#don’t know what possessed me between the hours of midnight and one thirty in the morning but i drew this out with only minimal distraction

[hawkeyeslaughter]

hawk doesn’t wanna be sick he just wants to hang out

based on this post that took eight thousand bazillion years to find

[ecrivant]

to be known by you | reiner braun

(reiner braun x reader)

it had been the strangest summer of recent memory: the days were lingering and dilatory, and rife with inexplicable phenomena.  when reiner meets a stranger he feels he recognizes, someone as ethereal and bizarre as the summer atmosphere itself, he cannot resist the beguiling nature of this newfound acquaintance and decides to accompany them for a night.  

word count: 2.7k

It had been the strangest summer of recent memory.  The days were lingering and dilatory and often seemed swathed in some turbid and ethereal atmosphere, augmented by an interminable humidity which each day lasted far past dusk.  The sun would hang in the sky for longer than its allotted time, and at duskfall, all terrene happenings stilled and gave way to strange, supernal movements to which no living being bore witness.  The beach house tenanted by the Brauns, which sat in the very center of this surreal environment and was not much more than a well-maintained shanty abutting the shore—the transition from sparse greenery to sand occurring directly beneath its raised foundation—was too pervaded by this sense of uncanny.  The inside seemed impossibly large for the dimensions of its edifice, and doors within moved on their own, and one could easily lose himself, sitting in one place, for hours at a time, staring at the irregularities in the wood wall panels or the microcosmic topography of the popcorn ceilings or the addled patterns in the stained, grey carpets.  Reiner liked to taunt Gabi and tell her the house was haunted, but it was something neither was completely disinclined to believe.

It had been the morning of third day that his mother mentioned the storage shed for the first and last time. Reiner, awake since sunrise on account of his prolonged restlessness, and Gabi, wanting to be with him, sat at the kitchen table, Reiner’s unfocused gaze resting on the view outside the window and Gabi’s on a spoon she mindlessly fingered.  His mother’s words had drawn his eyes towards her—her stare, intense, eyes narrowed in questioning:

“Were you doing something in the storage shed last night?”  

He shook his head ‘no’ and watched her interrogation move from him to Gabi.

“Gabi?”

“Mm?”  Eyes not acknowledging her.

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Doing something in the shed?  The storage shed.  Last night.”

“No.”  Gabi finally looked up, not at her aunt but at Reiner, eyes wide and brows raised.  Body turning, she met her aunt’s gaze.  “Should I have been?”

“It was open this morning,” his mother finally clarified, turning and reaching for a glass as she spoke. “The door was just cracked, but it was open.”

“Maybe someone didn’t shut it all the way.”

“Maybe.”  

Her response hung in the air, suspended by doubt, unconvinced of her son’s suggestion.  She glanced out the window, towards the shed in question—its door long since closed and locked after her curious discovery that morning—and it seemed to stare back at her.

“It’s nothing.”  Gabi’s remark interrupted her aunt’s staring contest with the building.  Her tone was playfully dismissive.  

“I think you just want to find something to worry about, Aunt Karina.”

“Maybe.”

There was no more mention of the shed after that day, but Reiner, usually awake before the rest of the house, would, without fail, hear his mother exit the house, creep into the backyard, and shut and lock the shed door each morning in the dim-blue dawn light.

Later that same week Reiner had convinced Gabi to camp in the backyard with him under the guise of fun activity, though he truly intended to observe the shed for the whole night. She had been excited at the prospect of staying awake into the morning and then promptly fell asleep before midnight, and for the rest of the time he simply sat, cross-legged and perspiring, under an ether rife with stars, eyes unwavering from that damn shed.  

Apparently having dozed off, though, as he awoke to the sound of the back door and his mother’s soft footfalls and opened his eyes to see her locking the shed.  Like every morning, a cyclical action of the damned in hell.  He accepted the phenomenon as an unknowable and moved on.  

—

Reiner could not remember how long they had been there; time moved differently in this place.  He drove to explore and found that the main road stretched on forever, never bending or turning, and the area itself laid among an immutable scenery: an arrant wasteland of vacant beachfront housing, like some vast and spanning afterthought.  Could you get lost on a road like this?  A pavement belt, flanked by stark shrubbery and shallow gullies full of groundwater. Sometimes, the rare stretch of unsettled coastline with a view of the sea uninhibited by copy-pasted housing.  There was something beautiful in the desolate and purgatorial landscape.  

The road ended at a bridge, one with caving beams and a skeletal substructure which barely supported its own weight.  He never dared explore it, or God forbid drive over it, but he often sat in his car, pulled off to the side of the road, and stared at it.  Captivated by the disrepair, what it represented—nothing better elucidated the mortality and impermanence of humanity than infrastructural decay.  The view would eventually become too unsettling, as if it watched him as well, and he would reverse the car and turn around and drive back towards the house.  When he would arrive, his mother would sometimes report he had been gone for hours, sometimes thirty minutes.  

—

“Why don’t you take Gabi to the farmers’ market today?”

He didn’t know there was a farmers’ market, much less even a place to host one.  At his mother’s suggestion, though, he drove down that endless stretch of road with Gabi in tow, and miraculously came upon a densely populated park, filled with tents which did little to block the relentless heat. Gabi bounded towards the entrance, Reiner trailing behind, and they quickly ate through the two twenty-dollar bills unceremoniously handed to them before their departure that morning.  Reiner was glad his mother hadn’t expected any money to be left.  

The park itself held towering trees with sparse canopies which casted amorphous shadows on the dirt paths.  So unlike any area found at a coast.  Walking along, enveloped in shade and shielded from the sun, one could almost be comfortable. The main walkway was wide, easily fitting five people across, and flanked by densely packed tents.  Each with their own smiling vendor.  They were nice, maybe a little too nice, and each offered a too-wide smile at Gabi as she made off with their too-good products.  He was uneased by the whole affair.  In retrospect, he couldn’t remember the last time he actually saw people in the area, and he assumed it was because it was so sparely populated.  Yet, with the sheer wall of bodies milling around the park, he felt he had accidently wandered into a city, the market itself some kind of microcosmic metropolis.  Strange to have never noticed the park while driving; it was never there until it was, as if it materialized out of nothing.  

He glanced around him, suddenly struck by Gabi’s absence.  A warning call of her name, and at the lack of response, another, more frantic one.  He spun around once, scanning the area, and continued to do so despite remarking how the crowd—a singular, ebbing mass of people—perfectly and wholly obscured her location.  But she soon yelled his name and beckoned him over to a booth replete with floral bouquets and emitting an aroma so intense he had to pause before continuing into the miasma.

“Can we get some?  For Aunt Karina?”

Her eyes pleaded with the potency of a mendicant’s—nothing but a scoundrel, he thought, who knows I cannot say no.  He reached into his wallet and searched for bills and found none.  He sheepishly asked the vendor, who was obscured by the perennial heaps before them, if they accepted cards.  A soft ‘yes’ spurred Gabi on to grab at a bouquet of yarrow and roses, a perfumed, white and yellow amalgam; a movement which revealed the vendor’s face.

Reiner was struck immobile. You, once hidden, now revealed, were immediately alluring, aura imbued with such profound familiarity.  As if you were already his lover.  He stumbled through his transaction as you stared at him with eyes he felt he knew.

“Would you like to include a handwritten note?”

Gabi nodded furiously, as if possessed by some excitable demon.  She dictated a note, childishly simple yet unequivocally kind, and you wrote it out on a notecard with a flourish.  Wrapping the cluster of flowers in tissue paper and tulle and tucking the note in the center, ending the routine by handing it to Gabi.  With a smile that was just right.  She ran off again, and Reiner waited for a moment longer, as if he knew to wait to be handed that scribbled note which read, ‘Meet me at the bridge tonight.’  

You felt so much like a memory.  He could not shake the feeling he knew you, deeply and wholly.  

—

Such vague wording, as if designed to make one second guess himself.  He would have to trust his instinct about the time.  In the moment he felt as if he knew you, but your thought process was unfamiliar to him—had you been struck by the same overwhelming feeling of familiarity?  Assumed he would understand what ‘tonight’ meant?  Or was this some omniscience taunting him and his implicit trust of a stranger?

He was at the bridge by sundown.  Car idled. He waited.  An hour, a minute.  And suddenly you were there—he jumped when he saw you.  You sat on the rotted and caving beams of the bridge, beckoning him with a gaze.  He approached you and stood at the first interstice between road and bridge and after a pause, dumbly said:

“I think I know you.”

And you confirmed his sentiment with echoed words.  He creeped onto the railing, supporting himself on rusted girders resembling steles erected to commemorate some bygone and lost epoch.  The chapped wood on which he sat dug into his thighs, and when he looked down, his feet hung over a canyon which in the dark became some measureless void.  Your sillage, floral and penetrative and everlasting.  You seemed to fluoresce in the pitch.

“Have you ever been in love?”

Your timid venture—the question, just for him.  He stared at you and thought for a moment and replied no, not that he could remember. You asked him if you could tell him of your first love, puerile and real.  He nodded yes.  And you began:

You spoke beautifully and openly about your childhood with a rawness, a candor, otherwise unshared between strangers.  You spoke of how your memories were places and people, painted in golden hues.  How your childhood room was always bright—in the morning, the rising sun would creep onto the bedroom wall and stay there as if resting in a lover’s embrace; and at sunset, the light would grow weary and slink away to make room for the night.  How those walls saw many things: your great-grandfather’s paintings, your mother’s smiling face.  And how it all smelled so distinct, even now, like old books and incense.  How, as a child, you often felt like some unchanging cairn laid solely to watch the world move around you.  

And as you spoke about the young boy you had once loved, Reiner thought of the way this intellection you so tenderly painted sounded like him: a child, tall, with a mess of blonde hair and hazel eyes that held an unusual intensity; a child with a tender voice, high-pitched and soft, and a lopsided smile.  And you repeated the words, “I can so clearly remember him,” like some unspoken truism.  You had shared your favorite places with this boy; your first kiss, and your hopes and fears; and the pain of aging and coming to know the dark and black and crushing void associated with it.

You spoke of how the young boy suddenly died, without explanation.  How the last time you saw him, there was such a pervasive sadness in his gaze.  How you despised this was the way you remembered him—with mournful and darkened eyes.  You had asked what was wrong, and he had not been sure.  Instead, the two of you clasped hands and sat in silence for a last time.

“I just remember the chaos.” A whisper, spoken more to yourself.

“I remember waking up to blue lights on my ceiling.  It was a cold blue light, a crude perversion of the warmness of the rising sun.  I looked out the window, and cars were crowded under the flickering streetlamp below, and I heard the wailing through my window.  I knew. I knew, but I just climbed in my bed and pulled the covers over my head, as if they would drown out the light and the shouts of a broken mother, and squeezed my eyes shut and saw his eyes and cowlicked hair and a toothy, lopsided grin.”

You asserted that part of you died with him.  A pause.

“It felt odd to be in love with someone who was already dead.”

And then you were finished. You took a deep breath, as if the story had been spoken with one, single inhalation.  Reiner blinked hard and processed the words and tried to think of something to say.  ‘Sorry’ seemed so blithe.

“What was his name?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

“I can’t remember.”

He stared at you, incredulous, half-expecting you to be joking.  How could one possibly—

“Sometimes I think he didn’t have one.”

Your whispered voice, as if about to shatter: “You remind me of him.  That’s why you’re here.”

Effervescent words that dissolved in the air.  Something nagging at the back of his mind.  He wrapped you in an embrace and held you there, and he thought not of you as a stranger.  A hand on your back and the other in your hair.  Breathing your exhalations.  An intimacy impossible between two unfamiliar people.  He swore he knew you.  

He felt your lips on his neck, testing, inquisitive.  He pulled back, meeting your gaze, eyes melancholic and wistful and searching for something intangible, possibly nonexistent.  You had the eyes of someone who was never anything but lost, and despite your shared unfamiliarity, he hoped you would find something within him as he leaned to press his lips to yours.  This kiss begot another and another, and his hand was on your cheek, and your skin was warm beneath his fingers, betraying your spectral nature. He thought he heard you whisper his name, though it was something you couldn’t have known.

He held you, again, with no desire to do more; this chaste intimacy was so much more potent. He savored your embrace and felt he could stay here, in your presence, with your touch, until he aged and crumbled like the disintegrating bridge on which they sat. A moment of abject redamancy.  Time moved differently here, with you.  

He was then inexplicably struck with the feeling that he missed you, as if he had finally found that which he had gone years without.

You pulled away and stood. Without warning.

“Can I see you again?” His plea, desperate, closing.

“I’m not certain.”

And with that, you asked him to leave.  He somehow knew he was meant to comply without question.

As he departed, and behind him the road and the bridge and you faded into blackness, he was reminded of the first time he moved homes—that unsettling and melancholic feeling of abandoning something familiar.  He drove and drove and missed his street, and instead of turning around, he surrendered to the compulsion to keep driving, and he drove some more.   He thought of you the entire time, oblivious his own existence.  He then thought of himself, and when reflecting on his childhood, he could not remember it; he only saw himself in the presence of a young child who looked like you, a shared heart between you.  He drove through the sunrise and another sunset, and he stopped to fill up his car with gas and kept driving.  He wasn’t sure how, but he eventually found his way back to the beach.

He arrived at the house and quietly climbed into bed.  He imagined you dissolving into the landscape; the canyon beneath the bridge widening like an open mouth and swallowing you.  Purloined by the purgatory which begot you.  

He suddenly could not remember your face.  

A thought, lost, just as he heard his mother closing and locking the shed door outside.  

—

thank you again to @casualityrantfun​ for suggesting a reiner piece!  it was very sweet of you to request something, and i hope you enjoy it.  also, thank you to everyone who has been reading/liking/reblogging my stuff!  it means the world to me, and i really love being able to write creatively for something i enjoy!

part of me wants to make this a long-form piece, but i don’t think i have the patience or the talent to do so.  maybe later down the line, though, we’ll see.  also, this piece is inspired by @dappermouth’s art, specifically this piece, which has literally captivated me for years, as well as the campfire scene from my own private idaho, which i watched the day before yesterday and fell in love with.  go hold someone you love, xoxo

masterlist

taglist: @flam3bird

[toxophilitis]

Family Fun

Family Fun

Chapter 1 Tina Simpson moaned softly into her husband’s mouth as he skinned the tight, silk panties she was wearing down over her slim, girlish hips.  She had been looking forward to this since lunchtime when she began to get the familiar, unmistakable urge for sex. It had been hell at work, trying to stop herself staring at every tight, male bulge that walked past, and her pussy had been wet and tingly all afternoon.

Now a young-looking thirty-four, Tina had always been a very highly sexed woman, even in her teens. This had of course attracted many boyfriends, but only her husband, Dave had been able to regularly satisfy her lustful cravings. They were two peas in a pod, and sex between them had always been fast, furious and frequent.

“Are you sure the kids are asleep, Dave?” whispered Tina, wrapping her long, slim fingers around her husband’s rapidly lengthening cock. “Yeah, don’t worry honey,” he replied, squeezing her breasts with one hand. “John went to bed hours ago. He’s got that big game tomorrow, he’ll be dreaming about the big touchdown by now, babe.” Tina pulled gently up and down on his stiff joint, rubbing her thumb up over the fat, purple head.

“What about Julie?” she moaned as his hands caressed her tingling flesh. “Julie’s light was on, but you know how she always falls asleep reading. Right now honey, all I’m interested in is this hot little pussy of yours.” Opening her thighs, Tina let his other hand have free access to her cunt and moaned loudly as his fingers cupped her sex, slipping inside the tight, juicy slit with practiced ease.

“Mmmmmmmm! Yeah, that feels so good!” murmured Tina, as she hunched her slick pussy up around her husband’s fingers. “Ooooh, Dave, I need fucking so badly! Don’t waste too much time, I’m already wet!”

Indeed she was... as soon as Dave’s fingers entered his wife’s flooded pussy, a veritable stream of warm, fragrant cunt juices bathed his hand and her fluttering vaginal muscles nibbled delightfully at his fingers. “Jesus Christ, baby you’re hot!... and your pussy’s so wet!” Dave whispered, inserting a third stiff digit into his wife’s quivering hole.

“Fuck me then! Stick it in and fuck me hard! I want your big, fat cock baby!” Tina rolled onto her back and spread her legs, pulling her husband’s rigid prick into her seething snatch like a woman possessed. Spurred on by Tina’s obvious desperate need, Dave wasted no more time in driving his huge cock into the tender, delicate, hungering flesh of his wife’s cunt. Her long, tapered legs swept higher, capturing her husband’s powerful body, her heels locked just above the crack of his ass, giving her the added leverage she needed.

Dave felt the walls of his wife’s pussy spread apart, moulding around his invading cock like a glove as he slid easily into her, his mighty shaft impaling her hot little snatch until his balls came to rest against her pinkly puckered asshole. “Arhhhhhhgghhh! Jesus! Oh, God you’re hot and sweet baby” he gasped, as her clinging flesh enveloped his prick.

“FUCK! OOOOOOH, DO IT! FUCK ME, BABY!” whimpered Tina, screwing herself urgently up against him so that her clit rubbed deliciously against the shaft of his cock.

Dave braced himself with both hands and pulled out of his wife’s sucking hole, only to plow back down into her tightness again with added force, thrusting in and out with all his strength.

ow that hot pussy up at me baby!” he grunted, ramming his thick cock into her eagerly upthrust twat.

Tina bucked her ass up off the bed in time with Dave’s savage thrusts, moaning with pleasure at each deep penetration. “Unnnnnggghhh! Ohhhhh!  Fuck! Oh, baby! That it! Yes, harder! OHHHH, YESSSSS!” she squealed.  Both husband and wife were completely engrossed in their energetic lovemaking, oblivious to all but their own bodies in their frantic search for sexual release.

Chapter 2 Dave had been quite wrong when he had assumed that their children were all asleep. In fact, Julie, their youngest daughter was still wide awake. At fourteen, Julie was the baby of the family, a slim, pretty brunette with a compact little body and tits that any fully grown woman would be proud of. She had been reading in bed, but the story line was beginning to bore her a little so she decided to go get a midnight snack from the refrigerator.

Stepping into the corridor, Julie began to tiptoe towards the kitchen, careful not to wake the rest of the household at this late hour. As she did so, a muffled noise caught her ear. It was coming from her parent’s room down the hall, and sounded like someone was moaning in pain.  Concerned that something was wrong, the young girl turned and hurried towards the source of the strange sounds.

As she moved closer, the noise became louder, until Julie could clearly make out the sound of muted voices, voices punctuated by peculiar groans. A naughty shudder of adolescent curiosity alerted the young teenager’s senses as she stopped outside her parent’s bedroom. There it was again, louder this time. Julie stepped nearer and pressed her ear against the door.

“Dave... Oh God ... OooohHhhh... Yessss Dave, Fuck me!... Harder! ...  Unngh!” It was her mother’s voice and it was obvious what they were doing. Julie continued to listen with bated breath, letting the air seep from her lungs when she could no longer contain it. Suddenly her father’s deep, throaty baritone drifted through to her from the room within. “Yes! Jesus, honey, throw that gorgeous cunt to me like that and I’ll fill it full of hot, thick cum!”

Julie’s heart skipped a beat and her young cunt moistened at the sound of her father’s obscene suggestion. She knew what the words meant, but this was the first time she had heard them used with such profound feeling. It made her pussy crawl. Julie’s pulse began to quicken as the sounds of the salacious dialogue etched themselves permanently on her impressionable young mind. She simply had to see for herself. Kneeling before the door, Julie peeked eagerly through the keyhole.

She gasped aloud. The sight that greeted the excited young girl’s eye literally took her breath away. Her mouth became suddenly dry and her heart thumped in her chest as she gaped at the incredibly lewd scene before her. Julie had a completely, unhampered view of the bed where her parents lay. Both were stark naked. Her mother was lying on her back in the middle of the bed with her legs raised and spread widely, her slender calves locked tightly around her husband’s waist as he pumped his huge, thick organ into her quivering belly. Julie gasped again as she caught sight of her father’s long stiff shaft sliding in and out between her mother’s widely spread cuntlips. She could see its throbbing length glistening with her mother’s juices as it moved in and out like some great piston. It looked absolutely enormous! She had seen her father’s cock several times before, but it was always much smaller, never like this. She couldn’t believe it! The incredible size of her fathers prick sent unexplainable shivers though her awakening pussy, as she stared at it, totally enthralled, like a tiny mouse hypnotized by a snake.

With every stroke, it withdrew until even the fat bloated tip was visible, before suddenly pumping down again into her mothers’ bucking cunt. How could she take such a huge thing without it tearing her asunder? Yet, Julie could see that her mother was obviously enjoying it immensely! The young teenager was confused... extremely excited... but equally confused. Although she wasn’t sexually active yet, Julie wasn’t a virgin either. Last summer, she had let Russell Miller go all the way in the woods off Park Road on their way home from school. Russ was tall and handsome and sixteen, and Julie had had a crush on him for some time.

Chapter 3 When Russ had kissed her, Julie’s legs simply melted and it wasn’t long before he had her pants around her ankles and his cock in her virgin cunt. It had hurt at first, but just as she was starting to enjoy it, Russ had pulled out and sprayed her belly with white, sticky cum. She’d thought Russell’s cock had been big at the time, but now, looking at her father’s mighty organ, she knew she’d been wrong. Her young voluptuous body had unconsciously begun to prickle sensuously, reviving all of the excitement she took such careful precautions to hide whenever the rest of the family was around. Julie stared through the tiny hole, and watched the muscles on the insides of her mother’s lightly tanned thighs flex tightly as she thrust her ravenous cunt up to absorb the full length of her husband’s blood-engorged prick.

As she stared open-mouthed, her father’s glistening cock stabbed repeatedly in and out of her mother’s creamy hole in rapid-fire succession, causing Julie to whimper softly in passionate empathy. Her mother began to moan loudly, mouthing filth at her lover again...  exciting filth that Julie’s young ears wanted desperately to hear... 

“Unnnhhh! Unnnhh! Fuck meee! Yes, fuck me hard you big bastard! Christ, what a cock! Jesus I love your cock! Uhhhhhggggghhhh!” Spasms of erotic sensation rippled through the precocious fourteen year old as she continued to watch, glued to the incredible scene. One of her hands drifted up to caress the plump, roundness of her young tits as she watched and listened to the provocative sounds of her parents fucking.

Her other hand crept down under the waistband of her panties to the prominent mound of her pussy, and began to stroke the moist, adolescent slit. She had been masturbating since she was twelve, and knew exactly how to get the most pleasure from her horny little hole once it was aroused. First, she ran a finger between the lips of her slit to moisten it, then rubbed the liquid in and around the folds of her cunt until it was all slippery. Then she took her clit gently between two fingers and rubbed it lightly, thrilling at the delightfully lewd sensations it sent through her easily excited young cunt.

Though she had experienced intercourse only the one time, it was enough to give her knowledge of the delights of sex, and she began to wish desperately that she had a boy with her now. She wanted to fuck! She wanted to feel a cock inside her again! “Mmmmmmuhhhh! Ungggggghhhh!  Ummmmmmmmmm!” moaned Julie, probing a second stiff finger deep into her drooling pussy, trying to imitate the rigid cock she so desperately desired. “Ooooh, Russ! Daddy!... Anybody!...”, she whispered, her wide young eyes glued to the junction of her mother’s frothy, pink-lipped cunt, and her father’s pistoning prick.

The youngster’s hips writhed and twisted as she finger-fucked herself to the rhythm of her parent’s noisy coupling, moving her cunt in tight, sharp little circles as she had when Russ had jammed his stiff young prong deep into her virgin cunt for the first time. In the heated lust of her approaching climax, Julie closed her eyes and imagined it was her wonderful, handsome father who was fucking her tight, little-girl cunt with his big cock, instead of her own tiny fingers. In her mind’s eye, she was the one bucking and mewling under his heaving body... not her mother. The incestuous fantasy was suddenly too much for the young girl. 

“Oooooooh! Fuck ME Daddy! Fuck ME! Fuck Fuck Fuuuuuuuck!” she whimpered quietly as her little cunt creamed around her pumping fingers. Wracking spasms overtook her young body, causing Julie to slump back onto her haunches. She pressed both hands between her slender adolescent thighs as her climax faded. Pleasurable though her orgasm was, Julie had become so excited watching her mother and father fuck, she was far from satisfied...

Chapter 4 She returned her eye to the keyhole, staring at her father’s gleaming prick as it slammed repeatedly into her mother’s hot, gaping cunt.  Julie continued to rub her throbbing clit, teasing and rubbing the swollen little bud until she once again she exploded in orgasm, pumping two fingers deep up into her frothy little cunt as she jerked and bucked in adolescent ecstasy.

As the intense pleasure faded, feelings of shame and guilt replaced them and Julie crept silently back to her room, not even waiting to watch the completion of her parents lovemaking. Safely inside her room, the young girl slipped under the bedcovers and tried to fall asleep.  But her mind was full of wild thoughts. It worried her that she had really been turned on by the thought of being fucked by her own father!

Was she sick or depraved or something? She didn’t know, but what she did know, was that tonight had awakened something inside of her, something sensual, and she was determined to experiment some more. It was nice to masturbate, she decided, but when she remembered how her father’s cock had looked, and how Russ Miller’s cock had felt just before he pulled it out of her, Julie had to know what it was like to cum like she did tonight, but this time with a big, stiff cock filling her pussy, pumping out gallons of hot, sticky jism, making her come until she fainted from sheer pleasure.

Her mother had made sure that she was on the pill as soon as she started high school, so the way was clear with no worries about getting pregnant. She needed someone, but who? All the boys she knew at school were just that, boys! Once they had fucked a girl, the whole school knew. Damn, the whole neighbourhood knew! Besides, if Russell Miller was anything to go by, it would all be over in two seconds flat anyway.  She thought of her father again. Naw, she was dreaming, he wouldn’t fuck his own daughter! It had to be someone else, someone available, someone who wouldn’t blab.

She thought of her brother, John, who was only a year older than herself. He was always sneaking looks between her legs at her panties when she lay on the living room floor watching television or giving her a ‘brotherly’ pat on the ass when she came out of the shower, but his eyes nearly bugged out of his head sometimes when she wore her skimpy black bikini. He acted tough, but Julie doubted if he’d ever had his cock inside any of the numerous, giggling girls who seemed to follow him around.

He did have a cute body though, she mused. John played football and she had to admit that more than once, she had admired his firm, muscular behind as he paraded around the house in those tight-fitting shorts of his. Come to think of it, the bulge in his pants reminded her of her father! ‘I wonder if his cock is just as big?’, she thought, surprised at her own shamelessness. A shiver of uncontrolled lust sped up and down her spine as she tried to picture his erect cock. She remembered once when she had entered the bathroom, only to find her brother stark naked, towelling himself dry. He never locked the door and Julie suspected that it was intentional, and he was actually hoping that Mom or herself would walk in on him. His cock was limp, but Julie had caught enough of a glance at it to realize that when aroused, it would be quite a formidable weapon. 

She had quickly apologized and retreated from the room, but not before she had seen the sly smile on his face. Julie shivered again trying to concentrate. Then there was Toby Sheldon. He was her best friend Tracey’s current boyfriend. Tracey and Toby were both sixteen and had been dating steadily for almost six months now. He was good-looking, tall and slim, and from what Tracey had boasted one night when she was a little tipsy, he was a real stud! No, she couldn’t fuck her best friend’s boyfriend.  It wouldn’t be right!

Chapter 5 Then the answer suddenly struck her! BOB! Bob Conroy was their next door neighbour. He was nineteen, five-eight, muscular without being muscle-bound, coal-black hair, dark piercing eyes and above all...  CUTE!! He had moved in next door about two years ago and lived with his mother, Debbie and his twin sister Kelly. Kelly had often come over to babysit her and John when Mom and Dad went out.

‘Yes! He was perfect! But how could she get his attention?’ she thought. ‘Of course! He sometimes cleans our pool for Dad. If I could only arrange to be alone with him for a few hours!’ As Julie schemed, a devilish smile began to form on the pretty young girl’s face, a smile tinged with anticipated lust as she carefully planned Bob’s seduction.  But as she drifted off to sleep, her thoughts returned to her father, and vivid, incestuous images began to fill her mind as she began to dream... 

In her dream, her father loomed above her, kneeling between her widely spread thighs, holding his impossibly huge cock in both hands. Beside him stood her mother and brother, also completely naked. John’s cock was a mirror image of his father’s... long and stiff, and very, very big. Julie groaned apologetically towards her mother as her father lunged forward and pressed the tip of his cock into her slit. “I’m sorry Mom! I’m really sorry, but I can’t help myself!” she whimpered.  Her voice sounded strange and distorted. Her mother looked down at her and smiled wickedly, her face a distorted caricature of pure lust.

“Don’t worry, baby! I don’t mind! I’ve got all I can handle right here!” she said, wrapping her fingers lovingly around her son’s massive prick. John responded by squeezing his mother’s firm, round tits and then sliding his hand down over her belly until his fingers disappeared inside her wet, hairy cunt.

“But Mom, John’s your own son!!” cried Julie helplessly as she watched her mother lean back and place the tip of John’s immense cock between the open lips of her cunt.

“I know honey, but he sure can fuck, you should try him sometime!” Julie gaped in disbelief as her mother thrust forwards, impaling herself fully on her brother’s rock-hard prick. At the same time, she felt her father’s impossible organ penetrate her own tight little hole.  Julie screamed as it entered her, but not in pain, because surprisingly, in her dream, it was the most pleasurable sensation she had ever felt. As the fantasy swirled and dissolved, she heard her mother screaming too, an identical replica of her own guttural cry of incestuous pleasure.

Chapter 6 Julie woke slowly as the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window crept down the wall and onto her closed eyelids. She yawned and stretched her limbs, recalling the blurred events of the night before and in doing so the incredible dream she’d had. It was fantastic, but she had really enjoyed it and the crotch of her panties was still wet to prove it!

Then she remembered her plan, and jumped eagerly out of bed to put it into action. Throwing on a robe, Julie made her way down the hall to the bathroom. The door was ajar, so she went straight on in, and as she turned from locking the door, a masculine voice startled her. “Hi, Sis!” It was her brother, he’d done it again! But Julie was determined not to be humiliated this time. Turning towards him, she smiled her most alluring smile. “Finished with the shower, John?” she asked demurely.

“Yeah sure Sis, go right ahead.” he replied, towelling his wet hair dry. John was naked, and, as usual, taking great pleasure in displaying himself in front of his younger sister. He smiled back at her, fully expecting the young girl to flee from the room at any moment. Julie didn’t move, instead she stared openly at her brother’s body, taking a more than passing, sisterly interest. He was so sure of himself, she couldn’t resist a little joke at his expense.

“Ooooh! I know what that is!” she cried, pointing at her brother’s limp cock. “Yeah, what?” asked John hopefully. “It’s just like a prick, only smaller!” she replied, unable to keep from laughing at the stunned look on her brother’s face. He frowned for a second but then a smile crossed his handsome features as he joined in the joke. “You’re right! I’ve been swindled!” he laughed, looking down at his flaccid organ. Feeling a little embarrassed, John asked his sister if she wanted him to leave while she showered.

“Only if you want too, brother dear!” she replied, sounding much bolder than she felt as she began to remove her clothes. Now it was John’s turn to stare, he couldn’t believe his little sister was going to undress in front of him. Her nubile young breasts sprang free as she pulled off her top and John could only gape at her firm, ripe little tits. “Jesus!” he moaned under his breath. “Pardon! Did you say something, Johnny?” she smiled. “Nnn... No!” he stuttered, staring uneasily at her naked flesh.

