#this is absolutely pressing. need bat stamps now

[trans-yllz]

THERE ARE BAT STAMPS????

[catharrington]

Catboy headcanon: When Billy is horny, he rubs at the base of Steve’s tail because he knows it’s a sure fire way to get Steve riled up, too.

Sometimes, when Steve comes home late at night from his job at the public library, he’s not in the mood. Doesn’t want to get in the mood. He just wants to lay out in a patch of artificial sunlight and laze around. Dreading the fact that he needs to get up to take a shower and even change into pajamas.

Maybe, he thinks, he’ll put on Billy’s baggy winter pajamas that he completely swims in. No better way to get warm from the cold of February outside. And no better way to hide his cold toes from the drafty windows of their apartment.

“You home, pretty cat?” Billy calls to him from the kitchen. Before he walks into the doorway, a glass of whiskey hanging loose in his fingers, wearing nothing but black cotton briefs and a grin. One hip cocked dangerously to the side, as if he knew he was something to look at.

Steve lifts his head so his chin is balanced on the couch. His ears flicking side to side as he registers the heat coming off Billy. The clinking of the ice cubes in his glass as he walks forward.

Billy walks towards him and it sends Steve up on his knees. Not in a way he wanted to, he doesn’t want to put forth the effort of getting up, let alone getting off— yet, he can’t help it. Billy smells of cheep liquor and sweat. Of the meat he cooked for dinner earlier. He makes Steve’s mouth water.

His tail hits against the back of the couch loudly, hit, hit, as Billy stalks towards him. A smile on his face that’s matched by Steve’s own.

“I’m tired,” Steve warns. Trying to laze forward on his elbows, even when his butt persistently sways in the air. “Work was hell. Don’t really need you asking me to do more work—,”

“Me?” Billy feigns ignorance. His drink clinking again as he gets close enough to set it on the coffee table. As he gets close enough for Steve to feel how hot his body runs. As he gets close enough to show off how tented his cock is inside his shorts.

“I’m not going to force you to do anything,” Billy scoffs at even the idea. He lumbers between the couch and the coffee table. Sitting down on the floor with a heavy thud of his heavy body. He casually leans back against the table, easily, like he does this every day, and uses one hand to push back his wild hair.

“Just,” he says with half lidded eyes and a wet swipe of his tongue. “Just tell me how your day was. And I’ll massage you until you feel better? Okay, babe?”

And Steve can’t help it. Even with the plethora of pet names he still gets liquified inside at a new one. He lets a purr roll out from the back of his throat long and deep. Let’s his body roll over to the side so he can face Billy directly.

Inside their apartment is quiet, the street has the noises of cars driving by and the chatter of people. It’s late, not too late however. The steeet lights are still on. Casting Billy’s pretty skin, his messy hair and his grown out beard, in a honey yellow glow. Just like the liquor glass sweating out onto the table. He looked good enough to drink.

“Just,” Steve mocked his tone of voice, “just a massage? And then bed?” He lifted one bushy eyebrow. His ears pointing to attention on top of his head.

Billy nodded along, eager like a puppy. His fingers twitching on the edge of the sofa.

Steve sighed out, playing up how exasperated he was, as he rolled over onto his stomach. Pointing his toes until they went over the side of the arm rest. And folding his arms so they held up his head like a proper massage pillow.

“All right,” he whispered out.

And like a gust of hot summer air from a left open window Billy’s hands covered the small of his back. Those thick fingers and wide, circular palms caressing the bottom hem of his sweater with relentless gentleness. Even with the whiskey on his breath, Billy moved his hands in tight controlled circles that absolutely pushed the air up and out of Steve’s chest.

He couldn’t help it, not one bit, as his tail moved to curl around Billy’s shoulders. As it seeked out that warmth with the possessive nature Steve always tried so hard to keep in check. The fur jerked against his dirty skin, catching long strands in the clumps of his sweat. He must not have showered after coming home from shift of working outside. It meant he really needed a shower now, it was fantastic.

“Tell me about your day at work, pretty cat,” Billy whispered. It sounded like his mouth was right next to the fur of his ear, but Steve was floating on a cloud. And with the way his own throat was making the deep vibration of a content purr, Billy sounded miles away.

“Aahh,” Steve moaned out, trying to remember how words tasted on his tongue. When all he could think about was the taste of whiskey.

“We got a ton of deliveries, some new hard-back biographies today,” he managed to get out on shaky breaths. “I-I had to unload and check them all in. Stamp... them all in.” He dragged out the last sentence with a roll of his hips. To match the roll of Billy’s fingers.

They pushed up the hem of his sweater until those devilish fingers were touching skin. Erasing the February chill from his walk home, but leaving goosebumps as they went.

“The old bats at the counter left the whole shipment for me! I think—,” he cut off with a groan, “I think they like watching me struggle with carrying the boxes.”

Billy laughed low at that. So low, so deep inside his naked chest, that Steve felt it vibrate up his spine. “I don’t blame them. That sounds adorable.” He whispers, much too close again.

“Perv-pervert,” Steve grumbles out. Tilting his head forward into his folded arms.

His next words catch and stay in his throat as Billy’s fingers dip from their rhythm on his lower back, they dip to touch the base of his tail where it juts out from the hole in his jeans.

It’s a wider hole, wider than most, and most of the time Steve has to alter or cut his hole to fit his larger tail. Billy doesn’t even pinch any of the fluffy fur as he pushes in two fingertips.

“Woah!” Steve gasps out. His arms unfolding as he bolts upright, while his tail flicks to the side to hit the couch with a loud whack.

And all Billy does is give another low chuckle. One hand, the hand not lost in his mess of tail hair, rubs a gentle circle on his back. “That’s no good?” He asks, “I’ll stop if you say so?”

But Steve’s purrs were filling up the whole damn apartment. His cheeks were flushed a cherry red color, growing over his cheek bones and connecting at the tip of his pointy nose. He could feel his face was on fire. Could feel a bit of shame as he gave over to just how good Billy’s fingers were.

He let himself fall back to the couch with a huff. Nuzzling his blushing face back into his folded arms, and hiding his blush in the sleeves of his sweater.

“Feels good,” he mutters out.

Billy leaned forward, a lopsided smirk, “what was that, I didn’t catch it?”

Steve turned where he knew Billy’s face would be, bent over to try and see his shame. He kept his eyes closed as he hissed, “heard me!”

Billy groaned out himself. His body rolling as he leaned forward. Leaned more into Steve’s lax and warm frame. His fingers disappearing to the knuckle as he felt out the most sensitive part of him. Right where the bone of his tail was thickest. Right where the fur came up into his back— every bit as ticklish as pleasurable.

“Come on, kitty,” Billy sighed. He leaned forward so his face pressed into the hair between Steve’s ears. Rolled the tip of his stocky nose in the mess of it, inhaled the scent of Steve in a way that made his stomach flip. Butterflies fly around. Pink stars flutter at the side of his vision.

“I want you to feel good, want you to want it,” Billy kept talking. His voice hot on the back of Steve’s neck. “You deserve to get off after that fuckin’ day.”

Steve reached down between them, fumbling with the button and zipper of his jeans. Billy’s laugh kept going in his hair as he shifted so his jeans went below the swell of his ass. His tail slipping through the hole of his jeans much more easily than Steve was struggling.

“There’s my feisty cat,” Billy didn’t waste any time in getting his hands back in Steve’s tail fur. Burying them into the long chocolate and black fur until his palms where flat on Steve’s skin. Then he pulled then back. Using his short fingernails to scratch at a maddeningly slow pace.

“You must have looked so damn cute. Workin’ up a sweat in front of everyone. How cute, how tempting...,” his breath hot onto the back of Steve’s neck as he speaks. Making his leather collar moist. “Good thing you wear this collar so everyone knows who you belong to.”

Steve’s hands groped uselessly at the couch under him. His hips bucking backwards to get more of those hands on him.

“Such a good kitty, huh, such a good boy for me.” Billy’s mouth turned. His lips pressuring dangerously into the base of Steve’s ear. It flicked violently back and forth, knocking into Billy’s nose and lips, but he didn’t move back. “Right here, huh? Does this feel good? Right at the base of your pretty little tail?”

Steve whimpered, nodding in agreement.

Billy’s fingers were moving faster and faster, some staying at the very base to tease and dig into all the most sensitive nerves of his skin. His other hand was petting through the rest of his fur. His tail, ever the traitor, was curled in a tight vice around Billy’s arm making it all too easy for him.

“Want me to keep petting you, keep touching you, think you can get off just from this?”

Steve’s hips bucked up off the couch. His knees knocking together as he tried to lift them so his skin was touching as much and as hard against Billy’s as he could.

But Billy was using his weight to keep Steve down on the couch. Was using both his arms and his chest to pin Steve so he was laying just as he choose to lay for the massage. And that, well that was almost as hot as the dirty talk.

“Billy, Billy,” Steve chanted his name in rolling waves of his purring. His mouth hanging open so his tongue lulls out the side. A pool of drool gathering just below his chin. It matches the way his cock trapped below the softness of his belly and the rough texture of the couch is dripping it’s own pool of pre-cum.

He’s torn between rutting down to get the friction and make himself cum, or bucking up more to get Billy’s fingers scratching into his skin deeper and deeper. So he does both in studdering jerky movements that make his whole body ache.

“Shhh,” Billy’s mouth has gotten closer. His lips right at the base of his ear. It makes the sensitive pink skin inside twitch and jerk away. Flick in annoyance at the hot air.

But then Billy’s closing his lips around Steve’s ear. Closing his teeth around it just enough to feel them. And rolling his tongue against the fur in time with how his fingers flex deeply into his tail.

He can barely hear the way Billy whispers, “cum for me, kitten,” as he cums. His neck stretching out in a choked off moan. Toes curling. Tail flicking at the end into Billy’s bicep muscle. His eyes widening before fluttering closed.

He’s giving small little ruts down into the couch until his cock stops milking ribbons on it.

Tomorrow, there will be a mess to clean up. That, and the whiskey Billy left sit on the table.

But now, Steve’s only thinking of going to sleep.

He’s lost in a steady rhythm of post-orgasm purring as he feels his soft body shift before lifting. Billy groaning only slightly as he hefts Steve up to a bridal carry.

He takes Steve into the bedroom. Their shared bedroom. Laying him down across the sheets like something precious, like something he doesn’t want to break. Or misshandle. Like he ever could when every way he’s ever touched Steve has been with a gentle hand and love in his eyes.

First he feels his hair being pushed off his sweaty forehead. Then he feels his jeans being taken the rest of the way off and a cloth cleaning off his skin. A fresh new pair of sleeping pants that match Billy’s own slipping over his long, pale legs.

Billy shuts the lights off. Shuts the door. The noise of the city outside still makes it bright, can’t get away from that.

But Billy comes into bed and curls up behind Steve. Wrapping one arm around his waist, those work rough fingers possessive against the slight pudge Steve’s stomach has. Pushes his knees behind Steve’s so he’s flush with as much of him as he could possibly be.

“This okay, Stevie?” he whispers.

And Steve’s heart flutters. His stomach grows warm. He’s got those butterflies again. He opens his mouth but not a lot comes out. His words constantly cluttering, failing him.

He takes Billy’s hand from the pillow above his head and brings it down to his lips. Presses those scarred and big and scary hands to his lips. Says much more than he knows he can with his limited, stuttery words.

Behind him, Billy chuckles. Pulls Steve by his stomach even closer together.

[unlockthelore]

Good Will

Lumine glanced over her shoulder as the toe of her boot grazed a crevasse on the stone stairs, her brow raised and lips pursed. “Is there a reason you’re shadowing me, Sir Kaeya?”

The quartermaster strolling behind her came to a gradual halt on the lower landing, hands perched on his hips as a coyness curled at the corner of his lips. His lilac eyes flitted to the left then the right and Lumine was almost tempted to do the same til she remembered who it was she was dealing with.

“Whatever could I have done to earn such skepticism, Lumine?” Kaeya asked, raising his hands in a deceptively helpless gesture. His earring’s blue gem gleamed as it caught on the low light with every shake of his head. “I only wished to see you home safely, nothing more.”

Lumine hummed, her arms raised to fold loosely over her chest. It didn’t take her long to know that Kaeya was the type she should keep an eye on, even when they were on the same side. His easy-going nature loosened lips easier than alcohol and lowered guards without anyone knowing, and if he were following her then it had to be for a reason.

“I would think the Knights of Favonius patrolling the streets could keep them safe enough for a nightly stroll, wouldn’t you?” Lumine didn’t miss the slight twitch in his lips and pressed on in the absence of a rebuttal. “As the Quartermaster, surely you have faith in the skills of your men. Such a lack of belief would be terrible for morale. Don’t you agree?”

While there were few souls milling about the streets and most of the windows and doors were closed and locked for the night, she felt as if there were a thousand eyes on them. Or perhaps that was the intensity of Kaeya’s gaze. He stared at her for a moment longer then allowed his eye to close, shoulders hiked in a half-hearted shrug rustling the fur stole tossed over his right shoulder.

“You’ve caught me then. A lonely soul whose only crime is the want of company.”

Lumine offered a sympathetic smile. “Diluc kicked you out, didn’t he?”

“Absolutely not,” Kaeya said after a short pause, too lengthy for his usual comebacks. “I just decided to leave before the night fell away from me. It wouldn’t do to be late for our excursion tomorrow, now would it?”

Lumine hummed softly then tipped her head to one side, mimicking his half-hearted shrug. “I suppose not.” She turned on her heel and started up the staircase, batting away the earlier refusal. “Join me if you like, I know you won’t leave otherwise.”

His answering chuckle is cold as is the weight of his gaze on her back but she hears the jingle of his belt and hurried footsteps to match her pace. “You speak of me as if I’m some sort of pest. Perhaps you’ve been around Diluc too long, what tales has he been spinning about me?”

She clicked her tongue, side-eyeing him apprasingly. “Fishing for information so blatantly, have you no shame?”

“Another wound,” Kaeya sighed dramatically, tossing his head to one side, his ponytail rippling like water as it flicked over his shoulder. “Well then, would you indulge me with one question?”

“Haven’t I indulged you enough for one night?” Lumine retorted dryly, giving a curt nod to Katheryne when she glanced up from the countertop. The young woman returned the nod then pointedly looked away as Kaeya flashed a charming smile. His mirth remaining in a warm chuckle despite the cold reception.

“I only mean to ask why it is that you’ve been working so hard lately,” he pressed, side-stepping an ascent up the next flight of stairs to peer over the ragged parchment pinned to the wooden bulletin board. He tapped a few hunting notices then snatched them clean from their places, folding them in half. “With how handsomely the Knights have been paying you, surely you aren’t hurting for coin.”

Lumine perched a hand on her hip and raised her chin as he strolled over. “I heard a saying once that closed mouths aren’t fed,” she said, ignoring his lilting hum as he held the folded parchment to her. “Paimon’s mouth is often open and we both need to be fed.” She eyed the papers then glanced up at him, reaching out to take them.

Kaeya snatched them back, holding them further, his chin raised as he hummed thoughtfully. The corner of his lips curled reminding Lumine sorely of a cat who’d caught its prey. “Where is our intrepid little fairy, pray tell…”

“With Amber,” Lumine retorted, flicking a glance toward the parchment then Kaeya. “Is this an interrogation, Sir Kaeya?”

“Perish the thought,” He chuckled and flipped the papers horizontally, holding them out to her with a grandiose bow, far too low to be genuine. Lumine rolled her eyes and plucked them from his grasp. She unfolded the papers and looked over their contents, interest piqued as she noticed the reward in blotted black ink taking up the majority of the parchment’s lower half. With the seal stamped from the Adventurer’s Guild, she felt a bit better of the potential conquest though with a quick glance, she frowned.

“It’s odd,” Lumine prefaces, folding the parchment while Kaeya strolled past her. “Tell me, why did you pick these?”

Kaeya smirked, his gaze cutting toward her, a pale hue to his lilac eyes from the amber lanterns swinging from the awning behind them. “Clearing hilichurl camps and quelling copious amounts of slimes is your specialty, is it not?”

Lumine huffed. “To some, perhaps.”

“There are the little jobs which make a world of difference, Lumine, as an Honorary Knight and the rising star of Mondstadt surely you of all people would know a little good goes a long ways.”

Lumine tucked the parchment away, ignoring the familiar aspects of the previous jobs she’d taken that week. The client’s name went unknown but the jobs were about the same. Tasks which seemed trivial on their surfaces but often led her into harrowing fights. Any lesser swordwielder would find themselves in a bind or on their way to the gates of Celestia. Perhaps the one who orchestrated such jobs was aware of that and wanted to spare the Knights the trouble. Her eyes lingered on Kaeya’s back as he ascended the steps, thumbs tucked loosely in the low-hanging drape of his belt, a jaunty tune rolled through the air catching on her ears.

“A little good goes a long ways,” he repeated once she fell in step beside him. “Which reminds me of a rumor I’ve been hearing.”

Lumine’s heart skipped a beat but she forced herself to remain calm, and her voice even. “A rumor?”

“There is a fountain nearby, one where the people of Mondstadt often give their coin to in exchange for a wish or Barbatos’ ear,” Kaeya covered his mouth lightly as he chuckled, raising a palm defensively when Lumine shot him a glare. “I don’t mean to laugh at their beliefs. Only that I wonder if Barbatos would use such coin for a night of drink or some other means of revelry.”

Lumine sighed through her nose, shaking her head. “That’s a bit blasphemous, don’t you think?”

“On the contrary, I believe it’s well in the spirit of Mondstadt, to spend hard-earned coin for pleasure and relaxation. Isn’t that freedom?”

She pretended to mull his words over, ignoring her heart’s hammering as they passed by the Souvenir Shop. A soft yelp caught her ear and she looked over in time to see Marjorie careening forward, the box of knick-knacks and bobbles spilling out of her hands. Lumine’s muscles twitched and she stepped forward to go help when Kaeya left her side in a blur, jogging past the boxed power plots, his heels clacking against the cobblestone. Marjorie gasped when she looked up, striking up conversation as Kaeya knelt down to help her gather up the items, leaving Lumine staring awkwardly.

The thought crossed her mind that he wasn’t so bad. Despite his want to know it all. But it was pushed aside in favor of continuing with her original goal, climbing the stairs and bidding a nod to the hostess of Good Hunter. Her heart thudding to a halt when she heard a splash.

So he’s here again, she thought, looking around at the dimly lit windows. The fountain pouring crystalline waters into its basin was illustrious as usual but In the middle of its as a young man, bent at the waist with his pants legs rolled to his knees and sleeves pushed back. Handfuls of glittering coin, wet and dripping with water, were shoved into his pockets. Lumine could hear his quiet counting as she approached, brows knitted together.

“… Anthony?”

The man’s breath hitched audibly and he jerked up, yanking his hands from the water and stumbling backward til he nearly tripped back onto the tiered spout. His eyes were as blue as the waters he treaded in, wide in their guilt and blinking at her in shock. “I-It’s you…”

She could see his throat bob as he hid his hands behind his back, the shoulders and sleeves of his shirt darkening in color as the water from the spout doused his backside.

“I-I wasn’t doing anything, honest.. I..”

Lumine shook her head, glancing toward the stairs. “I know what you were doing,” she interjected, seeing him visibly deflate and the flash of panic and worry in his eyes. “And I understand…”

For a moment, his expression was young and confused. “You do…?”

Lumine nodded slowly, reaching behind her and slipping her fingers through the nothingness, withdrawing with a weighted pouch resting in the palm of her hand. It bulged at the seams and her heart ached at the thought of letting it go. But she recalled the afternoon heading to Good Hunter for a meal with Paimon, hearing the soft pleas choked out between grating coughs. The young woman who prayed not to be a burden on her brother or anyone else bowing her head before the shimmering waters, tears rolling down her cheeks wiped away with a practiced hand immediately flying to her lips to stifle another wave of coughs.

“Here.”

Anthony waded over to her and shakily reached out for the pouch, staring down at it in disbelief once Lumine dropped it in his hands. “I— I can’t take this..”

“It’s better than being arrested for stealing coins from a fountain,” insisted Lumine, regretting her words when he flinched. “You won’t be able to help Anna or anyone if you’re in a dungeon.”

Anthony seemed to think the words over and Lumine thought he would try to dissuade her until he climbed out of the fountain, cradling the pouch in the crook of his arm like a child. “How.. How can I…”

“Take care of yourself, and your sister,” Lumine cut in, letting the air warm around her fingers as she dried the sheen of water dripping from his arms and legs. “Get some sleep for a night too.”

He stared down at the pouch then clumsily bowed his head, grabbing his shoes from where they were stashed behind the fountain and sprinting off. The jingle of coin carrying long after he was gone.

“So, that is the reason why you’ve been taking extra jobs…”

Lumine suppressed a flinch, not bothering to turn around when she heard the merry tap of Kaeya’s boots as he approached from behind. She should’ve known that he would’ve waited to see what would come about then reveal himself.

“Is it really wise giving your money to someone you barely know?” Kaeya asked inquisitively, an airiness to his voice as if he were truly puzzled. “Anthony is quite the hard worker but he has spent many nights at Cat’s Tail.”

Lumine sighed, shaking the water from her hands, satisfaction curling in her chest when he grimaced at the water flicked at him. “Wasn’t it you who said that spending coin for pleasure and relaxation was freedom?” She turned on her heel to face him, scowling as she tipped her chin up. “His sister’s illness is hardly her fault or his own, they shouldn’t have to feel weighed down by being unable to afford medicine.”

Kaeya tutted softly, eyeing her. “And so you sought to alleviate their burden by taking it upon yourself…? How noble.”

“A knight would know the price of noble deeds, wouldn’t they?” Lumine retorted, standing straighter as he turned toward her, smiling down at her keenly.

“Ah, and a sister would want to ease the pain of a brother’s sorrow..”

Lumine curled her fingers into a fist and lowered her gaze, her teeth clenched until her jaw began to ache. Neither of them said a word but the air shifted between them once Kaeya cleared his throat.

“Apologies, I believe I’ve taken this jest a bit too far…”

She peered up at him and to her surprise, he actually seemed a bit bashful if not regretful. His smile softer and friendlier as he gave a curt nod.

“Why don’t I make it up to you, perhaps a trip to Angel’s Share?”

Lumine weighed the makeshift olive branch against her desire to do away with the night’s posturing, but from the slight fidget at his belt and the tightness of his smile, she could forgive him this once.

“Didn’t Diluc kick you out?”

Kaeya chuckled and started off, rounding the fountain with Lumine in tow. “Ah, but that’s the charm of good will, Lumine… and hopefully, my short absence has made his heart a little fonder.”

[jenonctcity]

No Nut November - Renjun

Huang Renjun – Smut, Crack, Fluff

Warnings: Explicit content, a lot of mentions of penis’s, female masturbation, male wet dreams.

Word Count: 2.4k

Summary: 00’s line take part in No Nut November.

The Rules of No Nut November:

You cannot have sex, masturbate, or nut in any way, shape, or form.

Watching pornography and having boners are allowed, but you can’t nut.

You are only allowed one wet dream. If you have more than one, then consider yourself out.

You do not have 3 strikes; you only have one shot at it. If you miss it, you’re out.

 If you have passed the month with a total of 0 nuts, you are a victor and you shall qualify for Destroy Dick December (Not Recommended).

Look man, just don’t nut in 30 days. 

Series

 You were horny. You couldn’t find any other words to describe the tingling sensitivity you felt within the confines of your panties. You needed Renjun, and you needed him now. He’d spent the day with Jaemin, Jeno, and Haechan doing god knows what, probably playing video games and eating till they felt sick. Now as he sat on the edge of his bed, scrolling through his YouTube feed absentmindedly you decided now was the perfect time to get some dick.

You had the whole thing planned out, you were gonna start by kissing his neck from behind, then you would rub his cock over his jeans to get him hard. You weren’t quite sure about the next step yet, you would either suck his dick down your throat till he had you gagging, or push him back onto the bed and sit on his face till your thighs were shaking and your eyes rolled into the back of your head. You figured you’d just decided which option to take in the moment. But the final step in your plan was riding him until he took you to cloud 9 and back. You snuck up behind him, the first step in your plan now underway.  

“Hey baby.” You purred in his ear, running your hands round his body to his chest and stroking it with lingering fingers.

“What’s up beautiful?” He didn’t take his eyes off of his phone, even when you started to press teasing kisses to the warm skin of his neck.

“I want you.” You got straight to the point, trailing a hand down to the slight bulge in his jeans. He was quick to grab your hand, pulling it away and turning his head to face you. You frowned at him, confused as to why he wasn’t jumping at the chance to fuck you when you were basically offering your pussy up to him on a silver platter.

“I can’t, sorry.” He shrugged, standing up from his spot on the bed and facing you as you knelt on the bed where he had previously been sitting. He’s never turned you down for sex before during your entire year long relationship, so this was completely baffling you.

“What do you mean you can’t?” You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly almost like a curious puppy would when hearing something they haven’t heard before.

“The boys bet me that I couldn’t do no nut November, I said I could.” He shrugged like it was nothing. “If I last the entire month without orgasming once then they buy me a laptop. If I lose then I have to do anything they want for an entire day.” He chuckled at the look of anger on your face. “Sorry babe.” He cupped your cheeks and pressed a quick kiss to your pouted lips.

“I hate you. I can’t go a whole month without sex, you absolute fool!” You gave him a whack on the arm, your sexual frustration getting pent up and making you want to slap the shit out of him.

