#sometimes its like my hip has disengaged

[jackalsinthekitchen]

pop report #7 (billboard hot 100, week of 5/18/24)

america is not bored (for a minute, anyway)

Sometimes America gets bored, and dilutes its own hit parade. Only mass disengagement – ideal in an election year – could let that sacred democratic space become occupied, sorry preoccupied, with ranking thirty-one new Taylor songs from least to most enervated. But last week’s chart reflected a striking exception, a national rubberneck. For Drake and Kendrick Lamar are, yes, quite conceivably the Mike Jack and Prince of their genre (a proposed big third has been reviewed and rejected), and no serious, high-profile hip-hop feud has yet graced the streaming era. The 5/18 Hot 100 reflects a sudden, vicious bloom of disses, each star ultimately having accused the other – with apparent sincerity – of something unforgivable. It was savage, yet it perversely brought out the best in both artists, and showed up the old-headline hits as trivialities.

Drake has no status as an innovator, though his preference for doleful singing over speaking has proven influential, helping blur the lines between popular genres. Moreover, he can but must not dance – ergo, not much of a Mike Jack. Yet his place is secure atop the album charts, no matter what he’s on about this time around, and he rivals fellow maybe-mercenary Swift for consolidating power over time. Kendrick’s prolificacy would earned him a verbal dressing-down from the spirit at Paisley Park, and his joie de vivre dwells at an opposite pole. But unlike the Dylan Nobel, that K-dot deserved his Pulitzer felt self-evident. As with Jackson and Nelson, the division of clout and cred feels clean until you stare longer – and also, the artsier one is much pricklier about being associated with the less artsy one closer to world domination.

Amid innumerable chronicles of the fracas are good articles; the beef isn't mine to condense. But the records remain the record. In a field of cherry-bomb epics, Lamar’s “Not Like Us” scorched the widest radius, and now it’s a #1 forever, just like “First Person Shooter”. After a breath of sweet soul comes that graveyard stab of strings, pilfered from a Monk Higgins cover of Ray Charles’ ominous lament “I Believe to My Soul” and sped the hell up. Lamar is hopped up on his own venom, every accusation a gouge; he means fucking business, and it’s the coldest of kills (“stab this way, stab that way”). It’s ruthless, but the smooth dexterity of his performance is riveting – whatever’s on the tip of his rapier, the music is still the point, which helps the unease go down easier.

After all, imagine what a dark landmark this would be if hip-hop’s most handsomely paid icon is, y’know, guilty of all that. “I think that Oakland show gon’ be your last stop,” Lamar spits, after raising (as opposed to prefabricating) the specter of Tupac, half of the most famous such feud – a bicoastal tempest that left two all-time luminaries dead. Without comparing each hypothetical loss to art, the threat of either principal failing to survive this spat has been too terrible to touch, the way the horrific inconvenience of a civil war maybe keeps it from manifesting in our violently polarized era. The level of discomfort this event has and could attain was built to compel morbid fascination. As Americans, we’re awfully accustomed to unimaginable outcomes – and what we move on from says strange things about our ways of processing.

But even when we can't, we often insist on stepping into a sweet denial chamber for a second. Sandwiched between two million-selling musical murders is “Million Dollar Baby”, the club-ready runaway smash from one of those sleepy-eyed white guys with a certain kind of facial hair. The now-aptly named Tommy Richman is from TikTok, and his robotic funk savvy reminds me of Peter Brown’s “Do You Wanna Get Funky With Me”, a one-man simulation of something Black that feels bloodless, but more than functional. The summer and its songs are now upon us, and one of them is that other musical murder: “Euphoria”, Kendrick’s first full-length shot across the bow. “You’re not a rap artist, you’re a scam artist” has waited behind a lot of lips since Drake’s ascendency, but nothing could sound as juicy as Kendrick just letting it slip over a dreamy Teddy Pendergrass sample. Then he erupts with molten contempt, trenchantly transforming a human mess into something profound.

“This conflict did not begin with an act of violence,” Michael Harriot reminds. “In a sense, [this] is really about Black excellence.” And although Lamar’s bars being brilliant is as foregone a conclusion as Drake’s next album going #1 – though any fallout remains to be seen – it remains the apparent responsibility of the Black musical icon to vault over established standards, to pull out every stop. No album has masterpieced harder than Cowboy Carter in a hot minute, and had it lassoed the entire top 10 like Swift’s album did, it would’ve resulted from a livelier, more rewarding mass listening project. Yet stats suggest Taylor’s unwieldy latest affair is winning the attention war – though it rarely gets more exciting than the dirgey “Fortnight”, a flagship single featuring Post Malone, the original sleepy-eyed white guy with a certain kind of facial hair.

Though the album gives up slow rewards (like “I wanna kill him”, it’s in stray lines that hit you sideways, as opposed to the inescapable hooks we rely on her for), I’m on Team Disappointed – and yeah, tTPD’s concurrence with Beyoncé’s ambitious and open-armed coup amplifies my chagrin. The theory that unprecedented validation has eroded TS’s humility and editorial sense is confused by how casual and canny Midnights was at once. Maybe after a tumultuous personal spell and a generous spectacle of a victory-lap tour, this functioning workaholic has earned a This One’s for Her. Yet the album’s overall efficacy as a sedative or a diary feels limited, especially comparing it to the sumptuous acoustic textures and painstaking craft of folklore. She’s not banal yet, but the watered-down EDM “Fortnight” revisits is beginning to wear thin.

Three places down from the archetypal club hit by the white kid is a folky country banger by Shaboozey, a Black performer, rather closer to Zach Bryan’s misty reveries than Morgan Wallen’s rap-smitten flexes. “A Bar Song (Tipsy)” stands as strong a chance of uniting and lighting up a crowded room as “Million Dollar Baby”, though the vibes are otherwise irreconcilable. Our country’s ever-unresolved racial dialogue can feel most productive, or at least most interesting, in the pop-musical realm, though it isn’t always easy to know what questions and answers the constant cross-pollinations are raising. Disheartening recent influx of male artists notwithstanding, the way the Blackest and whitest pop genres are talking to each other right now is politically exciting. It goes beyond softened borders, with Bey’s panoramic expansion of an old Ray Charles concept merely the most pointed, adventurous example. But masc vs. femme, Black vs. white, queer-coded vs. painfully straight, in the box vs. new under the sun, Champagne Papi vs. Kung Fu Kenny – our musical landscape is an ever-restless one, the central conundrums rarely under threat of resolution.

My point, such as I have one, is that if you slice off the top of the charts you always end up with an interesting double record, with even the most recent Swift swallow a more interesting double record. Cue up side 2 of whatever variant you chose of this round, and you get the casually buzzing hornet’s nest “Like That”, with Kendrick already sounding brutally peeved on his verse. The needle then hustles you into the petulant intro to Drake’s “Family Matters”, for which “Euphoria” already provided some context if you’ve been off the grid. Drake's track lands no point harder than how long this month has lasted.

Compare the normally sedate, reflective Kendrick’s palpable anger – you feel the threatening brush of the quills of his mind – to the normally sedate, unreflective Drake’s manufactured-sounding intensity. His sense of affront sounds weakened by his well-funded complacency – easy to project, like the idea that he farms out his verses. But rap is like jazz; the central instrument is too communicative to conceal much. For the former Degrassi MVP, anything like sharpness feels like an imitation. He sounds inconvenienced where his rival sounds murderous, a comprehensible tactic that as fits go earned worst-dressed on the skirmish’s fizzled-out conclusion(?), “The Heart Part 6”. “Matters” is a deft cut which admirably matches the mood-shifting “epic” vibe of “Euphoria” et al. But even with Drizzy stepping up, the contest was never exactly a close one.

The temptation down the rabbit-hole of whether Kendrick is a spousal abuser – a charge so hyped up in the drop, it has the feel of a secret a kid can’t keep in, rather than, like, a lie – isn't much match for the distracting allure of Sabrina Carpenter’s “Espresso”, the latest surefire trifle in a neo-neo-disco wave. Dance music hasn't sounded so percolation-for-percolation sumptuous as it does on this (or, say, the casually flawless “Dance the Night”) since Nile Rodgers was still [c]hic. The song’s unhesitant strut is the kind of thing you just bow down to, pure feelin-yourself momentum from a versatile new star whose identity appears as malleable as Chappell Roan’s is uncompromising. Its phrasemaking, its effervescence, its on-vacation give a fucks – the song is like “Flowers” in full flower, being single as a garden of delights earthly and otherwise.

This top ten is rounded out by a far more gentlemanly duel, for it’s the season of not just the sticks but the Growly Boys. The unabashedly dramatic “Beautiful Things” and “Lose Control” are how-tos for those interested in self-immolation, over a cause Macklemore will swiftly remind you isn’t the end of the world (love, or pussy I suppose. or both). Benson Boone and Teddy Swims sure do have diaphragms; not a dandruff-grain of irony sullies either’s heaving shoulders. Each song has a guaranteed valentine future: karaoke challenge, front-lawn boom box staple, so forth. And both, if you listen over and over (which, why), largely validate their own abundant sincerity. Both also serve to make the “take me to church” guy sound like a paragon of smoothness and restraint, on his new one, which lands like a less self-satisfied, slightly doomier Maroon 5 hit.

Other chapters in America’s bestselling beef (“meet the grahams”, “Push Ups”) fill out the top twenty – the album this feud forms is a great, if bitter and bewildering, one – dispelling a slow-moving cloud of flukes and superstars. SZA, always a lot more subtly exhilarating than people seem willing to concede, continues to gaze out over the waves she rode last year. Ariana finds her place in the moment by encouraging single-soul vulnerability, rather than trying to lead an army of discontents to liberation. Taylor simulates the instant standards she didn’t hold herself to writing this time, dragging herself to the gym and onstage, feeble but serviceable revisitations of “Anti-Hero” self-loathing and “Bejeweled” self-puffing. Jack is still in a post-nut haze, Noah is still wistfully welling up, and Zach and Kacey are still stuck somewhere between the present and past – reminding us just how hard this moment will hang on as it fades into whatever’s next, as moments do. Whatever we don't remember, someone will.

[fallintitan]

@tenaciouswritingdragon asked for whump with BT talkin to jack to keep him awake and boy howdy i got carried away lmao

[ao3 link]

Cooper is stricken for a moment, looking down dumbly at where the knife protrudes from his gut. The image registers in his brain, but the pain that he knows and expects to feel is surprisingly absent.

“Pilot Cooper?” BT’s voice rumbles over the comm link. “Your vitals jumped for a moment. Are you alright?”

It takes a second for the man to regain his wits enough to respond. “Uh,” he elegantly starts, his words faltering as his Pilot suit grows wetter and wetter. How does he answer this in a way that won’t worry his Titan?

“Tell the truth,” BT cuts in. “I already sense that something is wrong. Please, be honest.”

His head swims, his vision skewing as he stumbles against a wall. “It’s not good, I don’t think.”

BT is worryingly silent for a pause before he continues to speak. “Affirmative. Carefully extricate yourself from the building. I will provide a distraction to allow you safe passage.” Moments after, Cooper hears the sound of a volley of Acolyte rockets tear into the sturdy walls of the facility, a cacophony of yelling rising up in response. “Be safe. Please.”

He almost numbly spits out ‘no promises’ in a half-hearted quip before catching himself. There’s no need to stress BT out more than he already is. Though, to be fair, BT can probably already tell what has gone wrong, even if Cooper is reluctant to tell him outright. Sometimes he forgets the Link is as powerful as it is. 

He clamps one hand over the wound, knowing that staunching the bleeding is the best --and only-- thing he can do right now. His free hand fumbles for his pistol, awkwardly unholstering it from his opposite hip. His accuracy is likely garbage right now, but if someone’s in close enough proximity to use the pistol, then they’re close enough for a shot from the hip. 

BT’s rampage continues outside, gradually thinning the IMC forces that haul over to confront him. Bullets ping harmlessly off of the metal of his body and he continues his murderous spree. 

It’s shocking, in a way: BT is typically calm and reserved. Jack knows the Titan is capable of destruction and death on a massive scale, but being in an altered state of vulnerability brings it to the forefront of his mind. He leans heavily against an unoccupied door frame as he waits for the coast to clear enough for him to get to the Vanguard.

BT looks over, noting his position and his deteriorating state, sweeping one giant arm through a gaggle of grunts and sending them haphazardly flying. He trots over to the Pilot, footfalls rumbling the earth beneath Cooper’s feet. Kneeling down to Cooper’s level, BT’s cyan optic locks on to his beloved Pilot as he assesses the situation.

“Pilot,” BT frets, “you have suffered a puncture wound to the abdomen.”

“Yeah,” he croaks as the pain finally bleeds into his mind. His stomach is wet and sticky under his armor, far more uncomfortable than anything else he’s ever felt. 

“Immediate action should be taken,” BT continues. “Risk of internal bleeding and puncture to abdominal organs are priority.” He stoops to lay his hand down for his Pilot to step onto. “Come. I will get you to shelter to address the wound.”

In a daze, Cooper stumbles up into the provided palm, leaning heavily on BT’s fingers to keep himself upright. The tackiness spreads, leaving him dizzy and nauseous.

“Hold tight.” At the last second, the Titan snags an idle Specter from the battlefield, grasping it in one large palm as it wriggles uselessly. BT sets off at a brisk jog, away from the IMC base, now filled with chaos. Hopefully, none of them would think to follow the Titan. 

The thick forests of the planet provide excellent cover for the two of them as they dart away. BT twists and turns to avoid any more damage than necessary. Fauna and wildlife skitter out of the charging Titan’s path, scurrying away into the overgrowth.

Even through the vigorous jostling he undergoes as BT moves, he still feels himself slipping closer and closer to losing consciousness. Dumbly, a blood-soaked hand reaches for the hilt of the knife still protruding from his middle.

Delicately, one of BT’s fingers intercepts. “It is unwise to remove the protrusion until medical action can be taken,” he informs. “Removing it would only speed up blood loss.”

His skin feels clammy by now, nausea and dizziness dominating his mind. He can tell BT is doing his best to bleed off some of the feeling. Soon enough, BT finds suitable cover, hunkering down and laying Jack on the ground as gently as he could. Jack groans as he’s moved, the aching pain radiating out from where the knife sits. The Specter stays in BT’s grip.

“Pilot,” BT offers, “I know you are in immense pain, but I require your assistance.” He sounds almost guilty as he finishes the sentence. Blearily, Cooper focuses on his Titan, doing his best to pay attention. “I have secured a Specter for my use. It will allow finer motor skills. However, it must be hacked, and my core must be installed. Do you think you can assist me in doing that?”

Jack wheezes, delicately shifting onto his side to unsheath his dataknife and hold it out. BT takes it from his grasp, setting the Specter down and getting to work. The knife slips into its circuitry smoothly, the body going limp in BT’s hand. 

BT’s hand rises to his optic. “Ejecting data core. Cooper, you will have to install it,” BT seems to apologize. Are you able to do that?“ The core hisses as it disengages, falling into his waiting palm. It slowly slumps to the ground, though the Titan chassis remains in sentry mode.

Cooper struggles to sit up. Each movement causes lances of pain to bolt through his body, but he knows he needs to help BT to get medical attention. Taking the core from the now-idle palm, he scoots over to the Specter frame to insert it in place of the frame’s original core. It slides in easily, hissing and settling in with a ‘pop!’ 

Immediately, BT’s trademark cyan shows through the frame’s optic, looking over to where Cooper returns to slumping on the ground. 

“Pilot,” BT’s voice rumbles out of the Specter, “you are going into shock. Proceeding with immediate medical care.” The Specter--BT, this is BT, just a different body--reaches into the hatch on the Vanguard chassis and retrieves a medkit, hopping down and kneeling next to Cooper. As he rummages around, Cooper feels himself drifting off once more.

A gentle shake to his shoulder rouses him. 

“Cooper, you must stay awake,” BT begs. 

His eyes crack open tiredly, attempting to focus on his friend as he works.

“I will continue to speak to you to keep you aware, if you would like,” BT continues. “Would that help?”

Blearily, Jack nods slowly. 

“Alright.” He feels BT’s hand move to his stomach near the wound. “I have already activated the emergency beacon,” he rambles. “Evac should be here shortly. That is good news. The quicker you can get help, the higher the odds you will recover with no adverse effects.”

The hand gently moves the knife as BT spreads biofoam around the puncture, making the now-familiar ache spread once more. He groans, one hand mindlessly going to swat BT away.

“Now is not the time to get defiant,” BT scolds. “I am doing what needs to be done. Plus, I overpower you by a great margin.”

A feeble huff escapes the pilot in lieu of a laugh. Distantly, he feels BT prop his legs up with something. He feels himself drifting off again, looking to BT desperately as he fights it off.

BT fumbles for a topic. “Think of Moot,” he offers. “She will likely be waiting for us when we return.”

A smile splits his face at the thought of the canine. Her loyalty and antics have picked him up on his darkest days, even days where BT couldn’t rouse him from his dwelling.

“Stay awake for her,” BT says. “Stay awake for me.”

He fights through it. Darkness pulls at the corners of his mind, and he is tempted to give in. However, BT’s voice does what he intends: it keeps him aware and awake, focused on his words. 

“Think about how it will be when we get back,” he rumbles, retrieving an anesthetic from the medkit. BT removes the cap nimbly, apologetically feeling for a vein and injecting it. Immediately, Cooper feels better. The ache dissipates, his mind stops swimming, though his breathing remains shallow and rapid.

“Can you imagine how worried she will be when we get back?” BT starts. “She has not seen you seriously injured before. Knowing her, she will fret, akin to how she does when you are away. Perhaps the doctors will allow her into your recovery room to keep you company.”

That thought warms him. In his time in the Militia, he’d been wounded many times. Every time, it got uncomfortably lonely, with only BT’s presence through the Neural Link. The idea that Moot may be allowed in the room with him eases his nerves.

“I will admit, I was adverse to bringing her home on that mission, but I have since greatly changed my mind. I adore her, as you do. Her loyalty is inspiring. Even without speaking, she manages to say so much. Remember how she gets so excited, wagging her tail, that she occasionally hits herself in the head?”

The grin widens. His mind shifts from the pain radiating through his body to images of Moot and BT. Moot, bracing herself in BT’s large palm as he lifts her to see if she could handle heights. BT practicing delicacy as he gently pets her furry head with one finger. 

In the distance, he can hear the dropship approaching. BT informs him of so, voice rumbling soothingly as he speaks. “Our way out is approaching. You will be out of here soon. Would you be able to assist my transfer back to the chassis?”

BT helps him sit up gingerly. The ship descends to hover above the ground, the pilot expertly guiding it. The transference back goes smoothly, BT rising to wave the aid over.

“Cripes, Coop,” one of the medical assistants grimaces. “Can’t go one week without you gettin’ into trouble.”

Cooper wheezes a laugh as he’s hauled up and carried over to the ship. He hears BT’s thumping footsteps following them reliably. Inside the ship, he’s laid out on a stretcher, where his armor is further stripped off and the fabric of the flight suit on his lower torso is peeled away. 

The weight of the situation suddenly registers to him: he had been dangerously close to…

Frantically, he looks around for BT. The Titan seems to materialize over the assistants’ shoulders, optic narrowing in his version of a comforting smile. 

“We’re administering a sedative now,” one of them informs. “It’ll knock you out for a while.”

Cooper frowns, croaking out “Moot” feebly.

“She’ll be there when you wake up, promise.”

[star-sky-earth]

My top tips for writing smut

Inspired by the following question from the Author Asks meme. Thanks for the question @marauders-groupie !

20. What is your best piece of advice for writing smut scenes?

I’ve not been writing for very long, but these are all the things that I’ve learnt about writing smut over the last year, that I wish I’d consciously realised before. 

The majority of these are about smut scenes in longer, chaptered fics, not shorter one-offs/prompt fills.

1. Sex doesn’t mean anything unless it means something.

When writing sex scenes in a long-form fic, think about why you’re including it. Is it purely because its hot or kinky (so, a focus on relationship dynamics or plot or the situation)? Is it to show character progression or relationship development (so, a focus on internal monologue, interactions, dialogue)? Is it both? What will be different after the scene? To write a good sex scene, you need to know yourself why you’re including it, what you’re trying to show, and why you’re including it now at this point in the story. It’s writing 101, but it’s important, and it’ll make your writing much more interesting and smoother. 

If you’re just including a sex scene because you think it’s expected or you don’t know what else to do, it’ll probably show in the finished work.

2. Write as much, or as little as you want.

This applies two ways: a) how many sex scenes you write and b) how explicit you make them. Write what you wanna write, and don’t feel like just because you wrote a super explicit sex scene last chapter, you need to write a sex scene this chapter or be that explicit again. It’s all about variety as a reader and a writer, and mixing it up often works surprisingly well, especially in long-form fics.

3. You don’t have to write everything from start to finish.

You don’t have to write the entire sex scene from start to finish if you don’t want to! You can ‘fade in’ halfway through to show the ending, or fade in halfway out and just show the beginning. Sometimes you just wanna show a certain moment because it has a specific emotional beat you wanna hit, and the rest of it isn’t that special. Once I realised you could do this, it took so much pressure off me as a writer and stopped me feeling that I had to write sex ‘just for the sake of’ writing sex. Also, this way readers get to imagine the rest of it exactly how they want to.

4. Sex isn’t tit for tat.

Sometimes sex scenes can feel a bit formulaic, because the writer wants to show that each partner is equally into it, and they’re not sure how to do it, so they feel pressured to a) make sure they both come an equal number of times or b) they both do the same things to each other. So - petting/petting, handjob/handjob, oral/oral, then sex. And yeah, naturally, if that’s what your characters actually want to do and you want to write, fine. That will come across perfectly. But if you’re just writing it because you feel like you have to get everything in there, and it’s somehow unfair for one person to get oral and not the other, then you’re bored and disengaged and the readers can tell. 

This reminds me a lot of porn, where a lot of videos hit exactly the same beats and show the performers doing every act. Porn films don’t do this because it’s sexier - they do it because it’s value for money, and they’ll increase their revenue/viewership by having something for everybody. It also, to be blunt, makes it easier for people to get off to it because they can time their actions to what they already know is gonna happen.

5. Once people have sex, it doesn’t mean that they *have* to have sex.

I feel like I see this so much in long-form fics, especially slow burn fics or ones with lots of UST. Two people meet each other, there’s thousands of words of pining and meaningful looks...they start off slow with just a couple of kisses...then there’s some heavy petting or oral or hand-jobs...then they have full penetrative sex...then suddenly it’s just all full penetrative sex, all the time. Even if they do continue to do other acts, it tends to be ‘foreplay’ and just one of the ‘steps’ towards penetrative sex. And suddenly, I’m bored.

In my experience, this isn’t the way that sex or relationships work. People seek sexual contact for all kinds of reasons, and sex doesn’t look the same every time. Maybe you just wanna sleepily snuggle and rub together, and make out a bit. Maybe you wanna give someone a quick blow-job and you’re fine until later. Maybe you’re drunk as fuck and you know you can’t get it up, but hell yeah, let your partner get their toys out and go to town and you’ll just enjoy the view. As a reader, mixing it up with different types of physical and sexual contact is far more interesting to read, not just because it’s more variety, because it speaks to the different moods and emotional states of your characters over the length of the story. Tension doesn’t just go away because someone penetrated someone else, or at least it shouldn’t. And as a writer, once again, it’s more fun to write a variety of different scenes!

