#(It's fairly automatic because I have long legs and fidget with them

[awkward-teabag]

One of the wild things about touch starvation is how it makes you hyper aware of any and all touch. It’s not sexual or romantic or anything like that, it’s simply your mind being blown at human contact. It is so out of the norm that you can’t not notice it.

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The Regular (part 3): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: for Geto, there’s no one but you. And he wants that to be the same for you, too. Why would you even want anyone else? 

wc: 2.4K

tw: nsfw, nsfw, nsfw, please for the love of god dni if you’re minor. smut and more smut follows

a/n: There will be one last part for. wrap-up, but I literally have not written a single thing since before yesterday, so I’m writing today! Hope you all enjoy! 

part 1 part 1.5 part 2

Your finger fidgeted with the edge of your skirt as you sat in Mrs. Lampton’s office, waiting for her freckled face to appear in your line of vision. The office is a direct reflection of who Mrs. Lampton is: dimly lit with orange lighting and vintage movie posters hang on the right side of the wall above a mini zen garden; on the left side, there are various pictures of her as a dancer, the newspaper headline announcing that she had bought the club, and then a picture that featured her and all of the dancers from years ago. On her desk, the club manager had collected various crystals, each one a different color than the rest, and finally, on the wall behind her desk, a sign that read “Complaints will be heard from the hours of 6 am to 3 pm”, which, coincidentally, were hours when the club wasn’t open. 

She had called you in early to discuss something with you, but hadn’t shown her face at all since you walked in and plopped down on the cheap, orange vinyl seat. A moment later, the door to the office creaks open and Mrs. Lampton shuffles in, pushing her short red bangs away from her face. “Hey, y/n, thanks for coming in early for me. Just wanted to speak to you face to face before tonight.” She sounded exhausted, as if she had been dealing with other problems before she got to you.

“Am I in trouble?” you ask, lacing your fingers together nervously. 

“Huh?” The woman looks over at you as she slides the chair out from behind her desk. She shrugs her denim jacket off, revealing the multi colored striped shirt beneath paired with light wash mom jeans. “Why would you think you’re in trouble? Have you done anything to be in trouble for?” She leans forward, placing her pale elbows on the desk and looking into your eyes. 

“No, I--”

“Good. You’ve made yourself practically invaluable here and I wanted to make sure everything was going okay with you and Mr. Geto.” You think about the morning you spent with Suguru and the subsequent night you danced for him in the VIP room, which ended up being a makeout session towards the end. 

“E-everything’s fine.” 

“He’s treating you fairly?” 

“Yes.”

“Not getting too ahead of himself is he?” 

“Ahead of himself?” 

“You know, trying to play savior or--” 

“No, not at all.” In fact, he had insisted that you go back to the club that night and dance, even if it meant it was just you and him. He knew you liked the club; he was just there to make your experience happier.

“Great! Oh, also --” A drawer opens and Mrs. Lampton rummages around in it for a moment before pulling out a magazine. “Thought you would like to see this.” She slaps it down on the desk before turning to her computer and clicking around on it while you pick up the magazine. And there Suguru was, on page twenty-six, strolling alongside his blue-eyed friend - what was his name? Godo? Todo? Gego? Oh, Gogo. Right. 

The headline reads: “Their Companies are Merging, but They’re Total Opposites”. Suguru is dressed for a business meeting in a pair of black slacks and black shirt, complimented by a silver tie. Gogo, on the other hand, is wearing a grey turtleneck sweater and black skinny jeans, also in mid-conversation about something. The caption reads: Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru have a lot in common: they’re handsome, inherited their wealth, and are very eligible bachelors. But what you don’t know is that they couldn’t be more -

“Why are you showing me this?” The magazine plops down on the desk again and Mrs. Lampton looks over from her screen. 

“You need to know exactly who you’re entertaining. Geto’s family owns an international medical equipment giant, and his friend is literally the heir to the technology company Gautama.” 

You bite your lip at this news, suddenly remembering the magnitude of the situation at hand. Again, Suguru wasn’t just rich, and people didn’t just get into his personal business because he was handsome. One day, he would be the heir to a massive fortune and a company that relied on the public’s approval to maintain its efficacy. One wrong move, and Suguru could lose it all. You need to handle this predicament with care, not with some kind of illusionary idea that he could be--

“I see. Thank you, Mrs. Lampton.” The club manager shifts in her seat, giving you a tender smile before sliding an envelope your way. 

“And this came for you yesterday after you left.” Curious, you open the envelope, and look back up at Mrs. Lampton warily. “Do with it what you will.” 

“I can’t accept this; this is-” 

“Not my problem anymore. I’ll see you later, y/n.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

“I can’t accept this.” You hand the envelope and it’s contents back to Suguru, and he frowns deeply, hand slowly reaching out to take the paper. 

“What’s this?” He opens the envelope and takes out the check nestled inside, examining it carefully. “Oh, no.” 

“I can’t accept money from your friend.” 

“No, this isn’t right. Satoru would never…” Suguru shifts forward, trying to examine the check under the dim lighting of the room. “He would never do something like this. He’s an idiot, but he’s not a dumbass.” 

“Why would he send me a check for twenty thousand dollars?” 

“He wouldn’t.” Suguru folds the envelope in half, placing it in his pocket with finality. “I’ll deal with this, princess, don’t worry.” He places a tender kiss to your forehead, peppering your face with pecks until his lips reach yours. You moan into his mouth and slide your hands up to his, which are holding your face, and open your mouth to deepen the kiss automatically. Your tongues tangle between each other, dancing in the space made by your interlocked lips. When Suguru pulls away, you groan, leaning your head back with displeasure. 

“I want you tonight,” you whisper, and Suguru laughs, nipping at your lower lip. 

“You needn’t say another word.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

A long-sleeved kimono. 

A pair of men’s pants. 

A silk camisole and matching shorts. 

A grey shirt. 

All of them have been scattered across the room leading up to the four poster bed you’ve been politely deposited on. And the man between your legs is starving. 

He’s putting his hair up in a bun with a hair band, shirtless, while his muscles move methodically. And you’re lying before him, a spread of deliciousness waiting to be devoured by someone who has been deprived of your taste for too long. 

Once Suguru’s hair is no longer an issue, he slides his fingers between your legs, catching the slim digits on your core. You suck in a sharp breath as he begins rubbing your clit, relishing in the gentle touches he lavishes upon you. “Talk to me.” 

��That feels good,” you immediately respond to his command, fluttering your eyes closed. Suguru hums, the answer satisfying him enough that he slips a finger inside of you. You arch your back, pushing your cunt into his palm eagerly and mewling just a little.

“That’s it…” His free hand comes up to snake around the back of your neck and his lips come down to latch onto your right nipple. The hand on your neck slides down to tweak your other nipple as he pulls and sucks with his mouth eagerly, and you buck into his hand again as he tucks another finger inside of you, fully tethering you to his movements. 

“S-Suguru,” you breathe, and his eyes lift to meet yours, focusing on your blissed-out expression. The wine you tossed back before you both began your little tryst wasn’t doing you any favors, and your head swam at the lust-filled expression Suguru wore. Your nipple pops free from his lips and he blinks slowly, tilting his head like he always does when he’s about to ask you a question. 

“Has anyone else made you feel like this?” he wonders above you, and you look up to him, eyes half-lidded. 

“No.”

“Can anyone else make you feel like this?” 

“No… no one else can.” Your response to his stance of absolute ownership obviously pleases him as he snakes kisses down your stomach and flicks your clit with his tongue, fingers still nestled deep inside of you. “Su!” Instinctively you grab his hair, lacing your fingers through the strands as you push his face closer to your core. Suguru grains with pleasure, removing his fingers and diving head first into you without another word; his slick-covered hand pushes your right leg up, and the other hand rests on your hip lazily. 

But his tongue is anything but lazy as he eagerly attacks your slit, reminding you just how hungry he really is. When his other hand moves off of your hip and to the outline of his cock in his boxers, you want to help him palm his erection, wind your fingers around his length and tug, but you’re too far away. The solution comes moments later. 

“Su,” you begin, huffing as he continues to eat you out, but looks up to meet your eyes. “I want… I want to sit on your face.” His eyebrows shoot up at the request, and the black haired man pulls away from your core and kisses up your right leg before sitting up on his knees. 

“Then switch with me.” 

The command is yet again met with no resistance, and once Suguru settles in on his back, you carefully swing your leg over his shoulders, lowering yourself onto his face. Large hands rest on your ass cheeks as he resumes his feast, and your tiny hands find his cock, snaking beneath the waistband of his boxers with ease. 

When you first touch his member, he jolts a little then moans directly into your pussy. You never really noticed just how thick he was until that moment, sliding the offending fabric down until his cock is right in front of your face. You stroke it - fingers not even close to meeting around his thickness - and lick the tip with care then lower your whole mouth down his length.

“Oh, my god,” Suguru moans, the sound muffled by your thighs so it sounds more like a breathy “uhhmahgah” than anything else. You begin to bob your head and build a rhythm to your sucking, rarely stopping for air. You know you’re doing a good job when Suguru’s fingers on your ass tighten and his tongue stutters as you slowly build his orgasm. In the dim lighting of your usual, beautiful hotel room, you hope that no one can see you or Suguru pleasuring each other with abandon. That would make a very interesting headline. 

“Ah!” Suguru flips you over with a push which lands you on your back, head facing the footboard. He climbs over top of you, eyes still focused on your face, and lifts your legs back up, pushing your knees to your chest. 

“You were doing your job a little too well down there,” he hisses, lining himself up with your dripping core. You laugh for a second before he anchors himself with the backs of your knees and slowly sinks into you, hissing as he sheaths himself completely within your walls. Missionary… he loves it, and you do too, especially when he leans forward and presses his chest against your weak thighs. He can watch your face as he moves within you, and it’s the very fact that he’s the cause of your immense pleasure that spurs him on to a mind-bending orgasm. But you want something different… something new. 

“Wait,” you breathe, and Suguru looks up at you with curiosity. “We should… try something new.” Your mind flips through the endless pages of the Cosmopolitan rags in the dressing room, and you settle on something you’d seen just before your second day at the club. You lift one leg up precariously, and Suguru instantly catches on to your imagined position, turning you on your side. While snatching a pillow from behind him, he tucks your lifted leg over his shoulder and places the pillow under your back, where it supports you from falling over. 

“Fuck yes, that’s amazing,” you whine. He slides back into you with ease, holding your leg as he fucks you senseless. 

“Oh, yeah…” His groans mixed with your mewls of ecstasy fill the room, making a sweet symphony of noise for the neighbors (or someone above you) to hear. Skin slapping, grunts, rough touches and tender caresses -  everything you’ve grown to anticipate and desire from this man who has absolutely bewitched and been bewitched by you - are present right now. Nothing could take you out of this dream turned reality. “Y/n… this is heaven.” 

The admission from the man is accompanied by a stare that reaches down to your soul, and your hand flies to your clit. You want to make yourself cum and fast. He’s saying all the right things… doing all of the right moves, and you --

“I can’t let anyone else have you.” 

“Su--” you choke out, hoping that he would hear your pleas beyond his pleasure. “Su, I--” 

“Don’t need… t’say... a word,” he grunts. “I already... know.” He gets faster and deeper, stretching you past what you thought you could take and bringing you even closer to orgasm than you thought possible. “Just cum... Cum for me... That’s all I want.” 

Your fingers are working just like Suguru is, not pausing for even a second to give you any sense of reprieve. He litters kisses along your ankle and down your calf, all the while fucking your brains out. His hands knock your fingers away and do what only he can do, rubbing your clit better and faster than you can.

“Please… cum for me, princess.” Hot air drags into your throat and you exhale in what sounds like a dying woman’s groan, clutching at the sheets with all of your strength. Your walls spasm around his cock, and a wetness drenches your lower legs, sliding down onto the red fabric beneath you. 

“You’re so perfect,” Suguru whispers, closing his eyes. “You’re such a good girl… cumming all over me like that; god, I’m gonna--” His breath hitches in his throat as he unloads in you, his cock throbbing angrily as it deposits loads of cum inside of you. He shudders long and hard, practically hunched over your figure while you recover, panting deeply. 

A haze settles nicely over you while Suguru adjusts himself carefully and softly smooths a hand over your sweaty face. 

“Do you want to go again or should we call for new sheets?” 

“Again,” you answer definitively, and he smiles down at you before pressing a kiss to your cheek and murmuring, 

“I love it when you say that.” 

[coffeestainsandcashmere]

Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione) Part Five

I hope you enjoy this one! It features a surprise snooty owl (I wonder who could own such a creature???) and some well-meaning concern from a friend. And some banter. And an expensive lunch. Because Theo is extra and can’t help himself. And it’s 4.6k words long...

I also realised that, since I wrote the first chapter basically out of the blue and not really intending for it to blow up into a big multi-part story, I’ve messed up the timeline a little with Harry’s kids, so I’ll have to go back and fix that when it comes to a re-edit before it goes up on AO3, but for now, just handwave it, ok? :)

Finally, many thanks for your lovely owls, anonymous or otherwise, about this story and where it’s going! I was honestly floored by the feedback I’ve got, and thank you to those who’ve reblogged it and helped get it out there for folks to read. I have a very small following since this side-blog is fairly new, so all reblogs are very much appreciated. I did a quick doodle for the cover of the story which you can find here, if you’re interested in how I pictured Draco and Scorpius standing in the steam from the Hogwarts Express from chapter one.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

___

Far earlier on Monday morning than she was accustomed to these days, Hermione woke with a start and frowned, confused. Eyes dry and prickly, and hair absolutely everywhere, she sat up and looked around, straining her ears as she blearily tried to work out what had yanked her so unceremoniously from a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep. Her Muggle alarm clock silently showed 05:54 in harsh red numbers, and nothing had touched the wards or tried to get in, though there was something thrumming against them, like the lingering reverberations of a plucked harp string.  

The temporary stillness was shattered when a wild scrabbling of claws and the beating of enormous wings started up against her bedroom window. With a flailing shriek of surprise, she nearly fell out of bed, but after taking a deep breath, she stumbled out from under the covers to wrench the curtains open.  

“Bloody owls!” she began, but drew up short when she saw the unfamiliar bird waiting impatiently on the other side of the glass.  

There, battering its truly monstrous talons against the glass, was a colossal eagle owl. When it saw her, it stopped its fussing to perch haughtily on the brick windowsill outside and fix her with a fiery red glare. If owls could have raised their eyebrows, she got the impression that this one would have done it at the sight of her.  

“Yeah, well, it’s early. What did you expect?” she groused as she slid the window panel to one side and the bird looked around her bedroom with obvious disdain. Imperiously, it stuck out one leg, like a noble expecting a servant to remove a dirty boot, and she saw a rolled-up piece of parchment with a green wax seal and a green ribbon to bind it together.  

“Who do you belong to then?” she asked, going automatically to stroke the bird’s flight-ruffled chest plumage. It instantly hissed and nipped at her fingers, and she barely drew them back in time. “Christ! No need for that,” she gasped. She’d never met a postal owl as cantankerous as this one. “I usually give visiting owls a treat, but I don't think I like your manners one bit.”  

With the letter in hand, she slid the window closed again, leaving a gap just small enough that the bird wasn’t going to barge its way in. She wondered if it had been instructed to wait for an answer because it began almost immediately clicking its beak against the glass and hooting indignantly. 

“Manners makyth bird,” she snapped without looking up, and broke the unfamiliar wax seal on the letter.

It had a cursive ‘M’ within a circle, but was otherwise unadorned. Unfurling it, she glanced at the name on the bottom and her eyebrows rose as her growing suspicions were confirmed. It was signed in a princely English roundhand by none other than Draco Malfoy.  

She snorted, glancing back at the bird who was doing its best basilisk impression from the other side of the glass. “Who else would have such a snotty owl?”

It hooted childishly at her again and she laughed.  

Dear Hermione,

I must beg of you to forgive the unspeakably rude hour of this correspondence, but I am leaving this morning for France by portkey for a couple of days and I had hoped to get your answer before I left. I should add now before you read any further — although with your kind heart I fear it may be too late already — that Cassiopeia here is not fond of physical affection, but is very partial to owl treats. She can be bribed into doing almost anything for food, but affection is sadly not in her nature, so please be careful with your fingers around her beak. The only reason I was able to get her to fly at all at this time of the day was to bribe her lavishly. She’s terribly spoilt, and for that, I’m sorry too.  

Hermione shot another look at the bird, who narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Cassiopeia, eh?” she said and the enormous owl bobbed a few times. “Prideful about your good looks then, are you? You should know how your namesake’s story ended then. But, I suppose you could be forgiven since you are an inordinately pretty bird. You’ll still not get a crumb from me after trying to take my fingers off though. I’ll be having words with Malfoy about that.”  

Cassiopeia ruffled her feathers and promptly turned her back on Hermione. The bird didn’t take off, so she returned her attention to the letter.  

I spent all weekend thinking about our evening together on Friday, but it will come as little surprise to you to learn that it has taken me all that time to muster up my limited courage to ask you to dinner at your next convenience. Naturally, I left it to the last possible moment to ask you. I have a place in mind in London, but it’s a little more out of the way than the restaurants on Diagon Alley. I have it on authority from the owner that you have never been there, and I would very much like to surprise you, but if you would feel more comfortable knowing in advance, then you can ask Theo while I am out of the country.  

Staggered, Hermione stared at the letter and found her vision swimming a little. Blinking, she was shocked to find tears blurring his formal — almost painfully formal — words.  

But how long had it been since anyone had actually asked her on a date? ‘Too intimidating’, ‘too boring’, ‘too work-orientated’, ‘too bossy’, ‘too driven’ were all things she’d heard at one point or another, and admittedly many of them from Ron.  

Thirty seven wasn’t even old - especially by magical standards - but she didn’t exactly have the same bright-eyed charms as someone like, say, Lavender did anymore. Hard work, and a draining marriage seemed to have sapped much of the youth and vigour from her. And, if she were honest, being replaced by someone supposedly ‘more attractive’ had damaged her more deeply than she cared to admit, even to herself. There were certainly days when she felt like a washed-up, burnt-out, dowdy old matron. She had crashed out of a sparkling career in the Ministry to run a scruffy old second-hand bookshop next to the newly-refurbished Florian Fortescue’s ice cream parlour.  

“Why are you even bothering, Malfoy?” she murmured aloud as she stared blankly at the letter in her hands. With looks like his — and a groaning Gringotts’ account if the rumours were to be believed, not that that mattered a jot to Hermione — he could probably have had almost any witch he wanted, his past and reclusive behaviour be damned. And yet he was asking her to dinner after having only met twice since they turned eighteen? Three times, she supposed if she included that brief encounter at the Ministry on the night of the attack.  

Perhaps he was lonely just wanted the company. Perhaps she was just… convenient; a chump with a soft spot for outcasts…

Before she let herself go too far down that unsavoury rabbit hole, she forced herself to read on, heart pounding. Outside on the windowsill, the owl had gone very still, watching her with curious, orange eyes.  

Please feel free to send Cassiopeia back with your response either way. I hope I have not overstepped or misread how things are between us now, especially given our history, but I find my thoughts returning over and over to our evening, and to that surprise lunch on the 1st of September. I’m not sure what I had expected when you asked me to join you that day, but I certainly hadn’t expected to enjoy myself as much as I did. In the years since I became Scorpius’ sole guardian, I have not sought the company of others, nor have I particularly enjoyed it when it has been inflicted upon me, but those two occasions spent with you have drawn me out of myself. You truly are a remarkable witch, and I’m more moved and honoured than I can express that you have given me even this much of your precious time already.  

Before I begin to ramble too freely, I think I must sign off here.  

Yours,  

D.M.  

P.S. Scorpius did write to me in the end. He has a detention already, and Potter’s youngest is also involved somehow… I will get more details from him anon, and no doubt a letter from McGonagall in due course.  

For a long time, Hermione stood in her bedroom, with her hair in a wild halo around her head and her scruffy old pyjamas hanging low on her hips, just staring at his signature.  

When Draco’s owl began to fidget and fuss again, she sighed and looked up. “Sit tight,” she breathed. “I’m going to get a piece of paper and if you keep quiet, I might bring an owl treat with me when I come back, ok?”

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes and ducked her head suspiciously, but remained put on the windowsill, so she took that as a ‘yes’ and disappeared into her tiny study.  

Grabbing a biro from the chipped mug that served as a pen and quill pot, and tearing a sheaf of paper from a muggle notebook, she scrawled a note back to him.  

With that done, and before she could talk herself out of what she had just accepted, she returned to his owl with a treat. The bird mobbed her for it instantly, but Hermione scowled at her, snatched her hand back, and barked, “Wait! My goodness, you are spoilt. Let me attach this first, and if I manage it without you drawing blood or otherwise maiming me, not only will it be a flipping miracle, but you’ll get your sodding treat, alright?”

The bird went still with a tiny shuffle of her wings, and stuck out her leg.  

“Thank you,” Hermione said tartly.  

Cassiopeia took off with her note attached by the same green ribbon and secured with a basic sticking charm. The downdraft from her departure sent bits of accumulated detritus from the window ledge spiralling up into Hermione’s face, but she coughed and blinked, and watched the bird soar way up into the sky. The receding dot of her silhouette banked west, out of sight and in the eventual direction of Wiltshire and Malfoy Manor.  

Malfoy Manor.  

She’d hardly given the place any thought since that fateful night ten or so years ago when Malfoy had been attacked, a whole wing had been burned to the ground, and Scorpius had nearly been killed. They’d never said in the papers who had done it, and the Auror Office had been distinctly tight-lipped about it. Not that she’d really bothered to find out more, if she were honest. Once Malfoy’s little yowling mandrake had left her office in his father’s arms, she had been almost instantly reabsorbed with her own caseload, and Harry had never mentioned the outcome of the investigation to her. A twinge of gilt shot through her but she pushed it down. It was hardly a topic for dinnertime conversation either, so she doubted she’d find out immediately.  

She thought vaguely about clambering back into bed, but since she was up, she headed to the kitchen and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. It had been a while since she’d been up before dawn, and she had some paperwork to do anyway.  

Cassiopeia’s appearance was not the only unusual thing to happen to her that day. She had no visitors to the shop at all for the entire morning, but when the brass bell above the door did finally chime, she looked up from the desk at the back of the shop to find Theo striding in.  

“Hi, love,” he grinned, stepping deer-like over the stack of recent arrivals beside the counter and stooping to hug her where she sat. “Lunch. You and me. Now.”

“Theo, I have a shop to run,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t just… leave. Besides, I brought sandwiches.”

“I will literally pay you the price of an entire chest of first editions to spend the next few hours in my company if things are that tight. Or I could just… buy you an entire chest of first editions,” he said, adding with his most dangerous puppy-dog eyes, “Seriously, please come to lunch with me?”

She flicked her wrist and the ‘open’ sign hanging in the glass-panelled door flipped over to ‘closed’. “I’m not accepting your money, Theo. What’s the occasion?”

He twitched slightly and then flashed her a grin; a combination that made her instantly wary. “Does a gentleman need ‘an occasion’ to ask a beautiful lady to lunch?” he asked, his brown eyes wide with feigned innocence.  

Hermione slowly raised one eyebrow. “You’re gay. And happily married. And that’s a terrible line. Try again.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take my very best friend out,” he shrugged nonchalantly.  

Something was definitely up.  

“Draco Malfoy is, and always has been, your very best friend in all the world. Try again.”

“You,” he said, actually growling the word this time with comical frustration, “Are one very persistent witch.”

“Mmhmm. How do you think I made it to Minister by twenty-seven, darling,” she grinned, still without getting up from her chair. “Last chance or I turn that sign around and forcibly evict you from my shop.”  

Theo whipped his wand out from his inner jacket pocket like he was in a duel, and apparently vanished the offending sign from the door altogether. “There. Your threats are empty. Come to lunch with me.”

“Theodore Nott, you return my sign this instant.”

“Say you’ll come to lunch with me, and the sign goes back up.”

“I will not be threatened in my own shop!” she laughed, arms folding across her chest like a petulant child. “Put it back. Now.”

“Say you’ll come with me,” he said with a wide, playful grin, planting his hands on the counter and leaning his long frame forwards.  

She had to bite her lips to stop from giggling. The charming scoundrel knew she’d say yes anyway. “I’ll tell Dan you were bullying me,” she said.  

“Tell him; he’ll never believe you. He thinks I’m lovely. Come on, Hermione,” he added, softening from playful to plaintive. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“You and my ‘very best friend in all the world’, that’s what,” he said, and levelled her with a flat stare.

Her stomach dropped and she remembered the letter from that morning. And its contents. ‘…if you would feel more comfortable knowing, then you can ask Theo while I am gone’ Draco had said. He’d spoken with Theo about asking her out. She didn't know whether to be honoured or embarrassed.

Seeing her expression slip, Theo came round the side of the counter to stand beside her and leaned his hips against the wooden desk. “So you like him?”

“I… Why would that be a surprise?”

Theo blinked, and then his gaze flickered down to her left forearm. Everyone knew about the word engraved into her skin with the point of a cursed knife — she’d never tried to conceal it — but not many knew the real truth of just how the slur had come to be carved indelibly into her flesh. Theo was one of the few who did. “You’re really asking me why I’m surprised you like him?” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You, of all people?”

She took a very deep breath, held it, and then sighed. “Let’s go. You’re paying though. And I’m drinking.”

He managed a shy smile, and as they approached the front door of her shop his shimmering illusion around the sign dissolved to reveal it once again.  

“Cheeky bugger,” she smirked at him and he waggled his eyebrows disarmingly. An undercurrent of anxiety still lurked beneath his jovial expression though.  

A number of new restaurants had opened up in Diagon Alley, but Theo’s and Dan’s favourite was a sleek, modern establishment, quite different from the fusty old decor of the Leaky Cauldron or the other more traditional restaurants in wizarding London. It also sat overlooking the crooked columns of Gringotts, and was eye-wateringly expensive. Naturally, Theo was greeted by name at the door, and the pair were shown without fuss or fanfare to one of the nicest — and most secluded — tables.

With food ordered, and enormous balloon-glasses of wine in front of them, Theo fixed her with a serious look and steered the conversation around to the real reason for his impromptu lunchtime kidnapping. “He finally grew a pair and asked you to dinner then?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “I take it this is… unusual for him?”

Theo tipped his head back and chuckled softly, sounding more tired than amused. “That’s putting it mildly, love. Until Friday, I had the devil’s own job trying to get dear Draco to leave his gloomy little manor house and come to anything. I had to blackmail him into coming to our anniversary, you know?”  

Hermione just frowned, not entirely sure if he was being serious or not.  

Theo let out a slow breath and stared into his wineglass, idly twirling the stem between long fingers. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said without looking at her, “I’m beyond grateful that he finally seems to be opening up to the idea of… being somewhat… vulnerable again, but…”

“You’re worried I’m going to hurt him,” she said quietly, and Theo bowed his head. “Theo, I’m… You know me. This isn’t just some one night stand with a rich, attractive bloke I met in a bar. I haven’t —” she leaned in close over the table and hissed, “I haven’t even had sex with anyone in years, Theo. Years!” She brushed an errant corkscrew of hair back out of her eyes, embarrassed.

