#it bothers me that their incredible moment will always be over a prime bottle

[butterflies-anonymous]

Their chemistry and storytelling are just always so brilliant and they're immaculate

[suite43]

"Are you just going to stand there all night?" Starscream muttered, glaring from where he was laying in bed, wings tucked to one side.

"Where else am I supposed to go?" Bumblebee asked. He wasn't looking at Starscream, just standing on the other side of the room, staring out one of the absurdly massive windows at the city below.

Bumblebee sighed. It was late. Really late. Slug was probably getting dragged out of Maccadam's right about now, probably by a cranky Ironhide and the other dinobots. Wheeljack would still be up, somewhere, if not at the bar then tucked away in a workshop or other. Blurr was probably still working. Bee absently wondered what time it was on Earth, and if Optimus was okay, and tried to guess where the Lost Light might be right now.

He missed them.

Recently he'd taken to spending his nights wandering around the massive Iacon tower where Starscream lived. It was always mostly empty in the late hours. He'd mentally mapped almost all of it. Down to the basement to watch whatever the hell Starscream had his mnemosurgeon up to, thinking up ways to chastise him for it in the morning. Around the public spaces, tracing the patterns of the incredible stained glass windows and the tiling of the floors. Up and down dozens of flights of winding stairs that probably would've killed him had he still had a physical body. He still felt an ache in his bad knee, some nights. Through the offices of the delegates, often catching miss Windblade working late, muttering to herself, or occasionally talking to Chromia.

But he knew the tower too well. It was beginning to just remind him of how fucking alone he was. He'd long since overcome any nerves or feelings of impoliteness about eavesdropping, but it was still painful to walk in and out of rooms without so much of an acknowledgement that he'd been there at all. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes in the late late nights in big empty towers where he could scream and yell and stomp as much as he wanted and nobody would so much as blink, a part of Bumblebee began to think that maybe Starscream is right.

Does it even matter? The more sleepless nights spent wandering empty buildings as a pathetic excuse for a poltergeist made Bee start to think that if everyone else was convinced he was a hallucination, maybe he was.

"Where else am I supposed to go?"

Starscream didn't respond at first, leaving Bee to his thoughts. Or maybe he was having thoughts of his own. Equally broody ones, probably. Bumblebee wanted to not care what Starscream was thinking. But he cared.

"You could at least sit down."

///

Days bled into weeks into months, and their interactions became more comfortable, despite everything. There was less denial on Starscream's part, that certainly helped. Being told you're not real twenty-seven times a day by the only person who can see you isn't exactly good for ones mental state, and Bee was greatful for the change.

The nights were still hard.

As far as Bee could tell, he didn't need to sleep. But, even when the stubborn bastard said otherwise, Starscream did. Which meant there were usually at least a few hours Bee had to pass alone.

Most nights does not mean every night, though. Starscream was still an insomniac.

And at some point, Bee had moved from sitting by the window and brooding to dragging the chair closer to Star's bed, encouraged by one too many passionate late-night conversations about some plan or other that they'd gotten way too into.

Being closer to Starscream meant more noticing the tossing and turning, the restless flicker of optics and quiet uncomfortable muttering that filled his nights before Starscream would eventually give up on the whole "sleep" thing, shoving his face into a pillow and letting out a string of swears.

"Are you okay?" Bee asked, one such night.

"What do you care?"

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Tch. Hardly."

"If you're worried about keeping a secret, remember I physically can't talk to anyone else. If you're worried about embarrasing yourself, remember I'm literally dead. No matter what you are actively doing better than I am in terms of survival."

"And yet, that doesn't stop you from being one judgy son of a bitch."

"Eh, it's an autobot thing. Judgy is what we do, isn't it?"

"Agreed," Starscream smirked, despite how exhausted he seemed, and something in Bee's chest gave a slight lurch at the sight.

"Seriously, whats bothering you?"

///

There came a point where "comfortable" became "casual", which became borderline intimate at times, which was astounding. Despite being stubborn and cagey and completely avoidant about 90% of his real issues, Starscream had managed to be genuine for long enough to manage good conversations.

Bee felt much more certain with that. Starscream was connecting with him, in his way. Which meant that Bee couldn't be that fake, or that annoying. He was probably real. Which was confidence-boosting. He didn't dread alone time nearly as much, knowing that he was making an impact on at least one person during the day made the nights a bit easier. Still, Starscream didn't sleep much.

"I don't get it..." He was drunk, and muttering, more talking at Bumblebee than to him, tired and barely coherent and definetly obsessing. Starscream could barely keep his eyes open. He was laying in his bed, which was pressed into a corner of the room, facing the nearby wall.

The nearby wall, which happened to have a Bee blocking the view. He had sat himself in Starscream's bed, in one corner, leaning up against the walls, cane laying next to him, repeating bits of information back to Star and correcting him on this or that detail, rebuttling his more outrageous claims with bored No, you won't's and Really, Starscream?'s.

"You're driving headfirst into a cliffside and then wondering why you aren't getting anywhere," Bee said, interrupting Starscream's latest rambling.

"Well, if you're so smart, what would you suggest I do?"

"Go to bed, tackle it again in the morning when you have the common sense to climb." Bee smiled a little. He sounded almost like Prime. Or maybe more like Wheeljack? Didn't matter. It was solid advice.

"Or fly. I'm a jet."

"Sure, or fly, whatever. Go the fuck to sleep. You need it."

"I don't need you."

"Didn't say you did." Bee rolled his eyes.

"I don't need you to tell me what to do."

"Somebody has to at least try to make sure Cybertron's great and powerful leader isn't falling asleep at his desk tommorow."

"I've earned the right to nap wherever I damn well please."

"Not during a trial. Or a council meeting. Or-"

"We have a council meeting tommorow?"

"Yeah, you do, it's in your schedule. It's early."

"Fuck," he rubbed at his eyes. "I should've thought about that before I went and drank half a bottle of high-grade."

"I tried to warn you." Bee didn't see the point in mentioning that it was considerably more than half a bottle. He'd figure it out in the morning.

"...Thanks." It was quiet, and a little ashamed, and shockingly sincire.

"Um. You're welcome? I do my best."

Starscream stared at him for a moment, expression focused but unreadable. Then he rolled over, shifting his wings, snuggling in to make himself more comfortable, still muttering to himself even as he drifted off.

Bee sighed, letting himself slide down until he was laying on the bed. He could feel it under him, sort of. It was firm, but not much else. He didn't feel the smoothness of the silky fabric he knew Starscream spent way too much money on, nor the warmth that should be eminating from the sleeping seekers frame. He did, however, feel the steady thrum of Starscream's spark. It reverberated in the hollow of Bee's own chest, where his own sparkbeat was barely a faint flicker.

He wondered if Starscream felt that in the same way. A small, persistent tug at the edge of his spark, even when they weren't near each other. If he did, he'd probably call it guilt.

Bee sighed and closed his eyes, just focusing on the spark's pulse, the soft push and pull. He might not be able to actually sleep, but he could at least pretend for a bit.

///

Bee groaned and pulled himself out of bed, finally giving up as he left his apartment and marched down the night streets, following the tugging weight at the edge of his spark until he was face to face with a door into a familiar apartment in a familiar building and he was suddenly hit with a wave of what the fuck am I doing?

He spent a minute arguing with himself over whether or not he ought to actually knock on the door, but it turned out to be useless, because it slid open without him doing much of anything at all. In the doorway stood a weary Starscream looking surprised, but also not, to see the yellow minibot in front of him.

"Bee?"

"Uh, hi."

"What are you doing here?"

"Uh, well," Bee suddenly felt very foolish. "I, uh, can't sleep."

"And... you came here?"

"Yeah. I guess."

Starscream just stared at him for a minute before turning away with a huff, retreating into the apartment, the door left open behind him. It seemed as good an invitation as he was going to get, so Bee followed him in.

He wandered through the apartment, following Starscream back to the bedroom, already feeling some of his nerves beginning to settle just by being here. It wasn't the same apartment Starscream had had when he was ruling the planet, but it was similar enough. Same decor, same layout. A bit smaller, but still, the whole place was overwhelmingly Starscream. He spilled out of the furniture, painted the walls and filled every nook and cranny with himself. His presence was, as always, undeniable and overwhelming. To Bumblebee, it just felt safe.

Neither of them really talked, and in fact barely even spared a glance towards the other as they climbed into bed, both for embarrasment's sake and a lingering fear that adressing what was happening would break it.

They continued not acknowledging it until Starscream, muttering something about his wings, rolled over to face Bee's back. Bee could feel Starscream's sparkbeat flittering anxiously, and was having to make a concious effort to keep his own close to steady as he moved backwards to press right against Starscream's chest.

There was a moment where Starscream froze, unsure of exactly what to do, but eventually he decided on tenatively wrapping an arm around Bumblebee's waist, growing more confident when Bee melted into it, relishing the simple touch.

Bumblebee slept better that night, pulled against Starscream's chest, knowing he was held and safe and real, then he had in weeks.

///

Bumblebee woke up first the next morning, Starscream's face nuzzled into the space between his shoulders, the jets breathing even and warm against Bee's plating.

He didn't make any move to get up, or even so much as twitch. He wanted to squeeze every second he could out of it, before Starscream woke up and shoved him away again and whatever this was inevitably ended.

But that didn't happen. Eventually, Starscream stirred, coming online with a jolt, like the act of waking had snuck up and startled him. He pulled away from Bee, looking around the room, letting his processor catch up with who and where he was. After a moment he soothed, letting out a shaky breath and pressing his face against Bee's cheek, wrapping his arms back around the minibot's waist.

"You're still here?" Star muttered, voice still thick with sleep.

"Where else would I go?" Bumblebee said. He didn't say it outright, but he used every fiber of his being to push I just want to be wherever you are out at Starscream and hope he got the message, because Bee didn't think he could say it out loud.

Apparently it was good enough, because Starscream's arms around him squeezed him tighter and he gently, so softly that it nearly seemed as if he was scared, pressed a kiss to Bee's neck.

"Thanks," he said. A part of Bee wanted to say for what? and another wanted to say you don't have to thank me and another wanted to say i love you, but he didn't say any of those things. Instead, he turned himself over, trying not to pull away from Starscream any more than he absolutely had to, and he kissed him properly. It was soft, and inexperienced, and lazy, and it was so good that Bee felt like sobbing.

He blinked away tears and let his head fall to lean against Starscream's chest, hands tracing their way up and down the plating of Starscream's arms softly. He kissed the golden glass of Star's chest, listening to the thrum of the spark behind it, the way it pulsed in time with his own, the tugging feeling sated for now but the presence of Star's spark alongisde his own as strong as ever.

[rocorambles]

Love Conquers All

Pairing: Yandere Nekomata x Kuroo 

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Masturbation, Sex Toys, Manipulation, Moral Degeneration, Overstimulation, Cock Stepping, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Chastity Cage, Humiliation

Summary: Usually the term “love conquers all” is a positive thing, a beautiful thing. But in the case of Kuroo Tetsurou, it’s a damning thing.

A/N: Thank you for supporting me in this cursed pursuit as always and helping me beta read this chaos @sawamooora 

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Life is different after his 18th birthday, after that night with Nekomata. He should feel empowered, older, wiser, more mature now that he’s an adult, especially an adult who’s had his first sexual experience. But all he feels is lost and confused, unsure what to make of that night and he’s flustered, shy, a bumbling mess around his coach, internally cursing himself but unable to do anything about how he’s acting like a silly schoolgirl with a crush around the old man. 

Was it wrong to have slept with his coach? 

He knows there’s nothing wrong with the act itself, nothing wrong with a relationship between two men. But with his coach? Someone who he’s always seen as a father figure? Someone so much older than him? 

But could something so wrong feel that good? Kuroo blushes, biting his lower lip when he remembers the blinding pleasure he had felt that night, something stronger and more intense than any nights spent jacking himself off to photos of pretty girls. 

Really, it’s silly for Kuroo to be surprised when Nekomata easily picks up on the new awkward tension between the two of them - despite how hard the messy haired man tries to hide it. But he still jumps, stuttering and fumbling over words when the older man corners him in the equipment room late after practice one night, asking him what’s been bothering him. He’s still trying to muster up an excuse when a rough finger is pressed against his mouth, instantly silencing him and Kuroo flushes at how suddenly close Nekomata is to him. 

“Nothing has to change between us, Tetsurou. I don’t expect anything from you if that’s what you’re so worried about. I wouldn’t mind continuing things if that’s what you want, but clearly you need some time to work things out with yourself first. Why don’t you take some time to...explore.” 

Stiff with shock, Kuroo mindlessly accepts the plastic bag Nekomata carefully places in his hands, still unmoving even after the older man ruffles his hair fondly before leaving him in the room by himself. But when he finally finds the nerve to open the bag and peek at its contents, he squeaks, trembling hands picking up the bottle of lube and the prostate vibrator before hurriedly dropping it back in the bag and shoving the parcel to the bottom of his sports bag.

The hidden package weighs heavily on his mind, embarrassment and intrigue swirling in a chaotic mess within him as he makes his way back home, taking a shower and freshening up from practice. The pressure of the pouring water soothes him, the steam wafting across his exhausted body relaxes him, and curiosity has his cock twitching as he dries himself off - carefully locking his door behind him before rummaging through his sports bag and pulling out the gifts. 

It’s...intimidating to say the least, to do this himself, no guide or encouragement to usher him along. And he feels incredibly exposed and vulnerable as he gets face down, ass up on his own bed, whimpering at the strange feeling of the cool slippery liquid coating his fingers, jolting when he comes in contact with his own tight puckered hole. It feels strange, but in a good way, and before he knows it, he’s panting as he circles his rim, teasing the edge and slowly applying pressure to the center, gasping when his first knuckle finally slips inside of him. Precum oozes from his tip as he groans from how tight his ass clenches and clamps down on just one finger, slowly shoving more and more of the digit in until he bottoms out. 

Then it’s all repeated as he works a second finger in, drool dripping from his open mouth as he begins to scissor his fingers, spreading open his passage the way he remembers Nekomata doing that night, cock rocking up and down with every shift of his weight. He feels full, something satisfying and arousing about having his fingers shoved up his own loosened ass. But it’s not enough and tears begin to form in the corner of his eyes as he desperately reaches and searches for that spot inside of him, the one that had wracked him with so much pleasure. 

But it’s no good, and the tears stream down his face as he wildy shakes his hips and humps the bed, desperate for the same addicting pleasure he had felt that night. In the midst of his writhing, something digs into his body uncomfortably and he looks for the cause, only to be greeted by the other device Nekomata had provided.

He whines as he pulls his fingers out, feeling empty and spread open, hole fluttering as he liberally applies more lube to the extension of the device that will go inside of him. But he cries out, eyes shooting open, back arching when he inserts the massager inside of him fully, the tip brushing against his prostate, both hands grasping the bed sheets tightly to ground himself. 

It feels exactly how he remembers it from that night and he nervously picks up the remote that had come with the vibrator, unsure how much more stimulation he can take. He’s already feeling close to the edge from all of his earlier foreplay and the toy currently nudging and pressing against his sensitive spot. And sure enough, he’s instinctively screaming, furiously burying his face into the bed to muffle his loud cries as the vibrations start, mercilessly assaulting his prostate, and his hand reaches to his leaking throbbing cock, body convulsing and eyes rolling back into his head as he cums all over his hand, his stomach, and the sheets, collapsing in his own mess, lewd moans still being forced past his lips as he scrambles to find the remote that will end his delicious suffering. 

He slumps down into the bed, post-coital bliss washing over him. But as the pleasure ebbs away, he grimaces at the stickiness of his cum on his skin, whining in discomfort as he pulls the cold hard toy out of him, curling in on himself as disgust and loneliness replace any pleasure he had felt. And he can’t help but wish someone was there with him right now, mind going back to Nekomata and how he had gently cleaned up Kuroo and held him close after their time together.

Even so, he doesn’t stop using the gifts, finding at least some temporary bliss from the pleasure they provide him, even if the empty loneliness that overwhelms him after each time feels like it’s slowly killing him. And it’s only made worse the more time he spends with Nekomata.

Kuroo’s always been known for being perceptive, but he wonders if he’s now just paranoid when it comes to the older man, swearing that it feels like his eyes are always on him, trailing after him at practice, sweeping over the length of his body and facial features. But he hates how much he enjoys it, hates how he unconsciously flaunts his body even more in front of his coach, hates how his heart soars with all the generous praises Nekomata lavishes upon him these days, hates how he melts into every subtle touch those rough hands gift him with at seemingly every waking moment they’re together. 

It only makes him needier and as he furiously pounds his own ass, turns the prostate massager to its highest setting, he imagines Nekomata’s face leering down at him, his voice praising him, telling him how gorgeous and wrecked he looks, his fingers caressing his body.    

Nekomata smiles when the usually bold captain hesitantly lingers behind as the rest of the team leaves, patiently waiting for his shy kitten to tentatively make his way towards him on long lean legs, noting how adorable he looks as he fidgets in front of him. 

“Can I help you with something, Tetsurou?”

Kuroo is really too predictable for all his reputation as a scheming captain. It was so easy to play him, digging into the praise kink he’d discovered the younger man had, resting his hand on the boy’s head, shoulder, back, subtly brushing the swell of his ass when he passed by. He had been pleasantly surprised by how receptive Kuroo was to all of it, almost kitten-like in the way he instinctively leaned into his touches, peering at him with a twinkle in his eyes with every nice word sent his way and it had taken everything in him not to accost the boy more...aggressively for all his accidental teasing. 

But he’s glad he waited, smirking at how hopeful and wanting hazel eyes already look when he pulls him into his lap, letting Kuroo kiss and explore his body all over again, sitting back and letting the eager athlete get his fill. And God, if this isn’t the most beautiful sight in the world, long sinewy limbs wrapped around him, a tight ass clamping down on his cock, Kuroo’s face broken in ecstasy as he desperately bounces on his lap like a wanton whore, chanting his name over and over again.

He almost misses his shy kitten. Almost. But there’s something darkly amusing about what a slut he’s turned the model student into and he has to fight back a chuckle every time he likens the slutty man shaking his hips in front of him to a cat in heat. It becomes routine for the two of them and the last footsteps of the rest of the team are barely out the gym door after practice before needy hands are clinging onto him, a long lean body draped over him, Kuroo’s voice whining and begging for his cock, his cum, his help in making him feel good. 

It’s flattering and filthy how content Kuroo looks even with just his pretty mouth wrapped around his cock, how debauched and aroused he gets from being covered in cum, a cute pout on his lips when Nekomata tells him he needs to clean off the sticky white liquid painting his handsome face. But it’s exhausting and Nekomata isn’t in his prime anymore and even if he were in his prime, he’s not sure if he’d be able to keep up with Kuroo’s libido. 

Who knew the tall captain would be such a sex-crazed mess? It’s like he was made to be used.    

So he gets creative, finding new ways to sate Kuroo’s never ending appetite, leaning back and resting in his office chair as Kuroo writhes on the floor, well as much as he can when his body is bound in a hogtie, ball gag in his mouth to keep his volume manageable, blindfold over his eyes to add to the stimulation as the prostate massager in his ass and the vibrators on his cock and nipples relentlessly buzz and force him into orgasm after orgasm, only releasing him when his body stills aside from uncontrollable twitches here and there, smiling at the boy’s dopey and blissed out face as he hinges on the border of passing out from the torrential pleasure. 

But maybe he had spoiled the boy too much and his brows furrow in concern when he’s contacted by Kuroo’s academic teachers about a significant drop in his grades, annoyance flaring inside of him when they tentatively question if maybe he should quit volleyball or at least take it less seriously. After all, it is his third year and he needs to think about college. But he politely reassures them that Kuroo will be just fine juggling sports and academics, that he’s just going through...something at the moment and he’s prepared to interrogate his captain about what this “something” is, sternly and expectantly waiting for Kuroo to come out of the locker room with the rest of the team so he can pull him aside to have a word. 

Except Kuroo doesn’t come out even as the rest of the team begins to stretch. Hell, even Kenma is already out on the court and he angrily barks at the team to warm-up as he storms over to see exactly what the hold up is. 

For a second he wonders if Kuroo had left, the locker room eerily vacant and quiet, but he spots the captain’s sports bag and snoops around the room. And fury like he’s never felt before crackles through him when he hears the oh so familiar lewd moans and whimpers coming from the bathroom stall in the far corner. If he weren’t in such a foul mood, he might’ve laughed at the high-pitched yelp Kuroo lets out when he pounds on the bathroom door, demanding that he open up. But he only sees red when his captain sheepishly opens the door, shoving the half-naked boy back into the stall and locking it once again behind him as he crosses his arms and glares down at the depraved mess in front of him, noting how three fingers are still shoved in his ass, his other hand wrapped around his leaking and erect cock. 

“YOUR team is out there working their ass off and you’re here doing what? Jacking off like an animal with no self-control? Did you know your teachers called me, telling me about your grades dropping? They want you to quit volleyball so you can focus on college applications. Is that what you want? Want to stop playing volleyball? Want to drop out of school? Want to just be a common whore?”  

At least the boy has the sense to look ashamed, tears pooling in his eyes as he sniffles and pulls his hands away from himself, placing them by his sides in clenched fists. But it’s not enough and Kuroo wails when Nekomata’s sneaker clad foot steps on his still erect cock, grinding the hard shaft under the heel of his sole. 

“Cum then, since you obviously want to so badly. Enjoy it while you can because starting tomorrow, you won’t be able to play with your little cock whenever you want to anymore.” 

Kuroo can’t even fathom the threat, not when his mind is delirious with pleasure and humiliation from the front row view of his cock being trampled on by his coach’s shoe, and really, it’s pathetic how quickly he cums, making a mess all over himself and the sneaker still digging into his groin. But he fights the desire to just melt in post-coital bliss, scrambling to lick Nekomata’s shoe clean, as per the older man’s growled orders, frantically nodding his head and wincing at the harsh smack planted on his ass as he passes the old man when he’s told to go to practice and act like the captain that he is. 

If Kuroo’s being entirely honest, he had completely forgotten exactly what Nekomata had said to him, too caught up in chasing his happy ending to fully comprehend the punishment in store for him. So it’s a shocking surprise the next day after practice when the older man holds up a tiny baby pink chastity cock cage, and smugly looks on as despair and regret washes over Kuroo’s usually confident features, reveling in how the taller man falls to his knees and begs him not to do this. 

“It’s too small! There’s no way my cock will fit in that. It’ll hurt!”

“You give yourself too much credit, Tetsurou. Your little cute thing you call a cock is going to fit just fine in here.” 

Nekomata smiles at the way Kuroo flinches upon hearing his degrading words, rolling his eyes as Kuroo tries another tactic, promising him that he’ll behave, that he’ll get his grades back up, that he’ll be a better captain. 

“You know how I feel about empty words, Tetsurou. Prove it to me through your actions. When you show me you can get your act back together, I’ll unlock you. It’s as simple as that.” 

He raises one eyebrow when the boy’s rebellious bratty side decides to make its appearance, unamused as Kuroo hisses at him like an angry kitten, telling him he doesn’t need to listen to him, that he can’t force him. But he smiles at how docile and quick to quiet the boy is when he just shrugs his shoulders, telling him that he’s never touching him again unless he listens. Nekomata can see the internal struggle in those gorgeous hazel eyes as Kuroo’s pride and his desire for love and intimacy battle for victory. 

But love conquers all once again and he fondly smiles as Kuroo shuffles in between his legs, downcast but pliant as Nekomata encases his flaccid cock in the pink cage. He secures the contraption with a click of the padlock attached to the opening, letting Kuroo sadly watch as he hangs the key on a chain around his neck, safely tucking it under the collar of his shirt. 

 He lightens the mood as he pulls the captain’s body closer to him, teasingly swirling a finger around the boy’s puckered hole. 

“Don’t look so sad, Tetsurou. You still have this hole you can use.” 

And this time he doesn’t hold back his laughter when Kuroo’s jaw drops open in disbelief and embarrassment. 

Although it had been meant as a half joke, Kuroo does try to cum with just his ass, over and over again, desperate for any release he can find even if it more often than not results in him babbling and sobbing in frustration as his cock strains against its confines. Even when he is able to cum, it’s unsatisfying, leaving Kuroo even more needy as he cries from his ruined orgasms, the only proof that he still has a usable cock the strands of sticky semen that drip out from the hole of his pink prison.