Julie was beginning to enjoy exposing herself to her brother’s lustful gaze. She watched him lick his dry, parched lips, his eyes following her fingers as they slid beneath the waistband of her panties. She had him wrapped around her little finger! If she had asked him to kiss her ass, she was sure he would have done so without even thinking. ‘This is going to be easier than I ever imagined’, she thought, peeling the tiny, sheer garment slowly down over her slim, tanned thighs.

John’s eyes nearly popped out of his head as Julie stepped out of her panties and stood completely naked before him. He could clearly see the moist, pink slit of her young pussy through the sparse covering of light brown curls. The boy began to lick his lips unconsciously. “See something you like, Johnny?” Julie laughed. Before he could answer, she stepped into the shower cubicle and closed the door, leaving her brother panting like a puppy outside.

Julie purposely left the shower door open a few inches so that her brother would be able to see her as she showered. She felt excitingly wicked, and suddenly realized that not only did she like sex, she also liked it when men looked at her the way John had just done. It turned her on more than she would have admitted, even to herself. The hot, stinging jets of water refreshed her young body as she soaped it all over, paying particular attention to her firm, pointed breasts.

Chapter 7 Out of the corner of her eye, Julie could see her brother looking at her through the opening, and turned slightly so that he could get a better view. Pretending not to notice that he was still there, Julie began to spread the soapy lather down over her firm belly and between her legs. She could have sworn she heard a moan as her fingers began to rub the creamy foam along the insides of her glistening young thighs.

John was transfixed with wonder. He had always thought that his younger sister had a cute pair of tits, and now he was actually watching her spread soap all over them! As she moved her hands lower, he moaned softly, watching her rub her fingers gently between her legs. ‘Christ!  I’d love to do that for her!’ he thought, moving a little closer to the door. His cock was beginning to grow of it’s own accord and his right hand moved automatically to grasp the stiffening organ as he watched.

Julie saw her brother’s fingers encircle his prick and begin to move it back and forth. ‘God! He’s actually going to jack off!’ The thought sent a deep, peculiar thrill through her pussy which was already becoming aroused by the movement of her soapy fingers. The knowledge that her naked body had such an immediate effect on her own brother was immensely exciting and she felt a powerful surge of lust flash through her young loins. She wanted to masturbate in front of him too! Her pussy lips parted as Julie inserted a soapy finger into her heated slit. All the time her eyes were fixed on John’s fist-encased prick.

Moving so that she was facing the partly opened door, Julie directed the shower nozzle so that the warm spray fell directly on her pussy mound, and leant back against the tiled wall, slowly spreading her creamy thighs until the lips of her cunt parted and a steady stream of water invaded the hot, wet, crevice. 

“Ooooooooohhh!” she moaned loudly.  It was a deep guttural moan, and John’s fist began to move even faster up and down the thickening shaft of his prick as he heard his sister groan in such obvious pleasure. He could see the dark, inner lips of her pussy now and the tiny hole beneath her clitoris, which he knew would be tight and hot. His cock was throbbing and jerking in his hand, and John knew that he wouldn’t be able to last much longer before he creamed.

Julie stared with admiration at her brother’s cock and inserted a long slim finger into her moistening pussy. It certainly had grown a lot since she had first seen it. In fact, it was huge! Easily as big as her father’s had been the night before! The sight of her brother’s long, stiff cock pumping powerfully between his clenched fingers was beginning to effect the girl immensely and she became acutely aware of her swollen, gently throbbing clitoris. She ran a finger back and forth over the hard little bundle of nerves as she watched her brother working his fist up and down his stiff prick with considerably more speed.

Julie was completely absorbed by the lascivious situation, totally turned on. She wanted him to come with her, to spurt his jism at the same time her own pussy creamed, but she had to see his face when he came. So, throwing caution to the wind, Julie turned off the shower and with a trembling hand, slid the door open fully.

John’s initial surprise stopped his jerking hand for only a second. But as he saw the look of undisguised lust on his sister’s pretty features, some of his earlier bravado returned. With an uncertain smile, he sat back against the hand basin and resumed jerking his enormous hard-on with strong, lengthy strokes. His eyes took in her young beauty which was made all the more appealing by her obvious state of sexual arousal.  The nipples of her nicely rounded tits stood out like little pink strawberries against the darker aureoles, and tiny beads of water still clung to her creamy flesh.

Chapter 8 As John watched breathlessly, Julie’s fingers continuously stroked and parted the small, almost, hairless lips of her pussy, delving inside only momentarily before gently massaging the hard, sensitive bud at the top of her little pink slit. “Man, that’s something to see!” muttered John, “You sure do look pretty when you’re all honked up like that, Julie.”

“Oh, Johnny, I’ve been so damn horny all morning!” she moaned. “Me too Sis! Just look at this!” said her brother, wiggling his fully erect cock at her. “Ooooh, Golly! Did I do that? It looks so biiiiiig!” giggled Julie in a false, little-girl voice, pretending to be surprised. “Cut it out, Sis!  You damn well know you did. I nearly creamed when you started to play with yourself. Jesus, what a turn on!” “Well it IS big,” said Julie, “almost as big as Daddy’s!”

“Whaaat! When have you ever seen Dad’s cock like this?” he asked accusingly, holding the massive shaft towards her. “Last night. He and Mom were going at it in their room and I... I sort of saw them.”

“Yeah, sure! Spied on them more like it... you randy little cunt!” a conspiratorial smile crossed his handsome features as he asked the next question. “Did you see much?... I mean... What were they actually doing, Julie?” “I’ll tell you later. Right now I thing we’ve both got some urgent business to attend to before somebody catches us, don’t you?” she gasped, nodding towards his momentarily forgotten dick. “Yeah, sure!  I’m with you Sis!” They both laughed at the implications of his last comment.

Julie raised one of her legs for him so that her pussy was fully exposed. The light brown bush of pubic fluff, amazingly developed for a girl so young, curled lushly at base of her belly. She looked into his eyes, knowing that her brother would be able to stare straight into the scarlet-lipped slit running down the center of her cunt, and that the sight would arouse him all the more. John moved closer. “Look at me!” she whispered, becoming totally swept up in the passion she had helped to engender between them. “Watch me making love to myself! Oooooh, do it to yourself at the same time and we’ll come together!”

John watched as his little sister’s fingers began to move up and down between the puffy, wet lips of her young gash. The sight was incredible! He had never seen a girls pussy that looked so neat, so delicious, so fucking edible, the delicate female flesh glistened wetly as she squeezed the increasingly moist folds between her fingers. The entire area was covered with the clear oil which her lusty arousal had generated.

Looking up he became aware that her own gaze was directed towards his fist full of hard fuck-muscle. “I bet this is what Dad’s cock looks like when he’s shoving it up Mom’s cunt!” he grunted, wrapping his palm around the thick shaft and plunging his hips towards her, fucking into his hand. Julie felt a spasm of pleasure fire he loins as she watched her brother’s graphic demonstration. “Yessss! Just like that!” she moaned, picturing her father’s cock stabbing into her mother’s cunt as it had last night.

The young boy saw the look on his sister’s face when he mentioned their parents and decided to follow it up since it obviously turned her on something fierce. “Yeah,” he whispered stepping closer, “and I bet it really fills Mom’s cunt ‘til she screams!” Julie was beside herself with pleasure as her hand moved feverishly around in her juicy cuntflesh. Her brother’s words had unleashed the fantasies of her dreams and accelerated her rapid rise towards blessed relief.

Chapter 9 John was in control once more. He watched his sister writhe in sexual abandon as he slowly pumped on his cock, keeping it nice and hard. He looked at her fingers slithering like snakes over her slick, red flesh as her back began to arch with pleasure. Julie was moaning softly, engrossed in her fantasy fuck. “Ohhhhh! Mmmmmhhhhhh! Arrhhhmmmmmm!” Emboldened by her lust, John moved into the stall and stood in front of her. His pulse raced as he felt the animal heat emanating from her body. He wondered how far she would let him go if he felt her up.

Still working his left hand over his rigid prick, John reached out tentatively with his right and cupped one of his sister’s jiggling tits. She didn’t seem to notice straight away, so he began to squeeze and caress the soft, firm flesh. Julie’s eyes opened slowly as she stared at her brother through a passion clouded haze. In her present condition she wouldn’t have cared who was touching her. “Ohhhhh, Yessss!” she groaned, pressing her breasts against his hand. John couldn’t believe it! She wanted him to touch her. Christ!! This was outta’ sight! He had to feel her cunt!

Reluctantly taking his hand from her luscious little breast, John slid it down over the curve of her belly and joined hers in Julie’s slick, heated slit. She moaned again, humping forwards. This time her hips pressed against his hand, trapping it between their bodies. John’s cock was firmly wedged up against his little sister’s belly, twitching in delight at the electrifying contact with her soft, warm flesh. “Oh, Johnnnnyyy!” she whimpered, grasping hold of the throbbing organ pressing against her belly.

John groaned with delight as her slim fingers closed around his cock.  They were so small that they didn’t quite meet around the shaft’s huge girth. “Oh, Mmmmmmm yes! Sis, that feel’s nice!” he breathed into her ear, “Move you fingers up and down!” Julie did as she was instructed, although more by instinct than by command. Her brother’s fingers felt good inside her cunt, even better than her own had, and she loved the way he went straight for her sensitive little nub of a clitoris.  “Yesss! Oh, fuck yes! Johnnny, play with my clit!” The hot young teenager was desperate now, and her brother’s fingers were just what she needed. She was so close!

Her brother was nearly there too, the combination of fingering his sister’s wet little cunt and having her jerk on his dick, was just too much for him. Although he ached to stick his cock into her juicy cunt, he thought better of it. That would be going too far! The forbidden taboo of incest still had a strong influence, even in his highly aroused state. “I’mmm nnearly thhhhere, Johnny”, whimpered Julie, pulling in his cock like a little demon, sliding her fingers expertly up and down the full length. “Me too Julie! Oh, fuck Sis! I love you!” Feeling the climactic surge mounting in his balls, John churned his fingers more rapidly in the girl’s flooded snatch, pumping his fingers into her tight, wet hole as deeply as he could.

“Yessss! Oh, fuck me Johnny! Fuck me with your fingers! Fuck me with your cock! Ooooo! Christ, I’m cummming!. Julie bit down on her bottom lip to stop from screaming out her orgasm, as wave after wave of pure pleasure coursed through her seething twat. John hardly heard his sister’s pleading moans as his own climax crashed down on him. His cock jerked and bucked in Julie’s hand like a crazy animal and finally, powerful jets of hot, thick love-cream began to spurt against her heaving belly.

Julie lunged furiously against her brother’s hand until the intense spasms began to fade, leaving a dull, satisfying warmth pervading her loins. She felt his hot, sticky sperm on her skin, running down between their bodies to mingle with the girl-cum in her quivering pussy. John hugged his sister tightly against his muscular chest as his own orgasm faded. His cock, still surprisingly hard, nudged against the top of her cunt, Julie’s trembling fingers still wrapped tightly around its massive circumference.

Chapter 10 Instinctively, Julie maneuvered the tip of her brother’s cock until it pressed between the lips of her pussy. The sudden, exquisite contact brought a simultaneous moan of pleasure from them both. John was beside himself with lust by now. Little sister or not, she obviously wanted it, and he desperately needed a fuck, otherwise he was gonna be as horny as a ten-peckered billy-goat all day long. John was just about to hunch forwards and bury his cock in her inviting little cunt when a sudden knock on the door scared them both half to death.

“Come on in there! Breakfast’s nearly ready!” yelled their mother. They sprang apart like two scalded cats. John dressed hastily and left without looking back at his sister. Julie turned on the tap and resumed her shower, a sly smile forming on her lips as she washed her brother’s semi-congealed cum off her little tanned belly. ‘Things certainly wouldn’t be boring around here from now on!’ she thought, her wicked smile widened broadly.

When Julie finally made it to the breakfast table, everyone else had just about finished. Her brother looked up at her sheepishly as she sat down. She smiled back and winked, careful not to let anyone else notice. “Morning!” she chirped, a little too cheerfully. “Hi honey!” her mother said, “Want some bacon and eggs?” “Sure, thanks Mom,” Julie replied, glancing over at her brother. John lowered his eyes and pretended to be interested in his breakfast.

“What’s everybody doing today?” asked Julie, stuffing a fork full of bacon and eggs into her mouth. “Well, your father and I are going to watch John’s football match and then do a little shopping. Aren’t you coming along honey?” replied her mother. “No thanks Mom, I want to catch up on some reading”, lied Julie, “I might even do a few laps of the pool if I get bored”

She looked across at John and caught him staring at her tits. The low-cut blouse she was wearing certainly succeeded in showing of her young breasts to full advantage. She knew her body could entice any red-blooded male she wanted. In the shower with John had been a real turn on, but they had been interrupted before the final act and now she was even more desperate for a cock. And she was going to get it! Now to spring the first part of her little plan.

“Daddy, the pool is looking a little dirty. Do you think you could get Bob to clean it up a bit. I’d really like to spend some time in the water this afternoon,” she said in just the right tone to get her father’s attention. “Ok baby, I’ll give him a call now.” Julie could hardly stop from smirking, her plan was working like clockwork. “Bob? Hi! It’s Dave Simpson,” her father said into the phone, “Yeah, fine. Ahh, could you come over after lunch and clean the pool?... Yeah, sure that would be great. Thanks Bob! Bye!”

“Well sweetheart, Bob will be over ‘round midday to clean the pool for you. So you can really make the most of the afternoon”

“Thanks Daddy, I fully intend to”, she said. ‘... in more ways than one’, she thought to herself...

Chapter 11 After breakfast, Julie grabbed a book from her room and went out to the pool. ‘Thank God! It IS a little dirty’, she thought, sprawling back on one of the comfortable, lay-back chairs. She started to read, but her mind wasn’t really able to concentrate on the words. Instead, she contemplated the fun she would have this afternoon. She was deep in thought, when a deep male voice startled her back to reality.

“Hi, Darlin’! You’re looking sharp this morning,” said her father, sitting down on the chair opposite her. “Why thanks, Daddy. You ain’t too shabby yourself!” Julie replied, putting on a strong southern drawl.

Her father smiled broadly appreciating the excellent imitation. It was clear that Julie had inherited Dave’s sense of humour, and the two of them had always got on exceptionally well. What neither of them knew was that Julie had not only inherited both her parent’s exceptional good-looks, she had also inherited their strong sexual urges as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to the match, honey? I’m sure John would like you to watch him play,” said her father. Any other time Julie would have jumped at the chance, some of the guys on John’s team were real hunks!

“No thanks, Dad! I really just feel like relaxing today. Maybe next time.” “Okay hon, you’re the boss!”

Dave lay back and admired his youngest daughter. He was completely aware that she had been growing up this past year, and lately her budding body had attracted his attention more and more. Mainly because, like most girls her age, she had started to wear clothes which showed off as much of her developing female charms as possible!

This morning Julie was wearing her habitual summer costume, a pair of cutoff blue jeans, but these were cutoffs with a difference. The legs had been cut so short that the bottom half of her cute little asscheeks peeked cheekily below the hem. She purposely hadn’t bothered to wear any panties either. Being a red-blooded male, with more than his fair share of sex-drive, Dave certainly wasn’t immune to the gorgeous sight, and let his eyes wander freely over Julie’s scantily clad body. Her low-cut top showed off most of her boobs, the large nipples made enticing little dents in the thin, cotton fabric. Dave suppressed a frustrated moan of desire as he stared openly at his deliciously sexy young daughter.

Looking up, Julie noticed her father’s interested gaze and instinctively opened her slim thighs further apart. She saw him swallow hard as he finally noticed that she wasn’t wearing anything under her cutoff shorts. His eyes followed the suggestive bulge of her pubes down to the thin, tightly-stretched strip of denim which passed between her thighs. It actually pressed into the narrow cleft of her pussy, between the outer lips. And, sitting at this angle, with her knees wide apart, it hid very little of her sweet, sexy young snatch.

Dave swallowed again, as his cock began to stir uneasily in his pants.  ‘Christ! The little vixen is turning me on, and she knows it!’, Dave thought as he looked up and saw his daughter staring back at him. After a few seconds, Julie lowered her gaze deliberately to his bulging crotch, admiring the effect that she was having on her father. His cock was growing at an alarming rate, threatening to burst the front of his tight shorts. As he began to shift uneasily on the chair in front of her, Julie looked up, and with the sexiest voice she could muster, said; “Something wrong Daddy?”.

Her smile told him all he needed to know, and in her sparkling brown eyes he saw a look he recognized. Dave had seen that look many times before, in his own wife’s eyes... just before he fucked her!

Chapter 12 “Ah... n... no, baby!” he stammered, getting to his feet, “I... um...  your mother wants me to drive down to the store and get some stuff to take with us to the match. I’ll... er... I’ll see you later, hon!”

Hurriedly, Dave walked towards the car. He had to, before someone noticed the huge bulge forming inside his shorts. Julie watched him go.  She was beginning to like the sudden power she had over men, the ability to turn them into gibbering idiots at the very sight of her sexy young body. She had really enjoyed turning her father on like that. It meant that she was not just a little kid anymore. Even more importantly, it meant that , to her father, she was just as sexually desirable as her mother, whom Julie suddenly, deeply envied.

After Dave left, Tina decided to use the time to get some cleaning done. The house was a mess and being the meticulous person she was, it annoyed her to see it like that. Her first chore was to collect any stray dirty clothes from the children’s room’s, ready for washing.  Julie’s room was spotless of course, not a soiled garment in sight. But as she moved towards John’s room, she dreaded the mess she knew she’d find there. Pushing the door open, Tina walked straight in, then stopped dead in her tracks.

Her son was lying on his bed, naked from the waist down with his stiff cock in both hands, and he was jerking on it for all he was worth. Tina gasped in initial surprise, not so much at the sight of his naked organ, or what he was doing, but at the very size of it! It was huge!  She had always been partial to big, plump pricks, and John’s was one of the biggest she’d ever seen! It was easily as long as her husband’s but looked much thicker. John was facing the other way, and he was so engrossed in what he was doing he didn’t see or hear his mother enter the room.

Tina was still transfixed at the sight of her son’s massive, throbbing erection. Her feet wouldn’t move, and her heart was pumping like a steam train. She made a low sound in her throat as she watched his fist pump up and down the huge shaft, her pussy moistening with instant desire. John’s eyes were closed tightly, and his hips lifted rhythmically up and down off the bed, forcing his cock rapidly into his tightly clenched fists. Tina struggled with her conscience, should she follow her motherly instincts and leave, or should she succumb to the urge building between her legs, and stay.

‘Jesus! I can’t help myself!’, she thought, reaching back to close the door, ‘God help me, but I can’t!’ Locking the door, Tina moved carefully towards the bed, feasting her eyes on John’s cock all the while. She had known naturally that her son was well endowed, it ran in the family, but the sight of his big prick, iron-hard and dark with passionate arousal, sent a thrill of sensual pleasure coursing inward from the moist, tingling lips of her pussy.

Tina involuntarily clenched and released her thighs, squeezing the flesh of her cuntmound together. She did it often when she was extremely excited, it almost felt like a hand sweeping over the painfully tender slit.

Pulling up the hem of her dress, Tina’s hand settled automatically on her snatch, caressing the anguished flesh through the moist fabric of her panties. She moved to the bed where her son lay, masturbating furiously. “Johnny!” she whispered.

The youngster gasped and sat bolt upright at the unexpected sound of his mother’s voice.

“Uh! Aaaa... Mom! I... Um... I didn’t know you were there!” he croaked, rosy embarrassment beginning to show on his surprised features. He was even more surprised to see his mother’s hand underneath her dress, rubbing her pussy!!!!...

Chapter 13 Tina smiled at the confused look on her son’s face. He looked so comically shocked!

“Don’t worry darling! I saw what you were doing and it’s all right...  really! It’s perfectly natural!” muttered Tina, moving closer.

John stood up, not knowing whether to cover his nakedness or not, because his mother was staring at his stiff cock like a small kid ogling a lollipop, all the time working her hand between her slightly parted legs. He couldn’t believe this was happening! It must be a dream, a wild, fantastic wet dream! His mother came closer to him until they were only a few feet apart.

Tina’s eyes gazed almost hypnotically at her son’s cock, which still protruded magnificently from his muscular thighs. John stared at his mother stupidly for a few moments, then his eyes dropped to the rest of her voluptuous body.

She wore a light summer dress, tight over her tits, with narrow straps across her shoulders. It hugged her small waist, then flared out into a full skirt around her hips. It didn’t really show off her figure very well, except the flawless shape of her firm, uptilted breasts. Her tits were naked under the dress, and her nipples pushed out in two firm points, outlined against the thin fabric. She was breathing heavily, her large boobs lifting and falling, tremors moving through her body.

With a shudder, Tina crossed the remaining few steps separating herself from her handsome young son. John made a soft, gulping sound as she came close to him. His mother was so close now, he could feel the heat emanating from her body. They stood facing each other, with John’s head slightly tilted upwards and hers down. Julie stared into his eyes before reaching a tentative hand down between their trembling bodies.  As her fingers wrapped eagerly around his cock, John began to tremble with desire... then a look of sudden apprehension crossed his handsome young features.

“Mom! What if someone comes in?” he whispered, a little frightened now, and completely out of his depth.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ve locked the door!” said his mother, sliding her closed fist up and down the full length of his hard, young prick. “Your father’s gone to the store, and Julie’s out by the pool, so nobody should disturb us for a while. But we’d still better be very, very quiet. Okay?”

“Uuuuuh! Oooh!... Okay! Sure Mom!” murmured the boy. His virile young prick began to twitch in his mother’s hand.

“Do you like me touching your cock, honey?”

“Yeah! You bet! It’s outta sight! Your fingers are so soft and smooth, Mom!”

“God, I can’t believe you’re so big! This is better than doing it to yourself, isn’t it baby?”

“Christ, yes! You can do this to me any time you want Mom!” he groaned, humping his cock into her hand.

“Don’t worry darling, I intend to”, promised Tina, staring at her son’s huge, throbbing erection.

John groaned, clasping his mother around the waist, and pushed his hard-on against her upper thighs. Tina whimpered as she buried her face into his neck, returning the pressure against his cock. She felt him shaking in her arms, and impulsively kissed his neck, just above the collar. John tightened his arms around her waist, and with a little cry, Tina burned her lips over his cheek, finally reaching his mouth. 

The young boy opened his lips instinctively as his mother pressed her own parted lips against his, kissing him passionately, moving her lips and sucking his tongue into the heated pit of her mouth.

John returned his mother’s kiss instinctively, and Tina marvelled at the sweet, eagerness with which the boy went about it. It was different with her husband, his kisses almost bruised her soft, full lips, but Johnny’s mouth pressed against her own with an urgent yet tender pressure. His tongue lashed against hers, the tip running over her teeth, probing and exploring every inch of her mouth as he kissed her.

Tina squirmed her hips against her son’s hard young body, using her hand to position the shaft of his cock down between her thighs until it lay in the groove of her very wet pussy. Then, relinquishing her grip on his prick, Tina threw both arms over the boy’s shoulders and hugged him tightly to her, grinding her tits sensually against his chest and her fiery cuntmound hard against his rigid penis...

Chapter 14 They clung to each other, kissing with growing passion. John felt the length of his cock rub against the wet crotch of his mother’s panties, pulsing against her heated flesh. Tina felt it too, and moved so that the hard, bloated head was wedged solidly against the top of her lust-soaked slit, grinding her taut little behind towards him in tight, small circles.

She moved her right hand down to his ass, pulling him as hard as she could against her feverish cunt. Her other hand held the back of his neck as Tina thrust her tongue down her son’s throat, licking the inside of his mouth, moaning and gasping as her pussy-slit soaked the crotch of her panties. John could feel the moisture seeping out over the head of his prick, coating the bulbous tip with hot, slippery cunt-oils.

“Oh Jesus, this is fantastic! You’re so damn wet! I have to fuck you, Mom! Will you let me? I know you want it too!” he whispered eagerly, jabbing his young cock against her crotch to emphasize his need.

“Not so fast baby!” his mother moaned in a low voice, “Just let it happen! A woman likes to be aroused slowly. I’m real hot, but I need more to make it extra special for me. Play with my tits John, rub mommy’s nipples!” Dutifully, John cupped his mother’s full, round breasts in both hands, squeezing and kneading the soft flesh with his big, strong hands.

“Yesss! That’s it. Now squeeze my nipples! A girl loves to have a man squeeze her nipples! But do it gently, honey... very gently”

As her son worked diligently on her tits, Tina reached between their thighs and once more closed her fingers around his mighty organ. It had almost doubled in size and she could hardly get her long, slim fingers around the circumference. With practiced strokes she rubbed the tip along the wet groove of her panties covering her juicy gash. Up and down she rubbed it, from the base of her cunt to the top of her slit, becoming more and more excited by the thought of masturbating herself through her panties with her own son’s erect penis as he played with her hard nipples.

Tina realized at once that it was the forbidden element of their lovemaking that really turned her on. The thought of making love with her strong, handsome son and teaching him how to please her, was so wickedly provocative, that Tina’s highly aroused vagina began to fill with a steady cuntal flow. She suddenly remembered that this wasn’t the first time she had felt lust for her son’s body. Last time, she had dismissed it as total fantasy, but even so it had sent a jolt of undisguised fuck-fever through her loins.

It happened one day last summer when John’s swimming trunks had fallen off as he dived into the pool. She could still picture his cutely tanned little behind bobbing up out of the water as he dived, searching desperately for his lost trunks. She had gone in to help him find them, and, as he surfaced near her for air, Tina felt the unmistakable contact of his naked crotch against her thigh as he stood up.

Her heart had skipped a beat, as she felt his warm cock rub over her cool flesh, and she’d had to fight down a strong, primeval urge to reach out and grab it. Come to think of it, he had let it press against her leg for much longer than modestly required. She knew now that at that moment, her fifteen year-old son had lusted after her too. As then, the thought made Tina shiver with desire. To know that she could sexually excite her own son was a powerful turn-on. And excited he was...

Chapter 15 John’s hands were on her ass now, squeezing and kneading the compact cheeks as he had done her tits. But this time, he could pull her panty-encased crotch more tightly against his cock at the same time. It turned him on something fierce to fill his palms with the tight, firm flesh of his mother’s ass and grind his stiff cock into her crotch.

Tina cried out softly with need as her son grabbed her ass, and began moving backwards, pulling him with her. As the backs of her knees touched the edge of his bed, she fell back across it, pulling him on top of her. She opened her legs and smashed her juice-soaked crotch upwards, onto his throbbing hard-on, writhing in passion beneath him.  John looked down at his mothers body. Her dress was bunched up around her waist and her tits were falling out of the top of her dress like two over-ripe melons. He dipped his head to her bosom and began to lick and suck the large, erect nipples in turn.

“Ohh! Yes, John! Suck momma’s tits!... Christ! I love that!” moaned Tina, gyrating her hips wantonly against her son’s hard, throbbing cock.

The tip of his prick had found the entrance of her slit again, either by fortunate accident or by unconscious design, but this time the delicious contact was just too much for the highly aroused boy to endure and he began pumping his cock against his mother’s pussy, through her thin panties. Tina gasped and clung to him, her blonde head twisting from side to side, eyes glazed in lewd passion as she felt her son’s cock bulge through the tightly stretched material and mash against her clit. ‘Jesus, he was like a young, strong bull!’ she thought, ‘Any second, he was going to break through the flimsy barrier and bury his huge cock deep in her hot, juicy cunt’. The unbearably lewd thought drove her quickly over the edge.

“Oooooh, Johnny!” she whimpered, as she felt waves of rippling pleasure building deep in her twat. “God... it’s... I’m... Johnny, you’re making me... Oh, Johnny... Jesus baby, I’m cumming!”

His mother’s hips arched up to meet him, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure as she thrashed about beneath him. John pushed his cock tightly against Tina’s vibrating, convulsing pussy. His balls ached, fiery with passion and swollen with fullness. He had never seen a woman come as hard as that before, and what made it all the more surprising to his young mind, was that she had climaxed without him even getting his cock into her hot little pussy.

Tina had come hard alright... very hard. She shook in shuddering ecstasy, closing her eyes, then went limp beneath him. Her hands fell away, and her legs spread outwards. She sprawled beneath her son, with her cunt still pressed against his prick, and most of her ass hanging over the edge of the bed. Dimly, through the warm glow radiating through her body, Tina felt his hands on her hips, pulling her sopping wet panties down over her quivering thighs. She felt a little ashamed now that her climax had passed and began to have second thought’s about letting their little sex session continue any further. It was one thing to masturbate herself on her son’s cock, but entirely another to let him fuck her.

Somehow, John also managed to pull Tina’s dress up over her head until she lay naked and panting on the bed in front of him. His cock was rock-hard by now, and ignoring her unconvincing moan of protest, John scrambled between his mother’s wide-spread thighs and positioned the head of his prick in the entrance of the very womb that had given him life. He shuddered at the very thought. He took only a moment to stare at it, running his eyes over the hairy, crimson cuntlips which even now quivered and twitched around the half-buried tip of his cock, planting wet, slobbery kisses on the flared head.

Chapter 16 His mother looked up and saw the lust in her son’s eyes, then she looked down at his throbbing cock, wedged between the outer lips of her pussy, and moaned deep in her throat. Sudden panic gripped her as she realized what he was about to do. Although every cell of her body was screaming for it, part of her mind still rejected the sinful act of incest with her own son!

“John, no!... We... We can’t!” she protested weakly, trying to push him away, but her strength was gone and her heart really wasn’t in it.  Then, before she could move or say another word, John fucked his cock into her cunt.

“Johnny!... My God! It’s splitting me open!” she gurgled, feeling his gigantic prick penetrate the moist constriction of her pussy with a single hard thrust.

“Slo... Uhhh!... Mmmhhh, s... slowly, or you’ll hurt me! Please be gentle, honey!” “Oh, Mom! Jesus, you’re tight! I can’t believe it!” he groaned as Tina’s hips jerked upwards, sliding onto the length of her son’s eager cock.

Her eyes bulged as she felt him fuck deep into her open-lipped twat.  ‘Jesus, he’s as big as his father!’, she thought, with a certain amount of surprise. The surprise rapidly gave way to pleasure though, as her son’s fifteen year-old cock began to stretch the elastic walls of her pussy a little more painfully than she was used to.

John, meanwhile, was equally surprised. He had envisioned his mothers cunt as being big and loose, but he was pleasantly surprised to find that her girlish vagina was very, very tight. So tight in fact, that he could feel every ridge and groove of her cuntal lining as it clung to his cockshaft like a tightly stretched glove. John prepared to fuck his mother in earnest. Taking the weight of his body on his elbows, he began to move his hips up and down, slowly at first, and then, much faster as her juices began to flow copiously, lubricating the junction of their mutual lust.

He stabbed his prick in and out swiftly, causing Tina to pant and writhe. She began to sob, but wasn’t sure if it was in shame or ecstasy. She clawed at the bedspread, her head twisting from side to side as she began to lift her hips and fuck back at her son’s thrusting cock. The friction of his thick cockshaft along the sensitive lips of her cunt made Tina’s mind spin, and she churned her ass in a most wanton manner, no longer caring that it was her young, fifteen year-old son who was fucking her so deliciously.

