#so I’m going half that slow ass speed at a ridiculous mark-up

[floral-hex]

Moved into this apartment and only had 1mbps internet, which is… bad. good luck watching anything.

Called yesterday and they said they could only pump it up to 7.5mbps due to the building’s wiring, which is a tiny bit better and I suppose I’ll take what I can get for now just so I can actually use the internet.

A few hours later, I’m now sitting on a whopping 768kbps plan at $40 a month, which is absolute bullshit! WHAT!? I didn’t even know you could get internet that slow! What happened?? I might as well go back to dial-up. And $40! Is that my idiot tax for trusting them?

Just give me decent internet, please, I beg you 😫

[inkykeiji]

anonymous said: i would like to suggest, keigo having you on speed dial to call you up and use you whenever he's too pent up because his public girlfriend wont sleep with him. you feel guilty for being the other woman but you were such a big fan of his. you want to end this but keigo isn’t about to let his little bird get away

warnings: 18+, dubcon, rough sex, manipulation, minimal prep, cheating, mentions of caning, noncon photography, dacryphilia, slight degradation peppered with slight praise

words: 3.3k

Gentle vibrations coursing through your mattress and quivering softly against your skin rouse you from your half-conscious state, bleary eyes blinking slowly as you gain your bearings again. It’s late, the wall of full-length crystal windows allowing the moon’s beams to stream into your condo, weakened by the magnificent glow of the city below it, encased in halos of turquoise and jade and violet.

And then, the vibrations start again, and your heart drops.

You know who it is before you even glance at the screen of your phone. Only one person ever calls you this late.

You had been expecting it, to be honest. Crime has hit an all-time high, and it seems like every time you turn on the news, or scroll through your social media feed, there’s a fresh story about a new villain he’s just defeated, headlines in big bold letters, peppered with photos of windswept golden hair and an award-winning smile, or grainy footage of him zipping around, so fast he’s just a blur of gold and crimson, as he neutralizes the enemy, serif words chalk full of praise for the Number Two Hero. As always.  

It makes you sick, makes your stomach churn with a toxic mixture of guilt and revulsion.

Yet, in spite of this, your hand moves on its own, disobeying your brain as it screams at it to let it go to voicemail, just this once, thumb pressing that little green button before bringing the heavy electronic to your ear, quiet and groggy as you answer.

“I’m in the lobby,” his smooth voice, always laced with just a hint of cheekiness, flows through the speaker like melted chocolate, dark and decadent. “Let me in?”

You know he could get in on his own if he really wanted to—he chose this building for a reason, after all. He chose you for a reason, after all.

He could’ve had anyone—could still have anyone—he wanted, with a plethora of beautiful, adoring, devoted young women hanging on his every word, but he picked you. He picked you, because no matter how dedicated and supportive all of those other girls are, none of them have ever loved him the way you did—the way you do.

The feeling lingers, much to your disgust. It lingers when he gives you that gentle, private smile—the one the cameras have never seen, the one that he saves just for you, in the middle of the night after he’s filled you with cum and sucked his name into your neck; lingers when he murmurs sweet nothings into your hair, arms curling around you in the early morning sun; lingers when he fucks you stupid, until you’re a sobbing, drooling mess, until all you can think about is his cock.

The soles of your bare feet echo as they pad against the marble floor, powerless to stop the heavy sigh that slips from between your lips as you fiddle with the little keypad close to the front door, those soft beepbeepbeeps forcing chills to skitter across your skin.

Once, this condo had been everything you had ever wanted. Once, you had considered yourself lucky to be the mistress of such a well-known, distinguished, so-called good man. Once, you had dreamt of him, every single night, of lazy smiles and easygoing drawls, of wicked golden eyes and matching tousled hair.

Once.

Now, it feels like nothing but a cold, empty cage. Fitting, you snort to yourself, shaking your head a little.

Now, all of those extravagant items he had bought for you—the expensive coffee machine, the stupidly massive 4K TV, all of the shimmering dresses and lavish coats, the silk sheets outfitting your gigantic bed, the delicate Agent Provocateur lingerie—have bile rising in the back of your throat, coating your tongue in bitterness, dread sinking thick and heavy in your stomach, turning your blood to concrete in your veins.

Now, that golden gaze makes your skin crawl, those large, impossibly soft hands—protected by those ridiculous gloves, of course—make you want to scrub your body with scalding water until it’s raw, until you’ve ridded yourself of his stare, of his touch, of his scent—sickly sweet and sticky like toffee, blazing and spicy like cinnamon.

And yet, the feeling still lingers, taking root deep at the very core of your body, feeding off your soul like a fucking parasite.

Teeth clack against yours the moment your front door swings open, your body slammed up against the wall a second later as he skillfully kicks the door shut, producing an echo of tremors through the surrounding walls much too loud for three in the morning.

Hands, silky and smooth, are gliding up your bare thighs, playing with the hem of your lacy babydoll slip, lithe fingers tangling in it and pulling as he sucks on your tongue.

“Missed you,” he mumbles between kisses, catching your bottom lip and tugging on it just to hear you whine, a delicious chuckle vibrating against your mouth a moment later, inspiring a shameful, scalding heat to begin spreading in the pit of your belly. “So much,”

“Did you?” and you hate how breathless you already are, hate the way your head tilts and neck arches as his lips travel down the sensitive skin, nipping gently with his front teeth.

“You know I did,” he singsongs, but you can hear the irritation sown into his tone. Hands grip your shoulders, pinning you against the wall, a soft noise of surprise escaping your lips. “Mm,” he hums appreciatively, pulling back a little as lidded eyes scan your form, dark like thick caramel when they meet yours again. “You know this one’s my favourite,”

It is, composed entirely of scarlet lace that dips just below your sternum, the delicate material clinging to your body like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination.

His hands roam, taking the hem of the dainty fabric with him as he pushes it over your hips, up your abdomen and to your breasts, before letting the garment slide down your body again.

The softest, sweetest mewl of his name escapes your lips as the tip of his tongue flicks over a lace covered nipple, circling it once before taking it between his teeth and tugging slightly.

Another laugh, deep and dark, vibrates against your chest, while a hand slips between your thighs, a soft groan rumbling in his chest.

“Such a good, good girl for me, aren’t you?” Two fingers rub achingly slow circles into your clit, Keigo’s tongue darting out of his mouth to lick at a pert nipple again, drenching the lace in saliva. “Following the rules, just like I asked,”

A whimper catches in your throat and you nod, spikes of sharp fear shooting through your stomach as faded memories float languidly through your mind. You can barely remember it, brain so delirious from the pain that you hardly retained any of the experience, but the sound of the cane slicing through the air, mingled with the sound of your own wails echoing throughout the bachelor condo, the intense sting of its impact against your bare skin, the ache in your fingers from gripping the bedsheets that lingered for days later…Those you remember.

He had turned your backside into a brilliant piece of art, you remember him telling you, the morning after when gentle fingers were rubbing cream into your wounds, the obnoxious click! of his phone camera sounding a few moments later seared into your memory. Such a beautiful masterpiece, full of periwinkle and indigo, and it was all for him—because of him.

You couldn’t sit properly for a week and a half after the incident, and that you’ll never forget, either.

All because you had broken one teeny tiny rule, a rule you didn’t even know was a rule, a rule you thought he had been joking about—no panties when sleeping.

Two fingers pushing into your little hole snaps your mind back to the present, a whine falling from your lips as your hips push towards his palm, instantly craving more of him. Curved lips, formed in the shape of a sinful smirk, drag along your jaw as he murmurs to you. You like that, baby? Huh? Did you miss me as much as I missed you?

It’s only been a few days since you saw him last, but you find yourself nodding anyway, breathy little yeses exhaled through parted lips as his fingers pump in and out of you, knuckles curling with each pull out, catching on the spot that has you moaning out his name, that has you pathetically trying to fuck yourself on his fingers, that has you begging for more.

He’s always impatient anyway, barely takes any time to stretch you out—just enough so it isn’t uncomfortable for him, really, scissoring his fingers and grinding the heel of his palm against your clit until it’s throbbing, until he deems you wet enough to take him.

The drywall quivers as Keigo deftly spins you, shoving you against it, a low whine sounding in the back of your throat.

“I’m gonna fuck you in this,” he says decidedly, as if he’s just chosen what his lunch will be for tomorrow, big hands roaming over your ass, kneading and squeezing.

“Keigo, please, not here—”

“Shh,” he hushes you, and his voice is so gentle, so tender, gathering the delicate lace in his fists and pushing it up, up, up, until it bunches around your waist. “Be good for me, yeah?” sharp teeth sink into the back of your neck hard enough to break the skin, an alpha marking his territory, your responding cry muffled by the wall. “I’ve had such a long day,” he mumbles against you, licking over the bite. “Haven’t been able to stop thinkin’ about you all day, y’know,” his hips grind against your ass, hard cock nearly slipping between your cheeks and accentuating his point, the thin fabric of his grey sweatpants being the only barrier between you. “And that bitch couldn’t satisfy me right even if her life depended on it,”

His tone darkens at the end, and you hate the way it still manages to send a flock of butterflies fluttering through your stomach, hole clenching greedily around nothing.

“So be a good girl—” a slap echoes throughout the empty apartment as his palm collides with your skin. “—and lift your hips for me,”

And then he’s tugging, hands wrapped around your hips as blunt nails dig into your flesh and hoist up, forcing you onto your tiptoes. You obey, of course, because you always obey, aiding him by pushing your ass towards him, chest and cheek pressed up against the wall.

A shiver courses through your body as he leans away for a moment, taking his body heat with him, the shutter of his phone camera click!ing a few times in quick succession.  

“Fuck,” he breathes, heat returning as he taps the head of his cock against your soaking cunt, reveling in the soft, wet little slaps. “You’re so beautiful,”

And he sounds so honest, so sincere, unexpected tears springing into your eyes and blurring your vision. Because his words shouldn’t, they absolutely shouldn’t inspire a deep warmth to bloom in your chest, but they do. It’s selfish, and pathetic, and derisive, sour shame taking root at your core a moment later, black and inky and rushing through your veins, eating up the warmth in an instant.

But Keigo shatters it all a second later with one quick, sharp thrust, burying himself deep within you, cockhead nudging against your cervix.

A yelp hitches in your throat at the sudden action, tears spilling over your lashline as your little hole burns, struggling to accommodate his girth. “Too thick, Kei, too thick,”

He doesn’t care, he tells you with a breathless chuckle, hips setting a punishing pace right from the start, refusing you even a moment to adjust. He knows you love it, he says to you, words growled into your ear with a sadistic smile, punctuated by the harsh slap of skin against skin that accompanies each of his thrusts.

Your nails scrape against the drywall, trying in vain to grip something, anything, to keep you upright as he pounds into you. A harsh gust of wind swirls around you, cool against your heated skin, and then his wings are caging you in, slamming against the drywall with such force that bits of it crack and crumble. Your hands fly out to grip them, little fingers curling around the edges as you try to keep yourself steady for him.

The sweetest moan escapes his lips, hoarse and whiny in the back of his throat as you clamp down on them, fingers slotting through the sharp feathers, hissing through your teeth as they leave superficial cuts along your sensitive skin.

It’s beginning to build, that familiar heat pooling in the pit of your stomach, coiling tighter and tighter and tighter with each snap of his hips, broken whimpers and airy little Kei!’s slipping from your parted lips as your legs begin to tremble.

A deep growl rumbles in his chest as he tells you to keep standing, damn it, the order spit through clenched teeth as his fingers grip your hips, spots of blue and purple blooming under them.

You’re trying, you want to tell him, words leaving your throat in the form of pitiful little sobs as your fingers clutch his wings, joints aching and stiff from being curled in the same position for so long.

The heat is rising, higher and higher and higher until your choking on it, scalding your tongue and blistering your throat.

“M’gonna—” you gasp out, the words garbled with spit as teary eyes roll back in your skull.

“Yeah—Y-Yeah,” he encourages breathlessly, hips gaining more speed with each piston into you, cock repeatedly dragging against that spot, the one that alights your entire body, that shoots tingling sparks up your spine and through your veins. “C’mon, baby, cum for me, cum—” a low grunt cuts him off, hips stuttering. “—Cum on my cock,”

It’s pathetic, really, how quickly your body obeys, knees nearly buckling as uncontrollable mewls of his name escape your lips, catching in your chest with his ruthless thrusts as you gush around him, cute little cunt clenching almost painfully on his thick cock.

“Good—Good girl. Now beg for it,” and he’s nearly whining, voice cracking as his movements begin to falter.

Pleads spill from your lips before you even know what you’re saying, voice absolutely wrecked as you beg for him to please, gimme your cum, please k-keigo, want it, I want it, I want it, fill me up, please, please, please!

Honestly, how can he deny you when you’re asking so nicely, so prettily for him, hips messily pounding into you three more times before he stills, the weight of his body crushing you against the wall as his cock pulses, filling you with ropes upon ropes of thick, hot cum.  

And he’s relentless that night, insatiable that night—fucking you over the arm of the couch, deep and hard and fast, cockhead slamming against your bruised cervix as a hand fists in your hair and yanks you up, snarling out the dirtiest words as his lips graze your ear, then praising you for being such a good little cockslut for him; fucking you in your giant jacuzzi bathtub, nimble fingers digging into your hips as he forces you to ride him, reinstating the fresh bruises from not long before; fucking you into your plush mattress, sharp hipbones signing his name into the soft flesh of your inner thighs in blotches of navy and violet as endless tears leak from your eyes, streaming into your hairline, head beginning to throb from dehydration.

The sun is just beginning to rise, peaking over the horizon and painting the city in a soft golden light. The buzzing of a phone on your nightstand rouses you from your half-asleep state for the second time, lifting your head to blink blearily at Keigo, who rolls his eyes without even glancing at the caller. It’s her—you know it is, calling to ask him where the hell he is, if he’s alright, if he’s coming home soon, if he’s safe—and acrid guilt settles on your tongue.

He lets it go to voicemail without a second thought.

“I hate her,”

“Break up with her, then,”

“And what, date you?” he snorts, and although you know he doesn’t mean for it to, it still stings. Rolling over, he turns to face you, his head propped up by his palm. “You know I wish I could,” he says softly, his free hand reaching out to cup your cheek, fingers grazing your cheekbone. “You know I would if I could, but…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to—you’ve heard it a thousand times before.

Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.

But she’s the daughter of a world-renowned, established hero—you’re a quirkless nobody. But she’s good for his image, good for his brand—you’re not.

Sometimes, though, after he’s fucked you into a boneless mess, when he’s laying in your bed with a cigarette perched so artfully between his fingers, he opens up, allows you a tiny peak inside that gorgeous head of his.

Tonight it’s something you’ve heard before, but you don’t mind listening anyway, drawing nonsensical patterns on his bare chest, little fingers following the dips and curves of strong muscle, gliding under smooth skin that almost shines gold in the pale morning light, little blonde hairs catching in the beams as he breathes slowly.

It fucking sucks, he’s telling you, honey eyes trained on your finger’s movements, following its ministrations in a trance. He never wanted this—never asked for this, he admits to you, as he has so many times before, at four in the morning when the city is at its quietest, just before it begins to wake with the dawn of the sun. He hates it, all of the obligations and responsibilities that have been thrust upon him since he was a child.

“Sometimes I feel like my spine’s gonna fucking crack under all of it,” he laughs a little, though it’s wobbly and frail, looking away from you as he stubs out his cigarette.

“It’s just exhausting,” he flops onto his back with a deep sigh, staring up at the ceiling. And you can hear it, his voice heavy with fatigue, with the duties that have been forced upon him, the ideals he’s been forced to uphold, laced with a hint of melancholy.

It makes your heart ache, despite the derision you now feel towards him. You don’t know his struggle—never could, never will—but he looks so…sad, eyes desolate as they gaze up at nothing, lips pressed together in a thin line. And that spark of love, the one you repeatedly keep trying to snuff out, blazes with the need to comfort him.

Reaching over, gentle fingers card through his sweaty golden locks, soft and shining in the dim light. His chest rises and falls with the effort of another sigh, eyes closing briefly at your touch, nuzzling ever so slightly into you.

“But at least I’ve got you, right?” he rolls onto his side, hands finding your hips as he drags you towards him, pulling you into his embrace and crushing your body against his chest. “You’ll never leave me, will you, my little bird,”

And although it isn’t phrased as a question—because he already knows the answer—you respond anyway, swallowing thickly against the acid rising past the lump lodged in your throat. “No, Keigo, never,”

[honiboyyoon]

The CEO’s Son (M)

Your relationship with your boss’ son was never one HR would approve of...

Pairings: Jungkook x reader

Word Count: almost 4k

Warnings: smut, dont let someone talk to you like this at your work, jungkook having a size kink

A/N: LITHEN rayan wrote a jungkook size kink blurb and lotte kook came for my fucking throat and im not sorry!!!! reni get the four loko,,, bete.., i inked

When you first landed this internship, you couldn’t believe how lucky you were. The internship was actually well paying, incredibly insightful to your field once you graduated university, and you would even go as far as to say-although incredibly nerdy of you- it was very fun. Overall this internship at Jeon Enterprises was a dream come true. It was almost too good to be true, and that’s because it was. The bane of your existence as of late was your boss’ overly flirtatious, pompous, and ridiculously attractive son. Jeon Jungkook. With his stupid shaggy hair, God you simutanilousy wanted to run your hands through it to sniff it but also shave it off his stupid head. Then there was his stupid face, and his stupid body. You didn’t think a guy in a suit could affect you as much as it did, but here you are, ogling him from your desk as he’s stopped at the water cooler. As if sensing your stare, Jungkook turns his head and you two briefly make eye contact before you redirected your gaze to your computer screen. Yes, pretend like you’re doing work, he definitely didn’t catch you staring at him. As if he could hear your thoughts, Jungkook saunters over to you with a shit eating smirk plastered onto his face. I would give up my employee discount to slap that right off you think to yourself.

“How do you get any work done when your staring at me all day, baby?” Jungkook coos, he’s leaning against your cubicle divider, and his crossed arms are pulling his already tight fitting shirt more taught against his muscles.

“How do you have so much money, yet still can’t find a shirt that’s actually your size?” Your tone is falsely sweet but it has Jungkook grinning wider.

“Y’been staring at my bod that much to notice huh, Y/N?” This is your relationship with your CEO’s shit head son. He flirts, you sass and flirt back, you go home insanely sexually frustrated, rinse and repeat.

Your thoughts are interrupted by one of your supervisors reminding everyone of a meeting in five minutes. Everyone around you slowly shuffles to the meeting room down the hall, and you get up from your chair and begin your way towards the boardroom when you hear a low whistle, “damn, have I ever told you that that’s my favourite skirt on you? Your ass looks amazing, babe” Jungkook is still resting against your cubicle, chin poised on the palm of his hand. Of course he didn’t have to go to the meeting, he was the CEO’s son.