Nekomata is quick to take advantage of his protege’s predicament, sneering down at the distraught mess that’s thrashing around on the floor, forced to cum from just his ass over and over again as the prostate massager vibrates against his sensitive insides, cock painfully and futilely straining once again to harden. He ignores Kuroo’s barely coherent pleas for him to unlock him, scowling at the still less than stellar exam he’s holding in his hands before he turns his stern look back to the whining mess on the floor. 

“Be grateful I’m even letting you cum at all with these pathetic grades, you stupid slut.” 

Kuroo has no choice but to thank the older man, even if he’s far from grateful as Nekomata pounds his ass and paints his insides white, keeping his seed inside the used athlete with a humiliatingly girly butt plug, dazzling with a gem heart on its tapered end.

But while the punishment the older man inflicts upon him in private is bad enough as is, what Kuroo truly fears are the days when he’s performed particularly poorly, when Nekomata is in a fouler mood than usual. And his heart drops when his phone vibrates early in the morning, a terse message for him to come to the gym before school starts displayed on the screen. 

Who knew Kuroo Tetsurou was such a cry baby? But he can’t help it as he sobs, fat salty drops trailing down his face while he bends over Nekomata’s desk, forced to accept the gaudy plug being worked into his fluttering ass filled with a fresh load of cum. 

He whimpers at the playful smack to his ass, his signal to stand up, and he obediently stays still as Nekomata’s hands teasingly fiddle with both the pink cage at his front and the shiny heart winking from his backhole, making sure both are snugly in place before pulling up the boy’s trousers. 

“Maybe you’ll be able to concentrate better with your ass filled. Don’t even think about taking that plug out. Do you understand? You’re going to think this punishment is easy if I don’t see my cum still inside of you after practice today.”

Kuroo wishes he could call the older man out on his bluff, but he knows how serious the threat is. No, not a threat, a promise. He shudders before fervently nodding his head in agreement, unwilling and unable to imagine how much worse his punishment could be or test his coach’s patience.        

But it’s not long before he wonders if there could be anything worse than this, gnawing at his lip as every step has the plug moving inside of him, the occasional nudges against his prostate making his cock twitch in interest, only to be uncomfortably reminded of how restrained it is. And sitting is even worse as multiple heads spin around to see where the startling loud gasp came from as Kuroo’s hands clench around his desk, sucking in deep breaths to calm himself as the new position, gravity, and the chair underneath him work together to push the plug even deeper inside of him, the tip relentlessly pressing against his prostate. 

He waves off his worried classmates and teachers to the best of his abilities, batting their concerns away with bold faced lies of sore muscles from practice, using every trick in the book to keep himself as relaxed and focused on his classes as possible. But it’s not enough, not nearly enough, and when he finds himself unable to stop his hips and ass from grinding down on the plug inside of him and rocking back and forth as his cock strains against its restraints, he rushes out of the classroom with a strangled excuse of going to the restroom. 

It’s pathetic how desperate he is, slamming the bathroom stall closed behind him as he pushes the toilet seat cover down, not wasting any time before he’s seated on top of the filthy thing, weight squarely centered on the plug inside of him as he bounces up and down, trying to find as much friction as he can without actually moving the toy. But it’s no good and before he knows it he’s full out sobbing, loud anguished cries echoing throughout the bathroom as he edges over and over again, unable to find any release, attracting the attention of his classmates who are quick to usher the distressed boy to the nurse’s office. 

There he finally finds some peace of mind when he forces himself to sleep, forcing his mind and body to completely shut down as the nurse draws the blinds around his bed, leaving him in his own private white cocoon. 

But he can’t sleep forever, can’t escape reality forever, and he blearily blinks as he’s gently shaken awake, only to practically fling himself into Nekomata’s arms when he sees the man at his bedside, incoherently sobbing anew and clinging onto his tormentor and savior. And when the old man successfully signs Kuroo out and reassures the nurse that he can handle things from here, he whisks his poor suffering boy away from prying eyes, cradling his long curled up form and gently praising him for being so good as he pulls out the plug, sharps eyes transfixed on the white trail that begins to slither down toned thighs.       

Kuroo’s always been a good student, a fast learner, and Nekomata beams in pride when Kuroo excitedly rushes into his office a few weeks later, a perfect score scrawled on top of his latest exam. He lets the taller man affectionately nuzzle against him and sloppily plant kisses all over his wrinkled face as agile hips grind and hump against him, practically demanding to be freed of the hellish contraption still cruelly denying him. 

How can he deny his good boy after he’s behaved so well? 

So he pulls the key from under his shirt, chuckling at how Kuroo squirms in his lap in excitement, a sparkling smile on his attractive face when the cage unlocks with a resounding click, panting and trembling as Nekomata slowly strokes his beautiful cock to its full erection. 

He lets Kuroo take his time, letting his kitten soak in the sensations of being stimulated from his front and back again as he sensually fucks him, letting Kuroo do most of the work as he slowly rocks his hips back and forth on top of him. The younger man’s hands dig into his shoulders as he takes one of Kuroo’s perky nipples into his mouth and uses one hand to continue stroking the athlete’s cock to completion. He smiles at how giddy and content the boy looks as he lets out a long drawn out moan, cumming all over his aged hands, and he helps him ride out his orgasm as he continues to stroke the messy slick covered shaft, finding his own release as he spills thick spurts inside of the pert ass clenching around his cock. 

But his smile takes on a mean sharp edge as Kuroo begins to squirm in discomfort, trying to pull away as overstimulation begins to kick in, only to wail when Nekomata just tightens his grip on the softening cock in his hands, forcing him to stay put and remain close to the older man, confused and pained mewls escaping the younger man as tears prick his eyes. 

“You didn’t think we were done already, did you? You’ve been begging me to unlock this cute little thing so much that I figured we should make as much use of it now that it’s free.” 

And make use of it he does, taking turns switching hands when they begin to cramp as he relentlessly milks Kuroo of anything he has left in him, cruelly laughing when he cums so much that his orgasms become dry, his cock unable to even fully harden anymore, his body shaking and trembling from exertion. 

When people think of Kuroo, they think of his cocky smirk, his confident demeanor, finding something incredibly attractive about the way he holds and presents himself. But Nekomata thinks he’s most beautiful like this, tears, snot, and drool streaming down his face, incoherent lewd noises filling the air as he babbles on and on, torn between moaning and begging him to stop, so weak, so pitiful, completely at his mercy, a mere plaything. 

But playtime is over and Nekomata sighs as he looks at the clock on the wall, yawning out of habit when he sees the late hour displayed and he smirks as Kuroo continues chanting ���no more, no more, no more” between weak pleasured moans. 

“No more, Tetsurou? You sure? But you’ve been so adamant about wanting this. I thought you’d be happier about being unlocked, but I guess we can lock you back up in your pretty little cage if that’s what you really want.” 

Maybe he really had overdone it tonight, surprised by how there’s not even a pause as Kuroo frantically nods his head, pleas of “lock me up, please, anything you want, just no more, can’t take it anymore” slipping past his lips. 

Well, he asked for it and Nekomata gently locks his spent cock in the cage once again, patting Kuroo on the head as the exhausted boy slumps in his embrace and silently demands to be cared for and cuddled which he supposes is the least he can do after the torment he’s put the man through.   

It’s a mental rollercoaster there on out for Kuroo and he can’t tell what’s up or down anymore, doesn’t know what he wants anymore as he alternates between begging to be unlocked and crying for his cock to be locked away if it means he can take a break from the painful pleasure he's constantly  drowned in. And he just sobs harder when Nekomata shakes his head at him in exasperation, mocking him for never knowing what he wants, for always changing his mind, all the while coaxing more and more pleasure out of Kuroo’s exhausted body, breaking down any defiance or internal safeguards he has in place with every touch until all Kuroo wants is whatever relief and pleasure he can provide him, existing to keep the older man happy by any means possible if it means that he’ll be nice to Kuroo. 

And despite the tears, the confusion, the humiliation, it’s worth it, Kuroo thinks, when he’s being wrapped in warm arms and held to a cushy body, practically purring at the litany of praises Nekomata showers him with as he caresses and cleans the messy boy after yet another session together. 

But he blinks back to attention when Nekomata begins speaking. 

“Tetsurou, aren’t you tired of your fickle desires and always chasing after short-term pleasure? Don’t I always make you feel better? Give me total control of your body, when you get to cum, when you get to use your cute hole, when you get to use your adorable little cock and I’ll make sure you always feel good, okay? You might be a man now, but you’re still too young and inexperienced to know what you want. Trust me. After all, I have decades of experience on you.”

And suddenly he’s alert, lean frame tensing and eyes snapping wide open at the implication of his words. 

“But-but, you already decide all of that for me! What more do you want?"

Nekomata chuckles, coaxing the apprehensive man back into his arms, gently stroking Kuroo’s back just the way he knows he likes, smiling when the boy instinctively relaxes, melting into his touch. 

“That’s true, isn’t it? But from now on, no more begging for more or crying for me to stop. You’ll take what I give you and be grateful for it. It’s not about what you want. It’s about what I want, what I think is best for you.” 

He softens his tone when he sees the uncertainty swirling in those feline eyes, pressing his forehead against Kuroo’s messy bed hair. 

“You know I only want what’s best for you, right? You know I love you, right? I just hate seeing you so desperate and in tears all the time. Why don’t you let your pretty little head be free of all those worries? I’ll take care of you. Doesn’t that sound good?”

It- it does sound good. To not have to worry. To be loved. To be cared for. And Kuroo absentmindedly nods his head, nuzzling his face into Nekomata’s chest, long limbs reaching to further wrap and hold the older man closer to him, ignorant of the dark triumphant smirk spreading across his coach’s face, ignorant of how he’s sold his soul to the devil. 

[movieexpert1978]

Rich and Famous

anon:  What about another Hans Landa story? I love how you write with him (and all your writin). Maybe something where the reader works for him (housekeeper or something like that), maybe with some slow burn sexual tension? Sorry if that's too vague haha

This kinda turned more into angst/ friendship with hints of romance. 

Hans landa is not my character 

It really sucked being a maid sometimes. Most of the clients didn’t pay you any mind but if they saw one speck of dust in the house they would blame it on you. It was hard being around the rich and famous all the time, knowing that you worked your ass off for a decent wage while they just inherited money. It also sucked to be the maid of Nazis, but not just any Nazis…a certain Colonel Hans Landa, Nazis to be precise. Landa was one of the most feared colonel’s in the war at the moment. As much as she wanted to turn down the job, he paid very well and despite him being a rich, Nazis snob, he never mocked and or undermined her work. In fact he was quiet the gentleman when she came to clean his flat. He gave her a nice extra tip when she cleaned up after one of his parties, particularly ones where someone couldn’t hold their drink. She wanted to hate him, but in all honesty she looked forward to cleaning his flat. Most of the time, he was in his office looking over paperwork and minding his own business. Today was a little different as she knocked at the door.

A woman answered it.

“Oh…who are you?” She asked unamused. Her silky robe barely was hiding the fact that she was practically naked at the front door. Elisa looked at her un-phased. There were a few other instances where women answered the door and it was always a different woman. Hans used the incredible and devious charm of his to get them into bed, but most of the time he didn’t even have to do that.

“My name is Elisa Prime. I have an appointment with the Colonel as I am his house maid.” Elisa stated. The woman let out this horrible mocking laugh that didn’t bother Elisa at all as she knew what was coming, but before the woman could tell her to go away someone else spoke.

“Ahhh, yes Elisa come in!” Hans said eagerly, waving her in. The woman frowned and all but glared at her as she came inside.

“Good morning, Herr Colonel.” Elisa said politely. Thankfully, he wasn’t in a robe, but definitely more casual with a button-up shirt and long pants with his suspenders on his shoulders. Elisa can’t help but wonder if she interrupted something.

“Don’t mind my lovely lady here Elisa. I need to call a cab for her soon anyway.” He says.

“But Hans!” The woman whines.

“Go get dressed. I have things to do.” He says firmly. She huffs as she practically stomps away to change. Elisa can tell he doesn’t like her. She figured he might be a one-night stand guy, but she could understand his distaste for this one. She was far too preppy and snobby for him. Hans could be a snob when he wanted to, but it wasn’t a permeant part of his personality. “I’m very sorry about that my dear.” Hans says sincerely when the woman is out of ear shot. “Would you like a cup of coffee by any chance? I did manage to make a pot before she woke up.” He offers kindly.

“No thank you Herr Colonel. May I ask…is the bathroom a terrible mess?” She asks.

“No, thankfully not this time. I managed to herd my guests out before they got too wild.” He chuckles. “Could you by any chance start with the den then?” He asks.

“Yes sir.” She nods.

“Elisa, you know you don’t have to be so formal. It is a Sunday after all.” He teases.

“Just a habit Herr Colonel.” She says without looking back at him. He smirks softly and heads off to call his other guest a cab as Elisa cleans away. She sprays plenty of perfume to do her best to get rid of the cigarette smell as she works. She keeps quiet as Hans herds the woman away, more than happy to get rid of her. Elisa still can’t help but feel a touch of jealousy since she got to spend the night with him. Elisa shakes her head to get rid of those thoughts as Hans goes into the kitchen to get himself some more coffee. He watches Elisa work every now and then in silence. She was recommended to him and she was well worth it. By early afternoon she had completed her cleaning. Hans handed her the money along with an extra tip.

“I was worried she would smack you.” Hans teases.

“I’ve been through worse.” Elisa shrugs.

“Really? What do you mean by that?” He asks curiously.

“Nothing Herr Colonel.” She says glancing towards the door.

“Did someone hit you?” He asks.

“Every now and then. I’ve grown used to it.” She says quietly.

“Well you shouldn’t. If it ever happens again you tell me and I’ll take care of it.” He says firmly.

“Thank you Herr Colonel. You have a good afternoon.” She says before she is out the door.

Xxxxxxx

       She wasn’t having a good week. For some reason they were all more cruel than usual lately. They made sure to remind her of her place more often than not this week. She left three houses nearly in tears and barely managed to keep it under control as she worked her second job as a waitress at a café. She nearly smacked a solider when he pinched her behind with a smirk. Luckily one of her coworkers saw and took over the table for her, knowing backlash would lead to all kinds of trouble and a possible disappearance of her in the middle of the night as she was dragged away to prison…or worse…a camp. Another Sunday came and even though she usually enjoyed cleaning the colonel’s house, today she was dreading it after her long week. She just wanted to clean, go home, and stay in bed for the rest of the day until work on Monday. She knocked on the door and waited with her cleaning supplies, half expecting another woman to answer the door. Instead, Hans answered.

“Ahhh Elisa come in, come in.” He says happily.

“Good morning Herr Colonel.” She says in usual routine. Hans can’t help but chuckle at her formality. It was hard to come by with people now these days. Hans looks her over and she seems to be more tired than usual.

“Would you like something to eat?” He asks kindly.

“No thank you sir. Shall I start in the den again?” She asks quickly.

“Yes…” Hans nods watching her. She seems upset. He tries not to look over her too much, but he wants to check in case she has bruises. So far her make-up is holding up well so he doesn’t notice for the moment. However, he doesn’t fail to notice that her hands fumble every now and then and she gets more and more frustrated as time goes on. When she gets to the bathroom she closes the door and Hans can hear her sniffling as she cries. He waits patiently, until she is nearly finished before he knocks. “Elisa…are you alright?”

“Yes Hans, almost done…sorry sir.” She says quickly as she finishes up. She gets out of the bathroom and finds him staring at her.

“Elisa, did something happen?” He asks gently.

“No sir.”

“You seem upset. Are you sure?” He asks again.

“Yes sir.”

“…alright…” He nods. She heads off to finish the other rooms. Hans watches her carefully when he spots the bruise on her cheek. “Elisa what happened?” He asks, firmly this time.

“Nothing Hans.” She says avoiding his gaze.

“Your make-up faded. I can see the bruise on your cheek.” He says. She freezes for a moment before she looks at him.

“Yeah…well…well…what do you care!?” She snaps at him angrily. He nearly jumps in surprise at her tone. He’s never heard her yell before.

“Elisa, you’re my friend. I concerned.” He says truthfully.

“Why? So you can just take me to your bed like all the other women?” She snaps. “You people are all the same!” She says bitterly.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He states. Now he’s getting angry but she doesn’t care anymore.

“Oh what are you going to do? Make me disappear…please you’d be doing me a favor.” She spats as tears run down her face. She gathers her supplies and heads for the front door.

“We’re not done here.” Hans says grabbing her arm.

“No! I’m done!” She snaps back yanking herself free. She slams her basket of cleaning supplies on the floor and the bottles rattle loudly. “I’m so sick of you people!” She shouts as she starts crying. “Every day I work and I work and I work and I have nothing to show for it, while you…you…you just flaunt all your money like it’s no big deal! It’s not fair!” She screams. “I work so hard and I have nothing! You do nothing and you have everything and I’m tired of it! I can’t do this anymore.” She says and crumbles to the ground, slumping against the wall as she sobs into her hands. Hans stares at her in shock as he processes her words. He swallows and takes a deep breath before he kneels. She doesn’t protest as he carefully pulls her into his arms and holds her as she sobs. He feels for the poor girl. He truly does. He remembers being like her, working his ass off before the wars and envying all the others. War made him prosper and he wasn’t exactly proud of that fact either.

“I’m sorry…I’m sorry Elisa.” He whispers to her every now and then as he gently kisses the top of her head. She cries for a long time and it breaks his heart as he feels her tears wet his shirt. He picks her up and carries her to the sofa where she can be comfortable as he holds her. It’s a long time before she finally manages to calm down and look at him.

“I’m so sorry sir…please…please forgive me…” She begs fearfully.

“Shhhhh…there’s nothing to forgive. I understand your frustration. I truly do.” He rasps, tucking a few strands of hair behind her ears. “I was like you once. Just trying to make ends meet…I’ve forgotten that in…privilege.” He admits. She looks at him numbly, her eyes still very wet with tears. “You need a break…you need rest.” He says. “Please…let me help you.” He nearly begs.

“Ok…ok Herr-Hans…” She whispers, correcting herself. He smiles at her, trying to cheer her up. She gives him a weak smile.

“I’m going to make you some breakfast…and then you’ll stay the night, my guest bedroom is very comfortable.” He says. She wants to protest but breakfast and a nice bed sounds like a heaven.

“Thank you Hans…again…I’m sorry about what I said. I wasn’t mad at you.” She says lowering her head.

“I know. It’s alright.” He says sincerely. He can’t help but gently kiss her temple in comfort. “Everything will work out…I promise

[lihikainanea]

What are Beel and Little Human doing for Valentine’s Day?

I thought about this a lot yesterday. I’m a big sap and I love Valentine’s Day, but I love it because I get to celebrate ALL KINDS of love. I always buy chocolates or roses for my friends, we get together and have dinner or something.

But like look, this is kind of Bill and tiger’s first Valentine’s as a...thing. Whatever it is that they are. But Iet’s start here, because I find this concept so incredibly sweet: every single year, even as just best friends before they started boinking, Bill would get tiger a rose on Valentine’s Day. And he’d usually hand deliver it--hell he’d even ring her doorbell instead of just unlocking her door and waltzing in. If he wasn’t in town then he’d have one delivered to her. And tiger always kind of loved it, even if she busted his balls about it every time.

“Bill,” she’d tell him, “We’re friends, buddy.”

“I know that,” he’d insist, “But today is a day for celebrating love and I love you, kid. Despite how much of a pain in the ass you are.”

Some years it would be the only flower that tiger got. Some years it would be dwarfed by a giant bouquet sent by some dude she was seeing at the time--but regardless, Bill’s rose always got prime spot on her kitchen table, every single year.

Because like everything else with him--his was the only constant. She knew, every year, that it would be there.

But now this year they’re like...something more, even though neither of them will admit it. Both of them are probably not much into the grand gestures--sure, dinner at a nice restaurant is great, but why bother on that night when it’s a 2-hour seating with a limited, fixed menu? It’s not worth the hassle, both of them are great cooks, and Bill has an amazing wine collection that they could raid comfortably, in their pyjamas, for hours and not have to worry about anybody telling them to finish their dessert and vacate the table.

But, they’re both still total saps--well, Bill is anyway--and would very much like to do something to commemorate the day so he probably broaches the subject at the beginning of the week as tiger’s getting ready for work.

“It’s...It’s Valentine’s Day this Friday,” he mumbles, stepping into the bathroom to refill her coffee mug. She kisses his shoulder, tugs the neckline of his shirt so he’ll bend and she kisses his cheek.

“I know,” she says, “Did you want to uh, do something?”

He shrugs bashfully and there’s actually a tinge of pink warming his cheeks.

“Would be nice, I think,” he says, “If you want to?”

She puts her coffee down, wraps her arms around his waist and plunks her chin on his chest.

“Sure bud,” she looks up at him, “That would be nice.”

“Maybe just something low key,” he says, “We could stay in and cook something special?”

“Your cooking is better than any restaurant,” she laughs, “So count me in.”

And maybe they talk about it that night, set a little menu. Something special and a little extravagant that they wouldn’t usually cook. Bill picks up champagne, tiger takes care of the table settings and even gets him a little box of his favourite chocolates the day of.

And I’ll bet the morning of, both of these idiots try to wake the other up with morning head. Tiger had fully planned on it, smiling to herself the night before as she snuggled in his arms. Bill loves waking up like that, so she’d treat him. Except Bill was thinking the exact same thing, and he just happened to wake up before tiger. It gets her day off to a REAL good start but she insists on being the one to get him his coffee after, since he kind of ruined her plans. She definitely insists on reciprocating before she leaves for work--and Bill tells her gently that they have all day, but tiger ain’t having any of it. And who is he to argue?

And I’ll bet she comes home that night and Bill greets her at the door with a single red rose. And the tall idiot is just in his favourite pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, the neck all stretched out like all of his shirts seem to be. He’s barefoot, comfy, his hair all floppy and un-gelled. And tiger just drinks him in for a minute, because he really is heart-stoppingly beautiful like this. But then he smiles that kind smile--her favourite lopsided one--and holds the rose out to her. She steps in and takes it, puling him down for a deep kiss. And it’s just so sweet, he’s lit a few candles all around the apartment, music is playing softly in the background, and he coaxes her to go and change into something more comfy. She meets him in the kitchen in a pair of tights, one of his big shirts, her face bare, her hair tied up messily. And after a brief toast of champagne and another heated kiss, they spend a few hours getting dinner ready. It’s what they both love best--comfortable silence, concentration on the task at hand, taking their time to really make something spectacular and far better than they could eat at any restaurant. They clear a bottle of champagne just as they’re cooking so Bill pops open another one, and tiger even grabs his arm and pulls him into a slow dance at one point. Bill always insists he’s not much of a dancer but there in the kitchen with tiger up against his chest--he could just sway with her forever.

When they finally eat I’ll bet they clear another bottle of champagne, and their chairs are close and tiger’s feet are plunked in his lap, his hand over them. And the soff bean maybe gets a little emotional at one point, because she’s pretty buzzed and stupid Bill is just sitting there looking beautiful, his gigantic hand covering both of her feet. He smells so good and every time he looks at her, his eyes are so clear and his face is so kind and tiger can’t handle it sometimes. So maybe her eyes get a little watery, and she sniffles.

“Hey kid,” he taps her feet gently, “You okay? “I’m fine,” she laughs a little despite a tear slipping down her cheek, “I just uh....I love you, bud.”

He smiles and god she could just cry even harder about it. He reaches out, swipes at a tear with his thumb.

“I love you too, tiger,” he says.

It’s all just....it’s so understated,  it’s nothing special, and that makes it everything special. There’s an intimacy there, such a comfort and safe space, and there’s always a focus on the little things. Maybe tiger has been super busy with work and they haven’t had much time together, or maybe Bill has been away or just busy with scripts and meetings and they haven’t had much time to connect. And whatever they are in that moment, however they want to label or not whatever it is they’ve got going on, they just want to be with each other. Exactly like this, with the rest of the world blocked out.

[sad-sweet-cowboah]

My Little Secret part 1

Summary: You’re a young adult attending grad school. It seems like any other normal night at your job, until someone in particular catches your eye.

