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stevie-wicks · 3 years ago

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red, black and blue

She’d taken the photo in some empty parking lot in downtown LA, sunlight two years younger glinting off the hood of the Camaro. Billy’s moustache was still a couple of stray gold whiskers on his upper lip; his hair just past the tips of his unpierced ears. A different Billy to the one Hawkins had seen, but post-California Billy hadn’t had much time for Max’s amateur attempts at photography. Or for Max, in general.

“It’s a good photo.”

Jonathan Byers was not a formal wear kind of guy. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in his ugly suit- or maybe that was just an extension of how he was feeling. How they all were.

Max wrapped her hands around her elbows, suddenly regretting resisting her mother’s attempts to usher her into a jacket. “Thanks. I know he looks- different.”

Jonathan looked for a moment like he might offer her his ugly coat; then he probably remembered the uglier shirt he wore underneath. “He looks happier.”

“He was.” Max dug her nails into her skin. “He hated it here.”

Jonathan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Listen, Max; I know it’s not- it’s not really the same, but when I- when I thought Will was gone, I-” He swallowed. “Will is my best friend. I know that sounds really lame, but I just thought that. Maybe you’d feel better, or, I dunno. I know what it’s like.”

He was trying so hard. Max almost felt bad for him. “I don’t think you do.”

She’d wanted to sit next to Lucas, but her mom hadn’t. Some murmured nonsense about Neil not liking it; some louder nonsense about how they were a family and that now, more than ever, they had to stay together.

El became the compromise.

Not that Neil was gung-ho about El, either; not with the oversized flannel and suspenders she’d refused to change out of. Light blue eyes bore a hole into the side of Max’s head as she shuffled into the pew next to El. They weren’t the same shade of blue as Billy’s; he’d had more green to his, more like Max’s own. Neil’s were like ice chips.

A bony hand reached over, and Max looked up at Joyce Byers’s warm brown instead. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.

Stupidly, Max said, “He owed you a plate.”

El stirred. “I owe him my life,” she said quietly.

The last funeral Max had been to had been for some distant Mayfield relative. She’d been six and she’d cried all the way to Glendale because she was missing Jabberjaw. Then Dad bought her an ice cream and she’d forgotten all about Jabberjaw. She fell asleep halfway through the service, and they got home in time for Speed Buggy.

Billy’s service took half as long and felt an eternity longer.

Mom had offered to do a eulogy. She’d brought it up over breakfast, nervous eyes darting between Max and Neil, as if either of them would put up a fight. She tottered to her feet now, shuffling awkwardly to the front, in a dress a few laundry cycles short of being grey. For a fleeting moment, Max wished she had put up a fight. Billy would’ve died-

Max bit her cheek hard enough to taste copper.

Mom cleared her throat. “Billy and I didn’t know each other for very long, but I wish we had. He was a wonderful young man.” She dabbed at her eyes with a ratty handkerchief.

Max sank back into her seat. Maybe it was for the best; she could never lie about Billy the way her mom did. Not when all she could think of was the blood- God, so much blood, his blood- his last scream torn out of his chest by misshapen claws- apologies on a dying breath-

She stood up. Mom paused midway between some crap about Billy’s ‘respect and responsibility’.

“Maxine,” Mom said, mortified.

“I have to go.” She tore outside, knuckling her burning eyes.

The breeze nipped at her skin. She leaned against the wall, rubbing her hands up her arms. It was mid-July, for Pete’s sake.

She should’ve worn the stupid jacket.

She wiped at her face roughly. When her vision cleared, Lucas stood in front of her.

“Your mom’s done talking, if you wanna head back inside.” He kicked at a pebble.

Max kicked it back. It skittered away, just out of Lucas’s reach. “Not really.”

He squared his shoulders. “Mind if I join you, then?”

She shrugged. He hesitated for a moment before sidling up next to her, arms barely brushing.

“Steve’s giving his speech now.”

Max’s eyebrows reached her scalp.

“For the basketball team,” Lucas clarified, then added, a little awkwardly, “None of the other guys showed up.”

It shouldn’t hurt, but. “Yeah, well. Didn’t think Steve would, either. He hated Billy’s guts.” She dug her heels into the gravel. “You all did.”

Lucas fell quiet. “I didn’t hate him.”

Max snorted. “’Cause you’re not supposed to hold grudges over people who are-” She blinked back a fresh wave of tears. God, Maxine; you’re such a goddamn girl, Billy would’ve said. “You should. He was awful to you.”

“I didn’t hate him,” he repeated. “I mean, he scared the shit out of me, sure. But still. He was your brother.”

“That’s not an excuse. And he was my step-”

“He was your brother.” Lucas had turned on his side, fully facing her now. “And I know you lo- cared about him. And I’m trying to tell you that it’s okay to cry.”

Her eyes welled with tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to; not since Starcourt, not since she’d read the twenty-eight other names in the paper, not since she’d come home in an ambulance and her brother in a casket and Neil locked up Billy’s room and tore down everything else that had belonged to his son and threw it all in the trash like he’d been waiting to get rid of it-

Lucas held out an arm. Max buried her face in his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt and turning it translucent with her tears.

She cried long enough for her tear ducts to run dry, and then stood sniffling into the wet shirt. She was probably making it all gross with her snot, but she didn’t let herself get too torn up about it. The Sinclairs could afford a washing machine.

“Maxine.”

Max went rigid. Lucas, unbothered and oblivious, kept his arms around her. “Hey, Mr. Hargrove.”

She turned around slowly, just in time to catch the flicker of revulsion that passed over Neil’s face. “And who are you, boy?”

There was a painful pause. Max’s nails carved crescents into her palms.

“Lucas Sinclair, sir,” Lucas said at last.

Neil’s eyes were glacial. Max barely suppressed a shiver when they trained on her. “Maxine; something you learn when you grow older that there are a certain type of people in this world that you stay away from. And this boy?” Neil cut his gaze to Lucas. “This boy is one of them.”

Max reeled back. “I-”

“You stay away from my daughter, Sinclair; do you hear me?” Neil hadn’t raised his voice once since he’d started speaking. To any passers-by, this would look like a normal conversation. “Stay away.”

He didn’t wait for Lucas to respond, tugging Max away with a harsh grip on her wrist. She didn’t dare to turn around.

“I don’t want you anywhere near that boy, Maxine.” His hold loosened the closer they got to the car- Neil’s car, a respectable Ford sedan. She didn’t dare tug her hand free, either. “I hope you learn your lesson with this. Billy didn’t; not at first. I’m afraid I had to use more- forceful- methods with him. I trust I won’t have to do the same with you.”

Max turned to Neil despite herself. It was the first time he’d said Billy’s name since the Fourth of July.

His eyes gave nothing away. “Do I make myself clear?” His fingers tightened again.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good.” Neil’s smile was a mirror of Billy’s; shark-like and vicious, moments away from tearing into your throat. “It’s about time you got some new friends, too. Girls your age shouldn’t be hanging around with boys too much.”

“El’s a girl,” Max told her shoes.

Neil scoffed. “Really? Did she show you proof?”

What happened to you, Mad Max? Billy would’ve asked. You’re not going to stand up for your little hick friends?

Or maybe-

I had to use more forceful methods with him - the bruises she’d see on Billy while his own knuckles remained unscathed- Mom whisking her away on impromptu shopping trips whenever Neil and Billy raised their voices- forceful methods -

- maybe he would understand.

★

Billy’s life couldn’t have fit into a garbage bag.

Max hadn’t gone into his room since she’d gone with El, but he had to have more than what Neil had thrown out onto the sidewalk. Outside the four walls of his room, it was like Billy hadn’t even existed.

She slipped out of bed in the quiet.

Billy had taught her how to pick a lock, back in California. “Use a hairpin, or somethin’- you got one of those?”

She unfurled her fingers. The hairpin was damp with sweat. She wiped it on her t-shirt, and slid it into the keyhole.

“Keep your big ears close to the door; you won’t hear squat that far away.”

She held her breath, pressing her ear to the cool wood.

“Wait for the sound- there, you hear that? That’s how you know the tumblers are in place.”

The door swung open with a soft click.

Max half expected to be assaulted by cigarette smoke and hair metal. But it had been almost a week, and all that Billy had left behind were stale air and silence.

She flicked on the flashlight. The blinds were drawn, the bed unmade, half his closet on the floor. Air the room out, and you could pretend he’d walk right in.

His schoolbooks balanced an ashtray; the desk was not for studying. Instead, he’d cluttered it with beer cans and tapes and a tree’s worth of loose-leaf.

She padded over and sat down in his chair, trying to imagine him hunched over the desk, scribbling on page after page in messy letters. Billy’s handwriting was just as angry as he was.

Her eyes flickered over song lyrics- snippets from the racket she’d been forced to sit through every weekday morning and afternoon. Somehow, silent car rides had lost their appeal.

Strange little doodles decorated the margins- band logos and cars and anatomically inaccurate depictions of women. “Gross,” Max said aloud, pushing the papers away with a theatric shudder.

The tabletop had not been exempted from Billy’s artistry; Max shone the flashlight on more band logos and cuss words and names engraved into the wood. Here there was a crude AC/DC logo, the lightning slash extending down to form the ‘t’ in ‘TWAT’. There was a ‘María’ right next to that, the accent mark angled in the wrong direction. Max remembered her; she’d gone out with Billy for all of sophomore year- the longest Max had ever seen him go out with one girl. She’d taught Max how to do makeup.

A few paces away was Tina- the prettiest girl in Hawkins High, everyone agreed- Laurie was a slut, but she’d complimented Max on her hair- and then Karen. Max traced the ‘K’; she didn’t know any Karens who went to Hawkins High- but then again, she barely knew all the kids in the middle school. There could be a pretty blonde cheerleader somewhere, talking to her friends over the phone. “Yeah, I went out with him a couple of times,” Max imagined her saying. She’d twirl a strand of hair around her finger, lips pulled down in a pout. “And now he’s dead. Spooky.”

She knuckled her eyes. The beam of the flashlight caught on the letter S.

She held the flashlight up, frowning at the name that made itself obvious. Stevie- except the ‘i’ was jammed haphazardly between the ‘v’ and the ‘e’, like it had been an afterthought.

She stared at it until the light flickered overhead.

“Shit!”

Max dropped the flashlight, head snapping back to the door. It hung ajar, just as she’d left it. Heart in her throat, she inched towards the doorway.

The hallway light flicked on.

Max held the flashlight close to her chest, knuckles bone-white and stark. She stepped outside, and the light turned on in the living room.

When she stood in the doorway, staring out at the lifeless room, the telephone started to ring.

Her feet felt heavy as cinderblocks. She plucked the receiver from its cradle, bringing it to her ear with shaking hands.

From the other side, someone breathed heavily.

Max pressed the phone closer, hard enough to hurt. “Billy?”

A crackle of static. Some peculiar noise.

Apologies on a dying breath.

Then, “Max.”

ao3

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #tw: death #tw: mentions of child abuse #tw: racism #max mayfield #billy hargrove #steve harrington #lucas sinclair #harringrove #lumax #el hopper #joyce byers #post season 3 #stranger things 4

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langdxn · 5 years ago

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dance macabre: the arrival | sojourn!michael x reader

SUMMARY: Michael’s sojourn leads him to the Hotel Cortez.

WORDS: 700... pitiful I know but I had to start somewhere!

WARNINGS: An average, tame amount of angst you can expect from Sojourn!Michael, but nothing beyond that... yet.

A/N: Firstly, I apologise for going AWOL over here. I’ve had an inspiration drought on top of a heavy workload and it’s taken me this long to find something to commit to! Secondly, this isn’t even long enough to be a one shot, it’s just a teaser to see if anybody would be interested in seeing this story progress into a series. Let me know if you’d like to see Michael explore more of the Cortez and its residents! (gif credits unknown, I’m so sorry!)

“What a pleasure to see you again,” Mr March’s eloquent notes boomed from across the Blue Parrot lounge toward Michael, nursing a tumbler of whiskey in his dirt-smudged hand. Idly spinning the glass on the bar, he rolled his eyes and refused to face his company.

“Not right now,” Michael sighed under his breath, a defeated weariness lacing his words with lazy indifference.

“The last time I saw you striding into my hotel, you were positively incandescent.” James neared the scruffy outline of a man hunched over the bar, head dipped low to stare at the icy shards circling his glass like predatory sharks. “What has become of you, dear boy?”

“I lost my way,” Michael sniffled, wiping his nose in his sleeve. “I lost my father… I lost my purpose.”

“People come here to find purpose,” Liz interjected, her glistening earrings projecting a shard of light onto the face of the miserable visitor as she leaned on her elbows on the bar. “Some even come to find their father.”

“I don’t think I’ll find my father here.”

“Now now, young man, that is a defeatist attitude if ever I heard one,” James rebuked, curtly tapping his cane on the bar beside Michael’s grubby hands. “You may find exactly what you’re looking for within these wondrous walls. Tell me, what is your name?”

“Michael,” he muttered, his shoulders dropping weakly as if delivering the name alone sapped his energy. “Michael Langdon.”