6. Everyone doesn’t have to come every time.

As I said before, people have sex all the time for lots of different reasons. Sometimes (often) it’s not about the orgasm. Sometimes it’s about seeking comfort or emotional intimacy, or because it’s an exciting and dangerous situation, or just to show appreciation or love. Sometimes (often) one partner won’t come. And that’s okay! And that doesn’t mean the sex was bad! If both parties got what they wanted from it, then it was good sex. 

Also - orgasm denial (self denial, or denial from others) can be very sexy. The tension itself can be pleasurable.

People’s opinions will vary on this. For some people, they read smut for the fantasy and want the sex to be a bit more ‘perfect’ and aren’t so bothered about being able to see themselves in the characters. For others, they want/crave realism and for things to be a little bit more messy. Both ways are fine, I guess I just verge towards the realism a bit more.

7. Find the little ways to show emotion.

It’s not always about big declarations of love, or massive internal monologues about how this is the best sex ever and everything previously has been shit by comparison. Sometimes, the best way to demonstrate how characters feel about each other is the tiny gestures or actions. Like, a character adjusting their stance so that the other person is more comfortable. Someone brushing their hand over the other person’s hip. A character checking in mid-scene to make sure that the other person is still into it if it’s getting kinky - maybe not even verbally, but glancing at their face to check their expression and their body language. Your readers notice what your characters notice, so get them to note the little things and it’ll be far more effective than shouting ‘I love you!’ at climax. 

As I said, I’m just a beginner so if anyone else has any tips or lessons on writing smut, I’d love to hear them!

[katsukikitten]

what about bakugou with an s/o that is a bad influence (she manipulates him, makes him mad/jealous for fun, says his friends talk badly about her even though they dont, etc) and his friends are having none of that so they talk with bakugou and make him realize what kind of person his s/o is

Heated

Anon I hope I wrote this to your liking enjoy!! Sorry it took forever

You dodge a searing punch from the ash blonde just in time to catch his wrist. Both of you are breathing heavily. Both of you fighting for over twenty minutes.

He wrenches free and both of you disengage for the time being.

"What's aaahhh wrong aaahhh Y/N?" Bakugou keeps his hot smug ass smirk despite having to pause to speak.

"Hhhhaaahh aahhh Nothing Suki. I think you can't handle all of this." You gesture to your body mockingly while his smirk goes wider. He rolls his shoulders before getting back into fighting stance.

"Looks to me like there isn't much to handle."

You lunge, ready to punch that smug ass look off of his face.

"BAKUGOU KATSUKI!" A shrill voice yells out and he looks away at the last second catching your fist with his strong jaw.

Oh here we go.

You topple on top of him, having expected him to be braced for the blow. His hands rest on your hips before another scream is let out. Bakugou's girlfriend stomps in her red bottom heels your way.

"What the hell are you doing with that slut? I told you not to hang out with her you stupid shit? AND NOW SHE'S SITTING ON YOU!!!"

Katsuki lifts you by your hips and places you on your feet as he stands.

"Does she ride your dick too?" She screams and you roll your eyes, "Or is that apart of your endurance training?!"

"Oh shut up. You know God Damn well Katsuki is too loyal to cheat on you." You roll your eyes again, nerves frayed at the end from her presence alone.

Bakugou cuts you a look as his girlfriend fumes.

"Babe. Enough."

"Enough? She just talks badly about you and tries to beat the shit out of you. She's trash. She makes everyone in the dorm turn against you. I should leave you for that cutie Deku." A blush settles over her boojee cheeks. Bakougu's fingers twitch with subtle pops.

"Hey I'm right here. If you have something to say then say it to my face." You snap, hating this vile woman that Bakugou has been dating the past three months or so. Sure she was hot as fuck, long hair, dressed nicely, gorgeous face and ass for days but damn.

She was just such a bitch. You grind your teeth, wishing you had been braver four months ago.

Bakugou again gives you a sharp look.

"Oi." But there is more to it. He wants you to stop because he knows she will get in your face and she WILL get her ass whooped.

At least that's what you tell yourself.

"Fine." You snarl, Bakugou says nothing and slips his hand to the small of her back.

"Have you been hanging around Kirishima too? He's a bad influence and *below* you. And stop talking to that ugly bitch, Y/LN. She clearly wants to take you away from me." She goes on even as he guides her away.

You thought that would be the last straw on the camels back, that he would break up with her after speaking so lowly over his two best friends.

But Monday morning proves other wise.

You enter class and spy Katsuki already sitting at his desk. Delight fills you when you see that stank ho Emi is no where in sight.

You thank Kamisama she is in a different class.

You assume your normal spot when she isn't there, hopping onto Katsuki's desk top, bitching about the paper that is due.

Bakugou says nothing as he glares up at you before he places his palm beneath the desk, settling off an explosion large enough to flip it. Your heart tears into pieces, hurt painting your features as the ejection from your seat goes in slow motion. Its inevitable, you're gonna land on your ass.

Strong arms catch you princess style and instinctively you wrap your arms around a thick neck.

"Bakugou..." Kirishima sounds disappointed as you cling to him, "She could have gotten hurt."

"She shouldn't have sat on my desk. She should've had her guard up. And why the fuck do you care what I do?" He growls as he flips his desk upright with his feet pressing against the back legs. Your eyes narrow to slits and for the first time in a long time your feel real rage burning in your stomach towards Bakugou.

But your rage does not burn as badly as the tears forming in your eyes. You know exactly why he is acting this way.

"Emi is such a bad influence on you Baka!" You yell, gripping into Kirishima to keep yourself in check, "We've been over this a thousand times. Please. Listen to us, she's making you a paranoid asshole!"

"Don't be so harsh about the seat, Katuski. Y/N is right. She's manipulating you for some reason. We're saying this as your friends." Eji says softly, still not putting you down onto your feet, which was probably for the best considering what comes out of Bakugou's mouth next.

"Neither of you are my friends so fuck off and die." His voice holds real disgust when he speaks and you hold your breath, counting down slowly to keep that temper of yours in check.

But that dumb ass method never worked.

Kirishima glances down at you and sees your reddening face. You try to push off of him harshly but he keeps his grip tight as he brings you to your seat in the back of the class room. Knowing full well what would happen if he put you down.

Someone was going to get a punch in the face. Whether it be Katsuki or Emi he wasn't sure.

"Thank you so much Izuku-kun for the training this past Sunday." Nails grate over a chalk board as Emi comes to view at the door, "Can we train again sometime soon?"

"Sure." Izuku replies, unkowningly digging his own grave.

Anger swells in your chest as quickly as Bakugou reacts. Practically jumping to the door and grabbing Deku by his shoulder.

"What kind of fucking training?" He clamps a live hand onto Deku's shoulder. Small explosions burst onto the emerald haired boy point blank. He hisses out a cry but knows better than to provoke an already enraged Kaachan.

"Oh babe don't be so dramatic. It was simple basic training. You know similar to what you so with that slut." She smiles her petty smile before adding, "Let's try for tomorrow Izuku-senpai!"

She hugs him full on even with Bakugou gripping onto his shoulder. She is sure to press her boobs against Deku's chest earning a full face of blush. Red lingers on his throat before she let's go not even a word of goodbye to her ACTUAL boyfriend.

You bite your tongue and remind yourself that he said the two of you weren't friends.

Days meld into weeks as Bakugou trains alone, relishing the solitude for the first week and a half. But one day he catches your laughter and when he sees you training with Kirishima he begins to watch daily.

Keeping an eye on the competition or so he says.

At first you two are all laughs lightly sparing and heavy on the cardio.

He knows you suck at cardio. He's been trying to build your endurance since the two of you met.

Don't get it fucking twisted, he wants to be number one.

Will be number one.

But he wouldn't mind you being a close second.

So to watch you having such a good time with his other "best friend", the very same best friend that came to rescue him during that league of villains arch.

The best friend who risked his life, teamed up with shitty Deku and held out his hand for him had his stomach twisting in knots.

Bakugou knew that Kirishima saw his heart, his true heart and that deep down he wasn't such a bad guy. He cared for his equals deeply and once Bakugou acknowledged that care he would do *anything* to keep them safe.

But did you know that?

I guess it didn't fucking matter. Bakugou was sure to fuck it up anyway.

Like he did all of his good relationships. I mean look at Deku...

Katsuki didn't know he was going to manage to really fuck this one up especially not the very next day.

"I'm serious babe. She's spreading rumors that I'm sleeping with everyone in my class. You know I would never." Emi cries, literal tears flooding down her cheeks. Even managing to hiccup at the end. Katsuki feels torn he knew you could be petty but this low?

He looks down at his red faced girl friend and wonders for a fraction of a second.

Could someone fake cry this well?

He thought not, so he stomps to his class room during this break to confront you.

Since Bakugou's last comment you had wiped him from existence.

At least that's what you tell yourself. Careful to avoid him during class and free time. Trying and failing as Aizawa shamelessly pairs the two of you together often.

So break is your only time for peace considering Bakugou always goes to her classroom.

Confusion twists your features as you see a fuming ash blonde making his way to you.

You bite your lip to keep from lashing our and look away, giving Kirishima your full attention once more as he asks for your advice on Mina.

Bakugou doesn't care that he is interrupting as he slams popping palms onto your desk, the wood beneath charrs with snaking black fissures.

"Are you talking about my girl Y/N?" He snarls, eyes narrowed in on you.

At first you're taken aback in disbelief?

Where in the fuck would he get that idea?

And why the fuck would he believe that *you* would shit talk Emi behind her face?

Because you were brave enough to say it to her fucking face.

The very same face who stands in the hall peeking in, mascara running but her lips reflect something else.

A smile pulls at her lipstick coated mouth, twisting it upward with malice.

The dots connect themselves, glaring her down before you meet the heated gaze of your *former* best friend.

"Ah no Suki, I don't speak her name because I don't like the taste of *shit* in my mouth." You say calmly, even leaning away from him. Hands resting behind your head. Angry pops echo around the room before he shoves the desk into your unguarded gut.

"Cut the shit smart ass!" He snarls, looking down his nose as if you were the garbage that stood gazing into the classroom. Watching what her web of lies has spun.

You see red and like a bull you charge.

"You want ME to cut the shit? But your girlfriend with her half ass head game is perfectly fine to manipulate you and spread lies?" You stand, slamming your hands against the desk, splitting it in two.

He grabs onto your collar, pulling you past the fallen desk.

"You're pushing it, Y/N." His free hand pops in warning and you snarl.

"Good. That's exactly what I want to do." You hiss and he shoves you away, slamming you into the cinderblock wall behind you

"Guys." Deku and Kirishima say in two different tones, "Let's calm down."

"CALM DOWN?" You yell, slamming your fist into the wall behind you. A hole crumbs and the kids in the back of class 1B peek through the three foot tall and two foot wide hole.

"THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS CALM NOW!" Air whips around you as your power swirls in the small class room.

The special thing about your quirk was the angrier you were the stronger and faster you got.

The only down fall after your heart rate reaches a certain rate it will take hours for you to think logically.

"Oh shit!" One of them exclaims as you lunge fist reared for contact, Bakugou side steps at the last second, letting a large point blank explosion to erupt near your face.

When the smoke clears red eyes are met with glittering dangerous eyes. He smirks, he should have know that blast wouldn't have knocked *you* out.

Fists are exchanged and blocked by both parties. One fueled with pure rage while the other is backed by heated blasts. The ash blondes forearms are starting to turn into a sickening blackish blue but his snarl never wavers.

Both of you slide back a few feet, huffing hot breath.

"Azaiwa Sensei is going to be here soon!!" Kirishima shouts, "Bakugou you can't afford another demerit!"

His voice goes unnoticed by both parties as you both lunge.

Kirishima sees what Bakugou does not, you've been storing some of your rage, a lot of it for Katsuki himself, and you're about to unleash it in a deadly final blow.

Ejirou rushes, hardening his skin to its highest level as he steps in front of Bakugou, forearms crossed and braced for impact.

Your fist finds rock hard flesh, knuckles sliced before you push harder growling aloud as you do.

Harden skin chips before a sickening crack rings out, causing Kirishima's left arm to go slack as both the red head and the hot head slam hard into the chalk board, almost busting though the wall.

At this point you don't know when to stop, the blood dripping from Kirishima does not put a falter in your step as you jump fist raised again.

Aizawa enters the room at the right time, activating his quirk but it cannot dissipate the rage that you feel.

Hot tears well in your eyes as you continue to beat your fists against jagged skin.

Shredding your hands against the sharp rocky flesh.

"Fuck you Bakugou. Fuck you. You're so God damn blind!" A raw scream escapes your throat but still you take it out on Kirishima, "She's laughing even now! You're nothing but a hot toy to her!"

Two sets of red eyes look at you with hurt, one more so than the other before they glance at Emi.

Who struggles to switch her facial expression from delight to shock.

Scarlet eyes narrow with new found rage.

"Y/LN!" Aizawa says darkly, sending out his scarf to pull you from Kirishima as if you were a rabid dog, when he pulls you to him he clamps a strong hand on the back of your neck.

"I think you need to be in isolation for a few." He squeezes the colum of your neck and you snarl, still ready to fight, '

"Kirishima, Bakugou, meet me in my office in ten.

It had been a long time since you've been put in the isolation chamber but somethings never change as the same person that pushed your temper enough to send you there the first time is the cause of it again almost two years later.

They will keep you quirkless until your heart rate has significantly lowered.

Emi stands petrified, not only from your power but from you calling her out. Kirishima passes her with out a second glance but Bakugou stops, eyes averted.

"Bakugou, Baby I can explain. Sh..she's jealous.." She stammers reaching for him but he shoots a deadly glare to her. She physically shrinks back, taking a small step as if his gaze was smoldering up close.

After a moment he speaks in a tone much darker than you've ever heard, pops echoing down the hall carrying the venom of his tone along with it.

"Hope this is what you wanted. Fuck you we're over."

[talltales]

                                    —HEY NOW, HEY NOW, DON'T DREAM IT'S OVER                                     HEY NOW, HEY NOW, WHEN THE WORLD COMES IN                                     THEY COME, THEY COME, TO BUILD A WALL BETWEEN US                                     WE KNOW THEY WON'T WIN                                                            anonymous request!!

NOTICE: violence (murder, mentions of cannibalism), heavy sexual content

               “i just painted my nails.”

blankly, she flicks away the blood trickling down her hand and turns it over to inspect the chipped pink polish peeling off with it. her trigger finger relaxes minutely, but her gun remains aimed at the deathly still men at her feet, staring sightlessly into the cloudless, red sky.

“i didn’t think you were that kind of girl.” the click of the clip being slatted into his own weapon accompanies his droll retort. she glances over her shoulder to find yugyeom leaning against the hood of their car, arms crossed loosely across his chest; dark eyes fixed upon the flow of blood across hot concrete.

before it reaches the tip of her shoes, she sidesteps and moves to rifle through the belongings peeking from their pockets. her gun is slipped into the old leather holster at her hip before she pulls a wallet from the closest man, “i was always that kind of girl. it isn’t my fault you never paid attention.”

she spares her companion a look and then turns back to the worn billfold, tossing the plethora of id cards contained into the summer wind, “looks like he was collecting trophies from his kills.”

“how barbaric.” yugyeom hums, impassive. his nose crinkles, however—offended by the emerging malodor of decay, “they reek. are you ready to go?”

“just a minute.”

the few bills contained within are deposited into her back pocket. discarded identification cards bearing the faces of strangers skitter across the road as she makes work of the other male’s wallet and, for good measure, plucks his half-empty carton of cigarettes from his coat pocket.

“got yours?” he slides off the hood of their old black mustang, slapping a palm against the hot metal before opening the driver side door, “because we need to start making some distance if they’ve got friends.”

“you’re a broken record, you know?”

“i’ll stop repeating myself when you start listening.”

the cool flow of a/c when she gets in is a welcome sensation. there are, after all, few luxuries left in a world that has gone to hell and dragged every survivor with it.

her thumb hovers over the radio dial out of habit, turning it on to catch nothing but muted static.

the radio broadcast had stopped four months ago.

where an endless stream of music and advertisements had once been, there was only white noise; broken only by the occasional snare laid by opportunistic hunters. assuming that there was prey left. at least the ones who would believe the theatric cries for help, transmitting on repeat in the early morning hours.

without the loose guide of societal standards, humanity turned on itself. cannibalized the weak. she hits the off button and releases a heavy breath; sinks into her seat as yugyeom starts the engine. what an ugly place to be—

to be left behind in.

“what is it?” his attention is on the road, intent as he navigates smoothly past the still-warm bodies and the last remnants of their victims, innocent things blowing away in the desert wind, “you’re thinking too much.“

“i know. i’m just wondering how many of those fuckers can possibly be hiding out here. how many people they’ve killed, and for what?” her teeth sink into her lower lip, biting down until the dull ache draws her mind back—to the scent of leather and gunpowder and the droll, knowing look yugyeom gives her, “for useless pieces of plastic? money that can only be spent in camps where they’ll be shot on sight?”

one instinct had survived the dissolution of the world, after all. people knew a wanted man when they saw one.

“you know why.” he hums, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, “i shouldn’t have to remind you.”

“humor me.”

the conversation is an old one, repeated for the sake of soothing what remains of her conscience. stubborn as it is, it comes to life in moments like these; when the adrenaline fades away and she is left with blood caked under her nails and the smell of copper clinging to her skin.

“they kill for the thrill of it.” for her sake, yugyeom answers. the words flow easily, as if he’sreciting a memorized poem; an old story told a time too many. “they enjoy it.”

“i enjoy it.” she confesses, not for the first time. she stretches as the seat allows, arching her back as her fingertips brush the roof; the telltale click of her spine realigning itself brings a fleeting sense of relief. she speaks to the spotted, hazy glass of the sunroof, “i enjoy hunting them and putting them down.”

the blood-red sky is cloudless; speckled only with the brightest starlight breaking through the atmosphere.

“so do i,” he says, and the matter is settled.

again.

—

“so wound up,” she breathes, grazing the curve of his jaw with slow, wet kisses; deft fingers threading through his hair, “i wanted to help,” rolling her hips in a hard grind, she almost chuckles at the way he twitches inside her; the way every muscle in his body seems to tense simultaneously as she darts her tongue out to taste the sweat beading above his collarbone, “but i guess i’m not—should i stop?”

her head spins, body seared by the window beneath her palm and the pressure of the steering wheel digging into the dip of her spine. but it is the ebb and flow of his rhythm that renders her breathless; makes her feel like she’s suffocating the most exquisite way.

she muffles her cries against his throat and centers her attention on the wild skipping of his pulse under her tongue.

yugyeom’s jaw tightens and the next sound that escapes is half-protest, half-groan. she feels the weight of him, pressing into her hips from contrasting directions; his thumbs scoring marks against her skin—his hips canting up to meet hers, languid and deep.

she catches his words after a delayed moment in which her mind stutters to a stop when he brushes a spot inside her that makes her see stars.

“don’t you fucking dare.” it’s quiet, so very quiet, but something in her relishes at the loss of his composure, the rare curse emerging in a growl that tightens the coil inside her. in pursuit of more, she forces herself to stop with him buried as deep as their bodies allow; clenches around him until she can see something in him snap.

it makes it all that much sweeter when he comes apart.

he is, in these moments, the only beautiful sight left in this wretched world.

—

she wears his bruises like trophies, sometimes, lounging in the backseat with her legs folded beneath her and a brush running through her hair.

he watches through the rear-view mirror, as he always does, when she shifts—clad only in a pair of practical briefs and bra. the impression of his hands frame her hips and she takes pleasure in watching his eyes wander before he realizes what he’s doing. because kim yugyeom is always composed, always in control.

except when he isn’t.

and their dalliances are less about attraction than they are about release. she swears on that.

there is a softness to his touch when he isn’t paying attention—in the midnight hours, when their only light is the blue-tinge of headlights cutting through the dark; in the moments before he cuts the engine and his hand slides from the gear-shift to grip hers. “we’re keeping this quick,” he mutters, in a way that is more order than she cares for.

she’s out of the car before he can say anything else, “if they don’t drag it out.”

her sidearm is grasped firmly with her finger hovering over the trigger, her only guide the faint flickering of a campfire in the distance—

the stench of unwashed bodies and smoke.

every step is muffled beneath the howling of the wind and the hush of sand swirling over the earth. hunting is a natural instinct, but stealth is an acquired skill. it is her contribution in their little arrangement, because as graceful as yugyeom is he is impossible to miss.

he follows behind her, well-worn boots crushing the few sprigs of grass that have survived the onslaught of an unforgiving sun. even at this hour, the edge of it lingers on the horizon; an angry crimson-gold.

“you should’ve heard her scream,” comes the distant echoes of laughter from the makeshift camp ahead, beyond the shadow cast by the tents circling the site. they are lit from within by the fire on the other side, revealing silhouettes of figures perched upon folding chairs and the prone half-body beside the fire, “i’d have kept her alive just to hear it again, but a man’s gotta have his dinner.”

it’s an old sight, but it turns her stomach just the same.

her finger itches over the trigger, and she doesn’t have to look back to feel the intent radiating from the man behind her.

two, she holds up the signal and raises her gun while sidestepping into the gap beneath the twin tents. it takes effort to ignore the scavenged woman lying in the dirt; the silver and gold ring on her left hand gleaming in the firelight. someone’s wife.

instead she steels her voice and, assured that yugyeom has his gun trained on the other man, disengages the safety. “on the ground,” it comes out with a hiss; air flowing between teeth gritted so hard she feels it in her jaw.

the sight of the duo scrambling to find her in the darkness is only mildly satisfying. no, the true pleasure only comes when yugyeom fires a warning shot that grazes his target’s cheek, and abject fear takes hold.

“who’s there?” her target. his face is buried in the dirt; amorphous cooked meat beside his head. it takes effort to hold her fire until her boot slams into his spine and the barrel of her gun finds its way into his hair; digs into his scalp.

“you don’t need to concern yourself with that. i’ve got a question for you.”

on the other side of the fire, yugyeom does much the same—nose wrinkling as the man beneath him squirms under his knee; whines incoherently about the gash in his cheek.

“what do you want?”

“you got any buddies out here?” she asks, watching his eyes flicker about wildly, as if searching for an escape. or reinforcements, as the case may be. she secretly hopes for the latter.

“it’s just us,” the man whispers, and she pulls the trigger.

an answering shot rings through the night, and she looks up to see yugyeom wiping blood from his forehead before he walks to the parked pickup truck nearby. he preforms a perfunctory search, pulling a marked map from the glove compartment and a few bills that disappear into the pockets of his jeans.

“quick enough for you?” she questions before she can stop herself, trailing after him with a contemplative look at the container sitting next to the rear tire.

he nods, placid as ever, though she can see the spark of something in his eyes—the promise of another night spent chasing a different sort of satisfaction.

this is, after all, empty work on the best of days.