His lips twitched at that, but his eyes remained stormy.  

“I’m not going into this lightly. I was honestly as surprised as you are, but I wouldn’t even be considering going on a date with Draco Malfoy if I wasn’t completely convinced that he was no longer the bratty little owl-pellet he was back at Hogwarts.”

At that, Theo barked such a loud laugh that the patrons at the tables nearby turned to look at him like he’d sworn in a church. He covered his mouth with his hand and snickered himself into silent tears for a good thirty seconds before she rolled her eyes and sat back with her glass in her hand, waiting for him to control himself again.  

“I’m telling Dan you called him that. And Pansy. They’ll love it.”

“Right,” she said, cheeks suddenly hot. “Well, as much as he might have been an owl pellet, let’s not have it become a ‘thing’, hmm?”

The mirth in his face simmered back down and he looked at her steadily over the rim of his wineglass. “Look, I care about both of you, and I can see this going two ways. One: you realise that the two of you actually have an awful lot in common, he takes you to increasingly fancy places for dates, you have lots of steamy sex, and finally settle down together. Two: the past gets in the way, you both say hurtful stuff you don’t really mean, and you both end up single and twice as miserable as you were before you went for lunch at the Leaky. Don't think I didn’t know about that, either,” he added.  

“You’re such a gossip,” she snapped.  

“I was being serious, Hermione,” he said, leaning to one side as their food arrived.  

She paused until the waiter had left but didn’t make any move to pick up her cutlery. “Are you looking out for him or for me?” she asked.  

Theo sighed. “Both of you. But…”

“Mostly Draco, huh?”

“He’s like a brother to me, Hermione. He was there for me when no one else was. You know the things my father did to me as a child, and Draco helped me through all of it. And ‘Cissa too. And I couldn’t believe it when he actually showed up at drinks the other night. Watching him, it… it was like the old Draco had come back to me. The nice ‘old Draco’, I mean.” His eyes glistened and he blinked rapidly, voice cracking as he continued. “After the attack, he shut himself away at the Manor with Scorpius, as if he could keep the whole world out just to keep little Scorp safe. I thought… I thought he’d never leave, Hermione.”

“You never talked about any of this,” she said gently, forcing herself to make a start on her linguine despite the fact that her appetite had vanished almost completely.  

Theo shrugged. “I guess… I guess I wanted to give him the privacy he craved, and to be honest, I didn’t think you’d be all that sympathetic to him after your history.”

At that, she scowled, but she could see his point. “Theo, I held his screaming infant in my arms for hours while he was being questioned by the Aurors that night. I saw his face when he came to my office for Scorpius afterwards.” She shook her head. “No one who saw him then could believe he was even a shadow of the person he had been at Hogwarts.”

At her words, Theo had stopped eating, fork held loosely between perpetually-ink-stained fingers even as it rested on his plate. “You did? He never said.”

She tried not to examine that last comment too closely. “Mm. Harry didn't know what else to do with him, so he brought Scorpius to me to see if I could quieten him down. In the end all it took was a handful of my hair and a few poorly-sung folk songs. But you’re missing the point, Theo. You could have trusted me with things that were worrying you. I would have listened to you.”

“I —” he cut off and cleared his throat. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… Aside from Dan, I don’t think I love anyone as much as I love him.”

It was Hermione’s turn to choke up a little, but she swallowed and said, “Then I can think of no greater accolade for his character.” She looked up at him and added, “So where’s he taking me then?”

“You said yes?”

“I did. I like him. And not just because he looks like a flipping marble statue brought to life. He’s thoughtful, and he always was extremely intelligent and articulate. I’ve really enjoyed talking with him this time around. I think… I think…” she pursed her lips and took a too-big gulp of wine. Luckily it all went down the right way, and she forged on. “I think… we could work. Or at least… I want to see where it goes, Theo.”

With a slow nod, Theo finally relaxed his shoulders and let out a shaky breath. “He wants to take you to The Foundry.”  

“I’ve never heard of it,” she mumbled. It wasn’t one of the ones in Diagon Alley, for sure.

Theo made a side-to-side movement of his head. “I’m not surprised. It’s…”

“Oh God, is it horrifically expensive?” she asked, eyes wide with a sudden abject terror. “Theo, if he’s going to take me somewhere hideously fancy for our first date, I’m going to back out right now…”

The corners of his lips lifted and he shook his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. You have to know the owners to get a table though, and there are no menus. They’ll ask if you have any allergies, but other than that, you eat what they serve you.”

“Holy fuck, Theo…”

“Trust me, you’ll love it. The place used to be a bell foundry in the seventeenth century — hence the name — and it’s this gorgeous brick building with arches and vaults, and cosy little corners,” he added, raising his eyebrows. “You’ll forget where you are and be as comfortable as if you were in your own pokey little Muggle living room. I promise.”

She narrowed her eyes and took another gulp of wine. “I’ll take your word for it, Nott,” she said. “What should I wear?”

Without hesitation, he said, “That burgundy number you haven’t worn since Pansy told you to buy it.”

She blanched at that. “Theo, it’s…”

“Gorgeous? Revealing in all the right ways, yet modest enough to suit you? Dead sexy? Exactly the kind of thing that will make Draco lose his goddamn mind when he sees you in it? The kind of thing that will make him spend all evening simultaneously admiring you in it and mentally tearing it off you —”

“Theo, stop!” she hissed, flushing darker. “For God’s sake shut up!”

He cackled into the remainder of his wine, but refused to give any more sartorial advice.  

“Burgundy dress and heels it is, I guess,” she said, and the two of them focused on their food again.  

“I hope,” Theo said as they left a very leisurely two hours later, “I hope you don’t think I was too…” he jiggled nervously on the balls of his feet as he held the door open for her, “Overbearing…”

“I mean, you did ambush me, blackmail and threaten me into having lunch with you at the fanciest restaurant in Diagon Alley where I couldn’t reasonably kick up a fuss, and then proceed to tell me all sorts of heartrending stories about Draco and yourself…”  

When she saw the wounded look in Theo’s brown eyes, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Theo, no. You’re one of my best friends, and you clearly care about us both. Stop panicking,” she added when she saw the slightly wild light in his eyes. “You didn’t try to tell me what to do or who to see. You’re looking out for your friends, and making sure we’re both… serious about this. And I appreciate that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and added, “But know that if you keep meddling beyond that, I will hex your bollocks off and make you explain it to Dan.”

“Understood,” he said with a watery smile. “I was worried I’d overstepped.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Did you have the same talk with Draco about breaking my heart?”

His handsome, freckled face split into a blinding white grin. “I did.”

“Forgiven,” she said. “Now, some of us actually have to work for a living.”

“I work!” he squealed. “I work bloody hard up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, thank you very much!”

“I know you do,” she conceded. “Not that you actually need a job, you filthy rich prick.”

Theo laughed long and loud, scooping her hand up in his and walking arm in arm down the bustling, cobbled street towards her bookshop. “And to think,” he chimed with a sidelong look down at her, “You used to be Minister for Magic with that mouth.”

“I know,” she said. “It nearly got me into trouble on many an occasion.”

Kneazel and Quill’s little sign swung jauntily in the breeze and Theo gave a slight bow from the waist when they stopped at the door. With anyone else, it might have seemed foppish and insincere, but with Theo, she knew he meant it. He was only silly like this with his closest friends.  

“Good day, fair maiden of the dusty bookshop,” he said. “And thank you for giving my idiot best friend a chance.”

Hermione nodded and smiled. She stood and soaked up the autumn sunshine for a while as she watched his retreating back, until he eventually disappeared into the Diagon Alley entrance to the Ministry and she slid back into the musty quiet of her little sanctuary.

Chapter Six

___

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of friendship! Next time, Hermione and Draco go for that date...!! Things will start to gain momentum too, fear not. It’s not going to be an eternal slow-burn...

writing masterlist | Ao3

[squirmymochi]

Another commission for a lovely customer who requested a man who gets desperate at the waterpark with his girlfriend! Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy it!

Read it on Ao3

“Are you having fun, babe?”

Alex grimaces, doing his best to smile as he turns around in the pool, ignoring the way the cool water brushes up against his chest. He’s been at the waterpark with his girlfriend Nadia for four, maybe five hours now--it had been her idea, as a final end-of-summer activity before the two would have to return to their last year of university together--and for the first three and a half or so, he’d been having a great time. It’s sunny out, the perfect weather to go to the beach or the pool or a waterpark, they’ve already knocked all of their summer homework out of the way, and he’d just turned twenty-one earlier in the summer, meaning he’s finally legally allowed to drink.

Nadia has made sure to celebrate that last part over the course of the day, always ushering him back towards the bar at the far end of the park to grab more drinks. They’re not trying to get drunk--Alex is pretty sure he’ll want to remember what happened today when he wakes up tomorrow, and with his past experience with alcohol, anything past a few beers will probably make it so that he won’t remember a thing--but Nadia had been so convincing, always offering to pay and promising that she’ll stay sober enough to drive home without getting pulled over by the cops. And besides, it is their last week of summer break before school starts again. Doesn’t he deserve to live a little, get a little tipsy and have some fun?

That had been his mindset two hours ago, anyway, when he’d drank with no precautions. Now, he’s not thinking about having a good time before school starts. Now he isn’t thinking about anything that isn’t the throbbing ache coming from his bladder, reminding him every second of exactly how much beer he’d had throughout the day. Four big, viking-worthy glasses, probably closer to half a pitcher than a mug, plus the water he’d insisted on having alongside it to keep himself from going too far too fast. God, no wonder his need is so strong. He can’t even remember when it was he last went to the bathroom, either--was it all the way at the beginning of the day, so many hours ago?

“Alex?” Nadia sing-songs, snapping him out of his trance as she swims closer to him, pressing a hand to his chest. “Are you having a good time?”

“Of course,” Alex says automatically, squeezing his legs tight together under the water. They’re situated roughly in the middle end of the wave pool, where they’ve been wading for about a half an hour, diving under the water and chasing each other around, having races to see who’s the faster swimmer. (Alex, being on the swim team in high school, usually won, but sometimes he let Nadia win just for fun.) The waves are turned off right now, but he’s pretty sure they’re gearing up to come back any second now, as they’ve been coming and going in fifteen minute intervals since they arrived.

It’s fairly easy to move around right now, too; the water is calm, the floaties and foam toys spread around the pool are all at a standstill, and there aren’t many children darting around in the shallow end, blocking the path to get out. It would be a perfect time to excuse himself to the bathroom and take care of his rather pressing need, which is pretty much the only thing he wants to do at the moment.

But Nadia is here, smiling up at him happily as she treads water (it’s cute that she’s so short she can barely stand in the deep end, but he can’t focus on that right now) with an expectant look in her eyes. She’s having fun where she is, in the pool with him, and the last thing he wants to do is ruin it for her over some silly need he should have more control over as a twenty-one year old man. He can hold it for just a little bit longer, if it means she’ll have a few more minutes of fun.

“I bet I can beat you to the deep end!” Nadia exclaims, her mouth curling into a little grin as she pushes her dark hair, sleek with water, over her shoulder. “Come on, before the waves start up again!”

“What are you, five?” Alex laughs tightly, even though he’s the one in the childish situation. He feels more five than he has in a while, all thanks to the urges coming from his abdomen. There’s no way he’ll be able to race her again without making himself seriously desperate, but he doesn’t want to flat-out say no to her. (Saying no to Nadia is probably his least favorite thing in the universe, and it shows.)

“Scared you’ll lose?” Nadia taunts, eyes glimmering with mirth as she does so. “Come on, it will be fun!”

And it’s that sight, the look on her face which she’s given him a thousand times before, that finally makes Alex put aside his uncomfortableness and agree. “Alright, fine,” he sighs, playing along with her challenge. “Last one to the deep end is a rotten egg.”

“Yeah!” Nadia crows triumphantly, before running a hand across the surface of the pool towards Alex, splashing him in the face with drops of cool water before she takes off. Alex laughs, diving into the water and chasing after her, putting all his strength into kicking beneath the surface with his muscular legs.

Fuck . If he’d thought treading water with a full bladder was hard, it’s nothing compared to actually swimming. With each kick he feels like he’s about to leak, his legs spreading apart and muscles growing tired with every stroke. Having his legs forced apart over and over again is borderline painful, and since his arms are busy propelling him forward in the water, there’s nothing left to keep the pressure on his crotch from the outside. God, he can feel the pee just sitting there, begging to be let out.

But he can’t pee in the pool! There are so many other people there, enjoying their family vacations together in the same body of water that he’s in. It would be more than rude to contaminate the water they were swimming in with his body’s own type of water, regardless of whether anyone else could tell or not. And besides, he wouldn’t want to be swimming in it, either.

“I win!” Nadia cries as he surfaces, his hands shooting up to hold onto the wall when he wishes they could shoot down to hold his penis instead. He settles for crossing his legs under the water and moving his hips back and forth as gracefully as he can, hoping that the wave of pressure he’d just felt goes away as quickly as it had come. “You know what that means. Loser buys another round of drinks!”

“Ah,” Alex pants, glancing warily towards the bar as he continues to fidget underwater. “More drinks? I’m not really thirsty, you know…”

“You don’t drink beer because you’re thirsty,” Nadia points out with a pout. “You drink it ‘cause it’s fun. Besides, it’s hot out! Don’t you want to stay hydrated?”

I’m plenty hydrated enough, thank you! his mind protests. I don’t think I could put more liquid in me if I tried!

“I’ll buy something for you,” he reasons instead, hoping his voice doesn’t give him away. “I’m already feeling buzzed enough.”

Nadia’s pout deepens, but she moves on fairly quickly as the water around them shifts. “Oh, the waves are starting again!” she exclaims excitedly as the pool around them begins to fill with movement. “Come on, let’s swim back to the other end so I can stand!”

With that, she turns around in the water and kicks off from the wall, gliding through the waves effortlessly, like some kind of Grecian goddess. Her long, dark hair trails behind her, clinging to her back when she resurfaces, but Alex doesn’t have the capabilities to appreciate his girlfriend’s figure right about then.

His entire body is frozen against the wall as his head fills with the sound of water splashing against water, crashing upon the sides of the pool and lapping at his chest. All of a sudden the only thing he can hear is dripping, churning, running water, and the noises seem to be going straight from his brain to his bladder.

God, he hadn’t realized how seriously bad he needed to go until now, with waves upon waves of liquid moving around him. His bladder feels so full and heavy inside of him, like a water balloon that’s overfilled and ready to pop at any second. All those beers, all that water… It’s all still inside of him, and he’d bet that there’s even more still traveling down from his kidneys into his bladder, ready to overinflate it even more than it already is.

He sucks in a deep breath and presses the front of his body further against the wall, trying his best to create pressure against his crotch. He doesn’t dare grind down--the wall of the pool is rather gritty, and he’d prefer not to harm his genitals in any way if he can help it--but it’s a tough battle to fight. He wishes the water weren’t so clear so that he could reach down and grab himself without anyone there to judge him, but the waterpark is so crowded, and he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to get away with it. (Oh, but holding himself sounds absolutely heavenly right about then.)

Nadia, who had already swam a few feet away, turns back to give him a questioning look. “Aren’t you coming?” she asks, thankfully not noticing his strange body language, his hunched shoulders or gritted jaw. “Come on, my legs are getting tired.”

“C-Coming,” Alex says, thrusting his hips forward against the wall one more time before pushing off towards the shallow end. He doesn’t dare front crawl his way over this time--that would be much too much for his poor, swollen bladder to handle. Instead he doggy paddles towards the shallower side of the pool, trying his best to appear normal in front of the families that are watching him.

Inside his body, his bladder throbs agonizingly, demanding that he release its contents as soon as he can. He sucks his lip between his teeth as he paddles over, clenching his sphincter muscles as hard as he can until he makes it far enough that he’s able to stand. As soon as he does that, he crosses one leg over the other and bobs up and down in the water, breathing heavily as he shifts his hips from side to side. He needs to get to a bathroom as soon as possible or he’s going to get wet in an entirely different way (one that will be much less fun for everyone involved).

Reluctantly, Alex uncrosses his legs and moves forward, but every step sends tiny vibrations up his legs and across his abdomen. He gasps as a strong urge hits him, bending forward at the waist and locking his knees together under the water to fight against the throbbing pressure. His hands ball into fists at his sides, nails digging into the skin of his palms as he does his best not to let them fly to the front of his swim trunks. If he was worried about people seeing him in the deep end, there’s no way he’d be able to go unnoticed in the shallow side.

He’s just deep enough for the waves to crash straight against his abdomen, water licking at his bladder from the other side, tempting it to release without his permission. “ Ah, ” he gasps, grabbing the front of his thigh and hooking one knee over the other in an attempt to keep himself from going right then, right there. He needs to get himself under control, and soon, before his desperation reaches uncharted levels. Unsteadily, he staggers forward, only to suck in a sharp, pained gasp as his lower body leaves the water.

If he thought his need was bad before, it’s absolutely nothing compared to what he’s feeling now. It feels as if another pint of beer has just been dumped straight into his bladder, filling it to the brim and stretching it to its utmost limit. He realizes with a start that the water from the pool had been the only thing keeping him on the safer edge of desperation--it had made the gravitational pull on his bladder feel lesser, creating a buoyant effect on the poor organ without him noticing, and now that the pressure of the water isn’t on him, gravity is catching up.

His hands begin to fly to his crotch, only to flutter away at the last second as he uses his last bit of willpower to keep them at his sides. Insteadhe sucks his lip between his teeth and stifles a moan, half-falling back into the water around him and sighing with relief when the agonizing pressure goes away. He can still feel hot, throbbing pain coming from his abdomen, but now that he’s surrounded by the pool water again, he doesn’t feel on the verge of exploding anymore.

Still, he needs to get to a toilet as soon as possible, and it’s not likely that he’ll be able to hold it if he lifts himself out of the pool again. What is he supposed to do now? The nearest bathrooms are on the other side of the waterpark, and there’s no way in hell he’d let himself be seen hobbling around a family gathering area with his hands between his legs like some kind of pervert. Besides, he isn’t even sure he’d be able to make it to those restrooms without completely losing control along the way. He’s so desperate, he can barely think straight, and he knows for sure his face must be all red and twisted up in pain by now.

As much as he hates to admit it, he’s pretty sure that he’s only got one option left: he’s going to have to pee in the pool. It’s something he’s never done before--even as a child, he’d always held it in long enough to get to the bathrooms, even though he’d thought they were pretty gross. (And doing that had sure given him some close calls, and a few extra wet spots on his swim shorts, but hey, it’s probably best not to think about those right now.)

So, he’s going to contaminate the pool with his own bodily fluids. It should be easy--the sound of roaring, splashing water surrounds him, teasing him with the premise of relief every second, and the pool water itself is cool enough that it’s making his bladder more than a little uncomfortable. But it’s hard , trying to consciously pee where he’s not supposed to, when he knows it’s taboo, especially for a full-grown adult such as himself. He sighs again, squatting down in the shallow water and doing his best to relax, unclench his muscles, and think of the promise of relief he’s only seconds away from…

And at last, he feels a dribble of urine escape from his bladder and trail through his urethra, creating a tiny spot of warmth in the pool water at the head of his dick. He sighs, letting his head fall back and his arms float to the surface of the pool as his stream picks up, his bladder just starting to become a bit less swollen, a little bit emptier. He can feel the water around him, still rocked by waves, growing warm with his own piss, and… To be honest, it’s a little bit hot. He’s always been a bit of a stickler for the rules, but now, doing something so naughty as peeing in a public pool, without anyone else knowing that he’s doing it… He’s just starting to enjoy the feeling when he feels a pair of arms wrap around him from behind.

“Ah!” he exclaims, jumping forward, but the arms around his middle stay secured. His body freezes, locks up again, the stream of urine stopping abruptly as he stiffens up under the touch, and immediately he misses the relief he’d only just begun to get. His penis throbs, aching in time with his abdomen, and he hisses in pain as the arms around him tighten.

“Alex,” Nadia whines, pressing her front side against his back, molding herself to him. “What’s going on? You were just standing there with your eyes closed.”

“Nadia…” Alex breathes, shifting his weight from foot to foot underwater. He’s uncomfortable, he’s so uncomfortable , seconds away from peeing full-force into the pool again, but he can’t, not with Nadia so close to him.

“Aren’t you having fun?” Nadia asks, and he knows her so well he swears he can hear the pout in her voice. “You seem so stiff, babe. What’s wrong?”

With that, she tightens her hands around his waist, pulling him closer to her body… and subsequently squishing his bladder under her fingers. Alex gasps sharply, curling in on himself and finally letting his hands fly to the front of his swim shorts to hold onto his crotch. Even with the added external pressure, he can feel the water around him growing warm, the pressure on his bladder far too much for him to handle.

“Stop, stop!” he pants, but doesn’t dare push her away. Even if it cost him his own life (or in this case, his dignity) he would never even consider pushing Nadia away. Instead, he shifts his hips from side to side, leaning forward so far his chest touches the water and hooking one leg over the other, bobbing up and down urgently as he does.

Thankfully, Nadia picks up on the problem quickly. She loosens her arms around him, keeping one hand pressed to his chest while the other sifts through the water in front of him. “Oh?” she questions, and this time Alex is sure he can hear mischief in her voice. “What’s this? The water’s all warm over here…”

“I-Is it?” Alex repeats, keeping his hands glued tight to his crotch as he stems off the flow. (It hurts, he’s still so desperate, but now that he’s been caught, it just feels morally wrong to keep going.)

“It is…” With that, Nadia lets her hand trail down to the front of his stomach and pushes down once again, just once. Her other hand comes down to cup over his fingers as his breath hitches and he lets out a short spurt of pee. It takes an immense amount of effort to cut himself off once again, and his bladder protests with a series of agonized pulses, but he refuses to let himself continue to go.

“I see what’s going on,” Nadia says coyly, and Alex thanks the heavens when she removes her hand from his stomach to glide around to his other side. “Alex… You’re being a bad boy, aren’t you? Doing something like that in a public pool?”

“I-I couldn’t help it,” Alex stammers, biting at his lip until it turns red.

“Couldn’t help it?” Nadia repeats teasingly. “Couldn’t help but get all of us in here dirty? The waves are on, you know. That stuff you’re putting in here is gonna spread.”

“I’m s-sorry,” Alex gasps, hooking his knees together and bobbing up and down once again. “I just- I needed to go, and-”

“No, no,” Nadia shushes him, sticking a pool-slick finger to his lips. “No excuses, babe. You’re a grown man, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be able to hold it until you get to the bathroom?”

“But I-”

“Shh… Come on, you know I’m right.”

Alex inhales shakily, his whole body still tense and rigid from desperation. The warmth of his piss has been washed away by the waves at this point, but he can still feel the urine inside of him pushing to get out. “You’re right,” he says, hoping that she’ll leave it at that and finally allow him to finish what he’d started.

“Did you let go completely?” Nadia asks, her gaze dropping to the area just above his swim trunks. “Are you empty now, you little rulebreaker? It certainly doesn’t look like you are.”

“I- I’m not,” Alex admits, his voice going high-pitched as another wave of need overtakes him. He whimpers, clutching his dick tighter between his hands and pressing the front of his left thigh into the back of his right with all the force he can muster. “I still need to go, bad .”

“Well,” Nadia says, sounding all too pleased. “I certainly can’t allow you to keep going here , of all places. You’ll need to make it to the bathroom if you want to finish relieving yourself.”

Alex jerks his head up to meet her gaze, his eyes going wide. “But- But-” he stammers, a protest half-formed in the back of his mind, but one look from Nadia has him biting his tongue instead of continuing his sentence. The game is afoot now, and no matter how much pain and embarrassment it might bring him, he knows he’s going to play along anyway, for her sake.

Still, it doesn’t make the idea of walking to the bathrooms any more appealing. He already feels like he’s on the verge of spurting again, and if he gets out of the water and forces himself to walk normally, he’s sure he’ll have a full-on accident within the next minute.

“Isn’t there any other way?” he asks shakily, staring off in the direction of the restrooms. If he were in his normal condition, it would probably only be a three or four minute walk, but with the ball of hot, acrid piss inside of him controlling his every move, it’ll probably take at least double that to even reach the other side of the park. And what if there’s a line? Is he supposed to stand there and wait when he’s on the brink of pissing himself for all to see?

“Do you see any other bathrooms around here?” Nadia challenges, raising an eyebrow at him. “Come on, come on! The sooner you get out of the pool, the sooner you get to go!”

She grabs him by the arm and pulls him just a tad too roughly towards the shallow exit of the pool, where the water is just beginning to settle down from the waves. Alex reluctantly lets go of his crotch, and immediately lets out a strangled groan as he experiences the effects of gravity on his body for the second time that day. He wonders how the hell it feels exactly the same as it had before he’d “contaminated” the pool, despite how much he must have let out. Is his last beer hitting him already?

“Nadia, can you… slow down a little?” he manages as his girlfriend struts ahead, beads of water dripping down her body from her one-piece swimsuit. Normally, Alex would take this opportunity to stare at the amount of skin she has on show, but he’s too distracted with his own body. Every muscle he has is clenched tight, his arms and legs stiff and rigid, thighs pressed close together with every step. It’s absolute torture, having to walk like there’s nothing wrong, when it’s all he can do not to grab himself and dance around like a little kid.

They’ve made it maybe ten steps, and each one has sent extremely unpleasant vibrations up through his leg and straight into his core, jostling the liquid inside of him each time his foot lands on the ground. He winces, keeping his eyes trained on the floor to avoid any strange looks people might be shooting his way, and attempts to take a larger step to make it to the bathrooms as fast as he possibly can.

His foot lands on a particularly cool puddle of water, and all of a sudden he feels a hot jet of pee squirt out of his dick and onto the floor. He freezes in place, eyes going wide as he draws his legs in quickly and presses his thighs against each other, doing everything he can mentally to keep himself from breaking out into a full-out dance of desperation. Warmth runs down his legs from inside his shorts, and he barely manages to cut off the flow this time, so paralyzed by fear that he can barely get his body to listen to him.

“Nngh… Nadia, ” he hisses, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I can’t…”

He hears footsteps pad back towards him through the shallow puddles on the floor, and then a hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder. “Come on, babe,” Nadia says, half-encouraging, half-commanding. “You can make it. Do it for me, okay?”

“But-”

“I’ll be so happy if you make it all the way,” Nadia says, her hand reaching around to curl at the back of his neck. “Won’t you at least try? Just for me?”

And fuck, if that doesn’t strengthen Alex’s resolve just enough to keep him going despite the raging need overtaking him, he’s not sure that anything will. With a muffled moan, he straightens up from his twisted, bent-in-half posture, takes a few shallow breaths, and opens his eyes. The sight of water flowing all around him does nothing to help his current situation, but he determinedly fixes his eyes on a dry spot on the wall and takes a shaky step forward, ignoring the wetness beginning to cool and become sticky on his legs.

