#i am simultaneously freezing and sweaty

[bosspigeon]

i am sick on Halloween and that is homophobia of the highest caliber.

[ellecdc]

Get in the Car!

Modern AU, James Potter x gn reader (no pronouns used)

Fluff, fluff, fluff. Absolutely did not think this story up while I brushed my own car off this morning......absolutely not..... 🙃

Your fingers were quickly becoming simultaneously numb and increasingly painful as you begrudgingly brushed snow off your car after your closing shift. You were about to acquiesce and put your mittens on that you were sure you could do without when a car quickly pulled up behind yours.

You were tense until you realized you recognized the vehicle, and more importantly, it's driver.

"Baby!" James squealed as rushed out of his car to greet you. "Get inside!"

You couldn't help to laugh at him shouting at you as if you were a small child about to touch a hot burner on the stove. "What? What are you doing here?"

"Get in the car! It's freezing out." He answers instead, vying for the snow brush in your hand.

"I know it's freezing out! That's why I'm bundled up in my jacket. Did you just leave the gym?" You asked, taking note of his still slightly sweaty skin and his hoodie and joggers combo.

"Yes, I stopped on my way home, thought I could get here before you came off work." He said a bit quieter now, kissing the side of your head.

"You came here just to brush my car off?" You asked in awe, arms going slack with your grip still on the brush.

"'Course I did! You're too pretty to be brushing snow off your car in this cold!" He says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

You barked a laugh. "Oh please! You're pretty too!"

James batted his eyelashes at you from behind his frames. "Well thank you baby." He said, voice sticky sweet. "But next to you I am one ugly bastard. Get in the car."

"Jamie..." you started but relinquished your grasp on the brush.

"In, in, in!" He chanted, punctuating each word with a gentle pat on your bum as you moved to climb in and start your car. The defroster was working over time as you rubbed your numb hands together in hopes to regain some circulation.

You couldn't help but marvel at James as he made quick work of your car; his messy curls bouncing with each pass of the brush, and the flex of his muscles under his sweater as he extended his arms.

You wanted to cry, thinking about how he had also worked today and gone to the gym and had to brush his own car off and then raced to your work hoping to brush your car off before you got off just so you wouldn't have to.

You absolutely would have started crying, but thankfully James was already knocking at your trunk, asking for you to pop it so he could put the brush away.

You rolled down your window as he came up to your door. "Did you plan all this?"

"Nope." He said with a pop at the P. "It was just a very happy accident."

You smiled and kissed him. "I don't believe you."

He smiled so wide that both dimples made an appearance on his beautifully tanned face. "I love you."

"I love you too Jamie." You said, mirroring his smile. "Drive safe, 'kay?" You offered as he backed away from your door.

"Pfft, I always do! Gotta make sure I get home to my angel." He sang with a wink as he back towards his car.

You watched him pull his car out of the parking lot as your cheeks began to feel sore from smiling so hard. You hit the absolute jackpot with James Potter.

[dreaming-medium]

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty One - Mend

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Masterlist

Hours. The three of you have been at it for hours . You all worked on this all day, entirely through dinner, and now it must be around midnight. 

Slipping a fork into their pocket? Easy. 

Finding which pocket the key is in? You can do that. 

Taking it out without them noticing? Not easy at all. 

You haven’t felt this frustrated in many, many moons. The anger bubbling deep within your chest makes each failure that much worse. It makes each muscle tighten and your jaw clench so hard your teeth might shatter.

And to top it all off, the more you dance on your leg, the worse the pain aches through the muscle. 

There’s so much riding on your ability to do this properly, it’s weighing on your shoulders more with each moment. 

While reaching inside Minho’s jacket pocket, he snatches your wrist tightly. 

“No,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “Try again. That attempt was clumsier than the last.”

You clearly weren’t the only one getting frustrated with this. 

A cry of anger tears from your throat and you push away from the advisor, wrenching your wrist from his grasp. 

“Enough! Enough, already. This is hopeless! ”

Seungmin takes a step towards you and you hold up your hand at him, your brows pulling together. 

“No,” you state firmly. “I would like to see either one of you try and learn how to become a successful pickpocket while also trying to somehow pick up the art of seduction and simultaneously learning a new dance while nursing a near death injury.”

At the mention of your leg, both men freeze. 

“The both of you are waiting for me to attempt something. How is that ever going to help? If you are searching for my touch, of course you are going to know when I try to take the key!”

You spin on your leg to leave the room and a shooting pain goes through the appendage. 

Crying out in pain, your knees buckle a bit and you grab onto a nearby chair to steady yourself. 

Minho is next to you in a flash, his hands reaching out to steady you. 

You hold your hand up to keep him away from you, eyes squinting shut in pain. You don’t even realize you're holding your breath until the pain begins to subside a bit and you release the air stored in your lungs. 

Shifting your weight to your good leg, you hold onto the back of the chair tighter, knuckles turning white. 

“Y/N,” Minho tries to grab your attention. His voice is gentle and soft. It does nothing to quell your anger. 

“I am going to sleep,” you hiss between your teeth. “We will try again tomorrow.”

Minho’s hands twitch, he watches you carefully, tongue darting out to wet his lips. He seems to weigh something in his mind, his mouth opens to say something, but he quickly shuts it.

With a deep breath, you slowly release the back of the chair and ease your weight back onto your injured leg. Once you’re sure your knee won’t buckle, you make your way towards the door.

“Goodnight, boys.”

Neither of them stop you as you leave the ballroom, slamming the door shut after you.

The cool air of the hallway washes over your sweaty skin; the back of your shirt clinging to you.

You stand still for a few moments just outside the door to catch your breath. Normally, you don’t lose your cool that easily. The combination of everything was just too much to handle. 

Yes, you’ve only been at it for two days, but now you only have two more to become somewhat of a master at pickpocketing. You and Seungmin are set to leave Miroh at sunrise three days from now. 

Through the door, you can hear Seungmin and Minho’s voices talking back and forth. You’re not able to make out what they’re saying through the wood.

You don’t want to be here when they leave.

After another moment of catching your breath, you walk away from the ballroom and towards your room.

Life was much easier when all you had to worry about was battle. Dancing and pickpocketing was an entirely different side of the war that was completely out of your wheelhouse. 

But, at the same time, just a month ago, you said the same thing about war. The idea of being on the front lines used to freeze the blood in your veins.

Now you would give anything to be back at Fort Mire.

Jeongin’s smiling face flashes through your mind. How is he doing? They successfully captured Fort Burnside, they’re probably preparing for the next advance.

Is he commanding his battalion well? You can still remember his apprehension the night before you both left for the enemy fort.

“Changbin seems to believe I am fit to lead my own legion.” Jeongin shook his head and paced around the room in front of you.

You took a bite full of stew, eyes following his nervous movements closely.

“Because you are,” you said simply.

Jeongin’s head whipped around and looked at you incredulously. “What makes you believe that?”

“I see the way the men respect you,” you picked up your tankard and took a long swig of ale. “If anyone in this army is fit to lead their own legion, it is you, Jeongin.”

He sighed and sat in the chair next to yours, his head cradled in his hands.

“What if they do not follow my orders?”

“They will.”

“How do you know?”

You leaned forward and grabbed his hand tightly, his head picking up off his palm and looking straight at you. 

“I just know, Jeongin.”

Jeongin stared at you for a long moment, eyes flickered back and forth between yours, uncertainty shining through his dark irises. He shook his head and squeezed your hand tightly.

“We will just have to see then, won’t we?”

You laughed and released his hand to take another bite of your food. “If anyone disrespects you, you tell me and I will give them a stern talking to, aye?”

He laughed. His genuine smile never failed to make one pull at your own lips.

Leaning over, he stole a potato off your plate and plopped it in his mouth. 

“I will make sure that all bullies are reported straight to you.”

The days aren’t filled with as much laughter now that you don’t see him every day. Your heart squeezes in your chest.

A sad smile appears on your face.

“I sure hope the bullies are not giving you too much trouble, Jeongin,” you whisper to yourself in the empty halls of the keep.

----------------------------------------------

You’re only in your room for about twenty minutes before there’s a knock on your door. 

Raising an eyebrow, you shuffle across your room and open the door warily.

Felix looks down at you with a slightly concerned expression. In his hands he has a tray that looks like it has both food and medical supplies.

“Felix?” you ask, cocking your head to the side. 

“I heard that you had a small incident with your leg,” he says with a slightly shaky voice. “Can I please check on it?”

Seungmin or Minho must have gone to him about it. 

After a moment, you nod and step aside for Felix to come in, closing the door behind him. 

“It is most likely just sore from overuse,” you say to him. He places the tray of various items on the table and turns to you with a pinched expression.

“I believe I will be the judge of that.”

His stern stubbornness gives you pause. Never in the time that you’ve spent with Felix have you heard him take this tone of voice.

Both of you stare at each other for a few moments,your mouth opening and closing, but no words come out.

Wind whistles outside your window.

“Let me see your wound.”

Your mouth snaps shut and you nod, walking towards your bed. Felix watches you like a hawk.

You know he sees you limping. What you don’t know is that it feels like an arrow is shot through his chest at the sight, his bottom lip pulls between his teeth and his eyebrows furrow even more. 

His throat constricts, he tries so hard to keep himself together.

You look down at your pants for a moment, they’re not as loose as the ones you wore yesterday.

“Do I need to take–?” 

“Aye.”

Again, your mouth snaps shut. You hesitate for a split second before hooking your thumbs on your waistband and tugging your slacks off.

Felix watches closely, his mouth going dry when he sees the blood soaked bandage. His breath catches in his throat.

Your heart stutters for a moment at the sight.

“I did not–”

He cuts you off again. “Sit.”

“Felix, I swear I did not know–”

“ Sit , Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat at his tone, you plop on the bed, ignoring the way your thigh throbs. You swivel and sit against the headboard, your leg extended out in front of you. 

Felix picks up the tray and brings it over to your bed, placing it down on the sheets.

His brow is furrowed, lips pressed in a thin line. His jaw clenches and unclenches over and over again; his throat bobs with a few swallows.

You can’t tell if he’s angry, disappointed, upset, sad, or a combination of all of them. It’s probably all of them.

He reaches forward and undoes the soiled bandage, gingerly unwinding it.

When he sees the wound, he sucks in air through his teeth.

“Did it…?” you ask nervously. 

“Aye.” His answer is monotone and devoid of emotion.

It reopened. 

He fiddles around on the tray, getting a new needle and thread ready to suture your wound closed. Again.

Before he does that, he wipes the blood off, cleaning the area with alcohol. It burns but you swallow the reaction.

You stare up at his face, watching every single muscle twitch as he tries to conceal his cocktail of negative emotions.

Felix’s eyes aren’t shining the way they usually do. They’re glaring down at your ugly wound as if it’s insulting him. Like your injury is the root cause to everything that has ever gone wrong in his life.

His expression screws up painfully and then drops again. His lips pull into a sneer to bare his teeth for a split second. 

The silence that settles in your room is thick and uncomfortable. So many unsaid words are communicated through his stiff actions.

It’s not until he picks up the needle again do you realize his hands are shaking.

His throat bobs again.

A deep, shaky breath enters his lungs and he makes the first puncture into your leg.

You wince and a small pained noise comes from your throat. 

Felix does not react, he continues to sew the wound closed. Each stitch hurts a little more than the last. The pain slowly goes from a tiny prick to painful, mini stabs.

His nose scrunches and he gulps again.

“Felix,” you whisper after he makes a stab-like stitch. “It hurts.”

“Good.” His voice is deep and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Maybe you will finally remember this pain and recognize you cannot keep doing this to yourself.”

His voice wavers and breaks.

A tear slides down his face. 

It feels like a crack goes through your heart. 

With no small amount of effort, you try to defend yourself. “I did not realize it was reopening.”

Felix sniffles and shakes his head, he’s trying so hard to keep himself together, but you can see his emotions start puncturing through the surface. His eyes begin to glisten, cheeks and ears turning red.

“Why do you insist on pushing yourself, Y/N?” It comes out low and under his breath. 

You watch his face and say nothing.

“You hurt yourself over and over. And each time you tell me you did not realize it, or how the gravity of the injury snuck up on you, or that it is nothing. But it is not nothing. ”

His voice gets louder and louder with each word. The tears begin flowing freely down his cheeks. Felix keeps his head down as he stitches the wound shut.

“You are not on your own anymore. There are people in this Keep that care about you and your well being. When you continue to hurt yourself over and over, you are hurting us too. And the blatant disregard for your health feels like a wound to my own soul!”

The last stitch hurts the most.

Maybe it’s because his words are rattling around your brain and adding to the hurt in more ways than just physical. 

“I cannot continue to put your pieces back together like this when you do not even seem to care about losing them in the first place. It is weighing on me like a demon. Each time someone knocks on the healing ward door I fear that it is a guard telling me that you are dying again.”

Felix tosses the needle back onto the tray and places his hands down on the bed sheets. He can’t meet your eyes with his own teary ones.

All of his limbs are shaking. 

“Imagine how it feels when you work yourself to the bone to assure that someone you love is alive and healthy, just to have Minho knock on your door to tell you that they had to limp back to their room. And do they come to you for help? No. They do not come to anyone for help and I do not understand it, Y/N.”

Love?

Finally, he looks over at you and you feel your heart shatter.

“Why will you not let us help you?”

Your lips quiver, your own tears forming in your eyes. 

Drawing your legs up in on yourself, your soul aches.

“Minho said you did not eat and that you almost collapsed. My room is directly next to yours, Y/N, why? Why? ”

A hiccup shakes your chest. “I am sorry, Felix.”

His face twists even more. He sits on the edge of your bed and grabs your face with both of his hands tightly. 

“Do not apologize to me; apologizing does nothing. Tell me you will stop this madness. Stop hurting yourself over and over and shoving us away when all we want to do is nurse you back to health.”

You sob and your eyes shut to try and stop the tears. Felix shakes your head a bit.

When you open them once more, he’s right in front of you, his own bloodshot eyes desperately searching yours. 

“Every time I find you in pieces, a small part of my heart is taken to sew you back up.”

“Felix, please, I am so sorry.” You sob in his hands. Both of your hands come up and cover his. “I am not–” your own sobs cut you off and you close your eyes once more.

How do you possibly explain that you’ve never had people to rely on? Not since your parents died? 

“Please, Y/N,” he whispers, thumbs brushing your tears away gently. “I just need to hear you say that you will begin to rely on us. If the roles were reversed, would you not want one of us to tell you when we are hurting?”

All you can manage is a nod.

“You are not alone anymore.”

Opening your eyes, you see his blue ones watching you closely. Nothing but love and care is seen in them.

“We are all here to support you, every single one of us. Chan, Hyunijn, Changbin– all of us, Y/N. We want you to thrive.”

You suck in a shaky breath.

“I promise,” you whisper.

“You promise what?” His face comes closer to yours.

“I promise I will come to you when I need help.”

“Not just me,” he adds, his face even closer.

“I will come to the court when I need help.”

“Good.”

He brings your face to his, locking your lips together in a searing, emotion filled kiss. Your hands move from his to cup his cheeks, mirroring the way he’s holding you. 

Both of your lips slide over one another, the tears no longer flowing, but your hearts are still connected. 

Immediately, Felix deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip and dancing with yours when your lips part. One of his hands slides down from your cheek to hold the side of your neck, bringing your face impossibly closer.

He smells so good, the earthiness wraps around you and invades your senses. Everywhere he’s touching ignites.

Your skin heats up and flushes, your heartbeat speeds up and thuds against your ribcage. 

“By The Six,” Felix murmurs against your lips. The gravellyness of it gives you the chills. “Why does it feel like your kisses can heal anything?”

A small smile crosses your face and you bring him back in for another heated kiss.

“Any wound that causes my heart to bleed is sealed with your lips on mine,” he hushes.

Careful to avoid the tray of supplies, Felix crawls onto the bed and hovers over you. The heat from his body radiates down and cages you in.

Slowly, Felix’s kisses turn desperate, small grunts and heavy exhales come from his as his lips slide over yours. Each passing moment gets steamier and steamier in your room.

He leans his weight on his elbows next to your head, every inch of your bodies touching. Long legs slot between yours. 

Your fingers travel up his face into his hair, threading into the soft strands and pulling slightly. Felix grunts and his kisses stutter for a moment before continuing with more fervor. 

Emotions still running high, Felix trails one hand down your face, down the side of your neck, over the side of your chest, down your ribcage to grab your waist with a tight grip.

Tongues dancing with one another, both of you pant and moan through the kisses. 

“Y/N,” he pants against your lips.

“Felix,” you answer him just as breathlessly. 

The Elf pulls away from your lips just a hair, his wet, spit-covered plush lips hovering just above yours. His eyes are barely open, and they’re still staring directly at your mouth.

“If we do not stop, I will not be able to control myself,” he whispers down to you. His tone is so low.

His blue eyes flick up to yours and your breath catches in your throat. Something about the way he stared down at you, his blonde bangs hanging over his face, his mouth parted and panting, the flush covering his cheeks.

The way the flames on your bedside candle flicker across his beautiful, flawless skin.

Your hand travels from his hair to slowly inch down the side of his face. He was none the wiser to your less than pure intentions.

He absentmindedly leans into your touch, eyes lingering on yours. 

Slowly, the pads of your fingers draw a line down his nose, over his wet lips, down his chin, and then up his jawline.

You lean up from the bed, pressing your lips against his in a featherlight kiss.

A murmur against his mouth. “I do not want you to stop.” You pull his bottom lip into your mouth by your teeth. 