“Michael?!” James’ repetition carried an air of horror. “Someone so mysterious in his mortality goes by the name of Michael?”

A dismissive dirty palm waved in the air between them as James perched on the next stool.

“What’s it to you, James Patrick March?”

“I like to acquaint myself with every unusual dweller propping up my Blue Parrot lounge,” March enthused, leaning in closer with a quirked eyebrow and his trademark sinister grin. “After all, I may be able to help you find the senior Mr Langdon.”

“He’s not a Langdon,” Michael scoffed, his head finally lifting to survey the Art Deco interiors shining and shimmering around him. “And I don’t think he’d be seen dead in this place.”

“You say that, good sir, but the dead can be seen all over this place.” Lifting a gesturing finger at the patiently eavesdropping Liz, March soon also found his hand cradling a whiskey, only with a little more conviction than Michael’s weak grip.

“I had noticed that.”

“So tell me, what news of my beloved Queenie since you so unceremoniously stole her from me? One man can only play so many games of Solitaire before he gets a touch of cabin fever, you see.”

“She’s… thriving,” Michael murmured, a gentle pout puckering his cheeks while he sternly avoided eye contact with both curious characters. “The witches burned my Ms Mead.”

“Such wanton destruction of a perfectly good alcoholic beverage,” James gasped, craning back in surprise. “Heathens!”

“She was the only woman that ever truly loved me,” Michael sighed defeatedly. “The only woman I ever truly loved.”

As Michael strained to lift his glass to his lips, a soft motion in the corner of his eye distracted him from his drink. A woman, gently ascending the staircase toward the rooms behind the lounge. You. Spinning his stool to face you, Michael’s jaw dropped open gently, consuming your figure scaling the steps. Your figure-hugging red dress, your stilettos thudding delicately upon the carpet, your confident, carefree stride.

“Ah, I see,” March observed, a broad grin tapering his pencil moustache as he turned to watch you treading the hall beyond. “The pretty girl entices you too.”

“Who… who is she?” Michael couldn’t tear himself from you, gazing longingly as you disappeared through a far doorway.

“Unfortunately I hadn’t considered asking,” March sighed. “She may not be here for much longer, you see. The Countess has her heart set on her. Or rather ending her.”

“No—”

Michael threw a terrified hand toward March, leaping to his feet and stirring to run toward you. Before he could leave the bar, a firm hand wrapped around his arm and yanked him back.

“I don’t think so, old boy,” March sneered, gesturing a finger toward Michael’s face. “If you wish to enrapture her, you may need to groom yourself first.”

Michael shot a panicked gaze between both his advisors, examining Liz’s disapproving gaze from beneath her reading glasses. Her slender fingers reached beneath the bar and retrieved a golden keychain, dangling it toward Michael.

“Go upstairs and freshen up before she comes down for a drink tonight,” Liz’s comforting tone allowed Michael to loosen his shoulders, breathe deeply and sweep a hand through his mud-slicked hair. “Room 64 is free.”

#sojourn!michael #sojourn!michael fanfiction #sojourn!michael x reader #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon fanfiction #sojourn!michael angst #james march #james march fanfiction #james march imagines

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subverbaldreams · 5 years ago

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@reniisbooks This one captured my imagination. I hope you enjoy! I’ve posted the full 5.9k story on my AO3 here:

The Darkness In Me

warning: dubious consent

everyone’s 18 or older

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

There have been a few (read: many) times in Tony’s life when he’s known he was fucked. Now, looking into his own eyes, ice-blue and devoid of empathy, he feels a great surge of nostalgia for those good old days.

Every inch of his body hurts. The fight was quick and brutal and now he’s tied up, legs spread, sitting up against the headboard of his own bed with his arms splayed out to either side.

Well. If being shibari’d to his own bed by his evil twin doesn’t say something about lifestyle choices, he isn’t sure what does.

His doppleganger picks up Tony’s phone from the floor and starts flipping through it. His lips— Tony’s lips, his own goddamn face except for the eye color—curl in a smug smirk that’s gut wrenching in its familiarity. Tony’s seen that look on his own face, before.

“And Pepper Potts, too,” his twin murmurs. “You really are just a pale copy of me and my universe, aren’t you? Ooh, hel-lo. Who’s this?” Avarice darkens his gaze; he taps and scrolls, then tilts the phone so Tony can see. Peter Parker’s innocent face fills the screen and Tony jerks at the cords around his wrists.

“You fucking piece of garbage, if you touch him—”

“Oh, my shadow,” his twin shakes his head. “Not a full day in your ‘verse and you keep disappointing me. You’ve just told me he’s exactly the person I should touch.”

He flicks his wrist; a splash of chrome flies off his suit like paint splatter and hits Tony’s throat, burns into his skin and he screams, but only for a second. Air keeps pushing out of his throat, but there is no more sound. Nothing. Tony meets his own eyes (pale as a winter sky) and a conspiratorial wink, grotesque because that’s his face, his wink and in this context, so wrong.

“Vocal cord paralytic. It’ll wear off in a bit,” his twin smiles. “Don’t want you ruining our surprise.” He taps the phone and Tony hears it ring.

Oh, Pete. Don’t pick up, kid. Don’t pick up!

“Hey. It’s me,” his doppleganger says, voice urgent. “I have an emergency situation. I need you at the tower, right now. No, don’t tell anyone. Top secret, superhero stuff, you know the drill.” He listens, watching Tony’s face, then his teeth bare in a shark’s grin. “You’ll understand everything, soon.”

—

Peter climbs the side of Stark tower to enter Tony’s quarters by the runway on the top floor. His chest is in knots, the hairs on his arms and neck lifted. Something isn’t right. The knot eases when he sees Tony, leaned against the door frame to greet him. He wears a pale blue shirt, unbuttoned, with the sleeves rolled up and Peter doesn’t know whether to be more distracted by his forearms or the curves of his abs. Tony’s got his sunglasses on, even though it’s two in the morning. The drink in his hand might explain it. He waves Peter inside, opens his arm as Peter gets close and wraps it around his shoulders.

“Take the mask off, baby. Let me see your face.”

Peter obeys without thought. “What’s wrong, Mr. Stark? I used the credit card you gave me to catch a cab, I hope you don’t mind.”

Tony laughs, then: a deep, rolling sound that’s both surprised and pleased. He turns into Peter, looks down at him and Peter wishes he could see Tony’s eyes; he isn’t acting like there’s an emergency.

“Oh, sweetheart. Of course I don’t mind.” He keeps that arm around Peter’s shoulders as he steps forward, pushing their chests together and Peter forgets how to breathe. Tony’s hand holding the drink comes up to touch his chin and the scent of fine whiskey wraps around him like a fog. “I’m glad you let me take care of you. You’re my boy, aren’t you?”

Peter inhales a sharp gasp. Those words, that tone, drive a line of heat straight to his crotch. Heat floods his neck. Surely Tony didn’t mean it that way. Peter knows his desire is one-sided; has been for years. He doesn’t answer the question. His mouth feels frozen. Tony walks him a few steps back, a smirk on his handsome lips like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and Peter knows this can’t be what he thinks it is, but his body isn’t listening.

Tony knocks back the rest of his drink and tosses the tumbler aside. It hits the floor with a heavy thunk. He pulls Peter in and grips his chin with the arm wrapped around his shoulders, half-choking him and Peter realizes with a flutter of panic that his hard-on is pushing against Tony’s thigh.

“Mr. Stark,” he gasps. It’s like his brain’s shorted out. He’s drowning in Tony’s scent, that delicious cologne he always wears, the light salt of his sweat, and Peter’s almost hyperventilating as Tony leans down until they’re drinking each other’s breaths.

“Mmmm, look at you, baby. So hungry for Daddy.” His thigh pushes forward and he rolls his hips up, and there’s no question he does it on purpose. Peter lets out an embarrassing whine. He may be stronger than Tony, but that sound speaks the truth of their relationship. Tony Stark owns him, body and soul. Has since they first met.

Tony drinks in the moan, reflects it back to him in a pleased sigh and nips at his bottom lip. Peter’s legs shake. He’s grinding against Tony’s thigh, needy like an animal and he can’t help it; he’s wanted this for so long.

“Do you dream about this, pretty baby? Huh?” Tony murmurs. He puts an arm around Peter’s lower back and lifts him with ease, nudges with his legs until Peter takes the hint and wraps his legs around Tony’s waist. “How many times have you jacked off to me? Tell me.”

He walks with Peter in his arms, walking toward the bedroom and if Peter’s brain was short-circuited before, it’s complete jelly now.

“I-I don’t know, sir,” he gasps. “Every day. For years. Oh, god. I want...oh, Mr. Stark!” He arches as the man’s hand dips into the cleft of his ass, pressing through the suit. They cross the threshold of the bedroom and Tony kicks the door shut behind them. The lights are low and it’s perfect because Peter’s simultaneously shy and desperate to see Tony without the shirt on.

“Take this off,” Tony murmurs, tapping Peter’s suit. “Let me taste you.”

“Oh,” Peter whimpers, so close to cumming right there as he tightens his legs around Tony’s waist and Tony holds his ass in both hands so Peter can let go of him to pull out of the suit. He pushes it down to his waist, then Tony’s hand is in his hair, pulling his back into an arch and there’s warm breath on his nipple and teeth and oh god, is this happening?!

“AH! Ah, ah, Mr. Stark, ohhHHH!”

The man’s lips sealed around the throbbing, bitten skin and sucked, and Peter thinks he might die from pleasure. No one’s ever touched him like this. He wishes Tony would take off the sunglasses; it feels so impersonal, not being able to see his eyes.

“Are you still a virgin, baby boy?” Tony asks, and Peter shudders because he can feel Tony’s hard cock riding up against his balls.

Peter nods, embarrassed. Tony’s so much older than him, so much more experienced. Will he back off, once he realizes Peter’s “experience” comes entirely from porn videos on his phone?

But Tony’s grip in his hair tightens; he yanks back and Peter yells in surprise.

“Use your words, Petey. Is Daddy’s little boy a virgin?”

Those words steal Peter’s breath, but he manages a choked, “Yes, sir!”

Tony’s pleased chuckle rumbles through him. “What about kissing? Have those pretty lips ever tasted another boy? A girl, maybe?”

Peter shakes his head, too humiliated to look into Tony’s eyes, even shaded as they are by the sunglasses. “No, sir,” he whispers.

But Tony groans, as if that answer makes him incredibly hot. He grinds their hips together and Peter’s transported.

“Oh, please, Tony,” he moans.

That hand jerks his hair back, and Peter’s head rocks from a slap that leaves his ear ringing on that side. He’s so shocked, he doesn’t even think to pull away. Tony’s lips are hot against his burning cheek, the scratch of his beard unbearable on the sensitized flesh.

“You may call me sir, or Mr. Stark, or Daddy. Those are your options, boy. Do you understand?”

Peter’s eyes are full of tears. He blinks and they run down his face, onto T—onto Mr. Stark’s lips, and the man licks it up as though he enjoys the taste.

“Y-yes sir, Mr. Stark,” he stammers; he’s not brave enough to call the man “Daddy.”

Mr. Stark thumbs his chin.

“There’s my good boy,” he murmurs. Humiliation and pride fuse into a glowing ball in Peter’s chest, spreading warmth throughout his body. Mr. Stark’s skin is cool by comparison, the only thing that keeps Peter from burning up. He leans in and presses his lips against Peter’s, tongue invading his mouth and goatee scratching his lips raw. His first kiss and it’s Tony Stark, and the man doesn’t hold back. He knows how sensitive Peter is, yet he eats into him like a hungry beast. Peter submits to it, completely overwhelmed. His mouth and nose and flesh and senses are all full of Tony, and if the hair’s still lifted on his neck, that’s just because everything is dialed way past eleven right now.

—

Tony Stark grins over Peter’s shoulder at his shadow-self, who watches helplessly from the bed. The pathetic sap looks like a vein in his forehead is about to burst. Tony slips his own shirt off, grinning as Peter’s hands flutter over his skin, eager, but (rightfully) afraid to lay hands on him.

“You really are a virgin in every way,” he smirks. “Touch me, boy. Find out what a real man feels like.”

The flush has gone all the way down Peter’s chest. Tony’s handprint lights up Peter’s left cheek: a gorgeous, cherry red overlaying all that hot pink. The tips of the boy’s ears glow like candle flames.

Tony grips his shirt behind Peter’s back and folds it, then brings it up over Peter’s eyes.

“No,” Peter gasps.

“Did you just say ‘no’ to me?” Tony lets his words melt with the disdain he holds for this entire, sorry world. If Peter fights him, he’s going to find himself badly outclassed.

Peter inhales sharply.

“I-I didn’t mean it, sir,” he amends. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Mmm, that’s what I thought.” He ties the blindfold tightly around Peter’s eyes, tucks in the fabric to block all sight.

He maneuvers the boy’s legs from around his waist, makes him stand straight and turns him sideways, putting the boy on display for their bound audience.

