#goddamn someone shoot me a tranquilizer or something

[necrotic-nephilim]

"Can you two manage not to tear each other apart while I'm gone?"

Bruce, Jason, and Tim (With JayTim or maybe even BruJayTim)

send a quote and a ship and I'll write a short fic!

god, this one was so good. so, you get the catch-22 of this being a bit longer, 4.5k, but with the warning, i have not edited it so it might be a little rough. but the whole point of this is quick fun so! this is basically Tim and Jason trying to kill each other bc they're under the influence of a toxin. both have a relationship with Bruce and are mad about it. it does end in some short JayTim porn and an implied BruJayTim ending. you could argue dub-con, but it's mostly consensual. enjoy <3

Tim honestly would’ve preferred if it was fear toxin or Joker venom.

Those, he at least knew the tricks for dealing with. How to keep his heart rate down, how to focus and not give in to his body’s adrenaline response. And even if none of those failed, the worst of the fear toxin was just something Tim could wait out while playing distracting music.

This was different.

Anger was different.

“It looks like someone took Crane’s compound and modified it,” Bruce, the lucky bastard who had managed not to inhale the substance, was stood perfectly calm in front of the Batcomputer. “It’s difficult to tell though without a direct sample.”

“If you would just let me look at it maybe we could get somewhere,” Tim hissed through grit teeth, aiming a lethal scowl at Bruce. His nails were digging into his palm. He frowned and tried to take a break. “I’m sorry.”

Bruce looked over his shoulder at Tim with concern and pity. “Are you sure you don’t want to be tranquilized until I synthesize the cure?”

“Bruce, if you try to get close enough to tranq me, I’ll probably try to rip your larynx out with my teeth,” Tim said. The itch for violence sat right underneath his fingertips. He was desperate for it, already twitching at the thought.

Logic and reasoning were hard to hold onto. Every straight thought Tim had was immediately consumed by the fire of fury, burned into something unrecognizable.

Tim didn’t feel like himself when he was angry. That was the worst part. He never liked his anger before and now, it was the only part of him on display. An ugly and twisted thing.

“He could just shoot you with a tranq dart,” Jason said smoothly. “I’d pay to see it.”

Jason was also affected by the rage toxin, though compared to Tim, he looked barely bothered. His head was tilted back to rest against the back of his chair, eyes closed. Both hands were in his lap, fingers calmly laced. His hands were forced together by the same cuffs that Tim was also wearing. Tim had suggested the cuffs when he tried to claw out Bruce’s eyes because Bruce put a hand on his shoulder. Despite Jason’s lack of reaction, it was universally decided to also put Jason in the cuffs. The handcuffs were chained to the chairs Tim and Jason were sitting in, with at least six feet’s distance between them so they couldn’t try to grab each other.

Which Tim had done at least a half a dozen times by now.

“If you’re not going to have helpful input you can keep your goddamn mouth shut,” Tim snapped, holding himself still in the chair from trying to launch across the room again. His muscles were so tense from clenching them that he was starting to shake.

“Tim,” Bruce said softly, giving him a look. Bruce was perfectly fine if Tim snapped at him. But when Tim snapped at Jason, he got a stern reprimand.

Which only pissed Tim off more.

He didn’t understand how he was fine with Bruce sleeping with both of them now. The thought was ridiculously enraging, how he could allow Bruce to even be around Jason Todd. It usually didn’t bother Tim, and was one of the things Tim accepted about Bruce. The lack of monogamy.

But now? Staring at Jason’s smug face that Tim itched to break? It made Tim’s blood boil.

He was more important and useful to Bruce than Jason could ever be. And Tim didn’t have a pile of bodies on his ledger. He actually knew he to behave like a person and not a wild animal.

Ironic how they looked now, then.

Jason’s face split into a feral grin. He leaned forward. “Yeah, Tim,” his tone mocked the one Bruce used. “Let’s behave ourselves.”

Tim could see it in Jason’s eyes. How angry he was, how he was holding back everything that Tim couldn’t. His little show was a facade and Tim damn well knew it.

He wanted to rip Tim apart just as badly.

Now it was Jason who Bruce gave the look to. “This is easier for you to control than it is for him, Jason. Don’t try to provoke him.”

Tim hated how he was spoken about as if he wasn’t even there. Like he was some hapless child throwing a temper tantrum that Bruce was indulging, but sharing quiet whispers about with the real adults.

Like he thought Jason could control himself better than Tim just because Jason had experience with the Lazarus Pit, making him less susceptible to anger manipulation.

At least that was the working theory, currently. Jason’s working theory was simply that he was better than Tim. It was when he said that, that Tim suggested the handcuffs. He had enough of his wits left about him to know he’d sort of regret killing Jason Todd, no matter how badly he wanted to right now.

Jason just shrugged at Bruce’s words and relaxed back into his chair, crossing his legs. “He shouldn’t be so easily provokable then.”

“You know damn well-” Tim started.

“Timothy.” Bruce put a command in his voice that he rarely used with Tim. It made Tim straighten on instinct. The endless patience Bruce had was getting worn more and more thin with every jab and insult traded between Tim and Jason. He looked like he was at his wit’s end. “Don’t listen to him.”

A slow, deep breath did nothing to calm Tim’s nerves. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and then resisted the urge to spit it at Bruce. “B, I love you, but you have no idea how hard this is. Especially around him of all people.”

The look that crossed Bruce’s face was pained. They always danced around the elephant in the room, that was Bruce accepting Jason back into the fold a little too quickly for everyone’s comfort. It was his soft spot showing. Even when Tim wasn’t under the influence of a drug he didn’t like it and had tried several times to warn Bruce that Jason was a lost cause.

It’d caused a lot of arguments on their best days. Weeks of not speaking to each other on their worst.

And because Tim was the dutiful partner, the loving Robin, he always gave in first. Bruce needed him. In some ways, romantically. But in most ways, Bruce just needed genuine companionship from someone who wasn’t batshit crazy and murdering drug lords like it was a sport. That was Tim’s job. A job he liked, even.

Not that he was too fond of it right now.

They both knew, deep down Bruce had desperate wants of Jason and Tim getting along. The soft comments Bruce made about how well Tim and Jason could work together in a hypothetical always held an unspoken meaning. It wasn’t actually about Tim working with Jason on the field. It was about the fantasy of them being in Bruce’s bed at the same time, loving each other the way they loved him.

That would happen over Tim’s cold, dead body.

“I know,” Bruce said quietly. He reached out for Tim, then seeing the look in Tim’s eye, seemed to think against it and pulled his hand back. It only made Tim angrier. Angry Bruce didn’t currently trust Tim to give him affection. Angry Bruce was right not to trust him. So goddamn angry that despite craving comfort, all Tim wanted to do was bite the hand that fed him. A frustrated growl came out of Tim’s throat and he kicked the ground.

“You know,” Jason drawled, studying Tim with his barely contained madness, “I’m glad for it, honestly. I was starting to think you didn’t have any bite in you at all, Drake. Least we all know what it takes for you to finally snap.”

Tim opened his mouth for a biting insult, but looked at Bruce. He took a deep breath. “I hope all this self-restraint you’re showing is a lesson you keep when all this is over. The last thing we need is for you to go on another murder rampage because someone hurt your feelings.”

Jason’s eyes flared. His hands curled into fists. “Oh, you have no idea the self-restraint I show. If you want to see on a real rampage I’ll fucking-”

“Enough!” Bruce slammed a hand on the console. He ran his hand over his face and sighed. “I have more files on fear toxin in my study I need to find.” Bruce looked between them, giving them both a hard stare. “Can you two manage not to tear each other apart while I’m gone?”

“Ask him,” Jason shrugged. He was trying to sound nonchalant again, but he spoke through grit teeth. “I’m just fine over here.”

Tim just held up his cuffed hands, showing where the chain ended, keeping him firmly connected to the steel chair. “I couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to.”

Bruce nodded. He passed one more look between the two of them. “I’ll be right back. We’ll figure this out, I promise.” Again, he looked like he wanted to reach out. To which of them, Tim wasn’t sure. probably both, which sent an involuntary wave of disgust through his body. If Bruce touched Jason in front of him, Tim was probably going to puke. Bruce turned on his heel and walked out of the cave. They both watched his figure slowly disappear from view.

Before Tim could even turn to Jason and say something, he was tackled to the ground by a blindingly fast and heavy human body.

“What the-” Tim started, raising his hands to protect his face when a fist tried to come down on it. “How the fuck-”

Jason was wearing a grin that had gone completely mad, in every definition of the word. He had easily pinned Tim to the ground, a knee on Tim’s chest. Jason’s hands were still cuffed together but somehow, he’d undone the chain connecting him to his chair. Which boded particularly poorly for Tim, who was still chained to his chair, giving his arms a limited range of movement to defend himself.

Of course, Jason had picked the lock without either of them noticing.

“Thought you were the smart one, Drake,” Jason sneered. His hands were forced together, so when he reached for his waist with one hand they both had to move away from Tim’s face. “You really fucking thought I’d willingly hand over all my weapons to Bruce in a room with you?” He pulled a small, switchblade out from under his waistband and flipped it open. “I wouldn’t have even if I wasn’t drugged.”

“I knew you were acting, you fucking bastard,” Tim snarled. He didn’t have a weapon. It had been his suggestion to hand all of them over to Bruce because Tim was trying to be reasonable.

He should’ve fucking known better. There was never any reasoning with Jason.

Tim still had his bare hands. He launched them toward Jason’s throat. They managed to curl around flesh, nails just starting to dig in, when Jason stabbed Tim in the hand. Tim yelled, yanking his hand away and taking the other one with it.

That was the other shitty part of the anger. It made pain harder to ignore.

“Had to convince Bruce it was okay to leave you alone with me,” Jason said, shrugging slightly. “Figured I would only get one chance.” He raised the knife and tried to bring it down on Tim’s face. Tim managed to stop him, getting the knife tangled in the chains. “For fuck’s sake.” Jason shifted his weight. He pulled the knife free and brought up his over leg, using it to pin down the chain under his boot. Without any slack, Tim’s hands were forced against the ground, tugging uselessly.

“I will rip you apart with my teeth if I have to,” Tim growled, trying to snap at Jason’s face to prove his point.

Jason easily dodged and laughed. “I’d like to see you try. Maybe It’ll make you interesting, for once.” He brought the knife down and held it to Tim’s throat. “Grayson, I could’ve understood. He’s a pretty guy. Got a good sense of humor on him. Even Gordon. I don’t like her, but I could’ve respected it.” Jason’s face twisted into an ugly look, staring down at Tim with utter contempt. “But you? I have to share Bruce with you of all people? My goddamn replacement? That’s just fucking insulting.”

Maybe you shouldn’t have gotten yourself killed then,” Tim shot back. “You were easy to replace.”

“Yeah, provoke the guy with a knife to your throat,” Jason pressed the blade against Tim’s skin until a drop of blood was sliding down his adam’s apple. “I’ll show you what a dead Robin looks like.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “You really think Bruce will forgive you for killing me?” He tugged at the chain as hard as he could. It still wasn’t budging. “He’d tear you apart.”

“Yeah, I really do,” Jason mocked Tim. He leaned in close enough for Tim to smell mint on Jason’s breath. “He always does. He’ll just blame it on the toxin. We both know he always forgives me no matter what I do.” His grin was a ghastly thing. “Can you say the same, Drake?”

Tim just growled. He headbutted Jason, not caring about the knife. If he was going to die, he would at least leave his mark.

Jason jerked back, rubbing his nose. Tim had hopefully broken it. Blood was already starting to pour down Jason’s face. Jason had the audacity to laugh. “Cute.” He rubbed his nose for a moment, feeling the bone. “You know I’m not going to kill you, though. That would be way too nice.”

“Nice?” Tim scoffed. “Did you finally learn the meaning of mercy, or something?”

“For you? Never.” Jason brought the knife to Tim’s face. “I just want to make you wish you were dead.” he dug the blade into Tim’s temple and Tim yelled, feeling it cut through his skin all the way down to his jaw. “What part of you do I have to mutilate to make Bruce stop loving you?”

Tim didn’t say anything. He was too busy trying to blink through the pain of a shallow cut that should’ve felt like nothing. Instead, it felt like a hot iron had branded the entire left side of Tim’s face, melting most of his skin off.

“What’s so pretty it could make Bruce like someone as pathetic as you?” Jason pressed on. He put another cut across Tim’s face, slashing through his cheek. “You’ve got a nice face. Is that it?” He leaned back so he could rip Tim’s shirt apart, exposing Tim’s chest. “We both know Bruce is a physical guy. Maybe it’s something else.” The blade trailed across Tim’s chest, looking for the next place to cut.

Tim managed to get leverage against the concrete with his feet. He pushed himself up as hard and fast as he could, throwing Jason off of him. Before Jason had the chance to recover, Tim launched himself forward and wrapped the chain around Jason’s throat.

“Maybe his love for you is only skin deep,” Tim pulled the chain as tight as it could go, watching Jason’s face turn red without oxygen. The rational part of him knew he was taking too much pleasure in watching Jason struggle for air. The rest of him didn’t care. “But Bruce actually loves me.”

Jason snarled. “He’s loved me longer.”

He wildly stabbed at Tim until the knife sank into Tim’s forearm. Tim screamed and let go, giving Jason slack to breathe, getting a hand under the chain and yanking hard on it. Tim didn’t fall off of Jason but instead fell into him. Their bodies were pressed together, and Jason used it as an excuse to wrap the chain around Tim, forcing them against each other.

“Can’t get away from me now,” Jason whispered into Tim’s ear. He ripped his knife out of Tim’s arm.

“You really want to be this close to me?” Tim asked. He tried to headbutt Jason again but didn’t have enough damned room to move. “Your fucking funeral.”

“I’m the one with the knife,” Jason said in a sing-song voice. He wiggled his arms between them and brought the knife against Tim’s crotch. Tim had his pants as a layer of fabric protecting him, but he still went rigid. “Is it here? Is this what Bruce likes so much? Go on. Tell me how he likes to fuck you, Drake. Bet you’re real fucking vanilla about it and he has to be all nice to you.”

“You sound jealous,” Tim tried to bite Jason, who kept pulling his head away. “You’re the one who needs to hear him say he’s proud of you just to come. I’m not the one of us who cries during sex.”

“How the hell-” Jason’s whole body jerked in anger.

Tim knew his grin was feral. “Trust me, I know all the embarrassing details. Bruce talks about it all the time.” That wasn’t entirely true. Tim had just overheard it once when Bruce forgot to turn off his comms. But the lie was far more embarrassing for Jason.

“I could make you cry,” Jason sounded angrier than Tim had ever heard him, which was a hell of a feat. “He’s just not fucking you hard enough. Putting you in your goddamn place like you deserve.”

“You want to fuck me, now?” Tim taunted. “I thought you hated me.”

“Too vanilla to know what hatefucking is, Drake?” Jason shot back. He pressed the knife harder into Tim’s crotch. “I could make you fucking beg for it.”

“Like hell.”

“You wanna find out?” Jason asked.

Tim paused his struggles. He pulled back and gave Jason an incredulous look. “You’re not actually serious.”

“Either I kill you, torture you, or bitch you.” Jason shrugged. He dug the knife down enough to cut open Tim’s pants. The fabric tore loudly. “I’ll let you pick.”

“I’ll kill you first,” Tim shot back. He refused to take the offer seriously.

He didn’t know what his answer would be, if it was a serious offer, so it was better for Tim to not think about it entirely.

“Scared you’ll like it?” Jason was just mocking him now. “If I ruin you enough, you’ll come crawling back for me instead of Bruce. And besides,” Jason lowered his voice to a purr, “we both know he’d pay to watch. Bet he’d even help me hold you down.”

Against his will, Tim shuddered. His anger was clouding his judgment, making it hard to figure out what other emotions were there. Maybe there was arousal. Maybe it was fear.

Tim always had trouble telling the difference.

“Have you always wanted to fuck me?” Tim avoided everything Jason was saying. It made him too dizzy to think about.

Jason just gave him a shrug. “Can’t say I haven’t wondered what’s so special about fucking you that he keeps doing it. Is your ass really that good or something?”

Tim snorted. He had no idea Jason didn’t know. “He doesn’t fuck me in the ass.”

“What?” Jason’s brow furrowed.

“If I had a dick down there, you’d have cut it by now,” Tim pointed out, looking down at the knife.

Jason frowned. He dug the knife deeper, ripping open a bigger hole in the fabric of Tim’s pants until he could force his hand inside, thankfully the one that wasn’t holding the knife. Tim tried to kick, but he couldn’t stop Jason’s hand from groping until it found his cunt, pressing against Tim’s underwear.

“Son of a bitch,” Jason said. “Well, that makes you even easier to fuck. Now I don’t need prep.”

“You’re not fucking me,” Tim snarled, trying to get away from Jason’s hand. his skin was too hot, to have Jason that close to his most sensitive areas. He didn’t want to know what his body would do if Jason got past the thin barrier of fabric between him and Tim’s skin.

“You haven’t actually told me no yet,” Jason pointed out. He managed to cut apart Tim’s underwear, a cold reminder of how close the knife was to his cunt. Thick fingers pressed against Tim’s hole until two managed to sink in. “You’re wet.”

“No, I’m not,” Tim gasped, even though he could feel it. The easy slide of Jason’s fingers inside of him, the way there was no resistance from his body. He still wasn’t ready to admit to himself that he wanted this. Not when he wanted Jason dead just as badly. Tim opened his mouth to say something more, but Jason brushed a thumb over his clit. “Oh god.”

“if I’m being honest with you,” Jason hummed, starting to move his fingers inside of Tim, “I think it’s a lot easier to be horny than angry right now. That’s the only damn feeling that works to fight this.”

He was right and Tim hated him for it. The anger thrumming under his skin pulled back, just slightly, to make room for arousal. It made Tim want to give in, just so he could have anything to latch onto besides cold, empty fury.

And Jason’s fingers felt good inside of him. They arched right up into Tim’s sweet spot, making him gasp and jerk.

“How quick do you think I can make you come?” Jason asked. He worked his fingers and thumb together, finding a good pace. Like he knew exactly how Tim liked it.

“Fuck you,” Tim groaned, throwing his head back.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” Jason said.

They both knew he wouldn’t. Tim didn’t want Jason to stop. If Jason stopped, Tim would probably grab the knife and gut him.

“I hate you.” Tim’s hips were moving against his will. He was acutely aware the knife was still down there too, but he put a small amount of trust in Jason to not let it trust.

“It’s mutual,” Jason agreed. He shifted his hips until they were pressed against Tim’s thigh. He was hard. Tim could feel the outline of Jason’s cock as Jason started to rut, grinding against Tim for friction. A low moan came out of him, going straight to Tim’s core.

Jason was kind of handsome, at least. Especially with blood all over his face.

“Now are you gonna come for me or what?” Jason growled into Tim’s ear. “Show me exactly how much you hate me, Drake. I want to fucking feel it.”

“You’re a bastard who doesn’t deserve Bruce,” Tim whined as Jason’s fingers worked him. Rubbing his clit and thrusting into his sweet spot. It was a sweet, torturous distraction from his rage, but it still didn’t make the feeling quite go away.

“Agreed.” Jason shrugged, seeming unbothered by the statement. He groaned again, pressing his forehead against Tim’s. “I’m still better than you, though. You’re the little bitch who’s never going to forget what being fucked by me feels like. Maybe I’ll be nice enough that you’ll enjoy it and jerk off to it every time you’re wet.”

The thought of jerking off to Jason repulsed Tim. Yet it was the same thought that sent his orgasm through him, like a shock to his core. He yelled, so loud it echoed through the cave. His hole clenched around Jason’s fingers as his body worked through the spasms of pleasure.

For one glorious moment, Tim didn’t notice his anger. He just had the beautiful crescendo of pleasure crashing down on him, making his body sing.

“Isn’t that fucking adorable,” Jason gasped, grinding harder against Tim. You’re finally not annoying for once. No wonder Bruce fucks you. It’s the only way someone can enjoy being around you.”

The words were mean and Tim wanted to snap back, but he was boneless. Every insult from Jason was a new aftershock of pleasure down Tim’s spine.

Tim opened his mouth to find something to say, but he was cut off.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce stood at the mouth of the cave, staring at them with wide eyes. He looked just as angry as Tim felt, stalking over to where they were pinned and bloody on the floor. “Jason if you hurt him-”

“I’m fingering him, actually,” Jason corrected lazily, still grinding his hips.

Bruce stopped walking. “What?”

Jason thrust his fingers inside Tim to make his point, pulling a cry out of Tim. He was oversensitive from his orgasm and couldn’t get away from the pressure against his g-spot. “You should be proud of us. We’re getting along pretty well.”

Sure they were. Like Tim’s face wasn’t cut up and Jason’s nose wasn’t broken.

“You…” Bruce trailed off, breath caught in his throat. Tim watched his pupils dilate.

“He’s enjoying himself. Just came on my fingers,” Jason said. He pressed the knife against Tim’s thigh as a warning. “Right, Drake?”

Tim bit back a remark. He nodded.

“I promise to behave if you let me fuck him,” Jason looked up at Bruce. He was definitely lying. “We should both fuck him. See how much he can take. I’ll even keep the cuffs on just to be nice.”

Tim couldn’t stop the soft moan that came out of him at the thought.

Bruce looked between them. His eyes settled on Tim. “Are you-”

“Yes,” Tim said. “Please?”

As soon as Tim said the magic word, Bruce was by their side, taking his clothes off. Jason groaned in victory. He grinned against Tim’s cheek. “Now we can have some real fun.”

[kraniumverse]

do i make a spaced out schedule to post every drawing I have in the drafts so i don't saturate the main tag

or

do i risk getting blocked by every single fan and people coming to my house to make me shut the fuck up

[semischarmed]

Detour, Part 3

For a few still moments, Scott isn’t really sure what he is looking at. His unconscious friend Alex stands frozen in his previous position, head still pointing upwards, mouth agape. Aside from some light breathing, the only movement of yours that Scott can make out is Alex’s tongue-your first acquisition-twitching slightly. Your tongue then slowly dances around Alex’s lips, greedily tasting the new vessel. Delicious. Your new eyes shoot open, a little bloodshot from Alex’s last performance, and focus on Scott. They narrow, and you make your new, plump lips follow, closing slowly into a smile. “Mmmmm .... Scott, you sick fuck” Alex’s body speaks in half delirium with the vocal cords you borrow from him. You pull a little more of his strings, and his arms stir. In one unnatural motion, like someone moving their arms for the first time in their life- which, granted, this really is your first time- you clumsily run shaking fingers through your new body’s hair. Dread paints Scott’s face.

In his brain, you feel Alex together with you. You push his essence aside to assert dominance over your new bod. Surprisingly, he puts up less of a fight than you expect- no fight at all, actually. You just let a little of Alex leak out of you, which culminates in the radiant smile your body greets Scott with.

“You’re really fucking sick, Scott.” You say with your Alex vocal cords, completely shifting the mood. You start feeling around your new face before you look back at him. “What kind of friend does this?” You lace that word with a poison that Scott has never heard from his friend’s mouth and you can tell it stings him a little.

