#(putting this out there before my mind sinks further into the gutter)

[pyxisfelixhaven]

ffxivwrite2023 #16 ;; j e r k

mature themes below; nothing explicitly stated, but hinted at heavily.

When people had described the swirl of emotions in the morning after the night before, Pyxis had always assumed it was linked being only able to comprehend what had happened following a restful sleep. What they hadn’t realised was that it didn’t matter about the time of day, it was any sequential period of time after the events took place.

Passing over a handful of gil to the barista, making sure the framing strands of their purple hair lay in front of their shoulders more so than usual, Pyxis stands at the end of the counter out of the way whilst awaiting their order. Their body faced the bar area, but eyes strained at the corner of their glasses to look back at their seated companion. Cheeks flushed as she realised Raubahn was also looking towards her, watching him sit up a little straighter and turn to face the other way. Her gaze moved back to the countertop, waiting for their drinks with a harder focus than before.

Heated breath washed over their shoulder, bringing heady groans soon behind. Rabahn’s hand weaved into the long strands of Pyxis’ hair, drawing their neck closer to push rough lips into soft skin, eliciting stifled moans as they continued-

The cooling breeze that ran across the back of their neck bringing risque images into their mind sent shudders down their spine; tail flicking side to side as if to wave away the indecent memories that tried to creep back into their mind. The fact the events being played out had not yet turned a bell old, however, made it more difficult than usual. 

“Order for Felixhaven?” The barista announced, and it took a few moments for the words to register before they took the two drinks with a small nod of acknowledgement, turning back to walk over to where Raubahn was sitting; still looking out of the window like the most interesting events in all of Eorzea were taking place just outside.

Tension pooled between them, the air thick with both of their aching groans as Pyxis could feel him getting closer. They didn’t want this to end, to be able to be this close to the one they loved for as long as possible, but the fear that someone could open the door behind them and see-

“H-here,” Pyxis stuttered, placing the espresso down in front of Raubahn and sliding quickly into their seat opposite him. The events outside of the window were very interesting, it seemed.

[despacito-uwu16]

PRETTY PLEASE

(Pining! Kenji Sato x Reader)

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

"pretty please come on over and ruin my life" - Pretty Please by Dutch Melrose

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Kenji woke up in his room with a pounding headache and a wave of nausea hitting him like a ton of bricks. Mina held the trashcan as Kenji threw up the contents from last night’s party. After he was done, Mina set down a sandwich, along with some water and painkillers. “Thanks, Mina”. He said as he took a bite of the sandwich. Before she left his bedroom, she closed the curtains, making the room dark again. Kenji put the sandwich back on the plate and lied back down on the bed. He closed his eyes again, and the events of last night came flooding back. The techno music blasting, the alcohol, the girl…

The girl… she was all alone at the after party so Kenji approached her. It went from small talk and flirting to long, deep conversations. The next thing he knew, they were dancing on the dance floor. He remembers her angelic laugh, her strong lavender perfume, the way she would look at him while he held her as they danced. They were perfect for each other.

“She was so pretty”…

“Fuck what was her name again”?

Kenji looked through his contacts, trying to see if there was a name or a phone number he wasn’t familiar with. But alas, nothing. As he sinks further down into the soft pillows, his hands fell onto his face. Of all the things he didn’t do, he didn’t think to ask for her phone number.

He couldn’t stop daydreaming about the girl. Everywhere he went, he thought he saw her. But he always ends up mistaking her for another random lady. 

His pining got to the point where it annoyed his baseball team. Every time Kenji would bring up the mystery girl, his teammates would groan, yelling at him to shut the fuck up.  Even his coach had enough of the mystery girl nonsense.

“If you don’t get your head out of the gutter, i’m trading you to the tigers. That’s a promise”. His coach threatened.

Even Mina noticed how distracted Kenji was. Every time Kenji came back from battle, he would show up with more bruises and injuries. 

“Kenji, what’s going on with you? You keep loosing your focus”. Mina asked. 

“I’m fine Mina, really I am”. Kenji puts an ice pack on his shoulder, the cold stinging his skin. 

“This is about the girl from your dreams, isn’t it”? Mina pressed on.

Kenji sighs. “She isn’t some girl I made up! She’s real Mina, and the thought of her is driving me crazy. What’s even worse is I never got her phone number”. 

“I’m sure you’ll see her again”. Mina reassures him. 

“In a city like Tokyo? I doubt it”. He pouts. 

Everyone around him is well aware of how down bad he is for the girl. The thought of her is ruining him, but he didn’t care. He wants to see her again. Scratch that, he NEEDS to see her again. 

But a few weeks go by, an the thought of the mystery girl eventually died down. His focus came back and Kenji can properly function again. 

He was filling up the water coolers for his team, minding his own business when all of a sudden, he heard a familiar laugh. He turned around and saw a (hair color) haired girl talking on the phone while filling up her water bottle at the same water station. 

“It’s you”. He muttered out loud.

The girl turned around and looked at him. Kenji panicked, he finally found the mystery girl that had been plaguing his mind for weeks, and now he couldn’t form a single sentence.

“Hey, can I call you back? Okay bye”. The girl hung up her phone and approached Kenji. 

“Well, if it isn’t Ken Sato”. She smirked

“I can’t believe it’s you”. Said Kenji.

“In the flesh. I’m glad you’re okay. I was worried when you blacked out”. She said.

Kenji looks at her in confusion. “I blacked out? But Ken Sato never passes out”. 

“Well, you did. It was during our dance. My guess is the soju finally caught up to you”. She chuckled. 

He finally remembered now. He had two soju bottles and the next thing he knew, he saw stars. Talk about embarrassment.

“Anyways, my brother and I took you home”. She added. 

“Damn… I’m sorry, I really wanted to see you again, but I never got your number”. He said.

“I slipped my phone number in your jacket, hoping you would find it. But then I waited and then realized you probably didn’t want to talk to me”. She looked down at the ground. 

Kenji’s mentally face palmed himself. He didn’t think to look through his clothes before laundering them.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I didn’t see it! God I’m such an idiot”. He scratched his head. 

“It’s okay Ken. Here, give me your phone”. She gestured for it. 

He gave her his phone and she added her number on his notes app. 

“Text me and we can get dinner sometime”. She hands his phone back.

“I would like that”. He smiled at her. 

Suddenly, they hear the crowds cheering loudly from the stadium

“I guess that’s my cue to head back in. Can’t wait to see you play Ken”. She winks and turns to leave. 

He walked away, feeling incredibly lucky and lovestruck. But he snapped out of it when he realized…

“WAIT I DIDN’T GET YOUR”- 

But as he turned around, she was gone again. Lost in the crowd full of people.

“Name”…

“Well, at least I got your number”. Kenji thought

He looked down at his phone and saw the number she just put in, along with her name: 

“Y/N”

⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺

Likes, Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated!!

FYI: Requests are open so feel free to send me some ideas for future one shots!

[jerry-hornes-foot]

listen….. listen. double penetration w steve. thats the whole prompt. idc who’s topping or who’s bottoming i just want to see what ur magic fingers conjure up. please and thank you

Okay so, listen, hear me out, this is so hot and I have used as an excuse to write a story I have wanted to write for months but have been putting off cause I've been so slow at dealing with my inbox lmfao. If it's not the sort of thing you were looking for I absutely understand and I am MORE than happy to write you another one because I'm aware I've gone a bit off piste with this bad boy, but I hope you get at least some enjoyment out of it!!

Also literally the amount of agency you've given me in this story is so sweet tysm!!! 🥰

838 words

18+ only

Smut

Steve Harrington x Jonathan Byers x Gender Neutral Reader

Tags: dom/sub; switch!reader; dom!jonathan; sub!steve; double penetration; penetrative sex; oral sex; edging; mild overstimulation; implied cum eating; offensive language

Jonathan's cock twitches in your mouth as you sink down on to it. At the same time you feel Steve's fingers dig into your thighs as he pumps in and out of you. As Steve thrusts again you moan into Jonathan's cock, the vibrations causing him to moan back at you. Behind you Steve grunts and picks up the pace of his hips a little.

"Watch it, rich boy." Jonathan warns through gritted teeth. "You cum when I cum, got it?"

Despite all the nights you and Steve have spent with Jonathan, the harsh, commanding tone that takes over Jonathan's voice when he doms Steve still always catches you off guard. Jonathan is always so gentle and quiet, it's easy to forget just how firm he can be, and you've got to admit, it's hot. You groan again, tensing around Steve and making him whimper, earning another barked warning from Jonathan. Steve knows the rules, he and Jonathan cum together and fill you up all at once. Jonathan's good at this game, when he sets his mind to it he can hold off from finishing for hours, which gives him the chance to push Steve to the edge again and again, like he's been doing all night.

"Jonathan I- I think I'm gonna- fuck! I'm gonna-"

"Oh no you don't!" Jonathan squeezes your shoulders, a signal for you to push back against Steve to force a stop to the motion of his hips. He whines desperately as you press against him, derailing his rhythm.

"You know the rules Harrington. Now stay put until I stay so."

This is the fourth time tonight Steve's gotten close to finishing only for you and Jonathan to stop him in his tracks. You can feel his legs shaking by your sides. He's desperate to finally get that release, but he knows better than to talk back. That'll only earn him further punishment. He obediently pulls out of you and kneels on the bed awaiting Jonathan's instruction.

"Good boy." Jonathan purrs, groaning performatively and rolling his head back as your tongue runs down the underside of his dick.

A few minutes pass before you feel Jonathan's cock twitch again, his hips tensing slightly under your hands.

"Okay Harrington, back to work."

Steve doesn't have to be told twice. His cock slips back into your hole and starts pumping immediately. The past couple of times Steve was made to sit out for a while, Jonathan forced him to go slow when he started fucking you again, this time he makes no comment on Steve's pace. He won't admit it, but he's close, closer than he thought he was, and now he needs Steve to catch up. Fast. You can't help yourself, you know you'll pay for it later, but it's worth it to give Jonathan a taste of his own medicine. Slowing down a little you slide your mouth right down to the base of his cock, pressing the tip of your tongue into the underside of his shaft. He let's out a long gutteral moan as you begin you slowly glide your mouth up and down his full length, taking the tip of his cock right to the back of your throat with each movement.

"Jesus! You'd better fucking hurry it up, Harrington."

Steve does so, pounding his hips hard into yours, his body is angled just right to make your body burn with pleasure. You'd been so focused on working Jonathan's dick you almost hadn't noticed how incredible Steve's felt inside you. You cum, hard and without warning, stifling a scream so that you can keep your careful rhythm on Jonathan's cock. Jonathan cries out as your fingers dig hard into his hips.

"I swear to God, Harrington, you're on thin ice here- mmmmmphhfuck!! I'm gonna cum!"

Your legs are quivering so hard it's a struggle to keep yourself upright, Steve's cock keeps slamming into your insanely sensitive hole. The feeling is an incredible mixture of pain and pleasure. Jonathan's dick swells in your mouth, pulsing as his cum pours out onto your tongue. Steve is barely a second behind him, exhaling harshly as you feel him spilling into you.

When you pull away from Jonathan's dick he grabs your shoulders and holds you in place.

"Don't move." He instructs, voice still steady despite how breathless he is.

Your thighs are screaming, the force of your orgasm has torn through you and made your whole body feel weak, but you obey him all the same. Jonathan flops down on the pillow and looks up at Steve,

"I'll be expecting you to clean up your mess, Harrington."

Steve's hands are back on your thighs in an instant, the tip of his tongue just barely grazes you before Jonathan stops him.

"Hold your horses, I'll need a few minutes."

"Sorry, I thought you wanted me to-" Steve stammers.

"Oh I do." Says Jonathan with a gentle laugh. "But not unless I get to fuck that tight little ass of yours while you do it."

[adelheidvonschicksal]

NSFW Content Warning

Word Count: 1.6k

Megumi watches closely as the curse disintegrates in the mouth of his divine dog. The last of the monsters are dispatched, and Megumi can finally relax as the heavy pressure around him slowly disappears. The veil opens up to an unrelenting sky—rain finally falling down on the town for the first time in months thanks to the curse’s destruction.

His sharp gaze glances down to find you kneeling next to him, your hand buried deep in the black fur of his shikigami. “Who’s a good boy? You are. I’ll make sure Megumi feeds you lots of treats,” you praise to a happily obedient demon dog, his tongue hanging out from a joyful smile while his fluffy tail wags back in forth in tempo to your pets. Megumi huffs, rolling his eyes lightly at your antics, which causes you to glance up at him with a smile.

With an innocent grin, you plop your hand right on top of his head. He groans softly as you begin to ruffle black hair into a further mess as if such a thing was possible given his questionable hairstyle. “You too, Megumi. Good boy.”

“Cut it out.” Megumi grunts, shaking your hand off of him.

“Aw, but it’s so soft,” you say with a childlike coo causing him to turn his head out your reach as you pout about him being no fun.

If there’s one thing Megumi hates more than missions with Gojo then it would be missions with you, his 3rd year senpai. You aren’t necessarily bossy or prying, and you are definitely skilled in your technique, and there’s the bonus that you’re the only third-year who didn’t get suspended, but he couldn’t stand the way you treated him like a child even if he is younger than you. You’d always baby him and coo over him. It’s innocent on your end so he can’t get too mad, but he still wishes you wouldn’t do it.

As the rainy weather begins to grow heavier and cause his clothes to cling coldly to his naked skin, Megumi sighs and releases his technique. “We should get moving before we end up stuck here.”

“Right behind you,” you state, following alongside him.

As you reach the town again, the rain had developed into a full-blown storm, where seeing ahead of yourself is near impossible as everything comes down sideways and lightning cracks over the sky.

“You might want to hold my hand, so you don’t blow away,” you jokingly sing, your voice getting lost in the gust of winds. Megumi ignores your comment until he sees you stumble backward with another strong blow.

“Here,” he says, grabbing onto your arm and pulling you along with him because he’s really afraid you might actually blow away if this weather continues. You walk until the two of you manage to make it to a bus stop.

The two of you manage to huddle together temporarily under a bus stop shelter as Megumi tries to get in contact with your ride. You eye him patiently as he talks on the phone with Ijichi. The area is much too dangerous for someone to pick you up right now, all the missing rain coming down at once. Luckily, Gojo managed to call in a room for you at a local hotel.

The two of you walk into the room, finding it comfortable and warm compared to the cold and rain outside even as the lights occasionally flash and the ceiling fan shakes.

The only thing that bothers Megumi is the fact that there is one singular king-size bed in the center of the room. “Of course, there is,” Megumi grumbles, already warming at the idea of having to share a bed with his cute senpai and also thinking of how he’s going to punch Gojo for messing up so bad. Megumi guesses he can ask the front desk for extra sheets so he can take the floor instead of risk waking up with a hard-on and embarrassing himself.

“I’m going to go request extra sheets. You want anything?”

“What do you mean? This bed is huge, we can share no problem,” you say, and Megumi notices that your voice sounds fairly distant. He turns to see you standing in front of the hotel’s dryer. You cross your arms at the edge of your shirt and stretch to pull it over your head, your breasts raising with your arms as you arch your back.

Megumi instantly blushes.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

You blink once then twice before motioning to the wet shirt in your hands. “Drying my clothes?” you say, tossing the shirt in the dryer before going for your skirt but you pause when Megumi voices another complaint.

“Can’t you do that in the bathroom?” he asks.

“I want them dry when I get out the shower,” you answer, your lips poked out in an adorable pout as you look at him with innocent puppy eyes. “You should take yours off too before the wet dog smell sets in,” you recommend teasingly before closing the distance and grabbing his shirt.

Megumi shakes, his mind instantly dropping into the muck of the gutter as he hastily looks anywhere but directly at you, standing half-naked and alone in the room with him with your hands dangerously close to his body. You were so oblivious to the danger you put yourself in. If he was any other sort of man, he’d already tried to have his way with you.

“Your senpai will throw it in the dryer for you.”

Then, he remembers.

You’re being reckless because he’s your underclassman, unwary because you see him as a child to be taken cared of. It frustrates him but he’s too embarrassed to call you out on it. That is until you start to pull his shirt up to expose his smooth skin underneath, his pelvic lines and the thin line of stomach hair drawing to his crotch, and he prays for his dick not to rise with your hands so close to it.

”Senpai…you shouldn’t do that,” Megumi mumbles, a light blush on his cheeks.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, head cocked to the side.

“It’s just…” he pauses, unsure how to word the fact that you’re dangerously close to turning him on, “…I’m a man too.”

Megumi can feel himself grow more embarrassed as you blink at him. The wheels in your head are obviously turning to comprehend what he’s said, and Megumi instantly regrets saying anything.

Then, you smile, not the usual sweet girlish smile he comes to expect from his senpai. It’s crooked, wickedly amused but somehow seductive in a way that makes him gulp as you lean close towards him.

Megumi shudders as your breath blows on his ear, and you whisper, “Are you now? Then, show me.”

“I don’t—”

You repeat yourself more forcefully as your hand slowly slides down to press against his cock outlining, and you purposely press your breasts to his dampened chest. “Show your senpai how much of a man you are, my cute little underclassman.”

Megumi licks his lips, eyes focused on your cleavage pushing together against him. He releases a calming breath. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You can only smile.

Megumi whines, hands gripped tight into your plump thighs, sinking into your meaty flesh in attempts to hold back your aggressive grinding but to no avail. His cock is sunk into your center, the sound of your wet pussy sucking in his girthy length echoing in his ears along with your heady moans.

You don’t stop the rutting of your hips, no matter how much those beautifully deep moans of his break upon exit from his lips and his emerald eyes tear up from the overstimulation of coming one too many times. His balls are aching, drained empty, and the strain of them tensing as he closes in on another peak echoes each time you impale down to the hilt, smacking them with your ass.

The only thing distracting him more is the strong, desperate throbbing in your silken walls as you grip around him, making it impossible for him to pull out despite the way your wetness creams and lubes around his erection.

With another groan, his throat constricts while his feet begin to cramp with his desperate squirming underneath you as he tries to gain some semblance of control, but you weren’t even giving him time to breathe, let alone turn you over and pin you.

As for you, you look absolutely blissed out with your hazy gaze locked on his beautiful face coated with sweat as he fails to hide his pitiful whimpers by biting into his bruised lips. He already knows it’s no use trying to preserve his pride, as you’ve already gotten one warning about how loud he was being, but he still tries so he can at least say you didn’t completely overwhelm him.

Yet it’s with a broken gasp that he comes for the fourth time. This time he provides a dry orgasm, his body too sore and drained too quickly to give any more. You didn’t pause, refusing to let him catch up.

Smirking, you lift off him instead, his softened cock still connected to your pussy by a thin white string of leftover cum. Megumi grits his teeth, releasing a hiss as your hand wraps around him again despite the protest his body is giving as you work him back into a premature stiffness.

“Come on, Megumi, don’t tell me you’re tapping out already. You’re a man, aren’t you,” you tease in between soft giggling. Flushed, Megumi hesitantly meets your eyes, and you give him one of those trademark sweet and innocent smiles as your hand begins to twist.

It’s then he realizes that his innocent senpai is actually a demon.

[alcinadimitrescuwu]

Ariadne's Thread (An Alcina x Female Reader Fanfic)

You take a step further into the hall and pull up short, feeling your heart sink. Yes, that is the same suit of armor you passed by earlier, the same portraits hanging on the damasked walls. You’d been trying to get back to the servant’s hall for the better part of an hour now but it seemed you kept getting turned around, always ending up at the same place.

No point in denying it now. You were lost.

You had been in the employ of Lady Dimitrescu for around a month now. You were still getting used to your new home and you had the brilliant idea of exploring the castle grounds while everyone was asleep. The idea of having the castle to yourself seemed lovely until you decided to go to bed and suddenly had no idea how to get back.

Hot wax from the candle you hold aloft drips onto your fingers, making you shriek and drop the candelabra. The flame on the candle gutters out, plunging you into darkness.

