#yeah and my teeth are ripe for ripping your point???

[thanatoseyes]

Me: so afraid of my own psyche that I don't take any drug other than caffeine and alcohol.

Internet/Acquaintances: You should try it at least once.

[jangofctts]

Bloodsport (din djarin x fem!reader) (part one) 

rated: 18+

word count: 5.4k

warnings: smut, knife kink (no blood is drawn and consent is clearly given), blowjobs, vaginal fingering, din is sorta a virg duDE, alcohol, mentions of violence (reader punches someone in the face kwejrkejh), some gambling (sabaac) also please let me know if I missed anything!

a/n: oOf this is the first fic in sO LONG IM SO SORRY YALL KEHJRKEJH BUT ANYWAYS I HOPE YOU ENJOY

It’s been a couple months since Din’s stepped foot on the sandy nightmare of a planet. Went through hell and back and kriff—it feels like a lifetime ago. But the landscape before him hasn’t changed an inch, Mos Eisley same as always—busy with all sorts of scum and villainy he turns a blind eye to. 

Din hopes it’s not the only thing that’s stayed the same—selfish as it is. Someone as volatile as you is bound to catalyze and shift, so is the nature of life. A lot can happen in a month or two and it’s ridiculous to think that you would ever push your life to the side and wait for him to return.    

Turns out, you are here, still working as the resident mechanic. Though in the same elated breath of hearing that tidbit of news, it’s equally dissatisfying when he somehow misses you completely. You’re off planet, looking for power converters and electrical wiring—back in few days Peli promises. Maybe by the time his wild goose chase is over, back from the butt fuck middle of nowhere, he’ll get to see you— 

Nothing goes as planned—naturally. All Din finds is a man playing dress up, an oversized lizard, planetary drama he’s forced to resolve and—to top it all off—an attempted stickup. Maker—he’s not even worried about anything save for the kid and your speeder. The very same one now scattered over the sand in miserable heaps.           

At least some of it is salvageable…

By the time Din reaches the outskirts of Mos Eisley, the binary suns are smearing across the horizon like molten puddles of magma. Deep aches amass in his shoulders and back from the weight of the speeder parts, his gear, and the second pair of armor. Maker—it feels like his arms are going to be ripped off.

The baby babbles something incomprehensible. 

“Almost there, kid,” Din responds, sparing a quick glance down the baby. “How does soup sound?”

Instead of trudging back to the hangar, Din wanders to the cantina. Call it a hunch or just you and your aunt’s tendency to lurk around the premises, he’s certain he’s going to find one of you here. 

Din is right.

The moment he steps inside, he spots your mess of hair, the low solar lights illuminating the rich colors with a soft orange. The baby coos and blinks up at Din, his tiny clawed finger gesturing in your direction. 

Din hums. “Good job—you found her.” 

The child’s little teeth peek out, pleased with his discovery. Din steps into the doorway, down the carven stairs and over to your table. A older man—a ship rigger by the looks of his uniform—sits across from you, a game of Sabaac spread across the table between you. You’re winning. 

“Hello, Shiny.” You greet, dipping your chin in his direction. “Your armor is looking a tad ripe.” 

It’s true. The layer of slime coating his armor had baked and crusted under the suns—probably doesn’t smell too good either… 

“I killed a Krayt dragon.” Din states it with a twinge of smug satisfaction despite knowing how little something like that would mean to you. He could conquer three dozen planets and shower you in all the precious metals in the world and you’d still turn your nose up at everything.  

“And I curb stomped a centipede today—you aren’t special.” Your eyes never leave the set of worn cards you hold between your fingers, acutely ignoring him like you would an overly enthusiastic puppy. You inhale and scrape your right thumbnail along the edge of the hexagonal cardstock—it’s a subtle tell, one Din would more than likely miss if he were the unlucky bastard brave enough to sit at the other end of the table.  

“You playin’ or what?” Your opponent gripes. He scratches his unkempt salt and pepper stubble and quirks a furry brow. 

You lift your chin in scorned defiance and lay your hand down—full Sabaac. The man hisses through his crooked, clenched teeth and utters a curse as he shoves his winnings towards your end of the table.  

“Peli promised me information.” Din pushes, hearing the kid coo in curiosity as you begin shuffling the cards with practiced flare. “About others like me.”

“Do I look like my aunt to you?” You grumble. It’s the first time your eyes leave the perimeter of the game to look at him. They settle on the kid first with a guarded version of compassion, then leap to the faded green armor clipped to the heavy luggage, and then his visor. Your lip twitches at the green slime still coating the beskar. “I’m assuming my speeder didn’t make it.”

“A technical difficulty.”

You roll your eyes and snort, dealing out the cards then setting the stack in the middle. “Right…”

The background ambiance of the bar and the quiet rasp of cards fill the brief lull in conversation. Any other rational person would take the blaring hint to leave, but Din is just as stubborn as you are. 

“I don’t remember where the hangar is,” Din lies, cocking his head to the side in mock innocence, “could you show me?” 

The tip of your tongue peaks out of the corner of your mouth. The unconscious tic is not one of irritation—not yet. Though before you’re able to respond, your opponent beats you to it. 

“Yeah—I know where it is. It’s between fuck off and take a hike.”  

Din turns his head, the cool, even tone of his words sharper than shrapnel as he address the man. “I was speaking to her.”        

This is funny to you Din realizes—one of the tiny mysteries of your entirety clicking into the place of the puzzle map he’s conjured for you. 

“Well, I don’t have the time of day for cowards who wear shiny buckets over their head.” The man gripes into his drink, dark eyes flicking over to Din as he sizes him up. “What’s a Mandalorian doing out here anyway? Thought your planet exploded or something.”

The man’s ignorance irks him—sure. How could it not? But with years of harsh words and jabs at the foundation of Din’s very being, he’s learned to adapt. It’ll always sting no matter how many layers of beskar he wears but you on the other hand…

Your eyes spark, molten and bright like the last solar flare on the surface of a decaying star. Each encounter Din’s had with you, he’s bared witness to the deep well of your anger that fuels your being like the auto-mechanical heart of a droid. He’s felt the bite of your rage firsthand, but this anger—this is the tragedy of the delicate mayfly wings trapped between the black teeth of misfortune—the story of the boy who rammed a spear into the flank of an ancient beast that bites before it barks and gnashes its yellowed teeth in warning.

Din’s hand inches towards his blaster. He’s not willing to weigh the safety of the kid against your rash decisions, despite it being on his behalf.   

Though, just as quick as it appears, it recedes like the cool drawback of a tumultuous ocean. Din’s arm relaxes at his side as you release a puff of air. 

Your scuffed up fingers, stained with years of engine grease, scars and dirt, curl around your half finished drink. You stand, lay your cards face down onto the table and flash the stranger a feral grin.

Without a word, you toss your drink directly into the man’s unsuspecting eyes. In another breath, the pointed edges of your knuckles fly forward and hook beneath the point of his chin with a meaty thunk. The man’s head whips backwards and connects with the gravely wall—

Out like a light.  

Jaw clenched tight, you shake out your bleeding knuckles and gather up the strewn credits over the table. You shove them into the pockets of your jacket and side eye Din. “Restitutions for damages,” you mutter. 

The other patrons keep their eyes to themselves as the three of you hurry out the door. Only an apathetic glance from the bar tender serves as proof that something did, in fact, occur. No one wants to dirty their nose sniffing about where they shouldn’t be when they have their own business to safeguard.

The crisp night air rustles the stray strands of hair that escape from your ponytail. Ghostly moonlight carves the shape of your cheeks into an almost ethereal sight—one of those deep space creatures with pointy teeth and hellfire for eyes. Stuff of legends you’d never think to look in a dingy bar for.     

But he knows—Din knows that cool mask is just a front from what you hide. It is a hungry ghost that hounds your thin stretched shadow—what ifs and the glories of war you never really escaped. You forget that you are flesh and blood and ghosts are only air and echoes, nothing more. 

Din is sharp edged steel. A stray fragment of a shattered mirror, the lacerated reflection of a nameless purpose and a faceless existence. He’s torn edges and cracked glass but his heart beats within his chest with the blood of a thousand suns. Two souls under the umbrella of the word damaged but entirely different in nature.     

“No one—“ you growl, your voice a steady and lethal timbre that terrifies a part of Din’s unconsciousness, “—speaks that way to my friends.” 

Touching. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Creature,” you huff, staring down at the child who gurgles in return. “He deserved it—“

The reunion certainly wasn’t the one Din imagined, though it’s a relief to find that there’s no roughened edge like sandpaper over skin wedged between you. Picked up right where you left off—no questions asked and no inglorious retelling of how Din nearly died on the floor of a shitty cantina. There’s not a doubt in his mind that you'd laugh at him for it—it is sorta funny…   

The rest of the evening is spent walking back to the hangar, arguing over the fact that yes Din should take the couch instead of that miserable little hovel he calls a bed, and spend the night. He’d have to find some other mechanic to work through the night if he wanted to leave in the morning, because you certainly did not want to volunteer for that. And so—Din reluctantly takes the couch and agrees to let you tackle the monstrosity of fixing up his ship for tomorrow. 

He has to admit…the couch is a bit smaller than the length of his body, but it’s comfortable…maybe he’d buy a better blanket while he was here. As a treat.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- 

You purse your lips and whistle. “I swear each time I see it, it gets worse. Y’know, I know a couple guys selling—“ 

“Can you fix it?”

You fold your arms over your chest and roll your eyes.“Yeah I can fix it, jeez—no need to get your undies in a twist.” 

You try not to take offense, because hey—you’re offering him the info on the good deals on new ships (and at this point anything would be better than this old rust bucket). But if Din doesn’t want anything to do with that, then whatever. His loss.   

When you wander onto the ship, toolbox in hand, the Mandalorian tags along. Unsure if he doesn’t trust you with his things or just wants to hang out, it blankets the space with an air of uncertainty. Turns out it was neither of those guesses. All he does is throw open his stash of weapons, collect his pile of vibroknives, and set them on a table to polish and sharpen. 

Makes sense, you suppose. Everything has to be as shiny as his armor. 

You drop to your knees near the closest wiring panel you find. You wrench open the paneling and frown at the disarray of sparking wires and tangled cords. You organized these perfectly last time he was here. “Who the fuck junked up my rigging?”

Mando sits at the little table tucked away in the corner, brooding over his cache of weapons. He shrugs. “Could’ve come loose when I landed.” 

You roll your eyes at his half assed excuse and mutter a foul string of curses under your breath that’d make even Peli wince. It’s fine. It’s cool—no biggie. You can sort through this in a couple hours, maybe three. 

But of course rarely anything goes as planned. As time ticks away, arms deep in wires older than the kriffing Clone Wars, the distractions begin. The scrape of metal on durasteel makes the hair rise into little pricks all up your arms—you shoot a glare over your shoulder. Din tilts his head, your kneeling self reflecting within the ever dark visor, features scrunched into an obvious tell of annoyance. Huffing, you bury your head back into your task at hand. 

The second distraction arrives in the form of a quiet hum of curiosity originating from the Mandalorian. Out of the corner of your eye you see him bring a vibroblade up to his visor, inspecting the notch in the blade that disrupts the electrical current that flows through the weapon. Din then rubs his thumb over the handle of the vibroblade in a slow, sensual circle. You lick your lips and tear your eyes away. That shouldn’t be hot.

You furrow your brows and tear apart another wire, but the metallic tap, tap, tap of Din bouncing the tip of a different blade over the table is bothersome. You swing your head to your left, mouth parting to snap at him, but his hand—sans glove—brings you to a halting stop. 

It’s alluring, the way his long, weathered fingers twirl the knife with practiced ease—like silk through water and followed by the low hum of electricity meant to slice through flesh. Din tosses it in the air, watching it spin three rotations then catches it by the handle. Your lips purse when his visor meets your eyes. He spins it between his fingers.  

“Am I bothering you?”

Fucker.   

You scowl. “It’s fine.” 

The soft rasp of his thumb sliding along the flat of the blade entices the eye and damnit—he’s doing this on purpose. 

“Doesn’t seem fine,” he hums. 

“Well, it is.” You retort hotly. You snatch up your pliers and imagine you’re pulling his teeth out in place of the crooked paneling. “I’m currently thriving in my element.”  

Din hums, the sound buzzing with grainy distortion. “Do you want a closer look?”

You chew your bottom lip. He’s playing with an open flame and you with volatile jet fuel. 

“I don’t know, seems kinda lame from here.” You scoff, busying yourself by pinching and twisting another set of frayed wires between your fingertips. “A toothpick if anything.”

Din snorts behind you. The deadly whisper of beskar against the durasteel tabletop makes the hair on the back of your neck prick into points. You tense as heavy boots shuffle along the floor, the near silent rustle of armor tinkling behind you as Din steps closer. You’re slow to stand, even though the presence of the Mandalorian is no less than overbearing. You wipe your grimy hands onto a spare rag, continuing to face the paneling. You then turn, a coy smile threatening to break across your face. 

Stars Din is broad—and close enough you swear you’re able to see the perspiration of your breath fog the beskar plating. Your eyes follow the seams of the cuirass, across the leather bandolier and up to his helmet that’s fixed in an impassive glare of tempered steel. Your back bumps into the wall as Din takes another step forward, boxing you in. To escape you’d need to duck under his arm and yet…you refuse to move.   

Your breath catches as he languidly lifts his hand and taps the flat side of the vibroblade over your collarbone. The sharpened point tickles up the column of your throat, a crackle of nerves and your pounding pulse following in its wake. Din turns the blade to flat edge and pushes into the space right below your jaw—you squirm when he chuckles, the sound low and deep. 

“You like this…”

Din grunts as your hand reaches between his legs, squeezing the growing hardness there. “So do you.” 

Din circles his hand around your wrist with his free palm. Moons above his hands are warm. He murmurs your name—you shiver. “Tell me you want this—want me.”

A blush, hotter than the surface of Tatooine in the midday sun, rushes up your neck and pools into the apples of your cheeks. Maker you want him. With a shuddering sigh you nod—braving the scathing shrapnel of vulnerability. “I need you, Din—please.”

A low chuckle rumbles through Din’s chest. “Don’t think I’ve ever heard you say please before.”

Din drops his hold on your wrist as you roll your eyes. “Shut up, Bucket Head.”

The Mandalorian snorts and dips his head—gesturing towards the blade still lightly pressed against the base of your throat. “This ok too, Skitter?”

You flash him a wolfish grin. “Gonna fuck me with it?”

Din swears under his breath, crowding his body closer to yours. You hear his strained sigh as he dips his head closer, the beskar a chilly whisper against your cheek. “You’re depraved…take off your pants.”

You smirk, tear off your belt and shimmy out of your pants and underwear, bottom half now bare. His visor dips, entranced.  

Your heart leaps into your throat, your pulse roaring in your ears as he settles one of his bare hands over the swell of your hip while the other trails the blunt edge of the handle from your clothes collarbone, and down your belly. From your mid thigh he skates the handle up your bare thigh and then rests it over the crack of your thigh. Heat flushes through your entire body, a stark contrast to the cool metal of the handle. A shiver races down each vertebrae when he drags it over the swell of your cunt and then carefully pressing it against your clit. You gasp and arch into the light touch, your thighs involuntarily jerking as he increases the pressure. It’s cold, rigid and filthy. Who knows where that knife has been—how many lives it’s taken or severed through muscle and skin. 

You don’t find it in you to care all that much.    

He trades his hold on your hip to slide his hand into your shirt, palming and kneading your breast through your bra as you roll and whine against his fingers. The tight circles he's drawing over your clit burns through your abdomen, drags you closer to the precipice that you’re all ready so close to. Fuck—it’s been so long since you’ve indulged in this sort of pleasure.You whine his name as wicked heat licking up your body and spreading to each limb. You arch into him, the handle of his knife slipping through your folds as arousal drips from your cunt.   

Your groan as you tilt your hips into the handle, craving any lick of pleasure he’ll give. Your breath hitches as Din pushes the hilt closer to your throwing entrance, murmuring praise as he sinks the first couple inches inside of you. It’s cold—the knobby feel of the handle not too much thicker than one or two of your fingers combines. You huff and grab at his cowl, the warmth of his hand grazing your pussy each time he rocks his wrist forward. 

“You’re so quiet,” Din goads, pulling the handle free from your aching center. “You usually have plenty to say.” 

You shoot Din a glare, tongue weighed down by arousal to come up with a god retort. You lean your head back against the wall of the Crest and with a chuckle, Din’s hand leaves your shirt to pull you against his chest, the vocoder rumbling against your ear. The blade clatters to the floor and instead brings his calloused fingertips to your cunt. He softly rolls your swollen clit between his forefinger and thumb, delighting in the way you shake. “Be a good little thing and cum for me.”

Shit, you didn’t think it’d be that easy. Your body seizes as white hot heat ripples through your core. Stars, brighter than a dying sun burst behind your eyes, a high pitched cry filtering past your lips as shake and fall apart in his arms, your cunt clenching tight around the thick fingers he slips inside of you. 

You whine as he pulls out, little aftershocks of pleasure wracking through your body in wake of your euphoric high. You groan as he lifts your head and pushes his digits, coated in your juices into your mouth. You lick them clean, tasting the tang of your own arousal and the salt on his skin. “Fuck—that was good.”

You can only imagine that Din rolls his eyes. He takes a step back but before he can escape—

You drop to your knees, a wicked smile curling over your lips. The muscles in his thighs jump as your palms smooth over the outsides of them, then up to his narrow hips, your thumbs lightly massaging the ligaments that protects the fragile joints. Din sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertips hook around his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” Din asks, brushing a thumb over your jaw. 

You pause and glance up at him. You quirk a brow. “Was gonna suck you off, but if you have something else in mind…“ He hisses and tips his head back, flashing the underside of his chin as your hand leaves his hip to cup the heavy bulge tenting in his trousers. 

“Maker—“ He looks off to the side, inhales a choppy breath and then snaps his head back. “You’d…you’d do that?”   

You nod and flash him an encouraging half grin. “Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want to.”

Din mumbles an incoherent string of words under his breath and shifts his weight onto his right leg. His fingers touch your cheek again then tuck a loose hair behind your ear. “But—“

Moons above this man is straight out of some kind of fucking fairytale—arguing about getting his dick sucked—or not. 

Whatever.       

“Din…” His breath hitches at the sound of his name. “I’m asking you kindly to fuck my mouth—it’s cool if you don’t wanna, but my knees already kriffing hurt and—“

He cuts you off with a hasty nod. “Yes—stars, please.”

Fuck yeah.

You smile and slide your eyes past Din’s legs to the cargo crate shoved up against the wall. “You should sit—easier that way.”

He nods and shuffles over, lightly perching himself on the edge and ready to flee at the barest hint of well—anything.

Din’s knee jumps when you place your palm over it. You assume his nerves are from the nature of his occupation—trouble always strikes when you least expect it—and what better time would that be when his pants are around his ankles. “Relax—I’m not gonna bite—maybe.”

He makes a wary sound low in his throat as your fingertips hook into the waistband of his trousers and pull. Din lifts up as you tug the fabric further down his legs, tan skin and solid muscle following in its wake. Fuck…

You swallow, mouth feeling quite dry when your eyes drift between his legs. Din is thick, a rosy brown color, flushed at the tip and curling towards his bellybutton. Beads of liquid shine at the tip, dribbling down the underside and pooling into the dark patch of curls at the base. Din’s fingers hook over the side of the crate, squirming under the weight of your stare. 

Yeah—that’s gonna leave your jaw aching.    

You hear his breath hitch, magnified by the crackle of the vocoder as your lips descend over a silvery scar on the inside of his right knee. You pepper a trail of wet kisses and light nips up his thighs, and by the time you reach the crease of his leg, his hips mindlessly rock with need. 

The second the wet warmth of your tongue brushes over the tip of his cock, his hips jolt off the crate, a load groan echoing through the empty ship. It’s like striking a match to an open line of kerosene—devouring and explosive that’ll leave your delicate skin singed. You’re not nervous playing with fire if this barest scrap of wild heat is anything like burning to a crisp. 

Emboldened by his initial reaction, you wrap your hand around the base, pulsing and achingly hard beneath the velvety flesh. You flatten your tongue over the tip, lapping up the sticky liquid the slip the head of him into your mouth. His hands fly to your hair, tightening into fists as he throws his head back. The beskar scrapes over the durasteel with a sharp squeal, but you don’t find it in you to care about the abrasive sound—eardrums be damned.  

“Fuck—kriffing hell—“ Din snarls, arching his hips to seek more of your warmth. “K-keep going.”  

Your own rekindled arousal blazes hot in your core hearing his stuttered pleas. You pull away to catch your breath, feeling almost guilty for doing so at Din’s low whine of protest. He picks his head up, watching as you languidly jerk him off—entranced with the way your hand rolls over the leaking tip, back down to the base, then up again. You could keep him like this—tease until he cracks under the pressure and begs you for whatever iota of pleasure you want to give but—

You’re not that mean.    

Wetting your lips with your tongue, you part your mouth and slide nearly half of his length into your mouth. Din mutters something garbled, his hips jolting as you hollow your cheeks and bob your head.

Din shifts, arching his back and stuttering out broken whispers of encouragement. Placing your hand over his thigh, you can feel his pulse thrumming beneath your fingertips, wild and alive—something real beneath all that heavy armor and unforgiving helmet. 

“You—you look…” He grunts as you hum around around his cock, swallowing him down further. “Shit—you look so p-perfect like this.”

You groan and squeeze your thighs together, attempting to ignore the gnawing hunger snapping at your insides. 

Rolling your tongue along the underside of his shaft, your fingers slide over what your mouth cant reach—squeezing and gently coaxing him towards his high. He seizes up tight—yet, just when you think you’ve got him skidding off that precarious edge—

His hand fists your hair at the base your neck and yanks you off his cock. He huffs, breathy little pants as he folds into himself like he’s been punched in the gut, his head rolling forward onto his shoulder. Din shivers as he scrambles for control, beginning to loose that slippery foothold he’s so intent on maintaining. His cock, flushed an angry red and still slick with your saliva, twitches and throbs for the release so cruelly wrenched away. 

You let him catch his breath. The fingers tangled in your hair go lax and drop away to rest at his sides. You swallow, his previous skittishness suddenly clicking into place. “Din, are you…?” A virgin. Your question tapers off, unsure if it’ll embarrass and scare him off. 

“No,” he answers—not in a sharp way like you’d hear with a bruised ego—just stating a fact. “Just not—not this. Never had someone—stars—“

Your teeth roll your bottom lip between them, forcing your face to remain neutral despite the stroke of pride blooming singing in your chest. You’re his first—lucky enough to make this the best goddamned oral he’ll ever have. Something he’ll remember for years.  

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask, praying to the Maker he’ll say no. 

He shakes his head, sucking in another calming breath and unfurling himself. His fingers clench into fists then relax, crackling with pent up energy and unsure nerves as to where he should put them. You solve it by threading your fingers through his and placing them around you head. 

Your lips quirk. “You’re allowed to cum in mouth—don’t worry about it.”

His cock twitches as a quiet moan fizzles through the modulator. “You su-sure?”

“Oh, yeah.”

With a smile you bring your mouth back to his cock, tongue swiping up the entire length of him. Din groans as the soft warmth of your mouth slips over the flushed tip of cock, his thick length twitching as you hollow out your cheeks and suck. You bob your head as you slowly work him in further because even like this, hardly halfway into your mouth, you feel your lips stretching a bit too much around him. You groan and part your mouth wider, letting him sink into the soft warmth of your throat.  Din inhales, the sound shaky and unsure as his hips twitch with a few tentative thrusts. 

You take it slow—lifting your mouth nearly all the up to the tip then back down to the base. Din rolls his hips, helping you ease into the gentle pace. Saliva drips down his cock and over your knuckles making an absolute mess you have zero intentions of cleaning up. It’s his ship after all. Din swears as his hips stutter, your hand squeeing around him, trying to push him off that edge he so deserves. Din gasps your name, the pitch of his words knocking up to a lighter, more airy tone, warmer than melted butter. 

“Ca-can’t believe, it—ah—it fits.” He groans with astonished reverence. You preen under his praise. 

You swallow around him and grunt at the abrupt jolt of his hips. There’s no distinctive rhythm you can follow as you let him rock his hips into your mouth—seeking out his pleasure without a coherent thought in sight. Just a cacophony of gasping breaths and rough moans. 

You can feel is cock twitching over you tongue—he’s close—and when your eyes roll up to meet the darkened visor, he’s gone. He shouts your name and knots his fists around your hair as he spirals of that edge. You nearly gag from the force of his release hitting the back of your throat—cock throbbing and jerking in your mouth like he’s been denying himself release for months. His moans, fragile and gasping, filling the quiet space as his hips grind his cock deeper down your throat, his hands threaded into your hair acting as an anchor—the sole tether he has to the waking world. 