“You-you’re not fucking Alex, faggot!” he shouts angrily.

Unfazed, you continue. “Now, that’s just plain wrong. I’m fucking Alex right fucking now, with his own body from his insides” you sadistically laugh with your old voice. It’s a little out of place coming out of Alex. “Here, come take a look.” You decide also take a little recording for yourself.

God he looks so good. You can’t believe you’re in control of this little slice of heaven. Or hell. This tight bod runs hot. And you can’t tell if that’s just how he is or if it’s the persistent ecstasy you feel being in the driver’s seat of the human sports-car.

“Look... look what you did to me!” You moan, this time with Alex’s voice. You’re now settling inside of him. “You’re an asshole, Scott, I barely met the guy and the first thing you do is stuff me full of him” you start gyrating his body slowly “well, now we do know each other. Intimately. No one is ever going to know this body, this mind, this soul like he does... like I do” you make Alex state. “I feel like I’m gonna explode, Scott. There’s so much of him you put inside me,” you dig around a little in your new chest until you find the outline of the medallion deep inside Alex’s body and give it a slow rub. “Oh god, Scott, what did you do!” You say, in fake distress. 

“Oh god Scott! [moan] Help! He’s, he’s...[moan] inside meee.” You invoke the medallion’s powers to force Scott to watch you and prevent him from leaving the apartment. 

“[moan] Defiling me”. With your new tone arms, you find the only piece of you not yet integrated into Alex- the outline of your old dick, embedded in Alex’s groin. With his fingers, you dig and grab it and start pumping through your meatsuit’s skin -god that feels good- like an Alex fleshlight. As you grow, it starts to fill into Alex’s limp dick like a glove. 

“[whine] Empowering me”. In the throes of passion, you still don’t have perfect control of this new body. Your new face goes emotionless as you continue pumping your cocks. From Scott’s perspective, it’s unsettling enough seeing his best friend jack off in front of him. It’s even more unsettling seeing him do it with no emotion in his face. 

“[stare] Corrupting me”. As you can feel Alex’s body as well, you are hit with a wave of unimaginable bliss- your old body’s dick is not fully connected to his, so with each pump you give your Alex cock both an internal and external stimulation. In one fell swoop, face still impassive, you climax inside Alex- through Alex- as Alex, and complete the merge. You greedily suck the amalgamated cum off your fingers and gently moan “thank you housewarming present”. You put a deranged, dark smile on this meatsuit’s face and then heartily laugh. 

“And thank you, Scott, for lodging him inside me! [Pant] We can’t wait to repay the favor!”

For a few moments, your new body sits in tranquility. Scott’s does too, though not of his own will. 

From the backseat of your mind, you feel a stirring from your other resident. Your body pants a little, “I think... I think he wants to talk to you. What do you think, Scott? Let’s go see what he’s up to..” your eyes roll to the back of your head and your new body convulses as you slowly let his best friend come out. “Scott! I, I’m... w-what happened?”

A moment of relief briefly flashes on Scott’s face as he sees his friend return and more tears well in his eyes. He’s lived with him for years so he can tell when his friend is being genuine. This was Alex. The real Alex. Relief turns to disheartenment when this Alex runs his new hands across his new face with a sly grin. 

You decide to keep the ‘real’ Alex in the driver’s seat. With Alex in control, your movements are much more natural. You stretch your arms casually and your sweat-drenched shirt lifts ever so slightly to reveal your glistening abs. With Alex behind the wheel, you give a commanding yawn as you gently scratch your balls through your now damp boxers. Your new face shifts into a sleazy sneer. “I think this is gonna work out juuuuust fine” Alex says, licking his lips.

“Alex, buddy, are you ok?” Scott expresses with concern. Alex ignores him and continues his exploration. 

He lifts your right arm, peeling back the shirt sleeve to see his-your hairy pits. It’s wet and it’s rank. “Goddamn we smell, don’t we baby” oddly, perhaps due to your presence in him, he seems to find his own scent alluring. He brings your new face in for a little taste and, involuntarily, winces. It is tart, musky, noxious. It’s good.

Alex then raises his hands, studying them, before reaching mentally instead to the medallion locked inside your combined mass. He effortlessly makes the nervous Scott give you both a little show. “Hey Scott, call me-call us master”. “M-Master!”. Alex gives you a mental wink before freezing Scott back into place.

Alex continues to test your new powers, and their new potency. With the both of you here, you quickly notice how much more of a refined control you have over the medallion. You feel Alex come to the same conclusion.

“I’m already filled to the brim with you swimming inside me,” he chuckled, “it tickles. You’re already using me like a glove. Just finish it, I’m already yours” -he moans that last word, “Fuck Sophie. Since you’re in me, since you are me, I’m a faggot now.”

“And this new faggot wants a piece of that hot, hot roommate-best-friend ass in front of us,” he adds, before giving the still Scott a small wink. Inside Alex, strange shock runs through your core. The medallion no longer surges power through this fleshy conduit, you feel intimately connected to its source. You yourself surge with power. Both bound and freed. Empowered. Invigorated. You are the medallion. You are Alex. This Alex body is wholly yours.

“We feel- no, we ARE a fucking god, Alex aren’t we?!” The Alex piece of you roars. 

He said most of that completely on his own. Intoxicated by the power his body now has as your puppet, he’s corrupted his own self, binding pieces of him to parts of the medallion- to parts of you. Permanently. Alex-the old Alex- body, mind, soul. He’s fully yours. Forever and ever. Evidently, the reason his body runs so hot and steamy is having you inside pulling his strings is turning him on. Evidently, the old Alex had a thing for being bound and controlled. Kinky. 

The medallion, previously wedged between your skin and Alex’s has long since dissolved into your new body, just as you have long since dissolved into Alex’s. You try to liquify a piece of your old self to pull it out of the hand it now occupies to no avail. Instead, your whole arm liquefies into a writhing mass, before recombining. You don’t even think you can even leave this cute little meatsuit now if you tried. There truly was no going back. He is now an extension of your soul- an extension of you. You let Alex take the wheel again, as your body moans and slowly removes your drenched shirt. You start to think, to reminisce back to your old body, your old life that you had unintentionally left behind. Your Alex-self gently places his fingers on his nipples and gives them a small twist, apparently something he did often. Fuck that felt good. Being permanently Alex feels good. Your fingers dance across this body as you feel your self up. Again, your past life flashes before your eyes before you focus on your new skin. Not giving this up. ‘Anyway, who would ever want to leave this tight piece of ass’.

Another moan escapes you as you continue to pleasure your new body. Your eyes slowly fall on this still terrified, still frozen Scott, who’s face you command into one of longing, piercing blue eyes brimming with a hidden hatred. You take your new hands and gently stroke his cheek. “Don’t worry baby, We didn’t forget about you. After all, you're our. best. friend”. 

-End Part 3-

[anayaahwrites]

KOT Ficlet #5 (Momoya Natsu/ Yoshinaga Atsumu)

When the lights start flashing like a photo booth (And the stars exploding, we'll be fireproof.)

Warning: Themes of underage drinking and implied sexual content.

Natsu roughly based on this art by @sasukeslove

A small AU on MomoYoshi's first meeting:

...

Natsu is six when he learns about Angels.

He’s perched on mama’s lap, carrying a new storybook with tiny hands and slowly pronouncing all the words. Her proud smile encourages him to read the larger words too, the ones he’d avoid out of embarrassment—something about a pro-fe-cky and a pro-mice that He exists up there somewhere, over the pillowy clouds watching down on them.

Mama tucks him in that night and tells Natsu to close his eyes and pray because Angels only come to good boys.

He’s ten when it all sounds like bullshit to him.

Over the years, Mom’s rosy smile had withered into a fatigued sigh, a cry for help to the God that never answers no matter how much they pray. Dad was more a guest than a resident. He came around once in a while to eat lunch—with a taut smile plastered eerily over his smooth features—and swiftly vanish to not return in that week .

They’ve stopped waiting for him and Natsu stops asking questions.

He’s thirteen when he meets Sei, a child around his age, except so much more charming and calm and composed for someone that carried half the same set of genes Natsu had. He learns of his father’s betrayal and is honestly shocked at his own lack of surprise. Still, he questions his God and why why why would He let mom’s heart shatter like that?

Sei is quick to laugh and tell him that God doesn’t exist and mom is just a victim to their monster of a father.

So he goes home that day to his outraged mother, hair coloured like glittery Christmas tinsel and sapphire lenses replacing his usual shade of honey brown. She snaps at the sight, yelling at him till her throat closes up, till nothing but a harsh sob escapes her and he lets her. They both had to cope somehow.

By the fall of his fourteenth year, he gets pierced four times and stops talking to his mother almost completely.

To hell with dad. To hell with God.

Natsu is fifteen, and he doesn’t care about anything anymore.

He’s fifteen and quickly realising from his daily job as a guitarist in the club that girls aren't attractive no matter how much they flock around him. He still humours them sometimes, a touch here, a kiss there since the pay is good enough for him to add some extra service on his part.

Mom plies herself with work as often as possible, to douse her misery in the decayed scent of piled papers and clunking keyboards. She leaves Natsu to deal with everything else on his own like the obedient son he is, letting him go like dad left her.

Natsu is alright, though. He’s done this far longer than she knows.

He stops reaching out to her, stops talking to someone up in the skies, settling instead to live a tranquil life in the shadows, under the dependable shade of music. He hates people. He hates the world.

Natsu is basking in the warmth of another uneventful day in the club, when in walks a boy out of fucking nowhere and his entire world tips on its axis.

The boy takes shaky, wary steps as if he were balancing on a trapeze. Dark black bangs like thick black rain spill over the side of his face, half covering wide brown eyes. Splotches of pink and porcelain white stick out where his sweater ends and skin begins. He’s small and delicate and beautiful, Natsu’s heart skips a beat. Or two. Or maybe three.

And why should he lie? Natsu has seen beautiful, quite a few varieties of it too. But this…this was different. This was unreal.

The boy looks around nervously before he catches something and there’s a spark in those hazel eyes, sharp and electric, a smile tugging at his lips.

Natsu follows his gaze. On the stage lies his own guitar—a pre-performance habit for people to know he was next. He took great pride because this itself garnered more clusters than anyone in the entire house.

Natsu smiles. So he was a fan.

He downs the customary shot of vodka, waving at the people before hopping on stage and wrapping the sling around his neck. He scours the audience for a familiar face and it doesn’t take a lot, to spot a splatter of ink black in the crowd, batting eager eyelids at him. The smaller boy realises the attention on him and glances behind to confirm his suspicion.

By the time he swings around, eyes blown wide in a stare, Natsu plays the first chord.

In an instant, his expression shifts to a mix of awe and interest, a silent worship and a loud cheer compiled in one small, thin body. He claps more than anyone else in the room, beaming like a floodlight by the time Natsu finishes.

It was nothing strange. He played among cheers every day but none felt as satisfying with this voice hooting and clearly standing out from his regular gang of squealing girls. He throws his head back laughing back stage when no one is there to see.

By the time Natsu gets out on the floor again, a little more thrilled for the night and dressed in something less flashy, he’s gone. He screws his lips in displeasure and asks his friend to make him something stronger than the usual.

This happens more nights than not, and it was frustrating him.

The moment Angel boy—as he’s dubbed him, steps in through the door, Natsu traces his every move and quickly registers a pattern. He only comes around on days the club was the busiest—specifically during Natsu’s performance, talks to no one and leaves before he has the chance to even ask a name.

Not that Natsu was interested in him or anything. He was just curious, is all—why this boy looked like a starved pet every time he saw him on stage and if he really smelled like soft winter blankets and warm fireplaces, all angelic and pure.

Okay, so maybe he was a little interested.

Months pass like that.

The mid-November chill comes with its blistering snowstorms and the club is jam packed—winters were some of their busiest months—and Natsu’s up to perform. Instead of preparing, he watches the door resolutely from the bar, tapping impatiently at the table.

As routine, it barely opens a crack, and he sees a sliver of ebony snaking it’s way through the crowd. The boy stands on his tippy-toes which don’t give him much of a view, so he does these tiny jumps—that are so adorable, for a second Natsu forgets his own name—and scowls when he notices no guitar on stage.

He checks the time, the stage and then scans the crowd. The anticipation throbs through Natsu as he follows his eyes cross the room in slow motion, dragging dragging until they eventually land on him. Everything stills—the thundering music, the singing and all he can hear is the low thump of veins against his skin.

It’s over in a flash.

“That your Angel boy?” The bartender gestures at the figure turning tail and running, drying the pad on his prized work station. He skillfully pours two coloured liquids into an oddly shaped glass and passes it over the counter to him.

Natsu hums, swirling the absinthe stained drink in hand, eyeing the smaller boy gasp as a couple slams against the door, clearly piss drunk with her suspended over his thighs and gyrating her hips into the man.

“Hey, chief.”

“Hm?”

“You think I can get off early tonight?”

The man raises an eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Like now.” Natsu answers, never letting his gaze falter from the head full of black hair slowly receding through the crowd, horrified.

The man guffaws, lifting a glass of water—since he can’t drink on duty—and clinking it with Natsu’s.

“Must be fuckin’ Christmas if you’re taking interest in anyone, so I’ll let this one pass. Don’t scare him off now. He already looks like a trembling lamb.”

Natsu knocks back the contents, swallowing the liquid till it numbs his entire mouth and smirks.

“I’ll try.”

So he follows the boy. Hands are immediately all over him from faces he recognises in passing—a girl he once kissed, someone that made him cake, but he pushes them off.

His boy of interest forces the hood of his shirt up all the way, and glances behind him once before increasing his pace. Maybe the lights are really getting to him and maybe Natsu is a little tipsy when he reaches out to grab his hand.

The boy flips around to lock eyes frantically, as if a ghost had seized him.

“Hey.” Natsu musters his sweetest smile.

“Hi..” The boy replies.

And oh, his voice. It’s sugary sweet and so so soft like—like actual rolls of smooth and silky cotton had woven them. He blushes fiercely under Natsu’s relentless gaze and stares where their hands were connected in a tight grip as if it burned holes through him.

Natsu frowns. “Don’t run.”

The boy’s gaze shoots up, and he’s pulling away.

“I-I’m sorry I really h-have to go—”

“It’s my birthday.” Goddamn, he must be really wasted to admit that. Now that he thinks about it, what did he just drink?

Twentieth November, the day he was born and incidentally also the day he found his father’s tongue down another woman’s throat, holding a child over his shoulder.

“Oh,” The boy stops, pursing his lips and letting the hood go all the way down before flashing easily one of the most ethereal smiles Natsu has ever seen.

“Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” he replies awkwardly. “It’s not going really well.”

“No?”

Natsu nods. “It’s nothing different.”

“You want it to be special?”

The buzz in his nerves practically screamed a yes to that—he wanted something to remember, to bury the horrible memories he associated with this day, for the days he wished he was never born in the first place. He wanted to fit it all in this one boy in one night, this angel he didn’t even know, to free him from himself.

Natsu tightens his grip. “Dance with me?”

Oh boy, the alcohol was talking.

Angel boy looks at Natsu with wide doe eyes, peers back at their hands and gulps. Natsu frowns and releases his hold. He was drunk, probably a little more than he’d admit to, but he didn’t want to pressurize anyone—not when this boy already looked so out of his element, a beige hoodie and skinny jeans in a club full of scantily clad folk.

But he reverses the roles, grabbing Natsu by the fingers so delicately, he releases a soft hum of satisfaction. He rubs fingers between his own, feeling the brush of calloused fingertips on them. It reminds him of mom’s soft chest rising and falling when she slept beside him because he was her ‘perfect little angel’ and made him feel safe.

He misses it. Misses being safe. Misses being loved.

“Okay,” the boy mumbles, peering from under his natural hood of hair with a light smile. “Okay. Let’s dance.”

Natsu doesn’t really know what he’s doing anymore. The lights blink and they’re suddenly in stop motion. It tricks his brain into thinking of them as pictures trapped some place in his brain forever. So he stares and stares and captures the blush spreading like wildfire across the boy’s face, a smile widening in tandem with the soft beats.

They’re two faces among a thousand on a random winter night. The music isn’t his type nor is his attire anything to be proud of. But this boy. Holy heavens, if he isn’t the prettiest thing ever then the stars should be ashamed because damn, he’d beat them even on a bad day.

His hair sways—a steady swing of left right left right and a pleasant smile sits snug on his features like that’s where they belonged, that’s where they had always belonged and Natsu closes his eyes when their hands meet again.

This is perfect.

It’s when the music stills that they transition to a slower lull of movement, and the blaze of liquor in his blood emboldens him into yanking the boy a little closer. He lets him fall with a small plop on his chest and laughs when he rubs his nose, scowling.

“Why do you never wait back?” He asks, exhaling at the warmth the boy’s presence brings. Natsu puts his hand around his waist and he swears, it was like he wasn’t human, like someone had sculpted him out of clay, moulded to near perfection. And maybe he’s treading into dangerous waters, but his mouth had a mind of its own and there’s nothing he could do to stop it.

“I always look for you after I’m done but you’re never here.”

Pair of hazelnut eyes sheepishly peer at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m just.… not good at socializing.”

“So you say,” Natsu laughs, “But you’re doing better than me.”

“No way!”

“Yes way.”

“You have to be kidding me you’re so cool—and and so beautiful I really cannot—since the beginning I haven’t been able to take my eyes off—”

He squeaks when he's dragged closer by the small of his back. Their eyes meet. Natsu sees flashes of every happy moment of his life mirrored in them; His first recital, mom’s naturally loud laugh, the first time he played the guitar. They reach into Natsu’s soul and drag out his joy like the reel of a kite.

“I thought you were an angel,” he chuckles so close, he feels the boy shiver against his cheek. “I still do. Everyone here calls you Angel boy. Score a drink from them with that name sometime. I’m sure they’ll oblige you.”

“Angel? I—” He breathes a giggle, twisting silver strands with his fingers. “If there’s any angel here, it’s you.”

But this is fake, he wants to say. It’s fake, artificial, made of desperation because he never wants to look into the mirror and see his father’s face staring back at him. He won’t be him. He won’t.

“Atsumu,” he says. “My name is Atsumu.”

“Atsumu.” Natsu repeats in his head till it rolls naturally over his tongue. Like Atsu meaning heat and summer and everything bright and cheery.

Natsu purposefully lingers near his ear, to breathe his name in the air, smiling, content.

“ ‘Tsumu. It’s cute,” he hums. “You’re cute.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Definitely.” He chuckles.

Atsumu whispers, low and uneasy. “C-can I ask you something?”

“Mhmm.” At this point, his voice gave him a greater high than the drink he had downed fifteen minutes ago. Or was it an hour? He couldn’t really tell and decided very quickly he didn’t care, anyway.

“Why don’t you.. come to school?”

Natsu’s eyes open a crack to glimpse at the boy who trembles softly under him, as if he were admitting to a crime.

“I—” he continues in alarm, “I swear I’m not a stalker I just—Oh my god please don’t misunderstand me—”

“Calm down.” Natsu shushes, smiling apologetically at the few people around him that had been torn out of their aggressive make-out session as if they weren’t the ones that needed a room. God, if he sees another dick hanging out, he’ll have to bust out the chainsaw in the basement and go wild.

“So,” he leads them to a quieter corner with very few people and lesser eyes their way. “School,” he waves a hand dismissively, “It’s boring. Lots of people. Annoying questions. You know the drill.”

“Right,” he gulps. “Right so, I’m uhh—in your class I don’t think you noticed and I’m from an instrument club and someone asked us a question. Something about erotic sounds—wait that sounds bad—not erotic erotic but.…Ah, I’m bad at explaining.”

Natsu doesn’t keep back the dreamy giggle that leaves him, swaying lightly to the music. He’s exactly as he imagined—hell, even his name was spot on—all warm and giggly and fluttery.

“I’m still listening,” Natsu smiles. “Go on.”

Atsumu scrunches his nose and continues. “So one of my club seniors—he comes of a little rough but he’s really nice—went to one of my other seniors house who I think he really likes, and her mother told him it’s—I’m sorry am I too confusing?”

“I think I can manage.”

“Okay, so basically, her mother says it’s the pause in between his words and actions. The space that is just…there. And so I was writing about it—because I write everything—and Oka-kun saw my book.”

Natsu scowls. “Oka is annoying like that.”

The boy giggles this time. “Funny. He said you’d say that.”

“It’d be nice if he attempted to change it, then.”

“And so he told me you play music, where you work and that maybe you could do something good for once—I didn’t say that he did—So…” He moves his hand vaguely around them. “Here I am.”

Natsu hums against his head, bringing him to a slower pace as the song changes.

“I’ll have to thank him for that.”

“You’re not..angry?” He says through furrowed brows. “Oka-kun said you would be if you found out.”

He’s certain if Oka showed up here uninvited, Natsu would promptly kick him out. Because Oka is annoying. Atsumu however….

“So? Did you get your answer?” He asks instead.

The smaller boy makes a face, pulling all his features in to make his button nose stand out more than it already does and pout.

Natsu laughs. He’s been doing a lot of that today. Laughing.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Don’t get me wrong! Your performances are splendid and I really can’t get enough of them but the answer…I still haven’t reached a conclusion.”

Natsu plays with the fingers in his hand, shuffling to let them sink into the gap between his. Atsumu stares and responds by shyly tucking his fingers in.

“Want me to help you?” He whispers, tapping the side of Atsumu’s waist with his other hand.

“Can you?” He whispers back.

Can he? Yes. Should he? Probably not.

But what use is logic anyway, when a boy the embodiment of a sunny summer day amid a bitter winter stood enclosed in his arms?

Yeah. To hell with logic.

Natsu sways his hips, raking his free hand through Atsumu’s hair. He releases a pleased sigh when the tiny fingers between his tighten as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality, which was good. Natsu felt the same, like his sanity was slowly slipping through open fingers.

“Spaces…exist everywhere. In words, in voices, in time…” He draws their joined hands to his mouth, dragging wet lips over porcelain skin. Atsumu shudders, breathing in sharp, shallow exhales.

“These hands..there’s a space in between them too if you look carefully. We’re so close,” fingers tighten around his shirt. “But still never close enough.

He runs a palm down the boy’s face that angles and angles till plush, red lips are within kissing distance. They part and blow warm clouds of air that taste mint and chocolate in his mouth. Natsu smiles. “Space is where there is distance. Space is where there is intimacy. Space is where there is friction. And this exciting gap that keeps us wanting to be closer till not even an atom could squeeze in—” he leans in closer, “—is erotic.”

He backs away while he has the physical capacity to do so, before the alcohol overrides every decision in his head and they end up a tangled mess of limbs in some random hotel room, but Atsumu having none of it.

He pulls Natsu to himself, clutching the pleats of his shirt and tugging him down to his lips. Teeth knock loudly against each other and Natsu hisses lightly, parting to lick the tingle in the tip of his incisor away.

“S-sorry!” Atsumu covers his embarrassment behind shaky hands. Natsu wraps thin fingers under his chin, reeling him in slow and steady and closes the distance. It’s soft, like a snowflake on a tree, virgin snow settling on frozen water and ironically, melts him. It boils and freezes, ignites his soul into a firework of bursting flames. He’s touching, feeling, pulling until every inhale feels like fire in his lungs.