“In your dreams” you’d be lying if you said your heart did beat a little faster when these exchanges occurred.

“Oh but we do!” he mockingly groans and grips harder onto your cubicle wall, “at least four or five times a night!”

You only answer back with a scoff and a shake of your head as you make your way down the hall.

Once the meeting has begun, your supervisor informs the interns that those that are the most promising and likely to be hired on once graduated, will be given more work, to better prepare them for what life is really like and Jeon Enterprises. After a few grumbles your supervisor assigns days to each one of you, stating that you will work a sort of “over-time”, to get you used to times of the year where the typical 9-5 just simply isn’t enough hours in the day. You’re assigned Tuesday nights, and will begin tonight. Forcing a smile on your face as you accept your that your plans tonight are now ruined, you thank your supervisor for the opportunity. It’s not until you’re walking back to your desk do you realize that you in fact, did not actually have plans anyways, you never really do, but the option to make plans is always nice to have.

As you near your desk you notice Jungkook is poised against your cubicle wall again, as if he never left.

“Are you stalking me now, Jeon?” You tut, a smirk finding itself on your lips without you even realizing it.

“Just wanted to make sure your seat was clean,” he pulls your chair back for you as if he’s an actual gentleman, as you sit down in it he comes around to the front of you and sits on the edge of your desk, “and this one of course.” He circles his face with his hand.

“Well, it’s good to know you at least recognize the importance of giving good oral when you have the world’s smallest dick.” You turn to your computer before you can see the dark look that flashes through Jungkook’s eyes. He leans down closer to your ear and quietly says, “oh, you have no idea.” And with that Jeon Jungkook leaves you with a tingling ear and damp panties.

It’s about ten minutes later when you hear a ping and see a message bar show up on the corner of your screen. Clicking the flashing bar, your heart does a little flip as once you see who the message is from.

Jeon Jungkook

8=========D

“What the fuck?” you chuckle under your breath, hands already typing a reply on their own accord.

Y/N L/N

Did you just send me a dick pic??

Y/N L/N

As an emoticon?

Jeon Jungkook

Big isn’t? ;)

He’s lost his fucking mind, you think to yourself. This is hilarious, but Jungkook has actually lost his mind.

Y/N L/N

I had to increase my screen zoom to see it, but its cute ig

After hitting send, you hear a dramatic “Ha!” from the direction of Jungkook’s desk before you hear another ping.

Jeon Jungkook

Remember that im the supervisor thats overseeing you on your overtime nights ;)

You didn’t, infact, remember that. But now you’re rubbing your thighs against each other trying to relieve some strain as your imagination begins to run wild of what it’d be like to be the only two people in the office.

Y/N L/N

fuck you

Jeon Jungkook

thats the plan baby

Oh my God.

Your relationship at the office has always been one HR wouldn’t approve of, you two always took things most would consider “too far” but it never lead to anything. You said shit like this to each other all the time, but this afternoon felt different. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it but something told you tonight may finally be the night you don’t have to go home and touch yourself thinking of your boss’ shit head son.

Two hours later, it was finally the end of the day and everyone was packing up to head home for the evening. Some of the other interns give you looks of pity before they leave, but you don’t feel an ounce of dread about having to stay late. Your mind keeps wandering to that stupid conversation with stupid Jungkook. You guys were always talking to each other like this, but now it felt different, and you couldn’t help the butterflies that started abusing your stomach.

It’s now half an hour since everyone’s gone home and you’ve continued to work through the extra load given to you for tonight, when suddenly a familiar ping sounds again. You subconsciously squeeze your thighs together when you read the message from none other than Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook

Come to the board room

You didn’t know what was louder, the squeak escaping your lips or your desk chair being pushed back as you abruptly stand up. You don’t dwell on that too much as you quickly make your way to the board room. You try to calm yourself down, you and Jungkook heavily flirted all the time, his dumbass probably broke the screen in the meeting room or something, yea, yea that’s it. Just because your last conversation was a bit more heated than usual and ended with him saying he wanted to fuck you, didn’t mean he was about to plow you in the board room.  You slow your walk as you get a few steps before the closed door. Quickly running your fingers through your hair to tame any stray hairs, you glance over your clothes before taking a deep breath, hand clutching the door handle. After a brief pep talk, you’re pushing through the door to find Jungkook sitting at the board table seemingly working on something on his laptop. As soon as you enter, he stops typing and leans back in his chair as that devilish smirk appears on his face again.

“Close the door behind you,” holy shit this was really happening, you were really about to fuck Jeon Jungkook, and in the office of all places. “Lock the door behind you” he’s racking his eyes up and down your figure, when they finally reach your eyes he says barely above a whisper, “only if you want to, that is.” Oh, holy shit. This was him giving you a way out, to get a sense of whether this was more than just back and forth flirting and banter, to see if you really wanted him.

With a speed you didn’t know you possessed, you locked the door behind you without breaking eye contact. Jungkook stands up from his chair and gestures for you to come closer, as you do you can feel a blush already heating up your cheeks.

“I’m surprised you wanted to have sex with me,” his voice is still a quiet whisper, and his hands are now at your waist, pulling you closer until you can feel the beginnings of his arousal through his pants, “y’know, with me having such a small dick and all.”

“Well…” lord, girl get it together, you’ve been dreaming about this since you started your internship, “that may be true, so I thought I should see how your much your oral makes up for it.”

He crushes his lips to yours before you have a chance to say anything else. The kiss is rough and hurried, clearly the several months long sexual frustration was mutual. He spins you around and grinds his hard on against your ass. You can’t help the few whimpers that escape you as he starts to suck at your neck, “gotta mark you up nice, huh baby? Can’t have anyone in the office trying to take what’s mine.” You shake your head in agreement as Jungkook pushes you forward so your hands are against the table and your ass is bent up, the sight has him groaning. No one’s ever really manhandled you like this, and it’s gotten you more worked up than you thought it would’ve.

“Fuck, I really do love this skirt on you, but I really want to see what’s underneath more.” Jungkook stops his aggressive groping to push your skirt up around your waist and you quickly dispose of your blouse and bra. Bending down, he places open mouth kisses along your ass cheek, as his hand continues to roughly grope the other one. The unoccupied hand is now rubbing you through your panties, and you feel like your about to loose it from all this pent up frustration.

“Please, Jungkook.” You beg, your voice already sounding strained and whiney.

“Please what baby? You need to tell me what you want,” you gasp as he applies even more pressure, “use your words.”

“I want your f-fingers, and your mouth. I want you to eat me out.” Your practically panting, and Jungkook’s erection is now painfully pushing against the fabric of his pants after hearing and seeing you so submissive, so different from your normally sassy attitude, and it make Jungkook want to wreck you. You only hear a low chuckle from Jungkook before one of his fingers is pushing past your underwear and straight into your wet heat. He doesn’t start off slow, he immediately starts to quickly finger you, your arousal already starts to drip down his hand as he harshly sucks on your clit.

“Such a pretty fucking pussy,” Jungkook coos, licking up your folds, “I guess since my dick is so small you only need one finger, huh?”

Before you can protest, Jungkook removes his finger from your pussy and begins to pull you back up so you’re now chest to chest. He runs his thumb along your bottom lip, and without having to be told you open your mouth and begin to suck on the digit. Jungkook chuckles at your submissiveness and switches his thumb out for the finger he used to finger you. He stares with such intensity at his finger disappearing behind your lips, that it only make you suck faster, harder.

“I really want to fuck your stupid little bratty mouth,” he’s almost mumbling to himself, but you continue sucking on his finger, this time he speaks louder, more controlled, “but I really just want to fuck your bratty little pussy already.” You’re furiously nodding your head, as he retracts his finger form your mouth. He’s roughly kissing you again, as he grabs underneath your thighs and sits you on the table. Your hands are roaming over each other, although his are much more dominating. He’s grabbing your hand and placing it over his clothed erection, and your mouth waters from the sheer size of his bulge. Jungkook, of course, notices this immediately and with great pleasure.

“What, not big enough for you, baby?” He’s taunting you because he knows he’s big, he’s fucking huge, and you can’t move your hands fast enough to unzip his pants. Jungkook’s hands are turning your hair into a makeshift ponytail when you pull his underwear down and his hard on practically smacks you in the face. Oh, holy shit. You never would have thought you would use this word to describe a dick, but Jeon Jungkook has a monster cock. You don’t have much time to dwell on this thought before Jungkook is tapping the tip of his dick against your cheek, and you’re now just realizing that your mouth had been agape since you first had your hand over his crotch.

“On second thought,” Jungkook tightens your hair in his hand, “I really do want to fuck this pretty mouth.” You manage out a whimper before he’s guiding his cock into your open mouth. You’re swallowing around his cock, trying to take him all in, but you’re only about half way down and there’s an obscene amount of spit seeping out of your mouth, and you’re about to run out of air. You pull away from his cock, desperately trying to fill your lungs, and you notice a trail of saliva connecting your mouth to the angry red head of his cock. Jungkook catches the trail as well, and he’s darkly huffs out a laugh as he grabs his dick to tap against your face again, “what? Can’t take it you stupid little brat?”

The degrading catches you a bit off guard and has you pouting back, “‘m not stupid.”

“Huh?” He taps his cock a bit harder against your cheek, “What was that baby I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“I’m not stupid!” You huff, your lips are spit slicked and pouting and your eyes are almost adorable when they look up at him. God he can’t wait to wreck you.

“Of course you’re not stupid baby,” Jungkook probably should’ve asked you want your kinks were beforehand, but he takes note that degradtion probably isn’t on that list for you, at least not yet. “You’re not stupid, no. You just can’t take my cock.” If you didn’t want him to fuck you so badly you would’ve smacked the shit eating grin right off his face, but you’re shaking your head furiously at him. “No, please fuck me Jungkook, please. I promise I can take it, I promise.” Jungkook could’ve blew his load just from finally hearing you be so submissive towards him after months of attitude. He kisses you again and he guides you to lay back on the table, hand guiding the tip of his dick to your heat. He doesn’t enter, just simply rubs the tip against your clit and you feel like you could explode.

“Think you can handle it, baby?” he whispers in your ear, and a quiet uh huh is his green light to enter you. All the dominating behaviour aside, Jungkook, much to your happiness, actually enters you slowly. He enters inch by inch, allowing your aching pussy time to adjust to his massive size. When he’s fully inside you, you both let out a pant and Jungkook waits for you to give him a signal to move. Although you teased him about having a small dick, you never really thought Jungkook did, but you never would’ve dreamed he was hiding a fucking python under his designer dress pants.

After a few moments, you feel relatively adjusted to his size. If you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t think you could ever fully adjust. But, nonetheless, you breathe out a soft move and bite Jungkook’s ear lobe. You both groan as he slowly pulls out, nearly all the way. He sets a moderate pace at first, and although your grateful due to his size, you’re honestly a bit surprised he isn’t rougher with you. As if sensing this, Jungkook smirks down at you, “need to get you a bit more adjusted, baby, can’t have me accidentally ripping you in half huh?” and that has you moaning out as he hoists your legs up higher and he plows into you. Honestly, you really do think he could rip you in half.

Your moans are pornographic as he fucks into you with such speed and power your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. His chiseled muscular body is glistening so beautifully under the fluorescent office lights that you don’t even wonder when his shirt came off, but fuck you’re happy that it did. Your transfixed watching his ab muscles move as he fucks you. You don’t really know where to look, he’s just so hot. His shaggy sweaty hair dangling in front of his eyes, his half lidded eyes watching your tits bounce every time he fucks into you, his slightly parted mouth that occasional lets out a guttural moan. You’ve never felt so full in your life, and he’s just so hot and you just need more. When you voice this, Jungkook just smirks and wraps his arms around your legs to keep them parallel to his chest, and he’s fucking into you even harder.

“Fuuuck, your pussy’s so tight and wet for me baby, shit you’re hot.” Jungkook pants, and when his eyes drift down from watching your tits bouncing, that’s when he notices it. With every thrust, Jungkook can see a little bump come from the inside of your lower abdomen, and something inside him snaps. He’s fucking into you even harder now, and you’re nearly crying at how animalistic he’s being.

“Fuck baby, look at you. Your little pussy can barely take my cock, look at it sticking up inside of you.” He thrusts a little extra hard to really make his dick protrude and you’re nearly seeing stars. You couldn’t believe it. Jungkook was actually so big that his cock would poke up your belly. You’re nearly gushing around him at the revelation, and Jungkook just keeps fucking you nice and hard, his hips a rough stactoo against yours. He’s groaning and panting while he watches the bump come up with every thrust. “Shit baby, look at you, your bratty little pussy can barely handle my cock, it has no room for it. I bet you love my fat cock don’t you, baby? Huh?” His hand reaches forward to slap your bouncing tit, “You fucking love my huge dick don’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I love your fat cock Jungkookie, please fuck me with your fat cock, I love it so much!” Your screaming, and you honestly don’t care if the late night office cleaners can hear you.

“Tell me how much you love it baby, c’mon, tell me how much you need my huge dick, tell me how big it is”

You don’t know if he’s being this rough because of your earlier comments about him having a small dick, or if it’s because he can visibly see that your pussy can barely handle the size of him but you don’t care either way. “It’s so fucking big Jungkook, you’re stretching me out so fucking good, baby oh my gosh.” You feel like you’re about to cum any minute now, and when you voice this Jungkook pulls out of you and flips you so your hands are on the table once again. You nearly scream when he enters you again, the pace just as brutal. His hands are now roughly gripping your ass cheeks, the occasional blow being delivered to them. He’s panting into your ear telling you how much a good girl you are for taking his cock so well, how he bets you won’t ever say his dick is small again, how he’s going to ruin your tight little pussy every Tuesday night in this board room. “You’re not going to be able to listen to a single thing they say during these meetings, your just going to be thinking about my huge cocking stretching you open.” You slip a hand down to play with your clit as Jungkook continues his assault on your pussy. You’re so close to almost hurts. “C’mon baby, show me what you look like when you cum, I wanna hear you” He delivers another smack to your now cherry red ass, “cum all over my huge cock, baby, c’mon.” A few more powerful thrusts and you’re coming harder than you ever had in your life. Jungkook follows quickly behind you, unloading onto your ass, moaning at the erotic sight.

You think you might’ve black out in all honesty, but the next thing you know, Jungkook is wiping his cum off your ass with a tissue and gathers you in your arms. Looking down at his now soft dick, you nearly laugh at the fact that, even when soft, Jungkook is above average size. Apparently you said that out loud, because now Jungkook is laughing as he hands you your clothes. You see him tuck your panties into his pocket and when you question it, he casually replies with, “you’ll just have to get them back next Tuesday.”

You definitely love this internship.

[thekytchensynk]

An Absolutely Normal Training Day (Fictober Prompt 24)

Prompt number: 24

Fanfiction Fandom: DCU/Booster Gold and Ted Kord

Rating: G

Warnings: No warnings

Read this story on AO3

“So you’re sure about this?”

Ted grinned. “Trust me! It’ll be great.”

They both stood in tee-shirts and sweatpants in a room at Ted’s house. Booster thought it used to be some sort of formal sitting room last time he visited -- the sort of room where the furniture is nice so you can visit with company in there, but all your company is so informal that it feels too weird to go in there. Booster had seen it only once, and felt pretty sure there was enough dust that it gave the upholstery a whole new texture.

All of that was gone -- except a big bay window. It let in a lot of light on a fake-hardwood floor, a couple floor-to-ceiling mirrors, a treadmill, a rack of weights and … this.

“You’re sure about this,” Booster repeated.

“Will you stop judging a book by its cover?” Ted replied.

To be sure, judging it by its cover would do little for this particular book. The machine in the center of the room looked somewhat terrifying --falling somewhere between an oversized doll and a piece of construction equipment. He’d made some effort to stretch a rubbery skin over the whole thing, both to protect it and the people around it, Booster supposed. But that just made the whole thing another step creepier. The face was a single, smooth piece of metal with only shallow protrusions and indentations for facial features.

“How do you sleep with this thing in your house?” Booster asked, walking a slow circle around it. The thing looked rooted to the floor, which he assumed meant the bulk of its mechanical bits had to be down in the basement. Did you need some sort of special license for that?

“Quite well, thanks,” Ted said, so jovially that it tipped over into sarcasm.”Now come on. Half the Justice League, they have powers. Guys like you and me, we have gadgets. And you know what that means.”

“Ridiculous repair bills,” Booster agreed.

“Ye- No! It means we get put in the same category as Batman. Which is totally unfair, since that guy can probably kick the butt of an entire army platoon without breaking a sweat. So you and I, my friend, need to bulk up.”

“And we can’t do this in the same training area as everyone else because…” Booster prompted.

Ted shot him a look. Clear as a word. Clear as a book with its contents right on the cover. “Aww, come on, Ted,” Booster said, walking back around the monstrosity to stand by him. “No one is judging you or me or anyone like that. Well…” He paused. Amended, “well, Guy maybe, but he’s an ass. No one should listen to what he says. Dude, you move like an acrobat. It’s really impressive.”

Ted looked skeptical. “Nah, this is going to be great. Just think of their faces when I show up, ripped-”

“From this?” Booster paced around it again. “”Looks more like something that’ll rip you in half.”

“No pain, no gain.”

Throwing his hands up, Booster said, “Fine! How does it work. Let’s see the miracle in action.”

“Now you’re talking.” Ted walked over to the rack of weights and picked up a silver box that had been resting on top. It turned out to be a remote control, about the size of a stick of butter. It featured a couple dials and two buttons.”Speed,” he said, pointing to one dial, then the other. “Strength, and these are the on and off buttons.”

“Simple enough,“ Booster said, looking but not touching. He’d been around enough inventors to know to always, always let them try the experiment first.

“Three on the dial is average human,” Ted said, setting both dials there. “So, good place to start. Work my way up.”

“You really don’t have to do this,” Booster tried one last time. If pressed, he would have to admit he was still judging the book by its unsettling, quasi-human cover. It seriously freaked him out. Reminded him of an inhuman amalgamation illustrated in a book of scary stories for kids he’d taken out of the library once upon a time.

But Ted took a deep breath and pressed the on button. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a low hissing sound began to emit from the machine.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

“It’s the pressure building up in the hydraulics. Here.” He handed the remote to Booster and squared up opposite the machine. For a moment, they stood there, neither making the first move. Then Ted went in -- two quick steps and then punch aimed for the thing’s “face.”

The entire mechanical body swayed left with speed that left the metal screaming, then its body rotated a full time around. The head, of course, stayed perfectly still because why move normally when it could move creepily? One of the flailing hands caught Ted full in the face and knocked him back, out of range.

Booster hurried over to where his friend lay sprawled out on the ground, propped up on one elbow and with the other hand over the red blotch on his face. “Ted, you OK?”

