#cause those are going to get my blood sugar right for ten minutes at best

[lookninjas]

Dear body: you have had calories! You have had carbs and fats and proteins! You have had fruit! You have had vitamins and fiber and all good things! Kindly calm the fuck down now!

[chockfullofsecrets]

Critical Role: The Opposite of Cuddling

(Read on AO3)

Rating: Gen

Summary: And maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, but - “That’s not gonna work,” he says, feeling a little bad as her face falls. “I’m way too ticklish for that.”

Jester’s expression rebounds at lightning speed. “Caduceus! You’re ticklish?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he grins.

Dome cuddles don't quite work out, but the Mighty Nein make do.

Wordcount: 1.8k (it would be short if it wasn’t supposed to be a snippet fic aaa)

A/N: maybe i am just in the mood for cuddly gang tickles. maybe so. 

---

“So,” Jester is proselytizing, brandishing a diagram from her sketchbook into dubious faces, “if we cuddle up around Caduceus just like this it’s going to be super soft and comfy and warm until we get out of this stupid weather! Any questions?”

Caduceus puts his teacup aside and leans down to peer at the sketch. It’s really good, especially the faces. She must have drawn it while watching them sleep last night.

And maybe it wouldn’t be too bad, but - “That’s not gonna work,” he says, feeling a little bad as her face falls. “I’m way too ticklish for that.”

Jester’s expression rebounds at lightning speed. “Caduceus! You’re ticklish?”

“Oh. Yeah,” he grins. It feels good to see her happy, tail flicking as she clutches her sketchbook in clear delight - after two days of nonstop freezing rain, even her forceful cheer has been wavering. “It’s nice, sometimes, but not when we’re, you know. Sleeping.”

“So I could tickle you right now and you wouldn’t be, like, really mad at me?” Jester presses. She’s scooting towards him as she asks, practically trembling with excitement. It’s awfully cute.

Well, it’s been a while, but he can’t say he’s not a little eager for the contact. He ignores the looks from the rest of their group and flops back onto his bedroll, wriggling a little to get comfortable. “Yeah, that’d be good.”

“Um,” Beau says from somewhere behind him, a little strangled. Oh, right.

“We’re not keeping people awake, are we?” he asks, craning his neck to the various edges of the dome people have settled in. “Anyone set on sleeping right now?”

Beau makes a face. "That's not the weird part, Duceus."

“They can help!” Jester chirps, and then she’s cuddled into his side and wiggling tiny tiefling claws above his belly. “Oh, Ca-du-ceus!”

She’s pitching her voice as deep and scary as it can go. It’s not very far. “Yeah?”

“Where’s your very worst tickle spot?”

He laughs. “Telling you that feels like a bad idea.”

“Then I’ll just have to fi-ind it!” She tugs his shirt up with one quick move, and he barely has time to feel the cold before she’s latching onto his sides and burying her entire face into the downy fur on his belly. “Ooh, you’re so soft and warm! I want to cuddle you forever, Caduceus.”

It tickles, but just a little - honestly, he’s more amused by her. “Can’t say I’ve heard that before,” he chuckles, reaching out to poke gently at her side. “You’re not bad yourself.”

She squeaks, pulling her head up just enough to gasp at him. “Oh my gosh, Caduceus, did you just tickle me back? Guys, you have to come help me!”

“Nah, I’m good,” Beau snorts.

Jester lets out a massive sigh and flops back down onto him, and for a pleasant minute or two it’s just her nuzzling into him as he watches raindrops pelt off the amber dome overhead.

Then there’s a rustle, and some clinking, and before he can do anything more than lazily twitch one of his ears in the direction of the sound Yasha’s upside-down face pushes into his field of view.

“Do you mind if I join?” she asks in her quiet way. “I don’t want to overwhelm you.”

Jester springs upright, grabbing happily for her hands. “Yes! Join us!”

Caduceus echoes her, snorting out a quiet laugh as Jester regains some of her energy and starts to scribble her way up his sides. He doesn't have any quiet siblings - Yasha reminds him a little more of the mourners, so it’s always nice to see her reach out. He's good at appreciating that sort of thing.

Yasha smiles shyly down at the both of them as she pulls his head into her lap and starts to play with his ears. “These are so soft,” she marvels. “Are you ticklish here?”

His ears have always been one of his siblings’ favorite spots to tease him with, and apparently they haven’t gotten any less sensitive in the last ten years. “Yeah,” he gasps. “Heh - just - hehe - a little bit.”

There's a frustrated groan off to his right. “Okay, I’ll bite.” Footsteps track around to his side, fleet and quiet, and he waits patiently for a flash of blue cloth to cross his gaze. “But only ‘cause ears are a fucking weird spot and I want to see if this works on you.”

Beau crouches by his side and curls her fingers loosely. “I’m gonna punch you,” she warns. “Probably not that hard, but don’t tense up.”

He nods as best as he can while tilting his head to better let Yasha worry her fingernails at the backs of his ears - he’s not sure if he could feel more boneless if he tried, right now.

The heel of her fist strikes him right in the middle of his chest, fingers clutching around something intangible - that something scurries its way down every nerve he has, and he coughs out a startled laugh before he can help himself. “What was that?”

“Payback for growing lichen on me back at your house,” she quips, but her eyes are narrowed in clear concentration. “Okay, ears, ears… wrists? And knees? And - fuck, man, your entire back? Really? Jes, let’s flip him over, this is going to be good.”

Well, that’s unexpected.

“Wait - ha!” Caduceus yelps, squirming as fingers start to pry their way underneath him. “Hold on now-”

He’s bigger than both of them by far, but they’re strong and not above tickling the backs of his ribs until he starts to squeal. "You're so thin, Caduceus!" Jester exclaims, hooking a finger into the tender gap between two bones and wriggling it mercilessly - his back arches entirely without his permission, letting Beau pry him another inch off the ground, and he whines defensively. "We have to feed you more!"

They get as far as rolling him onto his side before Beau loses patience and starts prodding smugly at his spine. “Your ki is pretty shivery around here, Duceus,” she teases. “Trying to hide your worst spots, huh? Bet you thought we weren’t gonna take this seriously.”

Caduceus is too busy laughing to deal with - any of that, really, especially when Jester slings herself over him so she can reach his back too. “I’m - ahaha! aaa! - oh, that tickles!”

As if in direct response to his babbling, a small weight bundles into the back of his knees. He curls up reflexively with a strangled shout - it’s Nott, cuddling up to him with a shivery sigh as an invisible hand starts to pinch at his kneecaps. “You’re right,” she crows to Jester. “He is soft.”

It does feel nice, being buried under this many people and tickled till the marrow of every bone in his body shivers, happy and helpless, and when Fjord finally sits in front of him and presses a questioning hand to his shoulder Caduceus doesn’t resist the impulse to clutch his hands and pull him in closer.

Fjord comes easily, huffing in quiet amusement as Caduceus buries his face in him and Yasha and wriggles like a freshly surfaced earthworm. “You alright there?” he drawls. “You sound like they’re trying to kill you.”

Nott snorts from somewhere near his belly. “We should stop, then, we’ve only got the one cleric.”

“Hey!”

Everything abruptly derails as Jester launches herself towards Nott and, from the sound of it, kicks Beau right in the face - there’s wheezing, and then shouting, and then the telltale sugar-sweet scent of Jester’s healing magic.

Caduceus holds very still. "Is everyone okay?"

"Yeah," Beau confirms, mangled. He can practically picture Jester frantically squishing her cheeks around as she checks for damage.

A typical tickle fight, as far as the Clays are concerned, just with a different smell - the Wildmother's healing tends more earthy. Even though they’ve stopped tickling, Caduceus can’t help but laugh.

He’s not sure if he imagines Fjord fluttering light fingers along the insides of his wrists as he catches his breath, but by the time he wheezes out one last fit of giggles and rolls himself back over everyone seems to be keeping a respectful distance, if a good deal closer together than they were at the beginning of the evening. “I think that went pretty well,” he says, pleased.

“...so you’re stupid ticklish,” Beau says dryly, scrubbing a bit of dried blood from her lip. “No cuddling Duceus while he’s trying to be unconscious, message received.”

There’s a chorus of agreement from all but one - Caduceus looks around and spots their final member for the first time since they sat down for dinner, nose buried in a book and ears suspiciously red.

He hasn’t moved an inch all night, even to escape the noise, which leaves him only a few feet away from the rest of them. Caduceus gets the feeling he’s about to regret that. “Oh, I’m sure there are those that have it worse,” he grins. “Right, Mr. Caleb?”

Caleb’s gaze snaps up over the edge of his book. “Ja,” he rushes out, strangled. “I mean - nein - of course I am not - I am just trying to read here-”

Jester doesn’t wait for him to dig his grave any deeper. “Oh my gosh, Cay-leb, are you super ticklish too?”

Caleb stuffs his book back into its holster and holds a hand out preventatively, reaching with panicked precision for a strip of leather tied just above his knee with the other. “No, I am not-”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Fjord rocks backward and reaches out with one broad hand, latching onto Caleb's wrist, and Caleb promptly abandons all spellcasting to kick at him like a startled rabbit.

Despite that, he reels Caleb in gently, scooping him into a neat little ball before he heaves him into the middle of their little circle and squarely on top of Caduceus. “I think we owe you a nice, long thank you for this lovely dome, don’t we?”

There’s a moment of silence as Caleb presumably thinks about how easy it would be to kill them all in this enclosed space. “This,” he says, as severely as he can with his feet in the air and hair in his eyes, “is the opposite of cuddling, and if you do not leave me alone then tomorrow night I am going to make all of you sleep in the rain.”

Even the seasoned homebody in Caduceus knows that’s the exact wrong thing to say to a group of damp and grumpy adventurers - if the mood in the dome was mischievous before, it takes a steep dive into outright evil.

Beau cracks her knuckles. “Yeah? Let’s see what you have to say when we tickle you again tomorrow.”

And if Caduceus laughs as Caleb gives one startled owlish blink and then scrambles to hide as much of himself behind Caduceus as possible - well, that’s not from the tickling at all.

[dizzydancingdreamer]

Hot-shot, Hot-head | Clint Barton

Hey lovelies! Here's another one for Dinner at Dizzy's! I actually really like this one. Clint Barton is super close to my heart. I remember watching the avengers for the first time when it first came out (and Thor before that) and just falling in love lol. Treat him well lovelies and please do enjoy.

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff / Angst (more so fluff)

Entres (Pairing): Clint Barton x F!Reader (third person)

Sides (Prompts): 7: “Teach me.”

Notes: None, requested by an anon

Word Count: 2.9k (lol I don't even have an excuse anymore)

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

“God damnit!” She hisses as the bow string snaps back against her fingers, the sting making her fumble the bow.

She catches it— like she always does— but not without another curse. She resists the urge to slam the hunk of metal against the grass, her muscles squeezing so tight she could scream. He makes it look so fucking easy. It’s not— it’s impossible. She wants her pistol back and glass of water. Water or wine. Same thing. Screw Barton and how ridiculously nimble he is— she thought she was supposed to be the agile one.

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. She bites back a groan when she hears footsteps sound from behind her, rolling her eyes before spinning on the brunette, scowling at the gleeful squint of his bright blue eyes. He’s always so smug. In all of her years of knowing him that has never changed.

“Told you it’s not as simple as it looks.” He simpers, his smile so wide she wants to throw him to the ground right here, right now, and slap it off.

Slap, kiss— same thing.

“If you came out here to mock me, Barton, feel free to not.” She scrunches her nose— it’s the only thing she can do to keep the smile off her face.

Why does his grin always have to be so infectious? She wants to be annoyed still— she was annoyed before she turned around so why can’t she still be annoyed now? It’s infuriating and awful and so damn endearing. God, if she could go back to training and strangle Fury she honestly just might. What was he thinking, pairing her for fucking life with Clint Barton. She glances at the man and the smirk in his eyes and she presses her lips together.

He notices— of course he notices, they trained together, their reflexes are the same. It’s what makes them such good partners— they were created to be a team. Fucking Fury. Well, a team in one sense at least. The other not so much. She shoves the thought to the back of her head, finally letting the smile break out on her face.

“Someone has to, hot-shot.” He settles against the tree behind him, muscled arms crossing over his chest, puppy dog smile still just as wide.

God where the fuck is she supposed to look? There’s nowhere left— not the corded veins along his arms, not the golden skin peeking out of the collar of his t-shirt, not the the glint in his icy eyes that she can’t tell whether it’s from the sun or is just always there— she’s being attacked on all sides and all she has is this stupid bow— his stupid bow.

She drops her shoulders, rolling her eyes again and caving to his larkish voice— she always does. “I guess it’s fair. Shouldn’t rag on you so much for your terrible shot—”

“I don’t have a terrible—” He begins to protest, pushing from the tree and stepping closer to her.

She presses her fingers to his chest when he gets a few inches away, trying to keep her breathing in check. “With a pistol. Ten years later and he still interrupts. Good to know some things never change, hot-head.”

She beams up at him, palms flat against his broad chest, forcing herself to ignore the heat seeping from the thin material. It feels like at any moment he’s going to burn her, much too hot for his own good. Being this close to him she can smell his woodsy, citrus scent— like the damn sun— and she takes a step back. Co-workers. Partners. Best friends.

Nothing more.

“Ten years later and she still does everything in her power to make me interrupt. Terrible shot. Who taught you to fight so dirty, huh?” He peers down at her as he pushes past her, fingers flicking at her jaw, and she bites her tongue because it’s starting to feel like he’s asking her to say something she’ll regret.

“Uhm you? You did— weren’t you the one who kicked my knees in on the first day of training?”

He’s a good few feet in front of her now— stupid long legs— and she sucks in a breath of fresh air, her skin tingling as her body cycles him out of her blood. There’s no point, he’ll be back in a moment. He’s always back— always annoying and around and warm.

He glances back over his shoulder— “You mean right after you broke my nose, right darlin’?”

She lets her gaze flick to his nose and the faint bump on the ridge where she had jutted her palm into it all those years ago. The academy nurses are good— she can only see the blemish when she’s looking for it. Too bad her jab is better. It suits him at least— everything does.

“I did do that, didn’t I?” She hums, meeting him once more and standing on her tiptoes to get a better look. He leans down, staring at her from over the crook. “Maybe I was marking you Barton— I made ya’ pretty.”

He hands her the arrows, fingers clasping over her own for a moment, encasing her in that warmth again. “Couldn’t have found any other way, huh?”

She has to force herself to meet his banter, suddenly breathless and woozy, still wobbling on her tiptoes. “Thought you liked the violence— you did back then.”

He holds her gaze, fingers tightening so minutely that she’s sure if she were anyone else she wouldn’t have noticed. She wouldn’t notice how his eyes skim over her face before flicking over her head quickly, how his shoulders square defensively, how even when there’s no one around he’s always watching her back. But she isn’t anyone else— she’s her and she notices everything he does.

He meets her gaze again, muscles easing slightly, and her lungs scream at her because all she can taste is lemons and juniper.“Oh I love the violence.”

She tugs the arrows— and by default her hand— from his hold, searching desperately for an escape in the open air in front of her. The targets taunt her from across the field, the little pin prick holes in the middle of the red bullseye leering. She wants to throw the bow again— where the fuck is her gun?

“Why am I doing this again?” She groans and he laughs, his hand curling around her neck, thumb digging into the knots in her shoulder blade.

“‘Cause one day you won’t have bullets.” He supplies, voice too close to her ear for her to make much sense of the words. They’re like honey— too sweet, too slow.

Still she shrugs. “Won’t I have you, though? You planning on ditching me, Barton?”

Beyond the teasing she can hear the insecurity laced in her words and she wants to slap herself for potentially ruining the sunny afternoon. She can practically feel the switch in the atmosphere. The lighthearted banter fading into cold seriousness. She swallows, closing her eyes. Even after ten years she’s still terrified that one day she’s going to wake up and he won’t be in the kitchen pouring the sugar into her coffee and burning the toast. Joining the academy was her chance— at freedom, at family— and Clint was— is— the payoff of those hard years. She would be utterly lost if one day he just wasn’t there.

His hand stills, thumb still pressing into her skin, chest tensing where it just barely brushes her back. For a moment they just stand there, the only noise being the soft thud of the bow landing in the grass. A few seconds later the arrows join. She doesn’t drop them on purpose— she would never carelessly throw his things around— she just can’t feel her hands anymore. When she brings them together, wringing them together, she isn’t surprised to find them trembling. She can feel him start to shake his head, hair brushing against her temple before the words are even out of his mouth.

“Don’t even say that. Don’t. Or think about it. Ever again— you hear me? I thought I was the dumb one.” He tries to say it like a joke— she can hear him forcing his tone to stay light— but his voice is too gravelly, his words spiking too low.

She presses her lips together again, nodding. “Sorry—” she mumbles, pressing the heel of her palm to her forehead, sinking back slightly to knock her shoulder into his chest— “was just— just over thinking, I guess. Stressed myself out.”

He wraps his arms around her shoulders, squeezing her against his chest. She tips her head back, putting her weight on him. It’s not unusual— it would be more unusual if she didn’t cuddle into him. That’s why she does it despite how terribly she wants to pull away. She can’t stay in his citrus arms— in this fever dream. She needs to break the spell. Maybe spend some days in the woods soon, alone, resetting her brain. She’s had to do that a few times.

“Not going anywhere.” He mumbles, hands closing around her arms, his jaw— scratchy and rough from stubble— rubbing against her shoulder. “You know that. Not now, definitely not in a fuckin’ appocalypse—” she laughs at that and he rocks on his heels, letting out a soft hum— “We’re in this together. Where the hell would I even go?”

He whispers that last part, probably hoping she wouldn’t hear, but his mouth is right there and she’s tuned into everything him. She can hear the worry, feel the rumble against her back. Shit. They’re both spiraling now and she’ll be damned if she brings her down with him. She has to do something.

“Teach me.”

He freezes behind her, hands softening their grip. When he speaks his voice is a little tighter than normal— hesitant, maybe. “What was that, darlin’?”

She goes to pull out of his arms again, bending to retrieve the bow, but she only ends up pulling him with her, the giant man curling around her easily. Too easily. She clenches her jaw, fighting the sudden urge to whirl around and push him to the ground.

Push him to the ground and climb on top of him.

“Teach me how to use this stupid thing, Barton. Can’t do it— you were right.”

Apparently she doesn’t have whirl around— he does it for her, spinning her so quickly that the heavy metal almost whacks him. He pries it gently from her fingers, releasing it back onto the grass. She almost protests— what the hell was she so afraid of dropping it for when he practically just threw it? — but before she can he’s pulling her off her toes and spinning her around.

“Clint what are you doing—”

“Ten years— it’s taken ten years for you to say those words.” He laughs and she swats the nape of his neck, rolling her eyes, feet dangling off the ground. It’s all she can do to not curl them around his hips. “And you tell me my ego is big.”

She scrunches her nose at the man, eyes dipping over his crinkled eyes and triumphant smile, once again fighting the curve of her own lips. “You’ve been waiting for me to ask for help?”

He snorts, dropping her on her toes before slumping onto the grass, sprawling out on his back— clearly not about to actually do as she asked. “No— if you wanted to learn that badly you would have by now. You’re not stupid, just stubborn.”

Clint leans up, warm hand curling around her ankle and yanking, pulling her feet out from under her and sending her flying. Before she has time to scream— hell, to even think about screaming— his arm is hooking around her stomach, catching her midair and lowering her easily to his chest. Ten years and she’s still never ready for that. She goes to drive her elbow back against his ribs but he catches her, grabbing her arm and instead pulling her to rest across his stomach.

She grumbles but turns anyway, cheek pressing against hard, warm muscle, meeting his gaze from where his head rests on his folded arms. “Then what?”

He flashes her another toothy grin— that can’t be good. “Was waiting for you to tell me I was right about something. Took you long enough.”

She scowls. “Shut up, will you?”

“Awe, is someone angry that I won?” He teases, his voice warmer than the sunshine on the bits of her exposed face.

“Barton, I said shut up.”

His laugh is too easy. Too musical. It rumbles against the parts of her that are pressed against him and makes the rest of her ache, wanting to be pressed against him as well.

“Geez, someone’s touchy today.”

As if to enhance his point he runs a gentle finger over the top of her spine, right where her tank top stops, and she has to clench her jaw against the heat that pools in the pit of her stomach and the shiver that races down her back. It’s the final straw. Ten years is a lot of straws— maybe she’s a hoarder of said straws— but finally her last one has broken. She can’t take it anymore. She bolts upright.

“Shit—” he mutters lowly, probably not intending for it to reach her ears, before speaking louder— “c’mon darlin’ I was just messing with you—”

She swings her leg over his stomach, knees caging him underneath her, thighs spreading deliciously over his warm abdomen, and his mouth snaps shut. He’s up on his elbows, no doubt because he had been worried and was on his way up to check on her, but now it only serves to bring them closer together. For a moment all she does is look at him, chest heaving, palms pressed against his chest and anticipation laced in every muscle. Each breath he takes tortures her— what’s he thinking?

She’s never thought Clint Barton to be a mind reader but maybe anything is possible at this point because as soon as she thinks it his crystal eyes narrow, his pink lips quirking up. “Are you going to make the first move or do I have to?”

