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[marooningmirrorball]

Splattered Coffee and Spare Blouses

A/n: hello lovelies! this is my first ever fanfic so please be kind to me when you read this 🫣 any sort of feedback will be appreciated🤞also there is no physical description of reader, that picture was just the first cute white blouse that i saw on pinterest. i hope you like it!

content: coworker!rafe x coworker!reader

content warnings: complete ooc rafe, like not even a little bit canon. jealous rafe. desperate reader and rafe. idiots in love fr. coworkers/office au (?)

word count: 1.2k words

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊ ₊˚༺☆༻

Rafe is too busy drinking in the sweet melody of your voice to catch the actual content of your conversation with Matt. Or is it Mark? Mason? It doesn’t matter what his name is, the only relevant thing about the guy is that he delivers the paper to the office, and Rafe knows they’re getting a paper restock when he hears the tee-heeing of your giggle aimed at something supposedly funny that Miles joked about as he stacks the reams of paper on the tall shelves behind your desk.

You don’t actually ‘tee-hee’, it’s more of a soft chortle. Rafe likes to think he knows the difference, he tries to bypass these dreary office hours by studying each laughter.

First he takes in the sound and how much it made his heart clench, then he looks at your expression; happy, shy, nervous, anxious (he’s even found the difference between those two!), angry. Lastly he takes in the context of the laugh.

It’s definitely a titter when your boss is reprimanding your newest co-worker with the frosted tips, it’s a hodgepodge of a shy-nervous giggle when your boss is reprimanding you, and it’s absolutely a guffaw when Rafe delivers a joke he’d been meticulously planning before he presents it to you.

It usually doesn’t matter what type of laugh it is, the soundwaves from it wrap his heart up and squeeze, squeeze, squeeze, until Rafe forces himself to leave the room, because it can’t be normal to feel this way about a girl you've only been working with for the last three months.

But this isn’t all those other times, it's that unusual time of the month. What could a man who delivers paper to a pool coverings company possibly say to make you let out that joyous sound? What does a pool company even need paper for? Rafe, running his pointer finger along the rim of his coffee mug, comes up blank when he starts to really think about the former rhetorical question, he’s not too sure he ever wants to interact with Mike that will allow him to find out.

Too late. The kerfuffle Rafe accidently caused due to clumsy hands and an even clumsier brain leaves his (luckily) empty mug toppled, but Rafe’s not so blessed when his fallen over mug lands on his pen, triggering it to leap from his desk and splatter into your (unluckily) full mug.

You spin around in your chair at the commotion of Rafe’s, “Shit!”.

Rafe thinks being shot in the big toe would be less painful than this. It’s a Grade A Disaster. All he can see is the deep brown liquid dispersed in sporadic splats all over your previously white blouse.

“Holy shit, are you alright?”, Marcus is pulling out his handkerchief, of course Paper guy carries a handkerchief, in record time, dabbing away at the marks that have the clear intention to find a permanent home on your work top.

Rafe isn’t given a chance to play hero, before Milo is badgering, “Man, why are you doing trick shots right now? Aren’t you a sales guy?”, Rafe; however, is too mortified to think about a snarky comeback as he instead spews out a stumbled apology.

“Y/N, I-I am so so sorry– tha-that really wasn’t on purpose! I-I can–I will replace your shirt after work, I’m so sorry!”, it all comes out jumbled and untidy. A red-faced Rafe runs a hand down his face in exasperation before he’s suddenly up and grabbing at the fallen dishware, “Let me just-let me go get you some paper tow-”

You put an end to his unnecessary apologies with a gentle touch to his right hand that possesses the culprit. Rafe thinks his heart actually stopped.

The grin you bless him with manages to calm him down, “Rafe, you're okay! Don’t stress about it–really. It’s an old blouse anyway.”

And…what?

Rafe just managed to completely demolish your clothes, yet it’s you who is showing him kindness in this weak moment, “Look, if you’re really bummed out about it and want to reimburse me, I do need to go to the mall after this so…”, you drag out and let him fill in the blanks.

So did the mug actually fall onto Rafe’s head? Did he fall into a state of unconsciousness and wake up in a dream land? This can’t be real.

The scoff and retreat of Marcello’s boots snap him out of his thoughts, this is his life. This is his life and he has been staring at you in disbelief for too many silent seconds because you quickly begin to slip the offer out of his hands, “Uhh–well you don’t really have to join me to shop, I just thought since-”, now you're interrupted by Rafe’s reassurances,

“No! Wait–I mean yes! Erm I don’t actually know what I’m meaning to say”, you think the blush sporting his face has got to be the cutest thing you’ve possibly ever seen as he carries on, “I would love to come with you, please!” Jesus, he thinks, try sounding more desperate, he quickly corrects himself.

“Yeah, yeah, that would be cool if I join along. I-If you don’t mind obviously…” he trails off, unsure and not wanting to impose, despite you literally just inviting him.

The shyness is evident in your voice when you softly say, “No, it would absolutely be fun if you came with”, God, you think, why did I add absolutely in there, he’s gonna think I’m desperate.

“Okay cool.”

“Cool.”

Henry, your coworker with the frosted tips, stands at the corner of Rafe’s desk with his arms crossed, “Can I get some paper or do I need to wait another five minutes until your flirting is done?”

The both of you cower slightly in embarrassment at his teasing, but don’t let it dim the bright smiles adorning your faces. Rafe is sure that there’s nothing in this moment that could, he just scored a hang out with the female coworker that he’s been crushing on for weeks now! Not even the sight of smug Martin could kick him off this high right now.

Your too-old desk chair groans as you stand from it, and suddenly Rafe’s worried that Henry’s comment may have bothered you, “Where are you going?”, his rushed tone causes a giggle to escape you,

“My top is still soaked Rafe”, you gesture to the stained garment with a laugh, “I’m just gonna fetch the spare in my car. What? Do you want to walk with me there too?” Rafe misses the joking lilt of your voice because he’s up and walking towards the reception before you can stop him.

When the two of you return from your car, you with a clean (albeit slightly wrinkled from sitting in your ‘just in case’ bag) blouse on and Rafe with a bashful expression, Henry wiggles his eyebrows at the pair of you, implying something out of nothing. You both ignore it and get back to your work, not without the two of you sneaking glances at each other when you know the other isn’t looking.

Long forgotten are Max’s bad jokes and flirting, Henry’s annoying teasing, and this afternoon’s coffee disaster as you and Rafe walk side by side in the mall, he doesn’t think life can get better than this.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊ ₊˚༺☆༻

[xxfangirl365xx]

alright kids, gather around. I have some things I'd like to say regarding last night in a very organized list format

OVERALL SHOW THOUGHTS

Overall It was beautiful. I cried watching the stream. But sadly went to bed before it was over because I was feeling very unwell from staying up so late ): I missed blood,I'm not ok and Helena on stream but that's ok <3

MCR5,NEW TOUR?

-Did not expect them to release anything about that last night since it was night one of two. More likely they would do it tonight so I'm holding out hope for tonight since it's the more likely option

SOCIALS/ONLINE PRESENCE/POSTS

-Frank has NOT posted anything regarding MCR only dunes, which is very unlike him. As we know Frank loved MCR to death. He's the no 1 fan of his own band so I find it odd and very intentional that he has not posted anything about MCR at wwwyf only dunes

-along the same lines Mikey has not posted anything. Few weeks ago we got practice from him which was good, but all we have from him r 2 pics of him and his wife which r adorable, but not relating to MCR. also seems a little intentional to not have said anything about them playing at all

-MCR'S socials r DRY like bone dry. With swarm tour they posted things about "tonight were playing in (blank) at (blank time)" or something like that but they didn't post anything about WWWYF apart from when tickets went on sale for both days which is a little odd in my opinion

for all of them the silence seems ominous. Like they r trying to build suspense

OUTFIT'S, STAGE,GEE'S HAIR

-All black outfits head to toe, they looked good but it was very lacking black parade tbh (not a bad thing they looked so cute tho)

-STAGE-

-Only projections of spiders,tree (during cancer),swords,bridge (?),worms (?)

-SPIDERS PROJECTED

-swarm logo=fly

-spiders= eat flies

-"Witch" was leaked earlier this year. Paper kingdom was the album meant to come right after black parade. Their aesthetic kinda similar. Whites,blacks ect.

-some of the visuals like the swords was giving very paper kingdom 100% and if I rly did see a bridge projection in the background that's also very much the vibe. but most this stuff was done in short flashes across the backdrop

-Gee's hair-

-New haircut (stunning btw)

-new era? Gee had changed his hair for new era's. bullets/revenge it stayed pretty much the same apart from random dye jobs here and there but during black parade he got it real short and bleached it. Danger days ht dyed it red. hair is a big thing when it comes to Gee.

-New hair since shrine show (2019) pretty much. He's had long hair since MCR has come back together. U could argue it was to look nice but think about all the other stuff he's done that was also a big deal like umbrella acad final season and stuff. Why didn't he get a haircut then? Why now? and why was he hiding it?

-The last vid we got was earlier in the week the birthday one and he had the long hair still. It was recent like he did this JUST for the shows.

-i'm 100% taking this is a way of moving into a new era for MCR

MERCH

-some people were kinda bummed there was no new cool merch from the festival apart from the DEAD! zip up which is pretty cool ngl

-kinda looked like they were trying to get rid of older stuff before making something new perhaps?

-spending more time and resources on NEW shirts for a NEW album makes more sense than spending all the time and resources on designing new shirts for black parade when they can do that pretty much any time

HOPES FOR TONIGHT'S SHOW

I will not be staying up this time sorry guys. I slept 4 hours last night and feel very unwell from it. So i'll be sleeping tonight sadly but here is my hopes and predictions for tonight.

-MCR will play just like last night with the visuals and stuff but will maybe play one new song or announce it some how with the backdrop and "Paper Kingdom" will be announced to be released on OCT. 31

-Their socials will go live with all the info immediately

-Shortly after the album comes out there will be tour dates announced for spring/summer of 2025 INCLUDING warped tour

-END-

thanks for listening to my rambles if I think of more i'll add it to the list but I wanted a cohesive place to put all my findings and thoughts to share

[yellowjestertfs]

The Billionaires secret

“Hi there. Find what what you were looking for?” I ask in my customary upbeat yet soul-dead customer service voice.

“I think so. Going to give this one a try.” She says handing me a copy of a book called The Billionaire’s Secret from the romance section. I can see why she picked it, on the cover a man in a suit lay on a bed with the buttons of his dress shirt undone showing off his impressive six-pack and strong hairless chest. Brownish red eyes smolder seductively outwards from a masculine face. High cheekbones, soft lips, and a wide square jaw adorned with black stubble that connects to a short-styled head of black hair.

“I’m Bridget by the way,” she says, obviously a bit embarrassed to see me eying up the cover. “Oh, and this is Dan.” She says gesturing at the man standing a few paces away, engrossed by some mobile game on his phone. 

“Nice to meet you, Bridget.” I scan the book. “That will be $17,” I say. 

She glances over at Dan, he doesn't seem to notice so she retrieves her credit card from her purse and taps it against the machine. “I don’t know why I expected him to offer.” She tells me in a conspiratorial whisper “He’s broke. I mean not that it matters to me, but it would just be nice to date a wealthy man or one who at least pays attention to me.” 

Customers often confided in me. I wish I could say it is because of my open honest face or charismatic demeanor but it probably had more to do with a book I once ate about a bartender people told all their secrets to.

I look around. There are a few consumers browsing the book shelves and my manager is sitting at his desk in the back, no one close enough to notice. Bridget seems sweet, too sweet to be with a man like Dan. Poor girl just wants to escape with some fiction, so why not indulge her a little.

“Did you get a chance to check out our books on sale?” I ask Bridget diverting her attention away. She looks over at the shelf I pointed at giving me enough time to crack my knuckles, take a deep breath, and begin.

I place my hands over the cover of the book and it springs open, the pages start to turn themselves slow at first then speed up. Words start to flow from the book as the pages flip past. The letters lift from the page like a sticker being peeled, floating into the air to spin around me. They form a cyclone of black ink as the pages that flip by are left blank.

I feel the lines as they flow off the paper. The first line reads. “Kustav tower is 400 stories tall, rumor has it, it’s smaller than Dane Kustav’s dick.” 

I directed the words towards Bridget’s boyfriend. The ink splashes into him, absorbing into his gray hoodie but leaving no mark. None except for the fact that his basketball shorts start to thrash like a wild animal is trapped inside. Dan didn't look up from his phone even as his dick doubled and then tripled in size to match the one described in the book Billionaires Secrets.

I tried to be sparing with my abilities. Fiction is great so long as it stays fiction, otherwise you have evil robots or sparkly vampires running around. Still, every once in a while my heroic urges will take over and I am called to help someone with my power to bring words to life. Bridget is one of those people.

More words flowed off the page. “Dane Kustav is well dressed at all times. One would be hard-pressed to ever see Dane not in a suit. If one did see him without a suit, it would be in the bedroom where they would be very, very hard pressed indeed.”

The words spin around me once then drift over to Dan again on an invisible wind. This time his clothes were affected by the words. His grey hoodie which he wore with the hood up, melted off his body, the threads unwinding then rebinding themselves into a far higher quality dress shirt and black jacket complete with a blue tie. His shorts became black dress pants and his sneakers a pair of brown loafers. The outline of his much larger dick was clear in his new tighter pants. A few seconds passed with no changes then, slowly his tie undid itself and each of the buttons on his dress shirt opened so that he was sporting a matching look to that of the man on the cover of the book. Unlike the cover, however, Dan lacked the chiseled face or body to pull off the open shirt. His slight gut and saggy, hairy chest made the outfit look awkward rather than sexy.

Bridget looked up from the sale rack and glanced at her half-nude boyfriend with a chagrined glance. In her mind, he was always dressed in the finest clothes even if he still acted like a man-child.

“Dane Kustav towered over everyone be that in stature or in business.” 

I directed the words into him. Dan shot upwards, his modest 5’10” frame becoming a proud 6’3”, clothes growing to match. And though it wasn’t visible Dan’s head was also filled with business smarts he had lacked before. The game on his phone shifted from Fruit Ninja to Hey Day.

The pages continue to flip, their words leaving the page to float in the air under my command.

“Dane Kustav's muscles were like that of a brass statue, smooth, hard, and golden. Each curve could only have been sculpted by the hands of an artist for nature could never make anybody so perfect.”

I look over at Dan’s soft pudgy body. Not the words I would use to describe him, at least not yet. I float the sentence to him.

Instantly Dan’s belly flattens. One by one his abs pop into being as if pushed out from the inside like one of those pop-it toys. His man boobs visibly transmute from fat to muscle, perking up and then growing into a strong chest like that of the man on the cover of the book. Inside the sleeves of his dress shirt, his arms thicken into a pair of round vascular biceps while his legs below do the same. A tan, like oil spreading over water seeps across his body until his exposed muscles really looked like sculpture bronze turned to life. The few hairs that had looked sloppy before now lent his body a rugged masculinity.

Bridget looks at her boyfriend with a new lust. Her hands start to roam his abs and chest but Dan, still on his phone, only bats them away. 

Man-child indeed, a man in the body, a child in the face and the personality. I divert my attention back to the flipping pages looking for words I could use to fix that. The book is reaching the end, and the main character, assistant to the billionaire, has finally seduced her boss in a very steamy scene. High-class writing it is not, but at least it gives me plenty to work with.

“I ran my hand down his sharp square jaw.” 

I throw the words at him. The shape of his face shifts to be more masculine.

“He looked at me through squinted sexy amber eyes.”

His eyes shift from a pale blue to an amber so rich it almost looked red. He finally looks up from his phone and deep into Bridget's eyes. She returns the stare with a smile. 

“He brought my hand up to his cheek, I felt each bristle of his short sharp stubble.”

Dan moves Bridget's fingers up to his face which is now covered in a sexy two days' worth of growth.

“Then he kissed me with his soft sensual lips hard enough to make me weak in the knees.”

The words flow off the page and into him. His lips grow pillowy and pink and interlocked with Bridget’s. He wraps his muscular arms around her, keeping her steady as she collapses into him. 

“I warp my fingers into his jet-black quaffed hair as I prepare for him to take me.”

His hair gains a stylish cut and is dark as pitch, body hair and stubble do the same. Bridget greedily runs her hand through his new dark dew.

“He smelled like sports deodorant, woody cologne, and sex. I wanted nothing more than this man to take me.”

The bookstore fills with his scent. I am surprised to find myself turned on by the whole thing. I have reached the end of the book, the final page.

“It was then that I learned the billionaire's secret.”

This was the good stuff. I leech the words off the page and send them to Dan, or rather now, Dane.

“His secret wasn’t that he was hot, or rich, or could make any girl swoon.”

Their kiss intensifies. Dane started to undo Bridget's blouse.

“No, the billionaire's secret was.”

Suddenly Dane pulls away.

“The billionaire was gay.”

“Sorry Bridget,” Dane says taking a few steps back and looking at her with sudden realization. “I don’t think I can do this.” 

His eyes wander over to lock onto mine, rich amber orbs seeming to really take me in. He winks. “You thought, I think that could work. What are you doing after this?” He asks smoothly “Want to go get coffee in Paris on my jet? My treat.”

[highvern]

Sales Pitch

Pairing: Moon Junhui x fe!reader

Genre: Smut, 21+

Warnings: dom reader, sub/brat jun, anal sex (m. receiving), pegging, oral (m & f receiving), degradation, sex toys, impact play, breath play, freak deakys fr!!!

Length: 3.6k

Note: for my bestie @wenjunehui i hope its all you dreamed of and more pookie

Remember: Tumblr runs on reblogs and I run on validation in the tags and comments :)

Part II

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

“Do you think these make my boobs look big?”

You turn to find Jun modeling the new shipment of nipple clamps over his shirt, the metal chain glinting across his chest from each peaked bud. His hands lift behind his head to further highlight the adornment.

“Gigantic.” You quip, diving back into the box filled with an assortment of lube.

In the six months you’ve been working at Bad Kittyz, you’ve discovered more about your coworker's weird fetishes than you really should. 

Even in snippets of conversation with customers, you hear him recommend toys and gadgets like he’s tried them all. Products that haven’t moved off the shelf since you started and look like they’ve sat there even longer than that he talks about like old friends. The day Jun discussed the installation of a sex swing with a woman pushing sixty you came to the conclusion the sex dungeon under his apartment must be stocked beyond belief.

A crash from behind you makes you turn, finding Jun stumbling as he struggles into a harness.

“What are you doing?”

“We got these strap ons and—”

Cutting him off, you eye him with confusion. “I can see that but why are you trying it on? You have a dick.”

“Sorry I like to give our customers my most informed opinion.” Jun rolls his eyes, going back to fidgeting with the straps.

“Please don’t say that.” You wince. “Not when you sold that sex machine yesterday.”

“What do you mean? You don’t think we should try the products before selling them?”

You blush at the implication that he’s tried everything he’s sold. Including the sex machine.

“I didn’t say that. But you don’t even need a strap.”

“I’m not gonna sell it without first hand knowledge.”

“I think that means you should get pegged then.” You sniff, turning back to your work.

You don’t want to be honed into his body. Every breath, every creak of the old floor boards as he moves closer. Even the heat of his body against your back wouldn’t register under normal circumstances but now it's overwhelming. 

Jun seems hell bent on making it even worse.

“Is that an offer?”

An entire day of preparation only serves to fan the flames of nervousness. Wrinkled laundry from weeks ago gets folded, every dish you own sits spotless in the cabinets; you’ve even lint rolled your couch. It’s more than you’ve done for any hookup before and it makes you jitter with embarrassment. 

The day barely dips into the afternoon by the time you're done. It gives you too much time to think. Your bedroom is off limits. Already prepped with fresh sheets, towels, and condoms. If you have to see the set up you might start scratching at the walls.

A shot of liquor helps take the edge away. Just enough you can sit on the couch without shaking out of your skin. But not enough to stop you from rotating through the same apps over and over in hopes a distraction will take your brain away from thoughts of Jun bent over the edge of your bed with his ass displayed.

When he finally arrives, you nearly puke. Because now its real and you’re about to fuck your hot coworker with a fake cock like its just another normal Thursday for him.

Jun smiles as you open the front door. It’s innocent at face value, only the edges tilting into something fouler. 

“What's up?”

“Please don’t try to act casual.” You warn, stepping aside so he can enter.

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

He flings himself onto the couch and somehow manages to still look hot despite the awkward angle of his limbs. The bag full of contraband sits on the floor, unassuming despite carrying a menagerie of who knows what. 

Crossing your arms in faux nonchalance, you nod towards the opposite end of your apartment. “Bathroom’s down the hall.”

“Okay?”

“Listen, it's not that I don’t trust you.” You sigh. It's a lie. You trust him as far as you can throw him. For all you know that tote bag could have cuffs and collars and a sex swing tucked away. “But I’m about to be closer to your ass than should be legal so I want to make sure.”

“Fine.” Jun shrugs, slipping past you while removing his shirt. “Are you coming too?”

The broad expanse of his back disappears behind the bathroom door. A creak preceding the patter of the shower vaguely registers in your brain still operating a mile behind. You don’t follow immediately, unwilling to bear to witness what he needs to get done. And maybe you want him to sweat for it, knock him off balance the same way you’ve been since he asked for this. 

But after a few minutes your feet move you his way, clothes falling with each step closer to the cracked door. But not before you snag the bottle of lube out of his bag. You’re almost disappointed by the lack of oddities beyond the strap on.

The hum of his voice bubbles behind the curtain. You find him lathered up when you duck into the stall, foamy tendrils lacing across his back and down his legs. 

“Wow, you don’t waste any time.” He jokes, turning over his shoulder to spot the bottle still squeezed tight in your palm.

Shouldering past him into the spray, you scoff.  “You asked me to pop your cherry and now you’re complaining?”

Jun doesn’t respond, scrubbing at his skin while following the streams of water webbing over your chest. You don’t object when he pulls you into his orbit, following until your mouths meet with ease. The nudge against your thigh feels juvenile against what you’re about to do but it doesn't stop you from taking advantage. 

Water doesn’t provide the smoothest glide but Jun doesn’t seem to mind, bucking into the catch of your palm. He turns pliant with a lazy swipe against his slit and a lick between his teeth. His shoulders shelter you from the downpour as you turn him, slowly dropping down until you’re face to face with his cock. 

Blinking lazily, you tongue where he leaks against your fingers, glowing at the twitch muscles across his stomach. Steam shrouds around his face but it can't hide the grind of his jaw.