At the same time, you run your finger up the entire length of his pointed ear, curling around the top and gently pinching it with your thumb and forefinger.

The noise that tears out of Felix’s throat is a combination of a growl, whine, and moan all combined into one. 

With frightening speed and strength, he tears both of your hands away from him and pins them down to the bed above your head with just one of his. 

Felix sinks his teeth into your neck and you toss your head back with a cry of pleasure. 

His own hips roll against yours, both of you moan from the delicious pressure. The second rut against your clothes core is more desperate and animalistic. 

Lips detaching from yours, he licks down your neck, biting at your soft skin and making you keen. 

With his free hand wandering on its own, Felix slides his fingers under your shirt and caresses your bare skin. His touch leaves sparks of pleasure in their wake as they climb your body. 

The bindings that wrap around your chest suddenly feel like the most annoying piece of fabric to ever touch your skin. 

A sharp bite to your neck causes you to chirp a small squeal. Your good leg wraps around his hips and pulls him towards you  

The hard bulge in his pants presses against you. He sighs from the slight bit of relief the pressure brings. 

Felix grabs at your shirt. “Can I take this off?”

“Yes, please,” you pant. 

He tears away from you and practically rips the shirt over your head, tossing it behind him. 

Sitting back on his haunches, the cleric stares down at you hungrily. 

The blue irises you’ve grown accustomed to are almost black. Felix’s eyes rake up your skin, licking his lips. 

You sit up quickly, your fingers finding the end of your chest bindings. 

In the meantime, you attach your mouth to the base of his lean neck, sucking and biting your own marks onto his skin. 

Felix lets out breathy sighs, his eyes closing in pleasure, his mind getting lost in the feeling. His head tilts back towards the ceiling. 

“By The Six,” he whispers. 

He tastes so good, how is his skin this intoxicating? 

It takes several moments before your chest bindings are completely unwound from your body. The cloth is tossed to the flood. 

The cleric pulls back from your mouth to look down at you. He sucks in air between his teeth, both of his hands come up to cup your breasts. 

Warm palms massage over your skin, a chill rips up your spine. 

“Mmm…” you hum and lean back on your hands to give him more access. 

Felix immediately swoops down and envelopes one nipple in his warm, wet mouth. 

“Fuck,” you hiss and thread your fingers through his blonde locks. “Feels good, Felix.”

He keens at your compliment, his hand pushing on your chest to encourage you to lay down. You don’t argue, letting your body lay down while he continues to lap at your sensitive skin. 

So much attention is paid to your chest, you can feel arousal coating the inside of your cotton smalls. 

Wet, sloppy noises fill the air when he pulls back while sucking until his mouth detaches. It’s absolutely filthy and makes your brain dizzy. 

He switches to the other breast to give it the same sinful treatment. 

Your hips jolt and jerk around unable to stay still. 

The pleasure that you’re getting from his nipple play is insanely intoxicating. It leaves you breathless and wanting more. You need to feel his hands everywhere. 

You need more.  

Your fingers pull on his hair desperately when his free hand pulls on the other nipple, twisting and flicking. Electricity shoots down to your core. 

Eventually, his kisses trail down further and further. Felix’s tongue trails down your navel, swirling around your belly-button. 

“I need to taste you,” he growls into your skin. “I am ashamed to admit how often I thought about this.”

Cracking your eyes open was an effort, but you needed to see his face. 

He’s gazing up at you, his face hovering over your smalls. 

You gulp at his dark gaze. 

Where was your sunshine? All you can see is a wanton minx lingering near your more sensitive areas. 

While maintaining eye contact, Felix leans down and presses a searing kiss to your clothed core. 

Your lips pull into your mouth and you hold back a tiny whine. 

“How I have dreamed about having you under me, Y/N.”

It feels like you’re going to lose your mind. The timbre of his voice hovering above your most sensitive area will surely be the death of you. 

“Felix, please,” you beg. 

He smirks and looks down, fingers pulling your smalls to the side gently. 

“Look how absolutely drenched you are for me, Y/N.”

Finally, his fingers run through your folds, collecting your arousal up on the pads. 

“All for me,” he marvels. 

“Felix,” you whine. 

“I have to taste you,” his voice is gravelly. With no other warning, he leans down and licks all the way up your slit. 

The both of you moan, both drowning in pleasure. 

The next lick to your core is more frantic, his tongue explores your folds as if you might be taken away from him any moment. 

One of his hands ventures up your body to grab at your breast, pinching your nipple. 

His tongue laps around your entrance, feeling you clench around nothing from his teasing. 

A drunk smile appears on his face, his eyes glaze over and he licks at your clit over and over. 

Your fingers grab at the bedsheets, clawing at them in the throes of ecstasy. Back arching off the bed, you moan through clenched teeth. 

Felix’s hand on your breasts grasps a handful and kneads, it then moves to brush his thumb over your nipple over and over. 

And fuck , it feels so fucking good. 

His hips rut into the bed in time with his licks. He seems to be getting just as much, if not more , pleasure out of this than you are. 

Gently, he sucks on your clit and looks up at your face twisted in pleasure. A strong flush covers your face across your nose. 

He can’t stop admiring how you look. How absolutely gorgeous you are right now at his mercy. 

Felix’s eyebrows pull together in his own twist of pleasure. Harder and harder he ruts into your mattress, each thrust brings pleasure and relief. 

Every single one of your moans shoots right to his dick. 

“Felix,” you pant and look down at him. 

He hums into your folds, never once stopping the assault. 

“Fuck, I-I … hah— close... close…”

This only eggs him on more. His tongue continues its sinful figure 8’s on your clit with more fervor. 

Sweat beads at his hairline. 

His thumb still brushes over your nipple again and again. Circling and rubbing, forefinger coming around to pinch and pull.

It adds another layer of the pleasure coursing through your veins. 

Every nerve is alive under his touch. 

You twist and writhe under his mouth, murmurs falling out of your lips. 

“Felix!” you cry out and he moans into you again. 

His name sounds so fucking good coming from your lips. Felix just wants to hear you say it over and over until your vocal chords collapse. 

The knot in your abdomen is tightening more and more. 

One of your hands flies to his hair and holds tightly. You pull him impossibly closer to your cunt. 

Another deep moan vibrates against your folds. 

“Shit, ha — Felix, gunna—“

The cord within you snaps and you cry out, your entire body tenses and your release washes over you.

He laps at your folds eagerly, slurping any arousal that floods from you. His tongue lazily stimulates your clit as you come down from the intense high that he led you through.

Your grip on his hair loosens after a moment, he licks your folds one last time before pressing a kiss by your clit. 

Slowly, Felix moves up your body, his mouth leaving long, wet kisses along your skin until he reaches your mouth. 

When your lips meet, you moan softly into his mouth. The heavy haze of lust parting slowly as your lips slide over one another. 

With your free hand traveling down his body, Felix grabs your hand before it goes any further south.

You immediately speak up. “But I–”

“Nay,” he cuts you off. “Tonight was about you. Another time, perhaps.”

He smiles down at you with such sincerity it makes your heart sing. Exhaustion is beginning to pull at your eyelids, so all you do is nod.

Felix beams at you and kisses you again. This kiss is so tender. Each time your lips meet it’s slow and sensual. It’s a stark contrast to the searing kisses you desperately stole from him not even five minutes ago.

“Stay here tonight,” you whisper on his lips. “Please.”

His smile only gets bigger.

“As if I could ever say no to you.”

[lokioneshots]

Beautiful

Summary: Loki shows you his Jotun form for the first time.

Prompt number(s): 32 - "You're so beautiful.

Prompt list here

Series: One-Shot

Character(s): Jotun!Loki x reader

Requested by @holdmytesseract

Taglist! (click here to join a taglist!)

@1marvelnerd3000 @agentkinghorn @donttouchmylaevateinn @emerald-alone @eyesbluelikethetitanic @fa-me @geeky-politics-46 @holdmytesseract @itsybitchylittlewitchy @jeongadelarinia @lokistoriesblog @lougy @melianisnothere @mm2305 @mortallythoughtfulgurl @nms224 @shraddhadeveshvikram @xoxoloverb

The air conditioning unit was broken. The heat inside your and Loki's shared apartment was starting to become too much. Even with all of the windows open, the two of you were still sweating more than you thought was possible – well, you were, at least.

"I just don't understand how you're not sweating like I am," you scoff – the heat getting to your nerves and making you snappy.

Loki chuckled at your frustration. "I've told you, kitten, it's my blood."

"There's no way your blood can keep you from getting hot," you rolled your eyes – picking up a folder, using it as a fan, and resting your feet and legs on Loki's lap as the two of you watched television on the sofa. The God of Mischief began to rub your feet and legs – the feeling of his cold skin and soft touch helping to calm your nerves and cool you down simultaneously.

Loki grew quiet all of a sudden – prompting you to wonder what was going through his mind.

"I'm sorry, babe," you apologized – thinking that you had somehow upset him.

"You didn't do anything," Loki smiled at you. "I promise. I'm just...thinking."

"About what?" you asked – your curiosity growing. "Something bad?"

Loki took a deep breath and placed small kisses on your feet and shins – hoping to distract you from his change in mood. "Baby," you chuckled – his lips beginning to tickle your skin, "that's not gonna work." Loki stopped, and he looked at you with saddened eyes – the conflict written clearly on his face. Realizing that you'd have to convince him you were safe to talk to, you sat up and rested on your knees – holding his face with both of your hands. You pulled his lips to yours and smiled once you broke away from the soft kiss. "Please, Loki," you began quietly – your nose against his, "let me in."

Loki closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"You want to know why I'm never hot and sweaty?" he asked – wanting to make sure you wanted the answer.

"Yes," you whispered – pleading with him as your eyes searched his. "Please, my God."

Loki nodded, and he stood up from the couch – taking his shirt off and throwing it across the room. Unconsciously, you licked your bottom lip – earning a chuckle from the God of Mischief. Suddenly, you watched as his skin started turning to a beautiful shade of blue – gorgeous markings adorning his body and face. He was beyond beautiful. Your mouth was opened in pure awe – not knowing what words to say. When he opened his eyes, you stared at him – possibly too much because he quickly looked away from you – wishing he could hide away forever. You got up from the sofa and slowly approached him – wiping away a tear that escaped down his cheek. He was freezing, but you wanted to feel more of him. Gently, you placed a kiss on his cheek – causing the god to open his eyes and look towards you.

"What're you -,"

"Come here," you cut him off – pulling him toward the sofa – pushing him so that he sat down. With a smile, you straddled his lap slowly – moving slowly so he could feel every movement. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Loki finally breathed a sigh of relief, and he deepened the kiss. The sight of his red eyes was just as beautiful as his blue ones – the smile on his face honest. You started to trace his markings with you finger – his reactions at your touch making your heart swell. "You're so beautiful."

[beelsbaby]

Rhino Beetle

Iwaizumi x Fem!Reader

wc: 1735

Warnings: None! :))

I love Iwa-Chan so much and I just want to show him so love🥺

I hope you guys enjoy the fic🥰

Iwaizumi grunted as he walked alongside Oikawa, who was going on about how “horrible” Kentaro had been at practice the day before. He was more occupied watching how the snow fell gracefully upon the school grounds. 

  “Iwa-chan! Are you even listening?” Oikawa complained when he finally realized his friend wasn’t looking at him. 

  “No, obviously.” Iwaizumi grunted back.

  “You never listen to me, Iwa-chan, as your captain you should—”

  Iwaizumi immediately turned his head when he heard a shriek coming from a few feet behind him. He turned to see you on the ground. He recognized you. Y/n. You were in his class. Of course he knew you, you were beautiful, extremely kind, and one of the top students in the class. You were planted on the ground, with all your belongings scattered around you, while your giggling friends rushed to pick you up. 

  “Iwaaaa! You're not listening! You break my—” Oikawa turns to see his friend is no longer next to him, so he looks around to find him, smirking at the sight when he finally located him. 

  “You're so clumsy, Y/n!” One of your friends giggled as she cautiously walked over to you. You gave her a small laugh as you tried to stand, only to fall back down on your butt. Your fiends all started to laugh again until suddenly, they simultaneously stopped. 

  “Excuse me ladies.” You look up to see Iwaizumi Hajime, the ace of the volleyball team, looking at you. 

  “O-oh! Iwaizumi-san! What’s wrong?” Your friend stutters out. He looked at her and then at you. 

  “Are you alright, Y/n-chan?” 

  Your friends look at him in shock. The team’s ace was a pretty intimidating guy. He usually carries a scowl on his face and beats the poor captain. Yet here he is, asking if you were okay. 

  “Yes, I’m okay, just a little fall.” You giggle out nervously. Unlike your friends who found him intimidating, you always thought he was attractive. 

  Iwaizumi extends his hand to you, which you hesitantly take. He lifts you up like it’s nothing, gently putting you back on your feet. Your friends scatter to pick up your belongings. 

  “T-thank you!” You squeal out, not feeling confident enough to look up at his handsome face. He looks at you with a small frown. 

  “You’re afraid of me.” He states. 

  Your head shoots up to see him looking down at you with his arms crossed.

  “W-what?” You look at him with wide eyes.

  He scoffs, “Tch. Sorry I wasn't Oikawa.” He turns arounds and walks into the school building. You try to call after him but he was already gone.

  Iwaizumi always thought you were smart and really pretty, so when he saw you in need of help he thought it was the perfect opportunity to come to your aid. But you couldn't even look him in the eyes. He knew he was pretty intimidating, he’s heard the whispers about him. The Scary Ace of Aoba Johsai. He just thought that maybe you’d think he was just a regular guy. You had always been so nice to everyone, but of course you’d think he was scary. You probably liked Oikawa. Who didn’t. 

  “Iwachaaaan! Who was the pretty girl you helped? You have a secret girlfriend, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa wiggled his eyebrows at Iwaizumi.

  “No, Shittykawa. Obviously not.” He scowled. Oikawa cocked his head in confusion, “What do you mean, Iwa-chan?”

  “I mean, why would she like me? All I am is your scary vice captain.” He said through gritted teeth. Oikawa sighed at his best friend, “Not true!” 

  Oikawa had never seen Iwaizumi look so down before, especially not for a girl. He had to fix this. 

  “I’ll see you later, Iwa-chan, i see some of my fans waiting to escort me to class!” Oikawa said. 

  “You better not be late to your class, Trashykawa!” exclaimed Iwaizumi. 

  Oikawa looks over to the opposite side of the hall, he spots you and a friend walking up the stairs. He smirks and saunt his way over to you.

  “Hey pretty ladies!”

  You look up to see Oikawa Toru smirking down at you and your friend.

   “O-oikawa-kun! Good morning!” Your friend stutters out. You playfully roll your eyes, all of your friends had a crush on Oikawa. Sure, he was cute, but you just seemed to like a certain scowling ace.

  “Good morning, Oikawa. Is there something you need?” You greet. 

  He smiles brightly, no doubt making your friend’s heart stop.

  “Well, I’m going to get straight to the point. Are you scared of Iwa-chan?” He asked.

  You widen your eyes in shock. Did Iwaizumi really think you were scared of him? This was a huge misunderstanding, you weren’t scared of him at all! 

  “N-no! Not at all, Oikawa-san! Does he really think that?” You say

  “Yup.” Oikawa nods at you.

  “No, it's not that I’m scared of him, it’s that… nevermind, just tell him I am so so sorry! I'm not scared of him.” You sigh as you try to walk away.

  Oikawa chuckles, “So you like him.”

  You freeze at his statement. He wasn’t asking you, he was stating it. 

  “You should tell him you're not afraid of him yourself. Poor guy is in a nasty little funk.” 

  “Maybe you’re right, I’ll tell him after class.” You nod. Maybe Oikawa had a point, you didn’t want to make Iwaizumi feel bad over something that wasn’t true. You just hoped he wasn’t upset with you. 

  “Fantastic! Let me know how that goes!” Oikawa exclaims. 

  “Okay?” You say, confused that he’s so invested in the situation. 

  “Well, class is about to start, catch you later pretty ladies” Oikawa says as he throws a wink to your friend. 

  “I can’t believe The Oikawa Toru talked to us, Y/n! This is the best day of my life!” She squealed.

  “You’re ridiculous.” You mutter out playfully as you walk into your class. 

  You walked into your class, straight to your desk, not catching how Iwaizumi’s eyes wistfully followed you until you reached your seat. He wished you weren't so afraid of him. You were the only girl he’d ever like this much. Whenever he’d see you, even from a distance, his palms would go all sweaty. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or disappointed that he’d never seen you at one of his games. Relieved that he wouldn’t embarrass himself in front of you but disappointed that you haven’t seen him in his element. 

   As the class came to an end, you quickly gathered your belongings. You wanted to catch Iwaizumi before he disappeared into the sea of students. You see him get up and walk towards the door.

  “Wait, Iwazumi!” You cling onto his volleyball jacket sleeve.

  You feel him come to a halt, slowly turning around. He looked down at you and raised his brow, “Y/n-chan? What do you want?” He was confused, you were so scared this morning, what did you want?

 “I wanted to apologize.. For this morning, I’m afraid I gave you the wrong impression! I talked to your friend, Oikawa-san, and he told me you were upset, I’m so sorry!” You say bashfully.

 So that’s why you were talking to him. Oikawa probably shot you his signature smile and asked you to apologize to him. And you probably fell for it, too. But he didn’t need your fake apology. Iwaizumi pulled his sleeve out of your grasp, “Whatever.” He grunted. He shot you one more quick glance and started to walk away.

