#like you can only fucking succeed on there now if you post twice a day and make 14 reels a week
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God I hate trying to advertise anything on Instagram. I started posting again after taking a couple months off for my mental health and the app LITERALLY does not show my posts to people. like I have 9,500 followers on this account and my posts are getting shown to MAYBE 300 at a time. it's such bullshit. I hate how the app is designed to get you addicted to the attention and then fucks you over until you prove you're gonna spend hours on the app every day. I hate that it's the best way to sell my shit. I hate feeling pressured to do dumb fucking tiltok trends to get any engagement. I hate that I can't just post pictures of the stuff I make, I have to ✨market✨ and 🌸engage🌸 and 🌼film myself looking awkward and stupid🌼 instead of just posting a picture of the shit I make saying "look, I made this shit". I hate Instagram so fucking much.
#tabby talks#vent#instagram#the app and algorithm is so different than it was even just two years ago i haaaaaaaate it#like you can only fucking succeed on there now if you post twice a day and make 14 reels a week#and basically make it a full time job#i hate it here!
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the clash | ii. time bomb
hobie brown x goth!reader
word count: 1.5k
genre: enemies to lovers
warnings: language, insults, hobie hating you, you hating hobie, y’all almost fight twice lmao
a/n: felt bad only posting the first chapter, so here’s the second one as well! i’ll get the third one out as soon as i can, but a bitch has work tomorrow and the next day. please enjoy chapter two everyone! and if you wanna be added to the taglist just let me know! :)
now reading: ii. time bomb
previous chapter: i. hey, ho! let’s go!
next chapter: iii. black planet
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Hobie swings his way to where he’s sure Gwen is, and in doing so he will probably also find Miles and Pavitr. He’s sure he looks like if someone said the wrong thing to him, he would punch them in the face, because honestly? He just might. And he doesn’t care. You pissed him off. With your stupid opinions. People like you are the reason anarchy can never succeed, you’re either all in or you’re all out. He hates the way you dismissed him, which is a shame because he really thought you were drop-dead gorgeous.
Speaking of drop, that thought makes him drop. Like, actually. He face plants.
He groans. Fucking hell, he’s never had to deal with this type of hatred before. Usually, it’s just cut and dry ‘I hate you cause xyz’, but fuck you are making it hard. While he hates you for what you said, he loves your style, and he respects you standing your ground and not giving into him with your beliefs, but at the same time, you piss him off. He glances around, “Meant to do that.” No one in particular hears him, but he quickly webs off again. He searches for bright blond hair, and sure enough, he sees Gwen. She’s chilling in the common room Hobie claimed as his own a while back. He claimed it by… redecorating. He just made it feel more like home, and since Miguel is such a lame ass, he didn’t appreciate all the colorful spray paint and broken furniture. But Hobie doesn’t really give a fuck. As he gets closer, he can see that Miles and Pavitr are there too, and… absolutely fucking not.
He lands directly next to you with an unamused look on his face. “And who invited you into my home away from home?” You look at him and roll your eyes. “This your place? Well, that explains why it looks like someone gave Mayday Parker a 50-pack of markers and told her to go to town in here–”
“Ha ha. Funny.”
“–and to answer your question, I invited myself,” you say smugly, and he narrows his eyes at you. “Don’t try to make me like you, it’s not gonna work, love,” he growls, and everyone can tell by the way he said love that he certainly did not mean it as a term of endearment. “I wouldn’t dream of it, mate,” you say, imitating his accent in over-exaggerated way. “I don’t think they are actually calling him their mate,” Pavitr whispers to Miles, who gives him an expression practically dripping in ‘no shit.’ Hobie tears his gaze away from you and looks at Gwen. “We need to show this twat around,” he huffs, and Gwen raises her eyebrows. “We? Isn’t that your job,” she says, and Miles nods. “Yeah, I remember you said you made a deal with Miguel that–”
“I don’t give a fuck if it’s my ‘job,’ when have I ever followed the rules of a fuckin’ job?” he seethes, and you snicker. “Aw, how endearing, the punk rebel has a job. I’ll be sure to go to Miguel and tell him you’re doing amazing, so that you don’t get fired, in fact, you could get promoted!”
“That’s it,” Hobie growls and turns to you, grabbing the neck of his guitar and getting ready to use it. You smirk and slightly crouch, ready to jump away or towards him, based on his next move. “OKAY! Okay, we’ll help you just put the damn guitar down,” Miles says, jumping between the two of you. Hobie looks at him before looking at you with a deep frown. “I don’t need help. I just need to make sure other people are here, so I don’t murder this nitwit,” he says, tossing his guitar back so it hangs off his back again. “If anythin’, you’re helpin’ them.”
“I don’t need help either. Especially not yours. I’ll find my way around here myself,” you say, crossing your arms. He turns and offers you a smile. “Well now that you say you definitely don’t want my help, looks like I’m gonna be that friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and assist you.”
“My hero,” you say sarcastically, pushing past him and walking out of the room. He motions for the others to follow you first, and walks out last, slinking in the back. Gwen takes up the role he usually plays in showing everyone around. You nod and listen, occasionally asking a question and cracking a joke. He hates to admit it, but your jokes are actually very funny. It’s refreshing to hear deadpan, straightforward, dry comedy instead of the puns and silly jokes all the other Spider-People love to make. But he doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t even crack a smile. Just watches you.
‘Like a creep,’ you think, catching him staring at you for what feels like the 50th time. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the attention you were getting from him. Truthfully, he’s probably the most attractive person you’ve ever laid eyes on.
Such a tragedy he’s also the worst person you’ve ever had the displeasure to speak with.
“Your suit is so cool, by the way,” Miles says to you, and you give him a grin. “Thanks. Made it myself.”
“Yeah. I can tell,” you hear Hobie pipe up, and your head snaps towards him. “Because it’s so stylish, fashionable, and better than anything you could do yourself?”
“No. ‘Cause it looks like it was put together by a colorblind toddler. If you look close enough, the blacks don’t even match,” he says, smirking. Now this was a lie. All the black in your suit was a perfect shade of raven, he just knew it would piss you off. And it did. “Fuck you. At least my suit doesn’t look like a twelve-year-old who just discovered Hot Topic for the first time,” you hiss, and he scoffs. “Watch your fuckin’ mouth there, mate.”
“You watch yours, mate.”
“Okay, both of you shhhhhhh!” Gwen says, and you both look at her. “Don’t tell me what to do–”
“Stop talking like me!”
“What?! You stop talking like me!”
“Oh my God, the romantic tension is through the roof right now!” Pavitr suddenly pipes up, and now the both of you are staring at him, dark expressions on your faces. “I’d rather be eaten alive by a single piranha so it would take days until I finally succumbed to the sweet release of death,” you hiss and Hobie nods. “Finally. Somethin’ we agree on.” He turns and looks at you, and you roll your eyes at him. “Way to de-escalate, buddy,” Miles whispers to Pavitr, and Pavitr sighs as Miles walks a little faster to catch up with everyone else. “But I was being serious…”
Gwen continues to show you around, and when she finally finishes, you all are back at ‘Hobie’s common room.’ You walk back inside and sit on the tattered and broken-down couch. The way the room is decorated is kind of cool, you must admit. You’re just not a fan of the mismatched colors everywhere. And it could use a couple more decorations. Like bat skeletons. Or just live bats. That would be adorable. “Thanks for showing me around,” you thank Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr. “Not you, though,” you say to Hobie and he snorts. “Good. I wouldn’t want you to thank me for anything.”
“Why do you two hate each other so much? Didn’t you literally just meet?” Miles asks, looking exhausted from the snarky remarks coming from both of you. “We did,” you confirm. “And we don’t get along cause they don’t have any strong belief system.”
“Yes, I do! I’m just realistic, and he can’t understand that,” you say and he rolls his eyes. “Realistic, eh? I already told you I led a rebellion.”
“And I told you it doesn’t matter because everyone is shit. How many villains have you fought since this rebellion you led?”
“None of your fuckin’ business.”
“So, you’ve fought at least one. What did that rebellion get you then, huh?”
“I recommend you shut your fuckin’ mouth before I shut it for you.”
“Please, do try. I need a new skeleton for my collection,” you growl and the two of you jump at each other. Luckily, Gwen and Miles web both of you and hold you back. “That’s enough of that,” Gwen says. “I have an idea,” Miles says, “why don’t we go visit your universe, (Y/n)? Maybe then Hobie can see why you’re so… negative.”
“I’m not goin’ anywhere near that place,” Hobie nearly yells. “Good. I don’t want you there anyway.”
“On second thought, I think it might be very eye-opening to see the world you grew up in. Maybe I can team up with your sinister six and put you in your place,” he spits out at you, causing you to glare at him and flip him off again. “A field trip sounds fun, especially after all this just happened. Maybe it will help the two of you lighten up,” Pavitr says, and you both roll your eyes. “Fine. You can all come. But if you step one toe out of line, Hobie–”
“What? You’ll yell at me?”
“No. I’ll torture you to the point that you would beg me for death.”
“Promise?”
“Always.”
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『 tag list 』
@casmosmoon* @khaleesihavilliard @sparklyphantom @weyrrii*
*if you are italicized - i am unable to tag you for whatever reason, feel free to reach out and see if we can fix the issue
#hobie brown x reader#hobie brown x y/n#hobie brown x you#spiderpunk x reader#spiderverse x reader#hobie brown#spiderpunk#spider-punk#spiderverse#theclashofthespiderverse
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title: Birthday Brawler || Hoshiumi x fem!Reader
a/n: happy aries birthday to my twin! So of course he gets his own fic to celebrate <3
word count: 1.6k
tags: established relationship, play wrestling, lots of grinding, fingering, vaginal penetration, creampie, playful butt patting (not impact play), pwp, unedited
character(s): Korai Hoshiumi (hq)
nsfw undercut ⇾ ⇾ ⇾
Korai was good at everything he put his mind to.
At volleyball. At being your husband. And especially good at keeping the playing field even with your never ending game of grab ass.
An on going thing that often times didn't escalate past one good butt pat for the both of you. Be it at home. Before a game. In the middle of shopping. Dinner at your in-laws. Didn't matter. Korai made sure to keep it even if you ever one upped him in that manner.
Korai foiled most of your attempts to conquer him for the day. Smug look on his face as he walked out of the room after he side stepped your casual motion to grab his butt.
"You won't win unless you pin me down today beautiful." Cocky grin all over his features.
Your brow rose, "I’ll win."
Korai grinned, arms crossing his broad chest, "Think I'll win actually."
"The fuck you will," You shot back with a grin growing on your face.
The two of you approaching each other until Korai's attempt to leave ended with the both of you face to face. Before you knew it the jerking motion to grab his butt only went as far as Korai snagging your wrists. You proceeding to push yourself into his broad chest and smirk. Your other hand going to grab him while he was preoccupied. Leading to both your hands being held but it didn't matter. You where in it to win it now.
Both of you ending up on the ground in a tangled mess of limbs. Where Korai held the advantage with holding your hands to your side. Now it was you who was forcing him to be on the defensive. Grinning above him as you slip your knee between his legs. Feeling the obvious bulge through his shorts.
"Who's playing dirty now?" Korai teased with a wicked smile.
"Still gonna win." You snort back as you hike your leg up against his clothed hard on. Earning a throaty moan from the man when he tries not to grind too much down into you.
Best he can do under you is wrap his arms around your torso. Forcing you down on him even as you giggle. Leaving your chests smashed into each other and Korai's face inches from yours.
Lurching up he catches your lips on his own. Kissing you hard and urgently. Enough to steal your breath just for a second. Leading to you letting your guard down a second only to allow Korai to flip you over. Smug white haired man above you as his well toned arms box you in but don't pin your own down.
"Quit getting excited." Korai quips.
"Quit making me so excited." You retort with a smile as your legs curl around one of his thighs. Making sure to grind yourself against him as Korai grits his teeth knowing you're dirty handy work to make him break.
Feeling your clothed core press against his thigh is simply too much. All he needs to do is pin you down and tell you he wins but he can't. The way you're looking up at him with that mischievous grin. Hands traveling to the back of his neck just as you grind against him. Korai folds. He has to give you what you want.
"Loser-" Your grin, now pressed into the crook of his neck as you leave a trail of kisses down Korai's neck and along his shoulder.
"Shut up-" Korai growled. Fumbling with your panties at best. Slipping past your waistband was easy but his fingers struggled to find the right way to pull your panties away from your soaked slit, "Fuck- You're already this wet-"
"Make me wetter-" Your whisper nothing short of a challenge in his ear.
Korai shudders, breath drawing heavy out of his chest before he's finally able to slip his fingers up your slit. And oh boy were you wet. He looks up at you in the moments to follow as Korai sinks his fingers into you. Knuckle deep without breaking eye contact. Relishing the way your back arcs up to his touch even as his fingers bottom out in you.
Sucking in a deep breath between your clenched teeth. You groan as his fingers swipe along your squishy walls. A lewd squelch when Korai ruts his fingers into you with a short thrust. Right away your hands go down to grip his forearm.
"Fuck-" Is all that makes it past your lips. Knowing full well that your husband can feel the twitch to your insides around his finger.
"You want me that bad huh?" He teases with a swirling motion of his fingers interrupting every word you try and say. Korai snickering until one of your hands come up and grab his cheeks.
Forcing the man to look down at you with those intense golden eyes, "...Fuck me. Now."
No need to tell him twice. Korai receiving that demand loud and clear.
Wrestling not you but with his own shorts. Someone can't get his own waistband down around his knees fast enough. Disregarding the fact both of you were literally on the ground. Korai succeeds to only see you already stripped down. Legs spread as you draw your finger up your slit and playfully spread yourself for him to see every inch of you glistening wet for him.
"Fuck-" Korai can't get between your legs fast enough. Pushing them a little roughly apart. Not for anything save for the need to be inside you. Even the twitch to his cock when Korai tries to position himself at your entrance leaves you giggling.
That giggle is for nothing though when Korai snaps his hips into your. Burying himself in you completely. Curve of his cock defiling you far worse than his fingers. All you can do is grab his broad shoulders to bring him down on you. Moaning even through the lip bite you tried to stifle it with. You can't help but smash your lips into his as Korai readjusts himself inside you.
His moans fueling you to move your hips against his. Foiling the man as he tries to keep a composure. It's impossible though as he feels every inch of you twitch around him. Leaving Korai little choice but to prop himself on his elbows as he presses back into the kiss. Allowing you to move at your own pace as he momentarily drowns in the pleasure.
"I thought I said fuck me-" You smirk into the kiss as you pull lightly on Korai's hair. Bringing him back to the moment where his gold eyes pop open to the sight of you under him.
"Tch-" Korai leans back up. Calloused hands hooking into your hips to yank you back into him just as he thrusts. Sharing in the grin now as your head rolls back and he watches your breasts jiggle under your blouse, "I wasn't forgetting anything."
Wanting to make you eat those words, Korai ruts himself into you. Watching his cock disappear in you at the same moment your eyes roll to the back of your head. It makes him grin. Unbelievably so. Even as every nerve in his body is firing on overloaded pleasure he can't stop the way his hips mercilessly snap into you. Pulling you to him with each thrust until he's panting and Korai is left doing nothing more than staring down at you as he feels his own orgasm building.
"Play- Fuck- Play with yourself-" Korai asserts through breathless gasps.
No need to be told twice. Your hand finds your clit in an instant. Only staving your own orgasm off by refraining from touching yourself though. But with the way your husband's thrusts were getting erratic and shallow you knew it was neck and neck who would cum first.
"S-Shit Korai- Yes- Fuck right there-" Your words slurring as you can hardly stay focused on the man above you.
Huffing he doubles down when he sees your fingers working over your clit. Each swipe of your fingers over your sensitive bud just making it harder for him to maintain himself as you tighten around him. Absorbed in his thoughts it was a sudden rush when Korai felt the crash of your orgasm take you first.
Scream muffled by his lips being smashed against his. Really it's for nothing as Korai moans into the exchange. The way your cunt milks his cock. Hips rutting into yours as he can't stave it off anymore. You're lewd noises and twitching cunt all to inviting.
