#love is not enough fanfic

[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “hey, jim”

prompt: shibari

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 3290

song: “hey pretty” by poe

contains: strippers, double entendres, mentions of fiddler on the roof, lots of skin, shibari, and pegging

He always wondered why Jay never showed him what was in her overnight bag while they were over in Great Britain for the other tour dates on the Isles. She kept the one part of the bag in hiding, even as the three of them learned more about each other and gained to know one another with the passing of time and with each new tour date upon him and his band. This one part of her wardrobe that had been tucked away with a small sheet of canvas about the size of both of her hands put together.

Whenever he let his eyes wander over to that one spot on the other side of the room, he thought about asking her, and yet the time never manifested itself. It was that point he really began to feel like Tevye and he was held up by the hand of these two girls every night so far.

The whole thing felt so out of his reach especially when it was so new to him, but there had to be a way. He had found himself that far, he may as well keep it all going in the hours following that show in Bristol.

It was a cool night, one laced with rain and lightning and thunder to bring out the mood of the cathartic and hard music. He stood out there on the stage wrapped in solid black with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and those white sneakers to accentuate his feet and lower legs, the absolute star of the show. All five of them were in tip top shape, but he let his thick black curls fly about and his fingers creep and crawl about as if he was summoning the most intense inferno. The gray streak floated over the crown of his head like a little low cloud. All the while, Jay and Q watched him from the side of the stage with their hands clasped together as if they were waiting for him to step off the train.

He had the last laugh with the final solo of the night, and he leaned his little red guitar up against the amp. With one final wave to the audience, he padded off the stage and caught up with the two girls, both of whom threw their arms around him and held his slender, warm little body in unison. Q pressed her lips on the side of his face while Jay ran her hands down the middle of his back down to his hips.

“You were so good, baby,” Q declared right into his ear.

“Oh my god, that crowd!” he exclaimed, and he led them away from the side of the stage and towards the backstage area all so they could hear each other. His ears whirred with the wall of sound around him, especially once he took the plugs out of his ears and tossed them into the can on the side of the room.

He ran his fingers through his thick black curls, and then he looked on at both girls with his crooked little smile.

“Who wants a drink?” he offered them.

“A drink and a piece of pie,” Jay added.

“A piece of pie!”

“She’s been wanting a piece of pie all evening,” Q explained, and he chuckled at that.

“You know, getting off stage and I’m feeling kind of hungry myself,” he confessed with a gentle pat of his svelte slim belly.

“Yeah, you two want me to get us a pie?”

“Yes, please,” he replied.

“You know it,” Jay said to her, and Q scooped up her purse from the shelf next to the back door, and she slung it over her shoulder as soon as the words left her best friend’s lips. “Apple, too.”

“Apple, yes!” He clapped his hands at that, and Q headed out of there and into the night. The stage hands were already hustling and bustling about to pack everything in for the next show over in Cardiff, and as a result, his band mates had already left for their rooms for the night. Jay then turned to him with an adjusting of her purse strap.

“Alright, baby, let’s get back to the room,” she coaxed him with a rub of her hands together.

“I’m in need of a shower,” he replied, and he held the door for her. Jay surfaced out to the darkness of the back alley in the heart of Bristol, right as a gust of a cool breeze billowed his black curls back over his shoulders and sent a slight shiver down his spine. He walked side by side with her back to the sidewalk and the golden light that bathed the pavement from each of the iron lamps that lined the street. For a brief moment, he had forgotten where they had stayed, that is until Jay led him around the corner up the street and he recognized the pub next door, which was fully alive with a bunch of concertgoers going for their late night drink of beer. They skirted along the very back of the line, which had snaked out of the front door of the pub and across the street, and he held her hand as they walked closer to their hotel about two doors down.

Once they were in the front lobby of the hotel, the noise from the street and next door dropped away and he was left with a loud whirring in his ears.

“Whoa, it’s quiet,” he told her, and he nearly jumped at the sound of his own voice.

“It is,” Jay replied with a chuckle.

She took her room key out from under the elastic band of her cap, and she led him back to their room for the night, one of those big double rooms with a small window on the far side of the room and rich dark blue shag carpet which he knew for a fact was clean. He bowed into the bathroom for a splash of cold water in his face before he changed out of his clothes and bowed into the shower for the night, to which he undid the rest of the buttons of his shirt and let it hang open. He slung a clean soft white towel around the back of his neck, and then he bowed back out to the rest of the room only to find her changing her clothes, from the black leather jacket wrapped about her body to a little black velvet camisole, from black corduroy pants to simple little panties with white lacy garter belts, and from her raised up black Doc Martens to her simple bare feet, all of which came much to his surprise.

He gazed on at her overnight bag rested on the floor right by the foot of the bed, and the question crossed his mind right then. He was alone with her, and he had no idea where a bakery would be from the bakery, and thus, he had no idea where Q had even run off to. He sauntered up to his bed and kicked off the sneakers, and then he padded up behind her, and he rested his hands on her shoulders as if to comfort her.

Jay turned around to see him, and she showed him a little smile.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask you this,” he began as he fixed the towel around the back of his neck. His long black curls had been tousled over his shoulder and they cascaded down onto his chest like the waves of the ocean, and Jay hesitated at the sight of him and the fine glow that shone on the side of his face. Even though he had splashed water on his face to cool himself down, he had barely broken out a sweat, despite having worked and played hard over the course of the evening: in fact, when he rested a hand on the side of his face, he could feel his own warmth radiating from his smooth skin.

“What’s in your bag?” he asked her with a slight cock to his head. “There’s this one part of it that seems hidden away, tucked away with a sheet of canvas and you don’t seem too keen to share it with me.”

Jay nibbled on her bottom lip right then, and he lowered his gaze to her chest, accentuated by the black velvet camisole as well as the black lace all along the neckline. He showed her a little smirk, and she gently rested her hands on his bare chest. Her fingers curled into the small sprigs of dark hair that sprouted up from his smooth skin.

Jay then raised herself up on her toes to kiss him on the side of the neck and then on his full lips. She turned back to her bag there on the floor, and she knelt down and opened the flap. He watched her unzip that canvas corner open, and she took out something long and pearly white. A long, white rope that seemed to shimmer and shine under the soft lamplight.

“I’ve actually been saving this as a special occasion for you,” she told him in a soft voice. “In fact, I’m a little surprised that I was even able to bring this with me over from New York.”

“For me?” He pointed at his chest.

“All for you,” she repeated, and then she shrugged her shoulders. “It was just finding the right moment for you.” She coiled up the rope and rested it on the foot of the bed right next to them, and then she closed the bag. She rounded him and headed over to the door: he watched her lock it, and then she gestured for him to come on closer to her. With a swallow, he gingerly walked over to the spindly chair which she presented him with from under the table next to the little dresser pressed up against the wall.

“Have a seat,” she told him, and he sank down in the chair, still with the towel around his neck. He placed his hands on the thin arms, complete with a curl of his fingers around the fronts.

Jay kept her cap on as she walked back to the bed for the rope.

“Will you be using this on me when we’re in Hawai’i?” he asked her.

“If you would like to,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders. “If anything, this is just a little test run of the rope. I learned of the way in which to tie it all on you.”

He swallowed, and the butterflies welled up in his stomach far worse than the ones prior to his first concert since he met these girls. She showed him the rope and tightened it up right before her face.

“Okay. Now. I’m going to need you to hold still for me, baby.”

He never moved a muscle as she wrapped one part of the rope against the top of his wrist. Gently, she tied a slipknot upon the outside of his arm to begin securing him down. She moved the rope along the outside of his arm up to his elbow, where she pinned it down against his skin with her thumb at first. He saw that she was wrapping it around the base of his bicep and creating a cross on the outside.

Jay tugged on it to secure him down before she moved along to his shoulder and did the same thing there. She lay the rope across his shoulders and he wished he could see what she was doing, especially as she dropped the rope before his bare chest and began what appeared to be a chain of rope against his chest, albeit a chain with only one link right dead center of his skin. She wrapped the rope around to the back of the chair, and he noticed there was quite a bit left strewn across the floor.

“I feel like a pig being tied down to one part of the pen,” he confessed to her. Jay gently tightened the rope around his wrists. She then stood before his face, and he cracked her an unsure smile.

“May I?” she offered him.

“May you what?” he asked her, and she opened his pants for him, to which he raised his eyebrows at her. “Oh, yeah. Go ahead.”

He lifted his ass so she could take off his pants and his underwear for her own pleasure. He was out in the open for her.

She opened her lips and took a dip.

All the while, she peered up at him, and the brim of her paper boy cap accentuated the edge of her brow.

Her tongue slithered along his shaft as she moved her head closer to his body. He parted his lips ever so slightly, but then he let his mouth fall agape once she sunk her teeth into his smooth skin ever so slightly. Just a slight pinch, that little bit of pain that he knew could send him on his merry way.

And she let go of him and licked her lips.

“Sometimes I just need a taste,” she confessed to him with a shrug of her shoulders.

“Sometimes a taste is all you need,” he sputtered out.

“I kind of want to take the knotting a bit further,” she suggested. “Get you out of this chair and see how far you can take the feeling against your skin. Because I know that you like the feeling of my teeth on you.”

“Indeed I do,” he said, and he let out a low whistle.

“So you don’t mind if I take you out of this chair?”

“Go with your viscera,” he grunted out.

Carefully, she untied him and let him out of the chair, but no sooner had he stood up again, when Jay rested a hand on his shoulder as if to guide him back to the bed. She was guiding him back to the bed.

“Take off your pants, baby,” she told him, but rather than do that, he stood there with his pants undone and his slight erection hanging out before him like the first bloom of springtime. Jay reached down and pinched his ass, which in turn made him lunge forward a bit.

“Take ‘em off, baby,” she whispered right into his ear; her voice crept over him like a slithering snake, and he dropped his pants just from the shiver up his spine alone.

“My shorts, too, I assume?” he asked her with a break in his voice.

“You know you wanna,” she teased him, and he let his underwear fall to the floor as well. He stood there before the bed with nothing more than his black shirt hanging wide open to show off his body. And yet he knew that that made no difference once she guided him onto the bed on his hands and knees with his bare ass out in the open.

She lay his head down onto the bed and gently tugged his arms behind his back. He placed the side of his face on the comforter, much to his discomfort.

“Pillow—” he spat out.

“Would you like a pillow?”

“Please.” Jay lunged over to the head of the bed for one of the fluffy pillows, and she picked up his head and lay it back down on the pillow. He let out a low groan from the comfort under his head, but then there was the rope.

The half hitches around his wrists as well as a slipknot against his back.

“Here,” she breathed into his ear. “Let’s try this again.”

He could feel her binding him with small knots on his back and inside of his chest. There was something rather elegant about it, in the way that she was pinning him down and tying him with the smooth rope. It helped that the rope was in fact smooth, especially when she wrapped it around his left thigh, followed by his right. She helped him spread his knees apart so his ass was wide open and his dick hung down towards the top of the bed. He smeared his face inside the pillow so he could talk to her.

“This is going to be a regular thing, isn’t it,” he quipped to her.

“Again, it’s totally up to you, baby,” she told him, and she leaned in closer to his face for an absorption of his scent. He wished he could see the knots that she had done unto him, but he could feel them. He could feel the finesse and the feeling that he was being bound by art as well as a new thing that she had uncovered for them.

Jay then stepped away from the bed towards the dresser on the other side of the room. He could hear a drawer opening but he couldn’t see what she was doing or what she was getting out of there.

But he could feel her climbing onto the bed right behind him. Something smooth brushed against the inside of his thigh, smooth and long and thin.

“Okay. Now hold still.”

Not that he could in fact move, but he was still curious as to what she was doing back there.

“This is… ah!” He pinched his eyes shut and gasped from the feeling of something smooth and cold up against his bare ass. She rubbed it against him at first before she stuck the tip up inside his ass.

He could feel her reaching around his thigh to touch him. She slipped something inside while she fondled him from behind, and he could only arch his back and let out a loud cackle of laughter like that of a madman.

“Fucking hell, that tickles!” he sputtered.

“It tickles?”

He burst out into a fit of laughter at the feeling of the strap-on up his ass and her hand on his dick, and it was tricky with his face shoved into the pillow. But he laughed anyway. Jay started laughing as well, especially once she held onto his hips with both hands and thrust in hard into him. It was nothing he had ever experienced before but it also answered a question he had no idea he was asking.

They both laughed, especially when he could feel himself coming. Another hard thrust into his ass, and he lost his balance and fell on his side. Hair crossed his face, to which he spat out a few tendrils and cleared his throat. Jay clambered over him and hung over him with a big twinkle in her eye. Panting, he opened his eyes and gazed up at her. She brushed the hair out of his face and gently stroked his skin.

“Oh… oh, god.”

“How was that?” Jay asked him, and she stroked his forehead and brushed his bangs off to the side for a better look into his eyes.

“Interesting. But I did like it. Something about me being… tied up and restrained and yet it’s artistic and there was a way to it. It made me feel like more of a man than playing up on stage.” He rolled his head over the pillow and gazed up to the batches of glitter strewn over the ceiling. “Let’s do this again in Hawai’i,” he suggested to her in a breathy voice. “You and me again.”

“Of course!” she assured him, and she planted a gentle kiss on his forehead, and he showed her a sweet smile at that.

“Q need not know unless she wants to. Now, let’s get you out of this rope and await some pie.”

[josiebelladonna]

paraselenae | mirage

pairing: alex skolnick x fem!ocs (love is not enough)

genre: hardcore erotica

fandoms: testament

*18+ only; minors dni*

Warnings: sex in front of a mirror

*Please note that you are responsible for your own media consumption. I came here to write and relax, not police you.*

Summary: alex and q at the santa cruz boardwalk (for @teababe27 💜)

Word Count: 3078

Q was woken up the sound of a knock on the hotel door panel. Jay was still sleeping in the bed right next to her, and thus, she climbed out of the bed with one foot over the other down onto the floor. It had been a long trip out to the California coast prior to then, and the two of them needed some time alone to rest and recharge before they did anything else, and anything that involved the making of their money back in any way possible. But she wondered if it would be anything urgent as she padded across the carpet to the door there. 