“You’ll live! It’s just a month and you can masturbate! You’ll be fine.” He sat beside you on the bed again, pulling you close with his arm around your shoulder. “Lets cuddle.” His grin was pissing you off even more.

“Pfft, lets cuddle, what a complete cum rag stupid idiot.” You mumbled, laying down on the bed with your back to him. He laughed when he heard your non-threatening mumbling. “I wanted my guts rearranged by dick but all I’m getting is a stupid cuddle.” You snuggled into the pillow, your scowl threatening to become permanent. He wrapped his arms around you and spooned you from behind.

“You’ll get over it. Don’t even think about rubbing your ass against my cock.” His lips felt were soft against the back of you neck, his breath cool against the warmth of your skin and sending a chilling shiver down your spine. You huffed and closed your eyes, hoping a nap would dull the horniness into nothing.

 Day 8:

It was a week later, day number 8 to be exact, when you decided you couldn’t last any longer. You needed Renjun’s dick. So, he was shocked to walk into his room and see you spread eagle on the bed, naked as the day you were born, rubbing your clit with two fingers and giving him a seductive look. You were even more shocked than him when he burst out into a fit of laughter. Your fingers stopping and mouth popping open to give him a gormless look.

“Why are you laughing?!” You closed your legs, sitting up on the bed and folding your arms over your chest, looking him straight in the eyes and trying to assert some dominance over him.

“You’re a funny girl.” He strode across the room, throwing himself onto the bed beside you and smiling widely at you making his eyes crinkle up.

“This isn’t funny. I need sex.” You looked down at where he laid next to you, glaring at him to show him how you didn’t find your needs funny. He just continued to smile at you, batting his eyelashes innocently as he looked your naked body up and down.

“Lay down.”

“Why?”

“Just lay down.” His voice held an authoritative tone that you knew to obey. You felt a light spark of hope flicker in the pit of your stomach as you laid down on the bed, opening your legs back up to give him access just in case he planned on needing it. “Be a good girl and you’ll get rewarded.” He smirked, sitting up on one of his arms to face you. He placed his other hand on your knee, very slowly and teasingly trailing it up your thigh, leaving a searing feeling behind from his touch. You watched his face as a substitute to watching his hand, his plump bottom lip trapped between his teeth as he concentrated on making you feel good.

“Please…” You figured if you begged he would be more likely to give you what you wanted.

“Such a brat.” His fingers ghosted over your slit, his touch light as it scaled up and down your wet folds. “Trying to seduce me when you know I’m not going to cave in.” He leaned in and pressed his lips against your, not wasting time to slip his tongue in the cavern of your mouth. With his tongue pressing to yours, he put pressure on your clit, rubbing it in circular motions and letting your moans slip into his mouth. “So, because you’ve been such a bad girl.” He removed his hand from you, smirking against your mouth before pecking your lips once more. “You don’t get anything.”

“RENJUN!!!”

 Day 13:

When Renjun opened his eyes in the morning, the first thing he saw was you grinning at him with a wide, shit eating smile. He furrowed his eyebrows, a yawn breaking from him as he wondered what you had to be so happy about that early in the morning.

“Good morning Mr Huang.” You greeted him, sitting up and stretching your back out.

“What did you do…?” He asked with suspicion in his tone, his voice coming out groggy and clad with remnants of sleep.

“Oh my sweet, sweet boyfriend, it’s not what I did.” You reached over and pulled back the duvet, revealing his naked body to the cool air of the morning floating through the cracked open window. “But what you did.” You used to your finger to point accusingly at the pool of dried cum on his toned stomach. His flaccid dick laying against his thigh. “I enjoyed every second of your wet dream. As did you I believe.” You had a face of a cat that had caught the mouse, your smugness building in your chest and making you let out an evil like laugh. Renjun sighed, rolling his eyes and relaxing back against his pillow. “Anyway, now you lost your bet, get that bad boy up again so I can ride you till I see stars.” You swung your leg over his thigh, mounting his hips and smiling cutely at him. You rubbed your hands over his chest and bit your bottom lip.

“Actually, it states in the rules that one wet dream is allowed. So, my bet is still on.” It was his turn to be smug now, his lips pulling into a sadistic yet sleepy smirk. Your face fell faster than a skydiver wearing a ton of bricks as you rolled off of Renjun, kicking your legs into the bunched-up duvet as you started to throw a mini tantrum.

“FUCK!”

 Day 25:

The stubbornness your boyfriend had shown over the past 25 days was actually rather impressive. You didn’t think he’d have lasted this long and you started to get prouder of him as the days went by, your mood doing a complete turn from when you were just constantly horny and angry. Those feelings fizzled out after you watched Renjun whine about being horny but being too persistent to give up on his bet. The poor man sat there with a raging stiffy in confines o his boxers, refusing to let you touch it and pretty much stamping his feet to the floor in need. After his boner had gone down without release, you stroked his head and gave him all the kisses he needed, telling him how pleased you were with his hard-headedness. You also apologised for trying to sabotage him in the early days. You were being strategic though, because you knew once the month was up he was going to give you some mind-blowing sex, and if he wasn’t still mad about you trying to destroy his no nut streak, then he would give you multiple orgasms. So yeah, your apologising was mostly to benefit yourself.

“What are you doing baby?” Renjun walked up behind you were you sat at the dining table of the dorm, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I’m just doing a written plan of all the sex positions we are going to try at approximately 12:01am on December the 1st.” You shone a bright grin at him, then rested your head against his. “Oh and I’ve drawn some diagrams too.” He squinted at your poorly drawn stick figures, trying to decipher who was who and what body part was doing what.

“What position is that?” He moved a hand from the warmth of your waist to point at one of your diagrams. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out what position you’d drawn the stick figures in, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“It’s supposed to be doggy style but it looks more like I’m cleaning the floor and you’re just stood behind me…” You tilted your head too, trying to figure out yourself why you’d drawn it so badly.

“Why have I got three legs…?” You stilled at his question, letting out a soft laugh and rolling your eyes.

“That’s your penis, silly.”

“Why is it the same length as my leg?”

“Look it’s not an actual size diagram Renjun, enough of the questions alright?”

 Day 30:

Today is the day, well…technically tomorrow is the day, but that didn’t matter to you. Because in less than an ten minutes, the clock would tick over to 12:01am on December the 1st, and you’d finally get to feel the sweet feeling of a hard, dripping cock nestled tightly within the space of your wet walls.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited about something before in my entire life.” You laid on Renjun’s bed, making sure his roommate was going to be out the entire night – yes you may have threatened Jeno but he’s easily forgiving. 

“I can tell.” He laughed, lying beside you on the bed and staring up at the ceiling.

“I can’t believe you lasted a whole month without an orgasm! Your balls must be blue as fuck.” You giggled, lacing your fingers through his own. His hand felt a little bit clammy in your dry, cool hand. The heat from his hand warming your palm up, the heat meandering up your arm to spread throughout your body.

“They’re about to get a lot bluer…” He mumbled as quietly as possible.

“What did you say?” You glanced at him, not hearing his words.

“Nothing my darling.” He faked a smile at you, bringing the back of your hand to his lips and softly laying a kiss to it. You’d set an alarm for the magic minute, jumping up when it rang out in the room.

“Finally!” You mounted Renjun, turning off the alarm and hurrying to pull your t-shirt over your head.

“Actually…I er…spoke to the boys and they said they’re give me 100,000KRW if I participated in Destroy Dick December…so I said yes…if I have sex with you now then I know I’ll cum more than once so it’s best if I just do it myself...” The nervousness in his voice made it crack, gulping as he watched you with cautious eyes. Your silence scared him, especially when your eye twitched and nails dug into his chest, a slight wince marring his features. Anger boiled through you, rising up like a thermometer about to reach its peak temperature. “I’m sorry! Don’t be mad…we can fuck tomorrow!”

“DON’T BE MAD?! ARE YOU FUCKING HAVING A LAUGH HUANG RENJUN?!” Your scolding shouts could be heard through the walls, Jeno sitting wide eyed in the living room as he couldn’t help but listen to the situation happening inside his shared bedroom with Renjun. “It’s not going to be December that destroys your dick. I’m going to destroy it if you don’t fuck me right now!” Jeno burst into fits of laughter, finding Renjun’s difficult situation to be hilarious.

“Poor guy…” Jeno mumbled, putting his airpods in to drown out any more uncomfortable sounds that might resound from the room.

No Nut November: Huang Renjun – Success.

(A/N: Hey! I hope you liked this, please leave me some feedback if you could! Also, which member would you like to see next for the NNN series? I was just going to do it in age order but if I get enough people wanting a certain member next then I’ll do it that way instead.)

[greytoiletpaper]

Out on Allen Street, it’s 7 in the Morning

Set in the Street Siblings au by @a-sketchy-character | @streetsiblings without which I may not have had the motivation to write this much.

Drizzle | Deluge | Squall | AO3

Chapter 4: susurration

The world is dark.

Somehow, she knows how many marks and cuts criss-cross her body; how many bruises decorate her like a canvas. But she can’t feel them, not even one.

Instead, all she can do is listen, tuning in to the rain as it pours, as red droplets fall in time off of Mad Dog’s blade. If she really listens to the sound, it almost sounds like a different boy’s laughter.

She focuses on the noise and it alone, her body so perfectly still.

Mad Dog thrusts his blade to her chest, and Cassandra’s eyes open.

-- 

They’ve only been in Gotham for a week, yet, it feels like he never left. At least for Park Row, the “Crime Alley”, the city has never changed. Slowly, the Red Hood and Ravager make the area their own. He does everything to make sure that the Bat never catches a whiff of what he’s doing. He knows it is pointless; even if Bruce knew, he would be too much of a coward to venture into the evil heart of the city.

It infuriates him, the remnants of the old argument. If Batman was ever truly needed. It would be - no, should be - here. In the black, beating heart of Gotham, where crime and cruelty channel through its citizens as if it were in their own blood. Yet for all he prattles about his crusade of justice, Bruce will never set foot into Crime Alley; too hung up on the ghosts of his past to banish the ones that haunt others.

It’s why he’s wearing the original persona of the man who murdered him. Jason had lived these streets, born and raised and died because of them. Deep down, Jason understands what Bruce simply refuses to believe. Some people simply want to watch the world burn, and they can never be stopped, only carefully controlled, managed or otherwise taken out. He never wants what happened to him to be inflicted on someone else. Not if he can help it.

Now, Red Hood is here, slinking through the darkened hallways of Arkham. Past every guard and camera until he arrives at one particular cell. He knocks on the door, and a mop of neon green flips upwards.

The madman beams; his eyes are whirlpools of chaotic energy.

“What’s this? Birdy clipped his wings!” The Joker begins, guffawing like a howling hyena. “I was wondering when you’d come back to see me, little Jay.”

To his credit, Jason doesn’t react. The pneumatic seals of the helmet hiss as it comes off. The Joker never takes his eyes off his face.

“There you are, my boy. Just like your uncle Jay” The lunatic says without tone, feral grin seeming plastered. “Say, you seen Cass anywhere?”

That makes him shift uneasily on his feet. The Joker leans in close, almost conspiratorially.

“You think the Bat ran her out? That he…” Something morbid flashes in the eyes of his monster. “Killed her just like I did you?”

Jason wants to drive his fists into the man’s back. Stamp on his legs until the bones shatter. Bludgeon him over and over with whatever is on hand until the madman’s flesh is nothing but paste. Instead, he stands frozen as the cackling echoes around the room and in his ears.

“I’m not doing this for you,” Is what he says. “And I’m not doing this for me either.”

His hand lifts the pistol from its holster.

“I’m doing this because someone has to do what Batman can’t.”

The Joker takes the words in stride, nodding to himself. To Jason, it’s the calmest he has ever seen him.

“Not a fan of the whole motorcycle fetish style, but to each his own,” The madman’s eyes, still rotting in their own insanity, meet his. Something about the gaze seems so clear despite the instability. “You’re going to be wonderful for the Red Hood name.”

He sighs.

“When you do it, boy, make sure you get as much of the colour out of me.”

Jason nods and presses the barrel into Joker’s forehead, closes his eyes, and everything is silent.

 --

He presses his hand to the glass, the rain sliding down the pane on the other side, its streams the same lengths as the rivers that flow from his red crown.

--

Fact One, a statement: Roman Sionis is the Black Mask, one of Gotham's most powerful crime lords with connections running deeply in the underground drugs and weapons trade.

Fact Two, an amendment: Roman Sionis is the Black Mask, arguably one of Gotham's most powerful crime lords with sizeable connections in the weapons trade.

Fact Three, a truth: He is absolutely livid with the Red Hood and the Ravager.

Roman stares at the text on the notepad; he picks it up and throws it across the room.

In the space of two nights, the new duo had taken over his entire drug operation and cut off every tie Roman had to Crime Alley. Internally, he thinks ‘cut off’ is still too lacking a description. Half of his thugs breathing through tubes for days. Pimps found castrated and dangling from lampposts. Drug dealers with their mouths frothing as they dissociated. If the rumour mill among villains is anything to go by, Red Hood had killed the Joker in his own damn cell. Roman shudders. He’d seen the images from the crime.

The pair are definitely a threat, and Roman needs him gone as soon as possible. Hiring the Joker would have been one of the best choices: effective, relatively cheap and definitely motivated to take on whoever dares don his previous mantle. Alas, reality disagrees.

Black Mask picks up the phone, ready to dial the more expensive alternative. He sighs and hopes they don’t call Deathstroke the ‘Terminator’ for nothing.

 --

Cassandra dives away at the last second, adrenaline flushing through her body and lifting the fog from her mind. Her opponent’s blade impacts with the ground, firmly planting itself the whole way. Mad Dog, clearly thrown off, becomes an easy target with her renewed energy.

She does not hold back, unleashing a flurry of blows to the assassin’s chest, even as he tries to hold his defence together. With renewed focus, she redirects every strike he makes and strikes him back thrice as hard.

It is not long until Mad Dog is at Cassandra’s mercy, nearly a bloody pulp under her hand.

“Finish it,” Shiva calls suddenly, and she almost complies. But, with her hazy vision, the images of Faizul and the assassin blend together. The vertigo Cassandra is feeling becomes sharper, and she’s drowning in it.

In her hesitation, Shiva tuts and stabs her own blade into Mad Dog’s heart, crimson fluid spraying in all directions.

Cass doubles over, desperately heaving, and liquid green purges from her body.

 --

Bruce stares up at the readout on the Batcomputer. There are new players in Gotham, but there’s something that makes them stand out from the others. They make headway faster than he’s ever seen it, clearing out and claiming Park Row as their own territory in a week.

Twenty-seven confirmed kills and thirty-four hospitalisations. He would have stopped with his investigation then and there. Yet, the detective in him tugs the back of his mind. He checks through the names again and finds that each one is attached to a laundry list of crimes that become more appalling the further he reads.

Then Red Hood killed the Joker; and for the first time since the madman’s debut, Gotham is quiet.

Bruce rubs his face in his hands and turns to the screens entirely dedicated to monitoring his daughter Cassandra. (The memorial makes itself known in his peripheral vision.) Her work in Hong Kong as Black Bat had been phenomenal so far. Every story he can find of her weaves the same story: Black Bat, hero of the Forgotten. Of the waylaid and the oppressed.

What would they think? Bruce finally turns to the statue, mouthing the words on the plaque to himself. 

“Can you promise something for me, Bruce? Just one thing?”

  “Anything for you, Jaylad.” 

He tears his eyes away.

Damian becomes cagey whenever either of the three vigilantes come up in conversation. It is suspicious, but he has had the lesson very solidly ironed in his mind how unconducive to understanding he can be. So, he gives his son his space.

Despite the child's refined nature, little pieces of him remind him of Jason, far beyond the boy's temper, pride, or even his cursing. Bruce had seen Damian in the library once, his fingers tracing the spine of a newer copy of Huckleberry Finn.

Red and orange flash by his primary monitor, and Bruce pulls himself from his thoughts.

Batman rises, ready to confront whatever ghosts will taunt him in the shadows.

-- 

The world roars in her ears, and no matter how hard she tries, Cassandra can’t stop the erratic sequence of deep breaths that claw out her throat. For once she’s glad she’s not wearing her old costume. The mask reminded her too much of smoke inhalation and chains and-.

“Why?” She rasps in a throaty, breathless voice that has not escaped her for years. “Why would you do this?”

“Can’t a mother test the progress of her daughter?” Shiva replies coolly. Her stance gives off nothing, so Cassandra does not deign her a response.

“He went looking for me, you should know.”

Her head snaps up.

“He was curious. A unique girl who can read the body as if it were a book and a unique woman who can do the very same? An unlikely coincidence,” Shiva turns her head away, ducked down as if she had already admitted too much. “He asked me, if it was my choice to leave you with your father.”

“It wasn’t.”

Sandra nods.

“He told me that was, and I quote, ‘a load of shit’.”

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass mutters under her breath. A hush falls between them, not comfortable but not unwelcome either.

“It is not me you came here for,” Sandra says with such conviction that Cass can’t help but gape in her disbelief. Of course, she did. Shiva gave birth to her.

Before she can voice her thoughts, Sandra grasps her shoulder and wraps her arms around Cass.

“You’ll find your brother soon. I can promise you that.”

 --

Gotham rumbles, her shock snaking through the crown of her scalp. She knows that tonight is the night; when events will pass and tear the whole city asunder. For better or for worse, she cannot tell.

But she is eager to find out for herself.

 --

“Think that’s a wrap for tonight?” Jason asks quietly, almost inaudible over the Gotham rain. It’s the only coherent sentence he’s made in days, so Rose takes what she can get.

“Probably, you’re not shanghaiing me into grabbing groceries, right?”

“Maybe,” He chuckles, but even though his voice is filtered by their comms, she can tell it’s forced. “Anyone ever tell you how similar some of our problems are?”

“Really? You realised this just now?” Rose rolls her eyes because, honestly. “I mean, at least your dad isn’t some psycho assassin supervillain.”

“Aww, Rosie, making your old man sad. Truly, I’m hurt,” Hues from orange and blue armour melt from the shadows as Deathstroke emerges, eyeing her. “You don’t wear the uniform like Grant did.”

“It’s not meant to and either way, I barely knew him or Joey.” She draws her blades, trying to hide how much her arms are shaking. It doesn’t help. “No thanks to you.”

“Is that Slade?” Jason’s voice is like music to her ears, relaxing her muscles in the ways she needs.

“I made your brothers stronger,” There’s an edge to Slade’s voice, sharp as the glistening blade he brandishes. Ready to pounce at a moment’s notice. “I suggest you come with me so you can be the same.”

“What, dead because of problems you caused?” She laughs shakily, grimacing under her mask. “I suggest you fuck off.”

“I’m coming, Rose.”

“No can do. There’s a hit on the two of you, and its fait accompli,” Deathstroke makes a ‘what-can-you-do?’ gesture and Rose darts forward, her tears faster than the raindrops that dance on her skin.

 --

Batman has followed the Red Hood for hours now, and he has no idea what to think. He expected someone wielding the Joker’s former identity to be as insane as the Clown Prince himself. Yet, the red helmet only bobs up and down as if it were in conversation rather than rotating listlessly.

Despite how antithetical the new face in Gotham is to his beliefs, some actions catch him off guard about the man.

While he has seen no deaths on this patrol, with every bone the criminal breaks, the same hands offer food to street children and escort working girls to their homes. Bruce is thrown, viscerally, into a memory of the bird that flew beside him to do the very same.

The Dark Knight watches him stalk through Park Row, freeze and then take off in another direction.

It is time.

He pursues the criminal, sprinting across the rooftops of Gotham, gliding above catwalks and fire escapes. Within minutes, he overtakes and blocks the path ahead of Red Hood, who curses and vaults over his body.

Or at least, he tries to as Batman grips the man’s ankle and slams him back into the pavement. Hood never misses a second, drawing a knife and swiping at his limbs. He lets go; the man faces him again, twirling the knife round and round.

“B,” A modulated voice hangs in the air, but there is a quality to it that tickles his conscious, like an old ghost whispering in his ears.

“Red Hood, I suggest you surrender peacefully, or I –.”

“Cut the act, alright? You think that just because you’re Batman, nobody can be above you,” Red Hood laughs. Through the modulator of his helmet, it comes off as hollow. “The truth with a saying like that –.” The knife is stowed away. “– It just means nobody is beneath you either.”

The criminal grapples him; kick, jab, punch, kick again in a rapid dance of attacks that Bruce can barely keep up with. Some of the criminal’s movements are achingly familiar yet so foreign that the composite form nauseates him. Red hood strikes over and over until he actually has him, the Dark Knight, pinned.

“And some of us can’t wait to drag you all the way down.”

Jason had always had a gift for speaking. His sister’s hands may be knives, but his words were bullets.

Breaking out of the Red Hood’s hold, that is what Bruce muses in his mind.

 --

They’ve been at a game of cat and mouse for so long now. Locked in a chase of diving and darting around a maze of alleyways and rooftops. Jason drops on one of them and turns to face his pursuer, who draws short away from him.

“What, can’t work it out?” He triggers the seals on his helmet as he lifts it off. Without the lenses he can see, even in the rain, the second Bruce recognises him. “You really didn’t care enough to remember my name or something?”

“Jason,” Bruce’s tone gives off nothing and everything. “W-Why are you doing this? How are you –.”

“I’m doing this because you refuse to do what needs to be done.” Jason snarls, venom laced in every word. “You want to rule them by fear, but you never go any further with the ones who aren’t afraid.”

“Jason, I don’t under-.”

“I died for your cause, and in less than a year you shove some other kid in the uniform so he can die too!” He is raving now. He also doesn’t care. “You let my murderer run wild and slaughter thousands and when someone finally steps up to do what needed to be done, you cut her out?”

“I had to –.”

“Had to what? Isolate her? Run her out of the only family she’s ever known? She was my sister, my whole fucking world; who believed in you and you left her like she means nothing to you! Cass is gone now, and that is your fault!”

“If you would –.”

“Do you even remember? That the only thing I ever made you swear to me, that you vowed on your life, was that you’d never let her down?” For once this night, his voice isn’t angry or vicious. It is a void, detached from any feeling. “Guess I should have known better.”

He knows, almost intrinsically despite the years, that if there is one thing that Jason has said tonight, those are the words that pierce Batman’s defences. It’s why he lets Bruce rush forward like he wants to. Allows the chase to continue. When he jumps, Jason lands in an apartment that carries the same bloodstains that leaked down his mother’s arms a lifetime ago.

 --

Black Bat arrives in Gotham, and superficially, it is empty. She almost hails Barbara when bright flashes shine in her peripheral vision. Lo and behold, Deathstroke and an unknown are locked in a duel below her.

Cassandra drops from above, and at that moment, she kicks Deathstroke into a wall hard enough to knock him unconscious. His opponent, she notices, stops immediately.

Before her is a girl, hair silver under the moonlight, garbed in orange and black.

Then the Batmobile rounds the corner, a small figure rising from the hatch.

"Black Bat," Robin says, "You have not responded to Oracle, she was-."

Damian's eyes bug out once he notices the girl beside Cassandra. She fully expects him to snarl or draw his ridiculously long katana. Instead, uncharacteristically rushes forward and embraces the girl tightly instead.

"Wilson. A-are you finally assisting us in Gotham?" Damian says, even with his head buried in a shoulder. "Drake may be intelligent, but his incompetence with the sword is impossible to rectify."

"Missed you too, D-man," The girl chuckles and ruffles the boy's hair. "I would help, but what’s up with tall, slim and broody over there?"

Cassandra crosses her arms expectantly at Robin, who obviously only just remembered her presence when he unlatches himself immediately. His cheeks may be red, but Damian still raises his chin proudly.

"I found her, Rose," His body language and eyes seem to sing. "I found his ukht."

The girl spins sharply, wolfish eyes drawn wide. “You’re her,” Rose breathes, awe rippling off her body. “You’re Cass.”

She would have flinched, but the body language is so familiar. Cass tilts her head.

“Yes.”

Rose grabs her arm so hastily that she almost rips it back in shock. But something is so honest about her body language that Cass relents, letting the girl lead her where she is needed.

 --

He kneels, tracing the dark stains. Behind him, Batman pauses. Not even he would dare to disturb the sanctity of this room.

“Jaylad, please -.”

“Don’t call me that. That isn’t who I am,” Jason rounds on Bruce. He gestures to the shattered window, the ripped upholstery, and the bloodstained floor. “This is what I grew up being, what I never wanted anyone else to.”

He taps the insignia on Bruce’s chest with his pistol.

“That, right here, was your promise to people like me. People that needed help and protection,” He spits. “And you couldn’t even do it for the ones closest to you.”

"I just want to-."

"Want to what? Parade your antiquated sense of morality to hide, while the rest of the world suffers for what you refuse to do? Or cast out others from taking it in their own hands?"

Tears are building in his eyes, but he wipes them away while Batman stands ramrod straight.

"I don't think you understand. That you've never understood," The man begins, and Jason gapes because what the hell does that mean? "If I let myself cross that line, even for Joker, I won't ever come back."

"You know what I think about that, Bruce?" Jason breathes deeply, feeling the whispers of the Pit roaring with the heavy rain in his ears. "I think that's a huge self-aggrandizing load of bullshit."

He charges forward, knocking Batman's legs from under him and ramming his face into the ground. Batman is down to his knees before either can even blink.

"And I'm so fucking tired of hearing it."