Tony takes off the sunglasses with a flourish that is for the benefit of no one but himself. He kneels in front of the boy to pull the spider-suit the rest of the way off. Peter’s thick, young cock springs out eagerly. Tony fists it and chuckles when a wavering moan leaks from the boy’s mouth. Over on the bed, his shadow self glances at Peter’s dripping cock then looks quickly away.

“Never been fucked,” Tony murmurs, looking at his other self and letting his breath ghost along Peter’s cock. “Never been kissed.” He curls his tongue around the base of Peter’s cock and grins at the whimper he elicits. “Never been sucked.”

He wraps his lips around the boy’s hooded cockhead and slathers it with his tongue. Peter’s hands find his hair, but the boy is smart enough not to pull. Tony gets the head nice and wet before he dives down to bury his nose in Peter’s thatch. The kid’s cock makes a nice throatful, and he bobs on it a few more times before pulling off with a satisfied smack. Peter’s legs shake adorably; he really is a virgin in every way.

Tony looks up at his lesser twin. The man’s face is twisted between horror and hunger. Of course, the pathetic worm has denied himself this pleasure. But he’s wanted it.

Tony knows that, because he wanted Peter from the moment he saw that sweet face gazing out of his shadow-self’s phone.

—

Bound to the headboard, silenced by some tech he’s never even considered, Tony can do nothing but watch. Peter’s innocent moans tug at his heart. The way the boy shakes, cries out “Mr. Stark!” Not even angry after the slap. As if Tony has the right to treat him any way he wants.

As if Tony owns him.

He’d denied it for so long, and here it is, his sin of the mind coming back to swallow him whole. Tony could cry when Peter arches under his twin’s touch.

“Please, sir...please...”

The other man stands up, trailing kisses along Peter’s hip, stomach, chest and shoulder as he does. He tilts the boy’s chin up and takes his mouth in a kiss that’s got to be thick with the taste of Peter’s cock. The boy’s hands come to his shoulders, gripping hard as his legs tremble like they’ll go out from beneath him.

“Beg me to fuck you,” the man whispers, but his blue eyes are focused on Tony. Peter licks his lips, breath shaking.

“Please...f...fuck me, Mr. Stark, sir,” Peter breathes.

I’m gonna kill you, Tony thinks, and it’s almost like his doppleganger can hear his thoughts. It’s Tony’s own cocky smirk that shines back at him, and it’s like they share one mind in that moment.

I’m taking what’s yours, his twin is saying to him. And you’re going to sit there and watch. And want. And hate yourself for not doing it first.

Because he does; he wants this. He wants to be Peter’s first. He’s rock hard, watching the boy’s slim muscles shake under his hands. It’s like he’s watching the world’s most invasive porn video.

His other self walks Peter to the bed and shoves him back on it. Pulls his wrists together and a chrome tendril laces out from the glowing reactor on his chest, swirls down his arm and wraps Peter’s wrists and forearms a dozen times over. Peter gasps and tugs at the binding.

“You can try to break it, if you want,” the doppleganger says, grinning. “You aren’t getting out of this until I let you out.”

Peter’s breath is high and tight in his throat. He’s afraid, but he doesn’t know he should be terrified. Tony’s hands flex, aching to grab Peter and run.

His doppleganger climbs onto the bed, hooks one hand under Peter’s arm and lifts him. Peter kicks his legs, making a hurt sound that socks Tony straight in the chest.

You’re HURTING HIM! His throat won’t move, so he screams the accusation with his eyes.

His twin’s cold gaze reflects back at him: I know.

Peter’s feet are still tangled in his suit. He squirms until the fabric comes free. He’s just starting to get his feet under him when Tony’s twin kicks his legs apart. More silver ropes flow around Peter’s ankles and pull his legs wide. The man throws him down and Peter doesn’t quite catch himself. His face hits the bed inches from Tony’s crotch.

Peter’s whimpers are edging out of “scared” and into “panicked.” He rubs his face against the mattress, trying to push the blindfold up. The doppleganger slaps a hand over Peter’s cloth-covered eyes and jerks his head back.

“Do you want to see? Ask and you shall receive. Don’t be a naughty boy and try to take what you want.”

Peter swallows loudly. His voice sounds wet, like he’s holding back a sob. “Please Mr. Stark. Please take the blindfold off?”

“Mmm...what’ll you do in exchange for your sight? Will you make Daddy happy with your tight, virgin ass? Will you be good while Daddy cums inside you?”

A whine. Tony’s legs shift; he can hardly hold still when Peter sounds like that. The boy is letting Tony take him apart because he trusts Tony to put him back together. He doesn’t understand the darkness in Tony’s heart. That darkness, free and hungry behind glacial blue eyes, is enough to break him until there’s nothing left to repair.

Don’t, he begs, and he’s begging himself. Literally and figuratively. Begging that he doesn’t have it in him to do this to Peter.

“Of course you will,” his other self coos. “You’ll be a good little slut for us, won’t you.”

Peter twitches, and goes still. His nostrils flare. “Us?” He repeats, a plea in his voice. Let me have heard wrong, it said. Let me have misunderstood.

The doppleganger spits onto his own fingers, slips them between Peter’s legs and the boy lurches forward with a choked scream. At the same moment, the man pulls the blindfold off him.

Shocked amber eyes stare at Tony’s crotch, then up his bare chest to his face. Tony is shaking, head to foot. But then, so is Peter. The boy lifts himself on his forearms and twists to look behind, at the blue eyed Tony Stark, also shirtless and with at least one finger inside him from the way Peter had screamed.

“W-w-what,” Peter stutters. He looks forward again, at Tony desperately trying to get sound out of his paralyzed throat. “Mr. Stark!?”

His eyes are begging. Please tell me this isn’t happening.

The doppleganger pulls a small bottle from his pocket, squeezes it over Peter’s crack and the boy jerks forward again as he feels the liquid hit him.

“Oh, god,” Peter moans.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sweetheart.” The man’s forearm flexes with the movement of his fingers and Peter’s mouth hangs open over a choked whimper. “Just feel. Feel what we do to you. Listen to my voice, baby. You know who I am. You’ve always belonged to Tony Stark, haven’t you, baby boy?”

He slaps the side of Peter’s head. The boy shakes his head like he’s shaking off water, and gasps out a hasty, “Yes, sir,” followed by a loud moan as Tony’s twin grabs the back of his neck and drives his fingers in to the last knuckle.

“Oh, please, Mr. Stark! Please, I can’t—I can’t—”

“Can’t what? Can’t give me what’s mine?” Blue eyes harden and he twists his wrist until Peter sobs into the mattress, hips bucking into his touch as much as away from it. “Can’t help being a dirty slut for your old man? With your legs wide open and your ass in the air? Try and tell me you don’t want this,” he snarls, and releases Peter’s neck to reach around him and stroke his leaking cock.

Peter’s bloodshot eyes lift back to Tony’s, desperate. Begging him, but for what? To make it stop? Or to let it continue? Tony’s cock is at high mast inside his pajama pants and Peter sees it. His trembling lips open as if to say something, but it turns into another moan.

The doppleganger takes hold of Peter’s hair, holding him so he has no choice but to look at Tony.

“Say, ‘please, fuck me with your giant cock, Mr. Stark,’” he orders.

Peter’s breath shivers over a whine. Tears drip down the sides of his nose. “Pl-lease—AH!—oh! Please fuck m-me, with your giant…OHGODOHGOD!”

“My giant what, boy?” The man grins. He tilts Peter’s ass up until Tony can see: he’s got four fingers shoved inside the boy’s virgin hole.

“Giant cock!” Peter shouts. “It hurts! Please, it hurts, Mr. Stark!”

“Poor baby,” the man rumbles. “I’ve got something that’ll feel a whole lot better.”

Peter glances up at Tony’s eyes, then away. His whole face, neck and ears are bright red. Humiliation and pain have his eyes glassy as a drug addict’s. He moans in relief as the man’s fingers pull out of him. The doppleganger unbuckles his pants and pulls himself out. His cock, like the rest of him, is a mirror image of Tony’s. Long and thick, far too big for a virgin boy.

“I’m gonna ruin you, baby,” he purrs, and smiles as Tony jerks ineffectually against the ropes. He maintains that eye contact while he slicks up his cock, then brings it right up to Peter’s entrance.

Tony twists and tugs at his bonds in a panic. Peter’s hyperventilating. He’s too tense. He’s going to tear. He’s going to bleed. Tony shakes his head at himself, because it is him, it’s him doing this. His lips move in silent pleas.

Don’t! Stop! Stop!

He can go to hell for a lot of things, but please god not this.

Tony looks into his own eyes as the man’s hips push forward.

Peter’s breath cuts off. He curls over himself as if clutching a stomach wound, statue-still as Tony’s double breaches him. The man takes it slow, millimeter by millimeter pressing inside. Thirty seconds without a breath, and then a gasp rattles through Peter’s throat. He tries to lurch forward, but the man grabs his hips and holds him in place. Peter’s bound hands reach forward, grab onto Tony’s thigh like it’s a life raft.

“Hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts aah aah aah—”

“Mmm, I know it does, baby,” the man rumbles, with Tony’s voice, Tony’s words (if he was a sociopathic monster and would do this to someone who loves and trusts him) (and clearly, he is) Tony’s hands holding Peter’s hips in place as he drives deeper.

Peter’s breath stops again. His grip is going to leave black bruises on Tony’s skin. It’s the least he deserves for causing this.

His twin pauses, halfway sheathed in Peter’s body. He tilts Peter’s hips so Tony can see the ridge of the boy’s overstretched hole wrapped tight around his cock.

“Would you look at that,” he marvels. “Look at that cherry pop.” He traces a finger over the rim. Peter hitches in a sob. “Shh, that’s a good little boy. Get used to Daddy inside you. Ohh, fuck that’s good.” He groans, turns half-lidded eyes up to Tony and sneers, “you pathetic worm. You could have had this, but you left him for me. You did this. Saved him for the superior version of you. Guess that just goes to show, you’re still not stupid as the rest of the vermin on this planet.” A triumphant sneer tugs at his lips and he sinks deeper into Peter’s shaking body. “This one, though...ugh, I’m keeping this one. It’s gonna be fun, dirtying him up.”

“Can’t,” Peter begs into the comforter, “s-s-st-op...hurrrts…”

“Push down on me, baby,” the man coos. “There you go. I know, I know. It’ll start to feel good. You’re doing such a good job for Daddy. Being such a good boy. Giving me that sweet little cherry. Look up, sweetheart. Look at how much your Tony wants you.”

Peter’s head comes up. Low to the bed now, his eyes are blocked by the tent in Tony’s pants.

Tony feels like he’s choking on flames, the shame burns so hot inside him. And even so, a part of him is memorizing the taut lines of Peter’s body, the way his pink hole stretches to take his twin’s cock, the breathy whines of “can’t” and “hurts.”

The man shoves his hips forward when there are just a couple inches left, slides home with a slap of skin on skin, and Peter shrieks. He tries to lunge forward, to get away from the pain, but the man hangs onto his hips and rides the motion. He jerks Peter’s hair until the boy’s head leans back onto his shoulder, so Peter’s lithe body is on display, and Tony is shocked to see the boy’s cock still hard, with precum drooling from the tip.

Tony’s twin sets a hand over Peter’s belly and pushes. Peter’s eyes fly wide open. He squeals out a helpless sound, and the doppleganger laughs. He shifts, angles so he’s thrusting straight forward and Peter bucks in his arms. His scream breaks in his throat.

“You’re always gonna remember this first time,” the man promises, eyes locked with Tony. “Cause you’ll never be the same after I’m through with you.”

He pushes Peter back onto his elbows, drags the sobbing boy forward until he’s hovering right over Tony’s crotch. His big hand closes over the back of Peter’s head and pushes his face down into the thin fabric which covers Tony’s raging hard-on.

“Suck it,” the man orders. “It’s mine, after all. Show me how desperate you are for my cock. Take it in your mouth and ass at the same time, you depraved little cockslut.”

Peter tries to look up, maybe for permission, but the other Tony holds his head down. A sob ratchets through his chest and Tony can feel his wet breath through the soft cotton of his pants. Then Peter’s mouth closes around the side of his cock and it’s a struggle not to let his eyes roll back. Not to admit to himself—neither the Tony across from him nor the Tony that is him—how fucking good it feels.

“That’s right, whore. Suck your Daddy’s big cock. Show him how much you want it.”

The man tilts his hips gently forward and back while Peter sobs over Tony’s clothed cock, loosening the boy up with the motion.

“Fuck, Tony,” the doppleganger groans. “How’d you keep your dick outta this for so long? This slut’s been after you for years, you know that? Jerking himself to sleep, dreaming about getting bred by Daddy Stark. Isn’t that right, boy?”

He jerks Peter’s head up. Peter’s eyes meet Tony’s for an instant, and the fear in them says everything. His twin is telling the truth.

“You piece of shit,” Tony rasps, then looks up as he realizes his voice is back. His other self smirks.

“Right on time. You wanna cuss yourself out while we take what we’ve always wanted? Be my guest.”

Without pulling out, he shoves his hips forward, hard.

