#i want to throw my stupid brain directly into the fucking sun.

[ryuuka-balaen]

certified Mental Illness Moment:tm:

[anjelicawrites]

Paring: Aegon II Targaryen x reader x Aemond Targaryen, Aegon II Targaryen x Aemond Targaryen

Synopsis: follows from this fic. The summer is ending and so should your secret relationship with Aegon and Aemond, right? Yet again the brothers manage to surprise you yet again.

Warnings: Targaryen incest (Aegon and Aemond have an established relationship), kissing, handjob, overstimulation, orgasm denial, scratching, biting, titty sucking, fighting, anal (M receiving), p in v sex, brothers bickering, creampie, a bit of chocking if you squint, cock and balls slapping, a bit of post orgasm torture, smoking, fingering (F receiving), talk of double V penetration, talk of pegging, talk of anal (F receiving), talk of titty fucking.

A/N: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed they/them pronouns used

Baela and Rhaena have you cornered, using the excuse of a day trip to a small bay no one else wanted to visit, because nobody wants to ride a bike for two hours in the stifling heath, but you and your best friends.

They orchestrate their attack, waiting patiently for you to lay under the shadows of a big tree, sunglasses on and ready to have a nap.

“What’s going on between you three?”

Of course Baela asks directly, causing you to sit up and push your glasses over your head. You try to fake a calm you don’t feel; you and the Targaryen brothers haven’t been as covert as you three believed, if your friends are sniffing something.

“What’s going on between whom?” “You, Aegon and Aemond. You’re always spending time together, more than you do with us.” Rhaena says.

You take a big breath and try to sit more comfortably: you hate to lie to your friends, but you’re not ready to discuss whatever is happening in your sex life.

“Girls, we’re the only ones who don’t have a partner here, it’s only natural that we gravitate towards one another.” You raise your hands before either of the two can interject. “I’m not saying you’re ignoring me, or anything, only that I understand that you both need that kind of space, before uni starts again and you will not have as much time to spend with your lovers.”

“You’re far too exceptional to spend time with those two losers.” Baela snorts. “Like Aegon! What do you have in common with him?”

“He’s far more insightful than what you give him credit for. And we talk stupid nonsense, which is refreshing for my brain.”

The memory of your last ‘nonsense talk’ with Aegon resurfaces in your mind.

You were in your room in Dragonstone, sat in front of the big vanity table, desperate to salvage both the damage caused to your hair by the sea salt, despite your diligent routine, and the inflamed skin, due to the mosquitoes and the love bites the Targaryen brothers left constantly on you.

You were so engrossed with the bottle in your hand, a new product Aemond had loaned you, that you didn’t hear the secret passage door open behind you, nor you did saw Aegon’s sun burnt face emerge from the shadows.

“What are you doing?”

It was an instinctual response to turn around and throw the bottle in the general direction of the voice, screaming like a vengeful ghost; you realized a fraction too late it was Aegon, who had managed to avoid your projectile, and was now looking at you with accusatory eyes, making you feel like you had stepped on a puppy’s tail.

“Are you out of your mind? Scaring me like this?”

You were still running on the adrenaline spike and were panting.

“I always use this passage! Are you out of your mind?” “You always texted me to tell me first!” “I did! When you didn’t respond I decided to pop by anyway!”

You glanced at your phone, noticing only now the red dot of the unread message; you were probably showering when he sent that.

“I could have been here with Baela and Rhaena. I could have been with Aemond.” You answered, your voice taking a sultry tone when the younger Targaryen gets nominated.

You noticed the shift in his posture: he was not the kicked puppy any longer, he stood proud and was eyeing you shamelessly.

“The twins are with their stupid lovers, and if Aemond were here, he wouldn’t mind me joining in midway.”

You stood up, clad only in your bathrobe, the soft cotton teasing the heavenly sight of your naked breast, and sauntered towards Aegon, who was staring at the skin emerging as the knot loosened.

“You scared me Aegon. How do you plan to gain my forgiveness?”

You didn’t plaster your body against his, you made sure that only a sliver of space remained between the two of you.

“How do you want me to?” He groaned, his erection at full mast against the cotton of his trunks.

Your index finger traveled down his chest, slowly, teasingly, as you pretended to ponder his request.

“Get on the bed. Be ready to put that big mouth of yours in good use.”

You have to hastily focus back on the conversation when Rhaena asks you what you find so interesting in Aemond, of all the people.

“We discuss poetry. And literature. We have long talks about the genres and authors we prefer.”

Your brain supplies you with your last, lengthy ‘conversation’ with him.

After the first tryst, you and the boys had agreed on a signal only you three, would be able to understand, to meet up: it was the book emoji, the one that was now blinking at you from the text message Aemond had sent you.

You were chatting with Helaena and Jace, sitting under the lovely arbor at the back of the sprawling mansion; you had to come up with an excuse to leave them, but you took your time, least Aemond started to believe you were at his beck and call.

You walked calmly to Aemond’s room, careful to use the longer route in fear of meeting one member of the family, or another.

He was annoyed that you had kept him waiting, you could see in the way his eyebrow was raised and in the smirk on his lips.

He was sitting on the huge wooden chair that resembled a throne, the one that stood right in front of the door, wearing a long red coat, only the button on his tummy fastened, his erection proud against the ivory of his skin.

“It could have been someone else.” You said, already mesmerized by his beauty. “Their problem.” He shrugged. “Take your clothes off and come here.”

Slowly, too slowly for someone only wearing a short dress, you started to take your clothes off, teasing your bare skin to his hungry eye.

He ordered you to crawl towards him, and you were on your knees in seconds, moving slowly, with your naked arse up in the air, until you were face to face with his engorged member and his long fingers found home in your locks.

“Are you sure everything is all right?”

Baela’s hand finds yours, holding it in a tight vise.

“Absolutely. It’s all in good fun. We chat and have a laugh. I promise you both nothing weird is happening.”

It’s not a lie, not when you don’t find fucking a couple of incestuous brothers to be strange.

You sigh in happiness when the cold walls of your room welcome you, after the long trek back to the enormous mansion.

The first thing you do is to take a long shower, humming a song as the water washes away the sea salt and the sweat on your skin; only when you are sitting in front of the vanity you grab your phone, curious to see if either brother has written something in the What’s app chat you three share.

You had to be careful, when you were with your friends, in case some inappropriate message were to pop up on your screen; usually it is Aegon who sends racy pics, as if he can’t fuck you, or Aemond, whenever he wants. He probably has a heightened libido, you think: whatever the reason, the video he sent of himself masturbating and moaning like a whore will star in many of your ‘self care sessions’, once this strange holiday is over.

Weirdly enough, both brothers have been quiet, which makes bells ring in your head: the chronology of the chat is full of them bickering, what’s different today?

With an unknown weight in your stomach you get ready fast and use the secret passage to Aemond’s room to check on them.

When you open the hidden door, you don’t expect to see Aemond on his knees, being fucked mindlessly by Aegon, who has one hand around his long throat, and the other clawing at his slender hips; against Aemond’s chest, his medallion slams in tandem with Aegon’s punishing rhythm.

It’s not the coupling that’s taking your words away, it’s the energy, the desperation, almost, that’s fueling Aegon’s pushes, his bared teeth and the red streaks left by his fingernails on Aemond’s white skin.

The whole room is saturated with the smell of sweat and sex, Aemond’s choked moans reverberate against the stone walls as his cock slaps painfully upwards with every brutal thrust: you’re wet, immediately, your nipples push against the cotton of your bra. It’s only the desperate hold you have on the door that keeps you upwards and stops you from joining the two brothers: as deranged as it is, you feel like you’ve stumbled upon something you shouldn’t have, the tail end of a discussion you weren’t privy of and, for this reason, you have no right to join, even through you want to with all your heart.

“Don’t stand, ah! There!” Aegon moans. “Come here! Fuck Aemond you’re so tight!”

As if in a dream, you remove your clothes and close the door behind you; your panties are soaked already and your honey slides down your legs with every careful step you take towards Aemond’s huge bed.

The younger Targaryen squirms and keens in his brother’s unforgiving hold, his mouth hangs open, saliva drips down his chin and on his dark sheets, mixing with the precome raining there: he’s the model of debauchery, with his pale skin covered in hickeys and his cock so engorged he’s ready to come.

“You started without me.”

You groan, kissing Aemond’s sternum, your hand jacking his erection slowly as he shakes and cries in overstimulation.

“He’s not allowed.” Aegon slaps Aemond’s arse. “I’m not done, yet.”

You smile, cruelly at the way Aemond looks at you, scared and desperate to lose control too soon, your hand pure torture against his red cock.

“He wouldn’t mind be your flashlight, wouldn’t you Aemond? Let your big brother use your body to get himself off.”

Aemond’s body vibrates against yours, his head falls forward in abandon when Aegon grants you permission to to as you wish with him: it’s not that common for Aemond to submit, when he does he’s pure perfection.

“I want you to come all over my tummy, Aemond. I want you you to paint my skin with your come. Will you be good for me?”

You jack him faster now, one hand tight around his erection, the other crushing and pulling at his heavy balls.

He squirms in the double hold, all he can feel are the cock defiling his hole, and your hands torturing him into his end; his come splatters against your overheated skin, the pleasure turning into pain when you don’t stop touching him, you simply slow down, deaf to his desperate cries.

Blindly he tries to stop your hands, earning a raining of slaps on his cock and balls, the pain a whiplash up his spine that has him cry, and almost pass out.

“Don’t you dare, Aemond!” Aegon pinches one of his nipples. “You know I hate fucking you when you’re out like a light!”

Your hands are gentle, yet persistent on his cock and stones, your skin hurts against his and you grow even wetter with every painful sound escaping his thin lips.

“I want you hard again. I want you to come all over my breasts. I know you can.”

With every second, every slap of Aegon’s skin against his, his cock grows, painfully, in your hold, your spit on his cockhead makes him scream, his brother’s dick pistoning inside of him forces moans and keens against your lips.

“I’m, ah! Ah! Almost there, little brother.” Aegon aims at his prostate now. “I hope, oh Gods! You’re ready!” “He is.” Your tongue licks Aemond’s engorged erection and he almost passes out. “Make him come, Aegon.”

Your words are all he needs, he explodes against your breasts, his come copious on your flushed skin, his arse a vise Aegon can’t escape, he follows him with a last, brutal push and a long groan of pleasure: he loves emptying his balls in Aemond’s arse.

Both brothers fall on the bed, Aemond sprawled on the ruined sheets, too lost to be capable of doing anything with his long limbs, Aegon next to him, barely coherent to remove the condom from his deflated cock and grab a smoke.

You have to curl against Aemond’s unresponsive body to light yours, the brothers having left you next to none space to lie down.

Silently you three smoke, you sharing your cigarette with Aemond, who is barely breathing the smoke in, Aegon is sat with his back against the wooden end of the bed frame; the quiet is companionable, yet you feel there’s something the brothers are not telling you, and that prompted the brutal fuck you witnessed.

“What happened?”

Someone has to rip the band aid, might as well be you.

“You didn’t come.”

Aemond’s voice is dreamy, he’s still floating in cotton and endorphins to be of any use. Gently, you offer him your nipple to nurse him back into himself, he latches on your skin, moaning when he tastes your sweat and his own come.

“I want to suck on your boobies too!” “If you tell me what happened I might feel generous and let you do that.” “That’s blackmail!”

You laugh at Aegon’s scandalized tone and hold Aemond tighter against your body, murmuring nonsense against the crown of his head.

“What a terrible thing to say! I’d like to call it a persuasive way to reach my goal.”

Aegon sulks, looking at his brother, and you, like a kicked puppy; he’s almost ready to cry in frustration when you exaggerate a moan, after one harsh suck from Aemond.

“What happened? I know something did, I can feel it.”

Aegon hides his frustration behind another cigarette, his face is still a mask of unhappiness at being left out.

“There’s been a discussion.” He starts. “I would call it a disagreement.” Aemond interjects.

He looks more like himself, that light mask of secrecy he always wears is back to hide his feelings; no matter the depraved things you two have been doing to one another, and to Aegon, you feel there’s a part of Aemond you can’t reach, not due to any fault of your own, but because that’s who he is, how he functions.

“It wasn’t a disagreement, and we both know it.” Aegon kills his cigarette in the ashtray with a nervous push that almost tumbles it on the floor.

You don’t know that they had come to blows, in the secret sanctum that’s Aemond’s room. You don’t know how Aegon had pushed Aemond against the wall, knocking his head against the stone while screaming to him to tell the truth about his feelings, for once in his life!

“Will you two please stop discussing semantics and tell me what happened?”

You have pushed yourself back to the headboard, so that you could look at the two of them from the angle of the mattress, your legs curled against our chest, hiding your naked front to them; for the first time you don’t feel comfortable with your skin bared.

The brothers share a long look, a silent dialogue passes through them, making you wonder whether they’re going to explain to you what has happened while you were gone, or if those last few weeks before the start of uni will be shadowed by this mystery.

“We were discussing, ow!” Aemond slaps Aegon’s tight when his older brother kicks him. “As I was saying, we were talking about the future. We thought there was a disagreement, we were wrong.”

He doesn’t look like he’s going to spill any more information, which spikes your curiosity immensely: what does he mean with ‘discussing the future’?

“Tell it the way it is!” Aegon snaps. “That we were fighting over us three, because you’re too constipated to express a single feeling!”

You’re stunned into silence: you three? Feelings? You were supposed to be fuck buddies until the end of the summer, nothing more. What has changed?

Aemond doesn’t look like he wants to be in the room, he wants to crawl away until he can safely re-emerge from his hiding spot, after his brother has thoroughly mad an ass of the two of them, because what Aegon wants to propose, you’ll never accept.

That’s what he had tried to explain to his older brother, before blows started to fly; the matter is not Aemond’s incapability to express his feelings, but the fact that Aegon’s idea is too mad to work.

Silence falls again, uncomfortable and full of unsaid words; Aemond’s room is build too deeply into the guts of the mansion, to let the sounds of the outside world sneak in, there’s only the rustling of the bedding and the click of a lighter being used.

“We usually fuck ‘em and forget ‘em.” Aegon blurts. “Good for you?” “You’re such an idiot brother!”

Aemond snaps, turning on his belly before kneeling on the mattress, wary of his sore arse.

“Then explain it yourself, Mr. Perfection!”

Aemond says something under his breath, too low for you to understand.

“We’ve always been together.” He starts, his eye focusing somewhere over your naked shoulder. “Sometimes we had someone jointing in, for a night of different fun. This is how it had always been, and how we envision it to be right from the beginning.” “Someone like me.”

It stings to say it, even though you have never expected anything from them.

“That’s the problem, you aren’t like those anonymous lays.”

Aemond’s eye now focuses on yours, sharp it takes in all your expressions.

“That first afternoon was supposed to be a once only. We were to have our fun and go on.” He continues. “We couldn’t.”

You’re still feeling lost, and a bit hurt by his words.

“You passed out.”

Now it’s Aegon’s turn to stare at you, there’s an insecurity in the way his whole face looks that you want to take his hand in yours to tell him that it’s all right, everything is fine.

“You were out like a light, on the bed.” Aegon says, proud. “And we knew we didn’t have enough of you, we needed more. It was a strange feeling, but the more we fucked, the hungrier we were.” “You have to understand that we never thought it could have happen. Even when one of us dated someone, it never worked out because we needed one another more. You were a curve ball, you were the unexpected, smart and pretty.”

“And so good in bed.” Aegon interjects. “You’re the perfect package deal. And my brother had his panties in a bunch when I proposed to open up the relationship to you.”

You don’t know what to say, there’s so much to unpack and you don’t know where to start.

“As in being fuck buddies?” You finally ask.

Both they faces fall: what did you say wrong?

“I told you they would never accept!” Aemond snaps at his brother. “I never said that!” “You had to be an asshole about it!” Aegon tries to kick Aemond. “Boys! Boys! Boys!”

You have to put yourself between them, physically keeping them from starting another fight.

“I don’t understand what you wanted to ask me.” “We want you to be with us! As in partner!” “Don’t snarl at me Aemond! How do you expect me to infer that, when you two never talked about any feelings you might have?” “That means you’d do it?” Aegon quips from your side.

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes, trying to sort out the words you want to say.

“I have never expected this.” You start, cautious. “I have operated with the goal of keeping my heart safe, making sure I would not leave Dragonstone hurt. I never let myself imagine anything more than what we have been doing, I didn’t want to think about the future and my normal life back home. You two have to understand this when I tell you that I am willing to try, but that I can’t give you two an answer as to where my feelings are, because I have been keeping everything under lock and key, for my safety.”

You haven’t been looking at them, focusing your eyes on the stained sheets; you jump when Aemond’s warm hand gently cups your cheek to look into your eyes.

“You’d try, though.”

His voice is low and soft, what surprises you the most is the openness you see on his face: he’s never been like this with you, he’s never given you such a deep insight into himself.

“Slowly and gently I’m willing.” “So that means you’re not moving in with us?”

You shot Aegon a dirty look.

“You will need more than a handful of nice orgasms to have me sort out your dirty laundry, you dumbass.”

You find yourself flattened on the bed, both brothers having hugged you at the same time, taking you by surprise, in a heap of laughter and limbs.

“Here.” Surprisingly Aegon is the first to sober up. “Wear this.”

With gentle hands he removes his signet ring to push it on your thumb, Aemond is right behind him, taking off his chain and medallion to help it around your neck.

You observe the jewelry now adorning your body, savoring how right it feels against your skin, despite the fear and the uncertainty for the future.

“I can’t parade around wearing those. It’s too early.” “Then do it when you’re with us.” Aemond’s eye burns with heath now that his sigil is on your body. “You don’t need anything else behind closed doors.” “It would be nice to return home to your naked on our sofa.” Aegon says with dreamy eyes. “All on display.” “I’m not and I will never be your kept toy, Aegon.” “My brother doesn’t mean it like that” “I do!” “My brother is an idiot.” “I’m not! We can provide for you!” “What he means to say is that it would be nice to come back home to you, after you’re done with your coursework for the day, obviously.” “No! No! I would never leave home if there’s a set of knockers like this available!”

Aemond huffs and lays on his back, facepalming at his brother’s stupidity.

“I’m trying to sell us as a good bargain, Aegon. Shut up!” “No, you’re being boring. Our apartment is closer to the campus. Loads of space and a maid who takes care of everything. It’s the perfect deal!” “Aegon.” You say, patiently, turning your head to face him. “As tempting as your life is, I need us to take this slowly, see if there’s an actual future when our normal lives get in the way. The twins are already suspicious and I want to look into my friends’ eyes and tell them that, however unconventional our relationship is, it’s healthy and I am happy.” “You’re already calling us ‘a relationship’. I need the number of a moving company, immediately!”

Defeated you facepalm, mostly to hide your smile at Aegon’s antics.

“Aemond. Are you sure you and Aegon need to be a package deal? We can elope on an Essos freighter and be none the wiser!”

With a wince, Aemond turns to hide his face against the curve of your neck; he’s laughing and kissing your sweaty skin.

“We, unfortunately for you, are a package deal. You’re lucky you’re not going to have to listen to his idiocy for the whole day. He only happens to say something smart when he’s chocking on my cock.” “Don’t forget when I am being smothered by our beloved’s pussy!” “I’m serious, though. We haven’t been as thoughtful as we hoped to be. I am not sure for how long anyone is going to believe the hickeys are mosquito bites that I have scratched.” “Hmm, that sounds serious.”

There’s a light in Aemond’s eye, one that burns when he catches sight, again, of the pendant now resting between your breasts.

“You’re in luck we’re almost due back to King’s Landing.” Aegon adds, a wolfish expression now adorning his beautiful face. “No more pesky mosquitoes; I can’t wait to see you go to your classes still dripping with our seeds.”

You shiver at the idea of parading around campus wet and marked by their scents.

“You wish I’ll let you do that.” You moan in response. “Baby, I can be very convincing, trust me.”

Aegon’s face is so close to yours that kissing him is instinctual, so is moaning when Aemond’s curious fingers slip in your wet cunt and Aegon cups your left breasts with his free hand.

“I bet you can’t take four of my fingers, and four of Aegon’s in your pussy.” Aemond growls against your lips, when you turn towards him, hungry for his taste as well. “Would you like to check if I can take both of your monster cocks in me? Would you two like to fuck me like that?”

Aemond groans against your lips: who would have thought you’d have such a kinky brain? To be nestled in you, alongside his brother, would be heaven.

“Let’s see how many fingers you can take, issa dōna, my sweet.”

You arch as their fingers start caressing and teasing your hole, you moan breathless already when your cunt sucks their fingers in and squelches with your honey: you love letting go when you’re with them both, be more submissive, positive as you are that they’ll never let you fall, the knowledge makes the pleasure travel faster through your body and melt your brain. You want to be their plaything if that means they’ll make you come repeatedly and then cuddle you back into yourself; no one else has ever made you feel like this, no one has conquered your trusts as the brothers did.

They both kiss you, fast and hard, hungry as if they haven’t had a taste of you in months, instead of hours, sneaking their tongues in, licking the drool already seeping from your parted lips and the tiny drops of perspiration that roll down your neck: you’re burning up already for them!

“I wanna suck your cocks.” You beg, drunk on pleasure. “Please! I love sucking you off!”

Beside you Aegon moans, so close to orgasm already he can feel the precome leak from his cock head: your mouth! He must have done something good with his life, if he gets to use it!

“If you’re good, after dinner, you’ll be on your knees for us.” Aemond murmurs darkly in your ear. “Make a mess of me?” “Only if you remain in bed with us for the whole night, covered in our come.” “Yes, Aemond! Yes!” “You’re leaking all over our fingers.” Aegon groans. “Taking us so well.”

You’re so wet and loose already you barely feel the sting when he slips his pinkie in your stretched hole, you simply arch, hungry for their cocks.

“Come and ride me.” Aemond orders.

You can’t answer, you can’t move, not when both brothers are still finger fucking your cunt open, praising how welcoming and wet you are, how good you must taste after both their comes will paint your walls.

You squirm and wail, needing to come and to be filled, plugged closed until you pass out, drunk on pleasure.

You let out an unhappy sound when Aemond’s fingers leave your hole, covered in your honey, strings of it hanging from between his fingers when he spreads them.

“All the lube I need.” He growls.

He lays on the bed, legs spread, hand lazily jacking his erect cock; his lonely eye focused on his brother’s fingers still making your hole gape.

“Ah! Ah! Aemond… ah!” You cry out. “Ah! You’re… oh God! Sore!”

Aemond smiles, devilishly.

“I can take that when the prospect is watching you fucking yourself on me, your breast jiggling and framing my pendant. Come here.”

You whine, unhappy and desperate when Aegon’s fingers leave your hole: you were so close!

The older Targaryen brother kisses you, his weight and warmth ground you back into yourself, helping you calming the flames of lust burning inside your chest.

He’s patient when he has to help you turn on your fours and crawl to his brother; with his hands on the round globes of your arse he lifts your hips as you grab Aemond’s erection to position him for the taking.

You three moan in unison when Aemond breaches you, you’re so warm around him, he’s so hard, kissing your walls until he’s fully seated inside of you.

You try to move fast now that you’re full of him, but Aegon’s hands on your hips force you to slowly fuck yourself, his own hard cock nestled between the globes of your arse.

“You want to fuck, oh! Ah! My arse so bad it makes you look stupid!” You moan.

Behind you Aegon whines, his hands cupping your breasts as his brother takes control with his palms on your hips.

“Only if you fuck mine.”

You clamp around Aemond at the thought, forcing him to move your body faster, mesmerized by the pendant bouncing against your breasts. It’s a dream to see you like this, marked as his, lost to the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Can’t wait to fuck your tits tonight!” Aegon groans. “Ah! Yes!”

You’re starting to lose control, your mind flying already as pleasure mounts and mounts.

“Aegon loves having his arsed fucked. He’s so responsive when he’s full and knows he’ll feel you for days!”

Aemond’s words do you: you clamp around him, coming with a shrill scream of surprise, taking him with you, his come leaking from your pussy when he slips out, sated.

You’re so sweaty, sandwiched between brothers, loopy you kiss Aemond’s skin, following the drops of perspiration on his chest: it feels so good to be with them both, so right to feel Aemond relax under you, while Aegon kisses your neck playfully.

“Do you think you’re ready?” He asks.

He’s so hard it hurts to move, to think, to breathe, he wants your warmth, your cunt so perfect and velvety, needs to fill you with his seed, only to see it drip out of your overused hole.

“Yeah.” You try to lift your hips. “Do you want me like this?”

Aegon hugs you tight, his face hiding for precious seconds in the curve of your neck, where he can smell the tantalizing perfume of your skin.

“Let me help you.”

He’s so wired up he can barely turn you on your back, sliding your tired body off Aemond and on the mattress; not coming when your legs spread to show your cunt is a feat he can barely manage, your cute, hungry hole and puffy clit waiting for him to play with them!

He crawls to you when you lift your arms as if to invite him, his hands tremble on your skin, and on his cock, he feels drunk when your warm muscles envelope his erection, with every inch he feels control slipping from his fingers, he’s delirious when he bottoms out and your legs curl around his hips.

He cages you under his body, the need to see you experience the pleasure he’s giving you becomes more important than his own end: how you scrunch your face at his slow rhythm, feeling him in every crevice of your body, the ‘O’ of your mouth when you beg and moan, the tears and perspiration on your face as he moves.

Your lips biting his ring on your finger break his concentration; his rhythm falters and becomes faster, a slight tilt of his hips and he’s fucking your G spot dead on, howling at the pleasure and desperate for you to follow him.

“Close! Close!” You scream.

Your hips jump when his thumb finds your clit, fast and precise motions that have you tighten and scream, burning and burning, body twisting under his, clenching and screaming, Aegon’s teeth bared as if he’s in pain, his orgasm like white light that blinds him.

When he falls against you, you don’t care that you can barely breathe, you’re happy that this strange connection you three have is not finishing, that you will have the chance to be with them time and time again.

You’re not sure for how long you three lay on the bed, cuddling and dozing off as the day slowly dies outside.

When Baela texts you to ask if you’re ready for dinner, you smile and send a quick voice memo.

“Sis, I am knackered. I just need to sleep the long ride off. I’m going to bed now, the shower must have killed all my energy! See you all tomorrow!”

Beside you Aegon cackles and Aemond pulls you closer to his big body.

“I was thinking: why wait for after dinner, when you two can start making a mess of me right now?” “You’re so smart.” A full smile graces Aemond’s lips, cute dimples appearing on his cheeks. “A genius, really.” “Don’t start without me!” Aegon warns you two. “I’m going to ask the staff to bring the food here. We’re going to be famished!”

No one will truly notice, meals at Dragonstone during the summer aren’t a family affair, people are free to eat wherever they want, or to go to the closest town for a night out: Aegon asking to have food bought to Aemond’s room is the norm.

