#or certainly be ready to adjust it like ''oh but this seems contrary to other previous things'' like a) reconcile it & b) is it really?????

[unproduciblesmackdown]

rogue one posting like attention everyone who didn't like all the characters or get why they did things: i Am better than you

[custardcove]

First Memories

Chapter Six - Fierce Competition

It seemed like no time at all before the first intermission. In order for either of them to make a decent pie, the crust had to rest in the fridge for at least forty minutes, and in Alice’s case so did her apples. Pansy wasn’t really allowed to enquire about how Alice was doing, and so gave her two thumbs up before chatting with the other judges. Taylor couldn’t talk either, he was busy entertaining the crowd, and had invited a one-man-band elf onstage to play music during the wait. Queenie, however, was well within her right to interrogate Alice about her progress.

“I’m impressed you managed to form a substantial dough. Cooking doesn’t seem like your forte.”

Alice sighed quietly at the backhanded compliment. “I didn’t think it was your forte either.”

“On the contrary, I have quite a bit of practice in the kitchen.”

A memory hit Alice like a brick. Queenie didn’t trust anyone with food. Of course she had experience, she didn’t let anyone else cook for her!

“Well—making a pie isn’t rocket science, anyway. I can read and follow a recipe well enough.”

“Can you? What comes next is the hard part. You can’t read experience or presentation.”

It wasn’t worth gratifying her intimidation with further argument. The truth made it hurt, and Alice didn’t need to be cut deeper. “Good luck, Queenie. Thanks for the extra salt, by the way.”

The noble just tittered.

Thirty minutes later, it was time to form the dough into a crust and brush it with egg. Queenie hadn’t made that jab for no reason—it was important to try and make it look nice. In an attempt to do this, Alice went over the edges of her pie with a fork, and she cut out strips of dough to form a crosshatch pattern later. Would the apples be ready yet? It hadn’t been as long as the recipe suggested, but Alice had done her best to chop them into small (somewhat rounded) cubes, having hoped this would help them marinate faster. Taking her chances, she removed them from the fridge and tumbled them into her pie casing, flattening them the best she could before adding the strips of pastry. Getting the whole thing into the oven was a relief, but that meant another forty-minute wait…

Before she could react, Taylor approached her with his microphone.

“And how do you feel about your progress, dear contestant?”

“Um.” Points off for Tay, Alice would have never felt prepared for this. “Fine—it’s fine. I’ll wait to see what the judges think.”

“Humble words!” He spun around. “And how does our other contestant feel about her chances?”

Polar opposite, Queenie leant over for the mic. “It’s no contest. But I believe Alice is right—we certainly will see what the judges think.”

“What a bold claim! Our second contestant thinks she’s got this in the bag. But only time will tell. In the meantime, I’ve got another act for all you lovely folks out there—”

Time to watch another half-baked performance while they waited for the pies to cook. Still, Alice thought it was better to listen than suffer any further hot steam from her opponent…

***

Ding! Alice’s personal timer was done. She hurried over to the oven. Was it cooked all the way through? The pastry was a golden colour; maybe it could use a few more minutes—but Queenie was already taking hers out! The human debated what to do. Did a few minutes make that much difference? Maybe. But what if—

“Five minutes left!”

In a panic, she opted to remove the pie. It needed those five minutes to cool down.

“Fiiiiiive minutes…!”

“We’re both done, you ignorant fop.” It seemed Queenie was as eager for this to end as Alice was.

“Oh. Well, in that case…” Taylor adjusted his tie with his free hand, washing away the insult with a deep breath. “Both contestants have completed their challenge, and judging will commence shortly. You don’t want to miss that, folks!”

He was right—the crowd, which had thus far been filled with people more interested in milling between stalls, had finally come to attention. This was the part worth watching.

Taylor had introduced the judges earlier, having them speak at occasional intervals, but only now did Alice pay attention to Queenie’s pick.

Half-animan, she had neat, short black hair, cat ears, and a perpetually unimpressed gaze. Taylor had introduced her as Naomi; for once someone Alice couldn't identify. She wondered if Naomi had a discerning palette, or if Queenie was using her as an ace up her sleeve.

The pies were labelled ‘A’ and ‘B’, which each judge receiving a slice of each. Alice’s was Pie B – she stood by with Queenie as they awaited the verdict. Pie A was judged first.

“It’s got a nice leaf design on it,” Pansy observed. Queenie had indeed taken the time to decorate with little pastry leaves. “Hopefully tastes as good as it looks.”

“It’s super nice, visually,” Tech agreed. There was a beat as Naomi waited for him to say something more descriptive. He didn’t.

“An elegant design,” she started. “Care was taken to give each leaf a vein, presumably with a fork. The arrangement of the leaves overall is in a consistent pattern, while still appearing natural. But looks aren’t everything.”

Queenie glowered at her for this last remark, to which the cat lady added, “Anyway, let’s try it.”

Taylor held the mic away as they ate, taking a moment to give Alice a reassuring (and perhaps apologetic) smile.

After a few mouthfuls, Pansy seemed surprised. “This—it’s pretty good.”

“Yeah, really cinnamony,” Tech hummed. “Not too sweet.”

“A delicate balance between sweet and tart; flavourful but not forceful. The cinnamon and hint of ginger brings it together.” Naomi nodded, agreeing. “This recipe refines the meaning of ‘apple pie’.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Pansy said carefully. “But it’s tasty.”

They all took a swig of water before taking on Pie B. As she watched, Alice realised she’d been clenching her teeth.

“The crosshatch pattern is cute,” Tech observed, which Pansy readily agreed with.

“Shows it’s cooked well inside.”

Naomi poked it with her fork. “Yes, very traditional. The kind of homeliness you’d expect from an apple pie. Care was taken here, though some lines are slightly askew.”

They began to taste it.

“Tough choice,” Pansy claimed, though the recognition of Alice’s cooking was all too readable on her face. “They’re both real good, but this one—it’s more classic.”

“I feel like … this one’s a bit sweeter.” Tech took another spoonful. “For sure. It’s good—the other one had something extra in it, though. Was that the ginger?”

“I like sweet,” Naomi mused. “Good apples, well cooked… As Miss Pansy noted, it leans into the traditional idea of an apple pie.”

Did that mean it was good or bad? It was hard to tell. Alice hadn’t even considered using anything other than the spices listed in the recipe…

With the tasting done, Taylor prompted them further. “Are the judges ready to make their decision?”

“Yes,” all three said in unison.

“Alright! There should be two cards in front of you—A and B. Please show us whichever one you think should win!”

Pansy raised her card first. B, of course. Naomi was quicker on the draw than Tech. A, also expected. Tech, the only real impartial judge, would be the tiebreaker. He raised his card. Pie A. The winner. Alice had lost.

“And the winner—” Taylor’s words momentarily caught in his throat. He pushed on. “Is Queenie.”

The crowd clapped politely as Queenie took a short bow, stragglers starting to disperse now that the event was over. Alice couldn’t move. There was a tightness in her chest and neck, creeping up to her eyes. Queenie turned to her, ready to gloat.

“Terribly sorry, Webbe… It looks like I’ll be keeping this locket.” From the folds of her clothing, she produced her prize. It twinkled in the sunlight, tantalizing, taunting. “Such a beautiful colour, too…”

Before she could further salt the wound, the necklace erupted in light. Queenie yelped, losing grip in her momentary blindness. As the light emerged, it formed the shape of a small bird and snatched the jewellery from her loosened fingers. It landed on one of the countertops, brightness fading to reveal a little yellow duck, which dropped the necklace at its feet. The duck spoke in a voice that was no louder than anyone else’s, but everyone could hear his words clearly.  “This is not yours to keep.”

The crowd gasped, filtering back in to nosey at this development.

Alice’s face shone with recognition. “Ivan!” Her friend—the one that had given her the locket in the first place. How could she have forgotten him?

“But—” Queenie looked quite affronted by this sudden nonsense. “I won it. It’s rightfully mine, and Alice agreed to it.”

“I heard your terms, but it was never yours to wager,” the duck sapped back. “This necklace belongs to Alice. And what good will it do you, keeping it locked in a drawer? Had I any access to sunlight, I would’ve escaped from it sooner, and rightly reprimanded you!”

“Buh—well—I didn’t know you were inside there.” Queenie raised her head high, briefly glancing at the onlookers. She folded her arms tight. “Am I to understand you’re robbing me of my hard-won victory?”

“Oh no. You still won. Congratulations.” Ivan’s praise couldn’t be emptier. “Your prize is the satisfaction of winning. Next time, get your deals in writing. I think we’re done here.”

Queenie opened her mouth as if to argue, debating whether it was worth further public humiliation.

Pansy spoke up instead. “He’s right, Queenie—I think we can all agree you tried to pull one over, here.”

It was hard to say whether the other judges agreed. Tech looked a little bewildered as he scooped up what was left of the pies, and Naomi was sinking as far into her seat as she could go. But Taylor nodded. Despite this, he tried to save the performance.

“That concludes our cooking competition, folks! If you liked what you saw, be sure to pitch in for another at Erryton’s monthly community meeting!”

---

||Previous|| - ||Next||

[reidyoulikeabook]

Hear me out I've been thinking about this concept for too long:

The BAU plays Never Have I Ever, but it gets progressively more targeted the longer they play.

Like... "Never have I ever,,drunk texted my ex" or "Never have I ever been married"

but eventually it gets to "Never have I ever faked my death and moved to Paris. Take the shot Emily." or "Never have I ever almost died of Anthrax. Don't look at me like that, Reid"

Thank you and have a great rest of your day/night

(okay i adore this concept you have a huge brain i hope it's okay i wrote a little something for it)

ship: gn! reader x spencer reid

warnings: alcohol mention, although reader isn't explicitly said to be drinking it others are, and jokes about faked death/near death experiences, and jokes about a mugging/robbery (it’s a lot more light hearted than it sounds i promise you), and some swearing!

The case had been far too long. Garcia had had to fly out because the police department's technology had been entirely inadequate and it was impossible for her to liason with them from afar, and she'd been here a week. It was safe to say everybody was more than ready to get home, but since a storm had chosen to roll over town, the jet had been grounded for the night.

It was this series of unfortunate events that led to everybody, even Hotch himself, saying 'fuck it' and taking up residence at the hotel bar for the night. Rossi was buying, after all. Even if he didn't know it yet.

You'd wound up crammed next to Spencer in a booth, your knees pressed together. He'd been cradling the same beer bottle for most of the night, mostly just picking at the label until it started to peel off. When Garcia notices this, she slams her fruity cocktail down on the slightly sticky table, shaking her head at him.

"I know what we should do," She chirps, loudly enough to draw everybody's attention, "Let's play never have I ever!"

Nobody has the energy to argue with her, or the willpower to resist her arguments. Hotch concedes with a nod, sighing, "I'll need to get another drink."

Emily murmurs in agreement, and you feel Spencer shift in his seat beside you. Most of them having departed for refreshments, you turn your attention to him.

There's a small grin quirking his lips, "I hope they realise I probably still won't have to drink."

You nudge him with your elbow, "It's Garcia. I'm sure you will."

You two share a private little laugh, and he takes a sip from the bottle, shrugging. The game starts up the second everybody returns, Garcia firing it off with "Never have I ever flown out to Texas."

Everybody groans, rolling their eyes as they take a sip. You exchange a small 'told-you-so' glance with Spencer, and he shakes his head affectionately.

It remains relatively friendly for a while, Hotch says one about handing in case reports late, which earns begrudging sips from Emily, Derek, and even Rossi. The first punch is thrown after Derek steals Emily's wine when she goes to the bathroom, taking a big glug from it. He says she won't notice, and despite the chorus of protests to the contrary, he remains undeterred.

She does notice. And she's unimpressed to say the least. When she comes back, another drink in hand, she flops into her seat.

"I think it's my turn," She announces.

"I think it was actually-" Garcia tries.

"Nope," Emily interrupts, taking a long sip of her drink and turning smugly to Derek, "Never have I ever run out of underwear on a case and had to wear my boxers inside out."

Derek's eyes narrow, "That was a whiskey secret."

"Tell me you didn't!" Penelope gasps, pulling a horrified face and pretending to shift her chair away from him.

"Real impressive bunch we've got here," Rossi notes to Hotch, chuckling.

Hotch raises his eyebrows, bringing his drink to his lips before clarifying, "I'm not drinking for the game. But it seems you probably should Morgan."

Morgan turns to you, as if looking for support and you laugh, "Not to say I told you so but," You shrug.

He groans, drinking and murmuring under his breath. While it didn't affect the rest of the team, it certainly spurred them into a different direction. Garcia's next one is a very quickly garbled "Never have I ever been divorced", and she practically shrinks into Morgan's lap to avoid the death glares Hotch and Rossi throw her way.

Hotch adjusts in his seat before taking his turn, "Never have I ever been caused a federal data breach by playing a game on government time."

You laugh first, a bubble of shock and amusement, “Hotch.”

He spares you a glance, his imitation of a grin, “Yes ____?”

Your response, which you hadn’t quite thought of anyway, is swept away in a series of jeers. A relatively fair mixture of surprise that Hotch has stepped up to the role of saboteour, and laughs purely at Penelope’s expense. You’re firmly a member of the former camp, alongside Spencer. You catch him in your peripheral, beaming at Hotch.

“Game’s a game baby girl,” Morgan grins, “That’s what you get for messing with Hotch.”

The teasing slows down the process, but you’re distracted by Spencer now. He’s shifted in his seat and his arm is right next to yours. You can feel the heat coming off it. Whether the movement was conscious or unconscious, you can’t be sure, but what you can be sure of is that the proximity is relatively distracting.

It’s his turn. Of course it is.

Very non-chalantly, without changing his posture, said as calmly as if he’s delivering a profile at the police station, he says it, “Never have I ever hidden under my desk from Strauss and gotten my colleague to lie to her that I was at a dentist appointment to avoid doing a Q&A with probationary agents.”

That bastard.

You feel yourself flush with warmth, and press your lips together in your best imitation of a neutral poker face. Everybody looks at each other with varying degrees of accusation, but it’s Emily’s eyes that come to land on you first.

She grins like a damn Cheshire cat, “Oh ____, I did not peg you for the insubordinate type.”

You feel the weight of eight gazes on your face, and you turn to glare at Spencer. He looks smug as all hell, not trying at all to suppress his glee at having dropped you in it, although he won’t meet your eye. Everybody’s laughing, including him, and you join in too, in spite of yourself.

“Oh you’re going to be sorry for that.”

And he is. On your next turn, you make a big show out of settling in your seat. Dramatically looking around the table, before angling yourself towards Spencer and looking directly at him, dryly delivering, “Never have I ever had to call my colleague from a bookstore because a bunch of teenage boys stole my cane.”

“You got mugged of your cane?” Emily asks incredulously.

“Oh my sweet precious boy,” Penelope cuts in.

You don’t hear Morgan or JJ’s comments because Spencer is looking at you, his mouth agape, the very picture of indignance, squeaking, “I can’t believe you told them about that!”

You can tell it’s put on though. He’s bright red, the blush poking up under his collar and licking at his cheeks, shaking his head vigorously as Morgan asks him varying questions about the appearance of the boys in question, whether he needs him to get him a sketch artist and whether he’d like to file a report for a regular robbery or a mugging.

Spencer huffs under his breath, flustered, “You’re going to regret that one.”

And regret it you do. Emily is had by JJ in ‘never have I ever faked my death and moved to Paris’, Morgan is had by Hotch in ‘never have I ever kicked in a door only to realise it wasn’t locked in the first place’, JJ is had by a very tipsy Garcia in a ‘never have I ever turned down three marriage proposals’, and you and Spencer have engaged in a private war that only escalates with each sip you have to take.

Emily is cradling her, once again, almost empty glass of wine, ready to take her turn after yet another round of friendly fire between you and Spencer.

She twirls it around in her hands, pointedly flicking her eyes between you both as she says it, “Never have I ever had a crush on a colleague.”

You and Spencer are similar shades of incredibly sheepish as you take a sip. Looking at each other in your peripherals, with a sense of shy knowing that you hadn’t had about thirty seconds prior. And yes, Emily is chastised into drinking her very last sip of wine, but she considers it to be worth it.

[deadbiwrites]

a video of supergirl grabbing lena luthor's ass starts circulating and it's very embarrassing for sc but extremely funny to their friends

(I am SO sorry. Where do these hide? Why do I never see them? How long has this been here?!

Anyways, have some cute nonsense!)

The day starts like any other, honestly.

Like, sure, Kara’s never thrilled when she wakes up 20 minutes late and has to use superspeed to get through her morning routine and into the office on time, but it happens regularly enough that she’s just sort of used to it by now. Like, the sky is blue, the grass is green, she manages time poorly. Whatever.

But she does get to work on time, with just enough to spare that she can make a brief detour to Nia’s desk for the coffee her protege has already bought for her, thank her profusely (with perhaps minor promising of firstborn children), and slip into the morning meeting just as Snapper, James, and Lena start handing out assignments for the day.

“Well, well, good of you to join us, Ponytail. Let me guess, a family emergency kept you out all night again?”

‘I mean, that Abraxian wasn’t my family, technically, but someone’s family, so…’ “Something like that. Sorry.”

Lena catches her eye and quirks a brow in question, but Kara just shrugs easily and sips her coffee, pulling a silly face at her friend when Snapper’s attention moves away from her. When her eyes uncross, she can tell Lena is fighting not to laugh, eyes sparking with mirth as she bites her lip. Kara takes another sip of coffee, feeling a bit smug that she can get Lena to smile without even having to say anything to her. That’s real talent, right there.

Especially since Lena has to stand up at the front with James, who has been by turns cold, dejected, and surly toward her since their breakup (a big, real, final one) a few weeks prior. Lena had said that the whole thing was a mistake, that she should’ve never gone for it in the first place because she’d been right the first time- they’d had some chemistry, after all, but it certainly wasn’t compatible long-term. 

Which… Kara can certainly relate. Like, a lot.

Especially about the whole… James being kind of wounded about it part. That part had really sucked- when he’d done it with Kara, who he’d gone on like, a date with, it’d resulted in him deciding to become a vigilante. Rao only knows what he’ll do when it’s someone he dated on and off for over a year...

“Ponytail!”

Kara jumps, realizing too late that her wandering attention hasn’t gone unnoticed. “Yes, sir?”

Snapper rolls his eyes. “Great, now that you’ve stopped orbiting Saturn, you wanna go get that article started?”

Kara’s eyes widen slightly in a panic as she realizes that she has no idea what he’s talking about. “Uh…” Behind his back, Lena catches her eye and nods subtly. Thank Rao. “Yes. I super do.”

Lena snorts, James sighs deeply, and the meeting is adjourned.

**

“So what exactly am I supposed to be doing today?” Kara asks Lena as they stroll out of the conference room together.

“Well unfortunately for you, you have to interview a big-time CEO. You have a meeting scheduled with her in three hours.”