“Good?” 

Jun nods, hands limp at his side. Finding the bottle again, your fingers shine with excess as you reach underneath and glide them across his ass. You suck him down to soften the stretch but Jun doesn’t so much as flinch when your finger slips in without resistance.

Popping off his cock, your eyebrow arches. “Have you done this before?”

“Umm,” he swallows, pinking from the neck up. “Define ‘this’?”

“Had fingers in your ass.”

He hesitates; bashful despite still being stretched over your knuckle. “Yes.”

“Wow, and here I thought I was special.”

Jun’s rebuttal is lost to a groan, ripped out by the curve of your throat against the head of his cock. The timidity of taking his first time evaporates through your veins, replaced by the hunger to be the best he’ll ever get.

A second finger proves little challenge either and you almost pull back to goad him but one glance at Jun’s face hints he might cum if you degrade him too much. Instead, you take the satisfaction of his taste on your tongue as a win and keep curling your fingers until his hips kick.

“More lube,” he croaks.

You rush to do what he asks, pouring so much onto your fingers it drips down his legs when you press back in with a third finger. The new stretch has you gagging on him again.

“Fuck yeah. Oh shit.”

Replacing your mouth with a hand, you lap at the raised vein running from his base to his abs. “How big is the dildo you brought?”

His Adam's apple bobs with your next stroke. “I–Mhmmm.”

“Jun, how big is it?”

The water creeps cold and you're about to start humping his leg if you don’t find something new to distract yourself with. So you stop until he answers.

“Small.” 

You reward him with a quick glide but that's all. “Think you’re ready?”

A quick inhale and a nod has you rising to your feet, rinsing off your used hand before turning the faucet and exiting into the chilly air.

“Grab the lub—” 

Jun cuts you off with his mouth. He laps away his own taste, nearly bending you in half with enthusiasm. The idea of lifting your leg and letting him fuck you against the counter whispers in the back of your mind; how easy he can fill you before you take him back to your bed and give him the same treatment. But, just based on how he kisses, you can tell if you indulge now then you’ll be much too tired later.

His stomach bows when your nails find his nipple, scraping the sensitive bud on a whim. Something about the way he responds, whiney and breathless, sends you into a frenzy. 

“Go grab,” a pass of his teeth, “your bag and,” another draw of his tongue. “Meet me in my room.” 

You almost cave to his attempt at drowning you in his affection but you break away, turning back to the shower for the bottle. Jun’s hand ghosts down your spine, fingers digging into the swell of your ass for a second until he dissolves through the door.

Unable to prolong the charade, you follow only a few seconds behind. 

Jun sprawls across your bed like a renaissance painting. Nothing but long limbs and lean muscle. Damp skin shimmering like liquid golden in the light of the singular lamp. One leg bent at the knee, not so subtly bringing your gaze to his length; stiff and sticky against his thigh. The harness rests at the foot of the bed, more daunting than the naked man only feet away.

Tossing the bottle of lube down, you grab the tangle of straps and try to orient yourself. It’s straightforward but the crawl of eyes over your body makes you falter. 

“Stop staring at me.” You bite when you nearly drop the entire thing.

Jun huffs, an arm flinging over his face. “I grabbed the one with a vibe built in. But you can use the normal one if you want.”

You refuse to dwell on the sweetness in such a vulgar scenario. The thick purple vibrator rests next to a smaller black one, both sleek silicone. If he’s offering you equal pleasure you’d be a fool not to take it so you snatch up the larger of the two and set to work. 

The harness shimmies up your hips almost too easily. All it takes is a tug here and a pull there and you’re ready to dick down your hot coworker with a fake cock and too much lube. And its when you notice the ring of plastic on the nightstand.

“What's this?”

You know what it is. Unpacked a box of them a few days ago while he helped a customer pick out a fleshlight. But getting Jun to admit it makes you salivate.

He peeks from behind his hand, eyes dropping to your finger donned with the cock ring. The smirk on your face refuses to be concealed under his view.

“A dick in your ass isn’t enough?” You ask, feigning innocence as you round the bed and sink the cushion under your knees. “Or are you really that much of a freak?”

Jun sinks back. Crawling over him, you plant on his thighs, savoring the twitch of his own cock when you drop the piece of silicon on his stomach. Your fake dick and his real one clash beautifully next to one another. You worry you’ve pushed too far, growing hesitant under his moon eyed gaze.

Raking your nails across his stomach, and Jun finally answers your goad when you reach the crease of his hip.

“I’m—I’m a freak.”

It’s completely silent as you eye one another up. Pupils blown and chest heaving at the cliff you’re about to jump off of.

“Then show me.”

Creeping up his chest, you rest the tip of the strap against the pink of his mouth. He doesn’t miss a beat, leaves no room for any more nerves as he sucks it in, the purple disappearing inch by inch behind his lips. 

You should have known he’d be messy, anticipated the way he drools and moans. But it hits you like you can actually feel any pleasure through the faux extension. Even if you don’t feel physical stimulation, his hands at your ass, pushing your hips until you catch his hint and give a few shallow thrusts of your own, makes your ears ring.

Jun campaigns for gold, swallowing around the intrusion like he loves nothing more than taking cock. Like he could cum like this, untouched, gagging on a fake dick while you watch him.

“Shit,” you curse as his nose meets your stomach, bottoming out in the softness of his throat like he’s sucked more dick than you’d believe.

You curse again when one of his hands drops to find the button that’ll make the end of the cock buried inside you vibrate. Hips rutting into the stimulation, tears bead in his eyes while he chokes. 

Rising away you push him back when he attempts to follow, “Fuck, thats enough. Jesus Christ.”

You find the bottle of lube and the cock ring. Dribbling a generous dose on his cock, you wait until he starts rolling it down.  Jun doesn’t resist the urge to jerk off, knuckles brushing against the spit soaked plastic of the strap.

Tangling your fingers with his own, you squeeze him through a tight fist until he’s kicking. 

“Turn around,” you breathe. “Don’t stop, but if you cum I will.”

He doesn’t tell you that he can’t cum with the new addition but the idea that he is staving off licks up your spine. 

More lube shines across his ass and you slide the head of the dildo through the mess in a tease, barely nudging at his entrance before moving away. The way he attempts to force you in is nothing compared to the curve of his spine when his chest falls to the sheets.

“C’mon,” he whines.

A fist stops him from sinking back, giving him just an inch of pure frustration and nothing more.

“How bad do you want it?”

“So bad.” Jun groans, gifted with another inch of stretch before you stop him again.

Draping over his back, you nip at his earlobe before whispering, “Then ask for it.”

Rising up, you give a harsh tug of hair, a broken cry cracking through the air.

“Please, please, please,” he chants.

Annoyance taints your sigh, sending you back to square one with the fake cock resting between his cheeks. It’s hard to pretend you’re not just as desperate. Between the heaven blessed image of Jun on his knees, begging for cock, and the vibrations making your thighs twitch, you’re nearly on the verge of begging him to fuck you instead.

You squirt more lube, making it messier like some cheap porno. Clean up will suck but right now you don't care.

“Please what?” You sing, hand massaging the lube between his cheeks.

“Please fuck me!”

You don’t wait for more, rewarding the bare minimum by letting him take as much as he wants as fast as he wants it. There’s no way he’s never done this before. Jun rides dick better than you, keeping pace without faltering and rocking with so much enthusiasm you itch for your phone to record such depravity.

Each clap of his ass against your pelvis rocks the toy just right inside you, until you're seizing. Part of you hates he’s getting you off so easily. And you take it out by leaving a red copy of your hand on his ass. 

Jun collapses with a squeak and you follow. Each rut of your hips has him rippling with one of his own, destroyed between the fullness of his ass and the roughness of your sheets against the sensitive tip of his cock. 

“Harder,” he whines.

You try. But few pathetic cants leave him crying for more than you can provide with the angle you’re in. 

Jun’s limbs shoot out when you sit back, scrambling to be full again. He looks over his shoulder, tears in his eyes as he opens his mouth. No doubt to curse you to high heavens for edging him.

“Flip over.”

On autopilot he flips to his back, knees rising to his chest to show off the damage you’ve done. His cock sits wet and aching, stiff in the confines of the cock ring. 

You slip back in, only teasing with more light strokes while working off his confines; the insatiable hunger to see him covered in his own cum infecting your every move. Jun’s lips are bruised, worried between his teeth at ever pass against that spot inside him. It’s worse when you circle his cock. Each jerk in time with your hips sending his head further back into the pillows and baring his throat for whatever marks you want to leave.

But Jun doesn’t crave the sting of your teeth or the plump drag of your tongue. Instead, without an ounce of reserve, he pulls your hand up the dip between his collar bones, blankets your hand with his own, and squeezes.

“You’re such a slut,” you spit, delighting in cutting his next moan off before it can even begin. “Say it. Say you're a slut.”

“I’m a slut!”

“Can’t hear you.”

Flailing under the beratement, Jun groans again. “I’m a slut!”

He’s so easy. So eager to roll in the pleasure and pain you provide. It bleeds through his features, the way his body contorts and his face shifts. It makes you itch to stretch him so far he has no choice but to snap. 

“Are you gonna cum?” Your voice is hopeful. Its all you want. All you need. “Is this all it takes? Getting called a slut with your ass full and you’re ready to blow your load?”

Another violent curl of his back until he’s nearly in half. “Shit, yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes!”

This time when you stop, Jun takes over immediately. The tip of his cock peaks through his fist, pearly beads dripping until he seizes. Rope after rope paints his chest, crude gems in the low light. Face twisted in pure agony. He looks like a dream. Like a model in the magazines tucked away in the backroom of the shop. 

The end of the vibrator buried inside you keeps you at a dull hum. You bubble just on the edge of your orgasm but watching Jun twitch and writhe is better than anything you can possibly think of. Except dipping down and lapping away the stains on his skin, sucking his cum coated nipples until he drives you on to your back. 

It takes some maneuvering but he manages to wedge his tongue under the toy and find the patch of nerves like he’s been there a thousand times. 

He laps at your clit, hot and languid and dirty; all while he angles the vibrator buried inside you to bully against your front wall, breaking you into a twitching sweaty mess.

“Fuck, oh fuck—don’t stop.”

Your back curves, spine bending almost in half when Jun sucks and delivers another harsh push bordering on cruel. His free hand lands flat on your chest, forcing your shoulders back into the pillows with ease.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, curling your hips up into Jun’s face. He abandons his previous grips, focusing on guiding your body across his tongue until your thighs spasm.

His groans echo loudly despite his face being buried in your cunt; scorching into your muscles until it hurts. Cruel fingers pluck at your nipples, tugging until you yelp and then pinching some more.  Jun doesn’t stop until you wedge your fingers between your pussy in his mouth, continuing to lick and suck until he opens his eyes and realizes you're swatting him away.

Croaking an intelligible nose, you collapse; only focused on the soaking kisses across your hips and up your breasts. The tickle of Jun’s bangs against your neck don’t even elicit a response. The room spins as you return to your body. Only the weight of the man on top of you keeps you from floating away. 

Later, after another shower that is really only an excuse for some lazy groping and equally lethargic kisses, you cuddle up on the couch. Jun decides your chest is his new home, happily buried between your breasts while the movie drones on in the back. Weed still reeks in the air but it makes the edges hazy, glowing like the sun beats through your veins. 

“Ya know,” Jun whispers into your sternum. “Next week we’re getting ball gags.”

It doesn’t throw you off. Your fingers continue combing through his hair, nails scratching his scalp until goosebumps bloom on his bare back. “Let me guess, you wanna try them out?”

“If you’re offering.”

Your next exhale carries you to sleep. “Only if I get to wear it.”

@tomodachiii @cvpidyunho @miniseokminnies @ddaengpotate @arycutie @gaebestie @primoppang @gyuguys @mine-gyu @doremifasire @missminhoe @toplinehyunjin @crvs4vldtn @prettygyuuu @horanghaezone

© highvern. copying/reuploading/translating my work anywhere is strictly prohibited.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 32

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: NSFW Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

word count: 6k

A/N: I fear its safe to say I don't do well with change. I moved back to school and couldn't find my groove. Who knew I just needed a little ovulation and commute to work time to bang this one out. Chapter 33 will be arriving shortly.

Well Javier was on the floor. Without a complaint. The two of you didn’t stay too long at the fair considering each ride had a wait time of forty five minutes. In the car you decided to keep your hotel but still be open to staying over, when it was appropriate.  So now you’re on his bed, back in one of his shirts. Surrounded by him. Criss crossed while he’s sat up on the floor. 

“You could come up here.” You offer, removing your rings and placing it on his nightstand. Already claiming his space as your own, too natural for you. The offer has him quirking a brow. It was a test, you know he shouldn’t. Shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t.” He settles into the mattress, pulling the blankets to his shoulders. “We could talk like this.” Grunting from adjusting his newly relaxed body. You move forward on your stomach so that he could see you. Resting your head on your arms. You smile feeling like two kids at a sleepover, whispering and peering over the bed to see if the other fell asleep yet.

“Good you passed that one. Let's continue shall we?” 

The game of 21 questions was more like two hundred questions and it continued all the way into the house. 

Did you date?

I thought you asked me not to tell you about all of that.

I said I don't want to hear about Camila or Daniela or whoever.

You remember their names?

Yes, I couldn’t sleep and thought about a Camila under you. He flexes his jaw at that. 

I went on two dates, which were set up by my partner Steve Murphy and his wife. They ended with goodbyes after dinner. Never spoke to them again.

I went on some dates too. 

I don’t want to hear about that. You pinch him on the elbow and he shrugs. We’re different about that stuff, I hate to hear it. You nod and get the urge to apologize but fight it. 

Now in bed he clears his throat, “Alright. Tell me what your apartment looks like?”

You smile, “It’s a steal for the area. I actually have a bedroom for the price of a studio. My rooms a bit more eclectic than my one here. My bedding is white but my room walls are a burgundy color. There’s no closet so I have a clothing rack. None of my living room furniture is new… it’s all second hand from stoop sales or whatever. My birds shit without batting an eye so I opted not to be dumb about that. What did yours look like?”

His eyes are closed for a moment like he’s trying to imagine it. “Hmmm.. it was dim in there, always. The kitchen and living room were open, a few steps to lead you to the living room. I had a leather couch and a desk. My television was pretty nice. Nothing was really– mine. I tried not to make it feel lived in because I didn’t want to get attached to that place–that world.” There’s a face that you’ve never really seen from him until you’ve been here. It’s one nearly blank but you know the way his face moves, there's a small crease in his brows and he clenches his jaw. Like talking about Colombia pained him and he has to conceal it. Almost like a child admitting to their faults after a spanking. Quiet, embarrassed, unsure, and on the verge of breakdown. “You would have hated it there.”

Probably. You just nod the best you can while laying down. Waiting for his question. 

“Um…” He closes one eye, like it’ll help him think. He opts to go silent for a moment like he conjured a question but was waging his options. 

Should I? Is this a line I shouldn’t cross? Is the wound still open? “Have you heard from your father?” 

You frown for a second. Off put and taken off guard. Remembering the day, remember the rolling grass, low hanging branches and the cold demeanor from the one person she needed warmth from. Hearing urgent and violent words like I love you. Promising to take care of you. 

“No. I never went back there. He never called me even though I’m sure my grandmother told him I moved to Louisiana. I stopped needing him after I got to know him.” You rarely thought of him, just the concept of being without a parent. Then you became an educator and realized that anyone you call family is your own. Your students taught you that, so did Javier years earlier but you suppose maybe you weren’t ready to accept it yet. 

Javier hums to himself, staring at the ceiling. Contemplating if he should really share the way he had felt. Afraid it would break some rule in this delicate game you’ve got going. Wondering if you’ll furrow your brow and turn you back to sleep or internalize what’s climbing up, up, up his throat. 

“If this is… against your rules you don’t have to say anything or we could move on…”

“Okay.”

Again he can’t look at you. How is it that you reduce him to a shy young boy? 

“There’s nothing more that I want in life than to be the father of your kids.” There he goes leaping over the bounds to which he’s left in, but he can’t help it. It’s all he thinks about, all he thought about three years ago and it plagued him every time you spoke of your own father. He doesn’t see you but he can feel your eyes closed, silent, internalizing it all. After all, you'd never turn your back on him. “No one will ever know you like me. Love you, sure, but not as much as me. You’re too easy to love. But I know that you could show me what a mother looks like and I could show you what a father looks like. Our kids will never be in pain the way we were. Sorry if this makes you uncomfortable or-or confused. It’s all I thought about when I was away. And I’m so sorry for ever making you think I didn’t want you in that way.” Because he should have known that it was a deep point of insecurity for you, a deep well created by your parents. Urge to be loved, to create something and love it in a much fiercer and kinder way than your parents did you. Lorraine being able to have all that you wanted came like slice to the stomach. 

Sniffling, you rub your face into the crook of your arm. Hiding from Javier. He looks this time and he doesn’t try to hold your hand like you’re itching for. 

“Thank you… I—.” You wipe your face. Not willing to open the can of worms this could conjure if you just told him straight up that you’d be willing to start now. Fuck the trial, fuck trying to learn each other again, let’s start a family. Be irrational but be happy. You decide to keep it together. You thank him and he knows it’s genuine, you see it in his eyes. He understands your reluctance. “I found that I don’t have the need for many people in my life-“

“I need you.” He says before you. Like he did when he said he loved you. Throat bobbing, he pulls his sheets over him. “I’ll wait for you, until you need me again.”

“Can never get enough of each other huh.” Chucho chuckles while washing his hands in the sink. Boots clean and squeaking against the floor. It was a part of his routine, cleaned his boots every night even if he worked the next morning. 

Last night you fell asleep with your face buried into the crook of your arm. Hand dangling off the mattress, grazing Javier’s neck. Need to touch, woke up with a sore arm. Bleary eyed you notice there’s no-body by the bed. Silent but the sound of running water. 

That’s how you found Chucho, ready for the day at 8 am. Embarrassingly you pad into the kitchen in Javier’s shirt and boxers. 

You shrug, he hands you a cup of coffee. Nodding a thank you, “We have established clear boundaries. We are just spending quality time. We have a lot to make up for.” You say it with a bit of a half awake half still dreaming slur that has Javier’s father beaming. 

“Well if that’s what you’re calling it nowadays, so be it. I won’t be back until four pm.” He places his cup down and starts walking away. Your jaw drops and you nearly run after him. But you know he’s fucking with you, his shoulders bounce. 

“It’s not like that!” You call and he waves a hand at you over his shoulder and steps straight out of his own home. Screen door slamming with a brisk breeze. 

You hear a sneeze, “What’s not like that?” Your head snaps and eyes lock with Javier’s. Freshly showered, hair so wet it droops on his forehead. He looks younger this way. Grey shirt loose with jeans to match. Socked feet, he looks like he doesn’t want you to go anywhere. At least seeing him like this makes you want to find a nest for yourself in his bed. You can’t help but smile at him. 

He’s skeptical of your cheery mood. Brows furrowing, nostrils flared but a hint of a smile. He’s cautious, like he knows you’re up to something. You aren’t, at all. You’re just giddy and it’s only been two days and you feel your boundaries loosening. Just wanting to find that place you yearn for. Just run to him now, kiss him, tell him to put a baby in you. Grab, pull, lick, love, whatever came with it. You decide to control yourself a bit. 

Your eyes drop to his hands, he’s holding three VHS tapes. Your brows furrow just the same, wondering what movie he wanted to see with you. It wasn’t a thing the two of you ever did. Your time spent was short and only for conversations and kisses. And pot, back before everything. You had to stop smoking after getting your teaching gig. 

You want to say something bratty like, assuming I’m staying for some home videos? But you can’t even do that, lord when did you become such a softie? “Big plans?” Is all you can manage to croak.

He shrugs, “Are you staying?” He says it without shame, you know it must take a lot for a man to nearly beg. You know he means please stay. 

You look at him once more and down at your boxer clad legs. Shrugging. “I suppose”

Eric Fredricks' family owned a Haitian restaurant off main street. It was a small take out spot that had been bustling with business since 1961. Eric was your classmate. A friend of everyone, known for his large digital camera he carried around school. The loud, goofy kid shoved his damn camera in everyone’s faces. Annoyed or not, he would always say, “When you fuckers are forty you’re really going to appreciate these recordings!” 

Well, each year he cut, edited and burned these tapes as his own NR rated yearbook videos. Selling them around school and you bought one each year. He was chill with the price for you just because you always perked up in front of his camera. Ready to gleam and answer whatever stupid questions he had like;

“Andrea, how does it feel to be the worst lacrosse player in Laredo history?”

“Or Andrea, what are your thoughts on today’s LHS Chilli special? “ 

You always answered with the same slapstick humor he had. You thought you lost these tapes years ago. Javier seemed to remind you that you left them at his house, might’ve been when Javier was in Houston.

 He was right, your mother’s VHS player stopped working in 1982. You remember popping these tapes in and watching them during your winter break from Miami. Chucho snoring on the lazy boy, saved him from watching the closest thing he had to a daughter do a keg stand with her skirt flipped up towards her chest. 

“I’ve never seen these.” Javier grunts when he straightens back up and walks to sit next to you on the brown couch. A couch with the tendency to swallow you whole. You remember Javier on his knees before you, pillow covering your spread legs while he unlaced your boots. 

“Well you left so…” You grab the control and snicker, pressing play.

“Hah. Hand me that.” he gestures to the pack of cigarettes on the side table. You shake your head no and settle into the seat. “Cmon.” 

“No. No smoking in the house.” You snap at the tv, “Watch.” 

It’s Eric’s face, he’s sitting in his bedroom. “Hello. I’m Eric Fredricks. I’m fifteen and my passion is digital media. The yearbook club is full of hacks and strokes, so I’m going to make my own. The date is September 21st 1979. Ok bye!” the film glitches and the camera makes its way down the hall. Faces of people who you haven’t seen in years. Hairstyles forgotten, thank god. Winks at the camera, sly comments from Eric behind it. He asks questions in his interview segment that would never make it to the school's video yearbook. 

“What does Eric do now?” Javier asks. It’s easy to forget that he missed so many crucial moments. He missed the infamous lunch box incident in 81', Laredos first soccer championship, the halloween rager that led to the assembly—all of that. You wonder if that’s normal, for the development of a person. To be plucked out of childhood and forced to be an adult while everyone else got to worry about if their drivers test aligned with their basketball practice schedule. Burdened with the responsibility of a person's livelihood is no place for a seventeen year old. 