She peered through the peephole, and her heart skipped a few beats when she recognized that little tuft of gray hair at the top of a helmet of black curls as well as an aquiline nose from the side. She opened the door part of the way, and he turned his attention to her and showed her a little smile. 

She brought a finger to her lips, to which he nodded his head at her. 

“We have to keep quiet,” she whispered to him. 

“Why is that?” 

She gestured back behind her, and he gasped at the sight of Jay laying there on the bed by the window. 

“She had a long night,” Q explained, still in a soft whisper. “We came out here and—you know what, I have a better idea.” 

She stepped outside and almost shut the room door all the way right behind her. She stood before him, complete with the crown of her head right up to his chest; she gazed up at him and their eyes locked, like they had never locked with one another before then. 

“Jay and I came out here just yesterday, and she was pretty much beat,” she explained, that time in a louder tone of voice, and then she nudged a lock of hair back from the side of her neck and raised her head for a look up at him. “I can be happy to do something for you, though.” She showed him a smile. 

“I’m kind of in the mood for a little lovin’,” he confessed to her with a shrug. 

“Okay. Uh—where would you like to go?” 

“Well, I'm feeling a little hungry right now.” He rested a hand on his smooth flat little washboard of a belly. “What say you and I have something to eat together and we can bring something home to sweet Jay in here?” 

She squinted her eyes at him, and then she reached up and rested her hands upon his shoulders for a light little massage. She moved in closer to his body to better feel the warmth that radiated out from his chest and his little belly. Q raised herself up onto her toes to give him a gentle kiss on the side of the neck, as she had missed the bottom of his cheek as part of her proper hello to him. 

“Here, lemme help—” He bent his knees so she could have a better caress of his face. She closed his eyes as she gave him the softest kiss by far on the side of his cheek, such that it coaxed a sweet little smile out of him. She gave him another one, complete with one hand pressed onto his chest to feel his heartbeat as well as that tender warmth from inside his stomach. 

“I have a better idea,” she told him, right into his ear and in a hushed voice. He licked his lips and opened his eyes for a look into her own; she raised her hand from his chest so as to hold his face and feel the soft skin on his jaw. 

“We’re not too far from the boardwalk,” she informed him. “There’s a whole little amusement park there—I don’t really know it very well. This is Jay’s neck of the woods but I don’t really feel like waking her up, though.” He stood up all the way right next to her, and she ran her fingers through her soft locks. “We can bring her a funnel cake—she absolutely loves those.” 

“Really?” he chuckled. 

“Oh, yeah! You should see her with one of them—it's like watching a little girl eat something sweet and decadent at her grandparents’ house.” 

He chuckled at that, a nice hearty little bounce of a chuckle that seemed to come from somewhere deep within his little belly. He then ran his fingers through his black curls and reached into his pocket for something; Q led the way away from the hotel and he put on his sunglasses. 

The sun hung high in the sky over their heads as they walked along the boulevard towards the sight of the ocean at the far end. He peered around them to the long low buildings that lined the block: right at the next corner up stood a little open-air surf shack with a rack of sunglasses out in the front there before the entrance. 

“You know, I could use a new pair for myself,” he told her as they neared the entrance of the shop. He picked off the pair near the top of the rack, and showed her the mirrored lenses. 

She nodded her head and showed him a smile. 

“I like those,” she said. “They fit your face nicely. You know what else fits your face nicely?” 

He took them off and she showed him a pair of rectangular regular glasses, which albeit had a slight violet tint to the lenses. He put them on and her face lit up at the sight of them. 

“Oh, god, so cute!” she proclaimed. 

“You think so?” he asked her with a raise of his eyebrows. 

“They’re so utterly adorable on you!” He turned to the small mirror at the top of the rack for a look himself, and he showed his reflection a little smile. 

“I guess they are quite nice on me,” he remarked. “I saw there was one of those quick glasses places up the street. Those guys’ll change the prescription in like an hour or something like that.” 

“Oh, absolutely,” she said as she took out her wallet from the front pocket of her jeans. 

“You got it?” he asked her. 

“I’ve got you and Jay both covered several times over,” she assured him. 

Once she had paid for his glasses and sunglasses, they walked on towards the end of the block, where they were met with another narrow street plus a cream-colored fence across the pavement from them. He turned his head to find the back end of the roller coaster right behind the fence as well as a handful of trees and a few long, low buildings on the other side. Thus, was the boardwalk. 

He was eager to make his way inside as the two of them made their way through the entrance and into the actual wooden part of the boardwalk itself, nestled between four carnival games and some cotton candy. The bright colors of the balloons and the candy, the smell of the cooking sugar and the popcorn, the swarming, ballooning feeling of innocence all around him... it was all so nostalgic for him as he remembered the fair and few days as a young boy where he and his parents would go across the country just to go to Coney Island as well as the park back up home in San Francisco. 

“This way, this way...” she coaxed him away from the front entrance of the boardwalk towards the center where the walkways met up with one another. It was right then he spotted the place with the churros and the funnel cakes off to the left of them. The roller coaster right next to the fence was already in full swing right behind them, and yet, Q seemed to have another idea for them. 

“Before we have any fun and games here, I want to take you somewhere near and dear,” she quipped to him, and she took him by the hand once again, and she led him through the small clusters of people for the day, back towards the roller coaster and those long low buildings in question, particularly to the one on the right. 

It stood far removed from the roller coaster with a view of the ocean, and right near another small stand that sold bunches of brightly colored cotton candy and bags of popcorn: the hypnotic smell of both followed the two of them up to the ramp and the walkway around the perimeter of the building itself. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ear and licked his lips: the smells were almost too much to bear for him. One appetite had to be settled first, however. 

Q led him to the narrow doorway of the house of mirrors, to which he found himself surrounded by himself. Those same blue eyes that gazed back at him. The plume of gray upon his head that seemed to float around him like the wisps of smoke from a fledgling fire. 

“Whoa,” he remarked. 

“Yeah. I remember the first time we came in here and she and I were trying to chase one another in here.” 

He chuckled at that as he took a glimpse up above them, to the mirrors on the ceiling. Luckily, the floor was made of rickety, slightly aged wood covered in a dark carpet, but he was curious about the rest of the house as Q reached out before her to touch the mirrors all around her. 

“There is something weirdly unsettling about this,” he confessed to her in a low voice. 

“Unsettling but also hypnotic,” she retorted; they hung a left and the next corridor over had mirrors on the floor. There was no one else in there with them. 

The two of them stood there in the middle of the mirrors, surrounded by themselves, shown themselves to each other in infinite fashion. Q glanced up at him and the eternal row of his jet-black curls and ocean blue eyes reflected back to back right behind his head, and he showed her a playful, lopsided little smile. 

“We’re all alone in here,” she told him. 

“Indeed, we are,” he remarked, and he lowered his voice a bit. She licked her lips, and he raised his gaze to the eternal row of her smooth hair and soft eyes reflected upon each other right behind her head, as well as his own reflection in junction with her. It was too much and yet not enough all at the same time. 

“We should—” She cracked him a smile, and he raised his eyebrows at her. 

“You sure you wanna do that, Q?” 

“Positive.” 

“But what about Jay, though?” 

“What about Jay? She's sleeping, and she won’t mind, either.” 

“And also, what about in here?” he asked her. 

“What about this place?” She chuckled at that, a light little chuckle that sounded like a pair of wine glasses clinking together. “Let’s do it on the mirror here, and the mirrors across from us can show off everything about us.” 

He swallowed and inched back to the mirror behind him. He glanced all around him to the mirrors on the walls. His reflections upon reflections, the mirrors upon mirrors. Surrounded by himself and by reflections upon reflections of Q and her head of smooth light hair and her sturdy little body. 

“Is it driving you crazy, big boy?” she teased him. “Is our love driving you up the wall?” 

“Why would it drive me up the wall?” he asked her, befuddled. 

“Because we’ve been told that we’re too much, especially Jay herself.” 

“You ladies aren’t too much for me,” he told her, and his voice lowered once again just so the echo across the mirrors would subside away enough to warrant themselves moments of silence in an otherwise public place. He took his glasses off his face and tucked the earpiece down the collar of his shirt, and all the while, he showed off his Adam’s apple to her. He then lowered his gaze to her and parted his lips, as if he beckoned her for all the kisses in the world, all the love in the world. 

“If anything—I don’t think either of you can handle me,” he whispered right into her face. 

“Nonsense,” she quipped back to him in a near whisper. 

“Let me ask you a question, dear Q,” he began again. “How do you feel about all these reflections around us?” 

“I feel like I'm dancing on the back of a kaleidoscope,” she told him, “and you’re at the helm of it all. You're the glass, my dear baby boy. The glass, the heart of it all—” She moved in closer to his face and the reflections of her head did as well. At the center of it all, and yet the whole entire thing seemed to blend into itself. If neither of them knew better, they swore that one of those reflections were at the center of it all and not the two of them. They were all following each other, in one big symphony, one big optical illusion, one big mirage. 

She gazed into his eyes, big and blue and voluminous, out there in the open without the glasses on for all the souls to behold themselves through the mirror’s image all around them. 

An eternity and yet one at the same time. 

Every reflection did the same thing: the same kisses, the same caresses, the same unbuttoning of his jeans to reveal his burgeoning erection and her fondling him to move it forth a bit more so she could grind him. Every single one, bounced upon itself to the point that he swore it was choking him. 

He shot his arms up in the air so she could better feel his body. Every reflection upon itself. All a mirage and the feeling that it was really happening all at the same time. Her warmth and her dampness pressed upon the full length of his dick as she bound down upon him the way that she knew so well. 

He pressed his head to the wall behind him, as did every reflection around them. It was almost too much to bear, too much to feel, too much to consider and take within himself, such that he didn’t know if he was the one reaching his climax or the field of souls all around him. Q parted her lips and breathed into his; he then reached down between her legs for a feeling under her hood to make her do it again, and that time for each reflection to hear her. 

She tipped her head back as his index finger caressed over that little nub there. She breathed harder, and harder, and more so as he dug deeper within her for another burst of that euphoric feeling. The feeling that no other man or boy could ever give to her or Jay up to that point. 

She let out a low sigh, followed by a gentle moan that echoed over the mirrors all around them, and he cracked her a smile as a result of the feeling that he would always bestow onto her. The feeling that would never escape either of them, lest love ravage them both down the line. And yet, somehow, he knew that the three of them would always find their way back to each other. Back to the cozy room. Back to the mirage all around them. 

Q leaned forward and rested her head upon his chest to hear his heartbeat, and then she remembered that he had his glasses tucked down right there. She raised her head and gazed straight into his face yet again. 

“Let’s go back to privacy,” she coaxed him in a soft voice. 

“Of course,” he replied, and the tone of his voice was still low and husky. She ran her fingers down his chest onto his stomach, and he knew that they would be packing in the funnel cakes soon enough. 

“Let’s also have a little fun here, too,” he said. “We are at the boardwalk—California's Coney Island.” 

“It really is! At least, that’s according to Jay.” 

“Okay, now—how do we find our way outta here?” he asked her, that time with a clearing of his throat. 

“This way—” Q took him by the hand and guided him along the wooden floor towards the mirror that faced them straight on, and she hung a left down the next corridor. The house of mirrors became a maze right before their eyes. 

And yet, she managed to bring them to the centerpiece of the house, the room with the vast mirrors and the small ones piled on top for one great big mirage right before their eyes. He squeezed her hand a bit, and then he lifted up her hand for a kiss on the back. A soft warm blush crossed her face and the mirrors showed it off to the two of them to witness for themselves. 

“I think it’s this way, big fella,” she coaxed him, and she led him off to the left, and indeed, there was the other entryway which led out of the house of mirrors and back into broad daylight. 

A ride on the roller coaster, a dart game for a pair of teddy bears, one for Q and one for Jay, and then some plates of funnel cake back to the hotel room, and they returned to the hotel room, where Jay herself had woken up and showered off. 

When Q unlocked the door, they were greeted by her wrapped up in her bathrobe and a towel coiled upon her head to keep her hair off her neck. 

“Oh, hello, cutie pie,” Jay greeted him, and he nudged the black frame up the bridge of his nose. 

“I like them, too,” Q said with a quick nod. 

“Bespectacled is a really good look for you,” she told him with a wink. Q sauntered over to her with her teddy bear in hand for her, and she whispered something into her ear. Jay shot out her tongue and wrinkled her nose at that. Q then turned back to him for a flash of her eyebrows, and he lowered his glasses frames just to flash them both a wink as well. 

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[theorist-fox]

Some more insecure Simon Riley talk, because he's precious.

18+

Word count: 1.4k

CW: nothing, just smut. Simon finds you in lingerie and has a stroke. I love him your honor.

Masterlist 🦊

𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬 𓇬

Simon, who is not sure what to do with himself the first time you welcome him home in nothing but lingerie.

He’s so unbelievably tired, dropping his clothes on the floor of the bedroom without even lifting his head. Mumbling apologies to you—how he’ll clean tomorrow, how he just wants to go to bed and sleep fourteen hours straight, right now. Bonus points if you hold him through the night, too.

Yet you’re not replying, but he’s seen your silhouette in the darkness; he knows you’re awake because you whispered a soft “Welcome back” when he walked in the room. His heart pounds in his chest, his palms get clammy—he thinks he’s overstepping lines by not giving you the attention he thinks you deserve.

So, as he unzips his pants, he lifts his eyes to look at you, and fuck—

You’re lying on your side, propped on your elbow, chin tucked in your palm. Perfect tits covered in sheer fabric, burgundy and black, your nipples peeking through. The soft line of your waist is bare—he follows it with his eyes until they land on your hips. Ornated lace curves around your hipbone and thins into see-through, dark fabric over your mound. Two strips of silk clasp your knickers to a pair of thin stockings that cinch the fat of your thighs, and the sight makes his mouth water.

“Welcome back,” you say once again, this time with soft amusement.

He looks like a proper idiot. Hand still on his crotch, practically feeling how his cock comes to a stand at the mere sight of you.