“You?” Kara asks hopefully.

“You’re very sweet,” Lena chuckles. “No, Elena Watts. She’s a real estate developer, and she runs a nonprofit organization for homeless youth. It’s one of the articles we’re doing for next month’s spread. Contrary to popular belief, Cat and I weren’t the only women with high-profile jobs in this city. ”

“Oh, that’s pretty cool! Have you met her?”

“Not personally, no, but I have donated to her charity- it’s a very good cause, especially the outreach they do with queer youth.”

Kara elbows Lena gently. “You’re such a softie.”

“Mmm, maybe. But if you tell anyone, you’re fired.”

Kara clutches a hand to her chest, feigning horror. “Why Miss Luthor, what a blatant abuse of power!”

Lena shrugs. “I’m a Luthor, darling, I have to keep up appearances somehow.”

“Ouch,” Kara laughs. “See you at lunch?”

“Only if lunch includes a milkshake- I have a teleconference with both boards today. Unless you feel like joining me?”

“Wow, well as fun as that sounds, I’m gonna go do literally anything else.” Her comms crackle to life, alerting her of a hostage situation downtown, and Kara sighs. So much for a work day. “Alright, well, I’m, um, gonna go… see what I can find on Elena Watts. Maybe over another cup of coffee at Noonan’s.” She widens her eyes a bit, trying her best to convey that she’s going to be on Super-duty for a little while.

Thankfully, Lena picks up on it and grins. “You just want sticky buns.”

“Lena, I always want sticky buns. They’re like, my second favorite thing to eat.”

“Oh? What’s the first?” Lena asks, voice just a bit lower than usual. 

Kara opens her mouth and closes it, flushing slightly as she averts her gaze and adjusts the laptop bag on her shoulder. Stuff like that has been happening more and more, and she’s not 100% sure what to do about it. Because on the one hand, it makes her stomach do flips and tie up in knots and makes her brain do this… staticky thing where nothing filters in or out, just a pleasant buzz of how funny and smart Lena is and how much Kara likes hanging out with her and being flirted with (because that’s definitely what’s been happening, even if neither of them is really ready to address it) and just generally looking at Lena.... who is currently biting her lip and grinning up at Kara, and that buzz makes her kinda dumb, which is just really unhelpful. But on the other hand, it’s also kinda awesome and Kara really enjoys it, and-

“Kara?”

She spaced out again. Crap.

“Um. What time are you free for lunch?”

Lena sighs, seeming slightly disappointed that Kara isn’t flirting back at the moment (and thank Rao Lena can’t read minds), but she smiles back easily enough as they step off of the elevator. “I should be done by two.”

Feeling emboldened, Kara turns so she’s walking backwards in front of Lena and grins. “It’s a date,” she says with a grin, ducking forward to press a quick “friendly” kiss high on Lena’s cheek. She whirls and jogs out the double doors, leaving Lena smiling exasperatedly after her.

**

It is genuinely baffling to Kara that people still commit crimes in National City. It’s not even an ego thing, really, since Kara tries to keep herself humble (even when she manages to wrap up a hostage situation within twenty seconds of arriving on-scene without injuring any of the criminals or damaging the building too badly). Like, yeah, she gets that there’s a certain element of crazies who just sorta gravitate to places with a local hero, the big-bads who have their own suits and geek-toys and abilities. Them, Kara gets. Kinda sorta. But the regular ones, who are armed with like, pistols? Or knives? Just regular man made stuff without even the benefit of magic or kryptonite or something?

Why? 

She’s sure that if she asked, Lena would have some sort of statistical thing about large cities and poverty and all sorts of other factors that would end up making Kara feel like a jerk for being uncharitable to the criminal element of her city, but at the moment she’s mostly too annoyed by the fact that she has to spend her weekdays chasing them around instead of chasing stories.

Once all the hostages are freed and the cops secure the scene, Kara departs, flying into the alley behind Noonan’s and changing into her regular clothes before she heads inside to do a bit of research before her meeting with Elena Watts in a few hours (just because she’d used it as a cover doesn’t mean it was a bad idea…). She finds her favorite little two-person booth tucked into a quiet corner, plugs in her laptop, and gets to work, asking the waitress to please keep both the coffee and the sticky buns coming.

She gets a surprising amount done by the time she needs to leave for the interview, having a good foundation for what she wants to write and who Elena Watts is.

Ms. Watts turns out to be a pretty nice lady around Eliza’s age, if a bit busy and distracted by the steady flow of people in and out of her office. She answers all Kara’s questions with aplomb, happy to elaborate on most every point and eager to draw attention to the rising issue of homelessness among children and teens in the US.

“When I was young, my dad lost his job at the auto plant. It was supposed to be a temporary layoff, but the factory never reopened. We ended up losing the house, and we lived so far from our extended family that staying with them wasn’t much of an option. We lived in our SUV for six months, sleeping at shelters every now and again, if we could find one that allowed families to stay together. We showered at the local YMCA. Five people and a dog, living and sleeping in an old station wagon- even now, it sounds ridiculous. Eventually, we got back on our feet, but I never forgot that. It was just six months, but it was- and remains- the scariest, most uncertain time in my entire life, and it shaped me in a lot of ways I didn’t expect. And there are kids and families who do that for years. I just want to help them the way I wish that someone had been able to help us.”

At the end of the interview, Kara thanks her profusely for her time and for sharing her story before hurrying off to CatCo to type up a draft for Snapper (“What’s wrong with you, Ponytail, why is everything you bring me sappy and sentimental?”), which she finishes an outline of just in time to send it off before running to Big Belly and L-Corp for lunch with Lena.

She greets the newest in a series of secretaries (Anna? Amy? Ava? Lena’s really missing Jess, these days, but from what she’s told Kara, Jess is kicking butt in her new role as VP of Operations and will probably take over for the COO when he retires in a few years), and the girl waves her in distractedly.

And that’s when Kara’s day goes from normal to not, because inside the office are two masked men holding a stone-faced Lena at gunpoint on her balcony and demanding… something, probably. Kara’s a bit distracted by the loaded gun aimed at Lena’s head.

“Hey!” she yells, attracting both their attention. They whirl on her and Lena’s eyes widen in alarm, and Kara suddenly realizes three things- 1) she’s in her Kara Danvers clothes, not the supersuit, 2) she can’t speed into the suit now that they’re both looking at her, and 3) she has no plan.

Crap.

“Who the hell are you?!” one of them demands.

Kara… doesn’t have a good or snappy answer for that, and instead does the only thing she can think of- she throws the large milkshakes she’s carrying at them as hard as she can.

Which, in retrospect, is too hard, apparently because while yes, it is both funny and gratifying to see two grown men get absolutely leveled by a tasty dairy treat to the face, the one closest to Lena manages to elbow her in such a way that she falls backwards over the rail with an instinctual scream that makes Kara’s heart fly into her throat. She whips off her glasses, and by the time she’s out the window and speeding toward Lena’s flailing form, the suit is materialized. She gets under Lena, catching her carefully and dropping a bit further before slowing down (because she’s been made aware that when she doesn’t, the people she’s saving may as well be hitting the pavement), finally coasting to a stop about 20 feet from the ground.

Lena’s face is screwed up in a forced sort of focus, her hands clutching tightly at Kara’s shoulders and cape as she holds her breath.

“Are you okay?” Kara asks quietly.

Lena swallows thickly and nods, eyes still firmly closed. “I’m alright. Thank you- I’ll admit, I wasn’t quite sure how to get out of that one.”

“What was that? What did they want?”

Lena cracks an eye open. “Oh. you know, just my quarterly assassination attempt. I think my mother was starting to miss me, so she wanted to reach out.”

Kara snorts. “That really shouldn’t be funny.”

“Maybe not, but here we are.” Lena shifts a bit in Kara’s arms, cheeks a bit flushed from the adrenaline rush, and clears her throat. “Not to be rude, Supergirl, but do you think that perhaps we could continue this conversation… on the ground?”

“Oh. Oh! Yeah, sorry. I forgot we were, uh, flying.”

Lena chuckles as they ascend slowly back up to her office. “You forgot you were flying?”

Kara shrugs with an easy smile. “I guess you have that effect on me.”

Lena huffs a laugh against Kara’s neck, eyes squeezed shut again. They alight on the balcony, finding the two men still unconscious, covered in Kara and Lena’s lunch. Lena sighs as Kara sets her down, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What a mess.”

“Yeah, sorry, I sorta… panicked.”  

“I was so looking forward to a milkshake too…” Lena laments playfully.

“Well, then I have good news and bad news,” Kara says. She reaches out and gently wipes a bit of her own chocolate shake from Lena’s cheek with the pad of her thumb, tucking it into her mouth on instinct to get a taste of it. “The good news is, you do, in fact, have some shake on you!”

“Whats the bad news?” 

“Also that you have some shake on you.” Kara laughs, gathering the two men in her arms and hefting them a bit so they’re easier to carry. “I’ll get you another one. Be right back.”

She drops the men at the police station with a brief explanation before flying back into the office. Lena hands over her discarded glasses with a wry grin.

“I figured you’d need these before the police arrive.” She’s putting on a brave front, but she’s clearly still more than a bit rattled, if her too-bright eyes and thundering heartbeat are anything to go by. Kara steps closer and opens her arms in invitation, and Lena doesn’t hesitate to step into them. “Thank you,” Lena says fervently, tucking her face into Kara’s shoulder and wrapping her arms tight around Kara’s waist. 

“Always,” Kara promises, daring to press a reassuring kiss to Lena’s temple (and getting a bit of Lena’s strawberry shake for her troubles) before wrapping her up even tighter in her arms. “Are you actually okay?”

“I mean, my fear of heights has been reaffirmed,” Lena jokes, “but aside from that, I’m not hurt.”

“Good. I don’t like, love people pointing guns at you. Just so you know.”

“I’m not a fan either, for the record,” Lena drawls, burrowing even closer. “Even though I know you’ll save me, it still puts a damper on my day.”

Kara huffs a laugh. “Same.”

They stay like that for a few minutes, until Lena’s calmed down enough to stop shaking and calls her assistant (Audra, apparently) in, telling her what’d happened and that the police would be arriving shortly to take her and Kara’s statements, and please advise the security team to let them up discreetly. After the cops arrive, it’s a blur of questions, and Kara has to concentrate on telling the story of how she’d panicked and thrown the milkshakes at the men, and one of them had knocked Lena over the balcony (all true), and Kara had yelled for Supergirl, who had knocked the men out on her way to Lena (also technically mostly true. Technically. Mostly.). The police are sure to tell Kara that next time, she shouldn’t throw things at people with guns, and also to tell them both how lucky they are that Supergirl had shown up when she did.

“She’s always there when I need her,” Lena agrees, throwing a sly wink over the officer’s shoulder at Kara.

Kara just shakes her head and smiles. Even almost dying isn’t enough to make Lena not flirt with her. The woman is truly a marvel.

Kara’s comms crackle again, accompanied by Alex’s custom ringtone on her cell, and after assuring the police that she has no issue with giving another statement if they need her to later, hurries over to the DEO (making a quick stop in the back alley to change into her suit).

**

When Kara arrives, she’s told that J’onn and Alex are waiting for her in the Directors’ offices. She makes her way there, waving to the agents and scientists she knows. But it’s very weird, because every time one of them sees her, they start giggling before quickly hurrying off in the opposite direction. Like, literally everyone is whispering and pointing and giggling, and it’s giving Kara such visceral flashbacks to high school that it’s all she can do to not check her cape for a taped on sign that says ‘Kick me’ or ‘Freak’.

(Kids are mean.)

By the time Kara gets to her destination, she’s fully paranoid, sure that someone’s playing a prank on her, somehow, and that everyone but her is in on the joke. She opens the door with more force than intended and catches it just before the handle puts a hole in the wall, throwing Alex and J’onn a sheepish smile. She closes the door extra gently and leans against it heavily. J’onn and Alex just stare at her, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

“Busy day, Supergirl?” Alex asks, and after half a lifetime of spending time with her, Kara recognizes that she, too, is trying not to laugh. 

Kara’s had enough. “Okay, do I have something on my face? Or on the suit? Is someone messing with me?”

J’onn’s brow furrows. “No.”

“Then what’s the deal? Why is the entire DEO like… laughing at me? Did someone accidentally vent the lab fumes out into the main hub again?”

“No.”

“Did someone see me crash into that billboard last week?”

J’onn’s frown deepens. “What?”

“No,” Alex answers.

“Then why is everyone laughing at me?!”

“I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say it’s because of that,” Alex muses, nodding toward the big TV on the wall beside Kara.

She steps back to watch the news coverage of her dealing with the hostage situation this morning and frowns. “What, those guys? That was routine, what’s so funny about tha-”

“No, no, not that. That,” Alex clarifies, cranking up the volume.

“...reports are saying that the CEO of L-Corp, Lena Luthor, experienced an attempt on her life early this afternoon. Sources claim that she fell from a considerable height-”

“Hey, she was pushed,” Kara corrects.

“Shh!”

“...caught by Supergirl, who may have gotten a little… familiar with her.”

And there’s a video (clearly recorded on a cell phone but not the worst quality Kara’s ever seen) of Kara catching Lena and slowing to a stop above the sidewalk, of them talking quietly, of Kara’s hand definitely on Lena’s-

“Oh. Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Alex drawls, clicking the TV off with relish, a large, evil-big-sister grin spreading across her face. “Congratulations, Supergirl- the world just watched you grope Lena Luthor’s ass.”

“But I’m not- I wasn’t groping, I was catching! My hands weren’t… If it was groping, I’d be all up on her, and I wasn’t!”

“Camera begs to differ. It’s already trending on Twitter in National CIty.”

Kara puts her head in her hands and groans. “Why?! I was trying to save her!”

“You were definitely trying to save part of her,” Alex agrees. “Granted, it’s a very nice part...”

Kara’s head pops up, and she shoots Alex a look that’s between a pout and a glare. “You’re not helping.”

Alex feigns confusion. “Am I supposed to be helping?”

“Alright, enough,” J’onn cuts in before Kara can retort. “We just wanted you to be aware. I don’t think that this is going to be taken for anything more than it is- a humorous moment in the middle of a successful rescue. You shouldn’t worry about the press.”

And truth be told, Kara isn't worried about the press- she’s worried about the fact that she’s going to have to face Lena after this. Lena, who she knows for a fact has google alerts set for herself, Kara Danvers, and Supergirl, a gesture which is normally actually sweet and kind but is right now definitely gonna bite her in the-

“Okay! So, is that all?”

Alex blinks, looks over at J’onn, and shrugs. “I mean, yeah. Try not to make a habit of groping your crush when you’re in the suit.”

“I wasn’t groping her-”

Alex grins. “So you admit you have a crush? Interesting…”

“Alex!”

**

J’onn’s prediction is mostly right- no one seems to be taking the shots of her grabbi- saving Lena as anything other than a funny blip of a moment in their coverage of it.

He was wrong about the sheer scale. The clip had gone totally viral in a matter of hours, and seemingly every major network in the country has run the clip at least once as a bit of filler-fluff, and almost every major network anchor (including the ones at CatCo, the traitors) has made at least a passing joke about Supergirl being ‘Super-Handsy'.

Which means that Kara is very late getting back to Lena’s office with replacement food. But like, she’s been busy, okay? It’s not like she’s avoiding Lena, or something, because she’s embarrassed- which she isn’t, because she didn’t do anything bad or wrong and-

Anyways, it’s well past sunset by the time Kara gets to Lena’s office door again. She hesitates outside it for just a moment before shouldering the door open and knocking tentatively.

Lena’s attention jerks from whatever she’d been absorbed in to Kara, and a relieved smile blooms across her face. “Hey there.”

Kara finds herself equally relieved to not experience a repeat performance of earlier scary situations. “Hi,” Kara says, unable to resist smiling back. She raises the bags and cup carrier. “I bring grease and milkshakes. Again.”

“Oh thank god, I’m starving,” Lena says, rolling her chair away from her desk and rising into a deep and probably much-needed stretch. Kara very determinedly does not stare at the slight sliver of soft tummy that appears between her blouse and skirt at the motion. “I’ve been staring at this screen for several hours. And Sam called to yell at me- she says hello, by the way- she and Ruby are in town next weekend.”

“Good!” Kara crosses the room to the couch as Lena does, easily spreading out the veritable buffet of fast food she’d brought over the coffee table. “I mean, not good that she yelled at you, or that you’re still at work, Miss Luthor,” she says pointedly, receiving only an unapologetic shrug in response. “But good that, um-”

“I get it,” Lena chuckles, resting a hand lightly on Kara’s knee and boy, if that doesn’t make Kara’s brain go fuzzy and dumb again… “Thank you, for checking in.”

“Of course I was gonna check on you, Lena,” Kara huffs. “Plus, I know you probably didn’t get lunch, so…”

Lena hums around a mouthful of burger, chewing until she can politely speak again. “Well it’s delicious. Did you make it yourself?” she teases with a sly grin.

“Oh, yeah, totally. Slaved away over a hot stove for this- I just wrapped it in Big Belly wrappers so you wouldn’t feel bad about it.”

“Very clever.” Lena pops the lid off of her milkshake and drags a fry through it (an advanced culinary delicacy Kara had horrified her with initially but had eventually become a bit of a guilty pleasure). “Although I have to say, traditionally you’d have to buy me dinner before you grabbed my ass.”

Kara chokes on a pickle. “Oh no,” she groans, dropping the burger onto the wrapper on the table and dropping her very red face into her hands as Lena laughs beside her. She peers out from between her fingers. “I am so sorry, I was just worried about you hitting the pavement and like, catching you in the least jarring way and I wasn’t paying attention to where my hands were and I didn’t even notice until I got back to the DEO and-”

“Well I have so say, I feel a bit offended that you didn’t even realize you were copping a feel...” When the only response is another groan and a deep flush spreading from Kara’s neck to the tips of her ears, Lena relents. “Kara, Kara, it’s fine!” she laughs, pulling Kara’s hands away from her face and giving them a grounding squeeze. “Nia’s been sending me memes about it all day, which has improved my mood significantly. On the grand scale of fallout from assassination attempts, this one was at least funny.”

“I know that’s supposed to be comforting, but all it makes me wanna do is wrap you in bubble wrap forever,” Kara informs her.

“Pass on that. But seriously, don’t worry about it- I know it wasn’t on purpose- unfortunately for me, you’re too noble to do something like that,” Lena laments playfully.

And whether it’s the knowledge that Lena is not, in fact, upset, the overall weirdness that has been this day, or this delicious burger fueling it, Kara feels a bit emboldened. “Hey Lena…”

“Yes?”

“What if I wanted to grab your butt? Just, y’know, as a hypothetical. For future reference.”

Lena quirks a brow at her, fighting a smile as she contemplates this. “Hmm. Strictly hypothetically?”

Kara scoots a bit closer on the couch. “Sure.”

 “Well, you’ve already bought me dinner…”

“And lunch, technically. Even if I gave it to the bad guys.”