“Yessss! Fuck me, Johnny! Fuck mommy’s cunt with your big, fat cock!” she hissed through gritted teeth.

John looked down between his mother’s splayed thighs, watching his cock fuck in and out of her cunt. Her pink, hairy cuntlips clung to the shaft as he withdrew and disappeared back inside as he plunged into her. Now he could see the way her pussy stretched and clasped his prick as well as feel it, and the stimulating combination increased his excitement a thousandfold. Grunting and moaning with lust, Tina lifted her legs, drawing her knees back, shoving her cunt up at her son’s lunging cock. Her husband like to fuck her like this, with her legs bent and her knees pulled back against her tits. It offered the deepest penetration, and made her clit rub hard up against his hammering pubic bone.

The pounding of his hips drove the air from his mother’s lungs in loud rushes. Yet despite the tremendous pounding he was giving her, she began gasping and whimpering incessantly... wonderful obscenities that John had never dreamed he would hear coming from his mother’s lovely mouth.

“Oh God, fuck me Johnny! Fuck momma real hard! Ram your big cock into my fat, juicy cunt and don’t stop fucking it! Uhhhhhhhhhhhhgnhhhhh!”

“I AM Mom! I AM fucking you! I’m going to cum in your cunt, and make you cum till you faint!

“Oooooooh! Johnnnnnny! Yes, come in me! I want to feel your hot juice in my pussy! Ooooooo! Unnnnnnnnggg! That’s it! I’m close! Harder! Oh, fuuuuck!

Chapter 17 Tina was on fire, her whole body burning up with unbridled passion for her handsome young son, who was fucking her so magnificently. Her cunt clasped his cock each time he pulled out, then expanding to take every wonderful hard inch as he plunged it back inside her. Tina drew her legs wide apart, offering her pussy to the full, frenzied thrusts of her son’s powerful prick. A whimper escaped her lips as she felt the spreading heat of another orgasm filling her battered twat. Her eyes fluttered open to look up at him. John was staring down at her with an equally glazed look on his young face, and it was obvious that his own climax was also very close.

“Unnnnnnnhhhh! Fuck! Oooooo, yessssss! Fuck meeee!... I’m cuuuummmmmming!” squealed Tina, as waves of pleasure surged outwards from the very heart of her throbbing, twisting cunt.

John fucked his mother harder, extremely excited by her shameless cries of lust. His hips pumping up and down, his cock stretching and filling her bucking twat with hot, throbbing hardness. It was just what the convulsing woman needed and she felt her thighs begin to melt and her eyes go out of focus as his young prick slammed into her quivering hole with jackhammer force. Tina strained her quivering snatch high, grinding her clit deliciously against her son’s cock as she came, climaxing in a surge of raw, mindless ecstasy.

“Johnny! Ohhhhh, Johnnnnnny!” she moaned.

John was beginning to show the strain, his young face screwed up, eyes half closed, gasping for breath as his mother flung her hands behind his body to grab his jerking ass, pulling him into her as deep as she could while she came. Her body began to shudder all over and her cunt exploded, squeezing and gripping his long cock like a tiny toothless mouth. Tina had to bite her bottom lip hard to stop from screaming, her hands clawing at her son’s clenched, teenaged ass. His mother’s wild reaction was all John needed to slip over the edge himself, and with a deep, panting grunt, he threw back his head and sent jet after jet of thick scalding sperm deep up inside her cunt. Her son’s spurting cum sent Tina into shuddering spasms of rapture, her cuntal contractions increasing in intensity.

As he came, John grabbed his mother’s boobs and gripped them tightly, twisting and squeezing the sweaty, jiggling titflesh as he filled her hot cunt with a full load of creamy, incestuous sperm. She cried out.  The sound a mixture of shame and wanton ecstasy. Her son was coming inside her... she had let her own child fuck her, and now he was flooding her throbbing cunt with his jism... the experience was unbelievably exciting. As soon as she felt it kick and spurt inside her, Tina strained even harder onto his jerking, spewing cock, desperate to receive every single drop her virile young son had to offer. She urged him on.

“Come in me, Johnny!” she cried. “Cum in momma’s pussy! Shoot your stuff right up my hot cunt! Uuuuhhhh, baby! I wanna feel you come in me!!!” John groaned and hunched into her as he emptied his balls inside his mother’s gooey fuckhole. In return, Tina squeezed his asscheeks with both hands, pulling his cock deeper and deeper inside her insatiable snatch. To Tina’s delight, her son continued to fuck her even after he’d finished coming. His cock was still extremely hard despite an obviously mind-blowing orgasm. Most young boys were like that, Tina reflected, able to achieve a second hardon almost before the first one had gone soft.

“Ooooh, you were wonderful, Johnny!” crooned Tina, wiggling her ass up at him. “You’re still hard! Hmmmmm, We’ll have to call that thing a ‘repeater-peter’ won’t we, baby?”

“You’d better believe it, Mom!” he grinned.

They giggled together as John began sliding his prick in and out of her cunt. It was a wet fuck. Tina’s jizz-filled pussy-slit was slippery and hot, her clit sticking out like a small pink tongue as it rasped deliciously against the shaft of the boy’s cock. Tina couldn’t believe how quickly her son was able to arouse her again. Within seconds, she felt the old familiar ache in her loins... her third orgasm in less than half an hour!...

Chapter 18 “Ohhhh yeah, baby!” Tina panted. “Fuck me again!”

John’s balls slapped against his mother’s upturned ass at the end of each stroke as Tina sprawled back on the bed, letting her young son fuck her as hard as he liked. He was eager for it and so was she. Her ass bucked as she pumped her hips up at his thrusting cock, wriggling her cunt around on his sliding fuckpole like an oversexed little teenager.

She was overwhelmed with lust for her handsome son. He was so good!  Such a strong, virile young fucker! People would say it was wrong, but Tina didn’t care. It was too good. Life was too short, and you had to take what pleasure you could get, no matter what the source. As long as nobody found out, what harm would it do? Besides, he had such a big hard prick... such a lovely cock to fuck.

And fuck her he did, bringing Tina to climax after climax before his rejuvenated young balls spewed forth another deluge of thick, creamy jizm into her heaving belly. This time though John had had his fill, and his cock deflated rapidly inside his mother’s twitching cunt. He became weak, and his arms collapsed. He fell heavily onto her and Tina grunted as his weight settled. Her legs slid down each side of his body and hung over the edge of the bed until they touched the floor. She ran her hands over his back, caressing his hot, damp skin and hugged her wonderful young son tightly against her own sweaty body. They lay there for several minute, before he rolled off onto the bed beside her.

“Mom, are you alright?” asked John as he saw the look of shame in his mother’s eyes.

“Yes, honey. I’m okay. But we really shouldn’t have done this. It got out of hand. 

What are we going to do now?”

“Why? Didn’t you like me fucking you Mom?”

“Ohhh, yes! That’s the problem, John. I loved it! But a mother shouldn’t feel that way about her son, let alone do the things we did!” said Tina, getting to her feet. “But Mom, if we both wanted to do it, and it was good, how can it be wrong?” She couldn’t argue with logic like that, even if it was a little naive.

“I guess you’re right, darling. But I don’t think your father would agree.” “He doesn’t have to know, Mom.” replied John, with a sly wink.

He sure had grown up fast in the ways of the world, she thought as she pulled her panties over her thighs and struggled into her crumpled dress. John stared at his mother’s exquisite legs, and glimpsed a brief flash of her tight ass before she smoothed down her dress. He lay back on his bed, seeing her for the first time in a totally different light.  No longer was she the mother that cleaned his clothes, made his breakfast and washed the dishes. She was his lover, and nobody on earth would ever change that.

“Can we do it again soon, Mom?” he asked hopefully, staring at the swell of her curvaceous tits, once more hidden seductively beneath the thin material of her dress, only the hard, erect nipples betraying her inner feelings.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. We’ll have to be very careful that nobody finds out, or there’ll be hell to pay!”

Although she didn’t admit it, Tina already knew the answer as she looked down at his limp cock, remembering vividly how it had brought her to a sexual peak which she rarely achieved any more. Bending down, she kissed him on the lips. It was a quick, motherly kiss, but her hand on his thigh spoke volumes. “Come on you gorgeous hunk! Up and at ‘em!  You’ve got a game to play.”

Tina hurried from the room, leaving her son to ponder the events of the last half-hour...

Chapter 19 After John and her parents left, Julie went to her room and began to try on her swimsuits, trying to choose just the right one. One that would give that hunk Bob Conroy, exactly the message she wanted! Her favorite was a small black bikini which her mother didn’t even know she had, because she certainly wouldn’t have approved of the vast expanse of bare skin which the tiny garment exposed. Posing like model in front of the mirror, she turned her body from side to side, admiring her reflection.

The flimsy top barely contained her firm, round tits, and her nipples stood out visibly against the sheer, black material. The bikini bottom was just as tiny, and consisted of a thin strip of cloth which just managed to cover her crotch, before disappearing between her legs and the luscious cheeks of her ass, hugging her flesh so tightly that it outlined with vivid clarity, every detail of her young fourteen year-old pussy. “Perfect!” she said to herself, “Wait till ol’ Bobby gets a load of this!” Julie threw on a short robe and went back into the backyard to wait for him. She made herself comfortable on one of the airbeds beside the pool, arranging her robe so that it showed just a hint of her gorgeous young body, and pretended to read.

Right on time, Bob Conroy arrived at the Simpson household. He was tall, with dark hair and a slim, muscular frame resulting from many hours at the local gym. He also worked around the neighbourhood in his spare time, doing odd jobs, pool cleaning and lawn mowing mostly. He enjoyed working for Dave because it gave him a chance to feast his eyes on Dave’s wife, Tina. ‘She was absolutely gorgeous,’ he thought, ‘and their daughter was a hot, sexy little number too’. He’d had a crush on Tina since the first day he’d seen her watering the front lawn in those tight little shorts she always wore.

He remembered watching her over the fence, as she worked in the front yard. When she bent over to fiddle with the sprinkler, he had almost come in his pants. He could still see the firm, well-rounded cheeks of her ass and the dark, enticing space between them. He longed to stand behind those lusciously firm mounds and slide his rigid cock into her cunt from behind. ‘One day perhaps,’ he thought, ‘If I get up enough courage to try!’

Whistling happily to himself, Bob walked straight down the side of the house and opened the gate leading to the pool. Julie heard him coming and immediately began to look engrossed in her book. When he saw her, Bob called out his usual greeting, “Hi Julie!... your Mom or Dad home?”

“Hello Bob!” replied Julie, trying hard to appear natural, “No, they’ve all gone to John’s football game.”

“Oh!” said Bob, sounding a little disappointed, “Well your father asked me to come over and clean the pool.”

“Ohhh, good! I’ve been wanting to cool off all morning, but it looked so dirty I didn’t bother”, she lied.

“Don’t worry pretty lady!” he chuckled, doing his best John Wayne impersonation, “I’ll fix your pool.”

Julie laughed, and watched him carry his pool cleaning kit over to the edge of the pool. Without being too obvious, she followed him with her eyes every inch of the way. He was wearing tight denim shorts and a tee shirt, cutoff so that most of his tanned midriff showed from just under his pectorals to just below his navel. ‘Wow! Just who was trying to seduce whom here?’, she wondered, feeling her pussy moisten deliciously at the heavenly sight of so much naked man-flesh...

Chapter 20 “I won’t be long, Julie. It shouldn’t take more than about half an hour before you’ll be able to enjoy a nice cool swim,” he smiled, beginning to clean out the debris which littered the top of the pool.

“Ok! Thanks, Bob!” replied Julie. ‘Hmmmmm, take your time you gorgeous hunk!’ she thought, staring at the boy’s tight, muscular behind. She uncrossed her legs to relieve some of the itchy heat building up between her thighs. His long muscular legs and broad shoulders flexed as he worked, and Julie found it difficult to concentrate on pretending to read when he bent over to fish something out of the pool.

The bulge of his crotch was not overly large, but Julie could see that Bob had quite enough in that department to fulfill all her needs. She loosened her robe and let it gape open, revealing the fullness of her young breasts. Bob had noticed her bikini-clad body as soon as he arrived. His eyes travelled briefly over the curve of her thighs before settling on the unmistakable swell of her breasts, which were surprisingly large for a girl so young. How old was she? Fourteen?  Fifteen? ‘Jailbait for sure!’, Bob thought, ‘But it would be worth it to fuck that!... Christ, what a ripe little body, and I bet her pussy’s damn tight too!’

Bob fought down the mounting feelings of lust that swept over him in case she should notice the rising lump in his pants. But it was too late, Julie’s eyes had been watching her prey like a hawk. She detected the enticing bulge before it even occurred to him. ‘Jesus! He’s finally beginning to notice!’, she thought, letting her robe fall still further apart. She was a younger version of her mother he decided, except her hair was a light brown instead of honey blonde, but she certainly had her mother’s figure, that’s for sure! Bob hadn’t really taken all that much notice before, but now it suddenly struck him how much mother and daughter looked alike.

Julie pretended to read her book, occasionally looking in his direction as Bob went about his work. At every chance, the young girl moved her body to show off her best features. Her robe was almost falling off her shoulders now, and her long, slim legs were completely bare. Bob found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what he was doing, as Julie revealed more and more of her delectable charms. Finally she stood up and took off her robe completely. Bob looked up and almost fell into the pool! Jesus! What was she wearing? She might as well have been naked for all that her bikini was covering!

His cock swelled alarmingly, pushing against the front of his shorts like a pressure hose. Julie stood up long enough to give Bob a good look at her crotch and tits, before flopping back onto the airbed, face down. Bob stood up and stared at the perfect, round globes of her young ass. “Christ that’s nice!” he whispered under his breath. Her body gleamed in the sun as Bob stood on the other side of the pool, staring at it. Julie had a sly little smile on her face. She knew that Bob was looking at her, and it made her pussy crawl just to think about it.  ‘Not long now!’, she thought to herself.

Bob walked around the pool towards her. “I’m all finished Julie!  Anything else you want me to do?” he asked, gazing at her firm, round buttocks. She rolled over and looked up at him, suppressing an urge to giggle at the hidden meaning in his question. “No thanks, Bob. But why don’t you stay and have a swim with me. It’s awfully lonely here by myself.” she said as sexily as she could. Bob’s prick lurched in his pants. ‘How far would she go?” he wondered. Well, he was game to find out!

“Ok, why not!” he agreed, “But I haven’t brought any swimming trunks with me.” “That’s alright you can use a pair of John’s. They might be a bit tight, but they should fit you”, said Julie hurrying off to fetch them.

Bob watched her go, his mouth watering at the sight of her tight little ass cheeks jiggling around inside her bikini bottoms as she ran into the house...

[evanoracronwell]

Kaus Australis

Michael Guerin doesn't know how to deal with the absence of Alex Manes in his life.

Also on ao3

2009

Michael was ... content.

It had been a long time since a real smile appeared on his lips. But finally, today he had a sincere smile and a feeling of happiness.

Finally, he managed to buy his long-awaited Airstream and after all the necessary renovations, it was official. Michael Guerin had a home!

With a sigh of contentment, he took a sip of beer and then played with the bottle between his fingers, right in front of the Airstream he had placed some old chairs he bought in the old Junkyard, and with a barrel cut in half, he had a bonfire to help keep him warm on the cold desert nights.

Alex used to do this ... keep him warm ...

Don't.

Michael shouted in his head. Don't go there, Guerin.

Just don't. Because if he does, if he allows himself to think about Alex, then that suffocating pain will come to the surface and Michael doesn’t know how to deal with it, he doesn’t know how to deal with the emptiness he feels inside his own chest, he doesn't know how to deal with the shortness of breath that sometimes makes him dizzy, he doesn't know how to deal with the urge to scream and cry every time he passes in front of the museum.

Michael Guerin doesn't know how to deal with the absence of Alex Manes in his life.

It hurts, physically and emotionally.

A pain like no other he had ever felt in his life, and that coming from a boy who had gone through sessions of exorcisms and a hand smashed by a hammer.

So no, he wouldn't think about Alex Manes, not tonight. He would just sit there in his chair, enjoying a good beer, snuggling up in the plushy jacket he had gotten at Goodwill, and warming up by the fire. Yes, that was exactly what he would do.

Michael looked up at the sky for a few seconds and smiled as soon as his eyes found his constellation.

"Sagittarius is the fifteenth largest constellation in the sky, and it is quite easy to find because it is in the Milky Way and its brightest stars form an asterism known as the Teapot."

Michael looked up a little scared and stared at Alex who was lying on his chest, it was past midnight and they should have left hours ago, but instead, they were here, lying naked in each other's arms on the makeshift bed in the back of the truck, wrapped in blankets to protect them from the cold desert. In silence, just enjoying each other's presence when Alex murmured those facts about stars and constellations.

"Since when do you understand about this?"

"What ?! You are always so fascinated by everything related to space and I love to hear you talk about it. So I thought about giving it a try."

"And you choose to learn about the constellation of my zodiac sign?" he asked and smiled when Alex just shrugged his shoulders against his body.

"Okay, then, tell me more about the Sagittarius constellation."

"Fuck"

He growls as he takes another sip of beer, avoiding thinking about Alex is useless and he doesn't know why he still insists on deceiving himself that he is capable of it. That damn man had filled Michael's life with hope and a feeling so good and warm that for the first time he had dared to think that he could really be happy, even build a family for himself someday.

Then all hell broke loose.

First Jesse, then Rosa.

The guilt was consuming him every day, every time he saw the Crashdown, every time he heard someone talking about the drugged and troubled Mexican girl who killed two poor innocent girls, every time he saw the pain of losing a great friend in Alex's eyes.

Then he pushed Alex away, pushed him away when all he wanted to do was pull him close. Wrap Alex in his arms with all the strength he possessed and never let go.

Michael knows that it is only his fault, that Alex's leaving is his responsibility. But fuck, if he could, if Michael could just go back in time. He would never have let Alex go, he would have kissed him with all the love in the world, he would have touched him on every piece of skin on his body and he would have said that he loved him, a thousand times, a million times. He would have left Roswell with Alex, far away, where no one could find them. They would build a life, a family.

And screw Jesse Manes. Isobel. Max.

And all the rest of this fucked up world.

"... in Greek mythology, Sagittarius represents a centaur ..."

Alex, who helped him without expecting anything in return.

Alex, who showed him that there could be kindness in the world.

Alex, who carried his heart on his sleeve and had the most beautiful smile Michael had ever seen in his life.

Alex, who taught Michael what true love is.

"... the centaur is depicted holding a bow and arrow ..."

Alex murmured smiling sensuously as he wrapped his leg around Michael's waist, getting an impulse to sit on his lap, his ass dangerously close to Michael's cock that immediately went hard.

"The centaur appears to be aiming an arrow towards the heart of the neighboring constellation of Scorpio"

He continued, the same smile on his lips knowing exactly the effect he was having on Michael. Supporting one hand on Michael's chest, exactly where his heart rested, Alex slid the other behind his back until he reached Michael's cock, touching it slowly making Michael moan and hold Alex's waist.

"... in Sumerian mythology, he is associated with Crotus, the satyr who was the nurse of the nine muses, daughters of Zeus, on Mount Helicon."

Alex lifted his body high enough to place the head of Michael's cock against his hole and went down just an inch on it, still wet and stretched from all the previous activity. They moaned without worrying about anyone hearing them in the middle of the desert and Michael sank his fingers against Alex's hips so hard that he didn't doubt that it would bruise. Alex rested his other hand against Michael's chest as well and stared at him as he lowered his body so slowly that it felt like torture - delicious torture - for both of them. When he reached the base, feeling the fullness of having Michael completely inside him, he rolled his hips gently, just enough to cause a loud groan in Michael that held him even tighter and pulled him closer against his dick. As if he was never deep enough.

And fuck, Alex agreed with him. It never seemed to be deep enough.

"The constellation has thirty-two stars ..." he murmured again as he started to move, slowly, smoothly.

"Alex ... fuck ..."

Lifting his own hips, trying to speed up the movements, Michael moaned as he tried to keep his eyes open so that he could look at Alex, refusing to lose the dazzling sight that boy was. Completely naked, with a line of sweat running down his neck until reach his navel even in the cold desert wind, his messy hair, his eyeliner a little smudged, his lips red and swollen from the kisses, and the way he was biting them right now. The movement in his waist as he rolled, using Michael's body, Michael's cock for his own pleasure.

Damn, if that wasn't the most beautiful sight in the entire universe, Michael didn't know what it was.

"Babe, please ..." he pleaded.

"The brightest star in Sagittarius is Kaus Australis ..."

He kept muttering with his voice cracking, and Michael couldn't understand how that could be so fucking sexy, but damn if it wasn't. Feeling Alex sunk in his cock taking him so deeply as he murmured about stars and constellations was by far the most sensual thing Michael had ever had in his life. And when he started to move faster and faster until he reached the rhythm where it was possible to hear the sound of his ass hitting Michael's thighs, they moaned wildly and Michael lifted his back until he sat down, his chest pressed against Alex's chest, his hands hugging his boyfriend's waist while Alex grabbed him by the shoulder, his other hand curling up in Michael's curls, pulling the hair on the back of his neck.

"... which is also the thirty-sixth brightest star in the sky ..."

He whispered against Michael's lips and it was the breaking point for both of them, their bodies convulsed and found the release they were looking for ...

"Stop ... just ... stop!"

Michael pleaded to himself tossing the bear far away angrily, then he propped his elbows against his knees, sinking his head between his hands. Those memories were the most precious things Michael had in his life, but they were also the most painful. Memories of a life he no longer had. Memories of a happiness which he was no longer allowed.

Of a body that he could no longer touch.

Of a mouth that he couldn't kiss anymore.

"Come back ... Lex ... please ..."

Sobbing, he pleaded, please, to any God who might exist, for Alex to return, to forgive him, to love him.

"... you are my brightest star, Michael."

[the-twi-light-zone]

The Sun and The Moon Chapter 2

Later and later the night sky slowly welcomes the moon to fully shine and bathe everything in the soft white light. Greeting the creatures of the night, and saying farewell to those heading off to their beckoning slumber. Laughter floats out of a dimly lit garage, four voices going back and forth on the topic of their summer months spent together with early mornings and late nights. With the time nearing thirty till midnight, the teens say their inevitable goodbyes bidding a goodnight to each other. See you tomorrow’s thrown at the only girl in the vicinity. Hugs and the groups secret handshake eventually leave two walking out into the night together. 

Laughing Anna unlocks the door to her truck welcoming Quil Ateara into the vehicle with her. Seat belts buckled quickly and the engine growling its welcome to them, cold air rushing into the already cold cabin. “So you’re dad is okay with me staying over tonight right?” Quil asks glancing over to the young driver. Nodding her head as she begins to answer back, “yeah, he basically told me that you’re welcome over whenever. You only spent most of the summer at our house after all.” 

Nodding Quil begins to fiddle with the radio, static becoming the local stations song of the night. “The radio stopped working, the only things it can play are tapes, or the ipod.” Anna says picking up a black lunch box that held said materials, setting them on the seat between them. “Man we need to fix that, when did it go out?” Quil asks while deciding to use the ipod, clicking through the songs to find the right one they could jam out to. “Not sure, my dad had been driving it for a little while when I was away for the month. Oh go back that’s are song!” Anna says bobbing her head and drumming on the steering wheel.

Nodding Quil goes back and leans forward to crank up the volume, the eventual screech of tone deaf voices fill the cab. Laughter and glances being made at each other as they sing their hearts out to a song they came to love over the summer months. Kid rocks voice floats around them, the lyrics of All Summer Long floats around them. Encouraging smiles thrown one another’s way, the pair only seem to get louder when their playlist rolls over to Way I Are by Timbaland. The trip is eventually forced to a stop, driving down the street the Swan’s home resides. Anna parks on the side of the house in a small gravel patch she and her dad laid the previous year.

Hoping out of the now silent truck the two make there way to the front door, snickering and playfully shoving one another. Imitating the others screech of the very ‘talented’ singing abilities, though both know they are equally terrible. Opening the front door they slowly hustle to lock the door, heading to the kitchen they load up on snacks and grab a two liter of soda. Hustling up the stairs and avoiding creeks they both hurry to set down their new found supplies. Anna walks over to her closet, pulling out their stash of well hidden alcohol, pouring both of them a double into the cups they snagged from the kitchen.

Quil sets out to hook up their shared play station, selecting a random ATV game disc and inserting it into the gaming device. Settling down they sit with Anna half way on Quil’s lap, legs thrown up and tangled when they recline the chair. Settling on playing for hours on end and finishing the snacks and their first alcoholic drink, they eventually finish the two liter without anymore alcohol. Egging each other on to pull off dangerous stunts and racing across the maps they settled on. When the clock alerts them that it’s close to two am they eventually untangle themselves. Cleaning up their joint mess and hiding their prized possession back into the closet. Quil and Anna change into their clothes, Quil in the room and Anna in the too small closet. They both settle down into her bed, pulling the blankets up to their chins.

“I wonder what Jake and Emb got up to tonight. They seemed pretty set on finishing up on the rabbits speakers.” Anna’s whisper causes Quil to look over at her with a smirk, “I heard Jake say something about going to get the game Emb forgot to bring over.” Anna shakes her head stifling a laugh, eyes shinning with her struggle to stay quiet. She eventually turns to face Quil, which then causes Quil to do the same. “I don’t think Emb will ever remember to actually bring what he was told to.” She tells the boy next to her huffing out when Quil rolls his eyes nodding along to her statement.

Eventually the pair manage to fall asleep, light snores coming from their mouths as they both move around the bed in their sleep. They eventually settle and their bodies wait for the early sunrise to wake them again. Though their bodies move on their own to join in the middle backs curling around one another with arms eventually following suit. Content smiles on their faces as they both revel in being close to their best friend again.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3, Chapter 4,

[merakiaes]

It’s Always Been You - John Shelby

Pairing: John Shelby x reader

Requested: Yes.

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: This is really short and not read through so sorry for any possible mistakes. I hope you like it xx

Wordcount: 1946

Summary: John have been pining after you for years but never done anything about it. You go on a date with a man he really doesn’t like and finally confesses his true feelings. 

“I’m just saying, (Y/N). You know how he was back in school, how he treated girls.” John kept trying to convince you as he followed you around your home, moving his hands around violently in exasperation to get his point across.

But you paid him no mind, only sighing and continuing to get ready for your date. 

“You treat girls no better, Johnny. I see you running in and out of the whorehouse every week, so don’t even try me.” You grumbled, the mere thought of him being intimate with someone else turning you sour.

It was no surprise to yourself that you loved him. You had been aware of your own feelings since you were merely fifteen. But after years of waiting around for him, you had given up and moved on.

Or, tried to, at least.

“I know what I’m like, you don’t have to tell me.” He agreed. “But you deserve better than that.”

You walked into your bathroom, John not far behind, and went over to the mirror where you put in a pair of earrings. “What I deserve is not your decision to make.”

He leaned against the doorframe, shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “Alright, then let me rephrase it.” He grumbled. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

“That decision isn’t yours to make, either.” You shook your head, glaring at him briefly before returning your attention to your reflection, ruffling your curls and reaching for your lipstick. 

“I don’t understand why you make such a big deal about it. You always do this. No matter who it is that I go out with, you always try to feed me with negativity.”

“I do it because I care about you. I want you to have the best.” He defended himself, only bringing another sigh out of you as you removed the lid of your lipstick and started applying it to your lips.

You put all of your concentration into the simple task, remaining quiet for a few seconds. When you were done, you rubbed your lips together to even the color out and put the lid back on, turning to look at your best friend.

“And what is that? The best?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. “If you got to decide who was good enough for me, I would end up alone until the day I die and I don’t want that. I want to settle down, preferably before I’m thirty, and I really like this guy so for once, please keep out of my business and let me live my life in peace.”

At that, he didn’t answer, only swallowing and nodding his head, pushing off the doorframe and walking away from you. 

You stood still in the bathroom, listening to his footsteps getting further and further away and a few seconds later hearing the front door opening and slamming shut.

You let out a sigh, rubbing your forehead lightly, but tried your best to shake the entire argument off and restore your positivity, heading into your bedroom to get dressed for your date.

You did, to some extent, understand John’s worries in this case. 

The guy you were going out on a date with, Daniel, had gone with the two of you to school and had been the biggest pigs of all form the age of fourteen and forward. 

But you were all twenty-six now. He had been to war, seen things no man should have to see and matured.

Sure, you had yet to find out if he had truly changed, as you had only picked your contact back up a month ago, but he seemed better and you liked him. 

And even if John’s reaction was justified by this guy’s behavior during your youth, it wasn’t justified any of the other times you had gone out on dates and he had sabotaged it, so his protectiveness did nothing but annoy you.

Half an hour after John had stormed out, Daniel had picked you up and taken you to the Garrison where you would spend some time and have some drinks.

You had a nice time, shared a lot of stories and had a lot of laughs. You noticed John coming into the Garrison about an hour into your date, alongside his brothers.

Unlike any other time, he had sat down at a table out in the pub rather than in the backroom, but so far, he had done what you had asked of him and left you alone, which was more than you could say about the previous dates you had been on.

You stayed at the Garrison for a total of two hours, before the drinks were really starting to get to you and you were getting too warm, and you decided to leave and go back to his house to see where the night took you.

While you hadn’t paid John any mind the entire evening, he had been staring at you the entire night, sulking to himself and drinking his anger away while his brother’s chatted.

His eyes automatically hardened as he watched the two of you get out of your seats, Daniel starting to help you into your coat.

“I hate him.” He spoke to no one in particular before he could stop himself, and his brother’s instantly stopped talking, turning to look at him.

“No.” Tommy disagreed, leaning forward to pour some more whiskey into his glass, raising an eyebrow at his younger brother and smiling smugly at him. “What you’re feeling is jealousy, not hatred. There’s a difference.”

John’s eyes never left you, so he didn’t even see the look his brothers were giving him, only snorting at Tommy’s words. “Don’t feel any different.” He seethed, taking a drag of his cigar in a desperate attempt to calm the anger raging on inside of him.

But it did nothing.

“If you’re not going to stop doing that you might as well let her go, brother.” Arthur joined in, his hands clasped over his stomach where he sat.

John finally turned his eyes away from you at that, instead turning to look at his oldest brother with a sour look. “Doing what?”

Arthur smiled, a smile that was both teasing and comforting. “Pining and doing shit about it.” He answered, and John turned his eyes back to you, only to find you were now walking right by their table, heading for the door.

And as there was only one thing on a man’s mind when bringing his date out of a pub before the clock had even struck midnight, John wasted no time in abandoning his cigar and glass of whiskey, standing up.

“Where are you going?” Tommy asked, but John barely even heard him, already out the door and calling your name.

“(Y/N)!”

Your head turned around from where you were tucked away under Daniel’s arm, and your face instantly pulled into one of annoyance at the sight of his face. “John, please. This has got to stop.” You said as you came to a halt, Daniel with you.

“I know, I know,” John answered as he reached the two of you, stopping in front of you and ignoring Daniel who was looking at him with an unreadable expression. “Just please, hear me out. A minute of your time, that’s all I ask. I need to tell you the truth.”

You sighed, but nodded your head, turning to Daniel. “I’m sorry, Daniel.”

“That’s alright, (Y/N). I’ll meet you by the car, yeah?”

“Sure.” You agreed, smiling.