Peter’s breath chokes off. He thrashes his head back and forth in silence until his voice bursts free in a broken whine.

“Mmm, feels good from that angle, doesn’t it, baby? Daddy’s sooo deep inside your little body.”

He stirs his hips, and Peter writhes, face buried in the comforter until the man jerks his hair back.

“Look at him. That’s me, right there. That’s the part of me too chickenshit to take what’s mine.”

“I’m gonna kill you,” Tony snarls. “I will rip you limb from limb and leave you for the vultures, you fucking sack of garbage.”

His own face smirks back at him. “Look at him, Peter. Leaking through his pants for you. This is what he always wanted to give you. Not some StarkTech suit, not money, not mentoring or whatever the fuck he’s told you. He wanted to feel your lips on his cock. He wanted to feel your ass sucking tight around him.”

Peter’s eyes are too wide, white showing all around the irises. His breath pants out in little whimpers. The rocking motion changes to short thrusts, and Peter’s forehead creases; a thin whine leaks from his mouth.

“Mmm, starting to feel good, now? Tell Daddy you like it. Say it!” He jerks back on Peter’s hair.

“OHH Daddy I like it! AHH!” His voice is a train wreck. Tony is never going to forget that sound; his twisted brain will make sure of that.

“Good boy,” Tony’s twin purrs. “You get a sweet treat for being so honest with Daddy.”

He pushes on Peter’s upper back until his chest is arched into the bed, ass in the air and hair still pulled back so he’s staring wide-eyed up at Tony.

The man starts pounding into him, long thrusts that knock the breath from Peter’s lungs.

Fat tears stream down the boy’s face. Tony whispers Peter’s name, tells him it’ll be ok, that he’ll get through this, but his own rigid dick gives the lie to his comfort and he’s dying inside because he can see Peter shattering. Those doe eyes go half-lidded as endorphins help him ride out the pain and there are moans sandwiched between his wet sobs.

“That’s my baby boy,” the other man coos, his praise a twisted complement to Tony’s words of support. “Fuck, such a good boy for Daddy. Come here. Show your other Daddy some love.”

Tony looks up, almost chokes out “No!” before he thinks how much more damage that might do to Peter, and begs instead with his eyes.

Please, don’t do this. Please. You’ve got what you wanted.

His own eyes narrow back at him. The cruel baring of teeth replies:

I want MORE.

—

Peter can hardly breathe as Mr. Stark lifts his legs. Still inside him, he curls his knees to his chest and tries to hold still. Any movement might tear him to shreds. Mr. Stark lifts him up until he’s straddling the other Mr. Stark, his bound hands resting against the shining reactor in the man’s chest, and his own hard cock smacks Mr. Stark’s lower belly. He gasps at the sensation of warm flesh and soft, curly hair. Mr. Stark’s hard-on rubs up his perineum and pushes his balls to one side. He’s only vaguely aware that he should have tried to run when the bonds loosened around his ankles. They’re tight again, holding him to the bed. Holding him in Mr. Stark’s lap.

Peter’s head is floating in a cloud. It still hurts, the cock inside him, but when it moves, these sparks fly through his whole body and it feels like flying. The blue-eyed Mr. Stark breathes against his throat, hips still with a waiting silence. Calm before a storm.

“Ride him,” he orders.

Peter glances up to meet brown eyes, wide like he might say “no.” Like maybe Peter only deserves to get fucked by some cruel, twin version of himself, but isn’t good enough for the real Tony Stark. Misery floods through his chest at that thought. But it’s the other’s words that pulls him out of the imminent spiral.

“See how much he wants you, sweetheart?,” the man rumbles in his ear. “See how he’s been denying himself. He’s been desperate to bend your pretty body over his desk and fuck you raw, to breed you full of his cum and leave your hole gaping wide open, dripping wet. He needs to fuck his little boy. Show him, baby. Show him how good it is.”

Peter swallows his tears. This, at least, makes sense. Of course, he wants to help Mr. Stark feel good. He rocks his hips tentatively, but that makes the other man’s cock pull out just a fraction and his breath stops.

“You need Daddy’s help?” The man intuits, hands stroking down Peter’s sides. Soothing him.

Peter sniffles and nods. Mr. Stark is looking up at him, and he’s actually blushing, which is somehow more intimate and strange than their position.

“Show him how your lips taste,” the other says, pushing Peter forward until his bound forearms are sandwiched tightly between himself and Mr. Stark. “Show him what he’s been missing. I promise you, he’ll love it just as much as I do.”

They’re already close enough to taste each other’s breath. With the help of a hand pushing on the back of his head, Peter closes the gap.

Instead of alcohol, this Tony Stark tastes like mint toothpaste. At first, neither of them move. Then the man behind him renews his thrusts, and it forces Peter’s hips forward and back, makes him grind on his mentor’s clothed cock and rubs his own sensitive cockhead into ticklish belly hair.

Peter moans into Mr. Stark’s mouth. His cry is swallowed and Mr. Stark is returning the kiss now, groaning and biting Peter’s lips as if he’s starved for the taste of them.

Something explodes behind Peter’s eyes as the unexpected orgasm sweeps through him. He disappears, lost under waves of pleasure beyond anything he can comprehend.

He comes back to himself, still crying out as he’s filled with a cock that seems bigger than his whole body. He looks on in a daze as a hand runs through the dripping, white cum on Mr. Stark’s chest, then lifts it to his open mouth. Those fingers force the semen past his tongue and shove into Peter’s throat. He gags and struggles. Drool falls down his chin, onto the bound Mr. Stark’s neck and chest.

The fingers stay hooked over his tongue. Peter struggles to breathe, struggles just to exist as that massive cock pushes in and out of him. It still feels good, but it’s hurting again too and he tries to beg. He gurgles unintelligible sounds around the fingers in his mouth.

“Oh, son,” the other Mr. Stark breathes hot on his ear, gritty with need. “Daddy’s gonna cum. Beg me to breed you, sweetheart. Come on.” He slaps the side of Peter’s face with his free hand. Peter tries to pull back from the hand in his mouth so he can speak, but the man won’t let him. Shame drives deep into his guts, twisting him inside out.

Peter gargles out “Please breed me Daddy” as best he can, then screams as Mr. Stark’s teeth latch onto his throat and bite down. The cock inside him pulses and Peter realizes he’s cumming. Tony Stark, the man Peter idolizes above any other, is cumming inside of him.

But it isn’t Tony.

But it is.

Something deep, deep inside of Peter’s chest cracks and shatters into pieces.

—

Tony cums at the same time as his doppleganger. It’s Peter’s voice that does it: the choked gargle around his thick fingers, the way the kid tries to please Tony no matter what the situation. The way Peter’s cum clings to his chest, or how the drool shines on his chin and his strong thighs squeeze Tony’s hips.

Tony’s other self stares him down, pushes Peter against Tony’s chest to pull out of him, and hot cum leaks out of the boy’s gaping hole to soak through Tony’s pants. Peter hides his face in Tony’s neck, lets out a wrecked sob, and Tony tilts his head against Peter’s.

“Hush baby,” he whispers. “Shh, it’s alright. I’m right here.”

His other cocks an eyebrow at that. He leans in against Peter’s back, lips close to Tony’s so he’s almost kissing himself.

“Stay here sweetheart,” he says to Peter. “I’ll be ready to fuck you again in a minute. I’m sure your Mr. Stark will look after you while I clean up,” he smirks.

Tony avoids the blue eyes, this time. He can’t bear to look at himself. At what he’s done. What he is. He doesn’t move until his twin disappears into the bathroom.

“Peter,” he whispers urgently. “Can you reach my wrists? Untie me, Pete, I’ll get you out of here, sweetheart—”

He cuts off, realizing what he just said. How naturally it rolled off his lips. Peter catches it too; he hides further in Tony’s neck and shakes his head.

“Can’t, sir,” he mumbles. “You said to wait for you.”

Tony leans his head back against the headboard, tears stinging behind his eyes. "I'm right here, sweetheart. It'll be ok."

***********************************************************

my AO3: SubverbalDreams

The rest of this story: [Part 2] [Part 3] [everything]

#starker #nff #dubcon #dubious consent #peter parker x superior iron man #my writing

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tornbetween2loves · 5 years ago

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So a really long time ago @bobasheebaby showed me this gif. I’ve been wanting to write a fic for it ever since. So here it is, finally. Hope you all like it!

All characters belong to Pixelberry, I am simply borrowing them.

This fic contains adult content. Please do not read if you’re under the age of 18.

Distraction

“Eight ball, corner pocket,” Drake called as he leaned over the table to line up the shot. Bastien stood silently on the other side of the table, his face remained stoic as he watched Drake carefully. His lip began to quiver into a slight smile as he watched Drake stick his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrated. He took the shot and both men watched as the eight ball sunk into the corner pocket—and the cue ball followed behind, teetering right on the edge before dropping into the same pocket.

“Shit!” Drake slammed the cue stick down on the table as he ran his hands through his hair in frustration. Bastien chuckled low as he shook his head slowly. “You always do that. You need to practice drawing the cue ball back toward you. Remember the technique I showed you?” Drake sighed and nodded. “Yes I remember,” he mumbled. “Doesn’t mean I can use it effectively.” He walked around the table removing the balls from the pockets and began to rack them up again. “Son, the key to playing a good game of pool is to never lose your concentration. You have to stay focused and avoid distraction at all costs.” Bastien walked to the end of the table as Drake removed the rack and he lined up his shot to break.

With a loud crack the balls separated, sending two balls into each of the far corner pockets. “I’ll take the high balls,” he called as he lined up his next shot. Just as he was about to take the shot, he heard the familiar click of high heels on the floor behind him. He fought to maintain his focus, he knew it was her before he even turned around. He could smell her perfume, a musky floral scent that he smelled every night when he laid down next to her in bed. He felt himself hardening as he cleared his throat and lined up the shot.

Drake smirked as Bastien missed the shot. “What happened Bas? Lose your concentration and get distracted?” He chuckled and surveyed the table as Bastien shot him a glare, then turned to face the source of his distraction. His face broke into a wide grin as he wrapped his arms around Olivia and planted a kiss just next to her ear. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him softly. “Did I distract you?” Her voice purred in his ear and her hot breath sent a shiver down his spine. He moaned softly as he whispered, “My love, your distraction is always welcome.” He nibbled on her earlobe then planted kisses in a trail along her neck, eliciting a soft moan as she trembled in his arms.

“Should I leave? Give you two some privacy?” Drake raised an eyebrow as he walked around the table looking for his next shot. Bastien cleared his throat as he pulled away from Olivia. “That won’t be necessary. I can finish this game.” Drake called his next shot, but scratched again. “Dammit, I really suck at that. I need a drink.” He walked over to the bar to pour himself some whiskey. “Anybody else want one?” Olivia nodded as she watched Bastien sink his next two shots. “And I want to play the winner.” Drake smirked as he came from around the bar and offered olivia her glass. “By the looks of it, that will most definitely be him.” He gestured toward Bastien as he sunk his third shot. Then his fourth. Fifth. By the time it was Drake’s turn again, the only ball left for Bastien to shoot at was the 8 ball. Drake rolled his eyes as he chalked up his stick. He muttered, “show off” under his breath as he approached the table.

Drake made his next four shots as Bastien and Olivia whispered and giggled in each other’s arms. He rolled his eyes between each shot. Finally he missed and tapped Bastien on the shoulder. “It’s your turn. Please just end this agony.” After he surveyed the table for a few minutes, he called his shot and sunk the 8 ball effortlessly. Drake emptied his tumbler as he passed his cue stick to Olivia. “Good luck, you’ll need it to beat Mr. Pool Shark here.” He turned to glare at Bastien who stuck out his tongue at him. “Sore loser.” Drake’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “I am no such thing. I admit my faults. But it’s getting late and I’m tired. Enjoy your game.” He gave Bastien a hug, then Olivia. He whispered softly in her ear, “kick his ass,” then left.

Bastien turned to Olivia with a wide grin on his face, his arms outstretched. But she had a look on her face that meant all business. She walked around the table collecting balls and racked them all up. Then she began to chalk up her stick. “I’ll break since I challenged the winner.” Bastien started to say something, but before he had a chance she was leaning over the table to break.

The balls separated with a loud crack and Bastien watched as Olivia effortlessly landed several shots. His mouth dropped open in shock. “You’ve been holding out on me. Guess I’ll have to bring my A game.” She smirked as she walked over to him and planted a kiss on his cheek, leaving a print of her lips. “It’s your shot,” she whispered softly in his ear, sending chills down his spine. He knew he was in trouble. He walked around the table, surveying the layout of the balls. But he was distracted. Olivia was standing on the other side of the table sipping her drink. He made one shot and she started fanning herself. After he made a second shot, she asked him, “Is it warm in here?” After he made his third shot she started to fidget.