  “Wait, Iwaizumi!” You called after him. He ignored you, almost wanting to return back, your siren-like voice practically begging for him to come back. You look at him, knowing you had to do something, anything, to call him back. As you follow him out to the hallway, you glance down at his bookbag, noticing a dangling keychain.

  “Rhino beetle!” You yell out to him, gathering some strange looks from those who heard you.

  Iwaizumi halts completely, did you just call him a rhino beetle? 

  He turns around to face you, you take the opportunity to quickly jog up to him. 

  “Did you just call me a rhino beetle?” He stares at you incredulously. You give him a little giggle and he feels the world come to a stop. He’s never heard such a beautiful sound. 

  “No, I mean the little rhino beetle on your bookbag.” You said while trying to hold in your laugh. He looks down at his beetle keychain. Oh.

  “Oh… You know about the rhinoceros beetle?” He asked. 

  You nod, “Yeah! Honestly, I think they’re a little cute, like little tiny baby rhinos.”

  You thought an insect was… cute? Iwaizumi wanted to marry you right then and there.

  “Iwaizumi, I’m not afraid of you, by the way. I never was afraid of you. You do make me nervous, but not because I'm scared.” You confess.

  “You make me a little nervous, too.” He responds while scratching the back of his neck.

  “Why?” You give him a small smile.

  Iwaizumi blushes a little, “Well, you're very.. Uh.. pretty and you're smart. Your intelligence is really admirable.”

  “I think you're very pretty, too… wait no, not pretty, uh… attractive.” You let out a small cough to cover up your embarrassment. 

  Iwaizumi smiles at you. It must be his lucky day. 

  “Hey, do you want to maybe come to my place after practice? I have a book of different insect species we can read about… if you want?” He asks you.

  You smile up at him, “Sure, that sounds like fun! But on one condition?” You respond.

  “What’s the condition?” He asked, a little wary of your condition. 

  “Can I watch you practice? If that’s not too weird!” You ask.

  You wanted to watch him practice? Oh, he’ll definitely be at his absolute best today.

  “Yeah, you can definitely come watch. I’ll.. um.. spike pretty hard for you.”

  “You better!” You laugh.

  He chuckles along with you, “Oh, I definitely will.”

  You both walk in a comfortable silence towards the cafeteria until you both heard someone running up behind you. 

  “Oh, Iwa-chaaan! What’s all this?” Oikawa asks while getting in between you both, wrapping his arms over both of your shoulders.

  “Damn you, Shittykawa! Why don’t you go bother someone else?!” Iwaizumi yells as he smacks his friend’s head. You just giggle and roll your eyes. No matter how scary Iwaizumi tried to be, you’d always find him absolutely adorable. He really was a rhino beetle after all.

✨Request are open for fics, hcs, and scenarios! ✨

Please don’t steal my work :)

[theobligatedklutz]

ray falling head over heals for rose when he went to one of their shows to support his cousin nayelis, drummer of rose & the petal pushers. she played piano and guitar and he was awe struck by the sheer joy she had playing and interacting with the crowd; it was infectious. his palms were sweaty when nayelis tugged his arm and shoved him in rose's direction. rose looked so self assured. (he finds out later, she was nervous, too. nayelis told her about ray, she thought they would be a 1/2

ANON, YOUR MIND. 

So I'm going to cry. But I am also going to take your hcs and run with them:

Nayelis is 15 when she meets Rose. She is this confident, beautiful woman and she works the room with an unimaginable charm so naturally, she and Nayelis become best friends in a span of a day. Their love of music is what really brings them together. Rose shreds on the keyboard and guitar. She is incredible. They end up writing a ton of songs together and Rose quickly learns that Nayelis is soft inside but rough around the edges, poetry epitomized.

Rose introduces Nayelis to her childhood friends, Kiera and Ashlyn. And the four of them can't seem to get enough of each other. Kiera is chaotic, can chug seven sodas in a matter of minutes (three minutes is her best record) and it's literally never a dull day with her in sight. Ashlyn is the one who gets them out of trouble most of the time - and they get into trouble a lot - and is perpetually tired of their shenanigans but lets it slide because she secretly loves them too much.  

And so forms Rose and the Petal Pushers with Rose as lead singer and guitarist, Nayelis as drummer, Kiera on the keyboard and Ashlyn on the bass.

At 17, she meets Sunset Curve working the Orpheum Theatre. They are up and coming, they sound fantastic and their music touches Rose's soul. The lyrics to Now or Never seem to resonate with her at a deeper level than most songs that bounce around the walls of the theatre. She is absolutely digging their vibe even after Reggie, their bassist, tries terribly to flirt with her- I mean “size beautiful” come on now. But Bobby is the dorkiest, attempting to nervously ask her out after his other band mates go out for hot dogs. That whole incident sours drastically when the news of Luke, Reggie and Alex's death reach them.

Bobby and Rose end up somehow getting closer after the tragedy, they go on a few dates too but it doesn’t stick. It just never becomes romantic between them so they end up being good friends.

At 21, Rose and the Petal Pushers get a lot of gigs because Rose has an "in" with most of the cafes and clubs around town. Since 16, she's bounced from job to job waitressing and bartending so of course she does. And they are popular amongst the teens like no other. They rise even higher when they produce a demo, get even more gigs and it's at their set at the Oracle Theatre that everything falls into place. Rose is swaying to the music, feeling like the strings of her guitar have become part of her, her limbs, everything is so natural and every beat sounds like the badum badum badum of their hearts, it all feels like a dream and Rose realizes this is what she is destined for when she hears the roar of the crowd as she sings the chorus and she can't help but laugh into the lyrics just a little. The crowd takes it all in like they're in desperate need of her infectious joy.

Nayelis introduces Rose to her cousin, Ray, afterwards. She's mentioned him before, how he was a really amazing photographer and he could really do a rad album cover for them. But she had also mentioned Ray was totally her type and "are you trying to set me up with your cousin?" "So what if I am, Ro, music has been your life pretty much all your life. Live a little." "I'm fine, thank you very much." But Nayelis had failed to mention that Ray is adorable.

He's fidgeting and she can't help get nervous because he's cute. There's this shine in his grey? green? eyes like he knows Rose, like they've connected somehow. There's a raspyness to his voice, like he's a little out of breath, as he tells Rose she was fantastic up there. And Rose tries to be smooth, she really does but Ray is still looking at her like that and of course, she gets more nervous but she's got practice being something she's not: confident.

They dance around each other like the dumbasses they are. Nayelis can't stand it, it's so painful to watch. Somehow they've ended up friends, really good friends. Ray is willing to pluck the bright hot stars right out of the night sky for Rose and Rose has Ray withdrawals whenever he's not around. They seem to fit together like a puzzle, Rose's rambunctiousness and Ray's softspokenness.

He brings Dahlias for her whenever he shows up to "hangout" and one day, Nayelis just about loses it when he shows up at band practice- they are practicing for the Orpheum, it's their big night in two days and Ray is here and Nayelis knows that if she wants Rose to bring lovejoylife into their performance, she needs Rose and Ray to get their shit together so she gives fate one last chance before she'll butt in and do it herself.

She drags Ashlyn and Kiera out the door, tells Rose they're going to take a small break and leaves her cousin and best friend alone in the garage. And Rose doesn't waste any time dragging Ray over to the piano - "I wrote a little thing for you, I wanna show you" -, they sit down, sides pressed together and shoulders brushing and she starts delicately playing a soft tune on the piano. Her voice comes in after a little while into the music and it is so beautiful, so angelic, Ray feels light. And the song is about seeing so many faces but not recognizing a single soul, not until you came into my life and then everything turned sharp and full and vivid and colored. Her nimble fingers move against the keys in a graceful dance. Her side profile is lit up by the sunlight filtering through the windows and with that voice, she seems like she doesn't belong on earth, she looks otherworldly. Ray knows she's singing about him and it makes him giddy, he feels like he's going to float off into space. Rose stops suddenly then and turns her face towards him and he freezes. They are so close, there's merely an inch between them. And she kisses him, soft and slow, much like her fingers against the piano and her silky voice. And he kisses back like he's been waiting for a lifetime and honestly, he has.

Kiera, Ashlyn and Nayelis watch from the garage window with goofy smiles plastered on their faces. They play the best show known to man at the Orpheum that Friday.

It's nearly July in 2021 when Julie finds a fraying fading photograph cleaning her dad's folders off the dinner table. It falls out from one of his many work binders and Julie picks it up slowly and carefully. Julie's mouth falls open. There are four girls in the photo, they are standing in a garage much like the one they have. The girl with the wild curls is definitely her mother, unmistakably so by that bright smile on her face. She's wearing a guitar against her hip and has the rock-on fingers up. And Julie takes a minute to take in the other women and then recognition dawns, there's the drummer, Aunt Nayelis Molina, her faded brown hair longer and tucked into a pony tail. There's Kiera Simmons, Flynn's mother, she looks the same as she does now - and Julie is shocked because how does she still look so young??- her braids flailing about as she pretends to play the keyboard. And then there's Ashlyn Wilson. Same features except her hair is shorter and dyed pink at the tips, she's wearing more leather and has a bass against her side. And oh my god, it all makes sense. These are Flynn and Carrie's moms standing together on a stage next to her mom and Aunt Nayelis. They were in a band together. Rose and the Petal Pushers is the name written on the drumset- the same name on the ticket in her mom's clothing chest. And it all makes sense! How Carrie and Flynn had always been by her side, how she has known these girls since she was old enough to remember.

Something else dawns on her, she understands now why she felt such automatic attraction to Luke on stage. She brushes a finger against the guitar settled on Rose Molina's hip. Guitar. Luke somehow unknowingly reminded her of the same energy her mother had when she played the guitar on stage and for her in the studio. The same connection to the audience. The same willingness to leaves pieces of themselves with the crowd. The same love for music and mayhem. And Julie stands there in silence because this world is too small, time is too short and too grand simultaneously, there are all these webbed connections she didn't even know about and it should be overwhelming but it all slots together perfectly.

[dastardlydandelion]

e is for escape

 ao3 link 

content warnings: implied abuse, mild blood

Susan doesn’t remember leaving the house.

She doesn’t even realize she’s been walking along the road until she’s caught in blinding headlights. She gasps and she needs to run, she needs to pitch herself out of its path, but instead she freezes like a doe. Tires screech as the driver slams the brakes and the car makes an abrupt stop. Susan releases a rush of breath, gaping down at the hood close enough to rest her hand upon, the hood that her entire body perhaps, would’ve expired upon.

“Are you alright!?”

The driver practically flings herself out of the seat and Susan recognizes her as Joyce from the general store. She doesn’t close the door behind her and hurries to Susan’s side, dragonfly eyes wide. Susan blinks rapidly, wetting her lips with her tongue and crinkling her nose at the unpleasant flavor she finds. She swallows instead of spits, lest she appear rude.

“Oh my, I must’ve interrupted date night,” Susan realizes as she studies the smaller woman’s appearance, dressed in a deep emerald cocktail dress, dark hair crimped. “I apologize…you, um, you look lovely.”

Joyce steps back from Susan, mouth agape as she too, studies her. Susan shuffles awkwardly and hugs her arms around her middle. When she glances down and takes stock of herself, she supposes she can’t blame the other woman for staring.

“Goodness, you must think I’m a mad woman,” she mutters critically.

What was she thinking leaving the house?

She isn’t even dressed. She’s clad in her bedclothes, pink bunny slippers on her feet, cotton nightgown under her somewhat ratty blue terrycloth bathrobe.

“Are you hurt?” Joyce asks and the severe set to her gaze makes Susan suddenly, incredibly uncomfortable.

“Uh.” Susan takes stock of herself. Her throat is sore. Not like the prickly itch when a cold’s coming on, but the dull throb that lingers when Neil squeezes so tight sometimes she fears she’ll die. She feels inclined to rub it, but she can’t, of course, not in front of Joyce.

“Are you bleeding?”

“Bleeding,” Susan repeats, unfolding her arms. She warily touches one of many tacky splotches drying in the terrycloth and quickly draws back, shaking her hand like she can rid her fingertip of the eerie feeling it gave her. “No, I…I was cooking. This must be s-sauce. I didn’t quite realize what a mess I made.”

Joyce takes another step back and swallows, exhaling slowly. She seems mildly disturbed and Susan twinges with embarrassment. Of course the poor woman is disturbed. She almost ran over a bedraggled bunny slippers stranger sautéed in marinara splashes. Well, near stranger, anyway.

“You know me,” Susan hums, hoping the reminder might soothe her nerves. “Well, n-not— you know my daughter better. Max is friends with Will? The kids always play at your place. She’s— you’ve had her over for dinner.”

“That I have. Mrs. Hargrove, where is Max now?”

“Please call me Susan.” She gives a short little wave with her hand, notices a thin cut across her palm. That’s odd. It makes her even more uncomfortable with this whole nebulous situation. “Uh, Max is at the m-movies. There was something she wanted to see— one of those, um, slash ‘em ups, I don’t understand her taste. But I knew she wanted to see it, so um, I told my stepson to take her. He’s old enough to chaperone her to the R-rated ones and…”

Susan trails off, blinking rapidly. It’s the strangest thing. But early evening feels so far away now, as if it’d been another lifetime rather than a few hours ago.

“I thought if they were going to go out, they might as well make the most of it. So I gave them enough money for a double feature…and he listened to me. It’s funny, really, Billy hardly ever listens to me. But tonight he did.”

“I have a teenager too, I understand.” Joyce cracks a smile but it’s a nervous thing, quivering uncertainly on her lips. “Everything goes in one ear and out the other.”

“Mm.” Susan bobs her head although she suspects it isn’t exactly the same. It’s probably different. Tonight she feels very different.

“Why don’t we get in the car? I can give you a ride.”

Susan’s first instinct is to refuse. Joyce rests a subtly shivering hand upon her sauce stained wrist and something in Susan stills. She rests her eyes upon the other woman’s gnawed fingernails and slowly bobs her head.

She follows her to the Ford. Opens the passenger’s door and swallows at the sight of her own fingernails. They’re also chewed. Except for the pinky nail. The pinky nail isn’t there at all. Only raw, wet grapefruit flesh weeping up at Susan where a nail is supposed to be. It hurts. Susan’s only just noticed how much it hurts, stinging something awful against the assault of cool air against unprotected meat.

She isn’t sure how it’s possible only to notice now that she’s hurt. Only to feel herself hurt as she sinks into the seat. Pain isn’t the only thing Susan feels. She feels an object poking into her thigh. She buckles her seatbelt and feels something thin and hard in her bathrobe pocket.

Joyce starts the engine. Susan can feel the other woman looking at her and schools her face into a mask of calmness. Plasters a smile over the confusion cresting in her chest and anxiety swirling in her stomach as she slides her hand into the pocket.

“So your kids are out,” Joyce prompts, circling back to the children. She seems very concerned about the children.

Susan traces the shape of knife in her pocket, heart hammering as her own concern grows. They’re fine. She knows they’re fine because Billy listened to her. She doesn’t understand why Billy listened to her. Why Billy listened to her tonight of all nights.

“They are. I don’t think they would’ve went home yet. Billy stays out all the time and I gave them enough for a double feature.”

“That’s nice,” Joyce says as she drives onward, trees blurring beyond the windows. “Do you mind if I ask what you were doing out here? On the road?”

Susan doesn’t recall, exactly. She doesn’t remember what happened. How she got from Cherry Lane to the part of the main road where there are no street lights. Why she’d leave home in her sauce-sullied pajamas, her admittedly childish but nonetheless comfortable bunny slippers. Her stomach clenches like a fist as she simultaneously clenches her hand around the knife handle.

“I don’t think you like me very much,” she breathes.

“Pardon?” Joyce raises a brow and she doesn’t look offended like Susan expects— she looks alarmed.

Susan shakes her head, harboring no ill will. “Don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m sure you’ve heard what our neighbors say. Hawkins is a fishbowl and Neil is a friendly fellow, you know, helping the neighbors fix their cars, or move furniture, chatting away about sports games. T-Telling everyone what a useless heifer I am, I’m sure…”

“…to be perfectly honest with you, Susan, I’ve never liked your husband.” Joyce meets her eye, mouth twisting into a rictus as Susan licks an unpleasant metallic taste from her own lips for the second time tonight. “Neil is always friendly at the store. He smiles and greets me, occasionally even compliments me without ever being inappropriate. Sometimes he helps elderly shoppers with their bags. Max never speaks badly of him when she comes over with the other kids, but there’s just something about him that rubs me the wrong way.”

Susan throws her head back and she means to laugh but the sound that escapes her throat is far closer to a sob.

“I don’t remember running from my house in my pajamas,” she admits, and although she doesn’t remember doing it, she knows she did indeed run. She did not walk, she did not slink, she ran. “But I've just remembered why I left.”

“Yes?”

Susan looks over Joyce again, positively exquisite in her fine dress, soft crimped hair Susan sort of wants to run her fingers through. Such a contrast to her own disheveled appearance, hair in tangles, cut on her hand, torn away pinky nail, sweaty, wrinkly bedclothes stained with—

“I left to get rid of this,” she announces, pulling the knife out of her bathrobe pocket and holding it out in front of her, sharp tip pointing upward, smears baleful and accusatory. “Please don’t tell.”

[x---an--othered--another---x]

this is about..... a girl.

Dear "Unrequited",

What better way to kick off my inflated sense of self-importance via internet self-loathing, than to start off my dramatic, psuedo-intellectual banter in regards to "some girl"?