Butterflies erupt in her stomach— wait, no, that’s just her gut twisting as he flips her over so fast that she doesn’t have time to blink. Dammit he’s quick. She’s quick too, though, legs finally curling around his hips to keep her back from crashing against the ground. She doesn’t remember wrapping her arms around his shoulders but when her head stops spinning she can feel her fingers digging at his arms. Her back eases against the ground, one of his arms slipping under her head, his other hooking around her thigh and pressing her that much closer to him.

His nose bumps against hers, breath hot on her lips, and she doesn’t try to fight the smile this time. “You didn’t give me a chance.”

His lips brush against hers, just a wisp— a promise— of what’s to come, and she squeezes her thighs tighter, pulling a raspy groan from his mouth. “Gave you ten years, didn’t I?”

She hums, lips pressing against the corner of his mouth. “You did— what on earth is wrong with you Barton?”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re really something, you know that?”

She kisses the other corner, just barely brushing her mouth against his as she passes, reveling in the way his hips push her harder into the grass. “Someone’s touchy today—”

The rest of her words are cut off— they’re swallowed— by two warmer-than-sin lips. He tastes like candy. Like red licorice and lemon drops. That’s all it takes for her to kiss him back, hands slipping into his hair and yanking— maybe she should be gentler but she can’t help it. She’s been patient, she’s paid her dues. Besides, if the moan that rips from his lungs and passes over her tongue— all needy and wild and lemon tinted— is anything to go by then she would say he doesn’t mind it. His tongue slips into her mouth, caressing hers, and she returns his moan with one of her own.

“Why— he mumbles into her open mouth, pausing momentarily to tug her bottom lip between his teeth and groan— “why didn’t we do this earlier? Like—” his lips skim over her cheek, up to her ear, tugging on her earlobe next— “like ten-years-ago sooner?”

She turns her face towards him, following him as he moves down her neck, lips pressing against his cheek. She doesn’t want to detach from him now. She doesn’t think she’ll ever want to. Her mouth slants against him, teeth nipping at his jaw, and he hikes her higher up his body. Her fingers are still tangled in his silky hair, raking through the strands and trying to memorize the feeling.

“I don’t know.” she mumbles against him— she can’t bring herself to find a witty remark, she just wants more.

He pulls back, ducking his head, lips swollen and eyes sparkling. “That was passive of you, hot-shot.”

“Barton.”

For once he doesn’t need to be told twice, leaning back down, nose bumping against her with another brain melting chuckle. She arches up, impatient for his touch. Before his lips skim hers he says something else, though. It’s like he can’t help but annoy her every chance he gets.

“Maybe you’re the hot-head after all.”

[goddamnitdazai]

Little Promises {S&S} | Chuuya

Part of the Salt & Sugar Series | N.SFW | 5K words [9:30] Chuu <3: I’m going to be a little late baby. Order that bottle of wine for us? Rarely did a date start off without one of those texts from Chuuya. He made reservations in the ‘earlier’ (according to mafia time) hours of the night to avoid a situation like this. In what he called the ‘perfect sweet spot’ between him getting off normal work hours and before having to deal with anything that would come up later in the evening as most of the real mafia business did. Lately, more attacks have been occurring directly against the Port Mafia rather than an assault against Yokohama. Nothing that the Black Lizard couldn't handle but Chuuya wasn’t one to sit out of a good fight. He’d gone with Hirotsu to go handle..something, someone most likely, but assured you he’d be finished in time for dinner.

Five or ten minutes wasn’t a big deal. Annoying, yes. But you knew what you signed up for. Being with Chuuya made the irritation worthwhile. Just his smile was enough to erode any negative feelings weighing on you from the day. Sighing quietly you order a bottle of his favorite wine and watch the stars twinkle through the glass. The restaurant itself was gorgeous. Brand new on the eightieth floor with a deck spread out around the entire outside. Chuuya was able to get a table in a heartbeat. The best one in the restaurant. Secluded right next to an expansive window showcasing Yokohama’s glittering amber skyline. Your reflection stares back at you in the window, restless fingers tapping on the newly filled glass of wine. Waiting. [9:45] Chuu <3: On my way back to the office, Boss needs something. Wait for me at the bar? We can sit outside instead. For a man who couldn’t hold that much liquor the wine Chuuya liked was strong. Your head was already buzzing even with the bits of spicy edamame you’d popped in your mouth as a distraction. Your posture deflates further when you read the text flashing on your screen. Deep scarlet liquid sloshes in the glass before passing through your lips to etch a burning pathway down your throat. The dress Chuuya had bought you fit perfectly against your curves. Silk. Red--his color.  A sign you were his. The diamond choker he bought for your birthday suddenly feels too tight around your neck. You hated eating alone. [10:15] Chuu <3: Shit, I’m sorry baby Boss needs me to go take care of something. I’m really sorry, I’ll try to make it quick. Half the bottle churns with a sickly heat in the base of your belly. His chair was still empty. You whip your phone from it’s idled place on the table and tap out a response. [10:17] Chuuya? It’s been over an hour. Where are you? [10:45] You’re not coming are you? [10:50] I charged a bottle of wine to your card. I’m going home. Your shoes land somewhere in your apartment with a loud thump. Keys are next missing the wooden end table meant for them and your purse. Fuck, you were slightly more drunk than you realized. Overpowering vehemention towards the man supposed to be treating you to a nice dinner was the only reason you hadn’t stumbled out of the cab. If you had any type of superhuman strength your heels would have stomped four inch holes into the pavement. Your hand clumsily fumbles for the light switch as you make your way into your apartment muttering curses on Chuuya’s name the entire walk from your door to the kitchen. Compared to Chuuya’s two story penthouse your place was small but cozy. More decorated and homey-- Chuuya liked that about it, he said. Most of his walls were barren except a few pieces of expensive art he purchased on a whim. Chuuya preferred sleeping here over going home when he was out working late and you were already beneath the covers. Coming home to his lover was a treat sweeter than wine according to him. Your shoulders slump. It had been a few weeks since Chuuya had taken you on an actual date. Executives didn’t exactly have frequent pockets of unoccupied time. Leisure was more of a luxury to Chuuya than the most expensive wine in his collection. But, at least in the past few months, he’d been trying to spend more time with you the way a normal couple would. However his promises were falling shorter than you anticipated and at a much higher frequency than expected. There was nothing normal about your situation.. but god damn having a nice dinner with your boyfriend maybe once a month didn’t sound unreasonable. You drag your hand down your face and trudge to the fridge flinging the door open unceremoniously. There wasn’t much in here other than the few healthy snacks Chuuya left.  Your diet mainly consisted of take out or to-go meals from the convenient store down the street. Chuuya hated it and usually preferred places that offered healthy meals, but the man rarely got home before ten at night and was exhausted the moment he crossed the threshold. Hence the dinner date. Your frown deepens. At some point you’d grabbed a water bottle but you weren’t even in the mood to open it. The fridge shuts with a harsh echoing click as you spin on your heel and head towards your bedroom. Between steps your bra ends up on the standing lamp and the matching panties get lost in the shadows. It took an hour to pick out that lingerie. Chuuya tore everything in his haste unless it was something he wanted to see you in more than once--he would have loved that little set. “Fucking asshole.” You snap to the empty bedroom, falling face first into the mess of pillows and blankets. It smelled like him. Unintentionally you inhale deeply cherishing the familiar scent of his shampoo and cologne mingling together. His lingering warmth contrasted the cold emptiness of the bedroom for a few moments bringing a comforting elation, and then the realization that you were in fact without him knocked you right back down. Chuuya was a workaholic. You knew that from the beginning. Working parallel with him exposed his dedication within the first week. A tiny bit of you (that was beginning to grow larger) had begun to truly resent Chuuya’s workaholic tendencies. The Port Mafia was important to him, you got that, but..weren’t you important too? You flip on your side to stop your head from spinning in rapid circles. The wine wasn’t sitting well on an empty stomach but at this point you were too tired and upset to get up and eat. Nothing sounded good anyway. Chuuya’s shirt you often slept in felt like a weight in your hand. “Fucker.” You hiss, throwing it onto the small chair in the corner of your bedroom. Fine. If you weren’t important enough to have fucking dinner with then you wouldn’t bother texting him again. This was pathetic. You try to focus on the wobbling lights of the city through your bedroom window. Gold and neon flecks blur like water droplets against a deep navy sky. A heavy melancholic silence fills up the apartment. Between the wine sloshing in your stomach and the pounding of your head sleep would most likely evade you tonight. Welled up vexation had suddenly melted to pure sorrow, choking you quietly as you lay curled up in the blankets. Finally, little sobs part your lips bringing a few tears in tow. This was stupid, it was just dinner. Chuuya didn’t do it on purpose but why the hell did it feel like a knife twisting in your heart? “Fucker..” you repeat, squeezing your eyes shut forcefully. You’d deal with it tomorrow. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++ At some point you’d passed out holding Chuuya’s pillow tightly in your arms. Unfortunately the thing to awaken you wasn’t the gentle kiss of sunrise or your lover’s tight embrace. The wine you’d downed had resurrected with a vengeance that had you sprinting to the bathroom. From the darkness still drenching the apartment morning hadn’t come quite yet. Your stomach heaves all the contents in a burning violent wrench that barely makes it into the toilet bowl. There’d be bruises from how hard your knees hit the tile but at least it caught all the mess. “Sh-shit..ow.” You mutter, spitting the rest out before wiping your mouth with a piece of toilet paper. “______?” Chuuya’s voice resonates from the living room. “_____? I’m really sorry. Baby...I’ll make it up to you..” Chuuya speaks softly, almost deflated. His voice hits you like a ton of bricks. A miniscule burst of energy helps you stand with aid from the sink at your side. The sudden rush of blood sends your head sloshing in a circle again nearly pushing you back down to the floor. With a deep inhale you force yourself to stand straight again and splash water on your face before looking up at the mirror. Make-up, it had smeared all down your cheeks and beneath your eyes from crying and rubbing against the pillow. You groan at your appearance and grab the mouth wash. Chuuya’s ears perk. “Baby? You okay?” His footsteps are light and quick until they reach the bathroom. “Baby! Are you alright!?” He’s at your side in an instant wrapping his arms around your waist and spinning you to face him. “Don’t---” You press your hand to your forehead, “dizzy. Wine.” You mumble leaning back against the sink. Chuuya’s expression changes from worry to soft concern melded with guilt. His hands steady you with a gentle grip, coaxing you forward with unnecessary slowness (though it was appreciated by your stomach and head). All the crying had caused your eyes to swell enough that the details of the apartment, especially in the dark, were hard to see. If Chuuya hadn’t been guiding you back to your bedroom there’s a good chance you would have ended up face first on the floor. “____…” the guilt in his voice just made you feel worse. “I’m sorry.” He repeats, gentle ungloved fingers reaching for a tissue from the box on your night stand. Your vision was, at the least, bleary but the striking sunset tendrils framing his face stood out beautifully against the low light coming from the bathroom. “Hold on..” Chuuya murmurs, rising to his feet in quick steps. You sit in silence sniffling a bit and trying to keep the bile in your throat. Your eyes flutter shut to keep the light out. The blankets beneath you had bunched uncomfortably at the edge of the bed leaving you lopsided from sitting in the center of the mattress. Any attempt to shift could send whatever was left in your stomach flying, so you wait. Something creaks. Floorboards, then the mattress. Chuuya’s touches are two steps above gentle. Whatever it is, it’s cold. Something soft and cold in his hand over your eyes. It takes a few seconds for it to register. He’s cleaning the smudged make up off your face. Acts like this were the reason it was so hard to stay mad at the man. His gestures were sweet and honest. Showing you love in the only ways he really knew how to. Physical touch, gifts and sweet words after being gone for too long or bailing last minute. Your throat clenches as your fingers grip the loose sheets by your thighs. “Baby, I’m sorry.” Chuuya says it again. Your teeth cinch the inside of your lip. “You promised.” Chuuya’s shoulders sag but his hands keep working the smudged mascara off your face. His other hand nimbly massages the back of your neck finding the pressure point to relieve your headache. “I know.” What else could he say? “I don’t have a different excuse. Boss needed me. It was important. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. We can have dinner tomorrow or another night. I swear.” Chuuya tries to coax your eyes open with a soft rub of his thumb on your cheekbone. He knew all your spots and that’s what made it hurt the most. “But you promised.” You repeat, almost childlike in the inflection of your voice, but your eyes open. Immediately you’re mesmerized by the expression change on his features. Chuuya, when overcome with too much, tended to drop his head in defeat allowing his bangs to hide him from the shame he felt. Your fingers on his chin keep him from succeeding. “It’s…” you swallow the dry lump in your throat, “I need to be as important too. I’m not asking you to drop whatever Boss has you do when I want attention and I know you’re going to have to leave sometimes when shit comes up unexpectedly... but fuck...you need to give me something.  Anything.” You set your hand timidly on his. “Unless the fucking world is collapsing...I need a promise I know you’re going to keep, Chuuya.” His eyes widen a bit, soft blue glimmering and reflecting bits of your distorted face in their tides. Chuuya stays silent for a moment but moves closer on the bed shifting you carefully until you’re on his lap, legs draped over either side of his thighs. His arms come around your waist (where they belong) to pull your torso flush with his. The hum of his ability tickles your skin as he leans himself back until his head hits the pillow. “Give me a little time to come up with something?” He finally breaks the silence. Hope diminishes and the swelling in your chest grows into a thick knot. “Okay.” You reply against his neck. There wasn’t a chance in hell Chuuya didn’t catch the desolation in your tone, but he says nothing. His fingers begin to detangle your messy hair in feather-soft strokes. Chuuya tended to melt into you without trying. Curl up around you keeping you comfortable enough to fall asleep in any environment. This position draws your face to the crook of his neck magnetically. A place molded to fit your head perfectly. Often, it was the only place that properly hid you from your thoughts and exhaustion when the world became too much at once. You inhale; his skin pebbles. He always smelled like sea salt and vanilla. He swears he puts cologne on but after working so much his natural scent clings to his skin and it’s much more intoxicating. His left hand slithers up and down your back drawing nonsensical patterns in your skin. Down your shoulder to the valley both blades create, following your spine lazily, methodically.  His dexterous fingers spread open to reach the skin that encases your rib cage touching light enough it’s almost a tease. Chuuya’s gestures come from the depths of his emotions that so often tumble beneath the surface. Trained in the art of persuasion and deception he’s better at hiding what he’s thinking than he lets on. It’s all a matter of if he cares enough to do so or not. You tangle your legs together with his, thankful you’d forgone wearing anything to bed. Summer heat tended to creep into your bedroom despite the air conditioning, and the man beside you could melt chocolate with his touch. With Chuuya's skin constantly overheating (Arahabaki in the shadows) it was surprising his layers didn’t bother him. On cold winter mornings it was magnificent against your chilled face. In the summer he’d laze about in only his underwear with the air conditioning blowing, keeping you just cold enough to need the warmth from his skin. (He claims it’s not on purpose but you like to think it is).  Heat had begun to spread the moment he pressed you up against him and held you like you’d disappear if he loosened his grip. Right now the little crook beneath his ear that curved down his neck forming a broad muscular shoulder happened to be the perfect temperature to soothe your headache. Chuuya cuddles you closer when he notices the tension dissipating. His head turns slightly to rest against your forehead, the soft ghost of his breath trails over the shell of your ear each time he exhales.  Whatever alcohol remained in your system had slowly begun to recede with Chuuya’s presence. Falling asleep rather than passing out cold seemed to aid in the depletion of your headache, and truthfully, being with him cured every part of you. Scientifically correct or not--it always worked even when you were pissed at him. Chuuya’s chest softly begins to vibrate as your eyes flutter shut. A gentle tempo that remains tranquil but familiar.. Chuuya’s humming finally settles the ball of nerves tied up in your stomach. The last remaining irritation of the night quietly begins to melt away at the edges leaving your heart frayed and tender. Pure exhaustion was overpowering your will to stay awake and wait for Chuuya’s answer. Against your own command your eyelids droop and soak your environment in black. ++++++++++++++ Fuck that wine. From the moment you peeled your eyes open it felt like someone nestled their way into your skull to continuously pound it with a ball peen hammer. Your legs twist in the sheets as you try to get comfortable again and turn away from the sunlight sneaking through the window. Your arm smacks against the mattress, it felt strikingly cold. “Chuuya?”. The only response you receive is a small rustling from outside the bedroom door. A soft hum. Music? Something. You flop onto your back and force your eyes open. Thankfully the dizziness subsided permanently, unfortunately it’s counterpart (a killer migraine) still throbbed to the point that you were halfway convinced your eyeballs were physically pounding. “Chuu?” You call again, twisting on the bed until your bare feet hit the hardwood.  Chuuya’s shirt fits comfortably over your head. Instinctively you inhale sharply holding the collar close to your nose before it settles and the smell of eggs draws you out of the bedroom. Normally you’d walk out completely naked but you felt beyond shitty. Lazily you tug up a pair of sweatpants and meander out into the kitchen in search of your boyfriend. Chuuya turns over a shoulder and gives you a soft smile. His back muscles were getting bigger, or perhaps the way he was holding the pan made them bulge. Regardless he looked damn good cooking you breakfast in a tight shirt bathed in morning light. “Good morning baby. Hungry?” Your stomach growls loud enough to echo down the street. Chuuya laughs and sets two plates down at your small table. Omurice, toast, and a few strips of bacon he’d picked up from some fancy market in Tokyo the last time he went. “Good. You need the protein after throwing everything up last night.” Chuuya pads over to you arms immediately wrapping around your waist snuggling you close against his bare chest. “I’m sorry baby.” He says for at least the fifth time. Two soft kisses to your forehead, one on your nose and a final on your lips. You slump against him letting your arms remain limp at your sides. “I figured out what I can do for you though. What you deserve.” “Oh?” Your arms find themselves around his waist, fingers spreading out to feel the rigid muscles in his lower back flex beneath your touch. Chuuya nods forehead now resting against yours. Sunlight funnels through the window scattering amber over the floor. Cresting Chuuya’s right side and across to the middle of his throat bathing him in light. The man truly emulated warmth and fuck he was more gorgeous than the sunrise itself. “Breakfast together. Every morning. Some days I’ll cook for you. Some days we’ll go out before work, and some days…” Chuuya begins to trail soft kisses down the side of your throat. Catching your breath suddenly becomes much harder with his mouth tasting your skin, “we’ll have breakfast in bed. I’ll eat you...and then we can eat together.” He chuckles darkly, waiting for the words to unfold in your head. “How can I turn that offer down?” Your fingers glide up the back of his neck carding through his hair. Chuuya sighs into your touch but continues the lazy, deliberately gentle line of kisses over the curve of your shoulder then backwards until he reaches your collarbone. “My place---” you gasp sharply, Chuuya loved to bite that spot on your neck, “or yours?”. Chuuya hums in thought hands now trailing down your curves around to the swell of your ass. “Whoever gets off work last goes to the other’s place. So, probably here a lot.” Chuuya squeezes, low growls emitting from his throat when you jolt into him. “Means you gotta actually buy food for me to cook.” You rise up on your toes moving closer and away from his grip on your ass. You couldn’t give in easy just yet, where was the fun in that? “Mmmm..but what if I like starting off the day with your cock?” You muse, teasingly dragging the sharp edges of your nails down his shoulder blades. Even through his shirt Chuuya’s shoulders were overly sensitive. Another set of animalistic growls erupts from him. He squeezes harder and nips at the center of your throat. “Guess I’ll have to give you what you want then, won’t I?” He smirks crookedly. You yelp when his hands dip between your thighs splitting them open to lift you up and onto the counter. “But first,” he murmurs, thumbs digging circles against your inner thighs, “I get my breakfast.” Chuuya leans into you, hips slotted between your trembling thighs so he can kiss you until you’re dizzy. Your hands wind up back in his hair holding him close. You inhale him greedily, savoring the taste of him in your mouth. Your sweatpants join Chuuya’s shirt on the floor in a puddle of fabric. The heat from his body sweeps you up into the clouds. You weren’t sure if it was the hangover, the speed in which Chuuya had you spread open on the kitchen counter or a combination of them both but your head was already fogged. Chuuya’s breath along your thigh keeps you lucid enough to feel every movement he makes. The tickle of his hair on your leg, the gentle prodding of his thumb spreading open your wet lip and the oh so lewd sweep of his tongue up your pussy. “Fuck!” You gasp, hair tugging roughly at the bundle of red hair between your fingers. Chuuya’s chuckle vibrates up your core. His tongue expertly flattens against your pussy, long strokes beginning at your entrance ensuring to taste every inch of your folds all the way up to your clit. The edge of his tongue flicks over the swelling bud once or twice before descending through your lips again. Chuuya moans into you, muttering praises of your taste between licks and prods of his tongue deep inside you. “Ch-Chuu!” The knot in your stomach was near ready to snap. “Do it baby. Right on my fucking tongue.” Chuuya commands, looking up at you from between your legs momentarily before returning to his work. Chuuya’s two fingers hold your pussy open for his tongue to explore. Dipping in and out, traveling up to tease and suck on your clit until stars burst behind your eyes and you’re moaning incoherently. Chuuya doesn’t waste a drop. “So good..” his praises are saturated with lust, “fuck you taste so good.” Arousal smears across his cheeks and lips as he cleans the mess between your legs. Gentle licks and motions, just enough to begin overstimulation to carry over into what would come next. You curl over him trying not to fall off the counter. Chuuya gets to his feet, hands remaining on your shoulders to give you leverage as he discards his sweatpants revealing his fat hard cock red and dripping pre-cum. You lick your lips and reach for him, pumping it a few times in an off-beat rhythm. “Already fucked out baby?” He taunts playfully, lips still glistening with your cum. You pout at him and jerk him forward by the hair. Chuuya laughs, using the motion to line his cock up with your weeping entrance. “Yeah? You want it that bad?” Your hips jerk forward when the head rubs up against your clit. “Chuuya!” You huff, switching tactics. His eyes widen to saucers moan loud and deep enough it rattles in your chest. Your fingers tweak and tug at his pebbled nipples egging him on to submit. Or piss him off. Regardless, the outcome would be the same. “Do you want it that bad? Just one touch..” you mimic his teasing tone. Chuuya’s eyes narrow, chest still puffed out towards your hands. “I always want you.” He replies, punctuating the last word with a jerk of his hips. Your head lolls back in surprise, the burn of his cock stretching you out to the hilt makes your toes curl. “Ohfuck!” You choke on air; Chuuya is quick to grip your hips and bite down on your throat. His pace is relentless. Needy. Sticky, hot and slick. You keep one arm wrapped around his neck the other slanted back on the counter for balance. Chuuya buries his face in the crook of your neck as he fucks your hard and deep. Your knees end up by his ribs allowing you to cross your ankles behind him. The angle change makes Chuuya moan deep against your skin. Somehow, his speed picks up sending you bouncing up and down on his cock. Every stroke inside you hits that sweet bundle of nerves that keeps you moaning his praises. “Fuck--” he grits his teeth and slides one hand down to hold you up by your ass lifting you off the counter. He grunts again, moving in just a few steps into the center of the kitchen. Chuuya drops to his knees with the aid of his ability and places you on your back, hips following the natural path of gravity to push his cock deeper inside you. “Fuck..there..” he murmurs, shifting his hands to your thighs pressing them back until your knees reach your shoulders. “Just like that baby..fuck you’re so god damn beautiful..” His eyes glisten, gemstone blue clouded in the haze of arousal and pleasure. This position was so lewd and fuck it turned you on knowing Chuuya was watching you like this. Vulnerable and split open by his throbbing cock. Chuuya tilts his chin down mesmerized by the view of his cock pistoning in and out of your wet pussy. Cum and slick squirting against him with every harsh thrust forward. Your back arcs off the floor; the head of his cock relentlessly slams into your g spot until you’re cumming again. “G-goodgirl!” Chuuya sputters out, pounding into you three more times before he’s spilling inside of you gasping your name in a sultry, silky voice only you get to hear. Chuuya rolls his hips a few more times in rhythmless sputters before collapsing (gently) on top of you. Sweat matting his bangs left and right, skin a rosy pink and body taut. You wrap a shaky arm around his back, eyes fluttering closed. “Mm..you doin’ okay?” He asks, pushing himself up with one elbow to look at you. “Yeah…fuck..” you couldn’t even think straight let alone articulate just how good you were feeling now. Chuuya smiles--the rest of the world doesn’t compare to the brightness of it, you think. “You’re forgiven.” You finally say, long exhale following. Chuuya beams and kisses your nose. “I am sorry baby. And I promise we’re going to eat breakfast together every morning.” Chuuya rolls to his side bringing you with him. Your leg ends up thrown over his hip and his arm pulls you flush to his chest. “I love you ______. I love you so fuckin’ much.” Chuuya drops kisses along your cheek as he speaks. “I love you too, Chuu.”