“Closer,” Atsumu murmurs, throwing nimble hands over his shoulder and locking their lips together like puzzle pieces on a gameboard. “Make the space go away.”

It’s chaotic, and it’s magical. Like every star in the galaxy twinkled around them tonight, like every blossoming flower settled wherever Atsumu touched him. He’s drunk on vodka, drunk on happiness, drunk on love.

Closer. Natsu pushes a knee in between his thighs. His mouth hangs open in a silent moan, eyes slowly rolling into the back of his head.

Closer. The hands in his air pull him in for another searing kiss, pressing for entry, to delve deeper, deeper into themselves. Atsumu nibbles lightly on his lip and Natsu lets him bruise him for tonight. To wreck him, destroy him.

Closer.

They settle for a slower casual rhythm when they part to breathe. He keeps them moving on the floor, smiling against a pair of swollen lips.

“School suddenly sounds much more interesting.” He says.

Atsumu squints incredulously. “We can’t do this at school.”

“No?”

“No!”

Natsu shrugs, pecking the tip of the boy’s nose. “Shame.”

“Then you’ll come?” Atsumu bumps his forehead against Natsu’s. “I’ll really see you tomorrow?”

“If you can walk home straight after tonight, then sure.”

Atsumu gasps and slaps him across the back, blushing as they leave the club, hand in hand, away into the wintery night.

Natsu turns sixteen—a little drunk, a lot happy—but he’s sixteen and he can pinpoint this as the day he falls in love even years later.

And every other birthday is insignificant but so much better, spent at home, in the arms of the boy that saved him in just one night, all those years ago.

Mom only ever asks where he’s going and who he’s moving in with while he packs his bags to leave. She frowns when he answers with the widest smile on his face, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“An Angel.”

Ignore the sloppy writing haha. I'm writing this while travelling back home after a god awful six hour exam.

It felt too plotless to post on my ao3 kdkcd—

If you look at the colouring of Natsu I based it on (go give @sasukeslove all the real love), I imagine the art as the morning after when Oka's annoying Natsu and Atsumu walks in through the door (≧▽≦)

[otonymous]

A Bolt From The Blue (MLQC Shaw - NSFW) - Part I: A Matter Of Convenience

Description: An extraordinary man arrives to shake up your ordinary life Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised.  Potential trigger warnings: robberies and mentions of firearms, physical violence, mild depictions of bodily injury, blood and masturbation, profanity Word Count: 1650 words (~8 mins of action, drama and the start of a slow burn 🔥)  Author’s Notes: This multi-chapter fic is dedicated to the lovely @op-peccatori​​​, one of the winners of my Follower Milestone Celebration!  Thank you so much, Nana, for requesting a mafia AU story starring everyone’s favourite lavender-haired man 😆 This is actually my first time writing an AU fic, and the experience thus far has been incredibly eye-opening and lots of fun!

For this piece, I wanted to localize the AU to better fit the world of MLQC, so instead of using a traditional mafia setting, the events take place in the milieu of the triads and “black societies” that are more likely to be found in corresponding parts of the world.  For those who are interested, Wikipedia has an incredibly comprehensive article on triads and organized crime.

This piece turned out to be much longer than I anticipated and is still ongoing as of the time of this post!  That being said, I hope you’ll join me on this wild ride 😂 As always, wishing you all a very happy read 😊

Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

“Put the money in the bag and no one gets hurt.”

A black duffel bag is thrust onto the counter before you, panels wide open like a gaping maw.  You look up at the man in the bomber jacket and the only things you can process are:

One: his nostrils are flaring.

Two: why bother trying to be nondescript by dressing in all black if you’re going to leave your face uncovered during a robbery?

“I ain’t playin’ around, little girl.  Put the goddamn money in the bag right now or else I’ll shoot—”

WHACK!

The man’s eyes widen in the split second before his face crumples, teeth yellowed and uneven protruding in an ugly grimace.  His hand flies to his head, trying to stem the blood already streaking down his face when he collapses onto the counter, taking out a display of collectible miniature keychains next to the register as he does.  They scatter, some rolling across the floor before being stopped by a pair of purple Chuck Taylors tapping out an impatient rhythm on the linoleum.

You look up from those sneakers in a daze, eyes following the silhouette of a pair of jeans so worn in places you doubted the rips and tears were purely for aesthetic purposes.  And if you’d had to guess, you’d say that purple was your saviour’s favourite colour, given the lavender hair that fell over his eyes the moment he pulled back the hood of his sweatshirt, also in a shade of violet.  His other hand — clad in a fingerless leather glove — gripped the skateboard that had just connected with the head of the would-be robber, still groaning before you.

Pop!

You startle at the sound, heart slowing only when you see the pink bubble deflating between the young man’s lips before the gum is pulled back by the tip of his tongue.  And from where you stood — glued to the spot behind the counter — you swear you can detect the hint of cinnamon.  

He crouches, picking up the gun that had slid out of the thief’s hand when he was unceremoniously hit from behind, and when he chuckles — the sound dangerous and cocksure — it ignites something deep within you.

“Tsk, tsk.  Can’t very well go around robbing people with toys guns, now can you?  Especially not on my turf.  Piece of advice: don’t mess with Boss Li’s territory or else I’ll be doing more than just breaking your head the next time around.  Don’t let me catch you here again.”  

Letting out a pathetic whimper, the robber snatches the empty bag from the counter, running for the doors in such haste he almost trips over his own feet.  The electronic refrains of the door chime still ring in your ears when you realize the man has already made his way to the beverage dispenser, one long finger pressing the Pepsi button before switching to Coke, both drinks mixing in the same paper cup.

Smoothly stepping over the mess on the floor, he places the drink on the counter right next to a smear of blood.  Mind still reeling, your customer service instincts take over.

“H-hello.  Just this?”  

He nods, popping a purple straw through the plastic lid before fixing you with his amber eyes as he pays, a hint of a smirk on his face.  And that is when it hits you that he is actually…actually…

…incredibly gorgeous.

An intense wave of heat washes over your face and you can’t help but look down.  By the time you’ve worked up the courage to lift your head again, he is already at the door, merging with the dark night beyond.  He throws up one hand in goodbye, not even bothering to look back when he says, “Relax.  That guy won’t be bothering you again.”

You hear his skateboard hit the pavement, listen to it rolling away.  Only when the sound completely fades do you remember to breathe.

There was a certain tranquility in working late-night shifts at the 24-hour convenience store — aisles empty save for the occasional customer breaking the monotony: high-strung lovers grabbing last-minute condoms and overworked salarymen buying the beer and discounted meals they subsisted on.

And though your coworkers complained bitterly about the graveyard shift, they were more than happy to pass them on to you, making up every excuse as to why they were unable to show up during those times.  It was unnecessary, really.  You didn’t mind it, even preferred the solitary calm it afforded.

Until now.

Your peace has been shattered, replaced by something that made your hands ball into nervous fists — fingers gripping at the hem of your polyester uniform and wondering for the first time ever whether blue stripes made you look ridiculous.

Because for the first time in a very long while, there was something, someone, to look forward to.

Night after night, it’s the same.  Repeated glances at the clock above the magazine rack, your breath growing shallow to see it approach 1:30.  Heart leaping into your throat to hear the automatic doors slide open followed by the scuff of purple sneakers, tracing a path through the store.

Since the night of that foiled robbery attempt a month ago, he has visited like clockwork and you still haven’t figured out how to remain calm.  So you find contentment from behind the safety of the counter, watching the man with lavender hair — soft, even when lit beneath a harsh fluorescent glare as he stands at the drink dispenser, always filling a cup with Pepsi first, then Coke.

Only ever buying the same thing every time.

This strange ritual lasts all of ten minutes, fifteen at most.  And it takes just as long after he leaves for the hairs of your body to cease standing on end, as if electrified by the intensity of his eyes on yours.  

That gaze of molten gold stays with you even when you return home in the early morning hours, pulling blackout curtains across your window before falling into bed to pretend your hands were his: tracing the outline of your lips, caressing the swell of your breasts, dipping between your legs.

And when your breath falters in a quick succession of shudders, you wonder at your own sanity.  Because in spite of your suspicions about the guy with the purple hair, the warning signs that pointed to his obvious involvement with the triads that extorted money from local businesses as ‘protection fees,’ you still couldn’t help but think about the man who visited you every night without fail.

“You’re hurt—”

“I-I’m fine.  Just…just ring this up, will ya?  I’m…in a rush…”

One arm crossed over his abdomen, he places the cup onto the counter as if it took all the concentration in the world — his efforts squandered anyways when his hand spasms at the last minute to send dark liquid sloshing over the lip.  He hadn’t even bothered to put a lid on.

“…Emergency responders have just arrived on scene and are dealing with scores of injuries.  Eyewitnesses describe what appears to have been a violent clash between rival gangs in a longstanding feud over contested territory.  The police are seeking help from the public in locating several key suspects believed to have fled the scene.  Please do not approach them under any circumstances as they are considered armed and dangerous…”

The news anchor’s face on the wall-mounted television is replaced by another: that of a youthful man with lavender hair and multiple piercings on his ears — challenge exuding from amber eyes.  You scramble for the remote on the shelf behind you, mashing the power button until the screen goes black.  And in the eerie silence that descends upon the store, all you can focus on is the laboured breathing of the man slouched before you.

Skin pale, beads of sweat dot a face drained of colour save for the crimson protrusion above his left eye — soon set to transform, ironically, into his favourite shade of purple.  He tries to suppress a cough but it is too late: you’ve already caught sight of the blood spreading out from beneath the palm pressed to his stomach.

“It’s on me tonight.”

The words leave your lips without second thought as you make for the storefront, flipping the light switch even as you reach to turn the lock on the automatic doors.

“No, don’t…don’t get yourself involved…”

Ignoring his protests, you gingerly place his arm over your shoulder, doing your best to support his weight as you make an awkward attempt to hobble together towards the back of the store.

Suddenly, the darkened interior is lit by flashes of red and blue and you are pulled in the direction of the nearest pillar, a strong arm flexed as it tenses around your waist, holding you to him in an intimate embrace.

He is close…so close that your senses are flooded with him: the heartbeat thunderous in your ear, leather and sweat tickling your nostrils; the scent of blood thick enough you can almost taste it on your tongue.  The hand on your hip — grip firm in a way it almost seemed possessive, and you are ashamed to find that you can become aroused even in a situation like this.

When you finally gather the courage to look up at his face — seeking a sign in the tension dissolving from the firm set of his jaw that the police cruiser had passed — you are shocked to see his pale lips stretched into a smirk instead.

“You know...I’ve been coming here every day…for weeks now…and this is the most you’ve ever said to me.”

He is still smiling when he passes out.

Thanks so much for reading!  Hope you all enjoyed it and please stay tuned for part 2!  Check out more of my work here! 📚

(Updated): Jump to Chapter(s): Two | Three | Four

[thetriggeredhappy]

you said age twelve little scout pointed (/shot?) a goon who broke into their hotel room, was he scared? was spy there too? did he get hurt?

know what i just wrote a fic abt it.

(warnings for canon-typical violence, guns, blood, severe injury, and use of tranquilizer. any of that makes you worry, this is gonna be bad for you.)

-

Jeremy hovered by the door to the bathroom, fidgeting with his hat restlessly. “Do you need me to help?” he asked quietly, trying really hard not to let his voice shake.

Dad looked up at him with a tight smile and a slowly-blackening eye, hands momentarily pausing where he was unwrapping a roll of gauze. “Non, mon lapin, I think I can do this one on my own, thank you,” he replied, voice a little stiff.

“You got shot,” he said carefully, gaze drifting briefly to the wound on his leg that had seeped through the gauze before snapping away again as his throat tightened at the sight of it.

“It’s only a leg wound, this won’t kill me,” Dad assured calmly, starting to wrap the wound in quick motions. “That sort of wound rarely does, although I will admit that I’m a bit shaken up by it, and most likely concussed. A very rude man decided to hit me in the head with a plank of wood today. That was by far a more concerning wound. You’ve packed your bag already?”

“Yeah,” he agreed, fidgeting with his hat again.

“Good,” his Dad nodded, starting to tie off the gauze, breathing carefully. “You can take that to the car if you would like, and then you can help me with my own, oui?”

“Okay,” Jeremy nodded, and put his hat on and dashed off to get his backpack, pulling it off and scooping up the keys from the table before dashing down the stairs and out to the car.

He dumped his bag in the back seat and glanced up at the door, wondering if he should just take Dad’s bag down on his own, and froze mid-thought.

He’d closed the door behind him, hadn’t he? He was sure he did.

He tugged the brim of his cap.

He was much quieter going back up the stairs, kept close to the wall and tried to peer in through the door.

He heard two voices. He felt his hands starting to shake.

“I’m afraid I must have forgotten my manners,” Dad said in a voice he didn’t hear very much. He sounded pretty calm, but Jeremy knew he had to be really, really mad. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Well, personally I don’t think we’ve got much else to say,” the other voice said. It was a little deeper, and had a twang to it. “Here’s how this is going to work.”

“Or how you think this is going to work,” his Dad said.

Jeremy peered carefully around the doorframe. He could see just the very back of someone much taller and broader than his dad. Just the shoulders were visible. He was stood in the doorway into the bathroom, in a tense posture, and based on the fact that he was still standing there, he was probably armed.

And Dad had nowhere to go. He didn’t have a weapon in the bathroom with him.

Oh god.

“I’d quit trying to be so damn smart if I were you,” the man said, and took another step into the bathroom, and Jeremy started creeping forward, sneakers silent on the motel carpet. “Here’s what we’re gonna do. You’re gonna tell me where the boy is, and both of you are gonna get in the car, and you’re gonna have a little chat with my current employer about what exactly you’ve been up to for the past week and a half.”

“What boy?” his Dad asked quizzically, and Jeremy crept forward just enough to get the guy back in his line of sight again. He had a hat on, and a lot of hair besides. Jeremy couldn’t see his face.

“Don’t play dumb with me. The boy you’re traveling with,” the guy sneered. He could see his lip pulling back over his teeth, and it made his hands shake all the worse. “You’re gonna tell me where he is, because if you do, I won’t just shoot him as soon as I find him.”

Jeremy leaned forward just a bit further and could see that he was, in fact, holding a gun in one hand. And he had something in the other, too, something he couldn’t quite make out. Just a little further, and he could see his Dad. He didn’t so much as look at him.

“What a generous offer, there. I take it killing children is a hobby of yours?” Dad asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Do you really wanna play games right now, or are you going to answer my question?” the man asked back.

“Courez vers la voiture. I can assure you, I am not traveling with any sort of boy,” Dad laughed.

Jeremy frowned. He’d said the phrase like a sort of insulting nickname, but it wasn’t a name at all. He was panicking so hard that it took him a long few seconds to decipher the phrase.

‘Run to the car.’

They’d talked about this. There was a compartment in the car that was just big enough to fit him. If someone ever tried to attack him, and he didn’t think that wherever they were staying was safe, he was meant to run to the car and hide in there for as long as he thought he needed.

His hands were shaking. He made a choice.

“This is your last warning,” the man said, and clearly meant it.

“And this is the last time I’ll tell you, I have no idea what child you’re talking about,” Dad said firmly, not looking at Jeremy as he crept past the door to the room proper.

“Alright,” the man shrugged, and lifted his other hand, and Jeremy spotted some kind of syringe. “No skin off my back. You made your choice.”

He hurried as best he could to Dad’s bag, digging through it as fast as possible as he heard the sound of a struggle. There was a shout, the sound of some kind of close combat, a crunch, swearing, a second more panicked shout. He found what he needed and checked it over, hoped, hoped.

“You’ll go unconscious within a few minutes, with that,” the man’s voice came, underlined with anger but overall more smug than anything else. “I wouldn’t fight it if I were you. I’m only gonna wait a few minutes, and then if you aren’t under, I’ll do it with the butt of that there gun.”

“And I’ll knock another one of your teeth out, does that sound fair?” Dad said, and Jeremy peered back through the doorway again. He’d been knocked back into the bathtub, and was bleeding from the nose, and at some point around his hairline. And the man was facing towards him, and the handgun was on the counter just out of arm’s reach.

“H-hey,” Jeremy managed to squeak, and the man turned around, and his eyes landed on the handgun that was pointed straight at his head.

A brief pause. “Oh, isn’t this intimidating,” the man drawled. “A nine year old with a gun.”

“I-I-I’m twelve,” Jeremy choked out, and wished he could keep his voice steady, wished he wasn’t on the verge of tears. “Y-you get away from my Papa right now.”

“Or what?” the man asked, laughing a little.

“Or else I’m gonna shoot you with this fucking gun, dumbass, what, are you stupid?” he spat, trying hard to put bite into his words  and the man laughed again.

“You’re shaking in your boots,” he scoffed, and Jeremy looked at his Dad, not sure how to get this man to stop laughing at him. Dad looked terrified, even more than he had when he was the one with a gun pointed at his head.

“Papa, th-this is the man who hit you earlier?” he asked, just for confirmation. Dad nodded after a moment, but it was slow, foggy. He seemed sluggish, confused, like he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

Dad wasn’t gonna be able to save him from this. He  couldn’t even help. He was all alone.

He blinked, and felt tears rolling down his cheeks. The man laughed again. “Oh, look, now the kid is crying. And you think that’s intimidating?”

Jeremy wished he wasn’t crying. It was making his eyesight blurry. At this rate, it was gonna fuck up his shot. A leg wound wouldn’t kill him, but it would make a point.

He aimed the gun and pulled the trigger.

It kicked back hard, and he winced at it, wanting to rub the shock out of his arms, but he didn’t, knew he couldn’t lower the weapon. The man, meanwhile, shouted, hands immediately going to the point of impact, mirth gone in an instant. “You little son of a fucking bitch! You fucking SHOT me!” he hollered, gripping at his knee, blood starting to leak through his fingers rapidly.

“I’m not saying it again,” Jeremy spat, lip pulling back in a sneer. “Get away from my Papa or lose the other goddamn kneecap.”

A pause as he took great, heaving, shuddering breaths, and then he was trying to stagger forward. Jeremy stepped back to maintain the distance between them, and the man paused at the doorframe to glare at him with the most venom and rage he’d ever seen on a human face before. Then he was staggering forward further, leaning heavily on anything he could get within reach of. Jeremy followed him out the door, kept the gun trained on him as he went down the stairs to his car. He paused at the car door, and Jeremy fired a round into the car to make a point. It shattered the passenger side window, and that made his point, and the man scrambled into his seat and peeled out of the parking lot before the door was even shut properly.

He sprinted back into the room, discarding the gun on the counter and going to his Dad. “Papa?” he tried, voice pleading, and damn it, he was crying again, because his eyes were closed and the bruise looked so much worse than it did before. “Papa, c’mon, please wake up. Please!”

He had to shake him by the shoulders pretty hard before he blearily blinked his eyes open. “A-ah, mon lapin, I am, very sorry,” he managed to wheeze, so weakly. “This man... caught me, off guard, a bit. I’m not sure what was... in the syringe. Some sort, of... somnifère. What is the word?”

“Knocks you out?”

“Nearly,” Dad agreed. “Nearly. I’m... going to be... weak, for a while. I... need you to, do something for me.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I need... you to continue, to be very brave. And I need, for you to keep that gun. And lock the door. And make sure that... nobody else breaks in. And as soon as I’m... alright again. We will leave. And... talk about things. You are... very brave, and I’m proud of you, and... I’m sorry, that this happened.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” he asked quietly.

“Oui. I will... be fine.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he agreed right away, and Jeremy sniffled and leaned in for a hug. Dad tried to hug him back, even if it was weak and a little awkward. “It will be alright.”

“I was really scared,” he admitted, voice tight.

“Are you scared now?” Dad asked quietly.

He thought about it. “...Not really.”

“Good.” He shifted, and Jeremy pulled back. “Will you be able to do what I asked?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Dad flashed him a tight smile. “You’ll do just fine, Jeremy.”

“Okay,” he said, and inhaled, and exhaled, and picked up the gun again.

[askthemist]

The Great Big White Problem prt3: A surprisingly unethical idea

*3 days, 22 hrs, and 16 secs later after the encounter with Kaguya clan*

Kushimaru: *rocking his foot on the ground like an anxious highschool student*.....we have to do something.

Kiri: *organizing some scrolls* look sir, just because the kaguya clan produced an albino child does NOT mean the second coming of the six path's demonic mother is going to happen. If memory serves me right, albino children don't survive for long, as unfortunate for the children it is, we don't have a lot to worry about.

Kushimaru: Kiri this isn't some albino deer, this is a child who genetically can produce bones out of fuck all no-where. Plus that clan leader is a fucking nightmare. Him and his....*shudders* chicken bone.

Kiri: *let's out a frustrated sigh* ok...if you want me to, we can take care of the problem...

Kushimaru: *leaps up from his seat* GREAT! Now all we n-*suddenly he just falls down like a tree* ow~

Kiri: ! What happened?

Kushimaru: head rush and sleepy leg kiri-chan, head rush and sleepy leg. Tell NO ONE of this.

*later*

Ao: Kuriarare....this is not just an overly complicated plan for a situation that could easily be dealt with...but in some bizarre way...this is EXTREMELY unethical.

Kushimaru: Ao, shut the goddamn fuck up, anyway, where that super duper special..... Permanent resident of ours.

Ao:....please don't say "super duper", coming from you,.....it sounds..... violating.

Kushimaru: I hope so.

Kiri: sir behave yourself.

Kushimaru: *gently presses his mask against Kiri's mask* never.

Ao: god fuck you. Wait here. *Goes to get a war prisoner from the Yamanaka clan* *comes back, and throws him to the floor*

Yamanaka clan prisoner: *looks unkept, pale, and has a small beard* ....have you taken me from my cell to perform your.... experiments again....is that Momochi guy here? Please...I don't want to see his dreams anymore..... please....I haven't recovered fr-

Kushimaru: *lowers himself down to pick the guy up* Oh shut up Muta. Zabuza isn't here.

Kiri: ?!? What have you and Zabuza been doing with h-

Kushimaru: I need you for a special assignment.

Muta: please kill me. My head hurts.

Kushimaru: no...

*hours later*

Muta: *hitting his head on the wall of an integration room muttering that he wants to go back to Konoha*

Kiri: ....who...is this man?

Kushimaru: he's a member of the Yamanaka clan. We found him sulking near the armory years ago and let's just say he's not allowed to leave anymore. If Gozu and Meizu would hurry up....

Kiri:..also what was that about you and za-

Kushimaru: AH! There's my two favorite morons! Did you get one?

Gozu and Meizu: *struggling to push a huge box with holes with someone clearly inside*

Gozu: *huffs and puffs* yes. We got um.

Meizu: *pushing with one arm and another in a sling* You better pay us well for this. This animal could have ripped my arm off.

Gozu: *reveals that he has several bandages all over his legs and arms* yeah what the fuck Kuriarare....

Kushimaru: shut up. Did you get one.

Meizu: yes but the sedatives wore off like 20 mins ago.