One shuddering thrust to bottom out in you and Korai, breathless against your lips, feels the first gush of warm cum flood around his cock. Painting your insides with every ounce of cum he has. Even from him, he bows down on one elbow as he pants against your lips in a messy kiss. Your trembling cunt taking every last drop as it oozes around his cock still buried deep in you. The two of you taking a moment to look at each other in the dewy post sex moment as the high from your orgasms wore off.
Looking like you were about to say something. Korai lifted his head up a little expecting something sappy. Until without realization he felt your hand on his bare ass and a grin quickly crossing your lips. Revealing your true intentions all along with a giggle, "I win."
#HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY TWIN I LOVE HIM SO MUCH#IN THIS HOUSE WE LOVE AND FUCK HOSHIUMI#TODAY IS ALL ABOUT MY BABE#threethirst#hq thirst#hq smut#hq!!#haikyuu#haikyuu!!#haikyuu thirst#haikyuu smut#hq hoshiumi#hoshiumi kourai#kourai hoshiumi#hoshiumi x reader#hoshiumi korai x reader#hoshiumi smut#hoshiumi kourai smut#three.q
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A Man of Easy Virtues
Just another ‘I’m so sorry but I couldn’t resist’ fics I wrote instead of, you know, doing the important things I should be doing.
This time it’s based on @likecastle‘s post about the kind of pants Jaskier should be wearing (and isn’t wearing, obviously) in the show and all the fanfics.
Warning for almost underage slutty bard (don’t worry, though, he’s eighteen, so definitely not a kid) and no Geralt in sight.
And yes, there will definitely be a part 2.
*
“You don’t understand,” Jaskier sighs and looks down at the tiny, fat tailor in front of him. “I just need a pair of pants that stays up without a hundred tiny ribbons.”
“They aren’t ribbons, young man,” the tailor says. “They are actually called–”
“I don’t care what they’re called. I don’t want them anywhere near me.”
“How would your pants stay up, then?” the tailor frowns.
“I don’t know. You’re the expert!”
The tailor sighs and lifts his hands to fix Jaskier’s partially unbuttoned doublet.
“Young man. How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” Jaskier mutters.
“Eighteen,” the man repeats. “Are you aware, young man, that what you’re asking for is very inappropriate?”
“But very practical. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to get into appropriate clothes when you’re in a hurry?”
“There are things you cannot hurry up, young man. This is one of them.”
“Have you ever tried telling that to an angry cuckold?”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing,” Jaskier bites his lower lip. “Could you at least consider–”
“No.”
“I will pay you double–”
“Still no. There,” the man smiles, straightening Jaskier’s collar. “Much better now. Your chemise is meant to be hidden. You wouldn’t want people to think that you are a man of easy virtues, would you?”
“Oh, no,” Jaskier mutters. “That would be horrible…”
*
“Fuck, yes,” Jaskier moans as a pair of eager hands slip into his doublet. “Please.”
“Mhmh,” his lover’s deep voice answers, impatiently tugging at Jaskier’s chemise. “More skin. Right fucking now.”
“I actually don’t think,” Jaskier murmurs between the kisses, “that it will be possible to… Oh, yes.”
The hands slip lower and try to get into Jaskier’s pants. They don’t succeed. The man – the Witcher, for fuck’s sake – growls.
Which is fair, Jaskier assumes, because while the young student’s fingers are roaming freely over the scarred torso and firm buttocks, Jaskier is still fully clothed. And it is going to take forever before he’s naked.
“Drowner’s shrunken ball sack,” the Witcher swears, tugging at one of the points holding Jaskier’s clothes together. “I’d sooner get into a noonwraith’s rotting cunt than your asshole!”
“Yeah, it’s a little complicated, but if you let go for a little while–”
“Oh, fuck off,” the man grunts and before Jaskier even blinks, there’s a long knife in the man’s hand. And before Jaskier manages to open his mouth to protest, the man makes short work of all the points and unceremoniously throws Jaskier onto the bed, grinning.
“Well, fuck me,” Jaskier whispers, feeling his blood rush straight to his crotch (well, at least the tiny amount of blood that wasn’t there already).
“That’s the plan,” the man nods, cutting Jaskier’s chemise open. “The name’s Lambert, in case you forgot. Because I expect you to scream it until your voice is fucking raw.”
“Yes, sir,” Jaskier purrs.
The Witcher smiles.
“Good boy.”
*
“Melitele’s tits!” Jaskier swears, staring at his pants in disbelief.
Lambert lifts his head from the pillow and raises an eyebrow.
“Problem?” he asks.
“There is, actually. You completely ruined them!” Jaskier growls and throws his currently useless pants at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to get back home?”
“Oh, come on. I was careful not to cut anything but those motherfucking tiny ribbons. It’s not the end of the world. What do you need them for, anyway? I mean apart from driving potential lovers insane with lust.”
“Well, for nothing important. Just holding the fucking thing up,” Jaskier sighs and puts on his doublet, which is his only piece of clothing that’s intact. He’s slowly coming to terms with walking home with his ass bare. Again. Third time this week.
“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” Lambert frowns. “Shit. Sorry, I guess. Would you like my spare pair?”
“Does it have the points, or did you cut them off when you urgently needed to take a shit?” Jaskier smirks.
“I honestly don’t know what the fuck are you even talking about.” Lambert gets up and after a few seconds of rummaging through his bag he pulls out a pair of worn-out leather pants and throws them to Jaskier. “Here. Take them. Guess what. They stay up on their own.”
“They… do?” Jaskier whispers, his eyes going comically wide.
“Honey, when werewolves attack your camp while your Cat Witcher boyfriend is balls-deep in your ass, you don’t have time to tie some fucking ribbons.”
“Cat Witcher…” Jaskier blinks.
As if on cue, the room’s door open and a lean, long-haired blond man rushes in, slams the door closed behind him and starts dragging a large chest in front of it.
“Oh, you’re done. Good,” he says to Lambert. “We need to leave. Now.”
“Aiden, I swear by Vesemir’s flaccid cock…” Lambert groans. “What did I ask you – no, beg you not to do tonight?!”
“I swear I didn’t cheat this time!” the man says, leaning with his full weight against the chest just as someone starts to bang on the door. “It’s not my fault I’m so fucking good at gwent, is it?”
“Good at gwent my ass. I could beat you drunk if you didn’t have another whole pack stuffed into your sleeves.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lambert. It’s not a whole pack. Just like… twenty cards or something, usually.” The man grins at Jaskier. The doorknob rattles. “Hey, Lambert’s fuck of the day. I’d suggest you start getting dressed.”
“Just how many did you manage to piss off this time?” Lambert asks, already pulling his shirt over his head.
“Not many. I could deal with them in a matter of seconds, but you always say your brother doesn’t like it when Witchers murder innocent citizens.”
“You mean my brother the fucking Butcher of Blaviken?” Lambert laughs.
Jaskier looks up from fastening his (well, Lambert’s) pants and gapes at the two Witchers.
“Your brother,” he whispers. “Your brother is Geralt of–”
“Not now,” Lambert says. “We’re in a bit of a hurry. Tell me, Jaskier, have you ever jumped out of a window before?”
“Four times just this week. Mostly to escape jealous husbands. A jealous wife, in one case.”
“Good,” Aiden nods, letting go of the chest supporting the door and grabbing his bag. “Let’s jump.”
*
The tiny, fat tailor is staring at the pair of worn-out black leather pants laid out in front of him with polite disgust.
“Not possible,” he says for the fifth time.
“Let’s be absolutely clear here,” Jaskier smiles and his voice holds just a hint of a promise of some very unpleasant things that could hypothetically happen to the tiny man. “Do you know my name?”
“No, young man, and I wouldn’t care even if you were–”
“Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove,” Jaskier says calmly.
“Oh,” the man replies and he suddenly seems even smaller than before.
“I am willing to pay you twice your usual fee–”
“Sir, what you’re requiring is outrageous–”
“Three times.”
“I couldn’t possibly sully the name of my shop with such an immodest–”
“Four times your usual fee, and an opportunity to start a fashion revolution.”
The man closes his eyes and nods slowly.
“Four times my usual fee. You can keep the revolution. It’s not as if you can find another man willing to wear something so scandalous…”
*
In a month, almost every young man in Oxenfurt (and several young women) wears the same model of pants Jaskier does. It’s much more comfortable, and also much easier to get into if you happen to get caught naked in a bed you shouldn’t be in, making it an instant hit among the students.
When Jaskier jumps, completely dressed, out of yet another window, this time running from a father whose two sons he just fucked into the bed, he thinks that he definitely has to thank Lambert and Aiden properly the next time he sees them.
Or any other Witcher he meets until then.
They basically saved his life, didn’t they?
#the witcher#witcher fic#witcher fanfiction#jaskier#julian alfred pankratz#lambert x aiden#lambden#because when i write about lambert i just can't NOT include aiden okay?!#also jaskier can't keep his pants up#quite literally#my fics#attempt at humor
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For @the-ever-present-julie, based off this tumblr post.
Five times Dean and Cas kissed and never talked about it, and the one time they did and still won’t talk about it.
Five.
It's not like Dean hasn't thought about it before.
That first month after he crawled his way out of his grave? He'd never told Sam or Bobby, but that entire month, hell, more like three, he'd been convinced that it was all just one of Alastair's tricks. That Alastair had moved on from the crude, visceral pleasure of blood and guts and shredded flesh to this—letting him dream, and then, right when he'd let himself believe it, that the impossible had happened, Alastair would take it away.
The sick fuck.
But two could play that game, alright?
Dean- Dean was good at this. Dean knew Alastair, like calling to like in the putrid depths of hell. Dean would find a way to trip him up, it was like that time with the djinn. Find the thing that didn't fit, the thing that was impossible to explain, and then tug at that thread until it all unraveled.
Well, he didn't have to look too far.
Castiel, angel of the Lord, who made his ears bleed, and his stomach swoop—well— come the fuck on, there was no possible way his mind could have generated this. This was Alastair, through and through, Alastair who had put him on the rack and taken more pieces out of him than he'd known existed, who'd worked him over and over and over, and somewhere along the way learnt enough about Dean that he'd—
The handprint buzzed and ached and tingled and Castiel's blue, blue eyes had looked right through him, and said things like you don't think you deserve to be saved, and if I tell you something, will you keep it a secret, I'm not a hammer, and no, this would not be the thing he let himself believe, this would not be one more way that Alastair broke him. In the backseat of his car, Anna had fitted her palm onto the scar, her delicate, smooth palm too small for it, the whorls of her fingers caressing the edges, and it had been electric, and all wrong, because it wasn't her mark that Dean carried on his friggin' re-hymenated body (it wasn't her who had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition, and Dean's body knew it in a way that Dean wasn't going to think about, let alone—)
That sonuvabitch Alastair would not break him with a fairy tale that innocent people told their children, angels watch over you, but his mother had not been innocent in all of this, had she, she had sold Sammy to the Devil, and Castiel had laid a hand on his shoulder (but had not touched his mark, why hadn't—) and had looked at Dean with something like sorrow, and didn't seem to mind when Dean called him Cas, brought him down to his level, and fuck, here he was again, out of options, out of luck, out of fuel, and his brother was someone he didn't recognize.
The sickest thing was how that was the part that had felt real, felt painful in a way that Alastair could have never devised. Dean's soul was putting himself in the hands of a demon bitch, and there was fuck all that Dean could do about it. This was how he broke then, in the words of a prayer, the first he'd ever said, and he hadn't known whom he was praying to, but it had been Cas who showed up, eyes bluer than any summer sky Dean had ever seen, face striated by the colours of a vending machine, and said, faith is a good sign, Dean. What was it a sign of, Dean would have liked to know, and it wasn't faith, not by a long shot, but what could a creature like Castiel have known of desperation? Castiel who stood close, too close, but had touched him only twice, who'd said, it's not blame that rests on you, it's fate, and yeah, that was fucking Winchester Gospel for you, cursed from the start, the two of them, before they were in the womb, born under a bad sign.
But Cas had helped, and Dean had begun to think—but of course, Cas left, and there was only poor, stupid Jimmy Novak, and then Cas was back, but not really, Cas was a stranger, and Dean didn't know when he'd stopped thinking of Cas as a stranger, and just, strange—
Dean had laid one across Castiel's marble-face that didn't shatter, tried, because what else could he have done? This is real, this is the only thing that's worth it and even before the disappointment of having Cas leave could sink in, the handprint had buzzed and ached and tingled as Cas pressed him against a wall and pressed a palm against his lips and then bled on the floor, for Dean, (whom he didn't serve) and Cas had said, I'll hold them all off, go save him, but of course it had been too late, because that was the story of Dean's life, too late, too late.
Cas comes back, and oh look, Cas has learnt what desperation means, after all. There's something wild in his eyes, that he tries to hide but doesn't succeed when he says, we need God, it's not theological, it's strategic, and if Dean had a moment to take a breath, he would have wanted to sit Cas down, and say, listen man, I understand it, but this is a road to nowhere, you're only going to waste your time, you gotta stop loving what can't love you back, and yeah, that'd have been hypocritical of him, but so what, that was pretty low down on Dean's laundry list of sins.
But it's the Apocalypse, and as it happens Dean's got his own shit to deal with, and Cas isn't his responsibility, so what if he just died for Dean or whatever, alright, Dean owes him, but not like that.
And now it's the end of the world, their last night on earth, and Dean's not too late to make Cas smile at him, confused but fond, and Castiel's smile is nothing like Jimmy Novak's. Cas is nothing like Jimmy Novak who'd just been a naive man in an ugly suit, and well. He'd promised Cas a good time, and Dean's not got a lot to give Cas, by way of thanks or comfort or anything, and what had Cas said that time? Everything on earth is pain, but that's only cause he doesn't know, the good parts, the best parts, and before Dean can chicken out of it, he's pressing Cas up against the Impala, and Cas is letting him, goes willing, pliant, staring at him, eyes wide, and Dean sees the moment it happens, the small hitch of breath he takes, that Cas, who doesn't need to breathe makes, and his eyes dart to Dean's lips and flash up again, and Dean's kissing him, and it's—riding a comet—
Cas doesn't know how to kiss.
But that's fine, that's a-ok, because Dean does, and Dean can show him, and Cas is a quick learner, zero to six hundred in twenty seconds or less, and now it's Dean who can't breathe except in loud, panting gasps, Cas's warm, strong hand wrapped with his around their dicks, not enough slick, a little too rough, too painful, perfect, perfect, and Cas is eating his face, teeth sharp and painful on Dean's lips, eyes still wide open and unblinking, the freak, but his gaze is hot and ferocious, and Dean's eyes flutter shut again on a moan, because Dean's burning, has been burning all this time, he realizes, for this, for—
Cas rips his sleeve off, jacket and shirt, both gone, and then his hand is there, and Dean's coming, wet, thick and nasty all over an angel's hand, he should be going to hell for this, except Cas hadn't let him stay there, and hadn't thrown him back, and this was real, Dean shuddering, face hidden in the crook of Cas' neck, trembling, his knees giving way, but Cas' got him, the hand on his shoulder slipping lower, around his back to hold him up, holding him in place, and Dean should— he should—
Four.
He wakes up alone in a motel room, and there is a tomorrow, and then the day after, but no Cas, and then there is two thousand fucking fourteen, and Cas is still there in the ruins that Sam and Dean made of the world , jesus fucking christ on a candy stick, Cas is still there.
Cas is broken, because Dean did that to him, and Cas kisses him, once, open mouthed and filthy, and then draws back and says, the day I decide to stay, make sure I don't, please, if you ever cared even a little, promise me, and then Cas goes off to die with even-more-of-an-asshole-future-him, because that's just how he rolls.
Three.
He shouldn't.
If that mook Zach's little thought experiment had taught him anything, it should have been this- that Cas was off limits.
That he shouldn't keeping finding ways to keep him close.
He shouldn't keep finding ways to kiss Cas, but that's exactly what he does.
The world's ending around them in slow motion and they are fucking.