He gulps. Feels a little lightheaded. “F’ me?”

You smile, chuckling softly but not derisively. Simon follows your hand as you guide it over your belly, up to the valley of your breast, as if you’re there, showing the goods he can pick and taste.

“For you.”

Simon is stunned into silence again.

Fuck is he supposed to do, uh? He’d be content just looking at you lying there and looking like you came out of a magazine, instead of touching you and potentially ruining what you did just for—for him?

He must not have noticed how his whole body (aside from his cock) has gone into standby—entered sniper mode. He's quiet, breaths reduced and silent, eyes attentive and narrowed.

It's a handful of seconds that leave you uncomfortable, as your plastic pose softens, your smile faltering at the corners.

“You don’t like it?” You ask, trying to sound steady, but he picks up the nervousness in your tone right away.

He won’t let you have it, obviously. He snaps out of it and takes you in for what you are: a fucking present, on his bed, wrapped in strings and bows and lace like gift wrap.

“Shoulda guessed it was too much, maybe. Should’ve gone for somethin’ soft—"

Simon is on you in seconds. Grabs your face in his hands and smashes his lips to yours something fierce, nothing like you’ve ever experienced before. No hesitation. Simple, tangible desire. Scorching lust. Want. Need—fuck, he’s never kissed you like this.

Your eyes lose their surprise, and they slowly surrender to him—hands wandering down to help him out of his pants and briefs. And then you wrap your arms around his neck, grazing his scalp with your nails until he shivers.

Simon thought there was nothing comparable to the softness of your skin against the harder patches of scars freckling his abdomen. But he’s proved wrong when he feels the rough texture of your lace scratch his chest and his hips—it has him leaking embarrassingly quick.

He’s all lips and tongue as he races down your chest, sloppy kisses leaving a burning trail between your tits, down your belly, settling on your cunt covered by thin mesh.

Simon looks up at you, holding your thighs between thick fingers, smushing them against his cheeks. His eyes are hooded, dark, different. He tilts his head and bites into the plump flesh within reach—not enough to hurt, but sure enough to taste. Mercifully passes his tongue over the teeth marks before biting into it again, until the sting has you arching your back off the bed.

And he never breaks eye contact, which leaves you dumbfounded and flustered to the bone—because where is this confidence coming from? You’re wide-eyed and biting your own teeth in anticipation—this is all new and all the more exciting.

His kisses travel from the lines of your stretch marks up to your sex, where he doesn’t even bother moving the gusset of your knickers, and he just dives in.

Tongue flat against your cunt, drenching the sheer fabric with his spit and your moisture. Your moans are so soft compared to the sloppy mess he’s making of you down there, his insecurity blessed by a sort of beginner’s luck. Or maybe he’s just that hungry, and that is enough for your cunt flutter around nothing anyway.

You’re speechless when he finally lifts himself up, slotting his hips between your kiss-bitten thighs. His cock lands heavy on your pelvis, painting your lower belly with speckles of sheer precum. Head swollen and red right above your belly button.

You look at him wide-eyed, on your back, stock-still—anticipating his next move with your heart rate spiking.

He takes you completely by surprise (once again? In one night? Who is this man?), when he moves your knickers to the side, and instead of plunging in, he slides his cock between your folds and snaps the lace back above it. And then he starts rutting in shameless abandon, holding you steady by your thighs, letting the sheer fabric of your panties cover his tip and half of his shaft, as he runs himself back and forth over the surface of your pussy.

“M’gonna ruin it, sorry.” He croaks, as one of his hands comes to clumsily grab your tits through the lace. “So fuckin’ pretty—fuck—bloody hell, you—”

You coax him to go on with breathless moans because he’s never looked more breathtaking than he does now. Tiny drops of sweat drip from his forehead onto your belly, cheeks flushed and long lashes fanning his cheekbones. His lips yield a grunt each time the lace scratches his shaft. Your breath hitches each time the head of his cock catches your clit.

“Gonna buy ya a new one, yeah?” He grunts, looking down at the wet patch his cock is making through the lace. “Gonna buy ya fuckin’ ten.”

He’s never been this vocal, and you don’t dare to mouth a whisper in case he catches himself in the act. Not even when you cum, a short and stinging orgasm that makes your clit burn at the friction, do you dare to moan. You tilt your head back and shut your eyes, neck corded in the strain to keep it in, flushing with warmth in unbearable silence.

You think you hear his voice crack through the cotton in your ears when you come back down from your high. “Fuck—God, fuck. Wha’ a gift, eh? F’ me. All f’me.”

He pulls back a few moments later, taking his cock out of your panties and into a thick hand. A few pumps, and he cums on your lace, painting your belly and your cunt in glistening white.

He’s panting as his hand languidly comes to a halt. Chest flushed and with a thin layer of sweat over it.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, clearly dizzy—as if he needs to apologize for this. “I ruined it. I—just—gonna go grab somethin’ to—to clean y'up, wait 'ere—Jesus Christ.”

He slowly comes to stand, knees popping and legs shaking as he stumbles to the bathroom.

You look down at the spurts of cum covering your stomach and staining the lace of your panties, and then you flop your head back onto the mattress, wide eyes locked to the ceiling.

A chuckle of disbelief escapes you, still in shock from the sudden switch in behavior. And you think, when he comes back with a towel to clean the mess he’s made on your skin, that you might have to take another trip to the shop this weekend—buy yourself a new little piece.

But later, then, he falls asleep with his head on your chest, fingers lazily toying with the lace of your bra (because he’s asked you to keep it on, you know—“Like how 't feels”), and so you move up your shopping a little—already on your phone, running your thumb to skim through pinks and blues, laces and silks.

You might just order a new one right now.

It’s at that moment that he shifts in his sleep, slipping his hand under the band of your lacy bra and curling his fingers around your breast.

You change your mind.

You might just order ten.

[bababaka]

Yall need to interact with fanfiction author's more.

So. After the ddos attack on ao3.

I was encouraged to write more comments and make my love known to fanfic writers.

I dont really like commenting. Because im a bit shy and soooo lazy.

Now though. I am writing more comments. And dude. This is so heartwarming. Ya'll need to treat writers better. They are doing the lord's work.

Take for an example, couple of days prior, i was searching for something interesting to read, and found an oneshot quite compelling.

I read it. At the end of it, i was blown away by how good it was. It promised me something and it went beyond my expectations. But then i saw a crime, zero fucking comments!

At that moment, i wasn't feeling up to writing a comment. Because, normally i like to write huge paragraphs. But because im lazy i decided to be brief.

Next day, the author answered that the comment lift their mood for the whole day.

That warmed my heart.

Duuuuuuuude! Write comments! Suport the writers of the fics you like! No need to be something super elaborate. Just give your thoughts. Freak out. Ramble. Ask something. Make theories. Compliment. Make a joke about how you wished to give kudos every chapter but ao3 sucks(not true bby) and won't let you.

Truly. Just. Comment. It can make someone's day. And that is part of the apeal of writing fics. Interacting with people.

Just give love to fanfic writers yall. They deserve this and so much more.

[tourettesdog]

I am begging people to be normal about completed fics, and in particular one shots.

I am begging people to stop demanding more from authors, and insisting that one shots need to be longer or have sequels.

I don't think yall understand how many fanfic authors are one more "where's the rest of it?" comment away from throwing out any plans they might have had to continue an idea.

Unless an author like specifically says they might write more for an idea, just-- assume something marked as completed is complete, and respect it as it stands, please.

[somewhereincairparavel]

Percy this. Percy that. It was always about Percy Jackson. All the fucking time. 

It was always about the Hero of Olympus, the one who defeated Kronos and led the battle of Manhattan, the one who was offered immortality by the king of the gods himself, the one who restored glory to Rome by returning the golden eagle, the one who became praetor of the Roman camp in 2 weeks with limited training. 

His Roman camp. Jason Grace's Roman camp.

Percy Jackson had pulled off everything in 2 weeks that Jason Grace wasn't able to accomplish despite dedicating his whole life for duty. 11 years of blood, sweat and tears, simply gone down the drain.

Jason had failed his camp. He had failed his home. Turns out, he wasn't as great as the people of Rome had once preached about him. It was obvious considering the less than warm welcome he had gotten from his so-called “home”. 

He received no hugs, no cheers, no “we missed you jason!”, no “I was so worried about you!” or even a single pat on the arm by his “friend” Dakota. Dakota and Gwendolyn hadn't even spared a glance at him.

Nothing. Instead, this new Jackson boy was held up to worship like a god amongst the people who once considered Jason a “hero”.

Jason laughed bitterly. Was it selfish of him to be disappointed with Reyna? With a pang, he got to know that Reyna hadn't sent a single search party out to look for her “best friend”. Not like Annabeth did for Percy, not like Thalia did for Percy.

With a pang, he got to know that the whole camp basically deemed him as ‘dead’ and Reyna hadn't even set up a memorial of remembrance for him. The camp had simply moved on with their new hero. Without a single shred of thought for Jason Grace. 

The forgotten Hero. The lost hero. Jason Grace.

These thoughts of doubt gnawed on Jason's mind, slowly eating him up ever since he'd first seen Percy Jackson in those damned praetor togas that once belonged to him. 

He didn't dislike the boy, of course not, it wasn't Percy's fault that Hera wiped their memories or switched camps.

 But it was hard for Jason to not resent him, or feel even the tiniest amount of envy, knowing that Reyna willingly replaced him with Jackson. Very quickly too, at that. He overheard Octavian blabbing to his lackeys about how Reyna “was head over heels for Percy almost immediately” 

“I guess that's it. Maybe I am someone who is easy to replace.” Jason thought, his eyes pricking as he looked over from the flying ship, at the place he once used to call home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jason watched remorsefully as Thalia, Grover, Percy and Annabeth were all gathered at the table in camp half blood, cracking jokes about dam french fries or whatever that meant.

Thalia caught Jason's eyes, staring at all of them from a distance. She smiled softly, and gave him a tiny wave. He weaved his lips into something that was meant to look like a wry smile, but it came out as a slight grimace, as he waved back.

Thalia was so close to Jason, yet so far away.

He knew she loved him, but it felt different. And an annoying, nagging part of Jason had known that Thalia would never be as close to him as she was to Annabeth or Percy. 

Ironic isn't it? Jason and Thalia were always connected since they came from the same womb, yet she was closer to Annabeth, a girl she'd found after she had run away from the same woman that had given Jason to the wolves. The same woman who had turned his life upside down by abandoning him. 

Thalia had found Annabeth right after she thought she had lost Jason. In a strangely ironic way, Jason felt like he'd been replaced all over again.

Thalia had replaced Jason as a younger sibling with Annabeth without even realizing it, all of this took place mere months after a baby Jason was considered to be dead. This situation had strangely reminded him of Camp Jupiter, how he was replaced by Percy right after Jason was considered “dead” by Camp Jupiter.

This made Jason reach the possibility that if he were indeed “dead”, he wouldn't be missed. People wouldn't bat an eyelash. Since there was always someone better than him. Someone like Percy Jackson, who could easily fill the void Jason would leave behind.

His eyes watered, as he looked at how much fun his sister had with his friends. Knowing full well, that he'd never be able to do the same.

Jason felt ashamed that he had to ask Percy about Thalia’s likes and dislikes, he was thalia’s brother. He was supposed to know.

Jason watched as Thalia quickly hugged the trio, as she left their table to leave with the hunters, not even realizing that there was one person whom she forgot to hug.

Don't take it personally. Don't take it personally. She just forgot. She doesn't hate you. She just forgot. She doesn't prefer Percy over you. She's in a hurry. That's why she forgot. Jason repeated that like a mantra, the only person he was trying to convince was himself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And he rejected immortality!- oh you should've seen Zeus' face!” Annabeth exclaimed to Hazel excitedly, as Percy was blushing at the compliment fountain being poured at him by Hazel and Annabeth.

Jason had always been fascinated by that story, the almighty Percy Jackson getting offered to become a god, by Zeus.

His father. Jason's father, Zeus. 

Jason felt stupid and guilty for getting envious, it's not the fact that Percy had been offered immortality, no. Jason couldn't care less about being immortal. It was the person who offered Percy invincibility that bothered Jason so much. 

Jason knew that even if he went to the ends of the world to accomplish something, his father wouldn't be able to praise him or even talk to him for a long time. 

Zeus and Jason could never be like Hades and Nico, or Poseidon and Percy. That's just how it is.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Reyna had come to camp half blood for a fun visit. Jason would've been ecstatic in other circumstances, but in this case, he wanted to be as far away from her as possible. Because currently, Reyna seemed to be looking at everyone, but refused to meet Jason's eyes. She seemed to keep her distance as she laughed at something Percy and Piper were saying. 

She may as well have just stabbed him, it would've hurt a lot less. 

He had truly been naive to believe that he could make amends with Reyna. Now he knew, it would never be possible. There was too much pain mixed with bitterness on both ends. But seeing her get along with Percy reminded him of the old times of friendship he and Reyna had shared. Keyword: had.

Once again, the fates had shown him that Percy Jackson would always be better. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Jason Grace lay on the cold floor, coughing out blood. He realized he was alone, he was dying, but he was alone.

Like always. The sickly voice of Gaia, that had once haunted his nightmares, boomed in his head. Jason knew he was hallucinating as a result of blood loss, Gaia is in deep slumber. But that did not stop the voice in his head that was invented by his insecurities. Even in the end, you've been forgotten, Jason Grace. Because that's what you will always be. The second best. The leftover. The pawn who is discarded, after his purpose has been fulfilled. Percy Jackson would always be better in everyone's eyes. 

To the Romans, you are simply the one who betrayed his lineage. But Percy is the one who restored glory. He did your job for you.

To the Greeks, you are simply a burden, one whom they were forced to welcome.

To your father, you are merely one of his many sons. 

To your sister, you are a stranger.

Jason's resolve to live had weakened, hot tears were streaming down his face as he closed his eyes in defeat, he had come to the painful conclusion that nobody is going to come find his body. Nobody is going to mourn him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Oh I will always be much better than you at this! Bring it on, dude!” Percy laughed as he striked his play sword lightsaber at Jason's. They clashed. 

