#mouth wash is fine. i can do that after brushing. evening routine secured.

[orcelito]

Flossing my teeth and getting in the gums like Yes I'm going to get a good grade in dental care. Which is normal to want and possible to achieve.

[writertitan]

Regimens

pairing: levi x reader

word count: 2834

themes: modern au, established relationship vibes, just so much fluff, it’s ridiculous how cute i tried to make this

requested by anon

“No.”

“Levi, please-”

“No.” 

With a huff, you set down the brush you liked to use to apply your clay masks, and internally debated if a pout and some more pleading would entice Levi into just giving in and letting you do your skincare routine on him. You had no idea why he was so against the idea; if anything, Levi loved taking care of himself. Sometimes, he was a little too high maintenance. You’d been so convinced he would actually like joining in on your skincare routine. On your own face, the clay mask was already coated on with a fuzzy headband keeping your hair out of it. You’d gotten the idea to also try to get Levi in on it, but to no avail. 

You tried again, after deciding that it would do some good to bring out the pout. 

“Levi, I swear you’ll like it-”

“I’m not gonna let you put mud on my face, idiot,” he deadpanned, and you whined. 

“It’s not mud! And it’s good for your skin!” 

“Not doing it.” 

“Ugh!” you cried out and slumped back against your couch, crossing your arms over your chest. Clearly, he was being stubborn. But you could negotiate. You brought your legs up onto the couch and nudged his thigh with your foot gently, frowning when he refused to look at you and instead kept his gaze on the TV. 

“Fine, no clay mask. How about a sheet mask? And then my usual routine?” 

“All of that skincare shit you buy doesn’t even work,” Levi said bluntly, finally peeking at you out of the corner of his eye. “It just smells good. You’re better off being smart like me and buying generic lotion that works just fine instead of wasting money buying a million different things.” 

“Let me prove you wrong,” you challenged, a gleam in your eye as you lifted your chin defiantly. “Your 3-in-1 shit is abysmal.” 

“It’s abysmal that you think I would stoop so low as to buy 3-in-1 anything,” Levi scoffed. “I just don’t throw my money at retinas or whatever the fuck you’re buying.” 

“Retinol,” you corrected. 

Levi groaned, eyes fully on you now. “It’s kind of insulting, y’know. Are you saying I have bad skin or something? Because it looks and feels fine to me.” 

“You have great skin, I just want to show you how I can make it positively glow,” you crowed, trying your best to really sell the experience. You pouted again when Levi stayed quiet, foot prodding against his thigh once more. “Plus, it would be really fun and would mean a lot to me, to let me fuck around with your face for the night.” 

The resigned look in his eyes and the sigh he let out told you that you’d won, and you squealed in victory before you leaned in to give him a grateful little peck on the lips. 

“Okay, I’ll be right back! I’m gonna use my best stuff on you!” In a flash you were gone, leaving a slightly bewildered Levi on the couch as you rummaged through your collection of skincare. It wasn’t the biggest collection by any means, nor was it very fancy, but you had a little routine going and liked the products you did have. 

You settled on the sheet mask for Levi, a new toner you’d been liking, your favorite serum, and your go-to moisturizer. A simple night routine, not wanting to push Levi too far by going all out with a more elaborate regimen. Especially when you were going to force one of your fuzzy headbands upon him. When you returned with your arms full of product, Levi gave you a look that screamed, Good lord what have I gotten myself into?

You spread the products out on the coffee table and then waved your fuzzy headband in his face, which made his eyes flash instantly. He was about to vehemently protest, you could tell, but you were already whining, and about to make a very good case. 

“Just do it, Levi! I wouldn’t want to mess up your precious hair.” 

At that, Levi simmered down, but there was no shortage of grumbling as you put the headband on him to secure his hair out of his face. 

“Okay, since it’s nighttime, this is more of a night routine-”

“You have a day routine and a night routine?” Levi asked, his tone slightly disbelieving, slightly condescending. 

You nodded once, not the least bit bothered, and continued explaining. “Since this is a night routine, it’s more about prevention and repair. I’m gonna use the toner first, to prep you for everything else.” You grabbed a cotton ball and carefully dotted some drops of toner into it, bringing it up to Levi’s face. Slowly, you dabbed the product into his face, ignoring the very steely gaze that was searing into your face. Still, Levi remained quiet and let you do all the work, his eyes on your face the entire time. You, on the other hand, morphed your expression into one of concentration, but you were careful not to make too much facial movement - your mask was slowly stiffening up and you didn’t want it to crack. 

You ripped open the package of the sheet mask, gingerly pressing it onto Levi’s face. He winced at the slight cold of it, but otherwise stayed still as you adjusted it on his face. It took everything in you not to grin at this new imagery of your boyfriend; wearing a fuzzy headband, sheet mask on, a lethal stare in his eyes...he looked absolutely precious. 

After ensuring Levi’s mask was in place, you snuggled into his side, busy on your phone while you looked at your timer. You’d set one for 20 minutes after applying your mask, and there were about 15 minutes left - still a good amount of time to let his mask do its work. 

“We’re gonna leave these on for about 15 minutes,” you explained, setting your phone aside to watch whatever movie Levi was watching. “Then we’ll take them off, rub the excess product into our faces to let it absorb, and then we’ll do the rest.” 

“You’re gonna make me wear this stupid headband for 15 minutes?” 

“Nope.” 

“Good.” 

“I’m gonna make you wear it for longer. This is only the first step in getting your skin fresh and radiant.” 

If you were anyone else in the world, you’d probably be dead. Good thing Levi was in love with you. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Levi reach a hand up and pat his masked cheek, a noticeable grimace appearing on his face. 

“It’s slimy.” 

“Stop complaining,” you said, turning to him fully. He did the same, immediately snorting at the sight of you. 

“Your mask is drying,” he pointed out, a hint of a smirk appearing. “You look kind of terrifying.”

You knew if you quipped back about how he looked, it’d be the end of this little experiment and he wouldn’t be so keen to participate anymore. So, you bit your tongue and made a noncommittal grunt, relaxing into Levi’s body while you watched the (kind of boring) movie. After a handful of minutes, you grabbed your phone and opened your camera app, attempting to capture a selfie of you two. Levi immediately caught on and moved out of the way, shielding his face with a hand. 

“There’s no chance in hell I’m gonna let you document this,” he said, shooting you a warning glance. You huffed and, in your own stubbornness, took a picture of yourself with Levi in the background, hand obscuring his face. It was better than nothing, and you settled back into him, smirking when he wrapped a tentative arm around your shoulder. 

Levi sighed in relief when the timer on your phone went off, and raised a hand to ruffle your hair before you stood. The clay was uncomfortable on your face now and you gave Levi a look as much as you could through the stiff case. 

“Come to the bathroom with me. I’ll wash this off and I’ll show you what to do, okay?”

“What, I can’t just take this off?” Levi asked, following you anyway. You tried your best to be quick with taking off your mask but, as always, rinsing it all off properly took a bit of time. Levi practically tore his sheet mask off and threw it away as you patted your face dry, and you rolled your eyes at him. 

“You have to pat the excess product into your face so it absorbs,” you told him, and Levi wrinkled his nose. 

“It’s slimy.” He voiced his complaint from earlier and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes yet again, but stepped forward to do it for him. 

Instantly, Levi’s eyes closed as your fingertips worked the product into Levi’s skin, very gentle with your actions; you were basically treating him to a mini facial massage. In truth, you were also fully taking advantage of the opportunity to touch him like this, slow and gentle in the way your fingers brushed over his forehead, his cheekbones, his jawline. 

“There,” you whispered, pulling away and wiping off your face. “We’ll let that settle in.” 

Levi grunted but followed you back to your previous place on the couch, and now you were absolutely animated. Once his face was mostly dry, you got to work and grabbed your favorite serum, applying an appropriate amount to your fingers and rubbing them together before pressing them into Levi’s skin again. 

“This is serum. It’s kind of like the sheet mask, but this one you use more often. Face masks aren’t for daily use. This one’s my favorite and really evens out my skin tone and helps keep my skin hydrated overnight, especially because you’re supposed to apply before moisturizer to lock it all in, so to speak.” You were mostly rambling, just wanting to keep Levi in the loop to keep his complaining at bay, but he was genuinely listening, which made you smile. 

Again, you were pulled into a state of concentration as you blended the serum into Levi’s skin, a smug little smirk playing at your lips when you saw his eyes close and felt him lean into your touch. You made sure to keep your touch steady and soft, taking your time with him as he let you map out his features with your hands. 

“This one’s not slimy,” was all he said, eyes still closed. You rubbed soothing circles into his temples, your eyes glancing over his now fully relaxed face. Giving into temptation, you settled into Levi’s lap, which he allowed with no fuss, and you leaned in to press a slow kiss to his mouth as your fingers traced along his jaw, beckoning him closer. He was happy to return your kiss, hands lazily at your hips to keep you in place, and you pulled away too soon to give him a bright smile, already shifting in his lap to turn towards the final step: moisturizer. 

Levi’s lips chased you in frustration, latching onto your neck as you applied some moisturizer to your fingers. Pulling away from him, his mouth broke free and he frowned at you for interrupting him, but you needed to gain access to his face again. 

“One more thing,” you told him, hands already applying the layer of moisturizer and working it into his skin softly, touch still feathery but deliberate. 

“Smells good.” The first compliment he’d given regarding your skincare routine, and you happily accepted it. 

Once you were done, you leaned back in his lap to examine your work. Breaking into a grin, you nodded once in satisfaction and cupped Levi’s face in your hands. “I knew it. Your skin is luminous, luminous I tell you!” 

Levi scoffed but, to your complete joy, offered a smirk and leaned in to kiss you again, this time short and sweet. You picked up the hand mirror you had brought along and gave it to him, your cocky attitude still present as he examined his face in the mirror. 

“See, what’d I tell you? My stuff does make a difference,” you declared, very much milking the moment. Your head definitely got a little bigger seeing Levi study his face with a little bit of surprise, tilting his head this way and that. 

“You did good, kid,” he finally said, making you beam at the final judgement he’d given. 

“Thanks for letting me do it,” you replied, swiveling around in his lap so your back could press into his chest. You turned your head to press kisses across his cheek, shocked when he pulled away and gave you a stern look. 

“You just did all that to my skin, don’t mess it up,” he said, and you honestly couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. 

“Levi,” you whined, leaning in again, but he pulled away even more, this time with a smirk on his face. To placate you, he turned his head and pressed a full kiss to your lips, which you happily accepted, and you sighed happily into it before pulling away. Levi pressed a short kiss to your forehead and grabbed a throw blanket on the arm of the couch to toss over the two of you, settling into your movie night. 

The screen turned black for a moment and you gazed at your reflections, and your eyes widened for a moment before you turned to look at your boyfriend again. 

“You can take the headband off now,” you reminded him. 

Levi only grunted in response. You said nothing and bit back your smile. 

He didn’t take it off until you took yours off, right before bed. 

-- 

Two days later, and you had made plans to spend the night at Levi’s place this time. There was no need to stop by your place beforehand; at this point, you had essentials over there too, and were looking forward to an evening of unwinding with some wine and whatever Levi had cooked up in the kitchen after your long day. It was a shame that the one thing you didn’t have at Levi’s was a dedicated skincare kit, so you could relax with a mask on and pamper yourself just a little. Only the travel-sized stuff you brought in your purse would be used tonight. 

Picking out the key Levi had given you to his place out of the jumble of them on your keyring, you pushed it into the lock and turned, giving a half-hearted knock as you stepped in. 

“Hi, I’m here!” you called into the apartment, eyes immediately finding Levi in the kitchen, back turned to you as he tended to something on the stove. 

“Hey,” he greeted you, not turning around. You didn’t notice the way he paused for a moment. “You’re here early. Wasn’t expecting you for another half hour.” 

“Yeah, I finished up early. It was a long day,” you sighed, fully about to start into a summary of your day. But first, you were needing a hello kiss, and walked over to Levi nonchalantly after taking off your shoes and coat to go and get it. You set down your bag on the counter and wrapped your arms around Levi’s lean torso, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, then tried to make him turn for a real kiss. “You wouldn’t believe -- oh my god.” 

You never thought you’d see the day. 

“What?” Levi asked, annoyed. Clearly pretending that he wasn’t standing in front of you, a sheet mask on his face, fuzzy headband perfectly in place. This headband was black, however, and you were positive you didn’t own a black one. 

“Nothing, but that better not be one of my masks,” you said, a giggle threatening to burst through at any moment. You knew it. You’d sucked Levi into the world of skincare. There was no telling if this was going to be good or bad. 

And, of course, you couldn’t help the little jab of, “Nice headband.” 

“It was the only kind they had,” Levi quipped a little too quickly, and the giggle that you’d been fighting off escaped your throat, earning you a hard glare. “Don’t start being a brat about this.” 

“I like it,” you told him honestly, hands up in surrender. You snuck a quick kiss to his lips and let him get back to his cooking, while you sauntered to the bathroom to freshen up before dinner. 

When you walked in to see the new arrangement of skincare products, all of them the same as the ones you’d used on him just a couple of days ago, you softened and couldn’t help the grin that seemed permanently etched on your face. You grabbed the box of sheet masks excitedly, poking your head out of the door. 

“Hey, I know I basically said you couldn’t steal my sheet masks, but can I steal one of yours?” 

[vennilavee]

parental moments: two

to build a home masterlist

Pairing: levi x reader Summary: it’s 2:40 AM and you and levi are convinced that you’re about to be robbed. except you hear drunken laughter. Chapter Warnings: cursing, otherwise none really Word Count: 1795 A/N: based off of a series of asks that were sent in the other day about sasha, connie, and jean showing up drunk and levi and oc’s house. and levi and oc think they’re getting robbed (especially oc who has been getting startled by everything bc they’ve been binging true crime docs). also they are living in a house now because they decided to move out of their apartment and get a bigger property together hehe

***

One of the many things you and Levi had in common was your love for true crime documentaries. You had taken to ending your nights with whatever was on television, or with whatever was on the many streaming services that you had a subscription to.

Levi complained often (along with you) at how there were a million and one streaming services these days- what was the point-

“To burn a hole in our bank accounts,” You scoff.

“There’s gotta be a way to stream this shit for free,” Levi groans.

“I bet one of the new recruits knows,” You muse, “Maybe Armin or Jean...”

“We can figure it out ourselves,” Levi huffs and you roll your eyes.

It’s been days and weeks of your nightly routine and you’ve become creeped out enough late at night that you’ve taken to triple checking the locks and the windows of your house every few hours. And tonight is no different.

“Hey,” Levi says, pulling you into his side reassuringly, “We’re fine. And even if we’re not. I’m here to protect you.”

You’ve been waking up at every small noise during the night- the wind whistling, the house settling, leaves rustling outside. Usually, he’s the light sleeper but these days… These days it’s you. And he can tell it’s starting to take a toll on you. You’re tired during the days when you don’t get a good night’s sleep, the bags under your eyes deepening.

“That’s nice,” You murmur, “But I think we need a baseball bat. Or three.”

“And what do we need three baseball bats for?” Levi asks flatly, “Let’s stop with the documentaries so late at night. Would a home security system help?”

“Maybe…”

Levi puts you to bed so good that night, but you still come home with three baseball bats the next day.

***

“Levi,” You mumble, shaking him awake, “Levi, did you hear that?”

It’s 2:40 AM and he’s already awake and throws the sheets off of him to get out of bed. He heard it too, the rustling, the loud footsteps and the jarring sound of knocking. You can’t tell if it’s coming from inside or outside and your heart is racing too fast for you to discern the origin of the noises.

He internally curses himself for not installing the home security system yet.

“Stay here,” Levi murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I’ll be back in a few minutes-”

“What! No,” You protest fiercely, leaping out of bed and pulling your new baseball bat from under the bed. While you’re at it, you slip a pair of shorts over your bare legs and Levi rolls his eyes at you.

“Take your time, it’s not like we’re about to get robbed. Do you want to put your makeup on, too?” Levi snorts.

“Oh, yeah, good call. Tell them to wait for me to contour-” You roll your eyes and pinch him, “Is this a joke to you-”

He quickly shushes you by pulling you into his side and squeezing your hand as he quietly heads downstairs to the source of the noise. You can’t help but press your face into his shoulder nervously, while peeking with one eye open. Gripping his upper arm tightly, your nails pressing into his bicep, you whisper for him to be careful when he looks through the peephole of the front door.

You hear a chorus of laughter, drunken laughter and Levi sighs irritatedly. He pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head.

“You gotta be shittin’ me,” Levi grumbles.

“What? What is it?” 

“Take a look for yourself,” Levi says, “It’s Connie, Jean and Sasha.”

You throw the door open and are greeted with three drunken fools with beaming smiles on their face that don’t seem to falter when they see your baseball bat.

“Oh my god,” You murmur, rubbing a hand over your face, “I thought we were getting robbed. I fuckin’ thought we were getting robbed, Levi.”

Levi subtly squeezes your hand and brushes his lips over your temple to quell your nerves. He sends a scathing look to the three troublemakers standing on the porch, without a care in the world.

“May I ask what the fuck you three are doing at our place of residence at three in the morning,” Levi says flatly.

“Yes! Yes you may,” Jean grins and winks at Levi.

It draws a surprised laugh from you.

“Wha’ had happened was…” Sasha starts with a bright smile.

“Our phones died and we kinda… forgot where we live,” Connie shrugs, not even bothering to look sheepish, “Besides, remember, you said! If we ever had to hide a dead body, you’d help us!”

“Please do not tell me that there’s a dead body to hide,” Levi sighs.

“We have your numbers an’ addresses mem’rized,” Sasha says, batting her eyelashes at you innocently.

That immediately pulls a wave of affection through you and you match their smiles in intensity. Levi doesn’t have the heart to tell you not to encourage their antics.

“I can’t believe you remember our address and not your own,” You mumble, pulling them in for tight hugs, “Come inside. You three are troublemakers.”

“Really?” Jean asks, his light brown eyes wide.

“We gave you our address and phone numbers for a reason,” Levi rolls his eyes, “It’s cold, get your asses inside.”

The three of them file inside in a straight line, looks of glee etched in their faces. 

“Take your shoes off, please,” You request as you shut and lock the door behind you. Levi doesn’t miss you glancing at the locks twice just to make sure.

“Do you have-”

“Yes, Sasha, we have food,” Levi says, already heading into the kitchen, “I’ll give you some if you don’t spill.”

“How will you know I won’t spill until you give me food?” Sasha asks and you stifle a laugh.

You follow Levi into the kitchen after making sure that they’re comfortable and hug him from behind, your face pressed in between his shoulder blades. You yawn widely and kiss the back of his neck lightly.

“Can’t believe I thought we were going to get robbed,” You mutter, “Instead we have three drunk kids in our house.”

“I believed it for a sec, too,” Levi says, “Honestly, I would’ve preferred getting robbed to having three drunk kids in our house.”

You laugh into his shirt and swat his shoulder playfully. Levi flits around the kitchen with you at his back, warming up food and filling up glasses of water for the three of them. He can tell that the adrenaline is wearing off and that you’re getting sleepier and sleepier when you cling to him, always touching him even when he’s so close to you.

Peeling off of his back, you give him a sleepy smile and take two plates out to the dining table. Sasha immediately jumps up, abandoning whatever conversation she was in with Connie and Jean and sits in front of her plate.

“My mouth is watering,” Sasha moans, her stomach grumbling.

“Oi, get it together,” Jean chastises but sits next to her, “Food’s not goin’ anywhere.”

“Thanks Captain,” Connie grins, pupils still blown from alcohol, “And Missus Captain.”

“Missus? Who you callin’ missus?” You say, struggling to keep your face straight, “Maybe Levi’s mister-”

Levi rolls his eyes and listens to you bicker with Connie, and then Jean joins in before both of them start to tease you in good fun.

“So all three of you show up here with dead phones? Do you guys all share one brain cell?” You ask, “Usually it’s Jean, but I see that you decided to leave it at home tonight…”

“Hey!”

“Don’t be so mean…”

“...”

“What if something happened and you didn’t know how to get in contact with anyone?” You chide lightly, “Be more careful. Last thing we need is my three favorites getting in trouble-”

“Your three favorites! Ha! I knew it,” Jean says, bumping fists with Connie.

“That’s not what I meant,” You protest weakly, “You’re all my favorites-”

“It’s alright,” Sasha says with wink, “Your secret’s safe with us.”

You look to Levi for help with wide, dark eyes and he shakes his head for the millionth time that night. 

“You three know better,” Levi says sternly, “Going out and getting drunk enough where none of you remember your address and none of you have a working phone amongst the three of you? What the hell were you thinking?”

“Oh, live a little, Captain,” Jean says airily, ignoring the flabbergasted look from Sasha.

“‘Sides, we remembered our address. We just wanted to see if you’d let us in,” Connie says smugly.

“The idiots who cried wolf,” You mutter with a smile and they all protest indignantly. 

“Can’t believe you were about to beat us with a baseball bat,” Jean mutters.

“I thought we were being robbed-”

“If we were robbing you, we’d be inside the house, not outside-”

“Are you kidding me, Jean?” You groan, smacking your forehead with your palm for the fifth time that night, “I’ll keep that in mind next time we get intruders at 2:40 AM.”

“Do you get intruders at 2:40 AM often?”

“Don’t fuck with my beauty sleep, Kirstein,” You say, pointing a finger at the three of them accusingly.

“You don’t need any beauty sleep, ma’am,” Sasha says without missing a beat, “Captain thinks so, too.”

“Are you hitting on my girlfriend for me,” Levi deadpans.

Sasha only shrugs, finishing off the last spoonful of food in her plate. Connie takes all three of the empty plates to the sink, or he tries to. Levi stops him and pulls the plates from him and quickly washes them.

“You can sleep on our couch tonight, it’s already late. We have some extra chargers, I plugged them in over there,” You point to the corner of your living room, “We’ll bring out extra blankets and pillows.”

You know Levi is cringing at the thought of outside clothes on the couch, so you offer them some freshly washed pajamas of yours and Levi’s. Levi leaves water for them on the coffee table in case they wake up in the middle of the night and finally, finally brings you back to bed with him. You peel your shorts off and slide into bed with him, already curling into his side.

“Can’t believe them,” You mumble sleepily, but fondly.

“Oh really? I can,” Levi snorts.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” You reply with your eyes closed, “And don’t wake me up before nine.”

The next morning, after Sasha, Connie and Jean leave, you and Levi work on installing the new home security system in your house and at your insistence-

“Fine. You can keep those fuckin’ baseball bats.”

***

tags: @simpingmaize

[jeogiyall]

Tim McGraw; Y.JI (II)

GFX By @dreamystuffers

Word count; 3.4k

Genre; Jeongin x Reader, Fluff, Angst

Warnings; None :)

Find the rest of my Stray Kids Folklore series here!

A/N: This is the second part of the @kpopscape ‘Walkin On Sunshine’ Summer event! Look out for the third and final part coming this month!

A boy in a truck, with a tendency of getting stuck

“Last one in is going down like a one egg pudding!” Jeongin shouts while bounding towards the moonlit lake, fully clothed. You’re not entirely sure what a one egg pudding is, or why it’s going down, but you are sure that you’re not gonna be one. You sprint after Jeongin, running towards the very edge of the lake before looking back and seeing the boy directly behind you. He wears a happy smile, white hair bouncing over the sun kissed skin of his forehead. When he reaches you he holds out one of his hands, which you grab onto before kicking off your shoes and running into the lake. He started doing that a week or so ago when you mentioned that the very edge was muddy and feeling it on your feet made you squirm. He had jokingly asked if you wanted him to hold your hand, but when you said yes he did it with no questions asked.

The two of you wade out to the center of the lake, as you have done each night for the past two weeks. Jeongin splashes at you when he looks back and sees your slightly scared expression.

“Stop!” You giggle, holding up one hand to shield your face, “I thought that I felt something brush my leg!” He rolls his eyes and swims over to you, wrapping a hand around your waist so as to support you as you splash back at him.

“It was probably the gator, just like it was last night.” When you’re this close you can see his eyes sparkle even with nothing to illuminate them. You can’t see the rest of his face, but you assume it’s smiling. He’s always smiling.

“You’re mean.” You laugh a little bit, heart fluttering as your shirt rides up beneath the water and his hand smooths across your exposed skin. The pads of his fingertips are rough. His hands are warm.

“Do you wanna get on my back?” He asks, voice quiet due to the close proximity of your faces. When he moves his head just ever so slightly you can feel the tips of your noses brushing. It causes goosebumps to rise on your skin.

“Yes.” The word is meek, but affirmative. Your eyes have adjusted enough to where you can see his smile grow. He exhales a laugh through his nose and the hot air fans across your cheek. His hand hooks beneath your thigh as he turns around so that you can secure your legs around his torso. 