Din’s grip relents as the last few catastrophic waves tear through his body. He doesn’t move his hands, just lets them rest over your skull  as his chest heaves for precious air, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. You pull his still twitching cock halfway out, dragging the tip of your tongue below the frenulum while one of your hands circles the base of his length. Maker—he’s still going—

Last little dribbles of his cum spurt onto your tongue and drip over your knuckles still securely wrapped around him. His legs and lower abdomen flex when your hand falls lower to carefully knead at his balls, milking out his pleasure for all its worth. You let his softening cock slip from your mouth when he swears and mumbles your name.      

When you rest your back against the wall, he slips himself back into his trousers and joins you. You take a risk and rest your head over the chilly beskar pauldron. You’d never call this love—the word is much too harsh for this delicate string of seconds. Love means giving pieces of yourself to others like martyrs give their hearts to the sky—or risk fragile skin against the rays of an unforgiving sun. Broken ribs and clenched fists, immensity beyond comprehension—

“You should come with us,” he says with a hesitant mumble. Love is formidable—but you know that somehow, here, pressed against Din’s side, that this is right. In a golden way, a honeyed way, a path that tastes of blood, freedom and blaster smoke that will leave your lungs stained with blackened soot. Cowardice has long made a home inside of your soul, and he’s offering you a chance to shake off the layer of frost clinging to your bones and step into the gentle merciful dawn.  

“Yeah—alright, Din. I will.”

tags (only tagging some moots for now bc i have no clue what’s going on in this fandom anymore dbdndn): @goldafterglow @jango-fettish @djxrxn @blsmjoon @spookoofins @krissology @steeeeeeeviebb @teaofpeach @comphersjost @gummiishark @delusionsxfgrandeur @pettyprocrastination @huliabitch

[sevlgi]

cherry on top

requested: no

group: blackpink

pairing: lisa x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contents: neighbor!au, 80′s!au, stranger things without the murder lmao

warnings: none

synopsis: It’s been a decade since you met your mischievous neighbor, but you’re still not used to her shenanigans.

a/n: hehe fluff drabble

word count: 1.2k

Lalisa Manoban had been your neighbor since the beginning of time. At least, it felt that way to you; you could barely remember a time without her, a time when you did things alone and in peace. 

But you did remember the way you met, at the ripe age of 8 years old. Somehow, the memory of Lisa’s huge, sparkling eyes and slightly ripped pants is still fresh in your brain, like you aren’t preparing to move to college already. 

You’d just moved into the big house on Maple Street, and you had been stressing about the lack of space for all the books you’d brought with you, when your window moved by itself. Your 8-year-old self hadn’t had the foresight to call out for help from your parents or simply run away, but when a skinny, dark-haired girl emerged, it turned out that you didn’t really have to.

“Oh,” she had said simply while straddling your windowsill, staring at you hugging the corner of the room with your heaviest book in hand. “This house isn’t abandoned anymore?”

Yeah, she had been a daredevil since elementary school. For all your bad decisions, inviting your mischievous neighbor to stay over was probably the best one you ever made, and Lisa quickly became part of all the bad decisions you made during your time on Maple Street. 

The house had changed a lot since you had moved in, but no matter how many colors you painted your walls or how many times you rearranged your furniture, that window stayed the same in the corner. Even when your parents offered to fix the broken latch, you insisted on it staying, if only so that it was easier for the girl you loved to visit you.

“Hi,” Lisa mumbled, her hands cold on your waist. Her nose was icy from the wind outside, too, as she pressed a kiss to your cheek from behind. “Done packing yet?”

“Not quite,” you sighed in response. Your girlfriend made an impatient noise, though she let go of you to admire the newly bare walls. “It looks like when I just moved in, doesn’t it?”

Lisa laughed lightly and kicked one of the boxes; you realized that the folded sweater sitting on the top actually belonged to her, but you hadn’t given it back since she gave it to you on the first Valentine’s Day that you spent together as a couple. “It does. Brings back memories, of 8-year-old Y/N and your--”

“Not another word,” you warned with your finger held up. “You’re going to spend Valentine’s Day alone if you keep this up.”

“Hey!” she gasped, snatching the sweater up. “You can’t pass up on the couples’ discount on ice cream, and I can’t go with Jennie and give her the satisfaction.”

“You can if you don’t stop annoying me.” Despite your words, you were already clasping a necklace on yourself and slipping the golden heart inside the collar of your shirt, rolling your eyes when Lisa went to open the window. “Yah, Manoban, there’s a thing called a door.”

She grinned and slipped out nonetheless, one foot securely on the roof tile, worn where she had been stepping for a decade. “Hey, it’s more fun this way. C’mon, can’t be late for a disgustingly pink-themed sundae.”

“Am I allowed to deny her the discount?”

You stifled a laugh when Jisoo narrowed her eyes at her taller friend over the counter, Lisa feigning an offended expression in turn. “I’m hurt, unnie. Y/N and I are a perfectly nice and regular couple here on Valentine’s Day, and I demand you serve us.”

Jisoo pointed an ice cream scoop at Lisa with her bottom lip jutting out, though she looked no more intimidating than the rabbit ears stapled to her hat. “You’ve already scammed me out of a year of free ice cream, I should ban you from this store.”

Lisa finally gave up and tugged you inside, scowling in a way that reminded you remarkably of her younger self. “Y/N, help me. The ice cream’s for the both of us, and Jisoo’s discriminating against me.”

You shoved her, though you also pouted at the girl behind the counter. “Come on, Jisoo. I know Lisa’s annoying, but you could try and forgive her so I can get some ice cream?”

The dark-haired girl still frowned at you, but she moved to the counter anyways. “Don’t you dare ask me for extra sprinkles, I don’t care if it says on the flier that add-ons are free today. I will ban you, Y/L/N!”

A sarcastic wave was all that you had to offer her; after all, Jisoo was a big softy no matter how tough she tried to be. And with the dozens of couples roaming the mall and sitting in the parlor, you knew that she would never refuse you if you asked for it. “Why are you such a cheat, Manoban? You managed to get on the bad side of the nicest girl in Hawkins.”

Lisa gasped and shoved your shoulder lightly. “Jisoo is not the nicest. You’re dating me, and you’re calling her the nicest? Treason, I tell you.”

You snickered and shoved her back, paying no mind to all the people staring at the two of you bickering back and forth. “She is nicer than you for sure. Remember the time you dared me to skate down the hill, and I knocked out one of my teeth?”

“It was loose anyway!” she complained, then punched you in the shoulder.

“Manoban, if I catch you punching my best friend again, I’m upending this sundae on your head.”

Jisoo handed you the little plastic boat with a frown directed at your girlfriend. “I thought Jennie was your best friend,” Lisa pouted.

“For these purposes, we’re all whipped for Y/N,” Jisoo sighed, handing you two spoons as well. “You better tip me when you leave, or I’m not giving you those biology notes tomorrow!”

Lisa waved her away and guided you to one of the tiny, rickety metal chairs. There was excitement in her grin despite the fact that the two of you took advantage of the Valentine’s Day discount every year; when she directed her smile at you, though, you narrowed your eyes in suspicion. “What?”

“Nothing, I’m just happy to spend Valentine’s Day with you,” she hummed, wiping some ice cream off of your top lip. “Although, extra sprinkles would be the cherry on top.”

“If that was your oh-so-subtle way of telling me to get you sprinkles, I’m not doing it,” you warned, pointing your spoon at her.

She shrugged, leaning in over the table. “Okay, then a Valentine’s kiss will do just as well.”

You laughed incredulously, looking around at all the other teenagers. Sure, a decent amount of them were kissing too, but you could only hope no one would shoo you out of the shop for being yourselves. “Seriously? You set me up.”

Lisa didn’t budge until you leaned in and connected your lips; the kiss was barely a few seconds, but she sat back, satisfied, and dug into the sundae again. “There we go. Cherry. On. Top.”

“Shut up and eat your ice cream.”

[nomazee]

Homegrown

ushijima wakatoshi x reader

word count: 1700+

content: friends-to-lovers, fluff (particularly birthday fluff because it was his birthday a few days ago and i wanna celebrate that somehow!!!), gardener ushijima, pining 

(this is basically a late b-day gift for best boy ushijima!! this is something i just wrote really quickly but regardless, i hope you all like it!! 

happy reading <3) 

☾.:°∗★.:☆:.★∗°:.☽

On your birthday, Ushijima gives you a basil plant. 

You blink down at the plastic pot in your hands, fingers feeling the cool slickness of the roots hanging out from the bottom. Ushijima waits expectantly in the doorway of your home, eyes scrutinizing every flinch of your expression to try and judge your reaction. 

“It’s basil.” He repeats the words he stated moments ago, being the only words he’s given you to work with in the six-- no, seven minutes he’s been outside your house. 

“I can see that.” You respond, staring down at the small, shiny leaves peering up at you from where they were cozily nestled between soft, lightly damp soil. “It smells nice.” 

“Yes,” he agrees, “I like the smell of basil.” No more words are exchanged between the two of you, and you’re instead left staring down at the plant with Ushijima’s watchful eyes continuing to analyze you. 

“It’s your birthday gift,” he tells you, with a cock of his head and a slight furrow in his brow. “Did you forget about your birthday?” 

“Uh, no. I… I didn’t!” Yes, you did. You absolutely did. The delivery of a gift in the middle of a Saturday made a bit more sense. The gift itself, however, did not. But you supposed Ushijima was a bit inexperienced in the art of giving friends gifts so you didn’t really mind it too much in the moment. 

Ushijima lets out a huff--almost inaudible, but you caught it just in time to view the sight of him averting his eyes with a tint of red at his ears. “Yes, you did. I thought you would remember. Last week you mentioned that you wanted to spend time together.” 

Oh. You did. You stand, mouth parted slightly in the sudden realization of your past promise. You’re dressed in baggy pajamas--plaid pants that reach past the soles of your feet and an XX-L t-shirt that you’re sure belongs to either your dad or Ushijima. 

“I’ll get dressed,” you blush at your chaotic state of dress and back away from the door to let Ushijima inside, “and then we can head out.” You pause, and then, “I’m really sorry for forgetting, Ushi. I was just tired from this week and it slipped my mind. You can pick wherever we go, to make up for it.” 

Despite your words, the furrow in Ushijima’s brows doesn’t dissipate. “Why are you apologizing? You didn’t upset me. I was just worried that you were going to spend your birthday alone.” 

Oh. You freeze, then smile. Always the considerate friend, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it. You approach where he sits on the couch, run a hand through his hair, and press a kiss to his forehead that sends a blush down his neck that you don’t quite catch. “You’re so cute, Ushi. I’ll be down in five minutes.” 

---

Three days later, Ushijima gives you a basket of tomatoes. 

You think it’s a bit funny. First basil, now tomatoes. His unorthodox gifts bring a smile to your face, and you find him mirroring a similar expression in the cold of the night outside your house. 

“These look great,” you tell him, digging around in the crate and examining each plump tomato individually. The skin was shiny and taut, a healthy bright red reflecting the light in a glossy highlight. “You’re really great with plants, Ushi.” 

He hums in acknowledgement of your compliment, eyes drifting to the concrete of your front door steps. 

You snap out of your distant haze, looking back up to the boy in your doorway. You set the crate down on the coffee table of your living room, calling out to Ushijima as you move frantically around the room. 

“You should get going, Ushijima. You’re drenched in sweat and it’s cold and I don’t want you to get sick. Here,” you extend a hand to him, one of his sweaters in its grasp--Ushi had given it to you the day of your birthday when you were both walking home in the cold. 

He blinks down at the article of clothing and you wait curiously. “Keep it.” Your brows furrow, and he elaborates. “I’ll be fine. I don’t get sick easily. And I want you to keep that in case you ever get cold.” 

Oh, Ushijima. You joke to yourself that you’ll fall for him at this rate, then silence your mind at the realization that that’s the reality you’re living in at this point. 

You wrap a hand around the nape of his neck and pull him down, lips firmly pressing against the middle of his forehead. You notice the flush of pink on his skin this time, and find the color pretty on his flesh.

“Thank you, Ushi. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gives you a smile, one of his subtle ones that are just a slight upturn of the corners of his lips.

---

Over the next few weeks, you accumulate a healthy gathering of fresh fruits and vegetables in your fridge. Your parents are overwhelmed at the fresh produce and start half-jokingly questioning if you have a sugar daddy who only pays in homegrown plants. You say no, obviously, but the fiddling of your fingers make them exchange a knowing look and teasing smile. 

Ushijima brought you a lot of things--parsley, lemons, beets that you’re not sure what to do with. Your most recent favorite was a bunch of zucchini that you ended up spiralizing and serving with sauce (which is, of course, made from the tomatoes he consistently keeps giving you). You were proud enough of that dish to send a picture to him, to which he responded with a simple :). You found it funny how a simple emoticon was enough to make you swoon. 

Sitting at the kitchen counter, you eyed the tupperware container that held Ushijima’s most recent gift--a generous amount of plump, ripe strawberries. They were certainly smaller than the ones you’d normally buy at the grocery store, but he brought such a large amount it made you worry and ask if he was giving you his entire garden’s worth of plants every time he gave you something. 

(“I don’t want your mom getting mad if you’re wasting everything in your garden on me.” You chastised him as you looked into the basket of the day, which contained a few tomatoes, a healthy pile of mint, and a small watermelon that you were sure took months to grow and therefore should not be gifted to you so casually.

Ushijima’s lips were downturned when you looked up at him. He shuffled one of his feet along the ground as he avoided your chastising gaze. 

“It’s not wasting,” he muttered. “I want to give these to you. If you don't want them anymore, then just tell me.” 

You couldn’t help the melting of your expression into one of adoration and softness. You reached a hand up habitually, running your fingers through his hair and averting his gaze back to you. 

“I do, Ushi. I just want to make sure I’m not stealing everything in your garden, you know?”

He smiles. You hear distant harps playing in the background. “I know. But I have plenty leftover. And even if I didn’t, I’m giving them to you. So I’m happy either way.” 

There he goes again, crawling right into your heart so casually. Ah, you loved this boy.)

The strawberries. Right. Ushijima’s birthday was coming up. You had too many boxes of puff pastry in your freezer. Time to get to work. 

---

At Ushijima’s request, you visit his house the day of his birthday. It’s a Sunday, and you make the walk to his house with a cute cardboard box in hand, pink ribbon securing it tightly and strawberry danishes packed inside. 

He opens the door for you, leads you inside, and you both end up on his bed, the box of pastries open and in front of you as you take turns ripping apart each danish to share between the both of you. 

Ushijima hums as he chews, teeth biting into and pulling apart the layers of puff pastry and tongue catching the jam that threatens to spill over the edge of the dough. You watch the movement of his lips and tongue intently, with a vehemence that you should not be watching the movement of his lips and tongue with. He catches your stare but for some reason you can’t be bothered to look away in embarrassment. 

“It’s good,” he comments. “Very good.” 

You hum back, adjusting your position against the headboard of his bed. “I’d hope so. I didn’t work on these all morning for nothing.” 

For some reason, that particularly catches Ushijima’s attention. He furrows his brow at you, an expression you see a lot lately. “You worked on these all morning?” 

You’re confused by the question. “...yeah? I wanted to make sure they were good. So I took my time with it.” 

He exhales deeply through his nose, finishing another bite and swallowing before he elaborates. 

“You didn’t have to do so much, just for my birthday. Just coming over would be enough for me.” 

Once again, your stomach is sent into a flurry of emotions but you ignore that momentarily to scoff at his first sentence. 

“Ushi, you gave me a whole basil plant for my birthday-- and you keep giving me all your herbs and vegetables and stuff. I barely did anything for your birthday compared to your birthday, don’t give me that.” 

A frown is evident in your features and you can’t help but replicate the expression. You don’t understand why he’s so insistent on this concept--you genuinely didn’t do much compared to all the random plants he’s gifted you over the last month. 

“I don’t think you’re… understanding.” You almost huff at that, but are cut off by his next words. “You being here is enough for me. Enough of a gift.” 

You pause. There’s something hidden in his words and you have a feeling you know what he means but you’re too nervous to do so yourself. Thankfully, he turns to you, eyes boring into yours despite the softness that comes with them. 

There’s a smear of strawberry jam on his lip that you didn’t catch before. “Can I kiss you?” The words should’ve sent you in a flustered frenzy but you sit calmly and nod with a soft, “yes, please.” 

He leans in. Your lips meet his. He tastes like the strawberries from his garden.

[legoshi-plz]

Captivity (Legoshi x Reader)

Summary: You and Legoshi are kidnapped and forced to breed. That’s it.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW 18+), Dark Themes/ Elements

A/N: @jiffygis requested a Legoshi x Omnivore! Reader so I went with a Dog because it fit the narrative of the story a little better.

///////////

“HELP! ANYONE PLEASE!” You scream as you’re thrown into the cellar. The floor is cold and hard, you scrape your knee on the way down.

“Y/N? Is that you?” You recognize that voice but it’s much too dark to see.

“Oh shit, that right you can’t see. It’s me, Legoshi,” Your heart leaps at the familiar name.

“Legoshi! Where are you, I can’t- I-,” you flail your arms until you come into contact with the soft warmth that is his fur. He takes your hand.

“Where are we?” You whine, a tremble of fear lacing your voice.

“I don’t know, I was with the rest of the art department setting up for the festival and next thing I knew, I woke up here. Do you remember how you got here?” You could hear in his voice he was trying to be rational and keep the panic at bay. For that you were grateful because you were already on the verge of tears.

“N-no,” you choked back a sob.

Keep it together. Keep it together. Keep it tog-

“Well well well, what do we have here,” came a loud voice as the lights finally came on. You could finally see that the cellar wasn’t a cellar at all. It was a room with a large glass wall that revealed the source of the voice on the other side.

An older ram with horns so big they could have only been surgically enhanced stood on the other side. He wore an all red suit with gold cuff links and was flanked by two equally luxurious bulls, his protection no doubt.

“I see the boys weren’t lying when they said they’d brought me a prize. Quite the specimens indeed,” he grinned manically, revealing a set of pristine veneers.

“Who are you? What do you want from us?” Legoshi asked, subconsciously pushing you behind him in case things went astray.

“Ah yes, I suppose an explanation is in order. [Redacted]’s my name and I’m what you’d call.... a breeder. Used to breed for the Black Market but there’s no real money in that. Not like in Brawls that is.” Your heart sank at the words.

Brawls were an evolved form of antiquated Dogfights. They were illegal which made the underground circuit that much more profitable. You cringed at the thought of him entering you two into such a life. Legoshi was strong, an Alpha male, a wolf; he’d make it for sure. Yourself on the other hand? You were a Dog, a [Y/D/B] to be exact, one of the most domesticated species out there. You didn’t even eat meat for goodness sake! You wouldn’t last a minute in one of those bloodbaths.

“Seeing how easily my men brought you in, I can tell that neither of you can put up a fight. Looks like you’ll just have to serve a higher purpose.” The Ram guffawed a hideous laugh, his lackeys joining in obnoxiously.

“Please just let us go! We won’t tell anyone!” You yelp, still clinging to Legoshi’s hand.

“Oh I intend to let you go, dearie. After you’ve earned your freedom. You two are gonna breed me pups. Grey Wolf fighters will dominate in the ring and you’re going to give me a whole army of them.”

“But I’m not a Grey Wo-

“That’s clear to everyone in this room, Dog. But you’re young, healthy, and ripe for being bred. With genes as strong as his, they’ll run right through you.” He fished through his jacket pocket, pulling out a cigar and lighting it.

“Now.... how old are you two?” His lust-tinged eyes raked over the two of you.

“We’re highschoolers!” Legoshi spat, baring his fangs.

“That don’t answer my question.”

“Eighteen.” Legoshi said through gritted teeth.

“E-eighteen,” you sighed in defeat.

“Thought so. A little too young for my taste, so unfortunately I won’t be joining you for your first few breeds but maybe in future romps. However, my boys will be staying behind to make sure Wolfie gets the job done right.” The Ram began to make his exit, pausing right before he reached the doorway.

“And if he doesn’t get the job done right, my men will be sure to give you both a hands on demonstration on how to breed. And I assure you, no one breeds quite like bulls.”

The door slammed and you felt your heart drop. You looked up at Legoshi but he was refusing eye contact, his glare focused on the 2 enormous bulls on the other side of the glass who pulled up 2 chairs, waiting for the ‘show’ to start.

“Look we’re gonna give you about 15 minutes to get your shit together. Talk it out, foreplay, whatever you gotta do but if when the times up, we don’t see any fucking, we’re coming in and I’ve got a hard-on you wouldn’t believe, sweetheart,” One of the goons smirked, winking at you. You dropped your head in disgust.

“Legoshi, what are we gonna do?” You whined, tugging at his sleeve.

“I- I don’t know,” he covered up his face with the one hand you weren’t clinging to for dear life.

“I don’t want them to... to...” you couldn’t even say it, which in a way felt worse and somehow darkened the atmosphere even more.

“Legos-

“TEN MORE MINUTES,” The bull called and you felt a chill run down your spine.

“Look Legoshi, we don’t have a choice, your going to have to-

“Don’t! Don’t say it!”

“Legoshi look at me!” He forced himself to finally face you. “You’re going to have to fuck me. We don’t have a choice in this and we can’t wait around anymore. Just... I don’t know, close your eyes and pretend I’m someone else if you have to. We just have to get the job done,” you lamented, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“What- what if I hurt you?” Legoshi’s eyes softened and you caught a glimpse of the turmoil behind his eyes. You could see you needed to grant him permission.

“You could never hurt me worse than they will if they come in here. Now please Legoshi, I need you,” you could see the resolve settle in his eyes and he sighed in defeat.

“Should I... or did you...? Your, um, clothes,” he said gesturing to your uniform.

“Oh, um, I guess whatever will get you going,” Legoshi seemed torn so you decided to proceed taking off your own clothes.

“C’mon, we don’t really have time for this. What can I do to get you hard?” You asked throwing off your top and dropping your skirt.

“I-I don’t know okay...” Legoshi said as he started peeling off his own clothes.

“Legoshi.... are you? Are you a-

“FIVE MINUTES RUNTS!”

“Yeah I am,” he cringed kicking his shoes off. He seemed mortified.

“Wow I never would have imagined,”

“It’s pathetic, I know.”

“No! It’s not pathetic at all, I’m one too. I just thought... I mean look at you, you’re the farthest thing from unattractive. And then you’re so.... well... such an ideal partner, especially in the Carnivore community, not to mention your kind of mysterious which is also desirable to most girls on top of being so kind and considerate so I just naturally assumed....” you trailed off when you noticed he was undressed already except for his underwear, taking in everything you said with an unreadable expression.

“Sorry! I’m just rambling because I’m nervous.” You unclasped your bra, revealing your chest to all three of the small audience. You heard a lewd whistle from one of the Ram’s henchmen.

“Let the show begin Sugartits, and you better make it a good one!” The Bulls roared with laughter. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves before you dropped to your knees in front of Legoshi.

“W-what are you doing?” Legoshi gasped, his ears and tail nearly standing on end.

“This won’t work out for either of us if you’re soft,” you said yanking down his underwear. To your surprise, though not at maximum potential, he was far from ‘soft’.

You took his awakened member into you hands and pumped it twice before capturing the head between your lips. He was warm, oh so warm. You couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, the sensation in turn causing him to tremble.

He began to really grow in your mouth, it seemed as if the more you took of him, the more there was. You began to really get into it, using both hands to pump him while taking as much as you could down your throat. You had never been in this position before so you glanced up to see if he was even enjoying this only to find him with both his hands placed firmly behind his back, his teeth gritted.

“Legoshi...” you called in a thick voice that came out lustier than you intended, “relax, you’ve got to enjoy this to some degree of we’re going to get you to cum.”

You released his pulsating member and stood up, so that you could pull his towering frame down to lay on the ground. It was easier said than done but once he laid down, you mounted him.

“Calm down, Legoshi. Forget about them, okay? It’s just us here,” you whispered, nuzzling into his neck, hoping to calm him down. You were met with a strained growl in return. He was still holding back.

Your knowledge of sex education began and ended with sexual relations between Dogs, however, your own curious nature had more often than not tempted your porn searches towards the Wolf genre which was shockingly similar. You desperately tried to rack your brain to think of what to do in this situation but in almost every instance of a domesticated canine and a Wolf, there was very little for the canine to do other than simply.... submit. And that was exactly what you were going to do.

“Legoshi... let it out. You don’t have to hold back. I’m ready for you to take me,” you moaned, nipping along his jawline.

In an instance you were on your back. Legoshi hovered above you and you could tell something in him snapped. He was ready to finally let the Wolf take over.

He practically ripped your underwear off your body, prying your legs open and inhaling a long, pointed whiff of your natural essence. He started salivating immediately, seeming almost intoxicated off your sent alone.

He dove right in, not wasting a second in tasting you. His growls became louder as he lapped at the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he growled against your sex before diving back in. You moaned as your paws found their way into the fur on his head, tugging lightly. If Legoshi was anywhere near inexperienced, he definitely wasn’t showing it.

His tongue pulled you closer and closer to the edge until you felt yourself go lightheaded. You could feel your orgasm already at its brink.

“Legoshi,” you moaned, your grip on his fur brutal as you came in ecstasy. Legoshi finally rose, his eyes feral with need. He wasted no time aligning himself with your entrance before he began to stretch you out as slowly as he could being this consumed with lust.