“the map—“

“for later. to find any stragglers.” she watches as he glances back at the campsite; stares at the blood splattered everywhere. it’s the clenching of his jaw that makes her act upon the persistent urge to act—to reach for the gas container and unscrew the cap.

without a word, she tips it and watches the crystalline liquid soak the ground at her feet. she doesn’t stop until the canister is empty and the site is soaked in the smell of gasoline; each body drenched with it.

he doesn’t stop her.

the only move he makes is toward her, to stand at her side as she fishes a matchbook from her back pocket and strikes it; the flame dances at her fingertip for a moment before she drops it—watches the campfire swell within minutes to a blaze that lights the night sky in shades of gold.

the heat is searing—makes her feel as if she’s burning alive, but for the first time she feels satisfaction with this ugly thing they do.

purification by fire.

only the slide of his fingertips over the back of her hand draws her back; the hesitant way that he laces their fingers together and tugs her back toward the car waiting in the distance. she squeezes, and feels the heaviness in her chest lighten when he returns the gesture.

it has practical purpose; less about affection than it is about comfort.

she swears on that.

“where to next?” for lack of anything better to say, she inquires into the open air, taking her first breath of fresh air.

yugyeom seems to hesitate, and she watches from the corner of her eye as he turns the question over in his mind before he speaks. always thoughtful, always choosing his words carefully.

“i think we’re overdue for a trip home.”

[nonbinarybrainstorm]

PLEASE, do some spicy megarod fic!!!

It’s been 84 years and I am so sorry for how long this took me but life just keeps happening you know?

Additional content: remote control sex toy, exhibitionism, kinda rough sex

It’s a pretty average day on the Lost Light which is to say at least three fires had to be put out and at least five fights had to be broken up but thankfully no one has been injured so it’s been a pretty good day as these things go. Today is one of those days that both Megatron and Rodimus take the bridge to oversee the crew and tend to navigation. There has been nothing of particular note within the past few hours, so Megatron has been spending some time working on paperwork on his datapad. He makes a brief note of a report Rodimus sends him that he finally finished for him to file away later and looks back at his work. A few moments later, however, he gets another message from Rodimus which he finds unusual enough to take a close look at it. The message doesn’t have any greeting, formal or otherwise which is already odd but further in he sees a program of some kind that appears to change the level of something.

Under the control-program reads a short note that reads: “Wanna try it out?”

If that wasn’t ominous enough, Rodimus doesn’t seem to be anticipating anything, no, he’s just working at his console, bored as ever. Megatron looks back at the program, suspicion, and curiosity warring in his spark until the curiosity finally wins out and he glides his finger over the screen until the curved indicator bar is filled just enough to keep whatever this was at a low setting. It’s green for now but will likely appear red at much higher setting but -for now- he keeps an eye out for whatever this might be. He ignores the strange mechanism for a while, getting more work done and pushing the concern he had been feeling away since it was clearly nothing that had an immediate effect. Whatever it was, it could wait.

After finishing the last report he had for the day, he looks back at the ridiculous thing Rodimus had sent him and decides to set it to a higher level. Again, no immediate effect. He sighs and with nothing better to do, set it to an even higher level and when there’s still no effect, he turns it all the way up. There’s a strange noise just ahead of him and when he turns to look, Rodimus is partially hunched over his console, still working but his hands are moving a bit erratically over the controls. Megatron figures that Rodimus probably made the noise and for the sake of conformation, he lowers the level again, all the way into the green. Rodimus visibly relaxes and manages to get back to work normally as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. Intrigued, Megatron tries ramping up the level again slowly, all the way until the bar was at its peak in the red and then he cuts it off completely, making the bar turn gray. As the intensity increased, Rodimus’s vents became more labored and his movements more erratic and when everything is turned off he makes a noise of complete frustration. Megatron is pretty sure he knows what’s going on now, his suspicions leaving him both amused and annoyed. Of course, Rodimus would do something so inane and he’s not sure why he’s surprised really. Perhaps it’s because this is something he’s never connected with Rodimus or perhaps he just never expected Rodimus to be such an exhibitionist. In retrospect, he really should have seen something like this coming, after all, it’s just the right kind of risk that Rodimus would take. That’s his idea of fun anyhow.

Feeling rather spontaneous and letting his annoyance influence his actions, he moves the bar up and down in rhythm in the lower setting to simulate pulses in the device that is undoubtedly in Rodimus’s valve. It has an immediate effect on him. Rodimus stops all movement and tenses against the controls, trying to overcome the sensations stimulating his valve but very clearly failing. Eventually, Megatron has mercy on the poor mech and turns the thing all the way off. Even then, Rodimus doesn’t recover immediately. Shakily, he straightens himself out and steadies his vents before closing up everything he was working and starts to turn around. In order to feign innocence, Megatron looks back at his datapad, pretending that he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Rodimus clears his intake and Megatron looks up at him like he’d just been called out of working on a report.

“Yes, Rodimus,” Megatron says, keeping his voice flat and bored despite the amusement that was suddenly bubbling up at the expense of Rodimus.

“I don’t think I’m feeling very good,” Rodimus vents out breathlessly and if Megatron didn’t know what just happened he’d believe him, the speedster does indeed look very out of sort, “I think I’m gonna head out early if that’s okay.”

As soon as the words are out of Rodimus’s mouth, Megatron swipes over his datapad and cranks up the vibrator to its max level, making Rodimus buckle and fall to his knees with a wide-eyed look. His gaze snaps up to Megatron, shock and something akin to betrayal written on his face.

“Yes, it does seem you are rather unwell,” Megatron keeps his face firm despite wanting nothing more than to laugh a little at his distressed co-captain, “It’s a few minutes before the end of our shift anyhow so there should be no issue.”

As Megatron walks up to Rodimus, he turns off the vibrator and then helps Rodimus onto his pedes.

“What are you doing?” Rodimus hisses, leaning heavily onto Megatron despite himself. He can’t use his legs fully no matter how much he may want to, far too overworked and turned on.

“I’m helping you to your room,” Megatron gives him a half shrug and smug look that makes Rodimus grit his denta, “You’re clearly too unwell to get there on your own.”

“Yeah, okay,” Rodimus mutters, side-eyeing Megatron as they head off the bridge.

On their way out, Megatron nods to the next mechs to take the bridge and continues down the hall, supporting Rodimus all the way to his habsuite. Once there, Rodimus turns on him as best he can with his legs still wobbly from the stimulation from earlier. His expression is turbulent and Megatron can’t help the smirk that finally breaks his composure which only sets Rodimus off.

“You knew what you were doing you complete ass,” Rodimus spits venomously but it doesn’t have as great of an impact with him still half limp in Megatron’s arms.

“I’m assuming that the message wasn’t for me then?” Megatron rumbles out in a low chuckle, “I didn’t know what it was, honestly.”

“No, it was supposed to go to Drift,” Rodimus mumbles, embarrassment taking over his bravado, “We help each other out sometimes. Nothing wrong with that. And it doesn’t seem you had any trouble figuring out what it was.”

“No, but it was you who decided to try something so foolish on the bridge of all places,” Megatron scolds, still amused by Rodimus’s mild distress, “Drift could have easily done far more and then where would you have been?”

“Drift knows my limits!” Rodimus insists adamantly and flails his hands out in emphasis, accidentally hitting the datapad still in Megatron’s hand in the process.

His hand manages to hit just in the right way so that the vibrator still in his valve is set immediately to its highest setting, shocking him into an intense overload and making him collapse fully into Megatron’s arms. Megatron scrambles to keep him from falling to the floor and winds up completely encompassing Rodimus in his arms. He can feel the static prickling Rodimus’s plating as charge ripples through him, tickling his own frame and causing something to stir within him. Rodimus’s face contorts into one of complete bliss as he digs his fingers into Megatron, trying to find purchase on something. The touch hits some sensitive seams and let’s little sparks of charge arc across them, making Megatron shudder and forcing his grip on Rodimus tighter, feeling his heated plating in full. AS Rodimus comes down from his intense overload, his eyes crack open slowly and he looks up at Megtron with a far softer expression than anything Megatron has ever received from him. Something about it makes Megatron swallow thickly, unable to look away, losing himself in the tenderness of it. With what little strength he has left, Rodimus hikes himself up and crashes his lips against Megatron’s. Lost in the wave of feelings and the very feeling of Rodimus in his arms, he lets himself be guided to the berth and laid down. Rodimus breaks the kiss and lifts himself up so he’s straddling Megatron and disengages his modesty panel, revealing his oversensitive valve and he pulls out the pink vibrator that’s still softly buzzing in Rodimus’s hand. When Rodimus begins lowering his hips to grind against Megatron, Megatron’s mind suddenly catches up with what’s happening and he brings up his hands to stall Rodimus’s hips, keeping them just above the panel over his spike housing.

“Rodimus, you don’t want this,” Megatron gasps out, his voice laced with static, “You’re just caught up in the feeling in your valve.”

Rodimus makes a frustrated groan and throws himself forward to balance himself on Megatron’s shoulders, his optics burning with lust and aggravation.

“You really think that’s the first time I’ve ever had a vibrator in my valve while working with you on the bridge?” Rodimus’s grip on his shoulders tightens as his arms begin to shake with equal parts frustration and exertion.

“I…” Megatron genuinely doesn’t know what to say to that, “Why?”

“The exciting part wasn’t that I might get caught, the exciting part was that I might get caught by you. I never thought I could just send the control to you and now you’re here,” Rodimus gasps, rapidly shifting from aggravated to desperate, “Please don’t tell me it’s that you don’t want me.”

“Rodimus, are you sure?” Megatron’s grip tightens on Rodimus’s hips, still unsure of the speedster.

“Yes,” Rodimus insists harshly and overcomes Megtron’s grip to grind roughly against him, “Now pressurize for me.”

Megatron chokes down a gasp as his body responds before he can to Rodimus’s command, his voice darker and for more dominating than he’s ever heard the speedster sound. There’s no more time for second-guessing as Rodimus grinds his hot, wet valve against the underside of Megatron’s spike, sending waves of pleasure through his system. Then Rodimus lifts his hips to the tip of Megatron’s spike and rubs it against his node and Megatron can feel his hips twitch under his hands. Rodimus lines Megatron’s spike up to his valve and begins lowering himself.

“Rodimus wait, you’re going too fast-”

Before Megatron can finish his thought, Rodimus slams down his hips, taking his spike all in one goal, forcing a gasp from Megatron who grips at Rodimus tightly as he’s overcome by the sensation of a hot valve around his spike.

Rodimus chuckles low in his chest as Megatron recovers, “Megs, I’m wet enough right now I could take a Metro-titan.”

“I would never recommend anything so ambitious,” Megatron gasps out between vents as he gathers himself.

Before Megatron can fully recover, Rodimus starts riding his spike, throwing his head back in pleasure while gripping Megatron’s hands that are still firmly on his hips. Megatron slides his hands free and starts rubbing along Rodimus’s thighs, taking pleasure in the feeling of the warm, smooth plating under his touch. Rodimus then leans back and balances his with his hands on Megatron’s knees, just moving his hips off and on Megatron’s thick spike. His movements become faster and faster, already trying to work himself into another overload. Megatron stalls his movements with a firm hold on his hips, making Rodimus groan in frustration and level annoyed optics at Megatron who ignores it as he sits up. Once up, he pulls Rodimus free who begins to protest and panic that perhaps Megatron wanted to stop but is quickly silenced when he finds his back pressed up against Megatron’s chest. He then flips them over with Rodimus’s face firmly pressed to the berth and his hands under him to keep him from being pushed all the way down. As Rodimus begins to ask what he’s doing, Megatron slides his spike back into his valve slowly, effectively cutting off anything Rodimus had to say.

“You were going too fast,” Megatron scolds with a low laugh, “it was going to be over before it even really began.”

Megatron thrusts into Rodimus slowly and indulgently, savoring the wet feeling of Rodimus’s valve and his hot frame tucked tightly against his frame. Rodimus is completely trapped beneath his powerful frame and at his mercy which is a sensation that Rodimus never thought he’d like so much. The large spike stretching him drags and rubs over all the right places and he can’t remember the last time he’s felt so full. With the pace kept slow and gentle, Rodimus almost feels taken care of, like this is just for him and with the tight embrace, he feels so safe, secure, and warm and he can’t help but sink into the feeling. This isn’t how he thought this would go. He was expecting just rough and fast interfacing with Megatron, a chance for the ex-warlord to show off his strength and completely destroy him but this is different. Megatron is slowly working him to overload, dragging it out so he can really feel it and showing off his strength not by pinning Rodimus down as he roughly frags him but by holding him down wholly and completely so he can’t do anything but feel.

Megatron sinks his denta into Rodimus’s neck cables and growls low, sending vibrations through Rodimus’s entire frame, making him cry out and dig his hands into the berth. Gradually, Megatron speeds up the pace, keeping his denta firmly on Rodimus’s neck. The feelings are all overwhelming and Rodimus crashes into another overload, bringing Megatron along with him and sighs at the feeling of hot transfluid spilling into him. They stay like that for a moment longer, then Megatron brings them both and sits back against a while with Rodimus still tucked against his chest, his spike slowly depressurizing from Rodimus’s valve making him twitch and sigh.

“Well that was different,” Rodimus hums as he barries his face into Megatron’s chest.

“Would it kill you to try flattery every once in a while?” Megatron grumbles but it lacks any real bite.

“Well you’re a confident one aren’t you?” Rodimus chuckles.

Megatron rolls his eyes and lets the matter go but still mutters, “Brat.”

“Heh, yeah,” Rodimus says with a yawn, “Love you too.”

They both tense and Rodimus’s gaze snaps up to Megatron, his face flushed.

“I mean…” Rodimus begins but knows the damage has already been done.

Megatron pulls Rodimus up to him and kisses him, and Rodimus flails a bit before fully realizing what’s happening and sinks into the kiss.

“The feeling is mutual,” Megatron vents over Rodimus’s lips with smug smile.

Rodimus rolls his optics, feigning indifference even though he’s obviously delighted, “Oh, bite me.”

Megatron holds Rodimus to him and rumbles lowly into his neck, “With pleasure.”

[lokibug]

Blinded

Pairing: Loki x Blind!Reader

Summary: Beauty and the Beast AU in which Loki is forced to stay in his Jotun form until another human loves him. He becomes a caretaker for You due to be recently permanently blind.

Warnings: Slight cursing

Song: Haunt by Echoes

A/N: Wow Guys, I never expected this story to get this much appreciation. It’s really incredible, feel free to send me any suggestions or ask to be tagged. I did my best to get you all. Be reminded I’m writing this on mobile haha I also dont own the gifs

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8| Part 9| Part 10

This was unbelievable. From the moment they began searching, his daughter was incredibly picky with those she’s interviewed...or they were picky with her. Quickly Y/F/N stood to his feet.

“Excuse us...Mr. Laufeyson. My daughter and I must talk alone.” He interrupted quickly and ushered y/n up by her elbow.

Y/N grabbed the walking stick next to her and began putting it to use. Sliding it across the tiled floor they finally made it to the kitchen. Her father released his hand from her arm and whisper shouted, “Y/N, are you crazy?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Honey, I know you don’t have your sight so I’m telling you that this man looks insane. He’s wearing gloves. He has those doctor’s mask—“

“Surgical mask.”

“You know what I mean. And he has these things...like scars on his forehead...his skin doesn’t look...” he trailed off hoping that Loki wouldn’t hear anything as he resided in the living room.

“I get it now. Wow dad I can’t believe you’re being racist.” Y/N scoffed.

“Racist?! Y/N do you hear what I’m saying?”

“Yeah and it sounds pretty racist.” She places her hands on her hips. He shook his head and grabbed her arms.

“Listen to me, you don’t have to choose him right away. There could be more applicants.”

“Dad, no. I’m an adult now. If it wasn’t for my condition I would’ve already been gone. I’m not going to sit around and wait for someone to come around. I’m taking this in my own hands while I can.” His face softened a bit. His daughter was right, she was an adult and he could no longer shelter her. “Trust me...” she softly added a small smile appearing afterwards.

Loki shifted upon his heels as he glanced at the picture frames that littered on top of the fireplace. Photos of Y/N’s life captured into small papers. He never understood why humans did this.

I suppose anyone with the lifespan of an insect would take part in this, he thought to himself. He wondered what was so dangerous that a human could be doing to end up blind. Believing asking for help is a sign of weakness, he would soon learn the truth behind his own faulty thoughts.

Interrupting Loki’s gazing, y/n reentered the living room along side her father, “You’re hired, that is if you want the job.” Loki was slightly shocked, but not enough knowing that his words of persuasion were far superior to those around him.

“Infatuating. I accept.”

With the god accepting the job from y/n, they began the life adjustment right away. The movers had brought the few pieces of furniture from Y/N’s father’s home back into the condo that she had resided in before the incident and they brought the few things Loki had with him in the apartment that he was close to being evicted from. He allowed them to do the heavy work, gathering his belongings...all except the timer. A gold detailed hourglass that would lose tiny grains of black sand as days passed by. It now resided in the condo that he shared with y/n for a week now.

Y/N slowly walked out of her room. Upon waking up this morning, she decided she would begin familiarizing herself with the items that were in her home. Of course this was a few hours ago and she finally pulled herself out of her room. Testing herself she gently walked near the living room. Her breathing was a tad shaky due to her nerves acting up. Her lips parted she moved her hands onto the counter. Being unaware of Loki’s presence in the corner of the living room, she felt comfortable leaving herself on display. Her fingers grazed over a ceramic angel to an unlit candle. She chuckled happily as she remembered leaving these items here. Soon her fingertips touched something unfamiliar...it was cold...freezing even.

“What?...” she whispered making Loki look back up from the book he was reading. Due to being inside the home and the drapes closed, he too was on full display. His dark blue skin not covered by drug store makeup he felt more comfortable.

“Don’t touch that!” He growled, darting his red eyes towards y/n.

She yelped and quickly with drew her hand. “Loki!” She shouted angrily.

“You mortals are completely naive to the fact that you’re not the only ones who matter. Or have respect for other people’s belongings.” He grumbled now at her side. She furrowed her eyebrows, being extremely insulted.

“You mortals? And who are you to be talking to me like that? Do you even know how impolite it is to not announce yourself to a blind person?” She took her walking stick and guided herself towards the black wooden table. She leaned against it.

“Its an artifact....it...” he began trying to find ways to explain it, “it was a gift...from my mother.”

“All you had to say was to not touch it.” She said as if it were obvious.

“Yes...well then. Don’t touch it.” Loki shot back.

“Okay.” “Good.”

“Fine.” She spoke before sitting at the table. The chair was pretty tall and allowed her legs to rest gently as they hung. The two were both very stubborn and strong willed. Loki was beginning to understand this about her from their week together. He often found himself becoming irritated with the ways of mortals even now...the only different thing with her was that she too realized the faults in humanity. She knew that morals have fallen so far and knew that it was just the way of the world.

“Where to today?” He asked as he slowly slid the chair out next to her.

“Nowhere important. I was thinking some coffee.” She commented.

“Coffee?...I’ll never understand why you indulge yourself in such mundane tasks.” He added as he tapped his cold fingers on the table.

“Oh I’m sorry Mr. extravagant, let me go drive my car on the race track or I know I’ll go back to my art studio. Oh wait...” She leaned back and took her sunglasses off, placing them on the table as she pointed towards her eyes.

Loki’s eyes scanned the scar that ran down her eye and over the top of her cheek. “Yeah, I’ve noticed.”

“I’ve also noticed how you haven’t freaked out at my monstrous appearance.” He thought.

“Loki, can I ask you something?” Y/N announced.

“Depends.”

“My dad said that...you wore a surgical mask? Glasses too. I mean I know I don’t have the luxury anymore but...can you tell me what you look like?..” she nervously questioned. The curiosity was killing her, she desperately wanted to know what the man living in her condo looked like.

Loki was taken back a bit. He was used to her being so straight forward and snapped back at all his snarking comments. Yet, here she was looking almost child like...simply just to know what he looked like. There was only one problem, he was going to have to lie. Of course this was only slightly, he felt his true form was not this but what he used to be charmed as.

“I...well yes. I wear the mask and the glasses because I have a um...skin condition?” He said more like a question, “and if I get too much sun or light, it could damage it. As for my appearance, I’d say I’m pretty light skinned...due to the lack of sun. My hair is black, it does not pass my shoulders.”

Y/N nodded as she began using her incredible imagination to conjure him up in her mind. Sometimes she would find herself forgetting what things looked like, her doctors warned her of this. “What color are your eyes?” She asked simply.

“Green...sometimes they appear as blue. It depends.” He cleared his throat becoming too invested within his own thoughts. He completely dreaded his appearance. Looking in the mirror would disgust him and he would avoid it as much as he possibly could. He didn’t realize how much he cherished the illusion...till it was gone.

She laughed lightly, “Wow, you must be a charmer with the ladies.” She teased.

“I’m not interested.” He stayed calmly.

“Charmer with the men?” She questioned with her eyebrows raised.

“Gender isn’t the problem y/n. People are.” Loki stated, “I’ll be in my room if you need me.” He made note of his disappearance before he did so.

Y/N caught on to his disengagement within society. Taking much more notice to the tones he would use and the things in general, she knew there was a reason. Someone had corrupted his thinking, allowing it to affect the way he treated people. Y/N knew this because she felt the same.

The sun set and the streets roared. Tourists and workers walked amongst the two. Y/N had her hand gripped tightly among Loki’s elbow, keeping herself as close to him as possible. She would become uneasy while in the streets as this was all new to her. The God had as well, worried that anyone could discover his identity.

“Are we there yet?” Y/N asked. The wind blew through her hair and she mentally thanked herself for remembering to wear a coat on such a cold night. Her jeans were gray and her shirt black. Loki has picked out the boots she wore for her. They too were black.

“I think so, this voice in the box is saying that we have two streets to go.” He said as he held Y/N’s phone in his left gloves hand. He wore a gray wool trench coat with large black buttons along with casual black jeans fitted to his liking and a dark gray t shirt that he had fetched from a thrift store. As for his “disguise” he had Y/N to thank for that.

“Loki! Come here.” She had called out as she stood in front of her closet. Loki has just gotten dressed properly, he never gotten cold due to his jotun blood but wearing a coat would allow him to blend in easier. Making his way towards her room she stood there with a scarf in her hand. Y/N traced her fingers along the fabric.

“Loki?” She questioned making sure he was there. “Yes, I’m here.”

“The cafe is kind of bright, so I thought instead of a mask you might like a scarf? I mean I’m not sure what color this is...I’m almost positive it’s a scarf. I went through a phase where I used to wear them all the time.” She held her hand out as the scarf dangled. He grabbed it gently and didn’t exactly hate the idea. It was better than having to use that grimy makeup he bought.

“...Thanks.” He said softly a little confused as to why she would still help him despite his attitude. He was quite cold, but it never changed her attitude as much.

“Also, I have this hat. I used to wear it a lot too. I’m not sure why I stopped. If memory serves right, it’s right up there. I can’t reach it so maybe you could.” She moved aside from the closet’s entrance.

Loki stepped forward and looked up. There were a few hats in there. One stood out. It was black and looked it would cover his forehead. Immediately he grabbed it effortlessly.

“Black?” He asked.

“Yeah.”

“It’s already sun down, but it still helps the...condition. I um...”

“You’re welcome.” She finished for him.

“One more thing, choose my shoes?”

“It’s a phone.” Y/N replied and chuckled lightly. Loki tolled his eyes. In response.