It is at this precise moment that you remember the Moroaică lurking downstairs. But surely they wouldn’t be able to make it up here, would they? You make your way around, feeling blindly along the walls to try to find the next room, stifling a sob that threatens to escape your throat.

Suddenly you see light in your periphery and feel a hand on your shoulder. You are immediately on the defensive, taking the candelabra in your hands and swinging it at your attacker, shutting your eyes tightly, waiting for a blow.

It doesn’t come. You open your eyes slowly and you see a large hand stretched out blocking the candelabra while holding a lit candelabra of her own in the other. You look up and see it is Lady Dimitrescu, the corner of her red mouth turned up in an amused grin as she sets the candelabra aside.

“I-I am so sorry, my Lady,” you sputter, bowing profusely in apology. “I thought you were something, er, someone else!”

“That’s quite all right, dear,” Alcina says soothingly. She quirks up an eyebrow. “But I must say I’m quite impressed. You put a lot of power into that swing. If it were anyone other than me, you could have knocked them out.”

You feel the tips of your ears redden in embarrassment and you look down at your shoes. Alcina takes your chin in her hand, forcing you to look up. “You’ve excited my curiosity, pet. What is a little mouse like you doing up at this hour, hmm? Out for a midnight stroll perhaps?” Her voice is playful, but her tawny eyes are guarded. She must have dealt with her fair share of would-be thieves in the past.

“Erm, yes. Kinda.” It’s hard to form coherent words when Lady Dimitrescu is staring at you so intently. “I wanted to see more of the castle and was just about to go back to bed, when um…”

Alcina smiles in understanding. “You got lost, didn’t you?”

You can only nod, feeling color rush to your cheeks.

“I can help you find the way back to the servant’s quarters if you’d like. You’re actually not that far off.” Alcina holds out her hand to you. “Take this.”

You take her large hand in yours and she lets out a laugh like tinkling bells. “I meant the candle, dear, not your hand.”

“Oh! Sorry!” You suddenly wish one of the Moroaică had gotten to you first before you had the opportunity to embarrass yourself further in front of your employer.

You hear her still chuckling to herself as she lights your candelabra with her own before pressing it into your hand. Your fingers brush lightly against the smooth leather of her glove for the briefest of moments before she pulls back.

She walks ahead of you and you follow behind. You try not to stare too openly at the elegant sway of her hips as she makes her way up the stairs. You notice that she skips every other step with her long stride. Indeed, every other step seems to be worn down.

Alcina turns around and you nearly lose your footing, but she reaches out and catches you in time. Her hand moves down your arm and down to your hand. She gives you a considering look. “You know, if you wanted to hold hands on the way back, I wouldn’t mind,” she muses. She drops you a conspiratorial wink. “Can’t have you getting lost again, can we?”

“Of course, my Lady!” And then you realize the implications of what you just said. “Um, not about the part about me getting lost, the part about us holding hands.”

Alcina lets out an intoxicating chuckle. “Not to worry, dear. I caught your meaning just fine.”

You take Alcina’s large hand in yours. The length of your hand is only just able to wrap itself around Alcina’s three leatherbound fingers, your thumb resting against the suppleness of her glove.

Alcina smiles down at you over her shoulder. “Well. Shall we be off?”

You nod and set off down the hall hand in hand with Lady Dimitrescu. As you are walking, you hear Alcina humming to herself. It’s an old jazz tune you recognize and without knowing it, you begin humming along with her.

Alcina suddenly stops walking and turns to you. You’ve never seen this look on her face before. It’s shock mixed with a bit of nostalgia. “How do you know that song?”

“Oh! Well,” you say, blushing at the sudden attention. “I grew up with my grandparents and they had a pretty extensive record collection. We’d always have big band and jazz music playing while Grandma was cooking. Miss D and the Pallboys was my favorite band while I was growing up.”

Alcina gives you a mysterious, yet coy smile. “Really? Is that so?”

She continues walking and begins to hum again. Suddenly it hits you and this time you are the one to stop walking. “No way.”

Alcina turns to you again with an amused grin playing at her lips. “Hmm?”

“You-you’re Miss D?”

“I suppose at one time, I was.”

In spite of yourself you begin to jump up and down in excitement. “I can’t believe it! My grandparents went to see you when you were touring America! I can’t believe it’s really you! I-” Suddenly you remember whom you are speaking to and your face burns scarlet. “F-forgive me, my Lady. I didn’t mean to make a fool of myself.”

Alcina chuckles. “That’s all right, darling. This isn’t the first time I’ve been recognized. You don’t need to be embarrassed. In fact, I find it quite endearing.” Alcina looks around. “Well, would you look at that! We’ve already arrived. Downstairs is just through that door. Can you make it to your room by yourself?”

You nod. “Yes, Lady Dimitrescu.” You turn to go but she places a hand on your shoulder.

“Wait. Before you go, I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.”

You close your eyes obediently and you feel her large hand cup the back of your head and draw your face to hers. Her carmine lips brush briefly against yours. You had not expected Alcina’s kiss to be so gentle and tender, her lips impossibly soft. You can taste wine and a hint of tobacco. She pulls back all too soon, leaving you slightly dazed.

Alcina smiles flirtatiously. “I couldn’t very well let you go without a goodnight kiss, now could I?” she says, gently brushing a loose curl back into your cap before straightening up. “If you ever find yourself lost again, don’t hesitate to call on me, all right?’

“O-of course! Thank you, my Lady.”

She gives you one last dazzling smile before heading back down the stairs. You find yourself rooted to the spot, staring at the place where Alcina was just moments ago. You were too caught up in the moment to realize that it was your first kiss.

The door opens behind you and Mrs. Fischer the housekeeper is standing there with her hair bound in a braid. “Y/N? What are you doing up at this hour? Never mind. Off to bed with you! You’ve got work in the morning!”

You nod dully and follow her down the stairs. You change into your nightgown and lay down on the bed, but sleep does not come easily. All you can think of is your mysterious employer with a musical past and her sweet lips on yours.

[kimnjss]

just hanging out | jjk

⤑  series: cherry pickers

⤑ pairing: gamer(fuckboi)!jungkook x video vixen(virgin)!reader

⤑ genre: fluff!... some angst at the end if you squint.

⤑ rating: pg13

⤑ word count: 3.9K // unedited.

⤑ warnings: lmao second hand embarrassment probably.

⤑ A/N: hey :( love you all who have been enjoying this story nd sending your thoughts in - they really make my day. so thank youu! let me know what you think x 

FEBRUARY 22ND, 2020 | 16:49

Casual. You're constantly reminding yourself the entire time you're getting ready. This was supposed to be casual. This was not a date. So there was no reason for you to go through the process of getting ready for a date. You didn't shave, just took a regular shower with the regular soaps. 

Spent very little time in the mirror when getting dressed, there was no need for frilly shirts or form-fitting pants. Instead, you settled for a pair of ripped jeans and a hoodie that Taehyung had lost a little while back. Minimum makeup, hair up, and out of your face.

Needed to cement it in your mind that this was not a date. Steal away any reason for you to act like it was one. No matter how much you knew you'd enjoy the whole shebang, candlelit dinner, romantic walk admiring the night sky, kiss on the doorstep – you had to ignore that.

Bottle it up and stuff it down because there were many things you didn't know about Jungkook and the bits you did know weren't great. His shitty friends being at the top of the list. So, until you were sure he wasn't like the lot of them... not dates were what you'd settle for. Because at the end of the day, you wanted to see him.

It's a thirty-minute drive from your house to Jungkook's and you spend the entire car ride agonizing on how this 'not date' was going to turn out. And then immediately scolding yourself for freaking out over something that shouldn't matter as much as you were making it out to be.

For all you knew, he probably was just waking up... barely remembering that he had plans with you. Most likely hopping in the shower just minutes before you were said to arrive. Mmh, Jungkook in the shower. Droplets of water rolling over his tone skin, following the dips and ridges until...

It's hard to shake the image of Jungkook showering out of your head once you've got it there. Even with his insistent need to wear baggy clothes, it didn't take a detective to see that the kid was ripped. No doubt spent hours in the gym working on his arms, his abs, his thighs...

Nope. Not going there. No reason to go there when you were on your way to hang out, innocently hang out with a guy that you were just barely friends with. That's all it was. Two people getting to know each other after clicking the first time they talked. God, the way you clicked with Jungkook was unbelievable. 

He made you laugh. And it was weird because you don't remember ever feeling this comfortable around someone this quickly. Jungkook was different. At least you hoped he was. Instantly, you're shushing your thoughts. Refusing to mentally put so much pressure on something that more than likely become nothing.

Getting your hopes up too early was the reason why people got hurt in the first place. So this wasn't a date. And you weren't going to expect him to treat it as such. Just hanging out to get to know each other. That was it.

That was it. Your new mantra as you shove your car into park, heading up the walkway to his front door. Knocking while repeating those four words to yourself. Casual. That was it.

You're not even waiting a full minute before the front door is being pulled open, revealing a fresh-looking Jungkook. Dark hair falling in pretty waves, on either side of his pretty face. He seems to be glowing and you feel it throughout your entire body when he smiles.

A baggy pink sweatshirt swallows his figure, paired with equally loose gray sweatpants. His house is spotless when he lets you in, obvious that he spent the duration of the morning cleaning. The smell of Lysol still lingered in the air. Even the white socks on his feet seemed oddly clean.

You can't help but smile at the effort, allowing yourself to believe that all the trouble was for you.

Once he's setting your shoes in his extremely organized coat closet, he's leading you through the house. Smiling big as he gives you a mini-tour of the first floor and you swear you're paying attention. You're trying your best at least, but it's hard to concentrate on anything that wasn't how cute he looked.

“And this is the arcade,” He's showing off both rows of teeth with his broad gesture into the room located at the end of the hall. Obviously proud of this part of the tour.

As he should be. When the kid said arcade, that's exactly what he meant. Old school game machines lined the walls, ones that you'd actually find in an arcade. Some games that you've never heard of before. All with the high score name: 'Koo'. A dramatic two-person car racing game tucked in the corner.

There's a curved 90 inch TV mounted on the wall, in front of it on a stand is every game console ever made. He has his laptop set up in the room, with two monitors and two gaming chairs in front of it. In the middle of the room is the most comfortable L shaped couch.

All you can say is, “Whoa.” And he's laughing at your reaction.

“It's my favorite room in the house. Well... aside from,” His eyes shift up, obviously gesturing to upstairs where his bedroom is.

The insinuation has a blush darkening your cheeks, but you choose to ignore it, stepping further into the room with a tiny gasp. “You have Skee-ball!?” He's right behind you as you rush across to the room to where the game is set up. A manicured nail pressing against the start button, grinning wide up at him as the balls roll down.

Bright red numbers flash on the screen, the high score followed by his name: 310...Koo. A smirk instantly settling onto your features as you reach for one of the bright-colored balls. “I'm gonna beat that,” Lifting a finger to point at the numbers on the screen.

Jungkook is letting a loud laugh leave his lips, a pretty smile settling on his features as the sound dies down. “That took me two weeks... good luck,” Drawing your hand back, you release the ball on the swing. Watching as it travels upward toward the slots, dropping right into the gutter.

It takes four throws before you're getting it right, the ball traveling up the slope and directly into the 40 point slot. You're letting out a loud whoop, arms lifting in slight victory.

Eyes wide, you're turning your head to face him. “You saw that!?” You're shocked that he's already looking at you. With this soft lovey look that you were the one to hang the stars in the sky. And it makes you wish that this was a date because if it were you'd be able to let yourself enjoy the feeling that comes with the way that he's looking at you.

But it's not a date. So you don't. Shove the fuzzy feeling away with a shake of your head, reaching for another ball from the rack and thrusting it forward. 

FEBRUARY 22ND, 2020 | 18:08

Jungkook is scary good at games. Like scary good. If he wasn't matching your score, he was doubling it. Didn't even graze his high score in Skee-ball and every game after that was his domain. And he was having fun beating you, the smile growing on his face each time you were crossing your arms with a pout – claiming the game had to be rigged.

Foosball to Car Racing to Dance Dance Revolution (he had way more rhythm than you'd expect). You've settled down quite a bit since you first showed up at his house, finding it easy to relax around him. He was cute when he got competitive, not like you were much of a competition in these games... but it was nice to see him like this.

The scrunch of his nose as he focused on the screen. The cute dimples that popped out whenever he won. And how he mindlessly sat close to you, engulfing you in his sweet scent. There was just something about being with Jungkook that made you feel at ease, could someone who made you that comfortable really be as bad as his trash friends?

His shoulder brushes against yours as he settles further into the comfort of his couch, his thumbs moving over the controller quickly. Implementing combo after to defeat your character. In the fourth round of Mortal Kombat and you've only one once.

“Hey! You said you'd let me win,” He's laughing, not even letting your character get up before the large K.O. letters appear on the screen and his person is giving their little victory remark. A dramatic huff leaves your lips, the controller being tossed to the side to cross your arms over your chest.

All he wants to do is lean in and kiss that pout off your lips. Has wanted to kiss you since he beat you in table tennis. You're so pretty and he can't hold back from moving closer to you, guiding your movements just so he can have an excuse to touch you. And he doesn't miss the way you blush. The cute giggles that you let out when he flirts with you. Making him want to flirt with you more just so he can hear the sound.

“I tried,” He speaks through a laugh, taking in the skeptical look on your face. “I did! You're just so bad,” His eyes watch your fingers move around the controller, switching the screen to the character choice.

Gasping when his words sink in, landing dainty punches onto his shoulder. “You're mean! Rematch. I'm not bad,” Jungkook's pressing start on the game as soon as you both have picked your characters, leaning back against the couch as he instantly starts trying out combos on you.

Your whines and protests are cute. It's all he can focus on when he's supposed to be paying attention to the game. And the shout of triumph you let out when you're managing to knock his character down squeezes at his heart, he can't help but turn to look at the smile on your face.

“Look at you losing!” He's sure his health bar is at the end by now, but he can't tear his eyes away from you. In awe, because how could someone actually look like that? So effortlessly... beautiful? 

The tip of your tongue poked out the corner of your lips, brows furrowed as you work hard to take him down. So wrapped in the game, you don't even realize that he had stopped playing. It's his luck too, no telling how embarrassed he'd be if he was caught staring. Yet, he can't bring himself to look away.

Not until you're jumping up excited, clapping for yourself and your win. “Did you see that?” Your body is whipping around, forcing a surprised look on his face. Worried that you might've caught the way he had been looking at you. “I just fucking destroyed you! You can't even say that was beginners luck, either.”

You're lifting your hand for a high five, which he's happily giving to you. His smile matching yours as you flop down on the couch beside him, thighs grazing over each other and he feels it in his chest. “Do you want a chance to redeem yourself?”

Not even a minute is spared for him to answer because you're already starting up a new round. He's got his game face on now, shaking himself out of the daze. “Can you believe I just kicked your butt?” There's this taunting look on your face and all he wants to do is lean over and kiss you.

He takes for teasing you instead. Noticing your ridge posture that he had commented on in your picture. “I don't know how,” A large hand reaches over to touch your back, your body automatically leaning into his touch. “Your form is all off, it had to be luck.” Just a bit of pressure is applying to your back and you're slouching forward.

With a laugh, you're rolling your eyes – reaching a hand back to swat his away. “Watch me beat you like this too. I'll even let you pick my character,” You've been using the same girl since you started playing while he's surfed through the entire catalog. He's taking you up on the offer, picking one of the bulkier characters that don't do all the jump moves you seem to love so much.

And you still beat him.

This time distracted by the frustrated rants from you whenever your guy doesn't do what you tell him to. Time runs out and he ends up having less on his health bar and you're taking that as a proper win, lifting your hand for another high five.

Jungkook congratulates you quietly, more so trying to figure out just what was going on inside his chest. He's had girls over before. In much more intimate settings than this... but never has he felt like his heart was about to burst through his chest. This unbearable feeling to be close to you and it's quickly becoming all he can think about.

You're just so pretty. And you look oddly sexy in your sweats. But it's not just that. There's something else that he can't really place that's pulling him to you. Making it hard for him to stop thinking about stupid things like holding your hand or kissing your cheek. Imagining if days like today were the norm and after he'd grow tired of playing games, you'd let him stretch out his head in your lap – playing with his hair.

And it has to be crazy because this was only the first time the two of you were alone. The late-night texts being all he had to back up knowing you, but at the same time, he felt like he knew you. Like he's known you well. He can't describe it either, but he's almost positive that you feel the same.

“Are you hungry? Should we order a pizza?” You've already whipped your phone out, reluctantly putting a bit of space between the two of you as you scroll through your phone. Jungkook is quick to agree, fingers moving over the buttons on the controller to switch the TV.

No idea why he all of a sudden feels so nervous. “Sure,” He's managing to mumble out, but you're not listening. Already putting together a pizza for both of you. “Do you, uhm... do you wanna watch a movie? Something on Netflix?” Your thumb is stilling on the screen at the mention of Netflix.

Yoongi's playful warning ringing loudly in your mind. 'Playing video games was just Netflix and Chill with more steps,'. But there was the chance that he was actually tired of playing games and wanted to watch a movie with you. It didn't have to be that serious, you had been going at it for hours.

“Yeah, go ahead. Pick something.” His body slouches back on the cushions, scanning through the movies halfheartedly before choosing a random one with a really long title. After tapping his fingers against the screen, the neon orange lights in the room are dimming. A comfortable warmth settling around you.

Jungkook watches as you take your time putting the order together. The beginning credits playing on the screen and he's not even paying attention, too busy with his eyes glued to you. “I got meat lovers, you like that, right?” Setting your phone aside, you allow yourself to sink into the comfort of the cushions. 

“Mmh, my favorite.” Not a lie. It really was. And the fact that you had chose it without knowing just added to everything about you that made him want to kiss you. A small smile spreads across your lips as you nod, turning your attention to the screen in front of you.

The two of you sit side by side, watching the characters on the screen, but you're not listening. It's hard to hear over the pounding in your chest. The nervous bounce of his leg as if he was waiting for something. And you have no idea what because the pizza is no where near being on its way.

A pretty girl is in an argument with her male lead, something about debt and you're trying your hardest to follow the storyline. Although, you have no idea what this movie is and why he picked it. 

It's the thick yawn from beside you that catches your attention, Jungkook's arms lifting over his head in a stretch. You don't think much of it, other than the fact that he's being a little dramatic with his stretch. Until the arm closest to you is dropping down, not at his side like it had been before but around your shoulders – gently tugging your body into his side.

“Did you just do the yawn move on me?” You can't help but laugh. Even through the darkness, you can see the pink tint on his cheeks. “Shh, this is my favorite part.” You're actually positive that he's never seen this movie before, but don't put up a fight. Instead, you let yourself lean into his chest.

He's warm. And smells like flowers. His eyes don't move from the screen as he's reaching down, soft hands reaching for the outside of your knee. Slowly, he's lifting your legs onto his lap, only glancing in your direction briefly to gauge your reaction. Leaning back when there's no sign of you wanting to move.

“Your feet are so small,” Toes curling at the random attention, you're leaning over to reach for his face attempting to pull his focus. “Don't make fun of them! What the heck?” He's laughing loudly at you, allowing you to move his head. Shifting his focus from your feet to his face.

Your fingers are cold against his warm skin, but he can't keep himself from leaning into your touch. “They're cute.” Big eyes scan over your face, smiling softly when they're landing on yours. “You're cute.”

Almost instantly, the atmosphere in the room seems to shift. And you're not sure how he did it, but the way he was looking at you, the soft whisper in his voice... you can't but melt in his strong arms. Basically sat in his lap and it's nice. Jungkook takes his time with inching forward, entering your space which has your hand falling from his face.

He's quick to replace your hand with his one your cheek, tilting your head up toward his. You're sure he's going to kiss you. It's obvious with the slight pucker of his lips, the droop of his eyes, he's tapping a rhythmic beat against your knee ten times faster than the rush of your heart. He was going to kiss you.

Jungkook was going to kiss you and it felt like you couldn't breathe. Nerves on a ten because this wasn't even supposed to be a date. And now you were in this situation and you weren't the least bit unhappy about it. You wanted him to kiss you and it's a new feeling that you don't fully understand. It freaks you out.

