#juices ain’t flowing at the moment

[tommdale]

For you heathens who wanted more of Swap AU Chloe … (even though you’re all right)

Chloe Kamski and her personal android, Elijah :]

HC and AU ideas below :D

Elijah was the first android Chloe ever made, just for a “household helper” sort of thing. When she came up with the idea, she never anticipated androids becoming a worldwide phenomenon

Chloe calls all her Elijah models an ‘it’ rather than ‘he/him’

The specific model in the picture is Chloe’s favorite, she calls him “Eli” rather than “Elijah” like the others

“Eli” is the android she used for her “Kamski test” when she made Hank choose between shooting him or sparing him

[legomonkiefics]

hii! I was wondering if I could request a Wukong x GnReader where the readers sleeping schedule is….uh it’s not the best, that’s for sure! Like the reader just stays up all night doing work so they barely sleep? just how Wukong would try to help or something. Or if the bad sleep schedule thing ain’t getting your creative juices flowing just plain cuddle headcanons would be completely fine! Feel free to ignore this and remember to drink some water and take breaks! ^^

👑🧡 Sleep Aid — Wukong x GN Reader Drabble 🧡👑

Genres: Fluff, Romance || They/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁⋆˚｡⋆୨👑୧⋆˚｡⋆✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖

Working into the dead of night wasn't unusual for you, it was commonplace if anything. Stuff needed to get done, and the daytime was usually filled with so much commotion, especially with the Monkey Gang you'd been frequently hanging around recently. You sighed a little as you put a page up just to grab another, filling out the next dreadful tasks. There was a small flash of gold outside that caught your attention, until the door opened and a familiar voice called out.

"I'm home! Where'd you go, peachfuzz?" Wukong called out. He usually ran late nights too, his work as a Sage never seeming to end even post-retirement. He walked into your shared space, zipping up to you and hugging you around the shoulders. "There you are!" He said as he pressed his cheek to yours. When he pulled back, he noticed the papers out. "You're still working? It's been hours" he asked with a concerned frown. You rubbed his hair gently as you turned more in your chair to face him better. "Yeah, but it's okay. I'm making progress" you reassured him. Despite the King leaning into your touch, he didn't seem any less worried. "Are you sure, bud? I don't want you pulling another all-nighter". "I'm sure. I'll be alright" you said, and Wukong gave a nervous hum. "Okayyy, but since I'm up I might as well help" he said. Before you could protest, he was already making his way into the kitchen.

When he came back, he had a few supplies in his arms. He draped a comforter around your shoulders, sliding a warm beverage on your desk. A kiss was placed to your temple as he gave you a plate of warm dinner. "Did you pull this out of your hair?" You asked teasingly, Wukong grinning as he pretended to be offended. "Me?! Never! You should know by now that I'm a great cook" he said, pulling up a chair to sit beside you. You chuckled as you replied, "I've seen you burn too much to even pretend that's true". "Hush," Wukong said playfully, his tail batting at you gently.

As the time wore on, Wukong kept you company. He commented on the work, told you stories to keep you entertained, but there was a slight plot behind his actions. He'd also gently rub your sore shoulders, keep the warmth of the blanket tucked around you, and made sure you finished up all your dinner. Only a few moments later, his gentle affectionate gestures coupled with the warmth and a full stomach made you drowsy. The second you began leaning on him more, he gently took the pencil from you and massaged the palm of your hand. "You okay, love?" He asked with a fond smile. You nodded. "Yeah, just-" a yawn escaped you "-can't seem to keep my eyes open". Wukong nodded, gently keeping you in the blanket as he lifted you into his arms. "I think that means it's bedtime, sunbeam". After you nodded and leaned into his embrace, he used his nimbus cloud to carry the both of you to bed. He gently placed you on the mattress, going back out to shut down the home for the night and put up the dishes.

When he came back, he handed you a set of pajamas and let you get dressed as he did the same in another room. When you were both done, he folded out the blanket he gave you across the covers, letting you curl into his arms. He made sure you were comfortably situated before nestling down with you. Every night he was getting you to go to bed a little earlier, secretly planning to adjust your sleep schedule little by little until you could get a regular full night's sleep. For now, he was happy to call tonight a victory as he kissed your forehead and closed his eyes for sleep

[strxwberry-milku]

relationship headcannon for solo???

𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬: (𝐬𝐟𝐰+𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰)

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Solo Sikoa x Reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Relationship goals and shi

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,018

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: You’ll find out…

🎀 𝒮𝐹𝒲 🎀

˚౨ৎ˚ 1. Even tho he might not sometimes verbally express it, he loves you so much. Sometimes he misses the scent of your vanilla bean shampoo hair , your coco buttered lotioned skin and your strawberry cream scented purfume while he’s on tour, so in those moments he calls you and starts smiling like a mad man as soon as he sees your pretty face.

˚౨ৎ˚ 2. In public he doesn’t really do allat pda stuff, the most he’ll do Is wrap his arms around your shoulder or hold ya hand while crossing the road.

˚౨ৎ˚ 3. But In private It’s a whole different storyyyyy, this man hands will NEVER leave your body. He has to be touching you in some form of way.

˚౨ৎ˚ 4. He’s a buff man, so obviously his hugs are ELITE. Top notch shi right there. You feel so warm and so secure. He has this special hug for you called “ The solo Tornado” in which he picks you up and spins you around, don’t take it for granted cuz he don’t do it often.

˚౨ৎ˚ 5. He acts like a mama bear all the time, it’s so cuteeeeee, he’ll make you soup when your sick ( and even feed it you if you want) he’ll make sure you wear a scarf and a coat in the winter before you go outside, or else you ain’t going outside at all. I don’t make up the rules 🤷🏾‍♀️.

˚౨ৎ˚ 6. He acts like a body guard at times. Anytime you’re talking to someone or just doing regular things in public, he’s standing behind you , ready to fight a hoe If they dare, try ether him or you especially. It’s so funny because he’s this tall, buff and menacing man,standing behind you and then your short ass just chilling in the front.

˚౨ৎ˚ 7. Expect to be spoiled all the time. Your walking past a shop and see a bracelet you like ,The next day he’s presenting it you with a smirk.

˚౨ৎ˚ 8. This man gets downnnnn in da kitchen, HE DONT PLAY. When i’m tellin ya he makes the BEST barbecue wings and seasoned potatoe wedges, it’ll have you running back for more. And he can cook plenty more food e.g Macaroni, Cornbread, Cakes,Chicken,Rice, Cookies n cream cheesecake and just plentyyy more. You’ll never have to order fast food again. ( yes it’s THAT good )

˚౨ৎ˚ 9. Overall he’s just a big teddy bear, wanting to be loved on.

🎀 𝒩𝒮𝐹𝒲 🎀

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 1. Let’s get straight into it. He loves when you call him “ Daddy” or “Sir”, Something bout the way your lips tremble when you say it, or the way your eyes roll back behind you head when he’s pounding your shit in so good, by the end of it you’ll already flooded the whole bed with your juices.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 2. 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 1: He groaned and pushed your hand away that was prying against his stomach “ Move ya hand princess,I ain’t gon tell you again ” you whined in complaint, his dick was too big, you felt like he was hitting up against your uterus. “ Daddyyy, It’s to muchhhh!” you wailed as his hands reached down to vigorously rub your clit, he breathlessly chuckled “ You gon take this dick, ether way pretty girl, cuz just a minutes ago you wanted to show yo lil ass out infront of people ”.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 3. Every session,he has to at least cream pie you once. The sensation of his cream dripping down from your abused hole to your puckered asshole feels euphoric. The way he would use his tip and swipe up the residue that was dribbling down and push it right back into your cunt was so filthy, but you couldn’t give af because you liked being a whore just for him ONLY. The squelching sound that emitted right after was down right nasty, your pussy can’t get enough of his dick,can it ?.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 4. 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 2: You took a shaky breath as you watched his cock slowly re enter your pussy, It was an extremely tight fit,cause his dick was girthy, your cum filled hole felt full and again, nice and stuffed like a jelly filled donut. Your head fell back against the satin pillow as he brung your two legs and placed them above his shoulder, you knew he was about to put in that deep workkk. Sweat dripped down his furrowed eyebrows ,veins protruding out of his neck as he pistoned back and forth out of you “ Fuc-ckk babyyy, Take daddy’s dick like a good girl”.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 5. Sometimes when he’s feeling rather….hungry, he’ll sit there for hours if he could and eat you out like a starved man. I’m not even kidding, he wouldn’t stop until you tap out or just pass out for overstimulation.

𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 6. 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 3: “Ohhhh fu-ckkk daaa-dyyy” you whined out as he wrapped his arms around your thighs to drag your sore pussy closer to his mouth. The vibrations of him moaning went straight into your pussy further amplifying your release . He prodded his long tongue in and out of your sloppy hole while he used his two fingers to repeatedly slam into you, your pussy was clenching hard around him. He spat your juices back unto your clit and sucked it up back again, making sure to stare you right in the eyes when doing it, cause he knew that was your weakness. Your whole body trembled , you instinctively reached your hand out to grip his hair back “Just like that daddy” you panted out as your body convulsed. One more tug of his juicy,pink lips against your clit and you squirted all over his face like a water hose. And yes,he made sure to lick up EVERY.LAST.DROP. You got yourself a pro pussy eater ladies.

MY FIRST EVER SOLO WRITING .WHOOHOOO. Look at me feeding y’all content, you must be full🙄😭. But on a serious note , I love y’all fr fr, I didn’t think I would’ve made it this far, but I did because of you guys, so I will forever love you for that🩷.

p.s REQUESTS ARE CLOSED MY LOVLIES .I REAPT CLOSSEDDDD UNTIL FUTHER NOTICE.

- 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 🎀 signing out

[thisis-elijah]

𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋

Do you dare to check in? 🛎️ The infamous Overlook Hotel, nestled in the isolated Colorado Rockies, has a dark and mysterious history. Known for its eerie atmosphere and paranormal activity, the hotel has attracted visitors looking for a thrilling experience. This weekend, a group of individuals, each with their own reasons, has checked in. As night falls, strange occurrences begin to happen, turning a weekend getaway into a nightmare. ⸻ imagine yourself in the situation and create your character as they are trapped in a horror movie come true. bonus: get your creative juices flowing and write a oneshot. what happened before the picture? where is your character headed now? are they searching for their friends/the people that arrived with them or are they investigating something different entirely? what else is lurking amongst the shadows?

Wenn es nach ihm gegangen wäre, wäre ihr nächstes Ziel nicht 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐎 gewesen. Weitere Gesellschaft hätte er vermutlich auch nicht eingeladen. Elizabeth hatte ihm gesagt, dass sie, Pavel und irgendein Internetfreund von ihr einen Trip zum 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋 geplant hatten – einem heimgesuchten Resort, irgendwo im Nirgendwo, wo sich paranormale Phänomene zutragen sollten – und ob er nicht Lust hatte mitzukommen. “It’s gonna be fun”, hatte sie gesagt, “And you and Pavel haven’t seen each other in forever. I think you guys have a lot of catching up to do, huh?”  Wie hätte er ‘Nein’ sagen können. Als sie den Chat mit den zwei anderen las, hatte sie so versunken gewirkt, das war so hübsch an ihr: wenn sie in ihrer Arbeit oder ihren Hobbies verlor und ihm wenig später euphorisch davon berichtete. Auch, wenn es ihm lieber war, sie widmete ihre ganze Aufmerksamkeit den Sims 4 und keinen verlassenen, spukenden Orten, an denen Gott weiß was auf sie wartete. 

Sie hatten sich in Boulder, einer kleinen Stadt an den Ausläufern der Rocky Mountains, getroffen, dort hatte Elijah Isaiah das erste Mal kennen gelernt. Er und Liz hatten sich über Reddit kennen gelernt (zugegeben noch immer eine Plattform, mit der er nur– langsam warm wurde), auch Pavel kannte den Blonden zuvor nicht. Eine illustre Truppe, geradewegs auf den Weg zu einem Hotel, in dem eine undefinierte Anzahl an Menschen bereits ihr Leben gelassen hatte. Großartig.  Sie alle fuhren in Liz’ RV in Richtung des Hotels, der Brünette hatte auf dem Beifahrersitz Platz genommen und unterhielt sich immer Mal wieder sporadisch mit der Fahrerin, die meiste Zeit schwieg er aber, während sich Elizabeth mit Isaiah und Pavel über ihre Leidenschaften austauschte: Geister, Kryptiden, okkulte Rituale, Dämonen oder seltsame Gestalten, die die Wälder von Nirgendwo beherbergten. Irgendwann ging es darum, dass sie beide irgendeinem Podcast beiwohnen sollten und sicherlich fantastische Geschichten zu erzählen hatten, woraufhin Elijah kaum merklich die Augen verdrehte und aus dem Fenster sah, sein Buch auf seinen Oberschenkel legte und sich den Nasenrücken massierte. ‘If this kid ain’t gonna shut up for one second, I think I’m gonna–’, dachte er, doch brach den Gedanken ab. Ein Innehalten, das er nicht selbst zu verantworten hatte. Sein Blick ging zu Elizabeth, die ihre Hand auf seine legte und ihm aufmunternd zulächelte. Momente wie diese waren so hübsch an ihr; wenn man sie nur gut genug kannte, konnte man ihr alles ansehen, dachte er, jedes Gefühl in allen Nuancen. “I like your sweater”, lächelte sie breiter auf und er sah an sich herunter, schmunzelte und nickte. Natürlich mochte sie ihn, sie hatte ihm den grobmaschigen blauen ‘Apollo 11’-Pullover geschenkt.

“Gods, this is the coolest thing I’ve seen in ages, you’re a genius for suggesting this!”, kommentierte der Blonde irgendwann und hatte sich zwischen Fahrer- und Beifahrersitz niedergekniet, “Pavel, take a look at this beauty!” Der Blick, der zu dem Podcast-Host hinüber ging war nur ein flüchtiger, auch Elijah kam nur schwer darum herum ebenfalls das Haus vor sich zu betrachten: doch im Gegensatz zu den anderen beschlich ihn ein ungutes Gefühl. Irgendetwas hatte dieser Ort an sich, was ihn unwohl sein ließ. Als eine Schönheit würde er das Overlook nicht unbedingt bezeichnen. Das Gebäude ragte fast schon bedrohlich in den dämmernden Himmel, die Wolken zogen schneller als sonst. Als sie ausstiegen schien eine unheilvolle Brise die Luft zu durchziehen. In dem Gemäuer vor ihnen schien stumm die Vergangenheit des Hotels wiederzuhallen, das hier Geschehene hing schwer in der Luft, als hätten sich die Tragödien in der Beschaffenheit des Bodens festgesetzt⸺ Elijah schluckte schwer. Für eine Weile hoffte er, dass der Schnee so hoch liegen würde, als dass der Eingang nicht mehr zugänglich war. Aber vergebens.  Gedanken, Gefühle und Eindrücke, die die drei anderen offensichtlich nicht zu teilen schienen. Er machte ein Foto von der Szenerie, ehe sein Blick ging zu ihnen ging, während er an seiner Zigarette zog.

Im Inneren hatten sie darüber nachgedacht, dass sie sich aufteilen könnten: Etwas, was Elijah nicht ganz verstand. Auch, wenn er kaum Horrorfilme in seinem Leben gesehen hatte, so war ihm schon während dem ‘Blair Witch’-Filmabend bewusst geworden, dass aufteilen immer die denkbar schlechteste Idee war. “I have a bad feeling about this”, hatte er Elizabeth irgendwann in das Vertrauen gezogen, während sich der Geisterjäger und der Podcaster unterhalten hatten. “I’ll be with you shortly, Eli, promised. There should be a maze around here, I bet there’s some scary stuff to investigate there, too. I’ll be with you in five, just let me get a look at the foyer, will ya?” Ihr Lächeln wurde breiter, seines ebenfalls. Behutsam strich er über das Haar der Brünetten, küsste ihre Schläfe und nickte.  “Be careful in there, alright?”, hatte er ihr noch leise gesagt. “Took you long enough. So where we wanna go first?”

Elijahs Laune sank minütlich. Ihm war kalt, er hatte keine Lust auf irgendetwas Paranormales und wäre deutlich lieber einfach abends in ein Pub gegangen und hätte es sich bei einem Bier gut gehen lassen. In der fünften Minute hatte er tief durchgeatmet und sich daran erinnert, dass er all das hier für Liz tat, die viel Wert darauf legte, dass er hier war. Und irgendwo rührte es ihn auch, dass sie ihn dabei haben wollte. Bei Minute dreizehn war ihm gänzlich die Lust vergangen. Er dachte daran, wie Isaiah seinen Arm um Liz’ Hals gelegt hatte, als die Texanerin die letzten Meter zu ihren Freunden aufgeholt hatte. “You’re a genius for suggesting this, I bet you have fantastic stories to tell, Do YoU wAnNa JoIn My PoDcAsT?”, äffte er leise den Blonden nach, als er an seiner Zigarette zog, eine Weile lang auf und ab ging. “Fuck off. I listen to these stories, not some pretentious kid from Michigan. LoOk At Me I hAvE sO aNd So MaNy MoNtHlY lIsTeNeRs. Who gives a shit”, fluchte er und warf die Zigarette in den Schnee, ehe er sich umdrehte und zum Eingang des Labyrinths sah. Er musterte Liz, die hinter einer der Hecken stand und für einige Augenblicke befürchtete er, dass sie ihn gehört hatte. “What took you so long? I thought you’d stand me up for a fucking hotel.” Sie lächelte breiter und verschwand hinter der Hecke, was ihn zum Lächeln brachte und er ihr hinterher ging. Manchmal sah er nur einen Schatten von ihr, bat sie darum langsamer zu laufen und kam die meiste Zeit kaum hinterher, bis sie in der Mitte des Labyrinthes angekommen waren. Sie stand in der Mitte, sie hatte ihren Schal und die Jacke abgelegt und stand im weißen Kleid vor ihm. “Love…”, sagte er leise und ging ein paar Schritte auf sie zu, zog sich seine Jacke aus und legte sie ihr um, ehe er ihr die Mütze aufsetzte und über ihre Schultern rieb, um sie aufzuwärmen. Ihre Lippen waren blau, ihre Nasenspitze rot und sie fror am ganzen Körper. “Liz, we need to get you back to the RV. You’re freezing.” Sie nickte ruhig und sah zu ihm hoch, lächelte selig auf und lehnte sich an ihn. “Don’t you wanna stay a while?”, fragte sie ihn und lächelte ihm zuckersüß entgegen, strich mit ihren kalten Fingern sanft über seine Wange. Ein kalter Schauer lief ihn über den Rücken, ehe er ihre Hand nahm und sie zwischen seine legte. “It’s 20°F, love, and even though the sweater’s comfy and all, it ain’t the solution for these temperatures. Your RV’s all nice and toasty for you, hm?”“But I want you to stay, Elijah.” Sie nannte ihn selten bei seinem vollen Vornamen. Eigentlich nur, wenn sie wütend auf ihn war. Oder verzweifelt. “Take this”, fuhr sie fort und legte behutsam etwas in seine Hand, verdeckte den Gegenstand aber.

Ì̷̞͍̦͎͖͆̐͒̿̊ ̸̻̘̗̔̈̏n̷͉͖̝͒̓̑̀͛́e̴͈̐̋͆̾͗͜͠͝e̶̻̼̜͍̓̿͝ͅd̸̼̅ ̷̄͂͠ͅy̸͇̠͊̌̿o̵̱̬̤̺͈̮͕͆̆͠ú̶̻̚͝ ̴̢̧̦̩̝̍̓̾̅̈́͗̚ͅṯ̶̹͕͛̉̌͂o̸̧̡̮͈͕̿̉̽ ̴̟͎̱̋̍͝f̶͉̺̏į̵̯͕̪́̓͐́́͒n̶̢̼̟̱͚̖̺̄ḍ̴̜̺̘̻͓̰̊͛͊ ̵̢̫̭̀̊́̄̑̐ṃ̵̈́́͑ê̷̩̈́̎͝ ̴͙̝̘̬͖̬̔t̶̢̻͓͔̼̘̝̄̈̈͊̄h̴̨̛̛̙͗̉̈ę̴͓̪͇̯̻͊͋̈́̔̆͐r̵̢̥̝͂͗̈̔̍͗̊e̵̡̙̙͐̽͒̒.̷̖͙͇̦̯̼͐̌̈́̚͜ ̷̭̟̩̖̘̰͜͝I̵̛̥̝̐̕ͅ’̸̠̝͎̥̟́̕͜ͅm̷̱̞͈̎̔̎̎͗̆͜ ̷͙͕̰͖̜̍̋͛̅͒ş̵̭̜̥́̒̈́̎͆c̷͈̹̏̈́ą̵̪́̂͗̋͝r̴̢̨̞̠͓͓͎͑̉͌̈͝e̷̢̝̔̀͌d̵͙̜̣͚̃̽̈̅̓̕̚ͅ,̴͔̬̬̻͖͈͊̃͑͋̒̆͗ ̵̢̨̬̔͒͑͑͂͝E̶͔͉̲͌̄̓̄͊̾̚l̷͈̊͆͝ĭ̵̥͙̮͎̹̥͔̃́̈́̋̕j̶̺̮̍a̴͕̽́̒̂̚h̷̙̤̱͖͉͙̏.̶͔̞̫̙̇”̷̡̰̭̭̤̺̃ Ihre Gesichtszüge veränderten sich, wurden seltsam weit, verzerrt, er hatte das Gefühl, als entglitt sie ihm. Es war, als würden Realität und Albtraum willkürlich die Plätze tauschen. “Elijah, I don’t know where I am. I’m scared. Where are you? Ẃ̶̨͕̏͋̈̄̓͝h̶̛͙̠̙̳ͅy̵̢̙̣̣͉̎͊̋̑̋͜ ̷̬̂d̵̹̮̦̩̘͑͆͜͝ỉ̶̛̩͍̞̑͜͝d̵̰͈̉̔͊͊͊̆ ̸̖̝̰̙̣́́̊̽͆̐ͅy̶̫͚͇̾̊̃͛̈̏ò̷͙̘͍͈̜̯u̸̘̖̬̳̙͌̇́͠͝ ̸̢̱̝͍̖͚̜̾̎̓L̸̢̰͍͔̞̱̗͋̂̕Ẽ̸͚̖̎͆̿̏̕͝Á̷̢̟̪̹̳̟̇̽̀͠ͅV̶̜̂͜Ë̷̱̋̈̅ ̴̡̪͖͕̼̾M̵̢͍̙̟̟̖̪̑̐͑̓̔̄Ė̶̼̹͛̇̀?̵̡̟̠̫͌̂͂͑̆̔͒͜!̴̺͓̋” Die Mimik des Brünetten wandelte sich von Zuneigung in Irritation und schließlich in Furcht. Auch, wenn er zuvor schon Berührungen mit Terror gehabt hatte, schien er sich nie wirklich daran zu gewöhnen. Elizabeth fiel in sich zusammen, ihre Gelenke bogen sich in schier unbeugsame Richtungen, ihr Kopf lag auf dem Boden auf, sah mit weit aufgerissenen Augen zu ihm hoch.  Sein Atem ging flach. Es war schwer seinen Augen zu trauen. Für eine Weile verharrten sie so, ehe sie sich auf allen Vieren über das schneebedeckte Kiesbett davon stahl, ihr Kopf und die langen, braunen Haare zogen den Schnee mit sich, bis sie hinter einer der Hecken verschwand.  Minutenlang hatte er in der Eiseskälte gestanden, seine Fingerglieder wurden allmählich blau. Sein Blick fiel auf den Schlüssel mit einem roten Anhänger in seiner Hand.  𝐙𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝟐𝟑𝟕.

tagged by: @ausgetrieben tagging: @phasmophobie @hochmvt @gottesgrauen @vergeltvng @trauma-report @ertraeumte @caughtbetweenworlds @vikasgarden @heartofglass-mindofstone & you !

[lovessidney]

Orange Juice

Please note that this explicit story was written by an adult, for adults. If you are under the age of 18, please do not interact.

Trigger warning: Alcohol abuse.

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader.

Pronouns: none, (anatomy: AFAB).

Requested by: no one, I for once got inspired on my own.

Summary: You and Gerard reunite, years after letting go of each other. You’ve both changed, but has the relationship you once had changed with the years too?

A/n: Okay, so this fic is inspired by the songs ’Orange Juice’ and ’Homesick’ by Noah Kahn. I don’t even know how the idea popped into my head, it just did. I also found inspiration from another song I used to listen to years ago, in my early teens. Please, if anyone finds it, leave a comment or shoot me a message, it would be soooo fun if someone got it! It’s not that unlikely, really, it would just be really fun. 

Also, fair warning, this is another really long one.

The midday sun cast long shadows as you navigated the bustling streets, running errands for your mom's upcoming birthday party. The city held a familiar rhythm, each intersection and storefront a page from the chapters of your past. As you approached a corner of Main Street, a flash of bright red hair caught your eye.

There, across the street, stood Gerard, unmistakable in a white leather jacket and bright red hair that seemed to defy the muted tones of the urban landscape. You hadn’t seen them in a very long time. The years had etched themselves upon their face, but there was a spark of recognition in their eyes as they scanned the surroundings.

Without hesitation, you made your way through the sea of pedestrians, the echo of their name reaching Gerard's ears. They flinched, an instinctive reaction to the possibility of paparazzi or over eager fans. However, as they turned to face you, a genuine smile replaced the initial wariness.

"Hey there," you greeted, a mixture of nostalgia and curiosity in your voice. "Long time, no see."

Gerard's eyes widened, the recognition setting in. "Wow, it's been years. How have you been?" they replied, the hint of surprise giving way to genuine warmth.

You fell into the easy cadence of old friends catching up. "I've been good, just busy with life. And you, how long since you got back?" you asked, curiosity lacing your words.

"I've been here for a few days," Gerard explained, a nonchalant air about them. "Just taking it all in, you know?"

As the conversation flowed, you couldn't help but wonder about Gerard's current state. "How have you been - and are you bored yet?" you inquired, a grin playing on your lips.

Gerard chuckled, a hint of mischief in their eyes. "It's not so bad. It's been a while since I was here last."

You both exchanged laughs, the familiarity of shared memories weaving through the small talk. The city, with its chaotic energy, became a backdrop to the reunion of two friends who had once navigated the ups and downs of life together.

"The weather ain’t been bad - if you’re into masochistic bullshit," you quipped, the banter echoing the camaraderie you once shared.

Gerard's smile faltered for a moment, a subtle shift in their demeanor. As you continued down the street, you noticed a fleeting expression of flustered emotions in their eyes. Something had stirred beneath the surface, and without a word, Gerard excused themselves, citing a sudden errand.

"Guess I've got to run," they said, the words a touch hurried. "Let's catch up soon, okay?"

You agreed, the unspoken tension lingering in the air as Gerard walked away. The city, with its familiar and enigmatic energy, now held the promise of unexpected reunions and the untangling of emotions that had long been dormant.

The next day, you and your mom found yourself at a quaint café, it provided a momentary refuge from the whirlwind of party preparations. You and your mom, coffee cups in hand, settled into a cozy corner booth, enjoying the respite from the hectic day.

As the steam rose from the cups, you caught sight of a familiar figure entering the café. Gerard, with that unmistakable shock of red hair, strolled in. Their eyes met yours, and there was a brief exchange of smiles before Gerard approached the counter to place an order.

Your mom, glancing up from her coffee, followed your gaze and then gasped in recognition. "Oh my goodness! Isn't that Gerard? Your friend from way back?” she exclaimed, her eyes wide with surprise.

You nodded, a smile playing on your lips. "Yeah, it's them. We bumped into each other the other day.”

Your mom's face lit up with joy. "Oh, how wonderful! I remember you two being such good friends back in the day. It's been ages. Look at you both now, all grown up!"

Gerard, now with a take-away cup in hand, joined your table. The genuine warmth in your mom's eyes as she greeted them was evident. "Gerard, dear, it's been too long! You must join us for my birthday party tomorrow. It's going to be such a delightful gathering."

Gerard, slightly taken aback but flattered by the invitation, stammered out a gracious response. "Oh, uh, that sounds great, but I might have other plans. Thanks for the invite, though."

Your mom insisted, her enthusiasm undeterred. "Nonsense! You must come. It'll be like old times. I'd love to have you."

As Gerard shifted, slightly blushing, they found a moment to excuse themselves. "I appreciate it, really. I'll see if I can drop by. Enjoy the party preparations, both of you," they said, their smile lingering as they made a swift exit.

You watched them go, recognizing the familiar signs of shy retreat. Your mom, undeterred, continued to share memories and express her excitement for the evening ahead. The café, once a brief escape, now echoed with the anticipation of a reunion that seemed to be on the horizon.

Finally, Saturday rolled around. You had spent most of the week helping your mom prepare for the party and suffering through visits to extended family.

Despite the vibrant energy that enveloped your mom's birthday party, you found yourself grappling with an unsettling sense of detachment. The back yard buzzed with laughter, and your mother, the epitome of joy, danced from one conversation to another, her happiness infectious. However, you couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider in your own hometown.

The attendees were a sea of familiar faces, but the connections that once bound you together had frayed over time. Older relatives regarded you with a mix of disapproval and disappointment, their subtle judgments casting a shadow over the festivities. Leaving Belleville and New Jersey behind had strained those relationships, creating an unspoken distance that loomed between you and your family.

As you observed the cousins who once shared childhood adventures with you, you couldn't help but notice the chasm that had grown between you. Their lives had evolved into a tapestry of commitments—wedded partners and children—leaving you to navigate the party with a sense of isolation. The threads that once wove a tight bond had unraveled, and you found yourself adrift among the celebrations.

The music played on, the laughter continued, but the festivities felt like a tableau of past connections that had faded into mere echoes. You navigated through conversations with a forced smile, exchanging pleasantries with those you once knew intimately but now struggled to connect with. The party was a testament to the passage of time, highlighting the divergence of paths and the evolution of relationships.

Then you remember, your mom actually invited Gerard when you met them at the coffee shop. Maybe you should call them? You flipped through the contacts saved in your phone while sipping some water. Sure enough, “Way, Gerard” showed up about last of them all. That number must be a million years old, you thought to yourself. But still, something in you told you to call it.

As the phone rang, you couldn't help but ponder the potential outcomes. What if they no longer used that number? Probably they had changed it after all these years? Leaving the bustling garden behind, you found a secluded spot and took a deep breath before the call connected. The ringing echoed in your ears, each tone amplifying the questions swirling in your mind. What if Gerard didn’t pick up? Or worse yet, what if they did?

The moment of silence hung in the air, teetering on the edge of awkwardness, until a familiar voice broke through the uncertainty.

"Uh- yeah. Who is it? And how’d you get this number?" Gerard's voice, distinct and unmistakable, reached you from the other end of the line. Your heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, you hesitated. Should you really be doing this? But then, fueled by a mix of nostalgia and curiosity, you made your voice heard.

"Hi Gerard,” you responded. "It’s me. Sorry if it’s weird that I’m calling—and that I still have your old number."

"Oh. Hi," Gerard's voice softened, and a brief pause lingered before they asked, "What’s up?" The question hung in the air, threthening to choke you before you figured out what to answear.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts. The past and the present collided in your mind, and for a fleeting second, you questioned what the hell you were doing. Both of you had changed so much; what remained of the connection that once held you close?

"You still there?" Gerard's voice snapped you back to the present, and you debated whether to end the call. Yet, curiosity prevailed.

"Sorry. This is stupid. I don’t even know why I called. But I thought maybe you’d like to come over? My mom would be so happy. And the party’s gone slower." You paused, realizing the potential complexity of inviting someone who had battled alcoholism up until fairly recently. "No one will tempt you. They know that you’re sober," you added cautiously, hoping to ease concerns.

There was a pause on the other end as Gerard seemed to contemplate your invitation. "Uh. Yeah. I mean, sure, why not. It’s Belleville, after all. Not like I’ve got much better to do," they replied, a hint of laughter breaking the tension. That laugh, once so familiar, tugged at your heartstrings.

"Okay, perfect. I’ll see you soon, then," you said, a smile playing on your lips. As you ended the call, you couldn't help but wonderif this was the most unneccesary awakening of a years old crush? Maybe. You realised that. But at the same time, you couldn’t really let them slip through your fingers again.

You retreated to the front porch, seeking a moment of solace before Gerard arrived. Nestling into a chair, you reached into your pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes, along with a lighter from the other. The familiar ritual brought a sense of grounding. With the cigarette between your lips, you ignited the lighter, casting a soft glow on your face as the embers flickered to life.

The fading daylight allowed the lights and candles scattered around the garden to become more pronounced. The ambiance was tranquil, a stark contrast to the party in the back yard. Closing your eyes, you took a deep drag, savoring the nicotine. In this moment of quiet reflection, you couldn't help but wonder what the evening held in store.

You closed your eyes for a moment, just focusing and the feeling of the slightly chilly air around you. You’re really hoped that the evening would turn out good. Then you realised that you didn’t even know what you would define as good. Rekindling what you and Gerard had, the friendship or the other feelings would be good. Great even. Yet skepticism lingered. 

As you contemplated the complexities of the night, the soft sound of footsteps against the walkway disrupted your reverie. Opening your eyes, you caught sight of Gerard approaching. The sight took you by surprise; they looked absolutely stunning. Adorned in a white button-down shirt, a black waistcoat, and black trousers paired with Converse, it was a look reminiscent of what they might wear on stage, sans the makeup and occasional writings on their neck. You cursed to yourself as you felt old feelings bubbling up to the surface again.

"Hi Gerard," you greeted them, uncertain of what else to say. You rose from your seat, offering a hug—the kind shared by people who haven't seen each other in a long time, loose and awkward. 

"Hey you," Gerard replied softly, their eyes reflecting a shyness reminiscent of their high school years. "How have you been?"

"What, since yesterday?" you replied, attempting to sound smart but unintentionally coming off as a bit mean. "Sorry. Uh, I didn’t mean to sound so rude. I’ve been okay, really. Kind of bored, so I’m glad I’ve had my hands full with Mom's party. How about you?"

Realizing you were still standing, you settled back onto the porch, gesturing for Gerard to join you. You held out your pack of cigarettes, offering them one. They accepted with a grateful smile, and a moment of comfortable silence settled between you. You didn't know what to say, but the mere presence of Gerard by your side felt reassuring.

"Remember our graduation party?" they asked suddenly, drawing on a shared memory. You smiled in acknowledgment, nodding at the recollection of the night you and Gerard had hosted a memorable graduation party.

"That’s the last time I drank here. If I recall correctly, I ended up passed out on the lawn," they confessed, a hint of embarrassment coloring their cheeks in the dim light.

"That was ages ago, Gerard. Don’t worry about it," you reassured them, wrapping an arm around their shoulder. They turned to you with a soft smile.

"I remember you took care of me. I was so embarrassed," they admitted, a gentle laugh escaping their lips.

"Hey, that’s what friends do," you assured them. "And I would do it again in a heartbeat."

They looked up at you, a shimmer in their eyes that wasn’t there just a moment ago. They appeared absolutely mesmerizing, and you had to look away to prevent yourself from melting into a puddle on the porch.

Pulling yourself together, you shifted the conversation to Gerard's life—tours, the new record, and the various aspects of their world. Gradually, the exchange felt more natural, as if the years of zero contact were melting away, leaving room for the familiarity of old friendships to resurface.

You were sipping your drink, and when the glass run empty, you realised you hadn’t offered Gerard anything. "Do you want something to drink, Gerard?" The nickname "Gee" lingered in your memory, but for now, nerves held you back from using it.

They appeared lost in thought for a moment. "Alcohol-free, of course," you added as an extra precaution, though it seemed unnecessary. "There’s orange juice in the kitchen, I think. We bought it for the children, but it’s yours if you want it." You found yourself rambling, a constant need to overexplain, a bit apprehensive about saying something wrong. After taking a deep breath, you turned to them again, a smile on your face. "Really, I’m just glad you could visit."

A more genuine smile graced Gerard's face this time. "Yeah. That sounds nice. Thanks."

You both made your way to the kitchen, the quiet of the house providing a stark contrast to the fading sounds of the party in the garden. The dim light illuminated the room, and you retrieved the orange juice from the refrigerator, offering it to Gerard.

As you both sat back on the porch, sipping on your drinks, the atmosphere shifted. The nervous tension seemed to dissipate, replaced by a more genuine connection. The night held the promise of shared memories and the possibility of rediscovering what had been lost over the years.

The porch cradled you both in a quiet embrace as you sat side by side, sipping on the chilled orange juice. The subdued glow from the nearby garden lights painted the scene in a soft palette. An unspoken tension lingered in the air, both of you acutely aware of the subtle shift in dynamics.

The clink of glasses and the occasional hushed murmur from the party in the distance were the only sounds that dared to interrupt the shared silence. Gerard's eyes, momentarily lost in the play of shadows, met yours, and for a fleeting second, an unspoken understanding passed between you. The nervous energy that had been humming beneath the surface began to surface, threading through the air like a delicate current.

You took a sip, the cool citrus flavor lingering on your tongue, a stark contrast to the warmth building between you. The rhythmic pulse of your heart seemed to echo in the quiet, a reminder of the uncharted territories you were navigating.

"I've missed this," Gerard finally spoke, their voice a soft echo in the night. The admission hung in the air, a bridge between shared memories and the uncharted present.

A nervous smile tugged at the corners of Gerard's lips. "You know, I always thought your laugh was the best part of those high school days. Still do," they said, the compliment wrapped in a subtle attempt at flirtation.

Your cheeks flushed slightly, a mirrored response to the compliment and the underlying flirtation. Attempting to compose yourself, you looked away, the faintest smile playing on your lips. "Well, your music was always the soundtrack to those days. Still is," you admitted, allowing a pause before adding, "And your smile... it hasn’t changed. It's still the most captivating thing I've ever seen."

As you both sat on the porch, the night held the promise of rediscovery, the subtle dance of flustered nerves revealing a truth that neither of you was quite ready to put into words. Yet, in the shared silence and the gentle glow of garden lights, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of something beautiful, a connection that had withstood the test of time.

The night air carried a subtle chill, and a quiet yawn escaped you. The hours spent helping your mom with the party had caught up with you, and fatigue began to tug at the edges of your consciousness. The porch, once alive with unspoken words and shared memories, now cradled a comfortable quiet.

Gerard noticed your yawn and chuckled softly. "Tired already?" they teased, a warmth in their eyes.

You couldn't help but smile, the fatigue momentarily forgotten. "Yeah, I’ve been up since early morning. Mom's party required some serious preparation."

A thoughtful expression crossed Gerard's face, as if an idea had taken root. "You remember what we used to do when we needed a pick-me-up and some good conversation?" they suggested, a glint of nostalgia in their eyes.

Your interest piqued, you leaned in slightly. "What?"

"We used to go to Waffle House," Gerard said with a grin. "Coffee and cigarettes were always best when shared with you. How about we head over there and share a cup or two? Just like old times."

The mention of Waffle House flooded your mind with memories of late-night conversations, laughter, and the comforting aroma of coffee. The proposal sounded perfect, a nostalgic journey to a familiar place where time seemed to stand still.

"Sounds like a plan," you replied, a spark of excitement in your tired eyes. "I could use a caffeine boost."

With that, you both rose from the porch, leaving the lingering quiet of the house behind. The night held the promise rekindling of a friendship that had stood the test of time.

The neon glow of the Waffle House sign cast a warm, welcoming light as you and Gerard settled into a corner of the outdoor seating area. The crisp night air carried the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the aroma of waffles, creating an atmosphere that felt both familiar and comforting.

You both ordered a plate of waffles and cups of coffee, the steam rising from the mugs as the waitress set them down on the table. The first bite of the warm, syrup-soaked waffle was a delightful reunion with a taste you hadn't experienced in years.

As you savored the familiar flavors, the conversation flowed easily between you and Gerard. The nostalgia of the place seemed to open the floodgates of shared memories and laughter, turning the evening into a journey back in time.

"I can't believe we used to spend hours here," Gerard remarked, a smile playing on their lips.

"Yeah, it was our go-to spot. Waffle House always had this magic of making everything feel better," you agreed, a fondness in your voice.

The playful banter and light flirting between you and Gerard added a sprinkle of warmth to the air. Each exchanged grin and shared laugh became a testament to the connection that had transcended time.

As the night progressed, the chill in the air prompted a move inside. The warmth of the diner embraced you as you settled into a booth, the vinyl seats squeaking softly as you shifted.

With the change in setting, the conversation delved into the winding roads your lives had taken since the days of hanging out at Waffle House. You spoke of the highs and lows, the unexpected turns, and the way life had shaped and reshaped your respective journeys.

Nostalgia enveloped the conversation, weaving through tales of shared laughter, dreams, and the undeniable bond that had endured over the years. The diner became a time capsule, capturing moments that bridged the past and present.

As cups of coffee were refilled and the night unfolded, you found solace in the shared space, each word a testament to the enduring connection that had brought you back to this familiar haven.

The night settled around you both, and plates and mugs sat empty, remnants of shared laughter and the echoes of memories long tucked away. The waitress approached, signaling the end of their impromptu reunion.

"Closing time, folks. Hate to kick you out, but we gotta shut it down," she called, a knowing smile playing on her lips. You and Gerard exchanged glances, realizing the night couldn't linger in the cozy embrace of the diner forever.

The crisp air hung between you as you stepped out into the night. Remnants of laughter and shared memories could almost be felt in the atmosphere. Silent tention crackled in the air between you and Gerard as the Waffle House door swung shut behind you. You both bathed in the soft glow of the dimming streetlights and the weight of unspoken words lingered, the anticipation building in the quiet night.

For a moment, you just stood there, looking at each other, both trying to find the courage to say or do something. Anything.

In the gentle pause, you caught a glimmer in Gerard's eyes, a reflection of the same uncertainty that echoed in your own heart. The pavement beneath your feet seemed to hold its breath as you both stood on the edge of a cliff, the night holding the promise of something more.

Gerard hesitated, their gaze shifting between your eyes and the ground. It was a delicate balance, all the feelings and the unspoken questions hanging between you. The night seemed to elongate, the world reduced to the two of you and the shared history that bound you together. Your eyes met, and for a moment, the world went still and quiet around you.

As if guided by a force beyond your control, you closed the gap, the space between you and Gerard diminishing until your lips finally met. Their lips were a bittersweet memory, a taste of the past mingling with the urgency of the present. The kiss was soft, a whisper of what could have been, yet it held the weight of a decade's worth of longing. Gerard's fingers, trembling with a mixture of anticipation and restraint, found their place on the curve of your cheek.

The world seemed to dissolve into the sensation of that kiss. It was a dance of familiarity and rediscovery, a silent acknowledgment that time had not eroded the essence of feelings that had once been. The warmth of their lips against yours was both a comfort and an ache, a reminder of a connection that had been paused but never truly bruned out.

The softness of the kiss showed the desperation that hid beneath the surface. It was as if you both were trying to capture lost time in that moment, to bridge the gap that a decade had carved into your shared history. Every nuance, every gentle press of lips, carried the weight of untold stories and unspoken confessions.

As the kiss deepened, it became a melody of sighs and shared breaths. Gerard's hand, tracing a path from your cheek to the nape of your neck, held you close as if afraid that the moment might slip away like a fleeting dream. The world outside ceased to exist, and all that remained was the echo of your heartbeats and the soft, desperate symphony of a kiss that defied the confines of time.

As you pulled away, breathless and wide-eyed, the realization hung in the air. The unspoken had found its voice in the language of shared desire. Gerard's eyes, now filled with a newfound clarity, met yours with a mix of surprise and recognition.

"I... I didn't expect..." they began, words trailing off as the uncharted territory of your connection unfolded before you.

The magnetic pull persisted, drawing you back in for another kiss, this time with a shared understanding of the emotions that simmered beneath the surface. The night embraced the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of a connection reignited, and you found solace in the knowledge that sometimes, the past and present could collide in the most unexpected and beautiful ways.

The air crackled with a tangible tension, the aftermath of the shared kisses leaving both you and Gerard in total emotional free-fall. The streetlights cast long shadows as you stood there, caught in the crossroads of what was and what could be. The unspoken desire hung in the air, waiting for someone to take the first step. Gerard's eyes, now holding a newfound intensity, searched yours for a sign, a confirmation that the connection you both felt was not a fleeting moment. A hesitant smile played on their lips, mirroring the uncertainty that lingered in your own expression.

The silence stretched between you, filled only by the distant sounds of the city. It was as if the world held its breath, waiting for one of you to break the delicate equilibrium that held you suspended in the night. In a moment of shared vulnerability, Gerard's hand found yours, fingers intertwining in a silent plea that spoke more than words ever could. The touch, an anchor in the sea of uncertainty, became a subtle invitation to venture into the unknown.

"We should... we should go somewhere," Gerard mumbled, the words hanging in the air like a question seeking affirmation.

The invitation lingered, full of unspoken feelings and desires. Your heart raced, caught between the safety of the past and the uncharted territory that lay ahead. A shared glance spoke volumes, a silent agreement that the hotel room held the promise of something more, a space where the echoes of the past could be confronted and rewritten.

As you began to walk, the distance between you and Gerard seemed to shrink, each step carrying the weight of unexplored possibilities. The city around you became a blur, and the anticipation of what possibly awaited in Gerards hotel room became a magnetic force, drawing you closer.

As the hotel's entrance neared, Gerard stole a glance at you, a silent question in their eyes. The anticipation swirled like a current between you, and in a moment of shared recognition, the unspoken was finally voiced.

"Would you... want to come up?" Gerard asked, their words carrying the weight of vulnerability and desire.

The question hung in the air for a heartbeat before you nodded in response. The hotel lobby welcomed you both, and as soon as the elevator doors closed, Gerards arms wrapped around your waist. A total turn from how they’d been a few moments ago. This was something else, something desperate and yearning. Your hands found their way around their neck, pinning them against the wall of the elevator. You wanted to be closer, if closer was a concept possible to exist.

Time slowed, a combination of the enclosed space and the palpable tension. Your nose touched theirs and your foreheads came close. It seemed as if the moment was stretching on for a lifetime. Just the sound of the two of you, breathing in a tiny space, nearly panting, as the elevator ascended.

But when Gerards lips did meet yours, they were already breathless, ready, needing the contact so intoxicating that the second had already turned into a minute. Their breath was hot on your face, a moan escaping their lips. For a moment you just stood there, looking at each other, trying to grasp what was actually happening. Then the elevator door opened.

Gerards hand grasped yours, pulling you along behind them. They led you to their hotel room. They dropped the keycard twice, hands shaking and nerves buzzing. The second they got the door open and had closed it behind you, they were all over you again, it was as if they were trying to make up for ten years of missing out. Their mouth found yours and their hands pulled you in tight, as tight as humanly possible, in the most perfect way. Gerards kisses were desperate and needy, ten years of pent up emotion. You stumbled backwards onto the bed, their body coming with you, collapsing on top. For a few moments, that's all there was, just the two of you, kissing like the world might end tomorrow.

Suddenly Gerard just stopped and looked down at you. "Is this okay? Like really really okay?" They sounded almost scared. You pushed them off of you and climbed on top, straddling their waist, leaning over. Your face was inches from theirs. 

"Oh, 'okay' doesn't even begin to cover it." You kissed their neck, sucking gently, Gerards eyes fluttered shut. 

Their hands were shaking as they found the hem of your shirt, tugging, asking permission. You sat up and removed it, quickly, before going straight back to work, trailing kisses down their neck and across their collarbones. You could feel them starting to shift under you, doing their best to disguise the obvious. You ground your hips against them slowly, Gerards breath caught and they whimpered slightly. God, the sound was intoxicating.

Their face was flushed and they were panting, and oh, was it the most beautiful sight. You sat up again, grinding gently into them. Gerards hands tugged at your belt loops, their eyes begged. Your fingers undid their belt and jeans and you slid down their body, pulling their pants with you. Gerards eyes were wide and, if anything, even more desperate than they had been before. Their boxers were tented and there was already a wet patch. You pressed your hand against their cock, Gerards back arched and their hands scrambled for something to grasp onto, finding the pillow behind their head. 

Their breathing was getting heavier and they bit their lip, trying not to moan. You hooked your fingers into the waistband, Gerards hips bucked, ever so slightly. You pulled off their boxers and watched their cock spring free. It curved upwards and leaked precum onto their stomach. Suggestively, you licked your own hand and wrapped it around the base, Gerards breath hitched and their eyes shut close. 

You stroked them agonizingly slowly, and Gerards hips twitched. You lowered your mouth, their cock was right in front of your lips. Just before you made contact, you stopped and looked up at them. Gerards eyes opened, they whined and their hips bucked again. You smirked and blew gently, teasing them. Their face contorted, this was torture. You ran your tongue up the underside of their shaft, Gerards grip on the pillow tightened. While swirling your tongue around their tip, Gerards breathing became shallow and desperate. They were trying not to beg, but it was getting harder by the second.

"Please" they managed, barely a whisper. 

You took them in to your mouth, theirs fell open and their eyes rolled back. Without doubt, you took them deeper. Gerards hips tried to thrust, you placed a hand on their hip, pinning them down. Their chest rose and fell, they were struggling to control their breathing. 

You hollowed your cheeks and took them deep down your throat. Gerards knuckles were white, their mouth hung open, they couldn't contain the string of moans, incoherent babbling, gasping your name. You bobbed your head, and their thighs tensed, their whole body shuddering. Their hands found their way into your hair, trying desperately to ground themselves somehow. It was a feeble attempt. Their head was spinning, the pleasure so intense.

"God, fuck, please. You have to stop" they managed between moans.

Your mouth left their cock with a pop, Gerards eyes opened and they panted. 

”Is something wrong?" you asked, genuinely concerned that they'd changed their mind.

They panted, or laughed, you didn't quite know which. Then they explained. "No way. I just don't want this to end yet," they managed with a heaving chest. 

You climbed back up their body and Gerards hands were immediately undoing your pants. Their shaky hands fumbled, so you helped. Once you'd removed them, their hands found their way into your underwear, eagerly finding the right places to touch you. 

You laid back down on the bed and without doubt you pulled off your underwear and threw them somewhere on the floor. Their thumb circled your clit, you moaned and Gerards face lit up, loving the sound. Their index and middle finger found your entrance, gently stroking, testing the waters. You ground your hips into their hand, Gerards eyes closed and they whimpered. Their fingers found their way back to your cunt, and just their sliding over you was enough to make you moan. Their index finger entered you and their thumb resumed circling your clit. You whimpered and bit your lip.

Their finger curled inside of you and hit exactly the spot you needed. The spot that made you weak in the knees. "Fuck, Gerard" you gasped, and Gerards face split into the most perfect smile. It would have been angelic, if it hadn't been so damn wicked. Their finger moved in and out of you, hitting the same spot every time. You rocked your hips against their hand, Gerards face became concentrated. They wanted nothing more than to give you what you needed. You rode their hand and Gerards thumb never stopped, making you shudder and gasp. "God, Gerard, I need you," you managed between moans.

Gerards other hand pulled you into a kiss. Their hand left you and their arms wrapped around your waist. For a moment you were just looking into each other's eyes, savouring the moment. Gerards hands found yours and their eyes pleaded. Your hand guided their cock to your cunt, and slowly you sank down on them.��

They filled you up so fucking good. Their hands found yours and they bit their lip, trying not to cum at the sight of it all. You waited a few seconds, letting your bodies adjust to each other. Gerards hands squeezed yours and they nodded. You rolled your hips slowly, feeling their cock slide in and out. Your head rolled back and Gerards moans were heavenly.

"You feel so fucking good. Jesus fuck," they gasped, their words were cut short by a moan. You rocked against them, Gerards face contorted, the pleasure was heavenly.

You leaned down and captured their lips with yours. Your tongue found its way into their mouth. Their kiss was deep and hungry.

"Fuck me," they murmured against your lips.

You sat up and started rolling your hips. The way you moved was slow and controlled. The sensation was intense, almost too much. The most perfect, angelic sin. Gerards breathing was ragged and shallow. They were already so close. You ground your hips, Gerard groaned and their face scrunched up. The way their thighs were trembling, the way they moaned and whimpered, it was all perfect. You did the only thing you could. Yout picked up the pace.

"I'm so close," they whispered. You leaned down and kissed their neck. Their hands tangled themselves in your hair. You nibbled their neck, their back arched. You could feel your legs getting weaker and you fought to keep the tempo up.

"Let me help," they said, sitting up, wrapping their arms around your waist, their cock still inside you. They started thrusting, slowly. Their mouth found yours and their hand cupped your chin. You fucked slow and deep. The friction between you was all you could ever need.

"God, you're so pretty. Where have you been all my life?" they whispered in your ear, nibbling your neck, sucking and biting.

"Gerard" you moaned, their name like honey on your lips. Like it had belonged there all along. The look on their face, the pleasure and desperation truly was a sight to behold. Their moans were so intoxicating and the whole situation was starting to overwhelm you.

You moaned and buried your face in their shoulder, you couldn't think anymore, you couldn't process. All that existed was the two of you, and the sensations. You could feel their breath hot on your neck, and hear their soft gasps and moans. It was overwhelming, and you could feel everything inside you tense up. And just the blink of an eye later, your orgasm hit you like a tsunami. Wave after wave crashing through you. You couldn’t even begin to put words to your feelings.

"Fucking christ, you're a dream. Please don't stop. I'm gonna cum," they moaned just after you.

You ground your hips and they gasped. "I can't wait to see you fall apart," you whispered, your head still spinning from your own orgasm.

Gerards eyes shut and they groaned. Their whole body trembled, their thrusts became erratic, then stopped. They gasped and shuddered, and with that, they came. Their nails dug into your back, their face buried in your shoulder, and they gasped. You slowed down on top of them and carefully laid down on their chest.

Their eyes were still closed, the room wrapped in the feeling of serene afterglow. Gerard's fingers traced absent patterns on your skin, a gentle connection that lingered in the quiet space between you.

As you felt the warmth of the afterglow settle, a subtle unease crept into your thoughts. The vulnerability of the moment brought forth a surge of insecurity, and a voice whispered doubts in the darker corners of your mind.

Without a word, you slipped out of bed, the cool air on your skin a stark contrast to the warmth you had just shared. Gerard stirred, their eyes flickering open as they sensed your departure.

You hesitated by the edge of the bed, while pulling on your shirt again. A swirl of emotions was clouding your gaze. 

Gerard's voice, soft and filled with a vulnerability of its own, broke the silence. "Don't go," they murmured, their eyes searching yours.

"I just... I don't want this to be... I mean, I don't want to assume," you stumbled over your words, the weight of your feelings making it difficult to articulate.

Gerard reached out, their fingers gently grazing your hand. "Stay," they whispered, a plea laced with emotion. "Please stay. I want you here.”

With a deep breath, you made a choice. You climbed back into bed, the warmth of Gerard's embrace welcoming you back.

They pulled you close. “I feel like I’ve missed you all my life” they whispered in your ear.

“I’ve missed you too, Gee,” you confessed.

You settled into each other's arms, the vulnerability of the moment transformed into a quiet reassurance. In the quiet aftermath, you both lay intertwined, feeling like you were both exactly where you were meant to be and that the night would last forever.

As the minutes passed, Gerard shifted closer. They nestled into your arms, their head finding a comfortable spot on your chest. You could feel the steady rise and fall of Gerard's breath, a rhythmic lullaby that calmed you down.

Eventually, a gentle peace settled over the room, and you felt the weight of Gerard's body relaxing completely. In the quiet serenity, they succumbed to sleep, their breaths deepening into a rhythmic melody that harmonized with the soft hum of the city outside.

You gazed down at Gerard, their features softened in the subdued glow of the room. The vulnerability of sleep painted a different picture, for a few moments, you marveled at their beauty, before eventually closing your own eyes and drifted to sleep with them in your arms.

Congrats on making it to the end. Once again I’m very sorry I have no chill at all and write things way too long. And also, sorry for being horny on main, lol. But it’s simply the life I lead. If you have any requests, pleasereach out to me!

[abubblingcandle]

For word Wednesday:

Profesional, child, genius, and/or tactic

Thank you so much!! Words really help get the juices flowing 💕

Professional and Tactic - from The Richmond Job Ch3

“Well he’s coming over so he better not recognise you,” Keeley hissed, placing a vapid smile back onto her face and resting a hand gently on the small of Roy’s back. “Ah Mr Mannion these are the reporters I told you about. The ones doing the feature on Sam Obisanya,” Cartrick gestured vaguely towards Keeley and Roy. “Be polite, nice to them,” Ted prompted. “But not too nice. You don’t want Mannion to get suspicious or for Crimm to become hostile,” Rebecca argued. “Crimm doesn’t seem the type to get hostile, pleasantness is the way forward,” Ted argued back. “Who is the professional here Theodore?” Rebecca chirped, her voice cheery but noticeably irritated. “Hi, my name is Annie. Pleasure’s all mine,” Keeley declared loudly over the bickering only her and Roy could hear. She turned to look at Roy who was doing a very good impression of a livid wax work with the shade of red that was starting on his neck and the intense glare focused on Trent Crimm. “And this is Conrad. We promise we won’t be getting in your way Mr Crimm. Hopefully we can work together,” Keeley elbowed Roy, staring at him with daggers in her eyes and mentally willing Roy to play along. The elbow stirred Roy awake but from the look in his eyes, Keeley was regretting that decision. “I will not talk to this living piece of excrement, and neither will you!” Roy yelled, prodding his finger into Trent’s chest and pushing past him to head towards Sam. “Nice to meet you,” Keeley laughed awkwardly before jogging after Roy. “Well that went well,” Jamie commented under his breath. “Someone smack Tartt around the head for me,” Roy growled. There was a beat of silence from the HQ as Keeley caught up with Roy. “Ow Beard what the fuck!” Jamie squawked. That brought a little smile to Roy’s face and calmed the steam that was about to come out of his ears. “Well Roy that was certainly an unorthodox tactic but I’m sure we can work with it,” Ted laughed, shrilly and awkwardly. The smile dropped back off Roy’s face, “I was not lying. I will not talk to Trent Crimm and neither will Keeley.”

Child - from A Treatment Room Doors Moment Ch5

Roy hadn’t yet worked out if Jamie was a great babysitter or just the older child you trusted to watch your younger child and hoped for the best. Sitting down for a while, as Jamie and Phoebe bounded around the Pleasure Beach with endless energy, did wonders for his mood and his knee. He was making great progress on his book, had a nice coffee to keep him warm and got to see Phoebe happy. “Look Uncle Roy look! Jamie won me a toy!” Phoebe screeched as she approached at gale force speed. Roy turned slowly and then leveled the bashful Jamie Tartt with a glare. The elephant soft toy was as big as Phoebe and she was having to carry it with her arms around it’s waist and held at her eyeline to avoid it dragging on the floor. “Did he now?” Roy stated, mentally stabbing Tartt in some very private places. Ruth was going to kill him when he rocked up back in London with Phoebe and this thing.

Genius - from Snap Ch8

“Smart ain’t it?” Jamie beamed. Beard actually took the time, for the first time on this trip to look at Jamie. The end of the season had come and Jamie had wound himself back into a tight little elastic band ball, ready to snap at the first display of outward pressure. He had come back from his trip with his mum and stepdad, laden with wine and stories of how great a time they had but still with that tension at his core. Now as they laid on a rock staring out over the ocean as the sun set, Jamie looked free. His smile was genuine, his shoulders loose and his ideas stupid. Just how it should be. “A real modern day genius,” Beard stated, somehow managing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

[magicthatmustbelove]

The First Moment Of Forever

A pre "Encino" short in which Michael and Althea first meet.

Note: It's been a while since I wrote a little blurb. I'm hoping this was successful in getting my creative juices flowing for a future "Encino" update. Also, we can't forget to wish our one and only King a happy heavenly birthday! 🎂

Link to original story: https://www.wattpad.com/story/291710565-encino-m-j

Althea's jaw could have dropped to the ground when the bus jerked to a stop. A halo of light caressed the tall, majestic building, causing the silver bricks to glitter like diamonds in the California sunlight. 

She'd only ever seen pictures of the Jacksounds Records building in magazines. Never once had Althea dreamed she'd one day be standing in front of it, the idea she'd soon be setting foot in it was even wilder. 

Her stomach churned with anxiety as she shuffled the bus, fellow passengers pushing past her as she stopped on the sidewalk to take in a deep breath. 

Althea finally knew how Dorothy felt when she arrived in Emerald City to see the Wizard. 

The Jacksounds internship was the most highly competitive and coveted internship Loyola Marymount had to offer its music students and Althea was over the moon when she discovered she'd been chosen as one of the five applicants to get the best musical education anyone could ask for.

Jacksounds had integrated black soul music into the mainstream in the ‘60s and '70s and crafted some of the greatest hits and biggest stars the country had seen. Joseph Jackson was the ebony Burt Bacharach, King Midas of R&B and Soul. Every melody he put his pen to turned to gold. He'd built his Empire with his bare hands and was now one of the first black millionaire CEOs. 

Anyone would be stupid not to jump at the opportunity.

Things had been tough on Althea when she returned to classes after taking a leave of absence to care for her grandmother who'd sadly succumbed to her diabetic coma but for the first time in a while, she felt on top of things.

Things were finally looking up and she was bursting with optimism that even Mary Tyler Moore and her tam-o'-shanter hat couldn’t compete with. 

The sales tag of the teal and maroon floral printed wrap dress she’d brought from the boutique she worked at scratched her back as she pushed through the building’s revolving glass doors. Althea knew she’d need to look as professional as possible for the internship but didn’t have the budget to keep any new clothes. 

She’d stood the entire bus ride, hoping not to have spills throughout the day. The twenty-dollar dress would have to be returned as if she’d never worn it. 

The lobby looked luxurious with marble floors, gold paneling, and cream furniture. Her eyes landed on the marquee boasting  Jacksounds suite and suddenly the imposter syndrome hit Althea. She was very much in the building that birthed the hits she’d danced in her living room to as a kid and a nagging voice in her head told her she didn’t belong. 

Althea closed her eyes, taking another deep breath as she pressed the elevator button. 

“Time to me make Granny proud,” she whispered to herself.

She resisted the urge to pick apart her appearance in the mirrored walls of the lift and instead, focused on tapping her foot to the jazzy rendition of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” playing over the intercom. When the doors finally opened, Althea was nearly blinded by a gold record of a Miracles hit hanging proudly on the walls, a dozen more trailing behind, each from an iconic black artist. 

The carpet was as red as the one at the Oscars, and she was almost afraid to imprint it with her pumps. A large, shiny mahogany desk was not far away, a hive of identical ones stretched the length of reception, each with a busy secretary perched behind it. 

“Excuse me,” she spoke timidly as she approached the desk. 

The gray wisp escaping the secretary’s bun and the antique pen necklace draped around her neck made Althea conclude she’d been working for Jacksounds for a long time. The chunky chocolate brown phone stayed glued to her ear with the support of her shoulder blade while her hands were occupied with a sharp nail file. 

She hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge Althea’s presence. 

“Excuse me,” She repeated, gently pressing her hands on the desk. “I’m an intern candidate. Could you show me where I’m supposed to report?”

The secretary stretched her hand out in front of her, inspecting the new oval shape of her nails as if  Althea had not uttered a word. 

“I tried to tell her,” The woman spoke loudly into the receiver. “If he lied about his height, he’ll lie about anything else,”

The young woman sighed, trying not to grow frustrated. She nervously glanced around the room, hoping that anyone would recognize her distress but she only seemed invisible. 

“Sure, the idea sounds a little far fetched but I know I can convince them to take us on,” 

Michael rolled his eyes before fixing his gaze out the conference room window as his older brother Jermaine arrogantly droned on about the company’s latest potential business deal. He often found these weekly business meetings with their father pointless and insufferable. Jermaine always monopolized the conversation, and any input Michael had to offer was ignored or stolen by the older brother. 

Joseph looked up from the document in front of him, his gaze falling to his distracted youngest son. Because he wanted his sons to stay abreast of the happenings in the family business, the CEO made an effort to include Michael.   

The youngest Jackson was far more creative than he was business-minded and Joseph admittedly preferred Jermaine’s gift of strategic business modeling than Michael’s talent and ear for music production. He'd trained the older son well and Joseph knew when his time on earth was up, the Jacksounds legacy would live on with Jermaine in charge.  

“Michael, do you have anything to add?”  He asked. 

The aforementioned son tore his gaze away from the view of the busy Encino street, his shapely brows furrowing in confusion. 

“Since when do we care what I think?” Michael questions sardonically while folding his arms. “Erms never lets anybody get in a word edgewise. Besides, that was my idea all along and he takes it and runs with it,” 

The elder Jackson brother leaned back in the plush leather chair with a facetious grin

“You pitched it but I perfected it,” Jermaine bragged. 

Michael rolled his eyes. 

“Shut up, Erms. You're not so original,” He scoffed and turned to Joseph. “Do I have to be here, anymore? This is a waste of my time,” 

Jermaine chuckled.

“It's not like you've got much to do,”  

The younger brother pushed himself from the glossy mahogany table, jaw clenched in anger.

“You're about to give me somethin’ to do alright,” Michael warned.

Joseph sighed heavily, too tired to endure his sons’ constant rivalry. 

“That’s enough. Let's adjourn. Jermaine, give me an update on this by Wednesday,” 

The older brother clicked his gold embossed pen close. 

“Sure thing, Joseph,” 

Deeply agitated, Michael stormed out of the conference room. Sometimes, he didn’t even know why he even bothered showing up at Jacksounds every day. He could easily live off his trust fund and spend his days trotting around the globe with a beautiful woman on each arm but Michael wanted something more fulfilling. 

Since a young child, he'd had a deep passion for music. While he'd never fully mastered an instrument, Michael was a savant at weaving sounds together. When he wasn’t perched behind the soundboard, he'd been sitting in on Joseph's meeting since he was fifteen and had trained himself to identify the qualities that created a bonafide star. 

Michael was just as capable and charismatic as Jermaine but Joseph had already decided which son would someday reign as CEO. 

“Hey, little brother,” Jermaine spoke, rushing to his brother's side to gloat. “Don't be so sore,” 

Michael rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets. 

“Stay away from me, Jermaine,” He warned.

Jermaine chuckled. 

“Don't be silly, Mike. That kind of stuff is for executives. I mean, you have no idea how much pressure I'm under. Joseph's gettin up there in age and I've been taking the load off his back carrying this company by myself,”

The younger Jackson rolled his eyes as they entered the lobby. Michael stopped at the water cooler chuckling to himself. Sometimes, he couldn’t believe just how inflated Jermaine’s ego was. 

“You really believe your own shit, don't cha?” 

He snatched up a paper cup, his eyes wandering briefly around the office. They stopped briefly at his secretary’s desk before Michael’s gaze caught sight of something far more interesting. 

There at the front desk stood the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. 

Her skin was the color of silky, sweet caramel, her frame small but shapely, boasting delicate, deep curves, and a tiny waist held up by spectacular legs. The young woman's face held an agitated pout but was exquisitely sculpted with gorgeous cheekbones and darling brown eyes. Her hair had been piled into big soft curls, the fluorescent lights seemed to cast an angelic glow over her head. 

A rush of awe and allure quickened Michael’s pulse like a zap of lightning.  He'd seen plenty of beautiful women in Encino but no woman had ever stunned him the way this one had. 

She was a literal knockout in looks but there was also something so magnetic about her presence in the room. Suddenly, Michael wanted to know any and everything about her. 

In a bit of a daze, he shoved the paper cup in Jermaine's hand before slowly making his way across the room. 

Althea anxiously tapped her foot, an impatient sigh escaping her. From the corner of her eye, she could see a figure approaching.  She first noticed the dazzling white smile when she turned her attention. Althea had to take in a breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmed at the sight of the handsome young man coming toward her. 

His walk was smooth as butter, natural and relaxed yet oozing masculine energy. His spanku eyes were large and enchanting- the kind you can hardly look away from- and Althea truly couldn’t decide whether she adored his eyes or his smile more. The beauty of his face could only be described as being caringly whittled by the gods. 

Althea never believed in love at first sight but the chorus of bells and banjos was deafening.

The ball of anxiety sitting on her chest had been relieved thanks to the smile. That smile made her feel safe like nothing could ever go wrong. 

“You look a little lost. Can I help you find your way?” 

Althea turned her eyes away from the lean muscles peeking beneath his collared Lacoste shirt and chuckled nervously. 

“I'm an intern,” She grinned, batting her eyelashes. “I don't know where I'm supposed to report and she's a little tied up at the moment,” 

She jerked her head in the direction of the distracted receptionist. Michael shook his head in disappointment. 

“She's deaf in one ear and she's always got the good one glued to the phone,” He tutted. 

His slender frame leaned over the desk, his perfectly coiffed jheri curl glistening under the office lights. Michael’s slender finger firmly tapped the rude woman, cutting her gregarious laughter short. She set down the phone with a small huff. 

“Gladys,” He smiled passive-aggressively. “Could you help this young lady by telling her where to report?” 

“Name, honey?” 

Althea flashed the young man a gracious smile. 

“Thomas. Althea Thomas,” 

Gladys swiveled her chair in the direction of a stack of manilla folders and quickly thumbed through them before she found the matching name. 

 “Production conference room in the West hall,” the secretary answered dryly, extending the folder to the young woman. 

Michael straightened himself from his leaning position against the desk. 

“Thank you, Gladys,” he turned to Althea. “C'mon, I'll take you there,” 

She let out a heavy sigh of relief. It felt so nice to be acknowledged. 

“Thank you so much,” she giggled. “I feel much better now. I didn't catch your name,” 

“Michael,” he flashed that breathtaking smile again. “Michael Jackson,” 

He extended his large, svelte hand and Althea felt her heart race when they touched. It was a warm, zippy feeling- like static shock without the pain. 

“You wouldn't happen to be related to Joseph Jackson, would you?” She questioned while following his lead. 

“Sometimes I wish I wasn't but there are perks to bein’ his kid,”  Michael shrugged. 

Althea felt a sense of disappointment. Sure, Michael was gorgeous and nice but she couldn't risk getting involved with the CEO's son. She didn’t need a silly crush getting in the way of her education and surely there was some rule against it. It was better to keep her head down and forget the idea altogether. 

“Piano,” He grinned over his shoulder. 

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Piano. That's what you play right?” 

Althea giggled bashfully as she extended her fingers to inspect her cherry red nail polish. 

“How'd you know?” 

“It's your hands,” Michael grinned, proud of himself.  “Piano players always have the prettiest hands,” 

She hugged the folder to her chest, a blush creeping across her cheeks. 

“I'm classically trained but I don’t think I'll have much of a career as a concert pianist. Besides, I like funk music too much,”  

Althea giggled and he couldn’t help but instantly love the sound of her laugh. Michael quirked a brow. 

“Who’s your favorite?” 

Her doll eyes lit up, a bashful grin stretching across her lips. 

“I’m just crazy about Rick James,” 

He chuckled. 

They’d only met a few minutes ago but Michael was willing to buy her every Rick James album ever printed if he knew it would make her happy. They’d stopped in front of the production room and he felt disappointed knowing their conversation had to end. 

“Well, here it is,” Michael announced. 

Althea smiled adoringly at the handsome young man who’d come to her rescue. 

“Thank you, Michael,” 

He folded his arms behind his back and grinned, bowing slightly. 

“It was my pleasure, Althea. If you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask me,” 

“I won’t,” 

They’d both wanted the moment to last forever but both Michael and Althea knew this wasn’t the last they’d see of each other. 

[squidyyy23]

nosho @creepkinginc my ultimate goblin love! 💚 i found out through a little birdy yesterday that TODAY IS YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!! 🎉🎉🎉 happy birthday, you absolute treasure! you are seriously such a light in this space. no one hypes like a nosho hypes. you own my heart and soul a dozen times over.

a bit quick and dirty here, but i couldn’t let your day go by without a little somethin’ somethin’. so let’s throw it back to some DAD content. a little juice pov moment just for you. 💀

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

Juice lets out a sigh of relief the moment Mickey walks into the room. The last time he saw him, back in January, the guy looked terrible. Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Hard to place exactly, but he’s known him long enough to know when something isn’t right. And something wasn’t right.

But today, he’s practically glowing. All the guys gather around a round metal table in the visiting area of the prison discussing sales and alliances and cash flow, but Mickey’s not even here. Gazing off into space somewhere with hearts in his eyes. He’s lucky the rest of the guys are oblivious idiots because if anyone actually took one look at him they’d know they’re looking at the face of a man who’s madly, deeply, hopelessly in love. 

Juice has to kick him under the table when the meeting starts wrapping up. When some of the guys start heading out, a few staying behind and splitting off into multiple side conversations. He and Mickey are nothing new. Every one of the dudes is full of secrets. Some just better kept than others.

Juice shoots Mickey a nod across the table, face serious, somber, like he’s got something important to discuss. Something much more serious than his need to pry into what has his best friend looking like he could shit rainbows.

He leads them to a more private corner. At least private as you get in a prison visitation room. But he ain’t worried about the guards. Everyone who needs to has been paid. 

“What you been smokin’ and where do I get some?” Juice asks, all seriousness dropped as soon as he’s got his back to the room. He punches Mickey in the arm across the table like a baby brother.

“Fuck you talkin’ about?” Mickey grumbles, all put-upon grumpiness.

“Uh-huh, okay. Ope mentioned you ducked out for a couple days. What’s that about?” 

Mickey scans the room. Clocks the guard against the far wall. Opie and Jax in the opposite corner scrolling through photos of Jax’s kids on Opie’s contraband phone that no one gives a shit about. Then finally answers, quietly, “Took a little trip with Ian.” 

Juice’s feet dance with excitement under the table. He knew there was gossip to be had. And yeah, Mickey’s his best friend, he’d be interested in his life regardless, but especially now, he’s low on entertainment. There’s only so much whining about who’s whose bitch or who’s gonna get fucked first when they get out that a man can take. Makes Juice want to scream. He knows he won’t. Knows he’ll keep playing along. Keep keeping his own secrets. But fuck he could use something different to obsess over.

“Knew that smile had something to do with—” Juice lowers his voice to a whisper “—him.”

They’ve known each other for years. Done all their adult growing up together. Gone through all sorts of shit together, club related and otherwise. But Juice has never seen him this happy. This light. 

The guy has always had his demons. Never talked about them. They’ve all got their own shit. But Mickey’s haunted him differently than most. Darker. Deeper. 

Until now. Until this Ian dude showed up. Juice doesn’t know this kid yet, but he’s already so, so grateful for what he’s doing for Mickey.

“Nothin’ like a good weekend of fucking to cheer a guy up,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes like Juice is an idiot. 

“That smile ain’t just fucking.” Mickey isn’t getting off that easy. “Somethin’ else happened.”

Mickey rolls those eyes yet again and sighs. “Nothing happened, we just…” He trails off, reaching into his pocket. Seems confused for half a second when he remembers all his shit’s stored outside the security gates. Then continues on all flustered, cheeks blushing a burning red, “We just had a good time. I—fuck—I…”

“Come on. Don’t hold out on me now. I gotta go sleep in a cell tonight. A cell, bro. Gimme something,” Juice pleads.

“I fucking love the guy, okay?” It comes out quick, a hushed, annoyed whisper shot directly at Juice and Juice alone. “Spent a weekend away from those asshats with someone I love.”

Juice physically slaps a hand over his mouth to contain his would-be embarrassing squeals.

“Hate you so fucking much.” 

Mickey’s boot kicks him hard under the table. Juice jumps. The metal bench clatters. A guard looks over, faux threatening hand on his holster. Like the fucker has the authority to do shit around here.

“Happy for ya, brother.” “Yeah, yeah.” Mickey brushes him off but there’s still no hiding that smile. That look. Juice hopes one day he’s able to wear that look around everyone, not just here. Some day. Some place.

“Anyway, I uh—” Mickey clears his throat, letting his voice rise louder as he pulls an envelope from his pocket “—brought you a letter from your girl. One out in Stockton.”

“Oh, cool. Thanks.” Juice knows he isn’t winning acting awards but whatever. “Yeah. Miss that bitch.” 

He pulls out the folder paper and takes a brief peek. It’s a sketch of an unknown yet familiar woman, naked from the waist up. The strokes are in Mandy’s familiar style, the edge of the page roughly torn. Years ago, she’d taken a figure drawing class. Mickey had snaked her sketchbook from the course and has been slipping Juice drawings of this same model every now and then any time he’s locked up.

Little bits of something to tape up to his wall beside his bunk. Something to point at when some dude starts looking at him like that and say “Nah man, sorry, but my girl would kill me”.

Just one of the small ways they’ve looked out for each other. And now Mickey’s got one more person looking out for him, too.

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

[winterbrrrd]

On the market: Vacant Victorian (CHARM & CHARACTER) - $40,000

You found your first abandoned house,

Void of humans for two decades.

Wood is twisting,

Paint is chipping,

Roof is on the verge of caving.

Yard’s unruly and disheveled,

Like a hair day straight from hell,

Untamed branches reaching forward

Through a window,

Broken out.

And brambles navigate through spaces where the roof meets with the walls,

At least you’re certain there’s protection

From the rain, which always falls

This time of year,

Like late October,

wind is crisp but not enough

To keep you locked away inside,

Orange juice and vodka

In a cup.

Inside the house, you will discover things

You probably shouldn’t see, such as

Lewd photographs,

Bad poetry,

Old porno magazines.

Dead men get no privacy.

Walk in the house,

Search desperately

For signs that someone was living

A life, like yours,

Made history.

The cobwebs hang in every cranny,

Hang like garlands made with string.

Raccoons shit all up the stairwells,

Like they failed to litter train.

Paper peels from kitchen walls

Where grease was splattered,

Leaving stains,

You tear it down to find a door,

Leading to the lonely place.

So shine your flashlight, see inside,

Down at your feet, a pine staircase.

Now shut the door, switch on the light,

But do not meddle with my space,

And when you enter,

Please don’t mind

Me playing movies on rewind,

Speaking in tongues to feel sublime,

With egg yolks dripping down my face.

Now you’re in my secret room

And the room smells like mildew.

I do not wash, I do not clean,

I only sit and watch and stew

Like dinner soup, but my ingredients

Aren’t what you might assume,

I’m adding memories to finally

Give my dark thoughts to the moon,

An orb of white or cream or yellow

Just depending on your view,

A vessel for these endless struggles,

Somewhere that has enough room

For every trauma,

Every moment when I feared I’d end up dead,

Including all the times I tried to die,

Not by my hand

But his.

Explore the old abandoned house,

Poking your head in every room.

Here’s where I died in a small car,

Here’s where I gave self-harm tattoos,

Here’s where I fled when I was chased,

Here’s where I learned I was displaced

From every home, from every state

I tried to flee riding a freight.

Here’s where I learned they’re all afraid

Of who I love, of what I do,

They’ll never fortune tell my fate

But girl, it ain’t looking

Too good.

Explore my uncle’s hoarder house,

The small container where he died

Alongside three neglected dogs,

I say neglect, but he did try.

He tried and tried and he survived

For 60 years, or 69.

Got sober by like 35,

And stayed that way until the day

His heart stopped working,

Goodbye, life.

Explore my uncle’s hoarder house,

The way the dirt extends throughout

In layers, like a Cali drought,

No water means

No kale,

Bean sprouts,

Or broccoli,

Or wildflowers,

Or brushing teeth

Or taking showers.

Just dirt,

More dirt,

They cleaned for hours.

So you bought your first abandoned house

And you plan to fix her up.

She needs full rehab,

Will take years before she’s in good condition.

Are you prepared?

And what’s the goal?

Live in an old Victorian

With new, spring life freshly breathed in,

With flowing cream colored curtains

That dance in breezes, bleached by sun,

Tickle your cheek, like

“Hi. Welcome”?

Or will you flip me just to sell me?

Will a new family move in?

Will they find my hidden basement?

My own makeshift looney bin?

Or do you really want to keep me?

Want a home that feels like yours?

Keep the most authentic details,

Gut the rest,

There’s too much dirt.

The house was bought from an old woman -

Her estate,

For she’s deceased.

She lived alone with her black cat

And she wrote songs and poetry.

Her neighbors fancied her a witch,

But that’s just what they call a freak

Who never leaves her spacious bedroom,

Sits hunched over on her sheets,

Smoking weed and cigarettes,

Confined for everyone’s safety.

It’s better that she doesn’t speak,

It’s better that she doesn’t share,

It’s better that she’s not out meddling

Scream-singing the Lord’s Prayer

On a street wearing a trench coat,

Nothing else - what lies beneath

Is just her naked, wrinkled body,

Sacred scars of the deceased.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

We're Being Played

Morning broke. Night died. Sun rose over the skyline of Las Vegas.

Invisible to the naked eye, a vortex of souls converged on a small diner in Sin City. Inaudible to human ears, the coalescing pool of shattered consciousness screamed as one. The teeming confluence flowed past oblivious faces on sidewalks, like wind traveling between the steel and concrete, engulfing all traffic, and seeping into every crack of every door and window.

Spiraling, churning, it concentrated on that diner, meeting at the eye of the storm. On the woman dubbed Karma.

She got off the chair at the head of the table and slid onto the booth’s cushioned bench, coming to sit right across from Jericho Kane.

“You know,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “that waitress just overheard what you were saying. So she’s probably going to go call the cops.”

Karma smiled at him. “So what?”

“Well, I know your game. You want me to run away like a little bitch. Whether that juices up your juju, or you’re really just another sick puppy who enjoys it too much, I don’t really care. I’m not giving you the satisfaction either way.”

The waitress, who had indeed overheard Karma mention her mission to murder Jericho for Michael, dialed 9-1-1 on the phone behind the counter, casting terrified glances at her from across the diner. The rest of the patrons looked oblivious.

The sun rose behind Karma. It cast her shadow upon Jericho, and formed a strange halo around her head.

The vortex of souls screamed at her.

Incapable of devouring the light.

Her light.

Death had twisted them. The churning void screamed at Karma to inflict the same perceived injustices upon others, just as she had inflicted injustice upon them.

In such ethereal form, Karma was deaf to their voices. The clarity of her mind firmly rooted Karma on this side of the veil, incapable of perceiving their ghostly presence.

They called to the machete hidden inside her leather jacket. They remembered the cracked white porcelain mask, the last face they had seen before she ended their lives.

Like most other people, Karma could not perceive the vortex of souls. Neither could Jericho. With dour mien, he glared at her.

He asked, “Isn’t this the part now where you hurl more petty insults at me? Call me stupid and tell me to run away? ‘Cause I’m telling you, I ain’t playing your game, asshole.”

The waitress cupped a hand over her mouth as if that could hide what she was speaking into the phone’s receiver. Her face screamed at Karma with the same fear that the teeming souls had experienced in their last moments.

Wide-eyed. Sensing the unstoppable force of Karma.

Blank in the face of a living, walking, breathing terror.

“And you know what?” Jericho added. “Fuuuuck you. It was only days ago that I wanted to die, that I tried to make it happen myself. I tried pulling the damned trigger to blow out my own damned brains and it refused to work.”

He put a finger to his head and cocked his thumb to illustrate the notion.

Peeling her gaze away from the terrified waitress, and leveling her attention fully on Jericho, Karma told him, “Well, dipshit. I reckon I said I have great news for everybody, but it’s kind of good news and bad news, all jumbled up, just depending on who you are and how you’re looking at it.”

“What are you fucking babbling about? Please, spare me this crap. I didn’t know you talked this much when you ended people, and I’m already fed up with it. I always figured you were more of a—I don’t know—a Halloween, Jason Voorhees kind of type? What is this shit?”

Karma’s smile faded as she pondered how to frame things. Then she offered him a lopsided grin.

He was right. The police would show up soon enough. Karma had no desire to kill a bunch of officers.

Not today.

She had something else in mind.

“Shut the fuck up and listen,” she snapped at Jericho. “Michael told me to kill you so the agents of the House of Change can’t get to you and you can’t blab to them.”

“Well, whoop-de-doo, I don’t wanna get caught by those freaks, anyway. I can go off myself right now, I’ll just go shop around for some booze and sleeping pills, hit up a roach-infested motel, and call it a night. Couldn’t you fuckers have just told me on a phone call? I’m so tired of seeing you assholes face to face.”

Karma sensed a lie in there. She sensed that glimmer all her victims shared.

That spark. The suicidal ones possessed it.

That will to live.

He was lying. She had never seen that glimmer in him before. Something had changed, but she wasn’t vested in exploring his inner workings.

“I don’t work for Michael, stupid,” she told him. “I work for Klemens. If Klemens told me to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’d be running for your life until I corner you and gut you like a fish.”

Jericho leaned back in his seat. His brow scrunched up in genuine confusion.

Karma continued, “Much as I hate your guts, I prefer it if they stay inside your pasty Doughboy belly. I enjoy watching you squirm like the pathetic worm you are. I enjoy your suffering way too much, shit-head. So if I’m not getting a direct order from Klem, I’m not doing shit. As much as I shit on you, I hate Michael way more than you. That smug fuck. You know, I dream of the day Klemens tells me to end him, because, let me tell you,” she paused as she leaned over the table, locking her murderous eyes onto Jericho’s, and speaking in the most seductive voice she could muster, “I have so many fantasies about that.”

She tried not to envision them now. Tried to stay focused.

Jericho squinted at her. The gears were turning behind his forehead.

He looked so stupid to Karma.

She flinched when he slapped his palm against the table—all cutlery and plates and coffee cups clinked and rattled upon its surface.

He blurted out, “Thank—fuckin’ thank you.” He enunciated every syllable with comically sharp clarity. “I cannot believe we finally agree on something. Fuck. Michael. Holy shit. You know, what I just saw, before I got here, he—”

“Yeah, whatever,” Karma interrupted him. “Let’s get out of here, talk elsewhere. That waitress called the cops. I already killed someone today and it was fun. I don’t have appetite for piling up a bunch of bodies right now.”

She snatched a fry off the plate on Jericho’s side of the table and ate it in front of him, hoping to provoke a reaction.

To her disappointment, Jericho ignored her, crammed a fist inside his black leather jacket’s pocket, and produced some crumpled dollar bills which he littered the table with while getting up.

Before he could head for the door, Karma slid out of the booth, grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him around.

She shrugged off whatever daggers he stared at her and pulled him along behind her like a little child in her hand.

Instead of heading to the diner’s front door, she walked them to the doors leading to the toilets.

On the way, she renewed her eye contact with the waitress.

Winked at her. Drank the fear she glimpsed in the waitress’s frozen grimace.

The vortex of souls screamed at Karma. Their essence lingered in the shadows cast by the rising sun.

Karma smiled to herself, knowing how much this would confuse the waitress and the cops. As she pushed through the swinging doors and dragged Jericho along, they stepped from one space into another. The room behind those doors was not the hall the doors were supposed to lead to, but the way space folded when she willed it so.

They had passed through the bathroom doors into a closed record shop a few blocks down the street. Past endless rows and shelves of compact discs and vinyl records and band merchandise, she kept dragging Jericho along behind her, marching towards the next door in the back of the store, labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY.

“Okay, enough,” Jericho protested. “Let me go, I’m not some kind of fuckin’ child. We can hoof it from here like normal people.”

Karma squeezed his arm tighter, to the point where she knew it hurt him, and smiled to herself as he grunted in discomfort. She kept dragging him, right through the next door.

Instead of leading into the private office in the shop, they stepped into a busy kitchen of some fancy hotel, yet another few blocks down the road. Brightly lit, with steam rising from pots and pans and the smell of food sizzling and bubbling everywhere around them, several cooks in their white attire looked up from their stations.

“Uh, you can’t be in h—”

“Fuck off,” Karma said. Her words cut like knives.

The chef clammed up in response.

Never stopping once, she continued frog-marching Jericho through the huge kitchen until they pushed through the door to the hotel’s restaurant.

It instead led into a back alley between different buildings, several blocks away yet again, now on the opposite side of the Strip, where a tired-looking man looked up at them from the crates he was hauling outside.

He only shook his head and continued working as the odd couple passed him by through the alley, disappearing into the next door, and reappearing another three blocks down the road, in a paved lot behind a department store.

A truck honked and then beeped, backing up to a loading bay with painful slowness. A shout here, workers shuffled around in the back, and Karma finally let Jericho go.

The screaming vortex had followed them all the way there.

It formed the black holes through which she stepped whenever she used doorways to phase from one place to another.

Jericho glared at her and rubbed his arm through the leather jacket.

To continue belittling him as she so enjoyed doing, Karma leaned against the wall and buried her hands in her sweatpants’ pockets, with the casual air of a high school drug dealer she used to know.

“Now… we got some breathing room. Let’s talk.”

Jericho shot a glance over his shoulder at the workers, all too busy and likely paid too little to pay any attention to the two strangers at the edge of their employer’s lot. Well out of earshot.

He hugged himself. Emitted a weary sigh.

“Why does Michael want me dead now?”

“I wanted to ask you the exact same thing,” she said with a smirk. “Because you sure as hell were never that important.”

He clicked his tongue and sighed in frustration.

“Gimme a break. You love murder. You don’t really care who you kill.”

She shrugged. “You ain’t wrong about that.”

“And that’s something that you and Michael have in common. Probably even that FBI director, Collins. Unlike you fucks, I don’t actually enjoy killing people. I’m not saying I’m, like, sane, or—”

“Let me stop you right there. I have very little in common with Michael. He and I are very different. He murders to work his magick, like the man who kneels in church, begging God for answers to his prayers. I murder because I like it. That thrill of the hunt, the sweet stink of your fear. I work magick because I am your god, your own personal reaper.”

Jericho scoffed and threw his arms up. “All smells like the same bullshit to me, whichever way you wanna word it. You trade your time and soul for some fleeting power.”

Karma laughed.

“Capitalism has poisoned your mind, dumb-dumb. You only see trade, exchange, everywhere. Like some kind of alchemy for idiots. Like you need lead to make gold. You can waste your life looking for a way to do that, or you can just look for gold. Gold is gold. Gods are gods.”

“And, like, what—you think you’re a god? You’re just some crazy-ass psycho chick who has got more power than she has any right to have.”

Her confident smile faded. He had struck upon a vein of truth.

“That’s the gold, Jerry Can. Doesn’t matter what I deserve or not. I don’t pay a price to walk through those doors, walk through time and space like they’re nothing, or deal death like it’s nothing.” She poked his chest, provoking a grimace from him before she added, “My nature is not transactional. I’m a wolf, you are sheep, and I’m a wolf because you know you need to fear my teeth.”

Still sporting the grimace, he asked, “Still not seeing the difference between you psycho fucks. Aside from him being able to cure cancer and see the future, and you can just—what, teleport through doors? Wow.”

“The difference is, Michael is—you know what? Forget it. This is stupid. You’re stupid. Just tell me what you think you did to piss him off so spectacularly that he turned to me to end your sorry existence.”

“I don’t know. You may have not been paying attention, but I’m pro league at pissing people off.”

“Yes, yes, you’re an asshole. It’s your biggest strength, we all know that. But unless you have a hunch as to what you did to warrant a magick hit on you, I have some thoughts of my own, and I’d like you to help me workshop some ideas here.”

He rolled his jaw and studied her with a skeptic air about him. Bit his lip until he noticed her scanning his every tiny expression.

“Okay,” he said. He patted himself down until he found a pack of cigarettes, produced a smoke, and lit it up. “I’m kinda… well, color me intrigued now. Kind of a new experience to not be left out of the thought processes of your shitty little cabal.”

“You’re part of it, jackass. I don’t know what Klem sees in you, but you must serve some purpose we’re all not seeing. To give you some credit, I think you play dumber than you are.”

Jericho blew out smoke. Stayed quiet. Stewed on that.

She continued, “I think Michael wants to cover his tracks. And I think he wants me dead in the process.”

“Like I could kill you? Please.”

“No, stupid. Obviously not you. But if I’m offing you without getting the okay from Klemens, I might have our king cracking down on me. And I…”

“Are you afraid of Klemens?” Jericho’s tone shifted, hitting a surprisingly sympathetic note. “Why do you even work for him in the first place?”

The vortex screamed behind Karma.

The sun had risen so high that it illuminated the whole lot, and warm light bathed her face.

She closed her eyes before the cold blue in them could sparkle, before they could glitter like luminescent gold upon ocean waters, and change the fearsome image she knew Jericho had of her.

“He never threatened me, and I don’t think he ever will,” she finally said, with an eerie softness to her every word. “He… praised the purity, the beauty of my art. He showed me how I could find ever greater strength in it.”

Silence fell between them. The truck at the loading bay chugged and rumbled, some workers shouted at each other. The world kept on turning.

Karma exhaled sharply.

Jericho said, “That’s fucked up.”

“Fuck you,” she muttered.

“I’m not sorry. It’s fucked up. Typical for him to blow sugar up your ass for—what, murder? Art? You’re all out of your fuckin’ gourds. You’re just an assassin who can teleport.”

This comment struck the flint in her belly, shedding a spark of anger in her gut.

Karma kept that place perpetually clean. Healthy diet, disciplined living, seeking harmonious rhythm in everything. Her body was a temple, and her mind a monastery of order and cleanliness, just like every space she inhabited.

No dry wood nor junk there, not even dust—nothing that could catch fire from the tiny spark of such petty insults.

Jericho Kane, as far as she was concerned, understood so little about the cosmos despite meddling in its mysteries that it bordered on something comedic.

“Maybe, one day,” she said with lasting softness, “you’ll wake up and see you’re the punchline to every shitty joke you make.”

She opened her eyes and looked away from the light, albeit staying firmly rooted in its soothing radiance.

In lieu of his response, she added, “But I’m not holding my breath.”

This, in turn, had struck a nerve with him.

He quietly smoked until her cold gaze drilled too deep into his tortured soul, and he averted his eyes.

“Klemens is my only friend in this world,” she said. “Neither you nor Michael are. He appreciates what I do. And I appreciate his sense of justice. I take some pride in being the royal executioner, if you will. And you—”

Karma poked a finger at him.

“You are not scheduled for the chopping block. At least not yet.”

He glared. Not at her, but down the street, to where traffic drifted by.

“He also promise you the, what, 'world of our desires’? Is that it? There’s something you want, only he can help you find?”

Karma shook her head.

“Forget it. Let’s focus. What did you do?”

Jericho ruffled his already messy hair and took a nervous drag from his cigarette.

“Fuck, man, I don’t know. Michael’s done some seriously fucked up shit. He sacrificed three people right in front of me and almost fried my brainpan to scry on that FBI agent, Parker.”

“Par for the course with him. What did you do?”

“Nothing. Nothing!” Jericho groaned, pacing back and forth on the spot, now lost in his own meandering thoughts. His mind was probably as much of a mess as his appearance, Karma reasoned.

At least he was thinking now.

“Did you say anything, do anything?”

“No! He pulled that shit and he gave me, I don’t know—he is giving me really bad vibes. Like he’s plotting to do some fucked up shit, way beyond his normal level of fucked up. He knows exactly what the old man is after, and it finally clicked for me. He’s after it himself, and to hell with Klemens, and you, or me, or anybody else. And—”

“I don’t give a shit about your vibes, you’re as bright as an unflushed turd in a toilet. What. Did you. Do?”

Jericho raised a hand, a finger outstretched, then shook his head.

“I didn’t do jack-shit, I was planning to go back to the ranch and talking to Klemens about—”

“You were thinking about it.”

“Yeah I was,” he froze. “He can’t read thoughts. Right? Shit. Fuck-shit. Can he read minds?”

“No, stupid,” she said with a sigh. “I don’t think he can. But he has visions of the future, and he must have seen something involving you he didn’t like. So, rewind. You were thinking about going to the ranch to tell Klemens. Talk to him about what? What were you going to tell Klemens?”

“Are we fucking workshopping your theories now or workshopping what I need to tell Klemens?”

“Maybe both,” she said, arching her brow for emphasis. “Focus, dummy. What are you going to tell Klem?”

Jericho flicked the smoking cigarette butt away from himself, spraying embers over pavement. “I think Michael is…”

Karma rolled two fingers, wordlessly urging him to think faster. Like she had to rev the engine of his brain. “Michael is… Michael is what?”

“I don’t know!”

“Looking for that book… for Klemens. Why is he looking for the book for Klemens?”

“Because… Klemens asked him to?”

“And why is Klemens looking for the book?”

“I don’t fucking know. He’s the,” Jericho stuttered, as if he struggled to admit something in the process, “he’s the damned… h-h-he’s the king, you know, the guy sitting at the center of THE HIGHWAY, that crazy old German fuck is pulling all the strings. He wants to reshape reality with the book or some such shit. Everybody keeps saying it allows time travel, or dimensional travel, or whoever the hell knows what.”

Karma shook her head. “Why does Klemens know of this book, or even what it’s supposed to do?”

Jericho fell silent. His eyes widened.

“Because Michael told him about it,” he muttered, the words dying into weaker and weaker whispers as they escaped his lips.

“Mhm,” she murmured. Finally, he had started thinking. High time to encourage him further. “Now, riddle me this. You know I don’t see the future, I can’t read minds, and I can’t just murder you if I feel like it but don’t know where in the world you are. How, do you think, did I find you in that diner just now?”

Jericho nodded. Licked his lips. His eyes flashed with cascades of realizations.

“Michael told you where I’d be.”

Karma nodded. “Yeah. And you ever stop to wonder how those House agents found you in Chicago, a place you got no business being in?”

“Oh, fuck me,” he groaned. “Shit, fuuuuck. We’re being played.”

“And that—that’s who I am. That’s how I’m different from Michael. I obey the laws of nature. I am a god among men because that is the role nature gave me, not one I lay claim upon. I do not see myself as standing taller than my king. I only kill, and I revel in death. Klemens builds. He creates. He made all this.”

With a sweeping gesture of an arm, she meant to show him the whole world, and all the beauty she saw in it. Karma meant it with every fiber of her being.

Jericho, stunned, only stared blankly into a grimy corner of the alley, leading out of the lot behind the department store. His nicotine-stained fingers twitched. He itched with the urge to take action.

Karma felt it. Burning inside his heart.

Behind her, the vortex of souls silently screamed.

They wished for her not to spare him, but to ply her blood-riddled trade. To add his spirit to their dark ranks. To swallow him in that ever-growing sea of dust and shadow, to which all minds connected, both living and dead—in this city, and in every city, and on every road, and in every gloomy corner of the vast world.

The screams melted into whispers on the wind, a warm breeze through the brick and steel of buildings, causing the hairs on the back of her neck to stand on edge.

She almost glimpsed the cloud of screaming darkness behind her.

Almost.

Here, she stood firmly in the light.

Jericho remained speechless.

Thus, she spoke instead. “Michael… he doesn’t follow any rules but his own. A snake who wants to take what Klemens built, and I’ll bet my life on him seeing himself as greater than any of us combined. He does not obey the laws of nature. He thinks he stands outside of it all. He thinks he can make the rules. So, what say you—how about we finally put the smug conniving fuck in his place?”

Jericho locked eyes with her. He smoldered with a determination so alien to his demeanor that he almost looked like another person altogether.

For a split-second, this almost threatened to instill in her a shred of respect for him.

Almost.

He immediately destroyed that himself. His usual sledgehammer to the glass window.

He finally replied, “Fuckin’ right we will. I hate that sick fuck. Let’s go, right now, take me to the old man. We tell him everything we just talked about. He’s gotta see reason, right? If he hasn’t blasted his mind into oblivion over building that new homunculus, he’s gotta see reason.”

“Okay,” Karma said. “Good to see you’re not as stupid as I think you are. Just… one more thing before we go. I have one question, and there will be hell to pay if I find out you lie to me about this.”

Jericho clenched his jaw and hooked his thumbs into his pockets, shifting his weight with an air of newfound confidence. Or a complete lack of self-regard. She could never tell those apart in him.

“Shoot,” he said.

“That old green book they want. You don’t want to take that for yourself, do you?”

Jericho’s face twisted with revulsion. He looked like he loathed the very thought of it.

“That stupid fucking book? Fuck no. If it does what Michael claims it does, I’d stay the hell away from that shit. Miles away. Fuck that book. Fuck no. The sooner I stop hearing about it, the better. Why,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You want that book for yourself?”

“No,” she said. “Everything about it stinks. Whether the story’s true or not. After all the candor I graced you with, you should understand me better now. But let me spell it out for you. I don’t fuck with rituals and relics. They’re just a fast lane to the looney bin, or getting put six feet under too soon. No thank you. Pass. It can burn in hell for all I care.”

Jericho swiveled, rubbed his face, and ran his hands through his hair, projecting an air of exasperation.

He groaned again and said, “I can’t fucking believe I’m agreeing with you, out of all people—out of all the fucking people in this fucked-up world, I’m agreeing with you. It’s like fuckin’ opposite day.”

“Cool,” she said. “Are you done pissing against the wind? Ready to speak with Klemens? Can we go now?”

Jericho nodded, producing another cigarette from his pocket, lighting it up in the fluid motion of a chain-smoker. She despised that vice.

The vortex screamed behind Karma. The shadows watched. Saw all of existence meeting again at a new crossroads.

She could not hear those tormented cries, now crying for her blood as the door opened behind her, and a different brand of death presented itself.

While Jericho stuffed away his cheap plastic lighter, the cigarette drooped and then dropped from the corner of his mouth. Tiny embers exploded from the cancer stick’s tip where it landed on the dirty asphalt between his old boots.

If the vortex of souls could not experience the injustice of adding this sad man to their ranks, then it yearned to witness a different breed of justice.

Karma turned to investigate what Jericho had seen—whatever had frozen him with such shock and awe.

An Asian man and an African American woman had stepped out of the door.

The man cracked a smile over the heavy pistol he was gripping in both hands, pointing its muzzle at Karma’s heart with expert discipline, and just enough range to ensure its accuracy, but too much range for Karma to lunge at it.

The woman stayed stony-faced as her eyes darted back and forth between Jericho and Karma, keeping her shotgun trained so its blast could blow away both of them with a pull of the trigger.

“Hi, guys,” said the Asian man with jovial music to his tone. “Heard we’d find you here.”

The vortex of dead souls screamed.

Justice awaited.

Karma’s entire body turned into taut steel wire, poised to act. Her mind raced through every scenario—she could only avoid one weapon’s shot but not the other. She could move but get hit by both. Use Jericho as a living shield, get winged, and pushed farther away from the nearest door. Push into the two agents from the House of Change to surprise them, still getting shot in the process.

And Michael wouldn’t be healing her injuries this time around.

This was what he had orchestrated.

The pieces had all fallen into place.

The vortex screamed. Michael had been whispering sweet nothings to it for the longest time. Unlike Karma, he used his rituals to stay in touch with the souls of the dead, to bleed them of their secrets, and bind them into new flesh.

“We,” said the black woman, “are going to skip the whole rigmarole. Don’t even think about it. We’re not going to shoot you now, we’re going to take this door, go to our boss, and talk like civilized people together. No bloodshed necessary.”

“Just a friendly little chat,” said the Asian man.

“I’m so tired of talking,” Jericho said, “can you please, just, shoot me now?”

“You wanna talk?” Karma asked. “Don’t listen to him. We can talk, alright. I’d love to meet your boss. I’d love to talk.”

The Asian man feigned amusement with a short mock laugh. “Yeah, sure. Just drop whatever guns you got, Aileen Wuornos. You too, Bonzo.”

“Bonzo?” Jericho scoffed. “Oh, fuck you.”

Karma held up a hand and carefully opened her leather jacket, exposing the machete and porcelain mask.

The vortex screamed at that cold emotionless face, resting inside the fold her coat.

Workers in the storage area beyond the loading bay finally caught wind of this situation. The sight of guns spooked them, signaled by an audible gasp in the distance, and three people fleeing deeper into the bowels of the department store while garage doors slammed shut.

Pinching her weapon of choice between two fingers to signal compliance, Karma pulled the machete out and unceremoniously dropped it. The blade clattered on the ground, alongside Jericho’s revolver.

The Asian man clicked his tongue. “'Kay, I’m satisfied. You try anything, Miss Ford’s gun right here is loaded with explosive shells, and she will, uh, turn you two into paste.”

He raised his gun, signaling a truce was on. Taking a step back, eyes glued on Karma, he opened the door to the building.

It did not lead into the building, but a long corridor.

A long, narrow corridor yawned beyond that door. The velvet blue carpet inside looked like it belonged in a fancy old New England building. The light fixtures on the walls inside the corridor looked like they came from an era several decades past, fashioned from polished brass, and featuring a design altogether alien to whatever commercial basement the door should have revealed instead.

Karma tilted her head. Part of her desired to know how they did that.

She knew how to step through doorways, effortlessly crossing distances in an instant, but she could not open doors like that for others. Only pull them through with her.

The vortex of souls screamed louder.

Their thirst for blood—her blood—would stay unquenched.

Guiding the Asian man’s gesture of invitation, Karma entered the door, entering that mysterious corridor. Jericho muttered profanities as he followed.

When Miss Ford shut the door behind them all, the vortex could not follow. It had been locked out from this otherworld.

Separated from Karma for the first time since her first murder, the vortex screamed into an endless void.

[gizopedia]

Ever wondered what it’s like to have a beast of a tablet that's not all hype? Enter Honor Tablet MagicPad 2 – Yeah, that’s right. This thing’s got it all and maybe a bit more. Let’s dive into what makes it tick, why it’s worth a look, and maybe why it might just find a home in your tech lineup. Product Overview: Honor Tablet MagicPad 2 The Honor Tablet MagicPad 2 isn’t just another tablet—it’s like the tech equivalent of a Swiss Army knife, packed with all the goodies you'd want. This 12.3-inch device features a stunning 144Hz OLED display, making it perfect for everything from such as spree-watching to intense gaming sessions. That high refresh rate? Makes every swipe, scroll, and tap feel super smooth, almost like the screen’s reading your mind or something. Design & Display: Sleek but Packs a Punch So, first things first, this 12.3-inch screen is an absolute stunner. Not just talking big size here, but 144Hz OLED vibes. Colors pop, blacks are deep, and watching anything feels kinda like a treat. Scrolling? Oh, it's buttery smooth, like, ridiculously smooth. It's one of those things you gotta see to believe. Not too heavy, not too light. It's got that sweet spot in weight where it's easy to hold for a spree session without feeling like you're lifting weights. And yeah, it's got that sleek, almost no-bezel design that's all the rage these days. Honor Tablet MagicPad 2 ain’t playing around in the looks department, that's for sure. Performance: Snapdragon 8s and All That Jazz Under the hood? It’s got the 3rd Generation Snapdragon 8s running the show. That means apps open faster than you can blink, and multitasking? No sweat. Flipping between streaming, gaming, and a little bit of work (if you’re into that) is smooth as butter. No stutter, no lag, just pure speed. You have this combo of power and efficiency that makes it feel like a mini laptop in tablet form. Playing games? Handles 'em like a champ. Those graphics-heavy ones? Yeah, no problem. Just make sure you have a solid grip 'cause it gets really immersive really fast. Battery Life: All Day, Everyday Kinda Vibe Here’s where the MagicPad 2 might just blow your mind a bit – 10050mAh battery. Like, you’re talking about all-day usage without stressing about where the nearest charger is. Streaming, scrolling, gaming? It’s got your back. Power through work, play, and everything in between without that annoying low-battery warning ruining your flow. And for those moments when you do need to juice up? Charging doesn’t take forever, which is a nice little bonus. Quick charge it a bit, and you’re back in action. Sound & Multimedia: It’s All in the Details Speakers on this thing? Top notch. Dual stereo setup that gets loud without distorting. Whether it’s blasting tunes, watching a show, or hopping on a video call, you’re covered. Clear, crisp sound that makes you forget you’re on a tablet. And oh, the display with those speakers? It’s like having a mini-cinema in your hands. Seriously, toss on a movie, or some snacks, and you’re set for a night in. Comparison with Competitors: How Does the Honor Tablet MagicPad 2 Stack Up? Alright, so you’re eyeing the Honor Tablet MagicPad 2, but you're probably wondering—how does it really fare against the competition? Let’s pit it against some heavy hitters and see where it stands. Vs. Samsung Galaxy Tab S9+ The Galaxy Tab S9+ is one of the big names out there, and it’s got the specs to back it up. A bright AMOLED screen, a powerful Snapdragon 8 Gen 2 chip, and that S-Pen action that’s a dream for creatives. But here’s the kicker: the MagicPad 2’s 144Hz OLED display puts up a fight, offering buttery smooth visuals that feel just a tad more responsive in gaming and fast-paced scrolling. Plus, while the Galaxy Tab is no slouch in battery life, the MagicPad 2’s 10050mAh battery can outlast it on those extra-long days. And then there's price—Samsung’s tabs usually come with a higher price tag. If

you’re on the hunt for a premium without the premium price, MagicPad 2 hits a sweet spot with high-end features minus the hefty cost. Vs. iPad Air (5th Gen) Ah, the iPad Air. Sleek, fast, and living in the heart of Apple’s ecosystem. It’s got that M1 chip now, which is blazing fast, and the App Store’s unmatched for tablet-specific apps. But, the Honor Tablet MagicPad 2 pulls ahead with a larger OLED display, and that 144Hz refresh rate just isn’t something you’ll find on the iPad Air, which is capped at 60Hz. This makes the Honor feel smoother and more engaging, especially for gaming or anything graphics-heavy. Battery-wise, the MagicPad 2’s massive cell offers more juice than the iPad, especially in continuous-use scenarios. And while the iPad’s build and OS are premium, Honor's MagicOS over Android gives it a level of flexibility Apple’s walled garden just doesn’t allow. Vs. Xiaomi Pad 6 Pro Let’s talk about another Android contender, the Xiaomi Pad 6 Pro. It’s got a nice 120Hz LCD, Snapdragon 8+ Gen 1, and a pretty competitive price. But here’s where MagicPad 2 flexes: that OLED screen with a 144Hz refresh rate puts it on a whole other level of visual quality and smoothness. Plus, MagicPad 2 takes the crown in battery size, making it better for those who don’t want to be chained to a charger. Xiaomi’s UI can be a hit or miss, with some finding it a bit cluttered. Honor’s MagicOS is streamlined, simple, and closer to a stock Android experience, which many find more intuitive and user-friendly. The Wrap-Up: So, Is the Honor Tablet MagicPad 2 the Real Deal? If you’re hunting for a tablet that does more than just the basics, this one’s got the goods. Big, bold screen. Top-tier performance. Battery life that goes the distance. Honor’s definitely put something special together here with the MagicPad 2. Maybe it's not the cheapest out there, but for what you're getting? It’s kinda worth it. Whether you’re deep in the Android ecosystem or just want something that feels premium without totally breaking the bank, give this one a good look. It’s got that mix of power, style, and versatility that’s tough to beat.

[stayblackanddine]

UMI ATL: I thought they wouldn’t let me in because of how I was dressed, but they did.

Typically, I order out but I felt like popping out today! I pulled up very casually for my first time dining in — fresh silver Pegasus joints, some tiny denim shorts and a Burna Boy concert merch T-shirt. It’s actually my favorite shirt in the world at the moment, and I’ve been telling everyone with ears so congrats as it is finally your turn.

Anyway, I came to write. If you’re seeing this it means I’m still writing our comic book and so, as a boxer trains and warms up with a series of exercises to get the blood flowing, so do I. It has recently dawned on me that I warm up with this blog. I describe the tastes and the vibes of the foods and places that delight me, and… idk, it just warms me up. I’m already warmed up truth be told, but we move.

This week and day and month has been complex enough, so I opted for simplicity for my drink. I ordered a lychee martini — it’s honestly become one of my favorite drinks. First of all it’s good. What other reason do you even need?

I chose to go with different yet familiar for my starter, so I chose the scallop tiradito — a beautiful, light helping of “scallop sashimi with yuzu, cilantro and aji amarillo.” Those are Umi’s words, per the menu.

To me, it was bright and citrusy and there was sugar involved. It tasted like a sweet little perfect bite of a sweet, sliced scallop that’s been resting in citrus juice and topped with a brown sugar crumble. No joke — that is exactly what I tasted. If somebody ordered it for the table though, I’d eat it again. It was cool and it felt intentionally made.

For my entree, I ordered butter poached Maine lobster tail & diver scallops. Babe. I literally do not even know, just walk with me and let’s get into it.

Bitch I had to take a break. One because I literally wasn’t even breathing just now when I was INHALING that food, omg. I’m a geechie girl and once I tasted that mf sauce, I HAD to order me some rice lmaoooo. My trainer Josh says I’m not even supposed to HAVE rice, but baby sometimes you gotta make an exception. This was worth it.

They ain’t lie one bit about the lobster being poached. It is soft and sliced and sweet and good. The scallop is delicious also, even though I feel like they could have included one more. That would probably cost them at least $100 more per night though, right? Idk, I been watching The Bear so I think I know stuff.

Anyway, I am not the same now. All this time, Nobu has been fulfilling my needs and she is still that girl but Umi is special. I also love the bathrooms in here — it’s black as night over there but the toilet seats are heated, lol. Gotta love that.

If you’re wondering if I’ll get dessert, absolutely will not. The rice and the cocktails were literally the dessert for all week lol. But I have no regrets! Who wants to come back with me?

[every-kghn-moment-ever]

no commentary this time so :)

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

words: 1.5k rating: m additional tags: canon compliant, mentions of mexico, mentions of trevor (but not by name), late s10, mickey's pov, spoiler alert: ian wants mickey to top him for the first time and he feels weird asking, they don't fuck yet - it's the convo and a lil lead-up to separate spice

summary: one night while sitting on the couch, ian's got a proposition for his husband. and it's got nothing to do with the year-round holiday tree lip and tammi are doing.

✨ just a lil sumn sumn to get the writing juices flowing ✨

“So I’ve been thinking…”

The wave of dread that surges through Mickey escapes him in a long, drawn out sigh. 

“Christ, Ian - thought we vetoed this shit like an hour ago.” (They did.) “Just ‘cause Lip’s doin’ the whole ‘christmas tree for every holiday’ schtick that doesn’t mean we gotta.”

The look Ian sends him from the other side of the couch is irritated, but has cooled off considerably from when they discussed this topic at length this afternoon. 

He hasn’t reached The Chin status. 

Yet. 

“You can relax, alright? I’m not talking about that.”

The mindless little thumb stroke he’s been working over Mickey’s ankle bone as they watch TV, however, falls still. Now it’s just a big, heavy hand where Mickey’s socked feet rest in his lap. 

Suspicious. 

Alright.

“Whatchya thinkin’ ‘bout then,” Mickey tries.

He waits, for a good few beats of the Bob’s Burgers intro.

When he doesn’t get an answer he wiggles his foot, bringing Ian’s hand along for the ride. “...‘ay…”  

Ian’s eyebrows jump lightly as he’s pulled out of his thoughts, then mellow out while he just barely glances at Mickey and then back toward the TV. “Nothin’...” he says. “Never mind.”

Oh.

Well that’s just not gonna fucking happen, is it?

Mickey grumbles, turning his foot again. But this time it’s to dig his toes annoyingly into Ian’s belly. “...‘nothing’, my ass. Spill it.” 

His foot is already being dragged away by the ankle and out of belly range. But the tiny crease in Ian’s brow is obvious. 

Oh yeah. It’s definitely something. “Ain’t ‘nothing’, so you might as well tell me before I break out the big guns.”

Mickey’s not super sure what ‘the big guns’ are in this situation. But his husband seems to know exactly what ‘the big guns’ are over there, judging by the tightness of his jaw. “Fucking annoying…” 

“Yup,” Mickey confirms with a serious, unsmiling nod. Even holds his hand up to flash his wedding band as a little reminder that his dumb ass recently married him, so who’s the sucker here? “Now talk.”

Another moment passes. 

Up in the air.

It could really go either way.

And then… 

“You know Mexico…?”

The knee-jerk reaction to patch over the sting with a joke will probably go away with time, but it still kicks up hard whenever that stretch of time gets brought up. “Heard of it, yeah.” 

There’s a reason Ian’s bringing it up, though. There always is. 

He says it carefully, his hand heavy where it’s still draped over Mickey. “‘Member how I said we could switch shit up…? …if we ever wanted to…?” 

Mickey blinks.

He does remember that. Just as much as he remembers how they did not do that. Even a little bit.  

It’s not that they were actively avoiding it. Some things just slip through the cracks when you’re barreling toward the border to escape the law like goddamn Queer Bonnie and Clyde. 

And yeah… They’re not running anymore. They’ve got time to do whatever the fuck they want now. That little suggestion just got shoved back into the corner of Mickey’s brain with the rest of the Mexico shit, is all. And Ian hasn’t said shit about it since. 

Until now.

Mickey fixes his eyes on the carefully projected pride that puffs out his husband’s chest. 

Ahh. He gets it now.

“...you tryna bottom for me, Gallagher?”

Ian doesn’t look at him. “Why the hell not?”

And whoa - “Easy, tiger. Not fightin’ ya on it.” But Mickey has to chuckle. Can’t help the tease that slips into his tone just as easily as the lick of interest that slips up his spine. 

In fact, he should probably shut the fuck up for a second or two while it all works through his system so he doesn’t spook him. Because one look at Ian bristling over there keeps perspective real clear. 

Ian’s been working up to this. Feels like he’s gotta puff up like a damn bullfrog to save face - to keep Mickey from giving him shit. Like they didn’t just commit their entire stupid lives to each other. Like Mickey wouldn’t do fucking anything to make this man understand how gone he is for him.

“...‘ay…” Another nudge of his foot into Ian’s tummy. But it’s softer this time. Urging. “Say more-a that shit. Already into it.”

Ian chances a look over at him. Cautious eyes in flickering light. “Really?”

Too cute for his own good. Even as a bullfrog. “Really.” 

Ian’s thumb falls back into soft, mindless circles over Mickey’s ankle bone again. More soothing for himself, probably, as his brain works over the words before they trickle from his mouth. “Done it before. …few times.”

It’s a test of Mickey’s patience. A test of his self control to not launch into his ‘flipping a quarter to see who has to bottom is a red fuckin’ flag’ routine, because that’s not what this is. And he and Ian have had their own fair share of red flags throughout the years. Mickey’s just petty when it comes to the thought of other men, so fight him.

But Ian doesn’t need that from him right now.

He settles on, “Uh huh.” Sidesteps and comes back in at a safe distance. “And that was…?”

A leading question. Ian chews on it for a second with narrowed, searching eyes, before his head tilts to the side with his answer. “It was fine…”

Underwhelmed. 

Purposefully unspecific. 

Mickey brings his bottom lip in and worries at it to shut himself up. 

And it’s absolutely the right thing to do - to give him room. Because before he knows it, Ian is shifting a little to look at him, his gaze no longer lacking purpose as it locks onto him in the dark.

“Mick…I want it to be you,” he says, not looking away. “I just know it’ll be good if it’s you.”

It sends another swoop of interest blossoming inside Mickey. Arousal. Intrigue. Fucking pride.

And Ian’s still talking. “You used to top all the time, so you know what the fuck you’re doing-...” The circles over Mickey’s ankle build in pressure. “But I also know we’ve never-... Like… Even as kids. That’s not how we do it-”

“Who’re you tryna convince here? You know I’m already sold.” 

Ian swallows up whatever else he has at the ready. Whatever’s been building building building in his brain as this moment neared. 

He looks back over at him.

Mickey grins. “Yeah. It’s fuckin’ happening, so I’m not sure who all that convincin’ is for.”

A pent up breath escapes Ian’s nose, his blink heavy with obvious relief. “You’ll do it?” 

And seriously, it’s like he’s asking if Mickey will strangle a man to death for him. (Which he’ll also do, off the record. But Ian already knows that.) 

“You know, not everything’s gotta be a big goddamn negotiation, huh?” The couch creaks as Mickey pulls his feet back into himself. “Don’t gotta break out the fuckin’ quarter anymore, sweetcheeks.”

Whoops. And after all that self control, too.

Ian rolls his eyes, both hands falling into his empty lap. “Never shoulda told you that.”

But his mounting attitude is quickly snuffed out by Mickey invading his space, his grin lethal as he closes in, “Mm-mm…” and then seals the deal with a hungry, instigating kiss. “...‘course I’ll fuckin’ do it. Thought about it before, to tell ya the truth…”

Ian decompresses against him, falling into the rhythm of his breathing as he asks it. “...really…?”

“Mhm…” Mickey grins, “...fuckin’ hot…” He keeps it close. Keeps it steamy. Keeps both their mouths moving, just in different ways. “Prob’ly make the most fuckable faces with my dick in ya - huh, lover…” 

The nickname is supposed to make Ian laugh, but what he gets instead is a huffy, bitten off groan. The makings of a whine. 

And damn, that’s so much fucking better, ain’t it? This is gonna be fun.

Mickey’s grin widens at the greedy hips pressing up into him, visions of what’s to come nice and tasty as they unravel for him in his head. “You want it right now…?” He could give it to him right now. They could absolutely do this right fucking now.

But before he can get too ahead of himself, he’s being swept into a different but gloriously familiar direction, Ian’s arms wrapping around him and lugging them both up until he’s carrying him toward the back of the apartment. 

“Way too fuckin’ horny to deal with that right now,” he admits, and it’s breathless. Kinda like how Mickey’s feeling up here as Ian hurries them into the bedroom with very clear purpose.

And you know what, Mickey is A-O-Fucking-Kay with that shit. “Next time,” he promises through a kiss.

“Next time,” Ian agrees, and then dumps Mickey onto the bed and crawls on after him.

[daddyhausen]

Can you please do number 45 with MJF Please?

i’m in too deep w/ max it ain’t even funny at this point

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

• headcannon — { 45 } — mjf •

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ masterlists } | { aew masterlists } | { mjf masterlist }

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ warnings } — 18 + { minors do not interact }, vaginal sex, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, gentle sex, squirting, creampie

{ word count } — 314

{ genre } — smut

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ taglist } — @boutmachines @thewrestlingbitch @omg-im-such-a-masochist @thebestintheworld @chrisdickinson @cuzimacomedian @wardlow

{ comment if you want to be added to the taglist }

{ 45 } — first one to make noise loses

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

his lips against your, the kiss feverish and intense, stealing each other’s breath with each moan.

pillows had been placed behind the headboard of the cheap hotel bed still it did not stop the incessant creaking of the bed frame.

it did not help that the walls were paper thin, every moan, every grunt could possibly wake the patrons in the next room.

still it did not deter max, it rather aroused him even more, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

“first one to make noise loses” he suggested, offering a rather rough thrust deep into your core.

“you got that, doll?”

the sensation made you stifle a moan, nodding softly in response.

his head buried into the crook of your neck, softly placing kisses to the skin, his moans almost silent.

he let his hands roam your body, slinging down your waist and hip, cupping your ass as he pulled your closer

“max…” you whispered, trying to keep your voice as low as possible, arms wrapping around his neck, body on the brink of orgasm.

he noticed your breathing increased, the sounds once quiet, slowly but surely becoming louder by the second

he didn’t stop you, only allowing your moans to flow freely as you reached your peak.

your juices coating his cock with such a so serious feeling, your moans shrilled throughout the small hotel room

his warmth flooding your soaked void as your voice rang out

he wrapped his hand around your mouth hastily, small giggles erupting from both your lips as the patrons of the room next door disapprovingly pounded on the wall

max peered down at you for a second, a childish grin still plastered on his lips from the moments prior

he leaned down, planting a gentle kiss to your lips, resting his forehead in between the axis of your neck and shoulder.

“looks like you lost, doll”

[elysiadjarin]

Day 2: Breeding Kink

Day 2 of Kinktober and… I got carried away with this one. The others are not going to be nearly as long as this one, so you guys are gonna be spoiled with this. I hope you enjoy it! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.

Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Some warnings for violence and blood mentioned, though nothing too graphic. PinV sex, unprotected, consensual, nonhuman character, exophilia, slight hint of biting kink

Tags: Dilf!werewolf x reader, exophilia, kinktober

Moonlight Through Colored Leaves

When you’d first moved to the tiny Irish town in the middle of nowhere, you’d originally hoped to escape the family drama that haunted you back in America. Thanks to your grandfather’s Irish immigration, you’d been able to get an Irish citizenship and move relatively easily. So, you’d packed your bags, only told your grandfather where you were going, and boarded the first flight to Ireland you could catch.

You’d quietly made your way to your grandfather’s tiny hometown far out in the countryside, and moved into the long-since abandoned house that had belonged to your ancestors before. Though it had been run down and you’d had to do some major repairs and cleaning, you’d finally made a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the small village-like town.

The town had been quite welcoming and friendly, and you’d quickly found a job working at the local town pub as a waitress. Your boss had been very welcoming, and you’d earned favor from your coworkers and boss for your hard work and quiet, unassuming diligence. The pay was good, and you found yourself growing comfortable in the sleepy town life, meeting your neighbors and getting familiar with the town dynamics.

You’d just gone in for your shift of the day when conversation caught your ear. You put on your waitress apron, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and walking out to the bar to grab your tray.

“Did you hear about the news?” Jaina asked, arms propped on the countertop. “I mean, about that Romanian vamp that landed on Scotland the other day. Word is that he’s headed this way.”

“Well why would it want teh come here?” Sean snorted. “We’re out in teh middle o’ nowhere, Janie, t’ere ain’t not’in’ here t’at it would want.”

“Well didn’t you hear that apparently they’re expecting Agent Blue to be chasing it down with the Dullahan?” Jaina hissed. “Why wouldn’t they come over here?”

You hid your discreet grimace, instead walking out in front of the bar. To your delight and surprise, you found yourself facing a familiar little figure sitting at the bar in a corner. The little girl caught sight of you and squealed, waving.

You went over to her giving her a hug. “Well hello there, Miss Morrigan,” you greeted cheerfully. “How are you this fine evening? Having a drink?” you teased, noticing the glass of juice near her notebook.

She giggled, nodding. “Yeah! I’m with Daddy today,” she answered, feet kicking against the bar. She turned her head to see the bartender approaching. “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “Look, it’s the nice neighbor lady I told you about!”

You looked up to see Lysander Sullivan standing there, polishing a glass with a cloth. He gazed down at his daughter with a fond look deep in his eyes, then turned to look at you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours.

“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the relatively quiet bar. It hadn’t gotten to heavy traffic times, so there weren’t many people around yet. His grey-flecked hair had been swept back into an elastic band, and his beard had been neatly trimmed.

You gave him a small, shy smile, a little embarrassed. Though you knew that the man lived next to your property, you’d been a bit timid about approaching him. He was a kind enough gentleman from everything you’d seen and heard, and he’d watched out for you as you worked, but you didn’t see any reason why he’d be interested in any further contact with you. After all, you were a younger woman in your mid-twenties that lived alone.

“Yeah! She helps me with homework sometimes,” Morrigan prattled on, “and she lets me water her flowers!”

You laughed a little, feeling the color splash across your cheeks. “Well, I certainly enjoy the little Queen’s company,” you admitted. You’d heard some of the other workers gossip about Lysander, saying that he was a single father to nine-year-old Morrigan and that her mother had died in a tragic accident. You didn’t really know, and you’d tried not to pry or overhear too much. The man had a right to privacy, just like you had things you were running from as well.

“Thank you for looking out for the little cub,” Lysander said, a small smile crossing his face. He mellowed out around his daughter, his love clear in how he interacted with her.

“Of course. It’s a delight,” you said, smiling at Morrigan. “She’s a smart little cookie, aren’t you, Queenie?” you asked, tugging at her pigtail teasingly.

She giggled. “Yeah!” Then she tilted her head at you. “Are you working with Daddy tonight?” she asked curiously.

“O-oh, well, sort of,” you stammered, taken aback a little. “He works behind the counter, but I serve people out there,” you said, motioning to the tables. “So I guess we do, in a way.”

Morrigan nodded sagely. “Ohhh, so you do the food and Daddy does the drinks.” She nodded, satisfied at her conclusion. “Oh, I’m making a drawing! I want you to see it later, when I’m finished,” she said, tugging at your sleeve.

You smiled. “Of course, Queenie. You just let me know and I’ll pop by when I have a moment, alright?” you promised.

She nodded, turning back to her notebook and picking up her crayons again. Tongue poked out, she diligently returned to her masterpiece. You gave her a fond smile, noting the way the soft lights made a halo in her blonde hair.

“She’s such an angel,” you murmured, grabbing some straws from the bar to stick into your pocket.

“Aye, that she is.” Lysander’s comment almost startled you. He glanced at you across the bar, the sleeves of his crisp maroon button-up rolled halfway up his arms. “I apologize for not bein’ a better neighbor,” he remarked.

You blinked, then reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, no— not at all,” you blurted, then gave him a chagrined smile. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’d met Morrigan when she was coming back from school, since I was in the front yard. She just… hopped on over, so I said hi. Honestly I should have introduced myself better, but…” You bit your lip. “I just kept putting it off because I didn’t want to bother you…”

He blinked, then chuckled slightly, as though surprised. “An’ here I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t really like me for some reason,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.

You gave him a horrified look. “Oh! Not at all!” You shook your head with a sigh, tugging mournfully at your ponytail. “I’m… notoriously bad at meeting people for the first time,” you groaned. “I just get nervous and tongue tied and I don’t know how to interact and… ugh.” You winced. “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I should be a better neighbor, especially since I somehow got to know your daughter.” You half-laughed at yourself.

He waved you off. “I’m just glad you get along with Mor,” he chuckled. “She speaks endlessly about you. Seems like you’ve impressed her.”

You looked up at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” you wondered, glancing at the girl. Then you smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. She’s such a smart, curious girl. I’m rather honored that she’d find me interesting.” You breathed a laugh, then glanced up at him. “I should get to my station, but… if you don’t mind, would it be alright if I swung by tomorrow to say hi and properly introduce myself?”

He nodded calmly. “Of course. She gets back home from school at three, if you wanted to catch her as well.”

You nodded, propping the tray on your hip. “Thank you! I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop procrastinating and actually start working,” you laughed, and walked off with a wave.

The night progressed relatively smoothly, customers rotating in and out with regulars stopping by. The crowds ebbed and flowed, sometimes more rowdy and sometimes more calm. Still, you enjoyed the atmosphere and the liveliness of it all. Despite it being a pub, and an Irish one at that, the town was small and most people knew everyone else. Plus, Lysander was the bartender for more than one reason. Everyone knew that making trouble of any sort was not tolerated and had force to back it up.

You occasionally popped by Morrigan’s place at the bar, either to have a chat or to admire the progress she’d made on her drawing. And throughout the night, your worries started to mount the more gossip you heard around the pub. Some of them had heard confirmation that the Romanian vampire gone mad was making a beeline for Ireland, though no one seemed to know why. There were even more rumors that Agent Blue, the famous Will-o-the-Wisp, was after the rampaging Pricoli. And still others said that the Scott Pack would be making a reappearance.

Once you’d finished your shift and helped close up shop, you started the trudge back to your cottage down the road. It wasn’t a far walk, really, and it gave you some time to think and clear your head from the smells of the pub. Reaching up, you pulled your hair free from the ponytail and sighed, shoulders slumping.

You’d come to Ireland to escape your problems, but it felt like they were all closing in on you as the days went by. As you got home and got ready for bed, you wondered if it was asking too much to hope for some peace.

Instead, you distracted yourself by trying to think of something to make for the Sullivans the next day. You didn’t want to go empty handed, after all. Maybe some bread-?

You fell asleep thinking about it.

~

You’d just lifted your hand to knock when the door flung open. Morrigan practically tackled you, wrapping her arms around your waist with a shriek of greeting.

Laughing, you balanced yourself and wrapped an arm around her. “Well hello, Queenie,” you greeted. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

She grabbed your hand and dragged you in, chattering happily about her day at school. “Oh, and you should have heard how everyone laughed!” She interrupted herself as she led you into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s here!” she called.

Trying to balance the homemade sourdough in one hand while still holding Morrigan’s with the other, you looked up to give Lysander a helpless smile. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” you greeted, a little breathlessly.

He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Well hallo, Miss,” he greeted back, wiping his hands with a towel. “Mor, why don’t you let her set the plate down before anything drops,” he said, shaking his head.

Morrigan let go of your hand, bouncing up and down. “Ooh, what is it?”

You offered it to Lysander, a little flustered. “I… well, I didn’t really want to come without an offering, so… I made some homemade sourdough,” you offered, a little awkwardly. “I hope you like it, it’s a fresh batch, still warm.”

He took it from you with a nod. “Thank you. We love sourdough, don’t we, Mor?” He seemed far more comfortable in his own home, less stoic and stern than in the pub.

Morrigan nodded, throwing up her hands with a cheer. “Yeah!” She danced around. “I love bread!” Then she grabbed your hand again. “Oh, oh, you gotta come see my room! Daddy just made me a new desk, and it’s really nice and shiny!”

Lysander waved you off as you turned to him. “Go ahead. Oh, I was going to invite you to dinner,” he added. “If you’d like. The food is almost done, actually. Your bread will be a perfect addition.”

You smiled. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” Then you let Morrigan drag you away.

By the time Lysander called for you both, you’d been given the official tour of her room and had happily listened to her tell stories of what she’d done at school and the projects she planned to do in the coming days. The little girl always cheered you up with her bright and cheerful presence. If anything, it eased your heart to see the little girl clearly so healthy and happy with her Father. She openly adored him, quite the Daddy’s girl.

As the three of you sat down at the table, you realized with a slight start that you’d never felt so comfortable in Ireland as you did in this moment. It felt… right, like you’d finally come home.

“Thank you for the food,” you said, giving Lysander a grateful smile. “It looks amazing.” The soup simmered in the bowls, while the sourdough bread had been cut into slices and set by the butter.

He nodded. “Thank you for the bread.” He passed the steamed potatoes, and everyone dug into the meal.

You let out a soft hum of contentment as you ate, enjoying the rich flavors and the homey comfort food. Clearly Lysander was a good cook, and you almost envied Morrigan for being able to come home to this every night. Not that you weren’t a good cook yourself, but you supposed company really did make a difference.

“The bread is so good!” Morrigan chirped, taking a giant bite of the bread slathered in butter.

You laughed softly. “I’m glad, Queenie. Take it slow,” you warned, worried she’d choke. “The bread isn’t going anywhere.”

She nodded, scarfing down her food. “Oh, oh, Daddy, cartoons are on soon! Can I please go watch? I did all my homework!”

Lysander nodded. “Alright. Go take your dishes to the sink.”

“Thank you! Morrigan cheered, sliding down from her chair and carefully taking the dishes. She trotted to the kitchen, then got herself a glass of juice and went to go to the living room.

You realized with a slight start that this was the first time you’d been alone with Lysander. Looking down at your spoonful, you wondered if you should maybe ask him the questions that pressed on your mind. Perhaps he would know. Then again… it’s not as though he were related to your grandfather’s clan… and not to mention, most of the people in the town didn’t even know that you were aware of the nonhuman community. In fact, you were rather positive that your coworkers thought you didn’t.

“If I may ask, what brought you to this small town?” Lysander asked, his voice calm and mellow. His blue eyes glanced up at you, and the question died on your tongue.

“Oh… family history, actually,” you admitted with a smile. “And, well…” You shrugged lightly. “I needed to get away for a while. I wanted a fresh start, somewhere where people didn’t really know me.”

“Understandable.” He nodded. “I essentially did the same with Morrigan when we moved here a few years ago.”

You hummed, reaching for a piece of bread. He handed you the butter, and you gently grasped the sleeve of his flannel for a moment. “You’ve got a bit on your clothes,” you said, wiping the smeared butter off with a napkin. You’d just let go when your fingers brushed across his briefly as you took the butter. You didn’t notice the way he froze, his movements jerky as he pulled his hand back.

“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you— I mean, does any of your family still live here?”

You shook your head. “Not exactly. But technically, my extended family is here. My grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America, where I was born, but through marriage there are still people here I’m technically connected to.” You shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten in contact with them, though. They probably don’t know me that well,” you laughed with a rueful shrug. You glanced at him for a moment. “I bet it’s even harder when you have children.”

He glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of the cartoons floated through the house. “Well, I suppose,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s my life, really.”

You lowered your eyes to your plate, unable to deny how your chest tightened at the way his voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. You’d always tried to forget how much you’d been attracted to the older man. You’d only ever dated once, and while he’d been nice enough and it had ended cordially, you still hadn’t been able to forget the lingering feeling of disappointment you’d had from the experience. You’d known, after that, that it would either be a long time before you ever tried dating again or it would have to be to someone whose maturity at least matched yours. And, unfortunately for you, that tended to mostly apply to men past their forties.

You really did try to forget how Lysander ticked all the boxes.

“I can see why.” You smiled. “She’s really precious.” Your eyes slid toward the living room. “Does she… inherit from you?”

Lysander looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing as he stared at you openly.

You gave him a faint smile. “I don’t talk much about it, but my grandfather comes from the local O’Connor Faoladh Tribe,” you said calmly, taking another sip of the soup.

His shoulders relaxed, the hard edge in his expression melting away. “Ah. Yes, she does. But she hasn’t fully shifted yet. It will be another year, we think. Are you-?”

You shook your head. “Oh, no. It’s funny, really,” you said thoughtfully, motioning with your spoon. “My grandfather is Faoladh, and my mother’s side of the family is a lycanthrope pack.” Your lips twitched. “And somehow, I got the recessive genes and ended up a simple Seer.”

His eyebrow raised. “Not so simple, I’d think,” he remarked. “Aren’t Seers rather uncommon now?”

You shrugged. “For a reason. There’s plenty of potential but not many who actively practice anymore. The price is heavy for knowledge like that.”

He gave you a discerning look. “Is that what you’re running from?”

Your silver spoon clinked softly as you set it down on the edge of the plate. “I suppose you could say that,” you murmured. Your eyes closed as you shoved away the memories of distant screaming, the crackle of fire, crimson splashed across stone floors— “Or maybe toward something.” After all, you mused, there had been a reason you’d felt drawn to your grandfather’s homeland, and town in particular. And of course, you’d never been one to fight Fate too hard.

“Perhaps so,” he conceded. Then he stood. “May I take your plate?”

“Oh— please, let me help.” You stood, taking your dishes and starting towards the kitchen. “At least let me wash or dry.”

When you finally got back home, you sat down on the couch and buried your face into your hands. Seeing Morrigan and Lysander together had stirred up old memories you’d long since tried to forget. Old desires that you’d thought you’d given up on: hopes and dreams of a family to call your own.

You crawled into bed, everything inside you aching. After all, what could a Seer with a cursed fate possibly offer anyone?

~

The night the Dullahan rode into town, you’d just started closing up the pub on night shift duty.

They’d ridden in, followed by the famous Agent Blue clad in his dark robes and carrying his lantern over his shoulder. He strode in the door, followed by the Dullahan. At first, you hadn’t even noticed the other figure trailing behind them.

Your Boss, Dorian, had walked out of the back room to greet them. He, of everyone in the town, was the only one to know of your heritage, as the elected leader of the supernatural community in the town. He nodded to the group as they entered.

“Welcome, Dullahan, Agent Blue.” He nodded at them, shaking the Will-o-the-Wisp’s hand.

“Greetings in return, Chief Dorian,” Agent Blue replied, his face still covered by the hood. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pricoli that’s been running amok all over the Isles.”

Dorian nodded. “We certainly have. I assume you’ve come on a hunt.”

“We have. And I’ve brought someone with me.” Agent Blue turned, motioning towards the back of the group.

You’d been distracted, still working on trying to finish clearing up and getting out of the way. If your boss had asked, you were ready to offer to serve the new guests as well, giving Lysander a glance that he returned with a small nod.

It wasn’t until you straightened and turned around, finished, that you heard a familiar, startled voice call your name. Turning, you looked up and saw, to your shock, a very familiar face staring at you. You froze as the figure lunged forward, wrapping you in a tight hug. After a moment, you awkwardly hugged him back, mind whirling.

“What are you doing here?” Your younger brother stared at you incredulously, holding your arms. “I didn’t even know you left home! Last I heard you were still there.”

You grasped his sleeves, disoriented. “O-Oh. Ray,” you gasped, processing. “I—“ You suppressed a flinch. “I just… moved into grandfather’s old cottage,” you stammered, then looked down. “I had to get away,” you said quietly. “It was too much.”

Of all your family, you knew that Ray would best understand. He’d been the only one to really stand up for you back home, try to support you as best as he could, being a younger sibling. When everyone else constantly reminded you of your Fate, your Destiny, Ray had been the only one who had encouraged your personal hopes and dreams, had listened to your fears and worries.

He sighed. “I mean, I can’t blame you,” he said, shaking his head. “Still… does anyone know?”

You scoffed slightly, turning your head away. “Only Grandfather ever cared about me besides you, Ray. There’s no one else who probably even asked.” You shrugged. “How is school?” You’d been the one to support him when he decided to move to Scotland to attend University. He, too, had wanted to escape home.

He grinned. “Pretty great, actually!” Then he glanced behind him. “Turns out my best mate is actually one of Agent Blue’s sons, so when the whole Pricoli thing went down, I offered to be his in to the Faoladh Tribe here. For formality, y’know.” He shrugged. “I remembered what Grandfather had always taught us about how picky Faoladh are about tradition.”

You nodded. “Yeah…” You huffed slightly. “Technically only the people in here right now even know that I’m a part of the supernatural community,” you said dryly.

He raised an eyebrow. “That’s some dedication to keep it quiet. How has the local gossip train not found you out yet?”

You snorted. “Maybe because I’ve always been quiet and kept my mouth shut.” You rolled your eyes at him, though a smile twitched on your lips. “And we both know who never can.”

He playfully cuffed your shoulder. Then he grinned. “Oh, but guess what?” His eyes sparkled. “I found my Mate!”

Your eyes widened. “Really?” Your heart lightened for him, happy that your younger brother had finally found his Mate. “Does she know yet?”

He shook his head, face falling a little. Well, not yet. I mean, I’ve kinda only just met her and all, so… and it’s kinda awkward, cause…” He winced. “Well, she’s my best mate’s younger sister.”

You gave him an incredulous look, then sighed, shaking your head. “Well, good luck with that one, Ray,” you snorted. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation with that one.”

He shrugged. “I know, but…” His grin turned goofy. “She’s so pretty. You should see her. She’s even pretty sassy, kinda like you are with me.”

You laughed softly, patting his arm. “Well, I’m glad I was able to catch up with you. If you need a place to stay, you know my house is always open to you.”

He nodded. “Thanks, sis. I should probably head back. I don’t know what else they might want me for.” He paused, then gave you an odd look. “Have you… found anyone?”

You blinked at him, startled. “What? Ray, you know what my Fate says.” You frowned.

An odd expression crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just… don’t forget the promise you made me.”

You sighed. “I won’t, Ray.” As if you ever could, you thought with a hint of bitterness. He wouldn’t let you.

He squeezed your hand, slipping a piece of paper into your grasp. “Text me. I wanna keep in touch.”

You nodded, pocketing the note. “Thanks. Good luck, Ray. Stay safe.”

He nodded, then jogged back to Agent Blue with a wave. You were left to stand there, your heart sinking with every step he took away from you. Everything was lining up far too well. Though you’d vainly hoped to escape from the Fate that had hung over your head for so long, it seemed as though you’d just walked right into it instead.

Turning back to the bar, you quietly packed up your things. Bidding Lysander goodnight, you checked to make sure Dorian didn’t need you and headed back for home.

It was only a matter of time.

~

Rain splattered against the ground, heavy and thick like a curtain. Shielding your eyes from the drops, you pushed yourself to run, faster, as fast as you could. There was no time left to think.

The vision you’d had kneeling under the large Fae Maypole tree you’d found in the forest nearby kept flashing through your mind, insistent and horrific. Your Fate loomed, past and future meshing into the present in ways you could hardly stand. You’d thought you’d been running, cowardly but maybe safe from the Sword of Damocles—but now here you were, fallen headlong into the trap of the Fate you’d known since childhood would claim your life.

And yet your feet would not stop running, pushing you forward without hesitation. Was this not worth it? Was this Fate—this Fate that you’d feared for so long, hated and loathed and tried in futility to escape—was it truly so horrendous? Now that you were here? In this moment of truth?

You barreled up the steps, slamming your shoulder against the door without a pause. It broke, sending you headlong across the threshold to skid across the carpet. Ignoring the burn on your arm, you looked up as you heard a scream. Morrigan’s face stared at you, sheet white as she curled up in fear by the foot of the couch.

Jacking yourself up, you didn’t take time to glance behind you. “Mor, into the safe room,” you gasped, “your Daddy sent me, okay? I need you to get in the safe room, now.”

She nodded shakily, bravely scrambling to her feet and running towards the safe room that Lysander had made for her. Nothing would get through the doors, you knew, once they locked. You waited until you heard the lock click, then turned and scrambled back out the busted door.

In the empty area between your houses, out on the outskirts of the town, everything seemed oddly distant yet crystal clear. Your memories nudged at you, whispering about the deja vu that filled your every pore at the sight of the green, rolling grass and the relentless rain that poured over everything. In the distance, the red glare of a fire fueled by gas and undaunted by rain began to dominate the color of the sky.

It didn’t surprise you when cold fingers wrapped around your throat, leaving mottled bruises to bloom against your skin. You stood still, knowing that any movement might crush your throat. You may have been Fated to die, but not until you’d finished your task.

The enraged Pricoli snarled, hissing in your ear. “I know he sent you to hide her,” he sneered. “You helpless, pitiful Seer. For all your preeminence, did you not find a way to best me?” he barked a laugh, maniacal and loud. “You useless Seers and your cursed fates—and for what? A single moment of ruined glory?”

Your breath shallowed, airflow restricted. Agent Blue, several Dullahan, your brother, Dorian, and Lysander all emerged from the tree line, pausing as they saw you being held hostage. You closed your eyes for a moment as the icy hands constricted around your throat even further.

“Tell me where she is, and you get to live, Seer,” he snarled, his face nearing your ear. “She is my perfect match, my BloodSong. She is fated to be mine, my apprentice!” he howled. “Give her to me, my right!” His nails started to lengthen, turning into claws, digging against your skin. “Or I’ll drink you dry first and use you as fuel to take these maggots down.”

You brother’s face had gone ashen in horror, staring at you as though trying to deny his own eyes. His face twisted in despair.

“I’ll never give her up to you,” you answered, aware that everyone could hear you despite the rain. You tilted your head up, letting the rain wash over your face. “I am a Seer,” you declared, loudly, proud of it for the first time in your life. “And I embrace the Curse of my Fate. I pay the price gladly, if it means the power to make sure you never lay a finger on her.”

The Pricoli snarled, the rage almost audibly warping his voice into something demonic. “Then meet your Fate, Seer.”

Your knees gave out the moment his fangs ripped into your jugular. Strangely enough, the pain wasn’t even that bad, you mused hazily. Your eyes—were they blurred by tears or the rain?—rolled up to see your brother, mouth open as he reached for you. Even Lysander, white fur matted and soaked, had his maw open as his snout pointed to the sky.

Distantly, you could hear screaming. A roar, loud, tumbling through your chest, rattling into the ground. The crackling of fire. Everything started to get.. so… cold. Vaguely, as the hand shoved you forward and you landed against the ground, you could see out of the corner of your eye the Pricoli hunch forward. Despite the pain, the numbness… your lips curled in a vindictive smile.

The crimson eyes turned to you, a horrified anger sweeping through them as they landed on your twisted grin. A cold hand went up to his throat, and the Pricoli started to choke. His body lurched, tongue lolling as he gagged on your blood, his veins starting to light from the inside out with a toxic green. Slowly, agonizingly, he fell to his knees, his face contorted in a paroxysm of agony as he choked on your blood, your concentrated inherent magic tearing him apart from the inside out.

Your limbs felt sluggish as you forced yourself up, your ears ringing. Reaching up, you pressed your hand to your ruined neck and staggered to your feet, starting to lurch away from the destroyed corpse of the Pricoli. Warmth smeared across your skin, and every breath sent needles raking down your throat and into your lungs. Your feet stumbled, and before you realized it, you were leaning against something broad and firm.

Two icy blue eyes stared down at you, claws wrapping around your arms. Strangely enough, though, you didn’t fear that grasp. Lysander’s maw moved, you noticed faintly, but all you could hear was the persistent ringing in your ears. Vaguely, you reached up, your fingers clumsily landing on the side of his snout. Red smeared his fur, and your arm dropped down numbly to your side.

With the last of your strength, you forced your mouth to form the words that your shattered throat couldn’t say. Tell her goodbye.

The world spun into crimson.

~

Shivering, you shook your head as you curled into the corner that you’d pressed yourself into. Tears burned behind your eyes, and you heard your breath start to rasp and wheeze, rattling your throat.

Your brother’s face crumpled as he stared at you. “Please,” he begged, his voice wavering. “You need to drink.”

Agent Blue rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son,” he said, voice firm but compassionate. “She’s understandably frightened. Even though she’s successfully gone through the change to being a damphyr, she’s had quite the scare and probably doesn’t want to feed.”

“But she needs to!” Ray exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. “She’s already hurting.”

It was driving you insane. The pure power of the Will-o-the-Wisp’s blood was calling to you like a tempting beacon, and your brother’s hot blood practically screamed at you. The thirst flared in your throat, an ache so powerful you wanted to gag. It was like sandpaper. But you didn’t want to feed from them. You didn’t want to risk losing control, didn’t want to didn’t want to didn’t want to—

“I’ll take care of her.” Lysander stepped into the room. He turned to Ray. “She gave her life to save my daughter. This is the least I can do. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”

Your brother paused, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know you will, Sir,” he said, defeated. “I just…” He glanced over at you, eyes reflecting his misery.

Lysander reached out, squeezing Ray’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly.

Ray nodded, then approached you again carefully. “Hey.” His voice softened. “I know you probably don’t want me around. But you have my number. Please, just… contact me when you’re ready, ok? You know I’ll be here for you, like I always have been. I’m gonna go back to Scotland, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. I won’t tell any of the family that you’re here.”

Swallowing back the drool, you tentatively reached out and barely ghosted your fingers against his cheek, hoping your eyes would convey your thanks. You just… needed space. Away from him, to control yourself, get yourself together.

But his expression turned a little more hopeful, and he nodded. “Love you, sis,” he said quietly. “Please… live.” With a small smile, he stood and followed Agent Blue out of the room.

With a quiet whine, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push past the unbearable, insistent pain scratching down your throat. Your throat roared for a drink. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Lysander approach. Though you didn’t know why, his presence always sent you into an absolute panic, though not of fear. Your thirst around him seemed to impossibly skyrocket. Like something about him drove you crazy.

He knelt, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He reached out slowly, giving you a chance to move away. Instead, your body froze, entirely fixating on the way his plaid shirtsleeve pulled tight around his arm, rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed thickly, his blood an absolute siren call. You could smell it, practically taste it. Dripping down your throat, into your veins, ambrosia sweet and thick— Drool slipped down the corner of your mouth, past the pressure of fangs against your lips.

Lysander’s eyes strained. “I know what it does to you,” he said quietly. “Just the fact that you’re not lunging for me right now is…” He sighed, his other hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or-“ His lips twisted as he cut himself off, as though conflicted. “There’s a reason why my blood calls to you.” He settled himself in front of you, making you want to scream as both relief and a frenzy of want roared through you.

“Of course, Mor is my daughter,” Lysander said, his voice low as he looked down at the floor between you. “But her Mother was… not my true Mate.” He sighed. “I didn’t really care, because I loved her. But she… well, she left me. Didn’t want Mor, didn’t want… me.” A self-depreciating smile passed across his face. “But it was okay, I had Mor and I only wanted the best for her. But still… somewhere inside me, I knew that my true Mate was out there somewhere.”

You almost couldn’t focus, his proximity almost painful because he was too far, and yet not close enough—

“And then you appeared, and Mor started to love you, and I—“ He sighed, hand reaching up to cover his face. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to run or stay.” His shoulders slumped. “Seeing you with Mor, working with you, talking with you… every moment I spend with you near is like agony, but when you leave it’s like you take a part of me with you and I can’t breathe.”

Abruptly, your mouth went dry, shocked almost clear out of bloodlust. Wait, was he saying-?

“I told myself that you’d be better off without me,” Lysander admitted, voice thick. “I’m… not young any more. You’re beautiful and— and you have so much more promise, a whole life ahead of you… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d gone for so long without my true Mate, I thought I’d be fine. But when I saw you lying on the ground…” He turned his face away, jaw ticking, a wild, feral light in his eyes. A low snarl rumbled through his chest, dissolving into a whine he quickly cut off.

He looked back up at you. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel… obligated to do anything. But you deserve to know the reason why my blood calls to you so strongly, and why— why I want you to drink from me. Why I don’t mind.”

Your mind whirled. The permission. The heady scent of his blood. The warmth he promised. The realization that he was calling you his true Mate. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.

Reaching up, you clapped your hand over your mouth with a half-sob of desperation. You wanted it. You practically ached for it, the kindness and love he offered. The promise of a family, a home, someone who had seen you at your worst and still somehow wanted you.

“Please,” Lysander rasped, his eyes laced with that same desperation roiling in his gut. “You don’t even have to accept me as a Mate. But you need to feed, and I—“

You were at your limit. You’d already taxed yourself as a newborn damphyr somehow trying to resist the frenzy of the first feed, and now that your Mate was in front of you, offering freely, practically begging you to feed from him, you could only take so much.

You lunged, a snarl dying on your lips as you lunged forward, the strength of your desperation actually knocking the seasoned werewolf down onto the floor. And still, even as you straddled his waist, your fingers curled around his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tempting expanse of his neck… you still tried to fight. Still tried to fight it, to control yourself.

But Lysander’s broad, warm hands gently wrapped around your waist, not fighting or pushing you off. The scar slashing across the left side of his face seemed to glow in the light streaming through the curtained window, and he gave you a smile.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I can handle it. I know you won’t hurt me.”

You shuddered, drool dripping down your fangs. Leaning forward slowly, you tried to keep yourself paced, tried to force yourself to some modicum of control. Mouth opening, you lowered your head until your fangs just barely grazed the crook of his neck and shoulder, not too close to his jugular but just enough.

The moment your fangs sank into his throat, Lysander’s fingers went weak around your waist. A deep groan pooled into the air, and a tremor ran through his body underneath you.

Heat pooled in your stomach, even as his blood slid down your throat with a satisfaction unparalleled. He tasted sweet and dusky, like fresh bread and sunshine, and freshly-cut grass after the rain. The pure heat and warmth he radiated soaked into you, and you felt the bloodlust slowly slake as you drank. Finally, you forced yourself to let go, vaguely aware with your instincts that you’d taken enough to not hurt him but probably still leave him a bit lightheaded for a moment.

The bite wound almost instantly healed over, and his grasp on your waist tightened again, fingers flexing as he regained his bearings.

You leaned your head against his chest, the gratitude and shame warring inside you. Grateful that he’d been so kind, so understanding and gentle. Ashamed of your own arousal, the way your entire being reacted to him.

Your name slipped from his lips, and a moment later his face pressed into your hair. His voice ached with the same torn desire that roiled through you. “I shouldn’t—“ He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your body flush against his. You could feel how tight his pants were, could feel the lines of his bulge pressed up against your thigh. A choked groan accompanied the way his hands spasmed around your waist.

“Mate.” The whisper slid from your mouth, the first thing you’d said aloud since your change. Your fingers clenched in his flannel shirt. “Mate… wants me?” Your voice cracked with your fear. Fear that he wouldn’t want to deal with you after all, that you weren’t worth it—

He pulled you closer to him, hand sliding to your hair. “So damn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, cradling your head to his shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful and fierce— I don’t care if you’re human, Seer, damphyr. You’re my true Mate, my love.”

And you buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself shed a few tears of relief. He wanted you. Accepted you, in spite of everything.

“I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay,” his voice strained. “You gave your life for Morrigan, and I’m so much older—“

You reached up, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as you slanted your lips over his, tears slipping down your cheeks. His mouth opened, kissing you back with a fervor as he splayed his hand over your lower back, pressing you into him. He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into your body. Your entire body flushed, and you let out a quiet whimper.

Almost before you could register it, he flipped you over onto the floor, hovering over you. His teeth bared, and he stared down at you with a heat in his eyes that scorched through you. His hands clenched around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his.

You whimpered, tilting your head to the side and exposing your throat to him, sprawled against the floor. Your chest heaved with breath, and a moment later his teeth closed gently on the arch of your neck. A soft breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you, his mouth marking your neck, replacing the memory of the Pricoli’s fingerprints mottled against your skin.

With an effort, Lysander wrenched himself away, though he half rutted against you. “Darling, I’m going to need you to tell me if you don’t want this,” he rasped, voice thick and half a snarl already.

“Lysander,” you whispered, lips caressing his name.

His hips stuttered, and he pulled you up against him before heaving himself up and staggering to the bed. He lowered you onto the bed, wasting no time before he practically yanked you to him, his hands hot and greedy. He kissed you, somehow still gentle and yet needy enough to take your breath away.

“May I?” He tapped your shirt.

You nodded shyly, letting him slide it off of you. You lifted your hips in an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to your neck as he slipped your shorts off. He groaned, hands sliding across your bared skin. His skin felt so hot to the touch against your chilled body, wholly satisfying. You practically melted into his hands like putty, malleable to however he touched you, moved you. He made you feel safe. Loved. Cherished. Wanted.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful, leannen.” The Gaelic spilled naturally from his mouth as he slid his hands under your back, unhooking your bra. You let him slide it off, too desperate for the warmth of his hands to process embarrassment. His hands cupped your breasts, callouses rasping across your nipples in a way that left your breathless and aching.

You whimpered, a little encouraged by the way you felt his bulge throb against you at the sound. Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tilted your head for air, arching into his hands.

“Fuck,” Lysander hissed against your jaw, his hips rolling into you. His hands slid lower, and his thumbs hooked in your underwear. “Can I?”

You nodded, fingers clenching against his shoulders as he slid them off. His shirt was already straining at the seams, threatening to rip. At your tug, he took a moment to reach down and practically rip his shirt off, tossing it uncaringly to the side as he opened his mouth against your neck.

You were already dripping, just his touch and scent enough to arouse you. Breath hissed through his teeth as his fingers dragged through your slick, just barely brushing past your clit. A whine escaped your lips as you shivered, fingers slipping against his chest.

“You smell so good,” Lysander groaned, one finger slipping into you as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re wet. Can I take care of you?” he rumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “You already gorged yourself on my blood. How about I fill you up with something else?”

You flushed, fangs sinking into your lower lip. “Please?” you whispered.

His ice blue eyes flashed, and his chest heaved under your hands. “Oh, are we a little desperate?” He smirked, sliding another finger into you, stretching you. “Want me to pull your legs up on my shoulders and keep you here all night?” He chuckled, feeling you pulse around his fingers. “Mmmm, I think your gorgeous body is being pretty honest, sweetheart. Well. I aim to please my Mate.”

You only had a moment to wonder when he’d managed to get his pants off. His fingers slid out of you, only for you to feel his cock rest heavily against your entrance. He slid against you, and you could feel a dribble of precum smear across your skin. One hand went to your waist, holding you, while his other found your clit again.

“Is this alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and suddenly soft. “I’m a bit of a stretch. I’ll try to go slow.”

With how wet you were, you sincerely doubted that he would find much of a problem. Still, you swallowed and nodded, grateful for his care and the way he tried, every step of the way, to make sure you were comfortable. Then again, you could already tell he wasn’t lying about how big he was. You could feel him resting against you, throbbing against your thigh. Slowly, he pressed just the tip into you, his breath shuddering.

Your lips parted in a gasp as he stretched you open, sliding into you. Compared to the chill of your body, his cock practically radiated heat. By the time he completely bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, you’d already come so close to the edge, drool slipping from the corners of your lips. He seemed to completely fill you, pressing up against every spot inside of you until you swore he’d stretched you into his shape.

Lysander slumped over you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. His entire body shuddered, and his hands clenched around your waist. His chest heaved against yours, muscles flexing as though he were physically holding himself back.

“Thank you.” The shaky whisper pooled against your skin. “For saving her. Giving your life for her. Thank you. For choosing me.”

Your fingers slid into his salt and pepper hair, relishing the stubble against your neck and shoulder. “I love you.” The confession spilled from your lips, quiet in the room.

He shuddered, letting out a low moan. His fingers clenched, just as he pulled you down further onto his cock, pressing up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Say it again.”

“I love you, Lysander,” you repeated obediently, wholly truthful. Your core clenched around him, and he hissed, pulling out to thrust back into you.

“I love you,” he groaned, starting to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm. He reached down, then pulled your legs up around his hips. The new angle made you pulse as he seemed to reach impossibly deeper into you, angling up justenough to hit that one spot inside you that had you gasping and arching.

“You’re so tight,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Feels so good, sweetheart. So good.”

He suddenly reached behind you and grabbed a pillow, then lifted your hips up to prop it under you. Setting you back down, he shifted himself up and pulled your legs up to his shoulders.

A cry left your lips, utterly wrecked and broken. His cock completely filled you, fucking any semblance of coherence out of you, going so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach. He seemed to know exactly how to read your body, adjusting to every whimper you let out, not giving you a break as he kept pounding into you with devastating precision.

“You feeling good, sweetheart?” he chuckled, the sound raking down your spine. “Is this what you want?” He thumbed your clit, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You gonna give Mor a little sibling? Taking me so well like this, spread open for me?”

The thought of adding more kids to your life, together with Lysander, proved to be the last straw for your poor mind. You came, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you cried out his name and the wave of heat and pleasure washed through your body.

And Lysander just kept fucking you through it, going harder as he pinned you against the sheets under him, not caring that your fingers raked against his shoulders. He bent to kiss you, murmuring your name in a husky voice that just wrecked you even more. He gave you no mercy, his gaze predatory as he stared down at you, soaking in your ruined expression.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he murmured, coaxing you through your high.

Even when you rode it out, he didn’t slow down or let up the pace. “You gonna make me cum, darling? Can I cum inside you?”

A plea staggered off of your lips, followed by his name. Your jumbled, blissed-out mind wouldn’t allow you to do anything else, barely recalling your own name.

“Fuck— gonna cum, sweetheart— gonna fill you up—“ He let out a moan before his hips slammed into you one last time. He ground against you as he came, his bruising grip not letting you move an inch away from him.

You melted back into the bed, eyes closing as you soaked in the feeling of his seed filling you, pouring into you. Your fingers slid up the back of his neck as you lay there, docile and welcoming to his every move. Even when he’d finally stopped spilling into you, your stomach full and hot, he slumped against you.

His lips slid across your throat, soft and almost reverent, and he pulled you into his body. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, his hands running over you with gentle, loving strokes, soothing you.

“I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, treat you the way you should be,” he promised. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” Then he chuckled, hand running over your stomach. “I wonder if Morrigan will want a brother or a sister. She’s already going to be so excited to call you Mommy.”

You gave him a shy smile, accepting his soft kiss. “Thank you, Lysander,” you whispered. “I love you.”

Perhaps the price of your Fate had been high, you thought, but it had been entirely worth it.