“Just for your information, I’m rolling my eyes.”

“Don’t do it so much, they might fall out.” She commented and held her hand over her mouth gently as she chuckled again.

Loki allowed himself a smirk.

Looking as if they might rob the place, Loki held the door to the cafe open for Y/N. The familiar scent filled up y/n’s nostrils and she smiled widely. Suddenly she felt Loki’s strong gloved hand wrap around her arm, specifically her elbow. “There’s a few tables by a window...and some closer to the stage...which would you prefer?” He asked leaning down a tad to speak quietly into her ear. His voice still was very easy sounding and made her feel a bit calmer.

“Umm...the stage? It’s a little more dim there.” She suggested and Loki nodded in response.

“Okay.” He walked her slowly over towards the maroon colored couch in the stage area. There were a few comfortable looking chairs and stools around. He had no idea what this was supposed to be. He was even more confused than before. Loki allowed Y/N to sit first then sat next to her. Seeing as though some people stared at him, and others completely seemed as if he hadn’t existed at all...he felt a tad more comfortable than his past times being out of his room.

“Y/N, What is this?” He questioned in a serious tone.

Y/N chuckled lightly, “You’ll see.”

A waitress had come by and asked what they wanted to drink. Loki simply ordered tea and Y/N ordered a coffee.

Not too long after, people began sitting closer. Loki’s eyes immediately scanned across the cafe wondering what was to begin. Nothing. That was when a woman in about her 20s littered in tattoos and piercings sat next to Loki.

“I totally dig your vampire aesthetic dude.” She stared before flipping through her notes on her phone.

“I beg your pardon?” He asked while the girl hadn’t responded. Y/N’s hearing being far better than it used to be, she chuckled hearing the comment.

“Did you wear all black again?” Y/N whispered towards Loki. He glanced down at his appearance and said nothing. “I’ll take your silence as a yes.” As the spot light shone down on the stage, the waitress came back with their drinks. Y/N quietly thanked her and held the warm cup in her hands. Loki did the same. Suddenly a man in about his late 20s approached the stage with a piece of paper in his hands.

“Thank you all for coming.” He said kindly. With that everyone including Y/N either shouted a small “wooo” or snapped their fingers. “My depression is a demon underneath my bed...disguised as a friend...” he trailed on. Slam poetry.

After hearing more, Loki started recognizing these speeches as a form of poetry. He was familiar with Earth’s ancient poets but was never introduced to such a raw form of poetry before, and directly from the poet’s mouth. Much to his surprise, after putting his pride aside...he found himself looking forward to the next performance and the next. These midgardians look so different...Loki thought to himself, yet despite that everyone casts their attention towards the speaker. This was definitely new to the God.

Upon hearing the last performance, Y/N felt the feeling in the woman’s voice. The power. The radiance. Not realizing it, as she clapped along with others a single tear ran down her cheek. Loki looked to his side and seen the tear leak from behind Y/N’s sunglasses. She really did take this seriously. Passionate even. He studied her face for a few seconds before looking in the opposite direction.

Walking home was relaxing. The wind blew gently and the two only exchanged a few words as they both enjoyed the sound of silence. It was comfortable. Soon they arrived home.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” She asked placing her hand on the counter to steady herself.

“What was that?” Loki asked curiously.

“Slam poetry.” “Oh.” He said silently as he took off the scarf and hat.

“I thought you’d might like it...I could hear you sometimes.” She commented.

Loki arched an eyebrow and asked, “Hear me?”

“Yeah, you sometimes read out loud...poems. I thought you’d might enjoy this.”

Loki felt his heart thud feeling slightly embarrassed. Vulnerable even. Had she really done this for him? He blinked a few times. He said nothing.

“Loki?”

“It’s not very polite to eavesdrop y/n. Goodnight.” He stated before walking off towards his room leaving y/n to believe that the God was no more than cold man.

Loki taglist: @drakesfiance @sunflqweroses @bambamwolf87 @pandaqua @bonelessbarnes @dorkybryan @hunter-demigod-timelord @thatmemequeen @powerstrangerdacre @barnes-infinity-bucky Story Taglist: @mrssangsterstylesxavier @slender—spirit @awkward-silence-turtle @vxidnik @fandoms-allovertheplace @limedane21 @yourpotatotwiceremooved @crazyweirdgeekthatneedstochill @ajduurikscjsja @kiwigrease @fireismysaftey @nhievyenne @bambi-loki @bilesxbilinskixlahey @jessiejunebug @imarockstar45 @fuckthatfeeling @the-deity-ofthe-cosmos @ficnalunaus @chibiyanai @zarizha @mell-bell @blueskiesbleakeyes @moonfaery @always-kneel-to-loki @graveyardchild @some-person-somewhere @nutmeg3-7 @aljadams369 @marvelc00kie35 @harleykittykat @lokis-little-kitten @sergeantmistress @sparkling-liability @vicksaturn @youveseen--thebutcher @wickedscorpio22 @zeddlocket @sheeraverage @trenchcoatdevilsworld @wishrains @lokilover5813 @deadmanwalked Permanent Taglist: @marvelismylifffe @libbymouse

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Winter Wolf: Part 12

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst

Word Count: 5,485

Box Filled: Gender Swap

A/N: This series was written for @marvelfluffbingo​ and it took on a life of its own. Enjoy!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11

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

It surprisingly took Steve a lot longer than you expected to return to Wakanda on ‘official royal business.’ You were laying on the couch in your living room, watching four and a half month old Anastasia laugh hysterically as she swatted at the colorful, handmade yarn dolls a woman at Bucky’s job had made for her that were hanging above her head. You smiled at her as you reached out and pushed one of the ones closest to you so that it would catch her eye and laughed with her as she kicked her legs and reached for it.

The knock on your front door startled you and you quickly sat up and grabbed the gun you had wedged between the couch cushion and the back of the couch. With quick movements, you got up and walked on silent feet to glance out the window since most people who came over to visit you and Anastasia called first. You peeked out the window and let out a sigh of relief as you turned the four locks on the door and turned off the house alarm system.

“Well I’ll be damned.” You laughed as you stepped back and let a very scruffy Steve into your two bedroom, two bath apartment. “That’s a good way to get shot in this house.” He nearly tripped over his own feet as you locked the house back up, turned the alarm back on, and put your gun on the table by the door.

“What is this?” He asked as he pointed to the little girl on the floor who was looking up at him in awe.

“It’s a baby.” You said with a shrug as you moved the arch away from Anastasia so you could pick her up. “And if we wanna get really technical, it’s a girl baby.” Steve’s face deadpanned as he met your eyes.

“Didn’t realize I became blind overnight but thanks. Where did the girl baby come from?”

“Anastasia…” You said as you balanced your daughter on your hip. “… came from Romania. Her birth mother was an old friend of mine named Daniela who had terminal cancer. Her father was a tourist and Daniela’s moms was a hardcore gypsy that surprisingly would absolutely not raise a baby born out of wed-lock no matter what her husband said. And she was a blatant racist so the mix race thing was not helping Anastasia’s case either. So, Buck and I took her. Well, we didn’t take her, I guess we officially adopted her. T’Challa’s lawyer guy helped us figure out the paper work so her official birth certificate says that we are her parents. So meet your… well technically you could meet your little sister…”

“Oh, my gosh, stop.” He laughed as he reached out his hands to hold her. “Anastasia, you said?” You nodded as you passed over your daughter.

“Anastasia Daniela Barnes. Her mom named her and we figured honoring her mom with the middle name was appropriate.”

“I like it.” He said as he sat down on the couch with her on his thighs. “Hi cutie.” Your daughter looked at him a little confused as she reached out to grab his beard. You laughed and gently intercepted.

“Bucky has to stay either clean shaven or he keeps his beard real short.” You said with a laugh. “We learned really fast that once she gets ahold of something she wants, she will not let go. We both keep our hair back in buns just to keep it out of her reach.”

“She’s beautiful.” He said with a smile as he held onto her sides so that his fingers were supporting her head even though she didn’t need it as much these days. “Now I’m curious. What is she?”

“Romanian, Puerto Rican, Guatemalan, African-American, and a splash of Scottish, Italian, and Greek. I had Shuri run her ancestry DNA when we did a full check up on her when we got her. She was born the day before Bucky and I got married and we got her when she was three days old.”

“God, she’s so cute. I can’t believe you two are parents.” You smile proudly and snagged one of the many toys off the floor.

“Me neither. It’s been a wild ride.”

“I bet.” He laughed as he watched you bop your daughter on the nose with a pink, stuffed rhino rattle to grab her attention. She laughed and reached for it as Steve looked around the living room. “Where’s Bucky?”

“At work.” You said as you handed your little girl her toy. “He got a really good job in IT at the transportation hub. He loves it. He actually should be home in an hour or so if you wanna stick around. I should probably start dinner anyways if you wanna entertain your niece.”

“I think I can handle that, what do you think?” He asked Anastasia, who simply tried to eat her rattle in response.

“Just keep your beard away from her grabby little hands.” You said with a laugh as you got up and headed to the kitchen. “She’s a sneaky little monster sometimes.”

“You can’t be a little monster.” He growled playfully as he picked her up off his thighs and slid down to the floor with her to play. “You’re too cute, right? Yes, you are.” You smiled to yourself as Steve continued to baby talk to your daughter while you got dinner ready for your family and your guest.

With Steve distracting your daughter, you got the homemade Italian dressing marinated chicken, the fettuccini you made from scratch that morning, and the Alfredo you found a recipe for on a website called Pinterest (which was, in your opinion, the greatest thing in the entire world) cooked in no time. You were just getting everything plated when the automatic smart locks on your doors unlocked and the alarm signaled it was temporarily disengaged with a beep. You looked up at the door from the kitchen as Bucky stepped in the door with a sigh.

“Hi baby.” You said with a smile. “We have a visitor.” Bucky looked over at you as he turned the last lock before turning the other way.

“Well I’ll be damned. If it isn’t Captain America. And my little angel.” He cooed as he went over to say hi to his friend and pick up his giggly little girl. “Oh, I missed you!”

“Never thought I’d see the day.” Steve said as he got up off the floor with a laugh. “Playboy Bucky Barnes has a kid.”

“I got bamboozled by the cute.” He laughed as he kissed Anastasia’s forehead. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here on ‘official business’.” Steve said sarcastically with air quotes as Bucky came over to give you a kiss hello. “We’re trying to fine tune the Sokovia Accords and I figured I’d stop in to see how the newlyweds were doing while I was here.” He laughed as Bucky turned his head away from Anastasia before she could grab his bun.

“Didn’t expect the baby, did you?” Bucky laughed as he grabbed one of the plates to help you out before starting a bottle for his daughter.

“Not one bit.” Steve laughed as you passed him his plate and grabbed silverware for everyone. “But then again you two have been full of surprises in the last year.”

“We gotta keep life interesting, Stevie. I’ve been around long enough to know that.”

“Million years really is a long time.” Bucky teased as the three of you sat down at the table to eat.

“Shut up!” You laughed as he laid Anastasia across his arm and his lap and gave her her bottle before you went back to trying her on soft solid food again. He propped it on his chest and used his elbow to keep it upright so that he could still eat and make up for the time he spent away from home that day.

“I’d still love you even if you were as old as the dinosaurs.” He cooed with a smile as you cut his chicken just to make it easier for him to multitask.

“Guys, you’re gunna make me sick before I can even enjoy this meal.” Steve joked as he twirled some pasta around his fork.

“You’ll be fine.” Bucky said around a mouthful of fettuccini.

“So what’s going on in New York?” You asked with a glance over at your friend. “Do you have any juicy gossip for us?”

“Well.” Steve said as he chewed. “Not really. Teams good. We had a mission a couple weeks ago that was a pointless waste of time. Some idiot tried to release anthrax bombs in Central Park and apparently that now requires the Avengers to step in.” He rolled his eyes and sighed with a shake of his head. “Hence the reason I’m here talking to T’Challa. I’m trying to get some semblance of balance to these Accords which is proving to be difficult as expected.”

“How’s Tony?” Bucky inquired with a glance over at you.

“Tony’s… well, Tony. He and Pepper got engaged.”

“‘bout time.” You mumbled as you twirled your fork on your plate. “Is he… has he said anything about me?” You looked up at Steve through your lashes as he shook his head subtly.

“Nothing good nor bad. No one wants to bring either of you up.” You nodded as took a bite of your food to avoid inquiring about the next person but Steve answered the unspoken question anyways. “Natasha’s back. She just showed up about two months ago without a word of explanation of where she had been…”

“Good for her.” Bucky said curtly; still harboring a grudge for your ex.

“How’s Wanda?” You ask to change the sensitive subject. Steve nodded and swallowed his bite.

“She’s good. I think Vision is talking about proposing but I’m not entirely sure.”

“Awe, good.” You said with a genuine smile. “Those two are so good for each other.”

“Yea, yea they are.” Steve agreed with a nod. He could feel the slight layer of tension building in the room and quickly changed the subject to prevent an argument over Natasha. “So tell me more about my niece.”

——

“She’s asleep.” Bucky sighed as he closed the nursery door quietly behind him and trudged toward the couch you had flopped down on after saying goodbye to Steve. With a groan, he laid down on the couch practically on top of you and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Finally.”

“I think she’s teething.” You said as you ran your metal fingers through his hair and pulled out the hair tie. “That’s what the book suggested. She was fussy for a couple days but she wouldn’t let me near her mouth to check.” He nodded against your stomach and buried his face in your shirt.

“Did you put those squishy things in the freezer?”

“Yes, James. I can mother, thank you.” You teased as you rolled your head on the arm of the couch to look at him.

“You sure? I still question if I can father, properly.” You giggled with him and laced your fingers together on his back.

“I think we’re doing just fine.” He said with a smile as he looked up at you. “We’re in this together, remember?” You nodded your head as he adjusted his head on your stomach with a content sigh. You let your eyes fall closed, just content on existing in that peaceful moment with your husband. You could feel his fingers making tiny, tight patterns on your back under your loose fitting shirt and moving at a glacial pace up your spine. There was no rush and no urgency, there was just love.

A knock on your front door caused both of you to stiffen and sigh at your ruined moment. Bucky pushed himself up off your chest and grabbed the gun from the couch cushions. You got up as well and purposely moved yourself between the front door and the nursery. With a glance over his shoulder at you, he turned off the alarm and unlocked the doors.

His whole body tensed as he quickly shove his foot against the back of the door and pointed his gun at whoever was on the other side. You instantly backed up to the nursery door and yanked off your shirt so that you would have better movement when you needed it. You tried to make your five foot six, thankfully muscular body as big as you could in the doorway and wished that you had put a weapon next to the door frame like you had wanted to.

“The fuck are you doing here?” Bucky demanded with more animosity and venom in his voice then you had ever heard before. Which meant one of two things; both of which you were not ready to face.

“Can I talk to her?” Natasha asked softly with tears obvious in her tone.

“Shut the door.” You said from your place.

“You need to leave, now.” Bucky growled.

“Please, I just need to see her!”

“You don’t need to do shit!” Bucky snapped back. “Leave, Natasha.”

“Please.” She begged as Anastasia started to fuss behind you. “Please, I just need to apologize.”

“You have no place to say sorry to me.” You snapped as you stormed away from the nursery door. You put your hand on Bucky shoulder and moved him back a step to look at the partially unrecognizable blonde in front of you. “You’re not welcome here.”

“My star…” She tried but you grabbed your gun from Bucky and cocked it harshly.

“No!” You shouted, which effectively woke your daughter up. “You stood there, Natasha. You just stood there when I needed you the most. You stood there and shook your head. You didn’t even try to defend the woman you supposedly loved as I was thrown from my home. I lost everything! My family, my security, my sanity. All of it was gone and Bucky was the only person that stood up to protect me. Steve did what he could but that wasn’t his responsibility; it was yours. And you- did- nothing!”

“(Y/N)…” She tried as tears fell from her eyes. You heard Bucky growl behind you as he turned to go to the nursery for Anastasia and you shook your head at your ex.

“No, Nat. I don’t want to hear it. Because even though I left, you still did nothing. Sure, you tried to hunt me down but, as you quickly realized, I won’t be found if I don’t wanna be. So that was a waste of time. Let me ask you this. Have you even bother to talk to Tony about me once? Did you try even one time to get him to see that I am not that monster anymore? Or did you just play victim because you choose to literally turn your back on your girlfriend and she was taken from your life like you promised would never happen? I don’t even need an answer from you because I already know it. You played the victim. I expected more from you Natalia. So much more. Especially after you fought so hard for Clint, who you have said you didn’t love as much as me, to get him back into your arms when Loki had him try to murder you.”

“Baby…”

“Go to hell, Natasha. I want nothing to do with you. Stay away from me, stay away from my family, stay the fuck away from Wakanda. Go do you, you heartless shrew because you sure as fuck aren’t doing me ever again.” Without another word, you slammed the front door closed and turned the locks as fast as your fingers would go. Once the alarm was reset, you set your gun down and followed your daughters screaming to the back bedroom.

“She gone?” Bucky snapped as he bounced Anastasia in his arms.

“She’s gone.” You said with a nod as you locked the secondary door in your room and sent out a silent thanks for Shuri making your house impenetrable once the alarm was set. “Come here, angel.” You carefully took Anastasia from Bucky and walked over to the bed with her while Bucky started to pace.

“How’d she even find us?” He asked angrily as he yanked off his work shirt and chucked it across the room toward the laundry hamper. “Who the fuck does she think she is?”

“She’s gone, Bucky.” You said softly as you rubbed your daughter’s back and laid her out on your sports bra covered chest.

“She has no right.” He snapped as he continued to get undressed. “No right to just show up here like that.” You nodded in agreement as you tried to check Anastasia’s mouth again since she was awake. “Who does she think she is?”

“I don’t know, baby.” You said evenly as you forced yourself to keep your anger at bay and you absolutely felt one of her teeth near the surface of Anastasia’s bottom gums. “She’s teething.” Bucky glanced over at you and did a double take as your daughter grabbed your hand almost to hold the soothing metal in place. He climbed on the bed slowly as Anastasia’s crying turned into hiccups.

“Oh, baby girl.” He said sadly as he leaned against the headboard so that he was right in front of her. “You’re OK, sweetheart.” She hiccuped again as he reached up to brush his hand over the back of her head.

“We’re in for a world of fun.” You said softly as she started to chew on your finger. He nodded as her eyes started to slowly drift closed again.

“We’ll figure it out.” He said as he helped get the pair of you under the blankets. “We always do.” You nodded in agreement as he kissed Anastasia’s forehead and laid back against his pillow.

“Think she’ll tell Tony we’re here?” You asked as he grabbed the padded co-sleeper from under the bed.

“Probably.” He said as he laid the sleeper down between you knowing neither of you would sleep comfortably that night if she wasn’t in the room with you. “We’re safe here, though. Tony can’t get into Wakanda without T’Challa knowing about it anyways…”

“Nat did.” You said as you brushed your fingertips down Anastasia’s back so she would fall back to sleep.

“Yea, well now we’re prepared.” He said a little harshly.

“OK.” You said as you looked over at him. “OK…”

“Sorry, baby.” He said as he ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh. “She just… she makes me so mad.”

“I know, baby.” You agreed as you carefully pulled your hand back and laid your daughter down in her sleeper. “But we’re better than her now, right? We’re parents now. We can’t stoop down to her level.”

“Yea.” He said with small smile as he laid down next to the other little lady that stole his heart. “Yea, you’re right.”

“I’m always right, James.” You giggled as you got up to wash your face and get ready for bed. “That’s why you married me.”

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

After the night Natasha showed up, you started to live in fear. Every time you stepped outside with Anastasia, you carried an unnecessary amounts of weapons on your person and constantly kept your head on a swivel. After two weeks of jumping at every little thing, the Wolf came back and began to taunt the safety of you and more specifically, your baby girl. And at that point, you locked yourself and Anastasia in your apartment and had your weekly groceries delivered by a teenage boy that lived in your building.

Bucky wanted to protest your seclusion but he was equally as scared for the two loves of his life. He convinced you once about a month after Nat showed up to leave the house just to head up to a restaurant on the corner. He barely made it long enough to order the food to go and rush you back home with a mild case of whiplash. He knew you were at least safe in your home, so after that failed attempt to be social, he looked the other way about you staying home all the time.

Anastasia was growing like a weed. One day she was needing help to sit up on your lap or on the floor and the next thing you knew, she was seven months old, crawling across the wood floors as fast as her chubby arms and legs could carry her, and practicing her standing as long as you held on to her sides. You were beyond ecstatic that her first word was ‘mama’, which Bucky wasn’t a huge fan of, but she didn’t disappoint for long because ‘dada’ came about a week later followed by ‘ba.’ And thus began the part of her life where she would follow you around after you while you cleaned, babbling ‘mama dada’ for hours over the sounds of her knees and palms clomping on the floors.

“She does this all day?” Bucky asked as he helped put away the lunch leftovers on one of his Tuesdays off. You smirked and nodded as you wiped down your kitchen counters while Anastasia sat right next to your legs on the floor repeating your name with the occasional ‘dada’ mixed in as she chewed on a frozen strawberry in a mesh pacifier.

“Every day. We’re getting a lot better at separating our names though.” He laughed as he walked over and looked down at her with his hands on his hips.

“What are you doing?” He said playfully as she looked up at him with a smile.

“Ma dada… da mama!” She said as she reached for him with one arm, not willing to pull the fruit pacifier from her mouth.

“That’s progress.” You laughed as Bucky picked her up and tossed her in the air a couple inches.

“I still can’t believe she’s ours.” He said as walked over and sat down on the couch with her. “I also can’t believe how fast she’s grown.”

“I know.” You sighed with a nod as you hung your rag over the middle of the sinks. “I just want it to stop already. Make her stay cute forever.”

“Yea, because both of us wanna change diapers for the rest of eternity.” He laughed as you flopped down on the couch for a break before you went back to doing laundry. You rested your elbow on the armrest and propped your head on your fist as you watched your daughter ‘walk’ up Bucky’s thighs and stomach while she continued to chew on her strawberry.

“We need to leave Wakanda.” You said softly. Your husband slowly nodded his head in agreement.

“I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Tears welled in your eyes as the pair of you just watched your daughter with more love than either of you knew was possible. She walked her way up his chest so that her little feet were on his face and squealed in joy when he playfully pretended to eat her toes.

“Where should we go?” You whispered, not trusting your voice any louder.

“We can stay in Africa for a while.” He suggested with a glance over at you as he held his daughter over his thighs again. “Head south until we hit the end of the continent then try to catch a ride over to Asia. Head toward Australia. We’ll just keep moving.” You nodded your head and looked over at him as a few tears fell from your eyes. “We’re gunna be OK, baby girl. We know how to survive on the run. And we’ll just be more hyper-vigilant with Anastasia.”

“OK.” You whispered as you pushed across the couch to rest your head on his shoulder. “I’ll call up to Okoye and we’ll leave tonight?” He nodded his head as he turned to kiss the top of your head.

“We’ll pack as light as we can with her when she goes down for a nap. Get out after dark.” You nodded your head and sighed as you got up off the couch.

“I’ll get the laundry finished and make that call.” You heard him mumble ‘alright’ as he took the empty pacifier from Anastasia before she could throw it.

“Come on, pumpkin. Nap time.”