Kushimaru: *sigh* hold on* *rustles through his hair and gets out a box of elephant tranquilizers. Takes a blow dart and shoots whatever is in the box*

Thing in the box: *let's out a ton of slurs, curses and screaming and than he just goes silent*

Kushimaru: ok quick get him out!

Gozu: howdoeshedothatlikewut.....oh right! *Opens the box and takes out a random kaguya clan scout*

*after over restraining this dude*

Muta: *presses his face on the room window where he will have to interact with the kaguya clan scout* please don't make me go in there.

Kushimaru: no. You will do as we say, and never appear in these long ass Tumblr chat posts ever again.

Muta: what are yo-*two jonin grab him and chuck him into the room with a now foaming at the mouth kaguya clan scout just screaming* oh God.

Kushimaru: come on hurry up! Pick his brain or something! Remember! Enter his mind, influence his thoughts and remember.....make him do the deed...

Muta: *shaking, he walks up to the scout, touches the head and things sort of happened until he starts screaming*

Kiri: ....sir is he ok.

Kushimaru: I'm pretty certain he's in the subconscious now.

Ao: *coming into the room* what is going o-OH MY GOD WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING.

Kushimaru: making our own Manchurian candidate if you will.

Ao: ARE YOU FUCKING CRAZY! This goes against our national agreements of ethics!

Kushimaru: *stares at ao* .....what are talking about? I've never heard of a National Agreement of Ethics.

Ao: ...you're insane.

Kiri: *knocks on wood*

Ao: and YOU are driving my patience!

Kushimaru: *pimp slaps Ao* how dare you not respect women!

Ao: GODDAMN THIS FUCKING JOB! WHY ARE Y-

Muta: *slams on the window of the interrogation room* GET ME OUT NOW.

Kushimaru: oh goodie you're done! :D

Ao: *having a fucking aneurysm* god why.

*afterwards*

Muta: ....it's done, the first thing he will do is kill the child...and Shikotomo.

Kushimaru: good.

Muta: also I want therapy.

Kushimaru: What why you already had therapy almost 5 years ago why would you need it again?

Muta: *grabs kushimaru by the neck* You don't know what it's like being in that guy's head, man! It's fucked up and shit MAN! I SAW THINGS THAT WERE NEVER MEANT TO BE SEEN MAN!

Kushimaru: ok geez fine we will get you a therapist, just calm down.

Muta: *let's go*

Kushimaru: ...now....how to release that scout without him coming right back here to kill us.....

*after tranquilizing the scout with more elephant sedatives, they release him in the middle of a field and watch him run on all fours back to the kaguya colony*

Kushimaru: wow he so majestic.

Kiri: sir you brainwashed him into believing he's a dog set out to kill the Shikotomo and the child how could you call that majestic?

Kushimaru: *ignores her comment* *sheds a tear* I hope he has a wonderful time.

[mirkwoodshewolf]

True Penguin love; Brian May x reader *bonus chap. for SMTM*

*Author’s note*

Hey guys well you thought I would forget the second bonus chapter that I had on my masterlist for my Soulmates through music series, well you thought wrong. After finally getting the chance to sit down, I finally got an idea of what I wanted to do for the final chapter I had in mind and so this idea was born.

Now be warned it takes place during the “I’m going slightly mad” music video so 1991 is the timeline for this fic. And I hope that I don’t cause any heartbreak with the angst I have for this chap (I think you can take a guess of what I’m referring to). But there is fluff in the fic so at least I hope that fills up your hearts with flutters :)

Taglist:

@psychosupernatural​

@plethora-of-things​

@ixchel-9275​

@waddles03​

@geek-and-proud​

@queendeakyy​

@mexifangorl​

@precioustyler​

_______________________________________________________

I don’t know what that guitarist has in mind but he said that it was urgent that I come to Montreux as soon as I could. And since my first three kids were practically grown up, they could watch over my last baby Em while I went to see their father.  So I packed up about a week’s worth of clothes and bought my plane ticket to Montreux, Switzerland.

Within almost 2 hours I landed in the beautiful, tranquil home of Montreux.  God no wonder why Fred chose to record the rest of Innuendo here, it’s so quiet, peaceful and you don’t have the annoyance of the press hounding you through your window, especially in Fred’s case.

Yes, unfortunately I know the terrible disease that Freddie is going through.  Tim and I just recently lost a cousin just last summer to the disease. I had grown up with Caleb and we were practically best friends in diapers even being born 6 weeks apart, so it was hard seeing him go through it.

And at the familiar spots that I could see growing on Fred and the sudden weight lost and fatigue in his face, I knew just what was wrong with him.  But of course even though I’m no longer apart of Queen, I never once spoke of Freddie’s illness to anyone.  Not mum, Tim, the kids, and especially not to the press even when they hound me about any comments regarding to Freddie’s health.

Anyways back to now.  I walked up to the first payphone and I called the studio I knew where the boys would be filming at.  I heard it ring a couple of times before I heard a voice say.

‘Hello?’

“Hey Phoebe.”

‘(Y/n), well it’s good to hear your voice again. Are you in Montreux yet?’

“Yeah I just landed actually. Shall I ring a cab and meet you at the studio?”

‘No need, your husband already paid one. You walk further out of the airport and you should see a driver with your name written on a sign with the Queen logo.’

“Okay well, I guess I’ll see you soon. And Pheebs, can you please tell me just what Brian has in mind?”

‘Ah-ah-ah I’m sworn to secrecy by Brian himself to not reveal to you what he has planned.’

“Wo, after all we’ve been through. I even bought your wife that new tea kettle after your last one broke.”

‘And she appreciates it.’

“At least tell me it’s not something bad or illegal.”

‘No, no. All I can tell you is that you’ll love it. See you when you get here love, cheers.’ And with that the line went dead.  I looked down at the phone and muttered.

“Secretive bastard.” I hung up the phone and picked up my carryon and headed to baggage claim.  Once my suitcase came in, I rolled it behind me and walked towards the exit where I saw a man dressed in a suit with a chauffeur’s hat on.  

And just as Peter said, he held a sign with the famed Queen logo Freddie himself designed and it had my name in beautiful cursive writing (probably Fred’s handwriting). He turned towards me and said.

“Are you (Y/n) May?”

“Yes I am. Pleasure to meet you uhh—”

“Ohh Ralph. My name is Ralph Mrs. May.”

“Pleasure to meet you Ralph. And please call me (y/n). Mrs. May makes me sound ancient.”

“Shall I take your bags for you?”

“Oh you don’t have to I can manage, but thank you for the offer.” He guided me outside where I saw a black limo parked outside.  He opened the trunk and I put my bags inside.  He then opened up the backseat door and I got inside and he closed the door behind me.  He got into the driver seat and he took off out of the airport.

The drive was pretty tranquil but not in the awkward kind of way.  There was some small talk between the two of us on our way to the studio where the guys were filming their next music video “I’m going slightly mad”.  Finally after about a half hour drive, I finally arrived at the studio.

“Here we are Mrs. May, Limehouse studios. Now I have been told in advance to take your things to the villa where your husband and the rest of the band are staying at.”

“Okay, thank you for the lift Ralph.” I thanked him. I grabbed my purse and swung it over my shoulder and exited the limo.  I closed the door and he waved goodbye to me and I waved back before he drove off and left me there before the grand studio.

I walked inside and showed my ID tag and when security began to recognize my face from when I was once a part of Queen, they humbly allowed me in without any ifs, ands or buts about it.  

I thanked them and walked along till I came to a grand stage with a couch on it.  Sitting on the arm rest was none other than grey-haired silver fox Deacy messing with a yoyo.

“And here I thought I’d get a more welcome approach from my boys.” He turned towards me and smiled.

“(Y/n).” I smiled and walked up onto the stage and hugged Deacy as tight as I could before kissing his cheek. “How was your flight?”

“Uneventful. And of course no one made a big deal about who I was, maybe I could convince Bri to move us here should he ever think about retirement.”

“That unfortunately won’t be for a while my darling queen.” We both turned and there all dolled up in a crazy wig and tux with white gloves and madded eyeshadow to give him that crazed look was none other than the legend himself.

“Freddie.” I praised. We walked up to each other and kissed each other on both cheeks and he said.

“Oh darling you are looking more radiant every time I see you.”

“Even with four kids later?”

“Especially with four kids later. Never doubt yourself my darling. You have an eternal beauty through and through.”

“Okay so I was told of Brian’s big surprise so where the hell is he?”

“He’s just around that way shooting his bit. However darling he’s asked you to wear this.” It was then Freddie held out a black sash to use as a blindfold.

“Goddamn that man with his secretive nature.”

“C’mon darling you know he means well. He doesn’t want you to be spoiled of the surprise.” I looked up at Fred and I said.

“Can’t I just at least be told what I’m about to see?”

“That’s a big no can do love.” The familiar soft voice soon spoke up.  Soon enough I saw Roger coming towards me wearing a full black tux as well as his shades.

“Rog.”

“Mrs. May.” He said coyly back at me before the two of us immediately hugged each other.

“Let me guess, Bri wants you to take me to him.”

“Exactly. Now go on put the blindfold on and let’s get going before they’re done filming.” I took the sash from Freddie and put it over my eyes and someone tied the two ends together.

“I swear to god though Roger, if you make me run into something or have me trip over a chord or something, I’ll kick your arse.”

“I don’t doubt that love. After what you did to Foster’s window all those years ago, I wouldn’t dream of crossing you.” I felt him take my hand and soon I was literally being led blindly across the studio.

With my eyes now blocked, my sense of hearing was heightened.  I could hear someone saying my husband’s name repeatedly, the sound of people talking over one another, and camera clicks.  It was then I felt myself stop and Roger came over behind me and he whispered.

“You ready love?”

“I’ve been dying for three days now. Show me.”

“Okay, but you gotta promise you won’t shriek or squeal.” He said as I felt him loosening the knot.

“I’ll try. But I don’t know if I can keep the promise.” Finally Roger removed the blindfold and I was taken by surprise but awe at what I saw.

Brian was in a full baggy black tuxedo suit with white gloves on, but what caught my attention was that he wore a very large penguin beak mask over his face and surrounding him were three penguins that looked up at Brian like he was actually one of them.  

Two of them were Humboldt penguins while the third and slightly more bigger one was an African penguin.

I held my hands over my mouth trying not to let out the biggest squeal of just how adorable my husband of 15yrs was right now. The beak actually moved up and down like he was actually ‘talking penguin’ to them.

“Oh my god!” I softly squealed.

“I’ll take my leave now before I end up getting sick from the upcoming lovey-dovey you both are about to do.” I playfully elbowed Roger in the chest to which he groaned and continued, “Bloody hell woman!”

“Just because I’m getting older doesn’t mean my punches are now weaker.” He playfully glared at me before walking away from me. I turned back towards Brian to see him still trying to interact with the penguins at their level.  God I think he’s officially taken our penguin nicknames to a whole other level.  When the director called cut, as he began stroking one of the penguins, that’s when he finally saw me.

He lowered the beak down over his chin so that I could see that dazzling smile of his.  I walked up towards him and I hopped myself to sit on the stage.  He came down and knelt in front of me and I said.

“So this is what you’ve been hiding from me?”

“What do you think?” he asked.

“I’d say you’ve taken your title of emperor penguin to a whole new level.”

“But don’t you think I’m adorable?” he asked immediately going into the puppy dog eyes.  I giggled and said as I placed my hand under the beak.

“Of course you are. The cutest penguin in the room.” He smiled and playfully turned his head so that the beak got right up in my face and he made it open up just a bit.  I squealed and ducked away from the beak before scooting closer to Brian and kissed his temple. “So how is it working with our children?” I gestured towards the penguins who were now being handled by their animal trainer.

“They’re a handful much like our real ones were. But they’re still adorable. Although something was missing from our little nest.”

“And just what pray tell is that?”

“Their mum. So I talked with the director and the lads and we’ve all come to an agreement that there should be a surprise cameo in the film.” Oh Bri you cheeky thing.

“Hold it I know where you’re going with this and the answer is no. As cute as it maybe I don’t feel like I should be a part of this.”

“C’mon love. It’ll be just like the old times.”

“No, no, no I haven’t been in a Queen music video in years. What if the fans don’t like me suddenly popping back up?”

“Then they’d have to be mad to not accept you. Freddie already loved the idea, plus he thinks mated penguins should stay together. Please love, I need my empress penguin with me.” He leaned his head sideways against my shoulder trying to be all cute with me.  I couldn’t help myself but lace my head on top of those now long bushy curls that he had been growing out lately and I said to him.

“Why must you be so cute?”

“Because I know you love it.”

“You know one of these days your cuteness isn’t gonna suck me into one of your evil schemes.”

“Fortunately that won’t be today, right?”

“Right.” I groaned out.  He smiled and took off the beak so that he could kiss me properly. He cupped both sides of my face as he deepened the kiss before finally separating from me.

“I’m glad you’re doing this my love.”

“I just hope Rog doesn’t blackmail us for this.”

“Sorry love already got it.” Roger’s voice soon cried out from afar.  I glared towards him and cried back to him.

“You do that and you die Taylor!” Brian chuckled and hugged me close.

“C’mon my love. Let’s get you fitted into your costume.” He then took me over to wardrobe where I was given a similar costume that Brian was wearing but slightly slimmer but still a bit baggy.  I was given the same beak to wear over my face and I said through it.

“I still can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Oh come on love you look adorable. If we were real penguins I’d definitely fight for you.”

“Thankfully you already have me.”

“That I do.” He took my left hand and stroked the back of it with his thumb as the two of us stared at each other with warm, loving eyes.

And so it was I did end up having a cameo in the music video.  Brian and I did our little penguin bit together and the three real ones acted as our children.  They were so taken by us that they actually believed us to be one of them.

One of them even came up and actually wrapped itself around my arm in a penguin snuggle.  I couldn’t help myself but stroke it’s feathers which actually felt quite smooth to go through even with the gloves on.  

After filming our bit the crew decided that some photos needed to be taken.

So all four of my boys got on the couch and the photographer got the pictures he needed with one of the penguins down along the stage.

“(Y/n) come up here be with us.” Brian said to me.

“No, no Bri I’m just a cameo I’m not the important people in this video.”

“Oh darling I swear you’re just as modest as that husband of yours. Get your fat bottomed girl ass up here!” Freddie proclaimed.

I playfully gave him my mum face to tell him to never say that again before giving into his demand and Bri immediately had me sit between him and Deacy.

“Can he—can he come up here with us?” Freddie asked gesturing to the penguin down on the stage in front of us.

“Yeah we can put him up on the stage.” Said the director as the trainer came up and set the penguin down between him and Roger.

“And just to—just to even it out could we have the other one over there?” Soon the other penguin came up to Brian and he began to stroke her back before placing her between us.  I smiled and stroked her neck and even gave her a little scratch which she seemed to enjoy.

Deacy reached over my lap so that he could stroke the female penguin when I heard something going on the other side of the couch.

“Ohh! What’s he doing?” I heard Freddie exclaim. Next thing I know, everyone’s exclaiming as Freddie and Roger quickly stand up.  I look over and saw that the male penguin had taken a shit on the couch. “That’s—that’s quite a shit number right there.” To which we all laughed. “Roger what did you do?”

I shook my head playfully and said.

“Nice going Rog!” I teased.

“It’s not my fault!” So Rog and Freddie ended up standing behind the couch over Bri and Deacy and we just had the well behaved female penguin between us.  But bless the little thing at one point she thought she could fly, or thought she was heading for water as she now crawled over Brian’s lap and went over to the edge of the couch and jumped right off of it.

Brian quickly brought her back and stroked her back and I reached over and stroked under her neck cooing at her.

“Aww baby girl, there wasn’t any water there. No need to hurt yourself, no, no, no.”

“She’ll be okay. I think she knows now to not jump off this couch again, isn’t that right sweetheart? Yeah?” Brian said as he kept stroking her back soothingly.

As the day went on, I got to watch in awe of Freddie’s strength as they had to do a multiple take shot of him crawling along the floor and interacting with the three other guys who were all on the couch.

Even though he was suffering very hard at this point and would have a lay down when things became too hard for him, he didn’t once complain about ‘god I can’t do this anymore. Let’s call it quits for today. I’m too tired for this shit.’ He was—the most incredibly strong person I’ve ever seen and had the honor of meeting.

“(Y/n) what do you think Brian should do with his fingers?” Freddie soon called out to me.  I walked up onto the stage and stood beside him and the director and asked him.

“Why ask me specifically?”

“Because he’s your husband and I’d hate for you to hound me for not making him look good.” I playfully shoved Fred on the shoulder and said.

“So what are you thinking?”

“Well I really want him to play around with his fingers but I don’t know in which way he should do it.” I hummed and held Brian’s hand in mine which now held the long extended golden claw-like fingers. “Bri, do you think you could do something like this?” I held out my free hand and slowly fanned it up starting from my index finger to my pinkie.  He followed behind me with his free hand and I said to him, “Now close them the opposite way.”

He slowly closed them from his pinkie back to his index finger but I told him.

“But immediately as soon as your left hand closes, do the same thing with your right.” And just as I told him, it looked so elegant, almost seductive like.

“Ohh that’s nice, and yes just look to each hand as you open it up. Oh yes Brian that’s nice. (Y/n) you’re a genius as always.”

“What would you guys do without me?”

“We’d be 4 lost, stubborn-headed testosterone aging queens.” Brian answered.

“Okay guys, let’s run full play back.” The director said as Freddie went back into position on the floor.  Just as I was about to get out of the shot, Brian suddenly jerked me back and trapped me in his arms as I sat on his lap.

“Do you like these?” he wriggled his fingers emphasizing the claws.

“They definitely make your already long fingers longer. Think you can swipe them for the night?” I asked.

“You got something in mind?” he whispered.

“Maybe.” I whispered coyly at him.

“Ugh! I swear you two are as bad as this guy with his wife!” Roger pointed to Deacy.

“Not nearly as bad as you and Dominque.” Deacy sassed back.

“Mrs. May we need you out of the shot please.” I turned to Brian and hissed softly.

“Don’t make me get you into trouble.”

“I’m afraid you already do that love. And you must pay the price before I can let you go.” I quickly pecked his lips and he released me and I quickly got off the stage and stood behind the camera and watched them film the sequence.

It was a long, grueling day but Freddie was happy with the end result and with that the guys and I were allowed to go back to the villa.  As it grew darker, the guys were pretty much asleep except for Brian and I.  We were cuddled up on the king sized bed and he once again had on the golden claws that he managed to swipe from set.

“It seems like we’ve returned back to square one.” He said.

“What do you mean?”

“Working on an album in a tranquil place, no one to harass us while we work, the two of us in a room together again. Just like the summer of 1975.” I smiled and leaned my head against his chest which was exposed from the night shirt he was wearing (thank god he still leaves his shirts unbuttoned).

“Yeah. I—kinda wish we could go back to that time. When life was simple, we were young and Queen was just the five of us.”

“So you do miss performing with us?”

“From time to time yeah. But after this,” I said holding up my arm to show my braces that I wear every night for my CTS.  “But I knew I couldn’t drag you guys down nor let you be worried about me. Besides I’d say you four did great on your own without me at the start of the 80’s. I mean you all were rewarded for best band of the entire 1980’s.”

“Yeah. But we still would’ve gotten the award if you were still in the band.” He said as he stroked my back with those claws of his which sent tingles all over me.  I moaned softly and that’s when Brian hovered over me and he continued, “You like that?”

“God Bri how do you still affect me like a horny teenager?”

“Guess I just have that effect on you my love.” He leaned down and pressed his lips against mine.  I buried my hands into his massive mane of curls while I felt his hand go underneath my shirt and those claws gently grazed across my stomach which made it tickle.

“Bri don’t tease.” He chuckled and said.

“Sorry love I can’t help it. I just love that giggle of yours.” He then began kissing down my neck.

But as much as I wanted to be pleasured, my head just wasn’t in the right mindset, because it finally hit me of just how bad Fred had gotten since I last saw him.  I tried to hold in my tears but I could feel them starting to form.

“(Y/n)? Love what’s wrong?” he hovered back over me and cupped the side of my face.  I sniffled and muttered.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no, no. It’s alright. What’s wrong my love, what brought this on, hmm?”

“It’s—I….” I sighed heavily and shook my head.

“C’mon love just tell me. I won’t get mad, you know that. We promised no more secrets with each other.”

“I—I know I promised I wouldn’t get all teary eyed or make a fuss about it but—we’re gonna lose him, aren’t we?” at that question he didn’t need a clarification on what I meant. “It’s just—every time I look at him I think back to Caleb. It’s only been four months since he died and it still hurts I—I can’t bear to lose Freddie too.” I wept.

Brian sat down beside me and brought me close to him and allowed me to cry into his shoulder.  His hand rubbed my back while his other one stroked through my hair.

“I—I’m sorry Bri—you don’t de-deserve this r-right now…..”

“Shhh. Shhh. Think nothing of it. I know exactly what you’re going through. I—I don’t even want to think it but…..I feel that he may not have much more time. Plus with my dad feeling sick now I—I can’t bear to lose the two people I love most dearly.” He kissed the side of my head before hugging me tighter and closer to him.

“He helped us become a couple. I—I would never have gotten the courage to tell you how I really felt about you without him making that penguin metaphor.” I choked out.

“He always loved playing matchmaker. But I guess he also knew that we were meant for each other.” He leaned his head against mine as he pulled me even closer to him.  “But he’s still so strong. He won’t stop working until he just can’t do it anymore. And—it would mean a lot if you stayed her a bit longer, I know Fred said that he’s wanted you to be involved with this album.”

“But I only packed clothes for a week.”

“You can share some of mine, you know I have no problem with you wearing my stuff.”

“You just want to see me drown in your things.” He chuckled and admitted.

“That’s one way of looking at it. But—please say you’ll stay and help us finish this last Queen album with Fred. I know it would mean a lot to have the true queen of Queen back.” I sniffled and wiped away my tears and choked out.

“I’ll call Louisa in the morning and see if she can take Emily an extra couple of weeks.” He nodded and kissed the top of my forehead.

“Feeling better?”

“A little. I just—I couldn’t help but think of the promise I made Freddie about not making a big do about all this, but I guess I broke that promise.”

“Well not quite. You’re with me, Fred’s not in front of you. And you’ve been so strong ever since you found out around the same time the rest of the guys and I did. Losing your cousin was traumatic enough for you, and now seeing another close friend, a dear friend going through the same terrible disease he went through, (y/n) my love you are incredibly strong. But even you must take time for yourself, and cry. And I’m always here to cry with you.” He said as he wiped the tears away.

I took notice of his tearstains and wiped them away and I asked him.

“So we’re crying partners now?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, then yes. We’re crying partners.” He brushed my hair out of my face and kissed my nose. “Why don’t we just have a cuddle for the night? I think we both need it.” I nodded. I helped him take off the claw fingers and he set them on the nightstand before wrapping his arms around me.

I pulled the covers up over us and Brian got us snug as two lovebugs in a rug.  He kissed the top of my head and leaned his head against mine while I buried my face into his chest and listened to his strong, comforting heartbeat.

The two of us drawing strength from each other to get through the next few weeks through this terrible event at seeing a dear friend who helped us get together, get married and end up having our four kids together go through such pain, but still having the raw strength to push on and continue to be what he was born to be.