You bring your knees to your chest, finding the most comfort when you're guided and held. “Last I heard he was doing media production for Saturday Night Live. Like in New York City.”

He feels it too, you see the way his brows quirk. How he almost frowns. “That’s crazy—how different things went for everyone else.” You knew at that moment that the tape would be mere background noise. 

“You— you know you made a name for yourself too.” 

Hm. 

You weren’t sure if that’s what you wished to say. He doesn’t get upset with you for it. He chooses to let it slide and for that you’re grateful because you hadn’t had a clue about what to say to him. 

“Yeah.” He chuckles but doesn’t seem to be that amused. He pinches the bridge of his nose, leaning his head against the back of the couch. There’s not much to be said anymore. Lorraine changed the fabric of his being, so did the DEA. And maybe you too. His hand splayed on his knee, knuckles red from repeated trauma to the area. You opted to abandon the topic in general. Seeing his stomach tighten up under the thin fabric of his t-shirt when the choice was your hand on his. Small, soft, against his. 

The two of you relish in the harmless intimacy, you give each other this. Tiny touches could be enough. 

The two of you watch the bootlegged documentary in mostly silence. Rotating who strokes the other with their thumbs. You think about turning your cheek, kissing him. Pressing close and making out for a bit. A casual make out, breathy and gripping. You decide against it. This would be so easy if it was anyone else but him. 

It’s not because you feel like you can’t control yourself—it’s not like a make out with Javier Peña would have your panties at your ankles. You could control yourself more than that. What it is—is that you’ll take advantage of those little liberties. Sneaking kisses at any time and when you go back home, you’ll be lost without it. 

Maybe you’re doomed anyway, because if this doesn’t work out you don't know what you’ll do knowing you can’t just hold his hand. 

Your brother comes out on halloween with a fang induced lisp drunkenly reciting the alphabet backwards at a party while Eric cackles behind the camera. It makes you laugh so hard you cry, missing being young. Missing your brother. 

Lorraine pops up. High ponytail with red cheeks from gym class. Hands on her hips, it’s wrong for such an evil person to be so beautiful. You look at Javier and there’s a frown on his face. 

He wonders why she was so bad to him, what he did to deserve to be plagued by her. He regrets knowing her, it’s hard for him to watch her smile. 

Then you show up and Javier’s eyebrows raise. “I remember that day.” He mutters. There you are, looking the same just with that baby fat at the apple of your cheeks. Your hair was the closest to its natural brown, your pants were severely high waisted and your shirt a lacy shawl like thing. You’re at a locker taping a flier about lacrosse tryouts when the camera rushes you.

“Andrea Diaz! How does it feel to be Laredos worst lacrosse player?” Javier snorts next to you, squeezing your hand. That’s what he would do, come up to you and ask the dumbest, rudest questions. There, a fifteen year old Andrea rolls her eyes and rolls her thumb to secure the tape. 

Crossing her arms, “I’ll answer your dumb questions if you’re nicer about it.” You cringe at the sound of your own voice, sounding awfully juvenile. Javier’s entire demeanor goes soft. All it took was the sound of you—back then, for him to forget the panic in his gut when watching Lorraine in her prime. 

“Alright sure-sure- Andrea Diaz how does it feel to be the sexiest girl in all of Laredo?” Eric had quite the country accent, it made every line delivered feel like that of a typecasted movie star. 

Quirking a brow, “I wouldn’t know. I could ask your mother.” 

“All right that’s enough! You’re impossible to please ,woman!” Eric yells from behind the camera and it fades in little blocks to you getting set up for a keg stand. 

You’re in a skirt and a flowing yellow top. Stumbling a bit, Daniel holds your shoulder to keep you upright. You try not to think too hard about the images you’ve left in people’s minds while you were drunk. Javier is getting more and more tense each passing moment. His hold on your hand becomes just a hold and no longer a soothing stroke. 

You’re cringing at yourself, flipping your hair and chanting that you could do it while Daniel holds your waist. Hands trailing over your stomach, you almost forget that before Javier you had your fair share of hookups, him your most consistent. 

The date on the corner March 1st 1980. 

Drunkenly you lean forward and another one of your peers holds your other leg while another shoves a tap in your mouth. The entire party off screen and on, start chanting your name with whoops. That’s when your skirt flips and exposes the plain blue panties. 

You cover your eyes. 

“I don’t like this.” Is all that Javier can say, on the screen no one covers you until a random classmate of yours, Jenna? Or was it Jessa? Runs to your aid and calls all the men pigs before holding your skirt in its place. You’re dropped down and again you stumble backward into the arms of your pseudo boyfriend. 

And then you yak all over the floor.

 “Jesus christ I forgot about that.” You rub your eyes afraid to look over at Javier. 

“Did—anything-“

“No. Well I think we went to someone’s room and made out. Then I walked home.” 

His head nearly falls off his shoulders. “He let you walk home like that?” Javi grits, letting go of your hand. 

You shrug, “Dunno, high school shit.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

Your brows furrow, he’s being ridiculous but you know he can’t help it. He wanted—wants, nothing more than to take care of those he loves. You watch the video back, seeing your young eyes and wish to take care of her too. You can’t even imagine him. He only lets you know the surface level of his concern for you. You know it’s more than wishing you had called him. 

You had before, panicked and blushing using the party home phone. 

You decide calling him ridiculous would be in bad faith. You just lean your head on his shoulder. Moving your hand from his and holding his bicep instead. He looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Face softening along with his tense shoulders. “I don’t know. I was sixteen and stupid. And drunk.” Your cheek feels too good there. 

He’s studying you. You wished you could read him in these moments. When he’s so in his head, he’s taking you in completely. “Can you? Now I mean.”

Your lips quirk and the apples or your cheeks redden. Pulling your brows because sometimes he’s too sweet it gives you a toothache. “I live in New York, Javi.” 

“I know.” He’s close enough to kiss. “But I want you to call me anyway. If you ever feel unsafe or unsure—i know how twisted a human can be—i’ve seen-“

There it is. He’s cut off by a kiss on his shoulder.

 “I will.” It’s a featherlight whisper and he does that thing again. That look, this time with a bit of restraint. The two of you focus on the screen again.

Twenty minutes into the forty-six minute video the two of you revert back to telling stories about the students on the screen and laughing at how high school, your high school experience really was.

“This is great, hottest couple in the school right in front of me.” Eric laughs, camera pointed at the ground then quickly shot up. Blurring than focusing on Javier at his locker. He looked so young, red cap on his head with a Righteous Brothers t-shirt. The image of him as a seventeen year old in your head had been fading for a few years, but now you’re watching him living, breathing and moving as himself. Smiling once he sees Eric approaching him. 

“What the fuck was I wearing?”

You laugh, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “Don’t know but I was obsessed with you anyway.”

He makes one of those grunts where you can’t tell if he’s annoyed with himself or with you. You nudge his shoulder with your chin. “What?”

“Makes me feel like such an asshole.”

All you could do was sigh. You know he’d give it all to do it over again. You look at Lorraine and there seems to be love there. It never fails to make your blood boil. You know that loving Javier can make you feel sick, crazy or desperate. But you suppose her love was selfish. For a while you felt like your own love was selfish, not caring for the consequences. But you suppose it was just a natural progression. Miles away from scheming to keep him forever, by ways of manipulation. The look in his eye isn’t the same since you left him. 

A young Javier takes Lorraine’s jaw in his hand and kisses her cheek. She rolls her eyes. “He’s obsessed with me.” She smiles and he mumbles a yeah. Your cheeks heat in a rage that’s so juvenile, you want to turn off the entire thing. Maybe this was a shitty idea. Watching your most insecure and turbulent years in front of you. You were obsessed with him, crying furious tears. Avoiding contact. While he was content with her. It’s a nerve that will always be left exposed. 

He clears his throat. 

“Were you?” You bite. Removing your head from his shoulder, he sinks at the loss. Leaning forward to get a full image of your face. His brows are pulled together in confusion until they soften when he notices this is nothing but you showing him you are still so into him. 

He bites back a smirk and you want to smack it off of his face. “Was I what, querida?”

You swear you will-

“Obsessed with her.” Firm, no room for it to sound like a desperate question. This definitely breaks one of your rules. But fuck it, he’s flawed and so are you, 

He shuts an eye and shakes his head no. “I liked her. She was pretty. She was my girlfriend…”

You frown, that title belonged to you. 

There he is, an inch away from your face with such intensity. “But I would fuck her, and picture you. I imagined that you’d blush the whole time and would pretend like you couldn’t handle me just so I can fuck you harder. Would have to bury my head where she couldn’t hear because I’d come and say your name.” Your cheeks turn cherry red, just how he likes. Cunt pulsing, it betrays you. You’re so flustered and angry with him you want to lean forward and bite him. He doesn’t waiver, he leans much closer. You shudder, feeling crowded by his body. He has the strength to do what he’d like with you, you’re sure you’d put on a fight until you’re unable to lie anymore. You had been soaked the whole damn time. “What? Have I broken your rules?” He whispers, nose nudging your own lightly. You can’t help it, your mouth parts searching for his—

But he backs away and laughs at you. He laughs! Shaking his head like you’re some bastard child. Leaning back cooley and pressing play again. Lorraine’s voice ringing through the speakers. 

Absolutely not. 

You sit in silence. Staring at him while he’s glued to the image of him and his ex girlfriend. Your chin quivers, and you clench around nothing.

“G-give me the remote.” You blurt. Chest falling, bubbling with anger. He doesn’t look at you but smirks. He ignores you. Eyes welling with tears. “Javi.”

More silence. More her. You reach for his hand and he doesn’t look at you. He isn’t looking at you… so you pounce. 

Jumping into his lap, clawing at him while he laughs and hurriedly finds different ways to keep you away from the remote. You’re seeping through your underwear and onto his boxers, your cunt rolling against his crotch unintentionally.

 Your brows screw—“Just—Javi please turn it off.” He chuckles again and he’s all of this without focusing on the pain you’re in. Emotionally, sexually, whatever. You reach around him lifting your hips to get ahold of the controller but you lose again. Bouncing on his lap a bit. He grunts.

“Javi— Please- I’m not kidding.” 

The tv shuts off with a wiring tone and his eyes finally land on your own. All the playfulness leaves when he realizes. And you feel like a heat sick kitten, rubbing on yourself this way. His brow raises, eyes falling to your tear stained cheek and down your grinding hips. You drop your face into his shoulder. At first he doesn’t touch you, he just watches you. Nose nudging your cheek. Wondering why after everything you’d give it up just to come quick like this. 

“Hey… hey.” He whispers at the shell of your ear. “Fuck—Andrea—“

You can only whimper into the crook of his neck. Taking your feel for the girl in those tapes, for the girl who dreamt of him while he did the same. It drove you crazy, it made you violent and horny. “Baby…” His big hands span from your shoulder blades down to  the small of your back and then splayed on your ass. Spreading you and rolling you harder. He grunts again. “Andrea… I can’t—we said we wouldn’t—I'm sorry for teasing you—cmon.” His hands move from your behind, come to your front, at your waist and lightly push  you away from him. 

He’s impossibly hard now, his tan cheeks have a bit more color now. He’s sweating. Feeling embarrassed, you freeze. Eyes dropped to his lap, cunt begging you to move again. You feel the length of him under you, mocking you. You shouldn’t. You know. You know he’s sorry for how rushed and stupid Christmas eve was. You’re still ticked off by it, but he’s doing so good for you. 

“I’m sorry… we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” Is all you can muster out. 

“You know I want to.” He rushes, leaning forward so he can hold your face, it just makes him shift against you again. Your brows furrow at the release. 

“Okay…” A drop of sweat builds at the nape of your neck, the both of you are so turned on you’ll fuck each other if you keep this up. “Can we…can I…” You swear if he brings up your rules again you’ll crawl in a hole and die of embarrassment. 

He juts his chin at you, egging you to complete your sentence. 

You think you’ll die before you say it. Your face brightens real red and you shimmy out of his hold. You crawl off his lap and mutter to yourself. “Sorry, it’s stupid. I should just go.” 

He catches your wrist and sits you back down next to him. “Tell me.”

“It’s stupid! And gross probably.”

“We aren’t children.” 

You’ve been so open sexually until now. You felt twenty two again, never having orgasmed with another person, afraid to tell him what you wanted. He gave you it all. 

“Can we— or can I touch myself?”

Javier’s eyes darken, “You want to touch yourself.” 

God it’s like he’s trying to humiliate you. 

“Yes.”

He clenches his jaw so tight. “Can I watch? Or do you want to go to my room alone?” 

Idiot. 

“Can we do it together? Now.” You can’t let the moment pass. 

Well, he can’t either. His nostrils flare and he places his hand on his belt. Unbuckling so fast you can’t help but watch. You watch him unbuckle and unzip while you shimmy out of his boxers. His eyes glued to your movements. You feel filthy exposing yourself like this. He lifts his hips and pulls his jeans down a bit, the heft of his cock making a print through his underwear. You remember leaning down and pressing your lips along his bulge once. You’d like to do it again. 

You circle your fingers along your clit over your panties. He palms himself. 

“Tell me what to do.” You whisper. 

“Oh.” He reaches into his boxers and pulls his length out. Your pussy clenches at the sight, a thatch of hair at the base and curved. You touched yourself to the thought of it. You pull your panties down and lift one leg up on the couch, spreading yourself open. “Give me your fingers.” 

You furrow your brow but remove them. Bringing your hand to him. His free hand grasps your wrists and he takes no time, he puts the same two fingers in his mouth. You gasp, while he sucks, stroking his dick at the same time. Your fingers are impossibly wet when he stops. Your wrist is still in his hold. “Don’t put any fingers in until I tell you. Just play with your clit for a little.” 

You nod, bringing your fingers back to it. Moving in tight circles. Javier’s fist is dry, working his way up and down his shaft— your lips gather with drool—you want to-

“Spit on it. If you want. Or I can.” He reads your mind. You take no time, moving to your knees, your knees knocked together giving you a tighter squeeze for your fingers. Feels even better. You lean into his lap, back arched like a kitten. 

Javier groans at the sight. You desperately want to put your mouth on him—my rules, my rules. Spit drips from your mouth and onto the red head of his pretty cock. His hand comes to the back of your head and you moan, wishing he’d push down and force himself into your mouth. But he just strokes the back of your head instead. You lean back into the arm of the couch, you’re no longer side by side. Your whole body is barred for him, you bring your free hand under your shirt. Grabbing your breast and rolling your fingers over your nipples. 

He uses your spit and moans audibly now. Grunting in his low baritone, you collect your slick and use it for slip. Your stomach tenses, “Put your finger in. Middle.” You nod and feel even more unsatisfied. “Fuck, I missed that pretty little face you make when something goes inside your cunt.”

“Javi…” You whine throwing your head back, fucking yourself with your small finger. 

“I know—fuck.” Pre-cum gathers all over the tips of his fingers. You’ll ask to lick his hand clean when you’re done. “I know your cunt wants my cock again—I’m sorry I can’t.”

“It’s not enough.” Your knees knock together in protest. 

“I know-I know. Add another baby. Ring.” You watch his stomach go taut so he slows down his strokes. Licking his lips at the sight of you adding another. “Mm. I miss you so much.” He shudders. 

“I’m right here.” 

“Please don’t leave me—fuck.” He whines, it’s so unlike him. You watch his tip surge through the tight hole he’s made for himself, he’s close but you’re closer. You can’t believe it’s him asking you this. “I want to follow your rules—show you I’m good—but please let me kiss you.” 

The ridges of your fingers aren’t enough, you use your other hand to circle your clit without permission. He’s so caught in his emotions that he doesn’t seem to care that you touched yourself without his command. 

He tells you what to do but truly he’s at your will. His eyes well with tears and his brows are pulled together. “Let me take care of you, I’ll do everything you say if you let me kiss you—“

“I can’t— I’m going to come!” Your back arches and it builds. You can’t see him now but you hear his pace, his fist slapping against his base. You writhe and shiver and it comes crashing down. You come hard, you mutter I’m sorry, over and over. And he groans at the sight, you can’t give him what he wants. 

You can try and give him something else. You catch your breath and open your eyes. Your own come dripping to the inside of your thighs. He watches in pain, “Baby—” You whisper, fuck that’s against the rules probably. He nods, submissive suddenly. “Come here, come on my cunt.” You want to be marked, he’s yours. 

“Andrea—“ still he’s fighting his need to follow your rules. 

You nod, “It’s okay, come here.” He lets his length go at once, it twitches at the sudden abandonment. You lean forward and grab his arms, and he finally climbs over you. Reluctant, “Please Javi. Let me have what I want.” Were you power tripping? Yeah. But it was always him in control. You open your legs and he clenches his jaw. “Do you want me to finish it?” 

He shakes his head no, you know he wants it. Still he tries to be good. You begin to touch yourself under him. He begins to jerk himself off inches away from your cunt. Your knuckles brush against each other and you're already climaxing again. He slaps faster, breathing heavily in the crook of your neck. 

“Fuck—move your hand.” You do and he’s coming all over you. It shoots and covers the new growth of hair, it's warm against the bare part of you. Dripping and he instinctively slides his twitching, softening cock between your folds. The two of you gasp when just the tip of his cock prods your hole. Gasping at the way you pulse for him for that one second like muscle memory. “Sorry.” He mumbles, taking a hold of his still twitching and leaking length. He panics and tucks himself back into his boxers before he relaxes himself on you. 

He’s catching his breath, you think he’s crying against your shoulder. 

“It’s okay.” 

You hold the back of his head, hoping to soothe him. 

He had done this for you countless times. You find no issue doing it for him.

[blasphemous-lies-and-deceit]

"I fucking hate it here."

"Understandable," Michael agreed, the bitter, sullen disgust in his voice somehow greater than Gerry's. He gingerly approached a dresser that was in the middle of the hall, for some ungodly reason, and tugged on the stuck upper drawer until it opened. The documents inside were spotted with mould, and he was very glad he had brought a respirator and gloves. Paging through them revealed years of sales receipts, which could be of interest, if they weren't in such bad shape. Michael made a mental note of them and shut the drawer again. They weren't what he and Gerry had come to Pinhole Books for.

It had been a slow and gradual process to move Gerry into Michael's flat with him. Neither of them had ever come out and admitted that's what was happening‒ at first it was some of Gerry's clothes in Michael's closet, then it was his jewelry joining Michael's own on his dresser, then Gerry's art supplies started piling up on the rarely used kitchen table. Michael had treasured each and every addition, and made space for both Gerry and his things. They were all welcome.

This was the first deliberate venture they had made to Pinhole together, with the express intention of collecting more of Gerry's things and bringing them to Michael's‒ their flat. Two suitcases waited by the stairs, packed with shirts and trousers and other articles that hadn't made the journey already. Gerry was still in his old room, gathering more things, but the rest of the flat was stuffed to bursting with books, and there didn't appear to be much else of Gerry's worth taking.

That was making Michael's chest hurt, and not because of the mold and mildew. Pinhole was so obviously Mary's domain, her store, her home, and Gerry was like an afterthought. There was barely anything in the rest of the flat to show that there had been another inhabitant‒ no shoes by the door, no pictures on the refrigerator, no additional furniture for him to sit on. No touches of Gerry. 

In a way, that made things easier, as far as extracting Gerry from such an awful place. But it still made Michael feel utterly sick to his stomach.

He paused at what must have been Mary's office, struck by the large painting on the wall. What had once been a large and intricate eye was in tatters, shredded to pieces by what looked like large claw marks. The rest of the room was in disarray, as if whatever had caused the mess had left it for someone else to clean up. Michael didn't know if it was Gerry or Mary herself, but it clearly hadn't been touched.

"Mum's poltergeist phase." Gerry's flat voice came from behind him. Michael immediately turned and reached out, pulling his boyfriend into his arms. Gerry's face was blank and pale beneath his respirator, eyes dull and vacant, as if being in that place had sucked all the life from him. He gave no reaction to being in Michael's embrace, stiff and unmoving, even as Michael hugged him closer. "I thought…I thought she actually liked that painting, but then she…ripped it apart like nothing. And chucked books at my head. And…and…"

His words dried up, lost to the pages of books that filled the space around them like a tumor. Michael bumped his forehead against Gerry's, the only show of affection he could manage with the safety gear. "Do you have everything?" he asked, desperate to get Gerry out of the damned building. Gerry shook his head, brushing past him into the room, moving like a ghost lost to the past. He crouched, and the floorboards creaked and complained as he lifted one up, sneaking his hand beneath to pull something free.

When he returned to Michael's side he could see that it was a glass jar stuffed with papers, sealed against the dust and mildew, that Gerry cradled very gently against his chest. "It's the only place she wouldn't think to look for it," he explained, the hurt in his voice sneaking out past his face mask. Michael nodded, taking hold of Gerry's arms and guiding him out of the room and through the hall, past the towering piles of books that threatened to collapse on top of them. He didn't bother to ask again, just pulled Gerry along with him, collecting the suitcases on their way out. Out into the fresh air and sunshine, finally free of Pinhole Books.

Gerry stayed silent for the trip back to their flat, holding his jar with a blank look on his face. Once they were there and stripped of their work clothes, he drifted away towards their bedroom, and Michael opted to leave him in peace for a bit. He busied himself with the laundry, not wanting to risk contaminating their flat with whatever had been in Pinhole. When he finally emerged from the kitchen, smelling strongly of chemicals, he found Gerry sitting on the floor of their room, the glass jar empty and its contents laid out around him. Michael paused, unsure if he should intrude, but Gerry looked up at him with eyes wet with unshed tears, and he was helpless to resist.

"I saved everything that I could," Gerry explained as Michael sat down behind him, wrapping his arms around his middle and setting his head on his shoulder. "It wasn't a lot, but for a while she left things as they were before. Didn't bother to throw them out." He scrubbed his arm over his eyes, his burned skin coming away wet. "When I was…twelve, I think, it was the first time I snapped back at her, and she…it was like a storm, she destroyed everything. There was nothing left." His fingers hovered over a ripped piece of paper, a scribbled outline of a flower in a rainbow of colors. "I felt so stupid, but I wanted to hang on to whatever I could. I know we were never a happy family, but maybe…we were a family. Once."

Michael reached over and picked up a photograph by his knee, creased with lines from being folded to fit in the jar. A lump formed in his throat as he looked at the baby held between Mary and Eric, plump and bald and smiling gummily at the camera. Mary looked like she was merely tolerating the experience, but Eric was positively beaming. "You look like him," Michael commented quietly.