Jason levels the barrel at Bruce’s forehead, torbernite lining the edges of his vision, engulfing him in an absence.

“What’s the use of you learning to do right when it’s troublesome to do right?”

 --

Then, her voice shatters the tension in the air, gripping his heart and silencing the susurrations of the rain that suffocated his ears.

“When it ain’t no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same.”

-- 

“Cass?” The boy in the alleyway says. A gun. An apple in his hand. The girl falters in the doorway, her fist tongue clenches, and she nods.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[thedirtpreferences]

PREFERENCE #18 - LINGERIE (REQUESTED)

Mick: He would say absolutely nothing, though his pupils would give him away seeing as they would dilate making his eyes black with lust. By no means was Mick a shy man, for Christ sake he got up in front of thousands of people to perform everyday of his life. What he was, however, was respectful. He never wanted to make you feel like he was objectifying you or treating you like you were a tasteless piece of meat. Furthermore, he made a very good point at always making sure you knew you were beautiful and gorgeous, not just sexy and hot. But right now, he was fighting for the right words to describe without being crude. “You’re being awfully quiet, Mickey. Do you not like the color?” Your words would be dripping with sex appeal, your face sultry and feigned with innocence as he gawked at you in horror. You looked like that and yet you were somehow afraid that he didn’t like the color? Surely you were joking. “The color, er, the color is just fine.” He would mumble trying his best to maintain eye contact with you as you pulled down your hair, shaking it so fell sensually over your shoulders. He nearly lost his bearings when you bit your lip and batted your eyes at him. “Just fine?” Pouting you walked over to his spot on the couch, pushing his chest so he was pressed firmly against it. “Mhm.” Mick mused, stifling his moan as you straddled him, your breasts now eye level with his face. “For some reason, I was under the impression that red was your favorite color on me. Perhaps, I’ve been mistaken. Oh, well.” Pretending to leave, you let out a squeak when Mick grabbed your wrists pulling you back down onto his lap forcefully. “So, you do like the red?” You would let out a breathless laugh, gasping as he flipped you over onto your back, hovering over you with a touch as light as a feather. Typical Mick; always so gentle. “I love the red. You look beautiful,” He would whisper at your ear, nipping it softly. “Beautiful? C’mon Mick, you can do better than that.” You pleaded, reaching your hand on his lower thigh, dangerously close to his progressively hardening member. “Would you like me to completely degrade you then?” Mick spoke with a perplexed look on his face, catching your hand as he brought it against his heaving chest. “Please.” You begged causing him to let out a groan as he nipped down your neck, his hands tangled tightly around your ragged locks of hair. “You have no idea what you just got yourself into,” He would laugh causing you to sigh in relief. You had finally awakened the inner freak in Mick and you couldn’t be happier.

Tommy: “C’mon, babe. You know the rules, you lost the bet.” Tommy would giggle knocking relentlessly on the bathroom door you had locked yourself in. A week ago, you had compromised with him: if he made it one week sober and well behaved, you would do anything he wanted for an entire day. In your head, you had expected making him grilled cheese sandwiches and letting him spend money on idle things while giving him frequent back rubs. Little did you know that the little devil was a secretly sex deprived animal. Furthermore, the moment he had showed up with the black lingerie set you had nearly choked on the water you were swallowing out of both fear and confusion. “I’m embarrassed.” You would groan examining yourself in the mirror with distaste. Everything about this screamed confident and lord knows you were anything but despite the endless hours of Tommy trying to plead with you. “You’ve got five seconds before I’m kicking that fucking door down,” Tommy threatened causing you to let out a sigh in defeat. You wouldn’t put it past him after all to do such a thing.

“5...4...-“

“I’m coming you idiot,”

“Not yet, you aren’t. Soon though..soon.”

Letting out a disgusted scoff, you would roll your eyes before finally unlocking the door and sauntering out with your head hung low. “Holy fuck.” Tommy would utter, instantly dropping to his knees pressing his head against your thigh. “Baby, if I stay sober for the rest of my life do you promise to wear this everyday for me? Oh, the things I’m gonna have to do to you tonight...” Pressing kisses to your inner thighs, his large hands gripping you tightly you would try to stifle the moan that bubbled to your lips, the lack of confidence slowly starting to dissipate with each gentle kiss. “Do you really like it?” You would ask genuinely curious, biting your lip sheepishly. “Oh, Y/N. Oh, baby. This is the best day of my fucking life.” Lifting you up so that you were hoisted over his shoulder, you would let out a loud squeal as he slammed you on the bed. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m about to fuck you for this whole 24 hours. You did promise after all,” His voice would be husky, a small groan slipping past his lips when you lifted you knee to press ever so slightly against his hard member. What an affect you had on him already? If you would have known this would have got him to behave by some lingerie and sex you would’ve volunteered a long time ago. “Your wish is my command, sir.”

Vince: You would clear your throat a couple of times, recieving no reaction from him whatsoever as he wrote in his office. Letting out a frustrated sigh, you would finally say something a little less on the romantic side but bold enough to get his attention. “Hey, idiot. Do you want to bang me or not? Kinda going out on a limb here.” His head would snap up the moment he heard ‘bang’. Oggling you for a second, Vince would surprise you by dropping his pen, dipping his head back, and letting out a boisterous, hysterical bellow. “Hey, shut up. I spent a lot of money on this,” You woud pout, crossing your arms across your chest and stamping your foot. “You look so fucking sexy, I just, I wasn’t expecting it. It’s so out of character.” Wiping the forming tears from his eyes, Vince would beckon you over with an outstretched hand, pushing himself from the desk in his rolling office chair. “Get over here, you little minx.” He would chuckle, wrapping his arms around you as you awkwardly straddled his body. “Mind telling me what this is about?” He would inquire, kissing your collarbone with vehemence. “I...Okay. I see the kind of girls that throw themselves at you. I’ve seen the girls in your videos. I didn’t know if you preferred this over, well, how I usually look is all.” It was if a light switch flipped in his head as he tilted his head back and let out a small ‘oh’. How could you think that? Had he seriously let you down that much as a boyfriend? “You’re absolutely crazy. You know why we choose to feature those girls? For the aesthetic. You know why our fans look the way they do? Because they want our attention. You, however, already have my attention. I love the way you dress, the way you look, the way you are. So, please, Y/N, don’t change yourself for that. Because I love you for who you are, not what your clothes say about you.” You cheeks would turn bright red as you looked down in sheer embarrassment. To say the least you were relieved, it had taken you twenty minutes to learn how to get it on anyways plus it was so extremely uncomfortable you could cry just from that. “Plus, I’d much rather see you with nothing on.” He would purr in your ear as his hands reached around to unclasp the lacy bra. “You did that far too easily,” You would say accusingly, your eyes narrowing as he pressed kisses down your chest. “Wait till you see what comes next,”

Nikki: For once, Nikki was speechless. Out of all the women he had been with, all the horrible, naughty things he had done, he had never felt so hot and bothered in his life. For, there stood his sweet, unassuming girlfriend clad in nothing but leather and lace, her body displayed in a way he had never seen it look before. He was in awe, but more importantly he was overwhelmed with lust. Furthermore, it took everything in his willpower not to tear each article of clothing off with his teeth as he gazed at her. She was irristable, practically begging to have his hands on every inch of her body. Was he actually salivating? “Happy Birthday, baby. You can open your gift now.” Oh, yeah. He had forgotten about the small box sitting in his lap until you had reminded him that it was there. By that point, however, he could have cared less about some meager gift even if it did come from you. You were the only thing that consumed his brain in this particular moment in time. Especially looking like that. Reaching toward you instinctively, you slapped his hand hard enough to make it sting. “No touching till you open that. Trust me. You’re gonna wanna see that before we begin,” Nikki felt like a child who was being told to eat their vegtables before dessert, but still he obliged because god damn he couldn’t wait to get his hands on you even if you were being bossy. Throwing open the top of the box, he would let out a low, drawn out moan examining the best gift he had probably ever recieved: a golden pair of handcuffs. He oggled at them for a moment, his mouth slightly ajar before meeting your desperate gaze. You had thrown your arms up in the air in an ‘X’ signalling him to chain you up. Nikki couldn’t leave his seat fast enough. “You are going to regret making me want you this badly.” Nikki had snapped the handcuffs on you instantly, tugging down the thong you were wearing in one swift motion, licking your naval and working his way down. “Good.” You would state simply, grinning as he looked up at you with stars in his eyes, lust and need practically oozing from his pores. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” He would mumble against you, your head leaning back from his hot breath being so close to the area you needed him at the most. “No, but you can prove it.” After you spoke those words, there wasn’t much talking after that; however, he definitely proved to you that he loved you in many, many ways.

(I’ve never really done anything like this before, so hopefully it doesn’t suck)

[seriouslyhooked]

Feels Like This (Part 9)

Emma Swan is a once lost girl who is now making good. She has made a way in the world for her and her young son, Henry, and after years of hard work, Emma is in her last stretch of schooling for the career she’s always wanted. Unexpectedly, she finds herself in a tiny nation no one’s ever heard of for her last year of study. She knows nothing about the place except that it’s beautiful, has a world-renowned child life program, and is filled with possibility. Meanwhile, Prince Killian is hardly happy with the title he received at birth. As the second in line for the crown, Killian has long tried shaking his royal duties. He built a career in the royal navy, and has stayed out of the limelight, but his ship has been called to port indefinitely at the request of his brother, the King. Fate (in her many forms) brings Emma and Killian together and the resulting fic is a cute, fluffy, trope filled romp featuring heart felt moments, a healthy dose of insta-love and an assured happily ever after. Story rated M and will have 12 parts. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hello everyone! So I have been on a nice long break from writing over the past month or so, and please believe it was not by choice. I am still feeling a high level of burn out from school and from 2020 in general and I just couldn’t seem to sit down and write. Instead I have been trying to relax and enjoy the end of summer and this beginning of fall. Luckily, this week brought my muse back into focus, and I was able to get more of this chapter on the page that I have been building to for a long time. As I promised, the angst of this story is now behind us, but the intrigue is not exactly over. This chapter shows some still remaining pieces of the puzzle beginning to fall into place. Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and I really hope you enjoy this new installment!

The dreaminess of a Montenarran morning was hard to describe to someone who had never experienced one before. The magic of this place hung in the air, dancing on the coastal breeze and glistening through that perfect Mediterranean mix of sun and spirit. The golden hues that lit up the world here were different than the paler lights Emma and Henry knew back home, and the crystal blue waters were nothing like the Long Island Sound or the harbors in New York.

Other places in this corner of the world must share similar splendor. People loved visiting Spain and Italy and Greece for a reason, and perhaps Emma was merely untraveled and so could not really compare this place to those, but in her estimation she and Henry had yet to face a less than stellar day in this beautiful country. Somehow, through a higher, stronger power, the weather always held, and the mood was always happy. People were calm but vibrant, kind and filled with purpose. It made for a delicious melody of life that pierced the soul with the same humming happiness of a favorite lullaby. This tangible energy was a constant here, and in meant that even a normal walk from one point to another was enjoyable. In short, every day here felt remarkable, and this morning was no exception.

“Do you really think everyone will like my surprise, Mom?” Henry asked, filling in the comfortable silence that hung between them on their stroll from their home to the Center. “I know you said that everyone loves to try new things, but maybe this isn’t as great an idea as I thought.”

Emma turned her gaze from the bustling street they were walking on to her son, who for the first time in a long time looked younger than his years and moderately hesitant. She tried not to chuckle in the face of Henry’s anxiousness, as that would not be kind, but she wished she could tell him just how unfounded his worries were. Henry’s intended surprise for the children at the Center today was going to be well received. In fact, Emma anticipated it would start an institute-wide revolution.

“Believe me, kid, they’re going to love it. They ask me all the time about what things are like in America; the movies, the food, the sports. They’re going to love learning about baseball, I guarantee it.”

Henry nodded, resuming a more assured nature as they continued down the street. He was so cute and determined like this, and Emma wished she could capture this moment in time and freeze it so she could remember it always. In a few years Henry would be a teenager, but for now he was still at that place in childhood where the world was filled with only hope and good and possibility.

In the interest of sharing those good vibes with others, Henry was bringing everything needed to teach the kids about America’s favorite pastime. He carried his whiffle ball bat slung over his shoulder, and a bag of plastic balls in a sack in his other hand. It felt like a miracle to have these silly simple things from home, but to get these items shipped to Montenarro had taken some finessing and plenty of help from Mr. and Mrs. H. It was no exaggeration to say that Mrs. Hubbard had moved mountains for her favorite neighbors in shipping these supplies, and when they finally arrived, they came with the most beautiful note, and a reminder from their dear landlady to soak in every moment and follow their hearts. They’d been speaking with Mr. and Mrs. H each week on Facetime, but these words still made an impact, both for Emma and her son. Now Emma was thrilled to see Henry follow his passion and lead an activity at a place she loved so surely with kids who meant so much to her,

“Do you think Cecelia will want to play?” Henry asked, singling out the child Emma had a special bond to. Henry’s own personal fondness for the little girl rang out in his voice, and the question was sincere and sweet. Over the now many times Henry had come to the center, he had grown attached to Cecelia too, and he was always bringing her into things, even if he spent most of his time with the older kids. Those actions and their bond touched Emma’s heart, and always left her with this ache in her chest like these few moments shared all together were not enough.

“I think Cecelia will do absolutely anything that you deem cool.”

“Yeah, and if we get Killian to play she’ll totally join.” Emma laughed at the undeniably accurate assumption. It was true after all, for as much as Cecelia had bonded to Emma, she’d grown just as close and comfortable with Killian too. It was so good to see how energetic and extroverted she’d become in the last three months. Little Cecelia was truly coming into her own, and growing more confident each and every day.

“Didn’t Killian tell you he would play last night?”

“Oh yeah. He promised me, and Killian never breaks a promise.”

Emma was aware of that and in the two months since they’d had their first date, she had only grown more invested in their relationship because of this tendency. It was insane that it had only been two months, given how much she felt for him, but at the same time they were so lucky to have had all this time without public interruption. For the moment, she and Killian were still keeping things private. No one in the press or outside the bubbles of their little world knew, but at the Center, and on their own time, they never lived in hiding. They saw each other nearly every day, both at work and at his or her home, and Emma had seen Killian on more one-on-one dates as well as outings and evenings with Henry. It had all been so natural that, honestly, Emma was prone to forgetting that he was a prince. To her he was just the man she loved fiercely, who made her feel like anything was possible.

I need to tell him how I really feel soon, she thought to herself as she and Henry made it to the front gate of the Institute.

This was hardly the first time she’d thought this. She had known for some time how she felt and what she wanted, but there were still a few key things that were up in the air. For one thing, her position at the Center, and thus in the country, still had a time stamp. She thought that Marco and Marie may offer her a chance to stay on in a few months, but it was by no means a definite. Also, making such a permanent change would have huge implications for her and Henry. The plan had always been to go back to New York, but if she was transparent with her feelings, Emma could admit that New York no longer felt like home. In a very short time Montennaro had taken root in her and Henry’s hearts and it felt like the place they were always supposed to be.

Then there was also the little matter of Killian’s family, who Emma was told knew of her, but whom she had never met. Even now, she didn’t know how she felt about that. On one hand she was glad that they hadn’t crossed that bridge yet, because meeting his family would no doubt be stressful and have all this weight and expectation. But on the other hand, Emma was really feeling like this was a forever kind of love, and so she had to meet them someday, right?

“Well if it isn’t my two favorite Yankees,” a voice called out from behind the gate. Emma and Henry looked to find Anna who was waiting for them with a huge smile and her hands on her hips. “See what I did there, because baseball. Wait, did I do it right? Elsa, are the Yankees baseball?”

“How should I know?” Elsa joked from across the lawn before gesturing to Emma and Henry. “Ask them.”

“It was a solid pun,” Henry agreed, “But we’re actually Mets fans.”

“Mets?” Anna asked, looking to Emma for confirmation. A soft tug from Henry told Emma to play it cool, so she kept her poker face in check. “What on earth is a Met?”

“It’s another, way worse, baseball team in New York. But don’t worry, I’m just teasing. Yankees all the way.”

“You may look like an angel, Henry, but there’s a rascal spirit in you,” Anna said with feigned huffiness. Now Elsa laughed full out, prompting smiles from the rest of them at her genuine joy.

“Anna should know about rascal spirits; she was chastised for having one by our Grand-mère for years.”

“That’s a fancy way to say grandmother right?” Henry asked eagerly. “Like in that movie with the missing Princess we saw. Anastasia, right Mom?”

Emma nodded, but she couldn’t help but notice the way both of her friends went pale at the mention of the film. Elsa mumbled something about Anastasia technically being a duchess while Anna barked out a quick mention of it being a French custom. What was with her friends and these weird moments any time someone probed about their pasts or lives beyond the Center? Emma didn’t know, but she didn’t have time to linger with the curiosity, for at that moment they made their way inside and were greeted with a swarm of kids, all of them clamoring to see Henry again. Emma laughed outright at everyone’s excitement and said hello to all of the cuties who greeted her too, but before long, her eyes were called across the room, landing on a man she’d been missing for the last 12 or so hours.

“Good morning, love,” Killian said, coming forward and taking her hand before pressing a kiss atop it. It was their little routine now, his way of saying hello when they were surrounded by the kids.

“Long time no see,” Emma said, trying to sound sarcastic but failing miserably. The wry grin that pulled at Killian’s lips made her heart race as he whispered his reply.

“Trust and believe it’s been torture for me too, Swan. But tonight I’ll have you alone once more.”

The promise in his words made her tremble slightly, and she hoped he wouldn’t catch on to how affected she was, but he definitely tracked it, smiling once more and pressing a kiss to her cheek before diving into the morning with the kids. The two of them got caught up in all of it, and having Henry there as well only added to the good times. Unfortunately, they only had about an hour of this bliss before things went off the rails.

It started with a phone call, which was hardly unusual for a placement home, but the call did draw some notice as this was a weekend. Emma wondered if this was an intake request for a new child, but when Marco and Marie departed to take the call, she threw herself back into the morning rush. About five minutes later, however, she watched as both of them emerged with Marie looking pale as a ghost, and even the unflappable Marco looking surprised.

“What do you think is going on there?” Elsa asked, and Emma shrugged, completely unsure. Things only grew stranger when Marco called Killian over to speak with him. Now Emma’s heckles were up. Was everything okay? No sooner had she thought that then Anna appeared, darting from the back hall looking flushed and flustered.

“They’re coming!” Her words were loud and automatically the other adults in the room and a few kids shushed her for the outburst.

“Who’s coming?” Emma and Elsa asked at the same time, quietly inquiring so as not to rile the children.

“Killian’s family.”

“You’re kidding,” Elsa said forcefully as Emma’s jaw dropped. When Anna shook her head, Elsa continued. “Oh my God you’re serious?”

“Heard the whole thing when Marco left the office door open. They’ve just left the castle. King Liam, and the two dowager Queens. It’s about to be a very full, and incredibly fancy, house.”

“Oh my God,” Emma said, her voice more a raw squeak than anything else. Fear began to descend, and her eyes looked at Killian across the room. She expected to see a similar sense of dread or panic, but he was… calm. As in completely and totally unphased.

“Do you think he knew?” Anna asked, obviously seeing the same sense of cool that their resident Prince was donning in this moment.

“No,” Emma said with confidence. “He actually told me last night that he wanted to introduce us all soon. He mentioned the Montecarri festival in a two weeks. He said Henry would love the palace’s party. I didn’t give him a real answer, but…”

“But you were going to say yes.”

“Yeah,” Emma agreed, exhaling a shaky breath. At that moment the conversation between Marco and Killian finished, and immediately Killian’s eyes found hers. Silently they exchanged a mountain of words, and both of them knew they had to touch base, so with a quick goodbye to her friends, Emma moved towards him, finding a quiet alcove away from the others.

“Let me guess, Anna’s somehow heard and told you everything.”

“Pretty much,” Emma said with a nod. “Are you okay?”

“Aye. I’m strangely - I don’t know - relieved? They’ve all been asking me for ages about this place, and about you, I’ve tried to tell them, but nothing compares to the real thing.”

“This will change things,” Emma said anxiously but Killian’s hand came to cup her face in a reassuring gesture she had no choice but to lean into.

“Nothing is ever going to change how I feel about you, love. I won’t lie and say my family isn’t prone to over-involvement, but they’re harmless, and I swear to you they’ll love you. Who could resist loving you, Emma?”

Her heart sped up so much at his words but all she could do was kiss him. It immediately helped ground her and made her feel better, but too over it was soon, as Killian pulled back, still holding her but putting a little distance between them. Her brow furrowed in question until she heard it.

“Hi Mom, Hi Killian.” Henry. Oh thank God Killian had heard him coming. She did not need to be scarring her kid with some hot and heavy, stress-induced PDA. Looking over to her son, Emma noticed Cecelia holding Henry’s hand tight. She looked a little bit unsure, and Emma immediately shifted her focus. Whatever was wrong she wanted to fix it. “We saw you guys head over here. Is everything okay?”

“Aye, lad. Just a bit of a plan change. You know how you asked about when you and your Mum might meet my family?” Henry nodded. This was news to Emma, but she kept quiet, intrigued to watch Henry’s reaction. “Well it turns out they’re coming here today.”

“They are?” Henry asked excitedly. “That’s so cool! I can’t wait to meet them. Maybe they’ll stick around for the baseball game!”

“Mes too?” Cecelia asked, her free hand coming to cover her mouth in a shy gesture that made the words a bit more mumbled.

“Aye, little lass, you too,” Killian said brightly. This prompted a big smile from Cecelia who ran over to Killian and threw herself into him. Instinctively he picked her up, and Emma swore she felt tears in her eyes. God so much was happening right now, but this moment felt especially important.

The next few minutes were filled with Henry’s palpable excitement, and Emma decided to hold onto that as her own apprehension grew. They returned to the main room with the others, who had all been told of their soon to be arriving guests, and the reactions of the children were mixed. They all seemed to be in awe of such an arrival, but all it took was one reminder that these were Killian’s family members, and everyone calmed down. The little boys especially went on and on about how Killian might be a prince but he was mostly their friend. He played pirates with them, and he was their pal, and they had to believe his family must be just as wonderful. Emma would never bring it up, but she watched as Killian wiped away a few stray tears at their compliments. Unknowingly, this had prompted a center-wide affirmation of how much Killian was loved and appreciated, and it was touching to say the least.

Shortly thereafter, a fleet of cars, including a palace limo, arrived and the hush that settled over everyone was instantaneous. There was rarely any quiet in this place, but in this moment the anticipation manifested into total silence. Even the tiniest babies in the home were still and through the window they all watched as Queen Meera, Queen Eleanor, and finally King Liam left the confines of the automobile and headed into the front hall. Marco and Killian were set to greet them, and Emma could see how relieved Marie was to not be part of this welcoming party. Going off of how agitated she was when Killian came the first time, Emma could only imagine the pressure of three royals at once.

“It’s going to be fine, right, Els?” Anna whispered and Emma looked back to her friends. Elsa was currently holding one of the infant babies, a lovely little joy named Ariana who had arrived a few weeks ago. Though she too was agitated, Emma could see Elsa taking comfort in the affectionate baby, and she finally turned her more grounded gaze to her sister.

“Of course it is,” Elsa confirmed. “It was a long time ago, Anna.”

“A lifetime ago,” Anna agreed with a nod. Then she noticed Emma looking at them. She appeared torn between saying more and playing it off like nothing happened, but then Elsa took her hand.

“We can trust Emma, Anna, and we do. We’ll tell her everything when they’ve gone, okay? No more secrets. Not between true friends.”

Anna and Emma nodded at Elsa’s request and then the movement of their guests into the main room called everyone’s attention. Emma had been momentarily distracted from any kind of worry, but now, seeing Killian’s family in the flesh, she was surprised. Oh they were beautiful and regal and poised to be sure, but they were also dressed in a much more approachable way than she’d expected. There were no gowns or crowns or anything like that. They’d clearly made adjustments to come here, and if she didn’t know better, she’d think all of them completely normal people.

They probably are normal, they just live a completely abnormal life, she thought to herself.

It was impossible to not compare this meeting to holiday parade, the first time Emma had seen all of them in person, but immediately it felt like an incomparable set of circumstances. The three people gathered here may be the same, but their sense of approachability was so different. At the precesion they’d been decked out in their finest ensembles, designed to look like royalty who may care for the people, but who ultimately stood apart. Today, they could have been any attractive, well dressed family. Queen Meera and Queen Eleanor especially carried themselves with genuine smiles and eagerness, looking upon the children with affection and excitement. Emma also noticed their continued glances at her and Elsa and Anna, but both women were able to tamp down any outright staring.

King Liam, however was another story. He may not look the part of reining monarch per-se, but his stance was so formal and still a bit too stiff to seem comfortable. He had dressed down for the moment, something Emma was sure he rarely did, and while there was curiosity in his gaze, she wouldn’t say he had the same soft affection for the children. If anything, the King looked intimidated, as if he’d never seen so many little people in one place before. That made Emma’s heart warm to him, but it couldn’t even begin to compare with the next moment that came.

“Hi, Killy’s family,” Cecelia said eagerly, the L’s sounding more like a w in her excitement. In an instant, she stepped away from Henry’s hand with a smile and approached Liam, Eleanor and Meera without fear. They’d all been caught in a kind of quiet moment where no introductions had yet to be made, and Cecelia, it seemed, had no patience for that. She was taking matters into her own tiny hands. “I’s found these for you.”