[i-larb-you]

Behind the Glass Wall

I got inspired when I went to the Marvel exhibit at the Franklin Institute and this is what happened.

You can also read this on AO3 here.

***

I’m fine, Peter says.

“I’m fine,” he tells May.

“I’m fine,” he assures Pepper.

“I’m fine,” he says to Happy.

“I’m… getting better,” he answers when Morgan asks. He can never lie to her.

But his tongue has become so accustomed to the words they fall right off before he can think about it. They are stale, tasteless in his mouth. They make him want to claw his heart out from behind his ribcage and place it behind a wall of glass instead.

There are times he’s not lying. He’ll read Morgan a bedtime story with stupid voices that make her giggle during his visits to the lake house. He teases May when her cooking comes out less than stellar and offers to run to Mr. Delmar’s new bodega. He laughs so hard he spits out his chocolate milk at lunch with Ned and MJ. There are times he thinks that maybe things will be okay, that maybe he really is getting better.

And then he’ll see the street art, the graffiti, the many thousands of drawings and paintings still proudly displayed in homage to the man who saved the universe, and the façade he’s built will come crashing down yet again.

Everyone at Midtown thinks he’s doing it for attention. They don’t say anything, but he knows they do. Or they would if half of them hadn’t also spontaneously stopped existing. That’s what most people his age lie about now. They pretend it doesn’t bother them that they lost five years of their lives or that they’re suddenly older than their siblings. Peter always thought Class of 2019 sounded ridiculous, but Class of 2025? It makes his brain hurt in more ways than one.

School itself has just become so monotonous for Peter. Sit in an uncomfortable chair, listen to an underpaid and overworked teacher drone on about a concept they know the students won’t care about but they’re required to teach, eat bland cafeteria food and endure a whole hour of kids yelling back and forth across the tables. Not to mention the constant threat of a sensory overload every goddamn day. If his senses were dialed to an eleven before, they’re at a twenty, minimum. And that’s on a good day.

Add in the worst nightmares he’s ever had in his life, and yeah, Peter’s doing just fine.

You have to be fine, his brain says. Other people have it so much worse than you. Just be like everyone else for once and suck it up.

“Peter?”

Pepper’s voice jolts him out of his thoughts and his head shoots up, eyes wide. It takes him a moment to remember where he is, and only when he sees the faded old couch, the wooden staircase leading upstairs, the faint outline of Gerald behind the shades in the window, does he let himself relax. He’s not anywhere he shouldn’t be. He’s safe. He’s home.

After a second, he realizes that Pepper’s looking at him.

“Y-Yeah, sorry, I kind of zoned out a little,” he says, trying for casual and ending up with a notch below slightly suspicious. “What’s up?”

Pepper raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment on it. “Morgan’s waiting for you outside.”

Shit.

Peter shoots to his feet and he’s out the door before Pepper can even finish, calling over his shoulder, “Thanks for reminding me!”

It’s a warm day, rare for this time of the year. The trees surrounding the house are all green, but across the way, the leaves look like a rippling fire every time the wind blows. Pretty soon the birds will be giving one final symphony before heading south and according to Morgan, the whole lake will freeze solid, just as it has every year she’s been alive.

As he steps off the porch and walks down to the lake, he can’t stop replaying the conversation in his head, second-guessing everything from his words to his tone of voice. Could she tell? Did she hear how his voice trembled, how it was just a little too high?

Stupid, stupid, stupid, his brain screams. You call that being fine?

He finds Morgan at the edge of the dock, waiting patiently just like her mother instructed. Where most kids probably would have jumped into the water already, Morgan just isn’t capable of not following directions. Of course, she has her moments like every young kid does, but when it comes to safety, like staying on the dock until an adult (or Peter) is there to watch her swim, she does exactly what she’s told.

She definitely did not inherit that from her father.

“Hi, Petey!” she calls with a wave. He’s been at the lake house for almost two days and Morgan still greets him with the same enthusiasm that she did when he first arrived.

“Sorry it took me so long, Mo,” Peter says, brushing some hair out of his face. “You can head in now.”

Squealing with delight, Morgan skips across the length of the dock, grabs Peter’s hand, and drags him to the little beach off to the side. Peter leans against the edge of the boat and watches as she splashes and dives and makes waves that travel all the way out to the middle of the lake. The water has to be cold, but Morgan doesn’t seem to mind.

She’s going to grow up without a father.

The thought comes unbidden to his mind and Peter almost visibly recoils.

She’ll find out someday, his brain whispers, and if a brain could sneer, his would be. One day Morgan will know that Mr. Stark chose you over her and then she’ll hate you, just like everyone else.

Peter’s stomach does flips. He covers his face with his hands and counts to ten, twenty, thirty, to calm himself down, to make the voice go away. When he lifts his head, Morgan is looking back at him, her big brown Bambi eyes full of concern.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I’m fine, he starts to say, but the flat taste of the words makes him stop. He can’t lie to Morgan. Instead, he says, “I’m… getting better.”

Morgan apparently deems that an acceptable answer and returns to her imaginary battle against the monster she insists lives at the bottom of the lake.

Maybe Morgan won’t grow up with her dad around, but she has Pepper. She has Pepper and Colonel Rhodes and the blue chick from space and Hawkeye’s kids and Peter. God, if there’s one thing Peter will absolutely make sure of, it’s that he’ll be there for Morgan Stark. Not just because he knows it’s what Mr. Stark would have wanted, not just because of the guilt that eats away at him every time he looks at her, but because he’s the best big brother in the world to the best little sister in the world and that’s his job.

Still, for the rest of the weekend, Peter can’t quite meet Morgan’s eyes.

***

After the relative peace and tranquility of the lake house, going back to school on Monday is a shock to Peter’s system. Voices bounce off the walls, carrying down the halls from teachers in classrooms on the second floor and students yelling in the cafeteria and two kids getting high in the bathroom down in the Math wing. Bodies he does not know touch him, invading more of his space with each step he takes. Peter winces as locker doors slam shut and books scrape against the metal shelves inside.

Quit complaining, you big baby, his brain says. You’ve literally been to space. You can handle a little noise for one day.

His skin burns under the collar of his shirt and the tops of his sneakers dig into his Achilles tendons like a knife waiting to carve him open, but he agrees with the voice for once. He went to outer space. He can deal.

The day crawls by. One class after another, lectures upon lectures upon lectures. Peter’s all but dragging his feet by the time eighth block rolls around. He settles into his seat at the back of his last class and rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands, holding back a yawn. He’s so tired he can hardly remember which subject he has right now—a particularly bad nightmare had him up and awake well before dawn—but he’s in the right room so he doesn’t care.

Peter puts his head on the desk as other students trickle in. MJ sits down next to him and gives him a nod of acknowledgment before burying her nose in her book again. Peter doesn’t pay attention to anything other than keeping his eyes open and not giving his teacher a reason to write him up.

When the bell rings, Mr. Ryan lifts his hand up to get everyone’s attention.

“I’m gonna be honest with you guys,” he says, “I feel like crap but we’re short on subs, so I have to be in today. I really don’t feel like teaching so we’re just going to watch a movie that only kind of has something to do with history and pretend we learned something new today. Sound good?”

Everyone agrees wholeheartedly.

Mr. Ryan has Jen in the front row help him set up the computer and projector while the class whispers amongst themselves. Peter hears all about what Owen and Kirby did over the weekend and how stressed Tabatha is for Dr. J’s Chemistry test on Thursday and where Althea got her Homecoming dress, which is apparently a gorgeous sea green. Their words roll in one ear, out the other.

Someone turns off the lights. Despite his best efforts, Peter’s eyelids droop dangerously low. He struggles to lift them, but it’s a losing battle.

He falls asleep.

For a while, it’s all just black. No dreams, no nightmares. Only that weird in-between stage where he knows he’s asleep and he’s just waiting to fall deeper into the pull of unconsciousness.

Then he finds himself in the ruins of the Avengers compound upstate, surrounded by fires and debris, but everything is quiet. There are no gunshots or screams. The whole place seems deserted apart from him, no one fighting for their lives or for control of the gauntlet.

Peter glances around in confusion. He knows he’s dreaming. He’s had nightmares that have started out eerily similar before. There has to be a reason his subconscious is making him come back here.

He finds his reason in the form of a small gathering of people, just past where the swimming pool used to be. Peter doesn’t want to go toward them, but he feels himself being tugged forward, like an invisible hand with a string wrapped around his torso. It pulls and pulls until he’s right next to them and he sees the scene that’s been burned into his memory—Mr. Stark, right side blackened and scarred beyond recognition, slumped against a pile of rubble; Colonel Rhodes standing a few feet away, tears painting his dusty cheeks; Pepper kneeling in front of her husband, her hand on the arc reactor, assuring him that it’s okay, they’ll be okay.

Peter wants to curl into a ball and never come back out.

But this time there’s someone new. A tiny someone, whose small body had initially been hidden behind her mother’s.

“Morgan,” Peter breathes.

But when she turns to look at him, it’s not with concern or compassion. She no longer looks young and innocent, carefree, with just a hint of baby fat still on her angelic face. She’s much older, older than Peter, even. Her eyes are full of broken promises and disappointments and so much more that Peter had hoped she would never have to experience. In her features is an anger, a loathing that makes Peter flinch.

“You stole him,” she hisses, accusatory and hostile. “You took him from me. It’s all your fault.”

Peter opens his mouth, though he’s not sure what he could even say to that, but the words won’t form on his tongue.

“You’re the reason Dad’s dead,” says Morgan, and she’s right. She’s right, she’s right, she’s right. It’s all his fault, all his fault. “That’s his legacy, Peter. Not me, not Mom. You killing him.” Then she drives the final nail into the coffin: “I hate you.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

His heart shatters into a million tiny pieces and Peter just wants to sweep them up and put them behind that wall of glass. He moves toward her, raises a hand to cup her face like he does now when she’s scared of the monster under her bed, but a different hand latches onto his wrist. Peter looks down to see Mr. Stark clutching onto him, gripping him so tightly it hurts. His expression is dead, which is even worse than any emotion it could hold.

“Why?” is all he asks before he goes limp again, his fingers still curled around Peter’s wrist.

“I’m sorry!” Peter screams. “I’m sorry, Mr. Stark! Morgan, I-I’m so sorry!”

“Peter?” someone calls from a thousand miles away.

Peter just shakes his head, trying and failing not to collapse in on himself with a sob. Tears drip off his eyelashes as he screws his eyes shut. He can’t look at them, can’t face them again knowing what he’s done.

That someone’s voice is a lot closer this time as they shout, “Peter!”

His head shoots up from the desk, eyes wide open and brimming with tears. Heart racing, the words fall from his lips like a stone in the open air with no end in sight. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Arms circle around him and just hold him, rocking back and forth. There’s a voice in his ear shushing him. Not trying to quiet him, trying to calm him. His chest heaves as another sob rips from his throat.

Peter glances up for a moment and he freezes all of a sudden. Just like that, his apologies die in his throat that’s already closing up and the crying stops and he just stares in horror at the SMART board.

“Tell him about the dance-off to save the universe.”

“Like in Footloose, the movie?”

“Exactly like Footloose! Is it still the greatest movie in history?”

“It never was.”

Kevin Bacon grins at whatshername and Peter’s chest constricts and he can’t breathe. He’s falling apart again, being torn away piece by piece, inch by inch, until all that’s left is dust, dust, dust. Quill’s voice rings in his ears, his quiet “Oh, man,” bouncing through his head until it’s the only thing occupying any space up there.

Peter pushes at the arms and they retract. He needs air, he needs space. Not that kind of space. The space where he can actually breathe and his heart isn’t a jackhammer in his chest. His eyes dart around the room, brain working on overdrive to find the fastest exit.

Front door—too far away, too many bodies to pass through.

Back door—blocked by desks and a panic-stricken Mr. Ryan.

One option left.

Peter doesn’t even think as he jams his backpack onto his shoulders, shoves open the window, and kicks. Shouts ring out behind him. His foot connects with the screen in a solid hit and it pops right off. He stands up on his chair and scrambles over the counter and out the window, dropping the ten or so feet to the ground below. As soon as his feet hit the grass, he takes off running, sprinting across the lawn and the football field and down the street, as if he can escape from his memories and the mountain of guilt inside him that way.

***

Hardly a month after the battle at the compound, after the snaps that brought everyone back and saved the universe, an anonymous group of New Yorkers erected an Iron Man statue outside of Central Park, the first of many throughout the city. It stood tall and proud, a reminder of the man himself, of the confident and suave hero the whole world loved and mourned.

Peter always tries to avoid it if he can. For one thing, looking at it only deepens the wound in his heart and widens the hole in his life. For another, it just bothers him. He knows the real Iron Man, the real Tony Stark, and he knows that the whole ‘confident billionaire’ act is just that—an act. He learned firsthand that Mr. Stark wasn’t this unshakable wall of a man with no fear that the public and the tabloids made him out to be. Mr. Stark had lots of fears. Some he shared. Some he didn’t. But he taught Peter, in words and actions, that there was nothing wrong with that. That even superheroes could be afraid.

As he stands in front of the statue now, hood up to block the light rain that’s begun to fall, Peter doesn’t feel much like a superhero. He feels small, weak. Like the sixteen-year-old kid he is.

Everyone has a lot of questions about the future. Who’s going to take over the job the Avengers left behind and defend the Earth from new threats? Who’s going to step up and lead the new generation of heroes now that the old is gone?

Who will be the next Iron Man?

They ask him this, as Spider-Man. Ask if he will be able to fill Tony Stark’s impossibly large shoes. If he is going to be the next Iron Man.

He stares up into the stone face standing guard over Central Park. As much as Peter loves Iron Man and the man behind the mask, he doesn’t want to be Iron Man. Doesn’t want that responsibility. He wants to be Spider-Man, the one and only.

You can’t always get what you want, his brain hisses.

Peter’s shoulders are hunched over, weighed down by the burden the rest of the world has placed on them. Even if he hadn’t been the one to kill Tony Stark, he knows he is, to some extent, part of Mr. Stark’s legacy. Not as much as Morgan, obviously. But enough to be significant. Enough to be a possible footnote in the biography of Mr. Stark’s life.

Enough that it’s too much.

Too much expectation and too much pressure and too much for an anxiety-ridden, nightmare-prone sixteen-year-old kid to handle.

What’s so special about you anyway? asks his brain. You’re nothing. You’re just a stupid kid with the shittiest luck in the entire world.

Peter turns away from the memorial and walks down Fifth Avenue, ignoring the weight of his phone in the pocket of his hoodie. He turned it off after he finally calmed down from his nightmare-slash-panic-attack, when the incessant vibrating got on his last nerve. May’s smiling face and Ned’s ridiculous picture just embarrassed him even more than his little episode.

Rain falls harder on his hood. He should head home, he knows that. At the very least he should call May and tell her where he is, how long he’ll be out, but he can’t bring himself to talk to anyone right now. He doesn’t think he has the capacity for words, let alone the energy.

You’re pathetic, his brain screams, and Peter can’t really argue with that.

***

All told, there is no punishment. He explains to May, in as little words and details as possible, what happened at school, and she just nods, giving him that sympathetic smile he’s come to hate. There’s nothing wrong with him. At least nothing he can’t handle on his own. He’s not some stupid, helpless little kid anymore.

Except you are, his brain reminds him.

The rest of the week passes without incident, though not without its annoyances. Ned walks on eggshells around him. MJ keeps an eye on him from a distance, like she always does. No one in his History class can pay attention on Tuesday because they’re all too busy watching him, waiting to see if he’ll have another freak-out. Mr. Ryan comes up to him after class that day and asks, albeit a bit awkwardly, how he’s doing, if there’s anything he can do to help Peter.

Peter looks at Mr. Ryan with dead eyes and a dead expression to hide his very not dead heart and gives him his classic line: “I’m fine.”

When the weekend arrives, Peter feels the tension ease from his shoulders the closer he gets to the lake house. He’s come to relish these trips, to appreciate every minute of quiet he has with Pepper and Morgan. In the back of his mind, he wonders how much longer he can hide the bright red label of blame he’s put on himself, how much longer he has until they agree with his brain and cast him out of their lives for good. But when Morgan runs up to him and smashes into him with the biggest hug she can muster, and when Pepper sits with him late at night after another nightmare and regales him with stories about some of the dumb stuff Mr. Stark did when he was younger, Peter manages to push his worries aside for a little bit longer and just enjoy the moment.

Peter lets out a sudden oof as Morgan lands on top of him on the couch.

“Whatcha doin’?” she asks, all smiles and curiosity.

“Nothin’ much, little munch,” Peter replies, matching her casual tone.

Morgan giggles at the nickname and lays down on Peter’s stomach, face pointed toward the ceiling. One of Peter’s arms comes to rest across her tiny body. Morgan takes his hand in her own and plays with his fingers, making them dance to a beat in her head. They’re quiet for a while. Listening to each other’s breathing.

Then, in her small, innocent voice, she breaks the silence. “Mommy said you made Miss May scared the other day.”

“She did?” Peter’s brows furrow.

Morgan nods and Peter can feel her head move against his chest, feel her hair scratch at his neck.

“What else did she say?” he asks.

“That I should give you lots and lots and lots of hugs when you come to visit,” she says, and as she does she flips herself over so that their stomachs are flush and their noses are inches apart. Morgan tries her best to put her arms around his body. They don’t quite make it past the point where his skin meets the leather of the couch, but it’s the thought that counts. She rests her head on his chest. “Daddy always says I give the bestest hugs.”

Peter can’t help the laugh that bursts out of him, and he wraps his own arms around her in return. “Well, he’s right, Mo. You definitely give the bestest hugs.”

After another small stretch of silence, Morgan tells him, very matter-of-factly, “You’re my favorite big brother.”

“I’m your only big brother,” Peter reminds her.

“That’s why you’re my favorite, though,” she says. She lifts her head to look at him and her voice drops to a fake whisper. “But don’t tell anyone else.”

Peter laughs again. “I won’t, I promise.”

“Guess what?” she says, still in that theater whisper. “I love you 3000.”

Morgan settles her head back on his chest and Peter watches as it rises and falls with his breaths. Something in his heart bursts open, breaking down the glass wall he’d tried to hide it behind, filling him with so much love and awe for this tiny person on top of him, who trusts him and loves him in return, even despite the flaws his brain constantly reminds him of.

“I love you, too, Morgan,” he responds, and he means it with every fiber of his being.

“Are you all better now?” she asks quietly.

Peter pauses for a moment, weighing the question in his head.

“No,” he answers truthfully. “But I think I will be. Eventually.”

And for the first time in a long time, he really believes it.

[museswithinx]

‘ yeah, i’ve watched enough horror movies to know that’s a terrible idea.’ { Eric for Adrian }

sentence starters inspired by & taken from horror movies.

“You missed curfew,” Adrian scolds as Eric finally pulls up with his sister. If this kid was going to be dating her, then he needed to make sure she was safe. The curfew was in place for a reason. If everyone was ignoring it, then what the hell was the point.

As the two of them slip out of the car and before he can launch into it, Ronnie is full defense mode. 

“Calm down, Adrian,” she starts. “There was a lot of traffic when we were leaving. And it’s only a quarter after ten. It’s not his fault.” 

“Fine. Whatever. Just get in the damn house.”

In all honesty, he wasn’t in any sort of mood to argue with her about it right now. The full moon was quickly approaching and he was already feeling the effects of it. With a little sigh, Ronnie walks past him into the house. However, as Eric moves to follow, Adrian’s hand shoots out to grab his arm stopping him. He wasn’t in a mood to fight with Ronnie, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to say something to him.

However, before he can say anything, a loud rustling sounds from the edge of the woods not too far off the property. There was something out there. Something was watching them. His lecture forgotten, he releases Eric, muttering, “go inside.” But this stubborn ass kid seemed to pick up on it as well and knew what Adrian was about to do. Mimicking his earlier action, it was Eric’s turn to grab his arm stopping him.

‘ yeah, i’ve watched enough horror movies to know that’s a terrible idea.’ 

With a roll of his eyes, Adrian yanks his arm from his grasp. “Someone needs to check it out and I’m the adult. Now go inside.” As he starts toward the edge of the property, he soon realizes that Eric was following him toward the potential danger. These goddamn kids, not a single one of them ever listened. Turning to face him, he scolds, “what the hell did I say? Go back to the house!”

Before he can further argue with him though, there was more rustling and it was closer this time. Instinctively moving Eric behind him, he’s prepared to take on whatever was about to leap out at them. Then the familiar scent caught him before a large black wolf emerges from the trees. “Jared?” 

There was something wrong though, as Jared in wolf form wobbles a bit before falling over with a little whimper. Then the wolf starts to change back into the man and he sees the problem. In his neck, were two darts. A tranquilizer of sorts. Someone had tried to subdue him, but why? 

“Shit.” Shrugging his jacket off, he drapes it over his brother as he rolls him onto his back. Yanking both darts out of his neck, he examines those a moment before concluding to Eric behind him, “he’s been drugged. It’s wolfsbane. Vervain too, I think, and maybe something else. It takes a lot to subdue a hybrid.” Turning his attention back to his brother, Jared appears a bit dazed and out of it, but otherwise unharmed. “What the hell happened?”

“Aurora.” 

Looking to Eric, they both seem to freeze up at the mention of her name. This witch was not wasting any time going after anyone. That was something that worried him the most. But why had she tried to drug him? Why not just go straight for the kill like she had with Deacon and Joel? Shaking his head, he’d press for more details and think on it later when Jared had worked it out of his system.

“He’ll be alright. Just needs to heal,” he assures Eric as he shifts an arm under Jared and lifts him to his feet. “Help me get him to the house.” It dawns on him just then that he’ll have to be the one to call his sister-in-law too. They were about the have a very angry vampire on their hands.

[jennyquill]

i can’t stop writing about married kara/lena so here have this

a rooftop wedding seemed like a great idea when kara had first suggested it, arms wrapped around lena’s waist, nose in lena’s hair, both of them swaying back and forth in the middle of their kitchen. the idea was so cute. so manageable. 

but – 

here they are. one rooftop wedding and one poorly timed alien invasion in.

before kara can try anything, her sister rises up from her chair, gun drawn and brows pulled.

“alex!” kara hears eliza hiss. “put that down!”

it’s too late. alex is a deadly shot, and the ten-foot-tall purple menace that decided to crash kara’s big day has two-tenths of a chance at surviving.

well, all by itself it should. kara sees about five more of those big guys sliding up over the edge of the roof and pooling into purple mass before assembling themselves upright again in seconds. it’s rather disgusting and disheartening to witness. 

the guests aren’t in shock. to be fair, there’s only ten of them: alex, eliza, maggie, james, winn, j'onn, lucy, clark, lois, and cat.

oh, and the minister. who is m'gann. that’s another story for a later time, like when kara’s married and enjoying a rare day off with her wife in a far, far away place where no otherworldly antics ensue.

speaking of her wife –

lena’s sigh is quiet, her head tipped back and eyes closed, and kara offhandedly thinks she looks absurdly pretty, though she knows lena’s probably just counting backwards from ten and trying not to challenge the god of love to smite them down right now. 

kara spares her a sympathetic wince. 