“We need Champaign.” He tells you and Aemond. “What for?” “Celebrate this new phase in our lives.” Aemond answers your question. “And to pour on your titties! If only we had pearls you could wear!” “Don’t start again with your ‘80s soft porn fantasies, brother!” “First of all, they’re full fledged porn! Second…”

You decide to zoom out until they’re done with their bickering and food is here: you’ll need to hone this skill, a lot, if you’re going to date them both. Luckily you still have time and, hopefully, the rest of your lives to become a master at that!

[bomberqueen17]

how the writing is going

Ok so. LOL. About the only thing I am effectively achieving this week *is* writing, and even that is not really..... I don't have a draft. But I have a whole bunch of sample snippets I've written to try and feel my way through the worldbuilding and discover the sorts of things the characters are likely to be preoccupied with, which is often how I figure out what a plot should be.

The next thing I thought about after dolphins was modes of transport besides sailing ships.

So this is a fairly high-tech society, but they do not have fossil fuels, and they don't have a large-scale power grid. I decided that for aesthetics, but as I'm unpicking my plot, I'm realizing that it makes sense. See, the main driver for all my plot devices is that there's a lot of sun activity-- sunspots, coronal mass ejections, magnetic field anomalies, that sort of shit. A power grid could not survive on a large scale. So all power generation is done in small, local installations-- some very local indeed, panels on rooftops, little waterwheels, tiny wind turbines. Industrial-scale power is generated in hydro plants and used right at the site for hydro-powered manufacturing-- much of it direct hydro-power, not converted to electricity. Just direct drive waterwheel shit. Because the sun can throw whatever shit it wants at the planet and your waterwheel won't notice or care.

That said. Communication over long ranges does pose a significant challenge. You're going to need line-of-sight semaphores and shit, which I had not worldbuilt in the earlier versions but absolutely could add in.

There should be trains, and I haven't really pondered those yet because I need to know more about my geography. Please, god, don't make me draw a map, but I'm gonna have to. Oh well.

But the other thing I thought of and got really excited about was

DIRIGIBLES

It's feasible with technology we currently have, and this is a thing that some large companies are pursuing, to make very large, hydrogen-filled, entirely solar-powered dirigibles for long-distance cargo transportation, faster than ships, the same speed as trucks/trains but more direct, slower than airplanes but INFINITELY lower carbon footprint. And hydrogen is outlawed by the FAA as a lifting gas, not because of the Hindenberg (which had many contributing factors) but because of a Congressional hearing which was presented by the helium lobby in the 20s. Hmmmmm.

A fascinating detail is that you could make a solar-powered lighter-than-air craft operate day and night seamlessly by having a power generation process where some of the day's collected solar energy directly powers the thing, and some of it goes toward... I forget the details but it powers a chemical reaction that, come nightfall, is simply set to reverse itself, which will then release most of the energy that it took to power the reaction in the first place, which you can now use to power your aircraft. Which is not a thing I knew about and I now have to research how that would work because, fascinating.

Anyway. In Fantasy World, there are totally dirigibles, and they're also probably operated by the Navy, and the water-ship sailors fucking hate them, LOL. This will be a wildly entertaining dynamic and I am rubbing my little paws together.

Also.

While feeling sort of brain-dead and stupid, I got a sheet of paper, went through a bunch of lists of historic names and lists of like, suggested baby names from various ethnicities, and I just made lists on this sheet of paper of men's names, women's names, arguably gender-neutral names, and then a huge pile of surnames, and then I sat down with a bullet-pointed list cribbed from the website of the museum of the USS Constitution of all the personnel that would be on a 44-gun frigate ca. 1812, and I first pondered each of the jobs, added some, took some away, came up with my own numbers of how many guys I needed, and then I just sat there and combined the first and last names in aesthetically pleasing ways to generate characters, lightly crossing out ones I'd used. (and sometimes googling them to make sure they're not somebody famous or something, which i always recommend with fictional character creation, especially if you're as oblivious as I am.)

I was unable to resist also coming up with some backstories-- siblings, little work histories, criminal pasts, notable traits, that sort of thing-- for many of the characters.

I did not make up names for every individual person on this ship, which I decided should have a crew of about 150-180, but I made up some names for every position, and considered age and gender as well for all of them.

I will not use many of the characters I've created this way, I'm sure, but the ones with interrelationships will totally somehow get used, and this way as I'm writing if I need a character I can find them already made, and if that person has a defined role, I already know which one and won't lose track of them.

This also got me to consider why people wind up in the jobs they do in this society, what drives them to seek out certain things, and that gave me a lot of background as to what's going on onshore.

I should try to find a list of a dirigible's crew and think about them, too, and build out the train people and routes and whatnot.

I also bought a used older edition on Thriftbooks of The Annapolis Book Of Seamanship and have been reading that with... more interest than I expected actually. I have the 1983 edition and it has a really moving little plea to let the women on your ship also learn to sail because it is foolish to relegate them to the kitchen when if only they were taught how it works, they could save you all in an emergency. LOL I wonder if that's worded differently in the updated new version or not.

[lexivass]

I see what you're doing, Alice: you're trying to distract us with cute and sexy moments, then when we THINK we're finally figuring out the mystery you throw us down the rabbit hole again. Wicked wicked woman! Just kidding, I'm loving the crime plot line, and the dialogs between the team are just the coolest! 😍 It's like watching a Criminal Minds episode (back when it was still good, lol).

Ok, so there is a connection between Julia and the second victim after all, but I'm still holding on to my "escape goat" opinion regarding the doctor. The line about him being safer in prison made me insane. People said he was acting weird that week. What if he was acting weird because he knows who's behind the murder of Julia's sister and her child and the disappearances? And he got scared when he heard about the second body, so MAYBE he knew who it was already.

Me thinks, which might be the product of the voices in my head speaking and it probably sounds really stupid bc I don't know anything about Julia's sister but ME thinks, Julia's sister and her child's death were not random or just "another death" to this killer. While Julia may have been killed in a crime of passion, I don't see how this could apply to her sister unless the doctor was having an affair with both of them and did it, but that goes against what Lloyd observed so far. Also, it's just too much coincidence that two sisters who (probably) never knew each other being killed around the same time and found in near sites. Unless they knew each other? Did someone wanted to hurt her sister and the doctor just cleared the way for them bc of his abuse? 🧐 This is frying my brain

"He tucked the sheet under your chin and watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Seeing you look so serene in his bed gave him a curious sort of satisfaction. The feeling turned his heart warm and soft, as if a ray of sunshine had shone directly into his chest, and melted it."

Alexa, play "You are in love" by Taylor Swift 💕💕

"(...) and collected the luggage. Unless he threw in a load of laundry tonight, you’d have to go home and change in the morning. He unpacked and sorted your laundry with his, making sure to inspect the tags for special instructions."

Domestic caring (future) boyfriend 🥰🥰

"If you’d like, I can contact your siblings and-”

Lloyd has siblings????

"Lloyd’s eyes turned to the mirror in the dining room. He had his father’s bone structure and his thick, dark hair. They stood at exactly the same height and shared a powerful, athletic build. Most days he hated their resemblance, but he was eternally grateful for the last two traits. After puberty his body easily developed and retained muscle, giving him a priceless advantage on the football field. He’d turned it into a ticket to the Ivy Leagues, then to freedom. There were other differences between them, but only on a superficial level. Where Joe Hansen’s eyes were jet black, Lloyd’s were cobalt blue. Joe’s skin was a medium olive that browned quickly in the sun. His own skin repelled sunlight and what little melanin he could develop in the summer vanished before Labor Day. The contrast in coloring was the starkest difference between him and his old man. Except for that, they were almost clones. The fair skin and blue eyes were gifts from his mother. Those recessive Norwegian genes that caused the divergence seemed most readily passed from mother to son. Without them, he’d begin each morning staring at the face of a monster as he shaved. Thank God for small favors."

These descriptions were so fucking good, Alice! Truly a delight to read 👏👏👏

“You don’t want to come keep me safe? What if I get mugged?” So cute ksksksk 🥰🥰

“Why were Julia’s remains so easily found? If Nguyen had the means to dispose of numerous other victims before her without leaving a trace, why wasn’t he as careful getting rid of his own girlfriend? (...) He showed guilty knowledge of Julia’s death. That’s one point we can wholeheartedly agree on. The problem is that they distorted his domestic violence into a generalized violence towards women. When the two separate concepts are blended into one, it’s easy to jump to conclusions.”

I agree with everything 👆👆

“They ask me stupid questions, I’ll give them stupid answers,” Lloyd talking to a journalist must be the funniest thing ever ksksksk

“It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a father.” Also agreed.

“Angry. Cheated. Full of regret. Confused. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be confused about. The bastard finally drank himself to death, and the world is a better place.”

Thank for writing Lloyd being bitter about this. I think it's very realistic (and rightful in my eyes bc I don't think children of abusive parents ever need to forgive them) him not giving a fuck about his father but still feeling something.

Part XII of “The Princess & the Lawyer”

Summary: Lloyd notices Princess’ rising stress but he’s distracted by some unexpected news. Lloyd gives Mr. Bishop his impressions of Nguyen and Princess meets Detective Roth, who reveals a shocking development in the case.

Masterlist

Word Count: 8,481

Warnings: Smut. Sexually explicit writing, erotica level heat. Mention of domestic violence, murder, legal proceedings, stalking, violence, and discussion of criminal behavior. Minor foul language. Only appropriate for 18+ readers. No minors.

The Princess and the Lawyer - Part 12

“Careful!”

Lloyd caught your elbow and steadied you. After traveling for twenty hours straight, waves of exhaustion were crashing down. First, the weariness had made your head swim. Now it was disturbing your usually good sense of balance.

“Mmmmhhh.”

“You’re asleep on your feet,” Lloyd said.

You leaned into him and blinked, trying to focus.

“Uh-huh…”

You felt drunk. Even navigating the familiar layout of Lloyd’s front hall was a challenge. He guided you around the corner, to the stairs leading to his bedroom.

As you climbed them, his hand never left your waist. When the bed came into view, the sight of it turned your knees weak. Excitement and relief propelled you the last few feet before you dropped face first onto the mattress. Lloyd chuckled as you buried yourself in the green jacquard duvet, savoring the feeling of the cool fabric. With effort, you dragged yourself up the bed and then sorted through pillows until you’d found the right combination.

The moment your eyes shut, you were asleep.

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

Lloyd smiled at the sound of the deep, rhythmic breathing that signaled your unconscious. He slipped off your shoes and socks, and when that didn’t rouse you, he unbuttoned your pants and tugged them down. Trusting the effects of jet lag, he removed your shirt and bra, then dressed you in one of his button-ups. You didn’t stir during the entire process.

He tucked the sheet under your chin and watched the gentle rise and fall of your breath. Seeing you look so serene in his bed gave him a curious sort of satisfaction. The feeling turned his heart warm and soft, as if a ray of sunshine had shone directly into his chest, and melted it.

You were stressed out about something.

He’d felt you tossing and turning all night yesterday, and knew your sudden collapse wasn’t strictly due to jet lag. The emotion had become visible in the same moment you’d learned the bad weather had cleared. He watched it build and was mildly put off that you hadn’t shared the cause of your feelings with him. Not yet, at least.

Comforting you was impossible when he didn’t understand the problem. He’d held you last night, but it hadn’t settled your racing pulse. Your heart had pumped so hard and fast, he could feel the beat of it vibrate through you and invade his own body. All night he’d felt it thundering, like drums shaking the walls of a concert venue. This morning at the airport he’d asked if you were feeling okay. Your denial was unconvincing, but he’d marked it down to the public setting. He knew something had gotten your tail in a twist. It was only a matter of time before he found out what it was.

Since this was hardly an appropriate time for that conversation, Lloyd headed downstairs. He reset the alarm system and collected the luggage. Unless he threw in a load of laundry tonight, you’d have to go home and change in the morning.

He unpacked and sorted your laundry with his, making sure to inspect the tags for special instructions. Then he put a load on quick cycle and went to check the mail. He was standing in the kitchen sorting it when his phone buzzed.

The screen showed a 208 area code. He didn’t recognize the rest of the number, but picked up the call anyway.

“Hello?”

“Hello. I’d like to speak with Lloyd Hansen, if he’s available?”

“Speaking.”

“My name is Abigail Essex. I’m calling from St. Benedict’s Hospital in Ketchum. Before we continue, can you please confirm the nature of your relationship to Joe Hansen?”

Ice formed in his chest and slid down to settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Joe Hansen is my father.”

“Thank you. I’m a nurse in the medical ICU. Your father was admitted a few days ago for generalized weakness and nausea. His condition took a turn for the worse today.”

She paused. Lloyd stared at the glossy white wall. The message was straightforward, but his typically agile brain struggled to comprehend it.

“I’m sorry to be blunt, Mr. Hansen, but your father’s condition is quite serious. He’s suffering from viral influenza which is complicated by his existing liver failure. From the medical records, it looks like his general physician diagnosed him six years ago. The illness was already so advanced that his treatment options were limited.”

Limited treatment options. That meant terminal, didn’t it?

Abigail cleared her throat. “Mr. Hansen? Lloyd?”

“I’m here. How long?”

“Hours, maybe days. His condition is deteriorating. There’s a note in his file that Joe is estranged from his children. However, during end-of-life care we always try to reach out to the family. Social work searched for next of kin, but only found your records. If you’d like, I can contact your siblings and-”

He cut her off. “That won’t be necessary.”

“Okay. We have his POLST on file, so there’s no need for you to make decisions.”

“POLST?”

“I’m sorry. A POLST is short for physician’s orders of life-sustaining treatment. It’s a form filed with the state to express final wishes. Joe already documented his refusal of invasive life support, which is what our next steps would be. You don’t need to decide. Like I said, it’s standard practice to contact family members when we initiate palliative care, in case they’d like to pay their final respects. This call is strictly a notification.”

His lip curled, and rage tightened his belly. Final respects.

“As far as I’m concerned, you can unplug him.”

Shocked silence filled the line.

Lloyd’s eyes turned to the mirror in the dining room. He had his father’s bone structure and his thick, dark hair. They stood at exactly the same height and shared a powerful, athletic build. Most days he hated their resemblance, but he was eternally grateful for the last two traits. After puberty his body easily developed and retained muscle, giving him a priceless advantage on the football field. He’d turned it into a ticket to the Ivy Leagues, then to freedom.

There were other differences between them, but only on a superficial level. Where Joe Hansen’s eyes were jet black, Lloyd’s were cobalt blue. Joe’s skin was a medium olive that browned quickly in the sun. His own skin repelled sunlight and what little melanin he could develop in the summer vanished before Labor Day. The contrast in coloring was the starkest difference between him and his old man. Except for that, they were almost clones.

The fair skin and blue eyes were gifts from his mother. Those recessive Norwegian genes that caused the divergence seemed most readily passed from mother to son. Without them, he’d begin each morning staring at the face of a monster as he shaved. Thank God for small favors.

“Is there anything further?” Lloyd asked.

“Would you like to be notified when he passes?”

“Call if you want, I don’t care. He’s been dead to me for years.”

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

The alarm went off at 4:30 a.m.

Lloyd hit snooze with enough force to send the clock skittering across the nightstand. You curled into your pillow and groaned. He stretched and climbed out the bed to open the curtains.

On Mondays, he usually jogged the five-mile loop from Old Town to Belle Haven. He shoved back the drapes and saw the sky was ink black and the sky was spitting rain. The humidity would be a bitch and even the light rain would soak him to the bone in minutes. Blankets rustled faintly behind him as you rolled over. He glanced back and smiled. There were other forms of cardio, which were just as effective, and he’d stay warm and dry doing them.

Lloyd sat down by the cocoon of blankets you’d coiled into during the night. He ran his hand over your back and lightly scratched between your shoulders. You made a noise, something halfway between a hiss and a moan, like a cranky kitten.

“It’s Monday morning, Princess. Time to rise and shine.”

“No…”

“C’mere,” Lloyd purred.

You whined as he dragged you into his arms, trying to grab for the pillow. Because you hadn’t opened your eyes, you missed it by a mile and flailed in protest as he hauled you into his lap. He kissed your cheek and rubbed the bridge of his nose against your jaw. Instantly, you softened. He took advantage and kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Lloyd. I’m tired.”

“You’ve slept ten hours, you need to stretch your muscles.”

“Go away! I’m not going jogging! Self-respecting humans don’t run at this hour of morning.”

He pretended to be hurt. “You don’t want to come keep me safe? What if I get mugged?”

“Muggers don’t get up at this hour.”

Lloyd chuckled. “Because they’re such nice, polite, self-respecting humans?”

“Yes. You have a screw loose, Hansen.”

“Several,” he agreed. “What if I did my cardio here? Would that repair your impression of my respectability?”

“Mmmmhhh. Okay.”

You were falling asleep again. He could hear it in your voice and feel you relaxing in his arms. Lloyd pushed off the remaining blankets and undid the dress shirt’s buttons. You stirred as he drew apart the sides of the garment to expose your chest. Kissing a feather-light pathway from your ear, down your neck, to the swell of your breast, he took his time.

You arched and lifted your arms over your head, an offer he couldn’t refuse. The rise and fall of your chest quickened as he explored the sides of each breast and nibbled on the delicate swells of their undersides. He kissed your sternum, making sure his mustache tickled your skin.

You squirmed and giggled.

The sound made him smile, even as heat throbbed in his groin. He returned to your lips for another taste. You kissed him with feverish demand, your fingers delving into his hair as you tilted your head back. The innate submission of the movement cracked his control. He growled and his tongue flicked into your mouth as he teased your nipples with his fingertips. You moaned when he cupped the soft flesh and stroked the tender buds. They were rock hard, biting into his hand like pebbles. Every little whimper you made inflamed his desire.

Your nails raked the back of his neck, sending a bolt of lightning straight to his cock. When your hands moved from his shoulders, down to stroke his chest, he inhaled sharply. The caressing exploration made him groan. Your touch felt almost innocent, as if you were still fascinated by his body, despite your increased experience. You traced the swirl of a cowlick in his chest hair. Then your nails scraped, and he hissed at the flash of pleasure.

He lunged, attacking your neck with his lips and teeth, eager to retake the upper hand. Lloyd pinned you to the bed, easily countering your half-hearted attempts to squirm away. Then he bit your neck, and the startled cry it elicited from you went straight to his groin. He licked the mark he’d left and savored the taste of your sweat. When he took a deep breath, and scented the tang of your arousal, hanging thick in the air, it shattered the last of his control.

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

All the pleasure you’d experienced at Lloyd’s hands paled compared to this. It was like he was everywhere at once. Your lips, neck, and cheeks buzzed with heat. A bead of sweat rolled between your breasts - Lloyd licked it up. His eyes flashed to yours and he purred, the sound dripping with satisfaction.

During the week in Qatar, you’d done nothing more than cuddle. His experiences there haunted him and you understood the lack of desire was nothing personal. It seemed this morning he’d shaken off the ghosts and was making up for lost time.

His kisses were dominating, and his touch was tinged with a new sense of property. He was focused on your physical reactions and the caution he’d shown with you in the past was nowhere to be found. His tongue drove into your mouth and your teeth clashed against his. He restrained your wrists above your head without a second of hesitation. Excitement bubbled up at the realization that the flash of dominance he’d shown in Qatar had come out to play again. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you threw yourself into the kiss, matching his feverish assault with equal heat.

He broke the kiss to return his attention to your breasts, and you whined at the loss. Lloyd chuckled, low and warm. His teeth scraped over the pounding pulse in your throat. He nipped at your collarbone and across the mound of your breast. The brush of his mustache as he nuzzled the side, a spot you’d never known could be so sensitive, made you shiver. When his lips finally closed around an aching nipple, the sensation made your back bow.

Fire licked over your skin and raced to your core. The sensitive walls of your sex convulsed, frustrated by unmet need. You felt the wetness soaking your panties as desire built and your body prepared to be filled. Lloyd took his time, lavishing attention on your breasts. He seemed to take pleasure in foiling your attempts to gain control and drew out the foreplay as long as possible. When he finally eased back, you were sobbing and quivering at each brush of his lips against your hyper-sensitive nipples.

Tears glazed your eyes. The pulsating heat in your core was nearly painful. The intense desire rippling through your muscles had turned them weak. Hunger throbbed in your blood and sweat soaked your skin. It was unclear what portion of it was yours and what amount Lloyd had contributed. His body was feverishly hot against yours and his eyes burned with the same hunger that had you writhing helplessly against him.

Finally, he settled over you, peeling off the damp lace covering your sex and shoving it down your legs. He lifted the panties to his face and breathed in the scent. His eyes flashed to yours and their cobalt depths radiated victorious heat.

He growled. The authenticity of the sound stole your breath. It rumbled from his chest, raising the hair on the back of your neck at the barely restrained violence it contained. His fingers delved into your pussy and he groaned, flexing his digits and stretching your inner walls. The searing heat building in your channel turned molten as his fingers expertly stroked and teased. You cried out, sensation rippling from your womb, down your thighs, up your spine, until it crested and you bucked against his hand.

“Lloyd!”

He grunted, then his thumb swiped over your clit, eliciting a scream. The ecstasy made your whole body shudder.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Let go.”

His fingers kept moving, plunging in and out, teasing your sweet spot, and caressing your pulsing clit. You trembled on the cusp of orgasm, wanting the release, but not quite able to reach it. Lloyd captured the peak of your breast between his lips. You screamed and shattered. Your body surged, hips canting off the bed as you convulsed. Lloyd continued to draw the pleasure out of you, moving steadily even as your powerful inner muscles seized on wave after wave of climax. His thumb teased your clit, even when you tried to jerk away and twisted, trying to dislodge the tormenting stimulation.

“No, no, keep going. Come on, Princess. Give me one more.”

Your shoulder blades pulled together, clenching, as his coaxing words triggered fresh spasms of climax. Right on the heels of the first orgasm, a second wave dragged you into mindless rapture and knocked everything out of your head. Lloyd sucked your nipples, using the strength of his arm to increase the roughness of his ministrations. The change pushed your orgasm to new heights. You keened, thrashing, clutching the sheets for purchase, and wailing as the pleasure refused to let up.

Several minutes later he eased his drenched fingers from your channel. You could only hear the blood pounding in your head and the ragged sound of your breath. Every muscle was shaking. There was no way to count how many orgasms he’d taken from you, or if they’d been separate, because after the second, they’d all blended together. The final tremors of climax lingered in the shaking muscles of your thighs and clenching sex. It felt endless and overwhelming. Despite that, a deep ache inside of you demanded something more. It needed a more complete pleasure to be slaked than his hands alone could give.

He settled between your legs, stretching over you. Lloyd tilted your face up and when your lips met, his kiss was surprisingly gentle. He gently teased your swollen lips before his tongue darted into your mouth. You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed him with fervor.

“Good girl,” Lloyd praised. “Slide down for me.”

He guided you lower, tugging your hips, pulling you away from the headboard. His hands went under your legs and he pushed your knees up, then widened your thighs as far as possible. A tremor ran through you as he dipped his fingers into your sticky folds. He explored around your clit without touching it directly. Just that was enough to make you shake. Lloyd groaned.

“Such a responsive little thing. You’re so fucking tight, Princess.”

The head of his cock rubbed your slit, teasing you with the promise of relief. You whimpered at the slow, cautious breach of his cock sliding into your sex. Lloyd’s eyes fastened on your face. His girth burned, but the discomfort only made your sex flutter harder. The delicate channel beat with a welcome pulse as it struggled to draw him deeper. You groaned at the delightful stretch as he worked himself into you inch by inch. When he was halfway there, he drew back, and with a powerful thrust, drove home. You shrieked when the throbbing spot, deep in your body, that inferno that had demanded relief, was struck hard by the crown of his cock. A blinding surge of pleasure made you thrash, toss your head and claw at his back.

Lloyd snarled. His hips pistoned forward, triggering another blinding surge of pleasure. He rocked again, then set a brutal pace that electrified your spine, making your pliant muscles undulate with a new intensity. Your hands were weak as they grasped his biceps, clinging to him for security.

“Look at me.”

His rough command made your eyes open.

“Say it…”

Your hormone addled brain stuttered, unable to process the demand. He pounded into you harder at your speechlessness, eyes flashing.

“Princess, I wanna hear you.”

He jerked his hips, impaling you deeper than you’d ever felt him. The devastating flood of pleasure made your toes curl, eliciting a scream as tremors became convulsions and you unraveled.

“Say it!”

“Lloyd! Aaaahhh…”

His fingers found your clit and rubbed, quick and hard. You jackknifed at the unexpected pleasure.

“Oh, fuck, Lloyd!”

“Yeah, that’s it. Say my name!”

The pace of the thrusts increased as his control slipped. You recognized the signs of his orgasm and whined in anticipation. His hands tightened on your hips and he lifted you slightly to pound into you at a deeper angle. It brought on another orgasm. This one was fast, sharper than the first. He put his weight behind the thrusts, driving impossibly deep. You screamed.

“Lloyd! Uuhhh…”

The climax felt unending. A groan rose in your throat, low and reverberating, as an entirely different kind of pleasure sent you reeling. The depth of his penetration caused the waves of climax to spread, up into the muscles of your belly, and down your quivering thighs. He teased your clit mercilessly, even as you sobbed. Ripples of pleasure caused your legs to jerk, seizing around Lloyd’s hips as they stripped you of your senses. You shuddered helplessly, crying, whimpering, consumed by a delirium of passion.

His thrusts grew quicker, turning harder and shorter, before his seed flooded you. Lloyd gasped, moaned and then collapsed. In your post-orgasm stupor, all you could manage was to curl one arm around his back. The other was limp, along with the rest of your body. You felt disconnected, so much so that even the pressure of Lloyd’s crushing weight was a distant echo.

This couldn’t be normal. How could so much emotion pour out during something so profoundly physical? You weren’t built to handle this kind of intensity. It had been like the first time, when the sheer excitement of being with him had short-circuited your brain. Except today there had been more. More power. More raw, unbridled passion.

Was it because of the foreplay? Or the brief period of abstinence last week in Qatar? Or was it just the especially potent chemistry between you and Lloyd?

He moved first, rising to his elbows. His eyes were glassy and the emotions in them mirrored exactly what you felt. Recognizing it calmed your racing thoughts. You brushed back his hair and kissed him. His arms flexed around your waist and you felt another pulse of release splash against your womb. Then you realized your bodies were still joined, and you were sticky with more than just sweat.

“I need a shower. We both do, actually.”

He grunted. “Can you move?”

“Probably not. I feel boneless.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

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

Lloyd’s eyes skimmed your figure appreciatively as you walked ahead of him, entering the lobby of Bishop & Howard.

“No ogling before 10:30, Counselor.”