“Oh my dear, how precious you are,” Meera said crouching low to accept the flower. Emma saw they were all wildflowers from the back way, and she wondered how Cecelia had had the forethought to do this. Then she looked at Henry and she realized this was a joint effort. Damn, her son was as thoughtful and cute as could be.

“Thank you, little one,” Eleanor said happily as she took her flower. “So very kind of you to give us a gift.”

When Cecelia came to Liam and gave him the flower, Emma watched the large man begin to crumble, and a smile formed on his face. Just as with Killian, it was amazing what a smile did for his features. King Liam was handsome already, as Emma expected any man born into this family would be, but when smiling, he looked younger and even more engaging. It felt very much like a rare occurrence, and it brought tears to Emma’s eyes to know Cecelia had faced her own fears to help all of them feel welcome.

From there, Killian accepted a tight hug from Cecelia before introducing them all to his family. The kids, having watched the kindness given to Cecelia, were immediately more comfortable, and just as when Killian first arrived, a sea of questions broke out. But in the midst of that madness, a rather remarkable moment happened. It began with Liam looking at her, and in an instant Emma knew that he knew who she was. They exchanged a nod, an acknowledgement that they’d be better introduced later, but when Liam shifted his focus beside her, his face totally changed. Something like awe and fascination appeared across his features, and Emma looked to see what could be the cause, only to find Elsa with the same starstruck response.

“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Emma asked Anna and her friend nodded.

“If what you’re seeing is the King falling in love with my sister at first sight, then yeah, I think we’re all seeing that.”

“Anna,” Elsa said, flushing with embarrassment as she turned to both of them. “It’s not love at first sight.”

“I don’t know, Els, unless you guys have met before, I think Anna might have a point.”

Emma didn’t know if it was her insistence that there was some real chemistry sparking, or the insinuation that they’d met before that threw Elsa, but suddenly she was overcome with emotions and was saved by the baby, so to speak, when Ariana began fussing for some food. Never had anyone looked so grateful to escape, which just made things weirder and weirder. Emma looked back to the King and watched as he closely monitored Elsa’s movements. He appeared to be seconds away from following her when Killian grabbed his arm and redirected him to the kids. A tightness came to Liam’s features, but then he relented and joined the larger group. Henry was in the mix there, and Emma felt her heart in her throat. God, she hoped these people could accept her son. Whether or not they liked her meant less to her. The most important thing in her world was Henry.

As if he could sense her worry, Killian chose that moment to step to Henry, his arm on his shoulder as he further introduced him. Emma could hear the introduction of Henry as Emma’s son, and immediately all of Killian’s relatives looked intrigued and excited. Emma noticed that they paid him some extra attention, and when Killian looked back at her with a grin, she wondered if she should join them. Was this the right moment to do this? She couldn’t be sure. There were so many other people around. It might be a little odd, right? But in the end, it wasn’t entirely up to her.

“All right, everyone. I know we are all eager to greet our guests today, but we have many other things that must be done.”

“You mean like eating lunch?” one boy asked and everyone laughed.

“Joseph, you’ve only just had breakfast an hour ago. No I was thinking more along the lines of getting out into the sunshine and seizing the day. Seems a marvelous day for adventure, what do you all think?”

All of the children were eager for a day in the sunshine, even the older kids who sometimes lacked for enthusiasm. With barely restrained exuberance, everyone made their way outside, and in the meantime, everyone broke apart in groups to do different things. Emma was assigned to the gardens where some outdoor games had been set up, and where a group of kids were out ‘bug hunting.’ It was so funny to watch these kids trying to collect all of these different kinds of insects, especially since she herself didn’t care for bugs. That fancy had never appealed to her at any age, and there were a few kids who heartily agreed. Cecelia was one of them, and instead of engaging with the bugs, she was far more interested in talking about her latest obsession – fairies.

A fierce devotion to these magical, mythical creatures was not something Cecelia alone carried. There were half a dozen little girls who had all glommed onto imaginary games and elaborate stories about faeries over the last few weeks. It all started with a book that Emma read one rainy afternoon, an offshoot of the Peter Pan story wholly focused on the tiny magic weilders. She hadn’t thought much of it when she chose it off the library shelf, but all of the kids at story time had been spellbound, even the boys, and the older girls who had already gone through a similar phase. The interest in faeries had only grown from there. Soon the little girls were asking every adult at the Center for any information they could get on faeries, and the tidbits they’d been given were equal parts funny and adorable.

“Did you know that faeries protect the garden?” Cecelia asked Emma and Emma shook her head.

“I didn’t realize that. But it makes sense, faeries love flowers, right?”

“They do, they do! Just like me.”

“And me too!” a number of the other girls chorused.

“Miss Emma, Cook said that faeries can be mi-mi -michevus,” Evangeline, another little girl noted and Emma bit back a smile at the girl’s inability to say mischievous. Still, at her age, that was a very tall order. “What does that mean?”

“It means that while usually faeries are perfectly behaved, sometimes they cause a little trouble.”

“Like when they moved the special stone in the story and hid it from Peter?”

“Exactly. No one got hurt, but it wasn’t the nicest thing to hide the stone, was it?”

The girls all agreed with that, before a newcomer caught their eyes. Emma followed their gaze to see Queen Meera at the edge of the gardens, having taken a tour of the whole outdoor space. She was smiling at all of them, her beauty really something to behold in the midday sun. Again, Emma was struck by how young the Queen appeared when she had two grown sons, but instead of being intimidated, Emma rallied and offered a welcoming hello.

“Excuse me, I couldn’t help but hear you all speaking of faeries, and I was wondering, have you all found a faerie kingdom here yet?”

“A faerie kingdom?!” They all asked excitedly, and Queen Meera patiently explained a Montennaran legend that hadn’t yet been shared with the children.

“How many of you have heard about Montecarri magic?”

Some of the girls chattered that they had heard, but from the looks on their faces, Emma could tell none of them knew very much about it. Cecelia meanwhile was completely unaware, and all of them looked desperate for more information. Queen Meera sat down beside them on their blanket as she continued.

“Well as you know, Montecarris are very delicious, yes?” The children nodded. “And they’re very important to Montennaro because they only grow here. But montecarri bushes are not our only special plant. We also have trees that only grows within our borders. They’re called Montecarri Dogwoods and legend has it that Faeries build their kingdoms in them because the flowers in the trees branches never die. They bloom in spring and last all summer, and then when winter comes, they close their blossoms but stay intact, protecting the faeries from the cold and the chill.”

“How do we find one?” one girl asked.

“Oh they’re very special trees, that stand out to even the least familiar eyes. They have light gray bark that swirls with shades of cream and ridges all over, some deep and some shallow. These ridges are the doors for the faeries. The safest way for them to travel. Sometimes the trunks also have giant knots, big bulks of wood that are taut and strong, and they are filled with magic. Those knots are the foundations of the faerie kingdom.”

The little girls chattered amongst themselves. The description of the bark sounded like a few trees here, but they were desperate to know if they had a Montecarri Dogwood.

“I don’ts knows so much about trees,” Cecelia said, when none of them could come up with anything. “But I love flowers and I sees all the ones we have here. Even the ones from the trees. What does the magic flower look like?”

“Well, it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen any myself. We have many at the palace, but I never stray too far from my roses, and the trees are farther in our grove of woods. But if I recall they are a mix of pink and pearl, with the slightest tint of yellow in the middle.”

“Oh!” Cecelia said excitedly, patting the Queen’s leg in an exuberant affirmation. “We has a tree like that! It’s over there, see it?” Queen Meera looked over and clasped her hands as if genuinely surprised. Emma knew though that she had seen the tree before. The older woman never would have given these little girls hope without knowing there was one nearby.

The Queen went on to explain how her mother always said faerie kingdoms should be honored and protected, and she ended up giving the little girls a mission that gave them purpose and increased their excitement. Faeries, in this legend, liked flower offerings, and now the girls were desirous to collect lots of wildflowers and leave them all around the tree’s trunk. This new adventure meant they were all still perfectly within view of the others, and Emma was impressed at the Queens’s ability to inspire them all so swiftly.

“That was a beautiful story,” Emma said.

“Indeed it was,” another voice said, and Emma realized it was Queen Eleanor. Oh good. Now she was meeting both Killian’s mother and grandmother without him. Excellent. Despite her nerves, however, Queen Eleanor, at first appearance, proved to be just as kind and welcoming as Queen Meera.

“One of the many folktales I grew up with. My mother never lacked for pretty stories. Funny how something I held so dear at their age was so long forgotten. But it’s like looking at a glimpse of the past. I was like them once, desperate to find magic and hold it in my heart.”

“Theoretically I suppose I was too, but the prehistoric age was so different you see, it’s difficult to distinguish what species of plants were abundant in those times.” Emma let out a low barking sound that would have been a laugh but was stifled at the last second. The comment was clearly comical, but too late she realized she didn’t know Queen Eleanor’s sense of humor. Maybe it was a test, and not a purposeful joke.  

“Oh Eleanor, you are so bad. What will Emma think of us?”

“From the laughter she’s bit back, I say my jest has land fairly well. Good thing too. After all these years, you’re all too used to my quips. I’m in desperate need of a new audience. Between Emma and young Henry, I finally stand a chance of receiving the comedic recognition I deserve.”

The mention of her son had Emma looking in his direction, and she was happy to see him kicking around the soccer ball with a number of his friends, as well as Killian and Liam. For the moment his baseball lesson was on the back burner, but this afternoon he’d introduce them all to the sport. In the meantime, he was thoroughly enjoying himself. His smile was evident even from here, and though she couldn’t hear his words, Emma caught the happy tone of her child as it wafted in the air across the way.

“He’s a lovely boy. My goodness the way he was with that little Cecelia this morning, it was just so sweet. But I suspect he gets that generous spirit from you, dear.”

The kind words from Queen Meera made Emma flush pink, but she accepted them, knowing that her son was a good kid and that he would one day grow into an equally good man. She had worked hard to develop and enable his best qualities, and though it was sometimes hard to see her own strengths and good traits, she knew, deep down, that they both shared a loving, hopeful heart.

“We hope you’ll forgive us, Emma, for this lack of traditional introduction. Obviously custom would dictate that we wait until Killian was ready to introduce you and Henry to us all.” Queen Eleanor’s statement was blunt and filled with understanding, if just a tiny bit of frustration. “But you see, patience has never been a particular strength of mine.”

“That is an understatement,” Queen Meera muttered conspiratorially, but Emma could see the affection between the two women.

“When you get to be my age you’ll understand. Time is not promised. It’s of the essence.”

“One thing you’ll come to learn is that my mother-in-law makes regular reference to her age, but she’s fit as a fiddle and likely to outlive every single one of us. She’s also sharp as a tack. Very rarely is there a smarter person in the room.”

“Now, now Meera. Don’t go giving away all my secrets. Let the girl discover them for herself.”

It was hard for Emma to know exactly how to respond. Here were these women, the most important women in Killian’s world, showing her kindness and a willing repartee. It was easy with them, and Emma’s nerves had been settled by their witty banter and their lightness of air. But there was an awful lot of assumption being made in their words. The belief that Emma would definitely be with them enough to learn these quirks and tendencies was loaded, and while Emma was glad that she seemingly had some early approval from Killian’s female relations, she was more than surprised at how bold they were in their estimations.

“In the end, despite the unusual nature of this visit, I believe it’s for the best. Here, we can see you in your most natural state. Correct me if I am wrong, but this seems to be a place where you are truly at peace. You love it here. I see it in the way you are with these children, in how you speak with your friends, and in how you steal glances at my grandson nearly as much as he steals glances of you.”

Ignoring the part about staring at Killian, which was more than a little embarrassing, Emma nodded. “I do feel peace here. The Center reaffirms to me that all the things I believed could be real, truly can be. There’s a way to care for children who need it most in healthy and encouraging ways that make them feel cherished and valued, no matter what life has thrown at them so far. Providing anything less is the product of bad policy and funding shortfalls. I knew that was the case, but seeing it, and feeling what kind of positive impact can be made gives me hope. And as far as I’m concerned, hope and peace really go hand in hand.”

“It’s no wonder he’s so drawn to you. You’re a beautiful woman, but that passion, that belief… yes I believe it’s exactly what Killian’s been needing in his life.”

“And how are you liking Montenarro?” Queen Meera asked, pivoting before any kind of quiet could descend in the face of Queen Eleanor’s commentary. “It’s very different than New York I know.”

Emma’s brow raised at the mention of New York. She hadn’t said where she was from, but then again these women had shown a propensity for knowing a hell of a lot prior to so much as shaking her hand. Someone had probably let it slip at some point this morning.

“This is nothing like New York. It’s really nothing like any place I have ever been before. I didn’t expect anything like this at the beginning. I was so excited about the fellowship, the place we landed was somewhat secondary, but now I couldn’t imagine a better situation, for me or for Henry. We’re both really loving it here. It’s like a long-term holiday, but somehow it’s our life.”

“Oh how wonderful,” Queen Meera said with a delighted smile. “It’s truly better than we planned.”

“Planned?” Emma echoed, not following the word choice, and the looks in the other two women’s eyes were damn near opposites. Meera immediately looked remorseful, like Henry did when he spilled something he hadn’t meant to give away. Eleanor, meanwhile, was flustered for a moment and then pivoted to a calm demeanor, giving only the barest hint of frustration away. 

“Oh Meera. Meera, Meera, Meera. What ever will we do with you?”

“Am I missing something?” Emma pressed, feeling the word ‘planned’ as if it weighed a hundred pounds and had settled on her chest. 

“I just meant you know, ehrm, how lovely it was for you to take to the country so well.” Stuttering like this from a woman as well spoken and measured as Queen regent of the country? Oh no, Queen Meera was definitely hiding something. 

Still, while Emma was wholly unconvinced, she didn’t feel like she could press too hard. Killian’s mother had definitely said the word planned, and now she was way less collected than she had been. For Emma it set off the alarm bells in her head. Meera was verging on a lie right here, but why would the Queen be so open and welcoming with her only to start being evasive and cagey?

“But that’s not what you said, is it mother?”

Killian’s voice was close, and they all turned to find him well within hearing distance. Emma hadn’t noticed his approach before, but there was no denying it now, not when he was so on edge. Instinctively she reached her hand out to him as he came to her, and he took it without hesitation, pressing a kiss to her temple as he came to her side. The action calmed Emma, and felt so natural she didn’t think twice about it until she followed Killian and looked back to the Queens. Only then did she think of how bold it was to do that in front of his mother and grandmother, but while both of them looked on at Emma and Killian with fondness for the display, they were quickly pushed to fend off a new question from Killian.

“What did you mean when you said planned?”

“I meant – well you see, it was just… um?” 

Meera was at a total loss for words and eventually she stopped trying, looking to Eleanor for some kind of aid. The older woman was quiet for a moment, weighing her options with the reined in control of a capable monarch. In the end, however, she squared her shoulders, exhaled a long breath, and steadied herself for whatever was to come. Though Emma was curious and a little anxious about whatever they were about to say, she couldn’t help appreciating the humor of the moment. Killian’s Gran was a bit of a diva, and dramatic in a way that didn’t fit with usual imaginings of royalty.

“She means that when you came home in need of a little guidance, we made sure the winds were blowing in the proper direction.”

“And how exactly did you dictate these winds, Gran? What have you two done in the name of commanding the weather?”

“Everything I’ve done, and yes, it was mostly me, so please refrain from being angry with your mother, was in the interest of securing the future of this family.”

“The future... of the family,” he replied. “What right did you have to get involved in my choices?”

“I have every right because I love you, because I want the best for you, and because I know that underneath the pain and the changes you have faced, you are still the same Killy, the same sensitive, loving boy you always have been. We faced a problem at your return. You were unanchored and unhappy. You had seen so much in war and avoided every part of our world here. You needed to come home, but more than that you needed to find something good that was just for you.”

“Yes, I needed to find it,” Killian said, his words low but determined as he squeezed Emma’s hand. She ran her thumb across his shin gently in a quiet show of support and agreement. “And I did. I found Emma. We found each other. Now you’re saying that wasn’t just fate?”

“Well of course it was fate. It was fated that I would do some research and scope out our options.”

“Gran,” Killian said, his voice strained from the bevy of emotions he was facing.

“Killian,” she replied, not in the slightest intimidated by his reaction. “I fear you may be overblowing my abilities to intervene. All I did was speak to Marco about his newest fellow during our quarterly check in. When he gave such a glowing review, I was intrigued, and then I saw Emma’s picture in the file on his desk and I thought it didn’t hurt to read some more. So when he stepped out to speak with Marie, I took it.”

“You took it?” Killian asked, shocked at Eleanor’s bit of thievery.

“Well see there’s where we reach a gray area. Technically I lifted it from the desk, but Jefferson took possession of the documents.”

“Gran?”

“All right, he smuggled them out for me.”

“Gran!”

“What? Marco was none the wiser. I had Jefferson make copies and it was replaced within the day. No one was bothered in the least.”

“I’m bothered, Gran. You shouldn’t have done that. It’s not right.”

“In this case we must agree to disagree, Killian. I believe it was right. In that moment I made a calculation based on hope. I hoped that Emma would take to you as much as you would take to her and that love may come from it. Was the means of achieving that dream unsavory? Perhaps, but I stand by it all the same.”

“But why?” Emma asked, cutting in before Killian could. “You didn’t know me at all. Why go to the trouble? Why take the risk in pushing us together?”

“Well for this, of course,” Gran said, gesturing at the two of them, who had only come closer together as Gran confessed the plot. Instinctively they’d been comforting each other, and it was so clear how in tune they were together. “Sometimes, life hands you a crossroads, a choice amongst the many. It may seem small or even questionable, but it matters. I knew in my bones this was what needed to be done, and while I regret tarnishing your trust in me, I will never regret these actions. My instincts were right. You two are a match, and our Killy has returned, better than ever.”

For a moment it was quiet, as they let the meaning of Queen Eleanor’s words settle. This was a revelation for sure, but for Emma there was no sense of maliciousness. This was the work of a dedicated grandmother, and yes, maybe it was over the top and a bit too heavy handed, but at the end of the day it was also a gift. Without her intervention, Emma and Killian never would have met each other, and that was something too painful for Emma to consider.

“Please don’t be angry with us, darling,” Meera whispered when all was revealed, and only then did Emma notice how rigid Killian still was. This had made him angry, or perhaps it had scared him. She ran her hand along his arm and he looked to her. There was so much in his eyes and she could read that his real worry was her. How did she feel about all of this? She offered him a smile, small but true, and then watched as he exhaled a breath. The stiffness of before had softened, and she knew in that moment the would-be-storm had passed.

“I understand why you did it, and if it brought me to Emma… well I can only be grateful really. But please, for the love of all that is good, let us live our own lives now, please?”

“Absolutely,” Meera said at the same time that Eleanor said “Within reason.”

Despite the lack of total agreement from Killian’s grandmother, Emma had to laugh. It was funny after all, and made all the better when Eleanor put her hands on Killian’s cheeks, looking at him with fondness and love, and sincerely promised never to manipulate a scenario of his heart again. Meera and Eleanor then offered similar promises to Emma, each of them giving her a quick squeeze and an honest apology for any discomfort on her end. She accepted it all, but was grateful for a new interruption. It was finally time for the baseball lesson, and Emma and Killian were both needed straight away.

“Are you sure you’re okay, love? I know it was a lot and I warned you before, but I never imagined…”

“Killian, it’s all good, I promise. It’s just a little meddling. And besides, it worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“Aye, love. Better than any such plot has a right to.”

Unable to resist, Emma stole a kiss from his lips, melting into the sensation but pulling back before it could become too big a display in front of the kids. It was hard stepping back but she had to, and yet she saw a curious look from Killian that she needed to figure out. She asked him point blank what he was thinking.

“Nothing, Swan. It’s just, well did you notice my Gran’s words? She said no more scenarios of my heart again.”

“Hmm. Makes you wonder, who may still be on her list.”

Without saying it aloud Emma and Killian both knew the only logical option was Liam, and as they looked to him they found him caught up in another bought of staring at Elsa. This time though the would be love birds were closer together, actually interacting, and the electricity between them was palpable. It gave Emma a secondary thrill and she grinned, because as much as Liam was feeling Elsa, Elsa was obviously just as intrigued by Killian’s handsome brother.

“You don’t think she’s planned that too, do you?” Emma asked.

“Truth be told, I wouldn’t put anything past her. Not after all we learned today.” 

He made an excellent point, but the more she thought about it the more it made sense. Queen Eleanor must have known about Elsa if she knew about Emma, and perhaps fate may strike twice. Who knew? Maybe brothers could find lovers in the same place. Only time would tell, but by the looks of things, it wouldn’t take much for something to blossom between King Liam and her friend.

“Mom, are you ready?” Henry asked, poised and prepared for an afternoon of Baseball 101. He stood beside Killian, and the two of them looked like a father and son, part of one big happy family that had always been meant to be. In an instant Emma could see that future Queen Eleanor made mention of, and it was perfect and precious and good.

I’ve never been more ready for anything, she admitted to herself, and as she joined her favorite people in a fun-filled afternoon, Emma knew they’d turned another important corner towards the kind of happy ending she wanted most of all. Now all she had to do was tell Killian she loved him and convince him that their future should start sooner rather than later.

Post-Note: Okay so there we have it. The big reveal of Gran’s meddling has finally come, and there was an introduction to another couple I just love writing, which is Liam and Elsa. So funny how I can ship them so much even though they were never on the show together. Anyway, next chapter is actually picking up right after this one. I definitely want to include the truth about Elsa and Anna and also show a glimpse of Emma and Killian getting some alone time together. Not sure when the next chapter will be here, as 2020 is kind of kicking my ass on an energy and motivation level, BUT, I want to thank you all for reading and I’m sending you love and good vibes in these trying times. See you next time and stay safe!

[mesmeret]

KPW 2.0 Day 2: Cat Daddy Hux and Juggalo Kylo

Day 2: Opposites Attract! "Boring" Cat Daddy Hux has a crush on his Juggalo neighbor Kylo. Kylo also has a crush on him. Cussing and lemons

Hux’s heart flipped hearing the loud engine of his crush coming up the block. He had no shame being picked up by his neighbor in front of his office building. Strangers and coworkers turn towards the blasting “Funyuns and Condoms”. The brakes screech and the passenger door unlocks. Hux bites his lip so his grin masks as a smirk while he gets into the decade old white Ford F-150 with peeling black and red flame decals.

He buckles in before looking over at Kylo, “Hey.”

“How’s the overlords?” Kylo is glaring at traffic with a pale white base with black lightning bolts painted all over his face. Hux’s stomach flips at how a few go down Kylo’s neck and get muddled with his neck tattoos. Kylo’s lips are bright red with black lip liner.

Hux knows to talk over Kylo’s cussing and singing along with his CDs, “Fucking awful. Brooks stole my work again. The cronies didn’t bat an eye seeing my watermarks. Thanks for that idea, by the way. Fuck, I am quitting next week. Not giving them any opportunity to fire me.”

“Fuck yeah!” Kylo honked his horn and grinned as the cars around them honked back. “They don’t deserve you!”

Hux felt his face heat up. This was one of the reasons he fell hard for Kylo. The man made him feel valuable.

“So what’s next for m-Mister Hot Shot?” Kylo stuttered as they pulled onto the highway.

“I don’t know. Maybe take a week off before looking for jobs?” Hux shrugged.

“Yeah? Cool,” Kylo gets into the fast lane and looks over at Hux. His voice low, “Gonna let your hair down and go wild?”

Hux managed not to gasp, instead he made a choked off nervous laugh, “Me? I was thinking of checking out the summer art exhibits before they go away.”

Kylo pounds his steering wheel, “Dude! You’re killing me! You can do that any time!”

“No, the exhibits are leaving at the end of July,” Hux feigns sulking to get more of a rise out of Kylo.

“M-Sorry, you fucker!” Kylo caught himself from saying Hux’s second least favorite curse word. “I’m worried about you. Those soul suckers have got you whipped. You should, like, I dunno… spend time with me and the guys that week!”

Hux’s toes would curl in his italian loafers if the narrow shoes would let them. He sighed, “Fine. I guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right!” Kylo puffed up his chest and belted out the lyrics for the next song on the Bang! Pow! Boom! Album. Hux at least remembered the album name. Kylo also surprised him last week remembering the company names of Hux’s favorite porcelain cat figurines. He stared out at the passing traffic. Maybe he could do something to get Kylo to call him Cat Daddy again? Millie hated the ribbons but if he could bribe her…

A few minutes of traffic later, they pull off the highway and quickly get into their neighborhood. Kylo looks over at him a couple of times before speaking, “Hey, would you like to rehearse your resignation?”

Hux sat up in his seat, “Huh? Yeah, that would help. When did you have in mind?”

Kylo stuttered, “I-uh, got some things to do but I can swing by in, uh, an hour?”

Hux nodded, “Sure. I’ll get Millie settled in with her din-din.”

“Cool!” Kylo yelled and went silent with wide eyes. Hux frowned a little but got distracted with Kylo’s arm bracing the back of his seat as Kylo pulled the truck into reverse to parallel park. Hux knew the tattoos were crude and chunky. But their canvas gave them far more allure. Hux didn’t have time to give into the temptation of nuzzling Kylo’s biceps because the man was an impressive parker.