“Uh … yeah. Yeah, I think I’m fine.”

“Oh, good,” Booster said. There was a beat, then he started laughing.

“It’s not funny,” Ted said.

“No. It wasn’t funny when I thought you might be hurt. But now that I know you’re fine, it’s hilarious,” Booster said between his laughter. “Your invention just slapped you across the room. Maybe you should have taken it on a date first before getting so close.”

“I’m glad to know your compassion runs only skin deep,” Ted said stiffly before starting to climb to his feet. Booster offered a hand. Ted scowled and got up on his own, but there wasn’t any real heat in it. Turning and surveying the still-twitching machine, he said, “I guess there are still a few kinks.”

“Looks like,” Booster agreed.

“Maybe when I assembled it, I didn’t account for the additive effect of the tubing. Or…”

That caught Booster’s attention. “So, you didn’t test this before showing it off?”

“I tested … parts of it,” he said defensively.

Further discussion got cut off as the machine spun around again. And then again. The hissing sound had stopped, and in its place a whine had begun, low but climbing in volume and intensity.

“Maybe we should turn it off,” Ted said. Wordlessly, Booster pressed the marked “off” button.

The thing kept going.

Frowning, Booster tried the button again. Then he handed the remote to Ted, who tried several more times. The combat dummy had begun to twitch back and forth, in addition to the shell of the chest rotating over and over. It had a very “if you get hit by this, it’s your own fault” vibe.

“Well, this is unexpected,” Ted said at last. He dialed both dials down to zero, but this didn’t cause any notable change in the performance.

“How worried should we be about this?” Booster asked.

“Umm… I’m going to go down to the guts,” Ted said, backing away from the flailing machine. “And maybe you should put your suit on. Or at least the bit that gives you that force field.” Then he ran out of the room, heading toward the kitchen and, presumably, to the basement from there.

Booster ran and got his belt.

When he came back, the machine almost looked possessed. It thrashed back and forth, still sometimes spinning. When this happened, the hands would smack into the floor, chipping up pieces of it.

“Ahh, shoot,” Came a muted voice from below. “Something got in here. This cord is chewed right through … which one is-”

Whatever mooring the sparring dummy was attached to seemed to be working loose with its wild gyrations. The movements were getting bigger, and he could see the metal box below it starting to peek up into the room.

“You gonna turn this thing off, or…” Booster asked the floor. The room wasn’t all that big. He set himself up in front of the window. On the off chance this thing did tear free, he didn’t want it to go sailing straight out through the window and potentially into some neighborhood minivan.

“Trying.” Ted’s voice carried equal parts exasperation and anxiety. “How’s that?”

“Did you do something?”

“Yes!"

“Then no change,” Booster blocked an incoming slap from the machine. Jeeze, that was supposed to be human strength and speed?

“I think … ah, are you kidding me? How could the … hold on!” Ted seemed to be carrying on a whole conversation with himself now.

“Ted?”

“I’m going to try cutting the hose. Hold on.”

A moment later and the room erupted in a spray of liquid and the sparring monster just sort of … lifted off. Booster watched it slam through the ceiling, then heard it slam through another level above. He stepped under the gaping hole in time to see the thing sailing up into the cloudy sky, drifting a little toward the front of the house. Booster booked it outside to make sure the suburban nightmare he’d been trying to prevent earlier wouldn’t happen in a whole new way.

He got out to the front lawn just as the training dummy came plummeting out of the sky and landed in the middle of the front yard in a shower of dirt. Booster blocked the flying particles from his face with one arm. When he lowered it, he saw the remains of the dummy poking out of a new crater. Looking further, he saw a kid on a bike, maybe eight years old, staring. As he looked, a door across the street opened and a woman stepped out, shading her eyes and staring over.

Footsteps came up behind him, and he turned to see Ted approaching, splattered head to foot in what he assumed was hydraulic fluid. He surveyed the front lawn, hands on hips, then let out a huge sigh. “We’re in trouble, huh?”

“Yup.”

“What are the odds this gets back to the League?”

“For us? 100%.”

“Fair point. Help me clean this up? We could use a workout still.”

Booster grinned. “Hey. There’s always the League’s gym.”

[darkkitsuneprincess]

FIC: Masamune vs. the Pineapple [Masa x OC / Nobu x OC]

I’m baaaaaaack...... okay, sort of. The real world has kind of stomped my ass a little bit lately. This is the first thing I’ve finished in over a month now. I’m trying. I really am. Thanks for sticking with me, guys. And welcome to all my new followers! 300 of you out there now! Wow!

Title: Masamune vs. the Pineapple Rating: G Pairing: Nobunaga x OC (Mira), Masamune x OC (Mira) [it’s pretty much EVERYBODY x OC in this AU nonsense that is absolutely not being written in any kind of order] Length: 1400 words Summary: The Portuguese missionaries come bearing gifts. Gifts which absolutely confound Masamune. This is silly, fluffy nonsense that makes me giggle.

Notes: I’m not particularly happy with this piece, amusing as it was to write, but I can’t really say why. It may not be finished. Something else might happen. I just don’t know what yet. Also, Mira is not Japanese. She has a whole backstory that will eventually come out of my head and go onto paper. None of it is particularly relevant for this story because this is absolute silliness. The only mildly relevant factor is that in my head, the IkeSen universe is very much a reverse harem and she frequently enjoys the company of all of her men. Not that any of that is happening here.

Tags: @choi-jiyu, @kisara-16, @puffpuff300-blog

~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

It was not unusual for Nobunaga to call all of us into the great hall when one of his various guests delivered a gift or tribute of some sort. In the five years I’d been in the Sengoku, I’d witnessed all number of amazing “discoveries” from foreign missionaries that were, in fact, commonplace in my time. Having the advantage of not being Japanese meant I could share my knowledge with him in a way that satisfied us both.

Often I’d sit with Nobunaga on his dais late into the evenings after the guests had retired to explain the items and their purposes. He’d had me read to him from texts written in the Latin alphabet. His appetite for knowledge was…well, voracious was an understatement. The man loved to learn almost as much as he loved to make love.

And that was saying something.

It was a sunny afternoon in late March when an envoy of missionaries—always Nobunaga’s favorite visitors due to their exotic gifts—appeared with a selection of books, artwork, and, strangely enough, food. Crates of foreign fruits and vegetables were opened and placed before us, and the missionaries were not only thanked, but invited to stay for a banquet to celebrate.

The crates of fruit were sent to the kitchen along with Masamune, who was more than ready to dive in and start playing with it. As much as I wanted to follow him and help, my services as Princess Mira of Azuchi were needed in the hall. I enjoyed the visitors’ stories and songs, but…but damn it, I wanted some of that fruit. I also didn’t trust Masamune not to mutilate it in a fit of confused anger.

Nobunaga, sensing my displeasure at not being in the kitchen for this new adventure, brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles.

“Gentlemen, if you will excuse my lovely Princess…she would like to oversee banquet preparations. Her knowledge of foreign produce is needed in the kitchen.” He turned his carnelian gaze on me and I nodded, offering a tiny smile in thanks before rising and bowing to our guests.

“Excuse me, please,” I said, echoing Nobunaga’s words, and ducked out of the room. No sooner were the doors closed behind me than I ran for the kitchen, shoes in hand. With Hideyoshi otherwise occupied in the council room, I didn’t have to worry about his scolding. The burst of speed felt good; I spent too much of my time sitting around being adorable at Nobunaga’s request.

As I neared the kitchen, I slowed to a stop and placed my shoes back on my feet. It was strangely quiet inside as I walked the last few steps, which worried me.

“Masamune?” I called out, “Are you in there?”

“Mmm-hmm…” came his distracted reply. I took a deep breath and peeked around the corner to find…

Chaos. Absolute freaking chaos.

The three crates of fruit had been emptied and were littered across every available surface in the kitchen. Some had been cut. Some were piled in various pots and bowls. There were peels and piles of fruit pulp everywhere. There were oranges, cherries, strawberries, apricots, and the thing that had Masamune’s undivided, if not frustrated, attention. He glared down at the thing with his arms crossed, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

“What the hell is it?” he asked as I moved to stand beside him.

“It’s a pineapple.”

“A what?”

I bent down and picked the fruit up, bringing it to eye level. “A pineapple. It’s a sweet, tangy tropical fruit. Nobunaga will love it. You will too.”

Masamune frowned. “I get all the others—they actually look like fruit. But this damn thing looks like…”

“A porcupine?”

“I was gonna say it looked like Ieyasu, but yeah.” The corner of his mouth quirked up into an annoyed half-smile. “It’s about as friendly as he is, at any rate.”

I turned the fruit over in my hands, enjoying the rough, prickly feel of its surface. “Pineapples can be tricky, but trust me, they’re worth the work.”

“It doesn’t taste very good, so what the hell do you do with it?”

“You have to peel it,” I explained. “The inside is bright yellow and really sweet.” I continued to turn it over in my hands, and as the back side of the thing came into view, I nearly choked on my tongue.

There were teeth marks in the skin, just below the leaves. I looked over at Masamune who scowled at the pineapple, and then I doubled over with uncontrolled laughter.

“Masa…did you…did you really try to bite it?!” I choked out, holding my belly as it ached from my laughter.

“They said it was a fruit…” he muttered. “Stupid pineapple.”

I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my kimono and tried to rein in my laughter…but this was just too good.

“It’s not that funny,” he added with a snort.

“Yeah…yeah, it really is,” I answered, gagging in a breath and trying to stop laughing. The pineapple, still clutched in my hand, dangled from my fingers. Masamune alternated scowling at the fruit then at me. “I’m supposed to be cooking these things.” He pointed to one of the crates, which had five more pineapples inside. “But I have no idea how.”

“Well,” I said, wiping my face as I knelt and placed the pineapple on the table, “the first thing we need to do is peel it so you can taste it. Hand me a really sharp knife and I’ll show you how.”

I laid the fruit on its side and held out my hand, only to receive the hilt of Masamune’s sword. I rolled my eyes and turned to glare up at him. “Really? REALLY?”

“What? It’s sharp.”

“Your head’s not. I can’t cut up a pineapple with this!”

With a dramatic sigh, he knelt next to me and produced a very large, very sharp knife. Step by step I walked him through the process of peeling and coring the pineapple, explaining that if we kept the tops, we could grow our own. Masamune let his annoyance fade in favor of learning about the new food source, and when I held up a piece of the juicy meat, his eyes lit up. He bit the end off the fruit straight out of my hand with a suggestive smirk—classic Masa—so I ate the rest. The bright, sweet flavor exploded over my tongue. I didn’t realize I’d moaned until Masamune’s eye went wide.

“I’ll admit that it’s good, lass, but I wouldn’t go that far.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever get pineapple again!” I replied. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“That thing is the jerk,” he muttered, petulant.

“You’re just mad because it outsmarted you. Now watch.” I quickly cut the remainder into thin slices which Masamune arranged on a platter with the various other fruits. Masamune picked up where I left off, following my example to prepare two more of the remaining five pineapples while I started slicing vegetables and sorting ingredients for the dishes on Masamune’s list.

“What else can we do with it?” Masamune asked as he placed another tray of fruit to the side.

“Well, we can make rice with it. Do you have any coconut?”

“Yes…” he drew the word out, raising his eyebrow at me skeptically. “What are you going to do with coconut though?”

“I need the water from the coconut and I need some of that pineapple crushed up. Oh, and I need to you shave some of the coconut pulp and toast it for me.”

“I’ve seen you do some weird things, Mira, but this one might be at the top of the list.”

“Just shut up and get me a coconut.”

Forty-five minutes later, I lifted a spoonful of steaming, sweet rice concoction to Masamune’s mouth. He smirked as he allowed me to feed him, and his indulgent, ridiculous expression turned into one of satisfied glee.

“That’s really good,” he admitted.

“Are you willing to forgive the pineapple for being mean to you earlier?”

Masamune smiled that cocky smile I loved so much. “I’m still mad at the pineapple, but I’m willing to let it have the win since it means so much to you.”

“I’m so glad. Now let’s go feed everyone. I’m sure they’re hungry.”

“Yeah, okay. But first…”

Masamune caught me by the waist and pulled me close to place a sparkling, fruit-sweetened kiss on my lips. I didn’t think anything could make me enjoy pineapple more, but this…this did.

[duskyvision]

philippe georget - summertime all the cats are bored

yet another french novel review, yeehaw. this one took a ridiculously long time to read (i think exactly a month, actually!), mostly due to life stuff, and also because to be honest, it was slow to get through. so much so that i had to use text to speech stuff to finish it or else i wouldn’t have been able to actually finish reading it. oddly fitting considering the work’s context, but still.

again, origin story as to how i picked that book up: i noticed that i could borrow ebooks on kindle and i kinda just went ahead and borrowed this book first because the title caught my attention, and then because i thought the idea of a crime fiction set in perpignan of all places sounded funny as fuck despite having never stepped even once in perpignan. i’m the derogatory french you’ve been warned about.

anyway, onto the review, with a good old trigger warning list as usual:

abduction (entire plot is based around this)

themes of adultery (common through the novel)

suicide (two of them: one about 25 or so chapters in, and another in the final chapters of the book)

--

okay so, first of all, when i say this book is slow, i really fucking mean it. the first 15 chapters or so you’re being juggled around all of those different povs and characters and you’re both like “what the fuck who are those people” and then at the same time it’s like “why the fuck is this shit so slow paced”. it feels like a summer day but all you have to keep yourself fresh is a water bottle and your AC is broken so you have to use your grandma’s 30 year old fan barely working. it’s a narrative blueballing process. and while that’s all done in order to better layer the final intrigue and the mystery of everything surrounding the abduction of this one woman and the cat-and-mouse game between the abductor and the police to save the woman, it’s also a very, very painful process to get through. things slowly start picking up around the halfway mark of the book, and then by the last third of the book everything comes at you like a train rushing at full speed and you’re like “holy FUCK?” at some moments. 

the worst aspect regarding the book’s pacing to me is that for a very, very huge chunk of the story, i was just like “oh my godddddddddd i can’t stand this protag can we go back to [insert other character’s pov] please. can we” because a lot of time was spent detailing sebag’s personal life and stuff rather than the juicy details of whatever kind of mystery lies before the police. narratively it does make a bit of sense, but at the same time, the sebag pov chapters felt like a drag, not to mention that some of his internal comments were just very. er. questionable. then again what am i expecting from a french policeman in his mid-40s, you’d say, and you’d be correct. anyway, it’s much later on that i found myself actually enjoying sebag’s character, as he reveals more of his investigative spirit rather than be just some random ass guy with a wife and kids who likes jogging or whatever and doesn’t want to do his job most of the time like most of his colleagues. i guess he’s just not my type of character, which is fine i suppose.

now, as for the plot itself... well, the entire thing feels like a goose chase, and that’s both a good and infuriating thing because it’s literally what made me wanna push further to know what the fuck is going on and push through the drag of the first half to get to the second half of the book which, in my opinion, was much stronger as it felt like an indirect chess game between X [obviously this is just a placeholder due to spoilers] and the police. it’s funny because not only is the reader pissed, the police is too, and i’m kind of an asshole who enjoys seeing policemen struggling and being forced to do their jobs properly. some things about the entire thing did throw me off though because like... what the fuck was up with some stuff they uncovered near the end of the book which were simply left unexplained

also, i’m a bit disappointed that the narrative relied on two suicides as ways to end “arcs” of sorts. while it made sense for one of them, despite how tragic it felt and how it made me feel down for some time (yeah i guess you can tell which character i was more attached to in general), the other one felt like an easy way to avoid writing someone getting what they deserve. then again, if that 2nd suicide didn’t take place, i suppose it would have resulted in either a slow drag of consequences which would have taken away from the experience, or it would have only gotten like 2 or 3 lines which would have been very underwhelming. oddly enough, i also felt oddly underwhelmed by the character of the criminal themself. i feel like if there had been less details on sebag’s routine and daily life and more focus on establishing a parallel between the one ol policeman v the criminal (perhaps through the use of pov chapters that felt less... criptically horny) it would have been more entertaining for me overall. but that’s just my personal preference

despite my qualms though, i did appreciate how the author took the time to describe the setting and just like regional things, which is especially helpful for someone who’s never stepped around the area of perpignan (or if you want a travel guide, i guess), and i liked some of the banter between the cops. it’s like dudebro level banter at times to be honest but eh sometimes it was entertaining so it made things a bit more lively when it wasn’t just straight up tasteless comments about x or y thing- and again, i really enjoyed the cat-and-mouse game between the criminal and the police picking pace up, i feel like it’s one of the strongest parts of the book. also, gotta applaud the author for being like “oh yeah, maybe i should portray my protag as an actual human being with like a family and stuff and not being dedicated 24/7 to his job” even if i feel like that took up a bit too much of the screentime in my opinion.

all in all, i think my general opinion is that the novel could have benefited from a slightly faster pacing and less dilly-dallying for me to enjoy it from start to finish, and i would have initially rated it a 2 stars on goodreads if it weren’t for that last third of the book being the juiciest and getting me fired up as i wondered what could happen next, so 3 stars it is!

i’m not sure if i’d recommend it as again, the pacing is the main issue i have with the book, but it holds itself up in terms of mystery, i feel.

... also, i really need to have better luck with my random book picks. i’m tired of adultery being a common theme in there

anyway, that’s about it for summertime all the cats are bored! peace

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @Ohfreckle!

Happy holidays, ohfreckle! I hope you enjoy! <3 

Read on AO3

******

Fingertips

In hindsight, Alec should probably have known better than to bother trying to patrol on the Solstice. It's a holdover from his parents' era, when relations with the Downworld were much more tense, as well as a mark of a generally suspicious mindset that he's trying very hard to move the Institute away from. Yes, the Seelies get up to all kinds of nonsense on the Solstice; yes, there will probably be a few confused Mundanes talking about the odd goings-on in Central Park the next day, and all of Manhattan will smell like juniper and sage for the next week if it's anything like it has been the past few years, but there never actually seem to be any serious problems that the Seelies aren't perfectly capable of dealing with amongst themselves. It's a night of revelry, of spectacle, but it's not usually a night of mischief. Hell, the wolves usually get up to way more trouble on New Year's Eve, and he doesn't bother trying to keep an eye on them. The whole thing with the Seelies and the Solstice, the level of inherent suspicion that he still finds himself unlearning — it's ridiculous. It's archaic. It's pointless.

It's never bitten him in the ass this badly before, though.

"You're going to be fine," Magnus reassures him, his hands glowing as he runs them over Alec's neck and shoulders, trying to diagnose whatever the hell it is the Seelie knight Alec had stopped from drunkenly trying to bring the Balto statue to life had then hit him with. He's kneeling on the floor, between Alec's legs; Alec is perched on the edge of the couch, still in his patrol gear, mostly, and trying very hard not to get city grime and miscellaneous splashes of Seelie-related mess all over the furniture. "I can already tell that much. This doesn't feel malicious at all."

