river or beach or something and you see a really perfect rock that kind of looks delicious? Like, yeah that is a rock, but it looks so tasty. I can just envision him at the back of the line of dwarves ambling up the riverside and he stops suddenly, crouching down to pick up a super smooth rock. He’d flip it around in his fingers as he stands to continue walking before bringing it to his mouth to lightly bite on it, just to sate the urge. Maybe even do that thing where you pull your lips over your teeth and bite it before shoving it in his pocket for funsies. The whole time you’re watching him and he looks up and makes eye contact. You just mouth to him, “What was that?” and he just shrugs because can you really judge him? He’s living his life free and you can’t take that away from him.
Bifur really likes music. While he enjoys a catchy chorus, he particularly enjoys instrumentals. In the same way that we can convey different things through music, Bifur expresses himself in a unique way which is why I think he would like music. Whenever he’s feeling sad, he would hum a somber tune to himself, or jovially grunt along to Bofur playing the flute while the rest of the Company sings. He’d also tap on things. Whenever he finishes dinner, he’s tapping his spoon on the bowl along to the song that’s been stuck in his head all day. I think he’d also use it to communicate more specific ideas in a quicker way with the rest of the dwarves. Some sort of discussion would be taking place and Bifur would nudge whoever’s next to him and hum an iconic melody, and the other dwarves would consider the lyrics to understand what he means. Maybe he’s pointing out an old hero from a story, or maybe he’s referring to a time when they sang the song together. He would use music in that way to express himself, and everyone taking time to understand how he intended it always makes him feel appreciated for his thoughts. Just imagine you keep hearing your favorite tune throughout the day, and you eventually start humming it to yourself. You wouldn’t even realize Bifur was doing it intentionally at first, but day after day whenever your mind started to drift, you’d hear that soft humming and be brought back.
Bofur ᥫ᭡.
Just to start, I have always been obsessed with Bofur’s relationship with Bilbo. At first, he teases him out of his mind, but they really grow to have a real understanding of each other. Even when the tension was thick in Erebor, he just cheekily sees Bilbo off with reassurance and his trust that whatever the hobbit was up to, it would be the right choice. In both that scene and the one in the goblin cave where Bilbo wants to go back to Rivendell, Bofur is always compassionate. “You’re homesick. I understand.” and “Dark days indeed. No one could blame a soul for wishing themselves elsewhere.” He doesn’t dismiss Bilbo’s feelings, but validates them and recognizes that things can get overwhelming. When the times get tough, Bofur is always there to call you back to let you know he cares and that he will be there for you.
Imagine you’re traveling with the Company to take back Erebor and on some rocky incline somewhere, Bofur stumbles and his pack tumbles open, spilling countless whittled and woodcarved figures. It almost seems like that’s the only thing occupying his pack. Everyone stares at him for a while with confused expressions while you gush over every little object like they’re the cutest most precious things in the world. Slowly the other dwarves realize why he has a pack full of carvings detailing all your favorite things and chuckle amongst themselves while Bofur scratches the back of his neck with warm cheeks. Dwalin asks, “What’re you lugging all this about for? Food and gear’s a better use of space.” Bofur would grumble a bit as he stuffs them back into the bag, “Better than having them carry ‘em around.” Initially he was just passing time carving little chunks of wood to leave lying along their trail, but at some point he started keeping them to give to you once Erebor was reclaimed. Dwalin might’ve been right, but seeing your elated expression made the back pain and grumbling stomach worth it.
Oh man, Bofur would be slow to fall in love. Almost oblivious to his own feelings, he’d rationalize that he just enjoys your company and likes you as much as the rest of the Company. It would just accumulate slowly with all the little details he’d store in his mind. The glint in your eye when you’re excited, the expression on your face when you focus, your little bedtime routine you do before crawling into your bedroll. He’d be so silent in his admiration that even he couldn’t see it until he had some sort of realization. Maybe he’d be helping with dinner and Bombur tries to fill your plate with a bit of everything they’d cooked up, only for Bofur to block the plate with his hand. “They don’t like those, just leave it off for one of the lads.” Bombur doesn’t make a big deal of it, but Bofur pauses. ‘Why do I know that?’ Then he’d start thinking about all the little things he knows about you and just pull his hat over his face. Mahal, he must be some sort of idiot! He’d feel embarrassed about it to himself initially, but get over it pretty quickly to get on with the courtship before someone decides to snatch you up before him.
Since i saw this man on the game i was lost, srs, he is so fucking hot i need him
Hey anon this was longer than i intended oops! This was supposed to be just a drabble about Punch Up cuz my GOD i also love this short stack but haha… weeeeell, it went on longer than i expected. Either way, i tried to match a lot of his mannerisms and accent (I’m a Jacksepticeye fan) so i hope you like this!
Pocket-Partner
Punch Up x Male!Reader
You can't believe it took you so long to finally hook up with Colm. You’ve been an SDN dispatcher for years now, you’ve seen the man, befriended him, but it took Robert Robertson to become the Z-teams dispatcher for you to finally man up and approach the man.
Tags: Punch Up x Male!reader, Punch Up x Dispatcher!Reader, Colm x Male!Reader, Robert Robertson, Coupe, Melevola, Sonar, Punch Up, Fluff and Smut, Explicit content, Mentions of genitalia, Sex, Slightly Drunk-sex, Praises, Manhandling, I love Punch up so much holy shit, Drabble(I lied)(It’s not)
You can't believe it took you so long to finally hook up with Colm. You’ve been an SDN dispatcher for years now, you’ve seen the man, befriended him, but it took Robert Robertson to become the Z-teams dispatcher for you to finally man up and approach the man. You’re familiar with him from the moments shared between lunches, from short greetings at the start of a shift, or from passing conversations in the locker room.
Though you do have to thank Robert for the invitation to the bar. The Z-team knew of you, after all, you were one of the first experimental dispatchers when the program started. Before Blonde Blazer figured out just how chaotic the team could get, you were one of the first dispatchers tasked for a trial run with them. You didn't do too badly, survived the 30-day experiment, before being pulled back to your assigned team. Blazer mostly assigned you the task to test the Z-team themselves, and it made them familiar with you, so you didn’t see a loss in accepting the job. She was also the reason you ever met Punch Up.
While you admired him, you were not confident enough to actually approach him. The man carried himself with such confidence that it brings along his comforting energy into any room he enters. The small quirk of his stache when he smiles, a boisterous laugh that guarantees an audience, captivating brown eyes, and charisma to match. Some might think his height is a minus to his otherwise likable profile, but to you, it instead skyrockets his attractiveness. Either way, those massive arms and strong muscles to complement aren't for show; that's for sure.
That's how you found yourself sitting at the bar, nursing your drink as you watch Punch Up arm wrestle a poor patron while Melevola, Sonar, and Coupe cheer him on. The random guy has his friends behind him, also clapping him to win against the Irishman. There seem to be some dollar bills stacked on the table, the group betting against the other. You found yourself chuckling, knowing the man has nothing compared to Punch Up; hell, he hasn't broken a sweat and was instead in a mock-conversation with Sonar as the man does everything to push Punch Up’s hand to the table, his face growing from a bright red to a steady purple.
“Punch Up, I think the guy is about to burst a blood vessel,” Melevola chimes, laughing when she takes a sip of her beer.
“Oh! Right then lad, don't want’a send ya to the ER now, do we? That would’a be embarrassin’.” He smirks before ending the arm wrestle match by promptly pushing the random guy’s hand to the table. The group erupts in cheers and laughter, Punch Up patting the guy on the shoulder as he hops down and heads in your general direction.
He orders another round from the bartender and sits beside you, chuckling as he pulls out the wad of cash he had just won. “Enjoyin’ the night?”
“After that show? Very much,” You smile into the cup, the alcohol working its way through your system. “Isn't it a bit uh… unfair, though?”
“Yea? ‘Suposed it is,” He glances back to the group, seeing that Melevola has taken a turn against another random guy from the same group. “Well, he should’a known shouldn't he?”
“Of course, SDN’s personal strongman, Punch Up. Who doesn't know about you?” You smile, brushing against his shoulder.
He huffs in amusement, shaking his head. You watch him thank the bartender for his drink as he examines it, before he continues. “Wish it wasn't SDN though,”
His answers made you almost choke on your drink. You gulp down the beverage, feeling the alcohol wasn't the only thing bringing a steady stream of heat up to your face.
You tilt your head, brows furrow. “Missing the old bad guy days, are we?”
“More like… wishin’ I was someone's personal strongman,”
“You uh– you don't... Go out anymore?” You hid behind your glass, hoping the blush wasn't as prominent as it felt like it was.
“Nah, with all the hero’in stuff goin’ on, nobody e’re has any time for a shag,” He waves his hand, downing his shot in one gulp. He turns to face you, though his eyes seem to be somewhere behind you. “Well, for som’ of us,”
You turn to follow his eyes to spot Robert and Flambae seemingly surrounding a shaking Waterboy in the corner. You and Punch Up laugh at the three men, finding their visible advancements to the poor brunette amusing. “They are uh… something, alright,” you chuckle.