[eddieeatsass]

If you’re accepting prompts can I get a small smutty Bichie one shot? Preferably including a lollipop and Bill with an oral fixation

I clearly don't know the definition of "small"... so here's 4k words instead uhhhhhhI'msosorry please enjoy this debauchery

Read over on AO3 or under the cut ♡

A lollipop is simply a lollipop until you give it to Bill Denbrough; when in his clutches it becomes a weapon of arousal. It would be fundamentally impossible to see Bill sucking on a lollipop and not pop a boner. Well, maybe it would be possible if you didn't have a dick, and oh what Richie would give to be in that category right now.

The thing is, Bill always seemed to have something in his mouth. He was a chronic nail biter, went through two packs of gum a day, was known to bum a cigarette off Bev every once in a while, and Richie's pretty sure he even caught him sucking his thumb one time at a sleepover.

But lollipops were by far the worst.

"My mom is gonna kill me."

Richie was snapped out of his hyper fixation, his attention pulled back into the conversation as Eddie voiced his newest worry.

"You can borrow one of my shirts if we stop by my place on the way back." Stanley offered, eyeing the big brown stain that now interrupted the pink of Eddie's sweater.

"She'll notice if I'm wearing a different shirt." Eddie objected, scrubbing at the spot with a napkin.

"We can throw yours in the wash and you'll be wearing it again by the time you go home." Beverly suggested, trying to defuse Eddie’s heightening anxiety.

"Yeah, my parents won't mind." Stan added encouragingly.

"This is the last time I ever order a chocolate shake. From now on, vanilla only." Eddie grumbled, crossing his arms stubbornly.

"Awe come on Eds, we all know you’re anything but vanilla.” Richie joked, jumping at the opportunity to think about someone else’s sex life instead of his own.

“Fuck off, Rich.” Eddie snapped back with little bite.

“It’s not a secret, we all know you’re a little freaky-”

“You’re the freak! Quit talking about my personal business!” Eddie was getting red in the face, but around him the rest of the Losers were doing little to hide their snickers. Even Bill, whose mouth pulled into a grin around that fucking lollipop.

And Richie was back to square one.

“My parents are gonna be home in a couple hours so if we want the house to ourselves, we should go now.” Stan mentioned, standing up from his spot at the corner of their booth, allowing Bill, Beverly, and Eddie to file out after him.

“So, we’re not going to the Quarry anymore?” Ben asked, sliding out of the other side of the booth and throwing an extra ten dollars on the table as a tip. He grabbed one of the complimentary lollipops that had been left with their receipt and began unwrapping it.

“We won’t have time if we want to keep Eddie alive.” Mike mentioned.

“Then perish.” Richie said, straight faced.

“We don’t all h-have to go to S-S-Stanley’s.” Bill said, drawing Richie’s attention back, once again, to his sinful mouth.

This was becoming a problem.

They ended up splitting three ways; Eddie, Stanley, and Mike went off on their attempt to save Eddie’s shirt, Ben and Beverly decided to go on to the quarry, and Richie ended up sticking with Bill after they’d both agreed that it was too hot to stick to their original plans.

Though, Richie would probably have agreed with Bill no matter what he’d decided.

They arrived at Bill’s place twenty minutes later, heaving hot breaths from their trek in the summer sun.

"You want s-s-something t-to drink?" Bill panted, toeing off his shoes at the doorway but not bothering to chastise Richie when he kept his on.

"Depends whacha got, Denbrough." Richie followed him into the kitchen, hopping up on the countertop as Bill opened the fridge.

"Coke, orange j-juice, and m-milk." Bill announced, his head hidden behind the big metal door.

"Toss me a coke." Richie decided easily, never one to pass up the opportunity for more sugar.

Bill resurfaced with two cans in hand, passing one to Richie and carrying the other across the room where he reached into the cabinet that held the straws.

"Why do you drink everything through a straw?" Richie asked, his cock giving an annoying twitch as Bill brought the straw to his lips and took a sip before answering.

"It just tastes b-better that way." Bill shrugged.

Richie could feel the joke forming in his throat before he could think better than to speak it.

"I know something else that tastes better cumming straight from the straw."

Damn his quick wit.

Bill froze, straw caught between those pretty pink lips as he stared at Richie with an unreadable expression.

"It's your penis, isn't it." Bill deadpanned.

"Yep." Richie responded, popping the 'p' at the end of his statement in sync with him hopping off the counter.

"N-not some of your best work, Rich-ch-ie." Bill teased, biting down around his straw with a flirty grin.

Richie's face flushed a violent shade of red, having to do a double take just to check that his mind hadn't hallucinated the way Bill had smiled at him. But before he could dwell on it too much, Bill retreated to the other room.

The next few hours were torture on Richie’s dick. Bill seemed to find something new to stick in his mouth every two god damn minutes. He was like a badly trained dog.

After the straw, Bill produced a box of pocky which he spent the next hour idling chewing and sucking on. When they finished off the box, he chewed on his fingernails as they watched TV. His pencil was the next victim when they decided to try and do some homework. And finally, as they abandoned their homework for video games, Bill found a toothpick, rolling it around in his mouth like he was fucking Tom Hardy.

But at least things were contained until Richie lost the game of Mario Cart and flopped back on the bed dramatically, resulting in his lollipop from earlier tumbling out of his pocket.

“You n-never ate y-y-your lollipop?” Bill noted, picking up the small, wrapped item and twirling it in his fingers.

Richie’s not sure why his throat immediately went dry.

“I sort of forgot I had it.”

Bill eyed it with interest, which interested Richie far more than it should. He cocked an eyebrow and proceeded cautiously.

“Do you want it?”

Bill’s eyes darted back to Richie’s, quickly schooling his expression as if he’d been caught.

“Only if you d-don’t.” Bill said, trying for nonchalance, but the catch in his voice betrayed him.

A long pause stretched between them, their eyes locked in an unspoken challenge.

“I’m starting to think I do, actually.” Richie responded with much more fervor than the topic demanded.

Bill watched as Richie took the lollipop from him and began unwrapping the small red sucker. The sound from their video game’s pause screen faded into the background as blood rushed past Richie’s eardrums.

Richie was vulgar, all the Losers knew that; he’d been making jokes about his dick since he first learned he had one. But this was something different. Richie wasn’t trying to be vulgar, he was trying to be… something new.

He popped the lollipop into his mouth, keeping hold of the stick so he could hollow out his cheeks and pull it back out, allowing the round candy to stretch his lips as they parted for it.

Richie continued his ministrations for another minute, keeping his eyes locked on Bill’s, whose own were locked on Richie’s mouth.

Richie, self admittedly, had no idea what he was doing. He tried to channel the pornstars he'd watched, to summon some of their sex appeal to guide him along this unfamiliar experiment. But after a moment, he realized the best person to model himself after was already sitting right in front of him.

Richie thought back to how Bill had been devouring his lollipop back at the diner, how his eyes had gone hazy, his attention far away as he moved his tongue around the sucker like it was second nature. His lips had been shiny with saliva, tinted redder than usual by the cherry flavoring.

Richie took the lollipop out of his mouth and dragged it across his lips lightly, as if he were applying lipstick. It glided easily, sticky with spit, and did the job as it left Richie with a tinted smirk.

He loosened his jaw and let it fall open, allowing his tongue to loll out to lick a stripe up the lollipop in what he hoped was a good imitation of what one would do with a cock. To be fair, Richie had never sucked a cock before, so he was blindly guessing. But it seemed to do the trick, because Bill's eyes suddenly broke from their trance, squeezing shut.

"Not f-f-fair, R-Rich..." Bill's voice was broken, mimicking something between a whine and a whisper.

"You want something to suck on, Billy?" Richie asked, surprising himself with his sure-fire tone.

Bill was still for a moment, but when he opened his eyes again, there was something new behind his blown-out black pupils. He nodded meekly, as if scared to admit anything aloud just yet.

"Well jeez, Bill. I've only got the one." Richie gestured with his lollipop, as if to prove his point. “I may have something else for you to suck on though.”

It was a poor attempt at a joke, absent of the usual air of humor that accompanied Richie’s jests. But maybe that’s because it wasn’t much of a joke at all; even though neither of them were quite ready to admit it, they could both feel the change in the air between them.

“Anything.” Bill’s voice was still quiet, but it had steadied out as if the prospect of Richie’s suggestion had sated something in him. Richie had to suppress a shiver.

Richie twisted his body to spring off the mattress, and the sudden action caused Bill to follow, moving himself to sit up on his knees and face where Richie stood at the end of the bed.

Neither of them knew how to proceed, cautious to cross the other’s boundary but excited by the new thrum in the air. Richie was the first to move.

He removed the lollipop from his mouth and place it on Bill’s nightstand before reaching forward and cupping Bill's chin, tipping his head up to lock their eyes. Moving slowly, allowing Bill time to move away if he wanted, he let the pad of his thumb gently trace the outline of rosy red lips, and Bill obediently opened under the touch. He darted his tongue out to lick at Richie's finger, wrapping around it and leading him back into his open gape. Once Richie's thumb was resting inside the warm entrance, Bill closed his lips around his knuckle, and with the most confidence Richie had ever seen on Bill, he began to suck.

It was the filthiest thing Richie had ever fucking witnessed in person, and for a moment he was sure he'd been transported to some alternate porn dimension. Bill moved like he knew exactly what he was doing. Richie wondered absently if Bill had done this before, not sucking the life out of someone's thumb, but sucking the life out of something else.

Bill's tongue licked up the sides of his finger like he was trying to catch the drips from a popsicle, and then he was biting down gently into the pad of his thumb, making Richie shiver delightfully.

He pulled off with a heave of breath before uttering four words that were enough to leave Richie speechless.

"Let me taste you." Bill begged.

Richie could have cum on the spot at the mere fact that Bill was so lust-drunk just from sucking on his finger that he didn't even stutter. But if he did, he'd miss out on probably the best blowjob of his life (the only blowjob of his life, thus far), so he had to keep it together.

Now, let it be known that Richie isn't proud of how quickly he whipped out his dick. There was no grace, no sensual teasing or tantalizing movements; it was all fumbling fingers and uncoordinated shimmies as he struggled to get his dick to hit the air before Bill somehow decided to change his mind.

"Uh... Taa-daaaaa." Richie pointed in the direction of his erection with two unsure hands, an awkward moment passing until Richie glanced upwards.

Bill wore an amused smirk when Richie reverted his attention back to him. It was endearing, but Richie already missed the blissed out, desperate expression he'd had not mere seconds ago.

So, Richie decided he would just have to do better. If he wanted to wipe that smirk off Bill’s face, he’d have to step up. No more awkwardness or unsure movements, Richie needed to take control.

Besides, his life moto was "fake it 'till you make it", why couldn't it apply here as well?

Richie willed his hand to stop shaking before he reached out and carded his fingers through familiar auburn locks, pushing them off Bill's forehead and holding them back with a firm grip. That same grip allowed him to pull Bill's head forward, leading him until he was right in front of Richie's cock.

That look that Richie was chasing slowly began to filter back in. Bill's eyes glazed over as he gazed down at the leaking head being offered to him, his jaw going slack as he opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue, and finally his whole body followed as it slumped forward with the first lick to Richie's head.

Richie felt drunk, his own head swimming with arousal and a lack of blood flow. Bill looked so good like this; Richie wasn't sure he would ever recover from the image.

But if looks alone were enough to kill, the feeling of Bill's mouth must have summoned him back from the afterlife just to murder him a second time.

When this was all over and Richie had had his brains blown out of him, literally, he was gonna have a lot of questions for Bill. Mainly, had he done this before, and if not, then where the hell had he learned to do that thing with his tongue.

It wasn't long before Bill ceased his lapping and moved to take Richie into his mouth in full. Richie wasn't one to brag (a lie he told himself) but he could physically see the strain on Bill's jaw as it struggled to open wide enough to take his whole cock. Though, if Richie were being honest with himself, it probably had more to do with the size of Bill's mouth than the size of Richie's appendage. But for the moment he allowed himself the ego-boost.

"Bill, jesus fuck, that feels good..." Richie's own voice came out unfamiliar to him, wavering far more than he'd have liked. He cleared his throat and tried again.

"You've always looked good with something between your lips, but fuck, it's like you were made for this."

Bill disconnected from Richie's cock with a wet slurp and Richie had to swallow down the noise his body tried to make in response.

"S-s-so you w-were staring at the d-diner earlier." Bill's gaze was mischievous, as if he'd caught Richie in a lie and now he'd earned himself a prize.

"I'm pretty sure everyone was staring, Billy. You were basically fellatio-ing the damn lollipop."

"F-fellatio-ing isn't a word R-Richie."

"I'm the one getting fellatio'd right now, I think I'd know."

"Well, you won't be for m-m-much longer i-if you keep making up w-w-words."

"How do I shut you up? Where's your off button."

Bill glanced down at the cock still held in his hand, and then slowly raked his eyes back up Richie's form. The implication was clear, and Richie was more than happy to oblige.

Richie replaced Bill's hand with his own, his other flying back into Bill's hair to pull him closer. He led Bill back to the head of his cock, taking a moment to paint his lips with the pre-cum that had pearled at the slit. Bill's lips felt like velvet as he rubbed himself against them, but it wasn't nearly enough.

“Open.” Richie commanded, honestly surprised when he was met with obedience instead of a snarky remark. It made his cock twitch as it entered Bill’s mouth.

No more accurate definition of euphoria came to mind as Richie sunk into the heat of Bill’s mouth, shuddering as every inch of his cock was enveloped. Bill kept his eyes squeezed shut as he willed his jaw to take everything Richie was giving him.

When Richie felt the head of his cock reach resistance, he still had about half of his shaft exposed. There was nowhere else to go unless Richie was going to start feeding it down Bill’s throat, and while that thought did make a new rush of arousal flood his body, he didn’t think now would be the best time to try it.

At the pause in movement, Bill opened his eyes, blinking away tears that had gathered along his eyelashes. Richie could see the cogs turning in Bill’s head as he assessed the situation in front of him in the same way Bill problem solved every roadblock he encountered: with reckless determination.

Bill tried to move himself forward, quickly realizing his mistake as his gag reflex kicked in. The resulting noise was so much hotter than it had any right to be, and Richie had to physically hold himself back from trying to trigger it again.

In stubborn acceptance, Bill brought his hand up to circle around the rest of the shaft he couldn’t fit inside his mouth. Richie loosened his grip on Bill’s hair to allow him to move however he needed, and instantly Bill’s head began bobbing in tandem with small twists of his wrist.

“Holy shit, ahhhhh- what the fuck D-Denbrough.” Richie’s words spilled out in a rush, tripping over themselves with a quiver.

Bill pulled back until only the crown of Richie’s cock laid between his lips, setting his tongue to work at the slit as if he could coax out more of Richie’s pre-cum just like that. When Richie’s thighs began to quake, Bill tilted his head and moved ever so slightly so his tongue could lap at the soft tissue that connected Richie’s head to the rest of his cock.

Richie released a sound that would have been embarrassing in any other circumstance, high-pitched and needy in tone. It only seemed to make Bill move faster.

Bill moved back down the shaft, running his tongue along what he could reach, his hand working the rest. He began picking up pace, flitting his eyes open and gazing up at Richie with pure lust-blown pupils.

Richie had a flashback to earlier that day, watching Bill suck on his lollipop with poorly feigned innocence, juxtaposed with the debauched expression he wore now. There was no fooling anyone, Bill wanted this. He needed this. He’d probably needed it for a long time, and that thought spurred Richie on.

“You wanna taste me, huh?” Richie began thrusting in time with Bill, punching a pleasured moan out of him. He chanced a glance down at Bill’s lap for the first time since they’d begun fooling around and noticed the bulge straining to escape his jeans. It gave Richie even more satisfaction to know Bill was deriving just as much pleasure from this as he was.

“Bet I taste better than that fucking lollipop, ahhh, fuck-” Richie’s thrusts were getting unsteady. He could see drool escaping the corners of Bill’s mouth as he struggled to keep up with Richie’s pace.

Richie was getting close, the warmth in his belly coming to a boil as the heat around him become too much to bear. Richie pulled his shirt up, holding it bunched to his chest so he would have a better view of Bill’s face as he swallowed Richie’s cum.

That thought is what finally pushed Richie over the edge, screaming out a delayed warning that did neither of them much good as Richie’s cock was already emptying into Bill’s mouth.

Thankfully, Bill didn’t seem to mind the lack of a warning, doubling his efforts to suck Richie through his orgasm, taking more of him in than he had been able to before.

Reckless determination.

Richie was squeezing his eyes so tight that stars began to illuminate the black sky behind his lids. A fuzzy feeling accompanied them, starting in his head and spreading through his limbs. It mixed with the overwhelming pleasure in each of his nerve endings, dizzying him with overwhelming sensations, and then there was nothing.

Richie thinks he must have blacked out for a second because suddenly he’s splayed across Bill's bed, staring up at the ceiling. His fingertips were still tingling, and his throat was dry and hoarse, but those were the only indications that what just happened hadn't just been a dream.

Richie propped himself up on his elbows, looking around the room in an attempt to piece things together. Bill was nowhere to be found, which made Richie entertain the dream idea even more. He could have fallen asleep on Bill’s bed, had a wet dream inspired by Bill's casual affair with lollipops… he probably moaned in his sleep and scared Bill off, even.

“Drink.”

Richie nearly jumped out of his skin as Bill suddenly appeared beside him.