Ostensibly, he's conducting a thorough and careful inspection, to make sure Alec isn't about to start growing extra limbs, walking through walls, glowing in the dark, or Raziel only knows what else. He mostly seems amused, though, at the fact that whatever the spell had been, it had also involved getting Alec absolutely covered in glitter — though that may actually have just been a side effect of trying to physically restrain the Seelie in question.

"I know," Alec grumbles, fighting the urge to pout. Really, he's not sure what he's got to complain about; "I need to go find Magnus and make sure whatever this was isn't going to kill me, since the guy who did it isn't coherent enough to reliably tell me himself" had proven to be an absolutely flawless excuse to call off his patrol early, and it's not like he's upset about getting home sooner than he'd thought he would and therefore getting to spend that much extra time with Magnus. It just feels slightly less than dignified to have to be inspected for the side effects of drunken Seelie magic like he’s fresh out of the Shadowhunter Academy, that's all. Plus, the glitter is itchy, and he can feel it all over him, a fine, gritty, uncomfortable layer. It's making him feel hot, and he shifts slightly, trying to get comfortable.

"I'm beginning to doubt that he really did anything to you at all, actually," Magnus muses, running his hands over Alec's abdomen now. "That is, he certainly blasted you with magic, but I'm not sure it actually had any effect. He may have thought you were also a Seelie, and tried to do something that doesn't actually work on mortals, or..." He trails off, a little crease appearing in his brow, and Alec looks down to see that while his hands have stilled, the magic around them seems to be pulsing. "No, all right, there's definitely something."

Alec shoves his sleeves up to his elbows, idly scratching at his forearms. The longer he sits here, the hotter and itchier and less comfortable he seems to feel, which is a little strange; one of the wonderful things about living with the High Warlock of Brooklyn is that the climate control is always perfect. The loft keeps itself perfectly adjusted to the preferences of its inhabitants, except right now, Alec can feel sweat starting to gather at the small of his back. He frowns.

"There's something, all right," he says. "I feel..."

Magnus glances up at him and must find something alarming in his face, because he immediately lowers his hands, the glow of his magic fading away. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Alec says at first, then changes his mind. "It's hot. I feel —"

But he finds that he can’t get out the rest of the sentence. It's as if he can't quite focus, his thoughts wanting to do anything possible except go in a straight line. He grimaces slightly, and then frowns more deeply when Magnus' hands come up to cup his face, one thumb brushing over his cheekbones. Magnus' touch is cooling, but almost uncomfortably so, the feeling like a shock to his system.

"You don't feel hot to me," Magnus says, half to himself, "so the effect isn't physical, whatever it is — though of course that doesn't mean it can't be physically damaging... Do you feel anything else? Dizzy? Numb?"

"Not numb," Alec says. On the contrary, there's a bit of a tingling sensation in his extremities, now that he stops to think about it. "Itchy, though — can you get right of the damn glitter?"

Magnus nods, then snaps. There's a beat, and then he frowns and snaps again. He doesn't bother doing it a third time, though he does reach out to try and physically brush the glitter away, which isn't any more effective than trying to remove it with magic had been.

"Ah," he says. Then, suddenly, his eyes narrow. "You said you felt hot? Itchy? Are you confused — are you having trouble focusing?"

"Yes," Alec says. "I’m — do you know what it is, then?"

"I might," Magnus mutters, his hands glowing blue with magic again. "I think I was looking in the wrong — ah."

Alec shifts, squints, shivers a little. "Ah?"

Not meeting his eyes, Magnus curses, his hands flaring even more brightly blue as he sweeps them in broad strokes all around Alec's body. "It may not have been malicious, but it is dangerous," he says. "I was right, too, when I said he must have mistaken you for another Seelie — but I was wrong in saying that that must have made the magic less effective. It did the opposite."

"It's worse?" Alec says. "It — made it worse?"

"Yes," Magnus says tightly, and then all at once the magic seems to burst outward from his hands and sweep through Alec's entire body, every cell lighting up with the bite of cold, where normally Magnus' magic feels quite warm to him. "Oh, damn it, sometimes I hate being right."

"Magnus, please just tell me what's wrong," Alec begs, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a moment. "I need to — should I go back to the Institute? Should I go try to track down the Seelie? What's wrong?"

"Nothing will be wrong if we handle this quickly," Magnus says. "Luckily, I think we've caught it in plenty of time — it's a good thing you came straight here. But it is a bit of a nasty piece of work, so we have to take it seriously. I hate messing with Seelie magic," he mutters as an aside, wrinkly his nose. "So messy."

"Magnus."

"Sorry," Magnus says, exhaling sharply through his nose. "It's just a little — well. To put it bluntly, Alexander, it's a sex spell."

"Oh," Alec says, a little blankly. Then, slowly, the thought filters through his mind properly, and he starts to get mad. "It — so he roofied me?"

"That's one way to look at it, yes," Magnus says, squeezing his eyes shut tight for a moment and pinching the bridge of his nose. He's clearly frustrated, but strangely, Alec feels remarkably calmer now that he knows that — however unintentionally — a Seelie sprayed him with sex glitter. It makes everything make just a little bit more sense, from the way his skin still feels hot and stretched thin over his frame to the way he feels his eyes going a little heavy-lidded. And it definitely explains the way his throat goes dry when he looks at Magnus, though that one's not exactly out of the ordinary.

"Is it going to wear off?" Alec asks, his voice slurring slightly. The longer he sits here, the more intense everything seems to feel, and either he's crazy, or it's accelerating, each passing moment speeding faster and faster towards — something. He doesn’t quite know what, but given the nature of the spell, he can obviously guess.

Magnus frowns again, but opens his eyes, his hands dropping to move in slow, sweeping arcs around Alec's body once again. "It should," he says a little dubiously, and then immediately swears again. "Unless all the ways you're different from a Seelie mean that the effects won't fade like they should."

Alec frowns. That, obviously, does not sound good. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I can’t really be certain," Magnus says, but his tone is grim enough that Alec knows the caveat probably isn't worth much. "But if I'm understanding the impact this is having on you correctly, it's not going to just — go away the way it should. For a Seelie, this is just a harmless little party drug. But Seelie drugs are complicated; angel blood and demon blood combined allows for some complex physiological effects. But you, Alexander—" He laughs, short and sharp. "You only have half the puzzle pieces. You don't have demon blood, so instead of fading in a couple of hours, we can either give the magic what it wants, or..."

He doesn't say exactly what, but the way he trails off is more than enough. Alec doesn't exactly like to talk about the possibility of Magnus being hurt or dying, either; he more than understands not actually wanting to say the words.

"Well—" he says, trying to keep his own voice relatively even. "Well, then what does it — what does it want? What do we need to give it?"

Magnus grimaces a little. "It's a sex spell, remember?"

"Oh!" Alec replies, taken aback. The relief is so immediate and overwhelming that he doesn't even stop to think, at first, about why Magnus would still sound so upset if the solution is that simple. "Oh, well then that's — that's easy, isn't it?"

"Easy," Magnus says. He sounds bitter, Alec realizes with shock, and unhappy, and clearly Alec is missing something very key, here, because he can't fathom what it is that would suddenly make the idea of having sex with him make Magnus sound like that. His immediate thought is that he must have done something wrong, and anxiety snakes through him in an instant, but — Magnus hasn't moved away from him, hasn't tried to put any distance between them. He has to try and keep himself from jumping to conclusions, has to —

"Do you not want to?" he blurts, and then immediately winces, even before he has a chance to take in Magnus' look of blank shock.

There's a moment of silence before either of them manages to say anything after that, and then when Magnus does manage to say something, his voice actually cracks on his surprise.

"What — Alec, it's not about whether I want to," he says, very much with the air of someone who has been shocked into blunt honesty. "I'm not the one who's being held at metaphorical gunpoint. The problem is whether or not you want to — or not even that, it's whether or not you have the option of saying no, even if you do want to."

Another pause, as Alec's mouth drops open and he tries for several long seconds to formulate an answer that's even slightly intelligible. "But it's you," he says eventually. He feels a little stupid saying it, and his voice is bewildered even to his own ears. "I mean — how long have we been having sex? Why is this different?"

"Because you don't have the ability to say no!" Magnus says, his voice close to boiling over with a potent mixture of worry and frustration. "Whether or not you would doesn't matter in this case as much as the fact that you can't. I know that you wouldn't. I believe you. But I don't like that you couldn't. I don’t like that some — some Seelie whose name I’ll never know took that away from you, however unintentionally."

Alec frowns a little, squints at the intense, unreadable look on Magnus' face, and reaches over a little hesitantly to clasp his hand. "Look," he says, keeping his voice as level and clear as possible, though his mind feels anything but. "I'm not sure I can really have this conversation right now. I mean, I'm — it's all a little—" He gestures wildly with the hand that's not holding Magnus', trying his best to convey the way it feels like he's trying to think through syrup, slow and sticky and sweet. "But I — I understand that you're not huge on the circumstances. I'm pretty sure I understand why? But maybe we can... you know, when I'm less..."

He gestures again, and Magnus reaches up to snatch his hand out of the air before he can get very animated.

"'I'm too impaired to even have this conversation, so we should just go ahead and have sex and talk about it later' is not the watertight argument you probably think it is," he says dryly. Then he sighs, slow and audibly frustrated, and squeezes both of Alec's hands where he's brought them to settle in his lap. "But, unfortunately, in this situation, I think you might be right. It's not like I can just sit around a few hours and wait for you to sober up..."

Magnus still doesn't sound entirely comfortable, so Alec tries his best to be cautious and respectful when he leans in to kiss him, just a gentle brush of lips. "I'm sorry," he says, the thought clearer and more sobering than any he's had in a while. "I don't want to put you in a position like this."

"It's all right, Alexander," Magnus says softly, squeezing his hands again. "It's not as though it’s your fault, and... well, to your own point, it's not as though this isn't how the night would have ended anyway, more likely than not. We just have a few additional wrinkles to work through with the situation that we weren't expecting."

"Right," Alec breathes. "Wrinkles."

When he leans in to kiss Magnus again, it's significantly less cautious, though he does still pull away after just a few seconds, not really giving Magnus an opportunity to respond in kind. He leans back just enough to tempt Magnus forward, and the gambit works: Magnus shifts from being on his knees on the floor to crawling up into Alec's lap with sinuous grace, his eyes glittering. By the time he's got one knee on either side of Alec's hips, Alec is breathing hard, his chest heaving at nothing more than the teasing press of Magnus' legs through the double layer of their pants and the slight, reluctant quirk of his mouth.

"Magnus," he says, or rather, croaks; his chest feels tight, his heart pounding in his throat. Magnus smiles at him with only a hint of reluctance remaining, arms wrapping around him, hands scratching and catching in the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm sure it's starting to get a little uncomfortable for you," he murmurs, his eyes flickering down from Alec's eyes to his lips to the hollow of his throat. "Seelie drugs are just as dangerous for me as they are for you — you don't have demon blood, I don't have angel blood... So I don't have any personal experience, but I've certainly known those who were more than willing to take the risk. I've heard stories."

For all that he's on edge and humming with arousal, Alec hasn't actually taken much time, to this point, to realize the impact of the drug on him physically, other than how hot and sensitive he still feels. It takes only one brief, gentle roll of Magnus' hips, though, for him to realize that those lesser sensations have just been there to distract him. Magnus presses their cocks together, even through multiple layers of fabric, and Alec gasps out loud, the sound shockingly sudden and inescapable in the otherwise-quiet loft.

"That's what I thought," Magnus hums, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. Then, without any sort of warning, he ducks down to nip at Alec's jaw, his earlobe, his throat, trailing little kisses and bites inexorably downward until he finally reaches the point where Alec's neck connects with his shoulder. There, he bites down with significantly more force, licks over the bite with warm, wet flashes of tongue, and then sucks, just hard enough to really entice but not quite hard enough to satisfy the pulsing need that's settling low in Alec's abdomen.

"Raziel," he hisses under his breath, his hands fluttering uselessly up and down Magnus' sides. Magnus bites him again, and he curses even louder, his voice breaking in the middle of the word: "Fuck. Magnus, I don't know if I can—"

"No teasing tonight?" Magnus says, pulling back just far enough to look Alec in the eyes again. He takes the opportunity offered by this slightly greater distance to start working at Alec's clothes, pushing his jacket down off his shoulders and slipping his arms from the sleeves, and then working his hands up under the t-shirt underneath until he can strip it quickly off over Alec's head. "Now that's a crying shame."

"Tease me on nights when it doesn't have life-or-death consequences," Alec breathes, just before pulling Magnus toward him by looping his arms around his neck and kissing him soundly, nipping at his lower lip in retaliation for the bruise that will no doubt bloom under his collar by the morning.

"Oh, you're not that close to the edge, I think," Magnus says as they pull apart. His voice is still even, but his breathing is certainly not, Alec notes with satisfaction; he starts working on his own shirt as he talks, though his eyes never leave Alec. "You've got several hours yet before you'd really start to feel the ill effects, and even then you'd have a few hours more before it got truly dangerous."

"I’m not so sure about taking that chance," Alec replies, reaching out to help him with the buttons down the front of his silky blue top. “Better safe than sorry.”

Magnus hums dismissively, but he flings his shirt aside to join Alec’s and then places his hands just over Alec’s ribs, starting a steady trail downwards that’s totally counter to the aloofness he’s trying to portray. He fingers the button on Alec’s jeans, gaze flicking up so that their eyes lock, and then he pauses a moment, his hands stiling again.

“You’re sure?” he says, quietly. His eyes flicker over Alec’s face.

“Of course I’m sure,” Alec replies, feeling almost unbearably fond. He feels like the sentiment might need a little proof, though — just in case — so he leans down, catching Magnus’ face between his hands and kissing him and kissing him until absolutely every thought has gone out of his own head. When he surfaces again, his pants are gone, or at least shoved far enough down his thighs that they’re out of the way, and Magnus has one hand curled loosely around the base of his cock.

Alec makes an almost wounded little noise when Magnus’ hand flexes, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly and then loosening again. Magnus responds with his own wordless noise: a considering hum accompanied by another little squeeze.

“You really are feeling it, though, aren’t you?” he asks, his tone wondering. Alec doesn’t bother answering, or even nodding; he just keens a little, presses his hips up into Magnus’ touch, and throws his head back, his eyes fluttering shut.

It’s over remarkably quickly after that — perhaps unsurprising, given how worked up Alec is, how hot and close and sensitive everything feels. Magnus barely gets a few good strokes in before Alec is choking on his own breath, his whole body gone taut with need; if not for the chemical influence, the amount of time it takes for him to double over, pressing his face into the crook of Magnus’ neck, and come all over his hands would be positively embarrassing.

There’s a long pause in the aftermath, the silence broken only by their heavy breathing. Alec’s eyes are almost entirely shut, so he feels more than sees the familiar little flicking motion that Magnus uses to get rid of the come, but his eyes struggle open when Magnus says “Oh!”, a soft sound of surprise. When Alec looks down, he sees the Seelie glitter fading off of his skin, disappearing in patches until, in mere moments, it’s as though it was never even there at all.

“Well,” he says after a moment, turning his arm this way and that to make sure that all of the glitter is truly gone. “That was easy, after all that.”

Magnus hums an assent, grabbing Alec’s other hand to flip it around and run his fingers over it himself, likewise checking for any remaining traces of glitter and, based on the way he nods and then squeezes Alec’s hand in his own, finding none. “I’m still not exactly thrilled that you got blasted by Seelie sex magic without your consent, but… yes. It certainly seems to be gone now.”

Alec smiles at him, leaning down for a light peck on the lips. “It wasn’t exactly how I was expecting my night to go, but it also didn’t turn out to be the end of the world,” he says, squeezing Magnus’ hand right back. “I love you. I knew you’d figure out what it was, and figure out how to fix it. I trusted you. And, hey — it worked out pretty well, as far as I’m concerned.”

“I guess you did get your happy ending.”

“Mmm,” Alec agrees, then narrows his eyes a little, his voice dropping into a slightly lower register. “And the night’s not exactly over yet.”

“Alexander,” Magnus replies, dropping Alec’s hand so that he can link his arms behind Alec’s neck instead, his eyes glittering. “Whatever could you mean?”

“Let’s go to bed,” Alec murmurs. “No offense to the Seelies, but I don’t really need anything extra for a night with you.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Magnus replies, and as Magnus draws him up and towards the bedroom, Alec finds it’s easy enough to forget the hot, itchy feeling of glitter on his skin and replace it with the feeling of Magnus’ touch instead.

[taizi]

the wonderful mess that we made

the raven cycle pairing: sarchengsey word count: 2230 read on ao3

x

"I think I'm having a panic attack,” Henry says cheerfully, by way of hello.

Blue stands back to let him into her apartment, mentally writing off her homework for the evening as a lost cause.

Her roommates are in the living room, ostentatiously pretending not to stare, and Henry doesn’t give them the customary friendly wave. He doesn’t even seem to notice their attention at all, which is so much out of character for him that Blue thinks something might actually be wrong.

“Oh,” Henry says before she can get a word in, deducing something from her lack of reaction, “I guess you haven’t checked the group chat recently.”

Jesus Christ.

“I’ve been working. What have they done now?”

“Your husband is trying to drive me to an early grave.”

“Why is he only my husband when he’s doing something wrong?”

Blue leads Henry to the tiny kitchen while they banter. He perches on a stool like a long-legged bird and props his elbows up on the counter, a familiar fixture against the yellow walls and dull blue tiles. It’s late, but there’s fresh coffee in the pot because Blue is a college student, and she fills two mugs while searching her pocket for her phone.

She sewed the pocket into this skirt herself so it takes some digging. Henry refrains from teasing her so loudly he might as well have not bothered.

The muted group chat is as busy and ridiculous as it always is. Even without living in each other’s pockets the way they used to, Blue and her boys fill each other’s days one way or another. Gansey is spending the week at the Barns (even though Henry grumbled about his bed being too big with him gone, and how was he supposed to sleep alone for a whole week, and why doesn’t their girlfriend like him enough to stay over even though the commute to her job would be an extra hour from there, and they’re both the worst and Henry deserves better) and Blue expected some level of extra shenanigans from that end.

But the innocuous video message draws her eye. Below it is Henry’s “????” followed by “hey what the fuck???” and “no what the FUCK fellas?????”

Blue takes a steadying breath. She presses play.

The video cuts in abruptly, auto-focusing as it zooms in. The wind is dull white noise against the camera on all sides, and Blue realizes that this is being recorded from somewhere very high off the ground.