——

“Our clothes, her clothes, bottles, formula, baby food…” You said to yourself as you went through the two, overflowing backpack duffle bags on your bed. “… toys, bathroom bags, pacifiers, blankets.”

“We can strap this to your backpack.” Bucky said as he tossed the padded sleeper on the bed and grabbed the baby carrier from under the bed as well. “The play pen is a little too big to carry with us.”

“True.” You said as you grabbed the ball of twine and the sleeper off the bed. “Did you empty out every drawer on the changing table into the diaper bag?”

“And the extra stuff in the closet.” He said with a nod. “You got the new load of groceries in there?” You nodded your head as you checked the weight of both backpacks to make sure Bucky’s wasn’t too heavy.

“I think we should bring the stroller.” You said as you set his backpack aside, deeming it full enough. “I think we’ll regret it more if we don’t.”

“It’d make carrying the car seat easier. We could fill the bottom up with more stuff…”

“It would make carrying bottles of water easier.” You agreed. You grabbed the Ziplock bag of baby medicines, sunscreen, and other necessities for Anastasia and threw them in the last bit of space in your bag. “These are both done.” He nodded his head, acknowledging that he heard what you said as he pulled the old SIM cards from your cell phones and grabbed new ones and a pair of burner phones from your bedside table drawer. He pulled weapon after weapon from the drawer as you put everything from the room out in the hall.

“You gunna carry her first?” He asked as you came back in and started to load your old Winter Wolf cargo pants with guns and knives.

“Yea, I got her.” You said as you checked the gun you would keep on your hip to make sure it was fully loaded and the safety was on. You put it in your holder and made sure that it was far enough back that there was no way your daughter could reach it before grabbing the carrier off the bed. You followed Bucky out to the living room to load up anything else you could fit in the stroller; a case of water, some laundry soap you otherwise would have had to leave behind, and a few more of her favorite toys, and took one final look around your apartment for anything else you could possibly need.

“We have all the cash?” You asked as you headed toward the nursery to grab your daughter to leave.

“Yea, it’s all in the diaper bag.” He said as he put his backpack and the diaper bag on and grabbed the carseat to put in the front of the stroller. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you as you carefully picked your sleeping daughter up from her crib and put her in the baby carrier. You made sure to grab her bedtime blanket and her favorite stuffed bunny rabbit before heading out of the room to get your own backpack.

“You got everything?” He asked softly as he helped you put the backpack on so you didn’t jostle Anastasia too much.

“Anything we forgot, we can replace.” You responded as you tucked the blanket and bunny into the carseat. “Oh, grab the fold up booster seat.” You said as you pointed to the chair in the corner by the dinner table. You pushed the stroller to the door as he stuck the seat across the top and added the two bottles of water for you to the cup holders.

“Alright.” Bucky said as he looked back around your apartment while you shut off the alarm and unlocked the door. “Bye first house.” You couldn’t bring yourself to turn around and look back at it as you pulled open the door.

“Let’s just go, baby.” You forced yourself not to tear up as you headed down the hall to the elevator.

“It’s alright, (Y/N).” Your husband said as he rubbed your shoulder with a small smile on his face. “We’re gunna be just fine. We can handle this.” You took a deep breath as the elevator opened on the ground floor and nodded.

“Yep. We’re…”

“Running away with a baby?” A voice asked from the shadows that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You whipped your gun out at lighting speed and turned around as Tony stepped out of the shadows. “Do you really think that’s the best parenting choice there.”

“Back up.” Bucky growled as he moved between you and Tony with his gun pointed at the man as well. “Baby, go.”

“No, no.” Tony said as he took a step closer with his hands raised. He instantly took two steps back as both you and Bucky cocked your guns and flipped off the safeties. “Look, I know you’re both a little jaded here…”

“A little?” You asked as your eyes darted around the street; catching Steve and Wanda hiding in the shadows in the alley across from you, Vision a block behind you behind a car, Clint on the roof across from you… and Natasha peeking out from the alley behind Tony.

“Wonder why…” Bucky growled.

“Yea, you have the right to be mad. I was an asshole. Plain and simple. But I was wrong. And I’m man enough to admit that. So if you wanna hide out, go ahead. You wanna raise your kid in fear here in Wakanda… yea, I know everything.” Tony said as you shared a side eyed glance with Bucky. “You wanna stay here, go ahead. T’Challa said that was fine by him. You wanna come back to the towers and feel safe, you can do that, too.” You forced yourself to keep your face unreadable as you searched Tony’s eyes.

“I’ll stay away.” Natasha said softly. “I won’t come near any of you. Just please. Please come home where you belong.”

“She’d be safe.” Bucky whispered in Xhosa without taking his eyes off Tony or Natasha as you watched the other Avengers. “Both of you.”

“Is it worth dealing with the other half of the problem?” You asked with a side look over at him.

“We’d be safe.” He repeated. “And we wouldn’t have to keep running.” You sighed, knowing that he was right and that dealing with Natasha was worth guaranteeing that the voices didn’t come back and that Anastasia would be safe forever.

“Come on, guys.” Steve called out as he took a few steps forward. “Do it for my niece.” You looked over at Bucky, who you knew wanted to go home and not have to work every day even if he wouldn’t admit it, and sighed.

“Fine.” You breathed as you flipped on the safety and ejected the bullet in the chamber of your gun. You could hear the subtle sigh of relief from your husband as he put his gun up while the other members of the team all stood down.

“You stay away from them.” Bucky growled as he pointed at Natasha and put the diaper bag on the stroller. She nodded and took a few steps back as Steve came over to say hi to Anastasia.

“I’m guessing you still have stuff upstairs?” He asked as he brushed his fingers over the top of her head.

“We packed as light as possible so yea.” You said with a nod.

“Alright then. Steve, get them to the jet. We’ll get the rest…”

“I’ll go up with you.” Bucky said as he pulled off his backpack and passed it to Steve. “We can just pile everything that’s left in the crib.”

“Leave the furniture and the dishes behind and put a note on the woman across the hall’s door that she can help herself to whatever is left over as a thanks for her son getting our groceries.” You told him as Steve took off your backpack for you. He nodded his head and headed back toward your apartment building as Steve put his hand on your back.

“Let’s go home, (Y/N).” He said with a smile as he lead you behind Natasha to the quinjet that was parked on the palace jet pad.

“I just hope it’s not the worst decision we’ve ever made.” You muttered as you stared daggers into Natasha’s back.

Part 13

[themclovenlegacy]

In light of the new Nathema update, I’ve decided to write a fic about Oddosal and his future husband Theron.

Side note: this fic has absolutely nothing to do with the new update, it just about a moment in time between these two sometime after Ziost. I haven’t written in a long time so…its probably gonna be bad. I don't care though, cuz this is my third post and its 2;30 in the morning. ill be less weird in the morning.

Here it is...

Theron stared out the window and over the horizon of Tatooine, admiring the view of the two suns as they set at dust. He closed his eyes as the peace he didn’t know he was missing settled over him. It had been a long time since he felt this way, or ever if he remembered correctly. But he had here, even if here was actually the stronghold of one of the most powerful Sith in Empire.

It had been months since he had last seen Oddosal. Since Ziost, it had been difficult to keep up with him. He had been put on leave for his actions and that left him under near constant surveillance when he was at the office. Well, he wasn't proud at what he done back then, but he thought it was a good idea at the time. Anything to protect the Republic from the emperor, right.

What surprised him though was Oddosal and his behavior in those last moments he was with him. Being an imperial citizen and a member of the Dark Council, it would be wise for him to look for different ways to improve the Empire and stop the Emperor and, though he hated to admit it, that could have been possible if he had taken Master Surro with him to do, what he knew to be, an intense and intrusive experiment on her mind to find information. Instead, he let her go with him. He know Lana was seething, and beside her complaint when he was there, he wasn't sure if she would dare to question him twice after he left.

One thing he did know was that Odd’s wasn’t like any Sith he had ever met before, or probably would ever meet again.

Which lead him to his current position. After months of administrative leave, then returning to the field with the condition that he would have to routinely check in with a partner, he was allowed more freedom. He’d be ashamed to admit it but one of the first things he did was check up on his not-so-lover. He even fiddled with the communicator he receive upon their last meeting on Yavin 4, wondering what it would be like if he actually used it, even though he should have did the right thing and turned it over to be tracked and possibly used to help the Republic.

After several weeks of this, he decided that using caution wasn't one of his strong points anyway and the worst that could happen was...well...he’d rather not think about it. So, while relaxing in his private quarters on Coruscant, making sure no one would drop in and hear anything, he type in the frequency and waited for someone to answer. He was surprised someone picked up, and even more so when he saw who it was.

Staring back at him was Cipher Nine, a legend and a ghost even in the Republic. Their eyes met, her red ones to his green, her expression clearly bemused.

“Theron Shan?” she said quizzically.

“Uh…”

All of a sudden, her eyes widen incredulously before she started laughing, her blue face flushing in amusement. He watch in confusion as she wiped the tears from her eyes from laughing so hard. When she spoke again, she let out little chuckles to herself.

“I can’t believe...she was...I thought he was insane...but here you are...and...I owe her hundred credits now,” she muttered out. Clearly whatever she was talking about involved him and possibly a bet.

“Uh...I think I have to wrong frequency. I’ll just…,” he paused, rubbing his forehead nervously.

“No, No. This is the right one. Shaynasa gave you this holo, right” she questioned? All he could do was nodded.

“Then you got it right. You’re probably wondering why it called me in the first place. Well long story short, Me, Shay, Oddosal have worked together for a while so I owe them.” Theron just stared wide-eyed.

“Soooo, I’m guessing you wanna meet up with him then. Missing those muscled arms at night? That burning gaze? That tall sta…”

“Ok I get it,” Theron rubbed his redden face with a sigh as she snickered, “Normally, I would want to know how he got someone who literally doesn’t exist anymore to work with him, but I'm not really surprised by it. So, since we’re here, I wanna...uh.”

“See him.”

“...Possibly.”

“Well, Possibly, I have news for you. He wants to see you just as bad so you're in luck. You’re not the only one who’s been keeping tabs on their significant other. Odd can’t stand not knowing you’re ok. For a man so powerful and lived the type of carefree lifestyle he had before, it's a wonder he commits so much time to your wellbeing,” she shrugs.

He was speechless. Just knowing that he wasn't the only one looking out for whatever they had left him feeling funny inside.

“Since this is happening, I have one thing to clear up first,” she continued on. Suddenly, her eyes harden and she spoke icily, “Should you do anything to hurt him in any kind of way, you will regret it. You got that?”

All he could do was nod his head in shock and agreement.

“Good, now let get you two lovebirds in the same room.”

After some weird planning, it was decided that Tatooine, due to their laxer laws would be the place to meet. Theron wasn't so sure about how they were going to get him there and since there wasn't many missions coming out of Tatooine right now, he didn't want to look suspicious asking about it.

“Let me handle that,” the cipher had said with an ominous grin.

Theron really didn’t believe anything would come of that call. How was she gonna get him alone Tatooine? He had his doubts, but not even a week later he was on a ship to Tatooine. The director apparently just learned of a contact, a bounty hunter who worked with someone under the dark council who had information exchange for safety. Usually the director didn’t go for missions like this, but whatever the information was it’s important and it was a time sensitive mission and he was suddenly the only available person that could go. However, the director informed him during the trip over, due to the planets mostly uncharted nature, he was instructed that communication would be limited to priority and emergency call only.

So there he was on a speeder to an undisclosed location where upon his arrival met his next surprise. A blaster pointed at his face. He followed the blaster up the arm and to the blue face of the renowned Great Hunter. They stared at each other for a moment from she rolled her red eyes and holstered her blaster.

“If you were a bounty right now, you’d be dead. My sister said you were reckless, but for a spy, I didn’t think you’d be this stupid too.”

“Uh…”

“Love makes you dumb, yeah yeah. No time for small talk, I'm on hunting vacation with my husband and my little sister is lucky I kind of like her a little. Now move.”

Theron didn’t time to respond as he pushed onto another speeder and they sped away.

Once they arrived she gave him the passcode and unlocked security for him.

“Big Bad won’t be here for a few more hours, so get comfortable. Also should you decide to explore, don’t go into the big dome building, Shay keeps her pets there and some are mean. Some rooms are private so they’ll be locked. Need anything ask the droids. Bye.”

With that as quick as she was here, she was gone, leaving him alone.

Leaning over the lounge couch lining along the walls, he continued to watch the beauty in the sky. Since he’d gotten here, he’d roamed the surrounding area, steering clear of the dome when he heard a loud roar. Most rooms were locked, but some that weren’t contained bedrooms suites or libraries and artifacts.

Upon returning to the lounging area, he marveled at the fact that there was no sand in this area even with the open outlook in front of him. He discovered that due to some type of tech, perhaps a field generator?, nothing came in or fall out of the area. He tested this by tossing a pebble at it. He was about to try again, but a droid abruptly appeared and  ‘politely’ reminded him some places are hard to clean and would appreciate it if him stopped.

So he just relaxed and finished up on some work he had been putting off. Some time later, he heard the locks disengage and the door slide open. He looked up and saw Oddosal, Shaynasa and his crew enter. Oddosal paused by the door as his crew mates wandered off towards their quarters. As the crew entered the elevator to the lower levels, Shay smirked and winked at him as the door slide closed.

Finally after months without seeing each other, they were finally alone. Theron stood from his seat and stared at Oddosal, before looking down at his feet. He looked back up to say something and stepped back, almost falling back down into his seat, as Oddosal was suddenly standing in front of him, eyes baring down at him. They stared at each other, studying each other’s faces. Theron realized that Odd’s eyes were more a burnt orange now then the blazing yellow they were when he last saw him.

“I…” Theron started.

Suddenly, Theron’s lips were captured in a hungry kiss and he was lifted up into strong arms. He wrapped his arms around Odd’s neck and legs around his hips as he was carried across the room to an adjacent one. As he the door slid open and closed behind them, he decided they could talk later.

***

Theron slowly blinked his eyes open at the sound of a holo beeping. He heard a groan behind him, before an arm stretched over him and cut it off. The room return to silence as Odd nuzzled back into him. He sighed and closed eyes again, comforted by the arm thrown over his waist.

“Sorry, alarm,” Odd mumbled into his neck. Theron just smiled sleepily.

“I wish we can be like this more,” he sighed as he turned around in Oddosal’s arms, rubbing across his bare chest. Oddosal grinned and leaned over to kiss him. They both hummed at the kiss before they pulled apart.

“This is really weird for me.” Theron said. “I’m not use to whatever this is between us. I don’t know...I mean... I…”

He was silenced by a peck on the lips.

“Let’s just spend what time we have together. No worries, no Empire, no Republic. Just us. We aren’t here for either of those things so let’s just enjoy where we are for now,” Oddosal whispered into his neck before nipping at it.

Theron moaned softly and just stared up at the ceiling as Oddosal buried into his neck pressing more kisses there.

“You’re weird.”

Oddosal just laughed and rolled on top of him, kissing him into submission. Theron just closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Odd’s neck as he worked his way down his chest. Well, if something goes wrong he’ll deal with it later. He’s here now so he’s just going to enjoy this time he has. Though, he should probably worry about what he was going to tell the director now.

“Ouch!” Theron looked at Odd as he pull away from him with a deadpan stare.

“You’re thinking too much again.” he said, kissing him after. Theron gripped the back of his head as they kissed hungrily. Theron thought, ‘yeah, he was’ and let his mind go blank.

[apexart-journal]

Ann Quintano in NYC, Day 8

Global Soundmap Project (listen at https://radio.aporee.org)

I listened to these sounds very, very low for half hour then the next half hour on quite loud. It is a fascinating fly over of the world the geography of which is sound. The site shows you what country, city or even block from where the sound  comes and also what is making the sound though sometimes you just guess at it. There are squeaking gates, eavesdropping on conversations, clapping crowds....there were even skateboarding sounds right from N. Moore st where I happened to have been today! One exciting one came from Virginia of an intense hail storm. You hear different languages in soft conversations or universal sound of laughter. I couldn’t help but wonder about such geography of sound in thinking of my deaf friends from the small deaf church to which I belong. Or next on my itinerary of mapping the city sounds could I map those sounds visually? I remember one time at the church lunch looking up startled by the sound of a woman at the table coughing furiously as she had something caught in her throat. The man next to me was intrigued by my alertness to her and asked me (in sign language) was it a loud sound she made, is that how you knew? I explained yes but that it was also the color of her face which turned bright red.

After the sound map I walked from Grand Central over to Tudor St Plaza and looped to 50th and back down to Grand Central all the while noticing the sounds of the city. There were so many!! loud trucks...back up beeps from trucks...someone talking on phone...an idling truck...scrap of shoe on pavement...beep of metrocard....clanking of the rails of the train...whirring...squeaking...ding dong of metrocard as someone gets on bus...hip hop blaring from a radio...exhaust valve hissing...jackhammer..construction workers laughing...train announcements grand central...at noon church bells...roaring of racing car motor...motorcycle...bicycle bell...surprisingly not much chatter and conversation on the streets. I hate the loud sound of motorcycles. One kind of unique city sound was the sound of protestors across from the UN with a megaphone. I could hear it up in Tudor City Park. And of course there were even more sounds. I probably ignore a lot of them usually but loud sounds rattle me but I do like the regular hum of city traffic.

Next it was a self guided tour of Church of Scientology. It’s not too self-guided. Tyler and Nicole hovered over me showing me a bunch of videos about their beliefs and questioning me on my level of interests and would I like to be ‘audited’. I felt auditing and the general soon-to-kidnap me aura of my hosts was, well, some kind of crazy a-- s--t. It was a little hard to disengage from them and I had such relief when I was out of there.  Most of what I saw on the videos was all about improving your life and relationships. Almost all religions have a tradition of caring and serving others in need. That seemed very absent...it seemed all about the well being of self.

I went down to Tribeca to have a nice meeting with Abbie; go over this past week and take a look at the itinerary for next week. This has been such a fantastic week. I asked if I could stay on for a few months!!! I am however, once again out of my comfort zone tomorrow when I have to return from Greenwood Cemetery at after 10:30 at night. I don’t like to travel at night and since I’m up at 4 or 5am that gets me home way past my bedtime!!! It’s all about stretching oneself, doing the unfamiliar....

The cello concert was canceled tonight so I went, alternatively, to the new park at Lincoln Center which just opened today. A wonderful stretch of green and odd shapes and slopes. I sat for a while going over the weeks reflection questions and got wet from the fountain which literally roared and puts the Las Vegas Bellagio fountain to some competition. Kids were having a great time playing by the fountain and getting soaked. Without a sketchbook in a way I saw more. Sketching folks I would be more focused on the art so even art can sometimes get in the way of seeing. So I was just watching. Well tomorrows my full....and fearful....day. But even though it will be dark night in the cemetery at least its not halloween.   Bye for now....

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, @airuna!

Rated Explicit!

Won’t You Ride My Sleigh Tonight

Magnus and Alec stood in the hallway outside the loft, Alec wondering at all the lights and decorations that Magnus has made appear suddenly.

“Mags, you’re the sole habitant of this building, why decorate every floor?”

“For fun my darling.  Sometimes I like to take a stroll and the loft isn’t endlessly long, and its cold outside, and I don’t feel like portal ling anywhere, especially not without you.”

Alec blushed, and nodded. “Should we go in now? Or are you still redecorating?”

Magnus stood, tapping his chin, “one more thing.”

Magnus, with extra flourish, snaps his fingers and glitter appears to coming down like snow.

Alec looked up, because he couldn’t help it, and stared at what had appeared above him, floating in midair.

“Um, what’s that?”

“Just another Christmas tradition I thought you’d like.”

“Why didn’t Raphael tell us about this?”

“He was being respectful, as I’m certain you didn’t want to hear about him and your sister kissing.”

“WHAT???? I mean I know they do but what does this have to do with that?”

“This my darling is mistletoe.  I’m actually not sure where and why it began, but its commonplace on Christmas.  If you’re standing under it it’s customary to kiss.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.” Alec shifted from side to side. Should he kiss Magnus? Does Magnus want to be the one to kiss him? Alec wasn’t even sure why he was having these thoughts. He’s never had an issue initiating a kiss before, but this felt like something Magnus wanted to share with him, so he thought maybe Magnus would kiss him first.   

“Stop thinking so hard sweetheart.  It’s not a test.  Just kiss me.”

Alec looked up and leaned forward.  He pressed a gentle kiss to Magnus’s plump lips.

Magnus raised one eyebrow. “No no, that won’t do.” He pushed Alec against the door, taking him by surprise. He raised his head and looked into Alec’s deep hazel eyes, and pushed his entire body against him. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

“I meant that. I just, we’re out here and-“

“As you mentioned previously, only I live here, so shut up and kiss me.”

Alec huffed out a small laugh and bends his head slightly.

This kiss was anything but gentle. His tongue licked at Magnus’s lips. Magnus opened his mouth and Alec couldn't help buy buck his hips as their tongues twisted and turned against each other. Magnus let his hands roam.  He snapped his fingers and their jackets and scarves and gloved disappeared, Alec assumed they were back in the closet in the loft, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care that much.

Magnus took care to run his tongue and teeth over the deflect rune as much as he could before needing air.  His hands scurries down to Alec’s hips, lifting his shirt and scraping his nails along his abdomen, the way he knew Alec liked.  Alec mewled. He threw his head back and whimpered.

“Mags, more, please.”

“More what? What do you need?”

“I need to feel you on my skin, in me, everything, and everywhere.”

“Darling, you know I like to hear specifics, tell me where you want my hands, my tongue, and my cock.”

Alec shuddered, no matter how many times they fuck, whenever Magnus says the work cock Alec shivers, his entire soul needs to be wrapped up in the endorphins making love to Magnus brings him.

“I want your hands on my cock, gentle at first, then growing more aggressive.  I want your tongue, um; I want your tongue in my mouth, then biting along my nipples, then in me.  In my ass.  I love it when you suck on my hole, run your teeth along the rim.”

Alec was panting so hard his words were coming out in whispered puffs. His hands were in his own hair. He was so turned on from describing how he wanted Magnus to fuck him that he couldn’t help but press against Magnus and rut.

“And my cock Alexander, what do you want my cock to do?”

“I want you fuck my face, I want to feel and taste your precome at the back of my throat, and I want to feel how hard you get when I gentle graze my teeth over your balls.  Then I want to get on all fours and I want you to fuck me so hard and so deep that I feel it til next Christmas.”

Magnus, who had been slowly taking his clothes off during Alec’s soliloquy, stood before his lover, cock in hand, bends forward to place a dirty sloppy kiss on Alec’s lips.

“Get on your knees lover.  Let me feel that mouth of yours.”

Alec slides to his knees and noses at Magnus’s cock, he loves to breath in his musk, he licks along his pelvic bone, inhaling the taste of his delicate curls. He huffs out hot hair onto the tip, Magnus bucks into Alec’s open hot mouth.

“Show me how much you want my cock baby; show me how much you want my cock to ruin you.”

Alec moaned, and took Magnus into his mouth, relaxing his gag reflex; he bent forward and took him whole.  He swallowed several times around the shaft, humming when Magnus tugged on his hair, the harder he pulled, the faster Alec sucked, the quicker Magnus was to falling apart completely.

