#but when it experiences intense emotions the white spreads further up its body until its almost glowing

[the-eng1ne]

still havent drawn my sona ref but i sure as hell have been doodling it in the same pose over and over. heres a couple of them that i actually put colours to

[kohakuarisaka]

Untamed (chapter 4 of 5)

Takami Keigo x (fem!)Reader

[ SUMMARY ] Every year, without fail, Hawks went into a rut: when autumn began, and then again in early spring. He would honker down up north in a secluded cabin. For the first time, he brought you with him.

[ WARNINGS ] R18+ for graphic sexual content and language. Non-canon compliant: Hawks’ quirk does not work like this. Reader is a hero that works at Hawks agency. Pre-existing relationship. Reader is a female with female genitalia. Feral behavior. Rutting. Biting. Spanking. Slight BDSM. Consensual sex. Wing kink. Oral sex. Romantic relationship.

Chapter 1 • Chapter 2 • Chapter 3 • Chapter 4 • Chapter 5

[ My BNHA Fanfic Masterlist ] ~ [ Also on my AO3 ]

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Hawks had gone on an early morning flight the following day, before you had stirred from sleep, leaving you alone in the cabin for the first time.

He was reaching the apex of his rut. The cabin was beginning to feel like the inside of an oven. That was great for keeping his mate warm, but not so great for him in his current state, where he felt like he was roasting alive.

Outside, the winds were cold, almost punishingly so. Under normal conditions, he would have been wrapped up in his fur coat. However, now, he was wearing a loose T-shirt more suited for summer, baggy cargo pants and military boots.

He took off into the sky, soaring at great speeds that would make him near impossible to see with the naked eye, assuming anyone was actually around to spot him in the first place.

He'd soar up high, then let himself descend in a tumbling spiral, then catch his fall above the trees and rocket between the branches, sometimes letting the bottoms of his boots skim the trees to shake the snow off.

He always loved the feeling of the wind through his feathers; but, the sensation was more intense during his rut. While pain receptors didn't exist in his feathers in the same manner as his flesh and bones, he could still process feeling.

During his rut, feeling was intensified in his wings. He almost thought he could breathe the air through his feathers. Perhaps, it was why he felt so unbearably warm, why your touch had reduced him to a blabbering animal.

It was difficult to resist the desire to bring you with him on his flights, to hold you against his chest and feel your body clinging to him while he descended.

It was exciting to think about what kind of noises you would make. He hoped that you would find it exhilarating. He wanted to feel your heartbeat thundering away from the rush, to see red tinting your cheeks and tears in your eyes.

Instead, Hawks floated alone and let the late winter air bite away at his skin while the winds brushed along his feathers. It was soothing more so than chilling. Despite how unfitting his clothes was for the weather, not even the tips of his fingers felt cold.

The winter breeze had relaxed him, but not for long. Despite the obvious chill in the air, Hawks was still sporting a painful erection. He avoided touching it, knowing full well that masturbation was pointless. Enduring this alone for years taught him that it would likely only irritate him further.

You were here, you were safe, you were his, you wanted to be here, you wanted him. Your scent was all over the nest and his bite mark was a heavy eyesore on your throat. There wasn't another human for miles. But, despite the obvious fact that there was no reason for him to feel uneasy, his nature wouldn't allow him to rest.

His rational side wanted to let you relax, to give you some reprieve from him, from what he did to you and intended to do again. The beast, however, clawing under his skin, wanted to have you again.

Hawks flew some, and then some more, letting time slip away, until he was agitated to the point that his hands were digging into his outer thighs, nails threatening to rip his clothes.

Snow began to fall on his way back to the cabin, and the gentle wind hurled it to and fro. He could feel the soft droplets fluttering against his skin. The snow felt cold, of course, but he didn't really process it. All he could think about was getting back to you.

When he crossed the threshold, it was like entering another world. The outside whistled with the harsh wind and kicked snow inside, suddenly silenced when he slammed the door. He felt the sudden security of being in his nest, enclosed, private, safe, where it smelt like freshly cut logs and you.

As Hawks stepped into the living room, he realized that you had migrated away from the bed, likely due to the cold. You had brought some blankets and pillows over and haphazardly arranged them in front of the fireplace. You had even dug a rolled-up futon out of the supply closet to pile the bedding on top of. He had forgotten that was even in there.

His boots thumped against the wood floor as he walked, catching your attention. You peered up at him, your eyes failing to mask your excitement at his return.

At a glance, Hawks could see that you had showered while he was away. Your hair was clean, just a tiny bit damp at the ends. As he got closer, he could faintly catch a whiff of the well water that fed into to the cabin lingering on your skin.

It was only natural that you would want to clean off after what he had done to you the past couple days. Hawks was well aware of that and was trying to remain calm about the whole situation; but, the truth was, he was annoyed by your actions.

You had washed him away.

Of course, that could easily be remedied.

Hawks advanced towards you, mindful to not step on the blankets with his boots, to not dirty the nest you made. He lowered onto his haunches first, taking in the sight of you, the sight of the bedding you had arranged without him. You had slipped on one of his shirts and a pair of shorts, not suitable for the weather, but suitable for him. Like this, your body was very accessible, that much was certain.

"I made breakfast, if you're hungry?" you offered, clearly not at all perturbed by his looming and staring. He didn't look annoyed, but oddly intrigued, maybe even flattered by your behavior.

"You have snow in your hair," you observed, smiling at the sight of pale white crystals caught in his blonde locks. You leaned up and reached for him, carefully tousling his hair to shake the snow free.

He waited until you were done preening him and suddenly jerked forward, pushing you onto your back with his torso. He followed with you, knees pinning you beneath him, one falling between your thighs.

When you peered up at him, unperturbed by his behavior, Hawks' gold eyes narrowed and his fangs bared. A sound that you didn't know he was capable of making snarled from behind his teeth and echoed around the room.

It was a growl, not like anything you had heard from a dog, or any animal, really. You didn't know that he could make noises like that. It seemed unfitting for the calm, polite hero that you knew so well. Then again, he had warned you about this.

Maybe, this whole experience was doing something to you, changing you; or, more likely, he was helping you discover things about yourself you never knew existed.

The growl didn't frighten you at all. It made you tremble with excitement, made your skin prickle with goosebumps and heart flutter, made wetness pool between your legs.

Spurred on by him, maybe wanting to rattle the beast's cage a little, you decided to be daring. You lifted a leg, pressed your foot against his chest, and pushed against him. Of course, he didn't budge at all. He was much stronger than you normally, and especially unwavering in this state of mind.

"Take off your clothes," you requested, trying your damn best to sound powerful, unyielding. You sounded firm, sure, but you didn't sound as strong as you wanted to, maybe not strong enough to coerce a beast.

Yet, Hawks' gaze softened, surprising you. He had told you he wanted you to be yourself, to not succumb to his every emotion. It kept him grounded, reminded him that you were here of your own free will, because you wanted to be. Your demand sobered him.

"Whatever you want," he uttered, sultry and low, and it made you tremble with excited goosebumps.

He leaned back, rising to his feet, and began shucking off his clothes in record time. His boots hit the floor noisily before he fumbled with his belt, having it barely undone before it was dragged down his hips by his pants.

He wasn't wearing underwear, you realized, as he shucked his pants off his feet. He lifted his arms and tugged his shirt over his head. The fabric hit the floor and, rather than throwing himself on top of you, Hawks remained standing.

His wings were spread out behind him, crimson feathers bright and imposing. His gold eyes were vibrant, staring you down like a predator seconds away from laying claim to its prey.

However, it didn't go unnoticed to you that he was standing there to allow you to appraise him, as if you had never laid eyes upon his nudity before.

Despite the cold, he had a faint sheen of sweat that was glistening in the light coming from the fireplace, outlining taut abdominal muscles. He hadn't eaten much since his arrival, and that much was obvious by the exaggerated tightness around his core, muscles more enhanced than you had ever seen before.

It felt almost shameful to stare at his crotch, but it was damn near impossible to not admire the heavy cock between his thighs. It was a sight to behold, just like the rest of him. The trail of pale blonde pubes leading from beneath his belly button was practically begging you to stare.

Still, you dragged your gaze back up at his face, where he looked surprisingly anxious, as if there a chance in hell you would tell him no. Sometimes, it was astonishing to think that someone so beautiful could have an ounce of self-doubt. But, he did. Even if he managed to hide it well, you could always spot it, the fear of not being good enough.

"Keigo," you uttered, voice sounding weak over the sound of the crackling fireplace.

Your arms lifted, hands reaching out for him, beckoning him into an embrace. You blinked and suddenly, he was on top of you, torso ushering you back into the sheets while his hands clawed at your shorts, dragging them down your legs.

Hawks panted into your neck, nails biting at the fleshy meat of your thighs as he tried to will himself to calm down. He was being nonsensical. You had been together for a while now. He had fucked you in every position he could possibly think of, held you at night when he could and kissed your mouth like you were his.

Because you were. Yet, despite all that, he felt so pleased that you still chose him, again.

When your hands slid over his shoulders and felt the burning heat of his skin, you felt a tinge of guilt at his state. Deliriously, you wanted to take care of him, to be able to give him everything he needed.

One hand cradling the back of his neck, you pulled him up until his face came into view and you kissed at the corner of his mouth. Encouraged, he followed, tilting his head to capture your lips in a proper kiss.

You felt his shoulders relax as his body slid atop yours, legs tangled and torsos coming together. His hands released your thighs, opting to slide up your sides, beneath your shirt and along the expansion of your ribs, where the pads of his fingers traced the outlines of your bones.

Despite the insistent, throbbing erection trapped against your thigh, burning hot like forged iron, his kisses were gentle, ushering your mouth open to accept his tongue. He kissed you like he had forgotten what your mouth tasted like, tongue slotting over yours eagerly, moaning into the kiss senselessly.

After sometime, you pushed back against his chest until he finally got the message and pulled back from your lips. You tried not to laugh at the childishly irritated scowl on his face, his expression silently reprimanding you for stopping him.

"Lay down," you urged. "I wanna touch you."

"Don't need any more teasing, babe," he protested weakly.

Still, despite his protest, you nudged him pleadingly. Hawks groaned like you had struck him, but complied and began rolling over, bringing you above him.

You watched his wings flex and fan out comfortably beneath him, spread out across the sheets like twin, elegant blankets, mindful of the fireplace. He propped his back up with some pillows, giving him just enough leverage to lean up a little, but not quite in a seated position.

As Hawks got situated, you tweaked one of his nipples between your fingers. He yelped at the touch, shoulders twitching and wings shuddering faintly beneath him. Your hand was ripped away by a grip at the wrist; but, you couldn't hold back a smile as he glared up at you.

That glare disappeared off his face when you started wiggling down his lap. Of course he knew what was coming, especially when you cupped his weeping cock and tenderly lifted it off his abdomen. Yet, excitement clawed up his spine as if he was sincerely surprised.

He hardly registered your tongue lapping at the swollen tip, where he was sticky with precum. He did, however, painfully so, notice when you sank down, enveloping his length in your hot mouth.

For a moment, you just held him against your tongue, reveling in the salty taste and moaning when you felt him throb. You slid up to the tip, failing to notice how tense the rest of him was, back arched and staring down at you intensely, muscles tight from head to toe. When you sank back down, tightening your mouth around his shaft, Hawks cried out suddenly.

His loudness startled you more so than the sudden gush of his seed. His hands grabbed at the bedding. In the corner of your eye, you could see his feathers shuddering beneath him.

Hawks' cock throbbed with each spurt, heavy where it rested against your lax tongue. He was deep enough that his seed spilled right down your throat. You relaxed and swallowed it carefully, cheeks tinted red as Hawks whined above you.

When he came down from his high, he was still impossibly hard, throbbing against your tongue as if he hadn't come at all. You began bobbing your head, excited at the thought of getting him to come again. However, his hands suddenly flew up, grabbed at your cheeks and pulled you off.

You hadn't expected that, resulting in a wet pop and a string of saliva dangling between your drooping bottom lip and his member. Hawks stared for a moment, almost in disbelief at the sight, like something taken straight out of a porno, and not reality.

"God, you look so fucking naughty," he snarled, dragging your face in towards his, forcing you to arch over him. "Dirty fucking girl, aren't you?"

His tongue lapped against your bottom lip, catching your dripping saliva, before entering your mouth without preamble. The wet organ thrashed around senselessly, enjoying the taste of himself on your mouth. After a few seconds, he pulled back with a growl and dragged your shirt up, forcing your arms above your head to free you from the garment.

"Keigo, let me-" you whined.

"Be good," he silenced you in a gentle, albeit commanding, voice.

The world flipped when he spun you back around and your back hit the bedding. His wings fanned out above the two of you, beat against the air once, and flexed, plumes spread out majestically.

"I wanna touch you more," you protested, fingers weaving through his hair with dangerous intent. You gently dug the pads of your fingers into his scalp and watched his head lull from the pleasure, eyes fluttering shut.

"That's not being good," Hawks commented with a groan, making no immediate movement to stop you.

"I wasn't done," you retorted, leaning up to drag your cheek against the stubble on his jaw. You couldn't hold back a shudder at the sensation, soft yet rough hair dragging against your skin.

"Fuck," the winged hero growled, eyes opening to take you in with a faint glare.

Your felt a wandering hand smack gently against your inner thigh, forcing your legs to spread to give him space to settle between them. A digit suddenly grazed your slit, circling your entrance to gather wetness before slipping inside.

It was almost laughable to think he had gone out into the snow to cool off; yet, the heat of your core was tantalizing, so inviting that the touch alone threatened to undo him. You were already slippery and when he effortlessly sought out your sweet spot, you mewled.

Hawks groaned like you had wounded him, the sound practically vibrating from his throat and traveling through him onto you. He tilted his head to nibble at your jaw, breath hot enough to burn your skin where he exhaled against you.

"You're ready for me," Hawks commented lowly, driving his finger inside until his knuckles brushed your folds. "Did you like the taste of my cock that much? -my cum? Feel this - fuck. You're begging for it."

"You're begging for it," you retorted softly, hands carefully untangling from his hair and sliding down to cup his face. You pulled him back, away from your neck, so you could look into his eyes.

"Yeah," he agreed in a low sigh, forehead bumping against yours just a little too roughly. "Want you so fucking bad."

"How bad?" you hummed encouragingly, hiking your legs up on his waist to pull him in.

His finger slipped free, hands shifting to slide over your hips, dragging you into a place more to his liking, pinned beneath him, where you were helpless to much more than squirm. You hiked your legs up on his hips, groaning when he humped at your core, causing his cock to drag against your folds.

"Kinda hurts, if I'm being honest," Hawks groaned out lowly.

"I'll take care of you," you promised, blinking slowly as you stared back at his vibrant gold eyes.

"Yeah?" he uttered weakly. "I can just-"

His tip prodded at your entrance and Hawks cut off, moaning in a wounded manner that had your head spinning. You had seen him get pent-up and frustrated before, after week long missions and months apart; but, he never sounded quite like this.

"Yes," you whispered back harshly.

With a shift of his hips, he was suddenly buried inside you. The sudden intrusion wasn't as startling as the loud noise that escaped Hawks. He shuddered above you, crying out, wings flexing and beating the air, driving him down against you.

"Oh, fuck, Keigo," you whined, realizing he had finished the moment he slipped inside.

His cock throbbed as if to remind you that he wasn't done yet. There was a wet squelch as he slipped out and rammed back inside, nearly drowned out by a guttural, "f-fuck", that he breathed against your neck.

He thrusted a few times, rough rolls of his hips, forcing your walls to accommodate his girth. You couldn't hold back a weak groan. As prepared as you might have been, it was inevitable that there would always be some strain to take him.

Hawks must have assumed that he was taking you too hard, for he slowed down, uttering a weak, "s-sorry."

Yet, the dissatisfaction from his slow pace was far worse than the slight ache when he took it too fast. You didn't want it slow and soft. The last couple days had you wound up, prepared for the promised, carnal passion. You wanted him to fuck you like his life depended on it.

"No," you hissed out, trying to angle your hips up to bring him in harder, fast. "God - no - Keigo, harder-"

With a faint growl, he obeyed that command, the sudden hard roll of the hips forcing you to break off into a loud cry.

"Babe, I'm gonna lose it if you talk like that," he warned, words throaty and rough where they breathed against your skin.

You worked one hand into his hair while the other grabbed at his back, nails biting deliciously into his skin, holding him close, forcing your bodies together.

"I want you to," you uttered between broken moans that he forced out of you with his cock.

Hawks uttered your name lowly, a clear warning.

"God, Keigo, just-" you growled, wiggling around helplessly beneath him. He shifted his weight, holding you down with a growl, as if you were dare trying to escape him.

It was exciting, and had you babbling at him wantonly, "you're so f-fucking sexy and I - I want it. Want you to just - f-fuck me like - ahh, Keigo, your mate."

His arms suddenly wound beneath you and hoisted you off the floor. You cried out, clinging to him in a startle at the sudden verticality. Hawks leaned upright, on his knees in front of the fireplace, holding you up, pressed against his chest, hands gripping your meaty hips to hold you at the perfect angle to fuck up into you.

"My mate? -fuck when you say things like that, makes me fucking - ghhh - fu-uck - you want me to fuck you? Yeah?" he babbled on, whispering harshly right into your ear.

It was a little too close, a little too loud, and left a ringing sensation in your head. Yet, you didn't want to shy away, especially not when he started growling. Clinging to him desperately, you could feel his back muscles shifting as his wings flapped with enough force to knock some logs off the stand.

His head tilted back and took in the sight of your face. Your eyes were struggling to remain open, lips parted lewdly, cheeks tinted a brilliant shade of red.

"You look amazing," he whispered, hot breath fanning over your face. "Fucked stupid on my cock, where you belong."

You moaned lowly, head lulling against his shoulder. You felt his lips press a kiss against your temple and he continued uttering into your hair.

"Gonna fill my pretty mate with cum. Is that what she wants?" he whispered, low and sweet, sultry and downright vulgar. You didn't answer; but, he felt your nails bite into his shoulders, heard your breath briefly catch in your throat.

"Yeah, she does," he agreed, breaking off into a pleased hum.

The wet, fleshy sounds drowned out the noise of the fireplace, accompanied by your helpless mewling and Hawks disgruntled moans and grunts. You were so close like this, held up by his strong grip, chest to chest.

You sought out the strength to peer up and catch a glimpse of his wings shuddering, flexing out from his back either for balance or unconsciously, you couldn't determine. You tore one of your hands from his shoulder and dragged your fingers through his plumes, along the growth until you met his back.

Hawks cried out in a sharp roar. His pace increased exponentially as he rode out his orgasm, wheezing and panting into the space beside your head. That white-hot pleasure overtook you at some point, forcing a startled scream from your throat.

He kept going and going, only slowing down when he was certain you were finished. Suddenly, he slipped out, and the emptiness had you whimpering, head spinning and body aching.

Your back hit the bedding and then your front when Hawks rolled you over. Focused on the ache between your thighs, you barely processed the rustling of the bedding, until Hawks shoved some pillows beneath your abdomen to slightly elevate your lower half.

He propped himself up on his hands and knees, fingers splayed out across the bedsheets on either side of your torso. You felt the tops of his thighs slide against the backs of yours, cock heavy and wet against your core.

The realization of what he was about to do seemed to slap him in the face at that moment, for Hawks suddenly stopped, freezing up behind you.

"Fuck, I need you," he uttered, voice hoarse and low. "Please - please, can I keep going? -still so fucking hard."

You almost didn't recognize the sound of his voice, hoarse and desperate; but, then, his wings beat against the air, sharply reminding you that this was Takami Keigo.

Your cheek was pressed against one of the pillows, arms splayed out above your head, and you realized faintly that you must have been quite the sight, spread out lewdly for him, back curved, ass in the air, presenting to him like a bitch in heat.

There was no sense of obligation spurring your unity; or, if there was, it was an afterthought. All you felt was desire, longing for more, aching to be filled, trembling and void of any coherent thought beyond Hawks.

You could feel his throbbing cock at your entrance, his knees pushing yours apart, his arms trembling on either side of you. He was hovering some odd few inches; yet, he was panting so heavily, you could feel it fanning over your back.

"Keigo," you whispered weakly. "Don't stop."

Your scream drowned out the inhuman growl that escaped him as he shoved his hips forward, sheathing himself inside your velvety heat, as deep as he could possibly go, trying to push his hips further forward as if it wasn't enough.

Hawks fucked you wildly, huffing out sharp breaths mingled with pleasured moans. It didn't take long for him to reposition his hands, one settling on your waist while the other fisted in the bedsheets above your head. He arched over you possessively, wings beating the air to drive him forward. As unnecessary as it was, you couldn't deny the way it stoked the fire inside you.

Before you could even think to ask, one of his feathers wiggled between your thighs, nuzzling against your pearl where it flicked and twirled, pinching at the bud with just enough friction to be pleasurable, but not too hard to be painful.

"Keigo!" you cried out, hands gripping the sheets with enough force to nearly tear them.

"Say my name," tumbled from his lips, like a broken baritone. "Yeah - fuck - my name - say my name. Gonna - ahh - stuff you with my c- ahh - fuck, you feel so good - so good," he babbled on, leaving your head spinning.

He was fucking into you at the perfect angle, ensuring his cock reached your sweet spot with each and every thrust. At some point, coherent thoughts died. Nothing existed beyond the bed sheets, the fireplace, the cabin. All you could think about was the sweet scent lingering on the sheets beneath you and the explosive pleasure Hawks was forcing through your body.

He came again at some point; but, you could hardly tell. Everything was already sopping wet, seed dripping from your cunt and down your thighs, as well his. The sounds he made never ceased, inhuman groans deep in his throat that mingled with each hurried inhale and exhale, in harmony with his thrusts.

His dominant hand slid down your spine, carefully curling at the back of your neck to hold you down. As mindless as it might have appeared, you were acutely aware that he wasn't holding all his weight down.

You were familiar with the power he held, the brute strength hidden beneath his charming and silly demeanor. He could hurt you very easily if he wanted to; but, he never did. Even in this state, his self-control was mind boggling, pinning you with just the right amount of pressure to keep you still, but not enough to cause any discomfort.

'Keigo' fell from your lips, again and again, as if it was the only word you knew. Above you, Hawks seemed to be in the very state he had been worried about, that he had warned you about: blinded by the pleasure of your core, lost to the desires overwhelming his every thought for days.

At some point, he hunched over even further, hardly thrusting properly anymore and just rutting into you, and you felt his lips touch the space between your shoulder blades.

It was hardly a kiss and you realized vaguely that he was drooling a little before you felt the sting of his teeth. Hawks gnawed a path up your back, leaving behind pink, blossoming bruises, before digging his teeth into your shoulder. It wasn't as strong as the last bite, a brief sting before the pain was lost to the pleasure.

He growled into your skin, whole body quaking with sharp tremors, signaling that he had reached orgasm again. You had lost sense of your own awhile ago, always ablaze in white hot pleasure. The mere touch of his hand along your skin, every shift of his hips, the union of your sexes, had you vibrating.

You lost track of how long that went on, how long Hawks kept going, mouth latched onto your skin, slobbering and whimpering into your flesh, while his hips rolled against yours, pinning you between the floor and his unwavering form.

Everything felt too good for you to process how tired you had become, brought to the brink of exhaustion, glistening with sweat from head to toe, kept awake only by his invasion of your body, the drag of his cock along your velvety walls.

Eventually, Hawks began to slow. He carefully removed his teeth from your shoulder and gave a few more thrusts, letting out a low whine that you could guess was one last, final orgasm.

His feather departed your slippery folds, leaving you aching and spent, and he remained buried as deep as he possibly could, hips pressed tightly against yours.

Hawks nuzzled his face into the back of your neck, panting wildly, and you felt what you could only describe as vibrations rumbling from his chest, so violently that it had you shaking beneath him. It was almost alarming, but the tremors steadily waned as his breathing relaxed.

Carefully, Hawks turned you onto your side, shoved the pillow beneath you away, and curled into the space between you, pressed tightly against your back, skin touching in every spot that was possible. His wings stretched out behind him, past the boundary of the bedding and spread out across the floor, lax like the rest of him.

Hawks adjusted your legs carefully, stretching them out with his own until they were comfortably laying side by side, all whilst ensuring his cock remained lodged inside you. The strain wasn't unpleasant; rather, you were surprised by how good it felt.

"Keigo?" you uttered weakly, voice so low, you were surprised he even heard you.

You felt his lips kiss at your throat and a hand settle over your tummy, fingers splayed. He uttered your own name back, as if reassuring, before his fingers moved around, sliding up and down your side soothingly.

You willed your eyes to open and watched the flames inside the hearth dance briefly before your gaze darkened and you drifted off to sleep, lulled by the sounds of the storm brewing outside and Hawks breathing softly behind you.

He didn't join you in the abyss, but watched over you cautiously, as if you could possibly be in any danger. The storm outside wasn't particularly worrisome, but it made it impossible for him to pick up sounds beyond the boundary of the cabin.

If you had turned to look upon his face, you would have seen his pupils miniscule, gold iris vibrant and wild. There was no chance that anyone would possibly disturb you, and his sensible self would have known that; but, as he was now, rut peaked and beast sufficiently satisfied, Hawks couldn't be told otherwise.

An arm drooped loosely over your waist, holding you close, and he listened to the soothing beats of your heart as you drifted into a peaceful slumber.

[sychjelly]

-‘๑’- excerpt 01

彡 From  ‟ born from stone, she was a flower in the night ”.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

He can still clearly recall her features and accurately retell them, remembering even to the slightest details like the scar she had on her thigh, obtained through a nasty scuffle with the other gods. She donned a beautiful white gown with golden cranes embroidered in the silk, golden flowers lining the edges and sleeves. On her head would lie a stunning glaze lily, its colors always so vivid and alive despite being removed from its soil. 

Her silky white hair was kept up by a delicate golden pin that bore the design of a majestic dragon, accompanied by the many gold accessories that lay in her hair like petals from a cherry tree. Everytime she opened her eyes would be comparable to seeing the ocean, so carefree and livid, full of new things to explore and see. But her eyes had always carried sadness within them, and back then, he had been too young to understand. 

Or perhaps he was too naïve instead.

She had the ability to glance into the future, and while she didn't have the strength and willpower of Morax, she would do everything she can to prevent a tragic end, even as to go as far as to beg another god for help. Yet she couldn't prevent the most tragic end of all. 

Her own demise. 

He can still remember it. Remember everything that happened. Remember the day he had lost her to the corruption. 

It wasn't a sudden thing - and he wished that it had been instead, hoped that it would have been short termed. The corruption turned those infected into monsters, beings with no mind nor no emotion. They harbored the cruelest, most ruthless creatures there ever existed, infecting their once pure minds like a plague. It wasn't contagious, as if the virus had a mind of its own, always going for something far stronger than its current host. 

It was a parasite.

A parasite that could infect the Gods, but it had been their job to seal away those bad spirits that had been exposed to it. Or even seal the parasite entirely, of which Morax had done and has continued till this day. 

He still remembers the day when she had come to him, a gentle smile on her face as they embraced. As they pulled away, he could see the bittersweetness in her clear blue eyes with a strange sense of forewarning. But she didn't warn him of anything, rather, she had told him to promise her something. 

"If I ever do get corrupted, please have mercy on my soul and kill me." 

He had been shocked to hear that. Completely shocked to the bone. 

"I will protect you. I won't let you get infected." He had protested, but all she did was shake her head. Those eyes bore the pain of experience - but of what, he didn't know. 

"Please, Morax. It would do us no good if I live as a corrupt being." She continued to plead, her voice shaky. 

Not wanting to continue on such an unbearable topic any further, all he could do was nod and promise her her wish. Unknowingly, he had promised her a promise that he'd regret for the rest of his life, for he only thought that the corruption would never reach her soul. 

He was wrong to think she would be spared from such a plague. 

Decades passed smoothly with no obstacle, until that fateful day came knocking at his door. 

It was the middle of the night, where the moon was at its highest, that he heard a loud cry for help in the valleys of Liyue. He had none to do, and decided to investigate. The plea of a commoner that had wandered into the Adepti's territory, he had thought naïvely, but he hadn't expected it to be the plea of a human for a god to save another. 

There she lay, shadowed in darkness, cloaked in a black that wasn't her own. It stained her clothes, spread across her body like a plague, corrupting her body and soul with every passing second, the darkness consuming her whole. Only then he truly felt fear - the fear of loss. 

How she had been infected, he did not know. But he knew something. He had to help. 

He had rushed to her aid, his arms embracing her body as she writhed in his grasp, the darkness gnawing at her skin and bones. Yet her eyes, her eyes still kept the same crystal blue that had always met his with such fondness. Though he knows, he knows that same pureness wouldn't last. 

"You promised me something, Morax." She had said to him in his arms, her body trembling like a leaf in the wind. Despite that, her gaze was solid and strong, her eyes piercing through his own with such intensity. He can recall, he knows what she's referring to, but he cannot bear to think of it.

"Guizhong… please, I cannot-" He had begun, but quickly fell short of his words when he couldn't find anything to say. Nothing but worry clouded his eyes, and he found himself backed into a corner for the very first time. He'd do something - anything - but he well knew that once the corruption had its firm hold on someone, it would not let go. 

If she had told him before, showed him her corrupted wounds… 

Tears stung his eyes like needles. 

"It would be better. For all of us." Her hand rose to caress his cheek, a gentle smile spreading across her features. Her smile was a smile like none other, full of warmth and love for him. It was genuine, real… real. But it was short-lived for she succumbed to a fit of messy coughs right after, dark red mixed with hideous shades of purple splattering onto the ground below them. 

He couldn't move. Couldn't think. 

"I can't let you go… not like this." Was all he could muster, teeth gritting in regret as he felt her body grow colder. He had desperately cast a sealing spell in hopes of stopping the parasite or perhaps even seal it entirely, but the magic in his palm faded whenever he tried.

She was too far infected to cure, but he didn't let himself come to that conclusion. 

"There has to be some way. There has to be." His voice cracked with heartbreak as he continued to try everything he could think of, going so far as to cast the most complicated spells at the risk of his own strength. Everything failed, and all Guizhong could do was look on silently as his efforts took no root. 

"It won't be long, Morax." Her voice became raspy, rough from the coughs that erupted from her chest. He could hear her lungs wheeze in effort everytime she spoke, and he could feel his heart shatter all the more. The corruption had begun making its way over to her face, infecting her pale cheeks with a dark shade of devilish purple. 

"Guizhong, please, stay with me." His own voice had turned into a meek one, like a child going to their parents after a horrible nightmare. He lay his hand on her chest and rested his head on hers, his eyes shut tight with heartache. Her hand gently caressed over his, their slim fingers intertwining. 

"When I turn, I will no longer be Guizhong." She had whispered in such a quiet voice, her once blue eyes heavy with tiredness. The pain fizzled in her body like electricity, and she found herself losing her feelings in her limbs. All she could do was lift her free hand slowly, up to caress Morax's scarred cheek. 

"I know that." He'd murmured, biting back his tears, hand squeezing hers with such desperation. He couldn't cry now. He didn't want her last image of him to be one of tears. 

"Then you of all people, should know what must be done." 

He could feel his nose turn sour. And he felt something cold roll down his cheeks. He knows what it is, feels what it is, but he doesn't hold back - the emotional pain was like a wave, crashing onto him with such force and sheer impact. 

"But you're still you. Please, Guizhong. Stay with me." He pleads, his heart cracking with heartache. Every part of him was pitiful, and he was supposed to be a god of stone. Yet he was shattering, breaking into a million pieces before a Goddess that had failed her own people. 