They're fucking in dank, stinking alleys, blood running down Dean's chin, and Cas licking it up, and feeding it back to him, tongue practically molesting Dean's tonsils, fingers squeezing his neck, rubbing against each other fully clothed, until Dean's coming in his pants. They're fucking on stained bedsheets of grimy hotel rooms, lights flickering, crackling, every electronic instrument in a five mile radius gone haywire, the smell of ozone and jizz making Dean dizzier, as Cas pounds him through four successive orgasms, each more spectacular and painful than the last, Dean's body a limp rag after. They're fucking squeezed together in the backseat of the Impala, Dean hunched over Cas, occasionally knocking his head on the roof, but he can't stop, won't stop, nothing has felt this good, a thick fat dick inside him, filling up his empty places, and Cas slack-mouthed, and eyes closed under him, hands wrapped around Dean's biceps so tight that Dean's gotta wear long sleeves through the hottest summer in three centuries, so that Sammy won't ask.
Sam knows, of course he does.
Cas isn't subtle when he turns up, dishevelled, hair sticking out in five different directions, looking pissed off and tired; shrinking, somehow, but still with that crackling power about him, and not looking at anyone or anything except at Dean, like all the roads he's taken looking for God have only led him straight back to Dean. Sam's taken to clearing his throat awkwardly, and hot-footing it out of hearing range the moment Cas appears, and just as well, Dean doesn't have it in him anymore to be quiet, sprawled wide open on the bed, hands twisting in the sheets as Cas fucks him fuck, fuck, fuck, jesus fuck, if he hadn't already gone to hell, surely this would send him there, profaning this holy thing of god, whose tongue was made for songs of praise and worship, and is instead all the way up Dean's ass, dragging an orgasm out of him.
It's alright, he reasons, on the days Cas is gone, and Sam is there, but gone.
Cas and him, they're not so different after all. They're both the disappointing sons of deadbeat dads, and Cas is losing his wings and his faith at approximately the same speed that Dean's losing everything and everyone, and the world is going to hell in a handbasket, and there's no way to fix it, no way to undo it, and he's going to have to kill the love of his life, and if this is his consolation prize, he's going to take it.
(Dean loves taking it.)
Dean will take it and he doesn't want to talk about it, and hey, apparently, neither does Cas, so that's peachy, that's perfect, and Dean shouldn't, but he does, and Cas lets him, and he does, right until Sam gets thrown into the pit, and Dean doesn't.
Cas' grace knits him together, once more, and then he's gone, and so is Dean.
Two.
Cas comes back.
But he's more of a stranger than he'd ever been, even in that barn, what feels like a lifetime ago, and he won't talk, and sure as fuck won't listen, and his blue gaze when it meets Dean's is cool as lake water, as if Dean doesn't know what Cas sounds like, strung out of his mind with pleasure, from having Dean hold him down with a binding sigil and fuck him raw.
As if they'd never been friends, and perhaps they hadn't, that was just what it was like in the war, and the war was over, and so were they.
Cas is all impatience, and anger, and sullen resentment, brittle in a way that scares Dean if he really thinks about it, because it's Cas, and something's wrong, Dean can feel it deep in his bones, just like he knew with Sammy, but he—
Look, if Cas wants to reach him, he knows how to call.
But then it's too late (again) and there's a war (again, or it was never over, why is it never over), only this time it's Cas that Dean needs to kill, really kill, and fuck if he knows how, but in the end, all he can do is watch as Cas walks into the water, and all that's left of him is a stained, torn trenchcoat.
Dean keeps it.
He can't look at it, can't stand to, that entire year, but he keeps it.
And then Cas comes back (again), but then he's gone (again) and what had Dean expected, really?
And Dean's tired, ok, so tired, so tired and sick and done, and the war is still on—maybe he shouldn't have left Cas, maybe he should have tried harder, maybe he should have called, maybe it wouldn't have all gone to shit, if Dean hadn't screwed it up once again, hadn't failed—
"Cas" he says, squinting against the sun on his face, up at where Cas is perched on the roof of the Impala. "Why are you covered in bees?"
The air is filled with a humming that Dean's only 90% certain are the bees.
"They like me, Dean," says Cas, as though that were a reasonable explanation, and fuck knows, maybe it was, in that fucked up noodle of his. "They wanted me to stay with them."
Shit, fuck.
Dean rubs his hands over his eyes.
"You maybe want to come inside and talk?"
Crazy or not, they needed all the help they could—
Cas hops down from the car, and the bees rise up in an angry, buzzing cloud before settling back.
"Lose the bees first", says Dean, and then regrets it, when Cas stands before him naked as a new-born.
"Dude!" yelps Dean, "Come on! Where the fuck are your clothes?"
"I—", says Cas, sounding lost and forlorn as he stares down at himself. "I'm not sure. The bees didn't like them."
And fuck, like this, Dean can see that Cas is just skin and bone, pale skin stretched over prominent ribs, hip bones jutting out—
"Well, mojo them back from wherever you left them", Dean growls, "There's a sandwich in it for you."
Cas looks up, hopeful.
"Peanut butter?"
"Sure", says Dean and hopes to god the vending machine has something that resembles a sandwich. "But get some.." he waves his hands, not looking at Cas, because it hurts to see him like this.
There's nothing like a sandwich in the machine, so he ends up instructing Cas to wait for him in the room while he makes a quick run to the nearest store. He picks up some orange juice and bananas while he's at it, along with the bread, peanut butter and jam.
"This is very kind of you, Dean" says Cas, as he sits (fully clothed, in his hospital scrubs and trenchcoat), his hands in his lap.
"So, what, you need to eat these days?" Dean queries. "You look like you've just spent six months on a fad diet".
Cas looks away, up at the ceiling.
"The grace is more useful for other things" he says, "There's so much to do. So many creatures in pain. I forget to."
"Listen", starts Dean, because he can guess where this is coming from, hell, it isn't like—
"Is my sandwich ready?"
Dean slides it across the table, and watches as Cas wolfs it down.
There's a bit of jam that gets stuck to the corner of his mouth, and Dean gestures at it, and then, when Cas looks confused, reaches out to—
Cas flinches.
Dean freezes, hand stuck awkwardly in mid-air, throat closing up.
He leans back, withdrawing his hand.
"You've got some jam smeared at the corner of your mouth, like a goddamned three year old, Cas".
"Oh", says Cas, and it vanishes.
Dean swallows the guess you don’t mind wasting your mojo on that then, that sits on his tongue, and Cas finishes his sandwich, suddenly quiet, staring down at his sandwich, though it wasn't like he'd been saying anything before, but it's a different sort of quiet between them now, filled with all the things that Dean wants to scream at him, and can't.
Cas doesn't touch the bananas, but slurps the orange juice, loudly.
Dean watches as Cas licks his lips, tongue darting out to taste the last of it.
When he looks up, Cas is looking at him.
He feels his cheeks heat, caught out.
"You’re sweet", says Cas, suddenly. "Sweeter than all the honey in the world".
And before Dean can process it, he leans forward, brushing his lips against Dean's; a butterfly of a kiss, and then he's gone, in a quiet whoosh, and Dean's left alone, and when he wets his suddenly parched lips, he can taste the faint bitter-sour flavour of canned orange on them.
One
Well, Dean's not making the same mistake twice.
There's no way he's gonna leave Cas behind.
Where's the angel, he asks, as he hacks his way through Purgatory, where's the angel?
Cas, he prays, c'mon man. Don't do this to me.
Cas, please.
Once he gets slashed by something, some kind of hellbreed that seemed half werewolf, half vampire, and it's pretty bad, but somehow he manages to lose them, holed up high up in cave he'd discovered in some time ago. The view's spectacular from the ridge or would be, if the hills and valleys and forests weren't teeming with things that were out for his blood, and Cas'.
He manages the staunch the bleeding. The gash isn't too deep after all, but he's gonna have to stay put for a couple of days. But then the chills start, and he thinks, shit, shit. Starting a fire is a sure way to get killed, no way he's gonna be able to take on anything more dangerous than a field mouse right now, and fuck, he's exhausted, suddenly, and ok, this wasn't good, the ground seemed to be rushing up to meet his face—
He's warm.
Cocooned in the softest of embraces, safe, untouchable.
"Mom?" he whispers, "Is that you?"
A hand brushes over his forehead, light and gentle.
He struggles to open his eyes, which seem to be refusing to cooperate.
It's not mom.
"Cas" he rasps, bleary eyed, throat drier than a desert. "Cas?"
"Shh" says Cas, "You're safe now. Rest, Dean."
And it's true, Dean can feel it, cradled here in—Cas' wings, he thinks, sleepily, unable to hold on to the thought. Those are Cas' wings he can feel, sheltering, soft, warm.
"You found me", he mumbles, "I've been looking for you."
"Shhh", Cas rumbles, "Don't talk. It's alright."
"Cas."
A feather light press against his mouth, and then another, and then a third.
"I'm here", Cas whispers, "Dean. Rest now."
But when he wakes up, he's alone.
If it weren't for the healed gash, skin smooth and untouched, every aching muscle restored like he'd been checked into a fancy spa for a month, he'd have been certain he dreamt it.
Then they get topside, and he wishes it had only been a dream, and not one more thing he'd have to forget.
(Plus One)
Sam's here, finally.
Bobby had been right, time sure passed different around here.
Sam's here now, and it's perfect.
Almost.
Cas isn't around.
Or he's everywhere, but nowhere where Dean can see him, reach out and touch him.
When he asks around, he gets vague answers.
Ellen says, oh, I think Jack and Cas are in some other planetary system this week.
Two weeks later, by Dean's counting, Rufus says, you just missed him, boy, he was here helping fix my roof not half-hour ago.
Jack says, looking embarrassed, uh, I sent him on a mission, to, um, uh, Andromeda, and then, uh, I have to go, nice seeing you again, Dean, and vanishes before Dean can whup his ass for lying to his family.
Dean gets into the Impala; tells Sam he's got a supply run to make.
"You've got like a 100 cartons of beer, Dean", says Sam.
"Not beer, Sammy."
Sam gives him a long look.
Dean shrugs, look, it wasn't like Sam didn't know.
Sam nods, once, lips quirking a little.
"Good luck, then" he says.
Dean flips a finger at him.
"C'mon, Baby" he says, as he pulls onto the road, "Take me to him."
Baby's never let him down.
Of course, Cas has gone and set his feathery ass down somewhere on the highest mountain that Dean has ever seen, the top of it half hidden in a swirl of clouds. There's only a narrow trail, no way to take Baby up, so he parks her under the shade of a leafy tree of some species he's pretty sure isn't found on earth, and shrugs off his jacket, wrapping it around his waist.
Jesus, but Cas could be a real dick, and it wasn't like Dean didn't already know that, but, wow.
The trail is narrow, though not very steep, and the foliage dense for most parts, as he begins to climb. There's a river or a small waterfall somewhere, he can hear the sound of it, a muted roar. Up and up it goes, through plants and shrubs- or things that look like plants or shrubs, he can't be sure of anything here, he's realized. Occasionally, a small woodland creature of indeterminate origin will cross his path. Some of them stop and stare. One or two get experimentally close, while he stands as still as possible, and lets them acclimatize themselves to his scent. The foliage isn't dense enough to block out all sunlight, and every now and again the path will emerge onto an outcrop of rock and grass, probably intended as a rest-stop for the weary. Dean's only slightly out of breath, though the air gets cooler as he goes higher. But the sun is warm enough for a sheen of sweat to form, making his t shirt stick to his spine.
He sinks down onto a convenient grassy knoll and takes a few breaths. Clouds float lazily over the valley below, that stretches out farther than his eye can see. The river he's hearing winds through it, clear and blue, through acres and acres of green and violet, and brown and red. He turns his face up toward the sky.
Was it possible to get sunburn in Heaven?
Well, he was going to find out.
He turns his head a little.
He's about half way up the mountain, he estimates.
Given the position of the sun, he's been climbing about three hours.
Making me work for it, huh, buddy? Dick move, Cas, gotta tell you that.
Something rustles in the grass near him: a tiny grass snake, slim and green.
Snakes in paradise, wow, wasn't that theologically wrong or something?
But it gives him a beady eyed look and slithers over his outstretched palm and then away, unbothered, leaving behind a fleeting sense of dry leather.
Dean sighs.
"Cas?" he says, softly. "You're waiting for me, right?"
He doesn't know what he'll do if Cas isn't.
The thought makes his heart triphammer in his chest, fear gripping it.
What if he was too late, again?
But he's got to believe that he's right about this.
That he's here because Cas is ready, finally, to let Dean find him.
In those years after Purgatory, they'd never managed, somehow to make it work.
Every time Cas left—every time Cas came back—it got harder, somehow, to say, don't go, please, I need you, forgive me, stay.
Dean- he'd just become angrier and meaner, falling deeper and deeper and this was a grave that even Cas couldn't pull him out of. And then, when he'd been ready-almost—that second time in Purgatory, it had seemed like Cas wasn't ready, though surely, he knew, why else had he stopped Dean—
But the joke was on Dean, because Cas hadn't known, and then it had been too late. Cas was slipping through his fingers one more time, beatific in his joy, as he threw himself into the pit for Dean, and Dean had known, had known, that it was the last time.
When it was all over, he had waited.
Hope was a thing with feathers.
He had waited for Jack to bring Cas back to them, to Dean.
But Jack hadn't.
No way that Jack hadn't sprung Cas from the Empty, there was just no fucking way that would have happened, so that meant that Cas didn't want to see Dean.
And alright, maybe Dean deserved that, maybe that was his penance, and he would do it, gladly.
He wouldn't complain, and he'd go through the rest of his life with a piece of him missing, and it was what it was, there were things you couldn't undo, there were sorrows that had to be borne.
On the bad days, after a hunt that went wrong- there were, after all, still some of those—he'd lie in bed, every tendon and muscle and bone aching, and when he closed his eyes, he'd try to will himself back there, to that cave in Purgatory, the safety and comfort of Cas' shelter, and the sweet press of his lips against Dean's.
Sweeter than all the honey in the world.
He blinks awake.
Apparently he'd taken a nap, though given that the sun was still steadily beating down on his face—and yes, you could get sunburn in heaven, thanks for nothing Jack—it hadn't been too long.
It takes another two hours, and he's almost giving up hope, wondering whether he's going to end up just spending the night alone on this mountain after all, when he breaks through a particularly dense grove and finds himself in a middle of a garden.
The garden- in flagrant, dizzying bloom around a cobbled stone path that leads to a small wooden cabin nestled against the wall of the mountain- has an occupant.
Dean feels like his breath was punched out of him.
My true form is as tall as the Chrysler building, Cas had once said, the lying liar that he was, because he's probably twice as tall. He's all iridescent wings that span twenty feet either side, and a dozen wheels spinning in different directions and something that looks like blue flames trailing the edges of his wings, and Dean is—
Jesus.
Cas turns toward him at that, and Dean senses his-shock?- before the almost unbearable brightness dims slowly, coalescing into a familiar shape.
"Not quite", says Cas. "Hello, Dean."
Dean's feet seem locked to the ground, and Cas doesn't make a move toward him either.
"Hi", Dean breathes out, the air rushing out of his lungs with the word. "Cas."
Cas has switched out the trenchcoat and suit for comfortable looking pair of white linen pants and a loose short tunic of sky blue, that match his eyes, and there's what looks like a week's worth of stubble along his jaw.
"Heaven can't afford a razor?" is what Dean says next, like the idiot he is.
Cas' eyes crinkle. "I've been told it makes me more attractive".
What, who- no- fuck.
Dean's already up in Cas' space before he realizes it.
"Who told you that?" he rasps, and up close he can see the flecks of grey in the stubble, and at Cas' temples, and yes, it made him breathtakingly hot, but damned if Dean was going to— "They were lying, just so you know."
Cas is smiling at him.
"Dean," he says, softly.
Dean reaches out to run a finger against his jaw, going against the grain, ends up with his fingers resting lightly against Cas' cheek, just under his ear.
"You’re a dick" he says, softly, "you know that?"
Cas nods.
"I've been" starts Dean, and then finds he's out of words, takes a shuddery breath instead, furiously trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes.
Cas's hands cup his face, warm and sure, and he draws Dean's forehead down to his.
"I know", Cas says, softly. "But I would do it again if it meant I saved you. I would do it all again."
"I should have told you," whispers Dean, "I'm sorry I wasn't brave enough."
"Dean", says Cas, softly, "You've always been enough."