“Alexander, if you want my fingers, my mouth, my cock, you better stop now.”

Alec popped off, placing kitten licks along the slit.

“I need to taste you, please Magnus, I’ll do whatever you want to get you hard again, but please, please let me taste you.”

“Who am I to refuse such a pretty offer? Get back to work Shadowhunter, make me scream.”

Alec dove back onto Magnus’s cock, this time as he sucked he let his fingers tips graze over his balls, letting his blunt nails do what his teeth usually did. Alec didn’t want to disengage until he had cum down his throat.  Giving Magnus this kind of pleasure made Alec unbelievably hard. He never thought he’d get turned on by doing this but now, when time permits, he loves to work Magnus up before Magnus fucks him.

Magnus fists Alec’s hair tightly, a sign that he’s on the precipice. Alec swallowed a few more times and then Magnus shouted, thank the angel he was the only one who lived here, and he came, hot and thick down Alec’s throat. Alec kept sucking through Magnus’s orgasm, and after, he kept pumping him gentle with his hand. He looked up at his boyfriend looking thoroughly debauched.

“Keep looking at me like that and I’ll be hard again in no time.”

Alec bit down on his lower lip, swollen and wet. He went to wipe his mouth on his shirt only to discover that Magnus had magicked it and the rest of his clothes gone during the blowjob.

“Are you ready pretty angel, for me to wreck you?”

Alec nodded shakily. “Can we go inside? The floor isn’t the softest.”

“I suppose, but don’t think this gets you out of my public sex kink.”

Alec laughed and shook his head, “This would hardly count as public.”

“Any one of you stray shadowhunters could show up.”

“Your wards wouldn’t let them.”

“Stop being logical and get inside, I want you on your back on our bed legs open, fingers in your ass working yourself open while I gather a few things.”

Alec groaned and pushed open the door, seeing all their clothes neatly folded on the couch as he suspected.  Alec sauntered to the bedroom, taking his time, giving his boyfriend a show.

“Get going Shadowhunter, the slower you are the longer it’ll take til you have my cock exactly where you want it.”

“I’m going I’m going.”

Magnus arrived to find Alec slicking his fingers with lube and pushing two into himself.

“Good boy.”

Alec keened, and groaned when his long fingers barely grazed his prostate.

“Magnus, please, touch me.”

Magnus put two bottles of water on the side table before joining Alec on the bed.  He slowly ran his fingers over Alec’s torso, up his arms, the nape of his neck, his jaw, his lips.

“Suck on them, like you did my cock.”

Alec stuck his tongue out and practically slobbered over Magnus’s fingers. Magnus began to fuck his mouth like this, feeling himself harden. “You like this lover? Fucking yourself thinking of me? My fingers in your mouth, making you drool over my cock?”

Alec groaned out a yes the best he could given the fingers that had taken up occupancy in his mouth. Alec whimpered when Magnus removed his fingers and took the two saliva coated digits directly to Alec’s cock.  He tugged hard, the twisted his hand in repeating motions while he best down to lick along Alec’s sweat coated skin.

Magnus took each nipple in his mouth and ran his tongue over the nub until it hardened. Then he gentle bit down on the nub and the surrounding area making Alec shout and moan and practically scream.

“Oh baby, don’t hold back, I want you screaming your throat raw tonight.”

“Magnus, please.”

“Please what love?”

“Your fingers, inside me. Please”

Magnus glanced down to Alec’s hole, his fingers had slowed, but he was still going, his hole turning a beautiful shade of red. Magnus dipped into the lube and put two fingers into Alec, pumping in and out at in time with Alec’s fingers.

“Oh my, Magnus, ugh, yes, more!”

“More? How much more? You want more fingers? You want my fist? You want my cock”

Alec was babbling nonsense at this point. “Yes, everything, please, more, harder.”

Magnus chuckled.  “Okay my love.  Take your fingers out; I’ll take care of you.”

Alec pulled his fingers from his ass and his arms draped over his stomach. Magnus withdrew his fingers, much to Alec’s chagrin, to lube up his entire hand. They had explored fisting a handful of times. Magnus found that Alec reached subspace much quicker like that, and they only did it when Alec had had a particularly grueling day at work. Now though, Magnus wanted to shower his Shadowhunter in peace and happiness, so would do just that.

Magnus started with one finger, then two, when he got to four he checked in with Alec.

“Angel, you still with me?”

Alec raised his head as best he could. He looked into Magnus’s eyes, they shone golden with desire.

“Yes Magnus, give me everything.”

Magnus nodded and started to twist and turn his wrist as we inched further and further inside of his boyfriend. When his entire fist was inside his he started to pump his arm. He would bring his fist out of Alec more a fraction of a second and push back in. He never pounded too hard when fisting, because he knew how fragile it was in there and the last thing he would ever want it to hurt him, unintentional as it would be.  He stretched out his fingers and ran them over the delicate tissue hot and pulsing inside his lover. He would occasionally brush over his prostate, which always made Alec’s hips buck up and his voice would reach a pitch that Alec would always deny afterwards. Magnus got so aroused listening to Alec react to what he was doing to him.

When Alec’s breathing became labored Magnus slowly pulled his hand out of Alec’s hole. It was puffy and glistening in lube and oh so beautiful.  Magnus took his lubed hand and put it on Alec’s cock. Gentle and slow and he repositioned himself. Thankfully Alec had chosen one of their flavored lubes, Alec was partial to cherry when he went down on Magnus, and Magnus didn’t care as long as Alec was happy.

Magnus, with his magic, seeing that Alec was a puddle of boneless limbs, raised Alec’s legs. He bent down and started kissing and biting his cheeks. His tough would occasionally brush passed the puffy rim of Alec’s hole, but he purposely avoided it. He wanted Alec to beg and scream first.

“Magnus, please please I need you inside me.”

“When you let yourself go and scream for me, I’ll stick my tongue as far as it will go inside you and eat you out like you’re my last meal.”

Magnus continued to bite at his skin, and started running his teeth over his hole. Alec was moaning, Magnus knew he would scream as he came, so he put more effort into teasing his hole. He wanted Alec to cum once before Magnus fucked him into oblivion.

Magnus licked at the hole, his finger making circles.

“Mags, please, I’m gonna cum.”

“ Yes love, let me hear you.”

One more lick, one more touch and Alec arched his back and screamed so loud Magnus was actually concerned about the resident of the next building hearing. As Alec came down from his high Magnus stuck his tong into Alec’s waiting hole, not letting Alec lose his high. Alec squirmed and whimpered in need. Magnus licked inside and outside. He planted his entire face in the crack of Alec’s ass and took it all in. Alec, finding his voice again, pleaded for Magnus to fuck him raw.

“Mags, I’m ready I need you, your cock, inside me, fuck me raw.”

“Oh baby, you’re not gonna be able to walk for days.”

“Yes, please,” Alec sighed out in pleasure.”

Magnus stood up, slicked up his cock and swiftly turned Alec around so his ass was high in the air and his head rested on his folded forearms.

“This okay my love, you comfortable?”

Alec wiggled his ass indulgently in response.”

Magnus chuckled. He loved this Shadowhunter more and more every day.

Magnus ran the tip of his cock over Alec’s puffy and inviting hole. He usually takes his time, goes slow, but he know2s tonight, that’s not what Alec wants or needs. Since he’s been thoroughly stretched Magnus knows he can dive right in, hard and deep, and so he does. He starts fast and just goes to rough and dirty right quick. Alec is a shuddering mess of words and moans, whimpers and screams.

Magnus needs to come, but he wants Alec to come again first.  He continues to pound into his boyfriend with a ferociousness of a lion stalking its prey.  One hand on Alec’s back, the other on his cock, tugging and twisting. When he feels Alec tense up, He speeds up his movements on his cock and in his ass.

Alec arches back, thank the angel for that flexibility rune, and screams filth and love as he comes harder than he’s ever remembered.

Magnus fucks him through it, the convulsions inside Alec’s hot passage driving Magnus crazy. He take Alec’s hips in both his hands, adds a little magic, and pounds harder than he knew was possible before coming, shouting out obscenities as his seed fills his boyfriends body.

Magnus slumps against Alec as they both lay there, trying to regulate their breathing.  Magnus rolls off of Alec to grab the waters off the table. He magicks a straw for Alec and puts it to his lips.

“Drink darling, your throat must be raw after all that.”

Alec hummed appreciatively, he opened his mouth and Magnus held the bottle as Alec took a few sips. His eyes were closed, but Magnus knew he wasn’t so far gone. Magnus sipped on his water before magicking them clean of come and sweat.

“How are you feeling my love?”

“Warm, and loved.”

“The true spirit of Christmas lives inside you.”

Alec laughed quietly. He opened his eyes and sat up against the mountain of pillows that always seemed to appear after they had sex, Alec suspected that Magnus does it so when he does go into subspace that when he comes to he’s surrounded by soft warmth.  Even when they don’t go that far the pillows appear, which he’s not mad at because he likes to sit and watch his boyfriend post sex. He doesn’t quite know why, maybe it’s because he still can’t believe this beautiful magic man is all his.  Regardless, here he is, sitting in a golden pillow pile watching Magnus do his post sex clean up routine. Magnus goes to his vanity and mundanely take off his makeup while Alec returns to the land of the living. When done he goes back to the bed.

“Good?”

“Perfect.”

“One more thing to make this the perfect first Christmas.”

Alec looks at him quizzically. Magnus magicks two Santa hats onto each of their heads and grabs his phone. He even magicks another mistletoe floating above the bed.

“I hardly think we need that here Mags.”

“I’m setting a mood.”

Magnus arranged the hats and the mistletoe just right, and opened his front facing camera. He turns to Alec, “I know you’re not a selfie person, but I want to remember this night.”

“After the way you just fucked me I think I’ll be smiling for a while, so bring it on magic man!”

Magnus took a few pictures from different angles.  “Now everything is perfect.”

“Thanks for the impromptu holiday lessons today.  I don’t know if I’ll ever really celebrate anything but at least I will understand our friends and family more during things like this.”

“Did you just call Simon a friend?”

“He can never know. You’re sworn to secrecy.”

“Oh am I now?”

“Yup Boyfriend boyfriend confidentially.”

Magnus giggled and kissed Alec’s nose, “understood.”

They both snuggled under the blankets, situated themselves accordingly, Magus as the big spoon, Alec as the little, and drifted off the sleep. Love and warmth surrounding them both, thankful for this love3 the angels have given them. The mistletoe above them shook and spilled glitter onto their sleepy forms.

“Just wait til Valentine’s Day my angel; you won't know what hit you.” Magnus whispered into the air before snapping the lights off and nuzzling into Alec’s neck.

“I love you Shadowhunter.”

“Love too” Alec whispered, half asleep.

Magnus smiled and drifted off, holding Alec, happier than ever.

[creativitytoexplore]

The Innocent and the Beautiful by Iftekhar Sayeed https://ift.tt/2YcutQS In Bangladesh, CIA agent Maryam becomes a target for assassination and flees with her lover - but neither are sure where their loyalties lie; by Iftekhar Sayeed.

"The death of 1.7 million children through sanctions in Iraq has aroused no interest whatsoever in the drawing rooms of Bangladesh, as far as agent Maryam has been able to judge." Something seemed to trouble Maryam, as her fingers hovered above the keyboard; the hum of the air-conditioner rose above the tap-tap of her fingers; she smelled the starched pillows and breathed heavily; in the light from the quite redundant lamp, she deleted 'death' and typed 'murder'. She sighed relief, turned off the laptop, disengaged the wireless modem, switched off the lamp, and turned on her side to get some sleep.

I hated her. So I avoided the street - road 9A, Dhanmandi - where she worked and waited for a trishaw or an auto rickshaw every weekday at around 5:00. The situation was dire. After the Gulf and Af-Pak wars, the mujahideen had grouped themselves together, as elsewhere, in Bangladesh, as freedom fighters. No empire can exist without collaborators, and the local elite and government both sided with the American and European powers. A death-squad was formed with the aid of the imperial west, and an unknown number of jihadis died in so-called 'cross-fires', the euphemism for assassination. It was then that the jihadis changed strategy. Instead of bombs and bullets, which had to be bought abroad and smuggled in, they resorted to - knives. An expert 'Knifer', as they came to be called, could aim for a target's heart from a distance safe enough for a get-away. Less efficient ones would stab in a busy thoroughfare, or operate from shadows. The frequent power failures were a boon. The targets also were changed. Instead of attacking government buildings with bombs or agents of the state with bullets, they went for members of what is known politely as 'civil society'. The collaborators, they had figured out, were to be found among the academics and artists who gave legitimacy to collaboration. Two of their biggest kills were a lawyer and an economist, both PhDs from American universities. And where did feminine, friendly Maryam fit in all this? I first met her at the intellectual salon of a socialite: she wore a light green chiffon saree that went with her fair complexion, her dark eyes, dark brows; her arms were bare and I could imagine the rest of her. She asked pointed questions about politics and society, and then sat back, legs crossed, listening in earnest. It was flattering to be heard like that. Soon, we were lovers, meeting regularly in my flat. It was after one of our devouring love-makings that she came out with it. "I actually work for the CIA, Zafar." By then she knew my views, knew how I would feel, and that prompted her to be frank. "After all, we're all collaborators." She was right there: we were all collaborators. And what was the nature of her collaboration? "Nothing much: I just listen in on conversations and ask questions and report what people are thinking and saying. It's not much, Zafar. I just collaborate a bit more closely, that's all." That was the last time we met.

On this fateful day, I spotted her on road 9A, waiting for her usual trishaw. There was traffic on the road, but I stayed focused. She was in a red-and-black shalwar-kameez, her arms bare, revealing teasingly her white shoulders and armpits. Then our eyes met: fortunately I looked away, and watched with horror a man, pillion-riding on a motorcycle, raise a knife towards Maryam. "Maryam, get down!" I screamed, and ran towards the bike. The knife missed, as she ducked. The bike wove between the vehicles, and disappeared. "That was close, Maryam," I said, panting, as I reached her crouching figure. She was weeping. "They tried to kill me!" she repeated. It was as if she couldn't believe that they would try to kill her. And they would try again. Nowhere in Dhaka was safe for her anymore. I could feel eyes watching us, reporting, sharing... Bystanders began to gather around, so I grabbed her arm and asked her if she had any money. She nodded, wiping away her tears. I had some money, enough to buy a pair of tickets. I hailed a trishaw and we made our way towards Kolabagan. We were greeted at the counter of Shohag bus service by the usual smell of urine emanating from the toilet inside. The day was hot and humid, and we were both perspiring. Inside, we sat at the back of the stifling room, a few fans whirring overhead. Our bus wouldn't leave until 11:00. There were a few passengers waiting for the next bus. "You mustn't cry here, Maryam. Let's not draw attention to ourselves. We'll be safe in a few hours." I went out, bought a mild sedative, and a bottle of cola. I made a call to Sujon Chakma from my mobile. His bungalow would be ready for us. The cola was cool against the parching throat. "There's something I have to tell you, Zafar." Her voice sounded cracked. She poured the cola down her mouth. "Not now. We'll have a chance to talk later." After interminable minutes, the Chakma boys and girls began to appear. They were headed home: to the hills in the south-east, to Khagrachari and beyond. They spoke in their dialect which I could vaguely decipher. You could tell them, not only by the language, but the slanted, Tibetan eyes. They were mostly students, but now and then a couple with a child would plump down in the seats before us. I kept a watchful eye open for any of my race. The bus left promptly at 11:00. We would be at Khagrachari by dawn. Most of the journey would be over hills, after the left turn at Baroier Hat at Feni. We stopped at night at a road-side restaurant where I forced Maryam to eat some rice and - very spicy - chicken curry. I was ravenous, and thirsty. Fear had been relegated to remoter parts of the mind. Fatigue began to take over. We reached Baroier Hat just before sunrise. The buses - a Shohag, two S. Alams, and a BRTC bus - stopped to form a convoy, for the road was potentially dangerous. Armed bands, carryovers from a recent insurgency, roamed the hills. Outside, there were five policemen in steel-grey shirts, blue trousers, green felt boots and deep purple berets. Each had a rifle. They all got on our bus, which was a relief, and then we started. At Jaliapara, they got off. We went a little further ahead and two policemen got on - they sat on the raised leatherette bench next to the driver. The one nearest me was called Selim - his shoulder-tag said as much. He was dark with close-cropped hair. The other one was fairer. Selim cradled a rifle on his lap. He held a black walkie-talkie in his right hand, close to his mouth, though he wasn't speaking. The magazines were in a holder attached to his belt at the hip. The other policeman held a rifle between his thighs, nozzle upward. Neither men wore a beret - not very surprisingly, given the heat. They got off a after a few minutes. It was a switchback road. We watched the sun rise - a pale, orange disk - above the forested hills. The gibbous moon floated like a spectre in the west, trying to steal light. The sky was cloudlessly blue. We now turned east, then completely west, the sun now on our right, now on our left. We were bending every way. The sides of the road were sometimes sheer drops of several hundred feet - into seeming green jungle. Sometimes a green wall rose on our right and a sheer drop sloped to our left. Sometimes the road was a break between two hills. The colour was green - green bamboo groves, green banana leaves, green teak leaves, tall green grass. The sun became less benign. From orange, it turned gold. The relative cool of dawn evaporated. The golden rays beat down on our heads. Maryam was nodding in sleep. Various vehicles crossed us and we overtook various others. One pick-up was stacked with bamboo poles; another with jackfruit. We overtook trucks laden with goods under brown canvas. There were regular sentry posts roofed with bamboo and with bamboo sides on hill-tops. Sometimes a soldier with a walkie-talkie could be seen. Tribal women in bright thamis and blouses worked on hillsides. The road ascended towards Alutila and then descended, with many a spiral in either direction. At times, one espied a bend in the road up ahead or below, a graceful inflection. We drove through seemingly ghost towns and deserted bazaars. Only the fascias of the stores spoke to us: STAR cigarette, one announced in blue and white, was bright with its own light. The people were still asleep. Maryam had woken up, and the majesty of the scene held her in submission a while. But she finally spoke above the clatter of the bus and the moan of the engine. "I have to tell you something, Zafar." "The Knifers have put you on their hit list, Maryam." She shook her head vigorously. "They weren't the Knifers." I was surprised, but I didn't want to talk about it then. "Look!" I pointed to egrets flying in echelon. I had seen the knifer, taking aim, casting his missile. What was she talking about? The taste of fear, a dryness of the mouth, a quickening of the pulse, returned.

We got off before the bus reached Alutila. "But there's nothing here!" insisted the driver, his mouth red from chewing betel leaf. I nodded, and got off. The passenger next to him on the leatherette chair continued to sleep with his mouth open. It was good that nobody had noticed, except the driver and his sleepy helper. We disappeared among the teak trees. I soon found the faint footpath that led to Sujon's bungalow. Sujon was an affluent businessman, and he built a modest retreat in the forest for friends like me to spend a few pensive days in. I say 'modest' but it had all the creature comforts of home. The bungalow of whitewashed walls and green, sloping tin roof stood in a clearing in the forest. "Sahib, you have arrived!" The disembodied voice belonged to Robindro Tripura, caretaker of the place. He appeared from behind the trees, a short, dark, stocky character in a lungi. He looked from one of us to the other, for we were quite a sight. It wasn't so much the fatigue as the stress of running that had got the better of us. "I have made omelette and bread," he announced, and draped his coloured towel over his shoulder. The inside of a forest has a stifling humidity. Cicadas crooned without cease. Needless to say, we downed the breakfast in a trice. Next, we proceeded to drink a gallon of water. Robindro told us that the shower was ready and before leaving for the city, informed me that he would try to get clothing for the lady the next day. Considerate Robindro! I stood in the shower, washing off the heat, the fear, the sweat, and the stress. I just stood there, forgetting everything. When I entered the bedroom, I found a showered and refreshed Maryam sitting on the edge of the bed. She wore one of my striped shirts - and nothing else. After we made love like enemies, we got under the sheet and lay there, each with separate thoughts. She was the first to speak. "Do you hate yourself for making love to me?" I did, so I said nothing. "You don't have to. I have a lot to say, Zafar." Her voice came soft and contrite. "I'm listening," I said, opening my eyes, and gazing into hers. I thought again how mesmerizing were those dark circles. "After you left me, I found I was pregnant." I sat up. "What? You should have -" "What would have been the use? You hated me! You wouldn't have married me, and even if you had, what kind of marriage would it have been? Anyway, marriage was out of the question for me as well. I had the abortion soon after." I lay back, breathing a sigh. "But that's not all. Having nearly been a mother, I began to realize what those Iraqi mothers must have gone through. Thank God we didn't meet then, Zafar! My mind was so confused. I stopped seeing everyone. My work for the agency came to a stop." She paused, frightened, for a Tokay gecko had suddenly broken out into its mating call from the roof of the bungalow. "It's all right, it's just a lizard; it won't hurt." "Then I began to work for the agency again. But this time I passed on the messages to the Knifers as well. I started telling them about potential targets, about the biggest collaborators, about the worst of the lot... And the agency found out." "The Knifers would never have tried to kill you, then." "No. It was the agency, imitating the Knifers." "O Maryam, why didn't you tell me all this before? We could have worked it all out together!" "No, Zafar, there are some things you have to work out alone. But now we are together." We put our arms around each other. Then we fell into a deep, long sleep, lulled by the whizzing fan beating down its breeze.

I woke to the scent and rhythm of rain. The bedroom was dark. How long had we slept? The taste of fear had worn off, and hunger remained. While Maryam was still asleep, I warmed up some beef curry and rice in the microwave oven. Then we swooped hungrily. The power failed. We sought some coolth in the netted verandah. It had stopped raining, and in the evening, between the teak trees, we could see the stars. Crickets chirped and frogs croaked. There were no other sounds. "I am wondering about our next move, Maryam," I said. We sat beside each other in plastic chairs. A nightjar called. The air smelled fresh after the rain, and the leaves murmured. The taste of fear had given way to the taste of curry. But we could see nothing around us, only the stars through a chink. She snuggled close to me, in her shirt. "I'm not thinking at all, Zafar. I'm safe here with you." I smiled in the darkness. If only it were so simple. How long would it be before the agency knew where we were? After all, the entire state was at their disposal. "Look!" I said involuntarily. "What?" She raised her head from my shoulder. A solitary blinking appeared above the horizon in the east. It was too slow to be a plane, which would also have had several lights. "It's a satellite," I observed. "Do you think it can see us?" "Not in this power failure," she giggled, and we both laughed. The satellite went out of view between the leaves, and in its stead rose, in a few minutes, a red apparition. "Antares!" I breathed. "What?" "The opposite of Ares, the god of war," I explained. "How I love that name! An-ta-res!" The opposite of war, the affirmation of peace, how I love Antares! "Can we ever have peace, Zafar?" In the dark, I could sense her looking up at me. My breast heaved. I dared not reply, for fear of breaking down. "Can we ever be husband and wife and mother and father?" I swallowed. "Why not?" I asked without conviction. Then her mobile rang. She spoke a few words, and turned to me. "It's them, the mujahideen. They wish to speak to you." "Yes?" I spoke into the phone. "I see... Yes... I understand... Yes, I'll see you there." "What did they want?" I hung up. "They want me to meet them tomorrow at Labanga in Dhaka." Then the power came on, and she had tears. I never thought I would never see her again.

