#a little more progress but my hands are dry as fuck and still sticky

[pitviperofdoom]

Me: I’ve got some time and motivation on my hands! Maybe I should work on one of my immediate projects, like putting the finishing touches on my RQBB piece, or making some headway on my TMA BB piece, or editing the next chapter of the DND AU...

Me: *writes a 5k opener for an au that’s basically The Owl House*

------

“Again.”

Jon held still and kept his eyes shut. Everything ached, his head most of all; the slightest movement sent lightning bolts of pain through his skull. Even now it throbbed like a quiet threat behind his closed eyes.

“Get up, Jon.”

He couldn’t. He was done. Wasn’t that obvious?

“I don’t have time to indulge you. I know you can do more. Now get up.”

He couldn’t.

“Open your eyes, Jonathan.”

That was a simpler request, at least. He could do that much, couldn’t he? He could open his eyes. It barely counted as moving.

Dutifully, Jon forced his eyelids apart. Punishment was swift; this time the pain was so intense that he couldn’t even scream, only curl up tighter on the floor with a strangled whimper. The polished tiles were cold against his face, but they did little to soothe the ache. Warm liquid trickled from his closed eyes; when had he started crying?

Across the room, Jonah sighed. “Already? We’ve barely scratched the surface, Jon. I expected another hour from you, at minimum.” Footsteps echoed against the floor, and Jon tensed in spite of the pain, but the hands that picked him up were gentle. “Come now. Our work is too important for me to indulge you like this. For Titan’s sake, your endurance was better when you were a mere child.”

Jon kept his eyes shut, and hated the part of himself that wanted to curl up again, apologize, and promise to do better. The ache was beginning to recede, just barely, but he kept his eyes shut. If he opened them too soon, then Jonah would take it as a sign that he wasn’t as tired as he behaved.

“Can you make your own way back?” Jonah asked, steadying him by the shoulders. “Or do you need help?”

Jon’s blood ran cold. That was a dangerous question. If he chose to go under his own power, then Jonah might change his mind about letting him stop. But he didn’t want help. His limbs felt like wet clay, and there wasn’t a single muscle in his body that didn’t hurt, but at least they were still his.

“I—” HIs voice cracked in his dry throat. “I can—I can make my own way. Th-thank you, Jonah.” He held his breath.

After far too long for comfort, Jonah sighed again, heavy with disappointment. “Alright, Jon. Get some rest. We’ll do better in the morning.”

“Yes, Jonah,” Jon replied, faint with relief, and waited.

He was met with silence.

“Have you changed your mind?” Jonah said, after a moment. “If you’d like to continue…”

“No,” Jon replied. “No, I’m—thank you. For letting me stop. Just…” He held his hands out in a blind plea. “It’s my eyes, so I need…”

“Ah, of course, how could it have slipped my mind?” He heard a faint rustle from Jonah’s robe, before warm, smooth wood was pressed into his waiting hands. Jon swallowed another sob of relief. “There you are, then.”

“Thank you,” Jon repeated, and turned toward where he hoped the exit was.

The shape in his hands shifted. Smooth wood became downy softness, before the feeling left his hands and landed gently against his face. Soft wings brushed his cheeks, tiny legs grasped the bridge of his nose, and the world returned to him.

He hadn’t opened his eyes, but he could see the room once more: the library’s main room, a vast space where he and Jonah did most of their work. He could see Jonah as well, watching him with the weary patience of a parent indulging a child’s tantrum.

Jon looked away, muttered his thanks again, and limped out of the room.

Even with a closed door between them, the weight of Jonah’s scrutiny never left. Not helping the matter was the wallpaper that, currently, was openly tracking his progress through the countless eyes hidden in the intricate pattern.

That was the downside to navigating with these eyes; when he used his own, he couldn’t see the Beholding that soaked every nook and cranny of the manor. At least then he could pretend that closed doors and distance meant something.

It was a long way from the research wing to his quarters—their quarters—and Jon had to pause several times for a moment’s rest. By the time he reached the last flight of stairs, he was shaking from exhaustion, and strongly considering the benefits of simply curling up in a corner of the hallway and falling asleep on the floor. Jonah certainly kept the carpets plush enough.

His borrowed vision went hazy for a moment, and soft wings beat gently against his face. Jon braced himself against the wall as another powerful headache washed over him, closed eyes be damned. His face was wet with tears again.

“Alright,” he murmured. “Alright. Just a bit farther.”

The mask of wings left his face in a sudden flurry of beating, leaving him blind again. Jon bit back a cry of alarm and stayed where he was, leaning against the wall. He wouldn’t leave—surely he wouldn’t. He’d be back. Maybe he was just…

Before he could work himself into a proper panic, he heard the door at the top of the stairs creak open. Familiar footsteps came tumbling down the steps.

“Fuck, Jon,” a familiar, wonderfully welcome voice breathed out, and Gerry caught him before he could fall.

Jon made the rest of the journey leaning heavily against him, blind and trusting. He could feel gentle puffs of air against his face, fluttering wings that didn’t quite touch, and smiled gratefully.

Eventually Gerry deposited him in a chair and went to retrieve something—from the potions stand, going by the clatter of glass vials. Less than a minute later, one of them was pressed into his hand.

“Here. Need help drinking?”

Jon shook his head. “I can manage. Thanks.” He downed the potion and was rewarded by a receding headache. His eyelids were so sticky that he had to massage them open, and his vision came back in blurry patches, one piece of the room at a time: A single table and chair by the kitchenette. Two beds shoved together in the far corner. The sparsest alchemy array on the Isles. Gerry's face, watching him with open concern.

"Do you know how much you lost?" Gerry asked.

"What?"

Gerry gestured to his face, and Jon mirrored the motion until he found rough, sticky stains streaked down his face. He was confused until some of it crumbled off at his touch, and he looked down to find flecks of congealed blood clinging to his fingertips. "That's probably not good."

"Yeah, Jon," Gerry sighed, short and forceful with held back anger. "Probably isn't." He moved off to the kitchenette, and returned moments later with a damp towel.

Jon cleaned his face, sighing in relief at the coolness against the lingering ache. He put the now-soiled towel aside, eyes finally clear, and caught the briefest glimpse of amber eye spots on coppery wings before their owner alighted gently on the side of his head.

"Yes, of course," he said, reaching up to stroke one of the moth's large downy wings. His familiar nuzzled his finger in return. "Thank you, Atlas."

"He alright?" Gerry asked grimly, already checking the moth for any sign of damage.

"Jonah had him for the entire session," Jon replied. "No overt threats today, he just… didn't let him go until we were finished. So. Could be worse."

"Could be a lot better," Gerry muttered.

It will be, he carefully didn't say. Soon, it will be.

It wasn't safe to talk like that. Not here. Not yet.

After Gerry coaxed food into him, Jon crawled beneath the covers and curled up as small as he could manage. Patched and mended blankets didn’t offer any more protection than the walls of this place, but huddling in the dark made it easier to pretend that Jonah couldn’t see him here. It was the only way he could make himself sleep, these days.

When he awoke to Gerry’s gentle shaking, Jon found that he hadn’t moved so much as a finger in his sleep.

Without a word, he slipped out from under the blanket. The light in their quarters was dimming as twilight approached. Gerry barely glanced up from the book he was reading at the table as Jon shuffled to the kitchenette and the kettle.

Casting the spell was a simple matter of well-practiced sleight of hand, disguised beneath mundane activities. One spell circle traced idly by Gerry’s finger against the page as he turned it, the other drawn in the air as Jon waved away the steam. They never did it the same way twice, nor with any regularity by day or week or month. If it became a pattern, then Jonah might catch it.

The spell slipped into place smoothly, with none of the clumsy ripples of their earliest attempts, and Jon let out a shaky sigh. They had to assume that Jonah was always watching—but now, if he was, all he would see was Gerry reading at the table, and Jon drinking tea at the kitchenette. It was a routine they had set long ago. It was exactly what Jonah would expect to see.

Titan willing, it would be enough. They couldn’t afford to slip up now.

“It’s almost ready,” Gerry assured him. “Everything’s in place. All we have to do is wait for the moon’s alignment to power it.”

Jon ran his hand absently over his arm, scratching at the pockmark scars that dotted his skin. Some of the ingredients had cost them dearly to procure. They likely wouldn’t get another chance on any of them.

When he looked at Gerry again, his friend was watching him with something indescribably soft in his face. “It’ll work, Jon.”

“And if we’re caught?” Jon blurted. “We can’t hide this ritual behind false visions. He’ll sense it no matter what his eyes tell him.”

“Once it’s cast, it won’t matter,” Gerry said with grim satisfaction. “We’ll have our out. And where it leads, Jonah won’t have any of the power he does here.”

Jon took a deep, shaky breath, and nodded. His hands curled and uncurled at his sides, nails digging deep into his palms.

Gerry’s eyes never left him. “What’s on your mind?”

Swallowing against the thickness in his throat, Jon struggled to find an answer. “Is it—is it wrong that I’m afraid?”

“Jon, no—”

“I didn’t want to be here,” Jon went on. “I never wanted—ever since I came here, I’ve wanted to leave. And now we finally have a chance. Why am I afraid?” Gerry opened his mouth like he was about to reply, but Jon couldn’t have stopped himself if he tried. “It’s not like I’m safe here. Today wasn’t even that bad, compared to… it wasn't that bad.” A bitter, ragged laugh tore itself from his throat. "He pushed me until I bled from my eyes, and he was happy to keep pushing, and all I can think is it wasn't that bad. Why am I afraid to leave?" His voice trailed off. Atlas’s wings fluttered against his head, mirroring his agitation.

Instead of answering, Gerry held out his arms. Jon walked into them without hesitation.

“You were a kid.” With his head on Gerry’s shoulder, his hand to his heart, and Gerry’s arms holding him close, Jon felt surrounded by his friend’s voice.

“I was nearly eighteen,” Jon protested. “Hardly a child.”

“I’m just saying, you’ve been here too long not to be scared of what’s out there,” Gerry reminded him. “And it’s not like we’re escaping out the front door. We don’t really know what we’ll find on the other side.”

Jon’s hand curled into a fist against Gerry’s chest, and his other arm tightened around him. If they did this right, then their exit strategy would dump them into an entirely new world, of which Jon had only ever read old books or heard second and third-hand stories. A fresh wave of apprehension seized him.

Not for the first time, he let himself be desperately, pathetically grateful that he wasn’t doing this alone.

“Can you keep it together?” Gerry asked, still quietly gentle. “I just—I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But I can’t do this alone. This is a two-person job at least, and—”

“Of course.” Reluctantly, Jon pulled back to look him in the eye. “I’m not going to give up at the last moment. You can rely on me.”

Gerry smiled. That was a rare thing, these days. All the more reason not to lose his nerve. Once they got out, Jon was going to spend the rest of their lives giving Gerry every reason to keep doing it.

“I know,” Gerry replied. “Now come on. Let’s finish prepping before we run out of twilight.”

***

“You know,” Gerry whispered late at night, as Jon settled himself into the curve of his body. “By the time I left home, I’d passed up five chances to escape.”

Jon listened in silence. He was never quite sure what to say when Gerry talked about how he grew up. Nothing felt like the right thing to say. Luckily, Gerry never seemed to expect him to say anything at all.

“Those are just the ones I was looking out for, at the time,” Gerry went on. “Couldn’t tell you how many I just didn’t see.”

“You were a kid,” Jon murmured back.

Gerry scoffed into Jon’s hair, and Jon smiled. “Don’t you turn my words back on me. How dare you.” A moment later, “But… you’re not wrong. I was a kid. She was all I knew. I didn’t know who I was without her.”

Safely out of Gerry’s line of vision, Jon allowed himself a thoughtful frown. It was different for him, wasn’t it? Gerry had been born his mother’s son, but Jon had been someone before he was Jonah’s… whatever he was. Student, research assistant, test subject, prisoner.

Before, he’d been the son of parents he barely remembered. He’d been the grandson of a woman who did her best until he drove her to give up on him, and a coven leader came to her with a kind smile and a promise to take away her burden. And now…

And now he wasn’t any of that. Because there wasn’t anything for him to go back to. The only way out was forward, into the unknown.

“I figured it out in the end,” Gerry told him. “You will too. I know you will.”

“I might need help with that,” Jon admitted. “I could use your expertise.”

A soft huff of laughter jostled him. “I’m gonna be in the same boat as you, you know? I’ve never been to the human world.”

“You still know more about it than me,” Jon pointed out.

Gerry was quiet for a moment. “He didn’t tell you anything?” he asked eventually. “It didn’t take much to get him talking, when I was running around with him.”

“Only a few things. His family, his brother, some of his favorite foods. It was all we had time for before we parted ways.”

“Ah, that’s a shame,” Gerry sighed. “The human world sounds amazing—if even half the things he told me about were even real.”

Jon laughed softly. “I know what you mean. Can you imagine someone actually swimming in the ocean? It would strip the flesh clean off your bones.”

“Not if the water’s cold and non-corrosive. Which it apparently is. People swim in the ocean all the time. It’s a thing. They take their kids and everything.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” Jon stifled a yawn.

“It was weird, you know?” Gerry went on. “The things he’d talk about like they were nothing. Sometimes he’d say just the wildest thing, and he’d look at me like I was crazy when I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm… trying to think of one I haven’t told you before…” Gerry hesitated. “Did I tell you about how mornings in the human realm just… make water?”

“You mentioned something about the rainwater being cold,” Jon replied.

“No no, this is different. Titan, how did he explain it…” Gerry hummed thoughtfully. “Something about how, when it’s cold enough, everything’s covered in little droplets of water in the morning. The air just… does that. Makes water out of nothing.”

“I’m sure there’s more to it than that.”

“Can’t remember,” Gerry admitted. “He showed me a picture, though. Water droplets on a spiderweb. Looked like tiny little diamonds. Dunno what kind of face I was making, but he laughed at me.”

“Rude,” Jon murmured.

“Still not sure I believe it.”

“Maybe we’ll see it for ourselves. One day.” One day very, very soon.

Gerry’s only reply was to run gentle fingers through Jon’s hair, again and again, until Jon finally fell asleep.

***

The moon sat at its apex, round and bright and wreathed in blue fire that seemed to dim the stars around it. It was the first thing Jon saw when Gerry gently shook him awake.

He stirred, wincing when his movements jarred his injuries. Most of the day had been devoted to Jonah’s experiments, and Jon had fresh wounds to prove it. The burns on his face would heal without scarring, but his right hand was still wrapped in liniment-soaked bandages. Jon avoided putting any weight on it as he rose to a sitting position and pushed back the blanket. The sight of the moon, burning brightly in celestial alignment, chased away any lingering weariness.

They cast their usual cloaking spell with less caution than usual. It was only a stopgap measure at best, a few minutes’ safety to get everything in place. The table, chair, and alchemy set were pushed aside to clear the floor. With steadier hands—Jonah had been focused on Jon today, leaving Gerry a day of respite—Gerry borrowed Jon’s staff to draw the circle. Atlas alighted on his place at the top of the staff, colors fading as he shifted back into wood, and the symbols glowed brighter. Jon fetched each component from their hiding places around the room, and began laying them out amid the lines that Gerry was tracing.

They worked quickly, not speaking, barely breathing. For all their planning, there had been no time to practice. They would get only one chance, and no more.

And so, there was no time or opportunity to brace themselves before Gerry drew the last line, and Jon poured the last drop of Titan blood, and the circle caught the moonfire blazing through the open window.

The spell ignited, and the sheer force of clashing power nearly knocked them both off their feet. Their flimsy cloaking spell shattered, exposing them to Jonah’s sight, but it was far too late to turn back.

Jon had barely regained his footing when his own magic, coursing through the spell circle alongside Gerry’s, was caught in the moonlight’s amplifying effect. For a single, glorious moment, for the first time in years, Jon felt magic—wild magic, covenless magic—coursing through him. He smelled fire and earth and sea air, felt wind against his face, sensed the distant light of stars above them, tasted blood in the back of his throat as drumbeats pounded in his ears. Every sensation rushed him at once, melding together into a storm of color and music. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever felt.

And then the coven brand on his arm blazed, burning away the storm until only the Beholding remained.

It seized him mercilessly, knowledge clamoring its way into his head all at once. It was a confusing mess, so many sights and sounds and thoughts that he couldn’t have picked out a single one among them. But in the end he adjusted, the stream became more focused, and his mind was his own once more.

At the center of the circle, a seam formed in the fabric of the world. It split neatly down the length of it, opening wide into a ragged doorway.

Jon’s heart leapt. They had been planning this for years, researching in secret, sneaking and lying and stealing to get the components together, and yet—only now did he realize that he had never expected it to actually work. The fact that it had, that freedom lay only a few steps from where he stood, was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.

Jonah was on his way, he realized absently. It wasn’t just the inevitability of it; even without his focus on the river of knowledge flowing through him, he couldn’t help but catch a few drops. One of them showed their captor flying up the stairs toward their quarters, wild-eyed and intent.

“Gerry,” he said. “We have to—”

Another scrap of knowledge slipped into his mind, like a dagger between his ribs.

“Jon?” Gerry’s voice sounded far away. Everything was suddenly muffled, even the portal. Even the Beholding, swollen with moonlight, felt far away. The whole world was contained in a single, inescapable truth.

“We can’t.” The words slipped from Jon’s mouth. His hand closed on Gerry’s arm. “Gerry, we can’t.”

“Jon, let go, the portal’s right—”

“It won’t work.” Jon squeezed his arm. “It won’t—there’s not enough power. It’s not stable enough for both of us. As soon as one of us goes through, the spell will fall apart and the portal will close. It won’t work.”

Gerry stared back at him, face suffused with dismay.

Dismay, but not surprise.

Jon’s heart sank like a stone in mud. “You knew.”

“Jon, there’s no time for this, now let go—” He was pulling away, prying Jon’s fingers from his arm, and the portal was within his reach, and Jonah was so close to their door.

“You knew,” he repeated. “How long have you known? How long have you been lying?”

“I had no choice!” Gerry shouted over the crackling, ringing din of the spell. “There was no other way! What was I supposed to do, sit here while both of us wasted away? What other chance was either of us going to get?”

The worst part was, Jon couldn’t bring himself to be surprised, or even all that angry, really. Of course this was going to happen. It was simply the culmination of his entire life, thus far. His parents, his old friends, his grandmother—and now Gerry.

Maybe it was just his lot to be left behind.

Across the room, the door rattled. Jonah called to them from the other side. Jon barely heard either.

“I…” His throat grew thick. “I understand.”

“Jon, I’m sorry,” Gerry said desperately. “I wish there was another way.”

“No, I—” He really shouldn’t be crying. This was a happy thing, after all. Gerry was going to be free. “At least—even if it’s just one of us—”

Gerry smiled through his own tears. “I’m really gonna miss you,” he said.

“It’s not fair,” Jon blurted out. “We were supposed to go together. We were supposed to see it together!”

“When has any of this ever been fair?”

Tears gathered in his eyes until Jon blinked them away. His last sight of Gerry should be a clear one. “Please don’t forget me.”

The door rattled again, and Gerry choked back a sob. “Fuck. I could never. You’re not the sort of person anyone just forgets.”

Before Jon could reply, Gerry lunged forward. Not toward the portal, not toward freedom, but to Jon. The kiss was fast and clumsy with desperation, but the hands against the sides of his face were ruthlessly gentle.

“I love you,” Gerry whispered. “Don’t look back.”

Jon blinked back his tears, confusion cutting through the grief. “What?”

Gerry curled Jon’s hands around the staff and threw him into the portal.

He fell through the riot of color and music, too shocked to scream as the image of Gerry shattered into pieces above him. The light winked out, and Jon fell into the emptiness alone.

***

Jon landed hard, though not nearly hard enough for how long he must have been falling.

He lay in darkness and silence, wheezing softly as he regained his breath, gripping his staff until his fingers went numb and his injured hand screamed in protest. The air was cold and smelled stale. The light show from the portal was gone, but he could still feel its power humming beneath his skin, threatening to burst free.

After a while, Jon gathered himself enough to roll over. The floor felt like stone beneath his hands, relatively smooth but unpolished. With a grunt of effort, Jon planted his staff on the ground and pulled himself to his feet. It was too dark to see well when he opened his eyes, so he felt along the length of the staff until he found the shape of wooden moth wings at the end.

“Atlas?” His voice rasped in his chest. The wood turned to soft chitin, and Atlas took off from the head of the staff to flutter in frantic circles around his head, buffeting him gently when he flew too close. “Yes, yes—it’s alright. We’re alright.”

Atlas landed on his shoulder, and Jon’s eyes adjusted.

Was this the human world? For all he knew, the portal might have simply dropped him elsewhere in the demon realm. He was in a room, possibly a basement, judging by the clutter. Boxes sat in stacks and piles, some of them too full to close properly. Indistinct objects sat against the walls—an old mirror, frames wrapped in thick brown paper, a tall wooden clock that didn’t seem to be working. A thick layer of dust blanketed everything, untouched by fingerprints or footsteps.

He was alone.

Of course he was alone, he’d seen the portal break apart as soon as he fell into it, with Gerry still on the other side. Jonah had been seconds from breaking the door down, and now—

A harsh sob took him by surprise, and tears blinded him all over again.

Jonah had never set a clear punishment for escaping. And now, whatever it was, Gerry was facing it alone.

They weren’t supposed to be alone, they were never supposed to be alone. It shouldn’t have been him going through the portal, it should have been Gerry, why couldn’t have been Gerry, why couldn’t Gerry have been selfish for once in his life—

A distant scream rang out, shocking him out of his tears. Jon stared around, wide-eyed and searching, but the room was still. Then the ceiling shook with a crash, drawing his eyes upward.

“It’s above us,” he murmured. “Stairs—we need to find stairs.” Atlas took off from his shoulder, eye spots glowing in the gloom.

With an extra set of eyes, Jon found the stairs within a minute. He ran up them, his brand warming as he loosened the leash on his swollen magic. The door at the top of the steps was locked, but he Knew within seconds where to find a key. Atlas vanished from his side and returned moments later, clutching it in all six of his legs.

The door opened to an unlit hallway. Jon hesitated, took one last look back at the dark and cluttered basement, and hurried on.

He could hear more, now that he was really listening for it. Running footsteps, multiple sets by the sound of it. Shouting, always muffled and bitten-off, as if whoever was doing it was trying very hard not to. There were people in trouble—this was the human world, wasn’t it? Was it as hostile as the demon realm after all?

The hallway ended and took him up another flight of stairs. He expected to see light at some point, either artificial or from the windows. The last time he saw the moon, it had nearly blinded him. But instead, the darkness of the stairwell only seemed to grow thicker as he ascended, and reaching the door at the top did nothing to abate it.

At the very least, what he could see of the room he stepped out into looked more like the ground floor. There were proper floorboards, high ceilings, and windows that only showed faint outlines of trees against a dark, starless sky. The house was unlit, and his eyes refused to adjust. Jon drew a quick spell circle on his forehead with one fingertip, and magic poured into his eyes to light the way.

Shouting rang out again from somewhere above. Jon raced to follow it.

Around him, the house was in the slow process of falling apart. Ornate wallpaper hung faded and peeling, shreds of old rugs showed the ragged remains of color and embroidery, and broken shards of wood protruded from walls and doorways alike, as if any ornamentation set into them had been ripped out long ago. This must have been a fine-looking house once, but now it was a crumbling wreck.