“True. Plus you saved my life, so that gets you some points, probably.”

Kara pauses in her sly scooching. “Oh, hey, wait, no, that’s not-” 

“Kidding, Kara. I know you’d never use that to your advantage. I, however, have determined that strong moral fibre and nobility do, in fact, earn you more points, which is my choice on the matter and you get absolutely no say in it.”

“Oh. Um, alright, I think.”

Lena stares off into the middle distance, tapping her forefinger thoughtfully against her chin. Finally she shrugs. “Yes, I think you’re fulfilled the prerequisites for a bit of grab-ass today.”

Kara snorts, Lena laughs, and soon enough Kara takes her up on the offer.

**

“Hey Kara, remember that time you grabbed Lena’s ass and it made international news?” Nia asks around a mouthful of mushu pork.

“You mean last week? Yes, I remember,” Kara drawls. Beside her/halfway sitting on her lap, Lena snorts.

“That was the best.”

Alex glares. “Um, excuse you, no. No it was not. I had to sift through so much thirsting over my sister on like, every social media platform. It was the worst day of my life.”

Brainy’s brow furrows. “Surely that cannot be correct, Alex. Statistically speaking-”

Alex holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Trauma can’t be measured, Brainy.”

Kelly chuckles and presses a consoling kiss to Alex’s cheek, and it makes the tough agent melt into a doe-eyed puddle of mush that Kara snorts. And she says they’re gross... Kara sneaks a glance at Lena from the corner of her eye, and she catches Lena looking at her. She leans close and jostles her gently as she drops her head onto Lena’ shoulder. “We’re never gonna live that down, are we?”

“Probably not.”

“We have the worst friends.” When this elicits nothing but a chuckle, Kara tips her head back to see Lena still looking at her, a soft smile playing at her mouth and shining in her eyes. And like, this whole thing they’re doing is new, with the kissing and the actual dates and the... everything else. But the thing where Kara catches Lena looking at her and she doesn’t look away? That freakin’ knocks her out, every single time. “Hey,” she manages.

Lena grins down at her. “Hi.”

So yeah. Maybe the initial circumstances weren’t ideal, and she doesn’t love the mockery that’s been heaped upon her by all of her friends and loved ones (including Winn, who’d sent a missive from the future that literally just said ‘LOL’). But the fact is, Kara muses as she surges up just enough to kiss the corner of Lena’s mouth, that she doesn’t regret a thing.

[wispvial]

So I finally posted my Franklin/Nubbins fanfiction, lol. Shout out to the three or so people who might enjoy it, I just had fun writing, even if I’m not confident! I wasn’t so sure about tagging, but there are allusions to violence and animal death, the kind you’d see in the movie.

[asmosmainhoe]

The Royal Guard (Chapter 1)

What he said didn't sound like an offer. It sounded more like an order. Slowly you take the seat infront of him without letting him out of your sight.

"I looked forward to meeting you. You became quite the celebrity in the other realms."

Finally! The first chapter of the promised fanfiction! The second will be written and posted by the amazing @inkyhorror

We'll take turns in posting and if you have any questions feel free to ask us!

Gender neutral MC

Masterlist

---

Today had started great. A perfect winter morning as if it came straight out of a book. The neighborhood kids were out early, building snowmen and running around. Their excited laughter and screaming didn't bother you at all though. You were sitting in your living room and enjoying a hot cup tea before you got ready for the day. But now? Now it seems like the world is about to end.

"Looks like a pretty rough snowstorm if you ask me. Better be careful on the street.", says the cashier to you, but you barely register her talking. Good thing that your apartment isn't that far from here, just a five minute walk away. You mumble a goodbye before steping outside the grocery store. Damn, I should have put on gloves before going out. Snowstorms don't usually get this bad. What's even more strange is the fact that it started out of nowhere. You basically felt the temperature suddenly drop, followed by the howling of the wind. You feel your phone buzzing in your pocket, stopping your train of thought. Someone is calling you on your D.D.D.. Satan. A smile starts to form on your face when you think about the blonde demon. Oh, how much you miss the times in the Devildom. The urge to go back to the brothers gets so strong sometimes that it feels like you're suffocating. Maybe it's the strong bond you have formed with the demons during the exchange program or maybe it's a side effect of the pacts. Solomon has never mentioned anything like that though and neither have the brothers. You answer the call.

"Hey, how's it going?", you ask. You made it a habit to not call out his name in public. It has earned you many weird looks before.

"Chaotic. The usual.", answers the male voice on the other line. His low voice always had a soothing effect on you. With the grocery bag in one hand and the phone in the other you start making your way home.

"I hope Mammon isn't the reason for the chaos."

Satan groans in annoyance which is enough for an answer. It never gets boring when you live with the Avatar of Greed. He somehow never manages to stay out of trouble. On the contrary. That man seems to magically attract it like a magnet.

"Oh please, MC. You should know by now that this idiot is chaos."

You think about all the pranks you and Mammon pulled back then. It never got boring with the lively demon. Out of everyone he was the most devastated when you left and now you can't help but wonder how he's feeling right now at this very moment. While Satan talks about his day and his latest book purchase, you're trying to find a way through the storm. It's hard to see with all the snow falling right into your face. How very bizarre that weather is today. Finally you're standing infront of the building and get the keys out of your pocket with the D.D.D. pinched between your cheek and your shoulder.

"You have to tell me more about that book next time you call me. It sounds interesting.", you say as you enter the building and let the door fall shut behind you.

"I might even send it over to you. I think you will rather enjoy it. The author is a genius when it comes to murder mysteries."

You smile at his words. He has always been such a thriller fanatic.

"That sounds like a great idea, Satan. I'd love to read it."

With the amount of books he has read in his life he has become quite critical. So him praising an author like that means a lot. The books must be masterpieces then. You suddenly freeze infront of your apartment. Not daring to even breathe. Satan's voice sounds as if he's far away from you, not hearing what he says. You feel a rush going through your body. Adrenaline.

"MC? MC!"

You snap back into reality and look around you. The uncomfortable feeling is gone.

"Yes? What is it, Satan?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yea, totally. I have to hang up. We'll talk some other time, okay?"

Sliding the phone back into the pocket of your coat you unlock the door. That weird feeling from earlier still lingering inside you. You decide not to think about it any longer and put the grocery bag on a table. Again you stop moving, but this time for another reason. There are two tea cups on your table. One on each side. You can't remember to have placed them there before leaving for the store. Carefully you listen. What if there's an intruder? But who would make tea after breaking into someone else's home?

"Finally! I've been waiting for you for quite some time."

You let out a scream and turn to the direction of the voice. There he stands. A tall, handsome man with disheveled dark hair, but what stands out the most are his eyes. As if they're made out of pure gold. You quickly scan the area in search for a weapon and grab a vase.

"Stay away from me! Who are you and what are you doing here?!"

The man, completely ignoring your yelling, takes a seat at the table and sips on the tea.

"You are MC am I correct? I somehow had a different image of you in mind."

You still point the vase at him, visibly shaking. It would be foolish to start a fight with him. He looks like he could finish you off with one single move. You need a plan. Quickly. If you throw the vase at him, you'd have enough time to run to the door or call for help.

"Sit with me. I made the tea just for you and you should know that I don't do anything for anybody just like that.", says the man as he adjusts the collar of his black shirt. What he said didn't sound like an offer. It sounded more like an order. Slowly you take the seat infront of him without letting him out of your sight.

"I looked forward to meeting you. You became quite the celebrity in the other realms."

He sounds like he's making smalltalk. As if he was invited and didn't break in. You keep your mouth shut.

"You're not very talkative, are you?"

There's a moment of silence where you two simply stare at each other. Then he sighs.

"I can't blame you. My visit must be very surprising to you."

The longer you look at him the familiar his features get. Like someone you have seen before, but you can't remember who.

"Do I know you? Have we met before?"

"We certainly haven't, but you have met my son."

"Your son?"

"Ah, of course you are not aware that he is my son. You know him by another title."

The man looks at you with his piercing gold eyes and you feel something cold going down your spine.

"Lord Diavolo."

[sabrinathe20somethingwitch]

Rivetra Week 2021

lol not me completely not knowing that Rivetra Week was happening THIS week and frantically trying to put something together. but on a more serious note, everyone in this fandom is so incredibly talented, I am in constant awe of all of you. always and forever, thank you for reading.

August 25th - Day 2: Jealousy

Levi had never considered himself to be a particularly possessive person. Sure, he had grown up in the pits of the Underground and he had learned how to protect what was his, how to prevent people from sticking their noses into his territory. He had established such a strong and deadly reputation for himself that once he arrived at the surface, there were few that dared to challenge him and his authority, especially when he had someone like Erwin at his side vouching for him. He didn’t want for much, he was used to surviving on next to nothing, he didn’t have many possessions to his name and besides, no one would dare to touch his things or even enter his room without permission anyways. He certainly wasn’t possessive of his friendships with others, if he could even call them that to begin with. He was protective of his squad in the sense that he didn’t want to see the shitty brats get devoured by titans, but they were free to do what they wanted otherwise. Really, he wasn’t a very possessive guy, he never had any reason to be. 

So he didn’t quite understand the strange feeling that had coiled tightly in his chest and the way that his blood seemed to boil beneath his skin when he saw one of the Garrison officers chatting up Petra. 

Levi had permitted his squad to have the day off, claiming that he needed to make a trip to the local market for supplies because “rations only give us the shit kind of everything anyway” when they had all agreed to join him. Begrudgingly, he had accepted. To be honest, the entire excursion into town didn’t end up being as bad as he had expected. He had found his tea, special soap, some extra cleaning supplies, and even a nice bottle of whiskey; he even considered sharing some with the rest of his squad later in the evening and they were just about ready to depart when the local flower stand had caught Petra’s eye. “They remind me of home,” she had said softly as she eyed the yellow chrysanthemums, a wistful look on her face, and she was quickly drawn to them, promising him that she would only be a moment. He had turned his back to get the horses, only a few minutes, but when he was just about to see what was taking her so long (“Oi, Ral, how long does it take to buy some fucking flowers?”), he was there. 

He was tall, blonde, radiating with boyish charm and wearing a goofy grin that made the captain want to sink his fist into his face for some unknown reason. His lips were moving, he was saying something to her, and Petra’s hand flew up to cover her mouth, but he could see the way her lips curled upwards at the corners, the way her shoulders shook slightly. She was giggling. Her face was flushed. Was she blushing too? Levi watched as the boy dug his hand into his pocket and pulled out a coin, pressing it into the vendor’s palm before plucking a flower at random, a daisy, from the bouquet. He reached forward, tucking it behind her ear, stepping closer to her.

Levi was pretty sure this bordered on sexual harassment.

Before he was even aware of what he was doing, he felt himself striding over to the pair with purpose, a murderous scowl etched across his features. Petra turned to greet him with a smile, but the boy didn’t even notice him at first, still staring at her with that stupid look on his face, before Levi cleared his throat, noticing with smug satisfaction how the boy sputtered violently, thumping a fist over his heart quickly.

“Captain Levi! I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t see you,” he squeaked.

“I can see that,” Levi said, a bite creeping into the edges of his voice. “Ral, it’s time to get going, c’mon.”

She laughed nervously, twisting a piece of hair between her fingers. “Sorry, Captain, I was just going to grab some flowers when I got to talking with-” She gestured to the boy beside her before she blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry, you didn’t even tell me your name.”

“Henri.” He nodded his head at her before turning to Levi, extending a hand. “Henri Augustine, sir. It’s an honor to meet you,” he said, flashing him a toothy grin.

Levi only glared in response and Henri slowly dropped his hand, wiping his palm against his trousers and glancing at Petra out of the corner of his eye.

He jerked his chin towards the horses. “Petra, let’s go.”

She nodded in agreement and offered Henri a small wave and a soft smile before the boy quickly snatched her wrist, tugging her towards him. “Petra, wait!”

Contrary to popular belief, Levi also didn’t consider himself to be an unnecessarily vengeful person; he only used the right amount of vengeance when the situation called for it. But when he saw the punk’s fingers close around her wrist, he prayed to whatever deity he could think of that a titan would wreak havoc through the marketplace and the little shit would become lunch.

Henri pulled her closer to his chest, far too close for Levi’s liking and far too close to be considered appropriate in public, and bent forward to whisper something into her ear. Levi couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but he caught snippets of his words, something like “love to see you” and “keep in touch”. She was blushing furiously and it made his stomach churn. Violently.

He was just about ready to put an end to their little conversation and insist she come with him, they did need to make it back to the barracks before sundown, when the boy brought her fingers to his lips, giving the back of her hand a soft kiss.

Levi saw red.

Within an instant, he was beside her and shoving the soldier backwards. Henri stumbled for a moment, his arms flailing wildly, before recovering and staring at the captain in bewilderment. 

Levi seized Petra’s upper arm and began dragging her towards the horses. He knew that his grip was far too tight, but he didn’t care, choosing to ignore her hiss of pain.

“Captain - ow! - What’re you doing?!”

“We’re leaving,” he spat through a clenched jaw. “Now.” He spun her around, grabbing her hips and forcefully hoisting her onto her horse. She squeaked in surprise, her cheeks flushing bright red as she hastily adjusted herself across her saddle.

She tossed one last look over her shoulder at Henri, who still stood there seemingly petrified, and offered him a pitying glance before the bright yellow flowers caught her eye once more. 

“Wait, Captain! I didn’t get the flowers!”

“Tough shit, Ral.”

If she were standing on the ground, and feeling an extra bit childish, she would’ve stomped her foot in indignation. Instead, she gave a small huff, offering the captain a subtle lift of her middle finger behind his back and muttering curses under her breath before she joined the rest of her squad. The boys exchanged confused, and concerned, looks between them as Eld rode beside her, leaning in.

“Should I even ask what the hell happened?” he mumbled from the corner of his mouth.

“Nope,” Petra replied, popping her lips at the end of her word. 

Eld nodded tersely before shaking his head at Oluo and Gunther, imitating a slashing motion across his neck.

It was going to be a long ride home.

——————————

Petra had always known that she was a beautiful girl: she knew about the effect that she had on the men around her, how they would turn their heads when she entered a room. She knew that they found her desirable, something that her father had cautiously warned her about as she reached maturity and reminded her of as she enlisted in the military (“Really, Pet, the only girl in that entire squad?”). However, even though she was beautiful, she wasn’t a particularly feminine woman. Her brazen confidence, strength, and thirst for vengeance, coupled with her Scout uniform that was usually covered in blood and guts, had most men running for the hills before she could even introduce herself. It was alright, she reasoned; they weren’t worth her time anyway. Besides, she didn’t have time for romance, not when she was risking her life everyday for the sake of humanity. Still, she sometimes found herself daydreaming what it would be like to fall in love, get married, raise a family, like normal people do everyday, like she could do when the war ended. 

She flopped onto her bed, having retired for the evening and changed into her nightgown, twisting the nearly-forgotten daisy, the source of all her current woes, between her fingers and plucking the individual petals with a tad more force than necessary. She hadn’t actually been interested in Henri, he was far too tall and lanky for her taste. But for a brief moment, her heart had fluttered at the mere notion of loving someone and being loved in return, especially when the focus of her affections was being an absolute ass.

She groaned in frustration, rubbing at her temples as she pushed away from her pillow. She needed to talk to him, she needed to set a boundary and tell him that she didn’t need him rushing in to defend her honor like she was some sort of damsel, she could handle herself perfectly fine.

But when she opened her door, she nearly yelped in surprise to see the very person she needed to talk to was already standing in her doorway, his knuckles raised to rap against the door. He looked at her with a similar expression of shock before his face melted into his usual bored, impassive look and he quickly shifted something behind his back before Petra caught a glance of what it was.

“What’re you doing here?” he said in a low voice.

She gestured to the nameplate on her door. “This is my room.”

The tips of his ears burned red, the only sign of his apparent awkwardness. “…oh, yeah.”

She folded her arms across her chest, feigning nonchalance. “What do you want?” she asked. Her tone was dry.

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Is that how you want to talk to your commanding officer?”

Petra gave him a pointed look, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation, another habit of his that she had picked up. “What do you want, Captain?”

He swallowed audibly, she could practically see the knot that had wound itself in his throat. It confused her; in all the time that she had known him, she had never seen Levi quite so… nervous.

He threaded a hand through his hair. “I just, y’know, wanted to say that I’m-” He pressed a palm against his chest and grimaced, almost as if the words brought him physical pain. “I think I owe you, um… an apology… for today.” He scowled. “Even if that little shit was being a brat. And um, here, I guess.” He thrust something into her hands and Petra blinked once, then twice, then three times.

Yellow chrysanthemums.

“You said they reminded you of home, right?”

Flowers. He had given her flowers. Instantly, all of her anger and annoyance and frustration towards him seemed to melt away and an unfamiliar, yet pleasantly warm feeling swept into its place, pooling low into her gut and heating her from the inside out. 

“You never picked them up when we were in town so I doubled back and got them for you.”

He had gone all the way back into town for her. To get her flowers.

“Just don’t expect something like this ever again, Ral, because that vendor charged the fuck out of me, so if you want flowers, I’ll just go pull you some weeds from the forest next time-”

“Captain?”

She stepped closer to him until they were nearly touching and lifted up onto her toes, quickly placing a chaste kiss against his cheek, desperately hoping that he wasn’t close enough to hear the pounding of her heart against her sternum. His skin was surprisingly smooth beneath her lips, she noticed faintly, and she smiled softly at him. “Thank you,” she whispered, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks and fighting back a blush.

He nodded, muttering something under his breath akin to “get that shit in some water or it’ll dry out” before promptly bidding her goodnight. He turned on his heel, retreating quickly back to his office but not before he could notice, from the corner of his eye, her beaming smile, the kind of shit that lights up a room, as she stared down at his flowers. The sight brought a small smirk to his face and the tightly coiled tension in his chest that he had felt all day, ever since seeing that Garrison punk sidle up to her at the flower stand, finally unraveled, replaced by a faint stirring that made his heart beat just a little faster. 

Sometimes, being possessive paid off.

He noted that for next time.

[the-nagakenny-archives]

((OOC: Don’t have a title for this one, but it was inspired by a short piece my friend @crooked-tarot-rp sent me one day XD It features Gotham AU Kenny and two of my friend’s characters---Alder the elf and Aeschylus the cambion---and also some hypnosis and slight foot domination, so fair warning!))