He will make it to the bathroom, if only just to get far enough to wet himself somewhere private. If Nadia asks him to make it, he’s determined to do as she says, no matter if he thinks it’s within his capabilities or not. Even though his bladder is straining out from the waistband of his swim trunks, sending urgent messages increasingly quickly that he needs to let go now , or else. Even if he feels five seconds from exploding on the spot, so filled with beer and water that he isn’t sure how in the world he’s still hanging on. There’s nothing he won’t do for Nadia--he’s sure of that.

Another jet of hot, wet piss escapes him, but he grits his teeth and clenches his sphincter muscles together with a groan that gets lost in the sounds of the waterpark, and cuts it off once again. He can’t help but pause mid-step and shift his hips around in small, quick circles, and wish as hard as he can that he could put pressure on his crotch, even for just a few seconds . Any outside help would be much appreciated at the moment, but he knows if he lets himself grab his dick now, there’s no way he’ll be able to let go without losing the battle entirely. So instead he clenches his fists at his sides and bites down hard on his lip, taking another step towards the bathroom, a step towards release.

“That’s it, baby,” Nadia encourages him, her voice dropping low and smooth as she guides him through the crowd. “Just a little longer, and then you can pee to your heart’s content.”

“Ah… Ahh… ” he pants, eyes fluttering as they pass another section of the park. This one he’d noticed when they first walked in--it’s the kid’s area, complete with a wooden play structure and several buckets that fill to the top before tipping out onto the ground and the children below it. Were he in a better state, he’d compare his bladder to the buckets, as full as it can get and seconds away from wobbling over and spilling all over the ground in a loud rush of warm, sticky urine, coating his legs and his feet and spreading into a huge puddle on the ground.

“ Mmh !” he gasps, catching himself on Nadia’s shoulder as he bends forward. His knees turn inwards, locking together like magnets as he curls an arm protectively around his stomach, squeezing his eyes shut tight as he tries to rid himself of the mental image. Thinking about relieving himself, wetting himself at that, is a definite no-go right now. His body surely won’t be able to handle thoughts like that while battling a bladder this full.

“You have no idea how good you look right now, Alex,” Nadia says breathlessly, close to his ear. He feels her breath ghost over his cheek warmly, and raises his head just enough so that he can look into her eyes.

I’m doing this for you, he thinks passionately, too unsteady to trust himself to speak. It will all be worth it, when I make you proud…

“Come on,” Nadia says again, lower this time. “Let’s get moving. I want to get there as much as you do, you know.”

It’s a strange sentiment, but Alex can’t bring himself to think much about it right now. Instead he hobbles forward, taking smaller, more delicate steps to keep his bladder from being jostled around too badly. “Okay,” he agrees hoarsely, his voice shaking from want. Nadia smiles at him, secretive and seductive, then turns back around and continues on towards the bathrooms, her hips swaying back and forth as she moves. Alex stumbles after her, keeping one hand wrapped around his stomach. Maybe if he looks sick enough, people will move out of his way and leave him alone, and he’ll be able to get there faster.

They’re maybe a minute’s walk away from the bathrooms now at the rate he’s going. Every step is torture, feeling the slickness of tiny puddles under the pads of his feet, and hearing the rush of water, seeing it splash and flow everywhere he looks, but the look in Nadia’s eyes when she turns to check on him keeps him going. He’s not sure why, but he feels like she’s promising him something, if he can make it all the way there.

He counts the seconds to keep his mind from turning traitor on him, and just when they’ve reached fifty-two, he raises his eyes and almost starts to cry from relief. There, right in front of him, is the sign pointing to the bathrooms, located just around the corner. Finally! he thinks, a smile melting across his face. I can finally go! I’m so close! I just need to round the corner, and then I’ll finally be able to…

Oh.

No.

As he turns the corner, his eyes land upon the men’s bathroom, just a few feet down the hall… And the line that trails out of it. His bladder screams in horror as he takes in the dozen or so boys and men who are waiting patiently for their turn in the bathroom in varying levels of discomfort. He can see a few young boys shifting their wait around awkwardly, and even one or two of the men have uncomfortable grimaces across their faces, but none of them seem to be in the state of pure, anguished distress that’s wracking through him at the moment.

“No…” he whimpers, eyes beginning to water as hope seeps out of him. He’d been so close , so close to relief, to finally being able to empty himself… Now there’s no way he’ll be able to make it into the bathroom with his dignity still intact. And here, far away from the roaring water of the pool, everyone will be able to tell if he lets go and re-wets his swim trunks where he isn’t supposed to.

“Don’t worry,” Nadia says, and then a cool hand is sliding around his arm and pulling him in a different direction. “I have other plans for you, baby. Come with me.”

At peak desperation, Alex has no choice but to follow limply. His eyes light up as he notices where she’s dragging him; he can make out a sign proclaiming Single Stall Family Bathroom further between the walls of the park’s end, and if the little green tag on the door is anything to go by, it must be vacant. His bladder practically gives out the second she throws open the door, his eyes immediately hooked on the toilet in the corner of the room, and he can’t help but reach down to squeeze himself with all his might to keep the flood at bay for just a few seconds longer…

But before he can rush forward and whip himself out, Nadia is closing and locking the door behind him, and immediately pushing herself against him, locking her lips with his as she presses him into the door with a bang . “ Oh ,” Alex moans, eyes fluttering as he clutches himself through his shorts. “ Oh, Nadia, stop… I’m going to wet myself, I’m going to have an accident! ”

“No, you’re not,” Nadia says in a voice that screams sex. “Here, I’ll help you.”

With that, her hand dives down and joins his at his crotch, her fingers brushing up against his penis through the saturated fabric of his shorts, and the sensation of his girlfriend’s hand on him combined with the unbelievably urgency of his bladder is almost too much for him to handle. He lets out a cry of need, louder than he’d ever want to in a public space, and bucks up into her touch frantically, searching for more, more, more .

“Nadia, please,” he begs, a tear forming in the corner of his eye. “Please, I need… Oh… Ahh!”

“Shh,” Nadia shushes him, her other finger coming up to press against his lips as she continues to fondle him delicately. Her hand slips around his dick, fitting it within her fist as he starts to fill out despite his body’s needs. “I know just what you need, baby. Let me give it to you.”

“ Mh… Ah- Ah! ” Alex moans, surprised to find that he’s actually becoming quite hard. He’s never really tried to get hard while he’s desperate to go before; normally, Nadia has him hold it for her, and then they have sex. He’s also surprised to find that he kind of likes it, the experience of being full to the brim, bursting at the seams, and being touched like this at the same time.

“That’s right,” Nadia coos, then presses her lips to his again, fitting her body flush against his and grinding her leg against his crotch. Alex manages to tear his hand away, if only to get more friction from his girlfriend’s thigh against his cock. He doesn’t even care that there’s a toilet less than five feet away from him… He’s so turned on that the need to pee has come second in his mind’s ranking of what’s important right now.

In fact, he can feel himself start to lose it once again, his bladder rejecting the urine it’s been forced to store for so long. He moans hotly into Nadia’s mouth, and she clenches her fist tight around him, cutting off the stream as soon as she can feel it on her hand.

“Who said you had permission to go yet?” she murmurs seductively, her lips brushing his. “Come on, babe. You know better than that.

“S-Sorry,” Alex pants, eyelids fluttering as Nadia trails her fingers up his body, stopping at his bladder. “Please, no… If you do that, I’ll-”

“Don’t worry,” Nadia whispers, “I’m not that cruel. But I do think you need a punishment for letting go without permission.”

“Wh- What?”

“Hm…” Nadia taps her finger against her chin a few times, before her eyes light up once again. “I know,” she says decisively, and begins to move even closer, pressing her body against his. His hardness slots between her legs perfectly, the insides of her thighs warming the tented fabric of his swimsuit. She must be standing on her toes to get this angle on him, and even through the haze of desperation and arousal, he can’t help but find it cute.

“Wh- What are you d-doing?” he manages, but Nadia doesn’t reply. Her body is molded to his, chest pressed against him, legs squished up against his. Her weight settles lightly on his bladder, and he flinches back further against the door, but she doesn’t put any more pressure on it than she’s putting on the rest of his body. For one holy second, he wonders if he’s safe from her teasing, if maybe his “punishment” isn’t going to be so bad after all.

That’s when he feels the wetness start to collect in his swimsuit.

Alex gasps, his hand flying down to the front of his shorts to clutch himself, cut off the flow of hot, golden piss that’s somehow escaping him--only it’s not . It takes him a second to realize that he isn’t the one who’s peeing; Nadia is. Crushed up against him, with his dick between her legs, she’s the one letting go, getting her fluids all over the floor of the bathroom, and all over him. He lets out a strangled moan as the sound of splattering fills the room, as urine soaks the fabric around his incredibly sensitive penis. His bladder contracts harshly, and he can’t help but add his own little burst of piss into the mix, but being as hard as he is, it’s not as easy for him to let go as it might have been a few minutes ago.

Somehow, despite being the worst kind of torture he could possibly imagine, the idea of Nadia releasing herself onto him is almost… kind of hot, as well. He’s never really been into this kind of stuff the same way that she has, but something about her giving him a punishment for disobeying her command reminds him just how much he wants to please her, to make it up to her. He sucks in ragged breaths of air as she continues to go, pressed against his body so that the urine runs down both of them, and squeezes his eyes tightly shut, biting his lip against the need to relieve himself with her.

It feels like the moment never ends, and yet within half a minute, Nadia’s stream is tapering off, and she’s pulling away from him, using her pointer finger to trace a line down his cock, which is still straining hard inside of his shorts, oversensitive to the touch. He’s pretty sure his erection is the only thing keeping him from losing control of his body entirely, making him needy and desperate in a different way from before.

“Keep going, please ,” he pants, lip caught between his teeth as his eyes flutter open to meet Nadia’s. She smiles at him sweetly, and for a split second he’s sure she’ll indulge him just this once, but instead she steps back a few paces, drawing her hand away from his body and towards her own.

“I would,” she starts coyly, “but where’s the fun in that? I mean, what kind of reward would that be if I didn’t even give you a challenge?”

“ Nadia ,” Alex groans, reaching down to stroke himself without thinking. He’s so hard, so painfully erect, and combined with the fullness and sensitivity of his poor bladder, he’s pretty sure he won’t last another minute without coming or peeing, or both.

“What about this?” Nadia grins wolfishly at him, and he just knows something bad is coming. He can see it in the way her eyes sparkle mischievously, in the curve of her smile. “If you can make it back to the car, I’ll give you something even better than a handjob. You know what I mean?”

She winks, adorable, terrible, and teasing. Alex whimpers as she reaches out to remove his hand from his penis, where he’d been stroking it up and down almost without meaning to. He’s so overstimulated, he feels like he’s going to combust if he doesn’t come soon… But the idea of having sex with Nadia sounds all too tempting in the moment…

“C-Couldn’t we just do it here?” he asks shakily, eyeing the all too inviting toilet over her shoulder. He’s pretty sure he’ll start pissing the second he’s allowed to come, and he’d prefer to have somewhere to go nearby for when that happens. Plus, he really isn’t sure he’d be able to make it to the car--the parking lot is just outside the waterpark entrance, which is on the other side of the park. Walking past all that splashing, flowing water again… He shudders violently just thinking about it.

“Absolutely not,” Nadia says, mock offense in her voice. “There’s not enough privacy here! What if some family is standing outside right now, waiting to use the restroom, and they hear somebody moaning and panting from inside?”

“B-But-”

“It’s either in the car or not at all, Alex,” Nadia tells him firmly. Her voice has that kind of subtle command to it that most people don’t notice, but most people aren’t Alex. He’s had years to learn all about Nadia’s subtly voiced commands, and he’d consider himself an expert on this tone in particular at this point.

He must be absolutely insane, to give up the chance for the release he’s been craving for almost an hour and a half now, just to chase a different kind of release he hadn’t even wanted up until five or ten minutes ago. Any sane person would have kindly declined, let their body decide which need was more important, instead of letting what’s between their legs think for them. But Alex is so incredibly turned on right now, hard and straining visibly through his swim shorts, and every breath makes the fabric brush up against his dick so tantalizingly… He doesn’t think he can handle not taking Nadia up on her offer.

“Okay,” he pants, completely out of breath. His face feels flushed redder than a ripe tomato, and he’s sure he looks like a total wreck, even to people who don’t know he’s seconds away from exploding in more ways than one… But he doesn’t have it in him to care anymore. Even if he has to clutch himself all the way to the car, even if he has to stop every few seconds to dance around like a little child… He’s determined now more than ever to make it through the parking lot, and get his reward.

Nadia draws closer, leaning up on her tiptoes to press her lips against his one last time, before she pulls him away from the door and latches onto the handle, holding it open and swinging herself around to the other side. Alex takes as deep a breath as he can, trying his best not to squish his bladder any further, and casts one long, wistful glance back at the toilet sitting mere feet away from him, practically calling his name. He must be insane… But if there’s anything that sounds better than pissing his need away right now, it’s having the hottest sex of his life with his girlfriend.

With his mind made up, he turns and exits the bathroom once again, his bladder absolutely screaming in protest as he once again denies it the release it craves. He glances down and catches sight of the gentle swell of his bladder poking out from his stomach, as well as the not so subtle tent at the front of his shorts. He grimaces at both sights, hoping no one will pay him much mind as he hobbles out into the passageway behind Nadia. They must seem suspicious, a young couple walking out of a single-stall bathroom together, one with a clear erection and the other with an air of satisfaction about her. It’s crazy that they seem like that before they’ve even had a chance to have sex.

Alex has never been much of an exhibitionist; usually, his logic prevents him from doing anything as risky as this, but he finds that he doesn’t have it in him to care at this very second. Half of his mind is focusing on not coming in his shorts, the tantalizing brush of wet, saturated fabric against his most sensitive area a kind of torture he’s never known before. He’s pretty sure he’s never been this hard before, never needed sex so urgently. He feels the same way actors pretend to feel in cheesy pornos, where they beg and plead for their partners to let them come this very minute , or they’ll simply explode.

The other half of his brain is having relatively similar thoughts, although these are coming from his bursting bladder rather than his raging erection. His mind is occupied with keeping every liquid he can inside of his body, denying himself even the tiniest of leaks. He feels seconds away from losing the battle and flooding the floor around him with warm, golden urine, creating a pool of his own and at last feeling comfortable and empty again. The thought is so tempting that he feels himself spurt, despite his hard on, and has to bite his tongue hard to keep him from gasping out loud.

Uncaring of what anyone else thinks anymore, he shoves a hand into his crotch, squeezing his cock as hard as he can and hooking one leg over the other, making low whimpering sounds in the back of his throat as he tries to regain control. It feels like he’s holding back a literal ocean, and he’s reminded once again of the pints and pints of beer he’d ingested earlier, without ever once considering the desperate state they might leave him in. God, he can’t imagine that there’s even an ounce of space left in his poor, overfilled bladder. What if all of the beer hasn’t made its way inside yet? Can he possibly fit another drop?

He doesn’t ever remember being this desperate before, and there have been plenty of times when he’d lost control from less. Nadia likes to make him hold it at home, although she usually drags him into the shower with his clothes still on before he reaches this level of need. And even before he’d met her, there had been times when he’d been too busy at work or studying to get up and take care of his situation, which had left him feeling plenty full. Still, he doesn’t think he’s been this bursting in his entire life, in all twenty-one years of existence.

“Come on, babe,” Nadia says from above him (he must have hunched over at some point, because she’s usually about a head shorter than he is). “You’ve gotta keep going if you want your reward. Don’t worry, I’ll walk fast. I want to get there, too, you know.”

Alex can’t decide if it would be better for her to walk fast, and get him to the car quicker, or walk slow, and give his overworked body a break. He settles for clamping his mouth shut and hobbling after her, half-bent over and with a hand clutching his penis through his shorts. With every step he takes, the friction from his hand and swimsuit drive him crazy, and he feels tiny drops of urine escape from the head of his dick at the same time. Positively sure he can’t stop them, he settles for clenching his jaw tight and praying that the little dribbles don’t become a stream anytime soon.

They’re almost at the entrance to the park, and Alex is starting to regret letting his dick do the thinking for him. Sure, he’s still incredibly horny, and slipping inside his girlfriend would probably feel like heaven right now, but he’s pretty sure wetting himself in front of a thousand strangers at a kid-friendly waterpark would kill any erection he might have had before.

And oh , is he close to wetting himself. His abdomen feels like it’s been filled to the very top with water, and it’s all racing to get out, filling out his dick both with blood and with a thin stream of pee. He feels a longer jet escape and moans embarrassingly loudly, letting his other hand join his first clutching at his penis as he bobs up and down on one leg. He feels like a little kid, forced to hold it until he has permission to go, with a tiny bladder and a one-track mind. (Well, he supposes he’s a little more evolved than that--he is focusing on both not peeing himself and not coming, after all.)

With his hands between his legs, bent over forwards with his legs locked together at the knees, he presses on. People must be giving him the strangest looks, but he doesn’t pay them any mind, intent on getting to the car and finally taking care of his still raging erection. His eyes focus on the shape of Nadia’s body as she leads him out through the gates and into the massive parking lot, trying to keep his mind off of his bladder and think about his incredibly sexy girlfriend instead.

His foot hits the pavement, and immediately he’s hit with a gust of cold air as his body leaves the walls of the waterpark. Alex feels a full-body shudder and gasps as his bladder contracts sharply, eyes widening as he feels a long, three-second burst of piss explode past his sphincter muscles and re-wet his previously cold bathing suit. His legs, already sticky from half-dried piss, wobble under his body, and he moans once again, clutching himself as tightly as he can to get the flow to stop.

  “Nadia, Nadia !” he whisper-shouts, eyes practically crossing with the power of his desperation. “I need to go, I- I need to pee , now! I- haaah- can’t hold it!”

Nadia turns around, one hand on her hip, looking thoroughly unimpressed, yet he can tell from the spark in her expression that she’s still just as turned on as he is. “What, you can’t make it to the car?” she challenges, raising an eyebrow at him. “We parked so close to the entrance, though. It’s only what, thirty or forty feet away?”

“I can’t ,” Alex cries, tears forming in the corners of his eyes. “I- I need to go so bad , I- haah, I have to go!”

Nadia steps forward and reaches down, pressing her own hand against his penis, and Alex moans again, torn between wanting friction and release. “Come on, baby,” she says, her voice low and sultry. “Don’t you want me? You know you can only have me if you make it.”

“I’m trying , b-but I’m so full ,” Alex gasps, panting, eyes rolling up to meet Nadia’s. “ Please, just let me-”

“No,” Nadia says. “You don’t have permission. You can’t go yet.”

With that, she removes her hand with a single upwards stroke, sending Alex’s mind into overdrive once again. Shakily, he takes a step forward, and feels a long gush of pee burst into his shorts and splatter tellingly onto the ground. He takes the shallowest breaths he can, feeling as if anything deeper than a short huff of air will cause him to burst on the spot.

He should have just taken the opportunity he’d had before and pissed in the family restroom when he’d had the chance. Now he’s out in the open, holding himself for dear life and mere seconds away from disaster. He’s not even sure if he’d be able to have sex with Nadia in his current state, no matter how aroused he is. What if he really does piss himself in front of everyone, all the innocent kids and judgemental parents? How will he ever live it down?

He supposes there was a reason why Nadia wanted to come to the furthest waterpark away from them, after all.

Another step sends another burst of pee splashing down onto the ground, and for all that Alex has leaked and spurted, he certainly doesn’t feel any better. He has to pause, bring one leg up off the ground to press his thighs together and bob up and down, shifting his hips this way and that as he makes quiet little panting noises, doing his best not to moan and sob out loud. He’s so full, he’s much too full , and he knows he won’t be able to last much longer at the rate he’s going.

But Nadia wants him to keep going, to push himself further than he has before. She’s fixated on him, he’s sure, even though it might not seem like it right at that moment. He can tell from the little looks she shoots him over her shoulder as he stands behind her and squirms frantically, and he knows the only thing on her mind right now is him.

It’s this thought that motivates him to untwist himself from the human pretzel he’d become and inch forward, trailing after his girlfriend with a string of pathetic, embarrassing whimpers and gasps falling from his lips. He thanks the stars that they actually did park relatively close to the waterpark’s entrance, only a few rows away from the gates. It gives him at least a little peace of mind, that he won’t have to stagger through the entire parking lot with two hands on his dick, vigorously avoiding eye contact with confused children and their scandalized parents as he goes.

He’s panting now, from the strain and effort his body is putting into staying upright, standing normally, and clenching every muscle he has control over. His body is shaking all over from the stress he’s putting it through, and his jaw is clenched so tightly that it hurts, but he hardly notices. All of the focus he has left is spent putting one foot in front of the other, and over, and over again, until he catches sight of the car about twenty feet away, just one row over.

He’s sure now, that he won’t be able to make it through sex. As painfully hard as he still is, the tiny part of his brain that’s still thinking rationally reminds him that he’s still leaking every few seconds, and that the pressure sex would put on his bladder would ultimately be his end. His new goal is to make it to the privacy of his car’s row, where he’ll be hidden between 

Finally! he thinks, relief washing over him all at once. Finally, he’s at the car, the final destination, the last goal for his tired, tortured body to work through. Soon he’ll be there, hidden amongst the tightly packed cars, and he’ll finally have the privacy and time he’s been denied for so long, he’ll finally be able to relax, let go, and let it all out…

It’s the thought of relief after hours of holding in so many pints of beer and glasses of water that ultimately proves to be too much for him, the final straw on the camel’s back--or rather, the last drop to make him overflow. He lets out a startled cry as he feels his muscles weaken for just a second, and a long, forceful stream of piss is suddenly flooding his cupped hands and splattering onto the ground noisily.

“ Ah! ” he gasps, squeezing his dick as tightly as he can and dancing about wildly, lifting his left leg to curl around his right and hunching over as he rotates his hips in frantic little circles, but it’s no use. As soon as he thinks he has the first stream under control, a second, longer spurt re-wets his hands and continues to puddle around him.

“Nadi- nngh, Nadia!” he exclaims, hunching over as more piss splatters onto the ground. “I’m- I can’t h-hold it anymore! Ahh, haah, I have to go!”

“Wait!” Nadia commands, whipping around and darting forward, one hand outstretched like she wants to help but can’t. “Alex, we’re in public. Don’t you want to make it back to the car?”

“I-I can’t ,” Alex sobs, letting out a shuddering breath as his body convulses. He’s too full, too filled, there’s too much water inside of him and it needs to get out now , or he’s going to explode.

He clenches his muscles as tight as he can, cutting off the third stream, and pain spikes through him from his abdomen into his stomach. Gasping, he falters, and urine gushes out of his cock like a faucet’s been turned on. “No, no no no ,” he pants, eyes wide as he crushes his cock between his hands, doing everything he can to stop the flow of pee from coming out. But it’s no use. His body is too tired, too overworked to even entertain the idea of holding it in for another second .

With a final pang of agony, his bladder contracts once again, and this time there’s no stopping the torrent of piss from splashing out of his still hard penis and onto the ground below him. He lets out an absolutely devastating moan of pleasure as his legs give out beneath him, landing on his knees on the rough pavement of the parking lot as urine pours out of him in buckets. The relief he feels is absolutely overwhelming, whiting out his brain and making him forget where he is, forget that people might be looking at him, forget everything that isn’t him focusing on the all-encompassing pleasure wracking his body.

He’s never felt this kind of release before, never experienced something so intense and mind-numbingly good . Even some of the best of his orgasms have never felt as wonderfully pleasurable as this moment, pissing to his heart’s content after over two hours of holding it in. He feels his flagging erection start to grow harder once again as the relief hits him head-on, leaving him loose-limbed and with an almost high feeling as he goes. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registers Nadia’s hand on the back of his neck, her hip against his shoulder as she stands in the puddle forming around him, but he can’t bring himself to open his eyes and apologize just yet.

After what must be over a minute of him going and going and going , his stream begins to weaken. Alex sighs, squeezing experimentally to get the last few drops out so he knows he’s completely and blissfully empty, and one by one his senses come back to him. The first thing he feels is rapidly cooling, sticky wetness from the crotch of his shorts all the way down his legs, pooling under his feet as he kneels in his own bodily fluids. The next thing he realizes is that he’s kneeling not only in a puddle of his own piss, but also in the middle of a public parking lot, with families and couples all around to see his shame.

His face flames red as his eyes fly open, and he makes horribly embarrassing eye contact with one or two shocked waterpark goers before his head turns to meet Nadia’s gaze. She’s smiling down at him, looking somewhere between exasperated and pleased, and that expression alone makes up for all of the embarrassment he’s suffering at the moment. She strokes his sweat-damp hair back from his face and bends down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips, but she pulls away when he chases after her for more.

“Not yet,” she tells him in the same sultry voice from before. “You’ve been bad, Alex. Bad boys don’t get any rewards, now, do they?”

“N-No,” Alex replies, eyes darting down to meet his own gaze in the reflection of the pool of piss. “I’m sorry, Nadia. I really couldn’t hold it any longer.”

And he really had wanted to please her, too. He’d tried so hard to hold on just for her, to be a good boy and do as she asked him to. He’s disappointed in himself that he couldn’t make it just the littlest bit longer, just to make her happy.

“It’s alright, baby,” Nadia whispers, brushing her fingernails against his cheek. “You’ll just have to try again once we get home, won’t you?”

“Try again?” Alex repeats, perking up just a little bit. Nadia giggles and reaches out a hand to help him to his feet. Cool urine rushes down his legs and he shudders from the feeling, as well as from Nadia’s touch against his chest as he rises.

“It’ll be even better when we’re at home,” she says lowly. “I’ll be able to make you hold it for as long as I want to, and we won’t have to hide from anyone anymore. You’ll be able to squirm and dance and moan as much as you want to… Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Despite the ache in Alex’s abdomen, and the overall bone tiredness throughout his body, he feels his dick react just the littlest bit at her words. His face is still flushed with embarrassment from having an accident in front of so many people, and he’s still sore and exhausted from coming down from such a long, tiring hold, but surprisingly enough, he finds that the scenario she’s describing sounds rather nice.

“Y-Yeah,” he agrees shakily as Nadia leads him to the car, a promise on her face. “Sounds good.”

Now he really can’t wait until they get home.

[victorineb]

On a moonlit Halloween night… 

“This is ridiculous. How are we getting away with this?” Will had adopted a theatrical whisper that, in Hannibal’s opinion, was more likely to draw attention than their current, admittedly fairly dramatic, appearance.  

“Most people do not share our intimate familiarity with the substance,” Hannibal whispered back, leaning into the side of Will’s throat to breathe in the scent of blood and sweat. “Nor your particular fondness for it, my love,” he added, just to see Will blush like he hadn't ravished Hannibal next to a still-warm corpse not half an hour ago.

“Shut up,” Will said, elbowing Hannibal in the side as if irritated, though the smile he couldn’t quite rein in put the lie to that idea. “They’re so content in their blindness. We’re dripping in viscera and yet the guys in the giant Pikachu suit got more attention than we have.”

“Are you disappointed, mylimasis? Were you hoping to instil terror amongst the crowd, to watch as they shrank from your magnificence, to bask in their fear as they recognised the hunter in their midst?”