"I think that's why Mary couldn't stand to have me around," Gerry noted, his voice thick with emotion, passing Michael another picture. He was a toddler in that picture, standing next to a crouching Eric at some sort of park, both of them wearing large sunglasses and smiling exactly alike. "I used to hear him through the walls sometimes, when Mary summoned him after I'd gone to bed. I thought I was just dreaming, and when I learned…" the tears in Gerry's eyes finally spilled over as his breath stuttered painfully. "She stopped summoning him. And I never got a chance to…know him."

Michael gently set the pictures aside and pulled Gerry back against his chest, pressing his forehead against his temple. "I'm sorry," he whispered, because that was the only thing he could say, because there were no other words to say that could ease Gerry's grief. "I'm so sorry." He was mourning too, for a man he'd never met, but who's absence had affected Gerry all his life. "He would have loved you so much."

Gerry nodded against his collarbone. Whatever he tried to say was broken by a choked sob, so instead his hand scrambled for a roll of papers amidst all the others. They were tightly coiled around an object, and as Gerry struggled with them, a thick metal pen slipped out and onto the rug. Michael picked it up and passed it to Gerry, who held it close and watched as Michael unfurled the papers. 

He barely made it past the first line before he was crying too. It was a letter from father to son, a pre-mortem that Eric probably didn't know would be one of the few things he left to his child. Michael couldn't even bear to finish it, putting it aside before his tears ruined the paper. Judging from the places on the letter where the ink was smudged and blotchy, that had happened before.

Gerry was running his fingers over the pen, his own tears falling unheeded as he stared down at it. It was obviously a custom piece, something intended to be passed down, and now it was safely in Gerry's hands where it belonged. Michael tugged him close again, burying his face in Gerry's hair. Now he knew for certain that his boyfriend had inherited his mother's hair color. No wonder he hated it so much.

"He was an artist, too," Gerry choked out, pulling a few pages loose from the tight coil. It was lettering, looping and beautifully crisp, made by the pen now in Gerry's hand. His son's preferred name seemed to be Eric's favorite to practice. "I found these in her office and hid them. When she asked what happened to them I lied and said I didn't know, but I don't think she believed me. I wasn't as good at lying to her then."

There was more unsaid about what Mary's reaction to that was. There was no way for him to soothe that pain, but Michael ran his hands over Gerry's chest, gentle passes up and down, with as much love as he could. A kind touch for every one of pain. "That's all over now," Michael managed to say, sniffing inelegantly and shifting so Gerry's hair came unstuck from his wet face. "You, you don't have to ever go back there again. If you forgot anything I'll go get it for you, but you don't ever have to go back there. You're home now."

Gerry shook in his arms, like Michael's words were a physical thing that had settled over him. "Say that again," he asked, turning and wrapping his arms around Michael, desperately tight, tucking his face into the hollow of Michael's neck. "Please say that again."

"You're home," Michael repeated, rocking them from side to side, hands in constant motion across Gerry's body, familiar and loving. "You're here with me now, you don't have to go back. This is where you should always be." Gerry's sobs sounded like they hurt, but he was clinging back, held safe in Michael's arms, where he belonged. "You're home, my love. You and everything that matters to you, we're all here now. We're not going anywhere."

Those words were as true as he could make them. He didn't know all that the future would hold, but Michael knew that he wanted Gerry in it with him, for him to love and care for and show how good life could be. And he could feel the full weight of Gerry's love for him, the way he clung back to him, seeking comfort from him. Gerry trusted him with his pain and his grief, freely sharing it with Michael after a lifetime of holding it in. That mattered to him more than anything in the world.

Over Gerry's head, Michael examined the pieces of Gerry's childhood, carefully salvaged and hidden for so long. No more, he decided. Those treasured childhood photos could join the ones on their refrigerator‒ the strips from all the photobooths Michael had pulled Gerry into, and the stupid selfies he'd printed off because they made him laugh. Eric's calligraphy would be preserved in a frame, where Gerry could see it whenever he wished. And Michael could take that empty glass jar and fill it with the memories of them together‒ ribbons and snapped shoelaces and love notes and candy wrappers and a million pieces of them. To show to Gerry and anyone else who looked at it that their lives were full of love, and neither of them needed to hide it away anymore.

[miss---lu]

Puppy Love

Pietro comes back from a mission to find he has a new roommate.

Pietro was simply exhausted. He had gone a while without sleep and had just returned from a mission. He wanted to just go to bed and sleep for a long time, but he couldn’t.

Not yet anyway.

Pietro opened the door to his apartment and saw newspapers thrown on the floor. There also seemed to be some chewed up socks scattered.

Pietro tried to think of what could cause it, but he was coming up blank. He made his way to your shared bedroom and saw the culprit in the bed.

You were laying under the covers asleep, with a puppy curled up in your side. The puppy was a little corgis who had a lot of baby chub. His little legs jerked and Pietro could only assume he was dreaming of running. Pietro could relate to that.

Pietro pulled off his shirt and exchanged his pants for pajama bottoms. He quietly made his way to the bed and peeled back the covers. He snuggled into the cushions and felt you start to stir.

He cursed slightly as you turned to face him. “Pietro? Is that you?”

He mumbled a soft “of course my darling.”

You gave him a sleepy smile as you brought your hand to his face. You gently scratched behind his ear which earned a laugh.

“My darling, I’m not a puppy. Unlike this little guy here. Care to explain?”

You yawned as you went to pet the sleeping pup. “While you were gone I found this old cardboard box in an alley with this little guy inside. The box was abandoned and said for sale on it. I felt so bad and just had to take him in.”

Pietro’s heart did a flip when he heard about what you had done. One of the things he liked most about you was your big heart. He carefully started to scratch the little guy’s ears and smiled. He was awfully cute.

“What’s his name darling?”

“Well he only seems to respond to Bear. I said something about the bears in that painting on our wall and his ears perked up. He seems to like it.”

Pietro smiled as he started to scratch the puppy’s stomach. “Hi Bear. You’re very cute.”

Bear wagged his tail softly as he snuggled into your side once again.

[tuliptired]

more of egon x ta!reader 👉👈

Hello? You're My Very Special One

Pairing: Egon Spengler/Gn!Ta!Reader

Warnings: Very familial and child-centric, though stuff like reader anatomy isn't specified

Askbox is little backed up (my bad) but that's ok because now I have more time to write for you all :)

Strayed from the ask a littleeeeee bit

Better formatting on Ao3!

Egon sighed to himself as he pushed the campus door open, setting out into the warm air of the afternoon. Ray was on his tail, while Peter stood up straight and off of a wall after waiting for them for so long. They’d come out of a meeting with a professor, after getting a sufficient scolding from the Dean. One accidentally too loud experiment late at night, and the pair couldn’t hear the fire alarms going off. The chemistry lab’s lights were the only ones still on, and Egon suspects that everyone outside assumed they were burning alive- thus the door was torn down. Thankfully, their professor was able to get them out of sufficient trouble as he was the one who suggested the experiment. They were off scot free, as the scholar let them know that the least he could do was give them community service.

“What’d he tell you?” Peter walked with them down the front steps.

“Just some service,” Ray didn’t seem all that upset, which wasn’t surprising after the rapsheet the trio had managed to build over their years in academia. Egon could handle an hour or two of giving back to his city, it just felt like a big inconvenience in his plans.

Peter clicked his tongue. “You won’t find any luck at the bulletins. All filled up.”

Ray’s pace didn’t falter as he put his hands in his pockets, unbothered. “No problem, we can go to the library.” Egon was lagging behind then, almost coming to a full stop before catching back up to his friends. Anywhere but the library. He’s had enough of a backwards day. The soup kitchen had to have a few spots left.

He walked behind Ray’s shoulder. “No need. We can get vests and pick trash off the road,” he tried to hide the desperation in his voice. Ray only laughed at such a suggestion.

“I could rob you with a cigarette box. Let’s just go and check, and I’ll renew my book while I’m there,” Ray spoke casually, tapping a hard spot on the inside pocket of his jacket. Egon swallowed, unable to convince his oblivious friend. Peter leaned into Ray, voice at a stage whisper.

“Spengs is just embarrassed to ask the librarian for forms,” he confessed, making the man in between them snicker. Egon could feel his face burn, adjusting the wrists of his dress shirt.

As they reached the library, Ray reassured Egon that it’d be fine, hand on the door. “Don’t be like that! Whoever it is, I’m sure they’ll understand.”

“The hell did you do?” Your fingers stopped flipping around your binder as the reality of what he requested hit you. “Mr. Spengler? Doing community service?” He had a blank expression, eyebrows down as he tuned out the bustle of the main library floor. You kept on teasing him, baffled at the idea that he could be in trouble warranting civil service.

He resisted rolling his eyes. “Is it that surprising?” You smiled, continuing to go through the binder anyway. He noted the way you decorated your little corner, obviously not an official desk but a secluded spot for you to work.

You stopped at a certain page, pulling a piece of paper out of the plastic divider. “Always in such a bad mood. And no, it isn’t,” you remarked, placing the paper in front of him. “You’re the reason we can’t smoke in our dorms anymore.”

He took a look at the paper, scanning for an open square. He could hear you ask “what’s with you and fires?” as he surveyed the document, but he was more preoccupied with the lack of openings. You pointed your pen towards two free spaces at the bottom, though there was no assignment corresponding with any of the columns or rows.

“The art department’s book sale,” you sat a bit forward, seemingly trying to contain your excitement. “Every year, downtown. It's always a lot of fun.” He raised a quick eyebrow before you passed the utensil over to him. “You’re lucky these were left. That first one’s helping with the science fiction section.” If he had looked up, he’d seen you gazing at him, expectantly. Without thinking, he knew Ray would prefer this over something else. He could always take it for himself, though, and tell his friend that he didn’t get to pick, but that’d be a little too selfish. Ray could enjoy some time here, Egon thought to himself as he wrote “Raymond Stantz”' in the rectangle.

As he finished the z, he nearly drove the pen off the page as you let out a noise of delight. When he looked up again, he was met with your smiling face. “That means you’re gonna be with me! And a bunch of little kids! For a whole evening!” You took the paper back before Egon could contest, scrawling his name down in the last available place. He watched your wicked expression as you slid him another paper, one with the date and address. “You can help me while I look for something old and out of print. Hope you’re a good babysitter.”

Community service was more than an inconvenience, he thought, folding the sheet and stuffing it in his pocket while Ray happily finished up renewing what he had out.

Ray was, undoubtedly, bouncing off of the metaphorical walls as they made their way down to the closed off block the fair took place. Egon was happy for him, he really was, as his friend talked his ears off about the volumes and editions that aren’t available anywhere else anymore he’d be able to talk about with patrons. So excited, that he had yet to give Egon a chance to mention what his responsibility for the evening would be. Maybe it was for the best, as Egon adjusted the collar of his shirt for the seventh time since they left. It would be a warm night, so he figured just a dress shirt and a light coat would suffice. Would a sweater scare the kids? How old were they? He let his eyes close, somewhat dreading the few hours ahead of him.

Ray stopped them at a crosswalk, checking the light. “I just realized- I never asked what you’re doing there.” Egon bit his tongue as they were clear to cross.

“Babysitting,” he confessed, a little exasperated after keeping it in for so long. Ray looked at him with a wide expression, a bit disbelieving as he brought his eyes back to the sidewalk ahead of them.

Ray couldn’t resist the need to look at his friend again. “You’re good with kids?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he answered honestly.

Ray looked sympathetic as they reached the entryway, more and more people joining them on the reserved street. “We could switch! If that’s not your thing,” he offered. Egon shook his head, remembering the “volunteer” pins Ray picked up from the library office leading up to the event, passing one to the man.

“Don’t worry. Have fun,” he pinned it to the pocket of his shirt. Ray protested some, eventually settling on apologizing profusely as they waited in line to get in. When they did, it was almost like its own ecosystem. The area was nearly separated from the rest of the city with the amount of tents and booths lining the far edges of the worn grass and pavement, warm colors giving the space a mystifying effect. Egon took a breath in, taking a moment to get to the comforting part of the experience as there were just so many people there. Lots of cheer, lots of noise as Ray eventually had to depart, reaching his assigned tent while he radiated joy in the presence of fellow enthusiasts.

While he made his way through the path, he passed a man sleeping peacefully on a blanket underneath a tent, a girl reclining on his back as she read to herself. There was an elderly woman with an infant tied to her back as she bought picture books, and he caught sight of two young men holding hands under a table while they sold novels. There was a strange energy going around, he thought to himself. He tried hard to name it, but he could only fall flat in his nomenclature. As he walked, a voice called out to him from the edge of a booth.

It was you, waving him over. Only, you weren’t alone; you had at least 4 little children leading you around. The tallest was still fairly young looking, if not for her awkward height, long brown hair in two loose ponytails while she stood in a shirt that was too big on her. There was a boy next to her, clearly a handful of years younger, standing in a hockey jersey as his fingers threatened to enter his nose, shadowed by a girl around the same age in a decadent pink dress, all frills and bows up to the ribbons holding up her short blonde hair. All of them were connected by a brightly colored walking rope with a ring for each, save for a little baby sitting content in a wagon you pushed as the contraption was tied to the front to make an easy train.

“Okay guys, this is Mr. Spengler. He’s a friend.” You address the children, all watching him with wide and curious eyes. “This is Rebecca, Ryan, Amelie, and Nico,” you went down the line in age order. Rebecca gave him a small wave, and he returned it, stiffly. Ryan spoke up, pointing high up at the tall man’s head.

“My daddy says guys with long hair are draft-dodgers.” Egon could hear you sigh.

“Educational deferment,” he couldn’t help but correct the child, who looked at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. Before he could say anything else, you cut both boys off.

“That’s not a nice thing to say, Ry. Now-” You instructed them over to the grass, where many people were sitting under the shade created by the proximity of the tents and overhangs. “I’ll be two seconds, just over there. Stay with Mr. Spengler. Can you help me, Becca?”

Said girl nodded, and she followed you. It was just Egon and the 3 kids now, Ryan electing to sit on the grass while Amelie leaned over into the wagon, playing with Nico. They were wary of Egon at first- and he didn’t even know where to start. Meeting children was different from adults, they just did whatever, whenever. He realized how odd he must’ve looked, a grown man awkwardly standing over a few toddlers entertaining each other, and he silently wished you’d be back quickly. As they got a little bored with themselves, all 3 of them took to staring at him with round, large eyes as they huddled around the wagon. He kept his eyes on where you disappeared, wishing even harder.

Wishes must work fast, because you reemerged with Rebecca, holding small cups of something, as well as spoons. You had all the kids sit, and, as Egon stayed standing so as to not have to sit on the ground, you silently took off your jacket and laid it out across the grass, and he thanked you quietly. Rebecca did the same for Amelie, with a blanket from the wagon instead. The cups were distributed, and even Egon got one- vanilla ice cream upon further inspection.

“Didn’t know what you liked,” you apologized, pulling Nico into your lap. “Sorry for leaving like that. This is the only way I can get them to listen to me later,” you glanced over at Amelie and Ryan stretched out across the grass, enjoying themselves.

“It’s alright,” Egon looked on as Rebecca leaned against you as she ate, watching a group of kids on the path. He spoke low, still disoriented by the quickness of the situation he was put in. “And their parents..?”

You brought a bit of the dessert to the baby’s mouth, miniature hands trying to do it for himself. From what Egon could tell, he was on the tail end a year old. “I’ve known them since they were born.” Ryan got distracted, ice cream pouring off his spoon and onto the side of his hand. “Their parents were my professors- they put this whole thing together. But it gets so busy,” you wiped Nico’s chin, “that they can’t really run an event with a toddler on their hip.”

Egon nodded, and in turn you spoke low, leaning towards him slightly. “They really want them to get into books. But nothing’s really worked. Ryan’s gonna be five, and he’s still pretty behind.” He watched on as the little boy gnawed on his plastic spoon, staring at Amelie as she kept eating. “Typical reading trouble for a kindergartner, but he noticed how ahead his classmates were. Now he’s too embarrassed to give it another shot.” It almost reminded him of himself, accustomed to experimentation and documentation, rather than retention and comprehension. But, a certain college course really turned him on his head, didn’t it?

“Embarrassment is a normal milestone in development,” Egon challenged you.

“Yeah? Even when he’s crying and screaming at the library?” Ryan toddled over to you then, holding out sticky hands.

You helped him clean up, white napkins over small white fingers. “What book are you gonna look for, Ry?” You asked, still holding his hands. Ryan squirmed a bit, frowning.

He broke free, hands to his shoulders as he avoided your question, twisting around. “None,” Ryan mumbled with a shy smile as he looked up and away from you. You shook your head, holding his tiny hands again.

“I promised your dad I’d get you something you liked.” Ryan shuffled his feet, eyes now on the grass. “C’mon, tell Mr. Spengler what we read about bears the other day,” you coaxed him, before Ryan gave up, leaning his weight onto you as Nico babbled into the fabric of the shirt draping over his face. You gave up, letting him recline on your shoulders.

Egon collected Ryans discarded pot of dessert, putting it inside his own quietly. “Bears are a keystone species,” he uttered off-handedly. Ryan looked at him once with wondering eyes, then hiding his face in your hair when Egon raised his head.

“He doesn’t know what that means,” you comforted Nico as he babbled. Amelie appeared at your feet, warily handing Egon her empty cup. As she clumsily placed it in the stack, arm outstretched like he was alien, you got her attention. “What book are you gonna get?” She pouted at the question, whining a bit.

“I don’t want one,” she announced, heading back to her blanket and pulling a doll out the wagon. Egon could hear your disappointment as the little girl took to playing with the princess rather than look for something to read.

You leaned into him, again, and he leaned in your direction as he curiously watched her brush her toy’s hair. “Turning five in a few months. Her mom’s a music professor. But her stepmom doesn’t think girls should be learning anything important. Hence,” you pointed up and down at the cloying decoration of her ensemble, Egon’s eyes widening slightly as he just noticed the bows on her socks, the large ribbon across her waist and tied at her back.

He nodded slowly, eyebrows furrowed. “Ostentatious.”

“O-s-t-e-n-t-a-t-i-o-u-s,” a voice sounded from your other side. Rebecca absentmindedly braided the ends of her hair, before letting them loose again.

Egon was fairly impressed as you brought her closer to you. “Eleven as of last week. She’s a great speller, and would be even better if she stopped caring about what other girls in her grade did and picked up a book.”

Rebecca groaned as you scrutinized her, combing her hands through her long, frizzing hair. “Cindy Mulfield is dropping out when we get to highschool. She’s gonna run away and become a singer.” Nico reached over, toying with the older girl’s sleeve. He was very tactile, Egon thought.

“That’s great for Cindy. But you’re on the honor roll.” Rebecca rolled her eyes, before you handed Nico over to a confused Egon, rising with Ryan hanging off your back. “I bought your love with ice cream- now it’s time to learn stuff. Let’s look for your book, Ryan.” You resolved, herding them back to the wagon as they reluctantly obeyed. Egon stiffly held the toddler in his arms, who kicked his legs back and forth as he was suspended in the air. He gingerly lowered him into the wagon as the other children unenthusiastically took their section of the tether.

You were all a parade, Rebecca leading the caravan through a winding path of vivid canopies, each advertising a different service or genre of literature. Egon walked by your side as you pushed the wagon, Nico hanging off the edge. He couldn’t help but wonder how you got so comfortable with such little children. Not to mention- juggling all of your other academic responsibilities. He had to admit, your ability to multitask was admirable, when it wasn’t irking him.

All was relatively fine, until Ryan started to bother Amelie. He kept on teasing her, poking and prodding the girl and ignoring your warnings- until she let out a shrill cry, Egon’s eyes widening at a thick hunk of dirt smeared into the back of her doll’s thick hair. Amelie stopped in her tracks, cheeks red and damp from her bawling as she brought her hands to her face . Children were loud, Egon’s under eye twitched. He felt dumb at your side, but not in the way he did when you were in lectures together. Should he say something? Your face was unreadable, at least from his perspective. Ryan looked apologetic when she burst into tears, feebly attempting to clean up his fault, failing as Amelie leaned over the wagon, Nico grabbing at the ornate detailing of her dress.

“I don’t want him here anymore!” She pointed to the boy, sniffling. You were surprisingly calm while the last of tears fell from Amelie’s eyes and onto Nico’s head.

“He can’t go anywhere,” you tried to reason with her. Rebecca fidgeted with her split ends.

Amelie looked conflicted, palms drying her cheeks. She didn’t say anything, instead making her way over to Egon and dragging him between her and Ryan. His head swung between the little girl and you, her tiny hand dwarfed in his large one while she dragged him along. Egon was not one to be dragged, especially not by children. He looked to you for release- maybe a little say in the matter, but you simply shrugged, smiling smugly. Damn you.

And so the procession kept on, Egon just short of doubled over to accommodate the 4 feet little lady steering him along, disregarding the tether that kept all the children together. Soon enough she was at his side instead, nearly white blonde hair bouncing as they silently walked, hand in hand. He had to admit, when she calmed down, she was an awfully endearing little girl- regardless of her dress, fit for a porcelain statue. As she stood close to his leg, miniature fingers curled over his own, he felt some sort of pang near his heart. The strange energy was back, loud as a buzz yet soft as a whisper.

Inside a mellowly lit tent labeled “nature”, Amelie still hasn’t let go. Egon hums, looking at all the titles and thinking back to his brother. Elon’s one of the few biologists Egon knew personally, every manuscript or picture book about the natural world reminding him of his twin. While you held Ryan up to properly talk to the seller, he had his head hidden in your shoulder. This boy really was shy, refusing to open his mouth.

“C’mon, Ry,” you tried coaxing him, “he’s here to help.” The child wouldn’t budge, eyes watering as he went languid in your arms. You let him down, smiling apologetically to the vendor. Rebecca must’ve taken note of his disquietude, perspective as she’s proven, gently guiding Amelie to help her look in his place, Nico in tow. You were at Egon’s side now, arms crossed as you watched over Ryan- painting an almost filmesque scene

He could feel your frustration. “He hasn’t cried, yet,” Egon offered.

“Lucky me.” The little boy ran his fingers over the edge of the green tablecloth. “He’s a smart kid. I know he is. He loves this stuff, really. He’s just too scared of ‘getting it wrong’.” Egon hummed lowly. He couldn’t help but think of Elon for the second time in a few minutes. His carbon copy was confident, witty, and incredibly passionate about his preferred science. He was also, evidently, extremely persistent, prospering as an incredible academic but a fairly poor mathematician. Their parents bluntly told him to pick a different niche if he couldn’t handle the arithmetic demanded of him. But- he worked hard, and didn’t let his natural setbacks stop him from doing what he liked the most. Ryan was Elon, if he listened to the voice saying that he “couldn’t”.