Just inches from your lips and your face is twisting up, head jerking back before he can reach you. “What are you doing?” Instantly hating yourself for the embarrassed look on his features that slowly morphs into a puppy dog pout.

“I was going to kiss you...” Jungkook mumbles out sheepishly, dropping his arm from your body to push his hair back. Making an effort to put some space between the two of you, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Because in his mind he had done everything right. Had been making you laugh all night, set some type of mood, told you that you were cute. And you seemed to be enjoying yourself... so what was he missing?

“Why would you do that? This isn't a date, Jungkook.” The mantra that you thought you had worked into your head seemed to be slipping. Not sure when you had forgotten what this was supposed to be, but now it was all rushing back to you.

The reasons you had rejected going on an actual date with him in the first place. And the realization of how stupid you were to think that this was a proper substitute for it. No matter what you decided to call it, it didn't erase the fact that this... tonight, with him... felt like a date.

And it wasn't supposed to.

“Do you kiss all the people you just hang out with?” It's wrong to put the blame on him and only him, but you can't help it. You're a mess in your head for a plethora of reasons, because it had been obvious. How he was looking at you, his arm around you, your legs in his lap... everything that you decided to ignore.

But in the same breath, he told you this wasn't a date... so why bother with all sweet shit. Turning movies on for one reason. Maybe you were reading too deep into all of this? Maybe you were overreacting. Jungkook didn't act like his friends when he was with you, maybe he was really different.

“Oh, come on, Yn... are you being serious?” He doesn't look all too embarrassed anymore, just a little bit sad from the rejection. It's fine, though. He'll live. “Dead serious, Jungkook. You got me here saying this wasn't a date. You need to stick to that,” You felt strongly on that part.

You had told him you didn't want to go on a date with him and even though this 'not date' was literally the same thing, he shouldn't act as if you had said yes to a date. Right? He should keep his word, that way things wouldn't get messy. Like right now.

Jungkook seems to put it together in his head, nodding his head in agreement – yet, the pout doesn't leave his lips. “Alright, alright. Fine. My bad,” He's tugging at the rolls of fabric on his sweats, avoiding eye contact with you. Dark hair covering his eyes, all you can really see is the pink of his lower lip.

And you feel bad, even though you know you shouldn't. It's not like you would've hated kissing him. It was just too nerve-racking to think of doing right now. You didn't quite understand it yourself, so there was no way you could go and explain it to him.

Instead, you're extending a finger. Poking the tip of your nail into his knee. “Don't pout. Come on, you'll miss the best part.” Referring to the movie that you're both watching for the first time, but it has a smile pushing onto his lips. His head lifting and gaze shifting onto the TV screen.

“Sorry,” He mumbles out after a moment, but you're not sure if he's apologizing for the almost-kiss or something else. Either way, you're flashing a genuine smile in his direction, lifting a hand to playfully shove at his shoulder. “Don't worry about it. It's fine,”

It really was.

— known for your body and surrounded by rumors about your sex life… rumors that he doesn’t think to doubt. until he’s meeting you… forced to realize there’s much more to you then the thonged shorts and lacy costumes.

⤪ masterlist ⤨

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A/N: timestamps make sense throughout the fic. if u want to be added to the tag list, send me an ask! + if you’ve asked to be on my permanent taglist, you do not need to ask to be added to this one !!

[happi-tree]

Sixteen

Hello, lovebirds! Here’s a bit of fic that I wrote inspired by @shima-draws‘ BNHA Distortion Link AU from Nexus’ POV! Check out her blog for more info about it. I’ll put the fic under a read more, so continue on if you’re interested! TW for blood and vague, semi-graphic descriptions of corpses.

Midoriya Izuku is 16 years old when his world is ripped out from underneath his feet. 

He awakens to silence - not the peaceful quiet of early mornings that he has become long accustomed to, but to a sheer and utter absence of sound. Not a whisper of birdsong, not a single utterance of cacophony caused by the morning commute traffic in Musutafu. The quiet is eerie, anticipatory, waiting to be shattered, and Izuku gets the distinct feeling that he’s the final character in some horror flick. 

His alarm clock blares “The morning is here!” again in a robotic facsimile of All Might’s voice. Izuku startles, badly, slamming his hand down on the alarm to silence it. A breeze outside grows in intensity, slamming into the walls. The ticking of clocks, the groaning of a house in its death throes, and the rushing of blood in Izuku’s ears are the only sounds now. 

Something is very wrong.

Izuku picks his way across the room to his window, lifting the blinds, and nearly retches at what he sees.

The streets aren’t clogged with cars or buses; the sidewalks are vacant of pedestrians. Instead, the concrete is dyed red with blood, puddles of it seeping into potholes, into gutters. Bodies, for as long as the eye can see, line the walkways and the asphalt at irregular intervals, their eyes unseeing, their mouths open in shock, their forms contorted and still in pools of burgundy-ebony. Newly deceased, the analytic, detached part of Izuku’s brain observes, noting the absence of stench and lack of buzzing flies. 

As much as Izuku desperately wants this to be some horrible nightmare, he knows deep in his bones that this is all too terribly real.

And then he looks up.

Up to the sky, where his fated enemy is silhouetted against the soot-stained crimson of dawn, wreathed in clouds of smoke like the angel of death incarnate. But Izuku knows that this man is far from angelic - there is no mercy in these deaths, no just judgement present in any fiber in his body as he hovers, gloatingly, backlit by the red-orange sun. 

All for One, in all his age, has never been a creature of compassion.

With the taste of bile and ash in his mouth, Izuku frantically grabs his hoodie from where it lays across the back of his desk chair, shrugging it on. Throwing open his closet door, he pulls on the boots of his Hero costume, barely managing to fumble their laces into a proper knot and swiping his gloves from where they sit draped over his tool belt. 

One for All rockets to the surface of his skin within milliseconds, his racing heartbeat and heightened anxiety calling the Quirk to activation in record time, and Izuku breaks down the front door of his house, sprinting into the streets of the world on its final day with eight souls singing across the lightning in his veins.

It is not enough.

-

Midoriya Izuku is 16 years old when he opens his eyes to the Beyond for the first time. 

The confusion only lasts for a few moments before memories - billions of them, thoughts that are not his, were never meant to be his - shove themselves into his still-growing mind, flooding his neurons until they threaten to combust. All at once, Izuku knows where he is. Izuku knows what happened to his world; rather, the world that was once his.

Now, Izuku knows everything, and it is with absolute, mind-numbing certainty that he knows that his universe is gone.

He is the sole survivor, the lone occupant of this plane of in-betweens, where both nothing and everything is real. He feels at once impossibly heavy and weightless, power sitting leaden in his bloodstream, pulsating in time with his paradoxically-beating heart, countless lives weighted and compressed upon his mind, their taste like copper on his tongue. 

Tears flow freely from his eyes, saline globules suspended in the not-air of the Beyond as he weeps and as he feels. Seven billion lifetimes of emotions flash through his mind’s eye like an old film reel, impossibly fast, impossibly hard to differentiate. Love and heartbreak and joy and sorrow and anger and contentment and longing and desperation and too many other feelings to name overcome him, and Izuku cries out, his strangled voice the only sound amidst the deep shifting colors of the void, utterly human and utterly alone. 

Even heroes need to cry, sometimes, Todoroki’s voice seems to whisper to him, and Izuku’s body wrenches with the force of his sobbing, clinging to himself and wishing beyond anything for the phantom comfort of a friendly hand upon his shoulders. 

How can I ever call myself a Hero when I failed my entire universe?

After a time - perhaps seconds, perhaps centuries - Izuku’s cries pitter out, and he straightens enough that his feet find contact with something solid. Opening his eyes once more, he finds that his tears, spheres of liquified crystal, lay suspended across the not-space, twinkling like so many stars. For all the pain that they had caused him, Izuku finds beauty in their sorrow, trying not to tear up again as he thinks of the shifting constellations of his homeland, their lights forever extinguished. 

The memories threaten to overturn his mind again, but Izuku holds firm, pushes past the grief and the sorrow. He is the sole occupant of the Beyond, the Nexus, a realm that oversees every universe, every timeline. The weight of countless worlds rests on his shoulders now, and Izuku cannot allow himself to crumble beneath it any longer. Infinite power - so much that the feeble, human part of his mind can scarcely begin to comprehend its beginning or its end - resides in his soul, stitched into the fabric of his being. 

<If I could not be the Hero my own world needed,> Izuku speaks into the void, curling his hands into fists, <maybe I can be the Hero that the rest of them deserve.>

So many lives are in need of protection, in need of saving. And now, here I am, with the power to look after every single one of them. What kind of Hero would I be if I didn’t use this power to help them? For the first time in a long time, Izuku laughs - a hollow, broken laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

<Plus ultra.> Izuku says to the unspeaking, unblinking void. He cracks his knuckles, takes a deep breath, and then gets to work overseeing the multiverse. 

-

Midoriya Izuku is still 16 years old when he feels the first disturbance in the Beyond. 

The new presence feels scarcely like a blip on his radar, as quick and meaningless as the blink of an eye. But after centuries and centuries of absolutely nothing, a spark of excitement - an emotion almost foreign to him, now - makes itself known in the cavity of his chest, bright and white-hot. Alongside it, an equally strange feeling: hope. 

The fabric of the Beyond bends itself around him, malleable and fluid as it bows to his whims and carries him to the source of the disturbance.

Izuku watches as a corner of his world blurs green. A figure, human, falling endlessly, glitching in and out between this plane and the one to which they belong. Reaching out with his mind, Izuku nearly reels back in shock with what he discovers.

Because the figure trapped between realms is him.

Well, one of him, Izuku should say. Across the multiverse are countless Midoriya Izukus. For whatever reason, this one seems to have gotten himself into a bit of trouble.

A constant for all Izukus, getting into trouble, he muses as his other semi-conscious self falls infinitely. 

Probing further, it looks like this particular Izuku is from a world quite similar to his own. Time slows, solid in his grasp, to allow him to decipher the teal of his Hero outfit, bits of blood scattered across his freckles from a previous fight. Clearly, this Izuku had no intention of coming here, and is likely feeling very out of sorts. How he got here in the first place is a wonder, but not for long.

Memories of his double flash through his mind. The patrol assignment. Uraraka, Todoroki, Ojirou, Shigaraki, Kurogiri’s faces come to mind in consecutive flashes, and his knees nearly buckle at the sight of their familiarity. One for All activating in tandem with Kurogiri’s portal, disturbingly reminiscent of the moment that ripped the fabric of his homeland apart.

Ah, there it is.

Izuku’s power comes to grasp the connection tethering his doppelgänger to the Beyond, and he hears a gasp. 

Well, that wouldn’t do. Not that Izuku has ever seen this happen before, but he has the sinking feeling that shoving his other self back into his own universe will not erase the connection entirely. There’s something wild about it, unstable. Dangerous.

Izuku walks closer to his double’s side, time grinding to a halt.

<I’m sorry for this, but you’ll likely see more of me,> he says to himself, taking in the other Izuku’s gaping expression and wide eyes, imprinting the familiar lines of his Hero suit into his vision alongside the spattering of freckles and the smears of dirt. 

<For now, though, I’ll try to get you home. You’re doing so well, you know. I’ve been watching.>

Gently, Izuku presses a fingertip to his doppelgänger’s forehead and watches as he reappears through the tear into his own timeline.

A universe away, provisional Hero Deku returns to his friends with shaking hands, a phantom warmth between his brows, and an odd feeling of recognition in his chest.

-

Nexus is 16 years old when he sees the sky again for the first time in millennia. 

[babyybitchhhwrites]

Aizawa x Reader 18+

Title: Easy Come

Rating: Explicit/R-18+

Words: 4914 

Warnings: established relationship, 69 position, oral sex, cunnilingus, anal fingering, competitive sex 

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26674393

♥♥♥♥

Peaceful evenings at home with Shouta were the best. It was easily the highlight of your week and had been for the last year since you’d started dating. He was such a busy man that just finding the time to be together was often difficult but, somehow or another, the both of you made it work. There wasn’t a single thing in the world you’d trade this time for and you suspected he was in full agreement with that sentiment. He hadn’t come right out and said as much but he may as well have.

The tranquility in his demeanor when it was just you two was impossible to miss and such a stark difference from how he was in public that you couldn’t help wondering how many other people knew this side of him. You had a sneaking suspicion that it wasn’t many. Although a good man through and through, Shouta didn’t exactly have a reputation for being easy to get on friendly terms with. A tough nut to crack would likely be a good metaphor but you cherished that part of him more than you could put into words. It just made the soft spoken endearments and late night cuddles all the more meaningful. Of all the potential partners he could have chosen, he’d picked you and that had to count for something.

“What are you in the mood for tonight?” 

You thought about that for a moment. “Surprise me.”

Issuing a good natured scoff, Shouta picks up the remote from the nightstand and turns on the TV. 

You could hear him clicking through multiple screens to pull up an almost endless list of movies that were available at just the touch of a finger while you finished getting ready for bed in the attached bathroom. His apartment was starting to feel more like home than yours did and a smile touches your face when you looked down at where your toothbrushes were nestled together in the same holder. That something so small and insignificant could hold so much weight still took you by surprise even now but you were slowly getting used to it. He’d been very open about wanting you to make a space for yourself once the relationship reached the point of being serious whereas you’d had plenty of lingering reservations. Past hangups and all that.

But you were both slowly moving forward together as a couple and you felt good about the future. Everything seemed to be falling into place one piece at a time, against all odds and, perhaps, your better judgement. Only time would truly tell if what you had was meant to last though and you were determined to enjoy every possible moment with him that you could.

Finishing up at the sink, you pull a fluffy headband over your forehead to keep the hair off your face before switching off the light. Shouta glances up from the TV when you step into the bedroom. You catch the corner of his mouth hitching with what could only be amusement and it lights a mischievous spark in your chest as you cross over to climb up on the bed. 

“What’s that look for?” You tease, scooting close to give him a peck on his stubbly cheek. 

“Don’t make me say it. You know what that headband does to me.” 

“Maybe that was my intention.” 

A snort of mirth rumbles out of him as he reaches over to first tweak one of the plush cat ears sticking up off the top of your head and then further back so he can pinch at a loose strand of hair. Absently curling it around his finger, Shouta turns his attention back to the glowing screen against the wall. You sigh in contentment and lean into the firm weight of his body, listening to the click-click-click coming from the TV as he scrolls through the list. You’re positive that this has to be pretty close to what heaven feels like. 

“Are you sure you don’t have any preference?” He asks at length. “Action, horror, romcom. Anything stand out?” 

Thoughtfully humming, you regard the screen in quiet contemplation for a moment. “Maybe something light?” 

“Romcom it is then.”

Your lips curl at the put upon tone in his voice, knowing full well he enjoys those kinds of movies more than he’d ever admit. He’d taken you to the theater on one of your first dates and you’d been surprised at his choice of film, initially writing it off as one made in deference to what you liked rather than what he liked. But then it kept happening, over and over again. You’d seen every romantic comedy blockbuster in the last year and then some, his inclination for that particular genre delighting you to no end. It was such an unexpected surprise but one that made perfect sense in retrospect. Shouta was a true romantic at heart even if he didn’t outwardly look it, after all. 

“How about this one?” He says, nudging his shoulder to get your attention.

“Oooh, a classic. Good choice.” You sit up and wiggle over to your pillow as he selects the title and starts it up. 

Setting aside the remote, Shouta reaches over onto the nightstand to turn off the light. The both of you settle in and get comfortable, snuggling close to each other with his arm curled over your shoulders and your cheek resting on his chest. It’s the perfect way to spend a Friday night with the promise of the weekend looming just on the horizon and, try as you might, you can’t shake the feeling of being genuinely happy. It was hard sometimes but so, so worth it at the end of the day.

You don’t make it very far into the movie before the close proximity with him overrides your wish to simply relax though. It’s near impossible to keep your mind out of the gutter when the clean, soapy smell of him is surrounding you like this, invading your nostrils and leaving a vaguely reminiscent taste of him on your tongue. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breast just under your cheek serves as a silent reminder of the densely packed muscle his lithe frame carries. With it comes the memory of how it feels to have those same muscles heaving against you, driving into your body and working you over right to the breaking point. 

The desire you harbor for Shouta had not waned at all in the last year. If anything it had only gotten stronger. Just lying next to him in bed was enough to make you want him and you squirm, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to stave off the growing heat there. But it’s no use. Your urges are simply too strong where he’s concerned and you can feel yourself starting to get wet, particularly when the steamy sex scene with the leading actress’s soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend starts up on screen. Shouta had taken you in similar fashion down in the apartment complex's laundry room late one night when you’d first started staying over for extended periods at a time and the thought alone is enough to make you ache. 

He shifts beside you the third time you start to squirm, a wave of pleasant tingles erupting across your skin when he tightens his hold around your shoulders and pins you against his side. He’s strong enough to crush you in his arms if he felt so inclined and it makes your breath come a little faster. A little harder. The notion of letting this scratch go unitched doesn’t even cross your mind as you grasp at the plain black t-shirt he’d put on for bed, tilting your pelvis forward to discreetly grind into his thigh. You had to have him.

“Don’t tell me this is getting you riled up, kitten.” Shouta murmurs, the reverberation from his deep voice making your head feel like it’s vibrating. “If you’d wanted something a bit more explicit, all you had to do was say so.”

“No … this is fine.” You quietly assure him. The somewhat breathless quality of your words makes a shudder race up your spine and you arch, stretching your legs out to wind them around his. If you could get any closer you’d be on top of him by now and you can’t quite convince yourself that it would be such a bad thing. 

Noising a muted sound of agreement, Shouta obligingly angles his body away from the TV and towards you. The rough pads of his calloused fingers give you a brief squeeze before tracing lazy circles into the meat of your upper arm. You tilt your head back to peer into his face, a mere hair's breadth from yours, and for a small eternity it's as if you’re simply passing the same oxygen back and forth. Every exhale feeds into the next inhale, his breath mingling with yours until you can’t be sure who's is whose anymore. Then, finally, he closes the distance. 

His lips are slightly dry against yours, they always are, but it’s nothing a quick swipe of his tongue won’t fix. The second kiss is more demanding than the last and you all but melt against him, opening your mouth to grant him the access he seeks. A needy moan tries to claw its way up your throat when he slips into the hot, wet cavern of your mouth for a taste only to pull out a regretfully short moment later. You try to follow him, eager to give yourself over, but Shouta’s attention drops to the spot between you two instead.

“What’s got you so worked up tonight?” He brings the arm that’s not wrapped around you forward, giving your breast an idle squeeze through the thin cotton of your shirt, and you keen.

“You. It’s always you.”

“Is that so?” He says with a mirthful snort. Adjusting his hand, Shouta brushes his thumb over the pebbling peak of your nipple in taunting slow motion until you whine. “Am I really that good or am I just lucky? What do you think, kitten?”

“Both.” You croak, jutting your chest towards him for better access. “I love what you do to me and that makes you lucky.” 

“Can’t argue that.”

A genuine smile graces his face, highlighted by the glow from the TV. You’ve completely forgotten about the movie by now, its low chatter mere background noise as you focus in on Shouta and how he makes you feel. His hooded gaze is still locked on your chest and you watch with bated breath when he delicately takes your nipple between his fingers, rolling the bud to stiff attention. The resulting friction makes your pussy clench and tingling warmth spreads throughout your body to set every nerve ending on fire. You draw a slow breath to try and ground yourself. It doesn’t work but, to be fair, you hadn’t really expected it to. 

Shouta looks up at the sound though and you exchange a long look with one another. Keeping his eyes on your face, he pulls at your top until it's bunched under your chin and your nipples immediately start to pucker in the open air. Moaning softly, you watch as he dips his head to catch one of the meaty nubs in his mouth and suckle. He starts off slow and gentle but gradually increases the suction he’s applying until you finally gasp and writhe against him. 