“Shut. Up!” This time Will grabbed Hannibal and shoved him against a convenient wall, immediately pissed off that the fond, amused smile on Hannibal’s face didn’t falter for a moment. He shoved his leg between Hannibal’s thighs – causing a symphony of plastic squealing as their murder suits rubbed together – and that got a reaction, Hannibal’s eyes fluttering as he snatched in a breath. Will let him wait for a moment, making no move other than to gently rock his leg against the stiffness he could feel rising beneath it. He watched Hannibal with the sharp gaze of a predator awaiting the moment their prey breaks from cover, and when Hannibal’s lips parted slightly, he surged forward to devour them.  

He allowed himself the span of two minutes to work Hannibal up, biting at his mouth and pressing against his body, hips rolling just enough to have Hannibal straining against his hold. Then, mercilessly, he pulled back completely, watching with satisfaction as the dazed look in Hannibal’s eyes turned dark and wanting. Will grinned.

“Now, behave. Or I will put a leash on you and teach you obedience.”

With a smack to his thigh just short of truly painful, Will turned from his panting cannibal and began sauntering off, pausing only to check that he was being followed and finding Hannibal peeling himself from the wall with a hungry gleam in his eye.

“Down boy,” he teased as Hannibal stalked towards him. “Blood’s one thing but a public sex show will attract an audience, even on Halloween.”

Hannibal stepped straight into his space, sliding his face into the crook of Will’s shoulder and breathing deep. “As if I would allow another’s eyes to behold you as you writhe in ecstasy,” he growled, biting tenderly at the tendon in Will’s neck. “Slaughter thousands in the clear light of day and I would only watch in admiration, but your body and your pleasure belong only to me, beloved.”

Will grinned, sharp and amused, then grabbed Hannibal’s hair and yanked him upwards. “Likewise,” he said, and once more crushed his lips to Hannibal’s, blood smearing and sliding messily between them. And when they parted this time, it was only to rush with hurried footsteps back home, hands clasped tight in promise of the closer touch that would-

“Murder husbands!”

Will tensed and froze mid-step. Hannibal suspected he would have already bundled the young man pointing at them into the nearest available alley had he not been held in place by Hannibal's grip on his arm. It wouldn't do for Will to go off half-cocked (the consequences tended to be messy) and, besides, it wasn't fear with which they were being regarded. The young man – early-twenties, clearly inebriated, dressed in a swirling black cloak and clutching a bright red sword of some sort – was beaming at the pair with enthusiastic delight.

“You're the first to correctly identify us,” Hannibal said, his tone affable and pleased and giving absolutely no hint that he would snap this young man’s rather scrawny neck at the first sign of a threat.

The young man grinned and shook his head. “Yeah, I bet most people think you're a couple of Patrick Batemans, with the plastic get-up and the blood. Dummies. Obviously you're them, Will and Hannibal; Bateman had a raincoat, not a onesie!”

Will fidgeted as their admirer rambled, clearly uncomfortable with the scrutiny. Hannibal, for his part, though not exactly pleased by the description of his hunting suit as a “onesie,” was rather amused by the young man’s familiarity with his story, allowing him to give a semi-factual account of their previous life he had clearly put together from Internet chatrooms and the ever-lurid speculation of one Freddie Lounds. Until:

“I mean, your costumes are almost perfect.”

Hannibal frowned. “Almost?”

“Yeah, I mean, obviously the real Will Graham's a lot shorter than your friend. Like, you should be towering over him, but I guess you can't do anything about that.”

“Indeed, I could hardly be said to dwarf my dear husband.”

“I mean, I guess you could wear lifts like Robert Downey... oh wait, you're really married? I thought maybe the rings were just part of the costume…”

“Mmm, for almost six months now,” Hannibal replied, squeezing Will’s arm and smirking at the glower he got in response.

“Ok, cool. So, also, your husband's way too built to be Will – the real one’s all scrawny and delicate, no muscles on him at all. The hair’s good though, and the scowling - it's amazing nobody realised Graham was a killer for so long, every photo of him looks like he'd murder everyone in a ten mile radius just for existing.”

“Might still,” Will muttered, so low that even Hannibal barely heard it. He smirked and tried not to get distracted by the image of Will cutting a bloody swathe through the throngs of be-costumed revellers. Instead, he delivered a small pinch to the inside of Will’s elbow and returned his attention to their admirer.

“Forgive me if I'm not too disappointed that my husband is a more impressive specimen than the actual Mr Graham,” he said, with a wink that automatically caused Will to roll his eyes.

“Yeah, don't blame you,” the young man grinned in response. “And you're pretty much dead on. I mean, you're not blond and your eyes aren't red but you've got his cheekbones, for sure. And the accent. Just one thing, though,”

“Oh?” Hannibal raised a brow.

“Well, it's just that Lecter would never go around being so obviously affectionate. I mean, he's an evil sociopath, right, so he can't feel love? Whereas you guys, it's so obvious that you're totally into each other, no way Lecter and Graham would behave like that. Especially you,” he said, gesturing towards a rapidly-less-amused Hannibal, “you were pretty much draped all over your ‘Will’ here, Lecter’s way too much of a cold fish for that!”

“Cold… fish…” Hannibal said, slowly, leaning into the young man’s space. “You know, your manners could be considered somewhat lacking, my friend…”

The young man’s expression faltered for the first time, the always-satisfying first gleam of fear flashing in his eyes. But just as Hannibal was about to kick his feet from under him and teach him the true meaning of horror, he heard a snicker from behind and felt Will pull him back to his side, nuzzling them together.

“Come on, babe, he already complimented the costumes, you don’t have to give him your scary Doctor Lecter impression too. Besides,” he added, leaning in to kiss his still-coiled husband on the cheek, “you know he’s right. I’d never have fallen for that uptight, pretentious, emotionless asshole. Not even if he does look fine as hell in those suits of his.”

Hannibal peered down at him, inscrutable. “Fine as hell, is that what you think?”

“Guilty secret, huh?” the young man asked, apparently recovered enough to watch them with the amusement of one who has no idea how close he is to death.

Will winked at him. “One of many, I’m afraid.”

“Ought I to be jealous of this fine young cannibal?” Hannibal purred, the monster already tucked back safely beneath the sheen of avuncular friendliness.

“Absolutely, I’m going to abandon you, my brand new husband, and run off with the fancy cannibal who has a habit of cutting into his boyfriends. What can I say, I can’t resist the lure of a romantic gutting.” Will grinned sweetly at Hannibal. “Come on, what kind of fool would do that?”

“Will Graham?” the young man suggested, clearly having bought Will’s lie hook, line and sinker.

“And I am most definitely not Will Graham,” Will said, nodding at him in agreement.

“Lucky for me, I guess,” the young man said. “Hey, any chance I could take a selfie with you?”

It was Will’s turn to tense at the suggestion – albeit it more out of a hatred of being photographed than any sense of danger – but thankfully Hannibal had never met a fool he couldn’t charm the sense out of. “Ah, but then you might be tempted to post it where the good people of the FBI could see and we couldn’t have that, could we?” He wagged a finger gently at the young man and Will thought that was spreading it on a bit thick but it seemed to work with the professorial persona Hannibal had adopted because the young man laughed, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“Ok, ok, I can take a hint. Wouldn’t want to wind up on your dinner table, right?”

“Definitely not,” Will agreed. “It’s from Ikea, it probably wouldn’t take your weight.”

The young man gave this a bigger laugh than it probably deserved, which meant he missed the fleeting, outraged glare Hannibal gave Will for even daring to suggest he would shop at Ikea. “Ok, well, I gotta go, lot of tricks still to be treated, you know? Have a good night!” He stood back and took one last look at Will and Hannibal, shaking his head and saying, “Man, those costumes really are almost perfect, glad I got to see them.” And then he turned and disappeared along the street, cape flowing out behind him.

“Fascinating,” Hannibal murmured.

“Dangerous,” Will countered.

“I suppose now would be your opportunity to say ‘I told you so.’”

Will’s head whipped round and he glared at Hannibal. “Yes it is and yes I did and if you thought I’d be above saying so then you know me about as well as that kid does.”

“At least he does not believe you to be such a cold fish that even a modest amount of public affection is wholly out of character.” Hannibal was actually pouting and Will melted like he was looking at the last puppy in the pound.

“Please, if our best disguise involves you acting like my own personal boa constrictor, I'm not gonna be unhappy about it. Besides,” he said, lacing his fingers together with Hannibal’s, “I think I'd rather keep the real real Hannibal Lecter my little secret.”

“Oh? And which Hannibal Lecter would that be?”

“The one who is both a bloodthirsty, brutal, beautiful killer and a heart-eyed, loved-up, hopelessly besotted little love bunny.”

“Will…”

“The one who both fucked up my life, manipulated me and tried to force me to be something I wasn't and who saw the real Will Graham and freed me from an existence that was slowly killing me.”

“Will…”

“The one who is both a gigantic, fussy, pretentious pain in my ass and the love of my fucking life. And I'm the only one who gets to see him. All of him.”

“All?” Hannibal echoed, raising a suggestive eyebrow.

Will stepped in close and brought his lips to Hannibal’s ear, delivering a nip to the lobe before murmuring, “Yeah, but only if you can manage to get us home without any further incidents.”

Which, of course, Hannibal did, and in less than ten minutes to boot. For which trick, Will rewarded him with a quite magnificently big treat indeed.

[jj-lynn21]

Cozy Cove: Never Have I Ever

warnings: Angst, discussions of past promiscuity, general goofiness possible. 

@super-pink-a-palouza​  @bskarsgardlove92​  @loomiz​

Previous in Cozy Cove: Saved by an Angel ,   A side of tits with your pancakes,   Fires Burn Hot , Spending the Nights, Learning and Loving,   The end id not always the end,  Axel Grease ,  Big Decisions, Sex and Jet Skis, Late night fun , Old Wounds , Storms pass Dangerous Waters, Nursing the patient , Making it Work, Never Have I Ever    The Masquerade

“I felt bad for you since your Dad ran off with my Mother!” Axel screamed as Brad Stormed out of his office. “It doesn’t give you an excuse for being a dick to clients or anyone else here.”

“Fuck you Axel and your whore Mother,” Brad yelled back. “The union will get me my job back. The only reason you really fired me is because your Bitch complained.”  

“You try that, Brad.” Axel scoffed. “I have two official reprimands and paperwork you signed that I told you how you were treating females that came in here inappropriate. That was several times before I even met Susie. So, get the fuck out of my garage.” Axel pointed to the door.

“Let’s go men.” Brad tried to encourage a walkout. No one even looked up from their work. “Fucking pussies.” He grumbled before leaving.

“Sorry about the drama everyone.” Axel apologized. “Keep up the good work. I’ll order some pizzas so morning shift and evening shift both get some. I appreciate you all.”

A new shift was coming in for the afternoon as Axel spoke. Susie walked back to the office behind Axel quietly.  When they got to the door Axel turned noticing her behind him. “Go back to work Miss. Quinnby. I am fine. I will call on you when my work is finished.”

“Yes, Sir.” Susie nodded before turning to go back to work.  

Axel grinned at her comment. “Good girl.” He whispered before logging back on to his desktop computer to finish payroll.

He paid everyone for the days the storm made coming into work impossible. Checks were automatically deposited in the workers bank accounts bi-weekly. This week would be Brad’s last check. Axel paid him fully as he did the others. He still felt sorry for the asshole.

The last thing he did was fix the schedule not to include Brad and added Susie Quinnby. He headed out to the main garage. When he saw Susie bent over a car with its hood up he had an almost overwhelming desire to smack her cute little ass but that would definitely be against company policy. He was a strong enough man to hold back his desires until the right time.

“Hey Miss Quinnby,” Axel said politely. “when you are finished there, I’m ready to call it a day.”

“All I need to do is screw on the oil cap and get the customer on his way.” Susie wipes the sweat from her forehead getting grease marks on her face. “Did you call your brother for a pick-up?”

“My Dad should be here shortly,” Axel fidgeted on his crutches. “He wants to look at my stitches to make sure they aren’t getting infected. He doesn’t believe I had you take over for me and just did computer work today.”

“Oh really?” She smirks before walking off to talk to the customer who comes to drive his car away. She starts to head to the office. “Let me just clean up a little.”

“No way,” He chuckled softly. “Everything about how you look right now screams you have been working on cars all day. My Father has to see you to believe me. Still I’m unsure he will.”

She laughs. “Alright, but I am going to wash my hands.”

“Just don’t touch the streak of grease across your face.” He smiled.

Susie rolled her eyes, “Sure Boss.”

When they walked outside Dr. Cluney was waiting with his window down. “Susie, you sit up front with me. Axel should have his leg up on the seat. I’m sure he has had it down all day instead of up.”

“Dr. Vines never said I had to keep it elevated.” Axel commented when he opened the front door for his girl.”

“Just get in.” His Father grumbled. “I hope you didn’t open it back up today.  Have you even checked it since you have been home?”

“Susie looked at it this morning using sterile procedure Dr. Vines wrote out for us.” Axel said smugly. “She wrapped it in clean bandages. But if you want to look at it by all mean be my guest in my home. Just to make you feel better.”

“I don’t know why you can’t respect me, Axel,” Dr. Cluney impassioned voice rang through the large SUV.  

“I do respect you Father.” Axel said bluntly. “You just can’t see that when all you do is criticize me.”

There was silence in the car until they pulled into Axel’s driveway. Susie held Axel’s crutches as he got out of the vehicle which was a little trickier than getting in. His Father waited patiently with his medical bag in hand.  

Susie was the first to break the loud silence when they got inside. “I need a shower. Then I will make dinner Axel.”

“Thanks, Babe.” Axel said as he sat on the couch and put his feet on the coffee stand. “There is beer and soda in the refrigerator if you want anything Father. You can stay for dinner if you want. I’m sure Susie will make something good. I normally cook but I try to stay off the leg as much as possible.”

“Good to know.” His father sat on the coffee table. He lifted Axel’s leg on to his lap and began to unwrap the bandage from his calf. “This was easier when you cut your calf at eight.”

Axel chuckled. “Yeah, I bet. But didn’t I squirm more?”

His Father just nodded. He looked at the great stitching job. He carefully laid his son’s leg back on the table to go to the kitchen for a glass of water to clean around the wound.  

He came back and used a sterile gauze pad he dipped in the water to clean around the stitches. “You didn’t clean this with anything but water, did you? Peroxide or alcohol can slow the healing.”

“Just water as Dr. Vines wrote on my order.” Axel flinched a little when his Father cleaned some dried blood. “He said you can take the stitches out in two weeks.”

“We can do that at my office if you don’t mind,” Dr. Cluney wrapped a clean bandage around the wound. “Looks really good. Just change it twice a day and stop by the clinic in two weeks. I don’t expect it to but if it gets red and warm to the touch give me a call to look at it again.” He cleaned up the dirty gaze and wrap. “You and Susie have a good evening. I’m sure I have a hot dinner waiting for me at home.”  

“Thanks for taking us home and checking this out.” Axel mumbled.

“Your welcome,” His Father left.  

After her shower, Susie peeked out. A light blue sundress with white puffy clouds adorned her body. A towel around her wet hair. When she didn’t see his father, she scampered out. “Is everything good?”

Axel stretched his neck to look to here a few inches behind him. His eyes followed as she walked closer. “Everything is great, Babygirl. Can I get a beer before you start cooking dinner, please?”

“Sure thing, Big Daddy.” She giggled before rushing off to get his beer. When she handed him his beer, she kissed his cheek before dashing away again.  

Susie made him some pasta and meatballs with a cheesy red sauce she came up with from what he had in his pantry and refrigerator. Her hair drying naturally cascading around her shoulders.

Axel praised her creation. He told her where he kept some stand up trays so they could eat comfortable in the living room. He sopped the last of the sauce up with bread because he didn’t want to waste a drop.

While Susie was wash up the dishes Axel broached a question. “I thought we would play, Never Have I Ever, tonight to get to know maybe some more interesting things about each other. I love how innocent and pure you act for me, but I also think you maybe you have done more than you let on.”

She turns to him a bit mortified. “I just like our dynamic Big Daddy.” She bites her lip nervously.

“I like it to Babygirl.” He grinned. “But if I knew more about what you have liked in the past it could make it even better. You must have some curiosity about me. And its okay to talk about anything with me. We will start fairly tame and gauge each other's comfort level as we go. And if you want to stop playing before you don’t want to drink any more, I’m fine with that also. So, what do you say?”

She nods yes.

“Use your words sweet Babygirl.” Axel’s eyes buried into hers. They were full of caring and need. Need to learn more about her.

She was curious of things he had done and might be willing to do with her to fulfill some fantasies she longed for deep down. “Yes, I will play the game with you tonight.” She grabs six beers to start, hoping she is not the one that ends up drinking them all.  

“I suggest you take small sips Babygirl” Axel chuckled.

She stared him down ruthlessly, “I suggest the same for you, Big Daddy.”

“We can discuss answers to each other's inquiries if curiosity overcomes us.” Axel watched her face for any reluctance.

“I agree to that, Big Daddy.” She kept her eyes on him.

“I’ll start, if that is alright with you would like,” Axel grinned.

“Shoot,” She smiled wickedly.  

Axe starts tame, enough, “Never have I ever been a passenger on a motorcycle.”

Susie rolls her eyes while taking a sip of beer. “Really?”

Axel chuckled.

Susie smirked. “I thought this was supposed to be more personal questions, Big Daddy?”

“Hit me up with anything you are curious about, Babygirl.” He grins. “I could use a drink.”

“Never have I ever,” She started. “had a threesome.”

Axel looked at her, tilted his head as he tapped on his Beer can before picking it up for a sip. “I guess you got me on that one. I see from the look on your face you might have a follow-up question or two?”

Susie nodded her head yes slow, “Never have I ever had sex with two other women.” She swallowed hard. “Never ever have I had a threesome with one person of the same sex and one person of the opposite sex.”

Axel keeps his eyes on her. He takes two big swigs of his beer. “Are you interested in joining me in either one of those scenarios since you mentioned them?” He watches her squirm.

Susie blushed. “Anything Big Daddy suggests I would try. Perhaps it would make us both happy?”

“That is always my goal Babygirl.” So, now it’s my turn. “Never have I ever danced on a table.”

Her hand curled around the can looking at it before bringing it to her lips for a drink.  

“For money or just a dare or drunken night?” Axel prodded for more. “Oh, and did any clothing get stripped off?”

She giggled, “Big Daddy, it’s not like I was a professional ever. I was really more tipsy than drunk. There was no room on the raised dance floor or stage where people were dance so I pulled my roommate up on our table. It was stable enough to hold so I have no idea why they had to kick us out of the club for starting a trend. After that first night, I saw others do it every time I was out.”

“You little instigator.” He booped her nose and kisses her lips playfully nipping at her bottom lip. His hand sliding from her clavicle up her neck to her cheek. “Let’s continue the game.” He said lips barely moving from hers first. A thumb running over her cheek for a moment before he pulled away.

Susie rolls her neck around her shoulders out of a bit of frustration. “Okay, never have I ever danced naked in front of people.”

Axel lifts the can to his lips. He tips it back but just before the liquid hit his lips, he pulls it away with a chuckle. “Never completely naked.”

“Tease, you never danced for me.” She pouted.

Axel shakes his head, “I don’t think you really want to see that. But I will take you to meet my friend soon. They know all about what I have told you. They are still a great dancer. You will see.”

“I would really like meeting more of your friends, Big Daddy.” Susie smiled.  

“You have met people I’ve known for a long time, at the beach.” Axel thinks for a moment, “Sam is my best friend from grade school through trade school. Samantha now. They are a beautiful soul. They are the person I had my first experiences with.” He swallows hard. “I’ll take you to see Samantha dance sometime, if you are cool with that?”

“If they have always been your friend, I’m cool with whatever.” She takes Axel’s face in her small hands. “You or them, will get no judgment from me Big Daddy. If you can keep a kind heart in this judgmental society, that is all that matters. Now I am barely a little tipsy after milking one tonight. I thought your plan was to get me sloshed.”

“You are so unexpected.” He gushed. “Okay, never have I ever been submissive in a relationship.”

She giggles as she pops a new can open, “This is the first relationship like ours I have ever had but I do like it.” She takes a big gulp. “Never have I ever eaten an erotic cake. Drink up, Big Daddy.”

They go on with the game until Susie is barely understood slurring her speech and laying all over Axel. Her hands roam his body teasingly. As she wonders down to the edge of his shorts, he grabs her hand. Kissing her tiny fingers compared to his he rasped, “We’re not going to fuck when you could pass out before we are done, Susie Q.”

She tilts her head confusion overlapping with the cloudiness of her mind.

Axel got up a little fogginess as he went to stand. But the pain that followed only a little weight on his leg brought him to his senses. He grabbed his crutches. “Stand up,” Axel snapped his fingers.  

Susie Stood a little wobbly and giggled. “Yes Sir, Big Daddy.” She giggled again.

“Can you walk?” Axel chuckled.

“I’m fine.” She puts her arms out like she is balancing on a tight robe.  

“Yeah you loaxel ok completely balanced.” Axel laughed. “One more question. Keep your beer close. Never have I ever been in love like this.”

Not really hearing what he said for a few seconds she has the beer raising to too her lips. She stopped when she grasped what he said. A smile filled his face. His glossy eyes on hers waiting to see her reaction.  

“Me neither.” She whispered.

[kristopherwritesstuff]

Chapter 1

Touch starved wasn’t a term Jamison was accustomed to. In the Outback, touch was reserved for scrapping, if it came down to it, or quick, dirty rutting against thighs it spit slicked hands.

Hygiene wasn’t common, but neither were the diseases typically present throughout the rest of the world, transmitted through dirty holes uncleaned. They knew better.

His vocabulary wasn’t lacking, either, not with all the travelling he’d done once he was out of the Outback and off the Australian coast, but “touch starved” was simply something that had never been brought up to him before, or explained if it had. Touch wasn’t something he actively sought, either, wasn’t something he knew he wanted until he agreed to Overwatch, Mako an automatic extension to the agreement and the only one who actively had looked out for him, even after the payments had ended and he had saved enough to do what he wanted.

Even then, touch wasn’t something they had actively participated in, other than Mako holding him down by the back of his neck with a firm hand, large fingers stroking over his thighs and hole and coaxing him into calm submission, soothing his jittery anxious energy.

There was nothing soft about it, though. Nothing caring, although Jamison knew Mako cared. Nothing just gentle and light, just a firm roughness that was used to get the Junker to shut up and sit still instead of getting caught up in his own head, going crazy again, another bomb spree meant to kill himself and everyone around him.

Touch wasn’t something he was aware he wanted, needed, until he met Jesse McCree; thick dark hair and a thicker body, relaxed and charming and handsome in a way Jamison hadn’t really seen in far too long, at least in a way that interested him. He didn’t hide his interest well, either; all wide golden eyes sober and calm without the anxiety of the Outback to have them flickering nervously (although they still did, when Mako wasn’t around, on edge and giggles threatening to bubble up his throat), arms crossed around his hollow stomach and deadly still, silent as he watched. Quiet as a damn mouse.

Too big for a mouse, though, and too dirty, too twitchy, too nervous, too dangerous for one. That’s what people think of rats, after all. Dirty and twitching and dangerous. They thought of Jamison the same; that’s how he got his name, earned it: just a rat in the junk, dirty and twitching and dangerous, and a part of him, niggling the back of his brain, scratching deep in his gut, told him that’s what everyone else thought, too, at the Watchpoint. Told him they hated him, mistrusted him, didn’t want him, would just stab him in the back and leave him to rot.

It was different with McCree, though. The cowboy, man, despite his low, whiskey rough voice and overbearing demeanour, was surprisingly warm and gentle, easy laughs on his lips and a wink in his eyes for practically everyone. He made everyone feel welcome, even Jamison and his bodyguard, and even though everyone had a soft smile and a kind word for the young, lanky man, it only really felt genuine from Jesse. He'd ruffle the dirty blonde mess on Jamison's head, would swing his arm around the man's shoulders and nudge him close under the watchful eye of the huge bodyguard usually nearby, and always had a kind word and light greeting whenever he spotted Jamison around the base, and it never failed to have the man softening up, relaxing, yearning for their interactions more and more.

He didn't confess this, never said anything, but that didn't stop Mako bringing it up two months into their joining of Overwatch, voice low and chest deep as he watches his boss fuss and fidget in front of the mirror, scrubbing at the ash and soot imbedded under his eyelashes like makeup.

"...Going to see the cowboy?"

"Roadie--"

"Gonna tell him?"

He's being glared at in the mirror, just the softest dusting of pink on Jamison's cheeks, and Mako just gives a small shrug. He could read him better than anyone, sometimes better than Jamison himself, but even the crush was clear, probably even to Jesse himself. Jamison just had trouble keeping himself to himself, a good counter to the stoic man he had employed and befriended.

Other than the glare, there's no answer, and Jamison returns to the mirror, fussing and huffing and scowling before giving up five minutes later.

He'd showered, tried to clean up a little, but the soot was still in awkward places, like under his eyes and in the curves of his earlobe and under his nails, but the rest was fairly clean, hair now a soft, fluffy mess on his head, light and pretty without ash and dirt and grease shaping it messily into flaming spikes. He almost looks good, especially with a clean pair of shorts on, loose tank top a few sizes too big with his unhealthy lank, and he straightens himself up a little, brows furrowed as he fidgets. Even his arm and leg have been cleaned.

"...You look fine."

Ignored again, other than a quick glance in the mirror, eyes thankful before Jamison turns and hobbles out the room with quick ease, good practise after years of using the peg leg.

Jesse's at the target range, and Jamison can't help but wonder why. His aim is damn near perfect, if not completely so, in the field, let alone against the robot dummies lazily patrolling around. He hears Jamison approach but says nothing, doesn't move, just fires another shot as the blonde man watches from behind him, chewing up his lips and trigger finger twitching with each shot.

"...Are ya gonna join me, darlin'?" The smooth, low voice makes Jamison start, fingers jerking, a bomb being sent flying towards one of the dummies and exploding on impact, taking out half of its head.

"Easy, 'rat. Didn't mean to startle ya." Jesse is turning, gun in its hollister at his hip, and easy grin on his face and a cigar, as usual, between his lips. "Haven't seen you all mornin'."

"Busy," is what falls from Jamison's mouth, body falling still under Jesse's gaze as the man eyes him up and down curiously.

"Nice to see yer takin' care of yourself. Didn't clean up 'specially for training, did ya?"

Jamison just nods after a slight pause if hesitation, biting his tongue for once, babble ceased in front of Jesse. If the pause is noticed, he doesn't say anything, just nods back, grinning, and takes a low drag from his cigar, exhaling the smoke almost lazily. It makes Jamison's nose twitch, watching the smoke swirl and twist in the still air, mouth dry at the now-familiar scent, and Jesse just hums at the red tips of his ears before he turns to empty his gun into the broken dummy currently whirling around in circles before collapsing from the sudden attack.

"Ya want a puff?"

"Nah, mate, Roadie says it's no good on my lungs, reckons I'll end up like him if I do." He gives a nervous laugh (at least Jesse thinks it's nervous, it's hard to tell with Jamison) and shrugs, almost a little helpless. "Don't like the taste, either. Smell ain't bad, but reckon that's all the smoke I've been sniffing over the years."