Egon silently stood next to him, flipping through a few children’s books about the forest. Ryan’s eyes had dried, discreetly peering at the covers Egon flipped through. “Do you have any siblings, Ryan?”

The boy was quiet for a moment. “A brother. But he’s old.” Egon found something that looked pretty suitable.

“I have a brother as well. He lives in California, studying brown bears.”

Egon can practically hear the glow coming off Ryan, smiling internally to himself. “Really?”

“Yes. It’s his job. He follows them around and learns how humans affect their homes- in the woods.” Ryan stood on the edge of his toes, trying to read the book in Egon’s hand. The Child’s Guide to North American Bears”. Age appropriate word count, educational pictures- this would do fine.

Ryan chewed his nail, obviously interested beyond his shy nature. “How’d he do it?”

“Reading as much as he could to know as much as he could.” Egon tilted the open text to the boy, eyes bright as he took in the pictures and words speaking to him on the page. He looked conflicted, brought down at the realization that books held the door open for his future dreams. “He read to get into school, he read to get a job- he never stopped.” Ryan frowned.

“I’m not good.” Ryan mumbles, barely audible, but holding so much weight. Egon dropped his normally hygienic inhibitions, now on one knee and eye level with the anxious child in front of him.

“It’s not a matter of being good. It’s trying, and knowing you’ll get better. You can be a biologist, too. But you have to start now.” Ryan only nodded, eventually smiling.

Egon held an open page out, pointing to a small passage. “Here, try this. Only a sentence.”

He hesitated, glancing up and back down at the words. As soon as he did, his face started to shine again. “Brown bears are one of America’s smartest animals.” Ryan took the book from Egon’s hands without a second thought, quickly scanning every note, fact, and passage.

Egon was satisfied. That’s one child down, he thought, corralling the boy to the register as he spouted off more facts enthusiastically. He found you settled at his side, eyes full of something he couldn’t place.

“What?”

You shook your head. “Nothing, Mister Rogers.” After happily handing the vendor a bill, you hoisted Ryan into the wagon with Nico as he kept on reading, nose buried in the pages.

Egon back at Amelie’s side, you march on, trying to find a general kids section for her in hopes of finding a suitable princess story. Any princess story, you stressed. Ryan was even reading to Nico, who lazily took to laying on the fabric floor of the chariot he was being pushed around in, disinterested.

Rebecca started to tease the younger girl, not once looking over her shoulder. “Are you gonna get put in a dungeon?” Amelie crossed her arms.

“No,” she announced defensively.

“Are you gonna get a suit of armor and fight for New York like Joan of Arc?” Amelie was turning a bit red.

The toddler spoke before you could calm her down. “No! Princesses get saved by princes and they get married!” To Egon, this seemed like it must’ve been a pretty common spiel, as Rebecca tried to provoke her again before you put your foot down.

“See?” You whispered to him while she hugged her doll tighter. She was, again, a cute kid, but this was turning out to be a nasty phase. Simple psychology- a budding complex brought up during development manifested by the teachings of her mother and the women around her. It didn’t seem very fair- the poor girl wasn’t given a chance to see what kind of person she wanted to be yet, and now she could barely recognize her own name in writing.

Rebecca slowed, looking around. “I think we went too far.” She pointed to a few signs displaying sheet music and liberatos rather than works of fiction. Egon could hear you click your tongue, ready to reroute your little group until Rebecca strayed, eyes fixed on something wooden and on display. Naturally, the other children followed, crowding around the stand.

You let Nico teethe on you as you both peered over the kids. It was an antique viola, still in working condition. Egon was impressed by its craftsmanship, noting the delicate carvings that blossomed across the bout.

“Cool,” your charges seem to say in unison.

Rebecca haphazardly lifts it by the fingerboard, making Egon cringe. “Play it,” she holds it out to you.

You lift your free hand in defense, looking at her incredulously. “Who said I know how?”

The near-teenager shrugs, ready to put it back. Amelie reaches up, flexing and unflexing her fingers, cheering “Give me! Give me!” She obliges, passing over the bow as well. Amelie slugs it back and forth, producing a sound that would make the dead cover their ears. As you get her to stop, Egon worries for the integrity of the strings. They could’ve snapped and hit her, poor thing.

“Any chance you play violin?” Egon takes the instrument from you carefully.

“Viola.” How old was this? He plucked a string or two- it was relatively in tune, if his ears were up to speed. He thought back to any pieces he knew by heart. Senfter was always a nice time. Finding his bearings, messing around with a few bow positions, he found his way back to one of her sonata’s- very smooth, very German. He can almost see his mother behind his eyelids, in front of him with a cane for when he forgot his key signature.

Egon wasn’t expecting to play the whole thing- no kid can sit through nine minutes of classical music. When he let his eyes open in the middle of a decrescendo, you and all the children were watching him in awe, waiting to applaud. He felt himself sport a rare blush, ready to stop then and there until you spoke up.

“Keep going. Didn’t know you had an artistic bone in your body, Mr. Spengler.” He let himself continue, bow gliding across the strings as he (impressively) managed to multitask.

“Funny. I was raised with cello, viola, harp…my brother took the fun stuff- piano, flute, clarinet. I would’ve opted for the gurdy, or even the theremin.” He let out a vibrato note. “But mother said no.”

“Well, you play very beautifully. I wasn’t expecting this from Mr. Facts-and-Truths.”

“You’d be surprised. I’ve been praised for my dancing, too.”

“No way.”

Amelie ran up to him, clinging to his leg, large eyes kept on the instrument against his shoulder. “You made that yourself? The song?” That was as far as her vocabulary was willing to take her as she watched him change positions.

“It was written a long time ago by a lady named Johanna. She wasn’t much older than you when she started learning to read music.” Egon could picture the gears turning in her developing mind as she looked between him and a piece of sheet music on display.

“A girl made it?” Egon did his best to nod while the bow graced the corner of his face. Amelie smiled the widest she had all evening, running up to you a few feet away. “A girl made it! Did you hear?” For the first time tonight, she let her feet really hit the dirt, leaving dark brown all over her satin flats.

“I heard,” you laugh, as she bounces a bit, racing over to the vendor of music and song books, vividly exclaiming that she wants to be like her mom and “joe hannah” and learn to read the dots on the page to make pretty sounds. As the older man, just as enthusiastically, shows her to the children’s books, Egon finishes the sonata.

“It…kinda counts as reading, right?” You ask, watching as she sorts through thin volumes. Egon rubs where the chin rest was absentmindedly.

“Small victories. There are studies confirming the cognitive benefits of learning an instrument at a young age.” As he said this, she came running back, a large book with music for an even larger instrument. The tuba.

You shrugged- a win was a win, and paid the small fare. Egon gently placed the viola back on its stand, there was no way he had enough cash for it, before the older woman tending the tent smiled at him kindly.

She helped him set it back, speaking softly as she did. “You look a little young to have such a big family.” Egon blinked.

"They're not-" He stammered, not sure of what to say until she apologetically waved her hands around.

Amelie called out for him, holding up a graphic in the book of a young lady with the instrument in her lap. He watched you smile down at her, and then up at him. "I didn´t mean to assume. It's just- sturdy husband, young spouse, happy kids. It's very picturesque." Egon racked his brain for a response, but you appeared at his side, then.

"Ready?" He never noticed the color of your eyes until then, catching the light. Picturesque.

There was a buzzing around him. “Almost,” he murmured.

“You both look happy,” she commented as soon as you joined the children by their wagon. He was too stumped for words, the woman called over by her own husband for something.

Before you could tackle another section, Nico started to whine and cry. You shushed him, letting him sniffle into your shirt. “He’s tired. And we are, too,” Ryan rubbed his eyes, trying to keep awake for his newfound treasure but failing, Rebecca leaning against the handle of the wagon. “The song put us to sleep”. Maybe Egon did play for too long.

Rebecca, somehow, ended up in the wagon with the remainder of the younger kids, knees to her chest as she dozed off. You lamented, trudging along and pushing the trio. Nico still couldn’t sleep- he was tired, as you explained to a confused Egon, but now too tired to actually go down. He didn’t feel like crying, rather staring at the man with owlish yet sleepily round eyes.

“I don’t suppose he’s looking for Hemmingway anytime soon?” He speaks low, a rare attempt at humor, which successfully makes you laugh, full and clear. That odd feeling was back as the festivities around you wound down, the warm glow that you seemed to bathe in getting impossibly warmer. “Shakesphere? Austen?” Your giggling grew.

“No, not for him. He’s a muppet kind of guy.” You rub a hand over his back.

“Really?”

You nod. “That’s his passion. Puppets.”

"Understandable."

There was a light breeze, blowing past the hair around his ears. "Sorry you haven't seen him do much but cry and sleep. He's pretty talkative, I guess he just wants to be pampered today." The toddler whimpered a bit at the sudden chill.

"I know, I know," you soothed him. It all felt oddly paternal, a sudden urge inside of him to run out and get medicine or a warm coat. Nico pressed his cheek against your chest, Amelie and Ryan laying against each other. "Little angels, when they’re not kicking and yelling,” you cooed.

Egon hummed. "They'll be up all night."

"That's a problem for their parents."

Right. They had parents. Who weren't you- or Egon. "I'm sure."

He takes note of the plays and novels you passed as you went on the path. Colorful and adorned covers he’d know you’d like, works and authors you’d praised endlessly in class. “You never found what you were looking for?” Egon put his hands in his pockets.

“Hm? Oh. My old and out of print book- Turn of the Screw. It’s okay, I can look some other time,” you shrugged.

The Turn of the Screw. He knew that one. “You don’t mind?”

He frowned, slightly, as you shook your head. “I’m happy as long as these guys got what they needed.”

You ended up in a large, blanketed area, where other families, or just families, rested with their young children. Books were scattered around, as mothers and fathers held their kids close to them and got well deserved downtime, a couple or two huddled around an open novel. You lay on your side as Egon took the liberty of reading to the exhausted Nico who sat back in his lap. Admittedly, he really didn’t know how to care for a child who was barely forming sentences, but it was fairly easy when they latched on to the rhythm and timbre of his voice as he read the words to Peter and Wendy.

Nico took to running his hands over the pages after a while. “Thank you. For helping me out today.” You looked into his eyes, sincerely. There wasn’t a fire behind them, like usual. He nodded.

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. You probably changed their lives.” Amelie twitched in her sleep. “I didn’t know you were so good with kids.”

Egon felt warm under your spotlight. “Neither did I.”

You lifted your gaze to the night sky, peeking through the faraway corner of the tent. “Well, thank you for doing my job better than I could,” you admonished him.

Egon sat up straighter. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

“So you agree?” You sat up in turn.

“I’m-”

“I’m joking, Mr. Spengler.” There it was. The smile that reached your eyes. He smiled- uncertain if it was voluntary or not. He was dreading this night; the crying, the germs, the sticky hands. But it was nice. The children, the tents, the books. You.

He could admire your dedication to offspring that weren’t your own, managing to treat them as such. They even looked at you, clung to you, like they were of you. It was selfless.

“Do you enjoy it?” He looked on as you brushed hair away from Ryan’s face.

You gathered what he meant, eyes still on the little boy. “Of course I do. I just hope they are, too.”

“I wouldn’t worry.” You locked eyes. You looked wonderful in this lighting.

“Very fun. I think it’s time we get back to my mom.” Rebecca was awake now, making a daisy chain in the grass. Egon could practically hear your brain making the connection before you crossed your arms.

“Very fun, Becca. Now, let’s get you your book.” You spoke to her as if she was a handful of years younger than she actually was, carefully placing a sleeping Amelie and Ryan back into the Wagon. The older girl complained, rolling over onto her back and reluctantly rising.

She rubbed her eyes and stretched her back, Egon lagging behind the two of you as Nico was now in his own arms. He was peaceful, but heavy. “I don’t need a book. I need to go home. I’m gonna miss Maude.”

“Cindy watches Maude?”

“No, but it’s on before Mary Tyler Moore.”

She trudged along ahead of you, no clear direction in mind. Egon walked on wordlessly, feeling the animosity bouncing back and forth as neither of you said anything. Even Nico seemed to have felt it, burying his head into Egon’s coat. He opened his mouth to speak, before you cut him off.

“Don’t even try. I’ve done everything, and it doesn’t work.”

Rebecca turned her head to you, almost shouting as she was a fair distance away. “Can’t I get an encyclopedia and call it a day?”

You were just short of shouting back. “No. Tell Mr. Spengler what you like to read.”

She turned to Egon this time, smiling sweetly, but facetiously. “I don’t like anything, thank you.”

He could tell she was a handful, even at 11. He didn’t risk handing you Nico, placing him in the wagon instead. “May I…?”

“Do my job? Please.”

Egon walked ahead with her, wordlessly while his hands found refuge in his pockets again. Before he could speak, Rebecca did first.

“It’s not gonna work on me.”

“I know. Because you’re not a baby.”

“Exactly.”

Silence. “Do you even know what you like to read?”

She looked at him incredulously. Ouch, lots of attitude from someone who’s only had a two-digit age for about a year. “Of course. But you’re not gonna know, because I’m not gonna tell you.”

“I know. Why not?”

Egon caught her rolling her eyes. “Because, it’s so weird and gross you’ll freak out.”

“I’m a scientist. I got my degree in weird and gross.”

Rebecca shook her head, the shadow of a smile on her face. “Not like this.”

He challenged her. “Try me.”

She stopped in her tracks, facing him. “Molds and fungus.”

He didn’t really know how it happened, but very very quickly he was leading her around the nearest tent marked with some mixture of molecular biology and ecology, adding books to her ever growing stack. “Avery is a very accomplished author. This journal’s a favorite- its about incorporating fungi into the human diet.” He added the heavy book into Rebecca’s arms. She swayed under the weight a bit, eyes wide, but this was the price to pay if she wanted to be a mycologist. It was a demanding field. Not for nothing, but he made it his bitch.

“You do this for fun?” She asked, eyes peeking over the spine of a book about moldborne sickness.

He stilled. Not an uncommon question, when he got deep into his passions. “It’s my hobby, and I enjoy it.”

“People pay you for it?”

“More or less.”

Silence, again, until he could hear her stacking more books into her arms. “Cool! I’ve been just,” she nearly dropped them, “collecting mushrooms and moldy cheese. Cindy said it's gross.”

He felt himself smiling knowingly, taking a few volumes away so he could see her face. “Cindy doesn’t know what she’s talking about. When livestock runs out, we’ll be eating chicken of the woods.”

All the children were returned to their rightful owners not long after that, slowly waking up from their naps and excitedly showing off their new books to their eternally grateful parents. You couldn’t stick around very long, having to leave Egon alone after bidding everyone a goodnight. He swung by Ray’s stand with his little cash in hand, tempted by the titles silently calling his name, painfully ignoring them as he was on a sacred mission. There was a copy of The Turn of the Screw on your desk a few mornings later, a red faced Egon too shy to hand it to you personally.

[shyvioletcat]