"Time is not on our side, Morax." She'd urged him once more, her own hand squeezing his. She smiled sadly, leaning closer into his chest. Tears soaked into his robe, and he realised that it wasn't just his own. "Always remember that I will be by your side, no matter what happens… even after my mortal vessel expires."

She gave him the brightest smile as she spoke, and he burned that smile into his brain for he knew it would be her last.

As she raised her head once more, her eyes flickered open with an aura of hostility, an unreadable look on her face. Her eyes were no longer the crystal blues they once were - now they harbored nothing but the effects of the corruption. They were purple, black slitted, and there was nothing but hatred and anger that flared within like a wildfire. 

It was then Morax knew for good that she was gone. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ this post is just to kick start things. this is but a small excerpt of the 4k words i wrote while sleep deprived :D

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ anyway, hope you enjoyed, if you’d want to read the entire thing, link is here ✦ !

[midnight0stars]

YOU SURE CAN!

I will always love writing with Xemnas until the end of time. Thank you SO much for the Ko-Fi and for the support!

Enjoy!!

**Rough!Xemnas x Fem!Reader NSFW**

Words: 2445

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Your footsteps echoed through the desolate halls of the castle as you walked alone. The golden glow of the moonlight poured in through the tall, thin windows that lined the white walls. You admired the heart shaped moon as your thoughts wandered, it was chilling to be completely alone in the castle, even though it happened quite often. Every other Member was gone on their own missions, or resting alone in their chambers. No matter how you tried, there was no rest for you. Every time you shut your eyes it was just a stark reminder of just how isolated you were.

There weren’t any true emotions for you, not for a Nobody, but somehow, loneliness seemed prevalent regardless. It was the only thing that you could fathom, the only thing that you could put a name to. That was, unless you were with him.

Maybe that’s where you were headed. A subconscious path in hopes of crossing paths with your Superior. You weren’t exactly sure when or how it had started, but he was the only thing that could make you forget just how empty you were. The way he handled you behind closed doors… there wasn’t anyway to experience anything other than pure ecstasy. That thought alone made your breath hitch as your hands clenched at your sides.

Yes… That’s what you needed.  

Your pace quickened and you weren’t exactly sure where you were going. Lord Xemnas never exactly disclosed where his quarters were located in the castle. You were always sent there by a Corridor, whenever he and he alone wanted you there. You’re only hope was to find him wandering the halls like you were.

As you turned the corner, it was as if the song of destiny was singing your thoughts because there he was. His eyes barely glanced at you as he continued walking, but even for that fleeting second, you sensed the spark in his gaze that sent a pulse of anticipation through you. Neither of you acknowledged the other, even though deep down, you yearned to be in his arms. You kept your eyes forward, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering nearly out of control as his arm brushed against yours as he passed. Just as you were about to let out the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, his hand grabbed your arm.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, just before he pushed your against the wall in one swift motion. A gasp slipped out of you as his lips crashed against yours, his tongue forcing its way deep into your mouth. You moved to wrap your arms around his shoulders, but instead, his fingers gripped your wrists, pinning them above your head so tightly, you were sure there would be a faint bruise marking you there the rest of the week. The thought made you moan, completely at his mercy as he nipped your bottom lip and harshly grinded his hips against yours.

The bulge of his cock was already hard, as if you hadn’t been the only one thinking about finding the other. He rubbed it perfectly between your legs, the sensation just vivid enough to send your mind reeling with memories of him pounding in and out of you.

The kiss broke in a rush, his mouth taking over your neck as you struggled to take in a breath of air with your chest heaving. A cry came up your throat, resonating through the empty halls as his teeth sunk into the curve of your shoulder, sending a spike of pain mixed perfectly with pleasure through you.

“Meet me in your quarters.” He ordered, his deep voice vibrating though you before he bit the lobe of your ear.

You whimpered, nodding frantically, “Y-Yes, Lord Xemnas.”

The moment the words left your mouth, he was gone, walking away as if nothing had happened. Your legs trembled, your knees weak as your heavy breaths filled the otherwise quiet air around you. If you had a heart, you were sure it would have been pounding in your ears. Instead, you were left with shaking breath and a flushed face.

Swallowing hard, you attempted to regain your composure. It didn’t matter how many times Lord Xemnas took you, he never failed to melt you completely to his whims. Part of you considered summoning a Corridor to get back to your room, but the excitement of having to walk back and having time to grow the anticipation in your gut won out. Instead, you pushed yourself off the wall and forced a steady pace back to your room, in case of any other wandering Members seeing you.

A faint smile curved the tip of your lips, fantasies running rampant through your mind and you relished every second of them. The empty loneliness was long forgotten, replaced with an excitement only your Superior could give you. Your breath shook as you placed your hand against your door, just about to push it open.

Just what did your Superior have in store for you?

Shutting your eyes, you let out the shaking breath and opened the door. To your surprise, the room was empty. Your bed left unmade from your rush that morning to make it to mission debriefing, and piles of books stacked over your desk from studying them the night before. No sign of your Superior.

A huff slipped out of you as you leaned back against your door. He must have been needed for something by another Member. Grabbing the zipper to your coat, you slipped it down, allowing the thick fabric to pool on the floor. Usually, you’d fold it neatly over your chair, or hang it up in your closet, but tonight, you simply kicked it aside before taking off your boots. By the time you sat on the edge of your bed, all you were left in was a thin tank and undies.

You scanned your eyes around the room, as if hoping you’d see you Superior silently watching as you had undressed. Instead, you saw nothing but the empty room. Sighing, you laid back on the plush comforter, your eyes sliding shut as your fantasies continued through your mind. Each one became more intense than the last, and without knowing exactly when it started happening, your fingertips begam tracing over your body. Soft moans and gasps slipped between your lips as you teased your sensitive parts, wishing it was Xemnas instead of your own touch, but you just couldn’t wait any longer.

A warmth covered your fingers as they slipped past your undied and between your folds. You were already soaked, begging to be toyed with.

“On your knees,” Xemnas’ low voice made your entire body freeze as your eyes opened. He stood at the foot of your bed, that half smirk pulling at his lips that never failed to make you throb.

Scrambling to sit up, you slipped out your slicked hand from between your legs, your cheeks flushed from embarrassment as you stammered, “L-Lord Xemnas, I’m–”

“On your knees,” he repeated, his voice even lower and more commanding.

You looked up at him, your lips parting at the way his eyes bored into you. With a silent nod, you slid off the bed onto your knees keeping your gaze locked with his. His coat was already off, leaving his scarred chest bared as he only kept on his pants. You knew what he wanted and the thought made you smirk as your hands went to work on undoing his buckle. Part of you wondered if he would mind how the slicked pleasure on your fingers was spreading over his belt and zipper, but further down, you loved the idea of him having to clean it off later. Without fully pushing down his pants, you pulled down his boxers just far enough to free his throbbing shaft.

It never failed to cause your breath to hitch as you looked it over, your hand languidly pumping the entire length as it twitched in your grasp. This time, however, you were barely given time to admire as his hand fisted in your hair and he pushed his cock past your lips. You gagged out a moan, his cock prodding the back of your throat as his hips bucked forward, pushing him even further.

Your hands gripped his legs, before he growled, making you pull back your touch and keeping your hands clasped in your lap.

“Continue what you were doing when I arrived,” he ordered, his voice just ever so slightly strained as he continued to pump himself in and out of your mouth at his own pace.

You whined, excitement coiling in your gut as your hands immediately went back to work. His precum spread over your tongue with each thrust, giving away just how much he was enjoying this, despite the way his face remained composed. Your eyes stayed locked with his, taking note of the slightest way his breath wavered, and his hair tousled. Seeing him become undone was something you treasured and it never failed to work you up even further.

Your fingers slicked perfectly between your folds; you were somehow even wetter than before and Xemnas knew it. His smirk grew, even as his lips parted and his hand tightened in your hair with each snap of his hips. Your tongue lapped over every inch of him that you could reach, but you were barely able to manage it as you struggled to keep yourself from choking with each slam of him against the back of your throat. It was intoxicating and part of you wanted him to go even harder. Your own hips rolled against your fingers, wishing it was him slamming inside of you and just the thought of it made you moan, your voice vibrating through his cock and causing the slightest moan to come out of you Superior.

He pulled out of you, a thin strand of saliva stringing from your lips as more dripped down the sides of your mouth. Tugging on your hair, he wordlessly ordered you to stand, which you did without question. Before you could even take in a full breath, his lips crashed against yours, his soaked cock rubbing roughly between your legs. You moaned into his mouth, your voice filling the room as he broke the kiss and bit your neck hard enough to leave a considerable mark. The spike of pain jerked your hips forward, making Xemnas growl against your neck. Releasing your hair, he grabbed your shoulders and shoved you back onto the bed. You gasped as you bounced back, staring up at him as he climbed over you and pulled off your undies in a single motion.

His hands hooked into your shirt next, pushing it up and past your breasts, where his lips devoured them almost instantly. Your back arched, your fingers digging into his back, only spurring him onwards as his tongue pressed against your nipples, just before he nipped and sucked so hard, you were sure there would be hickeys to admire for days to come. His fingers met between your legs, making you cry out as he pinched your folds between his fingers. Each motion spiked pain through you, but it only heightened the growing, overwhelming pleasure inside of your. He switched breasts, just as his fingers pushed roughly inside of you. You cried out in unison with his groan as he pulled off your breast, meeting his eyes back with yours.

“You are soaking.” He told you, that same smirk pulling at his lips when you nodded, not caring how desperate you seemed. “You yearned for me that badly?”

“Y-yes,” you barely managed the word as he sucked your nipple, pulling back with a pop.

He climbed off of you entirely, chuckling as you whined. Grabbing your hips, he flipped you onto your stomach, making you gasp from the sudden movement.

“On your knees,” he told you, pulling your up until you were on all fours.

You whimpered, knowing where he was heading next and you couldn’t wait for it. The moment you were in position, he slammed himself deep inside of you, making your entire body rock forward as you cried out. His hands gripped your hips, giving him the perfect leverage as he pulled out and delved right back in, until he couldn’t go any further. Your fingers dug into your sheets, clenching further with every meeting of his hips against yours.

His hand reached forward, fisting your hair and pulling back your head. Every jerk of his hips, every heaving breath from his chest, you could feel it through his grip and every tug on your scalp. The pain melded in perfect harmony with the ecstasy building in your gut.

Your voice filled the room, each tug becoming harder as his movement became more erratic. His breaths were short, his moans low and deep, vibrating through you and resonating with your voice.

“Come for me,” he ordered, finally giving you the release you craved as on command, the coil of pleasure inside of you snapped free.

Your head slung further back, allowing him to pull your hair even harder as you cried out, every inch of your body exploding with fireworks of ecstasy. His name poured from your lips, mixing with your moans as he slammed his hips and froze inside of you. A low, long groan slipped out of him, his fingers tightening and digging into your scalp as he came. You glanced back at him, watching the way his lips parted, his eyes sliding shut without a care if you watched.

Fuck, he was beautiful.

Your arms trembled as the climax began to fade and you crumbled onto the bed, Xemnas’ grip on your hair loosening as his hand slid along your back. He pulled out of you, and you could feel his cum dripping down your leg as he cleaned himself off. With half lidded eyes, you watched him pull back on his coat, seeing his stoic composure returning as he merely allowed the after waves of the orgasm to wash through him without reveling in it as you were.

“Thank you,” you squeaked, your hoarse voice nearly cracking as he stopped and looked over at you, “Lord Xemnas.”

His eyebrow quirked up as the corner of his lips tipped into the slightest smirk. A chuckle rumbled in his chest as he zipped up his coat, not giving you a verbal reply as he summoned a Corridor portal. Just as he was about to walk through it, he looked you over one last time as his smirk grew. Then he was gone.

[achliegh]

Grounded

Okay SO I really like Leo, I resonate with him as a character and his personality is like mine yet he is actually a good person. I don’t really know how to write happy, lovey-Dovey shit it makes me very uncomfortable and I just can’t. SO imma make this boy suffer but its just me projecting okay. Sorry Leo I Love you. Please read at your own risk, this is not an easy angst and can trigger people. Most of this is me venting through my own struggles in life and how I have handled them.

CW/TW: Food, Past Abusive relationship, Anxiety, Depression, Panic Attack, past age difference relationship (Illegal)

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Besides Luka, I made him up, don’t care for him tho

Coming off the ice with everyone was unusual to say the least, every normal day Leo would stay and practice with Kasey and their goalie coach. The Goalie Coach was sick and so was all their family. So today Leo and Kasey got off early and were able to shower and mess around with the other guys. Leo was so excited to drive home with his boys, he couldn’t stop smiling.

After a cool down, a shower and a few towel snaps to his ass from a rambuncis Kuny and James, they were walking out of the locker room to the players lounge. A “ding” came from Leo's phone and he went to look but stopped dead in his tracks when he saw coach Arthur talking to someone who looked very familiar. They were laughing at something Coach said, his boys looked back to him and Logan raised an eyebrow as Finn followed Leo's gaze.

“Shit” Leo went to move his hands to grab his hair but forgot his phone was in his hand and dropped it. His phone landed loudly on the floor making everyone look at him, but the only person he saw was Luka. Luka was Leo’s Ex-Boyfriend, they started dating when Leo was only 15 and Luka was 19, he used Leo as a toy! He made him do things he didn’t want to and act in a way that was cruel and he hurt him, in more ways than one. And… Leo thought he loved him. Looking back on everything he realized that this wasn’t a healthy relationship but it was his first real relationship.

“Leo?” Luka was staring at him surprised for a moment then an evil smirk started to slowly spread across his face. He was stupidly gorgeous and that was how he tricked people into relationships. His sharp brown eyes, his light hair practically white from bleach with his dark eyebrows, his giant muscular arms covered in tattoos and one of those just happen to be a Leo constellation. Leo was gonna be sick.

He could feel himself holding his breath practically waiting for something to cause him to crash. He knew his eyes were panicked so he decided to go complete goalie, no emotion, just nothing. He picked up his phone dusting it off and looked at his boys. Logan was concerned and Finn was just outright confused.

“You two know each other?” Finn asked when Leo finally met his eye, he had never mentioned anything about this guy or shown them pictures like he did with all his other friends back home. Yeah there were very few friends back home but maybe he only had a few friends! Finn never thought that Leo would have hid a whole person from them. Finn looked back at this man and saw this smirk, it was almost seductive and he was looking Leo up and down as if he was this guy's next meal. Then it clicked, this had to be an ex or maybe a one night stand, they knew Leo had the most sexual experience so it was plausible. But why Hide him?

Logan stepped towards Leo not having noticed Luka at all and put a hand on his forearm. Leo full on flinched away and so did Logan. Logan had seen Leo have panic attacks and knew when he needed contact and when he needed to be alone based on his mental state. Looking into his boyfriend's eyes, he needed to be alone. He turned and looked at Finn who was analysing the new guy so he grabbed Leo's hand slowly and started leading him out the door and towards the car. This caught Finn's attention and he followed them as they all silently got into the car.

Leo had completely shut down; he couldn’t think, speak, breath, or really do anything without feeling like he was 15 again. He shut everything out and put in his airpods turning his music up as loud as he could so no one could ask him questions. He gripped his sweatpants through his pockets where he stuffed his hands to keep from fidgeting and closed his eyes.

Finn reached for Logan's hand and squeezed it looking back at their boyfriend and then back at him. “I think that guy and Leo have a past.”

“From Leo's reaction I can guess that it wasn’t a good past.”

“Should we try to talk to him about this or should we wait until he talks to us?” Finn started the car and started driving back to the apartment but the only thing on his mind were the millions of questions slamming around. “What did you think about that guy?” he pulled into the parking garage and was looking for a spot.

“I wasn’t really paying attention to him. I was trying to figure out how I should approach Leo in a way that wouldn’t send him spiraling.” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose as Finn pulls into a parking spot. Leo was out the door so fast and he took the stairs up to the apartment instead of the elevator. The two left in the vehicle looked at each other for a second then both got out and ran after their boy. When they finally got to the apartment the door was still open and they could hear reaching sounds from the hallway bathroom.

Panicked Finn closed the door after them and grabbed a water bottle from the kitchen as Logan ran into the bathroom. Logan knelt next to Leo who had his arms crossed over the seat of the toilet with his forehead resting on his forearms. He was shaking in small tremors as everything, all the memories all the hurt came flooding back to him at once. Logan tried to set a comforting hand on his back.

Leo scrambled away wiping his mouth fitting his giant body into the small space between the toilet and the bathtub, curling in on himself raising his hands to block his face. “Don’t touch me! Don’t hurt me!” he started sobbing covering his face with his hands as Logan and Finn watched with their hearts hurting.

Both of them were wondering what happened to Leo to cause this. This level of fear wasn’t caused by a bad break up or a terrible one night stand. This was intense and made both of them sick with sadness. After about an hour Leo finally started calming down and the boys never left his side but also gave him space.

“Leo, baby it's Finn.” He came further into the bathroom from where he was standing in the doorway. He took the cap off the water bottle and was holding it out to Leo not wanting to trigger Leo again. Leo looked out from behind his hands at him and his heart broke with Leo's wide scared eyes being the brightest blue he’d ever seen, even with a puffy face and red rimmed eyes Leo still tugged at Finn's heart in a good way. It almost made him feel guilty because Leo was struggling right now. “ Can you drink some of this for me please?” He held the water a little closer to him and Leo took it, shakily, he took a chug big enough to empty half the bottle.

Just from that one drink Leo started to feel queasy all over again, still breathing hard but slowly coming back to himself, he needed to hear and feel his boys to ground him. He reached for Finn, dropping the water bottle and having it spill on the ground as he pulled himself out of his small space and into Finn's arms, gripping him like a lifesaver in the middle of the ocean. “Please say something, anything, I don’t care” He looked up to logan from over finns shoulder and reached for him as well.

“Why don’t we go get changed and get into bed mon coeur?” Logan grabbed his hand and was looking right into Leo’s soul, he felt himself nod because he was going to start crying again because of how much love he was slowly remembering he had. They stood him up slowly, he didn’t realize it but they must have flushed the toilet during his panic because he only saw clean now. They took him out of his clothes and laid him in bed in just his underwear, as requested, Skin on skin was needed right now. They crawled into bed, Leo rested his head on Finn's shoulder intertwining their hands as Logan laid his head on his chest. “We love you mon soleil” Logan would whisper to him over and over.

“We love you forever” Finn would run his thumb over Leo's hand and whisper into his hair.

Leo decided that these two lovely boys needed to know what happened and Leo needed to let them know for their own safety. He had been talking to Heather about this stuff for the year he was with the lions but it never felt like enough. He knew the boys had noticed his odd behavior, jumping when the phone rang or a door slammed too hard, anyone raising their voice around him (especially those two), and always apologizing as soon as one of them looked slightly annoyed.

“His name was Luka, the guy Arthur was talking to. He’s my Ex and…” he trailed off his hand that was tracing patterns on Logans back stilling as he swallowed the lump in his throat. “He has done a lot of bad things to me, I mean we started dating when he was 19, he is four years older than me. So, I felt like I needed to do everything he said I mean I was just a kid! I lost my virginity to him! I would do anything he told me to, whether it was something I was comfortable with or not. He.. he would threaten or hit me if I didn’t do what he said. I learned to do everything he said and momma was so scared for me but I was an idiot and believed I could handle myself. She never saw the bruises but she knew something was happening. I-I couldn’t take it anymore and I ran away from him one night and he said he would always know where I am and whose in my life and I never wanted anyone to feel trapped with me so that was the other reason why I never watched to get attached to anyone at all when I got drafted even though it was a year after I left him. Seeing him today-” everything came spilling out like he couldn’t stop and he was crying again with sobs wracking his body as his boys clung to him in a desperate plea to prove he was safe.

“Leo, we will always be there for you no matter what. We will protect you.” Logan was talking in a slow soothing voice as he wiped away his tears and kissed his forehead. “Nothing changes the way we love you” Finn was squeezing his hand and had tears pricking his own eyes as everything Leo spilled to them was just setting into his mind. HIS Leo was treated that way by a man the same age as he is. Finn couldn’t imagine treating anyone like that.

“We don’t make you feel trapped, do we? I mean we are the same age as him, but I want you to know that I could never hurt you like that Leo, I can’t even think about something like that happening to you.” A few tears fall as he wraps his free arm around both his boys holding tightly.

"I'm so happy you told us Peanut" Logan saw the tiniest smile at the pet name. "I won't ever let him touch you again! If we ever make you feel like that in any way please tell us"

“You could never make me feel that, I feel the safest I have in a long time with you two. You keep me grounded.”

[strangeradventuresofp]

second thoughts (legolas x reader)

The Fellowship of the Ring - Part 4

masterlist

warnings: mentions of death, smoking, straying from canon, secret spilled, SUUUPER long a/n lol sorry

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

a/n: hello my lovelies! its long overdue i know im so sorry! i kinda fell of the train for a while, but im back and super excited to present chapter 4 of second thoughts! thank you all for being so sweet and loving and understanding with me, i appreciate it so much! also in the meantime i hit 400 followers! incredible are you kidding me? i appreciate all 412 of you i love you with my all my heart and THANK YOU. if you would like to participate in my follower celebration you can see that here or look at the pinned post on my blog page. SO all the BORING stuff out of the way (im kidding) this chapter is completely made up, none of this is canon but it takes place while they are at Lothlorien. i thought it would be fun to add a chapter completely made up to develop some of the readers relationships ! i hope you enjoy this and thank you all so much for bearing with me!!<3

“Stay close, young hobbits.” Gimli spoke in a whisper once you were further into the woods. “They say a great sorceress lives in these woods. An elf-witch of terrible power. All who look upon her fall under her spell… And are never seen again.”

“But is there any truth to it?” You asked, unsure. These woods were happily familiar to you, you must have had good experiences here.

“I do not know, lass. But either way, here’s one dwarf she won’t ensnare so easily. I have eyes of a hawk and ears of a fox—” A gasp escaped your lips as you came face to face with many arrow heads in your direction.

“The dwarf breathes so loud; we could have shot him in the dark.” A – very attractive – elf emerged among the arrows. He eyes washed over you and your breath caught in your throat. He was strangely familiar, too.

Legolas had noticed the other elf’s eyes studying you and for some reason felt a surge of a strange feeling passing through his body. He did not like the way that he looked at you.

“Haldir of Lorien. We come here for help. We need your protection.” Aragorn spoke fluently. The elf cocked an eyebrow.

“Aragorn, these woods are perilous. We should go back.” Gimli suggested, sounding rather irritated.

“Quiet, Gimli.” Your words were soft, looking curiously at Haldir who returned the gaze.

“You have entered the realm of the Lady of the Wood. You cannot go back.” His eyes turned to Frodo. “Come. She is waiting.” He turned, and you followed.

Soon after, you found yourselves in Lothlorien, stepping up a tall, spiralling staircase. It was strange, for a reason that you could not explain or even pinpoint. But the peculiar could not overwrite its beauty. The staircase brought you to a beautiful arched building, supported by the tree branches it was built upon. It was white and glowing, and your eyes were fixed upon it entirely. Another staircase lay in front of you, of which two elves were situated on top, a man and a woman. He guided her down the steps with his hand. She was beautiful. Her skin was pale and her hair a platinum gold0silver. Her skin was flawless, her body covered by a gorgeously detailed white frock.

“Nine there are here yet ten there were set out from Rivendell. Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him.” The man questioned. The woman’s eyes fell over your frame and you met them. Her gaze was intense.

“He has fallen into shadow.” She did not stop looking at you and you breathed silently, nodding slightly. She turned to Aragorn, and then at the other members of the Fellowship. “The quest stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all.” Her eyes wandered, fixing on Boromir whose forehead was smothered in beads of sweat and he avoided her look. You noticed, brows knitting together in confusion. Legolas had also noticed, though he said and did nothing. “Yet hope remains while the company is true. Do not let your hearts be troubled. Go now and rest, for you are weary with sorrow and much toil. Tonight, you will sleep in peace.”

~~~

It did not take long for you to get settled in, nor anyone else. You were each given fresh clothes and an opportunity to bathe. When the nine of you regathered to settle for bed, you chuckled to see that Aragorn looked the same as he had before. Legolas gave her a smile and stood beside her. You swallowed, thinking that he looked rather charming in the detailed silver tunic that wrapped his built torso. It suited him. In his hands he held a silver jug and he let out a breath.

“A lament for Gandalf.” He said, softly. You gave him a small smile which he returned.

“What do they say about him?”

“I have not the heart to tell you. For me, the grief is still too near.” You squeezed Legolas’ hand comfortingly, sharing a smile with him. Merry nudged Pippin, pointing at the two of you.

“It’s only a matter of time, young Pippin.” He whispered, a grin on his face.

“What does that mean?” Sam asked, but he was quickly shushed by the mischievous hobbits. Merry pointing yet again to you and Legolas.

“Do you think Y/N and Legolas will ever get together, Sam?” Sam shrugged to Pip’s question before they decided to continue preparing for bed. Meanwhile, Aragorn had made his way over to Boromir, who was sat in solitary with his head pointed towards the ground.

“Take some rest; these borders are well protected.”

“I will find no rest here.” Boromir declared. That caught your attention. You frowned, walking over to him, sitting beside him with a small smile ghosting over your lips. He let out a shaky breath. “I heard her voice inside my head. She spoke of my father and the fall of Gondor. She said to me, ‘even now, there is hope left’. But I cannot see it. It is long since we had any hope.” Tears pooled in your eyes listening to him and you sighed silently, hugging his torso whilst he placed his arm around your shoulders.

“My father is a noble man, but his rule is failing. And our—our people lose faith. He looks to me to make things right, and I would do it. I would see the glory of Gondor restored.” His lips tugged up gently at the edges. “Have you ever seen it, Aragorn? The White Tower of Ecthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, its banners caught high in the morning breeze. Have you ever been called home by the clear ringing of silver trumpets?” It was not until that moment that you truly noticed how much you missed home. A few tears strayed from your eyes, racing down your face. You closed your eyes, leaning into Boromir’s side, sniffling quietly.

“I have seen the White City… Long ago.”

“One day, our paths will lead us there. And the tower guard shall take up the call – the Lords of Gondor have returned.” He smiled, turning to you to wipe the tears from your face before you pulled him into a hug. What he had said had terrified you. The fall of Gondor. Your home. And would any be there to save it? Or would people rather see it perish? After all, Denethor was completely useless and never aided those in need, so why would any come to Gondor’s need?

You stood, wiping your face with a small sniffle. Sighing, you walked away from the others, ambling off to wherever you could be on your own for a while. You took a seat on a flat tree root in a secluded area, trying to process the information about Gondor. You were so engrossed in your thoughts that you had not noticed the presence of another. As someone cleared their throat, you looked up, startled.

“Haldir. Forgive me I was—”

“Lost in your own mind?” He offered you a small smile.

“Exactly.” You chuckled. “It’s beautiful here, truly.” He stayed silent, taking a seat beside you. “It is strangely familiar to me.”

“Strange?” He questioned, tilting his head in confusion.

“Like I came here once in a dream.”

“Like a distant memory.”

“Exactly.” You smiled. Haldir watched you curiously, but with a knowing look spread across his face. As you turned to look at him, a realisation dawned upon you, and you found yourself repeating his words, “a distant memory…” He nodded once before standing, looking down at you.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” And with that, he was gone.

~~~

You had not slept very much during the night; you hoped that the next few nights would be better for you. The morning came around fast though, and soon enough everyone was awake and breakfasting. Not being particularly hungry, you only had a small breakfast. If it were up to you, you would not have eaten at all, but you did not want Sam to worry. Pippin and Merry were clamouring persistently to Boromir about how they wanted to practice. You watched them for a while, giggling at their stupidity before Aragorn sat beside you.

“Where did you wander off to last night?”

“I just wanted to be alone. A lot has happened in the last week; it all caught up to me.”

“You’re alright, Y/N.” He gently clapped you on the shoulder and you smiled at him, though tears gathered in your eyes.

“It is where I grew up, for the most part. I do not want to see it fall. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to help the way I want.” A stray tear fell down your face and Aragorn gently wiped it away with the pad of his thumb before he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Forgive me, I do not wish to be so emotional.”

“It happens to the best of us, mellon nin.” He gave you a smile which you gladly returned. “There’s that beautiful smile.”

Legolas watched the two of you, his brows furrowed together, that strange feeling pulsing through him again. Aragorn’s right, he thought. Her smile is beautiful. His eyes were fixed on you while you spoke to Sam and Frodo, so focused that he did not realise Aragorn was now stood behind him, leaning into his ear.

“You’re staring, Legolas.” He whispered, the elf’s blonde hair moving from Aragorn’s breath.

“No. I am merely watching.” Legolas denied, earning a chuckle from Aragorn.

“Whatever you say, mellon.” Aragorn strode away, a grin plastered on his face. A gentle blush dusted over the elf’s cheeks, something rather noticeable that stood out from his pale complexion. He tore his eyes away from you, instead joining Boromir and Gimli to train the hobbits.

“My old gaffer might just faint if he ever saw a place like this. Got a thing for pretty places, he has. Makes sense, him being a gardener. He’d love it here.” Sam noticed your vacant expression while he spoke and frowned, gently touching your hand. “Y/N, are you alright?”

“Oh, yes, I—I’m fine. Forgive me.” You gave him a smile, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

“What about your parents, Y/N? What are they like?” Frodo asked.

“My parents died when I was very young. I don’t really remember them.” Their faces dropped immediately and opened their mouths to apologise but you chuckled, waving them off. “Don’t apologise; you did not know.”

A small smile ghosted over Frodo’s lips. “My parents died when I was young, too, in a boating accident.”

“I’m sorry, Frodo.” You offered your condolences while he shook his head.

“That’s alright; It was an accident.”