His voice isn't as high and crazed, like this. Still lilted up, but less excited, less shouting. Still a slight roll of the r's, but...it's calmer. Less Junkrat, more Jamison.

"Sure, sugar. Whatever ya want." Jesse shrugs, slumping down up against the wall, and Jamison slowly sinks down next to him, legs pulled to his chest, metal arm wrapped around them as he lets his gun rest next to him and flesh fingers idly rubbing the floor, careful not to touch Jesse. It felt good, being this close to him, being able to sit with the cowboy while he smoked and sent Jamison's head reeling with the smell of cigar smoke and unwashed leather and something earthy, and he simply rests his cheek against his knee, eyes flicking between his hand and Jesse's face. Jesse just keeps on puffing his smoke, head tipped back and hat dragged over his face a little, and it gives Jamison plenty of opportunity to stare and admire, stomach soft and warm in his gut. He's seen the old pictures of Jesse, back in his Blackwatch days, back even before that, and he could easily compare them to the man before him now, mentally noting the differences.

Broader. Chubbier, is what Jamison likes to think, because he likes the softness of Jesse's personality enough he wants it to match his physical appearance. Taller, obviously. A proper beard on his chin and jaw, although a little rough and patchy in some places, like he's had to shave without a mirror and it had grown back awkward. Robotic arm. Plain flannel shirt, a deep blue today. A low lazy voice that instantly sets people at ease.

Still handsome, though. Still attractive enough to claim anyone he wanted, cowboy get up or not. He just didn’t seem to want anyone.

"Can I help ya, sugar?"

Jamison flicks his eyes away quickly, trying to focus on how long he'd been staring, mouth dry. All he gets is blank, though, blank and Jesse's tanned skin and scruffy beard and chapped lips curled around the fat cigar nearly finished.

"Jamison?"

"I'm fine. It's fine. Don't worry, mate, just lost in thought, ain't no reason to worry." He can feel Jesse looking at him, curious and slightly amused, and he shuffles into himself, hiding away, trying to be smaller than he actually is. Trying to seem like a mouse instead of a rat.

"Sure, darlin'. Sure." There's a pause, a moment of relaxed quiet, Jamison's ears burning. "...Ain't gonna train? I could join ya."

There's a slight lilt to his tone that makes Jamison want to flush but he pushes it back, just shakes his head, stumbling to his feet. "Nah. Should probably go see what's cooking."

"Alright, whatever you want. I'll see ya later, yeah?"

Jamison fumbles, tongue thick in his mouth, hand fumbling to grab his gun.

"Yeah. Yeah, sure, mate."

He's scampering away before Jesse can say anything else, but he can feel his eyes on his back, burning into him like he'd just pressed his cigar there.

Jamison is so fucked.

[softmoxymuffin]

It Started with Submission: Chapter 3

sorry for the wait. i have a fairly clear direction of where this fic is going and most probably end it at chapter 5 but i promise to make it as good as possible as i could kindly just be patient with me and please enjoy

It Started with Submission

Chapter 1: Gym

Chapter 2: Showers

Chapter 3: Car

Chapter 3: Car

After an incredibly cold shower to shock his senses back up and his dick back down. Seth made his way disgruntledly back to the locker room where he noticed he was all alone. He was actually relieved. He made quick work with getting dress, not caring if his hair was still a wet mess that dripped down the back of his shirt making it stick to him annoyingly. He put on his shoes and packed away his shit and made his way out the locker room.

Only to be greeted by a cocky smile and a happy tune. Dean really did wait for him.

Seth chose to ignore the other man instead made long irritated steps back to the lobby and up to their hotel room. Seth didn’t even turn to make sure Dean was following him. He just knew he was.

They finally made their way up to their room. Just as quickly as Seth packed his things away in his gym bag, he did so as he packed the rest of his things. He had finished in less than 15 minutes, but when he turned to Dean’s side of the room it was clear the other man was taking his time with his own things. Seth thinks Dean must be enjoying watching him all prissy and irritated the way he was right now.

“I’m gonna go wake up Roman.” He announced and left before getting a reply.

The other member of Shield was thankfully in another room across from them. Seth had to admit being the golden child definitely had it’s perks. He usually wouldn’t think of something so petty, but in his current state of mind he was just about ready to blame anyone and anything for his foul mood, because he’d be damn to admit it had anything to do with being left in a gym shower while holding his dick in his hand.

“Woah, mornin…” Roman mumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Still pretty early.” He pointed out.

“Yeah well, you’re not the one who has the drive for the next 10 hours.” Seth complained. “So come on.” He added before he made his way back to his own room.

“Thought it was Dean’s turn?” Roman asked confusedly.

“Well it’s not,” Seth countered . “So move it.”

He re-entered his hotel room half expecting Dean being the little shit that he was to still be fixing his things. He was just about ready to berate the other man when he was forced to bite his tongue. He was irritatingly surprised to see the other man just sit back casually on his bed with his bags neatly ready by the side. There was that all knowing grin smiling back to him again.

Seth roughly got his things together and said “I’m headed downstairs for breakfast. Whether you guys are ready or not we’re leaving at 6.” Then made his way out and downstairs, practically shoving Roman off his path.

“What’s his problem?” Roman asked the other Shield member.

Dean to his credit just gave the other man a shrug before offering to help him with his own packing.

Downstairs Seth had gone and ordered himself a cup of coffee. He really should have ordered something more, something more filling. But the irritation from earlier just seemed to bleed through him and made him lose any sort of appetite for food. Though it was his first cup of coffee that day, Seth found himself nervously bouncing his leg. So much pent up energy from before not having a proper outlet. He hated it.

He loved going to the gym. He loved the workout. He loved the ache on his muscles. Something about it just made him feel alive. That’s what he had felt like in that ring with Dean. That adrenalin pumping through him just ready to burst. But the second Dean had done what he had done, Seth was over. Whatever release he had been hoping for was gone, and in it’s place was just deep suppressed frustration. All Seth could think about was Dean being the cause of it, and not knowing how exactly to fix it.

Finally, the two other men got down from their hotel room. Their bags all somewhat neatly packed. Roman still yawning slowly looking like he was sleep walking. By contrast, Dean was smiling smugly fresh as a fucking daisy. Seth hated it.

“Let’s go.” Seth all but ordered the other two around. Roman, even in his sleepy state, could pick up on Seth’s irritation. Dean on the other hand went along like nothing everything was normal.

They had gotten to their rental. All their luggage in the back. Roman automatically climbing into the backseat where he sprawled out as much as he could to go back to his own personal dream land. Dean casually sitting in the passenger with absolutely no care in the world. Seth disgruntledly climbing into the driver’s seat.

Though he knew the hours of driving would wreak havoc on his knee, but he was glad he had something to do for all those hours. Seth was not sure how his mind was going to go if he had nothing to do right now. He needed to keep himself busy. With the road in front of him, the wheel in his hands, and the car in his control, Seth would actually have a chance to distract himself from his treacherous thoughts.

That’s what he had thought. For some reason, while trying his best to drive them as carefully and as efficiently as he could, Seth had a particularly hard time ignoring the man who was seated right next to him. Like many of their interaction, this really shouldn’t feel as odd as it did. This was their usual seating. Roman snoring at the back, while Seth drove and Dean rode shotgun. This was normal, and yet Seth had trouble ignoring the presence that was seated right next to him.

Dean was doing absolutely nothing. He was just sitting there looking out the window. He wasn’t fidgeting in his seat. He wasn’t insisting on turning the radio on. He wasn’t annoyingly trying to play i-spy. Nope. He just sat there. Not a care in the world. It made Seth seethe in annoyance.

“Hey, minimart half a mile from here.” Dean spoke for the first time in like two hours.

“So?” Seth asked irritatedly.

“So, we gotta grab something to eat.” Dean pointed out, which only made Seth glare. “Listen you were the one who wanted to get on the road as quickly as possible. None of us got a chance to eat anything at the hotel. We just grab a couple of breakfast burritos to go.”

“Those things are disgusting.” They really weren’t all that bad, but Seth was desperate for anyway to go against Dean right about now. That included willing to ignore the growling in the pit of his empty stomach.

“Come on, we’ll eat them at the car. You won’t have to stop.” He insisted. “I’m gonna need something in me soon.” He spoke nonchalantly

Seth huffed at the double meaning of Dean’s words. The man could act dumb but he knew that Dean was more than capable of mind games to could screw a guy over. He had to admit though the coffee from earlier did nothing for his appetite. He was almost too stubborn to admit it.

“Fine.” He finally agreed and pulled over at the next minimart they found.

Seth stayed in the car while Dean made his way to the store. Seth couldn’t seem to stop himself from staring at the tall form walking away from him. The other man’s jeans looking a lot tighter and a lot more tattered than anything he has ever worn before. He even noticed a slight tear at the back of his thigh showing a sliver of soft skin just below his ass.

It made Seth blush and look away. He has really got to get some food in him. His vision was getting affected.

Dean had finally gotten back to the car with an armful of food. An assortment of burritos, snacks and drinks, all of which made Seth a little queasy but also made his stomach grumble hungrily.

Once they were back on the road Dean had gone ahead and had his breakfast burrito, not caring whether Seth nor Roman was having theirs just yet. Seth on the other hand resided himself to drinking a vitamin water, not really willing to let go of his ‘burritos-are-gross’ stance.

After a few minutes of driving he was slowly getting annoyed by the responsibility of having to focus on the road, especially when the guy on you passenger seat was busy slurping the hell out his breakfast burrito. He never expected any high end manners from his tag team partner but the way he was moaning around his food was damn near pornographic.

Seth mentally scolds himself for even putting the words porn and Dean Ambrose in the same sentence, even if it was only in his mind. But he couldn’t help it. Dean was moaning about his food like it was a damn Godsend and not some radioactive wrap of meat that might have been rotating in a barely working microwave in a minimart out of nowhere. Like Dean really didn’t have go all out on the ‘ohhhs…’, and ‘ahhhh…’, and the ‘oh my God, I can’t believe how good this tastes in my mouth right now.’

Seth really wanted to shove something else in Dean’s mouth right now.

Again… Seth had to mentally scold himself. That was not what he wanted, at least not the way the image flashed in his mind. Why that particular image flashed in his mind he doesn’t know, but he was sure it meant nothing. Imagining shutting you’re your best friend up by shoving something down his throat was not pornographic, it was not hot. It was nasty and violent and rough and hard…

Seth wanted to fucking drive off a cliff which was an impossibility when you were driving across the flatass lands of Kansas.

When he saw Dean finally ball up his burrito’s paper wrapping and unceremoniously throwing it out his passenger side window. Seth was just about to reprimand the other man due to his littering, but was more relieved than upset. He was not sure what he was going to do if he had to spend another hour or so listening to Dean make anymore unnecessary sounds. He then realized that his relief came much too early when the blue eyed man pulled out something else from his little grocery bag.

“Used to love these when I was a kid.” Dean said with delight. “Couldn’t believe they still had them in there.”

Seth glanced in mild panic when he noticed what Dean had been talking about. Dean bought himself some candy. Not only that, but he had bought a lollipop. What was worse was Seth recognized it too.

“Is that a unicorn pop?” he asked rhetorically while he nervously tried to keep his eyes on twisted rainbow candy on a stick.

Dean only nodded and gave a big smug smile and proceeded to put more than half of the damn candy in his mouth. If Seth thought the burrito was gross then the 5 or so inches of colorful candy was going to be the death of him. Of all the goddamn sweets this asshole had to buy he just had to buy the gayest phallic piece of candy that he could find and started to suck on the damn thing.

Seth did his best to keep his eyes on the road. His knuckles grew bone white from the tight grip he kept on the wheel. He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His skin grew unbelievably warm for under the midwestern sun. His right foot bounced to one side while he gathered all the control he had to not step harder than he really should have. Seth can do this. He can do this. Whatever he did, just don’t look at Dean.

Of course that’s exactly what he did. Not only that he Seth looked over on the precise moment when Dean had shoved the whole damn thing in his mouth. The red, white, and blue coloring staining his thin soft looking lips making Seth think of a Fourth of July in the wrongest way possible. His dimples grew deeper as he hallowed his cheeks out and gave the lollipop a filthy wet suck. The unmistakable sound of the back of his throat straining as he let his jaw go slack.

Fucking hell Dean was a natural co-

HONK!

Seth swerved all too suddenly at the loud sound of the truck driving a little to closely behind them. The huge cargo truck swerving left and made his way around their own black SUV but not before giving Seth, the driver, the middle finger and a couple of choice vulgar words.

“What the fuck Seth?!” Roman woke from the sudden jostle.

Before Seth could say something in defense he heard Dean make a loud choking noise which should not have sounded as affecting as it did. Dean fell back in his seat, luckily still alive, but his unicorn pop sadly falling down on the carpeted passenger side floor.

For a second there all Seth could think about was the terrifying thought that his lust addled mind was going to cause their certain deaths. He and Roman dying in the car crash, while Dean would die with a damn lollipop stuck to the back of his throat.

Luckily, after giving himself a fairly strong hit to his chest and coughing for a bit Dean was more than perfectly alright.

“You ok Deano?” Roman asked worriedly as he rubbed the shoulder of his coughing friend.

“I’m ok man…” he croaked, his voice sounded a tiny bit rougher than usual, but Seth couldn’t find it in himself to really complain about that.

“I’m sorry, I-” he tried to apologize, genuinely apologize when he was cut off by Dean raising his hand.

“That motherfucker was an asshole…” Dean said before taking a drink of his water.

“Who?” the Samoan asked.

“Fucking truck driver just cut as off out of nowhere.” He added after his drink.

Seth wondered if Dean knew why he hadn’t realized the truck was even there. He wondered through his obvious enjoyment of his candy, had he noticed the his unflinching gaze towards him. He wondered why Dean would defend him when it was a more than fucking clear that Seth was losing his mind just from being less than five feet away from him.

After a few minutes of calming down, Roman seemed to have accepted that everything was in fact alright and laid back down to continue his sleep. Dean had bent down to pick up his lollipop which he, much like earlier with the burrito wrapper, threw it out the window unceremoniously. Only this time, Seth was more than let go of Dean’s littering ways. He was glad to be rid of the damn thing.

Worriedly, Seth had seen Dean pull one more thing out from his grocery bag. He was starting to question which one had scared him most the shock from the truck nearly plowing them over or the anticipation of what Dean had in store for him.

Innocently, the other wrestler had actually taken out small plastic package that looked a little all too familiar. The thing looking more at home in his old lunch box rather than in a 30 year old wrestler’s rough looking hands.

“That a Hostess Cupcake?” Seth asked with a small smile on his lips.

“Yeah,” Dean smiled back. “Your favorite.”

The Armenian chuckled, remembering some night at some point mentioning loving those cupcakes since he was a kid. It was one of the most mundane things they had shared over drunk ramblings, and he was a little touched that Dean had actually remembered.

Maybe it was the fact that he had almost killed himself and his best friends. Maybe it was the thought of Dean buying him his favorite childhood cupcake. Maybe it was because Seth a bigger softie than wanted to admit, but some deep part in him saw this as a good sign. Maybe even a good enough sign to be messed up olive branch from the other man. Whatever it was, Seth was willing to take it if it meant everything goes back to normal.

“Thanks I-” He was just about to say and take the cake himself, but was somewhat surprised that the other man had opened it himself. “What are you doing?”

“Feedi’n you.” He answered simply like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Naw man.. you don’t have to, I-” he protested.

“Nonsense,” he cut him off again. “You’re driving. I mean you almost killed us a couple of minutes ago. You think I’m willing to risk that again?” he asked logically.

Which made Seth a little suspicious, but he was finally in some sort of good mood and he was not willing to let it go. So kept quiet as he watched the other man peeled off the wrapper off of the cupcake. He was even careful enough to not ruin the icing on top. He did his best to keep his fingertips from getting sticky from the chocolate and vanilla.

“I don’t know man.” He said.

“Aww.. come on Sethie. It’s just a cupcake.” He replied innocently as he held the dessert close to Seth’s mouth.

Smelling that nostalgic scent made Seth feel warm and homey. The cupcake looking so sweet and tasty. Though Seth had been driving close to six hours, something about the cupcake seemed to remind him of what it was like being in the 2nd grade and seeing those cupcakes in his school lunch. Seth was an absolute goner the moment Dean had pulled them out the bag.

While keeping his eyes on the road and his hands a bit steadier than they were earlier, Seth had leaned over to the other man’s side and inched his mouth closer to the sweet dessert. Just when he thought he’d finally get a bite, Dean had teasingly pulled the damn cupcake away missing his mouth at the last second. Him doing that for the first time was funny. The second time was little annoying. The third as a little frustrating, and Seth knew it was beginning to show, which only seemed to make the other man laugh a little more.

“Ok, ok.. fine… here you go.” He said right before he practically shoved half the cupcake in Seth’s open mouth.

“What the fuck man?” his laugh muffled by the cake in his mouth.

Fortunately, Seth hadn’t choked as badly on the cupcake than Dean had on his lollipop but the burst of sweet creaminess in his mouth was still a bit of a delightful surprise. Without looking at his rearview mirror, he was pretty sure he had half of the icing just hanging off his lips and beard. The feeling making him feel childish and carefree.

He took slow and deliberate chews of the dessert in his mouth. That sweet cakey goodness making him feel somewhat giddy. Just as he swallowed, he used the fingers on his right hand to wipe the icing away from his lips. Just as he was about to grab a couple of sheets of tissue paper to clean himself up, Seth felt a strong and confident grip wrapped around his wrist.

Dean’s fingers looked long and almost delicate wrapped around his pulse point. Catching his sight off guard, Seth could not look away from the other man. His expression towards Seth looked hot and calculating, almost predatory. He sat there frozen as Dean looked him straight in his eyes, then looked hungrily at his fingers and without warning took Seth’s icing coated index finger in his mouth almost as far as the lollipop had gone earlier. His pink lips wrapped around the very base of his third knuckle. His soft cheeks hollowed around it, the soft suction around his appendage feeling like it was sucking the air out of his lungs. Every bronze centimeter slowly revealed to slide out of his mouth, now clean off icing and wet from Dean’s spit. Until his mouth moved higher and higher to the very top where he sinfully ran his tongue around his fingertip just before he gave it a shocking bite.

It was that that finally pulled Seth from this trance. He nearly jumped out of his seat, causing him to swerve the damn SUV again. And again causing Roman to jostle, this time a little bit harder against the backseat window.

“What the fuck!” Roman exclaimed. “Oh that is it! Stop the car.” He commanded.

Seth could not make his brain work enough to think of anything else than follow the instruction and stopped the car at the side of the road. His heart hammering under his chest. His blood coursing faster and faster sounding like ocean waves in his ears. Feeling as lost at sea as anyone could be in a car in the middle of Kansas with the devil that was Dean Ambrose.

“Get out!” Roman’s voice boomed. “What?” Seth asked dumbly.

“You heard me. Get out!” he repeated himself. “You clearly can’t drive properly, and I ain’t about to get concussed before we even reach the damn arena. So get out of the car. I’m driving!”

Seth’s jaw dropped at his friends clear agitation. Apologies dying on his tongue as he saw the older man climbed out of the backseat. Seth’s eyes quickly turning towards Dean who just sat there who looked like he hadn’t had the 2nd life threatening event happen to him in less than three hours. It fucking made Seth furious.

But that was suddenly halted by the hard knock on his window. Roman standing on the other side clearly taking the responsibility of driving from the Seth. He gave Dean one more scathing look before he huffed out of the car, pushing his way against the Samoan before he climbed in the backseat himself. Roman, for all his annoyance, climbed on to the driver seat as calmly as he could and checked on everything before he started the car again to continue their journey through the Midwest.

Seth sat there fuming. The last few seconds he had on that driver seat freezing, rewinding, and in constant replay in his head. It was like looking at a car crash, but oddly more devastating at how turned on and confused it had left Seth. He couldn’t believe he was stupid enough to fall for it. To believe Dean would just let go of it so easily. This man was petty and found entertainment in the cheapest of forms. He really shouldn’t have been so surprised that messing him up would not be his favorite form of entertainment.

When he had thought it was over, it was far from it.

As he sat there mentally throwing daggers in the back of the other man’s head, Seth was surprised he actually found himself one more reason to grow even more furious.

His eyes following the motion of Dean’s hand, that hand he had used to hold his wrist, now creeped friendily over to Roman’s side where it comfortingly gave the Samoan’s thigh a comforting and quick squeeze.

That definitely made Seth angry enough to wish he had crashed the car earlier.

[echoes-of-realities]

be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe) - 20/25

* * *

[From the Start] // [Fanfiction] // [ao3]

[Previous Chapter] // [Next Chapter]

Chapter Summary: Brittany knows that something’s going on but no one will tell her anything; Santana’s really good at unpinning hair.

Notes: Tomorrow’s chapter might be a little late again too, but by Saturday I should be back to fairly consistent morning updates until the end of this fic!

Chapter 20: laughter with loved ones we hadn’t seen in a while

///

Santana leads their rehearsals this afternoon, her reflection stretching back infinitely as Brittany admires her from where she’s sprawled on the floor. Santana’s herding party girls around, trying to hold their attention despite the fact that there’s only five days until Christmas at boring rehearsal in street clothes is the last thing on their minds. Freddie sticks close to Santana, never farther than an arm length away, and Santana is mindful of her, smiling down and answering her questions with patience between ushering the other girls around.

It’s adorable, and even though Santana said that Freddie had a crush on the Sugar Plum Fairy, Brittany’s pretty sure she has one on the production stage manager as well.

They’re running the party scene, all of the party boys already herded into the other corner, to improvise some choreography and fill in a couple of kids who came down with the flu overnight, and while Brittany doesn’t technically need to be here yet because her rehearsal with Jake, Her Cavalier, isn’t for another half hour, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch Santana in her element.

She’s patient but firm, ordering children around with no hint of irritation or exasperation despite how much of a nightmare it must be to try and organize just under sixty children; but what Brittany’s really here to see is Santana’s mind in action. While she denies having any sense of artistry, and insists on stage production is more mechanical and repetitive than anything, it’s hard to hide that Santana has a rare sense of foresight and vision about how everything’s going to come together. It’s like she can sense the flow of the music in her bones, position each dancer in her mind before they even step on stage, spot all the problem areas and streamline the choreography, all within a split second.

Brittany loves watching Santana do what she loves, because it’s its own dance in of itself. Santana stands at the front of the room and counts out beats for the rehearsal pianist, Brad, and they’re completely in tune with each other as he takes over beat counting while Santana weaves gracefully among the dancers and quickly repositions them. She rearranges the blocking for dance with all of the party girls and boys to fill the empty spaces from the kids out sick, telling them to try and remember their new positions but promising that they won’t get in trouble if they forget.

It’s nice to watch Santana relaxed and not get caught up inside her head. She had been acting weird at breakfast, now that Brittany thinks about it. Not bad weird, like she was before she told Brittany about her mom’s death, just jittery weird, like someone had filled her shoes with ants. The really telling thing was how often she fidgeted with her fingers, so often that Brittany had reached across the table and teased Santana’s right hand away to hold it herself, causing that adorable breathless look Brittany so adores to flash across her face.

Santana’s jittery like she was on Tuesday as they were walking to her Christmas tree surprise. Brittany can’t imagine how she could have a better surprise than that hidden up her sleeve, but she definitely plans on plying her with pouts later today. She loves surprises, but she also loves knowing what the surprise is basically as soon as possible.

Santana continues to lead the rehearsal, and the only hint that she realizes Brittany is watching her is the soft smile she occasionally gives the mirror in front of her, a hundred versions of Santana reflecting back at Brittany behind her and making it pretty hard for Brittany to stop smiling at all while she watches the rehearsal.

Jake arrives shortly thereafter, and he plops down beside her to start stretching out, chatting comfortably as they wait for Santana to finish ushering the children out before she turns her attention to them. Her eyes are sparkling and she gives Brittany a quick smile before she crosses the room to reach the piano. She quickly gulps down some water from the bottle Brittany brought her, leaning down to talk to Brad and pointing out something on his sheet music. Her ponytail is a little bushy today, evidence that she let her hair air dry instead of blow drying it like usual, and it falls over her shoulder and obstructs Brittany’s view of her face, so she trails her gaze over the clever strength in her arms, the flex of her shoulders, the curve of her back—

“Brittany?”

Brittany jumps and gasps as she glances back at Jake, who’s studying her curiously. “Sorry, what?”

Jake smirks a little, his eyes drifting to Santana before settling back on hers with a look a little too knowing for Brittany’s taste. “I was just asking if you knew what part we were rehearsing.”

“Oh,” Brittany says easily, “Santana wants us to work on the Coda. We’ve been a little out of sync from our first grand-battement to our grand jeté on the last couple shows.”

Jake hums and bends to stretch out his back, crawling his fingers along the floor between his legs. “When’d she tell you?”

“At breakfast this morning,” Brittany answers automatically, only realizing what she’s admitted when Jake’s smirk deepens and burning heat prickles her cheeks. “Not like— Not like that,” she quickly corrects, but Jake just hums smugly, “We just went to a café and— Not because we—”

She groans and drops her head into her hands. She’s never been this inarticulate about this particular subject before. She’s never been shy about sex, not that she’d tell anyone or anything that would listen about her sex life, she’s just always been quietly open but still private about it, and especially with people she’s known for years, like Jake, who’s her dance bro. But even just the slightest teasing from him that just implies her and Santana slept together makes her blush like she’s a teenager listening to her friends gossip about sex at a sleepover for the first time.

A warm hand lands on her shoulder and she peaks out from behind her fingers to find Jake grinning at her. “I was just teasing you,” he says in amusement, “But I knew something was going on with you and Lopez.”

“Well—” Brittany hesitates because yes, but also not fully, “Kinda?”

Jake’s grin widens. “Kinda?” he asks incredulously, “I think you mean definitely, I’ve seen the way you two melt around each other like a bunch of lovestruck fools.”

“I mean,” Brittany says and then trails off because he’s not really wrong. And Santana just proves his point when she chooses that moment to stand up from where she’s been leaning beside Brad and turn to her next two dancers for rehearsal with that wide, uninhibited, dimpled smile directed straight at Brittany.

Brittany’s heart thuds heavily against her chest and she feels a little bit like a cartoon character with hearts in their eyes.

Judging by Jake’s smirk, she has a feeling she probably looks a little bit like one too.

///

At supper Brittany continues to try and force Santana to tell her what’s got her so antsy and jittery, but Santana is so smugly coy about the entire thing—even if Brittany can see the hint of nerves in her eyes—and it’s too adorable for Brittany try and get her to spill too much. If she’s this excited even before Brittany’s seen the surprise, she can’t imagine how adorable she will be once the time comes for her to reveal it.

She continues to teasingly pout and prod though because it’s the principle of the thing, but Santana just smiles and shoves fries in Brittany’s mouth to hush her, ducking her head down to smile shyly at her lap before smirking up at Brittany.

