#beats the hell out of shirts and cargoes

[darkprincecait]

I will be going to Dragoncon this weekend, so if any of y'all are in the area, maybe we'll run into each other. \o/

[lisacameron99]

JJ x Routledge!Reader - Stranger (not proofed)

Warnings: angst but happy ending, aftermath of JJ getting into a fight, heartbroken reader and JJ, Kiera is bisexual

“Now you’re just a stranger I know everything about.” As you finished singing the song, your friends applauded, making you jump. “I didn’t know yall were there.” You said timidly, putting down Kie’s ukelele.

“You’re so talented!” Sarah told you, beaming. You spared a glance at JJ before pushing yourself up.

“Yeah, well, I don’t sing or play often anymore.”

You left your friends out by the fire pit and made your way inside the chateau. You flopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Hey,” John B knocked on the door. You didn’t acknowledge him. You knew what he was going to say and you knew it would piss you off. “We miss you.”

Now that, you really weren’t expecting.

“Kie told me that if J and ever got together and broke up, not to keep coming around. No progue on progue macking.”

“So that means you can’t hang out with the rest of us?”

“It’s easier if I don’t see him.”

“You’re so stupid.” John B laughed at me. “You think you can just worn your way into their lives, make your presence more in my life, and just leave? You’re so full of shit.”

“Excuse me?” You demanded, put off by your brother’s opinion.

“You matter, dumbass.” He exploded. “You matter to all of us, and you not being around has a toll on all of us. So you need to figure out how the fuck go put this behind you and get back to the group.”

After John B left, you found yourself staring at a photo of you and JJ. It was one of the few that you had. You were happy, having just gotten back from being stuck on the island. It was from a kegger you and JB had put on. You had JJ’s hat on and one of his old flannels and a random tank top and shorts. JJ was wearing his usual cut of tank top and a pair of cargo shorts. You both were holding red solo cups, yours in the air, JJ’s in his hand. JJ had his free hand wrapped around you, hugging you tightly to his side. You had been talking aimlessly about God knows what, but you both had wide smiles on your face and hadn’t noticed Pope snap the photo.

“That one’s a good one.” Pope said, standing next to the bed where you sat holding the photo tightly. You stayed silent. “That night was good, one of the last good nights before…” he trailed off. Before JJ and I broke up.

“What’s up,” you said softly, clearing your voice.

“Well, I need help running errands. You in? Fifty bucks for the day.” You couldn’t say no to that type of cash, and Pope knew it.

“Yeah, let me change okay?” Pope left and you quickly changed into a ratty old T-shirt and a pair of jean shorts before heading out to go with Pope.

“You could tell him you still love him.”

“Pope…”

“Oh don’t pull that bullshit with me, Y/N.” He said from his car. “You still do, and that whole thing with Kiera is done now. She’s with Alison anyways.”

“It’s hard to believe he even wants to be around me.” You mumbled, watching the ocean go by.

“Well, he does.” It was silent after that. You and Pope made your deliveries and went back to the chateau.

“It feels like he’s just a stranger I know everything about.”

When you went in, you noticed JJ leaning against the counter, cleaning his hand.

“JJ, what the hell, man?” Pope asked, looking him over.

“It’s nothing.” He mumbled, still fuming.

Oh, but it was something. Whether he was fighting with Topper or Rafe, having his dad beat the shit out of him, or fighting some other Kook, it was always something.

“You got this?” Pope whispered. “I need to go pick Cleo up.”

You nodded hesitantly. And with that, Pope left.

You walked into the bathroom, going straight for the first aid kit. “J, get in here.” You demanded from the bathroom. When you didn’t hear JJ coming, you stormed into the living room. “I wasn’t joking, get your ass in here.” You noticed his eye was split and sighed.

“You don’t need to do this. I can talk care of myself.” He snapped, harsher than you knew he intended.

“Well, I’m going to do this so get in here before it gets infected.”

“Why?” He demanded, setting down the towel he was using to clean his hand.

“Do you always have to be so fucking difficult?” You snapped, losing your cool.

“I’m difficult? Have you met yourself?” JJ stared at you dead in the face. He was trying to get a rise out of you. You knew this.

“I have, for 19 years JJ. And I know I am; but I’m trying to help you right now, so please let me know —” he stalked over to you and you backed against the wall. “What are you doing?” You asked in a shaky voice.

“I’m trying to stay calm,” he heaved out a breath and you felt your core throb. You hadn’t been this close to each other in weeks.

“I,” you breathed.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” JJ whispered and this time, it was your heart that throbbed.

“You know it’s not.” You croaked out.

“Good.” He rested his forehead against yours. “Good.”

You stayed like that for at least ten minutes, heads pressed against each other and just breathing.

You broke the silence. “Can I clean you up now?” You asked.

JJ laughed, letting you lead him into the bathroom.

After cleaning up his eye and hand, you stayed seated on the counter.

JJ moved a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbed back and forth across your cheek. Your hand rested on top of his. Your leg wrapped against his and you pulled him to you. His breath fanned your face and you felt yourself melt into him.

When his mouth finally landed on yours, the groan you both let out was more than either of you realized. JJ pulled you closer so your fronts were together. You panted when he pulled away, but you pulled him back to you joining your mouths again. His tongue worked its way into your mouth, and his hand tightened around the back of your neck. The whimper you let out was pathetic, but so necessary.

When you pulled back, you were panting hard.

“So, safe to say we still got it?” JJ asked, and you smacked his shoulder before he dragged your mouth back to his.

[makncheese12]

Locked up

Request: Can I have uuuhhhh…. A45 - person A being a small ball of aggression while person B is a big teddy bear with Tara Carpenter as Person A (maybe not agressive but how Tara is, maybe a bit grumpy and moody) and Reader as person B? And also maybe that R is Flustered around Tara ◡̈

Warning: suggestive themes, Tara being kinky, bad words and that’s it I think?

A/N: I just figured something out and I love doing it sm.

Part 2?

Tara Carpenter x G!p!reader

A fight between Tara and Sam is always hell, both trying to always be right which made it all go in a constant circle. You were usually the main cause of them and because of that they seemed to be getting more and more frequent as Tara healed over time after Woodsboro. The aftermath was always you having to listen to Tara rant in your own apartment not too far from their shared one.

And every time you took it upon yourself to tell Sam she was with you knowing the older carpenter was probably freaking out each second Tara was gone. She tried to hate you for it — how you would rage along whenever she would sneak off to parties or sneak into their apartment or sneak Tara out — but it was no use, you were too sweet and always protected Tara so she settled for subtle glares and small comments whenever you were near.

The relationship itself confused Sam and many others around you. While you were quiet and reserved, Tara was out going and wanted to be out there. Which made her wonder why you just followed her where ever she decided to go.

Let’s not forget the size difference. How could she?When she first met you at the hospital she had to admit, she was both surprised and intimidated but you seemed to be far more intimidated by the older sister. Your personality was completely different from your looks which made everything far more confusing to the girl.

How can someone so big be so soft for her grumpy short sister? She had no clue.

But here you say on the couch at a random costume party hosted by some chick you’ve never met with a red solo cup full something you didn’t dare ask when Chad gave it to you in your black tank top and orange cargo pants dressed as a prisoner, per Tara’s request to match her. It was Tara’s way of rebelling against her sister and to prove that she was her own woman.

Music blaring loudly, the entire house dark with flashing lights, and people moved and danced closely. Something you weren’t fond of but still went along with the group because Tara seemed so excited about it.

In the dark room you catch sight of Chad in his zombie football player costume, a classic and boring one but then again it was last second. And not too far behind him was Ethan in his… Yoshi costume… the large hat stuck out and you began to realize why he didn’t have a girlfriend, he made up for it with his awkward charm though.

You had a few shots with the two and allowed Chad to make you a drink mixed with different things you dare not drink out of before slipping away onto the empty couch.

That left Mindy, Anika and Tara who were most likely somewhere playing a game having something to do with alcohol.

Suddenly, a girl in a Mario costume takes a seat next to you. At least she could have made it look cute, it was just a red t-shirt with an ‘M’ on it and black shorts.

Another group stood nearby watching and giggling. You notice another girl who wore the same thing but as Luigi. Oh great.

A few beats of silence goes by before she speaks. “Hey, do I know you from somewhere?” she asks with a smile before leaning in and as soon as she does your nose is filled with her excessive amount of body spray. Not even the good kind.

“Uh,” you start before looking through out the dark room to see if you can find any of your friends but not even Ethan’s Yoshi hat was in sight. “No, I don’t think so?” You say, slightly scooting away from the girl and sipping your drink, face scrunching up after taking your first sip not knowing how strong it really was.

Another best of silence, the music sending vibrations through your body. “Oh, I know!” She yells and you flinch slightly, not sure how she managed to make her voice louder than the music that shook the house but she did.

“You’re that cute tall girl in my astronomy class!” She says and your eyes snap to the side giving her a side eye glare. You didn’t recognize her from the class but then again you didn’t exactly pay attention to the people, not trusting anyone enough to make new friends.

Now you see what Sam meant when she called you ‘anti-social Godzilla’ the other night when Tara made you stay the night with her.

“You, like, sit in the back of the class.” She says excitedly and scoots a little closer. Too close for comfort, your face scrunches up slightly from the mass amount of perfume wafted into your face as she gets closer, saying something you could no longer hear as the music suddenly got louder and the DJ spoke into his mic.

“Huh?” You call out as her mouth continued to move but nothing really comes out or rather you don’t hear anything. This seems to make her move closer, a bad choice in the eyes of the brunette who watched not too far away.

Anger couldn’t describe what she was feeling as she watched the girl lean closer toward you. She would never admit to being jealous out loud but here she was, watching your face scrunch up as you tilt your head at the girl.

It wasn’t often she felt this way, not at all. Even before you started dating you didn’t show any interest in anyone else but her and that’s exactly how she got you to ask her out so she didn’t have to. And even now she trusted you never to betray her trust but that didn’t stop others from pursuing you anyway.

And that made her blood boil. How could they not know your taken with the necklace that had her initials on it? Or the fact that you had faint hickeys on your neck left by her? Maybe they just took advantage of the fact that you were a push over or they were just dumb.

That’s what this blonde bitch must have been. Straight up dumb.

She had seen her staring at you on campus and made it her mission to show that you were together by being all over you. Holding your hand, hugging you, kissing you, sitting in your lap, all of it. But apparently that just wasn’t enough.

“I think we should jump her.” Mindy says out of no where, face close to Tara’s to see what she was looking at. She was slightly crouched down and looked stupid doing so in her miles morales spider man suit as it bunched up in different places.

“Me too.” Tara huffs out as she crosses her arms, a small smirk appears on her faces as you pull away as the girl gets closer.

“Or you could just intervene without getting physical by pulling Y/N away.” Anika interjects in her spider Gwen outfit as she takes a shot.

“I like Mindy’s idea better.” Tara says, narrowing her eyes as the girl gets closer once again. “I’ll start by pushing her down and we can start kicking, Anika can record.” Mindy gums out as she stands up straight.

Tara definitely liked the idea, and even more so when the girl placed her hand on your arm.

“Don’t instigate, you’ll make her want to lock up Y/N for the night.” Anika hits Mindys chest as she gets closer, holding another shot before gesturing to Tara’s police costume.

Tara’s eyes light up at the idea and suddenly she was glad she went full cop mode with her costume. Taser and pepper spray that Sam forced her to carry around on her hips along with a radio, fake gun or rather it’s holster, and a pair of hand cuffs.

Oh, she definitely liked that idea and Anika smirked at the face Tara made when she suggested the idea.

Tara quickly took the handcuffs out of her belt loop and cuffed one of her wrist before making a beeline for you and just in time for the girl to get even closer. This fueled her speed of getting to you.

“Shoot me a thumbs up if you change your mind and want to go with plan A!” She heard Mindy’s voice faintly as the music blared in her ears.

As soon as she was close enough she hooked the other half of the hand cuffs onto the wrist the was holding your drink and locked it in, she then let go and stood up proud of herself as she glanced at you.

A confused look was spread across your face as you stared down at the hand cuffs connecting the two of you before looking up to her.

She couldn’t help but smile as a dark shade spread across your cheeks as you stared up at her, eyes wide and confused.

Her eyes snap to the girl before narrow at the annoyed look on her face. Why was she annoyed for flirting with her girlfriend. Tara felt the growing need to look back to Mindy and give her that thumbs up.

“Oops,” she says, voice sharp as she glares at the girl. “I slipped.” She sarcastically through gritted teeth as the girl rolls her eyes.

Who did this chick think she was? She couldn’t have thought you would even think about her with that basic ass costume and paint for make up.

“Don’t you have a key or something?” The girl says back, voice full of annoyance. She knew what she was doing and that was enough to make Tara want to be ghostface herself.

“I left them at home.” Tara replies before yanking your hand up to pull you up but it only caused you to drop the drink onto the floor.

“I’m thirsty and you’re all out.” She says her eyes snapping back to you as your eyes focus on the red seeping into the carpet on the floor. “Let’s go get a drink.”

You quickly got the memo when Tara pulled again but less harshly before standing up.

She smiles slightly up at you before sending the girl one last glare before slipping her bandaged and cuffed hand into yours and pulling you away.

“You slipped, huh?” You ask in a teasing tone as Tara pushes through the crowd with a huff. You apologize to the people who look back at her with a glare and move past them without bumping into them as Tara continued to shove her way through with slight resistance but she got through eventually with enough force.

“I am quite clumsy.” She replies as you near Mindy and Anika who have started a game of cup pong with two boys.

“Y/N! Great to see we didn’t have to jump a few girls to save your socially awkward ass.” Mindy replies before looking down to you and Tara’s cuffed hands.

“I didn’t take you for the kinky kind of couple.” Mindy says wiggling her eye brows before laughing when Anika hits her chest.

Tara’s eyes lightly up for a moment before quickly hiding it and smiling. Another idea for later.

Another wave of heat fills your face as you look down at Tara. Her police her was too large for her and was tilting slightly as she smirked not bothering to fix it. You would have thought it was adorable but at the moment you were a little embarrassed. “Did you actually leave the keys at home or we’re you joking?” You lean down and whisper into her as the music continues to blare, the action made her shiver lightly as her ears tinted with a pink hue.

“Oh, I have them.” She says casually as she picks up her drink she had before rushing off to get you. “But I’m not unlocking the cuffs until we get home.” She says as she holds up a red solo cup to her lips as leans into your front as she watches the game of cup pong.

You sigh out before smiling at her sudden possessiveness. It was often you got to see it but every time it always made you feel special that she wanted you all to herself.

You chuckle lightly before wrapping your arm around her and watching the game yourself as you rub her skin and bandage soothingly to help calm the girl down.

————

“Wait, just slow dow-“ you start as Tara pulls your wrist harshly as she climbs up her fire escape as quietly as possible before letting out a hiss as the cuffs pinch you lightly.

“Shit! Sorry, sorry..” she says as she lowers her wrist so you no longer felt the force of being pulled up. She had insisted on keeping the cuffs on and you were beginning to wonder if she actually had the keys.

You had been pulled around all night so your wrist weren’t exactly fond of the smaller girl, especially when she made you fall a few times through out the night and pull herself down with you.

“Why didn’t you just take them off before we started crawling up?” You whisper yell as she continues her way up, her back side pressed up against your front now and you can’t help the blush the forms as her ass presses up against your pelvis area.

“I wasn’t thinking!” She whisper yells back as you both make it up to her window. “Plus, it’s cute when you blush like that.” She giggles as your face grows redder before pulling you into her room.

The lights were off in the hall around the apartment as you slipped in and nothing seemed disturbed other than the fact that you and Tara would have a hangover in the morning but you could cover that up easily.

You sigh out as you take a seat on the bed and Tara fumbles into her pocket before pulling out the keys and unlocking the cuffs with a small frown.

You rub your wrist as you watch her make her way toward her closet, peeling off clothes as she did so.

You smile lightly as you watch her pull down one of the hoodies you gave her and pull it over her head before pulling down your cargo pants and letting them hit the floor.

She quickly makes her way back to you as you scoot up the bed before straddling your waist and burying her face into your neck and letting out a soft but long sigh. You chuckle lightly as you wrap your arms around her

She felt exhausted after pulling you around most of the night, keeping you close as you danced and drank the night away. But now she was regretting it slightly as her wrist aches and her body relaxed into you as you scratched her back.

She let out another sigh before her mind wandered back to the girl who had the audacity to try her shot with you. She slowly felt the jealousy creeping back up into her and her exhaustion left as she bit you lightly.

Your body jolts slightly as her teeth connect to your skin and she can’t help but smirk as she feels something move on your lower abdomen.

“Tara…” you say in a warning tone as she eyes the hand cuffs on her bed side table. “It’s late and everyone’s asleep, so we should be too.” You sigh out as your grip tightens on the smaller girl, blush creeping into your face as you feel your own erection push against your boxers and onto her.

To this day you are astonished by this small girls strength and speed as she pulls out of your grasp and grabs something off the table. You let out another before a loud clinking catches your attention as she slides up from your waist to straddle your stomach.

Your eyes snap to her hands as she grabs your wrist and pushes them against her bed frame, slipping one cuff on and sliding it behind the railing and slips it onto your other.

You stare up, shocked by the sudden movements and their results. You yank lightly onto the cuffs and the bed frame moves, hitting the wall gently making a small noise.

Tara quickly grabs your hands and holds them still, a glare on her face as she looks down at you.

“T-tara..” you sputter out as blush once again forms across your cheeks.

“Shh,” she says leaning down, hands still on yours as her lips graze yours. “Wouldn’t want to make too much noise, now would we?” She says teasingly as a smile stretches across her face as her lust filled eyes look down into your worried ones.

“What if we get caught?” You ask, eyes locking onto the door where same could walk in any moment and catch you in such a state.

She presses her lips against yours harshly, one hand moving the your jaw as the other stays on your bound hands. Your lips move in sync as the kiss deepens further, her body pressed against yours and she slowly feels your cock harden as she does so and she can’t help but smirk lightly at how easy it was to get you going. She hadn’t even touched you and yet here you were, ready for her to start.

But there was no doubt in her mind that she was still going to touch and tease you first before starting.

The thoughts of Sam walking In immediately leave as you let out a small whine and pull against you restraints, desperate to touch the girl above you. Tara’s hand tighten on yours and her teeth nip your bottom lip. You open your mouth slightly from the sudden intrusion and she takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth.

Oh, this was going to be fun. Will it cause yet another fight between her and her sister? Yes. Does she really care at the moment? Absolutely not.

She’ll just use this as another excuse to rebel against the older Carpenter.

[madebyrolo]

Goosebumps

Rafe Cameron x reader

She/her

summary: becoming parents in toppers parents room.

warnings: smut, alcohol and drugs.

obx masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

7:30

The clock read in Rafes truck. Y/n and Rafe were on their way to a Toppers party. She was wearing a black mini skirt and a grey tube top paird with small boots and Rafe with a black t shirt and grey cargo pants with grey dunks.

They soon arrived to the house, colored lights beaming through the window, Travis Scott blasting loud enough you can hear it from down the street.

As Rafe parked in the driveway, he got out opening the door for his girlfriend. Giving her a hand as he helped her down and out the car leading them both inside. They went up stairs meeting up with Topper, Kelce greeting one another. They sat in a more secluded room, with just them and random people in the corner doing lines. They had a bottle passing it around amongst them getting the party started.

"So where's Sarah?" Y/n asked after not seeing her

"She dumped his ass for a pouge" Kelce laughed taking a hit from his vape

"Damn that's tough man. I thought you would've lasted longer than the rest" she giggled while taking a shot.

"With John b too" Rafe added

"Wait isnt his father yk... like.." y/n motioned a knife slitting her throat.

༺☆༻

"Yes he's gonna soon end up like his old man if his friend don't stop tryna start shit." He said with pure venom

“Chill out Topper, beside her lost. You were my favorite, you’re kind, sweet and a hell of a golf player” she praised him

"Thank you y/n i appreciate..." he said looking down twiddling his thumbs

"Hey hey no tears! We're at your fucking party man. You have many girls around take your pick. Get your mind off of her and hella maybe even fall in love." She said rasing her hands

"Yea Top, maybe their drunk enough not to think it though" Kelce told topper earning a hit the back of his head.

“Come on let’s get get shit faced” Rafe said getting up and the rest following him.

They soon joined the party down stairs taking shots with groups of people. Y/n grabbed the pink plastic shot glass filled with Don Julio, and a piece of lime. She tilts her head up letting the tequila slowly go down her throat burning every crevice then sucking the lime between her lips. While Rafe talked with his buddies y/n headed to the kitchen to fix herself a drink. She grabbed the Malibu bottle took a shot for herself put at least 4 in a red solo cup, then added 1 part pineapple juice and another part cranberry making a “pink pirate”.

She headed to a different room, filled with random strangers until the alcohol sets in. After she finished her drink she was finally buzzed, she started dancing with the girls hyping each other up and cracking drunk jokes soon become party besties. The smell of weed and alcohol filled their nose and the strobe lights, smoke, and alcohol affected their vision. Everyone in their fantastical drunken haze.

A couple minutes passed by and Rafe realized y/n wasn’t in the room, so he left and went to go find her. He searched room from room soon finding her on the 1st floor next to the kitchen. He spots her with girls he did not recognize as her friends. Y/n was grinding up on one of them her hands through her hair and eyes closed smiling feeling the rhythm. He watched her closely making sure there wasn’t anything too crazy going on, although he wouldn’t mind watching he knew how drunk y/n was for her to be like this.

His eyes took in every inch of her. The way her breasts slowly were peaking out her shirt, the skirt riding up her thighs with her ass barely out. Her hair fell perfectly on the sides of her face and a drunken smile plastered her face. Her body moved perfectly with the beat of the music, sliding into the other girl's frame, with her hands on y/n hips. If they were both in the right mind state he would be insanely jealous right now.

Y/n starting taking more shots with the girls, he watched as her tounge swiped against another girls shoulder as they placed salt on it, downing her shot following with some juice being poured down her throat by another. Rafe soon joined in, he walked towards his girlfriend grabbing and pulling her by the waist engulfing her in a soft yet heated kiss. The other girls were cheering them on offering him a shot. One of the girls grabbed the shot shaker and made y/n lean back before dumping a bit on her boobs. With that, he did what she did.

He looked at her with lust in his eyes, sending a smirk before putting his face down on her breast. He kissed them before sliding his tongue slowly across them licking up the salt. The feeling of Rafes mouth touching her sent goosebumps down her body like a little virgin. He soon downs the shot like water, demanding another doing it all over again.

Soon the whole room goes back to their little dance party after many shots. Rafe and Y/n dancing together, chest to chest with y/n grinding on his leg. His hands on her ass holding her against him as they star at each other with a playful smirk plastered on Rafes face. He starts kissing her going down to her neck leaving small bites that will definitely leave a mark for her to cover up tomorrow. Y/n tugging his hair with his face deep in her neck, his breath and wet kissing making her let out small groans out her lips.

He lets go soon letting her dance freely. He gets a hold of a blunt, and join a group of dudes in the corner talking about their sports and their cars and guy things while their girlfriends dance with each other.