Finally, as he was lining up his fifth shot, Olivia let out an exasperated sigh. “I can’t take it anymore!” He tried hard to maintain his focus but when he realized what she was doing he had to stop and stare. She lifted the skirt of her red wrap dress high enough to reveal just a peek of her lacy red thong. Bastien swallowed hard and his eyes went wide as she quickly slipped her panties off and used them to tie up her hair. He stood silent on the other side of the pool table, mouth agape, as she smiled at him sweetly. “What? Sorry, I said I was hot. Now will you take your shot?”

Bastien shook his head with a smirk and tried to focus on the game. But his concentration was broken, he couldn't stop thinking about what was underneath that dress. He missed the shot and came around the table to embrace Olivia. But she held up her arm to stop him. “It’s my shot. No distractions,” she said with a smirk as she waved a finger in his face. He licked his lips as he watched the fiery duchess circle the table. She stopped right in front of where he stood and bent over to line up the shot.

A primal growl came from Bastien’s throat as he felt his cock twitch at the sight of her sex peeking out from beneath her dress. She shot him a warning glare over her shoulder. “Behave,” She said as she lined up the shot perfectly and sunk the ball. She turned to face him as he moved to kiss her, but was greeted with her finger to his lips. “Uh uh uh, I said no distractions mister.” She traced his lips with her finger tip, then turned to survey the table. Bastien suppressed a groan rising in the back of his throat and swallowed hard as he tried to maintain control. He shoved his hands in his pockets to hide his growing erection as he watched Olivia line up and make several shots. He really paid no attention to the fact that she was quickly winning the game. It wasn’t until she called her shot on the 8 ball that he realized he’d been beat.

“You little minx. You sure don’t play fair.” Olivia looked up at him as she lined up her shot and winked. She sunk the 8 ball then walked over to him with a sultry look on her face. “I win. What’s my prize?” Bastien growled as he pulled her into his arms and seared his mouth to hers. He loosened his belt and allowed his pants to pool at his ankles as he pressed his hard cock between her legs. He could feel the heat radiate from her core and he moaned his need as he backed her up to the table. “I need you now. I must feel you.” He pressed himself to her entrance as she perched her ass on the edge of the table. “Take me, Bas.” She hiked her skirt up past her hips as he slid into her effortlessly. She groaned as her walls stretched around him and she felt him tremble. He began to thrust in and out, slowly at first, then increasing as his passion built.

Olivia cried out as tension built in her belly. She wrapped her arms around his neck as the tension snapped and pleasure overcame her in waves. Bastien found his release a moment later and they both collapsed onto the table in each other’s arms, neither one able to remain on their feet. They laid together as their breathing slowed, Olivia traced small circles on the back of Bastien’s neck as she locked on to his steel-grey eyes. “I love you, Bas,” she purred as she kissed him softly. He smiled into her kiss. “I love you too, you little minx.” He glanced at her lacy red thong, still wrapped around her messy ponytail, and chuckled. “You didn’t have to do that to distract me. I was distracted the moment you came in the room.” Olivia propped herself up on one elbow as she looked down at him with a smirk. Her emerald eyes danced with amusement. “I told you, I was hot.”

Bastien grinned as he kissed her. “Yes, you most definitely are.”

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familydigitalsvg · 2 years ago

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Game Zombie Hunter - Survival Shooting Game là dòng game Action

Giới thiệu Zombie Hunter - Survival Shooting Game

Story Line -In a lab, Few Scientists are investing on a Poisonous Gas for using it as a weapon in the Wars, -Unfortunately, while doing the experiment the gas leaked into the atmosphere, and gradually spread all over the area. -Government immediately took an action on it, and announced to Quarintine the city. -But, few people in the lab got effected to this poisonous gas and turned into zombies. -These Zombies affected few people in the area surrounding the lab and turned them to zombies. -This is the situation and you have to protect from zombies before the entire city got effected. The city is a dead town. Zombies are everywhere, almost everyone you know is dead, but at least you still have your guns with you as you continue to salvage the desolated landscape for resources. Will you survive zombie hell once again? Your target is zombie, as many kinds of Zombie games, the zombies are dead and mad. The zombies can walk, run, and attack you, they are not stupid zombies,they know how to fight. Zombies are walking on the village, the city, the route. So to get the advantage in the zombie games, you need the strategy to kill them all, stop the dead by head shot to save your bullets, keep your finger on the trigger and shoot them as fast as you can, If zombies come to you, you’ll die! VARIETY OF ZOMBIES There are various types of zombies which will attack you. Boss Zombies are very powerful zombies and takes lots of time, bullets and patience to kill them. Use Grenades carefully and in perfect time to kill them. There are 6 different types of Boss Zombies. Butcher Zombie, HideoPlast Zombie, Brute Zombie, Cyclops Zombie, Shark Headed Zombie and a Fat Guy which is very powerful than any other zombies. Show no Mercy. ADDICTIVE ZOMBIE FREE GAMEPLAY Complete the missions, get bonus and equip good weapons to kill all zombies, defense and win in this shooting game. You want to play Zombie games, don’t make any mistake in shooting, you can die just by a bite of zombies. POWERFUL WEAPONS Shooting guns and sniper can be customized and upgraded with various wraps. A lot of gun types for shooters in this game, each one has its unique features, you should choose the right gun for each kind of zombie. You also have Grenades to equip while you enter into the playarea and use them wisely to kill the zombies and save the area and yourself. FEATURES 1. 10 Unique Weapons to Equip. 2. 3 Different Wraps to each and Every Weapon. 3. 20 Addictive levels and 6 Boss levels. 4. 3 Different Environments. 5. Power Packed Gameplay. TIPS: - Save the future generations. - If you want to help someone! Save Yourself. - The only thing stronger than regret, is HOPE. - This wasn't another disaster. This was a war. - You hesitate, you die. - In the face of such horror, there is no logic, only faith. It’s free shooting game and especially is one of offline games, let’s download it for free and to be a legend, kill all the mad and save the world! Thanks for Downloading- Zombie Hunter - Survival Shooting Game Join our communities. keep up to date with all news about upgrade! Take your reward and share your achievements on any social media, WhatsApp, tumbler, snap chat.. Etc. FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/gamesmoonstudios INSTAGRAM Us: https://www.instagram.com/gamesmoonstudios/ TWEET Us: https://twitter.com/Gamesmoonstudio CHANNEL: You can subscribe on our YOUTUBE Channel for updates & new game notifications!!!! YOUTUBE: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UClXkJDxeO2ribLZhnQ3gBRw

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mexican-texican · 7 years ago

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Pleasantly Blue (Last Night)

-Part of the “Repercussions Of An Earworm” series Characters: Megamind, Minion, Roxanne, Fillers (sorry fillers) Words:9700 (woo puppy) “Pleasantly Blue”, 4 Non Blondes, Bigger, Better, Faster, More! Glitter and plushies and bruising oh my, Megamind wakes up in shambles without an ounce of recollection of last night. Minion tries to help him piece it together.

The first thing he feels is his stomach rolling. He’s not sure if he’s hungry, or needing to throw up really, really badly. Most likely both. The second thing he feels is his head splitting in half. With the throbbing of each of his heartbeats there is a lightning bolt of pain striking his skull, from behind one ear crossing around the back of his head to the other, pulsating with each pump of his heart. The third, is how it feels like he’s dying. Truly dying. His heart races as if it will give out at any moment, since it’s currently at 109 beats per minute. To the average human, that rate would be the result of an arbitrary exercise regimen, a brisk stroll through the park if you will. However, being as the resting heartrate for the all-inclusive Megamind was clocked in at 36 beats per minute, it sure did feel like one hell of a heart attack. He’s having difficulty opening his eyes, feeling as if they’ve been glued shut somehow, and regardless of the strain he puts into it he feels his efforts are fruitless. They remain closed. He listens intently, the gentle hum of electricity surging through the walls being the only familiar sound. He can feel the delicate caress of silk on his skin, the weight of a blanket or comforter pulled up to his chin and tucked underneath his right leg. His head feels to be at an elevated angle, his left leg hanging idly off the mattress with his booted foot planted firmly on the floor. He racks his brain for any recollection of the previous night, any hint to his whereabouts or what led him to his current situation. Reaching up with nimble fingers the weight of gravity fights against his arm as he tries to feel his face, finally forcing his eyes open to view his surroundings. There’s an air of familiarity to the teal covers on the bed he’s resting on, the lilac toned walls drawing nothing but a thoughtless blank from his mind. He turns his head as far as the angry little elf hammering away in his skull allows him to, coming face to face with a smiling whale shark on the pillow next to him. He blinks for a few seconds, then decides to succumb to the welcoming call of deep slumber, letting his eyelids fall prey to the enticing lure of gravity when a booming WHAM from behind him makes him lose all sense of security, snapping his head quickly towards the source of the sound that sends a fresh blooming pain across his field of vision. “What in the unholy hell?” he mutters to himself as he slowly looks over his shoulder again, finding his Minion hunched over a gym bag while leaning into a wall at the edge of the room. “Sorry Sir, didn’t mean to wake you,” his connate says with a sheepish smile. “Oh, that’s quite alright Minion,” Megamind assures him with a faint smile, a wave of relief flooding through the piscean. Then their faces turn quite the opposite. “You didn’t wake me so much as GAVE ME A GOD DAMN HEART ATTACK YOU NIT!” Megamind angrily proclaims, somehow finding the strength to yank the covers over his head dramatically.