Eventually the hallway opened up to another dilapidated chamber, this one a rotting front hall with its doors still standing ajar. Opposite them, the sagging remains of a grand staircase led up to another floor.

Jon had nearly reached the foot of it when he spotted movement at the top of the steps, and his vision went black.

For a split second he thought he’d lost consciousness, but the floor remained firmly beneath his feet. His breath came in short bursts of alarm as he drew another spell circle for sight in the darkness, to no avail.

Jon settled his grip on the staff, wincing at the pain in his burned hand. The bad news was, nothing that simple was going to let him see through this darkness. The good news was, it meant he knew what he was dealing with. He should have figured it out as soon as he left the basement and saw how dark it was. Stupid.

He could hear the others. Their running footsteps had fallen still, but the sound of panicked breathing was unmistakable. Someone was whimpering in pain with each breath. Someone else was whispering frantic reassurances. The darkness swallowed up everything else.

Jon hardly had to reach for his magic. It was brimming all the way to the surface, swollen from the storm of half-wild magic that had brought him here. When he drew a spell circle in the air with a tight whirl of his staff, it all came boiling up and out like a geyser.

Eyes opened everywhere—in Jon’s face and neck, along the length of his staff, in Atlas’s wooden face and wings, and in the choked air all around him. The darkness burned away as quick and clean as thin paper, revealing the scene before him.

There were three people now at the foot of the stairs, in such a state of panicked disarray that Jon could hardly tell whether they’d run or fallen down them. The larger of the two men had the others pushed behind him, backing away from the creature that menaced them, all three of them too frozen in terror to even attempt to cast a spell.

In spite of the glowing eyes that lit the room, a single wriggling mass of darkness remained, crawling and twitching toward its prey with wispy feelers that reached out to touch them. Sour air wafted from its body, filling the room with the smell of rot.

An acid shade. Nasty, hateful things that hunted prey by blinding it, then dissolving it while it was still alive. One touch was enough to melt the skin off your hand. Gerry still had scars from his last encounter with one.

Gerry.

The eyes blazed, and for the first time the brightness touched the shade’s slick hide. It recoiled, convulsing with a sound that was not a scream, but close enough.

Jon didn’t remember crossing the room, but he stood between the writhing mass of shadows and its would-be victims, so he must have. Fear warred with wild, directionless anger. He missed Gerry and hated Jonah. He remembered the feeling of lips on his, and the sight of his only friend weeping as his image shattered. Jon took all of it, gathered up every last drop, and poured it all into the merciless light of his swollen magic. He gave it all of himself, until it was blinding, until he could See every part of the room he stood in, down to every last crack in the walls, down to every convulsing wisp of darkness that made up the shade.

It let out another not-scream as it was utterly, agonizingly Seen.

And then it was gone, and Jon’s last drop of magic trickled out and left him hollow.

The darkness returned—not a demonic creature this time, but regular unconsciousness creeping up on him. He fought it as he turned and looked back at the faces of the people he’d saved. A round-faced man, so pale that his freckles stood out in his face; a woman with wide eyes and dark hair in disarray; and the second man clutching a corrosive burn that covered his arm, whose face—

—whose face Jon recognized.

“Danny?” Half-blind, Jon struggled to focus as the world grew smaller, and the darkness overtaking it nearly obscured the look of shock on the man’s face. “You found your way home?”

He lost his grip on consciousness before he could hear the answer.

[percabethfiles]

Charlie

Uh... Hello? Anybody still here? I haven't been around in years and years. But I keep my fandoms stored in some corner of my brain waiting for something to tug them out. And of all things this time it was Taylor Swift re-releasing her old songs, because I used to imagine so many percabeth scenes listening to "Fearless". So have this little something that's been sitting unfinished in my archives for years now.

Remember that time Percy saw Sadie Kane and thought “Hey, this is what mine and Annabeth’s daughter would look like”? Yes.

(Also there are small nods to that fic I wrote about Logan, Hidden Heritage, but I've been meaning to re-write it someday because there were SO MANY PLOT HOLES omg)

When they find out it’s a girl it’s a bit too soon to know for sure, or so the doctor tells them. They’ll have to wait for the next appointment to know for certain. “So don’t go buying any tiny dresses yet,” he jokes and they laugh along, but they’ve been together for approximately eighteen years now, they can tell what the other’s thinking with a glance and the ecstatic grin that breaks through their lips lets him know they’re on the same page. Too late. They’re already thinking plush bow and arrows and a Merida costume for her first Halloween.

Percy tries to keep his cool. As the weeks progress, he tries not to get his hopes up, but in his heart he knows already. They hadn’t really had a preference before, they’d been too happy knowing their baby was fully human and had all its limbs (with the number of deities they’d pissed off, you never knew), but a little girl? It feels right after their two boys, it feels like their family will be complete.

(He thinks about a slight blonde girl with streaked hair and a British accent dropping from the sky on a magic camel, remembers thinking “if Annabeth and I had a daughter…” and his chest squeezes tight with happiness so raw he has a little trouble breathing)

When the doctor beams at them next appointment and says “Congratulations, Jackson family, it really is a girl,” he’s not surprised, but no less elated. He doesn’t hear the lame joke about Jackson Five, he’s too busy trying to be a manly man and not burst into tears because he’s going to have a daughter. When Annabeth’s in the other room paying for the appointment, and he’s waiting for the doctor to print the really impressive high tech 3D picture of the ultrasound, the man asks him “So did you go ahead and buy a tiny dress anyway?”

Percy blushes.

The man shakes his head in amusement. “Every time”.

His work colleagues, proud dads of little girls themselves, try to terrorize him with tales of tea parties and future boyfriends, and Percy thinks somewhere in the middle of all that teasing they mean well, but really, he’s mostly annoyed. It’s not like he’s new to parenthood, he’s got two sons already and they seem to be turning out okay, and before, when Logan and Nathan were just a nice dream for the future, there was Estelle, the little sister Percy had never expected, but loved to bits all the same.

And then Charlie is born.

She’s tiny, warm and pink, all curled up in her yellow cable-knit blanket, a tuft of blonde hair peeking out of a tiny, tiny beanie, features scrunched into the most adorable variation of a grumpy face. He’s not new to parenthood, he’s been here twice before, but the rush of affection and protectiveness and awe and raw love is just as genuine. He’s smiling like a dork, can’t seem to stop, walking from side to side, avidly searching her traits. She’s bigger than Nate was when he’d been born, but smaller than Logan. Her hair was light, like Nate’s, would it stay blonde or darken with time? Would her eyes be like his or Annabeth’s? And oh, she had her mother’s nose (they all did).

It never fails to amaze him how such a small, vulnerable being can shake up his whole world until it’s made a space for her. And he’s done this before, he’s no first time sailor this time, he’d thought he had it all under control. But she blinks and looks up at him with half-lidded eyes and a frowny face and—they’re green. Her eyes are the blue-green Logan’s are, Percy’s are.

(He’s got two sons who are his life, and he does love all his children equally, but holding his daughter for the first time, he thinks he understands his friends’ warnings. He doesn’t love her more, it’s just… different. It’s special.)

When he goes back to work, Nick takes one look at him and bursts into laughter. He claps him on the shoulder in commiseration.

“I told you.”

He’s completely wrapped around her finger already.

It’s not too different, he finds out. Especially having been pre-trained by Estelle. He’s got to brush up on his Disney princess knowledge, and hair braiding skills. He hasn’t gotten much better at color coordinating the polka dotted bows and tiny shoes, but Charlie is really forgiving. She is a very happy baby, much happier and easy going than any of the boys had been.

She’s also fucking crazy.

She is smaller and skinnier than her brothers, likes to wear frilly dresses and talk to plush animals and dance around the house in a pink tutu, but she’s wild. She never learned to crawl, just held on to the couch until she was wobbling on two feet, and it seemed like the very next day she was running across the house, the mall, the park, and if he turned his eyes away for one second, she was shooting off in the streets and nearly getting run over.

He’d found her dangling from the kitchen cabinets, trying to reach the cowering cat. She had a phase when she thought she could fly and she would climb furniture and stairs and the window sill and just… Launch herself into the air expecting her flying powers to manifest spontaneously. If they hadn’t been trying to raise them away from the whole mythological world, he would have sat her down and clarified that she had the wrong Olympian Grandparent in mind. She might have had more luck jumping into the ocean.

She had a way to jut out her lower lip, and turn those big green eyes on him that could render his every effort to be a responsible parental presence useless.

Besides, she was so funny. He could never muster enough anger to discipline her, because if he found her on the kitchen table covered in peanut butter, somehow sporting a very sticky Mohawk, and looking entirely unapologetic, well, he just couldn’t stop laughing.

One day he’s coming home from work and he hasn’t even pulled the key from the lock when Charlie calls out ‘you’re back daddy,’ in what sounds vaguely like a new jersey accent. He finds her sitting on the floor of the living room, drowning in one of Annabeth’s bathrobes, pink plastic barbie sunglasses on, holding a pooh bear sippy cup with one hand and a pinky stretched out.

“Charlie, what are you doing?”

“It’s wine Wednesday, daddy.”

“It’s what?”

“Wine Wednesday.”

He had half a mind to check if her sippy cup actually contained wine because they hid their alcohol way up in the cabinets she can’t reach but that girl could climb like a monkey. He knows he should follow that remark up with some kind of questioning of where she’d even heard of ‘wine Wednesdays’ and then explain that kids don’t drink wine or some other kind of responsible parent speech, but a sudden burst of incredulous laughter bubbles up in his throat and he takes refuge in the kitchen, lest he encourages her behavior.

He finds Annabeth there, hand over her mouth, clearly in stitches over their daughter’s performance. He wants to question if she gave her permission to wear her bathrobe but finding his wife nearly doubled over in silent laughter in the kitchen is too much and he finally lets out the guffaw he’d been trying to hold on to.

It’s not the first time Charlie leaves them breathless with laughter, and he’s almost scared of what she’s going to cook up in the future.

Charlie is a hellion.

There isn’t one person safe from her pranks, but she’s so adorable she hardly ever catches hell for it, and she’s learning to use it in her favor – thankfully, just in time for her parents to develop immunity to her puppy eyes. And she’s… difficult, yes, but not always, and not in a terrible way. For all her climbing the roof, organizing illegal cookie sales, getting in fights with her classmates, she’s not a bad kid. She’s got Percy’s penchant for befriending the kids no one wants to go near, and defending her ragtag team of losers. She’s loyal to a fault, and it gets her in trouble often.

She and Nate have epic jealousy fights over everything, including – but not limited to – Logan’s attention, the crayons, the biggest piece of cake and all the videogame characters in the world are not enough, they will always want whatever the other picked. It gives them many, many headaches. Logan, on the other hand, positively spoils her, and whenever Charlie gets in trouble they can be sure to find her hiding behind her big brother while he gives them this solemn look and says “It’s ok, mom and dad, Charlie promises she won’t do it again. We’ve talked.”

When the whole “Logan being attacked by a dracanae in school and thus finding out his Olympian heritage” debacle came to pass, and they started frequenting camp again, there was nowhere in the entire Camp Charlie would rather be than the stables. She’d spend hours there with the Aphrodite kids, brushing the pegasi and talking to them endlessly about all her classmates and her friends, and her dolls, and her new dress, and the new book grandma gave her. It was all really cute until Percy realized the pegasi were talking back, and she fully understood their replies.

And it’s funny, really, because Logan had taken after Percy, to a point where bathing him had been hard as a child because he tended to stay dry in the tub, and Nathan was Annabeth to a T, but Charlie was a perfect mix of them both.

He guesses it makes sense it would be so explosive.

When Charlie is twelve, she gets kicked out of school.

Percy is not overly worried about it himself – the number of schools he’d been kicked out of reached double digits, and this was only her first – but he is worried about how she will feel. Getting the boot from a place that’s housed you for years, where your friends are, where everyone already knows you and having to start over is never pleasant, no matter how used to it you were.

He’d expected the school to have gotten tired of all her pranks and misbehaving, which was fair, he guessed. But when Annabeth comes home from the meeting with the school director, she is seething, and not at their daughter. Charlie is angry too. In fact, it’s the first time he’s ever seen his daughter well and truly pissed off. The two of them are a sight for nightmares, both blondes standing side by side ranting with righteous fury, they look ready to start a revolution. What he gets from her angry snarls and Charlie’s rushed rambling is that Charlie had talked back to a teacher that was picking on the autistic kid and demeaning the thirteen year old who was repeating sixth grade.

She’d called him a brain-washing small minded overgrown bully who, he was quoting, didn’t get enough love from his parents.

And Percy is so proud his eyes even get a little misty.

Because he’s getting old and sentimental and raising kids is very hard. No one knows what they’re doing, not one person, not even the fancy psychologists with those books on raising perfect, well rounded, high-achieving members of society that Annabeth insisted on reading when she was pregnant with Logan. You do your best and you hope for the best, and you don’t know what you get until it’s basically too late to do anything about it. And even if he did have the best mom in the history of the entire world to draw example from, he was also half of an absent Olympian father whose heritage condemned him to dance in and out of battlefields half his life.

He’s always been terrified of being a crap father.

He looks at Charlie cussing out with every mild version of actual cuss words, stalking around the kitchen like a little lioness in a cage, furious at the unfairness of the whole situation, caring less about being expelled and more about who was going to defend her friends from that awful teacher when she’s gone.

His daughter is only twelve, but she’s already so brave, such a force of nature. She won’t stand for injustice, and she won’t take insult lying down. And she’s so kind. She’s growing up, and the person she is slowly turning out to be… is good.

And something in his heart shifts and settles down, smooths over old fears and anxious thoughts.

Percy doesn’t mean to brag, but he thinks he’s not doing half bad as a parent.

[neonponders]

I started writing this very niche au ages ago that @booksfoxesandcoffee and @demogirlfriend tinkered with lol​ it’s not quite what I wanted, but at least it’s done ~

Based on my post for This Steve with This Billy:

vampire/musician!Steve and mobster!Billy.

TW for briefly mentioned drugs and all manner of vampire things.

💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

If Billy were being honest with himself, it wasn’t the man’s looks that hooked him. The way a superior dancer stands out in the ensemble, it was the musician’s energy that made Billy’s eyes keep finding him.

Every business that opened his his territory went through Billy’s strict legislature. And the whole city was his to play king.

He didn’t consider himself a strict businessman, but he did attend the new club with regularity to make sure they had what they needed to succeed. If they couldn’t succeed, then they’d have to rebuild elsewhere.

They did succeed. Because they had Steve Harrington.

On paper, he was lead guitarist. An instrumentalist. Vocalist if necessary. Billy Hargrove knew he shined in neon stage lighting and his special trick was swinging the instrument around his body so the guitar switched sides halfway through a song or riff, proving ambidextrous dexterity.

Billy knew Harrington was hard to get ahold of. So far, he’d hosted every member of the band and every guest musician at his VIP table. Harrington always had reasons for leaving directly after a show, which surprised Billy. The man’s band mates clearly revolved around him, looked to him for timing cues, and Billy even had the unique experience of seeing the man smack a drink out of the bassist’s hand because the guy could barely stand.

There was a personality there, and Billy wanted to see it up close. Taste it.

Somehow, Harrington had even avoided being invited to Billy’s table during the mid-show break. Always conveniently disappearing until the second he needed to be on stage.

Until now.

Billy’s guards stood up when Harrington approached with someone held firmly by the scruff of his shirt and jacket. Billy waved them aside, and the musician dumped the guy into Billy’s booth. Some heads turned in their direction, curious for drama but not for long. Anyone who hung around Billy, hungering for his attention, knew to be careful about annoying him.

“Is this one of yours?” Harrington prompted.

“Why would he be?” Billy inquired with a lethargic blink.

“I thought your sort had more class than distributing roofies.”

Billy’s pleased, large feline demeanor sloughed off as he turned his head to the man in his booth. Billy didn’t bother negating Harrington’s accusations. Anybody with sense knew who he was. The only thing that bothered Billy at the moment was the use of some nobody to get the musician’s attention.

“You’re right. He isn’t.”

Just like that, the guards lifted the sorry soul out of his booth and began ushering him out of the club. He made a weak attempt at promising an ability to make Billy money, but the latter wasn’t interested in a business centered around dangerous sex. Billy considered himself a purveyor of the opposite; of passion, and real passion only came when all parties were conscious for it.

“Steve.”

The musician paused to look back at him, already on his way back to the greenroom or wherever he hid in between performances.

“Sit with me.”

Steve’s gaze flicked down to the now available seat next to Billy. “No, thanks.”

As if he could - 

He did.

Steve walked away from the table. Billy saw the more discretely dressed guards loitering in the crowd turn and begin to approach Harrington...before distinctly letting him pass.

It was not a regular day that Billy Hargrove’s employees feared someone else more than him.

He pressed his back into the booth, and one of the women sitting along the back of the booth leaned down to hear him. “I want his file.”

“Yes, sir,” she purred. It took no time at all for her to return to his table with Harrington’s business papers. Typical tax form, resume, no cover letter but instead a CD with his music samples.

“What about his background?”

Her nails raked through her long, black hair. She played the part of groupie very well. “We don’t have anything yet.”

Billy found that hard to believe. “He’s worked here for weeks.”

She shrugged a bare, shimmering shoulder. “He hides very well. We’ll have something soon.”

Not soon enough.

Billy took to wandering his club instead of sitting. Why they didn’t just haul the musician into Billy’s office for questioning…no sensible person detonates a bomb without knowing the area is clear. They didn’t know enough about Steve. Whether he belonged to a family scouting the borough before encroaching on Billy’s property.

Would it be their fault for sending in a mole without honoring the proper channels? Yes.

Would it be Billy’s fault for starting an underground war for harming Steve first? Also yes.

So he watched. So he waited. And he began to enjoy this game he and Steve had developed. Because Steve wasn’t as oblivious. He looked pretty—the kind of pretty that some mistake as dumb—but Steve had proven in many, subtle ways just how observant he could be.

The way he managed his band members’ alcohol or obvious drug addictions.

The second time he hauled some petty dealer over to Billy’s booth.

When he flipped Billy off as he walked away after Billy tested, “I noticed you like brunettes.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Steve watched Billy. And Billy watched Steve. At least, Billy suspected. Billy hoped.

The confirmation arrived in the humid alleyway behind his club. He was already itching for a fight. For the last two weeks, a new asshole had been loitering around and inside his business. No one had yet been able to catch him doing anything—until Billy followed him out of the wrong exit. Nobody could use service doors at the back of the building; it was both a safety hazard for civilians to be in the way of delivery trucks, and any squeals about people coming and going from there would have the police riding Billy’s tail.

Then the bastard had the audacity to take two girls who were definitely sporting fake id’s outside.

He slammed the service door against the brick exterior to get their attention. All three of them were huddled and necking between two garbage bins. A real class act.

“Jail bait bimbos, get inside. This asshole can lock himself in a concrete box without your…help.”

The distinct memory of Steve delivering roofy dealers to him flashed in his brain at the sight of the blissed out girls using the alley walls to stay upright. The memory flew out into the main street at the glistening darkness on both of their necks, dripping into their low cut shirts.

In the window of Billy’s surprise, the guy attacked. Slammed Billy right against the other side of the alley, knocking the air out of him—

Billy’s brain couldn’t keep up. But his eyes could.

A large hand gripped the gelled hair and wrenched the guy’s head so far back that Billy heard a threatening pop.

Billy had never stood next to Steve before. He stood just a little taller than Billy—both smaller than the impressive figure he’d watched so many times on stage, but also bigger because he’d never been this close…

Billy was officially having trouble breathing as he watched the man’s wide eyes darting around his sockets despite his broken neck and the disgusting angle of his windpipe.

“This spot’s taken. Tell your hovel to skip town. You won’t get a fourth chance.”

Fourth?

Billy’s eyes stuck on the bloody, long teeth in the man’s gullet before Steve shoved him down the alley. The man landed several yards away—no ordinary shove—but he hauled ass to his feet, head lolling on his shoulders with more sickening crackles.

Billy remained stationary as Steve fixed the shirts and jackets falling on the girls’ shoulders went to hail a cab. One of them recovered faster than the other, and hauled her friend into the vehicle. By this time, Billy managed to say, “What will they do with those stained shirts?”

Steve looked at him, suddenly looking remarkably…normal. Even startled, like he’d forgotten Billy was there. He didn’t hold Billy’s gaze, instead looking a bit downward—

“What will you do about yours?”

Billy frowned, blinking twice before he looked down at himself. It took him a moment to see the difference in his dark blue button-up. But he glistened like the girls did. Slowly, his mind caught up and realized how warm the side of his neck felt, and how gross. Wet. Dry. Sticky. Crusting.

“How did I not even notice?”

Like a dream clinging onto his waking consciousness, the blurry numbness subsided, and Billy realized his throat really fucking hurt.

Steve’s gaze dropped even further, tilting away from Billy as he pointed at the doors. “Go and clean yourself up. Go home.”

Leave it to Billy Hargrove’s pride to stack his spine back together. He stepped off the alley wall and into Steve’s space.

“Don’t—” he turned his face further to the side.

“Explain,” Billy ordered, even as Steve’s hand lifted to cover his mouth.

Steve shook his head a little. “I don’t have to,” he muffled and lifted weary eyes. “Clean yourself up.”

The answers were right there. Yet it seemed…stupid to say any of it out loud. How many movies? Book? Shows?

Instead he said, “Show me.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “You don’t play with bears like this.”

Billy laughed. He laughed Steve all the way out of the alleyway. Billy only regretted this when the next evening, the secretaries of the business ran through the week’s itinerary. Steve wasn’t scheduled.

A long week progressed of Billy thinking over that night. How the hell a guardian angel with teeth and no wings lived his nights in Billy’s cage and Billy had just…taunted him into slipping right out of the bars.

When another week presented itself with still no sight of his musician, Billy knew he would have more than one inconvenience on his plate. His customers liked Steve. Statistically, the club was fit to bursting since a third more clientele showed up for the band’s gigs. Steve made the barkeeps laugh in between numbers. Billy had always thought he used the alcohol in the greenroom instead of taking up the bars’ time.

Instead he dropped rats right into the king’s lap. Creatures Billy never would have seen unless Steve made them visible.

“Schedule Steve’s group on Sunday.”

His secretary frowned at him. “Am I missing something? We’re off on Sundays.”

“He knows that. Just use whatever number he gave you.”

Billy waited behind the club. Perhaps he should have arranged a specific meeting time instead of just the vague Sunday, but…Steve was punctual to his usual call time. Billy heard his footsteps the same moment the lighter in his hands crackled softly under his cigarette.

Steve approached with his hands in his jean pockets. Then he entered the harsh lighting of the motion-detected beams above the doors. “You don’t look good.”

Because he didn’t. Steve made tired look good but he had met the line between tired and haggard. His lips were chapped and the lights above him put his eye sockets into harsh contrast. Billy missed the lush face he watched bathed in neon stage lights.

Steve only met Billy’s gaze briefly before looking back down the alley. “Haven’t been to the grocery store lately.”

“By ‘groceries,’ do you mean my place?”

“And if I do, then what?”