“sorry?” she says, scrunching up her shoulders. lena shakes her head, a wry smile tugging at her lips, annoyance disappearing fast. 

“typical,” is all she says, soft and fond and wow, kara is so in love. 

and that’s when alex fires her first shot. 

the actions starts immediately without preamble. alex takes another well-aimed shot but the aliens are quicker. maggie covers her while james grabs his chair and hurls it over his head towards the approaching group. the chair is promptly swallowed up by marshmallow mouths. 

kara groans. 

j'onn and m'gann transform and kara’s heart does that whoosh of admiration it always does when she sees them suit up. by the look on clark’s face, he’s feeling the same way. lois throws her heel at an alien’s back followed by a screeched “no wedding crashers allowed!” and that springs them both into action.

they all move so expertly kara doesn’t know whether to be impressed or scared for how well prepared her family is at handling last-minute disasters.

eliza moves to ground that isn’t smack dab in the center of battle, and winn looks to follow her lead but is side tracked by cat’s hard tug on his sleeve.

“what are you doing?” he squeaks.

cat, with her legs crossed like she’s got all the time in the world, inexplicably takes out her phone. 

“kiera is only getting married once,” cat says, as if that should explain everything. “i’m documenting the fun part.”

“why do i need to be here?” winn makes a face as an alien spits purple goo all over james’ tux.

cat hums. “i wanted company.”

winn slouches dejectedly and kara doesn’t really have time to pull apart their friendship or cat’s startling ease. the alien lunges, kara sidesteps, and then that's when she hears a devastating rip of fabric.

"that was so rude," she mutters. she kicks up into the air, ruined train following her like a totally unhelpful cape. she turns, lena nods at her, and then kara’s jumping up into the sky to put an end to this nonsense. 

even though they out-number these stupid things, the stupid things are stupidly stubborn, and they all seem to have a hive mind. their goal? to ruin kara’s wedding. 

(that’s not really their goal but kara - kara’s been through a lot and the least the universe owes her is a normal day, and apparently it was too much to ask for it to be her wedding day.)

kara lazer beams an alien in what could be an alien crotch - she doesn’t stop to think too hard about it - and the darn thing just reshapes itself into something bigger and meaner. somewhere on the ground, she hears lena’s muffled laughter. 

she whips around towards the noise. “seriously?” she says, arms stretched open. “i’d like to see you try something better.”

lena only rolls her eyes and hikes up her dress to reveal her own gun stashed neatly in her garter-belt. kara blushes for a few reasons. 

“why do you have that?” kara asks, floating down to land in front of her. in the background, clark slips in slime. kara hears the crash more than sees it; clark going down and dragging james, alex, and lucy with him like dominoes. kara exhales slowly, doesn’t turn around. we’re professionals, she thinks dryly. 

lena shrugs and pushes a button on the side of the nuzzle. “i had a feeling something like this would happen.”

kara furrows her eyebrows as winn screams, high pitched and unprompted. lena pulls an ouch face as she watches the show go on over kara’s shoulder. 

“did cat slap him?” kara says, voice flat. 

“on the arm. one of those gooey things slid past his toe.”

“ah.”

“anyways.” lena clicks the safety and smirks, one arm on her hip. “i came prepared.”

“why? not that i don’t believe in you and your abilities –”

there’s about ten different types of crashes that thunder on behind their conversation. lois and lucy scream something about taking sides and maggie yells at the two of them to please stop talking about your childhoods and start helping or so help me god. 

“– it’s just - our wedding? really?”

“we’re on a rooftop in the heart of national city, kara,” lena says, and kara can practically feel her urge to roll her eyes again. “also, i’m getting married to you.”

kara scoffs. “you say it like it’s a bad thing.” lena stalks forward then, the moment feeling suddenly private despite their opposite situation. lena shrugs. 

“i’m too late now.” she’s very close to kara. kara distantly hears the sound of battle, though that might just be alex. 

“you’ve got about five minutes to turn back.” kara draws forward, too inclined by the tug of lena’s smile, the way her eyes are sparkling. it’s a goddamn cliche, how kara feels right now. 

and yeah, that’s definitely alex yelling in the background. 

“i’m not turning back.”

“i’m glad.”

“hold that thought.”

lena then promptly whips away from kara and aims the gun over kara’s shoulder, poised precisely at the biggest, meanest, ugliest purple blob there is. 

she squints an eye, then pulls the trigger. 

a gust of blue light emits from the gun and it hits squarely on the alien. the alien fizzles on contact, dissolving into the evening air and leaving no slimy residue behind. almost on cue, the other five aliens disappear the same way, frothing into nothingness and leaving behind no trace of them being there.

except their previous slime. their little event area is bathed in purple goop. when the mist clears, kara stares wide-eyed at their eleven guests:

cat is the only one not covered in slime. everyone else is wiping away purple goop from their fancy attire. james frowns sullenly down at his suit and maggie does the same at hers. winn rips off his shoe and turns it over, a river of purple sludge sliding out. 

alex notices lena’s arms still raised in mid-shoot. “what the heck?” she says. 

lena lowers her gun and presses the side button again. “water-based alien tranquilizer.” she refastens it back into her garter belt, un-hindered by winn’s wide stare. “i thought it might come in handy.”

alex nods like this is normal, which, kara guesses, it might as well be. “good thinking,” she says, impressed tilt to her head. 

winn fist pumps and lena chuckles at him. j’onn tips his head, m’gann by his side. 

“wouldn’t be a proper supergirl event without some trouble,” he says, lips quirking up. 

kara doesn’t think twice about barreling forward and wrapping him up in a tight hug. 

“can you two please just get married now.”

kara turns out of j’onn’s embrace to see cat tapping her foot impatiently. lucy and maggie chuckle and eliza nods, looking like she agrees with cat entirely. 

alex sighs, big sister through and through, and steps forward towards lena. she clears her throat, wipes her dress off with both hands, and then smiles for real. “welcome to the family.”

lena returns her smile, just as bright, and reaches for kara’s hand the same time kara reaches for hers. 

there’s clapping then, slow to start but loud and enthusiastic not after long. someone (probably lois) whoops, and someone else (maggie) starts a kiss! kiss! kiss! chant. 

and they’ve all just finished the weirdest fight of their lives, on a rooftop, under the setting sun, covered in questionable goop, and kara’s dress is ruined for eons, but that all fizzles out into the edges as lena loops forward, her arms going around kara’s shoulders and body pressing close. lena’s smile is engulfing, and kara will happily go down with her. 

“it’ll only get weirder from here,” kara says, low enough for the two of them. 

“i’m prepared.” lena winks at her. 

m’gann clears her throat politely. kara and lena look to her, both blushing. 

“would you like me to finish the union?” m’gann asks. 

kara looks to lena. they nod together. kara thinks she hears alex mutter finally. 

“alright.” m’gann turns to face the others, smile wide and delight unmasked. her family comes together in a half-circle, huddling around kara and lena.

there are no more chairs and the decor is useless by this point, but kara thinks she’s never seen a prettier gathering. 

“we gather to celebrate the match of kara zor-el and lena luthor...”

.

the sun is rising when kara finds lena on the balcony. their apartment is an absolute mess of purple and strewn beer bottles and kara won’t deal with that right now. 

right now, she’s only got eyes for her wife. 

her wife. 

kara floats over to where lena’s sitting on the lounge chair. she settles herself next to lena and lena automatically leans into her side, kara’s arm going around her shoulders. 

“i think we’re married now.”

lena laughs, low and sleepy. “i didn’t notice.”

“i heard being married to me is pretty great.”

“oh?” lena shifts so she’s more snug in kara’s side, nose brushing against the column of her throat. “who told you that?”

“me.”

“credible source.”

“exactly.”

lena laughs again. she’s still in her dress, nary a purple stain in sight. kara sighs. it’s dangerous to think of one’s spouse as perfect but kara dares to think lena may be pretty close. 

they sit in silence. the sun bleeds into the sky, dark blues gradually giving way to yellows and reds. sunsets are all the rage on this side of the coast, but now, with the slow creep of day and her wife - her wife - near dozing at her side, kara thinks the quietness of a sunrise is fitting. 

perhaps this is what it means to have it all. 

“hey,” kara whispers, before lena’s totally asleep. “i can’t wait to fight more purple aliens with you.”

lena smiles, eyes closed and expression the most serene kara’s ever seen it. 

“me too,” she murmurs. 

kara kisses her forehead. day breaks. they fall asleep together on their balcony, and it’s a goddamn cliche. 

kara wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[there-willbeblood]

Chapter 21: Blood Oath

Graphic descriptions of sex in this chapter. STEVE’S POV

A bullet flew past my ear and almost took a big chunk of hair near my temple with it.

I spun around and glared at the three bodies behind me.

"Goddamn it, Thor!" I checked to make sure no hair was missing. "You did that on purpose."

"It was the kid." Thor pointed at Peter whose hands were shaking around a Taurus Millennium series PT145 pistol.

"I…I…" He stuttered and looked at me with pitiful eyes.

Thor and Bucky stalked off in the forest, trying to shoot other targets, leaving Peter and I alone.

Peter dropped the gun on the forest floor and just stood there, "I'm sorry." He said quietly.

I sighed and went to pick up the pistol, "Hey, don't say that unless you have to. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I almost killed you."

"It takes more than a little bullet to stop me." I gave him a reassuring smile.

We had been back from Russia for a week and things were just starting to get back to normal….or as normal as it ever had been.

I got the best welcome home present I could have imagined by just spending four days alone with Natalia in my penthouse.

I never thought that I would enjoy time with a woman without fucking her but Natalia always surprised me. From the second she walked in the door, I was drawn to her and I think I took my first real breath since I had left for Moscow.

That was weird.

I hated that I was thinking and saying all this cheesy romantic shit but I couldn't help it with her. As strange as it sounds, she made me feel okay with myself and regular words didn't describe how I felt about our time together. It was celestial and we could have been the only two people on this earth. I wouldn't have even known if a war had erupted right outside of my door. If it didn't involve Natalia, I didn't care.

I still had work to do and I made sure to keep myself focused so that my father didn't jump down my throat more than he already was but really, I didn't give a fuck. I wasn't going to separate myself from Natalia just because we had all the odds working against us. I was stronger than that and I have always liked a challenge so this wasn't going to beat me.

That being said, I was kind of scared shitless.

Natalia's father was a cop, that I knew but I kept my cool while in Natalia's presence. I didn't know what the hell to do with myself because I wanted her but our situation was providing issues. I kept up a cool façade so that Natalia didn't get suspicious because it would only set off alarms in her head if I asked a thousand questions about her father.

From what I got, she hadn't talked with him about me. I heaved a huge sigh of relief when she told me that she didn't plan to tell Nick anything about us for a while but I also had a sneaking suspicion that Natalia knew more than she was letting on.

It was like she wanted to ask questions and sometimes would but she never asked what was truly on her mind. I could tell. To be honest, I didn't know what I was going to do if Natalia slipped up and accidently said something even related to the word 'Rogers'.

Her father would know for sure the type of trash she was hanging out with. I couldn't take that chance so I kept my cool and started acting more "ordinary" around Natalia. Everyone was because I refused to stop seeing her and even though I was putting my family in danger, I couldn't just drop Natalia. I wouldn't.

My mother was the only supportive one although my brothers thought I was completely badass for dating a cop's daughter. They would be slightly distant towards her because they were afraid of saying something that would give us away but they were really taken with Natalia.

Joseph was of course the same jackass he had always been. His demeanor towards me hadn't changed. We talked more often now because we had business to deal with but if it didn't have anything to do with work; I barely said one word to him. I was over trying to convince my father that I was a grown man.

In my quest to have both an regular as well as an atrocious life, I made sure to never change myself and I think Natalia was okay with that. She said that she didn't want me to change, for which I was thankful because I was trying my hardest but it would take time.

I could already tell that I wasn't as callous as before and that slightly worried me. In my line of work, I was looked at as a cold man and that was good but with Natalia, I didn't feel the need to put up a front. I could be Steve Rogers, the twenty-five year old real estate agent. Most of that was a lie but I still didn't have to be a monster towards Natalia. I was getting better at walking the line between my two characters.

Joseph was still trying to convince me that I was in a bad situation, which I knew but I could make my own decisions. If I wanted to be with Natalia then I would be.

As of now, the people in my family had tried to get off my case about her because I wasn't really listening anymore so the focus shifted to the newest member of the clan.

Peter fought us tooth and nail to leave Russia.

The day Joseph brought him back, he was probably the most emaciated human specimen I had ever seen. Of course, my parents thought it was their job to care for him but he was reluctant. Peter actually ran off that first night and Sarah sent us out to find him when he didn't come back the next morning.

Thor found Peter trying to whore himself out for money to some rich business man on a side street. We had to drag him back to the house and the whole time, he was screaming that he had to work for Albert, he had to bring money back to Albert, had to do things for Albert. I don't think he realized that his former master was never coming back. It was sickening and disgusting but I suddenly saw why my parents did what they did and somewhat understood why they wanted to help Peter.

He was broken beyond belief and it hurt to see someone so deflated. Peter literally hated life for what it had thrown at him. He was beaten, bruised and his mental health was worse than his physical. He would shake whenever we touched him and on the last night of our stay in Moscow, I came into the kitchen for a glass of water and heard him scrubbing the toilet in the downstairs bathroom like it was expected of him.

Over the past couple of days or so, he had improved considerably.

Peter actually warmed up to Joseph and Sarah once he knew that they weren't going to hurt him. Getting him on the plane was a different story and we had to pump him full of tranquilizers because he was screeching to stay. He had no family, no money, no life and my parents weren't going to let him suffer anymore. They took it upon themselves to care for the boy. No one had any objections.

Peter didn't know what to do with himself when we brought him home. Mrs. Cope and Jerry had set up a room for him next to my old one. Sarah said that he was adjusting but it was taking time. The biggest thing right now was getting him to eat.

Peter looked healthier but still had a long way to go. He was bathed, his hair was clean, was dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, looking like a normal fourteen year old.

We were currently in the forest near the house, trying to do a little shooting practice.

"You don't have to be scared of us." I said in almost a fatherly way that scared me, "First rule of shooting, don't drop a gun that's just been fired." I handed it back to him.

"I don't want it." Peter shook his head and tried to push it back towards me.

"Take the gun." I replied and put the pistol in his hands, wrapping his fingers around the handle, "You see that mark on the tree?" I pointed in the distance.

"Yes." He answered.

I stood behind him and lifted his arm, "Steady the gun and don't take your eyes off of that mark. Take a deep breath…" We both did, "…hold it in and shoot." I pressed his finger down and the bullet ripped through the bark of the tree.

Peter trembled from the kickback and dropped his arm but not the pistol, "Don't drop the gun." I heard him mutter to himself.

"You'll get it." I sighed, "You've never shot before?"

He shook his head, "I just got shot at."

I really did feel for the kid.

"Can you teach me how to be better?" Peter asked shyly.

I handed him my Eagle, which he almost crumbled under the weight of, "When you can hold that up straight, come and find me."

I never let anyone touch my Eagle but I didn't feel strange at all letting Peter hold it and that surprised me. Good thing I had two more at home but still. It was the principal of the matter.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked on the path back towards the house. I chanced a glance back and saw Peter trying to lift the gun but I knew it would take him a very long time to have the muscle mass to hold that thing up. Even my arm got sore after awhile.

I kicked a rock on the ground as I made my way back to the house. I checked my watch and groaned when I realized that I still had two hours before I could go get Natalia.

I was almost at the house when I smelled my father's signature cologne as it caught the wind. I lifted my head and saw him standing there. I changed my position when I noticed that we were standing identically.

"How's Peter doing?" He asked in his regular father voice.

"He's trying to hold up an Eagle. I told him to find me when he did."

Joseph breathed a laugh, "It took you a year and then you came to me, so excited that you could do it."

"Only because Thor took me to the gym for six months" I remembered.

"You were a natural though." He nodded, "You put three bullets through Mercutio when you were thirteen. I was highly impressed. Your first kill, you remember that?"

"Barely, there have been so many since then."

We stood silently but not awkwardly for a couple of minutes.

"Come take a walk with me." He suggested and started walking down another path that led towards the lake.

I followed and the fall leaves crunched under our shoes.

"Your mother and I are going to adopt Peter." Joseph said as we went down the lane.

"I figured. Did you try to find his family?"

"No, he doesn't remember anything since he was taken so young and he doesn't have a last name so there's no way to know anything. He doesn't even know where he's from."

"Quite a different story from Buck."

"I saw the same broken boys when I looked at the both of them. There are some times when I can't help myself. Peter pulled me in…just like Bucky did. I love him like a son already."

"You have a heart when you want one."

He breathed through his nose, "I know and that's why I'm here to apologize."

"Really?" I stopped walking. I had never heard my father apologize to anyone, especially me.

"Yes, my behavior towards Natalia was completely unacceptable and I'm…sorry."

"I don't think I heard you." I joked.

"I'm sorry, Steve." He said slowly, "Against my better judgment, I'm going to back off from you and Natalia."

"What made you change your mind?"

"Your mother." He answered simply, "I might be a mob boss but she is the family boss and she allows me to see things from a different perspective."

"Well...thank you."

"She reminded me that sometimes…the road to love isn't always easy. I can still remember fighting for Sarah and I don't want you to go through the same thing."

"Why don't you like Natalia? She's the sweetest girl I've ever met and you just treat her like trash." I noticed that I didn't cringe at the word 'sweetest'.

"She's the first girl you've ever brought home and the first girl I've seen you with continuously for more than a week. I don't hate her, I like her but I have to be able to trust her."

"She's not a threat."

"Her father is a cop. That's a threat and you need to make damn sure that you're in this for the long haul because things will get messy. I know you and Natalia just started whatever this is you have going on but if it does get serious, I want you to weigh the options."

Little did he know, things with Natalia and I were already serious.

"That's just it, I have." I ran a hand through my hair, "She's worth it and I don't know how to explain it. Natalia is just good." I said minimally.

"I know and it's called love Steve." My father grinned at me, "You're maturing and I see the same thing in you that I saw in myself at your age."

"I'm not in love with her."

"How do you know? You're too young to realize it."

Did I love Natalia?

I felt for her but what was love anyway? That was an emotion I had never felt except for my family so I didn't know what it was supposed to be. The more I thought about it, the sadder my life became in my eyes.

I had never been in love. Not first love, not heartbreaking love, nothing. I was pathetic.

"In any case, I'm going to try to stop being such a jackass." Joseph said finally, "Natalia deserves a chance."

"You'll like her. She's feisty like you." I chuckled.

"I just don't want you to get hurt if this doesn't end up how you want it to. Her father is a cop, he's probably raised her to follow the law and we're the farthest thing from angels in this world."

"Should I tell her?"

"Absolutely not. I'll give Natalia a chance but I'm not risking that she will destroy everything I've worked for. She doesn't need to know anything." Joseph said sternly.

"I know." I hung my head, ashamed that I would even consider bringing Natalia into this world.

I wanted to tell her but I couldn't. This could provide a serious problem in the end but I was going to have to take that chance. Plus, Natalia was innocent and she was too good to be hanging around with trash like me or my family. She needed to get as far away from me as possible but I didn't know how to make her leave.

"Just be careful, Steve."

I nodded and kept walking, "So, how are you going to pull off an adoption out of thin air?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

Joseph laughed, "I have Jenks working on it. Everything should be ready to go by tomorrow. Your mother is already threatening to knit Peter a sweater."

"Have you talked to him about this? Does he know what it means to have our last name?"

"I'll explain things tonight and he can make a decision for himself. If he chooses to run then I'll be okay with that but at least I know that I tried."

"You're a very gracious man."

"I try but Peter is a very broken boy. He's going to need brothers when I'm away on business or…in the end, when I'm not around anymore."

I knew it was always a possibility that my father would die by the hands of one of his adversaries but I never took it seriously. In my mind, Joseph was going to live to a ripe old age of one hundred and sixty or some outrageous number like that. My father was just that kind of man who you could never see dying young.

"He's a good kid." I shrugged, "I don't have a problem with him."

"How does it feel to not be the youngest anymore?"

"I've never felt like the youngest." I thought back in all my years and found that everyone had always treated me as if I were older.

"True." My father agreed.

Joseph and I made a loop around the house, arriving at the back door half an hour later. By the time I checked my watch again, it was time to go pick up Natalia. I didn't have any plans for tonight but whatever she wanted to do, I was fine with.

I decided to drive the Range Rover today because I had a sneaking suspicion that the Saleen was being tailed and I knew it was too conspicuous. I had only seen one other on the roads of Chicago and it belonged to some rich banker who had loans up to his neck. I had only seen it once but my Saleen was better looking anyway.

The Range Rover drove smoothly towards Chicago and I kept an eye out of the rearview mirror, trying to find that tail I could sense.

Just as I hit the city limits, a dirty white car came into view and I could see the fucking goonies as they tried to maneuver around slower cars to up with me.

"Amateurs." I shook my head and just sped up, leaving the tail behind.

I made it to Natalia's dorm in record time and she was sitting on "our" bench reading a book.

I spotted the muscular man across the street who was one of my father's bodyguards I had hired to keep an eye on Natalia. He was to stay silent and never approach her because I knew she would kill me if she found out I had someone tailing her, but I was getting very antsy.

It was more of a restless feeling that came from paranoia. People of the underground were going to start putting two and two together shortly. I was always around Natalia and it was obvious that I cared about her so what would happen if Aro got a hold of that information? It wouldn't be pretty. I needed to know that Natalia was safe.

She lifted up her head when she heard the car and a smile broke out on her beautiful face. I couldn't help but smile as well as Natalia bounced over.

"Hello, show off." Natalia hopped in the car, "Nice set of wheels."

"I had to bring the best." I drove off easily but slowly because of all the traffic.

"I don't get a kiss?" She leaned over.

"People are watching." I mumbled as I saw the kids trying to admire the car.

"So…are you ashamed of me?" Natalia teased.

I sucked up my pride and pecked her lightly on the lips.

"Awwww, I think you're blushing." She sat back in her seat.

"Nat, stop it. I just think you're doing this to embarrass me."

"Okay, okay, I'll stop." She giggled, "Where are we going?"

"Back home."

"Home?"

"My home." I corrected myself and didn't even realize I had slipped up like that, "Do you have anything you want to do?"

"Can we order from that Indian place again?"

"I've got a better idea." I said, pulling out my phone and dialing Bucky. Our conversation took all of five seconds.

"What was that all about?" Natalia asked when I was done.

"Bucky has this restaurant that makes the best Indian food in the city. He and Wanda are coming over later."

I drove into the underground garage of my building and didn't even bother slowing down as I whipped the car into a space of the parking lot that was blocked off for just Thor, Bucky and I.

"Do you have any homework tonight?" I asked Natalia like I was her father and got out of the car.

"No, just a test tomorrow but it's going to be easy." She took my hand as we walked towards the elevators.

I was proud of myself for not pulling back like I used to. Now, things like pecks, touching, hand holding, spending nights together; it was all normal. I had also noticed that my OCD was faltering around Natalia.