Daniel turned to look at John, giving him a forced smile. “John. Good to see you.” He told him, but when John only glared at him, he turned back to you, pressed a light kiss to your cheek and walked away from you.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned back to John, crossing your arms over your chest and cutting right to the chase. “The truth? About what?”

John swallowed, fluttering his eyes nervously and taking a deep breath before answering. “About me loving you.”

His words caused your eyebrows to furrow together in confusion. “John, I love you too, you know that.” You answered, causing him to let out an impatient sigh and hurriedly reaching out to grab your hands in his.

“I don’t mean it as your best friend.” He shook his head. “I mean that I’m in love with you. I know I’m not perfect. I’m selfish, occasionally self-destructive and possessive. I’m a disappointment and I rarely know what I want or think before I act. But I promise you, if you would give me a chance, I would fight until every bone in my body is broken to make you happy. My heart is so full of you, I can hardly call it my own anymore and I can’t bear the thought of you building a life with someone else.”

His little proclamation of love had your eyes growing wide with shock. 

You knew there had always been something more than friendship between the two of you, but after waiting for him to come around for so long and coming out empty-handed, you had completely lost hope that it would actually ever happen.

“I’m sorry if this is going to ruin our friendship but please… don’t leave with him.” He squeezed your hands, giving you a pleading look.

You had to take a deep breath to slow down your beating heart but didn’t even have to give it a second of thought before nodding your head and breathing out. “Okay.”

“I know you have no obligation to take my feelings into consideration after how I’ve treated you and that I have no right to tell you what you do with your life, but- What?“ John cut himself short, finally registering what you had just said.

“Okay.” You repeated, smiling and squeezing his hands back. “I won’t leave with him.”

His eyes had grown slightly wide. He had obviously expected you to put up more of a fight, as he knew how fed up you were with him always sticking his nose in your love life.

“I thought you like him.” He said, his voice much quieter and hesitant now.

You chuckled, your smile pulling all the way to your eyes. “I do.” You confirmed. “But I’m in love with you.”

“You are?”

“I am.” You nodded your head in confirmation, moving your hands out of his to wrap them around his torso, pulling him closer and looking up at him.

“It’s you, John.” You told him. “It’s always been you. I’ve just been waiting for you to get your head out of your ass and make the first move.”

A chuckle left his lips at that, and his hands moved up to cradle your jaw, his thumbs rubbing your skin softly as he brought your forehead to his. “If I would have known I would have made it a long time ago.” He whispered, and you smiled.

“Better late than never, right?” You asked, clasping your hands behind his back and giving him a mischievous grin, pressing your forehead harder against his. “Now push me against the wall and kiss the hell out of me.”

The second those words left your lips, a cocky smirk took over his entire face, his eyes sparkling with a look you had never seen him look at you with before but found yourself loving more than any look you had ever been given before.

“Yes, ma’am.” He answered you in a low tone, his eyes growing slightly darker as he scanned your face for a moment. And then he leaned in and did as you asked, Daniel as good as forgotten.

[quillsareswords]

Clips of a Year

Damian Wayne

In which we explore highlights from a year of a funny relationship between a hero and a teen with a taste for trouble. Both Damian and reader are 17 in this one. (Also an apology for being inactive for so terribly long.)

Prompt List // Masterlist (both in bio)

   You looked as if someone had kicked your puppy and smashed your favorite mug, all in the same instant.

    Damian held very still. Very, very, still. His toothbrush was sill hanging loosely from his lips, comb still in hand.

   What had he said? What did he do? He clicked through every action he’d even considered in the last three minutes that could have possibly triggered such an offended reaction.

   You’d both gotten out of bed. You had shouted that both of you were twenty minutes late. You’d lunged for the shower, he’d gone for his clothes. You’d stumbled out in a rush, still yanking your shirt over your head. He was still fixing with his hair and finishing with brushing his teeth when you’d started scooping armfuls of things into your duffel bag. All he’d done after that was suggest that you leave it all there, as apposed to dragging it back and forth between your apartment and his father’s manor.

   “Why?” Your voice is level, wary. Calculated. As if you aren’t entirely sure you want to hear the answer.

   He arches an eyebrow. Reaches up and takes the toothbrush from his mouth, and spits the foamy remains of his toothpaste into the sink bowl. “Isn’t it bothersome to keep packing that bag back and forth?”

   You loosen at that. Still, you squint suspiciously at him. You dump the last of your belongings into the bag. “No, not really.” You plop down on his king size bed and start yanking your boots on.

   This (crashing at one another’s homes in some sloppy cycle, after patrols and nearby, late night activities) has been going on for the past eleven months. Nearly a year, still, you refuse to leave so much as a sweatshirt at his home. He couldn’t be sure exactly why, as he’d never prodded the subject. Though it did interest him a bit. At this point, he left things of his at your apartment all the time.

   He saw it as an odd form of trust. Comfort, even. It seemed a strange form of intimacy, to leave his possessions in your space. It was the same kind of trust he felt every time he handed his phone to you before bolting after any of his brothers.

   “Damian?”

   He blinked dumbly at you once. “What?”

   You stand at his bedroom door, propping it open with one hand, the other looped around the strap over your shoulder. “I said, are you coming?”

   “Yes,” he finished lacing his boots quickly and met you in at the door. “Of course. No reason for you to get a cab.”

   ~

   The music is loud, drifting up and out of the nonexistent roof of your car, only to be carried off by the far louder sound of the wind billowing your hair around. Either sound is enough to drown your joyous laughter, though. You howl, face half pressed into the leather headrest, and you’re still sitting sideways in the passenger seat.

   He grins straight ahead at the road, suspiciously perfect teeth glimmering in the blurry neon lights.

   The stars above you are muted by light pollution of a small town somewhere in western New Jersey. Parents are glaring your way, young couples are throwing you envious stares, and elders are reminiscing, wishing for that youthful flame burning at your core.

   You’re sitting on top of the world, breathless with incandescent splendor and the rush of speeding down a highway at 95 miles an hour.

   Damian knows this. He knows you’re reveling in the blurry colors and the way they light up his profile, and the incredible and indescribable sense of freedom you feel from the high of this speed. You live for it. And to be sharing it with him? You were so high off the pure happiness, you didn’t have room in your soul to worry about the crash when you came down.

   He’d be lying to say he didn’t share every inch of raging enjoyment you held. He turns away from the road for only a moment, and locks those six frames of time away for later. You’re glowing with pleasure, red, blue, and pink neon lights from the bar you pass throw it into different shades, and the beaming grin splitting your lips apart is something he swears he’ll never forget.

   You hit the county line only a few minutes later, and suddenly, you know exactly what you’ve always wanted out of life.

   ~

   It’s midnight when you find him.

   Your boots are heavy on the gravel of a building’s roof. You don’t know the address, or the building’s purpose, owner, or even a minute of its history. But you’re thankful to it all the same: for offering him a few hours of quiet sanctuary while you stuck your neck out on his behalf.

   You’d never had any particular beef with Bruce. He annoyed you sometimes, but he had always been courteous to you and supported your relationship with his son (to an extent -- you are technically a criminal, in his defense). But you weren’t one to stand by idly when he decided it was necessary to to rip Damian a new one for something you both knew wasn’t his fault.

   You expected a less supportive parent on Damian’s end.

   You slowed your pace a few yards across the roof. You gave him enough time to tell you to leave, to decide if he was alright with your presence at the moment. He didn’t object to it.

   You stopped beside him. He peered up at you. “Did Bruce send you?” he gritted.

   You propped your hands on your hips. “If you think for one second Bruce could make me do anything, you’ve obviously had a clouded image of me in mind for way too long.” You dropped down to sit on the roof beside him, and knocked the rubber heels of your boots against the top of the brick wall, soles facing the nearly empty road beneath you. “Besides,” you breathed, “I don’t think your dad’s gonna be askin’ me any favors after that.”

   He didn’t turn to face you. “After what?” He paused, as if a few pieces had clicked together. “What did you say?”

     You leaned back on your hands, sagging your shoulders to recline yourself enough to stare up at a cloudy Gotham night sky. “Oh, nothing important.”

   He didn’t seem like he wanted details. “What did he say?”

   You rolled her eyes his way. “Not much, actually. Didn’t give him much of a chance, I guess, now that I think about it.”

   He went silent for a little while. For that little while, you busied yourself with searching for stars among all the light pollution and dense clouds.

   Then, “I didn’t kill those men.”

   He doesn’t face you. He hunches his back and stares down at the scarce traffic.

   You stare at the back of his head for a fleeting moment, before you shift your weight and lay a hand on his shoulder. “I know you didn’t,” you state firmly. “The thought never even crossed my mind, to be honest.” You were quick to correct yourself, “At least, not til Bruce brought it up, anyway. Never entertained the idea, though.”

   He didn’t answer right away. But before you turn away again, he turns to face you fully at last, and you can’t miss the shiny wet streaks of tears marking his cheeks. “You might be the only one.”

   You push your self up immediately, and wrap him in a tight embrace. He buries his nose in the crook of your neck, and sets his hand firmly on your shoulder blade to pull you closer. You thread fingers through his hair, and will back angry tears. “We’ll figure it out, Love. Don’t worry about a thing.”

   ~

   “Do you know what time it is?”

   You smile sheepishly at him from the drivers seat of your ‘75 mustang convertible. “Sorry.”

   He lazily tugs the door open and drops into the seat next to you. “This had better be something,” he warns loosely, snapping his seat belt into place.

   You wave your free hand as you pull away from Wayne Manor. “I know how much you hate losing beauty sleep, trust me.” You throw a wry grin his way. “Everybody suffers when Mr. Perfect misses his much needed beauty rest.”

   He rolls his eyes at you, even turns away so you can’t see a smile, but he’s forgotten all the marvelous uses of side mirrors. “Where are we going, (L/N)?”

   You flip the radio on, the warm wind blowing your hair back as you gain velocity going down the long stretch of driveway you’ve always cursed his home for. Lord, the number of times you’d had to walk up the beast-

  “Don’t you worry about, Wayne. Just know that you’ll love it.” You slide on your favorite pair of sunglasses with one hand. “In fact, why don’t you get that pillow out of the back seat and doze for a bit, if you’re that tired.”

   “Doze? How long far are we going-?”  He looks behind the seat to find this mysterious pillow. Suddenly, he’s giving you the look. The one that closely resembles a tired thirty-something aunt and asks the gods why on Earth he had to be the one to fall for you. “(Y/N)?”

   You bite back a smile. Don’t turn away from the road. “Yes, Love?”

    “Why is my dog in the backseat of your car, with my suitcase?”

    “Oh, is he?” you spin around dramatically to see. “Wha-?” You grin, turn back to the road, then to the dog again, as if you’re in some cheesy sitcom and this is the result of a prank you’d entirely predicted. “Titus! What are you doing in my backseat? And is that your daddy’s suitcase?”

   Damian smacks you lightly on the arm as he leans all the way back into his seat, white pillow in the other hand. “Bruce is expecting me at the Enterprise tomorrow, you know. And what about patrol?” He fixes the pillow against the door. “And aren’t you supposed to be at your friend’s race Monday evening?”

   You shook your head disappointingly. “I am truly offended that you think I’d whisk you off into the sunset-”

   “Sunrise.”

   “-to keep all to myself the first week of summer break.” You grin at him. “I got clearance from your dad, Tim and Dick agreed to split your shifts this week, and the race got cancelled because her garage almost got busted.”

   He shakes his head at you.

   “What?”

   “I swear you’ll be the death of me,” he breathes, just loud enough to hear over the wind.

   You beam at him again as he settles on the pillow. “Then it’ll be a damn good death!”

   ~

   Saturday mornings have always been a favorite of yours. Especially when they were spent laying in bed with your favorite person.

   “Would you rather: kiss a grizzly bear or a cockroach?”

   He wrinkles his nose in distaste. “Neither, I’d rather avoid both altogether.” This earns a laugh.

   You’re laying in your queen sized bed together, strips of mid-morning sunlight streaming in through the open window at the foot of your bed, beneath a comforter and Damian’s arm, and not specifically in that order. He isn’t wearing a shirt, you aren’t wearing pants, so you’ve agreed you’re even and both immune to any quips about being lazy or having manners.

   He didn’t understand why you had wanted your bed backwards, so the footboard was against the wall and the headboard faced the opposing wall, but now, with a warm crisp fall breeze swirling over you both and around the room, bathed in sunlight, he saw your reasoning with perfect clarity.

   “Alright, alright, my turn.” He paused to think up your two options. “Would you rather: have learned to paint, or learned to cook?”

   You didn’t hesitate for a moment. “Cook.” You smiled warmly at him. “I wouldn’t trade your little lessons for the world.” You looked past him, the the easel set up in the far corner of your bedroom.

   They weren’t really lessons, just little things he tells you while he works. He’s laughed before about needed another easel so you could paint with him, but you always replied that you liked sketching more.

   His lips pulled at the edges, and a certain warmth filled him that he could only ever seem to find with you.

   Yes, Saturday mornings were the best mornings.

   ~

   “I don’t know if I like this,” you hummed absently, more to yourself than to him.

   He peered down at your sketchpad from her perch on his stool. He hums. “Try a sharper profile,” he suggests.

    You take your eraser to the paper, and he turns again to the blank canvas in front of him. He stares at it blankly for a few minutes more, before he gives up and looks back down at you, sprawled across your comforter on the floor beside his easel. “Let me see your book.”

    You finish the line you were working at, then hand the whole thing up to him. Your gaze remains on him, while he flips through your most recent off-white and graphite works.

   He seems to find one he likes. He turns the paper  for you to see. “May i use this one?”

   It’s one you had worked at a few days prior, when you had found yourself in the park that afternoon. It depicts a woman and a man, sitting on the same bench, though at opposite ends, yet they share what appears to be a longing gaze. Behind them, leaves fall from the trees framing the scene, and before them, the sidewalk.

   You nodded and offered an encouraging smile. “Mhmm. Go ahead and tear it out, if you want.”

   He does, and clips it to the top corner of the canvas. “Thank you.”

   It’s getting late when you find him again, still sitting up on that stool you’d found for three dollars at a flea market last summer.

   You all but draped yourself over his shoulders from behind, minding the painting pallet balanced on one hand, and the shiny blotch of yellow on his shirt. “How’s it coming along?” You let your eyes roam over the beautiful swirl of colors.

   “I should be asking you that,” he replies. You watch in subdued wonder as he takes yellows and dull oranges to create beautiful leaves.

   You remember the first sketchbook of his you’d seen. It was far back when you were first growing to trust each other. You’d come up to him from behind, without any warning. You’d seen the gory, angry, hand-drawn pictures. To most, they’d, have warded them off. Sure, they were a bit disturbing, but you’d seen worse. The crowd you ran with back then wasn’t any better than a handful of murderous street rats without a care in the world or any regard for anyone else: so you didn’t think much of it, at the time.

   But now, you get to look at this beautiful image he’s had a huge part in creating. One of vibrant color and peace and sunnier outlook on things. You get to see it firsthand. You get to see him firsthand, and you find yourself bursting with pride, because look at how far he’s come. How far you’ve both come.

   You smile tenderly at the artwork as he lowers his paintbrush to observe it himself. “It’s possibly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Dearest.”

[romansleftshoulderpad]

Chapter Three - Origins

Heaven’s Grief

Words: 1,488

Ship: None

Warnings: Snakes eggs, mentions of a dead rabbit, manipulative deceit, vomit is mentioned but no one throws up, broken glass, Remus is mentioned, body mutation.

Tags: @fandermom @patchworkofstars @poisonedapples @hogwarts-my-love @opaque-puppet @omni-hamiltrash @darling-elm @jynxlovesluck@madly-handsome@strickenwithclairvoyance@limitededitionsanderssidesblog@ab-artist@sometimeswritingsometimesdying @ultimate-queen-of-fandoms2 @because-were-fam-ily @gattonero17 @analogical-mess @joaniejustwokeup @whycantihavemorethan32characters 

---

A week had passed since the incident. Patton and Logan tried to go back to their normal routines; Roman and Virgil were far less fortunate. However, as a junior in high school, whatever magic powers and evil smoke men life throws at you, tests are more important.

“Are you okay?” Logan asked. “You’re shaking your leg, like, kind of a lot.”

“So are you, Poindexter,” Virgil bit back, gnawing on the skin of his thumb until it was raw with a noticeable chunk missing. “But you don’t see me getting on your ass about it.”

“Virgil,” Logan said softly. “You’ve been a lot more anxious since it happened. And if anyone is going to pick up on that, it’s me.”

“There’s a lot of differences between G.A.D and getting possessed by an evil cloud of smoke that makes you turn purple!”

Logan let out a deep breath, trying to stop himself from getting angry. He had to remember that Virgil had been through a lot lately and he was only trying to get his emotions out. Unfortunately, he was also being a massive dick.

“Students! Tests are out!” the teacher said. “Please be quiet for the duration of the period!”

Logan took one last look at Virgil, trying to reach out to him and let him know that everything would be okay. When Virgil didn’t even glance towards him, he went back to his paper with a defeated sigh. He had to stop thinking about Virgil and monsters and caves. For the next thirty minutes, all that mattered was the articles of the United States constitution.

Patton somehow couldn’t shake the sight of the rabbit from his mind. He had seen so many crazy things and barely spoken to anyone else that was there that night in a week. But the rabbit was what bothered him. He tugged on his binder as he went upstairs to class, trying to ignore how the fabric at the bottom rolled up and made it feel even tighter against his ribs. If he could survive one more class then he could hide in the bathroom during lunch and take it off for five minutes. Or ten. Or maybe the whole hour. I want to go home, he thought to himself as he kept walking.

His phone buzzed and he quickly stepped out of the flow of foot traffic to check it. It was a text from an unknown number.

“Meet me outside the chorus room during lunch. Urgent.”

Before Patton could even think of a response to type out, the warning bell rang and he found himself quickly shoving his phone back into his pocket and power walking to chemistry.

His lab partner had been absent that day, and he couldn’t tell if that was a blessing or a curse. On one hand, it was a lot easier to get work done with no one to distract you or ruin your work; on the other hand, he had nothing to distract him from the anxiety of waiting for lunch to come so he could find out who texted him. Was it Virgil? What would Virgil need him for? His heart began to race, slightly panicked but mostly hopeful. Was he officially part of their group?

He turned on the Bunsen burner and tried to burn those thoughts in the gas and fire. He had a job to do. He’d worry about the group later.

Roman packed up his music in a rush, trying not to bend anything as he slipped papers back into plastic folders but also not wanting to be late. If being friends with Logan had taught him anything, it’s not to be late to meetings. He threw his bag over his shoulder and escaped the upstream flow towards the cafeteria. He dogged bodies before falling against the chorus room’s brick walls. A breeze ruffled through his curly brown hair. He let out a calming sigh. It finally felt like fall- or at least as close to Fall as Florida ever got.

“Roman,” Patton said, his voice stuck somewhere between excitement and confusion. “Did you text me?”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot you don’t have me in your contacts,” he said with a laugh. “Sorry.”

“What did you want to see me for?”

Roman patted the ground next to him, inviting Patton to sit while he dug through his bag. Roman has always been the tallest of the group but his height was significantly more noticeable next to Patton. He pulled a jar out of his bag, it held an egg with yellow spots that gave off a subtle glow.

“No more dead animals,” Patton pleaded.

“Relax, this egg is empty,” he explained, turning to show Patton where it had broken open. “I saw the baby snake this morning,” he lied, “and it’s very much alive.”

“O...kay. But what does this have to do with me?”

“Well, you were with us that night. What if this is the next spirit? Don’t you want to be part of this too?”

Patton panicked. Of course, he wanted to be part of their group, but what did that even mean anymore? Did he have a choice over whether this spirit- Monster- Thing picked him or not? What would happen if it did?!

“Did Remus have anything to do with this?” Patton asked.

Roman let out a sigh, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Yeeaaah.”

“And you trust him?”

“I don’t want to! But I can’t help but feel like he’s right about this! Ever since he took over, I can’t help but feel like I’m supposed to be connected to you and to this!”

“Roman, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Truthfully? Neither do I,” he confessed. “But please-“ He put the jar in Patton’s hands- “just try, okay? We just need to see what happens.” Roman got up and walked away, leaving Patton completely alone with the jar.

He stuffed the jar into his bag, hoping to forget about it for a few hours. No matter what he tried, he couldn’t do it. The jar was always on his mind through every test, every lecture, and every homework assignment.

Eventually, he had no choice but to face it head-on. He took the jar out of his bag and placed it on his desk, staring at it intently. “What do you want from me?!” he yelled at it. The jar did not answer, as it is a jar.

“What? You- You’re here to torment me?! Because Roman and Virgil are- they’re- UGH!” He slammed his head into the desk and looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight and he could feel himself losing his mind to sleep deprivation.

Tormented by your own mind. It’s a funny thing, isn’t it? This deeply human ability to split oneself in two?

Patton groaned. “I don’t need this. I don’t need to suffer like Virgil and Roman are. I’m- I’m fine just hanging out with Emile. I only need Emile.”

Oh, of course, you’re fine. You got a taste of belonging. You don’t need anymore. You’re perfectly fine with being alone when Emile leaves you.

Tears pricked at Patton’s eyes. “You’re not real.”

Oh that’s where you’re wrong, young one. I’m as real as the earth and sky. I’m as real as flesh and blood. As real as the monster under your bed.

“Get out of my head!” Patton yelled, knocking the jar to the ground. It shattered and he jumped, his heart pounding in his chest as yellow smoke grew from the remains. The smoke took on the shape of a man with his left arm extended towards Patton and a snake coiled up in his hand. The snake curiously slithered out of his hand, though always connected from the end of its tail to the tip of the man’s fingers, and wrapped itself around Patton’s neck.

“Get out of your head?” The snake asked with a laugh.

“First,” the man of smoke continued, “I’d have to get in.”

The snake forced Patton’s mouth open and slithered inside as the rest of the smoke quickly followed, muting the boy’s pained screams and sobs. When all the smoke had cleared Patton found himself coughing and crying with his stomach twisting in knots. He ran to the bathroom half afraid of throwing up and half hoping that if he did vomit he’d be back to normal as if nothing happened. Instead, he splashed water on his face to cool himself down. He looked up at the mirror and hardly recognized his reflection. Water dripped from his face and his hair. He gripped the counter, holding on as if it were the only thing keeping him from falling away into a different universe as he saw himself with one eye hazel and human and the other yellow and monstrous. He frantically grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and made a call that would change his life.

[shirewalker]

Be My Valentine - A Nikolina Fic

Nikolina Appreciation Week 2020 ♛ [Day 1: Valentine’s Day]

Summary: Alina finds her old friend, and secret crush, Nikolai at a romantic getaway she should have taken with her ex. Nikolai wastes no time in making her feel better. And reawakening certain... feelings.

Pairing: Alina/Nikolai

One-shot

Rating: Teen

Also on AO3

Be My Valentine

Well, this was officially the worst Valentine’s Day in all of the recorded history. At least, as far as Alina was concerned.

She stabbed the heart shaped waffle and fought back yet another onslaught of tears, wondering why the hell she’d still come to this place when the reason to come in the first place was no more.

“Bastard!” She hissed at no one, remembering with some satisfaction the look of shock in Mal’s face when she’d thrown the dirty mop water at his face just a few hours before coming here. “Served him right.”

“Whoever it was, to earn that look on your face…” A voice spoke from above, followed by a whistle, both of which Alina recognized in a blink.

She looked up, mouth parted in a wide O.

A smile. One she knew oh so well. “I know I wouldn’t want to be the object of your anger, sunshine.”

“Nikolai…!” She gasped. The next moment her chair was on the floor and her arms were winding tight around his neck. Nikolai. Her best friend. Her secret crush. Well… former. Former best friend. Former secret crush. Who knew what he thought of her now?

Scolding herself for her hasty reaction, Alina let him go and awkwardly picked up her chair. She looked everywhere but Nikolai, not wanting to see the look on his face. Sure, he’d smiled. But…

“Do I have a huge, disgusting pimple on my face?” He asked, humour lacing his words.

She frowned and shook her head, “What? No!”

“Then why are you so diligent in not looking at me, sunshine?” His voice softened, “I missed you.”

She pressed her eyes shut and half-shrugged, half-nodded, “I missed you too, Nikolai.”

He touched her cheek briefly, forcing her to finally open her eyes and face the music. Saints, his eyes were still that shocking storm of green and caramels. Hazel wasn’t enough to describe them. No. They were magnificent and calling them just hazel was downright rude.

And that smile… It still took her breath away. “So,” He started, a corner of his mouth tilting up, “How have you been? And why are you in this romantic getaway but all alone?”

Alina slumped into her chair with a sigh, “Because I wasn’t going to waste a perfectly good trip. One I paid in full.”

Nikolai sat in front of her. He laced his fingers under his chin and arched an inquiring eyebrow, “And why would it be wasted…?”

She swallowed down the bile and anger that bubbled up with that question. Then, remembering she was in the restaurant of the inn – a public place – she hissed, “I wanted to have a romantic Valentine’s getaway with Mal, so I got this to surprise him. Funny thing, he had a surprise for me too. And not a good one.” She stabbed her waffle again and wished for blini all of a sudden. “Imagine my utter surprise and disgust when I go to his workplace to show him the tickets and find his face stuffed between his co-worker’s legs. Oh, and she was calling him all sorts of dirty names and asking him to do all those things he did so well. So, not a one-time thing. Not that there would be any reasonable explanation for him to have his face between her legs!” The waffle flew out of her plate, startling Alina back into reality.

She looked up to Nikolai, expecting anything but the mix of revolt, anger and pity in his eyes. No, not pity. More like… Like he wished he could have spared her this.

Nikolai picked up the ruined waffle and waved in a waiter. He ordered them a plate of blini and hot chocolate. Then he looked back at Alina and sighed, his jaw tense. “I’m so sorry, Alina. No one deserves that, especially you.” He grabbed a napkin and started to press it into shapes, “I knew he wasn’t worthy of you, always so angry at your spending time with friends… Always so… So possessive of your decisions. But you loved him. And you were so happy to find him again after so long.” He sighed and curled and uncurled his fists, “But I never expected him to hurt you like this. Saints… I want to cave his face in.”

Alina blinked at the casual way he’d uttered such a violent suggestion. But she found she didn’t mind the idea. Not at all.

She drank some water and flashed a watery smile, “I know. I guess I was… Blind.” She shook her head. She certainly had been blind. And scared. Oh, what a coward. Instead of acting up on her budding feelings for Nikolai, she’d ran back into Mal’s arms just because he’d said he’d always loved her. Hah! What a lie. And how easily she’d fallen into it.

“Don’t blame yourself, sunshine. You’d always wondered what could have been.” He paused while their food was settled, only speaking again when the waiter was gone. “So, I take it you came here out of anger. Not wanting to throw away the cash?”

“I hoped I could forget all about it. About him, about the time I wasted with him…” She took a bite out of her blini and groaned, “But this place is stuffed with happy couples. It’s a bit hard to pretend otherwise. I can’t even…” She held her tongue, face growing hot with embarrassment.

But Nikolai wasn’t about to let it go, “Can’t what?”

She mumbled her reply into her mug.

Nikolai leaned in, hazel eyes shining with mirth, “Say that again?”

There was no point in denying it. He knew she’d said something juicy and wasn’t going to let go. She sighed and uttered the words, “Can’t even hook up to get back at him.”

Nikolai chuckled, “Because… couples?”

“Yes.”

“Well, would it be your only reason for hooking up with someone?” He asked, as casual as asking about the weather.

Alina shrugged, “Well, it was my first reason. But I guess I want to feel… Free again. Put it behind me. Feel good. He wasn’t… Well, let’s say that co-worker was definitely playing his ego.”

Nikolai snorted. He needed thirty seconds before composing himself and flashing the most mischievous grin he had, “Oh sunshine. Don’t ever change.”

--

They spent the next few hours catching up, a mix of regret and relief flooding Alina’s mind as she realised she’d missed Nikolai far more than she had thought. How had they drifted apart so easily?

Had she been so in love with the idea of being with Mal that she’d forgotten herself?

“Mum hates it, of course.” Nikolai chuckled, his hazel eyes like embers in the firelight, “She thinks I’m a fool for avoiding those balls. As if attending parties will help me become the heir she needs.” He shook his head and put away an empty glass.

“She seems to be under the impression you’re royalty, huh?” Alina joked, watching the way Nikolai’s lips stretched onto a grin he’d always reserved only for her. Saints, it sent her stomach into a series of backflips.

“You know her. So, what about you? How’s the florist shop going?”

She bit her lip and shrugged, “Not going.”

In an instant, Nikolai’s good humour slipped away, “What do you mean? I thought the shop was as good as yours.”

“The bank didn’t approve the credit and the seller got a better offer.”

Nikolai was silent for a long moment. Then, “And I wasn’t there…” It was more of a mumble to himself, she was sure of it, but she had still heard it.

“It’s fine. There’ll be another chance.” She said, trying to dispel that look of guilt that clouded Nikolai’s eyes.

“But you loved that place. I shouldn’t have been a gentleman. I should have insisted of helping you get it.”

“Then it wouldn’t be my hard won prize.” She countered, just like she had so many times before.

Nikolai chuckled, “I know. That’s why I always respected your decision. Still…”

“Don’t worry, Nikolai. It’s not like I don’t work with flowers. I just do it from my home.” A website, personalized orders and a living room always looking like a greenhouse. Well, considering Mal was out of the picture now, Alina could easily shift things around and have more space for her work.

“You shouldn’t.” He said. Then, in a flash, he was up, and offered a hand, “How about we keep business discussions to another time?”

She eyed the hand with curiosity, “Sure. What does that have to do with your hand hanging in front of my face?”

His wink overflowed with mischief, “They’re playing music over there, come on. Let’s dance.”

Dancing? With Nikolai? A sure way to fall back into that crush of hers. It was a terrible idea. Yet Alina’s hand still found its way to his own hand, and she found herself being led to a small dance floor, where Nikolai didn’t waste a second to sweep her off her feet.

Maybe there was still hope for Valentine’s Day.

--

“Well, that was exciting.” Nikolai fake-whispered as he led her to her room. “We should do it again tomorrow.”

Alina bit her lip, keeping a bubble of laughter out of the darkened corridor, “We covered the entry with snow, Nikolai! We can’t do it again without risking getting kicked out.”

“But making snow angels at midnight is so fun!”

“If you’re the one covering the other person with snow.” She bit back, though her bite was harmless as she couldn’t keep a grin off her face.

“I had to chill you a bit, you were looking so flushed I worried for your health!”

And just on cue, Alina’s blush turned ten shades darker. “Shut up.” She hissed, hoping he didn’t notice how red her face was.

But Nikolai wouldn’t be Nikolai if his keen eye didn’t catch it.

He braced a hand on the door, right next to her head and leaned in until their noses almost touched, “Why? Am I… Closing in on something?”

His closeness was too much. It made her remember all sorts of feelings she had and didn’t act on. It made her heart skip several beats only to then race to catch them. It made her stomach flutter like a million butterflies had burst to life in there. It made her wonder if he’d follow her through the door threshold.

She scoffed, or tried to, and looked away, “Like what?”

A corner of his lips curled up, “Like how badly I want to kiss you.”

What?

Alina gaped like a fish at him, blinking fast and wondering if pinching herself would be too much at this moment. “Did you…?” She rasped, her heart beating faster than it could beat. It wasn’t natural to beat this fast. Surely she was going to faint any moment now.