Ronan is laughing, that loud gut laugh that Blue associates with fires and speeding tickets. Behind the camera, Adam’s voice cusses softly, and then yells, “Don’t fucking drop him, Ronan! This is so stupid!”

“Fuck you!” Ronan yells back happily. “We’re investigating!”

Finally he comes into view. Gansey is with him. They’re most certainly not at the Barns-- or at least not any part of it that Blue recognizes. They’re halfway up some ancient wooden structure, and Gansey is leaning out as far as he can with a journal in hand. He’s taking notes, despite the wind biting at his hair and pulling at his tacky fruit-print jacket, as calmly as a TA behind a desk in any one of Blue’s classes.

Blue stands in her little kitchen with a forgotten mug of coffee in her hand and stares at the video of her boyfriend suspended sixty feet above the ground by nothing but a halfhearted elbow looped around a rail and his brother’s hands on his belt.

Strained and disbelieving, Adam’s voice barely carries over the wind; “We drove all the way to Tippecanoe because someone on Twitter saw ghost lights in the state park. You know how many @s he gets a day about this stuff? A lot. You know how much I’ve learned about the history of Indiana in the last two hours? A lot. You know how pissed I’ll be if my boyfriend and my best friend break their fucking necks from falling off a fire tower? A lot!”

This last part is shouted in the direction of said boyfriend and best friend, who don’t react beyond shooting Adam the bird and a careless wave, respectively. Ronan’s relaxed grip on Gansey and Gansey’s relaxed grip on the rail causes Gansey to slip a few inches, Ronan to scramble, and Adam to drop his phone with a colorful curse. The video ends there.

Henry takes a very calm sip of coffee. Blue says, at length, “What the fuck?”

“My thoughts exactly! I’m considering a divorce!”

“You’re not married,” one of Blue’s roommates pipes up from the couch. “So a divorce should be easy.”

“As it has been explained to me on numerous occasions, time is a circle.” Henry draws a helpful loop in the air with his finger, to illustrate his point. He doesn’t glance her way or even seem to care that what he’s saying sounds insane. “We’re not married yet, but we will be eventually, so we sort of already are. Hence, the impending divorce.”

Half of Blue wants to smile, but the other half is still horrified.

“They were supposed to be in Virginia,” she says. “They drove nine hours just to look for ghost lights.”

“Alleged ghost lights. I’ll bet you a hundred bucks it was just campers with flashlights fucking around.”

“Ronan, I expect this from. But Adam?”

“See if we ever let him babysit again.”

“Have you talked to Gansey? Aside from your keyboard mashes in the group chat, I mean.”

“Nope! I wasn’t sure if I was overreacting or not, so I came here first to get your opinion. From the look on your face, though, you’re on my side? We’re going to gang up on our beautiful idiot life partner, and you won’t let me cave in when he looks sad at me?”

Blue leans over the counter to kiss him. He tastes like vanilla caramel from his coffee, smells like ozone from the overcast weather outside and citrus from Gansey’s shampoo, and leans into her with a sigh that betrays how disquieted he actually is under his shiny veneer.

“It’s just,” Henry says, as though he knows he's stupid for it but he can’t help but care this much, “what if he fell?”

A speaking look at Blue's roommates drives them out of the living room, and they close the bedroom door behind them to give Henry and Blue the polite illusion of privacy. Blue taps Gansey's name and puts the outgoing call on speaker. Henry is gazing down at the display on the phone screen, an ugly selfie of the three of them in which Gansey manages to look lovely despite his crooked glasses and rumpled shirt and wild hair.

He picks up on the fifth ring, sounding breathless.

"Jane!" he says, the voice of someone who has no idea he's in trouble. The words are shaped like a smile, and despite herself, something tight in Blue's chest goes soft. "How's the paper going?"

"The paper has been put on hold," Blue says primly. "Because our boyfriend came over to my apartment in distress. Because our boyfriend decided to spend his evening dangling off of a fire tower hunting for ghosts."

"Why ghost-hunting, Dickie?" Henry has to ask at that point. "I mean-- you know ghosts are real. You were roommates with a ghost. You were a ghost, one memorable St Mark's Eve. So-- what proof are you looking for, exactly?"

"Proof for everyone else. Noah isn't evidence, he's family, I'm not going to use him. And I was perfectly safe, besides. Ronan was holding onto my belt."

On one hand, there are few places Gansey is safer than with Ronan. On the other, sixty-some feet is a long way to the ground, and not even the Greywaren can bring the laws of gravity to heel in the real world. Blue massages her temple, in preparation for the headache she's sure this conversation is going to give her.

"I know that you've got all sorts of climbing and spelunking gear that you've used in all corners of the world, I know you do. So why is it I never see you in a helmet when you're doing something spectacularly stupid?"

"What's the worst that could happen?" Gansey says, interested. "I've already died twice. That's once more than I'm supposed to, isn't it?"

And that...

That sounds suspiciously like someone else.

Death left a hole in him that Cabeswater had to fill, and sometimes it spills over the edges like an overflowing cup.

Henry's hand curls around his mug, a little too tight, and Blue takes a slow breath in.

She doesn't say Give Gansey back. I'm talking to Gansey, not to you, but she wants to. Cabeswater gave them a miracle when it gave them back Gansey's life, but his friends don't want to share him. These moments of-- spilling, of overlap, are few and far between, but they're unsettling even in their scarcity.

"The absolute worst?" she says with playful severity. "A divorce. Henry's going to take half of what you own, and probably keep the townhouse too."

"Oh," Gansey says, and sounds like himself again. "Is he upset? I'm sorry, I didn't-- I wasn't thinking. It's just-- the view was too good to pass up, you know? From that height, in the dark, the forest canopy looked like a sea. You should have seen it," he adds. "It wasn't magic, but it came close. I wish you had been there with me."

"Ugh, you're impossible," Henry grumbles. He's probably annoyed that he's too fond of Gansey to stay annoyed. "Take me on your stupid road trip next time."

"But you said you were busy-- "

"And tell Ronan that I will personally, and with extreme prejudice, kick his ass if he lets you pull some shit like that again," Blue adds, raising her voice, because she's ninety percent certain Ronan and Adam are within earshot of the call.

"Bring it, nerd," Ronan says, instantly proving her point. There's a muffled thud, and a soft cuss, and Adam's voice hissing at him to 'shut up, Lynch, we're already in deep shit.'

"At the very least, you could wear a helmet," Henry says. "A helmet is the very least you could do."

"I, um-- could keep one in the trunk? If that would make you feel better?"

It's probably the best they're going to get out of him. There's no way he'll stop climbing abandoned fire towers or investigating the things his odd internet circles send him, and Blue wouldn't even ask it of him. He's going to school because he has to, majoring in historical archaeology to absolutely no one's surprise, but it's clear that his heart lies in his own research, his own travels, his own agenda. He's going to discover everything, Blue thinks. Every wonderful and magical thing the world has to offer, and he'll do it with or without a fancy degree, he's done it already, and he'll do it with them by his side every step of the way if he can.

And of course he can. Blue wants him safe, but she doesn't want him stifled.

"Thank you," Blue allows magnanimously. "Are you still at the state park?"

"No, we're somewhere on I-65. The Pig died on our way back to the Barns.  Adam is working his magic under the hood as we speak. We're trying to convince Ronan to dream up a conveniently located auto shop for us, but so far no dice."

The video still bothers her a little-- especially that little slip and near-fall near the end-- but Gansey is so very much alive, as steady and constant as the earth. He's far away for right now, but if she closes her eyes she can convince herself he's right there, his voice filling her small kitchen while his brothers bicker distantly somewhere behind him. Henry rests his chin on his folded arms, and Blue strokes a hand through his hair absently. They lean over the phone from opposite sides of the counter for a moment, heavy with love, aching with it, endless with it; much more than a moment should be able to hold.

"It's late where you are, isn't it? Now that you've scolded me, you should probably get some sleep."

"When are you coming home?" Henry asks. "All joking aside, it's weird without you here."

Gansey's voice is smiling again when he says, "Soon."

They say their goodnights, and Blue takes Henry by the hand and pulls him to the second bedroom. Her boys don't usually sleep over here, because the walls are thin and her roommates are nosy, but they've been here often enough that Henry can maneuver through the mess on the floor without turning on the light, and Blue follows him down onto the bed without bothering to undress. His arms slip around her and she buries her nose in the hollow of his neck.

"Still getting a divorce?" she murmurs.

"I guess I'll save that trump card for when I really need it," Henry sighs. "Our marriage is safe for now."

"It's a circle," Blue reminds him. "If you were gonna get divorced, we'd be divorced already."

"Well, shit." Henry pulls her a little closer. Two out of three is better than one, and Gansey will be home this time tomorrow. "Guess we're permanent."

[bytheangell]

Tonight We Ride

(Read on AO3)

“Alec, this seems like a terrible idea.” Underhill is now holding two drinks, one in each hand, because Alec shoves his most recent glass of beer at him to hold while he signs his name up on a piece of paper at the bar. “I know you’re technically my boss, and I have no right to tell you what to do, but--”

“Stop.” Alec cuts him off, but even just the single word is drawn out in a slight slur. Or maybe more than a slight slur, he really can’t tell anymore. “First, quit calling me ‘your boss’ when we’re out for drinks. We’re friends, Underhill. You get to tell me when I’m being an idiot.” Alec pauses there, a smirk on his face as he reaches out and takes his beer back, managing to only spill some of it onto the ground in the process. “Except you’re wrong. This is not a terrible idea. This is a great idea.”

In front of them, in the center of a circle of inflatable cushioning, is a mechanical bull. And Alexander Gideon Lightwood, Head of the New York Institute, is going to ride it.

“Alec, please. Your sister is going to kill me if I bring you back for healing after you break your neck on this thing,” Underhill groans.

“Do you really have such little faith in me? That hurts.” Alec scoffs, feigning offense as he brings a hand up to his chest indignantly. “Magnus is going to be so mad he left early,” Alec adds, and at least that’s one thing they can both agree on. Underhill imagines Alec would’ve listened to Magnus… then again, after spending some time with the pair of them, he isn’t so sure Magnus wouldn’t encourage this just for the ridiculousness.

“At least tell me I can record it?” Underhill asks, taking another sip of his own drink while reaching into his pocket with his free hand for his phone.

“Yes. In fact, you have to, so I can show Izzy and Jace. Otherwise they’ll never believe me.”

Alec pulls his own phone out, bringing up a group chat between Izzy, Jace, Clary, and himself.  

A: There is a mechanical bull here J: Ride it C: Alec pls ride it I: omfg no Alec do not ride it you’ll break your drunk ass neck. DO NOT ENCOURAGE HIM.  A: LOL!!! I: Alec no I: #StopAlec2k18 A: I’m gonna ride it

“Are you going to use your runes?” Underhill asks, thinking that the equilibrium rune might be enough to balance out Alec’s inebriation. Alec looks up from his phone and considers the idea for half a second before shaking his head, ignoring the vibrations of continued messages from the chat as he slips his phone back into his pocket, out of sight and out of mind.

“No. That’d be cheating. If these mundanes can do this without help, so can I.” Alec sounds very sure of himself, and by this point Underhill knows better than to try and argue.

“Alright, you’re up!” Comes the voice of the man operating the controls of the bull, and he’s looking at Alec.

“Wish me luck.” Alec gives a wink before setting his drink down on a nearby table and hopping into the circle. Underhill shakes his head again, laughing, knowing how much some of the others would pay to witness this right now. And of course, slight concerns aside, it isn’t like it can end too poorly; drunk or not, Alec’s a Shadowhunter, and--

--and he just jumped up onto the bull only to immediately fall off the other side.

Underhill barks out a laugh, and Alec makes another attempt, but the squishiness of the inflatable padding underneath makes getting a solid jump onto the bull nearly impossible. His current lack of hand-eye (and total body, if he’s being honest) coordination isn’t helping matters. Someone from the growing crowd of onlookers takes it upon himself to go over and assist after a second failed attempt to mount the bull, and Underhill curses the fact that he isn’t filming yet as a total stranger literally lifts Alec by the thighs and pushes him into a sitting position on the bull.

For the first time since signing his name on that paper, Alec is actually a little nervous. People are watching now, and he just needed someone to help lift him onto this bull after falling off an embarrassing number of times before he could even properly start. Perhaps, he considers a bit too late, Underhill might’ve had a point about this being a bad idea. Jace’s encouragement  should’ve been the second hint.

“Ready?” The operator asks, and Underhill hits record, watching as the mechanical animal springs to life.

Thankfully for sake of both Alec’s pride and his physical well-being, the operator has a sense of just how drunk the man on the bull is and keeps things slow. The smile’s gone and Alec looks far too focused and serious for anyone having an enjoyable night out as all of his energy is directed to not falling off the bull. He tries to spot Underhill in the small crowd of bar-goers but between his vision blurring slightly from the alcohol AND the constant swirling movements of the bull it’s no surprise he can’t make out individual people. About 15 seconds later Alec nearly loses his balance but manages to shift himself upright again, his body moving fluidly forward and back to match the bull’s jeering movements.

Underhill lets out an encouraging cheer. The operator speeds up the movements, the turns coming faster and sharper until, at the 35 second mark, Alec starts to slide to the right. There’s a look of panic on his face and it seems like he might try to fix it again before his hands are off the handle and he’s falling unceremoniously onto his side in defeat.

His collapse is met with cheers and claps from the onlookers, and he rolls himself over to climb unsteadily back to his feet with a small, satisfied smile on his face, managing to only stumble once on his way out.

“Got it all,” Underhill says proudly, motioning to his phone. “Not going to lie, I’m impressed, Lightwood. I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Neither can I,” Alec admits, laughing as he grabs his drink back. “Your turn?”

“Absolutely not.” Underhill states with no uncertainty, the pair of them laughing as they head back inside.

“Not even if it comes as a direct order from your boss?” Alec’s smirking a bit.

“What happened to not being my boss tonight?” Underhill mocks, rolling his eyes.

“I’m just kidding. I wouldn’t pressure you into doing something you didn’t want to do. It’s totally fine that you don’t want to be embarrassed because you know there’s no possible way you could beat my time. I understand.”

Underhill gives an incredulous huff. “So that’s how we’re going to play this?” He challenges, handing his drink to Alec to hold. “Alright, boss. You’re on.”  

[terreisa]

Work It Out

A silly bet brings out Emma’s competitive side.  She didn’t anticipate it bringing out something else.  A CS modern au ficlet.

ff.net, AO3

Emma Swan was a sweaty, panting, red-faced mess.  As she tried to pull in a full breath she wondered how the hell she had ended up in such a ridiculous position.  The answer came from a chuckle at her side.

“Come now, princess, we’re only halfway there.”

Killian Jones gave her a wide grin as he passed her on the trail.  She scowled at his back and didn’t bother adjusting her face when he turned back to look at her.  His laugh echoed around them as she growled and pushed herself forward.

It all started the weekend before when she’d had one too many beers at their friend’s, David and Mary-Margaret, house.  They’d gotten together to watch the World Cup final and Killian had made an offhand comment about how he’d be able to run up and down a field for ninety minutes, no problem.  She’d laughed and stupidly suggested that she was in better shape, mostly because from what she knew of his gym habits as compared to hers were laughable.  His eyes had flashed with the unspoken challenge as he set the terms of a bet: they each had to drag the other to the activity of their choice and whoever waved the proverbial white flag first won.  Both David and Mary Margaret had merely rolled their eyes at their squabbling and counted themselves out.

On Monday she had gone first and thoroughly trounced him in the ring.  He had complained loudly and repeatedly how unfair it was when she practically lived at the facility they were sparring in when she wasn’t tracking down bail skips.  When she had knocked him on his ass with a well placed kick the complaints had stopped and instead the innuendos he was annoyingly known for had practically poured out of his mouth without stop.  He also hadn’t conceded.

Tuesday Killian had taken her sailing but not the relaxing weekend trips around the harbor she was used to.  Somehow he’d convinced a friend to loan him a smaller, faster boat that required her to move things and tie things and practically sprint from one end of the boat to the other.  When they’d returned after only an hour out on the water her arms had felt like noodles and her ass hurt only a little less than her pride after her third fall that’d forced him to turn around and her into a life vest.  Even as she���d gingerly stepped back on the dock she’d refused to bow out.

Wednesday was her turn again and she couldn’t hide her smile when he’d met her in front of her yoga studio.  He scoffed at her choice, ribbing her under his breath for going easy on him just so she wouldn’t have to torture herself after the sailing mishaps.  The teasing had cut off abruptly when he stepped into the one hundred and five degree, humid yoga studio.  She’d felt terrible when she’d had to help him out of the studio forty-five minutes later after he’d nearly fainted from dehydration and heat exhaustion.  Once he’d felt better he agreed that both sailing and not yoga were a wash and after a day of rest he’d be ready to truly test her.

It was Friday and she’d stupidly believed that going for a hike would be a piece of cake.  What she hadn’t accounted for was the fact that he was forcing her straight up the side of a mountain that seemed to have no peak.  The trail was so steep she felt as though she’d been hiking on her tiptoes for nearly the entire time.

“I’ve never even heard of this hike,” she wheezed, “Are you sure you didn’t just pick the tallest mountain nearby and start walking up it?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Swan, we’re currently on a well marked trail,” Killian said with a laugh. “Be glad you’re not doing it with a hundred pounds of equipment on.”

“What?!  You had to do that?” She asked, trying to imagine wearing a full firefighting get up when she was already sweating profusely.

“Of course, how else would we train for wildfires on mountains or rescuing damsels in distress?” He said, clearly teasing as he paused to wait for her.

“I’m not in distress,” she ground out.  She reached him and weakly pushed at his shoulder to get out of her way so she wouldn’t lose what little momentum she had, “How many times have you done this hike?  You’ve barely broken a sweat.”

“Oh, I can break a sweat if you truly wish me to,” he said and she could picture the leer on his face.  Then he cleared his throat and fell into step behind her, “To answer your question though I’ve done it three or four times for training but I try to get out here at least once a week on my own.”

“Once a... but you don’t even like the gym,” she said incredulously.

“There’s other ways to exercise, luv, as we’ve demonstrated this past week.”

She hummed in agreement and kept trudging on.

They made it to the top with only a pitiful amount of water sloshing in her bottle and Killian grinning at her like a fool.  Just as she was about to collapse to the ground in a sweaty heap he grabbed her hand and tugged her along the trail that continued along the ridge.

“You haven’t even seen the best part yet, Swan!  I promise it’s worth it.”

She trudged along behind him for nearly a mile, finally catching her breath when she became aware of two things: she could hear the rushing sound of fast moving water and Killian was still holding her hand.  Before she could decide how she felt about the latter they came upon the source of the former and the beauty of what looked like a fifty foot waterfall.

“This is amazing,” she half yelled over the cacophony of falling water. “Come here with your firefighter bros often?”