Above them the sky starts turning a fiery orange as the first of the suns starts to set.
Cas' wings- which he hasn't tucked away- take on a metallic shine, but they feel warm, and safe, just like Dean remembers.
Dean kisses him, softly, once, then again, then again.
"Sweeter than all the honey in the world", he whispers, glad that there's nobody to hear this but Cas.
"You don't even like honey", says Cas, after a moment. "You never let Sam put any in your tea."
Dean draws back.
"You don’t remember", he accuses, genuinely horrified.
Cas' brows draw together in a frown.
"What?"
"You kissed me! And said—well you said what you said! Back in the day when you were all crazy!"
"Which time?"
Dean groans, thumping his head onto Cas' shoulder.
Cas buries his nose in Dean's hair and tucks him closer in his embrace.
"I remember" he confesses, quietly, after a moment. "But I thought you'd want to forget it."
"Cas", Dean, sighing, as he turns to nuzzle the soft, tender skin beneath Cas' ear, placing a small kiss there, as he presses closer. "Let's never talk about this again, ok?"
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I started writing this very niche au ages ago that @booksfoxesandcoffee and @demogirlfriend tinkered with lol it’s not quite what I wanted, but at least it’s done ~
Based on my post for This Steve with This Billy:
vampire/musician!Steve and mobster!Billy.
TW for briefly mentioned drugs and all manner of vampire things.
💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋
If Billy were being honest with himself, it wasn’t the man’s looks that hooked him. The way a superior dancer stands out in the ensemble, it was the musician’s energy that made Billy’s eyes keep finding him.
Every business that opened his his territory went through Billy’s strict legislature. And the whole city was his to play king.
He didn’t consider himself a strict businessman, but he did attend the new club with regularity to make sure they had what they needed to succeed. If they couldn’t succeed, then they’d have to rebuild elsewhere.
They did succeed. Because they had Steve Harrington.
On paper, he was lead guitarist. An instrumentalist. Vocalist if necessary. Billy Hargrove knew he shined in neon stage lighting and his special trick was swinging the instrument around his body so the guitar switched sides halfway through a song or riff, proving ambidextrous dexterity.
Billy knew Harrington was hard to get ahold of. So far, he’d hosted every member of the band and every guest musician at his VIP table. Harrington always had reasons for leaving directly after a show, which surprised Billy. The man’s band mates clearly revolved around him, looked to him for timing cues, and Billy even had the unique experience of seeing the man smack a drink out of the bassist’s hand because the guy could barely stand.
There was a personality there, and Billy wanted to see it up close. Taste it.
Somehow, Harrington had even avoided being invited to Billy’s table during the mid-show break. Always conveniently disappearing until the second he needed to be on stage.
Until now.
Billy’s guards stood up when Harrington approached with someone held firmly by the scruff of his shirt and jacket. Billy waved them aside, and the musician dumped the guy into Billy’s booth. Some heads turned in their direction, curious for drama but not for long. Anyone who hung around Billy, hungering for his attention, knew to be careful about annoying him.
“Is this one of yours?” Harrington prompted.
“Why would he be?” Billy inquired with a lethargic blink.
“I thought your sort had more class than distributing roofies.”
Billy’s pleased, large feline demeanor sloughed off as he turned his head to the man in his booth. Billy didn’t bother negating Harrington’s accusations. Anybody with sense knew who he was. The only thing that bothered Billy at the moment was the use of some nobody to get the musician’s attention.
“You’re right. He isn’t.”
Just like that, the guards lifted the sorry soul out of his booth and began ushering him out of the club. He made a weak attempt at promising an ability to make Billy money, but the latter wasn’t interested in a business centered around dangerous sex. Billy considered himself a purveyor of the opposite; of passion, and real passion only came when all parties were conscious for it.
“Steve.”
The musician paused to look back at him, already on his way back to the greenroom or wherever he hid in between performances.
“Sit with me.”
Steve’s gaze flicked down to the now available seat next to Billy. “No, thanks.”
As if he could -
He did.
Steve walked away from the table. Billy saw the more discretely dressed guards loitering in the crowd turn and begin to approach Harrington...before distinctly letting him pass.
It was not a regular day that Billy Hargrove’s employees feared someone else more than him.
He pressed his back into the booth, and one of the women sitting along the back of the booth leaned down to hear him. “I want his file.”
“Yes, sir,” she purred. It took no time at all for her to return to his table with Harrington’s business papers. Typical tax form, resume, no cover letter but instead a CD with his music samples.
“What about his background?”
Her nails raked through her long, black hair. She played the part of groupie very well. “We don’t have anything yet.”
Billy found that hard to believe. “He’s worked here for weeks.”
She shrugged a bare, shimmering shoulder. “He hides very well. We’ll have something soon.”
Not soon enough.
Billy took to wandering his club instead of sitting. Why they didn’t just haul the musician into Billy’s office for questioning…no sensible person detonates a bomb without knowing the area is clear. They didn’t know enough about Steve. Whether he belonged to a family scouting the borough before encroaching on Billy’s property.
Would it be their fault for sending in a mole without honoring the proper channels? Yes.
Would it be Billy’s fault for starting an underground war for harming Steve first? Also yes.
So he watched. So he waited. And he began to enjoy this game he and Steve had developed. Because Steve wasn’t as oblivious. He looked pretty—the kind of pretty that some mistake as dumb—but Steve had proven in many, subtle ways just how observant he could be.
The way he managed his band members’ alcohol or obvious drug addictions.
The second time he hauled some petty dealer over to Billy’s booth.
When he flipped Billy off as he walked away after Billy tested, “I noticed you like brunettes.”
“No, you haven’t.”
Steve watched Billy. And Billy watched Steve. At least, Billy suspected. Billy hoped.
The confirmation arrived in the humid alleyway behind his club. He was already itching for a fight. For the last two weeks, a new asshole had been loitering around and inside his business. No one had yet been able to catch him doing anything—until Billy followed him out of the wrong exit. Nobody could use service doors at the back of the building; it was both a safety hazard for civilians to be in the way of delivery trucks, and any squeals about people coming and going from there would have the police riding Billy’s tail.
Then the bastard had the audacity to take two girls who were definitely sporting fake id’s outside.
He slammed the service door against the brick exterior to get their attention. All three of them were huddled and necking between two garbage bins. A real class act.
“Jail bait bimbos, get inside. This asshole can lock himself in a concrete box without your…help.”
The distinct memory of Steve delivering roofy dealers to him flashed in his brain at the sight of the blissed out girls using the alley walls to stay upright. The memory flew out into the main street at the glistening darkness on both of their necks, dripping into their low cut shirts.
In the window of Billy’s surprise, the guy attacked. Slammed Billy right against the other side of the alley, knocking the air out of him—
Billy’s brain couldn’t keep up. But his eyes could.
A large hand gripped the gelled hair and wrenched the guy’s head so far back that Billy heard a threatening pop.
Billy had never stood next to Steve before. He stood just a little taller than Billy—both smaller than the impressive figure he’d watched so many times on stage, but also bigger because he’d never been this close…
Billy was officially having trouble breathing as he watched the man’s wide eyes darting around his sockets despite his broken neck and the disgusting angle of his windpipe.
“This spot’s taken. Tell your hovel to skip town. You won’t get a fourth chance.”
Fourth?
Billy’s eyes stuck on the bloody, long teeth in the man’s gullet before Steve shoved him down the alley. The man landed several yards away—no ordinary shove—but he hauled ass to his feet, head lolling on his shoulders with more sickening crackles.
Billy remained stationary as Steve fixed the shirts and jackets falling on the girls’ shoulders went to hail a cab. One of them recovered faster than the other, and hauled her friend into the vehicle. By this time, Billy managed to say, “What will they do with those stained shirts?”
Steve looked at him, suddenly looking remarkably…normal. Even startled, like he’d forgotten Billy was there. He didn’t hold Billy’s gaze, instead looking a bit downward—
“What will you do about yours?”
Billy frowned, blinking twice before he looked down at himself. It took him a moment to see the difference in his dark blue button-up. But he glistened like the girls did. Slowly, his mind caught up and realized how warm the side of his neck felt, and how gross. Wet. Dry. Sticky. Crusting.
“How did I not even notice?”
Like a dream clinging onto his waking consciousness, the blurry numbness subsided, and Billy realized his throat really fucking hurt.
Steve’s gaze dropped even further, tilting away from Billy as he pointed at the doors. “Go and clean yourself up. Go home.”
Leave it to Billy Hargrove’s pride to stack his spine back together. He stepped off the alley wall and into Steve’s space.
“Don’t—” he turned his face further to the side.
“Explain,” Billy ordered, even as Steve’s hand lifted to cover his mouth.
Steve shook his head a little. “I don’t have to,” he muffled and lifted weary eyes. “Clean yourself up.”
The answers were right there. Yet it seemed…stupid to say any of it out loud. How many movies? Book? Shows?
Instead he said, “Show me.”
Steve’s jaw clenched. “You don’t play with bears like this.”
Billy laughed. He laughed Steve all the way out of the alleyway. Billy only regretted this when the next evening, the secretaries of the business ran through the week’s itinerary. Steve wasn’t scheduled.
A long week progressed of Billy thinking over that night. How the hell a guardian angel with teeth and no wings lived his nights in Billy’s cage and Billy had just…taunted him into slipping right out of the bars.
When another week presented itself with still no sight of his musician, Billy knew he would have more than one inconvenience on his plate. His customers liked Steve. Statistically, the club was fit to bursting since a third more clientele showed up for the band’s gigs. Steve made the barkeeps laugh in between numbers. Billy had always thought he used the alcohol in the greenroom instead of taking up the bars’ time.
Instead he dropped rats right into the king’s lap. Creatures Billy never would have seen unless Steve made them visible.
“Schedule Steve’s group on Sunday.”
His secretary frowned at him. “Am I missing something? We’re off on Sundays.”
“He knows that. Just use whatever number he gave you.”
Billy waited behind the club. Perhaps he should have arranged a specific meeting time instead of just the vague Sunday, but…Steve was punctual to his usual call time. Billy heard his footsteps the same moment the lighter in his hands crackled softly under his cigarette.
Steve approached with his hands in his jean pockets. Then he entered the harsh lighting of the motion-detected beams above the doors. “You don’t look good.”
Because he didn’t. Steve made tired look good but he had met the line between tired and haggard. His lips were chapped and the lights above him put his eye sockets into harsh contrast. Billy missed the lush face he watched bathed in neon stage lights.
Steve only met Billy’s gaze briefly before looking back down the alley. “Haven’t been to the grocery store lately.”
“By ‘groceries,’ do you mean my place?”
“And if I do, then what?”
Billy smirked as easily as blinking. “I don’t recall firing you. You didn’t have to run—”
“Yes, I did. Dipshit.”
Billy moved his tongue over his teeth while he grinned. “Why didn’t you finish what he started? Three easy meals right there.”
“And swell up like a mosquito? Gross.”
Smoke sputtered out of his mouth. “You’re not what I expected. In any regard. It’s a wonder my employees haven’t been inspired by your recklessness. Or my letting you get away with it.”
“There’s no letting anything happen. We’re not all teeth. There’s nothing you could do if we don’t want it to happen. It’s the same on your side for humans.”
Billy’s next exhalation seeped out of his mouth. Slow. “Are you taking your time? Circling a stronger prey?” He tapped the ash off his cigarette, and watched Steve’s irises flick to the movement. “Most people come to me for my looks, money, or power. Is it the same for you?”
“No.”
That might’ve caught Billy off guard, if he didn’t feel gently nailed in place by Steve’s eyes lifting to his own. It was Billy’s turn to look down—down at the fingers grazing Billy’s hand as Steve reached for the cigarette. Took it.
“You’re easy prey because you’re already dying. You smoke a pack of these a day. The rest of the criminal cityscape would celebrate your funeral. A wolf’s goal is to eat. Not bragging rights—well. For the smart ones. We go for what’s easy.”
Glass-blue eyes wandered Steve’s face as he took a long inhalation. “I’ve never been called ‘easy’ in my entire life.”
Steve shrugged and—politely—aimed his lips to the side. Billy wondered how much he’d mind if Steve’s smoke graced his skin. “What can I say? We hunt the same way lions, tigers, and bears to. We go for what’s attainable with minimum effort.”
“You’re lazy.”
That overarching fringe bobbed over his head. Of course Steve had taken the time to style his hair. “Yeah. Pretty much.”
Billy took his cigarette back with a huff. “I’ll decide later how insulted I should be. Until then, you’re the one looking like easy pickings.”
“You haven’t thrown anyone out of your place lately.”
That took an extra minute for Billy to process. “You…huh.”
Steve’s head moved with his eyes rolling onto him. “You don’t really think people in this city leave any bar without a fight, do you? I’ve had plenty of dinners on your tab.”
“Well, don’t let me stop you.”
Steve’s mouth lifted slightly in a skeptical grimace. “What’s the catch?”
Billy took his time with the last drag and stepped on the filter on his way to minimize the distance between them. “Explain to me why some pervert bites me and I’m fighting a hard on for two weeks?”
A rigid second passed, and then Steve crumbled into laughter. He laughed like a kid. A really cute little shit.
As Steve recovered, he heaved, “I’ve never heard anyone complain about the bite boners.”
Billy followed him as he reclined against the alley wall. “How about, instead of avoiding what’s really at play here, you admit to wanting to bite me. You’re usually on top of the rats that enter my business. But not that night.”
Steve stood on his own feet, making Billy feel the one inch he had on him. “And what if I did? What if it wasn’t your smell that made me crave, but jealousy?”
His musician’s bravado flickered when Billy’s tongue traced the edge of his bottom lip. “How do I smell?”
“Like smoked peaches.”
Steve was proving an annoying skill at making Billy dumbfounded. “What?”
He giggled anew. “Are you the type to fuck without kissing?”
Billy absorbed that and returned, “You like to kiss after blowjobs, don’t you?”
Steve wagged his head, so his words drifted back and forth over Billy’s mouth. “Yeah? So what?”
Billy inhaled deeply to make a show of sighing like humoring Steve’s romantic ethics was tiring him out—
Steve’s hands cradled his head with care, the soft sound of Billy’s hair scrunching underneath his fingers filling his ears as Steve licked inside Billy’s mouth. The latter’s jaw went slack, letting Steve in and meeting his tongue to taste him right back. Apart from the smoke, Steve tasted mutely sweet. The way a clean mouth does; the way a man should taste. Billy had always thought the way a person tasted was a uniquely intimate thing. Like a special piece of DNA could only be read with the tongue.
Steve’s tongue retreated so he could fully kiss Billy’s lips. When the lazy, soft pecks seemed to be Steve’s only intent, Billy gripped his shirtfront, the only warning he got before Billy licked the seam of his lips, wanting more. Wanting what they started.
“Mhm…is everything…a power trip with you?” Steve mumbled, but his breath shuddered when Billy pressed his hard groin against Steve’s pelvis.
“Bite me and fuck me—”
The lights went out, because they were tucked far enough behind a garbage bin for the motion detectors to not see them. Steve’s attention moved between these details and he uttered, “Next to the trash?”
Billy growled, “Ughh,” and hauled Steve off the brick and into his off-day business. “I should’ve guessed you were high maintenance.”
But right inside the doors, Billy tapped in the access code to a private elevator. “Where are we going?”
“Top floor penthouse.”
Steve snorted. “You’re like my cockatoo bragging about the highest swing.”
“You have a bird?”
“Yes, I have a bird! A little asshole named, Orchid. He whistles to all of my songs.”
“You’re the strangest excuse for a vampire I’ve ever seen.”
“And you are easy. Thanks for showing me the key to your house.”
Billy looked at him and met a toothy smirk. “Pisces, huh?”
The elevator dinged and Billy was too deep to back out now. He couldn’t tell which of them was the hunter, but he was ready to share a hell of a meal.
#billy's password is his birthday lol#harringrove#vampire!steve#this got away from me#it was supposed to be dark and hot#but here i am#inserting fluff where it doesn't need to be#neonponders#pondermoniums#mobster!billy
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Chronicles of a Parisian Dumbass 15
new year, new chapter c: it's been a while since i've worked on Chronicles—December Mood dips are Not Delicious, plus i started streaming regularly, which has been fun! ((i’m omnistruck on Twitch if you want to check it out 🥰) but rest assured i intend to see it through to the end. i hope you've been well <3 take care, and enjoy!