Billy smirked as easily as blinking. “I don’t recall firing you. You didn’t have to run—”

“Yes, I did. Dipshit.”

Billy moved his tongue over his teeth while he grinned. “Why didn’t you finish what he started? Three easy meals right there.”

“And swell up like a mosquito? Gross.”

Smoke sputtered out of his mouth. “You’re not what I expected. In any regard. It’s a wonder my employees haven’t been inspired by your recklessness. Or my letting you get away with it.”

“There’s no letting anything happen. We’re not all teeth. There’s nothing you could do if we don’t want it to happen. It’s the same on your side for humans.”

Billy’s next exhalation seeped out of his mouth. Slow. “Are you taking your time? Circling a stronger prey?” He tapped the ash off his cigarette, and watched Steve’s irises flick to the movement. “Most people come to me for my looks, money, or power. Is it the same for you?”

“No.”

That might’ve caught Billy off guard, if he didn’t feel gently nailed in place by Steve’s eyes lifting to his own. It was Billy’s turn to look down—down at the fingers grazing Billy’s hand as Steve reached for the cigarette. Took it.

“You’re easy prey because you’re already dying. You smoke a pack of these a day. The rest of the criminal cityscape would celebrate your funeral. A wolf’s goal is to eat. Not bragging rights—well. For the smart ones. We go for what’s easy.”

Glass-blue eyes wandered Steve’s face as he took a long inhalation. “I’ve never been called ‘easy’ in my entire life.”

Steve shrugged and—politely—aimed his lips to the side. Billy wondered how much he’d mind if Steve’s smoke graced his skin. “What can I say? We hunt the same way lions, tigers, and bears to. We go for what’s attainable with minimum effort.”

“You’re lazy.”

That overarching fringe bobbed over his head. Of course Steve had taken the time to style his hair. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Billy took his cigarette back with a huff. “I’ll decide later how insulted I should be. Until then, you’re the one looking like easy pickings.”

“You haven’t thrown anyone out of your place lately.”

That took an extra minute for Billy to process. “You…huh.”

Steve’s head moved with his eyes rolling onto him. “You don’t really think people in this city leave any bar without a fight, do you? I’ve had plenty of dinners on your tab.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Steve’s mouth lifted slightly in a skeptical grimace. “What’s the catch?”

Billy took his time with the last drag and stepped on the filter on his way to minimize the distance between them. “Explain to me why some pervert bites me and I’m fighting a hard on for two weeks?”

A rigid second passed, and then Steve crumbled into laughter. He laughed like a kid. A really cute little shit.

As Steve recovered, he heaved, “I’ve never heard anyone complain about the bite boners.”

Billy followed him as he reclined against the alley wall. “How about, instead of avoiding what’s really at play here, you admit to wanting to bite me. You’re usually on top of the rats that enter my business. But not that night.”

Steve stood on his own feet, making Billy feel the one inch he had on him. “And what if I did? What if it wasn’t your smell that made me crave, but jealousy?”

His musician’s bravado flickered when Billy’s tongue traced the edge of his bottom lip. “How do I smell?”

“Like smoked peaches.”

Steve was proving an annoying skill at making Billy dumbfounded. “What?”

He giggled anew. “Are you the type to fuck without kissing?”

Billy absorbed that and returned, “You like to kiss after blowjobs, don’t you?”

Steve wagged his head, so his words drifted back and forth over Billy’s mouth. “Yeah? So what?”

Billy inhaled deeply to make a show of sighing like humoring Steve’s romantic ethics was tiring him out—

Steve’s hands cradled his head with care, the soft sound of Billy’s hair scrunching underneath his fingers filling his ears as Steve licked inside Billy’s mouth. The latter’s jaw went slack, letting Steve in and meeting his tongue to taste him right back. Apart from the smoke, Steve tasted mutely sweet. The way a clean mouth does; the way a man should taste. Billy had always thought the way a person tasted was a uniquely intimate thing. Like a special piece of DNA could only be read with the tongue.

Steve’s tongue retreated so he could fully kiss Billy’s lips. When the lazy, soft pecks seemed to be Steve’s only intent, Billy gripped his shirtfront, the only warning he got before Billy licked the seam of his lips, wanting more. Wanting what they started.

“Mhm…is everything…a power trip with you?” Steve mumbled, but his breath shuddered when Billy pressed his hard groin against Steve’s pelvis.

“Bite me and fuck me—”

The lights went out, because they were tucked far enough behind a garbage bin for the motion detectors to not see them. Steve’s attention moved between these details and he uttered, “Next to the trash?”

Billy growled, “Ughh,” and hauled Steve off the brick and into his off-day business. “I should’ve guessed you were high maintenance.”

But right inside the doors, Billy tapped in the access code to a private elevator. “Where are we going?”

“Top floor penthouse.”

Steve snorted. “You’re like my cockatoo bragging about the highest swing.”

“You have a bird?”

“Yes, I have a bird! A little asshole named, Orchid. He whistles to all of my songs.”

“You’re the strangest excuse for a vampire I’ve ever seen.”

“And you are easy. Thanks for showing me the key to your house.”

Billy looked at him and met a toothy smirk. “Pisces, huh?”

The elevator dinged and Billy was too deep to back out now. He couldn’t tell which of them was the hunter, but he was ready to share a hell of a meal.

[notanacousticsetcal]

speak now - luke hemmings

summary - based off of the song speak now by taylor swift -- highly recommend listening before reading for the full experience.

warnings - none? nerves and kind of public speaking

word count - 1.6k - lyrics not included this time, lemme know if you guys prefer that

a/n - im SO sorry ive been MIA, i have had absolutely zero motivation. this is some trash i wrote a while ago and i thought i would post it while im trying to find inspiration to write something better. its the 5th installment of the song series so you can go check those out as well if you want! also, like i said in the word count, i did not include the lyrics this time around. i think i prefer that but im not sure, let me know if you guys want me to include the lyrics next time and i will! thank you for reading, i missed yall.

***

Your mom’s old pale yellow dress didn’t fit as well as you had hoped but you had no other options, formal events were not a common occurrence in your life. The wedges pinched at your toes and the thin dress straps dug into your shoulders but the soft yellow complimented your skin and you liked the ribbon around the waist so it wasn’t a total loss.

You sucked in a sharp breath, adjusting the dress once more in the mirror before grabbing your purse and hustling out the door. 

This wasn’t happening. You weren’t actually doing this. The girl who feels like she has to throw up before public speaking and stutters over small talk and avoids eye contact at all costs is supposed to stand up in front of 100 people and declare her love for the boy getting married to someone else? You felt nauseous thinking about it.

But you couldn’t sit idly by and watch the love of your life say “I do,” to the snobby girl that put gum in your hair in middle school. If there was ever a time that you would stand in front of a crowd voluntarily and speak, it would be now.

The venue was beautiful. The church had vaulted ceilings and large stained glass windows that cast colorful shadows on the hardwood flooring. There were cascading white curtains and pale pink tablecloths with little white doilies. It was pretty but humble and you felt a pang of jealousy in your chest.

Concealing yourself in the crowd wasn’t difficult considering she’d invited the county and all its neighbors. Everyone was in the pews standing and mingling and you noticed the only group sitting quietly was the family of the bride herself, all looking around carefully like the normal folk were unevolved cavemen. They wore coordinating lavender outfits with done up hair and hats with little feathers -- something straight out of a period piece. 

You rolled your eyes at their judgmental nature and apparent superiority complex before your attention was drawn to the boys in the front row talking seriously among themselves, dread written clearly on their faces. 

Calum, Ashton and Michael wore similar black tuxes, looking uncomfortable in the formal getup. You only watched for a few moments before you caught Ashton’s attention. He first looked shocked but his expression quickly became sincere. He gave you an apologetic smile which you returned before heading to the back to avoid any more curious eyes. His family would surely recognize you if they saw you and you didn’t want any extra attention on you until you were subjecting yourself to it. 

As you waited for the ceremony to start, you stared fondly out the window at the snowy trees and calm serenity of nature before allowing yourself to be whisked away in a vivid daydream about what it might be like to tell him how you truly feel. 

You jumped, pulled from your daydream by dark, heavy chords coming from the church organ. You cringed a little as the horribly ill fitting song continued, but readied yourself for the ceremony to begin. 

The silk purple curtains concealed your figure enough in the back of the church and your heart rate began to rise. This was happening. You were about to profess your love to a man who might turn you down in front of everyone and their mother. But it would be worth it. You couldn’t live your whole life wondering “what if?”

You heard a squeak of door hinges from your right and held still. Any sudden movements might give you away. 

A young girl came running through with a wicker basket in hand, poorly distributing rose petals along the aisle. Something caught your eye in the front of the room. 

Luke stepped out, front and center, and straightened his tie. Your breath caught in your throat. He looked just the same as the last time you’d seen him on that warm summer night. You had expected some drastic change, to not even recognize him. But it was Luke. The same one that picked flowers with you at recess and stopped to wait for you whenever you needed to tie your shoe. The same one that was always there to dry your tears and to watch dumb romantic comedies with you without complaining. He stood there quietly, clean shaven and rosy cheeked, the same Luke you knew and loved. 

You pushed away the more upsetting memories, like the one from that warm, sticky night. The image of his tear stained cheeks and pleading eyes. 

Moments later, your eyes were pulled from Luke. Courtney came strutting through the open Mahogany doors, waving like she was fucking Queen Elizabeth.

You rolled your eyes at her bedazzled ball gown and fake pageant smile. She didn’t care about Luke, she cared about image and reputation. Which is why you were really about to piss her off.

You looked back towards Luke and tried to read his expression but it was stoic, unmoved. You wish that was me, don’t you?

Courtney reached Luke and shot him a wide smile, to which he returned. Except Luke's was empty, not sincere. Luke had always thought Courtney was beautiful and smart and made the decision from there that marrying her wouldn’t be so bad. After you had turned him down in the glow of the firelight on that July night. It broke him and you hated yourself every day because of it. You weren’t ready to love him then. But you were most certainly ready now. 

Ready to risk everything for that blue eyed boy. 

The ceremony progressed and the preacher neared the end of the formalities. You felt your time was nearing. Your knees were weak and knocky, your hands shaking. 

The preacher paused, and with his booming voice said “if anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot lawfully be joined together in matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace.” He looked down, preparing to move on and read the next portion, assuming no one would protest. No sane person ever protested. 

Your breath hitched in your throat. It was now or never. If you didn’t find it in you to step forward at this moment, the person you love most in this world might be gone forever. 

The room fell silent and you closed your eyes, pushing the sheer curtain aside and taking a shaky step forward. You heard heads turn and a few audible gasps.

When you opened your eyes, everyone had turned to you. Every familiar face, every friend, every stranger.

You caught Courtney’s eye and she looked as if every fiber of her being was on fire. If someone reached out and touched her in that moment, they’d get a 3rd degree burn. She looked like she was trying to strangle you with her eyes.

You flattened your dress once more and looked up, bracing yourself for the look on Luke’s face. 

He didn’t look angry or upset, just… confused. And surprised.

You took that as a sign to continue. You softly cleared your throat, speaking directly to the man in front of you. “I am not the kind of girl who should be rudely barging in on a white veil occasion but you are not the kind of boy… who should be marrying the wrong girl.” There were some shocked whispers and appalled gasps but you ignored them.

You walked forward down the aisle to get a clearer look at Luke and stopped at the stairs. You felt like you were alone with him now and it made it easier. “So don’t say yes, let’s run away now. I’ll meet you when you’re out of the church at the back door. Don’t wait or say a single vow, you need to hear me out.” You looked at him with pleading eyes and for the first time, his facade fell. You saw the glint of relief in his eyes and the slump of his once tense shoulders. 

Luke looked around once more at all of the people that had gathered there today for him and knew he needed to make a decision. He turned to look at his friends stationed behind him, and to no surprise, their faces were lit up with pure happiness and relief. He couldn’t help but smile back at them. Calum threw him a thumbs up and Michael mouthed “go with her, dumbass.” 

Luke turned back to the audience and spotted his mother in the crowd. He tried to read her expression but when she gave him a soft, curt nod, he knew what he had to do. 

He quickly grabbed Courtney’s hands and your face immediately fell. He was going to choose her after all.

Then, he whispered something you didn’t expect. “I'm sorry, Court. This is a mistake, you don’t love me and I don’t love you — you and I both know that. We can’t do this. I have to go.” He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek quickly as she stood, frozen.

You felt a pang of guilt. But then you remembered that she would get over it and be marrying someone filthy rich by the time she was 25 and didn’t feel so bad anymore.

Luke then turned back to you. He jogged down the steps and pulled you into a hug. It was so silent in the church now, you could hear a pin drop.

He grabbed your shoulders and kissed your forehead. “Let’s run away now, I’ll meet you when I’m out of my tux at the back door.”

You nodded, tears in your eyes, and ran towards the double doors of the church. This was the best decision you had ever made.

You stood in the crisp, chilly air, waiting for Luke to come out of the door on the side of the church. Snow fell on your hair and eyelashes and you reached out a hand to catch some flakes. 

In only three minutes he’d managed to change back into his black skinny jeans, looking like himself again. You could’ve cried at the sight.

“Hi,” you said. What else do you say to someone when you just got them to call off a marriage at the alter?

His smile grew and he ran forward, nearly tackling you in a giant hug. His hands found the back of your head and his eyes searched your face, memorizing every feature, worried that at any second, he might wake up from this amazing dream. “So glad you were around when they said speak now.”

taglist (dm or ask to be added!): @theshyspy

[tchallasbabymama]

Don’t Judge Me

Chapter 2 of my Untitled (for now) Song Series. Here’s the link to Chapter 1 if you haven’t read it. 

Word count: 5348

CW: smut

The next morning, Ashanti woke up in a sweat about thirty minutes earlier than usual. She had dreamed of the mystery man again, only this time he wasn’t such a mystery anymore even though his face was still a blur. She’d recognize his gait anywhere and his warm cocoa butter scent filled her nose. She had been dreaming about the king, and this time they went further than a kiss.

She peeled off the big T-shirt she slept in and fanned herself to cool down, but then she noticed a stickiness between her legs...

“I can't believe I had a whole ass wet dream about the king.” She whispered to herself as her mind drifted back to what she was experiencing just minutes ago. It only came to her in flashes, but she could still feel his big hands all over her body and his tongue making its way down to her center before swirling around her still throbbing pussy. She felt her pussy stretch as he entered her from behind and his balls slapping against her clit. She felt his hand squeezing the sides of her throat, and just as they came together she woke up.

The memory made her pussy throb even more as more wetness dripped out of her. She couldn't help but to trace her nipples with her left hand and trail her right hand down her body, taking the same path Dream T’Challa took down to her aching pearl. Her fingers stroked her clit and she let out a moan, still thankful for the soundproof walls.

His voice played in her head.

Say my name.

“Mmm, T’Challa…”

Do you like when I fuck you like this?

“Ewe kumkani wam”

Oooh, you like it rough, don't you? Nasty girl...

“Mmm just for you, baby.”

That’s not my name. What’s my fucking name?

“Kumkani”

Uh-huh, there you go kitten. Turn over…

Look at me.

That’s right, cum on my dick just like that. Cum for your Kumkani.

Mmm, I’m not pulling out. I’m staying right here and filling you up. Oh, you like that? Good. I want you overflowing with me. Can you do that for me baby? Can I cum in this pussy?

“Cum in your pussy Kumkani.”

Ashanti’s legs began to shake and the tingling in her lower abdomen began to overwhelm her senses. Her body tensed up then she released all over her fingers with a loud jagged moan. She came down from her high while slowly playing in the pool of wetness that had collected between her lips.

She loved starting her day with an orgasm, and she hoped that maybe it would end with one too if her date went well enough.

Ashanti peeled herself from her bed and got up to get her day started. She went for her usual morning run, ate breakfast with her roommates, then went to open the store just like any other workday. The only difference being she was getting progressively more nervous about her date with the king as time went on. It was a slow day in the Bazaar, so she closed her shop down around 4 and went to visit her parents before the dinner rush.

She walked into the restaurant and saw her mom sitting at a table rolling flatware, so she silently sat down beside her and proceeded to roll with her. Five minutes passed before Ashanti gave a sigh and looked like she had something to say that she couldn’t quite get out. Bisa knew something was seriously bothering her, but she also knew her child would eventually tell her.

“So I have a date tonight.”

A crash was heard from the kitchen as her dad emerged seemingly out of nowhere.

“With who?!”

“I can’t tell you…”

Chidi and Bisa looked at each other in confusion.

“What do you mean you can't tell us? You tell us everything!”

“More than we need to know, most times…”

“Chidi, hush. Honey, who is this person?”

“Mama, Baba...if I tell you then you have to promise to keep this between us.” “Of course baby”, they said in unison. Ashanti took a deep breath.

“I have a date with King T’Challa…”

They stared at her in disbelief. Chidi looked like he had seen a ghost and Bisa’s excitement grew by the second.

“Oh my Bast! Baby, how did you...of course he’d be an idiot not to, but how...he's the king!”

“I don't like it…” Chidi grumbled as Bisa hit his arm.

“Baba! Why?”

“He just seems so...slick.”

“Chidi, hush. I’m happy for you honey, but what’s the problem? You’ve been moping around here this whole time.” Bisa held Ashanti’s cheek in one hand and moved the braids out of her face with the other.

“I’m scared, Mama. He’s sweet and intelligent and the finest man Bast ever created...I just don’t know. He’s royalty for Bast’s sake! What could we possibly have in common?”

“You never know until you talk to him, honey.”

“Your mama’s right. Get out of your head, kiddo, it’ll be fine. But if he tries anything, I’m not above treason.”

Ashanti laughed at her father, knowing he was only half joking.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that, Baba…” Ashanti started before sighing and standing up. “Alright, I should start getting ready if I’m going to do this thing. Wish me luck!”

She kissed both of her parents on the forehead and grabbed her things to head home, but not before swiping a snack from the kitchen. On her way back to her house her nerves started to grow again, but once she arrived Binta and Kwame helped talk her out of it.

“Sis, breathe. First and foremost, you need to be alive for the date. Second there’s nothing to worry about! He already likes you after just meeting you twice, you got this!”

“It’s not just that…”

“What is it?” Binta asked with real concern written all over her face.

“I...srt of had a wet dream about him last night…”  

Both twins were in shock.

“About the King?!”

“Ooooh you’re in for it Miss Thang.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did it feel real?”

“Yes, but-”

“Then someone’s gonna get their back blown out by our kumkani!”

Ashanti looked away and she felt her cheeks and ears heat up while Binta and Kwame screamed in celebration of their best friend’s new dick supplier.

“He’s going to knock the dust off that thing, thank Bast. Girl you must tell us about that strength of the Black Panther mess, because I just know that man is packing a weapon.”

“I wonder if you can fuck him with the suit on,” Bisa thought out loud.

“He had a big dick in my dream...and that suit idea isn't half bad, I’ll hold onto that for later.” Ashanti winked at her roommates.

Kwame looked at the time.

“Ok enough chit-chat, go get ready. Prince Charming will be here soon.”

“You mean King Charming?”

“No, it’s from some European story. They actually do have a few things that aren’t half bad.”

“ Ooookay. Well I’m gonna go shower the day off.”

“Need help picking your outfit?” Binta asked with a hopeful tone in her voice. She loved a good at-home fashion show.

”I have it narrowed down to two, so I could definitely use a second and third opinion. Now let me go shower!”

Ashanti stepped under the water and her music began to play. Her nerves washed down the drain and a feeling of euphoria came over her as violins blared through her speakers followed by the sweet sounds of an acoustic guitar. Her heart swelled, and her cheeks hurt from smiling so big.

Come, let me kiss you right there Wake you up like sunrise On the backs of your thighs I'm gonna pray you this prayer That I keep in my mind As a lovely reminder

Janelle Monae somehow perfectly captured the warm and fuzzy and nervous feelings that come with falling in love. “Don’t Judge Me” had quickly become one of her American favorites, but until recently she had forgotten that feeling. It had been four years since her last first date, and one year of being single. Her ex broke her heart into a million little pieces, and she was still struggling to put herself back together again. Ashanti had just gotten to the point where she felt she could ever love again when T’Challa breezed into her shop. His timing had been perfect, almost divine.

Even though you tell me you love me I'm afraid that you just love my disguise Taste my fears and light your candle to my raging fire Of broken desire

The lyrics spoke to her nervousness to open herself up to someone new, especially someone with so much power in his hands already. What could she do if he ended up being abusive like-

She cut herself off and turned off the water, stepping out of the shower and letting herself air dry while finishing her skincare routine. Ashanti covered herself in shea butter and spritzed on the new perfume Binta got her for her birthday last month. Then she started on her makeup, deciding to keep it light. She swiped on a tinted moisturizer, added some highlight to her cheeks, and filled in her brows before swiping some mango-flavored red-ish lip stain over her plump lips.

Ashanti switched out her round septum ring for a triangular one she just made last night out of boredom. The point of the ring landed above her cupid’s bow like a giant flashing sign that reads “Put lips here!”

She parted her braids on the left side and two-strand twisted the front section before pinning it back and pulling the rest of her hair in a bun at the back of her head. She took a deep breath and threw on outfit choice number one. Binta and Kwame were already situated in the living room with a bottle of wine ready for the show.

She wore tapered, high waisted kente pants with a black lace bustier top and a layered pearl necklace.

“Ok this is outfit number one.” Ashanti turned around so they could get the full view. She could see them both trying their best to hold their tongues. “Please hold all comments until the end.”

“But girl that-”

“Aht! Not. Yet.”

Ashanti did one last twirl before Naomi Campbell walking back to her room. Binta and Kwame looked at each other and said a whole mouthful with just their eyes.

When she walked into the living area she had slid into a leather skirt and a billowy white off the shoulder top. She had topped it off with a gold choker of her own design. Ashanti did a little twirl before allowing her roommates to give their feedback.

“One at a time. Kwame?”

“Ok so, first off, where is he taking you?”

“I have no idea, he just said be ready at 7.”

“Ok then I’d go with outfit one, but with this choker. The pearls hide your titties, and girl that bustier calls for them to be front and center”

“Seconded. And you should wear those cute beaded sandals you got the other day at the Bazaar. Normally I’d say heels, but since you don't know what the date is it’s better to be safe and wear flats. You know how you are, and that is inappropriate first date behavior. You keep your shoes where?”

“On my feet.” Ashanti grumbled. She loved wearing heels, but her feet didn’t. Almost every time she wore them she ended up carrying them in her hand while walking around barefoot for some relief. This annoyed Binta to no end.

“Thank you. Now go put on the full outfit!”

“Be right back”

Ashanti made her way back to her room and changed into the same pants and bustier from earlier. She slid on the beaded sandals Binta suggested and checked out her neon purple pedicure before standing up and smoothing her clothes down in the mirror. Just as she reached for her doorknob the doorbell rang.

“6:50, he’s early.”

She heard the door open downstairs and damn near tripped over her feet to run downstairs to keep her roommates embarrassing her. She didn’t make it in time.

“Good evening, I am supposed to be taking Ashanti out for the night. Is she in?” Kwame and Binta saluted the king and stammered over their words.

“S-she just uh-”

“She’s u-upstairs, kumkani wam.”