He comes up off your tit with a dull pop. The quiet breath he lets out fans across spit lathered skin, making your nipple pucker all over again and even stiffer than before. You seeth and blindly reach behind him to worm your hand into his dark plaid boxers. Pausing long enough to give his ass an encouraging squeeze, digging your nails in for good measure, you work your way towards the front of his body so you can grasp the half hard length between his legs. Wiry pubic hair tickles your knuckles as you subduedly pump at him, teasing him to full arousal while he idly flicks at your nipple with his index finger. Despite the thrumming arousal pumping through your system, it seems neither of you is in a hurry to rush this and you can’t say you have any complaints about that.

“Was it the sex scene in the laundry room?” He husks after a long moment. 

“It certainly didn’t help.”

“Hmm. Maybe we should revisit that later. You might have an unrealized kink for having your pussy ate on top of a washing machine, sweetheart.” 

You outright laugh at that. “ I think I just like having you go down on me period. The setting doesn’t really matter.”

Issuing a low, rumbling growl, Shouta drops his arm to worm his fingers between your pliant thighs and possessively cup your pussy in his hand. “Is that what you want? Want me to eat you out until you’re screaming and begging me to stop?” 

Your breath hitches with a little gasp. “God, yes …”

He takes a moment to grind the heel of his palm into the apex of your slit, applying just the right amount of pressure to leave you desperate for more. Then, too quick for you to react, he rolls over onto his back and drags you on top of him so that you’re half sprawled out across his chest. Your pulse jumps at suddenly finding yourself nose to nose and you brace your palms on his firm pecs, intending to give him some breathing room. Shouta is fast though, much faster than you, and he brings his hands up to catch your cheeks before you can retreat. He pulls you into another deep kiss, the stubble on his chin abrasively scratching your skin in the process. You shudder at the dominant gesture, feeling your cunt gush more sticky slick to coat your labia as you moan wantonly into his mouth. His ability to drive you wild was as profound as it was unfair. You’d have to make sure to pay him back for this later.

“Turn around.” He grunts upon pulling back just enough to speak. “And pants off.” 

A sharp swat to your ass has you practically vibrating with eager excitement as you carefully stand up on the bed and start shimmying your sleep shorts down your hips. Shouta watches you with nothing short of barefaced interest, his hands coming up to caress the soft skin of your legs where they’re bracketing his ribs. One foot at a time, you cautiously step out of your bottoms and toss them over the edge of the bed before turning to face the TV. You glance back over your shoulder with a sly grin, giving your behind a taunting little shake. 

“Like this?”

He snorts. “Come here before I decide to punish you, kitten. You already know exactly how unpleasant I can make this for you.” 

Your pussy tightens at the playful threat which ultimately only succeeds in exciting you all the more. You’d rather not endure another one of Shouta’s infamous edging sessions though and you lower yourself down onto your knees, fighting back the anxious flutter in the pit of your gut that always accompanies this particular position. No matter how many times you do it, shoving your ass in your boyfriend's face will probably never not be an awkward experience. 

It’s clear as day that Shouta doesn’t mind it one bit though and he loops his arms under your thighs so he can take your waist in hand and guide you into place. The fact he actually pulls you closer doesn’t come as a surprise and you wait with bated breath for him to deem your positioning satisfactory. You start slightly just a moment later at the tickle of his coarse hair on your inner thigh, unable to shake the feeling that he’s nose deep in your pussy like this. It’s a bit embarrassing but somehow thrilling at the same time. A real conundrum.

“There.” He says at last, stilling behind you, and you shudder at the sensation of his breath on your skin. “Remember what you asked for, kitten. I won’t stop until you’re screaming.”

“You would’ve done that anyway, whether I’d asked for it or not …”

He chuckles faintly in response. “That’s true.” 

You start to smile, that undeniable spark of genuine happiness making itself known again. But then you feel him lean close and your mouth warbles, dropping open with a silent groan instead as you brace for the first expert stroke of Shouta’s tongue. It doesn’t come right away though and he takes his time merely nuzzling into you, placing wayward kisses along your puffy slit and taking deep breaths of your scent. A slow moving tremor works its way up your spine, causing you to shake and clench your pussy in anticipation. The suspense alone was enough to make you start begging.

But Shouta knows exactly how to tease you to vibrating fever pitch and giving him any more ammunition to work with would just be inviting one of his drawn out games so you stay silent, biting down on your lip when you can feel the word ‘please’ bubbling to life inside your throat. He’s as aware of the underlying tension as you are and he grunts against your cunt. Dragging his palms up the backs of your thighs, he reaches up to squeeze the doughy soft flesh of your ass and spread your cheeks apart, baring you fully to the room. You whimper, unable to hold back such an instinctive sound when you’re totally exposed like this, and Shouta’s lips curl against your labia. 

Apparently pleased with that, he presses his lips to the center of your slit and kisses you. The ministrations of his mouth are hungry and demanding, the friction of his facial hair against your petal soft folds leaving a burning trail in its wake while he works you open. You sway slightly on your knees, eyes slipping shut as you bask the sensation. 

His tongue emerges a brief moment later and you give your hips an encouraging wiggle when it slips and slides through your wet cunt lips in search of your entrance. He takes his time just circling the rim, lapping up the accumulated slick and swallowing the taste of you before delving in deeper. Your muscles contract at the slimy intrusion, fluttering in delight, and you teeter forward to brace your hands on his sharp hip bones so that you can better present yourself to him. A rumbling groan rises up behind you, the vibrations traveling through your pussy, and you twitch in pleasure. 

“Mmm … that feels good, Shouta. Do you like how I taste that much?” 

You receive an incoherent grumble in response and it makes you smile. 

Cracking your eyes open, you glance down at the straining tent in his boxers. Knowing you could never leave him hanging like that, you lift your hand to tug at the cotton. Inch by excruciating inch, you push it lower until his hard cock pops up into the air with an enthusiastic bounce. He tenses underneath you, just enough for you to notice, and you tuck the elastic waistband under his balls before taking him in hand. A slow pump is all you reward him with at first but then, as if sensing your intentions, he withdraws his tongue from your body in favor of licking his way down to your clit. Your grip on him eagerly tightens and you rear back, grinding your pussy on his face. 

The resulting grunt of pleasure goes straight to your head and you do it again. Dragging your cunt across his mouth and no doubt smearing your arousal on his skin, you give Shouta’s cock another tug that makes the foreskin bunch at the tip. He issues a rumbled warning and pulls back just enough to speak.

“Watch yourself, kitten. We can still do this the hard way.”

With that ominous reminder, he dives back in. Shoving his face so deep into your cunt that it's a wonder he doesn’t suffocate, Shouta works the meat of your labia open again and his tongue darts out to lash at your clit. You go ramrod stiff on top of him, twitching and shaking like a leaf at the sharp starbursts of pleasure that shoot through your nerves. It’s enough to make you freeze up, so overwhelmed by the sensation that you almost overlook the very obvious challenge he’s presented you with. 

You’ve played this particular game with him more times than you could count though and, through sheer force of will alone, you start to pump him in earnest now. It takes a staggering amount of concerted effort to do it but if it's another round of who-can-successfully-distract-who he was looking for then that’s what he’d get. 

Lowering yourself so that you can lie down on top of him, you angle Shouta’s cock towards your mouth and seal your lips around the head. Your free hand travels further south, curling around and cupping his balls so that you can massage them. He was particularly sensitive in this area and, just as expected, the muscles in his legs jump at the first gentle squeeze. You feel real proud of yourself for all of five seconds before he retaliates by closing his mouth on your clit and sucking. Hard.

You come up off his dick with a half strangled squeal, futilely trying to squeeze your thighs together and shut him out. It’s a losing battle though and Shouta merely tightens his elbows around your hips so that he can hold you in place no matter how much you squirm. A shock of static electricity zaps up your spine and you arch so hard that something in your lower back pops. The damp presence of reflexive tears wetting your lash line manages to ground you somewhat and, with a haggard gulp of air, you take his stiff cock into your mouth again. 

Swallowing him as far as you can in this position, you start bobbing your head and laving the underside of him with your tongue while your hand pumps at the base where you can’t quite reach. He lets up on your clit long enough to groan appreciatively and flex his hips off the bed to meet you halfway. Bending his knobby knees towards the ceiling to accommodate the awkward angle, Shouta begins thrusting into your mouth enthusiastically enough to make his balls bounce and a tinge of victory lights up inside your chest.  

It’s regretfully short lived though and you stiffen when his fingers abruptly find your slit. He wastes no time pushing one inside, giving the searching digit a taunting wiggle for good measure, and you moan around his cock. The sudden pressure on your upper wall has you clenching around him as the tension in your gut doubles and then triples. You know it's only a matter of moments until you reach the breaking point if he keeps that up but, much to your surprise, he pulls out after a prolonged beat. 

Confusion curls at the back of your mind but he’s still fucking your mouth and you can’t think straight. The drool spilling out around his cock and running down your chin is particularly distracting. All you can seem to do is wordlessly noise your bewilderment and dig your nails into his flexing hip, hoping he understands what you’re trying to say.

You get your answer soon enough in the form of that same finger, sticky with arousal, finding the pucker of your asshole. Squawking wetly in surprise, you jerk against him but Shouta hold’s fast. With one hand pulling your cheek to the side, the other applies just the right amount of pressure at the center of your entrance to sink inside your body. You freeze, feeling the muscles clench and flutter around the intrusion, but this is not the first time you’ve had your ass penetrated and it offers only a cursory amount of resistance. Your eyes start to water again, rolling towards the back of your head, and Shouta stills underneath you with his dick rammed as deep into your mouth as he can reach. 

A small eternity seems to pass and then you feel the ring of muscle give way. Once the first joint makes it through, the rest follow suit easily enough and Shouta wiggles his finger into you straight down to the knuckle. You groan in perverse pleasure, rocking forward on your knees, but the only place you can go is further down on his cock. You’re thoroughly trapped between two equally unrelenting forces like this and you can’t quite shake the impression of being a spit roasted pig. Damn him. What a devious bastard.

“That seems to have gotten your attention.” He groans, very softly, and the sensation of his lips brushing against your cunt makes you jolt. Allowing himself a strained chuckle at your expense, Shouta nuzzles into you again and your body responds with a warning tremor that he doesn’t miss. “Maybe I should start using your ass more often. You seem to like it.”

You gurgle noisily in response, struggling to swallow around the girth shoved in your mouth. 

He seems to take that as an agreement and tilts his head, slowly dragging the flat of his tongue across your throbbing clit. You shake so hard that your eyes rattle about inside their sockets but there’s nothing you can do to turn the tables now. He’s got you completely at his mercy and he was just as aware of that as you were. 

With his finger plugging your ass, Shouta takes a leisurely pace to eating you out and it very nearly drives you insane. It quickly becomes apparent that he intends to drag this out for as long as possible, which he was adept at even under the best of circumstances but it was particularly torturous in this case. Your clenching muscles gave you away and any time he felt you starting to tighten around him, he’d merely shift his attention to kissing the outer portion of your pussy until the tension began to fade. You were toeing the line of release for such an extended period of time that it actually started to hurt and you whine around him, trying to pull yourself up off his cock. He wouldn’t permit that either though and merely tightened his arms around you or jutted his pelvis up higher as needed. It was maddening in the best possible way. 

It seemed as if hours had gone by in this fashion before he finally spoke up again. “Are you ready to cum, kitten?” 

“Rrmmhrm.” 

“Are you going to scream for me?” 

“Rrmh!” You jerkily nod your head, fingers fisting in the sheets. 

“You’ll have to try hard if you want me to hear it while you have my cock in your mouth.” 

Groaning, you weakly jut your pelvis back against his face, urging him to finish you already. Shouta quietly chuckles, sounding more like a moan than a genuine laugh. 

He tilts his head then, slotting his mouth over your clit, and you let out a muffled wail when his tongue drags across the swollen nub with real intent this time. Every inch of your body shakes in rapidly mounting tension, the sheer force of it almost too much to bear. He holds you tight as you quake on top of him though, your chest heaving frantically against his stomach, but he won’t let up this time. Now he wants you to cum and you’re entirely helpless to stop it even if you’d wanted to. It takes everything you have to keep breathing through your nose as starbursts erupt across your vision and, before you even realize it’s happening, you tip over the edge. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you wail around his cock. A fresh wave of drool dribbles out of your mouth as you struggle to keep your jaw open while you ride out the cresting waves of ecstasy, realizing in some far off, dreamy way that the ball gag training was really paying off now. It’s a hysterical thought to have when your mind and body were being overwhelmed with a flood of dopamine but you don’t even have the wherewithal to find it funny. You were soaring on cloud nine, somewhere far above the physical constraints of your body, and you’re only vaguely aware of your asshole sporadically squeezing his finger when you start to come back some moments later. It was the sort of transcendental orgasm you’d only ever experienced with Shouta. 

You were positive that no one else could ever hope to take you to such dizzying heights as this and you go limp on top of him with a frazzled sigh.

After a long beat, when he’s sure you’ve milked your release for all its worth, he slowly eases his hips back down to the bed. You gratefully spit his cock out, watching it bob and glisten wetly in the dim light from the TV while you try to steady your breathing. He gives you another moment or two before idly tapping his fingers against the meat of your ass. 

“That didn’t exactly sound like screaming to me, kitten.” He says quietly, the sly note in his voice not escaping your notice. “I think we might have to give that another go.”

[golddaggers]

girl crush

pairing: best friend!harry styles x reader;

warnings: none really just a smidge of angst but plenty of fluff. 

a/n: so here we are! i just ask of you to go kind on me because this is my first time, ok? and sort of self indulging. anyway. leave a comment/reblog if you do like it!

word count: about 2,8k. it’s a quick little thing.

It was a typical Tuesday, I’d woken up, drank my large-sized cup of coffee, and then spent almost five hours straight staring at my computer screens. Not that all of those hours had been any good, I searched and searched, but still hadn’t cracked just how I was supposed to solve the problem. Hell, about three times I was yelling at the machine, calling it ‘bloody stupid’ before trying another approach, still proven worthless. 

Lunch had been skipped, I barely took a bite of my grilled sandwich before diving back to the code lines, analysing. I’ve always been so good at cracking things, finishing hard puzzles… At least I needn’t worry about a deadline breathing down my neck, this particular feature would only be out to the end-users on the major release. 

Either way, the idea of not being able to come up with a solution bugged me. I could never leave things well enough alone if they were unsolved. It was only when one of my friends texted me about some old high school chick we both used to hate that was pregnant that I realised how late it was. My back hurt from spending too much time sitting down on my chair and I could feel my eyes tired, staring at a computer screen for so many hours wasn’t exactly too healthy. 

At least it put the tornado of thoughts I’ve been having for the past couple of weeks to ease. I didn’t want to think about how I had the worst timing ever. Or how I was a big coward for keeping this to myself. 

But… I couldn’t just tell him. Falling in love with your best friend seems easy in the movies, in reality, I was overwhelmed with anxiety. Harry and I grew up together, we were inseparable from the first time we shared toys in our old town’s playground. Never before I would’ve thought I’d be here, with butterflies rioting in my stomach when he flashed his green eyes at me. It’d be easy if I could just open up, only opening up meant I could lose our 20 and something years of friendship. That was just too much to lose.  

Now it seemed as if I had lost my chance. He’d gone out on a date with a girl. They’d been going out for a while. She was… breathtaking. Golden hair, brown eyes, freckles, and a body I wouldn’t ever have. Harry wasn’t the easiest to commit to someone, not that he was a womaniser or something within those lines… He just had problems. Like we all do, I suppose. He seemed genuinely interested in her, though, and it killed me inside to realise it. 

I looked toward a corner where a tiny pink ukulele rested and decided I could do with some singing. So I go over to pick it up, playing a couple of notes to see if it was tuned. It’d been a while since I last took it between my hands. Hadn’t enough time to do anything, if I was being honest. 

Sat back on my chair, I take my time to reminisce over a song I heard him humming a few days ago. Harry had been doing the dishes, something he hated, but I’d cooked for the two of us, so it was the least he could do. He laughed like a child all the way to the sink, even put on my pink apron. It wasn’t unusual for him to do them when he was in fact at home - which happened only a few handfuls of weeks at a time. 

Leaning against the counter top, I watched him. Then the humming began. One would think a singer would get enough on the stage, well, maybe they do, not him though. In the shower, sending texts, doing the dishes… Harry was always singing something. Low and more to himself. I couldn’t lie, even if I wanted to, that I love when he’s home, his entire being enough to warm up the place. 

That night I had been wearing one of his old tees, he leaves them everywhere. And it wasn’t unusual for me to “steal” some for myself, besides being comfy, especially the cotton sweaters, they all smelt like him. Felt homely to be inside them, as if he were sleeping next to me. 

“I’ve got a girl crush…” I start, unsure if I’ve got the tone right, “Hate to admit it, but I got a heart rush, it ain’t slowing down.”

My legs are crisscrossed as I rest further back onto the black cushion of my chair. Each note fueled the turmoil growing inside my chest. It was so true, every time I looked at her, the pictures on her Instagram were flawless… I wanted to have everything she had. Because if I did, maybe he would look at me differently, he’d see me in a different light. 

The very instrument on my hands had been a gift from him. I have always enjoyed playing the guitar, I came to write a few songs myself… But I’ve never seen it as something I’d want to do for a living. Didn’t like the spotlight very much, not that being friends with a worldwide known popstar helped. Paps seemed to be everywhere. It was just annoying how we couldn’t enjoy a single outing without being awakened with a buzzing phone. My other friends texting me the several headlines saying “Harry Styles has been seen yet again with childhood best friend, could they be dating?”

Got worse when we moved in together. The thing was… We didn’t really live together, yes, the house, more like a mansion if I was being honest, belonged to him and he stayed there whenever he was in London, which, if he was working too much, seldom happened. So no, we didn’t live together. Harry just thought it’d be nice for me to stay there since it was so empty all the time and I only said yes because I needed saving money to pay off the loan I had taken to cover my university tuition. It felt like a lifetime away. 

I stayed because I had grown spoiled. At first, I was annoyed he didn’t let me pay for the expenses whenever he was away, I was nowhere rich, but now I made more than enough to cover the bills, even for a house as big as this one, since most of it was inhabited. He insisted on me keeping it, doing fun things I wanted to do, and I shouldn’t worry about anything else. A couple of months later, I saw the appeal to his offer. I also knew my best friend well to know he was a stubborn son of a bitch.  

Everything changed when Harry told me about his golden girl. After so many years, we had grown aware of the other’s quirks, as I like to put it, we knew how to deal with one another. My point being was… Harry could be a bit sensitive when I told him about my dates, now it lights a spark of hope within me, back then, however, I brushed it off as him trying to act as a protective big brother. He, on the other hand, never had problems when talking about the people he dated to me. Often I wouldn’t care. This time… It happened right after the fatidic Tuesday. 

The pain stung like a sharp edge of a knife against my heart.  

“I wanna’ taste her lips, yeah, ‘cos they taste like you… I wanna’ drown myself in a bottle of her perfume...” The notes come out soft, I can hear a little metallic sound as my hands switch the notes and I keep singing the sad lyrics, “Yeah, ‘cos maybe then, you’d want me just as much...” 

“Thought I had a nightingale in this room,” His accent slipped through the sentence like butter on a warm toast, “‘lo, love.”

His presence startled me, I almost dropped the ukulele. It was way too early for him to be back home from his date. Part of me wanted to ask how it’d gone and in any other situation, I would’ve. Not tonight, though. Didn’t wanna know if she had kissed him good night. If he gave her his signature green-eyed glare when he wanted something… If he’d asked for another date. My heart wouldn’t be able to cope. 

“You scared me.” 

“I reckon you said I was fit like a daydream,” He stuffed his chest and I couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Are you actually quoting your ex-girlfriend?” Harry rolled his eyes, dismissing my comment completely, “Why are you home already?”

“D’ya want me to leave?”

“You are ridiculous,” I say as I stand up, the Fleetwood Mac tee I had on falling to my mid thighs. It was oversized because it didn’t belong to me,  which doesn’t go unnoticed by him, who has a cheeky grin directed at me. “Stop looking. You keep ditching them and I just happen to like these shirts.”