But Rafe could not stop staring as his girl. The way her body flowed with the music, her ass grinding on another girl, the way her hair fell on her face perfectly and her sweat made her body glisten as the lights hit her.

Y/n looked up locking eyes with Rafe. The stone cold look on his face that was pleased yet with a hint of jealousy. Y/n grabbed the girls hands and touched her body, guiding the hands all over her. Eyes locked with Rafes. She smiled while his jaw clenched while he smiled.

Soon the other guys staring paying attention to the two girls, borderline porn fantasies playing right in front of them. One of the dudes managed their way behind the other girl so now it was 3 of them grinding eachother. They soon passed y/n a shot and placing the salt once again on the girls breast. Rafe watched the scene unfold as the boys and girls watched in hunger with more cheering with the song One Call by Rich Amiri playing in the room. Y/n downed the shot like it was water and her tongue latched on the girl as she threw her head back with a moan.

Rafe walked up to y/n spinning her around grinding on her as they all continued to dance. Their bodies melting together and their hands intertwined. Rafe sent small kisses behind her ears as his hands were between her thighs.

“Let’s take this somewhere else yeah?” Rafe whispered into her ear.

“Mhm baby.” Y/n slurred out.

Rafe led them out the room. Y/n followed behind hand in hand as they went up the stairs. Rafe walk into the master bedroom locking the door behind them. Immediately y/n laid down as Rafe walked over towering over her as she giggled.

“Come here pretty boy” she said as she pulled him by his shirt between her legs.

Wasting no time Rafe staring pulling down his pants as they kissed while y/n pulling off his shirt. She threw it to the side as he pulled her skirt up, ripping her panties off.

“I’ll buy you news ones doll.” He said as he pulled off her top throwing it with his clothes.

He took his fingers placing them on her clit, in the letter “R” motion. At first, when he started doing it y/n thought it was impractical but she soon find out it was the perfect clit and lip convo.

Kissing with moans in between as y/n starting to grab his dick stroking up and down. Begging with her hips as she bucked them into his hands.

“What did I say about using your words kid.” Rafe said in between kisses.

“Mhm I know sorry Rafey” she said as she was being stimulated with his hands.

Rafe put two fingers in without earring warning to tease her for his dick.

Going in and out feeling her juices and her walls clenching over his two “small” fingers.

“Mmm baby please” y/n barley let out.

“Baby please what ?” Rafe asked playing dumb

“Baby please,” she said in between moans, throwing her head back so deep into the feeling her his finger being able to reach her g spot hitting it perfectly.

“Fuck me Rafe.” She finally got out.

Rafe immediately took his fingers out, grabbing his dick not even taking his time. He shoved his rock hard dick into her.

Feeling her tight all around him like it was their first time sent him over the edge. He was starting to go at a slow pace trying to tease her but soon found it impossible.

Going at a medium speed, both in a moaning mess. Y/n nails digging into Rafes back as he pounds into his girl.

Soon enough y/n gets richer and tighter around him.

“Rafe Im close.” She says between moans.

As with that, he started doing faster. Hitting her g spot harder and harder with each thrust. Groaning with the pressure on his tip.

Him also reaching his high. As y/n finally finishing Rafe keeps going faster. Y/n knows he’s about to cum so she starting rubing her clit getting off just by the looks of Rafe completely pussy drunk.

The way his bangs fall in his face and the sweet beads all over his body. The smell of beer and sex fills the room.

With each thrust getting sloppier y/n wraps her legs around Rafe. Bet fingers get faster and faster reaching her high as she feels Rafe twitch inside her.

“Finish in me.” y/n says

and with that he did. Both finishing together as their juices mixing together inside her pussy.

Rafe falls right beside y/n, both catching their breaths.

A couple minutes later they finally got their clothes on, cleaning up in the connected bathroom.

As they walk open the door they are meeting with Topper.

“Did you guys just have sex in my parents bed?”

──── ꩜ .ᐟ ────

★

Didn’t think smut was this hard to write as a virgin.

Sorry for any typos!

[pippytmi]

leah x fatin from this prompt list: "it’s like 3AM and my roommate locked me out of the house and I forgot my keys and I’m really drunk pls take pity on me and let me crash at your place for the night o’ neighbor of mine AU"

_______________________________________

“Dorothy,” Fatin groans, thumping her head against the door for the millionth time. “Please, please, let me in. Are you mad at me? Is it because I called your boyfriend a grade-A hottie? I was just trying to be supportive, I don’t really find him that hot.” She pauses. “Or is it the laundry thing? I swear I’ll stop stealing your T-shirts and actually go to the laundromat more. I’ve never touched your lesbian cargo pants! Doesn't that count for anything? Dorothyyyy.”

Still nothing but continued silence. Fatin takes a sad gulp of her beatbox and debates crying. Maybe then Dot will open the door—she hates it when Fatin cries, calls it gross and ugly. At the very least, Dot won't subject the neighbors to it.

There’s a sudden cough, and Fatin sits up, prepared to fight for her life (or at least her drink), but there’s no danger in sight; it’s just Leah, the reclusive student who lives across the hall, who sometimes comes over when Dot needs help drinking the beer Fatin refuses to touch. “I think your roommate is out,” she tells Fatin slowly. “I saw her leave like three hours ago.”

“Well fuck me,” Fatin says, stunned. “I’ve been groveling to that bitch for like twenty minutes.”

Leah shifts from foot to foot, obviously uncomfortable. “Yeah, I heard you,” she says. “It’s kind of distracting.”

“Distracting?” Fatin repeats, first out loud, and then several more times in her head, not sure what to make of it. Until understanding suddenly dawns, and she sits up with a renewed interest. “Holy shit, do you have company over? Are you getting some?”

“What? No!” Leah’s skin turns a bright shade of red. “I’m trying to write a paper.”

“Ugh, lame,” Fatin says, slumping right back against the floor. “Just when I thought you might be interesting.”

Leah blinks. “Okay, well,” she says after a beat. “I just wanted to let you know.” She cracks open her apartment door, lingering in the doorway only to ask, “Will you be…alright?”

“No, Leah, I will not,” Fatin scoffs. “I’m drunk as shit and I need to pee and Dot has obviously abandoned me when I need her the most. I'm probably going to die in this hallway.” She has to pause for a necessary shiver. “I think this might be the lowest I've ever been. Like, physically and emotionally.”

Two doors down, there is the distinct sound of a bang against the wall. “Shut the fuck up!”

“You shut up!” Fatin yells back at whoever it is. Toni, probably. What an asshole.

Leah doesn't move, still half-shielded by her own door, and she does not comment on Toni’s asshole-ness. “Did you try calling Dot’s phone?”

“Obviously,” Fatin says. “But now my phone’s dead, and Dot didn't answer any of my calls. I called her like fifty times, Leah. At least.”

Another bang. “It's three in the fucking morning!”

“Go to hell, Toni!”

Leah sighs. “I can try to call Dot,” she says, like this is all some big inconvenience to her, which is really very rude considering that Fatin and Dot are stellar neighbors. Plus Dot is almost Leah’s friend, so…Fatin is a friend by association. Or whatever. “Do you have anywhere you can stay in the meantime?”

“No, I live here now,” Fatin says sorrowfully, stretching out onto the horrifyingly sticky carpet floor. “Hey. Wait a second, I can just crash with you!”

“Uh,” Leah casts an uneasy glance over her shoulder. “My roommate is asleep, and the place isn't really fit for…company.”

“Are you really going to make me beg twice?” Fatin says. “Cause you know I can do it. I will cry on your doorstep. That is a threat and a promise.” She sits up, determined, as Leah continues to hesitate. “Come on! Take pity on a poor, drunk, damsel in distress. I have a stupid chem final tomorrow—are you really going to let me suffer out here all night?”

“I guess you can stay until Dot’s back,” Leah says, finally opening her door all the way. “But you have to be really quiet. Rachel will kill both of us if you wake her up.”

“Rachel loves me, don’t even worry,” Fatin says, downing the rest of her beatbox in one go. Or mostly, anyway, because some of it spills out of the corner of her mouth. Whatever, it’s not like the carpet hasn’t seen worse spills.

Leah doesn’t attempt to hide her wince. But she also does not take her invitation back, so Fatin counts it as a win.

“I’ll get you a phone charger,” Leah says. A beat. “And some water.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Fatin says, sinking onto the couch with a deep, satisfied exhale. “Any chance you have food? I would actually kill for something deep-fried.”

“We probably don’t have much, but you can look,” Leah’s voice fades out as she vanishes into the bedroom, and Fatin doesn’t need to be told twice.

Probably is too kind a word—there is absolutely nothing to eat at all, beside a stack of individual meals in tupperware that are aggressively labeled “Rachel.” Fatin abandons the fridge and rummages through the cupboards instead, finding her saving grace in the one constant of any college diet: instant ramen.

Before Fatin can even tear it open for an attempt at (drunk) cooking, Leah comes back, and she eyes Fatin up and down like she wants to say something but doesn't. Except: “I found a charger.”

Fatin hugs the ramen to her chest and can only stare. “That's not an iPhone charger,” she says. “Oh God, are you an Android girl?”

Leah frowns. “What’s wrong with having an Android?”

“I am so sorry you live in the dinosaur age,” Fatin says, crinkling her nose in disgust. “Forget it, I’ll have to borrow one from Rachel in the morning.”

“So now you’re staying the night?” Leah doesn’t even try to hide her unease at the idea.

Fatin huffs. “Oh relax, I’m not trying to sleep in your bed or anything,” she says. “Just let me crash on your couch, c’mon. Don't be a dick…please.”

“Fine, whatever,” Leah says, obviously affronted at the idea of being called a dick. “You’re not going to throw up, are you?”

“No, I will not throw up on your precious couch. Damn, you’re judgy.” Fatin goes right back to her unopened ramen in a futile attempt to open it with her nails (they’re a new set, and too expensive to break), before Leah finally sighs and takes pity on her.

“If I make you something to eat, will you be quiet?”

“Can you even cook?” Fatin snarks right back, but Leah plucks the bag from Fatin’s hands without taking the bait.

“Bathroom’s the first door down the hallway,” Leah says—an obvious dismissal—and Fatin would be offended if she didn't have to take a piss.

The bathroom mirror has seen better days, cracked right down the middle like something out of a horror movie. Fatin’s mascara-smeared face reflects back at her, and she halfheartedly scrubs at the marks until she looks more alive.

When she’s done, she re-enters the kitchen to find Leah poking the bubbling Ramen with a fork and inspiring zero confidence that this girl can even cook. The fact is only driven home when Leah asks,

“Do you want cheese?”

“Cheese?” Fatin repeats. “Am I a fucking mouse?”

Leah rolls her eyes. “On your noodles.” She waves a Kraft single between two fingers, and Fatin officially loses all respect for this girl.

“Ew, no way,” Fatin says. “That stuff's practically radioactive.”

“Then here.” Leah pours the soup into a bowl, immediately moves off to rinse out the pot and clean up the minimal mess from her efforts.

Suddenly, Fatin feels the tiniest bit guilty. Maybe she's not exactly the best house guest…or whatever. “Wait, don't you want some of this?”

Leah twists to look at Fatin, and she's noticeably perplexed at the offer. “It's three in the morning.”

“And?” Fatin waits for a better answer. Leah doesn't give one.

So that's how they end up splitting instant ramen noodles, Leah with (gross) cheese on hers and Fatin with a generous helping of Sriracha on her own. They put the TV on mute and read the subtitles for a horrible black-and-white movie on Netflix, and a thought suddenly occurs to Fatin.

“Hey, is this a date?”

Leah chokes. “What?”

“We’re having dinner and watching a movie,” Fatin says. “This is more wine and dine action than I’ve seen in years.”

“I’m just keeping you company until Dot comes home or you fall asleep,” Leah says. “God, you’re a lot more self-centered than Dot says.”

Fatin narrows her eyes. “She told you I was self-centered?”

“She said self-involved, actually.” Leah carefully drinks some soup from the rim of her bowl. “And you’re also drunk. I wouldn’t go on a date with a drunk person.”

“So you’re saying you would consider a date with me when I’m sober?” Fatin asks, and Leah turns a bright shade of red.

“No,” Leah says, and continues eating.

“That would be a lot more convincing if you didn’t keep staring at my tits,” Fatin says, unfazed as she waves her chopsticks in the air, and Leah chokes all over again.

(It’s certainly going to be something to revisit in the morning, in any case).

[sixhours]

happy birthday, baby girl - pretend

Ellie has never had a birthday. Joel can fix that.

Series masterlist | Read on AO3 | In progress

Rating: Teen Series tags: The Last of Us, The Last of Us (HBO), Joel and Ellie, Ellie Williams, Joel Miller, birthdays, swearing, fluffy fluff, canon-compliant Words: 2.5k

“May 15th.”

Joel looks up from his place at the kitchen table, his latest project spread across the work surface. It looks like a lamp. “What?”

“You said I could pick a birthday, so I did. It’s May 15th.”

He considers this, then nods. “Alright then.”

Later, she walks into the kitchen and sees the date circled in red pen on the calendar, already two weeks gone by, Joel’s printing in block letters.

ELLIE B-DAY

And that was that.

She turned 15 on May 15th, the day she and Joel walked back into Jackson and started a new life. A clean slate, Joel said at the time, although that’s proving easier said than done. Ellie’s slate seems to be written in permanent ink.

Jackson is weird. They’re assigned to the same house as before and given a few weeks to settle in and “acclimate”, which just means a lot of sitting around. Or in Joel’s case, fixing things. He stomps around the house frowning at squeaky hinges and tinkering with pipes and she rasps The Contractor under her breath whenever he’s in earshot.

Jackson Joel is different from regular Joel. Jackson Joel says things like “mind your manners” and “eat your vegetables first” and glares daggers when she swears in front of people. Jackson Joel walks around the house in socks and sweatpants and a t-shirt. Jackson Joel doesn’t carry a rifle or even his hunting knife.

Jackson Joel is a stranger, but he’s the only stranger Ellie knows, so she guesses she’s stuck with him.

Their new life feels like pretend, like when she was a little and the kids in FEDRA school played Soldiers and Fireflies in the rec yard. She’d get so into it, her imagination so carried away with whatever part she was playing that when she inevitably got captured or shot, her heart would be pounding in her throat.

Now she pretends she belongs in Jackson. She pretends she lives in this strange house with Joel and pretends they’re a family. She pretends Joel actually cares about her (not my daughter sure as hell ain’t your dad) and that she’s not just some freak kid (cargo) he’s been saddled with. She pretends it’s fine that the Fireflies couldn’t make a cure. She pretends Joel isn’t lying to her about whatever happened at the hospital when she was asleep. 

She pretends it’s normal for a 14-year-old (no it’s 15 now, even your stupid birthday is just a random day you made up, it’s all pretend) 15-year-old to crawl into bed with her pretend dad when the bad dreams won’t stop. She pretends it’s normal to wake up screaming every night.

But the thing about pretend is that none of it is real, and she’s still waiting for the game to be called off.

Like everything else in her life, it can’t possibly last.

That first night, she’d stood in the middle of her pretend room smelling of lavender soap and wearing new pajamas that were not hers. I’m right across the hall if you need me, he’d said, but the ten-foot gap between their closed doors might as well have been a thousand miles.

She went to bed, tucked her knife under her pillow, stared at the ceiling of her pretend bedroom in her pretend house, and listened to…nothing. There was no Joel breathing at her side, no crackling campfire, no crickets chirping or spring frogs croaking–nothing but her too-loud thoughts and a racing pulse in her ears.

Finally, when her heart threatened to beat out of her ribs and her palms were sweaty and her skin practically burned with the quiet, she’d padded into the hallway with her blanket and pillow clutched to her chest. Joel was already standing outside his room in his T-shirt and sweats (it’s so weird, where was his leather jacket and jeans and flannel and boots, how was he supposed to protect them wearing fucking socks) looking as lost and tired as she felt.

“I can’t–��� she began.

“Are you–“ he began.

They’d stared at each other in the dim light, neither knowing what the next step should be.

Finally, she’d huffed a sigh and stomped past him into his bedroom. She tossed her pillow on the unrumpled side of his bed and climbed in, pointedly facing away from him. She stayed like that for a minute or two, waiting for him to grumble at her, to send her back to her room. Eventually, she’d heard the creak of the hardwood behind her and felt the bed shift and jostle slightly as he got in.

“Wake me up if I snore,” is all he’d said.

She didn’t sleep for shit that night, and she’s pretty sure he didn’t, either…but at least it wasn’t so fucking quiet.

And the days pass, and it’s all so fucking weird, and still, they pretend.

Two weeks later, she wakes gasping for breath, clawing her way back from a cold, burning shack in Colorado, shivering and sweating through her nightshirt. Joel is there. She sleeps curled up against his back, so all he has to do is roll over and wrap one strong arm around her, the movement so natural and practiced that most of the time he barely wakes up.

“S’alright. You’re safe now. You’re in Jackson. You’re with me.”

It’s the same words whispered in the same way to her temple every time, like a mantra or a prayer. It may be pretend, but it works. She settles back to sleep with her head tucked under his chin, nose pressed to his chest.

Later she wakes again, not from a dream this time, but because the other side of the bed is cold.

Joel is gone.

Her heart clogs her throat and she throws the quilt off her body and scrambles out of bed.

Faint light from the stairwell. She creeps down the stairs, knife clutched in her hand. What if someone broke in? What if they got Joel? Jackson was supposed to be safe, but what if–

But it’s just Joel, standing in the kitchen holding a spatula. He looks up when she wanders over.

“Hey, kiddo–what��re you doin’ up?”

She squints and rubs at her eyes, a flash of anger nipping at the heels of relief.

Why did you leave me?

“Why is it so dark?” is all she can think to say, throat tight.

“It’s three-thirty,” he says, glancing at the clock on the wall. “Couldn’t sleep. Thought maybe I’d work on the house, but I didn’t want to wake you, so I uh…”

He looks down at the counter in front of him. A big mixing bowl surrounded by boxes and tins and cracked eggshells, all of it covered with a dusting of flour.

Playing pretend, she thinks blearily.

“So…you thought you’d cook?”

“It’s baking, actually, but…yeah.”

“What are you making?”

“Cake…I hope,” he says, gesturing to an open cookbook off to the side.

“Have you done that before?”

“Nah…but can’t be that hard. Just eggs, flour, sugar–we don’t have sugar, but we have honey and syrup, and then the flour is, uh…oat somethin’, I think…”

He looks at the book again, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You can just swap things around like that?”

“Uh…think we’re gonna find out.”

She comes over to peer into the bowl, wrinkling her nose.

“Looks like diarrhea.”

“Yeah, well, hopefully it don’t taste like it,” he mutters, kneeling to open the corner cabinet, peering inside, looking for something.

Feeling brave, Ellie sticks her finger in the gooey mixture and gives it a sniff; it might look like shit, but it smells good. She takes a tentative lick.

“Not bad,” she says. 

Joel looks up from his perch on the floor. “Hey, don’t–don’t eat that–s’got raw egg in it. It’ll make you sick.”

“Dude, we’ve been eating twenty-year-old canned stew for, like, weeks.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but then thinks better of it, shaking his head and going back to the cupboard.

“Was tryin’ to find a pan in here,” he says. He has to reach deep into the back corner until the upper half of his body practically disappears into its depths, grumbling something about shoddy kitchen cabinetry over the clang of pots and pans that haven’t seen daylight in two decades. Eventually, he emerges holding a dusty silver pan in the shape of a donut.

“Think this is a bundt pan,” he says, taking it to the sink and washing it out. “But it’ll have to do.”

“Now what?” she asks, feeling more awake. 

“We…pour the batter into the pan,” he says, reading directly from the book.

“Can I?”

“Sure,” he shrugs, wiping his hands on a towel. “Have at it.”

She tips the mixing bowl into the pan, spilling a little in the process. It oozes onto the counter.

“Now what? We put it in the oven?”

“Uh…yep.”

She slides the pan into the hot oven, carefully pushing it to the middle of the rack, then closes the door. Joel turns the little kitchen timer and it starts clicking away the seconds. It reminds her of a tiny, tomato-shaped bomb.

“Did you do stuff like this before?” she says, sliding onto one of the stools at the counter, watching as Joel grabs a towel and begins wiping up the spilled batter and flour. She tries to picture him in his shoddy apartment kitchen in the QZ wearing one of those stupid aprons that says “Kiss the cook”, tries to imagine him and Tess in that dark, sad little corner of Boston whipping up a batch of muffins or cookies, the two of them acting all domestic and shit. The image is so weird, so out of place and wrong and not-Joel, she blushes.

“Uh…no. Not really. Used to buy cakes, usually. The grocery stores sold ‘em, all pre-frosted and decorated and the like. Fancy…flowers n’ shit.”

“So…no diarrhea cakes?”

He huffs a soft laugh. “No.”

“What about Sarah? Did she like to bake?”

“Mmm, yeah, I guess she did. She’d make cookies with the neighbors sometimes. But she liked the grocery store cakes fine, too,” he says. “Always insisted we get a cake for my birthday. Don’t care much for sweets, but…was more about the tradition, I s’pose.”

His eyes have gone soft the way they always do when he talks about her, his voice rough around the edges. He sighs, clearing his throat.

“It’s gonna be a while. Why don’t you go on back to bed, kiddo?”

“Don’t want to,” she yawns. “I’m invested now. Gotta know how this weird cake thing ends.”

He gives her a tired smirk. “How ‘bout a movie, then?”

Soon she’s curled up on the couch with Armageddon in the VCR. Joel tucks an afghan around her, leaves her with a pat on the head. From anyone else, the gesture would be patronizing, but from Joel, it’s nice. Comforting.

“I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She drifts in that half-space between wakefulness and sleep while the movie plays, something Joel picked out about asteroids and meteors and oil drilling. She pretends she lives in a house where she watches movies and bakes cakes with her pretend dad at 3 a.m.

When the timer’s mechanical ding sounds, she scrubs at her eyes and pauses the movie. She follows the scents of warm vanilla and honey to find Joel dozing at the kitchen table, arms folded with his chin tucked to his chest.

“Hey dude, your diarrhea cake’s gonna burn.”

He rouses and blinks at her, eyes widening as he fumbles for the hot pads on the counter and moves to open the oven. A fragrant heat wafts out as he takes out the pan. Ellie isn’t sure what the cake is supposed to look like, but it smells amazing.

“Now we gotta make the icin’.”

“The icin’,” Ellie says, mimicking his drawl. “Gotta make the icin’.”

He side-eyes her, then goes back to frowning at his cookbook. 

“I reckon we don’t have any ‘icin’ sugar’, whatever the hell that is…but…we got syrup.”

Joel puts a generous dollop of syrup into a clean bowl and Ellie pours in some cream and a splash of vanilla extract at his instruction. She sticks her finger in and tastes it, pronounces it good enough. Joel doesn’t scold her this time, even hands her the spoon to lick clean when he’s done.

“Moment of truth,” he mutters to himself as he turns the pan over on a plate and pulls it up to release the cake. No luck. Grimacing, he smacks the thing a few times, runs a knife around the edges and upturns it again. The cake finally comes out, but the top half stays firmly stuck inside the pan.

“Guess I was s’posed to flour that,” he sighs.