Warnings: Use of alcohol and a little bit of violence, blood mention.

---

When you worked as a bartender at the local club, you certainly interact with clients from all walks of life.

You heard people’s life stories, complaints, rants and raves. You’ve been told secrets that wouldn’t be uttered from sober lips. Plots and plans spurred by an inebriated mind that never amounted to much past the initial conversation. Anyone from fresh twenty-one year olds to thirty-something’s past their prime, middle-aged people to treat their secret lovers, to senior citizens who were looking for a decent buzz to forget their fresh diagnosis.

You’ve lost track to how many people who’ve told you that you were a great listener, and all you would do is smile as you poured them a drink, pulling in the tips from their slippery fingers as the night wore on. It wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs, yet it allowed you enough to work your way through university.

Tonight was busy, as per usual on a Friday night. The club opened its doors about an hour ago, and both you and your coworkers were pacing back and forth, handing drinks and taking money. The crowd didn’t bother you, and the busier it was, the more time passed quickly. You recognized most of the faces, the usual partygoers from your school. They always flocked here knowing it was the only cool thing to do in your little town. Sure, the bigger city was under two hours away, yet somehow the charm of this place always pulled people back.

For a moment, the drinking orders had slowed down as everyone made their way to the dance floor, awkwardly moving along with the fast paced hip-hop that blared on the speakers overhead. You leaned against the shelf, taking a deep breath before pouring yourself a glass of water.

Before you took a sip, a new face appeared amongst the crowd, making his way to the bar. Even in the dim light, the pale luster that encompassed his features caught your eye. He locked his eyes to yours, and you immediately stood up straight.

“What would you like?” You asked.

“Whiskey on the rocks,” his voice gruff and toned with a deep southern accent. It wasn’t unusual as you lived in the south, though this little college town had quite a few students from other states, as you were as well. “Please.”

You nodded, moving to grab a bottle of whiskey and a glass with ice. Quickly making the drink, you handed him the glass as he placed money in your palm, telling you to keep the change. Giving him a thankful smile, your attention was quickly grabbed by other customers.

As more time passed, and people kept moving to and from the bar, you noticed the patron from earlier hadn’t moved from his spot. He seemed to be lounging in the bar stool, arms propped against the bar itself as he watched the crowd.

His face caused you to glance twice. You hadn’t paid attention before, though he had sharp, handsome features set against a pale pallor. Judging by the faint wrinkles, he couldn’t be older than his thirties. He wore a black leather jacket, though the fabric did nothing to hide the outlined muscles. His sandy blonde hair was short and slicked back neatly. His eyes had almost a predatory glare to them, which surprised you.

One of your coworkers calling your name snapped you back to reality. Taking a final glance at him, your gazes locked again, a stare so sharp that made you flinch. Looking away quickly, allowing yourself to be absorbed into making more drinks.

The night went by quickly, with you stealing glances to this peculiar man who somehow remained still as a statue. He’d move every once in a while to bring the glass up, though never to sip. He always seemed to be captivated by the crowd, those intense eyes of his focused without a moment of falter.

It seemed creepy, and you had to wonder if he was trying to scope out anyone for…other reasons. You made a mental note to let the bouncers know if he started to flirt with anyone. Hopefully it wasn’t the case.

You pushed the thought out of the way for now, focusing on other aspects of your job. Maybe he’ll move soon, and you wouldn’t have to keep sneaking looks.

Before you knew it, you were clocking out for your break. The strange man had since moved, disappearing into the crowd like a ghost. You still hoped he wasn’t after anyone tonight. Feet aching and hands sticky, you stepped out from behind the bar. From your view, the line for the bathroom wasn’t incredibly long. You made your way to the wall to avoid the crowd, easily dodging the mass of sweaty bodies.

Entering the end of the line, you leaned against the cool wall and let yourself space out. While bartending could be fun, on nights like these it was certainly exhausting. Drink after drink to demanding customers over and over with no time to let your mind settle. At least there were only a few more hours in the night, and you’d already accumulated a decent amount of tips.

“It ain’t polite to stare, ya know.” Said a familiar voice next to you.

The surprise nearly made you jump out of your skin. You turned to see that man again, leaning against the wall with his arms folded as if he were standing there the whole time. “Jesus!” you huffed, slapping your hand on your chest.

“Nah, not even close.” he chuckled without humor.

“Where did you even come from? You weren’t there a second ago!” you nearly exclaimed, off-put by his sneaky entry.

He smirked at you, a smile so bright despite the low lights. “You weren’t payin’ attention. I was just wonderin’ why you kept lookin’ at me all night.”

As the initial shock wore off, you ducked your head slightly in embarrassment. You thought you were being discreet about it. “How’d you know?” you asked quietly.

“Y’ain’t make it hard to tell,” he responded. “I know you were tryin’ not to make it obvious.”

The heat licked at your cheeks as your shame grew. “I…” you breathed in momentarily. “Sorry…”

“What’s so interestin’ about me anyway?” he asked, ignoring your apology. “Ain’t nothin’ but a simple man just tryin’ to enjoy his time out.”

The shame had dulled, a spike of suspicion beginning to rise. “Well,” you started with a cool voice. “I’ve never seen you before, most people here are regulars. And you never even actually touched your drink. You also just sat and stared at everyone dancing for a long time.”

“Didn’t realize it’s a crime not bein’ a regular,” he chuckled. “Or to just sit and watch people.”

“It’s creepy,” you said bluntly. “No one else does that. And frankly, who orders a drink and not drink it? Seems like a waste of money, and alcohol.”

“Can’t drink no more,” he answered simply. “Ain’t in a long time. I just miss the smell.”

“So, you’re a recovering alcoholic of something?”

“Or somethin’,” he mumbled, straightening himself off the wall. “Look, I won’t be creepy no more. Sorry for makin’ you think I am.”

“Well, good,” you said, unsure if you truly believed that statement. “Or else I’ll tell the bouncers to keep an eye on you.”

He snorted, shaking his head slightly. “Wouldn’t want that now.”

He left you a moment later, disappearing within the masses. You only shook your head and focused back on the bathroom line. What an odd man.

—-

By the time 2 am rolled around, the building was significantly less crowded, steadily emptying in the last hour. It was closing time, and the bouncers were slowly ushering the rest out. Your eyes scanned the remaining customers every once in a while in search of that man, though your efforts proved fruitless as he was nowhere to be seen. If he left, you hoped he kept to his word and wouldn’t try anything strange.

With the dance floor now empty and the only souls were you and another coworker, you finished up your final duties of the night. Your legs ached from standing for so long, your back tight from constantly having to bend over to grab bottom shelf drinks and other supplies. After a long day of classes and working this busy night, you were ready to collapse in your bed.

Bidding a goodbye to the other, you collected your stuff and headed out the back door. The parking lot was empty aside from your car and another. The sky was completely black, clouds completely covering the moon and stars. The humidity outside was stifling, a significant difference than what it was inside.

Aside from the crickets chirping, it was quiet. Not surprising for a small university town practically in the middle of nowhere. While you missed the atmosphere of your urban roots, you found some charm in this little one-horse town. The history of it is what attracted you in the first place.

Lost in your thoughts as you crossed the asphalt to your car, you were suddenly brought out of it when the sound of slamming metal caught your attention. You jumped and turned, expecting to see a raccoon rooting through the trash in the small alleyway next to the club.

Except it wasn’t some woodland creature looking for leftovers. The alleyway was casted in shadow, only partly illuminated by the light that hung over the back door. You squinted seeing some movement in the shadows. You heard…something…slam against the brick wall, the scuffle of shoes…

Your heart began to race, your fingers clumsily fumbling for your phone. It sounded like some asshole was taking advantage of a poor soul, and you briefly wondered if you initial suspicion of the man from earlier had turned out to be truthful after all.

You gripped your self-defense keychain in your hand, your phone up with the flashlight on in your other. You carefully approached the alleyway. The closer you got, the darkness seemed to loom out with a sinister aura. The source of the metal crash from earlier lay at your feet, a trash can that looked heavily dented.

An oddly muffled gurgle caught your attention. Your heartbeat echoed in your ears as you attempted to keep your breathing steady. Shining your light forward, catching the sight of two people in the beam.

It almost appeared as if they were kissing. One guy was pressed up against the wall, his head tilted back. Eyes wide and mouth hung open. The other guy, much taller…his head was turned away from you, his mouth pressed to the other’s neck.

Fucking drunks.

“Hey!” you called out to them. “You need to get outta here, save it for home!”

The taller man seemed to freeze, and his head turned slowly to you. Immediately recognizing him as the man from earlier, your eyes widened. He caught your gaze, that same predatory glare hot on you with even more intensity than before. It wasn’t until a second later when you noticed a dark liquid dripping from his lips, as well as it streaked against the other guy’s neck.

Blood.

You immediately spun around and sprinted back towards the parking lot. Feet hitting the ground hard, all you could think of was getting out of there.

Within a fraction of a second, a figure appeared directly in your path with such speed it was if they teleported. You tried to skirt around them, only to feel hands grip your shoulders, yanking you and spinning you around, feeling your body slam against the wall. The dizzying propulsion had knocked the wind out of you, gasping as your vision spun slightly.

A body was heavy on yours, an arm around your torso, keeping you pinned between them and the wall. You met the gaze of bright, burning eyes. The blood still stained his lips.

“I wish you ain’t have to see that.” He murmured to you, a growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

You still tried to wiggle out of his grasp, though his body proved too strong. He was a good head taller than you and seemingly made of all muscle. “Let me go,” you pleaded, your voice wavering. “Please. I-I won’t tell anyone what I saw!”

“Wish I could.” He responded, the coppery smell of blood wafting from his breath. You caught the gleam of sharp, elongated teeth. He covered your mouth with his hand, ice cold against your flushed face.

Your body shook from head to toe, pure terror pumping through your veins. You hoped your coworker would step out to see this, to call for help or somehow scare him away. Your eyes swiveled, trying to find any means of escape.

“Look at me.” He commanded.

You ignored him, not wanting to look into those inhuman eyes again. It may very well be the last thing you see.

“Look at me!” he repeated, the roar in his voice made you flinch. Reluctantly, you slowly looked at his face again. The anger still lingered, though softened slightly. “You’re a nice girl. Young and full o’ promise. I can’t let you go, but I can’t keep you either.”

The only sound you could make was a muffled cry. Would this be the last night of your life, or would he try to attempt something else? You wished someone, anyone, would turn the corner and see.

He continued to stare directly at you. His blue eyes were hypnotic in a way, steady and clear of any emotion at the moment. You began to relax despite the circumstances, a calmness washing over your body…

[absconditum-imaginaerum]

CHECKMATE | JR

JR | Checkmate | T+

Words | 4,690

Notes |  Accidental compromising situation, friends to lovers AU, game night. I have been with JR for 8 years now and he deserves a lot of love and with their comeback (I know it was a while ago now but wow I’m still not over it???) I have been flooded with JR feels so... enjoy my shitty writing lmao. Highly unedited because let’s be honest, when does Ailea edit any of her writings....

You promised. You promised a thousand times they were just going to be skittles games, that there would be no ounce of competitiveness in any of the matches you played and while the both of you knew that was going to be a total lie considering your nature with each other, JR sighed and accepted your proposal with the promise that you would make his favorite dessert when it was all said and done.

Skittle was a term JR came to understand as meaning just for fun in regard to the game of chess when you first began teaching him how to play. Ever since he started getting really good, skittles games were the norm—no timed matches, no speed rounds, just straight games for fun using all the time either of you wanted in the world. At first, he started coming over to your place because there was a nice table where the two of you could play comfortably.

It didn’t take long for the venue to switch to his place because he only had one roommate who generally either stayed in his room or was out and about and never bothered you when you occupied the living room to litter it with snacks and drinks and flip through movies while working through your games. Sometimes the movie was forgotten about, your matches getting a little more competitive. The glimmer that JR got in his eyes when he felt he had you like cornered prey was a look you came to completely adore.

You were prepared for anything and everything when you knocked on his apartment door the next day, chess set clutched under your underarm with a grocery bag full of things to make his favorite caramel apple strudel bar when the chess-playing was over in your other hand. He answered the door, running a hand through his shaggy hair as he looked up at you from under his lashes with a shy smile looking like he’d just gotten up from a nap. And it wasn’t long after that the board was set up on the living room floor. JR pristinely set the pieces while you put dessert ingredients in the fridge.

“It’s awfully quiet, no Minhyun?” you asked, noting that the younger boy had yet to make an appearance, as he often did when you arrived at their place.

JR shrugged. “He left for the weekend; didn’t say where he was going, just that he’d be gone a few days.”

“You have the apartment all to yourself?” you asked, peering over the kitchen island and across the small space to where he was sitting, fidgeting with one of his knights as he waited for you.

“It’s not that unusual.” He laughed. JR was always the quiet type, Minhyun definitely the more adventurous. “In fact, more often than not, he’s not here while you’re over. I’m surprised you even asked about him.”

You hummed in response, curious by that observation that you hadn’t made yourself. “I guess I never noticed.”

“Too busy focusing on me,” he retaliated with another laugh.

“Too busy focusing on kicking your butt!” you called back, definitely unable to help the burning that made its way to your cheeks.

The relationship between you and JR was simple, really. You’d been close friends for a number of years and from one intellectual brain to another spent most of your time with each other playing strategy or puzzle games. It almost always turned into a competition. Even though JR was quiet, he prided himself on how witty and smart he could be, especially if it meant outsmarting you. But chess was a different game. He vowed he would get good enough to beat you and after a few lessons and a lot of time spent contemplating strategies by himself, he was well on his way to doing just that. Occasionally, you went to his place to see how far he’d come, knowing full well that one day you were going to regret it. When JR was determined for something, seldom could anything stop him.

“I think today is the last day you’ll be saying that, even if it takes a couple of games.”

“Is that a threat?” you asked, looming from the kitchen as you ambled over to the board and the boy on the floor and plopped on the side with the white pieces.

“I’m thinking it’s a promise,” he uttered, peering at you from under those lashes once again but instead of humility it was conniving.

“Then you better bring your A-Game, honey,” you sassed and moved your trusty and beginning pawn two spaces.

“You’re going to be eating those words, darling.” The quiet and encouraging purr that slipped from your throat pulled the grin to his face as he reached down, matching his pawn with yours at the center of the board, and so the match began.

In all the time that you’d been teaching JR how to play chess, the emphasis on using every piece to its highest potential was of the utmost importance. To most inexperienced chess players, highest potential would be to move as far into enemy territory as possible, but what it really meant was to place your pieces to be strategically threatening and to take control of the center four squares. Control of the center four was ideal for domination of the game, especially once a player is able to get their stronger pieces out into the open to go on the offensive.

It took JR a little practice to understand that moving pieces into enemy territory wasn’t the best idea, especially in the beginning of the game when defenses were still fortified. It would be foolish to move your queen all the way out to be overtaken by a pawn—a lesson he learned very quickly. JR got a grip on the concept of highest potential nearing immediately and became a formidable opponent much sooner than you had anticipated; but JR was always a smart guy and a quick learner, so the surprise should have been minuscule at best.

Moves and counter moves and counter-counter moves had JR thinking pretty intently about every future endeavor he was going to make against your fortification. While JR busied himself with playing the aggressive game, you turned your style on its head and started playing defensively, setting a trap long in the making that would inevitably lead to his demise.

“You’re getting a lot better,” you complimented in regard to his promotion, a pawn having sneakily made it all the way across the board to grant him a captured piece of which he chose a bishop as you’d not so foolishly left your king on the end rank un-defended against an rook which he so inconveniently didn’t have to promote anyway.

“Well, I began with a great teacher and practiced my skills from there,” he replied, watching you move a piece he had actually looked over—a knight to take his newly acquired bishop.

“We’ll see if it pays off,” you replied and waited for his move.

“I think it has,” he uttered, moving a rook down to capture your knight which for a moment seemed pretty foolish to you, as the rook still had a bishop to go through before it could reach your king and should he take the bishop, your king was in prime capturing position.

A smirk tugged at your lips as you moved your queen into position, and in turn, as you expected, JR captured your bishop.

“Checkmate,” he said, believing he had your king pinned between a bishop and a rook and one of your own pawns.

“Not so fast,” you whispered back, moving your king in a retreating diagonal. “One key rule you always forget about kings is their ability to also move diagonally.” JR scoffed; he did often forget that rule which probably would have saved his own king on many occasions had you been kind enough to inform him, but he had to learn sooner or later.

With a somewhat defeated sigh, he moved his rook to a different position in the corner, having concocted a different plan with no time left, as on the next move he was in check. Pinned in the corner, his queen had no choice but to capture one of the offending pieces, but no matter which piece he picked, checkmate was inevitable. So, the first game went to you and JR sighed in defeat.

The both of you took a short break to stretch your legs and get something to drink, as sitting on the floor would get grueling for more than one game at a time since both of you were hitting that age. The floor definitely wasn’t as comfortable as it used to be when you were kids when it wasn’t that far to sit down and not that far to get up.

JR, being the gentleman he was, grabbed you a water from the fridge as you continued to stretch. Sincerely thinking about pressing the bottom of the chilled water bottle against the exposed skin of your lower back as a result of your shirt riding up, JR looked over you before deciding to just wait and hand you the water bottle.

When you stood upright, JR was standing incredibly close, your shoulder almost against his chest as he held out the bottle to you, looking at your face. Merely able to look back at him, you took the water bottle so gingerly, you almost dropped it on the floor. His warm breath was on your face, soft fingers against your own as he handed it over, and you swore a small smirk tugged at the right corner of his lips if even for just a moment.

“On for the next game?” he asked you with a raise of his brow.

“Are you ready to lose again?” you questioned, unable to stop the way your eyes glanced at his mouth—far too close for comfort—and back at his eyes a second later.

“I won’t make the same mistakes twice,” he reminded you.

“Then, bring it.”

JR settled across the chessboard from you after taking a swig of his water. As you anticipated, the game started off tense—JR was thinking very seriously about every single move he was going to make, planning as far as a few moves head and taking into consideration the multiple ways he assumed you’d move. It was a lie to say that you were entirely focused on the game, since whenever you weren’t looking at the board, you were looking at his face. The way he gnawed his bottom lip as he considered moves, shaking his head and mouthing some reasonings had you looking at him extra hard. The thought about putting a movie on hadn’t even crossed his mind since you showed up—he was so determined to show you that he could beat you; he didn’t want any distractions.

So, the game played out. There were a couple of instances in which you thought you might be in trouble, but somehow found a way out. Never were you on the offensive in this game. He diligently moved his attacking pieces in positions that also defended his king if it came down to it. He was really going all out on this game and you were getting a little nervous.

“What’s wrong?” he asked you when he caught you thinking extra hard, reaching for some pieces before retracting your hand, eyes scanning the board numerous times but not coming up with any solid plan to continue an advance.

“Nothing,” you bit through your teeth, trying to ignore the way he played with you, sarcastically asking what was wrong as if he didn’t know.

Moves were extremely limited while simultaneously being useful, but you saw their use expiring far beyond what you hoped for. You concluding that, without any other choices, you had to sacrifice some pieces to get the game perhaps moving in a direction more favorable to you—you sacrificed a knight.

“That’s unlike you,” he commented and observed the board.

“There comes a point when you need to open space, even if that means sacrificing one of your pieces,” you sighed, refusing to look at his face at this point—he had this game won, you could feel it in your bones.

All he could muster was a small hum in response as he gnawed at the tip of his thumb. Careful was an understatement when describing JR at this moment. He looked over multiple pieces tens of times and mapped their paths just as much, also eyeballing your pieces before finally deciding on a move, pushing his knight forward into a squeezed spot, but with the way that knight moved…

“Checkmate,” he uttered.

You almost scoffed. Such a simple move had destroyed your whole game. The only moveable spots for your king was right into the path of his bishops. It was unlike you to have your king blocked in, but it was far early in the game and didn’t think that you would have to clear your king out, based on the play of previous games.

After studying the board for a minute, making absolute sure there was no way you could destroy any of his checking pieces, you accepted defeat and reached out to push your king over. It rolled off the board and onto the carpet underneath.  He waited for a moment, hoping for a congratulations, but he didn’t get one. You were clenching your jaw, hiding a small defeated smile as you continued to look at the board.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be sour about this, it’s about time I’ve beat you once,” he commented, trying to draw your attention up to him.

“You know what they say. Once you’ve beat them once, the wins will just keep coming,” you replied.

“You have that much confidence in me?” he questioned with a laugh as he began moving his pieces back.

“I have that much confidence in my teachings,” you answered, trying to take his light away out of playful competitiveness. But he couldn’t find the smile in your words.

“You’ve been spoiled with all of your winning,” he noted as you sat there. He would have pegged you as pouting about the game, but in all honesty the thoughts running through your head were far from the game at this point. You stayed silent for a moment before JR pushed the board out of the way. “You really are so upset about this game! I won’t have that frown in my apartment,” he threatened and reached out to you, both of his hands going for your sides when you quickly clamped your elbows down.

“Kim Jonghyun, don’t you even think about it!” you hollered, blocking his attempted tickles as he poked at you, that Cheshire grin across his lips bound and determined. You were slapping at his hands, trying your best to escape, shoving him every opportunity you got to try and scramble away.

“Oooh, busting out the full names now! This must be serious,” he teased some more, crawling across the floor to get close to you, poking anywhere he could to get some giggles out of you but you were far from having any of it. You grabbed his wrists, hollering his name and, with the help of some adrenaline, overpowered him to shove him away.

He was relentless, though, and never one to give up so easily. You’d crawled your way over to him, only making it easy for him to begin his attacks again, but you had something else in mind. You grabbed both of his wrists again, now having the proper leverage to really overpower him and pushed him over, off the balance of his legs and he crashed down onto his back, breathing heavily as you pinned his arms above his head, grip tight against his wrists. In order to get enough leverage to keep him there, you swung a leg over his body and straddle him to pin his hips to the ground, too.

In your struggling, your breathing had become labored also, and it fanned across JR’s face as you looked down at him. He was panting back just the same, but his arms never struggled out from under your grip. In fact, it was quite the opposite; he looked up at you with half-lidded eyes, tongue dancing behind his slightly parted teeth.

“Not so mouthy anymore, are you?”

He didn’t have a good reply for you, just turned his gaze away and slightly shifted his legs with a quiet grunt. That was the only time his arms ever struggled in your grip, but you weren’t about to let him up, not without a good explanation.

“Cat got your tongue, JR?” you asked, shifting a little bit to get a better grip on his wrists.

His gaze snapped back to you. “You are sitting very precariously on my lower half and I am concentrating so hard to not pop one underneath you; so yeah, I have nothing good to say.”

The blush that covered your cheeks was hotter than the sun when you realized the situation. Your hands let go of his wrists and he knew what was coming. He gave a vain attempt to stop you, but you were already convicted.

“Don’t!...Ah… fuck,” he groaned, defeated. The friction of you rotating to sit up was beyond his breaking point. All that concentration out the window with that simple of a movement; JR threw one of his freed hands over his eyes, expecting that you would jump off him, but you didn’t. You took a deep breath, your hands flat against his abdomen as the pressure grew underneath you. The fabric of his shirt was weak and pliable under the clawing motions of your fingers as they scraped against him.

JR’s legs shifted again, trying something, anything really, to relieve the pressure from you as you made no attempt to move, at least not to get off of him. The salivation occurring in your mouth was betraying you as you looked down at perhaps your closest friend, covering his embarrassed face with a shake of his head as you sat atop his most intimate parts.

“I’m so sorry,” he apologized, “I hardly have any control over it and the tiniest amount of anything will set it off at any moment.”

You didn’t even hear him, really. He was speaking, you could tell because you were looking at his face and could see his mouth moving, but as far as words actually being received in the mush of your mind—it was futile, really. As if on autopilot, you shifted your knees and rocked your hips.

The groan that fell from JR’s lips was nothing short of delicious.