“Holy fuck, Casper! Warn a guy!”

A cup of water was thrust into Richie’s hands, and without having to think much about it he brought it to his lips and downed a generous amount. His throat thanked him immediately.

“What were you m-m-mutt-ttering about?” Bill asked, hopping on to the bed beside Richie and causing the mattress to wobble them both slightly.

“I was just… trying to figure something out…” Richie raked his eyes up and down Bill’s form, trying to find any sign that he’d actually had Richie’s cock down his throat not even five minutes ago, but the boy looked as kempt as usual.

“Okay, w-well once you figure it out, can y-y-you put your dick b-back in your pants? Georgie is gonna b-be home soon.”

Richie blanched, moving comically slow as he looked down at his lap, revealing that his dick was, as stated, very much not in its confines.

Bill shifted beside him, and it was enough to shake Richie out of his ‘holy shit that actually happened it wasn’t just a dream bill denbrough is a fucking dick sucking god’ epiphany.

Once he was all tucked back in and had finished the glass of water Bill had generously (and forcefully) provided, he finally allowed himself to look at his friend again.

Bill was already watching him, a gentle smile playing on his features as he rolled the lollipop from earlier around in his mouth.

“You’re fucking insatiable, you know that?” Richie’s heart was thrumming in his chest, unanswered questions clawing to get out. But before he had a chance to ask them, Bill removed the candy from his mouth just long enough to lean forward and capture Richie’s lips in a kiss.

It was a little shy, a little tender; the complete opposite from the way Bill’s mouth worked itself along his cock. Richie decided that he liked it that way.

When Bill pulled back, they were both red enough to rival the lollipop in Bill’s hand, which he wasted no time in replacing between his lips.

“By th-the w-way,” Bill began, settling into Richie’s side and reaching for his controller to unpause their game. “You d-don’t taste better th-th-than a lollipop.” That playful smile was back on Bill’s lips.

“I guess I can’t compete with artificial cherry flavor.” Richie conceded, following Bill’s lead and retrieving his own controller.

“I still like you b-better.” Bill stated with so much certainty that Richie felt his whole world solidify.

[agftheorist]

This is a fic? one-shot? I wrote based on a headcanon I have. This is the first closest-it-can-be-to-a-fic thing I've written on Tumblr. It's really short actually and I'm still practicing.

Summary: For Ford, coffee once smelled like home. Now it only triggers his worst memories. Luckily, he has his family.

Warning: There aren't many things honestly, just mention of panic attacks.

The Smell

~~~

Ford Pines loved coffee. When he was young, it was his best ally when he was bound to endless study nights. When he came from a tiring day of school, a mug of hot black coffee would give him enough courage to sit that desk. Since his mother was also a coffee-lover, in his mind, black coffee used to smell like home.

When he was at college, it was the best ally and friend of his mind he could find, each second and minute. Even though the it didn't smell like home anymore.

~~~

Ford Pines needed coffee. He was working on his life's work and sleeping could put him far behind his schedule. This was out of question. He must have been drinking it and keep working. Even when he started hearing voices, seeing things with the corner of his eye, he blamed it on the caffeine dosage, not the fact that he had to sleep, nor the demon he mustn't have trusted.

Ford Pines desperately needed coffee. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. He couldn't sleep. Not when any moment he would close his eyes, he would find himself in new bruises and scars, with blood that he doesn't even know if it's his. Not when he hears the demon's laughter in inside his head. He is perfectly aware that caffeine overdose could kill him, and at some point he wonders if that's what he was destined to. Would coffee be his coffin?

~~~

"Hey Sixer, it was really tiring, last night. I brought you something. You liked it, right? My memories are still bit of blurry then and there..."

Ford Pines thought he liked coffee. Then why did he flinch when his brother, now old and probably wiser, braver than he himself could ever hope to be, brought him coffee? It once used to smell like home, then the smell got mixed with the sickening smell of metal and air coolant. Then it got worse, because now it smells like paranoia. Can one even smell it?

Before he even realizes it, he starts sweating. He finds it hard to breathe and the next thing he remembers, he's in the bathroom, counting his fingers to calm himself down. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6... now again... He's angry at himself because... it's just a drink, right? And his brother has no idea how it became a trigger of the worst times of his life.

But he's even more furious at Bill. He tainted and twisted everything Ford felt comfortable, that made him feel home. First his own body, those scars would remain forever. Then the name his brother used to call him. Sixer. He still has panic attacks when Stan calls him so. Like this one. And then this. Ford was sure that if there was an afterlife for whatever he is- was, Bill was laughing uncontrollably at him from there.

After few incidents like that, Ford finally realized that this wasn't something that could go over with time, and tells Stan how traumatizing that smell is for him. He understands, of course. It is then decided that no coffee will be brewed in Mystery Shack anymore.

Unfortunately that wasn't an easy task for Stanley. He was so used to drink it all the time when he was working with the portal, lack of caffeine affected his body terribly. In two days, he started to use painkillers even more, because he was having terrible headaches. Even though he tried his best to hide it, he was suffering from insomnia and was nauseous, which twins of course found out.

Dipper and Mabel was worried. They asked Ford about it and even he said that giving up his old habits could slow down his memory recovery. They thought it must've been a better way. It was Mabel who found the solution.

One morning when Stan and Ford made their ways into the kitchen for breakfast, they found Mabel, with two glasses of perfectly prepared coffee that no human could get any smell of coffee on it.

"Uh, Mabel, what are those?"

"They are iced coffee, Grunkle Stan! I call it "Mabel Coffee"! I put some cream and a mixture of some sauces special for you! I can guarantee that there is no smell. I tried it with a cat! Though a very caffeinated hyperactive cat caused some problems, I'm pretty sure it didn't get any smell of it... Dipper and I are probably too young to drink any, so I made us milkshakes too!"

Stan had about ten different doubts with the situation, but Mabel seemed so excited that he thought they could at least give it a try.

It turned out, "Mabel Coffee" really hadn't had any smell of black coffee, at all. Whatever that 'special sauce' was, it was now Stans' favorite. The amount of sugar was kind of worrying, but as Mabel said, "it was still on development".

Ford and Stan Pines now love Mabel Coffee.

~~~

[wanderinginksplot]

Nobody Listens to Kix

Previous | Next | Masterlist 

Case 01475: Padmé Amidala

"Kix!" General Skywalker called urgently as he burst through the medbay doors.

"General!" Kix replied, snapping to attention for a panicked moment before rushing to respond. "What's wrong?"

"Padmé - Senator Amidala - is feeling a bit off after that last mission," he explained as the senator in question stepped through the doors behind him. She looked amused by his antics. Kix couldn't relate. "Could you do a scan and see if everything is all right?"

Kix sighed, fighting the urge to glare at his general. "Of course I can, sir. After a rescue like that one, it's standard procedure to perform a full series of scans on every returning being." He fixed General Skywalker with a firm look. "You could use a check-up as well, sir. You're looking a little worse for wear."

As expected, the suggestion of more than ten seconds spent in the medbay seemed to trigger Skywalker's fight-or-flight reflexes.

"Of course, Kix," he said with a false grin. "Just check the senator first and I'll be back for you to check me."

"Yes, sir," Kix agreed, knowing full well that neither of them expected Skywalker to return that day.

"Perfect! I need to report to the bridge," he explained, backing away slightly. He did stop to take the senator's hands. "Would you rather I stay? I'm sure Obi-Wan would understand if I delay my report for a few minutes."

"I'll be fine, Anakin," Padmé refused graciously. "You should report to the Council before they think you were captured saving me."

"They know me better than that," Skywalker returned. He was facing the opposite direction and Kix could still hear the grin in his voice.

"Thank you for another rescue, Master Jedi," Padmé said, drawing her hands from Skywalker's so she could grasp her ripped skirt and bob gratefully.

"Always a pleasure, Madam Senator," Skywalker replied. "Call me if you need anything."

And he was gone. Kix couldn't help raising an eyebrow at Senator Amidala, who smiled at him in return. "I always find the finest hospitality on the Resolute."

"We aim to please," he told her dryly. "Are you ready for me to start the scan now, Senator Amidala?"

"Of course, Kix," the senator agreed, "as long as you agree to call me Padmé. We're both busy people and no one has time for a title like that."

All of the flash-training Kix had gone through on Kamino told him to refuse, but the look in Senator Amidala's eyes warned that she wouldn't let this go. Besides, disagreeing with her request could cause her distress, and he wanted to avoid that until he had completed his scan.

"What are your symptoms, Padmé?" Kix asked, retrieving the scanner from its spot in the locked medical cabinet. Too many troopers had tried to 'accidentally' dismantle Kix's dreaded scanner in the past, and it now had to be kept somewhere safe.

"Well, I got a little dizzy and my heartbeat was erratic," she answered readily.

"Were you doing anything strenuous?"

"I was fighting a Separatist battalion," she admitted with a smile. "But that's hardly something I would consider strenuous."

From anyone else on the Resolute, Kix would have considered that an abominable attempt at bragging, but the adventurous senator did seem to find herself in combat situations oddly often and always handled herself well.

"Anything else?"

She frowned. "Yes, actually. I've found myself getting nauseated at odd times lately. Do you think I could be ill?"

"I can't rule anything out," Kix hedged, hefting the scanner, "but this can. Hold still, please."

Less than a minute later, the scanner let out a soft beep and Kix studied the screen with a frown. "I'm seeing that your blood sugar is low, as is your blood pressure. Those would both explain the dizziness and low heartbeat, perhaps even the nausea. When was the last time you ate a full meal?"

Padmé considered that for a moment. "Last night. I was feeling nauseated, but I ate a small meal and went to bed."

"That could explain your blood sugar, then," Kix told her. "How do you feel about honeyfruit juice? I'd like to have you eat something to raise your blood sugar before we try another scan."

"I love honeyfruit, actually," Padmé replied, willingly sipping at the small cup of juice Kix handed her.

The two chatted pleasantly for a while as Padmé's body absorbed the juice. Kix had been following the senator's career with interest ever since she had helped with the Dogma situation, and Padmé had questions about the veracity of some of General Skywalker's wilder stories.

Finally, Kix's wrist chrono beeped and he smiled. "Time's up, Padmé. Your blood sugar should have increased by now, so we'll try another scan."

"Whatever you think is best, Kix," Padmé told him, sending peace surging through his soul. However, the feeling dissipated as the senator pressed a hand to her suddenly pale lips. "I may need to excuse myself for a moment."

No sooner had she finished speaking than Padmé was running to the refresher attached to the medbay. She pulled the refresher door closed behind her, but it was the medbay-specific design, meant to give the user privacy while allowing a medic to hear if someone needed help inside. As such, the door didn't offer much in the way of sound-blocking, and Kix grimaced sympathetically at the sound of Padmé losing what little was in her stomach.

Kix hated vomit. He could deal with every other thing that came out of a body, even the things that were supposed to stay inside, but vomit was always something he strove to avoid. It was something Kix had always thought of a personal failing. Medics should be able to deal with anything patients could subject them to, and he had worked hard to get past his weakness.

Steeling himself, Kix walked to the refresher and tapped his knuckles lightly against the door. "Padmé? Do you need anything from me?"

"I'm so sorry, Kix," Padmé's weak voice called between coughs. "I'll be fine, I promise."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" he asked, using the nicest voice he had. "Can I come in?"

There was the sound of a flush - the muted type common to low-water 'freshers on Venator-Class Star Destroyers - followed by a soft, "Yes."

Kix pushed the door open and found Padmé seated on the floor. Her arm was braced against the wall to provide a rest for her forehead.

"I'm sorry, Kix," she said again.

"There's nothing to apologize for, Padmé," he told her firmly. "Let's just try to figure out why this is happening. Do you feel up to moving back to the main bay? It might be best if you lay down for a few minutes."

Her pale lips quirked up into a wan smile. "Ani warned me that laying in a bed here is like signing up for an extended stay."

"I won't make you stay unless I feel it's a medical necessity, medic's honor," Kix vowed. Padmé met his gaze, studied it for a moment, and gave a slow nod.

He helped Padmé to her feet and slowly helped her over to one of the beds. "I'm just going to get the scanner. I'll be right back."

When Kix returned with the scanner in hand, he dialed it up slightly. Maybe she had been exposed to some kind of virus that was making her ill… He was limited by his supplies, but Kix could treat a number of symptoms with the contents of the medbay if he only knew what he was looking for.

"Hold still," he instructed again.

Padmé actually chuckled at that, assuring him, "Not a problem."

With the increased scanner levels, the results were a bit more conclusive this time around. "Your blood sugar has improved a good bit. Your blood pressure is a little better, too, though that could be a side effect of vomiting."

With a face rapidly growing several shades paler, Padmé waved him on. "Could we talk about anything other than vomiting, please?"

"Gladly," Kix agreed, returning his attention to the scanner's small screen. "According to the readout, you are experiencing increased levels of… progesterone…"

"I'm not familiar with that," Padmé said, frowning a bit. "Is it dangerous?"

"No, but it- You might… Usually… Hold on one moment," Kix requested. While Padmé waited patiently, he cranked the scanner's power to full. Saying a quick 'thank you' to the science that had made scanners completely safe for all life forms, he scanned her one last time, centering the movement on her torso.

When the beep came, Kix looked at the screen quickly, heartbeat thundering in his ears. The results confirmed his theory and he couldn't fight a smile as he met Padmé's curious eyes. "Padmé, you're pregnant."

"What?"

Clearly, she had not been expecting that particular answer, but Kix refused to see this as anything but good news. He had never been around a pregnant woman, but he found it difficult to comprehend that the being in front of him was in the process of creating new life. A brand-new person.

"The pregnancy isn't very far along, which is why the scanner had trouble picking it up, but it's there. You're going to have a baby."

Kix had always heard that pregnant women 'glowed'. Well, whoever said that must have had Padmé in mind. When she finally reacted, it was with a slow smile spreading across her face, lighting up every inch of her being.

"A baby," she mused softly, one graceful hand rising to hover protectively over her flat belly. "We're having a baby."

"You and the general?" Kix asked.

The very next moment, he could have cheerfully disemboweled himself. Padmé stared up at him, clearly shocked, and he grimaced. "Padmé… Senator. I am so sorry. I didn't- I shouldn't have- I'm so sorry."

"Please, Kix," she said after a long moment of collecting herself. "Don't apologize. It's nice to have someone know. I just ask that you keep it to yourself."

"Er- The general isn't exactly what I would call subtle-"

"He really isn't," she agreed conspiratorially. "But still. He could lose his status as a Jedi, my reputation as a senator would be damaged, and I would lose ground on every pro-Jedi or pro-clone bill I have on the floor. It would be disastrous."

"You have my word, Padmé," Kix promised. "I won't say a word to anyone. Medic's honor."

"Even Anakin?"

"Well, the general is- he's my general. My commanding officer," Kix explained poorly. "If he asked, I don't think I could lie to him. Especially if he made it an order."

"I'm going to tell him," Padmé assured. "Just not immediately. If he asks anything, he'll ask if I'm okay. Medically, you can tell him I'm fine, right? After all, I'm healthy for a pregnant woman if I understand everything correctly."

"Yes, human pregnancy often comes with low blood pressure and sugar, as well as nausea, dizziness, and fatigue," Kix answered automatically. He sighed then, rubbing at the crease between his eyebrows. "I won't give the details to anyone, even if the general asks. Privacy laws."

"You know, I could probably have Anakin make it an order," Padmé mused, then smiled softly at him. "I won't do that, though. I trust you. We both do."

It was the highest compliment Kix had ever received.

---

A/N - Technically speaking, this is the last chapter of Nobody Listens to Kix. I will be posting some outtakes and extras over the next few weeks, but the official series ends here. Thank you to everyone who has read this work and especially those who have liked and reblogged it! I appreciate you all!

[softkuna]

𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃-𝙰-𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳 | Hinata

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃-𝙰-𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳! 𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑... 𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙰 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚈𝙾.

Anxiety was a fun thing to deal with sometimes. You know - like when you triple checked the details of the test date you had scheduled today. You pressed a hand to your chest as you woke your phone. Eyes were glued to the pin on the map that your date, Hinata Shoyo: Rental Boyfriend, put on it. You thought maybe, just maybe, he canceled last minute or after seeing your face IRL. A chill ran through you and you muttered to no one in particular, “God, how embarrassing would that be…”

  As you swiped through the app, you pat all around your neck, your cheek, your collarbone in a few nervous motions. Sure, you knew the area. Sure, you went out a few times to sketch the roads for a comic or two. But as you stood, cool fingers drumming nervously along your skin, it all felt unfamiliar.

  A voice cried your name out, jolting your attention away from insecurity for a moment. You squinted, thinking you misheard. The wind! That’s all it was. Just as you were about to check your phone for the nth time, you caught a glimpse of tangerine. Through the hoard of 9-5ers, five fingers raised in a wave until a broad shoulder shimmied its way through the crowd.

“H-Hinata?” His name came out a lot more hushed than you intended and you could feel the heat of your cheeks. Oh no. He’s cute. Duh. You knew he was. He had a profile picture and some extra pics that you and your friend scrolled through the night prior. One caught your eye in particular; it was with a dog that wasn’t his according to the caption (and the added note of ‘but imma get a big boi some day’’). There was another with a guy with short black hair. They all radiated a type of warmth and welcome to them even if those around him seemed ready to punch a wall - a trait not missed out on in person.

  He beamed, taking your hand in his as though it were as natural as the sun shining, “Hey babe!”

  The words put a bar in the cogs of your mind, stopping all rational thought.  Babe. Babe?! Oh fuck. I’m babe! Oh wait. Yeah that’s right. You rented him to be your boyfriend. It’s supposed to be natural. You scolded yourself for forgetting that simple fact. 

Hinata laced his fingers through yours and you could feel the slight dampness of his palm. The thought that he may be as nervous as you put you slightly at ease. It would make sense as he didn’t have any reviews or ratings or anything. He was new! A beta-boyfriend babe!

  It took a moment or two for you to realize that not only was he guiding you down the sidewalk, but you had been staring at nothing but your shoes the entire way there. Shyly, you apologized. 

  “For what, babe? Oh! Wait! I didn’t get to mention yet,” Bright eyes burned with excitement as they tilted over his shoulder, “That’s a cute dress!” He genuinely thought so, too. Trying to act all coupl-y with a stranger was definitely weird, but, like anything he tried, he wanted to put his best effort in. Hinata wasn’t sure on what to expect, truthfully. When looking at your profile after the booking was made, he was caught off guard by how cute you were. In person seemed even worse. Better? Hell if he knew.

  As a lanky waiter shuffled you both into a booth, you were off put by your boyfriend slipping in next to you. Right smack dab next to you. Thigh touching thigh and the heat of his sent a shiver up your spine. You placed a hand on your chest again and spent more time reading a menu than you thought you ever had before.

  Hinata’s expression fell thoughtfully as he saw the slight shake in your slender digits and the way your teeth gnashed at your lower lip. He tilted his head with a small laugh and a nudge to your ribs with his elbow. The corners of his mouth piquing to such a point you could practically feel the mischievousness from it, “Play along, ‘kay? Kay?”

  Suspiciously, you peaked over the top of the menu roof you made with a nod. As the waiter returned, a strong muscled arm wrapped around your shoulder and snuggled you close. Mouth falling into an ajar ‘o’, your confusion was as palpable as his joy, “It’s my girlfriend’s birthday today! You guys got some cake, maybe a candle or OOOH a song?”

  “Hinata!” You smacked his head with the menu, “It’s n-“

  He brought a finger to his lips to silent-shush you, lashes dipping in a wink. You smiled pleasantly, yet awkwardly at the waiter and in the least convincing tone, chimed,  “It’s my birthday. Yaaay.”

  “See! How could you deny that!” His sheer and pointed enthusiasm made up for your lack thereof.

  The waiter, not buying any of it but needing the tips to pay his rent, congratulated you before excusing himself. Ten minutes later, two others trailed behind him singing a specialty birthday tune. In their hands rested the most delicious looking chocolate cake. To say you inhaled that thing would be an understatement. It was creamy, rich, everything you could’ve wanted in a cake.

  “Take a bite!” You offered a forkful to your date, one hand below to catch the droppings. Obliging gleefully, he did.

  “‘m pwetty bad wif dates but I saw you like fweets!” The words came between chews, and he gestured here and there as he swallowed, “Glad you liked it cause we got five more restaurants to try!”

  “Excuse me?!”

  And just like that, Hinata whisked you from one restaurant to another. Each one was slightly ritzier than the last and with each one, he could see the tense scrunch of your shoulders melt away. 

He made you feel safe and you started to joke with him more openly, smile more frequently, and sarcastically quip at him. He liked the way you smacked his arm every time he called the waiters over too dramatically. He liked the way you acted surprised they’d come around the corner with cakes and songs. You managed to melt his heart with the cutest ‘Oh! Babe!’ whenever he tried to genuinely surprise you. He adored watching your eyes light up whenever you got a taste of each decadent sweet. It would be an outright lie to deny that you feeding him made his heart flutter, too.

  You clung to Hinata’s arm, cheek resting heavily on bicep as your stomach decided to churn all the sugar you ate like it was a tilt-a-whirl. He patted your hand, thinking you were just trying to be cute, “So, what made you want to rent someone?” 