It had been easy enough for Alder to break into Kenny's office while it was unattended. The hard part, he was discovering with growing frustration, was getting anything out of it to make even that slight effort worthwhile. There had to be something, he kept insisting to himself. All of these rich, eccentric types always had something to hide. And Kenny was very rich and very eccentric---with more emphasis on the latter, in Alder's opinion. Nobody could be that obsessed with snakes and be a well-adjusted human being. The trouble was he couldn't find any evidence that supported that theory; no lurid photographs, no documents detailing embezzlements, no credit card statements with incriminating purchases. Hell, apparently the man didn't keep a spare cell phone or even a laptop to do business on in here. He was well beyond annoyed at how fruitless his search was becoming. "Looking for something?" Alder gave a start; the voice that had spoken from the doorway had been soft and sly, but it might as well have been as loud as a gunshot. Alder's heart thudded uncomfortably in his ears for a moment as he turned around to face Kenny standing there, but reassembled his composure quickly. His eyes twinkled, lips curling into a smirk. "Was that not obvious?" he purred. "Oh no, I just thought I'd help tidy things up a bit. After business hours, of course. Speaking of which: shouldn't you be at home, getting ready for bed? Work must be so exhausting for you, after all." "Heh, not really. I do a lot of napping up here, mostly." Kenny's expression and demeanor were disarmingly amicable, but Alder couldn't help seeing something else there as well. He thought back to when he and Aesch first met him and Alder had tried his persuasive methods on him; it hadn't worked, which annoyed him (in fact just the memory of it now was making him flush a bit), but there had been something altogether more worrying in the man's eyes. A cunning glint that seemed almost inhuman. Alder thought he was seeing it now, too. Kenny began walking toward his desk, gesturing to the chair in front of it while he went to sit down in the faux leather wingback behind it. "Well, since you're here," he said cheerfully, "grab a seat and let's have a chat. I've been meaning to have a one-on-one with you, actually." He folded his hands over his desk and smiled at him expectantly. Alder blinked incredulously for a moment, then snorted. "Aha....a chat, is it? You haven't....you know, called the police with a panic button under your desk or anything?" Or have a gun concealed on you that you plan on using at some point? Because I really don't like that smile of yours, no matter how handsome you happen to be, he thought uncomfortably. Kenny's smile became one of wry playfulness. "Nope. Cross my heart." He drew an 'X' over his chest with an elaborate flourish, then pointed his finger out, beckoning. "Come here." His tone was soft, lilting, though Alder thought he detected a casual air of command. He felt his cheeks flush as a roiling tide of irritation rose in him for just a moment. He wasn't someone who allowed himself to be bossed around like a truant employee, but then again he was the one in a compromising position; the thought of the police getting involved didn't bother him, but the thought of Kenny possibly saying something about this to Aesch certainly did. He wondered briefly if that had occurred to Kenny at all, and got his answer looking into that prehistoric shark smile. Of course he had.

"Hmph," he grunted, begrudgingly parking himself in the chair across from Kenny. "Very well. What's on your mind, then?" Besides snakes, that is, he thought with sardonic satisfaction.

"Actually," Kenny replied, his tone unchanged, "I'd like to discuss what's on yours." His eyebrow arched knowingly. "You think I'm hiding something, and you want to know what it is so you can blackmail me. Do I have that right?"

Alder flashed back a self-assured smile, though small alarm bells were ringing in his head. Careful, old boy. This one's not as dumb as he looks. "Getting straight to the point, are we?" He ran a hand flippantly through his hair. "I'm just looking out for my friend. Making sure he's not involving himself with someone....well...." He chuckled, and instead of elaborating he tipped his hand back and forth, letting that speak for itself. "My snooping around shouldn't bother you if you don't have something to hide though, don't you think?" His eyes glittered slyly. "Mmm, it doesn't bother me," Kenny said, and there was nothing in Kenny's voice or expression that suggested the contrary. "I find it more than a little flattering that you've taken that kind of interest in me. You must care very deeply about your friend to go to all this trouble." He swung his legs up onto the desk with self-possessed nonchalance, propping one foot atop the other. Penny loafers, Alder noticed, not bothering to disguise a slight smirk of amusement. Without socks, no less. How gauche. Then he noticed that knowing look was back on Kenny's face, and realized what he had been insinuating. He laughed out loud.

"What, you think I'm jealous? Please." He tilted his head wryly. "I do love Aesch, but I'd never interfere with his love life out of wanting him for myself. In this case, I'm doing some light investigative work to protect him. Because, quite frankly, you're suspicious as hell." He said this last bit with every ounce of conviction he had while maintaining his languid smugness.

He had expected maybe touching a nerve with that, but Kenny remained unflappable. In fact, he gave a laugh of his own; a throaty, pleasant chuckle that sent an involuntary shiver down Alder's spine. "Really?" he asked, his dark eyes twinkling with mirth. "Interesting. What do you find so suspicious about me, exactly?" He nestled comfortably in his seat and folded his hands over his chest, as though he was about to listen to some exciting news. He knocked his shoes lightly against each other to a rhythm only he could hear.

"The snakes," Alder said immediately. He wasn't about to let that go, he figured he'd get that out of the way up front. "I mean, come on."

Kenny tilted his head and looked at him slyly. "You don't like snakes?" His voice was a silky purr.

"I'm indifferent towards them, personally. You, on the other hand, seem to be unreasonably infatuated with them. One might even say obsessed." Alder crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat slowly. "And I refuse to believe someone living and working in Gotham isn't aware of the implications of that. Considering how colorful the city's criminals are."

"And I suppose you also find me suspicious because I didn't react to your attempt to sway me earlier?" The shell of Alder's smug confidence cracked a little, his cheeks flaring brightly in surprise; the remark was so casual and unexpected.  "I, w-well, that is, er..." He cursed himself inwardly as he tried to find his footing again.

"Mmhmm." The cunning shine in Kenny's eyes was back. Clunk, clunk went his shoes against each other. "Because it really should have worked, shouldn't it? If I was just another rich, flaky executive type, that is."

Alder opened his mouth, about to form an acerbic response, when Kenny hooked his right shoe against the heel of his left and gently kicked the loafer cleanly off his foot. It thumped to the carpeted floor, unregarded. The other shoe followed suit shortly after. Kenny hadn't broken eye contact the entire time; now he was leaning his face against his hand, his expression vaguely sly and almost seductive, his bare toes slowly flexing up and down to the same unknown rhythm as before.

Alder was uncharacteristically stunned by this bizarre turn, completely apropos of nothing. Well, no---a nasty bolt of embarrassment struck him. There was no way he could know about that, though....could he? His eyes drifted from Kenny's face to his bare feet propped upon the desk, and maybe lingered there a little too long before snapping back to their original position. He gave an incredulous laugh, though it was somewhat strained. "Interesting interrogation technique," he said dryly. "Though I think you may be taking the phrase 'smelling someone out' rather broadly."

"Do they smell?" Kenny replied, his eyes shining with intense amusement. "I like to think I do a pretty good job making sure that they don't. At least not in a way that's offensive. But perhaps you're a better judge than I am, since you're closer." His foot drifted to rest directly in front of him, toes wiggling playfully. Alder flinched away, eyes narrowing, trying to hide his blush behind a look of annoyance and disgust. His second toe is longer than the others. The thought lit up unbidden in Alder's mind. Flame foot.

"What--I--what are you even--" He huffed, eyes flashing with indignance. "Would you be so kind as to get that out of my face?" His uneasiness was becoming more pronounced the longer Kenny's feet were in front of him. He was trying very hard not to inhale, though he had caught the faintest whiff of something: smoky, masculine, rustic. The faux leather of Kenny's shoe.

"It just so happens," Kenny said idly, as though Alder hadn't spoken at all; his feet remained firmly where they were, propped and crossed in front of Alder's flustered, disgruntled face, while Kenny lounged back farther into his chair, arms behind his head, "I'm not unfamiliar with your methods of persuasion. In fact...."

His feet slowly shifted out of Alder's line of sight---Finally, thought Alder with chagrined relief---but the withering glare Alder planned to give him fled from his face almost immediately at what he saw in Kenny's sly, hooded eyes.

"....I must confessssssss to doing something similar."

Kenny's eyes were full of colors; rhythmically pulsing colors that radiated outward from his pupils in a never-ending pattern. They were stunningly hypnotic; Alder realized with mute bewilderment that he had looked into them for a full thirty seconds, mouth slowly becoming slack, before he was able to wrest some kind of control over himself and try to force himself to look away. His mind reeled from resisting the blank, relaxed feeling that had threatened to overtake him. "What....y-you...." he said in a tight voice as he made a Herculean effort to tear his eyes away, and managed to get one eye closed. Alder found that he was still somewhat capable of self-righteous anger at the nerve of this smirking barefoot cretin attempting to hypnotize him of all people, and he weakly held onto it, though it seemed to be rapidly evaporating into a muzzy, docile fog the longer his blue eye looked into Kenny's kaleidoscopic ones. "Unh, you buh-bastard...." "Mmhmm." Kenny's voice was a smooth, playful purr. "I thought you might be a ssssssslippery customer." He seemed to fix him more intensely with his gaze; the colors in his eyes pulsed faster in a dazzling, dizzying display.

Alder tried to protest, but only an unintelligible garble escaped his lips. Both his eyes widened beyond his control to hungrily absorb the profoundly hypnotic undulations before him. The colors, those eyes. Such power he'd never experienced before. He was losing control fast, he had to think of something while he still had the capacity to do so. He found with a gauzy feeling of dismay that his muscles refused to work; he couldn't even stand up, let alone walk out the door. The urge would light up feebly in his head, but his legs were much too comfortable where they were, thank you very much. He desperately tried focusing on something else. His mind reeled again like a fish struggling on a hook; he managed to lower his head, uttering an involuntary sigh, and began to drift his eyes with difficulty to the small snake plant perched at the corner of Kenny's desk.

"Ah ah ah. Pay attention, pleasssse." A gentle, cajoling rebuke. Kenny's foot drifted close, pressing itself against Alder's cheek, and then slid a slow, sensuous trail to rest beneath Alder's chin. It lifted his head back up, toes pointing, guiding Alder's gaze back to Kenny's eyes. Alder was defenseless against the supernaturally lush smoothness of his skin, and the suddenly intense bouquet of scents: shoe leather, cinnamon, coffee, cloves. His head swam. His eyelids drooped but didn't fully close---couldn't. Kenny's fascinating eyes rippled and eddied without end, dominating his vision.

"Better. Good. Now, you're sleepy, I know, and I'll let you sleep in a moment." Kenny's velvet, soothing voice slithered in lazy loops and figure eights in his ears, through his mind. "But first, you're going to listen. And then, you're going to answer me when I want you to. Listen--answer. Very sssssimple. Do you understand?"

Alder sluggishly fought the urge to reply "yes"; he wouldn't give him the satisfaction. It wasn't fair, him being in this position, one that he had rather enjoyed being on the opposite end of on some occasions. This was nothing like what he did though, he thought defensively through the dense fog. This was diabolical. This was insidious. This was.....was.....

Well...maybe it wasn't all that awful, really. Now that Kenny had ensured he look at nothing else, he had to admit that Kenny's eyes were rather....beautiful. And this drowsy, fuzzy feeling coming over him, winking his thoughts away like so many candles. It felt...pleasant, actually, to not have to think.

Kenny tilted his head slightly, arching an eyebrow. "Hmm? Cat got your tongue?" he asked slyly. "Maybe we can do something to loosen it."

The toes holding up Alder's chin slid out with smooth, deliberate slowness, inching upwards. The large oval of Kenny's big toe softly touched the furrow of his mouth, lingered a moment, and gently pushed down on the ridge of his lower lip, parting it slightly. Alder could just barely taste the toe on the tip of his tongue; oh gods was his last coherent though as he shivered with helpless pleasure, the bliss of Kenny's power now gripping him completely.

"I like your friend," Kenny said. The sly playfulness had somewhat left his voice, replaced by something more contemplative. His toes had retreated back down under Alder's chin. "I like him a lot. And I want to like you, too. But it's hard to do that when you seem to have it in for me. Spying on me. Snooping around in my business. Uncharitably belittling my.....interesssssssts." He hissed this last with particular emphasis, a grin spreading across his face, revealing his teeth. "You want to know why I like snakes so much, hmm? That's easy enough."

Through his dreamy trance Alder became vaguely aware that the foot beneath his chin seemed to be.....changing. The toes elongating, fusing together. Kenny slowly crossed his legs, which also seemed to fuse into one shape, growing thicker. Huge, powerful cylindrical shapes looped and curved around the desk and chairs, filling the space around them, shifting furniture gently in their wake. Scales glistened, coils slithered, and Kenny grinned among them. He brought Alder's face closer, the tail beneath his chin cupping his face.

"I trusssssst this clears that up for you?"

"Mmn....mmhmm...." Alder's right eyelid slowly slid closed, then languidly made its way back up to half mast. His voice was slurred, thick with drowsy rapture. "Yes.....it does...." Why, it was more than understandable to Alder; it was positively fine and dandy. Never mind the fact that he was now surrounded on all sides by huge, shifting masses of scaly muscle that were once masquerading as Kenny's legs.

"Good," Kenny chuckled. "I'm glad. I hope this means you won't be so suspicious of me anymore, now that I've been honest with you. And that we can be friends from now on."

As he slowly leaned closer over the desk, he brought Alder's face even closer with his tail; Alder was leaning completely forward now, his arms hanging limp at his sides, lolling like a marionette. Kenny hovered just close enough for his soporific whisper to reach Alder's ears. "Sssssleeeeep," he hissed.

"ALDER! Don't do this, please, I swear if you---"

Aeschylus burst into the room with a combination of righteous anger and hand-wringing nervousness. He had taken five steps before the scene that met his eyes could really register: a huge slithering mass of snake coils, with Kenny and Alder at the center of it. Kenny was blinking at him in wide-eyed bewilderment. Alder seemed to be completely asleep with an enchanted smile on his face (that was so unlike Alder that it gave Aeschylus particular pause), precariously supported by what could only be Kenny's tail; his head slowly slid to meet the desk with a dull thunk, but he did not awaken.

"Oh!" Kenny's face lit up cheerfully. "Hello, you! Come on in, I was just finishing up!"

"Uh.....huh." Aeschylus looked from Kenny to Alder, to the lot of Kenny's coils enveloping the room, and then drifted back to Kenny again. He awkwardly cleared his throat, adjusting his collar and tie. "Ahem, I see. Alder, uh.....is he....?"

"Oh, he's fine. We just chatted, he admired my feet for a bit, and now he's having himself a little lie-down." Kenny's tail stroked Alder's blonde hair gently. "I did intend for him to be more comfortable than this, but---" Kenny trained his dark, cunning eyes on Aeschylus with a seductive smirk. "---I suppose he can wait his turn for now."

"Ah....aha. Right." Aeschylus watched as Kenny unfurled himself from behind his desk and began to come toward him; he found his languid slithering movements rather mesmerizing. He realized mutely that he had been so busy watching Kenny himself that he neglected to pay attention to what his tail was doing; presently it was making a slow ascent up his legs, wrapping him in the velvety scales.

Hang on....Aeschylus frowned suddenly. "Did you say he was admiring your feet?" he asked incredulously.

The tail paused mid-loop around his waist at this. Kenny smiled innocently. "Just having fun with him on my part, really," he purred slyly. He glided around to Aeschylus's side, leaning close to his ear. "Although, he didn't seem to mind...."

Aeschylus snorted as Kenny drifted away behind him and the tail continued its path around his body, squeezing him gently at regular intervals. The image of steely-eyed smug Alder with someone else's feet in his face was too outlandish to believe. But then again, he'd found himself believing a lot of outlandish things lately. Not the least of which was how much he enjoyed being squeezed by a certain handsome naga's coils...

[rosy-cheekx]

Gone to Plan

(Thanks @janekfan for the inspo and encouragement!) 

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27754072

Jon hates taking days off. The archive’s been in chaos since he took over but not for lack of trying. But he’s in charge, he’s The Archivist, and he needs to prove to Elias that he’s qualified for the job, that his offhand comments and glances when he thinks Jon can’t see are wrong. He’s good enough. He has to be.

So that’s why he’s not called off. He can’t miss a day, even if the thermometer hovered around a high 38 last night. There’s too much work to do and too much to prove to himself to Elias. Jon’s not stupid though, he’s got his scarf wound around his face as not to spread his germs to Rosie as he passes her, or his assistants. (Thank the powers that be that it’s January, and his scarf, gloves, and bundled torso blend in with the other Londoners hustling through the streets.) Jon’ll get there early and leave late so he can minimize the contact he has with everyone else. He doesn’t think he’s contagious, but he plans to lock himself in his office and record statements all day, just in case.

But when have things ever gone to plan?

So here he is, the January chill a welcome relief to his feverish skin as he travels the short block into the Magnus Institute from his usual bus stop. Its not yet 8, and the sun is finally cresting the skyline, a watery grey light reminding the weary man of just how early it is. With shaking hands, he unlocks the glass doors of the humble building with the key Elias had given him all those weeks ago (“I noticed you’ve seemed rather overwhelmed during work hours. If you think coming in early or leaving late will help you do your job better, who am I to stop you?”) and hurries his way into the building and down into the archives, burying a cough into his scarf as he locks himself into his dark office.

It’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Jon reckons he can go a day without seeing his assistants; Tim and Sasha are happy to occupy themselves without his direction and Martin—well, with any luck he’ll be too intimidated preoccupied with his work to bother him after Jon rejects his first offer of tea. Tea would be nice though, Jon thinks as he closes his office door and surveys the piles of paperwork and manila folders haphazardly covering and lining the area around his desk.  He falls into his chair, the metal legs screeching against the cement in a way that has him seeing stars. Jon hadn’t realized his head was pounding, but god he was sorely aware of it now. He rattles a cough into his elbow that lasted a full thirty seconds; the effort of it left him sweating and he peels off a few layers of his ensemble rapidly, discarding scarf, gloves, overcoat, and two oversized sweaters (one being a What The Ghost sweater he’d stolen from Georgie and had consequently “lost”).

Jon rakes a hand through his curls, grossly aware of the thin sheen of sweat on his scalp and opens the first of the manila folders piled high on his desk, just about eye-level. He leaves his fingers tangled in his curls, tugging slightly, hoping the pressure will help him stay focused, and stares at the words on the page. Reading has been a cornerstone of Jon’s personality, but looking at the page now, he wasn’t sure he had ever been literate. The letters swirled and morphed on the page, pulsing slightly to the beat of his pounding head.

He’s not sure how long he’s been staring at the page, this same page of the same folder, the statement of…someone…when he hears a cacophony of familiar laughter outside his door, in the bullpen where the three other desks and three other chairs resided. Sasha is laughing, likely at something Tim had said. Normally, he finds the laughter of his friends coworkers delightful, even calming, but the pitch of Sasha’s voice feels unbearable today, too high and just sharp enough to send a shiver of irritation down his spine. Or was he just cold? God, he’s freezing. He looks around desperately for his discarded sweaters and pulled them back over his head, just managing to pull the second sweater over his torso before an onslaught of shaking takes over his body and he’s quaking uncontrollably in his seat until the shivers die down. His jaw aches from the chattering of his teeth and he kneads it with his thumbs while trying to massage his temples with his other fingers. Jon ignores the knock on the door to his office, choosing on a whim to let them believe he wasn’t here at all, while booting up his laptop. Maybe reading the statement aloud will help him comprehend it.