From: itsdjbubbles
My dude, if your stage presence is anything like this flyer, y’all are absolutely gonna kill it at La Tortue.
Well. Luka doesn’t know about that.
It’s not like Kitty Section is totally obscure. They’ve had a stage in Paris’s annual pop-up music festival or more than one occasion. And sometimes Juleka’s tagged along to street corners with him so they could duet in hopes of more than just pocket change. And, of course, there was that whole music contest with Bob Ross and XY, but that had only ended in fiasco: their music was stolen, Rose’s vocals ripped right off the track. Luka argued up and down over the phone until he was red in the face, nearly biked down to the studio and let them have it, but he could hardly prove it. And he cared too much about it jeopardizing Juleka’s happiness to follow through.
Total corporate bullshit. He didn’t know how Jagged Stone did it. When he said so at dinner the night he gave up, his Ma only tousled his hair and said, “You’re my boy, aren’t you?”
Sometimes he thinks that’s the strongest, bravest, he’s ever been. That all his audacity peaked years ago, and he’s only gotten worse since then.
Bubbles isn’t corporate bullshit. Luka feels like he’d be able to figure out something like that from conversation alone. But their talks have been friendly—and more than that, supportive. He’s even shown a few messages to the band, just to check that he wasn’t losing his mind. And he saw how their faces softened in approval, or lit up with excitement. Even Juleka’s.
Besides, Bubbles makes music. And when he samples something, he actually credits it. He knows how to play the game. And it feels like they’re on the same side of the board.
Bubbles has that stage presence; the fact that he only needs that one shadowy picture on his profile is more than enough of an indicator. And Bubbles has a reputation that precedes him. So even if they’re on the same side of the board, it feels like Bubbles is always just a couple of steps ahead.
At least his bandmates are on the same side, and at the same step. All it took was a casual mention, during a late-night band practice, of “the bakery he keeps getting their snacks from” being all in on getting them even more exposure. They didn’t exactly do a good job of hiding their excitement, but he wouldn’t have wanted them to, anyway. Even Juleka, after practice ended, had to admit, “You did good.” And then, with perhaps a bit more snark, “Maybe she’s the one trying to impress you. “
“Stop,” Luka said with a roll of his eyes, but he couldn’t help thinking about it once the partition between their beds was up. There was no way Marinette Dupain-Cheng was trying to impress him.
…Was there?
By now, nearly a day later, Luka’s still asking himself that. Still hemming and hawing like they have more than just two weeks to get their act together. Pacing below deck with his phone in his hand, thinking about pear tarts and pretty faces instead of going to see them in person, and staring at Marinette’s phone numbers until he thinks he’s accidentally memorized both of them.
He doesn’t recognize the pattern or the area code of one of them, so he can only assume that it's an American number. But he still hasn’t mucked up the courage to text or even save the French one in his phone. Why does he need to be scared in the first place? It’s a phone number, and this is strictly business, and everything between them has been strictly business.
Well. Nearly everything. Nearly strictly.
He thinks.
Okay. Okay. All he has to do is say… what? Hi? Who just starts texting someone for the first time with “Hi?” But he can’t go writing a whole essay either, even though at least now he has the power to edit his words instead of just saying them and hoping for the best.
This is harder than it needs to be. And yeah, maybe he’s just making it harder than it needs to be, but it’s not like his brain and the shake in his hands are giving him much of a choice in the matter.
Luka switches back over to his message thread with Bubbles and shoots off a quick reply—flatterer—because maybe answering something easy will make the hard stuff more tolerable. He finds himself looking toward his guitar as though it might lend him strength… well, what the hell. It couldn’t hurt. He plays a doodle or two, idle notes, and catches himself before his fingers can drift toward the beginning of the ocean-blue song. At this point, it’s neither perfect nor good, and he can’t tell if it’s personal dissatisfaction or the numbers that the latest draft has been doing online.
Both. It’s probably both.
Messaging Marinette ends up being just as hard after his attempts at centering as it was before—because as it turns out, the whole music-giving-him-unbridled-confidence thing really only works while he’s playing it. So now he’s left still staring at the blank NEW MESSAGE screen, the cursor blinking almost tauntingly at him because of course it is. Because somehow, he can write a note telling a girl her eyes are pretty and survive long enough to see her smile about it, but he can’t send that same girl a text. It’s not like he can even see her reaction this time, anyway; that just gives him even more of an advantage.
Okay. Okay. He can actually do this. Maybe. He thinks—no, no, he has to.
With a deep breath that he holds longer than he releases, Luka opens a new message.
To: Marinette
hey. it’s luka.
And like an idiot, he hits SEND before he’s even put the rest of his message together. So now he has to make a mad dash to come up with something so he doesn’t seem like a total creep for messaging her out of the blue.
For fuck’s sake. This is exactly why he writes his messages in the notes first.
To: Marinette
sorry, hit send before i could finish. anyway, just wanted to tell you the band is cool with the postcard idea. i can pay you next time i come to the bakery, if that’s cool.
To: Marinette
anyway, it’s really cool of you to offer your help like this. sorry if i didn’t say so yesterday, it’s kind of been... a wild time.
Luka locks his phone before he can agonize too much over what he’s sent, stuffs it away and starts pacing again. It’s not a frantic, shaky thing; no, he’s learned to keep the shakes on the inside until no one’s around to see them. He jumps when his back pocket vibrates, and he nearly drops his phone trying to fish it out. It’s only Bubbles, and he can’t tell whether he’s relieved or disappointed until his phone buzzes again. Twice. And this time, it actually is from Marinette.
From: itsdjbubbles
Sorry, I was getting some stuff ready for my next project. Listen, I’m just saying. Don’t sell yourself short as this stuff. Paris is gonna hear you up there, and it’s gonna lose its collective fucking mind.
From: Marinette
hi luka ☺️ no worries, i do that too sometimes. here’s the mockup for the postcard. let me know what your band thinks, i’ll do some tweaks and send it to print. sound good?
Luka balks, both at the tone of the message and at the picture she sent. It looks almost exactly like the flyer, same color scheme and everything. The only difference seems to be in the composition, which makes sense; she’s got more of the eye for this stuff, even for someone who only “dabbles.”
To: Marinette
wow, this is... thank you? that was fast. and this is really well put-together. i think they’re gonna love it.
you really weren’t kidding, huh.
Luka finds himself sinking onto his bed and staring at the message thread instead of actually doing something productive. And strangely, he’s fine with that. The more time passes, the less scary it is to see her typing back, again and again and again.
From: Marinette
course i wasn’t kidding. “help” is practically my middle name to the people who matter.
and i mean, there’s only a little bit of time until your show, right? so, gotta get movin.
anyway, i gotta run. my friend needs help for his summer class and i promised i’d go visit today.
Keep me posted about your band!
♥️
There is far too much in that message for Luka to need to process. “People who matter?” “Keep me posted?” The literal heart emoji at the end? He reads their messages over and over, mostly to confirm that this really, actually just happened, but he’s not going to push his luck. Maybe she just talks to everyone like that, and more importantly, the two of them haven’t been much more than a series of transactions anyway.
A... lot of transactions.
That she’s been doing a lot of giving for.
Luka tries and at least sort of succeeds at shaking the thought from his mind; he can’t read hers, and he shouldn’t try to. He sends her one last text—cool, have a good one—and switches back to Bubbles before he can worry if his words were too casual.
To: itsdjbubbles
Thanks for the vote of confidence. I guess you’re not the only one? the bakery I go to, they’re offering to help too.
or, I mean, CBG is offering to help.
Bubbles’s reply doesn’t come until a few hours later. It’s presumably after that project work he mentioned, and definitely after Luka’s had some time to play out the rest of the shakes before he goes busking. His phone buzzes with the notification just as he’s about to leave, and what Bubbles has to say makes his stomach churn and his blood run both hot and cold.
From: itsdjbubbles
wait. wait wait wait. hold on i just scrolled your posts.
CBG is *Marinette Dupain-Cheng?*
ohhhhhhh my dude you are in for it now.
#miraculous ladybug#lukanette#endgame lukanette#luka couffaine#marinette dupain cheng#fic: chronicles of a parisian dumbass#and we're back to luka being a total mess.#how are you? i hope you're well 💙💖🎶
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In your tender hands
Rating: Explicit/NC-17
Pairing: Merlin/Arthur (Merlin)
Written for bottom Arthur fest 2020
@bottom-arthur
“You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”
Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”
Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”
“You did what?” Arthur nearly spits out his coffee, glaring daggers at his assistant.
Freya only rolls her eyes at the dramatic response. “You heard me. I booked you in for one hour when you take your break.”
“You’ve got to be joking.” He rubs at his eyes in frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to squeeze a massage in? My break is one hour too, plus the commute, plus I want to have lunch.”
“You’re acting like I don’t know your schedule off the top of my head. How long have I been working for you?”
“Two years,” he replies automatically, taking a moment to appreciate the fact.
All in all, Freya is a wonderful assistant. Arthur knows she’s the only reason why he hasn’t had a mental breakdown yet. She’s punctual and diligent. Stubborn as hell and as ruthless as they come. It’s kind of a double-edged sword though. While she gets the job done - actually goes beyond her line of duty - she also takes great pleasure in bossing Arthur around. And of course, Arthur being the push-over he is, lets her get away with it.
So yeah, Freya is a godsent who saves Arthur from losing it on a daily basis. But she’s also the spawn of the Devil who loves to discover all the ways to drive him nuts.
“And four months,” she corrects. “So cut me some slack, Princess.”
Ignoring the jab - because really, Freya, it’s getting old - he comes back to his previous point of concern. “Then you should know that my schedule is fully packed today.”
“Not anymore,” she announces smugly, walking over to her desk to pick up the iPad before she returns to Arthur’s office. “I moved Masa to tomorrow at 11:15 and Cutforth to Friday at 2 pm, which gives you,” she does a quick count, “two hours and fifteen minutes for your break.” She closes the iPad, smiling victoriously. “Now, stop fretting and make sure you leave on time. I booked you for 12.:15. The commute is about fifteen minutes and you should be there at least five minutes in advance.” She grabs a pen and a post-it-note from his desk, scribbling quickly. “There,” she says, tearing the note off. “This is the address.”
“The enchanted cave,” he reads in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“Shut up, Arthur. Merlin is the best there is. He put me back together after I lost my parents. He’s usually fully booked weeks in advance. You’re lucky that he has a soft spot for me and let me squeeze you in.”
Arthur turns more solemn at the mention of Freya’s parent’s untimely passing. It doesn’t make him any less confused, though.
“Sounds more like a shrink to me than a masseur,” he thinks out loud.
“He might as well be,” she laughs, affection evident in her voice, which softens Arthur’s irritation somewhat. “You need to get that stick out of your ass. And you need to relax.”
Arthur bristles a little at the choice of words but holds himself back. “It’s a massage, not a holiday. How is that gonna relieve my stress?”
Freya gives him an incredulous look. “You’re an idiot. Have you never had a massage before?” she asks, and it’s obvious that the question is mostly rhetorical. Which is probably the main reason why her eyes grow twice their size at the lack of response. “Oh my God, Arthur! Seriously?!”
“I don’t have time for self-pampering,” he grumbles defensively.
“That’s exactly why you have to make the time!”
“That’s quite an oxymoron.”
“Shush.” She waves a hand dismissively. “Really, Arthur. You need to unwind.”
“I don’t-”
“Arthur,” she groans impatiently. “Go. Get. The. Massage. I’m gonna make sure you leave on time and I will check with Merlin that you actually turned up.”
“I think you’re confusing who’s the boss and who’s the subordinate here.”
“I think you’re full of shit and need to shut up and listen to someone smarter than you.” She turns on her heel and walks out of the office before Arthur has a chance to retort anything back. “Don’t be a prat, Arthur. For once in your life, do something nice for yourself.” And with that, she shuts the door behind her.
Arthur arrives at the place at 12:07, just in time to walk to the door as a woman walks out. He steps to the side, waiting for her to pass.
“Arthur?”
He snaps his head up from where he was blankly staring at the side-walk. “Oh. Hey, Mithian,” he greets when he recognizes one of his long-time friends.
“Don’t hey me and give me a proper hug hello,” she complains and doesn’t waste any time to rise on her tiptoes and wrap him in her arms. Arthur returns the hug with a smile on his face.
“How have you been?”
“I’ve been great but how have you been? I haven’t heard from you in ages,” she scolds him gently.
“Been busy.”
“Aren’t you always,” she scoffs, sympathetic. “Nice to see you’re finally doing something for yourself,” she says, getting a confused look. “You’re coming for a massage, right?”
“Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I am. My assistant made me.” Oh, shit. That shouldn’t have come out.
Predictably, Mithian bursts into giggles. “Figures.”
“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know, Arthur. Someone needs to look out for you if you don’t,” she explains, her eyes soft and a wave of affection washes over Arthur as he remembers his uni years and their brief but lovely time together as a couple.
Now that he thinks of it, Freya reminds him of Mithian a lot. It occurs to him he’s attracted to a certain type of person. Not necessarily in a romantic sense but more in general.
His sister is like that too. All fiery and strong-willed, calling Arthur names on a good day, but when it comes to it, she’s a protective mother-hen.
So is his best friend. Lance is usually calm and collected but doesn’t hesitate to call Arthur on his bullshit, in the most loving way, though. So does Gwen. Those two really rub off on each other.
What is it with him attracting people into his life who spend most of their time scolding or mothering him? He needs to look into it later.
“I still don’t see how this is supposed to help.” He shrugs indifferently.
“Oh, you’ll see. Just wait for it.” And good grief, she winks at him. “I need to get going. Let me know how it went. You have my number, right?” Arthur nods. “Great. Also, it wouldn’t kill you to get in touch here and there, you know?”
Sighing guiltily, he humors her. “I will.”
“You’d better. Okay, gotta go. Enjoy yourself!” She blows him a kiss and takes off.
He very much doubts he’s gonna enjoy himself but if he’s lucky, maybe he’ll get to nap while the guy gets handsy with him. He could use an extra hour of sleep. God knows the five hours he’s come to consider his routine are not cutting it anymore.
He sighs in relief as he walks through the door to find a rather unassuming lobby. Given the name of the business, he expected the place to live up to its cringeiness but thankfully there are no tacky lights, no magical crystals scattered around, no candles in every corner, nor every surface. The only thing that can be considered a bit spiritual or whatever is the incense perched on the counter, right next to the business cards and leaflets. Thankfully, the scent is very subtle and doesn’t trigger a headache.
“Good afternoon! You must be Arthur,” says a voice to his left and Arthur nearly jumps out of his skin. He didn’t even notice anyone in the room with him.
As he looks over in the direction the voice came from, he finds a man, presumably his masseur - Mark, Matt? - standing in the door leading to what Arthur guesses is the massage room.
“Oh. Hey. Yeah, that would be me.” He turns to face the man, straightening his back. He must look out of place, clad in his suit, still wearing his tie.
The man approaches him with a smile. “I’m Merlin. It’s nice to meet you, finally. Freya talks about you quite a bit.”
Arthur reaches to grasp his hand when Merlin offers it, giving it a firm shake. “Don’t believe anything the little minx lets out of her mouth.” He attempts a joke, hoping his discomfort at being told his assistant talks about him is not too obvious.
He must succeed because Merlin is throwing his head back with a laugh. “She said you would say that,” he teases. “That’s alright. I like to make up my own mind.”
Arthur withdraws his hand and gives him a stiff smile. Outside of work, he has no idea how to make a decent conversation. Not upon the first meeting anyway.
Tilting his head inquiringly, Merlin asks, “You seem quite tense. Is everything alright?”
“It’s just... Look. I know you’re busy, Freya said so. And I appreciate you making time for me. But,” he huffs, knowing he’s gonna sound like a jerk no matter how he phrases it, “I don’t really care for massage much but Freya insisted. She can be fucking scary sometimes. Don’t tell her that though! And I just... I feel really out of place, okay?”
He expects to see Merlin’s expression sour, thinking Arthur is just a pompous douche. He wouldn’t even blame him. But, to his bewilderment, the man’s face is nothing but open, not a single trace of judgement.