His growl was absolutely menacing as he bottomed out inside you, your body feeling full to the brim. He started off with a few weak thrusts before the sensation drove him to increase to a near bruising speed.

You were in heaven at the foreign feeling of being connected with another animal in such a primal way. It was like Legoshi was everywhere, hovering above you, caging you between his massive arms while he harrowed at your womb.

You were still sensitive from the previous orgasm he’d given you so the second one came suddenly, catching you completely by surprise. You cried his name in a strained, desperately horny voice that sounded almost nothing like you.

Legoshi’s thrusts became harder, with more force as his knot began to lock into place. With a few more pumps, he came with a howl, his body locked into yours by the swollen knot. You both caught your breath as the reality of the situation began to dawn on the two of you again.

“Shit, Y/N are you okay? Did I hurt you?” His exhausted eyes filling with a light panic. You brought your hand to the side of his face to stroke his fur in an attempt to calm him. From the way he nuzzled into your hand, you’d say that it worked.

“I’m fine, Legoshi. More than fine. That was.... incredible,” you didn’t miss the way his tail began to wag at the praise.

“Y/N, I-” he was cut off by the sound of the door slamming. You both looked over to see the Ram’s henchmen had taken their exits, their jobs done.

Your eyes began to feel low, and you struggled to keep them open. Legoshi noticed your spent state and wrapped his arms around you, flipping the the two of you so that you were lying on his chest. You buried your face into his soft as you slowly drifted off to sleep.

“Y/N.... I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now...” was the last thing you heard before slumber claimed you, Legoshi’s confession falling of deaf ears.

[hotcheri]

Always Something There to Remind Me (a Jen/Khalil Black Lightning fanfic)

by hotcheri © 2021

DISCLAIMER: I own none of the Black Lightning characters. They solely belong to DC Comics and the CW Network. This is just my take on what could have happened after the show ended.

Prologue

Khalil's POV

They were meditating when TC crept into Khalil's mindscape like a thief in the night.

Well, at least, Khalil was meditating. He loved to empty his mind of all thoughts and focus on his breathing, relishing the mental stillness and the sense of peace he didn't have in his normal life.

Painkiller sat to the side of the mental dojo like he always did whenever Khalil was centering himself, a mocking sneer twisting his lips up as Khalil tried to ignore the rage that was baking off his mind twin like a rabid fever.

Painkiller was always angry, and the people he was mostly enraged at were the Pierces. Jen, to be exact. They lived in Painkiller's head rent free, and since Khalil shared the same mind as him, and almost all of his thoughts, the image of Jen was never far from Khalil. Pain in the ass Jen, who also happened to be Khalil's first love. What a mind fuck to love someone with all your heart while part of you needed to kill her and was in pure agony every second she was alive. Khalil didn't need anyone to tell him about mind fucks, having Painkiller relentlessly prowling through his mind was more than enough.

Every time TC appeared in Khalil's mindscape, Painkiller leapt up from his seat and started pacing back and forth in a tight little line like a tiger stalking its prey, hands clasped behind his back, nostrils flared, glaring at TC as if he wanted nothing more than to boot him out of his head after savaging him a little.

Too bad it's our head, and I'm trying to hear what he has to say.

The thought flitted through Khalil's mind grimly, and he sucked in a breath before opening his eyes and gazing at TC, who kept shooting quick little fearful glances at Painkiller. Khalil knew how he felt. Until he had started working actively with Painkiller, forcing the duality in his brain to coexist, he'd been terrified of him too.

"Uh, hi guys," TC started, his voice trembling as he looked around for exit points even though all he had to do was break the connection with the chip in Khalil's brain if he wanted to leave. Khalil supposed when someone entered a room and found themselves face to face with Painkiller, even if it was a virtual reality room, that person could get very scared very fast. In cases like that, logic was the first thing to escape.

Khalil liked the kid, had liked him even before he had locked Painkiller behind a firewall in his head and had shown Jen how to coax Khalil out of the safe space he'd created in his mind. Khalil knew without a doubt that the Pierces, especially Anissa, would have taken him out after Jen had blasted him with lightning to ward off Painkiller's attack on her family as he tried to complete the kill directive, because that's exactly what he would have done.

But TC had done the inconceivable. He'd managed to read Khalil's real thoughts, thoughts that had somehow filtered through the Painkiller operating system as soon as he set eyes on Jen. Thoughts that he must have been hiding way down in his secret heart, feelings that must have survived the A.S.A. mindwipe that transformed him into a lean, mean, biological weapon. As he lay prone on the table in Gambi's work station, on the verge of unconsciousness, his sharp ears had listened as TC, a total stranger, had his back.

"Hey. Who's Jen?" TC had interrupted the post fight argument, glancing around at the faces of people he didn't know.

Impatiently, with the touch of heat that Khalil loved and had missed with a sudden depth of emotion he hadn't felt since he was just track star Khalil, and not two warring parts of a government weapon whole, Jen replied, "That's me."

"He loves you."

And Jen's suddenly shaky, tear-filled voice had whispered, "How do you know that?"

TC's answer had been simple. "He told me."

Yeah, TC was good people. And even though the reunion between Khalil and Jen hadn't lasted, even though it had been bittersweet and doomed to fail with a painful, brusque ending, for a short, sweet time, he had been happy again.

But there was no use in thinking about that, no use in brooding over something he couldn't fix. With Painkiller in his head, being with Jen wasn't an option.

Painkiller was the first to talk, stepping forward as TC gave Khalil a half-hearted wave. "Oh, you must be crazy bringin' your ass here," he growled out in his distorted, angry voice.

TC took an involuntary step back, wringing his hands. Khalil could feel the fear in the kid increase as Painkiller stopped inches from his face, glowering down at him.

Raising a hand, Khalil talked to Painkiller like a patient parent calming down a tantrum throwing toddler. "I invited him," he lied, not caring that Painkiller would know that he hadn't.

Sharing his mind with a psychopathic, heartless killer sucked all the time, and keeping secrets was nearly impossible. Painkiller knew he was claustrophobic, that he loved trains, and that he thought about the one that got away daily. But when it came to people Khalil cared for, he didn't give a fuck if Painkiller knew he was lying to protect them from his rage. TC was a friend, and he wasn't going to let Painkiller's angry ass intimidate him.

"Don't think I won't kick your ass, too," Painkiller growled. Khalil fixed him with a steady look. He'd won more fights against Painkiller, especially after his return after a year long silence, and Painkiller knew it. After a few seconds, Painkiller sucked his teeth and resumed scowling at TC.

Spreading his arms out placatingly, TC asked, "What if I come with good and great news?"

A curious expression darted across Painkiller's face. Khalil caught it and grinned to himself. Psychotic or not, everyone liked the idea of good news.

"Speak," Painkiller ground out.

Swallowing nervously, TC said, "Tobias Whale is dead."

Okay, that was unexpected, and so was the rush of relief that coursed through Khalil's body, relaxing muscles that had been tense ever since he had started working for Tobias. Even though the A.S.A. mindwipe had taken all his memories and locked them away, they had been retrieved as soon as TC had put the firewall in his head, and so too had the underlying current of fear that always pulsed whenever he thought of Tobias.

And now his former boss, the man who had ripped out his spine and dumped him on the church steps when he was done with him, the evil torturer who had been responsible for leading Khalil over to the dark side was finally dead. Closing his eyes, Khalil sent up a prayer of thanks to a God he no longer strictly believed in.

Even after becoming Agent Odell's  chief asset, Khalil still harbored thoughts that Tobias would come to him, eager to finish what he had started, wanting revenge for Syonide's death, the attempted robbery at the club before Khalil and Jen became runaways, and every single other thing he'd done that had pissed Tobias off. He'd reluctantly come to believe that a showdown with Tobias was inevitable, and even though his road to atonement had led him to Akashic Valley and a new life, he always knew that Tobias would eventually come for him. It was in his nature. But now this piece of good news had been thrown into his lap and Khalil took a moment to bask in gratitude.

Painkiller's reaction was the polar opposite of Khalil's restrained joy. Anger blazed onto his face and his brow creased as he listened to TC give Khalil the best news he'd heard in a while.

Sounding like a petulant child after being asked if he had McDonald's money, Painkiller groaned. "Damn. I wanted to kill him." He fisted both hands into his unruly curls and glowering up at the ceiling. "That's not good news." Turning to Khalil, his voice turned wheedling. "Let me kick his ass just a little."

With a quick glance towards Painkiller, TC cleared his throat before dropping his bombshell. "I've isolated the system code for the kill order. I can free you."

TC backed away till his back was against the wall, as far as he could get from a snarling Painkiller. When he got furious, Painkiller acted just like a wolf ready to attack. Luckily, Khalil had him on a mental leash. Ignoring him, Khalil focused his attention on TC.

"TC, what is your other news?"

Khalil let out a shaky breath, a glimmer of hope blooming in his chest.

At last.

"Good." Both TC and Khalil turned to face Painkiller, who had a look on his face so unnatural that Khalil didn't immediately recognize it. He looked like a doomed man seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. Is he...is he happy? "Let's do it."

"But there's a catch," TC started slowly, plucking nervously at his sleeve as his eyes slid from Khalil to Painkiller and back again. Khalil sighed, motioning to TC to continue. There was always a catch and he knew that better than anybody, but for a second he had allowed himself to believe that getting rid of the kill order that brought such pain to both Painkiller and him, finally being freed from the chains that the A.S.A had wound around his body and in his mind, was ripe for the taking, with no blowback. "It's linked to everything you know and love about the whole Pierce family. If you break the kill order, you won't remember the Pierces at all."

The breath went out of Khalil all at once, leaving him feeling weak and boneless. He was glad he was sitting down, because if he had been standing when TC spoke, the strength would have ran out of his legs. And even though this was all in his mind, his physical body had stopped breathing for a second, and he felt his heart skip a beat.

This wasn't a catch, it was a fucking dilemma. There had to be another way.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Khalil found himself thinking about the technology he and Painkiller had found in Maya's safe house. Surely there was something there that would help isolate the kill switch without messing with his memories more than they'd already been messed with? Because this alternative that TC was suggesting... it wasn't fair. After leaving Freeland to keep Jen and her family safe and away from him, hell, after saving Anissa's wife from kidnappers, after everything that had happened in Khalil's life to get him to this point in time, losing the only good memories he had left just plain wrong.

"So what?" Painkiller asked, his top lip turned up into a snarl. Whether he was oblivious to the wave of emotion Khalil was weathering, or if he just didn't care, Khalil didn't know. Painkiller knew what he wanted. He was tired of the agony that came with not fulfilling the kill order. "They're pains in the ass anyway!"

In a chillingly calm voice that brooked no argument, Khalil stared evenly at Painkiller and said, "Shut up and sit your black ass down." Shocked into obedience, Painkiller sank down to the floor as Khalil looked at TC, a pleading tone in his voice. "TC, there's got to be another way around."

"There's none." Khalil could hear the despair in TC's voice, and he knew he was telling the truth. Of course he was. "I've checked and I've double checked."

Painkiller was still silent, and Khalil turned to look at him. "Damn!" He clenched his fist so hard that the veins in his arm popped out, but he took no notice. "You won't stop, will you? Sooner or later you're going to kill Jen and the rest of the Pierces."

Nodding sagely, like he had been the one meditating, Painkiller said, "Best believe. But I'm not nobody's puppy." He pointed at Khalil, his face stern and absolutely serious. "Cut the damn cord."

The muscles in Khalil's jaw worked as he stood up, turning his back on TC and Painkiller so that they couldn't see the emotions playing across his face. He wanted to be free of the kill code more than anything, needed Painkiller to be at rest so that he could figure out a way to become whole again. But the cost- losing Jen again- was it just too great?

Khalil closed his eyes, and suddenly, he was back on the Pierce's roof with Jen after Painkiller had broken free of the firewall for a couple of nasty minutes to wrap his hands around Jen's neck. He could feel everything in that moment, the wind brushing lightly against his face, the shingles of the roof under his sneakers, the terrified look Jen shot him before schooling her features into a coolness Khalil had never seen on her face. Both looks hit him like a ton of bricks.

She was scared of him.

Painkiller had shown her his true colors and had, once again, pushed someone he loved away from him. And what she had said had chilled him to the core, a sudden lump rising in his throat, and tears smarting in his eyes as she let him go.

"I can't love a weapon that's pointed at my family, even if it does have a soul." Her shoulders hunched pitifully as she wrapped her arms around her legs, all at once seeming far younger than her years. "See you around, Khalil."

He took one last look at her, her curly hair brushing past her chin, her eyes chilly and flinty in the dusk as she turned away from him, blinking away tears of her own. "No. You won't," he said, and with that, he had exited Jen's life.

Some things you can't go back to. The way Jen had ended things between them still hurt, and the realization that he wasn't going to be able to salvage things with her caused him pain that was almost physical, but if TC was able to isolate the kill code and erase his memories of her, the pain would go. All the pain would disappear, and his fresh start in Akashic Valley would be just that, a fresh start.

Behind him, TC started to say, "If you need more time, I can-," but by now, Khalil's mind was made up. There was no other choice.

"I always known I'd give my life for that girl." Khalil heaved a sad sigh, running a hand over his face as he turned to look at a nervous TC and an impassive Painkiller. Painkiller smirked, knowing what decision Khalil had made, and in that moment, Khalil hated him, the A.S.A., Odell- everyone who had gotten him into this situation. Especially himself. "Never thought I'd have to forget her." A nod towards TC. "Do it."

TC nodded dumbly, just as another thought flitted into Khalil's mind. If TC was able to isolate the kill code and erase some of his memories, wasn't it possible that he could remove his very worst memory?

Before he left Freeland for good after shooting Odell and letting Black Lightning deal with the evil son of a bitch however he saw fit, Khalil took a detour to the cemetery, picking a bunch of blooming flowers from the ramshackle garden of Mrs. Sutton, the Payne's old landlady. Khalil didn't think she would mind, she had loved Nichelle Payne dearly.

Once at the cemetery, he had laid the flowers on his mother's grave, sat down with his back resting against her tombstone and cried a little. Nobody had been around to see him; Freeland residents weren't crazy about going to the graveyard at nighttime.

"I shot the guy who made me kill you, ma," he'd whispered, his words blown away by the breeze as the tears blurred his vision. "I know you always said vengeance never pays, but I had to do it. I'm sorry, ma. I love you, and I'm so, so sorry."

Nichelle Payne had raised him to be the best in whatever he did, and what had he done in return? Snapped her neck, and the best excuse he could come up with was he'd just been following orders. The knowledge weighed heavily on his soul, and he knew that he would pay for it in time. Everything comes due. But if TC could somehow make him forget...

"I can try," TC said doubtfully, and Khalil raised his eyes from his clenched fists, remembering where he was through the sadness that engulfed his soul.

"No." Khalil shook his head, resigning himself to reality. "It's part of who I am, and I need to find redemption for it, or a way to live with myself."

TC opened his mouth and hesitated before shyly asking, "Do you want to- I mean, I could give you Jen's number and you could talk to her one last time?"

Painkiller groaned, storming around the circumference of the dojo angrily. "Can we fucking do this already? No more flashbacks, no phone calls- get this kill order the fuck out of my head!"

"Our head," Khalil reminded him. "And right now, I'm in charge." He bit his lip, wrestling with himself. Saying goodbye to Jen wouldn't make things better, it would just bring home the truth that he would never see his first girlfriend again, and even if by some weird coincidence he did, he wouldn't know her. It was stupid. They already said their goodbyes on the Pierce roof, what would he gain from this? "What's her number?"

Painkiller actually growled at this and stomped off somewhere. Khalil could still feel him burning in his mind, but it looked like he had opted out of being a part of Khalil's final goodbye. Not that Khalil minded in the least. Before Painkiller, his relationship with Jen had been special. He didn't want his insane mind twin tainting the very last moment he would have with her.

Courteously, TC severed the connection with Khalil's brain chip, promising to return when the phone call was over and start the process. Khalil stared down at his phone and punched in Jen's number before he could lose his cool. Meditation seemed like a lifetime away, it was all he could do to keep his heart from galloping away like a war horse.

Jen's phone rang once, twice, three times, and Khalil was just about to hit the end button when suddenly-

"Hi." Jen's bold, brash voice was in his ear, and Khalil forgot to breathe. The background noise was filled with laughter and music, a noise that Khalil associated with family time, even though he was never fortunate enough to have enjoyed family time with his mother working two jobs, his father in jail, and his brother running the streets with the 100. "You know you're calling from a- Anissa, stop!" Khalil closed his eyes, savoring the sound of Jen's hearty giggles as someone- Anissa, probably- tickled her or something similar. "You're calling from a private number, who is this?"

A male chuckle sounded, and Khalil recognized Gambi's voice sounding from the distance. "Probably a scam, hang up before they get all your info."

Same old Gambi, trusting nobody. A wistful smile turned up Khalil's lips, but he still couldn't come up with a thing to say. It was like all his thought circuits were down, and he wondered if Painkiller had something to do with it.

"Helloooo? Who is this?" Jen's voice turned speculative, and she gave a derisive snort. "This better not be TC playing with me again, how many times do I have to tell you I'm not going to prom wit' you?"

"I'm literally right here," TC protested in the background.

And Khalil found that he couldn't bring himself to say anything, let alone goodbye. He wasn't great with goodbyes, anyway, so who was he fooling? "Uh, sorry," he muttered. Why had he thought this would be a good idea again? "Wrong number."

In the few seconds it took for him to press the end call button, Jen's voice sharpened with recognition and she exclaimed, "Wait, that sounds a little like-."

Call ended blinked up at him from his phone screen as his pulse jumped in his throat. Safe getaway. Of course, he'd ended the call before Jen could say his name, or even more hurtful, the name of somebody else.

But fuck, hearing her voice was bittersweet.

"You hung up?" TC was back in his head, eyes gleaming with relief that Painkiller wasn't around.

Nodding, Khalil strove to keep his face blank and impassive. "Yeah. I'd rather remember her the way she was on that phone, happy, carefree, pain in the ass J."

She sounded happy and normal, like the old her, before the 100 had kidnapped her and she had discovered she had powers. She sounded like the Queen of Garfield. By coming back into her life even for a few seconds, he might jeopardize that happiness, and if there's one thing he wanted her to be after the events of the past few years, it was at peace and she wasn't going to find it with him.

"But you didn't get to say goodbye."

Pity was written all across TC's face, and once again, Khalil felt the wave of sadness engulf him. Did it ever stop? Even with his memories of Jen gone, would he really be at peace?

"I didn't need to." Khalil stopped, his shoulders slumped, and came to stand next to TC, who was still looking at him with that sympathetic look on his face. "TC..."

Looking up at him, TC said, "Yeah?"

"Don't tell her."

TC let out a dramatic gasp that made Khalil crack a smile, even though he had never felt less like smiling. "What? But I was just about to-?"

"No." Khalil shook his head resolutely. "Let her live her life." TC opened his mouth to protest, but Khalil talked over him. It was the only way. "You told me she lost the guy she was seeing, and she's already lost so much. Just- let her think what she's been thinking, that I left Freeland to live my life." He started pacing like Painkiller sometimes did, back and forth, his arms behind his back as he spoke. It felt like atoning for his sins. "I poisoned her. I almost killed her."

Interrupting, his voice utterly horrified, TC exclaimed, "That was Painkiller, not you!"

"Yeah, but don't you get it? He's in me, so even if I know that I'm not the one doing the poisoning, everyone else thinks it, because he's in my head wanting to kill all the time." Khalil stopped pacing and turned to TC, his face serious. "With the kill code gone, we can co-exist without the anger and rage that drives Painkiller. I came here for a fresh start and removing the memories of the Pierces will give me that." To show that he meant business, he clapped his hands together. "Let's do this. How's it gonna work?"

Getting back to business removed the pity from TC's face, and Khalil was glad. Seeing that look on his normally cheery friends face and knowing it was directed at him made him feel like even more of a shitty person.

Tapping his chin, Khalil asked, "So I won't remember that they're metas as well?"

"You'll forget about them. Anything related to them, too."

TC's eyes started to flash green as he went over the logistics of changing Khalil's life.

"No, you'll remember that, you'll know about Black Lightning, Thunder and Lightning, you just won't know their identities. You won't remember they're Pierces."

Nodding, Khalil said, "Got it." Actually, it sounded confusing to him, but he would cross that bridge when he came to it. "But if I want to reinstate my memories, can't I just come to you and-."

TC laughed as Khalil made a casual popping noise with his tongue in his cheek. "No. You won't even know that your memories are gone."

"And you're sure they'll stay gone."

This was the most important part. What ifs ran through Khalil's mind with the speed of a Formula One car. If he somehow ran into the Pierce sisters on vacation. If he helped someone from a mugger and it turned out to be Doctor Pierce? If Black Lightning ended up in Akashic Valley like Anissa had and they ran into each other?

Shifting from one foot to the other, TC said, "Um, 90% sure."

"90?" Khalil asked incredulously.

TC shrugged. "That's an A."

"I used to get straight A's in school," Khalil said musingly. "And then Odell dropped a few Master's degrees into my head, but that happened after I stopped caring about grades." TC gave him a confused, yet concerned look, and Khalil said, "Let's get rid of these memories."

A few minutes later, Khalil was lying on an operating table, a brain scanner that looked like a crown on his head. Philky just happened to have one lying around, which was pure Philky, and after TC had uploaded his program into the lab's computer, he'd told Khalil's master of tech exactly what to do. Donald was on standby in case something went wrong medically. And Painkiller? He was still in the dojo, and Khalil could feel the excitement thrumming through him. Khalil didn't blame him; he was excited too.

A high-pitched whine started up, and Khalil felt a pinprick of electricity tickle his forehead as the process started. TC had warned him about this.

What TC hadn't warned him about was, as the memories left, they replayed in his head, almost like a flashback reel.

Khalil saw himself on the Pierce roof with Jen, giving her a chaste, shy kiss as she agreed to be his girlfriend.

He saw himself stealing into Garfield High and meeting up with Jen by the lockers after enduring more abuse from Tobias, knowing that she was the only person he could really talk to despite what had gone down between them. Sitting down in silence, not needing to say a word because their connection was that powerful.

He saw them running away together, Jen using her lightning powers in front of him for the first time and blasting the 100 hoodlums. How he'd kissed her later on and it had been electric, and the hottest kiss he'd ever had.

He saw himself (the memories were blurry around the edges, soon they'd be gone but so would the kill code, it was for the best but it hurt, TC didn't say it would hurt this much) sitting next to Jen in his special place, his private place, his favorite place, the abandoned subway car, eating ramen and reminiscing on how he had asked her to be his girlfriend, and he had been so shy when he gave her the necklace, something that had caught his eye in Freeland's jewelry store and he'd saved up for two months to buy it for her, a necklace he was giving to her for the second time because he loved her, and he'd lost her once and wasn't about to let her go again and...

The memories faded as Khalil's mind cycled through the deepest, darkest levels of consciousness, and there was only darkness, and finally, blissfully, peace.

(See more on ao3 or wattpad!)

[passivenovember]

Enclosures.

Harringrove April, Day Ten : Peaches.

--

Steve's gig at White River State Park is, more a less, glorified babysitting.

The hiring manager insisted that the Indianapolis Zoo was in the game of education first, and even though Steve would be working with kids between the ages of four and eleven, escorting them around the park and providing answers to stupid questions and Band-Aids for skinned knees, it wouldn't be juice keggers with kids all year.

Because during the off months, when the city scape was covered in layers of snow, Steve would get to wander the grounds with his favorite activity bag, post up under a shady awning in the jungle, and feed the fruit bats.

So that's why he took the job.

Zoo Academy Monday through Wednesday and vibes on December weekends. Moments of solitude doing the job every keeper wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. 

That was the deal. 

Written in stone, as far as Steve is concerned. This is what he was put on this Earth--

“You’re doing it wrong.” 

Steve nearly drops the slice of mango in his hand, starling when that deep, husky voice cuts through the air like a machete in the jungle. 

“Fuck.” Steve wipes his hands on his pants, turning to face. 

A new keeper. 

Dressed in standard fatigues. Tan overalls and goulashes, ham radio crackling like desert heat against his waist. 

New Keeper points to the ring of wire in Steve’s hand, mimicking the way he’s been feeding slices of fruit over thick, unruly steel. “Takes too long if you do it that way,” He says.

But, listen. “I’ve always done it this way.” 

“So?”

“I was taught to do it this way.” 

New Keeper shuffles up to the cave entrance, leaning his forearms on the steel barrier that keeps Steve’s bats from dive-bombing kids and grandmas. 

He’s wearing aviators, so Steve can’t see his eyes, but. New Keeper gives him the once over--

Steve is 85% sure--

Before spitting a wad of saliva on the ground next to Steve’s boot. “Who taught ya to string the fruit like that, pretty boy?”

“I’m not.” Steve shouldn’t be flushing deep red. He shouldn’t be salivating. “I’m not--”

“Was it Rachel?” And New Keeper says it with so much malice. Like, “None of these keepers are worth the paper their degree is printed on, I swear--”

“It wasn’t--”

“Y’know I caught Travis in Rhino Valley trying to give food as positive reinforcement?” New Keeper shakes his head, neck muscles chording dramatically. “Everyone knows they take better to physical affection as a reward, alright?”