Labanga was a kebab restaurant on Mirpur Road on the first floor overlooking the drag. I walked past the glowing embers, emanating heat and the odour of burnt meat, past the counter, and up the steel stairs. I sat in the corner table next to the door, overlooking the street, and ordered four plates of kebab and nan as instructed. The room was air-conditioned, and outside, in the sunny heat, the traffic jammed on Mirpur Road. I waited. Finally they arrived. They wore pyjamas and punjabis, and turbans and beards. There were three of them, and they drew the chairs around me. "Zafar sahib," began the eldest of them. "Salaam walaikum." They salaamed me each in turn and I salammed them. There was a noisy family, with husband and wife and two children, in the other corner. Two men ate silently at the next table. The men and I began to eat without speech. "Zafar Sahib," resumed the eldest. "The less you know about us the better," I nodded. "Zafar sahib," spoke the eldest through his graying beard and moustache. His eyes were gentle. "You have written in our favour despite your unbelief." "I am an agnostic," I said, swallowing the kebab, "and this is my civilisation." "We know your views. Please tell us where Maryam Apa is, and we'll take her to safety." "You mean, outside the country." "Probably. But I cannot say for her sake." "I'll never see her again?" "No." "Why?" "Look across the street." I looked through the tinted window, and the tangle of wires. A man in black pants and white shirt paraded the other side of the pavement. "You have been followed," he said, calmly ingesting kebab and nan. "The moment you entered Dhaka, you were followed." "So what do we do now?" I asked. "He'll be taken care of." And he was. A stream of men and women flowed past the figure, but one stopped to ask for a cigarette flame; after which, the figure sprawled on the sidewalk, clutching a knife-blade in his belly. "Let us leave." I paid the bill, and hurriedly left with the three men.

Since then, every year, I have been to the cottage in Khagrachari, and have watched Antares rise.

[pcyspout]

“What did you just call me?” (Part 1)

Genre: Smut / Fluff Warning: Sexual content

Pairing: Im Jaebum, Park Jinyoung Word Count: 3584 Summary:  Jaebum has always been someone that takes a lot of pride in his dominance, and as everyone knows he is someone who honorifics are very important to. He has always got to be in charge, as long as he can remember it has been this way, so what happens when his dominance is brought into question is almost always uncontrollable. He tries his best to contain his emotions and not snap on his fellow members because he knows that sometimes the situations are just honest mistakes. However, Jaebum is very good at differentiating when is an honest mistake and when he is being tested & toyed with by the members.

Jaebum's day started out like any other, an early start because they had to get in some practice before they were to be on a radio show this afternoon. After a short practice and then a group breakfast they depart for the radio station. Everyone has a great time on the show until he and Jinyoung are made to play a pepero type game and the younger singer decides to take matters into his own hands grabbing the leader's face and forcing himself onto him. Today is the day he's going to find out just how dominant Jaebum really is. Usually he would have scolded Jinyoung and moved on, but this was the last straw in a string of situations between the leader & Jinyoung where the younger kept trying to take control. It was almost like the younger was trying to test him to see how far he could push him.

He plays it off on the radio show like the incident was nothing and acts like he just really didn't want to be that close to another man's mouth. He doesn't mention anything to Jinyoung about it once they have left, but it keeps flashing through his mind over and over. Jaebum broods about it for the rest of the day, becoming a little snappy and very engulfed in his own thoughts making him fairly disengaged from everyone. By the time they arrive home he decides that he can just let it go just one more time, until Jinyoung walks into their bathroom.

Jaebum had only a moment ago finished drying off from his shower, so his body was adorned in nothing but a light gray towel tucked around his slim waist. Seeing the younger idols face sends him right back to the act of Jinyoung questioning his dominance. Without thought he rushes Jinyoung, so close to the other singer that their noses are touching, "Do you really think what you did on the radio show was a good idea?"

Jinyoung squeaks when his body is backed up against the wall his, a wicked grin dancing on the corners of his plump lips, he smacks an innocent tone into his voice, "I don't know what you mean hyung." He knew exactly what Jaebum was talking about and the incident in question was done on purpose because Jinyoung had been playing a game with Jaebum recently; a fairly dangerous game of how much could the leader endure before he would crack.

Jaebum's hands fisted into the clingy material of Jinyoung's t-shirt, "Oh you don't know? Every chance you have to bring my dominance into question, I'm tired of it."

Jinyoung's tongue swiped his bottom lip, his heart was racing but he wasn't about to just back down. "You're making things up Jaebum-ah."

When Jinyoung called the leader informally a cross between and growl and a grunt left his throat. One of the leaders wide hands pressed against Jinyoung's chest, the other still gripping his shirt, and he forcefully shoved the singers back against the wall. He pushed his body against Jinyoung's his breathing rigid the anger flashing in his eyes as it were a strobe light. "What did you just call me?"

Jinyoung's mouth was slightly parted from the shock of being shoved against the wall, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and saying, "Jaebum-ah" at an impossibly slow and teasing speed. The tone of the young singer's voice was soaked in a feign of innocence that if you didn't know him well was intensely believeable.

Before Jinyoung finished the last sound of the 'ah' Jaebum's hand that had fisted into the idols shirt had now flown up and grabbed a handful of his hair. Jaebum yanked backwards causing Jinyoung's head to hit the wall with a loud thud. Jaebum's eyes were such a dark color that it was like staring into an abyss, when he finally spoke his voice was the deepest it had ever been and dripping with danger, "It's time you learn your place again. I'm going to show you exactly why playing this little game with me is dangerous."

A small protesting whine had escaped the ample lips of the younger singer. There was a gleam of triumph in Jinyoung's chocolate eyes, "I'm not playing a game with you, what makes you think that Jaebum-ah?" Jinyoung could feel an all too familiar heat in the pit of his abdomen. He found himself instantly regretting the decision to wear sweatpants. The closeness of the leader was making Jinyoung's head spin and it did not help at all that very time his nostrils flared they were filled with the aroma of Jaebum's body wash.

Jaebum's hand that was pressed flat against Jinyoung's chest contracted causing the leader to grab both the singer's clingy shirt and the skin beneath. The fingers that were grasping Jinyoung's hair released and his hand moved to roughly grab the back of the younger boy's neck. "You have been pushing me for a month Park Jinyoung. You've been grabbing me on stage. You changed the 'Stop It' choreography to grab and almost kiss Jackson even though I've told you not to. You tell the maknae line it's okay to do things I have specifically told them not to. You even started trying to call the shots in practice. And then what the hell was that today at the radio show?"

The way Jaebum grabbed the back of Jinyoung's neck caused the singer to lurch his body forward his hips brushing against the leader. Jinyoung didn't know how much longer he could ignore the heady fog that Jaebum was surrounding him with. He tore his eyes away from Jaebum's and allowed them to skim down his body, stopping to watch as the leader's sculpted abs rose and fell when he breathed. "I was just giving the fans what they want, and there's nothing wrong with the maknae line drinking as long as they do it in the dorm. As for the thing with Jackson it just kind of happened, I couldn't help it and it drove the fans wild. So I disregarded what you sa..."

When Jaebum felt Jinyoung's hips brush against him he found himself wishing he had on more than a towel, because the touch from the younger singer was going straight to his cock. Jabum's hand traveled from its position on Jinyoung's impressive chest to press a finger against Jinyoung's plump lips, "There lies our problem, you disregarded what I said. I am your leader Jinyoung, what I say goes." Jaebum was completely serious in this moment, but he couldn't deny how the closeness of himself and Jinyoung was affecting him. He could smell the lingering scent from the cologne Jinyoung was wearing, mixed with the natural scent that the young singer gave off.

Jaebum had been fighting off an attraction to Jinyoung since back in 2012 because after they debuted as JJ Project the two spent so much time together that the type of closeness they had simply developed into more for him. He knew that it was always better for the sake of his groups that he remain just a leader, but there were many times where he had wanted to bridge that gap. He always caught himself staring at Jinyoung, it didn't matter where they were. He would look up, even in the most crowded of rooms, and his eyes would be able to immediately settle on Jinyoung. It was as if the center of his gravity were younger singer. Every single time they touched, regardless of what kind of touch, it sent a shock wave throughout his entire body which he could feel right down to his bone. The two had always been overly affectionate with each other and Jinyoung by nature was quite the tease.

When Jabum's finger pressed against Jinyoung's lips they quivered from the touch. The vocalist could feel Jaebum's breath hitting his skin as the older singer spoke to him. The way Jaebum had taken control of this situation had left Jinyoung at a loss for words. All that could come from his full parted lips was a simple whimper. Jinyoung reached out and pressed his flat palm against Jaebum's abdomen, his fingers dancing along the still wet skin.

For Jinyoung all of this had started a few months ago when they really had really started to work hard together for the JJ Project comeback. The young singer had gotten to spend more quality time with the leader like he had before and during their first debut. One day they were in the studio putting the finishing touches on one of their songs and it was getting late so they were the only two in the studio. Jinyoung was singing the last bars of 'Coming Home' when he finished he lifted his eyes and looked over at Jaebum, realizing that the leader had been staring at him. He had allowed his eyes to drink in the sight of Jaebum his untidy hair from constant fingers running through it, the way his v-neck shirt clung to his muscled chest, the way the light reflected from his dark eyes, and most importantly the way it made Jinyoung feel when the leader stared at him the way he did. It was in that moment he realized that he cared for Jaebum in a way that went much deeper than a friendship ever could.

The slight tremble of Jinyoung's lips against his fingers caused a wicked smirk to tug at the corners of Jaebum's mouth. Jinyoung's whimper was not a good enough response to the comment the leader had made, so he grabbed Jinyoung's hair again pulling his head back once more. "Did you hear me Jinyoung?" As he felt the soft skin of Jingyoung's lithe fingers against his abdomen the older male couldn't help but let out a satisfied noise from the contact. However, he still didn't feel he had gotten his point across yet, so he reached out and grabbed Jinyoung's wrist. He reluctantly pried the vocalist's fingers off of his skin and growled out, "Did I tell you that you could touch me?"

When Jaebum's hand fisted into Jinyoung's soft hair the younger singer pulled in a deep breath, his eyes very slowly widening. Jinyoung didn't know if he would ever be able to form words again when finally a very quiet, "Yes, Jaebum-hyung" slipped through his lips. The moment he felt Jaebum's hand clasp around his wrist Jinyoung felt his entire body reacting. His breathing was becoming quicker and embarrassingly enough his sweatpants were growing increasingly tighter. He shook his head now in response to Jaebum's question, his tongue poking out to glide along his lips. He took his eyes away from Jaebum's for a moment, allowing them to travel along the leader's perfectly sculpted jawline before coming to rest on Jaebum's beautifully curved lips.

The sound of submission that coated Jinyoung's words was a sweet melody to Jaebum's ears. His fingers loosened their grip on Jinyoung's dark hair but they didn't dare let go completely. The hand that was gripping the young singer's wrist let go and lifted to where it was right beside Jinyoung's face. Jaebum moves his thumb and index finger to either side of Jinyoung's chin, gripping it firmly before lifting upwards making Jinyoung look right into his eyes. The leader's next words were coated with a feeling of both tenderness and satisfaction at his having won the game, "Good boy." He then swiftly leaned in closer leaving not even half a centimeter between his lips and those of the other member. "Now that I've won, the question is what's going to be your punishment..."

Jinyoung was startled when Jaebum's fingers took a forceful hold on his chin like that, his teeth sinking down into his bottom lip. Jaebum's choice of vocabulary sent a shiver down Jinyoung's spine. There was something about this side of Jaebum that had caused it to be the root of all his fantasies. It didn't help that Jaebum calling him 'good boy' had shaken him to his core. Jinyoung would even go as far to say that his desire to play with the dark side of leader Jaebum is what had brought the two males to this exact moment. The closeness of Jaebum's lips combined with the heady fog caused by how delicious he smelled was making Jinyoung's head spin. In his head the younger vocalist was thinking about how Jaebum's lips would feel and taste when his consciousness caught the word punishment, ripping right back into reality. "P-punishment?"

The smile that graced Jaebum's lips was both a sinful and quite a cute one, because he was amused at the obvious amount he was affecting Jinyoung. "Yes, punishment. Did you really think I was just going to let you off the hook? What kind of leader would that make me." He let go of Jinyoung's chin, both of his hands now moving down the singer's body slowly. Jaebum's hands came to rest on Jinyoung's hips, unable to stop himself he leaned in and pressed his lips against the younger male's full ones very slowly. After allowing himself a few moments he immediately pulled his mouth away, "There's more of that, if you make it through what I've got planned for you." He could feel his lips burning with the desire for more, and though he wanted nothing more than to continue kissing Jinyoung there was something that had to be done first.

Jinyoung let out a noise of both disapproval and whining when he realized how much Jaebum was enjoying the thought of punishing him. This part of his little game Jinyoung had definitely not thought out clearly. "But hyung... I'm sorry." He closed his eyes from a brief moment as he felt the leader's hands ghosting along his body like they were. He could feel the color staining his cheeks even darker the moment Jaebum took a hold of his hips. Right as he was going to open his eyes Jinyoung's lips were met with Jaebum's, he closed his eyes kissing back immediately. He pushed his lips against Jaebum's both of his hands reaching out to rest flat against Jaebum's abdomen. A noise of extreme dismay leaving his mouth when Jaebum pulled away from his mouth. In a slightly agitated tone the younger singer said, "Then lets make whatever it is fast."

Jaebum couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him when Jinyoung got all frustrated like he was. He then reached over beside them and clicked the lock on the door to the bathroom, unsure of where the other members were and not wanting to be interrupted. He then took a step the side closer to the shower again now. Jaebum then used two fingers to signal Jinyoung to step forward against the sink, a mischievous expression having over taken his face.

Jinyoung immediately complied, finding Jaebum's use of simply his fingers to direct him impossibly hot. He looked back over his shoulder at Jaebum, his tongue sliding along his lips. He braced one of his hands on the cool porcelain, his mind swimming with ideas of what was about to come.

Jaebum moved once again, now standing just a bit behind Jinyoung. He leaned forward and pressed a tender open mouthed kiss to the back of the younger male's neck. "Pick a number between one and fifty." His voice was suffocated in lust when he spoke, his eyes in the mirror looked so black that they matched his hair. Jaebum reached forward and cupped Jinyoung's perfect ass into his hands, giving it a very gentle squeeze as he did. He let out a barely audible groan, the feeling of grabbing Jinyoung like that causing the leader's imagination to run wild.

The feeling of Jaebum now standing behind him caused Jinyoung's heart to race with both desire and anticipation. As he felt Jaebum's lips against his neck Jinyoung couldn't help the small moan that escaped his throat. He was so dazed and entranced by Jaebum that he could barely speak but he manged to force out a reply, "Twelve". When he pulled his eyes up to the mirror and saw how dark Jaebum's eyes were it only managed to heighten the situation. Jinyoung let out a small soft moan followed by a long exhale when Jaebum's hands grabbed him like they did. The other members had always had a thing for his ass, but the way Jaebum had grabbed him just now was such a different feeling than the usual.

"What a good number to pick." Jaebum was grinning at this point, and to anyone looking in on the situation it could the sexiest thing they had ever seen. He allowed himself a few more moments to grope on Jinyoung's ass, a groan escaping his lips. Jaebum gently sank his teeth into the back of Jinyoung's neck. He then pulled his teeth away, his tongue teasing the nape of the singer's neck before whispering against Jinyoung's soft skin, "Put both of your hands on the sink for me Jinyoungie and arch your back."

After taking a moment to process Jaebum's words and more importantly the feeling of Jaebum's tongue against his neck, Jinyoung brought his hands up onto the counter top of the sink. He arched his back so that his ass was pushed out at a perfect angle. Jinyoung's mind was racing with possibilities of what his punishment was about to be, and why there was a number involved. He was fighting every desire to turn around and face Jaebum, to see what would happen if he tested him further. However, the leader's promise of their being more kissing after his punishment was proving effective at causing him to behave. Jinyoung finally tilted his head to look back at Jaebum, right as he did the leader's tongue was dragging across his own lips.

Jaebum was beyond satisfied with the eagerness Jinyoung was showing towards him, acting almost as an affirmation of his dominance. One of his hands slid up from Jinyoung's ass and loosely wrapped around the young singer's throat, his fingers intentionally drumming on the skin so that Jinyoung felt it. "Are you ready?" His voice was as thick and sweet like honey, but that danger still lurked there tainting his tone. The hand which didn't rest on Jinyoung's throat was smoothing along the vocalist's ass slowly.

The moment Jinyoung felt Jaebum's hand sliding up his body he completely froze in a mix between shock and complete carnal desire. He had always known Jaebum was sexy but experiencing the leader like this was so much more than his fantasies had ever thought up. Jaebum's hand coming to rest on Jinyoung's throat caused a smaller singer to let out a pathetic moan. "Y-Yes." He was barely able to say before he pushed ass back against Jaebum, hoping for the contact he was desperate for.

The leader decided to play along for a moment moving his hand to the small of Jinyoung's back and roughly thrusting his hips forward against Jinyoung. Jaebum allowed his fingers to tighten just the slightest bit around the other male's throat. The feeling of Jinyoung pressed against his semi hard cock was something he didn't think he could ever forget. He grabbed the waistband of Jinyoung's sweatpants and began to pull him back making sure that he felt every rhythmic thrust of Jaebum's hips. He then abruptly stopped, still holding the waist band of Jinyoung's sweatpants in his hand, and looking into the mirror at the expression on Jinyoung's face. Jinyoung let out another small and soft moan when Jaebum slammed his hips against him the way that he did. The tightening of fingers on his throat causing mouth to part slightly, his hips trying to roll back in time with Jaebum's. When the leader grabbed the waist band of his pants like he did Jinyoung could feel his cock growing between his legs and instantly regretted the choice to wear no underwear. He had been trying to not say anything not wanting to ruin this moment but he finally couldn't stop himself and a quiet moan of "Jaebum" escaped his full lips. His face was twisted up with pleasure as he could feel Jaebum's cock growing harder with every thrust against him, his teeth sinking into his lower lip.

Jaebum tore his eyes away from Jinyoung's expression, allowing his eyes to travel down to the singer's perfect ass, which was exactly when something caught his eye. When he pulled Jinyoung by his sweatpants once more all he could see being exposed was skin, his teeth sank into his lip slowly. Jaebum yanked Jinyoung's pants down past his ass, practically drooling as the younger singer's full ass was exposed to him. "Were you anticipating something already when you came in here or is this just a happy coincidence?" Unable to stop himself Jaebum pulled his hand back, only to harshly collide it with Jinyoung's ass, the sound filling their bathroom. A wicked grin had caused the leader's entire face to light up, going so far as to touch his eyes as well. Jaebum leaned in so his lips were right at Jinyoung's ear and in a deep velvety voice Jaebum said, "One."

[shutupvan]

Detach

This is going to be a long one, a rambling one. I’m in introverted, introspection mode, so I am not discussing this with anyone, so instead it will go here.

I am so, so ill at the moment. What I believed yesterday was a sore throat and fatigue due to the toll of the wedding has turned into a very bad bout of the flu - courtesy of my dad. I realised that the word flu is just a soft nickname for influenza, in order to allay the fears of hypochondriacs like me and my mother.

I tend to stomatize my psychological issues physically when I refuse to deal with them, so its tempting to think my immunity buckled under the many stifled tears that have leaked out of me this week. I am simultaneously starving and rolling with nausea, struggling to keep food down but also gnawing with hunger, a condition that describes my own neurotic mindset. But truly, I am reading into this too much. My body is exhausted from the tears, from the emotional drain, from the long seventeen hour day that consisted of Jessica’s wedding, and I fell prey to my dad’s flu.

I am still going to write about what I am going through because it needs a little word processing. I am experiencing a radical level of dissociation right now. It’s tripping me out, confounding my universe. It’s the first time I have pegged the word to symptoms I have had since I was a child - the long blank spells, foggy memory, the daydreams that whisk me away and make me forget where my feet are.

More despairingly, it is the word that describes my life-long disconnect with my body - the feeding ground of my body dysmorphia, my previous eating disorder, my years of self mutilation, this strange sense that I am not supposed to be inside this body at all. That I should flit around, just spirit and mind, that I should be untouchable. I have struggled and wrestled with this body, oh God, I owe it so many apologies. I have done some really horrible things to it, which I can’t even disclose here. Cutting really was the least creative way I hurt myself.

My memories of being fifteen are almost an impossible smudge, but I remember with clarity that the first time I cut - I was in the study at my old house, I used a pair of scissors, I was filled with trepidation and desperation - that it was due to what I now understand as my tendency to disassociate. I was just so numb and disconnected with my reality that I felt like I was losing touch and couldn’t stay grounded. That makes me sound weak willed. Honestly, I think it was the only period of my life where cutting was used as a measure of keeping my feet on the ground. Like, oh, that hurt, oh, I’m bleeding, oh this body is mine and I can control the damage done and I’m bleeding so it must be real. I never expected self mutilation to become my go to - I started to use it to punish myself, to reprimand myself whenever I felt I was falling short. I sometimes used it when I felt like I couldn’t cope with whatever emotions I was dealing with - guilt, fury, worthlessness. Always, if someone hurt me, I would have to hurt myself so that I took back control. I had the final say over how much pain I get to experience. And all of these reasons were enmeshed together, feeding into each other, never just one reason. It’s like a slap to the face, but better. A wake up call.

I remember once (what year was I in? Maybe year nine, maybe younger? They all blend together) that I turned to Rose Freeburn outside the gym and confided with her, “I am a really bad Christian.” And she blustered at this admission, not understanding or accepting what I meant (she was flirting with faith at the time, only to abandon it much later, whereas I was grasping at it like a life buoy that was too slippery for my fingers.) She told me I wasn’t, but some deep part of me knew that I shouldn’t be ruining my body to survive in it. I was supposed to be holy, I was supposed to be a temple, I was supposed to lean on Jesus, but that seemed impossible, insurmountable. Jesus gave me his body and blood, and here I was destroying my body, spilling my blood, and for what? I knew that Jesus did not want my self directed punishments, but I couldn’t give them up. They made my world feel right. Truthfully, I am a really bad Christian, but I say that with relief, with a call for mercy, not with a desire to admonish myself.

I did something recently - I really let my values down, I really let my head go somewhere that I knew would poison me and I almost sold myself out. The self betrayal, the self betrayal, how it sears me. Even though I went there in my head, it’s like it already happened. I can’t trust my body now. I don’t want to be touched, to have it touched. I can’t touch myself. I can’t look at my body and see it as my own. I feel like I desecrated something that I took years to reclaim, like I smashed the icons, trod on the myrrh. It has been the most palpable level of disassociation I have had in years - and I didn’t have the hindsight and introspection last time this happened to understand it. It’s the numbness, the introverted retreat. Retreating into my brain and pushing my body down, fingers splayed and smothering it so I don’t have to deal with it. It’s actually the most amazing, strangest feeling. I will get undressed to shower and as soon as I see my bare breasts, or see the bones in my hips, or the smallness of my waist, I no longer pause for appraisal but just disengage, swiftly look away, as if I’ve caught somebody else naked. I am embarrassed. I get dressed with my back to the mirror, careful not to look at myself. I shower without ever looking down. I don’t exist.