“I won’t, I promise,” he says with humor. “If you don’t mind me asking - have you had a bad experience in the past?”
“More like no experience at all.”
For the first time, Merlin looks caught off guard. “You never had a massage?”
“No. I just never saw the point. And anyway, I don’t really have time to spare. The only reason I’m here is that Freya did some magic with my schedule and cleared it up enough to give me two hours off today.”
“Oh.” Merlin suddenly perks up. “In that case, I’d like to show you some of my magic, if you let me.”
Arthur’s brain short-circuits for a moment. Did he just hear what he thinks he did? Or is he so tired he started hallucinating? Plus, his dry spell of six months is probably not helping either.
“Um... I... magic?”
“Yeah, you know...” Merlin sweeps his hand over the lobby. “The enchanted cave? Seems fitting?”
“Oh.” Arthur chokes out. “Right. Right...”
“Oh God, I just realized how cheesy that sounds,” Merlin reflects with a hint of embarrassment. “Anyway, I should stop talking. You didn’t come here for a chat, after all.” He steps to the side, gesturing towards the massage room. “I’d just finished setting it up before you came in, so it’s all ready for you.”
Arthur gets the hint and with a deep breath, he makes his way to the room. Unlike the lobby, it’s bathed in a soft yellow light and.... yup, those are candles alright. No crystals, though.
Merlin is right on his heels. “I’ll let you undress in private, to your level of comfort.You can hang your clothes here, or you can just fold them and put them on this chair.” He gestures to the chair in the corner. “After that, lie down on the massage table, on your stomach, this way around. You see the sheet over there? That’s for you to cover yourself with. I’ll be back in a few minutes when you’re ready. Do you have any questions? Requests?”
So many questions. He goes with the most concerning one. “Yeah, um, when you say my level of comfort...” He cuts himself off. Thankfully, Merlin picks up on it.
“Whatever works for you, really. I can even massage you with your clothes on, although...” He gives Arthur a quick once-over, “I can’t imagine it would be comfortable for you.”
Yeah, no. Definitely not. And he has to go back to work after and he’s sure that showing up in a wrinkled suit would earn him a few judgmental looks.
“But really, it’s up to you. You can keep your clothes on, or just your underwear. If you’d prefer to be completely naked, that works too.”
Arthur hopes the dim lighting of the room conceals his blush. There’s no reason why a man of 32 years should blush at the thought of being naked.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Merlin echoes with an encouraging smile. “Be back soon.”
Arthur releases a relieved breath when Merlin closes the door behind him. This whole thing is even more awkward than he expected. Merlin seems like an alright bloke, if a bit odd but Arthur supposes that comes with the job. He seems nice though, with all the reassurances and effort he put into making sure Arthur is comfortable.
He wonders how many male clients Merlin gets. So far, he knows that Freya and Mithian are swept away by him. Although it’s hard to tell if it’s because of his supposedly outstanding massage skills or his looks.
He groans internally and maybe even a bit out loud. Nope, don’t even go there. No hitting on your masseur. Yeah, that wouldn’t end well. Not with Merlin about to spend the next hour gliding his large hands over Arthur’s whole body.
A shiver runs down his spine and in an attempt to push his thoughts away, he begins undressing, starting with his tie. He hangs his jacket and shirt on the hanger by the door and the rest he puts on the chair, just as Merlin instructed. In no time, he’s standing there clad only in his underwear, debating whether to leave that on or not.
To hell with it. Merlin must have seen it all already.
He ends up ridding himself of his briefs too, face going aflame as he adds them to the pile on the chair and rushes to climb onto the table, settling on his stomach and doing his best to arrange the sheet Merlin provided for him so it covers him as much as possible.
A minute or two pass with him fidgeting in his position. Whether it’s from discomfort or nerves, he doesn’t know, but then Merlin is knocking gently on the door.
“Can I come in?”
“Y-yeah,” he calls hoarsely, grateful Merlin can’t see his face.
The door clicks open and Merlin walks into the room, speaking from somewhere to Arthur’s left. “You probably already figured but one hour allows for a full body massage. Is that alright with you? Or do you want me to forgo any areas? Or spend some more time on a specific one?”
Logically, Arthur knows these are all valid questions but they do nothing to help him relax. More like the opposite.
“Um, no, that’s... you can do whatever you want.”
“Alright. Any contraindications I should know about?”
“I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re asking.” Oh God, what did I just say? Stop trying to be funny, Arthur!
It draws a boisterous laugh from Merlin, easing some of Arthur’s tension. “Thanks for clarifying,” he says, catching his breath. “Any injuries?”
“No. I twisted my ankle playing football, but that was years ago.”
“Okay, good.” There is some rustling and thumping, then Merlin speaks again. “Do you care for any specific scent? I’ve got a variety of essential oils, energizing or calming. I have a special blend for stress relief if you’d be interested.”
Arthur winces a little at the fact he’s so easy to read. “Um... sure. But maybe not too much? I still need to go back to work after this.”
“Duly noted,” Merlin promises and busies himself with what Arthur assumes is mixing the oils or something.
Thankfully, he doesn’t take long, preventing Arthur from driving himself into a frenzy. He doesn’t know why he’s so flustered about all of this. So he never had a massage, so what? People do it all the time.
It’s just then that he notices that music is playing but it’s so soft it could almost escape his hearing. He focuses on listening in hopes of distracting himself.
“Okay, I’m all set. I’ll start with dry massage, working my way down from your shoulders. That alright with you?”
Yeah, he never had a massage but he’s pretty sure that asking for affirmation every two minutes isn’t how this usually works. It occurs to him that Merlin is doing this only for him.
He’s equal parts irritated and touched by it.
“Yeah.”
Gently, Merlin places his hands on his shoulders over the sheet. It’s just a simple touch, not even on his bare skin, but Arthur swears he can feel the heat of Merlin’s hands seeping into his own body and spreading throughout. He suppresses a sigh.
“I’ll start with medium pressure. Let me know if it’s too much or if you’d like me to go harder.”
Arthur hopes the whimper that makes it past his lips is not very audible. He clears his throat to cover it up.
Merlin doesn’t say anything. Instead, he presses his hands into the tense muscles of Arthur’s upper back, finding all the right spots from the get go.
A guttural groan escapes Arthur before he knows it.
“Too much?” Merlin asks, stilling his movement.
“N-no. No, it’s... it’s good. Just didn’t... expect it.”
“Good. Let me know if it changes.”
He stays on that area for a few minutes, lingering when he finds a sensitive spot, working out the kink. It’s a curious combination of pain-pleasure and Arthur is not sure if that’s what it’s supposed to feel like, but he knows it leaves him all pliant and floaty, so it’s probably alright.
Merlin makes his way down the spine, to his lower back, then goes back up and pays the same attention to his arms and hands.
He walks around the table and starts working on the legs.
Arthur releases a shuddering breath. He just had a leg-day in the gym yesterday and damn, can he feel it. Merlin’s touch is like a balm on his sore muscles and he exhales as pain gives way to relief.
It’s not long before Merlin comes back to the head of the table, hands grasping at the sheet.
“I’ll move onto the oil part now, yeah?”
“Okay.” At this point, Arthur will take anything. Why has he never done this before?
Merlin pulls the sheet down to his lower back, folding it over and leaving his back and arms exposed. The air of the room is not chilly by any means but Arthur shudders all the same.
There is a slick sound as Merlin covers his hands with oil before bringing them to Arthur’s shoulders again, spreading the oil over the whole expanse of his back and arms. Although the pressure is not as hard now, with the oil easing the way, Arthur finds this part even more intense, Merlin’s touch nearly searing without any barrier between them.
He glides his palms, fingers and forearms over Arthur’s back with long, confident strokes, then switches to short, firmer ones, alternating between the two.
Arthur’s vaguely aware he’s all but melting on the spot, feeling almost detached from his body despite every nerve ending being on fire.
At some point as Merlin rubs at the tense muscles of his neck, he slides his hands into Arthur’s hair, at the base of his skull, rubbing in circular motions.
This time, it’s definitely a whimper that Arthur lets out, blushing furiously.
“S-sorry.”
“Don’t apologize, Arthur,” Merlin instructs in a gentle voice. “You carry a lot of tension here. Plenty of people do but you even more so. Just let go.”
Against his better judgment, he does just that. As Merlin’s hands continue their ministrations, he lets out a series of little huffs and whimpers, unable to stop himself when he starts.
“That’s it. Just let go,” Merlin repeats and puts more force behind his touch, making Arthur’s noises grow in volume.
He both welcomes and mourns the loss when Merlin’s hands leave him in order to grab a hot towel and wipe the remaining layer of oil from his back before covering him with the sheet again.
“I’ll move to your legs now, okay?”
“Uh-huh.”
He’s surprised when Merlin touches his shoulder, prompting him to lift his head. “Since I’m finished with your back, you can have a pillow if you want. It might be more comfortable for you.”
Arthur doesn’t object in the slightest, taking the pillow Merlin’s holding and resting his right cheek on it, sliding his hands underneath. Yeah, much more comfortable.
“Thanks,” he mumbles almost sleepily and hears Merlin chuckle.
“You’re very welcome.”
Then, Merlin is exposing his left leg, tucking the sheet in the space between his legs and over his hip, revealing his left butt-cheek in the process. He doesn’t even have the strength to feel embarrassed.
Merlin doesn’t waste time before coating his hands with oil again and bringing them to Arthur’s leg. He starts with his feet, then moves to his calf, then thigh until he’s worked all the way to his bum.
Arthur nearly jack-knives from the table as Merlin’s thumb presses into the middle of his cheek.
“Sorry! Was it too much?”
Arthur presses his face into the pillow to hide his flush. “I... ugh... I just... didn’t expect... that.”
“Oh,” Merlin quips. “I can skip that part.”
Jesus, Arthur, stop being such a sissy. It’s just a massage. A professional massage.
“It’s fine. You just... surprised me.”
“Sorry about that,” he says genuinely and resumes the massage, albeit more tentative than before.
Now that the initial shock is over, Arthur begins to appreciate the attention Merlin’s paying to that particular part of his body. He never knew how tense he was in... well.... there.
He whines a little when Merlin presses his thumb into a tender spot.
“Shit. I would’ve thought that going to the gym four times a week would make up for sitting on my ass several hours every day,” he grumbles more to himself.
“I think you’re doing an excellent job at the gym,” Merlin replies with humor, then promptly freezes, Arthur following suit. “Oh God, I’m so sorry. That was... very inappropriate. I swear, I didn’t mean anything by it. Not that you don’t have a nice ass. I mean... oh shit,” he starts panicking, removing his hands from Arthur’s body. Funny enough, witnessing Merlin freak out makes Arthur strangely relaxed.
He responds with a huff. “Take it easy, Merlin. I appreciate the compliment. You can continue.”
“Are you... are you sure?” Merlin asks tentatively.
“I’m sure. You like my ass, so what? I’ve been working hard on it.”
Merlin laughs, a bit nervous, a bit relieved, and eventually listens, resuming the massage on the other leg, starting from his foot again.
Maybe the whole exchange should make everything weird but strangely enough, Arthur is even more relaxed than he was before. The realization that Merlin is only human, with no filter it seems, making it easier.
Merlin hesitates when he works his way up to Arthur’s bum again, but with no complaint in sight, he repeats what he did on the other leg.
When he’s done, he steps to the side of the table and lifts the sheet off of Arthur, holding it in front of himself like a screen. “Can you turn over, Arthur?”
Arthur gathers all his strength to prop on his forearms with the intention to do just that, but stills momentarily.
“Arthur?” Merlin questions when nothing happens.
“I... um....” Well, shit. How did I not notice I was sporting a semi?!
“What’s wrong?”
“I... might have a... situation,” he admits, face burning.
At first, Merlin is silent, then the realization dawns on him. “Oh. I see. That’s fine, Arthur. It happens more often than not,” he reassures but it doesn’t help much.
“But I... God, this is embarrassing,” he hides his face in his hands.
“I understand why you would think that, but I promise it’s alright. It doesn’t mean anything; it’s just a natural reaction.”
It takes some more prompting but eventually, Arthur flips onto his back and closes his eyes as Merlin drapes the sheet over him again, the outline of his half-hard dick painfully visible.
“I can fetch you a blanket if it makes you feel better?”
“If you don’t mind,” he squeezes out without opening his eyes, only doing so when Merlin hands him the blanket and he rushes to throw it over his lower half. “Thanks. Sorry about that.”
He dares a look at Merlin and finds him smiling in empathy. “Not at all. It’s no big deal, Arthur.” He reaches for a bottle of oil and puts his hands on Arthur’s arm. “Just lie back and relax.”
Arthur does his best to do just that while Merlin massages his arm and hand before switching to the other one.
By the time he’s finished with them, Arthur’s calmed down considerably and, thank fuck for that, the embarrassment was enough to have killed any interest his dick might have taken in the situation.
He expects Merlin to announce the massage has come to an end when he finishes wiping his arms with a hot towel, but to his surprise, Merlin slides a chair behind him, sitting himself down, hands coming to cradle Arthur’s head. Arthur lifts it automatically, assuming that’s what Merlin wants him to do.
“You just relax, Arthur. Don’t help me by holding your head up. I’ll manage.”
It’s not an easy thing to trust someone not to drop your head but Merlin is nothing but cautious as he maneuvers it around to get to the spot he’s aiming for and Arthur finds himself giving up control completely. Head massage doesn’t sound like anything special but to his bewilderment, it’s the most relaxing thing ever. At some point, he even starts dozing off. At least he thinks he does because he nearly jumps out of his skin when Merlin says his name.
“Arthur?”
“Yeah?” he snaps his eyes open, looking up at Merlin upside down, seeing the other man smiling fondly.
“Did you fall asleep?”
“N-no?” he stutters, cheeks growing pink.
“Of course,” Merlin says in the way that screams he doesn’t believe him but humors him anyway. “Well, I’m all done here. How are you feeling?”
“Weirdly disconnected from my body,” he says with a grunt, attempting to sit up. “Shit, I don’t know how I’ll get any work done for the rest of the day.”
“What time do you finish?”
“Officially? Around five. Actually? Seven. Sometimes eight.”
“God, that’s disgusting.”
“You have no idea.”
“Thankfully, I don’t,” he agrees. “I’ll let you get dressed. Meet me in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?”
“Okay.”
It’s with sloth speed that Arthur puts his clothes on. In the back of his mind, he’s aware of Merlin’s busy schedule and can only hope he’s not stalling.
He squints at the bright light of the lobby when he emerges from the massage room. When his eyes adjust, he spots Merlin walking towards him with a glass of water. “Here, have some water.”
“Thanks,” he accepts without objection, just because he’s barely standing. He doesn’t know what Merlin’s done to him but it feels like his body doesn’t even belong to him. He has no idea how he’s gonna drive back to work without driving himself into a street-lamp.
“How much do I owe you?” he asks when he’s chugged down the whole glass, reaching for his wallet.
“Oh. It’s already paid for. Freya used your credit card when she booked you in.”
Arthur blinks at him blankly. How dare Freya pay for something that Arthur hadn’t even agreed to yet?!
Yeah, as if she would ever take a no for an answer.
He sighs, pulling out a twenty pound bill regardless. “She would, wouldn’t she. That little shit,” he grumbles under his breath. “At least let me tip you,” he holds a hand with the bill to Merlin.
“Actually, she included the tip, too,” he says sheepishly, giving Arthur a crooked smile.
“Bloody hell,” he huffs indignantly, then takes a deep breath. “Whatever. Just take it.”
“But-”
“Merlin. Take. It. You’ve done a great job,” he insists, holding eye contact.
Merlin still hesitates at first but resigns eventually. “As long as you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Okay. Thank you, Arthur,” he smiles appreciatively as he accepts the money. He bites his lip, seemingly in thought, then turns around and plucks one business card from the pile on the desk, grabs a pen and writes something down. “Here,” he turns to Arthur, holding the card to him. “If you ever feel like coming back for another massage.”
Arthur takes the card, noticing that Merlin wrote another number on in besides the one already printed. “Thanks but... I’m sure Freya has the number.”