They parted ways and Kylo stomped up to his apartment in his oversized jeans and baggy t-shirt. The clothes made him look absurdly giant. Hux loved it. Once he got into his apartment, he went straight to the kitchen to prepare Millicent’s meal as she mrrp’d her way around his feet. He hummed along with her as he mashed up some wet food with her kibble. He set the bowl down and gave Millicent her privacy as he headed into his bedroom. He took off  his dress shirt and slacks. He stared at his closet drawing a blank. What would Kylo like him in? Kylo hardly comments on his clothes. Hux sighed grabbing a white t-shirt and gray lounge pants. Why was he so boring? He flushed at the thought of getting Kylo to give him a makeover. He’d look absolutely ridiculous but Kylo would have his hands all over him.

Hux went into the living room and tidied up the little messes from the past few days. Millicent watched him from her cat tree with her tail swaying to and fro. He came over to kiss the top of her head. She scrunched her eyes and shook her head. He snorted, “I know, so embarrassing. But you’re so cute!”

She squinted at him as he scritched behind her ear. Long orange hairs started to shed. He looked at his watch and decided he could start brushing her coat before Kylo came over. He scooped up Millicent and she gave a chirp seeing him grab the brush kit. He was blessed having a cat who enjoyed grooming. He got most of her back done when there was a knock on the door. Millicent darted to the cat tree as Hux dumped the cat hair in the kitchen trash. He answered the door and was startled to see an unsettling version of Kylo.

Kylo looked normal. He was without his makeup in a black polo and khakis. His hair was tied in a bun. Hux felt sad seeing Kylo’s septum piercing flipped up and hidden. Kylo’s skin was splotchy and textured due to his Kryolan paint stick routine. Hux felt oddly reassured that Kylo wasn’t too perfect. Hux has seen him shirtless with his face painted up and spent many a night stroking to the visuals.

“I-um, thought we could role play?” Kylo shrugged.

Hux blushed realizing he had just stood there staring, “Oh! Wow, you really didn’t need to change. I liked the lightning today. A lot.”

Kylo muttered under his breath, “Fucking dumbass.”

Hux froze, “Excuse me?”

Kylo looked more shocked than Hux felt, “Me! I meant me! I’m the fucking dumbass!”

Hux shook his head, “No you aren’t, come on in.”

Kylo frowned but followed Hux to the couch. Hux’s heart fluttered as Kylo sat next to him, “What’s going on, Kylo?”

Kylo looked at him with a shy glance before looking ahead, “I thought you’d like me more like this? I thought if we roleplayed you quitting your job, we’d-” Kylo takes a deep sigh, “I thought we’d then like makeout or something ‘cuz the past couple of months have been crazy, y’know?”

Hux gulped and tentatively placed his hand over Kylo’s white knuckled fist, “I think you’re hot. But as you usually dress and stuff. This is very different but I see my Kylo. Though...”

Kylo goes cross eyed as Hux flips his septum piercing and bursts into deep laughter, “What the fuck! You’re freaky, Hux!”

Hux blushed, “I guess? Do you like it?”

Kylo’s voice cracked before going bone deep, “Uh, yeah. It’s really fucking hot… babe.”

Hux whined as his body went numb with arousal, “Could we… do something else than role play quitting my job?”

Kylo moaned, “Like what?”

Hux got up to straddle Kylo’s lap. Kylo’s eyes widened and his hands hovered before gripping Hux’s hips. Hux whispers while tugging on Kylo’s polo shirt, “Wanna see your chest again.”

Kylo gave a little nod and pulled off the polo. Hux moaned at the sight of the loosened bun, defined muscles, and garish tattoos. His fingers traced thick lines that trembled. Kylo whined and bucked up. Hux gasped as he slid further into Kylo’s lap and had to brace himself against Kylo’s chest. Kylo grunted, “Permission to kiss?”

Hux gave a nod before kissing Kylo. He sighed at how nice Kylo’s lip and tongue piercings felt. He gave a tentative roll of his hips and Kylo seized with a yelp. Hux hummed in delight feeling the pulse of Kylo’s dick against his. Kylo pulled away from the kiss with a dazed look, “Fuck, I didn’t bring condoms.”

Hux bit his lip, “I’m good with not rushing things. I really do like you. And, ah, would like to fuck when you’re all done up.”

Hux now knows that when Kylo’s eyes widen slightly, his cheeks go bright red. This revelation makes Hux kiss Kylo deeply. Kylo gives a confused sound but goes with the kiss. Hux pulls away when he finally needs air. After catching his breath, he whispers, “I can’t believe you like me.”

Kylo scoffs, “I can’t believe you like me. You of all people.”

Hux whines, “Hush, of course I like you. You’re like my best friend and crush.”

Kylo whimpers squeezing Hux’s ass, “I’m your what?”

“My crush-Ah!” Hux arches his back as Kylo rips his lounge pants. Hux shivers as fingers press through the tear to bare skin. “Nngh! Fuck, tear them more.”

Kylo does so looking up at Hux with a growl. Hux grunts as his cock drops down from the torn confines onto Kylo’s palm. It’s an awkward hand job but feels great. Hux’s mind whites out as Kylo leans up to suck on his neck. The other hand reaches over to press two fingers against Hux’s ass. Hux screeches as the fingers rub frantically with the fist around his cock. He goes limp as his cock twitches.

Kylo mouths his neck lightly before flipping them over. Hux whines as Kylo pulls away to take off his cum stained khakis. Kylo also didn’t bother with underwear and strokes himself while looking down at Hux. Hux studies Kylo’s cock and is a little bummed there’s no piercings visible. Kylo straddles him and moans as his cock head bumps against Hux’s small paunch. Hux blushes deeply once he realizes Kylo is writing his name on Hux’s belly. Hux whispers, “I’d get it tattooed there. Or a tramp stamp.”

Kylo’s eyes bulge and his breathing goes haggard, “Fuck, really?”

Hux bit his lip nodding. Kylo grunted as he came all over Hux’s belly. Hux kissed him softly, “Seriously. Maybe you could help me with the aftercare?”

Kylo snorted and shook his head, “Nah, that’s like ten year anniversary shit.”

“Oh, I guess you’ll just have to cum your name on me until then,” Hux feigned disappointment. “Maybe get me a collar or belt?”

Kylo chuckled, “Fucking freak.”  

Hux smirked, “You have no idea.”

[sidespromptblog]

Tea

Summary: Listen, I made this while dosed on cough medicine. Don’t expect it to make sense. But basically... Logan spills the tea with Remus. 

“Just what are you doing here?” 

The incredulous voice interrupted Logan’s own musings as he took a sip from his lukewarm tea as he sat amongst a throne of snake plushies as well as yellow and black themed beanbags, it was a very squishy seat and one that Logan was constantly having to readjust himself in. It had almost been fifteen minutes since Deceit had said that he’d be back, and with Deceit’s door wide open, it was only a matter of time before Remus’ curious head popped in looking to make some mischief in the dishonest side’s room before he would make it back. Except, Deceit wasn’t in there, just… Logan, sitting all by his lonesome, sipping at his cup of tea that never seemed to get lower. 

Not exactly Deceit, but he could still make some mischief from this. 

“I believe that Deceit invited me over to ‘share the tea and spill it’ as he put it,” Logan’s voice stopped the duke dead in his tracks as the creative side raised a pierced eyebrow at the very notion. “Although, I don’t quite know why he could want to spill the tea, that would make such a mess in his bedroom, that he would have to the one to clean up and-”

A rough and rather rude snort cut Logan off. 

“What would you know about spillin’ the tea? The most interesting thing I bet you do is catalog imaginary stamps in the order of least colorful to most colorful.” Regardless of his words, Remus plopped down in front of Logan, kicking his feet out and sending one of Deceit’s precious snake plushies flying, until it hit the wall with a resounding splat sound. Even so, despite his chaotic actions, Logan regarded him cooly as if he was no more than a toddler having a temper tantrum. Just that look alone made him want to wipe it off the logical side’s face, maybe with a machete, or with his own mustache as he pinned Logan down against all of these plushies and beanbags and- 

Remus internally hissed at the thought, much preferring the first one that had popped up into his head. Why would such a thing even pop into his head? He didn’t like Logic, in fact, he wanted him dead. Maybe with a baseball bat or a sledgehammer. Maybe he needed a drill, a drill to get all of these stupidly gushy and mushy thoughts out of his head. True… it would make a mess, and Dee would yell at him for hours after doing it but in the very least those stupid thoughts would be gone and out of his head. Despite being a pile on the floor. 

Logan took a loud sip from his cup, before taking a moment to watch it refill itself. “Patton said fuck yesterday.” 

Just like that, every thought that circled around his drill and what he was going to do with it went completely out of the window as his mouth dropped open in a look of overjoyed but unadulterated shock. 

Without even thinking about it, he scooted forward until his knees were flush against Logan’s before summoning a stick of deodorant in his hand, “Tell me more, right now!” He eagerly said, before popping the top off and leaning in eager to hear just how the esteemed moral side had broken down and finally said one of the so-called worst dirty words in all of existence, at least according to Patton. It made his insides writhe like maggots, just at looking at the small but equally proud smirk that curled on Logan’s lips upon seeing the expression on Remus’ face. If he hadn’t of wanted to wipe that look off before using a different means than he normally would have… then he most certainly did right now. 

Confidence looked so very good on the logical side. 

“Oh that’s nothing,” Logan seemed to preen under the positive attention and knowledge that he had the creative side’s ears on him and nothing but him. “You should have seen what happened to Roman yesterday when he went out into the imagination. He came back covered in mud, with worms in his hair. We had to listen to him whine for hours, as Patton picked them out he didn’t know it… but I got pictures.” Setting down his cup, Logan summoned his phone. Scrolling through it for a moment before finally finding the pictures that held the evidence of just what had happened to Roman the previous day, he looked completely and utterly miserable. His usually white uniform completely covered in mud, just like the rest of him. If anything, Logan would have likened it to one big fudge popsicle, except it wasn’t fudge, it was filthy mud that still hadn’t come out of the carpet.

Remus pressed himself against Logan in an effort to see the pictures of his dear brother being knocked down a peg or two, almost seemingly unaware of just how close he was. At least until he opened his mouth glancing back up at Logan, to see just close his proximity had gotten him. Usually by now had it been one of the others, he would have been pushed away with the others wrinkling their nose in disgust claiming that he smelled too disgusting to want close. Which, he couldn’t exactly hold it against them, he did make a habit of making himself as different from Roman as he could possibly be. So instead of smelling like roses, he smells like cabbage that had been left out for a couple of days. So the fact that Logan had even stayed still, and not shoved him away was… telling in a strange kind of way. And for the life of him, he couldn’t stop looking at the logical side. 

His eyes, that held just a hint of the darkest blue in them hidden behind the thick frames of his glasses. That one stupid lock of hair that the logical side tried time and time again to tame, but just couldn’t seem to gel back. And those lips… those perfect lips. He couldn’t stop himself from looking at them, it became a whole lot harder to swallow now that he got a good look at them. He wanted to devour them, and not in the cannibal kind of way.

Logan’s gaze searched his face, and for a second for just a split second, the look in the logical side’s eyes was… vulnerable. Vulnerable in the way that Remus’ seething and fiery dragon-like instincts could only hope to seize it, and add it to his horde forever. To protect, to claim, to hold it forever and ever. It made him want to keep Logan, that look alone in his eyes.

It made him feel things. Disgusting. 

His deodorant fell limply from his fingers, “I want to kiss you,” The words were out before he could even think about it, not that he wouldn’t have said it. It was odd, knowing that he would have said it regardless, or that he would have added a whole rambling sentence before saying such a thing that would make Logan sink out and never come back to the subconscious mindspace again, let alone anywhere near Remus’ disgusting filth. Knowing Logan, which he didn’t… not really, he’d probably prefer Roman and all of his wildly accepted thoughts and feelings. Not.. not whatever Remus would think up and feel, not his unacceptable thoughts and not his unacceptable feelings. None of the sides preferred him, and that was okay it came with his blunt honesty. Nevertheless, Logan’s rejection would at least sting at first. But he could do it, he could get through it and deal with it. With at least a whole lot of sobbing into Dee’s chest, and eating of two gallons of ice cream first. Then he could get over it, but not before then.

Even so, Logan’s head gingerly tilted to the side and already Remus was bracing himself for the worst. The worst of the worst to come, the absolute shittiest worst. Worse than when Virgil had left them with the others, worse than that. Rose thorns tearing apart his heart from the inside, but worse than that too.

“Well… what’s stopping you? I’m right here.” 

A sickening combination of emotions slammed into Remus’ gut, but one thing was for certain as he looked back at Logan. He didn’t hesitate, as his body collided with Logan’s, effectively pinning the nerdy side under him, as he swallowed each and every sound the both of them made with horrible dirty kiss after kiss. By the time that he was done with Logan, his entire body would be covered in hickies for all of the others to see. For all of them to know just who Logan had allowed to kiss him, and for them to know just what dragon had claimed the logical side as a part of his horde now. Their lips met once again as Logan’s arms tangled their way around his waist, only urging him to stay in that position and to never ever move.

He didn’t see it, but at the entrance of his room, Deceit watched with a proud smirk adorning his lips.

Mission success.

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

MC using an enchanted strap on Xenia? What it does is up to you 👀

Ahhhhh, yes, finally a smutty request; I’ve been super thirsty as of late and this is a straight up remedy lol. Thanks for your request and I hope you enjoy, anon!

Another thing to note: I went on another tangent and this is now over 2,000 words in length help I’m thirsty asf lol 😳

Summary: MC is able to receive a special treat just for Xenia to help her let loose and temporarily enter a paradise where there are no noble responsibilities. Though Xenia prefers command, the enchantment lacing her gift is just too enticing to decline after a long day...

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MC viewed herself in the mirror, turning this way and that to see how she looked. The strap that she had acquired was bound to her freckled hips, lightly swinging this way and that as she models it. The heir’s face is alight with bashfulness. She had never been this... observant for something meant for the bedroom. But if I’m to please Xenia in this, I must give a tempting first impression. I want nothing but the best for my Spymistress. Speaking of the illustrious woman, she was to be arriving back to her home soon. MC was giddy with both anticipation and nervousness, a juxtaposition for the heat that was pressed against cool plastic. Plus the enchantment I ordered to be cast on this will really put the spice in our osculation. That was the second thing she was anticipating most of all: experiencing the enchantment with Xenia. If the person I trusted to do this was true to their words and their abilities, then there’s pleasure to be had between the both of us... MC settles onto the edge of Xenia’s bed, relishing the luxurious cushion it gives her. Mindlessly, her fingers skim the length of the strap, sensing the slight buzz of magic billowing from the onyx-tinged toy. Just brushing the plastic has a flounder of warmth flutter through her belly--a jolt that singed her pleasantly. Oh frost, this is going to get interesting.

She awaits for her spymaster in tight silence, the air tense with the looming potential of Xenia whirling in through the door. The heir wasn’t sure if she could handle it--the anticipation of seeing Xenia’s reaction. And that’s not even factoring in what is to come when she does join me into the equation... Every once and a while, MC will feather her fingertips across her body just to assure that she’ll be ready for the moment Xenia arrives. Who am I kidding? I’ve always been ready for Xenia. There hasn’t ever been a time where I wasn’t. The moment comes much later than she expected--a staggering hour and a half--and when Xenia arrives, she hardly even notices MC lounging on her bed. The spymaster uses two of her hands to massage her temples and she sighs heavily. MC’s coy expression creases when she takes in the expression on Xenia’s face. The stress and fatigue that structured her beautiful face made MC second guess her choices. Maybe now isn’t the best time to... Then Xenia’s eyes focus on MC and the thought disintegrates like a cloud of ash dispersing. Her beautiful white irises lock on MC, landing on the strap before wandering up to her barren chest--then back down to the strap before finally reaching her eyes. The spymaster’s eyes feel as though they’re touching her skin with each glance, as if dozens of invisible fingers were caressing MC’s curves and exploring her with ease. A case of tangible adopyopsis, perhaps? A grand blush infects her face, turning the ashen complexion of her skin rosy, and Xenia quickly shuts the door behind her. “MC, what are you... is that a... are you...?” The words seem to catch in Xenia’s throat and she clears her throat awkwardly, her eyes hooded as they escape MC’s emerald gaze. Aw, flustered Xenia is so cute. I should’ve done something of this nature sooner.

“What is the meaning of this, dear?” Xenia demands softly, her posture so stiff that MC feared she’d pull a muscle just maintaining it. But MC quickly notes that her face says the opposite message her body gave off. Spymistress likes what she sees, hmm? The heir’s mouth contorts into a benevolent grin as her fingertip skates across her hip--and her grin heightens when she watches Xenia’s eyes trace her finger eagerly. “Do I need to explain, Mistress Xenia? I believe the meaning is open for you to discern all by yourself.” She intentionally keeps her voice light but low in timbre, wanting to express her naive innocence while also utilizing her flirtatious desire. The best of both worlds for only the best. In the next moment, Xenia is at the foot of her bed--as if MC’s words were permission to pursue her further. “That may be true, my Queen, but it is always a pleasure to hear the definition come from your lips,” one of her hands toy with the necklace strung around her neck, drawing MC’s attention to her glorious cleavage--just as the spymaster seemingly wanted, “nothing is more blessing than that of you declaring your desires. You should know that I do so love to please my Queen.” In spite of herself, MC tinges a shade similar to the one embracing Xenia’s face. Using that talk of pleasing her queen! How dirty!

But MC doesn’t allow Xenia to overrule her that easily. She rises from her position and sits on her folded legs, motioning to Xenia with a an eyebrow cocked. “Come then, Mistress Xenia,” MC gently teases, “come please your Queen.” There wasn’t another word to be said that would persuade Xenia more. She moves to crawl up the bed to her awaiting queen before she hesitates, expression deepening mischievously. Her tongue rolls over her lips and MC’s pulse quickens. “Seeing as you are so demanding of me, wouldn’t you much prefer the convenience of having me service you nude? I have noticed how much you seem to enjoy me when I am bare to you.” Xenia’s arms move in tandem with her words, slowly circling around to remove her dress. Of course, why didn’t I think of that? “Excellent idea,” MC parades with a smile, “strip with haste; don’t keep me waiting, Mistress Xenia.” Her eyes sweep over Xenia’s body--which is broadcasted magnificently between the magenta straps wrapped around her ashen shoulders. It was almost criminal how much of her bosom Xenia left out for the whole of Altadellys to partake in viewing; so much so that MC has the urge to tackle the vendetta with her queenly authority. If I ordered Xenia to reserve that dress for a private game of dress up in my quarters, I have a feeling she’d be thrilled to do so.

Xenia undresses much faster than MC anticipates and within moments, the Spymistress is barren before the heir’s cherishing green eyes. There wasn’t a place on her curvy physique that MC couldn’t avoid even if she wanted to; every ounce of Xenia looked as though she was carved out of marble and sculpted to absolute perfection. The spymaster’s face is crooked with a grin as she makes her way up the bedsheets and stops before MC, her position mirroring MC’s--legs folded beneath her and arms tucked neatly in her lap, dark eyes gentle as they examine MC’s features. The heir slides over to allow Xenia more room and rises a hand, pointing to the barren sheets with a red eyebrow poised. “Lie on your back,” she commands, tonality rich yet soft as if it were a request rather than a demand, “allow your Queen the pleasure of touching you however she wishes.” Xenia doesn’t mask the trifle of shock that intersects her face--along with the scintilla of pleasure that her cheeks flourish. She gives a solemn nod--almost identical to a bow--and follows MC’s orders, sprawling herself so that every inch of her was on display. Like a starved patron at a bakery, MC’s eyes devour the grey selection and dance with mild delirium. There was so much she could do with Xenia with her obedient and nurturing--wanting to satisfy her Queen before herself. 

“Good, good,” MC gently praises, “you are off to a fine start, Mistress Xenia.” Her hands find the soft curve of Xenia’s cheek first and she drags a honed fingertip down the swell--a delicate vow of gratitude. That finger delves lower, across Xenia’s jugular, and down to the crown of her chest and the illustrious Xenia shivers. It’s a barely noticeable movement but it’s enough to catch MC’s eye. Making Xenia fluster will never grow old. “May I?” MC murmurs as her head bows close to Xenia’s chest, her breath fanning over grey flesh. With a spliced grin, Xenia nods. “You may, my Queen.” MC doesn’t waste another moment, pressing her starved mouth against Xenia and kissing her with fervor, decorating worship on her in hot stamps. She continues down further to the dip in her stomach, tracing the solid lines down to her swerved hips and shimmering heat. MC tucks a finger into Xenia, feeling the velvet wetness wrapping around her finger and grins when the Spymistress bucks to meet her touch. As if MC was magnetic and Xenia a metal, the spymaster pulls herself toward the heir as she extracts her finger, marveling the luster her skin had gained. “You are far more ready than I first expected you to be, Mistress Xenia,” the heir cheekily flaunts, “beautiful. I could not have asked for someone more reliant.”

Satisfied, MC wanders back up Xenia’s body with a sinister smirk on her mouth. That smirk is quickly chased away when one of Xenia’s hands brush the strap and antagonize the enchantment coursing through it. MC jolts as that same stab of pleasure wracks her body. Xenia’s brow arches. “Have I done something you like? It seems there’s been a change in your queenly behavior, Your Majesty.” As if sensing the magic, a knowing look passes her face and melds with the molten desire, trickling heavier as two of her hands grope the strap. “Ah, ah... y-yes, yes indeed, you are so good-!” Her reply chokes into a plea as Xenia moves just a touch quicker, strengthening the waves of pleasure that lap her insides. Oh frost, just how talented was that contact for this enchantment to be this... vocally provoking? Flustered, MC bats away Xenia’s probing hands and instead nudges apart her thighs. She settles between them easily but attention is drawn up to Xenia as she sharply inhales, soot-tinged face alighting red. Her eyes were tailored to MC, watching with anticipation that MC want to push into her right at that moment. But the heir pauses and levels the spymaster with a gentle smile; one so soft and caring that it seemed to break the mold their mood had been curated in. “You are ready, I presume?” Two of Xenia’s arms unfurl to curl around her waist while the other two remain sprawled at her side. With a smile matching MC’s, Xenia nods.

“For my Queen? I have always been prepared for you.”

And just like that, the final barrier separating them disintegrated and there was no more doubt or worry or even apprehension; just feverous passion. MC presses the tip of the strap against Xenia--gasping at the flood of hot warmth that embraces her lower stomach--and propels her hips forward. The strap slides easily within the Spymistress and in almost synonymous unison, the two women sigh. MC could feel the comforting heat of Xenia as she slid in further--sense the glove of ruched velvet that hugged her, or rather the strap, so perfectly. It was a dizzying sensation that made her body flush and jerk. The two arms slung around her waist cling tighter and lure her onward even as the pleasure threatens to drown her totally. MC’s palms brace herself on either side of Xenia’s torso and level her as she starts a staccato that’s soft but hasty; a rhythm she could hardly keep up with. MC’s head swam with the sensations groping her, eliciting noises that should’ve been coming from Xenia’s. Not that I don’t mind... I believe that Xenia garners some satisfaction from hearing how good she pleases me. “MC... I am thrilled to be of this worth to you... Your Maj-My Majesty.” Xenia corrects, stilted, as she grips MC tighter--closer. The heir’s already thudding heart stomps louder against her chest. My Majesty... Pleasure aside, Xenia would be her poison and MC wasn’t sure she would be angry at that. As if on cue, Xenia’s legs wind around MC’s hips and lure her even closer, burying her deeper in her wetland paradise.

I am so glad that I ordered for this enchantment!

She continues to move, thrusting into Xenia with all the strength she could muster, hoping that Xenia felt as much pleasure as she did. Judging from the ten nails prickling her sides, MC believed there was some permit to that wish. When the two of them neared their end, they held each other tight--like they’re seeking refuge from the wave that would crash into them. When it does crash, it’s like a burst of stars in their bodies, blinding and white hot that flows through them pleasantly. By end, they crumple together like they were just fed a drowsy elixir; sapped.

Xenia ushers MC into her arms with her own four, smiling like the most sated fool in the entire world.

And to her credit, MC felt it too; the glow that didn’t seem like it fit with anyone else.

Just tailored to their love and no one else’s; beautifully selfish.

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Thanks again for your request! I really loved writing this for you and I hope it was worth the wait!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

[imagineclaireandjamie]

;NSFW: I suggest not reading what’s beneath the cut unless you work somewhere that’s cool with some smut.  

Many thanks to @mybeautifuldecay for the careful read of this before it posted and for the chat that got me ready to post this installment. It is so appreciated. 💜 

Previously:

Part I: The Crown Equerry | Part II: An Accidental Queen | Part III: Just Claire | Part IV: Foal | Part V: A Deal | Part VI: Vibrations |Part VII: Magnolias| Part VIII: Schoolmates | Part IX: A Queen’s Speech | Part X: Rare | Part XI: Watched | Part XII: A Day’s Anticipation | Part XIII: The Location

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.) Part XIV: Motorcycle 

In the end it was easier for Claire to up and leave her life than she had anticipated.  Though it was no less exhilarating than she had dreamed.

Mrs. Fitz, with her watery blue eyes, soft-lined cheeks, and small smile (knowing, warm, encouraging), had touched Claire on the arm tenderly.  From the warmth and familiarity in the gesture, Claire could almost see this same scenario playing out with her uncle.  (His need to get away, the sincerity and understanding in her eyes. There existing no need to know the details, perhaps preferring not to know anything at all.)