-

“Jesus—fuck!” He had made his way, painfully, through the whole statement, pausing through bouts of chills and hot flashes, taking almost an hour to record what would usually take twenty minutes. It had seemed to record on his laptop just fine, but now that he was trying to listen back to it, the audio was nothing but static, though the wavelengths in the audio file would suppose otherwise. How the hell was he supposed to do his job if he couldn’t even trust his equipment to hold up its end of the bargain? Jon slammed his hands against the desk in frustration as he cursed his laptop, cursed Elias, cursed this stupid fucking job, completely forgetting he had decided to pretend not to be here. The low murmur of conversation that had been floating from the bullpen pauses for a moment, before becoming quieter and more intense. Goddamn it, now they would be worrying about him and asking questions and wasting their time and his time and god his head hurt and he was shaking he was cold hewashotandcoldandmiserable-

“…Jon?” Comes a hesitant voice from the other side of the door, mercifully without a knock. “Are-are you in there? Are you alright?”

“’course I’m alright, Martin,” he spat the name like it burnt him to say it. “I’m a grown man, I don’t need babysitting.”

“You sure about that, boss?” Tim. Goddamn. They had the entire cavalry outside his office. “None of us saw you come in and Sash and I were here before nine, which mean you either spent the night or were here way too early, which I’m pretty sure violates Archive rules.”

Jon opens his mouth to respond but his words are buffeted back by a coughing fit that rattles his chest and leaves his throat raw. “Quite sure, thank you. Just—” Another fit, mercifully shorter. “—a little under the weather today.”

“Can you just open the door?” Ever the diplomat, Sasha’s voice was plaintive and serious. “That sounds serious, Jon. We can make you some tea or get you some cough suppressant-“

“I did just buy a lemon tea that’s s’posed to be great for a cough,” Martin adds, voice pitching up eagerly for a moment.

Jon hopes his silence speaks for him as another wave of chills rips through his spine, leaving his entire body aching with the tremors.

“Sims, here’s the deal.” Tim’s voice was serious now, the playful banter gone. “We are trying to be respectful, but the door isn’t locked. We can come in if we need to.”

Jon wants to be angry with them. He feels angry, how dare they not trust him to know his own limits, to treat him like a child, to care for him and love him like family. He opens his mouth to tell them off, but of course, his body betrays him. A cough rattles through him so hard that he bends over involuntarily, doubled over by the force of his lungs trying to eject themselves from his ribcage, and slams his head on the edge of the desk in the process. He groans, the blow doing nothing to ease his headache, quite the contrary, and he knows he’s lost all hope of his assistants leaving him alone.

A chorus of “Jon!” and “are you alright?” come from the other side of the door before he hears a mumbled “fuck it” and hears the door swing open and the cacophony of shoes on his cement floor.

“Jesus, Jonathan Sims.” The archivist’s eyes are squeezed tight, pain and fever overwhelming his senses, hands balled in fists held against to his chest, trying to fight the tremors wracking his body. Jon feels cool hands against his forehead and cheeks. “You’re burning up. Sasha, grab the first aid kit, will you?” They shouldn’t be doing this; they have more important things to right now. They have leads to chase and statements to file and he can deal with this himself he’ll be fine. He opens his eyes, ready to tell the trio off and make a curt rejection of their help, calm and composed, but his vision is swirling now just like the statement was earlier; he can’t seem to focus on any of the faces in front of him. He feels the tremors ease slightly as his body turns hot now, feels his face flush and skin prickle with sweat, and suddenly he needs to be on the floor. The cement is cool and dry and it’ll make him feel better-

“Woah-hey! Jon! Tim-help me…” “We got you, boss man, stay upright for now, yeah? Let’s set him down gently, ready?”

“Thermometer says 39—Jesus. I grabbed some water. Should we call 999?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Jon? Call the ambulance?”

“Don’t…call me Jonathan…”

-

Jon’s eyes open, wincing, to the harsh ceiling lights of the document storage room. He feels weighted down, limbs heavy, and as he adjusts to the room he certainly wasn’t in earlier, he looks down to see a mountain of fabric covering his body. Sweaters, coats, blankets, scarves, hats, shrugs, every scrap of cloth in the entire institute must be piled on him right now. No wonder he can barely move his arms.

“Oh, hey, Jon.” A cool, soft hand passes over his scalp and smooths out his curls, and Sasha comes into view, hair swinging over her shoulders, expression soft. “You scared us a bit there.”

Jon blinks for a moment, mouth open as he tries to find words and croaks out a cracked, “Sorry.”

Her soft laugh, tinkling like a bell, sounds calming again. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a good day for the archives if the scariest thing is a bit of a fever. Here.” She holds out a water bottle, and he squirms his hands out of his cocoon of layers to accept it, not realizing how thirsty he was until the cool liquid passes his cracked lips. “How does your head feel?”

Jon presses a hand to his forehead lightly, feeling a small square of gauze at his hairline. He frowns slightly, searching his fever-addled memory for what caused it. Right, the coughing fit. “I’ve been better,” he mumbles diplomatically. “Headaches mostly gone, though.” It was a dull throb now that his neck was constantly tensing against the shivers that had wracked his thin frame.

“You can thank Martin for that, actually. Apparently he’s a pro in head and neck messages. Who would’ve guessed, right?” Tim’s voice calls, just out of sight, and Jon sits up on his elbows to see the rest of his staff, sitting on the floor, surrounded by files, laptops illuminating their faces. Martin shrugs shyly, gaze flicking between Jon and his laptop like he wasn’t sure where to look, mumbling something about migraines, or maybe his mum. “We should start a side business. Been trying to think of good names all afternoon.”

“Afternoon?” Jon croaks, glancing fervently for the clock he knew wasn’t in the document storage room. “How long-“

“Like four or five hours. You woke up a couple times to drink some water and take some paracetamol and fever reducers, which is the only reason you’re not in your own private ward at St. August’s.”

Jon frowns to himself. Four or five hours? He’s wasted a whole day, not only for himself but for his staff too. “Right well, thank you all for watching after me, but I feel fine now. You’re all welcome to return to your desks.”

Martin huffs out a laugh this time, something of pure incredulity. “Right, like we’re going to pretend you didn’t pass out with a fever of 39 into my arms and weren’t shaking like a leaf and sweating and coughing so hard you nearly gave yourself a concussion-“ Tim presses a hand to the other man’s shoulder firmly and he cuts himself off.

“Alright. Point made.” Jon’s voice wavered more than he likes, and he watches the two men rise to stand behind either side of Sasha.

“Jon,” Sasha’s voice is soft. “We were worried about you. You’re our boss and our friend, and we don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

“Especially since you control our pay raises.”

“Tim!” A swat to his chest from two hands, one small and dark, the other larger and pale.

“Why did you even come in today?” Martin’s eyes are softer now, the bite that was in them earlier replaced with compassion. Compassion for Jon.

“I-I really don’t. But…thank you. I see your point.” Jon sits up now, watching the top few layers of bundling tumble off him in a small avalanche, but pulls as much of the fabric as he can over his form to shield himself from his own admissions. No use in putting up a front now. “I suppose I’ve been feeling overwhelmed. Overworked, even. I was worried about the consequences of being behind with all—all the statements and write-ups and supp-supplementals and figured I could get through a day without incident and take the weekend to recover. I was wrong, clearly.”

In lieu of harassing him over being wrong, Tim chews his lip thoughtfully for a moment. “You know, we’re your assistants for a reason. We saw how much you have on your plate right now.” He gestured to the little castle of manila he and Martin had been sitting in. “Half of that is stuff you could have given to us. But, either way, the Archive won’t crumble if Jonathan Sims takes a sick day. Hell, I’ll bet you a round of drinks at Molly’s it’ll still be standing after a sick week.” His eyebrow is cocked playfully, but the impact of his words is not lost.

Jon rubs a hand against the nape of his neck, the miraculous lack of tension reminding him of Martin massaged his head and the thought is so intimate he blushes and suddenly can’t meet the eyes of his assistants. He wishes he could remember it. Perish the thought.

“A compromise,” Jon offers, finally focusing his fever-addled mind. “Two rounds if you trust me to come back when the fever’s gone.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Tim’s hand is the one he shakes, half in jest and half deadly serious, but it’s Martin’s eyes he can’t tear his gaze from.

[petri808]

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8

Inukag Royalty AU

If the day was an example of the life, she’d lead here, then she was certainly grateful to have found it. But while she’d swore to herself not to reveal where’d she’d gone, the guilt of leaving Sango in the dark wore too heavily on her conscience. So, before she’d change her mind, Kagome penned a letter to her friend to let her know she was okay and settled into a new place. She didn’t provide a lot of details, just that it was in a neighboring kingdom with a respectable family, ending the letter by begging the woman to not say a word to anyone for fear of reprisal. Kagome would rather Sango flee than suffer for her wayward decision. Perhaps Sango could come here? Kagome sighed as she laid in bed staring at the ceiling. It would be nice to have her friend around.

She processed how much of a whirlwind of a day it had been. Such a blur to go from arriving in a strange new city and ending up as a part of another royal household. Is it just her destiny to be stuck in a castle? At least, this time the pressure felt lower. Sure, it was a bit nerve wracking to be a Princesses Lady in Waiting, but Rin was an adorable child to attend to and the family a joy to be around, minus Sesshomaru who still made her anxious. The royal family, oh the queen was quite a beauty. Kagome could see why the Inutaisho would fall such a wonderful woman regardless of heritage. And their son… her heart skipped a beat just thinking about the man. Inuyasha was very handsome indeed with his broad chest and long white hair tied up like his father, with adorable fluffy ears perched atop his head. Kagome swooned at the sight of his flashing golden eyes. He was cordial with her, albeit a bit flirty… or not, that might have been her imagination. “It was just a kiss on the hand,” Kagome chided herself. Nothing more than a gentlemanly gesture. She exhaled and closed her eyes. ‘I think I’m gonna like it here…’

Meanwhile in another part of the castle…

“Son, remember you are already spoken for,” the Queen counseled. “I was young once and I’m not blind. I saw the way you were looking at her.”

“Mom. I was just being nice,” Inuyasha rolled his eyes. “I’m not gonna do anything to jeopardize the treaty.”

“I trust you won’t.” She kissed his forehead. “Good night son.”

“Night mom.”

But as he watched his mother leave the room, Inuyasha knew it might be easier said than done. There was just something intriguing about this Lady in Waiting that made him want to learn more about her. The others had been older, boring, matronly, and not very interesting whereas Kagome was close to his age and not only very, very beautiful, but based on the dinner conversations intelligent too. The other attendants would sit quietly only watching Rin, but she engaged with them correctly as if this were normal for her. ‘How odd…’He mused and threw himself back onto his bed. But who was he kidding? Even if he wasn’t betrothed, as a Prince he had to marry a Princess… which Kagome Tanaka was not. He smiled and closed his eyes, ‘we could still be friends though…’

The following morning after breakfast, Kagome kept her promise to Rin to visit Buyo. She wanted to make sure her horse was adjusting well to the new stable, and the child was eager to meet him. Rin happily petted and groomed the horse while Kagome chatted with the stable hand about anything the man should know about Buyo’s quirks. Buyo was a docile horse since it was bred to carry a royal, but it could be picky about certain feeds. They were there for about half an hour when they were interrupted by none other, but Inuyasha and another man.

“We meet again,” Inuyasha kissed Kagome’s hand with a smile. He then ruffled his giggling niece’s hair. “This your horse?” He questioned the woman.

Keeping her emotions in check, Kagome smiled demurely. “Yes, your highness. His name is Buyo.”

“Beautiful steed…” Inuyasha ran a hand over the horse’s neck. “Like it’s owner.”

Kagome flushed bright red, but now the man accompanying Inuyasha snorted a laugh, gaining everyone’s attention.

“You hush Miroku,” Inuyasha growled.

“Sorry, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you flirt before,” the man jested back.

“I’m complimenting the woman, is that a crime?!”

Ignoring the Prince, the man then stepped towards Kagome and bowed. “Where are my manners. My name is Miroku and I am the princes first guard.”

“Kagome Tanaka,” she bowed as well. “Princess Rin’s Lady in Waiting.”

Miroku took hold of Kagome’s hand and leaned in with a devious grin. “Someone as lovely as you should be my wife, not dealing with guys like the prince.”

“W-What?!” Kagome sputtered out in shock.

Inuyasha quickly grabbed Miroku by the shoulder, spun him around and shoved away hard. He then snapped at the man to get their horses ready so they could leave. “My apologies for this idiot,” he growled at his friend while addressing Kagome. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t bother you again.”

“I-It’s okay!” Kagome waved her hands to wipe the air clear not wanting to cause any trouble. “I was just caught me off guard.”

“It’s not okay. He needs to learn to keep his loins in check,” Inuyasha grumbled. There was a brief awkward silence starting to brew, so he quickly changed the subject. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Oh, um, yes, I’ll be there your highness.”

“I look forward to it. And please, call me Inuyasha. Your highness makes me feel old.”

Kagome blushed at being so informal, but who was she to refuse the simple request of a Prince. “Okay. Inuyasha.”

Inuyasha tipped his head to the woman and leapt onto his readied horse, giving it a good snap of the reigns to usher it forward behind Miroku’s. As soon as they were out of range, he moved to trot beside his guard.

“You’re such an ass!” The prince snapped at his friend. Embarrassing me like that! I ought’a have you reprimanded!”

“Oh please,” Miroku rolled his eyes at the tirade. “I did that to confirm my suspicion.”

Inuyasha narrowed his eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You like this one,” the man jested with a big grin on his face. “And I don’t blame ya, she cute!”

“Keep your hands off her if you wanna keep them!”

“Oh, yeah,” Miroku burst out laughing. “You do like her.”

“Keh! Rin really like Kagome. So, I’m protecting my niece’s happiness.”

“Uh-huh, tell yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

“Just shut up and let’s get this over with,” Inuyasha ended the conversation. They had a problem nobleman to deal with in the next village over and he wanted to get back in time for dinner.

It’s not like Inuyasha planned to do anything wrong. What was the big deal about being nice and making a friend out of the Kagome? He didn’t have that many people to talk to aside from palace staff anyway. So okay, as the days passed, sometimes he would watch from a distance as the woman tutored his niece to make sure they were safe. Isn’t that what a good uncle would do? Inuyasha liked seeing Rin so happy and this was the first attendant who she honestly got along with it. The child was always smiling with Kagome who would tutor the girl with such a level of patience and understanding the others never possessed. And at many a dinner, the child would talk about the new things she was learning. Inuyasha could see the effects growing on his parents too who were treating Kagome less like a servant and more like the daughter they never had. From dresses and accoutrements fit for a noblewoman, Kagome was made up to look like a member of the family. He didn’t know if it was simply to make sure the woman stuck around long term or if there were other reasons for their behavior because it didn’t matter to him.

A few weeks later, Inuyasha was arriving home late in the evening after a day’s journey. He was tired from the trip and ready to crash. But as he walked past the library, he noticed a bit of light still on inside it. That was odd because the servants would never leave a torch or lantern burning at this hour, especially in the library with all those precious tomes.

“Hello?” He called out. “Is someone in here?” He heard a shuffling sound and walked towards it, finding Kagome sitting in a chair with a book on her lap surprised to see him. “Oh, hello Ms. Tanaka. You’re up late.”

“Sorry,” the woman apologized. “Did I disturb you?” She asked worried that she shouldn’t be there.

“No, no,” he gestured with a wave of his hand. “I was just surprised to see anyone up.”

“Oh,” Kagome flushed. “I um, couldn’t really sleep, so I came in here to read.”

Inuyasha walked closer, looking at the book. “What ya reading?”

“It appears to be a history book about this kingdom. I thought I should learn more about it since I’m here.”

He sat down on a chair across from Kagome. “I see,” he chuckled, “then you’ll probably learn more than I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Studying and reading was never my thing,” the prince shrugged. “It drove my mom and tutors crazy.”

“Oh,” Kagome giggled, with her hand covering her mouth in gentile fashion. She pushed the book next to her lap on the chair. “So, how was your trip?”

Inuyasha slouched down. “Tiring. Dealing with nobles are either boring or just irritating.”

She laughed again. “I understand.”

“You can?” His brow raised.

Realizing she’d spontaneously made such a statement, Kagome back pedaled. “I mean I can assume it’s not fun. Doesn’t seem like fun.”

“You’re really strange for a commoner you know, especially a female.”

“I-I’m not sure what you mean.”

“It’s just unusual. You don’t talk and act like any that I know. Which isn’t much, but when you speak it’s just different, like take when you talk with my parents, you can hold a proper conversation with them as if you’ve done it before.”

“I, well, I mean it’s probably my mom’s influence. She was around nobles a lot and raised me to reach for higher standards I guess.” Kagome’s voice softened as her anxieties rose. “Does it make you uncomfortable?”

Inuyasha sat up and leaned forward with a soft smile. “On the contrary. It makes you a lot more… intriguing.”

Just the glint in Inuyasha’s eyes, made Kagome’s cheeks heat up. There was intent behind them that made her heart race and body weaken. ‘Pull yourself together girl!’ She swallowed slowly. “A-A good intrigued?”

“A good intrigued. I don’t have a lot of people to talk to here. Servants aren’t generally educated or interesting. Bureaucrats bore me. Miroku I swear all he thinks about is sex. But you remind me a lot of my mother, a combination of beauty and intelligence with a big heart. My niece was lucky to have found you that day in the marketplace.”

If Kagome’s cheeks burned any hotter, she’d look like a tomato from his compliments. “I do adore Rin,” she smiled genuinely. “She’s a bright child that reminds me of me when I was her age. When I’d set out into the world on my own, I never would have imagined ending up like this.”

“It was quite the shock when my brother adopted her,” Inuyasha chuckled. “I’m sure you probably thought the same thing, cause he’s not exactly friendly and yet that girl was able to pull some humanity out that frankly I didn’t believe existed. Rin has a gift for gauging people in a way an adult could spend a lifetime trying to achieve.”

“You really love your niece.”

Again, Inuyasha laughed. “Ask her how grumpy I was when she first arrived.” But a sudden yawn cut him off. “Wow, I really am tired. I guess I should get to bed.”

“I probably should too,” Kagome agreed, or she’d have a hard time waking up for Rin in the morning.

Inuyasha stood up to leave, then hesitated. He walked up to the woman and placed a kiss on her cheek. “Good night, Ms. Tanaka,” he smiled and turned to leave.

“G-Good night, Inuyasha,” she stammered out as her hand reached up unconsciously to touch the spot he’d kissed. ‘Oh… my…’ it tingled against her fingertips. “Um, Inuyasha?”

He stopped and turned his head. “Yes?”

“Please,” her voice full of nervous hopeful energy, “you can call me Kagome.”

Inuyasha’s eyes widened with surprise, but a smile instantly overtook him. “Very well… Kagome. Pleasant dreams.”