  The night sky took over the afternoon sun. Tiredly, you gazed up to your ‘boyfriend’, letting a moment of silence occupy the time it took to get over the small wave of nausea, “This is… embarrassing.” You chuckled softly, letting your fingers fall onto your neck, “I uh… never dated someone before. I have a date set up and got so anxious I almost canceled three times. I really want to put myself out there though and be more comfortable.“

  “Is that why you were so red?! I thought I was meeting a cherry when I saw you! All like –“ His hands flew to his cheeks in a damn near perfect imitation of you and your voice, “-i-i-it’s n-n-ot m-my-“ before he could stutter the rest out, you interrupted with a loud and embarrassed groan. His laugh hissed passed teeth, “It was cute! You’re adorable, ya know?” The words slipped out so naturally and with such warmth that you wondered where the act was put down and where it was picked back up.

  “As I was saying,” you jested with a light hearted eye roll, “My friend was really worried about me. I mean, it’s not often you’re a date-virgin in your twenties.”

  Hinata pursed his lips, thinking about it, “Ya know, maybe it is weird - ” You felt your heart stop and your comfort crack just slightly. You probably would have laughed had it not been for the wave of heat then ice that swept over you, “- that someone as… as…” His lips pursed as he tried to find a word. Your anxiety built with each delayed second. In a grand gesture, his arms swang back, “WH’BAM as you never got asked out before!” Despite your death grip on him, the ginger still managed to hop on cue, “’sides! You got a pretty good friend looking after you!”

  “Heh,” You laughed, “Guess you’re right, but wh’bam?”

  “It just makes sense!” He slapped your hand a few times with the soft palm of his, “Okay okay! Now, we’re going to that one!” A finger pointed to a fancy black double door. 

  “Hinata I-“ You began to protest, feeling your palms dampen and your stomach curdle. 

  “Don’t worry about price! I got it!” He tugged at your arm.

  “N-no, We need to-“

  “You’ve been having such a good time! We can do one more!”

  “Just come over h-here-“

  “This one has the best cake from what I read! It’s not too expensiiiiiiive.”

  The end of his sentence tumbled out of his mouth like the night’s worth of cake and frosting tumbled out of your gut. Directly onto the ground. And on the expensive nude heels your friend leant you. And on Hinata’s own pricy looking sneakers.

  There was a moment of silence as you lit the coffin of your pride and watched it sail away into the ocean. (Goodbye sweet trait, it was nice while it lasted. Rest in Pieces.)

  Hinata blinked. The event registered in his squirrel brain like a dial up modem. She just threw up. It’s on my shoe. It’s on her shoe. OH NO I MADE HER THROW UP! Red alerts blared as he whipped his head around, making the biggest display of ‘nothing to see here’ that could’ve been humanly possible. All too easily, he slid an arm under your knees and scurried around for a place to sit. It took about ten minutes for him to find a bench on an empty walkway. He sat you down and patted your head with long, sweet strokes. Each pat, while good natured, went unnoticed as your intestines tried to murder you in cold blood.

  Hinata sprinted for the convenience store and bought the first couple of antacids he could find, along with some anti-nausea medication and water. A small bit of sweat broke out along his brow as he dashed back to you. Agile as a leaf in the wind, he squatted right in front of you, hurriedly dumped everything out of the double-bagged plastic bags to give to you. He stuttered out his menu of medications and you down some of them with water.

  “Hey, heeey,” his gentle voice cooed to you, both hands rubbing your arms in soothing motions (a little roughly, but he’s trying), “It’s okay, you’re okay, you don’t need to cry!” You waved a hand, lips parted as you waited for another wave to hit which never came. You thought he’d make fun of you, laugh in your face about how pathetic this was, but it never came. For some reason that made you even more emotional. He was just a rental boyfriend. He didn’t need to deal with this. Instead of quitting then and there, Hinata took a seat right next to you and pulled you to his chest. Your back flinched reflexively as a calloused hand rubbed calming circles along it. He started talking about a time he was at a volleyball game and had the nervous-shits so bad he nearly had to sit out.

  “That’s… disgusting,” The words came out as a half-laugh, half-cry. You wiped your eyes, ignoring the makeup now dripping down your face from sweat and tears.

  “You’re telling me! Tanaka called me ‘little-shits’ for two months after that!” His laugh was contagious, spreading warmth through your fingertips and toes. It was rare to meet someone who had such a natural talent to make you feel so wholly accepted.

  After about 10 minutes, the medication began to fully settle your stomach. The bag was tossed into a stray trash can. Hinata had barely even realized that his chin was perched on the crown of your head as he talked about other embarrassing stories (including the time he got pegged in the nuts during training camp). The warmth of you in his hold simply belonged and he didn’t want to let go just yet.

  “Thank you,” you peered up at him with eyes so pretty and a smile so kind he wanted to kiss it then and there.

  “For what?” His head tilted again. If he were a puppy, his ears would flop with each tilt.

  “Being so sweet to me for my first trial date. Even if it’s your job, you really went above and beyond. And uh…you know-” You kicked your shoe to his.

  The athlete ruffled his hair, feeling a blush creep to his cheeks and ears at the thought of being your first date, “Don’t need to thank me for it! I had a blast! You’re pretty warm too!”

  “Thanks?” You sputtered a small laugh before checking your phone and the time. It was nearly up. As per request, a text of your location was sent to the friend who started it all.

  For a while, you rested in Hinata’s hold, savoring the rich batter of comfort and calm it baked you in. He chattered on about this and that, exchanging a remark here and there when you poked fun. 

Once you pulled away from him, he couldn’t help but miss the feel of your mold on the palm of his hand like a volleyball right at the precipice – right in his reach. You checked your violently buzzing phone, confirming the spot where you were sitting to your friend. 

“Who was that?” Hinata asked, a boyish hint of pouting sad laced underneath his natural curiosity.

“My friend,” you answered, popping another antacid in your mouth, “our time is up, so she’ll be here soon.”

 Those words were a bitter sound, one that reminded Hinata that this wasn’t real. This was a bet that he wanted to win. One that he secretly cursed. In all reality, he wanted to have fun and when he saw that you booked him, he didn’t know what to think. Dating wasn’t really his thing. He rarely had time to when it came to practice and had it not been for the bet, he probably wouldn’t have sought someone out at all, let alone someone as out of his league as you.

  The headlights of your friend's car came into view. Just as you went to take a step forward, a strong hand circled around your wrist. In a swift movement, you turned to look at the culprit. 

  “Just make sure to rent me again if you have some time, yeah?” Hinata’s smile held a hint of something you couldn’t identify. 

 Nevertheless, you returned the sentiment, “Of course!”

You parted with a long hug.

As the car pulled away, Hinata flicked through his phone. Once the dates were done, each point of contact would be deleted automatically. A reasonable company policy that felt like a sour punch to the gut.. A small twinge of sadness came over him, but he knew that if it was meant to be, you’d find your way to each other again. In the mean time…

   𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃-𝙰-𝙱𝙾𝚈𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎.... 𝟷 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝙱𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐!

  He was going to kick Atsumu’s pancake ass!

 “Sooooo~ How was the ‘date’? Looks like you two got along!” Your friend’s voice rang as she shimmied in her seat in excitement, brows wiggling in expectation.

  “Oh shut it!” You cried in false annoyance, “I threw up, can you believe that?!” Dramatically, she gasped, listening as you recounted the events of the boy who was the sun itself. Finalizing your long winded tale of cake-filled adventure, that same warmth spread across your chest, lapping small butterfly wings at your stomach, “I had a good time. I… definitely feel more comfortable with the idea of putting myself out there now.”

Introduction | Navigation

[notquiteaghost]

there’s nothing i wouldn’t do

mcu/hawkeye comics, post-avengers, barney&clint, 2k

inspired by this post

AO3 link in notes

He wasn’t expecting it to be a thing, is the problem.

Like, how often do aliens fucking invade New York? Once in a lifetime deal, it’s gotta be. Clint was busy — with having a hole in his chest, but SHIELD wouldn’t like him picking fights with run-of-the-mill mobsters, so it was, once again, up to Barney to step up and keep his baby brother safe. Hell, even if Clint could’ve got out his building without passing out, Barney still probably would’ve gone instead. Clint’s just a guy.

He had a plan, and it should’ve been simple. Bandana tied round his face, hair hidden under a beanie, and only Natasha’s gonna notice which Barton is actually slinging the arrows around, and Natasha’s well-aware of Clint’s stab wound. Murder all the aliens, sit through Coulson’s lecture on Clint’s behalf, hopefully their building’s still standing by the end of it. Hold it over Clint’s head until they die. Never, ever do it again.

Except.

He goes after the wannabe god, and the wannabe god can, obviously, control fucking minds, so then he shoots a shit ton of almost-entirely-innocent SHIELD employees. And then Natasha knocks him out of it and they all murder a shit ton of aliens, so hopefully SHIELD will cancel the shoot on sight order, but after all the aliens are dead, Tony goddamn Stark drags them all to get shawarma, and it’s not like Barney can say no. He can’t make Captain America think Clint’s an asshole.

And then, three days later, when Barney’s trying to explain to Coulson that, no, Clint is absolutely not going to fucking Russia, Clint can’t lift his arms, and also they’re still trying to get back the power in their building and also also as far as SHIELD is concerned it was Clint who got used as a puppet by a hostile alien and then bounced without any kind of medical eval so what is this actually about, because it sure as shit ain’t a human trafficking ring — three days later, his phone rings. Caller ID says Your New Sugar Daddy, so it’s Stark, so Barney hangs up on Coulson and answers it.

“Y’know, I could use some new shoes,” he says, throwing Clint’s phone on the couch when it immediately starts buzzing again. “What’re your terms? How much skin am I showing to get some new shoes?”

Stark splutters, but recovers within seconds and says, “Shoes are a titty pic at least,” and Barney is suddenly, sinkingly certain that him and Stark could be friends. It makes him shudder. 

He bites back the joke he wants to make about how many titty pics he gets to send before Stark stops buying him shoes, and says, “Titty pics ain’t why you’re calling, though.”

“Heard you’ve been having some apartment trouble,” Stark agrees, casually, like he has any way of knowing that that isn’t really fucking creepy. “Y’know, I have this great big tower. It’s got, amongst a lot of other things, an entirely self-sustaining power system.”

“…You want me to move in with you?”

“I’m just letting you know it’s an option, that’s all.”

Barney narrows his eyes. “Anyone else say yes?”

Stark huffs. “You’re first on my list, actually. Figured I’d start with the easiest, work my way up.”

Again, Barney bites his tongue. He cannot flirt with Tony Stark when Tony Stark thinks he’s his brother, no matter how funny it is. He’s sworn off starting shit with Clint since they got banned from Lithuania. “And what if I like my apartment?”

The briefest of pauses, before Stark says, “Then you keep living in your apartment. Again, just letting you know your options.”

“Pay to have the power lines for my block fixed,” Barney says, just as Clint stumbles out his room, “and maybe I’ll swing by for lunch. That’s what this is really about, yeah? Team building shit?”

“Wait, your block doesn’t have power?”

Clint is staring at him, eyes narrowing. He’s been awake maybe ten minutes, and it’s a coin toss if he’s remembered to put his aids in yet. Barney makes a face at him. “Half the damn city doesn’t have power, don’t you watch the news? Hell, ain’t people waving big signs outside your front door?”

“I’ve been—” Stark starts, then stops himself, then presumably remembers he’s trying to tempt Barney into some kinda morning-cartoons perma-sleepover and that’s gonna require some emotional vulnerability, and says, “Been in the workshop, mostly. The suit didn’t cope so well in the vacuum of space. But, yeah, power, I can do power. Text me about lunch.”

“Only if Captain America’s there, too,” Barney says, then hangs up. Clint’s eyes are even narrower. He’s gonna give himself a headache. “What?”

“Were you talking to Tony Stark?”

“Yeah, he wants me to move in with him.”

“He wants me to move in with him,” Clint counters.

“Hey, I’m the one who actually fought the aliens, kid—”

“I was all for fighting the aliens! You ziptied me to the bed!”

“And that you couldn’t get out of those makes it clear you were in no shape for fighting the aliens.” Barney walks into the kitchen, digs through their pile of homecooked food — you showing up on TV saving the world makes everyone want to cook you things, it turns out — for Clint’s pain meds. Clint leans against the wall and looks pitiful.

“Maybe I wanna live with Tony Stark,” he says. Barney laughs, hands Clint the tablets and the water so his hands are free to talk.

“Thought you were gonna die in this shithole. Thought, next time anyone shoots you, you were gonna demand they carry you back here so you can bleed out on the floor since getting the blood out’ll be someone else’s problem.”

“Bet Stark’s eyesore of a tower’s got power, though.”

“And soon,” Barney assures him, “so will we.”

Clint shuffles back to the couch and flops over it, and almost hides his wince at the feelings his stab wound has about that. “Bet Stark’s tower’s got heated floors. Stupid fast internet. Bet he’s got chefs and cleaners and everything.”

Barney always forgets how being hurt makes Clint into a five year-old again. “If some stranger tried to clean your room, you would stab them.” Clint sticks his tongue out.

Then he jumps, because Barney’s phone is buzzing again. Got his aids in, then.

It’s a text, this time, from an unknown number.

???: Stark tells me you’ll only come out to play if I come out too - Steve

“Holy shit,” Barney says, “Captain America is texting me.”

“What the fuck,” Clint pushes himself up, “Give me the phone. Give me the phone! He’s texting me!”

“Again,” Barney says, typing complete nonsense so Clint hears the tapping noise, “it was me who he bonded with when we murdered a load of aliens together, he has no idea who you are.”

“Barney. He’s Captain America.”

Goddammit, that fucking whine. He throws Clint his phone.

Then stands behind him to watch him type.

You: he ain’t exactly my usual kinda buddy

You: appreciate the thing with the missile obviously but also i don’t think he pays taxes?

Clint backspaces four times to change his terrible text speak for actual words. It’s hilarious. 

steve!!!!: He fucking better.

You: if you yell at him about this please film it

You: i promise not to put it online i just want it playing on a loop in my apartment

steve!!!!: He says ‘Excuse me of course I pay taxes, I have to get rid of all this money somehow’

steve!!!!: I’m double-checking with Miss Potts.

You: did shield just give you the phone numbers of the entire population of new york

steve!!!!: No, I think it’s only 30%.

You: oh shit do you have fury’s number

steve!!!!: Strangely, no.

You: dammit

You: one day

“You are definitely the reason Fury didn’t give Captain America his personal cell number,” Barney says. Clint shoves at him. 

steve!!!!: Not planning on moving into Stark’s place, then?

You: think living somewhere that expensive would give me a rash

You: don’t tell shield this but i stole my apartment from the mob

“Oh my God Clint they are definitely reading his texts,” Barney groans.

You: hey uh unrelated but anyone give you an update on opsec

Clint glares at him, pointedly, then makes a truly inhuman noise when he reads Steve’s next reply.

steve!!!!: Is that an offer?

“Oh my fucking God I’m gonna become best friends with Captain America,” Clint says, low and reverent.

Barney rolls his eyes. “He still thinks he’s talking to me.”

“So? You wore a mask and shit, he won’t notice.”

“You are so fucking injured. He will definitely notice.”

“Okay, then you wear a wire, and I tell you what to say—”

Barney snatches the phone back, types out ‘hell yeah let’s get a drink, when you free?’, then locks it and tucks it away. Clint is fully pouting.

“I’m going out,” Barney reminds him. “Coulson wants you in Russia, I’m gonna find out the fuck why. Amuse yourself for a while, you can keep flirting with Captain America when I get back.”

“If you really loved me you’d wear a wire,” Clint huffs. Barney ruffles his hair and goes to find his jacket.

–––––––––––––––

“Explain to me again,” Coulson says, exasperated in a way Barney’s more used to seeing directed at Clint, “why you thought pretending to be Clint was in any way a good plan.”

Usually, they have chats like these in some pretentious hipster place, where all the drinks have dumb names and cost twenty bucks a pop, but for obvious reasons that’s not happening. So, they’re in a park, miraculously untouched. There’s a flock of pigeons going at what looks like some bodega’s entire stock of bread.

“Clint was stabbed doing something SHIELD don’t need to know about; SHIELD didn’t tap me for the Avengers, ‘cause they still think I’d sell them all out for the right price; aliens were invading New York; I live in New York and I didn’t have any other plans.”

Coulson pinches at the bridge of his nose. He for sure agrees Barney made the right call, given the givens, and he will for sure die before he ever admits it. Barney is the reason the wannabe god didn’t stab him through the chest, though, so Barney is gonna try and make him admit it.

“You don’t have clearance to know about the Avengers.”

“Half the world knows about the Avengers, we were on every news channel there is.”

“Prior to the Chitauri invasion,” Coulson says, exasperation ticking up a notch, “you did not have clearance to know about the Avengers Initiative. SHIELD already don’t trust you, and now you’ve been compromised by a hostile alien with unknown motivations and allegiances—”

“Which is why SHIELD’s gotta keep thinking it was Clint,” Barney agrees, “‘cause they'll just straight up shoot me.”

Coulson sighs, heavily. But he doesn’t disagree.

“Going forward, then,” he says. “Are you going to continue to be Hawkeye?”

“I kinda really thought the alien invasion was a one-time thing. You telling me we’re expecting more aliens?”

“Not with any certainty,” which is Coulson for ‘yeah, probably’. “But I, for one, would rather we were prepared. And with the way some things are going, the Avengers may be needed for purely Earth-based disputes.”

“You get superheroes, you’re asking for supervillains?”

“Unfortunately.”

Barney lets out a long breath. It should be hilarious, that some idiot might actually pull on a cape and a dumb mask and try to take over the world, but he just got done stopping the last idiot, and they’re still pulling out the bodies. Morning cartoons never have collateral damage.

“I gotta talk to Clint,” he says. “He’d be better at it, but he’s been muttering about bouncing from SHIELD lately. Taking it real personal that you don’t trust me, who’d’ve thunk it.”

“I trust you,” Coulson says, lightly. Barney rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, no shit. Look, I’ll go to Russia, but someone’s gotta babysit Clint while I’m gone. I’m sick of the fucker pulling his stitches.”

“I don’t know who’s going to be there to meet you—”

“This ain’t the first mission I’ve run in Clint’s place.”

Coulson blinks. Huh, Barney had honestly thought he knew about that. “Well,” he says, “then you leave bright and early tomorrow morning. Try not to get in too much trouble, would you?”

Barney grins, trademark Barton asshole. “No promises.” 

[ask-bnha-2pnyoengland]

//please punch me cause I accidentally clicked to answer the ask but didn’t write anything  jkervdbnskejk anyway

//Warning: Long post ahead

~o~

Lottie: “Ohh, I’ve waited so long to introduce them! I might add, again, that we’re not blood-related, I was technically just adopted into the family. Heh, it would be funny if I had any blood-related sibling out there...”

“Here we have Brie, the oldest in the house! It was her and Nick who found me back in the day and it was their idea - and mercy - to take me in.

Brie is like the mom of the house. Not only because she’s the oldest, but because she is able to keep everything under control. She’s gentle, patient and she loves to take care of everyone. On the other hand, she’s the one to get more stressed out over time, so the others and I try our best not to overwhelm her, it’s the least we can do. There are some troublemakers, of course, but nothing she can’t handle. She is one of the best people I’ve ever met and I surely look up to her. By the way, she works as a nurse at the local hospital!

Nicholas, or Nick for short, is the second in command! Well, not that he actually likes that title, after all it’s a lot of responsability, but I’m only saying so because he helps around a lot when Brie is working or busy. And he’s the second oldest, so there’s that too. Anyway, he’s a sweetheart! He is always excited or happy about something and he adores to make everybody feel happy too. It’s contagious, to say the least! He loves to play around and make jokes to get a laugh from everyone. He’s calls himself the clown bro. However, he can be serious too, after all he’s a psychologist. His quirk helps a lot to get people to talk about their problems, and he’s a great listener due to it, but, of course, he never forces a person to open up, he always leaves it up to them to choose.”

//She has 8 more siblings so, to not make this post huge to skip if someone doesn’t want to see, I’ll keep the rest under the read more :)

“Here we have the twins, Louis and Lanna!

Lanna is the oldest of them, so I’m starting from her. She tries to act tough and mean towards people she just met - gosh, I don’t even want to recall the way she treated me when I arrived -, but that’s just the cover up for her actually caring personality. She is quite arrogant, which kinda of get her in a bunch of arguments, but she’s getting better at easing her ego and relaxing in order to be more empathetic. Oh, also, she’s a musician and even has her very own album on Spotfy! I listen to it every once in a while. In the meantime, she works as a music teacher for kids.

Louis is..shy, to put it simply. He prefers to avoid conflict - or any contact at all - and stays in his room most of the day. He doesn’t feel confident enough to speak up his mind or show his creations, but I think he’s workind on it, since we’re all very supportive of him. He loves literature and poetry, writing stuff from time to time, but he only allows few people in the house to read, since he’s quite embarrassed about it. I always tell him he has a talent for it, but I know it’ll take long until he fully embraces it.