After a few moments of strained silence, he kicks the sheets off to find he’s still fully clothed besides his belt buckle and right boot missing, and in something he does not recall having on when he left the lair last night. “What the hell am I wearing?” he mutters to no one in particular, looking at the unfamiliar get up that’s designed like most of his outfits except for the fact that there is a lot of buckles and straps on this suit, the boot he still has on embellished with spikes and silver engravings and what the holy shit are these flaps on my arms for?! he thinks to himself, lifting his arms and gazing at the fabric stretched from his wrists to his ribcage. Puzzled through the fog in his mind, he moves his legs over the edge of the bed as gingerly as he can muster, lying flat on his back just a second longer before hoisting himself up off the bed and to the floor stand mirror nearby, Minion taking a few steps into the room to rest the gym bag on the mattress. “You should rest Sir. You had, quite the long night yesterday,” Minion says objectively, eyeing Megamind as he attempts to hobble painstakingly slow towards the mirror. A solid minute of hobbling and he hasn’t moved any closer to the mirror, each step hindered by a crippling cramp through his calves and a hiss of pain from breathing in too deeply. “Yeah, with all that drinking I’m surprised you even woke up! We were so worried about you Miss Ritchie decided to cut early and head here to her apartment instead of trying to make it back to the lair-” “Wait, her place? -” is all Megamind is able to interject when the sudden feeling of his ribs imploding on themselves sucks all the air out of his lungs. Having reached the mirror he can finally assess the damage; heavy bags hang from underneath bloodshot eyes, a swelling bruise across his right temple that’s stretched around the back of his head. He’s pretty sure the ghost of dried blood on his lips and the crooked touch to his nose come from the same incident. He tries to lean into the mirror to take a closer look but the stabbing pain in his side stops him with a halt, having him straighten out and reach lamely for the clasp opening resting on his neck. After a few twitching struggles Minion steps behind his ward to help with lowering the zipper on his back, turning Megamind around to grab a hold of his suit by the wrists. The moment the suit arms slip off his elbows comes a flourish of glitter and cherry stems, as well as a drawn-out gasp from Minion eyeing his right side. With a slow turn, he looks over his shoulder first as his body slowly rotates in the same direction; a tender purplish green bruise is spread across his right ribcage, from his waist all the way up to the edge of his pectoral. “M-Minion. What the HELL in Hades name happened last night?” he asks calmly. Well, as calmly as his face can muster stoically. Minion eyes him wearily, robotic fingers tapping together as he struggles to meet his glare with a wry smile. “Well, Sir, it was a pretty long night.” _____ "Which! Nobody can de-ny!" Was sung loudly and very clearly throughout the expanse of the French restaurant, a crowd of waiters and kitchen staff eagerly shifting around the corner booth to congratulate and give their best wishes to their blue defender. Having cleared the table and left the group to head back to their stations, Roxanne let out a laugh after the servers for their song choice. Hiding behind his glass of wine with an embarrassed smile, Megamind fanned a hand towards Roxanne while a creeping blush bloomed on his cheeks. "You know you two didn't have to go through all this trouble for today,” he said while lifting his glass to his lips and nervously re-arranging the table setting. Again. "WHAT?" came simultaneously from across the table causing Megamind to cough into his drink. Good thing he didn't actually swallow yet. "Honey, it's your Birthday, of course we're making a big deal out of it. And look, we even got you a few things," Roxanne said, nudging Minion to lift his arms from beneath the table. From seemingly nowhere Minion raised his hands to reveal three gifts wrapped in silver foil and cerulean ribbon; a flat card the size of a check, a box smaller than his closed fist, and a sizeable cube Roxanne had to make room for on their table as to not push any of the dishes off onto the floor. Megamind eagerly eyed the largest of the three, straining to keep his eyes from constantly attacking the box. He kept himself in a cool composure as he slyly reached for the card first, making slow deliberate movements to not make it obvious he was itching to tear apart all his gifts at once (not obvious, totally not, look, cool as a pickle). The first one was a certificate from Minion to the outlet store in Romania that Megamind still received basic supplies and equipment from for research purposes. Yeah, strictly research. With a soft “thank you” to Minion, he blindly reached for the large box next only to have Roxanne shove the smaller one into his open hand, drawing a scowl from Megamind and a smug grin from her. Leaning into the booth with an exaggerated pout, he delicately pulled the ribbon and foil to reveal a cardboard box decorated with the familiar Starfleet insignia. Giving the rest of the foil a quick yank, he turned over the box to find a peek in window, allowing him to see the inside holding a small tumbler glass, just big enough to hold a few sips of a drink. The U.S.S. Enterprise was decorating one side, and on the other a still shot of Kirk with one hand raised over his head took up the entirety of the glass, "Beam me up, Scotty!" lettered underneath the picture. "I thought you'd get a kick out of it, otherwise I would've kept it for myself," Roxanne said with a smile. "You know Kirk never said that in any of the episodes, right?" Megamind asked with his own smile, and she responded with a giggling nod, "Yeah, and Vader never said ‘Luke’.” “That’s a dirty lie and you know it!” Megamind cut in with an accusing finger towards her, both holding their breath before letting out dual bellows of laughter. Momentarily distracted, Megamind perked back up at the sight of the large gift being slowly pushed towards his side of the table, almost bouncing out of his seat from excitement himself. The moment the box reached his grasp he tore into the wrapper and flipped the flaps of the non-descriptive cardboard box. His face stilled when he peered inside, his lips forming a small "oh" as he slowed his movements while staring into the contents. Both Roxanne and Minion had a hard time deciphering if his pasted smile was from sheer over excitement or dejection. She had a strained smile herself, flickering her eyes towards Minion who seemed to be sharing her same thoughts, if his cloned smile of hers was anything to go by. Roxanne spoke from the corner of her mouth, reaching a hand out towards Megamind's arm. "Megamind? Honey, you okay? If, if you don't like it-" "Like it? How," he whispered, jumping up suddenly as he yanked out the contents high in the air and raising his voice a few volumes startling their half of the restaurant, Roxanne snapping her hand back in a blink of surprise. "ILOVEITHOW'DYOUKNOW ohmyword-" and he ran off towards the direction of the restrooms, Minion jumping in a quick, "Sir! Don't forget your boots!" "THERE'S BOOTS?!?" Megamind continued to speak as far from an inside voice one could get while at a candlelit dinner. He leaned over the box and pulled out a pair of leather platform boots, straps and buckles that went well beyond the knees that accompanied the suit he had draped over his arms. He ran off with a blur of silvers and blues over leather to the men's room, nearly knocking over a maître d' along the way. Roxanne turned to Minion with an amused look of disbelief, both of them glad from the sudden reaction to the gift. "I think he likes it," she said with a smile, Minion replying "Of course he does. He might have an opinion or two to share about their “music”, but when it comes to showmanship no one has better stage presence than KISS. I just hope he doesn't mind the-" "IT HAS WINGS TOO!!!" Suddenly came from the opposite end of the building, assumptions leaning towards the restrooms. "Yeah, I don't think he minds," said Roxanne, smiling into her glass of wine. ______ “I remember that much, it’s what happened afterwards I’m lost about.” “Well,” Minion works up, his fingers tapping restlessly against each other. “Remember how we stopped by Fry’s that one time for the fiber optic cables? And you got to talking with Mike?” Taking the lack of response from Megamind as a queue to keep going, Minion does. “And he mentioned bar hopping, and you said you always wanted to head to Pub Fiction and he mentioned how a friend of his works there-” “Minion. Get to the point.” Minion coughs nervously, his arms swinging by his sides. “Well…” ______ “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” came from nearly every corner of the pub as hands holding glasses that were raised in the air were brought down to meet lips, Megamind placing his glass down sharply on the wooden table with a lopsided smile as the group he was with each gave him their own form of congratulations. “Sir, you sure you don’t want to, slow down? You seem to be taking an awful lot of those so closely together…” “Nonsense my dear filet mignon! These creamy little concoctions don’t mean any harm!” Megamind rebutted with a shake of the little glass tumbler, knocking it over to roll around the surface when failing to set it down properly. “Minion is right, Megs. Just because you can’t taste it doesn’t mean the alcohol isn’t there,” Roxanne warned while gazing over the sea of glasses already accumulated on the table. “How, many of those are yours anyway?” With a gaze of intense focus he shot his arm out towards the table, dividing the score of glasses sloppily in half and pulling the ending result towards himself. “You drank THAT many already? HOW? We LITERALLY just walked in, not even ten minutes ago!” “That’s our bad, ma’am, we each promised him a round for his birthday,” responded the man closest to Megamind, fidgeting with the end of his Star Wars shirt. Megamind clapped him on the shoulder, bringing him in with a sideways hug while fanning Roxanne off with a weak wrist. “No apologies Mike, ‘s no big deal. These little thingies aren’t so bad, the-, what’d you say they’re called?” A mop-haired guy next to Mike replied with an adjustment of his glasses, “I believe they’re called ‘buttery nipples’ mister Megamind, Sir.” In mid nod of agreement, he stopped with a shock and flung his arms over his chest as his hands cupped his pectorals, a stricken look of shock and offense stretched across his face. “Why, I have never!” Roxanne smacked his hands from his chest with a roll of her eyes. “Just keep yourself situated while I get us some water, will you?” He shifted on his feet, dropping to the seat under him with a pout. “You’re just jealous because he didn’t compliment your nipples.” The smile she was biting back burst into a wide grin as she lightly tapped the back of her hand once over Minion’s furry shoulder, he himself distracted by a comic held face high. Which of course ended up being slapped at light speed across the table’s surface. “Keep an eye on him for me?” “Of course Miss Ritchie,” he assured her with a smile, turning his attention to his ward, who was stacking the shot glasses into various pyramids. With a lighthearted sigh, he rolled his eyes away from Sir towards the group that welcomed them to the bar, all of which were lead in by Mike. “Thanks again for bringing us out tonight. I, know Sir can be a handful, so apologies ahe-” “No! No-no, the thanks is ours, please!” Mike cut in with an eager wave of his hand. “I mean, it’s not every day we get to celebrate our defender’s birthday!” he continued as the group nodded in simultaneous agreement, everyone turning to face Megamind, who was laughing at a knocked over pyramid. “Although, we should probably be apologizing to you. I didn’t realize the alcohol would get to him so fast-” “Nah, it’s no big deal. These shots are weaker than wine when it comes to the A.B.V. What gets him is the sugar.” A sharp stream of clinking sounds made everyone turn to Megamind who was stacking and unstacking the shot glasses in various patterns and heights, ending with four stacks of three glasses and slapping both palms on the tabletop as he shouted “Time!”. “Sir, no one’s keeping time,” Minion pointed out lamely. Megamind had a dazed look of surprise as he returned his attention to the glasses. “Sometimes his body doesn’t know what to do with all that energy. It gets a little hard to keep track of him buzzed and hyped up.” A tap of his glass returned his attention back to Sir, sitting at the edge of the table with his arms crossed flatly against his chest. “I’m bored.” “Here,” the alien fish responded with a toss of the comic book towards his partners blue hands. “Read this.” Satisfied with Sir distracted on trying to figure out which way was up, he turned back to his four hosts sitting across from him clustered on the other end of the square table. The smallest of the group, a young woman with a grape colored pixie cut (who from introduction Minion found out was the one who worked there), laughed at the sight and turned to Mike. “Reminds me of the time Georgie boy here got too giddy on the tequila,” she cajoled with an elbow towards the mop-haired gentleman between them, the man (Minion assumed was Georgie) blushing a furious scarlet. “Which one?” Mike replied with an elbow into Georgie’s other side, the group laughing together when a loud slap of paper against the table top drew their attention back to Megamind. “Done.” Trying to buy more time for distraction, Minion placed the comic back into Sir’s hands, looking around eagerly before eyeing a shelf a couple of tables behind them lining the entirety of the bar’s wall. “Why don’t you, see if there’s anything else up for grabs over there? I heard a rumor they have a first edition of Fantastic Four somewhere in there.” Minion breathed a sigh of relief when Sir’s eyes lit up with excitement. “You mean the one where they fight the Mole Man? Why didn’t you say so earlier!” The smaller alien said as he sprinted towards the comic shelf, going through each sleeve and taking in the contents of each magazine in a matter of seconds. “Well shit,” laughed the purple haired woman, “he’s practically inhaling those books.” “Yeah-, he can scan a page at 25 hundred words a minute. And that’s when he’s not on a sugar high.” “Yeah, no, George fell of an electric bull before they even turned it on,” Mike replied, drawing more laughter from the group. From across the table sat a man with a clean-shaven head and a soft brown goatee, quick to point out, “Hey, don’t blame him, he’s not the fastest in the league sober either. Took him a while before he realized checkers and chess are not the same game.” “You’re one to talk, Cruz, we had to go three rounds of one-on-one before we could end the game right because you kept misspelling H.O.R.S.E.” George rebutted, Mike raising his hand to share a high-five. From behind Cruz came Roxanne balancing six glasses of iced water in her arms, swiftly placing them down on the table without a spill. “Well Miss Ritchie, you sure do have a talent for a balancing act,” Minion couldn’t help to say with surprise. “Yep. A year of waiting tables forces you to learn how to utilize body parts you never knew you could balance things on.” “Wait, you waitressed? I don’t recall ever seeing that in any of your files,” responded Minion in disbelief. Roxanne simply shrugged her shoulder. “Kept it off the books, back when I was struggling to make ends meet while in school. Not easy interning without any income, y’know? Boss thought it would be easier on both of us to keep it under the table, out of sight out of mind.” “Speaking of which,” she muttered, eyeing everyone around the table, starting and ending with Minion before taking a glance underneath the table. “Minion. Where’s, Megamind?” The pisceans face fell as he swam around in his bowl to look behind the suit, everyone else moving in their seats to shoot a rapid glace at the empty spot where Sir had been mere moments before rampaging through the book shelf. All that remained were piles of graphics and paperbacks stacked in various neat piles on the floor. “Fish sticks.” “Trish, why didn’t you say anything?” Mike called out offensively. “Me?!” she exclaimed, raising a finger towards Cruz. “If anything it’s his fault, he’s got clear view of the shelf!” Cruz held a distant gaze over everyone’s head, blinking out of his blank expression with a “Huh?”. “Just, come on,” groaned Trish, standing with a shove of her chair as everyone followed suit, Roxanne long gone into the maze of Tv’s and arcade machines that took over the other half of the building. It didn’t take long for them to track down the only blue man in a full leather-and-metal outfit. All they had to do was follow the steady smacking of plastic buttons accompanied by the occasional thwump. Turning around the corner of a Galaga machine, the group found their defender hunched over a game of Stacker, punching down the machines button to stack the boxes faster than the computer could process its “woo-hoo!” sound efficiently as he made his way to the top flawlessly. He stared at the screen intently with unbroken focus as his mouth worked around a twizzler hanging from his lips. They weren’t staring at his seamless stride at pulling yet another top tier prize, it was the fact that the unused pool table behind him was already littered with claimed prizes from the machine, which was now well on its way of being emptied out. He let out a satisfied grunt as something from one of the top prize prongs dropped to the claim box, bending over to reach through the receiving flap and turning around with a smug grin plastered across his face when he looked up to see Roxanne and the group standing right behind him. His girlfriend and brother with not-so-entertained expressions on their faces. He clutched the blue prize (of course) tightly to his chest, his grin dropping faster than the twizzler could meet the floor. “Megamind,” she said sternly, eyeing the prizes on the pool table everyone else already seemed to be combing through before turning her attention back to him. “What, what’re you doing?” He shifted nervously from one foot to the other, his fingers working on the soft felt of whatever it was in his hands while his eyes darted everywhere but to her. Shooting his arms out towards her he held the plush item at eye level where she could finally see it was a teddy be- “A, whale shark?” she asked. He nodded eagerly and turned it over in his hands so she could see the other side, a hard plastic covering its back with star cutouts in the molding itself. “I know you think sharks are cute, and this one doubles as a night light by shining stars on the ceiling, and I thought of you because you like to sleep with the bathroom light on, and-” he stopped himself short, lowering his eyes to stare at their feet. She took the plush in both hands gently, leaning over to place a kiss on his ridiculously considerate nose. “Love, we’re supposed to out here celebrating your birthday, it’s supposed to be about you. You shouldn’t be giving me gifts.” She stepped aside between him and Minion, looking over the mess their group was making out of the cheap electronics, plushes and nickel toys strewn across the green velvet. “And why is the pool table covered in those?” He laughed nervously, an index finger working an itch on his chin. “Eh, heh, ah. They were in the way.” She rolled her eyes away from him and towards the shark in her arms as he went off. “But you wouldn’t know how surprisingly easy it was to get them all! I mean, sure there’s a glitch where only after every fifth play does ALL the lights come on but all you have to do is give it a kick for every third button press and why are you laughing?” he stopped to ask with a confused frown, Roxanne smiling into the plush with a restrained giggle. “Nothing, nothing, just. You.” He still held his head with a tilt as she ran her hand over his head with an affectionate rub, dropping her arm over his shoulders. “Let’s figure out what to do with this mess, and then we’re getting you water, mister.” _____ “That doesn’t seem so bad,” Megamind says with a shrug, sitting on the edge of the bed with a towel underneath him to catch the stray debris he shook off. “And then we got kicked out,” Minion says blatantly. With a coughed snort, Megamind looks up to him with a dubious squint. “What, are you talking about, how?!” ______ “Getting a little timid here. I’m aching to start a fight with some jocks, you guys in for a last round?” Mike mentioned as everyone finished the last of their drinks and waters. They stood from the table and walked to the bar to close off their separate tabs, each taking turns arguing who got to cover which tab and no one really paying any mind to the guest of honor. Until a bubbling mess of hot foam started creeping over the bar and everyone turned towards the evil genius laughing besides them while holding a set of display beakers foaming over everywhere. “Nobody light a match. This stuff is flammable,” is all he said through fits of giggles. ______ “Well shit. Do we owe them for any damages?” Megamind asks with an apologetic smile. Minion quickly waves a hand, attempting to fan away Sir’s worries. “The guy was incredibly cool about it, I mean I know it was tempting for you to resist the miniature chemistry set they had on display on the counter. Although he couldn’t figure out why they had thirty volume developer and yeast at the bar, something about how Trish needs to stop doing her hair in the back on her days off and another waiter of theirs sometimes tries to make bread. Tries.” Megamind has a blank “oh” of understanding, his head nodding limply. “There wasn’t any damage done really, but the guy said kicking you out was more of a show. He figured we didn’t want to be around when the cops showed up, since someone called them. Which was considerate of him considering what happened at the next place.” “What happened at the next place?” Megamind questions with a frown. ______ "Alright, who do I get to apricot first?" Megamind declared when his feet landed inside the bar doors, fists rolling in a sloppy Popeye stance.