You face Punch Up again, the alcohol in your blood boosting your otherwise nonexistent confidence. “But uh… I wouldn't mind…y’know,”
There's visible confusion on Punch Up’s face, though he sits and waits. Whether it be to tease you or the wonder was genuine, you find yourself continuing;
“I don't– I mean if you– I’m happy to… relieve your… stress?”
The silence that follows dumps you in such a deep pit of regret that you wish you had just eaten your shot glass; maybe the shards would kill you instantly, and you wouldn't be facing your work crush with a very flustered face. Punch Up blinks, before he chuckles, his strong hand clasps your shoulder.
“Lad, ya’ think i don’ see the way your eye’s be lookin’ when ya’ think no ones ‘round?” He chuckles. “You might s’well be starrin’ directly at me while yer’ at it,”
“Wuh- What?” Punch Up continues to grin at your puzzled face.
“I know ya’ like me, love,” He smirks.
Scratch that; This might be the point where you wish another kaiju attack would happen and burn you on the spot, but instead, you're staring at a very smug Punch Up while embarrassment wells up within you. “N-no! I mean– I don't– it's not like I hate you, but I… how did you know?”
“I’m short, boy, not blind,” The irisman smiles. “I know a crush when I see one,”
Another beat of silence, before your embarrassment shows itself with a fit of laughter. The alcohol helped ease out the initial regret, but the flustered feelings are still prominent. The butterflies in your stomach create a whirlwind while you keep your focus on Punch Up’s easy smile. He follows your laughter, patting your back before he settles back. Once the laughter dies down, he continues. “Which is why i don’ wanna treat ya’ like that,”
You were about to interject when he beats you to it, “Not just as a shag– I can't do that to ya’ lad. It ain't right, not what a gentleman should oughta be doin’,”
You sigh, leaning on the counter. “Yeah? Then what should a ‘gentleman’ be doing?”
While you didn't intend the sentence to come out slightly suggestive, the man certainly caught it that way, judging by the shy hue of red on his cheeks.
“Well, ah… I would wanna take you out to dinner first! Y’know, treat ya’ right and all, then maybe we can grab drinks and I take ya’ home,” His voice softens at those last words. It’s rare to spot the usually bold man become unusually shy. It’s endearing, you thought.
“Let’s say you’ve already taken me out, and we’re grabbing drinks now, what do you say?”
Punch Up blinks once, then twice, before he chuckles and leans into your space. “Ooh boy, that drink’s doin’ wonders for ya, huh?”
The sentence causes you to straighten up, a sudden bout of sobriety courses through you, your earlier bashfulness climbing right back. “I mean… I’m all yours, if you uh- If you’ll take me, Punch Up,”
Only when you finished your shaky sentence did you turn to meet Punch Up again, said man was wide-eyed with a prominent red on his cheeks. He sighs before a short chuckle as he downs another shot glass.
“Christ, you’ll be the death o’me,”
—
That’s how you found yourself on top of the Irishman, lips clashing against one another amidst heavy breaths. His legs graze near your zipper, earning a groan from you, which he greedily laps up. His moustache tickles your upper lip and brushes against your cheek as he presses kisses down to your chin, making his way down the column of your neck.
“Punch up- Fuck…” You sigh, his calloused hands holding your neck steady.
“Colm, love, ya know my name, y’can say it,” He smiles as he continues to bite the sensitive skin. You huff before slowly sitting on your haunches.
“Wait, let me-” You straighten to remove your shirt, discarding it somewhere beside the couch. You're glad you invested in such a spacious couch, especially since you can currently see Colm captivated by your body; his hands immediately reach to rub circles on your hips.
“Christ lad, aren't ya’ a pretty little thing,” He rubs appreciatively, his eyes drawn to your body when you move to drape yourself over him. You meet his lips at a much slower pace than the excited make-out session that led to your apartment.
His hands smooth over the planes of your back, humming against you, drinking in your scent. You were panting when Colm pushed back into a sitting position suddenly, catching you off guard.
“Hey Colm wha-” You almost jumped when he promptly maneuvers you to sit on top of him, your thighs bracketing his as he turns swiftly so his back is against the backrest. He chuckles as his arms embrace you.
“Just movin’ us to a better position is all,” He smirks as he starts to bite at your clavicle, leaving angry marks that’ll sure to show themselves tomorrow. You groan, head dropping onto his shoulder. Your fingers begin to work their way down his shirt, popping one button at a time as Colm continues to kiss your skin, exposing thick muscles to your heavy eyes. You graze over his chest hair, humming into his neck as you drink in your fill.
Your hips push down against his crotch, making the man beneath you groan. He catches at the small chuckle you made at which he smirks dangerously, one hand slipping past your belt to cup your ass.
“D’ya have–”
“Top drawer, to your left,” You huff, continuing to grind against the man while he locates the small bottle of lube and a small packet, the only condom you leave outside of your room. The bottle was opened, though it clearly hasn't been used; it’s not like you ever did pleasure yourself outside of your bedroom, and you haven't brought home anyone ever since your crush on Colm.
He sets the bottle and a pack of condoms beside him before helping you push your pants down; the belt clatters onto the floor, cold night air raises your hair as you settle back down. You hadn't realized just how much you’ve leaked, glancing down to see a wet patch above Colm’s zipper. “Ugh shit– Sorry I’ll wash that–”
“Worry ‘bout that tomorrow’.” He grins as his hands move to push his own pants and boxers down. What you weren't prepared for was just how big Colm’s dick is. It isn't long, but it's packing enough girth to make yours look small beside it, not that you minded. The dark hairs are slightly trimmed, with a vein running on the side of the shaft. You’re tempted to ask Colm to skip the fucking and just let you taste the damn thing, but you keep the idea for a later date.
“Fuck, you’re big,” You let yourself chuckle, hiding the slight nervousness under your tone.
“I ain't all hard muscles for nothin’, darlin,” He rubs up your thigh before moving to lather his fingers with lube, brushing just shy of your hole. “Breathe for me, will ya’,”
Colm pushes one finger, the thickness sending a sharp jolt through your body. He makes sure to move slowly for you to relax, watching your expression for any signs of discomfort. You found yourself groaning from the stretch, the ghost of tears on the edges of your eyes. He rubs circles on your lower back, letting your mumble moans and whimpers into his shoulder.
“There ya’ go lad, nice and slow now,” He whispers, his staches brushing against your cheek as he continues his movements. One finger becomes two, the stretch surprises you once again. Words have left your head, only unintelligible noises between heavy breathing. You feel that tight coil within your core, threatening to burst with each push and pull Colm makes. You didn't realize he had inserted another finger alongside the other two, but only when he added more lube did you feel incredibly full.
“Agh, please– That's… That’s enough, come on,” You managed to sit upright, not before shaking from pushing against Colm’s fingers. “I’m ready, I can take it.”
“Y’sure love? You said it yer’self,” His brows furrow, worry evident in his tone.
You nod, pushing his hand away and guiding them to settle on your thigh. “Yes, I’m ready, I’ll be fine,”
You squeeze some lube onto your hand to rub it on Colm's dick, using the moment to feel just how heavy the member is. He hisses, hands now moving to settle on your hips, holding back immense strength because you know he could just fold you if he so pleases. You rip the packet for the condom and slide it on, giving his dick a short tug. You position yourself above him before slowly dropping down, his hands shake slightly as he watches, eyes glued to the part of you and him connecting. You groan around the thickness, inhaling sharply as it stretches your insides. When you felt your ass touching his thighs, you finally let out a laboured sigh, taking lungfuls of air not to cum right at that second.
“There we go– You a’right? Take it easy love, you can do it,” He continues to rub at your back, coaxing small sounds from you. From the way Colm’s hand sometimes shakes around your skin, you can tell the man himself is suppressing himself from following his arousal in favour of your comfort.
“Move.” You whine into his shoulder, head heavy with the effects of lingering alcohol and desire.
“Y’sure? I can wait–”
“Move. Please.” You wrap your arms around his shoulders, brushing against his ears. Colm mutters a short curse before moving his hands to wrap around your hips. You were expecting him to grind into you, to build momentum to reach climax. You definitely did not expect the man to practically pick you up and slam you right back down onto his dick; his loud groan matches your shout.
You held on to his shoulders, blunt nails scratching at his skin, almost breaking skin. Colm easily sets a brutal pace, moving your body effortlessly, the obscene sounds of skin slapping echo throughout the room, coupled with his moans and your whimpers. He doesn't miss the continuous stream of praises, pressing kisses to your shoulders.
“Come on now love, let me see yer’ face,” He pushes you to rest into his embrace, flustered face now on full display as he revels in your beauty. “Jesus yer’ gorgeous,”
“Fuck– Colm!” He continues his relentless speed, hitting that same spot that edges you closer to bursting that coil deep within you.
“Aren’t ya just so–” He groans as he grinds deep, dragging his shaft against the sensitive nerves. “Fuckin’ pretty, so perfect for me darlin’.”
“Don't–! S-shut up–” You whine, raising your arms to cover your increasingly flushed face. He tuts before grabbing said arms and binding them to your sides, using them to slam deeper into you, causing you to practically scream each time he pushes against your prostate.