Rowaelin Month Day 2: Idiots in Love

When I think of idiots in loveI really do think of this au. And the idiocy really comes out in this. If you remember that fic idea I floated about not writing but then decided to write anyway *wink* it’s this one. CW: smut

~~~~~

Rowan reclined in Aelin’s bed, reading over the latest email Fenrys had sent him. His newest book was days away from being on the shelves and that meant the promotional bullshit was about to pick up in a big way. First and foremost was the book tour Rowan was leaving for in three days. There was a list full of times, flights and locations Rowan needed to be aware of. He’d handed over all the social media stuff for pre-release, knowing it was essential for good sales and all that, but besides a few prerecorded reels Rowan wasn’t a keen participant. Book tours were another beast entirely, in person he’d have no choice but to interact. It would be all kinds of exhausting.

For a good few months he would be touring cities across continents, talking about and signing his books. It was starting locally but then he’d be flying to Rifthold, then over to Wendlyn. He had never liked the public side of things, but for the sake of his success he suffered through it. Conventions had been fine because it usually came with a few rounds of verbal sparring with Aelin—which was always a highlight. The travel and time away had always been a non-issue, Rowan had never been overly attached to one place. Because previously he’d been single and unhappy, and the change in scenery had offered him mild excitement. This time was different. This time he was leaving Aelin behind.

Aelin had her own schedule to keep. She was in the thick of writing her next novel and her turn-in deadline was approaching. The best she could do was visit him for a weekend here and there. Other than that they were spending most of the next three months apart. Rowan hated that, he was so in love with her, and borderline obsessed in the most healthy way. Even a few days away from her was hard as it is. The prospect of it being months was torture.

The source of his travelling anguish appeared in the doorway, hands behind her back and a scheming look on her face. Aelin was dressed in one of his shirts, her new favourite attire, but he noted that she’d done her hair and makeup. Odd, because they had no plans on going out today. She already had a collection of shirts in her drawers but always seemed to take another when she visited his townhouse. Rowan might have to buy more before he left on his trip because he didn’t like his chances of getting them back.

“What are you up to?” He asked, discarding his phone on the bed.

Aelin’s smile turned a little more wicked and she took a step into her bedroom, rocking playfully on her feet. “I’ve had an idea.”

”Yeah?” Rowan asked cautiously. There was something afoot here, and he had no idea what it was.

“I’ll miss you while you’re gone.” Another step. “I think I’ve found something to ease the pain of it.”

Rowan hesitated as he tried to figure out what it might be—he came up blank. “How so?”

Biting her lip Aelin presented her prize from behind her back. It was a cylinder and Rowan tilted his head to read the writing along the label. His stomach dropped when the words registered in his brain.

Clone-a-Willy.

“No.” The protest came out immediately.

Aelin’s face fell in disappointment. “Why not?”

“I am not putting my—” the thought was abhorrent. “I’m not putting myself in that.”

“You don’t even know how it works,” Aelin whined, sitting on the foot of the bed.

“I don’t need to know, I can guess and it can’t be good,” Rowan said.

Aelin sighed, rolling the abomination over her palms. “Come on, Rowan. I read a bunch of reviews and it doesn’t seem that bad. Please, for me. It’ll be fun.”

“I’m still very sceptical and not willing,” Rowan hedged.

His ever persistent girlfriend only sighed, yanked the lid off the tube with a pop, and tipped contents out onto the bed. There were two tubs of something—one bright green—a thing that looked like a tube of lipstick, a thermometer, a small wooden stick and some kind of cloth. Aelin picked up the folded booklet which was no doubt the instructions, glancing through them before handing them over.

“See, nothing to it,” she assured him.

Shooting her a disbelieving glare he took the instructions and started reading. Aelin might be confident, but Rowan was not. With each line he read that little scrap of confidence hidden somewhere inside him dissipated a little more.

Measure and cut the tube, mix the mould solution, stick penis into the tube, wait at least two minutes before removing.

“Aelin—”

“I’m begging you, Rowan,” Aelin interrupted, giving him her best doe-eyed expression. “I promise to make your cooperation worthwhile.”

He looked at his girlfriend’s face and the myriad of sinful things she promised there. Two minutes. He would suffer for two minutes and then who knew what his rewards might be. Rowan was considering it, and Aelin was quick to swoop in when she saw him wavering.

“It’ll be fun,” she said cheerfully, then rectified when he shot her a look full of doubt. “I mean, it’ll be something fun for me. Keep you in my thoughts while you’re away.”

Rowan scoffed. “When you put it that way.”

Aelin patted his arm. “Just remember, lots of rewards for you.”

She played dirty, climbing over him, encouraging him to lie back and kissing him. It was a heady and dirty kind of kiss, full of salacious promises. She pressed her body against him, grinding on his lap while her tongue flicked at the inside of his mouth. Rowan was already half hard when she pulled back.

“Please,” she whispered, kissing him again.

Rowan’s hands were tight on her hips, his head dropping back as he groaned. He always found it so hard to deny her. “Fine.”

Aelin sat up, squealing as she clapped her hands in utter delight. A moment later she was off him and dashing out the bedroom door. He heard the thudding of footsteps and a cupboard opening, and then Aelin was back, a towel and a bowl in her hands.

“First reward you get right now.”

Rowan was about to ask what it was when Aelin simply grabbed the hem of his t-shirt and pulled it over her head. Underneath she wore a golden lacy lingerie set.

“This wasn’t a spur of the moment thing, then?” Rowan said, eyes roving, taking in every detail. “And you knew I’d say yes.”

“When do you ever say no?” Aelin stated matter of factly, adding her new supplies to the pile and kneeling on the bed. “All right loverboy, clothes off.”

Arguing would get him nowhere, so he did as he was commanded. Shirt first, and then his sweatpants. When he was done, Aelin threw the towel over to him.

“Put this under you, don’t want to ruin my bedding,” she explained. “That one is covered in bleach stains, I don’t mind the sacrifice.”

Aelin picked up the instructions again, and while she read Rowan took the opportunity to enjoy the view. The rich gold of the set was a lovely contrast against the sun kissed tan of her skin. The briefs sat high on her hips, all lace except for a satin panel at the front. The bra had two thin decorative straps that ran over the top of her cleavage, meeting in the middle. It was longer and covered more of her torso than some of her other pieces, but it was just as sexy. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on her—or his lips. The best he could do right now was resting a hand on her thigh, drawing idle patterns while she concentrated. When she shivered it took a lot of restraint not to take it further up her thigh.

“Step one, we need to trim the tube,” Aelin declared.

“Please tell me that’s not a euphemism,” Rowan muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and those nerves started to return.

Aelin snorted, but then picked up the clear tube that everything in the kit had come in. “No, we need to make sure this is the right size and you need to be hard. Do you want to do the honours, or shall I?”

Never one to miss the opportunity to have his girlfriend’s hands on him, Rowan chose the latter. “You.”

The makeout and seeing Aelin in her new get up still had him half hard. It wouldn’t take much for him to get all the way there. Aelin smiled, crawling back over him. Her hands tickled up his thighs, not deterring from their goal though. Rowan held his breath as her hand closed around him, pumping slowly. Aelin’s tits looked amazing from this angle, hanging heavy against the lace. Unable to keep from touching her, Rowan’s hand made its own journey, starting at her ass, heavy with enough pressure to have her body bowing closer to him. His fingers threaded in her loose hair, urging her down for a kiss. All the while she kept pumping him, his cock thickening with every pass.

“Feels so fucking good,” Rowan groaned.

“You there?” Aelin whispered onto his lips.

When Rowan nodded she was gone a second later, that godsdamned instructions back in her hand. Then she picked up the tube and a marker and held it next to his hard cock. Marking a line she then cut it with a pair of scissors that game from gods knew where. She really had come prepared. Aelin nodded at her handiwork and smiled to herself. Then she was up, ready to take on the next step.

“Time for the mould that I’ll mix in the bathroom. And put this on.” This time it was a little tub that Aelin threw at him, beige with a blue lid. “It will stop any hair getting, ah… caught.”

“What?” Rowan spluttered, but Aelin was already gone.

She was headed into the bathroom, bowl and a few pieces from the kit in hand, and that gave Rowan a chance to admire the outfit from behind. Turns out it wasn’t a full thong, triangles of lace hugged the curve of her ass. And he had thought it couldn’t get any better. Rowan heard the water start running and guessed he should do his part. He pulled the lid off the tub of Vaseline and smoothed a decent amount over and around his erection. Only a few minutes later Aelin was out of the bathroom, the tube full of the moulding liquid.

“Sit up and let’s do this,” she said with determined excitement.

Rowan sat up, making sure to keep the towel under him. Aelin was eager as anything as she stood in front of him. “First, this.” She rolled a rubber cock ring down the length of him. “I read that it lessens the mess.”

“Did your research, did you?” His voice was tight as Aelin played with him once she was done.

“Absolutely. These are high stakes. You ready for the fun part?” She ended her question with a squeeze.

Rowan groaned. “I think you and I have a different definition of fun.”

“Don’t be a baby, you’ve come this far,” Aelin said, hiding her amusement very poorly.

“So, what? I just stick it in?”

She nodded. “That’s what the instructions say. Ready?”

It was now or never. Aelin pumped him again, just to help him recover while they had their discussion. Rowan was feeling nervous, and to give him some resolve he looked over Aelin again, reminding himself that he just needed to last two minutes and then the real fun could begin.

Closing his eyes, Rowan bit the bullet. “Just do it.”

Any hesitancy Rowan felt, Aelin outweighed it by ten fold with her resolve. She went for it, taking his dick in her hand and angling it right before sliding him in. It was cold and slimy, and felt disgusting. But he just kept sliding in until the end of the tube met the cock ring.

“Set timer, two minutes,” Aelin said.

Opening his eyes Rowan saw her drop the phone on the bed. Aelin was smiling like she was having the best time, curious eyes watching the tube that was encasing his dick. Contemplating that had him visibly cringing.

“No! You have to stay hard or this won’t work,” Aelin said in a panic, no doubt seeing the look on his face. “What can I do?”

Rowan’s brain scrambled for a second, trying to find something. “Talk to me, touch me. The best you can anyway.”

“It’s so fucking hot you doing this for me,” Aelin said, her voice sultry, not wasting any time and cutting right to the chase. “I love your cock so much, I know it won’t be anything like the real thing though.”

It was working, but he needed more. An idea struck him and he took hold of the tube. “I got this, you get up here.”

He lay back and it took a second for Aelin to catch on to what he meant. She crawled up the bed, her knees resting above Rowan’s shoulders. As Aelin used the headboard to hover over his face, Rowan used his free hand to pull her underwear to the side, baring her sex.

“Keep talking, Aelin. Tell me what you’re going to do while I’m away and you’re here without me,” Rowan said, then he was on her.

Aelin moaned loudly as his tongue played with her clit, her hips dropping lower. That sound was enough to have his mind ignoring the discomfort around his dick, so he did it again, and again, just to hear how much Aelin loved what he was doing. Rowan hummed, and that had Aelin gasping, hips rolling over his mouth.

Pressing a chaste kiss to where she was most sensitive Rowan said, “I can’t hear you Aelin.”

“Fuck, Rowan,” she sighed. “I’ll use it every night, thinking of you.”

Rowan hummed again, encouragingly, urging her to keep going.

“I’ll think of you, how big you are,” each word was laboured, like it was a struggle to get the words out and keep her mind straight. “How perfect you feel inside me.”

“More, Aelin,” Rowan growled on her clit,

The moan of pleasure Aelin let out told Rowan she was close to breaking. Having her ride his face was utterly distracting and his sole goal now was to make her come. A beeping went off—Aelin’s phone—but there was no way he was stopping now.

“I’ll fuck myself with it,” Aelin manged through her heavy panting, her voice shaking and much as her body was. “Just like you do, so deep. It won’t feel as perfect as you, but I’ll be thinking of you every second.”

Rowan sucked, then rolled his tongue over that bundle over nerves and that was all it took. Aelin’s moan was closer to a scream, her hips undulating with each pulsing wave of her orgasm. Rowan kept up his ministrations until Aelin all but fell away from him, a panting mess on the bed beside him. Through heavy lidded eyes, she glanced at him, and a second later she was rolling over and kissing him. Aelin hummed as Rowan ran his hands over her body until her brain cleared enough that she stopped her phone beeping.

“That was certainly one way to pass the time,” she said playfully. “Should we see how our little experiment went?”

Rowan snorted, his attention redirected to the particularly uncomfortable situation he was experiencing. “I wouldn’t call it little.”

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Aelin replied as she straddled his thighs.

That made Rowan laugh, laying back on the bed so Aelin could get this done with and he’d be free. He’d done his part, gone along with his girlfriend’s whim and suffered through the discomfort. Now he was ready for it to be over. He felt a tug on his dick, not one that felt particularly great. Then another one. On the third the mould still wasn’t budging. Rowan raised his head a fraction and looked down to see Aelin peering at the white filled tube sticking straight up in the air.

“What?”

Aelin cleared her throat, looking no less beautiful in her get up as she bit her lip. “It’s stuck.”

Immediately Rowan reached down and gave it a tug himself. Oh fucking gods it did not move. Rowan’s heart was pounding and he was sweating. This was not happening.

“This was a stupid idea,” Rowan said. He twisted the mould but the only thing he succeeded in was hurting himself. “Did we leave it on for too long?”

“You’re fine, you big baby.” Aelin was trying to play it off but he could still hear the slight nervousness to her tone.

“You should have got a bigger size,” Rowan all but groaned.

There was an ill disguised snort from Aelin. “This was the biggest size.”

Despair was taking him. This was what hell was like.

Meanwhile, Aelin was trying again, and his dick—the stupid appendage that it was—couldn’t figure out that this was not the time to be getting turned on by her touch. It didn’t help that she looked like a literal goddess kneeling over him.

“Stop touching it, you’re making it worse!”

This time Aelin outright laughed. “I never thought I’d hear those words.”

Rowan rubbed his hands over his face. “Aelin, please. I was doing this for you and now neither of us will have my dick.”

“You’re being dramatic,” Aelin said, and for some unknown reason thought it was a good idea to rub a soothing hand over his stomach. His traitorous dick twitched in response, the weight of the godsdamned mould a strange sensation.

“You’ve ruined it, it’s useless,” Rowan bemoaned.

“I stand by my previous statement,” Aelin said. When Rowan raised his head up enough to shoot her a baleful glare she lifted her hands in surrender. “I’ll leave you, I can see my presence is not helping.”

Rowan closed his eyes and felt the bed dip as Aelin left. With the reason for his current predicament gone, Rowan turned his thoughts to the unsexiest things he could conjure up. Getting stuck in traffic, the smell of overripe bananas, that time Lorcan got an infection in his big toenail. Rowan pictured all those things and tried to keep his breathing calm. He needed the adrenaline rush to wear off, not just from his panic but from giving Aelin head. That was the wrong thought to stray to, now Rowan had to think of even more gross things.

It took a while but his heart beat started to slow and he wasn’t sweating anymore. Rowan had never felt such immense relief when he felt the weight of the plaster filled tube dip as his dick finally decided to syphon off some of the blood flow. As soon as it fully landed on his stomach Rowan went to pull it off. There was some residence, but with some slight twisting he was free.

“Thank you Mala,” Rowan sighed in relief.

Curiosity got the better of him and he looked inside. He couldn’t particularly see much except a dick shaped hole. The temptation to throw it across the room was strong, just for the spite of it. Rowan really had seen his life flash before his eyes.

“Still in one piece, I see.”

Aelin had appeared in the doorway, her gold clad body leaning on the frame, like nothing had gone amiss.

“You owe me,” Rowan said, dropping the cloning mould on the bed. He’d be happy to never see it again.

With a grin Aelin retrieved it. “We’re established that. Go have a shower and I’ll finish this off.”

Rowan wasn’t going to argue with that. He left Aelin to do whatever the next heinous step was and went into the ensuite. This shower was much nicer than his and the taps rotated so much smoother. It wasn’t long before he found the perfect temperature and stepped under, letting the pounding water pressure Aelin was so proud of wash away any remnants feelings of his discomfort.

The shower did him good—Rowan cooled down in more ways than one. After getting over the shock of getting his dick stuck in a plastic tube he could see the merit in Aelin’s plan, for her at least. He’d be gone for months and she would be alone while she wrote. It was unlikely that they would get much time to see each other in person. It would be phone calls and video chats. Rowan wouldn’t be touching her body, wouldn’t be able to feel her. Gods knew it would be torture. Could he blame her for taking a more creative initiative?

Rowan turned the water off, not wanting to waste any more of the limited time he had left with Aelin before he had to leave. Dressed in nothing but a towel, he found Aelin lounging in bed, still wearing that set that had kept him hard through his ordeal. All evidence of the cloning fiasco was gone, something he was very glad of. Aelin looked stunning, that self satisfied smirk only enhancing her already beautiful face. She was a menace, but she was his menace.

Already Rowan’s body was reacting, he could feel the fabric of the towel brushing against his cock as it hardened. It took a moment for Aelin to notice him, her eyes drinking in the expanse of his bare chest.

She sat up, leaning on one hand so her golden hair cascading over her shoulder. “Am I forgiven yet?”

Rowan untucked the towel and let it fall away, watching as Aelin’s eyes flared with desire. He crawled over to her, Aelin drifting towards the bed as crept up her body. She was waiting for him to take what he needed, so patient even though Rowan knew she wanted this just as much as he did.

“I have a feeling I will be,” Rowan said, voice low and he loved seeing the way his words made Aelin shiver.

In the end, Rowan decided that he had suffered enough today and he wasn’t going to prolong it any further. His hand started on Aelin’s neck, then traced a path lower, covering her breast before it tightened there. Aelin’s mouth opened on a silent moan, her body arching towards him. Rowan dropped his mouth to her other breast, teasing her through the fabric. Aelin sighed, her hands tight in his hair.

Any other time Rowan might have drawn this out—played Aelin’s body perfectly until she was sighing his name over and over again. But today, Rowan found he didn’t have the patience. He reached under Aelin’s body and unclasped her bra, then he was helping her out of his underwear.

“Roll over for me, Aelin,” he said onto the skin right over her heart.

With a coy smile, Aelin did as he requested. Rowan ran a hand down the length of her back, and then up, brushing golden tresses out of the way. Then he lent over Aelin's body, kissing her shoulder and neck, teeth grazing as he went.

“Are you ready for me?”

Aelin nodded but Rowan decided to investigate for himself. Dragging his hand between her body and the sheets, he touched his way down until his thumb brushed over Aelin’s clit. She moaned, her hands fisting in the sheets. Just going a little bit lower Rowan found the evidence he sought.

“You are. Aren’t you,” Rowan growled, a finger dipping inside. “So wet, so ready to take me.”

“Oh, fuck. Rowan.” Aelin all but moaned his name. “Yes, gods yes.”

Just for a few indulgent moments Rowan teased, easing in out, applying pressure to places that had Aelin gasping. His cock twitched with every sound, getting almost painfully hard. That didn't seem fair after everything Rowan had been through in the last half hour, and Aelin seemed to think so too. She reached under the pillow in front of her and held up the condom between two fingers.

No hesitation and it was only moments before Rowan was ready and lining himself up. Aelin was eager, bracing herself on her elbows and pressing back.

“Come on, Rowan. I know you want to,” Aelin taunted, her voice husky, betraying how far gone she was.

“Anything for you,” Rowan promised and slid in.

Their moans filled the room as Rowan sank as far as he could go. He had one on her hip and the other was at the base of Aelin’s neck, tangling in her hair. After that it was too easy to fall into the rhythm that he knew would have them desperate for release. With each flex of his hips he could feel Aelin coiling tighter and tighter, every moan sharp and wanton. Rowan wasn’t quiet either, groaning as he felt her inner wall flutter around him, begging him for more. And Rowan gave it, he kept going until Aelin was screaming his name, her body going taught before she came, her hips dragging her over his cock relentlessly enough that it had him following right after.

Aelin went limp once they stilled, falling to the mattress completely when Rowan pulled out. He dealt with the condom and was back moments later, pulling Aelin into his arms. She sighed as she settled on his chest and Rowan kissed her head.

“I’m going to miss you,” she said sadly. “My home will be lonely without you.”

Rowan was quiet for a moment, a thought weaving through his mind. He was hesitant to voice it, but the longer he thought about it, the more it made sense.

“What if it doesn’t have to be?”

Aelin propped herself up so she could look at him, expression confused. “What?”

“What I mean is,” Rowan reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind Aelin’s ear. “How about when I get back, I move in.”

“You mean it?” Aelin asked, eyes bright.

“I mean yeah, unless you want to move into my place,” Rowan shrugged.

Aelin lent her cheek on his chest, her smile beaming up at him. “Nah, my place is better. But you can definitely bring your library ladder though.”

Rowan laughed and lent down to kiss his wickedly funny girlfriend. She met him halfway, her hand cradling his cheek.

“If we learnt anything from today,” Rowan said, pulling back just enough so their lips still brushed. “Your wish is my command.”

~~~~~

I laughed so hard reading this one. Thanks for reading!

Tagging @rowaelinscourt

[dont-f-with-moogles]

Hi Terra

I love your fics!

May I request a drabble for this dialogue prompt from @\otpprompts's blog? Levihan or any Levi or Hange other pairings and sfw or nsfw are fine.

Person A: "staring very intensely at B's chest"

Person B: What is it?

Person A: Your shirt.

Person B, looking down at their shirt: What's wrong with it?

Person A: It's still on you.

Thank you!

The Suit  (another Friends crossover - sorry!) Characters: Levi x Hange; Nanaba; Floch  Word Count: 1425 words

Autumnal air had driven Hange and Nanaba from the balcony, forcing the pair to slide the glass, double doors shut behind them. Seated upon the couch in Hange’s lounge-diner, both had lapsed into sentimental silence. Hange drew in a shaking breath, their eyes fixed upon the television. Nanaba reached for a tissue to dab her eyes. 

“So beautiful…” she murmured appreciatively. 

Instead of the screen, the two friends were actually gazing with saccharine fondness at a three piece suit on a hanger.

It was a work of master craftsmanship. Hange had hung the cashmere-silk blend garments upon the door which led into the hallway. Pale grey trousers, complemented with neat, dark pinstripes, were draped over the edge of the television stand. These were partially covered by a matching waistcoat with neat, pearl buttons and an immaculate, silk-lined suit jacket. 

“I know…” Hange’s voice cracked. “Hey, pass me a tissue.”

A sudden rumbling sound broke their quiet contemplation. Hange’s phone shuddered against the low coffee table, its screen illuminating an unknown number.  Frowning, Hange studied the device for a moment before swiping across the bar and lifting it to their ear.  

“Huh? Floch?” 

Nanaba was met with a scowl as Hange endured the voice on the other end of the line. Finally, they cut him off with a derisive snort.

“Well if you weren’t such a candied ginger stick, it would’ve been harder for me to pin you to the ground!” Hange cried, rising to their feet.  Nanaba watched them pace around the coffee table, gesticulating violently. It was only as they drew close enough to smooth the sleeve of their new suit jacket that their eyes softened. 

“The fact remains; I picked it up first. You wouldn’t have even known about the wedding discount sale at Kleinmann’s if I hadn’t told you-”

Then Nanaba noticed their posture stiffen. 

“Hold on - you did what? You listen here, missy!”

Cursing vehemently, Hange threw their phone upon the sofa cushion, much to Nanaba’s astonishment.  

“That was the guy we saw at Kleinmann’s!” Hange growled, “Floch. He’s outdone himself this time!”

“What happened?” Nanaba shifted forward upon her couch cushion to catch a glimpse of Hange’s bitter resignation.

“You know the band that played at your wedding? Wings of Freedom?” Hange shook their head. “Well, Levi wanted them for our day too… but this fucker has booked them! Says he won’t cancel unless I hand over the suit…”

Nanaba’s eyes widened.

Hange continued their aimless march around the coffee table, fretting with wild movements. “What do I do? That is the suit. And it's the only one in that size!” They touched the material again wistfully. “But Levi wants the band!”

“Maybe you could talk Levi out of it?” Nanaba tried helpfully.

With uncanny timing, there came the rattle of Levi’s key. In one fluid motion, Hange snatched up the suit hanger, flung the garments across their coverlet and slammed the bedroom door shut. As Levi entered the apartment, he found Hange loitering in front of a blank television screen, scratching the back of their head absent-mindedly. 

Nanaba panicked.

“Uh… two?”

“...correct!” With a lightning reflex, Hange withdrew their hand from their hair, presenting two fingers. “I told you we have a psychic connection, Nana!” Levi glanced between the pair of them.

“...you guys spend way too much time together,” he declared, shrugging off his black jacket and placing his shoes neatly by the door. “This is what you two call entertainment…?”

“No, we’ve been catching up! Uh…” Hange and Nanaba shared another conspiratorial look. “We were talking about music actually… about how it’s more common to hire a wedding DJ these days as opposed to wedding bands. Right, Nanaba?”

“Y-yes…” Nanaba agreed woodenly, “who would have a band at their wedding anyway?”

“You and Mike?” Levi returned in a one neat serve, “you’d be a lot more convincing if Hange and I hadn’t danced to them at your wedding.”

“Right….” Nanaba sank back against the sofa cushion, conceding defeat without protest.

“Look, I liked Wings of Freedom when we heard them,” Levi continued, seating himself on the couch beside Hange and crossing a leg across his knee. “I’m not saying I know what’s popular but I’d choose them all the same because… well…”

Hange was studying him intently. Even as Levi left his sentence unfinished, they were poised as though ready to grasp his very next words.

“...nothing.” Levi exhaled through his nose and, removing his phone from his trouser pocket, placed it down heavily on the coffee table.

“Come on, Levi…”

“We’re not going to laugh… why do you like them so much, hmm?”

Levi’s eyes flicked uneasily from one face to the other. As he caught sight of Hange’s inquisitive gaze, the coolness in his expression began to thaw. His features warmed as he spoke. Hange and Nanaba could not help but edge closer, captivated by the honeyed tones of Levi’s voice; mesmerised by an emotion so pure, so profound that they felt themselves momentarily transported into his memory….

“...we were standing up on the terrace,” Levi recounted the night of Mike and Nanaba’s wedding. “You took me by my fingertips, like this-” He leaned to the very edge of his seat, catching the tips of Hange’s fingers and drawing them to him. “And we danced. Uncertain at first, then we got closer. You actually have some rhythm…” Levi gave a breathy little laugh. “I remember following your lead, Four Eyes. I didn’t know what I was doing. And that’s when it started to rain…”

In the present, all three heads jerked upwards as they imagined rain drops catching in their hair.

“...and below, we could hear everyone scream and run inside. But not us.” Levi threaded his fingers through Hange’s. .

“You put your arms around me. You looked…filthy. Your hair was soaked. Your glasses were all misted up and gross and you could hardly see what we were doing. But you insisted that we stay.” 

“‘Just a little longer?’ That’s what you asked me.” 

Nanaba lowered her head, smiling at the accuracy of Levi’s Hange impression. 

“And that’s when I knew… I wanted to stay with you all night,” Levi finished, “because you’re the person I wanna share all my dances with.”

A hushed awe had fallen over the lounge.

“Damn it,” Hange sighed. They gazed longingly towards their bedroom door, thinking of the beautiful suit that lay beyond it.

***

This was going to be a difficult goodbye. Posing in front of their stand mirror, Hange slid their hands inside the pockets of their pinstriped trousers. They turned to the side slowly, admiring how the material hugged their hips and glided down their legs. Rolling their shoulders back, Hange lifted their head. Light caught the jacquard silk paisley pattern tie fastened at the base of their throat. A handkerchief adorned their left breast pocket in the same silver material. Hange flicked open the button on their jacket, allowing the garment to fall open and reveal the crisp white of their shirt, their slender body accentuated in a beautifully fitted waistcoat…

The bedroom door opened behind them, causing Hange to whirl round.

“Don’t come in! I’m trying on a suit!”

“Ah,” came Levi’s voice on the other side of the door. “You never said you’d got a suit.”

Hange gave themself one last look over. And then their shoulders slumped.

“It doesn’t matter. I have to take it back.” 

“So what does it matter if I come in?”

“Oh… guess you’re right.” Hange pulled the door open. “But you have to promise me that you won’t like it, okay?”

Levi opened his mouth to respond but found himself momentarily robbed of words. He swallowed. Steely grey eyes roved down Hange’s chest and legs.

“By the way, I booked Wings of Freedom,” Hange told him.

“That’s great,” he managed hoarsely, “but that suit… Hange, you look so…”

They caught his eye, their expression entreating him not to continue.

“...bad,” Levi finished lamely. He stared intently at Hange’s chest.

“What is it, Levi?”

“That shirt.”

Hange scrutinised themself.

“What's wrong with it?”

“It's…. still on you.” Levi swallowed again. “Makes me wanna rip it off…”

Before Hange could respond, he was sliding the jacket from their shoulders, his lips pressed to the flushed skin on their neck. 

“Levi… ah, Levi… don’t rip it…”

He lifted his head, hot breath ghosting over the shell of their ear. An impatient thumb slipped beneath Hange’s tie.

“...well, maybe you can rip it a little…” Hange conceded as their eyes closed blissfully…

[this-is-krikkit]

no more boops? have a fic instead!

rating: Mature relationships: Erwin Smith/Mike Zacharias, Levi Ackerman/Hange Zoë

summary: Teleworking at Erwin's place grants Mike a front row seat to his boss honoring a stupid dare. Let's be honest, though: it has other perks.

additional tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Office, slightly kinky, Light BDSM, very light actually most of it is only mentioned, Based on a Tumblr Post, i gave Nanaba a family name for the narrative, i also gave her a couple heart attacks. also for the narrative!, Tumblr Prompt, Mike and Hange both wearing their boyfriends' shirts Challenge: complete, Office Romance

inspired by:

enjoy!!