“Ooh, fuck,” he whined, pushing his head back into the carpeted floor, legs shifting some more underneath and behind you. With his eyes clenched closed, he removed his hand from over his face and turned it over so that the back of his hand was staring back at him and drew his index finger knuckle between his teeth, which did absolutely nothing to muffle the next whimper from deep in his throat.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t really know why I won’t get off you,” you admitted, the haziness in your eyes just about matched his, but you were coming to some sort of consciousness even as your fingers continued to paw at his shirt, bunched against his middle. JR’s teeth ground together gently as he thought of what to say, but really all he could focus on was how warm you felt against his lower extremities and the saliva collecting under his tongue which he soon swallowed hard. His eyes opened to slits to look at you.

“How would you feel if I asked you to kiss me?” he finally uttered.

Your soft chuckle turned to a grin, then faded to you biting your bottom lip as you took both of his hands and laced your fingers with his. He watched you curiously, but threaded his fingers with yours nonetheless. You sat high on your knees, lifting from his hips and with his help, you guided his hands down to the carpet slightly above his head and watched his eyes flutter closed to anticipate you, but you moved right passed his face and into the crook of his neck.

Still, that sigh bubbling at the top of his throat spilled over when your teeth nipped at his jaw. His head tilted away and back from your mouth, giving you more area to bite at your will. Your soft lips against the curve of his jaw had him positively wild for you as you kissed along it—slow, sensual, lingering kisses down his neck.

His hisses were absolutely electrifying, hands jerking against yours, gripping them even tighter before he even thought about turning his face back to you; when he did, you swallowed the needy sigh right off his supple lips. His kiss was soft and sweet, but still quite eager and needy, especially as you drew his bottom lip between your teeth to caress it with your tongue and then bite softly before letting it go.  It returned to its rightful place just to be drawn between his teeth, and with another quiet hiss he opened his eyes fully.

JR’s soft gaze met yours, even as his fingers begged for your hands to continue to hold his when they slipped away. You were about to settle back down on his hips, the situation slipping your mind again; he took your hips to guide you to the side, gravity helping him roll over top of you. His dark hair fell forward, curtaining his face a bit as it fell into his eyes. His left hand shoveled under your shoulder while the other caressed your cheek with his thumb, eyes affectionately admiring you. His lower half was cast off to your side as he leaned over you, but that seemed to be the least of your concern now as he leaned down to slant his mouth against yours.

While one of your hands braced against his shoulder, the other delicately wrapped around the back of his neck. He tilted his head, accepting your warm tongue against his for just a second before he broke the kiss, the soft suction of departing lips loud in both of your ears. His eyes slowly fluttered open to meet your gaze again.

“Wow,” he uttered.

“What?” you asked with a soft smile, trying to stave the blush off your face.

“You have nice kisses,” he admitted and leaned down to chastely peck your lips, wet from his kiss.

The front door popped, opening slowly with Minhyun already explaining that he was back because he had a change of plans but in the middle of his rant, noticed the two of you on the floor of the living room and paused mid-sentence.

He cocked his head to the side for a minute, a curious glint in his eyes as he observed the living room. The chess board was messily cast aside, snacks and drinks littering the coffee table before his eyes settled on the two of you again.

“And how long have you been keeping this not-secret from me?” he asked curiously, shutting the door behind him.

“It’s as brand new to us as it is to you,” JR replied, eyeballing his roommate and best friend.

“Not-secret?” you questioned from under the older male.

Minhyun scoffed with a condescending smile. “You really are blind to each other, or yourselves, I can’t decide which. I’ve been making bets with Ren about how long this was going take because even he can scrape the tension off himself with a credit card. But if it is brand new as of right now, then I owe him twenty bucks.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” JR asked, finally letting you sit up properly.

“I told Ren that the two of you were already together, bet him that you’d passed this stage a long time ago, but he was right when he said that you guys were too stubborn to admit your feelings for each other.”

Minhyun didn’t waste any more time entertaining the two of you—he was better off getting his things and getting lost to let the two of you catch up on a long time coming. JR stood, helping you up to do the same to make the situation a little less awkward, but he kept you close in front of him to hide the obvious result of accidental movement which sparked this whole thing in the first place. He shifted to sit on the armrest of the chair and hulled you over, begging you to play along as you leaned against his leg with his hand entertaining your hip as you waited for Minhyun to finish rustling in his room and leave again.

The door popped again, another familiar face making an appearance. “Minhyun! We’re already la—Oh, hello,” Ren commented, noticing the two of you and waved his fingers in your direction.

“He owes you twenty dollars; don’t let him forget,” you commented, a little salty with him for walking in on the two of you a little busy on the floor. You could feel JR relaxing a bit behind you, taking particularly calculated breaths to calm himself before he could make eye-contact with Ren.

“Ohh, so the truth has been discovered. That’s so cute, you guys have always been so good for each other. I told Minhyun that if he was wrong, I was going to set the two of you up for real. Glad to see you’ve opened your eyes,” Ren explained. “Minhyun! Tick-tock!”

“I’m coming! I’m coming. Jeez. Don’t you think the lovebirds will have enough time for themselves? No need to rush me out of my own apartment,” he grumbled, hulling his bag towards the door.

“Toodles, my little doves. Don’t have too much fun,” Ren commented with a wink as he pulled Minhyun through the door, slamming it behind them.

JR relaxed into you, slouching into your back to bury his face. “They are so embarrassing,” he commented, muffled in the back of your shirt before you were pushing off his lap. You looked at him, a little curious about Minhyun’s comment about you having plenty of time to yourselves.

He must have sensed it, because he took your hands and drew you back to him, bringing them up individually to kiss the back of them. “I have every intention of starting this right and taking it slow. Don’t listen to Minhyun, you know he lives to get under people’s skin.”  

“Do you want to help me make your caramel strudel bars?” you asked him, stepping to him and slightly between his legs to drape your arms across his shoulders—it felt so like home, it was almost indescribable; as if your hiraeth had been cured.

“If it means standing behind you, nestled in the crook of your shoulder while I watch you make it… I’d be happy to,” he replied while looking up at you. He adored the way you pushed his hair back, tucking the longer strands back behind his ears, generally caressing his face as you admired him just the same.

Looking at him now brought a different sense of joy. Of course, you were always happy to see him before, but now… now it was ecstatic. Now you felt completely at ease. He made your heart full, and the way he looked at you about had your toes curling, goosebumps raising on your skin because you knew he looked at you for altogether a different reason. Instead of looking at you and enjoying your company as his closest friend, he looked at you and appreciated your place by his side.  So, with a soft smile, you laced your fingers with his and turned to tug him off to the kitchen, but not without a sweet, contract sealing kiss that he was yours now, and there were no take-backsies.

[pickalilywrites]

I'm always happy to see more of the Peaky Blinders AU. Don't feel like you have to include the Garrison lol - I do just genuinely like Levi, Petra, and the rest that are already in there.

have been meaning to write this lil garrison gang prequel for a while now xoxo

You Should See the Other Guy

Dot Pixis. Gang AU. 

2469 words. 

Buy me a ko-fi!

Dot Pixis fiddles with the glass in front of him, staring at the two empty seats at the other side of the table. As the minutes pass, his frown grows deeper, and he grows more impatient. He takes a quick glance at his watch - half an hour past ten - and grumbles to himself. The woman beside him, Anka, ignores the old man’s mumblings, and instead stares straight ahead at the door where their guests should have arrived long ago. Aside from the distiller, the two are alone in this place. Together, they sit in silence with only the sound of Hannes tending to the moonshine in the fermentation vessel sitting behind them.

“Pour me a drink, Anka,” Dot Pixis says suddenly, gesturing at his glass. “You may have a glass as well if you wish.”

“It’s rude to drink before your guests arrive,” Anka replies, but she’s already heading towards the racks of rum. She selects an unopened bottle without looking and returns, pouring the golden liquor until it almost fills the entire glass. However, she refrains from pouring herself a drink, setting the bottle down instead and returning to her place beside Pixis.

“You’re quite right,” Pixis agrees, but he takes a slow sip of his drink anyway. When he sets his glass down again, it is half empty. He looks disapprovingly at the other empty glasses. “Of course, I’m sure you would also agree that it’s rude for guests to arrive over half an hour late.”

“Perhaps they’ll have a good reason for their tardiness,” Anka says, but she knows this is unlikely. It is more likely that their guests think very little of Dot Pixis and his crew. It’s an unfortunate opinion to have, but it wouldn’t be the first time that people have underestimated the old gang leader.

Pixis merely grumbles, although it’s clear that he doesn’t agree with his second-in-command by his displeased expression. With every impatient glance of his watch, every move of the minute hand is another strike against their absent guests. Another fifteen minutes pass, and Pixis has emptied his glass. Should this meeting ever begin, Anka knows for certain that it will not end well.

There’s a knock at the door, and one of Pixis’ men enters. “They’ve arrived, Pixis,” Mitabi says. He waits for his boss’ command. When he sees Pixis wave his hand, Mitabi nods and proceeds to let the guests in.

Two men stroll in, not bothering to apologize. It could be that they’re unaware of their own tardiness, but Anka believes that it’s more likely that they don’t care. The expression on their faces is far too smug to be innocent, and they don’t bother to greet the old gang leader as they sit down across from him. They sneer at Pixis, believing him a senile old man, and one of them turns to Anka, gesturing for her to pour them all a drink.

Anka only moves when Pixis waves her forward. As she pours the gin, she keeps her eyes on the two guests, a neutral expression on her face. She remembers them from previous meetings that Pixis had held with their gang, although she recalls that they’re merely henchmen. It’s evident that the leader of this particular gang does not find this matter important enough to attend himself. It would have been better if nobody had come.

“You’re late,” Pixis says. He leaves his drink untouched. It might be that he’s had enough alcohol from his previous drink, but Anka believes it’s more likely that Pixis wants to deal with these poor fools first. “We were scheduled to meet an hour ago. Is there a reason for your tardiness?”

“Huh, an hour?” one of the men say, glancing down at his watch. He simply laughs when he sees the time, unashamed at his rudeness. He looks up and grins impishly at Pixis, the expression of someone who hasn’t acknowledged that he’s done anything wrong. Like his partner, he wears a black bowler hat on his head. Anka finds his boyish face and golden curls familiar and recalls his name as Edward. “Were we not supposed to meet at eleven? We were certain the meeting was at eleven, not ten.”

“It was ten,” Pixis says. Unlike the other two giggling fools, Pixis sits without so much as a smile on his face.

“Well, at least we’re here,” the other man says with a wave of his hand. He’s probably barely out of his twenties, if the peach fuzz on his upper lip is any indication of his age. When he takes off his bowler hat, he reveals a head of messy brown locks. Anka would like to say his name is Fred, although she thinks she’s merely grasping at whatever familiar name is available in her mind now. “There’s no point in getting angry about us now. It’s not as if losing your temper will fix things. Let’s talk about what we came here to talk about shall we?”

They must be incredibly bold and incredibly stupid to speak so brazenly to Pixis, although there’s a chance that it’s a dangerous mixture of both. Anka can’t recall the last time someone has ever spoken to Pixis in such a way. She’s sure that whoever had met an unfortunate fate. She’s surprised when she turns and sees that Pixis wears a calm expression on his face. She watches as he takes his glass, holding the top by the tips of his fingers, and swirls it around. He hasn’t even taken one sip yet, but the men across from him have eagerly gulped down their drinks.

“Then let’s talk about more important matters, shall we?” Pixis says, sitting back in his chair. He taps his fingers against the table, watching the two young men carefully. “Last month, the Citystreet Bowlers purchased 200 cases of beer, 100 cases of liquor, and 100 cases of wine from the Garrison Gang. However, the money we’ve received so far hardly covers your expenses. By now, your group should have surely sold enough to pay for at least 75 percent of what is owed, and yet we have received less than half of that money. Why is that?”

The blond one - Edward - tilts his head, feigning an expression of surprise as if this is new information to him. “Is that so?” he asks. He takes another swig of his drink, finishing off the rum. With a lick of his lips, he then says, “It’s true that much time has passed, but perhaps you’ve overestimated the quality of the product you’ve sold us. It isn’t doing nearly as well as you have predicted, Pixis. How can we possibly pay you back when it isn’t making as much as you believe it’s worth?”

Here, Hannes stops his works and looks up from where he stands at the open fermenter, and both he and Anka watch Pixis’ reaction. Rather than looking at his distiller, Pixis continues to look at the two men. The old man strokes his silver mustache, watching the men carefully. After a moment, he says, “A few of my men had the luxury of stopping by your bar the other night, and it seemed that business was well.”

The smile on the brown-haired man’s face falters for just a second, but his companion breezily answers, “There can be more than one reason for a business to succeed. In the case of the Citystreet Bowlers’ new establishment, we were lucky enough to have additional entertainment to attract customers - music, gambling, beautiful women, and the like. Much of our sales are attributed to these other attractions rather than your drinks.”

“Then you should have been able to sell drinks regardless of how good they were,” Pixis says, completely unruffled. He takes a small sip before he continues. “If you’re entertaining your guests well, their throats are sure to get parched eventually. The wine could have turned to vinegar, and they wouldn’t notice at all.”

The man continues to give Pixis his false smile. “We admit that we overestimated the popularity of your drinks. Why can’t you admit it as well?” the man laughs. His glass sits empty in front of him.

Pixis narrows his eyes at the man and his companion. “Tell me what you really think about these drinks,” he says. His eyes flicker over towards the men’s empty cups - all empty save for a drop or two of rum at the bottom of each glass - before his gaze returns to his guests. “Be honest this time.”

The dark-haired man looks nervous, his eyes flitting over from Pixis to his companion, but the man with the blond curls is as confident as ever. The blonde man rests his arm on the table as he leans over, a fiendish smirk on his face. “Frankly, Pixis, your drinks are complete shite,” he says, his words echoing through the cellar. Behind them, Hannes winces at the insult, but the man continues. “You could replace your beer with a bottle of piss, and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Is that so?” Pixis asks. His eyes return to the empty glass in front of the blonde man. “Perhaps your palate is not as refined as you think it is.”

The man’s eye twitches. He’s clearly annoyed by Pixis’s comment, but he disguises his annoyance once more with his overconfident smile. “Don’t you believe it’s more likely that your products are poorly made?” He looks around the room - first at Pixis, then at Anka, then at Hannes. “After all, the people you’ve employed here can hardly be called reliable.”

“Enough,” Pixis says. He slams his hand on the table, and the glasses shake from the sudden jolt. The two men look at Pixis, startled, but Anka is hardly surprised. She had watched his anger grow and grow with every word that came out of the blonde man’s mouth. It was only a matter of time before the old man lost his temper. Now that he has, his stern gaze and the fire blazing in his hazel eyes are proof that the old gang leader still possesses the authority and power that he had held in his prime. Even though the two men had mocked and disrespected Pixis only moments earlier, they now shake in his presence.

Anka puts a gentle hand on her leader’s shoulder. “I’m afraid they’ve had a little too much to drink, sir,” she says quietly. It is not so much that she cares about what happens to these men. It’s just too much trouble to clean up afterward.

Pixis, however, isn’t having it. He rises from his seat, his chair scraping across the wooden floor. “On the contrary,” he growls, “I believe that they haven’t had enough to drink.”

“Sir,” Anka says, but she knows it’s far too late.

The gang leader grabs the angel-haired man by the collar of his shirt. It seems that the men have underestimated the old man’s strength, for all they can do is cry out in surprise as Pixis drags the man over to the open fermenter that Hannes is tending to. The man struggles as he’s dragged backward, reaching back and trying to tear himself away from Pixis’ grip, but he’s not strong enough. At least his companion has enough sense to fumble for his gun - a weapon stands a far better chance against Pixis’ fury than bare hands do - but he only has the opportunity to point it Pixis before Anka shoots it out of his hand.

“You bitch!” the brunet hisses, holding his other hand in shock. His head turns towards where he had dropped the gun. He reaches for it, but Anka is much faster.

Anka doesn’t say a word to the man. She simply steps on the gun, trapping it under the heel of her boot. She gives him a withering glare, making it clear that she would crush his head her heel if given the chance. The man has no choice but to watch helplessly as his friend’s head is submerged in a large vessel of alcohol.

Pixis holds down the man’s head, his eyes cold now. At first, the man struggles underneath Pixis’ grip as he tries to free himself, but his movements become weaker and weaker until he gives up completely. Pixis is deaf to the shouts of the man’s companion, and he’s oblivious to the look of alarm on Hannes’ face. His eyes are fixed on the rum that the man is being drowned in. It’s only when the bubbles have completely disappeared from the alcohol that Pixis lifts the man’s head. He raises the man up, his expression full of disgust as the man coughs out all the rum he had ingested. After the man has finished coughing, Pixis throws him on the floor. With his hands in his pockets, Pixis walks over to where the blonde man - his curls once a golden yellow, now a dirty blonde - has fallen. “You’ve insulted me,” he says, his voice gruff. “But far worse, you’ve insulted my gang and their work.”

The man on the floor splutters and coughs. He had once been so confident, but now tears stream down his face. Although he had strolled in like a grown man, he looks just like a boy now. He’s too afraid to even look up at the fearsome gang leader. He keeps his blue eyes on the floor in front of him as he mumbles, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sir.”

“Get out of my sight,” Pixis says. He watches as the two men scramble away - the brunet holding up the blonde. As the two near the door, he calls, “And tell your boss that I’ll be expecting the money by the end of the week. If he hasn’t paid me by then, the Citystreet Bowlers can kiss their business goodbye.”

The brown-haired man nods frantically before he rushes out the door, half-carrying his comrade with him. Those guarding the doors on the outside look at the two men curiously, wondering what had transpired in the basement, and watch as the two hurriedly leave the building.

Pixis returns to his seat, leaning back in his chair. “We’re done with doing business with the Citystreet Bowlers, Anka,” he says calmly. He looks over at his second-in-command. “You’ve heard of Levi Ackerman, haven’t you? He’s just returned from the war. I hear that his clan is thinking about opening up a bar as well. Look into it for me.”

“Yes, sir,” Anka says.

“And pour me another drink.” He looks behind them, gesturing for Hannes to fetch them another bottle of rum.

Anka raises an eyebrow. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough to drink, sir?”

Pixis scoffs. “If you think I had too much to drink,  you should see the other guy.”

[jennycalendar]

lucky to have you

The lights flash purple-blue, catching in the raven-black of Jenny’s hair. Jenny’s mouth forms the lyrics of the song blaring through the ballroom, and Miss Charlotte is on the verge of falling in love. She lets her forehead bump against Jenny’s, telling herself she can blame it on the alcohol. “You’re a godawful singer,” she shouts over the music.

“Don’t I know it!” Jenny shouts back, beaming at Miss Charlotte as though she’s been paid the compliment of the century.

i started thinking about my potential novel again today, which of course meant that i went through my old notebooks and extended something from last year into an actual little piece. mostly about my beloveds biconic vampire jenny callahan and british fire-witch miss charlotte, with some mentions of various other people.

a brief synopsis: jenny and miss charlotte dance, flirt, and might have kissed if they weren’t both so bad at communicating. miss charlotte is a pining idiot. jenny is probably also a pining idiot.

Miss Charlotte takes a long sip, looking at Jenny over the rim of her glass. “You’re not dancing,” she observes. “Isn’t now a prime time for you to bring out the funky chickens?”

Jenny chokes a little on her drink and wipes her mouth on her sleeve, still grinning. “First of all, Charlie-pie,” she says, “the dance itself is called the funky chicken. And second, I don’t generally dance at these kinds of things without a partner to dance with.”

“How horribly traditional of you,” says Miss Charlotte, and smiles a little so that Jenny can tell she’s joking. “Next you’ll tell me that you always let the gentleman lead.”

“Hardly,” says Jenny, and places her drink down on the bar, taking a sweeping bow. “I let the guy in the suit lead, and that’s pretty much always me.”

“And if it’s black-tie?”

“Then I cut a rug with a girl instead,” says Jenny, extending a hand to Miss Charlotte.

Miss Charlotte bites back a smile. It won’t do to act a besotted fool. “As it happens,” she says, “I’ve all but finished my drink—” and places her nearly-empty glass down on the bar, picking up the drink that Jenny’s abandoned. “Do you waltz?”

“I’m a vampire from the 1890s,” says Jenny, as if this should answer all Miss Charlotte’s questions. “I can waltz, I can shimmy, I can jitterbug—”

“You are making it far too easy for me to make fun of you,” Miss Charlotte informs her.

Jenny winks. “That’s the idea.”

Miss Charlotte takes a sip of Jenny’s drink. A bit too bitter for her taste, she thinks, and a bit too expensive for her to afford at any rate. She often forgets that Jenny, who has the sweetness and excitability of someone much younger, is a cultured, ageless being—perhaps it’s because Jenny is never pretentious, never holds her experience above other people. It’s remarkably endearing. “I suppose,” she says, “that I might be able to spare you one dance,” and takes Jenny’s hand.

“Ooh, your dance card’s all full?” Jenny plucks her drink from Miss Charlotte’s hand, tossing it back in a last graceful sip. She looks extraordinarily dashing in the dimmed lights of the ballroom—completely in her element—and as she sets the glass back down on the bar and leads Miss Charlotte onto the dance floor, Miss Charlotte is struck by the beginning of a feeling that she can’t yet place.

A faster song starts up, one with a pulsing beat. Miss Charlotte feels Jenny’s hands on her waist in a way that sends a thrill through her. Refusing to comply to her fluttering heart, she says dryly, “You’re certain that you can manage a waltz at this tempo?”

“The advantage of having a century or so under your belt,” says Jenny, “is the amount of time you’re given to accrue numerous talents.” She pulls Miss Charlotte close—the way one does when they waltz, no closer than that, but it feels like they’re close enough to kiss—and this close, Miss Charlotte is suddenly aware that Jenny is nearly a head taller than her. Sometimes she forgets—Jenny makes herself so easily accessible—

The lights flash purple-blue, catching in the raven-black of Jenny’s hair. Jenny’s mouth forms the lyrics of the song blaring through the ballroom, and Miss Charlotte is on the verge of falling in love. She lets her forehead bump against Jenny’s, telling herself she can blame it on the alcohol. “You’re a godawful singer,” she shouts over the music.

“Don’t I know it!” Jenny shouts back, beaming at Miss Charlotte as though she’s been paid the compliment of the century. “At least I’m not as bad as Oliver!”

Miss Charlotte laughs, forgetting herself, and Jenny’s answering smile makes her heart sing. Her hair is falling out of its neat bun; she is only slightly paying attention to her state of disarray. “You’re not waltzing,” she persists, “we’re just jumping about while you hold me.”

“Any objections?” says Jenny, giving Miss Charlotte that playful, flirtatious grin that she gives absolutely everyone.

Miss Charlotte is jerked unpleasantly out of the moment. Jenny Callahan is an ageless being, Jenny Callahan flirts with everyone, and the thought that she might someday be something special to this woman is terribly unrealistic. “Yes,” she says, “yes—” Her chest is tight as she pulls herself free from Jenny, missing the brief handful of seconds where she was able to forget.

“Charlotte,” says Jenny, a sudden worry in her voice.

“Call me one of your foolish nicknames, why don’t you?” says Miss Charlotte waspishly, well aware that her tipsy state probably isn’t helping this interaction. “It’ll make this whole thing seem bloody normal again. Excuse me.” She hurries away from Jenny—or tries to. Jenny has caught her arm.

“Charlotte,” says Jenny again, and her hand moves up to undo Miss Charlotte’s bun. Miss Charlotte’s blonde curls tumble loose, bouncing free against her shoulders (left bare by the strapless dress), and Jenny draws in a soft, pained breath. “You’re so beautiful,” she says.

“Are you drunk?” says Miss Charlotte stiffly.

Jenny’s eyes are incredibly clear; she looks the farthest from inebriated that a person can be. “Yeah,” she says. “Yeah, I’m—I’m drunk. Sure.”

Miss Charlotte nods to herself, heart pounding. “Don’t tell me I’m beautiful like it matters to you,” she says. “Don’t do that to me.” And she jerks her arm out of Jenny’s hand, hurrying across the room and through the crowd, out the door and into the deserted gardens.

Well. Mostly deserted.

Tasha and Natalie are lying sprawled on the grass together, Natalie’s suit rumpled and Tasha’s dress riding up her thighs. Tasha is settled in Natalie’s arms, and Natalie is pointing out various constellations, and they look unapologetically happy, and it is almost too much for Miss Charlotte to bear. What is it like, she thinks, to be in love with someone who can love you back just as easily?