“No, nun’o that love, let me see you, need to see my boy,” He continues to bully himself in your hole, each push sending sparks up your spine.
At some point, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve screamed his name. The simmering heat inside you continues to boil until you feel that familiar edge as Colm continues to move. “Colm– Fuck I’m gonna– keep moving, please!”
“Close are ya’? C’mon, I got you,” He says at your chest, his coarse beard scratching at your skin as he peppers kisses. He continues his pace, determined to guide you to climax.
With a shout, you feel yourself cuming, shooting ropes onto your abdomen. Some landed just below your rib cage, dripping down to Colm’s stomach, coating the man in pearly whites.
“There ya’ go lad, god yer’ beautiful, look at ya’,” He presses his lips against yours, the kiss uncoordinated between heavy breathing and whimpers. “Fuck I’m going to–”
He follows shortly after, yet with a condom securely around it, you can feel the warm fluid inside of you, making you groan, biting at Colm’s shoulder. He regains his breath, chuckling at the dull bite, patting your nape as well as your back. “I’ve got ya’ love,”
Both of you took some time to recoup, trading kisses and soft touches as the high simmers down to bubbling affections and giggles. Colm carefully removes himself from you and tosses the condom away as he moves to stand, setting you aside to rest on the couch. You were about to interject before he kissed your crown and insisted on grabbing water for both of you before you relented.
Colm returns with a glass of water and hands it to you. You thank him and down it, surprised by how parched you had gotten. He supports an amused smile before returning to sit beside you, soothing the skin on your thigh. Your brow furrows at the gesture as you glance down to spot the growing mark that's left there, undoubtedly from how hard he must have gripped you. You laugh, putting the glass on the table in front of you.
“Shite, must’ve lost my control,” He cringes. You only chuckle and push him back to lie on top of him, hands crossed on his chest.
“Don't worry about it, I’ll live.” This time, he chuckles at your response, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into his warm embrace. The dirty laundry and sweaty skin can be a tomorrow problem, tonight, you lie comfortably on top of your crush and hopefully-future-date as his heartbeat lulls you into a deep slumber.
I feel like many binary people don’t consider that there’s many nonbinary people who regardless of transition could never “pass” as their gender in a binary world. That it’s just impossible because there’s not a social place for our genders, no matter what we do or look like we will at best be seen as confusing and weird or an *insert slur here.*
And we, as said nonbinary people, don’t talk enough about how exhausting it is. That we will never be casually correctly gendered in day to day public life. That’s not something we get to have. It’s get misgendered or try to start a potentially dangerous and overall socially unacceptable dialogue about your gender and pronouns with every person who *might* address you (impossible). And we don’t talk about it for specific reasons. The reasons is exorsexism
List of interesting ressources pertaining to norse paganism, scandinavian folklore and history, and nordic religions in general
These are sources I have personally used in the context of my research, and which I've enjoyed and found useful. Please don’t mind if I missed this or that ressource, as for this post, I focused solely on my own preferences when it comes to research. I may add on to this list via reblog if other interesting sources come to my mind after this has been posted. Good luck on your research! And as always, my question box is open if you have any questions pertaining to my experiences and thoughts on paganism.
Mythology
The Viking Spirit: An Introduction to Norse Mythology and Religion
Dictionnary of Northern Mythology
The Prose and Poetic Eddas (Online)
Grottasöngr: The Song of Grotti (Online)
The Poetic Edda: Stories of the Norse Gods and Heroes
The Wanderer's Hávamál
The Song of Beowulf
Norse Mythology: Myths of the Eddas (Online)
Rauðúlfs Þáttr
The Penguin Book of Norse Myths: Gods of the Vikings (Kevin Crossley-Holland's are my favorite retellings)
Myths of the Norsemen From the Eddas and the Sagas (online) A source that's as old as the world, but still very complete and an interesting read.
The Elder Eddas of Saemung Sigfusson
Pocket Hávamál
Cassell's Dictionary of Norse Myth and Legend (Online)
Cassel's Dictionary of Norse Myth and Legend
Myths of the Pagan North: Gods of the Norsemen
Lore of the Vanir: A Brief Overview of the Vanir Gods
Anglo-Saxon and Norse Poems
Gods of the Ancient Northmen
Gods of the Ancient Northmen (Online)
Norse Mythology - The Gods, Goddesses, and Heroes Handbook: From Vikings to Valkyries, an Epic Who's Who in Old Norse Mythology (A vulgarized and fun read for for newbies!)
Two Icelandic Stories: Hreiðars Þáttr and Orms Þáttr
Two Icelandic Stories: Hreiðars Þáttr and Orms Þáttr (Online)
The Elder Eddas of Saemund Sigfusson; and the Younger Eddas of Snorre Sturleson (Online)
Sagas
Two Sagas of Mythical Heroes: Hervor and Heidrek & Hrólf Kraki and His Champions (compiling the Hervarar saga ok Heiðreks and the Hrólfs saga kraka)
The Saga of the Jómsvíkings
The Saga of King Heidrek the Wise (Online)
The Heimskringla or the Chronicle of the Kings of Norway (Online)
Stories and Ballads of the Far Past OR Stories and Ballads or the Far Past - Translated from the norse (Icelandic and Faroese) with introduction and notes
Stories and Ballads of the Far Past: Icelandic and Faroese
Heimskringla: History of the Kings of Norway
The Saga of the Volsungs: With the Saga of Ragnar Lothbrok
The Saga of the Volsungs (Online. Interesting analysis, but this is another pretty old source.)
The Story of the Volsungs (Online) Morris and Magnusson translation
The Vinland Sagas
Hákon the Good's Saga (Online)
The Saga of Hervör and Heidrek (Online)
The Saga of the Jómsvikings (Online)
History of religious practices
The Viking Way: Magic and Mind in Late Iron Age Scandinavia
Nordic Religions in the Viking Age
Agricola and Germania Tacitus' account of religion in nordic countries
Myths and Symbols in Pagan Europe: Early Scandinavian and Celtic Religions
Tacitus on Germany (Online)
Norse Mythology: A Guide to Gods, Heroes, Rituals, and Beliefs
Scandinavia and the Viking Age
Viking Age Iceland
Landnámabók: Book of the Settlement of Iceland (Online)
The Age of the Vikings
The Vikings (Online. Mind the year of publication, this source is pretty old!)
Gesta Danorum: The Danish History (Books I-IX)
The Sea Wolves: a History of the Vikings
The Viking World
The History of Iceland
Guta Lag: The Law of the Gotlanders (Online)
The Pre-Christian Religions of the North (This is a four-volume series I haven't read yet, but that I wish to acquire soon! It's the next research read I have planned.)
Old Norse Folklore: Tradition, Innovation, and Performance in Medieval Scandinavia
Children of Ash and Elm: A History of the Vikings
The Penguin Historical Atlas of the Vikings by John Haywood
Landnámabók: Viking Settlers and Their Customs in Iceland
Nordic Tales: Folktales from Norway, Sweden, Finland, Iceland and Denmark (For a little literary break from all the serious research! The stories are told in a way that can sometimes get repetitive, but it makes it easier to notice recurring patterns and themes within Scandinavian oral tradition.)
Old Norse-Icelandic Literature: A Short Introduction
Saga Form, Oral Prehistory, and the Icelandic Social Context
An Early Meal: A Viking Age Cookbook and Culinary Oddyssey
Runes & Old Norse language
Uppland region runestones and their translations
Viking Language 1: Learn Old Norse, Runes, and Icelandic Sagas and Viking Language 2: The Old Norse Reader
Five Pieces of Runic Poetry
Old Norse-Icelandic Literature: A Critical Guide
Eddic to English: A survey of English translations of the Poetic Edda
Catalogue of the Manks Crosses with Runic Inscriptions
Old Norse - Old Icelandic: Concise Introduction to the Language of the Sagas
A Companion to Old Norse-Icelandic Literature and Culture
Five pieces of runic poetry translated from the islandic language: Quotations
Nordic Runes: Understanding, Casting, and Interpreting the Ancient Viking Oracle
YouTube channels
Ocean Keltoi
Arith Härger
Old Halfdan
Jackson Crawford
Wolf the Red
Sigurboði Grétarsson
Grimfrost
(Reminder! The channel "The Wisdom of Odin", aka Jacob Toddson, is a known supporter of pseudo scientific theories and of the AFA, a folkist and white-supremacist organization, and he's been known to hold cult-like, dangerous rituals, as well as to use his UPG as truth and to ask for his followers to provide money for his building some kind of "real life viking hall", as supposedly asked to him by Óðinn himself. A source to avoid. But more on that here.)
Websites
The Troth
Norse Mythology for Smart People
Voluspa.org
Mimisbrunnr: Developments in Ancient Germanic Studies
Icelandic Saga Database
Skaldic Project
Life in Norway This is more of a tourist's ressources, but I find they publish loads of fascinating articles pertaining to Norway's history and its traditions.