“‘Please, call me T’Challa. Hopefully we will be seeing more of each other.” he said, sending a wink their way before he saw Ashanti enter the room from the corner of his eye.

______________

T’Challa was startled awake by the sound of his alarm. Normally he wakes up on his own and the alarm is just an extra precaution, but occasionally it comes in handy. This was one of those times thanks to a tantalizing dream he didn’t want to leave.

He was sure the woman in his dream was Ashanti, despite the fact that he couldn’t make out her face clearly. She had the same sway in her wide hips, and he recognized the delicately rough hands that found their way up and down his body. He could taste her on his lips and his dick still stood at attention for her. T’Challa looked at the clock and determined he had enough time to take care of himself, but just as he got up to get the shea butter a knock at his door ruined the mood. The king growled in frustration.

“Ay nigga, you late!” N’Jadaka called through the door.

“I am aware, cousin. I will be there shortly.”

N’Jadaka made his way down to the dining area while T’Challa quickly got ready for his day that was already starting out on a frustrating note. He finally made it down to breakfast just as the food was being served.

The royal family ate and discussed the day ahead.

“Someone’s got a date with that cute shopgirl today…” Shuri teased her big brother and he cut his eyes at N’Jadaka.

“You told her?!”

“He told us both dear, you know Daka can’t hold water. So tell us about her. She is in Ada’s old storefront, yes?”

T’Challa sighed and removed his napkin from his lap, placing it on the table and leaning back in his chair.

“Yes mama, she bought Ada’s and the shop next to it.”

“What does she sell?”

He figured now was as good a time as any, so he called Ayo on his beads.

“Ayo, please bring the black bag from my office with “Taj’s” on the side”

“Ewe kumkani wam, right away.”

T’Challa looked back towards his family, each one with their eyes glued to him.

“She is an artist,” he started. “She has turned it into a multi-purpose artistic space, but the shop is still operational. It’s called Taj’s now after her grandfather-”

“Yeah ok, tell us about her, ubhuti.”

Ayo came in with the requested bag and handed it to her king.

“Thank you, you are dismissed Ayo,” he said before turning back to his family. T’Challa reached into the bag and pulled out two boxes before handing them to his mother and sister.

“Damn, nothing for me?” N’Jadaka feigned offense.

“Not this time, umzala. Mama, sister, I hope you like them. They were custom made by Ashanti.”

Ramonda and Shuri opened their gifts and were stunned speechless. Shuri immediately took off her current necklace and replaced it with her brother’s gift. Ramonda stared at it, still speechless.

“Thank you, brother, I love it! Ashanti is very good at what she does.”

“You are more than welcome. Mama, do you like it?”

“Like it? It's too beautiful for me to even touch. This is amazing, unyana wam, thank you.”

“Good job, T.” N’Jadaka raised his glass of mango juice to his cousin.

“Well, as you can see she is very talented. I went to visit Ada the other day, but wanted to see what became of her shop first. When I saw her, I-...she took my breath away. She has this warm energy that just pulls you in and wraps its arms around you...”

“You sound sprung, as the Americans say.”

“Mmmhm he sure is Auntie, nose wide open and everything.”

T’Challa wanted to roll his eyes, but they were right. It took everything in him to not start grinning like a fool.

The royals parted ways after breakfast and went to tend to their duties. T’Challa and N’Jadaka didn’t have time for a walk today since there was a council meeting immediately after breakfast. It turned out to be the most boring council meeting T’Challa had ever presided over. What’s worse than land disputes? DIscussing treaties and embargoes with other countries. Half the council wanted Wakanda to keep its resources, citing how the rest of Africa was stripped of its riches by Europeans. They felt there was nothing positive the outside world had to offer Wakanda. The other half of the council argued that Wakanda was too strong a nation to be controlled by western powers, and therefore should join in trade and keep the upper hand.

“My king?”

T’Challa had zoned out for the past five minutes until N’Jadaka elbowed his side, pulling him out of his daydream.

“Huh?”

“My king, we were asking where you stood on the matter.”

N’Jadaka looked at his cousin knowingly, trying to conceal a smirk.

“I will need more time to think on it. Let us revisit this matter in a week, is there anything else on today’s agenda?” He asked his cousin.

“Nope, we’re done.”

“Thank Bast,” T’Challa whispered under his breath. “Meeting adjourned. I will see you all next week.”

As the council members left the room one by one, N’Jadaka stared at his cousin with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

“Only one of us can zone out at a time and I had some good daydreams planned for today, so what’s up with you?”

T’Challa sighed.

“I can’t get her off my mind…”

“Wide. Open.” N’Jadaka cackled as he left his cousin sitting in the throne room, still thinking about Ashanti.

T’Challa had a full agenda for the day and decided to get started. Why bother daydreaming when in just a few hours he would be in her presence.

First, he went to visit the river tribe. It was the dry season, but thankfully the river still flowed with enough water to last them until the rainy season kicked back into gear. Then, he visited his sister’s lab and the mining tribe.

“Brother! You must look at this!”

Shuri barely gave him a chance to get in the lab before she was dragging him left and right showing him her new creations. The visit lasted longer than T’Challa expected, but time always flew when he was with his usisi.

The king made his way back to his quarters to start preparing for the night. He had decided on a nighttime picnic by a private lake for their first date so they could talk and get to know each other better.

Hopping into the full bathtub that already awaited him in his quarters thanks to the palace staff, T’Challa relaxed into the water and felt most of his stress slip away. To get the rest of the stress out, he reached for the pre-roll that was placed beside the tub with a note from the royal grower.

“Snow Goddess OG -Amare”

“Snow goddess, huh? Probably Jabari…” T’Challa lit the blunt and relaxed even more into the water, letting the weed take him to another plane.

T’Challa’s body felt tingly and he couldn't keep the smile off his face. He fought a giggle as he rose from his bath and caught sight of his chubby half-erect dick hanging down his thigh in the mirror.

“She’s not even here and we don't have time. Sorry, man, I’ll get you later, I promise..or maybe she will? Either way, just be patient.”

“Shit, what was in that?” T’Challa laughed at himself for talking to his dick.

He had already gotten lined up earlier that day, and he admired the barber’s job well done while he moisturized his curls then the rest of his body. The king spritzed on a new cologne and made sure to spread some to his pulse points. He filed his nails then relocated to his closet to put together an outfit for the night.

Even though T’Challa was a relatively young king he always seemed beyond his years when he stepped into his Black Panther and kingly duties. However, outside of when he needs to be professional, T’Challa was like any other Wakandan in their late twenties. Instead of the traditional formal attire he wore when performing his duties, he dressed more modern and relaxed in informal settings. When T’Challa and Ashanti met he had been wearing a simple black shirt and jeans with his black combat boots and his Black Panther claw necklace on display. The second time they saw each other he had on an intricately embroidered black tunic over matching pants and black sandals. This time he wanted to look nice, but still relaxed. He needed to find a happy medium.

T’Challa stood naked in his closet for about 15 minutes before it finally came to him.

________________

‘How is this man so fine?’ Ashanti thought to herself as she took in the sight before her. There stood the king, in her entryway, looking like a whole damn meal. Her eyes travelled up and down his lean, muscular frame just as his eyes did the same to her. He wore a short sleeved black button up with kente trim which was unbuttoned just enough for her to see his claw necklace resting in an almost unnoticeable bit of chest hair. He had on some simple dark wash jeans and his favorite pair of boots donned his feet. The icing on the cake was the silver hoop earring in his right lobe. Ashanti just about passed out, and that was before she even registered that they matched.

T’Challa couldn’t keep his jaw up to save his life. He already knew how gorgeous she was, but she had somehow gotten even more beautiful in 24 hours.

“Oh my Bast, how adorable?!” Kwame broke her from her daze.

Ashanti quickly grabbed her bag and hugged her roommates before pulling T’Challa out of the house.

“Sorry for rushing you, but they were absolutely going to do something embarrassing if we stayed any longer.” Ashanti reached to push her hair behind her ear, forgetting she had already pulled it back. “You uh- you look pretty alright today.”

T’Challa laughed and she nearly melted at the  sound.

“Wow, I was going for ‘just ok’, but I have to say I like that you said I’m pretty.”

Ashanti playfully rolled her eyes and he placed his hand at the small of her back to lead her to his car.

“So where are you taking me?”

“It is a surprise.”

“Ok well, one thing you'll learn about me is I hate surprises.”

“You’ll survive without knowing for 15 more minutes, I promise Miss Ashanti.”

Something about the way he said her name made her go quiet. She wanted to hear it more often.

“I guess...so tell me about your day to distract me.”

T’Challa leaned back into his seat and let autopilot do the work.

“It was a normal day for the most part. Breakfast with my family followed by a tragically boring meeting with the council. Then I had to go visit the river and mining tribes. Lastly, I stopped by my sister’s lab for a while to see what she’s up to since she’s always tinkering around with something or creating amazing new inventions. I had to check in and see what’s new.”

“That sounds fun! The last part, not the other stuff.”

The king chuckled and reached for her hand.

“It was, but truthfully I was very distracted all day thinking of you.”

Ashanti’s voice caught in her throat.

Is he serious?

“Were you now…?”

“Yes, you seem to have made quite the impression on my subconscious.”

Ashanti tried to play it cool, but her guilty-looking face gave her away.

“What is it?”

“I may or may not have been thinking of you all day too.”

The two of them looked at each other and smiled. T’Challa’s eyes had just trailed down to her lips when the car announced their arrival. The king got out first and came around to open Ashanti’s door. He held out his hand and led her down a wooded path that was lit with tiny lights among the trees. The walk was short, and when they arrived at their destination Ashanti couldn’t believe her eyes.

Twinkling lights reflected off of a lake she had never seen. She turned to take in her surroundings and noticed the large border tribe blanket laid out on the ground and a covered basket overflowing with food. Ashanti was happy she wore flats.

“So I wasn’t sure what type of food you like, but I figured that since you were listening to music from outside Wakanda, you might enjoy foods from outside as well. I narrowed it down to one area though my first idea was to have food from all over, but thankfully my cousin talked me out of that one...”

T’Challa kept rambling as he began removing dishes from the basket and every last one made Ashanti’s stomach growl. She was starting to regret the bustier.

He pulled out jerk chicken, plantain, callaloo, and rice and peas. Next he pulled out some ackee and saltfish.

“This is usually for breakfast, but it’s my favorite meal of the day so I eat it whenever”

“Anyone who thinks breakfast isn't the best meal of the day deserves to be thrown off a cliff-”

She looked at the king.

“Too soon?” She asked sheepishly, hoping she didn't offend him.

“No, do not worry, it is fine. We have a better relationship now,” T’Challa chuckled. “And for the final touch, we have rum cake. I cheated and made it with Wakandan rum, but who is going to check me?”

Ashanti busted out laughing.

“Yes you hang around your American cousin a lot it seems, but more importantly you said you ‘made it’? Like you baked that cake? You, the king?”

“Yes. I love to cook, I just don’t have much time for it. I made all of this here for us to enjoy tonight.”

Ashanti had never had a man cook for her before, and certainly not on a first date. She hoped it was good because her poker face was shit and she didn’t want to have to hurt the king’s feelings. “Shall we?” T’Challa gestured towards the food and they both dug in.

Dinner was torture for T’Challa. Not only was she loving his food, but the noises she made while she enjoyed it made his dick harden. They made conversation and got to know each other better, scooting closer and closer to each other every time they had to shift to reach another item of food. They spoke about everything, finally landing on music. They tapped their kimoyo beads together, creating a playlist of both of their favorite songs for them to listen to as they continued to eat and talk.

“Oh my Bast, T’Challa this is so good. Where did you learn to cook like this? I assumed you had staff to do it for you.”

“We do, but when I was young I loved being with them in the kitchen so much they taught me how to cook.”

“This really is amazing, and I’m not just saying this because you're the king. I’ve never had someone cook for me like this, thank you.”

“Anything for you, Ashanti.”

He looked into her eyes and she blushed.

“So where exactly are we?”

“At a private lake near the palace. I come here often to relax and unwind, you should see it during the day.”

“You’ll have to bring me back, then.”

“That I will.”

“So, since this is a private lake it’s just us?”

“Well there are Dora Milaje out near the car, but yes it is just us.”

“And no crocodiles or hippos or anything like that…?”

T’Challa laughed.

“Do you really think I’d have you by predator-infested waters? You are safe here. Plus I am the Black Panther, you are safe wherever we go.”

“I like that…” Ashanti got lost in his lips, but got nervous and went back to her original thought. She knew how to shake herself out of her nerves. “So, since we’re alone and you're the only predator out here, let's go for a swim!”

“I will send the Dora for a change of clothes-”

“No need.”

T’Challa looked up and saw Ashanti in all her naked glory. She looked like Bast herself with her soft tummy and long thick legs. Her breasts bounced as she moved and her ass sat at the perfect height for him to grab onto. He tried to quiet the growl in his chest, but failed miserably.

“See something you like?”

T’Challa stripped faster than he ever had before and now it was her time to stand in awe. His rippling muscles almost made her heart stop, but it was the monster between his legs that turned her into a puddle.

“See something you like?”

Ashanti bit her lip and stared at him before turning around.

“Maybe if you can catch me,” she shouted before running into the lake.

Ashanti was a much better swimmer than T’Challa had assumed and he actually had to put in effort to catch up with her, but once he snagged her he immediately planted a kiss on her lips. He felt her body go slack as she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, deeply.

Janelle Monae’s voice carried across the lake and into their ears as T’Challa kept them afloat while his tongue explored her mouth. Ashanti gripped his hair and wrapped her legs around his waist. They pulled apart and looked into each other's eyes before laughing.

“Let's go somewhere I don't have to work so hard to keep us from drowning, eh?”

“Where do you have in mind?” Ashanti asked him while peppering his jawline with kisses.

But don't judge me I know I got issues But they drown when I kiss you Don't judge me Baptize me with ocean Recognize my devotion The water's perfectly good Let's reintroduce ourselves From a free point of view If I'm gon' sin, it's with you Tattoo your love on my heart Let the rumors be true. Even though you tell me you love me I'm afraid that you just love my disguise Taste my fears and light your candle to my raging fire The dirty desire But don't judge me I know I got issues But they drown when I kiss you Don't, don't judge me Baptize me with ocean Recognize my devotion What if I, what if, what if I touched you right there? Even though you say that you love me Is it me or do you love my disguise? If I missed you, would you think I was lonely If I say what's on my mind? Even though you say that you love me Is it me or do you love my disguise? If I kissed you, would you think I was lonely If I let you inside? Come, let me kiss you right there What if I kissed you right there? Would you tremble inside, or just call it a night? What if I gave you a show? You could touch if you like Right there If I kissed you would you think I was lonely? If I... It feels so good

Come, let me kiss you right there

Just say that you love me (just tell me you love me)

Next up:

Chapter 3

[babystray-rescuecat]

Update on Romeo 🐱

Romeo got diagnosed with stage 2 (of 4) kidney disease.

On the night of Friday, July 23, my hand came away with a sticky clear fluid after petting him. I checked him over but couldn’t find a wound on his body. 

The following afternoon, I saw the wound on his bum. It was already red. He’d most likely been licking at it. I’m not sure how he got it. I thought it was from sitting on some piece of roofing that got blown away by the strong wind. It’s healing up now and actually it looks like a pair of puncture wounds. Maybe he got into a fight. Maybe he got bitten by something. I’m not completely sure because it’s scabbed over now.

I took him to the vet on Wednesday, July 28 - a little late, I know, but it was the soonest appointment we could get. He’d already been a bit lethargic and refusing to eat by this point. 

I mentioned his stimky breath, and the vet leaned into him for a sniff and immediately called for a blood chemistry panel. She said bad breath is a sign of kidney disease. 😱 

I had no idea! We’ve been using the oral gel and it worked to get rid of his bad breath but only temporarily. We had to keep using it or the stink would come back. 

He was such a good boy during his physical checkup, getting his blood drawn and getting dewormed. His CREA and BUN levels were hella elevated. A sign of kidney problems but it could have been affected by other factors like dehydration. And he was dehydrated. So she urged us to get an SDMA test, which is directly related to kidney function and isn’t influenced by anything else. Sure enough, the test showed his kidneys are impaired. 

I thought we were just about ready to go and I was just waiting for the print out of all the lab results and for the vet to write up the prescriptions when I was asked to go back into the exam room.

What I saw was hella terrifying. Romeo was hooked up to this machine and there were so many cables. I thought he had crashed and was dying! Turns out he was just having his blood pressure measured. The band that went around his arm was so tiny. He seemed so fragile in that moment. His BP was high at first, but the second time it was normal. Could have been just the stress of being at the vet. But there’s also a possibility of it being comorbid with the kidney disease.

He was prescribed nefrotec tablet to be taken 3x a day. It’s supposed to make him pee more to help him get rid of body waste. His kidneys aren’t functioning properly and so the waste builds up in his blood instead. He absolutely refused to take them when I gave them by hand. So I got a pill inserter to help. It worked the first time... and only the first time. Now I crush the tablet and cover it up with tons of yummy wet ciao treat and now he goes bananas for medicine time. 

He’s also taking antibiotics for his bum wound. He’s a champ at taking it directly by oral syringe. He also doesn’t make too much of a fuss when I clean and apply ointment to his bum. He can take off the velcro e-collar within two minutes of me putting it on him. So I got a different collar that is secured by buttons. It’s better at preventing him from taking it off, but he still did manage to slip out of it once by wedging himself into a tight space, getting the cone stuck, and then backing out of the cone. I only make him wear it about 30 mins after wound treatment to give it a chance to dry. It’s almost completely healed now. 

I spent that whole first night after the vet visit reading up on CKD (chronic kidney disease). I looked up the official guidelines and his levels actually indicate stage 3 kidney disease. Moderately impaired renal function. Not quite kidney failure but way too fucking close to that for my liking.

The vet didn’t mention making dietary changes and/or a urinalysis. And she said I had to take Romeo back a week after for retesting to monitor his levels. But that seems like way too soon especially when his meds were prescribed for 14 days.

The SDMA test is also really fucking expensive. It’s Php 1,500. The full blood chemistry panel was Php 2,400. Because we had both done, there was a discount and both tests were Php 3,500. For the retesting though, Romeo would need the SDMA test again and only two components for the blood chem, CREA and BUN, which are Php 350 each. I also think he should get his phosphorus level checked, but the vet didn’t mention it. 

I’m worried about his belly being a bit large. He’s got a visible waist still, so I don’t know if that’s just his primordial pouch or if he’s got some swelling or fluid buildup on the inside. I might take him to the full animal hospital to get an ultrasound/x-ray and a urinalysis. Our regular vet doesn’t have an ultrasound/x-ray machine.

What’s stressing me out a lot is not being able to feed him a specially formulated renal diet which is supposed to slow the progression of CKD. They’re just way too expensive. There’s also just not a lot of options here. There’s only hill’s and royal canin. We’re just going to have to make do with Special Cat Urinary which has okay ingredients and a phosphorus content that’s lower than other non-prescription cat food. Not as low as what our goal should be, but it should still help his kidneys a bit. It’s Php 1,200 for a 7kg bag compared to our usual food that’s only Php 870 per 7kg. I’m not sure if I should be feeding it to the other cats as well. The ingredients are actually better than our current dry food. The protein content is actually higher and the first ingredient is chicken instead of cereals.

I still wonder if there would be any benefit to doing the expensive renal diet even if for two weeks just to get his levels under control.

I’m feeding Romeo more wet food now and less kibbles so he can get more moisture. Given the choice, he prefers dry food, but that’s not doing him any good so I’m limiting his dry food intake. He’s also much more energetic. I’m really scared about what his levels would be when we do retest. But we’re just taking it day by day right now.

See his paw in the cone. This was taken in the car at the end of our vet visit. We hadn’t even left for home yet and he was already working on his escape. 😂

[lavenderwatercolor]

Kylo Ren’s Spy (Kylo Ren x Reader Smut)

Summary: You're a spy for the First Order, and Kylo Ren isn't pleased with your progress.

Warnings: Cursing, smut, dub-con smut. 

Pairing: Kylo Ren x Reader 

Your day had been unbearably long. All of your hours of daylight had been spent faking everything from emotions to information, you were exhausted. You’d planned on having a relaxing evening, you had a bath, bought a new nightdress, and settled down on the couch in front of your fireplace. You were working on your second glass of wine when you were rudely snapped out of your relaxed daze.

“Do you have it?”

Working as a spy for Kylo Ren wasn't an easy job. Not when he would harass you constantly, showing up in your bedroom every night to fuss at you for not getting the information he needed quickly enough. It takes time to gain the trust of people, and he couldn't seem to understand that.

At this point, you were beginning to become angry. Had he no sense of privacy? Did he not respect you enough for that? You didn’t bother moving from the couch, not even looking away from the fire. He didn’t deserve it. If he couldn’t respect your privacy you wouldn’t give him common decency.

“I’ll send word when I do.” You answered dryly, taking the last sip of wine from your cup.

“I don’t pay you to sit around all day.”

“You think I’m sitting around all day?” You scoffed, a bit insulted. You’d spend all fucking day being his rat. And now he had the nerve to call you lazy. “I’m doing my job.”

“Maybe I should redact your pay, maybe that will give you the motivation you need.” After that, he took his helmet off, something he had a habit of doing when he planned on taunting you.

“And what good will that do you?” You looked up at him and shook your head, sneering. ���Calm down. I’ll get your information.”

The muscles in his jaws flexed and for a split second, he looked like a spoiled little boy. But he relaxed, so quickly it disturbed you.

“You don’t need to come every day. I don’t need to be watched. I’ll get your information.” You felt like a broken record at that point and you reached over to the small wooden table beside your chair, grabbing the fancy glass bottle of wine and refilling your cup. “You could use some as well.” You muttered and took a sip, nearly choking when it was thrown from your hand.

You’d had enough. You stood up and got so close to him you could feel his breath on your face. “What is wrong with you? I’m doing the job you’re paying me for. It takes time, Kylo, I can’t get the information you need in a day! You need to control your temper!”

Kylo grabbed your throat, turning the both of you and slamming you against the wall next to your fireplace. You looked at him with wide eyes, instantly regretting your decision. What the hell were you thinking? Did you think you were invincible? You were a spy, not a soldier!

“Watch your tone with me.” He hissed, eyes scanning over your face. You were so close, if it wasn’t Kylo’s hand around your throat you would have been aroused. His upper lip curled in what looked like disgust. “I can read your thoughts, I suggest you stop thinking so filthy.”

Your heart jumped to your throat and you swallowed hard, looking anywhere but his eyes. “Please,” It was becoming hard to breathe.

“You say that word often. Do you beg for other men as well?” How dare he? You bared your teeth and grabbed at his hand, fighting to get him off of you. He knew just the right buttons to push. “Do you? I bet you do. I bet you sound sinful when you beg.”

What the hell was he doing? You couldn’t pinpoint his motive until you felt the hand that wasn’t choking you reach under your nightgown. You gasped and fought harder against him, kicking and shoving, but it was no use.

“You’re still fighting me?” He mused darkly and you felt his gloved hand run up your bare thigh, his breath hot and humid against your cheek. “I can feel what you feel, don’t forget that. I know how lonely you are. How long it’s been.”