“Hey,” says a voice, and Miss Charlotte turns. Oliver’s girl—Clover—is standing there, surveying her with a thoughtful expression. “Jenny’s hitting the bar pretty hard,” she says. “And when I asked her why, she said she was shooting for attainable goals tonight, and getting drunk seemed more attainable than some of the stuff she really wanted.”

“She wants me, I think, for tonight,” says Miss Charlotte coolly. “I shan’t oblige her.”

“Shan’t,” Clover mimics, and laughs almost affectionately. “Listen, Charlotte—”

“Miss Charlotte, if you please,” says Miss Charlotte all but reflexively.

“—she doesn’t want you just for tonight,” says Clover. “At least, I don’t think she does.”

“Thank you for your input,” says Miss Charlotte, and goes resolutely back to watching Natalie and Tasha cuddle under the stars.

She hears an exasperated huff from Clover, and the sound of retreating footsteps. She doesn’t bother to look back. Clover is a young thing with little experience when it comes to love, and Miss Charlotte is nearing her forties having participated in a healthy number of relationships.

(Granted, she has never been in love before, but this is not something worth mentioning.)

Jenny is spectacularly smashed by the time they all leave the gala, leaning heavily on Miss Charlotte and playing with her curls as they sit together in the back of the limousine. “You’re beautiful,” she says again, still with that odd, helpless note of sincerity to her voice. Miss Charlotte determinedly ignores it, focusing instead on the fact that Jenny has said this to a thousand other women and men before her. “You are so so beautiful and any girl would be lucky to have you.”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” says Miss Charlotte.

“Jesus fucking Christ but they’re idiots,” says Clover to Oliver, who gets the vaguely panicked look on his face that he always does when he might be asked to side with someone.

Jenny hums, settling into Miss Charlotte’s side. “I hope I’m drunk enough not to remember this,” she mumbles to herself. “Made such a fucking idiot of myself—god, I hope you’re drunk enough not to remember this too.”

The statement cuts Miss Charlotte to the bone; she tightly grips the fabric of her dress, part of her wishing it to tear under her hands. She wants some physical representation of what she feels—she wants it not to be bottled up inside, inflicted on no one but herself. “I am drunk,” she agrees, if only for the sake of drunk-Jenny. “Drunk enough not to remember, I’m sure.”

Jenny raises her head, eyes bright. “Can I kiss you, if we won’t remember?” she asks. “I’ve always wanted—”

“WE ARE STILL IN THE LIMO,” says Tasha very loudly, an expression of abject mortification on her face. Miss Charlotte buries her head in her hands, Jenny blinks languidly at the rest of the Do-Gooders, and Oliver sort of whimpers.

“So this is what you guys do when you go out,” Clover observes. “Cool. Remind me to never go out with any of you again.” She considers, then squeezes Oliver’s shoulder. “You’re okay, though. Maybe.”

Miss Charlotte replays that memory; it’s the only one she’ll get. Can I kiss you? Jenny says to her, eyes longing, lips parted as if in anticipation of the kiss she is requesting. Can I kiss you? Jenny says to her, and the note in her voice is still that one of desperate sadness, as though she already knows the answer. Can I kiss you? Jenny says to her, already leaning forward.

Yes, says Miss Charlotte, in a world where they were the only two people in the godforsaken limousine, and she was just a bit more drunk, and both of them were just a bit less afraid. Yes, yes, yes.

Jenny is painfully hungover the next morning. “I am dead,” she complains to the office at large, “I should be exempt from things like this—and how are you not hungover, either, Char-lots-of-curls? I could’ve sworn you were drinking too.”

There is no apprehension in her eyes as she looks at Miss Charlotte.

Miss Charlotte aches.

“Miss Charlotte’s a witch, remember?” Natalie points out. “Probably she’s got some high alcohol tolerance thing going.”

“Yes,” says Miss Charlotte. “That.”

Jenny pulls herself up from the floor and to her feet. “Hey, Charcoal, can we talk?” she says, and sort of jerks her head towards the conference room. “Real quick. It’ll only take a second.”

All of a sudden very nervous, Miss Charlotte follows Jenny, grateful for her years of practice when it comes to remaining calm and composed. Jenny shuts the door behind her, and involuntarily, Miss Charlotte blurts out, “You asked to kiss me last night.”

Jenny winces. For once, she looks her age. “Yeah, I kind of wanted to talk to you about that,” she said. “Most of it was the alcohol, I think.”

“That’s good to know,” says Miss Charlotte miserably.

“What—oh, no, Charlotte, don’t you ever think I don’t want to kiss you,” says Jenny, sounding genuinely horrified by the concept. “I just meant that if I made you uncomfortable with any of my come-ons—”

“You want to kiss everyone,” says Miss Charlotte. “I don’t take it personally. Leave it, Callahan, all right?”

“Charlotte—”

“Leave it,” says Miss Charlotte, and hurries out of the conference room, unable to look back and see the hurt that she knows is on Jenny’s face.

[thedistantstorm]

Drowning

Continues from Fever (or you can read this one alone, your call). Pre-relationship. Gets a little heated toward the end. Zavala almost dies. Who knew full Titan armor was not conducive to swimming?

-----+++++-----

It sounds like his ears are ringing, like a grenade’s gone off. His chest hurts. Did he fall on one for the civilians? Wait. A mental check of all four major extremities confirmed everything was in place. The aching and slightest pull of the link he and his Ghost shared confirmed that no, he has not died, and yes the light is still gone.

He was also… cold?

Yes. But no, that wasn’t quite right.

Wet. He is cold because he is wet. Why is he-

Oh.

Right. He’d tackled a stealth vandal that had gotten the drop on them to prevent it from killing one of the members of their patrol group. Off a cliff. Into the lake below. The almost frozen lake. It is not his most impressive moment, but certainly there have more grievous situations.

He opens his eyes blearily; It takes several times for them to actually focus on what’s happening above him. They widen monumentally. He does not move. He cannot move.

Suraya Hawthorne is straddling him, on the ground in the woods. Her hood is down, and her short hair is edging over her eyes, midnight black contrasting with amber irises he wants to sink into. She’s focused hard on his chest, where both her hands are primed and waiting for… something. Her hands are warm through his sopping undershirt, so his chestpiece is… somewhere. She’s panting, out of breath. Her cheeks are pink. She is a masterpiece.

More importantly: She is also wet.

It is not the worst sight a man could wake up to, he thinks, instead of the rational ‘why am I in this situation’ that he should be. She inhales shakily, swipes the back of her hand across both eyes, and abruptly clambers off when she notices him staring at her face.

He thinks her lip trembles, but she schools her expression into a fierce glare. He realizes that he’s actually incredibly grateful that he’s wearing a codpiece, because they are not alone, and really he has no idea what in the Traveler’s name is happening, but that was a vision he’ll never forget.

“I need ten,” She all but shouts, stalking off into the woods. No one says a word on the subject, instead waiting for him to catch his breath and gather his bearings. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that he nearly drowned if he doesn’t remember the how of getting back to land, and the fact that he sees one very suspicious Hunter Vanguard lurking in a nearby tree does nothing to make him feel better.

There’s also a rope tied around his waist.

Right. His armor is heavy, and he’s not light to start with. He wonders how many of them it took to pull him out of the water. They are uneasy but glad he’s alright, and the thought doesn’t occur to him until he’s almost back to the Farm that none of the other members of their group are wet.

-----+++++-----

She scoffs as she throws her wet poncho over the large drying rack next to his red sweater. “Stupid Titans and their stupid death wishes,” She grumbles, not paying any mind to anyone else around her as she retreats to the barn.

In her mind’s eye, it’s cornflower colored lips and grey skin with no aura, and fingers snapping off armor even though she can’t feel the ends of each tingling digit. It’s water as cold as winter and shaking that comes from her chest and radiates out, it’s cold but not cold to blame. It’s panic-

It’s the burn of her lungs as she knows she can’t breathe but has to tie the knot, has to do something because she can’t pull him out of the water by herself, she’s not superhumanly strong. It’s three sharp tugs and a firm kick off and his head knocking into hers and a tight arm around his middle and please don’t die on me and-

It’s dragging him with her to the grass and clearing his airway and pinching his nose and opening his mouth and sharp breaths into it with a hand over his absent heartbeat. It’s a fist twisting in his sweater before she realizes this just might be the way the world ends.

It’s a sob when she pushes down hard enough to break his ribs and breathe, damn it and more breaths on his mouth and more compressions and rinse, repeat and finally - finally - he coughs it out and breathes and - and - fuck, just fuck, she loves him-

Suraya realizes with a few blinks that she is looking out at the Shard, the creepy purple light of it radiating even in the night, that her feet have taken her to the roof of the crumbling barn, even pushed herself up through the reinforced rafters. She sighs, and pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around herself. She’s still cold and wet, and she probably should have changed, but that’s something she’ll berate herself for later. She just needs to be away from everyone. Needs to breathe.

Doesn’t want to focus on the Hunter and the Titan walking out to the fireside, or the fact that the Hunter - stop it, Cayde - is already looking up at her and drawing Zavala’s attention her way. She purposefully curls up tighter and turns away, with a humph that’s swallowed by the ambient noise of the Farm below. She sighs. Hopefully she’s putting out the vibe that she does not want to interact with anyone because honestly all she wants to do is have a good cry about things so she can bottle up her feelings again and shove them right back down into the dark pit of other things that she refuses to think about because she’s responsible for the greater good of the countless thousands of people who can’t afford for her to stumble over feelings or anxieties or inadequacies and-

These people deserve far better than her.

-----+++++-----

Cayde slaps him on the back - a good thump without his chest armor there to deflect the blow from the mostly metal and silicone Exo. He doesn’t wince, but it isn’t exactly comfortable. His chest still hurts a little, but it doesn’t hurt to breathe, and his lungs don’t feel like they’re half submerged in water anymore, so all is positive on the horizon. That and his head finally feels clear. The first few hours were a little hazy, but they told him to expect that when he’d begrudgingly allowed a medic to check him out. He was to take it easy - as if that would conceivably happen - but mostly to consider himself a lucky man.

“So,” The hunter says, raising an eyebrow in a questioning smirk, “How’d it feel to receive the kiss of life?”

His brows furrow. “I have no idea what you mean.” And he truly does not.

The fire crackles and spits as Cayde looks up over at the barn and back. “Really? You don’t know what that means?” The irritated nostril flare and shake of his head egg Cayde on. “CPR, mouth-to-mouth resuscitation… you catching what I’m throwing down? Poncho was pounding pretty hard on your ribs. I’m surprised she didn’t break any.”

Zavala casts his eyes over toward the barn, where Cayde had pointed her out a few moments ago. She was facing away from the fire, toward the pale light of the Shard. It always looked like the moon was full here, because of the discarded piece of the Traveler looming in the distance.

“She-”

Cayde chuckles. “Yeah. Full on mouth-to-mouth, buddy. Couple rounds, actually. You should’ve taken advantage and played dead a little longer.”

The Titan hisses. “Nothing about that was playing, Cayde.”

“Oh, I know,” He says, with a look that’s all Hunter cunning. “That’s why she ‘took ten’ and ran off after.” He shrugged, almost bragging, “I totally followed her. She was too distracted to realize I had, screaming to the wilderness about ‘that fucking asshole, who does he think he is,’ and ‘stupid Titan who does stupid Titan things and tries to get himself killed.’ Honestly, I think she likes you.”

“I think you’re mistaken.” There’s a cold edge to the Commander’s statement that brokers no argument.

Cayde looks at him for a solid ten-count, before leaning back against the bench and turning his gaze toward the fire. “Yeah. Maybe I am.” He pulls out a flask from his vest and takes a swig. “Still, at least you got a smooch today.”

Zavala’s eyes can’t possibly roll any harder. “Yes, because I was not breathing.”

“Minor details, compadre. Minor details.”

-----+++++-----

She drops down from the rafters silently. Everything is silent, the Farm quiet in the pre-dawn hours. She manages to retreat into the Farmhouse without interruption, slipping into the bathing quarters and soaking herself in lukewarm spray. When she’s finished and can no longer smell the stench of lake water on her, she steps out and dresses in a spare set of clothes. Her poncho isn’t worth worrying about right now. The only things worth worrying about are her bed and the inside of her eyelids.

Or, at least, that’s what she thought until she laid eyes on the armor-less Titan sitting on the edge of her bed. Her eyes darken.

“What are you doing here?” The irritation in her voice is palpable.

He doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. “I came,” He croons in his low baritone, “To say thank you. You saved my life.”

She shrugs. “Not a big deal.” The fact that she doesn’t make eye contact completely negates the validity of her words. “Anything else?”

A sideways pull of his lips to the left is the only indication that he’s here for something besides the obligatory thanks for her actions.  He sighs. “I almost died today. For good.”

“I was there,” She whispers, nodding, seeing it in her mind’s eye. “I know.”

He looks up at her, leaning her left hip against the door frame. “We could die tomorrow,” He says.

She laughs. “You’ve just now realized you’re mortal? Aren’t you a bit late to the party?”

“I know I do not have the Light to revive me,” He mutters. “But, I was not prepared to recognize what that might mean. There might not be other opportunities to-”

“I see. This isn’t a conversation we should be having,” She says, crossing her arms.

“Hawthorne - Suraya, listen to me-”

“Stop it, Zavala. I’ve already told you.” She shakes her head, her lips tightening to a thin line, “We can’t.”

He stands, his wide shoulders shadowing most of her, his frame back-lit by the lamp in her room. “If this all ends tomorrow,” He whispers, looking down at her lips and back to her molten umber eyes. “If this is the only chance we get-”

“This is not the time.” Her fingers are squeezing her elbows now, her body tense. “Let it go.”

“And if I do not?” He cocks his head to the side, arcbolt blue eyes all but sparking they’re so bright and heavy on her. “You continue to say that we can’t, but what you do not say is that you do not wish to.”

She can only glare at him. She is not denying it.

He has her, and she knows he knows it. His brow raises just slightly, in a little quirk that’s almost haughty. She stares him down, but he advances, hands on her hips, splaying, fingers pointed toward her tailbone. It’s not a tight grip, but she does not move away.

“Answer me. If this all ended tomorrow-”

“Just shut up and kiss me already.”

“No.”

Her startled eyes look up to his. She looks like she’s about to sputter, and that pretty blush is back. “Answer the question. If this is the only chance we get,” He pulls her flush against him and she gasps. He is all muscle. Not that she didn’t know that already, but it’s hard to focus with so many hard planes against her, “Wouldn’t it be better to come clean? Leave nothing unsaid?”

“I am not someone you should go around falling in love with.”

He rears back and moves his hands from her hips to her cheeks, tipping her head up to ensure eye-contact. “Let me be the judge of that.”

She sighs. “You’re not going to let me out of this, are you?”

“Tell me that you do not feel the same and you are free to go.”

Her eyes flutter closed and arms come up to cup the back of his head. “I can’t,” She admits quietly.

“I know,” He hums as he tilts his head to the side and captures her lips with his. It is very tentative and gentle, a chaste, small thing that brings sweet, dragging heat to their bellies and up into their chests.

Suraya draws back, breathing just the tiniest bit heavier. His eyes are glazed with something different, something she saw that night when she was sick. It was something that matched the subtlest hints of a smile that isn’t actually a smile. She loves that look on his face. Something about it just makes him so handsome that she almost hates him for it.

It’s that thought that brings back all the ugly, half-repressed feelings of earlier. Her eyes flick up to his eyes and then his lips and suddenly she’s pushing him into a kiss, her forwardness sparking a move backwards on his part into the bedroom, and the next thing she knows, she’s sucking on his bottom lip and hovering over him - he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her legs almost straddling his lap.

“You almost died today,” She says with something akin to awe. “Fuck,” She curses, when the familiar burn of tears starts in her nose and behind her eyes.

He chuckles, ready to diffuse her anxiety. “Luckily for you - ahh,” The words die in his throat when she lowers herself on top of him, rocking forward in one motion. The friction of her pelvis on his has the desired effect, and she scrambles to grab his shoulders and push him down to the bed, mouth dragging along the line of his jaw as she returns to his lips with tongue and teeth. “Suraya,” He groans into her lips. No, he thinks, when she bucks harder against him, that is not what he’s aiming for. They need to slow down. He had no intentions of instigating this, but by the Light does it feel incredible. “Suraya.” It takes some effort, but he manages to still his hips from their fluid motion against hers - he did not even know he’d started - and his voice is even and not laiden with strain from her efforts.

She leans back, giving him room to speak.

“You do not have to-” He pauses. “I did not mean-”

“If this all ends tomorrow,” She reminds him of his words, umber eyes so beautifully unguarded for once, flicking back and forth as she focuses, enthralling with gaze alone, “And we don’t get another shot at this-”

The realization is not lost on him as Titan strength rears its head in the form of steady hands against her ass and suddenly he’s standing with her legs wrapped around his hips before he lays her down, sinking her into the old mattress. For all his power, it’s startlingly gentle, infinitely tender.

He undresses her like he’s unwrapping a present. It’s easy enough - her chestguard thankfully abandoned before her shower to save them the hassle - and it takes no time for him to have her bare beneath him. He leans out of a sizzling kiss just long enough to remove his shirt and when she bites her lower lip, her eyes ablaze with desire as they rake down his bare chest, he can't help but smile.

[thegreatwhiteferret]

I Like It Better When It Hurts

Summary: Richie’s got a pain kink, Bill helps him explore it.

Pairing: Bichie

Rating: Explicit

A/N: This was a request from two different lovely Anons who wanted to see Richie explore his pain kink with Bill. They asked for hair pulling and choking, and I added some extra action for y’all. I hope you enjoy!!! ❤️❤️❤️

NSFW Under the Cut...

The door to Bill’s bedroom slammed open, jarring him from the sketch that he had been working on for his art school portfolio. He looked up in time to see his boyfriend fling himself onto his bed with a loud sigh of discontempt. When Bill didn’t immediately divert his full attention to him, Richie sighed dramatically again. Bill set his pencil and sketchbook back on his desk and swiveled in his chair to face Richie.

“S-something bothering y-you, Rich?” Bill asked, crossing his arms over his chest. If this behavior was more rare he would probably actually be concerned, however this happened once every two weeks or so. Richie would work himself into a tizzy over something and throw himself on Bill’s bed, acting like he wanted advice, but he really just wanted to rant to his understanding boyfriend.

“I wouldn’t want to trouble you…” Richie said sweetly, and Bill had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “But since you asked, Wentworth and Maggie are insisting that we go on this grand trip this summer to visit family members that I have legitimately never met before. Prime summertime when I could be enjoying my super hot boyfriend’s company...with or without clothing on…” Richie licked his lips at the thought.

“A f-family trip sounds l-like it could be f-fun, Richie.  At l-least your family w-wants you a-around.” Bill replied sadly. His parents had been absent for years, Georgie’s disappearance and death had taken its toll on the Denbrough parents. They were sad, as they had the right to be, but even worse was the fact that they neglected the son that they still had. Bill would rather be anywhere in the world other than his house, and all of the Losers knew it. Maggie Tozier had even offered to let Bill move in with them, he was afterall the son that they had always imagined having, and that made their own little weirdo incredibly happy. His parents had clued into his life just long enough to shoot that dream down. Richie slapped his palm against his own forehead. He was an asshole.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Baby.” He said, moving across the room and crouching in front of Bill, setting his palms on the Bill’s faded blue jean clad thighs. “I know that you would give anything to be stuck on a boring trip with your parents.”

“D-don’t worry about it. Y-you shouldn’t have t-to worry about my b-bullshit family.” Bill replied, rubbing a hand through his already messy hair. Richie shook his head at him.

“You see, that’s where you are wrong, William.” He said smoothly, standing up and crowding Bill’s space until he managed to straddle him, careful not to break the desk chair. Bill sucked in a deep breath, waiting for Richie to play this all off as a joke. It was his go to coping mechanism to deal with anything too emotional. “You are a part of my family, the most important part, and I love you with all of my heart.” Richie said seriously. Bill’s heart was pounding in his chest.

“I l-love you too, Richie. Y-you are my f-family. Always.” Bill whispered, letting his forehead rest against Richie’s. The conversation had gotten deep, but Bill knew that Richie spoke from his heart. He wasn’t this soft and sweet boyfriend that everyone thought that Bill would have fallen for, he was sloppy and messy, and a real dick at times, but he was truthful about who he was.

“Mmmm, how much do you love me?” Richie asked, wiggling his eyebrows and pulling a laugh from Bill. There he was, right back to his horny joker self. Bill loved their sweet moments, but he loved the Trashmouth moments just as much.

“W-why don’t you l-let me show you?” Bill flirted back, pulling Richie’s lips down to his. Richie deepened the kiss almost immediately, silently begging for Bill to give him more. He ground his hips down into Bill’s lap. Bill growled and bucked his hips back up into Richie.

“Mmmm.” Richie moaned at the contact, throwing his head back. Bill wanted his lips back on his, he threaded his fingers through Richie’s curly hair and pulled slightly, trying to guide him back into a kiss. “Ugh. Fuck. Yes.” Richie screamed, wiggling his ass even more in Bill’s lap. The pain was so so good. Suddenly he realized what had just happened and opened his eyes to see Bill watching him carefully.

“D-did you just m-moan because I p-pulled your h-hair?” Bill questioned, he had never intentionally inflicted pain on Richie before, he would never want to hurt his boy, but if Richie had liked it, that could be a game changer. Richie bit his lip and nodded. Bill did it again, pulling slightly harder until Richie moaned again,  his body writhing with pleasure. “Hmmm, l-looks like s-someone has a pain k-kink.” Bill smirked.

“Ughhhh. Don’t play with me, Bill.” Richie whined, and untangled himself from Bill. Moving to sit on the edge of his bed, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. Bill couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his boyfriend’s antics. “It’s not funny, William. Don’t be an ass.”

“I’m s-sorry, Baby.” Bill cooed, only slightly sarcastic. He moved to sit next to Richie, crowding his space like the other boy had done to him earlier.  “Y-you want me t-to give you a k-kiss, t-to make it a-all better?” Then a thought crossed Bill’s mind, a wicked idea of what Richie would really want blooming in his mind. “Mmmmm, n-no. That’s not w-what you w-want. You want a s-spanking, don’t y-you? W-want to be s-slapped around a bit?” Richie’s mouth dropped open, partly in shock at what he had just heard come out of Bill’s mouth, but more so because it was true. His pupils were blown wide with lust, want overcoming his body.

“Fuck. Yes, Bill. That’s what I want.” He moaned out, shaking in anticipation. Bill looked over him quickly, checking for hesitation, before he rose from the bed and went to lock his door.

“T-take your pants o-off. Boxers t-too.” He instructed over his shoulder. “H-hands and knees, and s-stick that p-pretty ass in the a-air too.” Richie scrambled to comply. He let his jeans pool around his ankles and nearly tripped as he tried to kick them off around his converse. Bill turned and watched him, raking his eyes over his movements. Richie finally managed to get everything off of his lower half and get into position on the bed. His chest was heaving, heart pounding hard in his chest. Bill moved towards the bed, slowly, letting the tension build. Richie began to get impatient.

“Bill, hurry up, would ya?” Richie whined. His dick was already painfully hard between his legs. He couldn’t believe that he had gotten that hard from Bill’s words and from him slightly tugging his hair. This new found pleasure was going to be the death of him. “Bill…” His thought was cut off when he felt Bill rub his hand lightly over his right ass cheek, it was almost soothing.

“Y-you’re sure that y-you want this?” He asked, wanting to make sure that Richie was completely comfortable. Richie nodded frantically, and Bill squeezed the soft globe gently, before bringing his hand back and slapping Richie’s ass. It was loud enough to crack, but not enough to actually hurt him.

“Ahhhh fuck, Bill. Yeah, Baby. Do that again. Ohhhhh.” Richie let out between breathes, it felt so much better than he had even imagined and then Bill was landing a harder slap to his other cheek, making Richie arch his back. “Oh. Mmmm, I can’t take it harder.” Bill kept spanking him, increasing the force and speed. Richie loved every second of it. He was practically crying in pleasure when Bill had to pull back.

“Oh God. Y-your ass is r-really red, Rich.” Bill said nervously, he began to doubt everything. Richie was enjoying himself, but this was bad. It would bruise. What if he couldn’t sit when he went to school tomorrow? Richie brought himself to his knees and turned to look at his boyfriend, he knew that Bill was feeling unsure about himself just from the look on his face.