“We usually hike the other direction to go back down the mountain,” he said hitching his thumb back the way they had come.  Then he ducked his head in a way that she could only think of as bashfully, “You’re the first person I’ve shown this to.”

“Oh,” she whispered, her breath catching and her heart rate speeding up in an entirely new way.

“Have a seat, luv,” he implored as he sat down at the edge of the cliff they were on, gently tugging on her hand.

“Yeah, okay.”

As she sat next to him she began to wonder how she could have missed the signs of Killian actually working to impress her.  He’d always been a flirt, from the moment she’d met him at a party she’d been dragged to with Mary Margaret in college and he’d crawled out from the bottom of a drunken dogpile to slur at her that she was beautiful.  It had taken a few months before she’d stopped rolling her eyes at him in annoyance and did it in a kind of resigned fondness.  Nearly eight years later he was one of her best friends and with a shock she realized she wouldn’t really mind if he became something more.

“Penny for your thoughts, Swan,” Killian murmured into her ear as he playfully nudged her shoulder with his.

She fought against a blush as she cast about for something not related to her current thoughts to say.

“Just wondering how I’m going to torture you tomorrow,” she said weakly.

“Whatever it is it’ll have to wait until late afternoon or early evening if that’s alright.  I’m on overnights for the next few weeks.”

“Yeah,” she agreed absently, a plan forming in her mind. “That’s perfect.”

The next day Emma found herself pacing nervously in front of the address she had text Killian the night before.  She’d deliberately chosen a block with several different work out options to try and throw him off the scent.  What she hadn’t thought through as he came around the corner was that he was wearing an old tee and basketball shorts and she was wearing…

“Why are you in a dress, Swan?  Is this a Shall We Dance situation because I have to warn you I’m fairly adept at the waltz.”

“Not exactly,” she said quietly, wringing her hands in front of her.

“Oh, I see,” he murmured with a slow nod.  He gave her a half-hearted smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes, “You could have just text me to cancel instead of coming down here before your date.”

“My date?” She repeated dumbly, wondering how in the hell he’d figured it out.

“That’s not one of your skip catching dresses and you’ve done something fancy to your hair,” he pointed out glumly.  His eyes widened as he seemed to realize he might have offended her, “I mean, you look marvelous, stunning really but it clearly isn’t for me.”

She tilted her head slightly, blushing from his compliment and asked, “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I’d never get so lucky,” he stated matter of factly as his hand reached up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Well, it looks like you’ve won the lottery, Jones,” she teased, rocking on her heels so her floaty pink dress swayed around her knees.

“I… wha?”

Emma paused to savor the dumbstruck look on his face.  It was rare that she could catch him on the wrong foot and even rarer that she could render him speechless.  He blinked owlishly at her before dropping his gaze down to his own clothes.

“I look like a bloody frat boy,” he grumbled barely loud enough for her to hear.  She giggled and he looked up at her with suspicion, “You’re not pulling my leg are you?  You… this… us-”

“No joke,” she said with a soft smile. “I’m here to ask if you’d like to go on a date with me, right now.”

A large grin threatened at the corners of his mouth, “Shouldn’t I be the one asking?”

“Why?  ‘Cause you’re, like, a million years old?” She said with a grin of her own.

“Har, bloody, har, Swan.  Fine, but perhaps you’d allow me the chance to change first?” He asked as he stepped towards her.

“Nope, you’re perfect just like that,” she said, grabbing his hand and lacing their fingers together to stop whatever flirtatious remark was on the tip of his tongue. “Come one we have reservations.”

“Uh, right, yeah,” he stuttered, staring at their intertwined hands.  He looked up at her and shook his head slightly, “Lead the way.”

Their secluded picnic on the roof of the dance studio was better than she could have imagined and their night did end with a bit of a waltz before Killian had to leave for work.  He also made sure to leave her slightly breathless from one hell of a kiss and a promise that it was his turn to pick the activity.

On Sunday Emma found herself a sweaty, panting, red-faced mess but, then again, so was Killian.  Neither one of them ever really ended up waving that white flag.

Where I live there are a few hikes that firefighters use for training and one of them is pretty much a hike straight up the side of a mountain. It was on that very hike that I got the inspiration for this little one-shot and by the time I was trudging back to my car it was half written already. Hope you enjoyed it!

[thecitylightshow]

WIP Picking

Okay, I know I don’t have many interactive followers, but I need opinions. I have several Big Fics underway, and I don’t know which one I want to concentrate on first. So, I’m asking y’all to vote (and I will shamelessly tag a bunch of people who’s opinions I would love, sorry not sorry). The options are…

(beware the cut!!)

Softly, With Starry Eyes

He reaches out to tuck a fallen curl behind Tony’s ear. Tony can feel the nerves sitting in Steve’s gut, but all he can feel is relief.

Maybe this won’t be so hard.

“Dinner.” Steve says, breaking Tony out of his thoughts. “We should have dinner first.” He’s smiling, and his fingers are still tracing Tony’s cheek. Tony reaches up to intertwine them with his own.

“Dinner,” he echoes. “We can do that.”

A shared emotions soulmate AU in which everyone expects Steve and Tony to angst over the situation and continue their antagonist barely-even-co-workers style relationship for Some Time, but what actually happens is a healthy embarkment into a strong and trusting romantic relationship.

I did say this is an AU.

Featuring; Tony actually wants a soulmate, the two most stubborn individuals on the planet, some rare-pairs because fight-me, and really not that much angst at all.

Tony/Steve, Clint/Bruce/Bucky, Rhodey/Nat, Jan/Pep, Thor&Loki.

 thank you, kind ghost

A long ass fic that leads into a complex universe, injecting a large supernatural element into the MCU universe. Written for @kiernaserea, it features Ghost!Steve haunting Tony as he grows up, and them eventually being able to get to know eachother.

Large focus on slow-build Steve-Tony, Steve&Maria friendship, and Tony becoming the Tony we all know and love.

Tony fusses over the bots quietly, but eventually he turns to where Steve stands, his hand not in the sling coming to rest on Dum-E’s head. “So you’re my kind ghost?” he asks, and his voice is shaking. “Steven fucking Rogers…” he murmurs around a smile so fragile, that Steve can’t help but quip;

“There should be a Captain in there somewhere.” and though his voice is breaking, Tony smiles and he’s laughing, and perhaps it’s slightly hysterical but the haunted look fades a little behind his eyes. Steve smiles back easily and lets Tony laugh. He stops eventually, propping himself up on Dum-E - who’s more than happy to stay there and be a prop - and for a moment he just stares at Steve.

“Do I want to know?” he asks after a moment, and swallows hard. “My mother-” he stops himself. Steve wishes he could pull the man into a hug.

“She wants to see you.” Steve settles on, when it's clear that Tony’s not going to speak. “But she doesn't want to make this worse.” Tony's eyes go wide.

“What the fuck is going on? Because you- you and her are very dead.” he freezes then. “Did I die, is that it? Or is this some form of punishment-?”

“No! No, it's-” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “You're not dead, Tony. I don't know how you can see us now, but you can, so that's a, that's a, a thing.” Tony's got one eyebrow raised at him. “You're not crazy, I swear.” Steve tells him, because he knows what Tony is thinking.

“So I'm just supposed to accept that Captain America decided to spend his afterlife haunting the fuck out of me?”

“If you could that would really speed this explanation up.”

The Soulmate Situation

A poly-soulmate, names on skin fic, where Tony, Steve, Bucky, Natasha and Bruce all share a bond. Slow-build, mild emotional angst, but mostly just them feeling out each other’s broken edges and getting together. It’s got a lot to it with no substance, at present. A snippet of the prologue, to give a feel…

Time likes to play games.

 Meeting soulmates two and three is something of a clusterfuck.

Steve Rogers isn’t dead.

(He thought he was though, he’d made peace with that, and now he’s in a future and screaming that he shouldn’t be here even if most of his soulmates are).

There’s a god in the room and another out to get them, and oh, Bruce Banner’s smirk is adorable but his walls are up (- and he’s furiously trying to barricade himself up behind them, muttering this is bad this is bad this is bad-) and he’s tense as hell. Tony’s never felt more alone in a crowded room that he does right now.

Three names in touching distance, and about as far away as they could be. No friends.

No allies.

He’s never been called a team player, and maybe this is why.

 It’s all any of them ever wanted to be.

 +

 Tony looks down, and they look up. Nuke in hand, Tony’s 99% assured of his own imminent destruction. Time will take him back too soon. He wonders if there are words.

They all do.

I’m sorry seems quite prevalent. Forgive me, hot on its heels.

They’ll be Tony’s dying words, if he does speak, but he’s no poet and there’s nothing worthy that he can make pass his lips.

There’s worse things to die for, Tony thinks to himself, and then the universe is stretching out before him. He closes his eyes to the endless abyss and the armada beyond with a smile and a not-quite prayer, and hope that wherever he’s destined for James will be waiting.

Steve smiles like the sun when he wakes on a roar, and Tony thinks to himself there are worse things to live for.

 Cross My Heart

Based, with permission on a complex ass idea of @goodmorningbeloved’s that I was very eager for, planned, and then had a very bad drop in mental health. If you vote for this, I’m going to need help. I can’t do this fic alone. The opening, to give a feel…

It starts like this.

 Tony glances down at his wrist. He’s in the rubble of New York where he was before. The same people are gathered around – he was gone for months, but he was gone for less than a moment. He’s not the only one surprised.

The X is still there.

A mark as if drawn on in black ink, like he’s seen on the skin of so many people and never seen on his own. He’s still waiting for it to disappear, he realises, but it’s not fading. There’s small changes happening to the situation; whatever he changed, it’s helping. The X isn’t fading.

He looks up, and finds Bruce before he finds him.

“Time is more linear than we thought.” Tony says, and then he starts to laugh.

 For Tony, it starts like this.

 Tony feels like he’s committing some form of cardinal sin.

It’s not unusual for the crossed – those with their soulmate X’s – to sleep with other people, even the uncrossed. It would be silly not to, so often people don’t know who caused the X to appear on their wrists.

But this is Captain America.

Fuck that, it’s Steve Rogers, who’s damn well meant to be untouchable to someone like Tony. He’s just so touchable though, and he started it.

When this all comes crashing down around his ears, Tony will remember. Steve started this.

 For Steve, it starts like this.

 He walks fast, avoiding people on the streets as they bustle past, avoids the alleyway and- wait. Tony walks back a few steps, and before it honestly registers what he’s seeing, he’s calling out “hey!” The two taller men step apart for a moment, and Tony gets a flash of blond hair from the guy they were kicking the shit of before they turn to him. “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size? Maybe without ganging up on him like cowards?” The men sneer, glancing at each other, and with a sigh Tony holds open his jacket to show them the revolver he’s got tucked in his belt. “Pull the other one, fellas.” He says – god it’s only been a month and he’s picking up the slang in a way he never had when it was just Steve to learn it from. The men pale, and leave in a huff.

Tony’s holding out a hand to help the poor guy up, and it’s not until he’s staring into a pair of blue eyes he knows as intimately as he knows himself, that Tony realises he’s just fucked up.

There’s an X on his wrist, to match the one on Steve’s.

Part of him wants to laugh that he’s always been jealous of himself, and the rest of him seems to be sending in an error report.

“You didn’t have to do that…?” Steve trails off into a question, and Tony coughs, wishing he didn’t have to lie about his name but knowing he must.

“Edward.” He says. “And I couldn’t just let my best fella get beaten.”

 The middle?

Well.

That’s complicated.

 The Road Through Hell (Is Paved With Fucking Landmines)

Welcome to the best Worst Road Trip fic you’ll ever read; where everyone's crazy, the war doesn’t matter, and the only thing being counted are the bullet holes in Howard's Aston Martin.

A fic featuring Tony, Natasha, Loki, Clint and Sam going AWOL amid my version of WW3 to go and rescue the unit that Steve, Bucky and Thor are assigned where it has been lost and abandoned behind enemy lines. The war is in the background, this features SteveTony letters, ridiculous jokes and dark moments, but a surprising lack of angst. Hopefully.

 Treasure of the Heart

When Steve Rogers comes to see him, and wishes to find his brother, Bruce knows that to grant his wish will set a chain of events in motion. Events that could tear apart the kingdom, and will probably break his heart.

He says yes anyway.

Wish-granter!Witch!Bruce, pre-serum!adventurer!Steve, soul-forger!Tony, assassin!Natasha, half-elf!theif!Clint, dwarven!Thor, knight!Rhodey, cleric!Pepper and faye!Jan. Also featuring Dummy, Jarvis, You and Butterfingers as soul-wisps, a Peter&Harley&Kamala cameo, and a past to remain where it lays.

It’s a Bruce/Bucky fic, with an on-going plan that’s sat in a chat. I’m fond of it, even if it drives me nuts.

(If people were looking for The Stark’s High Society Orphans Club on this list, I apologise, but also promise that that fic is always on-going, but it also never had a plan. I’m still writing it, but it gets more attention than all of these and gets difficult at every turn).

@ishipallthings @itsallavengers @xtaticpearlsblog @codeflaws @savedbythenotepad @itstheallmother @reioka @agenderraskel @viudanegraaa uh… fuck, just, please?? Help me?? I don’t know which to work on and I’d prefer to work on something people would actually like to read!!

(People can reblog this. Please reblog this. I’ll come back and look at 17/08 8pm GMT. Wait no GMT plus 1, it’s summer. Friday, I’m looking on Friday). 

[rex101111]

Swipes Of Sword And Fan 11

And another one! :D This one was supposed to be a birthday present for Anji but I only remembered it was his birthday by the time it nearly over. So now it’s a belated Birthday present for Anji! :D

Chapter 11: Exhaustion and Gifts

"You alright back there?"

"Shut up and keep walking." Baiken huffed as she felt her weight shift by a few movements of Anji's shoulders, her chin once more finding its place in the crook of his neck as she settled. "And if you want to be my white damned steed you keep it shut."

Anji chuckled lightly, the vibration moving from his back to her chest as she leaned on it. "I said I wanted to be your knight on a white steed, though I suppose this is a good conciliation prize!"

Baiken groaned as she pressed her forehead on his neck, despairing more and more at her situation. They were currently on the way back to their inn room for the night from a particularly rough job. A group of anarchy-obsessed lunatics thought the best way to spend the last week of the year was to cause as much destruction as possible in a small merchant town, and she and Anji came to fix the problem before too many people got hurt.

Apparently, their employer thought it wise to misinform them about the strength of said lunatics, thinking he could get away with a lower price for asking them to deal with a lesser threat. One of the things he failed to mention was that, somehow, the raving idiots managed to get their hands on Crusade Era war machine that still had most of its bullets.

Bullets that all missed mind you, but the junk heap was still a bitch and a half to take down, Baiken taking it upon herself to do so while Anji took care of the humans trying to stop her. The result of the whole disaster was that Baiken was so exhausted and bruised she could barely move, and with nothing but an underwhelming payday to look forward to.

However, maybe not as underwhelming once Baiken had a long conversation with their employer about the importance of truthfully describing a damn job, of course.

Not that she would be able to do so now, so bone tired she had to swallow her pride and ask Anji to carry her on his back to their inn. Right now Baiken doubted she could threaten a half-blind rat.

So much for the New Year's Eve party Anji wanted to drag her too. Not that she mourned the so-called company, or occasion, it's just that towns like this always brought out the good shit with parties like these. Merchants always had a few spare bottles of Sake handy these days. She was hoping to snag a bottle or two for the road ahead.

Not to mention that she had some…plans of her own for the morning of the New Year. She hazarded a guess that she would be in no mood to make anyone happy tomorrow, utterly focused on ripping that skeevy mayor a new one for nearly getting them killed.

It was almost enough to make her feel guilty. Almost.

Guess Anji will have to-

"You keep scowling like that you'll leave a mark on the back of my neck!" Anji called out with a laugh, knocking her out of her thoughts, "and not the fun kind either!"

"Shove it." She muttered against his neck before lifting her forehead and replacing it with her chin. "Bad enough that you're carrying me like an invalid, no need for you to jabber my damn ear off."

"No shame in needing assistance Baiken." He replied easily, patting her gently where he held her thigh. "I'm just trying to make sure you don't scowl all night, its New Year's Eve!" He gestured with his head towards some of the colorful decorations strung along the streetlights on their path. "Try to enjoy the atmosphere a little!"

"Enjoy it huh?" She tutted dryly. "Like you're enjoying the feeling of my tits on your back and my thigh in your palm?"

"Exactly!"

She clicked her tongue at him and flicked him on the cheek from where she draped her arm over his shoulder. "Prick."

"I am to please." He answered smartly, eliciting a brief snort from Baiken as she settled on his back again, pressing her ear to him to hear the dull thuds of his steps through his shoulders. Shoulders that shifted as Anji slowed and looked to the side, Baiken following his gaze to see a cascade of flashing colors in the direction of the town square. "Looks like at least someone is having fun tonight eh?"

"Yeah, a bunch of clueless assholes." She spat with a scowl. "Drinking and dancing and acting like a bunch of feckless fucking teenagers." She scoffed. "Probably had no damn idea those manic idiots were planning to plow that war machine right into them at full speed."

Anji made an agreeing hum, "good thing we skipped out on the party to put a stop to that than!"

Again, a brief stab of guilt shot through her, helped along by her exhaustion causing the memory of how Anji raved about how much fun the party would be and how excited he seemed about the prospect of going to such a large gathering for the first time in months.

Instead he spent the eve of his birthday fighting a bunch of raving madmen and carrying her on his back while she bitched in his ear.

The thought made her screw up her face slightly, letting out a sigh. "Sorry we had to miss it Anji, I know you were looking forward to it."

Anji slowed for a moment, looking back at her in surprise before smiling gently and going back to his previous pace. "Don't worry about it Baiken, I was honestly just planning on gathering some blackmail on the mayor for our payment discussion tomorrow."

She huffed in amusement at the thought; always count on Anji to gather info while everyone else was busy getting hammered.

"Though I suppose I won't have to bother." He chuckled, patting her thigh again. "Looking at you now, I think you'll just need to glare at him for two minutes and he'll pay us ten times the money he should have been paying us for this job to begin with."

This time she just laughed outright, shaking with mirth as Anji no doubt grinning like a fool beneath her. "Glad to know you're taking this in stride, most people would complain about carrying someone a few miles on New Year's Eve."

"Not if that person is you, Baiken." He stated cheerfully, absurdly pleased with himself. "Most people would kill to be in my position." He moved his fingers along her thighs where he held in her in a way she might have appreciated more if she wasn't so damned tired, another pleased chuckle bouncing in the air. "Happy Birthday to me."