“Yeah, I mean--”

“Everyone knows that.” New Keeper concludes, watching as Steve’s head bounces around frantically. 

“Everyone knows that.” Steve agrees.

Fucking idiots. 

New Keeper’s mouth ticks up at one corner, almost like he could laugh if he wasn’t busy dealing with his own body. Ripping biceps and pectorals that should pop the seams on his overalls when New Keeper rolls his spine. 

“They told me you’re in charge of the bats.” Steve feels those eyes on him again, head to toe and back up again. “That true?”

Steve shrugs, fiddling with his name badge. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Don’t sound so sure.”

“Yeah, well, I mean.” He gestures to the line of steel rings that have been there, permanently, for as long as anyone can remember. “If I’ve been doing it wrong the whole time I don’t wanna claim ownership.”

New Keeper grunts, like. 

The salt of the earth, red blooded American asshole he is. He tips the aviators, letting them slide down his nose until blue eyes. The bluest Steve has ever fucking seen, pin him in place. 

“You’re not a keeper, are ya?”

Steve tries not to get lost. “Well. No, I’m--”

New Keeper turns to face him, clasping his wrists together and allowing his chest to. Puff. Distract, holy shit, when his biceps follow suit. 

Steve tries to tear his eyes away. 

Fails. 

“What do you do then?”

Steve watches a bead of sweat trail from jawline to collarbone, just. Ruining his life. He blinks owlishly. “Sorry, what?”

New Keeper is almost smiling. “Your job. What kinda.” His tongue flicks out to wet. Pretty, red lips. “Services. Do you provide.”

Steve realizes, distantly, that they’re flirting. 

And.

He’s familiar with the concept, alright, but. Steve’s never flirted while wearing hiking boots covered in goat shit, so. 

He gestures to his name tag. 

The goofy, pixilated staff picture of him and a title beneath that reads; Zoo Academy : Supervisor. Steve wonders if it’s obvious that he works with kids, given the plethora of googly-eyed animal stickers covering the majority of his name tag’s plastic casing.

New Keeper whistles low, removing his aviators entirely, and.

Tugging.

Steve forward by his title. Eyes glowing bright. 

“Kinda training you get over in the Education Department teach you anything about fruit bats, princess?”

Steve sorts through the absolute trough alphabet soup flooding his brain. Opens his mouth and closes it again, when. New Keeper rubs the pad of his thumb along the largest, most gaudy of the animal stickers. 

New Keeper raises his eyebrow and Steve. 

Jolts into motion. “No. Um. I have CPR training, and. First aid training.” Steve lets himself be tugged forward again. Just close enough to smell the mix of Earth and Hay that all the keepers have clinging into their skin, and. 

Cologne.

Heady and sweet, underneath all that. He blinks again, trying to clear his head as New Keeper smiles at him.

Really smiles.

For the first time.

Steve nods. “I work with shitheads.”

He isn’t expecting it, when. New Keeper laughs. Loud and sudden, and. So warm. Startling the fleet of bats that have come by looking for their afternoon peaches. 

“Tell me about it. They stick you on Bat Duty without any training?” New Keeper nods, finally, finally, releasing Steve from the weird spell he’s put him under. He turns, gesturing to box of fruit at their feet. “I’m gonna have to remedy that, pretty boy.”

Steve nods, like. “Steve.” Before sticking his hand out.

New Keeper nods it away. “Billy. Your training starts on Friday.”

Billy puts his aviators on and.

Starts to walk away.

Kicking up a cloud of that woodsy, delicious scent. Steve scrambles after him. “Okay, training. Friday.”

They round the corner into the section of the jungle that houses a waterfall. The biggest, most breathtaking in the Midwest.

New Keeper keeps on walking. “Yup, see you then.”

“Yeah, listen Keeper Man--”

“Billy.”

Steve runs into a wall of muscle, shying away from the pair of hands that steady him. 

He nods. “Billy.” Cheeks flaming bright red as New Keeper smiles, soft and sweet. Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t take this the wrong way, and like. I totally want to do what’s best for the animals, especially the fruit bats, but. I don’t think I need any training.”

Billy looks him over again. Up and down. “I beg to differ, Bambi.”

“Yeah, I--”

“Won’t have any untrained preschool teacher working with my animals.” Billy says. Matter-of-fact, like, “No matter how annoyingly cute they are.”

Cute. 

It hits Steve like an under-ripe peach to the back of the head. He shuffles, nervously, before puffing out his chest, and. Deflating again, when Billy raises his eyebrows. 

“Just what am I doing wrong, exactly?”

Billy removes his sunglasses, rolling his neck. “You got an hour?”

Steve smiles sharply. “Gimme the basics.”

“Alright, pretty boy.” Billy stars listing things on his fingers. “Well, first off? You don’t need to peel the fruit. Bats get a lot of their nutrients from the rinds that come on the fruits themselves. If we deplete those nutrients they gotta be replaced another way and I don’t exactly have the time to administer vitamins to four hundred fruit bats, two hundred flying foxes and a handful of pissy vampire--”

“Alright, got it.” Steve sucks his teeth, because. The fruit comes like that. Ends up in the box, along with the steel wire and the gloves he’s supposed to wear but never does, just like that. Sans peel. 

Billy grins at him--

Looks him up and down. Steve wishes he’d stop doing that--

Before pointing at his feet. “Doc Martens are not work boots.”

Steve looks down. Around. “What’s wrong with my docs?”

“Nothing,” Billy shrugs, like, “They’re fine if you spend all day dragging screaming brats around the zoo. Answering questions and painting booger-stained cheeks, but. They aren’t work boots. Aren’t keeper boots.”

Steve doesn’t understand. “I’m not a keeper,” He says, because. As much time as he’s spent in the jungle. Learning about the animals and feeing his bats, Steve. 

Isn’t.

He wishes he could be, but. 

Billy shrugs again, massive shoulders drawing Steve’s attention. “No, you aren’t a keeper. Not yet, anyway.”

Steve turns the words over in his mind, trying to discover the meaning. 

Billy tugs on Steve’s nametag again. “See you Friday, pretty boy.” He drawls, and then. 

He’s gone.

Steve makes a note to stop at Cabella’s on his way home.

[brideofcthulhu10]

Next up on our list my lovelies is Paul! A special thank you to @trescharmant-mydear for helping me with brainstorming ideas when writers block had me stumped! I hope you fang babes all enjoy the next boy in our child birth saga!

Lost Boys Fem!S/O Gives Birth [2/4]

Paul

The whole pregnancy thing was undoubtedly a massive shock when you had finally told him. At first he wasn’t even sure it was his. Granted you slugged him for even suggesting you had been having an affair but he couldn’t help it! The idea of impregnation was pretty much impossible as far as they knew. He had no heartbeat, the blood in his veins was dead and black, he kind of assumed by that point his gun was shooting blanks. That is until you began rejecting anything that wasn’t blood or meat. Every day he could see more of that reality coming into play. At first he thought maybe he had just imagined it, but when your stomach grew in really sank in. 

 He was terrified beyond belief knowing he’d soon be responsible for a living, breathing thing- er baby- guh! The word freaked him out. No one even warned him what came with it. Well, Dwayne tried to but those books were nasty. Especially the pictures. Paul tried his best to sit through them but it just stressed him out! There wouldn’t be a doctor! There would be no sterilized hospital bed where a team of nurses would be on standby if there were complications- hell, they wouldn’t be able to know if there even were any complications! That’s what scared him more than anything. You both were utterly in the dark. Were you healthy? Was the baby healthy? Could this kill you if they weren't careful? Ultrasounds were out too, so he couldn't even know if it was a boy or a girl. The uncertainty of it all was torture!

The only way he knew they were still alive was from his own bizarre connection to them. Sure his mental powers were never as clean cut as David’s, but he could still feel their emotions inside you. It was raw. There were no clear thoughts. Even the emotions would pile over each other. Hungry, tired, anxious, hyper, mad, happy. It was almost like there was more than one consciousness in there, but he just figured it was your own heartbeat and emotions clouding the baby's.

Hormones were wild between you both. You wanted sex more than you ever had before, and at first he was all for it. Being the mother of his unborn child brought out a desire that was utterly foreign to him. Yeah he loved you to death before, but now… he couldn't keep his hands off of you. The first few months it was wild, but the bigger you got the more worried he was that something could happen if he lost control. Okay, well, as long as he was careful right? But, things did not go exactly to plan when a firm kick pressed on his erm… Needless to say it certainly freaked him out. Then came the morning sickness.

Fuck whatever liar came up with that name. “Morning”? Try morning, noon, night, and the ass crack of dawn. Twenty-four seven. He hated seeing you hugging a trash bin, panting between excruciating heaves that made your stomach spasm. Paul could only hold your hair back while you gurgled out sobs. It was even harder knowing he was partially responsible for putting you in this position to begin with. Afterwards he’d carry you back to your bed. Yeah, bed. All the guys had felt that you needed something way better than a couch to crash on. There were more pillows and blankets than you could count. Piles on the bed, scattered on the floor, stacked up in the corners. With a bit of searching they’d found a pocket-cave branching just off their own that kept you out of sight and even better, nearby. What Paul really couldn’t account for was how frickin’ clumsy you were! 

Oops you just banged your knee! Well looks like you accidentally nicked your hand while peeling a freaking apple! Paul nearly ripped a guys head off for bumping into you on the boardwalk just to cut in line with his stupid friends. Eventually he just refused to leave your side during the second trimester when he found a bruise on your stomach. You didn’t have the heart to tell him those were from the baby kicking. While the guys went hunting he’d just lay beside you in bed gushing over your taut belly. The baby always stirred when he spoke, even more so when he’d serenade them. His voice always made your face heat up, and inside you could feel your child eagerly pressing up. While Paul was certainly uneasy about his encroaching parenthood he was over the moon the first time the baby really kicked. Even if it seemed scary he was so excited he could hardly sleep most nights. Every day he'd wonder when they'd get here, bombarding you with thousands of questions.

"Do you think they'll have your eyes? I bet if it's a boy he'll be a bad ass like his dad, huh," he asked. There was almost a glee to his voice, it was so adorable to watch him shed that panic for just a moment to fantasize about the baby. Anything. Teaching them to play guitar, taking them on their first hunt. He didn't care if it was a boy or girl. Part of you really hoped it'd be a little girl. 

“They probably won’t get any eye color until the fifth month I think,” you’d remind him, flipping through the aged pages of a baby book. "I do know if it is a boy he's gonna be so much like you."

"Unless it's a girl," he pondered, tapping your belly like it was an over ripe melon, watching it stirr with life. "Oh god you'll break so many hearts. But no boyfriends. Or girlfriends. Only dad."

"Babe thats not gonna be for years," you assured, petting his head. "You can't keep them from dating when they're old enough."

"Uh, the fuck I can't," he retorted, his hand kicked again. "Yeah I said it. No dating for you"

As they grew you could feel something was.. Off. Granted you couldn’t do much to check but, it almost felt like there was more than one heartbeat...

Your due date was slowly rolling closer as summer shed it's long, hot days for the chilled season of autumn. Tonight was a late, stormy October night. Most of Santa Carla was holed up at home hoping it wouldn’t rain tomorrow on Halloween. Paul grumbled slurping at a blood bag laying on his side as he propped his head on his hand, currently bored out of his mind while you carved at a pumpkin with Marko. 

“I think it needs more teeth,” you’d say to yourself out loud.

Marko peeked over, titling his head to the side. “More eyes too.”

All the guys decided to stay back tonight. It wasn’t just the rain, all of them were nervous to leave you alone. None of them were doctors, but even they could tell your stomach was much bigger than expected. Dwayne was flipping through an old book while David had just gotten back from a hunt. 

Ever since you hit your third trimester each of them took turns gathering blood. A few blood bags alone would not cover it for four hungry vampires and an honorary vamp who had a ton of cravings. Instead they'd carry four or five empty milk jugs that'd be filled to the brim with sloshing, goopy red fluid. 

"Guys, you oughta go get something to eat, you don't need to watch me twenty-four seven," you insist, carefully dragging the knife through the thick gourd's flesh. 

"This wasn't up for debate last time, it’s still not now," David retorted, tossing one of the jugs Dwayne's way. Marko caught a second one, eagerly knocking back a swig. The sight made you want to throw up again. It was slow, like a thick molasses dyed crimson with globs of congealed plasma. Okay looking at the pumpkin again before you had to puke. 

"Don't worry about us, Y/N," Marko insisted with red stained teeth, tossing the now half empty jug to Paul. "It's only a few more months. Blood is blood."

Paul stood up, swooping behind you with his arms around your shoulders. "Speakin' of blood kitten, you need to eat." You looked at the jug as he set it on the table and immediately scrunched up your nose. Now, it'd been seven and a half months of drinking it, so you'd gotten used to the bizarre taste of salty, vinegary cherries with a metallic aftertaste. It always made your body heat up, the feeling itself was better than any booze you'd tried. But the texture. Oh god the fricking texture! Blobby, goopy, slimy- no! 

"Uuuugh," you hesitated, only to have Marko push it towards you. “Can’t I just have a raw steak or something, it’s not nearly as gnarly as straight blood.”

"Don't be picky, you need to eat."

You glanced back at Paul who was just pouting behind you. "Come on babes, drink up."

Once again. Thick, soupy but warm fluids ran down the back of your throat. Everything felt heated, spreading from your stomach to each of your limbs. This time you felt an ache in the base of your abdomen. It was enough to incite a small gasp. And with that suddenly each of them had sat up. 

"What's wrong, what's going on," Paul quickly asked, placing a hand over your stomach. 

Marko had stood up, looking at you with a furrowed brow. "Is it-?"

"Guys, guys," you interrupt. "I'm okay, I swear. It was just a cramp."

It wasn't even a surprise when Paul lifted you up again bridal-style. "Paul,c’mon, I’m fine, really."

"Nope, nope I am not even risking that shit babes. C'mon kitten I'll lay with ya," he insisted, kicking anything on the floor out of his way. But again it ached. This time it lasted two minutes. You clung to him, trying to take a breath. This wasn’t your average false contraction that would only occur maybe every hour. "Paul- Paul it's not stopping."

"Wait wait wait what," Paul asked in rapid following, gently setting you down. Marko had gotten up to help you stand with Paul on the other side. A sharp pain wrapped around your waist. Now another two minutes. It was enough to make you double over with your hands over your stomach. 

"Shit oh shit wait hold on." Paul was in a panic. He wasn't ready! The baby wasn't supposed to be there for another month! It was too soon! 

You, on the other hand, were far too busy trying to keep yourself standing. It wasn't just your abdomen. It was your stomach, all the way up your back, your womb felt like it was being torn open from inside. Dwayne jumped over the sofa when the two blondes failed to move, lifting you up. Your jeans were soaked, sharp pains were faster, harder, any time another contraction squeeze you let out an agonized cry. 

They all made a mad dash for your room, propping you up against a pile of pillows. "No,  no wait, don't look," you insisted to the others as Paul tried to help you get your soggy jeans off.

"I'm about to help you push a baby out, and you're getting embarrassed by us seeing your underwear," Dwayne questioned

"Shut up, turn your fuckin head," Paul snapped. Carefully he draped a blanket over your legs, pulling off your jeans. There was utter fear across his face. He was so afraid of what this could do to you.

 "Hey.. its okay," you assured him, cupping his face. Well, okay was a bit of an overstatement. Still, the tender touch seemed to provide some small ease as he placed his hand over yours. Again, you assured him it'd all be okay. Marko came running in with a bucket of warm water, David was grumbling about carrying over a mountain of towels, Dwayne leaned over Paul tapping him hard on the back of his shoulder. "Paul you need to check how dilated she is."

"WHAT?"

It was time for both of you chiming in disbelief. "No no, wait Dwayne man, I can't-!"

"If she pushes before she's ready, the baby will get hurt in the process," he interrupted him, grabbing Paul by his shoulders. "You gotta do it, man, I can't do it for you."

"The fuck, why me?!"

"Paul?!" It was your turn to question his logic and the blonde threw up his hands, clutching at his head trying to think.

"I'm sorry! I'm panicking!"

"Dude Paul," Marko shouted.

"What?!"

"Listen, man, this can't be good for either of them. Nut up, dude," he assured him, patting his back. Paul looked at you, still trembling on your bed. You were just as scared as him, bottom lip trembling, he could even see your shoulders shaking. "...okay…" 

The feeling was so uncomfortable. You couldn't even focus between the throbbing pains that shot up your back and the tearing pull between your legs. Tears burned your eyes, you thought you might pass out. Marko was rapidly wiping away sweat from your face, letting you hold his hand. Even if you broke it, unlikely, it'd heal in an hour anyways. 

"Okay how many fingers can you manage," Dwayne asked, getting a strange look from Paul. "Just tell me how many, you asshole.:

"It's like, all my fingers man I dunno what that means."

"Go to her man, I got this," he assured, pushing him up to you. Paul climbed up on the bed beside you holding you tightly in his arms with your shoulder nestled against his armpit with one arm over your shoulder and the other you immediately snatched his hand, panting rapidly. "Shh slow down baby, slow down."

"God it fucking hurts," you whine, throwing your head back on the pillow. Blood stained the bed, a thick pink-red spot on the blanket spreading out. Your face was completely flushed as a tight pressure slowly dragged down your back that made your toes curl. If Paul wasn't pinning you in place you would be writhing. There was a horrid fire in your body, there were no words left in you, only screams. Dwayne's urges to push were muffled, the ache in you back slowly pulled lower until you were able to hear them. A thick gurgle followed by high pitched, raspy wailing. While Dwayne had pulled the infant into a thick, fluffy towel something felt wrong. It still hurt. Your stomach felt no relief, in fact you felt it pull and ache again. "Wa...wait i.. no it's-it's not done, I'm not done," you whimper in a panic.

"Wait what the hell do you mean you aren’t done?! I thought there was just one?!”

Paul looked over at Dwayne, who in turn ran to David and passed the swaddled newborn his way much to his dismay. “Just hold them for a minute man, we weren’t exactly expecting more!

“I got it,” Marko volunteered, climbing off to bed to hold the baby carefully in his grasp. Your screams tore through, a second wave of pain reviving old agony. There was little relief as the same horrid tension in your back spread out. Paul coaxed you through it, but somehow it hurt even worse than before.

“No,” you cried, shaking your head. Your face burned, tears streaming down your face leaving your vision completely blurry. “No no no, I can’t, let me go! I can't, I can’t! Paul, I can’t-!”

“Baby, listen you can do this! You got this, yes you fucking do,” he yelled over you holding your head to his shoulder. “Listen to me. C’mon you fucking got this, kitten! Don’t you give up, don’t you dare fucking give up now!”

With everything you had you screamed until your throat felt raw, pushing as hard as you could until finally, finally… it stopped. A huge wave of relief made your muscles go limp. Two. You just had given birth. To twins. The realization had finally hit Paul asw he looked up at Marko still holding his first born. “Are they…”

“Dude, you got a girl,” he beamed, carefully passing the swollen new born half-awake clinging to the towel. Occasionally her grey eyes squinted open, making trembling whimpers until she nestled back into sleep.

You managed to catch your breath, Marko helping you lay down while Dwayne circled around with your son. A boy too. You couldn’t help but laugh through tears, finally able to see his face after so many months of waiting. Paul couldn’t even hold back tears, laughing like an idiot as he pulled you both in his arms. “Fuck man… oh shit I’m a fucking dad,” he choked out, trying to hide his tears.

“Let it out man,” Marko teased, patting his shoulders.

“Shit man I can't stop crying... they’re so perfect.” Paul ran a hand gently over his son’s head still softly crying in your arms, watching him soothed as he clung to his finger. He looked you in the eyes, both of you just in utter awe that you brought not one, but two lives to the world. Nothing but tears and smiles between you. It was October 31st, 2 am, and you had spent the past four and a half hours of Hell to bring your twins (Girl Name) and (Boy name). Paul could not even fathom the amount of love he was feeling, trailing kisses all over your lips and cheeks. “Happy Halloween, kitten.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, laying your head back against his chest just unable to tear your eyes away from your beautiful new family after so many hours of grueling pain, so much waiting, in the end it was worth more than either of you had ever dreamed.

 “Happy Halloween, babe…”

[occult-castiel]

Secret Santa gift for @fallenoriath! Hope you enjoy it, this was my first time trying to write these two, hope I did it some amount of justice! Title: Pillow Talk

Word count: 4842

Characters: Gabriel, Beelzebub, Aziraphale, Crowley, Micheal

Summary: Beelzebub and Gabriel disagree about when things started

Gabriel's fingers ghosted across Beezbub's exposed skin in the early morning light. It was warm, like always. Their heat seeped into him every time they went to bed together, every time their skin brushed. It was always almost like a shock, their flame-charged essence.

Maybe it had something to do with the fall.

Either way, it was something Gabriel found out slowly and quickly, and was reinforced every morning when he cracked his eyes open, staring at the room that shouldn’t be, in the apartment that shouldn’t be, all on the planet that definitely, completely shouldn’t be.

A trifecta was appropriate. But that was the only proper thing about having a Lord of Hell tucked under his arm, burning away and soundly asleep.

Cuddling. A corner of his mind provided, quite dryly.

"How the fuck did this happen."

It wasn't a question, he had a habit of not asking too many of those, unless it was on the backend of an accusation at someone clearly not doing their job. But Beelzebub groaned.

Beelzebub flipped themselves over, and more of their smooth, unnaturally warm skin pressed against Gabriel's.

He almost shuttered. 

"Does it matter?"

He frowned and picked at their unruly black runaway hairs, and hummed in disapproval. "Probably the Fall. I was glad everyone else was gone."

He could remember that very clearly. One minute, he was in a conversation with what used to be Beelzebub, the next, half of Heaven was missing.

They had been beautiful, stunning as an Angel. Not much was different, except for a white robe a subtle heavenly glow, and hair that flowed down in perfect locks of a black that put creation to shame

And their eyes-- their eyes were like two shimmering blueberries. The Angel was up for a briefing, they were to be the patron of the moon, a new promotion that would put at almost equal levels of power. Almost.

"Asariel," Garbiel smiled as the Angel took their seat. "Good to see you."

He’d been on edge, most of the day. Still a hard monolith of a man, he stood straight and held his head high.

But a new scream echoing down the now baren Halls of Heaven was enough to leave a crack or two. Enough, after a few hundred, to all sound the same. Almost like it was one long, uninterrupted.

When the Angel walked in, crestfallen face on display, he figured they must feel the same.

But all the falling really was for the best, so he smiled. Business as usual. “I have good news for you!”

The pulled out a chair across from Gabrial at his always immaculate desk.

“Isn’t anything good about today.”

He ignored the tightness in his throat. “SIlver lining, then.”

A new scream sounded from behind the door. Asariel’s face tightened. They were glaring at their clenched hands.

His own shoulders slumped. “It’s for the best.”

Their gaze snapped up, and fire was shot at him in their deep blue eyes. “Lying doesn’t suit you, Gabriel.”

He scoffed, visibly taken aback. “I am not—” 

All the color drained from the Angel’s face, their eyes froze to the icy, lifeless color it would stay for the rest of eternity as a scream was ripped out of them.

It didn’t take long for the fire to consume them.

Gabriel sat there in silence, staring at the soot-stained spot where the Angel once was.

Beezlebub laid still, their breathing all but stopped.

“That doesn’t count.”

“All I’m saying is— “

“It doesn’t count.” They eyed up at them, there was an edge to it, and pinched upon look. “If you want something that early, then it was when we met.”

“When I assigned— “

They let out an irritated huff of air. “No, Sodom if we’re going that far back.”

Sodom was a city of sand. It seeps, stuck, and whisked in every direction under the pale moonlight. The pillars were lined with it, homes drenched in it, and Beezlebubs shoes were full of it as they trailed two Angels across the dimly lit city— two they were all too familiar with from before.

Eventually, they parted ways, Sandolphone taking refuge in some humans house, and Gabriel ventured off to a nearby pub. Wine had recently been refined again, and the human wasted no time in sharing the fruits.

The little building was bursting with people, all chattering, drinking. Ripe for a bit of tempting, bit that never was Beelzebubs primary objective in any situation. 

They beelined for Gabriel. An untouched cup of wine sat in front of him.

Quietly, over his shoulder, they whispered, "What's a little angel like you doing in a place like this?"

Every muscle in his body stiffened. "Asariel."

They yanked a fistful of his hair back, forcing his inhuman eyes on them. 

"Do I look like that person?"

"Vaguely," Gabriel said, a weariness in his voice.

"I have half a mind to discorporate you." They released his hair.

"Well, it'd be pointless. What's done is done." He rubbed his scalp. "This place is all going to salt and sand soon."

A spark of rage shot threw them and they grit their teeth. "You Angel's are ruining my work again."

He shrugged. "Ineffable plan. Divine work. One day you'll get their souls."

He looked tired. Not necessarily sad, but like the humans do, when they've decided sleeping could be put off for a day or two.