It was never truly gone and I knew it never would be but the whole time Natalia stayed over my house last week, I barely cringed at her touching things but I think she knew something was wrong with me so she tried to keep her hands to herself. I truly didn't mind though. Natalia just seemed less…dirty than everyone else.

That night, Wanda and Bucky along with Jane and Thor came over to pig out on spicy Indian food that none of us had any business eating.

It was strange to sit around with my brothers in such a relaxed setting; I don't think I've ever just had dinner with them now that I think about it. We actually laughed together and I think it was all thanks to Natalia. I don't know how to explain it but she just got people talking and I was able to loosen my tie for the first time in a long time.

Thor, Bucky, Jane and Wanda left around ten and I was hoping that Natalia would stay the night but I didn't really know how to ask her.

"I think you had a good time." Natalia laughed as she pointed to the four beer bottles that were mine on the coffee table.

"I know, I don't even remember the last time I “just talked” to my brothers." I sighed and threw some trash in the bag I was carrying as we cleaned up.

"That was really good food." She said.

"Bucky has so many restaurants and they all have something different. I'll take you to a couple of the good ones."

Natalia and I continued to clean in tandem, not really speaking but it wasn't awkward. When we were done, I just sat on the sofa and Natalia came next to me.

I didn't feel weird putting my arm around her and I could even notice the change in myself. I wasn't actually repulsed by the new me either.

"So, what else do you have planned for the night?" I asked, trying to be as casual as possible.

"Nothing, just a test tomorrow and no weekend plans after that." She shrugged, playing with the hem of my shirt that was un-tucked from my pants, "What about you, anything special?"

"No, I might have to work on Saturday but besides that, I'm free."

"Work" Natalia nodded to herself, "What is it exactly you do again?"

"Sell houses." I replied easily.

She sighed heavily, "I know this might sound strange and it might not be my place but…I don't believe you."

Good!

"Why not?"

"Because, things just seem…not right about this whole situation. I don't mean to be rude but you and your brothers aren't the type of people I see running restaurants or being real estate agents." She looked at me with slightly inquisitive eyes.

"I…can't say." I hung my head, trying to give her something but I just couldn't, "Don't be mad at me but there are certain things that I have to keep private about my family."

"I understand but you're not in danger, are you?"

"I know how to defend myself." I answered.

It almost looked like Natalia was about to cry. I had never had someone to care for me before, outside of family and I was actually starting to think that Natalia loved me or something like that.

The question still remained though. Did I love her?

"I want to show you something." I tried to deflect our conversation and got up from the couch, holding my hand out for her.

Natalia took it hesitantly without saying a word.

"I'm not going to bite." I had to laugh at her shyness and kissed the side of her head that was covered in the sweet smelling hair that I loved so much.

"Where are we going?" She asked as I pulled her up the stairs.

"I want to show you something." I repeated.

Natalia just kept walking with me, down the halls of my penthouse. I had never really paid any attention to it before but this place was fucking huge. Even I almost got lost in here on occasion and I had to pull out information in the corners of my mind to remember how to get around.

I finally arrived at the door I wanted and pushed it open slowly, turning the lights on when we both were inside.

"Wow." Natalia said in awe as she dropped my hand, "All of these are yours?"

"Yeah." I put my hands in my pockets, just watching her roam.

We were in my library, which I never really sat in unless I had work to do but kept the place to house all the books I owned. I'm usually an avid reader but lately, I had been slacking. Ever since I was little, I had loved to get lost in the world of authors' minds. I of course had my favorites but I would probably read anything before I made a judgment on one genre or another.

The room was very minimal while still being overwhelming.

The oak parquet floors were covered in an expensive Oriental rug that had hypnotic patterns of red and gold. There were two large chairs in each corner and a cherry wood desk near the back with another chair behind it. But the main thing that attracted the eye was the floor to ceiling bookshelves that wrapped themselves around the room. They were all filled with books and ladders were attached so you could ride around just like in the old movies.

I knew I had exactly 6,714 books on these shelves and I had read every one of them over my lifetime, most twice. They were all alphabetized and then color coordinated in that certain letter. Along with that, I had a system on my computer that had a catalog of each and every book I owned. The novels that were in different languages were categorized like a map would be.

"I can't believe this. You must have more books than the library at school." Natalia walked towards the closest shelf and skimmed her fingers over the spines of a couple books.

I watched her fingers run over my collections, and I was actually turned on.

"Do you want to go up?" I asked her since Natalia only reached the shelf that was eye level to her.

"May I?" She turned around and got a look of pure joy on her face. I wanted to see that look every day.

I chuckled, "Of course."

I retrieved a ladder and pulled it towards us on wheels, stopping it in front of the section Natalia was in.

"You have to hold me so I don't fall." She said as she stepped onto the first railing.

"I've got you." I steadied her as she went up.

"This is really incredible." Natalia went higher, giving me a great view of her ass and my dick twitched in my pants.

"I have everything you could ever want to read up there."

"I see." She climbed higher, "Classics, contemporary, horror, fiction, romance. I think my literature professor would cream his pants if he came in here."

"I'm about to cream mine in a minute." I muttered ran my hand that wasn't holding the ladder, through my hair.

"What was that?" Natalia called down to me.

"Nothing, just keep looking."

"Can I read one of them?"

"Of course. What's your favorite?"

"I can't choose. That's like picking your favorite child or ice cream."

"Did you just compare children to ice cream?"

"Ice cream is my child, Steve. It's my vice so don't make fun of me." Natalia was on about the twelfth step.

"Have you found anything yet?"

"Just be sure to catch them as they fall." She dropped The Grapes of Wrath towards the floor and I easily caught it in my hand, "Can I get another one?"

"As many as you want."

"Okay, push me over there." Natalia pointed to her left, "Slowly, Steve. I don't want to break my ass."

"I would catch you." I gradually inched the ladder in the direction she wanted to go.

"I'm never leaving this room."

"Don't you have a test tomorrow?"

"I'm staying here tonight so I guess you'll have to drive me back." She said almost as if it was a question and I was going to say no.

"That's fine with me." That was more than fine with me but I didn't want to seem too enthusiastic.

Natalia spent a full hour on top of her golden ladder and my legs were getting quite the workout from pushing her around the whole room but I didn't mind at all. By the time she climbed back down, I had Anna Karenina, 1984, and Little Women added to my hands.

I set them on my desk before going to help Natalia down.

"I don't know which one I should start first." Natalia stood at the desk, thumbing open the pages of a book.

I suddenly got very aroused and I didn't know if she felt it but the tension in the air was creating a thick heat that was nearly oppressive.

I couldn't help myself as I stood behind her, our bodies flushed together and read over her shoulder.

"You could always take them and bring them back later. I wouldn't mind." I rested my hands on her waist, wanting to progress this further.

Images of Natalia bent over my desk were making me very hot and I wasn't going to settle for a handjob this time.

"Really? I would love that." She replied and I could tell that she wasn't reading anymore.

"What's your favorite?" I ask, running my nose along her creamy neck.

"Uh…I told you I can't pick."

"You're going to have to do better than that." I squeezed her hips, pressing myself further into her body.

Natalia's breathing increased, her skin feeling delicious under my nose so I kissed her neck, my favorite place of her body that wasn't currently covered up in clothing.

"I…I guess The Grapes of Wrath."

"I hate Steinbeck." I whispered, nearly grabbing her hips painfully but if she didn't say anything then I wasn't letting go.

"I think he revolutionized literature in the early 20th century." Natalia leaned into me, her ass molding into my dick and her breathing coming harder through her throat.

"Revolutionary would be Tennessee Williams or Ernest Hemingway." My fingers dance under her shirt, just enough to feel the skin of her stomach and ribs but not traveling further. Not yet.

"They were all trying to imitate previous writers. I can never take either one of them seriously."

"You're wrong on so many levels. How can you think that Hemingway wasn't important?"

"Because he killed himself. I just don't take the tortured artist thing to heart. None of his stuff was really liked when he was alive but as soon as he died, it suddenly turned golden." She breathed softly.

We would be having a round of foreplay while discussing classic literature. I never thought books would be so hot. I would have to write a letter to Penthouse or something on this one.

"I don't think Williams was imitating anyone. His stuff is too strange." I said and actually licked the skin of Natalia's neck, right below her left ear. She tasted like sweet fruit, I didn't know which but I would eat anything she was willing to give me.

"Steve…we can't do this." Natalia panted and I saw that her hands were pale, holding the side of the desk tightly.

"I have a surprise for you." I purposefully leaned over, dangerously close so that we bent at the same time and opened up the top drawer of my desk. I pulled out the envelope and stood back up, bringing Natalia with me before I set it in front of her.

"What's this?" She asked while I played with her ear lobe in between my lips.

"Your surprise." I answered.

With shaking hands, Natalia ripped the envelope open and read it silently. I couldn't help but keep Natalia bent slightly so that her ass was pressed into my crotch. I could actually feel her crack on the ridge of my dick and I was tempted to shift us so that I received some friction.

"You got tested…" Natalia let her sentence trail off.

"Clean as a whistle." I muttered against the skin of her shoulder as I pulled her shirt to the side, "It took so long because I had to wait for the AIDS test but it was all negative."

I think I heard a 'finally' fall from Natalia's lips but I could have been wrong. She was alluring me in ways that I never thought possible and if I didn't have her soon, I might jump off of the building.

"Just let me do everything." I inched my hands under her shirt again from behind but this time, went higher until I was her wonderful, round, smooth, soft breasts, palming both of them in my hands.

Natalia shook and backed into me further, "You could have warned me." She whispered.

"That would take all the fun out of it." I said with a smirk and lifted the shirt completely off of her body, exposing her lacy, baby blue bra.

I turned Natalia around slowly and my eyes went from her green ones to her chest.

"Do you always wear this?" I asked, skimming the outline of her bra.

"No, I've been in lacy things all week, just waiting for you to tell me you got tested." Natalia bit her bottom lip and drove me insane.

I slowly moved my hand from her chest, up her neck and rested my hand against her cheek. I released her lip from its prison.

"You'll make yourself bleed." I said in a daze. I lifted Natalia onto the desk and she barely weighed anything, "You've been wearing things like this all week?" I kissed the strap of her bra.

"Yeah, I wanted to look nice." She replied shyly.

"You always look nice." My kisses went into the center of her chest and I felt her fingers in my hair.

I leaned Natalia back so that she was against the hard, cool wood of the desk with me in between her legs. I had to close my eyes as I trailed my lips across her skin, in-between her breasts and along her ribs.

Natalia was panting as my tongue drew on the amazing curves of her chest. My lips glided towards the front of her bra, unclasping the hook that kept her tits secure.

"I like the front clasp." I muttered as the cups fell to the side, letting her breasts spill out.

"Shit…" Natalia moaned as I took her left nipple into my warm mouth and she arched at an impossible angle, grabbing my hair harder.

My tongue, my lips, my saliva was all over her pert nipple and I was painfully hard in my pants. After her left breast got the perfect amount of attention, I moved on to the right, devouring it with just as much passion.

"More…" She breathed and I grinned my way down her stomach, sliding her off the desk as I reached the waistband of her jeans with my tongue. My face was literally between her thighs as I knelt on the floor.

"I don't think I can get this undone with my tongue." I played with the button of her pants.

"Use…your fingers." Natalia growled, "Piano fingers."

"What was that?"

She didn't answer but bucked her hips towards me.

My fingers easily undid the clasp before sliding her jeans off. They fell in a heap on the floor. My hands ran back up each of Natalia's legs, feeling the smooth, slick surfaces of her ankles, calves, shins, thighs.

Her panties were the same lacy, baby blue fabric as her bra and even through the material; I could see Natalia's perfectly pink pussy. It was obvious that she landscaped down there but wasn't bare.

I licked my way up her right thigh and reached her sex in seconds, gliding my nose along her slit when I was in the position.

"Oh my…God…" Natalia bucked again.

I covered her lace covered pussy with my mouth and began sucking lightly, spreading her legs apart almost all the way on opposite sides of the desk. All the while, I was unbuttoning my shirt and had it off my body in little to no time.

"So amazingly sweet," I groaned as my tongue roughly ate her out.

"More…" She commanded above me, "I need more, Steve."

I was happy to oblige her and gently moved my newly favorite pair of panties away from her pussy, revealing it to me.

"Take them off." Natalia almost snarled.

"Patience, sweetheart." I said but did as she said and hooked my fingers into the sides of her underwear, sliding them down her legs like I had done her jeans minutes before. I stowed the panties in my back pocket for safekeeping.

There Natalia lay, on my cherry wood desk, completely naked.

"Fuck me…" I moaned as I looked at her.

I couldn't help myself as I dove head first in between her legs, my mouth greedily licked and sucking anything I could find. I was like an animal on the hunt and I wasn't ashamed to completely ravish the hell out of Natalia's tantalizing pussy.

She seized my hair forcefully, pulling at the roots as I continued to consume what she had for me. Natalia's groans and sounds were only spurring me on further as I slipped two fingers in between her lips, stretching her, preparing her.

Natalia muttered something incoherent above me as my fingers nimbly pumped in and out, in and out. I masterfully curled them to hit that spot and Natalia's cries erupted through the room, bouncing off of the classic literature that lined the walls.

I bet William Shakespeare, Virgil, Mark Twain, Edith Wharton, Jacob London and others were turning over in their graves.

Fuck you!

"Steve…" Natalia began to shake above me with such force that I thought I was performing an exorcism. The devil was being finger fucked out of her and I wasn't going to stop until he was gone.

I added another finger and her walls were so tight around me that I couldn't even keep them side by side. I had to fold them over each other so that they would fit in between her legs. It was so difficult for me to concentrate with her scent on my lips, on my fingers, on my tongue.

Natalia convulsed in a rattle and we both moaned in pleasure as she erupted into my mouth. I lapped up every single drop that I could and tasted the sweet nectar of the Gods. It was almost too much for me to handle.

I didn't stop moving my fingers as she rode out her orgasm and screamed my name like I was a rock star. Little did she know, we were far from over.

I retracted my soaking wet fingers and trailed them over the skin of her stomach as I slid back up from my knees to hover over her body.

"Do you want to taste?" I asked Natalia as I kissed my way up to her lips.

She nodded silently.

I pulled back and looked into her eyes for any sign of uncertainty but couldn't find any so my fingers inched their way into her rosy lips. Natalia sucked on all three of my fingers, swirling her tongue over them as my shaking hands tried to still themselves. I couldn't stop imagining her mouth doing the same thing to my dick but I promised myself that I would never left Natalia get on her knees for me. She was more than that.

"Do you like the taste of yourself?" I gently slipped my fingers out of her mouth.

"Yes." She answered in a breath.

"Are you ready for more?"

"Yes."

I lifted Natalia back up so that she was sitting straight in all her glory, naked as the day she was born. I couldn't help but let my eyes travel the contours of her incredible body.

"Perfect…" I sighed in pleasure.

"Can…can we do this…differently?" Natalia asked shyly.

"Differently?" I raised an eyebrow.

Natalia pushed me softly so that I was a few steps back. She slithered off the desk slowly and landed on the carpet. She turned around and bent the hell over so that I could see absolutely everything.

"Is this alright?" She peeked over her shoulder.

Fuck yes!

I couldn't speak, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move.

I dumbly stared at Natalia's ass. I memorized the way her hair spilled over her shoulders, the way her skin shined in the light of the room. She was the definition of an angel.

I dropped my pants and boxers so quickly; I didn't even realize it until I felt the breeze on my butt. I easily stepped out of my clothes and stalked over to Natalia like an animal to a watering hole.

I meshed our naked bodies together, forcing my dick flush against the crack of her ass like I wanted to before. We both let out a guttural sound as I moved slightly, feeling the softness of her skin.

"I need you." Natalia mumbled and rested on her forearms over the desk.

I ran my hand along her spine, tracing the graceful curve of her back.

"I hate to say this but I might have to leave you here." I spoke almost painfully, "I have condoms in my room but not here."

"You don't need them. I'm on the pill and now that you're clean…"

The pill?

I hated those two words for the simple fact that they weren't tangible proof. A woman could say that she was on the pill all she wanted and I would be none the wiser until a baby popped out and I never wanted children so that provided a problem. I never trusted women enough to let "the pill" gambit work.

Could I trust Natalia?

As much as I wanted to say no and run to my room for a condom, my self control wasn't that good. I thought it was but obviously not. The warmth of her ass cheeks as they surrounded my dick was enough to make me give up everything I owned. My house, my trust fund, my cars, my money; she could have it all.

"Are you sure?" I asked like a teenager.

"Yeah."

I couldn't help myself as I pushed her legs wider over the desk and could smell her arousal as I pushed my dick into the wetness of her pussy, just enough to taste it.

"Shittttttt." I groaned loudly as my tip was engulfed in heat.

Natalia's knees almost collapsed but I pulled out.

"You're going to kill me." I growled and pushed in again, further this time and the veins of my dick were screaming in pain.

"Steve, why is your dick so big?" Natalia rolled her hips on my tip and I spread the wetness that was pooling from her slit.

"I have no idea but are you complaining?" I thrusts into her a little more, about halfway down my dick and I was stretching her to impossible limits.

"I don't think I can take it."

"You have before." I nearly cried from her tightness.

"I don't know how I did. I feel so much…tighter." She panted.

"Fuck yes you do."

I guess I was going too slow for Natalia because she backed into me on her own, without any guidance and sheathed me in her entirely, eliciting screams from both of us.

Her wetness was potent and her legs spread even further, to the point of gymnastic proportions.

I knew that I had to move soon but truthfully, I could have just stayed still for hours.

I shifted my hips upwards and hit what I only assumed was a vital organ as I pushed myself deeper.

We started to move with each other, skin against skin and I wouldn't use a condom even if I did have one. I know that sounds irresponsible but I didn't care. I couldn't help myself.

Natalia gripped the desk as it rattled from our movements. I slammed into her from behind, loving the way her ass was hitting my crotch and I threw my head back as sweat started to drip from my hair.

I almost never sweat but here I was, almost drenching our bodies.

I didn't feel the need to involve myself in dirty talk because my mind wasn't really working or it wasn't connected to my spinal column, I didn't know which one it was.

Natalia's screams were pushing me harder, her walls were clamping over my dick and I was about to explode but I couldn't do it. I had to hold off so I rammed into her harder while thinking about dead kittens or pigs or anything that would make me last longer.

"I can't…" Natalia moaned, almost as if she was reading my thoughts, "I'm about to cum."

"Hold on." I said as the sound of slapping skin sounded throughout the room and our bodies rammed into each other.

I bent over her body, reaching in between us in between her legs to rub over her swollen clit with the pad of my finger.

That did it. One touch and she erupted onto my dick.

I couldn't help myself and my release followed soon after.

I felt juices spill out of her, whether they were from me or from her, I wasn't sure and I didn't care. Natalia was panting my name like a prayer as she rocked onto her toes, trying to prolong her orgasm. My dick was still throbbing in her pussy and pulsing my seed out in long spurts that were dripping onto my desk, staining the wood with white and clear liquid.

I leaned forward and kissed the sweat shined skin of her back, her shoulders, her hair and pressed her further down.

"You're killing me, Natalia." I whispered into her ear, "You're killing me."

Natalia was still shaking and I wished I could have seen her eyes because I bet they were fucking beautiful.

We didn't move for at least ten minutes. I stayed within her body with no more than a whisper passed between us. My OCD was screaming at me to shower and clean up the mess we had made but I was pushing it back. I didn't care.

I slipped out of her pussy when I went limp but as soon as I did, my dick was ready again. I knew she wasn't though so I backed away. I rubbed my hands over her ass as I massaged her cheeks.

"Are you okay?" I asked thoughtfully.

Natalia pushed herself up on her arms and stumbled to turn around. I helped her to the chair behind my desk and she sat in a heap. Her hair was a rat's nest, her eyes were glowing, her skin was sweat covered and she looked amazing.

"You have to be the best lover on the entire planet." She half laughed and breathed heavily.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine. Can I stay here tonight?"

"Of course." I kissed her lightly.

We dragged ourselves to bed after another hour of just sitting. There was nothing we could say that would rival the experience we just had. It was more than just sex. I think…I made love.

I was satisfied, not only physically, but soulfully as well. It was hard to explain.

We showered, basically just standing under the water, our muscles too tired to do anything else. She wrapped herself in one of my shirts and that was one of the sexiest things I had ever seen. I didn't go to sleep that night. Instead, I drew circles on Natalia's stomach while I watched her drift off into dreamland.

Whenever I closed my eyes that night, I didn't have sex dreams like I normally would after fucking. I just dreamed of Natalia and me, reading. I know it was corny and sappy but the time we spent reading was the time that I felt for Natalia most because she was so natural and beautiful.

All too soon, the clock on my phone chimed seven.

"Natalia, it's time to wake up." I kissed her shoulder but she didn't move. I continued to shake her gently while kissing anywhere I could reach.

"Leave me alone." She rolled away from me.

I chuckled, "You have a test today." I suddenly felt extremely guilty that she hadn't studied.

"I don't want to take it. Go away." Natalia mumbled.

"Get up, mia Natalia."

"No." She said and lifted her head to meet mine, "I want to stay here for the rest of my life."

I kissed her strongly and I wanted my tongue to claim her but I knew that would lead to things we didn't have time for.

"You have to go to school." I kept my kisses short.

"You sound like my father."

My heart skipped a beat at her comparison but I didn't show it.

"Get up." I ordered.

"Fine." Natalia rolled her eyes and started to lift herself off of the bed. I followed on her side because it looked like she was about to fall over.

"Are you alright?" I asked as I swung my legs over the side.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Let me just use the bathroom." Natalia stood up and stretched before heading towards the other room. I noticed her walking slightly awkwardly and sighed angrily at the fact that I might have hurt her.

Natalia came out of the bathroom fifteen minutes later in her clothes from last night, brushed hair and a bright smile but I was less than happy.

"What's wrong?" She asked and stood by the door.

"Why didn't you say anything last night?" I grumbled under my breath.

"About what?"

"Why didn't you tell me to stop if I was hurting you?"

"You…didn't."

"Natalia, don't lie to me." I pulled at my hair, "I hurt you, I can see it."

"No you didn't." She insisted.

"Walk towards me." I commanded and her face screwed up.

She thought for a second, shifting her weight but started to move slowly and I saw her legs shake with each step. It was painful to even watch.

I rushed to her and held her up before she fell, "I can't believe you."

"I'm fine, Steve."

"No you're not and stop saying that you are." I carried her to the bed and laid her down.

"I'm just sore. Stop over reacting."

"You're not going to school today." I pushed her back against the pillows.

"Now you really sound like Charlie. I have a test and I'm not sitting in bed just because my muscles are a little tired." Natalia sat up.

"I hurt you." I said to myself mainly and my entire head felt like lead as it hung to my chest.

"No you didn't." I felt Natalia's arms around me, "I don't regret anything and if you think that last night was anything but perfect, then you're wrong." She kissed my shoulder, "I would never take it back."

I breathed through my nose, "Do you promise to take some medicine when you get back home?"

"Yes, I know Wanda has butt loads of Tylenol in her purse." She giggled.

"Promise me that you'll take it easy today?" I held her hand.