“You really are a pair of remarkable hobbits.”

~~~

You jolted awake with a breath tearing from your throat. Frantically, you scanned the area, your hand automatically reaching for your knives on your belt – only they were not there. It was at that moment that you remembered that you were still in the comforts of Lothlorien. Something compelled you to make sure that all of your companions were still beside you and you counted as you gazed around at them.

“Y/N?” A soft, calming voice called out to you amongst the darkness.

“Yes?” You responded quietly, shivering slightly.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” The voice asked. You sighed at that.

“Just a bad dream.” It was an awful dream. Much like Frodo’s if you were honest. You did not want to think about it too much; you feared you might get emotional. The figure that had the voice stood and held his hand out to you. You took it, standing, and he led you a little away from the rest of the Fellowship.

As it became lighter, you could see the face of whomever had spoken to you. If you were honest, you were so drained from the dream that you had not distinguished who the voice belonged to. But, as the space got brighter, you could just make out the perfect contours of the face, the small curve on the lips, the concerned blue eyes that studied your face, the long blonde hair that gracefully fell over the broad shoulders.

“You were struggling in your sleep. I was worried for you.” He admitted, his voice seeming to get softer by the minute.

“Did I wake you? Forgive me I—”

“Do not worry, mellon nin; you did not wake me.” A small smile fell over his lips before his eyes filled with concern once again. “What were you dreaming of?” Legolas noticed the way that you squirmed at his question and furrowed his brows in response.

“Nothing important; I will be fine. But I appreciate your concern, Legolas.”

“Y/N, do not lie to me; you have no talent for it.” You smiled sheepishly. “You need not tell me, but I saw the way that you tossed and turned and the look of terror on your face. You were mumbling, incoherently, but you sounded terrified.”

“Everything seems so real now. It has finally seemed to sink in that Gandalf is gone and… It reminded me of my parents.” You sat down, your back flush against a tree trunk. “In my dream, everyone met the same fate, Gandalf’s fate. I was alone again.” Tears began to form in your eyes, your lip started to quiver. Legolas frowned, kneeling beside you before he gently tugged your chest against his, wrapping his arms around you protectively.

“Y/N, I will be with you for as long as you wish for me to be. You won’t ever be alone again.” He felt a terrible ache in his chest when you looked up at him, your arms still wrapped around his torso, your eyes puffy and a few wet streams leaking down your cheeks.

You gave him a weak smile, sniffling. “Do you promise?” He nodded. “Say it.”

“I promise.” He took a seat beside you after pulling away from the hug, a small distance between the two of you. After a long – yet comfortable – silence, you let out a sigh before moving closer to him, leaning into his body. You rested your head on his shoulder platonically, but Legolas could not escape the increasing beating of his heart when your leg touched his. He gently rested his head on top of yours, wondering what you were thinking about. Then, as if out of the blue – though it wasn’t really – you asked him a question.

“Have you ever been in love, Legolas? Have you ever loved someone so much to the point where it hurt?” Your voice faltered as you spoke, and the elf sighed silently. You could feel his breath shifting your hair.

“Once.”

“What was her name?”

“How did you know—”

“I can tell.” You looked up at him. “Your demeanour changed when I asked the question. Come, tell me about her.”

He did not know why, but he did. “Her name was Tauriel. She was the captain of the Elven guard of the Woodland Realm.”

“Was?” You questioned his use of the past. “What happened to her?”

“I do not know.” He let out a deep sigh and you frowned, wishing you had never asked for it was clearly a sensitive subject for him. “She did not believe herself worthy of me. Instead, she fell in love with a dwarf. Only, he died during a battle. I could not return to the Woodland Realm; my father gave me knowledge of Aragorn, and so I went to find him. I do not know what happened to her.”

“Forgive me, Legolas. I did not mean to upset you.” He shook his head at you, and you smiled, shifting a little closer to him to comfort him. He chuckled lightly as you wrapped your arms around him.

Back over by the others, Aragorn had awoken, but he did not move. Instead, he rolled over for he could hear familiar voices whispering behind him. As he turned, with a stealthy eye open, he watched you and Legolas sit together, a knowing smirk growing on his face.

~~~

The morning came quick, after you and Legolas had spoke about your lives all night and gotten a few quick hours of sleep before the others had awoken from their dreams. It was the last day that you would spend at Lothlorien, for you must all be getting a move on, and soon; the Ring would not take itself to Mount Doom. Since it was to be your last day in the comforts of the Lady of the Wood, she had asked to see all of you.

When the nine of you presented yourselves to her, she gifted each of you and Elven cloak, paired with a green brooch as a clasp. She named them the Leaves of Lorien. The Elven cloaks had been woven by Galadriel herself. They could not deflect a shaft or blade but instead, they could act as camouflage to unfriendly eyes. When you put it on, it was light and very agile. It was difficult to tell that you were even wearing a cloak. She explained that they would be warm or cool as needed. Then, she wished you all luck on your journey, and the nine of you quickly returned to the camp to begin packing for the day ahead; setting out early was important to travel as much as possible while it was still light.

Back at the camp, you all breakfasted. You made sure that the hobbits had taken enough before you started to pick at your own food. Aragorn wandered over to where you sat, perching himself beside you, a bowl in his hand, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

“What are you so amused by?” You paused chewing to ask, swallowing the remainder of the food in your mouth afterwards. A chuckle escaped him, and he turned to look at you.

“What is going on between you and Legolas?” His questioned startled you. You coughed profusely, trying to rid of the piece of food that lodged in your throat.

“What do you mean?”

“I happened to wake up last night, and…”

“And, what? You were spying on us?” You quirked your eyebrow cheekily, the hint of a grin on your lips. Aragorn grinned.

“And,” he lowered his voice. “I saw the two of you sitting together.”

“So? Is sitting together such a crime, Aragorn?” You shared a laugh with him. “Since you are so curious, I’ll tell you. The truth is, I was upset, and he comforted me. Then we spoke about life.” Aragorn raised his eyebrows, unsure if you were telling the truth or not. You giggled. “Have I ever lied to you, Aragorn?”

“No, I suppose not. My mistake. Forgive me, I thought something more might have been going on.”

“Well, I hate to disappoint, but nothing more is going on. He is kind, but we are friends, that is all.” Aragorn nodded at your words, then left you to sit in peace while you ate. He kept a close eye on you from afar, watching until you were distracted by the hobbits and by Boromir until he made his way to Legolas.

“Y/N looks nice today, don’t you think, Legolas?”

“Do not think I’m unaware of what you’re doing, Aragorn.” Legolas said with a scowl. Aragorn chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Alright. Though, you do seem very fond of her.”

“What’s not to be fond of? She’s kind, funny, a good fighter, she takes care of the hobbits.” A pink blush dusted over his cheeks. “She’s beautiful…”

“Legolas.” The ranger smirked. “Mellon nin, are you falling for Y/N?”

“Lower your voice, Aragorn.” Legolas urged, the blush growing on his face. Legolas wouldn’t say he was falling for you. He thought you were pretty, very pretty, and he enjoyed your company, but that does not mean that he liked you like that. His heart raced when you were close to him, and even harder when you touched. He hated to see you upset, loved to see you smile and laugh, although he preferred to be the one to make you smile. But none of that meant that he was falling for you, did it? He didn’t think so.

But as his eyes fell over you now, he could not help but feel that maybe, just maybe, that Aragorn was right. He watched your lips part and turn up into a smile, a hearty laugh drawing from your throat at something that Merry had said. Aragorn did not miss the smile that grew on Legolas’ face whilst he watched you, a longing, loving look in his blue eyes. All the ranger could do was smile at the elf and chuckle to himself, before finishing his food and continuing to pack what will be needed for when the journey resumes at dawn. Until then, the nine of you decided that you would appreciate the comforts of Lothlorien once more.

Time seemed to pass very quickly, and as fast as the morning had come, the night came. You and Aragorn were still awake, sitting beside each other, sharing his pipe, giggling about old times. You let out a contented sigh and he opened his arm for you to shift into him. As you did so, he plucked the pipe from your fingers and stuck it between his lips. You chuckled at him before sighing again.

“What’s wrong, mellon nin?” He said, the pipe bobbing in his mouth as he spoke.

“I have yet to find out what this place means to me, and we are already leaving.”

Aragorn sighed. “Y/N, you were born here.” Your eyes widened in shock.

“What?”

“Your mother and father lived in Lothlorien; that is why you recognise this place.”

“How do you know this?” You asked. You need not ask if Aragorn was telling the truth; he knew how much this meant to you.

“Haldir. He and your father were good friends. He wanted to tell you himself.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“He thought it would be better to come from a friend.” He offered you a smile and you smiled softly, relief lifting a huge weight from your shoulders. Returning the favour, you plucked the pipe from his lips and placed it between your own. “You’re not angry?”

You shook your head, blowing out some smoke. “Why would I be?” Aragorn shrugged and you chuckled, resting your head on his shoulder. He gently pressed his head against yours and before you knew it, your eyes were fluttering closed and you were drifting off to a sound sleep.

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[builder051]

Run my river dry

A commission fic for Ketturukka. A Captain America Powers/No Powers story.

⚠️WARNING ⚠️ for suicidal thoughts/actions. (Everyone is mostly ok in the end.) Tumblr currently won’t let me do a cut.

——————————————————

Bucky doesn’t say goodbye when Steve leaves. Instead he says, “I’ll be fine.” He doesn’t wait for Steve to ask the question. They’re too deep into the valley of habit for it to matter.

Steve just nods and heads for the door. “Sure you will,” he says, a slight sigh in his voice. Bucky can’t tell if he’s being truthful or a little sarcastic. His ears have gotten bad at telling the difference, but it’s not like it matters. Day in and day out, it’s all the same. Steve goes to work, and Bucky stays home. Maybe eats breakfast, maybe doesn’t. Maybe tosses it back up. Then he goes back to bed and wishes he doesn’t exist.

As soon as Steve closes the door, Bucky lets out the breath he didn’t realize was bated as he held it deep down in his throat. He pulls it in and out for a moment, almost panting, until a wave of lightheadedness passes. It’s stupid, because he’s sitting down, but Bucky hasn’t been feeling well lately. He hasn’t been doing well.

There are meds upstairs, good ones. Bucky knows this because he happened to wake up, sweating and shaking, the night Steve moved them from the bathroom cabinet to the linen closet. He’d intended to go hang his head over the toilet for a minute and see if it made him feel better, but the sight of Steve with a half-dozen pill bottles in his hands had stopped Bucky in his tracks.

Steve had been forced to explain, and Bucky forced to listen. “It’s just to be safe, Buck,” he’d said, showing him the shiny new doorknob and the key he had on a chain around his neck. “And it’s not forever.”

Bucky knows the setup is supposed to be reassuring, to let him know Steve cares about him, and that he cares that Bucky’s safe from himself. He can’t help feeling like a toddler, though, stripped of autonomy and any semblance of self-care.

Steve doesn’t know it, but Bucky fosters a mild obsession with the linen closet and its perpetually locked door. He only lets it show when Steve’s not around, detouring to the downstairs bathroom or borrowing blankets from the back of the sofa just so he’ll have a reason to pass it and try his luck at opening it.

It never budges, of course, for Steve’s diligent about Bucky’s care and upkeep, or maybe that of the house. He parcels out meds at scheduled times, and that’s all. He can occasionally be wheedled into a Tylenol here or there when a headache comes on, but nothing unless Bucky’s symptomatic. He’s good that way. Though from Bucky’s view, it’s more of a negative than a positive.

When Steve’s bike leaves the driveway and buzzes off down the road, Bucky returns his never-filled coffee mug to the cabinet, then pulls his hoodie more tightly around his body. He’s never warm anymore. Not even when under the pile of blankets in the bedroom. It’s as close as he can get, though, so Bucky turns toward the stairs and starts the trudge upward, grasping the railing and dragging his way.

At the top of the steps, Bucky looks to the bathroom, considering whether a detour is worth it. He’s had nothing so far today, so there’s nothing to piss out or vomit up; his churning stomach is just a farce.

Across the short hall is the linen closet, the more enticing option. Bucky blinks at the gleaming silver door handle, takes a slow breath, then crosses to it in two shaky steps.

He tries not to get his hopes up, or at least he wouldn’t if he had any hope in him to force up to the surface and into his chest cavity along with his heavily beating heart. Whether from nerves or some perverse kind of excitement Bucky knows not, but the hammering behind his ribcage gives him something else to focus on at least.

With his eyes locked onto the door handle, Bucky grips the cold metal in his fist and makes an attempt at turning it. It’s lackluster and light, but to his utter shock, that’s all that’s required to make it turn. The door creaks open as Bucky pulls, feeling as guilty as he does eager.

He’s had nary a glance inside the linen cabinet since Steve’s redone it, so the change is somewhat shocking. The upper shelves remain crammed with sheets and towels, but the lower two are now overtaken with rows of pill bottles. Bucky’s surprised to see they have so many medications on hand, and he wonders how they accumulated. Is it normal for a household to have so many drugs?

Bucky sinks to his knees and continues to survey the collection. He realizes only half or so are prescriptions, and that makes him feel a little better. But then again, if Steve doesn’t trust him enough to be around the ibuprofen and Sudafed, what does that say about his current state of mind? Or Steve’s perception of it? An ache of remorseful desire squirms at the bottom of Bucky’s gut, and he reaches toward the grouping of over-the-counters, caressing their lids with one finger.

Most of the bottles have safety lids locked in place, effectively keeping Bucky out. Steve’s gummy vitamins and caffeine supplements have regular screw-off tops, which Bucky supposes he can open with his singular hand, but overdosing on those probably wouldn’t induce anything but an episode of paranoia and vomiting. Bucky scoffs and decides it’s not worth the trouble.

He moves his fingers forward and scans through the rest of the bottles, these glowing orange behind their large typewritten labels. Bucky squints at the text, trying to recall which of the long words is meant to treat which ailment. He can’t, but he does recognize the name of his psychiatrist at the top of each label, representing tiny blows to his sense of self as he taps the locked lids.

He’s broken. With every parceled out dose, Steve tries to fix him. The meds aren’t enough, though. The combination is wrong, or perhaps the dosages are too low. Things aren’t working. Bucky wishes he could take matters into his own hand and just purge himself from his place on this earth.

So why doesn’t he? Bucky runs his knuckles along the fronts of the row of bottles, rattling them slightly until he stops on one at random. He tilts his head as he realizes its lid is slightly askew, the cap set just barely off its threads.

Bucky’s heart begins to pound in his chest, and his palm goes sweaty. He lets out a shaky breath as he pulls the bottle forward out of the row and grasps it around the neck, holding it up so he can examine it properly.

Yes, the cap is definitely presenting a problem. Or, rather, an opportunity. Bucky’s shoulders shudder with anticipatory excitement as he plants the bottle between his knees and inserts his fingernails below the ridge of the cap. He digs in and gives it a hard twist, and, to his utter astonishment, the flat white lid comes off in his hand.

“The…?” Bucky murmurs, his breath stopping any further words short in his throat. His heart flutters with a sudden burst of elation, of happiness, but also with tremendous guilt over what he’s about to do. For that is what he’s about to do, isn’t it? He can’t turn back now, not after he’s gotten this far.

Bucky gulps, tasting bitterness in the back of his throat. Then he shakily raises the bottle of pills to his mouth and tips it back as if he’s taking a shot of whiskey.

Bucky recalls the first time he took a shot, sitting at the bar with Steve at his side. He’d wrinkled his nose and tried not to vomit as he’d swallowed down the stuff, feeling Steve’s slightly sloppy hand patting him hard on the back. There’s no encouragement this time; if Steve saw what he was doing, he’d certainly snatch the bottle away. But Bucky shuts his eyes hard and shoves the memory away, then takes the softly coated pills on his tongue and tries to swallow.

The capsules stick to the inside of Bucky’s dry throat, but he forces them down with a swish of spittle that tastes sour and chemical all at once. Almost immediately he feels his esophagus try to close up, but he clears his throat with a cough and pours more pills down, now emptying more than half the bottle.

A dizzying feeling starts to rise from Bucky’s core. It’s too early for the medication to be taking effect, so it must be something psychosomatic. Something emotional. Bucky’s head spins, and he tips sideways to rest it against the doorframe of the linen closet. It takes a moment for him to get his bearings again, and when he does, a thin sheen of sweat has gathered on his brow. He takes another breath, swallowing the thick saliva that coats the pills threatening to rise back up in his throat, and raises the bottle to his lips again.

It takes three tries to get the entire bottle down, and twice Bucky belches a couple of capsules back up into his mouth. He re-swallows them, though, determined to follow through with his choice. The tremor running through him grows in intensity, and he has to drop to lie on his stomach to keep his arm and legs from giving out.

Once Bucky’s finished the bottle, he continues gulping at the bitter flavor that covers his tongue and throat. It proliferates through his mouth, spreading with the saliva washing over his teeth and down toward his stomach.

Time takes on an odd texture, ebbing and flowing and moving in fits and starts. At first Bucky feels fine, save the tremor that prickles through his skin and the vertigo that plays around his ears.

Then, all of a sudden, a darkness descends upon him. Bucky’s vision drops to a dull blur and a ringing grows in his ears. A feeling of raw sickness creeps from his stomach to his throat, making him gulp down warm bitter wetness.

If this is death, Bucky thinks, it seems slow coming and not much distinguished from nightmarish sessions of illness he’s experienced before. It’s not that ne necessarily thought his erasure from the earth would be an easy experience, but he didn’t think it would be horrific, considering the method he’d chosen for his departure.

A metallic taste grows in between the gumlines behind Bucky’s teeth, and he begins to cringe involuntarily. He feels his eyes roll up in his head, and his head jerks sideways, cricking his neck in painful spasms.

Bucky’s jaw opens in a retch, and foamy saliva forces itself through the gaps in his teeth. An involuntary inhalation brings a choking feeling, and he sputters and vomits down the front of his shirt. The warm wetness feels odd, and he wonders for a moment why it seems to reach down his legs as well. Then he slowly realizes the seizure’s released his bladder muscles as well.

There’s no time for shame, for the world flickers before Bucky’s eyes. Stars dance in the corners of his visual field, threatening to take over everything he sees. Bucky pulls in his breath, feeling strings of mucous drag across the back of his tongue and prepare to choke him once they have their chance. It barely matters now, though. Bucky’s exhausted. He’s ready.

The sound of a door squeaking on its hinges, ten slamming against air pressure interrupts the quiet rhythm of Bucky’s heart beating in his ears. His breath, which has been slowing, catches in his chest and speeds up, grabbing a flicker of moisture that makes him sputter and cough. Unable to turn himself onto his side, Bucky lays there as a tiny spurt of liquid rises from his throat and forces itself between his gently parted lips.

“Hey, Buck?” Steve’s voice calls.

Bucky wonders if he’s hallucinating. That would make the most sense. The pills, whatever he took, might initiate a high before they kill him. They might make him hear voices, see things. Bucky opens his eyes and blinks a few times, just in case there are some visual illusions he’s missing. He only sees the ceiling, though, partially obscured in blotchy patches of yellow and lavender aura.

“St…?” Bucky manages to cough out. It’s not loud enough to be heard, but the voice downstairs continues in an inexact reply.

“I forgot my coffee, didn’t pack any lunch. And I was kinda, um, worried about you…”

Come upstairs, Bucky thinks. Or, really, don’t come upstairs. Just go…

“Buck?” Steve’s boots move through the entryway and into the kitchen. “Did you go up to bed?”

Bucky’s heart beats hard and slow, a sure sign that he’s losing his strength. He shuts his eyes hard. What if he dies, right now? What if Steve doesn’t get to him on time? Would that be the perfect ending, or the worst? Bucky doesn’t know. And he’s about to run out of time.

“Bucky?” Steve’s heavy footsteps move up toward the stairs.

Bucky bites his lip, tasting the chemical vomit and now a little blood. He prepares for hands on him. His body goes hot, then cold, cold as death, cold as the morgue itself…

“Buck, oh my god.” Steve’s knees hit the ground hard enough to shake the entire house. He plants both hands on Bucky’s chest and starts compressions, tilting his ear toward Bucky’s face to listen for a trace of breath.

Bucky stays still. Not necessarily because he wants to, but because paralysis seems to come upon him, forcing his breath to catch in his throat and his fluttering eyelids to squeeze shut.

Steve continues to move his hands up and down on Bucky’s ribcage, until, all of a sudden, a wash of vomit comes up, thick with not only foam, but also with pill casings and yellow bile. Steve scoops Bucky’s floppy form onto his side, arranging his knees into a recovery position so he won’t fall to his back again.

“Ok, ok, get it up,” Steve murmurs frantically. He percusses Bucky hard between the shoulder blades, forcing more of the frothy vomit up and onto the floor.

“Steve—“ Bucky sputters, reaching for Steve’s sleeve and clinging on. For dear life, he thinks. Is that what he wants?

“Yeah, I’m here.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky, holding him tightly to his chest, paying no mind to the mess coating his clothing and the floor. “I’ll always be here.”

Bucky rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder, the tremor running through his body again. He’s grateful for Steve to hold him tightly together, lest he ooze out all over his lap.

Steve’s arm shifts, and Bucky sees him pick up the pill bottle from where it’s landed on the floor. He grabs it and squints at the label, then lets out a breath and presses his lips together.

“This is what you took?” Steve asks, his voice devoid of tone. “Is that all?”

Bucky stays silent.

“Buck?”

Tears fill Bucky’s eyes, and he isn’t sure what to say. He needs to tell the truth, of course. But won’t Steve hate him? Won’t he be upset?

“Buck, you have to tell me. So I can help you.”

Help him. Steve wants to help him. Bucky needs help. But does he want it? He isn’t sure. Now’s not the time to decide, though, for there isn’t much of it left.

“Just nod or shake your head, Buck. That’s all you have to do,” Steve says. “I won’t be mad at you, I promise.”

Bucky sobs, and a mouthful of foamy vomit slips from between his lips. Then he slowly moves his head up and down.

“Ok.” Steve pauses for a second. “Ok. We need to go to the hospital.”

Bucky lets out an involuntary high-pitched moan as his eyes flood with fresh tears. He shakes his head so hard it makes him dizzy, the hallucinatory lights and colors dancing around the edges of his visual field.

“We have to,” Steve repeats. “I think you got a lot of it up, but we can’t take any chances.” He looks Bucky up and down. “You’ve gotten really slim lately. I don’t know what max dose you can tolerate before there’s permanent damage. This could stop your heart, Buck, I—“ Steve breaks off, tears filling his eyes as well.

“I don’t wanna go…” Bucky drops his forehead to Steve’s chest, long strings of sour drool dripping from the corners of his mouth into Steve’s lap.

“I’ll try not to let them keep you,” Steve promises. “It’s a… a… poison control problem. You have night terrors and sleepwalk. It’s true enough…” Steve looks at Bucky, as if to test whether the story seems believable.

Bucky has no idea. His head aches, and nausea still crashes in waves against the insides of his body. Only half of what Steve says seems to penetrate the feelings of illness and make it to his brain, which, in turn, seems to be only half in tune with what’s going on around him.

“Do you think you can move?” Steve asks. “We kind of need to go.”

“I…” Bucky swallows the desire to be sick again. “Go now?”

“Yeah, Buck. “ Steve rises to his knees and pulls Bucky up along with him. “I want you to be ok. I need you to be ok.”

“Are…you ok?”

“Buck—That’s—“ Steve shakes his head, then presses his lips together. “No,” he finally says. “And neither are you. But we’re going to work on that. And the first step is to have you come with me. Right now.”

Bucky hesitates. He barely has control over his body, but he can at least maintain some autonomy around his words.

“Unless you want me to call an ambulance?” Steve gives Bucky a hard look, but Bucky sees his lower lip trembling. He sees how hard this must be for him, to come home to see Bucky practically dying in the hallway.

Bucky shakes his head a fraction of an inch to each side, the movement making him sick as well as sad.

Steve sets his jaw, then wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and drags him to his feet. “We’re going now, ok? We can probably make it as fast as a squad…” His eyes look hopeful. Almost wistful.

He doesn’t know if Steve is stating a fact or gearing himself up for a challenge, but either way, the sick guilt bubbling up in Bucky’s chest presses against the back of his tongue, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from sicking up all over Steve. He lowers his head and forces out a sound that may or may not seal his fate.

“Ok.” Steve nods. He cups Bucky’s cheek and uses his thumb to wipe at a wayward tear. “Come on.”

They slowly move toward the stairs, ignoring the mess in front of the linen closet. Steve doesn’t even bother to close it; Bucky supposes he’ll deal with it later. That they’ll deal with it later. For certainly now they’re in this mess together, and they’ll swim their way out of it together as well.

[backandimbamon]

part III

a/n: ive been sitting on this chapter for weeks. being a perfectionist...will do things to you. enjoy and please leave a reply!

Perhaps something happened on the other side between Damon and Bonnie.

Perhaps something happened between them that shattered the defenses, the bickering, the banter, the tension... maybe it was all too much to handle and one day they decided to resolve it in a new way that was less stressful and more natural.

What if they finally focused their vision on the situation and realized it was demented, downright unfair, to trap a handsome sex pot of a vampire and a stunning little witch with magically delicious blood together forever, the last two on earth, and swear them to a platonic relationship?

A kiss? Or sex? Caroline is full Sherlock Holmes, investigator style because there is no possible way that the dynamic between Bonnie and Damon remained the same after such a...dynamic...event occurred to both of them simultaneously. She has a hunch.

But a kiss? Sex? She knows she’s jumping the gun. As much as she can project, the denial between them both would prevent such forward actions. But-

It makes sense, she thinks, perfect sense. If they decided to break that forbidden rule, are they truly to blame? She’s sure she isn’t the only one who could physically see the sexual tension brewing between the vampire and the witch since their first formal introduction. Throughout the years, it’s only increased in intensity and anyone with decent deductive reasoning skills could predict that maybe, just maybe, there was a hiccup in those roles they played so dutifully. They “hated” each other. Sure.

Being the last two on a repeating day, desperation settling, solitude dancing, they’re under the radar... anything could happen. As if on queue, her mind begins to sift through the possibilities again. She always had a knack for probability.

A bite... now that is highly likely.

Caroline can imagine Bonnie being her normal selfless, sacrificial self, asking Damon if he’s okay- it seems like he’s tired or beat since he’s been slack on their banter, his comebacks lackluster and falling flat. He lies because lying is as effortless as breathing to Damon and he politely but solidly asks Bonnie not to worry about him, that he just misses home so his mood is sour.

He tries to maintain his normal devil-may-care, overly nonchalant, effortlessly sexy character with the huge ego but it’s not quite the same. He’s not as clever and though he’s close, he’s not close enough.

She observes this.

Bonnie picks at him, rapid question-asking all while being inquisitive and selfless and caring and healing, she tells him she knows him better than he knows himself. She says she can feel when he lies.

Damon probably experiences a foreign emotion at this point, wondering why his undead heart seems as though it’s hammering, beatboxing against his bones, threatening to reveal what he wants to hide so bad.

He’s hungry.

And he’s never felt a hunger quite like this. He’s emptied every single blood bag in the freezer, still there’s this nagging sensation that no matter how much blood he consumes, even if he decides to bathe in it, if it’s not what he really wants to devour, he will never be satisfied. It’s like eating fast food when craving gourmet, that craving never ceases, it’s just mitigated for a moment with a bottom-of-the-barrel substitute. The next time the hunger returns, it leaves its victim in gut-splitting agony so much so that it’s exhausting. The hunger is kicking his ass to force him to get what he’s denying himself. Damon is the victim. For once, he is the victim here.

Bonnie being intelligent and knowing Damon, she can guess what his struggles consist of. It takes her a week to consider it. He never says it explicitly, that he wants to bite her, but the shadow of veins under his eyes says enough. Damon Salvatore is a predator. It is unnatural for him not to hunt prey for an indefinite amount of time. She is all he has.

She thinks hard on this, questioning if her empathy has reached a new level of desperation. She asks herself what is her infatuation with being needed. She asks herself why she would rip herself apart to heal others. Why she feels this undying, naked, indelible need to do for others without doing for herself. She asks herself if the roles were reversed would Damon do the same?

For a week, she watches him get weaker with want, endures his shitty moods and back talk. Not once does he ask or even hint that he’s starving.

It makes Bonnie want to offer herself up on a platter even more, there’s something wrong with her.

So she does it, in the kitchen, cuts a sliver of red at the wrist “by accident” and Damon- he looks bad. He looks blue.

She turns to grab a napkin to dab at the blood but when she turns back around he’s gone. Upstairs, his door slams hard enough that she can hear the wood split.

“Damon!” She calls after him but he doesn’t reply and she doesn’t see him again until the next night because he refuses to step out of his room.

“Stop. We need to talk,” he’s fixing Italian trying to pretend like nothing ever happened twenty-six hours before; apron on, back turned, humming. He’s not okay.

“Then talk, Bon Bon.” he adds some herbs to the white wine sauce, grated cheese beside him, back still turned.

There’s something that’s frightening her about this and it could be herself. He hasn’t even asked yet she wants this for him so bad.

“Damon. I know you’re hungry.”

“Ding, ding. I’m making dinner right now, Bon.” His voice is rough like it’s warning her not to push this any further. The pots and pans clatter a little louder in his palms. Red tomatoes a stark contrast against the pale noodles.

“I cut myself on purpose last night.”

This grabs his attention. Swiftly, he drops everything, turns around and walks into Bonnie, forcing her to walk backwards until the cabinets halt her with a soft thud. His hands are at her shoulders with a dizzying shake as he says “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

Damon Salvatore, always so invasive, too animated, with a face that’s intimidatingly perfect.

It’s unsettling and downright unfair for him to possess such appeal; even angry and a threat to her life span, any woman would want him. Hell, Any man would want him. She wishes she could steal whatever that quality is. She wants that for herself.

It’s almost comical that after all these years of his presence, he can still startle her with his beauty. With his mouth shut, he’s so unassuming and pretty. In all seriousness, he looks like an angel. The slanted smirk and jaded attitude is the only hint that maybe this book doesn’t match the cover.

He gives her another shake as if the answer will tumble out of her, it makes her think of the time they hated each other. Way back when.

But now, this is too close for comfort. His eyes are an angry blue and she’s swimming laps, her words get caught in her throat before she can reply.

Weakly she says, “Just stop fighting it, okay? I’ve made up my mind and I trust you.”

“You trust me? You trust me, Bon? I don’t even trust me! What’s the matter with you?”

Honesty is not suitable. She can’t say that it’s lips anywhere on her body that she needs even if it’s at her wrist. That her withdrawal has her fingers exhausted and her body aching because she needs some sort of physical connection outside of herself. Bonnie wants Damon to drink her like wine so she can remember what it feels like to be desired and she can see it, the desire she needs, veiled and trapped behind the denial she knows too well. She wants to open that door to see if he needs her just as bad as she thinks he does. She wants to set it on fire.

“Damon, please.”

When she tilts her head and locks her green eyes with his, he sees the deprivation. Like she’s starving too. Like it pains her to not have his teeth in her neck. The look on her face reveals everything she cannot say. Damon shudders.

He doesn’t mean to trail his nose up the slope of her neck but he does and his stomach growls so violently that he’s surprised he doesn’t shake. There’s a new scent in the air and it’s Bonnie’s arousal.

He clenches his jaw with a painful force, half expecting it to shatter.

The words are no louder than a whisper when she says, “I’m your friend. Let me do this for you.”

People who are actually friends seldom use the word “friend.” But Damon and Bonnie ware the word out trying to convince one another that it’s all they are, nothing more. They haven’t said the word more than they have in this hell because it’s a reminder when sanity starts to slip. It’s a reminder when they start to wonder what would happen if they weren’t just “friends.”

Best friends.

Bonnie makes it hard for him. She makes everything hard for him and this hell where she’s the only one to exist makes the things he could easily ignore blatantly obvious. The feminine curve of her breast, the spread of her hips, the lovely enigmatic green of her eyes, he’s always thinking of Bonnie. Even asleep, she haunts his dreams with golden brown skin and a crooked smile. The ghost of her fragrance creates a tornado around him in this tiny cramped space called hell, it’s comforting and devastating.

Everytime he looks in the mirror he’s reminded of the fact that everything he wants he takes. Even if he doesn’t want it, he takes it. But with Bonnie, it doesn’t quite work out that way. There’s rules with Bonnie. His charisma is useless to her because that’s his best friend. She’s immune to him and maybe he’s not okay with that.

Poor Damon, he could weep now because Bonnie was never supposed to be the one to snap first. He was supposed to be the unhinged vampire with bountiful problems, the rebel and she was supposed to be the very stable, very perfect witch but she’s breaking. He’s her lesser and she’s the one who’s breaking. This has to be a cruel dream where if he hits himself hard enough, he’ll wake up.

His fangs slip out by accident, they feel the presence of Bonnie’s blood just humming with delicacy and complexity under her skin. She’s waiting to be tasted, she takes her hand and guides his mouth to her neck so his tooth pricks her skin. A bead of red shoots up but his tongue is quick to swipe that first drop almost sampling to make sure Bonnie is serious. She says something under her breath but the bloodlust has the rest of his senses useless. He doesn’t hear her.

Damon gnashes his teeth into her delicate skin, his expertise never allowing one ribbon of blood to trail away because he laps it up so greedily, so manically that he almost chokes. It feels like heaven busted and started showering its essence into his open mouth. He can’t take the time to breath or else he’ll rob himself of perfection for a few seconds too long. The life surges back into his body.