It'd be easy, to make good on the threat. But he'd looked tired that day too.

So instead, they left. What was done is done, and they weren't interested in fighting two Archangels today.

“I was there for decades.”

“Tsk.” he rolled his eyes. “It was disgusting. The place was full of rapists.”

“Yeah, and your lot isn’t? If I recall right, the girls you spared raped their father that very night.”

“Look, that wasn’t my policy decision, okay?”

“This is the problem with you Angels. You all have superiority complexes.”

“Whatever. The point is, that wasn’t it.” 

They glared, and shocked a finger into his chest. "If you're suggesting it was at that wenches implantation, I'll douse you in Hellfire myself."

The sky was black, a deep, unrelenting blackness that only came from the depths of nothing itself.

Which, honestly, should’ve been the first clue.

In the distance stood a small shack. A faint orange glow whispered through the shabby little windows.

The whole house looked run down and muddy, but everything on the planet did. But the son of God was meant to be born into humility, so Gabriel just shrugged it off and briskly walked towards it.

The place smelled. And the silly tunic itched horrendously. The heat of the Earth was nothing like the constant chill of Heaven, and it made the tunic, already uncomfortable, cling to his skin.

He had no idea why the Metatron was so insistent he couldn’t just have Aziraphale tell Mary about the child. It’d been ages since Eden.

A mass of black moved near the corner. Gabriel jerked to a stop.

He cleared his throat.

Nothing.

He lifted a hand. Golden streaks of yellow cracked over his skin. Heavenly light seeped from them. “Come out now, or be killed. Your choice, demon.”

There was a huff, and suddenly, a familiar voice behind him. “I’m not some demon, Archangel.”

He swiveled around, more of his corporal skin cracking to golden light as he sneered.

"Of course it's you." His hand dropped, and the light died down. A deep breath filled his chest. "Now, why are you here?”

They balled their fists. "Why am I here? Why do you think I'm here?!"

"There's nothing you can do about it."

"Oh?" A hoard of flies popped up around them, buzzing, flying erratically. "You're wrong. Your lot loves free will, yeah? Well if Shes going to come be one of them for a while, wants to experience it or whatever, then I have the free will to kill the mother here and now."

Gabriel threw his hands in the air. "And what? I'm supposed to let you? Not happening"

"Just give me a reason. How is this fair to the plan?"

"The humans are supposed to kill him. It's good for both sides."

"I don't care." Their hair raised,  and floated as unnaturally as their tunic. A subtle black mist pooled at their feet "If She wants to come here, She should do it Herzzzelf."

"So you want Her to pay, yeah?"

"More."

"Okay," Gabriel started, "Deep breaths. If you want any kind of vengeance, this kid needs to be born, end of story. Then your," he winced, "corrupting will do something."

"You already destroyed the work I put into that," they snapped.

"Look, what if I tell you the next time something like this is happening? Keep the plan in motion and any, uh, spite aside."

They crossed their arms. "I'm listening."

"Had to have been that. Besides, you're the one who skipped over the Tower."

Beelzebub pressed themself impossibly closer, and they painted Gabriels exposed skin with small pecks, each warm press as skin-meltingly warm as they last. His hand tightened around their waste.

“The tower was a tragedy,” they breathed across the exposed skin of his neck. He shivered, just a bit.

“And attempted murder isn’t?”

“Perspective.”

Their lips pressed together, and, like every time, it felt like diving into a warm pool of water. Gabriel’s entire body relaxed into it, turned to mush. 

A hand like fire trailed across their back, pulling them in. Gabriel’s hair was always sickeningly soft, Beelzebub took every chance possible to grab it, twist it, make it messy. Their fingers trailed up his side, over his chest, and grazed through ever perfectly placed strand, and pulled.

A thought occurred to them, and they pulled away. 

“Did I ever tell you,” they said over Gabriel’s protesting, “That Michael came to Hell?”

He stilled, “after she was attacked?”

“Attacked,” they rolled their eyes, “Is an overstatement.”

Ligur, in his infinite stupidity, got into a tiff with an Angel, which Gabriel had called them into a meeting for not an hour earlier.

Gabriel’s hands were clasped tightly in front of him. He tilted on the back of his heels every few breaths, eyes shifting up and down the impossibly long staircase. 

"So. Michael was attacked."

Beelzebub eyed him. Nervous fuck. "I don't care if an Angel gets hurt."

He glared. "It was one of your people that did it!"

"And we're at war," they said as they turned to leave.

Gabriel's hand snapped out to grab their wrist. The warmth of the steely grip burned. Beelzebub ripped their hand away and glared. 

"Hey! You don't have to be defensive!"

A flash of anger dashed through their veins. It didn't show.

"Better defensive than nervous."

His face twisted into a picture of indignity. "I am not nervous." But his eyes still shifted.

As a rule, Angel's were liars, and not worth an ounce of loyalty. Not that their subordinates were any better, but no one was trying to lie about it. Lying, throwing things away, that was Heaven's business.

Loyalty was dead in Hell, it went down screaming in the Fall. That was the point of it all.

Of course, it was an Archangel Ligur pissed off. Of course, it was Michael.

"It's her fault for trusting a demon."

He rolled his eyes. "Michael doesn't trust demons. She was attacked. In cold blood."

"She set up a backchannel. The demon didn't like the deal."

"Don't be ridiculous. This," he motioned between them, "is a fluke."

Of course Gabriel thought he was the only one with backchannel.

Idiot.

They both left without resolving anything, but Beelzebub’s newfound frustration at the situation got him an unrelated punishment.

Seeing the affronted Archangel in question was a surprise, though. 

Michael, in all her glorious, white, crispness, crossed her arms in front of Beelzebub. Her gaze was ice but her posture slouched.

"You aren't doing anything to him."

Beezlebub stared. It was sort of a sight, some creature of Heaven bothering to sully themselves by venturing into the basement. They'd been in contact with Gabriel for a few hundred years and neither of them ventured to the other side.

After a few beats of silence, Michael continued on in a puff. "You do realise he attacked me?"

They almost smiled. "I don't take orders from Angels." 

Her hand balled into fists. "We had an agreement!"

"My fault you made a bad deal, then?"

She sneered and turned to leave, but hesitated at the hallway entrance. They raised an eyebrow.

“We could have an agreement instead. An exchange of information, little help if needed.”

They felt something at that. A creeping sense of nausea, but something.

Gabriel was an idiot, probably a liar. But he wasn’t slimy. “No.”

She huffed. “What? Do you already have one?”

“And why would I tell the enemy that?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Because, I hear everything first, and I probably have some troubling news about your best field agent.”

And that’s just it, isn’t it? Even if they said yes, the words already sounded like lies. Beelzebub knew everything they needed to, regardless of if Crowley, they assumed, had done anything he ought to have not. Heaven really overemphasized the apple bit. 

Gabriel was a liar too, but not like the others he’d seen. He lied to protect an image or save his own ass

“Get out of my sight.”

And she did.

Gabriel pushed Beelzebub off of him, albeit softly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Just did, didn’t I?”

He huffed. “It would’ve been good to know my associates were— were—”

“Associating?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

“Either way, at least I actually chose something when that bloody Angel popped in, not just some circumstance.”

“Oh if mine aren’t good enough, do I need to remind you I came to Hell too?”

“Because you were out of options.”

“Because I wanted your help.”

Gabriel had been the most cross being in all of existence, after. Everyone had backchannels. His primary earthly agent was a traitor. Humanity, in all of its stupid bumbling, remained. As did the irritation. 

Barely a week passed before Gabriel, for the first time ever, entered Hell, and very publicly requested Beelzebubs presence.

Each ding on the elevator down, each floor passed, was another memory ticking by. His hands clasped themselves in front of him like steel, very unsteady, almost fidgety, steel.

This was the best option. Beelzebub understood. Beelzebub had helped him on a few occasions, he knew them from before. Certainly, they must understand each other a bit by now. Maybe.

The doors opened. He took a deep breath and stepped into Hell, the corporate end, anyway.

Several demons coward, a few hissed, as he pushed his way past them to the short walk to the throne. No need for this little meeting to be a secret when everyone was doing it anyway, it seemed.

If they were phased, it didn’t show. A single eyebrow raised, their arms crossed, and a little frown was notched into place like it was sculpted there.

“What brings you to my domain, Archangel?” They said in a bored, uninterested tone.

And this was it, wasn’t it? All the Angels in Heaven, a whole Holy army at his disposal, and he crawls to Hell before saying a word, except for putting in a leave of absence.

“I want your help.”

A faint smirk twitched into, and just as quickly flickered out of existence. “I’m listening.”

“Tsk, you knew Angels would be useless here—”

“— You say that like we’ve done anything—”  

“But this place,” they motioned around the room, “that’s… notable.”

It took about a week for both of them to decide that a base of operations was a good idea. So they took residence in a flat across the street from the demons. Somewhere to be while they kept watch. It was large and sleek, full of deep brown wood and dark walls and counters. Unassuming and empty, aside from what little furniture the place came with. 

“Mn, no. This place was useful. But, we were tailing them on dates. So, maybe that?”

Gabriel glared at a plate of food.

The lightening of the place was dim. It was mostly grey, with little splashes of yellow and green in pieces of artwork hung sparsely about. Every plate was about ten times as expensive as it ought to be. 

Gabriel’s plate had what appeared to be a pile of expensive goop on it. In the corner of Beezelbub's eye, they could see the traitorous little Angel devouring it.

“What is this atrocity?” The Archangel shuttered.

Beelzebub studied their own plate, a mirror of Gabriel’s own. They decidedly snatched a fork, stabbed the grey, slimy glob, and swallowed it whole.

Oysters, the menu called them. More like a mistake. They felt them crawl down their throat the whole way down. “Disgusting is what it is. Now eat it.”

He huffed. “I am not putting that in my body.”

“You wear clothes, don’t you?” They stabbed another. “It’s about fitting in. Not that you’d know much about that.”

“We’re watching them, not playing human.”

They shrugged. “Not much of a difference. Unless you have an early exit strategy. Eat up, Archangel.”

He plucked a fork up, and proceeded to swirl the atrocity around his plate. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about. I can fit in just fine. Archangels are the epitome of perfection.”

Beelzebub huffed a laugh. Gabriel shot a glare. “We’re Her chosen Angels. Not that you’d know much about that.”

They took another bite, and washed the thin coating of slime down with a swig of wine. “Then prove it. Play human. Unless you can’t, Because,” they stabbed another piece, “I can.”

He shoved three on a fork. “Anything a demon can do, someone of my stature can do better.”

The oysters disappearing into his mouth, and he almost choked. Unfortunately, two coughs later and he was fine.

“I’m getting these reclassified as a deadly sin.”

They took a sip of wine. It was sweet, not nearly as bad. “Sins are liberating. Humans enjoy them if they’re the kind we get.”

“Well look at that shameless display!” He motioned wildly to their good for nothing underling and the angel, who was still thoroughly enjoying the meal. “If he likes it, it can’t be holy. Aziraphale is backwards.”

“Hell could take him. Maybe holy water would work then.”

He looked disgusted. “And what? We take the demon?” He laughed. “No.”

“Suit yourself.” They pushed his untouched glass of wine towards him. “Try the wine.”

Tentatively, he plucked the glass up and swirled it in the cup. The red liquid almost spilled over as he examined it, nose up.

Eventually, he took a sip. And then another.

“Hm.” He gave the cup another swirl. “Not bad.”

A few weeks of tailing the two from one restaurant to the next, and a wine rack appeared in the apartment’s living room. When Beelzebub looked at it in question, Gabriel just shrugged.

They even got a bit drunk, a few times.

Dust plastered every available surface. It wasn’t something they had to deal with in the etherial plane, so they didn’t deal with it. Little pitters of rain thumped against the windows, the sole reason they were in the apartment for more than roughly a half-hour. Gabriel couldn’t be bothered to get his hair wet.

Ridiculous.

It took Beelzebub almost no time at all to suggest actually drinking some of the wine that was also collecting dust, and that was all the convincing it took.

Three bottles later and Beelzebub sat in a lone chair, scrunched in on themself, wine glass in hand. Gabriel was slung about on the couch. By all means, the wine should’ve been in a puddle on the floor, or the coach, or on his suit.

But Beelzebub figured the liquid must know what was best for it, so it mostly stayed in place, decidedly not spilling. Though the thought of him being that frivolous with miracles was amusing.

“It’s— It’s holy, Beez—”

“Do not call me that.”

He rolled his eyes, and flung into a proper sitting position, however uncoordinated.

“Fine. But the wine, it’s holy. How aren’t you burning alive?” He sounded bewildered

They tsked and took a sip. Warmth radiated from their cheeks, had been for a while now, but it was a comfortable thing, nothing like what they’d seen of holy water. Certainly nothing like the fire of falling.

“People sin with it far more often.”

His face scrunched. “Not as often as they use it in communion.”

“You’re wrong. It’s one of the easier tickets to Hell.”

He hesitated, staring at the glass of liquid like it might burst into fire. They sighed.

"Good for blending in though, hm?"

He glanced at the cup, then at them, then at the cup again. 

They tried a toast. "To blending in."

He drank, albeit wearily. 

But not so much the time after that, or any subsequent.

Other outings happened too, they trailed them to museums, parks, a particularly messy child’s birthday party once.

“I did enjoy the tempting of it, never got out much after the Biblical days.”

“It was not a temptation.”

They snickered. “Just like the whole scarf thing wasn’t flirting, hm?”

Gabriel blushed. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Sure.”

“I hate this… whatever it is.”

Gabriel pipped up, almost bounced in place. “Hey! I know this one! The humans call it Fall.”

They clicked their tongue. “Falling was scorching. Not,” they motioned to Gabriel’s scarf, annoyed that they even needed such a silly, frilly thing. It was bulky and white and only drew attention. “whatever the Heaven that is.”

“It’s fashionable. And if you think food is the only way to fit in, you’re wrong. You don’t even have a jacket.”

“I’ll just be noticed, then.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re unbelievable.” And, before Beezelbub had a word in protest wise, his silly, stupid scarf wrapped around their neck in a swift motion.

Its warmth radiated down their neck and yanked a slew of goosebumps to their skin. An odd sensation, one you would never get in the depths of Hell.

Gabriel sneered. “Better?”

They didn’t answer.

Gabriel chuckled. “You looked so embarrassed then.”

Beelzebub was on top of him in an instant, and whispered into his ear, “Need I remind you who started this?” They motioned vaguely to the bed.

“That was only because you’d said how amazing sleeping was—”

“— So I tempted you— “

“No, I chose you, consciously, after we saw those two dimwits sucking face. No temptation.”

December came, and the traitors were still going out for a nice little walks in the snow-dusted paths of Saint James Park. It was dark and cold, and the human’s inefficient lights barely glowed orange enough to properly light anything, but it was enough.

Enough to see how Aziraphale clung to the creature. To see the way he clung back with an arm over his shoulder.

They weren't often close enough to make out words, but tonight they were lucky when the two stopped under the bandstand.

"You look cold," the demon said.

"Well, tis the season, my dear."

And then, very carefully, Aziraphale let the demon kiss him.

"Better?" He sounded so smug. Aziraphale yanked him back down.

And they didn't explode. Like they should’ve.

Beelzebub shivered.

When they got back to the apartment, Gabriel saw it with frightening clarity. The records were strewn about, the bottle of nail polish on the dresser. Tailor-made clothes were thrown neatly in a hamper. 

They had shampoo. There was food in stock.

Beezlebub pushed past him and grumbled they were going to sleep and to keep it the fuck down. Since they watched movies humans made on a tv humans enjoyed.

A wave of dizziness struck him. He barely heard the slamming of the bedroom door. It all looked big and empty, but still too small, too full of something intangible.

They were native. Both of them. They'd gone native.

Just like their two uncooperative field agents.

For the first time, Gabriel really imagined.

God, he was stupid

“You did this.”

They paused at the door. “Did what?”

“You,” he huffed out a breath in disbelief. “You tempted me.”

Beelzebub’s face scrunched. “What the Heaven are you on about?”

He motioned wildly. “This is all an indulgence!”

“You,” they snapped, “Invited me here. Your idea.”

Anger churned in his blood, a white-hot fury. “To punish them! Not play human!”

They crossed their arms. “And have you figured out a way to do that yet?”

“No, that’s not the point—” he groaned, and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m leaving” he called over his shoulder, the door already shut before Beelzebub would say a word.

The dinners, the music, the clothes, and the rituals. It wasn’t bad, and the traitors did it all together. Seemed to like it so much more together.

For the first time, Gabriel imagined. Really imagined.

What if he’d done this alone? If Beezelbub had laughed in his face when he asked them to go to earth? What if Aziraphale got the Mary assignment after all?

He saw Aziraphale and Crowley under the bandstand again in his head, but instead, Beezelbub was under his arm, clung to his side, and after seeing them kiss, he'd turn to the side, look down at the little hellspawn and—  

Aziraphale’s bookshop stared him in the face. How long had his… fraternizing been going on? Why had it been going on?

Months later and he still didn’t get it.

He only had to pound three times before the stuffy little Angel answered the door.The door rushed out the tantalizing heat from within, the shop reeked of sugar and dust. And brimstone. But he was mostly nose blind to that. Mostly.

“I’m sorry but we’re very closed— Oh, Gabriel.”

His eyes bulged like little saucers, any haughtiness from the failed execution wiped out.

“Aziraphale.”

“I, ah,” his eyes shifted towards the cave of books, a dark and yellow cavern full of dust Gabriel had never been the keenest on being inside of. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon”

He smelled the demon before he saw him saunter around a corner, inspecting a wine bottle. “Hey, angel, when did you get— What the Heaven are you doing here, Archangel?”

The demon was next to Aziraphale in an instant, his open hand clutching the doorframe, the other behind the Angel. His yellow slits were blown wide.

He sneered, “I didn’t come here to talk to you— “

“Well then, best get to leaving then.”

He ignored him, and focused his attention on Aziraphale, “You’ve got him trained so well.”

His face pinched, a look of disgust crossed his face. “Trained?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Now, if we can get on with it, all I have is one question."

"Very well," Aziraphale patted his clothes.

"No, Aziraphale, this psycho has been tailing us for weeks, you don’t owe him anything!"

A bout of annoyance flared inside of him. "See?" He motioned towards him, "this is why I don't consort with demons."

The demon sniffed the air. "Yeah. Sure smells like you don't."

"Crowley that's quite enough, if he’s here for a question it's best to answer it and move on." The demon honest to God pouted. 

Gabriel sneered at him. 

"But not if you're going to be rude as well, Gabriel. What is it you need?"

"How did this," he motioned vaguely between the two of them, "Happen?"

"I don't believe that's any of your business."

"If you cooperate, I'll," he heaves a sigh and shook his head, "personally insure Heaven and Hell leave you both alone."

Aziraphale bit his lip and glanced at his disgusting demon boyfriend, who, after a moment sighed and said, "Sure, go for it. Whatever."

"Oh, well that's quite a long story. Unless you'd like it abridged? Or just the bit about Armageddon?"

His insides coiled, but this was for the best. 

"The beginning."

He hummed, "Well, that starts at The Beginning, so you may want to come inside."

Several hours later, he left with a bit of bike in his throat and a bottle of wine from the early 19th century, apparently, an important part of the process was alcohol. "Extraordinary amount of alcohol."

Beelzebub laughed. "I was wondering where you got that."

"So you see, no temptation."

"Mm," they pressed themselves into his side, skin warm and flush. "Should fix that. Tempt you to some breakfast around the corner? Need to pay my old subordinate a visit."

"You do?"

"Yeah. Someone's got to let him know that wine tasted like shit."

He snorted and agreed. It was on okay breakfast, and miraculously enough their old employees were indeed there, and weren't the happiest to see them, but, as with most things, a bit of misery thrown in that wasn't exactly his, made things a bit more fun.

[ma-sulevin]

Duct Tape Fixes Everything

Except marriages and broken hearts.

Rook asks Sharky what he means.

Rating: M (for swearing/drinking/smoking). Sharky Boshaw/Female Deputy (pre-relationship). Words: 2,187.

Also on AO3.

---

“Who broke your heart, Sharky?”

His mind skitters at the question, the sudden change of subject, searching for words but coming up surprisingly blank. He just stares at her instead, mouth hanging open a bit in his confusion.

She grins at him over the top of her beer, the expression a little lopsided, and tries again. “You said something earlier about how duct tape fixes everything but broken hearts and marriages, so I thought maybe you were talking from experience. You been married before?”

“Uhh.” He blinks one more time at her as she sips her drink before his mind kickstarts again. “You know, sometimes things come out of my mouth before I’ve really had a chance to think about whether I wanna say it or not, and, uh, you know, most people don’t really listen to shit like that.”

“I listen to everything you say,” she says, and he absolutely does not blush when she adds, “that’s part of being best friends, dude. Get with it. Now tell me who broke your heart so I know whose ass to kick.”

He laughs and she beams at him, her teeth flashing in the flickering light from their fire. She settles more comfortably in her folding chair, kicking her bare feet up into his lap; he wraps the fingers of his free hand around one, just out of habit, and digs his thumb into the sole just to hear the little grunt of satisfaction she’ll make.

“You sure you wanna hear that whole story?” He asks, uneasy at bringing up memories of old girlfriends in front of her.

She quirks an eyebrow and wiggles her toes to get him to massage harder. “Shark, you told me about the first time you felt up a girl, accidentally burned down the skating rink in an attempt to cheer yourself up, and then got a boner. At the, uh, fire, not the girl.”

“Oh, yeah, heh, forgot I told you all that. You really do listen to all the stuff I say, huh? You don’t ever just zone out and ignore some of my stories, ‘cause that’s usually how it goes. WIth other people I mean. They don’t listen.” He does massage harder. He even puts his beer down so he can use both hands.

“Come on,” she says, closing her eyes and tilting her head back as he digs his thumbs into the ball of her foot. It might be nice if she did this back from time to time, but he can’t blame her for not wanting to touch his feet. He can acknowledge they get pretty rank by the end of the day, even when they have time to take showers and sleep in real beds, like tonight. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

He focuses on her foot for a second, trying to gather his thoughts before he starts babbling, then he starts babbling anyway: “I mean, I already told you about the girl at the skating rink, and that was my first real disappointment, you know, but then I found out how much I love fire, so that made up for it--” she snickers; he presses on-- “and then, uh, I had a string of good luck until after I dropped out of high school, you know how I am, and then I met this waitress over at the 8-bit, and she was, she was real pretty.” He pauses again, takes another gulp of his beer and then moves to her other foot. “Her name was Shelly. She used to bring me leftover pizzas sometimes. They were delicious as long as she wasn’t the one who made them.”

She laughs again, and he smiles at the sound. “She sounds like a real catch.”

“She was,” he says. “And, I mean, I know I’m a helluva catch, what with the kickass flamethrower and the good looks and the endless beer and everything, but she was absolutely way outta my league. Like, she was smokin’ hot. She could’a been in one of those music videos, you know.”

She nods without opening her eyes. “All flossy?”

“Flossy as hell,” he confirms. “Anyway, we were hanging out and having fun, and I thought it was going good. I thought I was in love with her, man, I mean, she was so hot, she had real soft red hair and these real big--” He cuts himself off. He was gonna say she had real big tits, but since Mattie’s eyes are still closed he’s able to have a moment of uninterrupted study of what she’s working with under that shirt buttoned up high enough to cover that goddamned WRATH tattoo, and, yeah, they’re not as big as Shelly's and he doesn’t want her to feel bad even though he prefers hers anyways, and--

She’s giggling. Shit, he waited too long to finish his sentence, and she figured out what he was talking about. She opens her eyes just after he rips his away from her chest, so at least she didn’t catch him staring. (Again.)

“Okay, you made your point. She’s the hottest girl you’d ever met, maybe because of her boobs, maybe because of the free pizza.” She tilts her head back and downs the rest of her beer while she waits for him to finish the story, and he drags in a deep breath so he can get the rest out without pausing.

“So, I hadn’t asked her to move in with met yet, but I was thinkin’ about it, and she had a key to Boshaw Manor and everything, but she just hadn’t brought all her stuff over yet or anything, and I came home one day and caught her fuckin’ another guy in my bed.”

Mattie’s feet are jerked out of his hands as she sits up, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. She’s glaring. It’s the same look he’s seen her make when John or Jacob calls her over the radio, and he’s suddenly afraid he’s said the wrong thing and pissed her off for good this time.

“In your bed?”

“Yeah.” Jesus, he can still remember every detail of that day, exactly how she looked with her face all pink and her hair messed up and sweaty, tits still bouncing because it took her a couple seconds to realize was there and actually stop fuckin’ the dude, who, at least, seemed to feel guilty about it, throwing a heartfelt sorry man over his shoulder as he gathered his pants and shirt and ran naked from the room while Shelly just pouted. 

Mattie makes a considering noise, then twists around until she can reach the cooler with the rest of their beers. She offers him one, and he takes it even though he hasn’t quite finished his first. He downs what he has left, then opens the one she handed him.

“That’s fucked up, Shark,” she says, and he chuckles around his drink.