“Be sure to tuck those legs in tight or else the gators gonna come and eat ‘em.” He teases while pinching the squishy part of your calf that’s nestled against his stomach. You stay like that for a while, listening to the singing cicadas and the sloshing lake water as Jeongin carts you around. Neither of you say anything, but you’ve gotten to the point where you don't need to. You can tell that he’s happy by the rise and fall of his chest against your forearms, you can feel that he’s relaxed by the slope of his shoulders.

Later in the evening when you’ve returned to the grass and you’re both laying down and looking at the night sky, which is void of stars due to the full moon, Jeongin brings up an old conversation. It took place on your first day here, when he had just clambered through your bedroom window donning perfectly white hair and a heartwarming smile. 

‘Something about how you used to get bored as a kid.’ 

‘I did get bored. It's lonely around here, but you seem like good company.’

‘Thank you! I think we’ll have fun, and uh… Not just because your grandmother said so.’ 

“Are you?” He questions, turning his head so that you can both see each other. 

“Am I what?” You pretend to not notice his eyes trained on your lips, or the thumping of your heart that you can now feel in your ears.

“Having fun?” You think back to all of the nights spent at this very lake, all of the jokes exchanged, all of the water splashed into your face. You think of the way that Jeongin makes you laugh so hard that your ribs ache. You think of the smile that never leaves his face, and the way that over the past month that same smile had begun to spread over your own face.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had fun before this Summer with you.”

The next morning at breakfast when your grandmother asks what the two of you will be doing that night your cheeks fill with heat. Something about the memory of his touch washing over you last night leaves your heart so full that it could burst. You’re expecting him to answer quickly as he always does. When a few seconds pass with no response you turn in your seat to see whether he’s choking on breakfast or if he’s simply neglected to speak. His eyes are mischievous once you meet them, his regular smile twisted into a more playful one and his cheeks pink. 

“I’ll tell you later, m’am.” His eyes cast over to you quickly before returning to your grandmother, the grin on his face growing with each second, “(Y/n) can’t know.” 

“Why can’t I know?” You question. He turns back to you with his head lowered and if you look closely enough you can see each sparkle in his eyes.

“Because. It’s a surprise.” Your grandmother giggles from across the table, sighing out something about ‘you kids’ before getting up and taking your emptied plates to sink. You and Jeongin help tidy the kitchen a bit before it’s time for you to walk him back to his truck. The sun is beating down hot today, just as it was yesterday and the day before. When he climbs into the white vehicle the first thing that he does is crank the air. 

“So I’ll see you at eight thirty tonight?” You question, so used to the routine of seeing him that you barely even need to ask. 

“Yep, eight thirty.” He runs a hand through his hair. The roots have grown out a lot in the past month, but you like it. It almost looks nicer to you than when it was all white.

“Are you sure you can’t tell me what we’re doing?” You ask. He smiles in a way that crinkles his eyes, causing your heart to stutter for a moment before he responds.

“Yep.” You pout a little bit in the way the two of you do when talking to each other. 

“Are we going to the lake again and you’re just teasing me?” He laughs at your question, shaking his head a bit at the notion. The hair that he pulled back a moment ago now falls across his forehead.

“Nope.” His smile grows as the syllable leaves his mouth. Your heart clenches again, the way that it always does whenever he smiles.

He arrives perfectly on time that evening, clambering through your window just as you’re securing the final piece of your outfit. It was supposed to be colder than usual tonight so you decided to wear a flannel over one of your white tank tops. The flannel was actually Jeongins, he had loaned it to you after a dip in the lake and you had neglected to return it. He noticed it the moment that his feet swung over the windowsill, but since he didn’t say anything you figured that it was long forgotten.

You headed downstairs and into his car as per usual. Once in the car he drove for a little while, headed in the same direction as the lake. You were tempted to ask him once again if he had just been yanking your chain and you were going to the lake, but then he drove straight past your usual drop off point and into the expanse of field before you. He had looked at you apologetically and said that it would be a little bit bumpy, which it was. Until it stopped entirely.

“Well,” He starts while climbing back into the driver's seat. There’s a light sheen of sweat across his forehead, his white hair pushed backwards so as not to stick to it, “We are for sure stuck in the mud, and this field is usually riddled with rattlesnakes around this time of year. Your grandfather isn’t gonna be here for another two hours. It’s already nine, so we’ll be here for… A while. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine!” And really it is fine, because you don't know how you could be mad at him when he’s looking at you with glimmering childlike eyes and an apologetic smile, “If you really want to make it up, just tell me where you were taking me.” He exhales quickly, so much so that it’s nearly a pant, before letting his head tilt back.

“There’s a field about five miles from the lake, I think it used to be used for hunting or something like that. I-I don’t know it’s empty now, but when you lay down you can see every star that there is. I just thought that you would like it.” It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but cicadas chirping and him breathing. You place your hand over his own before pulling him in your direction, “(Y/n,) what are you doing?”

“We’re going to see the stars.” He laughs a bit incredulously while you push the door open with one hand. You’ve grown to love that sound, so gentle and encompassing. Like a hand woven blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“But my truck-”

“Has a bed, does it not?” He remembers you looking back at him with a wicked grin and squeezing his hand before hopping out of the car door. You climbed over the car's metal frame until you couldn’t hold onto his hand any longer, in which you shouted, “Hurry up, slow poke!” He remembers thinking that you were the strangest person he’d ever met. He also remembers thinking that you were his favorite. By the time he’s managed to maneuver to the very back of his truck you’re already laying on the cold metal bottom, one hand up to the stars while the other rests over your heart. You bring them both to lie across your stomach upon the sight of him. 

“What’re you looking for?” He questions while moving to lie next to you. The truck groans beneath his weight and he lets out a sweet laugh. It’s genuine, floating through the air as though it were a summer breeze. You look to his lips for a lingering moment and watch as they relax into a gentler smile. Your eyes slowly start to wander over his face, taking in each of his features with care. His cheeks look so soft while still being defined. The tip of his nose is so petite and endearing. His hair falls into his eyes ever so slightly in a way that makes you want to push it back. 

“Constellations.” You take a staggering inhale, heart hammering so fast that you’re sure he can feel it thudding. If he can, he doesn’t make a big deal about it. He does nothing other than meet your gaze with equal adoration, “I’ve never been any good at finding them.” 

Jeongin thinks to himself for a moment. He thinks that you look lovely tonight, with the evening breeze tossling your free bits of hair and the white straps of your tank top sliding down your shoulders. He thinks that this field where he’s gotten you both stuck smells sweet like dandelion wine. He thinks that there’s something in the air tonight. He thinks that whatever it is is making him brave.

“May I kiss you?”  You look taken aback at first, eyebrows softening into a question as you lean ever so slightly closer. Your hands readjust to cradle his sharp jaw as your noses brush. He locks his dark brown eyes with your own before asking again, “May I?” 

You answer him this time, only it’s not with words. It’s with your lips moving gently against his own. He tastes like summer air, his skin traipsing your own feels like sunshine. When he slides his palm against the exposed bit of your waist you can feel the roughness of his hands. Calluses surround the delicate bones there, and in moments they catch onto the soft skin at your stomach. It’s a new sensation to you. Kissing someone like this is a new sensation to you. Loving someone as fiercely as you love him is a new sensation to you.

But then we woke up to find that Summer had gone

You don’t remember when your lips parted, or when your grandfather came to rescue the two of you. All that you can remember is waking up on top of your white comforter with your window open, as if someone slithered out of it in the middle of the night. When you go to close it you look down in search of a muddied up truck and a white head of hair. Surely enough you find him as easily as every morning, tending to his tomato plants and smiling to himself. You wonder what he’s thinking about, you hope that it’s you.

When you leave the window and return to your bed you see that your phone is lit up with a message from your mother. The two of you have barely talked since you arrived here, though you’re not sure why. Life has probably been busy for her since you left, and you’ve been enjoying yourself so much that you nearly forgot your home even existed. The text banner covering your home screen, which is a picture of you and Jeongin enjoying a picnic in your grandfathers fields, reads ‘hey sweetie! could you please give me a call soon? love and miss you, xoxo mom.’ 

It rings three times before she answers. You can hear bustling from her side of the call, probably from her getting off of the city's public transport and into work. If she hears any background from you it’s probably just chirping birds or Jeongins whistling that started up a minute ago. 

“Hi mommy!” You say into your phone. With how relaxing life was here at the farm you hadn’t thought much about home, but now that you can hear the city you realize that you do actually miss it. Just little things, like the bakery across the street from your townhouse and seeing buskers at every street corner when you went out.

“Hi love! I’m on the way into work right now but I just wanted to check up with you, even if it’s quick.” You chew on your lower lip and nod before remembering that there’s no way that she can see you nodding.

“Mhm, sounds nice.” You wipe your palms on your denim shorts, which are still on from last night, while racking your brain for what on earth you’re going to say to her.

“Tell me everything!” Great. That really helps you to narrow things down.

“Well, everything is great I guess! Grandma makes breakfast every morning and Grandpa comes in at around lunch time. We spend lots of time together, around the house and going out sometimes. I like to help Grandma cook. A-and I met the neighbor, he’s… nice. Really really nice.” At this moment you’re unbelievably grateful for the phone between you and her so that she can’t see your sheepish smile. You’re not sure how she would react to the knowledge that you’re head over heelsfor the farmer next door.

“That sounds like a lot of fun!” The white noise in her background quickly dissipates so you assume that she’s entered her work building. Which means this call will be ending soon and your heart will forget the city and return to the farm, “I hope you aren’t having too much fun to come home?” 

“Of course not!” Even as you say it your heart squeezes. You like your home a lot. It’s fun, even with barely any friends. Even when your parents are in and out of the house all of the time. Even when you’re mostly alone. Alone is fine when you’re there, because alone is what you’re used to.

But when you came here there was Jeongin, and suddenly you weren’t alone anymore. Suddenly you had someone to tell about the fat squirrel that you saw on your windowsill. Someone to make inside jokes with. Someone who made you laugh and smile in a way that you haven’t in years. Someone who made you feel seen in a way that was addicting. 

“That’s good because we got an email from your school district that you’ll be starting back two weeks earlier than anticipated, so we’ll have to come get you earlier. In about two weeks actually. Is that okay?” As soon as the question registers in your ears it feels like you’ve eaten an entire bushel of cotton. Your mouth is so dry, your tongue so heavy, lips hanging open as you think of anything to say. ‘Is that okay?’ your mother had asked, as if your answer would change anything. As if saying no would earn you more time.

You’re quiet for a moment, trying so hard to not be mad with your mother or your school or yourself. You knew all along that this happiness would end, the fact that it’s coming quicker isn’t anyone's fault.

“Yea, that’s fine.” You answer, feeling a bit guilty for keeping your mother longer while she’s trying to get into work. 

“Okay sweetie, I just wanted to let you know. I need to go now but I’ll see you really soon! Love you!”

“Love you too.” You’ve barely finished saying the words before your call ends. Your heart pangs, longing for comfort so badly that it hurts. Longing for Jeongin so badly. Tears well up in your eyes and you think that they might fall, until you hear your grandmother shout your name from down the stairs. You rush down them just as you do every morning. When you’ve reached the bottom you see Jeongin and your Grandmother waiting at the table, a smile on both of their faces. You take your seat beside Jeongin and intertwine your hands then squeeze tightly. 

He looks at you and smiles again before the three of you bow your heads in prayer. Your intentions were to focus on your grandmother's words, but as Jeongin begins to rub circles on the back of your hand with his thumb your mind begins to wander. You think of how much you’ve enjoyed your time together, and then of how you’re already acting like it’s over, and then again of how badly you don’t want to tell him that you’re leaving. Once your Grandmother is finished and everyone is raising their heads and starting to eat, you decide that these next two weeks won’t be one drawn out goodbye. You’ll enjoy the little bit of time that you have instead of spending it all wishing that there was more.

The two of you go to the lake each night just like always. Some nights you barrel straight into the water, both of you giggling and clinging to each other for no reason at all. Some nights you forgo the dip in the water and instead lay down on the grass and look up at the stars. He talks to you a lot on those nights, which you really enjoy. On most nights, regardless of how you’ve spent your time before then, the two of you end up rolling around in the grass with your limbs tangled and lips locked. On the day that he and your grandfather brought in strawberries from the fields he remarked that your lips tasted like the fruit. It made your heart flutter. A lot of the things that he does makes your heart flutter.

There was one night when he came into your room after dropping you off. The two of you crawled into your bed, bones tired and aching from the long day. You laid your head on his chest so that his heartbeat was beneath your ear. You matched your breathing to the steady thumping there. He brought his hand to your back and began to rub soothing circles against your shirt. He pressed a kiss to your temple before he fell asleep. You remember thinking that you only had half a week left with him and that it wasn’t enough. You don’t know if any amount of time with him would be enough.

tag list: @dreamyyang​ @charm-arts @straytannies

[caffeineivore]

For @apsaraqueen

This was written as cheerupemofic for BAMF a few weeks-ish ago, I think? Never got around to posting it but here it goes. Somewhat experimental R/J. Some angst but... it’s, uh, for BAMF? So. Yeah.

***

“Love is so short, forgetting is so long.” - Pablo Neruda

I.

The Moon is beautiful and stately, all marble palaces and graceful domes, but leached of colour in an eerie wash of silvery white. Jikokuten takes a knee in the throne room and looks askance at the royals, for even they blend into this ghostly dream-world with their pearlescent gowns and platinum locks. The weather and grounds are flawless, not a single leaf or stone out of place. It’s almost too perfect-- ominously so-- and to one whose kingdom only dons white for mourning, it’s jarring. 

And then he sees the High Queen’s court file in, the warrior princesses of legend, flanking the throne two by two, and there she is, a spot of scarlet in the sea of white. Ebony hair and auspicious red skirts, eyes like the twilight sky before it turns full dark. He blinks, and his heart stutters. 

II.

The sheep are languishing in the heat, and getting leaner by the day with nothing but dry brush to eat, and Jochi coaxes some of his own water onto the littlest and weakest of the lambs. It’s foolish, and more than likely the little animal would die anyway, too malnourished to survive the drought which had blighted the steppes this summer. His father had always railed at him for being too soft-hearted, too foolish and un-Mongolian, but a part of Jochi always had perhaps too much sympathy for the foundlings and the weaker ones. There is a nebulous memory, perhaps not his own, of standing up for a boy with eyes like the open sky and a shock of black hair from-- what? He doesn’t quite know.

He hears the sound of hoofbeats-- it is a grand procession, the entourage of one of the Khans, and that is both blessing and curse, for they would surely bring much-needed supplies and victuals if returning from a successful raid, but just as surely would bring death and doom against any interlopers or opposing factions. Jochi’s yellow hair would stand out like a beacon, and so he pulls up his hood despite the summer heat and draws back into the shadows to watch the group. The warriors are fearsome indeed astride their ponies, bows and sabers at the ready. There is an iron-haired Chieftain at the forefront, proud and indomitable with eyes as fierce as a falcon’s. And then right behind him, dwarfed by the stalwarts flanking her, must be the clan’s princess, wearing a fine red dress and ornaments of silver and amber around her neck and atop her raven hair. She’s beautiful, with eyes as fearless as her Sire’s, but more so, something about her face strikes such a pang in Jochi that he forgets himself, and steps forward, right into the path of the procession. He’s knocked senseless not a moment later under the marauding hooves, but he only has eyes for the desert-mirage loveliness of the princess’ face.

III.

Jun doesn’t meet Ru-Yi until the wedding. She’s brought over to his familial estate in a lavish palanquin, amidst loud, raucous music and the rapid pops of firecrackers, and escorted to the altar by the servants to kneel next to his older brother Kai. As the heir apparent, it is imperative that Kai make a good marriage to a wife who would not shame him and brings all the right assets to the match, and Ru-Yi’s father is a very wealthy, powerful man. The newlyweds courtesy to their parents and each other, and then someone lifts the bride’s red veil away from her face, and Jun almost drops his goblet of wine. It is a stunningly elegant face, all cherry lips and willowy brows, but what’s more, though he’s certain he has never met her before, it’s somehow familiar. She, too, seems to feel it, because her eyes linger on his for a moment too long, a thin line of confusion drawing between those brows, before she turns away with a bland smile for the procession of well-wishers. 

Despite the many presents of dates and lotus seeds on the wedding day, and, months and years later, the foul-smelling tonics and powders, she never bears Kai any sons, and Jun watches, heart heavy, as Kai takes on one concubine after another, carouses in the brothels night after night, as the lines between Ru-Yi’s brows grow deeper and deeper with cheated joy and thwarted wishes. He doesn’t care if she doesn’t bear any sons, but she’s not his concern-- will never be his concern. There are flowers left on her doorstep in the mornings, still wet with dew and with neither name nor note. It’s poor consolation for both of them, but she’s not his to love.

IV.

The air is arid and far too hot, almost tinged the same turmeric-yellow as the hot sun blazing down overhead. Captain Geoffrey Lindhurst with Her Majesty’s navy had been in India for all of four months, and is still getting accustomed to the local climate, so different from the ever-present London fog. The local food, too, is a far departure from the starchy Sunday roasts and meat pies and puddings of his boyhood, with its exotic spices and bountiful portions. The servants at his bungalow are politely quiet and do their tasks without complaint, but he has the sense that there is far more to their lives and customs than the scant glimpses that he sees now and then.

He’s out taking a walk on a balmy evening, and passes by one of the temples. He knows nothing of the religious beliefs of the locals, with their somewhat-fearsome-looking, animalistic gods with their fiery eyes and six hands and elephant heads, but many of the locals seem quite devout in their faith, praying several times a day and eschewing certain foods in their diets. Even at this late hour, the temple is open for worshippers, its air smoky with incense, and he sees a young woman emerge, clad in the flowing, traditional garments with a gauzy scarf over her dark hair. His gaze meets hers for only a split-second-- light blue to orchid-- but it jolts his system harder than a glass of raw gin. He has no idea who she is, and moreover, everything in his training and upbringing tells him that he has no business dallying with any of the locals. Geoffrey opens his mouth to speak, against everything that he’s known all his life, but she vanishes down one of the narrow paths and disappears into the night before he can say anything, or be quite sure that she wasn’t just an illusion, a trick of the light. 

He visits the temple enough in his years stationed here that he gets to learn the local traditions and customs, and indeed become quite familiar with their rituals. But he never sees her again.

V. 

The dame walks into his dilapidated hole-in-the-wall of an office on stiletto heels the red of fresh blood. Jack knows trouble when he sees it, and she’s all but radiating it like smoke surrounding a wildfire. “Help you, ma’am?” He keeps his voice brusque and businesslike even as she shrugs off a lustrous black mink stole to reveal crimson silk and fiery diamonds, curves in all the right places. “What brings you to this side of town?”

“I need a private investigator, and they say you’re the best. My driver’s outside, and he’s bigger and meaner than you,” she adds in a snide tone to match the diamond earrings. “My name is Rowena Warrington. Henry Warrington’s daughter.”

The Governor’s daughter has as much business in the seedy part of downtown as he would rubbing shoulders with millionaires in a fancy ballroom. “Don’t you have security, or lawyers, or whatever, to deal with whatever you’re dealing with, Ms. Warrington? This is a bad neighbourhood.”

“And no one’s been able to figure out the truth behind my mother’s death, so here I am.” Presumptuously, she makes herself at home, sitting down in a battered folding metal chair like it’s a throne as she lights a cigarette. “Price is no object, of course.”

“No.”

He won’t be swayed, because this is exactly the type of trouble that he doesn’t want, even though she turns on the wheedle, and later, the tears. He lets her leave in high dudgeon, and shuts the door behind her, and tells himself that his instinct-- one that tells him in no uncertain terms that he’d narrowly escaped a terrible fate-- was spot-on. And he busies himself with the usual mundane work which flows in every day like water through a leaky pot-- fraud cases. Stolen heirlooms. Prisoners on the lam. Cheating spouses.

He reads about the huge, tragic scandal some months later in the paper-- the cover-ups, the blood money, the extortion, the beautiful young woman whose life is tragically cut short because she’d had the audacity to poke her flawless nose where it definitely didn’t belong and wouldn’t take no for an answer, and is shocked at the grief which hits him. He owed her nothing, he tells himself as he broods into his second whiskey. She said herself that her driver was bigger and meaner than him. She should’ve been safe. Should’ve been careful. 

Should’ve been protected, with one’s very life. 

He throws the newspaper into the fire and watches it curl up into ash as he pours himself another one.

VI.

The busful of unconscious mortals is just where he wants them, of course, and Jadeite goes about the business of collecting their energy, siphoning it for Queen Metallia’s use. It’s rote and routine, but then a flash of scarlet catches his eye, and it’s the miko from the temple at the last bus-stop. Black and white and red all over, and he pauses, kneels down to move a strand of her lustrous black hair out of her face. 

“So beautiful. Ever since I’ve seen this girl, there’s something about her…” Something haunting, like a hint of incense smoke that clings to the air or a raven’s feather, black against white pavement, a memory that is-and-isn’t his. With a gentleness that he’s not had cause to employ in a very long time, he carefully shifts her into a more comfortable position, one more like natural sleep than the unconsciousness of a sinister spell, and lingers, unable to tear his eyes away from her exquisite, weirdly familiar face, until the all-too-unfortunate shouts of angry feminine voices tells him that he is not alone, and the Sailor senshi have arrived.

The miko opens her eyes and everything snaps into place a split-second before she transforms and a rage of fire heads for him, and he has but a moment to mouth the word ‘Sorry’, unheard and unacknowledged, before the flame hits in a wall of agony and heat. It’s no more or less than he deserves.

VII

The world is lustrous, glistening crystal, but unlike the Silver Millennium and the Moon Kingdom, the diamond brilliance of the towers bring colours into sharp relief, turning white sunlight into countless prismatic rainbows and reflecting the pale blue of the sky as rich sapphire. Jadeite takes a knee with his compatriots in the throne room and bows his head before the royals-- his King and Queen, united at last. Countless lives had been lived to lead to this-- an entry to a paradise hard-earned. 

There she is, still, raven hair and red skirts, and after, when everyone has broken off into their groups, he seeks her out. He has no reason to expect a positive reception, but the words are long overdue, and she has a right to them. 

“Lady Mars.” He makes an elaborate leg, as one might have done in a decadent court in the era of gilt and Rococo. She raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t storm away or glare, and that’s something.

“No need to stand on ceremony, Lord Jadeite. We’ve met before. More than once, I daresay.”

“And I’ve loved you every time.” The words are baldly spoken and perhaps too blunt, in poor form, but they’ve been buried for far too many years and lifetimes already. She halts, and he notices that her breath isn’t quite steady, and that gives him the courage to remain where he is instead of making a hasty escape.

Finally, a queer sort of half-smile crosses her face as she tilts it back up to his. “You’ve been terrible about showing it up to now, haven’t you?”

“Up to now,” he agrees. “It doesn’t have to remain so. Unless you wish it.”

“Hmm.” She glances away, but stays standing where she is, within reach. “I suppose we’ll have to see.”

[heybuddyitsmehai]

🎉Happy Birthday Honey🎉

I know I'm just one of many people who will be showering you with love today, but I really, truly, hope your day is amazing and I luh you very many lots all the time 💕

Bedtime Routine with Botanist!Ezra

Maybe the two of you have been scavenging the Green for flowers all day and now that the planet's suns have set, you're both more than ready for bed.

You follow him obediently back inside your tent, a bag full of pressed flowers slung over his shoulder and his journal tucked under your arm.

Ezra has been telling you a story about the last time he came face to face with a toydarian lizard as the pair of you hiked back to the tent in an effort to keep you from getting too sleepy, but now that you're both home, he lets his weariness get the better of him.

His shoulders slump as he steps through the canvas door and he lets out a deep sigh, slugging his pack and tool kit to the floor beside the cot. "I do believe I am spent, my love. The call of our cot is ringing in my ears louder than it normally does."

You nod in agreement, stifling a yawn, and begin to take off your suit, the extra weight of it much like the heavy exhaustion clouding your mind. Ez is quick to help you out of it, careful to avoid snagging your hair as he pulls the helmet up and off of your head.

“Tea, birdie?" He asks as he unzips the back of your suit, reaching out for your hand as you step out of it.

"Mmm, I can make it Ez. Lay down and rest your shoulder."

The prospector is keen, time and attentive afffection having made him well aware of your wiles. "Let me do this for you." He gently prods, the soft pads of his fingers trailing down your now exposed arms.

You exhale loudly and throw your head back. "Fine."