Santana has to run off before her supper break is done to deal with something that comes up and causes her to groan as she takes the phone call before apologizing and starting to stand up. Brittany pouts at her for abandoning her, but Santana leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Brittany’s cheek, jumpstarting Brittany’s heart before she flees out the door.

Brittany stares blankly at her doorway, her skin tingling where Santana’s lips had just been, aching for more even as Brittany giggles a little at Santana’s tactics of fleeing as soon as possible so she doesn’t break and admit to the surprise; she could see it in Santana’s eyes, the way she was almost bursting to tell her whatever it is that she’s hiding, and Brittany grins all through getting ready for thee show

She may be impatient to know, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to ruin whatever the surprise is for Santana since she’s so excited about it.

It also doesn’t mean that she’s ever going to stop thinking that Santana is the most adorable person ever.

Mercedes comes to help her get dressed, and it only takes one look at her smirk for Brittany to realize that Mercedes knows what’s going on too. She stares blankly at Mercedes while she holds open her costume to step into, long enough that Mercedes gives her a weird look and a confused “What?”

“You know,” Brittany says in awe.

“Huh? Know what?”

“About Santana’s— About Santana’s whatever she’s planning.”

“No?” Mercedes tries, and even if Brittany hasn’t lived with her for years and been her best friend for even longer, there’s no way she would have ever believed Mercedes’ obvious lie.

“You’re lying,” Brittany accuses, her stomach fluttering and something giddy filling her up, “You know about Santana’s surprise.”

“Not at all,” Mercedes continues to lie through her teeth.

Brittany stares at Mercedes for a long moment when the five minute call for intermission sounds and urges her to finally step into her costume, steadying herself on Mercedes’ shoulder. “You totally do,” Brittany says.

“Um, nope. Not at all.”

Brittany shakes her head and turns to let Mercedes zip up the back of her costume, her hands ice cold as they brush her back, causing Brittany to squirm. “Am I going to like it?”

Mercedes is silent as she finishes up, smoothing out wrinkles and pinning a loose curl of blonde hair back to Brittany’s head. “Not that I know anything—”

“Course,” Brittany interrupts impatiently, “But if you did?”

Mercedes walks around to face Brittany and quickly touches up her makeup, inspecting their combined work for a long minute before deciding that she’s satisfied. “You’ll love it,” she finally says.

Brittany bounces in place a little, clasping her hands together and trying to beat back the burst of happiness that surges through her. “Score,” is all she manages to say without spontaneously combusting from loving Santana so much.

Mercedes just laughs and shakes her head before ushering Brittany out of the dressing room.

///

Mercedes isn’t in her dressing room when the show’s done, so she just shrugs and struggles to unzip the back of her costume herself. It’s not the first time she’s had to wiggle her way out of her costume without Mercedes, but she still hasn’t quite figured out the best way to find the hidden zipper and tug it down without almost dislocating her shoulder.

Someone knocks at her door just as she’s almost picked the zipper away from its little hidden pocket and it startles her out of her concentration. She sighs and calls for whoever it is to come in, hoping that they’ll be able to help her.

“Hey, Britt,” Santana greets, and somehow she’s even more antsy and jittery than she was earlier.

Brittany grins, because Santana is so, so, so adorable. “Okay seriously,” Brittany chides teasingly, “Did you walk through an anthill this morning?”

Brittany can see as Santana struggles to reign in her excitement, but it only reveals the hint of nerves underneath. “No I’m just— I have a surprise for you.”

Brittany bounces up on her toes with a grin. “I knew it,” she cheers, “I knew you had a surprise. What is it?”

“I can’t—” Santana bites away her smile, playing with her fingers as she steps further into the room, “I mean, I have to take you to it.”

Brittany grins wider as she crosses the room to Santana. “Okay,” she says, “let’s go.” Santana’s giggles stop her and she belatedly realizes she’s still in costume. “Oh yeah,” she grins.

“Come on,” Santana says with a wide smile, “We gotta get out of your costume quickly.”

Brittany couldn’t bite back the smile and suggestive quirk to her brows even if she wanted to, especially not with the way Santana instantly flushes and flusters so much that, as rare as it is, Brittany can actually see the blush pink her cheeks.

“Not like— Not like that— I mean— I just, you— And they’re—” Santana stutters, sounding about the same way Brittany did earlier under Jake’s teasing. “Oh shut up,” she finally finishes lamely.

Brittany holds up her hands innocently, her smirk anything but, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Santana mumbles. When Brittany makes no move to get changed she rolls her eyes and shoves at Brittany’s arm. “You’re the worst,” she whines.

Brittany lets herself sway dramatically from Santana’s gentle shove before they both burst into giggles. “Fine, fine, fine,” she teases, turning and nodding at Santana over her shoulder, “Can you unzip me though? I dunno where Mercedes ran off to.”

Santana doesn’t answer, but her breath hitches audibly, which is answer enough. The backs of Santana’s fingers graze her bare back and familiar warmth curls low in her stomach as she concentrates on remembering how to breath, the seconds stretching longer and longer as Santana fumbles to pick the zipper away from the fabric it’s hidden behind, her knuckles continuing to bump against Brittany’s back with every movement. She finally manages to get a grip on the zipper and carefully tugs it down to the base of Brittany’s spine, her warm touch dampened by Brittany’s low-cut bodysuit but no less electric. Santana’s hand splays against the small of her back for a moment, separated from her bare skin only by the almost nylon-thin bodysuit, and Brittany holds her breath in the charged air around them before Santana jerks back, blushing and stuttering fiercely.

Brittany takes long moments to collect her thoughts and steady her breathing before she glances at Santana over her shoulder, whatever excuses or apologies that were on Santana’s lips dying instantly. “Thanks,” she whispers. Santana’s jaw snaps closed and she nods dumbly. “I still gotta ice my feet no matter how urgent your surprise is,” Brittany manages, “Do you think you could unpin my hair while I do that? After I change? It’ll go faster if you do it ‘cause I can’t see all the bobby pins.” Santana nods wordlessly and stares after Brittany as she heads to the corner of her dressing room where her costume usually hangs, jolting and spinning on her heel as soon as Brittany starts to slide her arms out of the sleeves.

Brittany changes quicker than she ever has before; the tension in the air is something she is kind of already addicted to, but this isn’t the time or the place so she beats back her arousal and slips into a loose hoodie and sweats. “Okay,” she calls to Santana, a little surprised at how raspy her voice is when it comes out. She clears her throat and tries again. “Okay, I’m decent.”

Santana’s shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath before she turns back around, and Brittany tries to control the heat buzzing throughout her body at the look in Santana’s eyes. Mercedes was in her room at some point before the end of the show, because the bucket of ice is already there and waiting as Brittany sinks down on the couch and draws her feet up to peel the tape off her toes. The couch dips beside her as Santana kneels down on the cushions, her knees pressing to Brittany’s thigh and hip as she sits back on her heels. Brittany shoots her a quick grin as she tosses the tape onto the coffee table and sinks her feet into the bucket of ice.

Santana giggles at the hiss Brittany lets out, the cold still a complete shock to her system no matter how many time’s she’s done this. Brittany pouts in mock hurt and Santana just grins at her, urging Brittany to duck forward a bit so she can reach her head easier.

Despite the cold coursing through her body, her insides warm and buzz at how nice Santana’s fingers feel probing gently at her scalp, easing bobby pins out of her hair with all the care in the world. Brittany sighs and softens under Santana’s ministrations, humming and shaking her head when Santana whispers to ask if she’s hurting her. She’s pretty sure Santana’s fingers couldn’t ever feel better than they do right now, but then then soften even more as strands of Brittany’s hair start to fall around her shoulders, curly from being pinned up so long, and Santana gets distracted from tugging out bobby pins by running her fingers through the freed strands and gently untangling knots as she comes across them.

“That feels so nice,” Brittany hums.

Santana giggles and it bumps the inside of her bicep against Brittany’s nose. Brittany purses her lips into a soft kiss against Santana’s skin, causing her hands to still in blonde hair for a moment before she seemingly regains her ability to function. Brittany grins smugly as Santana shakes her head, and Brittany doesn’t need to see her face to know Santana’s rolling her eyes, that lopsided smile that tries to be annoyed but is really just fond playing on her lips.

Once Brittany’s teeth start chattering she finally pulls her feet out and dries them off with the towel on the coffee table, tugging thick socks on as Santana runs her fingers through Brittany’s hair a couple more times to ensure all the bobby pins are out; probably a couple more times than necessary, but Brittany’s definitely not complaining.

As soon as Brittany stands up Santana seems to snap back into the jittery-antsy-nervous place she’s been all day as she quickly ushers Brittany into her sneakers and out the door. Brittany chuckles and tucks her phone and wallet and keys into the front pocket of her hoodie as she’s pushed down the hallway, only just realizing that she’s kind of missing something important, especially for this time of year.

“Wait, my jacket.”

“Mercedes has it,” Santana answers automatically, and Brittany frowns a little because that seems weird, but Santana just tugs on her arm from where their fingers are tangled. It all seems part of some greater thing Santana has planned, so Brittany just shrugs and lets herself be pulled along for the ride.

They wind their way through the theatre, dodging company and crew members alike, until Santana pulls her back to where all the offices and conference rooms are located. Brittany scans the hallway looking for some indication of what’s about to happen, but finds none other than Santana getting even more fidgety as they pass closed doors and dark windows.

“Hey,” Brittany calls softly as they slow outside of one of the rooms, “Don’t worry so much. I’m going to love whatever it is because it’s from you, and you’ve obviously put so much thought into this.”

Santana relaxes but the jittery energy doesn’t leave her. “I’m not really nervous,” she explains with a small smile, “Just really excited.” She takes a deep breath and steps across the hallway to a door, the only room with its lights on, peaking out through the window where the blinds don’t quite reach, Brittany’s fingers falling away from hers. She rests her hand on the doorknob and gives Brittany one more smile before opening the door. “Go on,” she urges softly, stepping back to allow Brittany into the room.

The first thing Brittany sees is the bouquet of flowers, a dozen roses in a bright shade of yellow, filling the room with their sweet scent

The second thing Brittany sees is that it’s her dad is holding the bouquet of flowers.

Brittany blinks and just stares at him for a long moment, everything around her turning hazy and surreal at the edges, like the best dream in the world. But then her dad is setting the flowers on his chair as he stands up and before she realizes it she’s across the room and in her family’s arms, sobbing as she buries herself in an embrace she hasn’t felt in far more years than she ever wants to count. Her sister catches her, and then her dad and mom fold around them. She can’t believe that they’re actually here because it seems so impossible and miraculous, so she just clutches them tighter. Her mom’s face is wet against the side of her neck and her dad is reaching up to stroke her hair back from her face and her sister’s arms are wound tight around her waist and she still feels like she’s dreaming, like all this might go away if she opens her eyes so she just tightens her arms around her family in case she wakes up in her bed all alone.

Her mom’s murmuring something against her temple and her dad is mumbling something against her shoulder and her sister is teasing them all for being so sappy even while she cries too and it’s too much and not enough all at once.

“How did you get here?” Brittany finally manages to mumble into her mom’s shoulder, once her sobbing has subsided into tiny whimpers.

She can feel her mom smile against her temple, the familiar quirk of lips shifting against her hair as her mom looks over her shoulder. “Well, your friend Santana had an idea yesterday,” her mom says softly, “To give our family the greatest gift of all.”

Brittany’s tears start up again as she raises her head from her mom’s comforting warmth and glances behind her to find Santana hovering awkward in the doorway. When she meets Brittany’s gaze her fidgeting stills and she waves her hand in a dorky wave, and Brittany didn’t even know it was possible to love one person so much. She glances at her family, but they nod and urge her to go on before the question can even form in her mind. She slowly untangles herself from their embrace—a gloup hug, her sister used to say back when she was about three feet shorter and still had a bit of an adorable toddler lisp—and crosses the room to Santana, who stills her fidgeting with every step Brittany takes.

As soon as Brittany reaches her, she wraps her arms around Santana and tugs them so close together that there’s barely room to breath, no space separating them even a fraction, Santana’s arms around her neck and her own arms tugging Santana into her body by the small of her back; Santana nuzzles into her neck and Brittany takes a deep breathe and whatever words were on her tongue fade away as their ribs lock together like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

Every thought fades except for the simplest words, and the most true, as she turns her head to find Santana’s ear, her nose bending it forwards for a moment before it flops back. “Thank you,” she breathes, her breath tickling Santana’s hair against their cheeks.

Santana turns her head a little until her chin tucks itself into the hinge between Brittany’s shoulder and neck, where it settles into the space as if Brittany’s body was sculpted for her to fit right there. “You’re welcome,” she whispers, her lips brushing Brittany’s neck.

Brittany sighs into her embrace and feels so wonderfully full of love and happiness that she can’t imagine ever feeling better than she does right now, with her family behind her and her future right in front of her.

[eternallyyoungjustice]

Wherever the Winds Take You: Chapter 2

Author’s note:

Hey hey hey you beautiful people. Second chapter within the same month as the first, that’s a surprise.

So just so you all know, as per usual I’m super busy (school, work, extra-curriculars, social life, getting a semi-decent amount of sleep) however, as I’ve recently been loving this motivation train for writing this fic, I’m going to TRY to put a chapter out every 2 weeks. I would prefer to do more, but I only have a couple hours a day and I want to not only make each of these chapters good quality, but I also want to make them fairly long and I’m trying to edit them! So yea, bi-weekly seems like the best course of action. 

Anyways, enough with me. Thank you for reading WTWTY chapter 2, I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC, Young Justice and it’s places, stories, and characters all belong to DC Comics and the brilliant minds who created them.

Paris, France

April 16, 2008

2:46 CEST

The hospital was just like any other; blank white walls, the smell of disinfectant, the faint beeping of a heart monitor in the distance. Signs written in French were everywhere; showing directions, giving your regular everyday health registrations, maybe the occasional motivational poster. There was one area of the hospital however, that wasn't your typical everyday sight.

Standing by a window, looking in but trying to be stealthy about it, stood three adults. One, a dark-cloaked man whose cowl showed off two points shaped like bat-ears. Second, a woman with blonde hair wearing a leather jacket, a corset, and a pair of fishnet tights. Third, a male-humanoid robot with a bright red exterior, blue and gold cape, and a gold 'T’ shape on his chest. Had it not been nighttime, the three adults knew it wouldn't be safe for them where they were. But as it was nearly three in the morning, there was no danger for them in the hospital.

In the window in which they peeked, there was a young girl. Pale with freckles dusting her nose, big blue eyes, round cheeks, and long, light brown hair that fell in a messy, wavy, mess over her shoulders. She was awake, but extremely still. The only sign that she was even alive was the fact that she was sitting up on her own, her legs pulled up to her chest, and the tears that rolled down her cheeks. With her sat an older man in his mid-forties with greying brown hair, who sat in the chair beside the bed with his hand on the girl's back and a look of pained empathy on his face. There were also two boys, one older, and one younger than the girl.

The younger sat on the foot of the girl's bed, tears of his own flowing down as his hand lay on the girl's leg; and the older held a frown on his face as he leaned against the wall opposite the door, far away from the rest of the people.

“Are you sure this is the best time to do this?” The woman of the trio of adults asked. “She only just woke up and got the news.”

“The sooner we do, the better.” The cloaked man replied.

“She’s been through so much in just a few hours though.” The woman reasoned. “We could scare her off, or overwhelm her.”

“The emotions she feels now for what she's done are a good motivator to learn how to avoid it in the future. And the girl is on the spectrum, I have no doubt she's used to being overwhelmed.” The man in black countered.

Frustrated, the woman let out a deep sigh and rolled her eyes. She knew she ought to have been used to her co-worker’s coldness by now, but it still amazed her at times like this.

“What's your say Red?” The blonde asked, looking up at her robotic comrade. “This is all your call, not to mention your idea.”

The robot was silent for a moment, as if lost in thought, but then replied.

“Batman is correct.” The red robot answered. “Raw emotions act as human's main motivators, it would be the most logical conclusion to ask now while the events of today are fresh. However, it would be foolish to go in without any thought to her emotional state. We should act thoughtfully and with care.”

“Leave it to you two to act like this is some sort of battle plan.” The woman muttered under her breath, but then brushed some hair out of her face before walking towards the door, leading the trio into the room. The moment the three heroes walked into the hospital room, every single one of its inhabitants looked up at them.

“Madam Canary, Monsieurs Batman and…” The older man in the room greeted, addressing the heroes but falling short on the name of the robotic individual he did not know.

“So you’ve finally decided to stop creepily watching from outside like stalkers?” The oldest of the children asked, his shoulders being pushed back to appear bigger.

The two men's French accents were thick, but their English was still clear.

“Calvin, watch your manners.” The oldest of the family stated strictly to the boy before standing and addressing the three strangers. “I apologize for my son, he can be quite protective.”

“It’s no problem, Monsieur Leduc, we understand completely.” The blonde woman, Canary, said. “We...understand that this can’t be an easy time for any of you.”

“Markus is fine, Mademoiselle Canary.” The greying man said with a small smile. “And please don’t worry about us, we just appreciate the help you three have shown in this...incident.”

“Why are you still here?” The youngest of the boys asked, sitting so his body shielded the girl’s. “She’s awake and physically well, she hasn’t started another storm since she awoke.”

“Are you going to arrest her for something she had no control over?” The older boy asked. The girl’s body curled in tighter around itself. “If you try to take her away from us, you should know our lawyer’s on his way.”

“We’re not taking her away. But I’m glad you brought up control.” Canary explained, she turned to motion to her robotic coworker. “This is Red Tornado, another member of the Justice League.

I don’t believe any of you got the chance to officially meet during the debacle.”

“You’re...the one that flew with a tornado around your waist.” The girl spoke quietly. “You helped return the winds back to their normal paths after…” her voice fell away.

“Not a very creative name.” The oldest boy remarked.

“My name was given to me by my creator.” Red Tornado explained, before facing the small girl.

“But yes, I hold the ability to control the air around me. Much like yourself.”

“Except I can’t control the Winds.” The girl said, frowning. “They controlled me. I created a level 3 tornado while I was in a coma, completely unaware. Or at least...that’s what everyone keeps telling me.”

“For now you may have no control over your abilities, but that’s why we’re here.” Canary said.

“Red Tornado, and the rest of us, have discussed the possibility of him taking Evangelina on as a protege.” The cloaked man, Batman, said bluntly.

“Protege?” The girl and her father asked in surprise.

“I would be willing to...take her under my wing, in a sense. I could teach her how to use her new-found abilities, train her to control and use them, make sure an accident of this nature doesn’t happen again.” Red Tornado explained.

“And I would be happy to help with the emotional aspect.” Black Canary added. “Powers are often strongly connected to emotions and mental states, and as my colleague...has some lack of experience with that aspect, it would be my pleasure to use my psychological background to assist in and way.”

“So you’d be brainwashing her into becoming another one of your ‘sidekicks’ like we see on the news? Put her in danger and make her fight your battles for you? She’s only 14!” The eldest brother protested, taking a step towards the heroes.

“Calvin.” Lina called, her voice quiet in nature but it cut through the room like a dagger. Her eyes were so full of confusion and grief that just by looking at them, her family automatically were flooded with a sense of guilt and empathy. It was probably because of this that the three men let the young girl speak out.

As she turned to the heroes, she scanned all three of them carefully. As if looking for something, but nobody knew for what.

“If I were to become your protege,” Lina started, “I would gain control over....all of this, right?

I wouldn’t ever...do that again?”

Canary saw her cloaked colleague shoot her a sly look and she felt a strong wave of annoyance at the man.

“That is the idea.” Red Tornado replied.

“From your report, you have a very different type of connection to, the Winds, as you called it.

But we’d certainly work on ensuring that you don’t lose control again.” Lina watched the robotic man carefully.

“You mean you’ll try to make sure I don’t end up creating a major natural disaster and end up causing hundreds of dollars in property damage, endangering the lives in the area, again.” Lina spoke with a strict tone, full of self-loathing.

“That is the idea.” Red Tornado repeated.

“You all should know that you won’t have to worry about the property damage.” Batman said, speaking for the first time since entering the room. “Wayne Enterprises has offered to take care of it.”

“The American company? Why?” Leo asked, frowning.

He never got a response.

“You should know, before we even consider this in any way-” Markus spoke up, “-my daughter, she...has some special needs…”

“Papa!” Lina’s head whipped around, her face growing pink.

“We’re already aware of your...learning disability.” Canary informed Lina, stepping closer to her.

At the term ‘disability’, the younger woman tensed and fidgeted with a strand of her hair. “But, fortunately, Wayne Enterprises has come through again.”

“What do you mean? Came through how?” Lina asked.

“Wayne Enterprises has been testing a new product in their health and medicine division.

It’s a type of autism medication that works to completely inhibit all symptoms and conditions for a few hours. It’s experimental, but completely tested and 100% safe.” Canary explained.

“You’ll have to talk about it with your doctors before you are even handed a dosage, and we don’t suggest using it until you’re well enough, but after you've gotten the 'okay’ you're going to have to speak with the head scientist about any side effects and limitations, but-””So not only are you trying to brainwash her into becoming one of your...child lackies, but you’re putting experimental chemicals filled with God knows what into her body?”

Calvin’s interjection was full of hostility as he stepped closer to the trio of heroes.

“We understand your concern, but we assure you-””Oh don’t give me that formal, robotic, bullsh-”

“I’ll do it.”

The whole room froze as, once again, Lina’s voice cut through the noise. She was looking at the heroes, her eyes dancing between Black Canary and the robot.

“You’ll...what?” Calvin guffawed.

Lina looked up, making direct eye contact. “You say you’ll teach me to control my...powers so this will never happen again? I’ll do it.” Lina explained. “I’m not too sure about this medicine, but I’ll consider it once I get an unbiased medical professional's opinion on it. But if you seriously think that you can teach me to control the Winds, well, I don’t really see a good alternative.”

“Lina, mon chou-”“It's my decision.” Lina said strictly, the pain in her eyes morphing into determination. Once a moment had passed, Markus sat back down.

After a quick beat, Red Tornado walked up over to Lina’s bed. Looking up at him, the French girl came to realize just how much bigger he was in comparison to herself. But then, the robot extended his hand. Smiling slightly, Lina took it and shook it firmly.

“I believe the proper statement to make here is 'Welcome aboard’.” Red Tornado said, and Lina could have sworn she heard a happy tone in his robotic voice.

Gotham City

April 16, 2008

16:00 EST

As Bruce Wayne sat at his desk, the desk that practically ruled over Gotham City, he let his mind wander. This was not an unusual occurrence for him, for either of his personas. Anyone who knew either the man in the suit, or the man in the cowl, knew that if Bruce Wayne ever got a far away look in his eye then he was already on a whole other planet. This however, didn't seem to stop the twelve year old boy in his office from chatting on in front of him.

“And then, ooh, and then the best part happens. The guy comes at me, all ‘oh you darn brat I'm going to kill you’ and firing at will, but he completely missed me! Stormtrooper-level missed me!

So once the guy's out of bullets, which takes like five seconds by the way, I-” the boy lets out a sound effect as he backflip-kicks and then lands perfectly back into a crouching position, “-the gun out of his hand and then-”he does another flip, this time going forwards, and then does a low spin-kick, “-knock him off his feet, just like you told me Bruce! Oh my god the face me made when he fell!”

The raven-haired boy looked over at the older man behind the desk, only to notice the far away look in his eyes and the slight frown on his face. The enthusiasm in the young boy leaks out as he realizes he's been talking to himself the whole time, before he stands up straight and fixes the tie of his school uniform.

“So...how'd that mission you went on last night go?” The boy asks, slowly stepping closer to Bruce. The man finally manages to snap out of his trance and focuses in on the twelve year old. “Freak tornado in Paris, right? You were out pretty late because of it.”

“Yes.” Bruce hums. “It went fine.”

After a long moment of silence, the boy's shoulders slag down as he realizes he's not going to get much more out of his guardian.

“I...think I'm going to go down to the cafeteria and get a snack, do you want anything?” The raven-haired boy asks as he begins to take a step towards the office door.

“Coffee please, black.” Bruce grunts.

“Black.” The boy chuckles. “What a surprise.” But just as he's about to leave through the door, it swings open. A tall man with slicked-back hair and a white lab coat steps in, carrying a small metal box with the famous 'W’ Wayne Enterprises insignia engraved on it.

“Oh, so sorry Mr. Grayson.” The man said, quickly standing to the side.

“No problem.” The boy shrugs, and motions for the man to pass him. The man nods and does so.

“Doctor Leon.” Bruce greets, standing up and walking around the desk. “I'm assuming this is the package I asked for?”

“Yes sir.” The doctor replied. “14 perfected doses of the newest updated serum.”

“Good, thank you very much.” Bruce replied, and lifted the lid off the box to reveal its content.

The syringes were small, sized for convenience, and full of a translucent blue liquid. As the boy strolled over, he looked high to take a peek at the box's contents. Bruce allowed this for only a moment before closing the box again.

“And you're sure this batch was the one that successfully went through human trials?” Bruce asked.

“Absolutely sir.” Leon nodded. “We just ran the last tests late last night so everything was already out and ready to be copied. Every single trial has proved to be a success thus far, which is why it was marked to be put on the market this time next year.”

“Yes…” Bruce hummed, looking down at the box. The far away look returned again, but this time only for a moment.

“Well, thank you again Doctor.”

“Not a problem at all Mr. Wayne.” Leon nodded, and then turned to walk out. “Have a good evening sir, Mr. Grayson.”

The moment the door shut behind Leon, the twelve year old sighed. “Being called 'Mr. Grayson’ is so...weird. I kind of wish people would just call me Dick, or even Richard.” The boy quickly turned his attention back to the box in Bruce's hands. “So, what's that? Who's it for?”

“Medical Treatment Serum 219, strand 9.4, version 8.” Bruce grunted. It only took Dick a moment before it clicked.

“The new autism inhibiting meds?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you need 14 doses of it?”

“It's not for me.” Bruce replied, placing the box on his desk. “And no, I'm not saying who it is for.

You'll meet them soon enough.”

Dick's eyes lit up and grew twice their size.

“I'll meet them soon enough? Oh come on! Now you have to tell me!”

[velkynkarma]

April Fool's Prompt: would you ever write smol!Slav

A smol request? Only for you, onions. Only for you. (For the 2018 April Fools Prompt Day)

———

There’s an enormous, thundering crash from the adjacent room, followed by a high-pitched squeal of surprise. Shiro groans as he looks around, and sure enough, his charge has disappeared again.

But not for long. Five ticks later, something comes skittering out of the room on his right, surprisingly fast for its small size. The slinky creature scuttles on multiple legs and makes a beeline straight for Shiro’s foot.

In any other situation Shiro might think it was some sort of giant alien space-bug, and reacted accordingly. He knows better now, though. He resigns himself to his fate as the creature reaches his boot, claws its way up his pant-leg like a particularly insistent kitten, slithers across his back, and comes to rest curled around his neck.

“What did you do?” Shiro asks sternly, once Slav is safely situated over his shoulders again.

“I didn’t!” Slav—a much, much tinier Slav—squeaks in a much more high pitched voice than usual. “It fell. It wasn’t safe at all.”