"I promise." I got another kiss.

Half an hour later, I was dressed in a suit and Natalia was dragging me out of the house. We stopped off at the Starbucks across the street before going back to the BMW so I could take her to school. I dropped her off in front of her class and Wanda was waiting on the curb with a smile. I also detected the bodyguard down the street but he was just as hidden as I wanted him to be.

I got a kiss and then Natalia bounced off to her class.

I was still mad at the situation that had occurred last night but Natalia said she was fine so I had to take her word for it. If I had things my way, she wouldn't have left the bed all weekend but that might also be bad for her wellbeing.

I drove easily towards my parents' house while thumping my thumbs on the steering wheel.

I just had an extra something about me this morning and it must have come from last night. I noticed that I had never acted like this with any of the girl but that's why Natalia was special.

I pulled up to the gates of the house thirty minutes later and saw the beefed up security around the compound but things had been like that since coming back from Russia. My father wasn't taking any chances and Albert's slight threat was enough to put us all on alert.

We all had bodyguards following us and I didn't even know who some of them were but I could feel them. My mother was basically locked in the house but she wasn't having that. Jane was the same way and cursed Thor out when some dude followed her to the spa. I knew that Natalia would do that same thing to me but I wasn't letting her go unprotected.

I parked in front of the house and walked up the stairs where Jerry was ready to meet me.

"Hello, sir." He shook my hand, "Would you like breakfast this morning?"

"No, I got it." I held up my coffee and took my sunglasses off.

"Your father would like to see you in his study." He shut the giant door.

"Alright. Are Bucky and Thor here?' I asked as I made my way through the house towards the back.

"Yes sir. They got here earlier."

I checked my watch, noticing that it was only eight. Must be serious.

"Thanks." I climbed the gigantic stairs two at a time, arriving at my father's office in seconds.

I knocked lightly and he told me to come in. I saw Thor, Bucky, Joseph, Sarah and Peter all talking but stopped when I walked in.

"There you are." My mother ran towards me for a hug, which I gave her.

"I didn't know we were having a family meeting." I said.

"We just have a little Blood Oath to complete." Thor grinned wickedly.

I looked at Peter who seemed scared.

"Gotcha." I nodded in understanding.

A blood oath was something my father came up with years ago when he had a problem with loyalty in the family. Ever since then, anyone who wanted to join the Roger's, sons included, had to sign their trust.

"How are you, kid?" I asked Peter, ruffling his hair like a big brother would do.

"Good." He replied and looked actually healthier although he was still too small to be normal.

"Let's get this over with. I'm supposed to be meeting Wanda soon." Bucky checked his watch.

"Hush." Sarah scolded, "We have family business to take care of."

We all gathered around Joseph's desk and I wondered what it would be like to fuck Natalia over this monstrosity but kept my cool.

"What am I supposed to do?" Peter asked shyly.

"Just watch." Thor whispered to him.

Joseph pulled out some papers and didn't even bother to read anything over before signing them and then handing them over to Sarah who did the same thing.

"These are adoption papers." My father spoke to Peter in a loving voice, "I already spoke to you yesterday about all of this and you don't have to sign them if you don't want to but I want you to know that you always have a home here."

Sarah nodded frantically.

"It's really not that bad." Bucky hit Peter's shoulder.

The boy looked to me for guidance but I didn't know what to do besides give him a nod.

He bit his bottom lip, almost like Natalia did, and held his hand out for the papers.

Joseph happily handed them over along with a pen.

"Uh…I don't know how to write." Peter said softly.

"I'll help you." Sarah walked around the desk and took his hand in hers. They traced lines on the paper with the pen until a squiggly line appeared right under my father's and mother's.

"Wahoooo!" Thor threw his hands up in the air, "New brother." He lifted Peter off of his seat and spun him around.

"Put him down." Sarah chased them around the room.

"This is about to become insanity." I said to myself.

I wasn't jealous of Peter like I thought I might be. I was actually kind of excited to have someone to help raise. Everyone had had a hand in molding me so I wanted to help Peter and be the older brother that he needed. I also knew that my parents held more than enough love for the four of us, not that I craved their affection but I knew how these things worked. A new shiny toy would come and everyone would forget about all the others.

I actually wished that would happen so I could lead some kind of a normal life. I would never be anything more than Il Principe, the prince in this family and I would have traded spots with Peter any day. My father always said he never had favorites but you could tell that I was the apple of his eye. He was making me into a machine that would rule the world at some point and I was okay with that but I just hoped that Peter knew what he was getting himself into because there was no going back from here. You were either a Rogers all the way or not at all. He was given an option and he chose the best path but his life might not always be as glamorous as it appeared. Mine surely wasn't.

Joseph pulled out a piece of old-world parchment and a very sharp, pearly handled knife. It was about six inches long and not very wide but the point was deadly from just looking at it.

"Goody." I muttered sarcastically.

"What's that for?" Peter asked when he came back over to the desk.

"Blood Oath" My father answered simply and without warning, dug the knife into the palm of his hand. He didn't even wince as the dagger drew blood from his skin and it spilled onto the parchment.

"It doesn't hurt that badly." Bucky said to Peter whose eyes were wide with fear.

I took the knife from Joseph and plunged it into my palm in the same spot that I always did when we went through this. It was only for family members that I had to join in but this was a rarity. Blood Oaths were almost sacred, sealing secrecy, loyalty, honor.

The blood from my hand mixed with my father's, staining the paper.

The knife was passed around in a circle to Bucky and then Thor before he handed it off to Peter.

Once again, Sarah helped him by drawing a small amount of blood from his palm and letting it drip downward. He didn't squirm or say anything as the knife dug into his flesh and I was highly impressed. The first time I went through this, I was about his age and screamed to the high heavens.

"You are now a Rogers," Joseph said to Peter, "Congratulations."

"This is so cool." Thor pumped his fist, "We should have a party or something."

"Of course" Sarah said like it was obvious, "All the papers are signed and the blood has been drawn. It's official."

It always made me laugh at how my family thought that blood somehow made everything legal.

"You did so much better than I did." I told Peter truthfully.

"Really?" He asked excitedly.

"Yeah, Stevie boy screamed like a little girl." Bucky laughed.

"You didn't do that much better." Thor slapped him on the back, "You wouldn't come out of your room for three days."

"Shut up." Bucky shoved him.

Thor poured the six shots of deep brown, Italian, cognac liquor that my father had in the cabinet and we all raised our glasses, even Peter.

"To a new beginning for a young soul." Joseph spoke fatherly.

We clinked cups and downed the liquid easily. Peter choked his down and we all had a laugh at that.

Joseph recited a long prayer in Italian and then lit the piece of paper with the scent of our blood filling the air. I watched the parchment burn to dark scraps onto my father's desk and Sarah gave her new son a kiss on his head.

[hallofmybeginnings]

First Lines

Tagged by the utterly talented @awritersrejections​ (I demand to know why I wasn’t immediately informed you were working on a new Hannigram fan fic! xoxoxo)

I’m not sure I have enough to do this... but let’s give it a whirl. I think I did first paragraphs? Well. Let’s proceed.

* * *

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (or however many you have altogether). See if there are any patterns. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors. Bonus: if you mostly do academic/non-narrative writing, then feel free to include the first lines of essays/articles if you want! :D

Patterns: Uh........ I think we can all agree I have a problem (or rather my pattern is) with description, scenery, starting off with a place rather than a person.

1. Transcendent Suffering

Will leaned back into sinking leather of a chair, limbs stretching out awkwardly, staring absently at a faint grease stain on his jeans. The sound of Hannibal’s voice swam around him, even, smooth, filling the darkest corners of his mind with a light heat.

2. Echoes Beneath

If one were to ask the religiously devote what they might see upon their death, it is a near certainty they would all give the same mundane response. (What else can be expected of chatty lambs after all?) A bright light. Or even the absurd notion of heaven epitomized by pearly gates. They may say winged beings of the angelic or hellfire of beasts. A stranger notion of morality still to hold promise or threat to coerce human beings to pretend they are not what they say. Though God must have his amusements. But you and I can agree, there are far more terrifying monsters here with us on Earth than there will ever be in fantasy. 

3. TS: The Last Time You Said You Had Something to Show Me

“H-hannibal…” White knuckles clenched tighter to a wheel. “Y-you’re going to fucking nnn—“ Arms locked into position in a rattle of chains, shaking as dust trailed behind in the rearview mirror. “—fuck, fuck! Hannibal!” A dress shoe stomped down an accelerator, low moan drowned out by a grinding engine. “For god sake, you’re going to get us fucking killed!”

4. The Red Sweater

Trudging up the long flights of stairs, Nigel continued to curse under his breath and thought about all the things he wanted to do when he managed to reach their summit. The first was to write management a scrawling note about why a brownstone in a neighborhood as filthy rich as this had yet to install a goddamn elevator. The second was to collapse. He had already decided about one flight ago if he couldn’t find his keys, he was going to just curl up on the welcome mat decorated in constellations outside the front door and pass out until Adam came home from the office. It wouldn’t be the first time he had come home from work and made himself into a human piece of furniture to decorate the hallway. He figured the dark circles under his eyes and battered knuckles healing on his right hand would put off most. If that didn't work, the proverbial sign that read fuck off stamped on his forehead would give people enough pause to even think of trying to approach, let alone wake him. Some of the best sleep he had gotten was in stairwells and on stoops.

5. Brief Interactions with Strangers

Wisps of cotton clouds floated idly across a bright blue sky, carried on a light warm afternoon breeze. Light filtered over almond colored awnings striped with chocolate lines, rustling gently in the wind. Grey blue shimmering pools of water gazed back, mirrored behind white lettering stamped on a glass window: Savoy. Sebastian pushed unruly wisps of hair from his face, combing it back with long stroking fingers. Two figures rounded a corner, approaching with steady, even strides, in a swirl of color and small shapes in its glass reflection.

6. Witness to Your Destruction (W.I.P.)

“Come on, Q, you have to give me something…” Terse mumbling grit against a starched white collar.

There was no arguing the view was impeccable. Hundreds of feet up, the city below was a landscape of shadow cast in a glow of azure blue and orange flame. Black mountain ranges rose up from the horizon. James imagined he would be able to take in the entirety of its splendor if he was not dangling from the side of a telecom tower. The still quiet would have been tranquil if someone wasn’t shooting at him. He might have even found inner peace. If his left hand wasn’t slipping as he rummaged through pockets of a tuxedo jacket for any kind of weapon that infuriating mop of curls and glasses had droned on about returning in one piece. Two gunshots pinged off a tower near his head. He didn’t specify the agent had to return in one piece. Just the equipment.

Static buzzed and then chirped inquisitively. “Do you often talk to me out loud when I’m not around, 007?”

* * *

On to things I haven’t looked at in a hellishly long time. :cough: YEARS. :cough: Also known some stuff I started at one point in college and pre-college days?

7. Bloodlines: Dark Ascension (novella)

PERIL LURKED in glittering eyes with thorough and calculated sweeps, scanning the shadows along a darkening horizon. Sabin lifted a goblet to his lips, savoring the bitter liquor slipping down his throat before it began to burn deep inside. He banished a dark smile tugging at the corners of his mouth without hesitation. Victory was nearly at hand. Battlefields of blood and bitter tears of his brothers had long waited this night, carefully plotting the perfect revenge.

8. Unholy Words

STUMBLING through blinding cold, heavy boots pounded against slick stones that drowned out heavy breathing. The young woman glanced fearfully over her shoulder, once, then twice. Yelling and pounding against the ground reached her ears, the sounds nearing closer. Clutching her throbbing side, she tried to fight against the numbing cold sweeping through her shredded blouse and silk skirt. She blinked fiercely, forcing stinging snow from her unseeing eyes and focused on steady breathing to keep her moving.

9. Untitled

A sharp breath inhaled centuries of collecting dust and wilted red roses. An intoxicating scent created with the passing of years wafting in the air on the eve of every awakening. It was a lingering familiarity of when time held sweet simplicity and warmth. Eyes fluttered open to find the surrounding darkness, a constant companion of desolation and eternal solitude. Raging hunger ripped through the partially conscious mind before dragging it from slumber and throwing it into a cold need refusing to be ignored. Sluggishly, a dark shadow wrestled from comfort and placed searching palms against cool marble stone with a heavy sigh.

10. Untitled

Dante glanced up from his cards, dark eyes smoldering with irritation, a fine brow arched questioningly at the other man. He reached absently behind him as a glass of wine was handed over, soft giggling interrupting the silence. Glancing back, his eyes traveled up a sky blue satin gown to a small waist then lingered on breasts swelling above a tight corset trimmed with matching lace and ribbon.

11. Untitled

buried beneath concrete

heart beats rise

from cracks in sidewalks

to caress lonesome souls

who dream of falling

but never do.

12. Untitled: Creative Writing Course Biography Exercise

“What do you mean this isn’t chicken?”

The Chinese lovers exchanged a curious glance in a silent reply to my question, eyes shining with secretive smiles. Zhu handed the stick, now picked clean of its meat, to her boyfriend Zhang, who immediately replaced it with another saucy piece. Around us the cars honked loudly, speeding down the alleys and adjacent streets, threatening to hit any pedestrian who dare step in their path.  My two friends looked at each other again as I watched them, continuing to chew curiously.

Pursing my lips, I stared at the meat from an angle, head titled in consideration. Tasted like chicken to me. Zhu smiled at me brightly as I took another big bite. She patted my head fondly, and began to say, “Well, it’s actually…”

(It was snake. Not to leave you on a cliff hanger. And it was delicious.)

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

That’s it. That’s all I’ve got, guys. I’m sure there’s more on this dinosaur of a computer somewhere? Now to tag these two beautiful and majestic writers: @hannigrammatic and @slashyrogue

[nancydhooper]

Randazza: Trying to make sense of Bourdain

By Marc J. Randazza

I did not know Anthony Bourdain. But, he was a good friend to a good friend. I'm upset about his death for a few reasons. First, and foremost, a good friend lost a good friend. Selfishly, I always had it as a given that I would have drinks with him one day. Any time I wanted, really. I just had to ask. It never occurred to me that he would be gone before I made the time.

And now that he is gone, the post-mortems are oozing like honey out of baklava. Messy, sweet, and getting on everything. Almost all of them are flattering, as they should be. Yeah, there's always one douche with something awful to say, but lets not focus on those few bitter nothings. Every account of him that I've ever heard was a man who had plenty of time for everyone. He may have had his faults, but he spread respect, understanding, and curiosity. The world was better because we had Bourdain in it.

Most everyone thought so, even before he died.

After a celebrity takes his own life, the questions are predictable, and fair. This was no tragic accident. This was no cancer-took-him-too-soon. This was a bright bright neon light that turned itself off. How does someone with the best job in the world, at the top of his game, with seemingly everything, "throw it all away?"

If I could really answer that question, I would get a Nobel Prize, I imagine.

I can't. But I'll try. I hope in trying, I do no harm. Regular readers will agree that I am really good at irreverence, but have little demonstrated experience with reverence. May this piece only pop corks on bottles of compassion. To the extent it has a shred of douchetasm in it, I hope my reader understands that at worst, any harm I inflict is negligent. And nothing in this piece should be interpreted as me saying that I know a goddamn thing except this: "Why would he throw it all away?" isn't the right question. And if you're asking that question, you might be asking someone you know the wrong questions.

So do I get it? The fuck I know. Can I try? I'll try.

Lets look at who Bourdain was – at least to me. To me, he was "one of us." By that I mean those of us who were misfits who succeeded in spite of ourselves. Bourdain was very open about his prior drug use – not shy at all about it, in fact. He regularly dropped references to his prior heroin habit. I loved that about him. "Yeah, I used to shoot smack, and look at me now." He was not a "say no to drugs" guy. He was a keep-on-raging guy, even if he did gain a high degree of responsibility in his older age. He let that flag fly, and in doing so, he sent signals to some of us who understood him on that level.

Bourdain was not the kind of guy to get an honorary degree and then give a speech extolling the virtues of studying hard and working hard. Bourdain was a pirate. I can think of no higher praise than to call him that.

After he died, a wise man wrote: "Very successful people often become successful because they are unhappy." And that makes sense when you look at Bourdain. Nobody shoots heroin because they are happy. A demon chases you into that place. That demon talks to you. He lies to you. He tells you to go ahead and jam that needle into your arm, because you are different. It won't hurt you because you're different – and that difference makes you alone, and that heroin makes you forget about being alone. Not the "alone" like being in the house all by yourself. The "alone" someone feels while they are the center of attention in a huge crowd. That alone. That cold-alone that is more alone and cold than you'd be if you were strapped to Voyager One like a freezing dark hood ornament. That alone that isn't even black – because at least you can lose yourself in blackness. Blackness and darkness at least has quiet and tranquility. That evil aloneness is grainy. T.V.-static-alone. That alone of "did I just hear something?" And you didn't hear anything. You wanted to. You wanted to hear something so badly that your ears start creating sounds that make sense in the static. The noise. Just. One. Fucking. Sound. That. Makes. Sense. Please. God. Fucking. Dammit. Or at least, some quiet. And the quiet won't come. And the sounds won't organize into voices that speak to you. And you just want to hide.

Heroin is an awesome place for someone like that to hide. Those of us who have been there, with lost weeks, months, even years, know that quest for tranquility and how heroin can get you there. For a while.

Of course, Bourdain quit heroin – as you must to in order to achieve anything except knowing where to buy heroin. For most junkies, heroin is a disease. For them, it is usually easy. Step one: Quit heroin. Step two: Get better.

For people like Bourdain, heroin is a symptom. The steps defy logic. Quit heroin, problem remains. Seek new cure. Fail. Rinse. Lather. Repeat.

I can picture Bourdain now, the smart junkie, with everything as sanitized as possible. The candle burning. The spoon over the flame. The water. The powder. The little tiny bit of cotton to filter out the impurities. Apply heat. Watch just the edges of the water boil. The powder vanishes like magic and there's just a clear shot of liquid in the spoon. Push the cotton into the middle of the water, and draw it all into the syringe. The strap around the arm digs in and makes that vein bulge out – creating a target for the stinger. As it pierces the skin, it settles into place, and *puff* … a little red flower blooms inside the syringe as the blood pressure pushes just a kiss of blood into the clear watery mixture. The thumb goes down, and …. whoosh…. his pupils pull tight into little pinholes. His head gets lighter than hydrogen. Every pleasure center in his brain is switched on. And he floats. In tranquility. For a while.

The T.V. Static loneliness turns to black. The good kind. The calming kind. The static is squelched.

It wears off and the noise comes back. Maybe that night he hits it a few more times. Maybe he takes the day off the next day. Maybe a week. Maybe not. But, in general, days run into weeks, into months, and every time that flower blooms, it is a little less beautiful. Every time that lightness lasts just a little less time. The blackness doesn't ever go to that pure pure black that it was the first time. And, eventually, Bourdain figured out "this is not going to save me anymore."

Figuring that out about heroin is easy. Everyone knows heroin is bad. You want to quit heroin? You find lots of friends. Everyone wants to help you. Friends will babysit you. You'll get excused for puking at inopportune times. "He's drying out from junk." Hell, you can almost act any way you want when people know you're kicking a junk habit. For Bourdain, a famous curmudgeon, the kicking-the-habit time must have been mentally satisfying, even if physically grueling.

When he came out of that sicknness, finally, it didn't likely feel like he crossed a finish line. The junk habit goes away slowly. It is as if the sickness has a half-life, and every day it gets a little less sickening and painful – until finally, he couldn't remember what the sickness really felt like. He was in the clear.

But then that demon that put the stinger in his arm starts talking to him again. The T.V. static loneliness starts to creep in again. The noise. It hurts. There must be a cure.

For a lot of people, that means going right back to the old bad habit. For others, especially intelligent ones, there is a recognition that you don't want to go down that path again. That was a dead end, so they try something else. Religion. Family. Gardening. Compulsive masturbation. Whatever the fuck. But, something needs to get laid over the crackling hiss of loneliness and alienation. For some, the cure is called "success." And people like Anthony Bourdain chase it the same way that a junkie chases that feeling he had the first time he shot up.

Success is a wonder drug for people like Bourdain. Strapped to the rack of his own insecurities and unhappiness, he mainlined success. He dragged a lot of people along with him too — my friend Mike, for example. Bourdain shared his success with him, promoting his book and doing whatever he could to contribute to his success. Bourdain was a curmudgeon, but not an asshole. He kept climbing that mountain of success – from his first column in The New Yorker to his acclaimed show to his ascendancy as a cultural icon. Bourdain was not just a celebrity chef, but an ambassador. Bourdain was Bourdain.

Bourdain being Bourdain was a man climbing a mountain to conquer that solitude that heroin couldn't crush. Every step he took on that climb toward the summit put him in more rarified air. As he looked up, and it seemed that the summit was in reach, the air got thinner and thinner, making each step exponentially harder than the one before it. Like climbing a smoking volcano, where it gets colder, and the air more sparse, and each step is not not just on rocks that might slip and tumble beneath his boots – but now into crusted snow. And the air gets thinner and thinner. He looks back at those who couldn't get there with him, who turned around, or who were satisfied at where they reached. All the while, that smoke coming out of the volcano – noxious gas – is under nobody's control. One shift of the breeze and sulphur dioxide can come streaming toward his face.

And now you, dear reader, start to ask yourself: Am I reading about rising up to the greatest heights? Or am I reading about a dangerous agonizing climb toward not a summit, but a crater?

The answer is "yes."

From our comfortable chairs down at the base-camp of life, it looked like he was a legend. How fortunate he was to see things from that height. How strong he was to climb that volcano. How could he "throw that away?"

He didn't "throw it away."

Bourdain climbed that volcano – racing away from the loneliness to try and find the summit. But, every step up was toward more alienation. Every success was another shot that just temporarily made the pain go away and brought a bit of calm, but that pushed him toward disaster. And, unlike heroin, the drug of success and achievement wasn't something he could just tell his friends "I gotta dry out," and find a shower of support. The climb was a trap. Not just an addiction, but an addiction for which there is no treatment – and for which each shot put him further away from a cure.

He lost who Bourdain was. He lost that, because (in part) of us. Bourdain wasn't "Anthony" anymore. He became "Bourdain." Quit success? How could he do that? Why would he do that? The eyes were on him. The drug was in him. But he did not "rise." He climbed. Climbed toward the sun, trying to find that quiet. Climbed to run away from that voice and noise. The pressure on him to keep climbing, because that's what you do when you're a success. His seemingly positive pattern of self-medication through triumph pushing him up higher and higher.

Until that day in that hotel room where he just couldn't climb anymore.

We all lost Bourdain, when he just decided to finally, once again be Anthony.

Lonely, confused, Anthony. Just wanting the static and the noise and the hurt to go away.

Anthony couldn't carry Bourdain up that mountain anymore. So Anthony sat down in the snow and waited for the wind to shift that sulphur dioxide toward him, and breathed in its searing heat to just make it all stop.

Do I know? The fuck I know anything.

Copyright 2017 by the named Popehat author. from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8247012 https://www.popehat.com/2018/06/10/randazza-trying-to-make-sense-of-bourdain/ via http://www.rssmix.com/