Ezra beams and leans forward to give you a tender kiss, his mouth soft and warm against yours. A smile spreads across his lips as he pulls away, dragging his fingers across the column of your outstretched neck and up to comb a wild sprig of hair behind your ear.

You lean against him and stretch back up for one more peck before Ezra squeezes you tightly.

He hums deep in his throat, warm and content and fulfilled with you in his arms. He lets you free, then moves over to the makeshift kitchen and begins preparing your tea. Your favorite mug is taken from it's home, the container of black tea, the smell blooming and proud as he opens it, is shaken and carefully prodded through.

You smile at his thoughtfulness, his selflessness reserved just for you. You begin getting ready for the evening and as you're brushing your teeth, Ezra sticks his head around the corner.

"Tea's ready, my love. It's next to your book stack."

You smile and nod a thank you through a mouth full of toothpaste.

Ez wiggles in beside the sink and next to you, foraging for his own toothbrush.

You muddle, your mouth slightly agape with foaming toothpaste, "We gotta clean my suit before we go back out tomorrow."

Ezra nods and squeezes toothpaste onto his toothbrush. "The swamps of the Green are harsh and unforgiving, I'm afraid."

You nod and wash out the last of your toothpaste, "At least we finally found your special flower though."  

The botanist quips before beginning to brush, "I've had my special flower all along." One of his dark eyebrows cocks upwards and a smile tugs at his lips.

Your cheeks beam at his words, but you roll your eyes to tease him. "Easy there, cowboy." Moving a hand along the ridges of his back, you teeter over and kiss his cheek, giving his bare shoulder a little squeeze before pulling away.

You hurry back to your cot and to the mug of tea steaming faithfully on the stack of books by your bedside.

You sip it happily as you wait for him and he joins you in bed soon after. He pulls you close to him and mumbles under his breath, "Night, sweet birdie."

Throwing back the last of your tea, you smile and nestle your face into his chest, "Night, Ez."

Teaching Din How to Bake

Sweet baby Din is so good at lots of things. Hunting, gathering, headbutting, being emo, etc but baking...is not one of those things.

He wants to do it, he really does, because he knows how much you love it and how happy it makes you.

But no matter what, somehow your birthday cake comes out either burnt or still doughy somehow.

He's been trying to practice in secret so he can surprise you on your birthday with the perfect cake, but it's been hard to keep the Crest from smelling like burnt food.

The night before your birthday, he's giving it all he's got, an aporn on over the beskar, flour on his thigh plate, the heat from the oven causing his helmet to fog up, him crouching in front of the glowing machine just staring into it.

The timer hasn't gone off yet but he thinks he can see the cake burning and he really doesn't want to burn it because it's the night before your birthday and he really doesn't want to give you a burnt cake but if he burns it where will he get a new one and when will he find the time to surprise you if he's spending that time fixing the cake and-

"Din?" You ask from the doorway, your hair frizzy and your eyes squinting. "What are you doing?" You chuckle.

He clears his throat and stands slowly, wiping his gloved hands on his apron. "I was, uh, I am-" he looks back down to the oven. "I think I'm burning your birthday cake."

You smile as you watch him pull the lump of batter from the oven. It's slanted and clearly not whisked together well enough, but you could tell he really wanted to do it himself. "It doesn't look that bad."

Din puts his hands on his hips and sighs, shifting his weight. "Yeah...it does."

You sigh and move to him, your brave and fearless bounty hunter who braved the wilds of the kitchen for you. You run your hands up his chest to wrap around his neck. "Thank you for trying."

Din stands awkwardly under your touch, clearly disappointed in himself and feeling a bit embarrassed. He sighs heavily, "I'm sorry. I wanted to surprise you."

You lean up to kiss the edge of his helmet. "I know. But now," You begin, reaching behind him to untie your apron he's wearing. "I can teach you."

"But it's your birth-"

"Din," You look up to the slat in his helmet to where his eyes would be. "I want to."

He let's out a sigh and nods, "Okay."

You take your apron off of him and put it on, Din there to tie it securely around your waist.

Din is a perfect student, listening and watching intently and trying not to be too helpless.

You can feel him tense when you put your hands over his, showing him exactly how to whisk the batter.

After the batter is made and the cake is in the oven, Din let's out a heavy sigh, brushing a hand through your hair. "Thank you."

Farmer's Market with Jack

For a summer day in July, the weather is not too bad and Jack is insistent on the two of you not waste it and go to the farmer's market.

"I'll make it fun, darlin', just do me this kindness."

You nod and beam up at him, a smear of flour on your cheek. "Anytime."

Looking up into his golden-flecked eyes, seeing the quirk of his smile and that one piece of hair that just won't stayed combed behind his ear, you can't help but to bend to his desires.

When you agree to it, he gives you a kiss on the cheek in recompense and hurries to shower and get ready for the day.

The market is full today, everyone else taking advantage of the nice weather as well, you assume.

Jack holds one of your hands in his and leads you forward through the stalls, "Anything catch your eye, clementine?"

You push yourself closer to him to avoid the hordes of people and not at all because you can see the outline of his bicep through the tight fabric of his shirt and can't stop yourself from needing to feel it.

The two of you stop at a booth selling squash and giggle at their funny shapes, Jack taking full advantage of the vegetable props to make you laugh even harder.

He loves seeing you like this; the stress of the day not yet pulling at your shoulders, the warm sunshine on your face and glinting off your dark hair, the ease of your time spent with him is suddenly surprising and helps him to realize just how much he loves you.

After buying a head of asparagus and a few huge sweet potatoes, he spots a booth selling flowers down the path and turns to you quickly, blocking your line of sight, "Will you do me a favor?"

A twinge of rouge rises in your face and you nod yes, batting your eyelashes dutifully up at him.

"Close those pretty blue eyes for me and stay right here, baby. I'll be right back." He requests and after you comply, he gives the bridge of your nose a quick kiss before you can hear his boots walking away.

Standing in a bustling farmers market with your eyes closed and tote bag in hand is not ideal and a little nerve wracking, but for Jack, you had to at least try.

He returns quickly and you can hear the smile in his tone when he says "Okay, open 'em."

When you do, you see that he has brought you a bushel of tulips; white and pink and yellow and red.

You're unsure how to respond and he can see it in your face. "You don't want them?" He asks, his eyes wide.

“No, no, Jack, I want them, I just-" There it is; that pesky heart rising in your throat. "I don't know what to say...Thank you."

He smirks at that, knowing it was a job well done, and pulls you into a hug, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. "You know I'd do anything for you, don't you, pretty girl?"

You nod and let your eyes close. "Yes, Jack."

"Good." He ends, using his lips to press the word into the softness of your neck and squeezing your sides just a little bit tighter.

TAGLIST: you :)

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter Fourteen

AO3

Beta read as always is @thesnadger​

Martin returns a lost item.

It's cleaning day. 

She was still in bed.

Martin breathed out his nose. This was normal, what with the early hours he kept. Still, as he shut the door, the smallest amount of tension left his shoulders. His mother would wake up in a few hours and go about her day as usual with what energy she had. Things were normal. 

He pressed his forehead to the wood.

She hadn’t been holding her skin.

Stowed it away, perhaps, to keep it close and secure instead of sitting in the corner of a stuffy attic. Tucked out of sight, as if it had never been there. If this was what she wanted, fine. He would leave it. He stepped away and continued with his morning, leaving the silence undisturbed.

His routine dragged on, and yet before he knew it he’d sped through the whole thing. Teeth, shower, some small nothing of a breakfast that he barely managed to get down. Pill box set on the counter, the previous day’s dose empty. Some dishes left in the sink that he hadn’t gotten to the night before quickly rinsed and set aside. Then, before he felt any time truly pass, he was slipping on his shoes.

His bag felt heavy as he lifted it from the table, though the sketchbook inside was no physical burden. This would be over soon, he told himself. It made no difference to his nervous insides.

He should’ve gotten more sleep.

It had been a mistake to stumble out of the house the night before. He could’ve complied with his mother’s demand for solitude by simply leaving the room and going upstairs to his own bed. Instead, he’d had to be walked home late at night like a drunk after last call. And above all, he was up earlier than usual, the final nail in his sleepless coffin. 

Martin rubbed away some of the exhaustion from his eyes and hefted the bag more securely onto his shoulder. Upon exiting his home he was met with a dreary, drizzling morning that sprayed his glasses with tiny droplets. Before long he would have to wipe them, but he kept his umbrella stored away.

“No reason to look up,” he muttered to himself, turning his back on the sea. It churned and scattered itself over the rocks. “Nothing but water in your eyes.”

It was easy enough to focus on the path as it sloped upward, and when he reached town he turned to walk on a street perpendicular to his normal route, that towering thing clawing at this periphery. He had another destination to avoid eye contact with first.

On the way he passed the storage house, doing his best to look like an uninterested pedestrian. It was hard not to stare. So quiet in the early morning, the building could’ve been unused for years if Martin hadn’t known better. 

He shook his head. There was no more business to be had there, at least for the moment. If none of them had been tracked down by the police (or worse), it wasn’t worth worrying about. No, the only person who knew about their little investigation was ahead of him, and like a fool Martin had to trust that he would keep this whole thing quiet.

The house was probably the same as it had been. Martin couldn’t tell, as he kept his eyes away from its large frame and numerous windows. The front gate was open and inviting, the mouth of a whale waiting for the tiniest specks of sea life to float inside.

A woman in a neat suit stood at the front door, apparently waiting for him. “Martin. Simon told me to expect you. No problems, I assume?”

“No.” Martin sifted through his bag and handed her the sketchbook.

“Wonderful. I’ll deliver this to him for you.” She lightly brushed at the cover, lips parting in a smile. “Also, Simon wished for me to tell you that the view from up high later today won’t be one to miss.”

Her face said to be excited, as if she were telling him discreetly of a meteor shower or a fireworks display. A fun, secret end to his family vacation that wasn’t mentioned in the brochure. She tucked the sketchbook under her arm, never letting the friendly grin drop.

“Have a nice day,” she said, through her sparkling teeth. The door was promptly shut in his face.

Backing away, Martin almost looked up at the windows overlooking the front of the house, then snapped his head back down. There was nothing for him up there but dark glass and rainwater.

--

“That’s…hm.” Jon grimaced in his chair. “It’s certainly ominous.”

Martin sat at his small desk making a modest attempt at getting his work done. “Yeah, I don’t think I’ll be looking out the windows later.”

Jon nodded. “Yes, that would be for the best. I am concerned, though. The possibility of that book being something more significant hadn’t crossed my mind with everything else going on. If I’d had more time to think, I would’ve asked to take a look at it.”

Across from Jon, Tim was flipping through Martin’s work contract with some intensity. Without looking up, he said, “Well, there’s no helping it now. It probably would’ve just given you a headache, or worse. Martin, is there a list of- oh, wait, I found them.”

Sasha leaned over to look at the pages in Tim’s hand, chewing on the inside of her cheek. When Martin had come in for the day, the three had already settled into their workplaces with a strange energy about them. Sasha in particular had been on edge, seemingly unable to sit for too long. 

When he’d asked about this, her only response had been, “Elias hasn’t contacted us yet.”

Jon had argued that it was early, that he had sent out an email the night before and Elias might not have seen it, but there were lines of worry etched in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes. 

Or perhaps he was also in need of a better night’s sleep. If Martin had to guess, none of them were running at full capacity. If combing through his incredibly boring work contract helped Tim and Sasha them feel productive, so be it.

“Well, whatever the book was,” Jon continued, “when you go upstairs later, make sure to take Sasha or myself with you. We’ve been largely unaffected by this place, so if anyone is to follow up on Fairchild’s… tip, it should be one of us.”

“He’s the type to rile people up for fun. Maybe it’s nothing.” Martin couldn’t even convince himself.

“Not worth the risk, what with the symptoms you and Tim have exhibited.” Jon glanced at the other two, who did not look away from their reading. He cleared his throat. “Better to be safe in this circumstance, I think.”

The group fell back into silent work, Martin at his desk, Jon on his laptop, and the other two scanning line after line of employment agreements and mind-numbing blocks of text Martin probably hadn’t read before signing. When he’d gone over it days before, there had been no secret clauses or double meanings. Maybe they would have more luck.

Tim eventually spoke up. “Huh. Martin, have you done any of the cleaning bit since we’ve arrived?”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “What? Sorry, did I leave a mess in the sink or-”

“No, no, that’s not it.” Tim tapped the back of his hand onto the page in front of him. “Says here you’re basically the janitorial staff. Something about having to go through the place and clean everything.”

“Oh. Right, yeah, it’s part of my job since no one else works here.” Heat crept up his neck. He’d completely forgotten in the week’s excitement. He muttered to himself, “Shit. I’d better get that done today. If Peter comes in tomorrow and sees it’s a mess-”

“Don’t worry, we won’t interrupt. Just tell us if we need to move anything.”

Martin nodded and pushed himself out of his chair. “Thanks for reminding me. It’s not a priority most of the time since it’s just me, but at the very least he’ll notice if the floors are bad.” And with all the weather and the people, they absolutely were. Goodness.

Tim clicked his tongue. “Can’t have him thinking of us as an intrusion, not if we want to keep the work going.”

“God, I hadn’t even thought about that.” Martin walked over to the closet and began to pull out cleaning supplies. It would have to be the kitchen first, then the floors…

Before long, he’d settled into his cleaning routine. All of the dishes were properly washed instead of just rinsed out, not that the tea stains would be coming off anytime soon. He did his best to mop the main area without disturbing the researchers. Besides some lifting of feet, there were no interruptions on his part.

He would have to go over some spots later, but there was no helping it with all these people about. With so many shoes on the tile and all the rotten weather, the place had gotten dirty and slick. He really would need to get a better mat for the front door if people were to come in more often, especially once it started snowing.

Pushing that thought gently aside, Martin walked toward the stairs with his mop and bucket full of sudsy water. 

“Wait, you really have to lug that all the way up?” Sasha asked. 

“Yeah…” Martin sighed and started climbing. “There’s nowhere to fill a bucket up there, but people go up just enough that it gets dirty.” 

From behind him, there was the sliding of chairs on tile. He looked back. Sasha led the other two toward him and said, “With what Fairchild said, it’s best not to risk anyone going up there alone. Besides, I want another look at the windows before it goes weird.”

“Okay… Just don’t look too far down when you do.” He glanced behind her. “Tim, are you sure you don’t want to-”

“Oh, I’ll be staying nice and safe in the center of the room where I can keep an eye on everyone.” Tim smiled with at least some humor. “Besides, you were right. The contract was a terrible read.”

Martin shrugged and continued his ascent with everyone trailing behind. He wouldn’t bother with the stairs until he was on his way down, in part due to safety but also because it was the biggest pain to keep the bucket balanced. 

Halfway up the stairs the shoulder pain kicked in as it usually did, near his neck and right between the shoulder blades. He knew it must’ve been from holding things wrong in some way. Maybe the shifting weight of the water messed with his muscles, but no matter how he held himself he had always managed to get at least a crick in his neck.

“Martin?” Jon said, sounding distant at the back of the line. “Is everything okay?”  

Martin hummed in response, stretching his neck. He didn’t work with proper posture, so that was almost definitely a factor. Setting a timer could be helpful. How often were people supposed to stand and move when sitting for a long time? Every thirty minutes? That seemed a bit too often, but he was no expert in muscles or spines. 

He wasn’t an expert in anything, really, but in this case he could at least google it. How often had he told himself he would google ‘when should you get up sedentary job?’ without doing so? Was thirty years when things started going wrong with your back? Martin was a tall man, and his back had never been great, not with his lifestyle or all the lifting he sometimes had to do at home, but he knew being tall could really mess up the spine. Herniated discs were apparently-

“Martin!” Sasha’s voice snapped, echoing up into the stairwell.

The sound of steps behind him had stopped. Martin paused and looked over his shoulder to find Sasha’s hand on it, giving it a shockingly forceful shake. The three of them seemed to sag in relief. Tim was gripping the handrail and leaned his head against the wall, while Jon just looked at him with his hands raised as if to prod Martin’s arm.

With a nervous laugh, Martin flicked his eyes between them. “W-what’s going on? You look like you’ve seen-”

“Martin, what just happened?” Sasha asked. Her fingers continued to dig into his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“We… walked up the stairs? I carried a bucket?” He lifted the bucket up as evidence, then stared at it. “Sorry, did some of the water splash out and make the stairs slippery? I tend to overfill it, but-” 

Jon cut him off. “Let’s just- we’ll talk when we get upstairs.” He glanced behind himself with some alarm and hurried to the front of the group.

Martin was about to argue, to say that no, if something happened he deserved to know- but one look at their faces was enough to shut him up as they resumed the trek upward. He gripped tight the bucket and mop. 

It became clear on the quiet walk that the others were waiting for something. Sasha kept lightly squeezing Martin’s shoulder as if to push him forward. Only once did they stop for Tim to get his bearings, after several instances of Tim waving off his own stumbles as nothing.

From the front Jon regularly looked over his shoulder, usually at Martin but occasionally past him down the winding steps. Martin attempted to catch his eye more than once to raise an eyebrow at him, but the man was distracted by whatever it was that had everyone all in a tizzy. 

Besides those tiny moments of confusion, it was easy enough to settle into the now familiar headspace of focusing on Jon’s back and not thinking too hard about it all.

Finally, thankfully, they reached the upper floor. Bright morning light filtered through the panes of glass, a startlingly intense change from the stairwell. Despite this, Martin shivered. If he dared go near the windows, he thought, would they be at all warm?

Sasha’s hand guided him to a small, faded couch in the corner. He set the cleaning supplies onto the floor, sat with his hands together in his lap, and waited.

Sasha began, “So, I’m sure that was… strange for you.”

“I mean, yeah?” Martin replied. He started rubbing a thumb into the back of his hand. “Clearly something happened that I don’t know about.”

Sasha looked around at the other two before fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Well. Before we get into that, there’s something you should hear. Late last night, I received an interesting voicemail.” 

Martin’s eyes grew wide. “Wait, she actually-”

“She didn’t actually claim to be anyone. Understandably suspicious.” Sasha looked at her phone and pulled something up on it. “Nevertheless, she had some… advice.”

She tapped the phone, then held it out.

A tired, irritated voice came through, muffled with static. “I’m not interested in talking, not if you’re involved with those people, that family. They’ve harassed me, stalked me, who knows what else.” 

There was a quick sigh. “But you found my number and just... called me. No one would blow all that work on such a weak lie unless they were being sincere. I guess. Or it’s just easier to hope that someone else sees that something is wrong.”

“So, before I realize this is a bad idea, tell this to whoever they got to replace him: Don’t assume incompetence. They know how to get away with things. It’s all making you ignore what’s right in front of you because, no, of course it must be a mistake or a typo. It’s about getting away with a lie without actually lying.” Another sigh. 

“That’s where he went, or where they took him, I know it. When he came out from- from wherever the first time, he found me losing it on the stairs after he-.” The person laughed, just barely. “Almost dropped the stupid water bucket when he saw me there. He was always- no. No. If you’re really trying to figure things out, then best of luck to you. You’re probably fucked, but either way, don’t… don’t go in alone. You’ll just get lost. Don’t bother calling this number again.” Click.

For a moment Martin stared at the phone. Her voice had been cracking near the end, and he pushed down the bile that rose in his throat. “This is, um… So, she saw something, and that something was…”

Tim nodded, fishing a folded page of the contract out of his pocket and giving it over to Martin. “She was right. It’s the smallest detail. No one would think it’s anything other than a mistake.” 

Slowly, Martin unfolded the page listing his general duties. It took him a moment, but after scanning a few lines he found it. His stomach twisted. “‘Upper floors’. There’s only the main floor and the top floor, nothing else.”

“Apparently not,” Jon said, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Because about halfway up the stairs you disappeared straight into a wall.”

[ruewrites]

Getaway

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 2062

Warnings: None

The sound of the ocean rose and fell in the distance. Gulls called and every now and again a car passed by. Arms tightened around him as morning light streamed in. Waking up to daylight still startled Asmodeus every now and again, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It  was soft and pleasant like the embrace of a lover. And speaking of lovers-

“Can I move darling?” he purred, reaching back to caress the side of his lover’s face.

Solomon nuzzled into the side of his neck, enjoying the feeling of soft skin against his own. “Mmm, just a few more minutes,” he murmured, lazily mouthing at the demon’s neck, “I’m not quite ready to let go of you yet.” The sigh that left Asmo’s lips was nothing short of lovely. Solomon enjoyed the feeling of having his demon pulled tightly against him. It made him feel complete, like he found the other piece of his missing half.

The bed and breakfast they had gotten was a cozy little place complete with a bedroom, kitchen, and living room. It was dressed in light blues, creams, and navies. Pictures of seashells and fish decorated the walls. It was such a domestic little place, and Asmodeus couldn’t help but lose himself in the feeling and the fantasies playing out in his head.  Speaking of fantasies, none of them included Asmo with dry or broken out  skin. Attempting to get out of bed once more only resulted in Solomon’s grip tightening and a grunt followed by a soft nip to his neck.

“Baby!”

“Not yet. You’re warm and soft, and I don’t want to have an empty bed until I get my first cup of coffee.”

“But my skincare routine .”

“But our vacation .”

Solomon shifted a bit in an attempt to get closer to his boyfriend’s face, moving from his neck to the corner of his lips. Getting the hint, Asmo turned his head and allowed Solomon to brush his lips against his. A soft sigh escaped his sorcerer as they kissed, and Asmo felt one of his hands travel up his chest. “You told me I had to leave my books at home,” Solomon murmured, lips still close to his boyfriend’s, “So all of my attention could be on us, and I intend to make sure you’re getting what you deserve.” Another peck.

Asmodeus couldn’t help but giggle, “And you most certainly can do that, once I finish my routine.” With one last kiss, he tore himself from Solomon, much to the other man’s dismay, and headed into a small bathroom that hung off the side of the bedroom. The sink was covered in organized piles of creams, hair products, makeup, and tooth care. Solomon’s poor toothbrush had been banished to the corner of the sink, surrounded by Asmo’s various products. His morning routine was long, but it was worth it in the end. After all, he had to stay beautiful and desirable (even if his wonderful boyfriend said he didn’t need “all that fancy stuff to be beautiful”).

Near the end of his beauty regimine, Asmo heard a soft thump, a grunt, and then feet padding against the carpeted floor. “Good morning!” Asmo sang, washing off his toothbrush. Solomon let out a soft hum as the tips of his fingers grazed against the demon’s back dipping a little lower to give his hip a soft squeeze.

“Morning,” Solomon yawned back, starting to brush his own teeth. His eyes were still lidded slightly, movements still sluggish. “Coffee?” he murmured, turning his attention back to Asmo. The demon was currently messing with his hair, trying to style it just right.

“I can make it baby, I know you need it.”

Coffee in the morning was nice. While he loved Solomon, he didn’t exactly trust him with the keurig. Asmo had placed himself up on the counter. Mainly it was because he liked the adoring look in Solomon's eyes as he looked up at him. The sorcerer put his mug in the slot of the coffee maker once more and Asmo wasted no time in pressing the button. Sighing, Solomon nudged between Asmo’s legs and rested against him. “That’s your fifth cup you know,” Asmo mused, enjoying the way his sorcerer’s hands roamed his body. There wasn’t anything needy in his touches. A light caress here, a little squeeze there. It was all innocent in a way.

“Mmm, and that means I’ll soon be awake,” Solomon smiled. His hands went to Asmo’s lower back and pulled him forward. With a squeal Asmo quickly put his mug down in favor of wrapping himself around Solomon. Arms and legs securely around him, Solomon removed his demon from the counter in favor of one of the pulled out chairs in the kitchen. “This is a lovely view.”

Asmo hit Solomon’s chest playfully, cheeks flushing a pretty shade of pink. Despite having completed his morning routine, the demon was still in his pyjamas (one of Solomon’s shirts). “Of course it’s lovely, it’s me,” he said, leaning down to peck at his lips.  “But what about your coffee? Don’t you need your caffeine fix?” he teased, smoothing down Solomon’s messy bed head.

“I think it’s starting to kick in,” Solomon said, leaning into Asmodeus’ touch, “Besides my darling Asmodeus, my addiction to you outweighs that of caffeine…. Most of the time.” Asmo let out a groan and let his head fall on Solomon’s shoulder.

“You’re horrible .”

“Maybe so, but unfortunately you love me.”

*****

Asmo was lounging on a beach chair, his sunglasses were pushed down on his nose a bit so he could properly look over the magazine in his hands. A large floppy sun hat with a pink ribbon helped protect his face from the harsh UV rays and his swim trunks matched the ribbon. Of course his sunscreen was also constantly close by.  Suddenly a sharp squeal left the demon as cold water assaulted his form, “ Solomon! ”

Solomon was resting against the edge of the pool, cheek resting on one of his palms, and a devious grin on his face. “You know, if you’re going to be in your swimsuit, you might as well get in.”