Once he was out of view, Kagome buried her face in her hands. What was she thinking?! Though to be fair he started it by being so flirty! ‘It’s just my name!’ Informal, but not world ending. She bundled the book up close, put out the lantern, and rushed back to her room. ‘Get your head together!’ It would be stupid to read too much into this. He was betrothed and just being nice, nothing more. But if only… ‘argh!’ Now she really didn’t think she’d sleep that night!

[tea-and-conspiracy]

Prompt 10: Heady

2. affecting the mind or senses greatly

“You’re going to go out tonight.”

J’dace had a nice enough voice, she supposed. Rumbly, raspy, maybe even sexy to the right kind of person. But as her mind began to swim behind her eyes and tug her ears in his direction, she felt ready to vomit. She knew the headiness behind his voice wasn’t him. It was the worm. She didn’t want to listen but the worm compelled her to.

So she turned. And listened. And forced a pretty smile.

“What am I stealing tonight?” she asked.

His grin was viscous. “Oh no. Not that kind of job tonight, honey. The other kind.”

-------

3. exciting; exhilarating

4. rashly impetuous

Every pilot in the academy started out with something small. By the time Laelia’s generation was learning to fly, they typically cut their teeth on Gunships. She wasn’t especially fond of its bumblebee shape, but they certainly made up for in speed what they lacked in aesthetics.

The bigger problem was the model of Gunship. The MK I’s and MK II’s had stability issues, forcing her to constantly fight to keep the craft level. What she was supposed to actually learn from fighting with it, Solus only knew. But after nigh-on a year of playing with the Legion’s aerial rejects, they finally allowed the flight students on board the MK III’s.

The craft lifted from the tarmac with all the grace of a dandelion seed. Laelia couldn’t help but to gawk at the ease with which it responded to her commands, as though it were less of a tool and more of an extension of her body. No longer was one eye perpetually glued to the instruments, hawkishly monitoring the roll, pitch, and yaw -- instead she could actually afford to look out at the world beyond. On frigid, cloudless days like these, the sky was such a vast and brilliant blue, and the snowfields rolled below in diamond dunes. The sun seemed impossibly bright against it all, almost holy.

It sent her heart soaring. Up here -- this is where she belonged.

Enthusiasm shocked through her, robbing her of thought and hearing. Instead of listening to her instructor she suddenly banked into a dive, purposefully barrel-rolling the ship. As they neared the river, churning black and cold, she pulled up at the last second and skimmed its surface in a glorious rooster-tail, cackling all the while.

It was only then that her instructor overrode the airship controls and returned them to a more sensible flight path.

“Yes, yes, that’s quite enough of that,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“You make it sound like this happens a lot,” she said.

“Oh it does.” He adjusted his goggles. “There’s always one of you, every single time we start you lot on the MK III’s.”

------- 

6. clever, shrewd

“You’re serious about Thanalan?”

Father’s glass paused partway to his lips, and he lofted a single brow. The motion caused the liquid to swirl faintly within its vessel, filling the air with its cloying alcoholic scent. Eliane opted not to join him in imbibing, instead reaching to inspect the latest clockwork project he’d been working on.

“‘Tis the most logical course of action,” she said. “Of Eorzea’s mineral concerns and warm-water ports, Vylbrand boasts the larger shipping lanes but Thanalan is the more ready source of raw materials. I realize that means greater transport costs for us, but we can mitigate that by constructing a satellite manufactory down in Ul’dah. The more important part is that it allows us to get an early foot in the door where Eorzean industry is concerned. They’re going to be clamoring for a piece of the Ishgardian market now that we’ve re-opened the gates, and Ishgardian technology is far and away the most advanced in Aldenard. ‘Tis important we get a foot in the door now, spread our presence, and make the Bellworks a household name before competitors arise.”

“You’re concerned that much about competition?” Father gestured vaguely at the Pillars outside. “For all the brilliance we and Skysteel produce, it’s been a hard sell my whole life.”

“That’s because this is Ishgard, Father.” Eliane smiled. “But the traditions and superstitions weighing us down here do not exist in the rest of Eorzea. I know travel is difficult for you now, but you really should get out at least once to see it again. Out there, people are far more open-minded -- and they are fascinated by the application of new technologies. ‘Tis one of the few things we can somewhat thank Garlemald for, I think. But on that particular note...”

She leaned in, frowning.

“I think we both know where this is ultimately headed.”

He met her gaze. “They want us back in the Alliance.”

“Of course they do. And now that our knights no longer bleed to dragons, they’ll throw them into the maw of magitek instead. I think it only a matter of time before we, too, are at war with the Empire.”

“...And they’ll need what we make more than ever.” Father gave a long sigh, slowly, sorely, leaning back into his chair. It was an effort that made him wince faintly, though whether from his old injuries or from future implications was impossible to say. “...Some suns I hate that you see the world as I do. I think you’d be happier for it.”

“On the contrary.” Eliane beamed. “I find all this most fascinating, don’t you?”

[ziggyzagreus]

Active Listening

[Pairing: Charon/Hermes - Fandom: Hades (Video Game)]

[Rating: No Rating Applied]

[Important Tags: Fluff, Getting Together (Kinda), Hermes is Nervous and I love him for that]

[Fic Type: SFW Drabble]

[AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365528 ]

[Summary: Hermes contemplates the growth of companionship between himself and his Professional Business Associate.]