Funny, to me, how you can spend a whole life -- a long gone childhood of pain -- clutched by the demonic grip of prolonged, repetitive, lifelong trauma..... only to experience just as heavy of a blow to the brick wall, because a woman was once too pretty AND too sweet, while simultaneously doing so halfway in your direction.

Just kidding. It's not funny at all. It sucks. It's also fucking amazing. I would change so many things, but also, nothing at all.

Oh. Right. This is a letter to you, isn't it? Three long-winded statements in, and I haven't even said hello. Perhaps, that's part of the problem?

It has to be. You seem to like those types. They not only know exactly what they want, but they tell you, and they tell you directly. You don't have to do much talking to know where you stand, and I don't feel that you differ from most people in finding that to be ideal. If it were up to me, I would attract these same types, and be this type, just as well.

Instead, what I encounter in your presence is that classic "freeze" response. You walk in my door, and I am terrified. Not in the sense that I lack confidence, but because my mind -- whether I choose to believe this or not -- knows exactly what it wants. In fact, it is SO sure of its desire, that absolutely no risk of fucking it up can be tolerated within this self-sabotaging system.

Emphasis on "self-sabotage", there, as this paradoxically results in my complete inaction. Do you know how long it takes for the love-boat to set sail back off of your shore? Not very long. Especially when you're, in the grand scheme of things, some dude, amongst a hefty crowd of other "some dudes", who, at this point, probably know exactly what the hell they're doing when it comes to loving (or just really, REALLY, liking) someone.

What you need to know is that this is not birthed from a lack of confidence, or a lack of love for you (like, fucking hell, that's so far from my truth). Growing in a home that punished love -- to the point that I was often followed, spied on, waiting for the next surefire proof of this "criminal activity" -- has, as the maladaptive childhood does, rendered me scared and useless in the face of an innocent thing. I resent the evil of my past, that has plucked from my eye, the ability to find something besides sweaty palms and racing heart and mind in what so much of our modern world considers to be beautiful -- perhaps, even essential to human life.

Everything you read above -- this is all an example of the wall I create to soften the blow of that emotional distress. In my attempts to put space between the awful that was dealt to me, I also then brick off any sort of halfway resemblance to those old scenarios. As a result, I lock love out of my door without even realizing. I create a space of inescapable loneliness, and wonder why this always happens, staring at the deadbolt like I did not lock the door myself, like I did not choose this, like love is always to blame.

Etc., etc.

And yet, I am still rationalizing you away.

So, let me start over.

Dearly "unrequited".....

I have a total crush on you. I have for quite a long time, actually.

It started with a face, as it often does. I find you quite pretty, like any person with eyes likely would.

You found me at a bar, where we both had too much. Those kisses we shared sobered me, but I knew I would never tell you. I knew I couldn't possibly be yours. Ever.

And you just, kept showing up. The butterflies would promptly follow, every time. I swatted them away, just enough to hit on you, but to never actually become vulnerable to you.

It's better this way, I would always think. And for some, I'm sure that's true. With others I have "courted" (in whatever sense), this has been just as true for myself, as well.

But, the inevitable thing happened.

We kissed, and it was just... too good, that time around. Not even because of your conniving charm, or your frisky hands, or the devilish things you would occasionally say.

But because of those goddamned butterflies.

As always, my mind knew exactly what it wanted -- who it wants. And yet, my heart and body will be perfectly still, like some sort of emotional paralysis, thinking you away like a demon in the shadowy corner of my room.

But, I fucked up. I forced my hands to resist their urge to swat it away.

I let the butterflies swarm.

I think I may have made the wrong choice, because it seems every time I embrace this feeling, I can only seem to run you off and away from me.

That's when I sigh, take my loss, and do the walk of shame to bring my pesky little insect back into their terrarium of death and decay. They say butterflies chase the dead, and to that, I say, you'll find plenty of food in here, little guys.

"Unrequited", as I have dubbed you...

I have so much I want to say to you.

But every clumsy word that falls out of my mouth feels like I'm shoving you off of a cliff.

Every advancement I lean into with a driving gusto, makes me feel like I am assaulting your being, attacking your peace of mind.

And yet, every move, every fantasy that I forcibly suppress, feels like neglect. Like I am placing a curtain over you. Squeezing you into the magician's hat and hoping you'll be gone when I get back.

I suppose, I am just confused.

Any answer is fine -- seriously. Nothing is more helpless and hopeless feeling than a lack of knowledge.

I always know exactly what to say, until I don't, and then I freak out.

Without force, perhaps, someday, you can help me understand?

I am happy if you're happy, and unhappy just the same. I am also simply put, not very good at this. I was never given the proper chance to practice, and, I know a 26-year-old "guy" being a whimpering mess when you value strong types is not exactly attractive. Believe me, you would not be the only one to feel a similar way.

But, I also tend to emulate love like a "high school sweetheat" for this reason, too. If being stunted in love has done nothing for me, it has helped me seek out the core, raw, childish nature of the dating world. Safety. Simplicity. Substantial. Something good.

So, I will not apologize for my softness -- not that you have ever asked me to -- but please know that there are still sides of me that have not revealed themselves to you. That only will if I am in a this-should-be-obvious-but-here-you-go state of clarity.

I can only ever act on what I know, that I know, that I know. Lest I make anyone at all uncomfortable.

Regardless of where you stand, understand that I love you as a person. I also "like" you as..... someone. I guess.

When I am with you, my muscle tension fades, as I find joy in your presence. Shy smile. Analytical hazel eyes. Soft, guarded self, who sometimes opens up the door to whisper what she needs, or scream what nobody else can hear. The talks of the deities that follow you, even when I have no idea what you're talking about. Your spontaneity, your drive, your internal sense of independence. Your "sloppy" existence.

I like it all, quite a lot.

And I'll take it, in any shape that fits within the confines of my life.

Will you ever see this words? Probably not. But, it won't make any of that any less true and real to me.

Thank you for being alive at the same time as me.

Best regards,

000

[nightspeckle]

High School Au {Part 2}

Part 1  -- Part 3 -- Part 4

******

Jude’s Pov:

I’m sitting on my bed pulling the sneakers off of my feet when Viv decides to make her entrance. 

It’s Sunday afternoon and I just got back from a particularly sweaty session of karate (which everyone likes to make fun of me for doing). So I’m not really in the mood for the teasing Viv will give me. 

“Love the Marshmellow suit, super flattering,” Viv says as she jumps on the bed next to me. I roll my eyes at her which is more out of habit than a real annoyance. 

I flop back onto the mattress next to her and watch as her nose crinkles up.

“You smell”. 

“That wouldn’t be an issue if you left,” I smile and point to the door. I’ve been dreaming of taking a shower since I started practice today. and I’m not about to let her delay me.

“No way, you’ve been avoiding me since Friday”.

She punches me in the shoulder a smile playing on her face.

“I wonder why?” I say nudging her back. 

“Probably because you don’t want to talk about Cardan”. She wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and I chuck my pillow at her face.

“Get out!” I’m going to strangle her if she doesn’t.

“Rhyia thinks he might have a crush on you,” she says suggestively.

“What is this? Fifth grade?” I ask while simultaneously banging my head on my pillows. 

I think of Friday night for the first time all weekend. I’ve been trying to keep it out of my mind for the past two days. I really don’t need to relive the whole night and especially not the hangover Saturday morning which was as equally painful. 

The glare Cardan gave me that night was enough to send me running. It didn’t help that after I slapped him he had grabbed my hand and held it in place. 

It was awful. The way I was stuck as my palm was glued to his face. He had hissed at me then told me to get out. Two words had never sounded so unrelentingly cold until then. 

What an asshole.

But then I think of how soft his night-black hair felt. How good it felt when we were dancing. That somewhere deep down I was craving to feel him against me again. But then the look he gave me smashes all of those thoughts to pieces.

As much as I wish I could deny that he's absolutely gorgeous I can’t. Which sucks. Such a perfect face wasted on an awful human being. A real shame. 

“Too bad we share a life long hate for each other,” I say trying to play it off as if I don’t want to murder him. 

Viv sits up and shrugs and says “More like lust but to each their own!”.

She smiles and winks at me before dashing to the door. The shoe I aimed at her head just hits a closed door and I flop down on my bed. 

“Use extra soap this time,” I look up to see her head poking around my door.

I flip her off which earns a chuckle before she disappears again.

If only Viv was right. It would make things so much better if my biggest tormenter didn’t hate me at all. If only.

....  

Fortunately for me, Elfame High is a big ass school. The campus is massive and there are two-thousand kids. 

But all of that is irrelevant because I still end up seeing Cardan twenty times a day. I never really thought about how much our schedules overlap before because it never mattered until now. 

But here I am sitting in my car in the school parking lot all alone thinking about how many times I’ll want to die today. 

Viv went with Taryn to school today. She usually comes with me but I got stuck with taking Oak to school and Viv wanted no part in his early morning whining. 

Truthfully I don’t actually mind taking Oak to school. It’s only a few minutes out of the way and it’’s adorable when he sings along to songs on the radio at full volume. Taryn finds it ear-shattering and anything that will keep her away from me is a perfect added bonus. 

There’s a knock on my window that has me jumping out of my seat. I turn to see Garrett’s face with a sly smile spreading across it.  

I shove my door open banging into him as I do. 

“Easy there Jude,” He smirks as I slam my door and head towards the entrance. 

“I didn’t see you Friday,” I say as we weave through more cars. My parking space is in the way back which sucks for when I’m running late. Which is basically every day.

“Didn’t go,” He shrugs.

“Lucky Bastard,” I say. He chuckles at that.

Garrett nudges my shoulder “Do anything stupid?”

“It’s my specialty,” I respond back and catch the glint of amusement in his eyes.   

I’m scanning the kids lounging around the entrance in hope of seeing Liliver when I spot him for the first time. 

He sticks out even in the crowd. He’s wearing all black as usual but something just seems different. A few strands of his gorgeous black hair are falling in front of his face. Something about him is just enthralling today.

My thoughts have wondered on and now all I can think about is the dancing and his hands and about how I wish I could relive it. 

What the fuck? 

Have I lost my shit? I can not possibly be daydreaming about Cardan Greenbriar. 

There is no way I can be thinking about the bully of my childhood in any way that doesn’t align with lifelong hate. He’s an asshole, a jerk, an emotionless cruel bastard.  

But his...

No! No Jude stop! 

I make myself stop looking at the hands he has tucked in his pockets or the necklace’s peeking out from behind his shirt or the curly strand of hair falling in front of his eyes. 

I look up to his face to see that his dark eyes are staring right back at me. He caught me looking at him which is enough to make me want to shrivel up and die in embarrassment. 

But then his eyes are roving and I can feel them moving down my body. He’s looking at the black ripped jeans I'm wearing and my marron shirt.

It looks for a second like he might smirk at me but when he meets my eyes again I watch as it turns into a scowl. 

Asshole. 

.... 

I see him 6 more times. All about the same encounter as in the morning. It starts off with my staring, his realization of said staring, and then the exchange of glares and pure hatred. 

But besides the glaring, it not completely intolerable. There’s no mean comments or teasing or tripping or really anything he did when we were younger.

Besides the utter humiliation of basically being kicked out of Valerian's party by Cardan himself, I think everything will be fine.

So I stop worrying that the old teasing might resume and focus back on normal things.

Well, that is if you count history club as normal.

It wasn’t really a choice to join it at first. Madoc was on one of his tirades about college and how if I don’t buff up my application I’ll go nowhere.

Which was a really great pep talk if you ask me. Just the way to encourage your kids, by yelling at them!

History club actually turned out to be interesting which sucks because I had been planning on acting miserable enough to get him to feel bad about it.

We’re going over historical battle tactics today which is going to be absolutely amazing.

I’m on my phone arguing with Viv about who has to pick up Oak. Which of course is going to end up being me when Noggle starts talking.

Mr.Noggle is one of the most enthusiastic teachers at the school. The man is in love with history. Well history and astrology which if you ask me is a weird mix. But to each there own, right? Besides the point. He runs this club with his whole heart and expects everyone else to be just as invested. 

“Okay so the printers are broken and by some ridiculous luck of mine so is the projector. Which means the plan has been utterly destroyed.” He seems genuinely disappointed.

“So get into partners and I’ll give you some strategies and next week we’ll group discuss what people find, okay? Cool!”

One of the issues I have with the history club is the lack of friends I have in it. Or more importantly the lack of people I don’t despise. Which is a thinning number.

There are only 11 people in the club. And I’m always the odd man out. I’m spotting which pair looks like the least irritable to join with when the door opens.

That's when the devil incarnate walks in with his cold and cocky attitude.

Meanwhile, Noggle’s smile has grown as big as the sun. “I’m glad I could finally convince you to join! I was starting to worry you wouldn’t show.” The man is practically beaming with his joy.

Cardan looks kinda happy too which is something I thought I would never see. Noggle is patting him on the back and talking to him with utter glee.

Cardan looks so relaxed. I’ve never seen him with anything but disdain painted over his features. But here he is hunched shoulders and a smile plastered on his face.

He must feel my gaze because he turns and looks over my way and then I freeze. His face does a 180 and the look I have come so accustomed too my whole life greets me yet again.

Mr.Noggle turns around to scan the room stopping on me and my desk in the back. His ever-present smile still on display.

“Perfect! Jude doesn’t have a partner you guys can work together!” Noggle is nodding enthusiastically like this is going to be the best idea he's ever had.