Germanic Mythology
Stories for all time: The Icelandic Fornaldarsögur
I’m really excited for this one! Found a hilarious trope prompt and one of my favorite shows has done this at least once too 😆
Warnings: mentions of alcohol/intoxication, suggestive jokes
Every pound of your head came like the cruelest heartbeat, painfully reminding you you were alive. A little too alive, frankly. It had been a long time, maybe even never, since you had indulged such as you’d chosen to the previous night, distracting yourself enough for the bottle to throw you right into the…cot? Bed?
Oh, stars. Bolting upright, you flung the blanket that was half-draped over your body off, realizing with the motion of your arm and the uncovering of your body that you were, in fact, still in the dress and pinafore you’d remembered putting on the previous day, not a scratch anywhere on you or it. Well, thank the heavens for that at least.
For that as well as the emptiness of the bedroom of sorts you were in. Perhaps you had simply gone awash and someone had walked you back there for a rest. Yes, that had to be it, you reflected as you slowly rose to your feet, slinging one leg followed by the other off the edge and gripping one of the posts for balance. Blast your splitting skull. Blast it all!
But judging by the doorway carved into the far sight of your square little brown quarters, at least there was what appeared to be a small washroom attached to the bedchambers. If not all hope was lost, anyway. Tugging your shifted skirts straight about your waist again, you tentatively squeaked across the old floorboards, glancing up at the molding around the ceiling. Very pointy-looking flowers and the like. That was right, you’d made your way to New Dale.
A traveler. That was what you were. Hadn’t found any reason to settle down yet, and if you’d made as much of a fool of yourself as you suspected, this place would be no exception. New Dale was to be the final stop on the way to see the infamous Lonely Mountain anyway, not much of a potential home, but right close and certainly availed of drink, not to mention quite the handsome mayor. Or whatever that Bard called himself.
At any rate, more than ready were you to disappear through that doorway and, with any luck, into a nice cool bath. You made your way over to it, but right as you made to step through another figure emerged, almost stepping into you, rocking back, and giving a call of shock to match yours.
He was a dwarf by the looks, and mainly height, of him, one a bit your senior and most distinctly wearing a great big hat that made you want to try it on so badly your hand twitched as if to make to swipe it off his head.
“‘N who might you be?”
The dwarf asked, tone not at all accusing, quiet as though he was as hungover as you, and frankly sounding more amused than anything else. The lilt of it carried an unspoken hint of ‘why not?’.
A rhetorical question you were more than happy to answer right back with one. “Were you in here all night?”
The dwarf looked taken aback by that, brown brows rising suddenly, seemingly before he could stop them. “Not like you’re thinking unless you aren’t thinking what I think you’re thinking. I don’t think.”
“What?”
“Can’t remember much of last night,” the dwarf answered, a gloved hand pressing to his hatted head, “but if you’re worried about how well we got to know each other last night, frankly I don’t even know if we got to names!”
You shook your head. “We mustn’t have, for I have not the foggiest what yours could be.”
At that, he smiled and you really took him in, realized what a kind and cheery-looking fellow he was. “Then let these introductions be all the sweeter. Bofur at your service, madam.” As punctuation he bowed at the waist, a hand flipping to extend toward you.
Letting out a chuckle, you gave your name, took his hand and felt your brow rise in surprise at the way he boldly brought your hand to his lips. It brought a smile to them, though, and with that out of the way Bofur waved a hand and bid you use of the washroom, which you gladly took up.
Should you have used the tub fully? Probably, but as it was you were still just a hint unsteady on your feet and drawing water sounded about as appealing as kissing a dragon right about then. Alright, maybe not that bad, but unpleasant enough. As it was you opted to take up a clean white rag and simply scrub yourself up as best you could, harsh hands grating soft fabric against your skin. The soap bar was simple, but a hint of orange blossom carried into the air around you as it bubbled lightly onto your moist body.
Upon finishing, you tugged your clothes back on, wrinkling your nose at the contrasting smell of wear pulling once more onto freshened skin. Drying your hands and lacing your shoes, you made your way back out, taking a curious peek around the doorway as if Bofur had been the product of a wild hangover dream.
Standing a short distance from the corner, the dwarf stood and waved a hand, offering a little smile. Not a figment of your imagination, then. Tentatively you waved back.
"We must've both just nipped off here to sleep it all away without realizing."
"Well, I guess that makes us roommates!" Bofur replied jovially, eyes turning upward with the joy of his smile.
"I guess so," you agreed, giving a smile of your own and emerging from your accidentally-shared room at his side.
Another enemy: a staircase. With a little 'whoa', Bofur pitched a little forward, grasped your forearm for stability, and gave a little hum of satisfaction before holding on completely. Your own rolling brain was silently grateful for the extra balance, the warm weight against you as you gripped the banister's smoothness. Joined like that you arrived down at the bottom and turned into the tavern, which already housed a mild bustle of patrons and servers.
One such woman came up to your side soon after you separated, hands joined at her waist and cheeks beaming with...pride? But what could she possibly-
"Well, if it isn't the newlyweds!" She exclaimed, sunshine positively beaming from all sides of her voice. "Frankly I am a bit surprised to see you out so soon. Well, no matter! Shall I prepare a spot of breakfast for the happy couple?"
"You're joking," Bofur snorted, "Right? We don't even know each other!"
"We met for the first time upstairs just now," you added, nodding agreement before turning back his way, "But I am sure we would enjoy some breakfast, thank you!"
"What are you talking about? You wed last night! No rings or anything, the two of you simply could not wait any longer! Quite romantic."
"I don't understand," Bofur said, gaze swinging up between you and this other woman, "We just got each other's names. Must've been another dwarf."
Leading you to your table, the woman spoke your names before you'd given them, reciting vows that named a brother and cousin Bofur had yet to mention at all, but that he'd apparently thought you'd like last night. Even though according to him the cousin, Bifur, needed some taking care of. Probably didn't hold his ale well. Your vows included an old joke about how you thought you'd be married in trousers, which was something you'd said to your family as a little kid. The name you'd been sure your future husband would have when you were twelve years old. All things this strange woman could never have known. Unless, of course, you'd spoken them last night drunk out of your mind.
"By my beard," Bofur breathed, clearly having come to the same conclusion, "We really did get married! Who in their right mind let us do that? Drunk as skunks, we were!"
"Probably the town justice you shook down 'Until I am bound to this fine woman for all eternity'," the server giggled as you wobbled into your seats, eyes still wide, "So, er, eggs then? Sausage? Bacon? Flapjacks?"
"All of the above," your companion sighed, eyes remaining locked on yours, "And whatever your strongest tea is, please."
"Just tea?" You asked with a sardonic smirk.
"Never got that hair of the dog stuff. 'Sides, don't want to end up like last night again, eh?"
"Maybe if we do it again we'll get divorced."
"I dunno, seems the liquor made us like each other a whole lot more."
"Could've liked each other even better," you quipped drily, glancing down at your clothing.
"You've got me there," Bofur chuckled.
He said nothing more as you waited for your tea, but some barely perceptible shift had occurred in his eyes, which occasionally shot down lower onto your form and then right back up again like they'd been slapped. Your own gaze wavered from his eyes a bit, tracing the line of his mustache down and back up again. He drummed his fingers in some unknown rhythm against the table's wood surface, glancing back up at you with some unspoken question you weren't sure if you wanted to answer.
"Your tea! Tea for two!"
Tension thoroughly cut, you both tore your eyes from each other to meet those of that same server once again, this time setting down a laden with tea things. Beaming at you again, she set a little white cup banded with green and gold, the center of each ribbon bearing lilies. White lilies, of course.
"Get it?"
"Yes," you groaned.
"Ah, lilies, that's clever," Bofur remarked, holding a cup up to his face and chuckling, "'S good, save for the fraudulence and falsehood of it all. Say, do you guys have honey?"
"Of course."
And with that, it was just you two again, you two and the tray and the steaming teapot that matched your cups. Was Bofur not feeling the pit of dread that sunk within you or was he truly that good at masking it? Or maybe he was truly so confident in your situation's coming reversal.
"So I suppose we track down that same justice to nullify this all?" You asked, staring down at your cup under the guise of ensuring nothing of your refreshment spilled.
"Supposing so," Bofur answered, accepting your proffered teapot from across the table, although he refrained from pouring anything, likely in anticipation of the honey, "For now, we may as well enjoy a nice meal, eh? I hear the flapjacks here are especially good."
"Oh? From who?"
"From my love of flapjacks! Now come on, how's about we get to know each other a little? Daresay we're a special kind of friends now. What brings you to New Dale? Business?"
"Quite the opposite," you snorted, leaning back until one of your chair's hard corners poked into the flesh of your back, forcing you to shift quickly to maintain an appearance half as nonchalant as Bofur's, "I had no more reason to go here than anywhere else save my own desire. New Dale was actually just a stop on the way to visit the mountain."
“Mountain?” Bofur asked, brows raised in great interest. “The Lonely Mountain? Erebor? That mountain?”
“Yes,” you giggled, “Any other names you’d like to give or is the hangover leaving your body now?”
“Well, what did you want to see? I’ll have you know your husband lives there."
"Let me see, the architecture, the history, that great mass of gold and gems I've heard so much about, all the beautiful things only dwarves can make."