“I didn’t say anything, doll. But I was looking for that one, though I settled for that old pink striped sweater of yours.”

“So it’s with you?” My indignation seeps through, “I went nutty looking for that.”

“Looks better on me anyway.”

“Nonsense.”

The laughter shakes his whole body, yet again I am plowed with our childhood memories, that right there hadn’t changed. Harry still laughed like a little child, a boy with his blue truck toy. I felt warm inside, to watch him like that. To still have, after so long, a friend like he was to me.  

Harry goes quiet then, bright green staring right at me. I know what’s coming. It’s happened before - I sang about the boys I liked quite often, I suppose. So it was obvious he wanted to know who was stealing my attention this time. He wanted to know who I was singing about. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Wha’? I didn’t even open my mouth.” 

“I know you,” Back on my feet, I grab my plate with the remains of what was supposed to be my lunch and head out to the kitchen. He followed me around like a stray puppy. 

The kitchen is an enormous place. Wooden cupboards with just about every piece of china one could dream of, fine crystal glasses for wine and champagne, bowls, plates, even goblets could be found. Inside the several drawers, besides the silver cutlery, I had managed to fold some table sheets I bought at a flea market. Harry would lose his mind if he knew where they came from. On the left corner, a tall two-door grey fridge, with a shopping list on its door to remind me that I needed to go out tomorrow to get things. Next to the two basin sink, was an electric cooktop that had become my best friend, I loved to cook there, staring out the window - the yard was beautiful, green grass all year long, though during spring the most gorgeous flowers blossomed. I loved that place very much.

Right in the middle was an island, my lone cactus trying to make it a little less plain. Which wasn’t that hard, the dark marble surface glimmered under the led light.  

After I threw out the sandwich and put the plate on the sink, I started pacing around to gather things for dinner, fresh tomatoes to make the sauce with homegrown onions and garlic. I liked cultivating my food. I got flour, eggs, olive oil, and salt. It was all I needed to make the dough.  

I could still feel his eyes on me, as I moved effortlessly through his kitchen, collecting everything I needed. 

“What do you want?”

“You’re too stressed,” Harry says, standing up straight and standing next to me, “Is it about the boy you were singing about? Or girl. I dunno.”

“Seriously?” Can’t help but shake my head, “That’s your approach? ’M not telling you, H.”

“Oh, you’re keepin’ secrets from me. That’s new.”

He grabs the knife on my hand, starting to chop the onion into tiny cubes. Always skillful with his hands, he was.

“‘M not keeping secrets. It’s just none of your business.” 

“Ouch.” Harry pours the onion into the pan, stealing the tomatoes to start chopping them as well. I focused on the dough. “You’re so adamant about not telling me I’ll start thinking it’s me.” 

The entire world stills for me when he says that out loud, and I don’t know what to say, so I keep cracking the eggs, pouring them over the flour then adding, by eye, what I considered to be enough of olive oil. At last, I put two pinches of salt into the mix.  

My silence seems to annoy him further. 

“C’mon, it was a joke.” He tries, gently grabbing my arm and I see myself having to stop mixing, “I really want to know, though, have to make sure you’re with someone worthy of you.”

“Why?”

Couldn’t look him in the eye, I have them glued to the bowl with the sticky batter. The hand on my arm sneaks to my back, he’s warm and I tremble under his touch, my breath comes out a bit harsher. 

Harry takes a deep breath before answering, “I care about you, bunny.”

“Is that all it is?” Now I dare to look up, to find those emeralds. I liked quite a lot to look at them, they were akin to shiny jewelry and I was the dazzled child. Right now they showed nothing but a shade of confusion. 

“What else?”

A tightness in my chest grows, I know right away I am about to cry and I don’t want to. Don’t want to fall apart in front of him. In the middle of cooking. When things seemed to be going amazing for the two of us. Despite my most intimate wishes, I ended up doing just that, my dirty hands falling limp as he held me in his arms, asking over and over what had happened. 

His chin rests on the top of my head and I can hear his heartbeat, slow and steady. My bottom lip is quivering. I was so tired of being tough, I just wanted to be loved. To be loved by him. 

“I need to tell you something,” A sniff makes me sound whiny, “Promise me you won’t be mad.”

“Never,” Harry speaks so quietly I believe him. “Could never be mad at you, bunny.”

“Okay…” 

I bring his much bigger hands into my own. They warm up under his touch. If I’m being honest, I warm up completely. Body and soul. He gives a soft squeeze, urging me to speak. It’s needless to say that he’s anxious, always being the curious one between the two of us.

“The song… Well, um, I was singing for you.” It was as quiet as a whisper, “I like you.”

“Don’t be silly.” His face goes serious, “You’re not kidding me, are ya?”

“Do you think I would?”

There’s a lump at the bottom of my throat, tears still falling. I didn’t have a problem being vulnerable with him, or opening up - now I was embarrassed. I would apologise if I hadn’t felt his warm lips start kissing my salty-teared cheeks, only to finish up with a chaste kiss on my own. 

“What are you doing?” I pull back, shocked that he’d kissed me. “Do you...”

“I am so glad you’ve said first, fancying you for the longest time hasn’t been easy. But I suppose it gave me quite the inspiration.”

“You’ve written about me?”

“More times than I am proud to admit.”

This time it’s me who kisses him, standing on the tip of my toes, losing my fingers into the soft curls. It seemed very much unreal to me. He never struck me as the type to keep feelings in check or to himself. I should’ve seen something. Or maybe I did and didn’t want to face that the best person I could’ve fallen for was right in front of me. 

Then I think about her. The golden-haired beauty. She wouldn’t be too pleased.

“She’s just a friend, bunny.”

“Reading my thoughts now, Styles?”

“Nah, just know you too well.”

“Yeah, I guess you do.”

Harry lifts me, kissing me again. And I can’t help but feel whole. Like a bit of me that was missing had been set on its place. 

Bless the will to play a song. 

[smol-and-grumpy]

EUPHORIA - Chapter 6

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: He’s Dean Winchester, owner of a shady night club. She’s a journalist who has been asked to write an article to expose the indecency and debauchery that’s going on behind closed doors. But he’s also Dean Winchester, the boy who sat next to her in class. The boy who was too cocky for his own good.

Chapter Warning: Fluff, only a tad of angst if you squint

WC: 2500

A/N: Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

Beta’d by @deanwanddamons​ <3

This series is two weeks ahead on Patreon.

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Dean tried to sleep on the couch but it wasn’t as comfortable as the bed, that much was given. It’s just that he doesn’t want to overstep boundaries. And he most probably would do if he slipped in next to her, so he’d rather not.

He gets woken up by her whining though. She probably has fever dreams. He stays rigid, listens to her, kind of hoping that it’d go away but the whining only picks up, so he gets up and walks over, sits himself on the bed next to her and strokes at her head. She’s still so unbearably hot. 

Pouring water into the glass that he placed next to her bed, he wakes her up to drink from it.

She looks at him, her eyes see her surroundings but she doesn’t really register, “‘ve to pee,” She mumbles, “Can you help me up?”

Dean frowns a little. So she does know where she is, clearly sees that someone takes care of her, and she’s okay with it. It baffles him a little, but he’s glad that she let him. Let him take care of her without asking any further questions.

“Sure,” He says and helps her up.

It took them an awfully long time until she was standing, “Should I carry you?”

“I can walk,” 

“Okay,” He knows that she probably can’t make the long way to the bathroom, but he’s not going to be a wise-ass about it. However, he steadies her and helps her take one step after another. 

After the fourth step, she turns to him with pouting lips, “Can you carry me?”

He lets out a soft chuckle, “Yeah,” 

Picking her up, he carries her to the bathroom and lets her down right in front of the toilet, “Do you need me t—”

“—No.”

“Okay, I’ll be right outside,”

“‘K,” 

She takes her time and Dean’s sweating because he already paints the most absurd scenarios in his head. What if she falls asleep on the toilet and leans too close to the sink? He abandons the thoughts, because there were just too many ways on how she could hurt herself in there.

He breathes again when he hears the flush of the toilet and when he hears her washing her hands, he opens up the door again. 

She turns around, her eyes are still foggy, “I don’t wear panties.”

“Yeah,” Dean huffs out a breath, “They, uh, I bathed you, I have new ones if you want to wear them.”

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head.

Dean grins, “Nuh-uh?”

“Too much work.”

Well, yeah, that’s fair. It would be too much work for him either to get them on her. He’s trying to be good and she should not test his patience. 

She reaches her arms up, touches his neck. It’s cold from the water and Dean senses that she’s trying to tell him something but he’s distracted by her cuteness, until he realizes that she probably wants him to help her back to bed. 

“You want me to carry you back to bed, Y/N?”

Her face rubs against his chest and he can’t see but he guesses that she's back in her trance because she didn’t give him an answer. He picks her up, and carries her to the bed, and he’s right, she already has her eyes closed. 

Dean covers her with the sheet and pushes himself off the bed when she taps him on his thigh, “Stay?”

“Yeah,” He smiles, “Of course.” He walks around and gets in and again, she curls up next to him.

  *

For the next twenty-four hours, she was mostly in and out of consciousness. Dean occasionally woke her up to get soup and water into her. He carried her to the bathroom when she had to pee and he drew her another bath when he felt like she’s hot again. 

He had to leave her for an hour to go down and brief his employees. If they noticed how he was dressed (in his sweats and a simple shirt), they knew not to say a word. He returned to his loft after telling them that he’s here but he’s not really here. None of them asked any questions and he knows that the club is in good hands with Cas taking care of it. He somehow also sees it as an opportunity for Cas to prove himself. Maybe he’ll take more days off, test Cas to see if he would be a good fit when Dean would open up another club, and let Cas manage there. Who knows. 

It’s almost 5am when she wakes up again and she turns around to see him sitting in bed with his back against the headboard. He was going through the emails of his private investigators for people who signed up for the waiting list when he heard her speak.

“Dean?” 

He looks over to her, sees her blinking before she sits up. He tries not to laugh, because her hair’s all messy, like really messy, and greasy from all the sweating that she’s done. 

“Yeah?” He grins simply.

“Why am I here?”

Well, Dean can’t lie. It hurts a little that she doesn’t remember their interaction. He closes the laptop, sets it aside, “You wanna hear the short version or the long version?”

Y/N rubs at her eyes and yawns, “Something in between?”

Dean raises an eyebrow before he chuckles, “Well, we were supposed to meet, you still remember that?”

He thinks it’s cute how he can literally see the penny drop. 

“Oh, shit!”

“Yeah,” He huffs out a breath, “I didn’t know what happened and I brushed it off as you maybe having changed your mind, but then your boss called—”

“—Rufus? Oh, no!”

“The very one. Just, how many bosses do you have?” He pulls his eyebrows up his forehead. She doesn’t answer so he takes it that he can go on, “Mr. Turner said that he tried to reach you and even sent someone over to check but you didn’t answer the door. “

Her gaze is trained on her lap, and she tries to tuck strands of greasy hair behind her ear. She’s really so cute it almost hurts for him to watch her.

“I remember feeling hot and then I thought if I went to bed I’d feel better by the morning,” She mumbles and he has the feeling that she’s trying to explain, which she really didn’t have to. She stares at her hand for way too long before she speaks again, “How did you find me?”

Dean shrugs with an easy grin on his face, “I climbed the fire escape.”

“You didn’t,”

“I sure did,” He laughs and she has to smile at that. 

He’s glad to see her smile. She has to do way more of that. 

“What time is it?” She asks with her next breath.

“Almost 5am.”

She frowns at him, “Why are you up?”

“You trashed around in your sleep and I had to come and hold you, so that you didn’t hurt yourself.” He says, which is true. She whined and grunted and he was seriously afraid that she’ll fall out of bed.

Y/N lifts up the blanket to get up and Dean almost can’t get out of bed fast enough to help her. 

She looks at him standing next to her before she looks down at herself, her hands rubbing at her ass, probably noticing again that she’s not wearing any panties, “We didn’t, did we?”

“What? You were barely conscious. I would never,” 

Her face is unfazed as she looks up at him, her eyebrows rising, as if she urges him to tell her the truth, as if she doesn’t really believe him. That kind of hurt. 

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes, “Fine. I did put you in a bath to get your temperature down and then I put another shirt on you because your clothes were full of sweat. Wait,” He walks over to his couch and she sits back on the bed, waits for him to return with the big bags of clothes. She’s sitting down again, probably still too weak to stand for a longer period of time, “Claire went out and bought you stuff. I hope it’s not all crop tops and mini skirts. I didn’t check, so I wouldn’t know.”

“Can I take a shower? I feel filthy.” She asks him and they are sitting so close, her naked thighs touch his sweats. 

“Of course,” He says, smirks and adds, “Let me check your temperature first.” Dean reaches his hand up to place his palm on her forehead, then he switches to the back of his hand. After that, he cradles her face in between his hands, and she frowns when she watches him place a kiss on her forehead. He lingers there longer than necessary. 

She has to chuckle, “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking your temperature.” He whispers against her skin. 

“That’s not how you do it, Dean!” She’s laughing and he thinks it sounds great. He would love to hear it more often.

He presses his lips into a thin line but he can’t hide the smirk, “Are you saying that every time I checked Sammy’s temperature, I did it all wrong?” 

She’s full on laughing when he fake gasps and Dean can’t help but thinks that it’s easy with her. She gets his humor. If he knew that back then, he wouldn’t have wanted to wait so long to meet her again. 

Dean showed her the way to the bathroom, carrying the bags with him so she can get dressed afterwards. 

  She made a brave face in front of him but she was screaming on the inside. 

Like, seriously?

Oh my god.

He found her and he took her home to take care of her. 

Who knew that Dean Winchester would do that? Well, she knew that he took great care of Sammy. It’s always Sammy did this , Sammy did that , when he sat next to her in class. She could feel that Sammy was — or still is — very important to him. She just never thought that he would care for her when she was sick with a stupid bug. 

She peels herself from Dean’s shirt and steps into the shower. He had shown her how it works because it’s way too fancy for her liking. He also gave her a fresh towel and showed her which one of the toothbrushes was hers. It’s weird staring at the brushes in their holder. Weird to share a holder with anyone, that wasn’t her roommate or family member, no? She’s probably overthinking things.

The shower is really great. It’s big and it has the right water pressure. She doesn’t know why, but her mind goes straight to the gutter when she thinks of things one could do in this shower. She shakes the thought out of her head and continues to soap herself up, continues to wash the grease from her hair and somehow, she wishes that she had a razor with her because the hairs are starting to grow back in all the places where they are not welcome.

After the shower, she gets dressed and almost screams out of frustration at the clothes Claire apparently bought for her. She wonders if it’s a stupid joke but she has no other option, so she walks out of the shower with a towel still wrapped around her wet hair. 

Dean’s changing his bedding, when he notices her and turns around to face her but immediately, he throws his whole body back, his mouth open wide in a big hearty laugh. 

“What?”

“Fries Before Guys?” Dean says when he finally composes himself. 

“Hey, that’s the best shirt, alright? Or at least it probably was a shirt until they cut off the lower half. The others have sayings like ‘Yes, Daddy?’ , ‘No pants are the best pants’ and many more. I won’t name them all. At least the jeans fit.” 

They really fit. Just, a little less holes would have maybe been better. Her whole legs had holes in them.

Dean’s still chuckling, “Nah, fries before guys. I like that. Do you prefer fries before guys?” He looks at her with a playful smile and one raised eyebrow.

“I would never,” She says and walks up to him with a grin on her face. Dean watches her. His smile disappears. She places one hand on his shoulder and stands on her tiptoes, places a kiss on his cheek and grins when she parts, “Share my fries.” 

He clears his throat before he speaks, and she can see the blush in his cheeks, “Here’s your phone,” He hands it to her, “Mr. Turner would like you to call him when you’re feeling better again.”

“Thanks,” She says and Dean’s already shaking his head, mouth opening probably to tell her that she shouldn’t worry about it. But she does, alright? It doesn’t happen everyday that an old classmate takes care of her when she’s sick. She cuts him off, “No, seriously, Dean. Thank you. You didn’t have to, but you did.”

Dean nods, “It’s really no big deal. I like being around you,”

It’s her turn to blush. 

*

He makes her breakfast and watches her eat while he smiles like an idiot.

“What?” She asks him with one brow raised.

“Nothing,” He shakes his head, and takes a bite himself, “It’s just… it’s good to see you’re eating again.”

She tugs at her shirt while eating. She’s not made for crop tops, doesn’t really feel confident enough and Dean must have noticed because he starts to chuckle, “Do you want one of my shirts?”

“Yes, please,” She groans out and Dean abandons his food to go get her a shirt. 

Later he drives her home, although she thinks that he might have wanted her to stay longer but she really feels like she should go back, and rest, now that she’s walking and talking coherently again. 

However, Dean stops at a store and they go in to buy foodstuff for her fridge. She cringes that he has looked in there, because last she checked it was empty. 

He helps her carry it up to her apartment but turns around to leave right after. 

“Dean?” She says before he disappears out the door.

“Yeah?”

She walks towards him, leans herself against the door frame, “Can you show me more when I’m feeling better?”

The frown on his face makes way for a smile, and it grows wide and bright. The crinkles carved deep on the side of his eyes, “Yeah, I’d love to.” Dean leans down, kisses her cheek, “But you get better first, alright?”

“I will.”

He leaves another kiss on her forehead and shrugs when he parts, “Just checking the temperature.” 

She laughs. Dean has already made his way down. He waves at her one last time before he rounds the corner of the stairwell.

Chapter 7

[tiesandtea]

An in-depth & really interesting review of Head Music’s various - often forgotten but actually brilliant - b-sides. Originally posted on The Vapour Trail London blog on 20 November 2019.

The folklore of early Suede and the B-sides compilation ‘Sci Fi Lullabies’ would lead the casual observer to believe that the band had peaked creatively to the point that post-1997 B-sides would not be worth investigating, however I believe differently and now, thanks to the reissues of ‘Head Music’, these can now be easily accessed for wider reappraisal.

Full article under the cut.

Coincidentally coinciding with the recent release of Brett Anderson’s second memoir ‘Afternoons with the Blinds Drawn’, Suede have issued the 20 year deluxe edition of their fourth album, ‘Head Music’. Their final number one album to date was issued in May of 1999 to much fanfare, following in the footsteps of their classic ‘Coming up’ in 1996, a record that spawned no less than five top ten singles and saw them achieve astronomical fame across Europe and Asia (indeed, Anderson remains a genuine celebrity in parts of Scandinavia as a direct result). Whilst ‘Head Music’ was a hit, its making has gone down in the annals of history as being even more fraught and littered with personal scandal than even that of their second album, ‘Dog Man Star’, the record that infamously served as original guitarist Bernard Butler’s swan song. The chief reason was Anderson’s spiralling addictions to heroin and crack, which in the eyes of the singer served to influence what he and many others deem the patchiness of the record. Indeed, when Suede first reissued their heyday albums back in 2011, Brett would include within the sleeve notes his own rewritten track listings in each, citing Suede’s fervent devotion to ensuring that their B-sides were up to the same quality as their singles and album tracks, thus costing the associated albums some potential improvements. Songs from the album that often raise debate amongst its makers and listeners include ‘Asbestos’, ‘Elephant Man’, and the almost universally-derided title track, a scrappy, crappy exercise in suggestiveness that even producer Steve Osborne initially refused to have anything to do with.

Perhaps due to all of this, the resultant B-sides of the album’s singles have been lost in time somewhat. Whereas the B-sides associated with the first three albums reached legendary status in such a short space of time that the band issued a compilation double album of nearly all of them in 1997, ‘Sci Fi Lullabies’, their 1999 counterparts are rarely spoken of within the same reverent breath. I would argue that this is vastly remiss to the point of sacrilege as, taken in one listenable chunk, they serve to create what on its own would be an incredible record.