Nikolai let out a breathy chuckle, his hot breath teasing her further into cardiac arrest. “I did, sunshine.” He reached up with his other hand to play with a lock of her hair, “I have been dying to kiss you for so long, I no longer remember when it started. I do remember when I realised it was too late to make any move, though…” He added with a softer, sadder tone. “He was back and you needed to know.”

Just like that, Alina’s stomach fell flat on the floor. She looked down, her violent blush freezing in a second. “You really know how to woo a girl, huh?”

“I’m just being honest, sunshine. I remember when you dumped a freshly made pie on my head after you found out who I really was. Never again.” He chuckled, “Plus, I love that look on your face when I give you nothing but honesty. Makes me want to… do things.”

And there she went again. Stomach fluttering, heart going wild, cheeks blazing.

“Are you stalling?”

He shook his head, the tip of his nose brushing hers for one aching second, “Just making sure I read the signs right.”

“Oh?” She uttered, realising she had a hand grasping the lapel of his coat, “What signs?”

He hummed and leaned down to brush a kiss on her throat, right where her heart was beating so loud, “That you are thinking of me and me alone. That you’re no longer looking for ways to get over… him.” He let out that last word with such venom and offense on her behalf, Alina found herself actually turned on.

“I… I really…” she cleared her throat and pulled him closer, “My head is full of you, Nikolai.” She winced, “That came out wrong…”

His laugher startled her for a moment, before his mouth was kissing her neck again, “Sunshine, you are… brilliant.”

She started to moan, the sound far too loud for a dark corridor in the middle of the night, “Nikolai… Please…”

His hum reverberated throughout her body, igniting her blood in a flash, “I want to take my time with you, Alina. My sunshine…” He looked up, pure adoration and longing in his eyes, “I want to enjoy every second we get together. All of it.”

“Me too.” She said in a breathy voice.

Nikolai leaned in and smiled against her neck, proceeding to slowly kiss every bit of skin he could kiss. He made a slow trek up her neck, along her jaw and down the other side of her neck, earning sweet moans out of Alina’s mouth to the point she was close to begging for his lips on hers.

The breaking point was so close, Alina’s legs were ready to give out on her.

And that’s when Nikolai cupped her face between his hands and offered her the most beautiful smile he had to offer her, “Saints, sunshine… I love you so much. Being apart was… too much. Too much…” And then… at last…

He kissed her.

And it was…

It was…

Far better than anything she’d ever dreamed of.

It was a kiss with magic. It was so…! The kind of kiss she was sure was what people meant with true love’s kiss in fairy tales. It made her fly. It made her glow. It made her so happy…!

And then, it was over far too soon. Despite the fact that her lips were swollen from kissing so hard. Despite the fact that her lungs had been burning for air. Despite the fact that she now knew every detail of Nikolai’s lips.

It was too short.

“Wait…” She started, only to be stopped by a quick peck on the lips.

“Tomorrow, sunshine. I… Trust me, I too want to kiss you until I can’t breathe, but… I want to take our time. And, well… Tomorrow…” He chuckled, “Or I suppose today in a few hours… We can continue this, yes?”

“I guess…” She let out, still holding onto his coat.

“Well,” Nikolai started, opening the door to her room with a drunk smile on his face, “Happy Valentine’s Day, sunshine. I look forward to making it a memorable one…” Then he kissed her again and was off to his room, leaving Alina behind and fashioning the stupidest grin on her face.

“Me too…” She let out with a sigh, slipping into her room with a thousand ideas of things to do with Nikolai.

This Valentine’s Day was officially the best in recorded history. And it was only beginning.

[tysonrunningfox]

Ripped: Part 25

Yeah, I said mega-long chapter and then realized I should split it and write another Hiccup POV chapter for in between so now there’s this and after this there will be 4 more chapters rather than 2.  I hope this is decent news, because it is news that makes me very tired, but I am close nonetheless.  

Ao3

“Does alcohol technically have an expiration date?”  Tuffnut asks from the top of a rickety step stool as he clears out the top shelf behind the bar.

“Well if these guys are too chicken to try it, I volunteer,” Snotlout takes the plastic bag of while pills out of his pocket, glaring when Astrid snatches it from hands. “Hey!”

She squints at the pills, “didn’t you just take one of these?”

“Yeah, and it still hurts, since I got shot and all—”

“I’m sure your doctor told you how often to take these,” she doesn’t add the obvious addendum of ‘and they definitely didn’t say every half hour’.

“They aren’t from the doctor,” Snotlout takes the generously poured highball glass Tuffnut gives him, “Eretson grabbed them from evidence—”

“So, they are illegal drugs,” Fishlegs grumbles, too overwhelmed to be truly grumpy and Astrid takes the glass from Snotlout’s hand before he can assess its freshness.

“They were illegal before the police confiscated them,” he narrows his eyes at Astrid, “and like Astrid here, Eretson doesn’t want me to have any fun, because he got me the confiscated drugs without fentanyl.”

“Like Eretson, I keep trying to save your life for some reason.  I’ll be right back,” she stands up, glass of scotch in hand, glancing apologetically at Fishlegs as she follows Tuffnut back into the small room behind the bar with a ‘staff only’ sign on the door.  “Come on, Tuff.”

“Astrid!”  Tuffnut whisper yells, planting his hands on her shoulders, “just the woman I was hoping to trade pants with.”

She blinks and looks at the glass in her hand before raising it to her lips and taking two healthy gulps.  It’s smooth and complex and meant to be savored, like the morning she wishes she were having, but she’s at a bar with a pair of idiots and her traumatized boss instead of alone with Hiccup in bed, so she drains the glass quickly like the taste is something to be avoided and wipes her mouth on her sleeve.

Well, Hiccup’s sleeve, from his borrowed jacket, and her heart throbs unevenly, cramped by everything she’s bottling up to function right now.

“What’s the verdict?” Tuffnut narrows his eyes, “that stuff was allegedly thirty-six years old and the bottle was dusty, so I don’t know how much I trust the label.”

“Smooth,” she clears her throat, setting the empty glass down and frowning at Tuff, “what time is it?”

“Nine twenty-six, why?”  He takes one hand off of her shoulder to check his watch.  She almost asks am or pm, but the deserted bar answers that for her.

“Already a long day,” she shakes her head and exhales before re-committing to the scrap of logic she’s clinging to and shoving Tuffnut hard enough to stumble against an old, half-scrubbed copper still in the corner.

“Hey!”

“Stop giving away expensive alcohol, you need money!  And especially stop giving it to the guy full of painkillers!  I don’t need another murder investigation in my life,” she shoves him one more time when he tries to placate her, but it doesn’t affect his footing, “and don’t ask people to trade pants with you.  It’s off-putting.”

“Ok, but they’re technically my pants,” Tuffnut lowers his voice and glances at the only occupied table, “as in my property, and Snotlout is a cop, so technically I think he could force you to trade pants with me.”

“He’s a suspended cop,” Astrid recognizes a whirlpool of Tuff-logic that won’t release her until she engages it and wishes she hadn’t been so adamant about stopping the free expensive alcohol just now, “why do you want my pants?”

“My pants,” he corrects, “that I let you borrow, like the gentleman that I am, with no regard for my own pantsless-ness, expecting nothing but the pants themselves in return.”

“I’ll get you your pants back, I’m sorry if I’m a bit behind on laundry,” she scoffs, “I’ve been distracted in case you haven’t noticed.”

“No, no, no,” he shakes his head, eyes wide, “don’t wash the magic out, just trade me now—”

“Ok, I really don’t have the bandwidth to disprove magic pants to you right now—”

“Nothing to disprove, you borrowed my pants, you had sex with Hiccup with my pants, they’re magic sex pants and I need them.”

“I mean I took them off,” she argues for the sake of arguing, cheeks flushing even over the feeling of dread that Hiccup’s name invokes, “and how’d you know about…last night, anyway?”

“Hiccup came by this morning, you know how he is all creepy and awkward, lurking in alleys at odd hours,” he shrugs, “and the magic sex-adjacent pants are just going to have to do.  I don’t know how long Mr. Moustache is going to be here.”

“Mr.—Fishlegs?”

“That thing’s glorious,” Tuffnut rubs his upper lip, “do you think if I kissed him hard enough it’d rub off on me?”

“I…” A few dozen non-answers and unanswerable questions float through her head until she takes a step back, tucking her hair behind her ear, “I’m going to keep your pants for now, Tuff.”

“The ones I’m wearing will make your butt look better,” he tries one last tactic, “my butt?  Awful, but yours—”

“I don’t care,” she snaps, “in case you didn’t read the mood out there, Hiccup is in jail, he’s being framed—I—”

“That would make you testy,” Tuff pats her on the shoulder, “I had not, in fact, read the mood.  You need the lucky pants more than I do, clearly.”

“We don’t share lucky pants, Tuff.”  She sighs, shoving the panic back down and forcing her voice steady.  

The bell on the front door jingles and she jumps, reflexively glancing around the small room for something she could use as a weapon.  The glass she was just drinking out of is too light and the still is too awkward, and her fingernails bite into the heels of her hands as she leans her head through the doorway.  

“What are you doing here?”  Eretson asks Snotlout, barely pausing to set Astrid’s phone on the bar.

“How’d you get this?” She picks it up, frowning at the battery and the banner of notifications fighting for her attention.

“Getting my new friend Fishface a free drink,” Snotlout explains, kicking a foot onto the bar table like falling back wouldn’t literally kill him.

“Fishlegs,” he corrects in a small voice.

“I thought you were getting somewhere safe,” Eretson points at the back door, “the third murder site is less than a block away.”

“We’re just leaving,” Astrid’s mad at herself for not making that connection.  Usually, stress helps her stay organized, but right now she doesn’t know if she’s ever felt more scattered.  Maybe the scotch for breakfast wasn’t a great idea.  “Where’d you get my phone?”  She sees a missed text from Hiccup and her throat tightens in an anxious, grating way that makes her feel like if she doesn’t keep talking, she’ll lose the ability.  “And why are you here?  Where’s Hiccup?  Why aren’t you at the station with him?”

“Does alcohol have an expiration date?”  Tuffnut joins the conversation, leaning his forearm on Astrid’s shoulder and yelping when she grabs it and twists it behind his back.  “Ouch!  I thought we were asking him questions—”

“Questions about Hiccup,” she drops his arm and presses her fingers to her temple, pacing back and forth and waiting for Eretson to say something that makes sense because she doesn’t think anyone else is going to do her the courtesy.

“She has a point though, why are you slacking off at some bar instead of dealing with things at the station, like you said you would?”  Snotlout’s expression is nervous even as his tone falls short and Eretson sighs, sitting in Astrid’s recently vacated chair and folding his hands on the table.

“Your phone was in evidence,” he says in a modulated, self-pacing tone, like he’s knowingly embarking on the first mile of a marathon without training and Astrid forces her knees stiff.  “There have been some changes to the case.”

“What’d you fuck up now?”  Snotlout asks and Fishlegs looks cautiously at Eretson, weighing how much new information he can take in.

The answer appears to be ‘none’ and Astrid almost mentally agrees with him.  She’s almost full, almost done, almost overwhelmed to the point of excusing herself even partially from the situation, but no.  If she’d done that at any point along the way, she might not be in this mess, but then she wouldn’t have done what she’s always done.  What she’s always wanted to do, what dragged her into research and a midnight tour she had no business being on.

She’s going to get the facts and get to the bottom of this.

“What changes?”

Eretson enters the second mile with more determination than the first, “Grisly has taken over my position on the case—”

“How?”  Snotlout blurts and Astrid claps her hand on his shoulder too hard to keep him from continuing.

“At my recommendation,” Eretson is almost sheepish and he swallows hard.

“And what possessed you to recommend that?”  Astrid asks, refusing to accept how wrongly she might have judged him.  There’s no point to that now, not as everything feels like it’s finally picking up speed towards something.

Good or bad depends on what Eretson says next.

“When I got to the station, Grisly was making a case to the judge about setting bail and as good as he’s been at ingratiating himself with the police—”

“Idiots,” Snotlout mumbles, shrugging Astrid’s hand off and she realizes how hard she’s been squeezing.

“He has no idea how to talk to a judge.”  Eretson doesn’t look impressed with himself so much as calmer and Astrid fists her fingers so that they stop shaking.  “And between that and the mountain of paperwork he’s currently going through, I thought it could buy me some time to build a case against him.”

“Ok, maybe this is the lack of fentanyl speaking,” Snotlout clears his throat, “but what use is a case against Grisly if you aren’t on the case to use it against him?”

“Considering fentanyl would have killed you by now, I’m pretty sure it’s just you speaking,” Astrid hisses, willing him to shut up.

“Because I’ve volunteered to represent Hiccup in court.  Free of charge.”

Astrid blinks, trying to find someone to share her shock, but Fishlegs is staring deep into his beer’s amber gaze and Tuffnut is rolling his shoulder and scanning the fine print on the back of an antique bottle of scotch.

“You’re a lawyer?”  Snotlout is shocked enough for everyone and angrier than he should be at someone who’s offering his cousin free legal representation.

“Is that a problem?”

“Yeah, it’s a problem.  Do you want to know why it’s a problem?”  Snotlout stands up, leaning on the table for support but going onto tip toes anyway.  “You’re leaving my cousin to rot in jail while some crazy guy who shot me gets your case just so that you can live out some…Legally Boned fantasy?”

“Legally Boned?”  Astrid mouths to herself, empty-stomached and scotch-full enough to wonder how he came up with something approximating clever while half-dead.  She looks at Eretson for corroboration and finds him surprisingly flustered, the red on his cheekbones incongruous with his stern shoulders.

“He’s not rotting,” Eretson wipes his face with a surprisingly twitchy hand, “he’s waiting under lock and key while Grisly sifts through mountains of paperwork and I legally obtain a copy of his compiled evidence.”

“Don’t you talk all smart at me, it won’t work—”

“Let’s go back to Fishlegs’ place,” Astrid cuts in, “regroup further from the site of a murder.”

“Party at Fishlegs’ place!”  Tuffnut hoots, bottle held over his head until Fishlegs stands up and takes it from him.

“Therapy session at my place,” Fishlegs confirms before informing Tuffnut’s crest-fallen face that he’s not invited.

“Right,” Eretson clears his throat and stands up, straightening his tie and nodding professionally at Astrid.  “I’ll call when I know anything else.”

“Ok,” she frowns, “wait, you never answered, why was my phone in evidence?”

“Hiccup was at your apartment,” he says simply, “when Grisly caught him—”

“Allegedly.”  She laughs, just guessing that Hiccup would have something funny enough about the situation to coax it out of her, “of course he was at my apartment when Grisly caught him allegedly murdering someone.”

00000

Fishlegs lives in a small, clean house on the other side of the beltway, and Astrid tries not to think of her apartment when she sees his mismatched living room furniture.  Her shell-shocked host regained some of his wits on the drive over and he gives them a brief hand-waving tour, which surprisingly ends with Snotlout slinking off towards the guest room mumbling about a nap.

“He’s not going to die, is he?”  Fishlegs asks, offering Astrid the coffee that she realizes she sorely needs as soon as he says the words.

“Not at this point, I don’t think.  Not of natural causes anyway.”  She jokes and it doesn’t sound like Hiccup.

She wonders if this will go on long enough for the wry lilt preserved in her mind to fade.

The therapy session is cancelled on account of the fact that Astrid isn’t trusted by anyone, including herself, to say anything comforting, and Fishlegs makes up the couch before he has to head back to work. As much as Astrid wants to decline it, she’s tired and Snotlout’s snoring from the other room is like the soundtrack to an extended intermission.  A forced break punctuated by interruptions reminding her that the real actors need time to reconfigure and prepare for the next act.

For someone who resented being involved for so long, being on the outside now is brutal, and she can’t stop wracking her brain for something—anything—she could do.  The urge to go down to the station and correct the account of what happened the night before festers like an itch she can’t scratch and she checks her phone for the millionth time, hoping for a miraculous call from Eretson.

Instead, there’s a knock at Fishlegs’ front door.

It can’t be case related.  That was the whole point in coming here, it’s a location entirely separated from anyone involved in the case.  Maybe it’s Eretson, even, maybe Fishlegs gave him the address when Astrid wasn’t looking.

She could be sitting here, scared to make a sound, when Eretson is standing right outside with an absolved Hiccup.

The couch creaks when she jumps off of it, but she adamantly refuses to care, letting her feet fall tired and heavy on the way to the door to look through the peephole.

It’s not Grisly.

It’s not Eretson either.

It’s Heather, and when Astrid looks to either side of the front door, there’s no obvious weapon.

Heather knocks again, frown deepening, “Snotlout, I know you’re here.”

Astrid assesses her for a moment before swallowing hard and setting her jaw, sliding the deadbolt chain into place before unlocking the door and opening it just enough to glare through.

“What makes you think Snotlout is here?”  She sets her shoulder, ready to slam the door shut as soon as Heather moves.  Heather takes a step back instead of trying to take advantage of the gap, and Astrid narrows her eyes at the brown paper bag in her hand.  “And what is that?”

If it’s a bomb, the thin door has no chance of shielding her, so she settles on an expression that might.

“Look…I just talked to Hiccup—”

“How?”  Astrid tries not to let worry or fear or anything other than suspicion show on her face, and she can’t tell if Heather sees through her or if she continues what she always intended to say.

“He was under the impression that Snotlout and well…you, were with Eretson, so I should find him—”

“You asked for Snotlout.”

Heather’s sigh is commiserating but tight-eyed, “his location is on in Snapchat.”

“Just a second,” Astrid shuts and locks the door, leaving the deadbolt in place and walking back towards Fishlegs’ guestroom.  She knows that the door won’t matter if it’s a bomb, or a gun, but this has gone wrong too many times to make stupid mistakes now. She knocks on the guestroom door hard and quickly enough to make her knuckles sing.  “Snotlout!  Wake up!”

“Just a second—”

She opens the door before he can find an excuse, “Heather is outside.”

“I thought you said Fishface didn’t know anyone at the station,” Snotlout hisses, but Astrid’s too frustrated to keep her voice down at this point.

“He doesn’t.  She found us because you left your location on—”

“No, I didn’t—” He waves his phone around and she grabs it.

“Your Snapchat location,” she turns on airplane mode before he can take it back, “why were you checking Snapchat anyway?”

“Ruffnut sent me one—”

“Never mind, I don’t care,” Astrid yanks at her tangled braid, and exhales through gritted teeth, “now we have to get rid of Heather.”

“We?  Who said anything about we?”

“The guy who potentially endangered his life to check Snapchat,” she grabs his arm, barely remembering to be gentle as she hauls him to his feet and back out into the living room.  Heather is still on the patio, paper bag under her arm and Astrid cracks the door open again, “what do you want?”

Heather looks past her, obviously catching a glimpse of Snotlout and appealing to him with a surprisingly vulnerable expression, “I want to help.”

“You’ve been working for Grisly,” Astrid doesn’t accuse, she states the truth and Heather sets a stubborn chin.

“I know—”

“He shot me,” Snotlout butts in, “I almost died because your boss is a creep—”

“I know!”  Heather drops the bag and it hits the pavement with a metallic thunk that makes Astrid freeze.  It doesn’t blow, so not a bomb, but she feels better with it out of Heather’s hands, “I should have gotten out of it then—”

“Why now?”  Astrid asks, leaning just enough sideways for Snotlout to see Heather’s face.  “You say you’re here to help us, not Grisly.  Why now?”

“He said you were smart.”  Heather shakes her head, the corner of her mouth almost a smile, “actually no, he said brilliant—”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Because Grisly humiliated me,” she shrugs, “worse, he made me humiliate myself, on live television, potentially in front of the entire country, I—and well, because he pinned it all on Hiccup.”  The second half of the sentence is far less convincing than the first and Astrid slams the door, prepared to find a window and sneak out the back, but Snotlout stops her.

“Ok, I believe her.”

“You found that convincing?” Astrid hisses, heart in her throat when she thinks about Hiccup’s situation.

“The part about Hiccup?  No, not at all.  The other part.”  He nods, “about Grisly humiliating her.”

“That would make her turn on him?”  The idea sits wrong in her chest, impossible and dangerously hopeful, like finding exact change on the ground and wondering who’s reading her mind to put it there. “Not you getting shot but—”

“Hey Ms. Brilliant,” he teases, his tone as different from Hiccup’s as hers is and full of just as much worry, “we didn’t put that together until Grisly admitted it either.”

“Ok,” Astrid huffs, more than a little annoyed as she opens the door again, choosing her words carefully to avoid feeding the useless panic in her chest, “what did Hiccup want you to do if you found Eretson?”

“Grisly got all his info from me and that stupid Admiral Haddock book,” Heather picks the bag up and opens it to reveal stacks of paper, “I have Hiccup’s notes, he thought that if we found some difference between his opinions and the way the copycat murders happened—”

“He wanted our help with research?”  Astrid’s hand itches towards the deadbolt and she curls it into a fist.

“Yours specifically,” Heather holds out the bag like an olive branch decorated in Hiccup’s hectic scrawl, “he really did say you were brilliant.”

Reading those papers is something she could do.  Something she could contribute, something she could solve.  Action she could take.

“Come in,” she acquiesces slowly and the slick sound of the deadbolt sliding free is opening a chamber that she can only hope to aim in the right direction.

00000

“That’s a ‘T’,” Heather says gently, leaning over the back of Fishlegs’ couch and pointing at a note on the margin of a crooked photocopy of page 328 of some Grimborn book she doesn’t recognize.

“I know that,” Astrid lies, the bad handwriting she’s been trying to decipher for ten minutes suddenly making sense.

“Oh.  Good.”  Heather sits down on the chair across from the couch and Astrid ignores her, tracing her fingertip over the letter that is supposedly a mutant ‘T’.  “Hiccup’s handwriting is legendarily bad when he’s excited, I was just making sure—”

“I’ve got it.”  Astrid hates that Heather has so much objective evidence supporting an unfortunate narrative that she knows Hiccup better.  It’s not fair.  It’s not true, but there’s no way to refute it.

“I don’t know who taught him to write,” the joke falls flat and Heather looks back at the notes on her lap, silent until Snotlout appears from the guest room, pale but maybe steadier than he had been that morning, “oh, Snotlout, I forgot to tell you. I’ve got your badge.”

“My badge?”  He narrows his eyes at her.

“In the bag.  With your gun,” she points at the suspicious paper bag of notes on the floor by her feet and Snotlout bends down to grab it, losing a civil dispute with gravity somewhere along the way and settling for sitting on the floor.

“His gun?”  Astrid raises an eyebrow and Heather shrugs, motion tight and careful.

“I wasn’t going to leave it with Grisly.”

“Right, leaving things with Grisly isn’t safe.”  The something, or someone, that she’s really talking about hangs in the air, only dispersed when the front door’s lock clicks open and Fishlegs steps into the room, pausing when he sees Heather.

“Hello.”

“Hi,” she waves, looking to Astrid for an introduction and seemingly ignoring her glare.

“This is Heather,” Astrid gestures, “she—long story—”

“Another one?”  Fishlegs snorts, finally exhausted enough to laugh about it.

“Always.  Anyway, she had the chance to talk to Hiccup earlier and he seems to think that researching his notes is a path forward somehow,” she waves the stack of papers on her lap at him, “so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Research,” Fishlegs gets two beers out of his fridge, hesitating a second before grabbing a third and only a third, glancing worriedly at Snotlout, who is now fully laying on the rug. “Well, I’m probably going to regret saying this, but let me know if you need any help.”

Fishlegs regrets it immediately.

Ok, maybe not immediately, he doesn’t seem to mind distracting himself from modern court cases by talking about their Victorian counterparts, at least for a night, but he definitely regrets it the next morning when Astrid accompanies him to open the archives.  She settles immediately into the halfway set up Grimborn room, ignoring how the space makes her ache remembering Hiccup’s last visit.

It’s too late to dwell on what might have happened if she’d taken him up on his offer for a place to stay instead of sticking it out at Elizabeth Smith’s apartment, so she shoves that aside, focusing on the bookcase by the encyclopedias and the rickety copier to keep what she’s working towards front and center.  There has to be a hole somewhere, something Hiccup noticed that Grisly didn’t, some guess Grisly made that Hiccup had already refuted.

Reading Hiccup’s notes is a uniquely brutal form of torture though.  For all the insight they give into his thought process, they’re surprisingly dry without his gesticulating hands and the light behind his eyes.  Every few minutes she has a new question for him, and she swallows them all down, forcing herself to focus on what she can do.

Not enough.  It doesn’t feel like enough.

Near the end of her second full day of researching, Ruffnut drops by the archives with a duffle bag that she drops on Astrid’s desk, sending a stack of photocopied notes to the floor.

“You couldn’t set that on the floor?”  She huffs, standing up to collect the pages and wobbling on feet that evidently fell asleep hours ago.  It’s been unusually quiet, probably due to Grimborn-ologists turning to their dusty old copies of Viggo Grimborn Solved: The Admiral Haddock Connection in the wake of Hiccup’s arrest, and while she hasn’t minded the extra hours to pay rent in an apartment she can’t access, she has forgotten to get up periodically.

“No, ‘hey thanks Ruffnut for remembering that no matter how obsessive I get, I still need clothes and a toothbrush’.”  She opens the bag and digs through it for what looks like a pill bottle, “and Tuff included multi-vitamins.  Flintstones shapes.”

“I’m shocked he didn’t make the delivery himself to get a shot at ‘Mr. Moustache’.”  Astrid jokes easily, pretending that it doesn’t hurt.

It’s not logical, she rationally knows that she barely knows Hiccup.  They’ve been on one date, and in her experience, emotionally supporting someone through murder investigations isn’t really a stepping stone on the way to a relationship, but she can’t explain away the fact that she misses him.  She can’t make a joke without wishing he heard it.  She can’t wake up with her back hurting from Fishlegs’ couch without wondering how much worse his jail cell is.

“He was going to,” Ruffnut sighs, perching on the table Astrid has appropriated and folding a sheet of notes that escaped the bag’s onslaught, “I think he’s nervous.  I didn’t know he could get nervous, but this is a new kind of behavior, so I’m guessing.”  Her eyes ask Astrid how she’s doing, and Astrid looks away, hoping for something to help her change the subject.

She doesn’t expect to see Snotlout and Heather walking down the stairs together, suspicious but overall polite expressions on their faces, but they’ll do.

“Any news?”  She gives up organizing the mess that Ruffnut made with her notes.

“Not from our end, you?” Heather cuts in, her polite, eager smile forceful enough that Astrid bites her lip against telling her to butt out.

It’s nothing against Heather personally, really.  Astrid would feel the same about anyone who was working with Grisly up until a few days ago when he made a fool of them and their ego prompted their conscience to wake back up and evaluate which side of the serial murderer they were on.

“Nothing much,” Ruffnut shrugs, giving Snotlout an all too easy wave.

Astrid wishes it were awkward.

She wishes Ruffnut was stilted and apologetic and Heather felt like an outsider due to her choice of company the last couple of months.  She wishes Snotlout was tired or listless like he was the first couple of days out of the hospital, instead of snickering as he flicks paper footballs across the table.  The friend-group that he was so determined to enlist her in seems to be going strong, even though she wishes it would leave her alone until she figures her bigger issues out.

Eretson does his best kill the relatively congenial mood when he swings by after five, forcibly casual about the fact that Snotlout invited him even as he looks at Astrid with official focus and clears his throat.

“Do you have anything?”

“Not yet,” she admits, sheepish, “you?”

“Some thoughts, nothing concrete.”

“Whatever, I think we can prove pretty easily that Hiccup didn’t murder a bunch of people,” Snotlout snorts, “I mean let him talk to anyone and it’s pretty obvious.”

“Do you mean a psych evaluation?”  Eretson wipes his hand down his face.

“Well, no, I meant literally anyone talking to him would know that he’s not a cold-blooded killer—”

“You’re right, a psych eval is the first thing I should have done,” Eretson chastises himself and pulls his keys back out of his pocket.

“That’s what I said!” Snotlout waves him towards the door, “that’s the first thing you should have done.”

“I’ll come with you,” Astrid starts to stand up, but Eretson shakes his head.

“Visiting hours are over and I can’t sign you in without my badge.”  It’s a weak excuse, probably hiding one of his unsolidified thoughts, and being kept in the dark is as bitter as ever.  “Maybe next time.”

“Sure,” she communicates how little she believes him with her eyes, and he leaves without saying anything else.  It’s barely silent long enough for her to try and find her place when Snotlout starts talking, stretching his arms over his head with a wince.

“Really though, it’s obvious, they should just put me on the stand, and I’ll explain how Hiccup isn’t sadistic.”

“No,” Heather cuts across, voice suddenly sharp as she points at Snotlout with a rigid finger, “we’re not doing this—”

“Not doing what?”  Astrid cocks her head.

“I’m just saying, if the judge let me tell my story, they’d have their proof that Hiccup didn’t serial kill anyone.”

“They’d have their proof that you’re an idiot,” Heather argues, and Astrid hates the idea of some shared truth about Hiccup that they know and she doesn’t.

“Why not both?”  She waves at Snotlout, “he can look stupid and prove Hiccup innocent at the same time, can’t he?”

“I think you’re over-estimating his ability to multitask,” Ruffnut says, sour for being left out of the conversation this long, “but I want to hear the story that Heather really doesn’t want to hear.”

“Trust me, you don’t,” Heather tells Astrid in particular, “it’s not as great as he thinks it is.”

“You say it could prove Hiccup’s innocence?”  Astrid asks and Snotlout squints slightly, thinking hard, then nods.  Astrid waves him on and Heather groans, rubbing her closed eyes with her fingertips.

“Ok, so, he’d just started giving his stupid, creepy tours, right?  Or I guess it’d been a while because he was getting pretty used to picking up girls on his creepy tours,” Snotlout starts and Astrid’s expression freezes in place as she nods him along.

“You don’t have to tell it,” Heather sighs.

“Everyone else wants to hear it, Heather, me included,” he clears his throat and folds his hands together on the table, “so I was kind of used to getting home to Hiccup’s locked bedroom and his dumb coat on the floor, so I didn’t think anything of it and got an after work beer and turned on the game.”

“If you regale me with a Patriots victory right now—” Astrid’s jaw flexes with impatience caped in jealousy and Snotlout rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t get to watch the end of the recap because right around the end of the third quarter, Pats were ahead by fourteen—”

“Snotlout.”

“Suddenly, Hiccup’s bedroom door opens and he’s ushering some girl out into the living room.  She’s obviously not done with him and kind of pissed at the situation, he’s bright red and stuttering about an Uber and like, hopping around on one foot to hand her a shoe,” he pauses to laugh so hard it comes out as a wheeze and Astrid forces her face flat to wait for the point, “and then…oh God, I can’t breathe—and then when she leaves, I ask him what happened, of course, and he gets even more awkward.”  His tone turns nasal, “ ‘She umm erm uhhh, well you see, she called me Viggo and asked me to choke her’—”

“Anytime, Snot, you can stop at any time.”  Heather looks at Astrid in commiseration.

“No, you can’t stop now,” Ruffnut laughs, “did he do it?”

“No!  That’s the point!” Snotlout waves his good arm in her vague direction, “apparently he completely lost his…” His words decay into giggles for a second and Astrid and Heather share another miserable glance.  “And he told her that he drank too much, but he hadn’t had anything to drink and she knew that—”

“Oof,” Ruffnut snickers pointedly at Astrid, “sorry about your future sex life.  If Hiccup ever gets out of jail, that is—”

“Don’t encourage him,” Heather cuts her off, glare reasonable but piercing, a paper shredder turned deadly rather than a blade turned on someone, and Astrid can’t help but feel grateful when it works.