“Kylo,” You warned, and you tried to deny it, you tried to pretend he was wrong, but from the moment he had grabbed your throat you’d been set ablaze. And now with his hand between your legs, it was impossible to block him from your thoughts.

“You’re weak.” He spat, his hand retreating from your legs only for him to pull his leather glove off with his teeth. Oh god. How did he look so irresistible doing that?

Then he was squeezing the inside of your thigh so hard you thought he’d pull your skin off, his hand hot against your flesh. “And too defiant. You need to learn to respect me.”

And he thought this was the way to earn your respect? Normally, you were quick to retort, but with his fingers around your neck and his hand bruising your thigh, you couldn’t think of a damn thing to say. You wanted to kill him right then and there, but at the same time, he was right. You had been so lonely and it had been so long. Years since you’d been with someone. And humans had their needs.

He snorted at your thoughts and released his grip on your thigh, his hand reaching up to your panties. You sucked in another gasp and felt your legs grow weak when his fingers looped through the hem of your fabric. “Stop it, let go of me, don’t touch me!” You choked out the words but he ignored them, moving his hand from your neck to grab a fistful of your hair. You were turned around and slammed back against the wall by his grip alone, your cheekbone hitting the hard surface.

“I’ve been lonely too.” He breathed on the back of your neck, using the force to hold you in place as he pulled down your panties. “Stop lying to yourself, you want it just as badly as I do.” His voice was barely a whisper now, needy and rushed, his hands pulling up your nightgown to your hips. He sounded much more genuine, his mocking had come to an end for the moment.

“I don’t, I don’t want you.” You gritted your teeth, still keeping up the lie. He had worked you into a mess with his aggression, you’d never been treated like this, and you fucking loved it. You wanted him to fuck you against that wall. You wanted him to choke you and bite you so hard you’d be left with blood blisters on your skin.

“Your thoughts say otherwise.” His hands left you for a moment, only long enough to free himself from his uniform. “Keep denying it. We both know the truth, why won’t you give in? Let yourself feel good.” His words calmed you slightly, but only for a few seconds. Then you felt his cock rest against your inner thigh, hot, heavy and the tip of it sticky with arousal.

A bolt of electricity went through your body, and if not for the Force holding you in place, you’d be climbing up the wall to get away from him. You gave one last attempt, straining so hard against the Force before giving up.

Why fight? You wanted it. He was right. Just give in.

You relaxed and slumped against the wall, closing your eyes and letting him push inside you. Kylo shuddered and swallowed, his mouth incredibly dry. “(Y/N).” He breathed out, the puff of air from his lungs blowing a lock of hair off of your shoulder.

He had to go in slow, for his sake and yours. It had been so long for you, the only thing that had been inside you for years being your fingers. You were so damn tight.

You both moaned together, sounding sinfully beautiful, Kylo’s forehead resting on the top of your head as he tried to regain his bearings. He pushed in deeper, stretching you impossibly wide, the sensation of you squeezing the life out of his cock almost too much. He groaned, long and drawn out, his lips trembling when he was fully inside you.

“Oh, yes, oh my, Kylo,” You slurred, bracing your hands against the wall. He was no longer using the Force to hold you in place, you were willingly staying in place and letting him fuck you. He would have said something snarky about it, but you had left him breathless.

Kylo hadn’t expected to react to you this way, he thought he would have more control over himself. At this point, you could do anything you wanted to him. And he would beg for it.

He stilled for a moment, getting used to the tightness and allowing you to get used to the size of him. The room was quiet and still, save for the sound of your breathing. Both of you. Soft little gasps and sighs.

It made you uncomfortable.

“Fuck me,” You spat, getting impatient. “If you’re going to do it, fucking do it, or I’ll-”

Kylo cut your sentence short and grabbed your hair again, at the same time withdrawing and slamming back into you at a brutal pace. You cried out and felt your knees give in to their growing weakness, causing your body to fall down onto his cock. Kylo gasped sharply at the sensation of being completely inside you, then groaned and pulled your hair harder.

The pain of your weight forcing his tip against your cervix caused you to scream and you shot back upright, only for him to slap his other hand on your mouth and pull you back down on him.

He fucked into you fast, pulling you tight against his body by the grip in your hair and his hand over your mouth. Your back arched almost painfully in that position, your ass pressed into his hips with no space between your skin.

You came fast. And as soon as you did, you were angry again.

Gritting your teeth, you caught him off guard by whirling around and shoving him backward, causing him to trip over a chair and onto the floor. He hadn’t expected you to fight back anymore.

“I’m the weak one?” You were on him in a second, darting forward towards him before he could move.

You relished the look on his face. He gazed up at you with wide eyes and parted lips, completely at your mercy. You crawled on his lap and used your hand to push him flat on his back, slowly sliding your palm up his chest, over his dark clothes to wrap around his throat. “Look at you,” You hissed with a smug grin and rolled your hips down against his cock, hot and wet with your cum, feeling his length slide between your slick folds. “ Commander. ”

The sound Kylo let out was animalistic. He groaned deeply and let his head fall back against the marble floor, his hips thrusting up against your own in hopes of slipping back into your warmth.

He looked beautiful. His face flushed, his eyes blown with lust, his black curls sticking to his sweaty face and neck. “I’d make you beg for it, but I’m not patient.” You reached between the two of you and grabbed his cock, giving him a firm squeeze and making him grunt before you angled him at your entrance.

Ever so slowly you sank down on his length and sighed, tilting your head back and closing your eyes, feeling his abdominal muscles tense through his clothing under your flattened palms. It felt amazing having him fill you back up again, and at this angle it was phenomenal.

You’d never hate fucked anyone in your life, but if this is what it was like, you could definitely get used to it.

His eyes fluttered shut when he was back inside you. You slowly rose and fell, feeling his head rub against that perfect spot in your walls. He let you set the pace for a few strokes before taking control again, grabbing your hips and holding you in place while he fucked you. His thrusts were the same as before, hard, fast, and rough, demanding and merciless, making your hair bounce around your head and your moans come out as choppy ‘oh, oh, oh’s.

Since he was supporting your body you used both of your hands to squeeze around his throat.

Oh. He liked that. Being the one choked was something completely new to Kylo Ren.

He tried not to let on to the fact that he loved the feeling, especially when you were choking his cock as well. But it was painfully obvious because as soon as your fingers tightened around his throat you felt his cock twitch excitedly. He fought to breathe as you used your upper body weight to press down on his neck, still thrusting up into you with that aggressive pace.

“How do you like it?” You panted as your body was bounced on his cock. His eyes fluttered open and his attention was on your face as you spoke, flickering from your lips to your eyes. “How do you like the feeling of blood being cut off from your brain? The pressure in your head, Commander ?” Each time you teased him with his title, he came closer and closer to his climax.

With the help of your words, his orgasm came fast, swelling inside him before he let out a deep groan and sat up, looping his arms around your back to pull you down onto him. He held you firmly in place as his hips rolled against yours, spilling all of his cum into you.

He was panting hard now, gulping in fast and shallow breaths.

The feeling of your clit being pressed down so tightly on his skin set off your second orgasm and you sank your teeth into his neck, biting down hard as you rode out your waves of pleasure. The streams of white-hot bliss surged through your body, from your clit to your organs, all the way to the surface of your skin.

Fuck. What had you done?

You came down from your high and swallowed hard, opening your eyes. Kylo was still holding you tight against him so you couldn’t see his face. What was he thinking? You could feel his heart thumping against your chest, just as fast as your own, his heavy breathing rocking your bodies.

You glanced down at the damp skin of his neck under your lips, seeing that you had been the one to leave blood blisters. A deep red mark in the shape of your teeth stood out angrily against his pale skin, the bruise harsh and prominent, raised up slightly. That would be there for weeks.

No words were said for a while. The silence was finally broken when you slid off of him, out of his lap, the cum inside of you immediately leaking out of you. You placed your hand between your legs to stop the flow, but it still trickled around your fingers and down your thighs.

“You know,” You panted, walking to your panties that had been left on the floor near your fireplace. Once you slipped them back on you turned to see he had pulled himself together and was leaning against the couch. “If you fuck me like that every time you come to get information, I won’t mind you coming every night.”

[starkeristheendgame]

Inspired by a prompt I am currently in progress with. Neighbours/no powers AU. A senseless, shitty drabble while my kneecap aligns.

Voyeurism and shameless smut.

Peter isn't exactly sure when his new neighbour moved in. All he knows it that somewhere in the midst of Mr. and Mrs. Goldsworthy leaving and his frantic chemistry studying, a Greek God decided some quaint little apartment in Queens was the perfect place to settle down.

Peter first saw him on a dreary Tuesday, gaze fuzzy and running on bare fumes, his brain pinging around his skull like a Windows error log. He'd lifted his gaze, desperate to see so.rthing that wasn't the chemical breakdown of ammonium thiosulphate.

For a brief moment, he'd actually thought he was hallucinating. Last time he'd raised his head the window opposite his own had been bare, naked, empty. Now, red curtains hung thick and tied aside with gold rope and tiny little metal sculptures lined the inner ledge. Behind those, a figure passed, paused, gestured, then moved on.

Peter checked the date and time on his phone.

Huh.

"Interesting" he rasped, then cringed and went to get himself a glass of water.

The next time he saw his new neighbour, he actually saw his new neighbour. One minute Peter was trying to work out if the 5th sculpture from the left was an arm or a cock, and the next a tall shape was waving at him slyly. He jolted, dragging his gaze from the vague shape to look up, and.

Oh.

New neighbour was hot. Peter didn't exactly have a HD view, but he could see broad shoulders and dark hair, a jaw sculpted by carefully groomed facial hair and dark, dark eyes.

The figure lifted a flexed arm and pointed, then pointed to the sculpture, before mouthing carefully and with great exaggeration; arm.

What was Peter supposed to do to that? He sat, blinking dumbly across at Greek God Man, who waited a few seconds before smiling at him again, and disappearing from view. Peter continued to stare, until his stomach cramped and the need for food drove him down to the kitchen.

Hot Greek God Neighbour, as he was now officially known (at least, to himself, Ned and MJ) and Peter begun a sort of odd...Presence in each other's lives. Peter spent most of his life at his desk, which was by the window for the light, and Hot Greek God Neighbour apparently spent most of his life wandering the house naked.

Well. Shirtless, or in a towel. Often in tiny tank-shirts that basically meant he was shirtless. It took Peter a while to realise that the room he had a view into was a study of sorts, or a workshop. The man could often be seen polishing or tossing tools around.

On several occasions, Peter saw actual spark showers.

Once, the man had walked in wearing nothing but a towel, and had stood at the window, talking on the phone while absently realigning the figures. Peter had tried not to stare. Really. But the guy had fitted LED bulbs and now he really did have a HD view of abs.

Hot Greek God Neighbour Guy had looked up, directly into his eyes. Peter had been so surprised that he'd stabbed his pencil down into his paper, flinching as the charcoal tip shattered. The man had simply smirked, slow and devilish, and winked at him before turning away, striding out of the room.

A month passed. Their apparent similarity for being nesting creatures meant they had yet to meet outside of staring through windows, but that was fine by Peter. Mostly. It meant that at the least, he couldn't make a fool out of himself literally face to face with him.

Peter's sleep schedule had suffered over the past few weeks, in part due to his studying and on the other hand, due to relentless dreams about stubble burn and large hands. Dark eyes and messy, dark hair. A voiceless body that pinned him down and took.

Tonight wasn't anything remotely sexy, just Peter tossing and turning like a beached fish before throwing himself upright with a frustrated whine. He was lucky in that it was a Friday night, and he could have the Saturday to mope in bed and nap.

Familiarity drew him to the window. It took him a long moment the realise the golden glow that bathed his desk was not from any of his own lights, but from the apartment opposite. When Peter looked up, he damn near died.

Hot Greek God Neighbour Guy was leaning against the window, apparently naked, and stripping his cock like a machine. He was leaning against the glass with his shoulder, head down, mouth open on a soundless moan as his fist flew over a thick, long shadow. Peter gripped at his desk with white knuckles, eyes wide and breath frozen in his lungs.

Fuck.

He should look away.

His neighbour shifted, head falling back and hips jerking forwards as he touched himself, an artful form framed by window-pane. Peter could feel his own cock give a feeble twitch, perking up the more he watched.

Fuck. He could see the vague shape of muscles. The long curve of his cock. The strands of hair that stuck in wild directions where the man tugged at it, fucking into his fist with renewed vigour.

The man turned again, facing the window, and Peter nearly killed himself on the edge of the desk as he flew downwards, but he needn't have risked it. The man didn't look up, head bowing in pleasure, palm flat against the glass. He didn't stop.

Slowly, so slowly, Peter stood. His mouth felt dry. His heart vest so fast it hurt. And yet...He couldn't look away. No amount of feeling like a dirty old pervert was gonna make him miss a second of this real life porno.

Peter's fingers flexed at his thighs, contemplating planing his own cock, when Hot Greek God Neighbour looked up.

All Peter could do this time was freeze, horror seeping into his bones. The man's hand stuttered over his cock, surprise fresh and rich on his face, before it morphed into something dark and dirty with a lewd wink. A sultry, sly, predatory smirk as he shifted, leaned closer, hand speeding up like Peter's presence was a challenge.

"Fuck" Peter announced to his empty room, and a genuine grin broke the smirk temporarily. Peter gripped at his desk so as not to touch himself, watching as the man's mouth parted in pleasure, their gazes locked as he worked himself.

Hot Greek God Neighbour shifted again, head ducking briefly before he looked up, fixed that dealthy gaze on Peter, body locking and hips shuddering into the tight embrace of his fingers as he came, intense gaze broken after a few seconds as he sunk into the pleasure, head dropping and shoulders slumping.

"Fuck" Peter repeated.

After shaking through an intense orgasm, the man sloshed gracefully against the window, head tipping to eye Peter with lazy amusement. After a pause, he raised a sticky, white-dripped hand and pointed downwards, then spread his fingers to hold aloft five with a sly smile.

Five.

Number five.

Hot Greek God Neighbour raised an eyebrow at him, hand drifting down to wrap slick fingers around his softening cock, and Peter turned to bolt for his door so quickly he slammed his knee into his desk, going down in a flurry of limbs and curses.

When he crawled back up, the man was laughing, head tossed back and fingers still wrapped around his cock.

Hot Greek God Neighbour's actual name was Tony Stark, and the up close and personal, ultra HD version of the window event was far, far better.

[bitsandbobsandstuff]

Right there

Summary: Love stories aren’t always grand, sweeping epics. Sometimes they come soft and slow, made up of a million different things, and you may not even recognize what you have until it’s right there in front of you. This is one of those stories.

Characters: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Brief mission related trauma. Oreo thievery and dirty bubblegum. Mostly just buckets of fluff.

A/N: Hello Tumblr friends! I’ve been in a writing drought lately and it feels like forever since I posted anything, so here’s a short, fluffy fic while I try to Stella my groove back. My plan was to make this snappy and snarky, but it went full scale mush by the end. Guys, I just really love Bucky Barnes. ♥️

Want to find all my stories? Search #bitsmasterlist or try the link in my bio!

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

The murmur is low in your ear. Smoothing the folds of emerald green satin, you follow Bucky’s glance down and see the tips of your freshly painted toes, clad in sparkly sandals and peeping from beneath the evening gown. Nothing out of the ordinary, until you notice one thing.

“Gross. What the hell is that?” you whisper.

Stuck like glue to the front of your right shoe, curling over the edge and dangerously close to your bare skin, is a piece of neon blue bubblegum.

Keeping one eye trained on the crush of inebriated party goers, searching out the mission target for the evening, you try a few options.

Scrape the edge of the shoe on the marble floor. Pointless.

Give a couple stealthy stomps. Useless.

Try to wipe it on Bucky’s trouser leg. Bucky sighs heavily and sure, that’s entertaining.

But no matter what you try, this appears to be the superglue of all gum. Bucky stares straight ahead, eyes roaming the crowd, but you see him periodically glance over, gauging your progress.

There’s no real harm, you can fix it later, but every time you shift your weight, the tacky feel of it sticks to the floor and makes a small snick sound. Like a parasite, the dirty, chewed up wad creeps further up the shoe, so close to defiling your pristine toes, and the whole thing is driving you bananas.

“Pay attention to the mission,” Bucky whispers sternly, but as of immediately, there’s a new mission in town. So, when your revolutionary idea arrives in a wave of brilliance, you take immediate action.

Nestled snug against Bucky’s lower back, hidden beneath his tuxedo jacket, sits his favorite knife. Without a thought, you reach up and tug it from the sheath, turning to face the back wall, balancing on one leg and gripping his forearm for support.

And then, frozen in shock, Bucky proceeds to watch you use his favorite knife - the one he sleeps with under his pillow, the one he keeps beside his morning Cheerios, the one he painstakingly sharpens after each and every mission - to dig at the dirty blue bubblegum fused to the bottom of your shoe.

“Disgusting,” you mutter. With a twist and flourish, it pops free and you fling it away, sending it flying into one of those tacky potted ferns by the bathroom. Smothering a laugh, you shoot Bucky a challenging look - and then slide the sticky knife back in the sheath.

You slide it back in the sheath without cleaning it.

Bucky grinds his teeth so hard his jaw locks up.

There is no earthly reason you should still be alive after this sacrilegious approach to basic knife protocol, but when he subtly leans over to voice his intense displeasure, he has the sudden desire to laugh.

“Everything okay, Barnes?” you ask under your breath, resuming your scan of the crowd. An insanely devilish grin tugs at your lips, and he huffs at the playful nudge of your elbow.

“Just fuckin’ peachy,” he mumbles drily, and then he marvels at the thought that follows.

Because right there, Bucky Barnes decides that maybe that proper knife etiquette isn’t all that important.

As long as he can see you smile.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Bucky stands stoic at the open kitchen cabinet, pointing at the top shelf, his furious glare driving daggers into Sam’s heart.

“Dude, I swear I didn’t touch them.”

“You’re a lying liar who lies, Wilson.”

“Dude, I fucking swear. Get over yourself, damn.”

Sam stands with his arms crossed, an equally exasperated sneer on his face. Sitting on the couch, buried under a mountain of blankets, you watch with interest. Back and forth they trade barbs, a verbal tennis match full of snarky comments, childish quips, and the occasional mention of each other’s mom. Finally, Sam throws his hands up and whirls away.

“You’re fucking impossible, asshole.”

Bucky bangs the cabinet door shut and stomps over to you, plopping into an armchair to sulk. Smiling in commiseration, you stay silent, furtively trying to swallow. You’re so close to success, but then it happens.

No matter how hard you try, the crinkle of an Oreo package is too obvious.

At the sound, Bucky’s head snaps up.

“What was that?” he asks, suspicious. Eyes wide, you shrug in silent innocence. Bucky scrutinizes your pile of blankets, realization dawning. “Was that - did you steal my Oreos?”

Another silent, vehement shake of the head. You’re close, so close, just one more swallow -

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Prove it. Whistle for me.”

Damn.

When you purse your lips and blow, nothing comes out. Well, nothing except flecks of black Oreo crumbs. Swallowing the rest of the cookie, you fish out the bottle of milk hiding under the blanket and wash it all down, smacking your lips.

“Oh, sorry. Were these your Oreos?” you ask sweetly.

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and tries to be mad, he genuinely tries really hard, but it doesn’t work. Launching himself from the chair, he bounces onto the couch next to you, sending your milk sloshing and you squawking in faux anger.

“You dirty little thief,” he deadpans, snatching away the package. Shoving three cookies in his mouth, he steals your bottle of milk and chugs it down. When he finishes, a white milk mustache is painted above his lip. It turns this dark man, someone with decades of gunpowder on his fingers and bloodstains on his soul, back into a young boy. Carefree and innocent, brimming with happy laughter. Swallowing hard, you reach over and carefully wipe it away with a firm brush of your thumb.

And right there, Bucky Barnes discovers the simple beauty of cookies and milk and the feel of your cool fingers on his skin.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

No. You didn’t. And that’s the problem.

Every blow of your fists unleashes something inside.

Smack, smack, smack.

Harder and faster, the punching bag absorbs all the pent of anger and lingering fury of a failed mission.

Smack, smack, smack.

It was so close. It was right there. You should have seen it. Should have remembered the bad guys never play nice, and the price of hesitation is a life. Memories trigger memories, sparking through your brain like a circuit board of bad decisions, lighting up one after another. Bucky stands on the other side of the bag, silently watching you pummel those demons trying to burrow into your skin.

“Talk to me,” he says quietly, and you frantically shake your head.

Smack, smack, smack.

Tears spill over. They blur your vision, turning the punching bag and the tall soldier holding it, into shapeless blobs. Blinking them away, wiping your runny nose on tape covered hands, the salt of tears and sweat drips into the busted-up gashes across your knuckles. It stings, a vicious reminder of what was lost. The scent of blood fills your nostrils and there are those memories again, a tsunami of pain barreling through.

Smack, smack, smack.

“Go away, Bucky. Leave me alone,” you snarl, aching arms still swinging at the punching bag. He ignores the request, a stalwart statue. It infuriates you in an unexplainable way and you spit the words in his face. “God dammit, fuck you, I don’t want - I don’t need - I don’t - I mean it. I fucking mean it. Please, just” smack “fucking” smack “go.”

Smack.

Like a booming clap of thunder, your last punch is so hard, it explodes the fragile wall holding the tears at bay.

Knees buckle. Shoulders slump. Fists slam the floor. You go down hard, and the result is devastation.

Ugly, wrenching sobs claw up your throat, stuck behind your clenched teeth until you open your mouth and howl. It hurts to cry this way, to let everything loose and accept the consequences of your failure. You will never save them all, and that clarity is a special brand of destruction.

Bucky says nothing. No words can solve this pain. No one knows that better than him.

Instead, he lays down on the sweat drenched mats beside you. Without a word, he wraps you into a hug, tucking you against his chest. Even if you don’t deserve this comfort, you cling to it. Clutching his shirt, the only lifeline you have left, you cry until that bottomless well of pain and misery finally runs dry. It takes hours, but Bucky is patient, never ceasing the comforting strokes up and down your spine.

And when it’s done, when your exhaustion leaves you unable to open puffy eyes, he simply lifts you up and carries you to your room. Places you gently on your bed and pulls the blankets over you.

“Bucky. Don’t go. Please don’t leave,” you beg hoarsely, and the misery in your voice breaks him. The bed dips as he climbs in beside you, wrapping you in his arms once again and you feel his lips brush your forehead.

The night bleeds into a dreary grey dawn, and right there, Bucky Barnes sinks into the comfort of a dreamless sleep, with you cradled tight in the heat of his arms.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Eyes closed against the shining sun, you offer a sleepy hum. There’s a rustle of movement, and something soft tickles your cheek. It runs across your nose, touches your eyelids, sweeps light as a feather over your lips.

Eyes struggle open, and there you find Bucky watching, a little purple flower held in his long fingers. The look on his face is unreadable. He does that sometimes, looks at you like he wants to say something more, but he always hesitates, the words stuck in confused silence.

The petals wave faintly in the breeze and you smile.

“Pretty,” you say.

“Just a weed,” he shrugs.

“Still pretty,” you say. “Hand it over.”

Bucky places it in your outstretched palm. Gives a wry shake of the head.

“You’re the only one I know, who thinks weeds are beautiful.”