But before we investigate further, it’s worth exploring the genesis of Suede’s musical direction at this point. As Brett and the band have noted many times over the years, Suede sought to follow each album with a record almost diametrically opposed to its predecessor stylistically. The kitchen sink gutter glam of their groundbreaking debut was consciously followed by an ambitious, widescreen and darker ‘Dog Man Star’, the pretension and bluster of which was then followed by a strict album of ‘ten singles’ in ‘Coming Up’. Each time, at least one B-side would serve as a blueprint for what would follow; 1993’s ‘High Rising’ and ‘The Big Time’ served very much of signposts for what would follow in 1994, and then again in 1995, Richard Oakes’ sexy glam pop of ‘Together’ would point the band towards ‘Coming Up’ in 1996. Here, they would seek to expand upon the sonic direction of Mat Osman-penned ‘Europe is Our Playground’, a song they so loved they reworked its arrangement live and subsequently re-recorded for the aforementioned B-Sides compilation of 1997. Caked in icy synths and led by a dub-inspired bass line, it signified something cold and electronic, the desolate melancholy of ‘Dog Man Star’ reimagined by Kraftwerk or Berlin-era Bowie. The band promised this new direction in interviews and the public’s appetite was whetted.

Early in 1998, as part of a Pet Shop Boys-curated tribute to Noel Coward’, the band released one of their prime hidden gems, a suitably synthetic and clinical version of the great writer’s ‘Poor Little Rich Girl’. Unfortunately this was shown to the masses on television via a mimed performance that saw an utterly wasted Anderson grinning inanely with zoned out eyes whilst trying not to fall off a chair. This performance distracted from the impressive song (also featuring the highly talented Raissa, who had supported Suede on their Coming Up tour, on vocals) and seemingly left no impression on anybody.

And so to fast forward to the album. The making of the record has been documented extensively not only in Anderson’s second autobiography but also in David Barnett’s authorised biography ‘Love and Poison’ and Mike Christie’s recent documentary set ‘The Insatiable Ones’. If you’re not familiar with the story, it is a jaw dropping tale of decadence, debauchery and depression, the likes of which have seemingly and thankfully been removed from the culture of music making today. Indeed, there’s not a lot of money around now for bands to blow on endless recording sessions fuelled by endless drug abuse. But what emerged was a flawed but often brilliant record that has stood the test of time well and honestly sounds as fresh as the day it was released. The album’s track list can and will continue to be debated but ultimately, had they shaved off two of the more superfluous numbers (I would argue that the title track serves no purpose as does the turgid closing track ‘Crack in the Union Jack’), it would likely be held in the same high regard as the vast portion of their other records. But we won’t dwell on that here.

First single ‘Electricity’ was accompanied by no fewer than five b-sides, all of which carry some merit. ‘Popstar’, a concise lyrical study of the relationship between fan and band, contains the kind of crystalline synths and dubby bass that the band had sought to highlight with their two musical blueprints prior to the album. Richard Oakes’ guitar parts are sparser than ever before but serve the song well, and the chorus is cold and epic in a way that takes the song from good to great. ‘Killer’, complete with a lyric that seems to expand upon the ficitonlised femme fatale of ‘Coming Up’s ‘She’, is more impressive still; a dark, brooding slice of electro-noir that slinks and stalks in the manner suggested by the song’s lyric. It builds and builds to a desperate crescendo and brings to mind the best of Depeche Mode at their ‘Violator’ zenith. ‘See That Girl’, complete with yearning Anderson vocals lamenting ‘this dog shit world’, is less impressive but still good. A real undersung high point of the time is the Neil Codling-written and sang ‘Waterloo’, an electronic folk classic that sees some beautifully melodic guitar lines almost acting as choruses, and a tenderness rarely reached by the band. The fifth and final b-side (it was on the minidisc – yes, minidisc – version of the single), is ‘Implement Yeah!’, an old co-write with Justine Frischmann where Brett parodies Mark E Smith to amusing effect over a gutter-punk thrash that the band premiered with Justine at the 1997 Reading Festival.

‘She’s in Fashion’ followed in 1999 and quickly became one of the band’s better known songs via endless radio play that perhaps contributed to it being their first single since ‘New Generation’ in 1995 not to reach the top ten. Looking back, I imagine the fact that you could walk into any shop at any time during that Summer and be exposed to it as one reason why fewer people bought it than they might otherwise. The B-sides rank among the band’s very best. ‘Bored’ continues where ‘Implement Yeah’ left off with a Stooges-like guitar thrash adorned by sweet synths and a classically anthem Suede chorus. During an interview at the end of 1999, Mat Osman threatened a harder, rockier direction for the next album which never did come to fruition and it’s possible that this would have been one of its blueprints. ‘Pieces Of My Mind’ is better still, and a rehearsal recording of it sounding very different can be found on the new reissue. Taking its cue from ‘Europe is Our Playground’, it is a dreamlike wander through almost psychedelic electronica and its lilting chorus imprints itself on your mind immediately. ‘Jubilee’, a Codling creation, is one of the best of the era and would probably have made for a better first single than ‘Electricity’, a romantic epic that chugs along like ‘Trash’ and bears a dramatic and addictive chorus that would surely have been incredible live. Perhaps the lyric was somewhat off-putting to the band, a blank retread of other songs including the ‘run with me’ hook of the ubiquitous ‘Europe’. If so, this is a shame as if we are to be honest (and Brett has said so numerous times himself), the entire era was marred by some seriously autopilot lyricism that was charming in places in its framing of the Suede lyrical lexicon of language, and just plain boring in others. The single is rounded off by the gorgeous ‘God’s Gift’, a simplistic piano piece aided and abetted by swirling synths and understated bass that had been written by Brett about Justine many years before. As with a few of Suede’s records (most notably the first album), the spectre and influence of Ms Frischmann lurks around the songs of this era but in perhaps a much more positive way; the two had rekindled their friendship prior to the making of the album and it was Justine’s love of new wave that inspired some of the music.

‘Everything Will Flow’, the great lost ballad of the era in the same way as ‘The Wild Ones’ had been five years prior, saw an interesting bag of B-sides attached that differed in style in a far more pronounced way than the two earlier singles. ‘Leaving’, which Brett sees as the ultimate casualty of this period, is prime Suede in its romantic portrait of a girl departing relationship for a new life, although the underlying sentiment is entirely opposite of that of ‘Another No One’ in 1996. Although still featuring synthesised textures, its abundance of gentle guitar and piano is much more organic and not only serves as an appropriate backing to the not dissimilar ‘Flow’ but also as a subtle nod to where the band would go next. ‘Weight of the World’ is entirely a Neil Codling construction as with the earlier ‘Digging a Hole’ on the ‘Lazy’ single of 1997, however here he is eschews piano in favour of nylon strung guitar. Ruminating on the idea of his own demise, the song finds Neil in introspective form and perhaps shows a window into how he must have been feeling at the time, his health suffering significantly during the making of the record resulting in a chronic bout of ME of which he would never fully recover. It is sad and beautiful and at the time I wondered whether he would one day make a solo record. To date, he never has. ‘Seascape’ is up next, an ambient instrumental piece at odds with the majority of Suede’s output (indeed I believe this is Suede’s sole instrumental within their canon). Pleasing and dreamy in a subtly Eno-esque way, it lures you into a false sense of security for what would follow. The final song of the ensemble is the shocking and brilliant ‘Crackhead’. Noted by Q at the time for its outlandish appeal, it remains one of the most captivating songs in Suede’s history. Built around a staccato electronic motif, it lurches and grinds in a manner the band never achieved before or since, as a hoarse Anderson vocal tears apart his own addiction to the ice with suitable ice. At the time, Brett was in recovery, however this sounds like an isolated howl from the depths of dependence. It roars and builds to a final shrieking chorus of ‘you can’t give it up’ which says all that really needed to be said.

The final single of the era, ‘Can’t Get Enough’, another candidate for what should have previewed the album in place of ‘Electricity’, limped to number 24 in the charts but boasted perhaps the greatest array of B-sides of all the singles. In archetypal Suede fashion, ‘Let Go’ cut an honest precursor to the musical way forward, which would culminate in the predominantly folky ‘A New Morning’. Three-layered harmonies and melodic acoustic strum back one of Richard Oakes’ finest guitar performances, chiming and chugging riffery that would be revisited on later single ‘Obsessions’. Brett’s lyrics convey an all-pervaying positivity minus the bland triteness of the single of the same name, capping off an irrestible euphoria that would be deemed suitable for release as an A-side in their commercial home from home that was Sweden. It’s a shame that they were unable to replicate the feeling of the song across the subsequent ‘A New Morning’ album, however upon reflection the fault may lie in the fact that said album would be over-produced to the point of clean-cut nothingness by the otherwise accomplished Stephen Street. Next song ‘Since You Went Away’ is folkier still and retains much of the same charm, with Brett lamenting the feeling of loss felt in the aftermath of a realtionship break-up. Again, this is truly lovely stuff and acts as a further blueprint for album number five that would never quite be capitalised on. Heading over to CD2, ‘Situations’ is powered by a synthesised Eastern motif and ponders the ‘lonely minds’ and ‘vacant stares’ typical of Anderson’s lyrics of the time. While slightly over long, it would have worked on ‘Head Music’ had it been the more darker record the band initially promised, and even to these ears sounds somewhat influential on final Suede single (at the time), 2003’s ‘Attitude’. The very final B-side of this era is the brilliant and biting ‘Read My Mind’. As with ‘Crackhead’, it reveals a starker, harsher sound complimented by the blank words defining a phase of depression, most likely revealing the way the writer was feeling at the time. The chorus harmonies add to the relentlessness of the piece and once it’s over, you’re honestly left wanting more.

So these B-sides make up the lost record of 1999 whilst also pointing towards Suede’s final record of their first run. The rockier record that Osman hinted at was surely influenced by the likes of ‘Bored’, ‘Crackhead’ and ‘Read My Mind’, whilst the likes of ‘Let Go’, ‘Leaving’ and ‘Since You Went Away’ were very definitely influences on what eventually did surface. The folklore of early Suede and the B-sides compilation ‘Sci Fi Lullabies’ would lead the casual observer to believe that the band had peaked creatively to the point that post-1997 B-sides would not be worth investigating, however I believe differently and now, thanks to the reissues of ‘Head Music’, these can now be easily accessed for wider reappraisal.

[pastelwitchling]

Alex’s eyes fluttered. He lied in Forrest’s bed, his warm gray blanket pooled at their hips, keeping the morning chill at bay. Forrest’s fingers ran softly up and down Alex’s spine, pressing kisses against his bare shoulder. Alex had one of Forrest’s oversized sweaters on, and his boyfriend seemed to want to take advantage of the naked skin it revealed.

“You awake?” Forrest whispered as he nuzzled the nape of Alex’s neck.

Alex hummed, tugging Forrest’s arm around his waist tighter and pressing his back against Forrest’s chest.

He felt Forrest’s breath fan his skin as he chuckled. “You sure?”

“Yeah, m’awake.”

Forrest sighed contentedly against him, pulling him in tighter so that there was no space between them at all. “You smell good.”

A sleepy smile tugged at Alex’s lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Forrest breathed. “So good.”

Alex bit his lower lip to keep his smile from widening. “Easy, baby.”

Forrest suddenly tightened his grip on Alex’s waist, and the airman burst into laughter against the pillow. “You know what that nickname does to me,” he purred against the shell of Alex’s ear.

Alex pressed his ass against Forrest’s hips and felt him inhale sharply. “Is your mind always in the gutter?”

“It is around you.”

“Well, I’m thirsty,” Alex said and looked over his shoulder to find Forrest’s eyes had darkened. “Not like that!” he laughed again and began to sit up. “I want water. I’ll be right back.”

“Lie back down,” Forrest said, pulling on his waist as he sat up. “I’ll get it for you.”

“No, I can do it myself.”

“Alex –”

But Alex took Forrest’s face in his hands, planting a kiss against his lips, effectively shutting him up.

“Stay,” he commanded, and swung his leg off the bed, grabbing his crutches.

He made his way through the small house, the rustle of Forrest’s bedsheets turned silent as he limped into the tiny kitchen. Forrest’s place on the Long farm was miniscule, but Alex had quickly grown to love it. It was cozy, fit perfectly for two, and had a trace of Forrest in every corner, every hung up leather jacket, every piece of gothic jewelry, every one of Buffy’s barks and her food and water bowls.

It was all Forrest’s, and Alex felt it in his bones every time he walked its halls. He felt safe, protected, comforted here.

That was why, as he filled a tall glass with water, the voice that came behind him was little more than an unwelcomed surprise.

“My, my,” Wyatt whistled. “Don’t you look comfortable.”

Alex sighed, pressed the bottom of his palm into his eye. The glass filled and Alex wordlessly had his drink as he heard Wyatt stepping further into the kitchen.

“What a treat,” he said. “A real-life war hero in my house.”

“It’s Forrest’s house,” Alex said with a huff, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “And you’re trespassing.”

“Funny, coming from you,” he said coldly. He crossed his arms as he cornered Alex against the sink. Alex wondered if he was supposed to feel threatened. “Where’s the town drunk? Don’t you two usually work together?”

“Town drunk,” Alex’s eyes narrowed. He scoffed. “Is that supposed to be Michael?”

“Michael,” Wyatt said with no small amount of disgust. “He in there, too?” he said, gesturing his chin to the hall that led to Forrest’s room. “Is that how you people do things?”

“You people?” Alex raised a brow. “Seriously? Are you still that upset that we didn’t let you shoot us the last time we were both here?”

Wyatt closed in on him, and Alex thought he would be sick with the strong scent of meat coming off the man. What’d he have for breakfast, grilled pork?

“I know those horses got out because of you.”

“We weren’t anywhere near the latch, Wyatt,” Alex said with a shrug. “You need to let that go.”

“No, you did something,” he said. “And you better be sure I’m gonna find out what it was.”

Alex turned away. “Okay, you’re standing way too close.”

“You may have made your way into my cousin’s bed, but that freak won’t.”

“Wyatt, I’m not kidding, back up.”

“Why?” Wyatt smirked. “I thought you liked this? Thought you liked it when men touched you –”

He reached out to touched Alex’s shoulder, where Forrest had kissed only seconds ago, but before he could, Alex took his arm, twisted it, and shoved him up against the wall, keeping him from moving a muscle.

“You listen to me,” Alex said, his voice dangerously low, “you demented son of a bitch. I am not some helpless one-night stand that you can take advantage of. I am an Air Force captain. When I say move, you move. You try to touch me again, you so much as breathe in my direction, and I will break your arm off. Oh.” He leaned in, growling, “And if you even think about threatening Michael Guerin again, I will kill you. Understand me?”

Wyatt was paralyzed. His expression was filled with fury and something akin to fear. He tried to open his mouth, whether to curse at Alex or plead for mercy, but all that came out was a stuttered whimper.

“Everything okay here?”

Alex looked up, releasing Wyatt at a leisurely pace as Forrest looked between them, brows furrowed. Despite the fact that Alex was the one pinning a terrified Wyatt, Forrest’s eyes raked Alex with concern, as if worried his cousin had hurt him.

“Everything’s fine,” Alex said, patting down his shirt casually. “Isn’t it, Wyatt?”

Wyatt looked like he wanted to kill Alex with his own hands, his jaw clenched so tightly Alex was sure it would draw blood. But instead of responding, he turned and roughly shouldered his way past Forrest out the kitchen.

They heard the door behind them slam shut, and Forrest took Alex’s face in his hands, looking him over more closely. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “He shouldn’t have been in here. Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex said on an exhale, holding Forrest’s wrists and calming his heartbeat at the steadiness of the historian’s pulse.

Forrest kissed his fingers and pulled him in. Alex felt himself finally at ease as Forrest’s arm came around his waist, his other hand on Alex’s jaw, holding him still to kiss.

It was meant to be a quick peck, but Alex put a hand in Forrest’s hair and kept him in place. He tilted his head to deepen the kiss, devouring Forrest’s mouth.

When they pulled away to breathe, Forrest’s brows were furrowed. “If he . . . if Wyatt tried anything –”

“Wyatt Long doesn’t scare me,” Alex said and bit Forrest’s lower lip, pulling him in for another kiss. “Besides. No one can touch me while you’re here, right?”

Forrest’s expression softened and he cupped Alex’s cheeks. His touch was warm and he smelled like books. “No one,” he promised. “I’ll keep you safe, Alex.”

“It’s a tough job,” Alex warned, and his smile widened when Forrest’s arm tugged on his waist possessively.

“No one will do it better than me,” Forrest smirked. “I’m your protector, whether you like it or not.”

“My protector,” Alex muttered. If you even think about threatening Michael Guerin again, I will kill you.

“Hey,” Forrest’s voice was soft as his hand fell down to the side of Alex neck. “Where’d you go?”

“Nowhere,” Alex said and hugged Forrest closely, burying his face in the crook of his neck. “I’m with you. I’m always with you.”

***

I don’t know what this is.

[zrtranscripts]

Home Front, Mission 19: The Madman’s Crown

Clobber that Cleaning

~

[radio cycles past a snippet of music and some static before landing on the Abel frequency]

SAM YAO: [dramatic narrator voice] Welcome back, travellers, to the thrilling tale of adventure and cleaning that is The Lair of the Abhorroghast. [own voice] Now I don't know about you, but my old shack is looking better already. I can actually see the floor again! Um, now actually, if any of you runners happen to find a Carpet World next time you're out there, I could really use a rug or something.

Anyway, uh, where were we? Ah, yes. Yes. When I left you, you and your companions, halfling rogue Kit and elven wizard Ameline had just mopped up the contents of the Pit of Woe. Ameline conjured a tidal wave that swept the three of you through the tunnels beneath the pit and further into the dungeon.

And as the guy who cooked up this whole adventure, I can predict you'll need some oven cleaning elixirs, scrubbing brushes, and bin bags for the next chapter. Oh, also, make sure your floors and surfaces are clear of clutter. So don your rubber gloves of cleanliness, gird what your mother gave you, and let's return to our quest to cleanse the Lair of the Abhorroghast. But first, here's a song that always puts me in the Pit of Woe.

~

[SAM alternates between a dramatic game master voice for narration, different voices for characters, and his own voice for asides and cleaning instruction

SAM YAO: When the flood waters ebb away, you find yourself bedraggled but alive on the floor of a long narrow cave, but instead of the darkness you have come to expect, the ceiling glitters and the walls gleam. Every surface of the cave is studded with shimmering white crystals that here and there seem to grow in crude faces and other all-too-human shapes.

“Don't move,” hisses Kit. “Don't speak too loud. There's something fishy about this place.” Ameline scoffs. “We've lost enough time to your antics already. Come, adventurer, this way!” But Ameline is cut off by a sudden crunching noise. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch one of the crystal faces grin and then the walls begin to close in! “The water's running that way,” whispers Kit, pointing to the cave's far end. “There must be a door, a switch, a secret passage. Search quick, friend, and search careful, or this crystal cave'll crush us yet.”

Yeah, so what I thought was we'd start with cleaning windows. Spooky crystals, glass, basically the same thing. If you have window cleaner, that works great, but if you don't have Janine's slightly scary doomsday stockpile of cleaning products, you can use vinegar and scrunched up newspaper! Apparently it works great, if you don't mind your house smelling like a fish and chip shop.

Anyway, Ameline is frozen with fear, but Kit creeps along the edge of the room, following the flow of the knee-deep water and running his hands over the walls. As the walls close in, you have little choice but to follow his lead. Hmm. So uh, yeah, get polishing.

~

[SAM alternates between a dramatic game master voice for narration, different voices for characters, and his own voice for asides and cleaning instruction

SAM YAO: As the crystal cave folds in on itself, you have to stoop to avoid being crushed. And then, beneath the flowing water, you spot what looks like a crystal lever growing out of the floor. It takes some effort to pull. When you do, the cave shakes, the walls stop moving, and suddenly the crystal wall ahead parts like a pair of curtains and the water gushes through. You, Kit, and Ameline stumble after it into the searing heat and brilliant light.