The result is a raggedy donut-shaped ring. It looks like a mess, but Ellie digs out a chunk of the cake’s stuck top and pops it into her mouth. It’s sweet and fluffy and warm, way better than a twenty-year-old chocolate bar.

“Dude…that’s fucking awesome.”

“Yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Not bad for diarrhea cake.”

With that, she digs out another crumbly-soft piece from the pan and stuffs it into her mouth.

“Hold on now, still gotta add the icin’.”

They drizzle the sticky-sweet icing over the ragged bottom half of the cake. Ellie sneaks another fingerful or two from the bowl and Joel pretends not to notice. Then they stand back to examine their work.

“Well, it ain’t gonna win any prizes, but…”

“Can we eat it already?”

“Sure, kid.”

He opens a drawer and finds two forks, giving one to her. But just as she’s about to dig in, he puts up a hand.

“Hold up. We should do this proper.”

He goes to the mantle in the living room and returns with a candlestick. The base fits neatly in the center hole of the cake like it was meant to be there. Joel lights a match and sets it to the wick, and the faint smell of the burning candle makes Ellie think of a campfire under the stars, sheep ranches on the moon.

“Make a wish,” he murmurs, shaking out the match.

She arches an eyebrow in a silent question.

“It’s, uh, a birthday thing,” he says. He’s getting better at hiding that “sad little orphan girl doesn’t know what a birthday is” look, at least. “You make a wish before you blow out the candle.”

“Then…I wish for infinite wishes,” she grins.

Joel chuckles. “It don’t work like that. Gotta keep it to yourself or it won’t come true.”

“That sounds like bullshit.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Yeah, it does, come to think of it. But that’s how it’s done, anyway.”

She watches the candle flicker, the white wax dripping down.

“You wish, too,” she says, suddenly self-conscious.

“Alright. On three?”

“On three,” she agrees. “One…two…three!”

He doesn’t even try to blow out the candle. He’s too busy watching her, that same soft look in his eyes. The flame flickers out with one strong breath, and she wishes to keep pretending for a little longer.

[romanstheory]

Superstar A Roman Reigns One Shot

Warnings: Smut, Language, Oral sex (m&f recieving), OC

Word Count: 1,850

OC: __maleeyah on IG

18 +

"I can't believe afrobeat has come this far" I say grinning from ear to ear "A few years ago nobody really knew what it was". My brothers and long time friend Burna Boy sit on the sofa while I put the finishing touches on my makeup. "I mean we're about to take over the stage at the BET Awards" I continue. This year has been so busy for me, tours, award shows, and now a WWE contract under my belt, how could this year get any better? I've released an album with my childhood best friend Damini a.k.a Burna boy, life is great. Just a few years ago I was a girl in Nigeria, broke with a dream. "Sade, the world is yours Ifemi (my love)" Burna Boy says grinning at me. He's always been like another one of my brothers, encouraging and annoying all at the same time. We hear a knock at the door, my eldest brother gets up to open it, we're not expecting anyone.

He opens the door, revealing Triple H. "Hi! Hunter!" I say enthusiastically. Behind him trails a few WWE superstars that I've invited to the show to see me perform. "Come in!" I say standing up. "Thank you so much for the invite, we're all excited to see the performance" He says as he and the superstars walk in. Last behind him is Roman Reigns, with that brooding look he always had on his face. I've been under contract for a few months now and never come across him in the flesh. Hunter introduces the boys and I to all of the superstars. "You look nice" Roman says smoothly, his face still brooding but slightly softened. "Thank you" I feel warmth run across my brown cheeks and that flutter in my stomach, you know the kind you feel right before you get on a ride at an amusement park.

"It's almost time for us to go on, we'd better get going" Burna boy says standing and gesturing for me to leave the room. "It was nice meeting you all, enjoy the show!" I say with a smile, but locking eyes on Roman. Our attire is casual, I sport loose cargo pants and a fitted crop top, white forces on my feet. Burna Boy wears jeans and a loose T Shirt that at some point would come off because it always did. I inhale heavily as he runs out to start the performance. Soon it's my turn and I run out to a roaring crowd, Roman and the other superstars front and center. It feels like my heart is going to explode or beat right out of my chest. The venue is full of roaring screams and the beat of our platinum record. I whine my hips and move to the beat of the song, Roman's eyes locked on my, still stoic in expression.

We finish our three song performance and run off stage. I'm shaking with adrenaline as I jump into Burna Boy's arm. "Oh my god Damini we really just did that shit! Iyanu! (amazing)" I scream. "We did! Did you hear the crowd?" He replies with a grin. Soon we are met again by Hunter and the superstars, all congratulating us and complimenting our performance. I lock eyes with the very tall Roman Reigns, secretly waiting on him to say something to me. His eyes study me the way you would the night before an exam... Up and down slowly while he hold his universal championship across his broad shoulder. I can't help but stare back, taking in all of his 6'3 frame. Burna Boy looks at both of us and chuckles before escorting Hunter and the others away to distract them, leaving Roman and I alone.

"You did great out there" He says interrupting the silence. "Thank you, that means a lot" I say, my eyes stopping at the obvious bulge in his pants. Quickly I bring my eyes back to his, hoping her didn't notice. His crooked smile proves he did indeed see me. "You look" He pauses, studying my body once again "good as hell". I feel my brown cheeks grow warm again. "You don't look half bad either" I reply. "I would rather see you without the outfit on though, if I'm being honest" He says boldly with a smirk. i'm both taken aback and turned on by his boldness, but this is Roman Reigns after all... What was i expecting? "Take me to your room and convince me to let you see" I reply back boldly.He shooks me a smirk and a quiet chuckle before taking my hand and leading the way. --

He opens the door to his room, it smells like he just sprayed cologne. He sits his title on the bedside table, and we sit on the bed. The sexual tension between the two of is quickly fills the room. He softly grabs my face and pulls me into a passionate kiss. I'm already craving him. His soft lips press against mine, I put my hand on the now even bigger bulge I had seen earlier. "Make me want to show you what's under here" I whisper. I feel that smirk creep across his lips again. He unbuckles my pants, sliding his warm hand under my panties and begins rubbing my already throbbing clit. A soft moan escapes my lips, almost in relief that he's touching me. He slides his tongue into my mouth, still circling my clit with his big fingers. Our lips smack together with passion, tongues dancing around each other slowly.

"Convinced?" Roman's deep voice vibrates through my eardrums. "I am" I say biting my lip. He softly pulls at my clothing, encouraging me to slip out of it while he does the same. His big brown eye dig into me like daggers. He slowly shifts his weight on top of me causing me to end up laying on my back. His eyes studying my body like they had earlier on in the night. He presses his warm lips onto mine again, this time I gently bite his bottom lip when we pull away. I can feel the blood rushing through my body while it anticipates what's coming next.

He trails slow soft kisses from my lips, to my neck, to my now sensitive breasts, ending at my throbbing vagina. "You're already wet" Roman says "We're just getting started baby girl". His words shoot through my body while he begins to softly massage my clit with his tongue. Up, down, and in circles he licks slowly but with preciseness. I squirm around unable to handle the sensation. "Don't run from me" He growls softly "Let daddy eat". I let out a loud moan, putting my hand on top of his head taking in a fist full of his long black hair. His tongue swirls perfectly around and around. His eyes meet mine again, this time they're dark with lust. This man is about to take my soul from me, and I would willingly give it to him a million times over.

My mouth drops open as I feel my body fill with the warm sensation of climax. I screech loudly as I close my thick thighs tightly around his head, he continues licking. "Oh my god! Fuck I-" I cut myself off panting, searching for my next breath. He sits up, licking his lips slowly before leaning over me again. He takes his time with everything, making sure he pleases me as if he gets off on seeing me squirm. "Good girl" He whispers in my ear with a smirk. I feel the warmth of his long thick member at the entrance of my vagina. He knows full well that he's teasing me. He kisses my neck while he grabs his member, massaging the entrance of my soaked vagina with it. "It seems like you want me bad" He whispers in my ear again just before pressing his length into me slowly. His eyes continue to study my body, up and down his eyes scan.

He exhales sharply "Damn you feel good" He growls. His member now soaked in my juices. He guides his hip back and forward slowly, deeply, and with passion. His hands meet my sensitive breasts, rolling my nipples between his fingers. "Fuck" I scream. Roman closes his eyes, enjoying every second of what's happening. Quiet groans escape his lips "Shit" He whispers. My juices drip onto the bed as he continues to stroke me, deep, hard, passionate. "You like that don't you" Roman growls "You like this dick?". My mouth is open but no words come out. "It's mine now huh?" He continues "Tell me it's mine". Our eyes meet again "It's yours!" I squeal

My body gets that warm feeling again before I reach my climax for the second time. Roman quickly pulls out of me as if he knows he's close but isn't quite done yet. My body is shaking with pleasure, Roman let's me catch my breath, standing in front of me. I look at his huge member, still covered in my juices and then at him. I want him in my throat. I crawl over to him and without hesitation I lick his lip. He lets out a quiet groan. I put his tip in my mouth, teasing him just a bit. "Keep it up you'll have cum on that pretty face of yours" He groans, pulling my hair back from my face. "I might like that" I rebuttal.

I slowly take his length into my mouth, Roman releasing a lustful sigh of relief. I open my jaw wide making sure I can fit all of him in my throat. I begin sucking moving my tongue around his pulsating member, sending him into a frenzy. I look up at Roman, just like he did to me earlier. Our eyes meet "Fuck! You're sexy" He growls lustfully. I softly grab his balls massaging them while I continue sucking him off, never breaking eye contact. His eyes full of shock and pleasure... Like he'd never had that done before. "Oh my god you're gonna fuck around and make me fall in love" Roman says, throwing his head back and groaning.

I feel his length start to twitch. I take him out of my mouth and tap the tip on my tongue ready to receive his load. He lets out a loud moan looking me in my eyes again with those cloudy lust filled eyes. He releases his load onto my tongue and in my mouth. I swallow it all without hesitation. His breathing labored. "Fuck Sade" He says breathing heavily. I smirk and stand up "That dick is mine now huh?" I reply. Roman smirks back "If you want it to be" He replies. As much as I wanted to go again, my body wasn't going to allow it. But..... I have access to him whenever I want since we'll be on smackdown together..... And the dick is mine, after all.

[vampsturns]

𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐭 (𝐩𝐭 :𝟏)⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞 : ̗̀➛ you see matt at a party he continues to stare at you in your dress as you are with your friends out trying to finally get out after your nasty break up when he came trying to flirt with you and knowing what was going to happen you try shutting him down...

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬! : ̗̀➛ flirting, talking abt sexual content, talking about alcohol (matt!angry of rejection reader!shutting down) ending a little smut no real sex, no use of y/n (name will be vivian☺️) MATTS ABLE TO DRINK IN THIS STORY

𝐩𝐞𝐲𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬! : ̗̀➛ this is my first story so i'll try my best n yes there will be a part 2 cause i'm mean☺️ (THE PART 2 WILL HAVE SMUT CAUSE IM VERY NICE) but don't judge cause i thought of this so randomly🙉 i watched an edit n though of this☺️ (here is the edit) go on with the story....

╔═══════☆♡☆═══════╗

i walk into the party getting a full whiff of alcohol and smoke making me cough "cmon girl" i heard my friend say gripping into my hand pulling me with her "where are we going?" i asked through waving my hand trying to move the smoke to see better as she pulls me to the table of alcohol

"girl you need to loosen up! have some of this" she said to me pouring some type of alcohol into a cup passing it to me after and pouring herself some "what the hell is this?" i said swirling the cup looking at the drink "probably some vodka cmon try it!"

i swallow my saliva hard a bit scared but ready as i grip on my red solo cup "shot it!" she half yelled at me as i get sick of her hurrying and just downed it making my throat some what burn "yes girl!" she said making the end of yes come out longer as she chugged her vodka

she cheers as music blasts and body's all around the room dance some on the couch dry humping eachother making me gag a bit as i know most of the people around me are drunk "get me another shot i do not need to remember this tomorrow" i said earning a giggle from her as she pours us another shot i look around most people making out walking into rooms for privacy most drinking and dancing

"vivian? hey!" i hear my friend nina day before waving her hand in my face "girl you totally just zoned out" she says hee hand out giving me my cup i fully down the shot a slight burning sensation in my throat as i go to the table to find a soda or something "hey girl i'm gonna go dance meet me over there" she says before running off

i find a can of sprite opening it "thank god" i say under my breath turning around to look for nina through the crowd i sip on my sprite walking around looking for her, not long until i find her dancing crazy i walk over giggling as she slurs her words "you won't guess what happened"

she says as i nod my head towards her telling her to contine "some guys just bought me shots and we just danced!" she giggled as i rolled my eyes "he was really hott" she said before stumbling getting back up and dancing like nothing had happened she was right when she said she was a weird drunk

"come dance!" she yelled as the speakers blasted in our ears as we both danced "this party's an okay fun right?" i ask her as she just nods before take a hint started blasting on the speakers causing her to gasp "holy shit this is my favorite song!" she says she she starts to twirl as i slightly dance to the beat

in the corner of my eye i can see a man staring at me as he walks over to me slowly i ignore him and continue to dance with nina "hey" he said to me as the first words of the song "𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐦 𝐢 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐢 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞" start to play i rolled my eyes as that's quite my situation but this guys was a bit hot his hair was fluffed out he was in a brown and beige shirt with brown cargo pants his hands in his pockets i look to my side to see nina is gone as i look back at him

"hi" i say awkwardly fidgeting with my fingers as i look behind the boy to see nina kissing some random guys making me roll my eyes and go back to looking the guy "sorry but have we met?" he says as he grabs my hand a bit "heh.. i don't think so" i say knowing where this is going... sex.

"let me introduce myself.... i'm matthew but call me matt hm?" he said getting close to me i felt as my dress was getting tighter my legs a bit shaky and my hands sweaty as his hand make their way through my arms "vivian but some people call me vivi.." i said stuttering in between words his hands land on my hips making mini circles around the area "im sorry but im not really looking for this right now.." i say trying to back up as he pulls me back in.

"cmon sweetheart a little play won't hurt" his hands start moving towards my thighs my face so close i smell the alcohol in his breath "i'm serious i don't want sex" i say pushing him away i look at his eyes go from my pushed up tits in my dress to my eyes "get a fucking mint fuckface" i say showing up the middle finger on my right hand moving to the kitchen

i scoff as i walk to the counter seeing a couple beers stacked and some packed in the boxes i grab a beer and quickly open it up looking at the beer as my fingers fidget with the coldness of the bottle "corona" it said in bold letters i look over at the party as i take a sip of my beer seeing matt as he says dancing with another girl which made me roll my eyes

"fucking bitch" i huff under my breath as i see him lock eyes with me

i hear people quickly walk in the kitchen which make my head quickly move to see a bunch of guys in girls most drunk getting beers and shots i couldn't hear their conversations but one stood out to me a guy blackish brown hair in jeans and white shirt opening a beer quickly before sipping it.

we both ended up locking eyes as he started to walk to stand next to me i could tell matt was still watching me from the corner of my eye which weirded me out as the guy next to me started small talk "hey how you liking the party?" he asked me which made me tilt my head towards him "it's okay i'm not really that into party's my friend forced me here" i say chuckling

"you look great by the way.. my names brandon yours?" he said making me blush a bit "vivian" i said looking at him as he leaned a bit towards me "what about you how are you liking the party?" i asked "pretty good" he said before moving in front of me "by any chance you got a boyfriend?" shit.

"no we broke up a few weeks ago-" i barley got my words out before his beer was on the counter and his arms were wrapped around my hips which startled me i felt a warm sensation on my neck which made me shiver was this guy drunk or something?! he was hot and all but why am i letting him do this after i rejected that one guy

his hands were roaming my body most of his friends had left only one or two stayed which made us all alone my hands went to his hair but what about the one guy what was his name... matt!

holy fuck were my only thoughts when the guy that was on me a few seconds ago got punched "matt?!" i yelled as i look at brandon wiping away the blood on his lip "what the fuck is up with you dude?" he yelled towards matt who had grabbed me tightly and kept me by his side "man fuck this" brandon yelled as he walked off grabbing his beer on his way

"what the-" i say as i look towards matt cut off as matt had just slapped my cheek my eyes widened as i looked at him "what is your problem i'm not even your girlfriend?" i yell as he grabs my hips and moves me towards the fridge "how was he huh?" he growled his grip getting tighter "i wasn't gonna have sex with him i said i don't want sex!" i yell trying to push him off of me

matt started to kiss on my neck harder than brandon had making me gasp i don't know but this had felt much better than brandon which confused me "you only want me for sex u fucker" as much as i wanted to have sex with someone i wasn't gonna give my pride for a one night stand i tried my best trying to get out of his grip as i just let it happen

i felt his lips move up my neck as his hands moved down my hips.. this was kinda hot to me but i don't understand how i barley like this guy but if i was gonna have a one night stand it's him.

"fuck" i slightly whimpered squeezing my thighs as matt's actions were getting me wetter than i imagined "you like this huh?" he said in between kisses before letting his hands go from my thighs to my panties which were drenched "all this just cause i gave you a couple kisses" he said as i moaned under his touch

i couldn't believe i was about to let this man have sex with me but her i am a moaning mess under him and i had no shame

"please" i moaned as he rubbed my inner thigh "please what" he teased smirking as he looked into my eyes "please just fuck me" i say letting my head land on the fridge door "come on" he said gripping my hand pulling me from my horny trance and speed running through the crowd to upstairs "where are we going" i say before i was thrown into a room "don't worry about it" he said before closing the door quickly and locking it

i was really about to have sex with this man...

𝐩𝐞𝐲𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐬! : ̗̀➛ i kinda hate this but if you do want a part 2 just let me know cause i got some ideas but here's my first story☺️

[thehypnone]

Seek and Destroy

WC: 1,4K

Relationship: Mountain/Dewdrop

Tags: Heats/ruts, transmasc Dew, p in v, knotting, cunnilingus, breeding kink

Mountain was trying to work in his greenhouse despite his rut hitting. He was killing it, the self control... until Dew appeared, in one hell of an outfit.

Notes: Uhm... Dew's outfit is fully based on my own, so... I have a picture... you can dm me if you're, hm... interested...

Read under the cut or on AO3.

It was fine, he could bear it for some more time. Just two or twelve plants to repot and he could go back inside and take care of it. Or ask someone for help, whatever.

Just a bit longer.

It didn’t help that his worktable was a perfect height for him to brush his, more than half hard, cock against every few seconds. Did his fucking rut had to hit just after they got back from tour? He was exhausted but had so much to do in his greenhouse after returning, not trusting the siblings with doing some tasks while he was away.

Just a bit longer and he’d find some nice, warm, tight and wet hole to fuck his load into, along with his huge knot.

Beads of sweat were gathering on his hairline, and most definitely not from the job he was doing. Mountain was fucking miserable.

He was basically shaking, his apron, and sweatpants under it, noticeably tented as he hissed and sneered around. Just a few left, he could keep his composure for just a bit longer.

Until-

“Mount? Hey, you here?” came Dewdrop’s voice from the front of the greenhouse. Mountain shot up, sniffing at the sweet scent slowly overwhelming his senses as the fire ghoul rounded the corner. He froze as his eyes landed on the other. Mountain was a mess and not only literally, with all the dirt on his arms, face and horns. 

He was a mess, cheeks flushed, pupils blown, breathing heavily like a pissed off bull. Dewdrop immediately knew what was going on, and was about to offer to help Mountain through it, but he didn’t exactly get a chance as the bigger pounced on him with a growl.

Well, he brought this on himself, kind of, with what he was wearing. Maybe he’d get approximately thirty seconds more if the earth ghoul’s rut wasn’t in the picture, but, still…

Dewdrop had a small crop top on, stolen from Aurora. He couldn’t help it, his little tits looked magnificent in it. He also wore cargo pants, low on his hips, his perfect, cute, happy trail on full display coming out from behind the top of his red Spider-Man boxers. They were super comfy, okay? The pants not only made his waist look borderline slutty, they also created the illusion of Dew having an actual cock, and Mountain, even knowing better, started daydreaming about choking on the imaginary length.

Dewdrop looked delicious, ready for devouring.

And so Mountain did.

The small ghoul didn’t even realise when he ended up with the pants shoved down to under his knees and bent over the dirtied worktable. Satan, his feet weren’t even close to touching the ground…

“Mountain, fucking- get me a pillow at least, you beast,” Dewdrop whined at his bony hips digging into the hard wood. The earth ghoul grumbled, chucked off both his sweatpants, shirt and Dew’s own pants and bundled them up together. The makeshift pillow was placed under his middle, but both ghouls knew it wouldn’t save him from limping for the next few days.

Mountain groped and squeezed everywhere, sneaking his big hands to grab Dewdrop’s tit or dig his fingers into his soft belly. The fire ghoul was just about to encourage the bigger to get to it, now that he was well on the way to getting his heat triggered, but Mountain, again, beat him to that.

He dropped to his knees and buried his face in Dew’s cunt, making him let out a high pitched moan at the sudden assault, “Oh, f- fuck…”

Mountain hummed against his pussy and feasted at him like a man starved, all but slurping away all the slick Dewdrop’s cunt was drooling. All he could do was whine and moan and let his head drop, horns clanking against the table.

The earth ghoul’s tongue was switching up from fucking him and licking at his stiff clit and it took a (not)surprisingly short amount of time for the fire ghoul to cry out and gush out a flood as he came on Mountain’s tongue.

“Oh my fucking god, M- Mountain-” Dewdrop breathed out, claws digging into the wood beneath him. All the answer he got was the other getting up and showing his legs further apart, cold air on his cunt making Dew shiver. He tried arching his back to stick his ass up but two huge hands planted on his hips prevented him from moving even an inch.

“Still,” Mountain growled, and Dew could do nothing but obey. Soon enough he was rewarded with a blunt and wet head of his cock teasing his entrance. It didn’t plunge inside, though, and the earth ghoul’s hands shivered where they were locked holding onto the smaller.

“Mount?” Dew asked, doing his best to turn his head to look at him. Something made Mountain hesitate, there was now worry painted on his face. “What happened?”

He grumbled something Dewdrop couldn’t pick up, but his hands turned him around, surprisingly gently. The earth ghoul bent down, arms caging the smaller in, and kissed Dew deeply, as if it was supposed to explain what made him pause.

“Mountain,” he whispered against Mountain's lips, “tell me.”

“I… got carried away, I- I don’t wanna… don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Oh, love,” Dewdrop smiled, “you’re fine, you won’t hurt me. I won’t break. I might need some weed, though, later.”

Mountain chuckled himself now, “You’ve got it, Droplet.”

Dew purred when their lips met again, hips twitching up, “Now, fuck me hard. Fuck me full, make me catch.”

Oh.

Oh.

“Satan, fuck, Dew,” he felt Mountain’s cock twitching and drooling out more precum where it was trapped against his thigh, “y- you can’t- you can’t say shit like that.”

“I mean it,” he smirked, hooking his legs around the drummer’s middle, pulling him closer. Close enough that his dick was now slotted perfectly against Dewdrop’s dripping cunt.

There was no holding back, now, Mountain shoved his dick inside and, holding the fire ghoul’s tiny waist in a bruising grip, started a punishing pace. Fucking Dewdrop hard, just as he, oh, so politely, asked.