“But I’ll ruin my makeup! Plus I’m completely fine with watching you swim while I sit here and look pretty,” Asmo countered, putting his magazine down and crossing his arms. He eyed Solomon as the man let out a sigh. As he started to lift himself out of the water, Asmodeus felt his mouth go dry.  Pact marks covered his body and Asmo couldn't help but follow them all the way down to where his trunks dipped just a little too low beneath  his hips. Some water droplets still clung to his form as he walked closer to the folding chair, only to flick some of the water droplets at his boyfriend and quickly grabbing a towel and placing over his shoulders just so, so that Asmo couldn’t see anything anymore. He wasn’t even drying off, he just wanted to torture Asmo.

“Noooo!” Asmo whined, grabbing at the towel, “Baby don’t do this to meeee. Let me look!”

“Ah ah,” Solomon tutted, grabbing his demon’s wrists, “You don’t get hot boyfriend eye candy unless you come in the water Asmodeus.”

The strawberry blonde pouted  and shifted in his seat, “You’re a tease.”

“And you’re not?”

Solomon was enjoying watching his boyfriend struggle with his decision, he could practically see the entire battle take place on his face. Finally Asmo sighed and removed his sun hat and his sunglasses. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he chuckled.

Solomon shrugged off the towel and the pair went to the edge of the pool. Solomon slipped in first, disappearing below the water before popping back up. Asmo on the other hand, was taking his time, letting his feet dangle in the water for a moment. “It’s cold .”

“You know it might have been warmer if we’d gone down to the beach,” Solomon chuckled, helping ease his demon into the water. He could feel Asmo’s nails dig into his shoulders ever so slightly as he clung to him, looking for what little warmth Solomon could provide.

Nuzzling his face into Solomon’s neck Asmodeus responded, “Perhaps, but I don’t really want some brat on a crowded beach to kick sand at me. Plus it would be very hard to spend time with my boyfriend with a bunch of strangers crowding and admiring me.” With a roll of his eyes, Solomon dunked both of them under the water. Coughing and sputtering, Asmo swiped his hand through the water vigorously, splashing the laughing man before him, “I. Was. Kidding ,” he huffed in between splashes. Kind of. He was kind of kidding. After all, he was beautiful, no doubt people would want to get a closer look.

Solomon’s laugh as he tried to protect himself from the watery attack. “Even so, people looking at my darling dear Asmodeus in such ways awakens something within me,” he said, poking his nose, “I know it can’t be helped, but I also enjoy the looks on their faces when I steal you away.”  

“Could it be that you get jealous darling?” he giggled, relishing in the flurry of kisses that his sorcerer delivered.

“Perhaps.”

“Maybe we could go to the beach tonight then,” Asmo whispered, “Just you and me, enjoying our little getaway together… Doesn’t it sound romantic?”

Asmodeus’ finger trailed down Solomon’s chest to wear it disappeared and then flicked some of the water up towards his face. “I wonder why you would want a desolate beach with just the two of us.”

The demon scoffed and let go of his boyfriend, allowing his body to float in the water. “ Please . I can like cute little romantic scenarios! Besides, beach sex is great in theory, but absolutely  dreadful in practice! Sand gets everywhere, even on a blanket... It’s not as fun as it sounds.”

Solomon snorted as he swam closer, “I’ll take your word on that then.” Asmo watched as he put his hands behind his back. A few minutes later, the demon was hit with an inflatable beach ball.  “So, what do you say we have a little fun before nightfall?”

*****

Everything was so quiet. Even the ocean came down from a mighty roar to a gentle whisper. Asmodeus was almost afraid to break the silence. Every now and again his pinky finger would brush against Solomon’s hand in an attempt to coax him into grabbing his own. Of course not a lot of coaxing was needed. The feeling of Solomon’s thumb slowly rubbing over the back of Asmo’s hand made him feel warm inside. It spread from his hand all the way up to his cheek and possessed every inch of his being. The sand was fine and appeared to glow in the soft rays of the moon.Every now and again, cool water would lap at his feet before retreating and carrying sand and debris with it. Then Solomon stopped, just for a moment, and let go of the demon’s hand.

“What?” Asmo asked softly, allowing himself to break the silence. Solomon didn’t answer, instead he travelled into the water a little was and dunked his hands into the shallows.

“Ah! There we go!” he said, rather triumphantly. The volume in his voice almost scared Asmo, as if Solomon had broken some sort of sacred curtain or offended some sleeping god. Not that Asmo cared much for the divine.  

His sorcerer came back to his side, grinning like a school boy, and held out his hands. The shell had just been big enough for Solomon to see, was intact, and bursting with color. “I thought I saw something,” he murmured, “Perhaps we could take it as a sign?”

Before Asmodeus could ask him what he was talking about, Solomon sat down and patted the area next to him, “Let’s stay for a while.”

Asmo didn’t have to be told twice

He wasted no time curling up by Solomon’s side and laying his head on his shoulder. His sorcerer’s arm wrapped around him and he placed a soft kiss on the top of Asmo’s head. Asmodeus liked this, Solomon’s arms around him while they sat in comfortable silence. He felt like he could stay like this forever.

Two figures bathed in moonlight without worry and nothing but love for each other.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, BECKY! You’ve been accepted for the role of LADY MACBETH with an approved FC change to Karrueche Tran. Admin Cas: Ah, Lucrezia. She’s undoubtedly one of my favourite characters here, and for good reason. She’s perceptive, calculating, enchanting, and perhaps most importantly of all, utterly terrifying. I adored your application from start to finish, Becky - you captured every dark ambition, every siren song, every scheme and subterfuge that Lucrezia’s ever used to her advantage. Femininity is her weapon, and she knows exactly how to use it. Honestly, I could feel the beat of her heart in every single word you wrote. This line in particular got me: “You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath.” Your Lucrezia certainly isn’t for the fainthearted, and I’m so excited to watch how she flourishes in your capable hands! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Becky

Age | 24

Preferred Pronouns | she/her

Activity Level | WFH so online daily.

Timezone | GMT

How did you find the rp? | Blast from the past !

IN CHARACTER

Character | Lady Macbeth, Lucrezia Falco

What drew you to this character? |

There’s blood on your hands and it won’t wash out. There’s blood on your hands and it glistens, deep and dark and vicious. There’s blood on your hands and it whispers like a friend, like a confidant, like a lover.

There’s blood on your hands – and you know this is the price to pay for greatness.

You will build your empire piece by piece until a crown of power rests against your brow. If the streets of Verona must run with ichor, so be it. You are the flower and the serpent. You are becoming and unbecoming. You are forging yourself anew until the person looking back at you in the mirror is a reflection you deem worthy.

Docile smiles have never been a currency you can afford to use. When you were younger, bright and teetering on the edge of foolishness, your mother and father had wished for a doe-eyed daughter. Instead, you had come home from school with a bruise marking your face and a blade-sharp smile cutting across your mouth ( the other girl had looked far worse ). Makeup had covered the purpling skin from friends and family, your mother chiding you with a loss for how to tame her daughter. Your parents had done all they could to brush aside your misdemeanours. This is what happens when you grow up in a house which thrives on concealment: you get good at hiding your sins.

You feel yourself being picked apart. The decadent dance of decaying debutante. You must shed your snakeskin and free the heart-thrum-fresh creature which lays ready and waiting beneath. Your heart turns to a sticky dark mess that slides through the fingers of anyone who dares to try and save it.

You were never built to be soft.

Venom pools in your mouth, tart on the tongue. Dark eyes shine bright in the nighttime, flashing a smile to distract from danger. Laughter echoes down a cobbled passageway and silence pools along stone grooves soon after, matching the rust-coloured criss-cross patterns that decorate your palm as soap and water cleanse you of tonight’s trouble.

Marriage. Misdemeanours. Murder. Perhaps there’s a reason they call you Lady M beyond simply carrying your husband’s moniker with you. Binding yourself to him had been necessary to get where you are now but it had not been his trust you sought to gain but that of Cosimo. The best laid plans are those that take time. You know how to lay in wait, patient when necessary, and those who do not perform as you wish them to are cut loose from their marionette strings.

There is nothing you wouldn’t do to achieve what you desire.

– Lucrezia Falco is the amalgamation of some of my favourite characters, including her namesake; Narcissa Malfoy; Marisa Coulter; Rebecca de Winter; Carmine Zuigiber; Melanie Cavill; Estella Havisham; Amy Dunne. I’m definitely drawn towards the idea of Lucrezia embracing the darker parts of herself and pushing her boundaries. I’m always a sucker for a character who stirs gossip and whispers in people’s ears so I have no doubt she’ll bring her fair share of drama with her, leaving anyone who suffers for it in her wake. A temptress at heart, she’s particularly adept at inciting trouble.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

I. ASCENT. You are destined for more. You can feel it calling to you like a siren song billowing up from murky depths. Every ounce of praise is gathered, wrung out and collected from those above you. Hierarchy is merely a concept devised to provide a clear pathway for people like you. The top is evident; the means for ascent less so. – Lucrezia sets her sights high. The absolute pinnacle of her goals is to achieve a high level rank, be it Boss, Underboss or Advisor. She isn’t fussy. I have no doubt this will put her at odds with Juliana ( who is somewhat her foil ) but who doesn’t love some tension? Vivienne and her influence is potentially tricker for Lucrezia to deal with but I envision her attempting to carve out a mentorship-type role for herself in the heart of Ms Sloane. She’ll be quick to pitch her desire to become something more and, whilst it would be great to see her achieve it, I can’t help but wonder what she may do should she be denied.

> Vaguely and conceptually curious about the idea of her becoming a hitman to take the spot Orion left behind but she’d certainly be a bit of a wildcard option, all things considered. Very femme fatale, very serpent-under-the-flower.

II. BONDS. You can feel him watch you, eyes tracking your movements. Lust occasionally sparks but love remains absent, settling like quiet of your shared abode when his conversation starter falls flat at your feet. It is not his fault, not really. You are repulsed by the idea of letting him know you well enough to know your weak spots. To let him in would be to surrender. The organ beneath your ribs serves its purpose keeping you alive and you shan’t let it soften for the sake of a husband who wants to know the woman who shares his bed better. – Ah, Mikael. Married for his connections and potential. Lucrezia is purposefully preventing herself from having any feelings towards him that aren’t inherently carnal but even those have begun to dry, the thrill of what they once had having risked returning to routine. I don’t think it’s impossible for them to fix what they have but it would take Lucrezia learning to be vulnerable in front of him which, after ten-or-so years of marriage, may admittedly never happen. For now she is satisfied keeping him ( what she assumes to be ) happy so that he doesn’t grow tired of her. It’d be interesting and very Shakespeareanly-apt were he to get wrapped up in her devious plans. For better or for worse, and all that… Perhaps they will end up breaking apart or perhaps they will overcome their current lack of love for one another. Either way, it’ll be messy.

III. MANIA. You wipe the blade against silk, a dark smear across fine fabric. Information is precious and once you’ve plucked what you need from a mouth that offers what it can in amongst strangled sobs, you dispose of the source before others can make use of it. Clean. Precise. An emissary is not expected to get their hands dirty like this but you do what you can to get noticed by the right people. And the wrong ones. But your sins are beginning to take a toll, gnawing their way into the blackened husk of your heart. Before long, you may begin to unravel.

– Emissaries trade in whispers but Lucrezia knows she needs to get ahead of the rest in order to stand out from the crowd. She’ll do whatever it takes to get information and secure deals. We love drama in this house so I am absolutely here for her getting in too deep. The more she tests her morality, the weaker her conscience grows. She treats it like an experiment to see whether she’ll ever reach a point of breaking and thus far is yet to see any signs of such. If there is a price to pay for these inhuman acts, it will be her sanity.

IV. CONTROL. You will take what is offered. You will keep climbing. You won’t turn back and you certainly won’t let anything get in your way. Or anyone. You need those ranked higher than you to look on you favourably. The thought of someone close to Cosimo thinking you are incapable makes your skin crawl. With recent deaths and absences leaving gaping holes in the mob hierarchy, you need to do all you can to ensure that those who fill them adore you.

– The higher she attempts to rise, the further the fall. Lucrezia knows she cannot achieve power on her own; she needs supporters. It will take more than a well placed compliment and a brush of her fingertips. She needs to climb inside their minds; carve out a space for herself to sit amongst dark thoughts and ensure the loyalty of her fellow Capulets. Once inspiring this in a chosen few, she will rely on them to protect her and behave in a way that snubs out the sparks of any other bright things daring to climb the ranks. As soon as a new Advisor is chosen, should it be someone she doesn’t take kindly to, she may very well start fanning the embers of mistrust in their abilities. A whisper here, a comment there. A reputation can take a long time to build but can be toppled overnight by the right sharp-smiling disarming woman.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Not currently but that could certainly change if it helped with the overall plot!

IN DEPTH

In-Character Interview:

I. ) At half past nine, in the wake of Mikael going to work and leaving her alone ( precisely the way she likes it ) in the shell of their home, Lucrezia dons her gym wear and goes for a jog. The route is specific. The timing is immaculate. She passes the wife of the mayor like clockwork, passing a smile in her direction each morning until smiles become greetings and greetings become stopping to coo at the child in her stroller.

Eventually this turns to weekly lunches and invitations to various social events. They all dance the way she desires, puppets dangling from strings caught in her hands. It’s at the book club that she learns the most; gossip spilling from the wine-loosened lips of women in power or women married to power. Falling into the latter camp isn’t so bad when it gives you a free step up in the world. Lucrezia knows this fact well.

“But is that really your favourite place in Verona?” the Capulet asks as they talk of unexciting places nestled snuggly in her Don’s territory, seeking a location fit to hold an entirely over-the-top birthday party for the mayor’s wife. She’s only been half-listening, waiting for the perfect moment to chip in with her opinion. Her valued opinion. That was important. Charm the right people into believing you have their best interests at heart and they won’t see that your own motives lay at the centre of all you do.

“What about Teatro Nuovo?” she suggests, seemingly off-handedly, gaze fixing on the mayor’s wife with familiarity and a glimmer of private acknowledgement, as though only she knew precisely where would be best. Lucrezia wouldn’t dare spend an unnecessary amount of time in Montague territory typically but this particular excuse to snoop around the building wasn’t one to turn her nose up at. With high profile politicians and their security in attendance, she’ll bet her luck that the Montagues wouldn’t dare to target her. “There’s an elegance to the theatre. Grandeur. And who doesn’t love an opera-masquerade themed party?”

II. ) “I’m trying to get a better idea of Mr Falco’s routine. What does your typical day look like?” Mikael’s PA asks, far too eager to please their boss in a way that Lucrezia would like to think only she knows the art of.

The edges of her mouth lift, hiding her irritation at the prying behind a well-practiced false smile. “To begin, Mikael and I wake up and enjoy some early morning cardio.” The lie leaves her lips, accompanied by a laugh to put the other at ease. Her wifely facade remains; she’s used to putting on this charade. It is the blush that stains the PA’s cheeks that marks her success. “And then he will leave for work and I attend a yoga class or meet a friend for breakfast.” Lie. It’s more likely to be a negotiation, securing a deal with someone whose attention lingers on her just as much as it lingers on the examples of the firearms the Capulets can offer. “I’ll typically spend some time running errands or planning a dinner party before lunch which is either eaten alone at home or out. The afternoon is for shopping or a leisurely stroll.” Another lie. Afternoons are for organising reports to give to Vivianne. Who is following through with their half of agreements? Who is falling short and needs a follow up visit from her less-charming friends? “And then Mikael will return from work and we’ll have an enjoyable evening.”

Lucrezia conjures a vision of perfection without giving it a second thought. She neglects to mention the hours spent at The Twelfth Night; or those coaxing whispers from unyielding mouths; or those scrubbing the blood of another from the beds of her fingernails.

III. ) “What has been your biggest mistake thus far?” The bespectacled marriage counsellor asks. Beside Lucrezia, Mikael fidgets. She reaches for his hand, curling her fingers around it. His wedding band is warm to the touch. He stills as he always does when she touches him as though surprised by his own wife’s affection. Predictable.

Agreeing to attend this meeting, she thinks to herself. She’d slammed a door in Mikael’s face when he’d suggested they try and talk things through with a therapist present yet agreed to attend for the sake of keeping up appearances ( he talks to Everett about their relationship, she knows this much ). “I once served garlic hors d'oeuvres at a party with an orchestra.” Lucrezia answers. “Such a bad idea when everyone had to stand so close to speak to one another.”

Her revenge on her husband’s attempt to meddle with their relationship is to be had afterwards as she says goodbye, a hand on the therapist’s arm and a sultry tone drifting from her lips. When she glances towards the door, she meets Mikael’s line of sight.

It didn’t matter what games they played, the queen was always the stronger piece.

IV. ) “What has been the most difficult task asked of you?” Cosimo’s question wafts towards her on a tendril of cigarette smoke that catches in the sunlight streaming into his office through slits in the blinds.

Inwardly, Lucrezia wants to scream. Very little can make her speak genuinely, truthfully, from the heart. This line of questioning makes it feel as if he were trying to climb inside her head and understand who she was. She doesn’t care for thinking about her shortcomings, nor does she have any intention of allowing Cosimo to do the same.

She deploys one of her usual tactics. Raises her hand slowly to pull the cigarette from Cosimo’s lips and hold it to her own, taking a drag before returning the lipstick-stained end to him. She exhales slowly. “I’ll tell you when you give me something difficult to do.” Her brow raises in challenge, settling the boss with a steady stare. Test me, she wants to tell him. I want to feel alive.

V. ) “What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?” Everett asks her the day she leaves his decina, chin held high in light of her promotion to emissary, no longer trapped beneath the heel of another man’s shoe. The question is posed casually but Lucrezia knows him well enough by now that Everett rarely acts without purpose – and that purpose would be sat snuggly against the morals that keep his spine straight and his expression guarded.

Lucrezia turns the question over in her mind cautiously as though it were a trap, steel jaw ready to spring shut. A smile slinks slowly across her lips as she closes the space between them until a metre of polished wooden floor is what keeps them apart ( along with a history of unresolved differences ). She squares her gaze with his. “All this time spent teaching me and you still can’t figure out what goes on inside my head, can you?” Something that isn’t quite a laugh escapes her mouth. The sound is silky, amusement winding itself around it like a serpent. “What would you like me to say? That the war is necessary? That, like you, I got involved in all this because of someone I love?”

It doesn’t take a telepath to know that Vivianne springs to the forefront of both of their minds. An emissary is only as good as her intel and sufficient background information was always a valuable arsenal to carry. Her reassignment had not been born from luck; she knows exactly what she’s doing.

Acrylic fingernails reach to brush an imaginary piece of lint from the shoulder of Everett’s suit before turning swiftly to leave, her answer falling behind her as she strides out of the room. “It’s about time we fucking won, Everett.”

Connections:

THE SPOUSE: Mikael Falco. As much as it pains her that the man she married can’t find the strength to stand up to her when necessary, she still clings to a thread of hope that she can turn him into the person she wishes he was. Headstrong. Lethal. As hungry for more as she is. The Falco name is a pretty one and would surely look just as beautiful sitting alongside the most powerful families of Verona, no?

THE ADVERSARY: Calina Sokolova. This town isn’t big enough for the both of them. Calina seems to slip through life with casual elegance whereas Lucrezia feels like her nails have left imprints in everything, working hard for what she deserves. She waits with bated breath to hear news of the Montague emissary’s fall from grace, eager for the whispers to land on the shell of her ear first so she can watch it all burn down in flames.

THE ANNOYANCE: Everett Craven. There’s fun to be had in finding new subtle ways to torment a man like Everett. She waits for the twitch of his brow or the tick of his jaw, hoping to be the cause of the vexed sigh that leaves his mouth. His seriousness mixed with his influence over Mikael are, irritatingly, things she’s never been able to break. And not for a lack of trying.

THE PUPIL: Delilah Bello. She is not one to offer a shoulder to cry on but, equally, she is not one to disregard those who do whatever it takes to stay ahead. Delilah’s choice of tactics may have been misguided and Lucrezia certainly doesn’t find the soldier’s attempts to deny what happened in any way productive – but perhaps she simply needs steering in the right direction. Making the best of a bad situation can be an enjoyable pastime when done right.

THE SOURCE: Mona Chen. Mona certainly knows how to string together a pretty sentence, words shining through the darkness that they have both made their home in. Lucrezia enjoys collecting the payment owed to Cosimo; enjoys having the privilege of hearing the secrets whispered to her as if some vessel for the truth. She turns the information over in her head, admiring it, deciding what should and shouldn’t be passed on. There’s power in that.

THE SEDUCED: Open to anyone. Lucrezia has them hooked around her finger, but unlike post-marriage Mikael they prove to be much more of a fun plaything. She knows they want what they can’t have but she’s beginning to get a taste of her own medicine. Being with them is like playing with fire, dangerous but enthralling. She won’t cheat on Mikael but she might just test a few boundaries.

THE SANCTUARY: Open to Capulets or neutrals. Even someone like Lucrezia needs a safe place to rest. Somewhere she can drop the many charades and be herself. This person is, perhaps, the only soul she has ever felt truly at peace beside. Time is what strengthened their bond, along with their fair share of helping one another out of tricky or dangerous situations.

THE TRICKED: Open to Montagues. She has no intention of harming them, for that would be counterproductive. They are a plaything, of sorts. An experiment to see what she can do, what she can achieve. When they first meet, she slips into a charade of fear. Pretends to be at their mercy if only for the sake of spinning her story: the terrified wife. A sob story can go a long way if you know how to play it.

[artificialqueens]

Washed in the Tide of Her Breathing 2/4 (Branjie)--athena2

A/N: Thank you to everyone that read and commented on chapter 1! Your support means so much to me! I would love if you could leave some feedback on this chapter. Writ is the best and I can’t thank them enough for beta-ing, brainstorming with me, and answering all my questions. (Also, I’ve taken too many English classes not to cite my source, so the article about the Melville to Hawthorne letter can be found here).

For a second when she wakes up, Brooke forgets.

She forgets there’s a woman just feet away, tucked under a plaid quilt in Brooke’s old bedroom-turned-guest-room that’s been useless until now, her presence breaking through the dust of memories coating the room. The room overlooks the ocean, and Brooke used to read by the window while sea-kissed breezes flowed through. Her parents smiled at her from the precious few photos she had of them, a collection that stopped growing before she did.

Brooke had moved into her grandfather’s room years ago, after carefully packing most of his stuff away (something she discussed at length with Dr. Ganache), and tries not to feel like an imposter in his room. This morning, she reminds herself that she’s capable and deserving of her job, capable and deserving of being in his space, capable and deserving of living, and gets out of bed.

Smoky gray casts a shadow over the window. The rain has slowed to a drizzle, splattering on the roof, and it seems the roads really will clear by Monday. But that still leaves three days of the same gentle water Brooke loves imprisoning her like some princess in a tower.

It’s not being stuck inside that bothers her. Brooke has more than enough food, books, and streaming services to last. It’s the thought of being stuck with someone, mind racing and skin itching with the thought of someone watching her constantly.

She takes slow, measured breaths and ties a few knots, fears rising out on a steady stream of air. She’ll be polite to Vanessa, they’ll watch TV, and Vanessa will be gone Monday. This whole thing will be just a memory for Brooke, a tiny drop of water in the ocean. A few weeks and she won’t remember the sound of Vanessa’s laugh, how it’s rough and velvety in the same breath. A few months and she’ll probably forget her name, how it’s sweet like chocolate in Brooke’s mouth.

Brooke flicks through a book, the weight of it as steadying now as it was in her childhood, the idea of all those worlds beneath her fingers making her feel secure, comforted. It was these worlds she escaped to, to have adventures alongside the characters, to pretend she had parents waiting for her like they did.

“Morning, Brooke!”

Alice in Wonderland slips into Brooke’s lap as she jumps.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” Vanessa asks.

“I’m fine.” Brooke takes a good look at Vanessa, stomach stirring as she does. Vanessa looks stronger today, more vibrant. Her cheeks bloom with rosy life, eyes bright and grin broad. Brooke is so relieved she’s okay, showing no pain from whatever (or whoever) hurt her, that she ignores her ridiculous theory about Vanessa being some sea creature. Vanessa’s okay, and that’s enough.

She realizes she forgot her medication in her cloud of worry, and notices Vanessa watching.

“I take medication, I–”

“It makes you feel better?” Vanessa asks.