"Men can make beautiful things, too," Bofur answered, "After all, they made you."
For once, your mind could not conceive of a single protest.
~
In the shadow of the Lonely Mountain you and Bofur strolled, Bofur pointing out the meaning of this flag and that statue until you had entered the great stone bulk and stared in awe at massive columns of whatever greenish stone and flying colors from a great indoor marketplace. In-mountain. Whatever the lot of it was, it did not smell nearly as dusty and dry in there as your imagination had conjured- how’d they keep it so nice?
Whilst there, Bofur bought you a souvenir. In drifting over the assortment of carven wood implements, your eyes slid back to a great stein numerous times. Inhaling the scent of the sawdust littering the floor behind the crafts-dwarf, you skimmed completely over spoons and even little statues of creatures of the woods to look at the thing, the thing finished smooth and set with some rune. One of joy, according to Bofur.
"You like it."
"No, I don't." A glance at the seller, then back to Bofur. "Well, yes I do, but I don't know if I can-"
Coins spilled onto the table. One, two, three.
"I can. I want you to have it. It reminds me of you, all things considered.”
“Drunken night?” The seller chuckled, crossing his arms and darting his eyes between you two as a smile spread beneath his bushy beard.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Bofur answered with a chuckle before you could put in your own proverbial cent.”
“A stein?” You asked him as you walked off, waving the great big thing like the world’s stumpiest flag. “That’s my symbol now?”
“Come now,” Bofur tutted your name softly, giving a nonchalant little shrug, “‘s just a joke. If you don’t want to be known by this, then tell me what your favorite thing is.”
You’d think he was the homeless one for all his Mahal-may-care attitude, and yet there he was, relaxed and himself inside this mountain with his own people. For once you envied the static life, aching for something beyond the next port-of-sorts as you looked into his eyes.
“Swans.”
“What?”
“I’ve traveled a lot. But one village I saw I’ll never forget. It stood at the foot of a lake, and when you sat along the water you could watch all the white swans paddling across the water. It was so shiny and blue and they were so graceful. Not that they couldn’t kill you on land, but out there on the water? Anyone’d wanna be one of them.”
“I can see it,” Bofur told you, head tilted a bit.
“Really?”
“Sure,” he waved a hand, “You’re just like that! Pretty but don’t make ya mad. I like that. And say, I have just the thing for you then, Swan Lady, and it’ll be much better than some ol’ beer mug!”
Swan Lady. You liked that. It echoed through your head as you smiled and followed Bofur's eager lead deeper into the mountain.
‘Better than a beer mug’ was an understatement- Bofur led you beneath a doorway carven with bear cubs and birds and even little dwarven silhouettes, hanging banners of deep blue and yellow contrasting the stone. Light poured from it, a bright yellow light that still somehow stayed cozy. Firelight. A lot of little firelights. Through the welcoming waves of the carvings was an assortment of shelves lining every wall. Each of them was filled with different delights: porcelain figurines crowned in painted gold, wooden swords with unique hilt ornaments, wolves on wheels with strings matching the colors of their yellow eyes, grey fur, or red maws. Spinning mobiles hung from the ceiling in the form of anything from Erebor’s thrushes to whimsical winged ponies spinning in little skybound derbies. Where, you wondered, should your eyes fall next? Not to the mirrors, carved and waved for distorted reflections. You were still a little too hungover for that.
Bofur answered that question, softly catching your attention with your name before he waved you to a corner shelf. “Look here.”
Tearing your eyes from a squat wooden dwarf knight, you followed Bofur, only to see another pull-along toy, this time white. A swan with neatly carved feathers and eyes serenely shut. Capturing just what you’d described. Well, save for the wrath awaiting anyone annoying. It didn’t need it, though. Not this one.
A smile spread across your face, the stein in your hand lowering forgotten. “You’re right.”
“I am?”
“Of course you are.” You elbowed him playfully.
“I can’t believe it!” Bofur exclaimed with a grin. “Oh, here, come meet its makers, then. My cousin and my brother.”
For some reason, the thought of meeting Bofur’s family brought a little rush of heat. Meeting people wasn’t usually any pressure. Why a couple of toymakers?
Why indeed. Bombur and Bifur were right nice, even if the elder one didn’t speak. He got his point across well enough, and how he’d blushed when you complimented his beautiful swan! The pull-along he gifted you, sending a wink Bofur’s way.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Bofur said again, but that time with a soft smile and gaze that didn’t pull away from yours.
~
Erebor’s halls were so vast as to almost feel outside despite their clear lack of sunlight or clouds or any such natural effect beyond stone, stone, and more stone. The air was clearer than any cave you’d been in- there must’ve been some sort of ventilation system. Fascinating. It made you want to build one of those wild mining pulleys they had just to shoot yourself to the top and crawl around for it. A few dwarves barreled past you and Bofur, almost knocking you over had his gloved hand not gripped yours. A grip as warm as you’d expected. Not that you’d imagined it. Nor had you imagined the way his voice softened when he told you “just in case”, eyes flicking tentatively up to yours.
“So, how’d you like Erebor?” Bofur’s voice shook your brain by its shoulders, dropping it from its thoughts and sensations of still-gripped hands.
“It was amazing,” you told him, strolling ever slower on your way back to New Dale, “I almost didn’t want to leave! Thank you for everything: showing me around, the gifts, better company than I deserved. I wasn’t the fairest this morning.”
“You- You- Well,” Bofur rubbed the back of his neck before dropping his hand down to take yours, “Plenty fair for me. In fact, can I tell you something?”
Inhaling deeply, you swallowed, something in those hazel eyes yanking a rush of words from deep in your chest. Erebor deep. Deeper than you ever thought you’d go. Deep enough that you almost feared it. You’d gotten outside the justice’s office, great grey-painted door looming before you like a heavy cloud.
“I have to tell you something too,” you told him.
“I want to stay married,” you both blurted out simultaneously.
Bofur’s jaw dropped. He gaped at you for several sped heartbeats before snapping out of it, shaking his hatted head and breaking into the widest, giddiest grin you’d ever seen. That morning you might have called it a dumb one. Right then? All you could say was how beautiful a sight it was. How it looked like home. That very thing you’d taken for granted for all those years thinking nowhere would feel like it. No one would want you. And yet with Bofur by your side it was like all those thoughts had gone poof into the pile of ash he told you the dragon had almost made of his company.
Before you could say anything, though, a pair of warmly clad hands took hold of your hips, yanking you against a fur coat and into the softest, most eager lips that could have devoured you. So intent on such were you, in fact, that you didn’t catch the squeak of a door until a man’s voice interrupted you, forcing you to pull apart, although Bofur’s hold on you remained fast.
“Still can’t keep your hands off each other, can you?” The man, presumably the justice, not that your faulty ale-hazed memory was any help, chuckled. “Newlyweds.”
“Newlyweds,” you agreed, speaking again in unison and gazing into each other’s eyes, your arms reaching to stroke Bofur’s.
Notes: First songfic ever so it might not be of best quality! Fun fact! I absolutely hated songfics back then but I think they are kinda romantical now <3
Prompts: Songfic, first kiss, sickness, and slow dancing.
Proofread?: Nop
A Sentinel was chasing you and a few friends; destroying everything in its path. Unfortunately, you were unable to escape and the mutant killer grabbed you. It's eyes glowing, ready to send you to your undeserved grave. Then it malfunctioned; a street light went through the right eye and it caved in. Reacting instinctively it let go of you, and you felt yourself land in someone's arms. You stared up at your savior. Her white bangs and brown jacket that was filled with a sweet but strong perfume. What stuck out most was her Black lipstick.
The night we met I knew I...
Needed you so.
She must have noticed your stunned look and smirked. "Well, aren't you cute?" Her green eyes locked onto yours. Your nerves sent waves of electricity through your limbs. "You will be safe with me darling, don't you worry" The cool breeze flew through your hair as she began to float again.
You stayed at the mansion after that. Not wanting to be on the enemy's radar. You mostly stayed around Rogue since she was the one who saved you and helped you train.
And if I had the chance I'd
Never let you go.
You understandably caught feelings for the southern woman but never gained the courage to confess. You tried to push those feelings back and focus on getting better at using your powers. Rogue didn't help much. With her flirting and innuendos while training, it made you fall back in love again every time.
But instead of accepting her attempts at loving you, you brush them off as you just being delusional again.
So won't you say you love me?
I'll make you so proud of me.
"Doyouwannahavedinnerwithmetonight?" You blurted out, immediately regretting it and clapsing your hands over your mouth. You watched her flinch before turning around.
"I'm sorry honey I didn't hear a word you said"
"Nothing" You picked up your book and ignored her skeptical look.
"You're lying" She pointed at you.
"No I'm not" You pushed the boom further into your face.
We'll make 'em turn their heads
Every place we go.
Rogue put an arm over your shoulders. "Did you just ask me out?" she teased.
"You were not supposed to here that-"
"Don't worry yourself sick about it sugar, I'm free tonight anyway"
So won't you please,
Be my,
"Be my baby~" Rogue's arm reached over the table for yours. Your face became warmer, as her words reached your ears. You lift her hand up and placed it on your face. The diner you took her to wasn't crowded. A booth was available in the corner, for you both to freely talk with each other.