“No, that’s the thing though, how could he kill a bunch of people while thinking about Vino Grapeborn if he couldn’t even stay hard—”

“Oh my god,” Astrid cradles her head in her hands, not flinching away when Heather puts a friendly hand on her arm.

Bonding through emotional trauma could be the title of her year.

“He’s not a sadist, and that’s my proof, put me on the stand.”  He laughs again, “if you want proof he’s a bottom, you can ask him about the time he lost the key to his stupid fuzzy handcuffs and I had to get them off with a bolt-cutter.  Even he thought that one was funny, later.  Way later—”

“Maybe visits to the conjugal trailer won’t be totally boring after all,” Ruffnut supplies and Astrid kicks her under the table, ignoring her grunt and turning to Snotlout.

“How many pain pills have you had today?”

“None,” he shrugs his good shoulder, “just some Advil.”

Heather looks apologetically at Astrid, who blinks, the uselessness of this conversation funneling towards anger, because more despair isn’t an option right now.

“You know, I’m just going to round the number to fifty, ok?  Can you help me remember that?”

“Fifty what?”  Snotlout asks and Ruffnut opens her mouth to make some unwelcome guess before Astrid continues.

“I think I’ve wanted to hit you fifty times since you got shot, and I’m just going to count up from here.”  She starts packing up her notes, wondering how authentically it will come across if she asks Heather to go somewhere else with her to never talk about that story again.

“You can’t hit me,” Snotlout rolls his eyes, “I’ve got injured immunity, I definitely can’t defend Hiccup’s absolute lack of sadism if you kill me with your temper.”

“You’ll heal,” she smiles sweetly and Snotlout looks to Ruffnut for backup.

She shrugs, “maybe you should just let Grisly finish you off.  It’d be faster.”

“Then there’d be no one for Astrid to take her frustration out on,” Snotlout quips and Astrid grits her teeth.

“Fifty-one.”

Heather shakes her head and scribbles on a piece of scratch paper, “I’ll start a tally.”

[kenzieam]

Destroyed - Chapter Three - Raen’s Story (Chris X Raen)

Rating: M - ***TRIGGER WARNINGS***

Warnings: Violence, language, drama, angst, mentions of abuse and rape

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PLEASE READ RAEN’S STORY WITH CAUTION.

IF YOU’VE READ MY OTHER STORIES, YOU KNOW I CAN GO DARK AF, AND THIS IS NO EXCEPTION. HOPEFULLY THIS EXPLAINS WHY MY OFC HAS SUCH A HARD TIME TRUSTING ANYONE.

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LAST CHANCE......

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Raen’s Story

The phone call woke her, startled her out of an uneasy sleep. Sharp pain flooded in with her senses and she winced as she reached for the phone, pulling it to her ear with a muffled groan.

“Miss Casteel?”

Close enough. Although she and Marshall weren’t married, he still insisted she take his last name and stop referring to herself as a Casteel.

“Yes, this is.”

“My name is Judson Plante. Do you know of a woman named Agatha Desmond Casteel?”

“She’s my grandmother.” Raen replied, sitting up with a wince. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m her attorney. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for a month. Your grandmother’s passed, and she left you everything.”

Raen nearly dropped the phone, fingers shaking. “She’s died?”

“Yes, dear. I’m sorry. I take it you weren’t close?”

No, not at the end. Marshall had taken and moved her far away from any family, settling in a backwater town in a backwater state, where the majority of the housewives that perused the shelves of the local Piggly Wiggly all wore large, shielding sunglasses and had the tendency to ‘fall down the stairs’. “I stayed every summer there when I was a child.”

“Ah, yes. She spoke of that.”

“Did she…. Was it bad?”

“No, Miss Casteel, she passed in her sleep; the ladies she lunched with found her the next day. They say she looked very peaceful.”

Raen sagged in relief, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t… what do I do?”

“I have everything laid out here in my office. I just need you to verify your identity and sign some paperwork. I can send it out to you, to the nearest attorney, if you wish. You’ve moved quite a distance away, I see.”

A sharp pain rocketed through Raen’s lower belly and she bit back a moan, curling in on herself. Marshall, like most of the men in this small town, liked to drink, and sometimes he got mean; a fact that the majority of the women seemed to share and accept as their miserable lot in life, flicking sympathetic glances at each other as they passed in the store or at church, their large sunglasses not always completely hiding the bruises. But, every couple of months, something turned over in Marshall’s brain and he went from mean to downright evil, something Raen could never predict.

Three nights ago, he’d come home stinking of another woman’s perfume and ripped Raen out of their bed, then stomped out the baby he’d raped into her the last time he’d come home like this. She’d been to bed ever since, the bleeding slowing while the pain remained and, as the newest pang tore through her, so did the realization that this would never end.

Despite his regret between the spells, despite his murmured kind words and promises that he’d ‘never do it again, angel. Believe me.’ Raen knew it would never stop, he would never change, the alcohol poisoning his mind and gradually eroding the part that stayed decent would eventually override any humanity he had left.

And he’d kill her, she’d bleed out in their bed, or on the floor; and Marshall would push her corpse aside and find another to lay beneath him, to believe his lines and fall under his spell. She should have known, three years ago when this all started, how it would end. Hadn’t she watched her own mother wither away under her stepfather’s tyranny?

“Miss Casteel?” The terseness in Plante’s voice said he’d been trying for some time now to get her attention.

“I said-“

“I’ll be there. Just give me a few days.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m driving out. You said grandma left me everything, that means the house too, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I’m taking possession. Just give me time to get there.”

“I… alright. I will have everything ready for you.”

Raen thanked him, scrawling down the address of his law office. It was a few towns over from her grandma’s house but that was no hardship. Like Raen had said, she’d spent all her summers out there as a child, she knew the area.

And it was absolutely time for a change.

Pulling her raw body from the bed, Raen packed quickly, what few possessions she had and wanted to take. Faint doubt clawed at the edges of her mind, was she really doing this? Leaving the man she’d lived with for three years; the man who, while rough with her occasionally, provided for her? Kept her safe from the dangers outside? Even as she thought that, she knew it was bullshit, lies Marshall told to keep her compliant, lies a small part of her accepted as truth and was trying to keep her here with now. There was danger out in the world sure, but he was the bigger threat.

Why had it taken so long for her to wake up?

Marshall and her grandma had never met, but Grandma had known what was coming; she’d been around the block too, so to speak. When she’d learned Raen had a new man and was planning on moving, she’d called her, asked if she knew what she was doing and although Raen hadn’t set foot in that kitchen for better than five years at that point, she could still picture the flowered curtains swaying in the breeze from the screen door as she listened to the old woman’s soft voice. Raen had tried to assuage her worry, reassure her that Marshall was different, that he’d take care of her, they were moving to another state because of a job opportunity, not to isolate her but Grandma had been right. And she’d left her favorite grandchild a safety net.

It was a sign, and it was time to go.

Her father’s old Land Cruiser sat on the far side of the dirt driveway. Raen had been careful to keep it covered, protected from the sun and Marshall had only let her keep it because it didn’t run. ‘Thieves can’t steal what they can’t get running, Raeny baby, mind your daddy.’ Raen smiled to herself remembered her dear father’s advice, the man that she should have grown up with, the man who her mother should have had in her life, if not for that accident at the factory, as she poured fresh gas in the tank and attached the proper wires, laughing despite herself when the Cruiser roared to life. Marshall wasn’t that smart; she’d gotten this past him, thanks daddy, and now she was leaving forever.

Despite the fact that Marshall would have no clue as to where she went, if he even remembered she had a grandmother he had no idea where she’d lived; for when he and Raen had met, four states separated them and then he moved them further still, Raen white-knuckled it through the next thirty hours, driving as far as she could before pulling over to sleep, then driving again.

Freshening up in a local motel, Raen met Plante and signed the paperwork. Part of the few possessions she’d taken had been a small locked box, one Marshall had never seen for he surely would have opened it and destroyed what lay inside. And inside had been Raen’s lifeline. Her papers, her ID, pictures, what she needed to fulfill Judson Plante’s and the Law’s requirements for her to take what was left to her.

She’d taken the keys, the folders and left the stately office. Arriving at her grandma’s, her, house, she’d cried at the sight. It was just as she remembered from her childhood, down to the flowered curtains, the vintage Kelvinator fridge in vibrant yellow, the old farmhouse sink. A bone-deep exhaustion, a years-in-the-making collapse hit her then and she’d slept for almost two days, wakened and hid inside for another week, until the fear that Marshall would find her faded.

Grandma had left her some money, and she’d hidden little bits away from Marshall’s left-around- the-house change, but she needed to find a job and, after a time, found The Bend. She’d done some bartending before, that’s how she’d met the prince named Marshall himself, and found it came back to her easily, and just a bit ago her boss asked if she wanted to try waitressing, start working the early lunch shift at The Bend instead of the late one.

Raen found she’d liked both, and would often work doubles, noon to midnight or later, and it had been fine, a quiet existence for the last few months until her Cruiser chose to act up, coughing like it was it’s last as she limped it into Griffin Mechanical. The man who’d approached her had not been old Mr. Griffin, the man she remembered from her childhood, but a young and handsome devil who’d haunted her dreams ever since.

Tall and muscular, his head shorn and a dark goatee on his chin, his fierce appearance was at complete odds with the gentleness Raen had seen immediately in his bottomless eyes, the kind but nervous smile he’d given her. His voice was one she could listen to forever, one that soothed her to the very depths of her soul and one she imagined was capable of heating her blood to an inferno if he ever leaned close enough to whisper in her ear what his eyes said he wanted to do to her.

Her heart had immediately been lost, tied to this man and she’d never been more scared.

Men were rough, men were brutes who used their fists as much as their words when they were angry. Loving a man meant pain and humiliation, it meant feeling the burgeoning life trying to live within you that was forced upon you but, in the end you’d come around to want, seep out between your legs as a pile of hot stones took residence in your belly.

Chris’ hands were large, stained with grime, capable of wielding heavy wrenches and, no doubt, painful blows. The bulging muscles in his biceps and forearms meant he was strong, his punches and strikes would hurt and what’s worse, the gentle light in his eyes would be all the more monstrous as his fists rained down pain.

His body, his smile, his very aura was bliss, strumming hers to life and it could never be. Raen would never make that mistake again, she would never let another have power over her.

She would never let another Marshall into her life.

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

‘Repeating History’ Chapter 3: It’s All There, in Your Head

FFN | Ao3 | Buy Me a Coffee?

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1894

               It was late—nearly midnight—and Sherlock looked out his window at the foggy city. It was so chilling outside, he could practically see the cold front moving in. There were few people who came out at such an hour; most being criminals, junkies, or secret lovers. That is why it piqued his curiosity when he noticed a young woman approach the outside door to 221B. What would possess her to arrive here at such an hour, especially walking alone at night with a murderer on the loose? Mrs. Hudson’s voice cut through his thoughts.

               “Mister Holmes? You have a client,” she informed him.

               “Let her in, Mrs. Hudson, thank you,” he replied. Whatever he imagined this client to be after, he was not prepared for it. In walked Molly Hooper, clutching her bag, her eyes full of determination. “Miss Hooper.”

               Molly returned his greeting with a small curtsy. “I am sorry for the late hour, Mister Holmes, but I know you are the only person who can help me.”

               Sherlock gestured for her to sit in the client chair set between where he and Watson normally rested. “What is it that you need, Miss Hooper?” He observed her body language, noting that she was nervous about whatever his answer may be to her request.

               “As you know, my best friend has been brutally murdered,” she spoke softly, her voice breaking. “I wish to know who is behind this as much as you do.” Sherlock nodded in encouragement for her to go on. Taking a deep breath, she continued. “I know that Doctor Watson is your partner in crime solving, but I do know he is married and that his wife is with child, close to giving birth very soon.”

               Sherlock looked at her with the curiosity of a cat. “I see you’ve done your research, Miss Hooper. Impressive.”

               “Well, actually, Mister Holmes, I have met Mrs. Watson, as her usual doctor had not been in for quite a while. Nobody knows where he’s gone off to,” Molly explained. “What I’m asking is if I can help you to bring Meena’s murderer to justice?”

               Sherlock pondered this idea for so long that when thirty minutes had passed, Molly took matters into her own hands. She lightly shook his shoulder with her gloved hand, hoping he would snap out of it. Sherlock jumped when he finally came to, looking up at the most brilliant woman he had ever met. “I am sorry, Miss Hooper, I must have thought I answered you already.”

               She giggled; a sweet melodic sound to his ears. “It is quite alright, Mister Holmes. What do you say?”

               “As you are correct about Doctor Watson being quite busy at the moment, I say that you are welcome to investigate with me,” Sherlock told her, a genuine smile on his face. “I must warn you though, I can be a bit—“

               “Abrasive?” Molly provided. “I have been forewarned about your behaviours, Mister Holmes.”

               “And you aren’t…shocked?” He wondered if she knew about the seven percent solution he’d sometimes use.

               “It takes more than your seven percent solution to shock me,” she remarked.

               Sherlock was taken aback. This woman knew very much about him. He stood up from his chair, facing her, only a few inches between them. “And what if we run into the murderer, Miss Hooper? What then? I cannot have a damsel in distress to worry about on a case such as this.” His harsh tone did nothing to repel her. This told him that she could handle his worst attitudes.

Molly Hooper stood her ground, unwavering. “I am a woman of intellect and resilience, as you may have already deduced. I am not a fine piece of delicate china, Mister Holmes. I will not be shattered so easily.”

The tension was thick, but Sherlock was more than satisfied with Molly’s comeback at his attempt to deter her. They stood in such close proximity that if he were to lean down just a bit, his lips would touch hers. Her deep brown eyes held a fierce determination as she bore her gaze into his ocean eyes. Neither of them realised that Doctor Watson had been a witness to the last minute of their conversation…at least, not until the man cleared his throat.

“Doctor Watson.” Molly snapped out of her fixation on Sherlock. “I must be going. Thank you again, Mister Holmes.”

Before she could leave, Sherlock spoke up. “There is a guest room upstairs. I’ll not have you walking the streets alone at this time of night, Miss Hooper.” He watched as she paused to think about it, eventually nodding her head in thanks before disappearing upstairs.

“Oh, Holmes, you do fancy her,” Watson remarked.

“What? No I don’t,” Holmes argued. “I do not bother with fanciful romantic entanglements, Watson, you know that.”

“You may find yourself in love with her one day,” Watson continued. Holmes was not taking it well.

As the two men continued to argue, their voice rose higher. Molly was attempting to sleep when she heard the baritone of Sherlock’s unmistakable voice.

“She means nothing to me!” he had shouted. “Miss Hooper is merely a client, and nothing more, Watson!”

The cold truth sliced through her like a scalpel. These past few weeks, she was sure they had a lovely friendship blooming, but perhaps it was all a charade after all. Tears silently fell down her cheeks, as she waited for sleep to succumb her. She would not allow this to deter her from her duty to find this killer. Not one man should dare to get in her away, let alone Sherlock Holmes.

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2016

“She means nothing to me!” That was the last thing Sherlock could remember from his strange dream last night. His head throbbed with pain as if he had imbibed too much alcohol. Everyone he knew and loved was there, but in a Victorian setting. The dream had been so vivid, he could’ve sworn that this happened to him in his lifetime. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Mary’s asked, “But which lifetime?” It was balderdash; there were no such things as past lives.  

Every morning since the family dinner, Sherlock found that he had to continue reminding himself that Molly wanted a break from him; at least, romantically. It had hurt him, but he wanted her to be happy, even if it was without him in the picture. It hurt more that he hadn’t even heard from her since. In the meantime, there were a few appointments he needed to make, but they’d have to wait until later. Greg Lestrade rushed into 221B, urgency written across his face.

“There’s been two more murders,” he informed him. “I need you to come with me, Sherlock.”

Fear flooded through him, an icy feeling prickling his skin. “Is it Molly?” He felt panic rising within him.

“God, no, Sherlock, I’m sorry for worrying you like that. We need you because there’s a note for you. It’s typed, but maybe you can get something from it,” Greg explained. Sherlock nodded, and slipped on his coat. The game was on, and he knew that the further this went, the more dangerous it would become.

Upon his arrival at the crime scene, Sherlock was immediately graced by Sally Donovan’s presence. Delightful. He was far from being in the mood for whatever tirade she was sure to go on.

“Freak,” she greeted him. “Heard about you and Hooper; sounds like she finally got in her right mind.”

Sherlock let out an exasperated sigh. “And what,” he huffed, “is that supposed to mean?”

A derisive smile graced Donovan’s face. “It means that the girl has finally realised that she’s too good for you, and it only took a month of dating you.”

For the first time, her words affected him. He and Molly were only on a break, but maybe it was because she had truly realised that he was no good for her.

“Sherlock!” Greg called to him. He motioned for the detective to follow him.

Glad for a reason to leave Donovan’s presence, Sherlock followed Lestrade, immediately kneeling between the two bodies to read the bloodstained note.

I am the Hunter

But you’re not the prey

Your heart will be torn asunder

Think of your family

It will pave the way

Does the Devil live within me?

You wonder

               “It’s a riddle,” Sherlock stated. “Why is Hunter capitalized?”

               “I’m not sure,” Greg confessed. “Haven’t been able to make heads or tails of it, but I was sure it was meant for you.”

               After snapping a photo of the note, Sherlock placed it in an evidence bag. He planned to do nothing but comb through the words until something clicked. Hunter was capitalized, he had to think of his family; how did it all connect? There were no Hunters in his family, not surname or first name. That’s when he heard a car door slam, and looked up to see Molly smiling at him.

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.

“Wow, you look like you rose from the dead,” Mary remarked as she strolled into the lab with lunch for her and Molly. The pathologist’s hair was tied back into the limpest ponytail; her eyes looked red and puffy from lack of sleep or perhaps having cried herself to sleep. The cheerfulness that Molly usually exuded was no longer there, as if a star had gone out. She didn’t even laugh at the awful joke Mary had just made.

“Long night,” was all Molly said as she began to examine a specimen of bacteria with the microscope.

“What’s going on?” Mary asked, wondering what had gone wrong. “I haven’t heard anything since your dinner with Sherlock and his family last week. Did everything go well, love?”

Molly lifted her head from the microscope to look at her friend. “It was all very”—she shoved her notebook aside—“lovely.”

Mary arched an eyebrow. “Then what’s wrong, poppet?”

Molly took a deep, shaky breath, planning to get straight to the point, but went off on a rant. “It’s funny, because this is everything I’ve always wanted, regardless of the fact I never expected it to happen. I want this—I do—but I haven’t had time to breathe since Sherlock’s almost-exile.” Mary approached the lab table, setting down the takeaway bags. “Mary, I called things off with him just to get some space. It was one of the most difficult things I had to do.” She laughed in disbelief. “Helping him fake his death was so much easier.” Molly didn’t dare divulge about her strange dream last night. It was Victorian times, and she had been listening to Sherlock and John arguing from the upstairs bedroom of 221B. They were arguing about her. The last thing she could remember was Sherlock’s voice, cold and cruel, claiming that she meant nothing to him.

Just when Mary was about to offer some advice, Molly’s mobile went off, notifying her of a text from Lestrade. “It’s Greg; he needs me at the crime scene where two women were slain. Anderson has called in sick. Of course.”

“Molly, love, before you go, just listen to what I have to say,” Mary told her. “I understand why you had to distance yourself, and whilst it was hard for you, I’m proud that you’re putting your wellbeing first.” She took Molly’s hand as a gesture of motherly comfort. “Just make sure that this is what you want. If you feel you need to take things slow with Sherlock—and it looks to be that way—let him know when you’re ready for him.”

“You know, I wondered all night if it was a break I needed, or if I just need us to focus on our friendship first,” Molly confessed. “I don’t want him cut out of my life whilst I deal with this. He’s—“ she took a breath—“he’s my person.”

“Your person?” Mary repeated amusingly. “Re-watching Grey’s Anatomy I see.”

 “Shut up,” Molly laughed whilst gathering her things. She waved goodbye to Mary as she exited through the doors. She and Sherlock would be working together today, and she used the time it took for her cab ride to try and get herself together. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest when she spotted Sherlock through the backseat window. He was in deep concentration as he examined the bodies, his brows furrowed as if something wasn’t adding up. Molly paid the driver, and exited the vehicle, taking a deep breath. His eyes locked with hers immediately as if he could sense her presence. Perhaps he can. They shared a smile before getting to work.

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1894

               Her heart beat in time with the pounding in her head. Sleep had been scarce after all she had heard last night. Molly sat up quickly, the room spinning much too fast. Her hand went to grasp the bedding, only she heard the crinkling of paper. After the dizziness subsided, she took a deep breath before reading the contents of the letter.

               To whomever it may concern,

               I reside in Sherrinford.

               Having problems with ol’ Jack?

               Don’t forget about Reichenbach.

               If it is answers you want discovered,

               I suggest visiting your dear, old brother.

               “How curious,” Molly muttered aloud. It was a riddle, and clearly meant for Sherlock. She could hardly imagine how awful it would feel to face him, but she had the advantage in that he does not know she heard him last night. This note was important, but the question was who wrote it? Also, who delivered it? Chills ran up her spine at the thought of a stranger—possibly a murderer—had snuck into her temporary room.  

               Deciding that Sherlock’s immediate attention be given to this letter, Molly flew down the stairs in only her chemise, uncaring of what was proper in a situation such as this.

               Upon spotting the detective standing by the fire, lost in his thoughts, Molly rushed right to his side. “Mister Holmes, I found this letter in the bed I was sleeping in, and I think it is imperative to our case.”

               Sherlock spared a quick glance before taking the letter from her hands, but looked back at her, noticing her state of…undress. The firelight was illuminating the fabric, making it noticeably transparent. He averted his eyes quickly, swallowing the lump that began to form in his throat, and began scanning the letter. “Impossible.”

               “What?” Molly asked, her hand grasping his arm gently. “What is it?”

               “It appears I must have a word with my dear brother,” Sherlock huffed. “Make sure you are properly dressed by the time I return, Miss Hooper…I shall not be returning alone.”

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               Sherlock Holmes was practically fuming. How could this be? Apparently, his brother knew the answer.

               “Sherlock,” Mycroft Holmes greeted his brother. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” He bit into a pastry, unaware of his brother’s anger.

               “Moriarty’s alive, isn’t he?” Sherlock felt it best to get straight to the point. He stared down his brother until, finally, he spoke.

               “What does it matter now? He’s locked up in Sherrinford,” Mycroft told him. No explanation as to how Moriarty survived, no concern that he may be puppeteering the murders.

               “How!?” Sherlock shouted. “How is he alive?”

               “Don’t be arrogant, Sherlock,” Mycroft snapped. “You’re not the only person who can survive a fall.” He looked his little brother dead in the eye. “We found him unconscious not long after, and I suggested he be locked up, seeing as he did not, in fact, perish.”

               “I need you to come to Baker Street. Now,” Sherlock urged his brother. “Lives may be at stake if you do not cooperate.”

               Mycroft sighed with resignation. “Very well, then.”

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               Molly was only half-dressed by the time she heard Sherlock come back. She wondered if he had brought his brother back with him to help them decipher the riddle. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and she quickly finished tying the laces on her boots, not wanting his brother to see her in such a state. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered being in only her chemise earlier. Now, if only she could get these damn corset laces tightened and tied. The knock on the door caused her to nearly jump out of her skin.  

               “Miss Hooper?” Sherlock called to her. “I’d like you to come downstairs. If you are to be on this case, you must talk with my brother post-haste.” He jumped back slightly when Molly opened the door only wide enough for him to see her face poke through.

               “Do you think you could help me first? I cannot seem to get these laces tied for the life of me,” she told him.

               “Yes, of course,” he replied, opening her door the rest of the way. He swallowed hard as he tightened her laces, each tug increasing the soft swell of her breasts. Being so close to her, he could smell honeysuckle on her skin. How could he possibly work this case with her if she drove him wild with desire every time he stood near her? This was a problem. He’d have to be careful.

               “Thank you,” she smiled at him after he had finished. “Shall we go see your brother?” Sherlock only gave a curt nod in response before walking ahead of her, expecting her to follow behind. She did so, and was greeted by the dumbfounded look on the eldest Holmes’s face.

               “You’re not Doctor Watson,” Mycroft so obviously pointed out. “Sherlock, who is she?”

               “This is Miss Hooper, Mycroft. She is an accomplished pathologist at St. Bartholomew’s,” Sherlock explained. “Seeing as Watson is busy with his wife and unborn child, she offered her services to help with the case.”

               Molly fidgeted as Mycroft Holmes scrutinized her. “Yes, well, let us hope that is the only service she is offering to you, brother mine.”

               “Mycroft!” Sherlock roared. “You will not speak so unkindly of Miss Hooper! I will not tolerate it!” His eyes flickered toward Molly, noting she was not visibly upset, but her eyes held a fierceness he had not yet seen. Her strength was admirable.

               Mycroft, realising he had struck a nerve, immediately asked for the note, looking it over. “Moriarty wants you to pay him a visit at Sherrinford, it seems. He has answers about your medical murderer. It seems that Jack the Ripper is still roaming the streets after all.”

               “Sherrinford?” Molly asked, looking at Sherlock. “What is it, and when are we going?”

               “It is a place,” Mycroft began, “for the criminally insane.”

               “She’ll not be going,” Sherlock firmly stated.

               “You said I could assist you!” It was not proper for a lady to raise her voice, but in this moment, Molly didn’t give a damn. “You cannot stop me from going. I will find a way.”

               “And I said no, Molly, that’s final.” He did not shout back, but rather, growled out the words.

               “I do not have to listen to you,” she told him. “You are neither my husband nor my father, so I will do as I please.” For once, Sherlock could say nothing. He knew she was right; she didn’t have to listen to him, and she could find her way to Sherrinford through Mycroft if she had to. Lord knows his brother enjoyed getting under his skin. “I am doing this to seek justice for my best friend’s murder. How dare you try to keep me from any of it after you had agreed I could assist you.”

               All was silent in the room with the exception of Molly’s heeled boots storming up the stairs, finishing with a slamming door and a burning regret in Sherlock’s heart.

               “Headstrong, isn’t she?” Mycroft remarked, clearly amused. Sherlock, however, was not.

[rockandrollstorytime]

Rock and Roll Storytime #8: The Rolling Stones at Altamont (AKA One of the Worst Concert Disasters of All Time)

The year 1969 had been a hectic one, both for the world in general (with the continuing Vietnam War, the Chappaquiddick incident, and the moon landings) and especially for rock and roll (with the death of Brian Jones, Woodstock, and the Beatles starting to head full-steam down the road that led them to their break-up in April 1970). Capping off this year full of highs and lows, there was Altamont, which has been labelled by many as the death of the 60′s. At the very least, it certainly brought a premature end to the idealism that the youths of that generation held dear.

Lord knows, I will always say that Brian Jones should have had a chance to get back on his feet and I’m super salty that he’s dead, but honestly, I’m glad he missed out on this one. 

Before I tell the story of Altamont though, I must ask… Whose bright idea was it to hire the Hell’s Angels as security for a Rolling Stones concert and pay them with $500 of beer?

Well, to answer that question, I’m going to have to begin this story with the ending of another. Truly, the roots of this ill-thought-out decision lies within events that had happened that summer. 

I’ve mentioned Brian Jones already, but to give those of you who are new to this the rundown, Lewis Brian Hopkin Jones was the Stones’ first guitarist, and at the start, he was the brains of the band. Seven years, a bunch of internal conflict with Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Andrew Loog Oldham, a messy relationship with Anita Pallenberg, drug abuse and alcoholism, two drug trials, and a fuck-ton of stress later, Brian was in a state we’d call “mental exhaustion” (didn’t help that his physical health was shit too). Where in 1966 he was contributing some of the best parts of the Stones’ early music, such as the sitar on “Paint It Black”, in 1969, he’d rarely show up to the studio, and if he did, he would usually be too intoxicated to properly contribute. In fact, on Let It Bleed, he only contributed to two songs: “Midnight Rambler” (congas) and “You’ve Got the Silver” (autoharp).

In June 1969, the Stones decided they wanted to go on tour again, but then, they found out that due to the fact that Brian had twice been convicted of drug possession, it’d be unlikely that he could receive a visa to perform in the U.S.A., if at all. Ultimately, Mick and Keith decided that their best option would be to fire Brian, and so, on June 8, 1969, they went down to Brian’s home, Cotchford Farm, to tell him that he would no longer be with the group. According to those present, Brian had been expecting this, and in the various press releases, it was made to appear as if Brian had left the band on his own terms. His statement read, in part, “I no longer see eye to eye with the others over the discs we are cutting. We no longer communicate musically. The Stones’ music is not to my taste any more. The work of Mick and Keith has progressed at a tangent, at least to my way of thinking. I have a desire to play my own brand of music rather than that of others, no matter how much I appreciate their musical concepts.”

At this point in time, whether Brian was accepting of this turn of events or not is up to conjecture. 

In either case, the Stones brought in 20-year-old Mick Taylor (previously of John Mayall’s Bluesbreakers) to replace Brian, and at a press conference on June 13, the Stones announced that they would be holding a free concert on July 5 in order to properly introduce their new guitarist. 

And then, just three days before the concert was set to take place, Brian drowned in his backyard swimming pool, being just twenty-seven years old. Although the coroner ruled it death by misadventure (which personal research seems to support), theories have long persisted that Brian was, in fact, murdered, but that is, of course, a story for another day. 

The Stones in the Park concert quickly became a tribute to Brian Jones, and at the start, Mick read two verses of Percy Bysshe Shelley’s Adonais, and as the band launched into “I’m Yours and I’m Hers” by Johnny Winters (one of Brian’s favourite songs), thousands of butterflies were released, though this was against park stipulation, as they were voracious Cabbage White butterflies, and many had died due to the boxes not being properly ventilated. 

What’s important to this story about the concert at Hyde Park is that the London chapter of the Hell’s Angels was there providing security that day. It is also important to note that the Grateful Dead (who, incidentally, also had a member of the 27 Club in their line-up) had also hired the Hell’s Angels as security numerous times. 

Several months later, the Stones had been having a pretty good run with their American tour, which was able to slightly mitigate some of the shady business practices Allen Klein had subjected them to, but throughout, fans and journalists kept complaining about high ticket prices. If you ask me though, those bitches were lucky. I’d rather be paying three to eight dollars (equivalent to $21.21 to $56.57 in 2019) as opposed to a minimum of $159 that tickets to a Rolling Stones concert now sell for. Not to mention, Woodstock had happened in August that year, and that was a big success, so in Mick Jagger’s 26-year-old, immature, unwise brain, that obviously meant that they should have another free concert like the one at Hyde Park. Really, in his mind, the peace and love movement was only just beginning, so what could go wrong?

As Murphy’s Law will tell you, “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong” 

Oh, and go wrong it did. 

The first major problem was that they couldn’t get a venue. 

The concert was set for December 6, and their tour manager, Sam Cutler, struggled to get them a venue. He tried San Jose’s State University, but there had been a three-day festival recently, and the city wasn’t exactly in the mood for another batch of hippies storming the city so soon afterward, so that was out of bounds. He then tried gunning for San Francisco’s Golden Gate Park, but there was a football game between the Chicago Bears and the San Francisco 49-ers taking place in the same general location, which made use of the venue impractical. He then tried getting Sears Point Raceway on board, but disputes quickly arose over filming distribution rights and an up-front fee of $300,000.