She flicked him on the ear with a huff, a fleeting rush of heat going through her cheeks. "Watch your grip." He laughed again, Baiken outright refusing to be pleased with how the vibrations of his chest going through his back felt on her aching muscles. "It's not your birthday yet, asshole." She paused for a moment, remembering a suggestion he made when he saw how tired she was. "…Though, if this is your idea of a birthday present, I could just let you carry me like a blushing damned bride, bet you'll get a kick out of that won't you?"

"Don’t be ridiculous Baiken." He said easily, surprising her with his flippancy, voice calm and reasonable. "You know I'd never put you that kind of indignity don't you?"

Baiken felt the heat rush back to her face, stronger this time as she buried her face in his shoulder with a groan. "Dammit, why are you always so…so…"

"Magnanimous?"

She shook her head with a scoff, "a pain in my ass."  She laughed breathlessly for a bit before noticing she was having an unusually hard time keeping her eyes open, her lids weighing more and more as time wore on. "Shit…"

"Baiken? You alright?"

"Yeah yeah…" She mumbled weakly, sagging against him. "Just…falling asleep I think." She punctuated the point with jaw stretching yawn. "Man fuck anarchists…don't give a shit about anybody but themselves…"  

Anji laughed again, and in her fading consciousness, it nearly made her smile. "Well if you're that tired feel free to take a nap up there, I'll wake you when we-"

"Anji."

"Hmm?"

"When you get there…" She scrunched up her face to stay awake a bit longer. "When you get to our room and put me down…open the drawer on the end table…" She yawned again, leaning her head more heavily on Anji's shoulder. "Got…a surprise for you…"

The last thing she heard before she succumbed fully to sleep was Anji gaping like a fish in dismay, apparently utterly flat footed by the implication of the possibility that Baiken actually did something nice.

She would be insulted if he didn't have a point.

----

"Baiken…Baiken come on."

Baiken only shoved her face deeper into the barely there fluff of her pillow as Anji's hissing whispers bounced off her head. Grumbling as she felt her aching bruises faintly pulsing under her clothes and her partner started nudging her shoulder.

"For fuck's sake Anji…" She growled as her patience ran out and she threw her head up to glare at him. "What do you want?"

He completely ignored her displeasure by lifting a steel folding fan into view, "did you really buy this for me?" Baiken looked up to see Anji with a tender look in his eyes that made all the anger in her gut disappear before she could do anything with it. "This is…Baiken isn't this a bit much?"

Baiken looked at the fan for a moment before sitting up and leaning back against the wall. "Did you spread it open?"

He barked out a laugh and made a rather elaborate hand gesture to open the fan, the lights of the city catching the steel as it unfurled and revealed a design of a cloud of blue butterflies swirling on the leaves from one stick to the other. "Is this a custom design by chance? Because I don't think I've seen this modal anywhere."

"Got it a few weeks back." Baiken shrugged quietly. "Took a big chunk of my share as you'd imagine." She raised a hand to stop him when she saw him open his mouth, probably to offer to do something stupid like pay her back. "Less than half of that fucking sake bottle you bought me though."

He rubbed the back of his head with a nervous laugh, moving the fan between his fingers with a faraway look as a smile grew on his face. "Still a bit surprised you did this, I don't think I mentioned needing another fan, considering I have Zessen."

"Zessen is still just the one weapon." Baiken noted, pointing at his gift. "Consider this a backup, sure it can't channel Ki or blow anyone's head off…but it's steel." She gave a casual shrug. "Good steel too, sharp, you'll probably cut a neck open easily enough."

"Fashionable and practical!" He called out in delight, making Baiken roll her eyes. "Who knew you were so skilled at gift giving!" He grinned with all his teeth at her, "I'll have to up my game when your birthday comes up won't I?"

She huffed and flopped back on her futon. "Don't expect me to answer in turn Anji, you'll still only get half of what you give to me."

"You act as if that's supposed to discourage me!"

Baiken resolutely ignored the heat rushing to her cheeks, again, and buried her face in her pillow. "Go to sleep Anji." She heard him hum in delight, as he got ready for bed, changing into his nightclothes, closing the window, and laying down next to her.

She waited for his breathing to even out before she whispered, "happy birthday Anji", before she allowed herself to sleep.

(She spent the next morning convincing herself she gave him his present early because she would be in no mood to give it to him later and she did not intend to owe Anji a damn thing.    

She couldn't quite manage to convince herself that she wasn't pleased at the sight of his new steel folding fan tucked into the waistband of his hakama.)

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[gutterballgt]

Raleigh introducing Chuck to the Hobbit/Lord of the Rings. That is all. -Kai

Oh my God Kai why would you do this to me because HOLY SHIT.

I just wrote that whole sentence without proper punctuation. That’s how excited I am.

Because Chuck always gives Raleigh so much shit about his reading thing. And Raleigh is always irritated because, thanks to a wee bit of brain damage from piloting solo twice and SURVIVING A DIP INTO ANOTHER DIMENSION CHUCK FOR FUCK’S SAKE I KNOW I’M READING AT THE SPEED OF SMELL IT WAS FUNNY THE FIRST TIME OKAY?

But Chuck’s idea of reading is engineering texts and jaeger schematics and solar punk (because Mako is always right, and Mako is convinced that some of the rebuilding should focus on harnessing the power of Green), and he consumes them like Max shotgunning down a raw steak, where Raleigh is strictly a fiction kind of guy. Well, fiction and World War II.

But that was sort of how he came by his love for Lord of the Rings. He knew Tolkien wasn’t writing about the war, per se, but… it had that feel to it. He’d just always loved the hobbits and the creeping eeriness of the ring wraiths and the sweeping breadth of the story and the idea that stepping outside the front door is such a dangerous thing. It had been for him, anyway. He and Yancy had joined the PPDC and… everything else followed as way follows onto way.

So when he found out that Tendo had kept all of the PPDC’s old “library” books in storage, including all of Tolkien’s books that he and Yance had traded back and forth years ago, he did a pre-emptive raid of the taped up boxes and was all the way through The Hobbit (it only took him three weeks, and no, he didn’t at all think about how he used to power through it in just a couple of days as a kid) and now is just starting The Fellowship of the Ring, a cup of herbal tea steaming away at his elbow, when Chuck happens.

The big jerk doesn’t start in immediately. Oh, no. He has to go to the kitchen for his own cup of tea and a frankly ridiculously large slice of cake first. Then, he plants his unpredictable ginger ass right across from Raleigh and starts.

“Whatcha readin?”

Sighing, Raleigh resigns himself to not getting another word read until Chuck’s done having his fun. “Yes, it’s a really long book, and yes, I’ll still be reading it two weeks from now, so get it out of your system.”

“Touchy.”

He raises an eyebrow, and Chuck has the good grace to look a bit abashed.

“Yeah, alright. Might have earned that one.”

Grumbling, Raleigh fiddles with the handle on his mug. “Might?”

“Only so much crow I’m willing to eat, mate.” The flash of dimple says no crow at all will be eaten. “Seriously, what’s the drama?”

“Ya know, Chuck?” He carefully, deliberately marks the page and closes the book. “It might be funny to you to read an entire manual on mechatronics over lunch while I struggle through a chapter all damn day, but it’s not like I can do anything about it. I have fucking brain damage, okay? I’m lucky I can still read at all. So spare me your amusement at my fucking predicament, okay?”

He wants to say more, but the expression on Chuck’s face stops him. The kid looks… mortified. In fact, if he isn’t mistaken, the brat is actively sweating.

“What.”

“Uh.” Chuck swallows hard. “Brain damage?”

“Yeah.”

More sweating. “You… uh… never said anything about brain damage.”

He rolls his eyes. “Because it’s such an easy topic to talk about.”

“Well, fuck, mate, how the fuck was I supposed to know, then?” Still acting weird, the kid scrubs a hand up over his face. “Jesus, I feel like a right wanker now.”

He starts to snark back, then takes a good, long look at the kid. Chuck looks embarrassed and miserable. As if months of giving Raleigh shit about reading slow, about his lack of an attention span, about his occasional pause during a conversation to remember what the hell he was talking about, are suddenly replaying in his mind in a different light.

So, they sit in silence for long enough that Raleigh reopens his book and tries to recatch the magic. It’s not easy. Tolkien is a favorite, but the language is dense, and it’s hard enough to focus on the words when he’s alone. With Chuck looking like he’s forgotten to feed Max for a week, it’s nigh impossible.

Eventually, when Raleigh has managed to read and absorb a whole sentence, Chuck clears his throat.

“So… what’s it about, eh?”

He raises an eyebrow. Still looking miserably sheepish, Chuck shrugs.

“Must be a goddamn good book for you to know how long it’ll take you to get through it and still… want to.”

His eyes narrow. “Uh-huh.” But the kid doesn’t budge, so he sighs and looks down at where his finger is marking his current spot. “Okay. Uh… hobbits, mostly. And elves and dwarves. Some warriors and sorcerors.” Grinning a bit, he shoots the kid a wry look. “And a ring that everyone seems to want but the poor kid that has to carry it.”

Chuck’s eyebrows go up. “Well, now I have to hear the whole thing.”

To his embarrassment, Raleigh finds himself sputtering. “Uh… hear it? I… uh… don’t think… I mean, it’s on the server, so… you can–”

“Jesus, mate, just read a few paragraphs. Maybe I’ll fucking hate it and we’ll both get out of this without a goddamn fistfight, yeah?”

He snorts, surprised and fairly sure he should be annoyed, then looks down at the marked page. “As slow as I read, you’ll probably just get bored as hell and sneak out while I’m trying to get through the chapter title.”

“Oi, just fucking read it, mate.”

“I’m already a chapter in….”

“So, not so far in that you can’t start over.”

He eyes the kid, but for all that the big jerk can be a real shit, Chuck seems to be on the up and up this time. So, hesitant and almost positive that this is a terrible idea because he has the devil’s own time focusing these days, Raleigh leaves the bookmark in place and flips back to the start of the book.

Clears his throat.

Fiddles with the page.

Clears his throat again.

“Mate, just… read it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He debates another moment, then just… tries the damn thing. “Prologue: Concerning Hobbits.”

–TWO HOURS LATER–

“Oi, mate, can you pause a sec? I’ve gotta piss like a racehorse, and I don’t wanna miss anything.”

Blinking, Raleigh looks up from the book and realizes that the mess hall is empty except for him and Chuck and he’s been reading – READING! – for hours without losing his place even once. And he’s read just fine, at a perfectly normal speed. And he actually knows what he’s reading. It isn’t just word salad.

“Chuck?”

“Make it quick. My eyes are floating.”

“Just… I haven’t read like that since… fuck, since before Knifehead.”

Chuck grins, the dimple carving deep, and Raleigh is surprised by the full-on excitement on the kid’s face. “Yeah? That’s good, right?”

“I guess.” A laugh huffs out of him. “I just… maybe it’s reading out loud? Makes me focus in a different way, maybe?”

To his surprise, the kid’s face brightens further. “Yeah? Well, not gonna lie, mate, but I rather wanna hear the rest, so… reckon it’s a good thing, yeah?”

“You seriously wanna sit around listening to me read when you can read the damn thing yourself? Probably in half the time?”

And though the kid shifts from foot to foot, clearly about to piss himself, he shrugs. “Fast is for textbooks and schematics. I rather like you taking time with this one.” Another shift. “And your voice is nice, yeah?”

His eyes widen, but Chuck escapes to take a leak before he can ask for clarification. He looks at the book, where the bookmark has moved far past where he was originally, almost as if he’s been reading at his old pace.

Shaking his head, he looks at his empty cup of tea next and decides he’ll need another one because his throat is dry from all the reading.

All the reading. Jesus, he’s been just reading along like it was nothing.

And Chuck really seems to enjoy the story thus far, which he hadn’t expected but maybe should have.

He abruptly decides to make Chuck another cup of tea, too. Kid deserves it, if for no other reason than being willing to sit and listen so Raleigh has to read aloud, which is apparently the only way he can read like a normal human adult these days.

And when Chuck comes back, surprised but pleased by the fresh, steaming cup of Earl Grey, Raleigh just picks the book back up and starts back in, reading like he’s never even heard of brain damage. It becomes a regular thing to see the pair of them seated together here and there around the ‘dome, bent over first Fellowship of the Ring, then The Two Towers, then Return of the King.

Then The Hobbit.

Eventually, long after they start falling asleep in a pile in one bunk or the other but not too long after they kiss for the first time almost as an accident when Raleigh sees Chuck to the door in the wee hours of the morning after waking up spooning each other, The Silmarillion makes an appearance.

Halfway through that, they give up any pretense of spending any time apart.

It’s so much easier after that.

[passiontaee]

[rec:] (m) | 01

pairing: leaderline x reader

genre: smut

ratings: m 18+

warnings: studio sex, daddy kink, choking, foursome, crying kink, cum play. spanking, light bondage, anal sex

word count:  2,558

summary: it’s not easy dating idols, let alone two. but luckily they’re in the same group. the only problem is one of their group members has his eye on you too and well, three guys one girl? Seungcheol makes your blood boil but yet and still he also seems to know how to make you weak in the knees. and whether you know it ot not, Soonyoung and Jihoon have picked up on this and have arranged something for their baby girl. 

a/n: she’s going to die but that’s okay! here’s your leader line smut b. Also, uhhh don’t try to fit this many dicks in your ass. Or any other orifice.You might rip something important. 

Polyamorous relationships were pretty difficult. Especially when you’re dating two idols. Well, originally one, but at some point Jihoon had been added to the triangle and thus the love circle was complete. You’d fallen in love with Soonyoung and his delightful personality, sweet smiles, and sinful hips. He’d been your first, and who you’d assumed would be your last, but Jihoon had something you’d enjoyed as well. Enjoyed a bit too much. Soonyoung had seen that and well, after a few trial runs, and now it was safe to say you proudly belonged to two amazing men. What you thought was odd became normalized; dates with two men at the same time, threesomes, and watching the two fuck each other when you were tired or when you weren’t able to have sex—curse that monthly curse. Of course, it wasn’t about just sex. Sex was great with the two yes, but you truly loved them both. And they loved you just as much. 

Seungcheol was a problem. There was just something about him that drove you up the wall. Maybe it was how he’d cling to your boyfriends, or how he’d hover over you. Flashing smiles, fleeting touches, and light presses of his hips against your ass when he reaches for things and insists on going behind you versus sidestepping and going around you. But you can’t deny it—as much as you want to see his pretty little neck wrung between your tan fingers, you would rather have those long fingers wrapped around your neck as he pounds into you. Looming over you with lust in his eyes and his jaw set. You don’t tell Soonyoung and Jihoon about those nights you spend in your own apartment, where you fantasize about Seungcheol even when you’re having phone sex with the other two males. There were a few times Seungcheol almost slipped out when you were having sex with Soonyoung, but of course you always managed to save yourself before it happened. But your boyfriends picked up on how you’d glare at Seungcheol and the other male would smile kittenishly at you, as if he knows that you hate him but wouldn’t mind letting him split you open. Or in half. Ugh. 

♡

“You’re so cute when you try to resist my advances.”

You hear him before you see him, rolling your eyes as he corners you in the kitchen. Yet again. 

“Seungcheol—”

“Come on, y/n. One little taste. I’ve had my eyes on you for the longest, and I know you’d enjoy letting me pound that sweet ass,” he hums, hovering yet again. Caging you between his arms as he prevents you from moving, hands on either side of the counter. You start nervously sweating but you don’t look at him because yes, you want that. Instead, you gather your strength and you scoff, pushing at his chest. 

“Back off, I need to get back to my boyfriends,” you insist, making eye contact. He pouts momentarily but relinquishes, instead leaning on the counter beside you, watching you. 

“I’m sure they won’t mind. Besides, you’ve got two. Wouldn’t hurt to add another now would it?” he questions boldly. You look at him as if he’s lost his mind. You want to slap him, but it’s Mingyu who tears you away from grabbing the kitchen knife and castrating the cocky bastard right in the kitchen. Regardless of the fact that Jisoo will positively have a heart attack at the copious amount of blood you know that the male will lose. 

“Hey y/n, Jihoon-hyung wanted me to tell you that he’s tired of waiting and he and Soonyoung-hyung are about to start without you. Whatever that means but it sound nasty so please.” The tan male looks disgusted but you perk, giving Seungcheol a glare as you make your exit, patting Mingyu on the arm as if to thank him for saving you from either murder or bending over and spreading your ass for Seungcheol to take and claim. 

♡

You arrive to find them cuddled up. Well, more like Soonyoung clinging to Jihoon, chin on his shoulder as the shorter male fools around with some sounds on his computer. You grin at the sight, closing the door gently. You wonder if you’re supposed to feel jealousy seeing them together without you, but the copious amount of sex tapes they’d sent you tell you otherwise. You slide on over, kissing them both on the temple and slither over to Jihoon’s other side, sitting beside his computer. You know blocking him from the device would mean you wouldn’t get the sex you want, so you refrain from being a brat. For once. Soonyoung notices you and looks at you with a grin, melting your heart. So cute. 

“Sorry it took me so long,” you hum. Of course, the three of you wanted to fool around. This time in Jihoon’s studio. This is his sacred place, his bubble. So the fact that he’s allowing this is a feat in itself. 

“It’s fine. Let me finish this up really quick. You two can get started and I’ll join in in a second,” he says. You pout, attempting to bat your eyelashes at him, but he ignores you. Soonyoung doesn’t mind this set up and gets up, walking over to your side and immediately slipping between your legs, arms going to wrap around your waist as he plants kisses along your cheek playfully. You giggle softly as his lips move closer to yours, starting off with quick pecks until they turn into slow, deep kisses where his hands move to grip your waist, thumbs digging into your skin beneath the oversized hoodie you’re wearing.He bites gently on your bottom lip, pulling at it and you glance over, seeing Jihoon watching intently. I thought you had work, you think to yourself, but you turn your attention back to Soonyong’s sweet mouth, his tongue slipping into your wet cavern which causes you to mewl, cupping his cheeks and keeping his face close to yours. He presses into you and from your position you can feel the beginnings of an erection, which makes you smirk, pulling away and mouthing at his jaw hotly. He sucks a breath in through his nose, positively aroused, his hands moving to the top button of the hip hugging jeans you’re wearing. 

“I thought I said wear a skirt today,” you hear him pant in your ear, a bit amused judging by his tone. You press a lightly kiss against where his ear and jawbone meet to placate him. 

“It would’ve clashed with Hoonie’s hoodie,” is your reply, Jihoon humming at the affectionate nickname, eyes back on his computer screen. You don’t miss how he adjusts himself in his thin sweats, cheeks a little pink. Of course he’s moderately aroused from watching you and Soonyoung making out so sloppily, and from watching you two feel each other up. Who wouldn’t be? You feel a nip at your cheek and yelp, only to hear laughter coming from Soonyoung shortly after. He enjoys biting; leaving little marks all over your honey colored skin that constantly remind you of who you belong to. It’s been something he’s been fond of doing since even before Jihoon joined you two, but now Jihoon likes to add to the mix his own marks; bruising purple and dark blue. They look so beautiful with your skintone that he sometimes even takes pictures. In both their phones there’s a special album of not safe for work photos they’ve taken of you in various states. 