"My one and only baby." When she spoke to you it felt like it wasn't laced with that joking tone she always gave you, but filled with absolute yearning.
Say you'll be my darlin'
Be my baby now,
Oh, oh, oh, oh
I'll make you happy, baby
Just wait and see.
Rogue was dressed up in one of the hoodies she "borrowed" from you. She had arrived at the mansion after being out searching for matching Halloween costumes for the both of you. Hearing her step into your room, you looked up from your desk.
"Hey, sugar! Ah' missed you" She rested her arm on your chair, and hovered over the book you were ready.
"But you left out a few minutes ago." You chuckled, grabbing her cheek to give her a quick kiss before going back to your book.
For every kiss you give me,
Rogue body began heating up. Her once-cold fingertips, regained it's warmth. Your smug look made her even more hot, and of course she wasn't letting that slide. You felt her grab your shirt collar before picking you up out of the chair and planting kisses on your face and lips. Covering you with her Black lipstick.
I'll give you three.
You stared at the ceiling, groggily. With the seasons changing, you would get bedridden. And being sick was the worst thing that could happen, since it felt like you were dying. The light from the hallway seep into your dark room and Rogue peeked in with a bowl.
Oh since the day I saw you
I have been waiting for you.
"Ah' made you some soup hun." All you could do was groan in response. "Aw, my poor baby's sick" Rogue said as she helped lift you up. She raised the spoon to your mouth. You relax as the warm broth satisfies your weakened body.
"Guess we shouldn't have gone out that day," Your froggy throat mustered out. Rogue hummed and laid down next to you.
"But at least we get to spend time together" You leaned more into her neck.
"You're gonna get sick"
She laughed before hugging your waist. "Ah' don't care about that stuff. I'm strong enough to fight a lil' cold anyway"
You know I will adore you
'Til eternity.
So won't you please,
"Be my, be my baby" You sang along as you waltzed around the room with Rogue in hand. The radio played the old song. "Be my little baby"
"You really like this song do you?" She said twirling you around.
My one and only baby
"You sang this to me, remember?" You leaned your forehead onto hers. "Say you'll be my darlin' "
You both stayed like that, swaying slowly while cradling each other. Just basking in the other's presence, singing the next chorus together.
summary: PART TWO TO TACO TUESDAY! Reader wakes up after a night of debauchery.... and continues it. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.
word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.2K | smut with very little plot, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjobs, eating out, no use of y/n, a sprinkling of angst at the end because things are developing for reader.
a/n: Listen, listen. I am blown away by the love on my first Remy fic, and the fact that you guys wanted a part two made my day. Thank you so much for all the praise and I hope this one lives up to the hype as well! part 3....? peut être...
- banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @atomicfoxx!
↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!
Sunlight filters in through the crack in your curtains, warming a stripe across your thigh and stomach. You squeeze your lids shut tighter and turn your head away from the window, trying to get away from the glaring brightness. A grogginess lingers heavy in your system, but despite that, your body is giving you all the internal signals that it's time to wake up. You stretch deeply, muscles quivering as you flay your limbs out on the bed.
You hadn't gotten that drunk. At least, you didn't think you had. You don't remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember the dreams you had. They were lusty, lewd and lascivious, and every other adjective to describe naughty; your brain had conjured up the filthiest dreams you'd had since... well, ever. And they were all with the Cajun guy you'd met at Wade's. Remy. You remembered his name because you'd said it at least a dozen times in your dream.
Still half asleep, you flop over, throwing your arm and leg over onto the mattress. Your sheets are pulled down on one side, oddly, but you assume you just tried kicking them off or burritoing yourself in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sniff and an unexpected sweet, warm fragrance fills your nostrils. Breakfast? You roll over again, and sit bolt upright to look down the hall. You suck in a breath and hold it, listening intently to the sounds coming from your kitchen; the scrape of metal against cast iron and a distinct sizzling sound.
“What the hell?” You whisper, scooting yourself to the edge of the mattress.
As you get up off the bed, you pull the sheet with you, wrapping it around your naked body, which honestly, was odd - you never slept nude – always in an oversized shirt. Your muscles seem to shake as you walk, and ache pings somewhere in the area of your hip flexors as you pad down the hall, barefoot. When you get to the kitchen, there’s a visual in front of you that causes you to come to a screeching halt.
Had it really not been a dream?
You nearly have to pick your jaw up off of the floor. He – Remy – stands in your kitchen, over your stove, in nothing but his purple briefs and your polka dotted apron, which hasn't been tied and hangs from his muscular neck.
As he tends to the bacon sizzling in the pan, he sees you in his peripheral, and turns his head slightly, a bright but relaxed smile on his face — the look of it tickles something in your core. You hum quietly.
"Mornin', cher."
What you want to say is holy shit but you instead mutter out an inquisitive and unsure: "Uhhh, morning...?"
Even though you’ve seen him naked before, you’re still flabbergasted by the visual. You swallow, and let your eyes fall down the length of his body; tan skin pulled taut over sculpted muscles. He's just as delicious now as he was in your dreams. Maybe even moreso, with the lingering cuddle of sleep, his hair mussed, and the sunlight beaming in from the small window over the sink, kissing his skin in a yellow haze.
"Hungry, mon ami?"
"Starved, actually." You blink away from his half-naked form and up to his face. "I'm so sorry, am I still asleep or did we....?"
Remy chuckles and flips the bacon. "We sho’ did. I ain’t remember the last time I had it like ‘dat."
You take a breath, and think back. It doesn’t take long to differentiate between dreams and reality as it all comes rushing back, playing out in your mind like a dirty movie.
The way he held you close to his chest, the way his hands explored your body, fingertips kissing your flesh... the way his thick cock felt as it filled you, pleasure coursing through your body in ways that you’d never experienced before. The way he spoke, the way you said — moaned — his name. The way you nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder after you both had cum, the way he’d stroked your hair as you fell asleep…
You swallow and blink again, bringing yourself back to reality. Remy is plating the bacon and walks it over to your small kitchen table. He gestures with a nod of his head and you walk over, plopping down into the seat, which squeaks as you do. Tucking the sheets underneath your armpits, you reach forward and pluck a single piece from the plate; it's warm and sticky, and tastes like maple syrup. You hum happily as you chew, and Remy takes a piece for himself as he sits down in the chair across from you.
"Remy," you coo. It sounds far more wanton than you intend, almost a moan. Judging by his reaction, it sounds familiar — like the way you were whining his name last night as he hammered into you.
"Hoo, don't start 'dat again or we gon' be havin' a repeat of last night."
You swallow the mouthful of bacon and reach for another strip. He’s a good cook on top of everything, and made the bacon just the way you liked it. Great.
“Listen, I… I’m not usually like… that. I don’t hook up with random guys or anything.”
“Is ‘dat what ‘dat was?” He asks, a taunting tone in his voice. There’s something behind it, something warm and inviting, but you shake the thought off.
“Wasn’t it? Isn’t that what that’s… classified as? I’m…”
He interjected, pushing the plate towards you. “Well, I dunno’, cher. You fell asleep in my arms… and I’m still here.”
You munch on another slice of bacon as you grapple with the fact that maybe it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Your eyes glaze over, staring at nothing in particular as you consider a couple of things.
First, was the fact that you’d never been one for one night stands. They were frivolous, and usually ended in embarrassment or heartbreak. Neither of which had happened here. He had a glaring point; he had stayed, and apparently, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. Another something that you never did.
Second, was the fact that you’d also never really been one for the whole fate, destiny, or soulmate thing. That was cringy, and not something you’d ever entertained, because why would you? Save for a few meaningless relationships in college, you’d been alone and liked it that way. Less to deal with, less to have to clean up at the end of the day. You weren’t actively looking for a relationship, but Remy had just been there. Wasn’t that how fate worked? You furrowed your brows.
Third, was the undeniable fact that something – and you didn’t know what – but something about Remy had been written deep within the confines of your heart. The magnetic pull that you’d felt towards him last night still lingered heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to push yourself against him and feel his body against yours.
Lust at first sight. That’s got to be what it is, you decide. You’re in lust with him.
But why not test it again…. Just to be sure. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, having been sent the signals that you plan to pursue him. Again.
The wanton voice returns as you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the kitchen table. “Maybe we should… do it again… for good measure. Remy…”
"Chere, what did Remy say about usin' ‘dat voice...?"
"What if that's what I want?"
Remy's chewing slows and his eyes lift to yours. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile as he stands up, stretching forward to meet your mouth. Your lips barely graze each other, before –
As if on cue, someone knocks at the door, the sound echoing in your ears. Shit. You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting towards the door.
“I’ll get it.”
Begrudgingly, you move away from him, kick the sheet out behind you so you don’t trip on it, and hurry to the door, unlatching it.
"Wade," you breathe as you throw open the door, almost exasperated.
Wade pauses for a beat, assessing your appearance. "Oooh, good morning, sunshine. Looks like someone celebrated Taco Tuesday with some extra Cajun seasoning."