She was quiet, accent thick as she gave Claire’s arm a reassuring squeeze and said, “Ye dinna need to e‘splain yerself to me, ma’am.  Nor do ye need to fret ‘bout the particulars, ye ken.  I can spin a yarn tae keep anyone who asks after ye occupied.”

No explanations.  No need to get a story straight.

Claire kissed the woman on the cheek and then the forehead, embracing her in an uncharacteristic show of emotion.  The mumbled “thank you, thank you, thank you” made Mrs. Fitz’s cheeks glow crimson.

The letter to Jamie was circumspect.  

Not the type of torrid missive sent to a soon-to-be-lover.  

Short, no endearments, and sealed with wax (and not her stamp).  

A time.  Reference to the small parking lot tucked into the trees behind the stables.  A small hesitation mark where she had started to write “xx,” but had lifted her pen. 

Mrs. Fitz took the note without even batting so much as an eyelash.

With the few logistics settled, Claire was determined to live out of a small bag for her three-day weekend.  

Fresh underthings (white, nude, black, all the same cut and shape, none particularly sexy).

A pair of simple gray trousers (ones she thought made her arse look smart and had only even been worn to tread a path across her living quarters).  

A well-worn white t-shirt (a stowaway from a life before –– a stint playing field hockey in her schooldays).  

A sweater the color of wine (a chunky knit that wrapped around her and tied at the waist).  

A toothbrush (fresh from the package for travels).

A hairbrush and hairband.

A pale blue dress that buttoned up the front and cinched at the waist with a navy belt.  

A slip of a nightgown (one she had never worn, having bought it for a “special occasion” that had never manifested in her pre-Jamie life).  

Standing at her bathroom counter, she manipulated her cosmetics bag, letting her fingers complete a hasty exploration of it before setting it back on the counter.  None of it was not worth the real estate in her small bag. Jamie would just have to live with her scrubbed face.

Unlike the preceding day, where every moment had felt like a drudgery, the hours flew by in a flurry of last-minute activity orchestrated by Mrs. Fitz.

“What will you tell people?” Claire dried her palms on her pants, feeling more than little silly with her hair wrapped behind a colorful silk scarf and eyes shrouded by blonde tortoiseshell sunglasses.  

Mrs. Fitz tucked the leather satchel over Claire’s shoulder. Her hands strayed there in a way that made Claire feel a burst of affection for this dedicated woman who she did not know well at all.  “I dinna ken the truth of where ye’re headed, Claire.  I never kent wi’ Lamb, and I never want to ken wi’ ye either.  Ultimately, though, it’s no’ m’business, aye?  Ye get away tae where ye need tae be, like yer uncle, yer parents, and yer grandparents before them, and ye leave the schemin’ to me.  What’s the phrase, then? Plausible deniability?”

All at once, Claire could have cried, kissed her full on the mouth, and pulled the sturdy woman to her in an embrace.  But all Claire could manage was a nod and a gravely admission of: “I understand.”

With one final squeeze, Mrs. Fitz said, “Go.”

Although Claire’s eyes darted across the landscaping, up the seemingly endless row of windows, and along the furthest reaches of her vision, she saw nothing that would give her away. It was a surprisingly dull afternoon on the palace grounds.  No one appeared to take even the briefest of passing glances at her.

It was almost too easy.

When she saw Jamie, her heartbeat quickened –– a moth fluttering its wings against a light bulb.  He was waiting for her there in the parking lot, spit shining the glass gauges on his motorcycle.  For a moment she studied him, though her feet still carried her closer.  She had never quite understood the colloquialism “walking on air” until that moment.

His head swiveled when she said his name.  

And, oh Lord, the way her heart threatened to burst at just the sight of him.  

Illuminated in the sliver of sunshine peeking through a morning of drizzle, his hair was a thousand shades –– auburn, red, cinnamon, strawberry, blonde among them.  He had the look of a long day on his face, though it immediately melted as he scanned her from head to toe.

“Ye came,” he said, voice not indicating even the mildest incredulity at her appearance.  Just stating a fact.

“I did,” she said in return.  Just confirming a fact.

He rose from the seat, giving one of the mirrors one final swipe with his cloth before tucking it into the motorcycle’s gear bag.  “Are ye okay ridin’ this? I should’ve asked ye last night, but…”  His voiced faded, not yet feeling at ease enough to discuss with her the absolutely mad need he’d had to get home and take care of himself the night before.

“I’ve always wanted to ride a motorcycle,” she admitted, touching the cool chrome of the brake.  She reached for the smaller of the helmets dangling from the handlebars, and asked, “Mine?”

“Aye,” he said after clearing his throat.  He took the helmet and carefully situated it over the scarf covering her hair.  Her eyes fought to flutter closed at the feeling of his fingers slipping along her jaw to fasten the strap, the slight tug of him drawing it tight.  Her drive to reach for him overwhelmed her instinct to close her eyes, and she studied him.  The firm set of his mouth and brows as he threaded the strap through the second buckle.  The twitch of the fine muscles lining his jaw as he tested the strap.

“Am I secured?” she asked, lowering her voice and imbuing it with a level of seriousness that she did not believe was called for by the situation.  Before he could answer, she sealed her mouth over his, rolled his leather jacket in her hands and pulled him against the front of her body.  

He pulled back, a little taken aback.  “That was bold, yer majesty.”

Snorting, she dried her lips on the back of her hand. “Fortune favors the bold, Fraser,” she trilled, throwing a leg over the motorcycle.  “Now, shall we go?”

Forty minutes later, he had transported them both to what seemed to her to be an entirely different planet.  She spent the ride wound around him, her hands around his waist and cheek pressed between his shoulder blades.  And his hands –– the way his palms had traveled along her forearms, held her hands against his stomach with a stray thumb stroking the fine bones of her wrists.  It was a perfect series of moments that she wished she could will into lasting forever at the same time she felt pure joy to have behind her (they had arrived). The cabin.  Their new world.  Trees draped heavily over the winding gravel path leading up to the cabin.  The air was heavier and cooler than Edinburgh somehow, smelling of wet leaves and peat and carrying on it a chorus of birds and a stream.  The ground was unpaved, rain-damp and gritty beneath her feet.

“I ken it’s no’ much, but it’s been a home to me––” he started, running a hand over his face as she extracted her belongings from the bag attached to the motorcycle and slipped the strap crosswise over her chest.

Turning to him, Claire rose onto her toes.  It was natural as the dawning of a new day or the sinking of a sun at the end of one to thread her fingers into his hair.  (She had concluded on the ride that it was wavy, and that with a little less attention at the barber, it would curl around her fingertips.) Rooted to him, she shook her head, needing to silence his apparent unease over where he’d brought her.  It was perfect. Eyes madly searching his face, she licked her lips.  “You brought me to the perfect place. Yours.”

A grumble rose in his chest, picking up gravel, until it was an almost disconnected grunt. She wound her fingers more tightly in his hair and drew his face closer.

“Do not dare say anything against it or try to diminish it for me.  This day started when I came down to your motorcycle and it has been perfect.  It will be perfect.”

Jamie nodded, adjusting her bag, working free the slight twist in the strap with a reverence that could have been confused for a calling.  Curving her fingers against his scalp, tracing a mole buried deep in his hair that she had never before felt, she kissed him. Something ignited in her belly as his tongue probed at the seam of her lips, his hand fisting around the strap of her bag and drawing her closer.  After what felt like an eternity in the span of mere moments, he pulled back and looked at her again.  “Ye’re a rare woman, Claire.”

Snorting, she slipped her sunglasses off and slipped them into the side pocket of her bag.  “Well, I am the only queen of England.”  The sweet, playful smirk that met her lips transformed her eyes, made them sparkle.

“Did ye just make a joke, yer majesty?” he asked, gripping the strap tighter, pulling her ever closer.  She was suddenly struck by the realization that there was no way to be close enough to him, nothing that would satisfy this burning, aching need in her.  “A wee bad joke?”

“Oh aye,” she responded, arching into him as he released the strap and slipped his arms around her middle.  As though she weighed nothing more than a pillowcase of loose feathers, he lifted her.  Instinct took hold and she wrapped her legs around his waist. “Take me inside, Fraser?”  

The earnestness with which she whispered it (nuzzling the line of his jaw with her nose and the hot, wet bow of her mouth) made him want to break through the door just to find the nearest mostly horizontal surface.

Bed.  Couch. Countertop.  Kitchen table.  Floor. Whatever.

It had been awhile since he had carried a woman this way, felt the warmth radiating against him.  Hell, it had been awhile since he had been near enough to a woman to touch her this intimately.  But something told him that he had never carried or touched a woman like the one who was holding him like he was the last buoy in a storm.

“Careful,” he groaned when she introduced her teeth to his earlobe, dragging the small curve of flesh just a bit before soothing it with her tongue. Jamie stopped, steadying himself with one hand on the roughhewn siding before unlocking the cabin door. In caution, he mumbled, “I’ll drop ye.”

“I know you won’t drop me,” she responded matter-of-factly, nestling her nose in his hairline, the quiet sniff she gave him not aiding his concentration.  Her fingertips pressed into his shoulders (needy, finding the textures of him) and drew from him a new sound.  An “mmmmmmm” with a small puff of breath on the end. It made her feel like a woman –– powerful, sexy, wanted, his.  She would have sworn in that moment that she could feel the blood pumping through her heart as it beat in great, pounding wallops.

Against his better judgment, Jamie set her down in the center of the front room, hands engaging in a minor topographical exploration of her sides as she settled again to her feet. Looking around unabashedly, she shed her bag to the floor.

It was both nothing that she had expected and precisely as she had imagined.

A huge river stone fireplace served as the foundation of the room, marked up to the mantle by a plume of char speaking to years of fires. A plush oriental rug framed the space beneath a caramel leather couch and a massive floral patterned chair.  A coffee table was empty and scrubbed clean but for a blue vase stuffed with some dried thistle.  Paintings lined the walls –– a wiry grey hound, a young girl with a paintbrush in hand and wild look, and a young boy with fat cheeks and red hair crouched over a puddle with a stick in hand.   A sliding door was mostly obscured by thick, velvety curtains.  A doorway led into a kitchen where she could see an avocado green suite of kitchen appliances, a rattan light fixture, and a stack of mail on the counter.

A chill ran down Claire’s spine as she caught Jamie’s steady gaze.  He was leaning against the wall and watching her take in the cabin.  He was almost predatorily handsome with his slightly parted mouth and hip popped against the pass through to the kitchen.

She commented that the cabin was beautiful.

In return, he made a Scottish noise before evenly observing, “Ye have road dust all over yer bonny face, Sassenach.”

She swallowed and offered him an unconvincing half smile. He closed the distance between them in three long steps and easily slipped the scarf from her head.  With as tentative hands as she had ever had, she shook out her curls.  “I’m guessing I look a little mad.”

He made a quick hmm, smirking as he inspected her hair.  “Ye look a little out of sorts, but ye’re as beautiful as ever.”

She wondered if she would ever tire of hearing that sentiment in his mouth.  She found herself thinking that she was not sure he would ever tire of saying it.  The naked sincerity in his eyes, the easiness of his mouth as it slipped over the words like water rushing through hands. It washed away any doubt that she had.

“We could wash up?” she suggested, voice bland as she endeavored not to come across too tentative, too boring for him.  He brushed a curl behind her ear, lips moving to her temple.

“The guest washroom is just down the hallway.”  He inhaled her, lips finding her hairline.  “Anything ye’ll need is in the wee linen closet behind the door.”

In a mirrored movement, they both crouched for her bag, but he beat her to it.  “I won’t be long,” she said, accepting it and slipping it over her shoulder.

“I willna keep ye waiting either.”

The shower stripped the afternoon chill straight from her bones.  Though it was a beautiful summer day, it was a drizzly, quintessentially Scottish one in this part of the country.  By the time she had towel dried her hair and peeked out of the half window above the toilet, she realized that a storm had started to surge outdoors.  Dipping her hands into her bag, she pulled out all of the clothing she had packed.  The sensation that gripped her for a moment at her lack of intention in curating a weekend wardrobe could be described only as “abject horror.”

The dress.  The trousers.  The slip of a nightgown.  The sweater.

What in the world should she put on? This place felt like a home, but it was not her home. Nothing seemed suited to the occasion (whatever it was, though she had her suspicions and a warm, melting honey feeling coated her belly at the prospect).  The dress was too summery and cheery for the dreary weather.  The sweater and t-shirt and long pants presented too many layers.  The slip was too forward.  Everything was too something.

Jamie’s voice was quiet, but loud enough to carry through the door.  “Are ye alright in there? It’s been… a bit.”

Swallowing, she drew the thumbnail out from between her teeth. (It was a nasty, nervous habit that her mother had been assiduously working to break with near success at the time of her death, but a habit that her uncle had never bothered to address with her.)

“No,” Claire answered, feeling a green envy creep up her throat like a vine.  Men and their limited range of fashion choices likely had no such quandaries.  “I mean, no, I am fine. It is okay.” Her voice trailed, guts aching to let her brewing scream of frustration bound off the walls of the cabin.  Quickly, she pulled the slip over her head.  She looked at herself in the mirror somewhat skeptically. It fell nearly to the tops of her feet, the deep v neckline bordered by a thick trim of pale lace.  “I’ll be just a minute.”

“Take yer time.  Just wanted to make sure that ye were no’ plotting an escape into the Highlands through the window.”  His voice had a light to it, though it was apparent he had entertained the notion for more than the moment it took him to express it.

“Do not be silly, Fraser.  I cannot abscond from this place through that window.  It is far too small for me to slip through.”  She pulled the sweater on, just to see what it looked like, tilting her head to the side as she inspected the effect of the sweater and the slip.  For a moment, she considered whipping it off and throwing the door open whilst completely nude.

“Yer arse willna fit?”

She almost choked on a laugh, one that she was convinced probably sounded like a sob.  “Of course it will not fit. Have you seen it?”

“Of course, I’ve spent a fair amount of my time gettin’ acquainted wi’ that arse.”

She turned, placing a hand flat on the door.  

She was so close to feeling like Just Claire.

She studied the diamond and onyx ring on her right hand. It was a setting created for her with Lamb’s stones. The stones of her grandfather. His grandmother before him. An entire lineage of kings and queens almost all the way back to the creation of the Church of England.  It was a generational piece molded to fit its current wearer, but it was in no way sentimental.  It was no more to her than a bond to her title.  Carefully, she drew the ornate bauble from her finger, inspecting it before setting it on the bathroom counter. Wearing it was wholly unnecessary for whatever was about to happen.  Her hand felt somehow lighter.  Her confession came unbidden: “I am not sure what to wear.”

For a moment, she rested her forehead against the door.

And then, clear as day, she heard Jamie say, “So come out naked.”

Snorting, she traced the grain in the wood down, tried to identify a shape in the whirling oak.  A face with a bulbous nose? A cartoon duck? Before she could second guess herself, she opened the door.  Fraser was in a t-shirt and a pair of black pants.  For the first time she saw the mass of him that was generally concealed by his work clothes.  She was taken aback by just how huge he was.  Biceps that swelled against his shirt in half-moon curves, forearms corded with muscle, waist and hips narrow, chest broad and defined.  She licked her lips unconsciously at the way his hair curled more fresh from a shower, the heavy way the curls drooped over his hairline.

She was the one to take a step this time, going to him on tiptoes and joining their mouths.  His hands went first to her head, but then coursed down her back, filling his hands with the arse he had just joked about, squeezing.  

They had abandoned any pretense between them and they dangled close to another point of no return when she whispered, “Take me to your bed.”

His hands worked under thighs, guiding her up and around him wordlessly.  It took only a few short steps to get to the bedroom.  A small fire was crackling in its infancy stages in the corner.  She could not even bring herself to make a joke about his presumptuousness.  That they would be in his bedroom.  But there was no pretense left between them.  Jamie set her down at the end of his bed and made quick work of the sweater, drawing the flesh of her shoulder into his always-moving, greedy mouth.

Just as his teeth began to drag an uncharted course along the curve of her throat, she sank her fingertips into the collar of his shirt.  The way he froze immediately, his mouth and hands stilling as though he had been stricken dead, froze her to the core.

“Jamie?” she asked softly, his breath against the trail of saliva he’d left along her skin chilling her flesh and drawing goosebumps.  “What is it?”

“I… I need to tell ye something.” He stood back, his full height somewhat imposing before her as he retreated another half of a step.  “Christ, I should’ve told ye ages ago.”

Her heart was pounding uncontrollably and she fought the urge to reach for him, to draw him back to her. “Just tell me.” She almost recoiled at her tone.  The almost aloof, cold delivery of a queen.  Mediating her tone, she repeated, “Please.  Why did you stop?”

He turned away from her, head bowing, eyes focusing on the floor, and he drew his shirt up.

Her utterance of his name was immediate, quiet.  Not pity, but surprise.

His shoulders tensed at the sound.  Great, lean lines of muscle moved easily under gnarled flesh.  His back was scored with no particular rhyme or reason.  “I dinna need pity, Claire, but ye had a right to ken that ye’re about to bed somethin’ grotesque. I wasna thinkin’ when I didna tell ye sooner. I…”

“The war?” she asked, taking a step closer to him.  In parts, the flesh was barely touched by scars.  The geometric shapes of the unmarred skin varied –– squares, circles, triangles. In places it the same texture and color as that above the line of his collar.

“I was a prisoner in the war, Claire.”

She could see, plain as day, that a vicious whipping (or repeated vicious whippings) had fileted him, bisecting moles and leaving small half-moons on his flesh.  A constellation of freckles above his left hip was obviously incomplete, the other half macerated by whatever implement had been used to torture him. The complete portrait of what had been there was not even a memory in the scar tissue left behind.

After a moment’s hesitation, she asked, “Can I touch you?”

The inhale of his breath was sharp and he dropped his t-shirt to the floor.  “Ye can touch me however ye want to.  If ye still want to.”

She did not bother to respond.  Instead, she introduced her lips to the skin just below his shoulder blade.  She traced the ditch of one of the angrier, purple scars with her mouth, her hands finding his lower back.  Her lips, her tongue, her breath on him were a balm that no medical science had managed to replicate.

“I want to touch you everywhere,” she confessed, mouth finding the column of his spine.  She pressed her cheek against his back, closed her eyes, and felt goosebumps explode beneath her fingers as they sank into his waistband.  She found the unmarked skin of his bare arse, cupped the muscle and felt it twitch beneath her hands, and sighed.  “I want to explore you, James Fraser.  Memorize you.  Now more than ever.”

“Aye?” he said, voice less distant.  She did not open her eyes, but felt his shoulders square.

“Aye. Now take off your pants.” She stepped back, licking her lips at the sound of his belt working free and the descent of his zipper.  As the last of his clothing fell away, she took in the sight of him for the first time.  He turned, her heart leaping as she memorized him.  The carved plane of his stomach. The smattering of auburn hair over his chest and the flat, dark discs of his nipples. The almost-brunette thatch of wiry curls between his legs that rose in a narrow line up his belly interrupted only by the thick, hard line of his cock.

He licked his lips, taking in her appraisal of him.  “Ye look bonny in that nightgown, but fair’s fair.”

She gathered the fabric at her hips, slowly easing the slip up over her ankles, shins, knees, thighs.  Her eyes never left his as she adjusted her grip, exposing her hips, stomach, ribs, breasts.  She tilted her head as she drew it over her head and dropped it unceremoniously to the floor.

His breath caught at the sight of her.

Naked, unabashed.  

She raised a hand, turned it palm up as she reached for him. He took her fingers, coming close.  At the first contact of the lengths of their bodies, she hissed, rising onto her tiptoes.  “I have been waiting for this since maybe the second night that I met you,” she confessed, eyes intent on his.

“I have been waiting for this my entire life,” he mumbled in response, lowering his mouth onto hers.

The kiss was lazy and slow as their hands began to roam.  

A curve of a hip.  

The swell of one another’s buttocks.  

The calloused pad of his thumb over her nipple.

The soft weight of her breast in his hand.

The equally soft moan of pleasure that he swallowed as he drew the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.  

The hard line of his shoulder beneath her hand, the scars somehow smooth beneath her fingers.  

The wet sound of her hand between her legs before she ran a damp thumb in an orbit around the head of his cock.  

The responsive groan that came from him that felt like death and rebirth in the same moment.

When his hands slipped between her legs, tested the slickness there for himself, he roughly whispered, “Ye’re a goddess, ye ken that, aye?”

“A Maenad maybe?” she responded, moving her hands to his hips and taking a bold step backwards.  Lifting her by the hips, Jamie situated her at the end of the bed, her legs draping over the edge, toes just barely above the rug beneath the bed.  Before she could comprehend what he was doing, he was on his knees, trailing his nose and lips north from the landmark of her left knee.

The dream of him kneeling before had nothing on the actual sight of the act –– the crop of red hair working along (and between) her limbs, the way he kept his eyes angled up at her, the stream of his breath along her flesh that made goosebumps rise to the surface.  

Her belly fizzed with anticipation, he was going to ––

As his mouth descended towards her pubic bone, pressing kisses that anywhere else on her body would be best described as chaste, she wound her fingers into his hair.

She whispered his name once.

Reverence, a benediction.

He slipped his hands beneath her thighs, hitched her up to what she assumed was his preferred angle of approach.

She whispered his name a second time.

To get his attention.

He rested his chin just below her navel, studying her face.  The sweet line of her mouth was twisted, brows knit together.  “What is it?”

“I’ve…”  Her mouth suddenly went dry.  “I am not a virgin, and something tells me that you are not either, but I’ve never…”

His brow crinkled and his eyes narrowed. “Is this no’ okay?  I want to verra much taste ye, but if ye’re no’ comfortable––”

“It’s just that, no one has ever…”  

Her voice trailed off and she felt an uncharacteristic flush rise from her chest up her throat before it flooded her cheeks.  She rose up onto her elbows to get a better look at him.  She was in no way uneasy about being naked before him, spread out for him to take.

But this.

This was by far the most intimate moment of her life.

“No man has ever done… that… to me… for me.”

For a moment he looked at her, the tension in his brows fading.  He lifted his chin, placed a single kiss where it had been resting.  “I’ve dreamed of having ye like this for weeks, Claire,” he confessed, fingers sinking deeper into the soft flesh of her thighs.  Though the statement required no clarification, he said, “Beneath my mouth.”

Her breath hitched and she curled her fingers into the blanket.

“But we dinna need to… I’m better than fine wi’… we can do whatever ye want.  Even if it’s no’ this or anything else.  I can make us dinner and we can chat, I…”

“No. I want all of you, Jamie.”  She paused, shaking her head.  “I have had the same dreams…”

The look in his eyes wiped clear the vague hesitation lingering at the back of her mind –– the way she tasted or smelled, whether he was doing it out of a sense of obligation, whether it was too much for their first time.  He pressed another kiss to her, this time over the soft flesh curving just inches above his mouth’s final destination.  “Are ye sayin’ ‘yes’ then?”

“Yes,” she whispered, consciously deciding to release the blankets, to let her hands still and go flat on the bed, legs falling further apart in offering.  He rose up to her then, kissing her on the cheek before moving to her mouth.  The kiss was gentle and short, his lips gathering her lower lip in a noisy, sucking way.  “Lie back.  Relax.”

Eyes still fixed on her face, he slipped his fingers between her legs and sighed appreciatively as she whimpered.

“Tell me to stop if ye dinna like it.  I’ll stop.”

She nodded.  

He kissed her once more, placed a light hand gently between her breasts, and pressed her gently until she was on her back.  

When she was looking down her body at him again (eyes wide, pupils dilated, lips parted), he decided to follow her gaze. He committed to take his time, though he wanted nothing more than to sample without delay the most intimate of flavors her body offered. Removing his hand from between her thighs, he took hold of one round, soft buttock, sinking his fingers into her flesh.

(In his hand, fingers free to explore the ample swell of her arse, he realized it was even better than promised that first night as she bent at the waist over that gate in the stables.)

And then his mouth was everywhere.

Throat –– the small mole at the base, a destination for his tongue to flick and draw from her noises that made the hard parts of him pulsate an aching rhythm.  

Collarbones –– creatures with a wingspan that stretched from the freckled shell of one shoulder to the other.  

Sternum –– the firm column of it, cheeks nestling against the soft handfuls of her breasts.  

Said breasts –– the right and then the left, one hand working the opposite of his mouth.  

Belly –– the dip down from the cage of her ribs, a slight swell just below her navel that tasted of shower water, clean flesh.  

Hip bones –– arching like a sea monster cutting through the water in thick curves.

Tops of her thighs –– rounded, firm, powerful.

And then his mouth was between her legs.

Norse mythology had valhalla.  A hall ruled by Odin, where the dead men of wars gathered for further battle in death. And he had Claire.  A mythical place after death, rebirth, the taming of her body a battle. And Christ was she beautiful. Her sounds, her movements, the heartbeat he could feel under his hand as his hand scrabbled for her breast.

While he was acutely aware of everything, she was only vaguely aware of anything.

The thunder clapping in the distance.

The hammering of rain on the roof.

The cracking of logs in the fire.

The noises that rolled from her mouth, rising from her chest and guts.

The bunching of the bed sheets beneath her lower back.  

The slick of sweat gathering below her bellybutton, trickling down along the bridge of his nose, salting his lips.

Blasphemies that she did not realize sheltered in the recesses of her vocabulary poured from her as his tongue and fingers worked in tandem.  His curls were damp, slippery between her fingertips as she tugged them and arched into his mouth like a bridge spanning the width of a river.  The slight tug earned an appreciative growl, a sigh, a redoubling of his efforts.  He reached for her with one hand, drew her fingers from his hair and tangled his fingers with hers as he found purpose between her thighs.