The moment anything threatens that - if I think it, or I look at myself, or I touch my body too tenderly - I feel a revolt of emotions. I feel that sudden press of a thousand hands. So I retreat further away from the din, I retreat so that I am more detached, more numb, more blank. That is easier, because if I dealt with any of it yet - if I gave what I have thought and felt its words - then I would need to cut. I know I would need to cut and I refuse to cut again, another tally mark scar on my hips or thighs like a count of all my fuck ups. No, no, no, no. I refuse, I have already given in once this year and if I give in twice then I’ll have to do it again and again so no. I will retreat and retreat until I am unreachable to everyone including myself.

The danger is, looking back to that night in the study as a fifteen year old, hovering with the pair of scissors splayed open, is that if I disassociate too much, and I become too numb, I will have to cut then too. Or do something to shake me up. Boiling water, maybe. But I will do something then, because otherwise I’ll never wake up out of it. So I have to be so, so careful. Like walking a tightrope without a net. It doesn’t matter which side I fall off, I will get hurt either way.

Do you know what would be perfect for this? Driving to a flat plane where the sky stretches in every direction and I can watch both a sunrise and sunset without anyone anywhere near me. I want to be so alone, so isolated.

I deactivated instagram and facebook yesterday - I wanted to do it earlier, but I promised Jessica I would insta-story her wedding so I did it the day after. It is a part of my plan to be unreachable, to now exist without the eyes of people I know surveying me. I’m cancelling tutoring tomorrow, courtesy of being sick, although my relatives from Greece are moving in to our house tomorrow, which means a retreat is even harder. I may just stay inside my bedroom all day. Retreat, retreat, retreat.  

The beautiful thing is that last time I was like this, I never understood what this all meant. Perhaps its courtesy of being an INFJ that I have always internalised to the point of self infliction, that I get so lost inside my head. Sometimes my head is a wonderland, sometimes it is a descent into Dante’s inferno. It’s okay either way. Now that I have made the decision to retreat from everything, I feel so incredibly liberated. I honestly am okay, no need to fret. I am just teetering on the tight rope, but there’s no audience! So there’s no pressure to perform for a peanut crunching crowd.

[myblackmare]

i feel so stupid. i'm a beginner and all of the info on the internet and from my trainer (who trains with a grand prix rider) confuses me. i'm not anywhere near capable of asking for contact from a horse, which makes this situation worse for me. i hear "on the bit" "in the bridle" "contact" and i've read the german training manuals but everyone seems to have their own definition or what theyre looking for. when i hear "frame" i know it's a red flag. but i just.... need clarification somehow. idk

You’re not stupid! We all start somewhere and we’ve all got to learn sometime. 

Ok, sooo. I feel like a lot of the time these days “on the bit” has just become something that means the horses head is on the line. Where, if you took the photo of the horse and drew a vertical line down from its forehead to the ground, it’s face would all sit directly on that line. And seemingly, the horse can be as disengaged (meaning it’s back is hollow and it’s dragging it’s back legs) as it wants and no one cares as long as it looks good.

When I’m looking for a horse to “frame up”/ “come into the contact”/ “come onto the bit” I start at the hind. In my opinion you want the horse to be moving forward with energy, but not rushing. In the trot for example, it will become an upwards rolling sort of motion that pushes you with it but doesn’t become out of control. You should be able to feel the push of the horses hind with the strides. And even in collected (slower and shorter strides), working (medium movement, this is mostly what we school with in the beginning) or extended (long and faster) it should be the same upwards power from the hind. The horses hind legs should be able to reach under them so that their hind hoof lands in the hoof print where their front leg just was. That’s called tracking up. Then, I look for the horse to round their back as much as possible. Of course this is personal for each horse (for example, Lily has a very long back, and has issues with her back from an accident years ago, meaning that even if she lifts and rounds her back as much as possible, it won’t be the same as a horse with a strong and short back). I couldn’t for the life of me tell if a horse had an engaged back/core for the longest time. The way I learnt to remember it was that if the horse was disengaged in the core/back they would have a big scoop (again, depends on the structure of the individual horses back, sometimes it’s hard to pick) from the hip down to where the rider is sitting. Like a curve in a banana, or a smiley face (just meaning that the direction of the curve is at it’s highest with the hips and then drops drastically to where the rider sits, only to rise again at the withers and neck). And if they are disengaged you won’t be able to see any of their tummy muscles working. If they are engaged there should be little to no drop from the hips to where the saddle is. (Of course, depends on the horse’s conformation, Lily’s looks dropped still often because her back is so long, but for her built and health she would still be considered on the bit or framed up). That dramatic drop and scoop in the back disappears and if you turn that banana upside down (so the ends of the banana are pointing to the floor) that is sort of the basic idea of how a rounded horse should look, that sort of semi circle that comes from the hind and lifts their whole body from their in a nice round shape. Also their tummy muscles will be lifted and engaged to help lift their back and support the rider. So you should be able to see a little line on their stomach where their muscles are working. 

Then I’d move onto the neck and head. By this time, if everything else is going well, the horse would pretty much be in frame already. When we ask for a horse to frame up into a “on the vertical” position we want the poll (the spot between their ears) to be the highest point. The horse should not be broken at the 3rd vertebrae (you’ll be able to spot this, if you look at a picture of a horse broken at this point, a couple of inches back from the ears there will be a bit of a sharp bend, and then the rest of the neck will be flat until the poll, and then the head will be tucked back from that bent area further back). What is “on the bit” and “framed up” is different for every horse, but should all follow the basic premise of their nose/face being on that vertical line (or slightly in front of it) that I spoke of earlier. If the horse is slightly too tipped out (meaning their nose sticks out too much) I would hold the outside rein as a support and open the inside rein, and squeeze my reins gently (like a sponge) until the horse comes more into the contact, and into a more correct frame. But this is pretty much the last step for getting a correctly framed up, rounded horse. (At least in my opinion).

Though it’s important to mention that a horse can be on the bit in more than just that “classical dressage frame” (where the head and neck is elevated in the position we see in full working movements). A horse can be on the bit when they are in full stretch. Because they are stretching downwards and seeking the contact (that comes from you and your hands/reins, you should be able to feel their mouth in your hands but they shouldn’t be tugging on you). In the stretch their nose may be more tipped out because they’re stretching, but they should still not fall behind that vertical line too much.

Frame isn’t necessarily a bad word or a red flag, it’s just that these days a lot of people misuse the term and it leads to incorrectly ridden horses. 

I hope that was what you were searching for and that it all made sense, sorry it’s so long. I ramble a lot. Feel free to message me if you have any other questions. :) xox

[concussed-to-pieces]

The Kindness; Part Ten

Fandom: Fallout (3)

Pairing: Female Lone Wanderer/Charon

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Part ten!

Charon had no idea how their plans always managed to go so wrong. This was the fucking super mutants all over again. A deathclaw. A deathclaw! They had been sent to clear out a group of raiders that kept harming the Brahmin of a nearby settlement, how the fuck had they even managed to stumble into its nest?

  They aren't exactly creatures known for tidy areas!

  Spoon stood beside him, just as motionless as he was. The deathclaw (Charon would take a stab in the dark and say that it was probably the mother deathclaw) stood horns, head, and shoulders over Charon, nostrils flaring as it sampled the air suspiciously.

  Don't move smoothskin, for the love of God please don't move. Charon silently begged, praying that the creature's poor eyesight would let them escape unscathed. Most of his other employers had hardly ventured outside once they'd acquired him, never mind actively seeking out trouble. Charon had never faced a deathclaw and he wasn't sure if he was up to the task.

  After several overly-tense moments, it seemed they would be alright. But then, the deathclaw gave a loud snort as it turned to retreat back into its den and Spoon flinched at the noise.

  All hell broke loose.

  That cold, calculating chunk of Charon's brain took over as the deathclaw sank its massive talons into Spoon's leg. The ghoul felt a panicked shout bubble in his throat when Spoon screamed in pain; horror and the sick, tearing noise momentarily freezing his limbs before he wrestled himself back under control.

  Spoon!

  Protect contract holder.

  The combat shotgun thundered deafeningly loud in his grip, pellets spraying point-blank into the deathclaw's side and making it roar angrily. Charon snarled in reply, pressing his advantage as Spoon crumpled to the ground. Blood had never interrupted his killing phase, but seeing Spoon covered in it made him abruptly nauseous and furious at the same time.

  “I'll fuckin' skin you!” Charon seethed, practically nose-to-chest with the deathclaw as he pumped a round into its thick hide and dodged the swipe of razor-sharp claws. The creature latched its jaws onto Charon's armored shoulder, making the ghoul grunt in pain and fire another shot into its stomach.

  He curled his free hand into a fist and slammed it into the deathclaw's jaw over and over, hearing a snap and wondering faintly whether it was his hand or the jaw. His brain screamed an endless cycle of contract holder contract holder contract holder --!!

  Charon felt something in him shatter like glass under the stress and pain, a mental explosion. His hip ached from where he'd braced his shotgun and his fingers cramped in his fist from constant hammering andandand--

  His brain went quiet for a moment in the midst of the chaos.

  Protect Spoon .

  It wasn't a command. It didn't scrape at the insides of his skull, or turn his stomach like an Institute order.

  Was that...is this me?

  The deathclaw's teeth dug and tore at his shoulder and Charon couldn't choke back the shout that ripped out of him when he finally disengaged from the hulking beast. He jabbed his shotgun upwards into the deathclaw's neck and just fired in a frenzy until he shot the drum dry.

  Charon swayed on his feet as the creature slumped to the ground, its head reduced to a bloody pulp. He was dimly aware that this was the most frothing rage he'd ever been in and now he had no way to expel it. Everything in him was white-hot and he'd lost too much blood to just sit down and deep-breathe his way through it safely. He ripped the empty drum out of his gun with one savage motion and slapped a fresh one in, cocking the still-smoking gun in the next breath. Then he kicked the deathclaw's corpse to the side, stepped into the cave and swung the barrel of the shotgun into the first egg he saw.

  Pulling the trigger as an afterthought, the ghoul blindly stormed his way through the numerous clutches of eggs. Crushing them with his punches and kicks as much as his gun, he finally reached the end of the cave and stood there for a moment, chest heaving and throat sore from screams that he didn't recall making. His broken knuckles trailed blood from the sharp edges of egg and impacts with the deathclaw's hide mere moments earlier.

  Charon ground his teeth and began to wipe some of the egg sac off his mangled hands, forcing himself to think about where they were and where they might be secure enough to take care of Sp--

  Oh God, Spoon. The fury petered out of the overlarge ghoul as he staggered back out of the den and knelt in the bloody dirt surrounding his partner. He had to swallow two or three times before he could speak. “Spoon?” He managed, rolling her onto her back.

  The scream that came out of her was unexpected and Charon jolted at the volume of it.

    Spoon heaved in a shuddering breath after her scream, gasping and then gritting her teeth against the pain. My leg!

  She made the mistake of propping herself up and looking down at the damage. The Sugar Bombs she'd eaten that morning threatened to make a reappearance. Charon was on one knee beside her, looking infuriated and frantic at the same time. Spoon moaned in agony, pressing her fists to her eyes and falling back into the dirt. Her leg was gone, sliced clean through above the knee and lying off to the side of her. What was left attached to her was bleeding too heavily for her to think straight. “Oh God, Charon, Charon...” She babbled helplessly, “this is h-how I fucking die, I'm so sorry--”

  “No no no it's not.” Charon growled, tearing off one of his belts and cinching it tight enough to hurt faintly around her thigh. A Stimpack jabbed quickly onto the area beneath the belt.

  Spoon shook her head, feeling the panic well up. “I c-can't...holy shit big guy, so much blood-”

  “I'll carry you, it'll be okay.”

  “Charon d-don't carry m-me! What if-”

  Her chin was suddenly caught in a vice-like grip and Charon's gaze, roiling with emotion, held hers. The order didn't seem to phase him. “ I can't lose you, ” He grated out, “so let me fucking help! ” The ghoul sucked in a breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “I'm going to find a car and we're going to sit next to it. We're going to irradiate the fuck out of you and see if Moira's trick is the real deal.” He said finally, struggling to his feet and gathering Spoon up.

  The world was graying out at the edges for Spoon, and she giggled a little too hard. “T-taking care of me as always, eh big guy?” Something dribbled down her cheek and she looked up, catching sight of his mangled armor. “Oh God Charon, oh no...your poor shoulder...”

  “Fuck my shoulder, smoothskin!” Charon exploded, silencing her. His breath came in huffing, angry pants as he continued walking. He shifted her weight to one arm after a moment, using the thumb on his now-free hand to wipe off the blood that had dripped onto her face.

  Spoon half-lidded her eyes, feeling her cheeks heat weakly as he stared down at her with a strange expression on his face. “You in there...?” she asked when he finally looked away. Charon grumbled something under his breath, making Spoon smile. It was several minutes before she spoke again, the dizzy feeling unsettling her immensely. “Charon...if...if something happens to me, what will you have to do?”

  The tall ghoul stiffened, fingers digging into her leg and arm. “I am not having this conversation right now. You're going to be alright, smoothskin.”

  “But what if I'm not? What...What if I have to haunt you endlessly be-because you never told me what would ha-happen afterward?” Spoon pressed, raising her hands and waving them around in what she hoped was a spooky fashion.

  “I could live with that.” Was all Charon said in reply though, his eyes thoughtful as he stared over her head.

  “I understand that you'd have to take the c-contract, but,” Fuck this hurts. If I get out of this I'm blowing that fucker's den sky-high with grenades, “What's keeping you from just hanging onto it yourself?” Oh god, bad question, terrible question holy shit. This is where I get eaten alive, her brain screamed as Charon slowly looked down at her with a thunderous expression. “Uh. Never mind.” Spoon backpedaled. “I just. I need something to talk about so I don't focus on the fact that my leg was ripped off. I'm sure you understand.” She finished with a laugh that sounded too high in her ears.

  “What were some of your favorite westerns, and why?” Charon grunted after several minutes, his face smoothing into a neutral look. “Tell me about them. I never watched any. Too many horses for me.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Spoon said, giddily realizing that she actually did recall him saying that.

    Her voice was a soothing background noise to him, telling him about Roy Rogers and Fess Parker while intermittently taking sips off a canteen they filled in an irradiated puddle. Charon vaguely recalled a singing cowboy and that damn pony of his. He felt sometimes like that damn four legged fuck did all the work out of the two. He couldn't remember why horses unsettled him so much. Maybe it was because they were huge, like Brahmin, but smarter.

  It didn't matter. As long as she was talking, she was breathing. And as long as she was breathing, he was hers.

  Charon hadn't been able to help the shudder that had gone through him when she asked what would happen to him if she died. The notion of her haunting him was only barely laughable. She was already going to haunt him. Every day since he had braided those small beads into her hair haunted him.

  Charon wasn't an idiot. He knew that he was well beyond the point of healthy employee and employer attachment. Shit, he may have skipped the 'healthy' part outright and plummeted straight into 'how the fuck do I make this work' territory.

  She let him touch her. She'd seen most of him, fucked-up skin and all...and she still seemed to want him. The next day had been torment as he'd tiptoed around her, not sure what to do in this situation. His pussyfooting didn't seem to upset her; she'd left him alone for the most part and he had a weird feeling that their interaction may have been a fluke. Maybe her water hadn't been purified enough and she'd had rad poisoning. What if she'd been drinking beforehand and didn't actually know what had happened? Spoon hadn't acted any differently towards him and it was confusing as fuck.

  Charon groaned internally as he remembered all the damn fool traders she swindled out of their caps with a well-placed arm touch or that cheesy showman's grin. What if that's all he was? Just another sucker?

  A barricade of cars stacked on top of one another caught his eye, and he quickened his steps. If there were raiders they were fucked, but the lack of fire in the encroaching twilight set his mind at ease. Charon abruptly noticed that Spoon had fallen silent, and looked down worriedly. Her eyes were still open but fuck , was she pale. “Not much further, Spoon.” He rasped.

  She focused on him, offering a wan smile that only worried him more. “Okay.”

  The only raiders were already dead, and Charon could feel the low hum of radiation from at least two of the vehicles. Carefully he set her down on the hood of one of the crushed cars, dropping her pack on the ground next to him and grunting when the fingers of his right hand made a snapping protest against the motion. “You still have your reserve water? I don't know how hard this car is still cranking out. It's been here a while.”

  “Bottom of the bag. C-Can you grab me a Bloodpack? Maybe another Stim too.” Spoon asked, wincing as she slid further back so she could lay down. Charon 'tsk'ed, sitting her up again.

  “You know laying down is a bad move, smoothskin. You fall asleep like that, you're fucked.” He scolded, ashamed of how relieved he felt when she rolled her eyes at him.

  “Pipe down you overlarge fucker, and g-gimme a Stim already. Then t-take off your armor so I can see your shoulder.” She demanded.

  Charon felt a tremor jolt through his body at the order and then...nothing. Huh . That's never happened before. Cautiously, he continued not obeying for a few seconds more, hiding it by digging around in her pack aimlessly. Weird , he thought, finally picking up the things she asked for and handing them over one by one. “My shoulder will be fine smoothskin. The rads are doing their work on me, see?” he assured her, tugging his battered armor to the side and showing his muscle already starting to patch and weave its way back together.

  Spoon grimaced as she started to drink from the gallon of rad water. “I'm going to have to piss like a fucking racehorse when this is over with.” She complained. Her cheeks were already pinking back up, proof that the Bloodpack and Stim had done their jobs.

  “Do you have anything to dull the pain? Med-X?” Charon was surprised when she shook her head no.

  “I might still have a bottle of vodka in the side compartment. That's it though. I really ought to prepare more for these kinds of things.” The smoothskin admitted as Charon uncovered a half-empty bottle and passed it to her. “Jesus Christ Charon, you'll bleed me out faster. That'll thin my blood.”

  “You don't have anything else in here that would help with managing your pain.” He pointed out.

  Spoon set her jaw. “I've dealt with it this long, haven't I?”

  Charon could tell this wasn't an argument he could win, so he simply nodded and began setting up a few mines around their impromptu resting place. Once he was done he started peeling off his armor. His undershirt was punched full of holes and with a resigned sigh he began using it to scrub some of the blood off his gear. The radiation from the cars lapped at the bottom of his consciousness gently, relaxing him to the point that he sat down.

  “How do you feel, Charon?” Spoon asked, hiccuping at the end of her sentence.

  Charon looked up, taking in her appearance. He hadn't permitted himself many opportunities to check her over since their confusing bath day almost two weeks ago. He knew his stare was heated but he couldn't bring himself to care.

    “I feel damn fine, smoothskin.” he said finally. The look that he gave her cut through the acrid taste of rad water and the foggy warning ticks of her Pipboy's Geiger counter. Spoon gulped, not sure why she felt so disappointed when he returned to swabbing the blood off his armor. Her stomach twisted in a way that had nothing to do with the dimming pain.

  “You grow anything yet? Or are we fucked?” Charon asked, spitting onto his shoulder plate and scrubbing at it with the cloth.

  Spoon shrugged, loosening the belt around her thigh. Charon's eyes shot back up at the ' clink ' of the buckle. “Sheesh, jumpy.” Spoon teased, sliding the belt off and holding her breath. No blood spurted out of the end of her thigh and she grinned in relief, her hysteria manifesting in a squeak of laughter. “Whew! Well, worst comes to worst I'll get a badass robot leg instead.”

  “Jesus fuck.” Charon growled, tossing his armor to the side and getting to his feet.

  “Uh-?” Spoon began as the ghoul sauntered to the car, caging her in with his arms when he leaned over her. “Charon?”

  He made a low noise in his throat, closing in and pressing his forehead to hers. “Don't... don't do that to me again, smoothskin.” He murmured after a few tense seconds.

  “Do what?” Spoon asked, genuinely confused. Charon groaned, pulling her into his chest and hugging her tightly. Oh...I scared him, she realized. Wait, I scared him?! Holy fuck. “I'm sorry.”

  “If my employer dies, I have to take the contract from them and give it to the next person I see. It could be the person who killed them. It could be a random trader.” The ghoul drew a shaky-sounding breath. “I cannot 'hang onto' my own contract. The longer I keep it, the more severe the mental backlash is. I..I am content. I do not wish to leave you. You have been kind to me. You tolerate my touching. But it's not wise to be this attached to you. I distanced myself so I could keep you safe; so I wouldn't be distracted when I watch your back.”

  “'Tolerate?!'” Spoon squeaked, pieces falling into place in her brain. I thought I had overstepped his boundaries when he avoided me the next day! I'll admit my pride was a little wounded and I was embarrassed with the way I acted, so I figured I'd save us both the trouble and pretend like it didn't happen. If only a certain someone didn't make it so fucking difficult to forget...!

  “It didn't work. I am still distracted, maybe even more so.” Fever-hot fingers cupped her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. She flushed at the intensity of the look, fixing her eyes on his shoulder instead. “Hey,” His voice held a note of pleading, “don't hide from me. Not now. When you talked about haunting me...I don't think you understand the things I'm already haunted by, smoothskin.”

  “I really tore you up, huh?” Spoon said sheepishly. Charon nodded, seeming like the action itself offered him some relief. Spoon threw her arms around him on a whim, nuzzling into his chest. “We're fucking morons, big guy.”

  The startled bark of his laughter was like music to her, and she joined in.

  ...

  Spoon was horrified on a low level when she woke up from a relatively restful (if a little nauseous) night to a brand new, semi-functional leg. No other appendages had appeared and for that she was grateful, but the muscles in her leg felt like she'd never used them before.

  She hobbled around the camp, swiping a new boot off a dead raider that was almost her size and struggling to put it on. Charon chuckled at her frustrated motions, offering to hold the bag of Radaway while she tapped into a vein. “I swear to God, if anything worse than the standard Radaway headache or upset stomach happens I'm blowing my fucking brains out.” Spoon swore when she was done, looking up at the ghoul with narrowed eyes.

  Charon shrugged. “Smoothskin, even if you went full ghoul you'd be attractive to me.” His tone was nonchalant.

  Spoon was flabbergasted. Jesus Christ. “You say the nicest things, Charon.”

  “Technically I'm high as a kite right now, Spoon. The radiation makes you sick, but it throws me for a loop.” He grinned down at her. “I feel great, you look great, I protected you yesterday and we're fucking alive. My shoulder's good as new, my hand bones have cracked back into place...what's not to like?” His face darkened. “Do you think those settlers knew it was a deathclaw killing their Brahmin?”

  Spoon's heart sank. There was no way they could have mistaken raider slaughter for deathclaw slaughter. Bullets versus claws? I mean, even knives don't slice like those talons. “I don't know, Charon. We'll have to see. I guess we'll prep for the worst, and hope for the best. All that jazz.”

  Charon nodded in agreement, but his brow stayed furrowed. Spoon chewed her lip thoughtfully as she re-packed her rucksack and Charon polished off a few cans of Cram. The freshly-filled rad water jug plopped like a rock into the bottom of her pack.

  “Remind me to thank Moira when we get back. I guess letting her twist my DNA 'like a kitten with a ball of yarn' was a good thing after all.” Spoon grimaced as a headache started to pound in her left temple. “Ah, right on time.”

Part Eleven