Emerging from the crystal cave, you find yourself at the edge of a great chasm in the earth. On the opposite side is an open gate of red stone carved into the rock like a wound. Magma spills from either side of the gate in rivers, sending up tufts of steam where the lava and running water meet.

Before you can take in the sight, the sound of leathery wings echoes above. A host of winged demons claw their way out of the very rock and swoop towards you. Yeah. Yeah, it's the chore that all mortals dread, cleaning the oven. Ministry guidelines suggest not letting grime and greasy black bits build up even in the apocalypse. So prepare to face the fiends of the Infernus Cavern!

Of course, if you don't have an oven, fiends are notoriously fond of gutters, that bit underneath heavy furniture where dry peas and misplaced figurines turn up, the back of the fridge, that... Well, you know. Basically this is the time to do that one horrible household task you hate.

Back in the Lair of the Abhorroghast, Kit snarls as he ducks the demons' razor claws. "These fiends, doomed to serve as jailers of the Abhorroghast for all eternity,” Ameline explains. “Defeat them, pass the red gate, and the treasure is as good as ours.” [scrubbing sound] You want that treasure, don't you? So keep scrubbing.

~

[SAM alternates between a dramatic game master voice for narration, different voices for characters, and his own voice for asides and cleaning instruction

SAM YAO: Oh, that wasn't so bad, was it? And the oven looks amazing! Now then, where were we? [paper rustles] Ah. Ah yes. Right. Fiends. All around you lie the bodies of vanquished demons, their leathery wings strewn on the bloodred stone. Together, you, Kit, and Ameline pass through the door in the rock and enter the pitch black passages beyond.

As soon as you cross the threshold, you feel a deathly chill. Yeah, this is a very hot and cold dungeon, isn't it? You are not alone. Something is slithering through the tunnels behind you, something big, seeking you out. Holding your torches aloft, you see a vast tentacle advancing along the ceiling above and reaching down towards you.

Yes, it's time to clean out the shower drain! I always thought that little hole resembled something from an elder dimension, but you know, the grossness is the challenge. All you really need are rubber gloves and a bin bag. And once the Abhorroghast's tentacles are driven back to the dark dimension from whence they oozed, cleanse the pit around with scouring potions or whatever bathroom cleaner you've got to hand.

Tentacles pulse above and around you as you advance through the corridors of jet black stone. As Ameline drives back a thrashing tentacle with the light from the end of her staff, she cries, “Adventurer, with me! Our only chance is to find its heart!”

As Kit distracts the tendrils, ducking and weaving to avoid the blows of the Abhorroghast’s alien limbs. Ameline leads the way deeper into the labyrinth, her glowing staff your only guide. And remember to keep cleaning the drain with those scouring potions as you go. Scrubbety scrub.

~

[SAM alternates between a dramatic game master voice for narration, different voices for characters, and his own voice for asides and cleaning instruction

SAM YAO: Your blade sweeps through a thrashing tentacle, one two, one two. It recoils back through the twisting corridors of the labyrinth. Ameline leads you and Kit through to a chamber of black stone in the center around a pool as dark as ink. As her staff casts a wan light around the chamber, you see something glittering in the gloom. “Arr, treasure!” Kit cries, unable to conceal his delight. Ameline holds him back. “We've no time to be greedy,” she says. “Find the crown quickly, before the monster returns.”

All right, you're not very likely to find treasure in the bathroom. Unless, well, unless you're really into the digestive system. But that sink still needs cleaning, so let's get it glittering again. [piled coins clink] You search the piles of gold until your hands close around a golden circlet studded all around with black opals. The Madman's Crown.

The discovery does not go unnoticed. Ameline smiles, reaches out her hand, and says, “I knew you were special from the moment we first met above. Come, I'll take the crown.” “Arr, and who'd be fool enough to trust ye with it?” Kit snaps. “This isn't something you can melt down for beer money, halfling,” Ameline retorts. “It grants the power of the mad wizards who built this place to the head that wears it.”

As they argue, you begin to wonder, is the chamber shaking? Is that rumbling growing louder? Something is slithering from the depths of the pool, a mass of long questing tendrils. Ameline strides towards you, holding out her hand imperiously as she demands, “Enough of this charade! Give me the crown now!”

Behind her, Kit cries out, “Adventurer, to me! Don't let her have it!” The chamber shakes violently. Ameline’s staff glows with power. Before the spell pins you to the wall, you hurl the crown away and Kit the halfling catches it. “Much obliged,” he grins.

“Arr, but really, ye shouldn't trust either of us.” He gives a little bow as Ameline joins him. “I can't believe that worked,” she gloats. “I'm afraid Kit and I have been, as they say, in cahoots. Now there's an eldritch horror on the way and Kit and I have a reward to collect for this old relic, so ta ta!”

With the Madman's Crown in their possession, the treacherous pair flee, leaving you to face the Abhorroghast alone. Its vast, slimy bulk rises from the pool, a thousand bloodshot eyes fix upon you.

Right, yeah, that's those rubber gloves on. This is it, the last household task, and the nastiest. Can you clean your loo, or will the eldritch horror that lurks within it snack on your sanity? See you on the other side, adventurer.

~

SAM YAO: [dramatic narrator voice] Mortally wounded, the Abhorroghast shrinks back into the water, its tentacles recede as it drags its glistening bulk back to the hellish dimension from whence it came. The chamber is silent. All that's left is the treasure of the Abhorroghast's lair and the long trek back to the surface world. You shudder as you remember that somewhere out there, the traitors Kit and Ameline are making off with an artifact of terrible power.

But as you dig through the piled gold and silver of the lair, something catches your attention. Ameline’s spell book. In her haste to get away, the elf must have dropped it among the coins and precious stones. It lies open on a pile of necklaces. Sketched within, surrounded by mystic runes and diagrams, is a circle of wizardly figures. As fire falls upon the world, they are bowing down to one in their midst, one who wears the Madman's Crown. Whatever plans those two have for the artifact, they don't look good.

[own voice] But that's an adventure for another day. You've slain the monster made of hair that lurked in the shower drain, dusted for traps on your sideboard, vanquished the slaughterworms of filth and whatever else was making your home less, well, homely. Now it may not seem important compared to hordes of zombies or world-ending catastrophes, but just like playing Demons and Darkness, having a good tidy once in a while can help you feel like you have some control over the world around you. I reckon that's something a lot of us could do with right now.

Like... like pulling an eldritch monster from the shower drain, if we protect ourselves, pitch in, put up with some discomfort for the greater good, we can get through this. And when it's all over, we'll have somewhere worth living in, which is how every adventure ends, isn't it? You go home having made things just a little better than before, a little bit at a time.

~

[malethirsty]

The Master & The Prinxe - Seth Rollins & Finn Balor

Summary: Seth Rollins has been the lightning rod of anger from the WWE Universe and it’s starting to affect him. After Kevin Owens insults him by bringing up The Shield, Seth is at his breaking point. However the arrival of a friend from another brand throws everything up in the air.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Violence

Authors Note: This was a fic I had posted on my personal account @thesimonkshow​, reposted here because this is where my M/M fics go. 

Seth Rollins was in a bad mood. He had just confronted Kevin Owens about his defection to NXT at War Games & he retaliated by bringing up Seth betraying The Shield, which had happened once, incomparable to the opposing RAW team members consistent level of betrayal, which seemed to happen every other day.

He didn’t notice the pacing of feet as someone sat down besides him “Well hey there Seth. Someone got you hot and bothered?” Seth turned to see Finn Bálor, his friend & also a member of the NXT team this evening. “And why would I tell you?, you’d only use it to further your team.” “Now why would I do something like that? I may be on their team, but you & I run deeper than this match.” Finn responded. Seth sighed, it seemed he would be safe. “Fucking Kevin Owens, I brought up War Games, cause I was worried about our team that I have pit my grieviances aside for, and that bitch brings up me betraying The Shield, when he’s on Betrayal number who fucking knows?” Finn chuckled “That little cunt wouldn’t know loyalty even if it decked him in the face.” Seth let out a gutteral laugh, somehow things felt better when he was with Finn. They had grown close when they first feuded, the connection deepening when they would face The Miz for the Intercontinental Championship, Seth even considered making him a Shield member, maybe something even more, but anytime he thought about it, his mind returned to Dean & he pushed the thought away.

“It seems like your putting your reputation on the line for people who couldn’t give a shit about you. They just throw you away like you’re nothing. I remember when I faced The Fiend, everyone wanted me to lose, I was so alone, so unhappy. And when I lost I heard the audience cheer & I felt so full of rage, like darkness just filled me. I waited for my moment to strike, and when it came, I ripped Johnny Gargano from limb to limb, I became The Prinxe.” Seth listened to Finn entranced by the Irishman’s words, he felt the same way, he’d tried to stand for the lockerroom, for Vince, for WWE, but found himself hated and despised. Legends had tried to stand up for Seth like Bret Hart, but their appreciation did the exact opposite of what was intended. Hell In A Cell was both a release of that tension but also rock bottom, the hatred became like acid, attacks on him became more frequent. After emerging from that damn hole after being attacked by The Fiend at the draft, he had felt humiliated, but that quickly turned to rage, he had felt that same anger Finn felt.

“Yeah, I know what you mean, after everything that has happened, when I beat Bray up & set fire to his house, I felt so good, like at WrestleMania where I won the Universal Championship. I felt like Seth Rollins again.” “When Hunter pulled me from the roster & got me back to his brand NXT, I felt like I had just won the Intercontinental title again. So on top of the world, even though I should have known I was all along, I just needed that push.” Seth paid attention to every word Finn said, it felt as if his friend knew his struggle & was giving his hand to help, the only person he cared about was giving him a way out. “Listen, I have to get back to my team, but I heard you weren’t gonna be wearing your RAW shirt, so if you choose, I got you something more your style. See you out there.” He pushed a package into Seth’s hand, grinned and set off. Seth opened the package, making sure no one was looking & grinned, he knew what he had to do.

The match was fury and fire as expected, Drew scored a big opening by knocking Dominik Dijakovic out in a few moments and to Seth’s delight, Kevin was quickly chucked by Tomasso Ciampa. After a lengthy match, he, Roman & Finn were the only surviviors. He knew Roman would form an alliance with him & sure enough “We take Finn, then you & me” he heard Roman whisper in his ear “Always man” Seth said back, Roman advanced forwards. Seth knew, now was the time.

He raced up behind Roman, low blowing him, putting Roman into a Pedigree & let Finn take him out. The crowd, already hostile enough on it’s own right, began booing at an alarming rate. Seth caught Finn’s eye & Finn knew what Seth wanted to do, he slipped out of the ring, marched to the announcer & tore the mic out of their hands. Returning to the ring he passed Seth the mic, the crowds now preceding to chant ‘CM Punk’ as loud as they possibly could. “SHUT UP!” Seth screamed with so much malice and venom exuding from his booming voice, that everyone actually listened and fell silent, even the commentary team. “For years I have been the one paving the way for WWE, creating The Shield, becoming the beacon for all of the heels when I joined The Authority, setting a precedent for Money In The Bank when I cashed in the Main Event of WrestleMania, a precedent yet to be topped! I became a Grand Slam Champion & even came to your aid when Brock Lesnar had this division by it’s balls and wouldn’t let go, TWICE!” Seth sucked in an angry breath & continued “And how did you repay me? You went beyond the booing expected by the WWE Universe. You spat on my reputation, you cursed my name when I disagreed with AEW, when I tried to stand up for everyone in the back, you hoped for The Fiend’s success, though he’ll soon run through the entire division, treat us like he was treated by Vince, until the entire division is buried. You wished for my death just for your own pettiness to be sated. You ran from me, just like your precious Roman Reigns ran.” He kicked Roman’s unconscious body emphasising his point. “He ran, all the way to SmackDown & besides our match at the Draft never once bothered to check up on me. Use me to achieve his selfishness of wanted his ‘Band of Brothers’ back together, and what did he do? Threw me away like I was disposable. Dean left because Vince used him, got the crowd to hate him through his turn that night, through those orders of saying he wanted Roman dead. Dean saw through it, much earlier than this time last year, he was right to leave.”

Seth looked at Finn, every word he said about the universe turning on him, he meant, not just for himself but for Finn as well “There was one man who truly cared, and that” he gestured over to Finn, watching on with his trademark smile, not filled with love, but with pure evilness, joyful at how Seth was brutalising everyone “was Finn Bálor. He was the only one who knew exactly what I was going through, cause he was there in my spot just months ago. He even knew I wasn’t myself, so he got me something that showed he knew me, what I’m all about, what I should have been about from Day One.” Seth ripped off his Red Chicago cover & the entire arena gasped. Below it, Seth wore Finn’s package, a half shirt, one side with Seth Freakin’ Rollins, another a side decorated in gold and black, the NXT logo emblazoned on the front.

“The Prinxe saw me when I was feeling the strain & gave me a way out. So Monday’s will no longer be Monday Night Rollins, cause I am no longer here to please you or anyone else. I’m in it for myself like Finn, doing things because I want to. I’m The Master of NXT, and if anyone gets in my way I will BURN. THEM. DOWN.” Seth let out his familar heel cackle & threw the mic away, hitting Corey Graves in the face with it. As the crowds boos sounded, he no longer cared, he was liberated, himself again. He grabbed Finn’s hand, the two survivors, the two that would always survive & strode to the back of the arena, they turned & in unison, raised Finn’s trademark guns, and shot right at the centre, where Roman still laid broken.

NXT would go on to win the evening, and a party at the bar was where everyone went, even the Undisputed Era, still sore but exctatic that their brand won the night. Triple H was the only one whom noticed Seth & Finn were not there, he rang them both, letting them know where their victory party was. Unbeknownst to Triple H, Seth & Finn were partaking in their own victory party. In Finn’s apartment, the two had thrown off each others clothes, both men on the bed, Seth’s head thrown back in ecstasy as Finn’s mouth worked his cock. “Fuck Finn, I’ve wanted you for such a long time.” Seth moaned, Finn proceeded to suck Seth’s balls, Seth letting out a sharp groan “Fuck, I should have told you earlier, I put it to the side, scared of hurting Dean, no more, I do what I want from now on.” Finn moved up to Seth’s face, kissing him. “And what does The Master want?” He asked, flirtingly, Seth gripping onto Finn’s back, nails digging in “You, Finn Bálor.” He threw Finn onto the bed, sinking into his tight ass. Both men moaned as Seth began to fuck his Prinxe “Fuck, you feel so good around me Bálor. So good for your master.” Finn gave Seth a seering kiss “We work with each other, now and forever, the NXT division will tremble before both of us, together on our rightful thrones, the way we knew it was from day one, the way it should have been.” Motivated by Finn’s powerful words, the two began to thrust faster and faster, the clock on the wall, the pouring of the rain, the buzzing of their phones, all lost to their pleasure. “Seth, Master, I’m about to cum.” Finn moaned out loud as Seth grabbed his dick and began to jerk it, desperate to get Finn off, to get his Prinxe to orgasm. “Seth yes, keep going. SETH FUCK!” Finn screamed at the top of his lungs as he came, landing atop of Seth’s chest. He leant down and licked it off, causing Finn to moan. “God Finn, your ass is so tight, I’m going to cum!” Seth made to pull out but Finn shook his head, he wanted Seth’s load. Seth moved his hand onto Finn’s torso, gracing every single one of Finn’s amazing abs. “God, I love you Finn Bálor.” Seth’s face, eyes and whole body lit up with adoration as he thrusted with more strength than he’d ever had, leaning down to kiss Finn as he came, shot after shot filling Finn’s ass. Pulling out slowly, Seth collapsed next to Finn. Pulling him in for a kiss. “Wow babe.” Seth grinned at Finn “You’re welcome babe.” The Prinxe letting out a cold laugh, one that many would never thought they would hear out of the good hearted Finn Bálor, but one that was soothing to Seth as The Master laughed coldly as well “We’ve got each other now though, as we truly are: The Master & The Prinxe.” Finn moved up to Seth’s face, Seth leaning down, catching his soulmate’s lips in an Earth shattering kiss.

[samsexualdeancurious]

I’ve Got You

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,465

Warnings: Emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of sexual content, Alpha!Sam, Omega!Reader

Summary: Sam is stressed from hunting and his mate takes care of him

Betaed by @mrsimoshen​

Written for @saxxxology​ for her July 2020 Angel tier request.

--

You’re just pulling the lasagna out of the oven when you hear the heavy bunker door slam much louder than usual, announcing the arrival of a very upset Alpha. You frown, setting the heavy dish on the stovetop and heading down the hall toward the library. You find Sam standing by one of the tables, hands braced against the back of one of the chairs. His shoulders are hunched and shaking but he’s not making any noise.

“Hey,” you say softly, wary of his temper. Sam is a very level headed Alpha, so seeing him upset is always a little unsettling. “What’s wrong?”

Sam turns to face you and you realize he’s not angry. He’s… crying?

“Sam?”

You take a few steps toward him, opening your arms. He crosses the distance between you in a few steps and falls into your arms, curling in to hide his face in your shoulder.

“Hey,” you repeat, curling your arms around his waist. “Sam? Did something happen?”

He gives a small shake of his head. “Too many things are happening. It’s just one big case after another and I just… I can’t…” he trails off, arms tightening around you.

“Shhh.” You rub his back gently. “I’ve got you.”

Sam tries to pull away but you keep your hold on him. “No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t-”

“Shouldn’t what?” you interrupt, bringing one hand around to cup his cheek. He leans a little into your touch. “Need this?”

“‘M the Alpha,” he whispers.

“Yes, you are.” You rub your thumb along his cheekbone, wiping away tears. “And I’m the Omega and this is a partnership. That means it goes both ways. Let me take care of you, Alpha.”

Sam hesitates a moment before crumpling against you with a small, heart wrenching sound. You let him, running soothing hands up and down his back and murmuring soft words until his breathing evens and the little shudders in his shoulders stop.

"Better?"

He’s tense but he gives you a small nod, still buried in your shoulder. You turn your head to kiss his cheek.

“C’mon, Alpha,” you say, stepping back and taking his hand. “Dinner’s ready.”

You made lasagna simply because you wanted some but now you’re extra glad you made such a classic comfort food. You have Sam sit and clean his face while you dish up servings for both of you, bowls of simple salad on the side. He hums happily while he eats, good food working its magic on your Alpha. The conversation is quiet, not going much further than the last hunt and how Dean and Cas decided to take on a salt and burn but Sam just wanted to come home. You hook your socked feet around his ankles, rubbing softly as he speaks.

After dinner, you cover the leftover lasagna and put it in the fridge. All the other dishes - besides the ones you and Sam just used - were cleaned up while the lasagna was cooking so you set the few dirty dishes in the sink for later and then lead Sam down the hall to your bedroom. His huge hand is tight around yours.

“Gotta take these off.” You tug at his shirt collar and open the door to your ensuite, which was the whole reason you chose this bedroom.

“I dunno if I’m in the mood for anything,” Sam says even as he drapes his jacket over the back of the desk chair and begins unbuttoning his flannel shirt.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” you laugh, popping the plug into the drain and turning on the faucet in the tub.

You hold your hand under the water until you’re happy with the temperature and then add some Epsom salt. When you turn around, you find Sam’s down to his boxers and standing a little awkwardly in the center of the bathroom.

You lift an eyebrow at him and move to rest your hands on his slender waist, just above the waistband of his boxers. “Gonna take a bath with these on?”

Sam flushes, ducking his head down and to the side. Your heart twists and you reach up to cradle his cheek in one hand.

“I'm just teasing,” you say softly. “C’mon, Alpha. Let’s take these off and get you in the tub.”

Sam watches as you push his boxers down, lifting his feet when you indicate to do so. You can’t help a quick, admiring glance of your mate’s body. He’s lost some of his bulk over the years but now he’s all long, lean muscle under beautiful tan skin. Your mouth waters a little as you follow that perfect dusting of dark hair from his chest, down his abs, to where his cock lies soft against his thigh.

“Everything okay?” Sam asks. Apparently your quick glance wasn’t as quick as you thought.