A montage of honey, patchouli, iron, lilac, roses, metal, bergamot, smoke, magic, fire, fear all on his tastebuds at once. In the distance, desire begins to bloom.

Then there’s a click and he starts to feel it.

Bonnie’s arousal is creeping up on him slowly like a distant claw of nails down his spine, the ghost of a sopping mouth around the head of his cock. He emits a wet groan then takes another tactless slurp and can practically feel Bonnie’s walls gripping against his shaft- it frightens him how bad he wants it. It scares him how he can feel the phantom of her nipples through his apron and t-shirt. He’s sweating when his pants start to bunch at the center. She’s breathing erratically, wraps her legs around his waist so she feels that lovely poke between her legs and it terrifies him.

Never has he untangled the web of feelings he associated with the complicatedly simple Bonnie Shealia Bennett. However, that web has been slowly unraveling since their first day here. Those feelings he never was honest with himself to admit are dousing him right now, of his own volition. He’s frightened out of his mind with the realization that he’s always wanted to take his best friend, little Judgey, Bon Bon, Elena’s BFF, and sex her into a stupor until the only word in her vocabulary is his name.

Damon Salvatore wants to fuck Bonnie Bennett so deeply that they must excavate his dick from her slot to retrieve it.

Oh God.

He can see himself, inside of her, inside of his best friend as she begs him to go faster and harder but he won’t listen. He never listens and it’s driving her up the fucking wall as her pleas to let her cum all over him fumbles his rhythm. Damon has never been more afraid of himself. Damon has never been more oblivious of a desire that waited for a moment like this since their first encounter. He feels baited.

Fear of this discovery, this dormant longing, brings him back to earth and violently disconnects him from the bloodlust, he removes his fangs too quickly, his head spinning with filthy thoughts of his best friend. The moan that tumbles past his lips is dire, it rips through his throat and says she has to fuck him or he will simply die.

Somewhere an invisible candle burns in the air labeled “Bonnie’s Lust.” It’s so strong Damon can taste it.

They look at each other differently. They are strangers. She’s painted in red, his mouth is a mess, the erection in his pants is hard enough to unearth his grave and bury himself alive. He offers his bleeding wrist up to her and tries not to cum when her mouth latches on.

When she’s done, he decides he won’t distract himself with the gorgeous sight of a panting Bonnie, looking as if she’s been thoroughly fornicated with her eyes all glossy like that.

Damon is dizzy, tipsy from blood, pleasure and a bombardment of epiphanies.

He turns around too sharply on his heel and passes out, just like that. A lifeless heap of beauty on the kitchen floor.

Bonnie’s definitely scared of whatever took over them as she crouches next to him and fans his face. Her mind is still far from her after such a disastrous high. Her heartbeat sounds like the pounding of an incessant guest.

Knock, knock.

In that moment, Deja-vu gives her a kiss. Bonnie’s mind floats back to Elena’s lapis prom dress with the silver clasps in the back and how she always thought Damon was perfect for Elena like that tailored dress. The way it hugged her and snapped in place. The way it clicked.

Bonnie remembers trying that dress on first and falling in love. She loved that feeling, how it felt like it was made for her and only her but Elena insisted. Not even Caroline knew. She gave the dress up for her, anything for her best friend. It was just a pretentious mélange of fabric and thread. A lifeless heap of beauty on the fitting room floor.

When he awakens, they pretend as if nothing happened and Damon wonders if he dreamt that but the little wounds on her neck mock his question. Desire still sleeps between them, dependent on that next slip up to pounce. But it never gets the chance.

Damon relives that moment when he meets himself in the mirror and the hint of teeth marks is on his neck from Bonnie’s “tipsy” courage.

“Once bitten, twice shy,” he says to himself and ironically being a century-old vampire he never understood the saying. He lets the little phrase stagnate the air because he doesn’t want to concern himself with figuring out why Bonnie’s teeth marks aren’t disappearing with his rapid healing ability.

Anyways, it’s kind of cute.

He sends her a picture message with a text to follow:

Twice bitten, once dead.

[thesunlounge]

Reviews 370: Coyote

I have been mostly absent as of late due to the pressures of completing my PhD studies, but now that the work there is finishing, I am trying to return to regular reviewing. And for months and months now, one of the records I’ve most wanted to discuss has been Coyote’s Buzzard Country, released last year on their home station Is it Balearic? Recordings. In fact, my delay has been so extreme that, not only has Coyote released an accompanying Buzzard Country Remixes 12”—which I will cover here as well—they have also dropped the incredible Return to Life 12”, and even announced a new 2xLP slated for the summer called The Mystery Light. But better late than never, and there is no way I can pass up the chance to at last write in depth about the music of Timm Sure and Ampo. I say “at last” because, despite the fact that I consider Coyote amongst my very favorite recording artists, you would be forgiven for not knowing that by scanning the Sun Lounge archives. Though I’ve had opportunity to discuss their work here and there via remixes (such as on Blank & Jones’ Relax: The Sunset Sessions 2 and Joe Morris’ Cloud Nine 12”), by some strange turn of fate, Coyote has released no vinyl of their own since this blog’s inception...something that only changed very recently. Indeed, prior to 2020, the last time the duo put out solo works on wax was their stunning 2016 run, which included the Song Dogs LP, the Fight the Future 12” on Clandestino, and the seventh EP in their long running self-titled series on Is It Balearic? Which is not to say they weren’t active, and in fact, Timm Sure and Ampo delivered a really great set of digital singles and EPs in collaboration with Music for Dreams, and additionally, they remained active with remix and DJ work. As well, Buzzard Country was due quite a bit earlier than 2020, but was unfortunately plagued by production delays. To at last get to the point, this is all a roundabout way of saying that I am really excited to have plenty of Coyote to write about now and in the future, so that I can finally pay proper tribute to this foundational duo of the modern balearic beat. 

As I’ve explored the balearic soundworld, Ampo and Timm Sure have always been beacons of light guiding me on my path, whether through their eclectic productions as Coyote, through the curation of Is It Balearic?, Über, and the Magic Wand edit series, or through their mixes and DJ sets, which are typically loaded with unheard treasures that lean towards the trippier and dubbier ends of the chill out spectrum. And it is this tendency towards the psychoactive that most endears me to Coyote, for the duo have always championed an authentic balearic spirit, one that foregrounds the music’s connections to the hippie hedonist heydays of Ibiza, to the second summer of love, and to a spirit of ecstatic abandon, one that is equally imbued with a magical sense of melancholy…of a feeling of being in paradise, but knowing it can’t last…as if the moments of revelatory magic—of wild nights dancing and sunrise comedowns—are tempered in real-time with senses of longing and regret. Which brings me finally to Buzzard Country, Coyote’s fifth full-length LP and a pitch-perfect encapsulation of their signature mixture of wistful melodic nostalgia and daydream seaside grooving. Across the album, baggy beats morph between downbeat disco, stoner dub, and world exotica while bottom heavy basslines work the body. Echoing vocal samples thread around hand drums tapestries, emotional washes of synthesis flow over radiant piano chords, and at crucial moments, the exotica guitar flourishes of longtime collaborator Saro Tribastone carry the mind away to lands of faraway fantasy. As for the Buzzard Country Remixes 12”, the A-side is given over to the Hardway Brothers, who brilliantly transform the album’s “Sun Culture” into varying landscapes of ultra deep Chain Reaction style dub wizardry. Then on the B-side, Woolfy vs. Projections and Max Essa respectively flip album stand outs “Shimmer Dub” and “Ranura de Marihuana” into their own specific strains of equatorial dancefloor euphoria, with each remix pushing the mind, body, and spirit towards maximal beach boogie mania. 

Coyote - Buzzard Country (Is It Balearic? Recordings, 2020) “Soaring” begins with buzzard calls and hovering breaths of synthesis evoking a new dawn. Ripples form in the ether via bubbling squarewave synth leads, and pulsating dub bass sits beneath a blanket of sighing strings. The carrion calls continue streaking through the mix and celestial pianos rain down while echoing playfully across the spectrum. Plucked bass electronics bounce in counterpoint and hesitate woodwind glimmers call to mind flashing laser lights beneath a beautiful sea surface…almost as if a flute has been transmuted into a rapid fire fractal vibration. At times the strings back away, leaving layers of rainbow colored ocean ambiance to flutter and dance, all before ending with white noise delay oscillations that mimic the swell of ocean waves. Then in “Soft Top Saab,” an echo-soaked voice muses on the sunrise, with chills running down the spine as the solar affirmations are increasingly surrounded by space age string synths, and by Sara Tribastone’s mystical guitar filigrees. Reversing melodies enter the spectrum and swell the heart while shakers and tambourines hold a gentle beat. Tribastone’s guitar serenades softly overhead, with plucked textures of synthetic wood and stone dancing in the background. Further delay-laced pianos fade into view, with the track ebbing and flowing…growing and receding…and sometimes backing down into understated back and forth between guitar and piano, wherein harmonious brass layers and swells of spectral space glitter moving at the periphery. The result is a conversational interchange between seaside melancholy and romantic nostalgia, one which is eventually superseded by cosmic flutters, soft six string dances, and the spoken spells of a reggae mystic, who gives thanks to the sun, and its bounty of restorative light.

Dusty acoustic guitars and sunrise vapors introduce “Shimmer Dub,” while dancing dub bass portends the first real taste of a groove. A rocking hypno-rhythm comes into focus and laid back snares guide the infectious glide, while tablas roll overhead and evocative vocal layers thread through the mix. Steel pan synths are seen through the titular shimmer and wavering wavefronts of blurred melody wash over everything, until the mix drops down into a haze of stoned exotica comprised of a minimalist pallet of tabla rhythms, bleary-eyed pads, and thrilling vocal incantations…the effect like awakening on the shores of some faraway ocean paradise, with visages of desert caravan rituals preceding in the distance. The dubbed out groove eventually resurges, with passages given over to extended echo percussion experiments and the fragile songs of tropical idiophones. Feminine vocals glow like some intoxicating gas of multi-hued magic, and springy basslines guide the body while hi-hats and snare work through a psychedelic skank. Smoldering currents of ether move through the stereo field and moments of subtle intensity erupt from the horizontal vibe out…with airy woodwinds shrouded in static, claps cracking, and hand drums creating webs of groove mesmerism. And as the beat starts to vaporize, echo oscillations set the air aflame amidst fantasy orchestrations.

“Ranura de Marihuana” bathes in echo acoustic guitars that seem beamed in from some distant past…these evocations of classical folk music futurized via layers of fx. An ecstatic scream washes the mix clean, and a four-to-the-floor kick drum emerges to pound in the void, while overhead, Flamenco-indebted guitars spin webs of magic and reverberating vocals call to the spirits of sea and sky….sometimes whispering, other times shrieking wildly into the night. Sub-earthen bass movements are felt more than head, with exotic dub lines moving far beneath the surface. Bongos and congas pop and nervous shaker patterns lead the downbeat disco strut, while guitars work through further Mediterranean hooks and Iberian flourishes. A moment is given over to heavy bass and kaleidoscopic hand percussion–with scatting vocals, reverberating snaps, and lost souls wailing in desperation–and when the groove snaps back, there are touches of tango kissing the preceding, which bring to mind a rose-in-mouth glide across some dark and mysterious dancefloor, wherein spindly psych folk guitar melodies work the mind and airy drum rhythmics entrance the body. The kick climbs back towards dancefloor strength, with desert mystic percussions moving all around the mix and vocals morphing though fever dream echo layers. Elements from across the track refract through oscillating delay machines, and touches of rave haunt the rhythms, especially as subsonic basslines and subdued breakbeats work together.

A single piano note brings light to the darkness in “Sun Culture” and layers of radiance rain down in the form of heart-melting piano chordscapes, with some of that Screamadelica soul bliss suffusing the progressions. Warming pads envelope everything and deep dub pulses walk down white sand beaches, with shakers and lysergic breaths giving shape to the groove. Hi-hats, snare taps, and beachside bongos enter and buzzing guitar notes give off waves of golden light while overhead, liquids drip from the roofs of ocean cliff caverns. The single piano note continues to glow while souflul chords hold the mind in a state of psychedelic rapture, and space age ethers blind all vision as they spread outwards, then recede. Coyote move the track progressively towards a state of horizontal bliss, with almost everything washing away except the summery piano incantations, which are so soaked in reverb as to generate billowing cloudforms with every single note. Hushed rhythms return and hand drums take on a slight sense of urgency while pads generate layers of oceanic warmth, resulting in an audial invitation to greet the rising sun, and a naturalistic tribute to crashing waves and drifting clouds.

Intergalactic pads breath in “Dos Canas,” with tones wispy and suffused with inner light. Palm-muting electric guitars dance like bubbles through the ocean blue, and a touch of kosmische ambiance is soon tempered by bulbous dub basslines and splayed out layers of percussion, wherein the mechanic and organic merge seamlessly. Electroid sketches and seed shakers move in time as a slow and low balearic skank emerges, with glorious tones of brass pulsing overhead before ascending to the heavens on currents of humid tropical air. Hand drums circle the mix as the heavy atmospheres recede, leaving vaporous rhythms and golden synth strands to intertwine. Heartwarming chords give off mirage shimmers as the dub bass works its way back in, bringing with it further layers of world drum delirium. Soft sirens pan before giving way to more of the ascendent brass synthesis, and hisses of white noise add layers of subtle psychotropia. Snares are blasted into bursts of desert sand and all throughout the mix, various strands of melody and harmony are caught within oscillating delay cycles…progressively distorting and roaring into the ether. Shakers and 16th note hi-hats lead the groove while bongos and idiophones dance playfully against the snare and kick, until it all breaks down into an ambient outro of serene static, sighing strings, and layers of phasing rainbow light.

“Feedback Valley” closes the show with synth incantations portending the glow of a glorious sunrise, while shakers generate an infectious shuffle. Tribastone and his acoustic guitar explore Flamenco landscapes and a four-four kick drums hits against the body while layers of synthesis radiate compelling colorations. Babbling voices ride a serpentine synth sequence and touches of acid bass move in support, with cut-off filters opening as the snare drops, creating a head-nodding and body bopping groove that lifts the spirit towards the sky. The sequential electronics are so effective as they bob and weave through the mix, creating an effortless vibe of beach dance perfection…of hands-in-the-air euphoria and the abandonment of all worry or fear. Additional touches of six string sunshine push the mind every towards the shores of Ibiza and during a breakdown into burning delay feedback, synthesizers filter into solar squelch and guitars drift towards psychedelic delirium. A slow yet anthemic snare roll calls to mind big room trance as it brings the groove back into focus, now with 3D synth snaps firing in the left ear as the ever-present sequence reduces to a calming purr. Tribastone continues letting loose threads of sunshine lysergia and points of synthetic light swell into magnificent globes of blinding incandenscence. And towards the end, an echo-shrouded choir of the sea sings beneath a brief guitar fantasia before it all washes away in a scream of oscillation.

Coyote - Buzzard Country Remixes (Is It Balearic? Recordings, 2021) The Hardway Brothers take “Sun Culture” into ultra-deep territory across two versions on the A-side, with the first being the very aptly named “Balearic Channel Remix”…which is of course a reference to the work of Mark Ernestus and Moritz von Oswald. Underground warehouse kick drums pound beneath hissing space fluids, as a low down Chain Reaction-style groove emerges, though with its eyes locked on a melting sunset panorama. Liquiform chords flow into cold industrial caverns and string synths suffuse the reverberating spaces with splashes of sunshine, while sub bass motions vibrate the soul. Shadowy tracers flit across the sky and DMT vibrato waves squiggle at hyperspeed, yet their effect is blunted and muted. Claustrophobic clouds fade in then out while melodic piano chordstrokes reflect in strange ways off of glowing walls of stone, their effect like gemstones glimmering underwater, yet with their luster sanded away by the march of time. Muted dub chords are caught in crackling delay chains and the deep kicks and jacking bass never relent in their heads down, hands-in-the-air stomp. Snares are reduced to a whisper and shaker patterns cause head-bobbing hypnotism as funky chords bring touches of liquid fusion grooving…only as if proceeding in the middle of a dub techno fever dream. Insectoid chitters move in from all corners of the mix, sawing sirens swirl into screams of feedback, and all the while, drum circle flourishes are shattered into a web echoing delirium.

Next comes Sun Culture “(Hardway Brothers Meet Monkton Uptown),” which sees the bass going even deeper somehow, as growling riddims menace the mind and rattle the ribcage. We soon find ourselves in another subaquatic dub techno dopamine dream, wherein kick, snare and hi-hat lock in for maximal hypnotic effect. Sometimes the bass guitar of Duncan Gray seems to take on a post-punk drug chug edge, and at some point, the rhythms pull away, leaving chopped up voices to decay into the void. Bassline and beats return and streaks of feedback sing softly over everything, while fogs of seafoam move at the outer edges of the stereo field. Clouds of solar static are seen from millions of miles away and traces of flamboyant fuzz guitar are submerged into a pooling vortex of deep dub delirium, emerging stretched out and mutated into currents of neon starshine. Gray's melodic basslines serenade through the underground club grooves, those funky chords return to sing their 70s fusion songs within layers of sighing feedback, and increasingly, the mix is overwhelmed by distorted blasts of drug-induced haze. Abstracted voices filter from one ear to the other…their unintelligible spells of esoteric mystery pushing the mind ever further towards astral activation. And towards the ends, the original tracks Primal Scream-style piano chord structures can just be heard amidst feedback fires, delay detritus, and morphing vocal abstractions.

In the Woolfy vs Projections mix of “Shimmer Dub,” the original track’s hand percussions intermingle with gurgling rhythmic fluids…the effect like wandering upon some tribal jungle ceremonial. Big blasts of downer synth bass are soaked in reverb, repetitive synth pulses tickle the mind, and pillowy arpeggios flow into view while those familiar synthetic steel drums shine in the sunlight. Fingers roll across myriad skins as the kick drum drops away, leaving the mind to swim in a world of equatorial energy. Then, as the bass drum resumes–with shakers never relenting–a new bassline emerges, bringing with it a heavy touch of wiggling squiggling Italo boogie. The vibe is hesitant…anxious even…with a persistent refusal to lock in, and as bass bursts grow in intensity, the rest of the mix begins reverberating into a balearic dreamscape. Following a delirious pause, the track explodes into flamboyant disco funk perfection, as sweltering chord hazes melt from the sky and bouncing basslines join an infectious and tropically tinged body groove. Chords scat, virtual marimbas dance, synthetic steel pans shimmer across the spectrum, and swells of white light synthesis overwhelm the mind...the whole thing as massive a groove as there could possibly be. Touches of electro kiss the rhythms and futuristic synth riffs fire as we back down into a swinging breakbeat, with rapid keyboard riffs locking into heady funk cycles and stadium-sized tom tom fills splaying out across the stereo field. Guitar licks are soaked in sunshine as they lead a dubwise swing, and as we explode once more into the block rocking groove, double time shakers and hats push the vibe towards dance party mania…all as coral-colored leads rush through star ocean fx clouds.

Max Essa’s take on “Ranura de Marihuana” sees a four-four kick smacking with infectious disco dance energy and hand percussion flowing all around. A snare crack introduces another groove indebted to Italo boogie, with big bottomed synth basslines accentuating the vibes of beach dance euphoria. Shakers spread into sandy clouds of atmosphere and heatwave pads sweat and squelch as starlight arppegios race across the sky. The vibe of Ibizan melancholia is here perfected, causing body and soul to merge in hedonistic ecstasy, and though the track resembles one of Essa’s characteristic blue ocean dancefloor cruisers, its a little slower and baggier than usual, which fits completely with Coyote’s zoner stoner vibe. Seascape pianos bring a peaktime fee and at certain moments, the groove momentarily recedes, only to rush back in on an infectious snare crack. Ivory melodies are increasingly strange and psychotropic as they flutter across the mix, with decaying vibration tails carried away on an aqueous breeze. The radiant piano chords and vocalizations from the original swim into the stereo field as Essa barrels down into a heavy bassline stomp, with every pulling away aside from smeared out voices and 70s prog rock pads that evoke a string orchestra tuning to the sounds of the stars. Further clap cracks bring back layers of equatorial euphoria and the vocals are used to incredible effect, with echoing snippets repurposed as anthemic hooks. Pianos continue their alien dance over relaxed disco rhythms and snapping funk basslines, and as we move towards the end, claps and basslines fire rapidly as vocals morph through slapback oscillations…all before dropping into one last expanse of seaside dancefloor magic, with dub disco beats, infectious world percussion rolls, and a pleading voices diffusing towards a gorgeous sunset horizon.

(images from my personal copies)

[ohwereusingourmadeupnames]

Don’t Go Wasting Your Emotions

Pairing: Peter Parker/Tony Stark (Starker) Rating: (M) Notes: This is my pop star au fill for my @starkerfestivals bingo card. It’s based loosely off of this post here. There is a ton of 80′s music in it, so you might want to listen along while you read; it’ll really enhance the experience!  Warnings: NSFW things, period typical homophobia Word Count: 11.5k Summary: 

Tony Stark refuses to follow in his father's footsteps, his one true love is music and nothing is going to change that. During a particularly audacious performance of ABBA, Tony is noticed by Peter Parker, a man looking for lead singer for his band.

Or - the one where there's a lot of 80's music & Tony and Peter do a lot of eye fucking on stage.

Read it here on AO3

Throughout his life, everyone assumed Tony had it made. People looked at his last name like that held the key to who he was as a person. From a young age, Tony hated it. It seemed silly, to be compared to a name – one that he didn’t even want anything to do with. His father’s work didn’t define him, despite what everyone thought. The never-ending conversations about his eventual takeover of the company drove him even further from the obligation that came with his last name and the empire built around it.

The second Tony got the opportunity to do what he wanted, he did. Being so advanced in school meant graduating high school early and escaping to the dorms of MIT. With freedom came Tony’s true awakening. His roommate, a gorgeous man studying aeronautical engineering, loved everything about music.

Up until a year or two ago, Tony simply dealt with silence in the big house he felt trapped in – then, he discovered vinyl and the goodness of classic rock; The Beatles, AC/DC, Led Zeppelin – they were all part of the soundtrack that brought him true joy and happiness.

Rhodey, on the other hand, had a very eclectic taste in music. He appreciated all of the genres, funk, pop, rock – there was always something new on the record player when Tony walked in from a class or the extra time he needed to spend in the lab. Throughout their time together, Rhodey taught him everything he ever wanted to learn about the music world – including how to play the guitar.

By the time graduation rolled around, Tony knew he wouldn’t be using his mechanical engineering degree one single bit. He wanted to explore more of the music world, he needed to be something outside of the Stark name. His father didn’t approve of his decision, but he never did – nothing Tony accomplished throughout his life would ever be good enough, anyway. Though he didn’t cut him off, he didn’t allow Tony back to the compound – he figured it to be a punishment, that Tony would come crawling back. Tough luck that was.

Getting a job at a record store kept Tony up to date with all of the new music being produced by some of his favorite old artists and some of the new ones of the day. Every day, Tony went to work in a place that he actually liked, then came home to an apartment that he paid for by himself, decorated the way he wanted, and did whatever he wanted within it. It took a little while to get the place soundproofed – but when he did, all bets were off.

He got pretty good at the guitar, his hands nimble from years of working on small parts and pieces. His brain processed the notes easily and the tone seemed to come naturally to him. Through his dabbling, Tony found that he could sing – that his voice was rich and could carry many different pitches. From ABBA to Def Leppard, Tony slowly found himself learning how to control his voice and hit all the notes throughout the different octaves.

One of his favorite pastimes quickly became karaoke. Between the good times he always had with Rhodey and the ability to get on stage and work out his voice, Tony always enjoyed the weekly trips they took to Monteros’. The bar was a dive, there wasn’t any denying that. The chairs were old and the people behind the bar were even older – but they had a great stage and an audience that rolled with whatever got brought to the table.

They tried the more upscale places a couple of times – they were nicer and had younger, hotter people tending bar. Yet, the singers were usually stiff, and the song selection was very slim. The reoccurring theme in Tony’s life came down to freedom and he was bound and determined to only surround himself with people and places that fostered that – dingy dive bars included.

That Friday night, Tony put on his straight leg jeans, white t-shirt, and leather jacket – the outfit one of his favorites to perform in. He grinned at the worn-out Sambas on his feet and quickly left his apartment, Rhodey was probably already waiting there for him with a table and a pissy expression.

Walking into the bar that he could easily add to the list of his favorite places, Tony grinned when he saw Rhodey sitting in their normal spot. The other man didn’t take part in the singing, but he always appreciated the performances – their front row seats gave him the best vantage point to enjoy them head on and center. “Hey, Rhodes,” Tony said in a way of greeting, his hand squeezing his friends shoulder briefly.

“Tony Stark – nice of you to finally join me. I know your 19-year-old self can’t have one, but I’m going to get a drink. Hold down the fort for a few minutes, will you?” Rhodey got up without preamble, the man knew Tony would do what he asked – they’d been doing this song and dance for a couple of years now.

When Rhodey got back, he sat down with a smirk on his face – dark eyes glistening with a combination of mischief and excitement. “I put your name on the list already. You’re going to love what I picked out for you.” His smirk had a chuckle bubbling out of Tony’s chest, a grin of his own spreading across his cheeks.

“You don’t scare me. Nothing will ever beat the night you made me do the entire collection of Cindi Lauper – I still haven’t forgiven you for that, by the way,” Tony remarked, his hand wrapping around Rhodey’s glass to down some of the contents. The scandalized look on his friend’s face made the burn of the alcohol worth it so much more. “Bring it on, Rhodes.”

They sat through a handful of performances before Tony was called to the stage, the song selection making everyone in the audience laugh, Rhodey included. Meeting his eyes, Tony shook his head – what an absolute prick. Either way, Tony wasn’t going to waste a second of performance time. He cycled through the embarrassingly big collection of ABBA songs in his head, the lyrics and beat of this one calling for something special.

The music started when he nodded to Clint in the sound booth. Tony wrapped both of his hands around the microphone that still sat in the stand, his foot tapping to the beat of the instrumental – the song started with a couple of empty bars filled with the thump of synthesizer. Looking out in front of him, the transition happened easily – his mouth opening wide to belt out the first lyric. “I wasn’t jealous before we met,” Tony started, the end of the line hitting perfectly with the cutting tempo of the song.

The more he got into it, the more he loosened up – Tony swung his hips to the beat and pulled the microphone from its stand, the chord following behind him easily. There weren’t too many people in the crowd, the early part of the evening always a little bare. He kept his eyes up, the best part of performing for him the reaction of everyone else. One particular set of eyes seemed to follow him the entire time – Tony pointed his body in that direction, the first chorus quickly approaching.

Stepping down off the stage, Tony started to walk through the tables – he carried himself with excitability and knew getting close to the crowd would transfer some of that energy. He passed by the table where the intense eyes were, his gaze connecting with a boy around his age, his clothes somewhat similar to Tony’s – he hit the first “lay your love on me” right as his fingers brushed against the top of the table. Turning quickly, Tony strode over to Rhodey, his friend laughing, face completely lit up.

He sprawled across the tabletop; his face turned in Rhodey’s direction so the man got the full effect of the words coming out of his mouth – “Don’t go sharing your devotion. Lay all your love on me.” Tony reached out and pressed his palm to Rhodey’s cheek, his smile evident in the words vibrating out of his chest. He sat up then, his feet dangling from the table as he moved onto the next verse.

By the end of the song, Tony was dripping sweat and completely enraptured. The energy of the room picked up the further he got into the cheesy ABBA lyrics – the crowd got into it and the more that happened, the more Tony did, too. He finished the repetitive chorus with a bang, the edges of his leather jacket spinning with every turn he took. The applause he stepped down from the stage to made his heart ache – it felt so damn good to be up there, doing something that he actually enjoyed.

It took him a few minutes to calm down from the rush – his back against the bar where he nursed a cool glass of water. He would probably put his name in for another performance later – the queue more than likely not long, anyway. For now, though, he felt content to bask in the post-performance glory. It was small time karaoke and he still felt like a star.

Turning to flag Nick down for another glass of water, Tony was surprised to see the man from the crowd standing at the bar right next to him. He glanced over at him – his features were stunning; sharp cheek bones, plump lips, and eyes the color of cinnamon. The hair that framed his face was long, the edges of it curling around his ears and up against his neck. The best part of the decade had to be the hairstyles and wardrobe freedoms – he loved the long hair and jean jacket combo.

“You were pretty good up there,” the man started, his body turning until his side was leaning against the bar – it seemed as if he could see Tony a little bit better from that angle. Tilting his head, Tony let go of the glass in his hand and did the same thing, their gazes locking much easier now.

A smile at the man’s compliment slipped across his lips. It wasn’t often random people stopped him to talk, let alone tell him he was ‘pretty good’. The only recognition of who he was came when people put him and his last name together. This guy seemed genuine, so he opened up a little. “Thanks. My friend is a dick and thought he’d trip me up with that one. Sucks to suck – I fucking love ABBA,” Tony replied, his cheeks heating up from the admission. “I’m Tony,” he muttered after a moment, his hand sticking out between them.

It took a second for the guy to take his hand – he fiddled with the hem of his jacket before actually filing the gap and grasping Tony’s offer of friendship. The black polish on his nails made Tony smile wider – this guy had to be one of his people. “Good to know you. I’m Peter,” the other finally replied, his hand lingering for a second longer before the touch was gone. Tony’s hand felt a bit bare now that the warmth was absent.

“Have you ever tried a duet?” Peter questioned, his eyes roaming over Tony, the look seemingly nervous, like he just asked him the answer to the secret of the universe, not about musical performances.

Shaking his head, Tony pursed his lips – it never crossed his mind, trying to drag someone else on stage with him. He knew a lot of music and could sing, but that’s as far as it went. Tony sung to a hairbrush in the bathroom and marveled when he got the opportunity to actually have people hear him. The thought of other people present on the stage wasn’t a thing until that very moment. “I haven’t – but I wouldn’t be opposed. Why, you interested?”

In that moment, Tony saw something that would change him forever – Peter’s smile. The other guy looked so somber until his face lit up with excitement. His eyes were bright, the caramel of them smoothing out, like molten candy straight from the boiling pot. The slightest of crinkle started at the corner of his eyes, like maybe he spent a little too much time squinting at sheet music or small text. Tony found himself grinning widely back. It wasn’t particularly safe to be looking at another man like this in public, but he didn’t care – the radiant light of this guy was too much to ignore.

“I’m interested. Do you think you could take the first part of Don’t You Want Me?” Peter asked him, the tangible elation in his words making Tony nod his head without a thought. Luckily, The Human League’s record sat on his shelf, that particular song one of his favorites from the album.

“You bet. I’ll follow your lead in the harmonies.” Tony could already hear the lyrics in his head, the thought of performing that kind of song with another man felt scandalous, but also so right.

Another couple of performances went by before Tony and Peter were called up, the crowd a lot bigger than before, the claps loud and more than enough to spur both of them on. The stage crew did a good job putting another microphone on the stage, Peter saddling up to the furthest one before Tony could even ask. Looking over at him, Tony got a nod from Peter – the light in his eyes still so bright, the anticipation of performing very obviously coursing through him.

The song started, the funky beat playing into the first set of words – “You were working as a waitress in a cocktail bar, when I met you.” The pace was fast, so he focused on getting the words out. His eyes flashed between the teleprompter, the crowd, and the gorgeous man standing up on the stage next to him. Peter watched him the entire time, his body swaying ever so slightly. If this was what intimacy felt like, Tony wanted so much more of it.