He was, again, reduced to being just a babbling, sloppy mess as he was being used. Dew had no idea how many more times he came on Mountain’s cock as he was still pounding into him with no abandon. The fire ghoul was somewhere near the orbit by the time Mountain’s dick even started to swell with a promise of a knot, and all but a ragdoll when he finally shoved it in. He came with a growl, fulfilling Dewdrop’s wish of being fucked full.

Mountain sagged, burying his face in the fire ghoul’s neck, having barely enough energy to keep his body from crushing the tiny creature under him.

“Oh dear Satan,” he grunted after a moment, as he realised Dewdrop was absolutely gone. Passed out.

He was extremely adorable, though.

Mountain peppered his cute face with kisses before gathering him up with one hand, grabbing a blanket thrown over a chair in a corner with the other. He wrapped them both up in it as best as he could with a blacked out Dewdrop hanging off of him and the knot holding them locked together for Satan knows how long. They could stay in the greenhouse to wait it out, but Mountain felt like he could at least get Dewdrop to a comfortable bed after that. 

The earth ghoul left the greenhouse and headed for the ghouls’ quarters in the Abbey. Just inside, as he smelled some delicious food, his stomach rumbled so loudly he physically cringed, afraid it would wake Dew up. Mountain was being slightly dramatic with that, though, as now not even a bomb landing square in the middle of their common room would wake the small ghoul up.

“There you both are,” he first heard, then saw Swiss rounding the corner. “Got worried when you missed dinner.”

“You made it?” Mountain asked, voice raw from all the noises he was letting out not so long ago.

“Yeah,” Swiss chuckled, “Dew was actually supposed to go ask what you wanted to eat and then come back to help me make it, but it looks like he was jumped, or something.”

“Oh Satan,” Mountain groaned, trying to hide his blush with his free hand.

“We all thought you ended up eating him for dinner, by now,” Swiss stepped closer to tuck a strand of sweat hair behind Dewdrop’s ear.

“Well… I kinda did.”

[karimac]

...winterlong, Part 1

A/N: This is a sister series to "...in the details" and "Turn of the Wheel" and involves one of the "shards" of Kari MacOrish that was cast to the multiverse by Merlin in the days after the fall of Camelot.

Warning for this series: 18+ audience (minors DNI), some cinematic level violence, some fluff and angst. Doubt that smut will be involved, but it may be implied. I’ll make sure that is noted clearly if it pops up.

All relationships, at this point anyway, are platonic, but I cannot keep a certain redhead away from a certain hirsute Canadian badass with claws.

Please do not repost or translate my work. Likes, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated.

All mistakes are my own.

Word count: approx. 2100

You woke up with a splitting headache again, and you could only surmise that somewhere in this damnable Void someone had crash landed who was, at the very least, familiar to you.

Peachy.

That’s why someone was banging on the door of your home in the middle of hell at this hour of the morning.

“Just a minute! Let me get decent,” you shouted as you pulled a hooded cloak over yourself and went to your door. Door. That term was a very loose one in these parts.

And to be honest, you were fully clothed. You just didn’t want your visitor seeing the Hello Kitty pajamas you had scrounged during one of your raids to find food and what passed for booze in this place.

Before you actually got your grip on the handle, you looked down at your feet and saw a large pile of empty bottles, the remnants of several recent raids. “Really need to see if Remy can finagle me some better liquor,” you said under your breath as you waved your hand and the bottles were now moved under a table closer to what passed as your kitchen in this hellscape. The pile of dirty dishes was a dead giveaway. “OK, what is so damned important?” you said as you finally opened the door. “Oh. Sorry. I was expecting someone less pleasant.”

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Laura said as she came just inside the doorway, looking over her shoulder at a beat-up Honda Odyssey that was sitting just outside before she spoke again. Her own clothes had seen better days, but the Savage t-shirt was a nice touch. You had promised to fix her boots if needed, but she hadn’t called in the favor just yet. “I need some help,” she said as she went back to the car and opened the hatch. You really didn’t need this sort of thing right now, but Laura was more than just another refugee in this wasteland. She was Logan’s daughter. Didn’t matter which Logan. You owed it to yours to make sure she survived. He’d always wanted a child. Just not with you.

“Shit. Where did you find these two?” you asked as you saw one person in red and black literally strapped down in seat belts “Yet another Deadpool? Great,” you muttered while you looked at the other one to the left of the cargo area. A small gasp left your lips, and you wanted to kick yourself for it as you stood there gawking. “Logan? What the fuck?”

“My thoughts, too,” Laura said as she opened the front passenger-side door for you. “Can you help me get them into our base? Everyone else is out on patrols.”

“Sure,” you said as you tapped the side of the Hello Kitty pajamas under your cloak and felt them transform into your armor. You were not about to risk letting either of these men—you thought they were both men anyway—take you out with a well-placed blade. “And I’ll stick around in case this one needs healing,” you said as you pointed to the strapped-down form in the back. “Or a good kick to the head.”

The Honda Odyssey stunk of flesh and blood as it rolled down the wooded back roads to the base. Once you and Laura got them inside, the two of you waited outside to explain the situation to the others upon their return. Blade, Elektra and Gambit were not thrilled. The Human Torch was still MIA, and that did not sit well with anyone.

You finally heard the two new arrivals talking inside, and you let the others go in to talk to them before you walked in. You had a lot of history with way too many Logans. This could go south fast.

Then you heard Remy talking about his liquor, and Logan was being, well, Logan.

“Monsieur LeBeau is right,” you said as you finally walked inside. “You really should ask first.”

If the light Irish lilt had not alerted Logan of who you were by now, the dropping of your hood made it plain that you were, indeed, at least in some world where he may have walked, an X-Man teammate.

But the red tresses that were now slowly making their way to a full mane of silver and grey? That likely was a new wrinkle. You really had no call to keep up appearances anymore, so you had let your hair go a more natural color route. It was still red enough for your liking. It just had a bit more character. Your sisters would have yelled at you for not using a little magic to keep that youthful look. Then again, they were all dead now, and none had had the pleasure of living in The Void.

“President Coin?” Deadpool asked as you stood there and glared at him. “Where’s Katniss?”

“Hunger Games? You had that in your world, too?” you asked as you looked at this new Wilson and laughed. “It’s all fun and games until you have to be part of it. Trust me.”

{{And her name was Jasmine. Jasmine Elizabeth O'Malley. I’d never name my daughter Katniss}} you thought as you kept staring at Deadpool. {{A delicate name for a soul forged in fire for sure. Wait. Not my girl. The other one. Down the spiral. The one who lost her son to that madman geneticist. Focus}}

Your age or your present physical condition or some other part of you butting in at the wrong moment sent all sorts of information crashing into your brain. Your children who were not your children. This really did suck.

And you had no clue about how to interact with this Wolverine. Friend? Lover? Ex? There was no telling yet what his story was, so you just took the leap of faith you absolutely hated and asked him about what you were to him in his world. More or less anyway.

“Whatever I did in your world, I’m sorry if it was more pain than balm. I hope, at the very least, I was a kind presence in your life and not a nightmare.”

“Very kind,” Logan said under his breath. “And damned confusing at the end. Wade, she’s fine. No funny business.”

Wade. Oh good. You might be able to reason with him. The female variants were not always easy to figure out or deal with. The one with the twin uzis was beyond annoying.

“I figured as much when you didn’t run over and stab me,” you replied as you turned back to the others. By now Deadpool was fomenting a plan to get himself and Logan back to wherever Wade hung his hat. It involved Cassandra Nova, Juggernaut’s helmet and evading Alioth.

Oh, what a cracking plan indeed! It sounded like it came out of a Wallace and Gromit movie or was something The Rock planned to star in between wrestling stints. Rescue Santa, save Christmas! Disable Cassandra, save Wade’s home world! It was plain to see Logan had his doubts as he wandered outside with a new bottle of Remy’s booze, Laura close on his heels.

“He is not buying it,” you said to Blade as he looked past you to Laura and Logan outside.

“Then convince him,” the dhampir suggested as you flexed your hands and tried not to cry or laugh. “He apparently knows you. Maybe you can make him see reason?”

“You think I can convince Himself to follow us into this? Blade, you are a wise man, but this one, I am afraid, might be out of our reach. I could go out there on Samhain and stand naked with fire dancing behind me, and he would likely say I’m crazy and walk away. And to be honest, I would not blame the man. I’m not from his world. He really doesn’t know me from Adam.”

Himself. Goddess. You had not used that phrase about Logan since he pledged his life to Jean. That was how long ago? 20 years? Less? More? The Void had a way of making time less friend and more foe. So did your advancing years, damn it all. If you saw Merlin now, you’d punch him in the nose for all the grief his plan had visited upon you since he cast that stupid spell.

“May I?” you asked Gambit as you pointed to one of his lesser bottles of whiskey that was sitting in a crate near the door. He nodded, and you snapped it up before you headed outside. It was then that you heard Laura saying something to Logan that you hoped would sway him to the cause, but even you had your doubts this would work.

“You were always the wrong guy. Until you weren’t.”

“Remy said I could bring one out,” you said as you held up the bottle before you walked toward Logan. “Laura, you may want to talk to Blade about the Juggernaut issue,” you said as you handed Logan the bottle and stood looking at him. “I know. The plan sounds insane. You don’t give a crap about any of us or much of anything else. But, if you really don’t see yourself going into this fight, please don’t get her hopes up. With the exception of fixing Wade’s world by being its new anchor, I can stand in your spot and fight. Then I can get everyone staying here away from Alioth. Or I’ll die trying.”

The warmth of the fire was heavenly as you watched Logan slam back the whiskey. You’d have sat down, but you knew he likely did not want any company. “Whatever I may or may not have meant to you, please reconsider. They all could very well die without you in this fight. I don’t give a crap if I do anymore, but I won’t let them fall. The Logan from my world would hate me if I did not give it my all, may his soul rest with the angels.”

“Look, Kari, I’m not him. I’m actually the worst Wolverine by everyone’s measure. And that’s one name I’m not going to be able to shake.”

“And the Logan I knew laughed at me when I said pretty much the same thing to him one day. About being the worst possible me there ever was. Before things went off the rails, he was my biggest cheerleader. At least at the end he still considered me his friend. I’m grateful for that, even if I wanted more.”

Logan nodded as a small piece inside you hoped he’d ask about your past. Nope. He just kept necking that whiskey.

You looked back at the base and then to Logan again before you went back inside. He was long past giving a shit about what you thought. So be it.

“So, did you get my peanut there to listen?” Deadpool asked as you shrugged your shoulders and walked past him. “Never mind then. Can you do something that evens the odds a bit? You know. A little Defying Gravity crossed with the blitz on London?”

“I’ll fill his spot in the fight and make sure you get home, and then I’ll get everyone away from Alioth. Same promise I made to Wolverine. Or I’ll die trying.”

“Oh. You don’t think this will work, do you? Your face says it all. Is this an X-Man thing? If it isn’t from Cyclops you won’t support it?”

“I do not give a rat’s ass about Scott Summers and his vaunted ability to make battle plans—in this world or any other,” you scoffed as you stared at Deadpool. “I’m 1,500 years old, and I have fought in more battles across more timelines than any of you can possibly imagine. That man out there meant more to me than anyone else, especially Scott Summers, in a few of those timelines. If he was gung-ho for your plan, I’d feel better. I’ll pray he changes his mind. And I’ll make every contingency plan I can to get my jobs done. I won’t let you down.”

Deadpool seemed to not believe you, and you wanted nothing more than to pull a magical rabbit out of your cloak, but you needed to conserve whatever power you had. Not being in daily battles left your reserves a bit depleted. You thrived on the hum of war, but only one person there might have understood that, and he was likely not going to be at your side in this fight.

“Don’t go fucking around with a goddess,” Remy said to Wade as you went to find a corner to bed down in for the night. “She’s as close as we got to one, mon ami, and that might be the difference now that Monsieur Serval gonna hide like a coward.”

Logan, in any world, was not a coward. You knew that much. You also knew he needed time to figure things out. By daylight, you hoped he’d have gotten this sorted.

Next time: The battle at Nova's fortress and the fight on Earth-10005 take center stage

Tags: @arrthurpendragon, @chickensarentcheap, @historygeekfics, @darsynia

If anyone wants to be added or removed, just let me know!

[wordsmithwhumpsandfluff]

I swear, I just wrote an f-ing novel here🥲. I hope y'all cry enjoy!

!TW! Harassment, violence, heavy angst and trauma

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

“I want you to meet my friends.”

Aiden looked at Spirit with genuine surprise, staring at her for a second before grabbing the remote and pausing their movie.

It was their first movie night since Spirit’s appendicitis incident. She’d left Isaac's house just two days before, and it was now Friday. And now, out of nowhere, she asked that?!

“Really?” Aiden’s eyes were wide.

Spirit was looking down at her hands, her face slightly pink. “I mean, you already met Isaac and Oliver. You might as well meet the rest of them.” She then looked at him, feeling embarrassed when he didn’t answer right away, so she continued, “We all go to the End of Summer Festival downtown every year. And it’s tomorrow, so. . . I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to go. But it could be fun, and—”

Aiden’s surprised look melted away and he started chuckling at her, making her freeze. “What?”

“I think I’m rubbing off on you,” he said, smiling. “Normally, I’m the one who rambles when I’m nervous.”

Spirit blushed and frowned. “I’m not nervous. I’m just—”

“Spirit,” he said softly, stopping her from beginning to ramble again, “I’ll go and meet your friends.” He bumped his shoulder against hers, getting a small smile back from her. For a minute, he just looked at her. The red streaks in her hair had faded slightly, and were looking more like rose gold at the tips. And she was wearing an all-black outfit (knee-length black cargo shorts, an oversized black tank top, and silver chains and accessories).

He felt his heart racing.

C’mon, you idiot, he yelled internally.

“Spirit.” He felt his cheeks growing hot, both excited and anxious to simply ask the question he’d wanted to ask her on the day she got appendicitis. They’d know each other for months now. He loved his dates with her. He loved talking to her. He loved being around her.

“Yeah?” she asked, trying to read his face.

He took a deep breath. Part of him wanted to wait, and wanted to ask her at a restaurant, wearing better clothes than just sweatpants and a t-shirt. But another part of him wanted to be introduced to her closest friends as more than just her friend.

Clearly, the latter part was winning.

“I wanted to ask you if. . .” He swallowed anxiously, his face burning and his heart beating.

“Are you okay?” Spirit asked, brows creasing slightly. “You look nauseous.”

He shook his head, chuckling slightly because he did feel a little bit nauseous, but not for the reason she was likely thinking.

“Aiden, are you—”

“I like you, a lot,” he blurted suddenly, blushing all the way to his ears. “And I wanted to take you out and ask you this in a. . . I guess, a more romantic environment than my living room, but I just. . .” He paused, dropping his face into his hands to laugh at himself. “God, I’m rambling. Ironic.”

Spirit felt her face growing hotter. “Aiden. . .”

“I like you,” he said again, dropping his hands and meeting her eyes. “And I want to know. . . will you be my girlfriend?”

— — —

“Everyone’s late,” Keiko grumbled. “How the hell can EVERYONE be late?!”

“Just be patient,” Amberlynn said, munching on some fried Oreos.

Keiko chuckled at her. “Says the girl who bought food cuz she got bored of waiting.”

“Shush.”

They were waiting in the parking lot, looking for their friends’ cars. Keiko perked up when Jordan’s nice silver Honda arrived. She parked near the entrance and came out with a huge smile on her face. Eliana emerged the same expression.

“Heeeeyyyyyy,” Jordan said, grabbing Eliana’s hand and running with her to Kei and Amberlynn. “Are we early?” she asked when she realized no one else was there.

“Actually,” Keiko said, crossing his arms and raising a brow at his sister, “everyone, including you two, is late. You’re just the earliest of the late people.”

“And you are too perfect,” she shrugged, while Eliana smiled and rolled her eyes at her girlfriend.

“It’s Jor’s fault. She spent twenty minutes deciding between grey and white eyeshadow.”

“White won, obviously,” Jor said, batting her eyes at El jokingly.

Oliver arrived next. Then Isaac, just a few minutes later. When Felix and Atticus arrived, Amberlynn waved them over with an excited grin, oblivious of the chocolate on the corner of her mouth.

“Guys, this if Felix and Atticus,” she said happily.

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Felix said happily.

“Hiya,” Atticus said with a small wave, a bit shyly.

There was only two people left. Birdie arrived with her hair in shin-long-multi-colored braids instead of her little fro she’d been sporting for a while. Felix seemed in awe of her colorful hippie sense of style.

Now, one person left.

“It’s weird for Spirit to be this late,” Amberlynn said, and Eliana agreed.

Birdie looked at her phone. “She’s not answering my texts.”

“So, where are you from?” Jordan asked Felix, already acting like besties with him.

“London,” he said. “Bloody hell, I love your makeup. Do you do tutorials online?”

She raised a brow, looking proud. “Should I?”

He nodded. “I think so. I’d love to know how to do a fade like that.”

Atticus, Isaac, and Keiko were all chatting together. Though everyone—besides Felix and Atticus—was aware of how strange it was for Spirit to be so late.

Isaac pulled out his phone to text her as well when a familiar sky-blue BMW entered the parking lot. His eyes widened and he smiled, elbowing Oliver slightly. Oliver also felt a smile spread on his face when he noticed.

“I’ll call her again,” Eliana was saying. “Maybe—”

“Hey, Spirit!” Isaac called, making all conversations halt. “Hi, Adien.”

Spirit felt her face grow hot as she made her way over to her friends. “S-sorry I’m late,” she said, trying to act normal despite all the eyes on her. The air was filled with tension and confusion. Poor Felix and Atticus had no idea why the mood had changed so much.

Amberlynn spoke first, looking at Aiden. “Who’re you?” Spirit was also bringing someone new??

Spirit swallowed, trying to avoid looking at Isaac and Oliver’s smiling faces. “Guys, um. . . this is. . .” Spirit felt Aiden’s hand brush hers, and she looked at him as he gave her a small smile. She took a deep breath, looking at her friends and saying, “This is Aiden. . . my boyfriend.”

. . .

For a minute, silence.

“WHAT?!” Jordan exclaimed, eyes widening and a huge shocked smile on her face.

“Fucking finally,” Isaac said, and all the shocked girls turned to gawp at him.

“You knew?!” Amberlynn exclaimed, walking over and whacking him in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“Jerk,” Eliana scoffed at him, and Jordan nodded in agreement, crossing her arms and glaring at the blonde. Birdie stayed quiet.

Isaac held up his hands sheepishly backing away from the girls. “Woah woah, I’m not the only one who knew! Olive also—”

“You’re on your own here,” Oliver said with a smirk, hands on his hips. “I only found out a little bit ago. Plus, no one gets mad at me.” He did a little hair flip, earning a pouty glare from Isaac.

The bickering continued—Felix whispering into Atticus’s ear, “I wish we had popcorn” while watching the drama—whilst Keiko and Birdie made their way over to Spirit and Aiden.

“I honestly don’t know what to say,” Keiko said with a surprised chuckle, looking from Spirit to Aiden and back to Spirit.

“I remember you,” Birdie said with a small smile. “You’re Spirit’s ‘friendly acquaintance’ from that day at the mall.”

“Yeah,” Aiden said, adjusting his glasses nervously. “It’s nice to see you again.” Then he looked at Keiko. “And it’s nice to meet you.”

“Same,” Keiko said. He then looked at Spirit. “But you have a shit-ton of explaining to do.”

Spirit nodded, rolling her eyes. She smiled a bit, feeling more relaxed.

The bickering ended and everyone else came over.

Jordan came first, grinning from ear to ear as she said out of nowhere, “You are the chosen one, and my fucking hero.”

Spirit felt her whole face burn and she glared at Jordan, and Jordan ignored the look while watching Aiden blush and get flustered and confused by her random comment.

“I, um. . . th-thanks?”

Spirit let out an exasperated sigh and pinched Jordan’s arm, making the girl yelp and pout. “I thought you’d deny yourself romance your whole life, girlie. Let me have my fun.”

“Your ‘fun’ is annoying,” Spirit stated, and Jordan rolled her eyes and smiled.

“I’m Jordan,” she said to Aiden. “Call me Jor.”

Keiko then introduced himself. Then Amberlynn.

Everyone introduced themselves, and Amberlynn then introduced Spirit to Felix and Atticus, who were genuinely entertained by the whole situation.

“I repeat,” Isaac said to Spirit when everyone began to calm down, “fucking finally. It took you two long enough.”

“Whatever,” she said to him, but she couldn’t stop smiling.

— — —

The festival took place downtown, and that meant not only the streets with rows of restaurants and shops and buildings, but also the downtown park which had much more. The festival was crowded and buzzing by the time all of them finally left the parking lot. Along with the regular popular downtown stores and restaurants, there was small shops, games, food, live music, and even small rides in the park.

“Okay, guys,” Keiko said to all of them. “We’ll meet at the Royal Scoop ice cream shop at 12:30 to get lunch together and see the magic show.”

“Got it!” Jordan said as she left following Eliana while El all but bounced on her feet saying, “I’ve gotta go to the art contest!”

“Wanna go see the beauty pageant?” Amberlynn asked Felix excitedly, and the two of them left together, abandoning their boyfriends.

“And then there was six,” Isaac said.

“Five,” Keiko corrected. “I’mma find that astrology lady who makes all of that cool crystal jewelry that Amber loves. She’s been wanting a black crystal.”

“I’ll go with you,” Atticus said. “Felix loves jewelry.” And then those two left as well.

Isaac, Oliver, Birdie, Spirit, and Aiden were the only ones left.

“Aiden,” Oliver said. “Anything you wanna do?”

“Oh.” Aiden ran a hand through his hair as he shook his head. “I’ve never been to this festival before, so I’ll do whatever you all do.”

“Tell me,” Isaac said with a competitive smirk, “What’s your opinion on Harry Potter trivia?”

While the boys all discussed the different competitions and games, Birdie pinched the sleeve Spirit’s baggy shirt, signaling for Spirit to bend down. Spirit bent a little, and Birdie whispered in her ear, “Why didn’t you tell me? Why Isaac and Oliver, but not me?”

Spirit froze, hearing the hurt in Birdie’s voice.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I just. . . I didn’t. . .”

Birdie sighed. “You didn’t trust me to keep my mouth shut,” Birdie stated, letting go of Spirit’s shirt. “I understand. I’m not the best at keeping your secrets. I just wish I’d know my best friend was dating someone.”

“Bird, I—”

Birdie put on a smile, taking a step away from Spirit and saying to the others, “I’m gonna go see if they have the succulent shop again this year. See ya.” And she left, and Spirit watched her go with guilt twisting her stomach.

“Bye midget,” Isaac called after her while Oliver said, “Spirit, anywhere you wanna go?”

Spirit watched Birdie walk away for a second longer before putting on a neutral look and shrugging. “Wherever you guys wanna go is fine.”

“Alrighty then,” Isaac said with a smile. “Let’s go get dunked!”

— — —

Spirit dunked Isaac into the dunking tank on her first try. He barely got to taunt her.

After the blonde came out, soaking wet and laughing, Oliver went.