Both of them, however, are great at telling stories and playing with the children. While Lanna reads the books or makes something up, making us hear every sound she can play, Louis makes the full picture of it - also listening if the chidren want to change or add something. Combining their quirks, they’re able to practically make a movie in our minds while they tell the most epic story ever!”

“This is Coralin! She’s the most calm person in our family. I have never seen her upset, not even once, and I doubt it’s ever going to happen. She radiates good vibes wherever she’s standing, and she tries to get us to relax with her when she sees any of us is feeling down. Her improvised yoga classes were a must when I first arrived. She also taught me everything I know about cooking and sewing! On the other hand, her attention spam is kinda...short. If you don’t remind her of what she was doing, her mind would probably wonder somewhere else in less than ten minutes. She records online yoga classes though, so at least she can edit whenever she gets distracted. And also, last but not least, she is studying to be an ocean biologist!”

“Here is Anneliese! She’s a confident, friendly and gentle young lady. She dreams of becoming an acress when she grows up, so she’s studying a lot for it. Every now and then, she organizes a play at school or even among our siblings so she can practice her acting skills, and also because she loves changing her hair for each role. She’s also great at doing make up and designing costumes - that’s one reason why I got better at sewing too, I wanted to make her ideas come to life -, it’s like she was born for the stage! To help out, we always test makeup on one another. She’s better at it than me, but we have a lot of fun anyway. Now that I’m at school, we videochat and just try clothes and makeup on together when I have time.”

“Remember ‘the troublemakers’ I mentioned earlier? They’re Sam and Richie. And, oh gosh, how they love to get into a mess.

Sam is the mastermind. They plan all of the pranks, detail by detail, and make sure everything works just as scheduled. The person is going to walk through a certain door? That was planned. The amount of flour that will be used in the prank? All planned. Nothing can go wrong. If it does, their quirk can make the person forget of the prank and not even notice the flaw, and also not scold them for the prank at all! It’s pure evil! One time, they had the courage to swap sugar for salt and I was so sad to see my cupcakes going wrong.... Okay, I’m joking, they’re not evil, just a little too naughty. We all love them, we just have to scold them a lot.

They have a sidekick, and that’s Richard - or Richie for short! He’s the one responsible to make the plans come true - after all, he’s stronger, taller and faster than Sam - and is also the first to run off when things go wrong. Though, he’s the first to apologize too. Although he likes playing pranks on everyone,he has his heart on the right place. Every now and then, he goes to help at the animal shelter nearby and, since he can communicate with dogs, he spends a lot of time in there. He loves being around us though! I love playing with him.

Sam and Riche are inseparable though. They’re the two halves of the same apple.”

“Here we have Eric! He likes to think he’s a prince whose parents, King and Queen of a distant kingdom, passed away and had to leave him at a humble home to learn about kindess, humbleness and courage. Though, that’s not really what he practices around here... He gives orders to everyone and starts a tantrum whenever we refuse something. We’re not even trying to be mean to him, but sometimes he’s too selfish and doesn’t realise his ‘wishes’ can’t be granted every time he asks. It’s something Brie and Nick have been trying to work out with him.”

“Aaaand, last but not least, and just as important, Liz! She’s the baby of the household. I mean, not literally a baby, but she’s too precious for this world. She has so much hope in those big eyes and smile that is impossible to feel anything other than joy when she’s around. She loves to play with all kinds of toys, climb around the trees in our backyard, and she’s always thrilled to discover new bugs every now and then. She..ate dirt once though, so that’s not very safe, but she’s just figuring the world out yet. She’s also very clingy. If possible, she’d want to be picked up for the whole day, but since that’s kinda difficult when everyone has their stuff to do, she’s content with being hugged every now and then. I know that she looks up to me, so I try to be the best I can to see her happy."

~o~

Lottie: “I love them all very much and I wouldn’t be the same, actually wouldn’t have ever recovered from my wounds, if it wasn’t for their care, love and support. I’d do anything for them in order to thank them for everything.”

[maxineswritingcenter]

Class Reunion - Sam x fem!reader pt 4

Read part 3 here!

Summary: Sam and Dean hit up a case in a town they lived in for Sam's senior year of high school. While on a supply run, Sam runs into reader who he dated that year. Reader invites him to the class reunion. Sam is hesitant but the case leads to the reunion. SPARKS FLY BITCHES

To be on the taglist, send me an ask.

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

The next morning, (Y/N) was in the kitchen making breakfast. It was Friday, the day of the big reunion. Normally being nervous for that event was fine. But considering there was a murderer on the loose made everything more difficult. She was more on edge now that there was a connection between the victims and the perp. The football team, the cheer squad, and Liza who approved the prank. Would she be next? She was staring off into space when Sam walked in.

"Morning." He smiled and kissed her cheek. She blinked out of her blank stare and smiled at him.

"Good morning." He was wearing casual clothes: boots, jeans, and a flannel. Oh did he look good in a flannel.

"Need help with anything?" He asked and stood besides her.

"Well, I could use a little sugar." She winked at him. He smirked and leaned down, pressing his lips to hers.

"Awh, not over the food." Dean's voice made them jump apart. (Y/N) blushed a deep shade of red.

Dean yawned and sat at the table, "You guys have fun last night?" He winked.

(Y/N) hummed and brought the pan of bacon over to him, "Not a word, Winchester. Not a word."

Dean smirked, "Hey, if I get bribed with bacon, I don't know a thing." She rolled her eyes, putting a few stripes of bacon on his plate.

"Jared!" She called, "Breakfast!" Soon after a groggy Jared came down the stairs. He was wearing jeans and a blue long sleeve shirt. His brown hair was messy, but the intentional messy. Like maybe he ran a brush through it. He went to the fridge and got out the cranberry juice, pouring himself a glass.

"Isn't that stuff tart?" Dean asked, watching the kid down the whole glass in a few gulps. Jared blinked a few times and shook his head.

"Yeah, wakes me up." He poured himself another glass and sat at the table. (Y/N) came over with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast. She came back and patted Sam on the chest, "Whatcha want?"

Sam, resisting the urge to say 'you', shook his head, "Not really hungry." He grabbed a piece of toast from the the toaster. She smiled and finished cooking everything before sitting at the table with the food.

Just as she was about to start eating, both her phone and Sam's phone started to ring. Sam looked at Dean, "It's Witicker." He stood up and left the room. (Y/N) grabbed her phone from the counter. Dean and Jared ate silently.

In the other room, Sam answered the phone, "Agent Forester."

"Hey Agent, we got another one. Bus driver, Zack Dooley. Same MO as before."

"Alright, uh, Sheriff, we have a possible lead. My partner and I will be attending the reunion tonight to keep watch." Sam said.

"Sounds good." The sheriff said, "See you then." He hung up and went back into the kitchen just as (Y/N) came back.

"Who was that mom?" Jared asked, looking up from his plate.

(Y/N) sighed and sat down, "Sweetie, that was the school. Your bus driver got attacked by an animal last night. He passed away this morning. I'm sorry."

Jared looked at her confused, "Mr. Dooley? He was nice." He sat there for a minute, processing what he'd heard.

"How am I going to get to school?" He asked after a while.

"Uh, I can take you." Sam said, "Drive around town in the Impala." He suggested. Jared nodded and stood up.

"I'll grab my bag." He said softly and left the room. Sam stood up and moved around, putting a hand on (Y/N)'s shoulder.

"He was in student council too." She said, eyes wide, "Now he's going after us."

Dean looked at her, "Hey, we'll keep you and Jared safe." She nodded, putting a hand on Sam's before standing up when Jared came back. Jared didn't look okay. He hiding his face and rubbing his eyes to fight away tears. (Y/N) made him lift his head, brushing the hair out of his eyes. She gave him a soft smile.

"Sometimes life isn't fair. And really nice people get hurt. But you have to remember them as they were. Not how they died." She watched him nod.

"Come here." She said softly, pulling her into his arms. He hugged her back, hiding his face in her shoulder. She rubbed his back as he let out a few sniffles.

"I love you." She said as she pulled away.

"I love you too, mom." He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He looked at Sam and nodded, "I'm ready."

Dean tossed Sam the keys from his pocket, "One scratch and I'm comin' after the laptop." He scolded. Sam gave him an annoyed look before leading Jared out the door.

-

The car ride was silent for the first half, until words burst from Sam's mouth after he spent ten minutes trying to figure out what to say.

"Your mom was right. Gotta remember people for the good times." When Jared didn't answer and just stared out the window, Sam continued, "Ya know, my dad died about fourteen years ago. I tried to think of the good times. And there weren't a lot. But when there were, those are the times I like to remember. We butted heads but, I understand why he raised us the way he did."

Jared spared Sam a glance before looking back out the window, "I never knew my dad." Sam pulled into the school and put the Impala in park.

"Well, even if you don't know it, your dad loves you. You're a great kid. It didn't seem like it, but my dad loved Dean and I." He said, not trying to spill the big secret yet.

"How can you love someone you don't know exists." Jared grumbled and got out of the car, leaving Sam feeling more guilty than he did before.

-

"Kid's breaking my heart already." Sam said as he came back inside the house.

"What happened?" (Y/N) asked as she put on earrings.

"He said how can someone love you when they don't know you exist?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

Dean shook his head, "Jared is really upset about this." (Y/N) shook her head, tearing up.

"I didn't know how hard this was effecting him. I didn't know." She let out a little sob, "I'm such an idiot."

"Hey hey.." Sam pulled her into his arms and rubbed her back, "You did what you thought was best. We'll explain tonight."

She nodded against his chest, "I just hope nothing bad happens tonight. You catch the guy and he goes behind bars."

Dean looked at Sam and nodded. Sam sighed, "I don't think he'll get out of this alive." She pushed away from him and took a step back.

"You're going to kill him? Where's the justice in that?" She put her hands on her hips.

Dean took a step forward and motioned to the table, "(Y/N), you might wanna sit for what were about to tell you." She reluctantly sat, looking at the brothers differently.

"We're not FBI. We're not even law enforcement. That's our cover." Sam began, "We hunt monsters. Real monsters like vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and demons. We go from town to town hunting them to keep people safe."

She was looking at them like they were crazy. Sam thought of a different approach, "Remember when we went to the diner one night and we saw something in the woods then Dean just happened to show up covered in black goo?"

She nodded slowly, "You said it was oil from the Impala."

Dean nodded, "It wasn't oil. It was ectoplasm. Because theguy you saw barfed it all over me and took off into the woods."

"And the pentagram you on the back of the Impala wasn't because dad was into metal, it's to keep the weapons secure." Sam said, watching as the gears turned in her head.

"Monsters are real. And you're telling me Danny is one. So you have to kill him." She said the thoughts as they clicked. Sam nodded slowly, trying to get a read on her.

"Which is why we're going to take him down so the town is safe, and most importantly, you and Jared are safe." Dean said, leaning against the table.

"Okay." Her voice shook. But then she cleared her throat and stood up, "Okay, so what's the game plan? Should I keep everyone to the gym?"

"That's a perfect idea." Sam said, "Just keep everyone there the best you can." She nodded, "Okay. I can do this." She smiled and grabbed her keys.

"I'm going to the school to set up the gym." She said confidently and went out the door.

Dean watched her leave, slightly impressed, "Either she's freak outta her mind or she's taking this well."

"I'd say a little bit of both." Sam said, watching her leave from the window.

-

That night, the brothers met with the Sheriff outside of the school. He was wearing jeans and a lettermen's jacket. Sam was having flashbacks to high school and not ones he particularly enjoyed.

"Alright, boys. I'll take first watch out here, you two search inside in case he's already in. And if you see anything suspicious, come find me." He said. Dean and Sam nodded and headed inside.

"Hold on there, Agent Forester." The sheriff said. Sam stopped in his tracks and took a deep breath in before turning around.

"Yeah, sheriff?"

"Now, you wouldn't happen to be staying with a miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N), would you?" Sam swallowed hard.

"Yes, she offered to let us stay with her and her son." He said, and that was true. For the most part.

"Listen, I know she's a babe. And she seems like the type to be protecting. But don't you worry, ole Lonny's got it covered." He winked. Sam raised an eyebrow, (Y/N) hadn't mentioned Lonny at all.

"Ya know, it's been in the works for a while but uh... I think I'm gonna be her knight in shining armour when Jared joins the police force. Keep her company while he's at the police academy." Of course, the sheriff talking about (Y/N) like that made his blood boil, but as soon as he mentioned his son? He was irate.

"Really? Cause Jared didn't seem all that interested in being a cop." Sam said, crossing his arms.

"That kid'll come around. I've been keeping a special eye on him, for (Y/N)'s sake, and I think he'd make a good lieutenant under me some day. We'll make in a father-son dynasty. Well, when I get her to marry me that is." The sheriff chuckled. Sam narrowed his eyes and smirked.

"Heh," he chuckled darkly, "We'll see, won't we?" And with that, he went inside.

-

Sam found (Y/N) by the DJ booth, where Jared was sitting and playing music from his phone and into the speakers. It was a mix of popular songs from the 80's and 90's , kid had good taste. She was standing in front of poster boards that were covered in photos blown up from the year book. The board she was looking at was from prom night. He came up next to her and looked at the photos. She looked up at him out of the corner of her eye and smiled. She pointed toward a picture near the bottom. The shot was focused on another couple, but in the background was a familiar pair.

"I still have pictures from that night in my old photo albums. I found them a couple days ago. I was so scared to show them to Jared." She said, playing with the necklace around her throat. It was a silver J, with a turquoise bead. Which complimented the blue, flowy dress she had chosen for the evening.

"Can I ask... Why didnt you get married?" He eased into the subject.

She scoffed, "Please, everyone in this town is a bonehead. I prefer tall, smart, and handsome." She turned and smiled up at him.

"You do know the sheriff is trying to seduce you, right?" He felt his ears get hot with anger.

She rolled her eyes, "He can try all he wants. My main duty is to Jared. Making sure he's happy."

"What about you?" He asked, "Can't you be happy?" She looked at him and minute then looked at Jared, grinning from ear to ear.

She looked back at Sam, "Nothing makes me happier than being his mom." Sam smiled and held her hand in his large one.

"We usually don't stay much longer after the hunts are over..." He watched her face fall, "But... I don't think the world would end if we stayed a little longer." She smiled brightly.

"I think we might have the room." She winked.

-

Jared looked at his phone screen, scrolling through Snapchat stories. When those were done he shut off the screen. And in the black reflection he saw someone close behind him. Too close. He opened his mouth to confront whoever it was, but in a flash he saw darkness.

-

Sam glanced at the DJ booth, but did a double take. Jared wasn't there.

"Where'd Jared go?" He asked, his chest sinking. (Y/N) looked around him at saw the empty booth. Her eyes widened and she hurried towards the table, Sam close at her heels. All that was left was Jared's phone, the screen was shattered.

"Oh god no." She said under her breath, shaking her head.

"Where is he?!" She cried, her voice barely loud enough to hear over the loud music and all the talking. Sam looked around the room, looking for his brown hair.

"Jared!" Sam called, adrenaline pumping through his veins, "Jared!" He saw an open door that led out into the hallway.

"Follow me." He said and ran towards the door, (Y/N) followed, watching Sam take a machete out of his jacket.

-

Dean walked around the school, machete in hand. He could barely hear the music from the gym, but everything else was silent. He came up to the library where the door was slightly ajar. He gripped the handle to the large knife and quietly walked towards the room. He slowly pushed it open and looked inside. His eyes widened at what he saw. The sheriff was dead on one of the tables, nearly decapitated. Dean walked closer, looking around to see if the vamp was still around. He looked around the body and found a piece of paper. The handwriting was messy, but the message was clear.

Bring me (Y/N) or I kill the kid.

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

This chapter has everything: the morning after, shitty cops, a jealous baby-daddy, a child in peril.

Read part 5 here!

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Class Reunion (You know the drill, I tag, I don't know why it doesn't tag people, it's a living)

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[ansgar-martinsson]

The Best Intentions - Part 5

TO: .lindberg@StockholmOpera. se                      21:15 pm 2 attachments

Froken Lindberg,

No need for apologies, and there is no need for me to hunt down and behead the sobriqueted “Stanley,” (whose name is actually Mickhail) I’m sure. Be assured that he will still have a job come tomorrow and for a long time to come after that.

I don’t withhold my email address from my clients, and I do pride myself on an open-door policy – generally. Mick, however, knows that today was my first day back on the job, and he was being the overprotective security associate that I pay him quite handsomely to be.

I enclose with this email the fruit of my labours from this afternoon and this evening. The enclosure is a work schedule and Gantt chart for the full gamut of repairs to the Opera House - the sprinkler system, the drywall, the wood floor of the orchestra pit, etcetera. I have coordinated this with my subcontractors and suppliers and it is accurate. You may rely upon this to schedule your rehearsals, etc., for the next few weeks.

The second attachment is perhaps an addendum to the one you sent me. It is a cost breakdown, estimate, and proposal for the little theatre space. With the funds from the Gala, we will have the space renovated and ready to use within a year.

All that aside, I’ve reviewed your proposal, and I found it interesting to say the least. You have covered all of the terms we discussed today and then some. I would, however, like to discuss some of these terms further before we enter into anything formal; and once that is done I would like to have my legal department place their stamp upon it.

I welcome the opportunity to meet with you again regarding the little theatre space and the plans for the Gala. We can meet in my office, or we can continue these discussions over coffee at Sturekatten or a meal if you would rather. Contact me directly to arrange, please.

I am willing to provide for your every desire. Even those that, as you say, constitute the ravings of a lunatic. Which you are most definitely not.

– AGM

The soft unobtrusive ding for her email notifications sounded from her mobile. Joline flopped down on her bed, swinging her legs up. The pillow whooshed and wheezed under the weight of her head, the faint waft of her fabric softener tickling her nose. She used the softener on her pillowcases only because the smell soothed and helped her sleep.

Herr Martinsson’s email did not. Did quite the opposite, in fact.

She read over the first few paragraphs with a sense of encouragement. She owed Mick some raspberry licorice for the trouble she’d caused. She’d eagerly pounced on him in the carport after close of business. She couldn’t blame him for protecting his employer’s interests. She may have to dial back her overzealousness, but she’d never did things by half.

Jo’d pitched monthly inspections with the design staff beginning at the top of the season with a member of Martinsson Construction. The added layer of security prevented any other potential flooding sessions or bouts with the Prima Donna’s temper… well, for the dampness issue anyway. Katarina could rage against the costumers or musicians, as long and as hard as she cared to. Jo already felt better for it.

The dream for the little theatre space, all of it brilliant! She stopped short at responding to meet up with him now, that very evening. But eager Jo needed tempering. Pace yourself, Jo.

Until…

I am willing to provide for your every desire.

She read it, then stopped.

She reread it.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…

Her brain melted in her head and possibly oozed out of her ear onto her freshly cleaned cases. She crossed her legs subconsciously, squeezing her thighs together.

It’d been a handful of months since her last fling, and her lady parts were beginning to feel lonely.

For the theatre, Jo… for the theatre. Nothing more than that. For-the-theatre. Nothing more than client relations. Empty or half promises to maintain a working relationship. He offered it to protect his best interests, his company, his name, and his current project.

As the tingling in her lady parts subsided from the misread tease, Jo shoved her brain back between her ears.

TO: amartinsson@martinsson.co.se                       21:30pm

Herr Martinsson-

You’re working late, I see. With impressive results, I should mention. I’m delighted by your offer and I look forward to your input. As you have work scheduled to begin this week (which is thrilling!), I’ll meet up with you for that coffee. Tomorrow? Name the time, I can accommodate any slot you have available.

I’ll make myself available to you.

Yours,

Joline Lindberg

The only thought in her head after putting her phone down was not of the theatre, or work orders, or repairs. She imagined what the G stood for in his initials, just to sate her curiosity.

Ansgar manipulated the mouse pointer over the red x in the upper left hand corner of his MacBook’s screen when his email dinged over. Curiosity, as it does, killed the cat, and so Ansgar opened the email with the time stamp of 9:30 pm from Joline Lindberg.

The last few sentences of her email appealed strongly to Ansgar’s filthy mind, his innate sense of and appreciation for innuendo. He wondered to himself, with a smirk and snigger, whether she’d meant it as such.

Hoped, maybe. No, hoped was too strong a word. Wondered. Contemplated. Contemplated those lips… that particular slot made available to me… clamped around my….

“Ah, screw it!” He groaned and scrubbed hard at his eyes, banishing the images, the very thought of it from his mind. “You are a fucking pervert, Martinsson.”

But the idea of at least a meeting over coffee… well, that was innocent enough, yes? No harm in it. After all, it was business, wasn’t it?

And so, instead of clicking the red x, he clicked ‘reply,’ rest his fingers on the keyboard, and with rapid-fire strokes, typed.

TO: j.lindberg@StockholmOpera.se                      21:47 pm

Meet me for fika at Sturekatten. Riddargatan 4. 9 am. My table is in the far north corner of the cafe. Don’t be late.

Godnatt,

AGM

Joline leaned into the final curve of her journey from home to the cafe of Herr Martinsson’s choosing, weaving around a Volkswagen Bug. She took the turning faster than the Stockholm Police approved of, but she was addicted to the speed and power of her beloved motorcycle, a 1970 Triumph. A gift from her late father made her feel closer to him whenever she rode, the smell of it, the sound of it, the sight of it, all reminded her of him and flooded her mind with memories.