The group of geeks shifted on their feet uncomfortably, Cruz breaking out in a whistle suddenly interested in the brick wall, Mike rubbing a hand behind his neck as he spoke out. "Megamind? I was joking about the whole, 'starting a fight' thing. It's an inside joke, a code we use when we want to head out to a sports bar." Looking deflated, Megamind nodded his head in understanding, lowering his fists to his side. "So, just a code between you guys? No fighting?" "No fighting," he assured. Megamind looked minutely upset, but soon sprung back with a smile. "Hey, at least we don't have to deal with any dunderheads while we're here." The group seemed to visibly sigh in relief as a whole, Mike giving a smiling nod himself as he pat Megamind on the shoulder and took the group in to their seats. Megamind smiled as they passed by, leaning his head back to direct a whisper over towards his brother. "Minion. Why didn't they say 'code' when declaring the order to come here?" "Sir, I believe it's in their secret language to not mention 'code'". "But that's preposterous. How would they know it's code?" Megamind questioned, raising his hands and arms up in an overdramatized shrug as they followed behind the others. Having settled around a standing table with their drinks in hand (Megamind being denied any alcohol and instead settling on a Shirley temple with the condition that it included a speared cherry), they were well in the middle of a Jenga game George had found off on the side, a round of truth or dare stamped on each brick distracting them. Cruz was sitting on Mike’s lap for the round, and Megamind had attempted to blow a raspberry on Minion’s gorilla suit when Roxanne knocked over the stack with her pull, ending the game with a crash and laughter from the table. She stood to head to the bar and close off what they had left opened when Minion gently placed his hand over her shoulder to stop her. “I’ll go on and check the tab, after the way I ended up losing him in the last place it might be best you just wait here with Sir,” he clarified with a small smile as he walked away towards the registers. After a few minutes of waiting on the bartender and finally having closed their tab, the sound of shouting and a smashed glass made Minion turn around in time to see someone do a somersault over a table and Sir take a shot from a drink before throwing the glass towards a group of men surrounding him, body slamming into one of them as the others joined in his defense. His hands flying to grip his dome in a panic, he couldn’t help but gape at the chaotic mess; bodies flying over one another as Trish threw a stray punch connecting with the jaw of one of the men in a jersey and Cruz clearing a table with another. “I was gone for just two minutes! Literally two!” After a few people (but mainly Minion) pulled the fighters apart and the group rejoined at the entrance, Mike tried to clarify what happened as they pulled on their jackets to head out into the winter evening once more. “Some guy bumped into Megamind and knocked over his drink. He was upset he dropped his cherry before he could take a bite out of it, demanded the jock buy another. One thing led to another, insults were tossed around and-” “CHEESE IT!” Megamind yelled while running through the group and bursting out the front door, a slow growing growl from a crowd behind them rushing them to put their coats on faster and bolting out through the door after him. - They walked along the streets towards the next place they had in mind, Cruz mentioning the open mic and small stage set up in the underground bar would make it a fun deal. It wasn’t until they rounded a corner did someone turn back to gaze over the group and did a double take behind them. “Wha-, where the hell did he get that?!” Trish exclaimed with a raised finger. Everyone turning behind to look at whoever was in the back noticed Megamind walking up to them with a surplus sized jar of maraschino cherries held in one arm, the other taking a bite of a cherry and popping the stray stem into his suit. “What the hell, where did you get that? Did you, DID YOU TAKE IT FROM THE BAR?” Exclaimed Roxanne with a frantic wave of her free arm that wasn’t tucked into herself for warmth. “Sir, why are you putting the cherry stems into your suit?” Minion asked with curiosity. Clearing out his mouth from the other cherries he had quickly popped in, he tucked the stems into the slip of his neck and eyed them all with confusion, as if the answer was clear enough. “I don’t wanna leave a trail for th’ bartender t’ follow us, ‘f course.” ______ Megamind slits his eyes towards Minion, his mouth strained in a small puckered pout while he holds an outstretched hand in his direction as a silent question. “I dunno Sir, drunk logic?” Minion shrugs. ______ They had fought with Megamind to get rid of the rest of the cherries, seeing as the bouncer at the next bar wouldn’t let them in with the jar, as well as they didn’t want him reaching his peak sugar high again. Once inside the group had separated in different directions, Cruz leading way towards the stage to make a selection over who got to sing next, Mike and George heading to the bar and Minion standing beside Roxanne at a table not far from everyone else, Megamind pouting frustratingly the entire time. Over on the small makeshift stage that took up a corner of the bar stood Trish flubbing a few bars of “I love rock and roll” as a few people stood around to watch the spectacle, clapping along to the rhythm and swaying loosely into each other. Back by the table Roxanne and Minion couldn’t help but stare at Megamind, concerned looks on their faces as they both noticed his odd behavior once the singing started. He was muttering to himself, arms crossed and one hand fisted over his mouth as he continued his one sided conversation no one else could hear. “Sir?” “Honey, what’s wro-“ And without warning he tucked into himself, dropping immediately to the glossy (and not very clean looking bar floor) as he started rolling around the floor with a look of determination. "Megs, no, stop it, honey get, get up, what-are-you-even," Roxanne begs, hands held out to her sides palm up. She bites back a laugh as she watches her boyfriend roll around the bar floor, not sure of what the hell was in that last drink he shot. "Megamind! What. Are. You. Do-ing?" She asks sternly, trying her dammest not to give in to his goof. He stopped abruptly on his side, looked over his shoulder towards her feigning innocence as he calmly replied "I'm doing rock and roll." She deadpanned him, her hands still held out to her sides as she dropped one to her waist and raised the other to pinch the bridge of her nose, not being able to control the rolling laughter bubbling up her chest. Megamind looked as confused as ever, standing up and dusting himself off as he marched towards the bar, Roxanne folding over herself as tears blurred her vision. Following closely behind, Minion hovered over Megamind briefly while turning over in his suit to make sure Miss Ritchie was okay behind them, stray claps here and there filling in the noise of the bar as Trish had finished up the last of the lyrics with a leg split. Or an attempt of one, by the looks of the face she made. Minion turned back in time to see Megamind gulp a beverage down and reach eagerly for the spare microphone next. ______ “Wait. Stop right there. Minion, are you telling me that I sang? Karaoke? As in, I actually grabbed the mike and sang from the bar-“ “Actually Sir, you got on stage.” “…You’re SHITTING me.” “Uh, no, Sir? I’m pretty sure that’s physiologically impossible-“ “Minion, I could NOT have been that drunk to walk away from the bar and perform in front of an audience!” “Sir, you were so drunk you started booing yourself after messing up the first three lines of ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ and by then Miss Ritchie and I were over each other trying to get you down.” Megamind holds a fisted hand to his mouth, tight with disbelief. “Journey?” he whispers, hoping against hope he heard Minion wrong. Minion dead eyes him with a solemn nod, making him throw his hands in the air with a yelp of denial. “Yes! Of course! And then?!” he asks, waiting for Minion to list any other disturbances he might’ve caused for the night. “Well, while we were passing underneath a Marquee you thought it hilarious to change the sign to ‘whale baculum’. No one got it except for George, who so happens to be a Marine Biologist.” Megamind snorts with a chuckle, biting back a grin. “You also somehow disappeared into a ball-pit at another club, I have no idea who thought it would be smart to have a ball-pit of all things near alcohol. We pulled you out as you pummeled us with plastic balls, and no one really knew how you got your hands on eyeliner.” “I wasn’t done up by then? I’m surprised I went that long without it,” Megamind said dismissively, pulling his pinkie along the inside of his tear duct to clear it. “I mean everything was going well,” Minion continued. “Until you tried to prove to someone you could play darts without looking.” “Because I can,” Megamind states with his eyebrows furrowed as he drops his hand and ever so slightly raises his nose in the air. “What’s wrong with that?” ______ “Megamind you can’t cover your eyes with your hand while playing darts,” Roxanne griped while he balanced a dart by its needle on his finger. “Sure I can, watch.” He tossed the dart in the air, making a swift catch and throwing in full speed towards a cork board across the bar, one hand planted firmly over his eyes the entire time. “YOOOOO,” someone yelled out from behind them, a lone pumping fist raised in the sea of heads the only thing they could see from the person. “Do, do that again!” the slurring voice cheered with a sluggish wave, making Megamind smile with all the confidence his drinks have given him. With a cocky grin, he proceeded to lift his hand again to cover his eyes, Roxanne slapping the other hand as he tried to grasp for another dart. With grunts and pouts he managed to snag another metal and plastic needle to throw towards the board, this one landing much closer to the center bullseye. Catching the attention of a few passerby’s, he continued his performance of showmanship with multiple darts and various methods of blinding himself, one after another the darts seamlessly reaching the end target. That is, until the owner of the lone fist clapped Megamind on his shoulder just as he was in mid throw with the latest dart, making a clean path towards their group standing against the wall and planting firmly into one of their knees. Over the hollering their friend was giving out, everyone around Megamind stared in disbelieving horror as the fist pumping instigator leaned into his ear to whisper “Double or nothing says you can’t do that again.” And Megamind responded with a sly smile and a twirl of the next dart in his hand. ______ Palm planted firmly on his face, he mutters around his hand, “So then?” “Well,” Minion looks off to the side, his fingers never ceasing their tap dance, “You proved that kid wrong, but George didn’t want to hang out with us anymore after having a second dart lodged into his knee.” Megamind drags his hand down his face, pulling eyelids and both cheeks along when he stops midway with a thoughtful pause. “That was George? I thought George was the one with the shaved head?” “No no, that’s Cruz. George had the glasses and the moppy hair.” “I thought that was Mike.” “Mike had glasses too, but also had the R2-D2 shirt- Wait, no, besides the point, you stabbed Mike’s friend. Twice. You better find yourself lucky they had all claimed it was the best night ever just moments before.” Megamind slits his eyes with doubt. “Why?” “Well. We, uh, were about to leave a dance-club in lower midtown when you walked by a confetti cannon. They were getting them prepped up for New Year’s. You thought it was for your birthday,” Minion clarified with a sheepish grin. “There was glitter and balloons everywhere.” Megamind simply nodded in understanding, connecting the dots to where the glittery mess inside his suit had spontaneously appeared from. He rested himself on the edge of the bed to secure a grip on the remaining boot, struggling to give it a yank off with half of the buckles still tightly strapped. Giving a forcible yank he threw it carelessly over shoulder and stared at his exposed feet with contemplation. “What, happened to my other boot?” ______ "Minion, he's starting to become dead weight and I'm not sure if it's on purpose," Roxanne groaned with the struggle of keeping a sagging Megamind from dragging more than just his feet across the pavement. "We should be heading back to the Lair and get him into bed soon," Minion voiced with worriment as he looked around the emptying streets. "What time is it?" he asked. Roxanne lifted Megamind's dead arm to look at his watch, dropping it back on his side with a limp. "Time to get his sorry butt out of the cold. Minion, can you, ngh, take him while I try to get us a taxi? I have no idea where he's getting the extra weight from." Motioning with his open arms to take over Megamind's limp body, Roxanne walked over to the curb as Minion held the blue man up in a standing position, bringing him back into consciousness without the notice from either of his caretakers. Roxanne backed from the approaching vehicle and leaned into the window to speak with the cabbie, when the back passenger door flew open to Megamind trying to scramble into the back seat. Startled, the cab driver sped off into the downtown grid as Megamind ran behind it, stumbling to a stop and struggling to take off his right platform boot. "Racist!" He yelled, chunking the boot as far into the night as he could before taking off running after it again, having his ward and girlfriend trail after him once more. ______ "I, vaguely remember hotdogs somewhere in there. Was that before or after?" Megamind asks through the open bathroom door, warm water running as he scrubs furiously at the glittery foam refusing to dislodge from underneath his nails.