Finally, just two days before the concert was set to take place, the Stones’ management managed to get a hold of Altamont Speedway (it helped that the owner, Dick Carter, apparently offered the venue for free). 

As you can imagine, there was a whole shit-ton of problems that arose from that, and Rolling Stone magazine, in its piece on the tragedy, listed the following logistical problems: 

“1) Promise a free concert by a popular rock group which rarely appears in this country. Announce the site only four days in advance.

2) Change the location 20 hours before the concert.

3) The new concert site should be as close as possible to a giant freeway.

4) Make sure the grounds are barren, treeless, desolate.

5) Don’t warn neighboring landowners that hundreds of thousands of people are expected. Be unaware of their out-front hostility toward long hair and rock music.

6) Provide one-sixtieth the required toilet facilities to insure that people will use nearby fields, the sides of cars, etc.

7) The stage should be located in an area likely to be completely surrounded by people and their vehicles.

8) Build the stage low enough to be easily hurdled. Don’t secure a clear area between stage and audience.

9) Provide an unreliable barely audible low fidelity sound system.

10) Ask the Hell’s Angels to act as ‘security’ guards.”

Most sane people would have quit while they were ahead, but this is the Rolling Stones we’re talking about. Between Brian Jones having five kids by the age of twenty-three, Mick Jagger allegedly sleeping with over 4,000 women (and don’t get me started on him and David Bowie), Keith Richards’ drug habits and his snorting his dad’s ashes, Bill Wyman dating a teenager while he was in his forties, and Charlie Watts punching Mick Jagger in the face, we are absolutely not dealing with the most sane bunch of individuals on the planet. 

And let’s not forget that some idiot decided it’d be a great idea to pay the Hell’s Angels in $500 of beer (the equivalent of $3,535.43 in 2019).

Yeah, if you listened closely to the sounds of the earth in 1969, I can guarantee you, you probably would have heard a barely-cold-in-the-ground Brian Jones spinning in his grave over this stupidity (because he was acting as the band’s manager for a time in their early days before Andrew Oldham came on board). 

Let’s also not forget that they hired a particularly notorious batch of Hell’s Angels from Oakland, California, whereas the Grateful Dead found their “security bikers” in Sacramento. Apparently, Grateful Dead manager Rock Scully even tried to warn the Stones about the “real” Hell’s Angels after seeing the footage from Hyde Park, but obviously, they didn’t take whatever warning he tried to give them to heart. The hippies in general had a romanticized image of the Hell’s Angels in their heads, seeing them as “outlaw brothers of the counterculture.”

No points for guessing how that worked out, but let’s continue regardless. 

Set to perform that night were Santana, Jefferson Airplane, The Flying Burrito Brothers, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, the Grateful Dead, and of course, the Rolling Stones. 

They would all be performing on a stage that was just thirty-nine inches off the ground and surrounded on all sides by over 300,000 attendees. Apparently, this had been planned to create a more “intimate” experience. 

From what I could tell, waivers were not involved. 

For the sake of time, I can’t give you a minute-by-minute analysis of the event, but I can still provide a basic timeline of all that happened. 

So, everything went relatively smoothly as Santana performed their set, but it was only downhill from there. As the day progressed, the crowd started fighting each other, and the “security” sure as hell didn’t help matters. At some point, someone knocked over one of the Angel’s motorcycles, which was likely an accident. However, the Angels were already pretty pissy, and plus, rule number one when it comes to the Angels is “Don’t mess with the motorcycles.” So, the Angels, already high thanks to someone spiking the beer with acid, started indiscriminately assaulting audience members they didn’t like with sawed-off pool cues and motorcycle chains, including a guy who was running around naked and someone else who was trying to take pictures of the stage. One woman who called in to a radio station the next day reported that she saw five fistfights, and the Angels were involved in every last one. She tried to intervene, but the people around her warned her not to, fearing for both their safety and hers. 

During Jefferson Airplane’s set, Marty Balin was knocked unconscious when he tried to intervene in a fight between the audience members and Hell’s Angels. When Paul Kantner grabbed a mic and sarcastically thanked the Angels, Bill Fritsch grabbed the mic from him and started arguing with him about it. In addition, Denise Jewkes, lead singer of Ace of Cups, was hit in the head with a beer bottle and suffered a skull fracture. Her husband, Noel, had to lead his six-month pregnant wife through the sea of people so she could get medical attention. The Stones later paid her medical expenses. By this point, news of what was going on out front was beginning to seep into the backstage areas and even back to the Stones at their hotel room, but most of the acts decided to press on regardless. However, after hearing about what happened to Marty from Michael Shrieve, the guys from the Grateful Dead decided to book it. 

Yeah. Thanks a bunch, assholes.

The crowd did calm down a bit for the Flying Burrito Brothers’ set, because really, who can say no to Gram Parsons? However, that calm was only temporary. When the Stones arrived by helicopter, it wasn’t even ten seconds before someone punched Mick Jagger in the face. Also, Bill Wyman missed the first helicopter out, so the Stones were already going to be late.

And then Mick Jagger decided he wanted to be all dramatic and shit, so the crowds were forced to wait until nightfall for the Stones’ set.

Meanwhile, during Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young’s set, a “stoned out” Angel reportedly stabbed Stephen Stills in the leg whenever he stepped forward to sing, leaving trails of blood running down his leg.

By the time the Stones were anywhere near ready to take the stage, things started to degenerate even further, to the point where the Angels (who already despised Mick’s scrawny, English arse) pretty much forced the Stones to go out on stage regardless of whether they were ready or not, just to prevent a full-scale riot.

It was in that moment Mick knew… he fucked up royally.

As Mick observed the constant fighting between the audience members and Hell’s Angels during the show as he sang “Sympathy for the Devil”, he desperately, defeatedly, pleaded for calm, his usual bravado completely absent for once in his adult life. However, it was clear that the Angels already weren’t going to listen to the flamboyant musician they clearly hated, and tensions had been simmering too long throughout the day, so Mick’s pleas for peace practically went completely unheard. 

Mick Taylor later said, “The Hell’s Angels had a lot to do with it. The people that were working with us getting the concert together thought it would be a good idea to have them as a security force. But I got the impression that because they were a security force they were using it as an excuse. They’re just very, very violent people. I think we expected probably something like the Hell’s Angels that were our security force at Hyde Park, but of course they’re not the real Hell’s Angels, they’re completely phony. These guys in California are the real thing — they’re very violent. I had expected a nice sort of peaceful concert. I didn’t expect anything like that in San Francisco because they are so used to having nice things there. That’s where free concerts started, and I thought a society like San Francisco could have done much better. We were on the road when it was being organized, we weren’t involved at all. We would have liked to have been. Perhaps the only thing we needed security for was the Hell’s Angels. I really don’t know what caused it but it just depressed me because it could have been so beautiful that day”

(I feel so sorry for Mick Taylor. The kid was just twenty years old when he saw all this bullshit going down.)

Now, what I’m going to do with this go-around, before I describe what happened next, is tell you a little bit about Meredith Hunter. He was just eighteen when he went to Altamont with his girlfriend, Patti Bredehoft. The only reason he had a gun that day, according to his family, was for self-protection, given that he was basically a young black man with a white girlfriend in a sea of white people, at a time and place where racism was still very much prevalent. Allegedly, the gun didn’t even have any bullets in it; it would just be a last resort to deter anyone giving him trouble. Like most 18-year-olds, he was also a bit naive, and though his girlfriend wanted to leave, he convinced her to stay for the Rolling Stones’ set. At one point, he was already set upon by Hell’s Angels, but that time, it was only a scuffle. What is known is that he was high on methamphetamines, but what isn’t known for sure is his general demeanour. Some said he had a crazy look in his eye, while others said that he seemed calm, though he was upset at the violence. 

And then, all hell broke loose. 

As “Under My Thumb” was ending, cameras found an opening into the crowd, into which stumbled Meredith Hunter. He grabbed his gun, a .22 calibre revolver, which was visible to cameras against Patti’s dress. When Alan Passaro saw this, he immediately assumed that Hunter was trying to shoot somebody, and started stabbing him (this was, again, in plain view of a bunch of cameras). Subsequently, he was repeatedly kicked in the head, trying to tell his attackers that he wasn’t trying to kill anybody. However, the Angels were convinced that he was attempting to shoot somebody, and that’s essentially what the narrative became- that a crazed black kid high on meth tried to shoot Mick or one of the other Rolling Stones (which, believe me, I’d be salty about even if I hadn’t read a Rolling Stone article about him).

It was little Mick Taylor who managed to keep things rolling (a bit) by suggesting they play “Brown Sugar”, which had only been recorded the previous Tuesday. 

Somehow, after the vicious beating he’d suffered, Meredith was still alive, and a doctor at the scene looked at him and recommended that he get immediate medical attention, or else he’d die. However, the only helicopter at the scene was reserved for the Rolling Stones, and the pilot made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that no one else was allowed on board. Hunter ended up dying of his injuries while they waited for emergency responders. 

I don’t quite know how well the situation was explained, but still, dick move on the part of the helicopter pilots. 

In addition to Hunter, three other people died, one after falling into a fast-moving irrigation duct while tripping on LSD, and two others were killed in their sleeping bags during a hit-and-run accident. There were also four reported births, one of which occurred during Jefferson Airplane’s set. 

The day after the concert, the Stones flew back to London, as the news slowly disseminated throughout the world. 

In 1971, a documentary about the tragedy, Gimme Shelter, was released to the public. However, in the years since, many have argued that is meant to excuse the Stones’ actions and is an apologist piece of media. Still, the footage itself does show a chilling account of what happened that day, if you can ignore that overall narrative (though you really shoudn’t ignore that). 

Alan Passaro was later charged with Meredith’s murder, but was acquitted by an all-white jury, who likely either excused the crime due to racism, or just didn’t have the full story.

After Altamont, just about everybody turned on each other. The audience members, many of whom undoubtedly still live with the scars of that fateful night blamed the Hell’s Angels, whereas the Angels laid some of the blame on the audience members, and most of it on the people who hired them, whilst the Stones said they’d never work with the Hell’s Angels again (which, allegedly, almost resulted in some of them trying to assassinate Mick Jagger). 

In my honest, humble, not-so-professional opinion, I say the blame should be laid with the Stones’ management, Mick Jagger, the Grateful Dead, and the Hell’s Angels. The concert should have been planned over a matter of months instead of weeks, held in a proper venue, and above all else, not had fucking Hell’s Angels as security guards. 

While the Grateful Dead came out of it rather unscathed (mostly because they didn’t play), it’s been said that the Stones lost quite a bit of their edge. It’s easy to say that they grew up a lot because of this event, becoming a lot humbler, and a lot less greedy and risky as a direct result of this. It’s even to a point where people haven’t liked much of what they’ve put out since the 1980’s. Santana and Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young declined to have their performances shown in Gimme Shelter, and have since spoken very little about the event. Meanwhile, Alan Passaro drowned in 1985, though the circumstances of his death are suspicious, to say the least. Meanwhile, Meredith Hunter’s family still deals with the trauma of his death, and aside from a $10,000 ($70,708.59) settlement, the Stones never even approached the family to offer their condolences, or even a half-assed explanation (I don’t recommend the latter approach). The Hell’s Angels also had their reputations as dangerous outsiders cemented by this event, given that they’d caused at least 75-90% of the violence that took place that day. 

Keith Richards has maintained his “fuck-all” attitude about this through the years, even writing in his 2010 autobiography “In actual fact, if it hadn’t been for the murder, we’d have thought it a very smooth gig by the skin of its fucking teeth.”

There is a reason that many of the dreams of the 60′s died at Altamont, and all the evidence you really need is the footage that was shot that night and the words of the people who saw the fiasco first hand. 

Sources: https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/remembering-meredith-hunter-the-fan-killed-at-altamont-630260/ https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/the-rolling-stones-disaster-at-altamont-let-it-bleed-71299/ https://www.forbes.com/sites/davidchiu/2019/12/03/altamont-at-50-the-disastrous-concert-that-brought-the-60s-to-a-crashing-halt/#535871c31941 https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/the-chaos-of-altamont-and-the-murder-of-meredith-hunter https://www.history.com/this-day-in-history/the-altamont-festival-brings-the-1960s-to-a-violent-end https://datebook.sfchronicle.com/music/altamont-wasnt-the-end-of-the-60s-it-was-the-start-of-rock-n-roll-disasters https://worldhistoryproject.org/1969/12/6/altamont-free-concert Altamont by Joel Selvin Life by Keith Richards https://allthatsinteresting.com/altamont-speedway-free-concert https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/2019/lifestyle/altamont-rolling-stones-50th-anniversary/ https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Altamont_Free_Concert https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Death_of_Meredith_Hunter http://timeisonourside.com/chron1969.html https://www.thevintagenews.com/2018/02/01/altamont-free-concert-in-1969/ https://www.ranker.com/list/altamont-free-concert-facts/jen-jeffers http://www.findingdulcinea.com/news/on-this-day/On-This-Day–Deaths-at-Rolling-Stones–Altamont-Concert-Shocks-the-Nation.html https://www.robertchristgau.com/xg/bk-aow/altamont.php https://westegg.com/inflation/ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUlyVSfhgaM https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/the-rolling-stones/1969/altamont-speedway-tracy-ca-43d6fbb3.html https://slate.com/culture/2018/07/just-a-shot-away-a-history-of-altamont-by-saul-austerlitz-reviewed.html

[dubsdeedubs]

A Minor Cat-astrophe

[AO3]

Notes: For @kamil-a in the 2019 Ghost Swap by @fyeahghosttrick!  This is my first time ever writing with these characters or for this game since I played it five years ago, so forgive the OOC-ness. I hope you enjoy!! :D 

Prompt: “sissel and jowd accidentally leave sissel's body in a taxi or something, the absolute shared look of horror between jowd and some household item as they realize they have to run around the city to get him back before anyone notices the Dead Cat, or the lack of cat in the house”

In hindsight, Jowd decides after everything is finally sorted out, it really could have gone much worse.

Then again, that had been a constant mantra of his for the past decade or so of his life. Ever since this life had started, with the breathless burn of hope that had overshadowed everything else, even the crack of a gunshot and the red-hot sear of pain in his leg,

They had won their desperate struggle against fate, and despite all odds, they had gotten a second chance. All of them.

It was just, he really hadn't expected that second chance to involve running frantically through the city's streets at some terrible hour in the morning, trying to find a taxi cab before its driver noticed a dead body in the backseat.

A cat's dead body, to be specific.

He wasn't entirely sure if that made the whole situation better or worse.

His world takes on a faint red tinge. Shouldn't there be an easier way of doing this? Says the bicycle seat gripped loosely in his hand.

"If there was one," Jowd mutters under his breath, "then I really wish I knew about it two hours ago."

The woman waiting next to him at the intersection glances at him. Jowd is suddenly very uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had just spoken out loud to a bicycle seat.

Maybe, Sissel suggests, if we call Yomiel -

Jowd blanches.

The past decade had treated Yomiel - not kindly, because Jowd isn't quite sure that being crushed by a large rock and subsequently going to jail for ten years could be considered kind under any circumstances. But, he knew with the certainty of having lived that particular possibility... better than it could have. Much, much better.

The man had been transformed by hope and his rewritten destiny into someone almost entirely unrecognizable from the vengeful, murderous spirit that had turned Jowd's life into a waking nightmare in a much darker world.

The key word here, however, was almost.

Jowd briefly imagines calling Yomiel, and the ensuing conversation. Specifically, he mentally played out the scenario of informing the man that he had forgotten the immortal, indestructible, irreplaceable physical vessel through which (and only through which) Yomiel's best friend can interact with the world... in the backseat of a taxi cab.

Yomiel had been confined to a wheelchair for much of the past ten years, but Jowd knew much better than most that the man didn't need physical mobility to be entirely terrifying.

If it helps, Sissel offers unhelpfully, I forgot too.

- 

How they end up in this mess involves a car chase, several cartons of smashed eggs, and an almost murder that would have been - without the intervention of a certain time-traveling cat ghost - just a regular murder.

It's a long story that's more than moderately entertaining, but Jowd has a haunting suspicion that it wouldn't stand up in a court of law. Especially when the prosecutors in this case would be 1) Sissel's murderous best friend who might just destroy his life and 2) Jowd's devastated daughter who also might just destroy his life, just with sad looks and tearful silence instead of literal homicide.

The core of it is, Jowd had taken Sissel along with him on a case, the kitten's small body tucked in his pocket. He had started doing the habit a year after Temsik Park, because Sissel didn't get much of a chance to explore otherwise, and as it turned out, solving crimes was much easier with someone who could rewind time to see events as they happened.

The sequence of events had become muscle memory at this point: bring Sissel along, usually in his coat pocket or in some sort of carrier; let him out to do his work discreetly at the scene of the crime; return back home before Kamila or anyone else noticed the distinct lack of kitten in their home.

Except this time around, with death averted and night's work completed, it suddenly became very apparent to Sissel and Jowd both that Sissel's body was nowhere in sight.

Are you sure it's not still in your pocket? The abandoned microwave beeps worriedly, its light flickering on and off with a certain nervous energy. I can't see my core in the Ghost World, but maybe -

As large and potentially laws-of-physics destroying Jowd's pockets were, he's decently certain he would notice having a dead cat in one of them.

"I don't understand," he mutters out loud to himself, "the only two places we've been tonight have been here and home. I suppose there was the taxi ride over here, but -"

Jowd goes quiet. "Oh," he says.

Oh?  Sissel repeats curiously.

Then, after a moment of realization, Oh.

The detective and the household appliance share a long look of absolute horror.

- 

Jowd had not realized just how many taxi cabs operated in this city. He always saw them out of the corner of his eye, but it was more or less easy to assume that they were the same ones. They were, after all, almost entirely identical.

That last fact was turning out to be a nightmare.

"I'm looking for a taxi," Jowd says into the phone. "A specific one. I had taken it earlier tonight, and I - ah, left something valuable in it."

"Sir," replies the voice on the other end, sounding entirely bored out of their mind, "all lost items are aggregated by the end of the night into our lost and found. Come into our office in the morning and you can see if your possession had been located."

"This is time-sensitive," he tries. "It's - a police matter."

"Do you remember the license plate?" Asked the voice on the other end, sounding completely unperturbed.

"Er." No, no he didn't. "I... do remember that the car had a difficult door?"

"...Sir, you'll need to wait until the morning."

Jowd opens his mouth, then closes it again. "I need to find before the driver does," he says reluctantly, uncertain of exactly how much he wants to say. "They might dispose of it if they find it first."

There's a long silence on the other line. "...Is this some sex thing?"

Jowd goes pale, entirely horrified at the possibility. "No! No, it's - it's a dead cat."

The line goes dead.

He stares at the phone in his hand.

"That could have gone better," Jowd mutters under his breath.

What's a 'sex thing'? Sissel asks curiously.

Kamila calls. Of course she does.

"Dad," she says bravely, only the slightest of a waver giving away her fear, "Sissel's missing. I've been looking for him all over, but I don't think he's in the house."

"I - I know, sweetheart," Jowd says slowly, after a long moment of consideration. "Don't worry. He'll be back home in a few hours."

His daughter seems surprised. "You - you know where he is?"

Ah. "Er, well." His brain freezes up on him. "I... decided to take him out for a walk."

Kamila is quiet for a long moment. "Dad, it's midnight."

"...Yes."

"And Sissel's a cat."

He laughs awkwardly. "Well, you know how he can be sometimes, sweetie."

"Okay, Dad," she says, sounding very unconvinced. "When will you and Sissel be back home?"

Jowd glances at his watch, and winces.

"You really should go back to bed, sweetheart," he tries. "We'll be back home in the morning, alright? Don't worry yourself by staying up for us."

"Okay, Dad."

The line goes dead.

Jowd lets out a deep, deep breath. 

Thirty minutes and no real progress later, Jowd's phone rings. It's an unknown number, and he eyes it with no small amount of alarm. He hesitates before pressing the glaring green call button.

"Hello?" He says hesitantly.

"So," says Yomiel. "I heard you've lost Sissel."

Jowd freezes. There's about several dozen questions swirling around in his head right now, and he isn't entirely sure where to start.

"Yomiel?"

"Yep. It's been a while, officer."

"How did you -"

"You gave your number to me ten years ago," the man says calmly. "Told me to use it, if I ever needed to."

A perfectly reasonable answer, if not for the fact that it cleared up approximately none of the confusion swirling around in Jowd's mind.

"...Also, Kamila called me for help."

Jowd clings onto the first thing that jumps to mind. "Kamila... knows how to contact you?"

"We've been pen pals for years," Yomiel says, sounding almost bored. "She tells me how Sissel is doing, I teach her how to redesign her blog theme and hack into federal data systems. Your wife introduced us. Keep up."

It hits Jowd suddenly just how entirely out of the loop he is.

"You," he says slowly, "have been teaching my daughter how to do what?"

"That's not important right now," the other man says dismissively. "What's that about Sissel going missing?"

Jowd takes a breath, lets it back out again. "He isn't missing," he says carefully. "He's in my phone right now."

"Huh." He doesn't think he's imagining the disbelief in the other man's voice.

Hello Yomiel.

For a long moment, Yomiel doesn't speak.

Then, slowly, with a strange softness, "Hello, Sissel. I'm guessing you've lost your body?"

The engineer's voice had changed upon hearing Sissel's ghostly whisper of a voice through the line, quiet enough that it could be dismissed as imagination by anyone not attuned. Maybe Yomiel shouldn't have been able to, not by the rules that governed the separation of life and death in their reality.

But Yomiel and Sissel had always been able to hear each other when no one else could.

In the backseat of a taxi cab, Sissel agrees.

"In the ba - Jowd." There's a sudden dangerous quality to the man's voice.

Jowd winces. "There was a murder case -"

"Don't. Don't speak."

Yomiel sighs. "...What do you need from me?"

[scrthaddct-blog]

Just A Few Moments @ Main St Station

I was waiting for my heroin dealer’s coke dealer.

John, my heroin dealer, could be relied on to have heroin 90% of the time. Other dealers were 50% on a good week. So I liked John, and tried to give him my business whenever possible. Sure, it was a mission to get to Main St from College and Bathurst, especially since my other dealer was at Howard Park and Roncesvalles, but I owed that guy $30 from two months ago and hadn’t gotten around to paying him back, probably because I’d recently gone back to blow after a long layoff. I hadn’t quit heroin or anything, and in fact had already grabbed a few points from John, but I wanted some coke too because I liked to be awake for the heroin high. Usually John would have everything ready at his apartment, which was eight minutes east on foot, but today his dealer was late so we were waiting together in that vast atrium below ground level but above the subway platforms

I typically saw John two or three times a week but our meetings were terse affairs, a few kind words during the exchange, meaningless banter or some grumbling about the Way Things Were. but today his dealer was two hours late and we were swiftly running out of common ground.

John was older than fifty and probably bound for the penitentiary. He’d been busted twice the previous autumn, with heroin both times, heroin containg fentanyl because all heroin these days contains fentanyl, but the cops inexplicably charged him with possession of carfentanil with intent to distribute, a crime that carries a mandatory prison sentence.

This all happened during the opiate crisis when fentanyl was in the news all the time. There were few facts but plenty of hysteria and misinformation. If a person in pain is administered an appropriate dose, fentanyl is a highly effective and safe painkiller, but carfentanil is lethal to humans at any amount, even a dose as infinitesimal as a grain of salt. I’d been buying and enjoying John’s heroin for over three months when they grabbed him, and there was simply no fucking way it contained carfentanil. That shit is for rhinoceros surgery, and John wasn’t a fucking zoologist. He was, unfortunately, an ex-convict with numerous prior offenses, making prison all but guaranteed. His trial kept getting pushed back and he didn’t know how to feel about it. On one hand, it delayed his inevitable incarceration. On the other, his lawyer was an addict and John was paying him in heroin.

“Motherfucker’s costing me a fortune,” he growled, pacing up and down. He was always pacing, like he was subconsciously rehearsing for jail. He had miraculous energy, John did, up at seven-thirty in the morning to head to Queen Station and sell to his nine-to-five clients, fanning out around town between ten and three, hitting the injection sites and miscellaneous workplaces (like mine...can’t tell you where, sorry). If you wanted drugs from him after three, you had to head up and over to Main St, where John was shooting up and making flaps for the following day, finally nodding off around midnight. He never stopped, John didn’t.

Another thing: he looked wildly different in age every time I saw him. And I don’t mean he was rapidly aging. He’d look thirty-five one day, like a senior citizen the next, then in his forties the next. It was fucked. I never asked him about it, though I wanted to. John was a unique guy. A fireball. Even when he looked old, he never stopped radiating fierce vitality. The thought of him behind bars made my chest feel funny. It wasn’t right to put him away like that, to stomp on someone so alive.

As we passed our second hour of waiting, I began to fidget. John had regaled me with detailed descriptions of seemingly every street fight he’d ever fought in, or watched from a safe distance, and I was bored. I didn’t doubt the veracity of some of the stories; we met at Yonge and Dundas one summer day and he was limping badly, his face covered in fresh cuts. But he was in a good mood. He swore he’d won, despite being outnumbered, a number that no doubt changed each time he told the tale to somebody.

He could lie sometimes, and he ripped me off a few times when I started buying blow because I actually thought a gram was $200, since a gram of heroin is $200, but after I’d bought three grams from him I learned that a gram of coke was in fact $100 and he’d been overcharging me by a criminal 100%. I didn’t pursue the matter, but the next time I told him I wanted blow, I made sure he knew I intended to pay $100 per gram moving forward. I still liked the guy. And it was my kinda fault for being so ignorant anyway. I wasn’t going to find a better dealer. I wasn’t. As I said, John always had heroin ready to go, but it was more than that. When you’re an addict, you get this exaggerated fondness and respect for your dealer. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s a form of Stockholm Syndrome. Doesn’t matter. Point is, I liked him. He was like the cool uncle you only see every other Christmas, the one your Mom insists you stay away from because he has a “checkered history” and always smells strange and musty, like he spends a lot of time gardening.

“Dumb motherfucker,” John muttered.

“Your lawyer?”

John looked at me like I was stupid. “No! My coke guy!” He was still pacing. He was on something, but it wasn’t heroin.

“Has he texted?”

“Only like...fifty times. Said he was leaving Broadview an hour ago. Then he said ‘just a few moments’ a half hour ago.”

I frowned. Broadview Station was twelve minutes away. But I knew John well enough to know that he would take any criticism of his coke dealer’s lateness as a criticism of him, John, an attack on his judgment of character. I had to sound diplomatic, almost neutral. “Is this guy… reliable?”

“Of course,” John narrowed his eyes at me. “He never ghosts me. He...oh! There’s one thing I should tell you.”

“Okay.”

“He kinda has this thing.”

“Okay…?”

“Uh…”

“Just say it.”

“He kinda thinks he looks like Robert Plant.”

I blinked. “What?”

“He thinks he looks like Robert Plant.”

“So...what am I supposed to do about that?”

“If he brings it up, just agree with him.”

“What?”

“Or if he asks you if you think he looks like anybody, tell him he looks like Robert Plant.”

“You want me to tell a grown man that he looks li-”

“YO!” a voice bellowed.

We looked. A man with sopping wet hair was grinning at us - well, at John - from the top of the escalator. He hopped off with an awkward lunge. Behind him a young woman was cresting the moving steps, sipping a bottle of Nestea and wearing some kind of sweater with a single sleeve.

“Hey!” John called back.

The cocaine dealer was wearing a wrinkled black and blue ski jacket he was keeping unzipped. Actually, “wearing” is too generous a verb for how he wore the jacket. The thing was hanging off him, almost like it was alive and trying to get away because it found him disgusting. He looked familiar, though, and as he got closer I realized something astounding. Astounding and...confusing.

The man looked exactly like Rod Stewart. Not Robert Plant, not even a little bit. But he looked every bit like Rod Stewart.

I turned to John in amazement. “Did you mean Rod Stewart?”

In a flash, John grabbed my arm and twisted it behind my back. He was not play fighting, he meant it. He sidled over to me and said through gritted teeth: “Robert. Plant. Okay?”

I nodded, terrified, and John released his grip and turned to greet our company. The man - Rod Stewart...I mean Robert Plant - hadn’t seen the scuffle. He was preoccupied with the young woman, who was nodding at everything he said but obviously not listening and obviously bored. As they approached I saw that she was wearing gauze on one arm, a hastily prepared cast of some kind, flapping wildly from that weird subway wind tunnel effect.

Rob motioned at them to follow us into the corner of the vast concourse, the corner with the bank of payphones. Nobody else was down there except for a busker in the very middle of the room. The guy seemed to know just three songs that he played over and over and over. As we were waiting earlier John had gone over and requested some Led Zeppelin but the dude shook his head, a pretentious I’m-the-artist-and-you’re-not gesture, and resumed his turgid trio of dirges. I didn’t recognize the songs and neither did John. They must have been originals. They were atrocious and also indistinguishable from one another. People passed him hurriedly in ceaseless procession, but nobody tossed coins and none of them gave us a second glance. It was a perfect place to buy or sell drugs. Yes, the omnipresent eye of the camera followed our movements, but does anyone actually monitor those things?

John had already taken his scale out of his backpack when I joined him at the payphone bank, Rod Stewart and his friend arriving moments later. He was still talking at her, and you could see from his body language he was bragging about something, something he considered an achievement of magnitude. You could see she was too tired to hate him. She would wear him down, over time, with her vast indifference. She would outlive him and inherit his empire. Or not.

Rod Stewart surreptitiously tossed a big bag of coke at John, who immediately got to work. relieved to have something to do with his hands, just relishing the task. I hope one day to love my job even half as much.

“Cover me,” John said over his shoulder. “All of you. Pretend you’re on the phone.”

Rod Stewart and his partner ignored him, which made me feel like I couldn’t. I had to show them whose side I was on. There were four phones, so I picked the one farthest from the wall, farthest from the booth John was using to weigh the coke. I figured Rod Stewart would use his bulk to hide John from the steady stream of people heading for the escalators. But instead he did nothing. He just stood there like the asshole he was proving himself to be.

Feeling stupid, I picked up the phone and turned my back to John. Rod Stewart and his companion were still oblivious to the world around them, only now the young woman was speaking, berating really, and I realized she was a mail order bride. She was growling at him in a foreign language, Romanian maybe, something Eastern European probably, when she looked at me and instantly softened and smiled and for just a second I believed her before realizing she was only trying to make Rod Stewart angry and jealous.

He turned and saw me and visibly balked, rearing back with a sudden jerk, and I realized he hadn’t noticed me until that very moment. (I was doing a lot of realizing that afternoon, a thought which was itself a realization, I realized.) Here we go, I thought. Once again, having waited too long somewhere with someone, I have found myself in a circumstance of imminent violence. All because I like drugs because they help me forget I’m me. I don’t like being me. I don’t like me at all. Lots of people don’t like me, for good reason. I “borrowed” money to buy drugs, I stole, I cheated, I lied. And I’m sorry for all of it. But I swear on everything I’ve ever loved that it didn’t feel like a choice. It really didn’t. I was on autopilot. I had one directive: Get drugs. And I did everything I could to fulfill that directive.