Her feet locked against the mattress, seeking to root themselves there and demanding the leverage to rise towards the hot atmosphere of his breath.

She begged for more.

Was denied.

He chuckled.

Contradiction ached in her bones.  (She pleaded for him not to stop.  To never stop. She pleaded for him to fill her. To spread her –– gripping, angling, thrusting.)

He groaned a full laugh at the inconsistency of her demanding little mouth, his tongue moving in flat, lapping arcs before focusing the tip of his tongue where he knew she wanted him most.

His name the closing prayer of her every conscious though.

“I need you inside me,” she keened, body arcing to match the needy pitch of her voice.

When he asked if he should stop, she bellowed a “no” the likes of which he had not known could come from such a petite frame.

Pitching her hips forward, she mewled.

She felt him laugh against her and could have punched him square in the mouth for it, but the urge was fatally interrupted by the explosion in her guts.

Pulsating in her belly.  Tearing up the centerline of her.  Filling her lungs.  Pitching her entire body sideways.

He captured her thrashing thigh (a raging bull) in his armpit and pressed her hip firmly into the bed as she attempted to roll from him.

He tasted her again and again as she tightened and released, quaked against his mouth.  The tide had only just begun to recede as he rose over her, his body moving with the animal grace of a predator about to take down his prey. The sight of him stalking over her, leg lifting easily to straddle her made her murmur his name (the one given to him by his mother, not the one passed down by his father). Low and slow –– two husky syllables.

And then “more.”  He blinked hard, palming one breast and leaning forward to kiss her breathless mouth.  “More?” he asked, dragging his lips over his forearm as he braced himself over her, unable to close the gate on his smile.

The debauched sight of her was every sunset and famous piece of art that he had ever seen. All of the sunrises over the loch near his childhood home and previous moments where he looked down at a woman thoroughly unraveled by him.  The first taste of beer after being released from that war camp and the oven-warm bread slathered in butter and clover honey that his sister baked for him the day he got home.  The feeling of his nephew kick violently in her swollen belly, her whispered admission at his awe that they had planned all along to name the baby James.

Claire was all of those moments and more. An incomprehensible expansion of time and space where all that existed was in this bed, but it reached everywhere.

Her chest heaved, a trickle of sweat zig-zagging down between her breasts, curling around one hard nipple.  Her was hair wild, plastered over her forehead and standing in knotty bits where she had writhed until the pillow had become jammed between the wall and the headboard.  Cheeks burned, glowed, shone with a slick of tears.  A divot in the shape of her teeth had taken up along the swell of her lower lip.  

Carefully, he parted her thighs again, kissed her on her jaw, and paused.

Still breathless, she whispered, “What is it?”

“Look at me,” he responded. The tone of his voice had a body, a broad hand that matched his own, a finger that beckoned her.

Her eyes opened. Limpid honey, threaded with caramel, ringed by burnt sugar –– fogged with arousal, faraway and filled with a naked adoration that made a lump form in his throat.

Jamie’s fingers found her chin and carefully tilted her face towards him.

Though they had already said it, something about this moment made it feel real –– the giving over of her body and her acceptance of his becoming reciprocal commitments.  He could not manage to hold it in, and made a promise (for the first time in his life, he had the knowledge that he would die to fulfill it): “I love ye.  I need ye, no’ just… like this… I think that it might be forever.”

She slipped an arm around his shoulders, drew him down to her.  “I love you, too, James Fraser, and I intend to do it forever, as well.”

He kissed her slowly, lazily, as though time was a nonexistent thing.  They would live in this age, in this bed, in this embrace for an eternity.  Ages passing, generations moving, entire civilizations rising and falling outside the four walls.

Her eyes were closed when he first pressed into the heat of her, but he watched her.

The gentle crumpling of the space between her eyebrows, the twitch at the corner of her upper lip as her mouth, swollen and ripe as a ripe peach, fell open.  Swallowing hard as he felt their pubic bones meet, his forehead burrowed into the curve of throat and the gentle rise of her collarbones.

He had expected to take her for the first time in an almost uncontrolled way, hard and fast with her wrists captured in his fingers and pressed into the mattress.  In a way that would leave marks that he would apologize for, kiss away.

But in the moment, he was too enamored with the way her body accepted him.  Molded its heat to the shape and size of him.  Created a symphony of sounds that he imagined were just for him.  

For her part, Claire’s heart knew as it fluttered beneath her breast that she had never felt connected with another human this way.  Fraser was in her marrow, her cells.  He burned behind her eyelids with each measured, firm thrust into her.   Bits of anatomy that she had been heretofore unaware of ignited, tingling.

“Tha gaol agam ort,” he slurred against her in response to a particularly delicious little sigh as he slid almost entirely free of her, took himself in his fist, and found his way back again as his knuckles intentionally brushed over her most sensitive spot.

She reached for him, squeezing one buttock in encouragement as she hooked one leg around him and let the other fall completely to the side. “Kiss me while you make love to me,” she whimpered.

And he did, his lips firm against hers, becoming more demanding as he began to move faster, a hand on her hip, hitching her to him at a slightly different angle.  The quiet whimper of “harder” against his mouth as she pulled back from their kiss was all the encouragement he needed.

His hips found a punishing rhythm,

With his fingers between her legs, his teeth on her earlobe, she exploded.  Fingernails created half-moon crescents in his shoulder and flank.  Mouth groaned vowels and expelled missives laden with breathy profanity.  Eyes cinched shut and body arched against him.  Gravity failed, only the weight of his firm body keeping her from floating off the bed to lazily bounce along the ceiling like an over-filled balloon.  Tighter, tighter, tighter her fingers gripped harder for some leverage.

“I’m going to…” he groaned, rhythm faltering and staccato hips snapping against hers with less control.  His eyes cinched closed with the beautiful image of her –– panting open-mouthed and writhing beneath him as she came moments before –– indelibly seared onto the theatre of his mind.  He repeated once more, “I’m going to….”

“Yes,” she whispered, barely coming down to earth again, hips pushing against him, fingers moving over his shoulders, his chest, his belly.  She opened her eyes slowly, a battle of wills she would have never suspected she was strong enough to engage. She took in his face –– the sweat, furrow of concentration, the pure bliss of a man tortured by trying to hold out just a bit longer. She stole his phrase, saying, “Look at me.”

His voice stuttered in an anemic protest and he looked her, groaning once again.  Her fingers splayed into a v, resting against her mound low enough that she could feel the slick length of him, hard and hot as he thrust into her.

“Let go, Jamie.”

This time, the profanity was his (oh fuck, his words skipping beneath the record player needle that spoke his thoughts into being). As he gave himself over to her completely, his body pitched forward heavily.  Her teeth raked along his collarbones as he groaned, hips slowing but not immediately stilling.  Not just love grew at the whispered sentiments of Gaelic (ones she was not even capable of understanding in the least), but affection for this man.

“I’m no’ crushin’ ye am I?”  He was, but she shook her head, licking a sloppy kiss along the column of his throat, the soft underside of his chin, and the arrow-straight bone of his jaw.  He rose up slightly onto his elbows, looking down upon her face.  Though tears pricked the corners of her eyes, inky black with mascara, she had the dumbest, dopiest smile he had ever seen on her lips.  “Christ ye look beautiful after I’ve taken ye.”

Her natural inclination to cover her face with her hand, to laugh, was overcome by the desire to put both of her hands to a more utilitarian purpose.

“I dinna ken that I’ll ever tire of having ye, Claire,” he confessed, kissing her cheeks one by one, tasting the sweat that made them glow, before taking her lips into his.

As he kissed her, her thumb and forefinger had a sudden fascination with the soft, boneless curve of his earlobe. Her other hand wandered, cataloguing his ribs, brushing over the scarred, puckered flesh of his ribs, crossing over to his chest as she neared the warm, musky heat of his armpit. She tested his nipple with her thumb, sighing into his mouth. “It is a two-way street, I think, Fraser. I do not think I will ever tire of being taken by you.”

He hmmmm’ed against her mouth, a quiet laugh slipping into the sound.

[piipedreams]

47 + Sharon plus anyone! Your choice!

(it’s shillam again bc i’m weak n i love them. pls send all ur love to @artificialmeggie for checking through this for me too pls. also i’m on mobile bc i’m on holiday so sorry if this is horribly formatted)

for the prompt: “no one needs to know”

“FUCK!” Sharon exclaims, lashing blindly at her altar before storming to the other side of the room, her enraged stomps drowning out the sound of things tumbling over. She thinks about giving up entirely and throwing herself into the hammock Aquaria had insisted on erecting only to never use, but the combination of her current lack of luck and her lack of faith in her daughter’s carpentry skills convince her otherwise. Thus, she resigns herself to lying face-down on the wooden floor, booting the ground with the toe of her scuffed Dr Martens just for good measure.

“And you wonder where I get my dramatic streak from…” drawls an all-too-familiar and all-too-frustrating voice. Sharon’s daughter Aquaria is perched like a princess upon Sharon’s king-size bed, lounging back against a plethora of throw pillows and lazily waving a hand in the air supposedly to dry her nails. Sharon loves the little nightmare, she really does, but she’s not in the mood, knows that she’ll snap if she opens her mouth to respond and doesn’t want to put that on her. Luckily, Aquaria knows her all too well, not even giving her a chance to retaliate.

“Oh, and be careful with the altar. If you kick a candle over and set the place on fire I’m not taking the blame like I did when you burnt dinner last year. We’re both too old for that now, it’d be embarrassing.”

Aquaria is ten.

Sharon still doesn’t dignify her words with a coherent response, letting out a long, low groan just to remind her daughter of her current suffering and torment. She hears the sound almost immediately echoed from the bed, is unsure whether she’s being mocked or watching her daughter become herself and is unable to discern which option she’d hate more.

Lifting her head, she watches Aquaria flounce off the bed and flick her long, blonde hair over her shoulder with purpose, tiny heels clacking as she makes her way across the room, pausing to reassemble Sharon’s altar with what Sharon just knows is a hidden eye-roll. The little brat.

“Fine,” she announces in a sharp, impatient tone, as though Sharon had just made a decision or request she wasn’t aware of. As well as her flair for the dramatics, it seemed the kid had also inherited Sharon’s general distaste and impatience regarding other people. She was so proud. “If you’re not gonna talk to me, I’ll go and fetch somebody else for you to rant to.” And with those words she struts out of the room, her little wedge heels clicking against the wooden floors and her hair bouncing behind her, completely ignorant as Sharon calls out half-arsed protestations in an attempt to change her mind, get her to stay instead.

“Well don’t you look fucking pathetic?”

“No. Not you.” The smugness of the voice she hears, clearly revelling in the sight of Sharon, collapsed and defeated at her feet, kills any trust she had in her daughter. Because she could not have made a worse call than fucking Willam if she was really trying to provide her with any modicum of emotional support. When people told her having a kid would be the catalyst of her long impending breakdown, she’d never imagined this would be how. The little traitor.

The sound of stilettos, almost definitely red bottoms, grows louder and a pang of dread blossoms in her heart as she hears the woman approach, flippant and sarcastic in all the worst ways as she exclaims “Wow, okay. I thought we were friends!”

Sharon doesn’t have fucking time for her and her dumb games. “You thought wrong.”

Apparently Willam doesn’t have time for her either though, because her snickering suddenly stops, toes digging under Sharon’s side and then lifting as though trying to push her up, obviously to no avail.

“Get up.”

Sharon tries to ignore the way such a demand makes her jaw clench and muscles tighten somewhat.

“No,” she groans in response, long and whiny, determined to be as difficult for Willam as possible, to wield all her brattish and stubborn parts like a weapon and prolong the experience as much as she possibly can. It’s probably petty, definitely antagonistic, but she’s still frustrated and maybe Aquaria is smarter than she’d thought because she’d provided her mother with the greatest outlet - someone to wind up.

She relishes in the aggravated sigh she gets in return. “Get off the fucking floor and into that fucking hammock.”

The bite of the demand, the scratchy growl underlying in Willam’s voice as she speaks so plainly and apathetically, as though Sharon is nothing more than a mild inconvenience that won’t behave does something to Sharon. It’s the indifference of her voice, the way it essentially yells that she knows exactly what to do with Sharon, how to deal with her and why and that she has no doubt she’ll execute this control flawlessly causes a stir inside the woman, her teeth grinding ever so slightly and an involuntary shiver wracking her which seems to be the final straw.

Willam stamps her glitter Louboutins against the ground with enough force to snap the flimsy kitten heels in half, centimetres from Sharon’s head, her ankle brushing the outermost wisps of her hair in the movement and Sharon tries to ignore her body once again, biting back a whimper she knows would be pathetically high and embarrassingly needy as heat pools in her stomach. She mutters a resolute “fuck!” all hard vowels and spiked fricatives, finding comfort in the knowledge that Willam is just enough of a dumb blonde not to understand the true target of her exclamation.

Body protesting, she hauls herself to her feet and plods obediently over to the mesh hammock that hangs low in the corner of the room. Despite her best efforts, she has to admit that perhaps Willam did have a somewhat decent idea, collapsing into the fabric after feeling the pull of temptation deep in her stomach and letting out a small, audible groan at the way her body is so graciously welcomed. Her muscles relax, the brain fog and electric anger causing her current storm-like state beginning to ebb away as she closes her eyes, lies back and just breathes, deep, heavy, slow, and full, like she has all the time and all the oxygen in the world to enjoy. For just a moment, she forgets her not-quite-friend is even there, losing herself in the onslaught of sensations and sinking into her own, private, relaxed little haven of a world. Hell, for a moment she almost considers thanking Willam, a notion that leaves her head almost as immediately as it crosses it, the thought broken apart entirely by the interruption of none other than the woman of the hour herself.

“Cute.” In spite of their differences, Sharon has always found great pride in being the only one smart enough to be able to decipher Willam’s different tones and meanings, always picking up on a fake comment, sarcasm and every tiny emotion bitten back behind polite, uncharacteristic words. But when she says that one, tiny little word, Sharon is lost completely, unable to recognise whether it’s her own intrusive and self-absorbed thoughts causing her to detect a chink in Willam’s armour of sarcasm, some modicum of genuine emotion and belief behind the comment. Once again, however, she reminds herself that this is not the time nor place and pushes every thought stemming from it to be suffocated in a dark, faraway corner in her mind. She traps every branch within the area and blocks it up, pressing a label onto the jar of thoughts declaring it for a rainy day. She starts to miss her pre-Willam irritation as the woman clears her throat and continues. “...Anyway. Budge over.”

Still on autopilot, her body made of clay that moulds itself to Willam’s words, she finds herself obliging before she’s even really processed the words or what they imply, body shuffling closer to the window. With just a half-second of hesitation, Willam gracelessly kicks off her heels and plops herself right next to Sharon, a little off-centre so the hammock swings slightly as her shoulder collides with Sharon’s chest, grappling helplessly for an anchor to the rocking fabric and finding it, unfortunately, in Sharon’s t-shirt, her fingers clinging so tightly to the neckline that the tips dig into the soft flesh of her tits. A small part of Sharon - a wayward thought that had just about escaped the rainy day trap - secretly hopes that Willam has pressed hard enough to leave little marks in her skin, a visual reminder of her touch, the collision of her body with Sharon’s.

As the choppy movements of the hammock slow and eventually still, Willam begins to maneuver herself into a more comfortable position, rolling onto her front and overlapping the leg closest to her with her own. Her grip on Sharon’s top remains tight, her body seemingly trying to accommodate that one point of contact in the most convenient and comfortable way, resting her head atop and then above Sharon’s shoulder when the former doesn’t work out, face tilted towards her so that her breath bats softly against Sharon’s cheek and the slight bulge of her small chest pressed against Sharon’s left arm, rendering it dead and absolutely useless. Not that Sharon minds. Not that Sharon’s not going to pretend she does mind.

“Uh…. Will?” she asks cautiously, humiliated by the way her voice cracks ever so slightly, how overall delicate and gentle it sounds. Willam bumps against her in acknowledgement. Every part of her body that has the luxury of feeling Willam’s burns, the originally warm feeling growing more scalding and deadly the more she thinks about and accepts it. So she tries to amp it up a bit, this time almost obnoxiously loud and abrupt as she asks, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Cuddling you.” She halts for a moment as though that’s it, a horrendously obvious and yet cryptic answer, smirking at Sharon’s disapproving frown. Apparently, the expression was yet another step too far, and the stirring in her stomach starts up once again, this time the heat a result of a chemical reaction as lust and fear mingle together in the most addictive of ways as Willam’s face hardens, eyes stony and cold, her whole demeanour, despite being wrapped around Sharon, clearly indicating her aggravation. When she speaks, it’s snappy and abrupt again, the Willam that Sharon knows and therefore knows how to deal with - a no-nonsense bitch with a heart layered with stone and gold that knows exactly what she’s doing and why, and that it’s not really any of your business, thank you very much.

“Fine!” she snaps, eyes rolling so hard it’s a wonder she doesn’t do herself permanent damage. “I tried to be nice about it!” Sharon isn’t sure whether to believe that, the push and pull between them being so off and inconsistent all day that she’s actually never felt more on edge around Willam yet somehow never felt more comfortable around her either. She’s not so sure how nice that really is. “Like it or not, you’re a repressed little dyke who’s throwing her toys out her pram like a fucking toddler because she needs a hug and she’s touch starved by other woman. I’m trying to deliver.”

This time, the heat that had been pooling in her stomach doesn’t burn her or frighten her, instead spreading through her body as an almighty warmth, accomplices to the warm arms that wrap around her as Willam finishes speaking. It’s horrifyingly difficult not to react, as always with Willam, for an entirely different reason. Because Sharon has always prided herself on understanding Willam and the emotions and messages underlying in her words, and this one is clear as day - Willam cares. She notices, knows Sharon even if neither of them like the thought of that, and cares enough to want to help even when she knows she’s going to get nothing good out of it️. Sharon had wondered why of all people Aquaria had approached Willam, but the painstaking tenderness of her words and her touch leaves her wondering whether Aquaria even asked her at all, a thought far too exhilarating for her to continue thinking. Nevertheless, she makes a mental note to thank her daughter when she eventually returns, considering that maybe the new sewing machine she’d been begging for isn’t too expensive after all. Her head spins as she bites back a grin, trying to return to her permanently antagonistic state and diffuse the tension between them so thick, palpable and tangible it feels like a weapon.

“This is still too weird.” Her tone is so unconvincing, so wobbly and quiet and indirect she doesn’t even believe herself. Willam snickers.

“Well suck it up, bitch, I’m not here to ruin your image! No one needs to know Emo Goddess 666 needs a good hug sometimes.” She shuffles closer, every bitchy and humorous facade long gone from her expression. The thought of such vulnerability and trust between them threatens to swallow Sharon whole. Willam winks, nosing at Sharon’s chin as the arm clutching Sharon’s shirt finally releases the garment and rests lazily over the woman’s waist, a warm, protective anchor against all the shit she’s thought all day, week, year. “Or that she gets them.”

This time Sharon hums, too content and heavy-lidded to try and muster up a response. In another universe, she corrects Willam, reminds her that she’s goth, not emo, biting her lip and squeezing her thighs together as Willam tells her to shut the fuck up before she makes her. In this universe, however, Willam accepts the hum as a sign of Sharon’s begrudging complacency and trust, the sparks of hope that signify a new beginning almost visible were it not for how deeply she’d buried her face into the crook of Sharon’s neck at this point, the two of them entangled as though they belong this way. And maybe they do, so Willam pushes her luck, it seems.

“Hey, how about a kiss too?”

[late-nightdevil]

i’m lonely, part two

read part one here

Warnings: crappy smut, you have been warned

Summary: loosely based of the song “fuck, i’m lonely” by lauv ft. anne-marie or where Calum dumped Brooklyn and now neither of them are happy, part two

Authors Note: honestly this is shit and i’m sorry but i’m trying to get back into writing and practice makes perfect right?? requests & feedback are openly welcome!!

It was excruciatingly horrible seeing him. I couldn’t think straight for a good hour afterwards, and to be honest, I’m not even sure how I got home. All I’m sure of is that I threw up as soon as I got out the back door and Luke was there to console me. Next thing I know, I’m sitting alone on my couch, wearing nothing but the flannel and a near-empty wine bottle in my hand.

It was a red wine I’ve drank just a few times before, but this time it seemed sour to my tongue. As inebriated as I am, flashbacks of my first sip of any alcoholic drink appear in my head as if it were yesterday and not years ago. Cal had insisted I would enjoy it, despite my initial reaction to the harsh scent. Of course I shared the bottle with him, finishing each drop, just like he said I would. The delectable flavors of the grape would never compare to anything else I tasted afterwards; a strong dislike grew for all other variations. Until the effect became more important than the flavor.

My thoughts began to drift deeper into memories that I wanted to stay buried. Quickly turning on the television, Friends rescued me from a downward spiral that I was sure to stumble upon.

It’s one of my favorite episodes and I recognized it immediately. I’ve watched the show more times than I can count, and the sight of Rachel jumping on Ross’ back as he’s on the phone is a scene I’ve come to love. The episode progresses, and once it nears the end, I hold my breath.

The amount of tension in the coffee house as Ross and Rachel go back and forth brings me to the edge of my seat. Despite the argument, the amount of admiration they have for one another shines through the dark room. When Ross comes back and Rachel opens the door, I let my breath go, and they share a kiss that’s been built up for the last nine years of their not-so-relationship.

I had that love. And it was taken away from me.

I down the rest of the bottle before pulling out my phone, typing in the number that I memorized a long time ago. The deletion of his contact was symbolic, but I knew it never really mattered.

The message box stays blank for a second as I internally debate whether or not he’s changed his number. He probably did, as to not be contacted by his ex girlfriend that he wanted nothing to do with. Frankly, it’s better this way; it’s like writing a letter and not addressing it. Either the messages stay in the “Not Delivered” limbo, or some poor random person is about to be subjected to my drunk texts. Oh well.

To (310) 825-1217

Fuck you cal

Fuck you for making me feel like shit

I’ve been doing fine

It’s been almost 2 years and you just ?? show up ??

“Favor for a friend” how many other favors do you do for her, calum?

How many other girls do you do favors for?

Fuck you man

While you’re out doing “favors” I’m sitting here watching our favorite show, sulking bc seeing you destroyed me

Do you still even watch friends? Or did you change that about yourself too?

I miss you cal

Miss who you were I guess

The calum that would come over at any hour of the night, bringing whatever I was craving bc somehow you always knew

And we’d stay up all night talking and watching crappy movies

Life by myself fucking sucks

Fuck

I’m lonely

The last text gets sent and I slumped back against the couch, feeling slightly better that I got the tension out. Every message went through, I’m sure someone will be enjoying my mental breakdown when they wake up.

My screen flashes as I pick up the phone again, a bright “2:45” appears and I groan internally. As I go to lay flat on the couch, a soft knock on my door sends my nerves haywire. Before I could stop myself, the numbers “911” are typed into the keypad and my finger stayed over the call button. My other hand grabs the metal baseball bat sitting near the door as a second set of knocks erupt, a bit more force this time. I stand on my tiptoes to see out the peephole to no avail, my something dark is blocking it.

Just as I’m about to press the call button, a whisper of a voice calls out my name, for the second time tonight.

“Brooke, let me in, please. I know you’re awake.”

Shit. Shit, shit shit shit shit shit shit.

I go back to the messages and the read receipt is time stamped just a few minutes ago. He still had the same number. Because the universe just seems to adore me tonight.

I toss my phone on the couch but keep the bat in hand before slowly unlocking and opening the door. His disheveled appearance throws me off slightly, a blue stain adorned his shirt while his eyes had dark patches underneath them, he must be as tired as my mind felt. His watchful stare wandered down my body, barely shielded by the short and thin material of the flannel he saw earlier tonight.

“Brooke, I- is that a bat?” He pointed at the metal weapon as his eyes grew wide. “Were you gonna beat me with the bat?”

A laugh elicited itself from my lips as I shook my head. “Not you per-se, just whoever was behind my door at three in the morning.” I leaned it against the wall near the door, easy access for next time. “What are you doing here Cal?”

“I need to talk to you, Brooke. I, I.. uh, shit.” His nerves were getting the best of him, the way he grabbed the back of his neck was a good indicator.

“C’mon, come inside. It’s cold.” He followed me in, locking the door for me as I took a seat on the couch. “Get yourself some water or something.” His footsteps went into the kitchen, allowing myself to calm my own nerves for a moment.

He’s here, in my apartment. Calum Hood is here and is nervous about talking to me.

He returned quickly with two bottles, handing me one, which I quickly began to drink. I think this is something I should be sober for.

“First, uh, I think you should know. That girl, at the party,” he was talking slow, calculated, knowing the wrong thing would make this end quicker than last time, “she’s absolutely nothing to me. A friend of a friend that helped me a while back, when we first broke up actually, with keeping me busy-“

“Stop, please, I can’t listen to that-“

“No! No, not like that. Just brought me out into group events and shit, nothing like that.” His warm hand was on my knee before I knew it, rubbing small, comforting circles into my skin. It felt so nice. “I haven’t actually been with anyone seriously since you.”

My eyes rolled without my control. “So you break my heart for a selfish reason, and don’t even follow through? Are you shitting me Calum? Do you know how much pain you put me through?” I could feel my blood boiling at this point. Would I have preferred him being with other people?