Shiro sighs in exasperation. They still have no idea why Slav appears to have gotten so tiny, or so much younger. Coran says Slav certainly looks like a young bytor, and not just an adult that was shrunk. Based on his behavior he acts a lot younger, too.

But nobody knows how it happened. The Olkari reported heading for Slav’s lab to check in on the status of a project, only to find the engineer much, much smaller, and cowering away in the corner. He’d howled whenever any of the Olkari came near him, and the paladins—more specifically, Shiro—had been called in to fish him out.

The Olkari are working with Coran, Hunk and Pidge to try and reverse-engineer the instruments in Slav’s lab to figure out what happened. But in the meantime, they—more specifically Shiro, once again—are stuck with a much younger Slav until the situation can be remedied.

And if Slav was a handful as an adult, he’s nearly impossible as a child.

Shiro sighs. “What were you doing to make it fall?” he clarifies, as he pokes his head into the room. It’s one of the project rooms, where Pidge and Hunk frequently fiddle around in their spare time for useful enhancements, or just for fun. Some sort of device is now tipped over on its side on the floor, and parts are scattered everywhere. He winces despite himself. They aren’t going to be happy about that.

Slav hesitates. Shiro can feel him trembling, just slightly, against his neck. “I just wanted to see how it worked,” he whines, after a moment. “I could improve it. I bet it’s not efficient.”

That’s the problem with a younger Slav, really. Even young as he is, it’s clear his intelligence is still through the roof, and his vocabulary and basic understanding of science are exceptional. Unlike his adult counterpart, he’s still got the wildly curious nature of a child, and an inherent desire to get into and take apart absolutely everything—only to inevitably scare himself when it goes wrong.

“That’s not for you to take apart,” Shiro scolds. “You need to ask, first.”

“I could make it better, though,” Slav insists, stubbornly.

“Well, we’re not going to do that without asking,” Shiro says. “But you can talk to Pidge and Hunk later about your, uh…improvements. Maybe they’ll listen.”

He steps forward to at least clean up the mess and put the device upright again. But the moment he does, little Slav screeches directly in his ear, and digs all four sets of tiny hands into Shiro’s neck. He’s never been so grateful for his undercut, or he’s sure Slav would be pulling at fistfuls of hair. “No! Don’t go near it! It’s dangerous!”

“Ow! Stop that!” Shiro reaches around by feel and manages to find the scruff of Slav’s neck, plucking him—carefully, with his left hand—from his shoulder. Little Slav almost automatically curls like a pillbug, stubby little tail twirling into his multiple arms. “We talked about that. That’s not nice.”

Little Slav only looks the tiniest bit contrite. Most of him seems more concerned with checking how close to the device they are. “It fell! It tried to kill me! That means it’s dangerous. There’s a chance that it could still be dangerous!”

Little Slav hasn’t quite graduated to estimating by percentages exactly what the danger level is, nor has he rambled about realities—those must be things that he’ll develop later—but he is still a nervous little thing, when his excitement and curiosity don’t get the better of him. Shiro sighs. “Okay. Fine. We’ll leave it for now. But you ask first, next time, got it?”

Slav nods.

Shiro doesn’t expect much to come of it. The next time a distraction comes up, this will happen all over again. They haven’t even had Slav for a full quintent yet and he’s already gotten into more trouble than Shiro thought possible.

He’s already completely disassembled one of Coran’s handheld monitors, a holopad, the spare controller for the Mercury Gameflux II, and the food goo machine. The last had resulted in a complete mess in the kitchen, but when Slav had learned a bath was involved—in water—he’d fled into the Castle’s ventilation system. Then he’d gotten stuck, and squealed until even the mice had complained, and Pidge had been forced to crawl into the ducts to find him and haul him out. Figuring out how to clean the dust and the food goo off of him without submerging him in a tub (or, at his size, a big bowl) of water had been a veritable nightmare, and even cleaning him up with a wet facecloth had resulted in him screeching about everyone trying to drown him for the duration.

Keeping him still would be ideal, but activities that would keep most children occupied for hours don’t seem to interest him. Lance’s idea of hide and seek had turned out to be terrible—Slav had squeezed himself into a cabinet of tools, gotten stuck, and screamed bloody murder until Allura had found the codes to let him out.

“At least he was easy to find?” Lance offers sheepishly. But while not wrong, he’s banned from further babysitting. Which is a pity, because in any other situation, it would be easy to foist off most kids on Lance.

Movies don’t work either. Slav is indifferent to most cartoons, having little interest in animated animals from a planet he doesn’t know anything about, and bored with the songs characters burst into every twenty minutes. When they try other classics, he complains.

“The science is fundamentally unsound,” he squeaks, in the middle of Star Wars. “That doesn’t make sense. Hover technology doesn’t work that way!” He whines and complains through all of it, fidgeting incessantly, until Shiro finally gives up on that route—mostly to save Slav before somebody murders him for insulting a classic.

Coloring works, sort of. They find crayon equivalents in the Castle of Lions, and settle Slav down at a table to play. The crayons are half as big as he is, and take three sets of arms for him to use, but he draws happily, for a little while at least. Until Shiro eventually realizes it’s not a drawing of his favorite animals or people he likes or anything else kids normally draw. Instead it’s a surprisingly technical document detailing the schematics of some sort of machine, measured and labeled in meticulously precise detail.

“I think it would actually work,” Hunk says, bemused, when he sees the drawing. “Although I…don’t actually know what it does.”

“Should we put it on the refrigerator?” Lance asks, scratching his head.

But not even drawing keeps little Slav’s attention for long, and eventually he gets antsy. And starts disappearing on them, when his curiosity gets the better of him—only to come running shortly thereafter, when he realizes whatever he found is actually pretty scary. And considering how tiny he is compared to everything on the Castle of Lions, most things turn out to be pretty scary.

At least Shiro can sort of keep track of him. He’s not sure Slav actually remembers him from Beta Traz, but he does seem to trust Shiro over the others. More importantly, Shiro is the tallest person there. And when Slav gets scared, he climbs the tallest thing, where he’s safe. Which, most of the time, is Shiro, so he’s fairly easy to keep track of.

(A few times it’s not Shiro. It’s shelves, or crates, or on one occasion, one of the Lions. Once he gets up, he can’t get down, not unlike a kitten, and he wails until someone comes to get him down. Shiro’s almost glad it’s him most of the time; it saves everyone the hassle).

Like now. With a sigh, Shiro settles Slav back down on his shoulder, where the little engineer immediately sidles up to his neck again and curls around it as much he’s able. Adult Slav is long enough to curl over Shiro’s shoulders and around his torso like a python, but little Slav can’t even wrap fully around his neck from tip to tail. He’s still shaking a little, which guarantees he’ll stick with Shiro for at least ten doboshes or so. Until he forgets why he was scared and gets distracted, anyway.

Shiro needs to figure out something to keep him from getting distracted. Slav’s so small—annoying as he is, quite a few things on the ship could hurt him, and at some point he’s going to get himself into real trouble. “What do you want to do instead of that?” he asks, as he leaves the project room and closes the door behind him.

(A closed door won’t do all that much, unfortunately, not if Slav really wants to get in. He can squeeze into far too many place for his own good. But Shiro needs to at least make an effort).

“Experiments,” Slav says promptly.

Shiro blinks. “Experiments?”

“For science,” Slav says, and his high pitched little voice seems to get higher with excitement. “You can do all kinds of things with science. But you have to experiment to figure out how to do them.”

“What kind of experiments?” Shiro asks, cautiously.

“Building things!” Slav says. He slithers across to Shiro’s other shoulder in excitement. “Like a machine that can make you invisible. Or like your robot arm!”

Shiro rolls his eyes. Slav’s fascination with his arm has continued even as a child, although Shiro has to admit it probably is pretty cool from a kid’s perspective…provided they aren’t trying to pull it apart to see how it works. Which little Slav had already tried. Twice.

But this could be something he could work with. “Or the thing you drew earlier? What would you need to build things like that?”

“Yes!” Slav rattles off a number of tools and parts excitedly. It doesn’t sound terribly complex, and it might keep him occupied for a little while. Shiro considers, but eventually detours to a different project room. Slav seems curious and seriously ready to clamber down off of Shiro’s shoulders to explore, until a machine in the far corner makes a loud bang, and he presses close to Shiro’s neck again with a screech of surprise.

“It’s okay,” Shiro promises. “And we won’t stay. Just getting your, uh, supplies for your experiment, and then we can go back to the lounge. How does that sound?”

“Acceptable,” little Slav says. “But hurry. There’s a high chance that things get more scary the more we’re here.”

Shiro doesn’t waste any time, mostly because Slav is apt to forget why he’s scared if they stick around long enough for him to get used to the noise, and then Shiro will have to find him again. He grabs a hover tray and a box, and fills it full of tools, screws, interlocking metal pieces, and other bits and bobs when Slav points and says, “That, too!” Once he’s done, he takes the whole mess and pulls it back to the lounge, where he dumps it carefully over a table.

“There,” Shiro says. “Is that enough?”

“Yes!” Slav says. He sounds positively delighted, and swarms down Shiro’s arm like an excitable ferret, diving into the mess of parts. Shiro’s never seen his adult counterpart seem so enthusiastic. Even building the things he’s known for, like his gravity generator, seemed to bring  a sense of accomplishment, but never this level of outright wonder. It’s almost endearing—if one can forget Slav’s numerous eccentricities and bad habits.

Shiro is surprised to find his last-ditch effort actually works. Slav seems enormously content working on…whatever it is he’s working on…screwing things together, dragging things around, measuring and reorganizing. On occasion he’ll demand Shiro’s assistance with a wrench that’s too big for him, or instruct Shiro to weld two pieces together with his ‘robot arm,’ which mostly consists of pinching two bits of metal together and lighting up for a few seconds. He’s a bossy little taskmaster, but it’s still infinitely preferable to him disappearing, or getting himself stuck somewhere and screeching until somebody gives him attention.

In the end, two and a half vargas later, he’s built a…a something. Shiro’s not really sure what it is. It resembles the thing Slav had drawn, but like Hunk said, it doesn’t appear to have any practical purpose. It has a few moving parts that click and hum in a not unpleasant way, and it’s maybe as long as Shiro’s forearm, but that’s about all that can be said for it.

Slav seems pleased with his work, though. He preens as he crawls all over it, and gives Shiro a superior look. “It’s complete!” he says excitedly. “My experiment is a success.”

“It’s…very nice,” Shiro says, for lack of anything else to say.

“Because I made it,” Slav says, with his usual lack of tact, only amplified by his much younger age. Then he yawns. Apparently having worn himself out with all his science…ing…he scuttles over to Shiro’s Galra hand on the table, pushes it over so that it faces upward, and curls up in the palm.

“Wait,” Shiro says, “that’s not—“

But it’s useless. Little Slav, worn out by his very exciting day, is already fast asleep in Shiro’s hand.

“That can’t even be comfortable,” Shiro says, mildly exasperated. His hand is metal. Surely Slav would be more comfortable on something softer.

But little Slav seems content enough where he is. Two sets of hands are wrapped around Shiro’s metal thumb, not unlike a child hugging a stuffed animal close. The rest of his little hands curl close to his body. He’s just slightly too big for Shiro’s hand, and his tail and back legs flop awkwardly between Shiro’s other fingers.

It doesn’t look comfortable, but Slav is already snoring, and Shiro doesn’t want to risk waking him now. Little Slav is a terror by himself. A cranky little Slav would be infinitely worse. He supposes Slav can stay put, for now.

…Although that means Shiro is also stuck where he is. If he moves, Slav will surely wake.

He sighs. It’s going to be a long quintent.

[twilightsunclan-fr]

Sleeping Arraignments 

Ophrys had balked the first time Midnight had asked.

He was Dai’s Handler that was true. He looked after and supervised the little ball of maniac energy during working hours. During working hours. He didn’t have anything against Dai per se. He just didn’t see the reason.

“He was alone for years before.” Ophrys refused to think of how his voice edged toward whiny teenager. He was in his late twenties for crying out loud. “I don’t see what’s so special about this time.”

“It’s his first time since joining us that I will be gone.” Midnight fixed Ophrys with a deep stare. He fought the urge to fidget. “While Dai has been alone for most of his life, I don’t think he realized how lonely he was.” “You’re worried now he will.” Midnight nodded, her dark solemn eyes not even blinking. “And you want him to move in with me while you’re gone.”

“If you would be so gracious.” The way she said it sounded like a threat of violence if he didn’t agree.

So Ophrys did.

And it wound up being...rather okay. Good even. The second time Midnight asked he didn’t even hesitate and she hadn’t had to say a word the third time.

Now though, Ophrys was dating and had mostly moved in with Ivory. He wasn’t quite sure how Ivory would react now that Midnight was vanishing on a two week mission, leaving Dai by himself. He was fairly certain that asking Ivory would be a solid first step.

“Love,” He started, it was always best to approach Ivory with requests in the evening, preferably when he was doing laundry. The smell of detergent and fabric softener relaxed him. Mostly because for all of Ivory’s wild temperament and actions, he was, dare Ophrys say it? Domestic to a fault.

“Uh-huh?” Ivory barely spared him a glance, folding a small pair of jeans with a pink embroidered butterfly on the hem.

“Midnight has to leave on a trip for work, a long trip.” Ivory patted the folded jeans into a pile of Bean’s other pants and picked up a canary yellow t-shirt with lemonade pink stripes on the sleeves. Bean’s fondness for the brightest possible colors always made Ophrys internally cringe with the thought better target better target. “She’s worried about leaving Dai by himself.”

“Hmmm…” Ivory hummed, plopping the neatly folded t-shirt onto another pile. “She’s left him alone before hasn’t she?”

“Actually she hasn’t.” Ophrys said with a sigh.

“She hasn’t?” Ivory looked at him, brow furrowed and god, he looked so adorable confused like that. “They’ve been dating for what? Two years?”

“Three.”

“She’s had to take trips before.” Ophrys nodded.

“She has and I’ve always let Dai stay with me while she’s gone.” Ivory blinked.

“So I don’t see how this is a-” Ophrys loved him, but sometimes Ivory was an idiot.

“Ivory, I live with you now.” Ivory blinked again and then slammed his fist into his open palm.

“Oooooooh. You want to know if I’d be okay with Dai staying here. With us.” He made a huge circle gesture with his arm. “Yeah, that’d be fine. Bean likes him and he gets her to sit still and do her homework for more then five minutes at a time.” That….hadn’t been what Ophrys was asking. He’d just been trying to tell Ivory he wouldn’t be around after six for the next two weeks. But this, he felt his heart swell when Ivory turned back to the laundry humming under his breath. It hadn’t even been a thought for Ivory to offer his home for Dai to stay in.

There was, however, one last hurdle.

“One more thing Love.” Ivory turned back to him, eyebrows raised in question, his hands automatically folding another pair of jeans. “Dai is...affectionate.”

“I know.” Ivory’s lips quirked a little.

“Very tactile.” Ophrys tried again. It was very hard for him to correctly articulate these things.

“Yeah,” Ivory sounded amused. “I’m very aware.”

“He doesn’t...like...sleeping alone.” There he’d said it. Ivory finished folding the pair of jeans and tossed them on the bed without looking. Focus solely on Ophrys.

“So if I’m hearing you right,” He began, hands steepled together in front of his mouth. Ice blue eyes fixed on Ophrys. “You’re saying that when Dai stays here, he’s going to be sleeping, like actual sleeping, with you, er us, in this bed?” Ophrys was gratified at the use of ‘when’ and ‘going to’ in that sentence. It meant Ivory wasn’t adverse to the idea.

“That is what I am trying to say.” Ivory nodded, his intense gaze going a little unfocused in thought. Between one blink of the eye and the next though he seemed to come to a decision. He whirled around and started tossing the piles of folded and unfolded clothes back in the hamper. “Love?” Ophrys asked, slightly alarmed.

“Lock the door.” Ivory said, brushing the comforter off. “If Dai’s going to be here for the next-”

“Two weeks.” Ophrys helpfully filled in, locking the door carefully.

“Two weeks,” Ivory said, as though his stride had never broken. “Then we need to cover some ground now.” Ophrys turned around to ask him what he meant, but didn’t get the chance. Ivory was right there, hands yanking at the collar of Ophrys’ dress shirt, tugging him down to meet Ivory’s mouth. Automatically, Ophrys’ hands brushed over Ivory’s hips and cupped his ass, squeezing gently. He felt the blood rushing south for Ivory’s low moan at the action.

So this what he meant. Ophrys walked him backward to the bed. He was game if Ivory was.

“Wait, why are putting my stuff in your room?” Dai jogged a little to keep up with Ophrys’ much longer strides.

“Dai, please,” Ophrys opened the door of their room and tossed Dai’s duffel into the room without really paying attention. “We both know you were going to sneak in here later tonight. Don’t try to pretend otherwise.”

“I wasn’t actually.” The slightly petulant tone was surprising, and when Ophrys turned to look at Dai, he was staring at the carpet and digging the toe of his shoe into the ground. Looking for all the world like a scolded child, despite the fact that he was a twenty six year old man. “I wasn’t gonna bother Ivory and you. I’m a guest here.” Ophrys narrowed his eyes.

“That didn’t stop you the first time.”

“Well yeah! You were single! But now you’re not and I don’t want to cause problems.” Sometimes it was difficult to remember that Dai was not as selfish as he appeared. That he cared about the well being and relationships of his friends.

“Don’t worry about it.” Ophrys said, with probably more warmth then he should have, considering the way Dai perked up. “Ivory agreed pretty readily. And uh, very thoroughly.”

“Did he now?” Yes, Ophrys decided, far too much warmth. Dai was a terrible friend who would never stop teasing him. Luckily he was also easily distracted when not working. “Holy cats your bed is huge!” Ophrys was rather prideful as Dai scrambled onto the king sized plush mattressed bed, that quite honestly, took up the majority of the room. Dai bounced on the bed experimentally, and then squinted at Ophrys in open suspicion. “How’d you get him to agree to it?”

Dai was well versed in Ivory’s stubborn refusal to accept any gift from Ophrys. It drove Ophrys mad. Here he had more money then he knew what to do with, and the person he loved most worked three jobs to make ends meet and categorically refused to let Ophrys help him. So Ophrys, cunning agent of an intelligence gathering organization, had to more often then not, trick Ivory into accepting things.

“I may have,” Ophrys coughed into his fist. “Been a bit too enthusiastic one night.” Dai laughed at him. Bouncing again on his knees, his legs neatly tucked under him.

“You mean you fucked him so hard you broke his old bed and he let you replace it, because you ‘broke’ it.” Ophrys nodded. “You must have been so proud.” Ophrys coughed into his fist again, not justifying that with a response.

“You get in first.” Really Ophrys should have expected some awkwardness at the actual time of bed, but he hadn’t expected it to come from Dai. Dai who normally is the one with no boundaries and no sense of shame, was balking at climbing in next to Ivory. (Ivory had turned in first and was now fast asleep, having gotten up at five in the morning to get Bean to school on time and then worked the next sixteen hours straight.)

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Ophrys whisper hissed back and tried to shove the smaller man onto the mattress. Dai, despite being feet smaller and pounds lighter then Ophrys, could cling like a motherfucker when he wanted to. “Just get in the bed.”

“After you.” Ophrys didn’t see what the big problem was. Yes he’d miss curling around Ivory, but Dai had absolutely no body temperature to speak of and got cold even when under six different blankets. It would be better and more comfortable for all if Dai slept in the middle. Ivory and he had already discussed this. Plus Dai was so tiny, it wouldn’t be hard to reach over him and hug Ivory. But it was hard to explain all that in a hushed whisper to a guy clinging to your arm, so Ophrys opted to try and shake him off.

Which did not work, because Dai’s job involved him being able to climb up the side of skyscrapers and ventilation shafts by his fingertips. His grip could crush solid steel.

“Why are you making this so difficult?” Ophrys growled. Dai opened his mouth to answer but that was as far as he got. Two large hands gripped his waist and easily pried Dai off Ophrys’ arm. Half awake, Ivory blearily peered over Dai’s shoulder at Ophrys. Surprised, Dai hung in Ivory’s grasp like an affronted cat.

“Stop talking.” He said, words slurring together, his eyes at half mast. “S’bedtime. C’mon.” He tucked Dai against his chest and settled back down on his side of the bed. Wordlessly, Ophrys climbed in after, pulling the sheets over the three of them. Dai still looking like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water down his back.

“Ophrys.” He hissed, lying on his side, one of Ivory’s well muscled arms holding him against his chest. “What the fuck is happening?” Ophrys grinned at him, and clicked the lamp off.

“Hopefully? Sleep.” Ophrys patiently waited until he heard Dai’s breathing slow down and even out. Then he waited even longer until the faint whistle on Dai’s exhale started up. That’s when he knew Dai was really asleep and not just faking. Ivory had been out since Ophrys turned off the lamp. Now he carefully turned it back on. Dai didn’t move, in fact he was curled around in Ivory’s hold so his face pressed against Ivory’s chest. Ivory’s face was angled down on the pillow, his body curving around Dai.

It’s fucking adorable as shit. Ophrys picked up his phone and snapped a quick photo. Sent it off to Midnight. He knew it would take a load off her mind to know that Dai was being taken care of. Almost immediately he receives a simple heart emoji back from her back. He turned the light off and slid into place at Dai’s back. Falling asleep quickly.

[deadpanprincess]

Sins of Believing Chap 2

Chapter Two: Pride and Wrath

Read on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12510504

Draven stands at attention as Cassian ushers in his team. The general’s hands twine together behind his back and his arms flex with the effort. He even refrains from blinking too quickly, keeping his eyes on Rogue One for as long as possible. Cassian has only seen Draven like this once before: after the destruction of Alderaan. Draven had found Cassian in the medbay. His best operative lay trapped by a shattered spine and their only hope for survival was lost in space. Draven may not have blinked at all when he relayed the news. Cassian was too fuzzed out on painkillers to remember clearly.

The general's current stillness is not hopelessness, though. It is the calm of thought that endears Draven to the Council. Contingency after contingency forms in his mind's eye. Around him, Intelligence Command hums with restless energy. Every officer takes their designated space and watches their screens. Some have dropped one ear of their headphones to better listen to the incoming report. Others prefer to ignore Rogue One completely. They still have not forgiven Cassian for their losses.

Jyn, beside Cassian, is a riot of motion. Her fingers drum against her visible blaster, her weight shifts from one braced leg to the other, and her mouth constantly reshapes with anger. Grief tries to press the restless movement out of her, but fury keeps her fidgeting. She is supposed to be done with war rooms and councils and fear too abstract to contain. When Skywalker destroyed the Death Star--the first one--she should have been free of guilt. Jyn takes on the sins of the Rebellion, but she should no longer carry her father's. Yet she is still here, paying for him again.

"Report," Draven commands.

Cassian answers, like he always has. "Rogue One approached Sergeant Erso's contact with no resistance. Both the sergeant and myself were able to engage without issue. Under cover of engaged couple Tanith Porta and Castor Willix, we convinced the target that we had information for her. Target believed our intel and offered information."

"And?" Draven knows, but he asks to the benefit of the other Intelligence officers' attentive ears.

"There is a second Death Star," Cassian says. Intelligence does not stop working, but they complete their actions more quietly.

"And why did the target offer this information?" Draven asks.

Cassian is fairly sure the general has already figured at least five scenarios where such intel would be imparted, but Draven never accepts assumptions. He wants Cassian to confirm his suspicions, but he underestimates how the captain cares for his crew.  

"The target believed it important to our covers," Cassian hedges. Draven stares him down. He hears the hesitance, the lie cloaked in truth. Neither man moves, and total silence filters over Intelligence Command. Every officer puts down their work to watch the insubordination of Draven's favorite operative. The quiet highlights the rattle of Jyn's zippers as her leg jiggles. She wishes they would just fight it out.

"Obviously it was me," she says, exasperated. Cassian closes his eyes as Draven looks to her.

"Explain, Sergeant Erso."

"I was the one who told the target that there was a rebel base on Yavin IV," Jyn clarifies. She holds Draven's gaze, but her leg bounces more aggressively. One or two of the surrounding officers freeze. It is their only indication of anger.

"That was not the false plant you were ordered to give," Draven says.

"Well, your original plan would have allowed the target to pass along information without consequences," Jyn defends.

"That was not your call to make, Sergeant." Draven enunciates her rank, calling attention to the disparity of power between them. Jyn does not care if he is named the supreme ruler of all the galaxies, though. She shoves forward, her chin thrust up so she can keep meeting his eyes. Cassian and Bodhi do not even try to stop her. They eye each other before simultaneously agreeing to let the situation play out.  

"This is the woman who had me thrown in prison! You knew that and you still sent me to Utapau! Don't pretend like this is a surprise," Jyn says.

"Back up, Sergeant." Draven tries to intimidate respect by looming over her, but Jyn just rests her fists against her hips and digs in her heels.

"This is a game to you. Our lives are forfeit in service to your ideal Rebellion. But you don't get that people who are fighting need to be just as human as those they're trying to save!"

"I said back up.” Draven’s voice drops with the threat.

"I took an opportunity and it led to more intelligence. Important intelligence! Don't tell me that it's not as good as the death of some random Imperial officer."

"Jyn--" Cassian tries. She whirls on him, keeping Draven in her peripheral.

"You're practically giddy! No wonder no one on Alderaan survived when this is how you care for the members of your Alliance!" Jyn storms out of the room, sweeping past the shocked rise of Cassian’s eyebrows. Her words echo behind her. Bodhi follows, as if he can escape her accusation by leaving. A moment of complete quiet settles on Command, and then a heavy slam of bone hitting durasteel reverberates through the room.

The sound restarts Intelligence Command. Officers return to faking their attention on work. Draven and Cassian do not bother to move. They still stand across from each other, but now Cassian's eyes burn fire.

"Say it," Draven waves him on, almost drolly.

"She's not wrong," Cassian says.

"She disobeyed orders for petty revenge." Draven stays even. His hands clasp behind his back again.

"It doesn't make her wrong," Cassian says more firmly. Draven examines him, a quick brush of his eyes over the soldier he knows. The body language gives away nothing, but Draven can see the tension in his jaw and how Cassian's neck cranes forward. He almost looks like Erso from a moment ago. They share the same rage, a well of passion that Draven prefers deeply buried in his agents.  

Draven dismisses Cassian with an abrupt nod. Cassian does not return the salute as he leaves. The automatic doors whoosh gently closed behind him.

He finds Jyn in his room, the impersonal neatness disturbed. Jyn has thrown their lone blanket on the ground and obviously punched their pillow with the fist not cradled against her chest. Thankfully, she left the rest of the room alone in preference of curling over herself on the mattress.

"Let me see," Cassian demands as he walks in. There is no reason to pretend she is anything other than hurt. He heard the crack of her fist. Jyn only glares and pulls her injured hand further into the hollow at her clavicle. The furious color of her cheeks pops against the dingy grey of the room.