“To conclude this meeting and another productive week, I’d like to have everyone’s attention for a few of our most pressing matters.”

Oh, he’s going to do it now, Mike realizes.

For the hundredth time in the last hour and a half, he has to check that both his microphone and camera are offline. He’s not usually so easily spooked about these things, but it’s one thing to want your privacy during a meeting with twenty people and the company’s CEO himself making a presentation, and it’s another to have to hide the fact that you’re teleworking from said CEO’s penthouse apartment every Friday because you’ve been secretly —Mike’s decided that drunkenly confessing to Nanaba a few weeks back doesn’t count— fucking each other for months now against all company guidelines.

He almost feels sorry for not warning his friend Hange, the only one besides Erwin and a few less highly ranked colleagues who’s currently got their camera on —and who is probably unaware of that fact, seeing how their crumpled shirt is hanging open as far as he can see— for what’s about to happen, but he couldn’t do that without giving himself away.

“I’m going to need Business Development, Sales and Marketing to work together closely on the Titan project next quarter. Zoë, Ackerman and Zacharias, as respective heads of these divisions, I’ll require that you regularly meet and update me directly on this matter. It’s a great challenge, but I have no doubt your BDSM task force, as I’ve labeled it, will tackle it under the deadline I stipulated earlier.”

It’s probably unnoticeable to everyone else with his camera so high on his laptop’s screen, but Mike knows he didn’t imagine the way Erwin’s eyes just settled on him, all the way over where he’s lounging on the comfy couch in his boss’ home office, when he said the acronym Mike dared him to place. Knowing this was coming does little to stop Mike’s shock at hearing the awfully casual way he enunciated those letters, and it’s physically painful to have to contain his hilarity —Erwin’s microphone is definitely still on and it’s not that big a room— when he glances back down and sees Erwin actually put it into bold, huge characters onto an otherwise blank slide.

His eyes catch movement on his screen then, and he realizes that some screens that were previously showing faces have suddenly gone dark.

His friend Hange's, however, hasn’t. In fact, they’re currently losing their mind over what just happened, and they’re definitely unaware of their camera being on if the image of them picking up their laptop and running into another room before settling it down in front of Levi as they hurriedly gesture at —Mike’s guessing since their microphone is still thankfully muted— Erwin’s scandalous slide is anything to go by.

It’s not unusual for Hange and Levi, two of the most important people in this company and annoyingly close friends —who, in Mike’s opinion, are two close idiots who really are in love with each other and should get together already— to be spending teleworking days together.

But something is… off in this picture.

Then Mike realizes, now that he’s seen them standing, that Hange’s shirt’s probably been hanging open because it’s obviously several sizes too small. And, before Levi’s eyes comically widen and he extends his arm towards their camera to turn their tiny window black as well, it finally clicks in Mike’s brain.

That wasn’t just Levi.

That was Levi and his naked torso, sculpted by the endless hours he spends in the same gym Mike trains at, and covered in hickeys.

Mike steals a glance at Erwin, but his boss is now calmly calling the end of the meeting, his usual poker face on although there’s no way in hell he didn’t notice what just transpired.

Before he can think of addressing it out loud as Erwin turns his computer off and stands from his chair, Mike’s phone chimes with Nanaba’s special ringtone. He sighs and picks up, knowing making his best friend wait after these very interesting last few minutes isn’t the best idea.

“Mike, what the fuck?” She starts, and Mike rolls his eyes as he rethinks of the countless times she’s threatened him with days long HR seminars about his swearing. “You and Eyebrows did this on purpose, didn’t you? Hange’s freaking out so bad right now!”

She’s being so loud the sound of her voice carries way further than Mike’s phone speaker, and Erwin mouthes the nickname back at him with obvious amusement, now close enough to sit with him on the couch.

“Well, first of all, I didn’t know their camera would be on,” he says, trying not to sound as defensive as the guilt he feels about his other friend’s distress wants him to. “And besides, it serves them right for not telling me they're finally hooking up with Levi! Did you know and forget to tell me by any chance?"

Mike shares a glance with Erwin at that, who shakes his head condescendingly at his outrage —and if Mike wasn’t almost sure his boss had figured his two friends out before they all just got accidental proof of their relationship, now he is— and extends one arm over the back of the couch to scoot even closer to Mike’s lap, before casually starting to leave feather light kisses along his neck.

“You do not have a fucking leg to stand on here, Mister Secret CEO Boyfriend,” Nanaba scolds over the phone, making Mike freeze at the unexpected title, even as the pressure of Erwin’s lips only increases against his sensitive skin. “Which, by the way, I know this was his idea and not yours, you’re not twisted enough to come up with something like this. And I know I said I wanted to make friends with the big boss now that you two are doing the horizontal tango, but I’m not so sure it’s a good idea after—

“That’s alright, Miss Fischer,” Erwin interrupts, taking advantage of the speechless state his hickeys have left Mike into, sounding way too unbothered for their current predicament. “I’m not here to make friends anyway.”

There’s a sudden squeal followed by the muffled sound of Nanaba possibly trying to catch her phone before it falls from her grip.

“Erw— Mister Smith? Oh my God. Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Sir, Mike never said… I mean, had no idea you could overhear—”

“It’s alright,” Erwin says again, pausing to nibble at the skin over Mike’s collarbone, who’s trying to glare at him even though he knows it’s a lost cause. “I’ll see you Monday, Miss Fischer. Have a restful weekend.”

“Yes, Sir. Sorry again. I’ll see you on Monday, Sir.”

Erwin takes the phone away before she’s even done and throws it behind him on the cushions, not bothering to check that the call effectively cut —although Mike’s sure it did, because Nanaba sounded absolutely terrified.

“You just terrorized your HR Director,” he tries, still panting from Erwin’s most recent attention to his neck.

“I know,” Erwin singsongs like he just got praised instead of scolded, nipping along Mike’s jaw playfully now.

“Did you do it because of the nickname, or because I told you she had a crush on me back when we started at the company?”

Erwin chuckles, his breath fanning over Mike’s overheated skin in the process, and draws back far enough to look him in the eyes.

“Come on, I don’t hold such childish grudges,” he says smoothly, predatory smile firmly in place.

Mike bites back his own smile, and tries to keep his face neutral.

“You know I’m aware that you’re lying, right?”

Erwin only grins wider and lets his hand travel along his torso, down his abdomen, and finally cups him briefly over his pants, tearing a hiss out of him that effectively ruins his attempt to appear unimpressed.

“And you know I’m aware of how much that turns you on, right?” he asks in his ear.

"Fuck. Kiss me,” Mike orders.

He doesn’t often use this tone of voice, but you'd need to be blind not to notice the surprising effect it has on such an authoritative figure as Erwin Smith.

But his boss still isn’t one to give up control that easily, as assure the previous times they’ve been together in bed —or this couch, his kitchen, his bathroom... even under his on site desk one memorable time— combined with the way their lips fight for dominance the second they connect and the rough hands that immediately begin tearing at his clothes —well, at Erwin’s shirt that he borrowed today, actually, so Mike really couldn’t care less about the buttons sent flying around the room right now.

Mike lets out a gasp as Erwin pushes him firmly onto his back and trails his hands over the skin he’s just uncovered. His fingers find Mike’s nipples and pinch them, reaching that perfect line between pain and pleasure right away as Mike curses as much as he blesses how well Erwin’s come to know his body in only a few months of casual —is it still casual? Erwin didn’t exactly react to Nanaba calling him Mike’s boyfriend earlier— sex encounters.

The edges of his mind are already getting fuzzy, but Mike doesn’t let himself completely fall under Erwin’s spell yet.

One of his hands cups the back of Erwin’s head and adjusts the angle with enough force to bury his face in his neck, tickling his skin with the facial hair he knows Erwin finds irresistible and unexpectedly biting down, hard. It’s definitely going to leave a bruise; but for one, it’s low enough that Erwin will be able to hide whatever faded mark is left after the weekend under a high collar shirt; and this move is one of Erwin’s weaknesses that’s never failed before.

It doesn’t disappoint now, either, and Erwin moans loudly and goes slack enough at the sudden teeth impact to let Mike switch their position and land on top of him instead.

“You really shouldn’t lie to me, Mister Smith,” he growls as he settles on top of him, rotating his hips so his ass rubs against the hardening erection in Erwin’s pants even as he brings one hand to wrap his around his throat. 

He spreads his fingers around his airway, teasing gently before he starts squeezing.

“Wait,” Erwin chokes out suddenly.

Mike lets go of his neck at once, dropping the act and cupping his cheek instead.

“Red?” he asks, searching Erwin’s eyes for signs of pain.

He tried to erase the surprise from his voice but knows he only partially succeeded —choking is certainly not where they’ve ever drawn the line before. Then again, if that’s what Erwin needs right now, of course he’ll stop.

“No, of course not,” Erwin says, dismissing his concerns with a scoff. “But don’t you want your assignment first?”

“Oh. Well, sure, but why… I mean, what is it, do you think I’m going to fuck your brains out so hard you won’t remember when I’m done with you?” he teases, grinding against him again.

“Actually, yes,” Erwin breathes through a tender smile.

There’s no trace of humor in his tone or on his face now, and Mike is split between a surge of white hot arousal at knowing his lover genuinely thinks that highly of him, and near-overwhelming affection for the sometimes disarmingly honest, always unpredictable, and forever complicated man he’s currently pinning down on expensive leather they’re about to ruin.

“Alright,” he concedes, putting both hands on each side of Erwin’s head and stilling his movements. “What inappropriate word do you charge me to use in workplace conversation next week, Sir?”

Erwin curls his index to coax Mike closer. He follows the order and leans over him until Erwin’s able to take his lower lip between his teeth and suck on it, and Mike’s groan lingers even after he’s let go with a loud pop.

“C.B.T,” Erwin enunciates.

Mike closes his mouth and swallows. Hard.

Erwin smirks up at him, his clever hands using the distraction to unbutton and unzip Mike’s pants in one fluid movement.

[boatem-probler]

Cthulhu Returns as a Soccer Dad, in... Tokyo Soul!

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / You Are Here!

Last Time on Tokyo Soul...

"So yeah, these are definitely gonna come out slower from now on." -- Me, a Fool

Yeah I have no excuse. But! With this big batch of episodes down, the finale is so close I can smell it. It smells like something witty I'll think of later.

This report contains mentions of: Blood, Violence, Death, Guns Medical Malpractice, Allusions to Sexual Harassment/Assault

So Let's Get Back To It...

Episode 36 – A NEW FRIEND!!

Sam and Grian are on Taurtis’s computer, looking at his search history. He’s been searching for hair growth formulas.

Doughboy has been cooking parts of himself and distributing them to people.

Grian and Sam convince Taurtis to do several very stupid things on the premise that they can cure hair loss.

Geode is having a yard sale of all the trash he’s collected. And also Taurtis’s school locker.

They go to the train station to pick up another one of Sam’s friends, this time from Canada. He and Suspicious Person (remember Suspicious Person? From way back in episode 1?) walk out of the walkway on fire. The train platform is also on fire. Apparently Sam’s friend, Nick, set the fire.

Sam sent Nick Taurtis’s school uniform in the mail.

Sam apparently met Nick in a My Little Pony chatroom, where Nick said he was 14. The boys express doubt about this, given that Nick has a very full beard.

Grian: “We’ve had worse friends.”

Sam: “We were just talking about sports, right guys?” Grian: “Uh huh, sports! Footballfootballfootballtennishockey. Golf.”

I’m obsessed with the way he says this.

The cashier at the convenience store is Hank Kingofthe Hill except his name is Frank Chill. Just. By the way.

Episode 37 – DRAGON BALL Z!!

They all go over to Geode’s yard sale. He is frolicking around in the trash with a knife. He has a “mask” that is just a severed Dom Clone head. Grian wants to buy Taurtis’s locker. Geode just hands him a whole bunch of raw chicken. Geode doesn’t exactly grasp the concept of “sale”.

Another one of those weird aliens from the special has landed in the soccer field, and he’s brought Minions. Yes, those ones.

The alien guy gives a whole Dramatic Alien Speech to the effect of: he heard about Taurtis defeating that other alien guy in the special, and he would now also like to fight Taurtis.

Grian: “On a completely unrelated note, has anyone got any bullets?”

Basically Grian REALLY hates Minions and would really like the opportunity to actually shoot some in real life.

Anime Alien charges up for a good long while, and then Taurtis One Punches him. Then all the Minions charge, so the boys end up killing most of them too.

Sam: “How did you get this powerful, Taurtis?” Taurtis: “I did a push-up yesterday!”

As is tradition, they take Nick to Get His Class Schedule. Sam tells him there’s a fatality rate to the procedure, which I’m not sure I remember anyone saying before so he may just be fibbing. No one died that Sam saw, anyway.

Oh dear. So, Señor Loro is not wearing a shirt, because Geode is wearing his Christmas sweater. It turns out that Geode did, in fact, steal it from him without his knowledge, and attempts to deny ever having it. Despite this, Geode and Señor Loro both profess to being best friends. Grian is skeptical of the idea that someone would steal their best friend’s clothes and go to school wearing them. Sam argues that Grian has done that before. You may be able to see where this is going.

Anyway, Nick and Señor Loro fight. Unfortunately, someone has stolen all of the schedules.

Also this episode has the “Sam is my dog” blooper at the end.

EPISODE 38 – THE DARK LORD CTHULHU!

Chupa won the lottery for 5 cents, so he’s summoning Cthulhu again with a ritual meant to “gaze into time”. The ritual text is more old memes. Everyone makes Grian read it.

The whole class is transported to a room with blank white walls and a whole lot of bookshelves just kind of floating in various places. Igbar Cthulhu is there.

There’s also someone else who looks like a shadow with rainbow hair. Grian “wants whatever she’s smoking”.

Cthulhu has decided not to destroy humanity, and instead let Sam do it for him. Sam is “the cause of it all”. And also “the root of it all”.

Grian wants to know if he’ll ever get out of here. Cthulhu says it’s possible but not likely but also not really no.

Sam wants to know why they can still hear the school bell inside the weird room they’re in. Cthulhu says it’s a pocket space and they’re technically still in the classroom. Grian thinks this is bullshit and Cthulhu is just Saying Words.

Grian wants to know: “How do I kill Sam?” Cthulhu says: “You can’t.”

Also, the rainbow-hair shadow person is Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos. Sam and Grian start bullying her.

They transport themselves back to the classroom, and Cthulhu and Nyarlathotep come with them, because they want a front row seat to the world’s destruction. Also, Grian is jealous that Sam gets to be a horseman of the apocalypse and he doesn’t.

Sam is now threatening to destroy the universe when his friends are mean to him. Grian tries to call his bluff. There is a very ominous sound of thunder, but nothing else really happens.

Dr. Nurse has apparently gotten tired of Grian bugging him about “learning” all the time, so he’s taking the class on a field trip inside an ambulance. They’re going to see a car crash!

EPISODE 39 – CAR CRASH!

They arrive at the car crash. There is a man covered in blood standing in front of a burning car. He’s actually mostly fine, but the guy he crashed into, on the other hand, appears to have been… decapitated. Death is beautiful, remarks Cthulhu.

Oh, apparently the other guy is not fine, his organs feel squishy. Dr. Nurse gives him CPR. He dies.

Dr. Nurse gets a report of screaming… at Kurokuma’s house. Kurokuma claims he was just listening to Screamo. They can hear the screams. Once again, no one pays any attention to Grian’s protests. He doesn’t protest very much.

Then they all rush off to help Doughboy open a jar of pickles. Grian is pretty ticked off.

They go back to school for lunch. Grian reveals he took something from Cthulhu’s pocket dimension called a “Sleeping Chaos Potion”. He’s contemplating drinking it. Sam, of all people, points out that it’s probably a bad idea to drink something called a Sleeping Chaos Potion, but he still ends up chanting “chug” alongside everyone else.

Grian drinks the potion, and starts taking damage. Cthulhu says he’ll be fine, there will just be some “lingering side effects”. “If you have dreams about the world exploding, let me know.” This surely won’t have consequences! (But really, as far as I’ve been able to glean there aren’t actually any consequences for this within the canon of Tokyo Soul. I, however, can think of plenty of consequences!)

Also I feel like it’s worth noting, it turns out that Geode milking Dom way back however many episodes ago must have been accomplished with some sort of mod, and not by just hitting him and quickly swapping a pre-prepared bucket of milk into Geode’s hotbar as I has assumed, because every time someone hits someone else while holding an empty bucket, said bucket becomes a bucket of milk named “[username of the person who was hit]’s Milk”. I just thought you should all know that, because I am completely baffled by the fact that they chose to do this and then leave the mod on the server instead of doing a much easier classic filmmaking trick, for what was supposed to be a one-off gag. Anyway. I just had to get that off my chest.

Anyway they’re in gym class and Cthulhu wants Sam to kill Invader. He kind of sounds like a dad at his kid’s soccer game, except instead of soccer it’s the destruction of Earth.

Another Anime Alien has landed on the track behind the school. Sam shoots him and he dies.

Okay so I’m now coming back to this after God knows how long and also after a Very Long Day so I am very tired. We will see how this affects the Energy.

Where were we. Ah, right, this was supposed to be Jerry’s gym class. He’s at a bit of a loss. Jerry is one of the most reasonable and responsible people in this show honestly. Like, he’s trying. No One Else in this school is trying.

Students: So, what do we do for gym class now? Jerry: "Uh. Play?"

Also one of the students falls in a hole and everyone else starts badgering them with the milk buckets and the fishing rods that sound like guns. What is with these people and just leaving weird shit on this server that isn’t supposed to be there? It does add to the Atmosphere, I’ll give it that.

Episode 40 – KILL THE MINION!

Professor Geode has claimed all the unused classrooms as His House. Well, specifically his Holiday Home. He also has a Shop. Grian points out that it’s all very clean for Geode. He finds this suspicious.

Geode has an indoor yard. With sheep. And a Minion. The sheep are also robots?

Geode’s plan for today’s class is to dissect the Minion. Also, Google Docs is still trying to autocorrect “Geode” to “God”.

Geode bloodily slices from the Minion: A Watermelon Slice. A Single Rose. The Minion Energy Core (he’ll save this for later). A Bucket Of Milk. Numerous Garbage Bags. A Potion Bottle Of Blood. More Cores. And A Skull. Sam speculates whether the skull means that the Minion ate a human alive, and then simply assumes it does mean that. Geode then kills the Minion.

Grian wonders if Geode has been learning what friendship is. Taurtis looks directly at the sun.

Taurtis: "Do you ever wonder if we’re alone in the universe?" Grian: "NO."

Oh, Jerry has stolen Geode’s TV. Now I know I just said Jerry is one of the more reasonable characters but I fucking love Jerry and Dom’s TV Saga so he can steal as many TVs as he wants.

Sam remembers that Taurtis technically won a spaceship that morning, so they go over to the soccer field and break into it. The ship pranks them with a fake self destruct sequence, and then the boys accidentally take off for Planet Canada.

And then it’s…… the end of the day, but not the end of the episode? But it seems like it’s still the end of the recording session because they’re now making an excuse for why Grian isn’t there and going off to do some whole other plot? And I’ve decided this is too confusing for this late at night so I’m calling it here for now.

Okay I’m back. Let’s see… Taurtis’s hair is growing back in weird patches because he’s been using a suspicious hair growth serum, Grian got left in Canada and Sam blames Taurtis because the spaceship is technically his.

Taurtis: "He’ll be fine, he’s with Nick- oh, God, you’re right." Sam: "He’s screwed, dude!"

Regardless, Sam has decided that he wants to be a superhero too.

They go downstairs, where the house is covered in “totally not stolen” appliances. Like, not just TVs, there’s also ovens, landline phones, refrigerators, an entire streetlight, and Taurtis’s locker. Apparently this was Jerry and Doughboy’s doing.

Dom seems to be dressed up as some superhero I haven’t heard of. Oh, he’s Rorschach from Watchman apparently.

Some sort of robot appears and says it has come for the “bald one”. It’s here to kill Taurtis before he becomes too strong. It was also sent by someone called “The Steampunker”.

Episode 41 – MEETING SUPER HEROES!

Sam and Taurtis tell the robot to shut up while they argue about which one of them should be the sidekick. The robot starts speaking in binary and then attacks Taurtis, who kills it. Sam and Taurtis continue their argument.

Sam says he’s “contacted” some superheroes and takes Taurtis to meet them. Also, Alex Minecraft is just, like, There and walking around. Wait, there’s some Steves too, a weirdly high amount of people just don’t have custom skins on in this recording session apparently.

They meet up with Sam’s superheroes at a coffee shop. There are also two Inconspicuous Bald Men at the coffee shop. Oh also one of the “superheroes” is Old Kurokuma, currently under the name “Kuma the Lion”.

The other superhero is called Captain Radiator or Luke, I assume he’s meant to be a reference to something but I have no idea what. But he’s wearing a yellow hazmat suit.

Sam wants his superhero name to be “The Strongest in All the Universe and the Leader of All”.

Kurokuma is still a creep.

Sam: "Okay, well my superpower, is… that… Taurtis! He- he neeed me. In the time of need."

Sam is also still insisting that he can destroy the universe because Cthulhu said so. Taurtis continues to doubt this.

Sam is given a superhero outfit. It is a rabbit costume.

Taurtis: "How do you defeat people like that? Do you like, jump on their head like Mario?" Sam: "I kill them with cuteness! And this 50-caliber sniper rifle."

Ah, the Inconspicuous Bald Men are holding up the superstore.

Episode 42 – SUPER VILLAINS!

They attempt to enter the superstore from the roof, but Taurtis misses the jump and gets trapped in an alleyway, so they all just agree to meet him at the front of the store.

Captain Radiator takes off his mask and gives everyone in the store radiation poisoning. It is unclear what this actually accomplishes.

Also, The Steampunker has appeared outside the superstore. He’s captured Invader and wants the heroes to meet him in a warehouse at midnight. The heroes just go there immediately.

Then they spend a Good Five Minutes trying to think of a superhero team name.

Captain Radiator tries to give the robots radiation poisoning, but fails, because they’re robots.

Oh also Invader is just kind of dangling above a vat of goo that supposedly will turn her into a robot. She doesn’t seem particularly distressed or anything though.