“You wish, Jackson!” Jason shot back jokingly, as they sparred playfully with toy lightsabers.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Jackson, you jerk. You were right after all, you will always be much better than me” Jason laughed bitterly, as he recalled that memory of his sparring session with Percy.

 Suddenly everything went black. The life had successfully ebbed out of him.

Little did Jason know, was that someone had indeed come to look for him. Tempest, his Pegasus had come to retrieve his body, but Jason was long gone. People had indeed mourned him. His friends were, indeed, anguished. His sister was, indeed, heartbroken.

Jason's soul parted this world, with the knowledge that he'd always be The forgotten Hero. 

The lost hero. Jason Grace.

[prahacat]

when the horrors catch up and you take an evening off to batch-process

[sunderwight]

Thinking about a bingqiu Dreamling AU where Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua are both bored deities, just sort of taking a brief sojourn through the mortal world to shoot the shit and see some interesting monster or other that Shen Yuan has heard about, when they come across a tea house and decide to take a break and do some people-watching instead.

Shen Yuan is well into something of a shut-in phase, which Shang Qinghua doesn't like, mostly because when Shen Yuan is in those phases he doesn't do particularly well either. Shen Yuan's a social butterfly, for however little he cares to actually acknowledge it about himself, and his critique of Shang Qinghua's literary masterpieces gets so much harsher when he's not getting enough enrichment.

So when they overhear one of the kitchen boys solemnly insisting that he is going to do everything in his power to never die, and Shen Yuan laments that the boy would probably regret such a wish if it came true, Shang Qinghua decides to bestow a rare bit of godly power onto this mortal and grant his wish.

He doesn't make him a god, of course, that wouldn't even be in his ability. At least, not without using up more time and effort than he's prepared to expend on this one random kid. But immortality on its own is not that difficult. The boy will still finish growing up, and will still be able to be harmed, to know hunger and pain and illness. It just won't ever kill him.

Shen Yuan sighs that it's a cruel thing to do to a mortal, especially one with such low odds of ever cultivating other skills to mitigate the potential torment of it all. But Shang Qinghua just shrugs and they place bets, that this boy will ask for the immortality to be revoked in a hundred years, or two hundred, or so on, or else he won't. Shen Qingqiu approaches the kitchen boy and flusters and bewilders him by telling him to meet him back here again in a hundred years time.

A hundred years later, the tea house is larger. The boy has grown to be a striking young man, who looks at Shen Yuan with wariness and something else, something almost like awe, as he asks what manner of creature he's made this bargain with. Shen Yuan assures him that he has no nefarious intentions, and instead asks Luo Binghe how the past century of his life has gone.

Horribly, at least at first. Binghe's mother had already died by the time they met, but afterwards he managed to earn enough money to travel to a nearby sect. Working in the tea house's kitchen was just a minor stopover along the way. Shen Yuan was wrong, it seems, about his odds of becoming a cultivator -- Luo Binghe earned entry as a disciple.

Yet, he had no success. The master who took him on was unaccountably cruel and mercurial, and Luo Binghe's attempts to cultivate failed. Looking back he sees now that there were many times when he should have died but didn't, but when it was all happening he just thought himself lucky. At least until an enemy sect attacked a cultivation conference, and he suffered mortal wounds that absolutely should have killed him (or anyone) but still didn't die. (No demon race or abyss in this AU, but there are still demonic and fantastical creatures.)

His cruel master, upon witnessing this, accused him of heretical practices and tried to kill him as well by flinging him off the edge of a gorge. The fall was terrible. Binghe lay at the bottom in a horrifying state, injured beyond reason and yet, still, he didn't die. Eventually his body recovered enough for him to drag himself out, and once he did the only thing on his mind was getting revenge. For the next several decades he managed to ingratiate himself to all manner of potential allies, forging alliances, accumulating blackmail, and convincing people that he had to be some powerful cultivator through his supernatural resilience, lack of visible aging, and a lot of bluffing. He got revenge on his old teacher, drove his first sect into ruin, and rose to prominence as a feared and respected leader of the cultivation world.

Shen Yuan listens with clear interest, asking plenty of questions and seemingly quite taken up with the story. At the conclusion, Luo Binghe admits that his actual cultivation is still mostly a matter of smoke and mirrors, and wonders if -- now that the hundred years have passed -- Shen Yuan means to strip his immortality from him.

Shen Yuan asks if Luo Binghe wants that. When Luo Binghe says no, he accepts the answer, and tells him to meet him back here again in another hundred years. Luo Binghe calls after him, but before he can ask anything more, Shen Yuan has disappeared again.

A hundred years later, Binghe arrives back at the tea house with an entourage befitting of an emperor. The tea house has also expanded. Luo Binghe orders a lavish feast from them, which everyone hastens to provide. He's spent the past several decades consolidating his power, forging alliances with key political players via several marriages, producing heirs, and crushing his enemies. As he brags about the state of his massive harem to Shen Yuan, the deity's eyes begin to glaze over. He doesn't seem impressed. He also doesn't seem to care much for the food, and eventually his attention is stolen away by a conversation at another table. The diners are discussing the exploits of a promising new poet and novelist. Try as he might, Luo Binghe fails to regain Shen Yuan's attention before the evening is done. Shen Yuan doesn't think it's a big deal -- after all, if Binghe is still riding on top of the world, he's probably not going to want his immortality gift revoked just yet!

Another hundred years go by. The tea house has returned to a more modest situation, the next time Shen Yuan sets foot in it. He waits an unusually long while for his guest to arrive, and when he does, he's almost stopped at the door by the tea house's servers. It's only when Shen Yuan bids them let him through that Luo Binghe is able to come to the table, almost collapsing against it and desperately falling onto the arrangement of snacks with obvious hunger.

Shen Yuan wonders if this, now, will be when the boy (no longer a boy) asks for the immortality to be revoked. Surprisingly, he finds himself resistant to the idea, even though it's also clear that the game has run too long. Maybe hundred year check-ins were too short? He doesn't like the implications of what's gone on, even if he's not really surprised about it either.

Between desperate mouthfuls of food, Luo Binghe explains that without mastering inedia, going hungry but never dying is a deeply unpleasant experience. Shen Yuan orders more food. Once Binghe has finally eaten his fill, he begins, haltingly, to explain his situation. His clothes are ragged, he is painfully thin, and his gaze is haunted.

Apparently, several of his wives conspired to assassinate him, despite his reputation as unkillable. Realizing that most poisons and such didn't kill him, but that he could still be incapacitated, they hatched a scheme to dose his food with a powerful sleeping agent, and then walled him up in a famous ancestral tomb. They went to great length to ensure that it was impossible to escape from. It took Binghe decades to do it anyway, digging away at the floors, and when he got out he found that his power base had collapsed. In-fighting and the incursion of his enemies had led to the deaths of all of his children, and what wives had survived had either fled or remarried. Not that he particularly wanted them back at that point, since the ones actually most loyal to him had also been killed early on after his own "death". His face marked him, to the eyes of his enemy, as a surviving descendant of himself. He was hunted down, chased across the continent and back again, until he managed to fall into enough obscurity that his pursuers abandoned the chase. Except that he has nothing, and any time he tries to regain something, he runs the risk of being hounded again. Those who might see some potential in him still remember the collapse of his recent "dynasty" and slam doors in his face, or else try and turn him over to those now in power in pursuit of a reward. Those who don't know that much see only a dirty beggar, and usually run him off on that basis instead.

Shen Yuan, almost hesitant, asks if Luo Binghe would like to have his immortality revoked.

Luo Binghe declines. How will he be able to take revenge on those who wronged him if he is dead? He has a hit list a mile long by now.

Which is definitely not the most noble of reasons to persist, but Shen Yuan finds himself reluctant to ask twice. Instead he orders more food, and then even reserves one of the traveler's rooms above the tea house for several days. By then the sky is turning grey, and Luo Binghe is losing his apparent battle with exhaustion. Shen Yuan presses the key into his hand, thinking it's probably not enough, but there are limits to how much gods are supposed to interfere and Shang Qinghua already stretched them to the breaking point with this entire scenario.

He leaves, not seeing the hand that reaches after him just before he is out of the door and gone.

Another hundred years pass. This time, Shen Yuan arrives to find Luo Binghe already waiting for him. He isn't surprised to see that Binghe's situation has visibly improved -- maybe he was keeping closer tabs on him, just a little bit, for this past while. If only to be sure he wouldn't have to warn the tea house workers to expect an unorthodox visitor again! But no, Binghe has been doing well enough for himself. No more harems or thrones, though. He dresses more like a well-off merchant now, deliberately posing as his own mortal descendant rather than as a great immortal cultivator. The food at the table looks far more delicious than usual too (Binghe commandeered the tea house's kitchen himself this time). As they chat, Shen Yuan is regaled with the exploits of Luo Binghe's travels and adventures, how even though he initially set out to claim revenge on those who overthrew him, by the time he was in a position to actually do so they had already died of the usual causes (time, illness, their own schemes backfiring, etc). Subsequently, only their children and grandchildren were left with the scraps of power they had obtained, and when one of those children employed Luo Binghe as a bodyguard, his initial plan to assassinate them eventually fell by the wayside. After all, the wrongdoings weren't actually theirs. From that point, Binghe was able to restore himself to a more comfortable life, joining his new employer on their travels until he had set aside enough earnings to take his leave before his youthful good-looks earned him suspicion. He then began investing in travel and trade, specifically cargo ships, because never spending too long in the same place or around the same people helped disguise his immortality. He had found that, at least for now, this served him better than playing the part of a cultivator. It also gave him time to try and actually repair his ruined cultivation base somewhat, and fighting pirates proved very diverting.

Binghe is midway through recounting his adventures with a gigantic sea monster, while Shen Yuan hangs on every word, when they're interrupted by the arrival of a brash young mistress, clearly wealthy and trained in cultivation. The young lady declares that there is a rumor that a fallen god and a demon meet in this tea house once a century, that they wield strange powers, etc etc, and she intends to interrogate them both with the assistance of her hired muscle and her own spiritual weapon, and discover the truth of the matter. Then she whips out, well, a whip!

Before Shen Yuan can deal with the matter, Luo Binghe is already on his feet, disarming the goons and breaking a few arms in the process. Shen Yuan is so distracted that he almost misses the whip aimed right for him, but before Binghe can catch the barbed weapon with his bare hand (wtf, Binghe, no) Shen Yuan deflects it with a wave of his fan, and then efficiently knocks the troublesome young lady unconscious. The hired muscle flees, Shen Yuan arranges for their assailant to be placed in a room upstairs until she regains consciousness, and he and Binghe resume their meal and conversation in relative peace.

Even though it's clear that Luo Binghe has not yet reached the end of his tolerance for life, Shen Yuan nevertheless finds himself strangely reluctant to part ways at the end of the night. Still, he does, because that's what is expected of him, gently denying Luo Binghe's suggestions that they find some other establishment to continue their conversation at. He also has to investigate these "rumors" that the young lady mentioned. It's probably nothing (Shang Qinghua has a loose tongue when he's drunk, and a lot of imaginative storytellers have frequented this tea house over the years) but he doesn't like being caught unawares like that. Heavenly politics are... complicated, it's best not to court unwanted attention in any capacity.

Another hundred years go by. This time, when they meet at the tea house, Luo Binghe asks Shen Yuan why he keeps it up. Why did he pick Binghe? What is he really after? When Shen Yuan fails to give any kind of clear answer, Luo Binghe shoots his shot and makes a (very obvious) move on him.

Shen Yuan, flustered, gets up and flees. Ignoring Luo Binghe's calls after him. It just doesn't make any sense! Why would Binghe do that?! He's a man who once had a harem of wives in the triple digits! Clearly he's not gay, so what was that all about? Was he just messing with him?! How dare he! Etc, etc.

Another century passes. Luo Binghe waits at the tea house, which has fallen onto hard times again. With the construction of some new roadways, travelers no longer pass through as often. Binghe listens, worried, to the proprietor's laments that this old place will probably not be around in another hundred years. He listens because he has no one else to speak to, because Shen Yuan has not shown up. Not that morning, not during the day, not come evening, and not now that it is closing time. Binghe nevertheless charms and bribes the proprietor to let him stay even after the place has shuttered.

It seems damning, of course. He pressed too hard and now his mysterious benefactor wants nothing more to do with him. Except, no, he refuses to accept that. He's still immortal. And he has gleaned enough of Shen Yuan's character by now that he thinks that even if he was rejected, he would be let down more clearly and gently than this. The more he thinks about it, the less willing Luo Binghe is to believe that he has been deliberately stood up (also, since the tenor of his confession was different from Hob Gadling's, he never delivered an ultimatum about what it might imply when they met up again).

Over the centuries, Luo Binghe has built up a few contacts with similarly strange and supernatural stories. Cultivators, sure, but also others, fortune tellers and people of strange ancestry, questionable abilities, those who have interacted with powerful beings of mysterious provenance. He makes his way to a certain gambling den, frequented often by such people, and while he flashes around enough money to draw curiosity, he collects information. Shen Yuan wasn't the only person who started paying more attention to the kinds of rumors surrounding the two of them after their confrontation with the young cultivator a couple centuries ago. And in fact, Luo Binghe has been spending many, many years trying to find out more about his mystery man. Though, too many potential deities and immortals fit his description for him to have ever conclusively figured much out.

This is how Binghe gets wind of a rumor that an eccentric occultist has somehow captured a god in his basement...

[ireallyneedaintrestinglife]

Some of these merthur fics just don't be hitting...like where's the devotion?? The longing?!? Where's the lack of boundaries?!? I need more Merlin crossing the line and just not giving a damn because it was to protect his King and that's reason enough for him. Give me an absolutely devoted Merlin that is overflowing with love for his King. Give me obsession and fucking dependency. I need them to be connected with each other in each and every way. Stop pretending like they are in any way shape or form normal with each other because they aren't and I need to see that explored!!