“If you don’t want to be ogled, don’t wear skirts that make your legs look so tasty.”

“When did I say that I didn’t want to be ogled? I only said it had to be after 10:30.”

“10:30 p.m. came and went nine hours ago.”

“I hate lawyers.”

He followed you to the elevator car and leaned against the wall, his eyes still tracing your curves.

“You look good enough to eat.”

“And you look like a troll that woke up on the wrong side of the bridge. Are you jet lagged?”

“Maybe. I couldn’t sleep last night.”

The car arrived with a chime and you stepped in. Lloyd tapped the button for the fifth floor.

“All that cardio this morning probably didn’t help. Why don’t you take a catnap on your sofa? I can cover for you.”

“No. I need to see Bishop.”

Your humor faded. “You’re going to tell him?”

“There’s no point in waiting.”

“Alright. Just make sure he’s caffeinated.”

Lloyd snorted. “I do have some sense of self-preservation.”

The elevator doors opened to the unexpected sight of Bishop, waiting for you. He had a take-away carrier of coffees balanced in his left hand.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. I already had two cups.”

You assembled in Lloyd’s office, and everyone fell into the same places you’d taken on the day the case was introduced. Bishop settled into one of the armchairs while you and Lloyd shared the couch.

“How was Singapore?”

“The interrogation went smoothly. Nguyen wasn’t forthright, but he wasn’t as hostile as he could’ve been,” Lloyd said.

Bishop considered. “Age could do that, but so could twenty years of living with a guilty conscience.”

“I wouldn’t say the good doctor has an overdeveloped conscience,” Lloyd said.

“I’d concur. Did you learn anything new?”

Lloyd leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He laced his fingers together loosely and met Bishop’s gaze.

“I don’t think he did it.”

“That’s ridiculous. I know my prosecution didn’t have the strongest evidence, but I stand by that verdict.”

“There are significant inconsistencies in the case.”

“Nguyen’s history, and his obvious motive, were evidence enough.”

“He had a motive for Julia’s murder. But there’s no solid connection between him and the missing women. In the best cases all there was is circumstantial evidence and in the worst cases, it’s pure conjecture.”

Bishop waved his hand as if wiping away the claim.

“He had opportunities and he’s the only person directly connected to all the victims. When his girlfriend turned up dead, we knew. But the real nail in his coffin is that when he was prosecuted, the disappearances stopped.”

“Roth sent us the files on the other suspects. I’d hardly call those ‘investigations’ thorough,” Lloyd said.

“When your list of suspects is the whole town, it’s hard to be thorough,” Bishop fired back.

“Fine. But this is an instance where the simplest explanation was molded to fit the public’s theory and calm the community.”

“Don’t chase zebras, Lloyd. You spoke with the man, you’re an astute judge of character. It takes all of five minutes to know what he is.”

“Emotionally unstable. Intelligent. Manipulative enough to identify emotions but cold enough not to feel them. His sense of empathy is strictly cognitive - he can understand why people have emotions, but I suspect he doesn’t feel much more than pleasure, excitement, anger, frustration, and disgust. He’s pretty high up on the spectrum of psychopaths. But he’s not excited by violence.”

“How could you tell?”

“His reactions. He feels, or at least pretends to feel, a sense of shame for how he treated Julia. The investigation scares him. But what really made him react was hearing about the second body. He knows more than he’s saying. It’s probably why he didn’t fight the charges harder. He knew he was safer in prison.”

“Who’s your suspect?” Bishop asked.

Lloyd snorted. “Everyone in town, unfortunately.”

“The media has dragged this story through the mud, and back again, several times. They’d whipped the locals into a lather long before Dr. Nguyen’s name entered the investigation, and they’re fixing to do it again.”

“I expect it will be a challenge, but that’s why you brought me in. Roth provided the original case files. The kindest way I can phrase my opinion is to say that their investigation never really got both oars in the water.”

Bishop’s hand covered the joint of the ankle that rested on his left knee. He tilted his head back in what most people would have taken for arrogance, but knowing him, you pegged it as discomfort.

“The state police took one look at Julia’s case and immediately decided it fit the pattern of the disappearances. Nguyen wasn’t just a convenient suspect, he was their only suspect. Extrapolating from a solitary murder, one that occurred within the setting of a domestic violence situation, to a broader accusation doesn’t track.”

“What tracks is that after he went to prison, the disappearances stopped.”

“Nguyen is an emotionally unstable, deeply insecure, coward of a man with an unquenchable need for control. Beating on his woman gave it to him. Why seek other outlets for his anger, when he had a perfectly good punching bag waiting at home?”

“I’m not a psychiatrist. Why he committed his crimes isn’t my concern. My concern was that women stopped disappearing in Harmony once they locked him up.”

“Why were Julia’s remains so easily found? If Nguyen had the means to dispose of numerous other victims before her without leaving a trace, why wasn’t he as careful getting rid of his own girlfriend?” Lloyd asked.

“Dumb luck. Son of Sam was caught because of a parking ticket. Israel Keyes used a credit card from one of his victims. Anyone can get sloppy - even serial killers. When they do, it’s a lucky day for the justice system.”

“Murdering your girlfriend is one type of crazy. Serial killing is another. It’s no stretch to imagine Nguyen in the first category, but the second? He doesn’t have the patience, the emotional control, or the guts.”

“He had connections with all the missing women,” Bishop said.

“Shocking, isn’t it? Given that Harmony’s such a bustling metropolis, and considering Nguyen was a local doctor who treated hundreds of patients a year. Most of those so-called ‘connections’ were pretty thin.”

“Well, along with being connected to all the victims, he lied to investigators and showed guilty knowledge about the circumstances of Julia’s death. He also had a documented history of violence against women and no alibi.”

“He showed guilty knowledge of Julia’s death. That’s one point we can wholeheartedly agree on. The problem is that they distorted his domestic violence into a generalized violence towards women. When the two separate concepts are blended into one, it’s easy to jump to conclusions.”

“I’m not seeing the distinction,” Bishop said.

“Nguyen had a personal attachment to Julia, and he was violent toward her. However, I suspect anyone who got too close with him would be at risk. Dominating someone else, taking away their control, that’s how he relieves anxiety. It’s a feedback loop, one that only works when there’s an emotional bond between him and the victim.”

“That’s interesting. But the fact stands: locking Nguyen away precipitated the end of the abductions in Harmony. Twenty years have gone by without another case.”

“Coincidence.”

Bishop bristled at Lloyd’s dismissive tone. “No more victims equals no more offender.”

“That’s a non sequitur. No more kidnappings equals no more kidnappings; drawing any other conclusion is bending the facts to fit a theory.”

“I disagree, but common sense isn’t a flower that grows in everyone’s garden.”

Lloyd snickered. Just like that, the thick layer of tension hanging over the room evaporated.

“You asked my opinion, and went to a lot of trouble arranging the interview, because you knew I wouldn’t be anything less than candid.”

“You’re a blunt instrument, Hansen,” Bishop sighed.

“Always have been, always will be.”

“I considered sending Zach to interview Nguyen. The trouble is, my objectivity in this case took a hike long ago and whoever went to Singapore…”

He trailed off, cheeks flushing with embarrassed color.

“Whoever went to Singapore had to come back and pull the thorn out of the lion’s paw,” Lloyd said, filling in the rest of the thought.

“I needed an unfiltered perspective on Nguyen from someone I trusted. You’re the only person I respect who’d be irreverent enough to speak your mind, regardless of it pissing me off.”

“Irreverence is a speciality of mine.”

Bishop laughed, then sighed. “It’s difficult to re-investigate a cold case under the best circumstances. When the media learns there are new victims, and where they were found, they’ll descend like a plague of locusts.”

“No doubt,” Lloyd agreed.

“When I met with Roth, he mentioned reporters had already come sniffing around. Nguyen probably contacted them himself.”

“I can handle the media,” Lloyd said.

“Uh-huh.” Bishop glanced at you.

“I’ll keep him away from reporters,” you promised.

“Just try your best. Even reformed, he’s damn near ungovernable.”

“They ask me stupid questions, I’ll give them stupid answers,” Lloyd said.

“No, you won’t. If they call, you forward it to me. If you’re approached in person, the only acceptable answer- even to stupid questions - is ‘no comment.’ Under no circumstances will you say anything else.”

“She loves to cramp my style,” Lloyd said to Bishop.

“I know… my peace of mind often relies on it.”

A tap sounded on the door frame, and three sets of eyes swung to the noise.

“Visitors for you, Mr. Hansen.”

The receptionist stepped aside, revealing a uniformed police officer. Beside him was a man you’d have guessed was his partner, if he’d worn the same navy blue. Instead of a uniform the second guest was dressed in slacks and a blazer. The jacket was the most hideous shade of burnt orange you’d ever seen. It should be a crime to dye perfectly good fabric such an ugly color.

“I’m here to see Mr. Hansen,” the officer said.

“That would be me.”

“May we come in?”

Bishop moved to the couch, directing the newcomers to the matching armchairs on the far side of the conversation area. You slid to the middle seat and let him take the end.

There was a grimness in the officer’s features that suggested this wasn’t a casual visit, or a pleasant one. Bishop frowned, apparently picking up the same vibe. Lloyd, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the apprehension the guests carried into the room.

“What can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m Officer Audley, of the D.C. Metro Police. This,” he gestured to the man in the hideous jacket, “is Morgan Lopez, our community coordinator.”

Audley paused and scanned Lloyd’s face.

“I have some bad news, Mr. Hansen. Your father was admitted to the hospital in Ketchum, Idaho last week. He had chronic liver disease, which was complicated by a bout of influenza. I’m sorry to tell you he died earlier this morning.”

The statement hung in the air, wiping everything away with its finality. Lloyd’s father was dead. Your heart twisted unpleasantly. Your father was your rock, the steadiest, most reliable man you knew. In Lloyd’s position, you’d be devastated.

“Alright. Thanks for stopping by.”

Officer Audley blinked, and Mr. Lopez’s eyebrows lifted. Even knowing Lloyd like you did, his reaction was unsettling. He noted their response and gave a tight smile.

“Look, there isn’t much to say. My father and I haven’t spoken in almost 25 years.”

Audley’s expression shifted, recovering its professional mask. “I understand. The Blaine County Sheriff asked us to pass on some information.”

He waited for Lloyd to nod, then flipped open a small notebook.

“According to the sheriff, your father had downsized his cattle ranching operation but the… uh…” Audley squinted to read his writing. “Brand inspector?”

“That’s right. I take it there are cattle to be dealt with?”

“367 of them according to the Brand Inspector’s records. They’ve contacted the feed store and some local cowboys will take care of things for a couple days.”

Audley’s tone was tinged with disbelief as if he found discussing the day-to-day operations of a cattle ranch utterly bizarre.

“Was anyone available?” Lloyd asked.

“Just for the next two days. Sheriff Holbrook said he’d put out some feelers to see if anyone was available for temporary hire, but all the cowboys are employed, or busy rodeoing.”

“I’ll make some calls,” Lloyd said. He looked at Bishop.

“Go. Take care of your family matters.”

“The case-”

“Zach will take the lead and Princess can keep you in the loop. If you’d like to be in the loop, that is.”

“I do. I want regular updates.”

“Then it’s settled. Don’t spare a thought for the investigation, just take care of what you need to. Your team can handle things.”

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

You closed the door behind Officer Audley with a quiet sigh of relief.

Lloyd’s complete lack of reaction made enduring the rest of their visit hard. It was difficult not to comfort him. It was even harder to sit there quietly, aware of his pain bubbling up, as the shock wore off. Bishop had charmed the visitors and skillfully ended the visit by escorting them to the elevators. You felt like an eon had passed before he’d led them away.

Lloyd stood by the desk, his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the items lining the edge. You stood with your back to the door and braced for the crash of him shoving everything off the desk. Even with therapy his strongest displays of emotion leaned toward volcanic.

A minute passed and the crash didn’t come.

“Lloyd?”

You stepped closer and when he didn’t react, approached him. Making sure he saw it coming, you touched his shoulder.

“What are you thinking?”

“It’s easier for a father to have children than for children to have a father.”

You stroked his arm, observing the quick rise and fall of his chest. The increase in respirations was the only visible sign of distress.

“I didn’t come up with that,” Lloyd said.

His tone was remote, as he stared sightlessly at his desk. The vacant expression called to mind the pictures of shell-shocked soldiers from the First World War. After seeing them in your third-grade history textbook, those photos had given you nightmares for months.

“Some dead Pope came up with that saying. My father, he grew up Catholic… he repeated that phrase. Repeated it a lot. When I was a kid I thought it was nonsensical. Then one day the meaning of it hit me, and I realized he knew exactly what a shitty excuse of a father he was.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

His voice prickled with defensiveness, the kind that always reared up after he revealed something painful about his past. You usually eased away when he signaled discomfort, because comfort was something he despised, especially when he was the one who needed it. Today you couldn’t offer him that space. Your arms went around him and you slid between his body and the desk, cuddling into his broad chest.

Lloyd’s arms banded around your waist, loosely at first. Then they tightened into a fierce hug.

“I got a call last night. His nurse asked about end-of-life care and I told her it was fine by me if they unplugged him. But he’d already put his last wishes on file. No life saving measures. He stole the only chance I could’ve had to legally kill him. That pisses me off.”

His voice was gravelly with a hurt that ran deeper than anger ever could. You could feel the sorrow welling up in him. After a minute he lifted you to sit on the desk and buried his face in your neck. You spread your legs as far as your tight skirt allowed, drawing him close.

“I thought I’d feel relieved.”

You combed your fingers through his hair, listening to his ragged breathing. After a while, you felt dampness on your shoulder. It didn’t surprise you that his tears came, or that they fell silently.

“How do you feel?”

“Angry. Cheated. Full of regret. Confused. Which is stupid. There’s nothing to be confused about. The bastard finally drank himself to death, and the world is a better place.”

But he was still your father.

You didn’t say it, because it wouldn’t do any good. It wouldn’t comfort him or lighten the weight of his grief. The fact was, nothing could break that primal tie between a child and a parent. That was the cruel nature of heritage - it endured, no matter how hard a person tried to break away.

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

Trying to be subtle, you glanced up and down the hall. When you were sure you were alone, you ducked into the stairwell for a secret meeting on the fifth floor landing.

Jake was already there, with Landon McAnanny.

“Have you talked to Lloyd?” Jake asked.

“I couldn’t, something came up.”

“What the hell came up?!”

“His father died!”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Lloyd’s father is alive?”

“He was until this morning.”

“Uh… he’s never mentioned his father before.”

“He’s going to Idaho to settle his affairs.”

“He’s leaving today?” Landon asked.

“Yeah.”

“That’s not good.”

You cringed at the concern in his eyes. Seeing his reaction fanned the anxiety you’d been fighting back for days.

“I’ll tell him as soon as he gets back.”

Landon eased a half step closer. “Look, reaching out to Aiden’s father was a good start, but he can’t control his son for long. The anger is escalating and there’s a subtext of entitlement in the latest messages. It stinks of trouble.”

Jake nodded emphatically as Landon continued.

“You’ve already documented everything. It’s more than enough to file a complaint.”

You were shaking your head before Landon finished.

“They can’t do anything. Aiden’s texts are anonymous and he’s been careful not to be spotted.”

Landon’s right eye twitched. “I know. But reporting your suspicions-”

“Will be little more than an exercise in humiliation.”

The men exchanged a sidelong glance. You sighed, knowing they probably didn’t share your distrust of the police, especially not in a matter like this.

“Look, cops are notoriously bad at handling stalkers. A lot of it comes down to the fact that anti-stalking laws have to be balanced against the bill of rights. Using other avenues to resolve this is a much better option.”

“Mr. LeDoux is a cop, and he said he would help with that,” Jake pointed out.

You sighed. Having Mr. LeDoux’s support behind your complaint would count for a lot in a town like D.C.

“With the amount of evidence you have, they’d be completely negligent to ignore you,” Landon said.

Someone coughed. You looked up and froze at the sight of Bishop on the sixth floor landing.

“I apologize for eavesdropping, but if I can interject…”

“Please do,” Jake invited.

Bishop came down the steps and joined you on the lower level.

“From what I gathered, your ex is making a problem of himself, Lloyd doesn’t know, and the situation is escalating.”

“Yeah.”

“How bad are the messages?” Bishop asked Landon.

“Bad. He’s gone from annoying and sadistic to action-oriented threats. The past three days he’s been sending pictures of her building like he’s staking it out.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“It started when I was in Singapore. I contacted his father already, and he holds the purse strings, which should help, but so far…”

Bishop nodded. “Uh-huh. Legally speaking, it would be beneficial to start a record with the police sooner, rather than later.”

“I’m coming around to that… slowly. I’m going to tell Lloyd, just not right now. I can’t add to his stress.”

“You’re working in the field with Zach this week,” Bishop said. “Stick close to him. Outside of work, you’re going to be house-sitting for Lloyd while he’s out of town, correct?”

“Yeah.”

The thought of Lloyd’s security system brightened your mood. Your top priority was not returning to your apartment for the foreseeable future. Not when Aiden might be sulking around.

“What about telling Zach?” Jake asked.

“How do you think Lloyd would feel if I told Zach before him?”

“You told me, and I told Landon. What’s the difference?”

“It’s different. Zach is his best friend.”

Bishop frowned. “Under the circumstances, I think he’d understand.”

“Can she work from our offices?” Landon asked. “The rent-a-cops down in the lobby aren’t much more than window dressing.”

“You can work from home, Zach’s offices, even the State Police building if Detective Roth allows it. Until Lloyd can be here with you, our building has too much foot traffic for safety,” Bishop said.

“Weston might not be thrilled with that.”

Bishop sighed at the mention of your supervisor. “He’s still annoying you about time cards?”

“He called me in Singapore to inform me that my card from last week is wrong.”

“You’ve never had an issue before, so I’m sure it’s nothing. Have Jen approve your card and tell Weston it’s resolved.”

“Thanks.”

Bishop opened his phone and typed out a message. Your phone chimed, and you saw he’d shared a contact card.

“That’s the information of a detective I’m acquainted with on the Robbery-Homicide squad at Metro. He’s in the second district office. Just in case you feel the need to speak with someone, keep his number handy. You’re going over to Fairfax with Zach, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll text Lloyd and stop by to pick up the keys, learn the alarm system.”

“Stick close to Zach. Between Lloyd’s security system and him, you should be okay for a few days.”

“And file a police report. Tonight,” Landon said.

You scanned the serious faces of the three men and gave in.

“Okay. I will. Tonight.”

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

You arrived at Lloyd’s finding his luggage packed and sitting by the front door. From the back of the house, a door slammed, and you followed the sound to the kitchen where Lloyd was re-lining the trash can.

“Hey.”

“I just finished cleaning out the fridge. You might need to pick up some groceries. There’s $300 cash in the cookie jar, don’t waste your own money.”

“How are you feeling?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It doesn’t feel real.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“You’re already doing it.”

You hugged him and he propped his chin on top of your head as he returned the embrace.

“We hadn’t spoken in decades, so I don’t know why this feels different. But it does. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s okay to be confused. And you don’t owe me any explanations,” you said, rubbing his back.

“I can’t understand how I can hate him so much and still feel grief.”

“Feelings aren’t required to make sense. They get to be complicated, and if you don’t want to unravel them right now, that’s okay. Just don’t feel like you’re alone. Whenever you need to talk, or just be with someone, I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’ll be staying here while I’m gone.”

So were you, but for entirely different reasons.

“Call me when you land, okay?”

“I will. Text me about the meeting. Even if it won’t get through until I’ve landed, I want an update.”

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

At the state police headquarters in Fairfax, you met Zach in the parking lot.

He peppered you with questions about Lloyd’s reaction to his father’s death. You realized he knew far more about their relationship than you did and traded bits of information for the scant details he could offer about the late Mr. Hansen.

A young female officer escorted you to a conference room, where Detective Roth was waiting. Having spoken with him on the phone, you’d formed an image of how he looked, which was completely wrong. He wasn’t in his mid-thirties with sandy brown hair as you’d expected.

Instead of hair, he had a shaved head. At first glance his eyebrows appeared blond but when the sunlight caught them, you saw he was actually a redhead. Most surprising was that he wore rimless glasses, the kind Steve Jobs was famous for, though his were more oval than round. When he stood, he towered over you. Even Zach, who wasn’t short by any means, had to look up at him.

“Good afternoon,” Roth greeted.

There was a hint of a Georgia drawl in his vowels and his eyes were arctic blue. The icy gaze carefully examined both his visitors before he invited you to sit.

He opened the meeting with the usual pleasantries and you noted his manners matched the Southern drawl. His relaxed posture didn’t hide the cunning intelligence in his pale eyes and within a minute you recognized that he was every bit as dangerous as Lloyd or Zach. Questions flowed naturally into the conversation, like slippery eels, and his nonchalant mannerisms disguised the intense scrutiny behind them. Roth took his time, thoroughly analyzing you and Zach, before he addressed the elephant in the room.

“Given Bishop’s history with this case, I’m not comfortable with his people involving themselves in my investigation.”

“We’re here to help, nothing more,” Zach said.

He’d been trying to connect with Roth, using the good old boy affability he wore like a veneer when he was trying to be personable. It wasn’t working, not even a little.

“Help,” Roth repeated.

His tone was bland, despite the twinge of annoyance you caught around his eyes. He pinned Zach with a hard look.

“You’re here to help, alright. And to keep your boss informed. He’s already been down and given me his version of the charm offensive. To be honest, Mr. Hightower, I liked his style more than yours. But I didn’t answer his questions and I’m hesitant to share anything further, knowing he’d like to influence my work.”

Zach smirked. “I don’t work for Bishop.”

“Employee or not, he pays you. That’s working for him in my book.”

You jumped in before Zach could dig a deeper hole.

“Detective, we understand your concerns. Trust won’t grow overnight, but we’re here. What can we do that would be most helpful to assist your work?”

“I have a nightmarish list of records to locate, if they even exist, and organize. That’s priority number one.”

“I had a thought about that the other day,” you said.

“Creating a database of publicly available records from that time would streamline the research process significantly. With some help from the Harmony library and the courthouse, I can get started. Once we’ve logged our own copies of everything, it will save a lot of time cross-referencing later.”

“That could be useful.”

Zach cleared his throat. "Speaking of useful, can we get access to the recent labs?”

“No. But if you file a request with the front desk, they’ll get back to you.”

“File a request? Are you kidding me?”

“Does the look on my face suggest that I’m joking?”

You had to smother your laughter. Roth’s face didn’t suggest anything. He might be the most closed-book person you’d ever met. You especially appreciated the way he pushed Zach’s buttons.

“Have you had any media attention on the case lately?” you asked.

“Fortunately, no. But my luck won’t hold for long. Any help managing that shit storm would be much appreciated.”

“I’ll leave you my card.”

“And I guess I’ll go file my request with the front desk,” Zach said.

The tiniest smile curved Roth’s thin lips. He waited until Zach began to unfurl himself from the chair, then reached for a folder.

“Here’s the DNA results.”

He turned it over, so the print side was down, and slid it across the table. Zach picked it up and held it so you could both read. Your eyes scanned the page quickly. As you took in the meaning, you bent forward to check that you’d read it correctly.

“They’re sure this is accurate?” Zach asked.

“Yeah. We were surprised, too. Not by the first result, but the third comparison they did was a heck of a plot twist.”

You studied the results. “The first test established that the woman in the recently discovered slab is the mother of the child found with her. But what about the DNA sample labeled X? Who is that from?”

“A relative. We do that a lot in cases like this, trying to identify a family tree. DNA from mother and daughter matched with a known sample in CODIS.”

“50% match with the mother and a 25% match with the daughter. You found a grandparent?” Zach asked.

“We identified a full-blooded sister of the mother,” Roth said.

“Who is sample X from?” you asked.

“Julia Xiarong.”

“Holy shit,” Zach murmured, staring at the report.

“That wasn’t the strangest part. Now, I’ve confirmed this next piece of information five different ways, trying to wrap my head around it. By all records, and from interviews with people in China who knew Julia as a child… Everyone confirms the same thing. She didn’t have a sister.”

You struggled to absorb the revelation. Roth pushed his glasses up and rubbed the bridge of his nose where they’d rested. A disbelieving smile twisted his thin mouth.

“There’s no record of Julia Xiarong ever having a sister.”

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

Coming Soon: Part XIII

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

Masterlist

Taglist:

@denisemarieangelina

@before-we-get-started

@buckysteveloki-me @patzammit

@badassbaker @meetmeatyourworst

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @thiskindahotkindamusic @jesgisborne @charmingprincess @amiets2 @seitmai

@elle14-blog1 @chaoticsteverogers

@kaleidoscopepov

@fangirl-and-medstudent-help @terry2227

@jesevans @mjey12 @openup-yourmind

@kandierteveilchen @adoreyouusugar

@ultrasilentwhispers @awkwardgiraffe726

@pono-pura-vida @mysweetlittledesire

@maylaysia109 @liecastillo

@unluckyevans @marantha @literaturelove

@babyevansblog @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

@thegirlnextdoorssister @ladygrey03

@cynic-spirit @rosedpetal @roseeatta

@pensieve-foryour-thoughts

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@bambamwolf87 @michalkasimp

@namelessav @yiiiikesmish

@lavenderx0 @calwitch

Masterlist

Taglist:

[workofheart]

extra help | gojo satoru

what’s a teacher to do when his student is building up so much cursed energy? help her get it under control, of course.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

wc: 4.7k

warnings: smut, 18+ (minors dni), teacher/student relations (reader is of age), fingering, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, sir kink, unprotected sex (do not do this), lowkey corruption, squirting, exhibitionism (?), creampie, gojo refers to himself as “teacher” because i said so

note: barely edited, something to ease the brainrot. gojo satoru hollow me challenge. 

“Can you maybe, I don’t know, shut the fuck up?”

The jab spews out of your mouth before you can stop it. Your filter is long gone, the thoughts that pop into your head forming into verbal words without the chance to even process them. Once you hear it, you mentally slap yourself. Now you just look like an asshole.

“Jeez, no need to be a bitch about it,” mutters Nobara. She rests on the concrete steps on her elbows, appearing utterly disinterested with her head tossed back and eyes closed, soaking in the fresh air.

“I’m not being a bitch.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I’m not!”

“You kind of are,” Megumi says quietly, shrugging slightly when your incredulous expression finds his to be stoic and unmoving. He leans down to scratch behind one of his dog’s ears. His nonchalance boils your blood even further, effectively working you up past your melting point. A bitter laugh leaves your mouth.

“...You motherfucker-”

“Good morning, everybody!”

You sigh, lips hanging open with the rest of your insult frozen where it was interrupted. From over the small hill behind you, Gojo Satoru greets everyone with a bright energy you aren’t capable of returning this early in the day. 