You heave a sigh; half out of annoyance and half out of embarrassment, because the reality was, you hadn't looked in the mirror this morning, so your appearance was a mystery. You look down at your sheet-clad body, and pull it tighter around you, as if that's giving back any of your modesty.
Wade leans on the doorframe, grinning like an absolute idiot. Lips pursed, he wiggles his eyebrows (or lack thereof) at you and waits for you to say something. Confess something. He's waiting for the juicy details, and you aren't delivering.
"Speak, Lassie! Tell us what happened!"
You huff. "What do you want, Wade?"
"So hostile. Actually, like State Farm, I was just being a good neighbour. Checking on you and the Cajun Sensation since you two never came ba - oh fuck me is he in his underwear? What in the Magic Mike is happening here?" He peeks over your shoulder, spotting the half-naked Gambit behind you.
"Wade!" You try to lean into his line of sight, preventing him from looking any further. "Look, I hardly know you, I'm not about to divulge my sex life to you-"
"Woah, TMI, princess. But thanks for the confirmation!"
"What!? No, that's not what I meant! I'm just..."
"Sure, pumpkin. It's okay, Disney gave it an R-rating for a reason."
"What are you talking about?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Nothing." You snap, obviously frustrated. "Look, I'm fine. Everything is fine, we just --"
Remy's voice comes from behind you, fast approaching. "Cher? Everythin' alright?"
You cast your glance behind you briefly – he’s ditched the apron, and is now in nothing but those tight fitting briefs that leave little to the imagination. God, he's so attentive. He’s already acting like a boyfriend, a thought that turns your guts to butterflies.
Wade preens, clearly amused. "Oohh, well fuck me sideways. It was that kind of night, huh? Real x reader type plot. Cute. Have you said I love you yet? Or is that chapter three?"
You bristle, absolutely appalled at the question. Behind you, Remy opens the door further and raises one arm over his head, leaning it on the wood of the interior frame. He sees Wade and grins brightly, a twist to his lips, almost like he knows what’s happening.
“Mornin’, mon petit rouge.” (My little red)
“Oooh, I felt a tingle with that one.”
Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Starting with his bare bicep, which was now on full display, Wade's eyes trail down the length of Remy's body, lingering far too long at his groin before snapping back up to his face.
"Jesus fuck, someone needs to put Agent Tequila on ice again. I thought it was Texas where everything is bigger–"
You feel your cheeks get hot and your eyes widen. “CHRIST, Wade!"
“Oh please, drop the Sandra Dee act, pookie. You two fucked nasty and everyone knows it. At least the whole floor.”
Behind you, Remy laughs low. You can feel his gaze on you, tunneling into you, almost as if he’s waiting for you to confirm or deny. The decision weighs heavy on your shoulders, and finally, you blurt out an answer.
“Okay, so we did. Happy now?”
Wade’s shoulders drop and he heaves an over dramatic sigh. “Hallelujah. There, doesn’t honesty feel good?”
Remy leans forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Not as good as what I did to you last night, huh cher?”
“Heard that.” Wade barks.
Your entire face feels hot, and the blush is spreading down your neck the longer this goes on.
Remy’s hand comes forward to take a fistful of your ass, squeezing firmly before giving it a determinate smack and heading back to the table. He’s apparently ascertained that the situation is safe; Wade may be a character but he means no harm. You stiffen at the feeling, fighting against the betrayal of your body. Wade arches a brow, his eyes darting to the very subtle way that your hips pitch forward stiffly.
“Anyway, this isn’t a threesome — could be, but isn’t — so I’m going back home. I have a big… wet… chimichanga waiting for me. Toodles.”
You’re relieved he ends the conversation before you have to; you aren’t quite sure what might’ve come out of your mouth had he stayed any longer and as an afterthought, you don’t want to create hostility with your next door neighbour. You shut your door, throwing the deadbolt into place.
You march back to the table with an apparent chip on your shoulder over the interaction with Wade – which all things considered, wasn’t that bad, but you’re still worked up. Your muscles are tense with frustration, which you don't notice until Remy's large hands are sliding up the sides of your arms. He eventually gets to your shoulders, which he pinches and massages between his fingers, forcing them back into a more relaxed state. You let out a sigh, and buck your hips back slightly. His groin is pressed up against the ample curve of your ass, your bodies fitting together like a erotic puzzle piece.
“What’re you all mad for, cher? C’mon now…”
“Who does he think he is? Making me confess that… and I’m a grown wo—“
“You was pretty loud last night.” He interjects, that mischievous smirk on his lips.
You spin around in his grasp and cross your arms, shooting him a disapproving look. “Whose side are you on here?”
He's unphased by your anger, and instead, brings his hands up to your cheeks, pulling them forward until your head gives way, and your lips smash against his.
At this, you let out a mewl of faux discomfort, and Remy smirks against your lips. He shakes his head softly, and pulls you closer at the waist. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and looks down at your sheet-clad figure. While it is a tantalizing sight -- the way the sheet drapes over your figure, conforming to the curve of your breasts, peaking over your semi-hard nipples -- he wants to see your body again. It's been hours, and he's craving it again.
“Yours.” His voice is so sure, so low and so close.
Well… his hands are definitely on your sides. They roam between your waist and your hips for a few moments before he makes a fist with one of them, the gray fabric bunching between his fingers.
“Who you bein’ modest for, huh? You don’t need ‘dis. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.”
“I… I don’t know…” you whisper, falling into the trap of his eyes again. When he looks at you, really looks at you, you feel like you’re standing at the edge of a building, but going nowhere, because his big, brawny arms are wrapped around you tight. You’ve never felt safer. Uh-oh. That’s not good.
As he drags his fist down the front of your body, the sheet pulls free of your arms, the fabric grazing your nipples. The sensation has them hardening, and Remy’s hand replaces the sheet, running his thumb over one of them, while cupping the fullness of your breast with the rest of his hand.
He leans forward, kissing from your hairline, over your ear and down the curve of your shoulder, sending convulsive shivers down your spine. The feeling of his lips, pressing into your soft, warm skin… your lids flutter. Your hand reaches down, sliding over his taut muscles, until you find the bulge between his legs. The fabric is warm, heated by the fire of his cock. Your fingers curl around the length of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unconsciously, his hips pitch forward, forcing more pressure on your palm.
"Remy," you breathe, looking down between your bodies. His briefs are tenting now, his cock straining against the fabric. You swallow back the saliva that's gathering in your mouth, literally on the verge of drooling. 'I wanna'... I have to -- need to taste you."
"In Louisiana, 'dey call 'dat having an envie for somethin'."
"Yeah, well I have an envie for your cock right now, so..."
The surprise is apparent on his face, his brows lifting on his forehead, but it quickly morphs into something more lusty, something more pleased. His dick jumps at your words and he reaches up to grip your chin firmly, looking hard at your mouth.
Aroused, his accent thickens. "Hoo, you a naughty girl with 'dat mouth. Why don't you show me what else it can do, huh?"
You nod and sink to your knees, slowly. Once you're situated in front of his groin, you reach up and hook your fingers around the elastic of his waistband, peeling it away from his skin. You lean forward to trace the tip of your tongue along the lines of muscle, that tantalizing V cut. Remy chokes on his breath, as your tongue flattens against the skin.
You continue baring him, pulling the fabric down his thighs in one quick motion. He helps you by kicking them off to the side, and now stands, completely bare in front of you. His cock bounces heavy in front of your face and you immediately take him into your hand, wasting no time. You wrap one hand around the thick shaft, towards the base, and slide it slowly up towards the tip.
The heat coming off his cock radiates into your palm and the contrast of the velvet, soft skin, and the aching, rigid center has your mouth (and cunt) drooling. You can't help it, and the way Remy's muscles flex every time you move your hand eggs you on. You begin stroking his cock, slowly, but tightly and his breath hitches in his throat. Tightening his abdominal muscles as he does, Remy bucks his hips, forcing his dick through the circle of your fingers. The precum is spreading now, making the action easy. His head is down, watching you intently.
“‘Dat’s it, babygirl, just like ‘dat…”
As you drag the head over your bottom lip, glossing it with precum, it twitches in your grip. Extending your tongue, you slap the heavy, fat tip against it a few times, teasing him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue massaging the underside with a flattened tongue.
Remy braces his hands on the counter top above you, his breath rushing out.
“Hoo, you don’t need no help from Remy, you know what you’re doin’.”
You nod and tighten your grip around the base, leaning your mouth forward to press a single kiss against the tip. Your tongue peeks out, licking a long stripe from the base to the head, and you hear Remy make a sound that can only be described as a growl. You moan against his cock, the sound buzzing against his skin. He bucks again, forcing his cock further into your mouth.
Remy’s grip tightens on the counter top. He’s doing his best to keep it together but the way that your warm, wet mouth has enveloped him, the way that you’re gently sucking as your head bobs, the way your fingers wrap around his cock, gripping him firmly and jerking him off at the base has him in pieces. Aside from last night, he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good – certainly not in the Void, and try as he might, no memories are coming forward from before the Void. All he feels – and sees – is you. You. You, in your naked, morning messy glory. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, his gaze heavy and half-lidded.