______ Hobbling up to a lone hotdog vendor with a limp Megamind being dragged by Minions arms, Roxanne fumbled through her purse to get enough change for a few franks. "Oh, that's where he got the eyeliner from," she muttered to herself. "How the hell...?" Minion was startled to a jolt when Megamind's body jerked forward in an attempt to faceplant the pavement and the poor ichthyoid raced against his instincts to hold him in place. "I, believe that he's had one too many, ma'am," the middle-aged man said behind the steam well of the cart as Roxanne handed over the mess of cash she managed to fish out of her purse. "Yeah, and I believe you're correct," she replied with a slight, thanking him for stating the obvious. "I BELIEVE I CAN FLY!" Megamind suddenly shouted loud enough to startle everyone to a jump and Minion to let go of him slightly through mental shock, the blue man lunging forward to a bank of snow they stood next to and landing face first into the frozen pile of water with a soft crunch of ice against ice. With an inward sigh, Roxanne turned her attention back to the cart man and asked Minion to "go make sure he's okay." A few shuffling steps forward and Megamind started to give a few struggled and weak attempts to move his limbs to create a snow angel, muffled sounds that sounded like singing coming from his face buried into the frost. "Doe thof, eh meee wen. Ho don oo ah eeyay-yeah." Minion lifted Megamind who was in the middle of giving a swaying jerk with his limbs and butt in an attempt to dance in the air as his singing slowly turned into hollering, his eyes remaining closed the entire time. "Streetlight, peoplOH-AH-OOOWOAAAAAH!!!" Standing behind the gorilla robot suit holding the singing alien up in mid-air, Roxanne took another deep breath with a slow head shake, arms full of foil wrapped hotdogs.

______

"That was before, because we couldn't keep up with you until you slipped on a patch of ice and landed on your face. Then we agreed to get some food after spotting it just around the corner," Minion replies. “Consider yourself lucky the group had split before then, otherwise you’d never hear the end about your fascination with Journey. Hearing it once out of you was enough.”

Having cleared himself of most of the glittery mess and combed through for any stray cherry stems, he shakes himself out of his birthday suit, the leather one, and makes his way sluggishly towards the gym bag propped on the bed in search for fresh clothing.

He has to stop for a moment, since the stabbing pain is back on his side like a stuck splinter.

“Okay,” he breathes, turning to face Minion as he sits on the mattress to ease the pain.

“What was the grand finale?”

Minion’s eyes dart from his brothers to the blooming bruise on his torso, and back up to meet his eyes.

“How do I put this gently-”

______

“Where. Is. HE.”

Elbowing her way through a crowd inside a balcony bar, Roxanne rages with fuming anger.

“I knew we should’ve followed him in, ‘I need to pee’ my ass, when I get my hands on his skinny neck-”

They burst through the trickle of people milling around on the inside, multiple levels dedicated to outdoor seating and even through the horrid winter blizzard there was still patrons sitting out underneath heating lamps.

Which is where they heard the chanting coming from.

“-lord, o-ver-lord, o-ver-lord-”

“No, nonono what is he up to NO,” Roxanne rushed through people standing shoulder to shoulder blocking the French doors, eager to join the chanting outside.

Making way through the doors she scanned the patio in hopes to eye her blue idiot of a boyfriend, but no such luck to find the leather and metal dressed alien.

Both she and Minion did however notice everyone staring up to the roof, pointing and cheering on to whatever was going on behind them, and they were terrified of turning around.

Up there through the snow fall and the strings of patio lights they saw Megamind standing on the edge, one of the light strings gripped firmly in one hand and the other waving eagerly to the awaiting crowd below him when he spotted them and pointed down with barely restrained excitement.

“Hey, hehehey! There, so-see th-at, th’rs Minion, th’ mos fan-tatical fish any dominering ov’r lord could as for. ‘N there, th’rs my girl-fren, the fabulous Rossane Ritchie, th’ mos amazin’ woman ’n th’ worl’.”

“Shit,” they both muttered, realizing someone had given him more alcohol by the time they had found him.

“Honey,” Roxanne called out with worry, “However you got yourself up there, could you please come down the same way?”

“Don’ worry Rossane, deese wing thingies shul give me ‘nough resist’nce to glide righ ov’r da crowd,”

“No, Megamind, sweetheart that’s not what they’re meant for-”

“Sir, could you please-”

“I’m coming down!” Megamind called out, firming his grip with both hands on the string of lights before adjusting his footing on the edge of the roof.

“Megamind NO!”

“SIR!”

“BEAM ME UP, SCOTTY!" He called out one last time, giving a crouched jump to his guardian’s horror down below and leaping off the roof.

They both held their breath as they watched him reach the end of the string and using the full momentum carried himself to the railing at the end of the patio they stood on.

Both Roxanne and Minion nearly died when his feet planted firmly on the guardrail and he turned around with an elaborate swing of his free arm, balancing on the thin bar and continuing to show off by bowing deeply in their direction.

“Minion we have to get him before he hurts himself. Again,” Roxanne said as she started to make way towards the end of the patio.

One hand gripping firmly on the string lights, the other pumping up and down furiously, his face was turned away from the cheering crowd when someone shouted out “GIVE THAT MAN A BEER!”. He turned towards the voice, letting go of the string of lights and raising his hand in expectation of a drink.

Instead an unopened can of beer was lobbed from the other direction, straight into his right temple, making him loose his balance.

And Megamind tipped over backwards, fate making sure his ribs hit every railing on the way down.

______

“And then we hauled your unconscious body back here.”

Dragging his hands down his face (seeming to be his favorite show of frustration), Megamind is joking when he asks, “And that wasn’t the end of it, was it?”

Minion isn’t when he responds “You leaned over Miss Ritchie’s banister and threw up all over the kitchen.”

Megamind turns around, hands still on his face, a look of unbelieving horror.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“NO.”

“YES,” Minion assures him sternly, motioning with his head rolling towards the rail for his hungover brother to take a look himself.

Megamind’s hands never leave his face when he finally leans over the railing; in fact they curl themselves over his mouth to hold back the shock and disappointment in himself.

“You missed a spot,” is all he’s able to whisper after finding his voice, Minion joining him to look over the banister and seeing the area his arms did not reach when giving a wipe-down.

“Darn.”

They hear the footsteps come up before they can mentally prepare themselves for the backlash they both will soon be receiving. Even Minion is in the middle of reeling into the protection of his suit when he remembers

he’s

not the one that threw up everywhere last night.

That still doesn’t make it any less scary that she’s on her way up.

Before Megamind can make it to the safety of the bedcovers, Roxanne kicks the door open. Her face is knotted and huffed at first, until she smiles apologetically towards Minion and asks for help with the tray of food she’s struggling to carry in both hands.

Both men don’t make their tense confusion be known right away, weary of her eventually snapping at either of them at any given moment.

Minion helps Roxanne by placing the tray on her vanity, nearly clearing the table in the process with the amount of panicked anxiety coursing through his small body. Freed from the tray she gives her hands a little stretch and turns to Megamind standing in the middle of the bedroom, her face breaking out into a soft smile and shoulders dropping with relief.

“Thank god you’re okay.”

Megamind lets out a little peep of confused fear, for it’s not necessarily the reaction he was expecting from her, especially not the way she’s rushing towards him with open arms to envelope him in a tight embrace.

“I, am. Yes. Completely-, fine?”

“You sure? You took some damn falls a few times last night, we were almost afraid of letting you go to sleep.”

“It wasn’t much, I’ve been in worse situations before,” he assured her with a tight smile. “But I don’t think I got enough sleep, although I should probably eat as well. The memories of what happened last night are still a little, hard of putting together.”

“Well just make sure to get some rest, okay sweetheart?” she nearly begs with the same sugary sweet tone, her hands hovering in want to caress his face but afraid she will further any injuries and bruising, settling on giving him a quick peck on his uninjured cheek.

Widened eyes following Roxanne walk out of the bedroom door, Megamind gapes at the doorframe his girlfriend just walked back through.

“Minion?” he squeaks. “What,

exactly

, happened last night? After you got back?”

Minion can’t seem to pick his jaw up high enough to mouth his wording correctly.

“Honestly Sir, I have no idea. She wouldn’t say much after I arrived with your things, just seemed to be focused on cleaning up and getting a meal put together. I’ll, be downstairs getting everything else in order, you should eat and get some more rest.”

Minion gives Megamind another firm nod of his head before disappearing through the bedroom door leaving behind his confused (and struggling to be sober) brother.

He settles on the vanity chair and blankly stares at the alphabet soup floating nonsensical gibberish, almost mocking him for his inability to recall the happenings of last night.

Letting out a deep sigh he’s been holding back for too long, he gives in to the tempting scent the soup carries over, letting his blanking thoughts pass with the assumption whatever he did last night to pacify Roxanne was probably for the best anyway.

______

.last night.

"I'll be back momentarily, Miss Ritchie!" Minion bellowed from the living room, followed by the sound of the front door closing.

Roxanne turned to the sleeping mound of leather and limbs splayed over the collection of plushies that took over her side of the bed, gentle breathing and fluttering of eyelashes a contrasting vision in sight of their chaotic night.

"What am I going to do with you?" she muttered to herself with a smile as she leaned over him once more.

She drew the covers of her bed back to allow space for Megamind, adjusting the pillow underneath his slumbering head. Moving his limp body in place she pulled at his waist to un-do the belt holding his suit together, getting it halfway off before Megamind snapped awake and startled Roxanne by fighting with her, his hands clutching at her wrists as she struggled to get his belt off.

“Megs, urgh, Meg-Megamind. MEGAMIND. I, honey I have to, get. This. Off-…” she uttered between grunts and spasms while fighting his feeble attempts to stop her from undressing him between his own whines and cries of refusal.

“Stop, don’t-no, please-“

“Megamind I need to-“

“You don’t understand-“

“Sweetheart I know it’s been a long night but-“

“I can’t just take it off-“

“I can help you if you just-“

“I HAVE A GIRLFRIEND!” he yelled.

“…what?” Roxanne asked, her hands holding the belt in mid-air as Megamind curled into a tight ball at the head of the bed’s baseboard.

“I understand it might be hard to resist my, incredibly-handsome-and-devilish-charm but I do say your feminine wiles will not,

tempt

me, to indulge in the path of unfaithfulness,” he rushed as he scrambled to hide behind one of the many stuffed animals littered across her bed.

Her hand held his belt well over her head, her eyes looking everywhere before settling on his hands shielding his curled neck.

“Megamind?” she asked softly, lowering her hand to place the belt gently on the bedside table so as to not startle him. Her hands hovered with open palms over the covers, waiting for Megamind to lift his eyes and take a good look at her. Only when he did, did she move her hands to grasp the blanket and motion for him to straighten himself out.

“I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want me to, but right now I need you to lay down for me, okay? It’s been, one hell of a night and you need to rest so all I’m gonna do is pull this blanket back for you to get in, alright? Just lay on your back and put this leg down off the bed for me,” she said, tapping his left knee lightly.

He eyed her with caution, his leg moving agonizingly slow for she knew he was testing her patience, if only to see what she really was up to. Not giving in to any amount of frustration, she gingerly slid the comforter over the rest of his body up to his neck, reaching behind his head to adjust the pillows and making sure to point out the waste-basket she set aside next to his side of the bed.

“Get some rest. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

“Could-” he spoke out just as she had reached the door, his chin jutting out minutely from under cover framed by his hands gripping the cotton blanket, making him look so small and childlike.

“Could you, tell Roxanne and Minion I’m sorry? I know I must’ve been an asshole today, but it was the best day I’ve had in a while and I’m thankful for that.”

She was at a loss. It took a lot for him to admit his feelings, and no doubt the alcohol probably aided in his confidence to say it out loud, but it still did not lessen her surprise.

“Yeah, I’ll make sure to tell them.”

“And one more thing?” he called out just as her hand rested on the light switch.

“Can you tell her I love her?”

She had to take a pause. It was taking all of her will to force herself to stay put by the door without expression, but his hands holding the blanket up to his wide eyes, being surrounded by the stuffed animals-

“I think she already knows, but I’ll remind her.”

She turned down the lights, staying in the door frame and not closing the door until well after she was sure he had fallen deep into sleep.

#megamind/roxanne #fanfic #way past drunk #Alcohol warning #drunk megamind abroad #Happy birthday Megamind!#too happy no stop less happy LESS!#Repercussions of an Earworm series

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