This has got to be a fucking joke.

~~~

[halorocks1214]

ბარტერი (a Thunderbirds fic)

Chapter 2:  უბედურება

AO3 Link

Word Count: 2368

Summary: And here they thought getting their father back was the least of their worries.

Chapter 1 | [YOU ARE HERE]

I BE ALIVE. BARELY. BUT I AM ALIVE. my motivation levels are still dead to hell and back, especially for my other Big Fics atm, but my brain decided to hardwire itself all of a sudden for this one and i was able to squirm something out. no promises for consistent uploads just yet because A.) aforementioned “dead inside” ness and B.) college is starting in two weeks and im Very Excite!!!! hope you enjoy this update regardless!

warnings for VERY UNCOMFORTABLENESS. unconsensual/creepy sexual comments and actions are made and boy were they hard to write (sorry Al). also violence violence violence, but hopefully angery older brother makes up for it

He hated it he hated it he hated it hated it he hated it--

Okay, Alan hated a lot of things about this moment right now, so he should probably be more specific. He hated those men, he hated leaving Gordon, he hated how his lungs were trying to heave themselves out of his chest with the way he was running, he hated how there were so many obstacles in his path that it was slowing him down, he hated how he was effectively alone--

Wait, no he wasn’t, the comms! He never turned them back on! No wonder John always told him not to panic, it made him do stupid stuff like that! Not breaking his stride, Alan pulled up his wrist and tried doing just that, but before he could even squeak, a hand came around to the front of his face, essentially muffling him and holding him in one spot.

Okay now this was just straight awful. Bringing his hands up to try and get the stranger’s singular one off his face, Alan bucked and kicked his legs around like a cornered horse, anything to break free from this terrible grip. Jesus, wasn’t this man the smaller one? And he was still able to pick Alan straight up off the ground?! Just what do these guys eat?

Gross and creepy chuckling filled Alan’s ear, somewhat freezing his attempts at escaping. He was still struggling and twitching, but for some reason, his dumb brain was trying to get him to hear whatever this man was going to say, “Ooh, you’re quite the squirmer, aren’t ya? I suppose that’s not a bad thing with those freckles and all. Quite a few clients dig the young thing. The baby fat’s a nice touch, too.” As if those words could be any worse, the man used his free hand to pinch Alan’s cheek right after he finished talking.

Alan keened. He knew his whining was high pitched to begin with, but the noises that came from his mouth were on some kind of level only dogs could hear. Tears started pouring out of his eyes like molten lava, meanwhile, his incessant kicking started up again. This time, it got somewhat literal and kicked up a few notches. Swivels started being involved, and amidst his panic, Alan found it in his brain to try and aim his feet. Any hit landing would be stellar.

But as the Tracy Family Luck would have it, nothing seemed to be working. It didn’t help that the man’s creepy chuckles just seemed to get louder as more time went on. For a split second, Alan felt the man move about an inch as if he were about to drag Alan away to whatever torturous situation he had dreamed up for the blonde. Alan wasn’t aware hope could die in the blink of an eye like that.

But then they both stopped simultaneously.

The rather loud snapping of a tree branch from a few feet away made both men swivel their heads in the direction of the noise. Alan was shocked by how much he could turn with how his neck was essentially trapped.

Alan felt both relief and anxiety wash over him because that was Virgil coming through the bushes to see what exactly his youngest brother had been getting up to. But that’s also where the anxiety was coming from as well. There were very few ways this was ending, and even less of those endings didn’t involve blood.

“Alright, the two of you have been completely dead on the comms for the past 10 minutes and I don’t know which older person in our family I want to deal with less at the moment. You better have a good expla--”

Virgil looked up from watching his steps to see that it very much wasn’t Gordon with their baby brother. It was a random man, which his in-the-middle-of-a-job brain was going to write off as a person Alan saved while Gordon went off to save others, but then he blinked once. Then twice. Then he had to fight the urge to rub his eyes with fists like a scene from a cartoon because he had to let go and realize that yup, what he was seeing was real.

And he fucking despised it.

Because this random, strange man was holding Alan as if his kid bro were random cargo and not a person. His big, sweaty hand wrapped around Alan’s mouth wouldn’t be as incriminating (and it already was a thousand times) if Alan didn’t have giant, blatant tear tracks running down over them. Meaning the hand was there before Alan started crying. Meaning this man was the cause of his brother’s distress.

Virgil’s pupils shrunk (man, that’s a reoccurring theme tonight), and while Alan was scared before, right now, he was terrified.

The floodgates were opened, and Alan was hoping that the damage the metaphorical water created wouldn’t be anything close to the mess the literal tsunami they were cleaning up caused.

---

Virgil was the least violent person in their family.

That’s not to say his thoughts weren’t. Believe him, if you pissed him off the right way he could come up with some pretty beautiful imagery as a form of therapy, but what made him different is that he channeled that anger into something productive and helpful. He didn’t quietly carry out revenge plots like John or threw punches like Scott.

But right now, any kind of breathing exercise was out the door the minute his brain registered the scene. The way the man was gleaming at his brother like he was freshly cut meat was sickening and Virgil was literally willing to resort to a bloody killing to make it stop. What filled him wasn’t anger, nor was it fiery rage.

No, it was red hot, animalistic fury and God help the person who was able to make Virgil come even close to that.

It must have somehow displayed itself. Maybe it was the way Virgil’s eyes zoned in on the man, maybe it was his fists clenching so hard his fingers might break, maybe it was the way his breathing became ragged and dangerous, maybe it was Virgil’s sheer size alone; whatever it was, it made the man’s giddy look drop off his face at the speed of light into pure, unbridled terror.

Good, now he saw how Alan was feeling.

As soon as Virgil saw the man release his hold on Alan to try and run, the middle Tracy moved.

The man wanted to leave very suddenly, huge money-load or not. Sure, it would be a big loss to let go of such a highly well-known person (one that was so young too), but if it meant he wouldn’t be folded in a way that was akin to an origami project, then the man was willing to drop everything and run. He let go of the target, turned around and took about 2 and a half steps before--

The man yelped as he felt himself be grabbed and aggressively shoved into a tree, head bouncing off of it because of momentum. With a groan, he opened his eyes and cried out in fear. Right in front of him was that other IR member. The giant one with muscles as big as steel and probably has the ability to bench press a small herd of bison. He couldn’t help the trembles that were overtaking him, and he was hoping he would at least be alive long enough to go change into a new pair of pants.

“What,” the IR member growled out, “the hell, do you think you’re doing?”

His sputters were weak and laughable, but maybe they would convince the IR member to take pity, “W-W-What? C’ mon, man, I know it looks bad, and yeah, m-maybe you’re coworkers, but, like, als-so relent a little b-bit. He’s cute, n-no?”

A millisecond of silence. Suddenly, Virgil pushed his arms into the man even more, dangerously close to ‘be careful, he might not be able to breathe’ territory, “You’re sick.”

The man, in all of his panicked glory, felt the blood rush to his head and greatly affect his mouth. He was never good at tact, “H-Hey! Don’t kn-knock it till you t-try it.”

Before Virgil could even start to think, his fist moved and collided directly in the man’s face and nose. He's sparred with Kayo. He knew how to hurt. With a step backward, he watched with satisfaction as the man, who was now out cold, slid uncomfortably down the tree. The sight put a grin on Virgil’s face. It was the least he deserved: a crick in his neck.

Now then, this man clearly couldn’t be left to just wake up and go home. He was a menace, and Virgil would hate himself for leaving such a dangerous thing on the streets. The only problem the Tracy couldn’t figure out was that he wasn’t sure where he would put him on ‘Two. It wasn’t anywhere near his brothers, that’s for sure. As Virgil pulled out some spare rope he managed to just have on him (thank God for small coincidences), his mind gleefully became playful. Yes, the roof of his girl would be a fitting seat for his kind. Right as he finished tying one of the strongest knots he knew, he heard a small, quiet, and scared voice speak up from a few feet away.

“Is he, uh, going to wake up soon?”

Oh fuck. Well, any anger or rage left his body like a gust of wind.

Letting the man’s tied up hands fall from his grasp, Virgil snapped his head up to look directly at Alan as if his younger brother caught Virgil with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘Deer in the headlights’ was a good way of describing Virgil, actually. His eyes were wide and his pupils were small once more, but that was because he was suddenly panicking over what exactly all of this entailed.

Because Alan was as far away as he could be from the man but close enough to be able to see Virgil and what the brother was doing to said stranger. Alan was desperately trying to seem like he was holding it together, but the way he held his arms around himself, and the thin sheen of sweat covering his face, Virgil thought he wasn’t succeeding as much as he wanted. A little bit of color had returned, at least, it looked like that, compared to how Alan was when he was being held by his captor. Not to mention the now-drying tear tracks...

Was that Virgil’s breath that was extremely heavy and labored? You know, maybe he should stop doing that. Taking a deep breath, Virgil stood up one knee at a time and carefully walked over to his younger brother. It broke his heart to see how Alan tensed up, so Virgil slowed his strides and re-thought out his plan for when he got close enough to touch his younger brother.

About a foot away from Alan, Virgil held his hands up like he was coaching a frightened animal, staring into those gigantic baby blue eyes as if this were ten years ago and Virgil was comforting a brother that just had a nightmare, not a brother that was nearly… God, he doesn’t even want to think that thought to himself, “Hey. Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Keep it specific, give the shock victim something to focus on. Alan took a moment to register Virgil’s words before taking a deep breath and relaxing ever so slightly, “N-No, he just… startled me. I’ve never…” Alan closed his eyes and shuddered, the awful memory from just minutes ago washing over him like toxic waste.

Virgil’s hesitation was next to none as he stepped forward and practically engulfed his brother in his large frame. If not for Alan, at least for himself, because his own shock was just about kicking in, adrenaline wearing off at the speed of ‘One. Jesus, that was close. Jesus, that was close. If Virgil hadn’t shown up at that moment, just a few seconds later…

After a moment of flinching (that Virgil didn’t notice, thank God), Alan eventually melted into his Virgil’s embrace wholeheartedly. Part of him was still tense, his body still not completely sure that the danger was gone, but boy did that not matter while his older brother was here. Heh, older brothers, Scott was going to freak about this, John probably wouldn’t be much better…

Oh, oh shit-

Virgil couldn’t stop the eyebrow raise, followed by his utter surprise when Alan suddenly shot out of his arms and started waving his own almost like a drowning man would. Virgil was very concerned over why Alan was getting worked up again, but before he could even say ‘what’ in ‘what’s wrong’, Alan practically read his mind.

“Gordon! Virge, oh my God, they have Gor-”

There wasn’t much explanation needed after that.

Except there was a little bit, mainly for Virgil’s sake. Alan’s panic was overtaking a lot of his common sense, and the last thing Virgil was going to let happen was Alan getting near any of these people, not even with 10 feet between them. So with Alan’s promise that he won’t leave Virgil’s side at all, no more than a foot at most, they both hoofed it back to where Alan last saw Gordon.

Virgil was about to put a leash on the kid with how much he was jumping out of his skin, but eventually, they were there, and Virgil regrets his whole just because you left Gordon doesn’t mean he was taken speech he gave to consol Alan, because the spot he led them to had nothing but a semi-ripped up, familiar yellow sash on the ground.

Alan’s grip on Virgil’s arm was better than a tourniquet they’ve ever used. At least Virgil won’t have to worry about him running off anymore.

Lifting his wrist so he could contact everyone else, Virgil could feel the blood drain from his face just like Alan’s.

“International Rescue, we… shit, John, we’ve gotta big problem.”

[definegodliness]

The Amish Brothel

When I was young and wild, well, not that much wilder, but definitely plagued by the hormonal discharges that come with adolescence, it happened. No less than five years into my professional masturbation career (I was a natural), I suddenly found myself fed up with the sport. 

Now, you're probably thinking, he did not try hard enough to be a professional jerk-off, but I had tried and brought to fruition the Norwegian Numb Strangler; the Alabama Twister; the Nubian Knob Flopper; the Spanish Sprinkler; yes, the Venezuelan Semi-Flaccid Fold 'n Toss, and even the Japanese Zen Garden Hose, but after five long and hard years none of them could give me the much sought after release of my all-overwhelming horny fornicorny sex on the brain-ness. I believe that is the medical term. But let it go without saying that it was plain and clear to me, I needed to get laid.

Now, how hard could it be for a sixteen year old to get laid; certainly in these days of moral decay? Very hard. You see, I was shy. Very shy. I was so shy that in the presence of the opposite sex I would freeze on the spot. And, as is well known, humans have a basic amphibian visual system: it's attuned to movement. They don't see unmoving things well at all. That's probably the reason why girls never noticed me.

So what I decided then was, that in order to keep my sanity, I needed to lose my virginity. And because I was so shy I realized that the only possible way of reaching this goal was to find a hooker. Which in these days of moral decay seems easy enough. However, it was important to me that she did not live in my home town. You see, I come from a very small town. And in small towns you can't have secrets.

So. Not willing to take any risks, I decided to start my Quest for the Whory Va-jay on the exact opposite side of the globe. But after a couple of days treading water in the Pacific Ocean, just off the New Zealand shore, it started to dawn on me that whores, much like me, were terrestrial beings. 

So I swam back home to once again grab my globe, and now, making a concession, find the place that was exactly halfway between me and the exact opposite of the globe. I spun it 'round and blindly stopped it with my finger. It had landed on Pennsylvania, Ohio. I booked a flight immediately. 

Long story short, I soon arrived in an Amish town by horse carriage.

Short story long again:

Now this might come as a surprise, but The Amish Brothel was surprisingly easy to find. Not because of any brightly red glowing neon lettering, of course, but because I had arrived in a very small town. Furthermore, the brothel was secret. And in small towns you can't have secrets.

The Amish Brothel was at the back of a bar facing the town’s church, as bars are often situated facing a church, and semi-legal brothels are often situated at the back of bars. In this we might see the duality of man. But that’s food for philosophers. Not for horny sixteen year olds who’ve traveled a quarter across the globe trying to covertly get sum. 

Anyway, I went inside with a fistful of sweaty dollars, and let my eyes adjust to the dimly lit quarters. Inside, there was a strange atmosphere. First of all it was dead silent, and the people inside seemed to roam about aimlessly trying not to come in contact with each other. The way they moved through the room reminded me of a wind up waddling penguin toy I once had. Strange. However, I swiftly deducted the only logical explanation would be that they were shunning each other. 

As by now you might have guessed, I am a man of logic. 

There were three women standing in the center of the room, holding a candle. I reckoned these were the nightly ladies I had come for.

So I made my way through the waddling crowd, and, believe it or not, the first thing I noticed about my potential defloweration candidates were their wrists. Wrists, that I've later been told were called the perfect 'butter churning wrists'. They were big. Very big. They were so big that one of them actually wore a belt as a bracelet. I knew it was a belt, because I had bought the exact same belt in the tax-free shop at the airport. 

It had a big ol' buckle with the inscription: Big Ol' Buckle.

I knew very little of America at the time. I was just trying to fit in. And when I thought of America I thought of blue jeans, belt buckles, boots, and cowboy hats. You can blame TV for that if the image isn’t fitting.

Anyway, while I was sizing up my potential defloweration candidates I noticed the Amish prefer different qualities in women than I, modern day degenerate, do. The three women did not expose much skin, but the skin that was exposed was rough and calloused. Never before had I seen backs of hands that were calloused. I didn't know it was possible. Suppose it shows how much you can actually achieve when you work hard.

To continue the description of the hookers, it appeared to me they had broad shoulders, in any case much broader than mine. And their large, painstakingly developed trapezius muscles made them hunch over a little like France's most famous bellringer. Each of the three stood little under five feet tall, with hips little under five feet wide, and on sturdy, stubby legs with large all-terrain feet. 

Indeed, these were women at peak Amish performance. 

I could see that much, despite our cultural differences. And though I personally did not see the appeal, I could understand it.

Initially their faces, locked in that typical deep creased crinkled frown you see developed in people who are convinced we are here on earth to suffer, came across a little hostile to me. And for a second I doubted the good of my whole endeavor. But I had come all this way with a mission. Surely a couple of minutes of eyes closed defloweration was worth my salvation. It was settled.

I took a deep breath and walked up to the middle hooker, the one with the Big Ol' Buckle bracelet, seeing the two of us at least had some common ground to start off with. Yet as I, in my best English, complimented her on her smashing bracelet, and then nervously, half under my breath, muttered: "How much to fuck?", all I got was a vacant stare. 

I reckoned I didn't speak loudly enough. Too nervous. So I took another deep breath, and then, admittedly a bit brash and far too loudly, repeated the question: "How much to fuck?!"

What happened then I can only describe as a Hive Minded Synchronized Telekinetic Charge on my person. As all the waddling penguins in the room instantly and simultaneously turned to face me in intense disapproval. I could not move or resist as I felt myself slowly getting pushed to the exit. It was like a barraging conjoined aura. An invisible force field shooing me. 

Later I learned that what I experienced that night in the Amish brothel was nothing other than The Full Power of Shun.

(Source: The Art Of Chores, by Pennsylvanian writer Shun Shoo. A good book, you should read it. Once you take the knowledge in that book metaphorically, its wisdom is still very much applicable today.)

After feeling The Full Power of Shun, I realized that Amish brothels don't work the same way as ordinary brothels do. The kick they get out of it lies in the test of will they subject themselves too. To come eye to eye with the greatest sinful seduction, and persevere, yet in that perseverance feel no pride. To stay unmoved in most rousing circumstances. The Amish find it important to stay unmoved, and soon I'd find out why. Not all too soon though.

First, I made my way out of town, disillusioned, feeling frustrated and lonely, and only guided by the light of the stars and the full moon, but that was also when it happened:

I heard a sharp 'pssst!' coming from within the shades in between two houses. Then, as I turned my head inquiringly, I saw the flashing pale of a bare ankle's skin. I don't know if it was due to me in my depraved deprivedness witnessing a woman's bare skin, or rather because of my body's instinctive preparation in anticipation of sex, but hot blood surged to my loins, so much that I could only follow the boner. I had found her. The town harlot.

Now, if you're from the city you probably don't know this, but it's a well known secret that every small town has one (1) town harlot. These mystical beings do not appear to the locals, who in fact haven't the slightest idea of any aphrodisiacal apparition living among them, but on full moon nights, when the timing is just right, they present their physical manifestation to other small town folk, visiting. So goes the legend.

She took me inside via the back door, then floated upstairs to her bedroom. And I, dragged forward by the tent in my pants, followed after in ascension. Bumpily gliding over the stairs with just the tips of my two shoes. When I entered her room she was already lying on the bed, half-sunken in the soft mattress. Fully clothed and thereby covered, except for her ankles. 

Oh, great seductress.

Without moving much, or even looking at me, she curved her index finger to beckon me on the bed. And without any hesitation, I jumped on. Like a wild animal. Like a being of pure instinct, heart thumping in my throat. I might have even growled when I started attacking the layers of fabric that still hid the soppy pink treasure trove of lovin' that would change the boy I was in the man I would be. It went as follows:

Apron, dress, skirt, underskirt, underskirt, underskirt, underskirt, skirt, dress, cape, fuck there's the mattress, cape, dress, skirt, underskirt, underskirt. 

Long-johns! 

Hers were tied up with a thick beige string, laced in a bow tie, which I fumblingly undid with trembling hands. Then, spreading the two now loosened pieces of fabric open. Finally. The plain white slip. 

Carefully, I pulled it aside with two fingers and witnessed the fiery red version of what I had grown to do The Japanese Zen Garden Hose. It all seemed so long ago. 'Let bygones be bygones', I thought to myself, as I lunged forward into my very first woman, and thereby into the bright star spangled future. 

Or so I thought. 

Cause at the very second of my second thrust, she gasped and exclaimed: 

"No, no, no, stop! What are you doing? Haven't you ever had sex before?"

I, frozen in position, stuttered that I hadn't.

"We need to lie perfectly still, else God will see us. You got that? Lie perfectly still."

And I, greener than the grass of the English Royal Garden on the first bright spring day in May after many many showers, complied. Lying perfectly still upon and within the harlot of whom I did not even have a name. 

Lucky for me, she was very soft. And, also lucky for me, I had frozen up in a very comfortable position. In fact, I was so comfortable that it took only a couple of seconds for me to fall into a deep sleep.

That night I dreamt of God. 

I was sitting on a stool in the bar that in its back hid the Amish brothel, when I heard a deep echoing voice resonating through my brain.

"Do you want a handjob?"

Surprised, I looked over to the side, inspecting the silvery haired man sitting next to me. There was no one else at the bar, so I just said: 

"Excuse me?"

"Do you want a handjob?” He smiled comfortingly. “I noticed you are lonely. I get lonely too sometimes. Handjobs help then. If it’s any consolation, it isn’t all that different from a Norwegian Numb Strangler."

He was right, of course. I was lonely. And, in all honesty, a Slipside-reversed Numb Strangler didn’t seem so bad. Even if it wasn’t a proper Norwegian one. But in the end I did politely decline, and silence fell for a short while, until I cleared my throat to ask the big question:

"Are you God?"

"It's you that say I am."

"Then you are. How peculiar, I was just thinking about you today. Is it true you can't see people... ya know..."

Here, I made a gesture by repetitively penetrating a circle made by the thumb and index finger of my left hand with the outstretched index finger of my right hand. In some cultures this gesture is considered vulgar.

"Fucking", God interrupted.

"Yes... fucking... when those people lie perfectly still?", I completed my question.

"Ah, my child, yes. That is true. You see I have a basic amphibian visual system: it's attuned to movement. I don't see unmoving things well at all."

"Ah, like humans."

"Made in my image."

I don't know about you, but everything started making incredible sense to me at that point. Even more so, I started to like the guy. He seemed like a pretty honest and straightforward chap. That's why I empathized, remembering the little sentence he dropped priorly. Which I had so rudely ignored.

"You said you get lonely too sometimes."

"That is true. These days it happens oh, so rarely that people see me. In fact, you are the first one in hundreds of years. To be honest, it really makes me doubt myself. I worry..."

"Hey now, come on, God. You seem like a good guy. There must be a logical explanation for all of this. Something we're just not seeing."

At that time the irony of my statement still eluded me.

I took a big gulp of the whisky that had been standing in front of me, and looked to the side observing the still, silvery figure next to me. He looked absolutely dejected. But then it hit me:

"Do you move around all that much?"

"I am omnipresent."

"Well there's your problem. If your everything is everywhere at any given time, how can you create the movement needed for our basic amphibian visual system to see you.” I gulped down the rest of the whisky. “Can't you be less present? Like, semi-omnipresent. Half... omni... present?"

"Alas, no. That I cannot be. For if I'd be anything other than omnipresent, I'd be subject to the laws of relativity. Then, there is always a bigger fish. Probably by my own making, but, you know, it's like Greek Mythology states: 'The son always overthrows his father'. 

He paused. Then started jabbering:

“T- that's always been the rule. I mean, I found a loophole, but..." 

God stared in his glass pensively. Then, as awoken from a daydream, suddenly sat upright, speaking clear again: 

"No, any other existence cannot be. I cannot allow myself to get in such a predicament."

"Aren't you all-powerful as well; how can anything that is created by you, and therefore is you, be more powerful than you?"

"I am a man of many paradoxes."

"Same."

I tapped on the rim of my empty whisky glass for a while, thinking about omnipresence. Trying to find an easy fix. But all I could think about is how omnipresence and non-existence are two different words used to describe the exact same phenomenon, limited by the vocabulary containing our understanding of the world and the ever-expanding universe around us. 

I thought about our amphibian visual system, and wondered what else we can’t really see that is there. Or could be. Or...

“Hey, wait a minute, why can I see you?

I looked at God inquiringly. God, with his kind smile. He nodded at me.

"It's time for you to wake up."

With that I opened my eyes. It was morning, and never had I awoken so well rested. I pulled my shriveled, flaccid penis out of the now cork dry crevice of once meat marinating mind-boggling pleasure, and heard the harlot whisper: "Best sex I ever had." I took her word for it, after all, she was a harlot, and harlots are like experienced pros when it comes to the game of fleshy be-bop-a-lula. 

As a matter of fact, I am proud to say that I have become quite an MVP in this game as well. No one lies stiller than I, and these days I can stay awake for a solid two minutes. I leave girls in such ecstasy they do not dare to lay with me twice, afraid to be maddened by the mind, body, and soul shattering sensation of unrivaled pleasure. 

I promise I am wielding this power responsibly.

Of course, at the time I had no clue what a stud I had become that day. All that mattered was that I lost my virginity (does it count when you don't cum? It does count, doesn't it? Anyway), I was a man now. And as a man I strutted back into my small town village. Straight back, head upright. All would behold my manly stride. And all did, until Hank the bicycle repair guy cupped his hands in front of his mouth like a makeshift megaphone and shouted: 

"Hey Bozo, how was the Amish brothel?!" 

I hate living in a small village. You can't have any secrets.

---

21-12-2019, M.A. Tempels ©

[lumosinlove]

Solntse

part x

Remus wakes the next morning to the bed dipping as Sirius sits on it and bends to tie his shoes. Remus’ eyes blink open to the sight of his white button down, summer-thin, stretching across the muscles of his back as they shift with the movement of his hands.

And Remus will admit. It takes him a moment to remember. And when he does, the split second of sorrow he felt is intensified and then washed away by the equally strong wave of warm elation that replaces it. He feels so giddy his chest hurts as he reaches out to run his palm down Sirius’ back.

Sirius turns around with a little gasp, and then he’s rambling before Remus can even open his mouth. He makes a sad little noise, full lip poking out in what can only be called a pout, and turns until he can half lay on the bed, reaching to wrap Remus, still sleep warm, in his arms. “I’m know, I’m know, not want to leave, baby. Have breakfast. Stupid breakfast with stupid work people. They not know I’m have hot boyfriend in bed, so stupid they make me go.” He presses a long kiss to Remus’ lips, licking hotly into his mouth, but starts talking again almost instantly, “I’m think maybe wake up early, but look so cute sleep, Remus. All warm, so hard wake up but want kisses, too—“

“Hey, hey.” Remus presses his thumb to Sirius’ bottom lip, then replaces it with a kiss of his own, “It’s okay, love.” He really wishes Sirius didn’t have to go, but his fantasies from the plane are at the back of his mind, too. He runs his fingers down the collar of Sirius’ shirt, imagining what it’ll be like to peel it off of him. “I’ll be here when you get back.” And he lets go, sprawling his bare body against the white sheets in what he hopes is at least somewhat hot, “For kisses and…whatever you want.”

Sirius looks at him for a long moment, lips parted. Then he throws his hands up and rises from the bed, “Now I’m hard while try to talk to people and eat egg. All your fault, Remus.”

Remus laughs and bites his lip as he watches Sirius work to adjust himself in his pants. It’s not like he’s easy to hide. Remus is mid-stretch when Sirius’ voice makes him open his eyes again.

“Hey.” He’s got their room key and his sunglasses in one hand. His shirt is rolled up to his forearms and his hair is still a little sleep-mussed. Remus wants to die a little when Sirius smiles at him. “Love you.”

Remus lets his head fall back against the mound of pillows, “Love you.”

~

He orders himself breakfast while Sirius is away at his. Just some yogurt and granola. He figures Sirius will probably be doing more talking than eating, and he wants to be able to enjoy a large lunch with him later. Maybe on the beach. There’s a part of him that still never wants to leave the hotel room until they’ve made up for all their lost time and he feels thoroughly fucked, but…they’re here. They should enjoy it.

What he doesn’t expect, is to fall asleep in one of the shady chairs next to their small pool out front, but when he wakes up to warm fingers through his hair, he smiles even before his eyes are open.

“Hi, sleepy.” Sirius leans down to brush his lips over Remus’ cheek, then presses a slower one to his mouth. “Miss me so much you nap?”

Remus laughs, but looking at how the sun is haloing Sirius’ dark hair just then, something sizes in his chest and he can’t imagine how he let him go so easily this morning. He makes a little noise and pulls his knees into his chest so he can reorient them around Sirius’ waist, “Did you have a good breakfast?”

Sirius hums as he pulls Remus the rest of the way. He rucks Remus’ shirt up to rub gently at the base of his spine, “Boring. Talk a lot, be hungry soon.” He sighs and bites gently at Remus’ jaw—maybe just because he can, “You eat?”

“Just a little. I figured you wouldn’t get to have much. We can go to the restaurant soon.” Even before he finishes the sentence, Sirius is grumbling. Remus laughs, “And then go to the beach later, with all those people around. Then maybe we’ll go to the bar before dinner—“

“Killing me, Remus, oh my god.”

Remus presses his smile into Sirius’ neck and plays his fingers through the short hairs at the back of his neck. He leans back for a short kiss, “What, you don’t want to eat lunch with me?”

“Eat you for lunch.” Sirius grumbles, and then, for the third time, Remus finds himself lifted into Sirius’ arms.

Remus laughs, “Okay, I am actually hungry though.” He kisses a little burst across Sirius’ sunned nose.

Sirius laughs, “Always hungry.” He plops Remus down on the bed and braces his forearms on either side of his head. His neckless falls from beneath his shirt, pooling at Remus’ throat, and Remus reaches up to feel the tight stretch of his button down over his back. “I’m take care. What you want for lunch, карамель?”

Remus presses his lips together, thinking.

Sirius raises an eyebrow.

Remus moves his hands to the front of Sirius’ shirt and slowly starts working the buttons until the shirt is hanging open, “Lobster roll.”

Sirius grins and brings his knees up onto the bed on either side of Remus’ hips. Once seated on Remus’ lap, he pushes the material from his own shoulders, letting it pool around his hips and onto the bed, “I’m know that not all.”

Remus bites his lip, letting his eyes wander, “Plantain chips, maybe.”

Sirius smiles, “You tell me everything you want, always.” Then he leans down, all warm skin and bruising kisses, and mumbles against Remus’ mouth, “I’m do for you, anything.”

Remus looks up at him, at his heat-curled hair and light eyes. He feels the familiar tightness in his chest that occurs when he really just…can’t believe. He smiles a small, disbelieving smile, and reaches up to trail his knuckles across Sirius’ cheek. “You’re pretty phenomenal, you know that?”

Sirius smiles back, but his eyebrows draw together a little, “That word scare me.”

That startles a laugh out of Remus, and he pulls Sirius down and just—hugs him. As tight as he can. Sirius sinks into it, and Remus likes how he can feel his chest expand and contract against his body as he breathes. It’s comforting, to have something he loves this much this close.

Sirius yawns warm against Remus’ neck, and Remus cards his fingers through his hair, “You got up pretty early, love. Why don’t we just relax here. I can get us lunch in a bit, yeah?”

Sirius hums, pressing what already feels like a sleepy kiss to Remus’ neck, “Is good, yes.”

Remus glances down, “Here.” Despite Sirius’ noises of protests, he manages to untangle himself long enough to work on Sirius’ belt and jeans, pulling them off, “Socks on or off?”

“Off. Hot.”

Remus balls them up and throws them near their suitcases. He sort of loves how knobby Sirius’ ankles are, and runs a quick thumb over the closest one before climbing back towards the head of the bed, where Sirius is pulling back the covers for them. He will admit though, Sirius shuffling around their hotel room in socks back in London was one of his favorite things. He can’t wait to see it in New York.

~

When they wake up again the sun is only just starting to lower and Remus’ back is a little sweaty where its pressed to Sirius’ chest. Sirius has him completely drawn in. His hand is splayed against Remus’ chest, like he’s pushing them closer together even in his sleep. Remus tries to stay as still as he can while simultaneously kicking as much of the sheets away from his body as possible. He freezes when Sirius makes a sleepy noise.

“What time?” His voice cracks and Remus melts.

“Looks like we only slept for a few hours.” He cranes his neck to look at the digital clock on the bedside table, “2:30.” He places his palm over the back of Sirius’ where its resting against his stomach, “Do you want to go swimming?”

Remus can feel Sirius’ smile against the back of his neck, “Naked?”

Remus laughs, “I’m pretty sure we have to wear a swimsuit.”

“I’m pay them most money,” Sirius’ smile has turned into kisses, “We do what we want.”

“That’s definitely not how nudity works.” Remus snorts and turns so they’re chest to chest, sheets a little twisted around their ankles, “Besides, we can do that in our pool.” He grins at Sirius’ noise of interest, “Tonight.”

“Okay, we swim. Get food at beach.” He throws the sheets off of him and walks naked to his suitcase. “Wear blue swimsuit I buy you, best on you.”

Remus rolls his eyes, “You only like it because it’s short. It could be neon pink and you wouldn’t care.”

Sirius sends him a grin over his shoulder, “Most true. So what?”

Remus wears the blue swimsuit.

~

“Hey, put head back! Not trust me?”

Remus laughs, tightening his arms around Sirius’ neck as the water laps around them, “Not at all, you’re definitely going to dunk me.”

Sirius has Remus cradled in his arms and is trying to convince him to lay back in the water. He’s smirking while doing it though, and Remus is wary.

“I’m what? Dunk?”

Remus cracks one eye open against the sun, “Yeah. You know, like a cookie.”

It occurs to him a second too late that that was the wrong thing to say.

Sirius’ laugh sounds surprised out of him and he does, in fact, dunk Remus—well, dunks them both. Remus just has time to close his eyes against the salty water, and then laughs at the way Sirius’ hair is plastered against his forehead. At least until Sirius shakes his head like a dog, and it curls up again.

“Yes, perfect,” He says, and swings Remus around so that Remus’ legs lock around his waist and he can brush their noses together, “I’m dunk like cookie. Sweet enough, карамель. New name?”

“No way.” Remus laughs. He rests his cheek against Sirius wet shoulder, presses a little kiss to his neck. Sirius stands, just holding him in the waves for a moment. “I like this.”

Sirius strokes a palm over his neck. It’s probably a little slimy with sunscreen, but Sirius doesn’t seem to mind, “Like close?” He murmurs against Remus’ ear, to which Remus hums a yes. “Like ocean?”

“Yeah.” Remus sighs, pushing his fingers through the short hair at the back of Sirius’ neck, “Or just you.”

Sirius scoffs and shifts Remus so he can look at him, “Like me? I’m dunk you again!”

“I’ll bring you with me.” Remus tightens his arms, just a little, holding them together.

Sirius smiles so wide his nose scrunches a little and he swipes his thumbs over Remus’ hips, “Hope you always bring me with you.”

“More like you bring me with you.” Remus laughs, but it settles a little heavily somewhere in his chest. He hasn’t forgotten how much Sirius has to travel for his work, how sometimes they might not see each other for days or weeks while he’s away on a project. How this vacation is not forever, this little bubble of pure them.

Sirius makes a sad noise. “Sad eyes, what happen?”

“Just—you know.” Remus smiles, and presses a kiss to the tip of Sirius’ nose, “You travel a lot.”

Sirius rolls his eyes, like this problem shouldn’t even exist, “Always bring you with me, Remus.” Then he ducks his head a little when Remus looks away, trying to recapture his gaze, “Only if you want, of course. You can come to fun places, like Japan.” He sinks down into the water so their floating a little, up to their necks, and captures Remus’ mouth when he gasps a little at the temperature change, “What Remus want?” He smiles and his tongue peaks out to wet his lower lip, “Other than me, of course.”

Remus laughs softly. “I…” He swallows and reaches up to push a strand of hair away from where it was sticking close to Sirius’ eye. He smooths it down again and then leaves his hand there, brushing Sirius’ cheek, “I never got to go to university. I—I know I’m a little old, I mean, 22 is usually when people are finishing, but…”

“Remus. Remushya.”

And Remus has to look up just to put a face to the sheer happiness that is in Sirius’ voice. It’s an expression Remus doesn’t think he’ll be quick to forget, but he can’t imagine why Sirius looks like that just because he said he wants to go to school.

“I’m—“ Sirius squeezes Remus closer, “Yes, so good. You love. You find nice school in New York, we live together, you focus on studies. I—you let me…you let me take care? Please.” Sirius has dropped his voice. He whispers the words against the corner of Remus’ mouth, “I’m want so much for you. Remus, I’m want give you…everything. Let me? Is okay?”

Remus feels his lip shake a little before he even realizes that he sort of wants to cry. He really is keeping a pattern here. But he’s wanted this for so long, school, and to have it just plain offered to him like that… Sirius shushes him softly and leans forward to try and kiss the quiver away.

“But—“ Remus’ voice cracks, “But what will I—could I—ever give you back? I literally have nothing.”

“Remus.” Sirius makes a sort of tisking noise and is suddenly wading them forward back towards shore, Remus still in his arms. “You listening or be stubborn?”

“I’m not—what—“

Sirius wades through the water until he can kneel on the sand and lays Remus gently back against the shallowly lapping waves. They’re only just on shore and Remus laughs a little as Sirius settles himself between his thighs.

“Listening, Remus?” Sirius holds himself up by his forearms, blocking the sun from overhead until he is all Remus can see.