“Yeah.” Brooke has bad days occasionally, but when the mental illness was at its worst she couldn’t even get out of bed, could do nothing but lay there and pray for sleep to avoid being conscious. She wouldn’t be able to function without the meds, and she’s not ashamed of it.

“That’s all that matters,” Vanessa says firmly. “You don’t have to explain anything.”

Brooke nods appreciatively. Her offer of coffee is met with an enthusiastic nod, and Vanessa is practically vibrating with energy as Brooke passes her the lobster mug. It’s a good thing she made decaf.

Vanessa is at ease in the kitchen, cheerfully eating eggs on toast, and Brooke wonders what it’s like to be so comfortable around others, to say things without turning them over in her mind a hundred times, worrying how they’ll sound. To be the kind of person other people go toward, instead of away from.

“We gonna watch Thrones today?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke nods.

Vanessa crunches her last bite of toast. “Let’s go.”

—

The morning passes quickly, Vanessa letting out whoops and gasps as they move through episodes. It makes Brooke grit her teeth at first, because she always watches things in silence, but when Vanessa screeches about ‘Sharpie Bannister’ (as she’s renamed Cersei Lannister), Brooke has to laugh. There’s something about watching the shock and excitement play out across Vanessa’s face that’s simply infectious, impossible to resist.

Vanessa tags along when Brooke climbs the steps for her afternoon light routine. Brooke’s skin prickles as Vanessa watches her. The only person that’s seen her work is her grandfather, and Brooke sweats with worry that she’ll mess up the one thing she’s good at and look like an idiot in front of Vanessa.

It takes Brooke a few windows to sink back into her rhythm. She can’t really blame Vanessa for staring. Brooke used to observe her grandfather with the same bright-eyed wonder over how his gnarled fingers moved of their own accord, how he didn’t even look where he stepped because his feet knew the way. If Vanessa’s open mouth is any indication, Brooke has perfected his movements, making it all look as natural as breathing, and she bursts with pride.

“So, how do you know this stuff?” Vanessa asks, motioning for Brooke to sit with her at the base of the light. This close, Brooke can smell her own lavender body wash Vanessa’s been using. “You have a degree in lighthousing?”

Brooke hugs her knees to her chest. “I have a degree in English, actually.” It may have taken her a while to finish it, after a leave of absence because the anxiety and depression grew so severe she couldn’t complete her assignments, but she had finished all the same, with a minor in marine studies. “The lighthouse stuff is from my grandfather. He taught me everything I know.”

“He’s a lighthouse keeper too?”

“He was.”

The silence hangs like a midday sun as Vanessa processes the words.

“I’m sorry, Brooke,” she says softly. Vanessa’s hand curves toward Brooke’s knee before darting back, like she wants to comfort Brooke but isn’t sure she should. Brooke suddenly wants her to, wants to see what Vanessa’s hand feels like, wants its steadying weight.

“It’s okay,” Brooke says.

They sit in fog-thick silence and Brooke wonders if she should speak or leave, sink or swim. The air is wide open for her to talk about her grandfather, but she just doesn’t want to. She’s been thinking about him constantly since she found Vanessa, trying to be kind like him, but she selfishly wants to hoard her memories like treasure, not share them. Vanessa doesn’t know how he preferred waffles to pancakes and put cinnamon in the batter, how we let her practice dance recitals in the living room and applauded wildly, how he let bugs go outside rather than kill them, and if Brooke tells her, then the memories aren’t just Brooke’s anymore. It’s like she’s giving part of him away.

“It’s real cool. This lighthouse stuff, I mean.” Vanessa fills the quiet. “You make it look so easy.”

Brooke shrugs. “I’ve had lots of practice.” Learning it was the best thing for her after losing her parents, and she had thrown herself into it to ease the pain. It gave her something to focus on, something to keep her worried mind occupied. A way to help people get home, like her parents couldn’t.

“Well, it’s beautiful. The way you move and everything.”

Brooke swallows nervously, stomach fluttering like butterflies are running wild. No one’s complimented the way she moves since her dance days. But Vanessa notices the grace Brooke’s always carried, even thinks it’s beautiful. The last bit of fear melts away, and Brooke stops thinking of Vanessa as an intruder and starts thinking of her as a fri–acquaintance. It’ll have to do, because there’s no title for ‘nice person that washed up on my lighthouse’.

“Thank you,” Brooke says finally. “Um, do you like quesadillas? I was thinking of making them for lunch.”

Vanessa grins, exposing bright white teeth. “Of course!”

—

Vanessa asks if they can play a board game that night, and Brooke brushes the dust of her childhood and pulls out Monopoly. They play on the floor, lantern illuminating the board, the glow highlighting all the different shades of brown–chocolate and hazelnut and mocha–swirling in Vanessa’s eyes. Brooke keeps getting lost in them, and has to tear her gaze away to focus.

Brooke quickly sees that Vanessa came to win, racking up properties and snatching money from Brooke like a middle-aged banker. But Brooke’s had years of practice, and she takes Vanessa’s money right back, their stacks too high to tell who’s winning.

Vanessa asks questions while they play, wanting to know Brooke’s favorite foods and colors and movies. Brooke hesitates at first, but what’s the harm in giving these pieces of herself to someone she’ll never see again? So Brooke answers questions and echoes them to Vanessa, hours ticking by like minutes as she learns the colors Vanessa likes to wear, the funny movies she watches to cheer herself up. She talks more with Vanessa in an hour than she does in a week.

Brooke coughs and sneezes through the game, using a whole box of tissues. Not changing her clothes after finding Vanessa is catching up with her. When Brooke sneezes so hard it sends paper money fluttering, Vanessa’s eyes flicker to her in concern.

“You gettin’ sick?” Vanessa asks.

Brooke shrugs. “Probably a cold. Happens a lot near the water.” Brooke often got sick as a kid because of how cold and damp it was by the sea. Her grandfather would set up a makeshift bed on the couch, tell her stories, and let her watch anything she wanted, a Star Wars marathon making the coughing and sneezing and bitter cherry medicine almost bearable.

Brooke can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have Vanessa sitting at her side, telling her stories.

—

Brooke is definitely sick when Saturday morning rolls around, her head cloudy like it’s stuffed with cotton, tissue after tissue chafing her raw nose.

The rain is still trickling down, mocking the weather reports that said it would stop by Friday. The new report is predicting Sunday.

Brooke shuffles into the kitchen and sees Vanessa sipping coffee and looking so right at the table. Brooke’s never considered her kitchen empty before, but Vanessa makes it full.

“You’re sick!” Vanessa yelps with worry. Vanessa is worried about her, is upset that she’s sick, and maybe it’s the illness making Brooke’s thoughts fuzzy, but she’s grateful Vanessa is here, grateful to have someone worried for her.

“I’m fine. Just a cold.”

Vanessa’s hand stretches up to her forehead before Brooke can stop it. She figures it’s rude to push Vanessa away, and her touch is soothing, so Brooke leaves it.

“I don’t think you have a fever,” Vanessa says, hand lingering longer than necessary.

“It’s just a cold,” Brooke repeats, wracked with a sudden shiver from the loss of contact.

“Well, why don’t you lie down?” It’s an order more than a suggestion, and Brooke gives in, too tired to argue despite the strangeness of it all. No one has cared for her like this in years. She usually just took medicine and went on with her day, no one even knowing she was sick, and Vanessa seating her on the couch and buzzing with concern spreads affectionate warmth through Brooke’s chest. Some part of Brooke likes it, likes having someone take care of her when she’s done it alone for so long. And some part of her likes that the someone is Vanessa.

Vanessa carefully drapes a blanket over Brooke, watching her with such tenderness and adoration it makes her ache with a sudden longing to hold Vanessa. The cold is really messing with her head. Vanessa brings her cold meds, cough drops, and extra tissues before settling into the armchair and starting the next episode.

Brooke’s eyelids grow heavy after the theme song, and she drifts off into a warm sleep punctuated with dreams of sailing with Vanessa.

A gentle hand nudges her shoulder, and Brooke blinks awake to see Vanessa, bowl of steaming soup in her hands. Brooke’s mind lags as she processes the scene. Vanessa made her soup. Vanessa took the time to go through her pantry and cupboards just to make soup to help her feel better. It’s been seven years since someone cooked for her. Brooke’s eyes dampen at the corners (it’s probably the cold).

“S-sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” Brooke says, sitting up and eating a spoonful.

“Don’t worry about it. You need sleep when you’re sick.” Vanessa pauses. “Anything else I can do? Call a doctor or somethin’?”

“I don’t need a doctor for a cold,” Brooke says, melting at how concerned Vanessa is. “Soup and meds are enough. You didn’t have to do all this for me,” she adds, looking down at the bowl.

“I want to,” Vanessa says firmly. “You got sick ‘cause of me.”

Brooke shakes her head. “I was only outside a few minutes getting you. I didn’t change my wet clothes after. That’s my fault, not yours.”

“Still,” Vanessa insists. “It’s the least I could do.”

Vanessa tucks a strand of hair behind Brooke’s ear and Brooke has no air in her lungs. Her whole face tingles, and she wishes she could grab Vanessa’s hand and put it on her cheek, let the warmth rest there forever, an eternal flame to keep Brooke warm.

The day is cozy and carefree, but there’s something bugging Brooke, swirling below the water like a predator. It’s not until Vanessa gives her more cold meds that night that it hits her: Vanessa isn’t sick. Vanessa was sailing in a thunderstorm, thrown into the icy sea, left in the rain all night, and doesn’t have so much as a sniffle.

Brooke would say it isn’t humanly possible, but it’s true. Unless…

No. She needs to stop with her theories. It’s probably just the grayness of the world affecting her judgement. Some urge to keep her grandfather alive, to put a wild story in everything she sees.

It’s a quiet night, Vanessa more hushed than usual, a mug of hot chocolate making Brooke full and sleepy, electing to sleep on the couch because she’s too comfortable under her fleece blankets to move.

Vanessa heads to bed with a soft ‘feel better, Brooke’ tumbling from her lips and soothing Brooke’s skin like hot water, but when Brooke wakes the next morning, Vanessa is back in the chair, watching over Brooke like a tower watching over ships. When Brooke asks her about it, Vanessa just says she wanted to make sure Brooke was okay.

—

The weather report was right, and Sunday is the first dry day in what feels like years, the world bathed a delicate gray-blue as the public works crew clears the roads. Vanessa radiates her own sun in the lighthouse, growing more exuberant by the hour.

Vanessa wasn’t exactly quiet before, but she bursts with renewed energy over waffles that morning. She makes Brooke take more medicine and drinks two cups of coffee with a pound of sugar, asks (commands) Brooke if they can make brownies, and eats three of said brownies in one sitting.

“You know any stories?” Vanessa asks that night. “Sailors always tell stories in the movies. And lighthouses are good places for stories, all spooky and shit.”

Brooke has to agree. The night is perfect, orange fire glowing against the pitch-black darkness outside, wind rattling the windows like a monster begging to be let in, she and Vanessa trading smiles over mugs of hot chocolate, blankets wrapped around their shoulders. It’s nights like these that Brooke believes the legends with all her heart, the world so alive with magic they had to be real.

“I know some old legends about sirens and mermaids and stuff,” Brooke suggests.

Vanessa flinches so quickly Brooke might have imagined it, an unreadable expression settling over her features.

“Sure,” Vanessa agrees. “Maybe somethin’ happy, or romantic?”

Most legends were darker than the depths of the ocean, used as terrifying warnings to respect whatever creatures lived in the sea so they didn’t kill you, but Brooke searches for something at least a little happy.

“Sit by the fire with me?” Brooks asks, heart thumping.

Vanessa’s eyes twinkle brighter than ever in the firelight, and Brooke’s not sure if her face is burning from the fire or Vanessa’s knee pressing against hers.

Brooke clears her throat. Her ears are full of her grandfather’s voice, deep and rich as the sea. She can hear him clearly tonight, in her spot on the rug that used to be his, and she knows he speaks with her when she begins.

“Once upon a time–”

“This some kinda fairytale?” Vanessa interrupts.

Brooke shoots her the same look Vanessa gives Joffrey on-screen. It must work, because Vanessa bursts into giggles.

“Okay, okay, keep going.”

“Once upon a time, there lived a lonely young woman named Arabella. Her father was a lighthouse keeper. He told her mermaids lived in the sea, and every day, Arabella went to the water’s edge, hoping to see one. But none ever turned up.

“One day, a mermaid named Cordelia swam to shore. She had been watching Arabella, but was too shy to see her. Cordelia had hair like spun gold and eyes of sapphire. Some said the ocean herself had made her eyes. Arabella fell in love instantly. But she couldn’t breathe underwater, and Cordelia couldn’t walk on land, so Arabella took her boat out while Cordelia swam beside her.

“As the days passed, their love grew like the waves. They were so in love, neither noticed they were going farther and farther into the ocean. Soon, they were at the cove of the murderous sirens, falsely promising people their heart’s desires and drowning them.

Vanessa’s hands fly over her mouth. She leans closer, eager to hear what happens next, and Brooke surges with pride.

“Arabella’s desire was to breathe underwater, and Cordelia’s desire was to walk on land. The siren queen, Marina–”

“It’s Marilla,” Vanessa says. “The siren queen. Marilla, not Marina.”

The crackling fire is the only sound in the room.

“You-you’re right,” Brooke says. “Marina is the mermaid queen, I always mix them up. I just–how did you know?” She’s not judging or doubting Vanessa, just curious. Most legends have died out.

“I…I think I read it in one of your books when you were sick,” Vanessa says.

“Oh. Anyway, Marilla promised them their desires, and they were pulled beneath the waves. But Marina, the mermaid queen, didn’t want the lovers to perish. She convinced Marilla to grant their wishes, but at a cost.

“She allowed Arabella to breathe underwater for one hour each dawn, and allowed Cordelia to walk on land for one hour each dusk. But if they met any other time, or stayed longer than an hour, they would be cursed with eternal solitude.

“They obeyed. Cordelia stayed beneath the sea, longing for the hour she could feel sand between her toes. Arabella stayed on land, longing for the hour when the water flowed around her. The two hours they were together each day were the happiest in both their lives. They met every day, even as old age meant Cordelia had to hold Arabella in the water and help her walk on land. They stayed in love until Arabella died, and Marina released Cordelia’s soul, so their spirits could be together for eternity.”

Vanessa’s mouth opens and closes a few times before she can speak.

“Wow, Brooke,” Vanessa breathes. “You should have people come here on tours and tell them stories. You’re really, really good at it.”

Brooke beams with joy. It’s a small compliment, but it means more than Vanessa knows. Her grandfather could have an entire room biting their nails in suspense, hanging on his every word. Brooke has never told a story to anyone, and not only is she good at it, she loves it. Loves the rush of bringing words to life, of having Vanessa so close that Brooke could just reach out and touch her, maybe even kiss her–

“Thanks. Someone asked me about doing tours before, actually. I said no.”

“Why?”

“Just…didn’t want anyone inside.” Brooke confesses.

“I get that,” Vanessa says. “This place is special to you. If you don’t want to do tours, that’s fine. I’d just hate to see you say no because of fear.”

How could Vanessa understand her fears so effortlessly? Brooke loves the history of the lighthouse, how it’s served ships for centuries. Maybe, if she works hard with Dr. Ganache, she could feel safe enough to let people in and share that history.

“I’m headin’ to bed.” Vanessa yawns. “Thanks for the story.”

“Sure.”

Brooke lingers behind, curiosity driving her to the book of myths on the coffee table. She checks twice, but there’s no mention of Marilla.

—

“Is that the sun?” Vanessa asks Monday morning, jaw dropping open.

“I think so.” Brooke smiles.

Vanessa whistles. “Damn. I thought I ended up on some planet with no sun! Can we see the town today?” She asks, bouncing in her chair.

“Okay.”

Three days ago, Brooke would have been out the door at the crack of dawn to get Vanessa on the earliest train home. But somehow, between the daily meals and board games and stories, Brooke has grown comfortable with Vanessa, smiling whenever Vanessa laughs, passing dishes to the left for Vanessa to dry without thinking, her heart softening every time their soap-slick hands brush against each other. There’s a certain ease between them, one Brooke didn’t think she’d have with anyone but her grandfather.

Even when they watch TV, Brooke finds herself turning to Vanessa during big reveals, to see Vanessa’s eyes widen and her jaw drop, revelling in the knowledge that she’s not alone, that someone is sharing it with her. She smiles when Vanessa does the same, trying to discern spoilers from Brooke’s expression and gloating when her predictions are right.

Brooke’s heart is heavy over Vanessa leaving, and she wants to make an amazing day for her, one she’ll remember even after returning to the bright city lights.

Brooke thinks of what Vanessa might enjoy in town. Brooke has always liked the main street of Cape Charles, how the cheery shops smiled at her even when most of the owners didn’t, turning their noses up at the crazy lighthouse keeper. But she can take Vanessa to the diner, and the bookstore, where Brooke used to need a stool to reach the shelves until her growth spurt hit and her bones screamed as she shot up eight inches in a year.

She wonders what it will be like to have feet beside hers on the cobblestones again, to eat with someone across the booth again, to see another reflection in the shop windows.

“D-do you want to have breakfast? There’s a really good diner on Main Street.”

“You ain’t gotta ask me twice!”

Being cooped up must be hard for Vanessa, Brooke guesses. Vanessa lives in the city, where she could do anything at any time. Brooke has never liked the dizziness or buzz of the city, how easily you could get lost with no one to even care about finding you. Even when she took classes in the college there, she would ride the commuter train, take her usual walk to campus, and return the same way, never straying for fear of getting lost in a sea of concrete, no light to guide her home (it was a relief when she found out two years in that she could finish her degree online). She hasn’t returned to the city since that bad day when her grandfather died.

“Hey, Brooke?” Vanessa snaps Brooke out of her thoughts. “You got anything I could wear that’s not a wool sweater? Don’t get me wrong, they cute on you, but I don’t think they’re working for me.”

“Of course.”

Vanessa in her house is strange enough, but having Vanessa in her room, her big brown eyes roaming across the bed where Brooke sleeps and the photos linking Brooke to the past, makes Brooke feel like her entire being is on display, like Vanessa can see right through her.

“And I thought your wool stuff was out of control!” Vanessa exclaims.

Brooke smothers a laugh at the array of flannel shirts hanging in her closet.

“I do have a lot of wool and flannel, huh?” They’re Brooke’s favorites because of the coziness, protecting her from the cold sea air.

“Well, they look good on you.”

It’s the second time Vanessa’s said she looks nice, Brooke notes. She wonders if it means anything, if Vanessa’s heart squeezes when she looks at Brooke like Brooke’s does when she looks at Vanessa. She also wonders if it means anything that she thinks Vanessa is beautiful in anything.

“Your jeans are longer than my whole body,” Vanessa mutters. “What are you, like, six-five?”

“Five-ten.”

“Shit.”

Brooke laughs. She’d put Vanessa at five-three, if that, and she likes how tiny Vanessa is, how Brooke’s clothes make her even tinier and more adorable.

“This coat is cool.” Vanessa nods at the navy coat in Brooke’s closet.

“I’ll show you if you want,” Brooke offers.

It’s her grandfather’s lighthouse keeper coat, navy with brass buttons, done in the old style. He took excellent care of it and it’s impeccable, heavy and warm like his hugs. Brooke used to put it on as a kid, giggling as it dragged on the floor and thinking she’d never be big enough or good enough to fill it. But she’d inherited his height as well as his eyes, and when she put it on a year after he died, the coat fit her like it was meant to do nothing else. She had taken it as a permission of sorts, some sign from the universe that she was worthy of wearing it, of running the lighthouse. That she would be okay on her own.

“What’s the K for?” Vanessa asks, pointing to the gold loops embroidered on the lapel, neat K’s stitched inside.

“For keeper.”

“You sure are.”

Brooke flushes as red as a warning sky, and busies herself finding clothes for Vanessa, grabbing a red sweatshirt since it’s Vanessa’s favorite color, and leggings so she won’t trip on any pant hems. Brooke takes jeans and a navy fisherman’s sweater for herself and changes in the bathroom.

Vanessa is fully dressed when she gets back, gazing at the pictures on Brooke’s dresser. “This your grandpa?”

“Yeah.”

“You have his eyes. They look like the sea.” Vanessa smiles. “I bet he was kind like you too.”

“He was.” It’s all she can manage, tears hovering on the horizon. Whenever she was upset, all she had to do was look at him and she knew things would be okay. All she’s ever wanted is to be like him, to be good and dedicated, a beacon of hope for people.

Nina says Brooke is like him, but Nina knew her grandfather, saw Brooke’s similarities to him emerge, and Nina is always nice. But Vanessa doesn’t know her grandfather. She barely knows Brooke. She has no reason to say it, no idea how much it means. For her to think Brooke resembles the man who was her guiding light for so long is irrefutable proof that Brooke is like him, is maybe as good as him, and it warms her heart like a fire. She’s never been more grateful for Vanessa.

“Do you miss him?” Vanessa asks, cringing a second later. “Shit, sorry, you don’t have to answer. Don’t mind my nosy ass.”

“I do,” Brooke says. “He–he was a great person. One of the best.” It’s gotten better over the years, the wound receding to a dull pain, one she sometimes can’t even feel. But then she’ll do something that tugs on the scar tissue, like looking at his picture a second too long or making waffles that taste almost exactly like his, but not quite, and the pain comes roaring back anew.

“Hey,” Vanessa says gently, wiping a tear from Brooke’s cheek, one she didn’t know had fallen. Vanessa is so close Brooke just wants to wrap her in a hug. She wants Vanessa’s head against her chest, wants to bury her face in Vanessa’s hair, wants Vanessa to feel her heart beating. “Let’s go eat.”

—

Nina almost drops her pen when she sees Vanessa next to Brooke. Brooke’s mouth dries out as she struggles for an explanation.

“I’m an old friend of Brooke’s,” Vanessa supplies smoothly. “Just visiting for a few days.”

Vanessa and Nina carry on like actual old friends as Nina takes them to a booth, and Brooke isn’t surprised. Nina can make friends with a wall, and Brooke doesn’t know anyone who wouldn’t love her in seconds.

“So,” Vanessa says, peeking over her menu with a grin, “what’s good here?”

“I always get the apple-cinnamon pancakes,” Brooke says.

“Always always?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t ever wanna change it up?” Vanessa asks in confusion.

Brooke lowers her head, heat creeping up her neck. “I don’t like change,” she admits. Change had been a police officer’s scuffed black boots in a cheery kindergarten classroom. Change had been an unknown number calling from the city, saying her grandfather was in critical condition.

“I know change can be scary,” Vanessa says softly. “But what if you did just a little one? Like, what if you still get pancakes, but with”–Vanessa scans the menu–“bananas instead?”

Maybe Vanessa is right. Dr. Ganache had said a routine would be helpful when Brooke began her recovery, but she should never feel trapped by it. Brooke’s been sticking to it so long she’s never considered if it’s guiding her or forcing her, protecting her or caging her.

Brooke knows bananas aren’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. She knows her palms shouldn’t be sweating. But if she doesn’t have apples, does that mean the day won’t go like it should? Will it make something bad happen? What if she did something different on those bad days, like eating raspberry jam on her toast instead of strawberry, and that was why the bad things happened?

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Vanessa says quickly.

“I want to.”

Brooke’s fork shakes a bit when the banana walnut pancakes arrive, but they’re just as delicious as the apple ones, and Brooke doesn’t think anything bad can happen with Vanessa smiling at her, eating hash browns.

“So, Miss English Degree, you ever read that book about the big-ass whale?”

“You mean Moby Dick?” Brooke snorts.

“Yeah! With Captain Abfab!”

“Ahab.” Brooke giggles. “And I did. It’s kinda gay, actually. Melville was basically in love with Nathaniel Hawthorne. He wrote him a letter saying their hearts beat in each other’s ribs.”

“That’s romantic as hell.” Vanessa’s eyes are bright with admiration.

Brooke lets herself dream of writing letters to Vanessa, pressing kisses to the envelope.

Next in line is A’keria’s boutique. It takes all of ten seconds for Vanessa and A’keria to cackle in unison and talk about clothes. Maybe Vanessa is magic, just not how Brooke thought. Being so open with people, winning them over with a few words, is certainly its own magic, one Brooke has never been skilled in.

Vanessa squeals in delight when they drive past Monet and Monique’s Clam Shack. “Oohh, can we stop there?” she asks, wriggling in her seat like a toddler. She sticks her head out the window to read the specialties advertised on the sign. “Are you one of those ‘we have food at home’ people? ‘Cause my mom used to–” Vanessa cuts herself off abruptly, shaking her head like she’s trying to clear water out of her ears, or maybe a memory out of her mind. Her smile flies back. “Look, they have fried shrimp, that’s your favorite!”