[Note: This was inspired by replies to a post by @deathonholiday where people were just basically sharing their Charon/Hermes headcanons soooo here we go, lol.]

~~~

Hermes did not know at which point he started being able to understand Charon. Or rather, when something had shifted significantly enough for his own mind to slow down adequately for the boatman to worm his way inside, for that somehow soothing voice contrary to the audible sound it had to sound in the Olympian god’s mind and respond to his own ramblings. It certainly had taken a long time, for the messenger additionally could not recall hearing the low drawls of Charon’s scraping voice for the first while of their association.

A shift in character, perhaps it had taken, or something much more interpersonal, between the two of them rather than Hermes’ attention alone.

At the start of it all, quick trips down to the Underworld often left Hermes more wound up than usual, a strange unease always settling over him when things got darker and more claustrophobic. Sometimes the upper regions were quite alright, nice even, but despite the expanse of Elysium and all its chill air, there was a sense of unwelcome that made Hermes’ pulse antsy. A pressure, like the feeling of watchful eyes on his back – even if it were just innocent shades, Hermes felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up practically the entire trip down. So, he’d search for the boatman, quite literally dashing in to dump his wares and the soul identifications on the polished albeit ancient boat, prattle off on their uses and what messages to be delivered, and be on his way.

Charon would always watch him as well, burning violet gaze just visible under the brim of his wide boater hat, and Hermes would use an old salesmanship trick – staring right at the bridge of the nose, well, should the individual possess one, which Charon did not – to finish his delivery in record time. Charon would nod, weight leaning heavily on the oar, and that same searing gaze would bore into the back of the Olympian as he darted off to leave this wretched place behind.

Those hollow eyes, teeming with a deep energy, were always on him, and initially they had carried that same feeling of watchful unease that Hermes shivered off once finding his way back home.

Then, it came that Charon would begin meeting Hermes closer and closer to the surface; how the boatman came to expect his arrival was unbeknownst to the messenger god, but he appreciated the gesture all the same. It was as if Charon could tell how jumpy Hermes got, the way he couldn’t even hover still and the slight tremor to his rapid speech. The boatman awaited his arrival closer to the surface, and in his company, Hermes found himself speaking more, the tiniest bit more slowly, and biding their time. The more at ease he became, the easier it was to fall to his dispositional pattern of chatter.

Hermes filled most silences. In Olympus he was well known for it, rather rudely to be perfectly square, and especially now when the only companion in this dreary place seemed to have no words of his own. Figuring he was mute, with little to no intention to speak, Hermes had no issue prattling on about anything and everything.

Eventually, Hermes felt sorry, too, for being so fleeting in the past; and now, he allowed the realization of a sort of warm safety from being in the presence of the Chthonic minor god, aware that nothing dare cross the planks of his Narrowboat lest they be lost shades with little will stored in their spirits. Nothing could truly come to harm Hermes down here, and so, relaxation came to follow with the pleasure of Charon’s company.

Of course, though, as time went on, he wondered if the boatman even understood a word he spoke while they were together.

He received nods, and Charon followed directions, but that seemed to be the extent of it all. He never uttered even a sound in return, and while Hermes was often the one to interrupt things, a strange thought occurred that he himself wished to be interrupted, if only for once. Prompting place for it, asking questions, and waiting a beat for a response all seemed futile. Plus, Hermes himself often answered the question allowed, or rushed off to speak before he could stop himself.

And so, it came to pass in such a shock when one day, Charon spoke.

Hermes adjusted the strap of his bag, keeping what wares inside from tumbling out, and skidded to a halt at the ledge in Elysium where Charon often arrived to pick him up and spare him from a solitary trek down through Asphodel or Tartarus.

To the god’s surprise, the boat was already there at a standstill, its proprietor waiting to the side calmly, dark aura instead the most welcoming feature of the Underworld as far as Hermes was concerned. One of Charon’s arms crossed his chest, slender hand hidden within the folds of billowing robes, and that same penetrating violet gaze fixated as if he knew precisely where the god would appear.

Hermes opened his mouth to speak, a grin tugging at his lips, already sucking in a breath for the tumultuous expulsion of words sure to come: stories of where he’d been and the functions of the goods he had to deliver to his dear associate. But the words fell flat when Charon instead drew his hand out into view, a palm-sized bottle of golden nectar held delicately in his grasp.

“Charon, chap, is this…? Erm, well, of course I know what it is, but are you gifting this to me?”

And for the first time, Charon spoke. He had a voice like no other; and while to many that would be derogatory, speaking volumes of negativity towards the scratching, garbled whispers like a foul blizzard wind or the gargling of shards of something broken – to Hermes, it sounded simply, cozy and clear in his mind. It sounded as much the comfort and safety he felt in the boatman’s presence, and that was… Striking.

“Indeed, something simple, but a gift for you, nonetheless. Should you desire to take it.”

Hermes’ mind felt fuzzy, something blooming from his chest, warm and light like the comings-on of the wines from Dionysus’ feasts, but this was delightful. A new, exciting thrill shot through the messenger and caused his feathered heels to lift an additional foot or so off the ground where he hovered. He stared, at a loss for words, at the nectar in Charon’s hand.

“How can I hear you so clearly?” He instead asked, words dumping out slowly, at least for the pace of the quick-tongued god.

“You at long last cared to listen. Perhaps you are comfortable… in my presence. Take it, I insist, good Hermes.”

Without further hesitation, Hermes reached for the nectar and held the delicate glass close, admiring the subtle craftsmanship forged likely from fires here in hell itself. “I… thank you. I – oh, I didn’t exactly bring anything special for you, nothing aside from the usual wares and the few soul identifications but – oh, next time, next time I will, alright Charon? We are business partners for sure, there’s no doubt about that now, alright? Considering you’ve put up with me for this long, and you’ve followed everything I’ve said! Why, you’ve understood it all, haven’t you? I am terribly sorry for doubting so, I suppose I should have – I should have listened closer last time…”

“You are forgiven, for neither of us were ready. Now, shall we depart?” Charon gestured to the boat that awaited them.

A jolt of glee shot through Hermes, and for the first time since his work began, an excitement to venture into the Underworld met him. It was startling, surely, for when the fear had dissipated as companionship with Charon grew, for once… Well, this would be rather enjoyable.

“Certainly! Let’s get right to it, friend! And do I have stories to tell you, now there was this incident that I faced up on the surface when acquiring the name of that fellow right there…”

[littlemeangreen]

Onism

The frustration of being stuck in just one body

@thecorteztwins your favs call me daddy too.

"Oh god, oh god, oh fuck-" Shinobi Shaw swore as he tripped over a table leg. Who put table legs in the hallway? Who put tables in hallways? God, they were so gaudy. But then again, it seemed like a thing for Haven. She was a sweet woman and a total milf but like all rich people, she had obviously never had to furnish her own home before.

But still, for what Haven lacked in moderate taste she made up for in a caring attitude that made most mutants of Krakoa swear that she had some sort of...super mothering powers. Yeah, that seemed like a valid enough thing for Haven.

She was always caring and polite and Shinobi was hard pressed to think of a time where she didn't help any members of the team. Like taking Alice shopping to develop her own style, letting Claudia ramble on about something, being there for Pyro when he either started going off about one of his books or dragged her off to talk in private and letting Madelyne go off on her personal martyr missions because it was "healthy for her".

Hell, she even made an effort with Shinobi's father, Sebastian. Shinobi didn't think that much could happen there, once a lost cause then always a lost cause, right? Still his father hadn't given any hints that he fucked her so Shinobi could admit that a great deal of his love for Haven came because of that fact.

But still, Haven gave almost everything she saw effort and that weirdly enough included the Shaws for god knows why. They were then Kardashians of Krakoa! There was no point for Haven to try and use her feelings to try and get along with his father. You could try to feed a donkey a carrot but you couldn't do it by shoving the carrot up its asshole.

That's why it was odd that she had called him so....late? Early? He had been at a delightful party-turned orgy so he had lost track of the time. He'd gotten told that he had a text right when it had been getting good and now here he was, rushing down a hallway because Haven had texted him in a middle of an orgy because something had happened to his father and no one would tell Shinobi what is was.

It was maddening. Infuriating. Worrying. Shinobi wanted his father to be okay.

Shinobi also wanted to hear that his father was in pain.

"Ah! Shinobi! Forgive me for not passing any details, the situa-" Haven seemed to have been cut off by the look he had given her but really, surely the woman would know not to ramble on after giving such a text!

"Right, yes, sorry. Your father is...okay." Okay? No mutant was ever okay in their lives! "He was on a mission with Fabian-"

Oh fuck. Shinobi imagined that if his father had another son (that Shinobi knew of) and dropped him down a river like Mystique did, it would be Fabian. A disaster of a birth could only make such a wreck of a man years down the line in Shinobi's opinion. But it wasn't like he would actually ever say anything to Cortez. After all, who knew what a mutant with power enhancing skills could do to a man who phased through things. Better to keep his tongue away from Fabian Cortez, both metaphorically and physically. Especially physically.

Wait. Shit. Haven looked like she was done speaking. Had Shinobi glazed through it all? Haven would be perfectly fine with explaining it again but still...did he really want to stand through another long winded and overly detailed talk? Probably not.

"-Trust me, we're going to try and reverse what happned but first we need to just simply wait and find out if..." Haven seemed to stop for a moment, biting her lip and looking away briefly. She fiddled with low hanging necklace riddled with red jewels. Shinobi distantly remembered that red apparently evil comings in Egyptian mythology.

Shinobi sighed and decided that, like all things in life, he would do this head first. After all, he was excellent at head.

"Right....well. Take me to him, I suppose he will be wanting to talk to me." He frowned and waved a hand, trying to come off as aloof. Father had done it many a times and he hoped to think that he had gotten the gesture down to the same titbit.

Haven seemed to account his aloofness for grief and stepped forward, offering her hand and not looking off-put when Shinobi didn't take it. "Of course. Follow me, he- they refused anyone in the room apart from Dr McCoy, Charles, Moira and....Madelyne." Haven winced at that last bit and Shinobi could only imagine what it could mean. Did Sebastian demand that she stay? To keep someone the smallest bit familiar that he could stand? Perhaps he liked it when Madelyne presence could soothe something in him, like a twisted beast disguise as a beauty.

No, that was ridiculous. Shinobi's father could take more comfort from a wrinkled bill rather than any person.

Fabian though? Yeah, that made sense she'd be there.

Shinobi was led through the halls, where he saw the rest off his team waiting about. Alice was leaning against Pyro, frowning as he rambled on about something to make her feel better. That was good of him, Pyro often than not was able to pull through on comfort far more easily than he thought he could. He'd hold on just fine until Dom came over to help him out.

Claudine was leaning against a wall, nodding at Haven after looking up from her phone and rapidly texting. Shinobi didn't want to think about what she would hope to gain from whatever happened to his father.

But what was surprising was the fact that the rest of the Acolytes were standing around near the doorway, Anne Marie being helped by Delgardo, who was passing her a glass of water as the blue haired woman took a sip and cradled her head. Also...Quicksilver was there. Which Shinobi didn't want to think about why other than him being on he mission with Fabian and Sebastian.

All of these people for the worst men on Krakoa...it was astounding honestly. "Are you ready?" The tall woman was weirdly insistent on making sure Shinobi was prepared for something he wasn't even sure about yet. But he liked surprises for the most part, maybe this would be one of them. Or better yet, this whole charade was just some sort of...surprise birthday party. You never knew, he certainly didn't know when his birthday was. Father was never big on celebrating milestones that just reminded him of the disappointment he seeded years ago. Ugh.

Shinobi nodded, adjusting his tie and taking in a deep breath as the door opened up. Whatever this was, he could easily handle it. Contrary to belief, Shinobi was capable of doing tasks for his fa-

Oh.

"Oh." Shinobi said.

"Oh." Haven agreed with a small sigh, covering her mouth at the unfortunate sight.

"Oh." Charles Xavier, sitting by a table in the room, seemed to think that this was the best greeting.

"Oh?" A new voice, deep enough that Shinobi could feel it rumble in his chest, deep enough that it caused he windows to shake gently. The voice belonged to a horror of a nightmare and oh god Shinobi was going to become a nun or whatever the hell meant he could never look at evil again. Because this?? This was evil.

He was big. Like, eight or nine foot big. Fucking stacked with the small pouch of fat that all middle aged people got eventually. There were also stretch marks across his skin and Shinobi wished that he had the decency to either cover himself or to just not wear a shirt at all, with the way that he wore ONLY sleeves that were buttoned above his ridiculously big man boobs, the type of man boobs that only jacked guys or the Blob had and the type that Shinobi prayed every night that he wouldn't get one day. Thank god his pants stayed on, despite how...hugging they were.

His face was chiselled enough, with a shady stubble that definitely make a picture with the brownish-red hair that was currently tied up in a ponytail trailing down his back and Shinobi couldn't help but notice the fact that his eyes were practically glowing blue among a pitch black scelara.

"Shinobi, I HOPE that you aren't going to just STAND there and stare like a FOOL." The same deep rumble was back and with every word that was seemingly emphasised, Shinobi not only heard his father's voice, but also a deep surge of something that made a churning feeling arrive in his chest and stomach. He didn't need to stand around here to know that he didn't like the way that another set of eyes opened up and stared from what was supposed to be Sebastian Shaw and Fabian Cortez's throat and left cheek. He also didn't like how a crunching noise led to another set of arms, just as muscular as the first pair.

Haven seemed to catch on to what he was feeling, she always did. And the kindly woman was quick to carefully place herself between the...two? Three? Of them. Luckily Fabian's liking for Haven seemed to transpire over to Sebastian and the giant's eyes softened as he stared down at her.

Well. Shinobi would feel traumatised over that later. It would give him something to do when he wasn't partying.

"Okay, let's...take a deep breath and...try to think about this. After all," Haven dropped her hands and winced, obviously thinking back to something Shinobi had missed. "We don't want a repeat of what happened to Scott when he tried to get you two to split up..." Shinobi didn't know it now, but he would definitely laugh later when he heard how Scott blasted an eye beam when Fabastian got too rowdy, only for his own lasers to bounce off him and.. seemingly emit from Fabastian's own eyes. Beast and Chrome had suspected that rather than increasing other mutant's powers or absorbing them in force, Fabastian took the power in and replicated it in a more extreme force, rather than a simple absorption like Rogue did.

Fabastian sighed and nodded, turning away to stare out the large windows, his awful back...rippling. ugh. How did someone ripple that much? It was gross and unnatural and ugh, oak trees were skinnier than Fabastian's arms. It was like bear meets bear meets bear with a bear with a steroid problem. "We are absolutely SURE that we can fix it BECAUSE, no one can even BEGIN to be trusted with this!"

Then, as an afterthought and lower to himself, Fabastian added, "And it isn't like any of you will be willing to help me or him or us or what makes this form so brilliant."

Behind them all, Pietro seemed to wince and look away, like be didn't agree with that sentiment. Which was fair, Shinobi didn't like it either so Blues Twinky Clues had a very good point there.

"Um. Okay." Shinobi made the effort to try and ignore the way that his - father? Guy he didn't want at orgies or doing drugs? Or anywhere near him? - Spoke. "So. Um. I think...this is a big problem and Haven is absolutely right when she thinks that this shit is weird and we need to-"

He barely got to finish before large hands were shooting out for him. Haven...she tried to stand in the way again but it seemed that Fabastian's emotions had taken over and large hand roughly shoved her away, causing Haven to slide across the room and into the back of a wall. Funny enough, almost no one noticed the flare of darkness coming across her eyes and spilling out of her mouth as she took the sudden force and was...seemingly okay.

Everyone else though, took it as the motion of "oh fuck they're angry time to fight" and now Shinobi was suddenly surrounded by a room of heroes, villains for hire and whatever Pyro was, as they took the big fight scene poses. Completely ready to get their asses kicked if you asked Shinobi.

After all, no one went up against any part of Sebastian Shaw and came away perfectly fine. He always hurt you in some little way that maybe you won't notice for months until someone sneered or yelled at you in the right way and your stomach would clench and you would start to shake because they were right, he was right about everything when it came to how awful you were but you could never hope to say anything to defend yourself.....ahem. Shinobi was getting ahead of himself there but the point still stood; You never won in a war with Sebastian Shaw, even if you had won the battle of that day.

And maybe someone would think that seeing Haven getting supposedly hurt would make Shinobi be more heroic and actually stand up for her for once. That having everyone in the room, including Anne Marie who normally would never harm a mutant so long as she knew stood on her side, was now staring intently at the awful muscular being and...well, fuck. It was going to be one hell of a showdown and Krakoa would definitely be busy over the next few weeks bringing people back to life. That is, if Fabastian didn't explode on impact, like am oversized balloon.

And maybe you would expect Shinobi himself to start fighting. To finally take a big stand against his dad and the asshole that kept ruining the good parties and orgies.

No.

Instead, Shinobi took a step back, a deeper intake of air that seemed to keep on running away from him. His eyes were wider by the second as Fabastian took a step forward and something pulsed within him that....well, he didn't like thinking about the sudden sharp fear, like he was a deer in headlights. Only that the headlights were an overzealous and violent man who was currently screaming over how; "He KNEW you would all betray him how DARE you ALL!" You know, the scary shit that you tended to hide from when an incredibly creepy guy and your scary parent were getting into that awful mood.

Instead, Shinobi decided that dying again wasn't worth it. And something in him twisted and turned in an ugly manner as the sight of familiar eyes shifting in anger as they took in all of the opponents they would hurt and prove their worth to. He didn't want to die like this and something in Shinobi (the part of him that went "that catch of tequila will fuck you UP" And was usually right) told him that he especially didn't want to die by his father's hand.

It was cowardly. To step back and simply...phase through the floor before Fabastian could touch him. He couldn't deal with this. Not right now. There was nothing funny about the current situation or the anger that was taking hold in a normally coll and collected man. Right now, all Shinobi cared about was getting to safety for himself. Maybe finding Storm because even when he was being awful and flirty, he did admittedly admire how she was seemingly never scared by what she faced.

And besides, he could always laugh at Pietro being punted into Anne Marie out of a window later.

[anxtheroliveinthehouse]

I saw your requests were open!! Hello!! Can I request a L from death note reader insert (that is if you make up your mind about your feelings on writing them, if you’re not comfortable I completely understand) with a Soulmate AU?

Hello! Thank you for requesting! I’m sorry it took a few days for me to respond but I had finals this week and I was also very ill on the one day I had off ;-; 

I thought since you were the first to request and it is the festive season, I might as well do a reader insert. You requested a really broad scenario so I hope you don’t mind me writing this story as the AU but if it had occurred “before” the events of Death Note and as a first meeting (as I imagine it happening). It also turned out really long because I actually loved writing this. It’s a little angsty as well (again I hope you don’t mind). If you’re down for another part to this story with a bit more fluff, I’m fully ready to write (**types aggressively**). Happy Holidays (★^O^★)

Request: 26) Soulmates AU, Reader insert

Anime: Death Note

Character(s): L

Relationship(s): Reader x L

Words: 3227

It had always been a struggle to the train station after your last class on Thursdays. Whether it was your professor running over time or the slow running elevator and crowded stairwells, there was always something that kept you from leaving the building when you should. Or perhaps, as it was in that moment, a torrential rainstorm darkening the once beautiful day in Tokyo. You didn’t mind the rain, however it seemed to always come at inconvenient times. Especially on the days when you were carrying large amounts of your artwork to and from the university. 

Your large, black portfolio case- large enough to carry poster boards in- was tucked tightly under your arm in hopes that the copious amount of rain wouldn’t soak through. Your assignments, projects, everything of importance to you and for your classes were inside and with the inconvenient rain, you knew you were screwed. For a second, you stood at the entrance to the art building looking lost at the sight before you: obscuring amounts precipitation, wet cement, dripping gutters, deep puddles.  

Of course, you had forgotten your umbrella in your fervor to leave on time that same morning. You didn’t think to check the weather while fighting with your backpack, forcing it to fit all of your supplies. In fact, the only thing extra you left with was a protein bar sticking out between your teeth. Besides, you couldn’t be bothered with carrying on. There was no room in your backpack for a travel-sized one and you didn’t have extra hands to carry everything you need. To even get out the door, you need one hand to close and lock the apartment door and the other to fumble with the ridiculously long case. You certainly couldn’t hold an umbrella while trying to deal with your case, train passes, and eventually keys on your journey back home. Maybe it was for the best that you didn’t even think to bring one. You would have spent too much time struggling with it. 

It was only a ten minute walk to the station, and with your light jogging pace you got there sooner. You quickly descended the steps and into shelter from the rain. Surrounding you were the usual for a busy station, people milling about, some running to their desired platforms or destinations, and the walls plastered with advertisements. There were a few that made your stomach knot uncomfortably, even after seeing almost every day for the past year or so. Somehow the message being conveyed wasn’t as happy and cheerful to you as the advertisers were trying to come off as. Get you Soul Mark removed with DermCare Lasers!

You avert your eyes as you pass the smiling men and women in the photos showing off clear skin where presumably their Soul Mark once were. You didn’t understand the purpose of Soul Marks, but you also didn’t understand some people’s obsession with trying to get rid of them. Regardless of the miraculous biological, genetic, statistical, and even religious observation, study and knowledge of Soul Marks, there wasn’t a definite answer to why they existed. Despite being born with a birthmark that you and only one other person in the world carried, it didn’t mean that you weren’t meant to be with them. There were plenty of people who ignored their marks and choose who they wanted to be with. Though, the data clearly showed those who sought for their matches in Soul Marks worked out better in the long run. 

You weren’t sure what to think of yours. The mark was definitely a part of you, so you didn’t want to get rid of it. It was a permanent option to get it removed, and a very painful one at that. However, you also didn’t like the idea of a set destiny or fate. Choice was a very important thing to you. There were a lot of things you couldn’t control in life and your mindset was to make that amount as little as possible. The idea of having no control over who it was you were meant to be with by God, the Universe, or even some mathematical mistake was terrifying, no matter who or what was pulling the strings.

The hand around your case’s straps tightened considerably. You were allowed to be angry, you told yourself. Everyone had a different way of coping with the marks. As kids, people were told to ignore the marks until they were old enough to understand. However, the prevailing and ever present culture was already planting the seeds into kids’ minds swaying them to try and find their matches despite the contrary words of parents and elders. In fact, those same parents and elders were often hypocritical. If a child found their match at an early age, there was a lifelong push for the children to marry once they were old enough, essentially grooming them to only expect everlasting love from oftentimes a stranger. 

Movies, TV shows, and books often presented these scenarios as desirable. You found them creepy. You didn’t understand the appeal of falling head over heels for someone who you wouldn’t think twice about if you hadn’t seen their mark. In fact, it was a common trope in comedies to see one of the characters remark how unattractive someone was only to find out that very same unattractive person was actually their match. Then, all of the sudden the two characters were madly in love and found each other irresistible. Really, how shallow could they be?

It really didn’t matter. It wasn’t like you were going to find your match anyways.

——————————————————————————–

Somewhere in the absolute chaos that was the Tokyo underground, there was an unexpected delay and so your usual line was cancelled. The closest station to your apartment was more walking and an even longer train ride. You kicked the digital sign announcing the cancellation with fury. Immediately, you regretted your decision as pain flared through your foot. Fellow passengers and general onlookers gave you curious, yet disturbed stares and glances as you grabbed your foot and hopped.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow.” 

After the pain subsided enough to let your foot down, you gave another glance at the sign and looked beneath it to the map to see what else you could do. There was a line that took you to a more commercial area near where you lived. It was still going to be a longer walk back home, but the train was coming sooner than the others and was a shorter journey. You also reminded yourself that you could visit one of the many cafes in that neighborhood. It sounded like a really good idea once you realized that you could wait out the storm and not have to walk back in the pouring rain. Not to mention a hot beverage to warm you up. So you raced to the platform and hopped aboard, thinking dreamily about what you wanted to order. 

It was on the way up to the cafe, one that sat within a multi-story commercial building, that you noticed a man sitting on the adjacent building’s rooftop in the rain. As you lingered in the landing of the cold, harshly lit, and echoey stairwell, it struck you as bizarre. You stopped to gaze at the man in the rain. Under any other situation, you would have left him be. He obviously didn’t want anyone’s company sitting out in the rain like he was. However, you had a very imaginative mind. It was one of the reasons why you excelled in visual art, but it often ran away with outlandish ideas if you weren’t careful. That was why when you had turned away from the window you saw the man through, you felt a twinge of guilt. What if he needs help? Sick or injured? What if you didn’t help and he died?

You rolled your eyes and huffed. Why were you like this? You turned back around to the door that led to the rooftop and left your portfolio case next to it. You pushed through the door aggressively and made your way over to the man. 

He was tucked into what looked like a very uncomfortable position. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his hands cupped them neatly, and his back bowed against the concrete wall that served as a base for the fence that surrounded the rooftop. Through the rain that fell into your eyes and the wind that whipped your hair around so high up, you studied him. 

You watched as his eyes adjusted to your feet in front of him. Slowly, they worked their way up to your face. He looked small and empty. His dark eyes showed no expression, his mouth neutral, and his shoulders while hunched didn’t really seem tight with stress. He looked completely okay to you health-wise. Maybe it was his mental health that needed to be checked out.