Peter took up the second verse seamlessly, his stage presence a lot different when the music overtook him, and his mouth started to move with the lyrics. His voice was a lot higher than Tony’s, the fit of it for the second part of the song absolutely perfect. Tony felt himself beaming, this performance so much different than the one he put out for the crowd to see on his own. It felt good playing off of someone else’s energy – especially someone as talented as Peter seemed to be.

At the end of the song, they ended up back to back, their voices mixing to bring the last couple of repeats to a close. The music ended and the crowd came alive with noise and applause – Tony could hear Rhodey’s voice over the mass of people, his whoops so recognizable. He felt his chest heaving – sweat collected across his forehead and soaked his shirt throughout the performance; but man was it worth it.

Turning, Tony caught his breath at the look on Peter’s face. Tony loved the limelight – it was hard to break from after being in it for so long. Peter, on the other hand, seemed to appreciate a job well done – the reaction of the crowd something that brought the happiest look Tony had seen yet to his face. This guy belonged on the stage.

Warm hands were on his shoulders as they made their way down the stairs and off the stage, the heat of them seeping down through his leather jacket to the exposed skin of his arms. Tony felt himself laugh, his heart was beating a mile a minute and he just had the best encounter of his life up on the place he felt the most comfortable. He never thought this kind of happiness existed.

“That was the most fun I’ve ever had on stage,” Tony admitted, his hand reaching up to tap one of Peter’s. If they were anywhere else, he probably would’ve pulled him into his arms, swung him around in an excited hug. Even still, the small touch was enough – Peter tightened his grip for a moment, then pulled away.

The other’s face was absolutely flushed – the wetness of sweat making the hair on the front of his forehead stick to the skin there. Tony’s fingers itched to reach up and push it back. He refrained, but only just barely.

“You’re something else, Tony. Any chance I could convince you to come play with me and my band? We need a new lead singer and you seem to be everything we’ve been looking for.” Peter quirked a brow at him, the smirk on his lips only adding to the sexiness of the look.

Tony stared at him for a few seconds, his eyes roaming over his handsome face to make sure there weren’t any signs of joking or fucking around with him. He seemed pretty genuine, though – the redness of his cheeks made it difficult to see anything other than adorableness. Biting down on his bottom lip to keep the huge smile from spreading over his cheeks like a cheap whore’s legs, Tony nodded – hell fucking yes he wanted to be in Peter’s band.

“If you’re not fucking with me, I’m absolutely game. 100% down to be in a band and do that more than just once a week,” Tony answered, his own face red from the eagerness that couldn’t be contained.

Peter’s response was a swift arm around his shoulder, the shorter guy’s frame pressing into the side of Tony’s chest so sweetly. Without a thought, Tony wrapped his arm around him, keeping the contact between them close.

“When do we start?”

----

Much to Tony’s delight, Peter introduced him to the band the very next day.

Ned, the drummer, was a bigger man with dark hair and a friendly look on his face – he shook Tony’s hand with a grin on his face. “Pete says you’re better than Steve – can’t wait to see what you bring to the table, my man.” He shot him a smile and stepped back, his hands already fiddling with the sticks that were just in his pocket.

The bassist, a beautiful girl with the craziest curly hair and dangerous smile was up next – she didn’t shake his hand, her arms stayed folded across her chest, the bass tucked safely against her. “Do you play anything? Or just look pretty and sing?” MJ, as Peter introduced her, asked him with the slightest hint of sass. She was the spunk of this group – Tony could already tell.

“I play the guitar – I have a Gibson Les Paul and a Fender Strat. I’ve been slamming since college.” Tony was quick to quote a couple of his stats; her eyes were boring into him and it felt a little scary. He felt more of a need to impress her than anyone else standing in the room.

She was quick on the kickback, the look on her face softening a bit. “Was that yesterday, then? You look younger than Petey over there, and he’s the baby.” MJ pointed over towards the guy standing on Tony’s right side. People always asked him that question, his young face still something that got him into trouble every now and again.

Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Tony shrugged – “I graduated from MIT when I was 16. So, 3 years ago now, actually.” The collective gasps made him laugh – his secret identity obviously didn’t get to stay secret for long.

“You’re that Tony?” Peter piped up first, his voice causing Tony to turn a little. Peter’s eyes roamed over him – the appraisal not any different than before, just a bit more hesitant. “Tony Stark, right? Wonder kid – tech genius. You’re in line for a billion-dollar business. What are you doing here, with us?”

Tony didn’t have to think hard to answer that question, there were many reasons, so goddamn many of them. “I love music. My father just assumed I’d dump myself into the business. I followed his rules, went to college, did the whole song and dance – but it didn’t make me happy. This does – music, performing, bringing beats and words to life. I’m here for me, I guess. Because this is what I want.”

There was a moment of silence where everyone looked around – Tony watched the other three share looks between them, that mode of silent communication only available to the people that wrote the language. All at once, they swooped in and wrapped him up in a weird group hug. “This is the misfit family club, you’re totally welcome here, Tony Stark.” MJ was the one to voice the group’s opinion.

With the awkward stuff out of the way, the group got themselves organized – Tony stood behind the microphone with his guitar strapped across his chest right across from Peter, the man behind a fancy looking keyboard and a mic. There wasn’t a set list in place, so Ned started to tap out the opening lines of Take On Me – the beat of it easy to remember. Taking a deep breath, Tony started to sing, his entire being knowing that this was probably his only shot to impress these people. Peter was only one part of the package – MJ and Ned needed to get on board with his talent, too.

They didn’t stop for a while, Ned led them into song after song, all of them covers – all of them sounding a bit better the more the group played together. Tony took it as a good sign, MJ didn’t stop them right off the bat and demand him to leave – in fact, she got so lost in the music, it was difficult to bring her back from wherever she went when they were done. In all his life, he never felt so carefree – so openly accepted by people that liked the same thing he did.

“So, that’s the best we’ve ever sounded,” Ned said a little while later, all four of them sprawled out on the floor from pure exhaustion. They played for more than two hours, Tony’s throat was raw, and his fingers hurt – but it was the best he’d ever felt. “Like – we might actually have a chance to do something at Battle of the Bands this year.”

Looking around, Tony’s face split into a huge smile. “You guys compete at Battle of the Bands?” Tony gapped at them, his only experience with the music competition was as a fan standing in the crowd, looking up at the stage dreamily. Never in a million years did Tony think he’d actually be up on that stage.

The look on his face must’ve been dreamy, because they were all laughing. His cheeks flashed red, the idea of playing on a major stage and being teased about his excitement combining to create the ultimate blush – it probably trailed all the way down his chest at this point. Peter reached out and grabbed his shoulder, the move seemingly customary after a couple days of it happening – the squeeze was nice, the small touch reassuring. “It’s one of the coolest things you’ll ever experience, Tony.”

Still grinning, Tony went about putting his guitar away, the rest of the group doing the same. It’d been more than 4 hours since he walked in the door. His stomach grumbled, the reminder of how long it’d been making his body remember the fact that it needed food, water – sustenance was necessary to continue to rock out this way.

When he turned around, everyone but Peter was gone, the other two slipping out seemingly without a peep. Tony wasn’t mad about that, though. Since meeting Peter the day before, Tony couldn’t stop thinking about him. Of course, a lot of that had to do with their performance and the way it made him feel – there’d been so much chemistry between them. The more secretive part of him understood that carnality also played a part. Peter was hot, could play music, and the more he got to know him, the better his personality seemed to be.

“Any interest in getting something to eat? I’m wiped and could use a burger, or something.” Tony posed the question casually, he didn’t want to put any undue pressure on the outing, or Peter in general. They were practical strangers, after all.

Peter smiled over at him – “I could eat. I’ll show you some of the songs we’ve been trying to put together for Battle of the Bands, too. Maybe you’ll have some ideas.” Peter shouldered the bag with his keyboard in it, his hand once again finding Tony’s shoulder. “There’s a decent greasy spoon a couple blocks from here.”

Tony didn’t need to be told twice. He touched the spot on his arm Peter did and followed him closely – all of the touching was getting to him. Peter’s touch felt like fire, the entirety of it consuming him, moving down his arms and core to settle low into the pit of his stomach. Being gay and not really able to act on it all that often, Tony recognized the fact that he was touch starved. Yet, no one else’s touch had ever really – drawn such a reaction.

Stopping in front of May’s, Tony took a look around the place. It was old fashioned, decked out in old Coca-Cola signs and pictures of the city over the years. They settled at the counter, where Tony noticed a picture of the man he was sitting next to on the wall. “Is that you?” Tony asked, his finger pointing at a much younger and toothless Peter.

Curious eyes watched Peter’s cheeks color, the other guy shaking his head with mirth. “Oh god. Yes. This is my aunt’s place. I’ve told her so many times to take that damn picture down,” Peter’s grumbles were adorable and seemingly half assed. He might not be that old, but he was old enough to pull a picture off the wall if it really bothered him that much.

“It’s adorable. How long were you missing your front teeth?” Tony chuckled when Peter’s hand flew out and smacked against his arm.

“Asshole. It was a really long time. That smile followed me around for at least another year or so.” Peter’s lips were pressed together, the man obviously trying not to smile. “Wait – you think it’s adorable?” He tilted his head at Tony, a new look in his eye.

Blushing himself, Tony nodded his head, eyes dropping for a second. Flirting out in the open was new for him, he didn’t spend a lot of time doing this – getting to know a person. There weren’t a lot of people that seemed worth his time, so he avoided the experience all together. Now, though, he wished for just a bit more experience, for the words that were right for a situation like this. “Yes – insanely so. Hasn’t changed much, either.”

Peter didn’t say anything to that – he simply scooted his chair a little closer and leaned into his space more than he already did. The entire left side of Tony’s body was tingly and numb, the foreign feeling enough to take the edge off the hunger, despite no food crossing his lips. Maybe the hunger resided elsewhere, maybe he wasn’t just hungry for food, anymore. Opening his eyes to actual happiness came with a lot of new things to consider.

The illustrious May came to take their order. She hilariously reached across the counter to pinch Peter’s cheeks, her red lipstick smile endearing – it reminded him of his mother before complacency in life started to set in. A swift pang of something hit Tony square in the chest – his eyes leaving the scene in a rush.

A surprise moan left Tony’s lips when he bit into his burger a few minutes later. Not only was May eternally out to embarrass Peter in front of any person that would watch, she could cook better than anyone Tony ever encountered – even the paid chefs his father brought in to make them fancy meals. His father would curse him dead if he ever uttered anything like that in his presence. Regardless, she was amazing, and he annihilated his food without really looking up until he was completely done.

“Your aunt can really cook, Pete. I’m surprised you’re not a giant balloon with food like that at your disposal whenever you want,” Tony remarked, his full belly allowing him to actually pay attention to the man sitting next to him now. Though, he never noticed a weirdness in the silence, a feat that was substantial considering how much he loathed the silence everywhere else. His house growing up was riddled with a pit of quiet – but he didn’t mind it with Peter, it was actually nice, comfortable.

Tossing the last couple of fries into his mouth, Peter nodded, his cheeks full enough to make him look like a chipmunk hoarding nuts. Tony watched with amusement as he struggled to eat all of the food in his mouth and then swallow it – the bulging of his cheeks not getting any better until all the food was down. “I’ll make sure to tell her. She’ll be excited that THE Tony Stark liked her food.” Peter shot him a wink, the joke in his voice evident. “Now that’s taken care of, do you want to look at the set list?”

A rush of excitement washed over him, Tony nodding his head eagerly. “Hell yes, I do.” Peter shook his head fondly and opened up one of the zippers on his keyboard case – he placed a red folder stuffed to the gills with sheet music in front of Tony. Looking at it wide eyed, Tony flipped it open and immediately felt overwhelmed. There were handwritten sheets of lyrics, scribbled notes about key and pitch – his brain in overdrive already.

“I didn’t even need to see your face to know that was going to be your reaction. We haven’t been able to come up with anything that comes together cohesively. It’s just a bunch of little pieces of songs that don’t fit. Ever do any music writing?” Peter asked hopefully.

Tony scrunched up his nose, shaking it vigorously. “I could write you any kind of system programming you want, I can read music, but I’ve never written lyrics.” He pulled out a few sheets and flipped through them. There were three song options in the nine pages he pulled out. Taking a deep breath, Tony thought for a moment. “Does it have to be an original song? Or could we come in there with a cover?”

Peter looked at him like he’d just solved world hunger, his eyes bulging almost comically – “Holy shit – why didn’t we ever think about that? The stuff we were putting down today sounded amazing. We’ve been dragging our toes on prepping something because there hasn’t been anything to prep.” His voice rose in pitch and volume the more he talked, his enthusiasm overtaking him. “Tony, you’re a genius,” he exclaimed, his arm wrapping around Tony’s shoulder. “An absolute genius.”

Preening at the words, Tony leaned into the touch – exhilaration overtaking most of the functioning of his brain. A throat clearing had them tearing apart – May was standing in front of them, her eyebrows raised. “Stop making a ruckus in here, Pete. Take your friend somewhere else if you’re gonna do that shit.” She took their plates away, her head shaking as she walked through the door to the kitchen.

“She’s right – we should get out of here.” Peter wasn’t quite meeting his eyes then, the embarrassment of being called out by his aunt tangible. Tony nudged him with his shoulder, a soft smile on his face.

“Okay – make sure you thank your aunt for the meal?” Tony got up from his chair as he spoke, the strap of his guitar case going over his shoulder once again. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Peter.” He gripped the back of the other man’s neck for a moment – Tony couldn’t stand not feeling Peter’s gorgeous locks under his fingers for another minute. Squeezing lightly in goodbye, Tony crossed the restaurant and left through the door.

----

The next couple of weeks were spent going through a long list of songs that everyone thought would work for the dynamic of the band – and then refining that list. They performed them all over and over again, MJ arguing that the only way to really choose was to see how they sounded and how versatile they could be. Doing a cover was a good idea, but they needed to figure out a way to make it their own.

On top of all the band practice and get togethers, Tony spent some of his free time with Peter. After the diner and the mutual understanding of each other they came to, it was pretty easy to get lost in the friendship they were creating.

There was attraction there – Tony couldn’t deny how much he wanted to simply touch Peter, how he wanted to grab the back of his neck and pull him close enough to kiss. It was undeniable. Yet, toeing around the subject and merely getting to know each other felt more natural. Tony hoped something more would come, he thought about it pretty constantly; there wasn’t any need to rush, though – their similar interests weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

About two weeks before Battle of the Bands, Nick the bartender/owner of Monteros’ got ahold of Tony, the man offering them one of the open mic spots that suddenly opened. Tony didn’t hesitate to say yes – they needed to get some stage time as a band before they hit the big one. It was one thing to practice in the space they did every day, but a whole other thing to actually be in front of a crowd and entertain for more than one song.

Relaying the news, the entire band went wild. Tony recognized the relief on everyone’s faces, the thought of getting a warmup gig under their belt as a band was reassuring – they could work out all the kinks of their performance, they could gage how well the crowd reacted and changes things up if need be. Their practice that afternoon was filled with passion and excitement – everyone hit their cues, the entire set they were planning to play sounded great.

Tony stuck around after they were done to help Peter pack up his keyboard – MJ and Ned fled the second they could, the two of them probably picking up on the unresolved sexual tension between Peter and himself. No one talked about it, not even them – but it was there, tangible in the way they looked at each other, in the way Tony seemed to know what Peter wanted or was thinking before the man himself did. He was waiting for MJ to yell at them to just fuck already – Tony couldn’t wait for that.

“So, are you stoked, or are you really fucking stoked?” Tony asked, breaking the silence in their rehearsal space. It always felt a little weird when they were done, the acoustics of the place seemingly sucking up all the sound they made during practice and pulling it into the void. The eeriness of the silence kind of reminding him of home.

Peter zipped up his case and turned towards him, a beaming smile on his face. “Really fucking stoked. I can’t believe Nick called us. I’ve been trying to get him to let us in on an open mic night for ages.” He slung the strap across his body and closed the gap between them. As was customary these days, Peter wrapped an arm around his shoulder, the man the ultimate tease with his soft touches and nonsexual intimacy.

“Rhodey was in there bragging about us last week – I bet that’s what swayed him. Nick is an old family friend of his,” Tony remarked, his own arm wrapping around Peter’s waist. “It’s a solid spot, there’s going to be a decent amount of people there. I’m so ready, Pete.” He squeezed the smaller man against him, fingers digging in slightly.

The other man stopped abruptly a second later, his shoes squeaked against the floor below them and Tony banged into his side. “Peter, what’s – “ was as far as Tony got before Peter turned slightly and pressed their lips together. It was electric – the satisfying feeling of finally settling deep within his gut. Tony adjusted enough to wrap his other arm around Peter, their chests making contact for the first time.

A subtle smack from the stem of his guitar against the back of his head had him pulling away, a gasp leaving his lips. He felt a little numb, his fingers and toes tingling obscenely – the core of the feeling pulsing his lips, the ones that finally got to be pressed against Peter’s. “Wow,” Tony mumbled, a hand moving to the back of his head to both soothe the ache and distract himself. The somewhat public space they were standing in was the last spot they wanted to get caught pressing each other up against the walls kissing frantically.

Peter’s dopey look had him pressing back in for another soft kiss – just to tide them over until they could do this properly, preferably somewhere less public. “Hold that thought,” Peter finally mumbled, his arms dropping down to his sides, feet carrying him a couple steps away from Tony. “I just couldn’t stand it anymore, y’know?” Peter asked the question with a laugh. “Of course, you know.”

Tony felt too breathless to answer, his entire body on fire from just those simple little touches. It scared him a little, just how much he felt in that moment. It was a craving – one so constant that the dam could potentially break at any time. He rifled his fingers through his hair, blinking rapidly for a moment. Peter drove him nuts and now that he knew the taste of him – he just might not survive.

By mutual agreement, they didn’t follow each other home like normal. Tony wanted time to process the new step they took – he needed to find a way to get himself under control before things ran away from him. He let his fingers brush across Peter’s cheek before they walked out of the building, the touch almost enough to spur him up again.

The walk helped to clear his head, his emotions in check now that he could think away from Peter. Getting to the point they were at seemed inevitable, yet it still shook him to the core. Someone wanted him, the Tony Stark that didn’t come with the glitz and glam, the one that just wanted to be who he was, not who people thought he should be. Giddiness slammed into him, the thought that someone finally saw him way more than enough.

He didn’t see Peter until the four of them got together a couple hours before the show at Monteros’ – Tony dug into the pizza they ordered to stave off pre-show hunger, his nervous eating something he thought he kicked a long time ago. His stomach felt funny, so he put food in it – anything else would have caused him more anxiety.

They kept their focus on the show the entire time, Tony determined to have his brain in it all the way. He planned to ask Peter back to his place after they were done, but that wasn’t here nor there in that moment – they had a show to play. Their last-minute preparations were quick and easy, the stage was already set up and ready for them to come out and hopefully blow the crowd away.

Nick announced them without much fanfare a little while later. Stepping out onto the stage, Tony was stoked to see Rhodey in their normal set of seats, he’d been on the phone with his best friend for a couple of hours the day before filling him in on the Peter situation and the insider details of what their set would entail.

Not wasting any time, Ned counted out the start of I Love Rock ‘N Roll – Tony and MJ hit the opening riffs perfectly. Sucking in a breath, Tony started to sing – “I saw him dancing there by the record machine.” He let his voice get a little gravely, his fingers moving over the frets as he belted out the first verse.

Tony dropped out at the chorus letting Peter and MJ take the harmonies through it, his mind preoccupied with the heavy guitar piece throughout. The sound of hands starting to clap through the next verse had Tony grinning, his energy increasing by the second. He almost wished he could drop the guitar and walk around the stage, work the crowd a little. It was alive, the thrum of enjoyment absolutely intoxicating.

A roar of applause sounded when they finished, the four of them clapping out the last note with the rest of the crowd. Taking a moment to soak it in, Tony turned to look over at Ned, his head nodding to start up the next song.

The click of his sticks brought Peter’s keyboard to life, the first few notes his and his alone. He counted out the beats after MJ joined in, his hands coming up to grip the microphone – “I feel the hunger, it’s a hunger – that tries to keep a man awake at night.” Flashing his eyes over to Peter, Tony quirked an eyebrow, the words coming out of his mouth never truer than in that moment.

The chorus of this song was always Tony’s favorite and their decision to bring Peter in on it as an echo made it hit a little harder – the high falsetto of his “be my little baby, oh, ho, oh” making the crowd roar. Grabbing the mic from the stand, he gripped some of the cord in his free hand to drag behind him, his guitar slung over his back. He took a few steps across the stage as he built up to the chorus.

Pressing himself against Peter’s side, Tony held the microphone between them, the chorus seeming to sound even better this time with both of their voices ringing so clearly in his own ears. He let a hand run down Peter’s thigh out of sight before walking back across the stage, stopping only when the tips of his feet were dangling off the edge of it. He leaned forward and delivered the last run into the climax of the song.

Tony couldn’t wipe the exhilarated look on his face, his cheeks burning from the smile, from having to aid in moving his mouth so much – simply from enjoying himself like never before. They finished the song off with the entire band coming in to hit the final line in a beautiful demonstration of organized chaos.

The next song was Tony’s favorite of the set. They spent a few days deciding whether they should replace the fiddles with a similar sound on the keyboard or rearrange it to include more guitar – in the end, they gave Tony the freedom to do whatever he wanted with the arrangement. During one of their late-night hangouts, Tony and Peter put together something special.

Tony started them off with the singular sound of the guitar, his fingers plucking over the strings in attempts to get a more wholesome tune, the pick he’d need later in the song between his lips. Ned came in with the bass drum and set the pace for MJ and Peter to slip in right before he started to sing – “Come on Eileen – “

Despite loving the initial entry into the song, Tony enjoyed the collective voice they put into the chorus. Most of the lines were call and response anyway – Tony dropping out every other line to magnify the sound of his guitar and the combined effect of Peter, MJ, and Ned echoing the lyrics back to him. He’d never felt the amount of energy from the rest of his friends on the stage before – they were fucking killing it and they all knew it.

Ending the song with his hand in the air, Tony finally let himself take a breath. His entire body was thrumming with a sort of energy he didn’t know existed – Tony had never felt like this before. He let the music die down completely before turning and looking at the rest of the people on stage with him – he was met with equals looks of joy and success. MJ looked serene, Ned sweaty and blissed out, and Peter – Peter looked equal parts hungry and over the moon. When their eyes locked, Tony felt the scorch of their gaze, the intensity of it off the charts.

In three songs, Tony managed to validate all of the things he’d been feeling about his step away from the Stark legacy. He worried and wondered for such a long time; it was insanely nice to finally feel at peace with his decision. The pumping of his heart felt so damn right – there wasn’t a single doubt in him any longer.

Nick came on the stage and called for another round of applause for them as they walked off. The second there was enough space, all four of them gathered together into one of their weird group hugs. Peter’s hand settled into the back pocket of Tony’s jeans, the touch adding to the tingly warmth that was already threatening to overwhelm him.

“That was amazing, right?” Peter asked. Everyone took a step back, the serenity of their group hug shifting to the room around them, instead. Tony’s face ached from the megawatt smile he could see replicated on all of the other’s faces. Amazing wasn’t the right word to describe that experience – it was world changing, Earth shifting kind of stuff.

“Hell yes – we’re going to kill it at Battle of the Bands. The changes we made to Come On Eileen made that whole set come together. Brilliant, guys – fucking brilliant,” MJ said in reply, her voice loud, the exhilaration apparent in the tone of it.

“The crowd loved it, too. They were into it from start to finish. What a rush,” Tony added, his cheeks tinging pink at the admission – he couldn’t help it, he felt good, free for the very first time in his life. He heard Peter chuckle and turned to look at him, a shy smile on his lips.

Peter didn’t look away like he expected him to. The hunger in his eyes seemed to pulse, the sight of it making his cock suddenly come to life. Obviously unwilling to wait any longer to touch him, Peter stepped into Tony’s space, an arm wrapping around his waist. Tony reciprocated, his fingers snaking across the back of Peter’s neck to wrap tightly around his shoulders.  

Ned and MJ were their friends and bandmates – it seemed pertinent to be able to feel comfortable around them. Society wasn’t on their side, but he hoped they might be.

Turning his head, Tony pressed a kiss to Peter’s hair – it smelled like citrus, some sort of hair product, and sweat; the delicious musk of him tantalizing. Tony liked to function under the rule of actions speaking louder than words – his attempt at telling them loud, but not shouting it subtle enough.

MJ turned to Ned, her fist slamming into his upper arm with a solid thwack – “Cough it up. I told you.” Her painted lips were stretched into a shit eating grin. MJ was a breath of fresh air and the silent acceptance of that one statement meant so goddamn much.

“Want to come back to mine?” Tony whispered, his lips barely grazing Peter’s ear as he spoke. He felt Peter shudder, the movement pressing the other man’s shoulder into his side more fully.

Instead of answering, Peter looked over at Ned and MJ, a smile slipping across his lips. “You two can take care of my keyboard, right?” His eyes flashed with amusement at the question, Tony noticing a deep flush coursing across his cheeks and down his neck. If all things went to plan, Tony would get to see where that blush stopped and what exactly it led to.

“Yes, go. The tension you guys let fester over the past few weeks is disgusting. I’ll stop by May’s tomorrow and get your keys to you.” She stopped, then looked back at them with a saucy smirk. “Protect yourself, boys.”

----

Throughout the walk, Tony figured things would cool down between them – they needed to focus on the steps in front of them, not each other. Yet, Tony struggled to keep his hands to himself. The overall aura radiating from Peter was so bright, like light directly from the sun – the nights activities and anticipation for more looked amazing on him. Tony wanted to grasp the brightness and keep some for himself.

It seemed to take forever to get to his place, despite it being only a few blocks away from the bar. Getting to his building, Tony practically pushed Peter up the stairs. He struggled with the lock for a couple of seconds before getting the damn thing open with a sigh of relief. All bets were off when the door closed behind them.

Tony pressed Peter against the door, his hands settling on the other man’s hips in a tight grip. Using it to his advantage, he pressed Peter more firmly into the wood and rested his own hips against him. A moan left his lips at the evidence of Peter’s arousal, the bulge in his jeans more than obvious now that Tony was pressed so tightly against him. Rolling his hips, Tony thrust against him until they were lined up, cock to cock.

Peter’s head knocked back against the door, the solid thud of it making Tony look up. Normally bright brown eyes were covered by soft looking eyelids framed in gorgeously long eyelashes. The squint was back, crinkles at the corners of his eyes and a tight pinch between his brows one of the man’s natural reactions. His mouth was wide open, little hums and gasps falling from his lips.

While he still had a bit of sense left in him, Tony pulled back a little, the hands still on Peter’s hips guiding him, pulling him forward until they were walking down the hall. Tony could find anything in his place with his eyes closed, so the backwards position wasn’t an issue for him. The backs of his legs hit the mattress when they finally made it into the bedroom. Tony sat down on the edge of it, his hands still tugging Peter along,

The man didn’t hesitate to straddle his lap, a long sigh leaving both their lips when their cocks were lined up again – the pressure of his jeans made him want to tear off all their clothes, but the deliciousness of Peter’s hard warmth against him was too hard to pull away from just yet. Peter leaned down to kiss him again, his hands greedily running down the sides of Tony’s flanks until fingers were toying with the plain red shirt he’d been wearing up on stage. Wanting to help, Tony lifted his hands so Peter could pull the shirt over his head.

Fabric hitting the floor spurred Tony on just the same, his hands not nearly as smooth in their removal of the short sleeve button up Peter looked so damn good in. He let a huff of success leave his lips when he got the shirt down the other’s arms, his wrist flicking it across the room. With so much skin on display, Tony found himself in stimulus overload. He wanted to nip, kiss, and touch every single inch of him – Peter’s skin was smooth and pale, a couple of freckles and moles littering his torso and upper shoulders. Tony ached for it all.

“Hold on,” Tony mumbled against Peter’s lips, his hands gripping under Peter’s thighs. He stood up and flipped their positions, Tony doing his best to put Peter down on the bed gently. Peter’s pearly white skin was a perfect contrast to the black sheets on the bed – the man a spark amongst the darkness.

Eager fingers moved to the button of Peter’s jeans – he worked to get them open, unzipped, and down his thighs in no time at all. It took a bit of fumbling to get his shoes and socks off without making it awkward, but Peter was in just his black briefs in no time. With a quick kiss to Peter’s lips, Tony pulled away, getting up from the bed – he needed to get his pants off that very instant, or he might actually explode.

Peter shifted his position on the mattress, the man coming to his knees and meeting Tony at the edge of the bed. A sigh of relief fell from his lips when the metal of his zipper was no longer digging into his sensitive flesh. Kicking everything to the side, Tony stood in front of him completely naked – his cock sticking straight out in a delicate salute to one Peter Parker.

Before he knew it, Peter’s lips were around his cock – the other man didn’t waste a second of time, his greedy hands palmed Tony’s ass cheeks and pulled him closer; his cock slipping even further into the tight heat of his mouth. Tony let his hands drift into Peter’s hair, his head dropping back, the tension of his neck the only thing keeping it on his shoulders still.

Despite knowing he liked men since an early age, Tony wasn’t exposed to very many options to find partners similarly inclined. His experience wasn’t vast – even still, he knew Peter was good at what he was doing; Tony’s brains were oh so delicately being sucked from his cock little by little. Finding that he couldn’t keep his hips still anymore, Tony loosened is grip, forcing himself to look down. “I’m going to cum if you keep doing that. I want the first time to be inside of you,” Tony mumbled hoarsely, his arousal coloring his voice drastically.

The licks and sucks didn’t end right away, Peter bobbed his head a couple more times before pulling away, spit on his chin and a mischievous grin on his face. “I needed to taste you,” he said simply, his body already shifting away from Tony and further onto the mattress. He shimmied out of the briefs and threw them over the side of the bed. Tony watched him settle in the middle of the mattress on his hands and knees, his head turned looking at Tony over his shoulder. “This okay?”

“More than,” Tony babbled, his body moving on autopilot to the perfectly Tony sized space between Peter’s legs. He gripped both of cheeks in his hands and parted them, his tongue slipping out to drag across his perineum. He traced up the path and settled at Pete’s puckered hole, the tip of his tongue darting against the tension without any warning.

“Fuck, Tony – warn a guy,” Peter rumbled, a chuckle lacing his words. He pressed his hips back against Tony’s face, the action totally contradictory to his words.

Pressing against the rim again, Tony felt Peter relax around him, his tongue slipping in only for Tony to pull it back and thrust forward quickly again. The small ‘ahs’ he was getting from Peter spurred him on. He took long licks around the rim, the spit of it all collecting in his goatee and dripping down to the sheets below him.

He would’ve kept going, but Peter turned and tried to paw at him, his fingers gripping whatever they could of Tony’s arm. “I need you to fuck me, Tony.” Who was he to not stop what he was doing and get down to business? Nodding, he pulled back with another long lick from his crack down to his balls – a moan sliding from his own throat as he did.

Tony forced himself to reach over and open the bedside drawer. In anticipation of tonight, he brought a brand-new box of condoms and bottle of lube. Grabbing them, he tossed the condom onto the bed next to Peter’s hip and tore at the wrapping around the top of the bottle with his teeth. He let a sigh drip from his lips when he got it open.

Flipping the cap, Tony squirted a good amount of the lube on two of his fingers and let it heat up there. “Might be cold,” Tony whispered, both fingers pressing against Peter’s rim. There wasn’t much resistance when he pushed inside, his tongue doing a good job relaxing him. He thrust a few times, fingertips seeking out that special spot and finally hitting it.