“Good aim,” Aiden told her, impressed and smiling. Spirit tried her best to smile back, but she still couldn’t shake the guilt that Birdie’s words brought her. Aiden noticed that her smile was off, but didn’t say anything since Isaac was walking back over.

Some little kid managed to suddenly dunk Oliver, and his squeaky yelp make Isaac—and almost everyone else around—laugh hysterically. Spirit only chuckled a bit.

“Heeeeeyyyy,” Isaac said, hooking a wet arm around Spirit and making her yelp and try to shove him off.

“Oh my God, you’re soaked! Don’t touch me!”

Aiden laughed at the two. When Spirit managed to push Isaac off, he ran over to where Oliver was laughing and trembling like a puppy after getting out of the cold water, and she looked over to a food stand she’d already looked at a few times.

Following her gaze, Aiden realized it was a Korean Corndog stand. He smiled at Spirit. “Wanna go grab a snack?” he asked her.

She didn’t look at him, shaking her head. “I only have enough cash for lunch and a few games. I don’t wanna waste it.”

Aiden’s brows creased slightly at the way Spirit’s voice sounded. Sad? Why?

“I’ll pay,” he told her, grabbing her hand and making her look at him. He smiled as he squeezed her hand, and she couldn’t help but smile back and squeeze his hand as well.

Isaac and Oliver went to play a dart game while Spirit and Aiden walked to the Korean Corndog stand, hand in hand. Spirit— to no surprise—got the hot Cheeto corndog, and Aiden got a potato one. They just began to walk around the festival while eating.

“I like all your friends,” Aiden said, smiling. “They’re all so. . . unique. You’re part of a very interesting friend group.”

Spirit smiled at that, a bit of Cheeto powder on the corner of her mouth. “Thanks. They all like you too—I can tell. Sorry if they were weird at first though.”

Aiden chuckled. “I think it just showed how close you all are.” The corndogs weren’t all that big, and Aiden finished his after five minutes. After walking around for ten more—and winding up in the part of the festival in the downtown streets—he was aware that the combination of cheese, potatoes, sugar and a deep fryer was gonna cost him.

“I-I’ll be right back,” he said sheepishly, his ears red with embarrassment. “I saw a store with a bathroom. Could you wait here for a minute?”

Spirit nodded, squeezing his hand before letting go, and he left while Spirit walked to a closed building and leaned against the wall, pulling out her phone and checking her messages. She wanted to text Birdie, but had no idea what she’d say.

“Damn,” she muttered to herself, leaving her messages to scroll on TikTok. She was about to open the app when suddenly:

“We need to talk.”

Spirit froze at the voice, not having to look up to know exactly who it was.

“Go away, Zeke.”

She felt his arm creep around her shoulders, and she wanted to kick him in the gut, but didn’t want to cause a scene. She told him again, “Go away. Now.”

“Come with me, just for a minute, hot stuff,” he said, leaning close to her ear. She could smell weed on him. She knew better than to make Zeke upset when he was high.

“Fine. But stop touching me.”

Zeke backed up and Spirit finally looked at him. He had faded scars of his own from their last fight, and his hair had been dyed a mix of yellow and orange. Spirit scowled as she followed him. “Keep it quick. I’m supposed to meet somebody.”

“Chill, hot stuff.”

Spirit didn’t like this. She followed Zeke around the corner of a building and into the alley there. Her heart began to beat faster as memories from her middle and high school years came back. The alley was quieter and dark enough that Spirit knew no one could see them just by passing by.

“What do you want?”

“Just to talk to you,” he said, getting closer. Spirit backed away. “Y’know, I think we should be friends again. Let’s just forget that ugly little incident, baby.” He reached out to touch her shoulder, and she slapped his hand away.

“Fuck off. If this is all you wanted to talk about, I’m leaving.” She turned to leave, but Zeke roughly shoved her hard enough to slam her against the side of the building and scrape her face a bit. Before she could turn to punch him, he slammed himself against her, pressing her front against the building and holding her hands behind her back.

She started to scream, but he used his other hand to cover her mouth. “Annoying bitch,” he swore, kissing the back of her neck and making her scream more, but she knew no one could hear her. In her pocket, her phone began ringing.

She struggled harder, managing to free one arm and elbow Zeke, making him groan and back away a little. She turned and swung a punch at him, but only got his shoulder before he punched her jaw, knocking her to the ground. She groaned, dizzy from the hit. She felt tears in her eyes as Zeke bent down, grabbing her wrists and forcing his lips on hers, and she felt as helpless as a 13-year-old again.

Zeke stopped, shoving her hard one last time before standing. “I miss you, hot stuff,” he chuckled. “Call me.” He kicked her leg before running a hand through his hair and walking out of the alley.

Spirit stayed exactly where she was, frozen. Eyes wide. Holding her breath without realizing it as her heart raced. She felt sick. She was dizzy and wanted the world to swallow her whole.

She had tears streaming down her face.

Her phone rang, and she snapped out of her panic enough to take a small, shaky breath and pull out her phone. She had a couple texts from Isaac and Oliver, and the calls were all from Aiden. More texts were coming in from her other friends, and she saw that it was past the time they had to meet up.

Her hands shook and she could hardly breathe as she shared her location in their group chat. That’s all she sent before putting her phone away and curling up where she was, feeling disgusted by the feeling of Zeke’s lips on her neck and mouth. She hated him so much. Memories flooded her head, and she again held her breath without thinking, falling into the clutches of a silent panic attack.

Minutes? Hours? Spirit had no idea how long she was there with her thoughts racing.

Stop, she yelled in her mind, cursing at the unwelcome memories. The memories of every time Zeke called her baby. The memories of him forcing her to take a puff of his vape, or of him pulling her hair or laughing at her for crying over her dad. . .

Memories of the times when she wasn’t strong enough to fight back. Like just moments ago.

Black spots were appearing in her vision, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t even feel the burning in her chest. The memories were too overwhelming.

Stop.

Stop!

STOP!!

“Spirit? You in here?”

Spirit didn’t hear those words. There was only the awful memories. . .

“Oh my God.”

Spirit felt hands on her, and felt her heart beat a little faster. Zeke, she thought.

“Spirit, breathe! Look at me, you’re okay!”

“What happened?!”

“I don’t know!”

Spirit felt like she was being shaken. She felt dizzier than she did before.

“Spirit, you have to breathe!”

That was not Zeke’s voice.

“Look at us, Spirit,” another voice—also not Zeke’s—said. Spirit blinked, reacting slightly. Birdie.

“Spirit, you’re okay. Okay? You’re okay.” Spirit felt arms wrap around her. More than one person was hugging her tightly, and Spirit snapped out of her panic enough to feel the burning agony in her chest. She gasped, choking on air as the memories faded and she found herself back in the alley.

She sobbed as she swallowed air greedily, shaking and crying while Birdie and Isaac held her. Aiden was also there, his eyes wide, confused, and terrified by what he just saw.

“You’re alright,” Birdie whispered to Spirit hugging her tightly.

Spirit took in breaths, and let them out for a long time until they slowly went from frantic to calm but shaky.

Isaac pulled away and looked her in the eye. “You okay?” he asked softly, but Spirit didn’t answer the question. At least, not with a yes or no.

Instead, she sobbed one more time and said quietly, “Zeke.”

Isaac’s eyes widened, and Birdie also pulled back with a look of shock.

“Shit,” Isaac cursed, standing. He ran a frustrated hand through his hair.

“What’s going on?” Aiden asked, starting to really freak out. Spirit was finally calm enough to actually notice he was there, and she wanted nothing more than to hug him.

Isaac looked at Aiden, frowning deeply, looking both sad and pissed. “A situation that I’m sick of,” Isaac answered, pulling out his phone. “I’m texting the others.”

— — —

Spirit had Birdie’s arm around her, and she held Aiden’s hand tightly. Isaac walked behind them as they made their way to the parking lot where most of the others were.

“I told Felix and Atticus to keep enjoying the fair,” Amberlynn said, brows creased with worry.

“And Jordan and El are telling some officers we found about what happened,” Oliver said.

Keiko noticed the bruise on Spirit’s cheek and the scrapes on her face, and he looked pissed. All of them were.

Aiden was still confused, but he was more concerned. He felt Spirit squeeze his hand suddenly, and he looked at her. She was looking at the ground, a sad and empty look on her face. He hated seeing her like this. He hated that someone had clearly hurt her in the short time he left her alone. And the way her friends were acting told him this wasn’t a new or strange situation for them.

“I want to go home,” Spirit suddenly said in a small voice, very different from the usual strength in her tone.

“Let’s go,” Birdie said to her softly.

“Wait.” Spirit turned to Aiden and leaned against him, and he instantly understood and let go of her hand to hug her tightly. She wanted to stay there, held by him, engulfed by his warmth, and he didn’t want to let go of her. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” she said quietly to him, barely loud enough for him to hear.

He nodded, and she stepped away, letting Birdie put an arm around her again and guide her away.

Aiden watched her go before turning to her friends, still freaking out. He looked at Isaac. “What’s happening?!”

Isaac shared looks with the others before sighing and saying, “There’s a guy named Zeke who used to harass and hurt Spirit a lot. She saw him again a few months ago, and he hurt her again today. But that’s all I can say. If Spirit wants you to know, she’ll tell you more. Okay?”

Aiden felt almost sick. But there was something familiar about the name Zeke.

“We’re all heading home,” Keiko said to Aiden. “I’m glad we got to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Aiden nodded, still processing. “Same. It was nice meeting you all.”

Everyone else went to their cars, and so did Aiden, but he didn’t even turn his car on. He just sat there, thinking. He wanted to be with Spirit right now. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to strangle whoever had hurt her.

And he felt a heavy guilt in his stomach because he left her alone. His vision blurred as tears stung in his eyes.

He eventually managed to make the drive to his apartment, but the memory of seeing Spirit curled up in that alley still burned in his head. Not even 24 hours ago, he’d asked her to be his girlfriend. And now, this happened.

With a pained sigh, Aiden decided that all he could do was wait for Spirit to talk to him. He wanted to apologize for leaving her alone, and he wanted to be there for her, but he just made sure his ringer was on and waited.

It’s really all he could do right now.

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

Part 2

[mania-sama]

lovely bitter water

Bitter Water - The Oh Hellos

➼ information ❧ Genshin Impact ❧ Pairing: Alhaitham/Kaveh ❧ Tags: deaf/hard of hearing! alhaitham, alcohol abuse/alcoholism, angst with a hopeful ending, recovering alcoholic, ooc! alhaitham for the practical sense that he wouldn't ever be an alcoholic in the game because he's too rational and clear-minded, hurt/comfort, written before kaveh release ❧ Summary: Alhaitham was an alcoholic, and he almost relapses. Kaveh is there to intervene. ❧ Word Count: 5,014 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 23 January 2023

Kaveh had a few reasons for stealing ten crates of wine. All of them, though, led back to his dreadful roommate. That meant he also blamed Alhaitham for the suffering he had endured.

In exchange for the crew’s silence and cooperation, they’d forced Kaveh to load their ship of all ten crates by himself. The task in and of itself wouldn’t have been so hard if it weren’t for the fact that he had to carry those individually from the wagon outside the ship to the cargo hold, which was at the very bottom of the ship. His legs pulsed and ached, and he had splinters sticking in his palms from the boxes.

However, he’d hopefully get his mora’s worth of the wine in a few weeks' time when they sold it off in Mondstadt or Liyue, or wherever they could manage to pawn them off. He wrung out his shirt as he walked away from the ship, the Maudelayne. If it hadn’t been so Archons-damned hot outside, perhaps it would’ve been a little easier.

The sun beat him down in waves when he hailed a horse-drawn carriage, and even then it was unbearably warm inside his ride. He wouldn’t make it back by nightfall if he walked to Sumeru City from Port Ormos, but he also didn’t want to sleep in soggy clothes in a tavern room or hostel. His precious mora landed in the hands of the driver, and off they went.

Port Ormos was a city that was built to be admired. Its golden outer layer shimmered with the arts—music flooded every corner of each street, easels were covered in paint from various artists, and bright laughter echoed from the pedestrians as the street performers danced. From the outside, it looked like the city to be: the highest standard for living.

Underneath the shiny exterior was the rusted copper inner layer. The brothels at the fringes of the city, the heavy gang violence in the shadows of the alleyways, the countless pickpockets and petty crimes, the rich men that get richer and the poor men that get poorer. It was an ugly city, truly. Hell, Kaveh had literally just smuggled ten full crates of wine onto the Maudelayne himself.

Kaveh thought the port was a lot like Alhaitham. On the outside, he was a charismatic scribe with enough intelligence to challenge Irminsul itself. However, Kaveh knew a different Alhaitham, the one that argued with him day and night, who couldn’t set goals higher than himself, and who was still at grips with addiction.

Kaveh settled back into his padded carriage seat as Port Ormos gave way to the ever-green landscape of Sumeru. He tried to shut out the thoughts of his roommate, but every time he looked at a patch of flowers or a pond of glittering water, he somehow wound his way back to Alhaitham. It was more tiring than anything.

Kaveh sighed and closed his eyes, succumbing to his treacherous mind. Memories of Alhaitham and his addiction seeped through his sweat-crinkled clothes and bit a home next to heart. The pain prepared him for the long conversation he and his roommate were going to have.

—

Kaveh was embarrassed. His pride and joy, his child, had put him six feet under in terms of finances. He couldn’t begin to list the amount of 0s he was in debt to Dori, for the list would grow so long it would fall off the face of Teyvat. If he wanted to so much as lick salt off of a plate once per week, he wouldn’t be able to afford housing. If he wanted to buy the worst pair of pants, he wouldn’t be able to sleep in a bed.

It sucked, it really did. He could smell the pretentious bastard from outside the house, but he learned quickly that it was better to suck up your pride than to let it crumble you into dust. Kaveh knocked on the front door, gripping his duffel bag in his other hand. It was all he owned now; he’d sold most of his things off after he realized he couldn’t afford anything anymore.

Running back to his roommate after he’d ignored him for a good two and a half years wasn’t what he thought he’d be doing during his post-graduate life. But there he was, watching the door swing open.

The first thing Kaveh noticed was that Alhaitham looked terrible. His eyes were red, his hair disheveled, and his shirt missing. The second thing he noticed was that he absolutely reeked of alcohol. The smell came off of him in waves, clouding Kaveh’s senses more than his embarrassment did. The architect physically recoiled, face scrunched up.

Oh Archons. “Kaveh?” Alhaitham’s eyes were narrowed, but there was a glossy sheen over his them that could only come from intoxication. His name wasn’t laced with venom or bitterness like he expected it to.

Kaveh pulled himself together swiftly. Finding his former research partner drunk helped stave off the heat climbing up his neck from the humiliation of his situation.

“My half of the house,” he said, trying to appear as confident as possible, “I’ve come to take my claim.”

Alhaitham stared at Kaveh as if he were an elaborate puzzle he couldn’t figure out. Kaveh supposed the inebriation wasn’t helping his thoughts, but the intensity of his gaze was a little freaky. Going two and half years without having to deal with it everyday must’ve put him out of practice.

“Okay,” he finally responded. His speech was slurred ever-so-slightly. If he hadn’t been so proper in his manner of speaking when sober, it would be almost impossible for a normal person to detect. What was noticeable, however, was the undignified response of okay.

Kaveh, against his better judgment, argued. It was something built deep into his veins. Every time someone so much as brought up the Scribe, he felt that familiar burn of ire flare up in his chest. “You’re not even going to push the issue? Yell at me? You act like I want to be here!”

There was a moment of silence where Kaveh glared at Alhaitham and Alhaitham blankly stared back. Then, the Scribe took off his self-made hearing aids, turned around and walked back into his apartment without another word. The door was left open for the architect.

Kaveh didn’t want to be there; that much had been true. He’d started an argument because their previous ones had never been resolved, and that fire had never quite left his heart. But seeing Alhaitham callously ignore him instead of rise to the bait made Kaveh feel like the world was crashing in.

Something was wrong. It wasn’t just the fact that Alhaitham was drunk—that was rather normal for someone on a Friday night. When he finished gawking at the Scribe and actually followed him into the house, he immediately noticed that the floors and tabletops were strewn with bottles of wine and other alcoholic beverages he couldn’t put a name to. He winced when he realized that meant Alhaitham was likely mixing his drinks.

More than that, though, the place looked trashed. Kaveh reasoned with himself that maybe Alhaitham had gone through a bad breakup recently, or a recent project had gone to the dumpster fire. There were a hundred reasons why he could be drinking so heavily, and frankly, none of them concerned Kaveh.

Except they did, because if Kaveh was meant to live there, he couldn’t stand the house to be so unkept. There wasn’t anything he was going to do about it this night, though. It was too late at night, and he didn’t want to risk getting kicked out before his new housemate became sober. Kaveh found Alhaitham standing in front of a closed door further way into the house.

“Guest bedroom,” Alhaitham said, his hearing aids still clutched in his hands. “Take it.”

Kaveh nodded and watched Alhaitham rift away from the door, picking up a wine bottle on his way to another room that he shut himself in. Alhaitham hadn’t given Kaveh a chance to sign a thank you, even though Kaveh wouldn’t have done it anyway. Concern and anger never mixed particularly well, just like alcohol.

The guest bedroom, he found, was probably the cleanest portion of the house. He had glimpsed the kitchen and living room, and both had been littered with bottles and papers. The bedroom was untouched; the bed was made, it smelled of lilacs and dandelions, and there were no extra items outside of what was strictly necessary in a room.

It was boring, but in a house like this, boring was just what he needed. Kaveh didn’t bother to unpack, but instead changed into the one pair of pajamas he hadn’t sold and climbed into bed. He ignored the telltale popping sound of a wine bottle after Alhaitham’s door creaked open.

Sleep didn’t come to him easily. Eventually, he managed it in the foreign bed, but not after he heard a second bottle be opened.

***

Kaveh paid rent and did house chores that Alhaitham didn’t want to do. At first, Kaveh argued and spat at him for it, but Haitham had leverage: Kaveh had relinquished his share of the house all those years ago. He had no financial nor legal claim to the property. The Scribe had given him an ultimatum: do the chores and pay rent, or be homeless.

Kaveh chose the former option.

It wasn’t terrible. Alhaitham hadn’t asked for too much concerning rent, and the house chores consisted of doing both of their laundry, fixing anything that broke, and generally keeping the house clean. He swiftly ran into a problem, though, when he realized that no matter what he did, the bottles never went away.

Kaveh didn’t care if people drank; it was normal. He did it, and so did most other adults. It only became a problem when they did it too often. Instead of having one glass of wine every night or getting drunk every now and then, Alhaitham was almost never sober. The only times Kaveh saw that he wasn’t drinking was when the Scribe had to attend mandatory meetings. Other than that, the scent of alcohol never left his clothes.

It was an issue, to say the least. The fire that burned in his gut every time he talked to Alhaitham about anything was fueled by the timber of his concern.

Their first argument about the matter hadn’t gone well. None of their conversations were pleasant anyway, but this was significantly worse. Kaveh was sure he’d never yelled at someone for so long and so hard as he had at Alhaitham, and neither had he received such equal fervor back.

Haitham didn’t see his problem. He’d cracked a glass on the countertop in their kitchen, but that was as physical as it got in their argument. Even when he’d taken off his hearing aids, Kaveh had signed to him his distress. He had signed that he wouldn’t be cleaning up after Alhaitham. The result was the Scribe storming out of their house.

It didn’t get worse after that, but it hadn’t gotten better. There were things that Kaveh shouldn’t have done, like throwing out all of Alhaitham’s expensive wine. Alcohol abuse wasn’t something that he was adept in dealing with. He wished he was helping Alhaitham through literally anything else, but fate wasn’t so kind.

Helping was a loose term in the beginning. It was more like Kaveh was constantly screaming and getting screamed at, the two scholars at a complete standstill. It was awful, but Kaveh had nowhere else to stay. It was either get Alhaitham through his alcoholism or sleep on the streets.

For about three months, it was this constant back and forth. They fired their weapons at each other, but they never left any lasting marks. Things only changed when fear began to set into Kaveh’s mind. He had sifted through the Akasha, finding every last detail about alcohol that he could. When he gathered all of the information he could obtain, deep-seeded fear sprouted in his heart.

He wasn’t going to watch Haitham drink himself to death.

His approach to this situation changed. Kaveh involved other people, people that Alhaitham tolerated better than his own roommate, into convincing Haitham into attending AA meetings. The architect anonymously gifted him books that dealt with mental health and recovery. Nights that the Scribe came home drunk would end in conversations about his state of mind rather than screaming arguments.

It was progress. His healing wasn’t linear; he sat out of many AA meetings, he spent most of his hard-earned mora on drinks, and he was drunk every other day. However, he still attended a few meetings, didn’t spend all of his mora, and drinking every other day was better than every single day. Slow improvement was better than no improvement at all.

—

Kaveh didn’t let himself regret much. He didn’t regret building the Palace of Alcazarzaray, even if it left him bankrupt and in debt to a tiny, conniving merchant. He didn’t regret tossing out all of Alhaitham’s alcohol one night, no matter the argument they had afterwards. Therefore, he knew he wouldn’t regret smuggling all of those crates.

He would feel guilt, obviously. The screaming match that was going to unfold between the two of them was going to claw at his stomach for days to come, but there was no room to have second thoughts on what he’d done.

It was for the better that the wine never made it. Alhaitham was going to disagree.

Kaveh thanked his carriage driver and entered their house, steeling his nerves for what was going to come.  He half-expected to see his roommate on the couch, drinking himself into oblivion like he had all those years ago. It wasn’t the most optimal situation, but a likely one.

Alhaitham greeted Kaveh in the front hallway immediately upon Kaveh opening the door. His arms were crossed and his eyes were scrutinizing, but he appeared completely sober. Kaveh couldn’t smell the bitterness of alcohol on the Scribe or in the house. Good.

“You look terrible,” Alhaitham remarked, his voice withering. Kaveh scoffed.

“Move out of the way, Haitham. You’re blocking the hallway,” said Kaveh, his words not having the bite that he wanted.

Alhaitham titled himself so he could rest against the wall, but still spread enough that Kaveh couldn’t take another step forward. “I got a visit from the Matra today. They said that somebody stole my special order in Port Ormos.”

“Oh, really?” Kaveh asked, feigning surprise. It was purposefully not convincing. “I wonder what kind of criminal would dare to steal from the Scribe.”

“I wondered that, too. He must be a foolish, selfish, and obnoxious man that can’t see past this own ambition.”

Let it be known that Haitham raised his voice first. The following conversation was not Kaveh’s fault.

“How— how did you come to such a conclusion?” Kaveh was fuming. “You have only described yourself, Alhaitham! You are the one that bought all that wine.”

“And you were the one that stole it! Where is it, then? If you give it to me then maybe I’ll consider not reporting you to the Matra.” Alhaitham was gripping his biceps with tight fists, leaving his fingers paper white from the pressure. The only times Haitham had dared to swing was when he was deep in his addiction, when his skin was yellow and he could barely stand.

“It's on a ship to Mondstadt. You’ll never be getting it back, and you won’t report me,” the architect said with confidence he didn’t have. “Take this as an intervention.”