Tied up and gagged with cum cooling across your breasts and face. 

Ass covered in hand marks from the spanks they give you. 

Bruises around your neck and collarbones from their mouths and possessive hands. 

Really, you three are wild—absolute freaks. Management has tried their hardest to shield these from the fans, but a video of Jihoon spraying your face with semen and rubbing it in with his tip got leaked a few months ago and well, the fans knew how nasty you three were. Not that you particularly care very much. You hum as your jeans are pulled off, warm hands palming your thighs. Soonyoung drops to his knees immediately, your left hand flying to his soft hair. You breathe through your nose shakily as he moves his lips from your knees up up to your inner thighs, pressing wet kisses and light marks from his teeth into your soft skin. You watch fondly, fingers scratching at his scalp. He’s good at giving head —absolutely an animal. Knows how to use his fingers, teeth, and tongue to bring you over the edge again and again, pushing you into overstimulation. There’s something oddly arousing about watching how his eyes darken at the sight of you whining for him to stop, insisting you can’t take anymore when you orgasm once and he keeps at it, force not relenting and speed not slowing. Soonyoung is a bit of a sadist when it comes to pleasing you, but oh is it worth it. 

“Eat our baby out, I’ll be back,” Jihoon says, getting up. He gives you two a fleeting glance, bites his lip, but promptly exists the room. Doesn’t even give Soonyoung a chance to agree or disagree with this, because Jihoon, despite being so small, is in fact the dominant party in your relationship. He’s dominant even when Soonyoung insists on fucking him. Fingering him open messily and getting lube everywhere while you watch and flick your fingers shakily against your clitoris. You’ve gotten off far too many times listening to the little noises Jihoon makes when he’s full of Soonyoung’s cock that it’s ridiculous. Your attention is thwarted when they’re a tongue pressing at your slit through your panties, hands pushing your legs further apart and pulling you closer to the edge of the desk, greedily lapping at the slight amount of fluid caught in the cotton of your underwear from the kiss earlier and Jihoon’s words. You make a noise, pleased, as he moves his head back, hands reaching up to pull the pink material down and off your legs, tossing them into Jihoon’s chair. You blink and he’s up on his feet again, kissing you with a grin. 

“A present,” he whispers, moving his way back down. He reckons the hoodie can stay on a little longer. You look cute in just the hoodie, slightly oversized. Jihoon loves oversized hoodies, and you’re no different, oftentimes stealing his and wearing them in his stead. But you know how cute Jihoon thinks it is when you steal his tops, jackets, and hoodies so he relinquishes and allows you to get away with it. Because his baby is cute and you’re his baby. 

“My panties?” You ask, parting your legs a little more. Soonyoung hums at this, hearing your amusement as he glides his pointer and middle fingers up from your lower lips to the upper, collecting slick as he does so. Lips drawn back in a playful grin as you shudder. 

“Yeah, why not? They’re that cute pink pair we like so much. You look so good in pink, baby. So pretty. Sometimes, I want to throw pink lingerie at you. Make you wear lace panties and lace bras. You looks so pretty in pastels,” he sighs as he slides his slick fingers through your slit again, memorized. “Covered in cum and wearing skimpy lingerie? Imagine how good it’ll look. Jihoon would love that,” he purrs. Your hips buck when he slips both fingers inside of you, humming at the pleasant stretch from the intrusion. He’d be adding his tongue soon, you already knew and were mentally preparing for it. But no matter how many times you’d prepare for that pink muscle to work your walls in the best way, you’d always lose your shit. Always. 

“Soonyoung—” you’re not really sure what you’re begging for, maybe for mercy when he crooks his fingers towards that one spot that has you hunching over, wanting to ride his fingers. Hands gripping the edge of the desk as your noises become a little louder. He positively enjoys this, seeing you come apart from just his fingers alone. He moves in after a bit more of this, scissoring his fingers open so that he can make room for his tongue. But he doesn’t immediately dive in. No, he’s not that kind. He gives your lips wet, open mouthed kisses, smothering your sweet cunt with kisses in adoration and desire. His tongue swipes up some extra fluid that oozes out of your opening, your eyes on him the entire time. It’s almost painful to watch his filthy tongue fondle your little pearl; the tip flicking against it with little remorse. Your cry out, legs shaking. “Soonyoung please,” you can’t handle him teasing, not right now. He moves away with a suckle, grinning up at you. 

“Come on, you can’t cum just yet. Not until our surprise,” he coos at you, but returns his head to your heat, his lips wrapping around your swollen nub and sucking, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your lips part and you choke on a sob, hips struggling to remain on the desk but it’s hard when Soonyoung is sucking at your engorged clit and scissoring long finger inside of your canal. The early beginnings of an orgasm start to grab you by the neck until the door swings open and the color drains from your face. 

Seungcheol. 

You can’t even process Jihoon walking in behind him and shutting the door, can’t even feel Soonyoung between your legs. Your eyes meet as he glances down, seeing a blonde head between your legs and smirks at the sight of your useless legs trembling. He licks his lips and suddenly you’re remembering that Soonyoung is between your legs, giving you the best head of your life and you choke, reaching a hand down to tangle in his hair, gripping it and eliciting a growl from his pretty mouth. You’re suddenly all the more aroused by the fact that you two now have an audience—and that Seungcheol solely has his eyes on you. You’re unsure what you’ve done to deserve his attention constantly but it triggers that rubber band inside of you to draw taut and pop, a silent scream causing you to gasp and nearly wheeze, eyes widening and jaw dropping as you orgasm, the man between your legs eagerly lapping up your release. He pulls away, miraculously and strangely, and licks at his glistening lips. You try not to look down at how your cum drips down his chin as well. Knowing you’re weak to that sight. 

“What, what’s he doing here?” you manage once you’re slightly cognitive, by this time Soonyoung hovering over you at his full height, stroking your hair and bringing you back with his lips at your neck, lightly grinding against your leg. Jihoon clears his throat, realizing now’s a good time to explain. 

“Our fourth party,” he states simply, though there’s a knowing smile on his face. You can hear Soonyoung chuckling from his position between your legs, partially, face buried in your neck. You blink at Jihoon, confused. 

“I don’t understand —”

“We’re having a foursome,” Seungcheol blurts out. 

Your soul leaves your body at that moment. 

[ chapter two ]

[whosxafraid]

Jayden and Luka for the Married Life

Meme: Married Life Meme Status: CLOSED

leaves their dirty clothes on the floor

Shame. He has it. But not about physical things. At least not a lot. And there’s a certain sort of walk mortals talk about; that you do the morning after. Walk of Shame, if he’s got that right. But that’s not the sort of walk he’s doing is it? Even if for a second he thinks about pulling on lounge pants and a shirt, but she’s already seen what he usually hides from the world….So in nothing more than what he was born in, he gets up. Stepping on clothes that had been shed last night because tunnel vision is one hell of a drug.

Gets the coffee started. Checks the fridge. Realizes they’ll have to go out for breakfast because he’s all out of eggs. Something brushed off for the time being, as he allows the door to fall back shut of it’s own volition. Back to the window to clear the bowl of creme and throw away the burned out candle. The slightest of twitches to his lips, because he doesn’t know why he bothers hoping things will change.

Off to the table, clicking on the tv. Switching it to the morning news, while he surfs through the supernatural want ads. Don’t knock it. Once in a while there’s a high paying job in these things. Not everyone could know him by word of mouth. Why? Because that takes part of the fun out of it. The coffee pings and not a moment later he picks up the tread of feet.

         “Mornin’, love. Coffees ready. Be moi’ndin’ bringin’ me o’mug?”

A noise that sounds like agreement so he leaves her be. At least until a handfull of his ass is getting groped.

       Ya know most people at least put on pants when they get up in the morning.

          “Aye. Mos’ people do.”

forgets to run the dish washer

Time is…rather relative when you don’t age. And getting back from a job can be at any hour. Today it happens to be at two in the afternoon. He’s hungry. He’s tired. And he just wishes he could eat and sleep at the same time. But even he can’t manage that one. So eat first it is. Or would be if not for the fact the dishwashers not full of clean dishes. A minimal sigh, that pulls shoulders down into the dirt.

Okay, plan b. The steak gets put directly on the eye of the stove. Turned over twice. Picked up with tongues, then juggled between his hands a few moments before a chunk is bitten out of it. And that would have been the end of it if she hadn’t come home early. Stopped dead center in the kitchen door way, one brow lifted, like him with a pratically raw steak hanging out of his mouth is the weirdest thing she’s seen all week. Which by the way? He knows would be a lie if she tried it.

        “In me de’fense? S’no’ d’weir’est d’ing ye be walkin’ in on me doin’….”

               Did you just quote Tony Stark?

        “Maybe?”

And there’s a tired grin around the pound of flesh between his teeth. At least until he pulls. Tearing off a bite and chewing.

              Just….try not to get any on the floor and wipe up the stove. My mother’s coming over.

        “Aye, love. As ye loi’ke.”

pumps gas for the car

                 It’s one little stop over. I don’t see why you’re…

          “Oi’ said no. oi’dunna go d’ere less oi’absolutely have ta.”

Out of the car, leaving the door open. Pushing and pulling a card out. Punching in his pin. Punching the gas selection. He really hated rentals. But it couldn’t be helped.

              Have you seriously scheduled every flight you ever taken to compensate for not even wanting to BE in England’s air space?

       “Aye. An’ oi’ dunna plan on stoppin’ now, jus’cause i’be shavin’ an hour off travel toi’me.”

            Luka this is ridiculous. It’s been what? Twelve hundred years? Let-it-go!

He shuts the driver’s door without response. He’s not going to continue this argument right now. And he lets his ears settle to the clicking of the gas pump. Let it go? Over his damned dead body, he will.

drives when they’re going somewhere

They’ve been driving for a half hour. Not a word between them. And this is not at all how he’d pictured driving to through the Italian country side but here they are. And there’s a small huff, as he lets the window down. Lights up. He’s not going to break the silence, because he’s not going to bend. Not on this. Even if he knows in his heart of hearts of hearts–it is a little stupid. But he’s bitter and he’s been bitter about that one thing for ages.

          Fine. There’s a flight out of tomorrow night. Take an extra two hours but the lay overs in Iceland. Happy?

         “Aye.”

She’s upset. But he’s not going to apologize for it. Not yet anyway.

rearranges the furniture

It starts with not leaving her be while she attempts to make herself tea. Hands where they shouldn’t be going at one in the afternoon. Hands that get soundly popped, thrice. So he backs off for all of fifteen seconds. Trying again from a different angle behind the couch. Hands on her shoulders that don’t waste a lot of time sinking further down as teeth nibble at her neck. And this time she’s got a hold of his nose. Pulling him up by it.

       What’s gotten into you? I told you not right now. I have a meeting to get to in an hour.

          “D’at’s plen’y o’toi’me….soi’des how ye expect me ta be keepin’ me hands ta meself when ye smell loi’ke ye do?”

And he’s pushing forward. Stealing a kiss. And there go his hands again. Wandering places he knows will get him what he wants.

        Luka O’Ria–

And there’s a dawning sort of sun that rises over her entire being. Because it clicks and oh no. Oh god damn. And there really isn’t a fairness in making him wait. But she’s going to put up her best defense anyway. Because the chase is all part of the process.

So before he can react, she’s faded out of his hold. Appeared again behind the arm chair, and he moving with that one speed he usually saves for when he’s working. And the first thing to fall is the coffee table. The next the couch that’s tipped over, and the frame of it cracking under the pressure. The shattering of a light bulb when the lamp bites the dust. And by the end of it, one would think a small war had occurred in the loft. 

Books knocked off shelves, furniture split open and/or split in half entirely. Scatch marks in the wood floors the same as in flesh. And in the middle of it all, the heated pair of them. Echos still drifting on the air, walls settling back into place from the pressure. And if there’s one thing for sure? She’s going to be late, just like he’s going to be furniture shopping after she leaves.

falls asleep with the TV on

Sometimes she can’t sleep. Sometimes he can’t. The only difference is how they handle it. And though each other doesn’t know it…the other always wakes up. The only difference is how they handle that too. But tonight’s a little different isn’t it? Because she wakes up a second time and he’s not come back to bed. The easy sound of water shifting as he cuts up and down the pool isn’t there. And well she can hardly be blamed can she?

Blanket wrapped snugly around her, treading lightly over wood panels. And to be honest she’d expected to find him bent over his table. Researching or working his way through plans for a job but what she finds…

He’s asleep. Head propped up by one hand, in his chair. The record player near by skipping off its track. And she’s twice as careful and quiet after that. Moving the book that’s been threatening to slide out of his lap for who knows how long, to the table. Hanging up the record needle and switching it off; along with the lamp. Pulling his head away from his hand, to lay it back against the chair, that she reclines. No sense in him waking up with a crik in his neck. Then comes the blanket. Cast over him as gently as possible, and there’s a small wince when a rather canine quaffle escapes him. But thankfully he doesn’t wake up. And Jay? She slips off back to bed. Not to say a word about it come morning.

gets to use the bathroom first

Sometimes but not always she wakes up first. Lays there in the stillness of the pre-dawn, wondering how she got here. Where she’d be if she wasn’t here. But then the quiet clink of metal and brown is drawn to the familiar looking up at her from across the room. And that’s her que isn’t it? 

She gets up. Quiet and slow so as not to wake him. Not that she thinks a canon going off could do that right now. He’s probably still got enough alchol in his system (to numb the hole in his shoulder), to kill three horses. Something that is only emphasized by the way his hand slides from her middle. Flopping dead weight on the bed that’s already cooling with her absence. 

Then it’s off to the bathroom. To shower and find clothes for the day. They’re not normal…they’ll never be that. But every once in a while it’s nice to pretend that they are. And she’ll let him sleep, while she lets Prue out before getting started on breakfast. Because canon fire might not rouse him, but the scent of sweet bread and bacon? That can raise the dead. Just don’t ask her how she knows that.

decides the temperature for the ac/heater

            I’m back!—-Luka?

        “Up here, love.”

              Holy shit, what the fuck are yo—

        “Fan no’ runnin’. M’replacin’ d’rotor.”

              How the hell did you even–

         “Pulley ropes. Installed ‘em when oi’ renovated d’place.”

And there’s a few seconds where she’s just standing there with the bag of groceries. Open mouthed staring up into the ceiling where all she can really see are his swinging feet and the occasional flash of red hair. But then she’s shaking it off the almost surreal feeling of it all. Because how long ago had he renovated? The truth is? She doesn’t want to know. It’ll just make her feel like she’s five and remind her he’s older than the dirt her great five times removed grandmother was buried in. And she almost laughs when a question comes drifting down from the ceiling.

         “D’ink ye can be doin’ me o’favor and flippin’ d’eigh’d breaker switch?”

sets up holiday decorations

Incessant knocking. And even though it takes him only a few seconds to open it, the person–or rather familiar–on the other side huffs. Pushes her way inside a bit frantically. Tinsel stuck in her hair and garland hanging off her shoulders. A crooked set of reindeer horns half cocked on her head.

            Save me.

           “From wha’, lass? Ye look loi’ke ye go’o’ttacked boi’y d’at wan’o’be elf.”

          Jay. She’s decorating the shop and everything i–wait you’ve met Santa?!

           “In passin’….”

          Get out!

           “Ye know fer o’magical bein’ ye no’ really me’ many people have ye?”

        Well I mean yea I have but n—oh no. HIDE ME SHE’S COMING.

leaves the lights on

Sentimental. 

There was a time when she’d gone. Disappeared out of his life as quick as a snowflake melts on his tongue. And he’d been forced to move on. Forced to pick up and keep going, because what choice did he have? Though it gnawed at him for decades. More so than any of the others that had come before her. And company…was not sought after in the wake of her. At least not in the same form.

And once a year, every year he’d put a candle of another kind in the window by his reading chair. Tall and strong. The kind of wick meant to burn slow and last well into the wee hours of the morning. And when he rose the next day it was cleared the same as the flameless light by the bowl of creme in the kitchen. So the routine became habit, until he’d stopped thinking his way through the ritual.

Stopped remembering every candle marked another birthday spent without her. Because the day wasn’t important it was the year in between. And though he knew in the bottom of his soul she had to be gone, the kind of gone mortals do not return from, by the fiftieth time, he’d carried onward through the decades. 

The corpse of every single tower of wax still encases the single candle holder. Collecting dust now on a shelf. Its existence forgotten most days, because against odds he’d never imagined, she’d come back. So it is left to the ages of the past, where he has every intention of leaving it. Though he never finds the heart to throw it out. It had been his first birthday candle after all. 

uses the bathroom with the door open

There are things. That no matter how old you become. No matter how weird the things are that you’ve seen…there is something utterly alien about what he’s currently staring at. Coffee filtering steam up into the air in front of him. To the point that he hasn’t moved in the last thirty seconds. To the point what the feck doesn’t even begin to cover it so it never makes it out of his mouth. Though it suddenly makes sense why the toilet paper would be torn off at weird angles periodically.

The sound of flushing, and then the clitter clatter of claws on the tile turning to wood panels. An annoyed sort of quaffle as the familiar goes click clacking by him. And honestly? He needs another few seconds to process it all; before he turns on his heel and vacates the door way. Because nope. He’s not had near enough coffee to calculate all the ways that didn’t add up. Only to get as far as the kitchen before remembering he had to piss. And its back round again, giving Jay nothing more than a single pointer finger, when she asks if he wants his eggs scrambled or fried.

One thing at a time.

One.thing.at.a.time.

fixes the plumbing (or calls the plumber)

             How should I know?! It just stopped pumping.

Hands up because okay, okay. And back down he goes. Cramming himself into a space he really should not be able to fit at all. Bending in ways he knows his back is going to be punishing him for later. But right now all that matters is getting the pump to the latte machine working. Before Jayden goes nuclear…literally.

Something turned….something else tightened. Flashlight between his teeth starting to taste like lead. 

      “Proi’y i’mouw.”

            What?!

A sigh, worming his way back out. Yanking the flash light out of his mouth.

      “Troi’y i’now.”

And there’s a second where he will never admit he’s holding his breath, because if that doesn’t do it….whirling and something fires off and there it goes. The vibration of the pump that’s the tell tell sign hot water is on it’s way up to fill the tank reserve in the machine.

             YES!

It almost looks as though she’s going to hug it, instead opting to kiss its metal front; before she’s turning to him. Grabbing his face and planting one right on his lips. And ya know? The last thirty minutes of being squashed in the space too small for a toddler becomes completely worth it. Cob webs still stuck in his hair and beard regardless.