The sea rushes up around their bodies, cool next to the heat of Sirius’ bare thighs and chest pressed to Remus’ skin. Remus feels safe, here between Sirius and the sand.

“I’m listening.” He says.

“Okay.” Sirius curls his wrists inward so he can run his hands through Remus’ hair and push it off his forehead. “Give…” Sirius presses his lips together for a moment, eyes flicking between Remus’ as he tries to string the right words together in his head, “You give me everything already. Everything. Remus, I’m…” Sirius shakes his head and stray droplets of water fall onto Remus’ chest and cheeks, “I’m so lonely before, you no idea.” Sirius laughs a little and pets his hand through Remus’ hair again, eyes following the motion like he can’t believe he gets to do it, “I don’t even know how lonely, you know? Then you come to me, and I see. You stand at door first time I see you and ask me about home and I think…I don’t know, you sleep in my arms and I…I can feel when you not there now.”

“Sirius.” Remus starts but Sirius presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Is big, cold place that…that is waiting for you to make warm.” He sends Remus a soft smile, “And now you are here.” He says the words slowly, with careful grammar. Sirius shrugs one shoulder, “Everything.”

Remus can only look up at him for a moment, then he shakes his head, “Sometimes, with the things you say to me in English, I think I’d die if I could understand what you’d be able to say in Russian.”

Sirius grins, pressing his nose beneath Remus’ jaw, “Learn Russian, find out.” Then he leans back with a mockingly serious look on his face, “No, I’m take back. Dick hard all time if you speak Russian.”

Remus laughs loudly at that and pulls Sirius into a salty kiss.

They’re rinsing off the salt beneath the outdoor shower on their deck when Remus presses his hands to Sirius’ chest, “Hey, wait.”

“Hm?” Sirius blinks down at him, hair a mess from running his fingers through it and the water.

“I just—“ Remus smooths one hand up to his neck, “I have to make sure you know. I’d love you if you didn’t have a cent to your name. I’d love you without—without the money, without any of it. Okay? Do you know that?”

Sirius looks at him, hands freezing, and between one blink and the next his eyes are glassy with tears. Remus reaches up to cup Sirius’ cheeks in his hands, “I’d love you if this hotel didn’t exist, I’d love you if the apartment you were offering to let me come live with you in was a one room shack.” He pushes up on his toes and presses a hard kiss to Sirius’ mouth, tasting the sea.  “I’d love you through anything. Okay?”

Sirius smiles, a tear escaping from his eyes and mixing with the soft stream of water. He sniffles and laughs, curling his hands around Remus’ wrists and rubbing lightly, “Okay.”

Remus laughs a little too, “Got it, Sirushya?”

Sirius laughs a little more, squeezing his eyes shut and tilting his head up into the spray for a moment, smile wide, and then arching down to kiss Remus. “I’m got it.”

(A/N: yyaaayyy fluffy beach fluffily-fluff-floo. woo!)

[cowgirlvag]

Man puberty 2 literally is 2 times worse

I still am a sweaty wreck, but in the past I used to just open my window to the 50° outside and that fixed it, room was freezing and I don't sweat (hopefully). Now I do that, I can't stop shaking with the window open, but I still look like I'm just fucking ran a 5k if I wear any clothes. Let me be hot or cold, not both simultaneously you lil shit body

[rezares]

a watercolor sky || war & peace

@spindlesandrosethorns​

tl;dr: The one where they are simultaneously worse than, and not as bad as, Ross and Rachel

Word Count: 4112

Date: March 9th, 2020

AURORA

You know when you have a cup of coffee that is far too hot to drink, but you keep taking sips anyways? Even though it burns your mouth? It just tastes too good to stop.

‘Sex with Reza’ had apparently become Aurora’s cup of too-hot coffee.

In her defense, she had never thought it would continue. Sure they’d had sex in Tunisia (a… few times, actually), but that had been comfort sex! Borne of desperation and near-death encounters and all sorts of weird moral dilemmas and nearly two years of pent up sexual desire. But when they had boarded the plane back to Swynlake, Aurora expected that to be the end and was ready and willing to go back to being just friends.

Yeaaah, that didn’t happen.

Aurora snuggled closer to Reza’s chest, keeping her eyes closed and her breathing even so she could fake sleep just a little while longer. She was getting horribly spoiled, waking up next to Reza at least once a week. She was still naked and a little sweaty under the blanket, doubtlessly sporting a few new bruises, and felt completely content with this moment in the universe. Soon, they’d have to get up and pretend this had never happened - at least around Sabiha, Fadela and Lamia both looked too smug to not know - but for this little slice of morning, Aurora got him all to herself.

REZA

Reza was not bothering to fake sleep. He just didn’t mind laying there, playing with Aurora’s hair, trying his best not to think too hard on the confusing, unfamiliar feelings slowly forming in his chest. It wasn’t that he was against them. Hardly! He wouldn’t have had sex with Aurora the first time, let alone for the past couple months if he didn’t hope to feel those feelings for her one day.

Rory was, in all honesty, the first person he wanted to feel this warmth in his chest for. But he knew from secondhand accounts how infatuation could often disguise itself as love, and as he was someone who always believed himself to be incapable of love, he didn’t want to hurt Rory again. How cruel would it be to tell her ‘I think I’m in love with you’ only to retract that statement once the infatuation wore off?

No, no, he had to make sure it stuck.

Except, this warmth hadn’t left his chest since November. It was March. Was that...not...more than just infatuation?

AURORA

Aurora finally gave up the ghost and leaned into his hand as it played with her curls, humming softly as she tried to open her heavy eyes. Well, she got halfway there.

"Mmm, you're thinking too loud," she teased in a sleepy mumble, accent thick and soft like it always was first thing in the morning. Her hand reached up to smooth out the thoughtful furrow of his brow and then trailed down to his chest as she pressed a soft kiss to his pec. "No worrying before 10 or I'll kick you out."

She would never really. It was winter and Reza was warm. Also she loved the jerk, though that thought was quickly dashed away before her magic could give her away.

(The slowly fading bruise on her chest gave a little throb. The amethyst pendant pressed against her clavicle did as well: although no one noticed.)

REZA

“Am not,” Reza grumbled, very much not ready to be proper awake. “How does someone think too loud when they’re not saying anything? I’m not awake enough to find you funny. Try again in ten minutes.”

The bitching quickly gave way to a soft, tried chuckle. God, she was cute. 

“Go ahead, you can explain to my sisters why you’re coming out of my bedroom at—” he squinted to try reading the clock but gave up “— early o’clock in the morning.”

AURORA

She was hilarious, excuse you. Aurora flicked his chin just enough to sting for a second before pushing herself up the bed so their faces were closer together.

"One, it's an expression, you ass," she murmured with a sleepy grin. "Your face gets scrunchy when you think. Two, bold of you to assume they haven't already figured it out. I'm surprised Lamia hasn't shown up at my flat yet with a 'Congrats on the sex' cake. And three…"

Aurora leaned in, kissing his jaw softly where it was the closest and tucking some of his hair back from his face in the process. "Morning," she whispered, laying her head back on his shoulder with a content little smile. Her leg slid against his as she made herself comfortable, and she giggled under her breath as his hair tickled her thigh.

REZA

God, she’s adorable…

...is what Reza would say to himself if he wasn’t still wishing he was asleep. Instead he just smiled as he closed his eyes, which was a clear sign he was amused. Rory knew him well enough by now to know she was slowly chipping away at the grumpy morning goblin that possessed him before noon.

“Yes, but do you really want to deal with their teasing and-” the kiss shut him up, and he gave a tired laugh. “It’s morning, I’ll give you that.”

He opened his mouth to say something else, but the shuffling of feet outside of the door, followed by a muffled ‘Sabiha, wait!’ glued his mouth shut and made him wide-ass awake. Shit.

The door handle jiggled, but stopped, as someone certainly had pulled her back.

“But I hear Amma ‘Rora!”

AURORA

Just as Aurora was starting to break through Reza’s grumpy morning layer, there was a commotion outside the door that made Aurora freeze completely solid. Oh fuck.

“Oh my god,” Aurora whispered, wanting nothing more than to sink under the sheets. But no, now was not the time to hide! Or, it was, but certainly not naked in bed with a man she Was Not Dating while his daughter stood outside.

Once Aurora was certain her body hadn’t locked up and frozen from the sudden panic, she sat up to look at the door then back down at her very naked self and her very naked coconspirator. She made panicked eyes at Reza, gesturing silently at the door. Sabiha had already heard her! Should she hide anyways!? Go out and pretend like sex hadn’t happened (several times) the night before?? Shit!

REZA

“Shit.” Reza whispered. 

They weren’t telling Sabiha yet! It was too soon, he wanted to wait a while longer, he wanted to be sure- but there she was, on the other side of the door. He grabbed his jeans off the floor and shimmied into them.

“One second Sabiha, Baba’s gotta-” and as he said this, he threw the blankets over Rory and put a pillow on top of her for good measure.

He went to the door and cracked it open just enough to talk to her.

“Baba, I heard Amma ‘Rora!” Sabiha said, standing up on her tippy toes to try to see.

“What are you talking about, crazy?”

“But I-”

“No, silly. What d’you think she did, climb through the window?” He laughed, ruffling her hair. “Do you want to see ‘Rora today, is that why you’re hearing things?”

Sabiha huffed and folded her arms over her chest. She was right! She knew she was right! But...yes. Yes, she did want to see her Auntie Rory today, thank you.

“Let me finish sleeping, okay, baba? Hey, actually - why don’t you and Lamia go into the workshop and grab a bottle of wake-up potion so I can wake up faster. Then we can go see Rory.”

Sabiha eyed her father but eventually went “...fine.”

Reza made sure to lock the door behind her and waited until he heard her pad down the stairs to address Aurora. “It’s safe.”

He wandered to his closet and threw on a clean shirt, opened his top dresser drawer to grab a dress Rory’d left in his bedroom a couple weeks ago, and brought it to her. 

AURORA

Aurora felt a bit like a child again; hiding under the blankets like the world - read, her aunties - wouldn’t be able to see her if she couldn’t see it. This wasn’t as much fun as that had been; in fact, this was mortifying. Aurora kinda hoped she’d melt into the bed never to be seen again.

She peeked out from under the pillow Reza had shoved on her face when he gave the all clear, pouting a little. “Was the pillow to the face necessary?” she asked, sitting up fully and accepting the dress. She stumbled a bit as she stood from the bed, though if asked she’d blame the narcolepsy and not way her legs were still kind of numb. “I’m not going to have time to get dressed and out before Sabiha comes back,” she whispered.

Where the hell was her underwear?

 REZA

Reza shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed, briefly reaching down to grab Rory’s underwear. 

“That’s not the plan. We’ll go downstairs and when she gets back ‘wow, look who came over for breakfast, what a convenient surprise!’” He explained. 

“...hey. It’s not that I’m embarrassed. I’m not. I just don’t want Sabiha to know just yet.”

AURORA

Accepting her underwear with a quiet, shy “Thank you”, Aurora began to slip her clothing on and figure out what the hell she was going to do with her hair in the next 5 minutes, but Reza’s words caught her off-guard. Embarrassed? ‘Just yet’?

What the heck did he mean ‘just yet’?

Aurora slipped on the straps of her dress but didn’t bother to do up the zipper, instead coming closer to where Reza sat on the edge. “I didn’t think you were,” she reassured, gently lifting his chin so she knew she had his full attention before letting her hand drop to his shoulder. “I mean, I thought you were embarrassed, but not of me,” Aurora amended with a small smile. Lord knows her cheeks were still going back to their normal color.

“But what do you mean you don’t want Sabiha to know just yet?” she asked innocently. She was operating under the impression that Sabiha was never going to find out about Aurora and Reza having sex, even when she was old and grey.

REZA

See, he expected Aurora to come back with a question. The question, though, was supposed to be ‘yeah, but when?’ He had his answer to that at least twelve percent formulated in his head, which was much better than his response to the question Aurora did ask.

His stared at her slack jawed as he tried to explain it to the imaginary Rory in his head without sounding patronizing. When at least a dozen phrasings were thrown out all at once it became apparent he’d be winging this.

Which. 

Is always the thought before winging something he should absolutely not wing.

“I mean that I want to make sure this-” he gestured between them vaguely. “-is sticking around before Sabiha gets any ideas in her head. She’s nine. She adores you. You know what she’d start thinking the second she catches wind that we’re-”

The words ‘together’ and ‘dating’ didn’t sound right to him. What, then?

“-that I’m- that we- we- that I’m trying to understand what having feelings is like. And I’d like to have them for you.”

AURORA

Aurora was starting to get the sense that somewhere along the way, she and Reza had missed some connection and had been drifting along on entirely different tracks. Here she had been, hopelessly smothering the dreams of her broken heart as Reza continued to lavish attention on her- or, at least, the Reza Version of ‘lavishing’.

When apparently, Reza had thought they were more. Enough ‘more’ that telling his daughter about them was a serious concern. Goodness, they should have talked about this weeks ago.

His final words caught her offguard more than anything, her heart tripping in her chest. Did he…? Was he implying…?

There went her heart, jumping away to conclusions, and she could only smile brightly at Reza’s awkward wording. For the first time in months, little blossoms of golden light curled protectively between strands of her hair. They didn’t stick out much, she had learned that lesson well, but it was more than Aurora had allowed herself in weeks.

She giggled, stepping forward until she could perch herself on his knee, her hands coming up to run through his hair before cradling his jaw gently. “You’ll figure it out,” she nearly teased. “There’s no rush.” 

REZA

Reza was far too embarrassed to address the obvious - that he and Rory, until this minute, were not on the same page. It was clear they were now, so he’d spare himself the embarrassment, thank you.

“I— I am aware that I care about you. A lot. But I need to sit with this unfamiliar feeling a little while longer before I want to name it for you. If that makes sense?” He said slowly. 

“I understand though if you can’t do that. I’ve put you through enough, Rory.” Reza smiled at her and played with her hair as he explained. “I just don’t want to rush into giving it a name just because I really want to.”

He wanted to love her. He wished he knew he was capable of that, but he didn’t know for sure and instead he clung to her like he was starved for affection. 

AURORA

Her smile was probably embarrassingly wide, her cheeks tellingly flushed and her eyes too soft and full of everything she’d been hiding in the deepest parts of her broken heart. Aurora should do something about that.

She ducked her head so she was looking at his chest instead, leaning into his hand a little as she resisted the urge to push him back on the bed and just kiss his dumb face all over. Her hands trailed down his shoulders until they were pressed to his chest, his heart beating steady and strong under her hand. She loved him. So much. Even after everything.

“I can be patient,” she promised, playing with the fabric of his t-shirt. “I don’t mind waiting knowing what might be at the end.” If he decided it wasn’t love? Then she’d just have to accept it. She’d risk shattering her heart again a hundred times for the chance that he might love her back. It felt like a naive, foolish sentiment, and she should know better but… this love? This was hers. 

Her magic may not be, her life may not be, but the warmth and love she felt for Reza and his daughter? That was all Aurora. She wanted to cling to that feeling for as long as she could. It was proof that she was more than a vessel.

“I still…” Aurora started shyly. “You know I…” She laughed, tucking her face against his chest. “God, now I can’t talk,” she said between embarrassed giggles. Around the crown of her head, the little golden buds began to shyly open up; peeking out between pink curls. She pulled her legs up so she was properly curled up in his lap, her arms wrapping around his waist.

REZA

Reza zipped her dress up for her as she sat curled up in his lap, lest he be tempted to coax her into discarding it on the floor, and ran his fingers through her hair as she stumbled over talking. His own thoughts and words were clouded by a layer of sleep, so he could only imagine was it was like for her.

“You don’t have to.” He assured her. “Talk, I mean. I understand. And you don’t have to be patient much longer, I just-”

Should he mention the real, final reason for any hesitation?

AURORA

She wanted to melt into him as his fingers ran carefully through her hair, pressing her cheek closer to his chest. If the constant threat of Sabiha returning at any moment wasn’t keeping her awake, she would have fallen right back asleep happily in his lap. But she was awake, and her curiosity was piqued.

Sitting back so she could finally look back at his eyes, Aurora prompted him to continue his thought with a gentle, “Yes?” 

She didn’t want to push, but she also wanted to make sure they were on the same page. Since apparently they hadn’t been doing a very good job of that, recently.

REZA

“Aurora, it is very different, loving somebody else’s child as the cool aunt, versus…” Reza bit his lip and carded his fingers through Aurora’s hair again, careful to make sure he was touching her and showing her affection as he said this.

It wasn’t harsh words, but they were realistic ones that were a bit of a shock to even his system after he all but admitted he was in love with her.

“I’m a single father, Rory. I don’t want you to feel pressured or obligated to...move toward a certain role just because you think you should. And I worry you’re going to feel pressured, or obligated, or — and you don’t. Sabiha is my responsibility. You are welcome to hangout with her, and I’m glad she adores you, but you don’t owe anything to someone else’s child.” He softened his tone even more here. “So don’t feel like you do.”

A child is the biggest responsibility. And Aurora can say she’s okay with it all she wants but you never really know until that child becomes yours to take care of every single day. 

If she really wanted to do this with him, if they were to continue like this and things were going to go really well down the line...eventually she’d be more involved with his daughter. He didn’t want to put either Rory or Sabiha in a position to feel uncomfortable, pressured, or overwhelmed. 

“Sabiha is my world but she is also a bigger responsibility than you can imagine. And I dot say that to patronize you.” Reza brushed the back of her hand against his cheek and held it between his cheek and his hand. “I mean you just really don’t know until you’re raising a child.”

 And he knew the second Sabiha knew that Baba and Auntie Rora were involved, Sabiha would steamroll over his caution tape and jump right into claiming Aurora as some sort of mother figure. He needed to be sure Rory was ready to deal with that before Sabiha could know. 

AURORA

This conversation was going much better than last time, Aurora thought to herself. Didn't hurt that this time it was a warning, instead of a rejection. Or that he was looking at her and touching her instead of sitting on the opposite side of the couch and the world, drinking like it would make her go away.

She turned her hand in his grasp so she could cup his cheek. "I know," she said. "I mean, I know I don't know. But I want that."

Aurora felt obscenely young all of a sudden considering she was rapidly approaching 30, and it was suddenly the most important thing in the world that he understood. She sighed, informing him as she scooted off his lap and back onto the bed "I'm going to talk about babies and marriage for a second here so don't freak out, but I need you to understand." She curled up against his side and sighed, hands clasped together.