The machine purred to a stop when she pulled over near the entrance of Sturekatten, blessed to have found a spot to park. The natural high she got from riding set her blood vibrating and her ears buzzing with the roar even hours afterwards. Weekends and rare days off from work found her in the leather seat adding miles to the odometer. She kicked the stand into place, turned the key for the ignition and swung her right leg over the seat behind her in a well-choreographed, often-rehearsed move.

She lifted her safety helmet straight, shaking her head and hair free underneath in her best shampoo advert mimic. How fucking cliché, she thought, hating herself for doing it. Every damn time. She’d yet to find a way of releasing her hair from the thing without looking like an auditioning model. The helmet, a bright shade of purple that Jo wanted to dye her hair to match one day (when she opened her own indy theatre house), was tucked up under her arm.

Raking one hand through her locks, Joline strolled into the café ten minutes before her call time, scurrying to the back as instructed. She felt Ansgar Martinsson’s gaze on her from the moment she crossed the threshold, piercing blue with laser precision. If she didn’t know differently, she’d feel intimidated, but she had some leverage, some pull with him.

The man rose from his seated position as she approached. “Froken Lindberg.” He held out his hand to shake in greeting.

“Herr Martinsson,” she shook his hand. “Waiting long? Am I late? Nine, yes?” She glanced around at the mostly deserted café. Weekday in the city center, many were on their first cup of coffee for the day behind their desk at work. What patrons dined at the café sat in the courtyard in the summer sun.

He gestured into a chair across from where he’s been sitting, holding the back out for her. “No, not at all. Early in fact. Thank you for meeting me.”

Joline swiveled her head, her gaze following him to his seat across from her. She made a small huff of a laugh. “I didn’t think I could say no.”

“Pardon?”

She laughed, waving her hand to match her shaking head. “No offense intended. But you have this way—effective, mind you—you say something… and I feel compelled to do it. And I do! You issue an order, and I follow.”

A crooked half-smile pulled at his lips, “That’s quite a power you’ve bestowed upon me.”

She noticed that he didn’t apologize or deny it. “Usually when someone tells me to do something, my first instinct is always no.”

“But not with me…”

“Oh! Does this mean I’m growing as a person?” She feigned shock at her self-assessment with one hand over her heart and one splayed on the tabletop. When she played out her charade in dramatics, she looked up at him with a sage look in her eye. “In all seriousness, you’re the type to go after what he wants, and you usually get it.”

He leaned forward elbows on the table like a lion standing over his kingdom. “Why would I spend my time on things I don’t want?”

“Touche!”

“Pardon the cliche,” he cocked his head, “but isn’t that a bit of the pot calling the kettle black?” He lifted the coffee pot, offering her a cup with a flick of his eyebrows. “Shall I pour?”

“Oh, yes, please,” she replied, and pushed her cup forward. She took it back after he filled it, and took a sip.

“Sugar or cream? Milk?”

“Black,” she replied.

Ansgar nodded appreciatively, making a small clicking noise with his tongue. “Black it is. Enjoy.”

“Speaking of black,” she mused, “like the pot and the kettle, huh?”

“That’s as I see it.”

“Well,” she shrugged. “I suppose that’s true. But I don’t always get the things I want. There are a lot of things I’ve wanted that I haven’t been able to get.”

“Yet,” Ansgar interjected.

“Well, yeah. Maybe.” She sipped again, eyeing him over the rim. “Maybe.”

“You get the important things,” he challenged. “Like your job, like that enviable specimen of a 1970 Triumph TR6R Tiger you have parked outside.” He indicated out the window with a flick of his gaze, at the same time noting the impressed flash of her own eyes. “And that’s what matters. It’s not that you get everything you want, it’s that you get the things that are most important to you. And sometimes, with a little skill, and a little perseverance, you can get more.”

“Skill and perseverance… but not luck?”

He scoffed. “I don’t believe in luck.”

She looked back to him from out the window. “Life lessons of the day with Professor Martinsson?”

He continued, ignoring her quip. “But you also have to realise and understand that things you want and things you get can easily be lost. They can be stolen away, right from under your nose. What matters more than getting the things you want, Froken Lindberg, is keeping them, protecting them at all costs.”

“At all costs?”

He nodded. “At all costs.” The thumb of his left hand curled in, curving around the edge of the gold band on his ring finger. “Sometimes, even then, after you’ve spared no expense, after you’ve exhausted everything… those things you want can still be torn from you.”

She frowned, her eyes narrowing. “What are you getting at, Herr Martinsson?”

“Ansgar. Please,” he leaned back in his chair, gesturing. “Call me Ansgar.”

“Then you have to call me Joline. Or Jo for short. Everyone calls me Jo. Either way is fine with me.”

He nodded, smiling. “Joline it is, then.”

“So… Ansgar,” she tasted his name again in her mouth, and finding it palatable, continued. “What are you getting at with all this stuff about getting what you want and things?”

He sighed. “All I am saying, Joline, is that you have dreams. You have ideas, and I am here to help you, to work with you to achieve those dreams. But… it’s you, ultimately, who has the power to make them a reality or not. You have to know what is important, what to fight for, what to… kill for,” he paused for emphasis, “and what to let go. You have to have common sense and know-how enough to know when to fight, and when to walk away. I can’t do that for you… and I won’t.”

“I’m sure I would mostly fight,” she puffed. “I’m not one to lie down in the road, you know.”

He grinned, wide and Cheshire-like, his blue eyes sparkling. He took up his coffee, took a sip, and crossed his arms over his chest. “And that is exactly what I hoped you’d say.”

“So,” Joline said. “What about the proposals?”

Ansgar tipped his chin toward her, his mouth at the lip of his coffee cup. “Check your phone.” He took another sip. ”You should have signed copies in your email inbox right now. I had my legal department go over everything and they’ve approved it. My e-signature is on them, waiting for yours… partner.”

Jo gave him the skeptical side eye as she sidelined her coffee for her phone. Scanting her hips in her seat, she fiddled in her pocket to free her mobile. “Partner?” she repeated, still unable to believe it entirely. “You can’t be serious!”

Enjoying her incredulity, Ansgar grinned, all straight white teeth highlighted by a ginger goatee. “See for yourself.”

Jo unlocked her phone and quickly swiped to her one new email notification. The signed proposals and agreements landed in her inbox at 9:01am and it was like Christmas in August, signed by none other than AGM himself. “Holy shit,” she breathed out on an exaggerated exhale, forgetting her business persona in her disbelief.

It was all there, in PDF format, with electronic colored post-its for her to sign at the bottom, underneath Ansgar. A checklist roster. Weekly inspections. Schedule for the work on the main stage, beginning the very next day. Contracts for fund raisers and benefits, detailing that Martinsson Construction as lead sponsor. The tentative renovation for the little theatre. And her secret wish of a to-scale model of the Opera House constructed for the Stockholm museum, Ansgar approved her commission for it!

“I could kiss you,” she enthused half-meaning it and half-distracted by all the goodness in black and white. She recovered herself with a chuckle. “I won’t – because I’m a professional – but I could! And I’d mean it!”

“That won’t be necessary.” Not necessary, but tempting. The thought shimmied itself into his head like a can-can dancer. “What can I say, Joline,” he said a bit too boldly, sitting forward in his seat. “You impressed me… your panache, your bravado, your eager-to-please… attitude for the good of all the people… in your company.”

One hand landed on her head, disbelief colored her face in a flush of excitement. “I’m so glad that I didn’t say no.” She waved her phone, display towards her companion. “I may never say no… ever!”

Oh the possibilities in that!

She went back to flipping through the documents on her phone, one by one, marveling at the brilliance of each one. “Who knew my crusading would do this?”

“I suspect,” Ansgar stated bluntly, a teasing light in those piercing blue eyes, “you did. You don’t suffer fools gladly and it seems, you don’t take no for an answer either.”

With her phone away, she put her elbow on the table and shelved her chin in her palm. “So… uh… who do I have to kill?”

“Pardon me?”

“Who do I have to kill? You were flapping your gums and going on about fighting and killing for my dreams. You just handed me my dreams… over a cup of coffee. So… who do I have to kill?”

The laugh that barked from Ansgar’s mouth caught him off guard. He wasn’t nearly prepared for her to twist what he’d said so far… but he supposed that he deserved it. He held up both of his hands in surrender, “No one. At least not today.”

Giving into the contagion of laughter, she commented, “And the CEO takes a punt at the funny.”

“How did I do?”

She muted her voice to a stage whisper, “GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!!”

He dipped his head in a bow and his gaze seemed to undress her from the waist up. “A successful business meeting. Are you overly attached to the idea of an omelette here?”

Joline didn’t mind the perusal, she indulged in her own. Answering his question, she shook her head, offering up something else instead, “Let’s top it all off.” She dangled the keys for her Triumph in front of him. “Got a helmet?”

“In the boot of my car.”

With a tip of her head, she encouraged, “You’ve been coveting my ride since I got here. I’ve got three hours before I have to be at work. So let’s go.” She pushed the keys at him. “You drive.”

Ansgar pushed to his feet and swiped the keys in a smooth move. He dumped enough money to cover their bill (and several others in the process). He strode for the door, leading Joline with a hand at the small of her back.

Feeling lighter than the helium balloon in her belly, Jo convinced herself that she knew what the G in his initials stood for: generous. But she also knew he’d never admit it.

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Dancing lessons

Summary: Barry is finally cast in a feature, the problem? He said he could dance and now he can either disappoint Sally or found a way to learn some steps.

Part 1 ● Part 2 ● Part 3 ● Part 4 ● Part 5 ● Part 6 ● Part 7 ● Part 8 ● Epilogue

Warnings: Swearing, blood, violence, guns, cheating maybe.

Part 5

And alarm clock went off somewhere and Barry woke up alone, he check out his watch and it said 7:00 a.m. just 4 hours had passed and he could feel the absence of the woman that was next to him just a couple minutes before.

He felt guilty, not entirely sure why and kept his head pressed down on the couch, it was not cheating, right? He had spend the night with a woman who wasn't his girlfriend, having dinner and playing board games and cuddling in the couch... but he did it because she was injured.

And smelling her hair and pushing her against him while they were sleeping was only to keep her safe, it meant nothing, it meant so little that he wouldn't mention a single thing to Sally, because there was nothing to talk about, she was his dancing instructor and a mean rival at scrabble, and now possibly a friend, a friend with beautiful eyes and flowy hair, whit a delicate body that fit perfectly in his arms...a friend with warm skin and red lips he was dying to know what would they taste like.

"Morning sunshine!" Her voice made him shake those dangerous thoughts away and he stood up to see her already dressed and holding two cups of coffee and a bag from a local bakery. "I didn't mean to wake you, but since I'm fine I thought you could use a coffee before going home".

"No, it's okay. Thanks" He said rubbing his eyes and joining her at the kitchen "Are those croissants?" He asked while she put the pastry on a platter.

"They are, I figured since I'm taking the day off I might as well make the best out of it, and since I can't drink an enormous amount of sugar and chocolate is the second best option" she took a bite of one of the pastries and he sited in front of her not quite sure of what he was supposed to say.

She on the other hand seemed not uncomfortable at all, she had a pink headband covering the stitches and that was the only difference, she continued to be the same relaxed and friendly woman she ever was. He was relived but also hurt a little maybe he thought they will have a long heartfelt conversation about the nature of their relationship and how sorry he was about his behavior but she didn't seem to mind at all, maybe it was for the best, at least they were friends now.

He walked down the stairs after he make her promise ten times she would not be opening the studio, and that he would check up on her in the afternoon. He was walking to his car when a familiar sensation in th back of his head alarmed him. He was being followed.

He opened the door cautiously looking around but he didn't see anyone and then, crossing the street in front of him, not caring enough to hide Fuches approach him, he froze in the spot, knowing too well his gun was safe under his bed and that he didn't even had a knife on him.

He looked better than the last time he saw him, no more open wounds, and his clothes were actually clean and new, but even when he looked put together his eyes looked tired and older than ever, maybe that's why he left him approach so easily.

Fuches opened the passenger's door and got inside, and Barry did the same, he start driving in silence in the unspoken understatement that they will do this in a more private place since the people opening the stores on that street were already coming out.

***

You let go a sigh of relief once he left, and look at your empty apartment already bored to death with the idea of staying in the whole morning, but you have promised not to do anything crazy so you put on a movie and sit on the couch in an attempt to become a cozy sloth.

Horror films were the select genre, trying to avoid anything remotely romantic that could reignite the feelings you have woken up to that morning. Not that his arms around your body didn't felt like heaven, because they did, but because you were sure you were dancing on a thin line that you were not willing to cross.

That's why you try so hard to be normal around him, there was no way you would give in on your feelings for Barry specially not around him, and yet you couldn't fight the urge to have him back and just talk to him, about anything he would think off, kick his ass in scrabble again, maybe you were just friends? Maybe after years of being harsh on yourself feeling like a faliure his presence and his optimism about his career was all that had attracted you and you wanted to be around him because it remained of you when you started and he was a nice person worth being friends with.

But that didn't explain why you needed to take a cold shower after he showed you the scars on his exposed skin, nor why did you went to sleep dreaming of touching them, you have to end that, starting with putting a barrier between the two, specially since he was happy with someone else, as happy as you are, you said angry at yourself and push your mind away from him.

Two hours passed and you were fine watching young attractive people running from their lifes, that you forgot that you were supposed to stay away from him and send him a text.

Since we are not dancing this afternoon you should bring money and alcohol and make the scrabble more interesting

The moment you hit "send" you regretted it, and ten minutes went by without any response, you were about to send another message making sure he knew you were just joking when to make the situation worse, the door opened and Alan walked in making you jump on the couch in surprise.

He was holding a nice bouquet of flowers and was about to say something nice when his expression changed with concern.

"What the hell happened to your head?" You have taken the headband off and the stitches were visible, he left his stuff on the ground while you try to explain what had happened leaving one important detail in the dark. "Why didn't you call? Y was free at 5 but I went out for drinks with the guys, you could have called, are you okay? I'm calling your doctor" His paternal voice while he check the wound make you feel worse even when you have done anything remotely accusatory.

"I'm fine, how was Dallas? Did you guys got the old man to sign?" He smile at you, like he always did when you resume his job into making old CEOs to sign their company's away to him and his lawyer friends.

"We did, in fact I was dying to get here to get you out to celebrate" He said pointing out the flowers "But maybe champagne is not the best idea right now" He said looking worried at the injury again.

"That and also the fact that is 10:00 a.m." You said and while he pick up his stuff from the floor and you quickly check your phone, no answer, maybe it was for the better, Barry Berkman was a dangerous path that you shouldn't walk and you could send a text cancelling your class later. You turn off the phone and help Alan out of his jacket.

He took you by the waist and pulled you in for a kiss, maybe was the guilt you felt what was making you eager to ease away a pain you haven't cause him yet but you deepened the kiss right there in the middle of the living room.

"Why was that for?" He asked with a confused happy look on his face holding you tight.

"Well is too early for champagne, but maybe not for other ways to celebrate" You said running your hands trough his arms and resting them on his chest.

"But your head..." He started with his hands on your back already making another choice.

"I'm fine, let's go" you wink at him and he carried you to the bedroom, with your heart rising on your chest loudly enough for your guilty thoughts to remain silent at least for the moment.

***

"Scoring with a married lady, I never thought you have that in you" Fuches said jokingly and Barry's hand tighten around the wheel.

"Leave her out of this" He growled and he saw the grin on Fuches face in the corner of his eye, he was teasing him and he fall right in "That's not what I was doing, she is just a friend" He added with lest conviction knowing he had said too much already.

"I know kid, you are way too decent to do that stuff, weird since you have no problem killing, but anyway I like the blonde one better..." he didn't finish talking since Barry almost lost control of the car when he mentioned Sally.

"Let Sally out of this or I swear to God I'll kill you right now" this time Fuches expression was not pleased, he looked at the road concerned with Barry's actions.

They parked in a drugstore that was empty at that time in the morning. And stand outside the car just watching the fence of the parking lot, Fuches light a cigarette and offered one to Barry but he rejected it.

"You are getting clumsy you know?" He said after a while, trying to find a way to bring on the subject without activating the timebomb he was when he got angry. "Using your own name on the hospital was stupid, oh yeah I know about your little excursion to the E.R." He said tossing the butt of the cigarette in the ground "This 'friend' of yours must be close to call herself Mrs. Berkman doesn't she?"

"She is my dance teacher... people assumed things" He started and the slight guilt in his voice was enough for Fuches to take the reins of the conversation.

"And I'm sure your girlfriend was aware of your whereabouts last night" He said, studying his reaction "Oh she doesn't know?"

"So you are going to threaten me with snitching on me with Sally now?" He said surprised "That's a bit ridiculous, why did you came back man?" He asked tired, he was sure now tha he could never kill him, no matter how much he had damaged him, that's not who he was anymore but his hesitation to end things with him encouraged Fuches to keep coming back into his life.

"Well the Chechens were not please to lose their men, the Bolivians think NoHo Hank betrayed them and the Burmese mob wanted you dead" He said and a pain in his head reminded Barry of the that night, and flashes of his actions play before his eyes, their men, the light fading away from Mayrbeck eyes still haunted him time to time. "Or whoever killed their leader for that matter, only the Chechens knew it was you and they kept it to themselves" he continued and Barry came back to the present, only nodding in understanding "So those guys thought it was Cristobal, since he survived your little outburst"

"And I suppose you didn't have anything to do with them thinking that" Barry assumed correctly.

"Of course not, as I also tip off NoHo Hank that his sweetheart was in danger so he could protect him" He said with a grin "Poor guy is so smitten by him is actually sweet, anyway the Bolivians and the Chechens got in peace after and they stop trying to kill me and welcome me into the family, but they were at war with the Burmese"

"And why does any of that to do with me? since you say they don't know who I am... they told them right? Hank rat me out to the Burmese?" He said connecting the dots on his head, and finally starting to get nervous about his momentary quiet life to blow up.

"It was a peace offering, they will give them this maniac killer who wrong the three of them and restore their peace, and they did already" He said putting out a photograph of a man covered in tattoos liying on the ground with multiple bullet holes on his body and head. "This is Marion Kowalski, an ex navy seal who mess with the wrong people and did some shady jobs for the mob for a price, and the American responsible for the Monastery massacre, and now they are all in peace"

"I don't understand any of these" Barry said regaining a momentary calm.

"Well Hank and Batir, the new boss, have different ideas about what peace means" He said turning on another cigarette "Hank is happy to keep the business running in peace and for Batir is a strategy to hurt them back with all they got." He put a hand on his shoulder when he said the last part and gave him a sad look.

"That includes me? It's insane man, I'm not coming with you, you can't convince me" He said putting his hand aside.

"No kid, I'm not here trying to convince you, this is a heads up" He said and pull out a passport with one of his many fake identities "I'm leaving to Italy, Hank arranged it, they are actively looking for you and since I don't know where you are I'm no longer useful but since he owns me Cristobal's life I got this last favor. They won't take a no for an answer and you either join them as a weapon or as a trophy".

"How long do I have?" He said now finally accepting the cigarette he offered him and looking away thinking.

"I don't know, Hank has been deviating their attention until I'm clear, after that I guess a day or two before they make a formal offer and after that is all up to you" He said and showed him a plane ticket "I'm leaving in a week so if I were you I will start making myself hard to find"

"Are you really going to Italy?" Barry asked finally after they share the silence, knowing too well it was the last time they will meet.

"Maybe, I wouldn't trust my own words, it was good seeing you kid" He said and offered him his hand. "Take care".

"You too" Barry said and resisted the urge to hug him since there were still too many open wounds between the two of them, that now will never have closure, Fuches turn away and start walking before Barry called him again "Hey Fuches!" He turned his head at him with a sad expression again "Thanks" they nodded and he walked away.

Barry tossed the cigarette on the ground and stood there for another ten minutes before getting on his car, his first instinct was to drive away and leave it all behind but he couldn't start the engine, so he took out his phone not sure who he was calling, there were 3 text messages on his screen, one from Sally from an hour ago, another from Y/N grom fifteen minutes before, and a third one from Andre just two minutes ago, in an attempt to ignore his reality read his first.

Where the fuck are you Block? We have the crew ready and I'm not putting my production on hold for you!

Before he could look at the other two Andre was calling him incredibly mad at him, and he shut everything else down and simply started his car while he answered.

"I'm sorry, I slept in, I'm on my way"

[cristalconnors]

BEST ALBUMS OF 2019: TOP TEN

SPECIAL CITATIONS:

HOMECOMING: THE LIVE ALBUM, Beyoncé

The live album feels like a lost art form. Of late, many feel thrown together without much thought- an offering to the most ardent of fans about as meaningful as a gift card you’d give your coworker. Homecoming is the antithesis of that: a flawless documentation of Beyoncé’s benchmark live performance at the 2018 edition of the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival that is a staggering recontextualisation of her entire life’s work, dazzlingly criss-crossing her discography, offering rollicking, thoughtful new arrangements of classics and deep-cuts alike, filtered through the lens of HBCU marching band, playing like a half time show that goes on and on and on, offering the final, definitive evidence that Beyoncé is the greatest showman in modern history by leaps and bounds. 