Brooke takes a second to respond around the lump in her throat, because no one has known her favorite food or wanted her to have it in seven years. It makes Brooke’s face warm, almost impossibly so, given the cold air blasting through Vanessa’s window.

“Fried shrimp it is.”

—

“Brooke?” Vanessa asks, looking up from her fried shrimp.

“Yeah?”

“Can I pay you back somehow? I mean, you saved me, and let me stay with you, and bought my food, and I…aren’t I in your debt?”

Brooke’s heart breaks at Vanessa’s earnestness. Was she not used to people being kind to her? Brooke could never make Vanessa give her anything back, especially when she’s just as much in Vanessa’s debt. How can Brooke explain that the past days have been a gift to her, one she can never repay?

“There’s no debt. There never will be,” Brooke says firmly. “I wanted to help you. I don’t want anything in return.”

Vanessa’s hand slides across the table, fingers curling around Brooke’s. “Thank you, Brooke. Really.”

Brooke grips Vanessa’s hand like she would grip a sailing rope to keep herself steady at sea, her body coming to life at the warm touch. “Of course. You’re my guest, for as long as you want.”

“I was thinkin’ about that, actually,” Vanessa begins. “I don’t have to be back in the city till Monday. And I like y–like it here, and I’m so grateful for you, and if it’s okay, do you think I could stay till Saturday?”

You could stay forever, Brooke thinks. A lifetime of board games and cooking together, of movies and morning coffee, of breathing salt air and watching the tides ebb and flow. Autumns tinted gold and springs tinted green, crunching on leaves and splashing in rain puddles. Winters of snowflakes sticking to windows and melting in your hair, a crackling fire and soft blankets. Summers of fresh blueberries and walks on the sand, the sunset so close you could touch it, fill your hands with its buttery light.

“I’d like that,” Brooke says.

��

Last week, four days had seemed like an eternity. Now, Brooke has five more days with Vanessa, and they aren’t enough for everything she wants to do.

Brooke’s heart has a crack in it, the first crack in a ship that leads to disaster as more and more water flows in. Each day that crack widens, another realization slipping inside and dragging her whole body down. How she won’t see Vanessa’s smile anymore. How the couch will be empty, not even a dent in the cushion where Vanessa sits.

They go bowling, and Brooke laughs till she cries over Vanessa’s hunched stance, rolling the ball with both hands and one time shooting it into another lane. They rack up tickets at the arcade and earn a Cape Charles pencil (‘300 tickets and all we get is a pencil?’ Vanessa rages). Vanessa wins a stuffed dolphin at the claw machine and gives it to Brooke. Brooke has slept with it every night since, holding it to her chest and pretending it’s Vanessa.

Every time Brooke burns from people’s stares, wondering why the ghost was released from her tower, Vanessa shoots them a death glare until they back off, reminding Brooke she doesn’t need to concern herself with them.

They finish Game of Thrones, Vanessa screaming about how they did her girl Dany dirty, and start on the Ghibli collection, wordlessly passing the tissue box to each other when Sophie puts Howl’s heart back into his chest.

Brooke relishes the brushing of their arms as they make dinner, Vanessa tossing croutons into the air and catching them in her mouth. Brooke loves putting the food on the table knowing the meal is something they created with their hands working together, trying to ignore that her future meals will be made with two hands, not four.

Before she knows it, it’s Friday night, and Brooke is trying to keep it together. She cooks Vanessa’s favorite foods, rice and beans with shrimp, plus salad, garlic bread, and chocolate cake.

They talk like they do every night, but Brooke has always been sensitive to change, and the air is different, thick with the knowledge that this is the last time, that there won’t be another dinner.

Brooke cuts the cake, and halfway through the first slice she realizes that she’ll have leftover cake and there won’t be anyone to share it with. This cake that she and Vanessa made will belong to Brooke alone, its frosting hardening and crumb drying with only one fork to eat it.

She looks at Vanessa’s lobster mug, irreparably labeling it Vanessa’s, and knows she won’t be able to look at it again without picturing Vanessa’s slim fingers wrapped around it, tossing her head back with laughter.

The crack in her heart widens into a chasm. All the sorrow over Vanessa leaving, the emptiness that will consume her after Vanessa’s gone, rush into Brooke’s heart until it sinks to the ocean floor, never to see sunlight again.

Stay, Brooke thinks but doesn’t say. Please stay. Her chest aches, and she thinks her ribs are throbbing with the pulse of Vanessa’s heart as well as her own.

But she can’t ask Vanessa to stay, stop her from returning to a life more exciting than this, to fabrics shinier than wool and flannel, to more restaurants and stores than she could count.

She can’t ask no matter how badly she wants to.

Brooke doesn’t do this. She doesn’t get attached. Dr. Ganache says she has a fear of abandonment, that she isolates herself as an unhealthy coping mechanism. She doesn’t form relationships, doesn’t even try, because her mind is trying to keep her safe, denying her any connection to spare her the pain of that connection’s loss.

You can’t lose someone if you don’t know them, let yourself get close to them. And Brooke has learned more about Vanessa, gotten closer with her, than she has let herself do with anyone else since her grandfather died.

She knows that Vanessa always buys the Rainbow Room in Monopoly just because she likes rainbows. She knows that Vanessa stops dead in the street to pet dogs, like Brooke used to. She knows Vanessa dances every chance she gets. She knows Vanessa has brought her places she hasn’t visited in years, has shielded her from people’s stares and kept her safe like a lighthouse tower.

“I have something for you,” Brooke says after cake, handing Vanessa the bracelet she made from ropes on her grandfather’s old boat.

“It’s a sailor knot,” Brooke explains. “Sailors wore them at sea. It’s supposed to bring good luck and protection on your travels.”

Vanessa is silent as she runs her fingers over the bracelet, tracing the fibers like she can feel the ocean clinging to them.

Brooke takes a breath. “Vanessa, um, I really liked having you here, and if you ever want to come back…” Tears stream down Vanessa’s face, and Brooke’s heart shatters. “I’m sorry! Did I do something wrong? Are you okay?”

The panic claws at Brooke, heart racing, each breath frantic as Vanessa’s tears thicken. Brooke wants to cry herself over seeing Vanessa so upset, and she struggles to stay above the tide of fear. Finally, Vanessa shakes her head, like she’s answering her own question.

“I can’t do this anymore, Brooke.” Her voice runs deep with sorrow, but Brooke is so relieved she’s talking that she manages to get air into her lungs, heart slowing. “I can’t keep lying to you.”

“What do you mean?” Brooke has ignored Vanessa’s obvious lies and refusal to talk about her life in the city, but the questions always lurk in her mind. Is she finally going to find out what happened? Is Vanessa running from something? Is–

Vanessa sighs. “I’m a siren.”

[arthurmorgan-s-heart]

An idea: Arthur coming back to camp after a long day, he’s not tired, he’s furious. Not at you, though, at the job he’d just done. You know what this means...he needs some sort of release 👀

Hope y’all are ready for some sweet self-indulgence 👀👀

It’s almost midnight when Arthur returns to camp from a routine stagecoach robbery, but you’re still up, reading, waiting for him - he was supposed to be back hours ago, and you’d been worried. You feel relief wash over you as you put your book away and prepare to leave your shared tent to greet him, but you hold back when you hear him speak.

“You’re a goddamn fool if you think I’ll ride with you again anytime soon,” he hisses in a low voice. Arthur had never had that explosive kind of anger that so many others displayed - it was colder, quieter. But even from where you are, you can hear the rage lacing through his every word.

“Ain’t my fault they added security,” Bill’s voice is as gruff as ever. “How was I supposed to know?”

“If you’d scouted ahead like I goddamn told you to, we wouldn’t’ve been in this mess!” Arthur’s voice slowly rises until it’s half a roar. A few cries of protest are heard around the camp at his outburst, but you doubt he cares.

“I - “ Bill starts, already almost shouting.

“Get outta my sight,” you hear Arthur snarl, and you can just imagine them standing face to face, Bill deciding whether he should back down or not - he always does.

You hear a frustrated huff, and Bill’s heavy footsteps grow louder as he passes near your tent, slowly fading out as he makes his way further into the camp. A few minutes crawl by before Arthur comes to join you, making no attempt to be quiet as he pushes the canvas aside and steps inside.

“Hey, darlin’,” he says half-heartedly - anger still boils under his every word, and he barely looks at you as he kicks off his boots, taking off his jacket and hat and throwing them unceremoniously into the trunk at the foot of the bed before he sits on the cot, taking out his revolver to clean it.

“You alright, Arthur?” you ask, seating yourself next to him. “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles gruffly, keeping his eyes on his gun. “Bill Williamson is a goddamn idiot, but I’m fine.”

You know you’re not going to get more out of him, not until he calms down - luckily, you know a foolproof way to take his mind off things.

“Anythin’ I can do to help?” you say innocently as you toe off your shoes and start unbuttoning your blouse. He still doesn’t look at you, granting you nothing but a noncommittal grunt as he continues cleaning his revolver.

“Anythin’ at all?” you ask, and something in your voice must have finally gotten through to him; he looks up just as you’re undoing the last button, eyes darkening immediately at the sight of your state of undress, and the gun is quickly discarded and forgotten as he reaches for you instead, pulling you into his lap. You laugh breathily as he bends down to nip at your exposed collarbone, one hand gripping your waist while the other pulls the blouse off you.

“You always have just the thing,” he breathes as he trails his lips up your neck, kissing at the underside of your jaw before he suddenly throws you down on the bed, and you can only gasp in surprise as he kisses you, hungry and unyielding, pushing your legs apart so that he can kneel between your thighs.

His hands are under your skirt already, shoving it up to gather around your hips, every touch eager and impatient, rough fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake as he pulls your drawers down your legs, throwing them aside and leaving you bare for him. He sits back and takes a moment to look at you then, taking in every inch of your flushed skin and tousled hair, the way your chest heaves with each of your breaths - you feel sparks coursing under your skin at his heated gaze, shivering at the unspoken promises in his eyes when he bends over you again.

He kisses his way back up your legs, his teeth grazing the skin of your thighs before his mouth comes to hover a few inches away from your core - but he moves on, and you whine in protest. He kisses your ribs, the underside of one breast, his tongue teasing your nipple for half a moment before he finally moves up to meet your lips for another kiss, groaning when he feels you start to unbutton his shirt, slipping the buttons free one by one. He parts from you, meeting your eyes as his hand reaches down to brush against the inside of your thigh, and you spread your legs wider, giving him a pleading look as your hands bunch into his half-open shirt. He leans down to kiss your neck, his hand lingering on your thigh for what seems to be hours before he finally touches you where you want him most, and you let out a moan - louder than it should be, considering you’re in camp, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“Ain’t you an eager little thing,” he whispers, easily pushing a finger inside you, then two, his thumb pressing at your center - but not fast or hard enough to bring you over the edge, your pleasure hovering just out of reach as you writhe under his touch.

“Arthur…” you breathe, almost desperate as he presses his lips to your shoulder, torturously drawing moan after moan from you. “Please…”

You open your mouth to speak again when he takes his hand from you, but he silences you with a kiss before he sits up, moving until he’s kneeling over you, a knee on either side of your waist as he looks down at you with heavy-lidded eyes. You can see him straining against the front of his trousers.

“You want it?” he asks, his voice nothing but a low rumble. You throat is too dry for you to manage a single word, but your nod seems to be enough. “You know what to do, then.”

You keep your eyes on his as you reach out to unbuckle his belt, the motion so familiar that you don’t even need to look, before you move on to the buttons. There are only three of them, and yet you take your time, basking in the heat of his gaze - one…. two…

“Woman…” he growls warningly, his voice washing over you in a warm wave.

You hum innocently as you press your palm against him, stroking the long line of heat firmly, and he hisses as his hips buck forward, his hands suddenly coming up to catch both of your wrists and bring them down on the bed next to your head, the grip just tight enough to sting.

“Ain’t in the mood for games,” he breathes, bending over you to nip at your lips before he moves off you, kneeling between your thighs again as he finishes what you’d started, freeing himself. You watch as he takes himself in one hand while the other comes to rest high on your thigh, his thumb brushing against your core, tantalizingly close. He strokes himself once, twice, pressing himself against you and pausing for a moment, just long enough for you to grow restless, before he pushes forward. You can’t help a loud moan at the feeling of him inside you, and his hand presses against your mouth almost immediately, silencing you.

“Much as I’d love to hear that,” he says as you meet his eyes, straining to hold himself still, “don’t think I’d like to have Mrs. Grimshaw barge in here. So be a good girl, and be quiet.”

You nod slowly, and he removes his hand from your mouth before hooking his hands beneath both of your knees, thrusting deep. A groan claws its way out of your throat, but you muffle it, lips pressed together tightly as you throw your head back, squeezing your eyes shut. Arthur’s rhythm is rough and fast, focused on nothing but release - you feel your own building inside you already, gathering in your core, your stomach, your chest, setting every inch of you ablaze.

“Arthur - “ despite your efforts, the call is loud, urgent. You open your eyes to look at him as your hand shoots up to clap over your own mouth, just as he had done a moment ago. He smiles at the sight.

“Good girl,” he says, giving a particularly hard thrust, and you moan against your palm. “Doing what you’re told. That’s a good girl.”

His hand slides down your thigh to find your center, not quite touching, and you arch toward him in a vain effort to get him to close the last few inches, your free hand reaching forward  to grip his forearm in a silent plea.

“You think you deserve that?” he asks as he slows his motion, until he’s simply rocking against you, deep and slow. “Think you’ve earned it?”

You nod frantically, hand still pressed against your mouth - as much as you want to allow yourself to speak - to beg -, you know you won’t be able to stay quiet if you do.

“Yeah,” he growls before he thrusts into you again, as hard and fast as before, his fingers finally coming to rub tight circles at your center, the groan that escapes your throat so loud that you’re sure the whole camp heard it, despite your best efforts - Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, or he’s too far gone to care. “Yeah, I think you have.”

You fall apart easily in his hands - you always have. He rips your hand from your mouth when he feels you tighten around him, and you moan into his mouth as he kisses you, hard and long, before pressing his forehead to yours as his thrusts become erratic. The hand he had between your legs shifts under you, splaying over the small of your back to pull you as close to him as possible, and you throw your arms around his neck, meeting his lips for another fevered kiss. He parts from you when he comes undone, a long, low growl rumbling up from deep within his chest as he rolls his hips into yours a few more times before he finally stills. You’re both silent for a moment, catching your breath, before he kisses your cheek softly, chastely, letting himself fall down on the bed next to you. You smile when he moves to lay his head on your chest, your hand reaching down to run your fingers through his hair.

“How you feelin’?” you ask after a while, and he presses a kiss just under your collarbone before he looks up at you, smiling softly.

“Never better, darlin’.”

[etherealwaifgoddess]

What He Wants (Pt. 24)

Main Characters: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced Reader

Summary:  On going series of Bucky getting his shit together and falling in love with you.

Warnings/ Content: showering together but it’s surprisingly lemon-free, and sweet fluff

Word Count: 1560

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Welcome to the last installment of What He Wants. I’ve agonized over what to say here for most of today and nothing sounds quite right. I guess it’s never easy to say goodbye, but part of the journey is the end. Some of you will leave happy and satisfied, some of you will grumble, and some will beg for more. I stand by this as a good stopping point though. I’m not saying I’ll never pick up where you and Bucky leave off; to maybe do another story or some one shots, but I don’t know yet. I need to let my brain rest after two weeks of daily updates and pouring my soul into this little world. I do want to say thank you though. You readers (especially my darling tag list peeps) have been so kind and welcoming to this little writing community here on Tumblr and over on AO3. I am eternally grateful for every single one of you. Every like, comment, and reblog has given me infinite joy even when shit got real in my real life. So thank you for going on this journey with me and hanging out until the very end. I love you all 3,000.

If you missed the first few parts, you can read them here: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23

XOXO - Ash

What He Wants, Pt. 24

The bathtub shower combo in your bathroom is really only meant for one person. Squeezing a super soldier in it comfortably with the curtain closed is a feat in itself, but with both of you in it, it verges on comical. Bucky is determined though and as soon as you have the water falling at a reasonable temperature he’s guiding you in under the spray. He lathers your perfumed bar of soap between his palms and you’re surprised he isn’t worried about getting his vibranium arm wet. The marvels of Wakandan tech, you suppose. 

Bucky rubs his soapy hands across your chest, kneading your shoulder muscles before moving lower to caress your breasts. He lavishes them with attention only for a moment, intent on actually cleaning you instead of starting something again. His palms slip down your waist, rubbing soothing circles across your soft tummy, and he reaches for more soap to lather his hands up again. Bucky smooths his slippery hands down further down, cupping your sex gently in his palm as he works gently to clean you. You brace your palms on his shoulders for support, his hands are relaxing all of your muscles as he works and making it difficult for you to stay upright. Your thighs tremble as he moves to them, working out the knots in your muscles as he goes. Delicately, he lifts each of your feet as he reaches the bottom of your calves and even takes the care to wash them as well. 

“You’re gonna have to turn around, sweetheart.” he tells you gently and you oblige, holding on to the wall for support instead of him. He moves back up your legs, stopping above your knees for more soap. Bucky is savoring every moment of washing your well loved body and he works your tense glutes until you’re sighing in relief. Bucky continues upward, ending finally as he works the last of the knots out of your shoulders. Once he’s satisfied you are completely clean he trails kisses across your shoulders, “All set, doll. Do you want me to do your hair too?” 

You moan again, “I would say no, you’ve already done too much, but god help me your hands are magic.” 

A satisfied chuckle rumbles in Bucky’s chest, “I haven’t done nearly enough, doll. Turn around and I’m gonna do your hair too. Let me take care of my girl.”

Your heart speeds up when he calls you his girl. It’s so old fashioned but it makes you feel cherished and loved. You turn to face Bucky, getting your hair under the spray, and he’s ready with your shampoo bottle. Bucky’s hands are just as skilled massaging your scalp with your shampoo and then conditioner, even knowing to work the knots out of your hair as the conditioner rinses out. You are completely spineless by the time he’s done and you wish you could return the favor but he swaps your positions and starts washing himself with quick, efficient swipes of his soap. He’s gorgeous as his vibranium hand rubs the soap across the hard muscles of his body and you are chastising yourself for not offering to reciprocate, especially as he moves down to wash his thick thighs and your mouth goes dry at the thought of running slippery hands down and in between them. 

Pulling yourself together you grab Bucky’s shampoo and wait until he finishes washing himself. “Let me at least do your hair?” you ask him.

“I’d love that, doll.” he moves to kneel in front of you and you’re amused by how tall he still is compared to you. You tilt his head back into the spray, ensuring it’s well soaked. The shampoo Bucky picked out smells crisp and piney, it compliments his natural scent and you love it on him. You work your fingers over every inch of his scalp slowly, ensuring his hair is clean and he’s able to enjoy your gentle massaging. Bucky’s eyes are closed, a peaceful smile on his lips, and you’re pleased he seems to be enjoying it. Since he’s letting you take care of his hair, you grab your good conditioner and start massaging it in too. He might not think it’s worth using on his hair but you suspect once he feels the difference he’ll be hooked. 

You finish rinsing Bucky's hair and he’s still sitting back on his heels, seemingly lost in his own little world. Leaning down you place a kiss on his forehead, rousing him from his thoughts. “That was fantastic, mouse.” He says as he stands. 

You shut off the water and Bucky steps out, grabbing your towel to hand to you. He looks inquisitively at the stack of four large towels and when he turns back to you he finds you bent over twisting your hair up in the towel he’d handed you. “Interesting.” He muses looking at the towel wrapped securely around your head. 

“Do you not do this?” You ask, surprised, “There’s two towels for each of us. I figured you did because your hair is so long.”

Bucky shakes his wet head, “No, but I’d like to learn.” 

You grab one of the towels and have him lean forward, mirroring how you did yours. You walk him through the steps and a minute later he’s doing it perfectly fine on his own. “I like this.” He says patting at his handiwork. 

“It saves drying time, I think.” You explain. 

Bucky nods and starts drying himself off, looking over occasionally and smiling at you. There is an unexpected intimacy as you share the bathroom, even as you brush your teeth together. It makes your usual morning routine more enjoyable having someone to share it with. You plan your day as you get dressed in the bedroom and Bucky insists he’s going to make you his ma’s spaghetti for dinner. You’ll need to stay home all day while the sauce cooks on the stove but neither of you mind. Bucky wants to get the laundry done and offers to help fix the wobbly shelf on your bookcase in the living room. It’s drizzling outside now and there’s a slight bite to the air that makes you more than happy to stay inside all day. 

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

Bucky loves putzing around your apartment. It makes him feel productive and useful. He wants to do everything possible for you, not because you can’t but because you shouldn’t have to with him around. Bucky ends up putting your old toolbox to good use, not just on the shelf, but on a window that sticks, a loose cabinet drawer, and the wiggly handle on your large soup pot. You watch with amusement over the top of your book as he works, knowing if you try to move from the sofa you’ll just be scolded again. 

You’re trying to wrap your mind around the concept of this becoming a regular thing. Waking up together, Bucky trying to spoil you and splitting the chores, quiet cozy days spent relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. Even once you go back to work, having him with you will change that routine as well. Getting ready, driving in, lunch breaks, coming home, everything done together. It might seem smothering to some people but the idea of spending all of your time with him sounds perfect to you. Eventually the occasional nights out with your coworkers out will resume, and Bucky will want to make time to go see his friends, and that will be okay too because at the end of the day you’ll be coming back to your cozy little apartment, together. 

Bucky has run out of things to do and after a quick check on his sauce, he joins you on the sofa. He watches you quietly, wondering what thoughts are keeping you so occupied. Bucky picks up a worn, copy of “American Gods” and settles in to relax. The book only holds his attention for a few minutes as you shift in your seat across from him. Bucky takes a moment to just watch you, the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth and the way your eyes crinkle on the edges when you read something that amuses you. He could watch you all day given a chance and he finds himself baffled by how much his life changed in just a few days. 

Steve has been gone just over a week and the pain is still fresh but it’s softening around the edges. Now that Bucky understands the type of happiness and peace he’s found with you, he can only imagine how rare and beautiful it had to be for Steve to go back to Peggy and live out his life by her side. He will always miss his best friend, but he can honestly say he understands the choices Steve made and that they were the right ones. Bucky smiles to himself as he listens to the soft falling rain and let’s himself really be present in the here and now. This is his life now, a cozy little place off of SHIELD’s radar, a good woman who loves him, even though they hadn’t yet said the words, and endless possibilities for the future. Because for the first time since 1944, Bucky Barnes is looking forward to the rest of his life.

The End. 

Tag List Lovelies: @my-current-fandom-is @blacklightguidesnic @amazonianbeauty@ladyemofhousestark@abswritesfandoms@rupestria @dark-night-sky-99 

[aqlemonade]

Everybody’s Throwing A Temper Tantrum - Biadore

Prompt: Adore throws a tantrum that Bianca’s away so long for Jamie so Bianca flies over for 24 hours to comfort her 😜(& give her a spanking for being a brat)

AN: If you guys saw my other post you know this might the last thing I can post for a while. I didn’t get much editing time unfortunately, but I hope you guys still enjoy it! No read more because I’m on mobile.

Danny pouted at Roy through the computer screen. “You’ve been gone for so long,” he sulked.

“I know, Angel. I’m really busy these next couple of months.”

Danny hated hearing that. He gave Roy a dirty look, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come home.”

Roy chuckled. Danny was always one for the dramatics. “I wish I could.”

“You can.”

“Baby, if I could I would. You know that.”

“You can,” Danny repeated. “Nothing’s stopping you.”

“Nothing but back to back shows. Angel, I don’t have time to fly between countries when I have a show every night,” Roy tried to explain calmly. He knew how upset Danny could get when he was lonely and missing him.

“Oh, so you just don’t have time for me. That’s nice.”

“Don’t twist my words, I never said that. I don’t have time for an international flight in between shows that are barely twenty four hours apart. I told you before I left we weren’t gonna be able to see each other for a while. Don’t be a brat, Dan.” The younger sat there with his pout and folded arms. He knew Roy was right, but he couldn’t help how he was feeling.

The couple sat silently. Danny refused to talk, or even look at Roy. The older man rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna hang up if this is how you wanna behave. You’re wasting the little bit of time we do have together.”

“Fine. Hang up, I don’t care,” the crack in his voice lead Roy to believe otherwise.

Roy sighed, “Danny—“

“No, I’m going to bed. Good luck with all your gigs that are so much more important than me.” Danny exited out of their Skype call with tears rolling down his face. In true Adore fashion, when Danny was upset he ran to twitter; Something Roy had told him to stop doing a long time ago.