“This is my personal number,” Merlin explains and Arthur’s brows shoot up in surprise. “I’m not always able to pick up the phone here but if you text me on my personal number, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck.
“Oh. Okay. Thanks, that’s very... um... I appreciate it.”
“No problem,” Merlin mumbles, fidgety. Arthur finds it both amusing and confusing.
“Well, I should get going. Thank you again.”
“Oh! Of course, don’t let me keep you,” he rushes to say. “See you next time?”
“Yeah.” As non-committal as he sounds, he finds he means it. Something’s telling him he’ll be back sooner or later. Probably sooner.
“Take care of yourself, Arthur,” Merlin calls as Arthur opens the door on his way out and his heart skips a beat at the genuine tone.
He turns around to give the man one last smile before the door shuts behind him.
“So? How was it?” Freya advances on him as soon as he comes back. He slumps into his chair, sitting upright when Freya places a box of takeout in front of him.
“Fine.” Freya is not impressed. “It was good, okay?” he adds, opening the box to reveal his all-time favorite pad thai and all but inhales the food.
“Told you,” she says smugly, ignoring Arthur’s glare. “Gonna go again?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, that’s convincing.”
“Shut it, Freya,” he shoots back. “I got his business card. I’ll give him a call when I feel like it.”
“I can do that for you.”
“Nope, thanks. I’m sure I can manage to make a phone-call myself, even without an intervention of my obnoxious assistant.”
Freya throws a balled-up napkin at him. “Ungrateful prat,” she retorts and stomps out of his office.
“I heard that!”
Arthur lasts exactly four days and two hours before giving in and taking Merlin up on his offer to text him on his personal number to book another appointment. He didn’t expect to snap so quickly but after waking up the next day after his massage, refreshed and chirpy, feeling as though he had a brand new body - who could blame him, really.
Hey, Merlin. It’s Arthur. I was wondering if you had a slot available this week?
There, simple and straight to the point. Freya said that Merlin is usually booked out weeks in advance but asking never hurt anybody.
His phone chimes with an incoming message about ten minutes later.
Hi, Arthur! Nice to hear from you again. :)
Sure thing. Did you have a specific day and time in mind?
Nope, he didn’t. He was willing to adjust his schedule just to squeeze in an hour.
Not really. Freya implied that you’re usually fully booked so I thought I’d leave that up to you.
She’s over-exaggerating ;) I can make time.
Oh, God, he’s one of those people. Emojis and shit.
Oh. Okay, then. Thursday work for you?
It does :) What time?
This is... unexpectedly easy. He should have never let Freya bullshit him. But that’s what she does. She’d do anything to get her way and make Arthur do whatever she wants. No Christmas bonus for her this year!
Is 6pm too late?
As a matter of fact, he never finishes before six. Hell, he never finishes before seven. But maybe his friends are right. Maybe he should make time for himself once in a while. It won’t kill him, will it?
Thought you didn’t finish work until ungodly hour :D
He’s already typing out a reply but Merlin beats him to it with another message.
And it’s not too late. I’ll write you down for 6, then ;)
Oh. That easy, huh?
Thank you, he sends first, then rushes to add an explanation. I can make an exception once in a while. He hesitates with the next part but decides to throw caution to the wind, just this time. It’s worth it.
He regrets it as soon as he hits send, but doesn’t get a chance to wallow in it for too long before Merlin’s reply comes.
Oh no, now there are expectations I need to live up to :O
Jk. Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed yourself last time. See you Thursday ;)
Red to the tips of his ears, he types out a quick see you before pocketing his phone, busying himself with the remaining paperwork in hopes it will calm down his racing heart.
He’s not that lucky.
On Thursday, he wraps up his work just before 5:30, hoping it’s enough time to get through the traffic.
It is, as it turns out.Though he’s cutting it close, parking the car just two minutes before six.
“Sorry, I underestimated the traffic,” he rushes to apologize when he bursts through the door, finding Merlin lounging peacefully on the sofa, swiping through his phone.
As soon as Merlin lifts his eyes to meet Arthur’s, his whole face lights up with a wide smile. “Hey! No problem at all. You’re my last massage for today, so no rush.”
“Thanks but it’s already late. I don’t wanna keep you any more than needed.”
Merlin dismisses his worries with a wave of a hand. “Nonsense. It’s no trouble. Come on in,” he smiles encouragingly and Arthur dutifully follows him to the massage room. It looks exactly the same but Arthur feels much more at ease than last time, now that he’s familiar with it.
“Thank you again for finding time for me,” he says gratefully because it feels like he hasn’t said it enough.
It earns him an indulgent smile. “I was happy to do it. It’s no trouble, really,” Merlin repeats and Arthur takes the hint.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” he echoes. “You know the drill by now, right? I’ll be back in a few.”
“Sure. Thanks.”
Merlin nods his head in acknowledgement, leaving the room to give Arthur privacy.
Similarly to last time, Arthur hangs his suit and shirt and folds the rest of his clothes, laying face down on the table and covering himself with the sheet. As promised, Merlin knocks on the door a couple minutes later, entering when Arthur gives him a go-ahead.
“Any requests today?”
He suppresses the urge to crack an inappropriate joke. “Not really. Same as last time is good.”
“Alright,” says Merlin and he starts the massage exactly in the same way he did last time, humming appreciatively when he rubs at Arthur’s shoulders.
“You’re not nearly as tense as before. Both literally and figuratively,” he points out.
“Yeah,” Arthur agrees. “I felt really good when I woke up the next day. All loose and relaxed.” He clears his throat, cringing at his wording. “And I was just nervous because it was my first time, I guess. Now that I know the ropes, it’s easy to just...”
“Let go?” Merlin finishes for him and... is that smugness he hears?
“Y-yeah,” he replies, feeling silly all of sudden.
“I’m glad to hear that. Glad I could help.”
“Me too.”
They remain silent after that. While Merlin doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary - or rather, anything that would be different to last time - Arthur can sense a shift in the energy in the room. In Merlin. In himself. He might be imagining it but he would swear that Merlin’s hands... linger - which is kinda a stupid thing to say, this is a massage after all, touch is a crucial component here - but... yeah... that’s what it feels like.
Every touch of Merlin’s hands on his body feels amplified, Arthur nearly vibrating in response to... he has no idea what he’s responding to. He only knows it feels good.
It feels right.
When Merlin asks him to flip onto his back, he’s relieved to find that the humiliating experience from last time is not gonna be repeated - no awkward boners today, ladies and gentlemen!
He hisses through his teeth when Merlin presses into a tender spot of his arm.
Merlin’s immediately apologetic. “Sorry! I didn’t expect you to be so sensitive here.”
“ ‘s fine,” he mumbles drowsily. “I might have overdone it in the gym today.”
“When did you have time to go to the gym?”
“Before work. Around five.”
“God, that’s disgusting. Why would you do that?” Merlin sounds truly appalled which only amuses Arthur.
“I’m too tired by the time I finish work. At least this way, I get a bit of a boost in the morning.”
“I’m still not convinced.”
“Shut up, Merlin. Without the gym, I wouldn’t have the ass you like so much.”
He snaps his eyes open in panic and finds Merlin gaping at him in shock.
“I... I did not... ugh...”
“Oh my God, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that, I swear! I’m just really tired, basically falling asleep. I just talk shit when I’m like that.”
Forget the boner. This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to him.
Funnily enough, his stammering helps Merlin fight through his shock and now he’s more entertained than anything.
“No filter, huh? I can relate,” he brushes the whole thing off and resumes massaging over Arthur’s arm, softer this time and Arthur would moan appreciatively at the soothing effect the touch has on his sore muscles but given his previous faux pas, he doesn’t think it’s the right time for it.
Merlin works his way down to his hand, paying special attention to the spot at the base of his thumb that is always so stiff after spending hours and hours every day typing on his laptop.
A weird thing happens after that. Same as the last time, Merlin slides his fingers in between Arthur’s, squeezing and pulling until he hears a cracking sound of the joints. That is all well and good but instead of pulling away, he remains with their fingers interlaced. It almost feels... almost feels like they are holding hands.
Arthur opens his eyes again to give Merlin a questioning look but Merlin is staring at their joined hands instead, an expression on his face that Arthur can’t really decipher but if he were to guess, he would almost call it... longing.
Merlin must realize what he’s doing because his eyes widen as they lock onto Arthur’s, panicked and so blue.
“Sorry!” he blurts out, pulling away and ducking his head as he makes his way to the other side to repeat the process on the other hand.
Arthur feels the air around them grow thicker. He doesn’t know what happened exactly and doesn’t dare ask.
He can tell Merlin keeps himself in check as he finishes with his other side and it’s not long before he moves to the head massage.
After all of that, it’s really hard for Arthur to relax but he does his best as to not make things even more awkward.
He’s equally relieved and disappointed when Merlin’s hands disappear, signaling that their session has come to an end.
“I’ll meet you in the lobby when you’re ready, okay?” Merlin asks stiffly.
“Okay,” Arthur agrees, releasing a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding when Merlin shuts the door behind him.
Since he knows he doesn’t have to rush because he was the last client today, he takes his time putting the clothes on and mentally prepares himself for facing Merlin in a few moments.
It takes all of his courage to maintain eye contact when he leaves the room, coming to the desk where Merlin’s already waiting for him with a glass of water.
“Thanks.” He doesn’t finish the whole glass, his stomach too unsettled for that and pulls out his wallet.
“I know for sure Freya didn’t pay in advance since I booked the massage myself this time,” he comments in what he hopes is a light-hearted tone. It works because it draws a chuckle from Merlin.
“You’re not wrong,” he agrees, going quiet again but shaking himself off at Arthur’s expectant look. “Oh! Sorry, it’s seventy pounds.”
Arthur raises an eyebrow in surprise. While he wouldn’t know anything about the regular massage price, it doesn’t seem too much considering how popular Merlin is. According to Freya, anyway.
He plucks out two fifty dollar bills and hands them over. Merlin blinks at him in confusion. “Um... that’s a bit--”
“Just take it. You deserve it. You’re good and you went far and beyond to make time for me even at the late hour.”
“It was no tr--”
“Merlin, will you shut up and take the bloody money?” he nearly whines at the man’s stubbornness, relieved when Merlin eventually gives in.
“You’re so bossy,” he shakes his head almost fondly.
“Goes with the territory. I’m the CEO after all.”
“In that case, that was a lousy tip for a CEO.”
“I beg your pardon?!”
And just like that, the tension has disappeared and they are back to their easy banter.
“I’m just teasing,” Merlin reassures unnecessarily, a dopey smile still in place. “Let me know if you wanna do this again, yeah?” He sounds unsure, although why, Arthur has no idea.
“Actually, if you really don’t mind, could we make it a weekly thing?”
“Oh,” Merlin says with surprise. “Sure. Thursday again? Or do you want a different day?”
“Thursday is good. Six o’clock?”
“Yeah. Yeah, works for me.”
“Brilliant,” Arthur smiles back. “I’ll see you next week, then?”
“Looking forward to it.” The way Merlin’s face softens further shouldn’t make Arthur’s stomach do flip-flops but for some reason, it does.
Oh, no. Abort, abort!
“Yeah. See you,” he mumbles and all but runs to his car.
Arthur lets out a girly squeal when Freya slams a pile of papers onto his desk.
“Why haven’t you gone see Merlin again?” she asks accusingly and... wait, what?
“Excuse me?”
“I thought you liked the massage. That you felt better after. I thought you’d go back.”
Well, not that it’s any of her business but...
“I’ve been like four more times since,” he argues back, watching Freya’s furious expression turn confused.
“No, you haven’t. There’s no way you could have altered your schedule yourself without me noticing.”
Arthur rolls his eyes, annoyed that he, the fucking CEO, has to explain himself to his assistant. “Yes, I have. I’m going today, actually. I go every Thursday after work. Well, I finish early, so I can be there at six. Which, by the way, you could have done the first time around. I truly don’t understand why you’d rather mess with my appointments to get me a rushed massage on my break instead of simply booking one in the evening.”
If anything, Freya grows even more confused. “You’re lying.”
Arthur positively bristles at the insult. “I’m not!”
“You so are. Merlin doesn’t work evenings. And he doesn’t work weekends. His last bookings are for 4 o’clock. Hence why I had to book you for your break.”
He’s already preparing a come-back to defend himself when the words finally sink in. He snaps his mouth shut.
Then why... why did Merlin agree to Thursday evenings? That doesn’t make any sense.
“Are you sure you’ve got that right?” he asks instead because... because if it’s true, it puts many things into perspective.
Like the fact that Merlin literally beams every time Arthur shows up.
Or the fact that his touch seems to linger, seems to grow more and more intense with every visit. Like he’s enjoying touching Arthur.
At first, Arthur thought it was just his imagination, but upon checking the time when he got to his car only to find Merlin had extended the massage by at least ten or fifteen minutes, it was obvious that he wasn’t making it up.
Most importantly, it would explain why Merlin started texting Arthur randomly, usually on Fridays to ask how he was doing, if he felt alright and so on.
It would even explain why he would sometimes text on the weekend too.
It did not explain why Arthur indulged in the texting.
It did not explain why it was the highlight of his days.
“I’m sure,” Freya replies, confirming his growing suspicion. When he doesn’t react, she turns concerned. “Arthur?”
“Yeah?”
She hesitates. “You’re not lying.” A statement, not a question, but he still answers it.
“No.”
“Oh,” she breathes, out of words.
“Do you...” He clears his throat. “Do you know why Merlin would make an exception for me?”
The glint in her eyes suggests that she might have a good idea about that, but doesn’t say so. “I think you should ask Merlin that.”
Yeah. Yeah, he should.
He will.
“You seem very... serious today. What happened?”
“Why did you agree on 6pm Thursdays?” he asks directly before he loses the nerve.
“Huh?” Merlin blinks at him.
“Freya told me you don’t do evenings. Why would you let me impose on your time?” God, he feels so stupid.
“Oh,” says Merlin. “Well, first of all, you’re not imposing.”
“But-”
“Second, working for yourself has a lot of perks. Like that I can do with my time as I see fit.”
“So you decided to spend it on me.”
“More like spend it with you.”
Spend it with-- oh. Oh.
“What? Why?”
Unexpectedly, Merlin snorts. “You don’t know?”
No. No he doesn’t.
“No.”
“Oh, my, you’re a right dumbass.”
“Excuse you?!”
“Arthur,” Merlin says, apparently running out of patience. “I simply like you, okay? At first, I agreed because you seemed like you could use some relaxation. Quite a bit of it, really.”
Arthur bites his lip, hesitating with the next question. “And then?”
Merlin sighs, shoulders sagging almost in defeat. “And then I just liked seeing you.”
Arthur takes in a shaky breath, both startled and excited by the admission. “Why didn’t you just ask me out, then?”
Merlin laughs, but there’s very little humor in it. “That’s hardly professional, Arthur.”
“That’s what worried you?”
“Of course it did! It does! Jesus, Arthur, you have no idea,” he shakes his head, “no idea how much I have to hold myself back when I have my hands all over you.”
Arthur swallows audibly, noticing for the first time how dry his throat has gotten. Well, here goes nothing.
”What if... what if I don’t want you to hold back?”
Merlin stares at him with his mouth hanging open, his gaze roaming over Arthur’s face in search of something. Probably a confirmation.
“Arthur, that’s not--”
“It’s 6:02,” he blurts out.
“What?”
“It’s two minutes past six. You should have started with the massage by now.”
Initially, Merlin doesn’t respond, looking as though Arthur’s talking in a different language. When Arthur holds his eyes, hoping to prove his point, he resigns on any further arguments.
“Come on in then,” he instructs tiredly and Arthur follows him to the room. He’s shedding his jacket even before they get there. He hangs it and starts taking off his tie just as Merlin turns around to face him.
“Okay, I’ll let you--” He cuts himself off when Arthur pulls the tie over his head, throwing it on the chair and starts unbuttoning his shirt.
“Don’t bother,” he says, too pleased with himself when Merlin stays rooted to the spot, openly staring.
“Uh...” Is all he manages when Arthur gets rid of the shirt, exposing his chest (which - it’s not like Merlin’s never seen it before anyway) and begins working his belt and trousers open. Soon, he’s pulling them down together with his briefs, stepping out of his shoes in the meantime.