“Just admiring my husband,” you tell him, taking his hand and drawing him into a gentle kiss. “And wondering how I ended up with such a tall, beautiful, strong Alpha.”

His cheeks pink again but he smiles and leans against you a moment.

You tug him over to the tub and he gets in. Apparently the Men of Letters like their baths because all of the tubs available in the bunker are long enough for Sam to sit in comfortably. He settles into the warm water with a sigh, leaning back and slinging his arms along the sides of the tub.

You step back and begin shedding your own clothes, tossing each item into the hamper along with the clothes Sam just left on the floor until you're down to your panties.

“Y/N?” Sam asks as you kneel beside the tub, settling in on the plush rug.

“Don't want to have to deal with wet clothes,” you explain, grabbing his shampoo. “Let me take care of you.”

Sam obeys, staying silent while you wash his hair and then apply conditioner. While that sets, you grab his loofah and body wash. You take your time with his body, gently moving Sam around so you can get every inch of him clean. By the time you rinse the conditioner out, massaging his scalp some more as you do so, Sam is making soft happy noises and arching into your touch.

“Up you go,” you murmur once his hair is clean, grabbing a towel with one hand and guiding him out of the tub with the other.

He allows you to dry him, smiling when you stretch up on your toes to rumple his hair. A few swipes of your fingers sort that mess right out. Once he’s dry, you take him into the bedroom and lay him on his front on the bed.

With the room lit only by his bedside lamp, it takes you a minute to find the bottle of massage oil Sam bought for your anniversary last month but eventually you find it at the bottom of his nightstand drawer, hidden behind a box of condoms. You emerge from the drawer with a triumphant grin, waving the bottle. Sam chuckles.

“You’re really gonna pamper me tonight, aren’t you?” He shifts on the bed, getting comfortable.

You lean down to give him a kiss. “Of course. You’re always pampering me. Tonight, it’s my turn.”

You climb up onto the bed and straddle his hips. You warm the oil - lavender and orange in a coconut base, so it won’t make his skin super greasy - between your hands before sliding your hands along his spine and over his shoulder blades.

Sam sighs and settles deeper into the mattress as you begin working the tension from his muscles. He always carries most of his stress in his shoulders and back, so you focus your attention there first before moving up his neck and then down his arms and legs. By the time you're done with his backside, Sam is a puddle of happy, sleepy Alpha.

"Wanna roll over so I can do your front?" You press a kiss to the base of his neck.

He shakes his head. "Just wanna cuddle you."

Warmth floods your chest at those words. "Let's get your under the covers."

Sam manages to rally his limbs long enough to get you both under the blankets. Once he's settled, head tucked into your shoulder and breath warm on your collarbone, you reach over to flip the lamp off.

"Gonna thank you properly in the morning," he murmurs into your skin.

"Don't worry about that." You brush your fingers through his still-damp hair. "Just sleep. I've got you, Alpha."

He does just that, sleeping deeper and longer than he has in months. At least, that's what he tells you in the morning, after he's emerged from his place between your thighs, satisfied that he's "thanked you properly".

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness​​ @tumbler-tidbits​​ @imsuperawkward​​​​ @emoryhemsworth

[moth-and-raven]

CHAPTER THREE

Pounding on the door before it slams into the wall with enough force to rattle the window panes. A cool hand in mine, pulling me into the dark, resting on my shoulder just a little too long as frantic directions are whispered into my ear. Adrenaline urging me on: I’ve done nothing wrong but I have to get out of here. Skidding to a halt, panting for breath, getting my bearings as the streets turn familiar, wondering how much of myself I left behind as the silver moon against my chest grows cold...

At the very least, the hike back to the palace gives me time to think. And I have so much to think about.

I must’ve led the guards right to him. Either that or someone in the bar tipped them off, which is even worse. He’s being so careless, letting so many people see him. He swore the neighborhood didn’t think much of the palace, so he was perfectly safe, but tonight proved him wrong.

I hope he escaped. Despite his recklessness, I don’t think he really wants to be captured. And I certainly don’t want him to be. I’d already decided that I wasn’t going to tell Nadia I’d seen him, and now, after talking to him, and talking to him, and talking to him… Are my loyalties so fluid, that one night can change them?

My stomach twists as I remember his smile, his laugh, the cheeky lift of his brow when he made jokes that only landed if your mind was in the same gutter as his. Mine was, every time.

I’m not used to that.

He was friendly from the start, polite and seemingly interested in what I had to say. He led me to a quiet table in the back of the bar, away from the clusters of patrons playing cards and telling outlandish stories. One of them hailed him as we passed, with an invitation to join in, but he waved them off. He asked again if I wanted anything as I sat down: I don’t drink, and I told him so. He smiled and brought me some water instead, along with a beverage for himself that smelled strongly of salt and tonic water. I was able to get a few sips in before I fell so deeply into our conversation that I forgot it was there.

It’s not that I can’t talk to people. I wouldn’t be a very good shopkeeper otherwise, even if transactions are cordial with a regular script most of the time. Of course I can’t be sure how I appear to others, but I think I come across fairly pleasantly. On the surface, at least. And that’s okay with me. It’s when I want anything else, anything more meaningful, that problems start to arise.

It doesn’t happen often, that desire to go further. Just wanting to be friends is rare, and beyond that are dangerous waters I am ill-suited to explore. Dating, even flirting, are mysterious and foreign. I don’t understand them or people who do them like love is expected and commonplace. Like the fascination I feel when I visit the menagerie in the Heart District, it’s as though I’m observing another species through a wrought-iron fence. Even romance novels seem like instructions for a situation that will never happen.

Only once before have I met someone I considered a possibility, and that was years ago now. He was a musician who played for crowds in the marketplace and would duck into the shop sometimes. I felt awkward at first, not knowing if I should talk to him or just let him linger, but eventually he struck up a conversation, and I responded. It took months of jokes and friendly banter, but I worked up the courage to ask if he wanted to go to dinner sometime. And he laughed. And he said there was someone else, and that I should’ve known that. 

And he was right.

I haven’t seen him since. He made his point clear: no one could ever be interested in me. They have no reason to be. I know I shouldn’t have been so affected, but it really just confirmed what I was afraid of all along: I am, at best, an acquired taste. I'm not feminine and I don't try to be, even though people read me as female. No one would describe me as beautiful. My face is too round, my body too fat, my hair too short, my eyes too small, my hands too big… I'm too much. I'm quick to judge, quicker to hide, emotional and hard to live with. And clearly, I tend to assume the worst of people. 

I know all of this. It's just easier to make jokes and cry about it later, where no one can see me. It's better to beat people to the punch and take off the pressure of pretending to care. It makes more sense to prepare for the worst and get it than hope for something else and be disappointed. That's why it doesn't surprise me when Asra leaves: why would he stay? I'm nothing but a burden to him. I can't imagine being anything else. 

At this point, it only hurts when I expect things to be different. 

It must be near dawn now. Julian and I talked for hours. Of course he asked how I’d found him, if the necklace had anything to do with it. I said as much as I could without getting too technical, but that led to him asking about magic in general, and my magic in particular, and how I’d learned it and what I did with it and what, if anything, I’d done before I could wield it effectively. From there we talked about other jobs, what he had done and where. He apprenticed with a famous Prakran doctor, he said, and honed his skills on battlefields across the continent. I was pleased that I knew most of the battles he mentioned, and I think I impressed him by being able to ask which side he assisted.

And he asked about me. I learned a long time ago that people don’t like knowing I can’t remember most of my life, so I built a lie that feels like truth: I was born in a small village in the mountains south of Vesuvia, which I decided because I’m pale, though not as pale as he is, and the shape of my body makes more sense if I needed insulation from the cold. I came to the city right on the tail of the Plague, and bought the shop cheap since so many people had died. But it didn’t become a shop until about two years ago, after Asra brought a bunch of magical herbs and crystals back from one of his trips and we decided to sell them. He wanted to know how I’d crossed paths with Asra; I said only that he was one of the first people I met here.

I never asked about the murder.

The tavern emptied around us. Julian told me it was called the Rowdy Raven, for an old bird that had once lived in the rafters and alerted customers whenever a guard was about to enter. I asked why they would need to be alerted, and he leaned across the table and stage-whispered that some people around here had reputations for bad behavior. I couldn’t help but laugh with him. 

If only that raven had still been around. If only someone with a bad reputation hadn’t tried to save their own skin by sacrificing his.

The sun follows me up the steps of the palace. I hope I can catch Portia and ask her to let me sleep today, but I don’t see her when I walk in and I’m too tired to search properly. The plushness of the bed doesn’t bother me now: I fall asleep almost as soon as I lay down.

As I drift off, it crosses my mind that Julian was flirting with me.

Or trying to, at least. God knows I didn’t give him anything to work with.

------

I dream of him.

The beak of his plague doctor’s mask becomes a crescent moon hanging low in the sky. He’s reaching for me, reaching for me, reaching across waves into a plume of smoke and ash for me and I can’t reach him back no matter how far I stretch. And then he’s holding my face in his hands, pressing his lips to mine, kissing me like I’ve never even imagined being kissed before, and then we’re locked in a passionate embrace and he’s sinking his teeth into my shoulder to muffle a grunt as he cums and even in my sleep, I blush scarlet to think that I could be responsible for that. And then the scratches I leave on his back bleed streams of red, and unbearable loneliness, pain rooted so deeply it would take a miracle to loosen, soaks into my bones until I choke on it. I wake up gasping for breath in a beam of midday sunlight.

Someone knocks on my door. I didn’t even take my clothes off when I got back, so I stumble to my feet to answer it. Portia smiles brightly at me and nods down the corridor.

“Up and at ‘em, Reyja!”

I peer blearily at her in response, with thoughts of Julian still clinging to me.

“Ooh, late night? You’ll have to tell me all about it on our way into town.”

“What? Why?”

She takes my arm and leads me towards the entrance hall. “Countess Nadia wants to catch the noon rush at the market with the Masquerade announcement, and she thought you should be there.”

I already know about the fucking Masquerade, I think irritably, but I keep my mouth shut.

“Plus you could check on your shop while we’re there.”

That’s true. I didn’t pack enough to remain at the palace for as long as I’m expected to, so I could take the opportunity to grab some things. I’ll need them: I will see this through to the end. For Julian’s sake.

I’m in too deep. I think I’ve been in too deep from the moment I didn’t arrest him, or maybe from the moment I let him walk away from my shop unimpeded. It will never work. Even if I had a chance with him, which I don’t, he’s on the run for murder. Anything we started would be doomed to end, either in tragedy or with his stealthy departure from the city to which I’m still tethered. And in any case, I would never want to distract him with all of my weird hang-ups. He doesn’t deserve that. No one does.

On the carriage ride to the market square, I do my best to shed the despair lurking in the corners of my mind. I can't tell if I succeed or not. As Portia rushes off to assist Nadia in her preparations, I slip around the corner to the back entrance of the shop.

And I freeze. Someone has been here.

The logical part of me says that it was probably Muriel, Asra’s closest friend. He swings by to check on things every so often when Asra’s away. He doesn’t like it when I notice him, but I know he’s there and he knows I’m there and we agree to ignore each other. Usually, he leaves quickly, sometimes putting myrrh on the windowsills or tracing runemarks on the doors and charging them with protective magic.

But the energy spilling from the shop now doesn’t feel like his, and he never goes inside when he visits.

Yet I still recognize it.

No.

Please tell me he didn’t…

I open the door to Julian’s heavy black coat and leather uniform, his half-covered gaze shifting from disappointment to panic to guilt as he staggers back from me. Thank god we’re not out front. The South End at night was one thing, but to come here? At the busiest time of day? He’ll get himself caught if he isn’t careful and I cannot let that happen. The palace is thirsty for blood and it cannot be his. Regardless of what he thinks of me, I have to protect him. At least until I know if he’s innocent or not. Even after that... I shove him inside and quickly shut the door.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss, desperately hoping that no one saw him. If he didn’t wear such an obvious “I’m a fugitive” outfit… 

“W-well, I was, ah. I happened to be in the neighborhood and—”

“In the neighborhood? Why?!”

He still doesn’t give me a proper answer, stumbling over several sentences before settling on one: “I know you must be suspicious, catching me breaking in again. I swear on my… Hmm, what would you like me to swear on? Well, anyway, I swear I didn’t take anything.”

“I’m not worried about that!”

“Aren’t you? That could open you up to all sorts of trouble.”

“Oh, I’m going to be in trouble? Nadia is outside in the market square right now! You would’ve walked right into her and half of her guards.”

"Did she suspect anything with you coming back so late?"

"What? No? I didn't tell anyone where I was going, or why."

"Good, good. No other trouble? No one followed you or, or harassed you, or—?"

This is not the most pressing issue right now. "Yeah, I'm fine."

He lets out a long breath and some of the tension in the room fades. "Thank god. I felt awful, the way we left things. I just had to know you were alright.”

Oh. I deflate and step back from him. I suppose it makes sense to come here for that, since he couldn’t walk up to the palace and ask for me. But he shouldn’t have put himself in so much danger after such a close call. And what was his plan anyway, to just stay here until I came back? Still, at least he’s hidden at the moment. Both of our secrets are safe. “I’m— Thank you, but…”

He grins through his embarrassment and fixes the collar of his coat; it had flipped up when I pushed him through the door. “If you ask me, we ought to stop meeting like this.”

I can’t stop the blush from flooding my cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh, I just wonder how many crimes I can commit in front of you before you get fed up and drag me to the Countess yourself.”

Don’t do this. You’ve fallen for it before. “You’ll have to try something besides trespassing.”

“Oho? Shall we experiment?”

Oh my god. What the hell is he doing? “I don’t really think you should be adding to your rap sheet right now.”

“Are you going to report me, Reyja?”

“Are you asking me to report you, Julian?”

He laughs. “You can do whatever you like with me. I’m rather agreeable.”

Seriously, what the hell is he doing? “Sure you are.”

“How can I prove it? Hmm. Are you quite certain I didn’t take anything? You have some very nice little crystals here, so easy to slip into a pocket and waltz away with.”

“So your one-up from trespassing is petty thievery?”

He shucks off his coat and lets it fall to the floor. “Why don’t you search me and find out?”

Is he really trying to flirt with me? Again? Or is he trying to goad me into something, so he can mock me for thinking I would ever have a chance, like the last guy did. I can stand a lot of things, but being mocked cuts me to the core every time. 

I could run. I could laugh at him first. I could do what I’m supposed to be doing and tell the guards he’s here. 

But— but he’s asking. He asked. Wouldn’t it be his fault, if I took him up on the offer and he hadn’t actually meant it? 

And if he does mean it…?

“Alright.”

I shouldn’t have said that. I’m as surprised as he is that I did. But after he blinks it away, he smiles. “No need to be gentle,” he says, beckoning me closer. “Search until you're satisfied. I won’t bite unless you tell me to.”

He’s calling my bluff with invitations like that. How many times am I going to have to learn this lesson? Shouldn’t once have hurt enough? I need to back down, apologize, run and hide like I always do and never see or speak to him again. I shouldn’t be seeing or speaking to him anyway, given that I’m responsible for bringing him to justice. 

But I’m in way, way too deep. So deep I can’t see the surface anymore. All I can see is him, his broad smile and cream-pale skin, the curls of auburn hair that fall over one eye, his arms spread as if to draw me into a warm embrace… 

I move to stand in front of him. He’s so tall; his collarbone is at my eye level. But he’s watching with interest, chewing on his lip as he waits for me to do something.

Am I imagining it, or is he blushing too?

Physical contact is a luxury. I barely get more than a pat on the back or a handshake most of the time. To have an open request to touch him feels inappropriate, much more intimate than our few hours of conversation merit. I must be blazing scarlet, for how hot I feel. But I reach up and rest my hand on his shoulder, then run it down his whole arm. He’s strong. I can tell that even through the thick leather of his uniform. He shifts so I can feel the other side too, his forearm and his wrist. His palm, his long, slender fingers. 

The heavy black lines and scar tissue of the murderer’s brand, as much a part of him now as everything else.

I hold my breath as I circle around him. He has such beautiful broad shoulders. I wonder, briefly, if he could carry me, and flinch away from the idea just as quickly. Even in my imagination, it’s too farfetched to expect. He almost turns around with me, but stops with only a tremble to give him away. I keep one hand on his waist and skate the other over his back, following the line of his spine beneath his jacket. 

I flush even more when I recall my dream, how I carved bloody crescents into his skin in the throes of—

He sinks to his knees, breathing hard with tousled hair and a shaky grin, hands bound behind his back, chest bare and gleaming with sweat, peering up at me as he waits for my next command.

He flexes into my touch and I startle, drawing back. He couldn’t have known what I was thinking, could he? Of course not. God, but I hate how good he looks like that, how eager and desperate to please he is, how simply and completely he trusts whoever he’s submitting to.

And I hate how jealous I am that that person isn’t me. 

No. No, no, no. Stop it. Stop it! Why do I torment myself like this? I have no right to want him to want me. He's so ridiculously out of my league. But I have to keep him here, keep him safe. I’ll bear the pain of being laughed at if it means he won’t be caught.

I follow the crest of his hip to face him again. To my surprise, he’s beet-red, looking anywhere but down. I see why immediately.

This can’t be real.

“Um.”

He laughs, not nearly as self-conscious as I expected him to be. “You should be flattered.”

“I-I mean, uh, I am, but—”

“Mm?”

I swallow hard, willing words to come to my aid. “You like this?”

“I don’t dislike it, if that’s what you mean.”

That is what I mean, but it can’t be true. “You don’t know me well enough to be that excited just to see me.”

“Yes, well. It’s been a long time since…” He trails off. My mind eagerly fills in the blanks: since anyone’s touched me like you can. But he doesn’t voice whatever he’s thinking, and he’s definitely not thinking that. “And as I said, I don’t dislike things like this.”

Things like this. How familiar is he with things like this, I wonder. Regardless, I’m sure he’s well ahead of me. My experience is limited to books I hide when I’m done with them and however vivid my imagination decides to be. That’s my experience with everything, really.

“Or people like you.”

What? What?

He’s looking at me again, leaning down slightly to meet my eyes with a hint of a genuine smile, and—

“Ilya?”

We turn as one, both trying to shield the other from whoever just spoke. Fuck, it’s—

“Pasha?”

Portia’s standing in the doorway, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. I realize like a lightning strike why she seemed so familiar when we first met: despite their height difference, even more drastic than ours, they have the same nose, the same heavy-lidded eyes, the same wild red hair.

“Ilya, you idiot, what are you doing here?!”

“I was—”

“No, no, you have to go! You have to! If the Countess sees you, she’s gonna—”

“I know, I just—”

Portia breaks into a wild stream of Neviv, scrubbing angrily at her tears. Julian responds as he scoops his coat from the floor, conveniently hiding himself while he prepares to leave. It sounds like he’s apologizing, desperately, for something that’s weighed on him for a long time, but she doesn’t seem to be in a forgiving mood.

And suddenly, she sees me. “Reyja! I, um. Please, please don’t tell Nadia!”

It takes me a second to remember why she thinks I would. “Of course not.”

“Oh, thank you, thank you! And I won’t say anything either, I promise. If my big dumb idiot brother can stay out of—”

The royal salute cuts across her voice. Nadia’s announcement must be starting, which means that all this has to end. Now will be the safest time for him to escape, with everyone milling around to see what all the fuss is about. All three of us come to that conclusion at the same time.

“I’ll go with him,” Portia says, eyeing Julian testily. “Gotta give him a piece of my mind.”

“And I’ll deserve every insult you can throw at me, Pashenka, but—”

“No buts!”

Julian pauses, standing between us, and looks back with an unreadable expression. If I didn’t know better…

“I’ll catch up with you after I get him out of here,” Portia says to me. “Nadia wants you with the rest of the palace staff up on the dais. You should be able to go around the back and no one will notice. Hopefully no one will notice us either.” She grumbles something else in Neviv and scowls, then peeks outside and looks up and down the street before grabbing Julian by the elbow and hauling him out of the shop.

They’ve disappeared by the time I close the door.

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