You have to open wide to take him all the way in, but you don’t care. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your cunt weeping profusely between your legs, and the head nudges the back of your throat, teasing at your gag reflex. You steady yourself and get back to it. Your nose prods the thatch of coarse hair above his cock as you deep throat him, over and over again. The salty pre-cum glides over your tongue, saturating it with the taste that you’re craving.
“Mon coeur,” He exhales a low, raspy breath, and backs his hips away from your mouth, his dick leaving your lips with a wet shlick. You stare up at him with wide, unknowing eyes, chin covered in saliva. His cock twitches in your grip; the visual is erotic.
“Believe me when I say ‘dis, cher. I wanna’ make a mess on your face, but Remy ain’t ready for it to be ova’. C’mere.”
With a gentle tap, he urges you up off your knees, helping you to get to your feet. Just like before, he’s hoisting you up into his arms and you’re ready to be carried off again, but this time your ass comes down atop the counter, and Remy slots himself between your legs.
“Wait-wait…. What are you doing?”
“Eatin’, mon ami.” He says it so nonchalantly and throws in the ever casual mon ami as though this is something done between friends. His hands cup your kneecaps, urging them apart with careful urgency. He looks at your cunt, and his brows lift slowly, a smirk crawling across his lips.
“Hoo…” He chuckles, running a single finger along the slit of your cunt. As he pulls back, his finger is coated in your arousal, thick strands of clear stringing from your cunt to the tip of his finger. “You get yourself all worked up while you were down ‘dere? She is glistenin’, cher.”
You’re almost embarrassed. Almost. You hadn’t told him, but giving head was a massive turn-on. Besides that, the mere sight of his massive cock was enough to get your engines running. Something about admitting that to him sounds a little too whorish, so you keep your mouth shut. You whine, leaning your head against the cabinets and buck your hips forward, closer to the edge.
It’s as though he can tell you’re withholding something from him.
“Ah-ah, cher…” He brings his face close to yours, licking at your mouth. “Tell Remy what’s on your mind.”
“I… I like giving head… I like giving you head…. I like…”
He nods, encouraging you further. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you roll your eyes to the ceiling.
“Ugh, okay. You have an amazing cock, and I like having it in every part of me.” You curse yourself for being so honest.
Now it’s Remy that’s on his knees, and he dives at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue is strong and warm against your clit, flicking upwards against the bundle of nerves. He’s burying his mouth in your folds, lapping at it. Every time his tongue nears your opening, you let out a long, whining moan.
Pause. Let’s just recap. Just to make sure we’re on the same god damn page. You met this guy at Wade’s…. Fucked him all night long, he made you breakfast and now he’s giving you the most toe-curling head you’ve ever had. And you think, just maybe, you might be falling in love with him. Cool. Okay.
Your hand snaps to the crown of his head, fingers lacing amongst his hair to hold him to the spot he’s working. His tongue is drilling into your clit, and that’s when you feel the pressure of two fingers, prodding your slick slit.
“Sweeter ‘den ‘dat maple syrup up on your counter,” he says, practically into your cunt. You look down; his gaze is lust-blown, and lips are glossy, spit-slick and reddened. He presses a few gentle kisses to your clit before his tongue starts swiping at it again, and plunging his fingers deep within your core. Just like before, he knows just how to curl his fingers up into the sensitive spot inside you. You let out a moan, and bump your head against the cabinets again.
A shudder rips through your body, overwhelmed at the dual stimulation. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently and you can feel the slippery puddle forming on the countertop beneath you. Briefly, you wonder if you’ll just slide off the counter, but really… the only place to go is further into Remy and his mouth.
Abruptly, you feel the flash of heat between your legs and arch your back, readying yourself for the drop. Your cunt aches, throbs and – Remy suddenly pulls away, his chin shimmering with your arousal.
“Huh, I didn’t hear anyone say you could be doin’ ‘dat yet, ah?”
Holy shit. You clench her tight, holding back the wave of an orgasm. Your teeth grind together, legs quivering at the feeling of denial. You were right on the edge, right on the edge of white, hot bliss.
“Ffffuck,” you whisper. “Fuck. Please….”
“I said no, cher. Not yet.” There’s a playful lilt in Remy’s voice and it drives you crazy.
“Fuck me then, please…. I need to feel you.”
He chuckles, and presses a deep kiss to your folds. “You ain’t gonna’ have to ask me twice, ma bichette.” (my little doe)
He slips his fingers out, and inserts them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of them. Your jaw drops. It’s such a casual, but erotic action, and your cunt responds feverishly. She’s got a heartbeat of her own at this point, thrumming between your legs. Leaving you leaking on the countertop, Remy gets to his feet and turns around to the kitchen table. He shoves the plates out of the way, somehow not knocking them onto the floor.
“C’mere…”
You’re in his arms again, and he’s swinging you around, plopping you down on the kitchen table. Your hands go back behind you, pressing down into the wood apprehensively.
“I don’t know if this table can support me…. ”
“Don’t you worry ‘bout ‘dat, cher. It might not, but Remy’s gonna’ be holdin’ you tight. This is just givin’ me a betta’ angle, ‘das all.”
He wasn’t lying; most of your weight was in his grasp. One arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. You scoot yourself closer to the edge, closer to him, and inhale a deep breath. Remy shuffles forward, his cock leading the way. The red, leaking tip nudges your entrance and he lifts your head to place a kiss against your lips, nibbling softly on the bottom one. He’s so passionate, even amidst the burden of his fiery, seemingly untameable lust. A lover. Fuck… you think. You’re falling into a deep, dark hole that you don’t think you can climb your way out of.
Remy reaches between your bodies, pushing his cock down slightly, until he feels the sopping wet opening of your cunt. Groaning deeply, he stuffs himself inside, inch by inch until your bodies are flush. He finds a rhythm quickly, bucking his hips against you. As he splits you open, you can’t help but moan loud, louder than last night, his cock filling you, throbbing veins rubbing against your inner walls.
“God, yeah… yeah, fuck me hard…!” You chant, sounding more and more like a porn star with every passing moment.
“Only if you give it t’ me, cher… the way you takin’ this dick, I ain’t gonna’ last long.”
You nod hurriedly, looking deep into his eyes. He growls and pulls his hips all the way back before slamming them back into you – hard. Your jaw drops again, and you find yourself staring at the cabinets, vision going hazy with lust as your orgasm rushes to the surface, claiming your body wholly. The plates that previously hung on now go clattering to the floor, but the sound does little to interrupt you two. Remy’s got his dick so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars, and the sounds that are tumbling from your lips are far louder than the sound of porcelain on tile.
With a smooth, guttural sound, Remy loses it, too. He fills you, deeply, and what leaks out the sides, he hurriedly pumps it back inside of you until his cock starts to soften, his thrusts languid and spent.
“I could do this with you all day…” You whisper into his neck, rubbing your nose against the warm, sweaty flesh there.
“Me too, cher, me too.” He nods, blinking slowly. “But I can’t be doin’ ‘dat… not today.”
You rear back suddenly, looking him in the eyes. They’ve still got that mischievous glimmer that he seems to always possess, but there’s something behind them. A sort of… coldness, that has your arms falling away from him.
“You have to leave…” you say softly, suddenly understanding.
Remy nods, and slips out of you, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. He pushes your hair out of your face, and rubs his thumb along the fullness of your cheek. He disappears then, and your shoulders sink slightly. You stay on the table for a few minutes, your legs hanging limply off the table, just listening to the sounds of him getting dressed; the gentle rustle of clothing, the snap of his elastic waistband as it hugs him.
Finally, you hop off the table, and bend down to retrieve the rumpled pile of sheet. You hold it against your body, not worrying about what’s showing. Like he said before, he’s seen everything. You turn, and spot him – standing tall behind your couch. He reaches for his leather jacket.
He’s attractive, so the sight of him dressed is to be appreciated as much as him undressed, but there’s a pang of sadness in your chest. Your lungs feel tight, and you wring the sheets around your fingers as he smoothes a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly. Again, as though he’s in tune to your emotions, he seems to notice that you’re staring sullenly.
“Remy be needin’ to deal with some things, cher…” he says, adjusting himself in his jacket. You wonder what it is he has to deal with, where he has to go. It’s none of your business, you’re sure. You want to ask him if he’ll be back, but your gut warns that that sounds too desperate, so instead, you nod once.
“Thanks,” you start, trying to find the strength in your voice. “I had a really good time. My door is uh, always open.”
“Good t’ know, cher.” He says. He sounds genuine, but he’s still leaving. Every bone in your body is screaming for him to stay. He makes his way over to you, wordlessly, and wraps his arm around your waist. His lips find yours, and he tips you backwards slightly as he kisses you. The way he tastes you feels like he’s trying to stain his own mouth with your essence, to remember it later. When he breaks off and straightens you back up, you let out a pathetic little cry that you know he hears. You bring your fingers to your mouth, stroking your bottom lip softly.
And with that, he opens your door, slips out and shuts it behind him, but not before casting one last look at you, standing there in a sheet that he fucked your brains out on.
To the closed door, you whisper: “I… think I love you.”
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