Within minutes of their call ending Roy’s phone blew up with notifications from Adore’s account. He always kept them on so he could check on Danny if he ever tweeted something troubling. Roy never got the appeal of dumping all your feelings onto social media in-front of thousands of people instead of confiding

in your friends, but it was Danny’s thing. He felt safer opening up to the world than opening up to someone face to face.

A string of tweets about how he’d been fucked over, lonely and alone, and would probably never find love poured in. Danny tweeted about loving someone who couldn’t give less of a shit about him. The rant ending in some shade about how people make time for the things that they want.

Roy shook his head. He knew Danny could be dramatic, but this was overkill.

Willow 😍🌸💘

Really? Twitter?

Willow 😍🌸💘

Was that fucking necessary?

Danny ❤️

It got your attention didn’t it :)

Willow 😍🌸💘

Absolute brat

——

Danny arrived home after an afternoon of shopping. He picked up some new clothing for Adore, rarely ever buying himself anything when he went out. His wardrobe consisted of years old t-shirts and fan gifts.

The bags of drag hit the floor when he saw Roy standing by his couch. He swore every time he saw the man he became more attractive. Danny leaped into his arms, the two embracing each other in a tight hug. “You fucker!” Danny said. “What was all that bullshit about how you couldn’t make a flight here between shows?” Danny asked with a smile; He certainly wasn’t complaining.

“I have two days off,” Roy cupped Danny’s cheek. “I was trying to surprise you, but you just have to be a brat all the time,” Roy’s fingers moved to Danny’s jaw, gripping the bone painfully.

Danny started to get excited, he bit his lip as his eyes grew dark.

“You know what brats get, right?”

The younger nodded eagerly. “They get a spanking,” he said in a voice that sent shivers up Roy’s spine.

“They get a spanking,” Roy repeated, slipping a finger into Danny’s mouth that his lover happily sucked on.

“You look beautiful,” Roy growled, watching Danny intently as he took another finger between his lips.

“Do want my hand? The paddle? A belt?” Roy pulled his fingers out of my Danny’s mouth so he could answer.

“Your hand, Daddy. I wanna feel you,” Danny breathed.

Roy nodded at him, taking a seat on the couch. “Take your clothes off,” Roy ordered. Danny quickly shimmed out of his shorts and ripped up shirt. He didn’t bother trying to be sexy, he wanted to be with Roy as soon as possible. He’d save the strip tease for another time.

Danny knew the routine, Roy didn’t have to tell him to get across his lap before he did so. Softly, Roy caressed Danny’s bare cheeks. “You know the safe word?”

“Mhm,” Danny nodded.

“Let me hear it, Princess.”

“Pizza.” Danny actually, genuinely hated their safe word. He always wanted to change it, but Roy was too nervous that one of them would forget it to allow him to.

“You can use that whenever you need to, okay? For a break, to completely stop, anything. I’ll always stop when you want me to,” Roy reassured Danny. It was the same speech every time, but the younger appreciated it. Roy’s words made him feel secure, and washed away any doubts he had about using their safe word.

“I know, Daddy. I’m ready,” Danny consented to the start of their scene.

“Okay, Princess. I love you,” Roy gave Danny’s ass a mild squeeze.

The younger hummed as Roy kneaded his ass. “I love you too, Daddy.”

Roy always liked to give Danny sweet touches before they started. He stroked Danny’s hair, watching his gorgeous eyes roll back at the contact. His fingers ran down his spine to the moon tattoo on his ass, tracing the design. They caressed his inner thighs. “Have I told you how much I love this tattoo?” Roy asked, poking at the seahorse tat on the side of his thigh.

“Not yet.”

“Well, I do,” Roy leaned down to kiss a random spot on Danny’s back. “It’s sexy.” Danny couldn’t help but to giggle at the compliment.

A giggle turned into a gasp when Roy’s fingers slipped between his asschecks to rub his hole. Danny whined, grabbing the pillow next to him to bury his face into. Roy’s free hand disappeared between Danny’s legs to squeeze his balls, making Danny choke.

“You’re teasing me,” the younger complained.

“I am,” Roy said with a devious laugh. The sound going straight to Danny’s cock.

When Roy removed his hands from him Danny’s body started twisting in anticipation. Roy’s favorite thing was watching Danny wait for and anticipate the first spank. A hand came crashing down against Danny’s right cheek, not making him hold out for too long. A loud yelp sounded from Danny, a combination of the harshness and unexpectedness of the hit.

Roy smirked down at him, his hand flattened over the red mark forming on Danny’s cheek. “That was one. How many do you want?”

“Twenty.”

“No, that’s too much. What about ten, Babygirl?”

“Fifteen,” Danny tried to compromise.

“You get ten, then we’ll see how you feel after that, okay?”

“Yes, Da-“ Danny’s words broke off into a moan as the second hit landed on his left cheek. His balls started to throb from the excitement.

“What was that?” Roy mocked him playfully. “Yes, what?”

Danny whimpered, “Yes Da-“ And again. Roy’s hand made contact with the exact spot on his right cheek that he had slapped before. Danny whined and squirmed in Roy’s lap. “Stop doing that!” Another spank followed immediately for talking back. Danny cried out, putting his face back into the pillow.

“Remember what got you into this in the first place. Stop being a brat.” Danny nodded, mumbling something in a high pitched voice that Roy couldn’t hear. “Was that the safe word?” He questioned.

“No,” Danny lifted his face for a moment so Roy would hear him.

“Okay. You’re doing such a good job for me, Babygirl. We’re at four.” His hand slid down Danny’s sore ass. His right cheek was screaming red, while the left had a faint outline of Roy’s hand. The fifth spank came across Danny’s right cheek again. The younger screamed, sobbing into the pillow. Welts began to grow under Roy’s fingertips, he devilishly pressed them into the aching skin.

“Do you want the next one here,” Roy grabbed a handful of Danny’s left cheek which had only been slapped once.

“Yes, please,” Danny sniffled.

“Do you need a break first?”

“No.” Danny took the sixth hit easier. His left cheek wasn’t as bruised as the right one—Yet, anyway.

“Good, girl.” Roy praised. “You’re being so good, Baby,” He continued to coo to him as he massaged his ass tenderly. “I wanna see your pretty face, Honey. Take it out of that pillow.”

“Yes, Daddy,” Danny did as he was told, turning his face towards Roy so only his cheek was pressed against the pillow.

“Atta, Girl,” Roy leaned forward to kiss Danny’s temple. He wiped stray tears away from Danny’s eyes.

Roy held Danny’s gaze as he caressed his face, distracting Danny from the seventh spank to his left cheek. Roy watched as Danny’s mouth dropped open and eyes rolled back. He loved the sounds that came out of his mouth. “My good girl,” Roy kept giving him encoring words. “That was seven, Princess. You’re almost done. Can you keep going?”

“‘Course I can,” Danny said rather smugly for someone with dried tears on their face. The eighth slap was the harshest, Roy wanted to test that confidence Danny had. A high pitched cry, followed by fresh tears was Danny’s response to it.

“My baby,” Roy said sympathetically, brushing his thumb under Danny’s eyes.

“Daddy,” Danny whined as if he wanted to say something, but didn’t get to finishing his sentence.

“What, Babygirl. What is it?”

The younger sobbed, “Hurts.”

“What’s the safe word?”

“I don’t want it,” Danny protested.

“I don’t care. I need to hear the safe word. Let me know that you know it,” Roy was stern. It was his job to take care of Danny during this. Sometimes he had to push a little to make sure everything was okay before they continued, or assess if he needed to make the decision for Danny to stop.

“It’s pizza.”

Roy began kissing Danny’s lower back, his lips traveled down to his ass to sooth his sore cheeks. “You’re sure you don’t wanna use it?” Roy asked against Danny’s skin.

“I’m sure. I can do two more, I want it. Please, Daddy. Just two more, please,” Danny begged.

“Okay, don’t work yourself up,” Roy said in a soothing voice. “Just two more.” Roy made quick work of it. One slap for each cheek, the tenth immediately following the ninth, leaving Danny in a mess of tears and incoherent sputtering.

“Come here,” Roy quickly picked Danny up from his lap and brought him into his arms. “You were so good. You’re such a good girl, Danny. You did so good for me,” Roy let Danny know how much he appreciated him as he rubbed his back. “Do you want your blanket?” The youngers favorite aftercare was cuddling under a blanket, lotion, then a bath. It was a routine for them at this point. It gave Roy peace knowing how to care for Danny after their scene had ended.

“Yeah, blanket! The fuzzy black one.”

Roy smiled at him, “I know what you like.” He pressed a kiss to the apple of Danny’s cheek before reaching behind the couch for Danny’s blanket. Roy got ready to wrap it around them before Danny stopped him.

“Wait!” Danny pulled Roy’s shirt over his head, tossing it to the side. He wrapped his arms around his body, nuzzling his face to his chest. A content smile spread across Danny’s lips. “Okay.” Roy chuckled. Danny always found comfort in skin on skin contact with his lover.

Roy wrapped the soft blanket around the two of them. He laid his chin on Danny’s head as Danny rested.

“Thank you for coming home,” Danny said quietly.

“Of course. I missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” Danny popped his head up to peck Roy on the lips. “Can we stay here like this for a while? I don’t wanna move.”

Roy kissed his forehead. “We can do whatever you wanna do, Babygirl.”

[mindfulwrathwrites]

Remote Sensation

I’m sick as a dog this weekend, so if this happens to seem familiar ... just don’t worry about it, yeah?

Words: Several Warnings: None

...

At 0500, the alarm goes off. Benoit slaps at the clock and groans. He rolls out of bed and drifts through his morning routine half-awake—dress, brush teeth, comb hair, wash face, make bed, grab badge and dosimeter, make morning log entry.

Benoit Boer, Day 655, still not dead or crazy.

By 0530, he’s sitting down to breakfast and coffee downstairs. The comms screen chirps, exactly on time, and Benoit slaps that, too. Giles appears on it, yawning.

“Morning, Ben,” he says, crackly with static.

“Morning,” says Benoit. “How’s the weather up there?”

“It’s a beautiful day,” says Giles. “Chilly on the night side, but warmer on the sunny side, partly space with a chance of space.”

Benoit snorts. “And how’s my weather looking?”

“No flares, plasma events, or comets. Not a cloud in the sky and no atmosphere, either.”

“Perfect. What about the Drill?”

“Been better. We got a piece of grit or something in the percussion sleeve, it’s causing a friction anomaly. Otherwise, it’s all routine. Pumps are pumping, pipes are piping, tanks are tanking. Is that what tanks do?”

“Tanks tanking, yep, you got it,” says Benoit, smirking into his reconstituted eggs. “Do you have telemetry on the resupply yet?”

“Not yet, but we should pick it up around lunchtime. Should I let you know when we ping it?”

“Nah, just catch me up at lunchtime. I don’t want you buzzing in my ear while I’m elbow-deep in brine and oil.”

“I don’t buzz,” says Giles, offended. “And speaking of resupply, how’re yours holding up? By the numbers you’ll make it even if we lose this one, but if any of it has gone bad, we might have to work on a ration plan.”

“Looked fine when I pulled all this out. The coffee’s a little off, but it’s not mold. Plastic seepage, I think.”

“That’s not good. Those are carcinogens you’re imbibing.”

“Worth it for the caffeine, and anyways, if anything’s going to give me cancer, it’ll be the radiation. Damn space, always irradiating me.”

“It’d be preferable if nothing gave you cancer at all.”

“In a perfect world,” Benoit sighs.

“Are you feeling all right? Should I move up your next medical evaluation?”

“No, God no, move it back, if possible.”

“I really can’t. Regulations and all.”

“A man can dream. How are things up there, speaking of radiation?”

“Orbital module is ship-shape. We’re clean, stable, and prepared to adjust attitude for the resupply, once we have telemetry.”

“Wish I could adjust your attitude, heyo.”

Giles scowls at him. Benoit rolls his eyes.

“Come on, that was a good one.”

“I don’t appreciate it.”

“Buzzkill.”

“I’ll note your observation. About time to head on, Ben!”

Benoit sighs again. He slurps down the rest of his coffee, crams the rest of his eggs in his mouth, and checks his watch—0547.

“Guess so,” he says. “Which suit today?”

“Take the Three. Number One was showing some stress on the oxygen tubing and Two still has that crack in the face shield.”

“Shit, I never did fix that, did I.”

“Should I set you a reminder?”

“Oh, shut up, would you?”

Giles scowls at him again. The comms screen cuts out. Benoit smacks it.

“I didn’t mean it, you stupid—drama queen,” he mutters.

When there’s no response, he gathers up his dishes and heads on.

It takes forty minutes to get into the suit, even with Giles’s (silent) remote assistance. Then it’s a fifteen-minute bounce across a quarter-mile of rock-hard ice floes to the Drill, and the pumps, and the tanks. Galveston, Inc. didn’t screw around when it came to hardware; Benoit is completely dwarfed by the things, each the size of a building. They, in turn, are completely dwarfed by Jupiter, filling the sky like a waterfall of oil paints. It looks close enough to reach up and touch. Even after all this time, Benoit has to take a moment to just stand and stare, let the awe wash through him and fade away again before getting to work.

And the work is hard, and dirty, and cramped, even after all this time. The suit is cumbersome, the machinery is ornery, the light conditions range from dim to pitch-black. Benoit alternates between sweating to death and freezing solid, his air growing steadily more stale as he breathes it over and over again. Four hours pass in a snow-blind haze. His radio crackles in his ear, harmonic resonance with the constant electromagnetic scream pouring out of Jupiter. When he shuts his eyes, tiny flickers and flashes of light ping against his eyelids, cosmic particles zipping through his retinas like BB’s through tissue paper.

He heads back to the bio-building for lunch, and Giles, who’s finished sulking, updates him on the status of the resupply—he picked it up on sensors an hour ago, and it’s on course to arrive day after tomorrow. That brightens the day considerably, even through another six hours of back-breaking work. Giles sticks with him through the afternoon, since it’s all routine maintenance—chatters in his ear, gives him updates on windspeeds on Jupiter, auroras he’s seen, ice floe shifts and minor impacts he’s picked up nearby. They’re approaching another tidal resonance with Io and Ganymede, so it’s likely to be a bumpy weekend, although Benoit will be up in the orbiter through the whole thing. Benoit lets him talk all through the afternoon, and then through dinner as well. Giles signs off at the appropriate time, 1800 on the dot, and Benoit is left alone.

The evening routine is as well-worn as the morning one. He showers, cleans all his dishes, takes care of little maintenance issues with the bio-building and his suits. He pulls up the resupply ship’s tracking info, watches it trace its little green line through the darkness, terribly slow but right on course. He reads for half an hour about auroras on Jupiter. At 2100, he turns off the lights, lies down and tucks the covers up to his chin, nestles in. All he can see out the porthole is stars, familiar constellations washed out amidst the sea of lights. With no atmosphere or human illumination to backfill the darkness, the night sky is impossibly deep, and every drop of it brimming with billions of far-off suns. His breathing fills the room, tiny and alone, alone, alone against the vastness outside.

“Giles?” he whispers.

A light flickers on.

“Yes, Ben?”

“Can you stop logging for me?”

“Logging paused. What’s up?”

Benoit swallows down the lump in his throat, blinks the moisture from his eyes.

“I’m … really looking forward to seeing you, at resupply,” he says. “A lot.”

“Aw, Ben. I’m looking forward to seeing you, too.”

Despite the pain in his chest, Benoit smiles.

“I guess it’s not that much different for you, though. You see me all the time.”

“Sure, but you’re always happier when you’re in orbit. I like that. Oh, and while we’re not logging... You haven’t made your nightly report. I just wanted to make sure, you know, that you didn’t forget? And that you don’t forget to mention about me.”

“Oh, shit. Resume logging and repeat that reminder, if you could.”

“Resumed logging. Hey, Ben, you forgot your nightly report.”

“Shit, you’re right. Thanks for the reminder, I’ll do that now. See you in the morning, Giles.”

“See you in the morning, Ben. Sweet dreams.”

The comms screen goes dark. Benoit rolls onto his side and prods a few buttons, pulls up his reports. He dictates the same thing he says every night.

Benoit Boer, still alive and sane. Pump station and orbiter both still functional. No disasters today. GALILEO Intelligent Liaison Experiment Satellite continues to function optimally; do not reboot or debug.

With his assets thus secured, and the promise of the long-awaited resupply soaring towards him through the starry night, he settles in to sleep.

[hotsexydorks]

How to Build a Harem Without Really Trying / Chpt 4 - It's Better With A Partner

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11905485/chapters/57294661

“Okay.. Okay..” Scott sat down on his bed, head in his hands and sighing while he tried to recall everything that happened. Starting with that first night he found the pendent. With a particularly loud sigh he looked out at the open door and tried to trace his steps. 

To start with there was the night that he couldn’t sleep when he went for that walk. Nothing happened when he picked up the pendent but it was that night he had that dream. But it had to just be a dream. A silly thing from the heat that was causing him to dream up a silly thing like that.

They couldn’t have anything to do with what was happening. How could they. That kind of stuff didn’t exist, that was just all fantasy and fiction shit. All the kinds of things that Stiles like to read, things that were from their games. That was it. It was all just happenstance. Which is what Scott decided to tell himself. 

But no matter what he was telling himself he couldn’t shake the feeling that it was something else. Something more than just a crazy coincidence. He could have explained everything up until this morning. 

He had been working out and it had been a particularly hot summer. Of course his body would have been changing and if he wasn’t hydrating he could have been seeing things. But what happened with his father was something different entirely. His father dry humped him and explored his body until they both came. 

It took only replaying the memory of what happened for Scott’s body to start reacting. The touch of his father’s body against his and the weight of him pushing against the counter. Trapped between the cool wood and the older man’s warm hard body. It was a secure yet numbing feeling. Just as Scott went through the memory his body could feel each of the pleasures, each of the touches, all of it as if it were happening again. 

It didn’t take long before the memory of that morning took over, his body laying back on his bed. Hands touching over his body and tracing each path that his father had taken. Going up his abs. Feeling the weight of his body against him, the girth of the growing cock behind him, and the warmth that radiated off of Raf’s body. 

Scott’s imagination was running wild and from his head to his toes his body felt like it was on fire. As if coals of heat were being poured over his body, pelting him with wave after wave an endless onslaught. 

But his body’s temperature wasn’t the only that had Scott reeling. The ghostly feeling of his father’s dick had found its way between his cheeks. Rubbing them and spreading them always teasing and pushing against his hole. His hands left his body, the thoughts only compelling him to do more. To feel more. 

Leaning back Scott raised his legs exposing his ass to the empty room, spreading them only to make himself blush more. His hands grabbed the round cheeks, moving them and shaking them as he could feel their mass even after they were spread. Jiggling them and feeling that numb spread further up his body. Scott rubbed his ass with his bare hands, the tips of his fingers brushing against his hole. It felt like sparks shooting through him and finally his head began to feel light. His head became airy and loose the more he played with himself, he wanted more.

Just the tip… right? That wouldn’t be bad. 

Scott tried to reason with himself. Attempting to try stop himself from going further from continuing but it was a futile effort. There wasn’t anyway that he was going to stop. Nothing would pull him away now. 

The tip of Scott’s finger ran along his hole, circling and teasing himself slowly. But even more than that he had found his hole wet. Almost leaking as if to prepare for something. 

‘Cock. Big hard thick cocks. That’s what I need’ 

A voice rung feintly in Scott’s mind, his finger already knuckle deep. Easily taken down all the way with his fat ass. It took a second before Scott’s body caught up with what was happening. The finger in his ass caused shocks and waves of pleasure to shoot through him. It was mind numbing and eye opening all at the same time. It felt good, too good. 

Scott didn’t even notice when his middle finger joined his first, both of them starting to move in his hole. Pulling back and pushing in. No matter what he did it all felt good. So good that he couldn’t stop himself. 

His fingers just kept going, pumping into his hole over and over again. But the only things he could think about were how good it felt and how much better it would feel with a big cock. A big thick hard cock just... like Raf’s. 

Scott moans grew louder as his mind was flooded with thoughts and images of his father’s cock, taking it where he was. Having the man fuck him. His own father didn’t even deter him from this. 

“Dad..… Daddd.y”  He moaned loudly not stopping for anything. Not even stopping to think about the words falling from his lips. Scott hadn’t called his father Daddy in years. But then why did it feel so right. 

Too engrossed in his own world Scott didn’t hear the closing of the door downstairs, or the shuffling of feet. He was too busy using his fingers to explore his new found pleasure. “Uhh hnnff.. “ The pleasure was rolling and building. Bubbling inside him like a tank ready to explode. “Haaaa, Dadddy--” Scott moaned again as his imaginary version of his father was pounding him hard and deep. 

“Scott?” The deep voice boomed from downstairs. “You alright?” Then the sound of the step creeking. “I heard you calling me.” And again. 

Just like that Scott’s already rushing heart was pounding faster. The teen jumped from his bed, pulling out his fingers and hitting the floor with a soft moan. “Y-yeah I’m alright, just, uh, didn’t think you’d be back so soon!” 

The sweat beaded down his body. Covering him almost like a cold sweat. 

“Well someone asked for juice so I had to come back and sort the groceries before going to the gym. Hurry your butt downstairs and we’ll go together.” 

The steps started to fade down the hall and away. Relief washed over Scott’s body as he started to come down from the high that he had just been on. In the mirror Scott caught a glimpse of himself, his ass stuck out from his body in a way that it hadn’t before. His body toned more than he had ever worked on and yet it felt right. When he looked in the mirror he saw what he thought he should.

“Right.. Gym..” Scott said to himself looking around his room to find some things to wear. Picking up his black vest Scott threw on his short workout shorts and grabbed a hoodie on his way down to meet his father. 

“Already working on your pregame, huh?” Raf ruffled Scott’s messy hair and chuckled. He was in an outfit similar to Scott’s with looser shorts. But with his new expanded cock it was a good thing, even with being loose the material didn’t do anything to hide the sizeable mound that was hidden underneath. 

The older grabbed his workout bag and headed to the door. “Alright, ready to go?” He asked him already at the door. 

“Sure..” Scott replied his mind already wandering back to his father’s cock. 

--- 

The drive to the gym was uneventful, Scott was strong enough to stop himself from doing more than just stealing a few glances down at his father’s crotch. But the real danger was when they got inside the gym. 

It wasn’t all too popular to begin with which is why they chose it in the first place. Waiting lines were minimal if at all, equipment was always available. But best of all it was quiet. That meant they could both work out in peace and not have to worry about anyone around them. Which was one of Scott’s outlines when he agreed to start working out with his father; having a quieter gym so he could really focus on it.

However this time was different, if all the other times it had been quiet then now it was dead. The place was fully empty except for the two of them and the guy out front.

“Hey guys, I was hoping you’d show up.. See I was wondering if you could help me..”  Scott looked around confused as Raf approached the bench chuckling. 

“Finally got her number then. Fine but you owe me kid.” 

“Thanks Raf. I’ll leave the keys here and the instructions to lock up are behind the desk, just pop the key back into the letter box when you’re leaving. “

Just like that he was gone, grabbing his things like a tornado and running out the door leaving the two of them truly alone. 

Raf grabbed the key and threw it into his bag while laughing the entire time. “He’s been trying to go on a date with a girl the entire summer, looks like he finally got his chance. Come on, we can enjoy having the place to ourselves.” 

Scott followed after Raf going into the main part of the gym looking around taking in how empty it was. Smiling he went over to the desk and turned up the speakers a bit, he always liked having music when he worked out. 

By now they had gotten their routine down to an art. First it was stretches, then a jog, finally some weight free squats before they got started. Knowing what was next wasn’t the problem, it was doing them. 

Doing the stretches wasn’t a problem neither was the job, but it was the squats that got to Scott. Not because he was tired from working out, it was more from what he hadn’t done. Scott hadn’t put on underwear after his little session that got interrupted. In his hurry Scott had left them on the floor and now was squatting with the seams of the shorts rubbing up against his hole. Brushing against him the entire time. When Scott stood up from each of the squats his ass caught the fabric between his cheeks and pulled them in stretching even tighter around his ass.

Even just the rubbing of the fabric felt good, those same shivers and pleasures started to creep up his body. Right when he was beside his father. His father, with the big cock. Scott involuntarily let out a moan, trying to cover it up with a cough he covered his mouth and hoped his father wouldn’t notice the blush on his face. 

Raf looked over at his son, the sound catching his attention. He hadn’t thought they were going particularly hard but he did have an extra day of lacrosse thrown in that might have been adding up. “Finish up that last set while I get our waters.” 