You try your best to shake it off. The other students wave back happily as you sulk, aimlessly stretching your arms over your head in an attempt to push out the thousand things running through your mind, not one of which you’re capable of dealing with.

And maybe it is a good morning - the sun is out, the air is cool, there’s not a breeze passing by to mess up your hair. It’s a lovely day to be training. Megumi has been walking his dogs around the field, Yuuji has been racing himself from one end to the other, meanwhile the others take turns sparring. The springtime weather is rewarding, which is why it’s such a shame you can’t enjoy it.

Gojo reaches up a hand to lift one side of his blindfold. Though he’s standing all the way over on the steps, you can see his eyes clearly, crystalline blue and staring with scrutiny. The man leans forward into his gaze, and the way he’s inspecting you soon irritates you further.

“What’s with all the cursed energy?” he asks, letting his blindfold fall over his eye again. 

Yuuji perks up at the comment from where he’s been sitting after his run, pulling out blades of grass between his fingertips. “So it’s not just me?” he pipes up, pushing himself up to his feet. He seems relieved, turning his attention to you. “I thought maybe you just had a bad day but it seems like it’s seeping off you all the time now.”

Your lips press into a thin line as your eyelids droop in annoyance, trying to think up a reasonable answer quick. Unfortunately, you don’t get the time to do so.

“I don’t need to see it to feel it,” Maki adds. She finishes tying up her laces, objectivity unmoving with the deadpan spreading across your features. Your jaw tenses. “Didn’t want to say anything in case it would make you angrier.”

“Too late!” you snap, huffing as you place your arms over your chest. The number of eyes on you has your cheeks burning, and paired with your current vexation, makes you feel even worse.

“Well, what are you angry about?” Yuuji asks. 

“I’m not angry about anything.”

“That sounds a little defensive,” Gojo comments.

“You seem frustrated, that’s all.” Yuuji looks at you with a genuine curiosity that makes it hard to be mad at him. His doe eyes couldn’t possibly imagine what the real issue at hand is.

“Yeah, she’s frustrated all right,”  Nobara juts in. Her tone is whiney and annoyed, and you hope the glare you send her will shut her up, but she acts as if she doesn’t see it, only looking down at her nails in distaste. Then comes the zinger. “It’s because she hasn’t gotten laid in months.”

“That is not true!” you yell, but the obvious rage bubbling out of you gives it away. 

“Cursed energy can build from that?”

“It would explain a lot.”

“That sounds definitely defensive.”

“Shut up!” you shout, throwing your hands over your face to hide your cheeks burning in embarrassment. Then you’re sitting back on the field, hanging your head low over your knees. Quietly, you mutter, “You promised you wouldn’t say anything.”

☆☆☆

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

The walk here had been nerve wracking enough. Your heart had been stuck in your throat since the track this morning, if not from the sheer embarrassment of Nobara telling everyone you were sexually frustrated, then surely from the way Gojo had asked you to meet with him later in an old classroom rather seriously before walking off.

It scared you half to death upon hearing it, and just thinking about it scared the other half, so you’re hanging on by the thinnest of threads. The others comments hadn’t helped either, teasing about the frightening methods he’d use to dispel the energy, or how he’d berate you for being so stupid, or whatever else the maniac of a man had to offer.

Gojo leans back lazily in his chair, long legs thrown over the desk for his comfort and leisure. He stretches, letting out a satisfied groan with his arms straightened behind his head as you close the door behind you. 

“About time you got here. Been waiting forever.”

The lights are off, but evening sun pours in through the wall of windows that look out over the courtyard to brighten the room. He tosses a small apple plush above him with a smooth flick of his wrist, catching it on its down arc with ease. It looks like a marble with how it sits in his massive palms.

“Well, this wing is on the other side of campus,” you swallow, fiddling with your fingers absentmindedly. That reminds you...“Why are we this far, anyway?”

He sighs, placing the toy back down at the top of his desk and resting his chin on his palm. You can feel his eyes on you through his blindfold. “To solve your problem, of course.”

“My… my problem? No, I don’t have any problems,” you say with a shake of your head as genuine as you can muster, a nervous smile flashing across your expression as he stands. His hand trails along the desk as he moves around it. When you get the feeling he doesn’t believe you, you start again, “If it’s about what Nobara said, it’s really no big deal-” 

“While you’re a talented sorcerer, you’re not a very good liar.” He comes to a stop in front of you, towering over your small frame. His head is turned down toward you but you refrain from making eye contact. Trying to maintain your composure, you look straight into his chest and then avert your eyes to the sid, looking anywhere else in the room but him - the chalkboard, the windows, the posters on the wall - that is, until he takes your chin in his hand and tugs your face up to look at him directly.

He’s taken off his blindfold, the black cloth crumpled in his palm and already tossed to the floor.

The way you’re staring at him, that desire that lies just below the fear, has his dick tenting in his pants. When he focuses, he can see the cursed energy radiating from your body, dark and cloudy as it surrounds you. “Yuuji’s right, it’s practically seeping from you,” he coos, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

He drinks in your apprehension with a sadistic sort of delight, and you don’t miss the feel of his eyes as they trace down your body. “My student is struggling,” he says tenderly, tapping his index finger along your cheek lightly. “What kind of teacher would I be if I didn’t help?” 

He eats up the way you look at him, swept away and hazy, your brain turning to mush at the sound of his voice. Heat pools in your panties, and the subtle manner in which your thighs shift against each other is not lost on him.

The tension in the air is electrifying. Leaning down to your ear, he says what’s been on his mind for weeks. “Don’t think I can’t hear you at night, touching yourself, trying so hard to make it go away on your own.”

His words leave your throat dry and stomach churning. Your face burns, thinking of him listening to your pitiful attempts to get off. Clearly, the sleepless nights of trying to cum, letting slip the small whimpers you couldn’t care to hold back, hands buried in your panties and writhing in your bed sheets, were no secret to anyone but you.

You’re almost mortified. You would be, if it wasn’t for your hot teacher standing in front of you, smiling as he remembers how pretty you sounded, offering to fuck the shit out of you to sate your frustration.

And god, just how pretty you sound. He’d never admit it sober, but the times he’s taken “random” late night walks around the buildings that have ended up at the outside of your bedroom door are far too many to count. Palming himself through his trousers, panting as he pictures you just through the slab of wood exactly how he plans on having you now.

“I...I don’t know if we should be doing this,” you mumble in a moment of clarity, gaze flickering to the window in the door that lets you see into the empty hallway just outside. Swallowing hard, scenarios of your classmates walking by, peering through, clouds your head. “What if someone…”

“They’re on the other side of campus, remember?” he teases. His fingers slide back along your jaw, brushing your hair from your forehead before settling to cup the side of your face. “You can make all the noise you want out here.”

Heat spreads through your core and inner thighs accompanied by a visible shiver, a pleased grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. The proximity alone is making you wet. His presence is overwhelming with the unimaginable power he holds over you.

His neck tilts down to reach you, hovering with his lips not a breath away from yours. Gojo waits. Tentative, you press your mouth to his and your eyes flutter shut, feeling him smile as his hands make contact with your hips. He’s gentle and slow, his lips pillowy and soft against yours, moving carefully as if not to scare you away.

He muffles a timid whimper with his mouth and takes the lead, kissing you harder and pulling you into a firm lip lock before spinning you around and walking you backwards toward the desk. Hesitant hands reach up to his shoulders, something Gojo senses immediately, shy hands working up the confidence to splay over his broad shoulders. He knows you so well by now - there’s a reason you’re his favorite student.

“Let me help, princess,” he insists, breaking away to quell your uncertainty. “You know I’m the only one who can.” Gojo’s voice is hypnotizing, his promises filling your head with a desiring haze.

Your tiny, timid fingers hanging around his neck, crawling up his nape as if searching for safety, have him reeling. He might just devour you, so cute and innocent and willing in front of him.

You’re melting into his touch as his hands squeeze your hips, rubbing up your sides until they lay a firm grasp on your hips, sitting you fully on the desk. His touch is teasing and featherlight as he drags it up your calves, hiking up your skirt to get where he wants to be, situated right between your thighs.

“None of the other guys fuck you the way you need to be fucked, right?”

He may be cocky, but it’s for good reason.

Gojo Satoru is older, he’s experienced, he knows what he’s doing. He knows you, in fact, more than you think. Don’t be fooled - he sees you sneaking off campus, sees the texts you send to the boys in the nearest town, overhears how you talk to them over the phone when you think no one is listening. He also sees how disappointed you look every time you return from one of your escapades. 

You’re mature for your age, but no one is willing to fuck you like it. Except him, of course.

A large hand cradles the back of your head to keep kissing you. His mouth is ravishing, absolutely eating up the feeble mewls that escape you. Deft fingers unbutton your uniform with ease and slip it down your shoulders to reveal your chest as if he’s done it a thousand times.

He moves to unclasp your bra, but is surprised to meet your bare skin. He pulls back from your mouth to meet your eyes, and you already know what he’s thinking with the way he looks down at you, head tilted back with a dark mirth.

“No bra?” he inquires, rolling your perky buds between his fingers, and your lack of verbal response, that guilt in the slight raise of your eyebrows, tells him everything he needs to know. “Naughty girl. Makes me think you were expecting this.” He makes you purr like a kitten, free hand kneading at your chest, coaxing out sweet little noises that make his dick throb in his pants. 

You inhale sharply at a particular tweak of your nipple that has your body tingling, arching into him. “Sir, I-” 

His mouth is on your neck, sucking on that sensitive spot below your ear, just next to your jaw. The feel of his teeth gently scraping down sends chills through your shoulders and down your back, subconsciously tilting your head to the side and exposing more to him, inviting him to your body even further.

“It’s okay, you can tell me how bad you need my cock,” he says against your skin.

Your body flushes hot beneath him. A hand cups your clothed core. The friction has your hips lifting in desperate motions for more, pushing against his fingers for some kind of relief.

“Poor thing, too horny for your own good,” he says, peering down at you. He tugs at the tiny, delicate bow sewn into the lace band of your panties, a smug expression passing over his features. “But don’t worry, teacher’s here to make you feel better.”

He hooks his pointer finger underneath the center of your panties and pulls it up, forcing the fabric taught against your slit between your folds, urging a cry to fall from your lips. You’re absolutely aching for more, pussy desperate for contact as your hips buck. His opposite thumb goes straight to your swollen clit where it bulges through the thin cotton, reducing you to whines as he applies light pressure. 

“So sensitive,” he says with a teasing lilt in his tone, caught between looking at your pussy and your dazed expression. “You want my fingers?”

He knows he’s supposed to be helping you, but he can’t stop himself with how cute you look like this. He’s already thinking of just how far he can push you, just what he can get you to admit to him.

“Yes, please,” you’re begging, pulling your lips under your teeth, and how can he say no? He has no other choice but to indulge you.

He pulls your panties to the side and finally, his long, thick fingers sink inside you without warning, pushing a lewd moan from your throat.

He groans at the way you pulse around his digits. Your walls suck him right in. “Fuck, look at your pretty little cunt. Feels good, huh?”

Your mouth falls open as you nod, staring at him through half-mast, glassy eyes. Light amusement covers his face as he works your walls diligently, curling up and massaging that spongy spot he knows you like from the sounds you’re making.

“Yeah, I know it does. Need it so bad, don’t you?”

“Yes, ah, need it so much,” you whine. At this point, you’d follow his every command, answer his every question, if it means he’ll keep doing what he’s doing. He connects his lips to yours again, swallowing up the noises that leave your throat, before moving down. He trails his mouth over your sensitive, flushed skin, burning to the touch as he leaves harsh, bruising marks behind. He’s kneeling down and throwing your legs over his shoulders without hesitation.

He has you desperate and shameless with how he’s making you feel. It doesn’t matter that he’s your teacher, it doesn’t matter that you’ll have to face him in class after the fact, all that matters is how hot and aching your core is, how bad you need him there to fix it. “More, sir, p-please.”

He groans at the name you’ve given him, that you’re addressing him by so earnestly. He never even asked you to, so when it spills out of your mouth so submissively, he can’t help the way it goes straight to his cock. “So polite, aren’t you? Let me hear you, be specific.” 

His fingers leave you clenching around nothing as he pulls them out of you, watching the string of slick stretch until it breaks. He slips them right into his mouth, licking your arousal off of his fingers, humming in delight. 

You’re fixated on his glossy, wet lips, entranced by the slight smile to his words. “Please, your mouth,” you plead breathlessly through a gulp. 

He presses a chaste kiss to the plush of your thigh, eyes flicking up to meet yours. His lips ghost over the tops of your knee socks and nip at the slight pudge that squeezes out.

“Since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs. Then, he’s diving in, latching his warm, wet mouth onto your pussy. You feel yourself gush under his lips as his tongue laves harsh strokes against your entrance. He has you quivering, your hips moving on their own accord over his face.

You squirm under his relentless tongue, swiping through your slick and spreading it all over your inner thighs. He laps at your fluttering hole before suckling your clit into his mouth, hot tongue flicking over it before releasing with a playful pop.

He thrives off of the whimpers leaving your mouth. A loud moan tears from you as his fingers plunge into you again, hands shooting to his snowy locks to ground yourself. You’re throwing your head back, keening in the firm grip he has pushing back your leg, his tongue swiping at you expertly while the pads of his fingers curl up into the spot you need him at, keeping his head pressed tight to your drooling cunt.

Pointed flicks of his tongue target your clit, puffy and sensitive, and you can’t help the way your hips buck up for more, babbling nonsense. His firm muscle prods at your hole before flattening and licking wide and short strokes up your folds.

“Aw, you wanna cum, don’t you? Gonna cum for me like a good girl?”

You only have the strength to nod, eyes squeezing shut and your lips parted in choked breaths.

“Look at me,” he commands sternly, and your lids are prying open immediately, struggling to keep your gaze on him with the pleasure he’s relentlessly forcing on your body. His plump lips are lustrous with your arousal. “Go ahead. Cum.”

His eyes bore into you as your face contorts, body tensing all over as you tip over the edge. That coil in your stomach which Gojo has so masterfully built snaps like a rubber band, shattering your mind as pleasure ripples through your body. You’re still as your release surges through you, making him moan against your pussy.

“That’s it, there you go,” he says with a growl as you take your first breath after the inhibiting pleasure fades, eyes darkening as he watches you, keeping pressure on your nub with his thumb, smooth strokes working you through your high. 

He carefully helps you drop to your feet, rubbing soothing circles into your hips, planting kisses to your temples before spinning you around to face the desk. You’re wobbly, but it’s nothing he can’t compensate for with his natural strength.

“Gonna take such good care of you,” he mumbles, large hands exploring the expanse of your back. He pushes you down, gentle fingers trailing up your spine until they find their hold on your hips like they were meant to be, loving how pliant you are beneath him.

The anticipation has you dripping, heart pounding as he flips up your skirt again, pussy aching to be filled. You hear the tugging of his trousers down to the floor, and a hefty exhale as he gives himself a few strokes in his palm.

His cock, hot and heavy and hard, presses into you slowly. You feel his girth immediately, cunt stretching deliciously to accommodate his size. It’s instant relief, finally the pleasure you’ve been desperate for, a drug you have to be careful of or you might just get addicted.

“Fuck,” he groans lowly, “So fuckin’ tight for me.”

You’re stuffed to the brim, focusing on how full you are, his fingers massaging the flesh of your ass as he gives you a moment to adjust. He feels his self-restraint thinning as you squeeze him. He’s gonna make you drool for him, make his cute innocent student into his little whore, make sure teacher’s the only one who touches you like this.

At first, his pace is slow and steady, sensual pumps that expertly drag against your gummy walls. You can feel his tip spreading you open, every burning curve and vein and ridge of his head as your pussy molds to him. But once your legs start shifting back for more, he speeds up the rocking of his hips, fucking you brainless on his cock. 

“How we feeling, princess?” he pants. He’s the only thing you can think about, mind scrambled from the white hot feel of being fucked so well.

He doesn’t have to ask to know - the string of heedless whimpers that you make are evidence enough, on top of the obscene squelches that echo every time he pounds into your sopping cunt. He pulls your wrists back from where they cling to the desk, white knuckled, to your sides. A strong arm snakes around your front, pinning your arms and waist close to his chest, caging you in while the other seeks purchase on your breast.

“F-Fuck, I- ah - so good, sir,” you sob, feeling your brain blank with the way his grip moves up to your neck, expertly pushing into the sides to cut off your blood flow. It’s dizzying, your pussy tightening around him for more.

And then he stops.

You’re about to whine, your walls fluttering around him, begging him to move, when his hand reaches to cover your mouth. He shushes you gently, snapping quietly towards the door. 

Someone is calling your name outside. “Hellooo? Hey Y/N, you over here?” It’s Yuuji, pacing the upper floor, walking straight down the hall and soon to pass the very door.

Your heart jolts in panic - why would he come looking for you? Why would anyone? The whole point of being out here was so that no one would come, right?

“Sorry to go back on my word, princess,” Gojo whispers. A wave of his hand creates a small masking barrier in front of the window, but it does nothing to hide the sound. “Gonna have to keep quiet for me. Can you do that?”

You nod your head, wiggling back against his hips pressed hard and unmoving to your ass. He pulls out slow and thrusts back, mindful of the noise of contact. It takes all your focus to bite back your moans.

“Don’t want your classmates seeing how slutty you are for a good fuck, do you? What if they walked in, saw you like this on your teacher’s cock?”

The thought has your hole constricting his length. You can already envision Yuuji’s shocked expression as he stares you down, his respected senior, nothing more than a babbling mess as Gojo Satoru fucks you raw in an empty classroom. The man behind you holds back a laugh.

The footsteps pass without the hint of something much filthier than extra help transpiring beyond the thin walls. You think you might have even seen a tuft of pink hair whizz by in the corner of your vision - whatever the matter, he’s gone, and you can finally catch your breath.

“Dirty girl,” Gojo rasps from behind you, slamming into you roughly, a sinister smile tugging at the corners of his lips while his fingers force themselves into your mouth, “you - hah - you fucking love it.” 

That spring in the base of your tummy starts to coil taut, rising faster than ever. “Love it,” you choke, stimulated tears forming at your lash line, “love it so much!”

His pace is relentless, your slick gushing all around him. He’s building you up just to break you down, the only one who can help you take the edge off.

“Tell me what you want,” he says through gritted teeth, “I’ll give it to you.”

Holding you tight to his chest with locked arms, he completely covers your body with his tall stature, inescapable and confining.

“Fuck, wanna - wanna cum so bad, so bad, sir.”

His large hand trails its way over your waist, soft fingers moving down, down, until they slip right over that little sensitive bundle at your front, cool and wet, that has your breath catching audibly in your throat. 

Gojo places his mouth just behind your ear, tone soft and sultry. The pad of his index finger rubs firm circles over your swollen, aching clit. It elicits a filthy sound from you that makes his cock twitch inside you. “Right there, huh?” He feels you clench as your legs tremble beneath him.

Your climax crashes over you in hot, unforgiving waves, tightening your walls and creaming all over every inch of his length. “Come on, give it all to teacher,” he encourages through heavy pants, making your skin prickle, and it’s just what you need. A chorus of loud, high pitched, breathless moans tumbles from your mouth as you ride it out. 

You’re drenching his fingers, making a mess as your squirt drips down and coats his cock, making him growl into your hair. He coaches you through it, stringing out his praises, “Just like that, mhm, good girl.”

His eyes fall shut as your cunt suffocates his cock, feeling his hips stutter as you suck him in. With a guttural, hungry groan, he’s burying his load in your waiting hole. He snaps against you once, twice more, hard and quick as he starts to come down.

A moment passes to catch your breaths, heartbeats beginning to slow in tandem. Gojo nuzzles his face into the back of your neck and sighs before placing an affectionate kiss there. 

Your legs are jelly beneath you so he’s careful when he releases his grasp, slowly turning you around to face him and sit back on the desk. 

“You alright?” he asks, wiping away the wetness under your eyes.

It’s safe to say that you’re relieved, in more ways than one. Your shoulders feel lighter and as does your chest, like everything you’ve been shackled to has been lifted off with a good fuck.

“Yeah, much better.” There’s a tired grin to your words.

He wipes away the sheen of sweat that has collected on his hairline and reaches over you to grab a few tissues off the desk. He’s gentle as he cleans you up, dabbing up sweat and cum from where it drips down your thighs. 

“You should get some rest. I’ll get you out of class tomorrow morning if you need it. Make up an excuse or something.” He pulls up his own trousers and helps you button up your top again, then lowering you back to the floor so you can be on your way.

“Let me know if you ever need any more assistance,” he winks, patting the top of your head. He smooths down a few stray hairs, putting you back together in at least a somewhat presentable way. “My help is always available to students that need it.”

Because while all that cursed energy may be under control, your relations are far from over. 

[buttercupsandboys]

Sunshine & Rainbows — an Alfie Solomons x original character story — Chapter 12

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 12: fucking speechless

Word count: 4342

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, smutty smut, and a touch of fluff

Our favourite couple heads to Birmingham. Alfie struggles to express his emotions, Livy wreaks havoc, and Thomas Shelby is not amused. 

"What the fuck is this?"

"What the fuck is what?" echoes Alfie, his brow furrowed in confusion. "I thought your people were supposed to be knowledgeable about animals. It's a fucking dog, mate."

"I know it's a dog, Alfie," replies Thomas, his tone measured as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "But what the fuck is it doing in my house?"

Alfie snorts, his gaze seeking out Livy from across the room. She's drinking tea from a chipped porcelain cup, her head bowed, deep in conversation with an older woman. One of Tom's kin, he assumes, judging from the air of Shelby arrogance. Livy looks shockingly out of place, glowing like the light at the end of a tunnel, her bright crimson hair in sharp contrast with the dark, dusty room. 

For what feels like the hundredth time today, he wonders if he made a mistake bringing her here. His pride is sore after asking Thomas for help, and he has half a mind to throw her over his shoulder and drag her back to Camden Town. But then a vision of her half-naked body, painted in blood, flashes behind his eyes and quickly shuts down any lingering doubts.

"Right, well, your lot are shifty fuckers, ain't they?" he finally replies. 

"Alfie—"

"Nah, don't start with me, mate, 'cause I know what I fucking know. Filthy bastards, all of ya." 

Alfie's eyes narrow, an unspoken warning written all over his face. It's a look of legend, one that earned him the title of Mad Baker—known to have made many a man lose control of his bladder. 

But Thomas fucking Shelby is no ordinary man, barely blinking as he removes a cigarette from his silver case, rolling it once across his lips before setting it alight. A plume of smoke dances between them as he waves his hand expectantly. 

Alfie grunts, mildly irritated by the Blinder's lack of reaction, before nodding in Livy's direction. "Now, that woman there, she can take care of herself. Don't let her size fool you." His voice drops dangerously. "'Cause Thomas, piss her off, and she might just cut off your cock. I've seen what she's capable of, and trust me, mate. You don't want to know."

A proud smile creeps across his face as he recalls finding that wop with his throat slit and crotch mutilated. That's my good girl. He had his men dump the naked body in the street as a final act of humiliation—and a warning to anyone who dares touch what belongs to him. She exists for his eyes, his hands, and his heart only. He hasn't found the courage to tell her yet, but it doesn't matter because he knows it, in the same way he knows the sun will rise with each new day. And after the stupid fucking mistake he made with Sabini, there isn't anything he wouldn't do to keep her safe. 

"But I'm not a betting man," Alfie continues. "Unlike you, I leave nothing to chance. This dog here is an insurance policy if you will. His name is Cyril, and he stays with her. Everywhere she goes, he goes too."

"No one is going to touch your girl, Alfie." Thomas inhales deeply from his cigarette, considering his words before continuing. "I agreed she could stay, but the dog is off the table."

"Off the table?" repeats Alfie, his hands resting loosely on his cane as he leans forward to speak directly into the smaller man's ear. "Listen, sweetie, need I remind you what happened at the Eden Club, thanks to that idiot fucking brother of yours? All brawn and no brains, that one. You're lucky I don't have him skinned alive and made into a fucking flag to fly above my bakery as a warning to other daft cunts. 

"But I just happen to be in a forgiving fucking mood, so here's what's going to happen." Alfie pauses to jab him in the chest. "You will take my fucking dog, you will put on a fucking smile, and you will make sure Livy enjoys her fucking time in this fucking wasteland you call home. Alright, mate?" he concludes, sounding almost cheerful as he straightens up and pats Thomas on the shoulder. 

"It will cost you."

"Yeah, yeah—put another tonne on my bill," snorts Alfie as he brushes by Thomas, signalling the end of the conversation. 

It's unlike him to concede so readily; usually, he's a ruthless negotiator, refusing to leave even a schilling on the table. But today, Alfie's more concerned about wasting time than coin, keenly aware of the clock ticking, inching closer to the hour when he'll leave and she'll stay. It's only a week, but the thought of being away from her now that he finally has her in his bed tugs painfully at the heartstrings he only recently discovered exist. 

Livy senses his presence, looking up as he crosses the room with Cyril faithfully by his side. She flashes a warm smile that he can't help returning, despite his reluctance to show affection around business associates. As always, the rules go out the window when it comes to her. 

"Alfie, have you met Polly Gray?" asks Livy, her cheeks rosy and eyes bright, clearly pleased to be in the company of the dark-haired woman.

Of course, he thinks, recalling her fondness for gypsies. This one looks like the queen of them all, with wild curls framing her elegant features and a hawk-like stare that warns him to tread carefully. But Alfie being Alfie, decides to test the waters. 

"Mrs Gray, is it?" he questions cooly.

His tone earns him a stern look from Livy, but Polly looks amused, standing and inhaling deeply from her cigarette before replying. "My maiden name is Shelby, Mr Solomons. It will do you well to remember that."

Alfie grunts, secretly pleased to be proven correct. The Shelbys are powerful, but men are stupid, easily led astray by whiskey and their cocks. He should know, and he's not ashamed to admit it. Livy will be safer with another strong woman to look after her; her safety is all that matters. 

"Well, Mrs Gray formerly Shelby, would you be so kind as to show us where she'll be sleeping? I have her bags and a bed for the dog."

"For fucks sake," mutters Thomas, still unhappy about Cyril, a dog that apparently travels with his own fucking bed. As a gypsy, he does have a connection with animals, and it tells him this one will be a pain in the arse, much like his owner. 

But his grumbling only earns him a smirk from Alfie, a raised brow from Polly, and a giggle from Livy as she reaches down to pat the creature in question. 

"That's a good boy, Cyril," she coos, causing the pup's tail to wag at the same furious pace as his owner's heart, which races at the sight of them together. 

"Mr Solomons, Livy … and Cyril. If you'll follow me," announces Polly, leading the strange trio out of the kitchen, up the narrow stairs, and into the belly of the Shelby family home. 