LEAK 04-13 (BAIT ONES), Jai Paul

Discovering Leak 04-13 (Bait Ones) sometime in the summer of 2013 was like being let in on a secret. I felt like the member of an exclusive club of people in-the-know, the possessor of a forbidden document that could only be discussed in hushed tones and accessed illegally. The circumstances of its arrival were uncertain. Had he leaked it purposefully? Were all of the songs really his? It didn’t even have a proper name (it would be christened Leak 04-13 (Bait Ones) many years later). The enthralling mystery of it was eclipsed only by the music itself. It sounded like you shouldn’t have been listening to it, a top secret transmission intercepted and compromised in the process. Its stunningly lush, busy textures were threadbare, pieces of the songs suddenly falling away only to reappear, as if you were streaming it and your internet connection was struggling to keep up. But that only contributed to the mystical grandeur of this earth shattering R&B that felt so purposeful, so impeccably sequenced (not by Jai), so bizarre and at times even funny, so much so that it was difficult to imagine how it could possibly be unfinished- it was perfect.

I don’t think I’d ever really understood how thoroughly devastating the leak was to Jai Paul himself until I read the lengthy note that accompanied his abrupt return on June 1st of this year, when he not only graced us with two stunning new tracks but properly released this album for the first time, a remarkable gesture of goodwill to his fans who gleefully partook in the stolen material, many without much regard to how it’d become available to them. Reading the letter, I felt guilty. The extent to which the leak derailed his career, demolished his trust in the institutions the industry is built on, compelled him to cast himself away from music entirely- his lifeline- and, in his own words, “withdraw from life in general” was genuinely heartbreaking. But the official release of the album that caused so much strife is the culmination of a years long journey of recovery, reconciliation, and growth. It’s a hard-earned reclamation of ownership that signals that Jai Paul, one of the most vital, distinct voices to emerge from the decade, is ready to get back on the horse. Look out.

THE TOP 10 ALBUMS OF 2019:

10. CALIGULA, Lingua Ignota

Caligula is maybe the most stunning document of feminine rage I’ve ever heard- an improbable synthesis of metal and opera imbued with biblical imagery and defined by language that’s as flowery as it is vicious (“may your own shame hang you / may dishonor drown you / may there be no kindness / no kindness / no kindness”). Kristin Hayter’s classically trained voice bends almost to the point of snapping, sometimes bringing her tongue to her soft palate to make a sound somewhere between a hum and a gurgle before launching into blood curdling shrieks as the music around her morphs as well, twinkling piano and organ giving way to billowing, thunderous guitar. It’s music that belongs in a symphony hall, if only they’d allow moshing.

09. SINNER, Moodymann

The songs on Sinner, Kenny Dixon, Jr.’s twelfth album as Moodymann, unspool on their own terms, continually mutating as they go on, shifting gears just when you think you’ve got a handle on them. His house isn’t very dense, but there’s always a remarkable amount of intrigue in his deceptively simple sound, evoking early 70′s R&B until strange idiosyncrasies pop out organically from the fabric of the song, pulling focus, reframing it as you’re listening to it. It’s strange, compelling stuff that beckons you to dive beneath its surface, promising you’ll find something new each time.

08. NO HOME RECORD, Kim Gordon

My favorite Sonic Youth songs were always the ones Kim Gordon did lead vocals on. Her hulking monotone was strangely captivating, even when it wasn’t clear what she was even talking about (which was most of the time.) No Home Record is a sublime capitalization and expansion of her power as a vocalist and writer, embracing those same abstract sensibilities that have defined her work for nearly 40 years but pushing them boldly into the future, crafting entrancing, often menacing sonic dreamscapes that are littered with oblique, powerfully resonant hints at the fruits of her near decade of self-discovery after divorcing Thurston Moore. It’s a debut decades in the making that shockingly reveals new, untapped powers from an indelible titan of rock we thought we’d had pegged.

07. HOUSE OF SUGAR, (Sandy) Alex G

Alex Giannascoli’s folk rock warps itself, intentionally obscuring textures and images in a convoluted effort to clarify the feeling behind them. It shouldn’t work but always does, and on House of Sugar, his eighth full-length effort in just nine years, he finds thrilling new power in simplicity and repetition, exemplified by the woozy abstract tapestry of songs like “Walk Away,” “Taking,” or “Near,” wringing a simple phrase, or even just a word, for everything it’s worth, repeating them over and over and over again to craft crystal clear images of longing and pain. But the more traditional songs are just as gripping, striking his strange balance between downtown and backwoods, crafting folk that emanates from deep in the soul and soars out into outer space. 

06. BANDANA, Freddie Gibbs & Madlib

Freddie Gibbs and Madlib reunite on the most virtuosic rap album of the year, taking their unlikely marriage of gangster rap and delicately constructed, meditative beats that sound almost like memories to astonishing new heights. Gibbs grapples with personal demons- the lowest lows of his career, his ongoing relationship with drug abuse- but also flexes, showcasing his effortless flow as he flawlessly keeps pace with Madlib’s twisty production, navigating signature changes and tricky rhythms with ease, perfectly in concert with Madlib’s searching, soulful looping beats that envelop you, contorting right when you’ve settled into them. The collaboration keeps you on your toes, demanding your full attention as they whisk you through their kaleidoscopic vision of masterful, immersive rap.

05. ALL MIRRORS, Angel Olsen

The breakup album has never sounded so lush. Plenty can wax poetic about ridding themselves of toxic partners and of newfound freedom, but Angel Olsen tries to get to the heart of what it all meant, how she’d allowed herself to get lost in the relationship, forgetting herself. She makes the process sound luxurious, utilizing a 12-piece orchestra to inject a bolt of energy and welcome drama into her abstracted songwriting, embracing the darkness and working through it to find herself anew on the other side.

04. WHEN I GET HOME, Solange

When I Get Home sounds like you should be listening to it in a museum- and knowing Solange you’ll probably be able to at some point. Its heady sophistication is constantly announcing itself to you, but that’s not to say that it’s impenetrable. It’s her most personal effort, a surreal tour through the Houston of her memory and the Houston of her imagination, exploring the sounds she was reared on, but refracting them, embracing repetition to create a dreamlike, prismatic journey through her influences that, as Solange puts it, can’t be a singular expression of herself “there’s too many parts, too many spaces, too many manifestations, too many lines, too many curves, too many troubles, too many journeys, too many mountains, too many rivers, so many...”

03. NORMAN FUCKING ROCKWELL!, Lana Del Rey

Norman Fucking Rockwell! is Lana Del Rey’s victory lap, an amalgamation of everything she’s always done well packed into a sprawling 68 minute apocalyptic opus, invoking Neil Young, Joni Mitchell, and most memorably, Sublime while utilizing her trademark playful, disaffected word play to craft a soaring requiem for the world as we know it. “L.A.’s in flames” and who cares when there’s a good time to be had? It’s a stunning “fuck you” to an industry and populace that dismissed her viciously when she arrived on the scene, forging her masterpiece on her own terms.

02. U.F.O.F., Big Thief

U.F.O.F. evokes the sensation of reaching out and attempting to make a connection- a connection with another realm, with the dead, with alien life, with a distant lover. The music is open and searching, and to hear the band talk about the process of writing and recording it, this spirit of experimentation was present in the studio. They’d tinker with instruments none of them knew how to play, hoping whatever they could coax out of it might speak to the ethereal textures and opaque poetry of the music they were working on. The result is a ghostly folk masterclass that launches Big Thief into the stratosphere as they work seamlessly in tandem to craft music that touches God.

01. TITANIC RISING, Weyes Blood

Struggling to cope with a world on the precipice of collapse, Natalie Mering looks backward, invoking the baroque pop of the 1970′s to search for solace in the stars or the arms of another, like Karen Carpenter scrolling through Tinder or Co-Star. But trying to stave herself away in the past only finds herself submerged in her childhood bedroom. So she bolts forward, utilizing familiar frameworks to craft stunningly lush, contemporary and urgent pop that grapples with crises both personal and apocalyptic with an optimism that feels not naive but like a vital lifeline, like a hand reaching out in the darkness to pull you to safety. It may be a futile gesture, but at the end of a decade that’s abruptly descended into a hellscape, it’s a call to keep the faith and forge on.

[queenofmahishmati]

50 Questions You've Never Been Asked

Tagged by @iwearplaids and @jimikkikammal 💕

What is the colour of your hairbrush? mahogany handle with dusty gold paddle (wow I sound fancy)

Name a food you never eat? Prawns and Shrimps cause I'll die.

Are you typically too warm or too cold? I'm one of those people who run extra warm no matter what, used to be called my ex's personal space heater. Although my hands are a different story, they grow super cold when it's cold...

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? Wondering if I should get up and have something to drink or not... still doing it actually

What is your favourite candy bar? Alphenlibe. Was a sucker for that candy

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? IPL matches boohoo. I was once an idiot

What is the last thing you said out loud? Good nighty boo ~ to my roommate. He calls me wifey, I call him my boo. My gay best friend forever!!!! ((I'm still rolling around in my bed and it's 8am on Sunday))

What is your favourite ice cream? Banana and Cream from Häagen-Dazs. Plain chocolate too!!!!

What was the last thing you had to drink? Warm Choco milk. Helps me sleep

Do you like your wallet? I love mine cause my mom gifted it to me!!!!

What was the last thing you ate? Biryaaaani

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? I did... actually bought them a little earlier and got the package last weekend.

The last sporting event you watched? a game of ice hockey in February I believe. Or was it January?

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? Salted with butter. Plain and simple.

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? My Uni friends group chat. We had a 15 people zoom chat a little before that.  

Ever go camping? I used to back home. A LOT!!! Not yet here.

Do you take vitamins? I do. D3 and C supplements.  

Do you go to church every Sunday? uh nope never have I ever

Do you have a tan? I do. Or maybe it's just my burnt skin cause despite being brown, I burn in the sun very badly if I'm not wearing enough SPF

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? Tough choice. Chinese food.

Do you drink your soda with a straw? Nope

What colour socks do you usually wear? Grey 

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? I barely drive and even if I do, nope. Too careful.

What terrifies you? The current situation around the world. I wanna go home but I can't...

Look to your left, what do you see? a picture from of me and my mum with my tiny teddy bear and owl

What chore do you hate? EVERYTHING!!! But I also find cleaning therapeutic. I can shut off my mind and just let my hands do it

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? Chris Hemsworth 

What’s your favourite soda? I don't drunk soda. Only coke— wait, is coke soda?? 

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? I go in cause I don't like drive-thrus

Who’s the last person you talked to? My mom last night over facetime just before I passed out 

Favourite cut of beef? Strip roast, I like them thin and quick to cook and eat 

Last song you listened to? Map of the soul: ON ~ BTS 

Last book you read? Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami

Favourite day of the week? Wednesday ~ the exact day when the past and future weekends aren't too far away

Can you say the alphabet backwards? No. I mess up as soon as I get W

How do you like your coffee? with lots of milk and sugar, sometimes with a hint of cocoa powder ~ love me a latte

Favourite pair of shoes? Adidas Originals Superstar with gold tag and lace ends ~ Fancy!!! 

The time you normally go to bed? Sometime between 11 and Midnight.... 2am on weekends

The time you normally get up? 7:30am

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? Both. I live the golden hour during sunrises and the dusty pink gold glow of sunsets

How many blankets on your bed? Right now two, I'm rolled up in them

Describe your kitchen plates: Plates? Got ten plain white round ones. About 8 smaller creamy ones with dotted lines, 4 large rectangular ones. The rest are all bowls. 

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? Pistachio flavoured Tequila

Do you play cards? YASSSSS you bet I do!!!

What colour is your car? the on I had back home is cherry red, my mom has it now. Don't have one here yet

Can you change a tire? IM SMALLER THAN A TIRE have you seen me????

Your favourite province? British Columbia, I looove this place

What did you do today that made someone else happy? today just started for me, so maybe yesterday, I made a random Zoom chat room and invited my uni friends, all of them, to have a chat for 4 hours. It was THE BEST!!! Everyone were happy by the end of it...

Favourite job you’ve ever had? I lived in Scotland shortly and worked there as a restorer. Had to work out in the cold sometimes or even rain, but I loved it.

How did you get your biggest scar? The one on the back of my ankle is like a huge wave with three ling stripes. During a summer vacation, I was playing with my cousins in the courtyard of our ancestral home. Our parents were cleaning out old things, so there was stuff everywhere. I ran across the courtyard, only to step on this boti that was laying on it side and the coconut grating end of it kind of grated my flesh out... I'm trying not to be graphic but yeah, I didn't even feel the pain until one of cousin screamed at all the blood dripping on the floor. Sage to say I scared the shit out of all the adults at home and then the village doctor by refusing to get it stitched. It healed in no time though, even without stitches. It's like, I was s vampire back then. Hmm...

Tagging @puppyloveblog24 @finnreyskywalker @carminavulcana @avani008 @rangdeenis @loveisyaariyan and anyone else who wants to do this!!!

[marvelousbirthdays]

Happy Birthday, sirenr

May 1-a sweet and smutty WinterShock, for @sirenr

Written by @wahwahwaffles

Hired Hand

** Upstate New York**

Tony Stark was perhaps the worst birthday gift giver of all time.  

Pepper Potts would be the first one to tell everyone that once she became the CEO of Stark Industries instead of his (awesome/amazing/fantastic/all-seeing/all-hearing/all-knowing) personal assistant, that Tony Stark was absolute shit at gift giving. 

For Darcy’s 24th birthday, he had given her a pallet of post it notes in all of the neon colors.  She had immediately made him regret that decision when she had covered the Iron Legion and the Mark 47 to resemble flappy papered skittles.  

For Darcy’s 27th birthday, he had given her a super powered roomba.  After the eighth time the little vacuum had sucked up her bathroom tiles, she had reprogrammed it to follow Tony around, sucking off his pants at every opportunity.

And now, for Darcy’s 29th birthday, Tony had given her a farm.

A mother fucking, real ass, totally legitimate farm.  With tractors and a barn and goats and haystacks and freaking outhouses.  Sure, there were inside bathrooms, but still.  Outhouses.

For the record, Darcy had been hoping that being the best laboratory manager that Stark Industries had ever seen would have garnered her something sparkly for her birthdays.  Or maybe a gift card with an extra zero on it.  Darcy Lewis was not a picky girl, really.  She wouldn’t have complained about a generic birthday card with a lottery scratch off ticket.  

But no.  Tony had gifted her a farm full of bleating, stinky goats.

Rhodey had tried to explain that his heart had been in the right place.  Tony was busy with his own life, needing less and less time in labs.  The Sokovian Accords had been amended to within an inch of their lives thanks to Darcy, and in the last few years she had burned herself out with politics and science and everything.  She needed a break.

“He couldn’t have gifted me one of his private islands in the Caribbean?” Darcy whined as she struggled with a bag of feed in the ancient barn.  

The goats were bleating louder than ever and she could swore she heard them saying ‘Feed us Darcy.  Feed us now.  Feed us Always. Or we will eat your converses.’  And she wouldn’t put it past the hairy, horned devils.  They had already eaten half of her favorite sweatshirt (that she had accidentally left on a fence post two days ago.  It was probably part of Stark’s grand plan of embarrassing her.  He’d given her a farm full of clothing eating goats and soon she’d have to walk around nude.  And shoeless.  

“Baaaaaahhhh!”

“SHUT UP!” Darcy answered back as she desperately tried to yank on the bag of feed that must have weighed well over a gazillion thousand tons.  Her legs were locked as she bent at the waist, her ass in the air as she huffed and puffed and pulled as hard as she could.  She was red in the face, and random bits of her hair were sticking to her forehead and her glasses were sliding precariously off of her nose and the damned bag of feed wasn’t budging.  “I DON’T CARE!  EAT MY PANTS AND BRAS AND SWEATERS AND SHOES!  I’LL WALK AROUND BUCK NAKED!”

“Now.  That’d be a sight to see.”

Darcy released the bag of feed and popped upright immediately, all the blood that had been rushing to her head now rushing out of it.  She swayed on her feet, even as she tried to turn to see who had seen her make a spectacle of herself in the barn she owned.  

He was tall.  That was for sure.  Black leather jacket.  She looked up.  The broadest shoulders this side of the Mississippi.  And up. Scruffy scruffy scruff face.  And up.  A sinful smirk.  And up.

Twinkling gray-blue eyes that definitely belonged to one Bucky Barnes, ex-Winter Soldier, best friend to Steve Rogers, current superhero.  A side of vintage beef that Darcy had been eyeing up for months now.  She’d managed to say five whole sentences to him once, making him laugh and his laugh had gotten her so flustered that she had been in a euphoric daze for the rest of the day.  Thor had called him handsome and good and a good match for her.  And Thor was never wrong.  

Although at that moment, handsome seemed an understatement.  Darcy blinked her blurry vision and gave a quick glance to the whole package and felt a bit of her mouth go dry. And good?  With the way he was essentially laughing at her current predicament with his eyes?  

“Asshole,” Darcy slurred out.

“Woah there, sweetheart,” Bucky cautioned, his arms going out as Darcy swayed and pitched forward, the result of having struggled for ten minutes with her head practically upside down and low blood sugar causing her to pitch forward, a dead weight in Bucky’s arms.

**

“Bucky, when you’re done with the farm work, please come back and help me to scratch an itch I have.’

Bucky looked back at her, the smile on his face wicked enough to peel the paint off of the barn he had just painted last weekend.  He pulled her into a tender strong embrace, the nimble and skilled fingers on his left hand going to her apron strings and gently undoing them, even as the perfect scruff on his face made tickling scratches on her neck that his mouth quickly soothed.

“Miss Lewis, it would be wrong for me to leave that itch of yours for even a minute,” his voice was deep and graveled and made electric tingles go up and down her spine. He pulled her into his body and groaned as he ground his hard, ready length against the softness of her hip.

“But the goats---”

**

Bucky could honestly say that this was the most torturous thing that had ever happened to him.  Well---since the last time he’d been actively tortured by the bad guys.  If Hydra could have ever gotten their hands on the curvy dame in his embrace, he’d have been a goner.  

She had fainted.  He had caught her  And she had almost immediately gone into the most vivid, interactive and ridiculous dream that he really, really wished he could dive into himself.  Her hands were everywhere, petting at his chest, tangled in his hair, gliding down his back.  Her mouth, when not cooing about him and what his mouth and tongue were doing to her, was placing wet little marks on his jaw.  

“Uhm---Miss Lewis?  Darcy?” Bucky wondered, turning in a full circle in the barn, before spotting a bale of fresh hay that looked just big enough to lay her out on. He did so quickly and made a yelping sound when the girl who had not managed to lift a fifty pound bag of feed, somehow gripped the lapels of his jacket and pulled him down into her, hard.

He sprawled out on top of her willing body but visibly panicked immediately as the bale of hale turned out to be not substantial enough for the both of them.  They went tumbling onto the ground, turning in the loose hay.  Bucky managed to turn them so Darcy landed on top of him, soft and plush and warm in his embrace.

“How many HANDS do you have?” he said before laughing softly as Darcy and her many hands continued to sleepily grope at every inch of him she could.  “Darcy.  Darcy wake up!”

“Let the goats starve and just RAVISH me already!” Darcy ordered and then blinked her eyes open.  She looked around and blue-green eyes the color of the most beautiful Mediterranean sea slowly crossed as they focused on two large pieces of hay that had tangled in her hair and lay on her forehead.  “Uhmmm”

“You fainted,” Bucky explained.

“And we fell in the hay?” Darcy looked around in confusion.

“Sort of,” Bucky shrugged.  She made a movement to get up and off of him, but he held on tight and shook his head.  “Don’t move so fast, sweetheart..”

“Oh, yeah, right---get up slow, or I’ll faint again,” Darcy whispered.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed then that slow, sinful smirk pulled at his lips.  His left hand on her hip squeezed every so slightly.  “Also, this ain’t so bad a place to be.  Remind me to thank Stark.”

“Thank Stark for what?” Darcy wondered.

“For buying you a goat farm for your birthday,” Bucky smirked.  “And for giving me the plum job of farm hand.”

“Oh,” Darcy breathed out, looking down at Bucky in fascination as a crimson blush extended over the bridge of her nose and onto her cheeks.  “Happy Birthday to me, then.”

“Yeah,” Bucky chuckled low and ever so slowly began to sit the both of them up, his left hand still squeezing her hip, his right hand gently on the back of her head.  One of the goats let out a loud bleating noise and he huffed out another aborted chuckle.  “Let me just feed those goats real quick for you, Miss Lewis.”

“Thanks,” Darcy nodded, immediately fanning at her fire engine red cheeks as Bucky pulled himself up to his feet.  She stopped and automatically began brushing hay off of Bucky’s pants, going higher until she was actually caressing his rear end.

“Now, now, sweetheart,” Bucky scolded lightly.  “Let me feed the goats, and then we can go back to your wicked little fantasy of farm hand and the lady.  I promise.  I’ll ravish you proper.”