"I've always wanted a family," she told her knees. "It's lame and silly but for as long as I can remember I've dreamed of falling in love and getting married and having half a dozen kids to shower in love. And after Carabosse, I had to put all of my dreams away. I… no one wanted a wife who was broken. The only time I got close was practically arranged and it took me far too long to end it. And now I'm here. None of this is like what I imagined, but it's real and it's a disaster and it's beautiful and I love it. I love her. When we were apart it felt like I was missing a limb. And I have no idea what it's like to be any kind of mom to anyone. But I want to. For her. For you."

She finally glanced up at him with a shy smile. "So it's not a burden. It's just something new I need to learn. If you're willing to teach me."

 REZA

A part of him wanted to, as the kids say, yeet out the room. Aurora didn’t say anything wrong, but she was saying things that made it all the more clear to him that he was in the unique position to truly break Aurora’s heart. If Aurora was talking about how he was someone she wanted to raise children with...god, she was in too deep.

And maybe part of him felt the same way, but maybe it didn’t, and he couldn’t just nod and say ‘yes, I’ll teach you’ if he’s not sure he really truly means it.

Sabiha, also, has already had one woman walk out on being her mother and Rafika was her actual biological mother. Reza wasn’t entirely sure he had a heart to protect, but his daughter was another story. His daughter was what was important here and it was because of Sabiha that he was so careful.

“So you understand why I’m being so careful about what she knows and when she knows it.” Reza said. “Sabiha would never forgive me if I let someone else break her heart like Rafika did. And I just want to examine things another minute longer.”

“I don’t think it would be very fair to you to...say I want to move forward and then make you keep a polite distance from her any longer, if you aren’t exaggerating about how you feel about her. So I- I just need a little more time to be sure it’s right. For me, but mostly for her.”

He and Aurora both knew his answer, he was sure she could physically see the warmth all over his chest, but he still felt waiting just a little bit longer was the right move. What if these feelings were fleeting and it was him who hastily broke things off and broke Sabiha’s - and Aurora’s - heart? No, he’d rather push back the inevitable just another week, another sixteen, seventeen days, just to be sure this was going to stick. 

AURORA

For a moment, Aurora was sure she had said something wrong. She'd seen the flash-in-the-pan panic in his eyes and almost wanted to laugh and say 'psych' just to make it go away. But that would be an insult to both of them, so she just sat quietly and waited. Was it so weird that she'd thought about wanting a family with him? They had been a regular part of each other's lives for two years now, she knew what she was signing up for. Did she want to pressure him, of course not!

But he deserved to know what she was willing to offer before he made any decision.

"I'm not in a rush," she told him softly. "About anything. I know nothing is set in stone. Except for the fact that you are kind of my best friend and stuck with me regardless," she joked. "Think I proved that over the past year if nothing else."

Aurora stood up in front of Reza, petting back his hair with both hands before giving him a kiss on the forehead. "Take your time," she murmured, giving him a smile and a quick peck on the corner of his mouth. "I'm gonna clean up real fast before Lamia runs out of distractions and meet you downstairs, okay?"

REZA

“Yeah, I think one way or another, I’m stuck with you, huh?” He said affectionately as she stood up.

There were worse people to be bound to for life, anyway. Short apprentices with Scottish accents weren’t even near the top fifty worst. Maybe in the top fifty-thousand, only because he barely understood a word that came out of her Terminally Scottish father’s mouth. He was not looking forward to probably permanently being linked to Stefan, but hey, at least he was...nice. He thinks. Again, too Scottish. Can’t understand.

“Mm, I’d better keep her distracted long enough for that. I’ll see you in a bit. If Fadela’s not started breakfast I’ll think of something; take your time up here.”

[miafic]

@butterfly-bandaid: So basically in the chapter of MIA “Eavesdropping,” Aswten overhears Lucas ask Zakk if he thinks Awsten stole the razor, and Zakk says no, and this conversation bit–

“No, I don’t.”   (Zakk)

“You think…?”   (Lucas)

“Same old, same old?” Zakk asked knowingly. “Yep.”

sorta implies that something like this has happened before. So I was just thinking about what might have happened in the past like what exactly might have played out. And then I decided to Write despite the fact that I really haven’t for like………. a while now lol. So anyway. I can’t figure out how to put this under a read more but if you can that might be a good idea. Big trigger warning for like self harm and stuff because that’s what this is about.  (Also, apparently the tab key doesn’t work in the submission box so the formatting is kinda messed up oh no)

There was no planning, no thinking involved. As soon as the idea popped into his head, it was in motion. The glass, which was supposed to have been filled with orange juice, plunged to the floor.

As soon as it hit, it shattered on the tile floor of the kitchen. As the shards slid to a stop, the conversation at the table halted. Silence settled over the room, and Zakk, Lucas, and the other boys turned to look at Jawn standing beside the counter, stunned by the sudden noise.

“Sorry!” Jawn gasped, crouching down to start to gather the pieces of glass scattered across the floor.

“No– let me get it.” Lucas stood up from his place at the table and grabbed a broom. Jawn carefully stepped away from the mess, careful not to cut his bare feet, and dumped the shards in his hands into the garbage. As Lucas swept the glass into a dustpan, Jawn returned to his lunch. Chatter among the boys gradually returned, but he could barely hear a word anyone was saying. Without anyone seeing, without even really thinking about doing it, Jawn had slipped a piece of the shattered glass into the pocket of his hoodie, holding it in his sweaty fist under the table, and he could almost feel the relief it would bring him already.

If he were being honest about it, Jawn’s safety level would have been a two. He had been thinking about that piece of glass all day, couldn’t get the feeling of lines across his skin out of his mind. He was going to do it, standing in the bathroom with doors that didn’t lock, consequences be damned. He certainly wasn’t going to tell Lucas or Zakk what he had planned. Planned. Planned wasn’t the way to put it. He wasn’t deciding to do anything, he was just not deciding not to. Going with the flow, along with the current of his thoughts. Still, feeling the edges in his pocket made his pulse speed up, filled his stomach with some sort of misplaced energy.

Despite his somehow simultaneously spinning and distant thoughts, Jawn made it through the check-in before bedtime without any incident. He climbed the stairs, crawled into bed, and pretended to sleep.

He didn’t know what time it was when he opened his eyes into the darkness. He did know it was late; the house was silent, almost like it was holding its breath. He could feel his lungs expand and contract, but it didn’t feel like he was exchanging any air. He tiptoed to the bathroom, glass in hand, the cold white tile sending shivers up his body.

He remembers the feeling of razor-sharp glass sliding against his flesh, the pale white rifts in his skin that fill up and overflow almost before he has a chance to see them. He remembers scarlet drops that splatter neon against the stark white tile. He remembers the warmth of blood dripping over his skin, and the warmth that spreads throughout his body. He remembers the rush of adrenaline, the feeling that this might be the only thing that’s real.

He doesn’t remember the pain.

He remembers sitting there, on the floor, but he doesn’t know how long. He remembers opening and closing the cabinets under the sink, looking for some way to hide his desperate attempts to feel. He remembers the sudden jerk of his insides when he realizes that someone is standing behind him, the rush along his nerves as he turns around, the sudden shaking in his hands as his brain struggles between fight and flight, the conflict leaving him stuck in freeze instead. He remembers Zakk, yelling, startled, maybe scared. What the hell are you doing? He doesn’t remember.

There’s a lot of hushed tones and murmuring between Lucas and Zakk. Jawn doesn’t know what they told the other boys, but the lights in the bedroom turned off again. He knows reality will come rushing back soon, and then he’ll feel the pain, and maybe regret it, but until then, the only thing he can focus on is the feeling of medical tape pulling against his skin, the faint scent of bleach drifting from the bathroom as Zakk tries to scrub the rusty stains from the grout between the tiles, the hum of Lucas speaking to him in words he can’t make sense of, asking him questions he doesn’t know how to answer.

When everything is said and done, it’s nearly three in the morning. Lucas lets out a sigh, rubbing his hand over his face.

“We knew he had a history,” he says to the room in general; Zakk is sitting on the couch across from him but doesn’t answer.

Lucas spins his office chair back to face the computer and resumes typing, summarizing the events of the night. He hadn’t been able to get much information out of Jawn, but there was enough for him to be convinced that a trip to the emergency room wasn’t necessary. There will be more to do about it in the morning, though; calls to be made, the room will have to be searched for anything sharp, and he’ll have to finish his report, because the words aren’t coming to him tonight.

He gets up and climbs the stairs, leaving Zakk in the office, and pauses as he passes the bathroom. The light is out, and it’s empty. He stops in the doorways of both bedrooms, making sure all the boys are sleeping. The house is quiet. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.  

(I am aware that it switches tense but that’s what Felt Right so I’m going with it. Artistic licence. Also I tried to make it not too graphic and i did that by being like sort of Poetic about it but that might have made it Worse in terms of Freaking People Out so sorry if that’s the case. Also I hope I did your characters justice.)

[our-smooty]

Making Showers Fun

Fandom: Gorillaz

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: AceDoc

Tags: shower sex, referenced abuse/homelessness, stinky bois being in love

Summary: It was no secret that both Murdoc and Ace hated bathing. It first it was a bit of a game between them, how long they could actually go without a shower, at least until the rest of the band started commenting. Russel was first to say something, wrinkling his noise one morning as they wandered into the kitchen and telling them plainly that they were getting a little pungent. Next came Noodle, who refused to pose for a selfie with the two bassist’s citing her bromidrophobia, though she mostly just thought they were nasty. Even 2D eventually spoke up, though it took him much, much, longer than any normal person.

It was no secret that both Murdoc and Ace hated bathing. It first it was a bit of a game between them, how long they could actually go without a shower, at least until the rest of the band started commenting. Russel was first to say something, wrinkling his noise one morning as they wandered into the kitchen and telling them plainly that they were getting a little pungent. Next came Noodle, who refused to pose for a selfie with the two bassist’s citing her bromidrophobia, though she mostly just thought they were nasty. Even 2D eventually spoke up, though it took him much, much, longer than any normal person.

So they had to figure something out. Murdoc had always avoided showers, a habit from growing up in a household where warm water was a distant luxury, and parental oversight nonexistent. For Ace it was a little less clear. He had distant memories of cold, rainy nights spent on the streets that slowly piled up into a hatred of anything wet. Even though he’d been off the streets for a while now, the idea of purposefully getting damp and cold turned his stomach. But the situation was getting pretty dire, even by their standards, so they decided to try something new this time.

“Shit…” The water was warm and the bathroom was cloudy with steam. They’d let the water run until it was good and hot to avoid any unpleasantness, and now both bassists were under the stream. Ace was directly under the spray with Murdoc behind him leaving hickies over any inch of skin he could reach. It was a good distraction from the creeping uneasiness he felt over even being in the shower. “Murdoc…”

“Yes?” the Satanist drawled, stepping closer to grind against Ace’s ass. “D’you need something?” Murdoc’s voice was a little more subdued than his normal lecherous tone, but Ace understood. He leaned back into the other and out of the spray for a moment to feel more skin on skin.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” Ace answered, turning around to pull Murdoc under the water. The older bassist squawked as his fringe got wet and fell over his eyes. Ace thought it was kind of cute, but rather than say anything he grabbed the 2-in-1 from the bathtub edge. “Lean your head back.”

Murdoc glared at him but listened, letting Ace squirt the soap onto his hair and begin to lather it in. It felt good, really good, and Murdoc let out a soft sigh at the way Ace’s long, nimble fingers made quick work of all his knots and snags.

“You’re good at this,” Murdoc hummed, placing his hands around Ace’s waist. “Had some practice, have we?”

Ace rolled his eyes. “Washing my own hair, maybe.”

“Not like you do that often though,” Murdoc pointed out with a smirk. Ace yanked slightly on the other’s hair, causing Murdoc to stumble forward into him.

“Like you can talk, you’re way more nasty than I am.” Murdoc just moaned and tilted his head, connecting their lips. It was warm and slippery from the water, but still just as satisfying as usual. Kissing Murdoc was an experience, something completely different every time. Ace loved it. The younger bassist felt himself melting into Murdoc’s embrace, relaxing despite the constant unease he felt over their watery location.

“Your turn,” Murdoc hummed, shuffling back to pull Ace more fully under the showerhead. He tried not to flinch as the water ran down his back. Instead, he focused on the fantastic view of Murdoc’s ass as he turned around to get Ace’s specialty shampoo and conditioner, squeezing out a dollop of each and mixing them together.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it, Doc,” he laughed, leaning down so Murdoc didn’t have to stretch up to reach his head. The older bassist was a little bit rough and a little bit hasty, but Ace didn’t mind too much. Especially when Murdoc leaned in and began kissing Ace’s collarbone as he rinsed out the suds.

“You still wanna…” Murdoc rudely gestured to their cocks, just beginning to get hard. That’d been the deal, hadn’t it? Take the shower together, get a little frisky. Ace watched as Murdoc trailed his hand down, gently taking Ace’s member in his hand. “Your finger’s in my hair… fuck.”

Ace slipped closer, leaning his head on Murdoc’s shoulder. “Mmm, you seem to want to.” He rocked his hips forward into Murdoc’s hand, staring down between them. Murdoch breath hitched on a growl at the friction, and he walked Ace backward, pressing him into the cold tile.

“I always want to fuck you, to be touching you,” Murdoc hissed into Ace’s ear, his free hand wandering to grab at the younger’s ass. “You know I’m crazy about you.”

Ace laughed lightly, hitching a leg around the other’s hips. “Not as c-crazy as I am about y-you.” Smooth. Murdoc seemed to think so because his hand sped up, jerking them both off at a firm pace. Their lips met again, their teeth clicked. The sounds of the shower drowned out their moans and gasps.

“I’m c-close,” Ace breathed, turning his head away from Murdoc to catch his breath. The Satanist immediately began nibbling along Ace’s jaw, all the way up to his ear and back. The steam was making it too hot to think, and his head was foggy with lust. Muscles tense, Ace’s legs began to shake as he neared his peak, feeling sparks of pleasure ignite in his core.

“You’re so easy to rile up,” Murdoc chastised, slowing his hand’s movements. Ace groaned and bucked his hips, trying to get Murdoc to keep going. He opened his eyes to see why Murdoc stopped and was met with the bassist’s trademark grin.

“It’s rude to leave a man hanging, Doc,” Ace whined, knowing that Murdoc wanted him to beg for it. Over the past few months Ace had learned that Murdoc loved making him beg. The Satanist liked nothing better than a little powerplay during their daily dalliances and Ace didn’t really mind. On the contrary, he loved it too, sometimes complying, sometimes switching things up and taking over. This time he decided to play the submissive, especially with the anxiety from the shower still buzzing at the edges of his brain. So he lowered his eyes to the tub floor and bit his lip, reaching for Murdoc. “Come on Doc, finish me off, will ya?”

Murdoc’s grin only widened. “But Ace, we’ll get all dirty again and have to wash off.” He sure wasn’t making this easy. Ace sighed and brushed his dripping hair out of his face.

“Please?” He put on his best imploring look, resting his hands on Murdoc’s chest. Murdoc, despite his insistence on teasing, could never resist that look. He quickly yanked Ace close again, taking his cock in hand and teasing his fingers over the head. Ace sighed in relief, leaning his head back against the tile. “Ah--”

Murdoc chuckled, though the sound was a little breathless. “I might have to start takin’ more showers if it means I get to see you like this more often…” Ace smiled slightly, knowing that without a doubt he wad flushed and sweaty.

“D-don’t push your luck. You aren’t that good.” It was a lie, and Murdoc knew it. Ace could never say no to Murdoc and was always down for some fun between the sheets. Or in the shower, as it was.

“Mmhmm, you keep thinkin’ that Copular,” Murdoc laughed, once again stopping to readjust, taking both of them in hand again. He was less teasing now, and a bit more desperate. As much as he liked to tease, Ace knew Murdoc was just as needy as he was and it showed in the breathless panting and small sounds the older bassist made as they both neared their ends together.

“Don’t stop!” Ace gasped, his nails digging into Murdoc’s shoulders as he tensed, the released. His orgasm was sharp and biting, a contrast to the muggy bathroom atmosphere. Murdoc came soon after, sinking his teeth into Ace’s neck to muffle his own shout. The pain made Ace tremble, and only made his orgasm sweeter. When they both finished they looked between them at the mess of come over their bellies. “I told you!”

“S’fine, we’ll jus’ rinse it off,” Murdoc said, still caught up in the post-orgasmic glow. He reached around Ace for the loofa hanging around the tap and a bar of soap.

“Isn’t that 2D’s loofa?” Ace asked, grimacing as Murdoc scrubbed them down. Murdoc held the come and soap covered sponge up and shrugged.

“I’ll get him a new one.”

“No, you won’t,” Ace sighed as Murdoc turned off the water and pulled back the curtain. Now that everything was said and done he was actually feeling really drained. Facing your fears while simultaneously having sex with someone like Murdoc could really wear you out.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Murdoc agreed, tossing the loofa into the trash. Ace watched him dry off while doing the same. Usually, he’d have to spend a while doing his hair and making sure it was straight instead of curly, but Ace really didn’t feel like putting in the effort. Instead, he dropped the towel and walked through the door back into Murdoc’s bedroom and flopped down on the bed, hating the way his wet hair felt against the pillows. Murdoc followed, apparently feeling the same.

“People do that every day?” Ace whined into the sheets, burrowing into their softness. Murdoc scoffed and pulled the blankets up over both of them, settling against the headboard with a cigaret.

“Apparently. S’not so bad, is it?” Ace shrugged and pressed his face further into the pillows. “I mean, the water’s hot, and the house isn’t fuckin’ freezing.”

“I just…” He wasn’t exactly sure how to explain it. “I really hate gettin’ wet. It’s always been awful and…”

Murdoc tapped his shoulder, motioning for Ace to snuggle into his side. The younger bassist did, ignoring the way Murdoc’s wet hair tickled his face. The Satanist offered him a smoke and Ace took it more for the sake of having something to do with his hands than actually smoking.

“I get you, Copular. S’not like we’re gonna be doin’ this every day, or even every few days anyway.”

“We’re gross,” Ace laughed, looking up at Murdoc who was smiling down at him. Not for the first time Ace thanked whatever being was out there that he had the opportunity to be with someone who understood those kinds of things. They weren’t that different, he and Murdoc.

“I prefer ‘well seasoned’, thank you very much!” Murdoc cackled making Ace laugh as well. Yeah, maybe he could get into the habit of cleaning up more often if this was the aftermath. This wasn’t so bad.