#like i would be jumping between tabs and they’d just be there FUCKING KISSING

[fortheloveofbuddie]

HOW AM I EXPECTED TO JUST GO NORMALLY ABOUT MY DAY WHEN THAT FUCKING HAPPENED??

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #911 on abc #tommy kinard #911 spoilers #a gif that tanis sent me of the kiss has been open on my laptop all day #like i would be jumping between tabs and they’d just be there FUCKING KISSING

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Tell Me Everything

Follows Found Out, Akio, Chris Sees, and I’m Here

CW: References to murder, suicide, grief, pet whump, abduction, whump of a minor, ableism, Oliver Branch manages to be creepy even now in brief reference

He’s shorter than Ben thought he would be.

Ben sees him first, but, like of course he does - Akio Nakamura isn’t exactly famous but he has his own youtube channel and is like an Olympic-level athlete, so he’s pretty fucking recognizable... if you’ve spent two days scrolling through every Instagram photo of him on three different accounts that you can find. 

Ben showed up thirty minutes early, because Ben has never been late to a fucking thing in his life and something tells him this is maybe one of the most important things he’ll ever do, even though he doesn’t quite know why. 

Something about it keeps picking at his mind, taking it apart, unraveling him with the reality that someone fucking cared about Chris, before whatever happened. Chris doesn’t remember much, and Ben and Laken had done the googling and searching and shit, trying to get some idea of what the hell could have happened to make someone like Chris - bouncy and full of sunshine optimism even on his bad days - end up at a place like WRU.

They’d found nothing a first. But Ben hadn’t known what he was looking for, then. Now that he knows what to look for, he can’t stop finding things. He feels like a detective or someone who has lost his mind, desperately piecing together a life that was interrupted, like someone disappearing mid-sentence, and Ben is following a trail of the words he said before. 

He finds human-interest stories from ten years ago, digitized articles from old community newspapers. He finds more photos from the gym, photos where the redheaded boy is in the background, or in the front always looking slightly off to one side, rarely smiling for the camera but happy to smile as long as he didn’t have to look right at it.

He finds out Veronica Higgs, murdered in the double-homicide that had destroyed the life of Tristan Higgs, had a facebook page, and it’s marked as In Memorial. So is her husband’s, but Paul Higgs’s page is private and his profile photo is a meme that hasn’t been a thing since…

Since they died.

Something about that makes his throat close up as he scrolls Ronnie’s last few public updates, the scattering of people who have left comments saying they miss her, they’re thinking of her, they hope she’s in a better place. Comments are left on the last post like clockwork, once a year, by the same few people. 

Thinking of you today, Ronnie. 

Saw your favorite bird today!

Hope you and Tris and Paul are happy wherever you are now, Ronnie. I take comfort in knowing you’re still together.

Happy Heavenly Birthday, Ronnie!

Left flowers for you today, Ronnie. Jennifer did a routine this year that uses some of Tristan’s music, we’re always thinking of you!

Thinking of you

Miss you

Hope you three are happy together

Miss you, big sister, always.

One day I’ll stop leaving comments like you’re still here. I was watching the old videos and gosh, I couldn’t help but think how proud we were of our boys back then! Rest in peace. Give Tris a kiss for me. That’s Aimi Nakamura, that’s Akio’s mom. Her profile photo is her with her arms around Akio himself, wearing his leotard and holding up a medal with a bright smile, and a younger teenager who must be his little sister - she’s just wearing regular clothes. Feeling like a stalker, Ben opens the mom’s facebook page in a new tab. He absolutely does not look at the photos of Akio she’s posted. He does not do that at all.

He might do that later.

For now he goes back to Ronnie’s page, sees that her last post was brief, something about looking for a recipe, crowd-sourcing. Tris asked to try baked oysters, isn’t that funny? Only my kid, I swear. He’d said seafood is ‘slime’ except for tuna since toddlerhood, but no, this week he wants oysters. He said he wanted to try something new for once and he might as well go as far from the usual as he could get. I

One of the joys of all of this is how when he gets something in his head, I just go with him, and we see what’s on the other side of the jump, right? Watch him spit it right back out. 

It’s fucking ordinary. 

She posted it a couple days before she was murdered.

That doesn’t seem fair, does it? He just can’t wrap his head around it. She was a good mom taking care of her kid, she got some recipe ideas... but then she never cooked any of them because she just… died?

She died, and Tristan’s - Chris’s - dad died, and then there just wasn’t anybody? There wasn’t anybody to take care of a kid who couldn’t take care of himself yet? Nobody at-fucking-all, to keep Tristan safe and loved when the people who loved him the most were gone? 

How the hell did he go from placed in the care of relatives to just... gone? How did he go from gone to a rescued runaway pet with a new name and a new life? What happened in all that gray space in-between?

Ben blinks back tears.

Whatever it was... could that happen to Jamey? Ben’s whole family has built their existence on holding his little brother together through the ways the world wants to shred everything about him. He’s spent nearly all the life he remembers with his brother’s hand closed in the fabric of his shirt, shadowing him through the world, reminding him that you can’t trust everybody, not everyone has good intentions. 

Ben doesn’t even have to think before he’s moving in front of him to block out the noise and chaos of the world that Jamey just can't filter the way Ben can. He knows that when - hopefully forever from now - their parents die, Jamey’s going to move in with Ben. 

It’s never been a question. He doesn’t want it to be a question.

But... what if Ben wasn’t there? What would happen to Jamey if his Mom and Dad were gone, and nobody was there who wanted to keep Jamey safe? He can’t stop thinking about it. He cycles around and around, and Laken called him yesterday and said not to talk to Chris for a few days, that he saw the video and he’s not okay, and Ben’s not fucking okay, either, is he?

This could happen to Jamey.

Someone could see him, alone and vulnerable, and think, no one will stop me and he can’t stop me either, and then Jamey could disappear and then just not be Jamey anymore, and there wouldn’t be anyone to save him-

Ben looks up from his phone without focusing on anything, sniffing back the pain, the tight feeling in his chest at the idea of his little brother, disappearing into some dark hallway and never coming back. Just some photos on Instagram, a video of two, some mentions on somebody’s In Memorial Facebook page, that’s all that’s left of his silly, serious, annoying, funny little brother?

Like someone turned out the light on Jamey’s life and the world just forgets him, because his family isn’t there to keep him safe and Jamey can’t always tell who you can trust and who you can’t, and… and Chris can’t either, can he?

He just wants to think the best of everyone, he forgives everyone who hurts him so easily, so quickly, like it’s second-nature, like...

Did Tristan Higgs want to think good things about whoever did this, whoever had him erased, whoever handed him off to be turned into one of those blank empty-eyed dolls celebrities and rich people drag around? Did Tristan Higgs trust the person who gave him away to be erased, because he didn’t know not to?

Who the fuck bought him?

How did it all fucking happen?

The bell chimes. Akio Nakamura is right on time.

And he’s short.

He’s got a natural almost-smile on his face at all times, a hint of tan to his skin even now in the early spring, wearing a thin gray hoodie, unzipped over a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. His muscles aren’t visible, like this, but Ben has seen the videos and knows they’re there, the body of a trained athlete hidden under casual clothing. His hair isn’t as short as it is when he competes, in the videos Ben has already watched over and over entirely for research purposes. It’s a little longer, starting to flop over his forehead.

Dark eyes scan the interior of the store, and Ben raises one hand to catch his attention.

The smile brightens, briefly, with a quick nod - like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, Ben feels that smile as a physical warmth in his chest - and he pushes the rest of the way inside, walking straight over. 

“Hey,” Akio says, and his voice is a little deeper than it seems in the youtube videos where he narrates, and Ben, for one shining moment, completely forgets how to speak his own fucking native language.

His mouth opens and nothing comes out - except maybe kind of a croak, which, please let that not have been audible - and he clears his throat, waiting for his brain and his body to remember how to work together. “Uh… um, h-hey,” He says, finally, and shifts uncomfortably. “You’re-... right. I’m, um. I’m Ben.”

“Yeah. I, I figured, you look just like your profile photo.” Akio laughs a little, dropping into a seat cross from him, sitting casually and letting his eyes roam over the mostly-empty interior of the shop, painted with bright colors and lined with posters about ice cream. 

Ben could not possibly have picked a worse place for a professional athlete to go to… meet and talk about his dead friend, could he? Oh, God. Oh he’s a fucking moron. “Right. Uh, sorry, I couldn’t-... when you asked to meet on the phone, I kind of blanked and this was the only place I could think of-”

“Hey, that’s all right. I like coming here, when I’m off from competing. It’s been a while. Hope you don’t mind if I stick with an iced coffee today, though, I’m not feeling ice cream.” Akio grins at him, and Ben’s knees might buckle if he wasn’t sitting down already. The smile takes over his entire face, lights it up, and it reminds him so much of Chris when he’s really happy, the way Chris smiles with his entire fucking body, not just his mouth. 

“Yeah, it’s… no problem, I’ll order, I picked here, anyway. Just the iced coffee?” 

“Yeah, please. Also, I should warn you - my mom is lurking across the street faking an interest in whatever they sell at Paisley Poses and she’ll probably stop pretending she’s not here and show up before we’re done. She’s… uh. Well, get the stuff, and then I’ll, um, I’ll explain.”

“Right. Got it.” Ben’s grip on his phone is white-knuckled as he stands up, aware of every movement of his body as he walks - and he walks normally, right? Not, like weird? It’s not like Akio is watching him walk anyway, probably - over to the cash register. The cashier, whose hair is dyed a pale faded sort of seafoam green, almost the color of those weird mint shakes you can buy from McDonald’s in April, takes his order with a flat affect, unbothered, uncaring.

Ben doesn’t know what he orders for himself. His mouth moves and words come out and then he realizes he doesn’t know what he just said. 

Whatever it is, he pays for it.

He takes the little number-on-a-stick, and carries it back to the table to wait. 

“Iced coffee it is,” He says a little breathlessly. “Um, it’ll be just a sec. They’ll bring it out with my… with mine.”

Shit, what the fuck did he even order for himself?

“No problem.” Akio’s eyes move over his face, considering. He’s sitting slouched a little, but it doesn’t look quite natural - like his posture is usually so much better and he’s trying to look like everyone else. Ben’s eyes are drawn to his hands, folded over his stomach, over wrinkled white shirt fabric. He has a blood-bruise under one thumbnail.

What a weird fucking thing to notice about someone.

“I-I don’t really know where to start,” Ben admits, slouching himself. He runs his fingers over the textured case of his phone, a charcoal-black with rough edges. Jamey likes the texture on his phone, will just sit and rub the pads of his fingers on it over and over and over again, smiling in a distant way, sitting next to Ben on the couch while Ben watches TV and Jamey, who can go days without speaking and is currently one hundred percent all about how they film movies and tv shows, explains every fucking cinematic trick every camera is using at any given moment.

It’s nice.

It’s how Jamey says he loves you, by sharing what’s up in his head whenever he can, and Ben - when he’s home - always tries to listen. 

“Yeah.” Akio laughs again, and Ben decides it’s a good laugh - strong, and not overly loud, and a little infectious. “Yeah, me neither. I don’t-... how do you even begin a conversation like this? Hello, nice to meet you, what do you know about my dead best friend? I don’t know what to say, just… we don’t even know they’re the same person, do we? Maybe they just look alike. Fuck.” Akio laughs once more, but this time it’s shaky, breathier. “I genuinely can’t decide if I want him to dead or not, I just-...”

Ben takes a breath, thinking of Laken’s voice on the phone yesterday morning, exhausted and rambling after a night of not sleeping, their fear and grief and love for Chris, telling Ben to go ahead with this meeting, but Chris needed time. “They’re definitely the same person,” He says, voice low and quiet. “We, um. He saw the video you posted, and he kind of-... freaked out.”

“Freaked out?” Akio blinks, sitting up a little straighter. His eyes are focused completely on Ben’s face, which would make him blush if he weren’t trying not to look directly at him. “What do you mean?”

Ben swallows. “Um. Just. He’s-... he doesn’t remember. Or… he didn’t. Seeing the video might have… brought some stuff up. Like, a lot of... bad stuff.”

Fuck, I’ve never heard him scream like that. Laken’s voice, rough-edged, laced with their tears. I can’t believe… he needs a few days, he can’t go with you to see this guy, Ben. He’s-... he’s super fucked up right now. I’m so glad his brothers know what’s happening to him because I-I don’t know what to do and he won’t let me anywhere near him. 

Akio nods, slowly, and his hands worry at each other under the table, the smile faded and replaced with seriousness, uncertainty. “Yeah, when you said-... anyway, I looked the company up, and it’s-... it’s weird, I knew about pets, but I guess… I mean, he wasn’t old enough to…” 

“Um… yeah. So, um. I know, but they-... clearly they still did...”

They sit there in an awkward silence, and then Akio pulls his own phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. “Let me show you something. Tris and I shared our passwords for Instagram, way back, and when he-... went… when his aunt took his phone away-”

Ben’s eyebrows furrow. Something about that pricks at him. Miss you, big sister, always. 

“He went to live with his aunt?” Ben asks. The cashier reappears, setting a plain iced coffee down on the table, and Ben discovers he apparently ordered iced coffee with a scoop of ice cream for himself, and that’s not bad, good for him. It’s even his favorite ice cream, vanilla with almond and chocolate chips.

“Yeah, his Aunt Jo, his mom’s sister.” Akio shrugs one shoulder. “I never met her, she never came to meets or anything. Tris always said she was kind of a shit to him and his dad.” Something in his jaw is tightening - and the line of his jaw is catching Ben’s eyes entirely too much for the seriousness of this conversation. He can’t stop himself from looking. “She’s who he went to live with, after. She took his phone away because he was complaining to, um, to my mom and I - my mom and Ronnie, Mrs. Higgs, were… you know, team moms.” He shrugs, and Ben doesn’t know, but he nods anyway. “He was complaining about how she took him out of therapy, and… uh, you know, Tris needed therapy, just-... it helped him to, um-”

Ben swallows. “Self-regulate,” He says, softly. “Redirect potentially harmful stims. Figure out how to filter.”

“Right.” Akio smiles, a little shamefaced. “Sorry, it’s been… fucking years since I had to think about this so much. It’s… I would show my mom his messages, and my mom would call Jo and tell her to get him back in therapy and back to practice, but… you know, the social workers said there was nothing we could do about it. We weren’t family. We made complaints, but...” Akio slumps, closing his eyes briefly. "God, I don't even know if they did a home visit."

Ben closes his eyes. Jamey, trapped with someone who didn’t let him go to his own therapy. Jamey, nonverbal on hard days, trapped with someone who didn’t learn signing to talk to him during meltdowns like Ben’s family did. 

Jamey, trying to say he needed help with his hands again and again but no one’s listening, no one’s even trying anymore-

“Yeah,” Ben says, voice hoarse, and uses a thin plastic spoon with a long handle to get a bite of ice cream soaked in cold coffee taste, letting it dissolve on his tongue to buy himself some time for his throat to open back up. It’s fear in his chest, yeah, but beneath that is a bubbling, simmering fury, a distant anger for a hypothetical that he understands was Chris’s reality. “Yeah. My brother’s-... um, autistic, so I know… I know about it.”

“Yeah, I saw that.”

Ben blinks, caught off-guard. “What?”

Akio flushes, reddening along his cheekbones, and rolls his eyes at himself, slumping back down. “Okay, so, I promise I’m not a stalker, but when you messaged me I looked at your profile to see if you were just a creep. I saw the autism banner, so I looked and you wrote this really sweet thing about your brother-... how old is he?”

Ben almost forgets how to speak again. “He’s-... fifteen. Just turned fifteen. Jamey’s, um, his name is Jamey.”

“Cool. Yeah. So. I’m not a stalker. But, I’m just… listen, Tris and I started training at the gym together when we were like… seven. And I was seventeen when he, when she said… when she said he died.”

Ben’s breath catches. “Shit. She did?”

“Um. Yeah. A month after she took his phone away - we were calling her all the time asking to speak with him and stuff, my mom had kind of threatened to get social services involved again - she called my mom and said he-... um. Sorry if suicide is a thing for you, but…”

“No, I-I’m okay, I just…”

“Yeah. She told us he killed himself. We thought she was lying - oh fuck, she was lying, wasn’t she? - but so... but then you know, she had him cremated, and... I fucking-... I lost my shit, Ben. I didn’t compete, I didn’t train, I just, I just sat in my room for like six months bawling my eyes out and I told my mom it was just like she killed him, taking him away from everything when, you know, he was so sad and scared without them.”

Ben nods, quiet, watching Akio’s face as he speaks.

“My mom offered to take him, have him live with us, but… you know, she said no, and then he-... but he didn’t.” Akio drinks his coffee, absently, and Ben realizes his eyes are red around the edges. “Oh, god, he probably thought nobody cared about him anymore. Oh, shit. He probably thought we stopped giving a fuck. That h-he was al-... alone-”

He’s been crying. He’s maybe going to cry again.

Akio takes in a deep, shuddering breath. “He didn’t know-... shit. He probably just thought, no one’s coming, nobody cares, and… shit. I don’t know what to even think right now, just...” Akio slides his phone across the table. “Look at this. I locked it, when I thought-... but I kept it, anyway. I kept everything, I couldn’t-... I mean it’s just a box of stuff under my bed, but… I couldn’t throw any of it out, because… I don’t know. Somebody needed to, to r-remember him, and she wouldn’t have-... that fucking bitch told us he was dead. And she threw out all his stuff, so I’m... I guess I’m the only one who still has anything, so I just... kept it. Everything. And... this.”

There’s a moment where they both pretend Akio’s voice isn’t trembling.

“What is this?” Ben knows before the question is fully out of his mouth, but he looks anyway. Akio’s phone is still warm from his hand. 

“Tristan’s Instagram account. We, uh, we took pictures of stupid shit a lot back then, and Instagram was, like, super new and all filters all the time, so you just-... but this is his. His mom encouraged him to use it because, you know, sometimes he could show stuff better than he could say it.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Ben tilts his head, scrolling through the images. Most of the photos are just nothing - a cloud, books on a bookshelf, a tree leaf. Ben kind of quirks a smile at all the old Instagram filters right there, like looking in a fucking time capsule. Sometimes there are gymnastics photos, of the gym or of someone training. Sometimes Tristan himself appears in the photo, a blur of constant motion, photos taken by someone else. Photos of dinosaur bones at a museum, seemingly every fucking skeleton or fossil in the place.

“That’s our trip to DC, the team went,” Akio says, and points to a photo of Tristan and Akio, gangly awkward teenagers, standing in front of the Lincoln monument. Akio is smiling, and Tristan is looking up at the sky instead of the camera. “I like to look at this stuff sometimes? I know it’s been… it’s funny, we were talking a few weeks ago about how it’ll be a couple more years when he’s been dead longer than how long I knew him, but he’s not-... he was never dead.” Akio swallows, and his voice catches. When he speaks again, he sounds strained, forcing his voice to stay calm around the emotion that threatens to overtake it. “He was never dead. I keep getting caught up on that, because-... because how did we not know? How did we never… find him?”

Ben pushes the phone back to Akio. “You didn’t know to look,” He says, softly. “How were you supposed to find him if you didn’t know anyone needed to be looking?”

“I guess. My mom feels like shit, she’s been crying since we spoke to you. Well, I have, too. But my mom feels like she… she should have showed up at Joanne’s door and just taken Tristan by force, but, you know, the cops would’ve taken him right back, probably? That’s fucking kidnapping? And I keep telling her not to feel guilty, but she-”

“Yeah,” Ben says, thinking of Laken’s voice on the phone. 

I didn’t know he’d come home early. I keep saying I’m sorry but... He wasn’t-... he wasn’t ready for this and he’s so… he’s so fucked up. He won’t even talk to me. Every time Jake leaves the room we’re scared he’ll hurt himself again. He keeps telling me to find someone else, somebody easier, but I don’t want anyone else, god damn it, I want him! 

“She’s taking it really hard,” Akio says, finally, breaking into Ben’s thoughts. “I mean. We both are. But, you know, I keep thinking I can’t do this but then I think… I want to see him again. I want to see this guy in person, not just in those photos and videos you had. I want to see how he’s doing, he looks-... he looks so good.” Akio coughs, like he’s trying to cover up a sob, not quite managing it. “He looks really good.”

“He is, he’s doing… he’s good. Um, he’s having a hard time with remembering some stuff, but overall... he’s good.” Ben picks his own phone back up, pops back to Ronnie’s page. “What did you say the aunt’s name was?”

“Jo, um, Joanne… something. Sorry, I don’t really remember her last name, my mom would-”

“Botham?” Ben looks up, and god, he kind of wants to hug Akio until there aren’t tears in his eyes anymore. But also that’s a stupid thing to think, isn’t it? But he wants to, anyway. 

“Oh, that sounds right.”

“She left a comment on his mom’s-... I’ve been looking for everything I could find. I’m sorry, I know that’s creepy. But Joanne Botham left like a comment about missing-... hold on.” Ben clicks to open up Joanne Botham’s profile. A woman smiling in a profile photo, with dark hair. Something about the shape of her mouth is similar to Chris’s, but that doesn’t mean much, really. He scrolls down. 

Name, stupid quote from a stupider movie, current city is a while away from this one, like a couple states away, but she could’ve moved… There it is.

The answer to his questions, all of them, all at once, right out in the open.

“Joanne Botham,” He says out loud, “works at WRU.”

“What?” Akio looks up at him.

“His aunt. The mom’s sister, she works for WRU. That’s where Chris was-... where they hurt him. Where they make pets.”

Where they erase people. Where they take someone like Jamey and destroy him and how many versions of my brother are there who weren’t rescued by somebody like Chris’s big brother?

“WRU?” Akio’s face twists, an ugly pain written across it. “They’re one of our team’s sponsors. I’ve never thought about how… oh my god. I, I never liked… I mean, none of us are, like, political about it because you can’t be if you want an Olympic career, not really, but we all kind of hated taking the money. My coach thinks it’s good because it gets people off the street, which is super fucked up, but…” His iced coffee thunks down on the table. 

“What?”

“Oh shit. Oh holy fuck. They’ve been sponsoring us since we met with the old governor - he’s the one who hooked our coach up with their marketing team, and… oh my god. I’m gonna be fucking sick. WRU’s been my sponsor since like… a year after Tristan died-... didn’t die, I guess...”

“You didn’t know,” Ben whispers, staring down at Joanne Botham’s profile photo, scrolling through the profile picture photo album. He’s not maybe the smartest person on earth, but he can put two and two together for four. Tristan Higgs’s parents died, he goes to his aunt - who works for a human pet company - and he’s dead, supposedly, four months later. 

Time passes. No sign of supposed dead boy.

Then Chris, identical in every way, appears with no memory of his life and a thousand traumas to heal from, rescued from something that Ben doesn’t know the details of, but he doesn’t have to. 

Life as a pet, a life that made him terrified of bad weather and scared of people who raise their hands too quickly, unable to say no to anything when he gets scared, nervous about big vans with no windows, someone who says stupid fucking bullshit like silence is better than stammering when he’s upset, who sometimes has screaming nightmares that Laken has to wake him from that he refuses to explain to them...

Meanwhile, Aunt Joanne is putting up photos of herself traveling internationally, buying a new house, a new car, stuff she couldn’t afford to do before.

The math does itself.

It’s fucking true crime textbook, and it’s right in front of his eyes.

Akio’s jaw is working, and his eyes are glimmering again. He looks at Ben, and he looks weirdly lost and young, and Ben reaches out without thinking and grabs onto his hand. Akio grips on tight. His hand is warm, almost too warm, but also it’s the perfect amount of warm. “Do you think-... do you think she-”

Ben thinks about Jamey, scared and alone. He thinks about Jamey - and Tristan, the two of them mixing together in his mind - being dragged away, to be lost and overwritten, because no one was there to stop it.

Because someone did it on purpose.

Because no one stopped it.

“I think maybe she was lying to you because she didn’t want you to take Tristan,” Ben says, softly. “I think maybe she wanted to-... make money on him.”

Akio chokes, and leans forward, and Ben holds his hand as tightly as he can, feeling the other man’s fingers tremble in his grip. “I can't-... I can't even begin to deal with that, I just… So h-how did he end up in college? Pets don’t-... go to school, they’re not capable… are they?"

"Um. It depends, apparently?" Ben doesn’t know how much of this is something Chris would ever allow him to share. But Akio’s eyes raise, and catch his again, and Ben smiles, just a little, in an attempt to comfort. “He was rescued,” He says, softly. “I don’t know how, or when. He’d have to tell you that himself. But he’s, um. He’s just Chris now.”

“He’s just Chris, now.” Akio groans resting his head on his hand. “But not Tristan. So he really is dead, his body’s still just-.. walking around.”

“No,” Ben says, and leans in, getting Akio to look at him again. “He’s not gone. Not, like, the core of him, I think. We knew him as soon as we saw him on your video. We knew the smile, and how he moves, all of it. Everybody in the room knew him as soon as we saw him smile at you. He’s still there, he’s still him. I promise.”

“I knew it was him on your stuff as soon as I saw him dancing,” Akio says, brokenly. “H-he always did get obsessed with those fuh-fucking musicals and we used to make up routines to th-them-” His head drops, shoulders shaking, and Ben puts his other hand on Akio’s shoulder, moves around the edge of the little circular table, so he can put an arm around him. 

“It’s okay,” He whispers. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Akio says, muffled. “It’s not okay. We should have saved him, w-we didn’t know, we didn’t know she would… he probably th-thought we didn’t care... the social worker said it was fine, we’re not re-relatives, we didn’t know he wasn’t dead, we didn’t know he wasn’t gone, I thought I l-lost him and he probably thinks I didn’t even give a fuck-”

“I’m sure he never thought that,” Ben says, softly, and Akio’s hair brushes a little against the side of his face and he tries not to think too hard about how nice that feels, this is not the time or place, Benjamin, stop thinking about his hair stop it stop it stop it.

“We thought... “

“I know. But… you found him, now. He’s found.”

Akio sniffs back tears, mumbling, “Can I see him?”

Ben hesitates. “He needs-... he might need some time.”

Akio nods without looking up, but he leans a little on Ben. “I’m sorry, I’m being a fucking moron about this, making you comfort me and you don’t even know me, but I just-... missed him, and mourned him, and we go to see is parents wh-where they’re buried every year on the day that his aunt said he-... Is he h-happy? Now?”

Ben closes his eyes. That’s what I’d want to know, isn’t it, if it was Jamey. Is he happy now? Does his new family sign, do they know how to calm him down when it’s too much, do they know, do they care, if I’m not there does someone love him as much as we did?

I’d claw my way out of the fucking grave to make sure someone loves Jamey as much as he deserves.

“He’s happy,” Ben says, softly. “He was adopted by the guy who saved him, I think. There’s a whole lot I don’t know, you know, it’s not really my-... my story to, um, to tell. I just know some of it. He’s, um, he’s with someone, and… he’s… he’s happy.”

“Good. I just-... I want to see him.”

“I know. I’ll ask. But his partner... I’m friends with them, and they, um, he’s n-not... not okay right now, so...”

“I can wait.” Akio looks at him, intense, intent, eyes so dark Ben could fall in. “I’ve waited this long, I can-... I can wait a little longer, I just... I just want to see him, when he can see me.”

The bell over the door chimes again, and the two of them turn and look to see a woman who could not be more obviously Akio’s mother entering, looking at them, her eyebrows furrowed in immediate worry when she sees the tears on Akio’s face. “Aki?”

“It’s him, Mom,” Akio says, and she moves to him as if drawn, and Ben fights himself to pull back and away, to watch mother and son. Tristan had this, and lost it, but Chris has it, too. Life, interrupted at the second act, begun again with new actors around the main character. “It’s definitely-... it’s Tristan. But, she-... I have to tell you what happened to him. He, they-they made him a, um, a pet-”

She hitches in a breath, pulls a chair with a loud scrape from another table, and sits, looking Ben over, expression serious. “Tell me,” She says, softly, but fiercely. 

“It’s, um, it’s a lot…”

“I’ve got time.” Ben is reminded of his own mother, in the simple steel flashing under her perfectly styled hair and carefully done makeup. Her eyes are red around the edges, too. She lays a cool, dry hand over Ben’s, and her dark eyes bore into him with focused intensity. “Tell me what happened to our Tris. I want to know what happened to-... I want to know what I didn’t stop.”

Akio looks sidelong at his mother, putting an arm around her, and he’s shorter than his mom but she seems to sag against him, and he can see how Akio takes after his mom, with the same wide mouth that normally seems always on the verge of a smile, the same dark eyes flashing with anger and guilt. “M-Mom, you couldn’t have known, we couldn’t do anything-”

“I could have gone to that woman’s… house, or wherever she was, and taken Tristan right out the door, and I didn’t,” Aimi says, and her voice doesn’t shake, but her face is bright red and her eyes are overbright and glittering. “I could have called lawyers, or the cops, I could have tried to fight for him and I didn’t. Ronnie deserved-” Her voice catches and her hand is over her mouth. Ben watches her eyes well up, her struggle to calm herself, throat working as she swallows and leans into her son’s embrace. “Ronnie… would have wanted someone to fight for him. I want to know what happened because I did the normal thing and not the right thing, because I didn’t let myself see it. I want to know what exactly it is that I didn’t stop when I had the chance.”

Ben sits back, takes a breath. 

“He, um. His name is… Chris now,” Ben starts, slowly. “Christopher Stanton. He’s, um, he’s a sophomore in college, and… he was a human pet, for a while. We don’t know how long, nobody knows for sure, or who had him. I mean, I guess he knows and I think his brother knows, but h-he, won’t… won’t tell anyone who it was.”

Aimi’s whole body shudders, but her face doesn’t change, and her eyes don’t leave Ben’s. “H-how-”

Akio licks at his lips, and hesitantly says, “Ben thinks maybe that aunt they sent him to sold him. She works for WRU.”

Aimi’s eyes slowly close, and her breathing is slow but trembling. The two young men watch her. Akio’s knee bumps his under the table, and he doesn’t think about that, either, except it’s all he’s going to think about for the rest of the day.

“Okay,” Aimi says, after a long pause, and her eyes open again. A kind of perfect calm settles itself across the pain in her expression. 

Ben thinks that this woman is probably fucking terrifying if it’s you she’s angry with and not herself. 

“Mom, if we need to stop, that’s okay-”

“We don’t. Ben-... that’s your name? Ben?”

“Uh, yeah… Benjamin Prentiss, but-... call me Ben.” 

Prentiss, Akio mouths to himself, and Ben hopes, in another weird moment, that Akio likes his last name. 

“Got it.” Aimi leans forward, smacks the table with one hand. Ben flinches. Her jaw sets. She’s definitely terrifying. Like his own mother when they tried to kick Jamey out of school, this is a woman who could stare down the sun itself unblinking and walk away undamaged, if the sun was a threat to her children. “Ben?”

“Yes, um, Mrs. Nakamura?”

“Keep talking. Tell me everything about Tristan-”

“Chris.” He clears his throat. “He’s, um, his name is Chris.”

“... tell me everything about Chris.”

--

Tagging: @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @endless-whump, @whumpfigure, @slaintetowhump, @astrobly  @newandfiguringitout  , @doveotions  , @pretty-face-breaker  , @boxboysandotherwhump  , @oops-its-whump  @moose-teeth  , @cubeswhump  , @cupcakes-and-pain  @whump-tr0pes  @whumpiary  @orchidscript

#whump #suicide reference #brief self-injury reference #pet whump #bbu #box boy universe #chris the strawberry blond romantic #ben is a good bean #akio nakamura #abduction ref #grief tw #parental death tw #ableism tw #guilt #survivor's guilt #murder mystery #sort of #jesus joanne #wru

[jemej3m]

objection

because im now a law/crim student, this is all im gonna fuckin write about 

anyway here’s andrew as neil’s defence attorney (totally inspired by @aymmidumps‘ amazing andrew here)

gruesome crime descriptions but neil’s not a butcher in this one

*

“Wesninki’s applying for an appeal,” was all Andrew heard from the minute he’d stepped into the office. It was all anyone could - and would - talk about. 

Reasonably so, Andrew presumed. Nathaniel Wesninski had been locked up since his nineteenth birthday, when he slit his father’s throat. Andrew reckons he should’ve never been charged with murder, especially when considering his father was the Butcher of Baltimore, but Andrew had been just an undergraduate student at the time. There was nothing he could’ve done. 

Now, though. 

Now Andrew was just over thirty and steadily climbing the ranks. He hadn’t intended on becoming a defense attorney, but it just so happened that he was damn good at keep kids out of jail. The juvenile detention system was just a cog in the wheel of dysfunction, after all: he knew that first hand. 

Survivors of violent assault who had killed their attackers were also common clients of Andrew’s. Those with mental illnesses and drug addictions found their way into his stack of case files, too. He’d always thought he’d be on the right side of the law, throwing shitty people in jail and fixing the system one day at a time. 

This was alright too, he supposed. 

“Hey, Minyard,” Boyd leaned against the door-frame of Andrew’s office. He had his own private space, unlike the others, who often shared offices with two or three of their colleagues. Andrew was just lucky. Or favoured. 

“Let me guess,” Andrew said, without looking up from his file on a thirteen-year-old being charged with battery and theft. “Dan’s pissy because I didn’t turn up to dinner on Friday, there’s free coffee in the break room, Wesninski’s applying for appeal and Wymack wants me?” 

“Uh,” Matt squinted. “Yes? How the hell did you guess?” 

Andrew gave Matt a bored look. “You talk too loud. The walls are thin, you know.” 

The man huffed, conflicted between being impressed and disgruntled at Andrew’s usual bitchiness. He simply threw his hands up and vanished from Andrew’s doorway, most likely to groan to his wife about how incorrigible Andrew seemed to be. 

He threw his file onto his desk, locked his office door behind him and swung past the break room to dump three packets of sugar into a free latte. By the time he arrived at Wymack’s door, the man was already stood up, most definitely unimpressed by Andrew’s tardiness. And his lack of tie. 

He did wear a tie to court. Most of the time. 

“Nice of you to finally show up,” the old man grunted, tugging on the cuffs of his casual blazer. Andrew fucking hated blazers. They were always too tight around his shoulders. “I suppose you already know what this is all about?” 

“Seeing as Allison, Robin and Renee have all tried to talk my ear off about it, yes. I’m aware Wesninski is trying for appeal.” 

Wymack wasn’t impressed. “What you don’t know is that he’s come to us to represent him.” 

Andrew paused. Now that was interesting. Nathaniel Wesninski was halfway between New York and Baltimore. Why the fuck would he recruit from seedy South Carolina? There was no viable reason, unless - 

“Kevin,” he deduced. “How do they know each other?”

“Moriyamas and Wesninskis ran in the same circles, before it all got shut down.” Wymack arched a brow. “Wesninski figures that Kevin is the only person he can trust.” 

“Kevin won’t do it,” Andrew shook his head. “He doesn’t touch anything Moriyama related with a ten-foot pole.”

“Wesninski knows that. Which is why he’s asked for you: Kevin passed him on.” 

Andrew closed his eyes, very, very briefly, as he cocked his head at his boss. “You want me to get the most notorious gangster’s son out of jail.” 

“At least have him commuted to manslaughter,” Wymack suggested. 

At least, Andrew thought. He remembered looking over the Wesninski case in his third year. Nathaniel Wesninski had laughed, incredulous, as the FBI lead him away in handcuffs, nearly losing his fingers in an effort to cling onto the knife that he’d used to end Nathan Wesninski’s life. 

That wasn’t manslaughter. That was homicide of the first degree, plastered over the front page of every newspaper the next day. 

"You’ll owe me,” Andrew warned. 

“I’ll cover your bar tab at the Foxhole for the rest of the year,” Wymack conceded. 

Andrew huffed. “It���s February.” 

Wymack arched an eyebrow. 

Andrew had a feeling he’d regret this. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his slacks and rocked back on his heels, looking to the ceiling. “Fine.”

“It was an order, not a request,” Wymack grunted. “Get out of my office and get a visitation permit.” 

Andrew, already fed up with a case he’d only just been assigned, turned on his heel and dutifully marched off. 

*

The drive was nine and a half hours. Andrew could’ve made it a single-day round trip on a plane, but he refused to fly somewhere he could drive instead. He booked a half-hour slot with Wesninski on Saturday afternoon: if he found the man interesting enough, he’d bribe a guard to let him back in Sunday morning. Then he’d drive home, midday Sunday. 

At least Wymack was letting him stay in a nice hotel in Philadelphia. It almost made the journey worth it, but he wouldn’t jump the gun. It would only be a worthwhile trip if he figured that Wesninski wasn’t hopeless. The man was just 29. It was nearly 10 years since he’d been locked up. Andrew’s chances were - practically slim to none. 

Half-way through the drive Nicky called. 

“Heard you’re going to see Wesninski,” he said, the phone somewhat masking Nicky’s obvious curiosity.

Andrew sighed. “Aaron needs to shut his mouth.” 

“Aaron comes to family dinners,” Nicky objected. “He has every right to tell me whatever he wants. Speaking of - if I promise you a whole loaf of garlic bread, will you come to the next one?” 

Andrew huffed. “I’m busy.” 

“Yeah, yeah, you hate socialising, you’ll tolerate dealing with Aaron at work but nowhere else, blah blah. What about me? Your dear, old cousin?” 

“Fine,” Andrew grunted. “Now, leave me alone.” 

“Yes!” Nicky crowed, but whatever response he had after that was cut off. Andrew dropped his phone back in the passenger seat, turning the radio back up and relaxing into his chair. 

It was a further five hours after that disturbance till his arrival at SCI Phoenix, Philadelphia. Andrew would always despise how depressing prison complexes looked. Chain link fences and brick boxes, splayed out like a progression of architectural failures. The parking lot was enormous and empty. Andrew parked far enough away that his nice car wasn’t in direct sight from the prison’s visiting entrance, fixing up his suit and tie and slinging the strap of his briefcase over his shoulder. 

The guard by the door snapped his fingers for identification. Andrew flicked his license towards him, gaze deadened by boredom. The guard almost winced when Andrew sighed, looking to the clock. Once he was finally granted access, he took the lanyard and shoved his way through the doors. 

Visitation was close to shutting up when Andrew arrived, miserable loved ones reaching for final hugs and brief kisses. Andrew was lead by the duty guard to a private room, waiting by the barred door. 

Wesninski was already waiting for him inside. His hands were cuffed to the table, fiddling with a blunt key. His red curls were overgrown and messy, the grey jumpsuit hanging off his small frame. 

When the door clanged shut, Wesninski looked up. His eyes were the most spectacular blue Andrew had ever seen, his face marred by horrific scars and the stitches used to hold him together. He looked ridiculously unimpressed. Andrew, meanwhile, smothered any flickers of emotion as intrigue sparked in his chest. 

Damn, he thought.

“Unlock him,” Andrew said, to the guard. 

The guard arched an eyebrow. “You sure?” 

“Obviously,” Andrew said, rolling his eyes. He didn’t have knives on his person - they’d set off the metal detector - but he was never vulnerable. He made a promise that he’d never be taken advantage of again. 

Wesninski flexed his wrists when the guard unlocked them, giving Andrew a thinly veiled look of appraisal. The guard immediately skittered off to stand outside the door, holding the interrogation room’s keys in tightly clenched fists. 

“So,” Wesninski said, holding out a hand. “You’re the famous Andrew Minyard.” 

"And you are the infamous Nathaniel Wesninski,” Andrew returned, ignoring the warmth of his skin as they shook hands. He sat down: the shitty metal chair creaked. “We both seem to have names and reputations that precede us.” 

Nathaniel’s eye twitched slightly. “I prefer Neil.”

Andrew leant back in his chair, leg crossed at the ankle. “You seriously think they’re going to let you out?” 

“Well,” Neil admitted. “Probably not. But I figured I’d give it a shot. It should be safer out there now.”

“You’ve been hiding in here? Who from, your father’s ghost?” 

Neil was not impressed. “His bosses, actually. But since Kengo’s second son was shot between the eyes and his first son locked up for it, I should be fine.”

“Riko and Ichirou,” Andrew deduced. “Kevin’s mentioned them once or twice.”

Neil just glared. “I can’t believe that coward won’t help me.” 

Andrew narrowed his eyes. “He owes you, does he? What for? Helping him escape the Moriyamas? Wait - that was me. What about coping with his trauma and reestablishing his career? Nevermind - that was me, too. Goodness, you haven’t been around much, have you? Right, right,” Andrew leaned over the table, resting his chin on his laced fingers. “You’ve been in jail for ten years.”

“You are not funny,” Neil snapped, gripping onto his blunt key.

“I don’t know if it’s worth my time, Mr Wesninski,” Neil flinched again. “Convince me.” 

“Other than it’s what is just?” Andrew arched an eyebrow. Neil huffed. “Fine. I’ll pay you. Double your normal fee.” 

“Prison pays well, does it?” 

“Blood money,” Neil had the audacity to wink. Dammit, Andrew thought again. “I already know you’re quite happy to spend dirty cash, Minyard. A G6, right? Bit of an upgrade from your mother’s car.” 

He should not know that. “You’re not exactly winning me over, here.” 

Neil leaned back in his chair, fiddling with the stupid little key. He must have spent the last decade tracing it down to its current blunt status. Andrew wondered what it used to unlock. 

Okay - he was intrigued by Neil. And yes, his narrative fit Andrew’s bill. And some spare cash wouldn’t hurt: he could sent Nicky and Erik over to Christmas for the summer. 

“What’s something you’ve never given anyone?” Andrew inquired. 

Neil looked up from under his ruby-tinted lashes. “What?” 

“I want something that no one else has.” Andrew leaned further forward, leaning in close. “What do you have to offer me, Wesninski?”

For a moment, Neil simply stared. His fingers stilled. He definitely had a few tattoos and scars, from what Andrew could glean at the little slice of a sharp collarbone, exposed by the jumpsuit. 

It was silent - almost electric. Andrew watched as something behind Neil’s eyes crumbled, the exhaustion settling in, the loneliness of a man who had known nothing but pain and suffering and isolation. 

“Everyone knows Nathaniel Wesninski,” Neil said. “No one knows Neil.” 

Andrew felt the remnants of a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. 

“I’ll tell you the truth,” Neil offered, glaring at the table like it offended him. “I’ve never told the truth before.” 

Andrew stood up, offering his hand. Neil followed suit, grip hesitant where he clasped Andrew’s hand.

“I’ll get you out of here,” Andrew said. 

“You’ll try,” Neil corrected him. 

“Here’s something you should know about me, Neil,” Andrew tugged on his suit jacket, fixing his cuffs. “I never fail a promise.” 

Andrew felt Neil’s gaze, watching him as he left. As Andrew filtered past the guard, he snuck a two hundred into the guard’s pocket. 

“Nine o’clock, tomorrow morning,” he said. “Bring him here.” 

The guard, moon-eyed, just nodded. 

Andrew glanced over his shoulder for one last assessment of his newest client. Neil was leant against the table they had spoken at, arms crossed as he glared in Andrew’s direction. His hair flopped forward, masking one eye. Like this, with his tattooed forearms and shoulders and hell-fire hair, he looked dangerous. 

In his right hand, he played with his key. 

Andrew spun on his heel and left. He knew he’d made the right decision. 

Neil Wesninski would get out of jail, if it was the last thing Andrew did. 

*

#andreil #andrew minyard #lawyer!andrew #felon!neil #neil josten #all for the game #defence attorneys don't always suck! #aftg #tfc #the foxes #law firm!foxes #david wymack #kevin day #tw: a lil bit of mentioned murder #the tension between them is just #mwah #i love my boys #jem writes

[whumpforthewin]

The Answer - 5

Jack looked up at the huge building. He felt too underdressed to even be outside the building. But he was here for a reason. He wasn’t going to chicken out now. He had the card in his hand. The doorman looked like he was going to say something but Jack held up the card and the doorman just nodded and opened the door for him. No one else tried to stop him. Apparently if he got through the doorman people considered he needed to be here. 

He went up to the elevator and got in. Of course this prick was in the penthouse suite of the apartments. He rode up feeling more and more rage build up. He hoped it was Mark he saw first because he was going to deck him.

Apparently luck was on his side. The doors opened and there was a much more casual, but still well dressed Mark. 

Jack didn’t stop to think. He just stalked over to Mark and drilled him in the nose with all his might. He felt it crack beneath his hand. 

Mark stumbled back. “Yes, ow, Amy said she spoke with you.” Mark didn’t seem surprised and that honestly pissed Jack off more. He went for another blow but it seemed Mark was having none of it. He stopped Jack’s hand mid punch as if it were nothing. 

“Let’s have a chat before you hit me again, okay? Can I offer you a drink perhaps?” Jack didn’t say anything as he wrenched his hand out of Dark’s. “Alright, no drinks then.” He turned and led Jack into the suite. 

“I sent the others away for the next few days so we have this all to ourselves. Meaning you can speak freely and so can I.” Mark explained. 

“You were fucking there.” Jack was barely keeping it together as it was. 

“Right to the point then.” Mark started making himself a drink. “You are, mostly right. I found you that night. But that’s all. I didn’t know about you or the operations until about a week before we attacked.”

“That’s not what Amy said.”

Mark’s lip curled into almost a snarl. “I had heard rumors, nothing more. Nothing concrete.” 

“Then you kept tabs on me. You dropped me off to Amy.” Jack hissed.

“Amy is one of my top generals. I trusted her to look after you. You were free to leave-“

“I was sixteen where the fuck was I gonna go?” Jack roared. 

Mark set down the drink. “I looked for your family.” Jack scoffed but Mark continued. “And I found them.”

“Then you just know all about me don’t you?” Jack demanded. Mark was lucky he’d put the island in between them or Jack would’ve hit him again. 

“I know enough.” 

“Well fuck off!” Jack snarled. He gripped the edge of the island to stop himself from launching over it. 

“No.” Mark went back to making his drink, seemingly unconcerned. 

“You have done nothing but manipulate me the entire time I’ve known you,” Jack scoffed. 

“I have not. I nudged you in the direction, but you were free to choose what you wanted to do. We’ve had no direct contact until last year when Amy called me in to rescue you from that john with the spreader bar.” Mark finished making his drink and finally looked at him. 

“I have to know, did you know what happened to me?” 

“I had a hunch. You are not the first I’ve looked into. But you are the first in a while I was able to get out alive,” Mark said as he took a sip from his drink. “That group is large and dangerous and we make it a habit of keeping tabs on those that survive.”

“Why? Did you want to use me for your own gain? Cause I hate to break it to you it didn’t fucking work. I’m no use to you.” Jack didn’t know why a smile crept onto his face. Maybe it was the fact that all of Mark’s planning and manipulations had come to nothing. Sure Mark had fucked him, but that was definitely mutual so he didn’t feel like Mark was getting more out of it. 

Now it was Mark’s turn to laugh. It was deep and emotionless. It seemed to reverberate throughout the apartment. Jack was suddenly very unsure of himself. More unsure than he’d ever been in Mark’s presence. 

“Mark?” He whispered the name and his breath came out in a puff. It was suddenly freezing in there. “Wha-“ he was cut off by his own shivers. 

“No, call me Dark. Like I told you to. And You aren’t the only one to have gone through that process,” Dark said calmly. 

“What are you talking about?” Jack was shaking and he wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or fear. 

“The little tests.” Dark twitched. “The torture.” He put his hand on the table as if to steady himself. “I recommend you leave and we will continue this another time.” He let out another laugh though this one sounded a bit more pained. 

The lights started to dim and Jack searched the room, he realized shadows were growing to cover the windows. 

“What tests? Those, those weren’t tests?” Jack no longer felt confident about the two worst years of his life. “They were just torture.”

“Believe what you want. But they were, and it worked.” Dark straightened and something was very wrong. “If it didn’t work, you wouldn’t still be alive.”

Jack shrunk on himself. What the fuck was he in for. The shadows seemed to be coming from Mark, or Dark. But, that, that wasn’t possible.  

“It’s possible your powers haven’t manifested. Yet. Amy’s had to be triggered. Ethan can’t control his.” The weight of Dark’s gaze fell on him. It was like the void looking at him, soulless black eyes that held no pity. 

“If you couldn’t tell, I control shadows. Some other more in depth things than that as well but it’s the basics. It’s  clear you didn’t know the extent of their goals. You were taken by a fairly small faction. It makes sense you wouldn’t know all the details that came along with it.” Dark made a move and suddenly he was right next to Jack. 

Jack yelped and jerked away from him, falling to the floor in his haste. 

“There are drawbacks to using these powers of course.” Dark took a step towards him and Jack scrambled away from him. The shadows seemed to grip and claw at him. “My drawback is the darkness is difficult to control and makes it a bit more all consuming. Makes it very hard to stop.” His voice was almost a pur. 

“Dark, I think you should come back to yourself now,” Jack said shakily, scooting away from him. 

“Hmm, no.” Dark had what Jack could only describe as a sadistic smile on his face. “You see I’ve been nice, I’ve been kind, I’ve been patient with you Jack. But you have done nothing but turn around and ignore me, insult me, and all over piss me off.”

Jack scrambled out of the way as a shadow tried to grab his leg. 

“Tell me more about these experiments!” Jack yelped. His heart was pounding in his chest as he tried to maneuver the unfamiliar space. 

He saw and heard Dark crack his neck. “You don’t want to know about them, you experienced them. You want to know about how they affect you. Right?” 

He wasn’t really wrong. But Jack was too busy dodging a shadow to respond. 

“They affect all people differently. The ones that survive at least. You seemed like a fighter. I had to let them finish one last one before I stepped in.” Dark said casually. 

“What!” Jack stopped short. And there was the opportunity Dark must’ve been waiting for. Shadows clung to his legs holding him in place. When he realized and tried to pull at them his arms were locked as well. He was trapped. 

“The final week is the most important.” Dark slowly made his way over to Jack. “It’s the week you may die but it’s the week that unlocks your powers. Amy was confident you would survive. But it was my call to wait on the rescue.” He stopped directly in front of Jack. 

“You son of a bitch!” Jack growled. 

“Now, now, calm down. Aren’t you glad it all meant something. Imagine going through that and it meaning nothing more than the suffering of others for nothing. This gave you something. We just have to unlock it now.” Dark raised his hand and a tentacle-like shadow wrapped around his throat. 

There was a bang on the door that caused Jack to jump and Dark to pause. 

“I thought it would take them longer,” Dark muttered. 

The door burst open with Tyler crashing through it. Dark sighed and put his hands up before stepping back. Tyler didn’t appear to care that Dark was in a “non-threatening” position. He stormed over to Dark and forced his hands behind him and kept them there with enough force to make Dark wince. 

“Jack, close your eyes, Ethan, could really use some light about now,” Tyler said in a harsh tone. 

“Working on it!” Ethan snapped. 

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. He squeezed his eyes shut and not a moment too soon. He felt more than saw a giant ball light up the room.

The shadows melted away and he heard Dark hiss. 

“It’s okay to open your eyes,” Ethan said, much closer than he had been a moment before. “Tyler, deal with Dark, I’ll be right there.” Jack opened his eyes to see Ethan glance over at Tyler as he forced a very resistant Dark out of the room. 

“Sorry, we got back as soon as my alerts went off that someone was using their powers in the house. And since Dark was the only one here, we figured it wasn’t good,” Ethan explained. 

“I can manipulate light, usually to make illusions. Tyler basically becomes a god, he’s super strong and can’t feel pain. We also think there’s a healing factor but we can’t know for sure.” Ethan continued when Jack just looked at him. “Amy can manipulate emotions. Her own and others. Usually she’s the one to deal with him like this but she’s too far out to deal with this so we’ll bring him back. You should probably go though. It can get pretty hard to watch.” 

Jack nodded somewhat numbly. 

“Talk to Amy, I’m calling you a cab. It’ll take you back,” Ethan said pulling up the Uber app. 

“I’ll see ya later Jack.” Ethan pressed a kiss to his cheek and Jack had to wonder what it meant. They’d all done it before. 

Tagging:

@whumper-in-training

#whumptober2021 #no.5 #broken nose #immobilization #fandom #jacksepticegos #markipler egos #whump #emotional whump #Loss of control #Whoomp for the Win

[ineverlookavvay]

date night

Michael and Alex have a very sexy date night out at the bar...

Fill for Kinktober Day 27: public sex

contains: Michael gets Alex off in public using his powers, then there's a hand job in the shadows outside the bar; also dirty talk, coming in pants

Read it on Ao3

Michael put his hand on Alex’s thigh, wrapping his lips around the beer bottle and taking the last swig of beer.  “Should I get another round?”

Alex nodded, smiling at Michael, his breath catching slightly when Michael squeezed his thigh before standing up.  Date night was going well so far, and Michael was pretty sure it was about to get even better.  They were only one drink in, and Michael liked when they went out in public.

He swept the bottles off the table and strutted over to the bar, fully aware of Alex watching his ass as he retreated.  It made Michael feel warm and happy to be wanted so blatantly, and he turned around and grinned after he ordered, leaning back on his arms against the bar in a way he knew made him look good.  

Alex was looking at his phone, and didn’t react, and Michael thought this might be the perfect moment to distract him.  Alex looked nice tonight— jeans and a button-up shirt with the top playfully unbuttoned so that Michael couldn’t focus on it without imagining undoing all the rest of the buttons.  

They’d spent the first ten minutes here in the parking lot making out like teenagers, and Michael suspected Alex was still a little worked up from it.  Michael was certainly still worked up from it, his cock half-hard and the little voice in the back of his head still trying to convince him that date night would be better spent in the backseat of Alex’s car than out like they’d planned.  But Michael was pretty sure he was about to prove that little voice wrong.

Michael focused.  He couldn’t do much in this very public space, but he could do enough.  He focused on shifting the material of Alex’s pants, rubbing it across his lap, over his cock.  Michael wasn’t sure it had worked, until he saw Alex jump a little bit, shifting in his seat.  Alex licked his lips and went back to his phone.  

So Michael did it again, dragging the material back and forth.  Alex shifted again, but this time Michael didn’t stop entirely, just gave him a moment before starting again, pressing down as he pulled mentally at the material.  

Alex inhaled sharply, looking up at Michael.  His face looked a little bit red and Michael could see the lust in his look even from a distance—Michael imagined that Alex was already getting hard.   He raised an eyebrow and gave Alex a little wave before pulling at Alex’s pants material again.  

“Here you go.”  The bartender slid two beers across the bar to Michael, and Michael turned away from Alex for a second, enough to nod his thanks and grab one of the beers.  

Alex was still looking at him when Michael turned back, the bottle pressed against his lips.  Michael took a long pull from the bottle and focused more closely on Alex.  He knew what boxers Alex was wearing, because he’d gotten Alex’s pants half-off before they’d left, and he could picture exactly how they were sitting on Alex currently.  Which was enough to shift his attention from Alex’s pants to the boxers, and to drag the material of those back and forth, rubbing more closely across Alex’s cock. 

He kept up the movement, this time, watching Alex intently as he sipped his beer.  Alex kept shifting, licking his lips, and put his phone down on the table, giving up on it.  Michael tried to increase the pressure and Alex squirmed, moving around in his seat, one of his hands grabbing the edge of the table as he leaned back in the chair, swallowing visibly.  

Michael tried to keep his own breathing even.  He knew Alex well enough to tell he was definitely feeling it the way Michael had intended, and watching Alex squirm and pant and try to hide it was fucking hot.  Michael adjusted his own stance as his own cock started to get fully hard in response to watching Alex. 

He had to get closer again.  Michael swept the other beer off of the counter and sauntered over to Alex, setting his face in a neutral expression.  

“Beer?” Michael asked casually, setting the beer in front of Alex on the table, and stopping his manipulation of Alex’s clothing.   

Breathing heavily, Alex grabbed the beer with one hand and took a long drink, swallowing loudly, before putting it back on the table.  His eyes were dark with want and his lips were red from being bitten.  Michael wanted to kiss him badly, wanted to drag him away from the table and into the bathroom or back out to the car, wanted to suck his cock and beg to get fucked.  Instead, Michael just smiled widely. 

“Miss me while I was gone?” Michael asked facetiously, even though he’d been gone minutes at most.  

Alex nodded and lifted the beer back to his lips.  “Sure.”

“Not as much as I missed you,” Michael said softly, cocking his head to the side so he could glance under the table as he mentally grabbed ahold of Alex’s pants again and started to rub them forcefully back and forth across Alex’s cock.  Now that he was close again, Michael could see the outline of Alex’s cock through the fabric, just enough to see that Alex was hard and to better aim his telekinetic rubbing.  

Alex moaned quietly, muffling himself with the bottle against his lips.  He gripped the table with his free hand again, hard enough that his knuckles were white against the dark wood.  Michael held in his own moan, taking a drink of his beer and discreetly pressing his hand against his own aching cock for just a second.  

Michael changed his focus to Alex’s boxers again, picturing them and sliding them across Alex’s cock.  Alex bit his lip to hold in another moan and Michael felt the thrill of getting Alex hard, moving towards getting him off, in the middle of the crowded bar.  

“Fuck, Michael, that’s—effective,” Alex said stiltedly, the words far closer to a whine than he knew Alex would ever want to admit.  

“Oh?”  Michael slid his chair around the side of the table, scooting closer to Alex so that he could speak more quietly, wanting to be sure Alex would hear him.  “What, this?”  He redoubled his efforts, rubbing more roughly, and Alex dropped his bottle down on the table far too forcefully.  “Does that feel good, Alex?”

Alex glared at him, but there was nothing behind it but lust.  “Yes.”  

Michael wanted to touch him so badly, wanted to ignore all the people around him and wrap his hands or his mouth around Alex’s cock instead of this hands-free approach, but he wanted to wait. 

“Maybe we should go,” Alex said, swallowing another moan, “somewhere more private?”

“What do you mean?” Michael asked, blinking innocently.  “I like this table, don’t you?”

Alex bit his lip.  “It’s great.”

“I think we should stay here.”  Michael kept his voice low and even, growling the words into Alex’s ear, keeping up his manipulation of Alex’s clothing.  He could almost feel the friction of it, the way it was rubbing directly across Alex’s cock, making him squirm.  “I’m going to keep doing this, because you look fucking hot right now, barely able to keep still, your cock hard and ready.  I bet you could cum like this, right here under the table.”    

Alex swallowed visibly, pressing his hips up against the friction Michael was controlling.  Michael let him have it, using his power to hold Alex’s jeans down against his lap hard, giving him something to shallowly thrust up at for a few minutes.  Then he grinned and changed back to the earlier sensations.  Alex grabbed for his beer bottle, clutching it tightly and holding it against his mouth to prevent another moan. 

Michael sucked on his own bottle, half for effect and half because he was so fucking turned on, he could barely keep from thinking about crawling under the table and sucking on Alex’s cock, and the bottle was the next best thing.  

“What do you think?” Michael asked when Alex didn’t reply.  He glanced under the table, just a quick glance, and he could see that Alex’s cock was straining against his pants, that he was barely controlling his hip movements.  Luckily, his coat was hung over the back of the chair, so no one could see how he was thrusting into the air from behind.  “You want to cum in your pants for me, Alex?”

Alex choked on another moan and Michael grinned at him, belying how completely he was falling apart inside, watching Alex shift in his seat.  Michael was getting a little bit tired, and his hands ached for wanting to touch Alex, but he couldn’t stop, not now—not when Alex was panting and swallowing around moans, his hips thrusting and his hands clenching the table, looking at Michael with eyes impossibly dark with arousal.  

“Go ahead,” Michael whispered, “cum for me right here.” 

Alex groaned, and Michael could feel the increase in the pressure of Alex’s hips as he came in his boxers, never breaking eye contact.  This had to be in at least the top five hottest things Michael had ever experienced.  Michael pressed his hand to his own aching cock, licking his lips while Alex took a deep breath and a long drink from his beer.  

“Fuck,” Alex said quietly, and Michael nodded in agreement.    

“Now we should get out of here.”  Michael knocked back the rest of his beer and started to stand up from the table.  Alex stayed seated, eyed Michael carefully, his gaze sweeping between Michael’s face and his obviously hard cock.  Michael raised an eyebrow.  “Coming?”

Alex rolled his eyes while Michael smirked and stood up from the table, holding his coat in front of him.  Michael wanted to tell him to just put the coat on, to not be ashamed of what he was sure was an obvious (and hot) stain on Alex’s pants, but he couldn’t entirely blame him for not wanting to show that to the assholes packing the bar.  

Michael decided he’d pay down his tab tomorrow and steered Alex towards the door.  The sooner they got home, the sooner he could see to his own aching cock without Alex being preoccupied by the state of his clothing.  Outside, Michael started walking towards Alex’s car, but Alex wandered around the side of the building—the dark side, where there was nothing but dust and overgrown patches of grass.  

Michael frowned.  “Where are you going?”

Alex raised his eyebrow and smiled as he disappeared into the shadows.  Fuck, that was both alluring and vaguely concerning—Michael tried to send his cock mental instructions to chill the fuck out for a few minutes, and followed Alex.  

“What the—”  The force with which Alex grabbed his shirt and pulled him in surprised Michael, and his back hit the wall hard enough for him to gasp.  Alex pressed his palm over Michael’s mouth, and Michael’s tried to keep his breathing even, resisting the urge to lick Alex’s palm.  

“No talking,” Alex said, standing very close, his breath hitting Michael’s face with each word.  “It’s my turn.”

Michael started to open his mouth, then closed it again, instead just pressing a kiss against Alex’s palm.  Alex smiled wickedly and Michael’s stomach lurched as his cock throbbed—he knew what that smile meant, and it meant something good was about to happen.  

In the darkness, Michael couldn’t see Alex’s other hand until it was on him, stroking down his stomach and resting on the button of his jeans.  Alex pressed against Michael’s cock with his palm while his fingers worked on popping open the button, and Michael exhaled shakily.  

“I’ll have to use my hands, but I think I can get you off before we leave.”  Michael nodded as Alex unzipped his jeans and pushed them awkwardly down Michael’s hips just enough to pull his cock out.  

Michael looked around, certain someone was going to see them, but the parking lot was all but deserted, and no one was peering into the shadows, no one would look over to them because it wasn’t a place anyone expected to see people.  He took another shaky breath, and Alex’s hand flexed over his mouth, reacting to the rush of air.  

“I could barely stand it,” Alex continued, taking Michael’s cock into his hand and starting to stroke it slowly.  “Getting so worked up, and you just sitting drinking your beer like you were imagining sucking me in the middle of the bar.  I wanted to touch you so badly.”  Michael moaned and tightened his fist around Michael’s cock.  “I could have slipped under the table, sucked your cock while you rubbed mine.”  

Michael moaned again, and Alex broke off his monologue to press kisses against Michael’s neck, leaning in close, dragging his hand over Michael’s cock.  Michael thrust into Alex’s grip, pressing his hips away from the wall.  Alex stroked him faster, and Michael’s hand flew out to grip Alex’s hip, sliding sideways to feel the wet spot of Alex’s drying cum before moving back to his hip.  

Alex groaned.  “You like feeling what you did to me?”  Michael nodded, humming against Alex’s palm.  “Fuck, Michael, you’re unbelievable.”  Michael grinned, taking it as the compliment it was.  Alex nestled his face into the crook of Michael’s neck and stroked Michael the way he liked, twisting his fingers and gripping Michael’s cock tightly in his fist.

 “Go ahead,” Alex said, as Michael’s breathing got quicker, his hips thrusting wildly, his grip on Alex’s hip tight enough to leave marks.  “Go ahead and cum for me.”  Michael closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wall and focusing on the feeling of Alex’s hand stripping his cock, Alex’s lips pressing wetly against his neck.  “Come on, and then we can go home and I can fuck you like you really want.”

Michael moaned and Alex pressed his hand harder against Michael’s mouth, even though it did little to stop the noise.  Michael knew he should be quieter, but it was too much—the feel of Alex and the build-up of watching Alex try not to be obvious while cumming in a public place, the way Alex was letting Michael fuck his fist and the things he was whispering in Michael’s ear.  Hell, even the hand over his mouth was hot, and Michael let himself go, moaning and thrusting while Alex breathed heavily against him until Michael’s hips stuttered and he came hard, spilling into Alex’s fist.  

Alex lifted his head and smiled, wiping his hand on Michael’s underwear before tucking his cock away and licking the stray cum off his fingers.  Michael shuddered, and Alex moved his hand away from Michael’s mouth, replacing it with his own mouth, crushing Michael’s lips with a heated kiss.  

Michael pulled him in closer, slipping his tongue into Alex’s mouth, grinding against him even though both of them were soft, his cock twitching as though it was ready to go again.  Alex hummed against Michael’s lips and pulled back, zipping up Michael’s jeans nonchalantly. 

“Ready to go home?” Alex asked, his mouth still close enough to Michael’s that Michael couldn’t think of anything but kissing him again.  Michael nodded and Alex took a step back, pulling Michael with him away from the wall.  Michael stumbled, feeling exhausted and very, very satisfied.  

“You good?” Alex laughed.  “Or did I make you cum so hard you need to sleep it off immediately?”

“I’m fine.”  Michael glared, but Alex just looked pleased.  They reached the car and Alex unlocked it, pulling open the door and sliding inside as Michael did the same. “But when we get home, we are taking a shower and then getting immediately into bed so I can cuddle the shit out of you.”  

Alex smiled brightly.  “Oh, I love it when you talk dirty.”

Michael rolled his eyes fondly.  “Just wait, I’m saving all my good material for the privacy of the bedroom.”  

“If this wasn’t your good material, then I can hardly wait for later,” Alex said, taking one of Michael’s hands in his as he started the car and headed towards home.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #my writing #smut #smut and feelings #but mostly smut

[sonicgetsrawed]

Dont Fret My Dear, Ill Keep You Safe

Requested by anon! Var gets roofied and Hugo prevents anything from happening! That being said there is a slight warning possibly? For the usage of well the roofie and while nothing bad happens it is discussed as a possibility of have happening. That being said Enjoy! 

One second, all it took was one second to turn this wonderful evening into an absolute shit show. He was grateful that Nuru had offered them a night to themselves, staying at their campsite with Yong while he took Varian out for the night. He supposed technically it was their first date. They’d been together for a while now, but it was hard to find time alone when they were constantly traveling. He had been looking forward to it, and it had been everything he could have ever wanted, until that sick bastard made his appearance. He had flirted with Varian persistently, never letting up in his advances despite the fact that Varian had repeatedly told him he wasn’t interested, despite that he was very obviously uncomfortable, despite that he had made it clear numerous times that he was taken and Hugo was right there. He seemed to finally get it when Hugo resorted to threatening to cut up the man into pieces so small they’d never be able to piece him back together again. Maybe he shouldn’t have, maybe if he didn’t Varian wouldn’t have had to suffer the consequences.

Once they were certain he was gone, it didn’t take long for them to fall back into the comfort of each other’s company as they drank at the tavern. He should’ve stayed more alert, he should’ve paid more attention. All it took was one second, one second in which their eyes closed as their lips locked together, one second was enough for that creep to slip something into Varian’s drink. He knew what it was, he knew it, as soon as Varian started giggling like a maniac. Sure Varian was typically a happy drunk, but it had been excessive and he hadn’t even had that much to drink yet. He had been selfish, he ignored the signs of the drug, all because he didn’t want the night to be over, he certainly didn’t want it to end like this. So he waited until the next effect hit. He was all too familiar with the signs of the drug, he’d used it, not for any of its more sinister purposes, but it worked like a charm when he stole from other’s. He knew the signs like the back of his hand.

Varian’s eyes were half lidded, glossed over, and seemed unable to focus on anything. He drooped forward in his seat, leaning heavily on Hugo. “I don’t feel very good.”

His cheeks were flushed pink from the alcohol, but Hugo knew it wasn’t the reason for his sudden sickness. He quickly paid their tab, sliding out of his seat. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Varian didn’t protest, didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod as Hugo wrapped his arm around him, keeping him as close as possible as they exited the tavern. He knew it was the purpose of the drug to make the victim as complacent as possible, it still made him sick to his stomach. What if he hadn’t been here? What if he had to leave Varian for just a moment? What would’ve happened then? He didn’t want to think about it, with the way that he looked at Varian he already had a pretty good guess. He hated that he put them in this situation. He felt Varian slump further against him. He was already more or less carrying Varian, his steps slow and unsteady. Just how much did that bastard slip him?

Hugo tightened his grip around him at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, his other hand slipping into his pocket to grip one of his vials. It wouldn’t be nearly as effective as the bombs, but it would give them enough time to get away. He turned slowly, careful not to jostle Varian too much, the slightest movement and the boy would probably fall over. Of course the bastard had followed them. “Hey! I’m not letting you reap the benefits of my hard work.”

Hugo was shaking with rage, his hand clutching the vial so tightly he thought it might break, Varian of course oblivious to it all, he wasn’t even sure he was aware of anything going on. “You sick fuck, I am not going to rape my boyfriend!”

The man scoffed, he fucking scoffed, as if what Hugo was implying was absolutely ridiculous. “That little slut is anything but innocent. He’s been throwing himself around all night. He just needed something to loosen him up. He wants it.”

He let his anger take control, letting go of Varian and storming towards the man. “You take that back! You don’t know anything! Just because your giant ego can’t handle rejection doesn’t mean you can rape someone!”

“Stop saying that word!”

“Fucking make me!” Hugo sneered, leaning forward on the balls of his feet ready to strike, a loud thud gaining his attention. His eyes went wide as he spotted Varian crumpled in the dirt road, the effects of the drug finally knocking him out. He had been so caught up in his anger that he put Varian’s safety in jeopardy again. He needed to get Varian out of there first and foremost. He tossed the vial to the ground, right in front of the bastard’s feet, the smoke spreading instantly. Hugo scooped Varian up as the man sputtered and coughed as the smoke filled his lungs. He ran a few doors down, he learned to never enter the first available door, it made one all too easy to find. He swung the door open, closing it just as quickly behind him before taking a deep breath. Varian was limp against him, his limbs hanging uselessly, his head the same. Hugo tried to adjust his position to support him better, it was impossible to do so when he was carrying him bridal style.

“You need a room for the night?” Hugo jumped at the sound of the woman’s voice, turning to face the reception desk. She wasn’t even looking up, her face buried in a book.

“Uh, yeah. Thanks.” Nuru would kill him for spending the money, but it was the safest route. He didn’t want to lead that sicko back to their campsite, at least at the inn they’d have a lock and Yong and Nuru would be safe. With some difficulty he handed over some money and took the offered key, struggling again when he came to the door. His arms were shaking by the time he got them safely inside. Varian wasn’t particularly heavy, but he wasn’t that strong either. He set Varian down as gently as possible, thankful the room was stocked with water. He filled a glass for Varian before dipping a cloth in it and placing it on his forehead. He’d have a hell of a headache whenever he woke up. “I’m sorry, babe, I should’ve been keeping a better eye out for you. I’ll do better next time.”

He couldn’t do better, he couldn’t be better, not when Donella still expected him to betray them. But he didn’t have to, did he? He could stay with the group, never return to her. He could do it, he should do it. This was where he belonged, with Varian. He loved him, holy shit, he loved him. He was in too deep, there was no going back now. He placed a kiss to Varian’s cheek, it was as far as he’d go when he was like this. He prepared himself for a long night. He needed to make sure Varian would wake up and get him properly hydrated when he did.

He waited two hours, two excruciating hours, before Varian started to stir. He groaned, moving to sit up. “Hey, take your time. Take it slow.” He helped him into a sitting position, Varian cradling his head in his hands.

“I feel like death. How much did I drink?” Varian asked, gladly taking the water from Hugo’s hand and taking small sips from it.

He was at war with himself. Did he tell him what almost happened? Did Varian not know how close they were to disaster? Was it right to keep it from him? “How much do you remember?”

Varian stiffened, his hand shaking slightly around the glass. His eyes were wide, fear lacing them. “I- what happened, Hugo? Please tell me it was a dream. Did- did he-“

Hugo took the glass, placing it on the bedside table before pulling Varian into a hug. “No, no I didn’t let him lay a finger on you. He just slipped something in your drink, but no one touched you, okay? You’re okay.”

Varian nodded. “Thank you. I’m glad you were here.” Something about the words sent a feeling of guilt through him. He caused this to happen, he didn’t pay close enough attention. He was supposed to protect them from this kind of stuff, he was supposed to be the street smart one.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve done better.” Hugo pulled away from Varian, keeping his eyes downcast. He didn’t want to see the disappointment that was sure to be there.

“How?” Varian asked. Hugo’s head snapped up, his confusion matching Varian’s.

“What?”

“How could you have done better? You kept me safe. What more could you have possibly done?” Varian seemed to be genuinely curious, gently lifting Hugo’s chin so he was looking at him again.

Hugo was panicking, why was he panicking? He should know the answer to Varian’s question. He’d heard Donella say those words so many times. What could he have done differently? What could he have done better? If he didn’t answer, if he didn’t know, what punishment awaited him? “I should’ve- I could’ve-“

Varian’s look softened, something sad lingering behind his eyes. “Nothing. The answer is nothing.”

He didn’t understand, he didn’t get it. Varian still suffered, how could there be nothing he should’ve done differently? He should be angry with him, disappointed in him, instead Varian looked at him with nothing but love. Hugo smiles then, reminded of why he was willing to leave his old life behind for him. He expected nothing but love in return. And he could give that, he wanted to give that. Varian closed the distance between them, pulling Hugo as close as possible, his lips feeling heavenly on his. And maybe Varian was right, the answer had to be nothing, because there was nothing he wanted to change about his time spent with Varian.

#tangled the series #varian #hugo #varigo #varian and the seven kingdoms #varian/hugo

[bcdaily]

Up on the Rooftop (Lily/James, Drabble)

A/N: Did someone ask for a pure fluff drabble to close out the decade? No? Oh well, here it is anyway. Thanks for another decade of amazingness, friends. <3 

A03 ~ FFnet

“How did I let you talk me into this?”

From behind her, Lily feels her boyfriend’s chest rumble in quiet laughter, the vibrations radiating through numerous parts of her—enveloped as they are, with her neatly tucked between the vee of his spread knees, her back curled tightly against his chest, arms casually intertwined, his chin resting idly atop her head.

It’d be decidedly cosy—delightfully so, even—if they weren’t at that very moment cuddled up on an ancient castle’s decidedly questionable roof, with the frigid late December air battling their hastily cast Warming Charms, about to ring in the year 1978 with a dash of danger and slate roof debris chaffing their thickly-layered arses.

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” James asks.

“Inside,” Lily replies. “Where it’s safe and warm.”

“Then that’s your first resolution for the new year: an embracing of escapade.”

Lily’s head tilts back. She eyes him with dry pointedness. “Still dating you, aren’t I?”

Dark eyebrows disappear into his truly ugly brown knitted hat. His mum had given it to him for Christmas. Lily is rather certain there are holes in it. It’s utterly impractical.

She’d got one, too. It’s purple and deformed and her new favourite thing.

“Are you calling me an escapade, Lily Evans?” he demands.

“Among many other things, James Potter.” She reaches up and pulls the hat down over his eyes. The strained fabric pokes out where his specs indent and she laughs. Successfully blinding him, she then tugs his neck down until their lips meet.

Maybe—maybe—it’s not so cold up here.

She lets out a long sigh and snuggles deeper into James’s embrace. He pushes the hat brim back over his eyes and then drops his head into the crook of her neck, where he burrows until he somehow finds skin.

With the hot press of his mouth on her, Lily arches and sighs again.

“I’m going to miss 1977,” she comments idly. “It was kind to me.”

“1978 will be better.”

“Know that for certain, do you?”

“Definitively.” His teeth scrape against her skin, then he soothes it with his lips. “Already resolved to embrace more escapade, haven’t you? Improvement is nigh.”

“You resolved that I would embrace more escapade,” Lily laughs, finding his gloved hand on her stomach, covering it with hers. “I’ve resolved to eat more greens. And quit swearing so much.”

“Fucking hell.”

“And—” She leans slightly out of his embrace, which he protests vehemently with garbled noises, and reclaims the open bottle of champagne they’d left sitting beside them. Lucky it hadn’t toppled over at some point, drenching an unsuspecting passerby below. She settles back against him with the bottle cradled in her arms. She takes a long swig, nose crinkling at the bubbles. “And drink less, too.”

She offers the bottle up to James, who makes a scoffing sound.

“Straight from the bottle,” he sneers. “Got your germs all over it now.”

“Yes,” Lily says sympathetically. “I know how much you hate my germs.”

“Despise them.” James takes the bottle from her, placing it back on its spot beside them, so he can get to her mouth. “Disgusting.”

Up on an unsafe rooftop, Lily feels quite safe in silly, happy, cosy love.

James starts unzipping her coat and she thwacks his fingers with a laugh and another kiss, contrarily grabbing the tab and sweeping it all the way up until her chin and part of her mouth are buried behind the closed fly.

“What are yours?” she asks, voice muffled against the heavy cloth.

James fights her idly for possession of the zipper. “What are my what?”

“Resolutions.”

“End zipper production.”

“Logical.”

“And—” He pulls a sneaky maneuver, fingers somehow dodging up and then down again, ignoring her squawk of indignation as he successfully gains control of the zipper tab. He zips the coat all the way down…then zips it straight back up. And grins. “Be more elegant in my many victories.”

She flicks his nose. “Good one.”

“Also.” His arms shift, closing around her. His lips drift to her ear, warm breath playing there. She’s so distracted by the toasty feel of it, she almost misses his whispered, “Marry you.”

Heart immediately jumping in her chest, Lily lets out an inelegant snort. His breath—surely, it’s his breath—sends shivers down her spine.

“Bold goal.” She turns her head to look up at him, the brisk wind reddening her cheeks. Surely, just the wind. “Perhaps—and this is just me absently ruminating, mind—perhaps one should be dating longer than five months before making such a decision?”

“Fair point,” James concedes, his face noticeably stolid in this joke—surely, a joke. “Except, of course, that I didn’t make this decision five months ago. Ages before that, I’ll have you know.”

“Ages, you say?” For the first time, Lily notices that his fingers have settled back over her stomach. Settled…and have a slight tremor to them. Her heart begins to pound harder. “Love at first sight, was it?”

“Love at first—are you kidding?” He pulls a face. “Hate at first sight. You were a terrible eleven-year-old.”

“I do recall something about a terrible eleven-year-old,” Lily muses. She covers his hand—surely, the cold. It is surely the cold that sees them shaking—with hers. “Didn’t I try to plow your trousers with pumpkin pie first year?”

James sniffs. “Yes, you did.”

“And you deserved it wholeheartedly, as I also recall.”

“Conjecture. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“If we got married, we could never keep pumpkin pie in the house.”

James buries his face in her hair. “Never much liked it, anyway.”

“James?”

“Hm?”

“You’re…you’re kidding, right? About…”

“I’m not about to ask this very second, if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Have the whole year to get to it. That’s the point. The resolution is for the year.”

“James.”

“Except it won’t happen at Christmas. Everyone always does it at Christmas. That’s a cliché.”

“James?”

“Not until after graduation, either. I’m not going to have you walking around with a big, hulking thing on your finger, trying to take exams. You’ll get carpal tunnel.”

“I don’t want something big and hulking.”

“Noted.”

They’re quiet on the rooftop. Quiet, but for the whistling of the wind, and the far-off splashes of the squid in the lake, and Lily’s heart, which is surely beating so loud the entirety of Scotland can hear it.

She’s not cold anymore. Not even a bit.

Her lips press together. They press together so hard, it’s nearly painful. There’s a biting sting at her eyes, sharp as the wind goes, and she takes in a deep breath, holding it in.

“Well.” His voice is short. Tight. He leans his cheek against her hair. “It’s just a resolution, anyway. People break those all the time.”

“Don’t,” Lily whispers. Her lips feel numb. “Don’t break this one.”

Behind her, Lily feels the tension in his body freeze for a long moment—lengthy, lingering, hard as slate, and still as the silent evening, as this burgeoning moment on the cusp of a new year, on the brink of a rooftop, on the possibility of…then he exhales.

“Okay.” His head drops back down into the crook of her neck. On her stomach, his fingers flutter.

“James.” She twists around in his vise-like grip. “I love you. You know that, right?”

“You’ve mentioned it a time or two.” His voice is muffled against her skin. Then his head lifts. His brown eyes are bright in the moonlight. “I just wanted to make sure you knew…that I…that this—”

“I know.” She brushes at the tufts of his dark hair poking out from beneath the knitted hat. There’s something bubbling in her stomach. It’s not champagne. “And you’re right—Christmas is a cliché. Don’t do it at Christmas.”

The corners of his mouth tip, one side higher than the other. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“You should—or, you know what? Maybe I will.”

“Sorry?”

“I’m supposed to be embracing escapades, after all. Stealing a proposal? Definite escapade.”

“You can’t steal my proposal.”

“Can’t I?”

“No! That’s completely—”

They are still arguing as the clock strikes midnight.

#jily #jily* #james potter #lily evans #bcdaily #my writing #drabble #nye

[wildandsexyjacks]

Borderline

Pairing: Oh Sehun + Reader

Genre: idek maybe a little angsty at first + lovers to exes to lovers again AU

Word count: 1,4k

Warnings: rated M for the fun stuff. it’s not explicit me thinks but, um, it’s there so read at your own discretion

“He’s staring at you.” your friend whisper-shouts, leaning on your shoulder so you can hear her over the heavy bass thundering in your ears.

You don’t need to ask who the he she’s referring to is because everyone always knows when Sehun and his group of celebrity friends arrive by the commotion it causes. You also don’t need to look to know exactly where he is, as they always claim the same spot in the VIP lounge on the second floor. He’s probably resting his forearms on the top of the balcony railing, double scotch in hands, staring down at the dance floor looking utterly unimpressed. It’s been like this every weekend for the past two months.

You don’t need to look, you don’t want to and you shouldn’t, but your eyes betray you just the same. It’s been like this for the past two months too.

Sehun looks gorgeous in tight pants paired with a dark dress-shirt and the blue Gucci coat you gave him for Christmas last year. When he sees you looking, he raises his glass and shoots you his classic white-teeth-crescent-eyes smile. After raising your own glass, you down its content in one long gulp and turn your back to him to resume dancing with your friend.

Every weekend. Every fucking weekend he’s been doing the same damn thing. He comes to your nightclub knowing you don’t like it, stares, stares, stares, and then he leaves. You should be used to it by now, but it still hurts to think of things that could have been, so you force yourself to not look back again.

After five songs, you’re starting to get thirsty, so you go over to the bar to get yourself another drink, right at the same time as Sehun walks down the stairs. He strides in your direction and leans against the bar counter, trying to get your attention.

Well... That’s a first.

“What are you doing in my club?” you ask, fixing the strap in your dress so you don’t have to look at him.

“It’s my birthday,” he explains, giving you a weird look.

Right.

Fuck.

“Congratulations.” 

Sehun nods towards the dance floor.

“You’re a great dancer.” while he waves a hand at the bartender, you entertain the thought of smashing his head against the counter for being so full of himself. he was the one who taught you how to dance, all those months ago. It’s how you ended up in bed together for the first time. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Just as you’re about to reply, the bartender - a new guy you hired a few weeks ago - takes one look at Sehun and frowns.

“Everything okay here, boss? Is this guy bothering you?”

Sehun looks insulted, but you just wave a dismissive hand.

“It’s alright, he’s a friend.” you tap your fingers on the bar counter “I’m thirsty, Han. Mix me an Orgasm, please.” then you point to Sehun, giving him a crooked smile “He’s buying.”

After the bartender gives you two thumbs up and turns on his heels to prepare your drink, Sehun scoots closer, raising one perfect eyebrow.

“Am I?”

“Buying?”

“A friend.”

You open your mouth, then close again, not knowing what to say. It’s a difficult question because Sehun was never a friend. At least not just that. He was Chanyeol’s friend, then he was a one night stand, then after a week of one night stands he was something else. After a month, he was almost like a boyfriend... And everything was great for several months. For over a year, actually, up until mid-february, when he hinted at possibly wanting to go officially steady. You freaked out, and he became an ex.

Han-the-bartender saves you from having to reply by setting your drink on the counter and sliding it in your direction. You take a sip while he watches you expectantly then nod your approval.

“Thank you.” you turn around to go back to the dance floor, looking at Sehun from over your shoulder and shouting to the bartender  “Put it in his tab.”

You manage four steps before Sehun catches up and grabs your arm.

“Look, you know I can’t stay down here for long, can’t we at least go somewhere to talk?” you stare at him in silence, unmoved, until he goes all out, pouting adorably to strike where it hurts the most “Please? It’s my birthday.”

Biting your lip, you avert his gaze. This is not a good idea. 

Not a good idea at all.

“Sure, why not?” you shrug.

Next thing you know, you’re in the storage room, sitting on a pile of boxes of Grey Goose, Sehun standing between your parted legs as he kisses a thorough line down your neck to your collarbone. His fancy coat is long gone and you’re currently unbuttoning his shirt with skilled fingers, all the while listing the reasons why you’re not a good match.

He’s a famous actor, a celebrity, a public figure with a reputation to maintain. You’re a nightclub owner and a party girl. 

He looks chic and cool but in reality, he’s a hopeless romantic while you’re almost pathologically afraid of commitment. 

You’re both too busy to make a real relationship work. 

If you keep this up, it’ll hurt a lot more when it inevitably ends.

“Come on, Y/N.” Sehun snakes a hand up your thigh under the skirt of your dress, reaching lace underwear and making you squirm with want “I know you like me too. Stop being so pessimistic, let’s give it a shot.”

While he keeps moving his hand, you pull his hair, shaking and panting, with only half a mind to tell yourself that you knew this was a bad, bad idea. Sehun has a way of making you beg with minimum effort, and both of you know he’s got a steady ground to bargain over anything while touching you like that.

“That’s not- oh god- That’s not the point.” 

The pile of boxes is barely holding up and the wall scratches your exposed shoulder blades in an uncomfortable way but you can’t bring yourself to tell Sehun to stop “The point is that- yes, right there- it’s not going to last.”

“I already told you, you think too much. Let’s worry about that later, if the moment ever comes. Right now I just want to make you-“ he kisses your lips, your cheek, your neck “Come on, baby, let it go, I got you.”

He keeps the pace impossibly slow until you’re begging like you knew you would, like you know he likes. With that same infuriating smile, he drops to his knees, puts your legs over his shoulders and in a second he has you seeing white. While you catch your breath and struggle to form coherent thoughts, he kisses your inner thigh, mumbling soft words against your skin until your legs stop shaking.

Before you have the chance to get up, though, the bar manager barges into the room, catching you and Sehun in a rather compromising position.

“There you are!” she exclaims, and you both jump to your feet, knocking down half the pile of boxes you were sitting on “Oh! Oh! I’m sorry.” she then turns around, covering her eyes after finally realizing what exactly she just interrupted “Sorry, it’s just... Mr. Oh, your friends are looking for you. We’re closing soon, so...”

Sehun’s already buttoning up the few buttons you managed to undo, looking down, embarrassed. You grab his wrist to check the time on his watch. 5:38 a.m.

“Right. Right, um, thank you, Yumi. We’ll be there in a second.”

“Of course.” she’s still trying to avoid looking in your direction “Do you want me to send someone to, you know... The vodka.”

You assess the puddle of alcohol at your feet and can’t help but feel a little sad - two boxes of fine vodka, going down the drain. Then there’s Oh Sehun by your side, still embarrassed and trying not to laugh, looking the cutest right after making you find god just a minute ago.

Fuck the vodka, you don’t regret it at all.

“Sure. That would be great.” you smile at Yumi’s back “Thank you.”

“No problem!” the bar manager blurts out, then all but runs off.

As soon as you’re left alone, you break out laughing. Sehun wraps his arms around you and hides his face in the crook of your neck, body shaking with silent laughter.

“I’m sorry.” he murmurs after a second.

“Oh, don’t be.” you shrug “I’m putting this in your tab too.” taking Sehun’s hand, you drag him out of the storage room “Now how about we go back to my place and you can convince me some more?”

“Convince...? Wait.” he stops walking “So you’re considering it? Giving it a shot?”

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you are being pessimistic.

Maybe it’s worth a try.

You look over your shoulder and smile, tugging at your joined hands.

“Ah, well. It’s your birthday, right?”

-

so... i got carried away lmao

happy birthday to the most handsome man in this entire world and maybe others, king of eyebrows and pacific-wide shoulders.... greek gods only wish they’d looked as good as osh

additionally, the exos have spoiled him rotten but let’s be honest: it’s what he deserves

#oh sehun #sehun #sehun scenario #sehun au #sehun fanfic #sehun imagine #exo fanfics #exo scenarios

[the-odd-job]

Up in Flames chapter 2 - Come and Take Her Hand (Ashes Part 2)

Warnings: Major Character Death, Chose Not to Use Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron Additional Tags: Dubcon, Mechpreg, Sticky Words: 3727

I must confess I'm addicted to this Shove your kiss straight through my chest I can't deny, I'd die without this Make me feel like a god Music, love and sex (Adrenalize me)

— In This Moment - Adrenalize

( Previous )

Skywarp did make sure they made it back to their quarters after a surprisingly pleasant evening of games and bad movies.

Earth movies. That surprised them more than a little. With the way the ‘Cons talked, you’d have thought they’d hate all parts of Earth, or that Megatron, at the very least, would ban all Earth things for the sake of banning them. 

But no, it looked like they rather freely used the entertainment on offer. On a second thought it made some sense, because there wasn’t much else available.

And admittedly the jeers aimed at the organics in the movies had been more than a little savage. Optimus would have never allowed the kind of talk the Seekers had thrown around freely.

Optimus wasn’t here, though. So… They could’ve joined in without anyone getting on their afts about it, and Sideswipe did laugh at a lot of the things that were said.

But Autobot manners had dug themselves deep and they could scarcely allow themselves to have negative thoughts about the humans on the screen. If they thought about how much they didn’t like the organics for the sole reason of them being so incredibly organic… Well, Optimus would have had even more talks with them than he’d already had.

That was in the past now though, wasn’t it? Even if Megatron had let them—and that wasn’t going to happen—how the pit were they supposed to ever go back to the Autobots? After everything they’d done? After everything Sunstreaker had done?

Maybe they should try to move on, instead. Give up on the Autobot pretenses… 

Could they do that?

Not yet, that was for sure. Everything was too fresh and the corridors of the Victory still felt so… Surreal. Like looking at a painting that didn’t make sense. They were so badly displaced that it was impossible to not feel out of their depth, even though the Seekers really hadn’t been anything… Out there. They were mecha like any other, chatting and talking, laughing. Making fun of things.

They weren’t Autobot and it was impossible to mistake them for being Autobot with the things that came out of their vocalizers, but slag, just how big was the divide between the two factions their species had broken into?

Was it as big as everyone liked to make it?

Because it hadn’t felt that different from nights spent in the Ark’s rec room.

It was a lot to compartmentalize after Skywarp said his good nights and skipped down the hall. Sideswipe went straight to their berth faceplanted onto it, groaning into its surface. Sunstreaker could feel his brother’s processors practically cooking from the conflict of expectations versus what reality had been so far.

So far. These were the ‘Cons, and he fragging well wasn’t going to trust there wouldn’t be unpleasant things coming for them down the line. More than just Megatron clawing their insignias for them. 

He sat down next to Sideswipe and his brother turned his helm to the side enough to peer up at him. “So… Skywarp seems nice.”

“Kinda, yeah.”

“And the other Seekers weren’t so bad either. Although they never introduced themselves. Huh.”

He didn’t get a chance to answer because there was a ping at their door. It was more of an announcement to someone’s presence instead of a request to come in, because the door swept aside almost immediately.

Megatron.

Who else?

“You haven’t heard of knocking?” Sunstreaker scowled. Sideswipe turned around and pushed himself to sitting.

“You’ll do well to remember it’s my ship,” Megatron rumbled as he stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. He utterly dominated the already small space, and right then Sunstreaker didn’t really feel like sitting anymore.

So he stood up. Not that it did him a hell of a lot of good when Megatron still towered over him. He craned his neck and glared up at the tyrant, who met his optics annoyingly neutrally. 

Like Sunstreaker wasn’t a threat of any kind to him.

But that wasn’t true, was it?

Before he could decide on what manner of pain he would deliver on the warlord, though, Megatron had moved to the reason for his visit. “We should discuss my expectations of you while you’re carrying.”

Ugh. Seriously? “What slagging expectations can you even have? It’s my fragging life,” Sunstreaker snarled.

Megatron wasn’t impressed and returned his glare. “That presently involves my sparkling.”

Not untrue, but slag him if he was going to let that affect a damn thing. It hadn’t stopped being his life just because he happened to be carrying. “So, what?” Sunstreaker snapped accordingly, “You want to turn me into a helpless carrier just that sits pretty until the sparkling’s separated?” To keep it safe from harm or some slag like that? ”Not going to happen.”  

The tyrant didn’t need even a second to consider what he’d said. “Will you fight for me, then?” Megatron asked without any fanfare, “Against your former comrades?” As if he had been expecting a retort along those lines.

The twins? The matter of who the slag they’d fight for was bound to come up eventually, but they hadn’t really foreseen it coming up so soon.

Or so directly. 

Maybe they should have. What was the point of dancing around the obvious? They were warriors. Fighting was what they did, but now they’d switched sides. Sort of. Not because they wanted to. 

So where did their loyalties lie right now?

Not with Megatron.

But Sunstreaker didn’t think that needed to be said, Megatron had to know already.

What of the whole reason they were here, then? “You’d risk your sparkling?”

Megatron had an answer prepared for that as well. “I would not shelf one of the best warriors Cybertron has to offer just because they’re carrying,” he near growled, like that was something he felt strongly about.

Sideswipe blinked and even Sunstreaker rocked back on his heels. If the sentiment wasn’t entirely unexpected—they were assets to whoever they fought for, and they knew as much—the emotion behind it was.

But Megatron continued, “What would Optimus say? That you need to put your whole life on hold so as to not endanger the sparkling?” Now he growled properly.

And was that it? That he once again disagreed with a stance the Prime took?

Was it a stance Optimus had? They hadn’t exactly had the time to verify that, but Megatron sure sounded like this had… Come up before, or something.

Sunstreaker narrowed his optics up at the warlord. “The way you decided to let everyone know about the goddamn sparkling, we didn’t really have the time to find out what Optimus would’ve thought.”

“He has made his stance clear in the past,” Megatron snarled. “He wasted your talent to begin with, only to set you aside completely if he found out you were harboring new life.” 

Considering how rabid Optimus was about protecting life in all of its forms… Honestly, that wouldn’t have even surprised them, although Sunstreaker wasn’t about to take just Megatron’s word for it.

And what was all this talk about how good fighters they were? Best Cybertron had to offer, wasted on the Autobot side of the war?

Frag off. “If you’re trying to soften me to the idea of fighting for you, it’s not working,” Sunstreaker growled back. “You fragging destroyed my life.”

“Didn’t you do that yourself, Sunstreaker?” Megatron asked, and now he leaned in in a way that forced Sunstreaker to take a step back—or move as far back as he could before the edge of the berth hit the back of his thighs. “The sparkling was about to come to light regardless, and it was my right to lay claim on it.”

“You had no right to have me ousted me as a slagging traitor!”

“But that’s what you are. You think they wouldn’t have found out the truth eventually even if your medic had kept it a secret?”

Sunstreaker’s engine growled hard enough that he began to worry for its integrity, his face twisted in a motherfucking snarl. Megatron wasn’t wrong, on any front, but slag him all the same! Maybe things wouldn’t have ended like this if the damn fragger had just kept his mouth shut.

“It is my sparkling as well, Sunstreaker,” Megatron continued. “I was not and am not about to let the Autobots keep me from it.”

“So that makes it okay to just walk in and force me to join you?” Sunstreaker hissed, shoving at the warlord’s chassis with both servos. “Get the slag out of here, we’re done talking.”

But Megatron grabbed his servos, lifted him by them, and threw him back onto the berth. Sunstreaker landed with a grunt, but sat up and snarled at the tyrant right after.

Megatron didn’t make a move to follow him, but his optics were burning on him. “We’re done talking when I say we’re done talking. 

“How did you even know to show up at just the perfect time, anyway?” Sideswipe spoke up suddenly. Megatron glanced at him as he’d forgotten his brother was even present, which wasn’t that much of a surprise. In any scanners they’d show up as a single reading, and with Sideswipe as still and quiet as he had been, following their little conversation...

“There’s little Soundwave doesn’t know,” Megatron answered.

The implications settled in quickly. “You were keeping tabs on me?!” Sunstreaker demanded in a near roar that he was sure would carry up and down the hall if the room wasn’t decently soundproofed. 

Megatron glared at him like he was an unruly youngling getting on his nerves. “My sparkling, Sunstreaker. How many times do I need to repeat that?”

“My life! How many times do I need to repeat that?!” That infuriating fucking–

“Okay, okay,” Sideswipe piped up again, bringing his servos up to diffuse the situation a little bit before Sunstreaker jumped up to strangle the fragger. “I get it, it’s your sparkling and you have rights to it, and that conflicts with our right to our life, but you decided the sparkling was more important than letting us decide what the slag we were going to do.” Sunstreaker glared at his brother for good measure too, but Sideswipe didn’t pay him mind. “How much freedom do we have, though? We were allowed to walk around the ship, which was honestly more than we expected, but…” he trailed off, frowning.

“I will not make you prisoners unless you force my hand,” Megatron said, significantly more calm in responding to Sideswipe than he was with Sunstreaker.

That could have something to do with Sideswipe just acting less aggravating, though.

Slag his brother for good measure. What the fuck had him acting so reasonable? 

“So we’re allowed to leave the ship if we want to?” Sideswipe prodded further.

“With escort, yes.”

That was… Really surprising, actually. Sideswipe stilled for a second because they really had expected the answer to be a simple ‘no’, but Sunstreaker found his words without too much delay. “What, don’t trust us to not fragging run away?”

“I would drag you back even if you did. There’s nowhere you can go where I wouldn’t find you,” Megatron glared at him where he very much didn’t glare at Sideswipe. “I’m more concerned with your former faction. I will not let them separate me from my sparkling.” There it was again. Apparently Megatron was really serious about having the sparkling for himself. 

“Frag you too,” Sunstreaker muttered before he raised his volume back to normal levels. “What about the fact it’s my sparkling as much as yours? If I’d rather the Autobots had it over you?”

This time Megatron’s voice was calm and steady when he answered, “I would not allow that.”

That was the trouble with fifty-fifty rights to something. If you wanted different things, at some point one would need to overrule the other one way or another. 

In this situation, there was little question that Megatron was in a far better position to overrule anything Sunstreaker said or wanted. 

Sunstreaker growled, but at the end of the day, it wasn’t like he actually wanted the Autobots to have the sparkling. Who the slag knew what they’d do to it… “So what do you slagging expect from me?” 

“I expect you to stay with the Decepticons until you have delivered it, and care for it to the best of your ability during your carry,” Megatron rumbled. “You will not deny me access to yourself or it, and after it has separated, I will have it.”

Right. And what could he do to argue any of that? There was a bit of a power imbalance going on here.

“And if I want to have it too, after it’s separated?” Sunstreaker asked with a growl. Did he want that? Frag if he knew, but he was curious for the answer regardless. 

“You’re welcome to stay, but the sparkling will not leave.”  

So… Stay among the ‘Cons if he wanted to have a part in the sparklet’s life after he’d delivered it.

Sunstreaker scowled. “It sounds like a hell of a lot like you’re expecting me to put my life on hold until I’m no longer carrying.”

“I am the sire. I have a say in what happens to the sparkling, even during the period it resides in your frame.”

They were just going in circles here, weren’t they? Sunstreaker threw his arms up before flopping back onto the berth, frustration coursing all over his frame. “Does it matter one crap what I want, here?”

“We can discuss your options again after you’ve delivered my sparkling.”

Sunstreaker snarled, and in an angry moment of true genius, kicked at Megatron with both legs. Fucking bastard, walking in all dangerous and titillating and proceeding to turn his whole fragging life upside down.

Because Sunstreaker had played no part in that, oh no.

Megatron caught his legs easily. The tyrant’s optics flashed and Sunstreaker had a moment to consider how big of a mistake he’d made, before he was tugged to the edge of the berth—with Megatron between his legs.

Sunstreaker growled twice as hard. “Get the slag away from me.”

“I seem to remember you quite love my spike,” Megatron growled right back at him. “It has been a while, hasn’t it?” His servo slipped to Sunstreaker’s valve cover and Sunstreaker tried to tilt his hips away from the touch, to no avail.

And slag, but he didn’t want to think about all of the spectacular frags they’d already had before their little accident. A traitorous part of his mind whispered that what did it matter, the damage was already done.

There was nothing more to lose, so why not just enjoy what there was? 

A larger part of his mind, though, remained entirely too stubborn to just give Megatron what he wanted. Sunstreaker did nothing when the warlord’s claws dug into the seams of his panel despite the way Megatron raised an optical ridge at him—would he retract, or would he not?

He had every time before, but every time before there were questions to be avoided.

There was no one to ask those questions, now. Everyone knew already. 

The panel stayed shut.

Megatron’s other optical ridge rose up as well, a second ahead of his claws sinking in and dislodging the entire cover. Sunstreaker grunted at the pain as the tyrant simply tore it off and threw it aside. 

Wetness already greeted Megatron’s digits when he shoved two of them into his valve without preamble, the sting only revving Sunstreaker’s engine higher. “Are you ever not wet for me?” Megatron hissed at him, leaning down even as he began to pump those digits in and out. Sunstreaker’s hips jerked into the motion before he could stop himself, followed by a furious growl—furious at himself, furious at Megatron.

“Frag off and stop flattering yourself.” Slag, but Megatron’s already thick digits would be nothing compared to his spike itself, and heat was pooling in Sunstreaker’s core just at the thought of that. His engine growled harder, anger rising in time with his arousal.

Slag Megatron for always turning him on so fucking effortlessly. Without even really trying, though at least he was taking the time to somewhat prepare him—a third digit slipped into his valve, spreading his calipers further with just another little sting. Sunstreaker’s helm fell back against the berth and he had to bite back a moan.

That was enough for the tyrant. His digits pulled out, then the familiar click of his spike cover retracting heralded the nudge of a very sizable spike against his valve entrance.

Sunstreaker had just the time to prepare himself before Megatron thrust in, all the way… But even having expected it, he couldn’t keep a groan from escaping his vocalizer no matter how he tried to strangle it. Megatron’s servos, so massive compared to him, caught his hips to keep him in place.

Not that Sunstreaker would have found himself too motivated to go anywhere with the warlord’s length splitting him open to the most exquisite strain of his calipers.

And that was even before he started to move. Once Megatron pulled out, only to push back in the next moment… Primus.

How wrong of him was it to say he’d slagging missed that stupid spike? Sunstreaker couldn’t keep himself from rocking his hips into the steady, heavy, deep thrusts. Megatron chuckled. “You’re hungry for it.”

“Slag you.” That did not come out as a fragging moan, dammit.

Sideswipe kept physically quiet, but in their spark his chortling reverberated all over the place. Sunstreaker growled harder at that. They were both laughing at him, fraggers.

But slag, the way Megatron’s pace increased until it was enough to put all of his previous berth partners to shame—he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that. His valve was singing its praises at him, pleasure rocking his whole damn world until he couldn’t do more than grab onto the berth’s surface in a doomed effort to ground himself.

Megatron wasn’t kind, he wasn’t gentle. His hold on his hips was tight enough to dent and he pulled him back into every punishing thrust, as if the motion of his hips alone wasn’t violent enough. 

Sunstreaker wouldn’t have it any other way. Fragging forget Optimus—forget Ironhide. Optimus couldn’t even pretend to be anything other than soft and thoughtful, always so worried about Sunstreaker’s comfort every step of the way. Ironhide could try, but it never stopped feeling like he was just acting.  

The other Autobots weren’t even worth mentioning.

Megatron was nothing like them. He wasn’t acting, he wasn’t pretending, he was just himself—intense, demanding, taking.

Giving just by accident, as an afterthought. Megatron chased after his own overload so roughly Sunstreaker doubted they’d ever have a single frag that didn’t end up with him looking like he’d gotten thoroughly ‘faced, but frag–

It was fucking worth it. He could fix himself back up after, but in the moment, in this moment, only the sheer ecstasy Megatron was driving his frame towards mattered.

He couldn’t keep quiet. Fuckit, he tried, and he wasn’t a loud individual, not prone to voicing his pleasure—but he couldn’t not do that now as Megatron drove his spike into him over and over again. Sunstreaker writhed for more of it, shoving into every thrust until Megatron’s engine was rumbling in approval and Sunstreaker himself was moaning with every violent invasion into his frame. 

“Your words never seem to agree with your frame,” Megatron growled at him, shoving in particularly roughly to punctuate his words.

Sunstreaker couldn’t will his optics open, couldn’t stop his groan—but he growled right back. “Trust my words. I hate you.”

“But not my spike,” he could hear the tyrant snarl, and was his voice coming closer?

Then there were lips on his, as rough as the thrusts into his valve.

Sunstreaker was moaning. Why couldn’t he stop himself from moaning? And he shouldn’t– Frag, but he shouldn’t be winding his arms around Megatron’s neck to pull him ever closer, and he definitely, he definitely shouldn’t part his lips at the demanding bite at his lower lip that was only followed by Megatron’s glossa invading his oral cavity.

Slag it all. If the fragging Autobots had seen him now, moaning his pretty spark out as he took the warlord’s spike and moaned for more, let him kiss him, let him use him… Oh, he was a traitor, alright.

He took it until he couldn’t anymore. A hoarse cry rose from his throat as his overload hit him with all the energy of a bolt of lightning, arching his frame from help to pede—against the frame above his. Megatron growled as his valve clenched down, and a moment later Sunstreaker could feel further wetness assaulting his already sopping valve—could feel the charge from Megatron’s frame crackling against him, pulling him into another, smaller overload before the charge from the previous had even finished dying off.

He slumped against the berth as the last remnants of that finally abandoned him, his vents heaving. As were Megatron’s. At least he wasn’t the only one who had found that… Satisfying.

Megatron pulled back with one last nip on his mouth, letting his spike depressurize into its housing. As ever, a veritable flood followed its retreat, streaming from Sunstreaker’s valve, onto the berth’s edge, and to the floor from there. 

“Should we do that again, hm?” Megatron asked from him, and Sunstreaker finally found the willpower to open his optics to glare at the damn mech.

“Go to hell.”

There was a twitch at the corner of Megatron’s mouth, an almost smile that didn’t quite materialize before the warlord turned to leave, taking the step to the door. “Have Hook fix that cover,” he said as it opened for him.

Like they even knew where Hook’s repair bay was, but Megatron didn’t much enlighten them on that front before he just walked out.

The door closed on his heels.

Pits.

Sideswipe scooted into his field of view. “So…” his brother said, inspecting his heated, panting frame, spread legs, and the fragging mess between them. “I’ll clean that up. You just… Enjoy the afterglow,” Sideswipe grinned.

Fragger was teasing him. 

Sunstreaker snarled, but… Yeah, he didn’t really feel like moving.

Frag everything.

( Next )

#transformers #maccadams #megatron #sunstreaker #sideswipe #fic #2020 #up in flames #ashes #megasun

[bluesyturtle]

trepverter for Reddie and ignipotent for Harringrove

the Reddie prompt will be a separate post!

ignipotent: presiding over fire

Tommy hosts a graduation party out by the quarry the day after finals. Steve doesn’t really know why he’s invited, but he figures, to hell with it. He’s got nothing else going on and no reason not to go, and anyway, it might be nice seeing everyone all together again before they walk at graduation.

He shows up an hour late, not that anyone notices. That might’ve upset him once, but tonight it’s what he was hoping for, to sneak in, have a drink, and head out. Sure, he could’ve had a drink at home, but even if he has the same amount of conversation here as he would there, a party feels different than an empty house. Noisier, fuller, brighter.

Speaking of bright, though, he notices pretty quickly that Tommy’s party has something Steve definitely couldn’t have gotten at home. Mainly, the huge bonfire spitting smoke and embers and the occasional loud pop a few feet from the water’s edge.

Other than that, it’s a standard setup. Cheap beer, a keg, a few people splashing around in the water. Someone’s blasting Cheap Trick from their car speakers, and a bunch of girls from the cheerleading team are dancing and singing along. Steve thinks they sound like cats, but they look like they’re having fun, and that’s pretty cool.

He passes a couple making out on his way to the cooler — Tommy and Carol, as it happens — and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping to kiss someone tonight. It’s not likely to happen if he keeps to himself the whole time, but the thought of trying to get them all to look at him just makes him feel tired for some reason. 

There’s a big thing of driftwood blocking the cooler from the bonfire, and Steve crosses over it with a cold one sweating in his hand. He pops the tab and downs it in one go, feeling cold from the beer but warm from the fire.

“You need something stronger there, Harrington?”

Steve crunches the can in his fist and stares at it for a long time before looking over at the shape Billy cuts. All lit up in the firelight he almost reminds Steve of that night his life took a turn for the weird and a fucking monster went up in flames right in front of him. Here and now, though, Billy looks more like he’s part of what makes it burn. Less like kindling and more like accelerant.

“Yeah, actually,” Steve mutters. “If you’re gonna keep talking to me.” He tosses his empty can into a black trash bag already halfway full of cans and sticks.

“How ‘bout a smoke?” Billy asks, and fuck, Steve didn’t even hear him walking over. He pretends to pluck something out from behind Steve���s ear. It’s a joint. “Yes? No? Maybe?”

Steve stares at him. How drunk is he that he’s standing this close and not trying to fuck him up? He’s gotta be trashed — he’d have to to be — except he looks more sober than anyone else Steve has seen since driving up.

Billy raises his eyebrows. “Try again later?”

“Look, I don’t wanna do this with you tonight. I just wanna get a buzz on and go home.”

“Lemme get a buzz on you then,” Billy croons, his smile like a knife and looking more deadly for the shadows playing over his face, making all his edges appear that much sharper. “Or are you not in the mood to have a little fun?”

Steve squints at him. He’d thought Billy seemed sober at first glance, but maybe the joint in his hand isn’t his first of the night. That would explain it.

Some of it.

Regardless, Steve’s not drunk enough to take a peace offering from Billy Hargrove. If that’s what it even is.

“Depends. Are you gonna smash a plate over my head again?”

Billy’s smile stutters, and the weapon of his mouth takes to looking like a wound. He recovers a second later, but he can’t get that blade-like curve to settle in where it was. There was a time when he would’ve felt good about taking him down a peg, but now he just feels like he’s exposed a scar. He’s not sure if it’s his or Billy’s, is the thing.

It reminds him of all the other ways people can give scars — by tearing up a photograph or by smashing a camera. Or with words.

Steve meets Billy’s eyes, Billy who’s gone quiet and squirmy since Steve brought up the fight. They’ve done a pretty good job, both of them, of staying out of each other’s way ever since that night. Steve thought it was because they’d just fight if their paths crossed again, but here they are stood still at a crossroads. Billy doesn’t look like he wants to fight. He doesn’t like he’s been wanting to fight.

“You know,” Steve starts, tilting his head when Billy jumps at the sound of his voice. “An apology goes a long way. I mean. In my experience.”

In the light of the fire, staring and wide-eyed, Billy looks like a kid, but like he’s seen the inside of hell, too. The only other person Steve knows who looks like that is Dustin’s friend El, and he’s got it on pretty good authority that she has seen the inside of hell. 

So what has Billy seen?

He jerks out of his trance to glare at the fire. As closely as Steve’s watching him, he’s still surprised when Billy’s hand shoots out. Steve takes it, perplexed until Billy finally looks at him.

“Sorry, for…”

“Yeah,” Steve says, throat tight with his heartbeat, and with something he can’t name.

“It wasn’t — I didn’t — ”

Steve nods, lost but not. He knows what Billy means, somehow, and he knows why he can’t say  it. If he put him to it, Steve couldn’t either. Billy pumps his hand once and lets go before Steve’s figured out how to follow him in the gesture.

“So…” Billy clears his throat. “You want that smoke or what?”

Steve smiles and says sure. 

“One thing, though. I gotta get outta here. If Madonna comes on one more fuckin’ time, I’m gonna lose my shit.”

And that’s how Steve winds up crashing through the underbrush with Billy and stepping on his heels when the shadows get too dark to see through.

“Harrington, Jesus Christ.”

“What? It’s dark!”

Billy feels out into the darkness for him and hauls him the rest of the way through the trees. They’re close enough to hear laughter and just a suggestion of music, but when Steve walks out to the edge of the bank the woods let out onto and he can’t see anyone. It’s damn near cozy.

“How’d you know about this place?” Steve asks.

“I didn’t,” Billy tells him, puffing once and passing him the lit joint. He drops down to sit and stretches his legs out in front of him.

Steve sits, too. In the moonlight, he can’t remember what it was about Billy’s face that made him look anything but young. It’s weird, still, to be this close to him, but that feeling goes up in smoke, hit for hit. As it leaves him, it starts to feel weirder not leaning into Billy so their arms press in a single line from shoulder to wrist.

Billy flicks the nub when they’re done with it and digs around in his jacket for another. Steve’s already feeling pretty good, but he’s not gonna say no to feeling better. It’s why he’s already saying yes when Billy starts to ask him a different question.

“Wait, what?”

“I said, you ever shotgun a hit before?”

“Oh. Then no.”

“What did you think I was gonna say?” Billy purrs, back on his grinning bullshit, but he doesn’t look dangerous like he usually does. Between the lopsided tilt of his smile and the glazed look in his eyes he looks more at risk for raiding a fridge than he does for starting shit.

“I just thought you were gonna ask if I wanted to smoke some more. What’s — what did you call it? A shotgun?”

“Yeah, shotgunning. It’s the same hit. Goes from me to you. Sharing is caring, right?”

“Sure, I guess. How does it work?”

Billy flicks his tongue against a sharp tooth. He shrugs one shoulder. “I blow smoke. You breathe it in. Easy.”

“What, like, you blow it in my face?” Steve asks, starting to grin, too. That sounds silly.

“Nah, I blow into your mouth.”

“My mouth?” Steve echoes, feeling something warm and insistent uncurl low in his belly.

Billy hums, takes a slow drag and holds it. There’s a patient, oddly steady look to his eyes, the same one he pointed at Steve that night outside Mrs. Byers’ house. Steve stutters and gives a jerky nod. 

When that doesn’t get Billy to move, he swallows and unsticks his tongue from the roof of his mouth. Says, “Yeah, okay.”

He only flinches a little when Billy leans in close and taps the spot under his chin. Something about Billy touching him makes his heart race, and it’s not because he’s scared of getting hit. He doesn’t quite breathe in at the same time that Billy breathes out, but he catches most of it. After, for a moment, Billy’s still close enough to —

Well, they could almost be kissing if Steve’s lungs weren’t full of smoke. He chokes on the realization and turns his head, sputtering and coughing and buzzing where Billy thumps him a few times on the back.

Billy’s laugh, usually psychotic, sounds softer now. Everything about him seems softer, everything but the lingering weight of his palm spanning Steve’s shoulder. He’s got his other hand halfway to his mouth to take another hit when Steve stops him. Their fingers overlap when Steve clumsily takes the joint from him, and that small touch, that slide of friction, gets his heart pounding. The silence that rises up between them, whatever it might mean, makes the blood roar in Steve’s ears.

He’s not stupid. Billy’s mouth was close enough to taste, and Steve wanted him closer still. He knows what that means, even if he can’t make sense of why. Billy watches his eyes, then his mouth, and he only hesitates as long as it takes for Steve to press his fingers to his jaw. 

They draw in closer this time, and the way Steve feels, there’s no way he’s not finding out if his lips are as soft as they look. There’s no way. 

He lets the smoke rush out of him, lets Billy take it from him, and sways in to smear a kiss into his mouth. It’s like standing by the bonfire again, cast in a burning glow and sparking to life everywhere that Billy’s touching him, everywhere Billy could be touching him.

Billy breaks away to breathe and let the smoke go. Steve tries to remember how to breathe, too, but he’s having a rough go of it. He stubs out the burning cherry until it goes dark, thinking, okay, now they’re gonna fight, now Billy’s gonna kick his ass. Steve’s halfway to apologizing and most of the way toward accepting that he’ll be going home with a black eye when Billy turns back to him.

And kisses him again.

He frames Steve’s face with his hands, gentle in a way Steve didn’t think he could be. Steve wraps him up in his arms, crushing him closer so they can sink down together. Together.

Billy smells like a bonfire and tastes like beer. He feels like falling. The kind Steve hasn’t been doing much of lately. Billy bends down to mouth at his neck, and when he lets his head thunk back onto the ground, Steve’s awareness of the music starts to trickle back in. He looks in that direction, listening, and grins.

“Do you hear that?”

“Stay… stay darling…”

“Hmm?” Billy doesn’t look up from where he’s no doubt sucking a mark against his throat.

Steve laughs and tangles his fingers in Billy’s hair. “Madonna.”

“Ugh, God,” he groans, and that just makes Steve laugh harder.

“When you walked out my door — ” Steve starts, but that’s as far as he gets before Billy surges up to bite and kiss him quiet.

#harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove #beguilewritesstuff #prompts! yay! #stranger things fic

[abbacchiosbelt]

asked by @lunatic-charm​ - using a text post for the read more feature.

here’s the post for reference! 💜

18+ under the cut!

Risotto is a hard man to crack. His composure and self-restraint are second to none. In fact, Risotto likes to have you sucking his cock or riding him whilst he’s conducting business. The thrill of the act and making you work to remain quiet is the fun part for him, besides your tight walls or hot mouth working him over.

Risotto’s grip on your head tightens when you hollow your mouth around his thick cock and suck – when you look up at him through dark lashes, the sharp of his teeth are digging into his bottom lip as he listens to the man on the other line speak. He’s not easy to distract, but you’d resolved yourself to challenge him.

His hips buck and his cock hits the back of your throat, making you gag around him before he pulls back. He looks down at you with a smirk (he did it on purpose, the bastard) and thrusts again. Your eyes water but you take him in stride, keeping his gaze while you run your tongue around his shaft, hand pumping at his generous length that doesn’t fit into your mouth.

The phone call ends a moment later – Risotto takes the opportunity to drag you off of his cock slowly, admiring the saliva dripping from your mouth, the string connecting to his member. He hums in disapproval and clicks his tongue at you.

“You weren’t behaving nicely, were you, tesoro? I think you need a lesson.”

Formaggio loves the idea of it but fails to contain his moans of pleasure every time. He’s had members hang up on him more than once, but the idea of it intrigues him so much every time that he just keeps doing it.

Formaggio’s hand is snug on your hip whilst the other is holding his cell phone tightly, pressed into his ear while he nods and hums at the right times. His eyes are trained on you, though – bouncing on his cock, chest slick with sweat and head thrown back in pleasure.

“Ah—Prosciutto, are you about done?” He says, gritting his teeth when he feels you tighten around him. A noise of disgust sounds from the other line and Formaggio chuckles. “Sorry man, I was in the middle of somethin’! You’d get angrier if I didn’t answer.”

The phone goes silent and Formaggio tosses it to the side, bringing his other hand to sink into the skin on your hip. His face is flushed when you tip your head forward to look at him, his eyes roaming approvingly over your body. He catches your gaze and grins, throwing a wink in your direction.

“All my attention is on you now, babe. Put on a show for me?”

Illuso is a private sort of person. Sure, he may be a nosy gossip, but his own privacy is important to him. Still, the idea of having to control himself while you’re riding on him or sucking his cock is too good for him to pass up. He’s good at containing his noises – unless you start biting at his neck. He loses it at that point.

Your face is buried into Illuso’s neck while he pumps himself into you slowly, idly holding his phone in one hand while he gives a mission report to Risotto. He’s doing a good job keeping his voice even, but the familiar smell of your lover makes you tighten around his cock.

You can’t help but to place a gentle kiss on his neck – and then another, licking a stripe up his sensitive skin. Illuso coughs and glares at you, but you just give him a demure smile. He continues his spiel and you focus on the way his hips roll gently, giving you just enough friction to have you holding in a moan.

He’s taking too long though, so with a wicked grin, you start kissing at his neck again – and when he coughs again you bite down and Illuso whines into the phone, face turning bright red. He quickly hangs up.

“Amore,” he hisses. He stills his thrusts and wraps you in a vice grip. “If you want to orgasm, you better make it up to me.”

Pesci would never even think of attempting it. He’s way too shy! He barely likes answering the phone anyways and having you on his cock would be way too much for this poor assassin to handle.  Sorry, Pesci.

Prosciutto loves nothing more than to have you blowing him under his desk while he conducts business over the phone. (Or later in time, via Skype.) Much like Risotto, he’s hard to crack – even if you’re giving him a sloppy blowjob, he still keeps it together. Although, you did surprise him one time…

Prosciutto jumps when he feels the familiar weight of his lover’s hand over his crotch. La Squadra is about to conduct a meeting, for god’s sake, how did you even get under the table? The rest of the members file in while you work Prosciutto through his pants. From the way his legs are twitching, you can tell he’s trying to keep himself from getting hard. He grumbles something incoherent when you pull his half-hard cock out and place a kiss on the tip.

Prosciutto’s foot presses down on your knee and you give him the lightest hint of your teeth as a warning. From above, the vein in his head that pulses when he’s frustrated is clear as day to the rest of the men. You lick and kiss until Prosciutto’s cock is hard and heavy in your mouth – and when you hum quietly around him, his legs shake.

You start to gingerly work his cock, tongue swirling around the tip and hollowing your mouth where you know he likes pressure, when Risotto starts the meeting. Prosciutto is doing his best to remain composed – until you pump him with your hand and have him coming, ropes of hot cum shooting into your throat while his legs shake violently. He makes a groan from above and there’s a pregnant pause from Risotto.

Papers shuffle and Risotto’s deep voice sounds again, but Prosciutto’s face is bright red. Later, when he’s mercifully alone, he’ll drag you out by your hair and give you a dark look.

“Begging for a punishment, hm, troia?”

Ghiaccio likes the idea of exhibitionism and public sex… so having you play with him or ride him while he’s on the phone seems like a good first step. He’s incredibly insecure about it, but he can’t ignore how rock hard his cock gets when he thinks about it. Still, he never expected you to indulge him in it.

Ghiaccio’s eyes go wide when you pick up his phone and answer it while he’s in the middle of pounding into you while you’re beneath him on all fours. You hand it to him with a smile and muffle your own moans when he pumps into you faster, grimace on his face as he rips out of your hand.

“Hello?!” He roughly growls into the phone, using one hand to squeeze the plump flesh of your ass in a painful grip. “N-no, I’m not busy.”

You stifle a giggle and Ghiaccio squeezes your ass again before he starts thrusting in even harder – when you turn your head your shoulder to look at him, he’s bright red with sweat beading on his forehead. How cute. Aiming to fluster him even more, you push back against him and earn a tiny gasp from the man.

Before you can even think, Ghiaccio has his hand on your back pushing your face into the bed with force, cock pounding in and out of you, the slick noises filling the otherwise quiet room.

“Fucking hell, do you want everyone to know what we’re doing, puttana? You do, don’t you.”

Sorbet & Gelato enthusiastically answer the phone while they’re in the midst of fucking each other or you. It’s a turn on for them – and they also just don’t give a fuck.

It’s hard enough to think with Sorbet’s cock stuffed down your throat, not to mention with how hard Gelato is pounding into your aching sex already dripping with cum. They’d already thoroughly used you, yet it was never enough for them. The sound of the phone ringing distantly registers in your mind – and you gag on Sorbet’s cock in surprise when you hear him answer with his familiar lazy drawl.

“Hello?” Gelato snickers from behind you at Sorbet’s lazy voice, his ministrations not halting in the slightest. “That noise? Hm, do you want a close-up?”

With wide eyes you watch Sorbet pass the phone to Gelato, who holds it closely to his member currently driving into you. Both of them are grinning wide enough to have their sharp teeth digging into their lips, and you can do nothing but whimper around the cock in your mouth and squeeze the one pumping into you.

“Ah, looks like they hung up, Sorbet!”

-

Bruno is a bit kinkier than people assume – he likes public sex, exhibitionism, and gets off on the chance of being caught. Stick Fingers helps, of course, but he loves to answer the phone while he’s fucking you.

“Be quiet for me, tesoro.” Bruno hums, stroking a soft hand down your back before he answers the call coming in. His hips are rolling into yours with a practiced motion, cock thrusting deep inside you and forcing you to bite your hand to muffle your moans.

You bring your hand away to take in a breath and let a moan escape – but before you can muffle the next one, you hear the noise of a zipper and the feel of the cool metal across your mouth. Bruno had used Sticky Fingers to silence you – you blinked up at the Stand in front of you as Bruno pushed himself into you even deeper than before.

Abbacchio has certainly asked you to suck him off while he’s on the phone a few times before – and has even been wicked enough to have you do in the midst of a meeting. His composure is steel – and he likes the filthiness of it all.

Abbacchio’s cock was thrusting into your mouth before the meeting even started. It was only Bruno and Mista, but still… being used by your boyfriend beneath the table whilst your friends remained clueless had the pit of arousal in your stomach twisting.

Abbacchio was perfectly composed, hands folded on the table instead of threading through your hair to fuck himself on your mouth. It was up to you to keep up the brutal pace and remain as quiet as possible.

Oh, you wouldn’t be surprised if Bruno knew… you’d had your share of counters between your Capo and Abbacchio. You can’t resist pushing your hand down into your own pants and working yourself as you suck Abbacchio’s cock.

So, when you hear Mista’s heavy footfalls exiting the room, you’re not surprised to be dragged out from under the table – eyes lidded and mouth swollen from use – to be presented to your Capo by Abbacchio.

“I think they needs a lesson in manners, Buccellati.”

Mista can’t stay quiet, no matter how hard he tries. The feel of your sweet mouth on his cock is just too much – let alone fucking you while he’s trying to talk on the phone. It’s a lost cause, with him. He won’t even try because he knows he can’t handle it. The two of you get yelled at all the time for being too loud. Oops.

#jjba headcanons #not sfw #risotto nero #risotto #formaggio #illuso #pesci #prosciutto #ghiaccio #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio #guido mista #reader insert #la squadra #vento aureo #bruno's gang #sorbet #gelato #my writing

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 38

Catch up on AO3

Happy Birthday Bonus Day. Ok, I'm also babysitting my niece until Monday and won't be online.

~*~Sebastian~*~

The phone call from my manager, Emily, was about the shoot for the watch ad. At the end, she tacked on there had been a random tweet saying, "I think I just saw The Winter Soldier kidnap and carry off a woman." I guess someone did see. Naturally, it turned into a thing with fans asking for pictures "or it didn't" happen and location. Poor guy was just posting something random to his friends and got overrun. His next tweet was "Fuck, y'all are crazy. I'm being stupid, drunk by the water, and you lose your damn minds." He has no idea. His comment about water has everyone thinking I'm at the beach. I wish. Although, I am at a sand volleyball tournament.

I went back outside and Emma wasn't at the table. I could see her out on the court. I got closer and was treated with tiny orange shorts. Those were exactly what flashed into my head when she said she played volleyball. Except I pictured the shorts black. I wasn't going to bitch about the orange. I was already making plans around peeling them off. The best I could do right now was a kiss through some black netting.

After meeting the team, I went back to the table and introduced myself. Scott stared for a bit, but after a few minutes of conversation with Samantha he joined in. This was the way it usually happened. There was a period of weird silence before my behavior convinced them I'm no different from anyone else. Once I can get them from seeing a twenty-foot version of me on a movie screen to seeing the guy in front of them things are pretty normal.

As much as I was enjoying the conversation when the game started I went up to the railing. Emma’s team started on the side that wasn't fronted by the deck. I wanted to see. I'd done my research, so I knew after the first set they'd switch sides. I'd sit down then. Maybe. I was rewarded with a smile when they took their places and she saw me.

Things didn't start well. The other teamed scored three quick points. We'd close in, then they'd pull ahead again. I learned from Samantha that Emma was the setter. She was in charge of the offensive and Pete directed defense. Her obsessive planning would probably come in handy here. When we were behind ten to twelve Pete called a time out. They ran over to the bench under where I was standing. Emma told them what she saw the other team doing and gave each of them direction. Pete added in a little, but it was mostly her. She was confident, direct, and at the end brought them together for a quick cheer and told them, "We got this."  All through this, she paid zero attention to me. She was laser-focused like I wasn't even there.

Which made me hard.

From then on there was no more being behind. It was like the first part of the match was them figuring the other side out and now they were playing for real. Emma's yelling out names. Pete's telling people to move. And then there's the physicality of it. She was quick. She would dive to keep the ball from hitting the ground, barely dump it over the net, and set the ball up for one of the guys. The last one looked like she was barely touching the ball, but I knew the strength in those fingers. I'm sure the others were doing all sorts of shit too, but I was only paying attention to her. What she wasn't very good at was serving. She didn't suck. It just wasn't her strong suit.

I kept quiet throughout the set until the final score. I did a fist pump and yelled, "Yes!"

Final score twenty-five to twenty.

They headed to the bench, all smiling but not too big, and started gathering their stuff. Emma gathered her clothes over her arm before looking at me. It wasn't over yet so I gave her a thumbs up and mouthed, "Good job."

Emma stepped up on the bench like she had before the game and reached her fingers through the netting. Reaching for me. I linked my fingers with hers and met her for another kiss in a little square. She smiled and whispered, "For luck."

Nick came close and looked up," You have to do that before every set now. Superstition rules sports."

I looked around Emma to see him, "Not a hardship."

I went back to the table for the second set. Samantha, who told me to call her Sam, provided a steady commentary and answered any questions I had. I should have started back here. I had a much better understanding of roles, strategy, and gameplay by the time they won the second set and therefore the game.

Scott pointed between me and Sam, "One of you bar bitches needs to go get beer."

I jumped off the chair, I'll get it."

I looked at Sam, "What do I get?

"Bucket of Corona and one of Modelo."

"Thank you. Be right back."

The team was already at the table when I got there.

Pete looked at me as I put the buckets down. "You're going to need to be faster if you want to keep your bar bitch job."

It was good that they were giving me shit. Normal. I grabbed two of the Modelos. "I set up a tab. It'll be quicker next time."

He looked aghast, "You left your credit card?"

"I think they trust me." I opened the bottles and walked to where Emma sat, kissing her before handing off the beer. "That was great. You were great. " I quickly looked at the others, "I'm sure you all were too, but I was only paying attention to her. I'II watch everyone next game."

Jeff smiled around his beer bottle, "No, you won't."

"I'll make an effort." No one was believing me. I couldn't blame them. I ran my hand over Emma’s shoulders, "How long till the next game?"

"The team we’ll play, their game isn’t over yet." She pointed to court two. "We'll get twenty or so minutes once they're done. Wanna go watch the end?"

"Sure."

Emma took my hand and we went to the railing. "Which team do you want to win?"

She looked at both teams. "I don't know them. They're from a different league." She watched both for a minute, "Shit."

I turned toward her, leaning my arm on the counters, "What's up?"

"I went out with one of the guys on the green team." She'd moved to put her back to them.

"Hmm." I raised an eyebrow while I took a drink. Kinda thankful it's one of hers and not one of mine. "How long?"

"Just a couple of times. I didn't sleep with him." She shuddered, "He said some mildly creepy things and I ditched."

I was surprised by how relieved I felt when she said they hadn’t slept together. "Thank you for telling me."

"I wouldn't let you walk into a situation where you're the only one who doesn’t know." She ran a hand over my forearm.

Aw, she was worried. Cute. I took her hand off my arm and kissed it, "You know I make out and pretend to have sex in movies, right?"

She cracked a smile, "I hear you kiss boys too."

I can guess where she heard that from. "I have. Only for work though."

Her laughter made me smile, "I don't care if it was not for work."

I closed my eyes and shook my head, "This conversation." I opened my eyes, "I don't care if you dated some guy out there. Unless it's the blonde with long hair." Emma curled in her lips. "Oh come on!"

She shrugged and went for a change of subject. "I also heard you were Pete and Scott's Hall Pass."

"I knew that."

Her look was a cross between surprised and horrified. "I can't believe Scott told you."

"I don't think he meant to."

There was a commotion on the court. The blondes team won.

Time to go! "Ready to go back to the table?"

"Yes, please."

I put my arm around her shoulder as we walked. "Can we talk about your ass in those shorts?"

"Do you like? I bought them with you in mind."

"I do like them." We were back at the table with everyone else. I leaned closer, "I'd like to peel them off you. With my teeth."

Seed one and five were playing on court one. We'd be on court two against the blonde’s team, a two seed. I was nervous. Emma was bouncing like she had at home. I took both her hands, holding them in front of me, "Jump around. I got you."

She jumped up and down a few times, "What's this supposed to do?"

I looked sheepish, "No idea. Distraction. "

She laughed, "Worth a try. Thanks for being supportive of my crazy."

I asked again, “Anything I can get for you?"

Emma nodded emphatically, "Yes. At the switch between sets, I've got thirty seconds. Could you bring me a diet coke and a Reese Cup? Frozen.”

I repeated her order and nodded once. She must feel like she'll need a mid-game boost.

Sam's bar bitch duty was to fill up the water bottles. Emma made a bathroom run and I folded her closes and put them in the bottom of the bag. I dug out her cooling scarf. It was one o’clock in June right out in the sun. I dunked her scarf in the ice water for the beer, rung it out, and hung it over my shoulder. I had the sunscreen out when she got back.

When she saw what I held she smiled, "Thanks, I forgot. Will you get my back?"

"Discount massage all for you."

Everything is not foreplay. Repeat. Everything is not foreplay.

Emma took off her tank top for me to access everywhere. I was very thorough.  I didn’t want her to burn. A bad sunburn can be brutal. After I finished with her, she insisted on covering me. I didn’t have the same degree of exposed skin, but she tried. Sun protection aside, it was more about the touching.

Everything is foreplay.

They were called to the courts and Emma came for her good luck kiss. There was no netting so there was a bit of tongue involved. That would see me through the next set or so.

This game had me sitting on the edge of my seat and pacing closer to the railing. Sam stayed with me with Scott seemed barely interested. Points went on forever and they traded off the lead every serve. They did the same thing with taking a time out when they reached ten points, but the results weren’t quite as dramatic. They pulled ahead a few points and were keeping the lead. When they reached twenty points, I walked backward to the bar to get Emma’s Diet Coke and a frozen Reese Cup. I jogged back to the railing just in time to see my girl reject a spike from the blonde, Becky set the ball, and Nick send it back to win the set.

I was back by Sam, “Fuck, that was dramatic.” She looked at me like she knew something I didn’t. I laughed, “I know they went out.”

Her face read relieved, “Oh good, I suck at secrets.”

Emma came off the court and directed me down to the end where there was an opening in the netting. I had the Reese Cup open and the paper peeled off before I got to her. She shoved the whole thing in her mouth and mumbled a thank you.

“That was a great play.” She nodded and took a very long drink of Diet Coke.

Emma pressed her lips to mine. “Give me the Reese and you keep the Diet Coke.”

“Got it.” I dumped the candy out and handed it to her.

Second set they went up by five early, skipped the time out, and won twenty-five to eighteen. Fuck, yeah! 

I went after beer and stopped by the board. This had them in the semi-finals with the one seed. They were already finished so the countdown was on. Emma came up behind me, laying her hand on my back, “We’re moving tables.”

“Court one, baby!” I kissed her cheek, “Semi-finals. I checked the board. This is cool. I’m taking pictures this game.”

It was more crowded on this side of the deck and I was thankful for her planning now. Nick and Jeff were moving the table up closer to the railing and it looked like Pete and Scott had stolen some more chairs. We were set up along the railing on either side of the net. Looked like a little horseshoe blockade. There were some extra people there too. Emma had said more people would show up for later games closer to dinner.  She introduced me to the new people, Nick taking care of the few she didn’t know. Emma passed on the beer, preferring to hydrate. Smart. I went for beer. I figured them playing the one seed was either going to be incredibly nerve-wracking or quickly depressing. I wasn’t sure which I dreading more. Either way, beer was the answer. Until shots were.

They called the teams to the court and Emma took a deep breath and jumped around a little. I was glad to see that. I was concerned because she hadn’t been as bouncy. “Ready to go, Tigger?”

She snorted a laugh, “If we win I’m going to need food. If we lose . . . I’m still gonna need food.”

All five of her teammates chimed in, “Me too.”

“You guys got this. You’ve been kicking ass. Just do what you do.” My attempt at a pep talk was appreciated by thanks and head nods.

Nick looked over and pointed, “Don’t forget the good luck kiss, man. Don’t break the streak.”

“I like him.” I gave her a quick kiss and sent her on her way.

The time between this game turned into more than thirty. The loser’s bracket was running behind and they wanted to even things out a little. If we won this team would go into the loser’s bracket and play someone so there would be more than an hour between the end of this and the next game.  The team stayed on the court and I listened to friends around me catching up.

Jacob, one of the newcomers, spoke up, “So Sebastian, on set, which of the Marvel guys was the biggest asshole?”

I had ready-made answers for this, but Sam put her hand on my arm and addressed him, “Yeah, we don’t do that. This isn’t a comic con.” She motioned to me with her hand, “This is our friend Seb, here for a volleyball game. If you have questions buy a ticket.”

Jacob held up his hands, “Fair enough.”

I shrugged, but inside I was cringing a little. Sometimes answering questions or taking pictures is the safer bet. I can control things a little better and ask people not to post anything for a little while. If you piss people off they do what they want without your permission.

I pointed my thumb at her, “Interviewing for my bodyguard.” Hopefully, that would break any tension.

Jacob laughed, “She doesn’t put up with anyone’s shit.”

The game started and I turned my back on everyone. Sam was beside me. “Renner.”

She looked at me confused, “What?”

“Renner’s the biggest asshole.”

We lost the first set. Badly. When Emma came over to switch sides she didn’t say a word. She popped up on the bench, gave me a kiss, and was off.  They started down by three in the second set. I leaned my elbows on the counter and looked back at Sam, “How’s she handle losing?”

Sam shook her head, “Haven’t lost yet. You’re a nervous little thing.”

“It’s new.”

“Sweet.” She looked out at the game then back to me. “She’s very competitive. Losing pisses her off, but she’s over it quick. Tequila helps.” She nodded toward the court, “But we haven’t lost yet.”

And we didn’t. One set all.

I wanted to vomit. I was tensing up with every play. Every time they scored, I was doing something. Yelling, “yes”. Making faces. Fist pumps. Banging on the counter. Anything to release the tension. There wasn’t anything dramatic, just solid play. Slowly we increased the lead. A point here, a point there. And they didn’t match it, didn’t catch up.

Twenty-five to nineteen. Sam and I both yelled, “Fuck, yeah!” at the same time.

#Sebastian Stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #fanfiction

[seagreen-meets-grey]

One of Us

This is another piece for @shipmistress9 Hiccstrid Week 2020. :)

_______________

In which a jukebox chases demons away.

Crossposted on ao3 and ff.net.

_______________

Hiccup had lost all sense of time. For all he knew, it could be shortly after midnight or early in the morning. He was sitting slumped over on his barstool, a collection of empty beer bottles in front of him. This particular night of the year had become his most-dreaded ever since his father had died four years ago, leaving him behind to put the pieces back together by himself. It wasn’t like his mother was around much, traveling through forests and mountains rather than being with her son on the death anniversary of who she once claimed to be the love of her life.

He signaled the bartender to bring him another beer, despite knowing full well that more alcohol wasn’t the solution. The pain would still be there when he woke up the next day, dulling over the coming days and weeks, only to resurface with new force the same time next year.

Looking around the few occupied booths and tables, he didn’t see one happy face in the thin crowd. At the other end of the counter, a middle-aged man with graying streaks in his hair was staring into his glass, suit rumpled and tie hanging loose around his neck. A woman had put her head on the table behind him, makeup smudged all over her face as she struggled to stay awake. A handful more people were sitting scattered around the room, lonely sights emanating sorrow and gloom.

On the one hand, he should probably surround himself with happier folk, especially in a time like this. On the other hand, though, it weirdly helped to know that he wasn’t the only one drowning in his own grief. Maybe he could round them all up and brainstorm healthier coping mechanisms. Something told him they would not be up for that, especially the young blonde in the corner. She looked like she’d murder him the second he glanced at her the wrong way.

The quiet music wasn’t doing much to improve the mood. When demons were at work in his mind, cheery songs and the latest hits would get sucked right into the surrounding bottomless vortex of emptiness and pain.

A creaking sound alerted him to the door to the bathrooms opening and he winced when a tall, bulky man stepped through. Hiccup averted his face and took several swigs of his beer, willing the tears pricking at his eyes to disappear. He couldn’t break down every time he saw someone who resembled his dad in any way, shape or form.

Stubbornly wiping at his eyes, he scanned the room for a distraction of any kind. There had to be something to help him stay above the water where he could breathe and fight against the waves trying to push him down.

The jukebox in the corner caught his attention. Grabbing his beer, he slid off the stool and stumbled over to the old machine. He fished a few coins out of his pocket and studied the selection of songs, hoping that the thing still worked.

On the other side of the room, Astrid scrunched up her nose at the taste of cheap gin. She wasn’t surprised that this place wasn’t running so well when all they sold were poor imitations of good drinks. But despite the terrible taste, the alcohol was doing its job, sterilizing the stab wounds in her chest and numbing the pain.

She got fired from the job she’d worked so hard to get, her best friend hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, and every person she’d started a relationship with had ended up getting tired of her personal issues and left her for someone better, sometimes behind her back, long before she found out. It seemed like everything she touched inevitably broke.

The severely disappointed reaction of her parents when she asked them for financial support because she couldn’t afford rent and food for long anymore, now that she was unemployed, had been the final straw. Before she could break down in her room and consequently not leave her bed for days, she’d rushed out onto the street and walked aimlessly through the city, seeking shelter in the corner of a third-rate bar she’d never visited before.

Wallowing in her lonely corner, she absently watched the guy with the beers and the unruly mop of hair stagger over to the juke box where it took him several minutes to decide what he wanted to do with the blinking lights and buttons he was staring at. He looked the same kind of broken that she felt.

He briefly struggled with inserting the coins into the machine but then he started swaying to the first tunes. Astrid smiled despite herself. She had only positive memories associated with this song. A few people started complaining when he began to sing, very offkey and blatantly drunk.

“An’ so I dealt you the blooow. One o’ us had to gooo. Now ‘s different, I want you to knooow!” He wasn’t just offkey, he was also slightly offbeat, missing the rhythm by the fraction of a breath. It was somehow very endearing, combined with the passion on his face with which he shouted out the lyrics.

The people that kept glaring at him, telling him to shut up and fuck off, were seriously starting to piss her off. She clenched her fists when the guy missed a particularly high note by far and the cranky hag at a table near her groaned in annoyance.

Grabbing her drink, Astrid jumped up from her seat and purposefully walked up to him where he was leaning on the jukebox with one arm, the other stretched out towards the ceiling. His eyes were closed as he waited for his cue to jump into the chorus, so he didn’t notice her until she chimed in. His eyes flew open, initial surprise making way for a compassionate smile that deflected from the grief buried deep within.

Together, they renegaded against the people around them that had already succumbed to their fate and chosen to give up.

“One of us is crying, one of us is lying in her lonely bed,” she bawled passionately. They moved from the jukebox to the middle of the room, dancing in-between chairs and empty tables. She unintentionally spilled her drink over one of the tables and put the glass away before she could accidentally smash it.

When the song ended, she felt lighter, the heavy clouds that had recently gathered above her clearing up a little.

“Thank you,” he said, sincere eyes sobering for a second. She nodded, silently telling him that she understood.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him over to the jukebox to select another song to bawl and dance to. When she made her choice and the fast, upbeat melody sounded from the speakers, he decidedly put his beer away and let her pull him back onto their makeshift dancefloor.

Her own heartache faded from her chest the wider his grin grew. Only the cranky hag was still loudly complaining, throwing insults at them that fell on deaf ears. Astrid couldn’t care less, existing only in this small two-person bubble of hope.

At the end of the night, when they’d run out of coins to feed the jukebox with, they settled their tabs and left the few sorrowful figures behind. The sky was brightening with every minute, early birds were chirping somewhere above their heads, and the fog on the horizon was slowly dissipating into thin air.

They spent the time comfortably chatting about everything and nothing while they waited for their respective cabs. She gave him her number and he gave her a kiss, the first weak shaft of sunlight breaking through the last standing barrier of the night.

A while later, as she was leaning her head against the cool glass of the cab’s window, exhaustion settling in her bones, she watched the sky slowly change colors. Dark gray turned to red and orange, blue waiting at the end of the line, shades seamlessly blurring into each other.

She could still hear Abba’s One of Us playing in her heart, and she thought that maybe not all she touched eventually had to break.

#httyd #hiccstrid #hiccup haddock #astrid hofferson #fanfic #hiccstrid week 2020 #modern au #maja writes #shipmistress9

[gaycrouton]

Dirty headcanon: Mulder and Scully dry humped like crazy before they officially got it on.

Haha I’m so sorry it took me 5000 years to answer this one. I’ve been thinking about it a lot because honestly dry humping is like one of my favorite tropes. I hope you like it! (Sorry for the lazy proofreading)

Frottage: Four Times Mulder and Scully got a little too close. Major UST.

I

She didn’t even know how to classify what just happened. All she knows is that she definitely felt…he’d just pressed…it was an accident on both their parts.

He’d been trying to show her something in the side room of the office, the room that he hadn’t cleaned out in a while and was a disaster zone. The piles of boxes around them made it look like Mulder was competing for a Guinness record in “Most Mini Replicas of The Leaning Tower of Pisa in an office setting”. Trying to navigate between them resulted in Mulder and her invading each other’s personal space with every turn.

She was a little focused on what happened after, but if she was remembering correctly it Mulder who bumped against the tower behind him, sending heavy boxes tumbling down on top of them. He’d genuinely just been trying to prevent her from getting hurt when he curved his body against hers, an attempt to act as a shield to getting hit.

However, the only thing he really accomplished was pinning her to the desk in front of her as his groin pressed into her lower back. She was a medical doctor, she was a human, she was a sexually active woman, and all of these factors cemented the fact in her mind that, yes, that was Mulder’s erection pressing into her lower back.

She knew that, but for some ungodly reason probably due to shock, she reached behind her and felt what was poking her. She supposed the rational part of her mind was trying to justify it as a flashlight he’d been holding or… there was no or and there was no trying to pretend that the firm, heat pressing into her was anything other than Mulder. A fact confirmed when her hand grazed it and he gasped, bucking into her lightly before retracting his hips as far away as he possibly could.

She turned around and caught a glimpse of his reddened face. He tried to back up completely, but the boxes were precariously leaning on his back and his movements just caused more falling. Again, she didn’t know why it was her subconscious’ mission to make this as embarrassing for both of them as possible, but she looked down just to confirm her already confirmed suspicions. He wasn’t just hard, but impressively hard.

He turned his hips away from her and grabbed the last remaining falling box, bringing it in front of himself to preserve a semblance of modesty. “I-I-”

“I’m so sorry,” the rushed simultaneously.

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have touched-” she started.

“It was definitely all my fault Scully.”

“Uh, I’m going to go to the restroom,” she rambled, cringing at the way her voice sounded.

Every thud of her heels against the floor punctuated her frantic thoughts.

I just felt Mulder’s penis.

Mulder’s penis touched me.

Mulder’s huge.

Why was he so hard from just being in there with me? We hadn’t even touched.

She decided to hold her judgements on the last question when she pulled down her underwear in the stall and saw the tell tale evidence of their arousal as a damp, dark line on her underwear.

II

When they were forced to share a bed, his biggest concern was that he wouldn’t keep his hands to himself in his sleep. He hadn’t even considered the reverse would be an issue. But it was four in the morning and he was gently woken up to Scully using his body as a mattress while apparently having a really good dream.

The added weight wasn’t unpleasant, just unexpected. He was getting his bearings when he heard her grumble breathily and roll her hips against his. He didn’t think he’d ever woken up so fast in his life. Mulder blinked his eyes rapidly, hoping that they’d adapt to the darkness faster so he could see the fantasy happening to him currently.

She had one leg thrown over his crotch as her own was pressed against his thigh. She also had her arm around his chest with her face buried in the crook of his neck, warming the skin with her breath as she occasionally made little sounds of pleasure. This was probably one of the most intense erections he’d had in a while and he couldn’t do a single thing about it. He couldn’t just hump her leg while she was clearly unconscious, and he had to remind himself of that everytime his hips bucked in a desperate attempt to get friction when she’d squirm.

“Scully,” he whispered, hoping to rouse her and then pretend to be asleep himself. No luck. The sound just caused her to nuzzle closer and undulate herself against his leg, squeezing his thigh in between her own in between her movements.

Scully was aroused, on top of him, and it was pure torture. Her movements were so constant that he couldn’t believe that she could still be asleep. As much as he’d spent countless hours thinking about it, he was scared she was going to come on him, because if she came, he would, and her’s would be a lot less obvious in the morning.

“Scully,” he whispered a little louder, still not moving too much.

She moaned softly and whispered “Muh-lder,” as she pressed her breasts against his side. He felt his dick twitch painfully against her leg and then he felt her body freeze. He laid there, pretending to be asleep as he listened to her come to the realization of what she’d just been doing.

Painfully slowly, so slowly he knew she had to have felt how this affected him, she slid off and padded over to the bathroom. He tried to keep his dick off his hands while listening to the muffled sounds the bathroom faucet couldn’t drown out.

III

They were both too drunk, the Madonna song was too implicit, and they should have stopped dancing songs ago. But they didn’t. Instead, they were flushed and warm in a bar in the middle of nowhere and there were so many other people here doing the same thing, they couldn’t even find it in themselves to be embarrassed. That was probably the alcohol. As she thought this, she felt Mulder thumb the sliver of skin revealed where her shirt didn’t quite reach her pants, due to her arms being looped around Mulder’s neck. Definitely the alcohol.

As the sensual music reflected her mood she felt something against her lower belly. Instead of investigating, she simply let it be, encouraging it even. She took a millimeter step closer to him and she could smell the cologne of his sweat and laundry detergent fill her senses. It was overwhelmingly masculine and overwhelmingly the exact scent she tried to conjure up when her hand was thrust between her thighs at night. As she moved her hips a little but she felt, again, another feature of her nightly fantasies, but this was hot and real and felt so good against her right now.

She could tell he was surprised when she drunkenly asked him to dance with her, but that shock had nothing on his expression when she looked him in the eye and pressed her hips purposefully against him. He felt like a rod of steel against her belly and she felt herself get wetter with every rub against him.

It was a few more sways that had given him the confidence to lower his head down a bit and smell her hair, pressing into her timidly like someone putting their toe in water - curious but ready to jump away if necessary. It was sweet, but she was ready to drown.

She raised her head complimentary to him and playfully breathed on his neck, just barely feeling his stubble scrape her lip, just barely feeling the vibrations rumble from the moan she caused.

One of his hands snaked up and he palmed her back, pressing her flush to him as they grinded to the beat of the song. She swore she could hear their hearts synching up and she hoped he couldn’t feel her trembling.

Scully felt his hand move to cup her jaw, but just as her head started to turn, a wolf whistle startled them both, making them jump and break apart. They turned and saw a group of men leering at them with lascivious intentions in their eyes. “Keep going dude, you got a little firecracker in your hands.”

“Fuck off,” Mulder spat with uncharacteristic malise.

The sudden attention caused her to sober up and what they’d just been doing - what they’d almost just done overwhelmed her and, as always, she feld. Coming back out of the bathroom ten minutes later to see Mulder closing their tabs with the familiar smile that read ‘we can pretend this never happened’. She mirrored his expression and they both pretended not to be disappointed.

IV

The movie she’d come over to watch had ended hours ago. The only sounds in the apartment now were the late night infomercials advertising products no one would ever need. Sometimes he would glance over at them in an attempt to not overwhelm her with his attention. The tension was thick and they both knew it. A few weeks ago she’d come over and she kissed him on the lips before leaving. It honestly surprised them both, but he had no doubts she was reassured by the beaming smile he couldn’t keep off his face as she let herself out.

A week after that, he tried instigating it and almost died when she eagerly accepted his kiss, opening her mouth while exploring his. A few days ago he wore off all her lipstick from kissing her against her door for so long. He didn’t know what was in store tonight, but he could tell she was thinking about the possibilities from the way she was nervously playing with her middle finger and biting her lip. It was fun and it was torture at the same time.

When the night started, they had been on opposite ends of the couch, but somehow they’d ended up with their legs completely flush to each other. “I’ve appreciated you having me over so much this past month,” she stated bluntly, picking at the fluff on his navajo blanket.

“I’ve appreciated you coming over. It’s been,” he paused, trying to choose his words wisely, “I look forward to everytime you come over,” he rambled nervously.

She smiled at him and his lips were just starting to curve upwards when her delicate hand cupped his jaw and she leaned forward to capture his mouth in a kiss. God, he’d never get used to this.

He gently cupped the back of her neck as he nipped at her plump bottom lip. How many hours had he spent staring at these lips? The way they moved when she argued with him, the little marks they’d leave on coffee cups, the way she now tended to bite them before kissing him. He was in love. Plain and simple.

It wouldn’t be Scully if she didn’t keep him on his feet, and just as he was losing his nervous edge, she put a hand on his shoulder and shifted her weight so that she was straddling his lap.

Fuck.

She broke the kiss for a moment to catch her breath and read his face. He could see the questions burning in her gaze. Was this okay? Was she moving too fast? Did he want this too?

In response, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her further on his lap, capturing her swollen lips once more. Never in his life did he think he’d ever be able to say Dana Katherine Scully was sitting on his lap making out with him, but here he was and god it was incredible. Sometimes it felt like she was an enigma, a physical relationship with her being absolutely intangible. Yet here she was, warm, soft, and squirming on top of him.

He’d been slightly hard on and off all night, but the kissing and now this left him with a rock hard erection, one she was clearly aware of as she aligned their clothes arousals and ground herself down on top of him. “Mphfuck,” he moaned into her mouth. She grinned against him and left his lips in favor of nibbling on his neck while she rocked against him.

His eyes fluttered shut as his hands roamed her back, feeling the warmth of her skin radiating through her clothes. He could feel she was burning through the crotch of her pants and it was his desperate need to feel it more that led him to cupping her ass and rubbing her against him, occasionally thrusting and inadvertently making her bounce in his lap.

Scully gasped and whimpered into his neck as she undulated her hips into him. It was the combination of sight, sound, and touch that had his eyes rolling back into his head and bucking his hips away from her. “Scully, if you keep that up I’m going to embarrass myself,” he laughed, his voice thick with wanton lust.

She laughed breathily and pulled back, revealing her dialated eyes and flushed cheeks. “I’m sorry, I got a little carried away.” She let go of his shoulders so she could fix her wild hair, but didn’t get off his lap yet.

“Scully, I can guarantee you that you will never have to apologize to me for that. In fact, I highly encourage it. Whenever you want to reenact that, me and my couch are always available.” He was pretty sure his cock had a heartbeat and he was still glad he hadn’t come in his pants yet.

She laughed lightly at his musings and good-naturedly gasped when she saw the clock. “As much as I would like a reenactment right now, I think I should head home before I have to get up in five hours,” she explained, sliding off his lap and gathering her things.

He helped her and walked her to the door, but before she could grab the knob, he twirled her around and kissed her again. She was panting by the time he let up and he pressed his forehead to hers as they caught their breath. “Soon.”

#my fanfiction #msr #msr UST #x files fanfic #gaycrouton

[rileyrooin]

R&L Live: Detroit

This jumps around and I discussed the show a bit more than in other recaps because there are moments from it that I want to remember. I recognize that I am incredibly fortunate to be able to attend shows and afford VIP tickets. If you aren't interested in reading, or if you want to send me nasty messages about this, I encourage you to just scroll on by instead. As always, please do not repost my pictures without permission.

I attended this show with Mr. Rooin, and two of my friends, R (my BFF) and B. R and B (heh) are both GMM fans. It would be the first time either of them has seen the guys live.

The Show

Britton opened the show. The crowd in Detroit loved him and he really fed off its energy. During the merch song, he started giggling mid-song because we were all laughing about the lyrics; his giggles made the crowd laugh more and he had to stop playing for a minute to compose himself. It was very cute. I cannot wait for him to put out an album. There are several of his songs that have been stuck in my head since the show.

After a brief intermission, Rhett and Link came out on stage. I expected to have a good view since our seats were in the front row, but I guess I didn’t really think about just how close they would both be to me (but especially Rhett). But, suddenly, there he was right in front of me.

As they settled in to begin the show, Rhett scanned the crowd, taking it all in. His eyes briefly met mine when he did so, but he continued to scan and then, unexpectedly, his attention came back to my face. My poor heart just about leaped out of my chest when he shot a small smile at me. I thought I must be imagining it, but once he broke eye contact, R elbowed me and whispered, “Did Rhett just recognize you?” I shrugged and tried to concentrate on their opening banter about the meaning of the name Detroit.

I'm going to share some highlights because no one needs a play-by-play of every moment of the concert:

Tokyo came early that night. Of course, even after Rhett told the crowd that he would do it one time only, there were people who thought they would be cute and continue to shout it and other garbled nonsense (including someone pretending to be CCR). This led to sassy, sarcastic Link making fun of people shouting stuff. Rhett got a bit grumpy at one point and gave the crowd a stern dad expression. I didn't capture either of these moments on camera, but they were hilariously in character.

The setlist was basically the same as the Columbus show, but with fewer songs. We didn't get “Water Dispensing Tab” or any of the other songs they've been subbing in for it in other shows. I feel like something else was removed, but I'm not sure what. I love all of their new songs. I wish they'd release them so people who can't attend the shows could hear them, as well.

At the venue, on either side of the stage, stand two huge knights set into niches in the wall. One of the running themes of that night's banter was Rhett wanting the knights to come to life. He had an elaborate ritual he wanted the room to perform to bring the knights to life that included hissing like a cat, other strange noises, and some voguing. When that didn't work, they moved on, but came back to the topic several times throughout the show. My favorite one was before “Middle School Girlfriend.” Rhett suggested that perhaps if Link played all three of his recorders at once, the knights would come to life. Much like the escaping a simulation handholding from Ear Biscuits, Link was game to give it a try. So, Rhett offered to hold his third recorder for him. The moment was funny, but I was focused on the extreme softness in Rhett’s eyes as he helped Link. The photos don’t begin to do it justice.

After the recorders failed to bring the knights to life, Link tried to steer the conversation back to “Middle School Girlfriend” banter by saying, “This is not unlike what my first kiss looked like.” Rhett was seemingly disinterested in returning to his stool/mic, so he leaned forward to speak into Link’s. Link pushed him away and said, “Get… Get your face outta my mic!”

Throughout the entire show, I kept having to tell myself to stop staring at him. My attempts at having some level of chill were continuously destroyed by Mr. I'm Going to Make Eye Contact Unexpectedly throughout the concert. It sounds foolish, but even though I was in a venue with so many other people, there were moments where watching him play the piano and guitar from that close felt incredibly intimate. But, maybe that's just my crush talking.

The rap section of the show was highly entertaining yet again. Their enthusiasm and excitement during it is so much fun to watch.

During “It's My Belly Button,” he was so close: that cute belly on display right in front of me as he dad danced his heart out.

During one chorus, when he got to the “something I want to show to you" line, he pointed at me. R grabbed my arm and hissed, “Dude, he fucking loves you.” (n.b. This all sounds like wishful thinking from a ridiculous fangirl, but I swear it's true. I harbor no delusions that there was some secret message in his actions. I know it meant nothing; he was simply playing up the moment for a reaction. That doesn't mean I didn't enjoy the attention, though.)

Meet and Greet

After the show, we were quickly ushered into a long line that wrapped down the side and around the back of the theater. I used the opportunity to run to the bathroom to freshen up the best I could. My group and I hung out in the line while I proceeded to try to calm my anxiety about talking to them again. One of the things that helped me with this was the soothing sound of Rhett's laughter echoing in the large space. Another thing that helped was watching how amazing they are with all of the fans they meet. From kneeling down to meet children to really focusing their attention on each person they chatted with, it's clear that every interaction is important to them. I know I've said it before, but we love some seriously great guys, y'all.

Prior to the show, I’d talked to Mr. Rooin about how I really wanted to have a nice picture of me hugging Rhett. Ever the patient and understanding one, he offered to hang back while R and I talked to the guys so he could attempt to get that picture on his phone (since Gary would have mine). (Spoiler: he got the picture and it might be my current phone lock screen.)

The line moved quickly (the meet and greet time goes by so fast), so it wasn’t long until it was our turn. R went ahead of me and introduced herself to Link, shaking his hand as she did so. As R moved on to shake Rhett's hand, Link's attention shifted to me over her shoulder. I smiled at him, once again blown away by how blue and intense his eyes are in person. I opened my mouth to introduce myself, but before I could, he welcomed me into a hug and said, “Good to see you again.” He patted my back like the last time, but held the hug for a couple seconds. “How've you been?”

“Good. Better now, though,” I answered as we broke apart. He grinned at me and I felt my heart melt a little bit. And then I turned to my left and into the open arms of the bearded one. He patted my back twice and I squeezed him tightly. He held the hug for a moment, holding me against him, and I probably clung onto the hug for a few seconds longer than I should have. I couldn’t help it; his hugs feel so damn good.

As I stepped back, I realized Link was talking to me again. “It's been awhile.”

“Well, only since April.” In my mind, I was thinking: Why am I getting sassy with Link?

Rhett said something in reply that made my whole face flush and caused my brain to shut down. I looked to Link for rescue. He simply laughed at my reaction, so I laughed with him while my mind was chanting wtf wtf wtf.

Then, Rhett said, “Okay, step up here for the picture. Where do you two want to be?” R, who is the extrovert between us, had fallen totally speechless in their presence. She's a Link girl, so even though logistically she should have been on Rhett's side based on where she was standing when he asked the question, I slid between them so she would be next to Link. (And, yes, so I could be next to Rhett.) As I put my arm around Rhett's waist, I glanced up at him and he was smirking away. I'm sure my crush is terribly obvious to him, but… meh, what are you gonna do? Gary took the picture while I tried to take in the moment and how it felt to have his body pressed so close to mine with his hand on my shoulder. After that R did a solo picture with the guys. She finally found her voice to ask for hugs before she left and they obliged.

I did an individual photo with them and then, my meet and greet time was nearly done. I handed Rhett the letter I'd written them and stammered out an explanation about how I hoped they would read it later. He smiled kindly and then passed it back to me to give to Jenna. I hung around watching while B and Mr. Rooin met them. Finally, we got our posters/bags from Jenna, Lily, and Lincoln. I talked to Britton for a minute before we made our way out and took a picture with him this time. I almost made it out of the theater before I teared up. Almost.

I feel very fortunate and grateful that their shows have been in locations close to me. Years ago, when I discovered these two and became a fan, I never expected that I would have the opportunity to meet them once, let alone three times. Never in my wildest dreams would I have thought that I would be someone they would recognize on sight. I heard them say similar things to other fans who they'd met before. It's comforting to know that even though there are millions of fans out there, they see us.

#riley's ramblings #meet and greet #smitten kitten #i love two (2) men #i am a walking awkward situation #rhett and link live #randl live detroit

[mezzomercury]

Bohemian Rhapsody in Blue Chapter Five: A New Life is Born (Part I)

A/N: So, I decided to post this today in honor of the Royal Baby (By telling a story of another royal baby, I guess). This chapter will be in two parts so it won’t be too long. Hold on to your hats, because it’s gonna be a roller coaster!

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Pregnancy, reference to childbirth, 

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January 16, 1986

London, United Kingdom

Seven days. One week. That was all that was left until baby Bulsara-Hutton’s projected due date. Of course, these things were never completely accurate, and if Freddie was indeed her biological father, it was more than likely that she would be fashionably late. Nonetheless, every day that went by since the beginning of the new year had Nadia growing more uncomfortable and more nervous about the last leg of her pregnancy. Every resident at the Garden Lodge was on tenterhooks, but it went without saying that Freddie and Jim were by far the most anxious out of everyone. They hardly let their surrogate mother out of their sight, and even went so far as to bring her along to Queen’s recording sessions, as per Freddie’s wishes. As a result, this meant everyone else involved with Queen was also concerned about Nadia, and were all prepared in case anything were to go awry in the middle of their work.

It was a normal afternoon, well, as normal as it could be with an impending baby and the anxiety that came along with her, and Freddie, Jim, and Nadia were getting ready to go to Townhouse Studios for yet another day of recording. As Nadia waddled over to the coatroom to retrieve her jacket, as London had hit a mild cold spell, she noticed that Tiffany the cat kept on following her wherever she went. It was relatively normal for the cats of the Garden Lodge to occasionally follow her around and keep tabs on her, as they were very much aware of her pregnancy, but something seemed abnormal about the way Tiffany in particular was glued to her side at all times today. She even clawed up some of the furniture in reaction to Phoebe not letting her follow Nadia when she got up to use the bathroom a couple hours ago. Although the reason for Tiffany’s sudden increased territorial behavior was a mystery to everyone else, they shrugged it off and went about their business the best they could and tried to accommodate her when possible. Now, she was following Nadia into the coatroom, observing her with concerned eyes, as if she knew something would happen soon. Of course, Nadia was too flustered to consider this, and put on her coat before picking up the cat and placing her back into the living room.

Freddie came down the stairs shortly afterwards, hopping down in excitement to see his daughter’s mother standing before him. Once he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek and a light pat on her tummy, he commanded her to sit down as he helped put on her shoes. “Is your back feeling any better, darling?” he asked her in reference to the shooting pains she began to feel down her back as of last night as he put on one of her boots. Nadia shook her head in response as she winced, feeling one come in that very moment. Freddie took a moment to place his hand on her lower back and press lightly around the base of her spine. 

“It could be any day now, couldn’t it?” He softly whispered as he continued rubbing the spot where she kept feeling a dull pain that couldn’t be completely relieved. 

Nadia looked down at her belly in a slight resentment and scoffed, 

“It better be soon. I can feel her dropping down little by little. Hopefully that means she wants out.” 

Freddie couldn’t help but smirk as brought the hand that was on her back to stroke her belly. 

“Please give your mum a break, darling. No pressure to come out immediately, but still.” He cooed jokingly to his unborn daughter, who seemed to sense her impatient father, as she started shifting and kicking right under his hand. 

The room was quiet for a moment or two before Nadia glanced at her wristwatch and jumped, 

“We should get going. Shouldn’t keep the boys waiting.” 

As she tried to get up, Freddie insisted she stay put as he finished tying her other shoe. 

“They can wait. They’d be shocked if we were at all punctual.”

Once Nadia tried to stand up, Tiffany hopped into her lap and practically glued herself to her belly. 

“Tiffany, girl, your dad and I need to get going.” Nadia sighed and tried to brush her off, but the cat would not move and got even more stubborn at each attempt to remove her. 

“What has gotten into you, princess? This isn’t quite like you at all.” Freddie chuckled, but then pulled her off of Nadia after struggling for a substantial amount of time. 

As he tried to carry her to the other room, she dug her paws into the wall and proceeded to leave long claw marks all the way up the stairs. 

“Shit!” Freddie groaned under his breath as he witnessed this and irritatedly pulled Tiffany into the master bedroom, her claws still scratching up the wall until he placed her on the bed. 

“Phoebe will let you out if you promise to behave yourself. I need to go, but I will be livid if you continue on and on like this!” He spat, really not wanting to scold his beloved pet, but at this moment she left him no choice. 

As he went back down the stairs and thought about how he’ll need to repaint the walls, he grew concerned about Tiffany’s sudden change in temperament today. Sure, she was moody and sometimes unpredictable, but she never used her claws unless she sensed something was seriously wrong. Could she sense if there’s something wrong with the baby? Freddie thought, but immediately dismissed the idea as he walked to the front door. Jim, Nadia, and Phoebe were already there, waiting for him before they left the house and piled into the car.

The drive to Townhouse Studios was mundane and uneventful, save for Nadia nearly giving everyone else a stroke when she suddenly gasped in pain, but she quickly waved it off as a Braxton-Hicks contraction, much to everyone’s relief. Once Phoebe dropped them off at the studio, it was business as usual, with the band setting up equipment and Jim and Nadia sitting seats in the sound booth with Miami as they had been doing for the past couple weeks. Nadia enjoyed watching Queen record. It distracted her from the bodily discomfort that was pregnancy, not to mention that Freddie would prance around in there as if he were on stage, which was always entertaining to watch. Due to her present condition, he or one of the other boys in the band would quickly glance back at her as they were playing, just to check on her.

Nadia spaced out as she listened to what seemed to be the hundredth take of “One Year of Love” until she felt another Braxton Hicks contraction. The frequency of these seemed pretty normal the past couple of weeks, as her body was practicing for the big day, but this one seemed a bit stronger than previous ones. She tried to stifle a moan as she clutched her belly and tried her best to breathe through her clenched teeth. Freddie must have noticed through the glass partition because he immediately stopped recording vocals and brought everyone else to a grinding halt. 

“Darling, are you alright? Is it time?” he asked her with widened eyes, taking a moment to glance at Jim who grabbed onto her hand. 

“No, no. It’s fine. It’s just another practice one,” Nadia dismissed his concern, “Please carry on.” 

The boys shrugged, but resumed recording at her insistence, with Freddie singing while standing much more still than he usually did, never taking his eyes off of her.

The same sequence of events happened about half an hour later, only the pain felt by Nadia was much stronger and pierced through her like a knife. Once again, she waved it off, although the possibility that she might actually be in labor became more likely. It wasn’t long until she suddenly felt a stream of warm fluid rush out between her legs and gasped loudly at the sudden shock of her water breaking, causing Jim to jump up from his seat and motion everyone to stop playing. As a unit, Freddie, Brian, Roger, Deaky and Miami all turned their heads to them with wide eyes, and there was a moment of absolute silence, which was only broken when Freddie asked nervously, 

“Is it…” followed by Jim grimly nodding in response. 

All time seemed to stop and there was an utterly intense silence, preceding what could only be described as total chaos.

The next few hours at Townhouse Studios were swallowed up in pandemonium, as if the world was suddenly coming to a disastrous end. Freddie initially insisted that he and Jim take Nadia to the hospital right after her water broke, but Jim reminded him they would need to wait for a while until her contractions were close enough together before they could go there.

While Nadia was still in her seat and trying to brace herself for each contraction and Jim was beside her reminding her to breathe and stay calm, Roger was running around the room screaming bloody murder, only to be silenced when Nadia yelled at him, 

“Excuse me, but I’m the one having the fucking baby here!”, which she later apologized for. 

Brian and Miami couldn’t help but look on at the drummer in amusement while the former was simultaneously counting the money he earned for betting correctly on the baby’s due date with the rest of the band (he betted on week thirty-nine, of course). Deaky decided to take a more helpful approach as he timed Nadia’s contractions and how far apart they were with a stopwatch and having her squeeze his hand each time, mentioning how he did this with Veronica for their third and fourth children.

Freddie, in the midst of all this, was sitting down at the piano, almost motionless, with his face white like a sheet. This carried on for what seemed like eternity, until Jim said to Nadia, 

“Relax, dear. She’ll be here very soon and it will all be over,” causing everyone, with the exception of Freddie, to pause whatever they were doing and ask incredulously, 

“She?! It’s a girl?!” 

Jim covered his mouth embarrassingly, realizing that he had just spilled the beans and practically ruined a Queen tradition: Every time one of the members of Queen was expecting a child, they wouldn’t reveal the gender to the others and would wait until the baby was born until they did. This resulted in each band member contributing to a betting pool on the gender and whoever was correct would win a considerable amount of money. Only this time, the baby’s gender was revealed a little too early, but it ended with Brian winning again, since he placed an additional bet on the due date, quipping, 

“Alright, boys, pay up. I’ve hit the jackpot on this one.” and began counting his winnings again with glee.

About two to three hours later, Jim suggested that she get up and start walking around in order to ease the pain. She complied and stood up with his help and began waddling the best she could. As soon as Freddie saw this, he snapped back into reality and walked around with her and Jim, helping his husband catch her every time she felt a contraction and became weak in the knees. Whenever that happened, he held her tightly and squatted down with her whilst scrambling to put his coat on the floor beneath her. Miami noticed what he was doing and asked, 

“Freddie, what the hell is that for?” 

“Hush, now. It’s just in case the baby suddenly slips out.” Freddie replied sassily. 

Miami just rolled his eyes, knowing that it probably wouldn’t be needed, but understood that it made the soon-to-be father feel a bit better about the situation.

Soon enough, Deaky announced that Nadia’s contractions were about five minutes apart, and it would be an appropriate time to take her to the hospital, much to Freddie and Jim’s relief. Roger offered to drive them, while the rest of the band agreed to stay put in the studio and wait for any further updates, at least until the evening. As Roger escorted the three nervous parents-to-be to his car, he opened the trunk to reveal a few pillows and towels, mentioning something about how he had them there for a couple weeks in case this exact scenario were to happen, as he set them up in the back seat. As Jim accompanied Nadia into the back, Freddie got into the front passenger’s seat beside Roger, never taking his eyes off the duo behind him. He anxiously observed Jim rubbing Nadia’s back and squeezing her hand, but was reminded why he fell in love with his sweet and caring husband in the first place. He reached his hand over to rest Nadia’s knee and tried to silently communicate to her how wonderful she was doing. His thoughts were interrupted when Roger recklessly drove over a pothole, which made the car shake roughly, causing Freddie to fly into a heated rage. 

“What the fuck was that, you twat?!?!? You could have fucking killed us! Did you forget she’s having a baby back there?!?!?!!?” 

He went on to shout a series of expletives at Roger, who tried to reason with him the best he could, but i instead escalated the argument by hurling insults back at him, though he knew it was just his friend’s nerves talking. They went on like this for several minutes until they were silenced by Nadia’s pained cries and Jim calmly shushing her, which drastically changed Freddie’s focus as he resumed tending on the surrogate mother.  

“Don’t worry, darling, we’re almost there,” he cooed before joking, “Just try and keep the baby in until then.” although he was well aware that it wasn’t entirely up to her. 

Roger remained silent, but would occasionally look at her through the rear view mirror.

The route to the hospital usually took about fifteen to twenty minutes in total, but due to the typical evening traffic in London, it was lengthened to about forty-five minutes, much to Freddie, Jim, Nadia, and Roger’s dismay. Luckily, Nadia’s contractions didn’t seem to be getting any closer together, so there wasn’t too much concern. As Roger’s car slowly pulled into the Lindo Wing at St. Mary’s Hospital, Freddie jumped out and opened the door to help Jim and Nadia out, then helped the latter climb up the steps to the hospital entrance. A nurse was waiting at the the door and came down to meet them to accompany them inside while shielding them with an umbrella so that no one would know that Freddie Mercury was checking in. While all of that was happening, Jim stayed behind to talk to Roger briefly. 

“You’ll be fine in there,” Roger assured the Irishman, “Just be there for Nadia and make sure that Freddie doesn’t completely lose it. I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can do that for him.” 

Jim nodded in response before Roger continued, 

“I’m going back to the studio to wait with everyone, please give us a call when it happens. Best of luck to the four of you.” 

He smiled before hugging Jim the best he could, given he was in the car. Jim was impressed by how mature Roger had been in that moment, as he was normally quite childish and untamed, but he was a father after all.

As Jim ran up the steps of the hospital, he nearly barged inside to meet Freddie and Nadia, the latter of whom was now in a wheelchair. He hurriedly went to the receptionist to check in under a pseudonym as planned and returned the pair before they were all surrounded by a legion of nurses and orderlies who followed them into the delivery wing to once again conceal their true identities. Jim looked over to his husband, who he noticed was starting to sweat bullets, and reached out to squeeze his hand. 

“Are we ready for this, Freds?” he asked, earning a squeeze back and a reply, 

“I hope so, darling. We better be fucking ready.”

To Be Continued...

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#freddie mercury imagine #freddie mercury x jim hutton #freddie mercury fic #freddie mercury #jim hutton #bohemian rhapsody in blue #bohemian rhapsody #queen #queen fic #classic rock fandom #borhap imagine #brian may #roger taylor #john deacon #jim beach #tiffany the cat #phoebe freestone