“That wine wasn’t for me, idiot!” Alhaitham cursed, finally moving out of the way to carelessly stomp into the living room. “I ordered it for the Akademiya.”

Kaveh had already considered that, since it was delivered under the pretense of going straight to the Akademiya. Perhaps it was just for a meeting at the Akademiya, or a political party. Though it appeared that Haitham had underestimated him, because he knew that the Scribe’s job wasn’t to buy provisions for that sort of thing. More than that, if there was a grand party in need of so much wine, the architect would’ve known about it already. There had been no rumors of anything of the sort.

Besides, the crates hadn’t been bought under a business expense. The Akademiya would’ve supplied him with the mora necessary to make the purchase, and yet, Alhaitham had done it all in his own name and mora.

“A bold-faced lie! What would it be for? A party? A meeting? Go on, tell me whatever you can think of to save your skin!” Kaveh called, following after his roommate in quick steps.

Alhaitham turned around when he reached the middle of their living space. One hand was gripping the top of his hair, and the other hung by his side in a closed fist. “Can’t you just accept that you fucked up? You stole the wine from the Akademiya, and now you need to get it back to me before it’s too late.”

“You’re worse off than I thought! You really think that I would believe you? You bought that expensive wine by your own mora, Alhaitham! The Akademiya would’ve paid for that!”

It wasn’t a matter of underestimation, Kaveh realized. Haitham’s eyes were bloodshot from lack of rest and he quivered from where he stood. His roommate lacked a clear head, just like when he hadn’t been sober.

“So I bought the wine! What’s your problem, then? Why did you steal it when this doesn’t concern you?” Alhaitham demanded, practically begged. 

The question was preposterous, and it stabbed right through Kaveh’s chest. “Of course it concerns me! I am not going to sit back and let you kill yourself again!”

“I was never—” the Scribe’s voice broke, and his glossy eyes were not lost on Kaveh. “Nobody here will serve me any Archons-forsaken alcohol because of you! I’ve not had a single drop in two years! One bottle won’t kill me.”

Kaveh didn’t want to be having this conversation. All of those lines had been said to him before at different points during Alhaitham’s withdrawal and recovery, all with the same amount of ire and fury as they did now. They brought back memories of all the nights Alhaitham drank his weight in alcohol, of the days he spent throwing it all back up, and then repeating the cycle.

“We both put that safety precaution in place! It might’ve been my idea, but you went along with it. You knew this would happen one day!” They’d agreed to tell all of the managers and owners of the restaurants in Sumeru City and Port Ormos to not serve Alhaitham any liquor, even if he was begging at their feet for just a taste. Their precaution worked even now, two years after Alhaitham stopped drinking completely.

No matter what, Kaveh wasn’t going to let Haitham get his hands on another bottle. Addiction was a slippery slope of self-manipulation and lies, and the architect knew no-one better than the Scribe had perfected both of those things.

“What if I order another ten crates? A hundred? What will you do then, Kaveh? You can’t keep up with my mora, unless you want to ruin your career.” A threat. Wonderful. Too bad it was terrible, and Kaveh’s déjà vu had already kicked in to be able to respond easily.

“I will steal as much wine as I need to and I will go to prison enough times to ruin my life. I will forsake my career and sell my soul to the devil if it means keeping you alive!”

And he meant it, truly. His eyes stung with the truth, and Alhaitham’s mouth was parted with thinly veiled shock. It was unbearable to hear Haitham talk about himself and Kaveh like they meant nothing, as though their relationship could be crumbled by a gust of wind.

Kaveh waved his hands in the air as he yelled, his anger and anxiety since finding out about Haitham’s attempt at relapse spilling out uncontrollably into the living room. “Do you remember when your skin was yellow from your liver failing? Or when you sliced your wrist open because you were so drunk that you were uncoordinated? How about when you couldn’t see any of the tables from how many bottles were covering it?”

“I—”

“No! You wouldn’t remember it, but I do! I remember praying to Kusanali every night that you wouldn’t die from the alcohol poisoning in your blood! So forgive me, Alhaitham, for stealing your fucking wine. I don’t want you to go back to the way you were, trying to find death at the end of every bottle.”

Alhaitham’s hand had dropped away from his hair, instead choosing to clutch the front of his shirt as though he’d been stabbed. His face was twisted into a grimace. Panting and furiously wiping away the stray tear from his cheek, Kaveh collapsed onto the couch.

Kaveh put his elbows on his knees and said, “You’ve been irritable since you’ve become the Acting Grand Sage. I know it’s been hard on you.” Their eyes met, and Kaveh thought he could see the stress of the past few months replay in the Scribe’s pupils. “Why couldn’t you just talk to me about it instead of resorting to… this?”

He wasn’t yelling anymore, his voice having retreated back like a cowering animal. All that was left in his wake of outrage were ruins. It was oddly silent in the living room, something that was so rare when both of them were home. Someone was always making noise, whether that be cooking or cleaning or arguing. Silence was terrifying.

Ever since he’d gotten back from his research expedition in the desert, he had noticed the stress Alhaitham had been under. It came out to Kaveh in the form of snappy words and bad moods. But there were the other parts, too, that Alhaitham had tried and failed to conceal. The Scribe hadn’t been sleeping or eating as much, his hands had never stopped shaking, and there were off-white streaks in his hair that could only be explained by stress.

None of this had been ignored by Kaveh, but he had hoped Alhaitham would talk to him or someone else about it. He should’ve known his roommate wouldn’t be reasonable. How such an intelligent man could be so emotionally repressed and unable to communicate was beyond Kaveh.

The couch dipped as Alhaitham sat down beside Kaveh. They were close enough that their thighs were touching, though Haitham kept his gaze trained carefully at the floor.

“I didn’t report you to the Matra,” Alhaitham said dumbly. 

“I noticed,” he replied bitterly. If Kaveh had the energy, he would’ve strangled his roommate and left his body to be found by those Matra.

Alhaitham wrung his hands between his legs, his thumbs fiddling with one another. His elbows were on his knees like Kaveh. In a strange way, their mannerisms had always mirrored each other. “You were right to steal the wine.”

Hesitation was unbecoming of Alhaitham. He’d only ever done that when he was out of his comfort zone, doing things he didn’t like to do. The Scribe was a man that only partook in activities that interested him; he didn’t shoot for a higher office because he was “lazy,” as he’d put it. It was out of his league.

Sharing his emotions, admitting that Kaveh of all people were right—that was something he never did. So, the architect forgave Alhaitham for the lapse in speaking, for not eloquently wording his sentences like he usually did. For once, he was being vulnerable, and Kaveh was not going to stop him.

Instead of biting back a witty response, he said, “You don’t want to go back, do you?”

He shook his head of gray hair. “It’s all I’ve been craving.”

Whenever it was quiet in the household, it was also tense. Silence meant that someone was going to explode. Now, though, their lack of words told a different story. They embraced it like an old friend rather than a ticking bomb. Silence was acceptance.

“How long have you been financially able to leave?” Alhaitham asked all of a sudden, snapping Kaveh out of the deafening quiet.

He would be honest. This was not the time for poor jokes and acidic lies. “Half a year, maybe less.”

“Why do you stay?”

The why do you continue to care? was left unsaid.

For all of their repeated arguments, this was a question that had come up in different forms the most often. It was why don’t you leave and why do you bother to keep me around. They were heated and angry, and the topic of their quarrels were always stupid and inconsequential.

This was different, not because of the way it was worded but for the tone in which it was said. Alhaitham wanted to know, genuinely, but his curiosity was laced with sorrow. It was as though he expected Kaveh to drop everything and leave if he got an honest answer.

Kaveh knew the answer. He’d known for a long time, since before they’d broken apart at their research project. No, he’d been infatuated with Alhaitham when they had first met in the Akademiya, when they’d actually been friends.

He had said he didn’t regret much, but that didn’t mean he never regretted anything at all.

His entire relationship with Alhaitham was a mess. His hate during their two and half years apart had been real and true. But there was always a cancer in his heart that was competing against spite and resentment. Kaveh was afraid to put a name to this cancer, but he knew it now as love.

For so long, Kaveh denied the cancer’s growth. He knew that Alhaitham would deny any romantic advances, and besides, they hadn’t been exactly healthy for each other. It had been better for them to stay as far apart from each other as possible.

Now it was different. He didn’t know what Alhaitham would say to Kaveh’s honesty, but the cancer named love had grown and overcame his ire and hate. Haitham probably didn’t reciprocate his feelings, but it wasn’t worth it to let this cancer kill his heart and body.

The truth was what Alhaitham wanted, but Kaveh wasn’t sure if he could say it out loud. So, he turned to his roommate and motioned to his ears. Alhaitham touched his hearing aids tentatively, a look of confusion spread across his face.

Words wouldn’t form in his throat. His mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and his throat was filled with poison. He blinked back the water threatening to fall from his eyes and moved in his hands in a pulling motion next to his ears. Alhaitham followed suit, though he did it with unbearable slowness.

Once it was off and Alhaitham couldn’t hear him, he let out a sort of choked sound. Bringing his hands to his chest, he forced himself to sign. “Because I care. I care too much, and I love you. I have since we were students.”

Language wasn’t concrete, and therefore couldn’t be taught by the Akademiya. In order to speak a new language, you had to manually learn it yourself. Kaveh had learned sign language all those years ago for Alhaitham, and he’d continued practicing it even after their falling out. The cancer never really left him, after all.

Alhaitham looked stunned, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed in a way that was terribly unbecoming of him. It was hard to get the Scribe to be shocked so many times in the span of an hour. Relapse really did do something to a person.

Eventually, he signed back to a patiently-waiting Kaveh. “I’m not ready for a relationship.”

It wasn’t rejection, but it wasn’t acceptance. Alhaitham’s stare was hard and could almost be read as apologetic. 

“I didn’t expect you to be.”

It had not crossed Kaveh’s mind that Alhaitham would be in the mindset to have a relationship. They still fought too often, and they hadn’t really even developed enough as friends. Any romance between the two of them would be toxic and leave them both damaged. His answer was what Kaveh expected. It wasn’t painful; it was only the truth.

“Maybe,” Alhaitham sighed, his hands stilling for a moment. “Maybe in the future.”

Kaveh shook his head, letting the barest hint of a smile spread over his features. “Let’s try being friends first.”

Before Alhaitham could reply, Kaveh took one of his hands into his own, interlacing their fingers. The architect squeezed the Scribe's hand, and he reciprocated gently.

Love didn’t have to mean romance. It could easily mean pushing against the raging storm of grief and addiction all because you cared about the person that was trapped inside. Love was knowing that they needed time to set relationships right before they crashed and burned. Love was learning that you won’t always be right, and neither will the other person. Love was improving and healing.

Alhaitham needed Kaveh, and Kaveh needed Alhaitham. Even if it was for benefits that had nothing to do with romance or compatibility, but rather a check and balance to addiction, and a means of financial support. Kaveh thought that they could build something greater from the ruins of their lives.

Alhaitham wouldn’t be just his addiction, and Kaveh wouldn’t just be his debt. They would be the Scribe and the architect. They could be friends, and maybe one day, they could be more. But love didn’t require that. Love only needed careful attention as though it was a plant. In order to make it grow, it had to be watered and cared for with a devoted hand.

They weren’t lovers—they were barely even friends. But they acknowledged their love, and they would try. That was all that mattered.

[gummimn]

Chicago Road-trip Diary

{an old story it posted; the site seems to be offline, so it is reposting here} By gummimn.

Part 1: introductions and prologue.

I was really looking forward to the coming weekend. LatexIL and I had been chatting for quite some time about the chance of getting together for a weekend of some serious play. I had taken extra days off, so we’d have all day Friday, Saturday and Sunday to play; I didn’t have to leave until Monday afternoon. I still got hard just thinking about his profile entry.

“Latex, rubber, leather bondage: intense inescapable, short or long term. Can top, SM optional. Have equipment including sleepsacks, hoods and gags, lots of restraints, can have multiple guests in playroom at once. I like to travel too. Looking for hot safe bondage players who want it tight, inescapable, with headgear controlling sight, sound, speech and air…ESPECIALLY in head to toe latex/rubber. All holes plugged, tubed, and cath’d. Layers: leather over rubber; sacks over leather; sucked down in rac. Hobbies: rubber, catsuits, sleepsacks, straitjackets, vacrac, hoods, gags, and tight, effective restraints. Keeping bottoms tied up for as long as they like it; stored out of sight, out of mind. Favorite Quote: Maybe you need another layer of rubber and you definitely need those straps tightened up…”

Even after 12 years together, Peter still didn’t get the whole bondage/rubber/sense-dep SM scene. He did his fisting and watersports, played with guys who wanted bears, and loved me. Me? I did WS as well, but man, I wanted my rubber too. Waders, suits, sheaths front and back, hoods, gags, gasmask hoods, industrial gloves and rubber work boots; my rubber English riding boots to go with the Vex Chicago cop shirt and tight cod-piece jeans; the rubber BDU from Invincible; did I mention my home-made 1piece? It was a cross-country ski suit until I got my pervy hands and 3 quarts of liquid latex on it. Add some bondage: straitjackets, ropes, chains, restraints, collars, frames, racks, sacks, locks-and I’d be a happy pig. Leather? Oh hell yeah! I never got on my rocket without full gear: suit, boots, gloves and helmet…such a terrible thing; a gear pig required by his lover to wear gear just to go riding. Sucks to be me! My first piece of leather-a biker-hippie approved biker jacket; my knee-high Red Wing loggers-black laces for formal, white for play; leather jeans and cargoes; hoods, restraints-give me my Mr. S. 4 buckles any day; padded fist mitts; padded posture collar (Thanks again Mr. S!); padded sense-dep hood, the only connection to the outside world the grommet at my mouth. Gags-can I count the ways I like to be gagged? Yes, I can. Floggers and crops; pummeling and beating; yeah, I can take the pain, and make it a ticket to that place only a Dom and his sub can go when they’re in a scene: time stops, space expands, 2 souls commune without a spoken word-nirvana in a dungeon with pain and pleasure the mantra that lets them into the garden.

Peter doesn’t get it, but he doesn’t get in the way. One of the first “big talks” we had before living together had settled that. We discussed all the mundane things that will kill a relationship when times get tough. Times always get tough. One of you gets sick, or fired; or you see someone really hot who wants you too; the weather gets too hot or too cold. Crap happens. You work out the little details beforehand, you can get through them. So we talked. Monogamy got talked over as well: go out, have a good time, remember your heart stays at home, don’t bring home diseases. It had worked for 12 years; he had his kink or two, I had my laundry list of pervs; we shared each other and our hearts and our home.

So, I was off to a long weekend in Chicago. I’d shipped some gear ahead, but not much. LatexIL assured me that he had everything that was needed, and I wasn’t going out to the bars. So I sent on my favorite waders and boots, my favorite gags and the posture collar. The only gear in my saddlebags was a rainsuit-never leave home without it; my meds and toilet kit; and bottles of Boost for the trip down. He’d asked, and I’d readily agreed, to a liquid diet starting a couple of days before hand. No need to make a trip to interrupt the scene; the external cath would take care of the rest.

Peter and I had talked over breakfast; his bowl of cereal, my bottle of Boost. We confirmed I’d call when I got there and when I left Monday. He made sure once again that he had LatexIL’s phone and address. We clarified once again the secret code I’d use if I thought the scene was bad and I needed out. Peter can be a pain in the ass when it comes to crap like that. He’s mister “plan everything out, double check the plans, confirm the details, annoy the partner with more plans and details.” I’m a bit more impetuous and spontaneous, mister “hey, that sounds like fun! Let’s go!” He was off to work; I was off to get ready.

First on the list were a trim, then shower and douche. I got out the trimmer, and worked it over my head once again. The smallest guard left only bristly fuzz that felt soooo good to the touch. Latex had sent a liquid soap for me to use; it had an intense chemical scent, but it left my body as smooth and clean as a baby’s behind. The enema was quick; three days of liquids saw to that. I rinsed off the hair from the trim, soaped up and rinsed down. Brushed, flossed, dried off, time to get dressed.

Now was the make it or break it moment. LatexIL had sent me a really cool locking gag and a custom 1-piece suit. The gag was some sort of carbon-fiber head harness with a tube to connect to my CamelBack, and another to use as a straw for Boost on the trip down. Once I locked it over the suit, I had only one way out-I had to see Latex for the key. I took the suit, and admired it once again. Sheaths front and rear; socks with toes, gloves with grippy marks on the fingers, an attached hood the only way in; stretch the mouth wide, let it swallow me whole. It was fairly thick, but still thin enough to flex with me so I wouldn’t get fatigued on the ride. It had been cut like a SlickSuit so it would conform to my every curve. It would slide up crack of my ass so the sleeve behind could slide in with the plug I was going to wear, and stretch snug across my broad shoulders while hugging my small, slim waist. It would be my skin for the weekend, if I didn’t bug out and call the whole thing off.

I got out the lube, opened the suit, and started to pour it in. I started at the feet and worked it into the toes. Up the legs, into the crotch and over the sheaths hanging inside. Starting at the fingers, I lubed up the sleeves, then across the chest. I applied a very thin film to the back of my neck, and my lower face. I wanted the hood to slide on comfortably, but I didn’t want lube in my eyes when I started to sweat under my leathers. Now it was time to slide it on. Cold at first, it quickly warmed. My toes settled in their homes, and I slid it up my legs to my crotch. I worked my dick and nut into the sack and sheath, and then used the plug to seat the sheath in my ass. That old familiar feeling began to settle in-that horny tingle that started out on the skin and worked its way into my bones and took over my brain as I felt the rubber grip my legs and transform my skin. I pulled it up my chest, and worked my hands down the sleeves until they popped into the gloves. For a moment, I had to stop and stroke. Looking at myself in the mirror, I began to grope myself. The squeak of rubber on rubber tuned my senses to the feel of the latex as it became my skin; the warming rubber gave off that heady scent of latex and sweat and my own rubber body. I was lost in the smell and the sound and the sensation. It took all my strength to pull myself back from the edge; that would have to wait until LatexIL let me go over. I pulled the hood over my head, and smoothed the eyes and mouth into place. All that remained was the gag and the last of my freedom.

I looked at the rubberman staring out from the mirror. The light caught every curve and ripple and nook and cranny of my body under its shiny new skin. I felt up my cock, worked my nipples, pushed on the plug, pulled my nut. I could still call it off, jack off, and go for a ride. Or I could put the mouth-guard with its tubes onto my teeth, pull the strap around, and place the lock. I stood there for a long time, stroking my dick, holding the head harness. Finally, I took a deep breath and pushed the guard into my mouth. I worked my tongue around to make sure the tubes on the inside were properly seated between my back molars so I could work the bite valves for the tube that would be my drinking straw and the CamelBack connection. Looking myself in the face in the mirror, my blue eyes the only evidence of a human being within the latex man staring back at me, I pulled the straps to the back of my head…and closed the lock. Now I was in for it-he had the key and my only way out.

I stood there a while longer, worried and afraid about what I had gotten myself into; more horny and lust-demented than I had been in too long a time. My misgivings were too late now. I took one last stroke of my dick with a strong tug on my nut, and left the bathroom.

I went to the bedroom, sat down, and slipped prolyprop socks over my feet and UnderArmor glove liners over my hands. A thin silk balaclava was next; I made sure it rested on my chin so the tubes from the gag were out for use. I lifted the CoolMax liner off the bed. It was my summer salvation; it kept me dry enough in the heat I could wear my leathers in the worst of July and August. It gave my body a shield against the leathers, and kept my leathers clean and free of my sweat. The lightning bolt graphics swirling over the bodysuit gave me a shiver of power and desire as I looked it over, and took in its sweet scent. I slid into the open chest, pushed my feet down the legs, my hands through the sleeves tucked the balaclava under the neck and zipped it shut. My latex skin was now armored against the leathers to come.

It had been a sacrifice, but I now had the racing suit of my gear pig wet dreams. The A-stars SX-1. Asymmetrical chest zips, molded poly-therm armor melded onto the knees, elbows, and shoulders. The same molded poly-therm cast into an armored hump down my back to protect me from whiplash if I crashed and to guide the wind over me as I lay on top of my Daytona. A vivid sky blue, white accents, black woven stretch Kevlar in the crotch and down the arms, perfed almost like mesh, memory foam armor across my chest and abs and lower back. It looked hot, the brilliant blue contrasting with the bright sunshine yellow of the bike, meeting on my A-Star Super Tech boots of blue smashing against yellow fading to white at the toe of my boots. Next was my Arai-a white star on a blue field with gold trim. I slid the Foggy Respro over my rubber face without snagging it, made sure the tubes from the gag hung free, and cinched it snug. I reached inside my suit, grabbed the hose from my hydration pack and hooked it up to the left tube so I could drink as I rode. Last, but not least, my Icon Ti-Maxx longs: blue with bling; gold plated titanium on blue gloves, gray palms with gold studs on the heel of my palm, the wrist strap snugged, the gauntlet straps firmly closed together.

I took another look in the full-length mirror on the closet door. Under the leathers, my dick stretched further up my abs. Blue, gold, white and yellow-from head to toe; armor over my shoulders, across my elbows and down my forearms; more armor over my knees and down my shins; the armored aero-hump running down my spine; it was worth every bit of overtime. The mere sight of my skin-tight leathers alone would have gotten me off in a heartbeat if I weren’t under orders to wait. My wallet was safely under the seat, the saddlebags were packed and strapped, it was time for take-off. Sense-dep breath control head-trips, utter immobility and complete helplessness waited 7 hours away. I ran to the kitchen, grabbed my keys and locked the door behind me. In the garage, I threw my leg over and started the motor. The bike safely walked out of the garage, I did the door remote and tucked it in a saddlebag pocket. I closed the golden-blue mirrored shield, slipped it into vent-lock, and launched my rocket.

Part 2: my trip and arrival

I had gotten a semi-early start. Early enough to get there before rush hour in Chicagoland, late enough to be after the morning rush here in Minneapolis. I’d only have to stop for relief and Boost breaks, so I wasn’t worried about the time. Late May can still be a roll of the dice for weather. It can be the perfect warmth all day, and still drop to freezing after sundown. You can start out dry, and end up soaking wet. Lady Latex favored the bold. It was a perfect temp to be riding skinned in rubber and encased in armored leather. Just warm enough that a layer of sweat let the latex slide over my skin without binding or chafing, no more, no less. I took the freeway just long enough to get out of town, then took my exit, and got on the 2-lane. More fun, less dangerous than the interstate, it was my preferred way to make long rides. After all, you get twisties on 2-lane, not the interstate, and I do love to put a knee down; the sound, the feel of my puck skimming asphalt gets me almost as hard as the feel of rope wrapping around my body.

I felt every bump in the road through my plug. Each crack and ripple was transmitted from the plug to my prostate, transferred to my dick, and buzzed into my brain. Once I was safely alone, away from stoplights and stop signs, crosswalks and city speed zones, I knew I wouldn’t have to shift often, so I got into my cruising position. I lay down on the tank and tucked my boots up against the passenger pegs. To corner, I would simply shift to one side or the other; to shift, I would slip my left food down to the gear shift long enough to click it, then lift it back to the rear peg. My cock and nut and taint melted into the seat sending the motor’s hum directly to my heads, both of them. The memory foam padding on my chest absorbed bumps from the road, protecting me and allowing me to breath. The rocket merged with its pilot, the two became one, and the miles slid by.