[hearts4werka]

Car Ride

╰┈➤. Summary: You and Matt are hiding your relationship from the internet because of the hate you’ve been getting from the allegations, today Larray invited you, Arrington and the triplets to be in a video where you’ll spend 24h in a car together. While you’re filming Matt can’t quite keep his hands off you when off camera…

╰┈➤. Genre: FLUFF (if you squint hard enough) & SMUTT, secret relationship, car video, YouTubers, shopping, nightly car ride, filming, off-camera scenes, and possibly more but idk

╰┈➤. Warnings: swearing, bickering, SMUT, making out, oral (m receiving), car sex, teasing, giving sloppy head in the car, praising, use of pet names ( princess ) kissing in public and probably more!

╰┈➤. This was requested by @miss-tyummy in my inbox, thanks queen for the amazing idea!

Me and Matt are secretly dating, why is it a secret you may ask? We decided to make our relationship private from the spotlight since the internet doesn’t seem to be very pleased of them dating and find a way to criticize the woman even if she didn’t exactly do anything.

It’s pretty messed up and I began to gather some hate from the dating allegations and suspicions that I might be dating Matt.

I was invited by Larray to participate in a video where we’ll be stuck in a car for 24 hours with the triplets and Arrington. Despite the fact that Matt and I wouldn't be able to spend a lot of alone time together, I was eager to record the video.

We’re at Larray’s house at first, him introducing the guests of todays video

“You know, let’s just cut the bullshit. Introducing the three same-face people!” Larray states as the triplets walk into frame together, doing different poses into the camera.

“Also Arrington with Nora!” He once again states as me and Arrington now walk into frame, also doing different poses and Arrington walks up to the camera. ( outfit here )

“I look like Naomi Campbull” He says and drags out the last word in a playfully confident tone as Larray stands next to him, holding his cat Coochie.

“Campbell’s chicken noodle soup” Larray chimes in between giggles before earning a laugh out of everyone in the room, different variations of laughter fill the room and bounce off the walls.

Everyone says their name and Larray explains what we’ll be doing in the video, funny quotes were made during the beginning of the video before we got into the main subject of the video.

»»————-　★　————-««

We were in the car already, driving to target to buy some things we think we might think we’ll need to survive the 24 hours in the car.

Larray is in the drivers seat along with Nick in the passengers seat next to him, Chris and Arrington were in the back as Matt asked if he could sit with me in the total back for obvious reasons.

Our close friends obviously knew we were dating its just that we didn’t want the internet to find out since like I said it ca be pretty sensitive to relationships between the triplets.

As we buckled up Matt sneakily placed his hand on my thigh, making sure it’s not very visible for the cameras vision.

Nick and Larray were mostly in charge with the music but didn’t know what to play right now, handing the phone to the back.

“Can you play like ‘Super Base’ or something that we all know?” Larray says, looking into the back then back at the road.

“Yessss” Nick draws out, agreeing with playing songs similar or the song ‘Super Base’ before Matt suddenly chimes into the song recommendations.

“Play- No! Play ‘Throw Sum Mo’ ” the whole car erupts with ‘uuu’s and ‘oo’s hyping up Matt.

“Oh shit, okay Matty Pooh” Larray joked before adding in “Matt you a bad bitch” with the same tone as before, Chris has the phone from where the music is being played and I decide to chime in.

“Didn’t know you were such a baddie, Matt” I giggled as Chris played the song and everyone started to sing along to it.

As we’re driving, some road rage starts to create before it suddenly turns from hostile to all cute when I noticed a couple going to see the movie ‘Barbie’ in theaters.

“Guys look, they’re going to see Barbie!” I cheer, pointing at the couple walking into the building while holding hands. It makes me think back to when I forced Matt to take me to see ‘Barbie’ and he enjoyed it more than me after it all.

The car fills with cute sounds and the word ‘cutee’ drawn out by Nick, the atmosphere softens a bit after the slight road rage before.

»»————-　★　————-««

After a pretty fun car ride to target we finally get to our destination, be split off into groups of two. Nick with Larray, Chris with Arrington and Me and Matt decided to go together, all of us grabbed one camera and we all enter target.

“Hello and welcome to target with me and Matt.” I speak into the camera as I raise it into the air, making me and Matt more visible in the cameras lense.

“What should we get?” Matt questions, glancing around the aisles and thinking about what we should get.

“Definitely some snacks and maybe some games to entertain ourselves?” I suggest and follow behind him on looking around the aisles.

“What about books?”

“Yeah I’m not reading a book, ever.”

I pause the recording and we walk into the snack aisle, when Matt realizes the recording is paused and no one is around anymore his hand wraps around my waist from behind as he gives me a slight peck on the cheek.

Chuckling at his sudden affection we start to look at all of the snack choices on the shelves, my eyes immediately land on a pack of fruit roll-ups and Matt follows behind me.

I turn the recording back on and raise the camera up into the air. Matt is the first one to speak up and takes control of the camera.

“So we’re at the snack aisle and this kids eyes fucking lit up after seeing fruit roll-ups” He comments jokingly but looking serious at the same time.

Dramatically gasping I turn my head to look at him with an offended face, putting a hand on my chest for a more dramatic scenery.

He only chuckles and points the camera at me, showing my reaction to the audience.

“The audacity of this man is unbelievable” Stating with drama dripping from my tone only heightens the dramatic level.

“You’re being over-dramatic”

“I’m being dramatic enough”

He laughs and I start to laugh too, grabbing the bag of fruit roll-ups anyway and showing them off to the camera.

“It’s like, huge! How can you miss up on an opportunity like this?” I say excitedly and point at the bag, showing the viewers how big it is but Matt only rolls his eye at me being excited over a big bag of fruit roll-ups. He knows damn well they’re my favorite so eh can’t really judge me.

We laugh it off and move onto getting something to drink, Matts hands are on me full time but out of view whenever its on my waist or in the belt-loops of my jeans, dragging me away from the book aisles as well as the home decor aisle, knowing we’ll be there for at least an hour.

Heading towards the drinks aisle Matt pauses the recording once again and rushes me into the quiet drink aisle, putting our cart to the side as well as the camera in the baby seat.

Matt grabs ahold of me and pulls me into a quick kiss, I return the kiss immediately and looking at the space surrounding us if anyone is around.

He runs the tip of his tongue across my bottom lip, demanding entry and when I give him access to the inside of my mouth it slowly turns into a little make out session in target.

The session is shortly interrupted by Nick and Larray sneaking up on us and scaring us, causing me to jump out of Matt’s arms.

“Whatcha guys doing, making out in the middle of Target?” Larray asks, looking at us with slight tease as long with Nick and me a Matt already know this isn’t gonna end well.

“Nick, don’t you even fucking dare start.” Matt warns Nick more playfully than a normal person would especially to their sibling, he subconsciously pulls me closer to his side by placing his hand on my hip.

“Pump the hate breaks, I didn’t say anything yet” Nick answers, the teasing slipping past his words but being barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. I chuckle softly under my breath at Nicks reply but pretend to cough when Matt looks down at me.

“We’re supposed to film a video, not have you guys making out off camera” Larray chimes into the conversation now, glancing between me Nick and Matt.

“What do you guys want anyways?” Matt questions to get off the topic of the little make out session we had in the middle of a target aisle that got interrupted by the guys.

“Oh nothing, maybe let’s just give you guys some alone time. Right Larray?” Nick says and looks over at Larray, nudging him on the arm before flashing him a secret message behind a teasing smile I can’t quite decipher.

Larray nods his head in understanding and they walk off into a different aisle, finally leaving us alone still being in the drink aisle.

I poke Matt into the side of his waist before looking up at him with an almost knowing look, him doing the same and glancing down at me and knowing damn well what I’m gonna say.

“I told you before we started filming to not do shit like this in public” I state as Matt just dismisses me with a small knowing chuckle and pulling me closer to his side.

“Oh cmon, don’t try to deny you didn’t enjoy that” He proclaimed and knowing the answer that’ll come out of my mouth as a small teasing smirk grows on his lips.

“I never said I didn’t, but maybe do it in a more private place next time.” With that said, I turn to look at the drinks to take to the car for the 24 hour challenge to move on from this topic.

“Okay, princess. Then let’s go to a place like that, hm?” Hearing the words leave his mouth in a soft whisper brushing against the shell of my ear sends a shiver down my spine and a jolt of pleasure between my legs.

“We’re filming a video, we can’t just leave” I reply, looking up at him with a doubting glimpse in my eyes.

"Why not?" He questions my claim, slighty pouting to try and convince me tp go somewhere pricvate with him. He uses them whenever he wants something since he knows I cannot resist them, especially right now.

He looks at me like a kid at his mother, begging her to buy them a way to overpriced toy only in this situation, he wants to toy with me and not an actual toy.

I think about his request, where would we even go or how would we even do it? I dont think theres a bathroom in this store, in the car we have to film the video so thats a no too.

"Where would we even go?" I ask, tilting my head to the side in question. Genuinely not knowing where we would go and what he could mean by 'somewhere private' when theres not really a place we could go.

"I know a way we could be alone" A mischevious smirk grows on his face as I start to sense an idea and as he continues to shop like nothing ever happened a moment ago I try to gauge out any hints of what the idea could possibly consist of but damn he’s hard to read.

| - 🍂 - |

We all finished shopping and as we were checking out it started to get slightly dark outside, creating a slight dark atmosphere when we all reunited in the car and drove away from the stores parking lot and back to Larray’s house to film the remainder of the video now and I still don’t know what Matt’s plan is.

All of us get into the car into the same seats we’ve been in before, I lean over closer to Matt’s ear as my words graze the shell of it when I speak in a soft whisper so the others can’t hear me as they all chat.

“So, are you gonna tell me your master plan or keep me in the dark?” I notice a shiver run down his spine as I whispered into his ear which caused a small smirk to faintly outline my lips.

“Just follow my lead” He whispers back and turns his head to the group, getting their attention with a simple raised ‘hey’. All of their heads turning towards us in the back.

“What is it Matt?” Chris is the first one to speak in a curious tone, tilting his head to the side in question

“I think I forgot to take something out of my car, I’ll be right back” He says and starts to head out of the car, silently signaling for me to do the same with a head not.

I scramble out of the backseat as well and stand next to Matt as he grabs the handle of the car door and closes it, grabbing ahold of my arm he leads me to his car that’s not far away from where the others are.

“Are you sure about-“ Before the full sentence could leave my mouth, I was already being pinned against the side of the car and his lips smashes on mine kissing me with hunger and dominance.

I melt into the kiss, attempting to match his rhythm as well as I could. His hands attach to my body, wandering up and down my sides and squeezing my hips.

His hands hesitantly detach from my side as we pull away from each other, his hand going to open the door leading to the backseat of the car, practically pushing me inside.

We continue or makeout session in the backseat of his car, him laying my body down as he crawls on top of me. His hand snakes down between my legs and plays with the waist band of my jeans.

A soft bite is delivered to my bottom lip which makes a soft whimper escape my mouth and transfer into his.

Deciding to tease him back I bump up my leg, circling my knee around his clothed dick and giggling at the noises leaving past his lips.

He pulls away from me and leans closer into my ear, hot labored pants puff against the shell of my ear as he speaks in a seductive whisper.

“Whatcha doing there, hm? You want something?” The words send a shiver down my spine as I take a deep breath to try and suppress the growing burn between my legs.

“Mhm” I hum out, words refusing to leave my mouth in any shape or form as heavy breathing fills the cars space around us.

Thinking he’s had his fun already, let me take control now. I push him forward and against the door of the car, making my way on top of him and grazing my hand against the bulge in his jeans.

“You’re planning something, princess. And I’m not complaining” Those are the last words I needed to hear from him before unzipping his jeans and hooking my fingers into the waistband of his jeans as well as his boxers.

I pull them down in one swift move, freeing his growing erection to my eyes. Bringing my mouth close to the tip I wrap my lips on it, swirling my tongue around the sensitive head before going down and slowly bobbing my head up and down.

His head falls back against the window of the car door, whimpers and small praises fall from his lips as his hand crawls up to my hair and creates a ponytail.

“Just like that… oh fuck” He moans out, dragging out the last words. Sharp inhales and exhales fill the air as I slowly increase my pace, wrapping my hand around the base of his dick when I try to fit him all in my mouth.

“You can do it, princess… let me help you” With that said, he pushes my head down causing me to gag as the vibration shoots up and makes a juicy moan come past his mouth.

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day”

That’s my sign to go faster, stopping at the top and swirling my tongue around his sensitive head to tease him further.

With a moan ripping from him and one more bob of my head, he pushes my head down to take all of him in my mouth as he shoots his salty seed down my throat.

Some of it escaping through the corner of my mouth I lift my head up and Matts hand places itself on my cheek as his thumb wipes off the escaping seed and pushes back into my mouth.

“That’s a good princess” He praises as I swallow, my hands attach to his pants and pull them back up along with his boxers.

“Let’s go before the guys come looking-“ My sentence gets cut off by a knock on the car window, Matt moves away from it as the door opens revealing Chris on the other side.

“Dude, what the fuck are you guys doing in here so long?” Chris exclaims questionably and then he gets an idea of what we could have possibly done.

“None of your business, let’s go back to the video now.” Matt answers and steps out of the car and I follow close behind him, Chris decided to question him later and just shuts up for now.

All of us walk back to the car and return to the video like nothing ever happened.

authors note: this took wayyy longer than it supposed to be, I took some of the quotes from the video as I was re-watching it and writing this at the same time so just a little touch to it and I hope you guys enjoyed!

Guestlist!

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[feverinfeveroutfic]

Paradise | kinktober 2024 | “rhubarb pie”

prompt: spanking

pairing: alex/one of my many girls

word count: 3483

song: “custard pie” by led zeppelin

contains: hawai’i, alex bearing some skin, drinking, flirting, said spanking, handjobs

The Hawaiian breeze was warm and damp, and yet the sun proved to be rather cool on his shoulders. The waves gently lapped at the shoreline right before his bare feet. He kept his silk shirt wide open just to feel the ocean air and the gentle sunshine on his bare chest and his belly: it all felt so good on his skin, as if he was being caressed down by the tropics, and he thought about picking up a piña colada from the bar up the beach from there just to relish in the fact that he was there.