“Do that again!” Peter exclaimed, his hips shoving back in an attempt to get Tony’s fingers deeper. Complying without question, Tony reached until his fingers were pressing against Peter’s prostate with every thrust. The walls around his digits were quaking, Peter rhythmically clenching around him. Tony couldn’t wait to feel that around his cock, the hardness straining between his legs sluggishly dripping precum from the tip.

Peter reached behind himself again, his hand patting the mattress until he found the condom. “Put this on. I need you.” His voice was dripping with need, the man’s hips thrusting forward into the mattress on their own accord. Peter was strung out, the sight enough to be any man’s downfall. Tony’s head swam for a second, his arousal finally catching up to him.

He bit into the side of the package and tore it open, his fingers working quickly to get the condom down his length – he had to clench the base of his cock a couple of times to stop himself from coming; it was all too much.

A lubed-up hand circled Peter’s hole a couple of times, then smeared the rest down his length – Tony gripping himself hard as he lined up and pressed forward. The initial push was like glorious torture – “Push back against me, you’re so tight, Pete,” Tony babbled, his cock encased in the most enticing heat he’d ever experienced. The orgasm he’d been trying to stave off the entire time was quickly approaching.

Finally bottoming out, Tony gave himself a moment to calm down. His skin was riddled with goosebumps and completely sweat soaked. He marveled at the same sheen he could see on Peter’s skin. He reached around until his hand was closing over Peter’s erection, the other man considerable in size and girth – his cock surprisingly rock hard despite the pain he probably felt upon first intrusion. Tony let his hips roll forward and the cock in his hand jump – the throb there so apparent against his palm.

To impatient to give either of them anymore time, Tony started to thrust. He drew his hips back until only the tip was resting inside, his balls already scrunched up and tight against his skin. Letting his hips roll, Tony pushed back in nice and slow. Peter took every inch, his body moving in time with Tony’s. After a few minutes, they found a good rhythm – Tony sat back up and clenched slim hips in his hands, picking up the pace.

It felt like hours, the push and pull of their coupling. Peter panted out Tony’s name over and over again – his voice rough, sounding a little more shattered each time. Tony did his best to keep things tame, but finally hit a melting point – his body ached, the need for release getting to the almost painful point. “I’m so close, Pete.”

“Me too. Touch me, touch me – please,” Peter babbled in response, his hips pressing back into Tony ruthlessly, the pace all sorts of fucked up now. Reaching around again, Tony wrapped his hand around Peter’s dick, his hips picking up speed enough to where the other man’s cock slipped through his grip with every thrust.

He felt the sticky wetness on his fingers and absolutely lost it. “Ah, Pete!” he just about screamed, his orgasm hitting him like a truck going full speed. Tony had just enough left in him to pull out and sink to the mattress with only half of his body on top of Peter’s.

They laid in their mess for a few minutes, Tony doing his best to blink away the dark spots and haze. He watched Peter’s breathing even out, the man’s chest heaving a little less with each draw of breath. The sweat on his skin was what brought him completely out of the post-orgasm goodness, his skin once again breaking out in goosebumps.

“Want to take a shower?” Tony questioned, his lips pressing to the back of Peter’s neck. He sat up and pulled the condom off, tying it and sending it into the wastebasket by the side of the bed with a thunk. He ran a hand up Peter’s hip just because he could – the concept one he would have no problems getting used to.

Peter reached back and pulled him into a kiss, a grin on his lips. “Sounds good, baby.”

----

Two weeks later, they were gathered in their rehearsal space, prepping one last time for Battle of the Bands the next day. After getting some feedback from friends and randos in the audience, the group decided to add a fourth song – they were given twenty minutes to perform and could get all of them in if they were efficient about their time.

Since the night of their show, Peter and Tony were pretty much inseparable – they practiced together daily, ate at May’s, hung out with MJ, Ned, and Rhodey; and had lots of sex. It was a good kind of weird, having someone to touch and kiss – Peter loved to be near him and always wanted to be against him in some fashion. Bonding the way they were helped their chemistry on stage, too. They were on fire – the translation of that in their performance coming out in the shape of wild energy and passion.

Wrapping up, MJ posed the question they’d been avoiding this entire time. “What do we call ourselves? We’ve been playing together all this time and never thought to come up with a name.” She looked at each of them, her eyes searching for some sort of clue.

“3 dudes and a lady?” Ned threw out, his shoulders shrugging. MJ’s eyebrows pinched together, the obvious distaste for that one written all over her face. Ned shrugged again – “At least I tried.”

Tony looked over at Peter, his brain going back to all of the adventures they had walking through this very neighborhood. When there wasn’t much to do, they picked a street and wandered until they found something or ended up back home. A grin slipped across his cheeks, an idea coming to him. “Why don’t we call ourselves The Neighborhood Friendlies?”

There was a beat of silence before MJ broke into a grin of her own – “Tony Stark, you’re a genius.”

Hearing that name announced the never next day made Tony’s heart want to beat straight out of his chest. They walked out onto a stage that was twice as big as Monteros’ and brightly lit. Tony squinted, his pulse thrumming in his ears. It took him a second to adjust and then another second to recognize Peter’s hand on his arm, the fingers there squeezing reassuringly. “Let’s rock it, baby,” Peter mouthed, his right eye winking saucily.

With a click, the performance clock started, the stagehand off to the side holding up her thumb as a sign to get started. “Hey, everyone. We’re The Neighborhood Friendlies!” Tony spoke into the mic, his voice much steadier than he figured it would be. Turning, he nodded at Ned – the man grinned and bringing his sticks up, clicked out the starting tempo.

Their first three songs went great, their dynamic got better the longer they were up there – the crowd played into it, chanting and cheering – the sound of it enough to keep Tony focused, his nerves in check, but just barely. Looking over at Peter, he returned the wink from earlier and started in on their final song – “Calling out around the world, are you ready for a brand new beat?”

He swung his guitar around his back and grabbed the mic from the stand meeting Peter in the middle of the stage. Dancing in the Street called for both of them to sing the entire time, the matching pitches of their voices sounding better than Bowie and Jagger. To top it all off, they kicked around the stage, getting themselves purposely tangled in the mic wires, only to finish perfectly free on opposite sides of the stage from each other. Leaning into his shoulder, Tony pressed his face into the sweat soaked shirt and let out a huge breath. No matter what, they’d just given and left their all out on the stage.

The four of them tried to watch the rest of the bands from the back of the stage but couldn’t focus a single bit – Tony was still thrumming with excess energy and excitement from their amazing performance. After that initial jolt of nerves, Tony forgot all about the big crowd and the potential prize and just cut loose – his performance all the better for it. He and Peter were covertly holding hands, MJ and Ned flanking them to be close and act as cover all at once.

As the last band performing left the stage, Tony felt himself starting to get a little nervous again. If they took this thing, they could easily find themselves on track for a record deal – the money they brought home from this would give them more than enough wiggle room to record, maybe even find a lyricist that could help them put together original songs for them to debut. His fingers gripped Peter’s tightly; the other man just as nervous if the sweat against his palm had anything to say about it.

It almost didn’t register – when their name was announced. Tony and Peter looked at each other, then turned to look at MJ and Ned – all four of them completely dumbfounded. “I think that’s us,” Ned finally said, a huge grin breaking out across his face.

“Holy shit, that’s us!” Peter yelled, his hand gripping Tony’s so tightly he thought for a moment that he might’ve broken a bone. The other man leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek – “We fucking won!”

----

The next time Tony saw his father, they were finishing up their first tour in beautiful New York City – the band practically demanded it when they found out they’d be leaving the city for six months. It was a hell of a ride, traveling the states in a bus, getting to play for thousands of people on a nightly basis. Tony learned so much about music and singing, about himself and the things he wanted and could do, and about love and the way he could so selflessly give it to someone else.

When Peter looked at him on the stage, it felt like the first time every time. They were so much more now, together and apart – Tony figured things would always feel old as dirt and brand new all at the same time with Peter. That had to be what forever felt like.

So, seeing Howard standing there in the VIP line, Tony was pleasantly surprised. 18 months ago, he still would have tried to flee or angrily push him away. Now, he merely smiled at him, his dark tinted glasses hiding the hope that he couldn’t ever stop from coursing through him whenever his dad was around. “Dad, here for a picture with the band?” Tony asked, stepping up to the rope himself instead of letting the attendant walk him back.

“What are you doing here?” he asked once they were away from the rest of the line. He wanted to trust that his dad wanted to be there to support him, but that hadn’t ever been the case before. It felt like a longshot that something like that would change so easily.

“I had to see for myself. How good you were doing. Your mom plays your stuff in the house all the time. I just – needed to see you.”

Tony’s stomach clenched; he’d been waiting to hear that from his dad for his entire life. Without thinking, he threw his arms around him – “Thanks for coming.” He mumbled the words into the jacket of his suit, then pulled away. The current technology made getting pictures of him a lot easier these days.

“Well, come on, then. I’ve got some people I want you to meet.”

[countryshitposts]

You’re Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

All The Sinners Stand Up, Say Hallelujah

Trigger Warnings; rape and prostitution

AO3 Link

Chapter 1

Previous

-

Name Guide:

Daehan Minguk- South Korea

Choson Inmin- North Korea

Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government

Koku Nippon- Japan

Teikoku Nippon- Japan Empire

-

"Are you lost? Do you need help?", the stranger repeats his question once again, taking a step closer to the woman clad in the large jacket, taking every bit of her skin; goosebumps were rising all around her skin, prickling at her as she becomes even colder than the North and South Pole themselves, their blizzards not a match for the ice-cold and frozen skin she already has, faced with another man perhaps luring her in to his trap.

She had learned a long time ago never to trust eyes- they have become so genuine and easily traced to the point she is now in a lying snake's trap, the snake slithering closer to her, eyes flickering with hunger, tongue flicking.

She stays silent, a fish in the water, waiting for the trespasser to leave, his silhouette clear in the dark depths of the water, eyes blank and observing.

"What's your name?", he was quite insistent, his slimy and grabby fingers making its way back to his body, head tilted to the side and with a general concerned look, and she could not help but think when this man was going to lose his patience and walk off, leaving her alone in this nightly realm. "Do you want to go to the police department?"

She freezes up once again, standing back, shaking like the water has been hit by a stone for skipping and circles rock back and forth from the water, expanding and expanding until it dies down and once again, it is back to its old and tranquil past.

"I'll take that as a no", the man notes, his tone somewhat understanding and sympathetic- it was not out of the blue for someone to reflect their so-called genuine emotions, but like everyone she had met in her entire life, their eyes hide another layer of deceit that will come once they have laid in their trap.

Shanghai shivers, either of the fact that another strong breeze flies right through her and she snuggles into the limited warmth of the coat, or because the man is still standing in front of her and staring at her with such intensity to the point she wanted to burn him alive with her own eyes. He was still staring at her with such concern that it burns her flesh bit by bit, his stare full of intensity echoing within her. She keeps her distance to the stranger, and he seems not to go near her personal space, the both of them having a silent standoff in her point of view.

Then, as if the gods were against her well-being and general lack of understanding the situation she is in right now, something small but cold drops on her nose, and she blinks a little.

Then another drop, small and minuscule, unseen, but she knows the feeling of its wetness and what was about to come.

More drops fall down from the dark sky, unsure whether it was crying and mourning as more and more drops fall from the grey clouds above. A shower starts, the intensity of the drizzle increasing, the small droplets creating sounds once they hit roofs until a spasm of tiny droplets hit the ground and hit the two who were still not covering themselves.

Shanghai had missed seeing the rain, witnessing its moistness on her skin, the way it makes her feel even colder as another blizzard-like wind passes her direction, and she stares at the rain, ignoring the way the drops fall on her until she was mostly wet.

She hears the sound of an umbrella being opened, and hearing the patter of rain drops colliding with the leather skin; she does not feel the wet drops on her anymore.

Puzzled, she turns around to find the man holding out the umbrella to shield her from the rain drops, ignoring the steadfast drizzle that is now falling on him with a torrent of emotions, either from the great sky above them desolate and desperate to have someone comfort them to the ends of all time, their skin spreading onto space and enveloping the whole world into the same sadness the night sky experience or they are crying tears of joy because space and earth will never touch again.

"Why don't you come to my house?" Time stops as her eyes meet the man's again, still swirling with sincerity and worry for her welfare, she stands back a little once again, never uttering a single word, still wary of what he wants from her. He laughs a little, smoothing his already wet dark hair awkwardly, "Oh right, we technically are strangers. My name's Daehan Imsi, but you can call me Imsi. You are?"

Shanghai takes a moment to stare at his now drenched suit, one hand holding the umbrella used to shield her from the rain and keep her dry, to his hand still holding his suitcase dripping water, knuckles turning white, and to his face, awkward smile intact. She must have been staring for a minute or so, since Imsi visibly deflates and sighs a little.

"I'm sorry for taking so much of your time", he says with a small sigh. "I will be leaving now, you can have my umbrella." He gives his umbrella to Shanghai's open hand, their fingers touching (much to the woman's panic in thinking he'll do something else), turning his back on her as he starts to walk away.

She then feels a raw sound come from her throat, emotions increasing.

"Wait", she chokes, and Imsi stops walking. "My name is Shanghai."

Imsi smiles a little, "Nice to meet you, Shanghai."

She follows him to his home, like an obedient dog following its master because it cannot walk on its four paws without a guide, hands on the dog's leash as their owner treats them like a slave, yanking their leashes and letting the pet's collars suffocate their throats as they forcefully drag them away. She silently keeps her head down, passive as her eyes watch the damp and moist ground being disturbed by the sound of her heels making noises in the silent night. Her eyes linger to Imsi's back shyly, coat draped over his head as the soft drizzle pitter-patters over the rooftops and buildings, as she holds the umbrella he offered to her earlier.

"Almost there, not to worry." Imsi turns his head to look at Shanghai, who averts her gaze from Imsi and back to the floors.

They continue to walk, never a chore for Shanghai, because at the very least she can remember that she was not following Teikoku and another client to a room, because it was a short walk from doomsday and from her companions, all looking tense and worried for her. This was a long walk to the so-called house which will house her and make her feel at home, until the man shoves her into his room and locks the door.

He stops abruptly, and she keeps her distance, looking down before her eyes glance at the building in front of her; a small apartment building, the first floor in use. Imsi continues to walk, looking at the windows as Shanghai slowly catches up with him, still cautious of his intentions and reasons of bringing her here to his abode.

(She closes the umbrella and puts it on the proper place, trying to dry the leathery shield herself before putting the umbrella on the corner of the door.)

"Ah, Minguk is home", he mutters under his breath, opening the door, and much to Shanghai's slight surprise, he holds the door wide for her to enter. She looks at Imsi for a while, before immediately going inside his home, hearing the door close behind him, stopping for a while to hear him locking the door, but all she hears is him complaining about his drenched suit.

Imsi did not question Shanghai stopping for a moment, as he walks past her and into the living room shared by their small dining table and kitchen. She follows Imsi, and sees a young boy seated on one of the sits of the dining table, pen in his hand, tongue sticking out of his mouth, dark blue eyes fixated on the page of the book, hair decrepitly messy but looking dyed in the fringes. He had dark circles underneath his eyes, and she assumes he got it from studying all night.

The boy looks up from the book and sees Imsi, and then his eyes go to Shanghai, who was now fussing further up her jacket.

"Who's that?", he curtly snaps at Imsi, who was busily taking out his shoes and socks, which were also damp. Imsi gives him a glare.

"Mind your manners and words, Minguk", he warns, and turns to look at Shanghai, who was still in the abnormally large jacket, and with caring words, "and you can put that away now."

Shanghai shakes her head, hiding herself more in the coat, despite the fact warmth was basking on the skin she was revealing, the light and air around her like the summer heat she used to experience along time ago, and especially in the bed, but instead of feeling skin colliding against hers and caressing her most intimate parts she feels nothing but the shaking of her body.

Imsi blinks, "Ah, alright then."

Minguk gets up from the table, narrowing his eyes towards Shanghai, suspicion evident. "Why did you pick up a woman on the streets again, samchon?"

Shanghai freezes, perking her head up as her heart starts to beat, remembering the times Teikoku would ultimately humiliate her by making her wait for her client who is driving a car, holding her by the hair as she tries covering her bare body, the only covers her undergarments. She feels tears pinprick her eyes as she feels Teikoku's hands on her, his hand on her thigh rising higher and higher, until a car skids to a stop right in front of them and Teikoku pushes her in, a smirk forming on his face.

"Miss Shanghai, joesong haeyo about my nephew's clear insensitivity", he tells the woman behind him with a sheepish look, then glares at his nephew, "she is a guest in our home. I suggest you treat her with respect."

Minguk purses his lips, glaring at an irritated and wet Imsi and a shaking and freezing Shanghai, "She might be hiding something from us if she refuses to take that off."

"Have some humility, Minguk!", Imsi berates him, raising his voice a little, "she is a guest!"

"She may be, but I'm not taking my chances, samchon", Minguk replies, still glaring daggers that can pierce her skin any moment, feeling the same chill as she had whenever Teikoku is around. "She's hiding something and I'm not taking any chances."

"You need to learn respect, Minguk", Imsi retorts, "your parents raised you better than this. Your Mother raised you better than this."

Once he mentions the word 'Mother', Minguk's eyes widen as his whole body goes slack, pen on his hand dropping down the floors, making a small sound. It was as if he had insulted the deepest depths of his insides, turning the situation against him. Minguk sits back down, an unreadable expression on his face, staring at Imsi.

Imsi blinks, finally realising his tone and absolutely regretting what he had said, wanting to reach out to Minguk once again but ultimately shutting down that part of him by saying,

"I'll go make food for all of us, then." He looks at Shanghai, "make yourself at home and comfortable; I will be making our dinner." With soaked clothes he stalks into the kitchen, like it was a daily occurrence that he would stalk into the kitchen wet from the polluted rain absorbing into his skin. He turns the stove on, and from across the room Shanghai watches the flames rise, kindling with orange, blue and yellow hues, swaying with the air like wild flowers.

Shanghai takes in her surroundings; the ticking of a small wall clock, the dim lights that might flicker in and out once it fades fast enough, the walls cheaply painted white, noticing how they peel off quickly like they had no devotion to keeping the entire apartment neat, and a large book case overtaking most of the living space, the television beside it being crammed. She turns to look at the small chairs and sofas near the front door, and Minguk glaring right as her as he works.

She sits down on sofa, crossing her legs, fidgeting with her hands as her eyes stare at the books and their worn spines, wishing to take one of them away from the spiffy and nifty book case, her fingers tingling in anticipation, wishing to hold another book once again in her life, remembering the sentences and paragraphs, building towers and walls around herself as she buries her nose more into the pages, wishing to browse and review their words like there was no tomorrow.

"Minguk, you really need to learn how to cook", Imsi says from the kitchen, still making their dinner.

"I would be a shit cook though", Minguk replies casually as he flips to another page of his workbook, humming a small song in his mind.

"Your mouth, Minguk." Imsi goes back to drowning the whole apartment in silence and sizzling meals, hearing boiling and the kettle whistling, but Shanghai still stares at the books, hunger in her eyes. Her fingers are already yearning to touch something other than the soft covers of the bed, the sweaty and heated skin of another person, or even her own, not wishing to touch anything else before she gets a single book under her nose. The woman seated on the couch hears plates being arranged on the dining table, glasses clinking with a small lingering melody.

"It's time for dinner", Imsi says in an obvious tone, as he - wearing mittens - putting a few steaming and smoking pots down on the table. Shanghai tries to ignore the sweet smell of the meals offered, trying to keep quiet and play the little pearl swallowed by a giant clam, but her hunger is being tempted and rhiddled by the food, and she tries not to give in despite the fact her stomach felt like she was being whipped, harder and harder before she joins them, sitting the furthest from the uncle and nephew duo.

She eyes the three bowls being picked on by Minguk and Imsi and, as if the latter had read her mind, he slides the last bibimpap bowl to the lady, and she tentatively looks at Imsi, who nods before going to his meal. (She stares at it a little, thinking if it is laced with drugs that will either stimulate her for sex or make her slumber as they quickly undress her.) Minguk was staring at her as he picks on his food, absent-mindedly getting food scraps on himself before Imsi scolds him and his eyes plunge back to his meal hungrily.

Shanghai is hungry, of course; but that does not mean she cannot control herself from resisting more of her hunger's desire, to keep eating until she falls dead. After devouring the bibimpap bowl she thanks Imsi quietly for the food before sliding back down the cushions of the sofa, back to eyeing the books on the book case.

(She tries to feel if there are any side effects to what she just ate- she does feel sleepy and exhausted but perhaps it was due to the fact she'd been walking through the entire city since she was set free, though she does not feel the absolute need and want to do such lustful actions.

At the moment, of course.)

"Go to bed now, Minguk", Imsi mothers his nephew, his face looking like he is holding back a yawn in the very moment. "You have a test tomorrow morning."

"Which means I have to study, samchon", Minguk argues back. His eyes return to Shanghai, quietly and obediently seated like a dog, "And I can't leave her alone in the living room, don't I?"

"Minguk, for the last time..."

"Samchon, sometimes you trust in strangers too much. Eomma and Appa had trusted strangers too. Look what happened to the both of them." There was a hint of sadness in the teen's voice, like he was trying to keep it together because the whole world will fall apart once he shows his sadness. His voice hardens as he continues, but there was a hint of longing and desperation in them. "Inmin trusted in strangers more than he trusted his own family. He up and left us, joining some unruly gang in the depths of the sewers."

Shanghai perks up at the mention of a gang, wanting to know more behind the story Minguk was trying to distort to prove a point to his uncle, who was staring at him, lips pursed, eyes billowing with such intensity, the gears in his mind trying to spin.

"Minguk. Go to bed." Imsi's tone was cold and hard, but his voice was also cracking like someone had made the wrong step on a frozen river and tries to escape, in which it resolves to more cracks. "That is enough disrespect from you, young man. This is your final warning. Go. To. Bed."

Minguk gets up from his chair abruptly, taking his phone and books with him as he stalks to his room, throwing one last suspicious glare to Shanghai's way. As he closes the door, Imsi visibly deflates, shoulders slumping as he looks back at Shanghai, silently watching him, wariness in her eyes.

"I apologize for my nephew's manners." Imsi sighs as he rakes his still damp hair with his fingers. Shanghai did not open her mouth to say anything, having lost the energy after she did speak to the stranger in front of her. "He is quite a conspirer, that one. Not as much as his brother though, yes." Imsi's face cloud over, as if walking through a memory. "Inmin was... creative."

Shanghai wants to ask who Inmin is - or was - but her tongue is tied, leg crossed and hands on her lap, staring at Imsi cautiously.

"But I caught you staring at my book case", Imsi changes the topic, tone a little too bright. "Did any title catch your eye, specifically?"

She blinks a little, unresponsive for a moment, before raising her pointer finger towards the book on the top most shelf, and his eyes follow her finger. His eyes widen in realisation as he reaches up to take one book from the case, brushing some little specks of dust from its covers.

"Othello", Imsi reads the title out loud, before smiling at Shanghai (not with perversion, but more of a genuine smile), "you like Shakespere's works? Is this your favourite?"

She nods, and Imsi offers her the book in his hands, and she hesitantly extracts them from Imsi's hands, but his colder fingers brush hers like she had accidentally touched a thorn on a rose bush and she widens her eyes, dropping the book to the ground, looking at Imsi with horror.

Imsi stares at the book on the floor, then at Shanghai, who was now shaking. He clears his throat, clearly aware of how awkward this situation is. "Well, it is night time after all. Are you tired?"

Shanghai slowly nods.

"We have a vacant room, next to Minguk", Imsi says, his face once again clouding. "It was once Inmin's... you're free to stay here as long as you like."

Shanghai blinks, surprise evident in her eyes.

Receiving no reply, Imsi takes the book from the floor and puts it beside her, her eyes looking at its cover before going back to Imsi.

"I can lend you some clothes, if you'd like", Imsi tilts his head, "we seem to be the same height. Hold on, I'll be right back." He goes into his room- Shanghai hears his wardrobe open and a few mutters of assent, before shortly going back to Shanghai. "I hope these fit you." She takes the clothes he had given to her, looking at them and back at Imsi. "Oh, of course. Well then, I bid you goodnight, Miss Shanghai."

He turns to leave-

"Thank you", Shanghai softly says, just reaching Imsi's ears. He looks at her with a tender look, something she had not seen from anyone other than her sisters in the brothels.

"Cheonman-eyo", he leaves her alone for the night, and suddenly she misses his company, not in a desiring way but in a pleasant and understanding way.

-

Earlier that afternoon, it was raining despite the fact a while ago when America had walked in Teikoku's home, wishing to infiltrate it on the inside like she's a bomb waiting to explode.

Right now, she is trying not to explode, as she swallows a lump in her throat, following Koku to the lion's den, its king sitting on a throne of bones. She takes a deep, collective sigh, trying to calm her beating heart, which is now echoing in the walls of her rib cage.

A finger brushes her hand, her world plunging back to the boy beside her as they walk.

"You seem anxious", Koku says brightly, seemingly olivious to America's terse nature, beads of sweat gluing onto her skin. Her eyes meet Koku, staying silent, unlike speaking up and quietly making the boy in front of her abashed like what she did in that room. "Don't worry- my brother is a very kind man. He wouldn't hurt you." His gray eyes twinkle with a cloud of mixed emotions, as if checking a crystal of his memory. "Of course he wouldn't."

America doesn't reply, eyes ahead, fixed in a straight line, ignoring the warmth that had just been emitted from Koku.

The rest of the walk was silent, Koku sensing her discomfort and deciding to let her figure this out herself, but never leaving by her side, his grey eyes over her.

They stop at a large door, a chill going through America's body, her heart once again accelerating, its beats sounding more like a haunting melody than just normal rhythmic heartbeats. She steels herself for what was to come, as Koku knocks on the door.

"Teikoku-kun?", he calls, "may we enter?"

"You may", says a voice from the inside, colder and deeper than Koku's voice. He turns the knob and opens the entrance to the den of doom, filling cold air wrap around America like a blanket failing to keep her warm during the coldest of all winters, leaving her to freeze to death at the claws of winter.

Teikoku was in his business suit, dark hair smoothed out, no curl left astray, his gray eyes dancing with familiar ambition, as it flits from Koku to America, raising a brow at her, eyes flickering with familiarity before he smiles pleasantly at his brother.

"So you have chosen", he says in a slow manner, elegantly poised from behind the desk, in his business chair like a king vying for power. His eyes flick dangerously to America, who is trying not to let him hinder her. "Her."

Koku clears his throat, an awkward smile on his face, "I'm sorry, was this the wrong choice?"

Teikoku glances back at his brother and, like a drizzle in the afternoon being fought at by the sun behind them, he smiles in an eerie, forced way. "Oh, but I'm absolutely proud to see that you've picked your bodyguard on your own, without my help." He looks back at America, with boiling rage and also... hunger, which made her sick and fists clench. "Though, I suspect she'd all just be a pretty face for you."

America's throat burns as her blue eyes rekindle with fire, trying not to already shoot the bastard straight in the head.

Koku blinks, processing what Teikoku had just said, "Wait; my bodyguard?"

Teikoku nods a little too brightly to the point America thinks he's just doing this out of spite, "Of course! Last night has been a huge disaster on my part; I put all my family in danger and look what had happened." He regards Koku's wound, who glances at it shortly before looking back at Teikoku. "And I don't want you to be harmed again."

"B-but you s-said-", Koku sputters, trying to formulate the right words to say to the man towering over the both of them.

Teikoku's hands grip at his chair tightly, a king once being notified of something he did not like and ultimately having fits of rage in his throne. "And I wish to protect you my dear Koku. Is that clear?"

"Y-yes, I s-suppose... but-"

"Is that clear?", Teikoku says, tone laced with acid that may burn onto Koku's skin if he dabs more than just enough to watch it tear into him.

Koku stops arguing, falling silent, falling in line. The entire office was silent, needles trying to puncture this brand new and tense quiet. "Hai, Teikoku-sama." He lowers his head, defeated.

Teikoku placates another suspectible smile on his face again, his eyes lingering to America once more, as a drop of sweat drops towards the dark wooden tiles, despite the cold surrounding.

"Let's go now, America-san", Koku tells America submissively, eagerly wanting to leave the office Teikoku had built his fear and lust upon. Koku was the first to exit, followed by his new bodyguard, who is a little too distant from him.

"Oh, America", she hears him coo disgustingly, "you're playing a dangerous game."

She glares at him, wanting to give him a snide remark, but she only responds with, "It is my honour serving your brother." America leaves the room, following Koku.

-

"You said your brother was 'kind'", she says, quoting the last word. "I think you mistook that word for 'being an asshole'."

Koku glares at her from his study desk (she was sitting on the edge of his bed), writing down on something. "Mind your language, America-san; Teikoku was just tired for the day, and this might have amplified his stress."

America snorts, "Yeah, sure, whatever you say, Master."

"You were kind to me about an hour ago, America", he replies, "where did that kindess go to?"

She stares at Koku a little, his eyes dancing with flames in them, and she sighs a little. "I didn't even have kindness in me."

Koku tilts his head, standing from his desk and then sitting right beside America, much to her confusion, furrowing her brows as his hand brushes hers. "Look, I don't really know you outside of our conversation earlier, but since now you're my bodyguard, I want to get to know you better."

America stares at Koku's fingers, then back at his eyes once again. Her face hardens. "Fine. You want to learn more about me?" She stands from the bed, her eyes glinting. "I want to learn more about you."

Koku stares at her, his expression unreadable except for the small fire kindling in his grey eyes, a shooting star against the calm and windy night. "What would you like to know?"

She comes back to his bed, cerulean eyes showing off her natural hue, the predator studying its prey. Said prey was looking at her, studying her, tearing her apart piece by piece as he warily watches the woman and what she is about to do. Instead, she smiles sweetly, like a siren perched on a rock, looking at the sailor in the ship, her lustful smile giving way as she starts to sing, the sweetest and most melodious voice, charming the sailor with too much infatuation until he dives down to the treacherous waters, waves trying to hold him back against the love of his life, his soulmate, just there, sitting on the rocks like it was his destiny to get to her- but once he gets dangerously close to her her eyes become acid as he is suddenly dragged deep down to the waters.

"About you, of course", she says warmly, her tone playful, hand on Koku's. "I know much about you, but only from your brother."

Koku raises a brow, a defiant look crossing his face. "You said that you only met my brother today."

"I never said that", she gives him a sweet smile, "I said he was intimidating."

"How do you know him in the first place?"

She rolls her eyes, in disbelief this boy is unaware of Teikoku's renowned fame, as if he had been living under a rock despite the fact he lives with the monster and is perhaps a monster himself.

But she also suspects Koku was trying to up his game, to play as naive as a child so he can divert America's attention.

She smirks a little.

"He's a world renowned business man, of course. One drop of his name and everyone's attention would turn to the one who mentions his title."

He gives a small laugh, looking at America with a small smile. "Y-yeah, maybe you're right."

She stares at him a little, as if his laugh was able to wake her up from her little fever dream down the road, his warmth shielding her from the pitter-patter of the rain outside. America studies his face- his eyes full of curiosity; the type of curiosity that will stop at nothing until he gets the answers he yearns for, his dark hair, its colour as dark as a raven's feathers, and if he doesn't keep it in such a messy state like he was busy all night, he would look so much like Teikoku it would become frightening.

"America?" She blinks as her attention is not at the way Koku poses himself as but towards his sweet smile. "You seem out of it."