The small blossom sits thoughtfully in your hand and you hold it up, squinting to the sun.

“Just because something has a bad name, doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful.”

There’s a peculiar hope in Bucky’s face as he considers the statement. He likes those words. He likes them a lot. Wants to believe they might even include him too. But nervous silver fingers pick at the threadbare edge of the picnic blanket, and you see a shadow of self-doubt flit over his handsome face.

“Sometimes a weed is still a weed. Even pretty words can’t change that fact.”

The reference is clear. You know exactly what he means, because the list of negative metaphors Bucky uses to describe himself has grown extensive and colorful over the years. Rising to your knees, you shuffle closer until you’re facing him.

“Hey,” you say gently. Careful hands cup his face, the scratchy feel of his beard on your palms softer than you expected. “You better not be calling yourself a weed, Barnes. I’d hate to kick your ass out here in public.”

The shimmer of unshed tears in those blue eyes makes you ache for him. But when Bucky sees the determination in your face, he blinks them away. And like the little weed in your hand, a tiny smile begins to bloom.

He clears his throat.

“Kick my ass, huh? I’d really love to see how that goes.”

“It’ll go my way,” you say confidently. Picking up his heavy hand, you turn it palm up and peel his fingers back. Laying the purple flower in his hand, the vivid color glows against the bright silver. “See? Beautiful. Just like you.”

He stares at the flower. Looks up.

It happens right there, in the sun-soaked summer fields of Central Park; Bucky Barnes feels his heart stop at the taste of your kiss.

*****

“Right there. Do you see?”

Lost in thought, Bucky startles at the question.

Following the line of your arm, he sees you pointing into the infinite ocean of blue-black. Stars are speckled through the heavens, patterns of constellations and figures that you always manage see, but he can never seem to find.

Stuck in the middle of nowhere, the two of you walk along, miles from civilization. The first hint of winter settles all around, hard frost covering the tips of the grass, coating the pebbles edging the abandoned road, turning your breath to thick white clouds. It should make him anxious. Bucky hates the frost, despises the frozen blue that weaves maliciously through his worst nightmares.

But on this cold, moonlit night, with you warm by his side, he finds he doesn’t mind so much.

“What am I looking for?” he asks.

“Shooting star,” you say breathlessly. Tilting your head back, you go still, a beacon of patience awaiting a cosmic miracle. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

Bucky peers up at the sky, but as the minutes click by, he knows he’ll never find what he needs up there.

He turns to look at you instead. Watches you watch the sky, his chest burning with contentment at the sight of your profile in this moonlit night.

“Sure,” he says. “So beautiful.”

Gloved fingers find yours, and you turn your gaze from the infinity of space, to this man beside you, solid and real and here on Earth. There is nothing in the world but the two of you, nothing else matters as you move impossibly close.

“Such a sap,” you murmur, your mouth a mere breath from his. The tip of his nose is icy against your cheek, and you can feel him smiling as he returns the kiss with a shiver.

The world is funny. Because this - this is your love story.

Built on blue bubblegum and stolen Oreos, blood-stained bandages and purple flowers, shooting stars and an endless night sky, this love bursts with highs and lows and a million variations in-between. Wrapped up in the delicious comfort of your kiss, Bucky wonders what in the world he ever did to earn this.

This perfectly imperfect life. Here. With you.

There’s no real answer, of course. Love is like that sometimes.

So instead, he dusts off those three words from another life, ones he’s stored away for decades, and he hands them over, because they’re the one thing he can always see, no matter how dark his world becomes.

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than anything.”

The words are drenched in happiness, syllables shaped with a quiet joy that glows brighter and fiercer than every constellation hanging above. And in the space of a single second -

Your heart skips.

Your breath catches.

You swear you could fly.

Because this is it, this is the moment. This is the big one.

And that right there is when you return those three words, the ones Bucky Barnes has been missing his whole life and the ones you’ve held close, since the night you found that blue bubblegum tacked onto your shoe.

The words are perfect. You kiss him again.

“I love you too, Bucky.”

*****

[marie-dufresne]

Little Shooting Star

🧬 Main Verse Page 🧬

Little Shooting Star: It’s time for science, and healthy little interns make excellent test subjects.

Marie had found a rhythm down in the laboratory. Since she wasn’t actively involved in any research, she had taken it upon herself to ensure the professor was well taken care of, as he didn’t seem to have any interest in doing it himself.

At six, six-thirty, seven, seven-thirty, and eight, she presented him with a fresh cup of coffee. Between the hours of seven and eleven, she refilled his water every forty-five minutes. At noon, tea accompanied take-out lunch. Water until two. From two to five, she alternated water and coffee on the half-hour. At six, another take-out meal served with either cola or whiskey depending on the progression of his day. Then it was water every forty minutes until eight, where she put on a pot of coffee, placed his clean mug next to his diary, and left for the night.

On Mondays she re-stocked the cabinet with cigarettes. She couldn’t stand the stench of the things, but it was not her place to tell him to quit so instead, she made herself busy emptying out his ashtray as often as she could. This also allowed her to count how many he’d had, and be at the ready to switch out his empty pack for a fresh one without him ever having to move from his task or pat his coat and mumble, ‘the fuck are my smokes?’

It was a system that worked. She stayed out of everyone’s way while still being useful. Hojo would never admit to being impressed, but he found himself moving in sync with her, despite his days being largely unstructured to begin with. Perhaps having an intern wasn’t the worst thing that had been foisted upon him.

A few months into her tenure with him, he found himself on a stool in his office, a small side project having failed its first go. With his legs up on the highest rungs, he pursed his lips, staring at a severed arm on a tray, watching the liquid he’d dropped into the gash he’d cut…do absolutely nothing at all.

He gave a little grunt. How disappointing.

Marie appeared in the office then, right on time with a steaming coffee. He almost ignored her, but the underside her arm caught his eye.

“How much do you know about cell regeneration?”

She laughed, completely unfazed by the decaying arm before her. (It wasn’t the first time.)

“Nothing? Come on, professor,” she teased, taking his long hair in her hand, gently twisting the ponytail around her wrist before returning it to his back with a flourish, “you know that.”

Hojo spun on the stool, taking hold of that hand and feeling the silky flesh of her wrist. She was always touching him. Why?

“It’s time for a lesson,” he decided, his grip tightening as he pulled her over to the table and pressed her arm down, yanking her slightly while he brought up two leather straps to secure the appendage in place. His concoction hadn’t worked on the dead. Perhaps on the living.

Marie was easy to overpower, easy to stun, and found herself unable to resist being restrained and she stood, slightly hunched over the steel table, eyes wide. Why would he need to restrain her?

“All living things are able to regenerate to some degree,” he began, pushing the severed arm out of the way and presenting her with an amber bottle of swirling fluid, “let’s see if we can help the process along, hm?”

“…what?”

He ignored her soft concern and gestured to the bottle. “That there is liquid Cure. Or at least a prototype of it. You and I are going to work together to see if it works. Since you aren’t equipped to use materia, consider this compensation for your participation. If it is successful, of course.”

Her….participation?

“I don’t…I don’t understand. Materia is magic. How can you just put it in a bottle?!”

An annoyed brow piqued at her question and he swiped a recording device from his desk before thrusting his face barely an inch from hers.

“There is no such thing as magic, Fuzzy. Only incompetent idiots who can’t grasp the concept science will tell you otherwise.”

He didn’t give her a chance to question him further, pressing a button on the device and turning from her.

“Liquid Cure test number two. Subject is living. Human female in her late teens, generally healthy with no known defects…”

Marie pulled at her arm, trying to free it from the straps, and the leather cut into her skin, the friction of the raw edge unkind against the tender flesh.

“I—I’m not a test subject!” she protested, shoes slipping against the polished concrete, giving her no footing. How many times had she been told to wear rubber soles?

“Everyone is a test subject,” he replied, an offhanded remark as he pulled open a drawer, retrieving a fresh scalpel and lowering himself to his chair, rolling over to where he’d trapped her. “Life itself is an experiment, isn’t it?”

Eyes wide, Marie’s gaze darted from the blade to his face, back and forth, trying to decide whether he was playing a cruel prank on her or if he actually intended on cutting her open. He seemed serious, scooting his chair over before he stood, adjusting his glasses slightly as he peered over at her arm.

“A little bit of advice to you, since ladies are so fond of exsanguination. Should you ever feel the desire to make an attempt on your life, you’ll end it far quicker if you travel down the road—“ he trailed a fingertip down the length of her exposed arm, giving her a little smirk before he made a little pass across her wrist, “—than across.”

What? …was he giving her…suicide tips?

 Her throat got tight and she tried wiggling again, shaking her head so violently, she might as well have been vibrating.

“I don’t want to do this,” she told him, chin wobbling as the tears built up along her lashline, spilling over and leaving ugly tracks as they fell. “I don’t—no, no, this is not—this is not my job.”

Hojo let out a little breath of air through his nose, turning to look up at her, undeterred by her tears.

“Whether it’s your job or not doesn’t matter to me. I have an opportunity, so I’m taking it. Now hold still and don’t scream. I have a headache.”

His hand was on her arm then, ignoring the way she thrashed against the restraints and her pleas for him to stop. Every ‘sir’ or ‘no’ or ‘please’ fell on deaf ears, his eyes focused only on the limb beneath his blade. He wasn’t the reckless madman she was no doubt painting him as. He knew where to cut safely, how to cut safely and, if he hadn’t successfully liquified Cure, how to stitch her up so she wouldn’t bleed out. She was perfectly safe, even if the blood spilling up over her arm and pooling on the steel beneath her suggested otherwise.

Satisfied with the incision, he reached over for the bottle. “Stop moving,” he warned, “you’ll die faster if you keep panicking.”

Marie felt one of her fingernails crack right down the middle, so strong was her grip on the lip of the table she was confined to. She obeyed, perhaps more out of shock than anything else, eyes fixated on the sight of her own mutilation before her, desperately trying to make an excuse for it.

It was for science. For science. For science. If they were successful, if he was successful, they could help people with this discovery. It would be a good thing.

Clenching her fist, she squeezed her eyes shut when he reached for the bottle, and prepared for anything worse than the searing pain shooting up her arm. What she felt instead, was cold. It was a pleasant cold, like drinking iced water after chewing a minty stick of gum, or the soothing chill of menthol gel on a congested chest. It tingled slightly, like the way a limb comes back after being asleep and she opened her eyes, fist still clenched beneath the leather straps.

“Well look at that.”

Her arm was…fine. Bloodied, but in tact again. The professor ran his hand over the soft flesh, feeling for the wound, rubbing at it to find weakness, but even he quirked a brow and gave a satisfied hum.

Marie couldn’t find it in herself to speak. She was unable to move, to think, to comprehend what she was seeing. It seemed more to her than she’d imagined everything. It was far easier to believe that she’d hallucinated the incision than it was to believe her body had simply healed itself within seconds.

She didn’t register him unbuckling the straps and freeing her arm, or the wet cloth he tossed at her. Ten minutes passed by and not a single muscle in her body had moved. She wasn’t thinking. Her existence was floating somewhere else, somewhere out of tune with her surroundings, and it wasn’t until Hojo took hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him that she came back.

Her lips moved, but just barely, in a small whisper that tried to be ‘what?’, but died quickly on her tongue.

“I said, clean up.”

She turned back to the table, her neck moving in a mechanical, rusted manner, taking in the blood that coated her skin, drying and caking around an invisible wound but from there, was unable to do anything else.

Hojo pursed his lips, a short breath of annoyance huffing out his nose. Her stomach was strong. He appreciated that. Her mind, however, he found lacking. She was in shock, and there wasn’t much to be done about it now.

He kicked his chair over to her, pushing her down into it and shook his head, swiping up the cloth and returning to the sink. Fine. He’d do the cleaning then. It was just a little blood.

Honey, not vinegar.

He cleaned the table first. It was easy work and done quickly, sanitized, and like new. The beauty of metal. He nudged a second chair over with his foot, catching himself as he plopped onto it, then scooted over to his assistant, taking her arm in his hand as he began to tend to the steadily drying stickiness on her arm.

“You…you did well,” he told her, rubbing the burgundy from the little light hairs on her forearm, “and…you’re fine now. You’re going to be fine.”

Or at least he thought she could be. Who knew what side effects she could suffer from. Not many, he predicted.

She relaxed a bit, blinking and watching him tend to her, before she heaved a sigh. Good, she was coming around.

“I probably would have said yes.”

Hojo looked up, taking in the murky splotches of makeup beneath her eyes and on her cheeks, realizing he’d never seen her any less than put together until now.

“If you had just asked,” she clarified, “If you had asked to try it out on me…it would have been easier.”

He let out a small chuckle, wheeling back to the sink and wetting a new cloth. So lost in his enthusiasm, he hadn’t even considered asking. Easier to beg forgiveness and all. Not that he had any intention of begging her forgiveness, but if she had denied his request, having forced her into the experiment regardless would likely have bit him in the ass afterwards.

“Well I’ll remember that next time,” he mused, rolling back to her and lifting the damp cloth up to her cheek, wiping away the smudges.

“I don’t want to think about a next time right now,” she admitted, one little corner of her mouth turning up just a hair, “I’m all scienced out.”

He nodded, understanding. He supposed he had acted a bit rashly. He’d grown accustomed to the way she made things work for him. He’d grown spoiled; he wouldn’t jeopardize it just yet.

“Go ahead and go home for the day,” he suggested, pressing the bottle into her hand and curling her fingers around it, “rest up and call if anything unusual happens.”

She was staring again and he dipped his head, conceding, “…whenever you’re ready.”

He placed a cup of water down on the table, then resumed his work. She left shortly after, bidding him good afternoon and stopping to be sure there was a fresh pot of coffee on for him to retrieve in her absence.

There was silence for the better part of the rest of his day, the hours spent arranging data, calculating, and projecting. It wasn’t until somewhere after nine that the phone rang and he answered without much of a thought.

“…professor? It’s Marie.”

The assistant? He perked up a bit. He hadn’t expected a phone call from her, truth be told. Cure was a pretty reliable materia and liquifying it hadn’t exactly been rocket science. Something no one else had yet managed to accomplish, but still a simple enough process.

“Ah…good evening, Fuzzy. Is everything alright?”

There was silence on the other line for a moment, and a little bit of rustling. He heard the jingle of keys.

“I’m coming back,” she told him, “there’s….there’s something you need to see.”

“Oh?”

“Sir I’m…glowing.”

She arrived within twenty minutes, and he found amusement in the way she barely scanned her badge in before she came bursting through the doors—the exact opposite of how she’d left. There was a smile on her face now, wonder in her eyes, and when she reached him, she took him by the hand, pulling him into his office and shutting the door behind them.

“Look,” she breathed, holding out her arm to him and grinning as she flicked off the light, exposing a hundred or so little aquamarine dots twinkling beneath her skin, dancing along the length of where the incision had been.

This was a surprise. It had…separated during the moments of curing, leaving behind traces of pure mako trapped beneath. It wasn’t much, probably not enough exposure to cause her too much long term harm, but he’d monitor her regardless. It would be interesting to see—the long term effects of constant minimal exposure.

“You really are a wonderful specimen,” he marveled, taking her arm and examining it in the darkness, how vividly the mako shone through, “my little shooting star.”

He couldn’t see it, but she smiled.

She didn’t realize, but he felt the way her heart quickened at the affectionate words.

[dcbbw]

WIP Wednesday 7-1-2020

Thanks for the tags, @ao719​ and @bobasheebaby​!

I’m working on drama and angst … making the most progress with these three fics this week.

Warning: curse words

DC AU, Chapter 5—So Close to Heaven

“COCKBLOCKING? I told you I was coming over; if the dick meant that much to you, you know how to stop me! You chose not to! And your boss … again, I DIDN’T KNOW JUST JILL WAS YOUR BOSS! And I didn’t sleep with her because you needed me!”

“I DID NOT! You changed your mind and used my vent text as an excuse! To do stupid man shit!”

“VENT? You were LOSING YOUR GODDAMN MIND over a pot of CHILI!”

Riley turned away from Liam, going into the living room. Liam followed.

“I was having a bad day. You used that to your advantage the ENTIRE NIGHT!”

With a huge huff, Liam circled Riley until they were face to face, nose to nose. “Use it to my advantage HOW? The way I see it, I’m the one who sacrificed! Just Jill was ready to jump up on the counter and give me ALL HER HOLES! AND COOK BREAKFAST! I turned HER DOWN to come comfort you!”

“YOU GHOSTED HER! YOU ARE NO BETTER THAN DRAKE! You are nothing more than a coward in a fucking suit!”

“WHY DO YOU GIVE TWO FUCKS ABOUT ME LEAVING A CHICK AT A BAR?”

Discontent, Chapter 4—Twelve Steps

Her fingertips caressed the stubble along his jawline and chin. She inhaled a deep breath and her nose wrinkled. Despite her shower the day before, Riley smelled … sour, and the sweat was making her skin feel both sticky and slick. She rose from the bed and padded quietly into the bathroom. The harsh lighting hurt her eyes, and she squinted as she took in her reflection.

Her eyes were puffy, but less bloodshot than they had been. The dark circles were more pronounced. Her cheeks were blotchy. Her lips were noticeably dry. She felt like day old crap.

She recalled Liam’s earlier affirmations and words of love, and how she tried to pluck them from the air to hold in her hands. He had told Riley she completed him.

How could he love me? Why does he love me?

Riley supposed it didn’t matter as she swished mouthwash between the insides of her cheeks. But it did. Somewhere in this city, in this very hotel was the woman Riley was in competition with for her husband’s affections.

The Queen had simply won this round. Not the battle. Not the war.

Object of Affection, Chapter 8—Messy

The redhead’s eyes were wide and innocent, her tone laced with regret. “By pushing you away.” She paused for a beat. “I’m in love with you, Liam. I may not want to be Queen, but I want to be your wife.”

She waved her left hand in front of the King’s face. “I still wear your ring. I still think about us.”

“A little too late for that, Duchess.”

“Why? Because you finally bedded the American?” Olivia moved closer to the desk, placing her palms atop Liam’s hands to lean across it.

“She colluded with your father to win your hand, Liam. The same man who has always held strong dislike for me. The same man who has always tried to keep me from Court. From you.”

Liam looked into Olivia’s green eyes but saw no deception. However, the steady tap of her shoe was telling. He remembered his father saying he had unpleasant information about the Duchess that he would keep to himself as long as Liam didn’t marry her.

He leaned back in his chair after removing her hands from his. “What do you want, Olivia?”

“Another chance with you. You’re merely engaged, not married. People change their minds all the time.”

“An ironic statement coming from you.”

“Please, Liam,” she implored.

Liam stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Why now, Olivia? When I am finally walking away from you? Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to set you free?”

“I admit, I went about everything the wrong way. But I came here today to talk to you, to tell you my feelings. But you wouldn’t meet with me.” The Duchess lowered sad eyes to the carpet.

Liam looked at his former lover through narrowed eyes. “Last we spoke, you were in love with Drake.”

Olivia looked up, a slightly startled look on her face. “He was merely a tryst.” She arched her brow, her slender fingers stroking the back of Liam’s hand. “Now that we both know how the other half fucks, let’s concentrate on us again.”

Liam stared into green eyes; eyes that had drawn him in time after time. His eyes fell to her fingers, still lightly scraping against his skin.

He didn’t pull his hand away.

NO idea who to tag (I think all of mutuals have been tagged and/or shared, so if anyone stumbles across this and wants to bless the fandom with some sneak peeks, please do!

[intruality-overlord]

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: Excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humour, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @ibroken-butterflyi @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall

Let me know do you want to be added or removed from the taglist! Updates every Wednesday/Thursday. Don’t worry I’m posting the second half of this chapter later today cause it’s too long all in one part and Tumblr doesn’t seem to like it when I post stuff too close together. So have the fun with the fluffy part!

Chapter Three 1/2: Duck

Loosen Up

May 26th, 2017.

Tiny little sips did Patton take, swishing the liquid around before swallowing each drop. Cautious. Procrastinating. Remus rolled his eyes.

“Why are you so embarrassed? I’ve seen you so drunk that if you weren’t a figment of imagination, the police could have been outlining your dead body in chalk the next morning. You don’t have anything to be shy about,” he said. Patton glared at him. “That’s exactly what’s so embarrassing!” He shrieked. “It’s bad enough knowing that happened! I don’t want a repeat!”

“That’s the whole point of this, Pat. I’m here so you don’t get completely pissed like that again. And if you do, I’ll stop you from being stupid.”

…

“I’m always stupid,” Patton mumbled into his next sip. Albeit, it was a slightly bigger sip. Remus would have argued with Patton, but he hadn’t planned a heart to heart and felt rather unprepared. At least he knew Patton had already drunk enough to not think too hard about what he was saying. Baby steps.

Turned out the snowball effect settled in soon after that. The more Patton drank the less he thought to regulate himself so he drank more. Remus discovered that night that Patton became efficiently, drunkenly relaxed at five cans of… whatever collection of concoctions Patton had mixed up.

“Wait Wait Wait Wait Wait! If I’m a figment of Thomas’s imagination, but you’re Thomas’s imagination, does that mean you could, like, make me,” Patton made a charade of what would have resembled an explosion if he still had his fine motor skills intact, “poof? If you wanted?”

Patton had had six cans and was on his seventh.

Remus blinked at him. There was some semblance of sense in that thinking, and Remus did love a good “what if?” question. “I don’t know...” he said. “Why don’t you try?!” Patton exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. Remus for a split second thought of how adorable Patton’s excitement was—

“Hell no!” He snapped. Patton whined. Sulking, he flopped back down in his chair like a voodoo doll that had just been angrily launched into a wall. “You’re s’posed to be fun!” Patton chugged the rest of his can and didn’t bother to put it down. Instead, it just toppled and rolled out of his lax grasp.

“If it worked then you wouldn’t exist anymore!”

“So?”

Remus also discovered that Patton’s attitude was just as bad as Virgil’s. At least Remus knew his limits now for future reference.

“Well if you stopped existing you wouldn’t know if it worked or not because you wouldn’t exist,” Remus reasoned, and he wanted to scrub his tongue with soapy sandpaper.

“...What if we tried it on Roman?”

“Damn you, that’s tempting.”

Multimedia

August 30th, 2017.

“Heya Remus—” Out of all the anarchy encapsulated in the room, Patton instantly fixated on the razor. The blade devilishly glinted. Patton glared at the offending mustache slayer.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Patton! I was just—“

“Leave the moustache alone!” Patton pounced, lunging for the shaver, and Remus shrieked a very manly shriek. Plumes of white flew free from Remus’s fringe in the kerfuffle. “Your mustache is special and perfect just the way it is!” Patton said. Wrestling the razor from Remus’s grip, which on further inspection was definitely for shaving your legs and not facial hair, and confiscated it.

“I know!”

What?

“That’s why I need it for my self portrait!”

What?

What looked like very grainy flour caught in Remus’s fringe made it appear silver, enhancing the pearly whites that split his lips into a beaming grin. Patton swore his teeth looked slightly pointier than usual. Each syllable rolled around Remus’s tongue exaggeratedly long before he spat it out. And the crazed look in his eyes looked especially crazed, circled in red like a big mistake.

Oh, he’s high.

Wait, what?