“It’s okay, Bill. I’m okay. You did so good for me. Gave me exactly what I wanted. You were perfect.” Richie pressed a kiss to his cheek and Bill let a little smile cross his face. “Now, would you please fuck me?” Bill rolled his eyes at Richie before pressing another kiss to his lips, and pushing him back so that he was lying on the bed. Bill moved to his nightstand and grabbed a condom and lube from the stash that Richie had put in there. Richie had stripped out of his shirt and was laying completely naked on Bill’s bed, just waiting for him. He had his hands resting above his head, and Bill leapt off the bed to find one more thing. He went to dig around in his closet and Richie let out a sigh of frustration. “Bill? What are you doing?”

Bill didn’t answer, he just came back into view with a silk tie, one of the ones that he wore when the baseball team was forced to dress up for events, and knelt on the bed next to Richie.

“I’m g-going to tie y-your wrists. Is t-that okay?” Bill asked, Richie did not have the words to express how okay that was with him so he nodded. Bill wrapped the silk around one of Richie’s wrists, just on the side of too tight, before roughly yanking his arm up to the headboard so he could thread the fabric through the slats. He tied the other wrist just as tight. Richie pulled on them and groaned as he felt the fabric digging into his skin. Bill smirked at him, knowing that the simple improvisation was making him fall apart even more. Bill moved between Richie’s legs again, and grabbed the bottle of lube from where he had left it earlier. He let the lub drip slowly down three of his fingers, Richie gulped from his spot on the bed.

“Bill…” He said, desire dripping in his voice. “Why are you teasing? Making me wait so long?” If Bill had more patience, he would have probably walked away, teasing Richie further and deepening this game they were playing. Alas, he did not. He was already hard in his jeans, from pulling these new reactions out of Richie. He wanted to be inside of him as soon as possible. He pressed one finger to Richie’s hole, spreading the lube around the puckered ring of muscles slightly before plunging his finger in.

“Yeah. Oh. Yeah.” Richie moaned at the stretch. Bill began pumping his finger in, hard and fast, not giving Richie any time to get used to it. The burn of the stretch left Richie panting, it felt so good. Richie began trying to meet his thrusts, he wanted to speed this up. Bill picked up on Richie’s comfort and quickly pressed another finger in. He kept his brutal pace, pounding into Richie, and then crooked his finger and dug into Richie’s prostate. “AHHHHH! Mmmmm, fuck, Bill.” Richie’s arched his back off of the bed and his wrists tugged on his restraints. Bill fucked his fingers in a few more times, he was about to push another finger in when Richie interrupted him. “Hey Bill, don’t put another finger in. I want to feel you...stretch me open on your cock.”

“Richie...I d-don’t know if t-that’s a good i-idea. It would h-hurt and you c-could tear…” Bill worried at his lip, Richie hadn’t given him the nickname ‘Big Bill’ for nothing. He knew that he was slightly above average in length and thickness. He usually worked Richie up with at least three fingers, sometimes pushing for four based on how tight Richie was and how long it had been since they had last had sex. Bill took pride in his attentiveness when it came to prepping Richie to take him, this new request scared him.

“Pleas, Bill. Just try, for me?” Richie said hopefully, and the tone had Bill melting. He nodded, standing up quickly to shed his own clothes. He reached for the condom, tearing the wrapper open and sliding it down his length. He made sure to add way more lube than he normally would, trying to take every precaution that he could.

“If i-it hurts, w-we stop. Okay?” He asked Richie, moving between his legs, already lining the head of his cock up with Richie’s hole. He looked Richie dead in the eyes, refusing to move any further until he got an answer.

“Okay, I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” He answered, trying to lean up to press a sweet kiss against Bill’s lips, but failing to do so because of his restraints. “Ugh, kiss me will ya?” He huffed and Bill smiled, leaning forward to kiss him as the head of his dick nudged Richie’s cheeks apart and breached his hole. Richie’s jaw dropped open, head hitting the pillow, it burned. He felt like his ass was being torn in two, every inch sliding in felt like torture, but in the best way possible. The burn and stretch set his nerves on fire. “Jesus Christ!” He howled, and Bill froze. Panic settling across his features.

“S-shit, Richie. I’ll s-stop, let me j-just pull…” Richie wrapped his legs around his waist and used his heels to pull Bill all the way in until he had bottomed out. Bill groaned at the feeling of Richie’s tight heat. Stretching to accommodate him. So incredibly tight. He pulled out slightly before thrusting back in. Richie let out a moan, and Bill repeated the action harder. He grabbed Richie’s hips, giving himself better leverage to fuck into him rapidly. His grip was so tight that Richie knew he would have bruises there tomorrow. That thought excited him even more.

“Yeah, yeah, harder. I can take it. Feels so fucking good.” Richie cried out in between breaths as Bill pounded into him. The sound of their skin slapping together cut through the room. On the next thrust, Bill managed to angle his hips and hit Richie’s prostate dead on. “Ohhhhhhh!” He howled, as drops of precum beaded at his slit and began dripping down his painfully hard cock. He needed just a little something more, something to amp this up. He knew what he wanted, but he also knew that Bill probably wouldn’t be down for it. Bill must have sensed his hesitation.

“W-what is it, Babe. W-what do y-you need?” Bill asked, still managing to keep his hips thrusting in an even rhythm, too much and not enough at the same time. Richie felt like he could hear his heart pounding now.

“I...I want…” He couldn’t force the words out, the request was too weird. Why would he even want that. Bill looked at him expectantly, and Richie knew that he had to tell him. “I want you to...to choke me.” Bill’s thrusts stopped and his eyes went wide at the admission.

“T-that’s dangerous. I c-could hurt you. I could s-seriously injure y-you.” Bill protested, fear crossing his feature. “Richie…”

“It’s okay, if you don’t want to. I just...I don’t know, the hair pulling, the spanking, the restraints, the underprep. It all feels so good, I just want a little more.” Richie said quietly, ashamed of himself. Bill started thrusting again, releasing his grip on Richie’s hips to lift him up and settle him so that he was more in his lap, he kept thrusting, angling his hips to hit Richie in his bundle of nerves. Richie was already close, Bill knew this, but he wanted the edge. Bill would try to give him what he wanted. He carefully wrapped his hands around his boyfriend’s neck, and Richie looked back at him with wide eyes. A happy expression crossed his face as he nodded and even sent a small smile Bill’s way in encouragement. Bill applied a little more pressure, thumbs digging into the hollow below his Adam’s apple. “Fuccccccck...” Richie moaned out at the feeling, it was even better than he expected. “More.” He instructed, and Bill pushed harder, picking up his pace as he fucked into Richie hard and sloppy. One thrust, fingers digging in. Two thrusts, head feeling floaty. The third thrust hit his prostate and Richie came with a scream. His whole body shook as he shot his load all over Bill’s chest and his own stomach.

Bill kept fucking in, feeling Richie tighten around him, and the warm cum hitting his body. The look on Richie’s face sent him tumbling over the edge. Deeply satisfied. He stilled his hips, feeling his cum fill the condom while Richie’s warm heat pulsed around him. When he was spent he carefully pulled out, careful of Richie’s oversensitive hole. He was nearly ready to collapse on the bed when Richie cleared his throat.

“Hey, Bill. Could you untie me please?” He asked, and Bill flushed, quickly moving to release Richie’s wrists. He unwrapped the fabric carefully and hissed when he saw how painfully red his boyfriend’s pail skin looked, and apology was already on his tongue. “Don’t you dare, Denbrough. You were amazing. You gave me just what I needed and asked for. Now come snuggle with me.” Richie said, already making his naked self comfortable under Bill’s blankets. Bill sighed unsure, but followed instructions. When they were all settled in, Richie decided that he needed to address the situation right then and there, he rolled over so he was facing Bill. “Thank you for trying that, it felt really good.” He confessed.

“I’d t-try anything f-for you. I l-love you.” Bill responded sweetly, and Richie felt his heart thrum happily in his chest. Bill was so good to him. “I k-kind of love y-your newfound p-pain k-kink too.” He added with a smile.

“Shush. No one ever finds out about this.” Richie said, and Bill nodded in understanding. No one needed to know what they did behind closed doors, it was none of their business. “I love you too, Bill. You always take such good care of me.”

“Are y-you still u-upset about the t-trip?” Bill asked, tucking a stray curl behind Richie’s ear. Richie pretended to think it over, like it was some huge decision.

“Nah. You took care of all of that frustration.” He said, sighing in content. “Hey, Bill? Would you maybe want to come with us on the trip? I mean, my mom already wants to adopt you and all. She’s got everything set up so as soon as you turn eighteen this summer you can move in with us. Your parents won’t be able to stop you.” Richie offered. It warmed Bill’s heart.

“I w-would love t-to.” He placed another soft kiss on Richie’s lips. His boyfriend may not have been sugary sweet with a side of prince charming, but he was perfect to Bill, pain kink and all.

[remindme2breathe]

Inspired and alone

I just wrote a recent entry about how I made my money. In that I mentioned a patient who inspired me. It’s been a few hours since I posted that and could not stop thinking about this notorious patient... I gotta get it out... I gotta just tell it! 

We will call him Amazon (it’s the first word I saw when I looked up, sorry, I’ll try and be more creative next time). Amazon was about 82 when he landed a spot in my unit of the hospital I worked for. I’ll admit that when I first met him I didn’t think he was any more special then the 60 year old in the next room, to me, a patient was just that: a patient! The hospital I worked at has a wing for the Wealthy, I didn’t work that wing, I worked the ER right next to it. While I saw the druggies, drunks, rape victims and stabbings (the list goes on), just on the other side of the wall lived a land where the patience laid on temperpedic mattresses, had one nurse for every two patients (while in ER you take on about 6-10 depending on who’s scheduled). Everything was different, it was like coming out of a high end store and walking right into the hood! Literally, that’s how different it was. While our waiting rooms had wait times of up to 3 to 4 hours, that wing had a special phone line for these wealthy members to call and announce their arrival, at which point the linens were placed, bed available (not shared), a fruit basket for their guest to enjoy while waiting in their own private living room. Their menu was ridiculous too, ‘ridiculous’ when you compare it to the soupy salt less mashed potatoes, stale graham crackers and watered down orange juice. That wing had dinner options for the guests (up to 2), salmon, some type of roast or something else. Their water came in bottles and water glasses. The patients had to survive on a better quality diet that it typically suggested by the attending Doctor. Their were several perks to being in that wing, one being the awesome accommodations, the second, YOU WAIT FOR NO ONE. There is a Doctor available. Can’t find yours? THEY WILL FIND HIM AND BRING HIM TO YOUR ROOM. On that floor, it was said, that when a Doctor has his patient in that wing, they do not leave (they stay in a designated resting suite) because they have 10 minutes to report. This comes with a hefty membership cost. Back then (2015) I believe I heard someone say it was upwards of a 150K ‘’donation’’. Today I KNOW FOR SURE THAT DONATION IS A LOT HIGHER. 

I had a friend who worked in that wing, she always complained about how BOUJEE her patients are or how demanding their guests are, I just smiled and listened. I kinda knew the feeling but had no desire to fuel her opinions, we all had problems with patients, but this is what we signed up for! While I was standing in her nurses station I noticed how many nurses would go to lunch at the same time, I was shocked. The ER was permitted one at a time, if the day was slow (which hardly happened) you’d be lucky not to eat alone. While I stood there I was noticing other tiny differences. For instance, they don’t have crash carts near by, they don’t have many assistants, in fact I think they had way more records people on the floor then actual nursing staff. As luck would have it someone started Coding. Apparently this didn’t happen often as I looked at my friend and she looked lost, as though she had no clue what to do! I yelled at her to call ER for a crash cart and to call the MD on call. I bolted to the patience room and immediately started my ER shift. Thankfully the patient pulled through and this brought great attention to the response time. Can you believe that floors director had the gull to yell at me for responding! Because it wasn’t my floor! OMG, the nerve! Needless to say she was fired for that among other things, but that’s neither here nor there.  Directly across the hall was patient by the name Prime, first name Amazon (I know, I know! Next time, I PROMISE I’LL TRY HARDER!) who would one day turn into my best friend. 

A few days after that happened I was given an award via the hospital for my quick thinking and whatever else they wrote on it. With that came a gift basket and a sealed envelope. I thought it was quite amusing when they said the envelope is from a patient of the hospital and they were under strict orders not to open it. They suggested playfully for me to read it out loud, to which I kindly declined. On my lunch hour I sat in my car and opened the envelope. Inside was a $25.00 gift card to starbucks <3 and a short handwritten letter from the Prime Family. They said they watched the whole event and were incredibly impressed with my quick response and ability to help. They admitted that although they do not know the family of the man who Coded, that Mrs Prime took it upon herself to let them know who saved their family member. I’ve been told that Mrs. Prime also ripped the hospital a ‘new one’ for its lack of education for the staff- I never bothered to see how that turned out. They left their phone number and ask that I call it because they had some questions for me. Of course that struck a curiosity. What could these people possibly need to ask ME? I waited a few days (no one wants to seem desperate), and oddly enough when the day came, I felt nervous. 

When I called it rang exactly 5 times when a cheerful voice answered ‘Hello, This is Mrs Prime’. WHO ANSWERS LIKE THAT!!! Important people I guess. I said something lame “Hi, I got a letter asking to call?” I had nothing clever to say! REALLY!!! She giggled and said ‘’I didn’t think you were going to call! I’m so glad you did! My husband and I would love to sit and talk to you about a potential position, if your interested”. At that time I was working at the hospital, I had a decent schedule, benefits, and was established, but where there is an opportunity to grow, I will always entertain the idea. She asked if I can come by their home the very next day. At first I was a little hesitant because these are complete strangers, what if they murder me? Or what if they try to get me to play some kinky game? Ewww. Anyway, I went. 

They lived in a very expensive country club in our area. I couldn’t believe it. I fell in love with just the front of their house, as I sat in my car I prayed to be kept safe and to not fk up my words! I felt I took an eternity to walk to their front door, but the walk was nice. They had a tiny river running under the walk path, fruit trees on both sides, everything immaculate! I reached the 23 steps to get up to their front door. I knocked on the enormous steel double doors. A Hispanic woman opened the door with the biggest smile on her face. For a split second I thought of that movie GET OUT, I thought GIRL IS YOUR SMILE SUPPOSE TO GIVE ME THE SIGNAL? WHATS GOING ON! She asked me to come in. Standing in the entry way really made you feel tiny. There was beautiful artwork and busts on custom built cut outs, polished concrete floors- impeccable. I was at a loss for words. The woman walked me towards a grand living room (I bet my living room would fit in there maybe 5 times! No exaggeration). They had an over-sized ivory colored sectionals (ahh, the luxuries of not having small children in the home) with light grey and cream colored throw pillows surrounding a glass coffee table. They had a small marble cheese platter, so fancy these Prime people were! Mrs Prime immediately stood up and shook my hand, and on a recliner was the top of a balding head with a sea of white hairs. She cheerfully said “This is Dr Prime” he reached his old wrinkled hand out to shake my hand, a firm grip. He was not all smiles like his wife, he was more serious. He had CNN on the lowest volume. He was not for chit-chat, he immediately gave me a short background of himself. He said he has been a Doctor for over 45 years, he explained that he became handicapped because of a bad knee surgery that could not be reversed, hence keeping him from all his social activities. He walked at snail speed and used a walker, he was embarrassed and felt like a burden to his family, he didn’t say it directly but I heard him loud and clear. He said he appreciated my professional performance at the hospital and wanted to offer me a full time position in his home. To me this seemed like such a risk! I had kids to take care of! I can’t leave a solid stable job for something that can potentially go bad. I explained my circumstance and said I was flattered and appreciated his interest in hiring me but that I couldn’t risk not having money coming into my home in the event that he fired me for whatever reason. He laughed, the kind of laugh that almost says ‘don’t be silly’. I looked confused because these are moments I only watch on movies, these things don’t happen to me. He said he will have his lawyer draw up a contract and to let him know what I want (yes, this part was a little creepy, there’s millions of nurses who know as much as I do, WHY ME!). I joked and said ‘’Dont play with me Mr Prime! I’ll ask for everything, including your walker! Then what are you gonna do!” Everyone laughed, it was at that moment that I noticed a ‘CLICK’ between all of us. Humor was his way of facing everything, a shield I often used when I’m nervous. He said he noticed that he was putting me in a difficult situation then proceeded to ask me question, “what does the hospital offer you that you feel you can’t let go of?” I said “my insurance, my kids benefit from that”. Then he asked “what about the hours you work, do you like those?” I said ‘’not really but it’s responsibility”. He then said “I WANT TO HELP YOU, and I need you to help me, we both are taking risks, you ready?” The way he delivered his words locked me in, he seemed so absolute and confident. It took me a minute to answer when he said “this is what we will do, give me one week to have my lawyer draw up a contract that will make us both happy. You can then review it and decide at that point, what do you think?” To that I did agree. 

Exactly a week later, his housekeeper... no, assistant? no... right hand woman to the Mrs? no... I still don’t know what to call her, it wouldn’t even matter, because I didn’t know then that I was eventually going to take her job. Anyhow, She (oh gosh, we need to name her guys! We will call her Rosa, truthfully, I think her name really was Rosaline, or Rosemary or something like that) called and said Dr Prime would like to see me this evening, I agreed. After my shift I went to his mini-mansion and found him, his wife, and two other men in suites sitting at a round cherry wood dining table. I felt so out of place! Here I am showing up in crocks and scrubs and these people look like their about to have some fancy dinner. The house smelled GREAT! Someone was cooking, I know it wasn’t Mrs. Prime. Anyway, I went and sat across them (talk about feeling like your in the Lion’s Den). One of the men in the suites introduced himself and said he is an Estate Lawyer for the Primes and that he will be reading my contract to me. I have that contract in my possession but its LONG! So I’ll highlight the benefits. 

If I took this employment opportunity I will be required to travel with the family. Certain accommodations will be available for my family in the event that the trip is more then 2 days or out of the Country. I was to receive a Vehicle to be used only for trips that Dr Prime needs to be transported. I will be responsible for all medical equipment and prescriptions in accordance with his personal MD. I am to be available to the family 24 hours a day with no days off (I know, hold on, I’ll explain), If I get sick I am to schedule an assistant and visually be of assistance from my location to ensure safety and organization. I will have access to a Credit Card for any work-related expenses (Pay attention, this gets better). In case of personal family issues, arrangements will need to be made known to Dr and Mrs Prime as soon as possible. In taking this position I will be allotted $1,000.00 in uniforms including shoes a year. This position will require me to overlook a private chef who will prepare breakfast and lunch for Dr. Prime. On Occasion I will need to ready him for social events. In the contract it stated that in case something should happen to Dr. Prime that I will have a year’s pay.  There’s more but this was the gist. I was overwhelmed, THIS DOES NOT HAPPEN TO ME!!!!! They covered everything! All my worries were spoken for. I looked at Dr Prime straight in the eye for what seemed like forever. I felt like he was saying IT’S GOING TO BE OK the whole time... I signed. 

I turned in my immediate resignation at the hospital and quickly went to work. One the first day he said to get my car keys, there was a beautiful black Range Rover that was to be called my WORK vehicle. I asked how this was suppose to work? Am I suppose to leave it here? He said no, you take it home, your on the clock 24 hours a day, you need it. OMG!!!!!! Then he said there was fine print that was not included in the contract but that I needed to know about- awww shit! Here we go. He said “my wife and I are snow birds, we will be here 5 months out of the year and the other 7 months we spend it in Vermont. I CANT GO TO VERMONT FOR 7 MONTHS!!! He quickly came in and said “you are only on the clock until I am settled in out there, when the time comes for me to go back, you will pack up everything, ship it, fly with me, and hand over my records to my daughter who lives out there and has an assistant to help me” He informed me that it would be like a vacation and my kids are welcome to go as well since this process usually takes about 2 weeks. He said the car can still be used because I am still on the clock according to my contract. 

Fast forward a few years. Him and I became the best of friends. He was a great debater, I enjoyed out conversations. He was to me what Tumblr is now... my personal therapist. He always had great advice and truly came to care for my family, and my family for his. 

There’s a lot to say about him, and I will eventually. It still hurts to not have him around. Although I stayed fairly close to his children and wife, he is a massive existence that can never be replaced. He was my financial guide, he told me how to make money that can work for me. My job was easy with him, I think the emotional part was the most challenging. Aside from his physical ailment, he suffered with depression and has mentioned not wanting to be around anymore. As a matter of fact, at one point he took some pills he knew he wasn’t suppose to have, they were his wife’s. He was rushed to the hospital, as soon as he was himself again I dropped the bomb on his old ass! What a selfish move! And not that I struggle with my own anxieties, I can understand the feeling, I wish there was more I could have done to help him with that. Side note: no, he didn’t die of suicide, it was natural causes. 

In the end, when God took him home, I was home. It was about 9:30 a.m. when I got the phone call from his house, and it was his daughter crying uncontrollably. I obviously got worried and said IM ON MY WAY, she said “No, It’s not that, my daddy passed away this morning” I dropped to my knees and cried. I remember because I was in my backyard doing yard work with my kids. I remember they hugged me, I was numb for weeks to come. About two weeks later his wife called me to help her with some things. When I showed up, her kids were there too. They all hugged me and cried quietly. Mrs Prime said she needed me to fly with his remains back to Vermont because no one else had the strength to do it. I agreed. Before I left Mrs. Prime said the lawyer was going to contact me in a few days, I cut her off and said “really, I don’t want anything, he was a great friend and you all have been so kind to me” she just smiled and said it again “the lawyer will call you okay”. About 3 weeks went by and a lawyer called to come to his office. When I went he said that Mr. Prime added me to his will and requested a few things for me. 1. My vehicle keys will be surrendered to lawyer for updated vehicle. 2. I will receive pay from the Family Trust for 3 years of the same amount discussed. 3. 2 College accounts have been started courtesy of the Family Trust for my two boys. 4. All bills for my household will be covered by the Family Trust for one year. 5. A letter. 

I was as white as a ghost. I definitely didn’t deserve that! The lawyer handed me a manila folder with a single white envelope that read the following:

MY TRUEST FRIEND, 

I WISH I COULD SAY THAT LIFE IS EASY KID, BUT WE BOTH KNOW IT’S ONLY EASY FOR THOSE WHO REALLY WANT IT THAT WAY. I’M WRITING THIS TO SIMPLY SAY THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR MANAGING TO MAKE ME SMILE AND FEEL ALIVE. FOR NOT TREATING ME LIKE A DYING MAN. THANK YOU FOR ALLOWING ME AND MY FAMILY ENTER YOUR HEART LIKE YOU ENTERED OURS. THANK YOU FOR NEVER LEAVING MY SIDE WHEN I WAS TOO SCARED TO ADMIT IT. I WISH YOUR BOYS SEE YOUR WORK ETHIC AND EMPATHY FOR PEOPLE AND ABSORB THAT. YOU ARE A GIFT! PLEASE TAKE CARE OF MRS PRIME, YOUR CONTRACT IS NOT OVER UNTIL SHE’S GONE. YOU WILL HAVE A FOREVER JOB HERE, AS LONG AS YOU WANT IT. THANK YOU FOR ALWAYS KEEPING ME IN YOUR PRAYERS AND FOR SHOWING ME THAT HONESTY AND NOBILITY STILL LIVES. ILL SEE YA AROUND KID! I LOVE YA!

[buzzdixonwriter]

Writing In The Fred Astaire Style

Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire were both incredible dancers, yet with diametrically opposed styles.

Kelly always wanted to make sure you knew how hard he was working and that you appreciated how hard he was working.

Astaire, on the other hand, made it look natural.

Smooth.

Effortless.

Writing is like that.

Some writers want you to see how hard they’re working at their craft.

Others just want the story to flow naturally, smoothly, effortlessly even though the amount of craftsmanship is just as high -- in fact, perhaps even higher, since part of the skill lays in how well it’s hidden from view.

A prime example of Fred Astaire style storytelling is in one of my all time favorite movies and, depending on how I’m feeling at that particular moment, arguably my favorite or second favorite Western, Rio Bravo (written by Jules Furthman and Leigh Brackett off of a short story by B. H. McCampbell, directed by Howard Hawks).