Does that mean I deserve a beating? Probably. But if I have to die a drug related death, can’t it be closer to downtown? One of my old home stations? (That’s the station nearest your place, which is probably self-evident so sorry for explaining.) I’ve moved many times, though rarely by choice. You get kicked out of places a lot when you’re a drug addict. In my case, not for behavior. I don’t drink all the beer in the fridge or stagger home at 3 AM and play loud music. I just have a tendency to spend the rent money on drugs. I spend all money on drugs, a standing policy that has brought me here, staring at an angry man who looks like Rod Stewart and wants to hit me. He is breathing slowly and glaring at me, just staring and not moving.

One must adapt to the highly fluid circumstances endemic to the purchase of hard drugs in low quantities. Rich people don’t have to put up with this shit. They buy in bulk. There is a delivery service here in Toronto, possibly fictional but whispered of in hopeful, reverential tones, that offers every drug ever. Anything you wish, right to your door. One former dealer of mine (dead from OD) told me the minimum order for this mythical service is 5k. My Roncesvalles-Howard Park man snorted at that figure and insisted it’s only 2 grand. John insists it’s $10 000. Imagine that. Having the kind of money to order any drug you want, or might want later on. That’s the life I liked to tell myself I deserved, not a life of evading marauders and ersatz-Rod Stewarts, waiting for my heroin dealer to weigh out a fucking gram of coke, after already waiting two hours before that for my heroin dealer’s coke dealer who looks like Rod Stewart but thinks he looks like Robert Plant whose companion from Eastern Europe has an injured arm he was obviously responsible for to show up and WHAT THE FUCK IS TAKING THESE PEOPLE SO LONG

YOU ARE DRUG DEALERS! DEAL DRUGS!

As the big galoot gaped at me, taking in my presence and blurting random vowels, John daintily picked a large rock of cocaine from his bag, not mine or his own, snorted it, and winked at me.

I couldn’t help it. I laughed one of those sudden laughs that sounds like a bark, further confusing an increasingly agitated Rod Stewart until John, turning back to his scale with a studious frown, like he’d been there the whole time, said casually over his shoulder, “that’s my boy I told you about. He’s with me.”

Just like that, like pressing enter on a password in a video game, Rod Stewart nodded and backed off.

Saved by John. What a guy. He’s with me. A wonderful phrase. Uttered by my dealer without forethought but nevertheless filling the father-sized hole in me, a warm sense of belonging, of mattering, spreading through my lower region...or else I was sicker than I realized (despite all the realizing going on elsewhere) and needed either heroin or a toilet very soon.

But even if the feeling was gastrointestinal distress, it didn’t diminish the sweetness of John’s sentiment. I was with him. I was not with Rod Stewart. I grabbed the phone because John told me to, making my allegiance plain, and it felt good to have John reciprocate. I decided to snort some H right then, to sustain the warmth inside me, when four police officers - Toronto Police, not Transit Cops - materialized seemingly out of nowhere at the bottom of the escalators and sized us up.

There was nowhere to run and they damn well knew it, and they knew we knew it, so they were taking their time, as police like to do when they know they’ve got you, like a cat toying with its prey. Taking pleasure in the kill.

More than a little belatedly, Rod Stewart and his friend from Eastern Europe picked up their respective phones and began nattering nonsense as John hurriedly swept the cocaine crumbs away and stuffed all three bags of it, his own, mine, and Rod Stewart’s, down the front of his pants. If we aren’t arrested, I thought, ask John if he’s wearing underwear.

Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my phone, closed my eyes and murmured an agnostic prayer, which goes please please please please please please please please please until someone tapped me on the shoulder.

Expecting a looming cop, all sarcasm and accusation, I was flabbergasted to see John grinning and pointing at the cops, all four of them, standing in the center of the room, interrogating the talentless busker, who was sputtering and kinda scared, and in that moment I forgave him his crimes against music and loved him for being my diversion. Our diversion.

The TTC has a recorded announcement that plays over the speakers inside every single station, something about reporting misconduct or felonious acts. I can only remember the ending: If you see something, say something.

We watched as the cops led the guy out of the station, his body language dramatically changed, gone from confident musician to sniveling inmate. He shot a helpless glance at me as he got on the escalator. I gave him a soft wave and a kiss. I’m an asshole.

“Poor fuckin loser,” Rob Stewart said, shaking his head.

“Here,” John handed me my bag, mercifully free of pubic hair, and I went home and snorted coke and heroin in alternating increments all night and into dawn until both were gone and I went to sleep and when I woke up I felt empty and lonely and depressed so I crawled out of bed and tried to figure out the quickest way to get drugs again.

I did not thank what or whomever I’d prayed to.

[bakudekuficlibrary]

BakuDeku: Strangers AU Part I

1 Series. 66 Works.

Click here for Part II & Part III!

Quiet Rapture by lalazee  ( E | 29,113+ | 8/? )

That ABO fic where cocky Alpha Bakugou falls in mate-love at first scent, while Midoriya is just a poor bookstore-owning Omega who got his nose punched in is a kid and can't smell a damn thing. Also known as: That time an Alpha had to use his actual personalityto woo his mate instead of relying on his scent.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault]

May I take your order, dipshit? by supercrunch  ( T | 6,373 | 1/1 )

So, like, maybe Bakugou wasn’t really the best choice for this whole pizza delivery shindig.

(Midoriya in love, Bakugou in denial, and way, way too much cheese.

A BakuDeku romance in thirty minutes or less. )

Sugar Stardust by milkcandie  ( T | 52,353 | 14/14 )

Between baking pretty macarons and sculpting wedding cakes, Katsuki slowly falls in love with a certain green-haired coworker who has effervescent stars in his eyes. Maybe working as a pastry chef in Nowhere, Japan isn't so bad after all, especially when he’s in such close proximity to a boy who manages to beautify every little thing in his presence.

☆ A pâtisserie AU where Katsuki and Izuku are really the perfect ingredient for each other.

Before Midnight by DriftingGlass  ( E | 211,528 | 28/28 )

Izuku Midoriya takes the same train to and from school Monday through Friday, morning and night. His only company during these lonesome hours comes in the form of another boy his age—a teen with scarred hands and blood gem eyes, a stranger with ash-blond hair who walks in a shroud of danger and mystery.

"Would you stop with that fucking muttering, idiot?"

And before Izuku can find his footing, his life becomes a full-blown collision course thanks to walking cannonball Katsuki Bakugou.

(And along the way he may have found the missing fuel to his fire).

Bluebird by EtherealBeing  ( E | 40,870 | 6/6 )

Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katuski was well aware of that fact.

However, possessing this knowledge made it no less aggravating for him to discover — a full two minutes into his rant about his day — that he’d been venting his frustrations to a complete stranger. As if that wasn't enough, said stranger was also inexplicably determined to hear his story to its end.

[On Hiatus] Oddly Beautiful by totalweebshit (Darkshadow)  ( Not Rated | 26,738+ | 7/? )

Izuku was the outcast omega of the Hetjan tribe. With his father having left him and his mother years ago the two of them lived alone in relative peace. However, everything changed when the rival tribe, Irae, attacked and one hot tempered alpha, Katsuki Bakugo, decided to take Izuku as his own.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Major Character Death | Rape/Non-Con]

the last dragon-blood king by claimedbydaryl  ( E | 107,013 | 13/13 )

Katsuki Bakugou was the alpha heir to a forgotten throne, reigning lord and warden of the Fyre Isles, a famed warrior of vicious repute in the Western Seas, and he would be wed to Izuku Midoriya by the day’s end.

[On Hiatus] And He Was Magnificent by Skaii, SugarbabyIzuku  ( E | 4,134+ | 1/? )

Midoriya Izuku is an omega slave, born into a life of subservience. He's trapped, never to reach his dreams of something more; until he's thrust headfirst into the world of Bakugou Katsuki, the crown prince of Incendium Kingdom. Now, Izuku must adjust to a new life as Katsuki's slave—while a war that threatens to shake the land looms on the horizon.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

daisies bunches and heather branches by halcyonwhispers  ( T | 5,862 | 1/1 )

izuku falls in love with the foul-mouthed tattoo artist next door.

Honeymoon High by Butterfree  ( T | 115,021 | 18/18 )

“OI, FUCKFACE! If you think you’re just going to waltz into this fancy-ass church with your fake as shit smile and your miserable bitch of a wife while my friend is sitting on the street carrying YOUR BABY, then YOU need to step right down here SO I CAN DETONATE YOUR ASS UNTIL NO ONE CAN RECOGNIZE YOUR LYING FACE, YOU DIPSHIT EXCUSE FOR A HUMAN BEING!”

A beat of silence.

And then all hell broke loose.

It started with a ‘SLAP’ resonating from the bride who activated some quirk to maximize the pain that her ex-fiancé felt. A lady near the front fainted, knocking over the table with the wedding cake and a glass swan sculpture. The scattered remains caused the ring bearer to jump up. Her quirk accidentally activated and sent the brides’ maids into the air. A man with half white and half red hair rushed to save the statue, but ended up tripping over a power line which engulfed the room in darkness. It didn’t take long for everyone else in the building to follow.

In the midst of the glory Katsuki felt at the complete chaos, a calloused hand grabbed his sleeve. He was met with wide and curious green eyes. “Excuse me, I’m the groom. Do I know you?”

.

Fuck. He crashed the wrong wedding.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

BNHA Grindr AU No One Asked For by HatakeJory  ( M | 37,612+ | 28/45 )

Izuku is a second-year at U.A. and ready for his first relationship so he downloads the gay dating app known as Grindr. He meets pro hero and U.A. graduate Bakugou Katsuki who is looking for a cute boy to spoil, and eventually someone who's awesome enough to run his Hero Agency with.

Who knows what they'll find in each other?

[Underage]

K-9 by warschach  ( E | 18,304 | 1/1 )

Izuku takes in a stray on one rainy night, except it's not a dog, it's a dog shifter who goes by the name, Katsuki. After the initial wave of panic and embarrassment, Izuku thinks his new pet/roommate is pretty cute.

[Abandoned] a boy and his dog: a wolf's tail by Ramabear (RyMagnatar), TheatricalPlacenta  ( E | 102,947 | 6/? )

In a world of supernatural beings, one young man is doing his best to get by.

Izuku’s a simple human and a college student, curious and cautious with a generosity and kindness that can be killer. But when a chance encounter with the Big Bad Wolf of campus breaks him out of his shell, will Izuku succumb to the flames of his new desire, or will he rise above it all?

But this bad boy Katsuki isn’t all that he appears to be. Behind that prickly exterior is a heart of gold and beneath that lies a hunger that Izuku can’t yet fathom.

Even if Izuku can manage to tame the wolf on his tail, what will he do with the beast inside of himself when it comes calling?

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Don't Set Your Drink Down by Crandberrycrush  ( E | 79,363+ | 20/21 )

With sudden clarity Izuku realized he had broken the first rule of going out. Never leave your drink unattended.

Cinnamon Bun Bun by DarkMachi  ( M | 36,186+ | 19/? )

In a world with humanoid creatures called "pets", Katsuki Bakugou finds himself suddenly the owner of a timid curly haired rabbit. How the fuck did that happen? Will the reluctant new owner and abandoned pet be the best thing for each other or will it end in disaster? Only the tags will ever know.

*This story is mostly about fluff and more fluff. Warning and "past" tags for a backstory chapter almost exclusively. Will warn at the beginning of ANY chapter with ANY sensitive issues.*

[Rape/Non-Con | Past Abuse | PTSD]

Unknown Number: I Love You by Explosion_Boy (push_it_hajime), Lillabelle  ( T | 50,352 | 11/11 )

Opposites attract right? Well that's what Midoriya's friend, Uraraka, thinks. Her friend from another school talked about another guy, Bakugou Katsuki, and the two girls decided the two were perfect for each other. Now Midoriya is left with the number of a guy he didn't even know.

How bad could it be?

Izuku's Home for Wayward Pets by glamour_weeb  ( E | 11,327+ | 4/? )

Izuku works at the Bureau of Companion Protection as a rehabilitator for abused and abandoned Companions, animal-human hybrids. He’s seen his fair share of cruelty cases and even fostered a few Companions, but he’s never had a Companion of his own, until now. After rescuing Katsuki from a life in an illegal, underground Companion fighting ring, Izuku must take in the wolfdog that no one else can handle.

Eventually, Katsuki comes to love his new home, as well as his new Master.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | PTSD | Past Abuse]

The Space Between by Kanae_vR  ( M | 77,012+ | 13/23 )

Holding his expensive camera tightly between his hands, Midoriya Izuku looked up at the once-white letters displayed on the black storefront banner. “The Hard Luck Bar,” he murmured to himself, unsure if he was getting ready to enter or flee.

Amateur photographer Midoriya Izuku is stuck in a rut and desperate for a change of pace. Deep in his city's grimy underbelly, he finds exactly what he's looking for in the form of an underground punk sensation on the verge of their big break, fronted by a foul-mouthed firework of a human being.

Loud, brash and passionate, Izuku may have just found the creative spark he needed, as well as something new to set his soul ablaze.

The Bonds that Bind Us by DMMegsie  ( M | 28,298+ | 5/? )

Travelling with his trading caravan, Izuku is on his way home when they stumble across an already heated battle in the middle of an open field in the dead of night. Being mistaken as part of attacking party, Izuku finds himself fighting off the fabled Demon King of the Mountains of Fire.

However, during the battle, Izuku breaks a necklace on the Demon King that held an unspoken promise from his mother from long ago, which changes everything.

Nothing ever as it seems, nor is it simple. As an omega of elven descent, Izuku has a lot to learn about the greater world and himself. The same could be said of the half dragon lord of the mountain.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Rape/Non-Con]

Hopeless Ramen-tic by lalazee  ( T | 7,155 | 1/1 )

Midoriya is a cute guy who works at a ramen stall and Bakugou is thirsty as hell, but has to hide it by being an asshat. Another love story.

dirty chai by bishounen_curious  ( E | 33,447+ | 4/? )

Y’know, Izuku doesn’t mind his part-time barista gig. It’s painless money — he likes his tiny, student union coffeeshop, likes his coworkers, his customers.

All customers, but this one.

Indestructible (emotionally speaking, that is) by iknewaman  ( E | 8,847 | 1/1 )

“Alright, buddy,” Katsuki says, swatting at the weeping guy with the broom. “Time to clear out.”

--

AU where Bakugou works at the cinema and Izuku is the cinema-goer who keeps coming in to cry at sad movies

Mechanical Bull by warschach  ( E | 27,573 | 1/1 )

Katsuki has a track record of bad choices, it's a condition, but Izuku might be the one choice that's right.

[On Hiatus] Incandescent Snow by Chicory  ( T | 74,810+ | 12/? )

At first Katsuki is just a boy in a photo whom Izuku wants to meet.

[Rape/Non-Con]

[Series] BNHA: Hybrid A/O/B Works by Morpheel  ( E | 29,802+ | 3 Works | WIP )

You're Everything A Big Bad Wolf Could Want by ElopeToTheSea  ( T | 20,223 | 4/4 )

Little red riding hood I don't think little big boys should Go walking in these spooky old woods alone...

In which Izuku saves a wounded dog, and ends up with a mate for life.

Fate Be Damned! by the_sukekiyo_vandal  ( M | 51,412+ | 6/? )

The Tribe located in the Valley of Midoriya was a green paradise for all. Well, except for Deku, one of the few Omegas in the village. His life was cursed the moment his mother gave birth to him. Fate dictated that Deku lead a life of submission to inevitably become an Alpha’s possession. So-called fate be damned! Deku decides to forge his own path in life leading him to a volatile dragon king with a fiery temper and a penchant for unnecessary arguments.

Chapter 4 of too many prompts; too little time by Ramabear (RyMagnatar)  ( M | 645 | 1 out of 7 )

god what fluff. gotta see a dentist after this one. disgusting. i love it.

this one is a strangers AU, non-hero world- as in, they don't know each other previously and there aren’t quirks. because thats how this one turned out ok? ok

i wish i may i wish i might by writedeku  ( T | 6,600 | 1/1 )

Katsuki grants wishes. There, he’s said it. No, he’s not a genie, or a fairy, or something you think you can just summon. He likes to think he’s the Room of Requirement, but like, for humans, and yes, okay, maybe he’s slightly bitter he can’t grant his own wishes, because that’s kind of bullshit.

(Or the AU where Katsuki grants wishes on the down low and meets Izuku, a lonely eighteen year old who wishes for a hug. Katsuki is quite smitten.)

Drinking Watermelon by warschach  ( E | 8,906 | 1/1 )

For whatever reason, maybe divine fate, Izuku turned and looked over his shoulder and waved to them.

Katsuki’s heart full on stopped right then, and his fingers forgot their duty on the rails, and his body neglected its job to keep Katsuki balanced.

Izuku’s summer sweet smile fell into concern as Katsuki went airborne and cracked his skull on the porch.

or Katsuki works as a camp counselor, and Izuku is a boy made of summer heat and sunlight.

Unseemly Beasts by MissLightBright  ( T | 24,493+ | 11/? )

Dragons. Destructive beasts tearing through everything in their path and deadly to anyone who opposes them. Midoriya has never seen a dragon, never planned to, but now he needs the help of one. He just... didn't want to kill one. Not if he could help it.

Reflections by Kreativekilljoy  ( M | 17,185+ | 7/10 )

Where hero Bakugou Katsuki keeps having impromptu encounters with officer Midoriya Izuku.

Chewed Up by warschach  ( E | 30,693 | 1/1 )

Zombie apocalypse, more than a third of the population currently dead or in the state of undead, and Katsuki still somehow managed to get his shit stolen by two chicks and Freckle boy.

Fuck this new generation.

Sucker Punch by warschach  ( E | 41,551 | 1/1 )

But, whatever, Disney Boy over there was—

Prettying up real damn good that Katsuki got kind of distracted—totally understandable, like god those CGI pine eyes—and didn’t see the straight path he made for the metal trash bin in the center of the area until he was tipping forward and waist deep in discarded bottles, plates, balled up tissues sticky with he prayed was chocolate ice cream and nacho cheese.

Mina howled behind the gate. “Look, Katsuki returned to his home.”

(or Katsuki works security at Six Flags and moonlights as a derby dude and continuously looks uncool around Izuku)

now with cool ass art by dollcedraws on tumblr

Subject 00626: Ground Zero by LordExplodo-Angst (QueerPinoy)  ( M | 43,530 | 27/27 )

In a world where Quirks are still new, it is imperative that mankind strives to understand them, a top priority, a scientific frontier like no other. At least, that’s what Dr. Midoriya thought when he chose his specification for his Human Biology degree years ago. He hadn’t questioned it until his residency at the Supernatural Ability Lab at Yuuei Institute of Research and joined the lab on Subject 00626: Ground Zero.

A most people are Quirkless, probably-unethical human experimentation AU

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Beyond Sea and Storm by Celestialgunfireopera  ( E | 38,734+ | 10/? )

Ancient curse, destined mates, kingdoms rise and fall, and through it all, two young men learning to love.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

[On Hiatus] Black, I Don't Have All Day! by HG_Wells  ( Not Rated | 28,402+ | 11/? )

On your 16th birthday words are imprinted on to your arm, they are known as 'The Words of Love'. These words are the first words your Soulmate will say to you in their own handwriting.

A 18 year old Izuku Midoriya has never gone out in search of his Soulmate, he chose to continue and work at the coffee shop he's lived at since the untimely death of his Mother and the newfound news that he is the son of Toshinori Yagi (aka All Might) who will one day pass his Quirk down to him. Though the only thing Izuku is concerned about right now is having the money to pay for his Father's next surgery.

A 19 year old Bakugou Katsuki has trained most of his life to become a Hero, and his training paid off. He wasn't a sidekick for very long, quickly moving up the ranks. He arrived at #2 Hero when he was 19, but after the retirement of All Might who suddenly seemed to disappear off the map, he rose to #1 and has yet to give up that place. He's never been interested in the concept of Soulmates and refuses to search for his own, thinking they'd just drag him down.

But one day, both of their lives will take a b-line in the same direction and they'll have to face it head on.

Eyes on Fire by glamour_weeb  ( E | 7,638+ | 2/? )

Izuku is the ruler of a peaceful city, a city that stands no chance against the Dread King Katsuki and his barbarian horde. In order to save his people, Izuku hatches a dangerous plan to seduce the King. What he does not know is that he is exactly what the Dread King Katsuki has been searching for this whole time.

Deku: Hero Lover by Synnie  ( E | 5,512 | 1/1 )

Stroke of Midnight is a hero run company that manufactures sex toys made from casts of the appendages of heroes.

Deku is a hero lover who posts videos of himself masturbating with said sex toys.

Ground Zero is a hero obsessed with said videos.

The Wolf by GreyDayMoon  ( E | 3,977 | 1/1 )

Izuku Midoriya had been outcasted by the village due to the mark on his body that fated him for disaster and connected him to a monster.

Katsuki is the alpha werewolf of a pack and finally about to hunt down his fated mate.

(Have mercy, my first smut piece)

Series Part 5 of AU's I'm Thinking of Expanding On Later

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Rape/Non-Con | Underage]

Sound Of You (With Me) by linkami1379  ( E | 8,068 | 1/1 )

Katsuki starts his second year at Yuuei High School like he started his first one: full of expletives, dedicated to becoming Number One, and friends with the shit-stain Eijirou. But a new student at Yuuei will tilt the axis of Katsuki's world, just a little.

Features Screamer!Katsuki and Speech Impediment!Izuku.

Also important side-character!Eijirou

[Underage]

Bird Of The Summer by lalazee  ( G | 1,556 | 1/1 )

Fill for a 'chance encounter prompt': Bakugou just moved into the beautiful countryside, in an old old house on a hill, near the forest. Midoriya is his closest neighbor. Bakugou knows this because Midoriya just fell out of the tree in his backyard.

A Fight To The Death by iknewaman  ( E | 10,366 | 1/1 )

Izuku isn’t competitive by nature, but when the blond, cocky asshole from the other table’s team gets involved he suddenly becomes hellbent on winning.

Rival Pub Quiz AU

Dear Fellow Traveler by Morpheel  ( E | 19,863+ | 4/? )

On the verge of completing a cure that would see to the end of many common ailments, Alchemist Izuku Midoriya grows desperate at the realization that he is missing a key ingredient to his brew.

However the blanket of night looms overhead, promising trouble to any who would dare venture out into the deadened woods at these hours. Many travelers have lost their lives braving the dangers of the forest, but it's a risk that Izuku must take, as the concoction would be unusable by the crack of dawn.

Yet the forest was never supposed to hold Werewolves.

Sorely unprepared for a run-in with the Alpha of a desperate pack, Izuku is captured, and held hostage within their ranks. In the midst of a clan afflicted with illness and death, Midoriya must survive the temperament of clan leader Bakugo Katuski, while attempting to find a cure for their affliction.

Easier said than done.

Series Part 1 of BNHA: Fantasy AU

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

[Abandoned] a railcar named desire by Ramabear (RyMagnatar)  ( E | 9,069 | 4/? )

Sometimes, on the train, Katsuki encounters a stranger who has the power to make his day incredible, just by the touch of his skin.

Every meeting, he feels drawn to the stranger, drawn to touch him, to hold him, to speak to him. And though it physically pains him to pull away, time and again, he always does.

Katsuki can't help himself and he doesn't want to ruin a good thing by trying to continue it off the train. Those moments they share are enough for him.

-------

Izuku tells himself, over and over, that what happens on the train stays on the train and if it happens only on the train then it isn't a problem at all.

-------

It turns out, they're both very, very wrong.

How To Live With A Dragon by chancellorxofxtrash (PhoebeMurdivine)  ( T | 2,324 | 1/1 )

“Come with me, then. If you can keep up with me, that is, stupid boy. I bet you will die halfway before we even get there!” They were about the same age, but the cocky voice and the challenge in the red eyes spurred the young boy of the castle to act.

I Like Me Better When I'm With You by Kenmai  ( T | 38,279+ | 17/? )

Midoriya thought that he’d finally started to get his life together after moving out of his moms house. He had a decent sized apartment, he had a steady part time job and his college classes were, well ok. Shit hits the fan when he accidentally spills coffee on a customer at work though, who also happens to be his new neighbor? He’ll never live this down.

Or a mess of Bakugou and Midoriya slowly getting together through tons of movie nights, 3am food runs, work visits, hanging out with friends, meeting each others parents, lots of awkward misunderstandings and shitting on each others cooking skills. It's a wild ride that works out...- -Somehow.

be my good luck charm by writedeku  ( T | 6,785 | 1/1 )

See, the thing is, Midoriya Izuku had been born with a curse. It’s not a curse that’s particularly visible. He doesn’t have horns, or a tortured face, and it’s not the kind of silly curse like a friend of his had way down south in Diagnor, wherein the girl had been born without the ability to say the word duck. Midoriya Izuku is just extremely unlucky.

(Or the AU in which Izuku's the world's unluckiest travelling merchant, and Katsuki is someone who may be able to help him. For a price, that is.)

As You Wish by Kira_Elric  ( E | 16,087+ | 9/? )

Fantasy AU based on the second popularity poll outfits. Started out as small drabbles for art on tumblr.

- Lost in his work and in need of supplies Alchemist, Izuku Midoriya, enters the Forest of Fire. It is said that any who enter never return, but Izuku is stubborn and a mere rumor isn't about to stop him, but an unexpected encounter might end up changing his life forever.

Juggernaut by warschach  ( E | 14,625+ | 3/? )

What had four legs, a tail, fur all over, and went 'woof woof' in the dead of night?

Katsuki's soulmate, Izuku Midoriya, the werewolf.

Which is funny-if you're fucked up in the head and you're going to get real fast why Katsuki was a special Frosted Flakes brand of 'fucked'- because Katsuki's profession clocked out monsters' time card early.

It should be fine.

Narrator: It was, in fact, not fine.

(or Katsuki meets his soulmate at the worst time and under the worst circumstances, tries to deny his feelings while battling monsters, attending class-yea,no-, and trying to piece together the giant gaps in his past. so adulthood except everything does want to kill him.)

[Graphic Depictions of Violence | Underage]

[Abandoned] A Different Ending by checkeredbow  ( G | 26,253 | 8/? )

The story of a village that lives next door to a pack of wolves.

A Place Called Home by Anonymous ( E | 3,182+ | 4/? )

"It's okay now, we're your new family. We won't ever hurt you."

[Abandoned] Because You Were There by katsudekuhc  ( T | 9,048 | 2/? )

Izuku is trying his best to keep the new, cool, handsome, student Katsuki off of his mind, though he isn't having much luck. Katsuki continues to approach, and sweet talk to the poor freckled boy despite his efforts to push him away. Katsuki claims he'll stop at nothing, to get Izuku's attention.

Though Izuku knows that will only cause harm to both of them... Their lives can't be just a simple fairy tale

[Abuse | Bullying]

Lights. Camera. Hero! by brichibi  ( E | 14,846+ | 4/? )

If there’s one thing Izuku Midoriya’s good at, it’s dreaming big, and dreaming hard. That’s why he’s in Hollywood, of all places, his hometown an entire ocean away along with his graduating high school class and single mother. But he’s gonna be an actor, an international sensation, a superstar like no other.

He just.

Has to convince the rest of the world.

Which is, admittedly, a difficult task.

[AU where "My Hero Academia" is an upcoming television series, everyone's an actor/actress, and romance happens behind the scenes]

Deku's Diner by imperativa  ( M | 3,090+ | 2/? )

Katsuki meets this adorable dork at a stupid café that Shouto drags him to. And after getting to know the dweeb, it turns out the little nerd is a huge Ground Zero fanboy. This could be very fun or very, very weird.

The Devil Blues by iknewaman  ( E | 26,552+ | 7/11 )

The 78th precinct's police captain, Toshinori Yagi, has volunteerd his squad to help implement the mayor's wish of increasing the successful cooperation between the city police and active Pro-Heroes. Each detective is to be assigned a Pro-Hero who will shadow them for two weeks, and the operation has been dubbed the 'Station Cooperation Operation'.

Although it is not well-received by those involved, Izuku Midoriya, current detective at the 78th precinct and loyal follower of captain Toshinori's ideals, believes that the operation will be a success. If his captain says it will succeed, there isn't a doubt in Izuku's mind that it will.

That is until he meets his assigned Pro-Hero.

to you, on the other side of the screen by stars_go_dim  ( T | 16,138+ | 5/? )

Bakugou is a popular YouTuber when he suddenly stumbles upon Midoriya’s makeup channel. But why is he so interested in some random kid he found on YouTube?

or alternatively

that YouTube au nobody asked for

The Offering by Bakuholic  ( T | 3,724+ | 2/? )

Every year, an offering is given to the dragon race as a trade off for the dragons' protection. This year, Izuku Midoriya is the human offering.

He trembles at the very thought of his death being by the claws of a dragon. However, his expectations of his future seem to turn when an ash blonde alpha dragon begins to grow fond of him and adds him to his hoard of treasure.

(I"m not good at summaries it seems)

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

[Abandoned] A world to fit us both by soulstring  ( T | 18,464 | 3/? )

Izuku has always dreamed of being knight and despite the hard times and the lengths he has gone through to become one, he has never let despondency consume his resolution. Fate, however, couldn't care less about it and has other plans when it shoves an uncontainable force of nature right in front of him. If it will open a path for him or block it altogether, Izuku has to yet to find out.

A story in which Izuku goes into a life-changing journey to find himself, and perhaps, a piece he didn't know he was missing.

2,645 Miles by mynameis152  ( M | 61,709+ | 18/? )

Izuku is a good boy, Katsuki isn't.

Izuku is trying to face his problems head on, Katsuki is running away from his.

And on a high-stakes, cross-country road trip involving four fugitives, two oblivious tag-a-longs, a police task force, and a high risk crime ring, both Izuku and Katsuki will find not what they wanted, but what they needed.

[Graphic Depictions of Violence]

Dragon's Pearl by AsmodeusDenizen  ( M | 14,820+ | 9/? )

Midoriya is the only one in his village, and probably kingdom, who hasn't been born with magic. Because of this, he is shunned by all but his master Toshinori. Right up until Toshinori dies and his village is struck by a disaster that could wipe them out.

Deep In My Senses I Know by Daiako (Achrya)  ( M | 13,072+ | 3/35 )

When war broke out Izuku never considered not enlisting, even though it meant breaking the law and passing himself as a beta. But when he's found out everything falls apart and he finds himself forced to make a choice: suffer the consequences, along with everyone who helped him, or agree to marry the so called Bakugou Beast. Katsuki is a reclusive, violent Marquis who is very much not the man he was before being a prisoner of war for six months and wears all of his scars on the inside.

The choice seems like an easy one but, with the fates of everyone he loves hanging over him, Katsuki refusing to even attempt to get along, and someone out to make sure the Bakugou line ends with Izuku's new husband, it turns out to be his greatest challenge yet.

Bound to You by Magefeathers  ( T | 5,751 | 1/1 )

There were a few moments of nothing but the static, and Izuku feared that maybe the demon had disconnected after all. But then the voice spoke again, and this time it was flat, listless, without any of the anger and fire Izuku had come to expect from it.

“I exist to destroy you, Midoriya Izuku,” he repeated. When he continued his voice was bitter, and almost sad. “I’m bound to you. I am going to steal your breath from you, because that’s the only way for me to be free. Sooner or later, one way or another, I willdestroy you.”

learning curve by calcidekudine (calciseptine)  ( T | 1,719 | 1/1 )

The first thing Katsuki notices about Model 8 is his waist.