Hooking an arm around Patton’s, a stark gentlemanly contrast to Remus’s distinctly wild hair, bloodshot eyes and suddenly apparent absence of a three piece suit, and yanked Patton to stand before his work in progress.

“I’d ask what you think, but it’s not quite finished,” he said, giddy.

Paint was splattered all across the canvas.

And across the floor, and the walls, and the ceiling, and after spending five minutes in the room Patton somehow had some too. (Remus was always more of a catcher than a thrower. Terrible aim.) Focusing on an individual area, it looked like a nonsensical mess. There were handprints, globs of textured brush strokes, and scratch marks. Acrylic and watercolour paints with salt adding texture. Swatches of silk, sprinkles of glitter. The only orderly aspect of the piece was the fact it stuck strictly to a dominantly green colour pallet with accents of blue. Even so, there were hints of pinks, yellows, and purple. Tasteful hints, mind you. Oh, there’s some red, too—

“Is that blood?”

“A happy little accident involving a blunt pallet knife. That’s all.”

As a whole, though, when you stepped back it clearly was Remus’s self portrait. Amongst all the chaos, his outline was clear and confident. Insane smile and all. (Except for his moustache, which seemed to be the final missing piece.)

Patton looked closer. Woven in were more intricate details. Passages from Alice In Wonderland and Little Shop Of Horrors (“You love her madly, don’t you, shmuck” was one he picked out)— other books, musicals, and movies Patton couldn’t name— fit seamlessly into the collage. Everything was written in different, swirly fonts or magazine clippings.

Then he looked even closer. Patton squinted.

“Is that fucking dick glitter?”

“Green and blue duochrome dick glitter!”

It was the most accurate self portrait Patton had ever seen (or ever would). A massacre of common sense. It was his internal tumultuous frenzy in a visual medium. A celebration of self love in a uniquely Remus way.

“I’d frame that and put it on the fridge,” Patton said genuinely. Remus preened. “It’s… exceptional, really.”

But did Remus really have to sacrifice his adorable face caterpillar for it?

“I can’t wait to add the finishing touches!”

“Are you really going to put your own moustache on it?”

Remus burst into rambling only a select few could comprehend. Sentences clumsily overlapped each other as Remus spilled the direct translation of his thought process. And within that mess, the words were crushed like a Pepsi can (Yes, Remus could taste the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Yes, he purposefully drinks only Pepsi), squishing the vowels out of existence. In Patton’s case, though, he was able to translate the garbled soup of consonants roughly to, “One does not simply soil the sacred authenticity of multimedia!”

“Can’t you just...” Patton shrugged. “I don’t know— use some fake fur or something instead?” He argued.

“Ugh,” Remus grunted, “That sounds like something Roman would do. His art is so flat and boring! Always so play it safe, never experiments,” He ranted passionately, throwing his arms in all directions. “And there’s never enough glitter!” He scoffed. Pent up energy drove him in stomping circles. “Too much glitter makes it look childish,” he said, tone swinging into a mock impression. “There’s no such thing as too much glitter! I don’t care if it gets everywhere. I’d happily leave glitter stuck in my teeth rather than some stupid, diet of the week salad! And Roman wants to claim he’s the gayer one?! Huh, bullshit.”

Patton checked if his ears hadn’t conked out. They screeched like microphone feedback. (His ears and Remus.)

“Roman’s such a bitch— I fucking hate him so goddamn fucking much, the cunt.” Remus thrust his hand into the nearest paint can, and readied the colourful grenade.

Patton grabbed his wrist, hastily. Globs of acrylic paint slipped from his fist, reuniting with a green puddle soaked into the carpet.

“Uh-um,” Patton cut in, improvising a distraction, “Why don’t we have a drink and watch, uh... ah, um— Ratatouille?” Fizzing with nerves, Patton cracked a hopeful smile. One Remus couldn’t help mimicking. “A drink of water!” Patton quickly corrected, “and Ratatouille.”

(“Giggle water?”

“Emu, no.”)

“I love that movie!” Remus said, clapping his hands. More green sprayed them in Remus’s brazen excitement.

It worked. Patton breathed a quick sigh of relief.

Beaming, he cupped Patton’s face in his cold, sticky, stained hands. “You always have such good ideas!” Remus gushed. That was a rare, rare compliment. Patton's face blazed. For a second he was sure the paint would evaporate from his skin.

No, his wine red complexion was hidden.

Green handprints drying on his cheeks, Patton watched the movie with Remus just like that. After, Remus finished the painting properly. Instant grief followed shaving his moustache. But when he grew it back, he was ultimately happy with the results.

Next Chapter:

[firethatgrewsolow]

From the lz site comments - I love reading firsthand accounts:

December 4, 2007 10:07am

Joe Schmidt

I write this to commemorate the 1977 Led Zeppelin U.S. Tour. To honor the Zeppelin legacy, and give an insight into the shows I experienced.

The date is Wednesday, April 6th, 1977. Led Zeppelin are to open tonight at the Chicago Stadium, in the first of a series of four shows. To give reference, I had just turned 17 a week prior and was a devout and rabid Zeppelin freak. My Zeppelin collection was rapidly building, including several bootlegs. The film The Song Remains The Same had just popped in October 1976. So I was very aware of their live capabilities.

Purchasing tickets for the shows was a story in itself. My friends and I decided to sleep overnight at the local Flipside, which was the Ticketron outlet. It was extreme. It was the 1970's. When the tickets went on sale, it became a literal war! Broken doors, shattered glass, fighting and fainting girls! I used my football skills to emerge 10th in line at the ticket dispenser. I was rewarded with Box Seats - Club Circle. The seats I possessed provided a total and unobstructed view of the complete stage. Raised seats just above the main floor. Yes, there is a God!

It was a cold evening the night of the April 6th show. The Chicago Stadium was in a very rough part of town and you had to be on your toes. The t-shirt hawkers were out in full force so I nabbed two real fine Zeppelin shirts. As I entered the facility, I could barely contain myself. There was Jimmy's speaker cabinet with the ZoSo symbol! Bonham had a new and beautiful gold metallic kit, waiting in ready, high atop his riser. The stage appeared sharp and clean with banks of lights and the P.A. hung aerially.

I found my seats and then wandered up the main floor aisle where the lighting man sat. This guy greatly resembled Keith Emerson. His eyes were red, glazed and glassy. I asked him about the set. He informed me Rock + Roll would not be the opener. It's going to be The Song Remains The Same. He added that Page was doing a wild version of Dazed and Confused with special lighting effects. As I walked back to my seat, toilet paper rolls flew off the balconies amid a blue-grey haze from the sweet smoke. Just as I sat in my seat the lights were cut.

Showtime! Pandemonium ensued. It's fucking Zeppelin! I added my own banshee wail to the moment. The spotlight hits Robert Plant. The firecrackers ignite prompting Robert to exclaim " Woa! Woa! Woa! Before we start can you please stop the firecrackers!" Just then Jimmy Page appears, turned toward Bonham . He's in white satin with a dragon design on his shirt's back. No design on his satin pants. Those were added later in the tour. As Page faces the audience I see him with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He's pacing with nervous energy. Up until that point I had never seen a photo of Jimmy smoking. I was surprised.

Page is strapped up with his doubleneck. The opening D- note is struck, the full spotlight hits Jimmy and it's off to the races. On one knee, Jimmy slides over to Jonesy and JPJ bows his bass toward Pagey. Robert's throwing moves and shapes in front of Page's Marshalls as Bonzo unleashes his percussive fury. This rendition is very solid. Robert's voice sounds very clear and strong. Jimmy's a little sticky on some notes and Bonham plays on too long at the end bit. Which did mess up the segue to The Rover. It came off somewhat disjointed. Colored light changes punctuate the four opening chord strikes of Sick Again. As the song kicks in, I notice their doing it in a slower and funkier arrangement. Page's solo crawls out of the stew. Short and fiery. The ending is on the money. The strong ending elicits a wild audience response. Robert then reiterates to the crowd- " Cool the explosives!" Adding that the last time they played Chicago was 1973. I thought to myself. That isn't correct. It was 1975.

The harmonized opening lick of Nobody's Fault But Mine soars across the Stadium. Now on the Les Paul, Page's E7 th chord overhang and arm sweep captivating the masses. As Page and Plant play in unison. Bonham and Jones are backlit with spotlights as they play their counterpoint rhythm. Hot Stuff! But, Robert's harmonica solo is indecipherable and Jimmy's lead bears no relation to the studio version.The solos sound very early tour. Damn.

In My Time Of Dying slithers out of Page's Danelectro as the concert progresses. There are some real problems with this one tonight. The missed breaks are glaringly obvious. During the fast part they kept trying to find a way out of it. Slop. Robert then goes into a homily about Chicago Blues legends Buddy Guy, Willie Dixon, Muddy Waters.

Blue light solely envelopes Page as he picks out the intro of Since I've Been Loving You. Crystalline notes that were chilling! Robert sounding much better than 1975. Fuck it! I'm going to the front! I start my trudge up to the stage. I was evasive and agile, my adrenaline surging as I approached the stage barrier. There were people shooting photos , so I nestled in with them. Right in front of me is Jimmy Page blasting out the climactic solo of SIBLY . High register notes to discordant low bends. John Bonham kicking it in his tuxedo t- shirt. My chest cavity being pummeled by the force of the band. Plant hollers out- " Jimmy Page! Guitar!"

Directly in front of me, Jimmy acknowledges the crowd as he sits on Bonham's drum riser drinking a Heineken. Robert introduces Jonesy as " The most debonair member of the band. He can speak two languages. Featuring John Paul Jones on keyboard.. No Quarter!" Page stands up and walks over to his theramin. He throws a karate chop in front of it emitting a sonic Woop! Woop! The dry ice filters in, shrouding the first 15 rows. Jonesy in emerald light plays the opening theme. Page and Bonham fall in powerfully. Jimmy's wah wah piercing through it all. Jones hints at Rachmaninov, as green lasers flutter behind him. As JPJ does his solo, Jimmy and Robert are 20 feet from me. They were having a drink and chatting near Page's theramin. They seem to be laughing about something. Then it's on to the main improv guitar solo. Jones plays the transition as Bonzo lays into a mid tempo feel. Seeing Pagey so close, jabbing at chords as his body reflected every note he emitted. Switching pick ups to emphasize tone shifts and dynamics. He was dancing, slashing and hypnotizing. At the solo's finale, I'm shooed out of the front and return to my seat. As I walk back, the last notes of No Quarter expire. What an experience!

Robert admits to some band rustiness when he introduces Ten Years Gone - " This is a thing that we never did until 3 weeks ago. And we're still running through it. As we are through everything." Out comes the now famous Telecaster B- Bender. Page twangs out a few notes. JPJ plays 12- string acoustic. Not yet in ownership of his triple- neck. Bass pedals at his feet. Jimmy and Jonesy are loud and full, crashing out the melodic riff. Even more powerful as Bonham enters. Page's middle solo is a mess. Missed and clanging notes. Robert sounds fantastic on this song! Great choice Guys!

Bonham strolls out from behind his kit. Plant announces - " To the front of the stage for the 1st time. John Bonham. Looking very suave. In his 2- piece tuxedo." Four chairs are set up as the Zeppelin take their seats. But the monitors are feeding back and JPJ's guitar is out of tune. There'a a lull in the action to fix matters, and the crowd does become restless. Jimmy , now on mandolin, strums out the opening notes of Battle of Evermore. It was a riveting performance, especially the swirling jam.

The monitor system from hell continues to plague the acoustic set. Robert is now clearly agitated - " We have an acoustic guitar on this number gents. So turn the bloody thing up! Last time we played here I remember the night very well, cause I'd got the flu and nearly died. And, the monitors were so bad they were doing just what they're doing now. Get it Right!!!"

Going To California is superlative. Conjuring images of tranquil and beautiful hillsides. The Minstrels at play. A magic moment.

Robert teases with a bit of Elvis' Surrender. He then spiels about the Black Country describing it as - "The land where men are men and sheep are nervous!' Page then provides a classic moment as he leans into his microphone and drolly states - " It's better to live one day as a king than a 1,000 as a peasant." JPJ brings out a bizarre looking stand- up bass for the Black Country Woman / Bron- Yr Aur Stomp combination. Bonzo's back on skins and Jimmy displays some fine fingerpicking during his solo turn.

More equipment woes precede White Summer/ Black Mt. Side. And, the song itself is an utter shambles. Audibly out of tune, Jimmy makes a game of it. He chases himself trying to retune as the song progresses! Able to regroup, the seated Page plucks out a few more notes, kicks out of his wooden chair and then....

Kashmir! From one spotlight on Page to every light in the rig, the Stadium exploded in heat and light. Huge spinning globes above the stage showering light shards over us. Robert confidently projecting as the Golden God! Page as the Whirling Dervish propelled by Bonham's cannon shots. I will never forget during the coda, on one of Bonzo's final flurries, Jimmy stutter- stepping his way across the length of the stage. From JPJ's side to his side. Arms outstretched and his mouth agape in some euphoric state. Indelible.

A beach ball bounces above the main floor. Playfully, Robert comments - " A soccer match!"

Plants ominously introduces Over The Top: " We've been here 3 or 4 days and he hasn't been to jail yet." It's the Out On The Tiles riff and into Bonzo's Barrage! I had a straight shot at him as I looked through my binoculars. The cat would not let up! His drum kit motored out to the front of the stage for the Hands solo and Phased Tympani segment. During his big build up before the band returns, I saw Jimmy standing by his amp watching in amazement. Bonzo turned and looked at Pagey. You could literally feel the head of steam that Bonham was generating! I can still see it. You must hear this version! The crowd went nuts as Bonzo soaked it in. He had big smile and gave a hand wave.

Onto Jimmy's Noise Symphony. What can I say? What I did say was ' Where the fuck is Dazed and Confused?" It was a big disappointment for me. I thought, Dazed and Confused represented so much of their power, fluidity and mystery. I was shocked they didn't play it! Between the harmonizer solo and the violin bow it was like a white noise experiment. The laser pyramid was visually spectacular. Bonham rumbles around his phased tympani and a wash of sound leads into the first tentative notes of Achilles Last Stand. This song did not come off well at all this evening. Sloppy playing that gets worse as the song progresses. An atrocious solo by Mr. Page. It's as though he forgot how to play the song!

Now the set closer, Stairway To Heaven begins and is performed faithfully. Just as Bonzo joins in, Jimmy's guitar strap breaks. Ray Thomas dashes out and attends to Jimmy. The solo kicks into gear as golden light shimmers off Page's white suit and Robert grooves with his tambourine. The compact lead gives way to Robert's pleading vocal lines and the final title lyric. Brilliant white light hits a huge spinning globe as the band head off stage. A several minute wait at least before they return.

Encore time. The band reappear and Bonzo begins Rock + Roll. Major explosions ignited onstage give off tangible heat. Jimmy's lead is loud and errant. A big bang ending. Rah! Offstage once again for several minutes before one more.

Push! Push! It's Trampled Under Foot! The fucking loudest song of the evening. Page had his amp on 11. Jones and Bonham were slamming . Jimmy's solo was absolutely blistering. Peeling off licks with conviction. Robert and Jimmy as one doing their Push Push bit had everyone rocking. A great finale!

So concludes the first show in Chicago. It was beautiful, inconsistent, mind blowing , sloppy and sublime all in one show. I'd love to see them again. That's right! There's tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow...........................

[chasingshhadows]

run my fingers down the creases and unfold you

[AO3 link] malex porn with feelings

---------------------

Alex loved this. He lived on it. It was a process, taking Michael apart. It took time and it took patience, but that was something Alex had in spades.

Snark was always Michael’s default and he rode that train until the tracks crumbled beneath him, until it burned away to something needy and desperate and soft. Alex just had to wait.

It would start with sarcasm. “Sure taking your sweet time for someone who wants to get off this century.” He’d raise his eyebrows at where Alex was hard in his jeans, and growl at the way Alex made him gasp around the feeling of light fingers on his cock. Alex would smile, spreading his legs against the mattress to push Michael’s legs apart, opening him up, just the way Alex liked him best.

Next would come the frustration and curse words. “Let’s go, fuck, Alex.” His name would bleed into a snarl, Michael’s nose twisting up, as Alex smoothed his fingers down the twitch of muscle behind Michael’s balls. Michael’s hips would roll into the touch, seeking more, more pressure, more contact, more anything than this gentle tease.

That would always last a while, through the way Alex slipped that first slick finger into Michael and pressed his nose into the crease of Michael’s thigh, breathing in deep, letting his tongue slip out to taste the sweat gathering there. A chorus of “come on” and “dammit, Alex” and “shiiiiit, just-” would tumble out, filled with angry huffs and hitches, demanding and pushy, but never aggressive. Michael wouldn’t dare pull his hands from where Alex left them splayed and grasping above his head; he knew better. He knew this would be good, would be worth it, he had just never been as patient as Alex.

It would start to slide into something less tough, more yielding, when Alex pressed the second finger in, let his other hand wander up Michael’s chest to pinch at his nipples. It would start with little “ah, ahh, ah, ahhhh”s that would be muffled when Michael clacked his teeth together and clenched his jaw against the way it wanted to be open and panting and pleading. It would start when Alex finally let his fingers glance over Michael’s prostate and that first “please” finally slipped its way from Michael’s throat.

He would beg then, raw and shameless. “Please, Alex, I-nnngggg, please, I need more, I can’t. Please.” Alex loved to watch him, all of him, from the way his toes clenched and his knees twitched, to the writhe and arch of his torso and the flutter of his eyelids.

His curls would be a mess by this point, sweat-damp and heavy, tangled up from the way Michael was rolling his head against the pillow as he tried to ride out the sensations flowing through his body from Alex’s touch. Sometimes Alex would lever forward, hovering over Michael close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin, so he could press his fingers into those curls, feel the way they wrapped around his fingers, clinging to him just as surely as he clung to them, pulling and squeezing to feel the way it made Michael arch up, lean into the touch, and moan.

It was when he started to stutter, words tripping up on his tongue, too distracted, too wrung out to wrangle it into anything but senseless, desperate need, that Alex would press the third finger in, humming in content as a shiver rolled through Michael's body, low whine reverberating through the room, through Alex. Michael would grip at the sheets above his head, triceps straining as he fought the urge to grab himself, to give himself what he was being denied. Every muscle in his body would tense like a bow string ready to snap, hips pressing up against where Alex held him down, throat bobbing with a ceaseless babble of choked-off cries, and Alex felt like he could get drunk on this feeling, on those noises, on the sight.

It was always just as Alex was beginning to ache, the tightness in his pants becoming just this side of too much with the way Michael shook, whole body vibrating, that Michael would finally let go.

He was so pretty when he crumbled, mouth popping open around words that would no longer come, eyes fighting against the urge to roll back, body just collapsing against the bed, loose and warm. Michael was at his most pliant in these moments, allowing himself to be touched, soaking in the sensations, the chaos in his mind finally calmed.

This is when Alex would pause, no longer teasing and stretching, just letting his fingers rest inside Michael, just letting himself have this moment of observation, of want. Alex could think of only one thing more beautiful than the press of Michael’s teeth against his bottom lip, the shine of tear tracks down the sides of his face, the slopes of splotchy, overworked muscles across his torso, and the twitch of his painfully hard cock, leaking against his stomach.

“Guerin, look at me,” Alex would say, voice low but firm. Michael would hear him, pathetic noise escaping his throat even as his hips twitched against Alex’s hand. Sometimes it would take a moment, while Michael gathered himself, forced himself out of his head, but he would always blink his eyes and open them wide to meet Alex’s.

And there it was, the most beautiful thing Alex ever saw. Michael’s eyes bright and shining, staring at Alex with the kind of laser-focus of a man unabashedly in love. He would do anything Alex asked and Alex would give him anything he wanted.

When he could no longer hold the gaze, when it had burned away the last of Alex’s control, he would surge forward and kiss Michael, tasting him, inhaling him, losing himself just a bit in the way it felt like nothing else, like no one else ever had.

When he had his fill, he would pull his fingers out and strip his clothes quickly off the side of the bed, hurried by the sound of Michael’s helpless mewling, by his own need. Alex would pause only to coat himself when he crawled back over to Michael, weight shifted forward onto his elbows against the mattress on either side of Michael, one hand tangled in his curls. He would reach up with his free hand and grab one of Michael’s, lacing their fingers and drawing it down, pressing a kiss to the knuckles as he watched Michael watching him.

Alex would hold Michael’s eyes so he could watch they way they tilted back as he pressed in. It was intoxicating, the way Michael would gasp, squeezing at Alex’s hand, pressing up into his body like he couldn’t get enough, like it would never be enough. Alex could feel the way Michael wanted to reach for him, reach for himself, grasp and pull at skin, touch anything but the dry sheets above his head. He would always be so good for Alex, no matter what Alex asked of him, no matter how hard it was, no matter how Alex teased and tortured him.

With a roll of his hips, Alex would reward him. It was easier, like this, when Michael wasn’t fighting against the urge to give in, when he wasn’t trying to shift focus away from himself, when he finally let Alex hone in on the things that made Michael whimper and cry and he didn’t try to hold any of it back. It took time to get him here, took patience and every ounce of self control that Alex had, but when given the chance - and the time - he’d never trade this for a quick fuck and an easy orgasm.

It never ceased to amaze him, the way Michael’s jaw would quiver, the way his body shivered through every thrust, the way every exhale brought a whine to his lips. He was fascinated at how utterly Michael was able to sink into every feeling, lose himself wholly to this moment, to them and their bodies and their love.

It never felt like long enough before Alex could feel his release building, before his own pleasure started warring with his need to break Michael down to his barest elements and worship him to his core. The noises coming from Michael would get progressively louder as Alex worked them both toward their climaxes, harder and faster. Alex would wait until he was right there before reaching for Michael, grabbing him and stroking him off, making sure he was able to watch the rapture crash over Michael’s face, hear the way his voice choked out and went breathless, before he was lost to the feeling of Michael, to the heat.

They would just breathe together for a moment, bodies still connected and minds and hearts belonging entirely to the other. If someone asked Alex what love was, he would say it was the space in between those seconds, it was the sight of Michael blissed out and gone, yet still able to catch Alex’s gaze and hold on.

Alex would wipe the mess from Michael’s chest, gentle and slow, before settling at his side and pulling Michael to lay across his chest, arms wrapping tightly around him as he tucked the end of his right leg around Michael’s knee, chin buried in Michael’s curls.

It was there in the quiet, when Michael's voice was worn out and his body spent, that Alex was finally able to find his words, when they didn't get sticky like tack as he pulled them from his throat. It was easier there, in those soft moments, to say those heavy words, to lift them out of his chest and into the world, breathed into Michael’s hair like a prayer.

“I love you, Michael,” Alex would whisper, and Michael’s fingers would curl against his side, bearded cheek rubbing against his chest in a wordless me, too.

[asian-hero]

Ah, Domesticity

here’s a fluffy piece with shiro and (y/n) being absolute dorks and spending their free time together that no one asked for

It was rare for you and Shiro to have a day off, with him being the captain of the Atlas and you being a teacher at a local elementary school nearby. Even when you did have one, you two would always find something work related to do, whether it be you buying more supplies for your classroom or him running drills with his crew, the two of you didn’t actually know the real definition of “relaxation.” So, it wasn’t surprising when Shiro’s higher ups and his own crew had practically forced him to take a week off, saying that not only was it good for his own health, but for their own mental well-being. 