"At least let me reset your knuckles," he sighs. She does not lose her angry scowl, but Jyn scooches closer to the edge of the bed. Exhaustion duels with humor as Cassian offers his own palm as a resting place. She lays her hand down upon it. His legs bracket her on either side so he can better probe her injury. Three of her knuckles swell, and her harshly lined skin almost seems new as the internal bleeding pulls the dermis tight. Cassian hisses in commiseration. She has definitely broken two knuckles and possibly fractured a finger. He will have to play doctor because Jyn will never go the medbay, even if they could spare resources.

"The wall punched back," he teases. His voice does not change in tone, but lilts with the joke.

"Kriff you," Jyn says. She is equally tired and toneless and uninvested in a fight.

Cassian huffs in amusement while reaching for his medkit in the nightstand. He cannot waste bacta on such a minor injury, but he can wrap her knuckles in the bandage she usually tapes on for sparring. Carefully, he winds the cloth from her finger joint to her wrist. Each jerk of the wrap pulls tighter and tighter, pushing the blood back to where it belongs. Jyn lifts a bare smile at the sight of her comically swollen, bandaged fist. She now has a fabric anvil at the end of her arm.

Cassian stays silent as he tucks the end of the cloth into itself. The material seals nicely at her pulse, and he keeps his fingers pressed there as he situates himself next to her. Jyn sits stiffly as his weight shifts the bed. She tenses when he cradles her hand, but she does not pull away.

"Don't lie to me," she says suddenly. Jyn does not look at him when she speaks. She keeps her eyes focused on where she feels his thumb rubbing circles on her palm. Cassian swallows as he rejects potential responses. His thumb never ceases.

"Have I?" He asks.

"You have too much hope." Jyn seemingly changes topic, but Cassian catches the thread of her logic. His belief in the Rebellion is something she will never share. Jyn believes in Rogue One, in the Pathfinders, in the people around her. The abstract idea of revolution cannot hold her. Especially when that revolution is threatened by a danger she knows too well.  

"We're prepared for them this time," Cassian says.

"What about next time? Or the time after that?" She challenges.

"They won't have a third one, this one surfaced too quickly. It must have been built simultaneously with the first," he explains. He had K2 run the data to ensure accuracy. The droid had commended his foresight.

"There's no guarantee that the flaw exists in this one. Or that they're not building a third one right now. Don't be short sighted." Jyn stands, her anger propelling her again. Cassian stays seated. His eyes follow her from corner to corner as she paces.

"So what would you have us do, Jyn?" As if he does not know. The urge to run crackles along the fine hairs of her arms. Jyn radiates with flight.

"I'm always going to be Galen Erso's daughter," Jyn evades. Cassian keeps his mouth shut. More lingers on the tip of her tongue. "Saw Guerrera's Partisan. Rogue One's sergeant."

"I only see Jyn Erso," he says. Jyn stills and regards him sadly, but a fondness keeps a pinprick of light in her eyes.

"You will always be the Alliance's captain," she releases. The idea shocks him. He, like his long lost blaster, belongs to her. Cassian gives himself to her freely, but maybe a thief never owns what is not taken.

"I haven't been. Not for some time," Cassian says to his hands as he cradles them in his lap. Scarif, Eadu, Jedha; they all lay thick in the unsaid. Jyn freezes. Her shoulder blades bunch and release. She turns slowly with her weight in her heels.

"Cassian?" Jyn prods. An eerie reminder of Draven's need for assurance steels his spine.

"I'm yours, Jyn." It is a declaration more real than any. Cassian has said "I love you" to informants, marks, lovers, but he never relinquishes himself. Wind rushes past his ears, cutting off his oxygen. He falls thirty stories all over again; and all he can see is Jyn, her green eyes dark like the leaves of Fest, like blaster bolts at night, like how she looked at him in that turbolift.

Panic claws at her throat and threatens to spill from her lips, but she grounds herself in his expression. She has seen Cassian physically naked and has fucked him in every corner of this room, but never did he let her see his heart. He reveals everything now in soft words and an even gentler look. He shares her fear, but Cassian can reconcile himself to the inevitable.

Jyn pulls roughly on her bun. A pin clatters to the floor. They stay fixed on one another, damn the disturbance.

She licks her lips in preparation. "I don't know how to do anything but fight," she warns. Cassian smiles at that and his dimples materialize in his beard. This is his Jyn, kind enough to threaten before tearing him apart.  

"I know," he says. The honesty of that throws her. Jyn opens her mouth to argue, just because it feels necessary, but Cassian cuts her off.

"Let me fight with you." He says both a question and a promise.

[veneataur]

Fandom: BBC’s The Musketeers

Day 2 of 24

Title: Talk to Me

This one follows up on the flashback in this Whumptober story. You don’t really need to have read it or remember it. It’s the aftermath of Aramis’ attempted suicide on Athos. Please take that note as a warning as well for any potentially triggering topics in here. The suicide attempt is only mentioned and briefly discussed in minor detail.

Athos has dealt with this for years, his entire life it seems, though his parents have assured him that he wasn’t always like this. For the most part now, however, he has it under control. There’s the occasional stress-related flare up, not surprising given his line of work as a Musketeer. And in the aftermath of finding Aramis bleeding out from self-inflicted cuts and dealing with his stubbornness as the hospital, he’s not surprised to be dealing with a severe flare-up.

Porthos and Treville have done what they can to help, helping him to get to his psychiatry appointments and keeping him in his routine. His all-important routine which has saved his sanity more times than he can count. When he’s feeling good, it’s easy to maintain the regular habits of sleeping, hygiene, eating, exercising, and relaxing, but when he’s not they become too cumbersome to even consider. His bed or the couch in the den are his refuges.

Athos doesn’t remember asking Porthos and Treville for their help in the beginning. In fact, other than checking the depression box on the application documents, he never told anyone. But they were at his door the first time his depression hit and he failed to show up to work and they didn’t stop knocking until Porthos picked the lock and let themselves in. Athos remembers half-heartedly fighting their efforts to help him, their initially confused, flustered attempts. They got better with it the next time. All of them.

But now, it’s harder because Aramis is here and Aramis is so much worse off than him. The three sit in the den, Porthos in the armchair that was a gift from Treville to Aramis, Aramis is huddled into a corner on the couch, his wrists still tightly bound in gauze and hidden by a thick sweater, and Athos is on the other side, forcing himself to sit upright and be attentive to the conversation.

They’re talking about what to do this evening. Aramis has been home for a few days and seems to be doing better than a couple weeks ago. If nothing else, he’s holding his own and that’s enough for Athos right now. It has to be because he’s just barely holding his own. Porthos knows. Treville knows. Because they’ve seen him like this before. Aramis is unaware but Athos doesn’t fault him. The young man is dealing with a lot and the fact that he’s able to sit with them in the den, occasionally offering an opinion on their plans is progress enough.

“What’re your thoughts, Athos,” Porthos asks. The words break through Athos’ haze of thoughts, but only just and it takes a moment to process the individual words as a complete sentence. And even then, he can’t think of a suitable response.

“I don’t know,” he says, mildly embarrassed at the loss of focus. He adds a simple shoulder shrug as if that might help. As he does so, he regrets it.

“It’s not a big decision. Pizza or Chinese?” Porthos’ words have no heat to them, at least intentionally. “Aramis said he didn’t care much either way. What do you think?”

He’s not surprised Aramis didn’t have an opinion. He’s fairly sure the young man expects them to throw him out any second for all the trouble he’s caused them. They’ve talked about this, but talks can only do so much. One day, Athos is confident, Aramis will believe them, trust them.

“It really doesn’t matter,” Athos says again. Food right now is not a thought and the idea of having to eat something makes him want to crawl under the covers of his bed and not come out for weeks.

“Athos,” Porthos sighs and Athos can hear the irritation. He looks away, not wanting to see Porthos’ face. What the man must be dealing with right now. It was easier when it was just one depressed person to deal with, now there are two. Though if Athos could bring himself to tell Porthos, he’d say to worry about Aramis first. Athos is long familiar with depression. He can handle it himself easily.

“I’m sorry, Porthos. I just don’t care. You always have wanted honesty and that’s the truth. I don’t fucking care.” Athos sees Aramis flinch as his harsh tone and immediately regrets his words. Porthos too is shocked at the outburst.

Then, without thought, Athos tosses aside the pillow he’d been fidgeting with and goes upstairs, at the last second catching his bedroom door that he’s pushed hard enough to slam. He partly misses and the door shuts loudly still. He hopes it doesn’t set Aramis off. He thinks he should go check, but the bed is far more tempting. And the guilt at that thought is overwhelming enough that he collapses on the bed and curls up.

And then it begins, or rather continues, the endless thoughts, the anxiety, and worry. One thought cascades into another without preamble. As they build so does the icy hold in his stomach, the familiar ache returning. It’s been hovering for days, weeks, if he’s honest and he tries to be, at least with himself and Porthos and Treville.

The knocking on the door doesn’t penetrate his thoughts for a while and then, when he does hear it, he ignores it, hoping Porthos will get a clue and leave him alone until he’s ready to come out.

“Athos.” That’s not Porthos, he realizes. Standing outside his door, persistently knocking is Aramis.

He should reply, ask if the young man needs anything, but he can’t.

“Athos, are you okay?” The worry in Aramis’ voice is clear.

Athos tries to speak, but what does he say. This man needs the truth from him too, but he worries about the damage it will cause.

“Athos, please, just make some noise to let me know you’re okay.” Aramis sounds on the verge of tears. He imagines the young man is itching to enter, but he knows the house rules, established in part because of him. Bedrooms are private sanctuaries to be entered only with the permission of the owner, unless imminent danger is present. “Throw something. I don’t care. It won’t bother me. Just make some noise.”

There’s some part of Athos that wonders if something’s happened to Porthos that’s led to Aramis coming after him, not Porthos himself. But he’s sure that if that happened, Aramis would’ve come in already or he’d have heard from Treville.

Athos gazes around lazily, seeing if anything within easy grasps can be thrown. There’s his phone, but as lethargic as he feels, he won’t throw that.

“Come,” Athos mumbles, loud enough hopefully for Aramis to hear.

“Did you say something?” Aramis might’ve heard, but the young man doesn’t trust his senses, himself. Even more, Athos knows that he waits for clear consent, which in Aramis’ current state can mean reassuring him several times of their words. In time, Athos hopes, that will go away. Right now, however, it’s more annoying than usual. It took a lot of energy to speak that one word last time and now he has to speak again.

“Come in, ‘Mis.” He hopes Aramis understands this time because he won’t, can’t repeat his words.

“I’m coming in, Athos,” Aramis says, voice still hesitant. Athos wonders when the man last felt confident in anything other than his lack of worth. Treville assures them that a confident Aramis is a force to be reckoned with. Athos hopes they’ll see that day.

The door opens slowly and Athos sees Aramis poke his head in.

“Hi, Athos,” Aramis says shyly. “I’m going to come all the way in, if you don’t mind.” Athos doesn’t respond and Aramis waits several moments. “I guess that’s an okay.” There’s an uneasy quirk of his lips, but Aramis does come all the way in, leaving the door cracked open behind him. Aramis never shuts a door and Athos can’t figure that one out.

“Porthos wanted to come up, but he’s still too upset,” Aramis says. “He’s getting dinner together.”

That explains some of this. He doesn’t understand what Aramis is doing up here though.

“What is he making?” Athos isn’t ready for the big questions.

“I don’t know. There was some cursing and banging of pots.”

That explains why Aramis is up here.

Athos stretches a hand out to pat an empty part of the bed, hoping Aramis will understand what he means. He doesn’t, but after some hesitation, he does pull up a chair to sit in next to the bed. His legs are pulled up as soon as he sits, tight against his chest that seems impossible for a grown man to do.

They sit in silence for a bit, occasionally stealing glances at each other before looking away.

“Why didn’t you say anything, Athos,” Aramis finally says quietly.

Athos raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’re depressed, Athos. If there’s anyone in this house that can recognize it, it’s me.”

“I’m fine,” Athos says automatically.

“You will be, but you’re not now. Why didn’t you say something?”

“Porthos knows. Treville too. It’s life. You get used to it.”

“Doesn’t make it easier.” Aramis pauses before quietly adding, “Especially with me making such a mess all the time.”

“No,” Athos says.

“Was it…” Aramis hesitates. “Was it my attempt that did this?” Officially Aramis’ incident has been ruled a suicide attempt but there is still some question about how intentional the deep cuts were given he was drunk. Aramis still hasn’t spoken much of it.

“No.” Athos shakes his head.

“But it was me.”

And this is why Athos hasn’t told Aramis. In the months that he’s known the young man, he feels like he understands the young man as though they’re old friends. He knows Aramis will find himself at fault. Athos won’t deny that taking care of Aramis has strained him, but that’s not Aramis’ fault. He’s prone to depression and it’s been no surprise to him that he’s fallen into the depths once again.

“No, ‘Mis. It’s not your fault.”

“But…”

“Can you help the illnesses you have, the flashbacks, the panic attacks, the nightmares,” Athos asks, interrupting Aramis.

“Maybe. Probably should.” Aramis shrugs his shoulders and Athos hold back a sigh. Aramis isn’t at the point yet to understand that none of this is his fault. They thought he was, but then came the incident.

“In time you will, but now, you can’t and that’s okay.” They’ve all told Aramis this so many times these past several months, hoping that one time it will sink in. “You can’t help it right now, so you’re not to blame and you never will be because you can’t help what’s happened to you. You know that I’ve had depression in the past and you know from meeting with the psychiatrist that just because you get over it, doesn’t mean that it won’t come back.” Athos pauses because stringing this many words together is more than his body can take right now. He tries to remember where he left off, where he started, but his mind is muddled. This might be the part that he hates the most. The inability to focus, to remember, to think.

“I’m sorry you have to keep telling me that. You’ve all told me so many times, but…” Aramis trails off.

“Your mind is a tough critic. Yeah, I know.”

Aramis nods. Then, after a long moment, he asks, “Do you ever talk to Porthos or Treville?”

They’ve all stressed to him talking to them about what’s going on, so it shouldn’t come as any surprise when Aramis turns the question back on him.

“Some,” Athos says. “Not really,” he adds a few seconds later.

“They’re good listeners.”

“I know.” Athos has tried, but try as they might, there’s something about it that they just don’t get and it frustrates him.

“Talk to me then,” Aramis says after a moment. “If you can’t talk to them, talk to me.”

Athos appreciates the offer, but he can’t, won’t burden Aramis with this. The young man is still dealing with his own trudges through mental illness. He won’t add to what he’s dealing with.

Athos shakes his head, not trusting his voice.

“Please, Athos. Who else is going to understand better than me? And haven’t you been telling me that it’s better to talk it out than keep it in?”

Athos wants to curse but that takes energy he doesn’t have.

“Let me help you, Athos. I want to. I don’t know that I help with much else, but I can listen.”

When Athos doesn’t answer, Aramis speaks again.

“I’ll be here, Athos. Whenever you’re ready. In your own time.”

Athos has heard those words, those sentiments spoken over and over again by his parents, his brother, his ex-wife, and his friends with varying degrees of sincerity. But Aramis spoke them with a clear understanding of what it meant to be told those words and stunned Athos, not because he thought the young man incapable of expressing them. But that there was another human out there capable of understanding, that Aramis, who was already dealing with so much, would try, would offer.

Still, it’s not that night that he takes up Aramis on his offer. Nevertheless, the young man is there, a steady presence as day turns to night, enveloping the room in an easy darkness, giving a warmth to it. And Athos finds that that night he doesn’t slip down any deeper.

[shimmershae]

"Will ya just be still?" (a Walking Dead One Shot, Caryl + Sophia + Merle).

This is utter cheesy crap and I half-way hate it, lol.  But it's fluffy cheese and I needed a dose of that, even if it's not the good stuff.  Maybe you'll find it enjoyable anyway.  ;)  AU, obviously. 

Forget birthin’ babies.  He never knew a six-year-old was such hard work, ‘specially one as excited as she is. 

~*~

   She’s wiggling like a worm on a hook.  Little feet tapping to the beat of a song he just can’t place no matter how hard he tries and tiny fingers fidgeting with the frayed holes in his cargo pants, poking and prodding absently at the knobs of his hairy knees and dammit if he’s any good at this.  The fine strawberry strands of her hair keep slipping through his blunt fingers like silk, never quite making it into the ribbons she’d picked out for him and that dress she’d begged him to wear is crinkled like tissue paper.  Forget birthin’ babies.  He never knew a six-year-old was such hard work, ‘specially one as excited as she is. 

  “You’re takin’ too long.” 

  “Yeah, well.  Y’ain’t exactly helpin’ matters,” he grumbles.  “Will ya just be still?” Settling both of his big hands over her small shoulders, he squares her up between his legs and dares her to move and it actually works.  For all of two seconds.  When she starts to slither back out of his hold like a bubblegum pink little garden snake, he groans long and deep.  Gives her a gentle push forward and stands up from his backseat perch, can’t help the cackle that escapes when she whirls around and fixes him with that oh-so-familiar look that’s somehow pouting and hopeful.  He’s seen that look damn near cripple his baby brother’s manhood many a time in the relatively short duration of his and Mouse’s marriage, and he ain’t planning on falling victim to it anytime soon.  “No, Ma’am.  Ain’t goin’ nowhere ‘til we figure out that hair.  Ya hearin’ me?” 

  “But Uncle Merle.” 

  “Don’t Uncle Merle me.  Twist that l’il ass of yours back ‘round,” he orders.  Before she minds him, he catches the briefest of glimpses of her hazel eyes, rounded in righteous horror.  Grinning to himself, he scoops up the waterfall of her hair in both hands and loops the ribbon he has ‘round and ‘round ‘til he can tie it in a knot.  She looks like a mini punk-rock princess when he pulls back, but the ribbon holds and if that ain’t a welcome surprise after the struggle of the last several minutes, he don’t know what is.  “A’right.  You ready?” 

  “Uncle Merle.” 

  He’s still chuckling to himself ‘bout the eye roll he earns in response when they walk through the hospital lobby’s automatic doors minutes later.  The place is big and crowded, people literally milling everywhere like armies of disoriented ants, and he expects her eagerness to dissolve into nerves, but it don’t.  She’s still buzzing like a little bee on a mission, breaking free of his hold to skip toward the elevators.

  “Can I push the button?” 

  The elderly woman that takes the ride all the way up with them gives him the stink eye, and he’s glad to finally step out of that tin can into the open.  A couple of corridors and at least he knows they’re on the right track, what will all the balloons on the doors and the glittered ribbons.  Funny thing is, though, those nerves he’d been afraid would manifest in the kid, well.  They’re swarming in his belly like a knot of hornets because his baby brother had been slippery as fuck on the phone, and he knows that boy.  Practically raised him.  Something’s up, and he ain’t sure he’s ready for the surprise, but that Grimes woman is good for something because the girl’s counting the numbers on the doors like a champ and they’re there already.  Suddenly, they both sprout concrete shoes.  “Aintcha gonna knock?” he finally rasps out. 

  “You do it.” 

  He hooks a finger beneath her chin and makes her look at him.  “That’s yer mama in there.  Know she’s always gonna be glad to see ya, right?”  When she nods, he nods right back and a slow grin overtakes his features.  “Me, on the other hand.  You best do the knockin’, L’il Darlin’.  More flies with honey and all that.  Go ‘head,” he prompts. 

  The door creaks open beneath her small fist and the kid steps inside. 

  He’s slower to follow her and it takes him a few minutes for his eyes to adjust because the lights are softer inside, low and warm.  When they do, the pair of them are met with his brother’s back, his broad shoulders, and he can’t quite hold in the whoop of joy when the boy turns and he spies the grunting blue bundle cradled carefully in his arms.  “Knew it.  Knew all along it was a boy.  What I tell you, Mouse?  I’m callin’ that Rhee kid soon as I leave here, tellin’ him to pay up.” 

  The kid’s freckled face falls and her narrow shoulders slump.  She doesn’t even look up when Daryl nudges her, but she tries to fist away her tears when she hears her pretty mama’s sweet, tired voice. 

  “What do you think of your baby brother, Sweetheart?” 

  “He’s okay.” 

  His brother stoops to the kid’s level and Merle gets his first real good look of his nephew and damn if that little wriggling bean don’t look like a miniature old wrinkled man.  Course, he never was one for thinking babies come out of womb looking good.  He’d been half convinced Daryl was three quarters Sharpei for the first few days of his life.  “Don’t look like much now, but he’s gonna be a real looker.  Just look at yer mama.” 

  “Alright, Asshole,” Daryl mutters, low under his breath so Sophia can’t hear. 

  It don’t matter no way, though, ‘cause the kid’s spotted something else, and when he hears her soft gasp and gets his own look, it’s all he can do to keep standing because Mouse has got her own hands full and her bundle’s fuckin’ pink.  “The hell’s goin’ on here, Baby Brother?”  Daryl ignores him in favor of encouraging Sophia when her feet grow roots and Merle fairly staggers to the uncomfortable recliner across the room and drops down in it in disbelief. 

  “Go on.  She ain’t gonna bite.  Ain’t got no teeth yet.” 

  Daryl’s smirking as he says it, happy-looking if a little shell-shocked to Merle’s keen gaze, following right behind the kid when she crawls up in bed beside her mama. Sophia don’t know where to look first.  Hell, he can’t say that he does either.  That phone call is making more and more and less and less sense.      

  “You had two babies in there?” 

  “I did.” 

  Ever curious, she presses.  “But how?” 

  His wits somewhat recovered, Merle can’t resist needling his baby brother.  S’what he deserves, after all, for letting him come into this all blind.  Not giving him any warning.  “Think ya a little young for that talk, right Darylina?”

  “I know where babies come from, Uncle Merle.” 

  “Oh, you do, do you?  Can’t wait to hear this,” Merle chuckles.  He sobers right up though when Mouse pointedly clears her throat.  Offers up a half-hearted shrug.  “Reckon I can wait a l’il longer for the particulars of baby makin’.  What I really wanna know is how’d we end up with two little Dixons.” 

  “Let’s just say we ain’t gonna have to work all that hard to teach ‘em Hide-n-Seek.”

[be-quiet-bimbo]

Bimbo Valentine's Day Schedule

The alarm will ring at 6:00 am. Even though it is Valentine's Day, it is still a Tuesday and I must go to work. I will kiss your cheek and neck with tickly whiskered kisses until you curl into a tiny ball with a giggle that assures me you're awake. Then I will pat your bottom and tell you to get up, because if I don't you will want to stay curled up in bed. You will make the bed while I shower. Then you will wait, on your knees by the foot of the bed and with your mouth open, for me to get out of the shower. You'll feel the damp warmth of the hot shower clinging to my cock as I slide my cock into the mouth that's been waiting, somewhat impatiently but dutifully quiet, to taste it for the first time today. Your happy, eager sucking sounds will get me hard quickly, as they always do. I'll let you suck and worship for several minutes, but then remind you that I have to finish getting ready for work so you must hurry - as I tell you every morning. You always give me that grumpy "You never let me have any fun" pout, which is ridiculously cute with your mouth trying to frown around my cock, but then you lean forward while tipping your head back. We both know how satisfying it is for both of us when I grab your head and use your mouth and throat to finish myself off and feed you your morning mouthful of cum. Then you will go make my breakfast - two eggs, scrambled, a piece of toast with a berry jam, and a large glass of orange juice - while I dress myself and lay out your outfits for the day on the bed. When I've finished eating, you'll tie my necktie; I left it undone today as a special treat, because I know you enjoy draping yourself over my shoulders while you tie it from behind me. Then you will tie my shoes, and kiss the laces because you're convinced that makes them stay tied better. With lots of kisses and assurances that it may seem like forever, but isn't really that long after all, I will leave for work and you will begin your daily list that I left for you. First is getting dressed in your first outfit for the day. Yoga pants, sports bra, socks, and tennis shoes; exercise isn't your favorite thing, but you're expected to keep your body in good shape for my use and pleasure. After exercise comes a shower, including your first edging session for the day. Then you put on your "chores outfit". Often this is a fairly comfortable outfit, easy to move in and casual enough to not get ruined if something spilled or splashed on it, such as a cleaning solution. Today, however, you will find only a waist apron laid on the bed, so that is all you will wear while you do your chores. Before chores, though, you will eat breakfast. Today the list prescribes one piece of toast, butter only, a bowl of oatmeal, and a fruit of your choice. Today's chores are vacuuming, scrubbing the kitchen counters, and changing the sheets on the bed; wash, dry, and put away the old ones, and put fresh satin sheets on the bed. When chores are done, you will have a simple salad for lunch. After lunch you will remove the apron and spend the next few hours on Tumblr edging yourself to porn, bimbo inspirational material, and trancing spirals and files. Because it will be a late night, you will take a nap before I come home. You will set an alarm for an hour before I'm expected home. In that time, you will get up, clean yourself up, put on makeup and fix your hair, and put on the panties, stockings, garter belt, shoes, and dress that I laid out. Then you will stand in front of the door and wait for me to come home. You will spend your time practicing your posture and waiting patiently without fidgeting. I know it will be hard, but you will not jump all over me like an excited puppy when I come through the door. You will remain quiet and still until I empty my hands and approach you. I will ask you if you completed everything on the list, and you will report to me what you did and what you ate, and how many times you were close to cumming but were my good girl and didn't cum without permission. Then I will have you prepare me a drink, and I will sit and enjoy my drink with some relaxing music while I let you kneel between my legs, remove my shoes, and suck my cock to help me unwind from my work day. After I've cum, we'll spend a few quiet moments with me petting your head while you rest it on my knee. Then I'll make you undress in the center of the room , slowly removing each item I had you put on to welcome me home. When you're naked, I will make you spread your legs wide and masturbate for me while standing, edging yourself while I watch until your knees begin to shake and threaten to collapse, and you're begging me to let you cum, even though we both know I won't. When I've decided I've watched enough, I'll draw you a bath and help you into it. Then I'll wash you thoroughly, intentionally paying extra attention to those areas already aroused and sensitized by your edging, until you're grabbing my arms, my shoulders, the tub, and anything else you can hold onto to keep from cumming without the permission that I'm still refusing to give. When I'm done washing and teasing you, I'll help you out of the bath and dry you off and wrap you in a warm, fuzzy robe. You'll do your makeup and hair while I dress for dinner and choose the dress and heels you will wear. The heels will be high, the dress backless, the neckline scandalous, the skirt long but slit to the hip to show all of your leg. There will be nothing underneath, and there will be no question about it in the mind of anyone who sees you. At dinner you will be seen, but not heard. I will order for you, answer any questions intended for you, and generally make it clear you are a pretty but silly bauble, only there to be stared at and lusted after. After dinner we will return home. In the bedroom, I will let down your hair and begin to brush it. The brushing is a trigger that with each stroke turns you more and more into a living doll, brainless and blank, aware but only able to observe. When I have finished brushing your hair, I will stand you up, and remove your sultry dress. I will seat you in front of your vanity so you can watch in the mirror as I apply bright eyeshadow and unnaturally rosy cheeks over the makeup you so carefully did before. As I put on the bright red lipstick, your lips will automatically form into a rounded O shape. Then I will carry my living sex doll to the bed, and will use your body for my pleasure until we at last collapse in each other's arms, thoroughly spent. There we will drift off to sleep together, blissfully forgetting the alarm that will come all too soon on Wednesday morning.