It’s strange when you’re out on a bike. Even though a car’s air-filter doesn’t really filter out all the aromas from the air coming in, there is an exponential difference when riding. You can taste each scent as it comes: the cows in the pasture, the cottonwoods by the stream, the lilacs by the farmhouse. You see it, you smell it, you taste it all in the same instant. Combine that with the hum from the motor, the buzz from the tires, and the utter bliss of being out on your own magic carpet, and you can go into sensory overload. It’s like being high without the down or the expense of weed. It’s like being born again each and every second, the whole of your being a clean slate every moment. No past, no future, only now, forever and ever amen and amen. Sometimes you just have to stop, get off the rocket, and shake your head to clear out the joy and release the beauty. Then it’s back on the magic carpet and off to the horizon again. Four times I stopped; twice to fuel my Daytona, twice more to fuel the pilot as well. Before I knew it, I was on the outskirts of Chicagoland. Taking the two-lane meant I hadn’t had to worry about tolls, but it also meant I had to heed the directions from my Garmin to twist my way into the city. Even so, it was going to be perfectly timed. I’d arrive just after LatexIL got home, so he’d be there to open his garage and I could ride right in.

After that, my freedom so real and so perfect while on two wheels would be over. My freedom freely given and utterly taken would be transformed into complete slavery in total bondage. In my servitude, I would achieve a new bliss, a different joy, a deeper beauty. I could not wait to be utterly confined and perfectly helpless. The thought of the total freedom of the ride taken to become the utter submission of my captor’s bondage made me so hard and horny I could barely focus on the road ahead.

Finally, I arrived at the address I’d programmed into my digital map. As I rolled up to the brownstone, I saw the tuck-under garage left open for my entry. I settled my rocket into the berth gently; I don’t think any of the neighbors noticed. To them I was just another sport bike rider parking my toy for the night. I stood up stiffly, and stretched, then stood off my bike. The door from the garage to the house stood open, as he said it would be. I unstrapped the saddlebags, threw them over my shoulder, and entered, closing the door and my freedom behind me.

Part 3: the scene begins.

As I shut the door, I heard a voice behind me.

“Hello blue.”

The same deep voice I’d heard so often on our Skype chats, but wrong; it’s Bryce, not blue. Suddenly, my world shifted as my mind spun. Vertigo like from a harsh fever swept through me; even as I stepped away from the door, my body came to a complete stop. I swear, for a moment, I couldn’t even breathe as every muscle in my body froze. I tried to turn to face him; my chest didn’t shift an inch. I tried to turn my head; I stared straight ahead at the closed door. I tried to lift my hand to raise my face-shield; it hung stiffly at my side. I gave one last effort to try and see him in the corner of my sight; my eyes were fixed, looking at the peephole in the door. Even my dick froze in mid-twitch! Something inside my mind had hijacked my body; I was more subdued than I had ever been in any amount of rope, restraints or chains. My mind raced, What the fuck!? What just happened? What’s with that word? Why has it paralyzed me?

Minutes passed while I struggled to move any muscle in my body. Nothing shifted the least bit. Sweat broke out over the whole of my skin as I panicked. The only motion I had was my breathing; as the vertigo swept past, it had returned. Now I was sucking air like I’d run the quarter mile as I went into full flight mode. I should’ve been tearing out the door and onto the street, the way my mind was racing. Instead I was a leather and latex statue, an armored mannequin of flesh and bone. Finally, I heard him step up behind me.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t you going to turn around and say hello?”

That same deep sexy voice, now laced with sarcasm and menace.

“Oh wait, that’s right, you can’t. I’ve said the magic word.”

Fuck, the vertigo, the frozen breath, the swirling in my mind, only stronger and deeper somehow.

“Blue, turn around and face the mirror.”

Before, I had struggled with all my might to turn and face him; now I willed every muscle, every fiber, every bone in my body to stay where I was. As paralyzed as my body was before, now it moved on its own; against my will, I turned around. Looking across the entryway, a small mudroom and laundry, there was a mirror on the far wall. Like I was on a leash, my body stepped forward, crossed the 4 paces to reach the mirror, and came to a complete stop. Not like I normally would stop, you know, slowing down as I approached, then bringing my rear foot forward to rest beside the front. No, my body strode across the room and STOPPED; I almost pitched forward into the wall it was so abrupt. If I had been scared before, this display nearly shut me down with terror.

As I came back to my body, my thoughts crashed around my skull, “What the Hell? What is in that word? Why can it move me, when I can’t move myself?”

He had followed me across the room. I could see him beside me as I stared straight ahead into the mirror. Even the normal movement of my eyes, back and forth, up and down, was frozen. I could only look straight ahead, eyes perfectly level, no left or right. If he had stepped even one step to the side, I would not be able to see him, because he would be out of my direct line of sight.

“Blue, examine your reflection in the mirror. Enable sub-routine Bryce to access optical sensors without security filter 421. Apply. Bryce, can you see everything?”

Damn, that voice of his; so strong, so commanding over Skype, was beyond strong, beyond commanding when in the same room. Even as I relaxed into his voice as I had so many times before, my mind swirled again, and my vision shifted. I stared; my breath caught in my throat. I could see everything.

“What the Fuck? There’s a padlock through the chinch rings on my chinstrap; where did it come from? When had it been put there? What the hell? Why is there zip ties cinched from my suit’s zipper pulls to the D-rings on my collar? What the Fuckity Fuck is a collar doing around my neck? What the Fuck is it made of? It looks like carbon fiber! Fuckity fuckity fuck fuck! There’s another one of those freaky zip-ties around each wrist, strapping my gloves to my arms! My Boots! There’s some sort of carbon fiber strap wrapped around the top of my boots! From the top of my instep to the top of the wedge-shaped shin-guard, there’s a fucking carbon fiber strap snugged around my boots! What the hell is going on here? Why am I locked into my leathers? Who did this to me? When!?!? What is in that word!? Why can’t I do anything unless he says blue!?”

I screamed-but it was only in my head; not a sound came out of my throat.

My eyes flickered back up from my boots to look at the face of the man beside me. The open inviting smile I had seen on cam was now a malevolent grin. He was obviously getting off on my terror and confusion. He was looking at me in the mirror as I was looking at him. Waiting for me to see everything there was to see in my reflection.

“Do you like what you see, Bryce?” His deep, strong voice could make my breath stop in my throat, even in my stark raving terror. Even in my stark raving terror, I did like what I saw. The vision in the mirror, a crotch-rocketeer locked in his leathers, gloves, boots and helmet, had me hard. If I was a leaker, I’d have been dripping; but I’m not. Instead, my dick tried to crawl up out of the codpiece and into my throat. I was trembling now not in fear, but in stark raving horniness. Carbon fiber straps shone like gloss black paint over my boot tops. Wide carbon fiber straps cinched my gloves to my arms, gloss black over matte blue and gray and shiny gold. A carbon fiber collar gleamed between the collar-less top of my racing suit and the bottom edge of my helmet. The shiny chrome of the D-rings were reflected on the collar, and made the strap connecting the suit zip to the D-ring seem like a glossy ribbon of black light. There were 2 tubes hanging from under my helmet; I could feel something in my nose, I realized it must be the tubes. I could see the top of a rubber suit rising from my leathers; I was now aware it continued as a hood. I was completely sealed in rubber, from head to toe. There was a tube sticking out from the top of my leathers that disappeared into my helmet; I could feel it was attached to the gag in my mouth, and it was leaking. I could feel a catheter in my dick; that must be what’s leaking. There was a MONSTER plug in my ass; I estimated at least a 3-inch diameter. Everything his profile promised had been delivered. Every opening was tubed, cath’d, gagged and plugged. I was so horny, so hard, so turned on, I was vibrating.

As I came back to earth, I wondered what had gone through people’s mind as they had seen me at the gas station. It was very obvious to anyone who looked that my suit was locked on me. The thought that I had ridden all the way to Chicago from Minneapolis in obvious bondage for everyone to see sent my mind into another horny tailspin and made my dick twitch. At least that muscle could now move on its own!

As my mind cleared, my eyes bore into the reflection of his. Not that he could see mine through the mirrored visor. But still, they did. The horniness had given way to terror had given way to rage.

“What the fuck have you done to me? Why can’t I move? When did I get locked in my gear? Who locked me up? What the HELL is going on? What’s in the word blue that it controls everything I do?”

All what I would have shouted, loud enough to crack the mirror in front of me... If I could have spoken... but there was that gag...

“You must be a bit confused.” “A Bit!?” “Would you like to know what happened?” “HELL yeah, I want to know what happened!” “Blue���Remember this morning.”

If my body hadn’t been stone cold paralyzed, I’d have collapsed to the floor as another wave of vertigo swept my mind. I remembered this morning; oh Hell, did I ever remember this morning.

Next: “Memories Light the Corners of My Mind….”

[brandstifter-sys]

Secrets Don't Make Boyfriends

@dukexietyweek 2024 - Day 2 - Swap + Secrets

Word count: 1347 (Ao3)

Rating: T

Characters: Remus, Virgil

Pairing: Dukexiety

Warnings: sex mention, mild horror, Anxiety!Remus, Dark Creativity!Virgil

Remus is anxiety, and he is stressed from everything, but especially an intrusive spider who's hiding something from him. Secrets don't make friends, or boyfriends!

---

It wasn't easy being anxiety. Remus could tell you that much. He hated worrying over the littlest things—like his deceptive brother lying himself into a corner, or Janus torching his own ego with his failed ideas. He didn't have to worry about Logic’s puns, or Morality’s long winded tangents, unless they did something stupid. But there was one person who drove him up a wall with worry—the Magician. 

Remus couldn't even count the number of times that bastard wormed his way into the conversation, how many times he cornered the mustachioed punk and tormented him for fun. Especially since he revealed himself to Thomas. If Remus couldn't tell that he was hiding something, he would have shut that bastard up with his mouth. Several times. 

It had been a stressful day of phone calls and work for Thomas, and Remus was feeling it. He was in the Imagination on Janus' side, taking out his frustrations in the gym Janus made for him after he was accepted. It was good to have a Creativity on his side. There was nothing better than exercise to channel the adrenaline. 

With his music blasting, Remus went to town on his favorite punching bag. He was in the zone, hands taped and slamming into the fabric with precision and force. He was bouncing on his feet, ready to strike anyone who got too close, not that anyone with sense would. They knew not to mess with someone in cargo shorts and chucks with a mean right hook. 

Well, most of them knew not to mess with him. 

As soon as “Five Cellars Below” started playing, a chill ran down Remus' spine. The shadows in the corners of his vision were suddenly darker, seemingly skittering away from him. 

Fan-fucking-tastic

He was on alert. 

Great. He was trying to get the anxious feelings out, not build them up! 

His fists met the bag with even more vigor. If that bastard was really there, he would jumpscare his way into the room. Remus was never ready for that!

BAM

Remus shrieked as a bloody face jumped out at him from the punching bag. He fell on his ass and then his back hit the floor. Of all the bullshit ways to scare him, that was the cheapest shot possible! 

He grumbled to himself and squeezed his eyes shut, just to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. 

“You know, you're pretty cute from this angle,” a cool voice purred. Remus immediately opened his eyes, just to come face to face with a menace. 

Virgil had him pinned down, with one hand running up his shirt. The smug bastard was smirking at him like he just captured the perfect prey. 

“Virgil!” Remus snapped and pushed him back. He got up before Virgil could complain. 

“You have got to stop sneaking up on me! You already gave me extra work to do—do you want me to have a heart attack?!” Remus huffed and dusted off his clothes. At least his Sum 41 shirt was still intact. 

“I like making your heart race,” Virgil said and got up. Remus hated that no matter what he did, Virgil could still look hot as hell. Maybe it was just the fact that he only had an open leather vest and shamelessly tight pants that made him look like a manwhore. 

“Find someone else to torment. Someone who isn't keeping Thomas from doing all the bullshit you keep suggesting!” 

“You know I have to go after the person blocking me left and right, Remus,” Virgil said, with a laugh. 

“It's part of the job description. We both know that,” Remus said and stretched his arms behind his back.

“You’re avoiding me,” Virgil said flatly. 

“Yeah, I don't really need my anxiety going nuts. You're hiding something from me and it's driving me nuts,” Remus grunted and stretched one arm across his chest. 

“If that were it, you would've avoided me before,” Virgil huffed and neared Remus menacingly. Remus swallowed thickly and backed away, at least until a wall got in the way. 

“Virgil—” Remus gawked as Virgil loomed over him. He was so close, so easy to shove aside. Remus couldn't bring himself to do anything. 

“Did those puffballs brainwash you?” Virgil growled and grabbed his jaw, “Or maybe you realized that you hate me just like everyone else.” 

“They didn't do anything, and I don't hate you,” Remus breathed, staring into those sad, tired eyes. For the first time in a long time, he could see how much Virgil was hurting. 

“Then why?” Virgil asked with tears brimming in his eyes. 

“Because you're close with Roman and I had to get away from him,” Remus responded and grabbed Virgil's wrist, “You know he would be happy to get me killed!” 

“He's a mean, lying bastard, but he's all I have. He's the only one who puts up with me anymore,” Virgil snarled before his voice dropped to a whisper, “I miss you.” 

“Virge, let go—” 

“I can't! I can't let you go! I tried to move on, but I still want you! I would be fine with being friends but you don't even want that—” 

“Virgil!” Remus said firmly, “Let go of my face!” 

Virgil stumbled back and freed his jaw. He said too much and Remus would hate him for real! 

Remus reached out and cupped Virgil's cheek. He was more concerned about the intrusive thot’s feelings than scared of his crush. Virgil leaned into the touch and averted his gaze, giving Remus a chance to breathe easy. 

“Virge, you okay?” 

“I know I'm a lot to handle, but I don't want you to hate me too. You're the only one who's ever genuinely nice to me, even if you don't like me,” Virgil grumbled. 

“I don't hate you,” Remus said softly, “If I knew that you felt like this, I would have done something sooner.” 

“Done what?” 

“Something,” Remus jeered and wiggled his mustache. 

“Being vague just gives me more opportunities to ruin things,” Virgil pouted. And then his eye twitched and his eyeshadow got darker. Oopsie! 

Remus giggled and leaned in so that their lips were brushing. His heart was hammering in his chest and he wanted to close the gap. But he would wait for Virgil to finish the job. 

Virgil grabbed his hair and kissed him like Remus would vanish if he didn't. Remus wrapped his arms around Virgil and pulled him closer, kissing back with far more passion than he thought possible. 

“Remus,” Virgil muttered when they pulled apart, “Am I dreaming again?” 

“That never happens,” Remus sighed, “Don't you only have nightmares?” 

“No, sometimes I have wet dreams,” Virgil shrugged, “and sometimes they're vanilla. But they always have you in them.” 

“Are you saying you have a crush on me? That's what you've been hiding for years? That's what was keeping me up at night?” 

“Yeah. I thought it would scare you away,” Virgil admitted shyly, “You get scared easily.”

“Of all the stupid shit,” Remus huffed and tackled him to the floor, “You really thought keeping it a secret wouldn't scare me?” 

“It might scare you less than the truth,” Virgil pouted up at him. 

“If you hate when I'm vague, don't you think I'd hate knowing you're hiding something?” Remus scoffed, “You're making it up to me, you jerkface!” 

“How? It takes forever to get out of these pants,” Virgil jeered and grabbed his butt with both hands. 

Remus barked out a laugh and shook his head. 

“You don't need to do that. You could just spar with me for an hour. Everyday.” 

“What if I just danced with you instead?” Virgil teased and gave his cute little butt a squeeze. 

“I don't think so, Spidey. I know what dancing means and I don't need an hour of that daily!” 

“You're right. It would take more than an hour. Maybe even all night,” Virgil jeered. 

“Take me on a date first, and we'll see,” Remus snickered. And then he kissed that sly spider again before he lost his nerve.

[hereforanepilogue]

I'll wait for you (wait for me)

for @thefreakandthehair's spicy six spring challenge :)

ao3

Steve, surprisingly, has never minded Eddie’s driving. The first time the kids had told him Eddie was driving them somewhere he’d nearly panicked, but then he’d beaten them out to the quarry and had to listen to the little twerps complaining about how Eddie ‘drove like a grandma’ the whole way there.

He’d asked about it, and Eddie had just given him a wry smile and cracked a joke about ‘precious cargo’. It had made something flutter in Steve’s chest, and he’d brushed Max’s claims about Eddie’s driving off. In fact, he doesn’t really consider it again until April nearly six months later, when he finds himself calling Eddie from the pay phone across the street from Moretti’s Tires.

“Yeah?” Eddie says when he picks up. Steve groans.

“Is that how you answer the phone?” he asks.

“Oh, sorry - Munson’s Murders, you pick ‘em we brutalize ‘em.”

“That doesn’t even rhyme,” Steve says. “Wait, no, I only have one more quarter, can you pick me up?”

“Oh, sure, where are you?”

“The mechanic on Elm,” Steve says.

“Vinny’s? I’ll be right there, hold on,” Eddie says. Steve can hear him moving around before he hangs up unceremoniously.

“Rude,” Steve mutters. He looks back inside - the guy running the place is gone again.

Fifteen minutes later, Eddie’s van rolls up with music blasting out of the closed windows. Eddie doesn’t move to get out, so Steve just walks around to the passenger side. He tries the door and it won’t open, so Eddie pushes it from the other side.

“Sorry about that,” Eddie says, turning down the music. Steve hops into the van. “It’s a little sticky.”

“It’s fine, man, how’re you?”

“I’m alright. You need a ride back here when it’s done, or?”

“If you don’t mind? He said it’ll be a couple days.”

“Shit, good luck with that. Vin’s kind of an asshole, he might take longer.”

“Well, he’d better have it done by next Friday, I’m - we’re - I’m supposed to meet Rob in Chicago.”

“Yeah? Big date?” Eddie grins.

“Didn’t she beat that joke out of you yet?” Steve asks waspishly.

“Oh, come on, it’s funny,” Eddie says. Steve narrows his eyes.

“Anyway, she’s got a long weekend and I’m supposed to go see her.”

“I mean,” Eddie pauses. Steve looks over at him - he has one hand on the wheel and the other dangling in front of the armrest, and his eyebrows are furrowed. He’s wearing a cropped shirt under his jacket, and Steve can see the angry red scarring that hasn’t faded yet. It’s on his face, too, but Eddie only complains that his sides are still hurting. “I could drive you, if it’s not ready.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Steve says.

“You didn’t,” Eddie looks amused. “I’ve got shit I can do for however long you’re there -”

“We were gonna stay until Sunday night,” Steve says. The idea of sharing Robin’s tiny apartment with Eddie has Steve tapping his fingers nervously. “I’m not sure Robin’s place is big enough, though -”

“I can stay with my friends, we’ve got shit we can do for a weekend.”

“I’ll pay for gas?”

“Hell yeah, I’ll call Sam. If your car’s out of the shop by then I’m still coming with, though. Vampire rules.”

“I - what? What are you talking about?”

“Once I’m invited in, I’m in,” Eddie says. He makes some kind of weird ghost sound and wiggles his free hand around in front of Steve’s face, eyes still locked on the road.

“Sure, sure. Just - we can still hang out, some of the time. If you want to.” Steve doesn’t know if Robin’s told Eddie about herself, or their real reason for going to Chicago, but he’s sure she’ll be happy to hang out with him a bit if she has the chance.

“Sounds good! I’ll get you Friday morning?”

ao3

for

[antics-pedantic]

MUTANT MEDIA CLUB: GHOST OF A KITCHEN

*Lounge Lizard created by Osa Naomi

X

          Volcanicook, as the name suggested, was a mutant human with a miniature volcano on her head, accompanied by a length of hair and brown skin. She was much beloved on the streets of New York City for her “Magma Munchies” food truck, a source of decently priced and tasty food for all those in the area, but especially to those in different circles of the entertainment industry.

          She drove out to a spot where business was booming enough that she could usually tell law enforcement to buzz off. But alas, the crowd she was expecting did not in fact appear, and she was sent on the run. It was Vcook’s best guess that perhaps a rival truck had already made its way through, so she opted to use her truck’s CB radio set to contact anyone else out there who might have had similar trouble.

          “Yee-up.” came the voice of a long-haul trucker by the name of Rudy-95, who often provided his patronage to the food trucks and thought of them as allies to himself and other hardworking cargo carriers. “Papa Howie’s Cajun Cart’s had no luck. Neither’s the Wallcrawler Family Chocklit Shoppe (On Wheels), and them other fellers around town’s been mighty troubled! I reckon it’s some kinduva goldurn curse, as is customary during eerie times such as these, Volcanicook!”

          “It can’t be a curse!” said Vcook. “I bet it’s some newfangled restaurant. There’s always something with a brand-new joint that gets people wild about it.”

          “But that there just ain’t possible.” said Rudy-95, chiming back in. He had detached the delivery trailer from the back of his semi-truck, and had been searching around the city. “Ah ain’t even seen no sign of a new place, or new places plural. Howzzit that a place with no presence can reel in so much attention?”

X

          In the beginning, there was a total dweeb. His name was Clark Raut, and as far as he could remember he was destined to rage. His ideal was to become a critic and thoughtfully analyze media. But as time went on and he was forced to offer reviews on mainstream pop culture, his driving principle was whittled down to a more primal directive of trying to make people realize their favorite things were not underdog productions, in the loudest, most spiteful ways he could achieve.

          That finally caught up with him recently: The rabid, right-wing fan army of some primordial influencer lead a campaign against much of North America for dominance. A campaign that included arguing live on their respective shows—Clark’s “Speakeasy Station” talk & variety show, and the fiend’s livestream. And subsequently, a bunch of fanatics showing up at Clark’s studio to beat the living man-shit out of him. Now, normally because of his mutation, Clark’s flesh melted into a green protoplasm. Or ectoplasm. Some kind of a ‘plasm. Usually after a while he would reattach himself to his skeleton and resume having a human shape. Except he couldn’t this time.

          “AAAAUUUGGH!!”

          He’d changed permanently. Now he was just a featureless green humanoid with pupil-free white eyes, no longer able to return to even an illusory humanity. And he realized this as he traversed the sewers, avoiding the countless medieval LARP feudal societies that lived in the tunnels, until he finally returned to the shared secret housing in the Triumph Studios lot. Housing that had been built up in the 1930s, and maintained since then for crews and talent to lay low. The talk show host grabbed an extra pair of glasses and a clean set of clothes. But something still didn’t feel right about all this.

          “Heya poindexter! Where the hell have you been?”

          He whipped his head around. There was Lounge Lizard, one of his acquaintances in this Mutant Media Club alliance. LL was clad in a moss green suit with red tie and a once-white shirt that had been worn down by the years, glasses of their own, a head of lengthy dark hair, and a large crocodile tail. She was also a mutant, though that was debated at first since her changes were the result of a magic curse.

          “Dying at the hands of dirtbags.”

          “Tsk tsk! Gosh, you’re really getting soft in your old age. You shoulda just let those knuckleheads have it!”

          “… Have what?”

          “I dunno, Clark!”

          Just then, the talk show host scowled, and hunched over in his posture.