Luckily for him, summer break had just arrived, and you happened to have a lot of free time on your hands. So, to pass the time, you two did everything imaginable, from exercising to video-games, both single player and co-op, it was actually quite impressive that you both had managed to take your mind off of work. However, by the sixth day it was safe to say that Shiro was getting bored and you were tired of coming up with things to do, so rather than doing yet another exciting activity, you decided to clean up your shared apartment, noting that after six days worth of binging on the couch and tracking god knows what into the home after your hikes, it was starting to get disgusting to live in. Quietly, you hopped out of bed and got ready for the day, taking a deep breath before plunging into what could only be called your worst nightmare.

You started with the kitchen, cleaning up empty bottles of beer and washing the dishes, trying to be as quiet as possible, since Shiro was sleeping in the other room. It was the first time that you’d seen him not wake up at the crack of dawn and you weren’t about to ruin his sleep, hell, everyone knew he needed it. Once you were finished with washing and drying the dishes, you quickly put them into the cabinets and then moved towards your garbage can, tying up the drawstrings and dumping it into the trash chute. Walking back inside you grabbed the mop from the closet you two almost never opened and began to clean the floor. It was almost shameful how you could keep a classroom filled with eight and nine year olds clean but you couldn’t even mop the floor in your own apartment once in a while. Of course, it was rare that you spilled while cooking, but you couldn’t speak for your boyfriend, who apparently, can’t do anything without spilling because the floor was a little sticky, probably from the beers and heinous amounts of take-out the two of you had ordered. 

While you were busying yourself by cleaning the floors, you didn’t notice an arm slowly floating towards you, the glowing parts slightly dimmed as to not alert you. By the time it reached you you were just leaning the mop onto the counter, and thank whatever forces of nature that you weren’t holding it, because once the arm had wrapped around your waist, you were sure that you would’ve thrown the damn thing. 

You could hear a faint snicker coming from the bedroom, and you wanted nothing more than to scold Shiro for nearly giving you a heart attack, but when his arm started pulling you gently towards your room, you couldn’t help the faint smile growing on your lips. Once you were finally back in your shared room, you felt his arm give one final tug at your waist, pulling you on top of him. You let out a small yelp as you saw Shiro’s boyish grin resting on his face. Laughing, you playfully slapped his chest, giving him your best glare.

“You almost gave me a heart attack, I thought there was a robber!”

He giggled slightly before rubbing his flesh hand in soothing circles on your back. “M’sorry, couldn’t find you,”

You raised an eyebrow, finding the situation to be amusing. “You could’ve just called for me, you didn’t need to send your arm.”

“You could’ve just stayed in bed,” He stated, giving you a pointed look that left no room for any arguments.

Rolling your eyes, you moved your hand up, softly caressing his face. You could tell that he was tired, it was obvious by just looking at his face. Even in the darkness of your room you could make out the dark purple bags beneath his eyes, and how even when he smiled anyone could see the tension that was still lingering behind the scenes, ready to strike at any moment and make the poor man suffer more than he already is. Although his hair was already white, you could see that even the new growth was silver, another indication of the stress he’s been hiding from you. But just as you were about to say something you felt a cold object trailing down your spine until—

“Move your hand away from my butt, Shirogane.”

His hand didn’t move, instead, you saw a smirk forming on his lips, his eyes not even open. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,”

You grunted, reaching behind you and pulling his prosthetic up to your lower back, which caused the man under you to pout, opening one eye to look at you. Smiling, you pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, patting his chest so he could release you from his grip. “C’mon bud, I need to go finish cleaning.”

Except he didn’t move his arms, rather, he tightened his grip around your middle and flipped you until you were stuck under him. Gasping for breath, you smacked his back, trying to push him off of you.

“Takashi get off! I can’t breathe!”

“No,” he whined, drawing out the ‘o’ and rubbing his face into your neck, “Cuddle me a little longer.”

“Are you five?”

He removed himself from the crook of your neck, the pout from earlier still resting on his lips, “It’s my week off, stay in bed with me.”

You huffed, lighting hitting the back of his head, “It’s nearly one, you should be getting up by now.”

When he only mumbled back in response, you decided to take matters into your own hands. Cautiously, you moved your hands down his back, rubbing circles just as he had before. When he was convinced you were letting him get his way, you moved your hands to his sides, and lightly danced your fingers against his skin, causing him to bark out a laugh and jump away from you. You quickly seized the opportunity and got out of bed, rushing towards the door. When you noticed the defeated look on Shiro’s face you offered him a gentle smile. Waving, you slowly headed out the room.

“I promise it won’t take me long, just stay and relax.”

You knew by the small grumbles coming from him that he would join you shortly. Just before you were about to grab the mop and put it back in the closet, you felt a warm hand on your hip and saw the glowing prosthetic grabbing at it, moving to put it back in the closet. When you looked up, you noticed the sour look still lingering on Shiro’s face. You lightly kissed his cheek, showing your appreciation. When the look softened you spoke:

“The sooner we finish the sooner we can go back and cuddle,”

You almost laughed at how fast Shiro went to the living room, stating that he was going to clean up.

———

Cleaning up the apartment, did not, in fact, go by quickly. The pair of you hadn’t noticed the amount of garbage you had been accumulating in the days you were too busy de-stressing. You were glad that Shiro had decided to take on the entrance way and the living room, because those two were the messiest of the entire apartment. Occasionally you would hear groans of distress coming from the large man, a few curse words and “what even is this?” were also heard throughout the home. 

By the time that you two had finished, it was nearing six in the afternoon. You would’ve been done sooner had it not been for Shiro’s lack of care about actually cleaning up the apartment, opting to only do a surface clean, leaving you to do the rest while he not-so-subtly glanced at your ass every now and then.Whenever you’d call him out, however, he’d just pretend that he didn’t know what you were talking about, before proceeding to smack your butt with his hand.

“You know,” You started, letting out a huff of annoyance, “I’m starting to think that you just enjoy annoying me.”

“So now you’re starting to notice?”

Now, at exactly 6:34 in the evening, you two were lounging on the couch, you draped across Shiro’s laying form while you were casually watching some show that he’d found on Netflix. As the show progressed, you found yourself getting more and more sucked into it, completely focusing your attention on the TV until you heard a loud growling sound. Look up, you noticed a sheepish grin resting upon Shiro’s face. Shifting, you faced yourself towards him, an inquisitive look on your face.

“Why didn’t you say you were hungry?”

He shrugged his shoulders, wrapping his arms around you, “You look so cute when you’re focused, I didn’t want to disrupt.”

You scoffed, glancing towards the clock hanging from your wall. 11:28pm. Not many places would be opened, and you really didn’t want to eat fast-food again. Not to mention that you didn’t have any food in the kitchen. So you voiced your thoughts to him and waited for his response. He reached over to grab his phone, looking up places that were still open.

“Mm, the grocery store’s still open,” he said, not looking up from his phone.

You tilted your head, thinking before you eventually got up from your spot on the couch, extending a hand for him. “Let’s go then.”

———

The ride to the store was uneventful, except for when Shiro would occasionally turn up the radio and start to sing rather loudly and off pitch. 

“Everything means nothing if I can’t have you,”

“Shut the fuck up before I throw myself out this car.”

Once you made it to the grocery store, you looked down at your phone to see the list of things you needed to get, that way the two of you wouldn’t go overboard and buy everything on an impulse. As you were walking towards the shopping carts you felt yourself being lifted up into the air and placed into the basket. Glaring up at Shiro, you had to hold back a laugh as he merely shrugged his shoulders and began to push you, doing the absolute most to look like it was a struggle.

“Oh my god, (y/n), how much do you weigh?”

“You’re a bitch.”

He laughed, leaning forward to press a kiss to your forehead. “I may be a bitch, but I’m your bitch.”

You sighed, giving into the smile that was beginning to form on your face. Soon enough, you were being pushed through the aisles of the store, gaining the attention of the very few customers who were still in the grocery store at what you could only guess to be near midnight. Most of them looked away, then looked back to realize that the captain of the Atlas, and poster boy of the Galaxy Garrison was currently pushing his partner in a shopping cart whilst doing everything in his power to annoy you. 

His plans to irritate you ranged from swerving the cart to throwing items into it from far distances. For example, as you two were passing the cereal aisle, you told him to pick up a box of Cheerios, mainly because you couldn’t reach it from where you were sitting. So, of course, the most logical idea for him to have was to walk over to where the cereal was, turn back towards the cart, and toss it into the basket as if it were a basketball. Unfortunately, Shiro was awful at basketball and thus, the box of Cheerios landed on the floor next to you with a loud thud. Your head whipped up towards him, an embarrassed look on your face.

“Put it in the cart!” You hissed, subtly looking to see if anyone witnessed what just happened.

Shiro sighed dramatically, walking over to the box and then carelessly placing it in the basket, accidentally scratching your leg with the corner of it.

“Ow,” You mumbled, rubbing the area in quick circles.

Immediately, as if it were clockwork, he bent over the cart and looked at your leg, where a light red mark was forming. Clicking his tongue he replaced your hand with his larger one, gently squeezing it. “Sorry,”

You patted his hand, a sign that you were fine and ready to continue. As you two went around, Shiro would still attempt to throw things into the cart, but he’d be more careful to not hit you. 

It was when you made it to the produce section where things went, sour. Checking your list again, you told Shiro what you needed so you could prep your meals for when he had to go back to work. While he was pushing you around, he would stop and pick a fruit or vegetable, then proceed to make puns with them:

“Hey, honey, my heart beets for you.”

“My love, if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cute-cumber,”

You took a deep breath, trying your best to calm yourself. “Takashi,” 

“Sorry, I’m really bad at pickup limes.”

“I want to hurt you.”

He scoffed, tossing the lime into the cart, then he proceeded to pick up a bunch of carrots. “Fine, be like that. I don’t carrot all.”

“I want a divorce.”

“We’d have to get married first, sweetheart.”

You didn’t know if you loved him or if you wanted to strangle him.

———

After an hour more of produce related puns later, you two were finally checked out and ready to load up the car. But as soon as Shiro pushed you outside, he started to run, and when he gained enough momentum, he hopped onto the cart, riding it all the way back to the car.

“You’re too heavy for this!” You exclaimed, holding onto the sides of your basket.

When he reached your car he stopped, placing a foot on the ground, then looked at you, a thin line forming on his lips. “Rude.”

Without saying another word, he grabbed the bags and placed them haphazardly into the trunk of the car. Then, he shut the door and walked over to the drivers seat, leaving you trapped in the basket. You let out an annoyed grunt.

“If I get hurt trying to get out I’m blaming you.”

When you didn’t hear any other noises from him, you assumed he already shut the door. Sighing, you slowly stood up, making sure that the cart wasn’t rolling around, and just as you were about to hop out of it and probably sprain your ankle, you felt Shiro wrap his arms around your torso as he lifted you up and out of the cart. Once you were back on the ground you smiled, poking the tip of his nose with your finger.

“I thought you left me to fend for myself.”

He snorted, pushing the cart into one of the stalls and rushing back to the car. “Don’t worry babe, I’ll protect you from all the evil shopping carts.”

You didn’t say anything as you hopped back into your seat, the only noise coming from you was a quiet snicker. Before Shiro could start the car you put your hand over his and leaned over the arm rest, kissing his cheek. When he turned to you, you could almost see the question on his face: why?

“Thanks for spending your time off with me,” A small grin played on your lips, “Even if it meant that you needed to clean up the house and come with me to run errands.”

You felt a giggle erupting from your throat as Shiro pressed sweet kisses all over your face.

“There’s no one I’d rather spend my time with,”

[chyrstis]

I won’t ask for much (but just this once, I’d like you) 7/10

Sorry Sharky. It gets better, I promise.

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw x John Seed Rating: E (but only for Ch. 10, the rest are a solid T) Word Count: 2.5K  

Link to AO3!

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch. 4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6 / Ch. 7 / Ch. 8 / Ch. 9 / Ch. 10

—

Sharky steals a boat. It just happens to be John’s boat, and when it’s damaged along with his boathouse, John proceeds to lay out a means of having Sharky pay him back. [No Cult AU]

———–

The first time Sharky worked up the nerve to kiss someone, he figured his luck was golden. Kristi, middle school, cool even with the braces, he’d impressed her with a few spare action figures and some of the extra snacks from his lunch. Talked her ear off more than once, and even had her respond with more than a nod, and an ‘uh huh’ or ‘okay’ to it too.

He had the moment planned out from the start, working up his nerve to pull it off only to get half a sandwich tossed at him mid-go. That, and some applesauce, and having to sit through the rest of the day with stained and sticky clothes had been the cherry on top of the shit sundae he’d made.

He’d thought the situation had been read right. Thought she’d been into him even if he was just a dumbass kid in bad need of a word (or five) breaking down why assuming that was bad – makes you less of an ass that way – and tried not to feel too broken up about it at the time. He could always pick himself back up and try again later.

Now, was no exception. He thought he had the situation down. Had everything sorted right from the start even if he didn’t have all of the pieces set in place yet, only for it all to snarl into a giant knot.

Because of course he’d want to see just what it’d take to get another smile from John, no matter how much he kept his mouth running to do so. To have John seek him out to talk, not just because he was there, but because he wanted to. To share more about himself, what he liked, what he loved. What mattered.

He wanted those things; liked earning them, knowing he’d been the one to make him smile like that. Laugh like that. Wanted to tap into the warm feeling he’d finally linked to it, flowing through him again and again.

So maybe it shouldn’t have been a shock when the other urge hit, saying to kiss the hell out of him. To do it as many times as John would let him, just to hear him react to it. To hold him close, and feel it too.

To earn that. To know he had.

That was an idea he could be okay with. He might’ve even let himself think he’d earned it that day, long enough to see what it tasted like.

And yeah, he did like it. He liked it a whole hell of a lot. Liked it, and John, and was full-on content to keep on kissing him even with the twig under him jabbing him in the ass.

But it wasn’t his call to make. Not alone, and when John pulled back he’d known on some level he’d fucked up.

Enough to know a sad 2 AM text wasn’t going to cut it, but he sent it. Still tried calling at least once as well, even if stammering out an apology wasn’t much better, but he got nothing. No response, no real acknowledgment, just radio silence.

Maybe he’d earned that too.

That, and the news that Joseph slapped him with when he'd finally kicked himself in the ass hard enough to head over and fess up directly. John wasn’t even there for one, and wouldn’t be for the next two weeks.

Two weeks.

Most of his work was usually done at his ranch or around the county, but they’d needed him to fly out for once; all for a few meetings that couldn’t be handled otherwise.

Joe wasn’t rude about it. He even welcomed him warmly once Sharky got through the whole shuffling and awkward rambling on the doorstep bit, half-launching into a speech that he was able to cut off before it got too personal too fast. But Joseph still had to tell him the news at least two more times for it to finally sink in, and the reassuring tone he used didn’t help one bit.

Because he knew what it was like to be avoided, to know that his piss-poor attempts at apologies really had to have fallen flat for John to cut out without any notice like that. And maybe he’d had a delay in replacing his phone – another thing of his he’d managed to wreck – but there were other ways he could’ve reached out to him.

With nothing to go off of, guessing was all he had left. So, with his thoughts pinging back and forth with a vengeance, he did the only thing he could do at the moment.

Work.

Pitching the schedule completely, he came by when he wanted, aware that the days were passing, but tried not to consciously tick them down while doing so. He worked his ass off, and turned the whole thing into the riverside discotheque he'd wanted since this whole mess had started. Had his top one-hundred greatest hits of all time on hand, wore his best headphones, and blared enough music into his eardrums to ensure nothing else could get through.

That’s how he started off this particular day, at least. Singing along loudly, throwing more paint up in lines that would’ve had John complaining next to him and pointing out what to do as he ‘helped’, and the pang he felt from it wasn’t funny at all.

Because it meant he missed that shit too, and that? That was bad.

“This fucking sucks,” he muttered, and brought the roller down only to squeeze his eyes shut before the splatter hit. “Fucking sucks.”

Lowering his headphones, Sharky grabbed for the rag hanging out of his back pocket, and tried to wipe the paint off of his face. It was during this that he caught movement in the distance. Coming down the path, the sunlight shone off of the spotless paint of the car, not a single scratch or dent on it in sight, and his heart jumped straight into his throat.

Scrubbing at the paint on him harder, he stashed the rag and wasn’t sure what the hell he was going for as he shuffled in place, but settled for staring thoughtfully at the wall in front of him. Wiped his hands on his shirt as he heard the door to the car open and close, and had no idea what the first word out of his mouth was going to be.

As it turns out, he didn’t say a thing. Just looked over at John as he walked up, dressed like a damn model himself, suit on with nowhere to go, and felt his face go a full three shades darker in color.

“Hmm.” John studied the building carefully, and tapped a finger on his chin. “You’ve been busy.”

“Uh, yeah.” That came out a little breathier than he would’ve liked, so Sharky cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, dude. You’ve been gone for what, two weeks now? What did you think I was gonna do during that? Take a holiday?”

“Maybe,” John replied. “I’d have considered it. No responsibilities, no oversight. Not a care in the world.”

He hadn’t looked his way yet, focusing on the boathouse instead. Sharky folded his arms just to keep his hands still, and rocked back and forth on his feet, all while the music kept on playing by his ear. He also tried not to read too much into the whole ‘lack of oversight’ part, but failed.

John did turn after a few more minutes, his examination finally over, and walked up to him. His face neutral, everything perfectly in place, and Sharky couldn’t help but stare at him.

“That settles it then,” John said.

“Settles what?”

“You’re done,” he replied coolly. “With the work you’ve put in, and the progress you’ve made, I believe your debt to me has been repaid.”

Everything screeched to a halt. His thoughts, the tapping he’d settled into, and his breath as he held it. “I don’t…you wanna say that again, amigo?”

John didn’t even bat an eye, “You’re free to go. Your help is no longer needed.”

That wasn’t right. The roof still needed work done, the paint was barely starting to dry, and he knew for a fact that this wasn’t finished. He’d stared at all of this with him long enough to know he had maybe a week and a half left, max.

But fine. Maybe he wanted him in another area. To switch to another project, and he latched right onto it.

“Well, you got anything else that you need help with? Think I told Joe I was going to-”

“No. I can manage it from here.”

That idea hadn’t even lasted a minute before John shot it dead.

And there it was, the feeling he'd braced for. The hurt that dug right into his chest, sinking in deep, and he let out a shaky breath as he worked around it.

“Guess I’ll just…” Sharky gestured behind him, attention locked on John as his throat grew tight. “Just start grabbing and loading this up then. Just grab all of this and be on my way.”

Nodding to himself as John stared back, unblinking, his shoulders sagged. Everything else sinking right with him, as a weight settled heavy in his gut.

He knew he wasn’t always going to be around here, but being cut loose like this hadn’t been a possibility he’d considered. Having John all but throw him out mid-job, due to screwing up along the line? Sure. Hell, he would’ve added time due to piss-poor performance, and all that talk of standards months back.

But having him pull this now? After working together so well, for so long?

It stunned him bad enough to keep him from arguing it. He dragged his feet as he gathered up his things, loading them all into the trunk of his car one by one as his disappointment started to hang over him like a cloud.

Sharky shut the trunk and gave John a tentative glance. He didn’t know if he should’ve been looking his way at all, but did it in the hopes he’d get something out of him.

But John wasn’t fazed. Didn’t react, or say anything as he watched him go about his business, somehow even colder than when they’d first started working together. Not angry, annoyed, happy, or anything.

Just nothing. Nothing at all.

Rounding the car, Sharky tugged down on the brim of his hat and hoped it’d stay there. “Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Perhaps. Provided you don’t torch another portion of my property.”

He stopped. Felt the comment dig in a little more than it should’ve, and turned to look at John. Saw the hint of a smirk that lingered there only for it to drop completely.

It hadn’t been a kind thing for John to say, but that John realized it only after looking right at him hurt even more.

Sharky couldn’t hold his tongue any longer at that.

“You know, people talk around here. Have been for years, and will keep on doing that come tomorrow, next week, next year, whenever. I know you’ve heard more than half of what goes on about you here. What they say, and just how they feel about you. Hell, I’ve talked shit plenty about you. Had no real reason to think you weren’t the county’s largest asshole based on the like, ten things we’ve said to each other before the last couple of months. But in some ways you’re an okay guy. Maybe even a great one once you get past the bullshit, and I, uh, like you.”

I like you.

He said it, actually got the words out of his mouth, and didn’t know how he could feel lighter and heavier all at once.

“Yeah, I like you. Didn’t think I’d ever say that and mean it. Probably tell the person claiming it they had a screw loose or something, but I do. And I liked being here. Working with you, being around you, and I don’t…”

Sharky bit the last part of the sentence off, because he knew what he did. He knew exactly what he’d done, and hated that this was the result.

“I, uh, don’t think it really matters what I say at this point, huh?” he muttered, looking John’s way. “Not anymore, at least.”

John’s jaw had tensed sometime in the last minute or so, but he held his tongue. Said nothing, and Sharky had let himself ramble on in spite of it. Had done anything to cover up whatever else he’d try.

Since this really was it, wasn’t it? The last time he was going to be here, talking to him, and he was wasting his time talking about anything other than the way he’d made him feel that day.

He’d never had the best of luck with shit like this anyway.

Giving John a grin, one that he wanted to muster up and mean, he held out his hand to him. “Guess this is where we part ways, amigo, and uh, don’t worry. Don’t think I’ll be taking a joyride in your boat twice.”

Not dropping his stare for a second, John shifted towards him and took his hand. Squeezed it as he shook it, and Sharky felt his grin finally wane as he forced himself to let go.

With one last slap to John’s shoulder, he headed towards his car.

“Charlemagne,” John called after him, but he didn’t slow down. “Charle-Sharky, wait.”

“Just save it, okay?” he snapped, pouring all of his frustration into it. “Don’t bother with the names, the pleading, or whatever this is you’re trying! Persuading me? Now? The fuck’s up with that? Not like you wanted me here to begin with, but it is what it is. I wrecked your shit, I came here to fix it, thinking that was going to be all of it, but this?”

He gestured between them, and let too much show on his face while saying it.

“This on top of everything else? Fucking blows, man. It fucking blows.”

Seeing John’s calm crack wasn’t satisfying. Having to force it to begin with, even less so.

“So just…let it go, huh? Save us both more trouble in the long run.”

Sharky turned, his feet carrying him to his car, and after slamming the door shut behind him, left.

On autopilot, he gunned the engine, not thinking about where the road was winding to. Just away. Far, far, away as he passed each of the signs dotting the valley. Following the road, he revved more than the car liked, content to keep listening to the roar of the motor until it shuddered. Something kicked around outside, pulling his attention straight to it, and he pulled in to a nearby gas station as he caught the familiar smell of burnt rubber.

He idled by the pump. Listened to the engine as he loosened his grip on the steering wheel, and turned the keys to shut it all off. Only then did the silence really hit; leaving him alone with only his heavy, uneven breathing to listen to.

That’s when the blue caught his eye.

Right on the dash sat the sunglasses. Blue, almost as blue as his eyes.

Punching the steering wheel, Sharky swallowed the rest of his feelings down and got out.