“That’s what I said.” And, yeah, that’s one of the things he said, probably the only one that bears repeating. He clutches the beer can a little tighter, ignoring the condensation wetting his fingers, wishing she’d put her feet back in his lap or something so he can the warmth of her again, the comfort that doesn’t stop him from saying everything that pops into his head but makes him feel better for the touch. How long has it been since someone just… was willing to sit, touching?

Oh, god. He hopes she doesn’t think he has a foot fetish, or something, the way he’s always grabbing for her feet when they’re close. She hasn’t said anything about it, and she seems to like the massages, but, like, that’s not really his thing. Not that he minds it, but it’s not really toes that get him going.

“She still around?”

“Nah. I don’t know if she left town, or joined up with the cult, or what. Haven’t seen her in years.”

Almost like she can hear what he was thinking -- not the foot fetish bit, the other thing -- she relaxes again and puts her feet back in his lap. He doesn’t start the massage up again, but she doesn’t seem to mind that either. 

“Well, she sounds like a cunt anyway,” she says, and he laughs again, a real belly laugh.

“You are not wrong there, shorty.” He manages to let a short silence pass before he asks one of the two questions burning his throat. “Why, would you really kick her ass for me?”

Mattie’s face is serious, and she waits to fish a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket. She sticks one between her lips and asks around it, “Don’t you think I could take her?”

“Hell yeah, you could,” he answers, honest, immediate, and she smirks the best she can while she’s lighting her cigarette. Her eyes flash at the same time as the little flame in her hand, then she’s exhaling a cloud into the sky, head tipped back, and he stares at her throat.

“Well, I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for Big Tits McGee next time we see a group of Peggies.” Her voice is dripping in disgust and he can’t help but laugh again. “Probably has LUST carved right on her forehead.” She takes another drag off her cigarette and idly rubs at her breastbone. After a half-second, she seems to shake herself out of it and nudges him with her heel against his knee. “Sorry that happened to you.”

He shrugs, drinks more of his beer, tries to find something to say that’s not embarrassing. “Yeah, well. What’s your story then? I told you mine, and fair’s fair.”

She shrugs too, her cigarette dangling from the fingers of her right hand. “I didn’t even have a boyfriend until I was nineteen,” she says, and that’s not what he expected her to say, even a little bit. “I’d just finished my EMT training, had a job in Custer County, and I was still living at home and all, but it was my first time with any real freedom of my own. One of the other EMTs and I started hanging out a lot after our shifts, talking a lot, you know how it goes. We started dating, and I just took it a lot more serious than he did, I guess, because he was my first, uhh… everything, really. Anyway, things went sour and that’s that.”

He stares at her. She doesn’t look back.

“That’s that, huh?” She grimaces when he feeds her words back to her. When she doesn’t offer more details, he just starts guessing random shit that could break a girl’s heart for the first time at the ripe old age of nineteen. “He cheat on you? With another EMT? A patient? Turn out to be gay? Never made you cum and say it was your fault?” She chokes on her beer when he says that one, nearly spits it out, and then she’s laughing again and something in his chest eases a bit. “Cried after y’all fucked? Fell asleep on you?”

She kicks him again. “You think I’m such a boring lay that someone’d fall asleep on me?”

He’s not blushing. He isn’t. He's definitely never thought about it before. “Nah, just trying to get to the bottom of it.”

She rolls her eyes at him, sort of chuckles and shakes her head while he just grins and waits. “It wasn’t anything all that dramatic,” she says finally. He watches as she flicks the ash off the end of her cigarette, takes another drag. “Just lots of fighting, name calling, couple’a holes punched in the wall of his apartment. Duct tape doesn’t quite fix that either, but it’s better than nothing. He kicked me out and then acted all surprised when I moved in with another friend and wouldn’t take his calls.”

“Sounds like an asshole,” Sharky offers, and she laughs a little. It’s warm again, not bitter, and she tosses the butt of her cigarette into the fire.

“Yup. Looks like we’re both better off now, huh?” She nudges him with her foot again, smiling but not looking at him, studying the stars overhead instead. She always does that; while he’s busy admiring the flames of the closest fire (camp, bon, or on the end of a match), she’s busy staring up at the sky like she can just disappear into it if she tries hard enough.

“Yeah, I mean, if that dickwad hadn’t punched holes in his own walls, I wouldn’t’ve met my best friend,” he says, giving in and resting his hand on her ankle, just because he wants to touch her again. 

She flexes her toes and smiles doesn’t pull away. “That’s a good way to look at it,” she says, lips still curled up at the edges as her eyes start to close. “Guess this is all worth it.”

And, well, maybe he wouldn’t go quite that far, a lot of people have died and all, but… yeah. Yeah. He can’t bring himself to disagree, either.

[minlunae]

↳ pairing: yoongi/reader

↳ au: demigod!au | percy jackson!au | domestic!au in the end????

↳ warnings: teeth rotting fluff & yoongi is goth boi on the outside and soft boi in the inside

↳ word count: 3.7k

⁙ summary: daughter of the harvest falls in love with the son of death.

⁙ a/n: this was supposed to be angst but 🤷‍♀️

when you woke to a new morning at camp half-blood, it felt like any ordinary day

as the head counselor of the demeter cabin, you quickly get ready before you make your rounds waking all your younger siblings up and making sure they wash up

you: the substitute mom to all your half siblings and in extension, the whole camp

a whole ass mom friend

“y/n have you seen my favorite scrunchie?!??! y’know the pink velvet one??!????!”

“y/n, tell dowoon to hurry up in the toilet my bladder is about to eXPLODE!!!!!”

you roll your eyes but you yank the scrunchie from under hyoeun’s mattress and notify dowoon that he has exactly 30 more seconds to get his business settled

as you’re tidying the stray things lying around the cabin, you make sure to run your hands across the plants so that their colors look more vibrant and stand up a little taller

you can literally feel the plants sigh in pleasure and that’s why you make sure to do it every morning—a deep sense of satisfaction

you’ve been a full time member of camp half blood since you were only six years old so it’s the only home you’ve ever known

you have 12 beads on your necklace now!!!! 12 years at camp half-blood!

now that you were 18, you were considering whether you should leave and try to make a life outside of camp or maybe stay to help??

it was a big decision so you did your best to not think about it a lot

you had a tendency to push thoughts about the future in the way, way, way, WAY back of your head

like the thought of leaving camp half-blood terrified you!!!

this was your home!!

you don’t even know the ways of the mortal world though you’ve been out for quests and such

but it has never been long term!!!!

anYWAYS

so many of your fellow campers, although they may be not your direct siblings, have come to become your family

y’all grew up together and fought some monsters together how much more bonding do you guys need??

you herd everyone to breakfast and remind them of their individual duties for today

yours is to tend to the orchard

it’s just you today bc all your other siblings had archery practice and such

and the pomegranate trees have been needing extra care and attention which you were very worried about

besides, you appreciated being able to get away from the others for at least a little while

although you love them…..sometimes….it can become too…….much for you..

you are the mom friend but you are also very introverted and recharged your energy by being alone!!!!!

so that’s why you’re like !!!!!! when you seen a black blob by the edge of the orchards

…right by the barrier of the camp

adrenaline is pumping as you approach the unidentified lump

but when you finally get a good look

oh

its a boy

a very handsome boy

a very hurt handsome boy

!!!!!!!

you immediately drop right next to him to check for vitals

you sigh in relief when you feel his pulse

still you’re nervous because his skin feels as cold as ice

and there are pretty big gashes on his face, arms, and legs

…and his left arm is laying in a weird angle

as you’re trying to decide whether it would be a better idea to try to transport this stranger to the infirmary or run to bring hoseok here

when you decide that it’s too risky to try to jostle him when you don’t have extensive knowledge of healing like hoseok does, you turn to run back to the camp

“urghhhh”

you freeze and whip around

hurt handsome boy is struggling to sit up!!!!

“lay back down!!!” you almost yell at him

hurt handsome boy flinches and looks up at you in shock

“you’re safe here now! seeing that you got through the barrier, you’re a demigod aren’t you? don’t worry, just lay down and i’m going to get someone from the apollo cabin to look at your wounds!”

your hands flutter around him because half of you want to push him down to stop him from trying to sit up but the other half of you is scared that you’re going to hurt him

“i-is this camp half-blood?”

oh

hurt handsome boy’s voice…

rip y/n

“yes it is now pls reLAX you’re going to hurt yourself more if you keep trying to move”

you noticed that hurt handsome boy’s lips (don’t @ y/n for staring at his lips they are very nice lips) are very very dry

you charm the surrounding plants into releasing some of their water supply into a big leaf you fashioned into a cup

“here drink some water” you offer to the stranger “what’s your name?”

stranger boy takes long deep gulps from the leaf

“min yoongi”

“okay yoongi, i’m y/n. do you think you can lay here for like five minutes? i’m gonna grab someone to come heal you”

yoongi barely finished nodding before you fly off to go find hoseok

yoongi settles back into the dirt

and ouch

he’s really starting to feel the arm now that the adrenaline from fighting all those monsters was dissipating

tbh when he first woke up, he thought he was in heaven

especially after seeing you with the sunlight behind you like a halo…..

while yoongi is thinking about you when he should most definitely be worried about his injuries, you’re dashing to the infirmary

“hOSEOK WE HAVE AN EMERGENCY”

you make it just in time to see hoseok startle and drop the bandages he was carrying

“y/n you scared me!!”

“what’s going on??” you didn’t even notice your best friend namjoon in the room

“there’s a new camper at the edge of camp by the orchards!!! and he’s badly hurt i don’t think there was anyone to help guide him here!”

hoseok quickly grabs his kit and both he and namjoon rushes to follow you back to the orchards

thankfully, yoongi is still where you left him

“yoongi!! this is hoseok and he’s our best healer let him help you”

yoongi obediently lets hoseok prod about trying his best to keep a straight face despite the pain

“my name is kim namjoon son of athena and the person that’s looking you over right now is jung hoseok son of apollo. how did you get here?”

“i’m min yoongi my piece of shit dad told me to come here after removing his hedge of protection over me” yoongi rolls his eyes

“your dad? is he your godly parent?” namjoon asks

yoongi blows his bangs out of his face and sighs “yeah, my dad is hades”

you’re shocked and you can tell namjoon and hoseok are too

it’s not everyday you see a child of the big 3

“okay, i healed the gashes that you had, but that broken arm is going to take a day to set and heal. here eat some of this”

hoseok offers yoongi a piece of ambrosia and helps place his arm in a sling

“do you think you’ll be able to stand? namjoon and i can help you get to the main part of camp”

the three of you give yoongi space so that he can try to get up

namjoon and hoseok helps yoongi to the cabin of hades and you grab the duffel bag that was lying beside yoongi and follow after them

you grab some extra linens, pillows, and a duvet from the demeter cabin because literally no one else uses the hades cabin and you knew there wouldn’t be anything there

everyone agrees to let yoongi get some rest before he gets bombarded with questions

both you and hoseok promise to come check on him regularly to make sure he doesn’t need anything

you stay behind to make sure yoongi is comfortable

bedding? check. toiletries? check. food and water for yoongi to help himself to when he gets hungry? check.

you finally get a really good look at yoongi and oh my god he’s so cute rip y/n

like you didn’t

even know you

had a type………

but yes,,,,,,,,,yes you do

his bleached white hair and bone white skin contrasts wonderfully with his otherwise black attire

black t-shirt tucked into ripped back skinny jeans with a black worn leather jacket & back combat boots??!!?!?!?!?!

chunky silver skull rings????!!?!

silver hoop earrings???!?!?!?

sign y/n the fUCK UP

hoo

then you realize how long you have been just STARING at yoongi and you want to disappear into nothingness bc he’s now looking at you worriedly

you can only stutter that you’ll be back to check on him in a couple of hours and turn so you can yEET outta there

but

BUT

cold fingers grip your wrist before you can run out

at this point your face is basically a ripe tomato and now you really want to die

and then you know death will come

because

yoongi does this little head tilt thing

and he smiles

THE MOST PERFECT LITTLE GUMMY SMILE

“y/n? i wanted to thank you. i don’t know what i would have done if you didn’t find me to be honest”

and because you’re an idiot you can only stutter you’re welcome before you run away for real

and yoongi is left in the comfortable bed that you made for him and

his heart is going,,,,,,,

booM BOOM

and all he can think is wow i cannot believe i just met an angel,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

anywho

word travels fast in camp seeing that there aren’t that many people in the first place

especially since the effing SON OF HADES IS HERE

and although you said you would check up on yoongi, you were too mortified to be in the same space as him

so you kindly asked hoseok to take care of him

hoseok just smirked at you knowingly and urgh

sometimes you hate that your friends know you so well

days pass and you have been avoiding tHE HECK out of yoongi

you would catch glimpses of him around camp and you would immediately turn the other way and hide

like one time you were sparring with jungkook because he was whining that you never hang out with him anymore

and yoongi in all his blACK GLORY started walking towards you and no no no

you immediately dropped your sword and ran the other way

jungkook is yelling indignantly behind you and pouting because his favorite noona just left without an explanation >:’(

while yoongi is,,,,,,,so confused

he’s thinking: is she……avoiding me??!!!?!??!

:’(

it’s sad because other than a couple of people in camp, everyone is giving him a wide berth

he supposes children of hades don’t give the greatest of impressions

yoongi’s used to it but…..

:’(

he didn’t think you would be one of those that were avoiding him

but you don’t mean to be avoiding him

you’re just not you when you’re around him

yeah, or that’s what you keep telling yourself

lol rip y/n

that’s why you head to the orchards so often because it’s so far from everyone else and it calms you down to be around your fruits of labor

the oranges, apples, and pears are doing gr8

and although the pomegranates are worrying you, under your careful care, they’ll be back to tiptop shape!!!!

you coax the grass under you to grow a little plusher and the branches to reach a little farther so there would be ample shade as you rest

“hm that’s a cool power to have i’m guessing your mom is demeter?”

you literally jUMP OUT OF YOUR SKIN BECAUSE OH MY GODS THERE IS MIN YOONGI

HOW THE HECK DID HE GET HERE WITHOUT A SOUND

WITHOU YOU NOTICING??!??!?!

HOWEVER, you’re not as flustered because you’re in your safe place but you’re still very, very nervous

yoongi keeps talking despite your silence: “all i can do is raise skeletons from the dead”

he exhales loudly and,,,,,,,,,

plOPS RIGHT NEXT TO YOU

“let me get right to the point: are you avoiding me?”

yoongi looks RIGHT into your eyes and all you can do is gape at him

when you don’t answer him he looks away and pOUTS

he mumbles that out of everyone he hoped to become friends with you because he’s been having trouble,,,,getting to know people….

supposedly he looks too intimidating for others to approach him as if his heritage wasn’t a huge obstacle already

“NO NO NO” you gesture wildly so you can let yoongi know that it was ~definitely~ not your intention to have him feel that way

you confess with stumbled words that you get nervous around him and it’s hard to get your thoughts across

it’s only because they’re at the orchards that you’re able to talk so normally to him

of course you are  s h o o k  when yoongi starts laughing

like full belly laughing

tears in eyes laughing

“then why don’t we meet here and talk everyday?” yoongi finally says when he settles down

your eyes bulge out because why????????

why does this beautiful person want to hang out with you????????? (you don’t say this part out loud but you do ask why)

yoongi wipes the remnant tears from his eyes and shakes his head

“because i like you and i want to get to know you???”

you’re  s c r e e c h i n g  in the inside

and that’s how your friendship begins

you guys meet at the orchard everyday and yoongi keeps you company as you flit back and forth checking on the trees and making sure they’re happy

like he regards you with such fondness when you’re talking about the pomegranate trees’ progress back to health

like you’re so passionate about it and he can see you come to life

which is so appealing to him,,,,because he’s the product of death??????

like sometimes it floors him that you guys stand for things that are so opposite, but he’s so drawn to you

yoongi raises a particular skeleton dog from the dead that he calls holly who wags his tail and is just so affectionate despite being mere bones :’)

you love min holly

and yoongi loves you for loving min holly even though he’s just a skeleton

WAIT di-did he just say love???!!!?!?!?!?!

YES HE DID

so he tell you a little about his past

like his mother died soon after his birth, but it’s okay because he didn’t have a horrible life

he was raised in the underworld for much of his childhood, but hades thought that yoongi should know his human side too

so he sent him and one of his servants to live in the human world disguised as a complete human

hades had cast a hedge of protection over him so the monsters wouldn’t be able to sense him

but they had gotten into a petty argument over something stupid and hades got rid of the protection and ordered yoongi to find camp half-blood because he’s such an ungrateful son

you gasp at that because although you don’t see your mom much, she’s still very pleasant to be around when you do

she always brings you gifts and compliments too!!!

yoongi just shrugs: tough love i guess

“yoongi you almost died”

“ugh i’m glad i didn’t or else there would be no escaping my dad then”

also you introduce yoongi to some of your closest friends: he already met namjoon and hoseok but they were all super close now!!!!!

yoongi surprisingly clicked well with seokjin, son of aphrodite

also jungkook (son of ares) thinks yoongi is like the coolest person ever

you also introduced yoongi to jimin (also son of aphrodite) and taehyung (son of hermes)

so yoongi isn’t lonely anymore :’)

and lol when yoongi was told he should wear the camp half-blood shirt while he was here

“there’s no way in tartarus that i’m wearing that orange abomination”

you secretly thought to yourself that he would’ve looked like a cute lil pumpkin tho :’)

but alas, yoongi sticks to his all-black uniform all day, everyday

also because everyone in camp knows you so well, they ALL know that you’re harboring the fATTEST crush on min yoongi

you’re not surprised that they know

you have threatened to send grain spirits against anyone who said a PEEP :).

still doesn’t stop people from wiggling their eyebrows suggestively at you when you’re just in the vicinity of yoongi

you’re just glad that yoongi hasn’t caught on

joke’s on you because he DID catch on

so when you rush to him happily with a pomegranate in hand as reached the orchard, yoongi is STRUCK at how radiant you are

you split the fruit and lift it to yoongi’s eyes

the clusters of seeds glittered like gems

like the rubies that were so plentiful in the underworld

“look yoongi!!!!! they’re all good and healthy again!!!!! and they taste so sweet!!!”

you offer some of the arils, your fingers stained by the juice

yoongi can’t help himself

he wraps his hands around your wrist and bring the fruit to his lips

his  t o n g u e  darting out to swipe the dripping juice off  y o u  r  h a n d

“mmmm it is sweet” yoongi agrees

you just stare at him with your mouth dropped

did,,,,,,,,,,DID THAT JUST HAPPEN

you realize that yoongi’s face is like an inch away from yours and

and his eyes are drawn to your lips

your lips that are stained ruby red by the juice of the pomegranates

and yoongi. just. dives. in.

before you know it

you’re kissing!!!!!!! min!!!!! yoongi!!!!!!!

the boy of your dreams!!!

but jokes on you again because YOU’RE the girl of yoongi’s dreams!!!!!!!!!!!!!

when he pulls away to make sure you’re okay with this, you pULL HIM RIGHT BACK

to where he belongs

on your lips

hehehehe

you guys are the unlikely but so fitting couple of camp half-blood

the next time your mom comes visit you she just sighs because she has lost another one of her favorite daughters to hades

but you bet yoongi charms the sOCKS off demeter

so now your mom is basically your #1 cheerleader in this relationship??????

like “oh darling, yoongi is such a charming little man. thank the gods that he’s so unlike his father you’re doing great sweetie”

and all of your friends are so happy for you!!!!!!!

like finally!!!!

y/n is dating!!!!!!!!!!

especially jungkook is all ~starry-eyed~ because his favorite noona and his idol are dating

so when it comes time for you to decide whether you will be entering the mortal world or staying in camp half-blood

you decide to be brave and try to make a life in the human world

with seokjin and namjoon and of course yoongi

hoseok decided to stay for at least the next year or two so he can keep an eye on jimin, taehyung, and jungkook and he is the camp’s best healer after all

you guys depart with tears in your eyes because you’re leaving the only home you’ve ever known

hoseok, jimin, taehyung, and jungkook tearfully promises to join the rest of you when they’re of age to leave

jungkook is inconsolable :’(

and thank the gods for yoongi bc he’s the only one who’s ever lived in the human world for an extended amount of time

like you being so confused by technology?

yoongi’s KINK

him witnessing you take down monsters targeting you guys all by yourself?

NUT

you get a job at a florist and yoongi is so happy you do

because it broke his heart when you first realized that nature is hard to come by when everything is so urbanized

now you get to be around the flowers and plants that you love so much!!!!

yoongi and namjoon started university studying music production!!!! their interest in music is the reason why they bonded so quickly!!! now they’re just waiting for hoseok to join them!!!!!!!!!

seokjin is making it big modeling bc duh!!!!! he’s the son of aphrodite!!!

yoongi loves living with you even though plants seem to take more of the floor space every time he comes home!!!

your guy’s favorite pastime is to snuggle in bed together after a long day of work or school in perfect, comfortable silence

sometimes yoongi gets very, very emo when he takes a step back and sees how lucky he is to have you in his life

ugh you guys just love each other so much!!!!!!!!!!

oh and seokjin + namjoon lives just across the hall!!!!!!!

how perfect hehehehehehe

anyway both of you guys are just so excited to live life and create something thats yours together

demeter IS the goddess of fertility too y’know

wink wonk

[notafightr]

It fic exchange!!!

so here's my reddie fic for @disneyfan567​ for the it fic exchange event! no trigger warnings, sorry for any mistakes or lack of skill this displays as i havent written in a long time and this is the first time ive written in this fandom

(°﹏°)

  Eddie was 13 when he moved to Ohio. Sonia decided she had had enough of Derry, and the small town was doing more harm than good to her delicate son. To describe Eddie's reaction, reluctant was an understatement. He was leaving his 6 best friends, his only real friends, all because of his mother's glorified temper tantrum.

  The past 3 years were (in)arguably the best years of his life. He met his best friends, more of a family than his own (which really just consisted of his overbearing mother), he had irreplaceable experiences and memories with his best friends, these friends entirely shaped and nurtured his character. So to have his mother rip all of that away from him, well it understandably upset him. Most of all, he didn't know how he was going to cope with the frequent flashbacks and nightmares that taxed him emotionally and mentally several times a week, dutifully owed to that short, albeit rather traumatic summer of 89’.

  For 3 long, yet oh so short years, Eddie coped with these strains through the support of his friends, especially a loudmouthed, annoying boy with Coke bottle glasses and slightly bucked teeth, named Richard Tozier, who couldn't find it in him to ever stop annoying Eddie, or stop telling him how much he loved him, or stop picking flowers for him on walks because he knew even though Eddie denied it, they really did make Eddie happier than he cared to admit.

  How do you cope with a demon clown terrorising you and your friends’ lives for an entire summer, haunting you as your worst fear, using unholy tactics to scare you in unimaginable ways, trapping you in its crack den, and almost killing you miles below land level, all at the ripe age of 10? Hopefully you found yourself down there with your 6 best friends. You also let your mind do the forgetting. Well, what it can. There's some things you can't forget.

  Until you leave Derry.

  Eddie started forgetting the moment the plane took off, whether he realized it or not. He managed to remember his friends for a short while, but vaguely. He didn't remember the poems Ben gave him every birthday, or that the friendship bracelet on his left wrist was made by thee Beverly Marsh. He didn't remember that the reason his room was always so tidy was because Stan Uris couldn't help himself every time they chose Eddie’s place as the hangout spot (when Sonia wasn't home of course), or all the scary stories Bill liked to tell at their weekly sleepovers at the ass crack of 3 am. He didn't remember how Jessica and Will Hanlon were by far the superior parents of the friend group and the snacks they so generously provided to said group were the best he ever had, no doubt that Mike directly inherited their kind and generous traits.

  When he woke up at the end of his plane ride, he didn't even remember that the lily flower in his hand was given to him as a parting gift by Richie, whose parents picked him up from the airport after he gave one last hug goodbye at the gate and waved Eddie off with flower in hand. Even after intently looking down, confused, and finally remembering it was indeed Richie who gave him the flower, he still didn't remember Richie’s endearing flower giving habit.

  He promised them he'd stay in touch, but it wasn't long before the initials BH, BM, SU, BD, MH, and RT were just meaningless letters next to a series of unknown house phone numbers.

  It wasn't until he forgot one particular conversation with Bill during a sleepover one night in 6th grade that he forgot Richie completely.

  “Bill?” Eddie whispered, lying down in Bill’s bed, not even sure if Bill was awake.

  “Y-yeah?” Bill replied after some silence.

  “So, we're best friends right?”

  “Well y-yeah, I m-mean all-” Bill started before being interrupted.

  “No I mean like, I know the seven of us are best friends obviously, but I mean, we’re best-best friends, you know what I mean? Like even before the lucky seven it's always been us right?”

  “Oh. Yeah I s-suppose.” Bill reassured him.

  It took Eddie a second to try and gather his thoughts and articulate what he was trying to say.

  “Well, I feel like, Richie’s different from all of you.”

  “Yeah n-no sh-shit Eddie, that k-kid can't k-keep his mou-” Bill was again interrupted.