— • — • —

"Fucking hell," barks Alfie as the door slams behind him. He drops her bag and frowns, taking in the small bed, the threadbare furnishings, and the stained walls. "I've seen prison cells more welcoming than this. I'm not leaving you here."

"Alfie," soothes Livy, reaching for his arm. "It's fine, darling. Trust me, I've seen much worse."

His face softens. "I don't give a fuck what you've seen, pet. I know what you deserve, and it ain't this. I change my fucking mind. C'mon, let's get you out of here."

"I'm not going anywhere," she protests as he pulls her off the bed and into his arms. "You told me yourself that I'm safer in Birmingham." 

Her fingers trail the broad planes of his chest before tangling in the unruly hair at the base of his neck. "This room is more than suitable for a short stay, and you know it," Livy whispers, pulling him closer. "I think you're just afraid you'll miss me too much, hmmm?"

Alfie scoffs because, damn fucking straight, he’ll miss her. He's all too aware of the truth behind her words, and the mere thought of leaving her sparks something primal, a heady mix of desire and fear, deep in his gut. 

Without thinking, he spins her around, boxing her small frame against the wall, caging her with his arms. He can feel her heaving breasts against his chest and is suddenly overwhelmed by a desperate need to claim her, to mark her as his own, and—dare he hope—to be claimed in return. 

"Livy," he growls, his voice low and gravely as her hands go still and her eyes go wide. She looks up at him expectantly, and he wants to tell her more than anything he's ever wanted to say in his dumb fucking life. 

But instead, he's left to choke on his frustration because he can't get the damn words out. Alfie wants to laugh at the irony because he knows his reputation, yet here he is, fucking speechless. 

With a sigh, he gives up and gives in, crushing his lips to hers. Alfie is where he is in life because, unlike most men, he understands his limitations and works around them. If he can't communicate his love because his useless tongue refuses to cooperate, he'll use it to show her in other, more pleasurable ways. 

Or at least he would if his fucking dog wasn't pressed against her skirts, growling at him with his lips pulled back and teeth bared. 

Under different circumstances, he'd be thrilled to see Cyril hovering protectively over Livy but now is not the fucking time. Alfie snarls and bares his own teeth as he orders the dog into the corner (where he has a very comfortable bed waiting for him). But when he refuses, Alfie doesn't hesitate to grab the hulking canine by the collar and shove him out into the hall. 

The poor pup whines as the door slams in his face, and Livy frowns in protest, but Alfie is having none of it. Instead, he buries himself in her neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses, walking with her until her knees hit the bed, and she falls backwards. 

"Alfie, are we really doing this now?" she squeals, but her protest is weak to both their ears. 

"Yes," he answers, his voice muffled as he disappears beneath her skirts. Livy giggles as his beard brushes against the delicate skin of her thigh, but it quickly turns to a low moan when he pushes aside the flimsy cotton, revealing her slick centre. He leans forward, dragging his tongue through her folds, heart thundering because she's always so fucking wet and ready for him. Only for him, he vows as he wraps his arms around her legs, spreading her wide and pinning her against the mattress. 

Somewhat greedily, like a man starved, he swirls his tongue around her clit, worshipping the swollen bud and marvelling at the way her body responds. Somewhere in the distance, he can hear the sweet sound of her whimpering, and it's beautiful. She's so fucking beautiful, all of her unravelling beneath him, and yet again, he finds himself thanking god because he knows there exists no universe where a man like him deserves a woman like her. He slips a finger inside her, then another, shuddering at her tight, velvety warmth, further proof of this fucking miracle. 

A cool breeze caresses his hot skin as Livy gathers her skirts. His tongue is still buried deep between her thighs, but he raises his eyes to meet her golden gaze, and his entire body is set alight by what he finds; passion, desire—and maybe, just maybe, something else. But before he can say for sure, her eyes shut, and her head falls back. A loud moan, one surely heard by all the residents of the house, escapes her lips as her thighs tremble violently around his head. He can feel her cresting, calling his name as she pulses around his fingers, and it just about does him in. 

Sweet fucking perfection. 

Alfie pulls back, pressing soft kisses against her thigh, her knee, the delicate bone of her ankle, before standing and finding her mouth, red and slightly swollen from where she's been biting her lip. He lingers, knowing she can taste herself on him and finds himself getting impossibly harder. 

His desire is almost painful now, and Livy seems to sense it, or more likely, feels it pressing firmly against her hip. Her nimble fingers quickly find and release his massive erection, and he groans, rocking gently against her warm palm as she strokes him, the friction sending shivers down his spine. 

But he needs more, and when he remembers he'll be leaving her alone in this god-awful town, it's like a switch is flipped. Alfie stands quicker than a man his age should be able to, especially after kneeling on the floor with a bad hip. But he's numb to everything but the desperate need to possess her as he lifts her body, spins her around and bends her over the edge of the bed. 

She gracefully positions herself with her head down and hips up, submitting in a way that feeds the feral side of him—the dark side that takes and maims and murders for no reason other than to serve his own selfish need for accumulation. But as he strokes a finger down her spine and watches her body open even further, he realises with some shock that he no longer has any interest in fulfilling anyone's needs but hers. 

Well, except for one obvious need of his own—and with that thought, he slides inside her, his knees nearly buckling as the intense sensations wash over him. In this position, he's deeper than ever before, but his pleasure almost pales against the depth of newfound emotion. Almost. Add the visual feast of his swollen cock disappearing beneath her perfectly rounded bottom, and he has to bite his lip to keep from finishing on the spot. 

"Fuck, Livy. You'll be the death of me," Alfie manages to grunt once he claws back a modicum of control.

She peeks over her shoulder and smiles up at him. "You always say that, Alfie, but you're still alive."

He responds by thrusting hard, driving her face into the bed because he's no longer capable of communicating with anything other than grunts and mumbled curses. She moans, signalling her own cognitive decline, and Alfie curls protectively over her body, pressing small kisses into her shoulder as his hand finds the sweet spot between her legs. 

Livy whimpers again, her pleasure building quickly with the dual stimulation of his cock and fingers, and Alfie can feel himself trembling with anticipation. He's never felt or seen another woman who comes quite like she does, with such complete abandon—and to prove his point, she falls over the edge and drags him with her. Her walls pulsate, milking him in a way that's so fucking intense he forgets to breathe until suddenly he finds himself collapsed against her and gasping for air. 

After a much-needed moment to collect himself, he rolls on his side and pulls her along, wrapped tightly in his arms. They lie together in silence, enjoying the afterglow until Livy suddenly spins to face him. 

"Alfie, Cyril!" she exclaims, her eyes wide with concern. 

He chuckles under his breath. "I'll find the mutt in a minute. He can't be in too much trouble; he's supposed to be your fucking guard dog."

"Does that mean … I'm staying?" 

The air is tense as she strokes his cheek, but her touch is as gentle as her tone, a tender acknowledgment of his inner struggle. It's yet another reason he loves her so much. Despite all his grumbling, it's not his decision to make, and it's a courtesy of her to even ask. 

But Alfie knows what he has to say. Despite being a possessive man, used to taking control of damn near everything, he treads carefully with her. Experience tells him that pushing too hard will only drive her away. 

"If that's what you want, love," he finally answers, somewhat reluctantly, as he drops a kiss on her forehead. "For one week, yeah? You can go play with the gypsies, telling fortunes or whatever it is you lot get up to." 

Alfie grunts when she pokes him hard in the rib. "Fucking hell, woman," he growls as he pulls away, but then he softens at the affection written on her face. Once again, he's close to telling her, so fucking close—but men are shouting, his dog is barking, and she's shoving him out of bed. 

"Go. Cyril, now," Livy demands, and he has no choice but to go save his idiot fucking beast. 

— • — • —

Monday, 6:02 am

The sun has just begun its accent over the horizon, painting his office in subtle shades of pink and gold, but Alfie's in no mood to appreciate or even notice. 

It's been 36 hours—not even two fucking days—since he left Livy in Birmingham, and he can't think about anything but her. And yes, she's been a distraction since the moment she walked through his fucking door, but not like this. He can't eat, he can't sleep, and he can't work unless he's planning for Epsom because the only thing he cares about is taking down the wop at the centre of all of this. 

And, of course, her. Alfie cares for her so much that it physically fucking hurts, but she's so woven into the fabric of his being now that it no longer feels necessary to point out, in the same way one doesn't need to explain the mechanics of breathing. She's part of him now, and her pain is his pain, which is why he hopes Sabini has the balls to show up at Epsom, so he can shoot him in the fucking face. He perks up slightly, imagining the carnage when the phone rings. 

His heart leaps at the prospect of hearing her voice (because who else would be calling at this early hour), but then the depressing sound of a Brummie accent comes rumbling down the line. 

"Good morning, Alfie."

He grunts. "Is it, mate?"

"No, actually, it's not," replies Thomas, sounding quite thoroughly irritated, a remarkable display of emotion from the usually stone-faced Blinder. "I got dragged out of bed at three in the morning last night. And do you want to know why?"

"Not really—"

"Because a certain redhead downed half a bottle of rum and decided to go horseback riding down Watery Lane with your beast of a dog chasing at her heels."

"What the fuck, Tom," barks Alfie. "I thought you had men fucking watching her—"

"And not just any horse, Alfie," continues Thomas, cutting him off again. "Livy and her partner in crime, Esme, decided to take out a racehorse." A cigarette is lit, and he inhales deeply. "And not just any fucking racehorse, oh no. She chooses the horse I'm sending to Epsom this Saturday to go joyriding, on the cobblestones, in the middle of the night. With Cyril in pursuit, barking his fucking head off and waking up the whole goddamn town."

"Right. Well, Thomas, thank you for sharing. I'm fucking delighted that you decided to call at the crack of fucking dawn to tell me about your horses. Really, I am. Maybe next time I come to Birmingham, I'll let you brush my fucking hair, and you can tell me more." Alfie pauses, his voice dropping dangerously. "But right now, what I want to know, is where are the FUCKING MEN who are supposed to be watching her?"

"I told you there is nothing to worry about while she's under my protection. Men were watching, but apparently, she doesn't fucking listen. How surprising," he mutters disapprovingly. "You can rest assured, Alfie, that no one will touch her unless I decide to put her over my knee for stealing my—"

"Watch your fucking mouth, Thomas, because if you even THINK of putting your grimy hands near her," Alfie's temper has made an appearance and now he's yelling down the line, "I will burn your entire fucking city to the ground. And over what, a few women having a drink and a bit of fun? Get your shit together, and tell her to call me when she wakes up."

He slams down the phone and stares at it, his blood boiling in his ears. But then he pictures Thomas fucking Shelby chasing his prized racehorse down the street at three in the morning with Cyril hot on his heels, and his mood considerably improves. 

Maybe today won't be that bad after all. 

— • — • —

Wednesday, 6:54 am 

"Alfie."

Sigh. 

"Thomas."

"I know you like to dress like you just rolled out of a gutter, but some of us take pride in our appearance."

"Is that so, mate? And did you decide to call at," Alfie pauses to look at his watch, "6:54 in the fucking morning to lecture me about my wardrobe choices?"

"No." There's a sharp inhale of a cigarette before Thomas continues. "I'm calling to add another tonne to your bill. Three pairs of leather shoes, imported from France, destroyed by your mutt."

"Cyril?"

"Yes."

"Well, Tom. Here's the thing. It couldn't have been my dog."

"No?"

"Nah, mate. He can't stand French food. You know, on account of the war and all."

Silence. 

"Maybe it's one of those bitches you brought home? I've heard a lot about Birmingham women—"

The line goes dead, and Alfie makes a mental note to send Ollie to the butcher before Cyril gets home. 

Good dog. 

— • — • —

Friday, 3:43 pm

"Sir?"

"Fucking what?" bellows Alfie from deep on the factory floor. He's seconds from breaking David's face for delaying today's shipment, a costly mistake at the best of times, currently made worse because his bill in Birmingham is blowing out by the fucking minute. 

"There's a call for you," Ollie shouts back. 

"Tell that fucking gypsy—"

"It's the redhead, sir."

Right, then…

Alfie shoots David a hard look, but the dumb fuck is already on his knees, thanking god for the interruption that saved his teeth. He's tempted to smash them anyway, lest the lads think he's gone soft, but maybe they have a point because he doesn't want to keep her waiting. 

He hurries to the office and picks up the phone, heart racing when he hears her familiar voice sing out. 

"Hello, darling!"

"Hello, sweetheart. Have you been behaving yourself?" There's a pause, and despite the distance, Alfie can practically see the sheepish look on her face. "Livy?" he threatens playfully. "What now, pet?"

"Well … I think I may have upset Thomas."

Alfie nearly snorts because that ship has long sailed but manages to maintain his composure. 

"Why do you say that, love?"

"Well, you know I used to travel with Esme Lee? Of course, you do." Livy laughs nervously, answering her own question. "We have similar … passions. Johnny taught us both."

"Right …" prompts Alfie as he leans back in his chair, dropping his feet on the desk. 

He has a good feeling about this and smiles as Livy goes on to weave a story about a late night at the Garrison that somehow involved the girls throwing knives and using the Blinder's signature caps for target practice. 

"It was just a bit of fun, darling. You know I have excellent aim, and so does Esme! In fact, I must ask her to demonstrate when you're in town. Anyway, we were there with John—her husband, who I quite like—along with Polly and Arthur."

Alfie growls at the mention of the eldest Shelby, but she ignores him. 

"We were all having a lovely time! But then comes Thomas, and you know how he is." Livy groans and he can picture her burying her face in her hands. "He was grumpy about having a dog in the pub, and yes, I suppose I should have asked before using his cap for my turn—"

Alfie sputters, practically spitting a glass of water across the desk as her words sink in. 

"Livy, love—did you throw a knife at Thomas Shelby's head?" He wonders if the man’s in hospital, that would explain why he hasn't heard from him today. 

"Not his head, Alfie. His cap! It was part of the game. Anyway, he's fine. He went riding this morning, mumbling something about needing fresh air. Polly says he's under a lot of stress."

This time Alfie can't hold back his snort. "I'm sure he's fine, pet. Enough about that sour fuck. Tell me about you, love." The following words slip out before he can catch them. "Missing me?"

Missing me? Alfie wants to smack himself because he sounds like a pathetic schoolboy, but then he hears her soft sigh against his ear. 

"It's been a long week, darling. I'm having a lovely time with Esme, Polly, and even the boys …."

"But," he prompts, trying desperately not to sound too eager (and, in all likelihood, failing). 

"But it's too long, Alfie. I want to come home."

Home. His heart swells because this is her fucking home, here with him. He already knows it, like he knows his name, but hearing the words come out of her mouth is everything he needs to hear. 

Well, except for three other little words that he still can't find the courage to say, but he will, he promises himself. 

When she comes home. 

Home to him. 

"Soon, love. Very fucking soon. You give Cyril a big hug from me, yeah? And I'll see you tomorrow. You'll be home before you know it."

"Alright, Alfie. I …" she trails off, and he swears his heart skips a beat. "I'll see you then." 

And with that, Livy hangs up the phone. 

[y0itsbri]

shameless summer series - lifeguard au 🥽🩲🌊

debbie has her eye on the new lifeguard at the public pool. unlucky for her, said lifeguard already has his eye set on a different red-headed gallagher.

(think like s2 era)

also happy a.u.gust! @gallavichthings

words: 1.7k

"Debs, why do I gotta take you to the pool again this week? I thought you already fixed whatever was the problem with that blonde bitch," Ian whined, shoveling cereal into his mouth. Two tubes of sunscreen sat on the table in front of him.

"It's not about her anymore." Debbie retorted, like it was the simplest thing.

"Okay. Then what is it about?"

"Nothing!"

"Ask her boyfriend." Carl yelled over his video game in the living room, taking any opportunity to embarrass his sister.

Ian and Debbie's voices overlapped with a "Boyfriend?!" and "He's not my boyfriend-- Carl I'm going to fucking kill you!"

Debbie tossed a fork at Carl's head.

"Oh, now I'm definitely in," Ian laughed and winced before Debbie could throw a fork his direction.

--

The walk to the pool was relatively quiet aside from the rhythmic smacking of their sandals against the gravely pavement.

Debbie leapt a few strides, trying to outrun her shadow and failing each time. Ian chuckled, pulling the towel around his neck and swinging his keychain with the other hand.

Now that it was just the two of them, he tried again.

"Soooo," he drawled. "What's with this secret boyfriend?"

Debbie sighed. "He's not my boyfriend. Well, not yet."

"Hmm?"

"He's one of the new lifeguards since Justin got attacked by that dog last week."

Justin still owed Lip a beating for something or other so Ian was glad he didn't have to deal with Justin today, at least.

"You think this new lifeguard is a little too old for you?" Ian wondered.

Debbie shrugged. "Not like it matters much."

Ian couldn't argue with that logic. "I'll kick his ass if he bothers you, yeah?"

"Please. He doesn't even look at me. Even when I was fake-drowning." She skipped down the sidewalk, nearing the pool entrance.

Ian shook his head. His sister was something else.

--

After they set their towels down, Ian's eyes scoured the lifeguard chairs immediately. Too-tan-Toni, shrimp-speedo-Sam, and holy-fucking-shit. Was that Mickey Milkovich?

Ian hadn't let himself think about Mickey since he left town. But it was hard not to now that he was right in front of him again. Shit.

Mickey spread out across his chair, sunglasses low on his nose, watching the newcomers and he smirked before glancing back towards the pool. He blew his whistle and yelled at some kid to 'slow the fuck down unless you wanna bust your ass -- and I ain't fixing you up!'

Ian was brought back to the moment by Debbie's hands waving in front of his face. "Helloooo, earth to Ian! Sunscreen?"

Ian could've sworn he heard a chuckle coming from the direction of the lifeguard chair as he dug the sunscreen out of his shorts pockets. No. He was just being paranoid. His cheeks blushed regardless.

"Is that...?" Ian nodded his head towards the raven-haired man.

"Shhh!" Debbie slapped him on the arm. "Don't make it obvious!"

Ian rolled his eyes at her ridiculousness.

He covered Debbie's back and shoulders in the high resistance sunscreen before she took off towards the side of the pool with the diving board, eager to show off her skills.

He yelled after her. "Wait, fuck, Debs you forgot..." He glanced around.

His eyes definitely locked with Mickey's now.

Fuck.

Mickey hopped off his chair, waving his hand to dismiss his crowd of moon-eyed preteen girls and middle-aged women in scandalous bikinis. Ian would have shuddered at the thought if Mickey wasn't making a bee-line directly towards him.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. Fuuuuuck.

"'Sup, man? Been awhile..." He smirked. "Raggedy Ann run out on ya?" Mickey bowed his leg out on his final step towards Ian, a little closer than he expected.

"Uhhh...." Real smooth, Ian. His words were bound to fail him again with the man in such close proximity to him, so he simply held up his bottle of sunscreen and shrugged.

"Toss it here," Mickey coolly demanded.

Ian was thoroughly confused, but threw it anyways. "What?"

"You heard me, Red. Turn around, I'll get your back."

"Protecting and serving the local ginger kids at the pool?" Ian joked weakly, finding his voice again.

Mickey huffed a breath. "Fuck the pigs. The only thing I'm protecting is your ass from a sunburn."

Ian was still confused as to why Mickey was offering to rub his back at a very public pool when he would have literally beaten his ass for looking his direction before.

All of Ian's thoughts subsided as he felt sturdy hands push the warming liquid around his shoulder blades, up his neck, then down his spine. Mickey's thumb digging deep into his muscles. He suppressed his urge to shiver despite the rising temperatures of the hot Chicago summer.

At least he thought he had suppressed it. A huff of air on the back of his neck said otherwise.

Mickey started pulling his hands away and Ian leaned back into them again. Mickey whacked the side of his head before tossing the bottle of sunscreen onto the chair in front of them.

"No free massages, man. Just sunscreen." Mickey licked the corner of his mouth and looked from the ground up to Ian's eyes.

He had to know how devious he looked. Ian didn't want to be presumptuous, but he just held eye contact.

"Unless," Mickey veered, slowly backing away, "the favor was returned in one way or another." He winked.

Ian stood, mouth agape as Mickey turned and waved again to the group of girls who still hadn't taken their eyes off of him. He hopped up onto his chair, whistle in mouth in no time like nothing had ever happened.

What the fuck was going on?

--

Ian spent the next few hours very much Not Looking At Mickey despite feeling a heated stare on him.

Even when he was having a breath-holding competition with Debbie, his brain couldn't stop the endless stream of Mickey Mickey Mickey.

After Debbie's third win, Ian felt like he was on the verge of passing out, so he returned to his towel, chugging his water bottle.

In a moment of weakness, he glanced at Mickey, only to find him already staring. Mickey tilted his head towards the main building and quietly dismissed himself to go on his break.

Ian knew.

He wasn't that stupid. He knew Mickey wanted him to follow. And he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea. All the while, his feet took him closer.

The building felt even hotter than the outside, the AC must've gone out and no one bothering to replace it.

This was a bad idea.

Ian was just about to turn around and leave when he heard the click of a lock.

"'Bout fuckin' time," Mickey stalked forward, eyes raking up and down Ian's body appreciatively.

Ian was putty.

He groaned as he let himself be pulled forward by the hips. "Didn't know you were a lifeguard?"

He sighed as Mickey toyed with the band of his shorts in between his tattooed fingers. His nails scraping dully against his sides.

"Dad got shanked. Family business went under. Had to go legal." Mickey's hands moved upwards as he raked his fingers through the sides of Ian's still-wet hair, gripping onto the back of his neck. Ian slid his own hands up Mickey's back, pushing his red tank top up with it, exposing his pale skin.

"Missed this." It was a whisper.

Ian attached his lips to the side of Mickey's neck briefly, tasting remnants of salt, chlorine, and sunscreen, before Mickey sunk down to his knees. Ian's hands were now gripping dark hair, and he was sure that the rocky pavement of the unfinished building had to be digging into Mickey's skin, but he made no sounds of discomfort.

Sure, he missed this, but he missed him more, not that he could say that.

--

On the walk home, the sun was hanging low in the sky and both Gallaghers' cheeks were sunburnt pink.

"Did ya have fun?" Ian asked, knocking his empty water bottle against the top of Debbie's head.

She scrunched her face up, but replied with some pep in her voice. "Yeah! Today the hot life guard actually looked at me! Maybe bringing you around was good luck."

No way in hell Ian was going to out Mickey to his little sister, let alone out himself. He put on a big-brother reassuring smile and changed the subject.

"Good luck for you maybe. I lost literally all of our competitions today!"

She giggled, "That was all skill, not luck. Frank's been helping me practice!"

Frank? Maybe Ian needed to spend a little more time at home. On the other hand, maybe it was a good thing Ian hadn't been spending a lot of time at home.

--

Ian left after dinner unannounced, taking his well-worn trail to the baseball dugouts.

When he approached the field, he noticed a small orange flame illuminating the man's face and a cloud of smoke fog through the chained fence. He smirked.

"Couldn't get enough the first round?" Ian taunted, announcing his presence as he leapt over the fence, an old habit.

"Fuck you, man," Mickey scoffed and blew his smoky breath in Ian's grimacing face.

"Oh I think you plan on it." He stepped closer.

"Is that so?"

"Mmhmm," Ian plucked the cigarette out of Mickey's fingers. "Can't have you with bad lungs, then what will all the poor defenseless swimmers do without a capable lifeguard?"

"Let 'em drown," Mickey smacked Ian's cigarette out of his hands and closed the distance between them.

"It would crush your groupies to know you care so little," Ian murmured against his neck.

"This is a bad idea," Mickey breathed, tugging at Ian's crumpled shirt.

"The worst," Ian yanked his shirt fully off.

Mickey pulled back, eyeing Ian's now-bare back.

"Mmm, no sunburn. That would've ruined my plans." Mickey smiled smugly.

Oh shit.

Ian swallowed. He was already way too far off the deep end. Luckily for them both, Mickey knew how to swim.

[legoshi-plz]

Pretenses Part Five (Louis x Reader)

Summary: Louis is a spoiled prince and you are a clumsy maid. Prince! Louis x Canine!Dog! Reader.

Warning: NSFW (+18)

Despite Louis’ outwardly composed nature, inside he was in full blown panic mode.

He had just finished up yet another uneventful dinner with his father and his future bride; now it was time to return to his chambers. His chambers he hadn’t been in since this morning. His chambers where he was currently holding you hostage.

Louis stood in front of his door for who knows how long before finally opening it with great hesitation, preparing himself for your angry, perhaps even violent response. Instead he was greeted with.... silence. You were on the bed where he’d left you, sound asleep.

Louis couldn’t help the relieved flutter of his tail at the sight of your sleeping form.

You had curled under the covers, probably to keep warm in the cold air of his chambers, your form rising and falling peacefully as you snoozed. Louis approached you slowly, checking to make sure you were actually asleep before his hands flew to throw off his royal regalia.

Once free from the confines of his complex uniform, he was under the covers immediately. Bringing your snoozing figure into his arms. You didn’t move a muscle; it was evident you were a heavy sleeper. Louis already knew this from his time watching you as you took your midday naps in his chambers but he didn’t know it was to such a great extent. He shifted so that he could lay his head on your chest, arms encircling your waist. He listened to the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, his breathing slowing down to match your own.

He was asleep in minutes.

////////

You awoke to a weight on your chest and the smell of Louis’ cologne surrounding you. When you opened your eyes, the brightness assaulted your vision, making you attempt to turn away but that attempt was futile.

The Prince, who definitely wasn’t there when you fell asleep yesterday, was laying directly on top of you with his head on your chest, arms in a deadlock around your waist. You were caged beneath him, his weight pinning you down. You contemplated screaming bloody murder, hoping you could shock him into letting you go and make a run for it but decided against it. You doubted he’d remember to lock the door behind him, that could possibly be an opportunity for you to escape. You slowly began trying to pull his long arms from you when you felt his grip tighten.

“Don’t even think about it,” Louis mumbled, nuzzling further into your neck.

“My liege, please stop this indecency. As rightful heir to the thrown, a lowly maid such as myself would only sully-

“How long did you practice that one? Is that what you were doing yesterday while I was gone? Rehearsing pleas so I’d let you go?” Louis chuckled, finally opening his eyes. Sleepy amber orbs met your own irises and you couldn’t help but notice how beautiful his brown eyes looked in the morning sun. They didn’t reflect the light but instead nearly consumed it, a complete contrast to the brown of his fur.

“You must be hungry? You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, if that. I’ll call the kitchen and have them bring us something up. Breakfast in bed doesn’t sound too bad,” Louis bit his lip as his eyes drank in your form beneath him. He definitely looked hungry, yet for something other than food; his eyes were burning with barely contained lust.

“I-I have to go, my Prince. I have to perform my duties in the kitch-AH,” you were cut off when Louis sat up and brought you with him as he pulled you onto his lap to straddle him. You felt your fur prickle with embarrassment as you realized not only was he shirtless, but he also seemed to be only in his underwear, the dark blue embroided material providing a very thin barrier to the Prince’s most precious asset.