She shakes her head a little. "Nothing. Just a little... bored."

Koku nods understandably, "I can see that; after all, it's raining outside."

"Do you have any hobbies outside of being oblivious?", America deadpans, and Koku furrows his brows, obviously offended at her statement.

"I'm not oblivious. Where did you get that conclusion?"

"The air around you defines your obliviousness."

Koku scoffs. "You say I'm oblivious but I say you are."

And now she was the one who scoffs. "Me? Oblivious? I know more than you."

"Yes but, sometimes even the smartest ones can also be the most ignorant."

"You're smart. But you're simply a naive youth who ignores everything in his surroundings."

Koku narrows his eyes at her. "I regret choosing you as my bodyguard. Now you're just low key insulting me."

America smirks, "Oh? But I'm not insulting you. I'm just giving you a reality check... slowly but surely."

"What does that mean-"

Before America can answer his question the front door opens, revealing a short girl with dark hair and skin, her eyes comparable to the gold bars that are hidden in many a banks. She looks petrified and breathless, hand still on the doorknob. America spots a ring on her free hand, shining through the artificial lights like a precious artefact. The girl was sweating a little as her eyes land on Koku.

"Ojisan", she says, breathless, "Otōsan wants me to tell you...", her eyes flip to America, "Kanojo wa daredesuka?"

Koku's eyes flick from his niece, to America. He opens his mouth, "Kore ga watashi no bodīgādo, Amerikadesu."

America tries to understand what they were saying, but it seems as if she was in another world; nothing makes sense to her, trapped in a one-dimensional bubble, people surrounding her speaking in a tongue that she could not understand, and can only watch from a mirror away.

(It reminded her of her times in the streets, when men around the alleys prey on her, talking in small, hushed and low voices, about her appearance, her figure, her everything.

Before she was brought back into the real world by her brothers.)

She knows they are talking about her; how and why she's in this position, being placed as a protector of the Nippon family, most especially one Koku Nippon. America tries to comprehend their conversation, but it was nothing else but breathy Japanese in her ears- she can hear it, of course, them speaking in normal voices and having a casual conversation like it was nothing, but for her, it was a barrier of vocabulary and tongue she could never even define what is what and which is which.

All she knows is her name.

Koku's eyes widen as his niece's voice starts to arguably grow higher and agitated, and he turns to America.

"You can end your shift today; me and Palau are going to go somewhere."

America nods, raising a brow of curiosity knowing that she'll never get an answer. "Alright."

Palau guides Koku out of the room, dim-wittedly leaving America still there. She looks around, like phantoms of the past, present, and future are watching her every move. She narrows her eyes as she stands from her the bed, eyes as narrow as a cat's.

Feet light in fear of being found, America looks beneath the bed first; she finds old clothes and rolled up papers, toys and some worn books. She picks up the rolled up papers first, and, seeing that their contents were only bunches of doodles made from pencil and imagination. She sighs as she reaches under the bed, paper after paper finding nothing but doodles (America wonders how much scrapped drawings Koku had thrown away in his bin only to wash away to the outer boundaries of his bed, to the world of unknown and of horror films). She takes out the worn books next, flipping a few pages only to find they've been horribly vandalised by neat and cursive handwriting that indirectly reviews scenes of each paragraph instead of writing his own paper.

(America cannot help but get bugged at how Koku would vandalise a book he owned like it was nothing- just a piece of treasure his riches has brought him, always finding another one to take in the ocean of gold.)

She sighs as she puts them back in place like it never happened, standing and opening his drawers. She opens the first, filled with pictures as she takes them out to inspect.

The first photo was of a young boy holding a woman's hand who was smiling at the camera, serene and peaceful, hand on her dress, long dark hair flowing behind her like she was an ethereal maiden, lost in the wind. She didn't resemble the young boy much, only his stormy grey eyes as he gives his mother the most joyous look.

America assumes this must be Koku and his mother, Kyoto, when he was young.

The next one was of him and Teikoku; they look younger than they are now, Koku's hair its signature mess while Teikoku's was as prim and proper. They were both looking at the camera, Teikoku's grey orbs staring into America's soul, digging into her flesh so that her heart can beat faster until he pierces it through. Koku was looking his best to act like the naive boy his brother made him out to be, winking at the camera with a peace sign, tongue sticking out.

The third was of Palau as a baby being caressed by a small Koku; Palau's father looking no more less than a teen. Teikoku was not smiling, looking at the infant with absolute hatred sparking in his eyes, a disapproving glare hidden beneath them.

America flips through more photos; one where Koku was holding Okinawa now, Teikoku older but still shooting his son the same glare he gave to Palau; of another one with Kyoto and Koku, but this time with his father Tokugawa Shogunate; then another one with Koku and Teikoku; then the entire family, Palau off to the side, Hokkaido joining her while holding Okinawa who was sucking at his thumb and looking anywhere but the camera, to Tokyo trying to smile, Teikoku smirking and Koku genuinely smiling like his family isn't shattered to pieces.

She wonders if Koku is in a different world where he doesn't suffer as much as Teikoku's own children, a little boy in a small world that Teikoku had made so he can manipulate him in tiny strings like a puppet as he laughs.

She opens the second drawer, only to find letters with the same cursive handwriting, completely written in Japanese exclusively. She fingers the letters and inspect them one by one. America knows she's worthless on understanding these so she folds them and puts them in her pockets for them to be inspected by the others.

America then opens the third drawer, full of only clothes, and she moves on to his wardrobe but it also only had clothes in them. She sighs as she closes the wardrobe, knowing it was a lost cause, that Koku was oblivious beyond belief. She makes a note to search some of the others' rooms, before going to the apex predator's den.

-

A man enters through the brothels, his polished dark shoes creating a squeaking sound on the halls of the hygienic and clean building, its walls chaste and its floors undefiled. His eyes hungrily lingers on the woman in front of him, lingerie and all, following her boss as he guides them both to the room where it happens. He licks his lips as his eyes stay on the woman, already wanting to undress her remaining blockade to her most private parts right then and there and leave her screaming.

It was not his first time in such a sinful establishment, of course; he had always been a full-time client of Teikoku, calling him through private calls to let the man know he is ready for another round with one of his women, wanting to hear their sweet screams and whines from underneath him as he deepens himself into their bodies more, more, more. He always had a large smile on his face as he touches even the deepest parts of them, letting them writhe beneath him, begging him to either stop or keep going, because that is what they are- whores who needs a man's touch to keep them fed and healthy. He can already feel the arousal in him growing, blood rushing through his veins, desire steaming, wishing to be let out like a kettle whistling for its owner to notify them that the water inside them has boiled.

He usually enters The Comfort Zone at night, though. There is no use for a good fuck in the mornings because poor little souls who hadn't tasted the life of the rich will question where he had gone, if he would come back to where he left at all. Of course, most clients will be rampant around night, but this is a risk he must take to save his reputation from splotches of black ink that will stain his only good sheet of paper.

This place was for the wicked, where the lustful men come and go, leaving their desires inside of them and waiting, slowly but surely, to come around the women they ought to buy just for an hour or more, and tearing them apart, flesh in their teeth, hands playing and yanking on their hair, fingers digging into the whore's skin as her eyes are pleading with mercy and leniency as their clients destroy them and their dignity, leaving nothing but a broken mirror and shattered pieces of it.

Teikoku unlocks the door, and the man grins as he hears the squeak of the opening door. He puts a hand around the whore's waist, and she shivers, as his hands linger lower and lower. Teikoku looks at them both with a grin on his face,

"Well, I bid you both a good luck and a good night." He stalks off from the couple, but he eyes the lady under the man's arm for a suspicious amount of time before turning his head the other way.

The man turns to the pretty face next to him but she was already moving; she yanks down his collar to kiss him, her breath sweet and alluring, as she leads him into the room, its walls smelling like lavender, despite the fact it was dark as the hole in his heart once the whore closes the room. He feels her body on him, kissing him with such passion it was burning him alive ever so slightly, a fire raging deep in his veins as he kisses back, feeling one of her hands being freed underneath his grasp as he pins her down the bed-

He is then flipped on his back as he feels the soft bed underneath him, the warm and hot feeling he had a while ago replaced with cold as he feels the head of a pistol on his head.

"So", the woman finally says, only it wasn't a feminine voice; it was a man's. "You either open your mouth to answer my questions or I'll shoot you in the head."

-

"How was first day of the job, my dudes?", Aussie asks as he nibbles on a cookie crumble he found in the fridge.

America looks at him as she unpins her hair from the tight bun she had wrongfully chosen to tie around her hair, "Painful."

Canada was looking smug through the monitor, "Good. For the day."

America scowls at him, "You're lucky your pretty boy body made everyone think you're a chick."

"A hot chick", he corrects smugly, "loads of dudes groped me this night."

"And that's something to be proud about?", his sister scolds at him as she unties her bun, wavy hair falling beneath her shoulders like rain, smooth and soft.

Canada shoots her an apologetic look, "Sorry, won't happen again." His face morphs into a disgusted look. "I can't believe people would try and take pleasure of someone's suffering."

"That's technically what Teikoku does", Kiwi pipes up, "like, all the time." He faces America, "and how was your first day of the job?"

She rolls her eyes, "Three hours in and I want to punch Koku's face and shoot Teikoku right at his head."

"Found anything?", Aussie asks.

"No, except for the fact Koku is an extreme idiot and oblivious to the shit his brother does."

"Chill", Canada says in a smooth voice, "sounds like you want to bash their heads open."

"I do, so badly."

"You'll only tolerate them for a few weeks or months- you just have to be hella careful if you wanna get out of there fast." Kiwi takes a seat right beside Aussie, who was now boredly playing with the staplers.

"I don't think I can last longer than a week there- Aussie, stop playing with those." She snatches the bullets and machinery from Aussie's hands like he was a little child holding something he should not be holding. He pouts at her petulantly.

Canada's expression turns serious, "America, did you find any evidence in Koku's room or any room, for the matter?"

She blinks, "Actually, no. Like what I said, it's like Koku is extremely sheltered and it seems that Teikoku's been keeping him in the dark."

Canada nods, "Or he could be acting to make you think that to lead you on."

America affirms, "That too."

"How could someone be such a good actor?", Aussie asks in an exaggerated manner.

"It's their nature", America deadpans, her tone crisp. "They'll lure you in because they look like they're in danger but in a second you're the one in danger and they murder you."

"Sounds like you've had experience with these before", Australia says.

America's eyes darken, "Of course I have. Speaking of which, I forgot I have these." She takes out the handfuls of letters she stole from Koku's room, all worn and yellowed as it had aged from centuries and were kept in a small dark space for a long time. New Zealand takes a few of the letters and examines them, eyes narrowing.

"I have no idea what these say", he states.

"Obviously!", his sister replies, "can anyone here understand Japanese?"

"Philip can", Vietnam enters from the open door with a cup of coffee in her hands, "he said he'd learned it from Spain."

"Alright, can you bring him here? We need him to read and translate these." Vietnam nods as she takes her leave once again, the doors closing behind her and leaving the four siblings in their familial peace.

America misses these moments, sometimes; when she wasn't in her own apartment doing her own lonely business, looking out in the cold night with a cigarette on her fingers, wind billowing in her light wavy hair, the night calling to her like she was the one who had gotten away. She misses the way her brothers would make fun of her, poke fun of her business as they laugh the day off with a cup of coffee and a few snacks on their hands, joy bright and fond in their faces, waiting for another day with each other.

-

"Sir, they hacked in to your files."

"I know that- someone ought to have done it. And I know who."

"Are you going to do something with America now in your home?"

Teikoku thinks for a moment, "No, not yet. Let her think she's one step ahead until I make my own move. Is that clear?"

A pause. Then, "Yes sir."

He chuckles, putting a cigarette on his mouth. "Good."

-

Translations:

joesong haeyo- I'm sorry

Cheonman-eyo- you're welcome

Kanojo wa daredesuka- who is she

Kore ga watashi no bodīgādo, Amerikadesu - this is my bodyguard, America

[cquiazon]

Inspired by the predator obviously, her name is Zenith.

Predator 2018 made me fangirl over gene-splicing thus me typing out some futuristic lore and finally, Zenith.

The lore is below for those who actually are curious

Project: Medusa

After decades of nuclear war and catastrophically unstable human influences such as greenhouse radiation. Earth’s land reigned in a silent age of apocalypse, and as hundreds of years further passed the last shred of hope for humanity in the planet has dwindled. Only a small fraction of beings was able to set foot outside the atmosphere, earning the title of pioneers on human space travel. Civilization has prospered gradually until the intelligence of harvesting dark matter became much more efficient. Thus the rebuilding of humanity from the stars. What once was labeled as primitive earth dwellers now had hesitant communication between other interstellar species. However, hate is universal, and newly found levels of discrimination followed. There were enemies made, and allies gained, but the alteration of human genes brought upon a new science and extended the branch of biology. Due to the gift of mankind’s capability of excelling reproduction levels at great rates age of hybrids, multiculturalism, and monsters spread throughout the galaxy.

As the sweeping enhancements of intelligence and technology skyrocketed, colonization and conquest through other planets, inhabited or not brought a new imperial age of Humanity. There, these daughter planets were taken advantage out of their raw materials or resources, fueled by diverse groups of labor forces in which most were treated...Quite inferior. The system that was brought upon these planets altered a new form of Mercantilism, where the Motherland is given all of the imports from its said daughter planets. 

The aristocratic society was the backbone of this whole plan, ever since the first ship that carried its men to the solace of the solar system. Throughout history, their power, role, and privileges did not diminish...It only changed. They hide in secrecy, a mysterious community known shadily as patrons for the exceeding intelligence of humans, advancement, and innovation of technology and of course...Human experiments.

The human race, their kind, their bodies, were soft. They were known among many clusters of galaxies as one of the “malleable”. Their minds were easily swayed through emotion, and bodies too soft and weak to withstand any sort of threat. This is what gave a purpose to seek power, race wise...Human. Experiments. These activities were responsible for letting loose beastly beings that eventually escaped and wreaked havoc. Due to body modifications, DNA enhancements, and environmental training, some beasts were equipped with great intelligence and especially strength. Those who lacked the judgment self evidently did not last long. However, after countless mistrials and human abominations, a stable success all derived from a girl in her youth. Colonized planets were the main source of acquiring human lab rats, and after decades of ‘tampering’ and multitudes of painful, cruel and uncared casualties they were able to finally find a suitable host whose cells fought back against the abuse of chemicals.

She was once a normal peasant in her rural planet, serving the imperial by providing the stalks that flourished food, medicinal herbs, and other factors.

They were but humble farmers, just like a majority of other inhabitants on daughter planets. But after retaliating from the two soldiers and one scientist by refusing to give up her adopted daughter she watched her father beaten and gunned through his cranium until bits of his brain matter drifted outside of his shell. At ease, they had taken her, and the years after the predicament became her worst hell. In spite of her being a toddler, their ice-cold demeanor bothered not to care for her wellbeing, as they saw her as nothing but an inferior testing asset like the many. And so they had broken, beaten, and diminished her spirits, hope, pride, joy, and child-like wonder. Each day could not accept her body without it being riddled with bruises, cuts, and needle punctures as she was injected with strange substances every day. At times they have ceased to harm her, and there were times she wished not to experience again. The thrashing, the excruciating pain of feeling as if her insides were being twisted by a knife at every angle. Her bones feeling the force of a mace pummelling itself until it erupted a large dull ache and eventually...Hot, sharp and intense pain. It was one of the worst experiences. 

Each day she felt unwanted and hated until she eventually sought the sweet solace of death and how promising it sounded. But the needles didn't want to. The bastards didn't want to. Her BODY didn't want to. As the experiments went on the pain still lingered, but her body was different. Her size self evidently is much bigger, her facial bone structure distorted as four protruding mandibles replace her now unpresent nose and lips. Patches of dark cool blots now appear from her shoulders, arms, waist, hips, and legs. Her once light copper-toned skin transitioned into a hue of light blue and whites, like a moonflower...It sickened her. At when she thought they were finished, their satisfactory further encouraged them to batter her body senseless with every type of torture whilst still puncturing the surface of her skin with those terrible fucking needles. At each blow, she was given, either from herself in self-mutilation or from them, her skin finally began to regenerate until it was a clear surface within a day. And those few hours ultimately transitioned to seconds. 

It had been a decade. She was trapped in those years, her skin gaining more scars from huge blows as it decorated her skin like crescent moons. A beautiful way to put it at that, but each was once a bloody macabre mess of flesh. It had been a decade. Ten years of great ordeal suffering before she snapped. It had been a decade before she slowly walked outside the now silent and slowly burning dome that had caged and snatched her life away. The only feeling that gave a sense of life to her corpse was the rage, that had never trembled yet only hid beneath the back of her skull through those days. It seized the moment to show its colors, and the encrusted blood coated on her body that seemed untouched was in fact, her own.

They had reaped everything from her: her family, her childhood, the liberty of experiencing freedom and happiness...A life. Her rage could not be quelled as the last shred of good in her, swathed around a sea of hatred reminded of the majority of victims they had also tested on. She was considered a ‘special’ subject, her truly recessive genes and malleable DNA fit for such process they had in store. She out of the rest was placed in her very own building in isolation, cruel flattery. Her concerns on her health were far beyond the reaches of her brain, and her soul had sought for one thing...To free the rest and break this damned system of will thieving slavery. 

As beautiful as it sounded on paper, it truly was not as she had expected.

[meetthetank]

Peccatum Chapter 17: Denouement

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence Category: F/M Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), Jackass/The Commander (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), 6O (NieR: Automata), 21O, Jackass (NieR: Automata), The Commander (NieR: Automata) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe, genre typical violence, long fic, Slow Burn, War, Chapter 13 is rated E

Adam stands on the beach just out of reach of the surf. His long, flowing white hair is pulled back with a crude tie to keep the sea breeze from blowing it into his face. Crimson eyes watch seabirds, rodents, felines, and canines scavenge the corpse of Grun, the child of the sea. Though his cold expression betrays no emotion, part of him feels that the demon deserved more than this. But it had failed in its task, and therefore must be recycled. Humans have their rituals and rites when it comes to the dead. Demons do not. It would be pointless anyway, since the fallen would simply be rebuilt or repurposed.

A lone councilor staring at a demon corpse in the dead of night would be suspicious, were anyone around to see him. The humans were busy indulging themselves, though, celebrating their victory. There wouldn’t be a human left not inebriated or seeking pleasures of the flesh. Besides, Eve was not far away. His simple brother would leap into action the moment something went awry.

Though...it might take him a bit longer than normal, seeing as how he is currently rooting around in Grun’s stomach.

It’s vile work, but necessary. To rebuild a demon in a similar way, or to pull the valuable memories of combat from their minds, the core is needed. Grun’s core especially holds great value. The memories of a demon that old and one that was separated from the Terminals are truly unique among their kind.

Grun’s open throat shifts and shudders, then gives way to reveal Eve, naked and covered in viscera. He bounds over to Adam with a wide, childlike smile on his face.

“Brother! I found it!”

He wades through the surf and presents an irregularly shaped crystal no bigger than an apple that glows with a soft, deep blue light.

“Excellent work, Eve,” Adam says, taking the Core and beginning to clean the rotting flesh from it. “Go rinse off now.”

Eve huffs and crosses his arms over his chest, “Do I have to, Brother? The ocean is so cold at night…”

“Yes,” Adam snaps, but keeps his tone soft so as not to upset Eve. “What would the people think if they saw you like this?”

“I guess they’d be scared…” Eve mutters, his brows pulling together as he thinks. “Okaaaay, I’ll go I’ll go.”

“Thank you.”

Adam sighs. His “brother” had his uses, but he was a simple creature. He was unmatched in combat, but when it came to behavior and etiquette he had the attitude of a human child. Fortunately he stayed silent during most interactions with the human’s governments, which allowed Adam to show his own strengths. Eloquent language and half truths were his weapons of war, and up until today they had never failed.

Idly, he turns the Core over in his hands, feeling its strange irregularities dig into the soft flesh of his palm. Cores of this nature are rare. They’re supposed to be perfectly round and free of blemishes, accentuating uniformity among the Demon Hierarchy. However, the more a demon deviates, the more deformities spread across its surface. Grun’s core is barely recognizable as one, looking more like a lump of unpolished crystal instead. Countless untold experiences of a demon who lived alone for centuries at the bottom of the ocean lie within, and Adam can’t suppress intense jealousy for whoever gets to unearth them. The centuries of memories are priceless to a relatively new creation like himself.

“I can’t believe the humans actually did it,” Eve says, lazily pulling on a set of dry clothes.

His brother’s statement causes Adam to grit his teeth. Admitting that the Apes managed to defeat his carefully deployed troop of flying demons is a blow to his pride he did not expect. He maintains his composure in front of Eve, but the internal fury burns within him, as it does with all demons. Though Homunculi like himself and his brother are designed to lead humans astray with deception and cunning, he laments his restrictive position and longs to face them in a real fight.

At least in this case he can attribute the Ape’s victory to their new weapon and their unforseen ally.

“It seems we may have underestimated them, and their Equalizer. Even so, the human’s suffered great losses today. Even with their...dragon.” Adam muses, his gaze lost in the core, “They celebrate and believe all will be well,” he chuckles darkly, “They will return to the city completely unaware of what is to come.”

“Grun did break a lot ships…” Eve stares up at the sky, oblivious to Adam’s ramblings, “But, why are they celebrating if so many of their soldiers died?”

Adam hums to himself as he wraps the core in a thick cloth, “Perhaps they are celebrating as a way of honoring the dead.”

“That doesn’t make any sense, brother.”

He laughs a little and ruffles the short white hair of his twin, “Humans are strange and fascinating creatures, Eve. One day we will dissect them and reveal their mysteries.”

“And then can we play?”

“Yes, Eve. Then we can play.”

“Three ...two...one ...HEAVE!!”

11S’ cry rings out across the beach. At his command, 9S, 801S, and 42S all pull on long hooked poles with all of their might. The steaming piles of flesh slough off of Grun’s corpse, splashing into the surf and spraying the scouts with congealed blood and seawater. They grimace and groan but do not gag, as they are already covered with gore and soaked to the bone. The morning sun does little to warm their shivering bodies.

“Ugh…” 801S moans, “This thing isn’t gonna budge. Why the hell are we doing this!?”

“Cause Jackass told us to.” 11S grumbles.

“Jackass was drunk, asshole.” 801S snaps, “She tells us to do all kinds of shit when she’s been drinking. Remember when she told us all to drain that lake? Or collect all the brown rocks in camp?”

Silence passes between the scouts as they take a moment to reflect on the futility of hauling a multi-ton rotting demon out of the ocean.

“So,” 9S says, “I don’t know about you guys, but my stitches broke again and I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“Agreed,” the other scouts respond and toss their hooks into the sand.

9S tenderly peels off his coat and sets it on a nearby log of driftwood. Sure enough there are little specks of blood on his undershirt in a fine line across his chest. He sighs, knowing the verbal beating 6O is going to give him later.

“Did the sewing break again?”

He whips his head around to find 2B, her head tilted curiously as she stares down at him.

“Stitches,” he corrects, “and yeah. I guess this stupid errend Jackass sent us on was too strenuous.”

“We told you to sit this one out!!” 801S shouts from further down the shoreline.

9S waves off 801S with a low huff before turning back to 2B, “I’m fine, it just stings a bit...11S went to go get 6O, but it’ll be a while before they get here.”

He sighs and unbuttons his undershirt, hissing as the fabric brushes across the tender skin around his wounds. Looking down at his chest he sees that they are irritated and slightly red, a sure sign of oncoming infection. With a small cloth he begins to dab away the trails of blood.

“Here.” 2B says, moving his hand away from his body and kneeling down in front of him.

“Huh? What are you- Gah!” 9S yelps and jerks himself back, almost falling off of the log, the second 2B’s tongue makes contact with his skin. “What was that?!”

“Hold still,” she commands. “Coatyl saliva has minor healing properties,” She holds his gaze for a moment, then averts her eyes shamefully, “I’m sorry. Did I overstep?”

“I-....” He wants to object, but some lewd section of his mind holds him in place. “...No, you’re fine. It’s...different. Go ahead.”

With a quick nod, 2B lowers herself back down to his chest. She licks around the outside of his wound, careful not to disturb the more inflamed portions. A slight tingle spreads across where her tongue trails. Right before his eyes, the angry swelling begins to dissipate and the slight ache fades away. It doesn’t totally heal the wound, not like 6O’s magic, but it does make it a little more comfortable. He figures her saliva might be some kind of disinfectant rather than magic, but with this woman anything is possible.

9S leans back a little, sighing with relief. However it’s when 2B shifts ever so slightly between his legs that he becomes acutely aware of where she is and what she’s doing. His shoulders tense and he inhales sharply. Suddenly it feels like his body is on fire, and even the smallest movement from 2B sends shivers down his spine. He runs his hand through 2B’s hair, feeling the soft, downy feathers hidden beneath. In return, she gazes up at him with curious blue eyes that makes his heart stop for a split second.

Something pulls at the back of his mind as he holds 2B’s gaze, something that starts out formless but turns into words. Commands, instructions, suggestions. They start to flow from his mind and pour into 2B’s when 9S catches himself. He blinks furiously, forcing those thoughts from his head. 2B shakes her head as well, clearing the hazy, slightly gold tinged, look in her eyes.

What did he…just do?

“Wow, Nines. That’s a reeeeal scary bear, huh?” 801S jeers with a wide smirk plastered across his face.

“S-Shut up!!” 9S yelps and hastily scrambles away from 2B, who looks back and forth between him and the scouts with a slightly annoyed expression.

“So ferocious,” 11S says, making mock claws with his hands, “Careful 9S, it might maul you again!”

9S’ face flushes red as he fumbles with his undershirt and coat. All the while, 2B seems nonplussed at the scout’s teasing. For a moment he’s confused, but then he recalls the conversation they had just before their “encounter” in the woods. At first he thinks its because she has no shame, but it seems more along the lines of cultural difference.

He sighs, pulling on his coat. He couldn't be too mad at them, for now at least. After all that’s happened, he could let them poke fun at an easy target.

“Oi! OI!” Jackass slurs, standing on a wobbling table that barely supports her weight, “Listen up! I’m making a speech!!”

The tavern full of soldiers and workers miraculously quiet down. 9S, the other scouts, 21O, 6O, and even 2B gather around the table Jackass stands on, setting their pints of ale elsewhere so she wouldn’t knock them over in her half-drunk stumbling.

“I cannot begin to tell you guys how amazing you are,” Jackass begins, swinging her arms wide and spilling ale over unsuspecting spectators, “We did the impossible. A bunch of nobodies went and blew up the biggest demon ever recorded!”

Cheers and the clanking of steins echo throughout the tavern before Jackass motions for them to quiet down once more.

“Without all of your hard work, this town would be fuckin’ underwater or covered in demon shit or whatever,” she pauses to take a long drink from her stein, “Without y’all, there wouldn’t be anyone to sit here and listen to me scream about how fucking cool that fight went. Sure, we lost a lot of good folk,” another pause as everyone bows their heads in a brief silence to honor the fallen, “Hell, without all of you I wouldn’t be standing up here in the first place. I give you guys a ration of shit all the time, but in all the honesty I have in my shriveled up husk of a heart, you deserve to go fucking wild!”

The tavern erupts with cheers once again. Jackass throws her arms out wide and cheers along with them spilling more ale and almost making herself lose her balance.

“And- Shut up!” she shouts. “And! White turned in early for the night! So no rules!”

A drunken soldier gets up next to Jackass, face already red as a beet. “LET’S START A FIRE!”

“There’s one rule!” Jackass hastily amends and shoved the soldier off of her pedestal.

2B fails to suppress a giggle as the scouts around her break into laughter. She had only had a few sips of her tankard but she already feels lightheaded and warm all over. 9S had told her what exactly she was drinking but she doesn’t remember right now, nor does she care. It makes her feel good, so she goes in for another sip.

Though alcohol is nothing new to her, she’s never had something this strong. Back home eating large quantities of fermented fruit would bring on a similar but not as intense feeling, and even then it would take a lot. The only time she had any was a few times in her youth and her sibling’s betrothal celebrations. Technically she shouldn’t be having any now due to her apprenticeship, but…

Oh yeah, she left and can’t come back. So she’s no longer an apprentice anyway. That’s why she let 9S put this tankard of...something...in her hand. Whatever it was that humans drank, it certainly put fermented fruits to shame.

The scouts beside her distribute small cups to each other and fill them with a little bit of a sharp smelling liquid. 11S puts one in her hand with a grin, “Come on, you’re part of the gang. By association anyway.”

The scent of the amber fluid burns the inside of her nose, making her recoil from it. Even so, she follows along with 9S and the rest of the scouts as they hold their glasses up above the middle of the table. 9S gives her a comforting smile, but it doesn’t mask the sadness lurking behind it.

“To 32S,” 801S says solemnly and gestures to the empty chair beside him. “May the gods rest his soul.”

“To 32S,” the others and 2B repeat, bowing their heads.

They tap their glasses on the table twice. 2B mimicks them up until they all throw their heads back and gulp down the foul smelling fluid. She hesitated for a moment, then brings the cup up to her lips and takes a sip. The second the bitter drink touches her tongue she almost gags, but holds herself together with a grimace and a shiver.

“Oi! Don’t sip it,” 11S explains. “Open your throat and down it all at once.”

“Yeah, like this!” 42S pours himself another cup and tilts his head back in the same way as before. The boy doesn’t even flinch, just smiles broadly and presents his empty cup to the group.

2B takes a deep breath, then throws her head back and nearly launches the cup up to her lips. The drink burns as she swallows the lot of it, but it feels strangely warm in her stomach. She’s able to savor the unique oaky flavor of it before her world begins to blur even further. The warmth of the drink spreads from her gut, to her face, and out to her fingers.

“Whoa…” she mutters, wiggling her rapidly numbing fingers in front of her face.

“Ooohh boy, here we go,” 801S laughs.

9S puts his hand on her shoulder to steady her, “Easy there 2B,” his voice is laced with concern but she can see the grin just beneath, “I think that’s enough alcohol for you.”

“N...nuh,” she grumbles, waving her hand in his face. “M’ fine.”

The scouts chat amongst themselves about something that can’t hold 2B’s attention. Her eyes drift around the tavern. Her instincts tell her to scan for danger, though there’s nothing dangerous here except the rowdy drunken soldiers. She spots 6O off to the side of the main mass of people, practically draped across 21O who turns redder and redder the more 6O says. Meanwhile, in stark contrast to minutes earlier, Jackass sits in a lonely corner, surveying her handiwork with a cold gaze and a second tankard beside hers.

2B isn’t sure how long she had been sitting at the table, staring into the crowd, but a quiet sniffling next to her breaks her out of her alcohol induced daze. She looks down to see 9S rubbing his face with the back of his hand as he quietly sobs into a tankard of ale.

“Wh?” she mutters. “Wh’s wrong?”

“H-...I couldn’t...I should’ve…” 9S slurs before taking another drink. “I could’ve saved ‘m….”

“Who?”

“Thr-...2S…” he hiccups. “32S…”

“Oh…”

“He was right there…” Tears begin to stream down his face. “I could’ve done something but I just sat there. I was so useless...He died ‘cause of me…”

“No, the demons got him,” 2B mumbles. “You didn’t kill him.”

“But I didn’t save him!” he moans. “I was so helpless! I just laid there on the floor while he-...he…”

9S buries his face in his hands and sobs quietly. “He got taken...and I just sat there….”