Eyebrows scrunched together, his words came out with confusion. “I thought you’d be happy? I couldn’t do it, Brooke. All I could think about was you. I changed classes, my friend groups, everything to try and prove that I needed to be with someone else. Our relationship scared me. It was so perfect, and I didn’t want to be there when it crumbled. Saying that out loud now I realize how fucking dumb I am.” I take in his words, each one breaking down another wall inside me. His body shifted on the couch, moving closer to me until his hands held mine. “I deserve every ounce of hatred you feel towards me. I know there are feelings and memories we can’t go back to, but I think about them all the time. Think about you all the time.”

I was at a loss of words, so he continued. “Remember at the beginning of our relationship, after being friends for so long, it was so hard for me to try to smoothly make a move on you. Every time we were alone, I would debate back and forth if it was okay to kiss you. I would spend hours on the couch with you, inching closer every chance I got.”

His hand tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, neither of us breaking eye contact. His voice lowered in tone each word. I couldn’t take it. “I remember. So many times I wished you would’ve just kissed me, touched me, something.” I looked down at our hands, seeming to have minds of their own, both rubbing circles on the other. “I tried so hard to get over you.”

“That’s the thing, Brooke. I realized very quickly that I didn’t want to get over you, but you deserved space. I was a shitty, selfish person who left the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I left you to be with other people, but I’m more lonely now than ever before.”

I try to process his words as they come at me, but my emotions are overflowing. “Why didn’t you come after me, Calum? Once you realized you fucked up?” Tears brimmed my eyelids as I looked up at him. He reached forward and wiped a single tear as soon as it dropped.

“Because I’m a fucking idiot. I’m so sorry, baby girl.”

That’s it. That’s all I needed to hear. A sincere apology from his lips was more than I could have ever asked for. There was only one way to express how I felt right now.

One last look into his watchful eyes and my hands reached up, grasping his shirt, pulling him towards me until our lips connected. The smooth, plump feeling comforted me instantly. This felt so, so right.

It was only a matter of moments before he came to his senses, taking quick control over the situation. One hand moved to my lower back as the other held him up against the couch, slowly laying me down. Our situation grew heated, what was mere kissing was now lip biting and a fight for dominance. Like nothing had changed.

His kisses traveled from my lips down to my neck, slowly dragging his tongue to trace the pattern. Usually I would love every second of this, but I didn’t want teasing tonight. We both had a lot of built up tension to take care of.

I pushed against his chest, his face contorted into confusion until I climbed onto his lap. His shirt came off with ease and I couldn’t help but bring my lips to his collar bones. I scatter small love bites across his neck and upper chest, eager to claim him once again. The moans erupting from his lips edge me on until his hips buck up against mine. The hardened member underneath me causes me to gasp, and he liked it. One hand came up to the back of my neck, pulling me in to kiss again as the other began to unbutton my - well, his - shirt.

Before I knew it, the cloth fell off my shoulders, and he pulled back. “Fuck, baby..” His eyes couldn’t meet mine, too preoccupied with the sight in front of him. “You’re so gorgeous, I missed you so much.”

I crashed my lips against his, not being able to comprehend the words I wanted to say. My hands reached down to unbutton his jeans, pulling them down swiftly. His stiff cock sprung out and couldn’t help but spread the bead of precome over the smooth head. The gesture is something he’s always been a fan of and the sounds coming from his lips prove it still is.

His calloused fingers graze my delicate folds, gliding past my lips into my core. “I can’t believe I still make you this wet baby. Come on, sit on my cock.”

No time was wasted as his hands help pick me up, slowly setting me down on his thick member. It took a second to adjust to him, Luke had length but I’ve never had girth like Cal.

I moved my hips off of his and brought them down in a painfully slow manner, knowing it sent us both mad. Only a few minutes were spent like this, his patience running thin as gripped my sides roughly. I quickened my pace and he thrusted, meeting me with a force that drove me to the edge.

“Calum, please,” with one hand grasped onto his neck and the other leaving scratches down his chest, my moans grow louder until I hit the brim of ecstasy. His lips attach to my neck and I can feel him release inside of me. We slow our hips as we come down from our high, hugging each other close. Too afraid to let go.

The only sounds in the room is our labored breaths and the soft chatter on the television. My head rested in the crook of his neck as his fingers stroked my lower back. I never wanted to leave this feeling.

But the question had to be asked. “So, what now Cal? What does this mean?”

He was silent for a little while longer which made my nerves spike, afraid of what I’m expecting is inevitable.

“I’m never leaving you again, Brooklyn. Even if you hate me and want nothing to do with me, I’ll always be here for you. I’m never going to fuck up that bad again. It was the biggest mistake of my life.”

His words surprised me. I sat up to look him in the eyes, seeing if there was any sense of regret from his previous notion. But he said next made all my fears disappear.

“You’ll never be lonely again, I promise. It’s always been you, Brooke.”

[vickypoochoices]

The Happy Ending Girl.

Just a cute little ending for Violet, Chris and Zig. Sorry it took so long, thanks for coming back!

[MASTERLIST.]

Previous.

*2 years later. *

“Just checking, you do have a back up in case this doesn’t come out right don’t you?”

Violet’s eyes widened in panic, flicking between Chris and the oven.

“What do you mean Chris? This can’t fail! It’s Zig’s birthday today, I haven’t got him anything else.”

Chris let out a low whistle, digging his hands deep into the pocket of his jeans uncomfortably.

“Really? Nothing else at all?”

“He keeps saying he’s got everything he needs living under the same roof as him.” Violet flung her hands in the air, clearly exasperated.

“Wow. That guy is seriously smooth. Do you think he’ll teach me his ways?”

Violet narrowed her eyes at Chris, taking a step towards him and jabbing him firmly in the chest.

“Christopher Powell I will hurt you.”

He backed away, raising his hands defensively.

“Ow. Okay, okay. Quit it! Hey V, can I lick the bowl?”

She edged closer to the kitchen counter, eyes falling onto the bowl smeared with cake batter.

“Is that a serious question?” She eyed Chris warily as he took a step closer, fingers twitching as he outstretched his hand.

“Dead serious.” He smirked. “Hey is that Zig home already?”

“What? It can’t be. The cake isn’t ready yet...CHRIS!” She shrieked, slapping at his arm as he rushed forward, cradling the bowl against his chest, face full of glee.

“Too easy!” He grinned widely, running a finger along the rim of the mixing bowl before licking the thick chocolate goo off, chocolate dribbling down his chin. “If you ask really nicely I might consider sharing.”

“You’re forgetting this is my house. And I still have a certain childhood teddy of yours held at ransom after you and Zig played your little pranks last time. Don’t think I won’t hesitate to give dear old Lennon a hair cut.” She folded her arms across her chest, tilting her chin up slightly, trying her hardest to look intimidating.

His mouth flopped open, teeth stained with chocolate.

“You are seriously cold V. I’m a little terrified of you these days. I also don’t get why I’m the one being punished, shouldn’t you be rolling out chores for your boyfriend?”

“He’s making it up to me. Daily.” She lowered her head as she suppressed a giggle, a hint of colour tinting her cheeks.

“You know what, I think i’ve just lost my appetite, take it!” He grimaced, handing her the bowl.

She couldn’t stop the soft moan from escaping her lips as the rich chocolate goo swirled around her mouth. Her eyes fluttered open then promptly shut again as she savoured every mouthful that followed.

Chris watched her in silence, his smile deepening as he watched his best friend with pride.

It hadn’t been easy, talking things through after that party. Chris struggled for a long time, feeling like he’d failed Violet. She was his best friend, and she’d been struggling for years by herself. Had it not been for Zig’s intervention, she would probably still be living with her secret. Although in hindsight, it was never much of a secret. Chris had just neglected to piece everything together, unwilling to see the blindingly obvious.

But now, two years later, Violet was happy and healthy, thanks to the continued support from both Chris and Zig.

With a final lick of the bowl, she placed it down into the sink, turning back to Chris with a satisfied smile.

“How’s it been living with a guy then? Look at my baby sister all grown up!” Chris cooed at her, pinching her cheeks lightly.

She scrambled away from him, scrunching her nose up in irritation.

“Eurgh Chris, get away you dork. There’s two months between us! It’s not really any different to living with you.” Violet sighed, hoisting herself up on the kitchen cabinet.

"I really hope it is a little different.” He smirked, one eyebrow raised.

“I was trying to spare you the details but if you want me to get into that then I’m more than happy to oblige.”

Sticking his fingers into his ears, Chris hummed loudly in a desperate bid to eradicate all sounds.

“You’re really going there. Again? Zig has ruined you!”

Violet chuckled, her hanging legs kicking away happily. “You kind of brought this one on yourself Powell.”

“Nope. NO! Nu uh. I’m good without, forget I said anything!”

She shrugged innocently, head turning towards the door at the sound of Zig’s voice.

“HONEY I’M HOMEEE!” His footsteps steadily strode down the hall way, picking up pace as he neared the kitchen.

Zig barrelled into the side of Chris, arms spread wide, clutching him close in an over the top embrace.

Violet rolled her eyes at the spectacle unfolding before her, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a warm smile despite herself.

They were as thick as thieves these days. Chris spent most of his time here, but he seemed to be more interested in seeing Zig these days. Somehow along the way Violet had become the third wheel. And as much as she loved to pretend it irritated her, deep down she couldn’t be happier.

As the pair broke apart, both beaming at each other, Violet gave an exaggerated cough from her perch on the counter top.

Zig spun around, eyes crinkling at the sight of her.

“Hey baby. I missed you.” He pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek, before standing in between her dangling legs, facing outwards to Chris.

Chris scoffed at the sight of them.

"Oh please, we all know you missed me more.”

They all chuckled, sharing a moment of comfortable silence, before Zig started sniffing.

“Is something burning?”

Violet sprang to life, swiftly jumping down and rushing over to the oven, a steady stream of smoke starting to billow out the top.

“Shit shit shit!” She wailed, as she pulled out a chargrilled looking cake.

“Zig I’m so sorry! I’ve ruined your one and only birthday present!” Her chin started to wobble as she stared in horror at the monstrosity in front of her.

“Who says It’s ruined?”

Violet span on the spot, mouth agape.

“Are you okay? Do you need your eyesight testing?”

“Baby, It’s perfect! Because it came from you. Pass me a fork, I’m sure it will taste great!” Sliding open a drawer, he rustled around in search of a fork.

“You don’t have to eat that Zig.” She tugged on his arm, putting a stop to his search, her fingers entwining with his as she looked up at him, adoration all over her face.

“You’re a better man than I am.” Chris chuckled, clapping him on the back.

“I need to keep her in the good books. She’s pretty close with my Mum, and she will use that against me.” He smirked, cupping her face with one hand sweetly.

“That was one time. I can’t help it if she loves me more than she does you now.” She mumbled, nestling her cheek against his hand.

A hearty chuckle came from Chris’s direction.

"Oh the irony. How does it feel to be the golden child?”

“Put it this way, you can keep my mother Chris. Linda is an angel sent down from heaven.”

Raising an eyebrow, an amused smile danced across Chris’s face.

“Hey man, don’t look at me. My girl speaks the truth. No finer woman alive than Linda Ortega.”

Violet gently stamped on his foot, batting her eyelashes innocently, trying to keep a straight face.

Zig slung an arm around her, rubbing her shoulder affectionately as he smirked.

"What I meant to say was; There’s no finer woman alive than Linda Ortega. Apart from my absolutely beautiful, totally gorgeous, and all around amazing girlfriend.”

She nodded her head enthusiastically in agreement, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him down, smiling into a lingering kiss.

An exaggerated cough from behind the pair had them breaking apart abruptly.

"Happy Birthday man! I’m sure Violet can come up with a replacement birthday present, seeing as the cake bombed, so I’ll catch you later.” Chris winked at them both, pulling them into a group hug.

“Thanks Chris. See you tomorrow.” Violet smiled, kissing him on the cheek.

“Will Zig be about?”

Violet sighed, shoving him forcefully towards the front door.

“I’ll be in all day.” Zig chuckled. “Oh hey Chris, i’ve got something for you. He was difficult to track down, but after weeks of searching i’ve finally come through.”

Chris’s face lit up at the sight of his scraggy childhood teddy. He snatched up Lennon and threw a smug grin in Violet’s direction.

“This right here is why we’ll be friends for life Zig!”

Tagging: @zigortega4life @emerald-bijou @syltti78

[countingpaperstars]

6, 29, or 73 with promptio? Your writing is amazing!!

ahh thank you so much!!! bc I always ignore the ‘or’ and go with ‘and’ lmao. you definitely chose some angsty prompts ;) though it turned out more hurt/comfort. I hope you like it!!

6. “Hey, hey, calm down. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

29. “I need you to stay here with me.”

73. “I don’t love you anymore.” 

It’s late enough that Gladio has to turn on the corner anddesk lamp in his office at the citadel in order to keep working. He hatespulling late-nighters, but the report he’s been working on needs to be turnedin tomorrow morning or Ignis will be on his tail. There’s hardly anyone elsehere, all empty halls apart from the night time staff and those that live in the residentialwing, so when there’s a knock at the door he jumps before composing himselfenough to call out a greeting. He’s even more surprised when he sees who it is.

“Hey,” Gladio says,urgently standing to round the desk. He reaches out to gently touch Prompto’sshoulder, but he shies away.

His posture is all wrong,one hand holding the opposite elbow as his eyes flicker skittishly around thedark wood walls of the room. “We need to talk,” he says, sounding asunsteady as he looks.

Gladio’s heart stuttersin his chest, a chill creeping down his spine, and not being able to touch Promptois killing him. He twists his hands, the obvious distance between them sendinghis stomach lurching. 

“Of course,” he saysneutrally and moves to sit in one of the armchairs, motioning Prompto to takethe other. “What’s going on?”

Prompto takes a deep breathand stares down at his hands. He hasn’t looked at Gladio once since he enteredthe office. “We need to breakup,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Gladio’sthoughts slam to a stop.

“What,” Gladio asksflatly and watches Prompto pick at his nails. Then he laughs, incredulous and stilted,before cutting off abruptly at the way Prompto curls in on himself. “You can’tbe serious.”

This isn’t real.They’d just talked that afternoon on the phone and Prompto had seemed fine - upbeatand joking about Gladio being so absolutely buried under paperwork that he’dhave to dig him out when their lunch date rolls around tomorrow. Everythingrushes through Gladio’s mind fast enough to give him a headache stronger thanthe numbers had. What had changed that much to make him want to end this? End them.It had taken a long enough to even end up together – hell they’d fought forthis – and now he wants to just give it all up? In the plush armchair, Promptolooks small and defeated.

“Where… is this comingfrom?” Gladio asks.

“We just-” Prompto stops,shakes his head. “We need to breakup. I’m sorry,” he chokes out and abruptlystands, making for the door.

“Wah – hold on a minute!”says Gladio, chasing after him. He cuts him off at the door. “Prom…” he sayssoftly, voice hitching. He still won’t look up from the floor, staring hardwith his arms wrapped tightly around himself. “You can’t mean it! Prom, I loveyou. I thought… we were going good? I thought we were planning for long-term.”

“Yeah, well… you thoughtwrong,” says Prompto but it sounds weird - harsh and jerky like he shoved it outof his mouth all at once.

“Prom, talk to me,” saysGladio, keeping his voice as steady as he can so as to not let on just how muchhis heart is cracking in his ribs. He ducks his head, trying to catch Prompto’seye.

“No Gladio,” saysPrompto, sounding wavering and wet. “I d-don’t love you a-anymore,” he says,fractured and broken. It’s then that he starts crying, tears barely visiblewhere they glint in the low lighting. 

This isn’t right, Gladio thinks and allat once the panic inside him halts, fading into a grim acceptance. There has tobe something else underneath it.

“Look at me,” he sayslowly, and reaches out to cup Prompto’s face gently. Prompto leans into hishand and the small, familiar touch sends Gladio’s heart fluttering. “What’sgoing on?” he asks again, stroking his thumb along Prompto’s damp cheek.

Wordlessly, Prompto digsout his phone and passes it over. It’s unlocked to his email, a folder markedvaguely as ‘requests’ and Gladio skims the subject lines, growing angrier andangrier as he goes. By the time he hits the last one, time-stamped for over amonth ago, he has to remind himself of his own strength so he won’t break thedamn thing.

He quickly forwards themost recent one with his signature to Ignis before passing it back and wrappingan arm around Prompto, who buries his face into Gladio’s shirt. They’re quietand as Gladio sways gently, Prompto slumps further into him. A minute later, hisown cell phone rings and he digs it out of his pocket without letting go toanswer.

“Ignis,” he says ingreeting, and cups his hand comfortingly on Prompto’s nape to keep his foreheadpressed to the curve of Gladio’s shoulder.

“This better be a jokeGladiolus,” is the answer, Ignis’ tone deathly sharp and sounding exactly howGladio feels.

He grinds his teeth beforefinally answering, “It isn’t.”

“Don’t move,” is allIgnis says before hanging up.

Gladio breathes out ahuge sigh and slips his phone back into his pocket before running a handthrough Prompto’s hair. “I need you to stay here with me while Ignis takes careof it,” he says and Prompto nods, folding easily when Gladio tugs him over tothe short couch pushed against the left wall. His eyes are bleary, facepale beneath the flush on his cheeks and Gladio’s quick to pull him back in tolean against him.

They sit for a goodcouple hours, Prompto shifting restlessly while Gladio reads out loud from thebook that had been sitting on the side table. It’s one of their favoritestories, but neither of them are paying much attention to the plot, the calmand meditative roll of Gladio’s voice filling the empty space of the office.When the phone finally rings again, they both tense as the shrill tone cutsthrough the air.

“In custody,” says Ignisright off the bat. He sounds tired. “Tell Prompto I’ll be having a word with himtomorrow about safety, but until then,” he says with a sigh, “try and get somerest alright?”

Gladio mumbles andaffirmative and hangs up, smoothing a hand along Prompto’s back which is ramrodstraight, taut like the string of a bow. “They got ‘em,” he says and a sobhitches in Prompto’s throat. “Hey, hey,” Gladio comforts, dragging him back into press his face against his shoulder. “Calm down. They can’t hurt youanymore.”

“I-I’m sorry,” chokesPrompto.

“It’s okay,” says Gladio.“Just don’t scare me like that again, my heart can’t take it,” he jokes, but itfalls flat with how shaky his delivery is in the truth of it. “Why didn’t youtell me they’d been blackmailing you?”

“When they found out whoI was dating it was just…” Prompto has to stop and take a breath. “It was ajoke at first. And then it wasn’t, but – but it was only small things. Ithought I could handle it. I - I thought they’d get bored and stop and I didn’twant to worry you,” he says, sniffling still.

He sucks in a hitchingbreath and continues, “But then the demands got bigger and I was so scaredthey’d do something to you or Noct or Iggy. I-I couldn’t live with myself ifthey had.” He breaks down again, and Gladio brings him in closer.

“Shhh,” says Gladio and gathershim up, nudges him towards the door before doubling back to pack his thingsquickly and shutting the lamps off as he goes. “Let’s go home alright?”

Prompto nods, shufflinghis feet and rubbing at his eyes until Gladio flips the last switch by thedoor. He stops, face and hair lit from the hall light with shadows darkeningthe angle of his jaw, and he finally, finally looks Gladio right in the eye. “I love you,” hesays quietly.

“I know sweetheart,” saysGladio and leans in to press a soft kiss to his tacky cheek. “Let’s go home.”

[party-gilmore]

And then I thought about the recent "Eliot trades himself back to Moreau for the Team's safety" talk lately and made it Worse™

No self-harm in this part, just the Tattooing As A Form Of Claiming and Moreau's whole, you know, everything.

(TEMPORARILY!!! ELIOT GETS RESCUED AND AFTERCARE IS RECEIVED!!! I am physically incapable of writing hurt/no comfort!!!)

In this version, Damien lays Eliot out in the hot sand of his private beach in San Lorenzo, giving absolutely zero fucks about a sterile environment, and straddles the backs of his trembling thighs. The only "gentleness" he shows is allowing Eliot to bite down on his own forearm. Otherwise, the portable tattoo gun buzzes angrily in one hand while the he uses the other to press down on the small of Eliot's back. Holding his canvas steady.

He scrolls out the whole thing this time, letter after letter, vowel after vowel. All capital. A big and bold tramp stamp just above the waistband of Eliot's pants. He doesn't intend to let Eliot leave again, but regardless. This is one mark Moreau will make certain can't be destroyed so easily.

"See to it that our prodigal son has what he needs to care for that properly, Chapman," he remarks as he stands, carelessly brushing sand from his linen suit and leaving Eliot to push himself up on shaking arms and knees behind him. "A man's name is his image. Let's make sure it stays sharp. I'd hate to have to cover over a blowout."

There's no keeping it a secret from the team this time, when they find him two days later. Parker drops in on him quite literally from a ceiling panel in Moreau's lavish bathroom as he twists in front of the mirror - grunting in pain as he tries to spread lotion all the way to the 'eau' with his right arm in a sling and his left shoulder busted all to hell. ("Everywhere but his back," Chapman has said as he handed out bats to the latest recruits. "The Boss wants his name kept pristine, and I don't trust you fuckers' aim yet.")

Over the next couple weeks until it heals enough for Hardison to hook Eliot up with the finest laser money can buy, Parker tends to its care so he doesn't have to look at it. She works speedily and efficiently, deft hands barely registering against his skin, and Eliot is not only grateful for it - the less time he has to actively acknowledge the tattoo's existence the better - but realizes he loves her for it.

She saw his back, as fucked up as it was, and could look at it and say someone still needs to care for this. We'll fix it one day, but it still needs caring for now. I'll do it. I'll care for it (you) even while it's (you're) still messy and raw and you hate it (yourself). I can do it. I can do what needs to be done, for you, even if it hurts me to think about sometimes.

Then on some nights, Hardison moisturizes it for him too. Only when it's dark enough and the lights are kept low, so Eliot's sure he won't be able to make out the letters. Everyone knows what it says. Who marked him and what it means. But that doesn't mean he wants anyone to see that man's name soaked into his skin who hasn't already. Who doesn't have to. So with Hardison, he keeps the lights off.

Now Alec knows generally what location the tattoo is in, and as it heals the lines are still raised enough to trace, but he still takes the long way around. Parker serves Eliot's need to Not Think About it by making it as targeted and quick as possible - he does it by covering as much surface area as he can, slow and diligent. Hardison rubs lotion into Eliot's entire back, spending just as much time on the knotted shoulder muscles and aching spine as he does on the swollen skin between Eliot's hipbones. He makes Eliot forget that it's even about the tattoo at all - dim lighting, low music, Alec's fingers playing every tight muscle like a keyboard... for a few minutes, it's just a back massage.

Well... "just" in the sense of it feeling like there's no ulterior motive. Like it isn't a smokescreen for tending to the strip of skin Eliot can't look at. There's no "just" to how it makes Eliot feel, but the looser Hardison coaxes his back the tighter Eliot has to clamp those feelings to his chest. It's already dangerous enough that their rearing their heads for Parker, who's seen a glimpse of the darkness he's been through, that's in him, and could handle it. Hardison...

Eliot can't. Not because he thinks the man is too soft-hearted to handle it, but because he know the man is too soft-hearted to not be changed by it. He won't let himself be the one who exposes Alec to that.

Then one day the tattoo is finally healed enough to remove.

He expects the touching to stop, of course. They were just helping him out with something he couldn't bear to care for himself. Something he would have let scab over and infect him like it's namesake did, if they hadn't insisted the skin need to be in good enough condition for the best removal results.

But the three day mark passes, which means he can finally put something on to soothe the all too familiar itch of healing skin, and he opens his apartment door to find-

The lights dimmed.

Music on.

Both Hardison and Parker standing in the doorway of his bedroom.

Telling him, we want to do this. Not just because you need it, but because we WANT to.

And against every grain of Good Sense left in his body? Eliot lets them.

Hey hey hey what if

Eliot's gotten used to his partners wanting to touch his scars.

Parker likes to trace them with deft fingers, almost reverent as she has him explain over and over where he got them, marvelling at just how much he's been through and survived to make it here, to them.

Hardison like to kiss them, gently, softly, wishing he could heal them, smooth them all away - especially the new ones he gets in service of Leverage - because Eliot deserves peace, damnit, and Eliot say's he's got peace, so long as he's got the two of them in arms reach.

But there's one half-dollar size scar that takes Eliot a few years to let Parker and Hardison touch.

A burn scar.

Shaped kinda like a cloud, like several bumpy circles laid over each other.

He tells them quietly one night, pliant with wine from their third anniversary, that's because he did it with a car lighter.

Twenty-eight and scared and out of gas and out of allies and out of options and heaving dark sobs that almost choke him as he hunches over himself in the dirty back seat of a piece of shit sedan, tucked into some heavily forested overgrowth on some winding eastern European road with nothing to his name but the tools he took on the mission he'd abandoned a day ago and the beat up car he'd jacked an hour ago and the overwhelming sensation that he'd lost his damn mind that crashed over him a minute ago. The curling, almost inevitable fear that he wouldn't even make it a mile out of the country before a bullet screams through his head.

One of his own bullets, probably. Moreau liked that kind of dramatic irony.

His hands don't stop shaking and the tears don't stop falling and the panicked gasps don't stop rattling his ribcage, but he grits his teeth and presses the lighter down harder over the two dark initials tattooed just inside his hip in the man's own elegant script: