#I simultaneously worked very hard on and was a little lax with this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

likeshipsonthesea · 3 years

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dex, team bicycle

the following bullet fic has been in my drafts for over a year now and tonight i remembered it existed, read it, and decided to post it. why? who knows. don’t ask questions. just ~enjoy~

so i got an ask about how anon trusts me implicitly when it comes to writing bc they believe that dex is the team bicycle and eventually ends up with nursey and thinks i’m down with that too and tbh they ain’t wrong so like

here’s a bullet fic instead of me doing any of the work i SHOULD REALLY FUCKING BE DOING okie

first things first here’s the dealio this is crack-ish but also not so crackish that my dumbass couldn’t see it happening so let’s just suspend some disbelief and have a good time

first time dex hooks up with a teammate it’s not at a kegster

maybe a little later he’s a little too tipsy at a kegster not really knowing his own tolerance for tub juice yet and he’s dancing, a little more white boy than maybe one would like but he’s having fun with it and that’s half the game, and he’s sweaty and maybe some glitter from other dancers has rubbed off on him and he’s glittery and shining and he catches someone’s eye across the room (holster, i’m thinking holster) and holster sees him and thinks fuck and dex is maybe really into how big holster is and just like follows him up to the attic when holster grabs his wrist and pulls because why not--

but this is not about that (at least not yet) this is about how dex, new to samwell and ncaa hockey and everything, wants to be the best he can be in everything so naturally he goes to the best person to help him with every thing (for school he gets tutors and goes to tutorials and goes to all the profs’ office hours, for social stuff maybe he trails ransom around idk (that’s for later)) but for hockey he obviously goes to the person you go to when you need help with hockey

jack

LOOK OKAY I GET IT ZIMBITS FOR LIFE BUT HEAR ME OUT

jack likes hockey. jack likes people who like hockey. jack likes when people are really into hockey

so when the little angery frog that seemed real appreciative of his butt on hazeapalooza comes to him with this frowny face determination asking how he can be the best player he can be, a part of jack’s brain that’s very quiet and seldom acknowledged goes “huh.”

and maybe they start meeting up for their own practices, practicing drills and plays so dex can get his speed up and reaction time down and just get better and jack’s benefiting from it too in a way, like trying to help a defensive player makes him have to switch up his thinking about things a bit and it’s helping his defensive play on the ice

and so this goes on for a bit and maybe they build up some inside jokes in between all the intensity and maybe there’s some playful moments in the locker room when they bump arms or throw a few chirps around and it’s cute okay and not too serious, jack isn’t in love with the kid (he’s a kid, lord, okay a lil problematic but if y’all know anything about my oc luke dex has Problems with Authority figures so whatever)

but the truth is jack doesn’t really have many people he’d be comfortable “relieving some stress” with, like there’s shitty but he’s ridiculously straight, and Camila went and got herself a girlfriend so that’s no longer a thing, and dex is there and eager and fun and

and long story short they end up fucking in the locker room oops

it doesn’t happen too many times after that, maybe once on a roadie, a few times at the haus. it’s fun, not in a laughing way or whatever, but it’s casual and it’s nice to get off and it doesn’t make jack any more anxious and dex is probably working through some issues he has with tall dark haired captains and they both get something good out of it, which is the point, anyway

and it ends maybe before winter break, either jack decides to focus on the nhl and his thesis and dex totally understands or dex realizes that maybe his thing with dark haired captains isn’t completely healthy and ends things but either way it’s nbd and no one on the team ever really knows, though it’s not like they lie about it either but who’s gonna ask, right?

and so dex and jack were fuckbuddies. for a time. noice.

now let’s return to that kegster scene, hmm?

so the way i picture it is dex hooks up with holster at a kegster, realizes it probably wasn’t the smartest idea he’s ever had but doesn’t completely freak out because holster’s a relaxed kind of guy, dex is sure it won’t get nuts

meanwhile holster wakes up freaking out because he just fucked ransom’s frog and that is so not cool so then he panics and avoids ransom and dex for like a week and then decides okay okay it’s not a big deal he just won’t tell anyone, it won;t happen again, it’s fine

and then he walks in on dex hooking up with ransom and he’s like Wow Okay So the Fine Thing Didn’t Work Out Huh

turns out while holster was freaking out ransom was really mopey about it and dex, not really knowing how to fix it, tried to comfort him and ended up... in bed

look this version of dex is a little thotty and knows like two ways of comforting people and he didn’t think getting drunk in the middle of the day was a good idea

and so long story short after some brief HUHs going around dex ends up hooking up with both ransom and holster for a bit (sometimes both at once!) and eventually the both-at-once-stuff makes ransom and holster actually acknowledge the feelings they’ve mostly been ignoring since their frog year and they explain this to dex who’s like okie bc he’s really only there bc they’re both hot and so ransom and holster get together and dex sometimes helps them out on date nights and that’s about it

lbr tho they never tell anyone how they actually got together bc they would never live it down so they say nothing and dex doesn’t either bc it’s not his relationship and the world goes on never knowing

so now we’re getting into the middle of spring term dex’s frog year and he’s kind of maybe sort of acknowledged that he has some kind of emotions about nursey that aren’t helpful so he’s attempting to repress real hard, but he’s also learning to repress less about other things, specifically his enjoyment of baking.

yup. you guessed it.

Bitty.

so he starts helping bitty in the kitchen A Lot, and sometimes they talk and sometimes they don’t and sometimes they talk about important things but most of the time they don’t, but at this stage in bitty’s life he is crushing very hard on a certain dark haired captain and that’s kind of really apparent in, like, everything he does so it takes dex maybe two weeks to realize what’s going on

and okay so it’s a little awkward bc 1-the fuckbuddies thing but also bc 2-dex knows how it feels to have feelings for a friend and it kind of sucks like a lot and he wants to make bitty feel better and yeah maybe this is another case of dex being bad at comforting people with his clothes on

but maybe also one day they’re talking about relationships/being gay idk something and bitty maybe casually (southern euphemistically) mentions that he’s never, erm, never quite, uh, never done the dirty with a boy and maybe he sounds a lil embarassed about it idk and dex’s I Can Fix That brain switches on and he says, “I can help.”

and bitty’s like. what.

dex blushes and clears his throat and says it again. “i can help. i’ve, uh, done it before, and i can, like. show you.” then he pauses and, very uncasually, says, “casually.”

bitty, also pink at his point because he’s a sweet southern boy who doesn’t speak of such things, asks, “you’d be willing to do that?”

dex nods. he does not say that he’s done something like that before. he very pointedly does not say that.

and bitty, well, he’s pining and he’s been at college for a year and a half and the most action he’s ever gotten was with that boy who puked on his shoes and, you know, he came to samwell so that he could be who he is and maybe this is a way he can prove to himself that he is being true to himself.

it also doesn’t hurt that dex is v pretty, okay, bitty loves a boy with big shoulders and freckles.

and so dex and bitty start hooking up.

it’s somewhat like my The Arrangement fic where dex is sort of “showing bitty the ropes” but bitty, lbr, he’s a quick learner and he did his research so it very quickly just becomes hooking up for the sake of it

and it’s good. like. really good and both of them are benefiting from having someone to escape from their ~feelings~ in and bitty’s more comfortable in sexuality (like, his sexuality not his gayness ya feel me?) and everyone’s having a great time

then they lose the playoffs and emotions run high and bitty realizes how decimated he’s going to be by jack leaving and they don’t really have a conversation about it (let’s be real, neither of these boys talk about their feelings, at least not at this point) but dex goes home that summer with the understanding that he and bitty are no longer doing the thing, and that’s okay with him, really, because maybe now his feelings for nursey are becoming More of A Thing Than He Was Hoping They Would

of course bitty gets with jack at this time, so he’s kind of through the roof, and if, maybe, they have a conversation about their ex’s/past lovers and find they have.. more things in common than expected, well, at the least it’s a bit of a laugh and at the most well. let’s just say sometimes a ginger is mentioned in their bed WHATEVER OKAY MOVING ON

dex comes back in the fall ready to suppress the fuck out of his emotions and play some damn good hockey and who appears but this super eager tadpole

this now plays out as the first two chapters of my The Arrangement fic, though i guess now for canonical reasons whiskey ends up with lax bro and not tango, but that’s alright, we’re good at working on our feet here

for those who haven’t read the fic, dex shows whiskey how to gay sex while simultaneously gaining his trust and encouraging him to bond with the team and for personal reasons whiskey is a little shit but not as much of an asshole as he was in canon (look i love the guy but he’s a dick) and anyway go read my fic it’s good i promise #selfspon moving on

the latter half of dex’s sophomore year is spent mostly Not Pining for nursey and getting closer to him, friend wise, until the whole dib-flip, living together situation occurs, dex has a Freak Out, and ruins things a little

..this is getting off track, but long story short, his captains kiss each other on live tv and dex’s family starts to suspect that all those rumors that drifted around him in high school may have more truth to them than they’d been hoping and dex has a less than great summer break, coming back to school in the opposite of a good mindset

nursey also has a not great break (his parents are fighting, then he comes to school and breaks his wrist and can’t play hockey) and well we all know where this ends up

this leaves dex in a very mopey gross state and who to help someone feel better in their time of need than the sweetest little waffle you’ve ever seen in your life?

yes, it’s time for Hops.

now, this is a rather short lived affair, but over thanksgiving break, the entirety of the haus goes home to their families except for dex (who says he can’t deal with bus fare, and begs off any offers of help) and hops, who technically isn’t in the Haus, but stays there for the break while his parents are on a work trip during the holiday

dex ends up finding out just exactly how College Hockey Boy hops is when he almost burns the kitchen down trying to make a grilled cheese and dex decides then that he has to help this boy learn how to human, so they spend the first two days together with dex teaching hops all the basic skills dex thinks someone should know

this is included but not limited to: how to cook without making fire, how to change the oil in your car, how to hotwire a car, how to fix various different appliances, how to take the optimal notes, how to basic code, and how to sort and do your laundry

hops is enjoying the crash course (kid is just grateful to finally know where the detergent goes in a washer) but also, like, lbr. watching someone be competent in a thing--esp a thing you are yourself not good at--is a giant turn on, and so after two days of watching dex be really good at adulting, they settle onto the couch after doing the dishes and hops just gets on his knees and--

we aren’t smutting here on good christian tumblr but boy. hops is an eager kid.

anyway they spend a week fucking and then stop because hops falls in love with a girl in his intro class and then spends the next two months asking dex for advice on how to woo her, even though obviously chowder would be a better bet.

then comes the playoffs and everything is heating up and they’re on roadies nearly every weekend, still keeping up with their coursework, and it’s A Lot, and dex is really feeling it this year, especially with all the shit bitty’s been getting, and one night, on a roadie, he and bully get back to their room and dex collapses with a groan on the bed and bully, chill as anything, is like. “you seem pretty stressed. wanna fuck?”

and, you know what? dex is still his thotty (though more mature) self and he’s like, life sucks a little right now, why not get off

and so he does.

he and bully hook up through the playoffs and into the post-season (that post-final game sex is A Lot my dudes lemme tell you) but then dex gets elected captain and something twisty in his chest tells him that he should not be fucking someone on the team, especially not an underclassman, when he’s got that authority over him, and so he breaks it off with bully

who is pretty chill about it, since he’s bully, though he does miss the sex. the sex was p good.

and, to be quite honest, that’s it. dex wouldn’t fuck any of the baby frogs for the same reason he broke it off with bully (also ngl the senior-freshman thing doesn’t do it for him anymore) and so dex goes through his senior year of college without having any fuckbuddies--his first year of college so far, actually, where he doesn;t

the end

lol jk he and nursey start hooking up and it’s a Whole Bundle of emotions

in keeping with the rest of the fuck buddies, dex thinks that this is just like all the other times and nursey has no reason to think dex wants anything more and like. the sex is good, like very good, and neither of them are complaining per se but they’re also in love and haven’t said anything, and i imagine there are some ill-timed confessions prior to the final game of the playoffs and then they win another ncaa championship title and have sex in a janitor’s closet (but like,, emotional sex) and they live happily (thottily) ever after

i also like to imagine that there’s a point somewhere down the line when they all meet up for a reunion and something happens-- probably ransom and holster get a lil tipsy and finally tell the truth of how they got together-- and everyone basically does the spider-man meme but with “wait-you had sex with dex? i had sex with dex” and nursey--who knows bc dex told him when they finally got together-- is just sitting there all smug with his arm around a steadily reddening dex bc he’s fucking proud of the fact that everyone knows exactly how good his boyfriend is in bed

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poptod · 3 years

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Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 5 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: You finally learn just how far he will go.

Notes: this story takes a very interesting turn, but i promise its worth the ending i promise. ending might not be done for several more chapters though :) hope thats alright! WC: 8.2 k

He left you alone in the garden.

You could've run away then. The trees and brush you'd have to wade through would be a tiny price for freedom, and you were mostly hidden from the view of the house. Instead you curled into a ball, having never felt as small as this in all your life, and hid yourself away. He was on your mind.

A taste of how your life would be if you ran already began to build on your tongue, as though in this moment you were free of his hold, entirely, wholly, and truly. It was bitter, like bile, tainted by the man who would always be on your mind, no matter how far or fast you ran. He had left his mark, scarred your skin, and you would never be rid of his presence. His eye that he forced into your mind would always watch over you, broadcasting his desirous thoughts into your consciousness. A voyeur in your own head.

Bereft of energy, you leant against the alabaster pillar, drooping eyes set uneasily upon the flowing water. He would do anything for you, but how far did that insanity go? Would he eventually grow tired of your emotional distance and forcefully take you for his own? All you knew of him was what he decided to show you––not a single bit more.

"Amoke?"

You looked drearily upwards, but relief filled you upon seeing Haji approaching you.

"You don't look so good," he noted, sitting down on the step beside you.

"I'm just a little tired," you sighed, pulling the blanket on your shoulders tighter around you.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Yes, fortunately. How about you? What is your housing like here?"

"Not too bad," he said with a shrug. "I've got three other men in my room, but we're all in bunks. Main part of the house is nice, though. Lots of baked goods."

"Sounds nice," you chuckled. Your gaze fell once more to the intricate path of stone beneath your feet.

"So... Ahk told me you had a bit of a rough time this morning," he said slowly. You knew that was why he was here, yet still your heart sunk a little.

"I don't often find myself in large cities, much less in the middle of them."

"That's not the only thing bothering you though, is it?"

You sighed, before softly saying, "no."

Haji waited patiently while you thought through your words, contemplating them fully before you spoke.

"I told myself, when I was first caught by your King, that I wouldn't sympathize with him. I promised that I wouldn't fall into that common illness, but... now.. well, every now and then he seems human. Then it all fades away, and then it comes back, and... he's capable of controlling what people think of him. He puts on different personalities for different people. Why does he do that?"

"That's his job," Haji said simply, sending a stake through the core of your mindset. "He can't be a ruler all the time, but he can't not be a ruler when he's out in public. It's good that he hasn't let being a King take over his whole personality, like his father. The fact that he shows you all these sides of him means he wants you to be welcome in all parts of his life."

"... did he tell you to say that?"

He laughed, shaking his head as he patted your shoulder.

"No, but that was a very worship-y thing for me to say," he admitted.

"Heh," you said in a soft huff, wrapping your arms around your legs and pulling them in close.

"Haji?!" Ahk called from inside the house.

Haji sighed, almost rolling his eyes as he pushed himself to his feet.

"See you," he said, trotting off.

A couple minutes later you heard voices, which was strange, considering the garden was a decent distance from the house. You glanced around, eventually looking up to find Ahk and Haji, framing the sides of an open arch held high above the ground. They were discussing something quietly, but the wind carried their voices to you.

"Are they alright?"

"Yeah, considering what you're doing to them."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"I – I'm sorry, my K-"

"It's fine," he muttered curtly. "Don't let it happen again."

You bit into your cheek hard, till your skin stung, and your jaw ached with the force in it. How had you ever willingly done his bidding? How had it slipped your mind, that he was still a royal? It was obvious in his step, his manner, his words, and his presentation, yet you had allowed yourself to thank him. To speak softly to him. To share parts of yourself that you had always sworn to keep to yourself.

No matter––you could not take away what you'd already freely sacrificed, but that didn't mean you had to keep sharing things. Today it would stop, and you would feel no more sympathy for the fickle man. As nice as Haji was, he did work for the King, and whatever you told him would end up in Ahkmenrah's ear. Sharing with him would also have to cease.

Maybe you were being too bitter, too closed off, but your crimes were meager in the face of Ahkmenrah's. He wanted you for his collection, to keep your beauty near him like a caged bird. If you yearned to leave, he would lock you up, and if you dreamed to fly, he would clip your wings, to keep you for his own.

Bastard.

That night it rained. Poured down in great sheets, battering down on the stone walls surrounding you, and tearing down palm trees like grass in a wildfire. You remained in the gazebo, rooted to the spot until Ahk came out to see you.

"Dearest, you'll get sick in all this rain," he said in a soft voice, kneeling in front of you, and looking up with familiar reverence dulled by the darkened sky.

You said nothing. Instead you fell into him, exhausted by your rampant mind, and aching from the water soaking down your clothes.

"Let's get you inside," he murmured, setting one arm beneath your knees, and the other behind your back.

With a small heave you were in his arms, the whole of your weight easily carried. He adjusted you a few times before you made it back to the house, where he set you down in front of a massive firepit, leaving you in the piles of blankets to run to the front door. You watched, huddled close to yourself as he opened the door and rushed in a small group of people. Among them was Naguib, who looked in a similar fashion to yourself––drenched.

Wet shoes and bare feet slapped against the white floor, puddles of dripping rain collecting on the path to the fire. The sound would have surely echoed if the fire wasn't roaring and crackling, dulling the sound of the rain, and calming you with every floating ember.

Slowly, the group of people around you grew, till Ahk saddled in beside you, his head on your shoulder.

These were his servants. You assumed that the housing set up for them in Thebes wasn't great, and Ahk had decided his house was a good spot for everyone to house up for the night. Sounded just like him––troubling you to the point of a breakdown, and then following that up with an act of kindness you'd see out of no other King.

"Are we sleeping here tonight?" You asked, barely audible above the murmurs of servants and the dancing fire.

"I think it'd be most wise," he murmured, shuffling to kiss your bare shoulder, before returning to his lax, sleepy position.

As people drifted off to sleep, hidden far away from the storm's ravages, you stared at the fire. It dimmed, and more people fell asleep, and you stared, wide eyes unable to close. By now you were lying down, Ahk curled up in your side as you stared at the burning cinders. He snored, though you hardly minded, finding comfort in his obvious heartbeat and the soft warmth of his breath.

He would always be an enigma to you. Or, perhaps, your affection for him would always be an enigma––reasonless, and petty, and undeserved.

"Sweet... darling," he mumbled through sleep-numb lips, grasping you tighter and forcing his face into your side, hiding away from the world.

You shifted, unable to move your arm beneath his head, and pressed your lips to the top of his head.

"Go to sleep, Ahk," you whispered.

"I love you."

Oh.

I love you.

The words circled your head, always on the corner of your eye as the ship beneath you creaked. It was a barge, or that's what Ahk called it; a carrier for Amun beneath the starlit sky. You tried to keep at the edge of the water, but Ahk kept his hand rooted at your waist. You supposed, in the amassed crowd, it would be a little hard to find you once the boat reached the other side of the Nile.

Behind your ship, where the golden statue of Amun rested, a fleet of other ships sailed in your wake, all of varying sizes. Some people sailed alone on small canoes, while others joined larger ships that took families across the river. All followed a path they'd taken before, one lit by a literal golden beacon––Amun, reflecting the light of torches held high above the people's heads. He would be carried by a team of men, who would set the God in the temple of Luxor for worshippers to place their kisses upon.

You could hardly see the ships, as Ahk kept you on an elevated platform overlooking everything in front of him, which simultaneously blocked his view of behind with a large shack.

"Should I pray with you or.. stay out of the temple?" You asked, careful to keep your voice quiet despite the loud voices of the pilgrims.

"You don't have to pray," he said, looking down at you with an assuring smile. "You don't have to stay outside of the temple, either. You can do whatever you like. I'd suggest partaking in the food, though, just by the way."

"It's alright," you said. "I'm mildly interested in how your religion works, so I'll watch your ceremony."

"Wonderful," he beamed.

Your balance stumbled as the hull of the barge hit the sandy shore, banking in another painted metropolis. Massive statues of Amun met you there, though the standing ones were made of limestone, and were a deal smaller than the golden idol. They flanked the docks, protecting the entrance to the city and the adhering temple.

Torches, held by soldiers who came to greet the boats, made way for the muddy ripples of water to visibly crash into the wood, making the ground beneath you sway. With help from Ahk, you rushed off the boat in an orderly manner. Swaths of people followed from behind, running onto the various docks, and watching the Pharaoh with eager eyes. Those whose attention fell to you glared, or stared confused.

Once most people were off the boats, the soldiers and workers began to lift the golden statue, causing an uproar of cheers from those around you. You nearly cringed from the sheer volume, but the grins surrounding you turned your fear to curiosity. Now you watched, blocking out the yells, as the statue was carried off the boat and onto land, passing by you and Ahk as it made its' way to the shore and the temple beyond.

You made to follow the crowd as it followed the statue, but Ahk tugged on your hand, keeping you on the dock. A soft and unbothered smile was on his face, and you paused in your curiosity.

"What are you doing?" You asked, your voice still hushed despite being alone.

"It's better to let them pray for a little while and mingle before I enter. Gets some of their energy out so they don't trample me," he said with a shrug.

"Wow. They must really like this holiday."

"I think more than anything they're excited about free food," he chuckled, his smile growing when you chortled.

Soon he was leading you back down the wooden dock, following the footprints in the sand towards the towering rocks. The dark of night casted the temple as a silhouette, whose real shape could not be truly identified, other than the fact that it was a very large structure. Even by starlight you could barely see the steps as you approached them.

The hallway you entered was deathly quiet, but lit distantly by the lights of the next room ahead. You slowed, your attention ensnared by the statues on either side of you, and your steps came to a silent crawl. Ahk allowed you to gawk at the art before he lead you onwards, a self-satisfied smile on his lips that parted them ever so slightly. Between the tall statues were pillars, and in front of each God sat a shallow basin, all filled with a clear oil.

You turned back to Ahk, ready to continue, pausing to allow him to endow himself with holy oil. Since the journey to Karnak had been started so late into the evening, you had yet to truly see him, and for a moment wondered if he would be wearing makeup.

Blue painted his eyelids, long, sharp lines defining his eyes as he stepped into the golden light, his entirety bathed in the holy glow. His cape trailed meters behind him, shimmering as though it were nothing more than a mist. Cuffs remained a constant in his outfit, though now they cradled his upper arms, his wrists, and his ankles, each carved ornately with faience and lapis defining the lines. The collar holding up his cape bore a royalty all its' own, crystal beads of red, blue, gold, and green coming one after the other in swirling patterns. Three golden amulets fell from the front of the collar, dripping down like rain on his bare chest and stomach.

Power had a name. Royalty had been born through his name––settling deep into his person, seeping out its' presence through his veins. This was the God the Nubians feared, the Hittites, the Phoenicians, all relented their struggle in the palm of this man's hand.

He stepped forward and the cheers of the hall fell into silence, heads bowing as all came to their knees. Foreheads pressed against the ground, hands outstretched on the temple floor, but consistently retaining a clear path to the statue of Amun.

Ahk continued into the room a few more steps before he realized you weren't at his side. At that point he turned to you, meeting your eye and calling you over with a silent wave of his hand. The blood in your heart froze, petrified by the insinuation, as your eyes darted between the bowed heads and the Pharaoh's outstretched hand. But he was patient, and he waited, his welcoming hand never falling.

After another moment you took his offer, fingers sliding over his palm till he grasped you, entangling your hands together. He pulled you gently forward, and soon you were walking by his side, welcome to bask in the respect of a silent room.

You noticed, once you looked up from the worshippers with guilt, that the statue of Amun had been placed upon a pedestal, a pedestal that had several different levels, and a staircase leading up. On the lower levels, statuettes and reliefs of Mut and Khons numbered many. There was where you stopped and turned, facing the long, torch-lit hall filled to the brim with devotees of Amun and Ahkmenrah.

"They bow for you, too," he murmured in your ear.

Your eyes settled on the exposed backs, the spines popping up, and the different adornments of people from all classes. None of them knew who you were. Would they bow to a stranger just because their King told them to?

Apparently.

To the sides of the altar, you caught sight of the Pharaoh's advisors, and a few of his personal servants, who were bowed alongside the rest.

"I am a King unlike my father," Ahkmenrah began, the first words of a long expected speech. "Unlike my father, I have brought us to peace, and have done so in a fraction of the entire time my father spent ruling. Unlike my father, I will love whomever I decide fit," his hand on your waist tightened, "and I will worship who I desire to. As a King I am allowed these comforts––the freewill of choice, and the means to live fruitfully. I am not controlled by my father... or my advisors.

"Unlike my father, I will give you these rights. Restore what should have never been taken. I will return your free will. I will allow all to marry who they desire, regardless of race, class, or gender."

The already confused crowd began to murmur, heads lifting to whisper to one another in curiosity and disbelief.

"I will pay back what my people sow," he continued. "You will be able to pride yourself on your work, no matter what that is, as all creation is important, and shall be protected under my rule. I will give back the means you give me to live fruitfully. As I regenerate myself and my power during this evening, so shall you be reinvigorated, as my blood runs in your heart, just as your blood runs in mine."

He stopped speaking, and for a moment dead silence ensnared you, before a rupture of cheers and applause broke your ears. Voices surrounded you, echoing off the tall ceiling painted with stars. Beside you, the Pharaoh beamed, basking in the adoration till he turned to you. It was then, within that fiery temple, and within the view of the population of a whole city, that he held your face soft in his palm and kissed you. Needy, incredibly needy, essentially desperate, but gentle. As though you would break. The tension fell instead upon himself, in his tight chest that just barely pressed to yours. His breath pushed and pulled, longing to feel you move against him, never ceasing to thrill your nerves as his fingertips brushed across your bare stomach.

When at last you kissed him back, he melted into you, almost leaning his whole weight on you in relief. He did his best to keep himself upright, and parted when it was clear you were short on breath. For a moment he stared, scanning your wide eyes, before kissing you once more, this time much shorter.

Looking to the sides of the altar, he waved in the servants, who sprang to their feet with trays of food. They dispersed amongst the now-standing crowd, feeding the citizens just as the Pharaoh promised. Musicians appeared from behind tall pillars, strumming melodies you'd never heard before. As they did, Ahk took your hand, kissing the back of it as he began to step down from the altar.

"Ever dance before?" He asked, a teasing smile growing across his face.

"Not in Egypt," you said. Different cultures had different styles of dance, and you were in no state to embarrass yourself with your 'foreign customs'.

"It's much the same as most places," he assured you, leading you down the steps. "Just move however the music tells you to."

Drums brought in a heavy beat, thrumming in your veins as the steps of many dancers surrounded you. The weight of their feet, jumping and pounding in tune with the lutes, created a beat you could easily move your body to. Ahk felt much the same, as he smiled wide and twirled you beneath his arm. Exhilaration caught the breath in your throat, warming your already-flushed skin, and enthralling you with the Pharaoh's many talents. Of course he would know how to dance––of course he would know how to twirl you, how to dip you, to run his hands over every inch of your body without ever truly stopping his melodic movements.

A dream, he was––a glowing halo over his head, the heavenly sky painted above his piercing eyes. His clothes, doing their own dance around his moving body, swayed and whipped the glittering silk high in the air, twirling around him like a golden universe. You found yourself grinning wider than you'd ever done in his presence, searching for his hand and its' warmth whenever he parted. Without thought you chased after him, giggling as he made his way through the crowd, nearly clearing a circle in the middle of the holy temple.

By firelight you caught your reflection in his eyes. It was then you saw yourself, your near-manic smile, your tussled hair, and the royal robes dripping elegantly off your body. This was not you––or, at least, this wasn't you before Ahkmenrah captured you. Yet you found, with his hand on your waist and your chests pressed tight together, that very rarely had you been happier than this moment.

People around you, staring at you, the scent of spilled wine and twice-baked honey intoxicating you. The circle around you continued to dance, but kept an eye on you and the King.

"See?" He murmured out of breath. "You are beautiful. Heavenly. You are already a God. See how they stare?"

"Yes," you whispered out.

"They are simply processing your divinity," he said, his eyes darting to each feature on your face.

"What should I do?"

"Dance."

Beneath the eyes of Amun you kissed him, soft and barely there, before you gently parted yourself from him. He watched, breathless, as you placed your hand on his chest. You circled him, drawing your finger around his chest to his back.

"This is how they dance in the east," you mumbled in his ear, carefully watching the eager crowd as you spoke.

You grabbed his hand, whirling him around to face you as another grin began to cross you. He mimicked your smile, enchanted by your movements, gaze never ceasing as you began to move your hips. The staring of strangers now only served to fuel you, caught up in the wanderlust that had captured you so vividly as a child. This had been your source of energy, how you kept moving throughout the world––the presentation of other cultures, their wisdom, and their art.

Soon you were tangling yourself back into Ahk, allowing him to pull you in circles and dictate your steps. The two of you moved in near synchronicity, and as the temple's dancers joined in on the sides, so did the rest of the populace crammed into the hall. Musicians played louder as the shouts and whoops of listeners began to overtake it.

You caught sight of the golden statue once more, your gaze lingering on those knelt at its' feet. Plates, bowls, and clay pitchers of food and wine now overcrowded the base, accompanied by the reliefs of Mut and Khons, as well as tokens made of Amun's image. Slowly you dragged your eyes upwards, to the watching stare of the golden God.

It blinked.

Massive eyelids closed over empty eyes, causing you to falter in your step. Your own eyes widened, caught horrified by the statue, a terror that quickly halted Ahk's own dancing. He looked at you confused for a moment, before following your line of sight to the statue.

The room fell into an astonished silence, instruments screeching to a halt as the statue's arms began to crack, movement slowly filling them until they tore apart from the main body. Fingers cracked as though sore from stillness, followed by the horrid trembling of the floor brought about by his heavy feet. They tore from the base, stepping down from the altar as the face began to move, animated, and smiling.

The golden eyes of Amun stared at the tiny people below him, a space amidst the crowd cleared for him to stand easily in the temple.

You looked up bug-eyed, your mouth falling open as Ahk grasped your lower arm tight.

"Is this supposed to happen?" You asked in a whisper, but in the wake of silence, your words were clear as day.

"Not... usually," Ahk admitted sheepishly, tugging nervously at his clothes. "Um.. Amun? Have you possessed your statue?"

"In a way," he said, the deep vibrations of his voice humming painfully loud in the echo chamber. "I have my projected my thoughts and voice into this body, so I may give to you the gift of my presence... and so I may give you a message."

Despite the tremor in Ahkmenrah's hand, he kept himself steady, and looked up at the God as though he were any other regular person.

"What is your message, Hidden One?" He asked.

"I desire your... pet," the God said, his eyes falling to you, clinging to the Pharaoh's side. You shrank further into yourself, nearly shaking with panic.

Amun was the creator God. Ahkmenrah could not say no––the pure outrage that would come from the citizens should he do that was deterrent enough for you to be assured of that.

But he stepped out in front of you, cradling you behind him as he glared upwards.

"Why?" He asked, his earlier reverence turned to suspicion.

"Do you dare to question my command?" Amun asked in return, the rims of his eyes beginning to glow an unearthly purple. Smoke filled his mouth, coming out in great billows and plumes, filling the ceiling as he appeared to grow taller.

"I want to know why," Ahk gritted out.

Amun paused, gauging both your expression and Ahkmenrah's, before speaking precise and clear.

"It possesses the knowledge of many cultures. I have tired of my consorts, my own pets, and their closed minds. Your pet is beautiful and knowledgeable," Amun said, kneeling to face you closer, "and I desire it for the afterlife."

Massive eyes met yours, peering over Ahk's comparatively tiny shoulder. They remained rooted for a moment, scanning what little of you they could see, before the God stood once more.

"I want you to kill it, preserve its' body as well as you can, and bury it for when I come to take it," he said.

"No."

Gasps sounded from the crowd, all the eyes on you chittering and murmuring at Ahkmenrah's gall.

"Tiny King," Amun growled, his hand reaching down to pick Ahk out from the crowd.

Before the thick fingers could pinch him, Ahk reached around to one of his nearby soldiers, pulling the sword from its' sheath and slicing the palm of the God. The gasps around you grew louder yet, people beginning to shuffle nervously as they doubted the will of their Pharaoh. Through the murmurings you heard shouts, taunts against Ahkmenrah, claims of sudden insanity.

"Give up the slave!" Came from somewhere behind you, which very nearly broke Ahk's concentration on Amun as his nails dug into his palm, teeth ground together.

"Someone take his sword!"

"Get him out of here!"

"Silence," commanded Amun, and the temple returned to quiet. "A cut will not stop me."

With that he reached forward, his massive hand brushing Ahk aside and grasping your middle, arms forced to your sides. Your breath caught in your throat, unable to yell as you were lifted from the ground.

"You had the choice to willingly serve me or anger me. Either way," he brushed the hair away from your face with his golden skin, "I will have Amoke for my own."

He smiled, soft, and terrifying, as he squeezed you tighter in his palm. The constriction cut off your ability to breathe, muscles pinching and twisting with the pressure.

"You have watched from afar my battles, that I am sure of," Ahkmenrah said. You looked down, desperation welling tears in your eyes as you met the gaze of the King, who had the face of the dead; dark, and dull, and absent of empathy. "Yet you don't know that I will destroy anything that comes between me and what I want."

"Funny," said Amun, "I'm the same way."

Ahk casted aside his sword, instead reaching for the many vases, pots, and basins of oil, throwing them all to the floor till both the offerings and marble floors were covered in holy oil. Confusion struck you till he reached for a torch, at which point you began to wriggle in the God's grasp. Ahkmenrah had done a number of stupid things, especially when it came to his relationship with you, but burning down a temple rung bad news to you.

He threw the torch to the ground, lighting the temple aflame with bursts of fire that burned red and orange. Already heat came to meet you, hitting your cheek and neck with waves of searing warmth, tinted with the smell of lavender and roses. Screams bounced off the walls, blurred by the crackling roar of fire. You watched, high above the crowd, as people scrambled towards the exit, desperately escaping the flames. Then your eyes fell, past the door, past the shrieking, to the Pharaoh, his face lit by fire, and his eyes darkened by the overwhelming shadow of his own crown.

"Fire cannot hurt a God," Amun spat, holding you closer to his chest.

"No," Ahk agreed, "but it can hurt your vessel."

"Gold doesn't melt by simple fire."

"Right again. But the stone on the inside of that frame does."

While they spoke, you began to feel the melting heat of stone surrounding you, burning you wherever your skin was bare. Panic seized you fiercely, quickening your breath till you barely felt your own chest heaving up and down. You cried out as the burning sensation turned to searing pain, melting and blistering the skin of your forearms.

From nowhere you were released, falling two meters from the sky to the ground. Ahk rushed past the burning pools of oil and piles of food, grasping your hand tight in his. Before either of you said anything, the agonized, broken yells of a God filled your head. It spiked and crackled, like explosions in your ears, ranging from deep, mechanical roars to high-pitches screeches that felt like nails dragging down from your eyes to your jaw. Through it all Ahk kept you running, heading for the wooden doors already set aflame. Pillars fell around you, crashing against the marble floor, and in the process causing the ground to tremble. The two of you nearly lost your balance, watching two massive pillars slowly falling to block the exit. He held your hand tighter yet, his pace increasing as yours did, the two of you bolting out of the hall. The moment you exited, the final pillars fell behind you, blocking the door and locking the God into the fiery temple.

Heavy pants filled your chest till it numbed, your teary eyes stinging in the cool, night air. Even through the thick stone you could hear Amun wailing and screeching, clawing at the walls of the temple till the marble gave way, tumbling to the floor and splintering upon impact. The sandstone bricks behind the marble kept him inside, leaving him to die within its' holy walls.

"Are you alright?" He asked, frantic hands and eyes scanning your body. First he held your face, then your neck, till he found the marks covering your forearms.

"I'm -"

"Ohhh dearest," he breathed out, his brow furrowed tight as he took your hands, holding them with a touch so gentle you barely felt it. "I'm so sorry, my dear. I didn't... oh dear.. does it hurt?"

You looked down, scanning over the seared flesh in the dim starlight.

"Not anymore," you said, confused at your own tolerance. "It just hurt at first."

"I'm so sorry, my love, I'm.. we'll get this bandaged up, all right?" He promised, looking you in the eye.

"Ahk, no one's going to help you," you said. His subjects wouldn't accept him back after that fiasco. No way.

"Piye will," he said assuredly, raising your hands to kiss your fingers. "That's all we need."

"Where are they?"

"Still in Thebes. It'll take us a little bit, so let's get some bandages first," he murmured, kissing your forehead.

He gingerly threaded his fingers in yours, assuring himself of you, before the two of you headed away from the desecrated temple. While he scanned the long, dark hallway for people, you noted the figures flanking the entrance, and tugged on Ahk's arm.

“He certainly lived up to his speech,” one of them said.

"I think your advisors are waiting to hand your ass to you," you whispered.

"Ah... fuck. My father himself is going to rise from the field of reeds to throw my ass in my face," he mumbled, chewing on his lip.

"When did you start swearing?" You asked, slightly befuddled.

"Usually when I get into dangerous situations," he said lowly, ducking behind one of the pillars as one of the figures shifted, "it starts up. Horrible habit. My mother tried to rid me of it but she was never quite successful."

"Apparently," you muttered beneath your breath, before helpfully pointing out that there were holes built into the ceiling to let natural light through.

"Perfect, darling," he said, pecking your cheek before reaching for the carved top of the pillars.

Once assured of his stability, he heaved himself upwards, catching the ledge outside before falling. From there he pulled himself up, scrambling onto the roof of the hallway. You attempted to go the same route, but your arms hardly reached the pillar's protrusions, and they were numb with pain. Seeing your trouble, he lay flat on the roof, hanging his arm down. You grasped tight as you could, and with help from your legs you clambered onto the roof.

Ahk huffed, brushed himself off, brushed you off, and only then continued on. From up there you could easily see the advisors and guards discussing, their hushed voices reaching you with little clarity. Spying would do you no good, and Ahk soon realized that, taking you back towards the temple.

In silence he climbed the rest of the way to the temple's roof, helping you up along the way. Your shadow stood before you, casted long but pale against the flat expanse of the roof, stretching out before you like a desert. This was the only area of the temple undecorated, left untouched and plain. It was a funny thought to realize that from above––from a God's view––the temple was as plain as white sand.

By descending far away from the entrance, the two of you avoided sight of his advisors in an act you realized he'd done many a time before. You wondered, watching him sneak along the ground, what kind of a child he was, and if you would've liked him better if you met him when he was younger. Though to be perfectly fair you liked him quite a lot already, unfortunate as it was.

Ever aware of your wound, he led you by a hand on your back, instead of the usual taking hold of your hand. Keeping your footsteps quiet proved hard in the loose rocks, but with your slow pace you safely made it to the boathouse he led you to.

"Here," he whispered, ushering you into the room. He glanced outside, scanning for anyone present, before carefully closing the door and turning back to you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could do so he was pushing you into a chair, hushing you softly. Mildly offended, but more importantly confused, you watched as he rifled through boxes of storage. Most of your questions were answered when he pulled out bandages. Alongside that, he pulled out a small pot of honey, which you yourself had used before to treat infections.

"I am truly sorry, my dear," he said as he knelt before you, unravelling the linen. "I never meant for anyone to get hurt."

"Except Amun."

"Well... yes, there is that," he mumbled abashedly, chuckling.

For a little while you watched in silence as he gingerly wrapped your arms up, careful not to touch the sticky, pale wound with his fingers. Honey kept the linen from burning or attaching to heavily to your skin.

"Why did you do that?" You asked, your voice cracking in your attempt to keep quiet.

"What? Did I wrap it wrong?" He asked, looking up with wide, expectant eyes.

"No, not that, the –"

"The burning thing?"

"Yes, kind of," you said. "You hurt your God."

"It's alright, he's not the only one we've got," he chuckled.

"That's not the point," you hissed, increasingly irritated with his jokes. He laughed at your annoyance, but finally calmed down enough to speak seriously.

"Amoke, the Gods are eternal. They have time to know everything, to have everything. We are not. We have a limited amount of time to enjoy ourselves. I think Amun can wait another hundred years till you die. I can't. Do you understand that?" He said, his hand cradling your face as he knelt between your legs, praying to your reverent eyes. "I don't mind fighting for the things in this world that I own. Because until I die, I am wholly of this plane, and such earthly things are all I have."

You swallowed through a tight throat before nodding. A small smile replaced the worried knot in his brow, and he returned carefully to the task at hand.

White linen soon coated the entirety of both your upper arms, spots of honey and blood rarely peeking through the wraps. He was finally finished, the ends tucked away, preventing it from unravelling when you moved. For a moment you sat still, waving your arms up and down experimentally.

"Thank you," you said as you stood, looking down at the couple blisters along your hands.

"Of course, dear," he said, kissing the top of your head. "Piye will do a much better job. I just don't want it to get infected on the way there."

Seeing as your temporary hideout was a boathouse, it was relatively easy to get a boat. The process was a combination of 'don't let the wood creak beneath you,' 'lay down on the dock, there's someone coming,' and 'untie that knot faster'. Your aching hands were no fit for any small, involved work, so Ahk made himself useful by both releasing the canoe from the dock and rowing it away from shore.

Despite being almost-passed-out tired, you couldn't doze on the boat, too paralyzed by the rocking waves. Ahk noticed––of course he did––but could do little to comfort you. All he had to provide was the information that this wouldn't take long; thirty minutes or so, he said.

To find ease in something, you looked off the edge of the boat to the rippling, black water. Though the stars shined above you, you could barely see them in the river. Instead you found your reflection staring back up at you, unblinking.

"It's not healthy to stare at yourself too long. Drives some insane," Ahk commented in a hum.

"As if you don't spend an hour every morning looking at yourself in the mirror."

"Ouch. Fair point."

Stumbling back onto land was easier than usual, but keeping your balance on the dock was a little harder. Ahk told you to sit down while he tied the boat up, which you did, but only after nearly tripping over a stray rope.

"We shouldn't exclude the possibility that Piye, and perhaps the rest of the Thebes, already knows of what we've done," Ahk said, looking out from the dark shore to the torch-lit city.

"And if they do?"

"Um... we'll get to that when we get there," he said with a sharp breath, his eye still set on the lights. "Let's go, hm? Nice and quiet."

You nearly laughed at his behavior, but a glance to his expression had you sobered. His teeth were digging into his lip, more than usual, and it looked rather painful.

"Ahk?" You said, grasping his arm to halt him. He turned to you, his stress gone, and looked you in the eye. "Are.. are you alright?"

He continued to stare at you for a moment, before saying, "yes! I, um, I'm alright. Thank you."

"... okay," you said doubtfully. He was clearly lying, but you didn't want to seem as though you cared too much, and you could always ask later on.

Keeping low to the ground, just as before, the two of you managed to sneak into the city without being noticed. It was an even more impressive feat considering your clothes jangled with every movement, overcrowded with jewels. Torches had you struck with fear several times, recalling each time the gold swirls of Ahk dancing, and terrified the light would shine too bright off the Pharaoh.

Without attracting too much attention, you made it safely to Piye's housing, placed within a large garden beside several other similar-looking houses. First he looked in through the windows, but ultimately found nothing.

"I'm sure it's fine if we just go inside," Ahk said with a dismissive shrug, tugging on the handle.

"Um –"

"Don't worry, Amoke," he said, directing you inside. "I've known Piye since I was ten. They won’t mind."

Your mouth pressed into a thin line, anxiously looking around the dark room for any sign of movement. Such was your anxiety that when Ahk closed the door behind him, you jumped, long nails digging deep into your palms.

"Careful there," he said as he passed by you, heading towards the fireplace.

He knelt on the ground, his beautiful skirt dirtied on the soot and dirt collected on the hearth. Pulling out several tools from nearby, he soon started a fire, this time much tamer and controlled.

Fire.

Why did the sight of it root you to the spot?

Warmth seeped into the room, gently easing your tight, cold muscles, and asking you to step nearer. Your teeth dug into your cheek, but you fought your impulse and sat nearby on the floor. As you drew your knees to your chest, Ahk scooted over to your side, gently putting your head on his shoulder.

"I swear, I'll -"

The muffled sound of yelling began to ring from the entrance of the garden. You and Ahk immediately looked to one another with wide eyes as you listened, trying to make out the words.

"Osiris won't be enough –– wrangle that –– stuff you in a grave!"

Splinters flew as the door wrenched open, slamming against the wall and bounding back to nearly hit Piye in the face. Fortunately, Piye, being tall and vigilant as they were, caught it without breaking their menacing stare at Ahk. Ahk on the other hand was rooted to the spot, staring up at the enraged magician.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Piye yelled, forcing the door shut behind them before approaching Ahk with a vindication you rarely saw. "You think you can just attack a God and your people will still love you? You're not above the deities, Ahkmenrah. You're their vessel and they will strike you down for this disrespect!"

"I'm not going to let an innocent person die because some God wants a plaything," Ahk said firmly, keeping his ground.

"You don't get a choice. Don't forget you're a temporary ruler of this world. The Gods control everything and everyone," Piye said, roughly jabbing Ahk in the chest with their finger.

"Piye has a point," you said.

"Amoke, d –"

"They're going to get their way eventually. Why fight it?" You asked, a question that had the two of them quiet for a moment.

"I will fight for every last second I can have with you. If need be I will slay my people for one more minute in your presence," he said as he once more knelt before you, taking your hands in his. "I will burn down this world for one last kiss."

There was a fervor in his eyes unlike anything you'd seen before––bright, brilliantly so, yet lusting for something not in the realm of the holy. Something much more sinister; a lust not for flesh, but for the blood within it. He would keep his word. You knew then and there, staring into those bright, empty eyes, that he would sooner destroy his cities than let you go.

He would keep his word.

"Don't," you barely whispered out.

"I would," he said with the same softness, directing you to look back at him when your eyes strayed.

"I know."

Wooden planks creaked as Piye shifted their weight, crossing their arms as they watched your spectacle.

"I allowed this for a long while," Piye said, their voice drawing Ahk's face away from hiding in your lap. "I let you steal an innocent person. Now I see I should've stopped it from the beginning. You've grown too attached, Ahk. You have responsibilities bigger than yourself, and there are certain things you cannot indulge. Certain pleasures you cannot partake in."

Not once had the Pharaoh looked to Piye. Instead his gaze remained enraptured in yours, dreamy as it was bittersweet.

"And if I abandon my position as King?" He asked, a smile growing across his face as he carefully watched your reaction. Behind him, however, Piye's own expression fell, arms unwinding as they stared stupefied at the Pharaoh.

"Your father would never forgive you," Piye said, much quieter through the tension built in their throat.

"So what? He's dead."

"Merenkahre might not have been a fantastic King but he was still your father, and he cared about you."

"- a care that was most certainly conditional, seeing as how he treated my brother," Ahk pointed out.

"Your brother killed thirteen servants!! I think that's a little different!" Piye seethed, lean muscles in their hands tensing as they spoke through gritted teeth.

"Yes, listen, Amoke got hurt in that little temple fiasco. I was hoping you could help them," Ahk said, finally turning to face Piye.

"Oh. Of course, come here," Piye mumbled, ushering you over. "I'm sorry you got tangled in his mess. I'm sure you don't want to be here."

"Oh, well -" you began only to be interrupted.

"I'll be very pleased to remind you that Amoke willingly joined me this time!"

"'This time,'" Piye mocked. "Oooh, your little plaything actually wanted to be remotely near you one time."

"First off, ouch, second off, you enjoyed it, didn't you Amoke? I mean, besides the whole melting arm debacle," Ahk said, peering over Piye's to see you.

A long, tense silence stretched when you couldn't find an answer, and instead decided to focus on Piye's treatments.

"My Gods," Piye muttered once all the wrappings were off, which was not a good thing to hear from a doctor when they're examining you.

"What? What's wrong?" You quickly asked, eyes darting between the wrappings, your wound, and Piye's concerned expression.

"Nothing, it's just... this is a pretty severe wound. I'm surprised you still have fingers," they said, shaking their head to clear it.

After taking a deep breath, they took one of your hands, holding it up close to their eye.

"I'm going to have to do some... experimental magic for this. Are you alright with that?"

"What happens if it goes wrong?" You asked, a creeping suspicion on the edge of your words.

"I'd imagine either nothing or you'll have arms made of flowers."

You paused to silently debate it, but took little time deciding.

"Alright," you agreed.

"Wonderful. Give me a moment," they said, and began to mutter verses beneath their breath, eyelids closing over glowing eyes.

You looked to Ahk with an astonished look, your mouth hanging open. He just shrugged, unable to give you an answer before Piye reemerged, no longer glowing in their eyes. Now their palms were glowing, surrounding your burnt arm.

"Repeat after me," they said. "I am this pure lotus which went forth from the sunshine."

You repeated them.

"–– which is at the nose of Re; I have descended --"

"–– that I may seek it for Horus ––"

"–– for I am the pure one who issued from the fen."

Heat came from the tip of your tongue, nearly burning as you spoke the last word. With a racing heart, you opened your eyes, immediately drawn to the blue and purple embers rising from your arm. Streams of light soon came from the wounds, blossoming into solid shapes that built the petals of blue lotus flowers.

Every inch of skin that was scarred, burned, blistered, or melted off had been infested with flowers, growing so thick that they puffed out like kinky hair.

"Is it... supposed to do that?" You asked hesitantly.

"It's not.. not supposed to do that," Piye suggested, which was also not a comforting thing to be told.

Either way, you made your way back to your previous seat, your hands folded neatly in your lap as you slouched down. Piye made to grab something from the mantle, but ultimately sighed deeply and flopped down on the floor beside you and Ahk.

"What are we going to do, Ahk?" They asked, leaning forward with their chin balanced on their palm.

"... you're going to help me?" Ahk murmured as he perked up.

"Yes," said Piye bitterly, "of course. But I'm not going to enjoy it."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x female reader #ahkmenrah x male reader

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bruh-haikyuu · 4 years

Text

@arcangel-wings REQUESTED: Heya! I’m new to your blog and I really like your writing! Can I request Tenma Udai with an s/o who’s a baker while he’s in hs? So like he’s a delinquent and she’s a sweetheart who’s always giving people the stuff she bakes? Everyone thinks it’s weird but they fit together kinda thing 🥺?

A/N: Thanks for requesting!! This is über cute. Fem!Reader as alluded in the request^^

kilig. | udai tenma

word count: 2155

warnings: manga spoilers!!

(n.) the rush or the inexplicable joy one feels after seeing or experiencing something romantic

“Chocolate is the ingredient for love~!” you say after pouring what seems to be an entire bucketful of chocolate chips into your bowl.

Your friend Saeko has seen just about enough of your nonsensical chatter about baking, your boyfriend and your abundant love for both. Already exhausted from a recent scolding by the vice-principal, she decides that it’s better off to smile and nod rather than try to come up with a snarky remark for your innocent mania.

“T-That’s a lot of chocolate,” she blurts out. When she picks up her spatula from the bowl, the girl grumbles at the sight of a liquidy trail drizzling down the utensil. “Ahh geez, it’s not supposed to be like this, isn’t it? Katagiri-sensei’s going to fail me again...”

You smile and hand her a bowl of flour. “Don’t worry, Saeko-chan. Just add a bit more flour and you’re good to go! You can never go wrong with cookies.”

The halo above your head is nearly visible. Saeko swears she can even hear angels singing to her in the background as you mix away on your fragrant bowl of dough. You don’t even seem real—from your angelic grin down to your overwhelmingly flowery aura. It’s tough enough to imagine that you’d ever talk to her of all people, but to imagine you’d go for a guy who’s just as much of a thug...

Unthinkable! Saeko shakes her head. She’d thought you’d pulled a joke on her the first time you announced that you were dating... him. Udai Tenma, star of the Boys’ Volleyball Club, a red-hot beacon of undomesticated temper.

She’d always known you liked him—though which part of him you liked is somewhat still a mystery to her—and as much as Saeko wanted to protect you from those ruffians, that absolutely infatuated look in your eyes was too much to bear. And eventually, she succumbed to your incessant ambitions of high school romance.

“You’re a saint, dude,” she sighs longingly. “I don’t get how you’re still dating that guy. I’m not really one to say anything about this, but don’t you think Udai’s kind of a jerk with the way he treats you?”

You chuckle, like a sweet grandmother about to tell a nostalgic tale to her grandchildren.

“I suppose you can say that Tenma-kun is a bit shy. He likes to act tough and mighty when he’s around people, but he’s actually just a normal boyfriend with a very sweet tooth and a penchant for manga.”

Saeko scowls. “Normal’s normal, but you have to at least let him know that you have your limits too. I really can’t stand leaving the two of you alone, w-what if Udai breaks your heart, or worse—”

“Tanaka-san. If you have time for chatter back there, then surely, you’re finished with your cookies?” at the sound of the grouchy Home Economics teacher at the front of the class, Saeko quickly returns to her bowl in a sorry attempt to look busy.

Deciding to humor her interest, you lean towards her and whisper lowly. “I’ll be fine, Saeko-chan. He may not look like it, but Tenma-kun’s actually very cute.”

In her mind, it’s much easier to simply handcuff herself to you so that you’re under her watch at all times possible. But your gaze is nothing short of genuine—you really love this guy, and the fact that you’re still with him, assures Saeko even just a tiny bit that he might not be so bad after all... with you at least.

You’re already storming away in your little world of baking. It amuses your best friend whenever you’re off making your personal masterpieces (“‘Masterpiece’ is absolutely right!” she’d say while stuffing her mouth full of your mini tarts). Each and every one of your creations are whipped up with the utmost amount of love and care, and for just the right reasons, everyone’s been pestering you to set up a bakery after high school. Your regular patrons just happen to be the Karasuno Boys’ Volleyball Club—with the addition of the lively Coach Ukai who is rather fond of how much filling you put into your red bean buns.

As regular as regular can be, you’ve found yourself visiting the Volleyball Club clubroom after school every Wednesday to hand out your treats to not only your aloof boyfriend, but also to his friends, his coach and the prostrated manager who direfully needs a pick-me-up. And suddenly, you’re ‘Karasuno’s Cookie Goddess’.

“Ah, you’re making another batch, Y/N?” Saeko perks up when you split your dough in half.

“Yep!” you giggle, essentially a high school student drowning in love. “I want to make something special for Tenma-kun today.”

“... What’s the occasion? Is it his birthday or something?”

You shrug, face absolutely alight. “Nope, I just want to give him a surprise~”

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

Tenma isn’t exactly unapproachable. It’s just that people tend to avoid him at all costs. Perhaps you were just bold... or remarkably stupid, but if you hadn’t addressed him that day, life would’ve probably been drabber.

Your parents and your friends (with emphasis towards your overprotective Saeko-chan) had shown their unfiltered concern when the news of your relationship circulated like wildfire. What was the analogy they used, again?

“You’re like a rabid bridge troll and a rabbit! It doesn’t work!” You could only laugh at their valiant efforts of a correlation... if they were really trying to make one. But after a few more reassuring pushes and awkward family dinners, they’ve come to be more lenient about your little ‘liaison’.

But you never feel like you have to worry when Tenma is around. In fact, when Tenma is around, you feel calm—even when he’s spouting off curses to a taller rival.

There’s a warmth unlike any other when he holds or kisses you. And though you’d have to drive him through hell and waters to say it out loud, you already know that every action he does for you is out of love. Words are material, it’s the action that counts, right?

“Sorry for the intrusion~!” you call out into the open doors of the Boys’ Volleyball Club’s space.

A flash of obnoxious yellow hair flashes before your eyes and suddenly, an imposingly tall figure appears in front of you out of nowhere. “Cookie Goddess!”

“Good afternoon, Yukimura-kun,” you smile. “Is there only you right now?”

“I’m here too, Y/N-chan,” the lax-faced captain Tokito emerges from the room in the midst of zipping up his jacket. His eyes flicker towards the packages in your hands and a smile cracks on his face. “Ooh, chocolate chip cookies today~”

You quickly raise the fragrant bags of treats into their view, bringing in the remaining swamp of boys from the clubroom. Suddenly, the common hallway is blocked by an influx of starving teenagers who are rampaging on about your existence.

“So good...” Yukimura murmurs dreamily, mouth full of chocolate. “Man, anyone would be lucky to have you as their wife if you were to cook them these everyday.”

A brazen first-year with frosted tips elbow him and sighs. “Too bad you’re taken, huh, Y/N-chan-senpai? If it were me instead of him, I’d always make it a point that ‘Heeey... guess what my girlfriend made for me today~ Isn’t she the best—”

“Oi, brat. Whose girlfriend do you think you’re talking about?”

The gangle of boys freeze up simultaneously at the grouchy voice behind you (aside from Tokito, who’s yawning at the whole ordeal). Whipping around to the dark aura boring holes into your back, you immediately light up at Tenma’s presence.

“Tenma-kun~!” you launch at him with your arms wide open. You’re ready for some sort of swerve from him, so you make sure you protect his bag of cookies with your arm... You’ve learned this counter-attack the hard way, of course.

But what you don’t expect is that your boyfriend makes no move to avoid you at all.

“H-hey! Don’t just lunge at me like that, you idiot! What if you fell down and knocked your head open?” Ah, at least the embarrassed comment is there.

You can only smile at him kindly. From the edge of your eyes, you swear that you can see a light blush dusting his face as your boyfriend gains newfound interest in your shoes.

“Come with me for a while,” he finally grumbles, effectively breaking the silence between the both of you. Grabbing your hand, Tenma leads you down the little aluminium staircase, eliciting small grates from the steps below you and a mass of curious whispers from the group you’d just left behind.

“Hey, Udai-kun~” Tokito calls out, a lilt of roguery in his tone, “Make sure to get back in time for practice, okay? And keep Y/N-chan in one piece, won’t you? We can’t get another Cookie Goddess if you don’t.”

When he turns into a secluded corner away from the prying eyes of his teammates, you can hear him audibly huff and mutter something under his breath. As silence lingers between you, you nearly forget about the reason why you came to visit.

“I made some cookies for you, Tenma-kun,” you say to him, urging the neatly wrapped bundle into his hands. “I hope you like it.”

You can clearly see the hesitation in his eyes when he takes it in his hands. You can probably guess why.

(“Y/N, your skills with a knife are scary, dude,” Saeko grimaced as she watched you trail over the dough with the gleaming blade of your paring knife.

“Aaand... done!” you proudly wiped the sweat off your forehead. It would’ve been more helpful with a cookie cutter around, but you figured that it would’ve been more heartfelt otherwise.

‘Heartfelt’, you pondered on the word for a moment. Would this be too heartfelt for such a rag-tag person like Tenma? It would probably be better to go for something simpler, just like the other days...

Nah. You shook your head as you chucked the tray of heart-shaped cookies into the oven.)

You’re hoping for a shocked response from him, but Tenma only grumbles meekly. You brace yourself for another scolding for acting too chummy with him, or being too affectionate, or—

“You shouldn’t get too close with other guys.”

Wait.

Tenma crosses his arms, the curls of his hair falling gently over his forehead. His pink cheeks darken into a soft maroon. “If they found out you’re giving me this sort of special treatment, they’ll be all over you the next day, asking for it too... I don’t like it.”

The laugh that rises in your throat threatens to burst. What is this, you think. Your stomach hurt from the mere image of this innocent “delinquent” professing his jealousy for you. If he was like this all the time, wouldn’t that be an interesting change... Aah, your boyfriend really is cute, isn’t he?

A giggle escapes you and you watch him jolt in chagrin. “Tenma-kun, you’re so red.”

“I’m not!” he yells rather briskly, then shoots back at you. “You can’t say I’m red when you were all burning up as you were giving me these heart-shaped cookies.”

Touché. “I’m glad you like them, Tenma-kun.”

His gaze visibly softens up as you give him an angelic smile. “Uh, yeah. Thanks.”

At times like this, you really do see the boy who’d shyly confessed to you under the shade of the summer ginko tree. It wasn’t anything of a distant memory, it was just that Tenma’s usual demeanour and your unrelenting tolerance hindered the both of you from being completely outward with one another. Maybe something like this isn’t so bad after all.

“I-I have to go back to practice. You can go home by yourself, right?” your boyfriend clears his throat, urging you to leave.

Though you wished the moment would last a little longer, you know there are other countless shared opportunities with him. “Mm-hm! You do your best in practice, okay?”

He ruffles your hair and chuckles endearingly.

“Atta girl. Now go home before Tokito catches me getting all touchy-feely with you.”

Bidding him goodbye, you sullenly trudge away from your boyfriend (and his friends waving back at you from the balcony). Then the idea strikes you.

Special cookies ought to have a special flair to them, no?

Cupping your hands around your mouth like a megaphone, you shout, loud enough for his teammates to hear. “I love you, Tenma-kun~!”

And the crowd goes wild.

══════ ⋆★⋆ ══════

From: Tenma-kun ♡

Subject: Untitled

(15:58) Now Tokito’s all over me thanks to you, making me do extra diving drills. You better make more of those cookies as compensation, idiot. Be prepared for it.

(15:58) Btw, don’t forget to look both ways when you cross the street on the way home. If you get into an accident, you won’t be able to apologize to me properly.

(15:58) ... Hey.

(16:00) I love you too.

#bruh haikyuu writing #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyu #udai tenma #udai tenma x reader #haikyuu fluff #udai tenma imagine #udai tenma scenario #karasuno x reader #udai x reader #little giant x reader #sfw

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trashogram · 4 years

Text

Smut I’ll probably never finish; we’ll call it practice: Killer Croc/Reader

Edit: Warnings for painful sex, slight gore/blood, and violence

I didn’t expect people outside of those who humor me on this blog to actually read this, but I appreciate everyone who did! I’m putting up a few warnings by request if anyone else is interested.

“You really meant it, huh?” He asked.

The guttural voice gave you shivers, up and down your spine. Your legs tightened around his waist, bare skin rubbing over the scaly texture assuredly.

“Yes.” You confirmed, knowing that you had to choose your words carefully, otherwise you’d offend him. At least, that was how you thought you would react if you were a killer crocodile man getting a taste of intimacy after God knows how long.

Your slight movements actually managed to push him forward slightly, more out of surprise than your own strength. Again, you weren’t some super-strong mutant, able to lift cars and topple buildings.

He grunted, leaning down until his upper body was atop yours and his enormous hands were on either of you. He stared down at you with yellow eyes that mezmerised; they were unnatural looking and yet still so human - full of little flickers of emotions. The lust was obvious and it made the heat between your thighs that much more intense, but Croc was also questioning. His hesitance shouldn’t have surprised you, but you found yourself melting just a little at the fact that he was waiting for you to change your mind.

Your hand rose, reaching out toward his chest and sliding up from his pectorals all the way to his jaw. He was scaly from head to toe, but there were parts of him that were softer than others. His neck was strangely fragile, like the underbelly of a reptile rather than their hide.

“Can I kiss you?” You whispered, swallowing at the way his brow arched.

“Kiss?” He said, tone slightly incredulous. “You wanna… kiss me…?”

“Oh, do you not want… do you not like them?” The statement didn’t take into account that Croc had possibly never been kissed in his entire life, and you’d put it like that on purpose. He didn’t exude any kind of touchy-feely behavior to suggest he’d been given the chance to decide if he liked physical touch like that at all.

His mouth closed, teeth hidden behind a set jaw. “If it’s what you want, lady. Go for it.”

You smiled softly, and raised yourself up just enough to be within kissing distance. Your lips puckered and you pressed them against his straight as a line mouth, noting that this area was hard but not rough. There was give to it, reminding you more of human flesh as his lips parted slightly.

You moaned, accepting the quick draw and release of his breath into you. You could feel his coarse chest against yours, and the heart inside beating quickly as he let himself relax. He groaned into your mouth finally, humming as if he were tasting something particularly delicious while you coaxed his tongue into your mouth.

You pressed your forehead against his before breaking away for air, letting him know without explicitly saying it that you just needed to breathe and weren’t trying to escape. Not that you could from underneath him.

Croc panted with you. “You sure you ain’t never killed a man before? Probably could, if you kissed ‘em like that.”

You closed your eyes and laughed, feeling lightheaded. Your fingers stroked over his cheek and along his jawline as you felt his grip around you tighten up. He squeezed you, carefully but with purpose, holding you firmly.

+++

Leaning down, you kissed the criminal again while balancing yourself with your hands pressed down over his ribcage. Pushing the hair away from your face before rising again, you reached back and easily found his cock and aligned yourself with it.

You inhaled slowly, determination strengthening your resolve as you continued to sink down onto him. The head was fully inside, but you were still far and away from taking all of his length.

He growled, claws tensed around your waist. It was enough to make you brace yourself with a hand on his forearm.

You grunted. “Tell me how it feels, big guy. Please. I wanna know.”

The sweet request took a while to get through to his brain, but Killer Croc eventually came back to reality. His eyes were glazed over, but you could still see your reflection. You were the only thing in his world.

“‘S like heaven.” He murmured.

The praise made you blush. Your stomach unclenched as a new sense of confidence flooded your senses, and you went back to working your way down so that he could have more. It was very much work, even as the crocodilian man helped by taking some of your weight. He held you up when you needed to pause, though it became evident that he’d started shaking.

You dragged one hand from his abdomen to your center, circling your clit. It sent a jolt of electricity through your body, reminding you to let yourself feel this experience.

Your walls clenched around Croc, and you whimpered. It was completely drowned out as the beast under you snarled at the sudden vice. You jerked back as his hips moved upward in a shallow thrust and suddenly you were there. Your ass was seated firmly on his hips.

He was in bliss, head tossed back against the cell floor. “Ahh, that’s … uuugh, real good.”

You giggled affirmatively, allowing yourself a moment to bask in the triumph of taking all of him. You felt beyond full, stretched to a limit many women couldn’t likely accommodate lest they risk injuring themselves.

You were nice and durable, though. Even as you pressed back down on his chest for leverage and began to lift yourself halfway up again. You looked down between your legs and saw how shiny the base of his cock was already, then lowered back down. Again, and then again.

The wetness was a blessing. You were sliding up and down within a minute, unending fullness that kept you walking the line between pleasure and pain.

You cried out as Killer Croc made another attempt at thrusting. It was still slight, but there was no way for it to go unnoticed. He continued to growl, letting one claw grip onto your thigh while the other left you entirely to dig into the floor.

It was so easy to get overwhelmed, and yet the noises you made seemed to egg him on. He got into a disjointed rhythm, really trying to fuck you in earnest.

He was too big. The thrusts felt like being shivved in the pelvis while he hit the farthest he could go inside of you. Yet, you couldn’t do more than squeal and shriek as you bounced violently.

The nails on your thigh dug in and pierced your flesh. You covered your mouth to muffle a scream at the pain, but Croc took advantage. He pulled you forward, squeezing you to him and thrusting faster.

The danger of this getting out of hand had been reached and you felt dizzy and helpless. You couldn’t focus on any one thing whether it be the blood sliding down your leg or the stab of him against your cervix. You sobbed, eternally grateful for your bodily resilience as you were split apart.

This wasn’t going to kill you, even if it felt exactly like that.

“Fuck! I’m, ugh!” His words were punctuated with fast, shallow thrusts. Howling out, he completely immobilized you and buried himself to the hilt before you realized that he’d cum.

Heat filled you, stinging as it joined the static sensation of hurt and tingling inside. You could barely feel the rest of your body, only noting that the base of your spine felt like it was being shocked.

Croc’s relief sounded like a combination of deep growl and a nasal grunting. His hold on you went lax as soon as he had emptied everything inside you.

—-

The sound was distant, faraway thunder that still shook the ground beneath. It was simultaneously comforting and bizarre feeling the earth beneath you giving and taking. Not to mention the strange texture - inconsistently smooth until your arms lowered over its slope and you touched a much harder surface underneath.

Were you lying in some kind of plateau? Or a strange rock that was smooth at its peak and jagged at the base?

Eyelids fluttering, you squinted. There was harsh, ugly light above you, casting a glare against the thick glass before your eyes. It was a wall of glass, thicker than the thickest plaster wall you could find in an apartment in the Narrows.

You connected the dots then, and your head rose with a bit of effort so that you could confirm that you were still laying on Killer Croc.

Yes, he was still there and still breathing. And so were you.

Thank god.

Your lower half felt numb, except for the thick object still lodged inside of you. You grimaced a bit trying to pick yourself up with the added weight of his arms still embracing you, but his softening cock eventually slipped out of you.

The cum was thick and white, no different from a completely human man’s. The feel of it dripping out of your core was just as satisfying while you struggled to catch your breath.

You were quivering when you felt Croc’s arms drag over your back, pleasantly scraping over your soft skin as he kept your body atop his own securely. He clearly didn’t give a shit about being covered in your combined fluids.

#killer croc #waylon jones #killer croc x reader #for funsies i guess #btas

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1kook · 3 years

Note

hii yamii a question from the audience: obvs no pressure just bc im curious rn after the nc finale wht is like number one priority/want for u to write? just cause i remembered that u said a little while ago u were working on born sinner again ! also ok if u dont have a plan just thought i'd askk :)

ur all good no worries— it is definitely born sinner !!! the other series I write are very lax/light on the plot, so there isn’t much hard thinking I have to do, so I’m sure I can manage those simultaneously. born sinner however IS HARD ON THE PLOT 😭 which is why I’ve been super unmotivated to continue it, but once nc is over I’m forcing myself to focus on that bc 1) I WANNA SEE IT THRU!! like I rlly like the story and I want to complete it and 2) it’s one tht a lot of ppl ask about!!! I feel like I’m holding him hostage 😭😭 so sorry yall 😭 but yes after n&c is wrapped up I plan to focus my attention on born sinner (and ofc other oneshots/series updates in between updates of those)

#hopefully. I wanna try to post like how I did in the beginning #which was every 3/4 weeks there would be an update #just bc it gives me enough time to write and edit it without feeling rushed #and in between those posts I would def try posting other one shots #rn I have a hobi one tht I’m actually really proud of u guys :~) but I’m waiting for after joon’s bday to post bc I also have a joon fic lol #asks

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strawberrysoup · 4 years

Text

Watch the Turn

relationship: Steve Rogers/reader/Tony Stark rating: Explicit warnings: Dark Steve Rogers, Dark Tony Stark, kidnapping, non-con. detailed warnings will be included at the end of the fic, open the read more, CTRL + F and search “content warnings”. word count: 6,000 give or take

Written for @honeyhan-123’s holiday challenge.

You didn't like driving at night to begin with, let alone when the roads were slick and the weather was rotten and every idiot had their high beams on— as if the light did anything except reflect off the fog and make it impossible to see. The road being unfamiliar didn't help, you hadn't driven this route before, hadn't even planned to but Tony had Politely Requested your presence at the training facility. Wanda was still mad at him 90% of the time, not that you blamed her, and he wanted you there as a buffer while she came in for her standard yearly medical tests. You had refused such testing, your "doctor" was sufficient thank you very much, and you didn't want your DNA in Tony's hands (he had the best intentions at all times, but the best intentions didn't mean anything in your world— not when your blood was wonky and weird and potentially useful).

Everyone had mostly forgiven Tony, except for you and Wanda. You both remembered the specialized straight jacket Wanda had been forced into, the fucking shock collars they'd put you both in. There was a phantom ache in your neck when you thought about it and a worse one in your heart when you remembered The Look Tony had given you. Something simultaneously upset but pleased. You hadn't necessarily trusted him since, especially when he put up such a stink when you left the Avengers. Sure, you were on call somewhat— In Case Of Emergency Contact the Flammable One. It worked in a pinch and mostly it meant you got left the fuck alone, which was a dream come true. Tony and Steve were exceptions to the rule; they bothered you on a regular fucking basis. Tony was at least more subtle than Steve, a result of him understanding he'd burned a bridge. Steve didn't get why you refused to stay on as an Avenger after it all. We fixed it, it's over, Tony and I made up so why can't you? And it bothered you in a very special way, that the super soldier wouldn't let it go.

You'd begun screening their calls months ago, only responding to messages that were State Of Emergency relevant. Or, of course, Wanda relevant. You'd become good friends with the witch after the Ultron incident, both of you two shades of dangerous beyond the rest of the team. You were surprised she hadn't called you herself, but Wanda had a tendency to be independent like that. Even if your presence would make her more comfortable, there was only a 50/50 chance she'd ask.

The road to the facility was steadily getting worse though and it quickly became apparent that the majority of those driving in had some sort of sight enhancement, or so you assumed. There were no fucking lights and you were forced to slow dramatically as you drove between the trees. Fucking Tony, couldn't be fucked to add some stupid lights around the blind turns in the road.

Your nerves were flared and it took a lot to keep your powers from getting to your hands, you'd destroyed plenty of things but steering wheels were particularly irritating to replace. You focused on breathing, leaning forward over the wheel and squinting out the windshield. Of course it was a last minute call, of course you had to drive on a new road in the dark, of course the snow had to start earlier than forecasted, of course.

It was one particularly sharp, icy curve that took out your wheels. Your car's system immediately devoted its power to the wheels not spinning out but found no traction, the vehicle instead careening off the road and into the trees. There was a split second to hope that your body's defense system of burn through any and all obstacles didn't cause a forest fire before your head smashed into (and possibly seared through) the steering wheel, effectively knocking you unconscious. Your clothes quickly combusted, minus the Pym tech shorts and sports bra thoughtfully made by Hope, followed by the seat of the car and soon the rest of the vehicle.

"Oh sweetheart," the words were barely distinguishable over the sound of some sort of fire extinguisher, likely one of Tony's suits but it didn't sound like he was in it, "Steve, bring a blanket out of the back."

"Catch," it was definitely the blond's voice, but there was a metallic sound rather than that of fabric being thrown, "I'll grab an emergency blanket out of the back."

"Tony..?" It sounded like you were trying to speak under water, your voice muffled.

"Yeah honey, we've got you," for some reason you expected him to pick you up and pull you out of the smoking husk of the car, but instead you felt his hands near your neck, "stay still."

You couldn't get the words out to explain that your neck was fine, you didn't need a brace, but you felt metal and there was the sound of a clasp, a metallic whir and your blood ran cold. It was a painfully familiar sensation, you'd experienced it once before— on the Raft.

The collar caused all sorts of effects; your above average strength was quickly sapped, your body temperature drastically lowered, and the inherently combustible crackle of energy that coated your skin turned to ice. Your muscles, already weak from the crash, went entirely lax even as arms slipped under you and lifted your body from the car.

“Damn, you really did a number on yourself, huh sweetheart?” Tony’s voice came from the left, a saccharine quality to the tone.

“Don’t taunt her Tony,” Steve’s chest rumbled against you and you realized the familiar scent was the Captain, “let’s go.”

Everything blended and skewed, your perception going in and out. It was confusing and nauseating, you might’ve thrown up but couldn’t be sure—was it from the crash, the results of a concussion? Or the collar?

You only started gaining some semblance of control when a blast of cold air hit you and it was only enough to allow you to open your eyes. Steve was carrying you out of a vehicle and into a building, but not the compound. It was too small, the door had an old fashioned lock and Tony used an actual key.

“The heater on in here Tone? She’s cold, the collar doesn’t let her body temperature regulate well.”

“No, this building doesn’t have FRIDAY’s tech installed. We’ll grab some blankets, there’s a fire place in there until the heating system kicks on.”

“Are you sure you know how to survive without FRIDAY?” Steve’s words were teasing but not mean the way you would’ve expected, there was no derisive undertone like there would’ve been in the past.

“Ha ha, Capsickle,” even Tony’s response lacked teeth, just a mildly fond lilt, “get her in here, we’ll get her warmed up quick.”

“I’ve got some ideas,” it was muttered by the soldier but Tony hummed in agreement nonetheless.

It was cold, so much colder than you were used to. Your body generally didn’t allow you to feel any sort of chill, let alone the bone deep cold that came from being outside and underdressed in the snow and ice. Had you an agency you might’ve pressed closer to Steve, despite it all. Then again, even through the chill you remembered that Steve had let Tony put that collar on you, for some reason the soldier was enabling this.

“Bring her this way, and get those Pym tech clothes off of her.”

“Sure Tony,” somehow Steve responded to the orders with fondness and patience.

Maybe it wasn’t Steve. Maybe it was a clone or maybe Tony had brainwashed him. Maybe—

“Tony, don’t put the keys there or you’ll misplace them again,” there was a scoff from the brunet and Steve’s chest rumbled beneath you, “you know I’m right.”

The sound of keys jingling followed and the confusion got worse. Because that was definitely Steve and definitely Tony but they weren’t bickering. There was no irritation or frustration in their voices, you’d almost call it… fondness? Affection, even. But that wasn’t possible. Even before the Accords Steve and Tony had done nothing but bicker and argue and pick at every little thing they knew would upset the other.

You didn’t have much time to think about it before Steve grabbed your sports bra with one hand and ripped it all the way down. The noise you made was met with a gentle shushing, indiscernible words following when you tried to move away. Your shorts were quick to follow, the non combustible fabric giving way under the soldiers grasp. There was no need for them to undress you, no need for them to take you to some random building, there was no reason for you to have driven to the facility, was there?

“Steve?” Your voice was barely a murmur, your muscles just beginning to twitch after the effects of the collar.

“It’s okay, y/n,” he responded gently, curling your cold, naked body closer to his chest, “everything’s okay, we’re gonna get you warm here in just a second.”

“There are blankets in the coffee table, Steve, just lift the top,” Tony was in another room, his voice far away, “take your clothes off and curl up on the couch with her—body heat and all that, right?”

Steve held you tightly through the next few seconds, his form smoothly going through the requested motions. His skin was so warm against yours, almost searing like a brand. You tried to shift away when he wrapped your legs around his waist, his hard length uncomfortably close to your center, but were once again quietly hushed as he came to sit back on the couch.

“Steve, catch,” you didn’t see what was tossed, only the sound of it hitting Steve’s palm while the other hand pressed your limp form close to his chest, “you get started while I get the fire going.”

There was a snapping sound, your brain couldn’t fully identify it. What your brain did very quickly identify was Steve’s hand at your center, burning hot and coated in something wet and slippery. You wanted to scream but the sound that came out was just a gasp, barely a whimper that got lost against his skin.

“Shhh, sweetheart, you need this,” Steve cooed, slick fingers pressing up into your channel, his nose brushing up the line of your neck where you laid against his chest, your head rested against the curve of his shoulder, “you’re gonna need all the help you can get.”

“Not too much Steve, she’s being punished,” Tony appeared with an armful of firewood and your instinct was to reach for him, to reach for your former friend, to reach for help but he wouldn’t help and you knew it, “for running away and trying to ignore us.”

“W..what…”

“You know you did, y/n,” Tony’s voice was gentle but admonishing, “you quit the Avengers and started ignoring our calls. Bad etiquette, sweetheart.”

You wanted to ask if they were fucking serious, to ask what part of your behavior they had any right to dictate. You’d left because the pair of them had been a fucking nightmare. The leadership had been unbearable and you were the kind of person who chafed under authority, especially when those in power made what you considered dumbass decisions. You had even warned them, several times, that you wouldn’t put up with it. You know what you did. The second the collar came off you'd—

“Stay still sweetheart,” Steve murmured in your ear, feeling the way the muscles in your thighs jumped against his waist, “don’t worry, I’m gonna open your pussy up a bit more than Tony wants—you’d think he’d have more sympathy, considering how many times I’ve split him open without enough lube.”

“What’s that, Stevie? Got something to say?” Tony didn’t turn around from where he knelt in front of the fireplace.

“Just that I appreciate how tight your asshole is when I take you raw, Tone,” the blond's fingers spread wide in your cunt and you whined, muscles trembling as you attempted to gain any traction, “maybe once I stretch y/n out on my cock you can take a ride.”

“Speaking of stretching her out,” Tony finally turned his head and pinned Steve with a knowing look, “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Looks like he caught me, sweetheart,” Steve’s fingers slipped from your pussy with an obscene squelch and he wiped his hand on the upholstery before taking hold of your hip, “try taking deep breaths.”

“Steve, don’t… I haven’t…” you choked as the head of his cock pressed up, “Don’t..!”

“We know it’s been awhile, sweetheart,” Tony stood up and came to stand to the side of where Steve held you in his lap, hands coming to rest on your shoulders, “that’s why Steve’s monster cock is part of your punishment.”

It was a monster cock. It had been a running joke since the initial Loki incident, the way Steve’s pants could never hide the indecent bulge. At first he’d gotten an angry blush across his face every time someone mentioned it and you had been one of the worst about teasing him. It had taken a couple of years before he joked back—I’ve never had a complaint, that’s why my dames gotta be flexible, etc. Steve’s package spoke for itself but if it needed commentary, the bow legged walk of any lady he fucked generally did it.

Honestly, it was big enough that even with the wet slide from the lube and Steve carefully releasing his grasp on your waist, only the very top of the tapered head slipped in. But then Tony’s hands slid down from your shoulders, to where Steve’s balanced you on the head of his cock, and pressed you down. The initial pop of the head forcing its way through the tight hole of your cunt was almost so shocking you didn’t feel the pain, but then it just kept coming. A hoarse cry of shock and pain escaped your lips, the useless muscles in your legs trembling and attempting to lock you in place even as Tony continued to force you down over the impossible length of Steve’s cock.

“It hurts, huh sweetheart?” The brunet whispered quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear from behind, “it hurt when you cut us off, you know? When you stopped answering our calls? When you disappeared off the face of the planet and tried to run away from us.”

“P-Please, please, stop!” Your sobs were quiet despite the pain, your body not currently strong enough under the initial onslaught of the collar’s abilities to even cry properly, “please, it hurts so much, please..”

The stretch was agonizing, especially considering you hadn’t had sex in a hot minute. You’d been busy, finding someone worthy of fucking was difficult, and who had the time anyway? But you could feel his cock, still more and more pressing brutally into your poor cunt, it felt like it was in your stomach, the pressure was unbearable—another choked cry escaped your mouth, tears pouring from your eyes.

Steve gave a low moan, hands tightening on your hips, “God you’re so tight, fuck its amazing.”

“You gonna be able to fuck her babe?” Tony’s face was still pressed close to yours, “without tearing anything delicate down there.”

“Let me get all the way in,” the blond grunted slightly, “might need more lube to actually fuck her.”

A clunking noise came from behind the couch and Tony made a noise of frustration, “once you get her on just let her keep your cock warm, I’m gonna go see why the heater’s making that sound.”

A breathless hum was his only answer from Steve, the soldier still attempting to work the last inch or so of his cock up into your pussy. You whined, forehead against his shoulder and the head bumped against your cervix, effectively stopping Steve from pressing forward anymore. Your entire body was overly sensitized, every ounce of energy devoted to your nerves in the absence of muscular control and 100% of your attention was devoted to every vein and bump in his cock, the sheer pressure of it.

"Shhh, it's okay sweetheart," Steve brushed his lips against whatever skin he could reach, his breath coming out in pants, "ohh fuck, wow. Cunts aren't meant to take cocks like mine—yours feels so good though baby. I can't imagine how it'll feel once you acclimate to the collar, I don't know if you'll be able to tighten your muscles around me—God, even with your muscles completely loose it's almost too tight."

"Please, please, p-please, please…"

"Begging's not really my thing sweetheart, but you'll get Tony ready real quick if you keep that up," the blond's words were teasing, edging on taunting.

"T… Tony?"

"Did you think I'd be the only one who fucked you? No baby, no. Although I don't think Tony's decided yet, if he wants to take your cunt or your asshole—have you ever had anything up your little ass before?"

The heaviest sob you'd managed escaped your lips, forehead rolling against his shoulder until you faced away from him the best you could. It hurt when Steve shifted his weight, tugging you more firmly against his chest while his hands slipped into your hair. Your nerve endings sang as his fingers massaged against your scalp, managing just barely to draw some of your focus away from the pain in your center.

"I'll take that as a no," he crooned, "don't worry, I'm gonna make sure he takes the time to stretch your asshole out well and he's gonna use plenty of lube."

"That doesn't sound so much like a punishment as a reward, Cap," Tony stated as he reappeared from what must've been the boiler room.

"You being up her ass while I'm in her pussy should be punishment enough for the whole running away debacle, Tones," the blond cooed when a short scream of pain and frustration escaped you, fingers running down your neck and back to rub circles into your skin, "she can keep my cock warm after I cum in her pussy and I'll keep her in place while you fuck her ass."

"No, no! No please… I'm sorry! I'm s-sorry I ran off, I'm sorry!"

"I'm sure you are sweetheart, but you're not gonna learn if you get off without being punished properly. We've gotta incentivize good behavior," Tony stripped his shirt off, followed by his jeans before coming to kneel behind her on the couch, his knees straddling Steve's outstretched legs, "the heat should be fine, the fire will keep us comfortable until the system warms up. Steve?"

The blond pressed up with his hips and you screeched to the extent you were able, tapering off with a sob at the pain of his cock ramming your cervix, "lots more lube. Its gonna hurt real bad while we get your cunt all slick, baby, but you can scream as much as you need—no one can hear you out here."

It was one of the most ominous things you'd ever heard in real life and was proven true very quickly. Steve withdrew just a tiny bit, the drag pulling a wail from your chest. You heard the lid of the lube pop open and felt Tony's hand sneak around your front, liberally coating the exposed length of Steve's cock. When he thrust back up into you it ripped another scream, the tiny bit of extra slide barely making a difference. It happened again and again, every time Steve withdrew Tony added more lube but the pain didn't stop. The drag was agony but the sheer girth of his cock was excruciating— not to mention the way he pounded away at your cervix like a battering ram.

Actually, that part was getting...easier, somehow. Each brutal press against it got less and less painful until your nerve endings started tingling, from the top of your head to your toes. It couldn't have been the start of an orgasm, they hadn't even touched your clit, but the constant pounding against your cervix was doing something. A choked moan escaped your lips, something the pair of them were very quick to catch.

"He's real deep in there, isn't he sweetheart?" Tony asked softly, chest pressed up against your back while Steve continued to thrust up into your slowly loosening pussy, his hand coming to rest low over your uterus, "I can feel his cock pounding at your cervix. Is it gonna make you cum? Orgasms from cervical stimulation are supposed to be incredible, baby, do you want one of those? You might not have a choice, that monster cock is just pounding you, isn't it?"

"N-no, no," your muscles still weren't really working, the tendons in your thighs jumped as you tried to get the right combination of muscles to pull your knees up under you for distance.

"If she comes while being punished I don't know if I can let her go, Tony," Steve panted, thrusts picking up speed while his hands on your hips started pulling you down on his cock in tandem, "fuck, if she comes like this—"

"You make her cum just from fucking her cunt like a battering ram and we'll keep her forever, Stevie," the words were like a promise from the brunet and Steve groaned like he was in pain, "yeah babe? You like that? You wanna keep her? Work for it Steve."

His hips started moving like a jackhammer and you screamed with every ounce of strength you had, any bit of muscular integrity you had dissolving under the onslaught. Tony held you hips firmly in place, not allowing you body to bounce upwards with the thrusts and it was some kind of agony, an unexplainable combination of pain and too much pleasure, too much pleasure. Before you really could comprehend what was happening an explosive orgasm rocketed through your entire body, the muscles you had no control over seizing almost violently while you screamed. There was a gush of wetness as your vision blacked out—you might've gone unconscious for a moment but even when you came too again the system shocking pleasure was there, Steve still working for his own end.

Tony was holding the majority of your body weight and had lifted you several inches higher, to prevent Steve from continuing to demolish your cervix. His arms were tight around you, his lips pressed against your ear. That was so good, sweetheart, take that cock, what a sweet pussy baby, come on now, he's so close.

Steve made a choked noise and suddenly his hands came up to cover Tony's, his superior strength overriding the brunet's hold and pulling you down on his cock. The head hammering against you once again made you scream, an almost heaving sob escaping you as the full body tingles you now knew to be the precursor of a severe orgasm came back with a startling intensity.

"No! No, no, no, no!!" You were screaming, your voice absolutely hoarse.

"Take it, y/n, be a good girl and take it," the words were an order, the husky tone in Tony's voice betraying the fact that he really did get off on the begging, "can you feel his abs tensing up? He's gonna cum."

Tony was right and the sheer force of Steve cumming inside of you, jammed right up against your cervix sent you into another nearly painful orgasm, shaking your entire body to the core. There was no gush of wetness aside from Steve's cum being forced out of you from his brutal thrusts.

It might've gone on forever, you honestly weren't sure how long your orgasm lasted—or Steve's for that matter. Everything felt damp and the pressure in your cunt had increased, sheerly from Steve's cum having no way to escape around his massive cock.

"Jesus," the blond was gasping for breath, sounding like he'd ran a marathon which was particularly disconcerting considering his stamina.

You personally were barely functional as a person, Tony having shifted your weight to once again rest on Steve's chest. There was a forearm under your butt, just barely keeping you from sinking fully onto the cock impaling you and you realized Steve must've had his wits about him better than you did; although you probably couldn't have kept yourself up anyway.

"You gonna make it old timer?" Tony teased from over your shoulder, earning a snarky look from the soldier holding you, "you made her squirt all over the place, the couch is drenched."

"My soul just left my body via my cock, Tony, gimme a second to breathe," the blond turned his face and pressed his lips against the side of your head, nose burrowing slightly into your hair, "your cunt is magic, sweetheart."

"Let's find out if her ass is too." Your non reaction was probably more telling than had you started trying to fight, in all honesty you were so tired. Steve might've fucked his soul out but he'd effectively fucked the life right out of you and even as the cap on the lube popped again and probing fingers slid down the crack of your ass you barely reacted.

"Hold on, lemme move," Steve clutched you tight and shifted until he was laying with his head on the arm rest, adjusting you down so your lower body stayed carefully aligned over his, his softening cock still firmly pressed inside of you.

It was barely smaller as he went flaccid, still pressing so deep you thought you could feel it all the way in your stomach. The girth was still incredibly uncomfortable, stretching your abused cunt but the feeling of two fingers slipping into your asshole immediately distracted you. A small whine escaped, the sound almost lost against Steve's chest. Your brain immediately started a circle of thoughts, no, oh fuck, gross, oh no, not that, oh fuck.

"You're alright baby," you weren't sure if Tony's words were meant to be comforting or if they were actually orders, "you're doing so good for us, keep Steve's cock up there, nice and cozy."

The blond rumbled beneath you, shifting his hips and grabbing your thighs to pull them open wider over his waist. The softness of his cock meant the last inch had been able to press up inside you, the entire thing sheathed in your dripping cunt. The new cant of your hips tipped your ass up and Tony hummed.

"Your asshole is really tight sweetheart, I don't know how much I'm gonna be able to spread you," the snap of the lube lid was immediately followed by Tony scissoring his fingers as wide as possible in your ass, "we'll try this and call it a day."

You squealed and whined, especially when the top of the lube bottle pressed against your open hole. The plan wasn't entirely clear until you felt globs of lube squirting in your ass, Tony apparently emptying the entire tube inside of you. The fullness was uncomfortable, the liquid squishing all around inside and squeezing out when he let his fingers slip. He made some noise, you weren't sure if it was happy or not, before stretching his fingers wide apart again.

"I'd take a deep breath, baby," the tip of his cock began pressing against the spread of your asshole and you felt a desperate bubble of sound travel up your throat, "remember you can scream as much as you need to, sweetheart. I kind of like to hear it."

There was no hesitation as he pressed in, ignoring the screech of pain you let out as he powered the length of it in in a smooth glide. The burn was the same level of unbearable as when Steve's cock had entered you the first time and you managed to clench your hands against the blond's chest, nails scratching a bright red trail against his skin.

"Stop!" You screeched, the muscles in your left thigh finally pulling taut at your orders and your knee found purchase on the couch, "f-fuck! Fuck stop!"

"Your body's acclimating well," Steve grinned down at the top of your head, "I bet in a week or two you'll be able to walk around like nothin'."

"Not considering how much you'll be fucking that pussy," Tony groaned loudly as he bottomed out, pelvis pressing firmly against your ass, "she's gonna be bow legged and walking like a baby giraffe. Jesus, I can feel your cock in there Steve—are you getting hard again?"

Your eyes widened, the blond's hands running through your hair and keeping your head pinned against his chest, "probably."

No, no, no, no, no, you couldn't handle that again, couldn't take that full length and girth again, not while Tony's not unsubstantial cock was tearing through your ass and you could still feel a particular tremble in your muscles from the two semi violent orgasms you'd had. You'd die, your body would give up.

"She didn't like that at all," Tony laughed, laying a hard slap against your ass to make you screech while he stayed completely seated in your asshole, "what's wrong sweetheart, do you not want us to fuck you together? It's gonna get real tight in there."

"She doesn't exactly have a choice," Steve moaned loudly as Tony withdrew in one long pull, the sound drowned out by your scream of pain, "fuck that feels good, Tone."

"Tight," Tony hissed as he forced his cock back in, the available space quickly being filled as Steve's cock began to harden in your pussy, "fuck that's good."

"No, no, no! Stop, fuck, stop, oh God," sobs punctuated every word, the muscles in your arm trembling as you pressed the appendage back behind you, landing against Tony's abs in some desperate attempt for space, "it hurts, please, it hurts."

"You're gonna be alright sweetheart," Steve grunted from above your head, a short moan escaping as Tony sawed in and out again, "it needs to hurt or you might try to run again. You're ours, y/n. We tried to give you space and you abused the privilege—shit, fuck Tony—so you don't get the option anymore. You're gonna remember this, huh?" Steve's hips shot up abruptly and you screamed yourself near hoarse, the head of his cock slamming brutally into you cervix just as Tony pulled back, painfully stretching the ring of muscle around your asshole, "you're gonna remember how much it hurts to take Tony up your asshole when you haven't been kept stretched out, how much my cock hurts in your little pussy when I don't fuck you regularly."

"Please, please, please, stop, please—"

"Fuck, keep begging sweetheart," Tony bottomed out in your ass when Steve withdrew to the tip, ignoring the wail the movement dragged from your lips, "that desperation, that's how we felt when you left. It hurt, y/n. We needed you and you left."

The back and forth of their cocks was unbearable and you resigned yourself to sobbing against Steve's chest, one hand with nails digging into his skin while the other stayed out stretched behind you, pressed against Tony's lower abdomen. It did nothing, neither of them even noticed, and you screamed when Steve suddenly picked up the pace, shooting forward at the same time Tony pressed into your asshole.

You weren't aware you had enough dexterity to thrash, maybe your body was just so desperate to escape the fucking agony that your muscles went nuts in response. Both men were quick to restrain your flailing limbs, cooing while you screeched but both still powering into you at the same time. The pain was unending, punctuated by the feeling of Steve bashing into your already over sensitized cervix. You were gonna cum again, you knew it was coming but the idea of other of those orgasms was both humiliating and frightening—too much, please no, too much, please no, too mu—

"Fuck, can we do this all the time?" Tony twisted his hips on the next thrust, drawing another cry from you even while Steve moaned in response, "I don't think I've been ready to cum so fast in ages, shit Steve your cock feels so good like this, her assholes so tight—"

"Cum up her ass, Tony," Steve ordered sharply, his own thrusts getting harder as he tried to force as much of his cock into your cunt as possible, "she's about to cum, I can feel her pussy, she likes my cock hitting her cervix, don't you sweetheart?"

"Damn, again?" Tony panted, his pelvis slapping against your ass so brutally you wondered if there would be bruises, "she's gonna cum again? We're gonna have to fuck her every day to keep her satisfied, jesus what a greedy pussy. I— I'm gonna cum, fuck what a sweet little asshole— fuck!"

You could feel the cum shooting into your bowels, mixing with the copious amounts of lube and sloshing around. It felt like it was in your stomach, like his cock had dumped a load of cum directly into your belly and the pressure was immense. You wailed, nails once again digging holes into Steve's chest while the brunet finished up.

"I bet Steve's gonna fuck you so hard that entire mess comes out of your asshole," Tony's voice was dark and husky against your ear, "you're gonna destroy this poor couch, aren't you sweetheart? Are you gonna clench up and keep that all inside or are you gonna let it out?"

It's not like you could answer, your voice immediately stolen because the moment Tony stopped moving in your asshole Steve started pounding your cunt like someone had dared him to blast through your cervix with his cock. The scream that escaped didn't stop, your body thrashing as the same painful orgasm tore your body. It came in waves, never ending, especially as Steve continued to batter your cervix. It seemed to take ages before you body surrendered, the extended orgasm blackening your vision. The only thing you really registered as you regained consciousness was Tony's voice.

"Wow, what a mess."

A few seconds passed and your body regained more feeling and you realized he was talking about you. Everything below your pelvis was gushing with cum and lube and whatever had squirted out of you with that first orgasm. A finger dipped into the gape of your asshole and all you could manage was a quiet whine as it hooked the edge and pulled, letting another glob of cum and lube dribble out.

"I'd say we should get rid of the couch, but we might as well keep it until she's broken in," Steve was still below you on the couch, his legs spread wide so that your lower body was rested on the cushion, "oh, Tones did you remember to melt the quick-ice you put on the road? We don't want anyone else to crash."

"I'll send a suit. It's kind of funny that sliding on ice is what got you, huh sweetheart?" There was a teasing tone to his words, but you heard affection there too and that was almost worse because it reminded you how they talked about keeping you.

"Ice is gonna be a bit more of a problem from now on, since you won't be taking that collar off anymore," Steve's fingers trailed over the skin of your neck, where the metal met your skin, "we'll buy you plenty of warm clothes."

"No, we'll keep it nice and warm wherever you're staying," Tony corrected over your shoulder, his lips finding purchase against the skin of your back, "clothes will just get in the way I think."

"Good thinking, Tones."

Good thinking. Fuck, fuck.

content warnings: nonconsensual vaginal fingering, double penetration, overstimulation, cock warming, creampie

#steve rogers x reader x tony stark #steve rogers x reader #tony stark x reader #dark!steve rogers #dark!tony stark #dark!mcu #watch the turn

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regrettablewritings · 4 years

Note

Can I please request B, F, and O for Benoit Blanc? I’m simping for this gentleman sleuth so hard.

I’m surprised you didn’t put DNUT just for the sake of reference 😂 Stuff is below the cut!

B = Baby (Do they want a family? Why/Why not?): While he isn’t against the idea to the point of fighting it, Benoit doesn’t strike me as someone actively looking to start a family, either. At least, not in the most traditional sense of what a family could be. He knows he’s not ancient, but he’s certainly not the very picture of youth, either. There’s plenty of things he’s not afraid to do in fear of appearing odd, but he can’t help but wonder if, perhaps, becoming a father at his age would appear peculiar.

Technically speaking, there’s nothing wrong with it, of course: He’s sure enough men his age have become fathers, and he knows plenty celebrities had at much older stages of life. But no matter what The New Yorker may think, Benoit knows he’s not exactly a celebrity; becoming a father at his age might appear less glamorous. And as flattering as the theory might be, he’s not so sure he’d be comfortable with the world knowing his virility in practice.

But, of course, things don’t always go the way we plan for them to. Just because he’s not actively looking to grow the family doesn’t mean it won’t somehow happen. It’ll catch him by surprise, no doubt, especially given how he’s so used to being able to predict things by calculation and logic, but it’s nothing he’s necessarily going to fight, either. If the great Benoit Blanc is to become a father to an actual baby instead of just a fur baby, then he’s going to accept that position with pride and zeal. (And much confusion, but that’s nothing a lot of research and a handful of classes and Youtube tutorials couldn’t fix.)

Benoit knows the impact a loving parent can have on a child, and he wants to assure any progeny of his is granted that chance. He won’t be a perfect father, he knows that, but he most certainly would want to make an effort to be one that they wouldn’t hate. He’s encountered way too many patricide cases to go lax on it all.

More to the point, however, he’s honestly just content with his family as it currently appears to be. He may come from more traditional and decidedly old-fashion means, but this doesn’t exclude the sleuth from possessing an open-mindedness toward the ever-changing image of what a family could be decreed and recognized to be. And sometimes, a family is just a peacockish gentleman with a thick drawl, his more grounded and snarky partner, and their handsome pet cat who is either plotting their deaths or actually enjoys it when they sing show tunes to him.

There are times when he looks back on his life so far and feels ribbons of regret, however. How might things have turned out if he’d settled down before? Would things have been better? Worse? More or less the same?

Well, whatever the case, he doesn’t intend to dwell on it too often or for too long; you’re here now, and if that’s all there was meant to be, then he’d take it without a moment’s hesitation.

F = Feelings (When did they know they were in love?):

He’s not sure, if truth be told. There wasn’t really a precise moment or even necessarily one singular action that offered him any confirmation. The sting of Cupid’s arrow never actually radiated through him, so much as the realization flitted into his mind as a random memory might. It was simply a matter of fact to him one day: He absolutely adored you.

Part of him wanted to go into detective mode, to use that brain of his and search for a specific date that might have triggered the sensation, or to pester Elliot and Marta by using them as soundboards for his monologues and conclusion. Benoit Blanc is a self-aware man, he’s too old to be caught off guard by his own feelings like a schoolboy. But thankfully for all, he stops himself from doing so when he considers the stance that perhaps the feelings had already been present for months now, that there wasn’t any suddenness to the realization. A sense of jamais vu, but of the emotion. Jamais réalisé. Still, the ever-inquisitive spirit in him thirsted for an answer. He tried to satiate it.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that unlike most, you appeared to enjoy his monologuing. Most people would normally just sit there, the only feedback offered being blank expressions or ones that displayed how thrown off they were about his strange analogies. You, on the other hand, were always listening even when your eyes weren’t directly on him or if you appeared to be busy with something else. Sometimes, if you deemed it necessary, you would even throw in your own input. When he joked about how invested you were, you reasoned that you tended to do the same when you infodumped.

Going off that, he liked when you infodumped: Your entire person would gain a sprightliness to it, particularly in your eyes. The detective truly believed in the value of all sorts of knowledge, and he genuinely did appreciate whatever you had to offer, even when it only appeared to be trivia. The only downside to this was that you almost always would catch yourself and, casting your sights elsewhere, all that vibrancy from before would snuff out like a light. It would darn near break his heart to hear you apologize for “babbling on about such silly things.” He would always insist that it was quite alright, that you needn’t apologize, but you always assumed deep down that he was simply being courteous as all others in his position would be. The truth always was that he was being genuine, you deserved that much.

Maybe he thought you deserved that much because you were relatively patient with him. He didn’t think of himself as a nuisance but Benoit knew that to many, he was more of an acquired taste. He always tried to be polite and considerate but sometimes, his more abrasive traits would come to the foreground, especially when he was on the case. But you never seemed to get especially testy with him as Elliot would. If anything, you were quick to put him in his place with a gently-worded but sternly-spoken reminder that he needed to mind himself.

“The truth can only soothe you so much when you got a foot up your ass,” as you put it once. It got a smile out of him. Of course, he always knew you had some kind of wit about you; one that, while a bit more blunt than his, never failed to make him laugh yet force him to acknowledge the truth. He might’ve been known for his rich vocabulary, but he couldn’t help but admire your own, more direct means of getting the point across. He knew damn well that you understood everything he said, and sometimes he questioned if maybe your responses to him were so straightforward as a means of taunting him over his perceived verboseness.

Even if this were true, he found himself amused every time you opened your mouth. In fact, you were quickly becoming his favorite person to speak to. And he even dared to consider the possibility that, based on how you lit up every time he came to the office, perhaps the same could be said on your part . . .

Well, whatever the case, Benoit never got as far as he’d wanted to whenever he pondered the cause of his feelings for you. Much to his dismay, every effort was thwarted by himself: Every time he came to a theory, he would quickly become sidetracked by other thoughts of you. Eventually he became distracted to the point where every consideration he made could be counted on to be accompanied by some appraisal of your character. In short, he was simultaneously coming up fruitless and fruitful.

But then maybe those were the answers he was looking for. Of course, they weren’t in the usual format he was familiar with but he supposed it was for the best: Feelings weren’t the same breed of mystery as, say, a murder investigation. He didn’t count it as a failure on his part, however (given that Benoit Blanc wasn’t one to quit). No, he decided that perhaps it might’ve been better to keep his work and his play separate. He’d spent enough of his life revolved around solving mysteries, after all; this one, he concluded, was best enjoyed just being experienced as it was.

O = Orange (What colour reminds them of their other half?):

It’s hard for you to choose, really: Benoit is a rather colorful man, after all, with his bright blue eyes and lack of fear regarding certain male accessories. But you do tend to veer towards shades of green. Specifically, peacock green because not only does he own a suit of similar shading, but also because frankly, due to his dandy-like nature, you couldn’t help but compare him to a peacock in your head. Sure, he lacked the arrogance associated with the bird, but what else could you compare a man with an assortment of floral ties and pretty-patterned pocket squares to?

Similarly, Benoit associates you with the color cranberry because of something in your wardrobe: Specifically, the red cardigan you were wearing the day you both met. Admittedly, he’s a twinge embarrassed that he couldn’t associate you with something more overtly romantic: He remembers that you like pink Starbursts but still give him half of yours; he remembers how you argue that black Converses are “the only valid converses” next to glittery ones; and he has no choice but to remember that godawful brown scarf you refuse to discard because “it’s still a good scarf and you’d already had it for this long.”

But you don’t mind. In fact, you’re elated and nearly swept off your feet at the fact: He remembers all the little things from the moment you two became acquainted, even though at the time he was under no awareness or intention that you would become so important to him. You know that, technically, it’s a part of his job to just commit things to detail, but you’ve seen this man forget website passwords and his own keys. Yet, if anyone were to demand that he recall three things from that fateful day, he would immediately recite about how you had a frog Beanie Baby resting on your computer monitor; that you were stabbing your Chinese takeout lunch with one hand and typing up a report with the other; and that you were wearing a cranberry-colored cardigan.

Sometimes, the first two bits were swapped with different things he remembered (all being true), but the one consistent memory that he would always bring up with be the cranberry cardigan. And frankly, you're satisfied with that bit alone.

Thanks for your patience!

#benoit blanc #benoit blanc x reader #benoit blanc imagine #benoit blanc imagines #knives out #knives out imagine #knives out imagines #regrettablewritings #fluff alphabet #fluff headcanons

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snazzy-suit · 4 years

Text

LLoG Chapter (?) Fool Me Once, Fool Me Thrice (Snippet)

Yeah I know technically they’ve only been tricked twice but it’s the third time they’ve been through ghostly shenanigans so let me have this

Can I offer you a snippet in this trying time?

Ever since Luigi’s Mansion 3 came out, I’ve been thinking about the masked ghosts in the lobby and just how bad their disguises were (I friggin’ loved it). I also kept thinking about how things might have gone if Luigi and friends had seen through their ruse right off the bat. I was just gonna let the thought be, but then I saw this clip of Luigi very clearly giving the hotel staff incredulous looks and was like “Shit, now I have to write it”.

So here we are! A sneak peak at my attempt to adapt the events of LM3 so they fit more soundly into the LLoG AU. This is very early in Luigi’s “liaison” career, before he and King Boo have shifted into their odd little frenemy relationship. He doesn’t quite have the confidence that we see later in the series, and still sometimes gets startled/alarmed by ghosts/spirits.

Oh! Also, this is a very rough draft, so if it feels choppy and/or if there are errors (grammatical, factual, and otherwise), that’s because I haven’t gone back and given it the ol’ spit and polish. All my writing starts this way. ^^’

For context, Luigi has just entered the lobby, and in his distracted awe, accidentally bumps into one of the hotel staff.

===

Luigi’s suitcase flies from his hand as he and the other unfortunate party crash to the floor with flailing limbs and undignified yelps of surprise. The plumber, quite used to clumsy mishaps, is the first to recover. He straightens his hat that had been knocked askew and pushes himself up, immediately spying a hotel staff member—the bellhop, to be specific—clutching at their face and blindly patting the floor in search of their own headwear. The odd behavior goes unnoticed, Luigi being far too mortified by the incident to even register it.

“Oh Stars, I’m so sorry!” Luigi cries, rushing to kneel at the man’s side. “Are you alright?”

“I-it’s okay! I’m fine, I’m fine!” the bellhop replies, still frantically patting at the ground. “I should have gotten out of your way.”

Luigi frowns at the response, perturbed by how the man could simultaneously sound both meek and jovial.

“No, I should have watched where I was going,” he refutes gently. Luigi carefully retrieves the bellman’s cap from the floor and presses it into the man’s searching hand. “Here you go.”

“Ah! Thank you, sir!” The staff member shakily dons the wayward piece of his uniform, back turned to the plumber as they gathered themselves. Luigi glances up to see Peach making her way toward them, face drawn with concern. He gently waves her off, silently assuring the princess that they were alright.

“Here, let me help you up,” Luigi offers, extending a hand to the recovering employee. The man turns and reaches up to accept his offer.

“Oh! Why, thank you!”

Luigi only just keeps himself from recoiling. The bellhop’s face...it isn't a face at all. It’s a mask, and a rather eerie one at that. Bulging, unseeing eyes stare back at him—well, sort of. The pupils are just a tad off, and so small they’re practically pinpricks. A manic grin takes up most of the mask’s lower half, every white, too-perfect tooth in full view—so much so it almost looks like a threat display. To top it all off, the mask is pale blue in color, reminding Luigi of a frozen corpse—a rather fitting description for the static expression pulled straight from the uncanny valley.

“No problem,” Luigi answers, struggling to keep composure. He takes the man’s gloved hand (it's cold as ice) and gently hauls them up (they're unnaturally light for their size) to their feet (they don’t have feet. Or legs, for that matter).

Luigi steps back as the bellman begins brushing off their uniform. He has to make a conscious effort not to let his eyes trail down the man’s coat to the marginal gap between it and the floor. The outerwear is far too long for the style, making the man look like a child in ill-fitting clothes, or more morbidly, someone that got chopped in half at the waist. Their attempt to hide their lack of legs drew more attention than it diverted, in Luigi’s opinion. It was so obvious it almost hurt.

Luigi was talking to a ghost.

“Heh, well, that didn’t quite go according to plan,” the ghost laughs nervously. “I came over here to help you, but you ended up helping me.”

A lot goes through the plumber's mind at that moment. How terrible the ghost’s disguise is. How, despite this, Luigi can’t help but be a little impressed that the ghost didn’t instinctively float upward after their collision, and thus, blow their “cover”. How Luigi can’t seem to escape the paranormal for one Star’s forsaken weekend. How, yet again, he finds himself getting tangled in some specter’s scheme.

But none of these thoughts deign to vocalize themselves, and really, it’s for the best. Luigi has to play this smart. Without the Poltergust, they’re doomed if the ghosts realize the jig is up. If he wants to get everyone out of here safely, he’ll need to feign ignorance—at least until he has a plan.

“Help...me?” Luigi says distantly, still somewhat lost in his thoughts.

“Yes! With your luggage.” The ghost gestures to Luigi’s suitcase, lying forgotten on the pristine floor. “Allow me to ease your burden and place it with the others.”

Luigi quirks a brow at his single piece of luggage. Burden? There was hardly anything in it.

“Oh. Thank you, but that’s not really necessary. I can—”

“Please, I insist!” The bellhop interjects, already drifting (quite literally) toward the aforementioned bag. “You’re on vacation, sir! You should be relaxing. Let me take care of the heavy lifting.”

Luigi starts to object, but then thinks better of it. Best not to create a fuss and draw unnecessary attention.

“Okay, if you insist. Thank you, mister...?”

“Oh! Um, I’m Steward! And it’s no problem, sir.”

The bellman’s name...is Steward.

You have got to be kidding.

Luigi quietly watches the bellman as they (rather awkwardly) carry his suitcase over to the precarious tower of luggage the Toads are desperately trying to stabilize. The plumber sighs, studying the lobby with a carefully concealed wariness.

Now what?

Luigi pauses when his eyes land on one of the other nearby staff members. They, too, are clearly wearing a mask, though it’s not nearly as off-putting as the bellhop’s. The static expression is rather lax—eyes partially lidded and mouth resting in a neutral line, neither a frown nor a grin. A thin, curled mustache is painted neatly above the upper lip, and the equally clean eyebrows are raised in a somewhat haughty manner.

When the costumed spirit turns their head to regard Luigi, the pupils of their mask wobble erratically like googly eyes before settling back into a more natural position (as natural as they can be, anyway). The plumber gently waves to them in a greeting, offering what he hopes is a convincing smile. The staff member acknowledges him with a nod. Their neatly combed wig slides askew at the movement, but they deftly readjust it without so much as a shift in their stance. Luigi quickly shuffles past them in an attempt to hide his grimace.

Good Grambi, he needed something to drink.

Fortunately for Luigi, there appears to be a pitcher of tea at the table Mario is still happily sampling treats from. It’s not what he had in mind, but if it occupies his hands and quenches his thirst, he’ll take it. The plumber approaches the table as nonchalantly as he can, grabbing the rather large kettle and pouring himself a steaming cup of tea. His hands shake minutely as he does so, and Luigi tries to convince himself it’s from the strain of hefting the heavy pitcher.

“Hey bro!”

Luigi nearly spills his drink at Mario’s sudden greeting. He turns, shooting his brother a strained smile.

“H-hey bro,” he says back.

Mario grins—oblivious to Luigi’s inner turmoil—as he snatches up a croissant. He takes a hearty bite and looks back to his brother, humming happily as he savors the taste.

“Isn’ thith plathe great?” Mario asks around a mouthful of pastry.

Luigi grimaces, both at the question and at his brother’s poor table manners.

“Yeah...great...”

Mario nods, taking another bite of the flaky treat. When he speaks again, Luigi is distantly grateful he remembers to swallow his food this time.

“Good food, good atmosphere, good friends...this vacation is just what I needed. What we all needed, right bro?”

Oh Stars, this is so unfair.

“Right,” he answers honestly. A nice vacation is what they needed, but clearly the universe thought that was too tall an order.

How is he going to break the news to Mario? And how does he keep his brother from reacting badly?

Luigi looks down at his cup, absently swirling the hot liquid inside. He subtly checks his peripheral for any nearby staff. Thankfully, they’re all a good distance away, so as long as the brothers keep their voices down, there shouldn’t be a risk of being overheard. It’s possible one of the ghosts knows how to read lips, but if they keep their expressions in check, they shouldn’t draw the attention needed to do so. If that doesn’t work...well, Luigi can only hope the masks are as hard to see out of as they are to look at.

The green-clad plumber watches his brother select a soft pretzel from one of the platters, seeing an opportunity as Mario begins to chow down on the salty treat. His brother can’t yell and make a scene if his mouth is full, right? It’s not ideal, but Luigi is too stressed to think of anything better. He gently sips from his tea, and when his brother takes another bite from the pretzel, he speaks as casually as he can around the rim of the cup.

“The hotel is a trap.”

Mario promptly chokes.

Luigi nearly drops his cup at his brother’s rather violent reaction. He blindly thrusts his drink onto the table and ducks around Mario’s distressed flailing to deliver several hard slaps to his brother’s back. Just when Luigi thinks he’s going to have to try a first aid maneuver, the food swiftly dislodges itself from Mario’s airway, leaving the red-clad plumber to hack and cough wetly as he recovers from the harrowing ordeal. Luigi looks up to find all eyes are on them.

Well, that was stupid. So much for not drawing attention.

A couple staff members move uncertainly toward them, as does Peach, but Luigi quickly waves them off.

“He’s fine!” he calls, voice slightly strained with panic. “Just got a little too...overzealous, is all!”

The disguised spirits exchange what might be—sans masks—hesitant looks, but none-the-less return to their stations. For one, terrifying moment, it appears that the princess is going to come over anyway, but another wave of assurance manages to placate her. Luigi knows he’ll need to tell Peach what is happening eventually, but he doesn’t think telling both her and his brother at the same time would be very wise. Keeping one person calm is hard enough.

“Sorry, Mario,” Luigi whispers. “That, uh...was poorly thought out on my part.”

“Ya think?” Mario wheezes, straightening from his hunched over position. “Making a bad joke like that while I’m eating—not cool, Luigi.”

Luigi frowns, but quickly replaces it with a fake smile. He feigns a hearty laugh and throws an arm around Mario’s shoulders, much to the latter’s confusion.

“I’m not joking, bro,” he says through gritted teeth, false grin still in place. “The hotel staff are all spirits wearing disguises. Really, really bad disguises.”

Mario gives his brother a bewildered look.

“If you’re not joking, then why are you smiling like that?”

“Because if they’re watching us, I don’t want them thinking we’re on to them.” Luigi grinds out. He reaches into his pocket with his free hand and retrieves his cell phone. He lifts it up, screen facing the brothers, and turns on the forward-facing camera. “Say: Play Stupid!”

===

And there you have it! Join us next time to see Luigi and friends smiling and taking pictures like good tourists as they scream internally about their terrible predicament. Laugh and cry as the nefarious hotel staff silently beg the mortals to Blease hurry up and check-in these costumes are itchy

#Luigi's Mansion 3 #Luigi's Mansion 3 spoilers #LM3 spoilers #Luigi #Steward #Mario #Peach #I couldn't stop thinking about this #my dingus brain refused to let me work on anything else #the asshole #it's almost done though #then I can finally finish the chapter 5 arc #ffs #snippet #suit speaks

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mollydollyjournals · 3 years

Text

I was 155 when I got up today. More than a pound up. Then I binged. Maybe I gained as punishment for drinking the other day. It just seems so unfair that that could be the case - one day of drinking makes me gain weight, when so much effort before amounts to nothing.

I started to lower my lax dose. I had 4 yesterday, 3 today, it'll be 2 tomorrow then I'll see if I think I need to stay on 2 or can go down to 1. If I don't have to go to the toilet all the fucking time I could do a little more.

But I feel really bloated right now. I just drank most of my lax (about 400ml) in a short amount of time so there's that. And I ate too much. I dont know what'd be worse - if it's because my body can't handle going to a lower dose of lax, or because I really did eat that much. I guess they're both terrible.

I weighed 157.8 just now before bed.

The other day when I first weighed myself it showed 149.6. I knew it was wrong, so I recalibrated the scales and it came to 153.something. But just seeing that felt like such a tease.

I feel like I have no right to complain about being so fat when I've eaten so much today. But I also think it's so unfair how it takes so little to make me gain and even when I work hard for a while I can still end up with no progress. It's enough to make me want to perform surgery on myself.

I went to the supermarket today. I got more safe foods. But I wonder if I should just see how long I can go tomorrow without eating. Another semi-fast, ie fast as long as I can and only eat if I get bad heart palpitations or something.

I have to try to wake up early to go to the pharmacy. I'm about to run out of my meds. I really will lose my mind if I miss that. I'm going to be extremely tired, so I'll go back to bed afterwards. Then I'll see what I have the energy to do. I seem to be nocturnal again already, which I hate. I won't be able to do anything particularly loud like vacuum the house, which is the most inconspicuous workout. But I can still do something. As long as I'm not sick.

I hope my digestive system starts to work again. You're supposed to lower by 2 sachets a day after 8 a day for 2 weeks - I've done 2 weeks of 6 or 7 a day, and now I'm lowering it more slowly. So I'll have more time to adjust. I can't have another blockage. This has been a very unpleasant experience to say the least.

My belly feels huge right now. It'll make it difficult to fall asleep. If I could stay up another 3hrs I could just go to the pharmacy then and get it over with, and maybe be less bloated by then. But I think I'll be sleepy in an hour or two and won't be able to get up and walk and sanitise everything etc. And I'll still be tired when I have to get up later. My body clock is so fucked.

Sometimes I really feel like there's no point in trying to lose weight. I never get anywhere. Why torture myself over something I can't change? But then I can't stand the idea of that. I can't accept my body as it is, and I definitely can't accept it getting any bigger. I wish I could. I just wish I could be happy with my body in one way or another. If I believed in god, I'd want to ask why I was made with such a shitty metabolism and simultaneously such a lack of ability to accept my body while it's fat.

I wish the pharmacy was open now. I'd rather just go and get it over with. I don't want to go at all, I feel like shit. But I have to. I already feel shit enough without missing my meds.

I hate feeling like this. I want to do a microenema and stop feeling so huge. How easily I fall back into purging type thoughts.

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ilikecowsnstuff · 4 years

Text

CHAPTER 18!!!

SUMMARY: UA Hero Course - Third Year. Shigaraki Tomura and Dabi have been classmates and rivals since their very first day at UA. But with new feelings developing how will they cope given their history of fragile and often violent encounters? Their dance begins after a partnered training exam goes wrong, leaving Shigaraki wounded and Dabi feeling guilty. AU.

====================

For AO3 – Click Here

For FanFiction – Click Here

====================

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - YOU NEED A BREAK

It was 12:35 AM. Shigaraki yawned as he stretched and then went back to staring at the computer. On it was the file of the villain from the agency's latest case, one that Fourth Kind had recently detained and who Shigaraki was supposed to be filling out the report for. But he wasn’t really focused. Instead, he played with the pen that was in his hand, tapping it in a rhymical beat against his bent knee, until somehow it escaped his fingers. He looked up and saw that the pen had landed on Fourth Kind’s desk.

The Pro-Hero slammed his hand down over the pen and levelled a stern gaze at Shigaraki.

“Sorry.”

Fourth Kind grunted and then sat back, steepling his fingers in front of him.

“Is this work not stimulating enough for you, Shigaraki?”

“Oh, no sir. This is great. Really.” Shigaraki replied sarcastically, shrinking further down into the couch and bringing the laptop closer to his chest.

The Pro-Hero chuckled deeply.

“You know, Hero work is not always playing outside and catching the bad guys.” He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and extracted a small cigar box as he spoke. Cubans. “Sometimes, you have to fill out paperwork.” He picked up a gold-plated cigar cutter and snipped off the cap of one of the cigars before placing it between his teeth. “Fortunately for me, I have you to do that.” He grinned and then lit up the end with a flick of a match.

Shigaraki looked at him deadpan as a cloud of white smoke rolled upwards before disappearing at the ceiling.

“You asked for the hours, Shigaraki. This is what I need from you.”

“To do all your paperwork and fetch you an espresso on command?”

“Watch your mouth, boy.” He narrowed his eyes and took another puff from his cigar. On the outside he looked perturbed by Shigaraki’s attitude, however, the small curl of his lip suggested Shigaraki amused him, to a small degree anyway. “You are young, you’ll have plenty of opportunities to put your life in danger after you graduate.”

Shigaraki breathed a quiet sigh and returned his attention to the task at hand, plugging in details of the arrest as Fourth Kind had described earlier.

He knew he shouldn’t be complaining, he was grateful for the work and really it was easy money, but after a week of coffee runs, organizing files, and writing up reports he was eager for something more. Something a little more interesting. A patrol even. But Fourth Kind refused to send him out onto the streets. It was Summer break, he wasn’t even supposed to be working. That was the same argument that came back at Shigaraki every time he asked for just that bit more responsibility.

Shigaraki worked silently for the next half hour, diligent, completing the report and helping Fourth Kind in planning the next day without so much as a fuss.

It was getting late and they were both preparing to wrap up a long day, when an alarm and motion sensor detected someone coming into the office through the front entrance. It wasn’t unusual for people to stop by the agency - concerned civilians, police, heroes - but considering the hour it was somewhat out of the ordinary.

“I think there’s someone here to see you.”

“Hm?” Shigaraki lifted one brow and closed the lid of the laptop before powering it down. He dropped it carefully onto Fourth Kind’s desk. “Why would you think that?”

“Just go.” He waved Shigaraki off.

Shigaraki offered him a speculative glance before leaving the office. Down a hall, he entered into the foyer, and turned a corner to where the reception desk was located. Standing at that desk was the last person he ever thought he would see in the Fourth Kind agency.

“Dabi?”

“Hey, Mop Head.” It took just a few long strides for Dabi to reach Shigaraki and when he did, instinctually reached out for some affection.

Shigaraki took a step back avoiding the impending hug and glanced up towards the concealed security cameras he knew were watching them. Dabi stopped and the initial enthusiasm left his face, replaced by something more akin to disappointment.

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re not happy to see me?” Dabi asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

“No… I am. I just…” Another quick glance around and Shigaraki tentatively stepped closer to his boyfriend, wanting to appease him while also simultaneously keeping up an appropriate professional front. He smiled in reassurance, though it was somewhat tense, and took up a lax position beside Dabi, leaning casually back against the reception desk. “I thought you were away with your family. I didn’t expect to see you.”

The corner of Dabi’s mouth curled up into an amused grin and then he leaned forward and kissed Shigaraki’s cheek. His lips lingered, and Shigaraki heard him inhale a deep breath before Dabi was nuzzling his jawline. Unbelievably, he managed to keep his hands to himself.

“I told you I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, you did but…”

Dabi snickered, “But you didn’t think i’d be able to get away from dear old dad?”

“Obviously.”

Dabi pulled away and straightened up. “Well, luckily for me, Endeavour prefers to spend his precious free time with his favoured child. Getting out of there really wasn’t that difficult. He probably won’t even notice that I left.”

Shigaraki snorted a laugh and watched as Dabi strolled around the reception area, looking at the various photos, and framed articles and accolades hanging on the walls.

“Don’t hate me, but I kind of called ahead.”

“Huh?” Shigaraki said, his nose scrunching a little.

“Here.”

Shigaraki’s mouth formed an understanding, “Oh.” Fourth Kind knew their late-night visitor was Dabi, that’s why it hadn’t disturbed him to hear someone calling on the agency so late.

“You need a real Summer vacation.”

“No, I need money.”

“Well, tough shit. I’m taking you away for a few days.”

“I have to work.”

“No, you don’t. It’s all sorted out. You’re good.” Dabi grinned, quite proud of himself. Shigaraki didn’t look half as impressed. “Actually, funny story. Fourth Kind seemed pretty keen on the whole idea of kicking you out of here for a bit.”

“Tch.”

“Shigaraki needs to relax and have some fun.” Dabi said, mimicking Fourth Kind’s deep voice. “Those were his words, not mine. Though, I completely agree.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s great and all but don’t I get any say in this?”

“Nope. We’re leaving now.”

“No, we’re not.”

“I’m not asking. You need a break. Come on.”

“Dabi.” Shigaraki sighed and scrubbed a hand roughly over his face. “Can we please just be serious for a moment. It's almost two in the morning.”

“I am being serious.” Dabi said, his brow pinching together. “I want to spend some time with you. What’s so bad about that?”

Shigaraki searched Dabi’s vibrant blue gaze for a moment, looking for a hint of dishonesty or humor but couldn’t find any. He really was being serious about this. “Okay.” He started, resigned to the fact that he was probably going on a little vacation with Dabi somewhere. “Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

“So, you’re not going to tell me?”

“No.” Dabi grinned, “You’ll just have to trust me.”

“How will I know what to pack then?”

“Well the thing is… I kind of already did that for you.” Dabi said quickly, ending it with a cleverly timed cough.

“You went into my room? By yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And went through all my things so you could pack a bag for me?”

“Yes. And I only checked, like, all of your drawers so...” He chuckled when Shigaraki pulled a face. “Honestly, you’re really not that hard to pack for. And where we are going you won’t need too many clothes.” Another devilish grin and a wink, he ambled back over to Shigaraki and stepped right into his personal space.

“That’s not funny.” Shigaraki grumbled.

Dabi lifted his hand to frame the side of Shigaraki’s face and his fingers slowly swept his jaw. “It’s not what you think. I wouldn’t purposely put you in a situation you would be uncomfortable with.”

“I know.”

Dabi leaned in, and this time Shigaraki didn’t move away. Dabi brushed his warm lips over Shigaraki and their breaths mingled as they exhaled soft matching sounds of pleasure from a long-awaited kiss. Dabi licked Shigaraki’s lower lip and the lighter haired boy groaned, parting his mouth to allow Dabi to touch the tip of his tongue down against his. Dabi withdrew a fraction, teasing, encouraging Shigaraki to lean forward in search of a deeper kiss and when he did, Dabi delved deeper, exploding with a sudden urgency. His mouth was restless, lips moving over Shigaraki and drawing him closer with ambitious hands that slipped around his boyfriend's waist. But it wasn't enough, he wanted more. They had only been separated for a week but for Dabi, who was in an almost constant state of yearning for Shigaraki, it felt like a lifetime.

They broke away seconds later, in desperate need of some oxygen, and Shigaraki pressed the palm of his hand to Dabi’s chest to prevent them from getting carried away by another ardent kiss.

“So, should we go?” Dabi whispered, his voice low and laced with lust.

Shigaraki cleared his throat and nodded his head. “Let me get my... things.”

Dabi reluctantly stepped away and Shigaraki quickly moved aside, though he motioned for Dabi to walk with him.

Back inside the agency, Shigaraki found Fourth Kind still in his office, though it looked like he was getting ready to call it a night too.

“Ah. There you are.” He placed a gentle hand down on Shigaraki’s shoulder and handed him his cellphone, which he had left behind on the desk. “So, I won’t see you for a few days. Correct?” He grinned, a smile full of large perfect white teeth, and then nodded his head in greeting to Dabi. “Toya Todoroki. All grown up. Wow.”

“Sir.”

“Thanks for taking this one off my hands for a few days. Not that I don’t appreciate having him around, but he needs a break. You’re a good friend.”

“I am.” Dabi grinned. “A great friend.” He said with a huge emphasis on the word friend.

Shigaraki huffed, his face flooding with heat. “You’re not that great. Don’t flatter yourself.”

Dabi snickered.

Thankfully, Fourth Kind didn’t pick up on anything beyond their being a friendship. Though, all he had to do was check the security camera footage and he would quickly find out just how friendly they were. Shigaraki internally scolded himself for the impromptu make out session in the reception area.

“And for the record, I didn’t need either of you to decide that I needed a break.” Shigaraki interjected, grumbling.

Fourth Kind laughed, loudly, completely amused. “Get out of here.”

Shigaraki huffed again but nodded.

“Oh, and Toya, if you ever feel like a change in… scenery, the Fourth Kind Agency is always open.”

“It’s Dabi, actually.” He amended, “And yeah, i’ll keep that in mind.”

“Dabi. Give my regards to Endeavour would you.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes and then turned away. He was the first out of the office, with Shigaraki following closely behind. They walked silently and when they cleared the entrance and were out on the sidewalk, Dabi immediately took Shigaraki’s hand, carefully linking their fingers together. Shigaraki did not fight it.

“I’m parked just down here.” Dabi motioned with a jerk of his head.

“We’re driving?”

“Yeah. Car courtesy of Endeavour.” Dabi grinned, and then lifted a key fob. He pushed a button and the sound of a car unlocking with a double beep could be heard just a few yards ahead.

“When you must tell him the story about why his car has a few extra miles on the gauge and an empty gas tank, leave me out of it.”

Dabi laughed and propped open the passenger side door of a blacked-out luxury sedan, inviting Shigaraki to get inside. “I don’t know what you are talking about Old Man. Forgetting things. Must be your age. It’ll go something like that.”

Shigaraki shook his head. All joking aside, he was concerned about what would happen to Dabi if Endeavour found out. First, leaving their family summer vacation, and then hijacking his car to go on a vacation of his own, and with his boyfriend who Shigaraki was sure Endeavour did not know about him or their relationship. That was three strikes.

Dabi closed Shigaraki up inside the car before joining him on the driver’s side. “Look, don’t worry. Really. It’ll be fine. Fuck him.” He pressed the auto start and the engine hummed to life. He then fiddled with the GPS until a map showing the route they would be taking popped up on the display screen.

The back of Shigaraki’s head hit the headrest and he slowly rolled his cheek to the side to face Dabi. He hadn’t noticed it until then, but on Dabi’s face, right by his ear where there was already extensive scarring, was a new wound - a small cut, surrounded by some purple bruising.

Shigaraki’s brow furrowed and Dabi jerked his head over to him. Shigaraki wanted to ask about the injury but thought it best to maybe wait until later - after they had finished their roadtrip.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just… wondering what you actually packed for me.”

Dabi grinned and then returned his gaze forward so he could pull the car out from the curb and get them or their way. “You know, all the essentials. Socks, shampoo… lube.” He joked.

“Right. The essentials.” Shigaraki scowled and looked over his shoulder to the backseat where two packed bags were sitting. They seemed full enough. “Sounds like your plan is to jerk off into a sock later. Fun vacation.”

Dabi snickered. “I did forget your toothbrush though. Unimportant. You can use mine.”

“What?” Shigaraki drawled, unamused. “So, you remembered to pack lube but no toothbrush?”

Dabi laughed again, “We’ll stop somewhere on the way. You know, we might need more lube.”

“I hope you packed enough socks.”

====================

Chapter One – Accidental Attraction

Chapter Two – After Care

Chapter Three – Dazed and Confused

Chapter Four – I Like You

Chapter Five - Friends and Enemies

Chapter Six - Confrontation!

Chapter Seven - Transfer Student

Chapter Eight - A Period of Learning

Chapter Nine - Work and Play

Chapter Ten - Friday

Chapter Eleven - Extraordinary Day

Chapter Twelve - The Problem with Relationships.

Chapter Thirteen - Will You Go Out With Me?

Chapter Fourteen - A Not So Innocent Birthday Request

Chapter Fifteen - The Morning After

Chapter Sixteen - His First

Chapter Seventeen - Summer is Coming

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

What Happens At DragCon... (Biadore) - Miss Alyssa Secret

Biadore shenanigans at DragCon, involving Roy hiding in plain sight (and fishnets and a thong) and Raja’s terrible timing.

Technically Roy is 150% busy with Jamie in London, but let’s pretend he managed to sneak away ;). Standalone from the Not Casual At All series, parallel but not strictly a part of it.

Anonymous prompts: 1) Roy dresses up in bad drag (so he can avoid being noticed) and visit’s Adore’s dragcon booth - up to you if she recognizes him immediately and what shennanigans they try to get up to without the fans knowing. 2) Biadore enjoy the fact attention’s off them at dragcon because everyone’s watching Branjie & take the opportunity to get frisky behind the scenes..

I’ve had a couple of requests on AO3 for a second part, and am trying to decide if it should be a backstage quickie before/after Adore’s runway performance, or full on hotel room smut. Let me know your opinions! -MAS

********

Getting through LAX incognito was easier said (texted? tweeted?) than done, particularly on this specific weekend.

Roy felt justifiably paranoid, peering around corners and keeping carefully non-descript, hiding in plain sight amongst the countless number of other men in slim fit suits with sleek carryons and garment bags. Instead of his usual baggy all-black ensemble, he’d traded the oversized hoody and skinny black camo pants for a blue button down and fitted dove grey blazer with dark wash jeans. Ditching the black-framed glasses was more difficult, but if contacts and hair gel were all it took to move through the crowds of eagle-eyed fans on the lookout for queens arriving…

Slipping on a pair of less conspicuous sleek Ray Bans, he hailed a taxi and directed it to his hotel for the weekend.

********

Groups of people wearing Alaska Thunderfuck t-shirts and bearing strings of Katya’s doll hands were all over the lobby, and avoiding being caught in the background of their numerous Instagram posts was exhausting.

There had been a dicey moment at the front desk, trying to complete check in as quickly and quietly as possible. Thankfully, the oblivious staff member’s cheerful, “Enjoy your stay, Mr. Haylock!” was lost in a fan’s excited scream on spotting Plastique on the sidewalk outside. Smiling tightly, he palmed the keycard and walked briskly towards the bank of elevators.

Traveling with one roll-on suitcase was itself a luxury. Roy so rarely went anywhere without having to bring Bianca’s bags or needing help loading luggage. Propping the suitcase on the coffee table, he checked his phone for missed notifications. There were the usual Instagram tags, but below he tapped on the message from “Pussyface”.

Miss you Willow. Wish you were here this weekend.

Smiling, he sent a string of lipstick kisses and a selfie strategically engineered to conceal any traces of his actual location.

Thirty seconds later, he added a very unsubtle shot of him cradling his half-hard dick, licking his lips when Adore sent back a row of middle fingers.

Roy cracked his knuckles, shucked off the blazer, and opened his suitcase.

He loaded a YouTube video just to check that his envisioned plan of attack was more or less accurate, comparing it with memories of what he’d observed in dressing rooms over the years.

Chuckling evilly, he sat in front of the mirror and set to work.

********

Roy blocked the outer half of his brows, waiting impatiently for them to dry. They felt odd that way, but doing a complete block and drawing them in their habitual position halfway up his forehead wouldn’t look right.

Concealing the shadow along his jaw took a bit longer, covered under a thick layer of foundation a few shades lighter than normal. He didn’t bother with any contouring on forehead and cheeks, instead concentrating on shrinking his nose down, changing its shape into something less narrow.

Frowning, he skipped over the well-used primary colors in his palette before setting it aside and digging back into the bag for a rarely-used case. The shimmering teal he applied around his eyes was as far from Bianca’s white and red-shaded smoke as possible. A little white went into the corners, closer to the scale a woman might actually use to highlight her eyes.

He reached into the box marked “eye pencils” for a mostly used up one, heating it with a hairdryer before smearing it thickly along upper and lower lids. Satisfied with the effect, liquid liner was next, drawing thick wings where Bianca’s raccoon shadow would normally be smudged. A single pair of lashes completed the eyes, and he practiced winking flirtatiously.

Nude lips were next. He studied the effect critically in the mirror (it called too much attention to his damnably distinguishing dimples) before reaching for a bright red. The lipstick was Adore’s, swept into his cases in a dressing room somewhere over the years and never quite returned. Exaggerating a pout, he skipped Bianca’s pronounced Cupid’s bow for a rounder shape.

Setting the makeup cases aside, he peered into the bottom half of the suitcase with a wicked grin.

Inside were items that would never be found in his or Bianca’s closet…but were awfully common among the fans descending on DragCon.

Bianca’s bottom half always started with tucking his exceedingly masculine bulge (“fucking huge dick”, according to Adore) followed by generous hip padding that extended well down Roy’s thighs to create curves and four pairs of tights.

Today, he didn’t bother tucking at all. Tossing the snug briefs aside, he unrolled a small bundle of fabric and pulled it on. The elastic bands hooked themselves over his hips and he adjusted himself, wiggling a few times until he was sure that there wouldn’t be any accidents. A pair of fishnets were next, unshaven legs on full display.

Simultaneously self-conscious and excited to step so far outside his usual comfort zone, Roy buttoned on a shredded pair of cutoff denim shorts (‘borrowed’ from Adore’s wardrobe a few weeks ago and apparently not missed either). The top rode well below the waistband of the tights, thong straps completely visible.

Biting his lip, he slipped on a crop top (also nabbed from Danny’s dresser) over his unpadded torso and a torn up Misfits t-shirt over it all. The holes showed off both the dusting of hair starting to grow back on his conspicuously flat chest, and the fact that he hadn’t bothered to shave under his arms - and wasn’t that an indulgence during Jamie.

Stepping up into shiny vinyl platform boots, he zipped them and examined himself in the mirror with a critical eye as the wig went on. Without Bianca’s usual base, the dark-rooted mermaid green hair settled into place slightly askew. He secured it with a handful of bobby pins, resisting the urge to detangle and blasting it with hairspray.

A spiked leather choker and enormous hoop earrings completed the look. Concentrating on softening his voice, he made eye contact with his reflection. A passable Adore cosplay stared back, and he grinned.

”Party.”

********

The DragCon floor felt vastly different amongst the crowds, not being escorted from place to place and no roar as a recognized queen. Instead, Roy melted into the sea of pink wigs, frilly crinolines, and ridiculous heels. There were dozens of others dressed as Adore, Trixie, Katya, and even a few Biancas that he had to give credit to for managing her face half-decently.

Most of the attention seemed to be focused on Brooke Lynn and Vanjie’s booths. He steered well clear, unsure whether Brooke Lynn’s sharp attention to detail would blow his surprisingly effective cover.

Adore’s line was one of the longer ones, and he could hear her laughter long before the pizza-printed backdrop came into view. Spinning a VIP badge, he slipped into line and kept his face nonchalantly turned towards the floor. He’d been complimented several times already on his “sick makeup”, which hadn’t required more than a smile in thanks, carefully controlled to avoid the dimples surfacing. The makeup changed the shape of his face, but there was no concealing his voice.

He reached the front of the line, maneuvering so that the gaggle of blushing young women ahead of him blocked Adore’s view as they approached her. The giggling and tears were simultaneously endearing and a little odd from this side of the table. After sharing hugs, one of them presented Adore with a gift bag that proved to contain a sketch of Adore and Bianca from one of their many drag selfies.

”Oh wow, did you draw this? It’s so good!” Adore kissed her cheek and beamed at her. “I love it, I can’t wait to show it to Bianca!”

“Ohmigod really?” The girl’s voice was quivering with what Bianca assumed to be excitement, face flushed pink.

“Yeah! She’s gonna love it too.”

”We were sad she isn’t here,” one of the others chimed in, sporting a passable rendition of Shangela’s spiky red outfit.

Adore paused in signing a photo, nodding. “I miss her, but she’s busy being rich and all that in London.”

”We really like her too! What’s she like for real?”

Gesturing for them to join her in front of the photo backdrop, Adore’s smile softened a bit as they moved to either side. “She’s the love of my life, like the most super amazing person ever.”

Roy lost the rest of what she said as the girls arranged themselves around her and several flashes went off. Adore’s seemingly offhand comment filled his chest with a peculiar warmth, and it took squeezing the edge of the table to bring his smile under control.

”Hi baby!” Adore’s voice came from his right.

He kept his chin ducked down, messy curls obscuring most of his face.

”I love your outfit,” she continued, voice gentle as he kept up the shy fan pretense. “Wanna hug?”

She stepped forward with her arms held out, and he let her fold him into an embrace that was 100% Adore but lacking their usual full-body contact. Unable to resist, Roy leaned in until his painted lips brushed her ear.

”Wanna fuck?”

Adore whipped her head around so fast that their noses barely missed colliding. Under the cover of both of their wigs, her mouth fell open and she blinked rapidly.

”What-“

”Shhhhh!”

For once, Adore actually listened and pasted on a wide smile while talking through her teeth.

”What. The fuck. Willow?”

”Surprise, pussyface.” As reluctant as he was to let go, they needed to separate before the length of their hug resulted in unwanted attention.

Holding onto his shoulders, she pushed him back to arms length.

“Oh my gosh, I love you too!” she added a bit too loudly before firmly pulling him back in and pressing his face against her shoulder. “Oh sweetie, don’t cry…”

Sure that he was leaving foundation on her bare skin, Roy nonetheless had to give her credit for fast thinking as she called out a “be right back!” to her staffer and maneuvered him behind the curtain at the back of the booth. On the way, he caught a glimpse of the fans in line behind him, a mixture of envy and hero worship written over their expressions.

********

”What the fuck, Willow?” Adore repeated once they were alone in the narrow canvas-lined corridor between her booth and the one on the other side. “You’re supposed to be in London!”

”You mean I can’t make a trip out to see my best girl?” He grinned, reveling in the shock.

”You…you’re…fuck!” she sputtered.

”That’s me. In fact-“

Whatever he meant to say next was cut off as Adore crushed her lips against his, hands curved around his jaw. He melted into the kiss for a moment before returning it with equal ferocity. Their tongues met in a series of sloppy open-mouthed kisses, lipstick smearing as Roy bit at Adore’s full lower lip.

“-fuck me,” she moaned into his mouth when they separated for air, eyes glazed over with passion. “Missed you so much.”

”Missed you too. You have no idea.”

Her gaze focused again as it traveled the length of his body.

”You look fucking hot as hell as me.” Her hands caressed his exposed midsection, gliding down over his abs and the waistband of the fishnets. “Holy fuck,” Adore groaned when she cupped him through the denim, “I can’t believe you’re wearing this.”

“They’re your shorts.” It was the only thing his rapidly short-circuiting brain could think of, losing the ability to think as her fingers popped all three buttons with one pull and she stared hungrily at the thong barely containing his erection.

”I’m going to-“

”Adore?” The staffer’s head peeked around the curtain. By some miraculous stroke of luck, her back was turned and body angled just so, concealing both her lustful stare and Roy’s open fly as she shoved his face back down onto her shoulder. “Everything okay?”

”Yeah.” Her voice was shaky but firm. “Give me a few? We’re a little uhhh emotional right now…”

”Oh! Of course. Why don’t you take a break for a little while? I can put the sign up for fifteen.”

Turning just enough to wink at the oblivious DragCon volunteer, Adore waved her thanks and waited until the curtain fell closed again before dragging Roy by the hand through the maze of metal supports and backdrops. She didn’t stop until they were both safely behind a door marked Queens Only. Glancing around quickly as she steered him into a corner, Roy realized that the much larger room had been partitioned into individual dressing room spaces. He stumbled a little as she pushed him into one of the spaces, recognizing her beat up makeup cases.

The curtain closed with a snap behind her, and then she was backing him against the wall with a predatory expression.

”We’ve got ten minutes,” she murmured, the husky tone sending a bolt of lust straight to his balls. “Which sucks, because I need to fuck you so bad right now.”

Roy’s head jerked to the side as the sound of rattling hangers came from the other side of one of the partitions. “Adore-“

”Shut. Up.” Her mouth covered his again, fingers delving underneath fishnet and black elastic to grope his ass and squeeze his still-hard cock. His own hands roamed over her in return, pinching a nipple through the gold star pasties and tugging the straps of her own thong.

“You know,” he tore himself free to whisper, “I can’t decide if the string up my ass is making me horny or if it’s the worst self-inflicted wedgie ever.”

”Fucking…B, if you don’t suck my cock now I’m going to bend you over this table.”

Adore looked every bit as serious as her threat sounded, and Roy sank to his knees, taking her pants down with him. Mouthing the fabric straining over the head, he froze when a very familiar voice came through the curtain.

”Adore? You in there?” Raja sounded mellow as always, and a long-fingered hand pulled the curtain aside. “I was wondering if you wanted to go have a- Oh, sorry!”

“Sort of busy right now.”

”I can see that,” Raja muttered. “I’ll umm, why don’t I come by your booth later?”

”Yeah.” Adore’s hands kept his face pressed to her crotch, preventing Raja from glimpsing more than the top of his head.

”…Danny.” She turned to leave, but paused halfway. Her voice was unexpectedly serious.

”…what? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

”Is he okay with this?” Roy froze at the admonishing whisper. While he was trying to be incognito, it wasn’t fair to let someone as perceptive as Raja worry about Adore’s behavior. Tugging free from her restraining grip, he leaned around Adore’s hip.

“He’s absolutely okay with this.” He smirked, watching Raja’s eyebrows fly up towards her hairline. “But don’t tell anyone that.”

”Ahhh. Good to see you, even if you’re not supposed to be here.” Raja let the curtain slip back closed. “You two better be careful,” she advised, “or else you know the rumors. Carry on.”

In the silence as her footsteps receded, Roy sat back on his heels and met Adore’s crestfallen eyes.

”Well shit. She’s right, you know, we probably shouldn’t be doing this here.”

”But-“

Roy hauled himself to his feet, brushing his fingers over her cheek.

“Shh. I want you just as bad, but I’m not going to start what we don’t have time to finish right now.”

Adore’s frustrated growl vibrated against his hand.

“Fuck, I know.”

Reaching into the front pocket of his shorts, Roy pulled out a keycard and pressed it into her hand.

”Three ninety-six. I’ll be there when you’re off the floor.”

”I’ve still got the runway show after. Come see me?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Now get out of here before someone else finds us.”

Adore pulled him into one last lingering kiss.

” ‘Kay.”

Tracing her lips with a finger, he cleared away the remnants of his lipstick on her mouth as best he could.

“I’ll be waiting.”

TO BE CONTINUED?

#rpdr fanfiction #bianca del rio #adore delano #biadore #raja gemini #attempted smut #not casual at all #missalyssasecret #submission #what happens at drag con #canon compliant #dragcon

54 notes · View notes

aterimber · 5 years

Text

One For The Memory, Two For The Pain

Requested by @qslucid I just saw your amazing Samifer fic, wonder if I can request for another? Maybe Demon Blood Addicted Sam, I imagine the scene of Sam drinks Lucifers’ blood and very enjoying it, whether salvation or corruption in the end would be good. <3

I hope you enjoy it!

Words: 1,897

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

“I told you he’d start to suspect something.” The blonde stretched his legs out in front of him, eyes on the giants’ kneeling form as he dug through the closet.

“Oh, well, good for you,” Sam continued flinging clothes behind him, getting increasingly desperate the deeper he dug, “C’mon, it’s gotta be in here somewhere.”

Lucifer peered over the edge of the bed, “What are you even looking for?”

“My contacts,” he reached the back wall of the closet, face falling, “They’re not here.”

“Contacts?” Lucifer sat up, tilting his head slightly in curiosity, “Since when do you wear contacts?”

Sam huffed, spinning away from the closet on his knees, scanning the room, “I don’t. I bought them after the last time they’d….” he let his voice trail off as his eyes landed on the dresser, maybe I moved them? He got up and made his way over to it, pulling out one of the drawers, beginning to dig through it.

“You’re worried your eyes will change?” Lucifer moved to sit on the edge of the bed frame, eyes wide, “How much have you been drinking?”

Sam shot a look over his shoulder, “What? No. Not that much. Shut up,” he turned back to the dresser, beginning his assault on the next drawer.

“Then why do you need them?”

“Hey, Sam,” Deans’ voice made the giant jump, and his head whipped up to face the open door. The blonde surveyed the clothes strewn about the floor, and the open closet doors before his eyes landed on his brother, hunched over the dresser, fistfuls of clothing in both hands, “… You lose something?”

“Uh, yeah,” Sam placed the clothes in his hand down, and straightened up slowly, “Y’know that pocket knife you gave me last year at Christmas? I was trying to find it.”

His brother didn’t look convinced but he nodded anyway, “Steaks are almost done.”

“Okay, great,” the brunette forced himself to smile, “Thanks.”

“They’ll be done in fifteen. Think you’ll be done before then?”

Sam forced a laugh and nodded, “Yeah, I’ll be down in a few.”

His brother did one more take of the room before leaving, closing the door behind him.

Sam let out a heavy breath before turning back to the dresser, beginning to dig through it again, that was close.

“Sam,” Lucifers’ hand on his shoulder made him turn. The devil searched his eyes, “You should get yourself sorted. I’ll clean this up.”

“Don’t be stupid,” the giant waved a dismissive hand at the devil before turning back to the dresser, “I’ll find them and then I’ll-”

“Sam,” he kept his voice hard, “Go shower. Now.”

“But I-”

“Do you want them to interrogate you over dinner?”

The giant open and closed his mouth silently before shaking his head.

“Good, then go. I’ll deal with this.”

Sam raised his eyebrow at the blonde, why are you suddenly being so nice? “You sure?”

“If you get caught you won’t be any fun to hang around,” Lucifer began picking clothes up from the floor, “And try to work on not looking so strung out.”

“I’m not-”

The devil pointed to the door, “Go.”

Sam rolled his eyes but obeyed, padding down the hallway to the bathroom. He shut the door, before turning to look at himself in the mirror, okay… maybe I do look a little dishevelled. He leaned to his right, turning the tap on the tub, nothing a shower can’t fix.

“Hey, Winchester!”

The call made the giant turn, smoothing his shirt back down as he saw a person standing in the open doorway, who the hell is that? The guy came toward him, evil smile twisting his features.

“Christo.” The mans’ eyes flicked black, damn it.

Sam instinctively took a step backward, feeling his leg hit the edge of the tub, scanning the counter for anything he could use to kill the demon.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Sam? Forgot to bring your special knife with you?” The thing laughed as he almost fell backward into the tub, “At least it’ll be an easy clean up.”

“How’d you get in here?”

“Pfft, please,” the demon gave him a pointed look, “This ain’t exactly Fort Knox.”

Sam flicked his eyes to his left, noting his razor sitting in the shower caddy. He turned back to the demon, I should have enough time to-

“What’re you smirking at?” The demon was no more then a few inches from his face, “You want to die or something?”

Sam lunged for the razor, slashing it across the demons’ throat. The demon stumbled back a few steps in surprise, giving Sam enough time to break the blade out of the plastic, before slashing his throat again, deeper this time. The smell of blood filled the room, and Sam couldn’t help the relaxation he felt at the familiar stench. He swung the body around, holding it up above the bathtub, subconsciously licking his lips as he was mere inches away from the wound.

He starred at the blood, free flowing from the demons’ neck, eyes transfixed as it traced it’s way down toward its’ chest. It wouldn’t be that bad if I had some… would it? No, he half-turned away from the body, I can’t. I need to- he caught a glimpse of himself in mirror, noting his bloodshot eyes and too white face, before turning back to the body in his arms, he did say to not look so strung out…

Just enough for me to not look so haggard, Sam licked his way up to the wound, mouth closing around the middle of the cut, sucking that wonderful red liquid down his throat. His body practically exploded the moment the liquid hit his tongue, he saw fireworks behind his eyelids and felt his body simultaneously get its’ second wind and relax.

He closed his eyes as he sucked the blood down, revelling in the way it warmed his throat as he gulped it down.

“Sam?”

The brunette jumped at the knock on the door, dropping the body into the tub, watching as if in slow motion as the water began washing the blood down the drain, shit.

“Sam?”

He tore his eyes away from the body, doing his best to let go of the disappointment he felt as the blood mixed with the water before swirling down the drain, “Y-yeah?”

“Steaks are ready.”

“O-okay,” he turned the water off, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

He held his breath as he watched the shadow of feet under the door. They stayed a moment, and he could practically see his brothers’ raised hand through the door. He heard his brother sigh before watching as the shadows’ turned and disappeared, hopefully back downstairs.

He turned in a slow circle around the bathroom, noting the lack of blood spray on the wall, what the hell? He turned his attention back to the tub, eyebrows raising at the lack of body. How the hell…? He turned his eyes to the too-small window against the back wall of the shower, not too surprised to see it still shut. He sat on the edge of the tub, maybe I didn’t slit his throat deep enough… maybe he was still conscious and vanished.

But why didn’t he just kill me? Sam got up, shaking his head, going over to the sink to wash the blood from his face. He splashed some cool water on his face, noting the way it felt colder then normal. He patted his face dry before running his hands through his hair, smoothing it back against his head, heading for the door, I guess I’m on salt-line duty tonight.

Sam let out a heavy sigh as his body hit the mattress, that was the longest dinner ever.

“Well what did you expect?” Lucifers’ voice made the giant look up, following the devil with his eyes from the doorway to the dresser, “You know everything seems slower when you’re juiced.” At the look the brunette gave him, he waved a dismissive hand at him, “Don’t bother. As if I didn’t hear that scuffle in the bathroom.”

“Speaking of,” Sam got up, despite the screaming of his body not to, “How did he even get in here?”

Lucifer kept his expression careful, “What do you mean?”

“It’s not like Bobby to leave a salt-line unchecked. If there was a break in one of the lines, he would’ve fixed it, right?” Sam brought one hand up to the side of his head at it began throbbing, “He’s not exactly lax about that kind of thing,” he grit his teeth as the pounding began to get worse, involuntarily squinting his eyes against the now-too-bright light, “What the hells’ wrong with me?”

Lucifer pushed off the dresser, walking over to the light switch, flicking it off, “You’d think you’d know by now.”

The pounding slightly lessened and he gave the devil his best confused look, “What?”

“Sam,” Lucifer made his way to the bed, sitting on the edge of it, “You were my vessel. Did you really think any bottom of the barrel demons’ blood would do?” He crossed his legs, shaking his head, “Didn’t Ruby explain this to you?”

Sam shook his head, instantly regretting it as it took the pounding in his head up to a violent stabbing.

The blonde placed an uncharacteristically kind hand on his knee, “If you keep drinking bottom-feeders’ blood, it’s going to affect your body. Hell, it is affecting your body already. That headache you’ve been pretending not to have for the past two hours? That’s because of the blood. That demon that came to visit you, Damon? I know, ironic name, but he’s about as bottom barrel as one can get. You, my vessel,” Lucifer slid his hand up from his knee to his face, “You need nothing less then the highest quality blood. Knights of Hell, Lilith, or even,” his eyes sparkled dangerously, taking a deep breath, “Mine.”

Sam clenched his jaw against the pain in his head, doing his best to turn this new information over, to make it make sense. He watched through his eyelashes as Lucifer dragged a razor blade across his wrist, before holding it up to the brunette, giving him a small smile. Sam wasn’t sure if it was because of the pain in his head that was impairing his judgement, or something else, but he latched onto the devils’ arm and began sucking down that wondrous bright red liquid.

As soon as the first drops hit his tongue, he felt his body relax, and the pain in his head begin to subside. He brought both hands up, keeping the arm pressed against his face with so much force, his knuckles turned white.

Lucifer chuckled, bringing his free arm up to pet his head, “That’s it, Sam. Drink as much as you need. You’ve tapped a never-ending keg.”

Sam kept sucking that crimson liquid down, Lucifer oddly content to sit there and wait until he drank his fill, the sun disappearing from view being the only indicator of how long they sat there. The brunette finally retracted the devils’ arm, an audible pop ringing throughout the room as he let go.

Sam flopped backward on the bed, eyes closing in satisfaction. Lucifer kept petting his hair, watching as the giants’ breath began to even out, “Very good, Sam.”

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

Got your own SPN fanfic idea? Shoot me a message, or e-mail me: [email protected]

#spn #supernatural #spn fanfiction #fanfiction #Sam Winchester #Lucifer #Hallucifer #Demon Blood Addict Sam #short stories #writing #requests #fanfic request #fanfic #Fanfic Friday

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readyplayerhobi · 6 years

Text

Ringmaster Of Your Heart

; Ringmaster!Hobi x Reader

; Word Count: 2.7k

; Cirque de Mystere Drabble

; Drabble request: “You leave whenever you feel like it.” + “Don’t shut me out.”

; A/N: Part of the drabble challenge request. It’s not as magical as the first but I still love Ringmaster Hobi <3 I haven’t proof read either! Sorry :x

“You need to show a little more commitment to your job, as right now we’re not very convinced that you care enough.” Your boss has been reaming your ass out for the last five minutes, all because you’d dared to ask for another few days off.

It wasn’t even a long amount of time, just a Friday and a Monday so that you could have a long weekend. Hoseok’s circus was currently a few states over and only an hour or so plane ride away. You hadn’t seen him in two months, which had been the last time you’d taken a vacation day.

The flu you’d come down with for two weeks was unfortunate but there was little you could do about that. You were a person, not a machine. All that happened when you weren’t at work was that a few Excel spreadsheets weren’t updated, but seriously. It wasn’t that hard to refresh them, just a simple click of two buttons and boom, updated.

Okay so maybe your job involved a few more things but there were plenty of people to cover for you. You didn’t have a client right now, which meant that when you were at work it was just clock watching till the end of the day.

But still, you need this job to pay the bills so you decide to play nice. Bowing your head slightly, you keep your gaze on your hands, pressed firmly on your thighs. “I’m sorry sir, I’ll try to show that I care more. I apologise that you feel I don’t.” You murmur, fully aware you should probably be more contrite.

“I need more than that, your behaviour is very lax. You leave whenever you feel like it and seem to think that we owe you time off. We’re willing to overlook this issue, however your remaining vacation days have been taken to cover the time you were sick.” Your mouth opens to protest, fully aware that what they had done was probably just illegal.

Gritting your teeth and mashing your lips together, you simply nod your head while pure anger rolls through your body like rapidly. He nods smugly, gesturing to the door to signal that you can leave and you rise stiffly.

By the time you reach your desk, you’re not entirely sure what your face is doing but given the cautious look Jisoo has you guess it isn’t good. Staring at the lock screen on your computer, you simply bow your head and scrunch your eyes closed. Just two more hours and then you can be done with this damn place for the day.

Swirling the red wine around in your glass slowly, you simply watch the liquid as it sloshes along the side. You’re sure there’s probably some proper etiquette to drinking wine but right now, you just want to get that nice little buzz going.

The rest of your day at work had been spent in one of those angry fugue states, irritation pulsing through your veins and the most delightful tension headache that you were still suffering from. You’d never really enjoyed your job, but it had slowly devolved into severe hate over the last two years.

And as much as you hated to acknowledge it, Hoseok was the reason you’d come to hate it. It wasn’t his fault obviously, but you’d never felt committed to your workplace. There had been one two many times when you’d been overlooked for a promotion because someone who knew the boss kissed his ass or something.

But it was also because Hoseok and his lifestyle made you see that a 9-5 office job wasn’t the be all and end all of life. Or rather, the 8-9 job you normally ended up doing given that overtime was pretty much expected from all employees.

Every time you talked to your boyfriend, you got to hear about the new locations that he and his colleagues got to experience and the happiness they gave to communities. It was a nomadic lifestyle for sure, but it was filled with people who hadn’t found their calling in life in normal society and had instead chosen to join one that survived only because they banded together.

He obviously had days where he was unhappy, days where he would complain to you about not feeling up to putting on his ringmaster persona or days when a conflict between people would escalate and cause strife. But it was rare as Hoseok seemed to have a generally happy personality, or at least very mellow. It had hard to make him angry or upset, in fact the only time he truly got upset was when he got sad about not seeing you often.

The magic you’d experienced when you first see him, the enchanted atmosphere you’d seen when you’d had your first date, still existed for you at Cirque de Mystère. Every time you visited him, you’d feel the same excitement tumbling over in your stomach that you felt the very first time.

But you couldn’t visit often, and in fact you’d only seen each other physically eight times in two years. Six times had been when you flew to wherever he was with twice being Hoseok taking time off to visit you. Your relationship involved a lot of screens or phone calls, yet neither of you would even consider ending it.

As much as it pained you to admit it, Hoseok was one of the few moments of happiness in your life and you couldn’t bare to not have him in it anymore. As if he was aware you were thinking of him, your phone soon lights up with his name as your generic ring tone calls out.

“Hi Hobi.” You answer, taking a sip of wine while a soft smile appears as you hear his familiar breathing.

“Hi. It’s not too late right? I just finished the show but I think it’s past 11 there isn’t it?” He asks, voice low and ever so slightly croaky. You’d long since learned that he’d undertaken vocal lessons in order to strengthen his voice so that he could project it as far as he did. But it still got strained sometimes.

“No no sweetheart, it’s fine. I was up anyway, it’s the weekend tomorrow so it doesn’t matter if I stay up late. Your throat doesn’t sound healthy, have you made yourself some chamomile tea or something? I left you some in your tea box last time.” Placing the glass on the coffee table, you curl your legs up before resting your free arm on them.

He laughs lightly, the sound just this sound of rusty yet it still makes your lips curl upwards involuntarily. You love the sound of his laugh, it’s like happiness and magic all wrapped up in an auditory present. “I’ll make some, I swear. Wait, let me boot my laptop up and I’ll Skype you?”

You hear shuffling noises on the other end before you agree with him, laughing as he refuses to get off the line. Moving into your bedroom, you place your laptop on the black and white striped covers before sitting down cross legged and waiting for him to start the call.

Soon enough he does, the picture of his smiling face popping up on screen. You end the phone call while simultaneously accepting the video call request. A black screen appears before clearing up, revealing your beloved boyfriend’s smiling face taking up the whole space.

He has a huge grin, revealing straight white teeth, and his eyes are wide for a moment before he giggles, going back to a normal face. “You look pretty.” Hoseok states, eyes tracking slightly as he observes your outfit. You snort and tug at the ratty hoodie you’ve tugged on, green colour pale from too many washes and plain black yoga pants.

“You look handsome.” A shy smile takes over as he looks down slightly but you’re being honest. His hair, once dark but now blonde, is parted just off centre with part of it swept up. It’s his performing hair and you always think he looks good with it, but combined with the smoky eye look he’s wearing today and crystal clear skin he looks unbelievable.

Hoseok pulls away slightly, letting you see that he’s still wearing the white silk button up shirt and he even still has his red ringmaster coat on, causing you to bite your lip. “Wow, you really just came straight to call me huh?” You tease him lightly, causing him to whine softly as he slips the coat off his shoulders and hangs it up.

“I was excited, I didn’t know if you’d gone to sleep. You hadn’t messaged me.” There’s no need to even see him to know that pretty mouth is currently pouting. He’s right, you hadn’t messaged him but you hadn’t been in the right mindset.

“Sorry, I forgot. I had a bad day at work.” Rubbing your forehead with your fingers, you watch as he pauses momentarily in unbuttoning his shirt, revealing just a hint of the toned stomach you know he has. Normally you’d be sat with your face almost pressed to the screen at him undressing, and normally he’d play along and turn it into a little bit of a striptease.

But he can tell you’re not particularly in the mood today as he throws a long sleeved grey shirt on before tugging off his black trousers and slipping into some black sweats. It feels strange to watch him go from magic ringmaster to normal 31 year old boyfriend.

Pouring some hot water into a mug and adding in one of the chamomile teabags you’d bought him, he brings his laptop over to his bed before laying down on his stomach. His head rests on his hands as he frowns at the screen.

“What happened?” He asks, tone soft and gentle and you appreciate that he’s willing to let you vent to him. You have no doubt that he’ll take on whatever role you need from him tonight, whether it’s supportive boyfriend, angry boyfriend on your behalf or anything else.

“My boss gave me a disciplinary because I’ve taken too much time off work apparently. As punishment they’ve made me take my remaining vacation days to cover the illness I had the other week.” Your fists clench immediately as anger rushes back through. “I can’t come see you next month baby, I’m sorry.”

You didn’t even realise that your eyes had filled with tears until Hoseok is making a soft, frustrated noise, his hand half reaching out and clenching in frustration. “What? They can’t do that! I know that, I literally know that. It’s the law.” He frowns in sympathetic anger.

“I know, but what am I going to do? Complain about it? They’d just hit me with something even harder and I don’t have the money to take them on in court. I just accepted it you know? It’s okay, 7 months and then I’ll get more vacation days,” You sigh deeply and look down at your hands. “When are you going to be back near here?”

He’s silent for a moment before you hear his frustrated exhale. “Not until next year. I’m sorry bright eyes, it’s my fault.” Hoseok mumbles and immediately you’re shaking your head.

“No, no you’re not. It’s mine. I made the decisions and I pissed them off. It’s something I have to live with.” You grumble, lowering your head slightly. He’s quiet and you don’t even need to look at the screen to know he’s just watching you.

“Hey, don’t shut me out okay? You don’t have to deal with it alone. I know I’m not physically close to you but I’m here. We’re in a relationship and that’s a two way street. You cope with my problems, I cope with yours. Talk to me.” Hoseok’s voice is soothing and low, the sheer love and care in it causing you to let out a frustrated sob.

“I hate that place Hobi, I hate it. I wake up and just wish I could go back to sleep. And now I’m not even allowed to take time off to go see the person who makes me happiest. I’m so angry and frustrated over it. I’m so sorry I can’t see you, you deserve someone better than me.” You don’t intend the words and he’s shaking his head immediately.

“No I don’t. I deserve you, because you’re a great person. Don’t let this get you down, I can’t do anything about your job but I can make you smile. I can come to you, it’ll work out so don’t worry about it okay?” He speaks softly, pleading with you to stop crying.

You’re shaking your head immediately at his words. “I can’t make you come here Hobi. The circus needs you and they can’t cope with you leaving all the time. It’s not fair to expect you to come here.”

He sighs deeply and there’s silence between the two of you for a moment, neither of you sure what to say or do. At least until a thought suddenly occurs and you’re wiping your tears away slowly, calculating everything.

It’s a sign of how well he knows you that he can detect the difference in your demeanor immediately. Perking up, he runs a hand through his soft blonde hair and focuses on his soft, brown eyes on you. “What is it?”

“You remember that thing you’ve been teasing me about for two years now?” Soft lines furrow his brow as his eyebrows dip down, trying to remember what on earth he’d said. In fairness, he’s teased you about a lot of things. “Well, is it still on the table?”

His mouth twists as he thinks back before his eyes suddenly go wide, looking back at the screen in shock. “Seriously? Are you being serious right now?” He whispers, restrained excitement twining through it as the corners of his lips fight to stay neutral.

“Yeah, why not? I hate my job and they’ve made it clear I’m never advancing anywhere. I’m forking out money for this place when I could be there with you, like you’ve always wanted. I mean, it might be a bit cramped in your trailer but I don’t mind that. I mean, if you’re okay with it? And I can finally do the marketing I’ve always wanted for something I truly love.” Your own voice, which has spent most of the conversation sad is picking up in tone and pitch, happiness overflowing as you imagine the future with him.

He’s silent and you look back down, suddenly worried that maybe he’s shied away from the idea of you moving in with him and working for the circus now that you’ve agreed. But instead you see his beautiful, bright smile and eyes that practically sparkle with exhilaration.

“Bright eyes, I am more than okay with this. You can finally do a job you love! I swear you’ll have free reign and you know everyone loves you here. And I can always buy a bigger trailer, I have a small one as I didn’t need much space but I can upgrade for definite. Oh my god...oh my god.” You can’t help but giggle at the enthusiasm he shows, happy that he seems to be as excited as you are about the idea.

“Okay then, let’s do this. I’ll write my letter of resignation right now and hand it in on Monday.” He nods his head with a grin, trying to chew his lip so that you can’t see how happy he is. But he’s practically radiating it.

“I’ll be waiting for you then, a month on Monday.” You let out a squeal before falling backwards, the anger of the earlier day truly gone as you wriggle around on your bed. Slowly you roll around until you’re facing the screen once more, a soft smile on your face as you see Hoseok watching you with soft eyes filled with love.

“I love you.” He whispers quietly, eyes flickering over your image as he tries to memorise each pixel. Your stomach flips at the thought of you being able to do this in person, permanently and you giggle.

“I love you too. And I can’t wait to live with you.” Whispering softly, you reach out and gently trace his face on the screen. He chuffs out a laugh before doing the same to his own screen, your special ringmaster who has magicked your heart away long ago.

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quarantineroulette · 5 years

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Minor Disappointments’ Least Disappointing Releases of 2018

Preamble: I had a bit of a low (not Low, although that would’ve been preferable) period in 2018 that went on for several months. I didn’t really listen to music during that time, and so I missed out on a lot of things. I’m kind of too scatterbrained from holiday hysteria to really take in anything new. So these lists probably don’t designate “the best”, but they’re decent documents of what I wasn’t too distracted or down to take serious notice of.

Secondly, my own band released an album this year, and that occupied a large amount of time normally reserved for listening to other bands. I won’t rank it because I don’t want to be that conceited...but if you want to check it out for yourself, the highlights for me are “For the Rest to Rest”; “Open Up the Ways”; “Screen Test”; and “Suspend Disbelief”. One of my favorite reviews of it described our sound as being a “unique blend of post-punk, brit-pop, indie, and a little post-rock too.” and said we’re “one of the smartest bands to come out of Brooklyn in a very long time.” This is both why people should listen to it and also why they might not.

Thirdly, one of the things I listened to the most this year was Protomartyr’s Consolation EP, but I’m refraining from listing it as it’s not a full-length. That said, I think it’s as good as nearly anything I’ve heard this year, Protomartyr are the best and both of their live sets I caught were my favorite gigs of 2018. TLDR: Protomartyr = good. Most other things on this list = equally good but not Protomartyr. Let’s get started shall we?

10 Songs That Were Good:

10) Neko Case & Mark Lanegan - Cures of the I-5 Corridor. How has a Neko Case / Mark Lanegan duet not existed until 2018?? No matter the year, something this gorgeous and heartbreaking is always worthy of making the cut.

9) Lana Del Rey - Mariners Apartment Complex . I remember Spencer Krug tweeting something kind of snarky about “Venice Bitch” a few months back, then deleting it, and damn well he should’ve because both that and “Mariners Apartment Complex” are blinders. “Venice” may be the most low-key epic ever, but the way “Mariners” takes hints of Leonard Cohen and Lee Hazlewood / Nancy Sinatra and places them in a pop context is perhaps even more admirable. It’s truly inspiring to hear mainstream music this nuanced.

8) Parquet Courts - Tenderness . I love the jaunty piano, and how Andrew Savage’s vocal take is simultaneously forceful and lax. But most of all I love how all its elements converge to create a sense of hard-won optimism.

7) Iceage - Thieves Like Us . Iceage do a swamp cabaret song and I just can’t love it enough.

6) MGMT - Me and Michael . Yes, it’s ridiculously ‘80s, but you would have to be a very dour person to not smile whenever that opening synth riff kicks in.

5) Shame - One Rizla . Riff of the year. Hands down.

4) Bodega - Jack in Titanic . One of the great things about 2018 was witnessing Bodega’s success. To me, they’ve always been one of the few up-and-coming indie bands with the charisma to be actual stars, and it’s been a joy seeing the rest of the world take note of this. From the moment I heard “Jack in Titanic”, I just knew it was destined to show up on a BBC Radio 6 A-or-B list at some point in the near future (and it did!). And yeah, they’re my good friends, but even if they were strangers I’d appreciate the smartness, melodic hooks, and sexiness all the same:

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3) Preoccupations - Disarray . Click on that link because the song is really good, but be warned -- the vocal melody is never, ever going to leave you.

2) Protomartyr - Wheel of Fortune . This song has everything: a nerve-wracking stop and start guitar part, an at-once badass and terrifying refrain, Kelly Deal, and the exact sense of urgency that’s needed right now. Powerful, timely, and a rare example of a song that puts its guest star to highly effective use.

1) Janelle Monae - Make Me Feel . This song combines about five different Prince songs but Janelle Monae’s personality is so strong that the end result is something wholly her own. And if the song weren’t a blast on its own, the technicolor video is almost lethally fun:

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10 Albums That I Loved A Lot:

10) Arctic Monkeys - Tranquility Base Hotel and Casino . I really loved this album but I’m ranking it as 10 just because it’s the Arctic Monkeys and I can’t believe I enjoyed anything they’ve produced *this* much -- especially a lounge album about a casino on the moon. I find Alex Turner overrated as a lyricist and cosplaying a Bad Seed isn’t endearing to me, but he obviously loves Scott Walker a lot so I guess he gets some sort of pass.

9) Moonface - This One’s of the Dancer and This One’s for the Dancer’s Bouquet . The only reason this isn’t ranked higher is because I haven’t been able to give it the attention it deserves. This is a concept album where some songs are sung from the pov of the Minotaur and others from Spencer Krug, and both these creatures are enigmatic are too enigmatic to be given mere surface reads. This all said, I’ve listened enough to glean that, as always, Spencer’s lyrics are awe-inspiring, the marimba is implemented well, the alternate version of “Heartbreaking Bravery” is excellent, and comparing and contrasting its themes with those found on Wolf Parade’s 2017 release Cry Cry Cry is a fun past time if you’re me or seven other people. Looking forward to delving deeper in 2019.

8) Janelle Monae - Dirty Computer . To be honest, I *was* a little disappointed in this. It’s not as cinematic or stylistically adventurous as Monae’s previous full-lengths, but I think Monae herself is extremely talented and I wish she was a much bigger star. Furthermore, when considered against the drek of the general pop landscape, this is still a bold, unpredictable, and intelligent pop record from a true enigma.

7) Luke Haines - I Sometimes Dream of Glue . Like “Kubla Khan” if it had been written after huffing a river full of glue, but instead of Xanadu it’s an English village full of miniature people having a orgy:

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6) Parquet Courts - Wide Awake! . No other song better captures the frustrations and anxieties of living in NY in 2018 than “Almost Had to Start a Fight / In and Out of Patience”, and for that alone this album would make the year-end cut. But it also happens to be brilliant start to finish, with the two closing statements, in the form of “Death Will Bring Change” and “Tenderness” respectively, being among PC’s best.

5) Low - Double Negative . Mimi Parker’s voice emerging from a sonic cocoon on “Fly” is one of the most gripping moments of Low’s fantastic career. This album challenged me the most in 2018, but it’s also one I frequently returned to, determined to crack its code.

4) Preoccupations - New Material . I suppose some would dismiss this as too trad. post-punk, but holy hell - these trad. post-punk songs have got some hooks! And there isn’t quite another singer like Matt Flegel, who somehow manages to channel Bowie and Mark Lanegan at the same time. I’ve listened to this so much that New Material already feels like a well-loved classic.

3) Gazelle Twin - Pastoral . I would argue that Pastoral is the closest anyone’s come to making something comparable to PJ Harvey’s Let England Shake. An electro-pagan examination of Britain’s heritage and history (and the whole Brexit thing) that manages to feel thorough despite only being 37 minutes long, Pastoral moves beyond being just “a record” and becomes something closer to contemporary art. Elizabeth Bernholz’s vocals, whether warped or unconstrained by processing, are remarkable throughout. A mash-up of folk traditions and modern beats that somehow works shockingly well:

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2) Idles - Joy as an Act of Resistance . Boyfriend / bandmate James and I have discussed this album more than any other this year, and it’s been a pleasure hearing his love for it and forming my own appreciation of it in the process. What sealed it for me was James’ description of “Idles” as pagan, and how the band’s use of repetition and simple melodies (as well as their bacchanalian stage presence) created an air of ritualism. In their primalness, they even remind me of The Birthday Party - a “woke” Birthday Party, but a Birthday Party all the same. My favorite musical moment of the year may very well be Joe Talbot’s first shout of “UNITY!” in “Danny Nedelko”, primordial, raw, unpretentious, and completely punk. We *need* these guys right now:

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1) Suede - The Blue Hour . There is a joke in the TV show 30 Rock in which Jack Donaghy -- Alec Baldwin’s network head character -- says he attended Harvard Business School, where he was voted “Most”. The Blue Hour could be considered “Most” -- it’s meant to be taken as one piece, it’s insanely grandiose and, like its predecessor Night Thoughts, listening to it makes everything in my life seem 18 times more dramatic and tragic. I don’t know how, but this bizarre mashup of Kate Bush, Jacques Brel, Pink Floyd, Scott Walk, Gregorian chanting, classic Suede, spell books and (of course) David Bowie somehow seems bizarrely in step with 2018. Seeing as this top three consists of albums that are arguably “pagan”, and folk horror’s representation in popular 2018 films like Hereditary, The Blue Hour feels accidentally on trend. It’s crazy to think that a band whose first release happened 25 years ago could still be relevant in 2018, but Suede somehow are so please give these dads a hand and then listen to The Blue Hour’s glorious closing trio of songs a lot, because boy are they “Most”.

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