Rio Bravo frequently gets dismissed when people evaluate classic Westerns because it contains no obvious Big Important Themes such as those found in The Searchers or High Noon or The Ox Bow Incident.

All of which, in my way of thinking, are Gene Kelly style examples of storytelling.

The beauty and joy of Rio Bravo is how naturally, smoothly, effortlessly it unfolds, how deceptively simple it seems.

Simple?  Ha!

The moment you pop the lid on this baby you realize it’s as intricate as a Swiss watch.

Let’s analyze one of the most important scenes in the film, a relatively low key moment not nearly as entertaining or as exciting as the rest of the picture, but absolutely crucial in setting up much of what will come in the story.

And not just by the plot threads it introduces but how those plot threads will interact with other plot threads.

[I’m drastically streamlining the story here in order to get quickly to the key scene, which is the fourth scene in the final edited film.  The movie follows the plot of the final draft screenplay very closely, though it’s clear they were fiddling with the dialog during production and eliminated several redundant scenes or lines in the final cut.]

Scene 1 / credits:  A freight wagon train approaches the town of Rio Bravo

Scene 2:  Sheriff Chance (John Wayne) and Dude (Dean Martin) arrest sadistic bully Joe Burdette (Claude Akins) for murder.

Scene 3:  Pat Wheeler (Ward Bond) and Colorado (Ricky Nelson) lead the freight wagons into Rio Bravo.  They’re stopped at the edge of town by Dude, whom Wheeler only knows as the town drunk.

Scene 4:  Wheeler, Colorado, and the wagon train are stopped again near the jail by Sheriff Chance.

WHEELER:   Chance, what's going on here?   People stopping me.  Everybody telling me what I can and can't do.   Next thing, you'll be telling me what to do.

CHANCE:   Pat, I will tell you.

WHEELER:   What?

CHANCE:   Stop your wagons.

WHEELER:   I give up. [signals wagons to stop]   Now don't tell me what's going on.   Just leave me wandering around in the fog.  I like it. I'm getting used to it.  It makes me feel so good.

CHANCE:   You better look out, Pat, you'll blow up and bust.

WHEELER:   Listen, Chance, remember me?   Your old friend Pat Wheeler.   Now, will you please--

Dude rides up.

DUDE:   Hey, Chance!  What do you want to do about this outfit?  Do you want to take their guns?

CHANCE:   Got any new men with you, Pat?

WHEELER:   No, nobody except Colorado here.

CHANCE:   Where'd you take him on?

WHEELER:   Fort Worth.

CHANCE: What does he do?

COLORADO:   I speak English, Sheriff...if you want to ask me.

CHANCE: All right, buster, what do you do?

COLORADO: I'm riding guard.

CHANCE:   Pretty young for that, aren't you?

COLORADO:   Just how old do you have to be, Sheriff?

WHEELER:   You remember Ryan from Denver, don't you?

CHANCE:   Rocky Ryan?

WHEELER:   That's his boy.  He tells me the kid's faster than he was.

CHANCE:   He better be, packing a pair of guns.

COLORADO:   Now, Sheriff, if it's the two guns that bother you, I could give you one of them.   I could let you have them both.  They wouldn't do me too much good.  That fellow in the door there has a shotgun on me.

Chance turns to see Stumpy (Walter Brennan) aiming a shotgun through the barred security window on the jail door.

CHANCE:   Stumpy, didn't I tell--

STUMPY:   I know.  I'm going.  I'm going.

CHANCE:   You can keep your guns, Colorado.

COLORADO:   Thanks, Sheriff. I don't want any trouble.

CHANCE:   Well, then don't start any.

COLORADO:   I won't, unless I tell you first.

CHANCE:   That's good enough.  Pat, you can put your wagons in that corral.

WHEELER:   I ought to do just that.

CHANCE:   What?

WHEELER:   I'm just guessing, you understand.   It seems to me that you've already got some trouble here.

CHANCE: You're guessing right.

WHEELER:   It so happens that part of our load there is fuel oil and dynamite.  Would you like to have that sitting next to you?

CHANCE:   No, I wouldn't.

DUDE:   They could put them over there by the creek.   Near the Burdette warehouse.  If it's going to blow that's just as good a place as any.

CHANCE:   Show them the way, Dude.   You can go along, Colorado.

COLORADO:   Is that the way you want it, Mr. Wheeler?

WHEELER:   Go ahead.

Dude leads Colorado and the wagon train to the creek.

CHANCE: Let's get out of the middle of the street.

WHEELER:   Now that you're satisfied and that the kid's got his guns...would you mind telling me what this is all about?

CHANCE:   We've got Joe Burdette in here.

WHEELER:   Joe Burdette in jail? Nathan's brother?

CHANCE:   That's right.

WHEELER:   What are you holding him for?

CHANCE:   They were about to bury the reason when you were coming in.

WHEELER:   Murder?

CHANCE:   No other word for it.

WHEELER:   No wonder this town's in such a mess.   What does Nathan say about this?

CHANCE:   Nothing. He's not talking.  Just doing.   You saw part of it.  He's got this town so bottled up that I can't get Joe out or any help in.  There are men over there watching us.  They're his.  I can't make a move without him knowing it.

WHEELER:   Who you got helping you?

CHANCE:   You met half of them.

WHEELER:   You mean that fellow with the badge that stopped me, and who else?

CHANCE: Stumpy.  You know him.  He's watching Joe and guarding the jail.

WHEELER:   A game-legged old man and a drunk.  That's all you got?

CHANCE:   That's what I got.

WHEELER:   If I ever saw a man holding the bull by the tail, you're it.  It's a good idea putting my wagons where they're safe.   Guess I better see they did it.

CHANCE:   I'll see you later.

Let’s break down what this scene does:

In a very naturalistic manner, it introduces a character who (a) logically doesn’t know what is going on and (b) logically needs to know what is going on so our protagonist can deliver a lot of necessary expository material without it sounding like a bald faced info dump.

It tells us what the stakes are:  A lone sheriff and two woefully deficient deputies up against a rich and powerful foe determined to thwart justice by rescuing his brother with the help of a gang of hired guns.

It introduces three very important characters who will be absolutely necessary in the resolution of the story:  Wheeler, who will get killed because of his friendship to the sheriff, and as a result provide both an opportunity for Dude to redeem himself as well as the impetus for Colorado to insert himself into the fray over the objections of Chance; Colorado, who is shown to be a cocky smart ass yet recognized and respected by Chance based on how coolly he reacted when he realized Stumpy had a gun on him; and Stumpy, whom we’ll soon learn has his own motives against the Burdette brothers that will prove vitally important at the climax when ///he/// shows up over Chance’s objections.

Look also at Colorado’s line:  “I won't [start any trouble], unless I tell you first.”  That’s a set-up that pays off when a new character and sub-plot, Feathers the gambler (Angie Dickenson) blows into town.  Chance has reason to suspect her of cheating at cards and confronts her on it, but Colorado interrupts them by revealing he’s spotted the actual card cheat and is letting the sheriff know before he accuses the tinhorn; this puts Chance in the position of having to apologize to Feathers for suspecting her without cause, and that leads to a burgeoning relationship that further leads to Feathers saving Chance’s life by providing a distraction that lets Colorado shoot two of Burdette’s men who have the drop on the sheriff (which in turn results in Colorado being deputized).

Oh, and there’s one last crucial element this scene supplies…  

There are few greater sins in writing than the deus ex machine -- the “god in a machine” -- who swoops down without preamble at the last second to save the protagonists.

The deus ex machine is the writer forcing themselves into the story, making it work the way they want it to work instead of letting it flow naturally, smoothly, effortlessly.

And at the climax of Rio Bravo -- when Chance and Dude and Colorado are pinned down by murderous fire from Burdette’s warehouse, hopelessly outnumbered and outgunned and about to be outflanked by Burdette’s men -- what flows more naturally, more smoothly, more effortlessly than for Stumpy to show up with a case of dynamite he took from Wheeler’s nearby freight wagons, determined to see both Burdettes pay for their crimes?

That’s a lot of dramatic weight in one simple little scene, and until the end credits roll you never know it’s there.

 © Buzz Dixon

[chefgeofframsay]

Desperate Minds [1/7]

Title: Desperate Minds Pairing: Aaron Marquis/Reader Rating: PG-13 Chapter Word Count: 4,642 Summary: “How do I know you're not doing...your siren thing?” asked Aaron, giving you a skeptical look. “Oh come on,” you just about snarled, turning on your heel to face the werewolf fully. “I never use my abilities on anyone. Just because I have the ability doesn't make me a predator. Or a murderer!” “Historically,” he started crossing his arm and nodding, “your powers make you both.” 

A/N: Shout out to literally everyone who looked at this/listened to me bitch about it while I’ve been writing it and I can’t list them because I will forget but know I love you all! 

You dipped down the nearest alleyway, whipping around the corner of the brick building and nearly crashing headfirst into a grimy dumpster. You sidestepped it awkwardly, looking anything but graceful as you nearly threw yourself off-balance and topped over, and continued your speed walk down the dark corridor. You were just turning another corner down another alleyway that you knew would let out near the road that led home when he caught up to you. You hadn't seen him coming, but when you sped around the corner, you found yourself stopping short to avoid colliding with his outstretched arm as he leaned against the wall. 

“Fuck,” you swore under your breath, stumbling back against the building in an effort to balance yourself. It played directly into his hand and before you knew it, his other arm was on the other side of you, palm also splayed out against the brick, boxing you in place. With nowhere to go, you looked up at his face as it loomed closer, wanting to punch that smirk right off his face.

“Now, now,” he started, his voice dripping with the satisfaction of getting you where he wanted. “Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?”

____

Two Weeks Earlier

When you'd woken up, warm and content in your own bed, you were sure you hadn't fallen into the same trap you seemed to walk right into every weekend. You'd go out with your roommates, get drunk and think using your abilities was the best idea you'd ever had; you always woke up somewhere and not quite remember how'd you gotten there.

Today, though, you were definitely in your own bed. That was a good sign.

You only got a moment of silence because no sooner had you let your eyes slide shut then a loud bang erupted from downstairs. You let out a squeak of surprise, shooting up into a sitting position, eyes wide, ready to face whatever it was.

“Sorry!” Your roommate Lindsay shouted from downstairs, the floor between you two muffling her voice.

You groaned, flopping back down onto your pillows. Living with two witches was certainly interesting, if nothing else. Stray magic always did something to scare the shit out of you and there was no shortage of it with Lindsay and Barbara. The two were big on experimental spells, and it often had its consequences. Once, Barbara tried to brew some potion that was supposedly going to change hair color based on mood; it resulted in purple haze in your living room that smelled like marshmallows that took two full weeks to dissipate. That had been one of the less offensive outcomes to an experiment.

You were definitely awake, and laying there, while it soothed the hangover last night you had plagued morning you with, you knew full well that you weren’t going back to sleep. You willed yourself to slide out of bed, dug through a laundry basket for a fresh set of clothes and made your way to the door across the room. You were the only one in the house with your own bathroom, but you needed salt water while your witch roommates preferred to shower in the normal, city provided water. The lack of salt in the water meant it hurt whenever it came in contact with your skin, and if you were to drink it, you found yourself suddenly ill. Lindsay had bewitched the shower head to add salt to the water, and being as close as you were to the ocean, you went once in a week to collect some to carry around in a water bottle when you needed it.

You appeared from your bedroom about a half hour later, hair dripping wet as you made your way down the stairs. You hadn’t even bothered to wring the water out, just gone in search of your roommate.

“Barb!” you called as you reached the landing. “I need your help with something!”

“In here!” she replied from the kitchen, and when you entered, you found her standing over her cauldron, an iPad in her hand. “I’m trying out a new potion I found on the internet. I’ve got a good feeling about this one!”

“What’s it supposed to do?” you asked curiously, eyeing the concoction that was smoking a light blue color and smelled vaguely of cherries.

“It’s going to help us see at night without any sort of light,” she explained, pouring a vial into the cauldron.

“Why?”

“Don’t know,” she admitted. “Just figured it would be fun to try.”

“Fair,” you sighed, and pointed to your hair. “Think you could help?”

“Think you could give me a challenge?” she countered, chuckling as she put her iPad down. She reached her hands out towards your head, the familiar sparks of purple magic flying between her fingers. Your head felt as if it was tingling, and like you’d stuck it into a wind tunnel that was blowing warm air. After a few moments, the sensation disappeared as Barbara beamed as she pulled her hands away. You reached out to feel soft, dry hair and after a second of a feeling around, you could tell what hairstyle she’d gone for.

“A fishtail braid?” you asked and she nodded.

“It fits, you know?” she said brightly. “Since you’re, you know…” she trailed off, motioning at you.

“I’m not a fish,” you said shortly, shooting her a look. “But thanks, Barb.”

“No problem, kid,” she told you, smiling. “Do you want to try this out when I'm done?”

“I think I'll pass,” you chuckled, eyeing the bubbling concoction warily. “I've lived with you and Lindsay long enough to know better.” You'd only made that mistake once and you'd lost your voice for about a month when drinking a potion that was supposed to fill you with instant joy. It had definitely not done that.

“Fair,” your roommate sighed, reaching for a spoon to stir with. “By the way, I had to borrow the last of your water, but I’ll head down to the beach as soon as I am done here, promise!”

You looked over to the counter where you left your six quart water bottles to see the caps twisted off all of them; the sign they were empty so you actually knew before you needed water. They only lasted you a couple days, and you were lucky it was only a two minute walk to the beach from your house. It had been part of the reason you moved in with Lindsay and Barbara, two witches you'd only vaguely known in college. You could have moved in with your childhood friend and fellow siren, Jon, but one siren made some people uneasy. Two made everyone uneasy.

“Don't worry about it,” you told Barbara, scooping up a couple into your arm as you reached under the counter for the canvas bag you kept to transport the bottles back and forth to the beach. “I'll go and try and walk off this hangover,” you explained, sliding all the bottles into the bag.

“That bad, huh?”

“Not too bad, but I feel sluggish,” you sighed. “The fresh air should hopefully help.”

“You’re sure you won’t need help carrying it all back?” she asked, giving you a look. “Because I won’t mind!”

“No, really, it’s alright,” you chuckled, patting your roommate on the shoulder as you passed her, heading towards the living room. “I’ll be back soon!” You headed through the living room to the front door and you’d no sooner made it out to the porch before you found where your other roommate was. Lindsay was standing by the mailbox, muttering to herself as she looked inside.

“So,” you said, squinting and groaning as you stepped into the sun. Oh god, there was that hangover. Mixing it with sunlight made it feel like there was an icepick in your head, but you’d already called attention to yourself and Lindsay was standing up straight and looking over to you. “How, pray tell, does you out here make explosions in there?”

“Well,” Lindsay started, leaning her elbow on the mailbox and crossing one leg in front of the other. “I’m trying to bewitch the mailbox to just put the mail inside for us when it shows up. I had to decide where inside it was going to go, and I had to set up one half of the circuit,” she explained. “And I might have gotten a couple words of the incantation wrong so loud noises.”

“And scaring the shit out of me,” you added, chuckling a little. “Is it working now, at least?”

“Just about!” she told you, smiling. “It’s only transporting half of what I’m putting in there, but that’s an improvement. Just needs some fine tuning and we’ll never have to go out in the rain for a package again.”

“Sounds great,” you said, “once the loud noises stop, it'll be the best thing that could be done to a mailbox.” You both laughed, and it was then she spotted your bag and nodded towards it.

“Water time?” your roommate guessed, and you gave her a thumbs up.

“Gotta shake the hangover somehow,” you chucked. “I'll be back before you know it.”

“Well, enjoy the walk!” Lindsay exclaimed, opening the mailbox once more. “I'll hopefully have this all sorted by the time you get back.”

“I'll take the long way to the beach,” you teased, sticking your tongue out at her before heading towards the sidewalk.

You had gotten incredibly lucky to find Barbara and Lindsay’s listing for a roommate in Barbara’s grandmother’s old house. The three of you seemed to live in near perfect harmony and it suited their needs of having enough space to work, and your need to be near the beach. When you'd lived on the other side of town because it was where the college was, your long journey was rough. You were looking to avoid it, and you'd struck gold.

You could smell the salt in the air before you saw the ocean itself. An easy smile slid onto your face, but as you rounded the corner that would bring the ocean into view, it slid right back off. Not far from you, and directly in your way, was the town sheriff.

You and Aaron Marquis didn't get on too well, through no fault of your own. He was just, for lack of a better term, a dick. At least, he'd always been kind of a dick to you, and since deciding that law enforcement was his calling in life, he'd become kind of a dick to everyone. There was a rumor that he actually wasn't that bad; it’d been going around since your days together in college and try as his friends (and you were very confused how anyone could be friends with him) did to convince you, every time he opened his mouth to speak to you, you knew the truth.

The most disappointing part about Aaron was the part where if he would be less of a dick, he'd be attractive. Sure, he was gorgeous, and the way his dress shirt stretched around his biceps insinuated that he could throw you around if he wanted to, but the personality that he had been given couldn't save those blue eyes.

“Fancy running into you here,” Aaron said, smiling that half smile half smirk he seemed to just always have on his face.

“At the beach?” you asked in a monotone voice, “the only access to water I, a siren, need to survive? Oh yeah, such a shock.”

“It's nice to see you too,” he chuckled, watching as you stepped around him to the edge where the sidewalk met sand. You headed for the shore and was disappointed to see he was following not far after you.

“I don't think ‘nice’ would ever be a descriptor I’d use for anything to do with you,” you shot over your shoulder.

“Ouch,” he mumbled. “You know, [Y/N], I don't see why we don't get along better. We used to work together on projects all the time. You'd think that'd be a good bonding experience.”

“It is,” you sighed, reaching into your bag as you made it to the water, stopping just before where the damp sand began. “Except that's only true if you actually work together. You used to let me do all the actual work and just smile at the professor and make up some bullshit.”

“Hey! I'll have you know that my charisma saved our asses quite a few times,” he defended. “Your work almost failed us but I…” he stopped short when you whipped around to face him, glaring.

“What do you want, Marquis?”

“That's Sheriff Marquis to you,” he said, puffing his chest out, seeming all sorts of self-important. By the chuckle that accompanied the statement, you could tell he was trying to make a joke, but besides making you roll your eyes, it just forced you to glance down at his right hip, where a gun was holstered.

You'd really missed your chance to hit him in college. As much as you wanted to smack that smirk/smile off his face, you couldn't do it now without a whole host of trouble.

“Can I help you with something, Sheriff?” you asked, adding extra emphasis to the tile as you pulled out a bottle from the bag you had. You dropped the bag, still holding the other five bottles, at your feet as you headed for the water.

“What, I can't just say hi?”

“Knowing you? No,” you sighed, stopping right in front of the water and dipping the bottle in.

Being a creature of the sea living on land was a strange experience. You'd adapted to new food, even if you had a penchant for seafood, and you had to shower and drink saltwater exclusively. You had legs that you never remembered a time without. However, try as you may to live as a land-dweller, not returning to the ocean certainly got to you. The longer it took for you to return to the water, even for a short swim, the stronger the pull back to the ocean was. It'd drive you to madness if you ignored the call for too long. You could usually collect your water with no problem, but the last few months had been too cold to do anything else. In the water, you were always comfortable but returning to land and getting an immediate chill you couldn't shake wasn't your idea of something reasonable to do.

It was because of the months away from water that as soon as your hand submerged the bottle it was holding into the ocean, your mind went blank.

The ocean. You need to be in the ocean.

Without any conscious thought, you were standing up and you legs were about to jump towards the deeper water when a strong arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back from the waterline.

No, no! Into the water!

You struggled against the body of the person holding you, trying desperately to get back to the ocean. You thrashed against the hold, trying to break free, but it was only met with a tightening grip and fingertips digging into your hip.

“Come on,” a voice somewhere incredibly far away said, “come back to us, [Y/N].”

They want to be in the water too! Tell them how great it is!

You opened your mouth, and as if it was a reflex, an almost ethereal sound began to spill out. It was cut short by a large hand cramping tightly around your mouth. Try as you may to throw it off, you couldn't. It stayed firmly over your mouth.

“Not today, doll face,” the far away voice said.

It took what seemed like an eternity for the burning your entire body was feeling to subside, for the voice telling you that you needed to be in the water to subside. Your lungs felt empty, but slowly air returned to them and it felt like heaven. You stopped struggling slowly, giving a couple weak whimpers as the realization that you weren't getting to the water hit you.

When you properly came back to, it took you a minute to get your bearings on the situation. You had been pulled a full foot up the beach and your sense of smell, as it came back to you, was filled with a slightly spicy, kind of musky scent, mixed with a familiar smell you couldn't place. You looked down to see an arm still around your waist, the white shirt sleeve rolled up to the elbow. You looked up to see that Aaron had you tightly against him.

Dog. That's what that smell you couldn't place was. Werewolves always smelled a little bit like a wet dog, though it got stronger the closer the full moon was.

You bit down on his hand, hard. He cursed loudly, letting go of your mouth and shaking his hand.

“Get off me!” you exclaimed, grabbing his forearm and trying to pull him off of you, nails digging into flesh.

“There she is,” Aaron sighed, more to himself than to you. “You sure you're alright there? Your eyes glossed right over and you tried to sing when I pulled you away from the water.”

“I'm fine,” you informed, but you felt a pang of guilt at hearing, once you'd lost control of yourself, you'd almost taken him with you. You worked so hard to keep that under control, but it was getting to be too long since you'd been in the ocean.

“Fine, fine,” he said, and let the arm holding you fall back to his side. You immediately took a few large steps away from him, glaring.

“How long has been since you've been in the water?” Aaron asked, suddenly very serious. Sheriff mode had been triggered, and you could tell by the stern look on his face and by how his arms were crossed that you two were no longer having a conversation; you were being interrogated.

“A few months,” you told him. “Really, I’m fine. I’ve only had like, one or two dreams about the ocean and I’m functioning normally. There’s no reason for you to be concerned.”

“Your eyes just glazed over, you tried to jump into the ocean with your clothes on, then tried to sing,” he pointed out. “All as soon as you touched the water. You couldn’t even hear me talking to you. How is that functioning normally?”

“You called me doll face,” you informed. 

“What?”

“You said I couldn’t hear you talking to me,” you explained, “but you called me doll face. I heard you call me that.”

Aaron looked like he wanted to laugh for a moment, but instead just sighed. “You need to go into the water, [Y/N],” he said seriously.

“I know,” you replied warily. “And I’m going to, I promise. Right now, I just need to fill my bottles and go home.”

“And what’s to stop you from zoning out as soon as your hand goes back in?” he asked pointedly. You had no response for that. You knew what was going to happen, and you knew full well you couldn’t be the one to get your own water.

“I’ll get one of my roommates to come fill my bottles, okay?” you suggested. “No need for you to worry about me, Sheriff.” He stared at you for a long moment, eyes narrowing as he the wheels in his head seemed to turn. Then, he sighed heavily, letting his arms drop to the side; a sign of defeat if ever you’d seen one.

“So, I can go about my day unbothered, then?” you asked hopefully. You watched as he toed off each of his shoes in turn, and bent down to roll his pant legs up. Before he stood up to his full height, Aaron had taken off both socks and stuffed them in his shoes.

“I’m sorry about this, doll face,” he said before scooping you up into his arms.

“What are you doing?!” you exclaimed, “Aaron, put me down right now!”

He ignored you, carrying you from where he’d pulled you earlier back down towards the water. He walked right passed your bag of bottles, as well as the one you’d dropped when he pulled you away from the water before walking straight in. He stopped barely a foot into the ocean, giving you a look.

“Put you down,” he said, “got it.” With that and a little effort, he’d tossed you straight into the ocean, and you swore loudly before hitting the water.

When you came to, it was no longer light outside. The sun had gone down, by the looks of it, at least a few hours ago. The street lights that lined where the street ended and the beach began were all turned on, save for one that had burned out a couple months ago and the city still hadn’t gotten around to changing yet. There was no sign of anyone on the beach, but you could hear the sound of the bar not far down the street’s bassline and you knew the night had, at least, officially begun.

You swam towards the shore, feeling anger bubbling inside of you as you got closer to solid ground. You remembered perfectly clearly what Aaron had done, throwing you into the ocean like a lunatic. Regardless of his gun, you decided as you walked out of the ocean and were met with that immediate chill, you were absolutely, one hundred percent going to punch Aaron Marquis the next time you saw him. He certainly deserved it.

You trudged out of the water, pulling at the clothes that stuck to your body, making a face at the wet squelching noise they made as they unstuck from your skin. You weren't far from your bag, and you just wanted to fill your bottles and go home. As you reached your stuff, you noticed the towel sitting on top of your bag; it was white but in big blue letters on one edge, it proclaimed itself as property of the police department.

“Fucker,” you muttered, teeth chattering as you grabbed the towel, wiped your face, and tossed it around your shoulder. At least he'd left you a towel, but that made you no less angry at Aaron for dumping you in the ocean. You reached for your bag to pull it closer to the waves, only to find it heavier than it’d been when you carried it down to the beach. Raising an eyebrow, you dug into the bag and pulled out a full bottle of water...then another.

“This doesn't make up it,” you grumbled to yourself as you shoved the bottles back where they belonged. He might have filled your bottles for you, and left you a towel, but Aaron had just tossed you into the water like you weighed nothing, your clothes still on and he was most certainly not forgiven.

As you reached the edge of the beach, you could have sworn you saw a man standing just under a light out towards Castaway’s Shack, the bar the music was certainly coming from, but you couldn’t make anyone out specifically. You watched the man standing there, looking in your direction for a minute and you just stood there, staring back while you dripped and shook. Then, he turned around and disappeared back into the bar, leaving you with a weird feeling.

The walk home, as short as it was, felt as if it was taking a million years to actually get anywhere. It could have been the chill that had your entire body shaking, or how your limbs were extra sore with all the effort you'd apparently put into swimming. By the time you stumbled onto your porch, you were almost ready to just collapse.

“There you are!” Barbara exclaimed, sounding incredibly relieved as the door swung shut behind you. “Where ha--what happened to you?!”

You stood there, exhausted, dripping water onto the living room floor before saying with venom, “our beloved sheriff through me into fucking ocean.”

“What?! Why would do that?” Lindsay, who was sitting on the couch, asked, giving you a concerned look.

“Because he followed me to the beach,” you sighed, dropping the bag of water bottles to the ground. It hit the floor with a thunk, and you just hoped he'd actually screwed the lids on properly.

“He follows you to the beach and throws you in? That makes no sense.”

“Yes it does,” came another voice as someone appeared out from behind Barbara. Jon was apparently visiting, his own bottle of salt water in hand. “You haven't gone for a swim in a while, right?”

You made a face, shifting on your feet and sighing as your shoes squeaked. “It's been cold,” you defended, “it’s still too cold! I'm shaking!”

“But you lost control when you touched the water,” he guessed.

“Maybe for a couple seconds,” you admired sheepishly. “But then I was fine and he threw me in anyway! While I'm wearing clothes! And have my phone in my pocket!” Your hand shot to your pocket, and it took some doing to actually get your phone out of your drenched pocket.

“Good thing I cast that imperturbable charm on it, huh?” Lindsay asked, shooting you finger guns.

“That's not the point,” you sighed. “Like what the fuck does Aaron even think he's doing? Doesn't let me go when I lose control and then throws me in a minute later.”

“Once he knew you weren't bewitched and actually at risk,” Jon pointed out as if it was the most reasonable thing in the universe. You shot him a bewildered look. Jon, of all people, knew what state you were in. He lectured you, sure, but if he were actually worried, he'd have dragged you down to the beach with him next time.

“I was fine,” you pointed out. “Hungover, yeah. But I've only dreamed about the ocean twice and it would have warmed up in a couple weeks. I'd have made it. I didn't hurt anyone. I didn't sing.” Lie. “He had no right.”

“Well,” sighed Barbara, “at least he left you a towel?” she asked, pointing to the towel slung around your shoulders.

“That doesn't make us even.”

There was a pause and then Lindsay cleared her threat. All three of you looked over at her.

“Well, we were going to go out,” she told you. “We can wait if you want to come?”

“No,” you told her, “I'm exhausted. I'm just going to shower again and go to bed. You guys have fun!” You bent down to grab your bottles and headed upstairs, waving as you disappeared. You dropped the bag by the door when you got into your room, and tossed your phone onto the bed. You peeled off all your clothes, dropping them all into a pile in the bathroom and turned on the shower. You weren't sure how long you were in there. It'd taken a while, certainly, for the chill to melt away, and by then, you were too tired to climb out of the shower.

“Come on,” you muttered to yourself, turning the handle to ‘off’ and forcing yourself out of the shower. Your towel was still a little damp as you dried yourself. With no magic to deal with your hair all you had it in you to do was to brush it out, pulling out a few pieces of seaweed, and braid it messily. After digging through the laundry pile again, you dressed in pajamas and flopped onto your bed. You didn't feel hungry; you'd probably caught some fish while you were in the water.

Sore and exhausted, you were asleep before you could even plug your phone in.

[katrandomtiger]

Glass Knives Ch5

A Hitman 76 and detective Reyes fic.

Read it on AO3

October 4th, 207X – 19:30 – Watchpoint Apartments

Gabriel swore as he dug through his couch cushions looking for the cellphone which was currently screaming for his attention. Short glowered from his perch on the back of the armchair, he was very displeased with being removed from Gabriel’s lap.

“Reyes,” Gabe managed after finally managing to recover his phone.

“Hey Gabe, it’s Jesse,”

Confusion flickered across Gabriel’s face as he repositioned himself on the couch and patted his lap. Short ignored him but Gloria came trotting up to claim the position.

“Hey Jess, what’s going on?”

“Well, I wanted to tell you that the FBI wants me out in D.C. in about two weeks. Figured you’d like the warning that you’ll need to find a new partner to pick on soon.”

Gabriel smiled, “That’s great! How’s your mom taking that?”

“Well, uh, I haven’t told her yet, you’re the first one to know,” Jesse chuckled nervously.

“Jesse.”

“Look, Gabe, I’m just worried how she’s going to take it. You know how she gets about law enforcement, especially the FBI.”

“Have you at least told her you got in?”

“I…”

Gabriel sighed and rubbed the side of his face, “Jesse you need to talk to her. She’s your mom, I doubt she’s going to throw you out just because you’re moving up in the world.”

“I- I just don’t want her to be afraid of me,” Jesse finally whispered.

Gabriel’s heart dropped at those words. He knew that Jesse sacrificed a lot when he became an officer but to think he was thinking that his own mother would be afraid of him turning her in…

“Jesse,” he started, “If your mom can beat the shit out of five rival gang members twice her size with just an iron skillet, I highly doubt she’s going to be afraid of her incredibly capable, loving, and loyal adoptive son going into the FBI.”

Jesse chuckled at that.

“And unless you’re going to tell the government about the best places to buy meat in the desert, I don’t think you’ll really be telling them anything they don’t already know.”

“You’re right. Thanks Gabe.”

“Tell me how it goes, ok? If you don’t show up to work tomorrow I’ll know.”

Jesse laughed again, “I’ll send you a text that I’m alive, alright? Talk to you later…hopefully.”

And with that he hung up and left Gabe in the silence of his apartment. The sound of Arashi ripping out of the parking lot across the street was the only thing to disturb the peace.

Carefully, Gabriel slid himself out from under Gloria and headed into the kitchen where he grabbed a beer and a pack of cigarettes off the counter. Unable to stand the silence that permeates every inch of his apartment, he steps out to the terrace and falls into the chair he dragged out there ages ago.

The town provides the noise he needs as he pops the top on the bottle in his hands. He blissfully falls into the monotone noise and environment around him.

It’s times like this that he misses the chaos his daughter used to cause with the cats. She used to go flying through the house with the feather chaser and Short hot on her heels. Gabriel would forgive a hundred broken glasses just to hear her laughter again.

Gabriel lets out a smoky sigh and sinks further into his chair. Old grief and anger threaten to surface again.

“Long day?” came a gruff voice from the neighboring terrace.

Gabriel tensed before reorienting himself, “You could say that,” he replied, not even bothering to glance over at the source.

The warm chuckle he received sent shivers down his spine and was enough to turn his head towards the voice. What he saw looked more like a miniature garden than a shitty apartment terrace. How long had it been since he was out here?

“Nice garden, planning on feeding the entire complex?” Gabriel quipped, earning another laugh.

A pair of broad shoulder and greying blonde hair became visible as the man stood up and moved along the planters, not bothering to face Gabriel, “Well, my ma made me learn how to grow herbs in planters before she ever let me go to college. Guess it’s just a habit now.”

Gabriel snorted, “I hear that. My dad is a five-star chef and he made damn sure that I knew how to cook for myself before I could even be home alone. He didn’t want me to end up like my mom.”

“Oh god, my grandma and mom both taught me to bake when I was little. My dad wasn’t entirely hopeless but grandma always told me that he was her greatest failure.”

Gabriel turned more to face the man and watched with interest as the muscles in his back worked over the plants. There was something familiarly alluring about him.

“Where are you from?” Gabriel asked after a few more rounds of trying to one up each other on family skills.

“Everywhere, I haven’t really stayed in any one place for a long time. I was born and raised in Indiana though, if that’s what you’re asking,” the man said before turning. His glasses sat skewed across a scarred face and his smile was lopsided, “How about you?”

A moment passed as Gabriel stared into the face of his would-be killer and the prime suspect in his current investigation. Cold fear shot down his back, replacing the warm familiarity, and he carefully stood up and bolted back into his apartment.

“Shit. Shit. Shitting fuck!” he growled as he yanked his jacket off the back of the armchair to search the pockets for his pistol.

Gloria and Short went skidding down the hall as he loaded the gun and went to grab his phone. Where was it? A sinking feeling came upon him as he peeked out the door and saw 76 standing with his phone in hand. The hitman tapped at the glass and made a confused gesture.

He aimed his gun at the glass, 76’s eye’s widened and he vaulted back over onto his own terrace once more. Gabriel listened to the footsteps cross the apartment before abruptly stopping. He waited.

A few minutes passed before scratching on his own door took the detective’s attention from the wall. Cautiously, Gabriel made sure the chain was hooked and cracked the door open. Nothing was there. He stepped back and opened the door as far as the chain allowed but he still didn’t see anything.

“Wha-“

‘Boof’

Gabriel spun around with his gun raised only to be met the soft brown eyes of a golden retriever. He watched in disbelief as the dog wagged her tail and laid down by his feet. Slowly he crouched down and gave the dog a tentative pat before spinning her collar around to reveal the name ‘Lucy’.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Gabriel whispered as he let go and slid down the wall to join Lucy on the floor.

Time passed at an unbearably slow paced, Gabriel strained to hear the footsteps next door start again but nothing came. At some point is hand wandered to the scruff of Lucy’s neck where he began to absentmindedly scratch as they waited.

After what felt like hours the footsteps started again. Gabriel jumped to his feet as the door to the neighboring apartment opened and closed. He braced his back against the door frame as the footsteps stopped in front of his door.

“Can I have my dog back?”

Gabriel blinked and looked down where Lucy was still laying, her ears stood up but she made no move to stand, “Uh, no?”

The door rattled as 76 tried to open it, “I’m not leaving until I get my dog, Reyes.”

Fear numbed his legs as 76’s pleasant tone from earlier lost all inflection and emotion. Ill thought out bravery tore the words from him mouth before he could stop them, “Why? So when I open the door you can shoot me again? No thank-you, jackass. Lucy is my dog now!”

A startled bark of laughter caused Gabriel to jump and tighten his grip on the gun.

“Dude, just crack the door open, let her out, and I’ll leave. Jesus Christ,” 76 snorted, the life returning to his voice.

Carefully, Gabriel cracked the door open and glanced out to see 76 standing in the hall. His hands were empty but it didn’t mean he was unarmed nor that he couldn’t just over power the detective.

Reports of hitman taking out small SWAT teams without any form of firearms were rare but not unheard of, in fact one of the handful of reports were from Soldier:76 himself.

“Don’t try any shit,” Gabriel growled before opening the door on the chain and looking back at Lucy. The dog glanced up at him and yawned before rolling onto her side, “I think your dog is broken…”

“Lucy, come.” 76 said, peeking through the crack in the door.

Lucy sneezed.

“What a well-trained dog you have here 76.”

The hitman glared at Gabriel before trying a whistle command, “You know I could just grab her…”

“Nope,” Gabriel yelped before slamming the door closed, “My dog now, I guess.”

“Reyes-“

“Nope.”

The silence from the other side of the door was deafening to Gabriel. He shifted his weight back and forth waiting for the hitman to make a move, a noise, anything.

Finally a sigh and a thump came from the door, “Fine. I’ll leave if you get her out.”

“Only if you go back to your apartment,” Gabriel relented, “and I want my phone back too.”

Something hit the floor before his phone slide under the door and between his feet. He listened as uneven footstep made their way down the hall. Gabriel waited a moment before cracking his door open and peeking out into the empty hall before holstering his weapon.

Taking a shaky breath, he walked to where Lucy was still lying and gently started to half-drag her to the doorway. Gabriel stumbled over her as he got to the door and listened for any activity before unlatching the chain.

Gabriel had no time to process as the door slammed into him and sent him to the floor. Fear froze him where he fell when the barrel of a large gun came into his vision. His life flashed before his eyes and he said his prayers-

‘Thwack’

He looked to up in disbelief as a foam dart bounced off his forehead and onto his chest. 76 laughed and lower himself over Gabriel so they were face to face, a nerf gun was grasped lightly in one hand.

“Wha-what the fuck?” Gabriel managed.

76 cocked his head to the side and confusion crossed his face once more, “What? I already got to kill you once. I mean, you’re still on my hitlist but I also don’t give a fuck right now.”

Gabriel gaped at the hitman as he stood and whistled a different command, Lucy immediately got up and trotted out of the room.

“You planned this.”

76 smiled, “Actually I didn’t, but it was fortunate you dropped your phone. Well, fortunate for me anyway.”

A feeling of dread deepened in Gabriel.

“It saved me a lot of time of trying to track down all your friends and family.” 76 began to walk out the door as he spoke before turning in the doorway, “Good news for you though, as long as you keep your mouth shut we should have no problems, right, Gabi?”

With that the door shut leaving Gabriel alone in the quiet of his apartment.

[fanfic-inator795]

Tumblesquid Oneshot: Flight

Plot: Dating someone with wings can be pretty amazing at times - though it’s never just the flying that makes it truly amazing.

((Heyyyy, I FINALLY thought of another shipping fic idea! And, even if it’s not for my OTP, it’s still for a pairing I love, so that counts for something! But yeah, just a simple fluff piece. Hope you guys enjoy! ^v^))

As a villain, peace just seemed overrated. Not just overrated, but very boring. Even if it didn’t always feel like the greatest, anger and hatred and destruction always seemed like the better options.

Funny how opinions can change in just a few short years...

Now the impossible seemed like the truth. His mind and body both felt incredibly lighter, no longer weighed down by all the negativity and malice he used to carry. He was now able to appreciate things more, whether they be his own victories, the victories of others, or even just the small, likable things about their big, crazy universe. And, in what was perhaps the most surprising change of all, he was able to enjoy the company of a certain star nomad...

Jeff glanced up, smiling softly at Tumbleweed as he lightly strummed his banjo. Jeff knew how to play as well, but it was still nice to just listen every once in a while. Of course, it didn’t take long for Tumbleweed to notice his stare. “What?” he asked, giving an amused smile of his own.

“Aw, nothin’, man,” Jeff replied, shrugging slightly, “Just enjoyin’ the music.”

“Aww, and here I was thinkin’ that maybe you were getting bored,” Tumbleweed chuckled.

Jeff shook his head. “Nope.” He stretched slightly, giving his wings a small flap before leaning back. “Like I said, man, just enjoyin’ the music, the fresh air, and just being with a good friend.”

Tumbleweed’s smile quickly turned into a grin. “Awww, Jeff! You’re gonna make me blush!” The two chuckled as the notes of the banjo weaving in between their laughs, the pair of sounds easily making harmony.

Though, as the song continued, Tumbleweed couldn’t help but stare at his companion a bit. His gaze seemed to be a mix of wonder and longing. He then gave a small hum. “...Say, do you ever go flyin’?” he asked, deciding to start up a new conversation.

“Hm?” Jeff raised an eyebrow. “Well, I pretty much go flying all the time. I mean, I do live on a ship, you know.”

“No, no!” Tumbleweed said, laughing a bit, “Sorry, I meant, do you ever use those wings of yours to just take a nice fly around a planet or something? Sorta like a nice, brisk morning - or, really anytime of the day - walk but, well, with flying instead of walking.”

“Huh... Not really.” In fact, the thought had never really crossed his mind. Sure, he still used his wings occasionally when he had to get somewhere really quickly, but most of the time it was easier to just walk or use his magic to allow him to hover. Flying around for fun just seemed like a waste of time and energy. ...Or at least, that was he would have said if he was still Major Threat.

“Heh, do you ever wish you could fly, Tumbleweed?”

“Oh, maybe,” the nomad shrugged, giving a bit of a sheepish smile, “I’m thankful for what I have, of course, but... Sometimes I do sorta wish I did have wings just for fun.” He paused, his fingers still lightly strumming the strings of his banjo. “Though, it’s not as if I still can’t fly in other ways! There are parachutes and planes and low-flying ships hot air balloons and hang gliders and- oh! Don’t forget about Orbital Juice. That’s technically flying too!” Even if it more floating than flying.

“Well that’s good,” Jeff nodded, smile growing a bit. Good ol’ Tumbleweed, always being positive. ...And yet, if he wanted something, shouldn’t he of all people deserve to get it?

Tumbleweed smiled in agreement. “Yep. Plenty of ways to fly out there, if ya want to. Plenty of places to see too! New planets, new galaxies...”

“I guess so. ...But-” Jeff began to stand up, and Tumbleweed’s song suddenly ended as he gave him a curious look. The former evil conqueror however just casually walked over to him before crouching down a bit, his wings wide opened. “-if you’re still interested in the real thing, I could give ya a hand.”

“...” Slowly, Tumbleweed’s confused look turned into a grin made out of pure excitement. Stuffing his instrument back in his hat, he then quickly hopped up and grabbed onto Jeff’s shoulders. He wrapped his arms tightly around the cthulhu’s neck (though not too tightly, mind you), his warm fur blushing up against Jeff’s cheeks and making him chuckle a bit. 

Tumbleweed giggled as well. Though, after a moment, he managed to pull back his excitement a bit as he looked at Jeff. “You sure you wanna do this? I mean, if it’s a bother, we don’t have to-”

“Aw, it’s fine!” Jeff insisted, “It’ll just be a quick fly, man! What’ll be the harm in it? Now, you ready?”

Tumbleweed smiled, giving a firm nod. “Ready!”

“Okay...” Concentrating, Jeff started to flap his wings. They were big of course, but they were also fairly thin. He always needed a bit of a warm-up before he could really use them, and having a bit of extra weight (even if it was only a few pounds) was just adding to the struggle. Still, he tried not to show too much strain, and within a minute or so, his feet started to leave the ground.

Smiling, he leapt slightly and managed to get a foot or so higher. His wings flapping faster and harder now, he started to move forward as well as up, and it didn’t take too much longer for them to get some real height.

“Wowwww...” Jeff could hear Tumbleweed say, moving away from his face just a little as he tried to get a good view at the ground below, “This is amazing!”

“I thought you said you’ve flown before!” Jeff smirked.

Tumbleweed smirked back at him. “Well yeah, but this is still pretty amazing to see! Just cause you’ve seen something before doesn’t mean it can’t still be amazing!” 

“Heh, fair enough! But if you think that’s a nice view, just you wait, man...” Turning his own gaze to the clouds above, Jeff flew higher and higher. He tried his best to pace himself, but every time he heard Tumbleweed give a squeal or a gasp of excitement or even just gave a simple comment, he couldn’t help but go a bit faster. Soon enough, they were soaring through the teal sky without a care in the universe.

The wind started getting stronger, and while it caused him to tighten his grip a bit, Tumbleweed couldn’t help but grin at just how good it felt to have it blowing through his fur. Sometimes, as Jeff weaved in and out around the clouds and higher into the sky, he would ‘forget’ and end up going through one or two of them. They laughed as the puffy clouds drenched them, their bodies being briefly refreshed before being blow-dried. 

Eventually though, the clouds were few and far between, and Tumbleweed could start to see the part of the sky where atmosphere met space, and even with the sun still high in the sky, he could still see a few of the stars twinkling above the planet.

“Wow...” He smiled softly, nuzzling Jeff’s cheek a bit, “This is just-”

“Amazing?”

Tumbleweed chuckled. “That, and so much more...”

“Heh, well... I’m glad... Glad that you’re en-enjoying it, man...”

The nomad blinked, and glanced over at his friend. Jeff was still smiling a bit, but he was also breathing a bit heavier than usual, his face looking tired. “...How ‘bout we find a place to land soon?”

“Huh? But, but we’ve only been flying for like five minutes, man! And, and if you wanna go for longer we can-”

“Oh look!” Tumbleweed interrupted, loosening one of his hands just long enough to briefly point back down to the planet’s surface below, “That looks like a nice mountain to rest on! ...At least, I’m pretty sure it’s a mountain. Sorta hard to tell from way up here, but it still looks nice!”

“...” Holding back a sigh, Jeff began to adjust his angle, his wings slowing ever so slightly as he started to fly back down. Although, as he did so he’d still throw in a couple easy tricks, and even the occasional barrel roll, just to keep things fun and interesting. 

As it turned out, the spot Tumbleweed had pointed out was indeed a mountain, sort of chilly but still grassy with an absolutely fantastic view. Jeff however couldn’t really enjoy it, at least not right away. Because, as soon as Tumbleweed was off his back and exploring the new land, Jeff turned away and tried to catch his breath.

Using his powers had always been easy. They were linked to his mental capabilities and thought, which had been trained and primed for years. Yes, mental powers and abilities were a breeze for the former villain! But physical abilities... That was a different story, especially since he was getting near middle age...

“Jeff?” Looking over his shoulder, he spotted the nomad smiling at him, looking a bit concerned but certainly not judgmental, and offering a bottle of water.

“...Thanks, man,” Jeff nodded, taking the drink before sitting down. Of course, Tumbleweed sat down right next to him. Even if he was still a little disappointed in himself, he didn’t dare try to push the nomad away. “Sorry our little flight together couldn’t be longer, man.”

“Sometimes the shortest moments are the greatest ones,” Tumbleweed replied simply, “And besides, even if it was just a few minutes long, it was still fun!”

Jeff smiled. “Yeah... Definitely fun.” Lifting his slightly sore wings up a bit, he lightly hung one around Tumbleweed’s shoulders. Of course, Tumbleweed didn’t hesitate to lean into the touch. 

For a while, they just watched the sky and the ground below, occasionally speaking but mostly just enjoying each other’s company. “...When we’re ready to go, we can use the orbubble to get down,” Tumbleweed brought up at one point.

While he appreciated the concern, Jeff couldn’t help but frown a bit. “Come on, man, I’m not that tired. I can fly us back to where we were easily!”

“I know, but I don’t mind floatin’ down either,” Tumbleweed replied simply as he glanced up at the former villain. His gaze was soft, completely relaxed and totally content. As soon as he saw it, Jeff couldn’t help but hold him a bit closer as his own body relaxed, and any concerns or worries he might have had dissolving into a mind at peace once more.

“After all, we’d still be together in the orbubble, right?”

“Well, I wasn’t really planning on driving one myself,” Jeff smiled.

“Neither was I. And we’d still have a great view comin’ down, right?”

“Of course,” he nodded, “Probably the best view possible.”

Tumbleweed smiled, nuzzling his chest a bit as he wrapped his arms around the taller man in a tight hug. “Then that’s all I need!”

“Heh, yep...” Jeff said quietly as he returned the hug. When he thought about it, it really did sound perfect. A nice view. A sense of total peace and freedom. The feeling of happiness, even if it was from something as simple as a hug or a hand or a smile. And - most important of all - just being with someone he loved. 

Just a brief moment of love, yet it - along with all the other moments - would be something he would remember for eternity.

“You’re right, man... It’s all we really need.”

THE END