          “No… that’s not me anymore… I’m CLOG now!”

          But despite his attempts to reinvent himself on an inward level, Lounge Lizard just let off a great big guffaw, and went on their way with the same wide-stance swagger they always had.

          “Seeya later Clark! Scrapsap and I are gonna need help stealing hubcaps. You’d better be there!”

          But Clog just seethed. That was when the rusty robot his father invented (around the same time Clog was born) arrived, extendable arms, legs, and BBQ grill core. Scrapsap got along well with LL, was a friend to Vcook (and it helped that she was dating LL). Scrapsap’s connections to Clog however, would vary.

          “Hey CLERK!”

          “I’m… I’m Clog. I got mutated even more after I almost died.”

          “Ohh shit! I heard about that.” said Scrapsap with a nod. “You still good to steal hubcaps later, Clog?”

          Clog thought about it for a moment, before ultimately nodding. Scrapsap gave the slime man a pat on the back, before shuffling along towards a piano, where he proceeded to play the best piano solo imaginable. But only as long as he was singing.

          “For we haaaaaave, the multitudes of all tiiiiiime, yooooouuu and IIIIIII…”

          Unfortunately, Scrapsap sang songs very badly. LL didn’t care, it was just funny watching everyone else agonize over it, so they were right there beside him doing a little dance. And Clog was gathering his toolbox for the hubcap theft.

X

          Years ago…

          Under the tutelage of a chef at an upscale restaurant, Volcanicook was learning gourmet cooking. But the owner of the place—Soyer Toutain, ruled over the kitchen staff and the folk on the dining floor with a cruel streak. To Vcook in particular, if she offered food to hungry strangers outside the backdoor, he would force her to cook it first, to exactly the quality of the head chef—without the help of anyone mentoring her. Toutain seemed to know that this would make the taste wretched and drive off those desperate vagrants.

          But even when she worked within the rules, Toutain still found ways to torment her. When she had managed to perfect her gourmet cooking, Toutain would demand she learn to increase the volume of her output, claiming that she had to be able to serve the entire seating capacity if everyone else suffered heart attack or stroke.

          And harshest of all, as Vcook found it within herself to stand up to him for all those other things, Toutain would call back Vcook’s failed orders so they could berate her personally. And being young, she thought it was a matter of endurance. But all people have a breaking point, and Volcanicook’s involved an eruption that put Toutain out of business. And possibly injured some of her co-workers.

          It was then that one of her co-workers, the sous chef—in their forgiveness, gave Volcanicook the keys to a vehicle. A food truck. Promising that one day they would return in a truck of their own, or a stall, maybe even a modest café. For the love of cooking had to push forward. And the best way Volcanicook could make it up to her co-workers was to lead her own enterprise.

          And thus, she did. In time making friends within that community. Finding new openings for her old comrades, meager as they could often be. But where there was success, they shared it. But now, there was nothing to share. Not unless Vcook did something!

X

          There was nothing to indicate the building was any kind of restaurant. No signage or other advertising, it pretty much resembled the sort of place marked as “FOR LEASE” with a real estate firm. Could have passed for an office space. But the address Vcook found for multiple restaurants operating out of the same area—the same building. She put on a trenchcoat and a lava-proofed, wide-brimmed fedora before entering. Couldn’t let these people recognize her.

          Or they would have recognized her if anyone was actually there. There was maybe one guy at a large opening with an inner side countertop. Paper bags with stickers slapped on for each of them. One read “DUN-DUN-DUMPLINGS!” and had a halloween font, another sticker indicated a batch of burgers were officially licensed by some kind of sport racecar association. Now it was time to see the quality of their cooking, and if it matched up to the clever names people tried to give the restaurants.

          What Vcook saw next was absolutely mortifying. There were a few cramped kitchens. Each equipped for different kinds of food prep depending on the style of cuisine, but they were filthy. Finished batches sat out in the open, crudely made and handed off for delivery as quickly as possible rather than to meet some standard of quality.

          Vcook made her way towards the head office in the hopes of getting some answers. But when she arrived, the desk was manned by some kind of grinning puppet.

          “…”

          “WELL, WHADDYA WAITING FOR?”

          The mutant flinched. She couldn’t tell if the puppet was alive, being controlled from elsewhere, or what. Just that hearing it talk was highly unsettling. She went forward by a couple more steps, but kept her distance from.

          “NOBODY BOTHERS TO LOOK IN THE KITCHEN, LET ALONE TO COME BACK HERE. WHAT’S YOUR DEAL?”

          “This place. You sell food here?” said Vcook. The Puppet just chattered its teeth a bit. Vcook could have sworn she saw it move slightly, as if adjusting its posture.

          “ALL KINDS.”

          Vcook wasn’t sure how far she could get in terms of answers. She wanted to ask why anyone would conduct a business like this. But after the silence, The Puppet just kept talking:

          “IT’S PRETTY BRILLIANT. I OPERATE OUT OF HERE. I CAN CORNER MULTIPLE MARKETS. HIRE STAFF AT A MINIMUM. THE HEALTH INSPECTORS WOULD NEVER THINK TO LOOK IN HERE.”

“It’s NOT. That’s disgusting!”

          The Puppet did not respond for a time.

          “… YOU’RE NOT YOU WHEN YOU’RE HUNGRY.”

          The puppet started to move. Jerky motions, as it traveled across the top of the desk, gathering an unreasonably clean paper bag with some wretched contents inside. Rather than letting the puppet overlord bring the food to her, Vcook stepped out and slammed the door shut. At which point, the utensils and equipment within each cramped little kitchen space began to rock violently. As the mutant walked by each kitchen, she should see screaming spirits crying out for release, before being forced into piloting ghoulish bodies, grown cheaply from within vats of green glowing fluid and minced people meat. They all got to cooking as rapidly as they could—sloppily, as they created bio-weapons incorrectly marked for human consumption.

          And now they were gonna feed this slop to Vcook!

          The mutant started to run. An errant volley of slop was flung in her direction with a wobbly spoon. Stale tortilla chips were drenched in a wretched excuse for salsa before being tossed at her. There were dumplings being launched from medium-sized catapults, steamed till scalding and painfully dry once airborne. There were rancid cheesesteak submarine sandwiches being swung at her like caveman clubs. All while the spirits trapped here wailed in agony.

          *KRRRASSSH!!*

          Vcook didn’t have to smash through the front glass doors at all, but bashing something with a steel chair was the first relieving thing she did all day, as she fled from that nightmare factory.

X

          Scrapsap, Lounge Lizard, and Clog weren’t far off, currently working their way through a parking garage for the best possible hubcaps to steal. Clog would identify popular makes and models of cars, Scrapsap would pry the caps, and then Lounge Lizard would hide the caps in the sewers—after making sure no one followed them down there, nor any pre-existing dwellers appearing. The medieval LARPing Sewer Doers faction sometimes swung their swords in the gang’s direction.

          “C’mooooon already!” said LL, waving up to Clog and Scrapsap. “Make with the dishes, fellas! My buyer’s not gonna wait all day.”

          “Give us a sec, we’re keying someone’s Edison truck.”

          Scrapsap had some car keys duct taped to his fingers, as he raked them along the driver and passenger doors of a vehicle with a polygonal shape. But instead of a vintage video game intention behind the design, it ended up just being a safety hazard since the vehicle had virtually no crumple factor. And the windows didn’t shatter easily, trapping its occupants inside during a fire or if the car fell into a body of water and started sinking, what with all the heavy metal that went into the frame.

          “Hey wait a sec, isn’t that Vcook?” said Clog, spotting the cook running down the street with pure terror etched onto her features. LL perked up, and scrambled over to see what was wrong, with Scraps and Clog not far behind. A shaking Vcook relayed recent events to her friends.

          “—That place was an affront to all cuisine!” howled Vcook. “It needs to be DESTROYED! But it’s full of the spirits of the eternal damned. They’re being made to… to power everything. And they animate these horrible ghouls that don’t even wear hairnets!”

          Lounge Lizard looked back at Clog and Scrapsap. They were trying to figure out if the part about the hairnets was a good thing or a bad thing, to which Clog and Scrapsap conferred with eachother in silent gesturing, before Lounge Lizard waved them off and figured out the gist of what Volcanicook was saying.

          “There there… You’re safe now. It’s over!” said LL. “I think.”

          “No, no I’m not. No one is! Not while that festering hellhole is still active!” exclaimed Vcook. “Clog, are you still a little psychic?”

          “What, like enough to dispel ghosts?” said Clog. “I can try, I guess.”

          “And I ain’t no snitch, but maybe there’s a health inspector around.” said Scrapsap. “Just don’t tell anybody I went to ‘em for help.”

          “And where you go, I go.” said Lounge Lizard.

          “That’s what you always do.” pointed out Clog.

          “Call that consistency, slime boy! Nyuck nyuck!”

          Vcook couldn’t help but chuckle at LL’s attempts at levity. The plan was forming.

X

          In this near-future where mutants ran around in droves and weird science was afoot, law enforcement alone was no longer enough. Now, a new breed of marshal was needed to bring order to the chaos. Unfortunately, one such example came in the form of the United States Department of Agriculture being allowed to prepare heavily-armed super-soldiers for the now vaunted role of health inspector. And none were as vigorous about the job as once Judge Piotr Bread. A man deeply devoted to clean food prep spaces and thorough dental care, who put on his colander-helmet, white jacket, and golden cow’s head shoulder pad on every morning to dispense hygienic justice. Such as he did just now, overzealously nearly murdering someone with a lead pipe for selling sodas mixed with candy and other unspecified additions.

          “Judge—Judge, please!” cried the offender in question. “The syrup—the completely legal non-medicinal MAPLE syrup wasn’t part of the regular recipe, it’s a mistake!”

          “No mistake, scumbag!” bellowed Judge Bread “That soda already had exorbitant amounts of sugar, and you thought dropping in a hard candy would lower it? Do you even have a license to push that Canadian tree sap crap?! That’s TWENTY years in the slammer, bucko!”

          Judge Bread slapped on a pair of cuffs, and tossed the guy into the back of an armored food truck for depositing at a maximum-security facility. Just as Judge Bread was about to write a ticket for a mutant that was leaving a slime trail on the sidewalk, Scrapsap was approaching the man suddenly.

          “Hey hey, Judge Bread! You uh. You remember me? We played video games together once.”

          But Judge Bread recollected no such thing! He hadn’t played with this robot in ages. Clog might have jogged his memory after talking for a bit, but the gooey critic had no intention of socializing with Judge Bread again. Scrapsap had a gun pointed at him for his abrupt approach.

          “And I can taste the rust on you from all the way over here. I could SENTENCE you for that.”

          “Buh-but—” stammered Scrapsap, before a lightbulb activated inside his head, behind his eyes. “You’ll be letting all those filthy freaks over at the new ghost kitchen run free.”

          The firearm was lowered.

          “Tell me more.”

          “Oh yeah sure. There are all sorts of… health code violations! They got undead douchebags cooking the food without hairnets, they’re hidden in a building where you can’t immediately see any of that either. Rotten as they come, Judge!”

          Judge Bread scowled. He’d never heard of a worse place than this so-called ‘ghost kitchen,’ the burning desire to tear it down and prevent others from starting up was taking root in his soul. Taking the address from Scrapsap, Judge Bread returned to his USDA-provided chopper motorcycle with its massive tires and long handlebars, racing to the ghost kitchen building and smashing in the front doors. He jumped off the bike, drawing his sidearm, and unloading a dozen shots into the poor sap working the pick-up counter before they even knew what was going on.

          “BOOT SPORK!”

          And for good measure he stabbed some delivery drivers that walked in after the introductory carnage, getting them repeatedly between the ribs, by using his trusty boot-holstered survival spork. Scrapsap wasn’t far behind, waving Clog over. And Clog in turn was pressing his fingers to his temples, trying to using what little psionic power he had to try and shoo any tormented spirits they found towards the afterlife.

          Because as Judge Bread would find out, the ghouls in his path would not stay down permanently unless the spirits forced to work in this building were able to move along.

          “Hurry up, Clog! He’s trying to kill eleventy-gajillion guys!” said Scrapsap, as he slapped at Clog.

          “I’m trying, this is giving me a horrible migraine!”

          Every time Clog helped a handful of spirits pass on, he needed a moment to recover. Lounge Lizard tagged in, spinning around so her 48.44 kilogram crocodile tail would collide with a group of line cook ghouls, buying the rest of the group some time to catch their breath.

          “Jeez, Clog!” said LL, shaking their head. “It’s like you’ve never faced down the legions of the damned.”

          “I’m not built for exorcisms!” exclaimed Clog.

          “Pathetic… now handle these peons, I’ve used too much of my energy.”

          “Wh—”

          Clog tried to focus on the oncoming enemy with both mind and his fists. Scrapsap was laughing while being dragged off by a swarm of the fiends.

          “Bring it on, chumps!” howled Scrapsap. “I’m made of METAL and I don’t DIE easily! You guys may as well swim in hot dog water!”

          But once Scrapsap realized they were trying to use the core of his frame as a BBQ grill again, he started screaming for help. One of the ghouls was bringing over a mess of listeria-ridden ground meats, and moldy bread they were going to heat up by converting his head into a toaster oven. Just then, Judge Bread burst into the room, ghouls latched onto his body, trying to hang on and dogpile the brute as he drew his sidearm—

          “CAYENNE PARTY!”

          And then, an automated voice from Judge Bread’s gun repeated the words”

          “CAYENNE PARTY.”

          An incendiary round shot off into Scrapsap’s open center. Although this was probably bad for his computer components, his BBQ grill physiology meant he could endure the flames for a while, as he started charbroiling ghouls with spewing flame jets. They fought their way back to Clog and Lounge Lizard, as the four stood back-to-back, trying to fend off the hordes. Lounge Lizard having pulled a shotgun, and Clog with his homemade ray gun.

          They would soon be overwhelmed if the decisive blow was not yet landed…

X

          Vcook had snuck in past the fighting in the kitchen area. Trying to make her way to the rooftop to enact her part of the plan. On the way up, she wasted a perfectly good machete by embedding it into the head of a ghoul, and then firing a large magma chunk from her cranial mutation. On another enemy, she would squirt two bottles of oil, followed by her tossing a lit zippo lighter in their direction. Using bottles of pepper on bandoliers she’d worn into the building as smoke bombs.

          Now she was down to her last weapon. A spatula hidden underneath her forearm, that could be extended using a mechanism affixed to her wrist. She meant to wear two, but could only find one before the big showdown with the puppet ringleader.

          “Milk, milk…”

          Volcanicook whipped her head around, glancing from one side to another at the sound of that childish tone, uttering an odd choice of nursery rhyme.

          “… Lemonade…”

          Nothing. There was a rumbling from Vcook’s cranium, as smoke billowed out of her volcano-head nervously.

          “Round the corner… fudge is made…”

          Around a corner up ahead, someone or something was there. The shadow of a brute, apparent. Until the figure in question emerged, revealing they were actually a short fellow, covered from head-to-toe in puffy winterwear, sporting a backpack for “OOPER Delivery.” Guided here by the tormented spirits under the puppet ringleader’s control.

          “Am your Ooper… You’re not going to the roof without a bite.”

          Volcanicook turned to try and run, but the Ooper delivery guy used a hose attached to a canister from the delivery backpack to spray nacho cheese over the floor, causing Vcook to slip and fall. Ooper drivers and other delivery folk were loyal to whoever was paying them the most. The mutated cook hurried to pull out her phone and put in an order of her own. But not before the delivery guy pulled out a re-usable straw. Large and sturdy enough for boba tea or slushies and milkshakes, certainly. But it also had potential as a blowdart gun. One loaded with an after-dinner mint, made in bulk by a confectionary factory. And mixed in with deadly neurotoxins.

          Vcook kept her mouth shut, but she had nothing to cover her cranial volcano opening. The optimistic interpretation was that she could generate enough lava before she absorbed any of the neurotoxin. But her physiology, like many mutants, was not always so absolute in its conveniences. And the rest of the world was equally weird, so she had to operate on the assumption she couldn’t be frivolous about these things.

          The blowdart straw fired with a *PTHWOOT!*

          And just after that, a ringtone from the Ooper Delivery Guy’s phone. He checked his new order while Vcook tried to generate lava to offset the dose of neurotoxin, as the perfectly aimed shot deposited the mint within her cranial volcano mutation. She focused as much as she could, feeling the poisonous projectile burning away. Trace amounts got through though, and she still ended up having a blackout.

          The Ooper Delivery Guy grabbed Vcook by the back of her apron, and started dragging her upstairs.

X

          Scrapsap was terrified. They were preheating his insides to cook whatever rancid slop they were going to serve once the others were captured. Judge Bread had been decapitated, and they were Frankensteining his head onto a small body made of a potato-ginger root hybrid as part of some twisted experiment.

          “No! That meat looks all wet and mushy!” cried Scrapsap. “Looks like Ardbeez and their soggy ass sandwiches!”

“That’s because it IS Ardbeez, you dolt!” cackled a skeletal ghoul “They outsource some of their orders to us… AND SOME OF OUR ODORS!”

          *BLAM!*

          A shotgun went off, and the ghoul’s vital organs were reduced to meaty bits. Lounge Lizard (as carried by the struggling Clog) was taking aim while the gooey critic concentrated on mobility. As much as he could achieve, at least: he felt like his spine was going to break any second now. On top of that he was using what little psionic power he had to exorcise more tormented souls.

          “Why did we have to enter the room like that!?” exclaimed Clog.

          “Clog, old chum. Buddy-pal o’ mine.” said LL, helping Scrapsap up. “Ask me no questions, and I’ll tell you no lies.”

          “You ALWAYS lie to me!”

          “Uh. Cheetah spots, Clog. Cheetah spots.”

          The three grabbed Judge Bread and tried to follow Volcanicook. The path was littered with leftover ghouls, Clog desperately using his limited psionic abilities to dispel and help the trapped spirits here move on. They made their way up to the rooftop, where they saw the Ooper Delivery Guy dragging Volcanicook. The puppet ringleader of this horrible place was trying to scramble into a helicopter. High-power executives and rich bosses just loved buying helicopters so they could get around town.

          “Let her go!” hissed Lounge Lizard, loading the shotgun in hand. “Or else we’ll—”

          But just as LL was about to make a threat, the Ooper Guy held up his phone to indicate he was now fulfilling a new order. Volcanicook’s order of antidote, and to be dragged to the rooftop. And being that the Ooper guy wasn’t finished with the mission from the owner of the ghost kitchen, she was brought along to kill two birds with one stone. The Ooper Guy proceeded to leave—squeezing past a horde of ghouls, while the group reunited.

          “Now what?” said Scrapsap. “We’re about to get swarmed and the puppet bastard is getting away.”

          LL proceeded to rest the barrel of her shotgun on Clog’s shoulder. Despite Clog’s protests, LL managed to hit the fuselage of the helicopter. They were aiming for the pilot, but didn’t calculate the shot whatsoever. Driven by his newfound frustration, Clog began to crackle to life with jolts of static. His forehead lines that appeared during strain began to wobble like waveform lines as his limited psionics sent out a burst that exorcised the last of the tormented souls trapped in this building. But the last remaining ghouls were still shambling along to the tune of the puppet boss’s orders.

          “Go.”

          Volcanicook stood up. Now it was her turn to finish this once and for all.

          “Babe, you’re not thinking of—” gasped Lounge Lizard.

          “Oh, but I AM.” said Vcook, as her eyes started to glow. And her cranial volcano mutation started to bubble. Clog just shrugged, and jumped off the roof, landing on the street below with a *SPLAT!* before gradually reforming, and inching away as quickly as he could. Lounge Lizard was scuttling along the side of the building, trying not to slip and fall before they got closer to the ground. Scrapsap jumped over to the helicopter that was spinning out of control. When the craft finally crashed, he was inside the building across the street.

          At last. Volcanicook could finally erupt!

          The lava flowed freely, trickling down across Vcook’s form, as she could endure her own power. Chunks of magma served as artillery, launching with prodigious force into any ghoul that tried to halt her destruction. Just as when Toutain spat on her dreams once, not so long ago. The floors below were totaled, from rentable office space and false condos, to the ground level kitchens, the puppet ringleader’s office, and the pick-up window upfront. Broken down by passionate wrath until she was back to ground level, waltzing out of there in a daze.

X

          The sound of the food truck door slamming shut was music to Volcanicook’s ears. She waved her friends goodbye, as Clog headed for his building on the Triumph Studios lot where his show was filmed, Lounge Lizard was commuting to the comedy club, and Scrapsap did miscellaneous crew work around the place, shooting spitballs at people just to tick them off. Life was finally back to normal, as Vcook went back to her usual routes.

          Or she would have, if not for the long arms in pencil-thin suit sleeves trying to strangle her: The Puppet Ringleader had survived and broken into her vehicle.

          “DON’T SUP FROM THE PUP’S CUP!”

          The Puppet’s ambush caused Vcook to swerve the truck out of control. Barely weaving through oncoming city traffic as she attempted to find some safe harbor where she could slam the breaks. No such luck: that left it to one last trick.

          *KA-SHING!*

          She was still wearing the hidden spatula. The mechanism protruded the kitchen implement forward, as Vcook used it to decapitate The Puppet Ringleader. After a session of screaming prolonged by the fact Vcook couldn’t find good parking, she eventually parked and gave her vocal chords a chance to relax. The nightmare was over.

For now.

X

          Scrapsap was practicing with a deck of cards. A harrowed Volcanicook had returned to the secret underground housing within the Triumph Studios lot, currently watching television with Lounge Lizard. Clog was wheeling out a cart full of broken devices that he couldn’t salvage. That is, until Scrapsap accidentally tossed the entire deck at the slime man, followed by his being tripped up by Lounge Lizard’s tail. The commotion was so startling, Volcanicook accidentally launched a chunk of magma that Clog landed on with a yelp.

          The green slime that made up his ‘flesh’ now melted into a pile of protoplasm, leaving a skeleton behind. Everyone just looked at each other for a moment, before continuing what they were doing. Clog putting his glasses back on, and extending a slime-feeler to grab his ankle and drag the skeleton with himself to the bathroom to reattach himself, and put his physical form back together.

THE END…?

          “It #$%&in’ BETTER be!” exclaimed Vcook and LL in unison, slapping away the question mark on that prior line of the story.

X

          Elsewhere, a group of interns training to become Health Inspectors piled into a classroom to the sounds of a marching band. On the desk, the altered Judge Bread was raising a Food & Drug Administration flag on a small metal pole, signaling his students to salute with him as the three initials came into view, and a bugle sounded off.

          “At EASE, future HYGIENE DEFENDERS.”

          Until his bosses could get him a new body similar to that of his old one, Judge Bread was being assigned to other duties. He proceeded to take up a heavy-duty handgun, marching towards the firing range. His students followed, arming themselves with similar such accoutrements, as the bugler played them in.

          “Ready. Aim…”

          Everyone was sweating a little. But Judge Bread was as cool as a cucumber. Even as the recoil on his sidearm knocked him flying back and through an indoor window into one of the offices of the Health Inspectors’ Academy. His students all looked at each other, before receiving one final order in the distance:

          “Back to it, MAGGOTS!”

SO LONG FOR NOW.