“Can I help you?” He asked in a quiet and impassive voice.

“I was wondering why you were sitting in the rain?”

He paused for a moment, those dark eyes still burning a hole in you and his equally dark hair plastered around his thin, pale face. He then tilted his head up towards the sky. His eyes flitted shut with the harsh oncoming drops.

“Oh, I hadn’t even noticed.”

Your mouth twisted involuntarily with a lot of different emotions. Confusion and unsettled were the two that seemed to stick out the most.

“Okay, so … Do you need anything?” You asked still trying to be polite.

His mouth opened as if he were about to answer, but he snapped it shut after further consideration. His gaze fell back to your feet and became unfocused.

“No, I don’t believe there is anything pressing that I need at the moment.”

The rain seemed much louder than it had before. The constant drumming was deafening once the man finished his sentence. Your apprehensiveness continued to grow. The urge to take slow steps back to the door was strong, but for whatever reason you fought against it.

“Are you sure?”

He didn’t look up to you and his blank expression never wavered. “Yes, I’m sure.”

You crouched down to his level and matched his stare. Your eyes caught his and at once the world seemed to stop. Something about him made it seem like you and him both had all the time in the world to be sitting there in the rain. It was something about his eyes, you thought. They were too dark and the bags under them were too deep, especially since you guessed he was around your age. Yet, you couldn’t help but think that maybe he had seen and experienced a lot more than you had. 

You hold your knees like he did. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

His demeanor changed considerably. It went from cold and robotic to something akin to amusement. His eyes lit up as his attention had been fully won over by something you did. His expression was much like a cat that had set its sights on its prey. You recoiled from its intensity.

“Worried for a stranger, are you?” His mouth opened into a smile. “Very friendly, indeed.”

You felt like you needed to defend yourself, “I was only trying to be nice.”

He hummed in consideration, “Perhaps, but I don’t accept that people are just nice. So if you would let me humor myself, could I try to understand your motivation for coming out here?”

You weren’t sure how to respond to his question, but he began speaking again without an answer.

“I’ll describe the situation from your point of view. If you could, correct me if I’m wrong. A man on the rooftop all alone in the pouring rain. You see him and come rushing to his aid in case he was in need of your help? Because perhaps he was hurt in some manner?”

“Well, yeah?”

He chuckled breathily and brought the tip of his thumb to his lips, “What did you expect in return for helping me?”

“What?”

“You saw a benefit in helping me, what was that benefit?”

“That I get to help another human being?” Your voice was starting to get louder and more tense. “Here, come on. I’ll buy you a cup of coffee at the cafe next door.”

His eyes followed your hand which was outstretched towards him. He was thinking, you could see it somewhat now that he was biting the tip of his thumb. It must have been a habit of his.

Your eyes met his again as he accepted your offer tentatively. 

“Friendly, indeed.” He repeated.

When you both stood up, you took in his statue. He was a little taller than you, perhaps more so if he weren’t slouching as much. His shoulders upon further inspection may have been slouched in a way that looked like he was tense. It looked like he was carrying a heavy burden, stupidly reminding you of the ancient Greek story of Atlas, the titan who held up the sky and heavens. However, no sooner than that unnecessary though filled your head, a sudden and heavy weight suddenly crashed upon you as if you had taken over Atlas’ job.

Once that odd man stood and his white long-sleeved shirt was exposed, you could see clearly through the wet material. On his chest was his Soul Mark clear as day. It was very pigmented against his pale skin and stood out even more so with the shirt. You would have maybe looked away if it were anyone else with any other mark. Yet, with your awful luck and this goddamn inconvenient rain, you could clearly see that his mark was the exact same as yours. There was no mistaking it. You’ve spent your whole life staring at your mark, unhappy that it was there, but too used to it to get rid of it. Sometimes you wished you were born without one. Then, you wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of a chance encounter like this one.

You must have not moved for a long time. He caught you glaring at his mark and glanced down as well. His hand touched the wet shirt, the tips of his fingers dragging over the mark.

“Do you recognize it?” He asked, his voice much softer than before.

You couldn’t lie to him. Your head bobbed unevenly with your jerky nodding, “It’s my match.”

This took him by surprise. His usual wide-eyed stare was wider and curious. 

“Interesting,” he murmured, “The probability of meeting you was already slim to none, and considering who I am and what I do …”

Your stomach sank even further. What he was saying sounded like he was probably a serial killer or something.

“Let’s go inside, to the cafe?” He bent down to level his face with yours before walking towards the door. 

You dumbly followed, still in shock and really unable to comprehend anything other than your impending doom. It was like everything had narrowed down to a single point in your life, where meeting your match was not merely a coincidence, but a certainty. As much as you tried to struggle against fate and pull away from losing control something so personal as finding your soulmate, it hadn’t really mattered in the end. You still ended up in the most ironic of circumstances, finding the very person who shared the exact same birthmark in a very uncharacteristic move. You thought sarcastically that you shouldn’t help anyone else out of the kindness of your heart ever again.

The door shut heavily behind them in finality. The sound echoed up and down the stairwell. Then, there was an eerie silence. No more rain in the background to blanket and surround you.

You pushed your dripping hair out of your face and locked eyes with him again. “What’s your name?”

You might as well ask. The thing you have been fretting over and having anxiety about was now happening. You had lost the will to care about panicking and being overly blunt.

He looked uncomfortable, “I go by L.”

“L?” Your head fell with disbelief. “Like the letter?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe that’s your real name.”

“It isn’t my real name, no. I just happen to go by it, like a nickname, or an alias.”

You considered him for a moment, “Why?”

“My work.” L tucked his hands in the pockets of jeans. “It’s quite dangerous. I don’t like others knowing my personal information. Of course, you can find a lot about someone with just a name and description of appearance.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I’m a detective. A private detective would probably be a better title, though I often find cases to study and solve without an initial client.”

You looked him up and down again, “How old are you?”

“How old are you?” He countered.

“I’m in university, third year.”

“I’m a little younger than you, a year or so. Depending on your age, you could be young for a third year?”

“I am.” 

L had that weird, open-mouthed smile again. “What’s your name, then? Since we’re going to be playing twenty questions?”

You couldn’t help but grin at his sarcastic tone. “My name is [YN].”

“Well, [YN], I’m afraid I can’t accept your offer for coffee.”

You had completely forgotten about what you had said to get L out of the rain. You had gone through a complete cycle of emotions since then and couldn’t be bothered to remember.

“I don’t mind,” You say, “It doesn’t hurt my feelings at all.”

He cocked his head and studied you for a brief moment, “I’m glad to have met you. Regardless of the strange circumstances.”

You felt sick once more, but there was a bit of relief in realizing that L was not what you had expected and he certainly didn’t expect some heartfelt gestures from finding his match.

“I’d like to keep in touch.” L said fumbling around his back pocket, looking for something. “After all, I wouldn’t mind having an artist around.”

“How did you-?”

No sooner than you had uttered those words his eyes dropped to your portfolio case then back up to you. You felt a flush rising in your cheeks and ears. Your portfolio case had your name on it, of course he would have assumed it belonged to you.

“So you’re an artist.” L said. “I’d thought initially you were an architect and that was based on your clothing. However, with more deduction, I was only thirty-seven percent sure.”

“My clothing,” you said jokingly angry, “What about my clothing?”

“Never mind that. You’re case distracted me. It’s quite large. I had thought you were carrying designs for equally large projects.”

“Wow, thanks for noticing my large portfolio case.”

L’s smile grew larger, “I must take my leave. I will keep in touch.”

He began to descend the stairs in an unhurried manner. As reached the first landing, a cell phone went off and you saw, before L turned the corner, that it had been his.

“Hello? Yes, Watari. I’m on my way down, I’ll be out there soon …”

You stopped listening as you knees wobbled under your weight. You fell against the stairs and curled up into a ball. What the hell just happened?

[dtmwsboy]

A New Year’s Weekend in Palm Springs

my Sir DomTopMW tasked me to pen a recap of my weekend with Him, and as a result, i’ve written the following piece of smutty non-fiction. Enjoy!

~

On the first weekend of the new year, i found myself once again sitting in traffic, my boydick twitching in my skinny jeans. It was Friday, i had just finished work, and now i was driving out from Los Angeles to Palm Springs for the weekend. i’d become accustomed to taking this sort of weekend trip every few weeks or so — the promise of an idyllic weekend with Sir awaiting me at my destination — yet that is not at all to say it had become routine. On the contrary, a weekend with Sir had consistently proven to be a blissful respite to the mundanity of weekdays spent at a passionless job, an invigorating indulgence of my submissive desires, and a rapturous re-experience of being under the control of the skilled, sexy dominant man that is Sir.

Aside from a rest stop to use an enema to ensure my ass was clean for Sir, it was a straight shot to Palm Springs, arriving at the hotel at around 7:45 pm. i got out my car, grabbed my backpack and water bottle from the backseat, then grabbed the ticket from the valet. As i entered the hotel, i texted Sir to let Him know that i’d arrived. A moment later, He replied with the room number. As i took the elevator to the second floor and walked down a long stretch of hallway to the room, i could feel my hard boydick leaking all over my jockstrap.

Finally arriving at the door, i knocked. A moment later, the door opened, and there was Sir standing on the other side, greeting me with a warm smile. Just seeing Sir in the flesh after weeks without Him always fills me with such pleasure. Everything about Sir exudes this dominance and virility — a stocky man with a clean-shaven head, salt-and-pepper beard, piercing gaze, and disarming grin — that instantly makes me feel at home. He welcomes me inside and i enter.

As i set my things down, He closes the door behind me. He tells me to take off my clothes, and i promptly do so. As i remove my clothes, i show off my hairless ass, chest, and boydick (having waxed and shaved those areas of my body in the days prior since i know that is what Sir prefers). When i’m down to my jockstrap, He tells me to keep them on, and so i do. i then kneel, clasp my hands behind my back, and bow my head. i hear the sound of clinking metal behind me and my boydick instantly pulsates in anticipation. i feel Sir approach behind then feel the familiar cold of a metal chain on the back of my neck. He reaches around my neck and clicks a tiny lock shut around the ends of the chain. As soon as i hear that lock click, i exhale, all the tension and stress of everyday life fading away, as i once again resume my place as Sir’s collared sub boy. Knowing His effect on me, Sir presses His nude form against my kneeling presence from behind, running His hands over my shoulders and through my hair. i breathe deeply, lost in His touch, until suddenly He has me stand. He turns me around and pulls me into a kiss. I open my mouth and receive His tongue, His beard rubbing against my clean-shaven face, His lips enveloping my lips. His tongue skillfully probes my throat, coating my tongue with His saliva as i revel in the taste of His kiss.

Finally pulling back, Sir walks over to the bed, lies on his back, then motions me to His cock. i promptly climb the bed and place my lips on His belly, peppering Him with kisses as my lips move down to His cock. As i wrap my lips around His semi-hard cock and inhale His manly scent, i let out the most satisfied muffled moan a sub boy could make. Sir groans in approval, placing His hands behind His head to relax, signaling His cocksucker to get to work. Eager to please, i wrap my lips around His cock with just the right tightness and begin to felate Him, careful to cover my teeth and mindful of running my tongue all over His cock as i suck Him, tasting His delicious precum. After some enraptured cocksucking, Sir tells me to focus my attention on His balls. With a wet slurping sound, my mouth pulls off His cock, and i start to run my tongue all over His balls. As i inhale His musky ball scent, it heightens my fervor, and i begin to more vigorously lick and suck on His balls. He groans in pleasure. i notice His cock grow harder. The harder it grows, the more irresistible it becomes, until i just have to take His perfect fat cock in my cocksucker mouth. i slip His cock back into my mouth and go to town. In and out, in and out, i drive my mouth all the way down, high off the taste and scent, lost in a cocksucker haze.

Finally, Sir stands from the bed. He has me kneel on the bed — on my elbows, ass up — and walks up behind me and kneads my ass with His hands. i then feel His beard rub against my ass, and moments later, His lips begin to kiss it all over as i groan in pleasure.

At a certain point, His teeth press into my ass, biting it. Now, although i’m no stranger to Sir’s sadistic tendencies, when they manifest in play, it does admittedly sometimes put me in a bit of a panic and momentarily take me out of my subspace. You see, i personally find no pleasure in pain and don’t have the highest tolerance for it, so when pain is inflicted on me by Sir, even though i always try my best to grit and bear it, it can illicit a strong reaction from me. However, i am always willing to endure it, no matter how much pain i feel, in order to earn His pleasure. So I grit and bear it, whimpering as Sir sinks His teeth in my ass.

After what’s most likely just a moment, He stops and moves His mouth over to my boyhole. As soon as i feel His tongue run up and down my hole, i let out a loud moan. Sir really knows how to tongue fuck a boy’s hole, and i knew i was in for a taste of nirvana. His tongue vigorously laps at my hole, up and down, before slipping inside and darting in and out of my boyhole. i’m absolutely loving it and vocally make it known. In between His tonguing, He inserts a big finger or two into my hole, eliciting louder moans from me. Sir gradually picks up the pace, tongue fucking my hole as i get more and more heated, reaching a point where i didn’t even need to beg for His cock; rather, my moaning and ass in the air were doing all the talking.

Sir’s mouth pulls away from my hole. He tells me to lie on my back. i promptly flip over, resting my head against the pillows. Sir then lifts my legs, presses His cockhead against my hole, and slowly pushes inside. Even though i use my fingers in the days prior to my weekend visits with Sir to make sure i’m ready to take Sir’s girth (i avoid using dildo so that my hole can be as tight as it can be for Sir’s pleasure), i always still find myself wriggling with discomfort as i adjust to His thick size. My brow furrows and face twists as i get re-accustomed to His cock. After a moment, he slowly starts to drive His cock in and out me. And after a few thrusts, my discomfort starts to melts away, gradually replaced by the euphoria of getting fucked by Sir. The feeling of His cock hitting my prostate just right every time, the sound of His balls rhythmically slapping against my ass, His piercing eyes boring into me lustfully as He reestablishes His ownership of my ass, it’s all incredible. Moaning with pleasure, Sir remarks how good my tight hole feels as He starts fucking me harder. In and out, his thick cock fucks me, pounding me as i just lay there, gazing up at Him, mouth agape. He starts to grin as He keeps fucking me hard. i smile back at Him as i continue moaning. He fucks me harder and harder and harder until He yells “Fuck!” and His cum erupts inside me. As I feel His cock pulse inside, i tighten my hole around it, reveling in the sensation, this connection between His primary sex organ and what has now become my primary sex organ — my ass — with His tutelage. He leans in and kisses me as His cum keeps pumping inside me. This moment is admittedly my favorite part, feeling Sir inside me in two different ways: His cock in my ass filling me with His cum, and His tongue in my mouth probing me. It is in those moments that i feel so utterly His.

After a few minutes, Sir finally pulls out of me. He goes to the bathroom, grabs a towel, and graciously wipes my hole. As He does this, He remarks that i seemed to be pretty sensitive to His biting during our play, given that i’ve withstood some painful electro play during previous weekends with Him. i remark that i suppose i’m just more sensitive to biting. “Oh really?” Sir says, as he leans down to where He bit my ass and sinks His teeth into that same exact spot. i wince and squirm, my face twisting in pain, muffled cries emanating from my mouth, as He bites that same area of my ass over and over again. When He’s finally done, He lifts His lips away, satisfied with the mark He made that would certainly remain on my ass for the next few days. i recall not particularly caring for this in the moment, but i do admittedly find some pleasure in retrospect at the thought of Sir marking His property.

We then get dressed. Neither of us having eaten dinner yet, we go out to grab a bite to eat. There, we have a chance to chat, catching each other up on our lives. It is a welcome opportunity to dabble in some pleasant and intelligent conversation. It is also these moments with Sir in public that helps further reaffirm to me that Sir is indeed a perfectly stable guy — one who can be friendly and witty and good, in addition to very sexy — and that i’m lucky to have met Him. After dinner, we start heading over to the gay bars, when Sir asks me if i’d want to stop in the room to take some of the edibles i brought before going out. i tell Him that i’d like that, so we return to the room, i take some of an edible, and then we head out.

Our first stop is Quadz: a bar whose appeal is their loop of classic gay-favorite musical numbers playing on screens all over the bar. Sir gets us drinks at the bar. We then find some seats and sip at our drinks as we watch a few numbers on a nearby TV: from Hello Dolly to Best Little Whorehouse in Texas. Once we finish those drinks, we move on to the Eagle: a leather bar with Tom of Finland art adorning the walls and a go-go boy putting on a show in the corner. Sir orders another round of drinks. We sit at the bar and chat some more, taking in the scene and sipping at our drinks. Once we finished those drinks, we walk back to the hotel. By now, i was starting to really feel the edible kicking in. However, we both seemed to be pretty tired by the time we got back in the room, so it’s no surprise that we drifted off to sleep quite soon after getting undressed (still collared though, of course) and climbing into bed.

i remember awaking at some point in the night, still high. And when i’m high, i am quite the cocklusting sub boy. i turn my head and notice that Sir too was awake and that He was holding a hardening cock in His hand. i stare into His eyes, and He smiles back at me. As if He willed it in me through hypnosis, i crawl over, wrap my lips around His cock, and take His cock all the way down my throat. my mouth must’ve been salivating profusely since i distinctly remember how quickly His cock was slickening as i eagerly took it deep down my throat. After a minute of sucking Him, Sir had me rearrange myself in a 69 position so that he could have access to my ass while i continued sucking His fat cock. i was moaning as i rhythmically bobbed my mouth up and down, His cock getting slicker and slicker with my spit, all the while His tongue fucks my boyhole, coating it with His spit.

Finally, He tells me to stop sucking and sit on it. i immediately pull my lips off His cock, strands of spit connecting my lips to the head of His cock as i position myself into a squatting position facing him. i direct His slick erect cock to the entrance of my hole, then slowly squat down, moaning as the head of His cock opens my ass and His cock slides in, filling my boyhole up so perfectly once again. i squat up and sit back down, impaling myself on Sir’s cock deeper and deeper with each squat, my boydick rock hard as i ride Sir’s dick in ecstasy.

Sir suddenly sits up, His cock still balls deep inside me as He repositions us so that i’m lying on my back now. He starts thrusting into me. As much i love riding His cock, there is no question that taking Sir’s cock in my ass is at its best when He’s in control of the fucking. i’m sure i’m moaning louder than ever now. As He starts fucking harder, He grabs my boydick and starts stroking it with a smirk. For the past 6 months, Sir has consistently only given me permission to cum when His cock is fucking my mouth or ass, training me to only find pleasure in serving His cock, and i’ve loved every second of it. So as Sir starts fucking me harder and faster and starts stroking my boydick faster, i yearn for the release. The fact that it had been weeks since i last came (when i last served Him) combined with the thought of cumming as a means of furthering my submission to Him was bringing me very close to cumming very fast. i immediately ask for His permission to cum and He grants it. As He gets closer, He becomes more animal, pounding my boyhole harder and harder, His cock putting me in such a lustful state after just a few more strokes, i moan and my boydick shoots a huge rope of cum across my chest, shooting over and over again as a pile of cum pools on my hairless chest. Simultaneously, Sir cums deep inside my ass, grinning as He fucks another load of His cum into my ass, making me His, gratified by how much i clearly get off on getting fucked by Him. He remains inside me as His cum keeps on pumping into me until finally He pulls out. He gets a towel from the bathroom and kindly wipes me up.

Upon realizing to our amusement that we did all this at 5:30 in the morning, we got back into bed and fell back to sleep.

A few hours later, Sir and i had a delicious breakfast at a quaint French cafe across the street from the hotel. The weekend we chose to visit Palm Springs also happened to be the same weekend as the Palm Springs International Film Festival, so amidst our chat of various topics at breakfast, we discussed the possibility of seeing a movie at the festival. Upon returning to the hotel, i did some research and we settled on a film that seemed to pique both our interests. After getting tickets, we decide to kill some time relaxing, cuddling in bed while watching part of a silly movie on Netflix. After a certain point, to ensure we have enough time to grab dinner before the film, we turn off the TV, get dressed, and leave the room.

Before heading to dinner though, Sir had something else in mind. We drove to a store — fittingly named GayMartUSA — and Sir told me that He would like to buy me two pieces of underwear as a gift for me for the holidays, which once again reaffirmed how grateful i am to serve a caring dominant man like Him. We browsed through a few different styles, but i ultimately settled on a red-and-blue jockstrap and a light blue g-string. We then grabbed some dinner, after which we headed to the movie. The movie was called Dogs Don’t Wear Pants, and it ended up being about a man seeking the services of a dominatrix to deal with the grief of his wife’s death. While it was a film about BDSM, it had very little overlap with the style of kink that Sir and i partook in so it didn’t really serve to give us any ideas, but it at least made for some interesting conversation at a nearby gay bar as we nursed our go-to drinks and tried to dissect what the film meant.

Upon returning to the hotel, i take an edible, and then we decide to mindlessly watch something on Netflix. By the time we were done with Netflix, i’m in quite the high, frisky state, so as soon as i see Sir’s cock hardening, i look to Sir’s eyes for approval then have my lips engulfed around it in an instant. And just like that, i’m back in cocksucker heaven, taking Sir’s beautiful, tasty cock down my throat. At a certain point, i get bolder and start trying to go as deep as i can go, deep throating Him. Sir groans in approval, placing His hand on the back of my head, ensuring that my cockslut mouth goes as deep as He wants it to go every time i go down.

After a few minutes of this, He sits up and positions me so that i’m on my back with my head hanging on the edge of the bed. He climbs off the bed, angles my head down, and slips His cock into my eager mouth, pushing all the way deep down my throat, staying like that for a few seconds, then pulling back out. He begins to do this over and over again, each time keeping His cock down my throat for longer and longer periods of time. i struggled to handle His deep throat training as best as i could but at a certain point, i find myself unable to breathe, slightly panicking as i squirm my way off His cock to gasp for air.

Moments later, Sir decides to pull out, His cock coated in my spit. He repositions me on the bed so that i’m lying on my back with my head on the pillows, then lifts my legs up and slides His cock all the way in. Once again, my boyhole was full of His perfect cock. He starts fucking me hard and i’m loving it. His manly grunts complementing my boyish moans. His thick man cock fucking my boyhole while my boydick just wiggles with each thrust, a large wet spot of precum pooling near my navel. The thought of my rock hard boydick just there, it’s only function being an indicator to Sir of just how much i love my place as His cockslut sub boy, all the while Sir’s superior, thicker cock fucks my boyhole — cementing in my mind that my primary pleasure unquestionably now comes from Sir’s cock fucking me as opposed to my own boydick — it’s only so much a cocklusting sub boy can handle. i ask Sir if i can have His permission to cum, and He graciously allows it. Within a few strokes of my boydick and some hard pounding of my boyhole, cum starts spurting out my piss slit, once again streaking across my hairless, boyish chest.  Sir growls as He cums inside me once again. As always, He stays inside me to make sure my ass gets all the cum He can give and leans in, passionately kissing me. His cock remains hard in my ass for quite some time as i take His tongue before it gradually starts to soften and He finally pulls out. Sir then cleans me up with a towel. Since he was particularly aggressive with the throat fucking, He asks if i'm okay. i recall wryly replying that i’m sure i’d be fine in the morning, since my throat was admittedly a bit sore after His deep dicking. Did i regret it though? Absolutely not. We then took a quick shower and went to sleep.

The next morning, we awoke at around 9 am. We had some hotel room coffee and made some conversation. Knowing we had to check out by 11 am, i think we both tacitly come to the same conclusion as Sir’s cock and my boydick start to harden once again. We quickly pack our things and then get back into bed. i immediately place my lips at His cockhead and proceed to slurp my way down, eliciting a gratifying “Fuck” from Sir. For the next ten minutes, i give Sir a nice long wet blowjob as He gazes down at me with a smile. Even just His stare makes me feel so utterly owned by Him. Even with just a stare, He can make me feel so much pleasure.

Eventually, He pulls out and has me place my head on the edge of the bed. He climbs off the bed and positions Himself such that i have a perfect view of His erect cock, big hanging balls, and hairy ass and taint right above me. His balls being closest to my mouth, i immediately bring my lips to them and start lapping at them with fervor, deeply inhaling His intoxicating scent, tasting His cum-filled balls. After getting a good taste of His balls, i bring my tongue over to His delicious taint and start lapping at it and inhaling it like the good hungry slut boy i am. After a minute or two of my tongue worship, Sir eventually pulls back and thrusts His cock down my throat, fucking it as He reaches over and starts stroking my boydick. Muffled moans of pleasure escape my lips. i know Sir wants me to cum once more while taking His cock, further rewiring my brain to associate my pleasure with His scent, His cock, His cum. i slip His cock out of my mouth for a moment to ask for His permission to cum, He grants it, and i immediately slip His cock back inside and go to town, sucking with incredible vigor. We get closer and closer and closer until i finally moan, spurting the last of the cum left in my boy balls, ensuring that all the cum drained from them was done while taking Sir’s cock, and it feels so good. Moments later, Sir pulls out of my mouth, gives His cock a few strokes, then groans in pleasure as His cock shoots cum all over my lips, chin, neck, and chest. i ravenously slurp up all the cum my tongue can get to, savoring its delicious salty taste as i slurp and swallow like a good little cumslut. After a minute, Sir pulls out of my cocksucker mouth, walks over to the bathroom, and throws me a towel. He allows me to shower, He takes off my metal chain collar, and then we grab our things and leave the hotel.

Before heading off to our respective cities though, we make sure to grab breakfast at that delicious French cafe once again. Once we finish there, Sir decides to check out a few stores, wanting to get an idea of a collar He could get for me to wear in my day-to-day as a constant reminder of His ownership of me while also being discrete (particularly, we were thinking a thinner metal chain necklace would work). We browse a few shops and get a pretty good idea of some good collar options. We then return back to the hotel, get our cars from the valet, then embrace goodbye before getting into our vehicles and driving off.

All in all, i think it’s safe to say that i experienced yet another incredible weekend with Sir and that i very much look forward to the next one.