Taurtis volunteers to take Invader’s place because he thinks being a robot would be cool. Sam thinks this will put Taurtis under the Steampunker’s control, so they should kill him first. The Steampunker says the robot goo won’t work if he’s dead. Sam decides this means he can take the Steampunker’s place after they kill him and then he’ll be the one to control Robot Taurtis. Taurtis says he’d rather be controlled by the Steampunker.

Anyway, I think they eventually decide they want to kill the Steampunker after all, because Taurtis decides he wants to fight on the edge of the goo vat (because it’d be cool)... and the Steampunker punches him into the goo.

Episode 43 – KILL ME!

Taurtis breaks out of the vat and kills the Steampunker (he tried to let Sam kill him, but Sam failed). Then they try to get Invader down, but accidentally drop her into the vat. And it seems like her face is melting off, so Sam et al. run out of the warehouse like cowards.

Cthulhu shows up to tell Sam how proud he is of him for killing more people and melting a girl’s face off. Nyarlathotep gives everyone Mountain Dew. Cthulhu insults Taurtis’s hair, so Taurtis tries to punch him, it doesn’t work, and Cthulhu electrocutes him with a bolt of lightning.

Sam and Taurtis break into someone’s house and sneak out the back door, so Kurokuma doesn’t find out where they live. It doesn’t work, because they forgot they live with three other people who have no idea what the fuck they’re trying to do.

Dom, Jerry, and Doughboy are just living their best TV stealing lives and I support them.

Once AGAIN they are starting a new day in the middle of an episode and it’s really throwing me off my rhythm!!

Anyway. Taurtis has changed out of his One Punch Man outfit, and he’s in the kitchen angrily trying to make breakfast because, according to him, someone sent him a letter saying that if he didn’t make food, he’d be “fired”. I think it’s implied that Sam sent this letter, and that Taurtis knows this, and that Sam knows Taurtis knows this? But who honestly fucking knows with Sam.

Grian walks in! Apparently he’s “just been in orbit for a while”. He’s very confused about why there are so many appliances in the house. He also acquired his own spaceship somehow, and parked it on the roof.

Is it more interesting if the spaceship simply fell out of orbit directly above “Tokyo”/navigated there on its own automatically, implying that there is some supernatural force keeping Grian trapped there, or if Grian decided to go back there himself? Discuss. I could go either way, honestly, although I would like to find a way to have both, ideally.

Oh, apparently the context behind “Taurtis angrily making food or else he’ll be fired” is that it was something CC!Sam decided he wanted to do like right before filming the scene. “And then you can poison my food or something.” The more you know!

Thank God this episode doesn’t end in the middle of anything honestly.

Grian Trauma Count!

Deaths Witnessed:

Anime alien

Lots of minions

He didn’t actually witness the death, but he did see the decapitated body, so, Car Crash Victim Number the First

Car Crash Victim Number the Second

Grian seems pretty sure whoever was in Kurokuma’s basement died

Anime Alien The Second

Minion

Listen he had to get that second spaceship somehow

Injuries Sustained:

Basically anytime the guns come out I assume he gets shot a few times

Traumatic Events:

Subjected to another one of Sam’s shady friends

A somewhat all-powerful evil being tells him that Sam is going to destroy the world, there’s no way out of this town for him, and he can’t even kill Sam about it

Kurokuma

Sleeping Chaos Potion (even if there are no consequences in the canon series, it did still definitely hurt)

Look, he didn’t seem all that shaken up by the Minion Dissection, but I think it should still count

Got left in Canada. Again.

Next Time... Grian Pushes Someone Into A Big Hole

[readyforthegarden]

Silver Springs - Part One

Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Original Female Character

Synopsis: The year was 1976, the season was summer. The days were hot and the nights were hotter. Music was the best it had ever been, especially rock music. Sam Kiszka has been riding the high of being in one of the top bands on the scene, but when his bands tour is accompanied by another up-and-coming band, with a lead singer that gets on his very last nerve, will everything come crashing down or will they end up making music that changes the world?

Warnings: Mentions of drug use, misogyny typical of the 1970s, 18+ only, Minors DNI

WC: 2712

🎶 🎶 🎶

“What is it like, being on top?” Sam smirked at the question, dragging his hand across his forehead in the hot sun as sweat beaded against his tanned skin. He held back a laugh at the obvious innuendo, leaning against the warm brick of the building.

“It’s a crazy feeling,” Sam answered the interviewer, who was holding a microphone out to him with a slightly shaking hand. “I never thought in a million years our music would reach so many people. We’re just some kids from the suburbs of Michigan, so to be at this level is insane.”

“You’re turning into hometown heroes, really.” the interviewer replied, chuckling at his moniker. “Record sales are at an all time high, you’re at the top of the charts, do you have any advice for any kids back home in their garages, trying to be the next Greta Van Fleet?”

“Yeah, don’t try to be the next Greta Van Fleet.” Sam grinned. “Be yourselves, write what speaks to you, play what sounds good to you. As long as you’re yourself you’ll go far.” They wrapped up the interview and Sam parted from the young man, starting his journey back to his bus across the parking lot. He pulled a cigarette out of the pack in the front pocket of his half buttoned shirt, slipping a lighter from his jeans pocket and lighting it.

“Hey, you’re Sam Kiszka, right?” Sam squinted in the sun, turning and seeing a young woman walking fast to catch up to his long stride.

“I am.” he replied. “If you want an autograph, I’m afraid I don’t have a pen. If you wanna shag, there’s a line forming over on the other side of the venue.”

“I don’t want either of those things, thank you though.” the girl scoffed lightly, slowing down now that she was beside him. “I’m actually a musician, a singer-songwriter, and I was wondering if you’d look over a few of my songs? I really dig the music you make, and it’d mean a lot.” Sam stopped with a sigh, turning to the girl. Her light, sandy brown hair was frizzed from the humidity, unkempt waves looking like she slept with her hair wet and the window open while tossing and turning. 

Her wide hazel eyes blinked up at him, and Sam glanced down, seeing her clutching a worn, tattered journal in her hands. She wore overalls with patches on the wide legged knees. They hung loosely on her and were faded, the t-shirt underneath short and snug to her body, making them clear signs of hand-me-downs or thrift finds.

“I guess,” Sam sighed, holding out his hand. The girl opened the book in her hands, flipping through the pages before handing it over to Sam. The page Sam looked down on was scribbled all over, words etched out, messy writing across the lines. A few spots were discolored, spots where maybe some water, possibly even tears had spilled over. His eyes scanned the lyrics, keeping a blank face as the young woman bit her lip nervously, ruffling her hair, a smattering of bracelets clattering along her wrist and forearm as she moved. 

Sam flipped through a few more pages before snapping the book shut, looking over to her. He thought carefully about what he wanted to say. The words she had written were good, and he couldn’t help the artistic jealousy that bubbled up in his chest that he never thought of stringing them together himself.

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Brandy.” she responded. “Brandy Lawson.”

“Well, Brandy Lawson,” Sam held up the book in front of him. “I wouldn’t quit your day job. You’ve got some potential, but nothing big in here. No one wants to hear a woman whining about her broken heart.” he watched Brandy’s eyes dim, her cheeks turning pink as she rolled her shoulders back against the blow to her ego.

“I appreciate the honesty.” Brandy reached out, taking her book back from Sam. “Really, thank you.” Sam felt a small twist in his gut, guilt setting in at crushing the girls’ dreams. He ran a hand through his brown, shoulder length hair with a sigh.

“Listen, it’s nothing personal,” he shrugged. He wanted to continue but couldn’t find decent enough words to tell her he thought her words were shit.

“No, no it’s not.” Brandy shook her head, clutching the journal to her chest again, a new spark in her eyes. “Thank you for your opinion, Mr. Kiszka. Have a good show.” she began to move away and Sam reached out, placing a large hand on her shoulder.

“Do you want an autograph or something?” he offered, trying to take the edge off the conversation. Brandy turned, smiling at him with a shake of her head.

“No. But you’ll be wanting mine one day.” she replied, so self-assured Sam was taken aback by the confidence. “See you around, Kiszka.”

Sam watched her walk away across the venue parking lot, the heels of her boots thunking against the pavement. She propelled herself with enough force the wind blew her hair back around her as she went. Something in him felt an inkling of admiration and a pang of annoyance at her sudden conviction.

“Hey, you coming to sound check?” Sam looked to his left, seeing his brother Jake ushering flagging him down. He and the rest of the band were heading inside the venue now. Sam nodded, jogging over to him. “What kept you so long? The magazine guy left a while ago.”

“Just some fan, wanted me to give advice on their songwriting.” Sam replied, waving his hand in front of him like Brandy had been an annoying fly buzzing around his head for the few minutes they interacted.

“Were they any good?” Jake asked curiously. Sam huffed out a laugh, holding open the stage door as his brother shuffled in.

“Just some school-kid drivel.” Sam shrugged.

“Aw, you mean like what you used to write?” Josh, Sam’s eldest brother wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulder, using his knuckles to give him a playful noogie to the side of his head. 

“Knock it off,” Sam pushed Josh off of him gently. 

“We all have to start somewhere, Sammy.” Josh reminded him. 

“Well, she seems to think I’ll be asking for her autograph one day,” Sam rolled his eyes. “So she must think she’s ahead of the game.” He followed his brothers onto the stage, taking place at his microphone as a roadie handed him his guitar.

“Who knows, maybe we’ll even be opening for her.” Jake joked into his mic, making the other men laugh. That was the last they had spoken of it, and the last Sam thought of Brandy Lawson for a very long while.

Until she stormed back into his life, a new name, a new band, and fiery attitude. 

🎶 🎶 🎶

“Los Angeles are you ready for a night of love and rock and roll?!” the crowd in the Troubadour roared. “My name is Harlow, and with me are the Blue Jean Babies. And we’re here tonight to make sweet love to you through music and leave you wanting more.” a few wolf whistles echoed through the room as Harlow gripped her microphone stand, bringing her body towards it. The bell sleeves of her dress fell back towards her elbows and she shook her shaggy bangs out of her face, licking her lips before beginning to sing.

“It’s a little crowded tonight.” Jake groaned, worming his way through the crowd to the bar, nodding at a few people who recognized him.

“You were the one who wanted to come.” Sam laughed back, finally resting against the sticky bar as his brother ordered them beers.

“Yeah, well I heard this band is really something.” Jake turned, handing a tepid, sweating amber bottle to his younger brother. “They’ve been blowing up the charts, and the label is thinking of having them on tour with us.”

“You mean the tour we’re about to go on in a little less than a month?” Sam was wide-eyed. “Who dropped out?”

“I guess one of the openers, one of their wives just had a baby and she’s threatening divorce if he doesn’t stay home with them since he was gone most of the pregnancy.” Jake shrugged. “It’s bullshit, but if you love the woman you do what you have to.”

“Happy wife, happy life and all that, yeah?” Sam chuckled as he took a sip of his own beer. He could never imagine himself kowtowing to anyone like that. No one was going to keep him from being on the road and living out his dream. If he was going to be with someone, they had to understand that music was the most important thing to him.

“More like he’ll have to pay out the ass in spousal and child support.” Jake rolled his eyes. Sam laughed loudly before having a few dirty looks thrown his way for interrupting the show. He smiled sheepishly and put a finger to his lips, promising to keep quiet with a wink. He turned his attention to the stage, allowing himself to focus on the music. 

The woman singing was vaguely familiar, he’d probably seen her out and about in the LA scene. It was a small circle, no matter how many new faces moved to the city of Angels, so he was sure he’d met her at some party somewhere. Maybe they’d shared a joint or a bump. Maybe a beer. 

“She’s pretty good, huh?” Jake leaned over to Sam, yelling over the music. 

“Yeah, she’s all right.” Sam sniffed. He watched the singer on stage as she danced around, singing and banging a tambourine against the heel of her hand. Her hair flew around her wildly as she spun, and Sam couldn’t help to smirk at her free movements, they reminded him of his eldest brother in a way, and how he would move on stage during Jake’s guitar solos. “I think they’d fit in nicely as openers.”

“Yeah?” Jake quirked an eyebrow over at Sam, watching his eyes carefully. The singer was now leaning down, smiling as she interacted with concert-goers. She had a wrist laden with bangles and beaded bracelets, and Jake caught the small smirk on Sam’s face as he watched the singer slip a few off and put them over the hand of a fan who was reaching out before standing back up and continuing the show. When the band left the stage, Jake patted Sam on the shoulder, and they moved to go backstage.

As they approached the green room, they heard loud laughter, the clinking of bottles and energetic talking between bandmates, and Sam felt the energy inside him prick up. There was something so contagious about a post-show high, and he could tell Jake was feeling it too as they rounded the corner into the room. It took a few minutes of the chaos to settle down as they joined the party, and someone stopped to notice them.

“Woah,” a young man stopped when he saw Jake and Sam, his lips still glistening from the pull from the bottle of Jack Daniels he held in his hand. His mustache was barely grown in enough to collect any droplets and he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth as he stared in awe. “You’re…you’re Jake and Sam Kiskza.”

“Yeah, we are.” Jake chuckled, reaching a hand out. The young man switched the booze to his other hand and shook Jake’s outstretched hand, before shaking Sam’s as well. “We came out to see the show, you guys are good.”

“No shit!” the man grinned. “I’m Billy, I’m the guitarist. It’s an honor to meet you guys, I’ve looked up to your guitar playing since I heard your first record.”

“Appreciate that, man.” Jake grinned. “Are the rest of your bandmates here?”

“Yeah!” Billy turned, putting his hand on another man’s shoulder and getting his attention, whispering to him before gathering a few others around. “Where’s Harlow?”

“I’m right here.” they turned around again, and parted, making room for the leading lady of the night to join. It took him a few moments, but up close, all it took was a few moments, and the glimmer of gold in those hazel eyes for him to fully recognize her. His memory pulled up the scene in a parking lot where he’d essentially told her she was a talentless hack. “Hello boys.”

“Hi, I’m Jake,” Jake reached out his hand to her with a smile. She took it gently, squeezing his fingertips and holding his hand in hers for a few moments, telling him how nice it was to meet him before letting go. She turned to Sam, a smirk tugging at the corner of her smile. 

“And, you are?” Sam felt his cheeks prickle with heat flushed with embarrassment that she would pretend she had no clue who he was in front of everyone, in front of his own brother. All the while her eyes glimmered with recognition. He swallowed down his pride and put on a smile, taking her hand and instead of letting her feel like she had control like she did with Jake’s, as she squeezed his fingertips he brought the back of her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to it as he kept eye contact, smiling as he lowered her hand. Her eyes narrowed slightly and he felt his chest swell at her reaction.

“Samuel.” he replied. “But you can call me Sam.” he tossed in a wink for good effort, her cheeks turning pink from it.

“Well, to what do we owe the honor of a visit from you both?” Harlow tore her eyes from Sam, glancing back to Jake. 

“We just wanted to come check out the potential new openers for our next tour.” Jake grinned. It took a moment for what he said to sink in, and the band began jumping around excited.

“What, for real?!” Billy exclaimed, and Jake nodded. 

“We don’t know for sure, but they told us you guys were in the running, and we thought it’d be a good idea to check you guys out when we saw you were playing tonight.” Sam offered. 

“It was a really good show,” Jake chimed in, smiling. “Reminded me a bit of us when we were first getting crowd attention, feeding off of it. I’m definitely putting my name behind you guys for our openers.”

“And what about you, Sam?” Harlow’s gaze was back to him, the question leaving her lips and cutting through to him sharply. “Did you like the show?”

“It was very entertaining.” Sam replied coolly to her challenge. “You guys are up on my list, for sure.” Harlow kept her eyes on him as the rest of the Blue Jean Babies celebrated behind her. After a few moments more, they were called to their bus to start the next leg of their journey to the next city, and had to begin packing up. 

“It was great to meet you all, hopefully we’ll see you soon.” Jake told them all as he and Sam headed for the door.

“Hopefully very soon.” Harlow agreed, shooting him a charming smile. “Have a good night Jake. You too, Sam.”

“Goodnight, Harlow.” Sam replied, meeting her eyes one more time before wishing everyone else a goodnight too. 

“I really liked them.” Jake turned to Sam as they walked out of the building. Most of the concert-goers had left, only a few stragglers smoking or drinking at their cars. “They seem really cool and they genuinely are excited about music.”

“Yeah, they’re pretty cool.” Jake smirked at Sam’s blaise response. 

“You seemed to have a connection with that Harlow chick.” Jake nudged his little brother in the ribs with his own elbow. “Are we going to have to worry about some hanky-panky if we bring them on tour?”

“Not at all,” Sam rolled his eyes. “If anything, she has an attitude that’s annoying to me.”

“Well, if they come on tour with us, maybe it’ll humble her a little bit.” Jake shrugged, getting into his car. Sam climbed into the passenger seat, thinking of all the ways he could humble Brandy “Harlow” Lawson.

Taglist: @joshsindigostreak @ascendingtostardust @sammysprincess @sammykiszkamyass @belovedsamuel @sunfl0wer-power @indigo-starcatcher @sammyscherub @earthlysorrows @lvnterninthenight @allieisacrybaby @losfacedevil @xserenax-13 @sarakay-gvf @shutupdevvie @myownparadise96 @watchingovergvff @gretavanfleetposts @sacredthefran @josiee-gvf @joshkiszkatoothgap @madneedshelp @gardensgatedaisy @kkdarling @demonrat444 @writingcold @dannyandthekiszkas @lightmylove-gvf @tearsofbri @paleshadow-ofadragon @happy-harpy-stuff @like-a-woman-in-a-dream @starshine-wagner @objectsinspvce @josh-iamyour-mama @mountain-in-springtime @cal-a-bungaa @capturethechaos @jankandjonch @gvfpal @allybjt @hippievanfleet @weightofbrokenbells @joshkiszkasbadussy @malany-gvf @ruby0antlers @samofthedawn @sacredjake @aim4thedoublee @diditallforyouu @gvfmarge @highladyofasgard @sammysvanfeet @gold-mines-melting @earthgrlsreasy @mountain-in-springtime @forcebond301 @stardust-and-shadows @llightmyllovee @gretavangroupie @comesofarsomehow @starcatcherkiszka @indigofallingsky

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[queen-scribbles]

I saw the post about the big Bioware sale and figured you're a good person to ask since I've seen you posting about Mass Effect/Dragon Age a lot. The games look fun, and I'm a sucker for complex stories with customizable protagonists, but I am a complete weenie about the more, uh, mature stuff when it comes to romance and the 'M' rating keeps scaring me off.

Like I'm over 18 and I'm fine with the violence/drinking/most of the swearing listed with the M rating, but I just get deeply uncomfortable with the other stuff. I'm just weird like that, I guess.

Is it really a lot? Or is there like a skip option, or some kinda setting that'll just have it be a fade-to-black sitch like SWTOR? I won't be too disappointed if there isn't, I kind of expect that really, but I figured it was worth an ask while the sale is on/to keep in mind for the next sale.

I have major social anxiety and am kinda embarrassed about all this, so sorry about the anon-asking. :P

No, no, you're fine, I understand completely. (I can take or leave a lot of the sexier stuff myself) Now I will try to remember romance scenes bc I haven't played some of these games in 4-5 years, and some of the romances I haven't gotten to yet. 😅 (if you don't mind spoilers you can always look up the romance on yt to check for yourself if it goes past your preferences. but if you do wanna avoid spoilers I will do my best) P much all the romances there's only even potentially anything that might be a problem in the Culmination Scene.

(If I got anything wrong anyone please feel free to correct me)

I know in ME1 the romance scene(with Kaidan for f!Shep, Ashley for m!Shep, Liara for either) there's sideview but shadowed nudity for f!Shep/Ashely/Liara(with Arm Strategically Placed to block boobs so all you really see is a little bit of butt) and Kaidan/mShep is shirtless.

ME2.... I think there's 0 nudity and ftb for Garrus, Thane, Tali, and Jack(ftb on tenderness, comes back in to fully-clothed snuggles in bed), Jacob's shirtless, and Miranda you half-unzip her catsuit uniform so you can see her bra. Oh, and there's a mini-romance-y thing with Kelly and she wears something really skimpy if you do that.

ME3... I need to caveat I've only actually gotten through ME3 with my Kaidanmancers + the Jackmancer, but I watched p much all the others on yt to hurt myself. Also it's been a while. I don't thiiiiink there's any full nudity, when it gets to the big sex scene toward the end, the furthest it goes is cuddling/foreplay with underwear still on, then cuts to waking up still just in underwear, and not all the romances get that. Some of them, ah. end prematurely for different reasons, or the romance isn't an actual companion in this game, so there's less content(Kaidan, Ashley, Garrus, Liara, and Tali get the most, since they join the team + have been established longer). There are new m/m and f/f exclusive option in ME3, but it's been long enough I don't rememberrrrrr if there's anything risque for them. I don't think so.

Andromeda I've only done Liam's romance and I don't think there was much in there(you can get him to stop wearing a shirt on the ship about halfway through and there's a makeout session on the couch that ftb). I think Cora's and Jaal's involve male and female shirtlessness, but I'm straight up blanking for the rest of them.

FOR DRAGON AGE

In Origins, the "big scene" for the romances does involve "sexy" movements, but the characters still have on underwear, so no nudity, and tbh with game engine/graphics advances that have been made a lot of people find those scenes cringey/silly more than sexy now. I think you can skip those, maybe, but if you can't there's dialogue after so you can just look away til you hear your chosen sweetie start talking and the conversation takes place fully clothed.

DA2 they did ftb for the four vanilla game romances. Love interest shows up, there's cutscene kissing fully clothed, ftb, wake up in underwear at worst. (Sebastian MY BELOVED is romanceable with a f!Hawke, but since he's a) chaste and b) a DLC companion, there's absolutely no sex scenes with him, you can get chaste married on his friend path and he'll talk about the two of you getting married to reclaim his homeland on his rival path).

DAI is... simultaneously best and worst in this regard lol Josephine and Solas there's nothing. Sera and Cassandra you see boobs and enough leg to hint at full nudity without actually showing it(Sera's might get a little more explicit, it's been longer for her so I don't 100% remember). Dorian's has... full rear nudity, but I think that's it. Blackwall's I don't remember, Cullen and Iron Bull both have scenes where you can tell they're naked, but the Inquisitor or an object is strategically in the way of the naughty bits.

OH AND not romance related, but possibly an issue, there are demons in the DRagon Age canon known as Desire Demons, who look like practically naked purple ladies(they have, like, an even skimpier version of the SWtOR Slave Girl outfit and are fond of caressing themselves seductively). They aren't in DAI, but do show up in the first two games for a few quests.