  “No, that's not what I mean. I mean,” Eddie again had to organize his thoughts in his head, which proved to be difficult when not even he knew what he was thinking. “I mean I feel different with him. Like when he gives me flowers and stuff, and he's the only one that calls me Eds. But I know you're my best friend. My best-best friend. Am I wrong? Maybe Richie is my best-best friend?” At this point it felt like Eddie was just saying it out loud for himself.

  After a few seconds, which felt like several minutes to Eddie, Bill giggled.

  “What?” Eddie asked, almost panicked.

  While Bill didn't necessarily believe this, the thought amused him greatly. “It s-sounds like you have a c-cr-crush on h-him.”

  “Wh-... you th-” Eddie just about got whiplash from Bill’s statement. “You think I have a crush on him?!”

  “I n-never said that… I j-just said it s-sounds like you do.”

  “I'm not… I don't like boys like that. My mom told me what it means if you do and what happens, and I don't think I do,” he backtracked.

  At this point, Bill was almost asleep. “Okay Eddie, that's fine,”

  “I think maybe you're just both my best friends,” Eddie assured, but undoubtedly he said this more for himself than for Bill. Bill probably succumbed to slumber before Eddie could even start.

  Once any evidence of this conversation having occurred left his brain, any trace of Richie was buried deep under newer things. The others were already long gone. The nightly nightmares he experience fizzled out eventually, but they did resurface every once in a while. On the other side of the same coin however, he did have dreams about the good times with the losers. He never remembered them when he woke up, though.

  Not to mention, he was frequently frustrated at his lack of motivation to clean his room properly, wondering why his always clean room in Derry suddenly had no place in his new life in Ohio. Where's a Stan Uris when you need him?

  He tried to make friends. For a bit he was even in a nice friend group of people he clicked fairly well with, they were funny and kind and they welcomed him with open arms. But nothing felt right. They were funny, but it hurt to laugh at their jokes, they were nice, but almost too nice. If anyone so much as cracked a your mom joke, Eddie's first thought was an annoyed “Stop trying to be-” but always stopped short right there.

  Stop trying to be who?

  He didn't know. He didn't remember.

  So at the end of his sophomore year, when he asked his mom to sign his permission form for the classes he wanted to take the upcoming school year, his mom declined.

  “Eddie Bear, we're moving back to Derry this summer.” Sonia said apologetically, understanding he'll have to say goodbye to the friends he doesn't have.

  “Wait, what?” confused was an understatement. He had to rack his brain for a moment to even remember what “Derry” meant.

  “It’s getting difficult for me to support us financially here, so we're moving back near your Aunt Jodie and she's going to help us a little bit. We should start packing no later than the end of May, we’ll be out of the house and into the new one at the beginning of July in time for you to to get settled and start school at Derry High.”

  Eddie had never felt more indifferent in his whole entire life, while also feeling an inkling of hope he didn't quite understand. If anything, his biggest curiosity was why he didn't feel even a whisper of sadness for leaving the people he knew in Marietta, Ohio. While Eddie didn't care about moving back to Derry, and it meant almost nothing to him on the surface, the Eds inside of Eddie couldn't help peeking through.

  So they moved back. Eddie finished packing up his belongings before the deadline his mother gave to start packing had even passed, and he didn't bother telling any of his “friends” (perhaps acquaintances is a more applicable word) that he was leaving because the truth was, it was more trouble than it was worth. They would no doubt care more than twice as much as he did, so he left without so much of a trace of a goodbye.

  Now that Eddie was 16, he could drive. While Sonia wouldn't buy Eddie his own car, not over her dead body, she did allow him to use hers when it was available, and given her physical state and social life, it was almost always available. After a solid 8 hours of unpacking his things in his new, snug room on an otherwise uneventful July evening, he picked up his mom's keys.

  “Bye Mom!” he shouted loud enough for his mom to hear without bothering to hear her response as he shut the door.

  He shoved the key in ignition. Despite not having been in town for 3 years, he was still able to navigate the area without assistance. He drove to the coffee shop that he had vague memories of visiting during middle school winters for hot chocolate with some friends whose faces he couldn't quite remember yet.

  Walking in it didn't look much different. Not that Derry would care enough to update the coffee shop, or any shop for that matter, for any reason.

  “Hi, how can I help you?” a blonde girl at the register asked uninterestedly.

  She definitely hates her job, Eddie thought while pointlessly perusing the menu, already knowing what he planned to order. Sophomore year was not academically kind to Eddie, and a caffeine addiction to compensate for the mass amount of all nighters pulled did occur.

  “Can I just have a black coffee with sugar?” he asked while digging through his tattered black wallet he received as a birthday gift in seventh grade. He then flinched his head up in response to hearing another employee drop an entire pitcher of coffee on the floor.

  “Oh, fuck,” said worker pointedly exclaimed, which not only stirred a giggle out of Eddie, but his voice in combination with his oddly familiar black curly hair caused his heart drop, though completely lost as to why.

  “Your name?”

  “Hello?” She asked after a moment.

  “Hello!” the blonde girl repeatedly nagged, trying to catch Eddie’s lost attention.

  “What? Sorry I missed that,” Eddie finally grounded himself. Unfortunately his attempt to catch the other employees face failed as he stayed turned away and then hurried to his hands and knees on the floor.

  “I need your name for your order.”

  “Oh yeah of course, Eddie.” Not even seconds after his response, he heard something nearly inaudible, completely not understandable from the employee on the floor, which was confirmed by the blonde girl, which Eddie now gathered from her name tag to be Sarah, who exasperatedly asked about the other employee’s struggle.

  “You alright down there?”

  “Yeah, I’m just peachy, Sarah,” hearing the voice even clearer instilled a visceral reaction even stronger in Eddie once again.

  Sarah took Eddie’s cash, distributed his change, and set his cup down on the back counter for when the other employee to make when he was done cleaning up his mess. He picked a seat close by the counter and waited. After a few minutes, longer than probably usual, given time dedicated to cleaning up the coffee on the floor, Eddie heard his name called by the same antagonist and saw his coffee set on the counter, but employee was again out of sight. Eddie grabbed the coffee and with no reason to stay he made his way back to the car.

  Drinking his iced coffee on his way home, at a stop light he picked up his drink and studied it curiously. He noticed the boy who made his drink must have added his name for some reason because when Sarah set it down for him to make, there was nothing written on it. However, clearly on the cup, was his name:

  While looking at the little flower next to his name made him smile, it was a cute gesture, it filled him with a familiar sense of longing and loneliness, as if he was missing something. He got home, finished his coffee, continued unpacking, dreadfully argued with his mom about leaving the house without telling her where he was going, and went to sleep. It was less of a need for caffeine but more of an eagerness to learn about a curly headed, clumsy employee that brought him back to the coffee shop the next day.

  So he came back. He came back at the same time too, to have his best chance of the boy being on shift.

  “How can I help you?” Sarah asked.

  “Black coffee with sugar, Eddie.” successfully staying on track with Sarah this time around.

  Again, she set the blank cup on the counter and just like before, his name with a dainty doodle of a flower beside it. Unfortunately, even if he wanted to say anything to the employee which Eddie now knew wears a big pair of glasses, his introverted nature wouldn't allow it. Back to home it was, to continue setting up his new room.

  The next couple of weeks was the same routine, and quite lonely. Being in the middle of summer, with no school to be his vessel of socializing, and no friends, it was him, his lonely self, and his mom. For all intents and purposes, him and his lonely self.

  However one morning, in a hurry as he had a family gathering for brunch to attend to, he knew he wouldn't be able to get to the coffee shop in the evening so he came in the morning, despite knowing the shift would likely not be the same.

  He walked in and noticed it was in fact not Sarah at the register but didn't look further.

  “How can I help you?” The boy at the register was looking down.

  “Just a black coffee and sugar. Eddie.” He got the cash from his wallet and told the boy he could keep the change as he was already late to his aunt's house and confident he could do without the dollar and 74 cents. As he walked to the counter to get his coffee as soon as it was ready, he noticed the boy scribbling his name and a flower on the cup but his brain didn't process anything other than how late he was. He took his coffee eagerly and made his way back to his car, knowing his mom (who was already there after being picked up by her sister) was no stranger to yelling at Eddie for “caring more about himself than his family”.

  On the drive to his house he allowed himself time to think and thought about the boy at the register. He was familiar to Eddie and not just because he's seen him every day for two weeks, making his regular order with ease.

  The Coke bottle glasses.

  The flower.

  The unkempt, black, curly hair.

  But that was still too out of reach for him. He thought about it for as long as he could without having an aneurysm from working his brain too hard and decided he would come back the next morning for the same shift.

  Sonia greeted Eddie outside before he was able to come inside.

 “Eddie bear, why are you so late?”

  “Sorry ma, I was up late finishing my summer assignment and I stopped to get coffee when I left,” Eddie started despite knowing this wouldn't be enough to appease his mom.

  “Aunt Jodie is being very kind to help us out and this is the first time seeing family since we've gotten back, you should show your gratitude properly. Say thank you when we come in.”

  “I will, Ma. Why didn't you just wake me up and take the car here?”

  “Aunt Jodie wanted to catch up with me before everyone else got here. She took us to breakfast. I figured you'd have enough autonomy to drive yourself here on time. Are you feeling well? Did you sleep enough?”

  “Yes, ma!” Eddie spoke as he got out of the car and locked it, handing the keys to his mom. “I just overslept. Sorry for being late.”

  However, while his cousins and aunts and uncles were asking him how Ohio was and if he was sad to leave his friends and if he left a broken hearted girlfriend back in Marietta, all he could think about was the coffee shop employee who never failed to doodle a flower next to his name.

  He got home late, worked on his summer assignment, because against what he told his mom, he had in fact not started yet. He made sure to wake up at the same time as the morning before and headed to the coffee shop. To his pleasure, the boy was at the register.

  “How can I help you?”

  Eddie stared at him.

  “Uh,” He couldn't help but chortle as Eddie stared, wordlessly, and then it appeared as though a freight train of memories hit him square in the head.

  “Oh my God,” Eddie nearly dropped to the floor. “Richie? Richie fucking Tozier? Is this a joke?”

  “Ya know Eds, I was starting to think you really forgot me. Or maybe you just hated me.” Richie allowed himself to laugh.

  “I… I did forget you? But how? We-” and at that moment Richie could visibly see It creep itself back into Eddie’s memories.

  “Holy shit? You forgot about that too? Do you have amnesia? What happened to that pretty little head of yours?” Richie put his hand on Eddie's forehead and pretended to feel his temperature.

  “Oh my God,” whiplash had struck Eddie again. “I need to sit down,” He started to move to a chair nearby when he remembered more. “The others! Beverly, and Ben, and Stan and Bill and Mike!” he quite literally felt like someone waking up from a 20 year coma, rediscovering everything that happened before he fell asleep.

  “They're peachy. Stan's actually getting back from visiting his family in Florida today.” Richie informed him. “Any reason you never stayed in touch like you said you would? Left a man hanging.”

  “It's like, wait- those initials were yours!” Suddenly three years of wondering who those house numbers in his binder belonged to clicked. “It’s like I forgot you guys as soon as I left,”

  “That soon? Ed's, you wound me,” Richie teased. “But you're still wearing the friendship bracelet Bev made.” He held out his wrist and displayed a bracelet of the same pattern but in different colors. “What’s she got that I don't?”

  For the first time in 3 years, Eddie let out a genuine laugh.

  “Are you busy, cutie? I'm on break in 15 minutes and I can get someone to cover the rest of my shift,” Richie asked, hopeful.

  “Yeah that's fine.. uh.. have you been working every day? All day?” Eddie asked, concerned.

  “Well the past couple of weeks at least a couple of us from the gang has been visiting family or doin’ some crazy shit so I figured I'd make use of time and make some money, we're doing a road trip in a couple of weeks.”

  “Oh that's cool-”

  “You're invited, if you want, obviously. What better way to celebrate you coming back than a road trip? Ed's, just wait till’ they find out you're back-” Richie cut himself off when he noticed another man walk into the shop and they both decided to end the conversation there so he could order. “Okay hold on I'm gonna take his order, and I'll be out in 10 minutes, you can wait here if you want?”

  “Sounds good,” Eddie couldn't help the smile on his face, it's contagiousness showing in Richie's smile.

  After waiting for a bit, Richie came from the back out of his uniform, a bag on his shoulder, and a rose in his hand. He held it out to Eddie.

  “Do you just, carry flowers with you?” Eddie looked at him curiously.

  “No but I- after I saw you yesterday morning and I passed this one on my way to work, something told me I should grab it.” Eddie took it. “Flowers still get ya goin’?” Eddie punched him in the shoulder.

  “Thanks, Rich.” He smiled.

  “Where to now, spaghetti?” Richie put his arm around Eddie.

  “For 3 glorious years I never had to hear that, don't call me spaghetti!”

  “Okay Eds, answer the question!”

[nowitsdarkfic]

chapter thirty-four (caught with your pants down)

“He didn't walk up with that ‘how you doin'?’ (When he came in the room) He said there's a lot of girls I can do with, (But I can't without you) I knew him forever in a minute, (That summer night in June) and papa says he got malo in him, he got me feelin' like Havana.” -”Havana”, Camila Cabello

“Lupe? Lupe!”

I follow her out of the dispersing bustle of the main floor into the hallway. The last thing I hear before leaving the room is Chris yelling out “thank you all!” and that's when I know the show's over. Sometimes just a few songs is enough, gentlemen.

Meanwhile, I have my eye on her luxurious black hair as it flows back from her head. I weave through some people but I never lose track of her.

At one point, before reaching a flight of stairs, she glances back at me with a glimmer in her eyes and a big beaming grin upon her face.

“Come on, Joey!” she calls to me.

“I'm coming! I'm coming!”

But once I'm a foot from her, she dodges for the stairs, which gets me to follow after her even more. Gonna make me chase her, I see.

She sprints up the narrow flight of stairs and I'm right behind her every step of the way, all the way to the top.

Lupe turns the corner up above me, and I follow suit.

“Where are you going?” I call out to her, out of breath. She keeps going to the very end, where she stops right in front of the last door there. She raises one finger to beckon me closer.

“Take off your jacket,” she orders.

“Your wish is my command.” I strip off my jacket before heading down the hall towards her. I have it over my shoulder once I stop in the doorway. The room is small, with a little soft looking olive colored love seat with the arm facing the tiny window facing out to the city lights. There's a faint smell of incense in here, like someone burned a stick in here hours ago and kept the door closed. I watch her peel off her blouse and then take a seat on her hip on that little love seat.

“Close the door,” she tells me, stretching her legs and taking out her left earring.

“Alright—” I step inside, shut the door behind me, and turn the lock on the knob. I then drop my jacket on the floor as she takes out her other earring; she puts both of them into her jeans pocket before giving her hair a nice flip with her free hand.

“Come and get me, Joey baby—” she begs in a husky voice: she sticks out her tongue as she lays down on her back. I take off my shirt and lunge for her.

I'm right over her with my right hand on the edge of the cushion and my left on the back of the love seat. I let my hair dangle down over her chest and her shoulders. The arrowhead pendant, which I have had around my neck since Lars and I came back to Oswego from New Orleans, hangs down over her face. Her tongue runs over the edge of her teeth.

“Is that foreshadowing something?” she teases me.

“It just might be, baby girl,” I whisper to her, running my tongue along my bottom lip. But I clutch onto it so as to keep it out of her face as I'm going down on her. I'm on top of her, kissing her neck and her chest, and fondling the straps of her bra. I'm about to reach underneath her when I feel the hooks at the front. I reach under myself to take it off.

I lift myself off of her to look at her bare tits. They're lush and perky like a ripe pair of melons, and they're kissed with that smooth light brown.

“Go ahead,” she beckons me. “Touch me.”

I've got both index fingers raised and I make little circles around her nipples. I lean over her right one for a little kiss right underneath the darkest bit of skin and she flinches beneath me. I press my lips to the bit of skin in between them for a few more little kisses before moving onto her left. She groans in her throat and she's breathing heavy. I let my knee sink in between her thighs so she can feel my own right on top of her crotch.

I feel her gripping onto the roots of my hair on the side of my head. She gives me a tug and I lift my head from her skin for a little yelp out.

I flash her a wide eyed glance with my mouth gaping open like I'm the male version of Medusa.

“Ah, you want it a little rough, don't ya?” I tease her.

“Por favore—” she whispers to me, giving my hair another tug. She tugs again and I push my head against the back of the love seat. I feel her other hand grip onto my shoulder.

And then I realize she's pushing me down onto the cushions and trading places with me. I roll over onto my back. I'm underneath her.

Her black curls fall onto my chest for a moment before she lifts herself into an upright position to take off her bra all of the way. She lays it over the top of the couch right above my head, and then she unbuttons her pants.

And then she unbuttons my pants.

I watch her fingers creep under the band of my underwear.

She's touching me.

She's tugging my pants down more so she can better touch me.

Oh.

She keeps tugging them down towards the middle of my thighs so I've got my pants down.

She's got my cock out in the open. She's stroking me with those gentle fingers.

Every gentle touch. Every delicate sensation on my skin is enough to drive me absolutely crazy.

I gasp as she touches closer to my hips. I watch her tongue slither out of her mouth as she brings herself closer to my head.

I nibble on my bottom lip at the sight of her lips coming closer to me.

“Are you gonna—”

I close my eyes and tilt my head back against the arm of the love seat as she puts her lips around my head. She's going down, closer and closer to me, and she's got a firm hold on me. Her tongue runs along my skin. I feel my heart hammering in my chest.

She's going down on me again. Oh, man.

I feel myself getting hard at the smoothness of her lips. I was already wanting her when I chased after her back in the hallway, but fuck. This is it.

This is where Lupe and I come together.

That's it. Whatever if she's a stripper. Out of all the girls I've encountered, she's the best. Probably because she's a stripper. She's just too damn good at this. She's going so far down!

I'm rising. I'm going higher and higher with the feeling. I've got my head tilted back and my hair all behind me. Every touch of her lips. Every stroke of her tongue. Every last bit of it.

And then she sinks her teeth right square in the dick.

I let out a sharp yell but I don't think anyone heard me. It's too noisy downstairs and there's too much rain falling outside.

She lifts her mouth off of me with a low groan and then she climbs on top of me with her legs straddling either side of me.

But she doesn't get very far once I recognize the pearly white figure on the side of the room. She sees it, too, because she gasps and throws herself off of me. I scramble back towards the arm of the couch when the filmy streaks of the white cloak surrounding her body take shape. I push up against the back of the love seat with my dick still out; Lupe meanwhile is on her back with her arms covering her chest.

“Mrs. Snow!” I exclaim, my voice trembling. “What're you—”

“What the—who the fuck is she?” Lupe demands, covering her chest.

“She's a ghost who lives with me and always wants to rip my dick off every time I even so much as think of whacking off. And now she's probably gonna give me shit for doing it with you!”

Mrs. Snow floats towards the couch with her fingers outstretched for me. A wave of cold spreads over me like a heavy wet blanket. I yank up my pants to hide from her, but it's too late. She's already looming over me, ready to do… something to me. I have no idea what she's going to do to me. I grimace and snap my eyes shut.

“Remember the last, Joseph,” she whispers into my face, her voice as light as the first wisps of lake effect fog. I open my eyes in time to watch her fade away into the darkness. Breathing heavy, I glance over at Lupe on the other side of the love seat, her hands gripped onto the waist band of her jeans.

“The last what?” she asks me in a hushed voice, hitching up her pants and then pushing her hair back from her face.

“Beats me,” I confess to her, swallowing: my mouth is dry. On top of this, the nice feeling is gone now. But Lupe did the best, though. She reaches over to the top of the couch for her bra.

“We should probably go,” she quips at me.

“Yeah, I think we should, too. That was hot, though.”

“Oh, yes.” She winks at me as she slips the straps over her bra and fastens it again. “Mr. Stallion.”

“That's me, alright.” I return the favor with a wink back at her.

[iluvsexyvoltageguys]

Liquid Courage

Fandom: Star Crossed Myth (Love 365)

Pairing: Karno x Reader

You couldn’t help it, you just could not stop laughing. Another giggle bubbled up in your throat just as Karno was stroking his tongue against yours. He pulled away from you smiling. “What’s so funny?” He asked.

You thought about it for half a second and then burst out laughing. “Vodka, this crazy night, everything.” Without allowing him the opportunity to respond, you put your grinning mouth back on his, pulling his body against yours as you leaned against the door of his room.

You wondered for a moment how the hell this had happened, how a quick drink with some of the gods after work had turned into one drink too many. Karno, who started flirting with you hard after he refused to let you run off, had invited you back to his room, and was now kissing you dizzy.

The alcohol had warmed your body from the inside out, but it was his soft lips that made you feel like your skin was on fire. You needed to be free of your clothes, to feel his heated skin against your own.

Both hands on his shoulders, you pushed him off of you and further into his room. He stumbled slightly before regaining his balance. He was trying to hide it, but he was nearly as drunk as you were, which for the record was pretty damn drunk.

You tried to pull off your blouse, but since you had failed to undo the zipper, you got stuck with it wrapped around your head and arms. Karno came to help, practically ripping the flimsy fabric as he worked it off and sending you both into another fit of laughter.

“Let’s see what you’ve been hiding under that Wishes uniform.” You said, giving him a seductive smile. Grabbing his tie you pulled him closer, your hands going to his shirt, you unbuttoned it and let Karno toss it behind him.

Dumbstruck, you teetered back in your heels to get a better look at him. “Fuck…Karno…you’re fucking hot!”

Not the most eloquent of reactions, but it got the point across and Karno smiled. He took hold of your hand and pressed it against his rapidly beating heart that was buried somewhere under the wall of muscle and soft skin your palm was touching.

Having been invited, you reverently stroked his upper body. He was overwhelming under normal circumstances, but shirtless and lustfully staring at you, he was a goddamn force of nature. You could only repeat your earlier sentiment as you palmed his hard cock over his pants. “Fuck.”

“Come here.” He yanked your body against his and with seemingly no effort grabbed your ass and lifted you, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist. He went back to kissing you and he blindly wandered towards the bed, stopping short.

He released his hold as you found your feet on the floor, still unsteady from the drinks, his kiss, and that body of his. You fell back onto the couch when he gave you a gentle shove.

“You don’t have a bed we could use for this?” You asked.

He shook his head, but said, “Yes, but I can’t wait.”

You only had a chance to kick off your heels before he was on you, pushing you down to lay on the couch lengthwise and putting his nice body on top of yours. The weight of him made you even more breathless, but it was the feel of his skin, warm and sweaty against your bare skin that really got you going. When he inclined his head to kiss your throat, you breathed him in. His natural scent filled your nostrils and you wanted to find a way to live inside the smell.

You widened your thighs to let him rest his hips between them and he worked his mouth lower, pausing to undo the front clasp of your bra. He let out a low groan and returned his lips to your breasts, kissing the flesh that was rising and falling with your breathing before closing his teeth around a bright pink nipple.

“Oh my God, yes! Please get me out of these pants and get inside me.” Your drunken bluntness was refreshing and he smiled against your skin. Ignoring your request temporarily in favor of biting your other nipple.

Panting and dark-eyed with arousal, you watched as he now released your skin from between his teeth and sat up. His fingers came to the button of your jeans and you could not be free of them fast enough. As you lifted your hips to help, Karno pulled hard, nearly taking both of your legs with him as he forced the tight jeans finally off your body, leaving you in a pink thong.

“Damn, how do you even get into those things?” He asked.

“They’re easier to get on than off, but - holy mother.” You started to answer but he had silenced you with just two fingers stroking the wet fabric between your legs. You moaned and writhed your hips under his hand.

“How long have you been this wet for me?” He smirked.

“Oh, Karno, since I first saw you, fuck!” More laughter from both of you. “Get your dick out and fuck me like a bad, bad girl.”

You had a second of clarity and you felt momentarily mortified; this was not how you normally talked to men, but whatever. However, Karno was still laughing as he now stood and worked his pants down his legs, taking his boxers with them. He stood before you in all his glory and you went slack jawed with awe. You were grinning as you stripped off your bra.

“Ok, time to be serious. I need that cock, right now.” You demanded.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, _______.” He said with a sexy smile.

“Only when I’m drunk. Sober I’m much more polite, I swear.” You smiled back at him.

He was pulling off your panties when he told you, “I like your dirty mouth just fine.”

“Ugh, fuck, Karno.”

He was back on top of you, one hand pressed into the couch to keep from crushing you, the other wrapped around his cock as he rubbed the smooth tip between your slick folds.

“My bad girl need something from me?” He asked.

Good God, that was sexy. You could see him fighting back laughter and your own giggles returned. Just as Karno let his own chuckle out, he pressed inside you.

“Mmmmm...fuck, shit.” You breathed out.

“Yeah, oh yeah, ______.”

You grabbed his face harder than you intended to, with both hands slapping against his cheeks. “Fuck me, fuck me, Karno.”

It was impossible to keep a straight face when he was smiling at you like that and when your lips came together, the kiss was interrupted by smiles and giggles and panting breaths as he started to thrust into you.