“What about your duties to me?” Louis hummed, rubbing his hands up and down the fur of your outter thighs. The top of your uniform was still very much ripped open, so you brought your arms up to cover yourself, the blankets you’d been curled under no longer providing you coverage.

“Ah ah ah, you should know better than to hide yourself from me,” Louis hummed, prying your arms from your chest. He leaned forward, his mouth capturing once of your hardened nipples. The feeling of his hot tongue on your sensitive peak sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Pr-pr-princeee, pleaaaase,” you moaned lightly, your voice nothing more than a breathy whisper.

Louis ignored you, instead moving to the other peak while his hands found themselves back at your plush hips. He rocked upwards into you, his hard member making its presence know.

“Take these off,” Louis mumbled against your areola, tugging at your panties. When you hesitated, he simply sighed before ripping them off himself.

“My Pri-

“Shut up,” Louis groaned against your chest, the vibrations further stimulating your raised peak. Louis plunged his fingers into your arching cavern just as he had the day before. You felt your head swirl in embarrassment and arousal, the two emotions battling for dominance.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you? How long I’ve desired you?” Louis asked, his free hand coming up to cup your jaw. His eyes burned with such passion for you, it was hard to not look away.

“That’s it, ride my hand. Just like that,” Louis grunted and you hadn’t even noticed your pelvis had begun grinding into his hand to meet the thrusts of his fingers. Your body was moving completely on its own, anything to help relieve the pressure growing in your lower belly.

Suddenly, Louis ceased his movements, lifting you up slightly with one hand while he pulled his underwear down with the other. His member sprang to life, resting against his abdomen as it stood glistening with precum. Being a stag and royalty, it was natural to assume he’d be well-endowed but nothing could have prepared you for the vision that was his impressive length.

He took your hands in his own larger ones and wrapped them around his weeping shaft. He let out a soft “fuck...” as he guided your hands up and down. He let go once you found your own rhythm, no longer needing his assistance for such a simple act.

“You’re so good at this- too good, actually. Did you touch Azuki’s mutt like this? Huh?” Louis asked breathlessly, his death grip returning to your thighs.

“I already told you yesterday, we aren’t like... that...” you grumbled, swiping your fingers over his sensitive cockhead, causing a needy groan to tear from his throat.

“Then what were you two like? You were already letting that filthy mongrel close enough to scent you, it’d be nothing for you to get on your knees for him.” Louis said angrily and you suddenly remembered exactly where you were and, more importantly, who you were with.

No amount of pretty words and declarations of desire were going to keep Louis’ true nature at bay for long. He was vile and malicious at heart. You knew this. He’d proven it to you time and time again. So when was it finally going to register in your dumb little brain?

You released his cock immediately, and climbed off his lap and out of his bed. You headed straight for the door but Louis was faster, grabbing and pinning you against the very door you’d been trying to exit from.

“Why do you keep running away from me? Can’t you see what I’m trying to do here?” Louis groaned into the nape of your neck. It sent shivers down your spine and you resisted the urge to arch into him.

“You’re trying to control me, to manipulate me”

“I’m trying to love you.” Louis craned his head back to look into your eyes. He saw no warmth in them.

“You have a peculiar way of expressing your ‘love’, my lord,” you said through gritted teeth.

“Annnnd we’re back to the incorrect formalities. Every time I feel we’ve taken one step forward, you move three spaces back. Why do you insist on fighting me so? I know you feel it, I can’t be imagining this attraction between us,” Louis finished, the grip on you wrists that previously had you pinned against the door now residing so that he could caress your forearms with the pads of his thumbs.

“I fight it because I know my place. I’m a dog, your highness. Lower than any other Herbivore commoner, and amongst the unfavorable even within Carnivore spaces. Most of the animals around here think I should be banished for even working within the castle during the day, let alone catering to you.”

“Their opinions don’t matter, they have no authority here-”

“It does matter, your highness. Because once your infatuation with me ceases, which is inevitable, you will return to your fiancé, marry her, be crowned King, and produce heirs. And all I’ll have is my life as a lowly commoner. That’s the natural order of things.” You lamented, your voice feeling thick with emotion.

“So what, you believe your future is with Azuki’s guard dog? Popping out litter after litter for him until you die? That’s no way to live, he can’t commit to you. His life already belongs to another woman and that’s Azuki.”

“You don’t think I know that? I’m fully aware of the hold our future Queen has over him. I’m just grateful for every moment he chooses to share with me. Makes my life a little less lonely...,”

“I could make your life less lonely! I could do that for you, better than he ever could!” Louis was slightly begging now, he could hear it in his own voice but he was beyond the point of caring.

“Don’t you see I feel my loneliest when I’m with you? All you’ve ever made me feel was small, and stupid, and unworthy. Legoshi doesn’t point out how I misuse words just to remind me of how uneducated I am. He doesn’t point out how unrefined my taste pallet is or force me to eat food outside of the carnivore diet. He doesn’t drag me out of bed at night to look at some stupid star a million miles away on some balcony when I’m afraid of heights. He doesn’t tell me where I can and can’t go, who I can and can’t see, just because he felt like it. He doesn’t humiliate me every chance he gets! He doesn’t boss me around just because he can!” There were hot tears streaming down your face. You had been holding this in for a long time.

“I see...,” Louis said finally breaking the silence. He released you from his grasp and took a step back. He adjusted himself, tucking his forgotten member fully back into his underwear. Though he had a beautiful body envious to those of Gods, he seemed almost shy about his lack of clothing now.

He glanced at your tattered uniform before muttering a “wait here... please...”, and walking towards one of the humongous wardrobes in his room. He pulled out a pristine, new uniform and walked back over to hand it to you.

“I kept a lot of these on hand, in case you ever wanted.... a more comfortable bed to lay your head at night...” Louis’s voice had never seemed so clouded. You silently accepted the uniform.

“You have my deepest apologies for my behavior. Such veracity was never my intention. I hereby relieve you of all obligation to me. You may return to the kitchen or to the gardens or to somewhere new if you like. Whereever you choose to go is fine, I’ll notify Stallworth of my approval. I...” Louis hesitated, finally bringing his eyes up yours.

“You’re free to go.”

/////////

A/N: I finally know how I want this story to end so hopefully they’ll only be two more parts for this series and it’ll reach it’s completion! Also thank you all again for 1K!

[peachyteabuck]

remember what you love like

summary: is a lunch date still a lunch date after you leave the restaurant?

a commission for @buckysbunny

pairing: natasha romanoff x reader

words: 2,014

trigger warnings: allusions to compulsory heterosexuality, fingering, fluff, mentions of sexting

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

Natasha’s hands are tangled in your forest green cardigan, one hand on the small of your back while the other is pressed into the back of your neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs when you pull away to gasp for breath, head spinning as a trail of spit connects your mouths in a sight you wish you could see in one of those giant oil paintings that draw large crowds to art museums. “My beautiful little Bunny.”

You preen under her praise, your own hands shaky as they find purchase in her hair, the beltloop of her jeans, anything you can grab as she pushes you into your apartment, pressing you against each and every surface she deems fit. Somewhere between your front door and the wall directly opposite said entrance you lose your cardigan and your shoes, clothes falling to the floor as you’re pushes down the hallway and, finally, onto your bed. You’d made it that morning hoping your lunch date wouldn’t end after you’d left the restaurant just as you had cleaned the rest of your apartment. In truth you’re not sure whether the frantic scrubbing and organization of your kitchen was to impress her or distract yourself for how nervous you were, considering you and Natasha have been dating for about three months now and hadn’t done more than cuddle and today, today of all days felt like the right to rectify that. The two of you had spent all night sexting after you’d sent her a picture of you in your new bra – a pale pink one that made your tits look exquisite. Things had only escalated, you shoving your hands down your pajama shorts to get yourself off at her direction.

So yeah, given all of that, you were decently confident that you would end up with her tongue down your throat and her hands groping at your tits – a thought that left you some weird mixture of overjoyed and frightened.

As your back hits your girly, patterned comforter your heart beats against your ribcage, each chamber trying to rip itself from the rest of the muscle just so that it can travel to each of your limbs and make them shake. Something – someone – is screaming in your ears, the high-pitched sound nearly loud enough to drown out the woman who’s crawled on top of you.  

Nearly.

“Hey,” Natasha coos, peppering small kisses along your face and jaw and neck as her center presses into yours. “Hey, Bunny-“

You finally meet her eyes when that pet name – her pet name for you - falls from her lips. Only then does she notice how terrified you look.

“You good, Bunny?” she asks, her own heart now picking up not because her fingertips are on fire and your skin feels just as hot. “Is everything okay?”

“I, uh-“ you struggle to find the words, wishing you kept your blanket-like cardigan on so you could hide in it. “I haven’t done this with uh,” you trying to swallow despite your dry mouth. “With women.”

Natasha exhales deeply, face visibly softening. It doesn’t feel like pity, though, which suppresses a tiny bit of your nervousness; the last thing you want is for the woman responsible for the menagerie in your stomach each time she texts you or says your name or worms her way into every passing thought to think of you as some sort of charity case.

“Oh, babes,” she places each hand flat on either side of your jaw, both thumbs rubbing soothingly into your heated cheeks. “You know I’m okay with that – right? I don’t want you any less just because you haven’t done with women before.”

You sniffle, trying to keep the tears that prick the corners of your eyes in their spot. “A-are you sure?”

Natasha nods, leaving a small kiss on the center of your forehead. “Of course I am, Bunny. I don’t care how many women you’ve had sex with.”

“E-even though I’ve had sex with guys?” your eyes are big and scared, petrified of rejection.

Natasha just smiles, pulling you closer to her. “Yes, Bunny. Your sexual history certainly doesn’t define you as a person and doesn’t change how I feel about you. Okay?”

You smile back, leaning into her arms as you sniffle once more. “O-okay.”

“Now,” she smiles as she pulls back, readjusting herself onto her side as you stay on your back.  “Where were we?”

And just like that – with fear quelled and uncomfortable twisting in your stomach now loose and simmering below your skin – she returns to her original mission, one that involves ghosting her fingers over your clothed chest before thumbing at the hem of your denim skirt. “You’re so cute, Bunny,” she murmurs. “Such an adorable little Bunny all for me…”

Natasha then pushes your skirt up to your stomach, keeping it in place with her forearm as she begins rubbing the two middle fingers of her right hand along your clothed slit. Your chest heaves as she grins down at your scrunched eyes, furrowed brow, and kiss-swollen lips.

“So beautiful,” she murmurs into your neck, teeth barely pressing into the bruises that deepen with each passing moment. “So good for me, Bunny…”

Lewd moans fall from your mouth as circles your clit, the adorable pink cotton panties you had specifically chosen that morning hoping and praying this would happen now completely soaked through. They’re rough against your sensitive, desperate clit – pussy pulsing around nothing as you buck your hips frantically.

“P-please,” you moan, voice nearly unrecognizable now. “P-please N-Nat!”

She presses a firm kiss to your lips, smiling as she moves her hands to rub at your pussy under your panties. The feeling of her hand there without anything between her skin and your is intoxicating – her fingers easily finding your clit once more. “Call me Mommy,” she murmurs, free hand pushing the sweaty hairs from your forehead. “Call me Mommy, sweet Bunny.”

“Mommy, oh fuck-“ you gasp, the feeling of her hands and the mention of that title you’d been discussing the night before shooting another bolt of lightning through your nervous system, hands bunch the sheets in your palms – your fingers nearly numb as all of your blood rushes to your core. “Oh fucking shit!”

For the first time in what feels like hours you find the courage to open your eyes – another moan deep in your chest filling the hot, thick air. You always wondered why people described being fucked as being consumed, as being the main course in a large meal presented to some rich, old-timey monarch after they return from visiting the more desolate parts of the territory they rule over.

Now, though, under Natasha’s heated gaze with three of her fingers stuffed inside of you while the other hand presses into your stomach – you feel like some prized pig slathered in glaze and placed onto an obnoxious silver platter with a whole apple placed into your waiting mouth as fruits and vegetables circle your flesh. If you had ever felt desired, it certainly didn’t match up to the fire in Natasha’s eyes as she devours each time you twitch, moan, beg for more.

“You sure you want more?” she purrs, fingers stroking that spot inside of you that makes your legs shake and eyes tear up once more. “Does my greedy little Bunny want her Mommy to give her more?”

You nod furiously, mouth barely able to keep up with your racing thoughts. “Yes, fuck Mommy please please please I want-“ you moan as she fucks into you harder, reveling in watching you fall apart. “Please I’ll take anything you want to give me Mommy please!”

Without further delay Natasha moves between your legs, maneuvering you so that one of her hands fucked in and out of you while the other circles your clit in hot, tight circles. Your eyes don’t know where to focus – on the sight on Natasha’s hands working you into some kind of putty or the woman herself, whose smug grin and furrowed brow are almost intimidating in their determination.

“M-mommy,” you gasp out, legs trying to shut themselves involuntarily, stopped only by the woman between your legs. Your toes curl, spine bending forward as the white-hot pleasure in your stomach curls itself tighter and tighter around itself. “Mommy, Mommy, I’m gonna, I’m gonna-!”

You come with a guttural moan you almost don’t recognize as yours – a sound so animalistic you wonder if Natasha had rewired your brain into some pre-human thing incapable of speech. It’s hot, so hot, and in your post-orgasmic bliss you wonder if life could get any better.

“How you feeling, Bunny?” Natasha asks, trying to find some signs of life behind your glazed-over eyes.

“So fucking good! I feel so good, Mommy!” you gasp out, mouth dry and lunges seemingly devoid of oxygen.

The woman above you just laughs, though, throws her beautiful head back and laughs and oh God – oh God you need to find it in you to tell her to stop doing that because you’ve only been dating for a few months and her beauty radiates with the power of the sun and you weren’t born with UV-protection in your retinas and if her light doesn’t burn you to a crisp first you think you’re going to fucking explode.

“I’m glad,” she tells you, running her now-wrinkled fingertips over the inside of your trembling thighs. Silence settles of you both as you feel your bones…vibrate? Or maybe that’s chest your heart again – the stupid thing incapable of handling this much joy and pleasure at the same time. It takes a long while for Natasha to speak again, not wanting to spook you in your fragile state. “Hey Bunny?” she asks, watching to make sure you’d heard her. “I’m gonna get you some water, okay?”

You give her a small “okay,” body still as she climbs off your bed.

You’re boneless – inert as you lay there with your arms flat at your sides and your legs in the same bent position Natasha had left them in before she had oh-so meanly abandoned you. Just as before, your chest rises and falls as if a forty-pound weight was pressing into it – each inhale painful and a struggle with the exhales happening all too quickly. It’s unfamiliar, being so satiated. Being with men had left you feeling fine, maybe a little out of breath, but with Natasha? God, you wouldn’t be able to move if the fire alarms went off; you’d just lay here, vision fuzzy around the edges as the smell of smoke came through the air vents. (Then again, given the state of Natasha’s arms, you think she’d be able to carry you out of your apartment building just fine.)

She returns – just as she said she would – with a mug of cold water that she holds as if it was priceless and not something you thrifted for less than a dollar when you had moved from your last apartment.  

“Thanks,” you croak as she hands it to you, watching as you sit up and wince ever so slightly as your sensitive pussy presses into the sheets. You’ll need to change them – and soon – but somehow that feels like an impossible task as you gulp down what, in your state, tastes closer to ambrosia than the shit in your Brita. When you’re finished Natasha takes the now empty mug from you, placing it on your nightstand before hugging you to her chest and pushing you back until you hit the sheets once more, lying down next to you and throwing her arm around your waist.

“You good, Bunny?” she asks again, a part of her always worried about you no matter how much euphoria pooled in your veins.

You nod as you curl into her side, leaving a kiss on her collarbone as you listen to her heartrate slow as it returns its resting pace. It’s calming, that combined with the feeling of her fingers twirling in your mused hair lulling you into the deepest sleep you’ve had in weeks.  

[illfoandillfie]

Maybe a ben POV one? where bens off on a movie shoot and misses you and wants to fly you out to him but he’s worried it’s too much of a “romantic gesture” like in movies so he doesn’t want to weird you out but then on the phone you say how much you miss him too so he gathers the nerve to ask you and you’re like duh ofc I’ll come you dork (im envisioning this still kinda early in the qpr maybe right after platonically or smth)

Thank you so much babe!!

This is the second of the blurbs for my Platonically themed event! This one follows directly on from the one I posted yesterday so maybe read it first.

Words: 1,759

Warnings: just two idiots being dummies. Minor references to sex and probably some swearing but that's about it.

Reflecting on the situation, Ben had come to the conclusion that it was the perfect time to be in Greece. The run of beautiful weather they’d had over the course of the last month must have set some sort of record, he thought. Every day was blue skies, white fluffy clouds, and the sort of heat that was comfortable and not overly sticky. It made working a dream, especially when half the film seemed to take place on the beach. The sand was warm under his feet and the water clear and cool. They didn’t have much down time since the studio was pushing for it to be finished ASAP so they could release it at the optimal time, but the few days off they did get, Ben spent either fishing with some of the crew or else exploring the picturesque town they were in. There was just one downside. You weren’t with him.

Whenever the thought crossed his mind, whenever he really started to miss you, he’d remind himself that he loved his job, loved that it took him to exciting and beautiful places. And then he’d send you a quick message to check how everything was back home. He called too, mostly in the evenings after he got back to his hotel room. But the deeper into the project he got the more night shoots there were and the later he got back to his room. What brief conversations you had were good but not quite the same as if you’d been there with him. Of course, he’d try to remind himself that it wasn’t like he’d never been away from you before. But those times had all been before you got together, and the changed nature of the relationship made him feel your absence more. He never said that to you though. Mostly, when you could talk, Ben would ask how you were and talk about the exciting things he saw. He’d tell you about the beaches or the trinket shops and say how much you’d like them but he’d never tell you exactly how badly he wished you were with him. He didn’t want you to take it the wrong way and he didn’t trust himself to explain it properly. Whenever he tried to verbalise it (quietly, to his reflection or the dark hotel room he was staying in) he worried it came out too...well, romantic.

The truth was, he’d always been attached to you, since very early on in your relationship. You just got him. His sense of humour and his personality and the way he thought. It took him no time at all to start referring to you as one of his best friends and it was a title you’d held for years. But then he’d realised the way he liked you wasn’t strictly platonic, and it made him feel weird around you. More uncertain than he was used to. He found it hard to describe the relief he’d felt when you agreed to think about his QPR idea or how, when you’d accepted, it had alleviated the uncertainty and doubts that had been plaguing him. To you it would probably sound sappy and sentimental and tat all what you wanted to hear from him. Of course the QPR was really just an extension of your friendship. More or less the same, just a few new ways to show affection like kissing and getting you off (both things Ben greatly enjoyed), and a few new words that made it specific to the two of you. And maybe a new future too, depending on how things went. But again, while he might think those sorts of thoughts, he wouldn’t know how to begin saying any of them to you. Because he was starting to really want that future with you, and saying so might make it impossible to get there.

So Ben allowed himself to miss you quietly. Occasionally an idea of inviting you to join him would pop into his head. But he always let the thought go as quickly as it came. The weeks ticked by like that. Texting when you could between scenes and less and less frequent calls at night, which left Ben’s head swimming with lots of unsaid things. Progress was made on the movie too, most of the beach scenes wrapped and everyone moving to other parts of the script. Until everything came to a screeching halt. Ben wasn’t entirely sure what the problem was – something to do with scheduling conflicts or maybe special equipment that hadn’t arrived on time. All he was told was that things would be back up and running soon but it might take an extra few weeks to complete the project. He didn’t mind so much, it gave him a bit of extra free time after all, but it also meant he wouldn’t get to see you again for a while.

The possibility of flying you out to Greece to join him had been rattling around his brain since his third week on set. You could spend a couple of weeks, maybe a month, together. He could take you to that restaurant he’d sent you photos of and show you the handmade stationery shop he’d stumbled across that he knew you’d have fun exploring. And then there was the rest of the town, thin streets to get lost in together and beautiful views to look out over. Maybe you’d like to walk along the beach with him and collect seashells or rent a little dingy to take out on the waves. Once or twice he’d come close to actually asking you to join him but he always talked himself out of it, sure it would be crossing a line for you. Missing you was one thing but offering to buy you a plane ticket and whisk you off on a getaway to a gorgeous Greek island was surely too romantic. But the news of the delay made him consider it again.

That night he called you, smiling as soon as he heard your voice. At first the call was like any other. He listened to you talk about what had been going on since he last had a chance to call, getting caught up on your mutual friends and your work and whatever else came to mind. “But what about you?” you finally said, “You must be pretty busy since I haven’t had a call from you in a little while.” “Well I was busy except not so much right now,” “Oh?” “There’s some sort of delay, I don’t the details. But it looks like I’ll be here for another few weeks at least.” “Oh.” Ben was a little surprised by how disappointed you sounded. “I really miss you,” “I miss you too,” his voice got softer as he said it, “a lot.” “I really wish I could see you,” “Well,” he said sheepishly, hoping he wasn’t reading things wrong, “how would you feel about coming out here then? I can get you a plane ticket if you want.” “No shit! You can do that? You won’t like, get in trouble or anything?” Ben laughed, not quite understanding, “What are you talking about?” “I don’t know man, I’m not an actor. I just figured it’d be like a partner free zone. Like they wouldn’t want you getting distracted or whatever.” “You fucking dork,” his laughter threatened to obscure the words but he managed to make himself heard, “That’s not how it is at all. You being here wouldn’t be a problem, as long as I’m on set when they need me. Plus it looks like we’re about to have a whole lot of downtime anyway. So does that mean you wanna come?” “Ummm let me think abo- of course Ben!” “Well if I’d known you’d react like this I would have asked sooner,” The laughter had faded, leaving a grin on his face, though the embarrassment at his hesitancy was creeping up too. “Wish you had’ve. Why didn’t you?” “I just didn’t want you to take it the wrong way,” “And what way would that be?” “A romantic way? I don’t know! It’s just the sort of thing that’d happen in a romantic movie or whatever and I didn’t want to come across like that. It’s Greece man, it’s kind of a romantic place. Maybe not like Paris but it’s up there. Don’t laugh,” he groaned, “I’m just saying, white sands and clear seas and lots of pretty flowers in bloom, it’s definitely got romantic vibes.” “It didn’t even cross my mind that it might be that sort of thing. No offence to Greece, I’m sure it’s lovely.” Ben let himself chuckle at his idiocy, “I guess cause I’ve like, y’know, got feelings for you or whatever I saw the romantic side and assumed you would too. Feel silly for not just asking you but I’m glad we have that sorted now.” “I think it’s sweet, Ben. I love that you were conscious of how it might be perceived and I understand you didn’t want to hurt me. But yeah, dude, please get me that ticket, I miss you a stupid amount.” “Alright, I’m on it. When do you want to leave?”

Two days later and Ben was content, sitting and staring out at the waves on a quiet beach as you rubbed sunscreen into his back. He’d greeted you at the airport, feeling ridiculously excited to see you, squeezing you in a tight hug (which you later suggested had cracked one of your ribs). “Okay, all done, now let me do your front,” you shuffled around Ben on your knees, throwing a leg over his lap as he leaned back on his palms. “You’re such a perv,” Ben chuckled, subtly adjusting his posture to push his chest further towards you, “I bet you only suggested sunscreen so you could feel my boobs.” “Oh you caught me,” you squirted some more of the cream directly onto his chest, beginning to rub it in, “Definitely nothing to do with sun safety.” “No I get it, you don’t need to lie to me. You missed my pecks. It’s totally natural. But let me know when you’re done so I can show you the same courtesy.” "Think we might save that till we get back to the hotel, Benny,”  Ben laughed at your exasperated expression, raising one arm to pull you toward him for a kiss, barely noticing the cool of the cream still on your palm as you cupped his cheek and kissed him back.

[nimmy22]

A Mistake: Chapter 13

Wesker heard Jill speaking through his hidden earpiece before he reached the barn. "Multiple armed hostiles spotted. Looks like a drug deal gone wrong. They are fighting amongst themselves, one shot fired but no casualties and no hostages yet. Chris, Barry, and I are getting the drop on them while they're distracted. Brad and Joseph are looking for their getaway vehicles. Over." Jill spoke quickly, her voice slightly muffled by the shouting of the other panicked party guests.

"Roger that," Wesker replied coolly through his walkie-talkie. Good, everyone was following protocol for situations like this. Looking at his watch, it was 2:35 AM. They should be done here before the sun was up, possibly each in their respective homes before then. He won't tolerate failure, especially if it means a delay in taking his present home with him. they needed to have a little chat about limits and boundaries.

Cara was too daring tonight, especially towards some boy she hardly knew. A boy who was her age, someone any girl would be proud to introduce to the parents.

Stroking the outline of his concealed gun, he had watched their dance from his place in the dark. He fought hard the impulse to kill, his nails biting into his palms like wasps. He gritted his teeth, knowing he wasn't the one to get to dance with her. That filthy boy was desecrating a temple. He'll make sure to teach her a classier way to dance, having witnessed such atrocious moves. Teenagers were unsophisticated at times.

Why did it have to be her? Why couldn't he have some affair with some umbrella bombshell? Things would've certainly been a lot simpler, with much less loss of sleep. Her face always filled his mind each and every night, haunting him endlessly.

Cara should've died many attempts ago, yet here she was, laughing and dancing with some other guy, pulling him in for a kiss. Wesker's lips curled into a cruel smile seeing the girl who often leaves him sleepless, choosing to return his efforts and protection with the worst kind of betrayal. He had been burned tonight, but now he will burn everyone.

Amongst the people barreling out the barn, Wesker spotted the boy who dared touch what didn't belong to him. He was helpless, shoved around in the stampede of a crowd with no real strength to push back. Wesker moved in his direction, purposefully driving his shoulder into the fleeing boy.

The contact lasted a second before the boy ran for his car. With a smirk, Wesker pocketed the wallet after looking over the name of the owner. James Hunter. Address: 243 charlotte road. In due time, the boy will reap what he sowed.

He spotted Joseph and Brad bugging a van among the parked cars outside, giving them a nod. As he stepped into the barn, he spotted Jill taking out her taser. There were two men on the ground, tackled by Chris and Barry and in the process of being cuffed.

A third man was on his knees, his body jerking as Jill delivered a shot of electricity through a taser. "You brought the fucking cops here? I knew you were an informant!" he shouted at the cuffed men between violent spasms. He was no older than twenty with a black duffel back hugged close to his body. He kept trying to reach for the gun he must've dropped, but Jill zapped him again. He was persistent and continued to reach for his weapon, spittle flying out of his mouth as his body spasmed.

Kicking the gun out of his reach, Wesker delivered a sharp kick to the man's stomach, watching him fold over. Planting a knee into his back, he twisted his arm, earning a pained groan. The movement was automatic as he began the arrest process, stating his rights in a monotonous voice. Jill moved to retrieve the black duffel bag, unzipping it to reveal the wrapped bundles of white powder. No doubt cocaine.

"That's a hefty block of sugar," Jill joked, juggling three bundles with surprising skill. But Wesker still lost interest after two seconds.

Everything was going smoothly until a fourth man stepped into the barn. In his grip was a hostage dragged by her hair.

Seeing who was being dragged had Chris lose his calm and run towards the man, aiming his gun. "Let her go, you fucker!" Chris roared, breathing erratically with teeth curled over his teeth. Every fiber in his been stood tense and ready.

"Throw away your guns first," the man warned, digging the muzzle of his gun against the struggling girl's head, ending her resistance.

"Stand down, Chris," Wesker ordered and sighed when Chris didn't comply. Instead, he offered more death threats.

"Chris, you know how we handle hostage situations! Do you want me to write you up for insubordination?" Wesker hissed, growing impatient with the show of open defiance. A dead hostage will create a headache with the Chief in toe.

"He's got his hands on my fucking sister!" Chris's hands gripped the gun tightly, shaking his head furiously.

"I am well aware," Wesker regarded the tearful girl, held so tightly by the neck her toes barely touched the ground. With every threat and step Chris took towards them, the man held Claire even tighter, using her as a human shield.

Wesker walked up to Chris before taking hold of the gun. After staring down his Captain for what felt like an eternity, Chris begrudgingly let go of the gun. Wesker threw it at the hostage-taker's feet along with his own. Jill followed suit.

"State your demands," Wesker addressed the hostage-taker coolly. His interest was more on maintaining the reputation of STARS than on saving the female version of Chris. Any headache was a good one to avoid.

"First, take off the fucking sunglasses hotshot. Second, give me that bag." The man demanded, pointing his chin to the bag next to Jill.

With a raised eyebrow and a bemused smile, Wesker took off his shades before pocketed them. His icy blues pierced the man, watching him take a sharp breath, a slight tremble to his hands.

"You need to let her go first, and then the drugs are all yours. No one will go after you. Our priority is the safety of all civilians and law enforcement officers. Let's all get home safely." Wesker stared directly into the hostage-taker's eyes, his posture relaxed, speaking as if conversing with a friend.

"Do you think I'm stupid? I ain't falling for that shit again. Bag first."

As Wesker turned around to go grab the bag, he whispered into his walkie-talkie. " Joseph and Brad, be ready for an armed hostile at the south exit. Over." with an affirmative answer from both officers through his earpiece, he picked up the bag. He proceeded to walk closer to the hostage-taker, his free hand up in the air.

"Stop, don't come any closer. just throw it over."

"As you wish," complying, Wesker threw the bag, watching as it slid across the floor to stop near the man.

The man kept eyeing the exit furthest from them before bending to pick up the duffel with jerky movements. Sweat pooled on his forehead as he pondered his next move. Slowly he inched backward, his eyes not leaving the three officers. He should've known how rotten the deal would go. His hands were so clammy the gun kept slipping. He swallowed as a pillar of hay blocked them from view, and he was quickening his steps to the exit.

"Move it!" he hissed, dragging Claire to her feet as she stumbled.

"Let me go, you fucker!" Claire wailed, fighting against him.

"Shut up, you little bitch. You're my ticket out of here. Stop struggling, and don't think I won't blow your brains out."

As they made it just outside the door, another gang member appeared. "Casper, that you man?" he called out and suffered a kick to the chin.

"No names, you little shit!" the hostage-taker hissed, spittle flying into his partner's face.

"Sorry man-"

"Any more of our people left?"

"Well, there was them, but they're caught up with the cops over there," he pointed to an area where two gang members wrestled with Brad and Joseph.

"Let's go, start the van. We're getting the fuck out of here. I have the drugs. We'll sell em' in another town." they ran to the van, dragging Claire with them. Opening the back of the van, they were about to shove her inside until a voice shouted.

"Wait! Please don't take her!" Cara cried, stepping out from behind a car right next to their van. She had been watching them drag her best friend out of the barn.

"Cara, no! what the hell are you doing?" Claire hissed, forming wild motions with her hand for her friend to get the hell away. This was the stupidest thing she had ever seen.

Without an ounce of thought, she shouted. "Take me instead!"

"Your pretty dumb shit. but it's not like I want to watch two hostages while the cops come after us," the man holding Claire spat. "You go, and you get in the van now!" he shoved Claire to the ground before grabbing Cara by the collar and shoving her inside. Slamming the doors shut, he and his partner were quick to get behind the wheel, ignoring Claire as she banged on the doors.

Before Claire could chase the van, she was grabbed from behind. "Let go!" she shoved frantically, watching the van get further and further away down the dirt road through the cornfield.

"Mrs. Redfield, you're already in enough trouble as it is. don't add to the list." Wesker pulled her by the arm, confused as to why she would ever chase the car of the people who held her at gunpoint moments ago.

"You don't understand they have-" Claire grabbed the front of his jacket, looking at him pleadingly.

"Enough Claire!" Chris hissed, detaching her arms from his Captain and dragging her off to the side. Opening the door to his undercover car, he shoved Claire inside. He was about to slam the door, but she stuck her arm out.

"Chris, please, you have to listen to me. they have-"

"I'll listen once your ready to tell me why you're out in the middle of nowhere and drinking underage. what part of 'be careful' did you not understand?"

Straightening out his jacket as if nothing happened, Wesker placed his shades back in their rightful place. He watched Joseph and Barry get into a car before giving chase as Brad herded the arrestees into an undercover cruiser. It was a tight fit with three bulky men sharing the backseat. He will interrogate them tomorrow, finally shoving the leads down Iron's throat so he would shut up.

Walking over to the STARS undercover van, he looked over their communication devices and smirked as the tracker on the culprits' van signaled their exact GPS coordinates. Umbrella was generous with the tech donations to the police department, making the job all that much easier.

Picking up a radio, he connected to the team's frequency. "Hostage is secured. Jill and I will set up a blockade based on their GPS coordinates. If they push you, push harder. I don't care if you flip them over. Make sure they don't get away. Over."

He walked towards Chris and frowned; his mouth set in a grim line. "Seeing as you are currently busy, I think you should go home, Chris." With a glance at the feuding siblings, Wesker knew he couldn't use Chris tonight.

"What? You're not leaving me behind. They had their hands on my sister. How the hell am I supposed to let someone else catch them? it should be me." Chris exhaled through his teeth, glaring at his Captain.

"Are you sure you'll simply put them in cuffs? Right now, you're biased. Your emotions are not in the right place. Go home and help your sister get sobered up. you can't afford mistakes that will ruin your career or her getting charged with underage drinking."

"Is that a threat?" Chris blinked, speaking dangerously slowly, glancing between his captain and sister.

"It's a warning. Now go. you've done enough tonight."

Getting into the van with Jill, Wesker saw Chris punch a lamp post and smirked. His smile was gone as he thought about how he will have to discipline Chris all over again.

Remembering what he left behind in the junkyard, he paged one umbrella's bribed cops to go and fetch her. Cara will be furious, but she will be safe. She will get over it, having been through much worse. And then they will be home in no time at all.

With Jill in the driver seat, they drove off with Wesker looking over the communications equipment, directing Barry and Joseph after the signal. It was amusing watching the dealers rest their car, thinking they lost the cops before being chased again. They were too stupid to abandon the vehicle with a tracker on it. He thought out possible blockade locations at predicted intersections where the dealers may go.

Getting to their destination, Wesker and Jill worked quickly to set up the blockade, laying out the tire spikes. Traffic was minimal, but they still left the police siren up. Frowning, Wesker rejected another call made by Chris. To prevent further distraction for the rest of the team, he made everyone change radio frequencies. The scolded STARS member has been calling nonstop through all forms of communication. Wesker ordered the rest of the team to disregard him. Whatever silly grudge the boy had would have to wait until they handed the suspects into the RPD, where they'd be bragging trophies for the Chief.

With their guns out, Wesker and Jill used both van doors like a shield as they stood ready for the lights fast approaching at an illegal speed. A familiar vehicle flanked the white van, leaving more and more impressions against the exterior as they smashed into each other over and over. Barry was enjoying himself tonight.

"Captain! There is another hostage!" Chris shouted through the radio. He must have figured out their new frequency change.

"What? Enough of this, Chris. You are off the mission. What you're doing now is interference with official police business, and you know the consequences. last chance, Chris." Fed up, Wesker slammed the radio on the dashboard, gripping his gun tighter. As the van came closer, he fired several shots at the tires, and the van began swerving on wobbly tires.

"What's up with Chris?" Jill glanced over at her boss, seeing the overly familiar scene of Chris and Wesker clashing. She, too, fired a couple of rounds.

"He claims there is another hostage," Jill grew stiff, her eyes growing wide. She was quick to lower her gun.

"On no, I thought his sister was the only hostage. then what the hell are we doing!"

"Likely, he just wants back in on the mission and is being childish," his voice was as sharp as his next shots into the engine.

"Are you sure Captain? Chris may be thick-headed, but he wouldn't lie. especially about something like this."

Wesker opened his mouth, but no words came out. No, he wasn't sure without a doubt. Something felt off to him. Like the feeling he had in the parking lot of the Hospital. Later that same day, he ends up finding Cara almost being used for an experiment.

His pager went off, and he quickly read the message with a sinking feeling. 'Nobody at the junkyard, Captain. Just a pack of stray dogs.' What were the chances of Cara being the hostage? She was a magnet for trouble everywhere she went. So, there was a very high chance.

Wesker lowered his gun, but the damage was already done.

The van swerved before flipping over three times, sending metal debris all over the road. Before the van stopped sliding, Wesker was already sprinting as fast as he could to the wreck. Through the blood rushing through his ears, he barely heard Jill call for an ambulance.

Disregarding the injured men crying for help in the front, Wesker dug through the wreck. The back of the van was crumpled, sealing the doors, and he kicked it in frustration as they refused to budge.

As Jill ran to the STARS van to grab a saw, Barry, Joseph, and Brad watched their captain behave as they'd never seen before. They helped the hostage-takers not so gently exit the heap of metal as they all gawked at their Captain. Returning with the saw, Jill received a death stare as soon as she tried to push her captain out of the way.

Seeing how his behavior has caught the attention of everyone, Wesker begrudgingly had to detach himself from the scene and collect himself. Only he lost it all again as they dragged her body out.

[alpaca-writes]

I have this habit of being very detailed in writing- hopefully not too much that it bores anyone to death. Personally, I love detailing OC's and as many aspects of them as I can before exposing these poor things to pain- almost like a slow-burn for torture, I suppose?

But then it occurs to me as well that maybe I'm just writing a normal story, with villians and heroes and anti-heroes but with more emphasis on the pains they go through.

Oh well, here is my newest creation-

CW: None quite yet. Some strong language, I suppose

MYSTICS

CHAPTER ONE: A NEW JOB

Lyrem Nomadus busied himself, flipping through resumes that bored him half to death and then a little more. Usually, he wouldn’t dare to look for anyone to share his space with. The business of curating, refurbishing and selling occultic items was dreadfully interesting to the general public and the last thing he was looking for was someone new to devalue it with their own useless knowledge and presumed ‘psychic’ abilities. The last two days were full of just that. He pinched the bridge of his wide nose as a mild headache came on- the last interview was a particularly painful thought.

A young man, with a heavily freckled, pale face, and round framed glasses poured over his collection of rocks near the front entrance, started spouting nonsense that Lyrem had little patience for.

“Ooh, malachite. I heard that stuff’s toxic, y’know,” he spoke with little regard for Lyrem standing near the cash register- an old charcoal grey thing with large buttons and made a noise like a classic ‘ka-ching’ just before the receipts printed out and the drawer popped open.

“Hm,” Lyrem hummed unamused, hoping it would prompt some style of professionalism from his prospective interviewee. It did not.

The young man continued to look around the store, finding one hematite pendulum specifically fascinating. Then he found his attention drawn to a display of elegantly designed tarot cards. The young man picked one of them up, studying the hierophant with mild interest.

“Please do not touch the merchandise.” Lyrem cut in.

The young man placed the card back down on the glass shelf, slightly askew to the rest on display. He cleared his throat and approached the register, finally.

“Did you bring a copy of your resume?” Lyrem asked him, knowing what the answer likely was, as there was nothing in his hands. He wore a long black trench coat over ratted, torn jeans and a plain tee shirt. There was one chain dangling from a pocket somewhere.

“Yessir,” he answered.

Oh, perhaps this boy had a hope after all.

After reaching into his back pants pocket with effort, the resume was presented, folded into six sections as a single piece of paper. A folded and clearly used napkin fell out onto the floor. Lyrem breathed deeply, took the folded resume, and smiled.

“Thank you for applying, but I am afraid you are not quite the right fit for this position,” Lyrem didn’t bother opening the paper, and instead tossed it over his own shoulder. It landed directly into the bin behind him.

“I-I’m sorry? You haven’t interviewed me yet”- his eyes widened with the confusion of the sudden rejection.

“Hm. I have interviewed you plenty, and I tell you now, I’d have a mangey dog run my store before you.” He didn’t mean for his tone to be so casual. Lyrem blinked.

The poor boy took a moment to process the insult before glaring across at the owner of Mystics ruthlessly. Suddenly, his fist pounded the desk, sending a short tremor through the wood.

“Anybody with half a brain could do this job! For fuck sake’s, man!”

Lyrem looked at him with a simple eyebrow raised and cocked his head toward the door. He was tired these days. The less he chose to care about children’s tantrums, the better. The boy left in a huff, and clearly, he tried slamming the jingling door behind him as he stepped out onto the street, but the spring against the top disallowed such havoc, and bounced slowly back. It closed finally with a light click, and the young man was gone.

Releasing the pinch from his nose, Lyrem sighed. He didn’t know which one was worse, that boy who left a trail of disrespect in his wake, or the woman from the previous day who was convinced that she could speak with his mother in the afterlife. The sullen woman wore gems aplenty on her fingers and hanging from ropes and chains around her neck. The wire wrapped amethysts in particular, caused her to look like an easter egg more than a living person. She didn’t take it too kindly when he explained that the stones around her finger were not a genuine turquoise either. By the end of it all, she was rather happy to be finished.

He shuddered, remembering the strong scent of patchouli she left that seemed to linger within his store, even now.. He didn’t have an aversion to patchouli, or to amethyst or turquoise, or even easter eggs… at least he hadn’t one before two days ago.

The rest of the applicants were all the same. Wanted a job, wanted something easy, and for experience- and all the time, Lyrem would ask himself: “experience for what, exactly?” Instead of asking the question aloud, he’d thank the person, and politely send them on their way out, with a promise to call them when he had made a decision.

He wasn’t planning to call anyone.

It was a Tuesday afternoon. The streets would be bustling past four, and if he wanted to avoid it and give himself a break from the eye strain, he would need to go for his coffee now, or not have one until after six. The horror.

He flipped over the sign on the door. It was one of those apologetic ones- as though it would stop a person from throwing a brick through a window for being closed on a weekday. Lyrem locked the door and turned to his right. There was a small local place not far from the corner of the intersection that he had grown accustomed to. If they had the raspberry scones today, he decided he may take one of those as a treat. Lost in thought, he crossed in front of a small white car making its left turn. The car stopped, though no horn was sounded as the engine suddenly died inexplicably next to him.

Lyrem walked around the car and poked his head through the passenger-side window which was open for the cool breeze. The driver looked back at him, his hands gripping the wheel too tightly.

“Pedestrians have the right of way, you know,” he mentioned calmly. Then, he tapped the top of the car twice. It restarted. “Drive a little safer, now.”

The driver suddenly remembered that the car was still in gear, and he moved along, crossing the intersection and left Lyrem behind like everything he had just done was part of some fever dream. He chuckled lightly and turned back down the block.

It was a sun-filled day, without a cloud in the sky, and it was a warm one too. Despite the fact that it was still early April, and the city had only just started waking from its hibernation from the cold, the streets were filling quickly with people.

His coffee took a while, which he forgave only because the end result was quite often a perfection, but he was nearly pouting at the counter as the spot for raspberry scones were replaced with one with blueberries instead. Losing his appetite, his eyes drifted around the rustic establishment. The sounds of a classical guitar filled the room with the unmistakable talents of the virtuoso, Andrés Segovia. It was a nice change from the sounds of folk rock and boy bands. The coffee shop was only getting better and better with age, it seemed.

Against the wall, a cork board was decorated in haphazardly placed notes. Some notes were simply inspirational or funny, some were searching for students for taekwondo or guitar, advertisements for plays and musicals at the local theatre were spread along the outer edges begging to be noticed, and there were a few job postings as well from other nearby establishments, restaurants, including one from a pet store.

He shouldn’t have tried putting an ad on Kijiji at all- not when the perfect people were right here all along. Like Icarus, Lyrem flew too close to the sun, and was burned by the troubling rays of stupidity that came through his door from delving into the ruddy depths of online job hunting. Never again would he make such a mistake.

“Lyre!”

Nodding, he retrieved his cup, and turned back toward the door. He nearly collided with another person, standing close up to the cork board and huffed, not spilling a drop.

“Excuse me,” he muttered.

“Apologies.” The person gave him little notice, but moved off to the side with ease to allow him through.

He furrowed his brows. What was it that was causing him to pause just before reaching the door? There was just… something… off.

It took him a moment before hearing it- the faintest humming to Segovia’s España, Spanish Dance No.10 in G coming from the person who apologized to him for being in the way. Each note timed perfectly to the sound from the speakers in the corner. He turned his head, to a particularly high note, the humming stopped to be replaced with fingers tapping in unison to the notes against their thigh.

“Guitar?” He asked, suddenly beside them. He studied the board also.

“No,” they replied. “Just looking for a job.”

He nodded, grimacing. Raising his hopes one final time, he ventured.

“I have potential work for you. I am hiring at my store’s location down the street. If you are interested.”

“That seems coincidental.” They replied unemphatically sifting through the other job postings there, knowing they were not currently dressed for success. “What store?”

“Mystics. It’s along twenty-third and”-

“-seventeenth, yes, I know the place.”

“Then you’re hired.”

They stopped, and brought their hands down from the board, and turned to stare their deep brown eyes into his of deep hazel- to finally spare a glance to the person wanting their attention.

“I don’t have time for practical jokes- or human trafficking, for that matter,” they said with insistence.

“I’m not joking, and I am definitely not in the business of human trafficking”- Lyrem stuttered incredulously. “I thought you said you knew the place.”

“I do.” They replied. “I’ve just never been in. It’s just one of those ridiculous shops for people to waste their money on colourful rocks. There’s literally a river just under the bridge half a mile from here- infinite supply for none of the coin.”

Taking them by surprise, he laughed.

“You will be the worst salesperson.” He said. More seriously, he added, “look, I really am in need of a person to take care of a few evening shifts and the weekends, I pay well above the average rate for any local retail store, and I’d be able to supply you with health benefits.”

This sudden bargain seemed to be interesting enough for the person to distance themselves from the cork board.

“I’m still finishing high school- under eighteen- is that a problem?” They asked. “It’s been a problem everywhere else”-

“Not a problem.”

They nodded.

“When do I start?”

[lo-55]

Playing With Fire Ch. 2

What Do You Know?

@emrysaf

When dawn breaks through the window and assaults your eyes you take a few long minutes to relish the feeling of obliviousness. 

If you lay here for long enough and pretend hard enough that yesterday never happened maybe you can open your eyes to your own living room, or even a hospital room where they’ll tell you you took too many Benadryl and hallucinated everything. 

Eventually you have to open your eyes and look to the ceiling. 

You really don’t wanna do this, but here you are. Doing this. 

You really, really wanna open your eyes and find yourself home, with the storm blown over and your life back to normal. You wanna call your parents, who you never knew you could miss quite this bad. 

You can’t do any of these things. 

All you can do is open your eyes and look at the unfamiliar ceiling.

There’s a few cracks in it that you count while you remind yourself how to breathe. Eventually you have to get up and change into the school uniform instead of the blinding orange jumpsuit. If you remember right you were all supposed to meet in a classroom to get your final assignments, and then jump on a train and go to your new company with a resume in hand. 

You ended up following a pair of girls to the classroom, where you plopped yourself next to Shinra. You didn’t see Arthur or Ogun anywhere, which was weird. If you recalled right Ogun stayed in the fourth after graduation, and he and Arthur were close friends of Shinra, even if Arthus disagreed with that fact for the most part. 

You shoot Shinra a quick grin, and turn to face the front again. 

If you remember right, this was where your were assigned the fourth in the game, along with Ogun. You (or the MAIN character) got in trouble snooping around and Ogun, after hearing your reasoning, turned himself into your own personal body guard. 

Now that you were thinking about it, it might be a good idea to start writing everything you know down. 

God knows you’re gonna forget something important when you need to remember it. 

Er, Sol knows? 

This is stupid. 

You look up at some nameless teacher who paces the front, holding a stack of assignments for you and copies of the applications that had been sent to each of the companies. 

This is it. 

You sit a bit straighter. 

The teacher hands out each person a form. When you look to the side you see Shinra grinning that huge, nervous smile of his and it’s all you can do not to pinch his cheeks and tell him how cute he is. 

The teacher finally hands you your assignment. 

Company 8. 

You do a fist pump. 

“Hell yeah! First choice!” 

A few of your classmates shoot you startled looks. Was your character really so quiet before? 

“Hey, I got the same one,” Shinra poked his head over to see. The list was pretty simple. All it said was the company number, their captain, leuitenant, and address. A glance around revealed that everyone else had a whole packet of information on their new companies. But 8 was so small, and so new, apparently they didn’t warrant it. 

That was fine. You already knew enough it hardly mattered. 

“We’ll be together then,” you say cheerfully. “Wanna take the train together?” 

Please say yes. I don’t know where the train station is. Or how to ride one. 

Shinra nodded, “Yeah. Sounds like fun.” 

“Wanna meet at my room and we’ll go? It says we’re supposed to meet them at their station this afternoon.” 

“Are you sure?” Shinra looked startled. You poked his cheek. 

“I wouldn’t have said it if I wasn’t, babe.” 

Shinra suddenly looked unsettled. “You’re not just doing this to mess with me, right?” 

“Mess with you?” You cocked your head. “What would I do that for?” 

He didn’t have an answer for that, but it made you sad. You knew he got teased a lot, but was it really so bad he thought you being friendly was a trick? 

You were so gonna get in a fight here someday. 

You flipped your company eight paper around so you could take a look at the copy of your resume that they’d be getting there. It was pretty bare bones. It had your name, age, weight, height, blood type, and listed you as a Second Class Fire Soldier, as well as your grades. They were all pretty average, but apparently you were good at math. 

You didn’t have a home address, but it did say you were Ueno, but that part you knew already. In the game you’d gone to Asakusa on an errand, done a bunch of side quests, and found out that Ueno was your home town and it was nearby. It was mostly made of museums and old buildings. 

Still nothing about your pyrokinesis. Damn it. 

This was starting to get annoying. 

“So I’ll see you in a few hours, right?” You clarify quickly, looking up at Shinra. 

Shinra still looks surprised, but he nods quickly, with another small smile. “Yeah. I’ll see you then.” 

You bump fists with him again before you retreat to your room. 

You take to your desk and grab a pencil and paper to try to write down everything you remember, in english for good measure. You don’t know how you know japanese now, but then again you don’t know a lot of things lately. 

What I know for sure: 

MAIN CHARACTER’s family is from Ueno. They died in an infernal fire. They had a sister they’re looking for. They have their sisters ring, a scar on their wrist, and lighter that’s connected to the Tragic Back Story. After the fire SISTER enrolled in the Fire Force Special Academy, leaving MAIN on their own for a few years. She disappeared not long after graduating, and MAIN joined to try to find her in turn. 

In the original game MAIN joins fourth company, which their sister was a part of before her disappearance. In their first night there they dream of a man in a red suit who smiles and pats their head. He’s probably important. Maybe dad??? Likely dead. They snoop around and get in trouble a couple of times, but the captain is on their side and let’s it slide with a slap on the wrist? And no mention of wanting to be lit on fire. He’s a cool, if weird old dude. 

Ogun takes it upon himself to look after MAIN after they nearly get arrested looking into 5th company. 

    Note, avoid the Princess until after Shinra works his magic. 

A choice is made: agree to let Ogun help or ditch him. 

MAIN chose help and together THEY snuck into the Holy Sol Temple. While Ogun looks above, MAIN manages to find a door leading down to old training grounds.

    Note. MAIN didn’t know they were for the shadow sun whatever they were called training. 

MAIN gets lost and pops out at the end of a tunnel, where Joker happens to be setting some cards up. 

    Note . Why???? 

A choice is made ; Tell Joker the truth or lie. 

MAIN admits to Joker that they’re looking into a disappearance, and suspect the church of having something to do with it. They admit that they think the entire situation is a little hazy, and the history is a fragile thing. After that Joker is considered a Friend.  

MAIN returns to Ogun, but only hints at what they found underground. That night they dream of the Man in Red, who tries to speak to them and pats them again. They notice he has a ring with the same design as their own. 

MAIN also spent time in Asakusa with Benimaru Shinmon and Konro. MAIN was little more than an over glorified messenger at the time, but took advantage of the opportunity to see their old home. (UENO) 

    Note. Benimaru is hot

A choice is maid ; leave at once or help out. 

Did a buncha side quests in Asakusa when MAIN stumbled on an old subway entrance in the basement of a restaurant they were working in. The owner says it’s dangerous to go down, but there are a few other holes around the city. Most have been boarded up long ago. 

MAIN, not knowing what they are, leaves them be. 

    Note. Were the subways part of the underground church forbidden place??? Asakusa doesn’t follow the church? So they don’t think they’d curses just dark and flooded? 

MAIN goes home. Rumors of the White Clad begin to circulate, and MAIN goes to company eight to ask Shinra about them directly, thinking that their sister might have been taken by them. 

. . . 

You look at your paper and realize something vital. 

You’ve misspelled maid. 

Fuck it. 

You also write the three powers you could have picked down in blue ink, taking the last pen in your drawer out.

The fire wings, Phoenix in the game. They were support type, with heavy defense properties and minor healing powers, but you couldn't fly which was lame. 

The fire spear, the Sun Lance, was a damage type power. It took fire from around you and made a blade at the end of a long stick. Technically it was a spear, but if you flipped it upside down you could ride it like a witches broom. That one you could fly with, but not the wings. 

The magnet sand, Dark Desert, was a tank type. They made a lot of long range weapons and smashed through fire pretty easily and made strong walls, but it couldn't get too close to you or you yourself will take damage, and you can’t move while you use it. 

They’re all really cool, but you still don’t know which you have and you have no idea how to find out. And you can’t ask anyone or you’ll look crazy! 

...Maybe you should arrange an ‘accidental’ fall down the stairs and claim anmesia. 

Just when you’re seriously considering that option a harsh knock sounds on the door. 

You jump and smash your arm so hard into the drawer you actually break the bottom out of it. 

“Shit! Just a second!” You yell at the door. You scramble to try to hide the evidence when you realize ; the drawer isn’t broken. The bottom is fake. 

You carefully extract, from within, a thin, red, leatherbound book. A look at the inside cover shows you a note. 

To keep your thoughts in order, you scatter brain. 

<3 Fuyuki

Another knock sounds. 

“Hey! Are you ready to go?” Calls Shinra from the other side. 

“Y-yeah! Just a second!” You stuff the book into the front pocket of your bag and throw yourself to the door. You swing it open and throw Shinra back with your blinding grin. 

“Let’s go!” 

~

When the two of you board the train, each clutching your bag close, you’re forced to stand shoulder to shoulder with Shinra, who ends up keeping up his grin the whole time even though you can see him visibly straining to stop it. 

It probably doesn’t help that you keep looking at him, but oh well. 

The second you step out on the platform the screaming starts. A burning train is on its way. An infernal. You and Shinra scramble towards the sound, with Shinra in the lead, and come to a halt just in time to see the train stop. Fire streams out the windows and a creature from a nightmare crawls out of door. 

You swallow thickly. You can smell burning flesh. You can feel heat on your skin. 

This is real. 

You tear your eyes away from the walking corpse in time to see Company 8’s bad ass entrance. They’re all so cool! Maki is such a badass, and Obi is way too strong, and Iris is sweet faced and determined- 

You’re barely able to focus on the infernal itself, and you actually forget that the big metal sign is going to fall up until it happens. 

Shinra shoots off like a bullet. 

You’re left behind, your hair whipping behind you and your arm raised to protect your face while Shinra saves Iris for not-the-last-time. 

You watch him introduce himself, for a moment feeling like you’re just an observer. Its not really intruding, but the familiarity of it all doesn’t help anything. 

It’s not until Shinra points at you and says your name that you snap to attention. Your body knows to salute even if you don’t. 

“Sir!” You echo. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. That was totally awesome, sir.” 

Obi gives you a brief once over before he nods, seriously. 

“Yes. Yes it was. It’s good to have the two of you. Come on. We should get going, back to the cathedral.” 

You and Shinra hurry to grab your things and follow after the four of them. 

When they’re not looking you elbow Shinra. 

“That was so cool!” You hiss. “I didn’t even have time to react and you totally saved the sister!” 

“A-ah, you really think so?” Shinra looked away, his cheeks pink and his grin huge. He scratched his cheek in embarrassment. “ I just did what any hero would!” 

You laugh and swing your arm around his shoulder. “True! Still, it was really awesome. I know I can count on you to help me in the future, right?” 

Shinra nods quickly, however embarrassed he might be.

“Yeah! Or I’m not-” 

You don’t get to hear his new, weird nickname. You’re cut off by the fact that instead of loading into a matchbox the captain has called you a cab. 

That’s weird. 

You know that’s weird. 

“...I don’t get it, but I’m not fighting it,” you say after a minute, and crawl inside. Shinra follows suit and the two of you finally make your way to the run down cathedral. 

Home suite home. 

 ~  ~

A/N So which power do you guys wanna see?

Dark Desert, Phoenix, or Sun Lance? Please let me know!

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Day 7: “Is that vodka? At 7 in the morning?”

masterlist

Non-descript, non-canon compliant AU

This fought with me the entire time so im sorry if it seems a little all over the place 

Piper Mclean hated the club. It was loud and noisy and full of people who smelled like they bathed in tequila and coconut rum every evening. She didn’t understand why anyone enjoyed the dense atmosphere with music pulsing into the very fibres of your being and rattling your bones till they ached the next day. She much preferred close gatherings with a few friends, low music, and conversation that doesn’t involve screaming “YOU GOOD?” in someone’s ear every few minutes.

Despite all this, she found herself standing in the middle of Vibe with liquor and smoke clinging to her hair, trying very hard not to look like she was having the worst time of her life. It clearly isn’t working.

“Don’t look so glum Pipes! It’s not my fault you lost our bet.” Percy Jackson leans into her, a lopsided grin on his face.

“Oh I’m enjoying myself thoroughly,” She puts on a bright smile, fakeness leaking from between her teeth. “I hate you so much. You couldn’t have chosen any other consequence.”

“Sorry Pipes,” He looks too gleeful. She can’t wait to get him back. “It was either this or dive naked into the infected pond and Annabeth banned me from that because she didn’t have time to go to the hospital.”

Before she could even process the elements of that statement, the blonde mentioned saddles up to them, a pretty smile lighting up her face. “Hello girlfriend.” She kisses Piper’s cheek, leaning into her so their bodies pressed together.

“Hello traitor.” She grumbles, but wraps an arm around her waist.

“Traitor?” Annabeth frowns, confusion and distraction making the grey of her eyes look like rain clouds.

“Apparently you’re to blame for my being here instead of at the hospital being treated for pond infections.”

Her girlfriend pulls a face that is equal parts disgusted and adorable. Her nose scrunches up so the small smattering of freckles from various archaeological digs disappear entirely, and her eyebrows scrunch together so the crease in her forehead deepens. “I have a dig next week. I can’t afford to be watching you puke your guts out in a hospital.” And then she turns a sobering glare towards Percy, who is still standing there with an amused look on his face, “I’ll make you and her jump in that stupid pond. Then you can be bed-pals as you throw up into the same bucket.”

Piper and him let out a groan of disgust at the vivid image. She shoves her girlfriend's shoulder, scowling playfully. “Go spread your propaganda somewhere else! I want to wallow in peace.”

“Orrrrr,” A gleam enters those grey eyes and she knows instinctively that whatever would come next would be tomorrow’s regret. She is ready. “Or we can do shots until the liquor tastes like water?”

“Are you serious?” She is shocked at the suggestion. Annabeth has never really been a ‘let’s get wasted’ kind of person.

“Come on, don’t be a downer!” She waggles blonde eyebrows.

Percy chimes in with a splitting grin of his own, “First one to fall has to-”

“NO!” The blonde cuts in, “No more dares you two. I’m banning you for the rest of the month. We all need a little time to relax.”

They both give her indignant looks, “What? Who’s we?”

She glares at them, “The rest of us who have to look after you two whenever you decide to do something dumb that is going to get one or both of you inured.”

Their twin looks of dismay are almost comical and Annabeth’s lips twitch like she’s holding in a laugh. “Let’s do shots before you keel over and die.”

Piper doesn’t have time to protest before blonde curls are whipping past her vision and a hand is tugging hers towards the bar, which is crowded by people and makes her want to run in the opposite direction. But the warm hand in hers gives a squeeze as if her girlfriend had known what she was thinking, and suddenly everything doesn’t seem so overwhelming. They hit the wood of the counter with a thud and she knows she’ll have a bruise on her hip tomorrow, but Annabeth turns to her with a light like gilded rain and fine beauty and she knows she’d throw herself off a cliff to see that smile.

“What’s your poison?” Percy looks to them, mischief gleaming in his emerald eyes.

They share a look that crackles like midnight and trouble and turn to their friend. “Choose.” Piper winks.

His face lights up like fairy lights and he turns to the bartender, rattling off an order that is guaranteed to put them in the grave. Minutes later a line of shots, some of which she recognises and some completely foreign, is set up in front of them. Four different liquids swirl in the tiny glasses and she can smell the liquor like blood in a trainwreck.

“This is a terrible idea.” Her girlfriend grins.

“Yes.” She winces, “It is.”

“Well then,” Percy looks to them, already holding up the vodka, “Shall we?”

And so they do, and it is burning, and it is lightning, and it is gleaming, and it is fun. And when they’ve finished Annabeth orders more, and they go through those even faster than the first. The alcohol sweeps over them, like waves of gentle haze.

Piper smiles all lopsided as the neon colours blur together. The lights she hated so vehemently now bounce across her vision in a dance that she is all too happy to carry on. A warm hand slips into hers and then they are heading to the dance floor. Bodies writhe against each other to music that is so far away, sounds up in space.

They have more shots, dance even longer, everything is nothing but time and light and liquor and wonder. Annabeth pulls them together and she can feel every soft curve of her girlfriend, and every corded muscle alongside. Their lips meet in a chaste kiss and it makes them laugh for no reason. They try it again and it goes deeper, sweeter, more the taste of each other than the feel of lips. They are eternal.

When they go home, drunk, stumbling, laughing like they mean to remember every second, they are still in each other’s arms. They wave goodbye to Percy who is more sober than they could ever be, the little minx, and crash to the couch with no energy to spare. She finds the blonde’s mouth, presses feather kisses to the corners. Annabeth is already sleeping.

***

Piper Mclean wakes up to the sun directly on her eyes, and a pounding like anvils behind her eyes. “What the fuck did we do last night?”

There is no reply which sets in a mild panic that forces her to open her eyes. They burn like she decided to stare straight into the sun and she sucks in a breath that rattles her brain.

“Annabeth.” Her voice is so croaky. 

“In the kitchen love.”

She groans as she pictures the walk through the apartment, which suddenly seems as large as the Grand Canyon.

“Are you alive?”

She takes stock of her body which feels like it’s been through a washing machine, “No.”

“You want my hangover cure?”

“Yes, get me out of pain!”

And then the blonde is walking into the room and offering her a mug of something she doesn’t bother to analyse before taking a large gulp. Big mistake.

She splutters as the contents hit her tongue, and scorch the back of her throat. “Is that….vodka?” She gasps, “At seven in the morning?”

Annabeth smirks, and it is rude how adorable she looks while she’s ruining people’s livers. “The best way to cure a hangover is to drink more.” And with that she shakes her own mug and downs the rest.

“I hate you.” Piper grumbles, “Get over here so i can hold you and sleep off the blacksmith in my head.”

“Want tablets?”

“Want death.” She squeezes her eyes, “But i guess that’ll do too.”

“Come on Miss dramatic,” Annabeth laughs, “Let’s get you to bed.” 

So Piper is lifted up bridal style by her girlfriend and gently tucked into bed. They sleep the rest of the day off and have deliciously greasy food for dinner. If nothing else, at least she is content. At least she is happy. At least she is home.

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

Tags:

@spoopylucy​

@leydiangelo​

@nishlicious-01​

[whatiswhump]

I thought that- Chapter 1

Hi hi! So I haven’t had any motivation to write lately But I did just reread a 50 page story that I wrote six years ago and I was pleasantly surprised with it. I think I will publish it in a series of chapters. It is a departure from my usual writing style and the beginning is more humorous and sardonic than anything (in fact I find the first chapter to be pretty cringey) but if you’re at all interested, I recommend sticking it out for the whump to come... because not only does the writing get much much better but it gets..... dark™

CW: suicidal ideation, death, attempted suicide

P.S. please let me know what you think! I love comments!

-

I thought that when I finally died, it would be more remarkable than all of my other experiences. I’d come close countless times before but I thought that it be more. I guess I was wrong. Because that night, nothing felt different, nothing was remarkable. I didn’t die like Erin, in a messy tragic fashion. I didn’t die like my dad in a drawn out scraping sort of way. Instead, I was alive and then I wasn’t. Executed before I even knew what was happening. What a fucking bummer.

The night was deep, so deep that I felt as if I could walk into it and it would never end. The water washed against the shore like india ink and the fog threatened to entirely swallow me. I held an old flashlight that flickered in my bruised hand and waited. I was feeling more patient than usual that night actually. Too bad death didn’t feel the same. The fog felt like cotton in my ears and I was fairly content to let my mind wander in the peacefulness while waiting for the shipment to arrive. I was thinking of Erin in her blue dress on the day that she led me away from the picnic and we slept in the wildflowers. I almost felt the sun on my fingertips when the trigger was pulled. By then I was dead. One moment, Erin was in my head and the next, a bullet was instead.

Unluckily for me, the day I died so unceremoniously was not even my last.

Waking up in a morgue is an experience I would not wish upon anyone. Particularly confusing not to mention just exceptionally creepy. Plus being hit from behind is not what one needs after they've been shot in the back of the head at close range. But I don’t blame the mortician. He was only doing his job when I scared the living fuck out of him.

I didn’t care to be alive again once I knew I had died. The man that showed up and dragged me out of the basement of the hospital was particularly annoyed that I didn’t appreciate my newest chance at life. He was especially not happy when I jumped in front of a bus directly outside of my resurrecting place.

Hospital security officers and the odd off-duty medical personnel witnessed said unstable behavior and I was immediately whisked away from the mystery gentlemen and back into the hospital where I was provided with bed restraints. I admit it wasn’t my best plan of action, but I was feeling desperation in the way that people do when they try to bargain for another day to live.

So for the third time in twenty four hours people had control of me in ways I did not wish them too. I suppose I didn’t wish to die but I didn’t want to live again now that the proverbial trigger had been pulled and I certainly didn’t relish being a mental patient. I lay in the bed and looked out the gated window in silence when they first hauled me up there. When I didn’t feel like talking to a doctor and quite possibly a little hostile, they injected something that felt like syrup in my veins. Despite my better (sober) judgement, I started yelling about being resurrected and that ordeal. It was at least a more immediate route into a drug induced sleep.

-

When I opened my eyes I was dismayed to see the fellow with the grey hair again. His face was directly above mine and the first thing I groaned, “fuck”.

He snickered a bit at my friendly greeting and next thing I knew I was dizzy and I was sticking my feet in the way of the doorways we went through at what felt racing speed in a wheelchair. 

“Your name’s John.” I slurred and tried to look back at the stranger maniac.

“Yes, and you’re Clarence.”

“Spot on!” I cheered in my drug induced glee.

“Now do me a favor Clarence. Number one: stop sticking your feet in the way of doorways and number two: stop trying to die. You make my job very difficult.”

“Sure, sure, whatever you say,” I started as I began to close my eyes and then I remembered the revival and took immediate action in the best way I knew at the moment.

“Dammit Clarence!” He hissed at me under his breath as he lifted me back into the wheelchair.

I was not as fast at running as my plan required, nor as capable of getting up off the floor as I assumed I would be.

The commotion of me flinging myself off of quickly moving wheelchairs made enough noise to invite a few people to the hallway. I looked behind me for Mystery John but he had vanished. I tried to explain myself. I don’t think I did it very well.

There was a prick in my arm and radio silence fell over my battered brain again.

-

The next time I surfaced, there were two men in suits staring down at me.

“Um hello?” I said when I realized they weren’t going to speak first.

“Clarence Granger, correct?”

I cracked a coy smile and responded in a manner that didn’t seem appreciated. “May I know who is asking?”

The speaking man’s partner sighed in exasperation. He clearly didn’t want to be interacting with me.

“The FBI. Sound familiar?”

I nodded my head and then tried to conceal an involuntary wince. It still hurt.

“Clarence, we are here because yesterday we found what we presumed to be your corpse on the shore of the Atlantic Sound. You had been shot in the back of the head, point blank. We were investigating further into your murder when we received a phone call. Apparently a very spooked mortician said you weren’t very dead at all and what was a bullet wound on your skull was a mere scar. You were reportedly kidnapped and then proceeded to jump in the way of a bus right out front? Now you’re in the suicidal wing of the hospital?”

“Can you explain any of this?!” The impatient one interjected with a wave of his hands.

I’ll admit it did sound a little odd. I can attest to being dead… and to being alive.

“This isn’t the answer you guys are looking for, but…. No.” I just tried to give a little defeatist wave of my hands but it wasn’t complete with the restraints. 

Mr. Impatient squinted at me for a moment and then turned and walked a few steps away, “Great! Just great! The crazy one doesn’t even know why he is no longer murdered! We saw the bullet wound! He was cold. Stone cold. As dead as they come! You were an ugly corpse!”

“Garrett, Garrett. Let’s just do our jobs alright?” Mr. Even-keel-in-the-face-of-crazy, er, Mr. Even-keel looked at me then and whispered, “Pardon, just a moment.”

“Where am I going to go?” I responded amiably as I rattled the restraints.

He led Mr. Impatient to the corner and there was a little bit of whisper arguing, Then Mr. Impatient straightened his already straight suit jacket with a hough and strode back over.

“Hey guys, guys, could you maybe get these undone?” I gave my wrist and ankles another shake and produced a stupid smile, “I promise I’m not crazy.”

Mr. Impatient’s mouth gaped a little before he remembered to respond, “Did you not just hear everything we just said? Fat chance.”

“What he means to say is that we don’t have control over that, that’s the hospital. Maybe after we finish speaking I can talk to them.”

“Well okay, just thought it would be the decent thing to do, guys. It’s hard to feel comfortable talking to you with them on!”

“Can we just get back to the matter?” Mr. Impatient fumed.

I shrugged my shoulders, “I’d like that.” 

“Okay, what do you remember from that night?”

“Nothing.” (That’s not true.)

(But why would I tell them? I was up to illegal activities!) (See, I can be Mr. Even-keel too.)

“Who do you know that would target you?”

“Mmm.. no one.” (a lie)

“Who kidnapped you from the morgue?”

“No idea.” (All I know is that he is a maniac named John)

“Alright. Why did you jump in front of a bus.”

“Oh I know the answer to this one, I didn’t see the bus before I walked into the street, funny story, really, on that part-”

“There were ten witnesses that said they heard you yell at a man that you didn’t want to live and that you were going to jump in front of the bus.”

“Oh. Did they say that? Are you sure they heard right?” 

“Look kid, are you gonna answer straight or not? You’re wasting our time.”

Wow, Mr. Impatient, that was a little rude. 

From there on out I decided not to speak again. I’d talk when somebody let me off the bed or at the very least brought me a poptart. 

At one point Mr. Impatient grabbed my collar in frustration but Mr. Even-keel cooled him off. I wonder if Mr. Impatient’s wife cheated on him last night? I would if I were her. Honestly I think he should really pick up his attitude. That’s better than being murdered and unwillfully resurrected. Get some perspective, pal.

So. After they left a lot more pissed off than when they had arrived I did a little extra curricular activity and picked my way out of the locks. The only problem was the hallway did happen to actually have a lot of staff members in it and I didn’t get far. Some buff guys in tight white kindly escorted me to a new room with no furniture but really plush walls. Oh. And I started talking about being resurrected again because of another shot to get me there... I may or may have not throw a few elbows at first. I don’t think it really helped my ‘I’m-not-crazy’ case. 

So. Yeah. This week was already fucked and it was only Tuesday.

[sadaboutniall]

something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Twenty Two. July, 2016. 

Exactly two months after Isla graduates from law school, Mully asks Emilia to marry him.

Niall had known it was going to happen—Mully asked him for help picking a ring, reasoning that he must be good at picking out jewelry if Isla still wears the necklace he got her when they were teenagers, even though they broke up ages ago—but it still takes him a little bit by surprise when he sees the announcement on Instagram. There’s something about the tiny square image of their faces pressed together, Emilia holding her hand up to the camera, that makes everything feel so scarily real, so very grown up. 

They throw themselves an engagement party at Babington House, a weekend away with Mully and Emilia’s closest friends—which ends up being Niall, Isla, Deo, Laura, and a bunch of other names Niall has heard in passing, but can’t connect to a face. But this is what happens, he tells himself, clicking YES on Emilia’s email invitation, when you spend five years of your life running away. 

Without letting himself overthink it, Niall texts Isla to ask if she’d want to carpool down together, and she says yes so quickly that Niall suspects she’s doing the same, not letting herself think too hard about this thing, whatever is it, blossoming between them. He picks her up at her flat in South Kensington on the Friday, late afternoon sun streaming over the city, and he ignores the way his heart leaps into his throat when he sees her rush down the steps outside her building, sundress fluttering in the wind, overnight bag banging against her side. She shields her eyes with her hand to look across the street until she spots his Range Rover and he ignores his heart again, screaming in his chest, when he sees her familiar smile, the look of excited recognition on her face. 

She slides into his front seat like she belongs there, like he bought the car imagining her next to him. And maybe, he thinks, glancing toward her as he drives westward out of the city, the sun hitting her cheekbones as she sings along to The Lumineers, maybe he did. 

-- 

‘When Emilia first moved to Mullingar, I have to admit, I was really fucking jealous of her. She swooped in out of nowhere—from a place I hardly even knew existed—and pretty much stole the two most important people in my life right out from under my nose,’ Niall’s standing at his spot at the table, champagne glass in hand, cheeks flushed red from the alcohol, the warm evening, the pressure of giving a speech at your best friends’ engagement. He promised himself he wouldn’t drag it out, wouldn’t bore everyone to sleep, so he carries on. 

‘It turns out I was a little eejit, and Emilia ended up being the greatest, most brilliant addition that our group of friends ever could’ve hoped for. Genuinely, Mia, I’ve never seen Mully happier than when he’s with you. And even though I was jealous that Emilia was joining our friend group, I ended up eating my words a few years later, when I fucked off, got a job, and moved to London,’ there’s an eruption of laughter here, maybe at the idea that what Niall does is a job. He keeps going, smiling, ‘I never really talk about this, but it felt like shit, leaving everyone behind. I fucking hated it. I was lonely and in a new place and everyone I cared about was here, carrying on without me. One of my last nights in Mullingar, before I left for good, I called Emilia.’

Mully’s brow furrows, and Niall takes in a deep breath. This is new territory, something he and Emilia have kept between the two of them for nearly ten years now. ‘I was worried,’ Niall explains. ‘Scared about what I was doing, what I was leaving. Emilia was the only person I knew who’d made a big move like that, to a whole new country, all on her own. She stayed up most of the night talking to me about what that’s like, how it feels, the whole thing,’ he quickly glances over to Emilia, whose eyes are welling up, her lips pressed together in a watery smile. She nods at him softly, a go-ahead for a question he hadn’t asked. ‘Before we hung up, I, uh. I asked her for a favor. It feels a bit stupid, looking back on it, but I was so scared, and I trusted her with so much. Before we hung up I asked Emilia to take care of everyone for me, to keep me in the loop, to protect the people I love the most. And she did. I shouldn’t have, like, doubted that everyone would be okay without me—obviously I’m not that important—but it just felt so good, knowing that I had Emilia to reach out to, that she would let me know if something was going wrong at home. No matter where on Earth I was, I knew I could call Emilia to check in at home. And I did. Loads of times. And she always picked up.’ 

‘Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is: Emilia, we are so, madly, unbelievably, ridiculously lucky to know you—all of us are. But I feel extra lucky because having you in my life has meant that the people who I love most are happy. My two best mates in the whole world are your best mates, too. And you’re about to marry one of them. And I couldn’t be any bloody happier for the two of you, I think I’d literally explode from it if I was.’ Laughter, again, but this time a little more watery, sniffly. Niall feels it, too. ‘Mullz, mate, take good care of her. She’s been taking care of you for me all these years. I love you both so much; there’s no better couple in the world. To Mully and Emilia!’ 

Champagne flutes rise as the table repeats after Niall, ‘to Mully and Emilia!’ and erupts into applause, laughter, jovial chatter. In the din of it all Niall sits back down, cheeks redder than before, a little shaky. 

Next to him, Isla’s hand lands on his knee. 

-- 

As the evening settles into night and the alcohol settles into their bellies and the party picks up, Niall finds himself dancing around Isla—a cat and mouse game as she catches up with uni friends and he messes about with Deo. It feels like hours of it: tossing each other furtive looks, flushing and turning away when the other notices. He catches her gaze lingering on his chest a few times and feels a stirring in his belly as he watches her blush, cheeks burning red in the candlelight, eyes glinting under the moon. He tries not to read too much into it, the way she gasps when he brushes past her, hand grazing her waist, or the way she locks eyes with him while she’s dancing, hands above her head, hair whipping around her face, lips parted. 

She’d said it herself, he thinks, when he has a moment alone by the firepit to catch his breath. She wants to be mates. 

‘Did you really tell Emilia to look after me?’ 

Niall nearly jumps a mile, and Isla bursts out laughing, head thrown back, hands coming out to steady him. She’s like something out of his dreams tonight, cashmere sweater thrown over her sundress, hair pulled back in a ponytail to keep the heat off her neck. There’s a sheen of sweat on her skin, the hair that’s escaped her ponytail curling at the base of her neck, and he wants to press his nose into her skin right there, kiss the sweat away, feel her breathing underneath him. Instead, he takes two deep breaths of his own, and says, ‘I did, yeah.’

‘Can’t believe you didn’t think I could take care of myself.’

‘Ah, Isla—’

‘I’m only messing,’ she touches his shoulder, lingers for just a moment as her thumb presses against the sliver bare skin near his collar. It’s like being on fire, her hands on him again. It’s impossible to keep breathing. ‘That was sweet of you. And your speech was brilliant.’

‘Thanks, petal,’ he says, watching the way she looks down to hide her smile, how beautiful she looks in the warm light of the fire. He feels a flicker of something in his chest—hope, maybe. 

‘This is mad,’ she says eventually, dropping her hand and looking back to Niall. ‘A fucking engagement party. Mully and Mia getting married.’

‘I know,’ he runs a hand through his hair, already disheveled from the dancing, the drinking, the heat. ‘Feel old as fuck.’

‘Literally,’ Isla glances up at the night sky, exhaling deeply. It’s thick with stars out here, over two hours away from the city, and it feels a little bit like they can touch them, if they reach at just the right angle. Instead, Isla drops her gaze back to Niall. ‘You know, all this growing up, getting engaged, getting married stuff…’

‘Mmm?’

‘I just,’ Isla smiles softly. ‘I always thought you and me would be the first.’

A thud in his heart, like someone kicking him directly in the arse. A clenching in his chest, like someone trying to choke him. A rush of electricity through his body, like he’s been struck by a thousand bolts of lightning, all at once. 

How could he have been so fucking stupid?

‘Isla,’ he says, closing the gap between them with one small step. ‘I—’

‘Nialler, Boyne! Everyone’s doing shots!’

It’s fucking Deo. Isla exhales a shaky laugh, hand coming to rest on Niall’s bicep. She gives it a squeeze, flashes him a sad smile, a soft nod. 

‘Not the right time, is it?’ she whispers, as Deo keeps shouting their names behind her. 

‘Isla, no—’

‘It’s always like that with us, isn’t it? I feel stupid for even saying anything.’

‘Isla, I’m—’

‘Always one thing or the other: your work, my school, Deo, being an eejit,’ she shakes her head, and it’s like Niall isn’t there, like she’s talking herself out of it, not listening to him. ‘Sorry. I won’t—I won’t bring it up again.’

And she’s turning away before he can get his shit together enough to tell her to stop, to tell her to come back, to tell her that—for all her massive brains and law school knowledge—she’s never been more wrong in her entire life. 

####

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