She clumsily puts her hand on his head and runs her fingers through his hair with all the grace of a lame cow. “You did what you could... “

“Did I? What if I could have done more… What if-...” He can’t finish his thoughts as another wave of intense sobs wrack his body.

“It’s okay…” 2B mutters, putting her arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay…”

“2B…” He looks up at her with tear filled eyes. “Are you sure? Are you sure it’s okay for me to...keep going-”

“Shh, shut up.” 2B shoves her hand into his face. “Don’t blame yourself for that, you did everything you could.”

His brows knit together as he studies her face. She sways back and forth with a glazed look in her eyes. “....Are you drunk?”

“No I’m-” She tries to hold back a damning hiccup, but the pressure inside her chest turns it into a small burp. “I’m fine.”

9S’ face scrunches up. “Ugh, your breath says otherwise…”

“Dragons cannot get dr-” Another hiccup. “Drunk...I am an apprentice of temperance and...something something…. No indulgence for me, no sir.” She grumbles her half remembered creed with a lazy roll of her hand.

“What kind of apprentice has to abstain from ‘indulgences’?” 9S asks, slyly moving 2B’s tankard away from her.

“I was ah-..uuh...Ex…” She hiccups again. “Ex-....” She becomes distracted by 9S and her eyes glaze over. All thoughts leaves her mind as she becomes lost in his boyish face. “...You’re...cute.”

9S giggles and playfully taps 2B’s nose. “I know. You’ve told me before.”

2B huffs, but doesn’t resist when 9S practically flops on her lap. He looks out to the thinning crowd of soldiers and civilians as they continue to sing and drink with each other.

“You know...this is the happiest I’ve seen everyone in a while...It’s nice.” He looks up at 2B who hums in agreement, and continues to comb her claws through his hair. “I’m...I’m glad you’re here to share this with us...with me.”

“Yeah…” 2B mutters, a smile beginning to form. “I’m glad, too.”

Though the party itself was beginning to die down, 2B and 9S simply sat together in silence, enjoying a moment of peace and quiet with each other.

It would turn out to be their last for a long, long time.

[monisse]

When Only Pain is Real

Pairing: Brianna / Roger (mentions of Claire / Jamie) Rating: Mature content (sexy times ahead) Spoilers: Missing scene from A Breath of Snow and Ashes Summary: In the aftermath of Claire’s rescue, Roger has a confession to make.

Brianna was exhausted. A persistent ache had taken residence in her muscles and an uneasiness had settled on her stomach, making her want to crawl out of her skin. The previous night had been far too long. Her heart had shrunk while the hours dragged away, becoming smaller and tighter in her chest until her mother had finally arrived. The tension had subsided just a little then, washed away by a wave of relief.

But a brief look towards her was all it took to stir chaos inside Brianna anew. Her mother was covered in bruises, spread widely across her skin, covering that pale canvas in horrific hues. Though it was the small details, the constant shifting of the eyes and the barely perceptible flinch at each touch that had spoken volumes of what happened during her absence. The sight of her ever-fearless mother, broken and abused, brought old memories to the surface of her mind, the only ones she tried to forget. The reaction was involuntary, triggered by the knowledge of that pain. It took a long time before that particular pain assumed a baseline position below other emotions and more demanding aspects of daily life, and it would always remain dormant until a touch, a sound or even a scent ignited an oppressed memory and it came back like a sudden punch in the stomach, unexpected and as vivid as before. And she saw, even now, how it would twist her mother’s mind and body into something new as well. The notion that her own mother might experience the same settled uncomfortably on her chest, and Brianna had to fight the threat of tears while remaining practical for both their sakes.

With a heavy heart, Brianna had hesitantly left her mother to the care of her father when she could do nothing but feel helpless against the brave façade her mother wore.

She had returned home to a quiet Roger hidden in the shadows, half covered in blood and dirt already dried on his clothes as a silent tale of a night too brutal to materialize into words just yet. They spoke briefly, tense and on the verge of an argument, both eager to find refuge in small tasks, which felt oddly mundane in contrast with the heaviness of reality.  

Brianna sat on the bed while her fingers brushed the dark waves of his hair and steadily picked out the last remnants of wilderness as he kneeled before her with his head heavily resting on her lap. He held onto her by the side of her tights and she noticed how the skin of his hands was red from scrubbing away the gory evidence of his deeds.

Every so often she looked towards the sleeping form of Jemmy in the small bed by the corner, oblivious to the harshness of the world outside the bubble of safety his parents provided. Her son was young and still innocent, but perhaps one day he too would find himself with the heavy burden his father carried now. That sudden knowledge, and the inability to prevent it, fell like a heavy drop on her already overflowing heart.

While she brushed his hair, Roger was quiet in that manner when he went through his emotions, picking them apart and attempting to craft them back into words. Well acquainted with his moods by now, and even better with his silences, Brianna knew better than to probe for answers, giving him time instead.

“You don’t have to tell me anything.” She said finally.

There was a small part of her that dreaded the knowledge laying beyond the plain fact that it had been a bloody affair, and in spite of that she was ready to forgive him even before he spoke. Still, she could tell that the fear of judgement was almost as strong as the impulse to talk.

“Yes, I do.” He said softly. “Put out the candle, aye?”

Brianna did as he asked, bent forward slightly and blew the candle on the bedside table. It went out at once with a spiral of lingering smoke, leaving the room suddenly covered in near darkness, with the only light coming from the embers on the hearth.

“I killed a man last night.” He said, as for the first time in his life he confessed on his knees.

Even though she expected it, the words sent shockwaves through the air, twisted around her heart and squeezed until it became nearly unbearable to breathe. Her hand remained motionless on his head, waiting patiently.

----

Last night the rhythmic thunder of his bodhrán and the shrieks echoing in the dark had triggered a primitive response within him, one lurking in the dark pits of his soul unbeknownst to him. He vaguely remembered the immediate crack of bone, a sound that vibrated throughout the blade of the axe and upwards along the bones of his arms, followed by the softness of matter being cut with surprising ease. Splatters of blood had covered his vision, coloring the world in an angry shade of red as he went on with deadly accuracy.

Roger recalled that Jamie had been consumed with blind rage as well in the urge to find Claire. It had soaked through the rest of the men by his side, himself included, igniting their own primeval desires of revenge. At the cusp of dawn three words had been spoken. Kill them all. Jamie had said. His low, emotionless voice, was not a suggestion but as a command that no one had dared to question. And soon after, they left behind the spoils of the night spread across the clearing, lifeless and unburied.

“I wanted to kill them, Bree, so badly. I might have been able to stop, but chose not to, just aimed the axe at one and saw no more.” His voice was thick with tears and cracked under the will to form the words on his scarred throat. “I barely felt remorse in the end, and now it’s all I can feel…”    

Roger’s voice caught in his throat, as much from the strain as from accumulated guilt. His whole body started to tremble at once and his hands dug onto the fabric of her nightgown for support. The weight of his actions seemed heavier on his shoulders now that he had released the words strangled within, so he bent further down, burrowing his face deeper on her lap as if ready to dissolve into her. At that point he could no longer contain the pain inside and tears started to pour uncontrollably. They fell freely, soaking through the white fabric under his face.

Roger felt Brianna bend forward over him and her long red hair fell around like a curtain, shielding him.

"I love you, Roger." She whispered in his ear. "I love you, I love you".

She repeated the words, on and on, in a soothing cadence. Her arms circled his shoulders and held him closer, riding together the tremors that seized his whole body. As she went on, the rhythm of her words faded into the distant echoes of drums in his mind, or perhaps it was just his heart, the beating rushing through his bloodstream along with the ghosts of a near past.

Her face was pressed so close to his that what he immediately thought were his own tears were in fact hers, falling from her eyes, mingling with his and seemingly absolving him of sin.

“How can I help you?” He heard her ask after a while.

He shook his head unable to form the words. The guilt had subsided, if only in a small amount, but it gave way to another kind of emotion, a desire that was slowly burning within and he could no longer ignore.

“What do you need?” Brianna insisted.

“I need you.”

Her hands, with its able fingers, gently pulled his face towards her. Roger looked at her reluctantly, torn between the desire to have her and the shame before her, before God and the memory of the father who raised him to be a worthy man.

“Then have me.” Her voice was sure, her eyes intensely clear with no hint of judgement. There was only love in them and beyond that, strangely enough, there was a gleam of pride.

He shook his head again, this time forcefully. His eyes were still blurred with the small leftovers of tears that clung to his long dark lashes, though he saw her leaning in and covering his lips with hers. Roger exhaled in surprise, his body suddenly aflame with temptation.

“No Brianna, I can’t.” He tore his lips from hers abruptly, as if they had scorched him. Roger rose to his feet with incredible dexterity and took a few steps away from her.

He started pacing around, mumbling under his breath with a restless energy coursing through his veins. He was usually a calm collected man, the most powerful emotions boiled slowly and steadily but when they blew up it was all consuming, and he was fast approaching the point of no return. All he wanted was to scream loudly until his voice was sore and punch the walls until his knuckles cracked. He wanted to lose himself completely in her until he no longer remembered who he was or what he did, being reduced to the most animalistic human state.

“It’s not right.” He added under his breath.

Roger was so tangled in the battle between his mind and body, that he didn’t see Brianna crossing the short distance to reach him.

“Right?” She asked incredulously. “There is nothing right about this whole situation!”

He was well acquainted with a Fraser on the verge of eruption and the sudden flush on her cheeks was no surprise. But the flare of anger was short lived. She stepped closer and held his face firmly between her hands.

“You brought my mother back, how can I judge you for what you had to do? But I know you are hurting, Roger. Let me ease your pain, please.”

He was in pain indeed, and only she could make him feel whole again before he completely lost the grip on his mind. And she too had clung to him more than once before in that sense, in a desperate attempt to feel a rush through her veins as a reminder that she was still loved.

So, he took the offering without further thought. His hands pulled her towards him greedily, with fingers digging so deep into the skin of her hips it was sure to leave a mark, and yet, neither cared because as soon as his lips descended on her with the hunger of a man starved for love, there was no turning back. Clothes were discarded in haste and he gave no second thought to the sounds of ripping fabric as long as it allowed him to reach her skin faster. Soon they were naked before each other. Roger felt her hands travelling over the expanse of his stomach and towards his chest, laying there flat above the strong beat of his heart. He picked her off the floor with an easiness acquired by the years together and she wrapped herself around him while he walked towards the bed, their lips never parting. The bed groaned under their combined weight when they landed ungracefully on the mattress, with him safely between her open legs and the outline of her body molding perfectly to his.

Roger slid into her at once in one deep thrust that made her gasp. He moved with abandon then, driven by the desire to lose himself until there was nothing left of him, and rapidly their bodies became slick with a thin layer of sweat. Her hands went low on his back, on a trail lead by her nails, and held onto his bottom, pushing him deeper inside. Groaning loudly and embolden, Roger let go of the last fragments of conscience altogether, his body alone took over and his thrusts gained momentum. Brianna sought his lips in reply, turning them red and sore with her own yearning, while his hands scratched and groped over the softness of her skin, making her whimper in a blend of pain and pleasure underneath him.

With one of his hands he held hard to her hip and drove their bodies together, again and again, until he buried his face on her neck and shuddered loudly, blissfully emptying his mind and body into her. Roger was at once reduced to incoherent gasps, but his name was still on her lips, breathless and urgent. He went on though, unable to stop and blind to anything else except her, until he felt heat spreading over her body and her back rising from the bed. She was pulsating around him like a warm heartbeat, while her teeth sunk into the flesh of his shoulder preventing her from moaning too loud.

She breathed out a long sigh at last and he collapsed on top of her completely spent, with labored breath fanning across her breasts. As Brianna held his motionless body against her, he was faintly aware of long fingers caressing the back of his neck, sending shivers down his spine along with the remaining muscle spasms.

Beneath her own heavy breathing he heard the scattered words of a prayer and he wondered briefly if she was praying for his soul to be saved, or if that would be ever enough. The outcome of last night had been an inevitable consequence of his life choices, and though he would never choose to kill deliberately, the intention had been there nonetheless, somewhere as his arms rose to deliver what he thought was deserved justice. In the process, Roger had uncovered an unknown side buried underneath the layers that composed him, the son, the scholar, the father, the husband, among so many others. But what would this act make of him? He wondered. Was he becoming an unrecognizable version of himself or rather his own true self, the one he was meant to be all along, flawed but more real than ever before?

[midnight0stars]

No worries at all, Anon!! I just wanted to make sure before I got started.

Thank you so much for the ask and I hope you like how this turned out!

**Vexen X Fem!Reader NSFW**

Words: 2463

———————————–

You stretched your arms, letting out a large yawn. Lab equipment surrounded you and files filled with various reports were spread across your desk. You looked over the entirety of your work, your eyelids heavy from exhaustion, fighting the urge to fall asleep in your seat.

“You should take a break.” Vexen’s voice caught your attention.

“Only if you take one with me.” You replied, glancing over your shoulder at him with a coy smile.

He stood with his back to you, at a long white counter that was covered with vials and experimental supplies. “Perhaps at a later time.” He replied, waving you off without glancing back at you.

You spun around in your revolving chair and looked him over. He was intently focused on his work, not caring that it was the middle of the night and that you were the only two remaining at the lab. Everyone else in the Organization had either gone to sleep or was off doing their own important missions.

Despite not having a heart, you could feel a flutter in your chest. A warmth that covered you from looking at Vexen. He wasn’t necessarily the most handsome man you had ever seen, but he was the only person that could make you feel as if you still had a heart. He helped you remember what it was like to have genuine emotions, even if those moments were few and far between.

You stood from your seat and walked over to him, leaning your back against the counter so he could see you. He barely cast a side glance towards you, before focusing back on his work.

“You shouldn’t be overworking yourself.” You told him, getting a sigh in response.

“I don’t appreciate you using my own words against me.” He sent you a look, but not without the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “Regardless, I must complete this experiment. Rest can wait.”

“Vex,” you brought your hand to his arm, making him pause. “Just a short break. Please.”

He let out a long breath as he looked towards you. “Fine.” He straightened up, his eyes finally meeting with yours. “What do you suggest we do?”

His words caused your mouth to curve into a smirk, even if you knew he hadn’t intended any sort of innuendo. Turning towards him, you snaked your hands around the back of his neck, your smirk growing at the way his face flushed in response.

“I can think of a few things.” You told him, your eyes going towards his lips.

He cleared his throat, placing his hands at the sides of your waist in attempt to push you back, but you could feel the reluctance in his actions. “Y/N, I hardly think this is the time—”

You cut him off by meeting your lips with his. His breath hitched, his hands tightening around you. Your lips moved gently against his, not daring to try to deepen the kiss. A whimper traveled up your throat as you felt his lips beginning to move against yours. He was always hesitant, but that only made you want him more.

He waited until you broke away, your lips barely apart as you gazed into the others eyes. His hands relaxed on your sides, his breath evening out.

“Sorry,” you whispered, laughing softly when he smiled back uneasily. You ran your fingers through his hair. “We haven’t gotten any time alone together lately.”

“Y-Yes,” he stammered, clearing his throat again. “Well, I… have had much to do.”

“I know,” you sighed with a chuckle. “You always do.”

He winced at your words, but didn’t say anything in response. You filled the silence by pressing your lips back against his, this time with just a bit more intensity. His lips moved against yours, but with a reluctance, as if he were unsure how far to go or was afraid of doing something wrong. You took his bottom lip in your mouth, gently sucking and eliciting the slightest moan from him that made a certain spot between your legs swell.

Your lips parted from each other’s, both of you breathing heavily. “Can we try something?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“I-I…” Vexen swallowed thickly, his hands almost shaking at your sides.

“…Please?” You begged, kissing his jawline and feeling him shudder underneath your lips.

He shut his eyes, nodding quickly, not trusting his words. You smiled against his skin, pulling away and grabbing his hand. He quirked up an eyebrow at you, following as you led the way back to your chair. His eyes widened when you went in front of him and pushed him to sit down.

“What are you–” He began to ask, his hands up as you climbed into his lap, straddling him, but his voice was cut off as you met your lips with his.

“Trying something,” you told him with a soft laugh, leaning your forehead against his.

“Y-Y/N, we’re not exactly in the most private place for this.” He pointed out, his face flushing deeper by the second. “Someone could walk in at any time.”

You pulled just far enough away so you could see his face and huffed, “It’s the middle of the night. How often are you interrupted at times like this?”

“With you around? Quite often.” He quipped, his voice shaking from nerves and making you chuckle.

“Just… go with me on this, alright?” You smiled reassuringly, kissing him again and feeling your chest flutter as he sighed in your mouth.

A shaking breath escaped him as your lips traveled along his jaw to his neck, his hands clenching the arm rests of the chair.

“Wrap your arms around me,” you murmured against his skin as more of a plea rather than an order, while toying with the collar of his lab coat.

His trembling hands met with your back, slowly running up your spin. He whispered out your name, making you hum as your hands slid under his coat. Neither of you were in your Organization cloaks, but wearing thin clothes under your lab coats. Vexen’s warmth seeped through his shirt, heating your cool fingertips. Your lips met back together when you pulled back from his neck, Vexen taking more of the lead as he took in your bottom lip and gently sucked. You whined, wanting more.

Pulling away, you smirked at his confused expression as you shrugged off your coat. His eyes danced over you. It was so rare that either of you could see the other without some sort of coat covering a majority of the other’s body. Your shirt clung to every soft curve of your body and you had made sure to wear something more low cut than usual. You allowed him to look at you, before grabbing the bottom of your shirt and pulling it off over your head.

Vexen’s lips parted, his breath leaving him as he watched the fabric be tossed to the floor. His eyes darted over your body, his skin flushed as he was rendered completely speechless. Without you having to encourage, his hands went to the sides of your waist. You grinned, meeting your lips back together.

His hands trailed up and down your body as you suckled his bottom lip. A groan rumbled in his chest, his fingers tightening against your skin. You moaned as he rolled his hips, feeling his hardening shaft pushing between your legs. You never imagined this could actually happen with him. Without your hearts. Without truly being alive. But somehow, having him there in that moment made you feel like maybe you were.

You kissed along his jaw, suckling his neck to leave your mark on him. His breath hitched, his hands along your hips as you rolled against him. Your lips reached his collar bone, nipping at the soft skin and smirking at the way his chest rumbled at the sensation. You pushed away his coat, making it crumble on the back of the chair so you could run your hands along his shoulders. He wasn’t as muscular as some of the other Members, but you could still feel the lean muscle underneath your fingertips.

His hands tightened around your hips as he thrusted forward, his body reacting to yours on its own. Both of your breaths cut short from the sensation, seeming to heighten with every thrust.

“Vex,” you gasped out his name. “I need you inside me.” You whispered in his ear, smirking at the pleasurable sigh he gave in response. He was completely lost in what you were doing to him.

Despite the way his pace quickened, you pushed yourself off, standing up in front of him. He reached out for you, but you stepped just far enough away where he couldn’t touch. Reaching behind your back, you unclasped your bra, watching Vexen’s eyes as the fabric slipped off your chest. He was mesmerized by you, panting at sight of your hands gliding down your own body.

Reaching your pants, you undid the clasp, slipping them off and kicking them aside as they reached the floor. You didn’t know where this confidence was coming from, but seeing the way Vexen’s eyes danced over you made you want to go even further. His usual collected disposition was gone, replaced with a lust you never imagined seeing in him. Your fingers toyed with the sides of your panties, your hips swaying side to side as you bit your lip with a coy smile.

You had him, and you were going to draw it out as long as possible. You leaned forward, your breasts hanging in front of you as you smirked at Vexen. Running your hands along his legs, you moved to kneel down in front of him, an entire plan ready in your mind. You gasped as Vexen grabbed your arms, pulling your back on top of him and meeting your lips together. His intensity had you moaning, as he ran his hands up the sides of your waist to your breasts.

“Where did this side of you come from?” You asked breathlessly, as he kissed down your neck to your chest.

He hummed against your breast, before pulling away so he could speak. His chest heaved as he shook his head, “I-I haven’t the faintest idea.” He kissed between your breasts, the sensation making you sigh pleasurably as you slung your head back. “I’ve…” He paused, pulling back enough so he could meet his eyes with yours. You looked back at him as his hand cupped your cheek, a gentle, loving touch that brought a warmth to your face. “Never felt anything like this before.”

His words echoed through you, part of you wishing you could melt into his arms, but it all felt so empty. There was something missing, something that should have swelled from those words. You swallowed hard, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch as you kissed his palm.

“I haven’t either,” you confessed, trying to shove away the emptiness inside you, but it only continued to rise. Emotion crawled up your throat, emotion that wasn’t supposed to be there, and you swallowed it down a sob.

“Y/N…” Vexen whispered, his touch tensing as he took notice of your sudden change in disposition. “What’s–”

You pressed your lips against his, biting, sucking, with a new intensity that made him melt. Breaking away with a dry cry, you begged, “Make me yours, Vex… please. Make me feel something.”

His breath hitched as he opened and closed his mouth several times, scrambling for words. Instead, he nodded, swallowing hard as you climbed off of him to pull off the rest of your clothes. You stood naked before him, the rush of his eyes taking you in erasing part of the emptiness inside you. Your hands went to his pants, unbuckling and palming through the fabric to his hardened shaft. He groaned as your hand grasped his entire length, his eyes sliding closed and his lips parting. You smirked, pulling his undergarments off just enough to expose him entirely.

Part of you wanted to take him into your mouth, to run your tongue over his entire shaft until he was begging you to go on top of him. That had been your original plan, but that hollow emptiness in your gut was growing too vast. You resigned to meeting your lips back with his, running your fingertips along him as you situated on top of him.  

“Ready?” You asked, kissing along his jawline.

He nodded, the faintest whine coming out of his throat as his hands clung to your hips in anticipation. You lowered yourself onto him, biting back a moan from the sensation of him entering you. A spike of pleasure filled your spirit, your head slinging back as you bit your lip. This was what you wanted, what you needed.

Vexen groaned and moaned under his breath, his mouth meeting with your skin as he began kissing every part of your body he could reach. His hands roved over you, your breasts kneaded in his grasp before moving to other parts. You focused on his touch, forcing yourself to get lost in the slightest tingles and shivers he shot through you. Little by little, the hollowness faded away, replaced with only him. The awkward, adorable, yet somehow ridiculously sexy man lavishing you as you rolled your hips against his.

“Vex,” you gasped out his name, eyes shut, mouth open, “Oh God, Vexen, don’t stop.”

He hummed, his pace quickening as every last semblance of his previous reserve was tossed out the window. Both of you were panting, gasping for air as your voices mixed and hips erratically met together.

With a cry, you broke through. Your entire body ignited in a way you never thought was possible, fireworks sparkling before your eyes. Everything around you was gone, meaningless, as you spent that moment in pure ecstasy. Vexen was seconds behind, a moan escaped his lips along with your name. The mere sound of it sent you on a second wave as you buried your mouth against the crook of his neck to muffle your voice.

Vexen continued to thrust into you until you went limp, both of you panting for a full breath of air. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close to his chest as you came down from your climaxes. A comfortable silence surrounded you, only the sounds from the lab as your ambiance. Your eyes shut, your mind fogged with a haze of pleasure and contentment.

“Y/N…” Vexen’s soft voice broke through your peaceful state.

“Hmm?” You hummed.

“Are you alright…?” He asked.

You pulled back to see his warmed face and softened eyes looking back at you. With a smile, you kissed him.

“I am now…”

[garywonghc]

How to Transform Anger in 4 Steps

by Judy Lief

According to Buddhist psychology, anger is one of the six root kleshas, the conflicting emotions that cause our suffering. Its companions are greed, ignorance, passion, envy, and pride.

Anger can be white hot or freezing cold. Anger can be turned outward to other people, to a particular situation you are stuck with, or to life in general. It can be turned inward, in the form of self-hatred, resentment, or rejection of those parts of yourself that embarrass you or make you feel vulnerable. Anger can cause you to kill; it can lead you to commit suicide.

Anger is fuelled by the impulse to reject, to push away, to destroy. It is associated with the hell realm, a state of intense pain and claustrophobia. That quality of claustrophobia or being squeezed into a corner is also reflected in the origins of the English word anger, whose root means “narrow” or “constricted.”

Anger can be extremely energetic. You feel threatened and claustrophobic, and that painful feeling intensifies until you lash out like a cornered rat. Or it can manifest as a subtle simmering of resentment that you carry along with you always, like a chip on your shoulder.

Like the other kleshas, anger is a part of our makeup. We all have it, but we deal with it very differently, both as individuals and culturally.

Because the experience of anger is so potent, we usually try to get rid of it somehow. One way we try to get rid of it is to stuff it or suppress it, because we are embarrassed to acknowledge or accept that we could be feeling that way. Another way we try to get rid of our anger is by impulsively acting out through violent words or actions, but that only feeds more anger.

Since anger is a natural part of us, we cannot really get rid of it, no matter how hard we try. However, we can change how we relate to it. When we do, we begin to glimpse a quality hidden within this destructive force that is sane and valuable. We can save the baby while we throw out the bathwater.

In Buddhism there are many strategies and practices for dealing with anger. The overall approach is to start with meditation. In the context of formal sitting practice we can begin to understand the energy of anger, as well as the other kleshas, and to make a new relationship with it. On that basis, we can begin to apply this insight in the more challenging environment of day-to-day living.

HOW MINDFULNESS UNDERMINES AGGRESSION

The formal practice of mindfulness is the foundation for exploring the powerful energy of anger. It is hard to deal with anger once it has exploded, which is why meditation practice is such a helpful tool. By slowing down, and by refining our observational powers, we can catch the arising of anger at an earlier stage, before it has a chance to overtake us completely.

The practice of sitting still, breathing naturally, and looking attentively at one’s moment-by-moment experience is in and of itself an antidote to aggression. This is true because anger and other emotional outbursts thrive on being unseen. They thrive on the ability to lurk below the surface of our awareness and pop up whenever they please. So extending the boundary of your awareness takes away the natural habitat that sustains the kleshas.

Through meditation, we learn to tune in to what we are feeling and observe that experience with dispassion and sympathy. The more we can do that in formal mindfulness practice, the less under anger’s iron grip we will be. In turn, the more chance we will be able to transform our relationship to anger in the midst of daily life as well.

Where does anger arise? It is in the mind. So by taming the mind we can establish a strong base for understanding how anger arises in us and how we habitually respond to it. We can see how anger spreads and settles in our body, and how it triggers formulaic dramas about blame and hurt. We can expose our conceptual constructs about anger, our justifications, defensiveness, and cover-ups. On that basis we can go further using the following practice.

THE POISON TREE: A 4-STEP ANGER PRACTICE

One traditional analogy for a progressive, step-by-step approach to dealing with anger and the other kleshas is the poison tree.

How do you deal with a poison tree? The first thing you might do is prune it, to keep it from getting too large or from spreading. But that just keeps it under control. The tree is still there.

However, once the tree is a more manageable size, it might be possible to dig it up and get rid of it completely, which seems to be a slightly better approach.

But just as you are about to do that, you may remember that a doctor once told you that this tree’s leaves and bark have medicinal qualities. You realise that it doesn’t make sense simply to get rid of that tree. It would be better to make use of it.

Finally, according to this story, a peacock comes along, notices the tree, and without further ado, happily gobbles it up. The peacock instantly converts that poison into food.

1. PRUNING THE TREE: REFRAINING FROM INDULGING IN ANGER

The first step is to refrain from speech and actions based on anger. When anger arises, it has usually already taken us over by the time we notice it. The intensity of the emotion and our reaction to it are so tied as to feel almost simultaneous. We are desperate to do something with this anger, either to feed it or to suppress it.

In this step, we refrain from doing anything, no matter how strong the urge to do so may be. The practice is to stay with the experience of anger. We begin on the boundary, with the second-thought level, where we are tempted to add fuel to the flame or try to stomp it out and get rid of it. The practice is to engage in neither of those two strategies. It is to be with our anger without interpreting it or strategising.

Our reactions tend to be so strong and immediate that initially we may not really get to the anger itself. But as our reactivity becomes less heavy-handed, a small, almost miniscule gap opens up between our anger and our reaction. In that gap it is possible for us to be with the anger and at the same time refrain from being caught up in it. We can relate to our anger more purely and simply, without second thoughts.

2. UPROOTING THE TREE: SEEING THROUGH ANGER'S APPARENT SOLIDITY

Once we are able to be with anger with more openness and less judgement, the second step is to look at it more precisely.

When anger arises, we examine it. We ask questions. To what do we attach the label “anger”? Is it a sense perception, a thought, or a feeling? How real is it? How invincible? Is it still? Is it moving? When we try to pin it down, does it slip away? Where does it come from? Where does it live? Where does it go? What are its qualities? Its texture? Its colour? Its shape? What gives anger its power over us?

In this step we examine anger as a simple phenomenon. Where is the anger coming from? What is it aimed at? Is it our fault or is it the fault of someone or something else?

Look as directly as you can. What are anger’s roots? What is feeding it? Go level by level, deeper and deeper. Can you find its root cause?

3. DISTILLING THE MEDICINE: UNCOVERING WISDOM IN THE MIDST OF PAIN

In the third step we contemplate what it is about anger that is harmful and what might be of benefit. How could anger possibly be a form of medicine? If we got rid of our anger what would be lost?

Here the practice is to discern the difference between harmful anger and anger that benefits in some way. Clearly, the mindless expression of anger through words or deeds leads us to harm others and suffer harm ourselves. Yet repressing our anger also causes harm. The anger doesn’t actually go away but shows up in devious ways, wearing a disguise. So is there another option?

According to Tibetan Buddhism, there is a flip side to anger: there is wisdom in it. Normally we are too caught up in our personal struggles to connect with this wisdom, but anger actually has an integrity and a sharpness. It is a messenger that something is wrong, that something needs to be addressed. Anger’s awakened energy is said to be crystal clear, like a perfect mirror. It tells it like it is with no dissembling. Anger clears the air. It is immediate, and it is abrupt, but it grabs our attention and gets the point across. Anger interrupts our complacency and mobilises us to take action.

When we encounter injustice being done to another, when we see violence inflicted on innocent beings, when we see the ways that humans justify almost any crazy act of violence, it is heartbreaking and makes us angry. So anger could be the catalyst that causes us to act with courage and compassion to address violence, injustice, and entrenched ignorance. And the more clearly we see such tendencies in the world around us, the more we come to recognise within us traces of these same tendencies to violence and dissembling. So anger has the power to strip the screens from our eyes, to cut through our ignorance and avoidance of harsh realities.

The destructive force of anger is real and apparent. In addressing its destructive force, we practised restraint in the first step and we began to see through anger’s apparent solidity in the second. Now we are working with the wisdom potential of anger.

In fact, it may not be the anger itself but our tendency to hold on to our anger and its accompanying story line and self-absorption that is so harmful. When anger awakens us to a real problem that must be addressed, we can respond by wallowing in the anger and feeling good about ourselves for doing so. Or we can actually listen to whatever message that anger is bringing to us, while at the same time dropping the messenger. Then we can deal with what has been exposed to us by anger’s clear mirror.

4. THE PEACOCK: ENGAGING ANGER WITHOUT FEAR AND HESITATION

The final step is not actually a further practice, but more the result or fruition of mastering the other three steps. We continue to practice refraining from impulsive displays of anger, seeing through the apparent solidity of anger, and opening to the messages anger brings without clinging to the messenger. When we can do all that with ease, we may finally begin to be able to make use of anger as a tool or skillful means. If anger is called for and would be useful, we are not afraid to apply it. And when destructive anger does arise, we are not seduced, nor do we run away from it. We gobble it up on the spot. Not a trace remains.