He still tasted of alcohol as you licked inside his mouth and you could only guess that your own breath was ripe with alcohol as well. He didn’t mind at all. His hips sped up, moving seemingly of their own accord as he focused all his attention on your kiss. He tilted his head one way, then the other, working every angle he could reach, using his lips, teeth, and tongue to drive you towards the edge as his cock worked deep within your pussy.

You were still drunk, still giggly, but lucid enough to realize this was some incredible sex. The stretch of your walls around him, the stimulation just right on your g-spot, the sexiness of this gorgeous god using his entire body to draw pleasure from yours. You closed your eyes for a moment, overcome with sensations, but his voice brought you back.

”Tell me how much you like it.”

Biting your lip, still suppressing giggles while grabbing his hips you told him, “So good, Karno, you’re too good to your bad girl.”

With another laugh, he wrapped his arms around your back and pulled you to his chest as he sat up. Without removing his cock from the warmth that surrounded it, he repositioned you so you were straddling his strong thighs. With a smirk he smacked your ass hard with one broad palm. Caught somewhere between amusement and arousal, you gasped and started to work your hips.

“Good girl.” He grinned.

“Karno…” You could hardly catch your breath as you rode his cock, your knees sinking into the plush softness of the couch. “Karno, smack my ass again.”

One hand of his came to squeeze a breast as the other made contact with your ass, smacking hard and then digging his fingers into your flesh as he forced your hips closer to his to take him deeper.

“Oh, yes. Again.” You moaned out.

He complied and you let out a squeal that morphed into a ragged moan. He did it again and again and again. You reached between your bodies and your fingers found your clit. You told him, “You better be close, Karno, because I’m not waiting.”

“Don’t, don’t wait.” He smacked your ass with both hands this time, holding on to you with a rounded mound in each palm as you fucked the two of you to completion. You started to come first, thrusting hard against him as your fingers made mad circles across your clit and his hands continued to grip your ass. You fluttered and tightened around him, pulling at his cock until he came with a groan.

Still coming down, exhausted and sated, you both began to laugh again, whether from drunkenness or silliness or post-orgasm bliss is anyone’s guess. When your eyes met he thought about how much he had needed that release. He told you simply, “Thank God for liquid courage.” Which only drew out even more giggles from you both.

SCM Masterlist

[jaymarawrites-blog]

LIKE RATS - 9 - Grease Paint

Echo Eclipse had made themselves comfortable in the cramped dressing room. I didn’t know them yet, not even well enough to match the person to the instrument, but I’d developed visual mnemonics to differentiate. The one whose head was shaved underneath a long sweep of brown hair and the one with the round face sat in folding chairs, hunched over a phone, sharing earbuds. The small one was sprawled out on a ripped leather couch, playing a game on his phone. The young one stood in front of the wall-sized mirror smearing his arms in black grease paint.

Chris was squatting on the floor when I entered the room, hunched over a pile of bags and rumpled clothing, drinking from a bottled water. I knocked on the open door to avoid having to announce myself.

I couldn’t find a place for my hands on his body that felt natural when Chris greeted me with a casual hug; he was so tall, so long in the torso. I couldn’t reach around his neck easily but I avoided hugging him around the waist. I lifted my arms underneath his and pressed my palms between his shoulder blades, into his sleeveless T-shirt.

He reintroduced me to the rest of the band, which I appreciated. I’d only recently been able to recognize the band to tell them apart from the crew, and I was shit with names.

Kyle with the round face shared earbuds with Adrian with the long sweep of hair.

Tyler, smearing black over his body, smiled at me in the mirror.

Smith gave a single wave without looking up from his phone.

None of them paid further attention to me.

I shoved my makeup case onto a folding table amid Subway sandwiches, loose cords, tape, and bottled water.

“You brought makeup?” Chris asked.

“It’s my job.”

“Right.”

I gestured at the sleeveless tee he wore. “This is what you’re wearing onstage?”

“Nah, I got another one I’ll put on afterward.”

“You should put it on now. I don’t want you smearing your makeup or getting it on your shirt.”

He shrugged, opening his palms to me. “It’s usually fine.”

“Look, am I doing this or not?” I half-smiled to hide slight exasperation.

“O-kay,” he drew out in concession. “I guess we’ll do it professionally then.”

Chris pulled the sleeveless tee over his head, tugging it over his face by the front collar and pulling the back collar all the way over his head. I caught inked plumage along his ribs before averting my eyes. I stared hard at a snag in the gray-green carpet though my attention remained on his skin; my eyes focused on the floor but saw only skin rippling over his ribs.

“Can I sit here?” he asked, now wearing a black sleeveless tee that wasn’t much different from the first, placing himself in a plastic avocado-colored chair in the middle of the room. “Since the smallest fucking person here is taking up the largest piece of furniture?” he called louder, reaching over and smacking the toe of one of Smith’s black boots with his massive palm.

Again without taking his eyes off of his phone, Smith saluted him with a middle finger.

“You’re fine if you sit up straight.”

Chris rolled his shoulders back and sat on the edge of the chair, at seated attention. I unrolled the fabric case I’d tucked my brushes into, unzipped my pouch and started pulling out the various tubes, jars, and palettes.

He gestured at my set-up. “Did you study this or something? Like, go to cosmetology school and turn someone’s hair purple?”

“Only if they wanted it. Put this around your neck.” I threw one of Michael’s old towels at Chris before dabbing my fingers into the blue-tinted primer. I started in the middle of his face, underneath one cheekbone.

“No, actually, it’s all kind of self-taught trial and error kind of stuff. Now there are all these tutorials on YouTube, it’s easy. I’m old enough that I just missed all that. I had to learn by making myself look like Pennywise a few hundred times first.” I finished adding primer to his forehead, then continued on to his chin.

“I hope you’re done learning then.”

“Never,” I snorted. “I promise not to learn too much on you, though.”

I screwed the top back onto the primer and Chris maneuvered in his chair trying to see his face in the mirror, past Tyler smoothing the black paint over his neck.

“There’s nothing to really see yet. It’s just primer.”

He sank back down into the chair. “I don’t know what that is. I definitely never used it before.”

I poured foundation onto the back of my hand. “It’s just like getting your face ready for everything else. It helps it stay on better. Sit up.”

“I don’t use brushes when I do this either,” he said, noticing the brush I’d swirled through the foundation before I began buffing it over his nose.

“Can you do some kind of makeup magic to make my nose look smaller?”

I smiled despite myself. “You don’t want that. Your nose is fine.”

He was quiet for a moment while I buffed the foundation around his lips. I buffed around his forehead and temples and he asked, “Does this mean if this goes well you’ll do my makeup again?”

“I’m certainly not going anywhere. Close your eyes.” I dusted some iridescent eyeshadow over one lid.

“How did you get suckered into doing this again if you’ve done it once already? I mean, how did you fall for this if you already know what touring is like?”

Now the other lid.

“The bus helps.” I feared it was an obvious lie.

“Enough?”

“It helps.”

I began coloring in one eyelid with a black eyeliner pencil and jumped when Kyle suddenly roared with laughter over the phone.

“What are they watching?”

“Martyrs.”

“Oh?”

Chris waved one hand dismissively and opened his eyes while I reached for a stiffer brush to rub in the eyeliner. “Yeah, there’s something wrong with him.”

“Let me believe it’s the American remake and I can forgive the laughter.”

He closed his eyes again while I worked. “No shit, though, I wish we had a bus with a shower and all. I’ve definitely had a set or two that were pretty ripe because we didn’t make it to the next stop in time for a shower.”

“That sounds miserable.”

I suddenly flashed to Erica Jong’s so-called “zipless fuck” and the Fear of Flying heroine’s desire for the artist even after seeing the skidmarks in his underwear.

Chris continued, “And there’s been times when I did shows in the same clothes without washing them, worn the same makeup the next night.”

“Good thing you’re in a band. The glamor overrides the smell, I assume.”

“I hope?”

“I mean, I’m sure it doesn’t bother the Echo Eclipse groupies.” I wasn’t exactly sure whether or not Echo Eclipse even had groupies, but surveyed the face in front of me and thought that they must.

Chris laughed good-naturedly, showing his teeth. “Groupies? I don’t think any band had groupies since the eighties. I know we don’t.”

“None at all?”

“No way. ‘Stans’ sure, a few. But nowadays it’s like you never heard of a band, you basically follow them on tour, or they’re getting a restraining order against you.”

“Any restraining orders, then?”

“Someday, maybe,” he said, comically wistful.

I began blending a darker brownish shadow into the crease of one eye.

“What about you?”

“What?” I stepped back, puzzled.

He opened his eyes again. “Any stalkers? Isn’t that a thing?”

“I’m a woman in the internet age and I’m married to Michael March.”

“Too many to count, then.”

He shut his eyes as I began blending again. “But a fraction as many as Michael, and mine are a little less scary.”

“Yeah? I can’t even think about the shit he must see over the years.”

“The young ones are some of the scariest, too, which is funny since he’s in his forties. He likes to say that in the beginning, before all this social media, the worst thing a fan did was cry or scream or try to forcibly kiss him at a signing, and that’s a relief now.”

“Yeah.”

“But we disagree about the worst thing a fan has done.”

“What is it?”

��I think the worst thing fans do is when they cut themselves and send Michael their razors. Before we met he actually received an envelope once, but it was tucked inside a small, like, courier envelope. The envelope inside was brown all over, just covered in blood. Michael didn’t handle it himself, obviously, but they told him the bloody razor was inside and a Polaroid of where this fan had carved ‘Michael’ into her arm. Big ropey scabs.”

Chris was silent for a moment, then said, “Not the point, but with all that blood how could they make out the Polaroid? Didn’t the blood mess up the picture?”

“I said the same thing! We actually had a big fight about it when we were dating. I laughed at the fact that it was obviously staged, not like some fan put this together in an act of desperation. And I swear to God it’s like he was insulted! He got all mad at me for like interpreting his life or something like that. But that was the most offensive part to me: the fact that it was all kind of staged like that. So manipulative. This person’s desire to create this scenario was more offensive to me than if it had been real.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty sick.”

“Right?”

“So what does Michael think is the worst thing a fan has done?”

I rolled my eyes and reached for the eyeliner again, this time to line his eyes. “This has happened more than once, but sending used panties in the mail.”

“That’s some Motley Crue shit.”

“It definitely happens. Like, still.”

“Do you think they ever just buy them and send them, or do you think it’s real? Like, do you think they really wear them around and send them?”

“Some of them, absolutely. Some actually arrive crusty.”

Chris widened his eyes.

“Stop, I don’t want to poke you. One fan sent these crusty panties - like crust dusting the envelope and everything - and I swear to God the smell will stay with me forever. But that wasn’t even the worst part! She included this letter that was just a detailed description of her maturbating to the ‘Solace in Silence’ video, but it went on for three pages.”

“Most of the time I couldn’t fill a postcard.” He shrugged and I couldn’t help laughing. “That’s pretty groty, though. I’m surprised you’re not as bothered by that as he is, or more bothered by that than the bloody razor.”

“Oh, God no. I don’t care about the panties. I totally get it.”

“You get it?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Really.”

“Absolutely.” I lifted the lid on the loose translucent powder and grabbed the fluffiest brush. “I get the idea about being absolutely infatuated and having no outlet for it. I get being so tortured by these unrequited feelings, and you feel like you’re going to burst, and it’s so ridiculous and impossible that all you want is for them to know. And it builds to the point that you want to make it known in the biggest, bravest way possible, make as much of an impression as you can. And making an impression on a celebrity isn’t easy. If I were them, I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Too bad you’re not an Echo Eclipse fan, then,” he smirked.

“Who says I’m not?”

“What, you did your homework for the tour or something?”

“I did my homework for your makeup. I’m into it. The videos are intense.”

Chris released a breath that was half laugh and half embarrassed sigh.

“No, stop for a second so I can do your lips.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s still talking.”

He parted his lips obediently. I ran a liquid black over his lips, tipping the silver rings in his lower lip first one way, then the next. I painted under his two rings with a lipliner brush. His lower lip was full and I was careful to cover it all before making clean edges. I made points at his cupid’s bow and slid carefully along his upper lip, and without thinking I glanced up at his closed eyes. When they opened on me I looked away quickly.

“One more thing.” I pulled a tissue from my purse and draped it over his lips, then brushed more of the loose powder over the tissue. “It should stay better like that. But let me know if I need to touch it up.”

“So you’ll be around then? Are you going to watch our set?”

I hadn’t thought about it, but now I suppressed a smile. “I can do that if I’m won’t be in the way.”

“If there’s room for randos that won radio contests there’s room for you. I’ll be all high-maintenance, like ‘I need my makeup artist on standby.’”

I laughed.

“So I’m finished then?”

“You should be good.”

Chris jumped out of his chair and elbowed Tyler out of the way to study his face in the mirror. I cringed as I noticed Tyler smearing the black grease paint around his eyes. Chris widened and narrowed his blackened eyes, stretched the skin over his upper lip and examined either side of his nose in the mirror, then sneered.

“This is sick.” He turned back to me and laughed, delighted, and his teeth were shockingly white against his black lips. “This is fucking sick!”

~~~

Begin at the beginning: LIKE RATS - Prologue

[misssophiachase]

Champagne Supernova

25 Days of Klaroline + Things

So, this didn't start out this way at all (and to be honest wasn't even planned until a few hours ago) but has become a TO season 5 premiere inspired drabble. After Rebekah asks for Caroline's help with an out-of-control Klaus, she decides to intervene in her own constructive 'Forbes' way to bring him back from the brink.

Someday you will find me, caught beneath the landslide….

Monte Carlo, France

Klaus was supposedly invincible but after waking half dressed, tangled in his white, bed sheets his mouth dry and the headache from hell he was seriously doubting that fact. He'd stumbled to the bathroom to empty the contents of his stomach, the brief glance in the hotel room mirror on his way illustrating his knotted blonde curls, ashen complexion and just how red rimmed his usually dark, blue eyes were.

Turns out even the most powerful creature on earth wasn't immune to a good, old fashioned hang over. He'd spent the previous night gambling at the Monte Carlo Casino not remembering just how well or how badly he'd fared. Klaus figured that given his state, it was most probably the latter.

After immersing himself in the welcoming, hot shower and placing a towel tightly around his waist, Klaus made his way to the bedroom. Ever since Hope had left his life, Klaus had lost his way and reverted back to the beast he'd once been. He wasn't proud of his actions but without his daughter, or his siblings, his life had spun out of control and there was no one there to catch him.

Klaus had travelled extensively the past eight years, never staying in one place for more than a few days. He considered there was no point given he'd usually tasted the best human offerings and terrorised the worst. Klaus had never really possessed the best attention span and wasn't about to start after more than one thousand years roaming the earth.

He'd ordered his usual eggs over easy and was looking forward to pairing it with whomever delivered his room service. Then he'd be on his way. The bell rang a half hour later, Klaus had changed into a dark pair of jeans that hugged his hips, not bothering with his usual henley because he didn't want to stain it unnecessarily. He licked his lips in anticipation, while opening the door to reveal his prey. The hunt was really all he had left to treat the overwhelming numbness these days.

"Room service," she chirped in a rich, French accent, her red waves pulled back into a neat chignon, her black and white uniform perfectly pressed. He could make out the curves of her creamy neck ready for his touch. The excitement was building, his fangs readying themselves to strike. Before he could she spoke again. "I found this on your doormat." He regarded the envelope curiously, the neat cursive of his name confirming it was indeed his. Klaus snatched it from her grasp, not bothering with pleasantries.

Turning it over, he realised there was no return address. Ripping the flap open in one swift move, he pulled out the insert. The invitation was immaculate. Thick, white card, embossed with gold calligraphy. His only clue, the address of the soiree in one week. In Champagne of all places.

Klaus knew the area well; in fact it was one of his favourite destinations in France. It was also the original hometown of a witch he was desperate to track down. A witch that could give him the answers he needed about getting his daughter back for good and exorcising the Hollow once and for all. It seemed like after all his searching she'd found him and Klaus wasn't willing to take that for granted.

He gave the employee an unexpected smirk, he could barely extend his lips past a frown these days so the news had obviously buoyed him somewhat. Her eyelashes fluttered and her breasts pushing forward for closer inspection. Klaus had long since entertained any lustful thoughts, ever since she'd left his life. Caroline Forbes was the only person that could rouse him and had no intention or interest in any other.

Grabbing the tray and slamming the door shut, he could hear her annoyed mutterings that he hadn't offered a tip. Klaus figured she should feel lucky he didn't eat her for breakfast. Now, all he needed was a new suit for the ball, he wanted to make an impression after all.

Les Crayeres Chateau, Champagne

The cool, Autumn night was still and deliciously fragrant with the aroma of ripe grapes. Even though it was dark, Klaus could make out the vines bordering the long driveway and bathed in silvery moonlight as he approached in the chauffeured vehicle he'd commandeered. Klaus had assumed that the house would be brightly lit and filled with noise and activity. It was a ball after all. Although his host was a mystery, Klaus knew Audrey would be somewhere amongst the guests.

Audrey Marchand had grown up in Champagne, a slave and farm hand on one of the original properties when her powers had manifested themselves. The townsfolk were petrified and her parents had immediately sent her away in shame. As she travelled further from her hometown her power had grown tenfold. Instead of fearing others they came to fear her. It had been a fiery incident in New Orleans decades earlier when she'd come up against the Hollow, a Native American witch with unrivalled powers. Audrey had been the one to challenge and immobilise her at the time. If she could do it once, Klaus was hopeful she could again then free Hope and his siblings from their forced exile.

The Chateau looming ahead was built in 1885 then partially destroyed by the German forces in World War I. In 1940's the Royal Air Force occupied the castle, followed by the American Army and then Count Charles of Colignac. But it looked like the witch that had once toiled the land was back with a vengeance to take back what was her childhood home. Klaus only hoped he could convince her that family and tradition meant just as much to him as it did her.

The car came to a stop, the chauffeur opening his door and tipping his hat as Klaus strode purposefully towards the entrance. It was dark and eerily quiet and obviously not a ball as he'd been led to believe, Klaus should have been alarmed but after all these years he was willing to do whatever it took. He rang the bell by the grand, wooden door waiting impatiently for Audrey to answer.

She didn't, of course. A greying gentleman in black tails appeared, taking his coat and gesturing inside mysteriously. It was dark, the only light emanating from a large and welcoming open fire, the vaulted ceiling making the spacious lounge room look even grander. He took a few tentative steps, her lithe form coming into view as she stared into the crackling fire. From this angle, Klaus had the perfect view of her toned back accentuated by the low cut, emerald, silk dress.

There was no way this was the witch he was looking for given her age but another look at her familiar curves was causing him to stir unexpectedly. There was only one person on earth who could make that happen. But it couldn't be her. It was impossible.

"Took your time," she drawled, turning to face him, her rosy cheeks from the warmth obvious in the fire light. Her blonde waves were pulled back dramatically from her face, highlighting the smooth neck he'd familiarised himself with once upon a time. Suddenly he wanted to do it all over again.

"Well, perhaps if I'd known I was meeting with the ever punctual, and highly strung, Caroline Forbes I might have picked up the pace, sweetheart," he murmured, trying to ignore just how delectable she looked in that gown which he had a sudden urge to rip from her body. He decided to blame it on the fact he'd been celibate for so long and the intense power she had over his senses.

"I resent that," she scowled. Klaus was fairly certain she would look beautiful no matter the expression.

"Says the girl who invited me here on false pretences," he scoffed.

"The invite never said..."

"But your intention was to make me believe I was meeting with Audrey Marchand. I'm curious about two things, love," Klaus mused, making his way towards Caroline, his body trying to betray his resolve but his mind slightly winning the fight thankfully. "How you knew to come her and why you're trying to deceive me? Especially given you're supposed to be teaching my daughter in Mystic Falls."

"Same old Klaus Mikaelson, trying to prove he's the alpha male."

"Oh, I am..."

"Yeah, I know how this predictable, wolf-like, testosterone rant goes," she dismissed, her blue eyes blazing angrily in his direction. "I've witnessed it enough times."

"Why are you here?" He repeated, his frustration threatening to overtake his control. Klaus was either going to throw a long awaited tantrum or kiss those perfect, pink lips and knew either of those options wouldn't end well with Caroline Forbes.

"I have been teaching your daughter for eight years," she barely managed through gritted teeth. "But you know that. And not that you deserve an oral report, Mikaelson, but she's bright, engaged and extremely talented."

"She is?" He grinned proudly, feeling the happiest he had in years. Suddenly all his anxieties for her well being had melted away in a brief moment. He'd never doubted Caroline but his absence from Hope had weighed heavily upon his mind. "Well, of course she's bloody brilliant. She is a Mikaelson after all."

"Nice to see that arrogance has been dialled down a notch."

"Last time I checked you hadn't explained what you're doing here," he pushed, trying to ignore just how adorable she looked biting her lower lip in response.

"I heard you were being kind of an ass," she offered. Klaus was now facing her at the mantle, their proximity closer than it had been in a long while. "And after all these years, I kind of feel a responsibility to your daughter."

"Oh really?"

"Fine, you are being the biggest ass." Klaus chuckled, his laugh coming out in full force. He forgot what it was like to really relax and he'd missed it. As usual it was Caroline Forbes that had brought him back to life, even if he still did have his suspicions.

"I've missed that cute but hostile act," he smiled. "So, who sent you here? Kol, Elijah, Freya..."

"Rebekah."

"I really should have known, she is the most interfering."

"I always assumed she hated me," Caroline admitted. "And then she turned up at the school out of the blue demanding I save you from yourself given our connection but I hardly think we're destined for best friend, heart necklaces just yet."

"Probably safer that way," Klaus advised, beginning to pace back and forth now deep in thought. Yes, his sister was doing her best to make his life difficult but there was so much more to this scenario. "Hang on, save me from myself?"

"I knew you'd love that explanation. Apparently you've been leaving a trail of human, buffet offerings in your wake all over the world and between you and me it's kind of gross, not to mention completely unhygienic."

"I've had a lot on my mind," he muttered defensively, his pacing increasing with every word. Klaus never imagined this being their first conversation in so many years.

"Your daughter should be the most important..."

"Oh, you mean my daughter who I can't ever see ever again?" He huffed, coming to a stop. "All I ever think about is what I would say to her the first time we see each other again and just how overwhelming that embrace would be. Why do you think I'm here? Although given your interference, it seems that I've hit another dead end."

"No need to flatter me Mikaelson," she quipped sarcastically. Even given the drama, Klaus stilled. There were many sides to Caroline Forbes but he'd never get tired of any. "That's why I'm here."

"Excuse me?"

"You want Audrey, right?" Klaus nodded, not sure what was coming next. "I found her."

"How exactly?"

"Okay, not sure if your memories have been wiped during this whole reckless, let's eat everyone and hate everyone phase but I have a knack for solving a good puzzle. Remember that whole Hunter's sword, Aramaic, cryptex, DaVinci Code situation back in the day?"

"I didn't realise you'd mastered Aramaic?"

"You can't help yourself, can you?" She shot back. "Always so damn arrogant even in the most challenging of situations."

"You know me too well, so about Audrey?"

"She's holed up in a townhouse in Bonn, Germany," she explained. "Her movements have been limited for a while to avoid magical tracking but the best chance you have is surprising her there."

"And?"

"Explaining how you have the deeds to the very winery she worked at all those years ago in France. A place she has pined for since she was fifteen.”

“But how did you manage to get those?’

“I can be extremely persuasive.” Klaus knew not to argue given he was in complete agreement. “If those aren’t enough to help break the curse between Hope and your siblings I don't know what is, Klaus. If not, I have plenty of alternative plans on the ready."

"You do?"

"You're talking to Caroline Forbes, do you know how many decade dances, proms, homecomings and presidential elections I excelled in before I even graduated high school? I'm pretty certain I could rule the world even without Aramaic, you know just saying."

"I have no doubt," Klaus smiled knowingly, thinking just how perfect she'd be by his side in New Orleans. "With a resume like that you're destined for royalty, love." He held her gaze as she did his, the fire crackling rythmically in the background.

"How about a toast?" Caroline asked, gesturing to the nearby waiter. Two crystal glasses were filled immediately with the bubbling and sought after liquid from that very region and clinked against each other in toast. "This is our thing, after all."

"You shot me down when I said that all those years ago." Klaus argued, his surprise evident.

"I was still technically underage," she argued. "And I suppose I didn't want you to get too comfortable with me."

"And now?"

"I'm well over the age limit, no need to card me, officer."

"That's not what I meant," he chided.

"I suppose comfort has its benefits, especially in the right setting and at the right time," Caroline admitted. "So, do we have a deal?"

"Deal?"

"You stop being a moping, serial killing ass and I promise to help you find Audrey," Caroline insisted, her eyebrows raised curiously. Klaus wasn't sure he could resist with her blue eyes hypnotising him like that.

"However long it takes?" He managed to utter, unable to help himself. The reddening on her cheeks was enough to tell Klaus he'd made his very obvious point.

"One step at a time," she murmured. "But I do give bonus points for longevity."

On FF on my new However Long It Takes drabbles HERE