It was his first time in Kaua’i, and he awaited those two girls in particular on their flight back from New York City. He had gone ahead and decided to make himself comfortable there on the beach, and to simply await them. Jay had called him whilst in the hotel room, and he vowed to be down on the warm black volcanic sands by the time the plane flew in over the Pacific waters. The sound of her voice was enough to make him roam about the beach with his shirt open and his hair free down around his shoulders. He hadn’t dipped his body into those warm blue waters, but for a moment, he swore he was a merman.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and then down his chest and stomach, and he thought about those girls loving his body in the way that they did.

To miss them as if they had been in a relationship with him.

It was a relationship, albeit one that he never really expected before.

He turned his attention to the bungalow up the beach, the place with the bar tucked inside and under the thatched straw roof.

When in Rome, after all.

His bare feet on the sand, and he padded on over to the bar to fetch himself a piña colada inside of one of those smooth, pallid coconuts and maybe a bite of mango to go along with it.

The only other people at the bar was the dark-skinned bartender with his hair slicked back into a snug ponytail at the back of his head and a blonde woman donned in a small red and white bikini, and he had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him he was about to find himself in a thick spiderweb of trouble here. But he was thirsty, and he wanted to be outside by the time he spotted the plane flying in over the ocean. 

A flight from New York followed by a transfer from Los Angeles at around high noon; and he realized that he was about to be drinking while it was still the morning hours.

He slid in the wicker stool there at the bar next to the woman in the bikini. He eyed the way that her hair rested upon the crown of her head in a snug albeit slightly messy bun: he noticed the tattoo of a seashell on the side of her neck as well as the tattoo what appeared to be a pinup girl on the side of her ribs, and he tugged at the sleeve of his silk shirt as if to show off the skull tattoo on his right arm, but the silk wanted to cover him up, especially since the wind was blowing over him.

She glanced over at him with her cat-eye sunglasses over her face, to which she lowered them down the bridge of her nose a bit to peek at him. He nodded and flashed his eyebrows at her, to which she followed it up with a puckering of her lips at him. Those lips as smooth and silken in appearance as the skin of a cherry. Those eyes that burned into his mind like the cherries at the end of cigarettes.

The bartender came over to him to ask him what he would like.

“A piña colada and a bowl of sliced mango, please,” he replied, and she raised her eyebrows at him. Once he was alone there at the bar, she strolled on over to him with a quick adjustment of her bikini top.

“Some sliced mango, eh?” she began with him as part of her greeting.

“Sometimes you just feel like having some ripe fruit straight from the tree,” he told her, and he tried to make his voice sound as normal as possible lest she get the wrong impression from him. He knew that his voice grew husky and rich whenever he was turned on.

“Would you rather climb the tree or take the ones from the lowest branch?” she asked.

“Oh, climb the tree, without question. But sometimes you never know. You just might find something sweet and decadent at the bottom.” He hooded his eyes at her, and he couldn’t resist showing her the grin full of his crooked teeth at her. She licked her lips and leaned back a little bit just so he could see her willowy body. She lacked the full curves of Jay’s body and the scars on Q’s body, but he was more than willing to look at her, however. It was a woman in a bikini and he was a boy in Hawai’i.

“I’m Michelle,” she said in a breathy whisper of a voice, so breathy that it sounded as though it came in on the ocean winds.

“Call me Tevye,” was all he could muster to her. He dared not tell her his real name as he knew the plane from L.A. could be flying in at any given moment.

He needn’t be a greedy boy. But he was feeling it irregardless of anything else.

“What kind of name is that?” she asked him with a sly smirk.

“It’s my porn star name,” he quipped with a toss of his black hair back over his shoulder.

“You’re a porn star, really?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Trying to be, anyway,” he assured her. “Guitar hero by day, porn star by night.”

“Guitar hero, really.” She leaned in closer to him to show off her bare chest to him.

“Yes, I am,” he replied with the unmissable feeling of pride to his words. The bartender returned to him with the coconut cup filled with the piña colada in all its creamy white glory and garnished with a full, ripe red cherry and the slice of fresh pineapple both on the side, as well as the small bowl full of sliced mango, as golden yellow as the Hawaiian sunshine itself. He thanked the guy and popped a bite of mango into his mouth.

“You have those long fingers,” she noted. “They look like they play guitar.”

“And you would be correct,” he assured her as he held a bite of mango up to his mouth. Beyond her, he noticed a jet airliner soaring through the air towards Honolulu way over on the crest of neighboring Oahu. He knew that they would have to take a seaplane over to Kaua’i before they caught him in the act of flirting with this one woman before him. He handed her the bite of mango, which she took for herself and cradled in the tips of her fingers. She held it before her cherry lips as if to take a bite, and yet she never did for a second.

It took him a moment to realize that she was undressing him with her eyes.

“That’s a good mango, by the way,” he told her, and he could feel his voice slipping into that silken tone.

She slipped the mango into her mouth ever so slowly, and she never lifted her gaze from him for a second.

Maybe it was worth a little bit of fun, a little bit of vitamins for a morning. Maybe it was just what the doctor ordered, and more so when he held the end of the straw up to his own sensual lips. He took a sip when she rested her one hand on his knee. He raised his eyebrows at her.

“It’s nice seeing a big, sexy man with long beautiful hair on the beach,” she told him in a low voice, and she leaned over his body all so he could see her chest and down the bikini top.

“I try to be as much of a beach bum as I can be,” he assured her with a shrug and a balancing of the straw against the tip of his tongue.

“I wish you had your guitar here with you, cowboy,” she continued.

“I wish I did, too,” he said. “I’d serenade you à la Elvis in Blue Hawai’i.”

“Michelle!” a man’s voice shot over the sand like a missile, and his heart sank at the sound.

“Oh, no,” she groaned, and she pulled away from him in exasperation.

“Oh, dear,” he muttered, and he took his drink and bowl of mango with him as he stepped away from the bar and away from her. He would have to wait for those girls on the other side of the island, especially when their plane may have just flown in right then.

It was difficult to walk across that volcanic sand barefoot with the piña colada in one hand and the bowl of diced mango in the other back to the main trail to the seaport, but he somehow managed to do it. He never looked back as Michelle was receiving an earful from her husband back there at the bungalow.

He also vowed to take the bowl back there once he was done with the mango. But then, when he began to walk along the trail through the trees, under the palm fronds and the glints of late morning sunshine, past a stump from a tree that was once standing, he knew that those two girls would especially love to have some for themselves, especially Jay as she was the one who had brought them to Hawai’i in the first place.

It was a little bit of a walk to the port to await the seaplane, but he saw it coming towards the island, a small elongated blotch against the grayed tapestry of the morning sky that grew larger as he came on closer and more so when it began its descent toward the shoreline.

He stood in place by the pier, still with the drink in hand and the bowl of mango cubes right before his stomach. Another slight gust of wind came up before him, and that time, he could feel the humidity and heat of the day upon him. The plane circled the port before landing down way out on the water in one last splash.

It taxied before him, and all the while, he took a sip of his piña colada, and he tucked the bowl upon his arm, and he tucked it right under the front pocket of his shirt. The plane rolled up to the pier before him, and he was soon greeted by Jay, dressed in a short-sleeved white leather jacket and a little bright peacock blue miniskirt, and Q, dressed in a royal blue low-cut top and a matching filmy skirt wrapped around her legs. 

He greeted them with a little smile and open arms, even if his hands were full. They meanwhile greeted him with kisses in either side of his neck and caresses down his bare chest.

“Oh, what a good boy, waiting for us,” Q declared as they began walking back to the trail through the trees. He offered them some of the mango, and they gladly took some cubes for themselves.

“How was the flight?” he asked them.

“Kind of fun, actually,” Jay replied.

“Yeah, it was miles and miles of water!” Q decreed.

“We were playing a game of ‘who would be the biggest mermaid’,” Jay continued. “It was like a fantasy game fused with hangman and Pictionary.”

“We should do it back at the room,” he suggested.

“Absolutely,” Jay replied. “Now how are you liking Kaua’i?”

“Oh, I love it here,” he said. “I kind of don’t want to leave here.”

“Start a new life in Hawai’i, that is a dream,” Q agreed as she took another cube of mango. They fell into momentary silence, and then he recognized the stump from the walk to the port. He figured that he may as well tell them the truth, especially should they run into Michelle all together.

“I need to tell you girls,” he began. “While I was waiting for you to fly in, I kinda… sorta… hit on another woman at the bar where I got my drink and this bowl of mango.”

They gaped at him, and he recoiled back towards the trees, still with his hands full.

“You flirted with another girl?” Jay demanded, taken aback.

He bowed his head a little bit, to which he followed it up with a hunching of his shoulders to seem rather coy. Jay unzipped her leather jacket to show off more of her chest to him, and she pressed her hands to her hips so the edges of the jacket moved back along the full crests of her breasts. He lowered his gaze to see the very rims of her nipples peeking out at him, and he swallowed at the sight of them.

It was going to be punishment for being such a bad boy.

“Though, if I’m honest,” he quipped again, “she came onto me. She was trying to get away from her jerk of a husband and I was trying to keep it cool and whatnot. She touched me where I did nothing.”

Despite his pithy blubbering, Jay picked up the palm frond there from the ground for a fanning right over the side of her face. It was particularly cool under that palm tree, so he knew that any kiss of cooler air from the ocean would make her nipples point, and more so underneath the leather of her jacket. He swallowed again, a hard swallow when he faced her chest and the way that her nipples poked out. He was so close to her chest, and he could feel himself rising, and such that he could feel his shorts tightening up.

“Oh, you naughty, naughty little boy,” she told him in a husky whispery voice, and all the while, she shook her head at him. “Tevye, you bad, bad boy.”

“I’m going to get punished for this, aren’t I?” His voice cracked from the feeling within him. The two of them glanced at one another with mischievous smiles on their faces.

“We should take turns taking him over our knee, Jay,” Q suggested, and Jay rubbed her hands together at the opportunity; he couldn’t help but look down at her chest right before his face.

“Allow me.”

With a swaying of her hips, Jay stepped on over to the same stump that he had walked on past before then. She took her seat there, and she unzipped her jacket a little more; indeed, he was growing a bit too warm just looking at her there, such that the piña colada and the mango proved to not have cooled him off all that much before then. She reached up and adjusted the ponytail on the back of her head; all the while, it looked as though her breasts were about to spill clean out of the leather. He licked his lips and gingerly inched on over to her; he leaned back when he could feel Q’s hand on his lower back as she nudged him closer toward Jay and her open legs.

It was bad enough that Michelle had gotten him riled up in the first place, and more so when the three of them indulged in the mango as well as the slice of pineapple from the rim of his cup. But now he was going to get it.

“Come here, big boy—”

Q nearly pushed him onto Jay’s lap, and she held him under the side of her arm all to pin him down onto her lap. She ran her fingertips down the curvature of his back towards the waistband of his shorts. Tendrils of his hair fluttered around his head and the side of his face. He couldn’t see what she was doing, but he could feel her tugging down his shorts, and he could feel her hand on his bare ass.

Gently, she caressed the full curve of his ass and the backs of his thighs with nothing more than her fingertips. A gentle massage first before she brought her open hand down on him.

He gasped from the sharp snap of pain on his flesh.

Her hand down on him again.

The pain was sharp and quick, but enough to make his heart pound and his legs shoot out from under him. He breathed harder as she struck his ass a third time, a fourth time, a fifth time.

After the sixth time, she gently and lovingly patted him right where she had struck him.

Out of breath, he picked himself off her lap and looked on at her with his mouth agape. She grinned at him with a twinkle in her eye.

He was out of breath, but he knew that he wasn’t out of the woods as of yet when she stood from the top of the stump and Q took her place there. She held him down onto her lap, and just like before, she lightly caressed his ass with nothing more than her fingertips. She fanned out her fingers over his ass.

He let out a low whistle in anticipation.

He closed his eyes and expected it.

But it didn’t come.

He opened his eyes and thought about looking back at her when her hand came down on him. She didn’t interchange as much between gentleness and power as Jay, but the way her hand did the trick made him yearn for it more.

She struck him a second time. A third time.

On the fourth time, he coughed and shuddered from the sensation they were giving him. He knew his ass was about to be as raw as a steak by the time they were done.

Q struck him another two times before they switched spots again, and Jay treated him to a slight tickling on the other side of his ass.

Six times again.

Q traded places again, and that time she hesitated for a bit longer than before. He glanced back at her, only to see the bow of her elbow right in front of his face. Her elbow as well as the top of the surgical scar on her stomach, right over her hip, right in front of his face.

She struck him hard that time, and he let out a low moan from the very back of his lungs and throat.

It hurt but it felt so good at the same time, however. Two girls were spanking him for being such a bad boy, and yet he was relishing in every part of it. Q struck his ass a fifth time, and he burst out laughing.

A sixth time, and he picked himself up from her lap: his shorts dangled down around the back, but he tugged at the front part. He had set down his piña colada and bowl of mango on a neighboring stump, but he knew he wasn’t done yet.

“I’m redder than freshly cooked rhubarb,” he muttered in a broken voice, but then he adjusted the front of his shorts. “Feel me, though.”

Jay put her fingers around his crotch, and Q followed suit.

“My goodness,” the former remarked.

“Yeah,” he said with a chuckle. “That got me going so much. But I doubt we can have a round on the beach, though.”

But then Q reached down inside of his shorts with one hand. “You sure about that, big fella?” she teased him, and he could feel her fingers down upon his length. He held still as she wriggled her fingers around on the head and the hole there, but not for long when he could feel his knees turning to jelly.

They weren’t having a round on the beach, but he wasn’t going to let it go, however.

His body shuddered and shook as he collapsed onto the trail in a sore but euphoric mess. Q let go of him right as he leaned against the stump holding his drink and the mango; the two of them stooped down on either side of him for a kiss, and then they helped him up to his feet.

He hitched up his shorts, and he knew his ass was going to be sore for the entire day.

And there was no way he could ever let Michelle give that feeling onto him that they gave to him.

[josiebelladonna]

paraselenae | rings of saturn

pairing: alex skolnick x fem!ocs (love is not enough)

genre: hardcore erotica

fandoms: testament

*18+ only; minors dni*

Warnings: erotic photos

*Please note that you are responsible for your own media consumption. I came here to write and relax, not police you.*

Summary: a sorta sequel to mirage and era vulgaris as erotica can be a means of healing, you know~

Word count: 3263

He ran his fingers through his black curls. He could still feel Jay’s body upon him with her full control over him. The pain was still fresh in his thighs as well as his chest, and said chest pain didn’t emanate from his nipples, either. He still had a long way left to go, a long road to hoe ahead of him. 

It was the start of something new, something fresh, and albeit with those two girls on either side of him as well. He didn’t need a girlfriend, even though it was nice to have one: but these two girls could give him what he wanted without the strings behind it all. Moreover, he could give them what they wanted as well, either at the same time or together. It all worked out in a way, and one that he was unwilling to share with the other woman. 

The pain was still fresh and he still needed time to make sense of it. 

There had to be a way around it as he found himself in one of those shops with all the cameras and all the blank rolls of film that he could ever possibly imagine. The way out of it was through it all, and Jay had him started with the whole process of healing. 

He gazed on at the row of cameras up on the shelf above his head, several of which were a thick jet-black like the helmet of curls upon his head. And yet, neither one of them spoke to him. 

If only there was a way to exorcise all the ghosts from his heart and soul. If only there was a way to lick his wounds all the way and to find peace of mind for himself without having to rely on the pleasures of the flesh to do it. He still wanted the feeling within him, but he knew that he could stand on his own if he took the plunge. The way he could bleed for himself was by way of artistry of some kind, and not necessarily through his music as well. 

There was a little red camera right at the end of the row, which caught his eye. That rich dark red wine color that reminded him of their lipsticks, to which he ran his tongue along his lips and he imagined the flavor of their skin upon his own. He knew that that would the one, and thus, he swiped a few rolls of film for himself as well as a tripod. It was one of those things that wormed its way through his mind to the point of obsession, and he thought about writing it down first before he did anything else: as a result, he picked up a little pad of paper and a cheap little pencil for about a buck combined. 

It wasn’t the full-fledged set of photography, and he had what he had on hand. Something to help him heal and feel things pure and true to his own heart. 

It helped matters that the pad of paper and the pencil were both pearlescent white to complement the dark red color of the camera. As if he was about to bleed out. 

The two girls were back at the room, and he thought about asking them back to his hotel room instead to do a few photos, and maybe have the wheels in motion in his path of healing. His chest still ached, and when he walked along the sidewalk to their hotel, he could feel the slender stripe of pain in his upper thighs. 

They were eager to let him back into their dual room for the morning, but before one of them could offer him a cup of coffee, he set his parcel down on the foot of the bed closest to the window. A fine line of sunlight filtered through the space between the blinds and the side of the window, but it was enough for them to see it there on the covers. 

“What’s all this?” Q asked him as she ran a brush through her hair. 

He unraveled the brown paper off the camera, and he took the protective black lid off the lens. 

“Let me photograph you both,” he whispered. 

Jay and Q glanced at one another with their mouths agape. 

“I need to take both of your picture,” he explained. “I need you both in photographic form—not just for myself but for the two of you. I need you both, and I know that the two of you need me. The three of us, we’re fucked up—but there’s so much beauty in that part. Let me see you both—and I'll show you more of me.” 

Q set her brush down on the table next to the TV, and her gaze never left the shape of his face. Jay held still on the other side of the room as she took off her glasses and shook her hair about with a gyration of her head. He watched her, in particular the way that her mesh top hugged the shape of her body: it took her a second to realize that she wasn’t wearing a bra underneath that top, either, even with the fact that she wore a top filled with tiny holes. 

She peeled off her top from the hem upwards and held it out before her as if she beheld a kerchief to him. He gaped at the sight of her; he then flashed a glimpse over at Jay, who raised an eyebrow at him as if she knew where all this was going. He returned to Q, who bore her bare breasts to him. 

“Have at it, big boy,” she declared with a flick of her head back. 

He parted his lips and let out a low whistle. He then opened the back of the camera and tucked a fresh roll of film into there. He pressed the power button and the red light next to the screen flickered on. He held before his face in time for Q to put her hands upon her head and push her hair atop the crown: all the while, she bore her breasts and her stomach in full form to him. 

“God, you’re like Marilyn Monroe,” he noted. “With your fine hair and your slender little body.” 

“A couple of bunnies here with ya, baby boy,” Jay teased him. Q puckered her lips at him and he took his first photograph. He examined the shot through the small square screen there before him, and he hoped that they all would come out well enough. 

He dropped down to one knee for another photo of her, that time with her arms up on her head and her hips cocked a bit. 

“Are you wearing thigh-highs, Q?” he asked her. 

“As a matter of fact, I am!” she said, and she lunged for the blinds and pulled on the chain there at the side. More sunlight washed into the room, and her breasts appeared brighter and milkier than before: indeed, she wore black leggings that only extended to her knees and thigh-high black leather boots with high heels. He glanced to his right to find Jay with her robe untied, to which she let it drop onto the foot of her bed: where Q wore nothing but small black leggings and those boots, Jay had on black low-rise leather pants and a black lace bra underneath there. 

“Couple of dark bunnies,” he remarked as he turned his attention to Jay and ran his fingers through his black curls yet again. 

“Think: Marilyn and Bettie Page,” Q followed along as she rested her hands upon her bare nipples. Jay pressed her hands to her hips and stooped forward so he had a full view of her chest as well as most of her breasts. It was right then he realized Jay was the chestier of the two: her breasts hung down inside that fine black lace and they nearly obscured the view of her lower belly and her upper thighs. He had a shot full of Jay’s neck and chest, accentuated by the soft pale sunlight that flooded in through the window. 

“Shall we share our cabooses?” Q offered. 

“Oh, please do!” he proclaimed. The two of them lunged for each other, and turned around and stooped over: the black made their hips seem fuller and rounder than usual, and they peered over their shoulders at him. He then showed them a playful little smirk as he held the camera up to his face for a couple of shots. 

“Let’s show him how we do things on the stage and the street,” Jay declared, and she peeled off her pants. He took the shot right as she did it; Q peeled off the leggings and he took another shot as well. They both turned to the side a bit to show him the shapes of their asses, and then very slowly, they ran their hands up the bare skin as if they were grabbing themselves. 

He fanned himself with a wave of his hand, and then he took a few more of them in action. The light from the window proved to be just the right amount for him. 

Jay stood before him with her breasts pointed out for a moment, and then she reached behind her and unhooked her bra. The camera snapped more as the bra slid down her shoulders and off her arms, and she beheld her large breasts to him, complete with those dark taut nipples. 

She held her arms out on either side of her, and she shook her chest about for him. 

He lunged for her with his tongue out a bit, but she swatted at his hand and wagged her finger at him. 

“Don’t you dare,” she teased him. 

“What’s this paper over here?” Q asked right then. 

“I want to be able to make something erotic and with a plotline of sorts,” he replied to her as he ran his fingers through his black hair yet again. “Something to help me heal—well, I should say, all three of us.” 

“Oh?” Jay put her arms upon her head and bore her bare breasts to him. 

“Yeah. I just think of that exorcism session you did for me, Jay. I want to be able to expand on that.” 

“Well, if you’re going to do that, then we should have a say in it as well,” she pointed out with a slight flash of her eyebrows. 

“Of course!” he said; she had her back to the window so he could take a nice silhouette photo of her with her arms upon her head. The shape of her breasts combined with the hourglass shape of her body only made him want to touch her even more. Behind her, he saw Q lounged over the foot of the bed, and the sunlight washed over the little dip in her back that was her spine. She propped her chin up in the palm of her hand as if she was properly posing for him: he pointed the camera towards her for a quick one. 

And it was right then a red stripe emerged in the small square on the back of the camera. 

“Outta film,” he told them as he stood to his feet. “Damn, that was quick.” 

“Do you have more?” Jay asked him. 

“Absolutely.” 

“Let us photograph you as well,” Q beckoned him. 

“Yeah, you have such a beautiful body,” Jay joined in. “You’re a sweet guy and you have the physical look to add to it, too.” 

“You know, she totally means that,” Q insisted with a flash of a wink to him. She stood to her feet and picked up the pad of paper from the foot of the bed, and she found the next fresh roll of film. She tossed it over to him as he took the full roll of film out of the back and put in the new one. 

“Gonna need one of those little cylinders when we’re done here,” he noted as he latched the back of the camera. Very carefully, he handed the roll of film over to Jay, who then set it on the end, over on the desk and underneath the lamp for safekeeping. 

His hand shook as he handed it over to Jay, who had pulled up her leather pants but kept her breasts exposed for him. Q lingered back and watched her from right behind her shoulder. 

He turned his attention to the window and squinted his eyes at the pale light that flooded into the room. He closed his eyes and focused on his own breathing. 

Her memory remained with him: the feel of her body and the aroma on her hair that only made his stomach turn to the side. Though she was gone at that point, he could never forget her, even with all that they had done for him so far. He wanted to forget her even with the scars on his mind and his heart. 

She could never love his body the way the two of them have done so for him. 

She could never cherish him the way the two of them have done so for him. 

She could never be the two of them, no matter what she did, no matter what she wanted to do for him even if their paths cross a second time in the future. 

He turned his head away from the window, and he could smell their perfume combined together. The smell of Jay’s cherry blossom perfume wrapped around her bust fused with the soft spicy scent on Q’s neck and wrists. A smell he never knew that he wanted until he picked it up for himself. 

The brand-new smell of home. 

He peeled off his shirt and showed off his slender little body to them, starting with his slightly broad chest and slender, smooth shoulders. He ran his hand down his chest to his slim belly and the ever so slight curve to his waist. He opened his eyes and shook his head about to tousle his hair: stray black locks spilled over his shoulders. He parted his lips and let out a soft moan for the two of them, and he tilted his head back to show them the center of his neck: the light from outside only accentuated every curl on his head, every shape and contour of his body, every root of gray hair that made up the plume at the right side of his head, even if that side faced away from the window. He was bathed in natural light, and his skin was soft even upon first glimpse. 

“Utterly gorgeous,” Jay breathed out as she scooped up the camera and held it up to her face. She crouched down by his right side so the camera pointed up to his body from down by his knees: he took a glimpse down at her right as she took a third shot, and the sunlight through the window washed over the side of his face and his neck in such a way that softened the look of his already-smooth skin. 

“So very gorgeous,” Q added with a hand clasped to her chest. 

“Isn’t he beautiful?” Jay told her as she scuttled around for a shot of him from behind. 

“He is! He really is!” 

He cracked them a smile and bowed his head from their kind words. He also put his hands up on his head and cocked out his hip to accentuate the shape of his body. 

“He’s almost delicate,” Jay noted. “You don’t really think of boys as being delicate and light.” 

He brought his left hand down to his chest, and then down towards his belly button. He gazed on at Q right there on the other side of the room, who then fanned herself with her hand. 

“Phew, that’s sexy, baby.” 

Jay stood up to her feet and stood before him with the camera turned oblong for a full body shot of him. 

“Hotter than the hottest day in Death Valley,” she declared. “Makes me think of the word ‘torrid.’” 

“Women don’t have a version of Hustler but this would work perfectly, though,” he joked, and the two of them burst out laughing. But he raised his eyebrows at that, and the smirk on his face only grew as well. 

He then reached down and unzipped his pants. He let them fall down his legs to his ankles, and he cocked out his hips some more for Jay. 

“Damn, I wanna take some shots,” Q remarked, and without hesitation, Jay handed her the camera. He knitted his knees together and held one hand up to his right nipple as if he was the Venus de Milo. 

“Just beautiful,” Jay breathed out with a slight shake of her head. She squatted down next to Q so they could both have the same view of him. 

He nibbled on his bottom lip. There was only one time she ever saw him naked and she seemed uncomfortable with the whole entire gesture. He swore that he would never do it for her again. 

She not only behaved in an ugly manner for him, but she made him feel so ugly as well. 

He breathed in deep and dropped his underwear for them. 

“There he is,” Jay said, triumphant. 

“Oh, my,” Q breathed out as she took a full frontal shot of him. He turned to the side a bit and rested a hand on his left hip. 

Something came over him as he took his spot there at the foot of the bed and opened his legs. 

“Oh, yeah, come to Mama,” Q said with another shot of him. He leaned back onto his hands and bowed his head. It opened something up in him, and more so as he leaned forward and puckered his lips to the camera lens. 

He then crossed his right leg over the left to accentuate his hips as well as the backs of his thighs. He leaned back on his elbow and ran his fingers through his hair. 

“So hot,” Jay remarked as Q took more shots of him. “So fucking hot.” 

“’Torrid’ as you said, my love,” he said in the huskiest voice yet. 

Another snap and Q held the camera before her face. 

“And that’s a wrap,” she declared, and she flashed him a grin as he sat up on the bed, still with his right leg crossed over his knee. 

“Not a soul knows about these,” he told them as he gave his hair another shake. “Not a soul one.” 

“What’re you going to do with them exactly?” Jay asked him, and she knelt down before him so her bare breasts and tight dark nipples were both right in his face. “I mean, you’ve said what you have in mind, but I just wonder how all these photos are going to fit in with the whole thing.” 

“What do you want me to do with them?” he teased her with a sly smirk on his face. 

“Show Captain Howdy you mean business,” she told him in a breathy voice, and she flashed him a wink. 

He raised his attention to Q, who nodded her head at him with a knowing look on her face. He squinted his eyes at her and then at Jay. 

“I made a good choice with you girls,” he proclaimed in a low, husky voice. 

[starry-bi-sky]

Stuck in the middle of a forest made of

Flesh and bones and they're all scared of

A lost little boy who has lost his heart

Fear's not enough, they have to

Tear him apart —-------

There are two things Daniel Fenton knows that his family knows as well: 

He’s adopted.

He can’t remember anything else before that.  

‘Adoption’ is a loose term, implying that they went through the official legal processes and troubles of adopting a child into their home willingly, and with the full intention of doing so going into it. That is not what happened. What happened is that Jasmine Fenton found a half-dead child, in strange clothing, in the middle of the woods at her Aunt Alicia’s cabin, and then she went and got her parents. 