Scott nodded, glad that he was getting a moment alone. But still it was hard when each motion had him moaning. No matter how many times it rubbed against him it never stopped feeling good, the feeling never stopped surprising him. When Scott finished his set Raf had come back with their cooled waters. 

“Here.” 

“Thanks Dad.” Scott took the bottle and started to drink from it hoping that the older hadn’t seen anything. 

“You know.. I think it might be time for a looser short Scott. I can see you’re not even wearing underwear or even a jock under there.” Raf said, putting his bottle down. It was a view hard to miss. But like this Raf could really see the change in Scott’s body. 

“Dad!!” Scott looked back with wide eyes catching his father staring at his ass. But that didn’t do much to help him. Seeing how much his father was appreciating his rear only made Scott feel giddy. 

“I’m just saying Scott your working out has paid off!” Raf laughed at the pout on his son’s face. He put his hand on Scott’s shoulder before pointing over to the rowing machines. “Let’s do some of these today since your glutes are getting the pay off.” The older man slapped Scott’s ass intending to just move on, but the jiggling of his pillowy cheeks entranced him for a moment. 

With Raf being behind him Scott didn’t notice his father being mesmerised by his ass. His walking away only making that even more pronounced. 

When Scott was finally far enough away Raf shook his head and started to follow him, his focus finally coming back and catching up to what was happening. 

“Alright, have you used this before?” Raf asked, hitting the top of it. 

Scott took a seat in the obvious place and looked up at his father. “No, but it doesn’t look that bad.” Admittedly nothing ever looked as scary as the multi workstation in the middle of the room. That still worried Scott every now and then. 

“It’s not. Here. Scooch up and I’ll sit in behind you and make sure you’re doing it right.” Raf moved behind Scott and waited for him to move up on the seat. It was a bit bigger than for one person but with Scott’s ass and Raf joining him it would take a bit of maneuvering to sort them out.  

First Raf took a seat on the machine, sitting down he spread his legs wide enough so that he could straddle each side. Now it was just time for Scott. 

“Alright down you come.” Raf guided Scott down so he could sit between his legs. Being propped up enough between Raf’s legs and half on the seat put Scott’s ass square on Raf’s bulge. 

Scott bit his lip when he felt the shape of his father’s cock against his cheeks. But maybe he hadn’t noticed, after all he was just helping him. 

“Now, put your feet on the pads and thread them under.” Following what Raf said, Scott slotted his feet down. Ready to learn this new exercise

“Straight legs. There you go.. Now hold the bar properly and lean back.” Having Raf talk him through each over the motions always made the tasks less daunting but right now Scott was more concerned about the cock that was pressed against him. 

“Now you do, arms out,  lean forward, and bend knees.Then do it in reverse.” Scott nodded mindlessly as he committed the motions to memory, Raf running through it for good measure. 

“Alright.” Simple enough. Out, forward,bend and back. Swiping his foot against the foot rests Scott got a more secure position. Now he was ready to try. As soon as Scott leaned forward Raf interrupted him. 

“Slowly first.” 

Heeding the warning Scott stretched out his body and followed the motion moving in. The sudden move of the seat shocked Scott. He had seen them move but never thought they would be that fast or smooth. When the two met the end of the track it caused the two of them to buckle in the seat. Pushing Raf’s crotch further against Scott who was locked in place against him. 

“Good.. now back.” Raf told him as he held onto Scott’s hips as a support. 

Scott pulled back on the machine and when he leaned back into Raf’s chest pushed his ass down harder on the other’s cock. Was it getting bigger? There wasn’t much time to dwell on the thought before they were moving again. 

It wasn’t too hard of a work out but it was distracting. Having the other’s cock pressed against him had Scott’s body sweating already. Flushed and panting with each row. But as they went on Raf increased their speed. Being the seat Scott was merely on his father’s crotch for the ride. 

Each movement was rhythmic, planned and timed. Smooth and controlled with how they were sitting. Every cycle giving them both that moment of pleasure. Hitting their bodies together and humping until Scott’s hands hand dropped the bar and the two were holding on to each other and just moving in tandem. 

Raf’s hands were up against Scott’s now more sensitive chest. Feeling his son’s body. Squeezing and exploring the other’s efforts. His fingers had also found the boy’s nipples. Teasing them with slow small circles and pulling gently at them. 

Scott on the other hand had become too preoccupied with his movements. Pushing down harder against his father’s crotch Scott began to not move back and forth but also grind against his father’s cock. 

The length grew hard fast. Pushing firmly against Scott’s soft round ass each bump from the end of the path caused his cock to find its way deeper and deeper between Scott’s cheeks. 

The younger hadn’t the mind to stop himself. It all felt too good. It felt like it was a warm pull that drew him closer and closer with the guise of even more comfortable pastures. Scott and Raf had ended up both panting on the exercise machine, albeit for different reasons than most. It wasn’t long before the two’s cycle had completely halted. 

They weren’t sliding on the machine anymore. Now both of the men sat together basking in the feeling of pleasure that came from their dance. The intimate swaying of sex. 

“LISTEN TO MORE GR-…” 

A voice boomed over the speaker and pulled the two out of their mindless wander. An ad, a damn ad suddenly appearing and ruining the moment of euphoria that he was experiencing. Scott jumped from his seat with a groan, not one out of effort but annoyance from having to leave such a comfortable position. 

“Shit.. He must have logged out when he left.” Scott groaned as he turned the speakers down and let it finish not bothering to put in his details. 

To say that Raf was stunned would have been an understatement. Not only was he shocked but nearly aghast and horrified from what he had just been doing.He had just been dry humping his son’s ass. Feeling up his body like they were lovers who had been reunited after a war. 

But it wasn’t just what he had been doing that caught the man off guard. No, his actions weren’t the main source of his panic. The real reason for the man’s panic came from the wet spot he could feel in his pants. Not only had he been dry humping his son’s ass, his soft round pillowy ass, but he had enjoyed it. He was turned on by it, he liked it, he wanted more. That was the real worry in Rafael’s mind. His cock was hard, his heart beating pulsing heavy in his chest. Why was this happening? He searched his brain but there weren’t any answers, instead there were only images of the two of them naked, Scott’s lips wrapped around Raf’s cock sucking happily as he looked up at him. 

These sorts of thoughts weren’t meant to be turning him on, hell they weren’t even meant to exist in the first place. But neither of those reasons stopped his hand from sliding down his pants. Taking his thick hard cock in his hand and stroking himself over his shorts. The heady heavy scent of his cock wafted up from between his legs. It hit his nose with force. It was yet another thing making the man acknowledge what was happening. 

Here he was, a father, an upholder of justice and the law, a married straight man. A man who had had more girlfriends that he could even remember not even to mention the one night stands and fuck buddies. But now all of that was null and void. It didn’t matter when flashes of his son began to creep in on those memories. Imaging Scott in various positions: bouncing his cock, slobbering at the balls that he came from with a cum covered face, on his knees and spreading his perfect ass showing off how his hole was stretched, begging for more. 

It was intoxicating. Overpowering and it felt good. Raf couldn’t stop touching himself. His hand stroking and squeezing at his cock. At this rate the wet spot in his underwear wouldn’t stay hidden for very long. 

“Hey Daddy?” Scott’s voice pulled the older male out from his trance but his hand never pulled away from his cock. “Can you spot me for these squats?” He called out, already putting the final weight on the bar before taking his position. 

“Sure thing, son.” Raf nodded. Finally pulling his hand away from his throbbing cock Raf moved forward until he was ready behind him. The allure of feeling Scott’s ass against him again was pulling him. 

Of course, Scott didn’t know what was going on in his father’s head during all that time. From the moment he had gotten up to turn down the music he had missed having the thick cock pressed against him. Rubbing against his bare hole that he had teased earlier. Each time they touched it was like body shaking pleasure that coursed through him. 

He wanted more and he wanted it now. The pleasure of feeling it again was all that mattered. While Raf was in his own world Scott looked around trying to think of ways he could get what he wanted. How could he feel the man’s cock on him again. The build up from having edged himself earlier was starting to overflow.  That’s when he saw his plan and didn’t even think twice. 

The weights on the bar weren’t heavy at all, Scott had squatted more than that loads of times. But that didn’t stop his plan. Scott backed up into his father’s space when he felt him get closer. Already leaning forward to stick out his round ass Scott’s back was arched and showing it off perfectly. Positioning himself against the man’s bulge Scott felt the hard cock against him again. 

Both father and son let out a moan, satisfied by the feeling of the other on them again. Neither of them called it out. 

Raf put his hands on Scott’s waist and nestled his cock against Scott’s crack. “You ready Scott?” The man asked, licking his lips. The sight before him was better than any porn he had seen before. The arched back and bubble butt pushing so wonderfully against him. How much temptation could he resist? He was only one man after all. 

And just like that Scott started to move. With his ass pushing back against Raf the two began their dance that had been so suddenly interrupted. Grinding their bodies together in tandem never letting their contact break.

Soon their guise of squats was broken. Scott put down the bar. Dropping to the floor and moaning as he got back up. With his back straight against Raf’s chest. “Daddy..” Scott whimpered softly looking back at the man. 

“You like that Scotty?” Raf knew the answer so there was no need to wait for it. His hands moved slightly from Scott’s hips to his ass. Reaching under the younger’s shorts and feeling the bare ass. 

“What are you trying to do Scott? Flaunting your fat ass around like that. You’re not even wearing any underwear. Who taught you to be such a slut?” He scolded his song. Slapping his ass to accentuate his point. The jiggle had Raf laughing in disbelief of how naughty his son’s body was.  

“Do you like it Daddy?” Scott looked over his shoulder at Raf. There was a slight grin on his face while he looked back at him, biting his lip and trying to see more of his father’s body.

“Daddy does like it” Raf growled into Scott’s neck. His hands undressed Scott’s body, pulling his shorts down and exposing the ass. One palm kneaded at the delicate cheeks while he had fingers teasing and prodding at Scott’s hole. Two fingers invaded the soft opening. Pushing and sliding in deep. 

Rafael groaned feeling how easily Scott’s ass opened up for him and dirty thoughts came flooding back into his mind of his son. How many times had he done this, who had he been offering his ass to. 

“I’ve got a slut for a son.” Raf started to grunt his words against Scott’s ear, but he wasn’t listening. Nothing could break the hold that his fingers had on him. Pushing and prodding inside him and getting so close to that magical spot. 

“Is that why you wanted to start working out Scott? You wanted to make this ass bigger so that you can tease everyone with it. Walk around with that big ass shaking it for all the cocks out there.” 

Scott tried to deny everything Rafael was saying. “N-no!! I just..” But even those attempts were in vain. He couldn’t stop what was happening, it was more than that he didn’t want to. Scott let out a moan feeling just how much better it was to have fingers inside him that weren’t his own. 

“On the bench press. Now.” Raf pulled his fingers from Scott’s ass, letting the boy go free. His own hand finally pulled his cock from its prison and exposed the length to the air. He dropped his shorts to the ground and followed behind him. 

Scott lay down on the bench, his tank top riding up and his legs in the air. His fingers traced around his hole and pushed into himself again while he waited for his father. Wanting him, his mind remembering the fantasy that he had earlier only now Rafael was actually here. Scott licked his lips at the sight of the other’s body. He had seen his father’s body before but in this light, from this position it was a totally different sensation. 

“Daddy… Daddy please.” Scott used his hands and spread his cheeks showing off the ready hole waiting for him. “Please I need it .. 

Raf didn’t need the encouragement. He was already getting into his own position, bending his knees and lowering himself to get at the right level. Taking the base of his cock in his hand Raf used the tip of his cock to tease at Scott’s hole. Circling the rim and slapping it as if he were back in his hookup days. Warming up the hole and wanting to hear those words. 

“Please Daddy.. Fuck me … fuck me with your big cock!!” Scott couldn’t take it any longer, his rope had been burnt out and needed to have it now. 

Rafael grinned at Scott’s request. Stopping in his tracks he looked into his son’s eyes. “Here comes Daddy’s cock.” There was no time wasted after that. When Raf pushed forward his cock was met with no resistance. It was warm and soft, yet somehow was still also tight around his girth. 

Despite Rafael’s cock having grown in size and being bigger than Scott had ever seen a cock before he didn’t feel any pain. There wasn’t any discomfort all he felt was the overwhelming pressure of pleasure. Whether that was from the fact he had been fingering himself earlier or something else Scott didn’t care.

“Ahhh!!! DaAaDYY!” Scott howled out. All that time he had spent fingering himself couldn’t compare to the feeling of a real thick cock in him. The stretch filled him up and pushed in deeper. All 10 inches of the cock had been pushed into Scott and he couldn’t believe how good it felt. That was until he started moving. There wasn’t any build up, no warm up or preparation for it. It all happened at the same time. In the same motion Raf had managed to lodge off of his length into Scott’s hole he pulled back and started to slam back into it.

Scott’s eyelids fluttered from it all. His mouth was open letting each and every sound fall from his lips. Throated moans that replaced his words. Each devilish sound of their bodies began to fill the room. The music long droned out from Scott’s moans and Raf’s drive. 

Slap. Slap. 

The sound of his heavy balls slapping against Scott’s would have been immediately distinguishable to anyone that walked by. The sounds of sex, pure and obscene. Raf had no other goal but to load Scott’s full of cum. Especially when Scott was ‘looking’ up at him with that face corrupted with so much pleasure. 

Slap. Slap slap. 

Rafael took a hold of Scott’s legs and pushed them further back. Testing Scott’s flexibility and spreading him even further. His body moved like a machine, like it was supposed to do this. But it wasn’t just his body movements but his body itself. Scott’s hole was made to be fucked, and Raf as the maker had the right. 

Slap slap slap slap. Slap slap slap slap.

Pounding at Scott’s ass, Raf was like a man reborn. Sure his own sex life hadn’t been all that interesting for a while, nor had it been as lively, but right now Raf was making up for it in spades. 

“Fucking take that load!” 

“Wait no.. Daddy Pl-” Scott whined not for the fact that he was about to be bred by his father but by the fact that it would mean he wasn’t being fucked anymore. That one sample of cock was all he needed to know that fighting those feelings was wrong. If it felt good then he should feel good. 

Yelling loudly Raf broke Scott’s whines, his hips stuttering as he filled Scott up with his load, with no memories of the morning he believed it was his first load in days. All of it being shot into Scott’s used ass. 

The agent panted for breath and leaned back off of Scott’s ass. Pulling out with wet sounds, his cock making Scott feel good one last time before it was taken out. “I think that’s a good enough workout Scott.” The older man glanced down at Scott’s ass. If you had told him that the hottest ass he was going to fuck would be his son’s and that even after breeding him just looking at the messy hole would turn him back on he would have cursed you out and beaten you down. But now. Now he was already getting hard and ready to fuck Scott’s ass again. 

Scott smiled widely up at the other. Somehow even after that he was feeling renewed and invigorated, full of energy and ready for more. 

“Sure. The showers will all be free so no need to rush.” He nodded getting up from the bench any worry or doubts about what he had done earlier had faded. Now there was just the topic of how this all happened; after all even not having paid much attention to Raf’s dick he never remembered it being that big, or there ever being any sexual energy between them. 

Walking away Scott had spring in his step. A spring that did nothing to stop Raf from staring at the jiggling ass. Bouncing and pulling him after it. 

“Fuck…” He muttered under his breath, cock twitching back with excitement. Not only had he just fucked his son on the open floor of a gym, he was already ready to do it again in the showers. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this’ Raf thought to himself grabbing their clothes from the floor and getting up to chase after the already disappeared teen. “Hey Scott, wait! You didn’t even take your shorts.” Shaking his head Raf followed after him into the showers.

[bat-losers-inc]

Kintsugi: Chapter 3

Warnings: drug use

Summary: Final Crisis/Red Robin AU. Dick admits Tim to a psychiatric facility after Bruce is lost in time. Jason finds him suffering at the hands of a Scarecrow-copycat and breaks him out. While safe in Jason’s apartment, Tim still struggles with panic attacks and drug withdrawal. At a loss for what to do, Jason calls Roy Harper.

Pairings: Jason Todd & Tim Drake, Tim Drake & Roy Harper, Roy Harper & Jason Todd.

Author’s Note: Hey I was listening to “This is the last time” by the National on repeat while writing this chapter. Do the same while reading this chapter if you want to get emotionally wrecked. I DARE YOU.

Jason emerged onto the parking garage level with Tim slung across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. With one hand keeping a tight hold on Tim’s limbs where they crossed his chest, Jason used his free hand to test the doors in a section of parked cars. He was more than a little relieved when one car door opened against his experimental yank. Tim was small but compact and Jason was panting under his weight. His recent decision to ditch his weight routine in favor of some added cardio during his weekly workout seemed a poor choice now.

Jason let Tim sprawl across the backseat and rolled out his sore shoulders. “Hey, Jason? Remember the good ol’ days when you had to chase Bane across half the rooftops in the Narrows? Betcha didn’t think you’d miss that, huh?”

Jason ducked his head under the dash and played with the wires until the car engine jumped to life with a mechanical purr. “Nowadays, patrols are all small peanuts—  impromptu rescue missions and copycat criminals— while Dickhead and the Demon Brat fry all the big fish in Gotham.”  

Jason pulled out onto the city streets and glanced in the rear view mirror at Tim. The kid was still asleep in the backseat— though now only partially tucked into the hospital blanket Jason had wrapped him in on the way out. “Eh. But maybe a change of pace will be good for you. Plus, it’ll be nice to have some company for once.”

Jason drove out of Bludhaven with equal amounts of speed and caution. After all, he’d just broken Tim out of a mental hospital that Dick had put him in. Breckenridge could sound the alarm bells at any moment and send word to Dickhead. Jason’s window of opportunity for an unnoticed getaway could slam shut right this very moment or it could last all the way till morning. Either way, Tim wasn’t in a good place to have a reunion with Dickhead and if the Red Hood got pulled over for a speeding ticket while driving a stolen car, it was only going to make it that much easier for Dick to track them down.

Jason owed Tim for breaking him out of Arkham and that debt wouldn’t be fully repaid until Tim was secure inside Jason’s safehouse in Gotham Proper. It was completely on the other side of Gotham from their current location, not to mention, one of Jason’s least lived-in safehouses, but it was also one of the few areas of Gotham where Batman and Robin would be hard pressed to find them. Unofficially under the control of Killer Croc, the only reason Jason was allowed a safe-house there was through his friendship with Roy, and therefore by-proxy, Killer Croc who was Roy’s current sponsor.

With the underground network of low-grade criminals who lived there on the lookout, it was the closest thing that Jason was going to get to an early warning system. Jason made sure to flag down one of his usual informers and send out the word once he’d reached the Dixon Docks. As payment for services rendered, Jason gave the man his stolen car and carried Tim the rest of the way into the waterfront warehouse that hid his safe-house.

Jason smacked some of the dust off of the couch before settling Tim down on top of it. While the kid slept, Jason made his rounds throughout the safehouse, checking the security measures and doing a bit of cleaning up along the way. He took stock of his medical supplies and the dry good in the kitchen cabinets and found both wanting. He’d need to put together a list and go shopping, but before he could do that he’d need to know what he was shopping for. Jason sighed and glanced over the back of the couch. From his faraway spot beside the kitchen counter, all that was visible of the successor to his mantle was a tangle of greasy hair and a single flung out arm, it’s pale skin marred by bruises and dirt alike.

Jason tapped his index finger on the kitchen counter and chewed the inside of his cheek. He really didn’t want to be playing geriatric nurse— sponge bath and all, but he couldn’t figure a way around it. He needed to see the full extent of the damage. Otherwise, how could he fix it?

Dick would do it, he reminded himself as he picked Tim up and carried him into the bathroom. Though, based on recent events, it seemed that Jason shouldn’t follow Dick’s example in all things where Tim was concerned.

Jason cranked the shower up to hot and sat Tim down on the bath mat with his back resting against the wicker hamper. As the bathroom filled up with warm steamy air he pulled the blanket away from Tim’s shoulders and reached for the hem of his shirt. “Don’t punch me. Don’t punch me. Please please please…”

But Tim’s hands remained as limp as dead fish against the bathroom floor and Jason was able to remove the hospital shirt and sweatpants without any bodily harm. He stripped quickly down to his own briefs, eager to hurry this along as professionally as possible. Jason was just glad that he’d had the foresight to build a tiled bench into his shower when converting the space into a bathroom. While usually put to use when Jason was too battered to stand up straight, it was incredibly helpful to him now as he propped Tim against the ledge and angled the spray down on them.

Jason knelt on the shower floor in from of him and angled Tim’s head forward to catch the spray. He nearly fell on his ass when Tim jerked awake under the warm water and struggled sluggishly to free his himself from Jason’s hold on his face. Jason was quick to tip Tim’s head out of the spray until he could meet Tim’s half-lidded gaze.

“It’s okay. Everything’s okay,” Jason stroked Tim’s cheek with his wet fingers and shushed him until his panicked noises subsided into a toneless murmur. “Are you with me? Tim?”

Tim’s eyes drifted away from Jason’s face to the bar of soap on the shelf by Jason’s shoulder, but Jason knew he wasn’t really seeing it. A moment later Tim blinked once, tried for a second attempt only to fail.

“Timmy?” Jason slicked back the other boy’s wet bangs. “C’mon, stay awake. Please, I- I can’t—”  

Tim’s head dipped heavily into Jason’s palm. His murmuring slipped away into a silence that was soon drowned out by the hot water that pelted against Jason’s neck and back.

Jason pressed his hand hard against his mouth and fought back the cry that threatened to spill past his tight-pressed lips. He swallowed it back, swatted his wet hair out of his eyes, and returned to his previous task of massaging the shampoo through Tim’s dark locks until the water ran clean.

With washcloth in hand, Jason made methodical work of cleaning away the rest of the dirt and grime. Even with the filth washed away, the skin under Jason’s fingers gleamed back at him sooty and stained— like Japanese ink spilled across paper. A dark stain here at the thigh. There, along the slim column of Tim’s forearm, a long pale streak where the ink had thinned. On the inside of the elbows the tiny splatters from a bristle brush.

They’ll heal, he reminded himself. Yet still he picked up the bath towel and wrapped Tim in it, hiding his bruised skin from view. He didn’t want to see it.

In the end it was all too much—  too much responsibility, too much of a painful trip down memory lane.

Jason escaped to the roof and called Roy.  

The other man answered on the third ring and listened silently as Jason told him the whole messed up tale— right up until the moment in the bathroom when Jason felt like he’d crumble under the weight of his own memories.

“It’s nothing that I haven’t done before. I should have been able to handle it with ease, you know? But then… he woke up, just for a second, and stared right through me with those half-dead eyes. And they were her eyes, staring up at me through a drug haze.”

When Roy eventually spoke, his took on the same solemn tone of a funeral minister. And like Jason’s personal priest, one he’d spent years confessing his darkest secrets to, Roy knew exactly who he meant. “Your Mom?”

“Yeah,” Jason smiled despite himself. “I never could get that image of her out of my head.”

Roy’s sigh was audible on the other end of the line. “I know you feel you need to do this for Tim. To repay him. But I think it’ll do more harm than good for the both of you. Jason… you need to bring him to a rehab clinic.”

Jason stubbed out the cigarette he’d been working on and blew the smoke out harshly. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not? The people who work there are medical professional who can give Tim the attention and care he needs to get better.”

“Roy, no,” said Jason. “Dick put him in an institution and that’s how he got addicted in the first place.”

“Fine, I can recommend you some of the places I was treated at and—”

“He was given fear toxin while in a closed ward, Roy. Placing him in another one might send him spiralling into an anxiety attack. I’ll treat him here, in a place that feels like a home, not a prison cell.”

“For fucks sake, Jason! Don’t be an idiot. Do—” Roy cut himself off with a groan.

“No, say it.”   

“I just- I don’t want you to be doing this as some messed up redo attempt with your mom. Look, you’re my best friend, Jason. I know you loved her and it killed you not being able to save her when she overdosed, but this isn’t fair to Tim. You aren’t qualified to treat this on your own.”

“I know how to treat withdrawal, asshole. If I recall correctly, I’ve helped you through it on more than one occasion.”

“No— fuck— see this is what I’m talking about, Jason! Benzo addictions aren’t like other addictions. You can’t just cut Tim off from the drugs cold turkey. He could suffer a serious anxiety attack. He could seize, Jason. You’re fucking around with things you know nothing about.”

“Then help me.”

“What? No, I can’t—”

“Help me. Come down for a day. Just to set up and make sure I know everything I need to do this correctly. Roy, please.”

“I—” Roy paused for so long that Jason feared he’d simply put down his phone and walked away. “I-yeah… alright. But, just one day. Promise?”

Jason couldn’t keep the smile off his face as he tossed the remains of his cigarette over the edge of the roof. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”