What happened is that a twelve year old Danny woke up in the same cabin, wearing clothes much too big on him that didn’t belong to him, and with very little memory of before that moment. He wakes up like a spring being set loose, sitting up so fast he scares the daylights out of Jasmine Fenton sitting next to him. He wakes up, reaching for his sleeve for something that isn’t there, and when it isn’t his mind stutters, like he’s tripped at the top of a steep hill. 

When they ask him for his name, he tells them, clearing muddled thoughts from his mind; Danny. He’s twelve.

(He thinks that’s his name, at least. It sounds right; it feels right. If he thinks really hard about it, he thinks he can remember someone calling him that, utter adoration in their voice. So it must be his name.) 

The Jasmine girl convinces her parents to take him home with them, and they give him the spare guest room upstairs. He has nothing to fill it with.

It’s… a strange experience, to go to a ‘new’ home when he doesn’t even remember his old one. 

The official adoption process… happens. He can’t say it’s easy, or difficult. He’s oblivious for the most of it, Jasmine intends on helping him settle in and Danny can’t say he enjoys the smothering. He learns that he is stubbornly self-independent, that’s one new thing he knows about himself. 

His adoption papers say ‘Daniel J. Fenton’. Danny remembers staring at the name ‘Daniel’ for a long, long moment, something curdling sour in his sternum. His name is Danny, that he knows. But it’s not Daniel. But he doesn’t know any other way of saying it, so he keeps his complaints to himself.

(Jack Fenton boisterously claps his hand on Danny’s shoulder and jerks him around, grinning wide as he welcomes him into the Fenton Family. Danny’s mind blanches at the touch on his shoulder, an instinct snapping like the maw of a snake, telling him to cut off the man’s fingers for daring to touch him.) 

(He keeps the thought to himself, tension rising up his shoulders the longer Jack Fenton’s heavy hand stays on him.) 

They found Danny in the summer. It’s a perfect coincidence, Maddie Fenton says before she goes back into her lab with Jack Fenton. She says it’s enough time to allow Danny to adjust; that they’ll enroll him into the school year in the fall. Then she stuffs a canister of ectoplasm onto the top shelf, and disappears like the ghosts she studies back down the stairs.  

(There’s something eerily familiar about the ectoplasm sitting in the fridge, something unsettlingly so. Danny knows what that stuff is, but he doesn’t know where. When the house is empty, he takes a can from the fridge and inspects it.)

Jazz wants him to leave the house. Danny doesn’t want to step foot outside of the FentonWorks building until he has something that quells the feeling of vulnerability he gets whenever he does. He tried to once, and he felt exposed. Unsafe. 

He turned back around and went inside.

—-------

Where do we go

When the river's running slow

Where do we run

When the cats kill one by one

—------

One day, when the house is empty — or, as empty as it can be; the Fenton parents down in the lab, and jazz out with friends. Danny is making a sandwich, and he caves into the urge to flip the knife in his hands between his fingers. A childish impulse, but one he falls for nonetheless. It comes to him easily, like second nature, in fact. The slip of the blade between his fingers is seamless, flowing with an ease like water running down the wall.  

He’s almost startled by it; his body holds memories that his mind does not. Muscles that know which way to move and twist, limbs that know how to hold and how to throw. He continues twirling it, fascinated, as if he were a scientist discovering a new species of animal. 

It’s not for a handful of minutes when a new thought hits him; an impulsive thought that pops in the back of his mind like a firecracker; Danny moves without thinking. 

He turns, and throws the knife. The pull of his shoulder, the flick of his elbow, is familiar like a hug. He knows when to let go, and the blade flies through the air in impressive speed, embedding itself into the wall with a hearty, loud thunk. Sinking into the drywall like butter. 

Danny stares at it in shock, he feels relieved — about what? — before he feels the guilt. He scrambles across the kitchen to pull it out, heart racing in his chest at being caught, and prays no one notices the hole it left behind. 

(He runs up the stairs before anyone can find him, food forgotten, and hides the knife beneath his mattress like a guilty murder weapon.)

After that, he leaves the house more. It’s more out of fear of being caught than the desire to leave. But Danny is quickly learning that among all things, he is someone who was dangerous, before he lost his memory. Even with his mind in fractures, he is still dangerous. 

He’s not sure how to feel about that — he thinks he should be scared. He feels a little proud, instead.

—------

Hazel beneath our claws

While we wait for cerulean to cry

Unsettled ticks run through time

Enough for the hunt to go awry

—-----

There’s another thing he learns about himself. That he knows about since he woke up. He knows that he left someone behind. He doesn’t know who, but he knows they must have been close; he’s always looking down and finding himself surprised when the only shadow he sees is his own. 

He thinks that he must have sung to them a lot; he finds himself humming familiar melodies when he’s lost in thought. Lullabies lingering at the tip of his tongue, an instinct to turn and sing them to someone beside him. He can’t remember the lyrics, but his mouth does, it tries to get him to say them when he’s not thinking. He can’t. 

Danny’s found himself humming under his breath more times than he can count, trying to recall whatever it is his mind is trying to claw forward. 

(“That’s a pretty song, Danny.” Jazz tells him at breakfast one day, Danny screws his mouth shut. He hadn’t realized he was humming. “What is it?”) 

(Something mean and possessive rears its head on instinct, uncoiling like a snake from its ball. His shoulders hunch defensively, he bites his cheek to prevent himself from baring his teeth. He doesn’t know what song it is, but it’s not for her. “I don’t know.”)  

He misses his person. Dearly. He knows, the longer he is without them, that they must have been close. Otherwise, he wouldn’t feel like he’s missing a chunk from himself. He wouldn’t be turning to someone who's not there; reaching for a hand that’s missing, birdsong on his tongue, a story to tell. 

A dream haunts him one night. Warm and familiar, he’s holding onto someone smaller than him, they’re tucked into his side like a puzzle piece. He’s humming one of his songs that is always playing in the back of his mind, an unfinished tale of a harpy and a hare. Danny can’t remember their face, not all of it. He remembers green eyes, hair dark like his own, skin brown like his. 

He loves them more than anything else in the world, a fact he knows down to his soul. He loves them so much it fills his heart with sunlight. Danny squeezes them tight, nuzzling into their hair; he makes them laugh. Then, he proudly boasts something. That when he takes something of their father’s, that his person — a sibling? That feels right — will be… the word fades from Danny’s mind before he can make sense of it. 

His person hugs him tight, his… brother? And their mother — a woman whose face he can’t remember either, but who he loves like a limb nonetheless — appears, smiling. Her hands reach for them both, voice calling them, ‘her sons’. There’s ticking in the distance, it sounds like the fastening of chains.

Danny wakes up cold, tears streaming down his face. The details of the dream already fading from his mind like the cold pull of a corpse.   

—-------

Harpy hare

Where have you buried all your children?

Tell me so I say

—-------

When school starts that Fall, Danny joins the sixth grade class, and quickly learns more things about himself. One of those things being that he’s smarter than the rest of his grade, whatever education he had before, it was better than the one he’s getting now. 

Everyone knows he’s adopted right off the bat. He tells them when the teacher forces himself to introduce himself, but it’s not like they needed him to tell them for them to know; he never existed in their little world before now, and the Fentons are pale as they come. Danny is not.

He befriends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley; they ask him about the scars fading up and down his arms, they ask him about the scar carved diagonal across his face.

Danny, as politely as he can, tells them he doesn’t remember. He thought kindness would come second nature to him, his dream burned into his mind where he hugged his brother so sweetly. Apparently, his sweetness is only second nature to people he considers his own. 

(It becomes even more apparent when Dash Baxter tries to bully him later that day, and Danny ruffles like an eagle threatened. His mind whispers, hissy and agitated, sinking like a shadow at his shoulder, several different ways Danny could kill him for talking to him like that, and fifteen more ways he could cripple him.)

(Danny ignores those thoughts, up until Dash Baxter tries to grab him. Then he breaks his nose on the wood of his desk. It’s easy how quickly the rest of his grade sinks him down to the status of social pariah.)

(At least Sam and Tucker still talk to him after that. When Danny goes to the principal’s office later, he wisely doesn’t mention the worse things he could’ve done than break Dash Baxter’s nose.)  

—--------------

It clicks and it clatters in corners and borders

And they will never

Hear me here listen to croons and a calling

I'll tell them all the

Story, the sun, and the swallow, her sorrow

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare

—-------

More dreams come, of course they do. Each one halfway to forgotten whenever he wakes up, ticking faint in his ears. He is many different ages. He is young, shorter than a table. He is older, holding onto his little brother. He is singing in almost every single one. He is singing to his brother. 

Danny can barely remember the lyrics, he’s begun leaving a journal by his bedside so that it’s the first thing he can write down when he wakes up. He’s a storyteller, he learns. He feels like a historian, trying to piece together a culture long dead and forgotten. 

His most vivid dream-like memory is not a happy one, and for once he’s almost relieved he barely recalls it. He is somewhere that isn’t home, but his mother and brother are there. He is dressed in black, blades keen in his hands. 

They are atop a moving train. They are fleeing something. His brother is struggling to keep up, he is small, and young. It’s beautifully sunny, they are somewhere green and lovely. 

It is a fast dream. 

His brother stumbles on something, and Danny, fast as a whip, snatches him by the back of his shirt and hoists him up to his feet before he can fall. “Watch your feet, habibi.” He murmurs low, a hand on his back. It’s hard to hear, there is wind in their ears.

His brother, face obscured in all but his eyes, which are green as emeralds, nods. 

The dream blurs, but Danny falls behind. His foot catches on air — impossible, it should’ve been, at least. He never trips. — and he lands against the roof with a thud and a grunt. His mother and brother stop, and turn for him. 

The train hits a turn before Danny can get up, and he shouldn’t have, something pulls on him, he swears, but he slips. He can’t find the purchase to pull himself up, cold fear hits him as his nails scrape against the metal. 

His mother and brother’s horrified faces are the last thing he sees before he disappears off the side of the train. 

(The ticking is at its loudest when he wakes up, pounding against his inner skull. He only manages to write down ‘train fall’ in his journal, before he’s flipping over to press his head into his pillow to get the pain to stop.) 

—---  

She can't keep them all safe

They will die and be afraid

Mother, tell me so I say

(Mother, tell me so I say)

—-------

When Danny is fourteen he is still humming songs he can’t remember, his mind still in a broken puzzle. But his room is now decorated with stars and plants in every corner. He has a guitar he keeps in the corner of his room, and he plays the lullabies in his head on the strings over and over again. 

The ectoplasm in the fridge still unsettles him, still reminds him of a past he can’t recall. The knife beneath his mattress has returned to the kitchen — he doesn’t need it. He found a box in the attic last year, it had his name on it, and inside he found familiar, strange clothes, and more weapons than he thought was possible to carry on one person. 

(Even without knowing that the Fentons prefer guns to blades, Danny knows, instinctively, that they were his weapons. He was — was? Is — a dangerous person. He takes the box down to his room to sort through. The weapons all fit into his callused hands almost perfectly — the grooves worn to fit his palm. They’re just a little small.) 

(He tentatively takes a small blade with him to school one day, and feels much more comfortable with it sheathed beneath his shirt. He’s kept it on him ever since, like he’s reunited a lost limb to himself.)   

Danny doesn’t have a name for his person, his little brother, nor does he have a name for his beloved mother. He’s haunted by dreams every few weeks, many of them repeating. He’s ingrained the words he can remember to memory, and the ones he doesn’t, he writes down in his journal. His little brother; Danny calls him a bird, he can’t figure out what kind. His little bird of some kind; when Danny takes something from their father — what, he can’t remember what — then his little brother will be a little bird. 

(He doesn’t have a name for his brother, yet, but he’s calling his birdie in his head. It’s better than nothing.)

—------

Seeker, do you ever come to wonder

If what you're looking for is within where you hold

Will you leave a trail for them to follow a path

You'll soon forget

Home

—---------

When he’s fourteen, Danny dies. It does nothing to fix his fractured memories, much to his consternation. It just confirms something he already knows; that he was someone dangerous, and that he still is. 

When the shock of death has worn off, Danny inspects his ghost in the metal reflection of the closest table. It’s blurry, hard to see, but shock green eyes pierce back at him, green like the portal. Lazarus, Danny’s mind whispers, and he blinks rapidly.

‘Lazarus,’ he mouths to himself. It’s familiar. Sam shows him with her phone what he looks like, joking that he looks like an assassin. Danny doesn’t think she’s that too far off. 

He doesn’t tell her that. He tucks the thought away with the rest of his secrets, and fiddles with the hood gathering at his neck, attached to a cape with torn edges swinging down to his ankles. He pulls it over his shock white hair. It shadows over his face impossibly so, until all you can see are his green-green eyes peering out like a wolf hiding in the brush.

He ends up calling himself Phantom. 

(Maybe now he can start putting lyrics to his lullabies; his memories may not have returned, locked away with the sound of a clock, but the dead can talk. One of them may just have answers.) 

----------

Home is where we are

Home is where you are

Home is where I am

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

Dedicated to @gascansposts for being the one who introduced me to the band Yaelokre, and thus being the whole reason I was inspired to write this in the first place >:] Those lyrics at the line breaks are all from their album Hayfields.

[ghooostea]

chilchuck and laios are my babies, I love them they're neat (˃̣̣̥ᯅ˂̣̣̥)

[lacystar]

The Maruki Labs Psychological Assessment - a Persona 5 fanfic formatted into a Uquiz. Answer honestly so we can tailor make a reality that best suits you!

Just like a real intake forum!*

Based on the psychological test puzzle in Maruki's palace!

21 questions to assess your mental wellbeing!

One fabulous free-write question to share your biggest dreams with Dr. Maruki!**

10 possible "endings!" (1 for each Phantom Thief!)

*Not at all like a real intake forum

**im not dr Maruki please dont actually look to me for therapeutic advice. actually, dont look to maruki for therapeutic advice either 😭

Inspired by the Jubilee Line Satisfaction Survey by @/peninkwrites