As he straightens up, completely naked, he takes a few seconds to appreciate the way Merlin looks at him, his jaw practically hitting the floor. Lips twisting into a smug smile, he turns to the table to climb on it, settling on his stomach as he does every time, except now he doesn’t bother covering himself up with a sheet.
“Whenever you’re ready,” he calls with barely concealed amusement when Merlin doesn’t move an inch.
“Uh... yeah. Yeah, let me just...” he stutters, reaching for the sheet.
“Leave it.”
“W-what?”
“No point.”
“But--”
“Merlin,” Arthur says darkly, “leave it.”
Thank fuck, Merlin actually listens and abandons the sheet in favor of grabbing a bottle of oil, pouring some in his hands with trembling fingers.
“Arthur...” he tries one more time, hesitant.
“Merlin,” Arthur returns. “Shut up.”
He hears Merlin exhale shakily and then, the familiar sensation of oil-slicked hands takes over all of his senses. He sighs in relief when the touch causes his body to go completely lax as it always does.
Merlin’s hands are unusually tentative, like he’s still not sure he’s got Arthur’s permission to touch him - like this - after what he admitted to him. It’s for that reason that Arthur starts making deliberate noises of pleasure, humming softly, or outright groaning and moaning when Merlin arrives to a particularly sensitive spot.
Above him, Merlin begins making noises of his own, but he sounds more pained than anything. Out of curiosity, Arthur turns his head to the side to peer at Merlin, just to be able to see what expression is on his face right now.
He doesn’t get that far because all of his attention is stolen by the very visible, very prominent bulge pressing against the front of Merlin’s trousers.
“Shit,” he utters before he can stop himself, feeling his dick twitch helplessly where it’s almost squashed between his body and the table.
Immediately, Merlin freezes on the spot, his breath hitching.
“I... Arthur...”
Arthur lets out another moan at witnessing Merlin’s obvious desire for him and returns his head to the previous position.
“You can do my legs now,” he says suggestively, but it sounds more like an order. For a moment, nothing happens. Merlin doesn’t withdraw his hands but he doesn’t move either. Arthur is about to impatiently prompt him to action but in the end, Merlin goes willingly, moving around the table until he’s standing at Arthur’s feet.
He covers his left leg with oil and proceeds to massage it from the foot up, almost as if nothing unusual is happening.
It’s not until he makes his way past the knee, to the hamstrings and inner thigh, that Arthur feels him falter, the pressure letting off and in a desperate attempt to urge Merlin on, he spreads his legs further apart.
Behind him, Merlin makes a choked off sound, his grip on Arthur’s thigh tightening.
“A-Arthur,” he says like a prayer and Arthur feels himself grow harder the lower Merlin’s voice drops.
“Go on,” he orders and this time, Merlin recovers faster, sparing barely a few seconds before he starts rubbing his thigh in circular motion, slowly working his way up, up, all the way to his ass - his very exposed ass.
“Arthur,” Merlin whispers, barely audible, but Arthur hears him all the same. He knows what he’s asking and in lieu of an answer, he digs his knees into the table to push his hip up and back, groaning when the movement provides friction to his now fully erect cock.
“Do it,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. “Please.”
Merlin makes an indescribable sound and then his slick fingers are dipping tentatively between his cheeks, brushing against his entrance.
Arthur feels his pulse quicken, heat spreading throughout his whole body at the single touch.
“Gods, Arthur, the sounds you make...” Merlin praises, rubbing at his opening in tiny circles.
“Merlin,” he returns, attempting to spread his legs further apart. Merlin all but growls at the display and then he’s bending over to pepper kisses over Arthur’s naked shoulders, even as his fingers press against him more insistently.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Arthur,” he mumbles into his skin and Arthur trembles at the soft-spoken words.
“Fuck me,” he moans, hitching his hips up. “I want you to fuck me.”
“Shit, Arthur, you can’t just.... can’t just say stuff like that.”
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just hurry up and get on with it,” he tries to sound irritated but it falls flat when a whine is torn out of his throat as Merlin enters him with one finger.
“Shit. Shit...”
“Payback,” Merlin laughs, kissing just behind his ear.
“Merlin, I swear to God...”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say,” he retorts with fondness and starts pumping the finger in and out.
Satisfied when Merlin actually listens, Arthur is able to relax again, offering himself to Merlin’s skilled hands.
He is nothing but gentle as he works Arthur open, adding more oil before a second finger joins the first, then a third one.
Under him, Arthur’s rolling his hips against the table, seeking as much friction as he can because Merlin’s taking too bloody long, checking on him every two fucking minutes. Just as he’s about to call him out, the fingers brush against his prostate, successfully stealing all the words out of his mouth, together with his breath.
“Fuck,” he grips at the edge of the table, struggling to breathe.
Merlin chuckles at his reaction. “You like that?” he asks smugly, totally unhelpful and unnecessary and hits that spot again.
“Would l-like it better if you f-finally got your dick in m-me,” he trips over his tongue, panting.
“Impatient,” Merlin clicks his tongue but before Arthur can tell him where he can stick it (pun intended), Merlin’s fingers leave him.
His breath hitches at the sudden emptiness and in hopes of speeding up the process, he gathers his strength to hitch himself up until he’s on all fours. He expects Merlin to climb up behind him but instead, there’s a hand on his shoulder, prompting him to twist to the side.
“Not like that,” Merlin explains, nudging him until he’s turned over completely, facing him. “I want to see you.”
Arthur wants to crack a joke, call Merlin sappy and whatnot, but he can only blush.
“Oh.”
“Can you sit on the edge?” Merlin instructs, helping him to get into position. He manages just fine by himself, sitting on the side of the table with his legs hanging off. He watches, mesmerized, as Merlin rids himself of his T-shirt and trousers in under ten seconds, feeling accomplished at seeing him so impatient himself even though he chastised Arthur for it only minutes ago.
“Eager, are we?” he teases, hearing the blood rush in his ears. Merlin gives him a dark look, clearly disapproving of his tone, and takes the final step until he’s standing between his open thighs, grabbing him by the hips and pulling forward.
The movement is so sudden that it sends Arthur flat onto his back, hips hanging off the table. Merlin nudges him to wrap his legs around him and braces himself against the edge with his hands.
“You’re such a bloody tease,” he chides with a shake of his head.
“Shut up, Mer-- fuuuck,” he nearly chokes as Merlin’s cock breaches him without a warning, sliding in fully with one push. “Shit.”
“Okay?” Merlin checks with a quake in his voice, proving he’s not as collected as he makes himself to be.
“Y-yeah. Just move already.”
Merlin chuckles. “So bossy.” Then proceeds to do just that. He pulls back almost completely before pushing back in, again, and one more time until he’s settling into a rhythm.
It takes Arthur a couple more minutes to catch his breath but when he does, he focuses on meeting Merlin halfway, although the position barely allows it.
“M-Merlin.”
Merlin snaps his hips almost violently at hearing his name tumble from Arthur’s lips in that tone and Arthur moans loudly when he drives directly into his prostate.
“Fuck! Fuck, Merlin. R-right there.”
“God, Arthur. It‘s so good. You’re so good.”
Arthur keens at the praise, urging Merlin to go faster.
Instead, Merlin halts all the movement, earning a desperate whine from Arthur. He chuckles at the reaction and leans forward to slide his hands underneath him to pull him up until he’s sitting up, their chests close enough to touch.
“Arthur,” he whispers in the space between them before there’s none because suddenly, Merlin’s crashing their lips together, unexpected and so good. He swallows the surprised sound from Arthur’s lips, licking into his mouth.
Arthur moans in agreement, wrapping him in his arms and deepening the kiss.
Merlin grabs him by the hips again and starts a new rhythm, his thrust shorter but harder.
Arthur whimpers against his lips, squeezing Merlin between his thighs. He gives up any effort to help Merlin out and decides to kiss the living hell out of him while Merlin plows his ass.
It works just fine and it’s not long before Merlin’s thrusts grow erratic and uncoordinated.
“A-Arthur,” he chokes out between kisses. “I’m gonna...”
Instead of replying, Arthur takes his lips in another kiss and clenches around his cock, drawing a hiss from him.
“Arthur!”
“Yeah, come on,” he encourages and clenches his ass again.
Merlin manages two, three, four more thrusts before he stills, buried to the hilt and spills himself inside Arthur. He presses his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, panting against the sweaty skin while his hips continue their subtle grinding motion.
Arthur presses a kiss to his temple, sliding his fingers through the dark locks, marveling at the silkiness.
Merlin lifts his head to peer at him from under his lashes. His pupils are blown wide, overtaking all the blue of his irises. There’s a lovely flush to his cheeks and the way his fringe sticks to his sweaty forehead is almost endearing.
Arthur’s never seen him like this and he wants to appreciate the view but doesn’t get much time because then, Merlin is untangling his legs from around him and slides to his knees in front of Arthur. He gives him a little smirk before opening his mouth wide and swallowing his cock.
“Nngh!” Arthur yelps with surprise, throwing his head back in unexpected pleasure.
“Shit, Merlin.”
Merlin hums around his cock and starts sucking him in earnest. It feels so good he can’t even feel embarrassed when he feels Merlin’s come leaking out of him and to his shock, he also feels Merlin’s fingers slide into him again, hitting his prostate with deadly precision. “Merlin!”
It barely takes another half a minute before Arthur’s screaming himself hoarse as his orgasm overtakes him and he comes in Merlin’s mouth. Still, Merlin’s mouth doesn’t leave him, working him through his release instead until he’s whimpering from over-sensitivity and pulling at his hair to pry him off.
Merlin releases his cock with an obscene sound that echoes in the small room, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands up between Arthur’s open legs.
“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks and Arthur can’t help but laugh.
“Are you for real?” Merlin just blinks at him. “We should have done that ages ago, instead of the massage.”
Merlin groans in annoyance. “That’s not the nature of my business, Arthur!”
His irritation only amuses Arthur further. “You could make an exception for me,” he teases, pulling Merlin closer and Merlin goes willingly, although the scowl is still on his face.
“That depends on how much you’ll tip me,” he shoots back.
“Oh, I’ll tip you all you want, Merlin.”
Merlin slaps the back of his head gently. “You’re incorrigible.”
“Hmm. But I think you like it,” he says smugly, pulling him into another kiss, letting out a moan when he tastes himself on his lips.
“You’re awfully confident for someone who just got fucked on a massage table.”
“You mean for someone who just talked his masseur into fucking him on a massage table.”
“I think manipulated is better-fitting.”
“Or seduced.”
Merlin scoffs. “You did not seduce me.”
“Oh, really?” he teases. “I’d say you gave it up pretty easy after seeing me in my birthday suit.”
“I did not!”
“You did, though.”
“Your mind is misleading you.”
“Whatever you say,” Arthur concludes dismissively, then gives Merlin a wicked grin. “Next time, you’re gonna lie down on this table and I’m gonna ride you.”
Unsursprisingly, Merlin all but chokes on thin air. “That... uh... sounds... agreeable.”
“I’ll say.”
“You’re so annoyingly confident.”
“Just because you make it so easy.”
“Arthur.”
“Merlin,” he huffs. “Shut up. And kiss me again.”
And for once, without a single protest, Merlin does just that.
OMFG, Merlin! You DIDN'T!
Huh?
Don't "huh" me! You know bloody well!
Apparently not.
You fucked my boss!
!!! JFC, I can't believe he told you! :O
I sent him your way so he got that stick out of his ass. Not for you to replace it with your dick!
He didn't. His limp did, jsyk.
He could have hurt his leg or something...
And he brought me coffee. He'd never brought me coffee before! I've never seen him in such a good mood!
Your welcome :-*
*You're
That's disgusting. I'm never getting a massage from you ever again!
Oh, well... it was worth it :-p
*Freya has left the chat*
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shutterbug | jjk
pairing: jungkook x reader
genre: fluff, angst
word count: 4.1k
warnings: swearing, unbearable but relatable tiger parents
request: Jungkook,, one shot,, 38 + 40 please 😊😊 @asiivnc
“you leave whenever you feel like it.” & “don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.”
A/N: sheesh, i have not posted in a hot minute! i’ve been trying to work on this single request throughout quarantine and it really only came down to these last few days where i literally had a spike of inspo and drive and well,, ideas LOL. i considered an alternate angstier ending but i am a self-indulgent mofo who doesn’t like to make myself cry even though i’m sure i cried while writing this at least once (maybe twice). there is so much jk content on my blog i wanna set aside more time to write for other members from now on until i’m satisfied! regardless, thank you @asiivnc for requesting this and sorry for the wait luv, hopefully this can make up for it !!
Jungkook was known to be heavily passionate and fully invested in whatever his life had revolved around at that moment. As a film/photography major, as well as a man that just had a strange knack for being naturally adept at whatever was thrown at him, he incessantly poured his utmost efforts into his works. You weren’t any different, as you held just as much significance in his life as the way his serotonin levels would skyrocket as soon as his fingertips touched his precious camera.
Not to be self-absorbed, but you always thought of yourself as his muse. Or befittingly for his sake, the subject of the photo that you would give the title ‘his lover’.
You were so indisputably sure that you loved the boy and even moreso that he felt the same. While being so accustomed to his own nurturing ways and devotion to you and the reciprocated energy on your part, the bone-crushing weight of college hindered all and didn’t give a single fuck about anyone or anything.
Carrying the begrudging burden of having to succeed because he didn’t take the traditional lawyer/doctor career route, was always at the forefront of his mind. Likewise, for fuck’s sake, he nearly got disowned by his own parents and it took him what seemed to be a lifetime’s worth of energy to convince him to just give him a chance. Jungkook was not planning on taking that chance for granted.
Jungkook, being the person he is, was excelling, and his name was beginning to become known in the community of photographers and videographers, and he was finally starting to feel at ease. His parents were even acknowledging his successes to the extent that they were helping him financially with school, which was a huge burden off of his shoulders. And then you suddenly crash-landed into his life and just made his life even more fulfilling and by all means, worth living in.
He knew it was a bad idea. Distancing himself from you was the last thing he wanted to do. All his parents were concerned about was the fact that you were the only thing hindering him from making it “big”, when turns out, you became the sole inspiration and muse for most of his recent works. So they gave him an ultimatum to either be cut off financially or break up with you. He didn’t understand, because his parents liked you so much and they loved the influence you had on his work. He didn’t understand. He hated it—the fact that he was basically hanging by puppet strings and didn’t have a say in what he did considering the age he was in now.
He also hated the fact that he knew they had good intentions, and were only doing this because they wanted him to be successful. Their idea of true success for his career could only be seen as the financial benefits of being a director or producer rather than being able to just pursue and learn more about the art form that he loves. There was no use of trying to persuade them, so likewise, he did not. But why get her involved into this mess too?
Jungkook tended to stray away from confrontation and hated immediate and unexpected change as much as he acted like it didn’t phase him. He figured the sooner he can gain benefit from his passion, the less dreadful this dilemma would be. Less mess. Less stress. More time to be with you. That was the intended plan.
His next course of action was to score a film internship and potential job at the rather famous, Fox Studios. By doing so, would have to win the statewide film contest— a much larger scale than he had ever involved himself in. The mere thought of him having to showcase his own self-produced work to critically acclaimed film critics made the bile in his system threaten to upchuck onto the lemon-pledge scented floors of his dorm room. Then he remembered and was reminded— by the help of you of course, that he was Jeon Jungkook, and everyone knows that Jeon Jungkook does not like to lose.
-
He presumed that keeping up his grades would give him more credibility to getting the internship as well, so he put more focus onto his schoolwork. The remainder of his time was dedicated to exploring his potential ideas and storyboarding out his options and what would be most effective and most consequently— worthy of winning first place.
During this very strenuous time for the poor man, you would most likely see him trudging down the halls, hair in a complete disarray or simply hidden by the fabric of his hood, his eyelids threatening to close shut almost as if it’s taking all his willpower to keep them open, chugging down another red bull with one hand while he grips the strap of his backpack with practically no energy.
I mean you thought it was kinda cute at first, but his apparent deteriorating state mostly caused you to be more concerned than anything else.
In hopes to not hinder his creative flow but still keep his health at par, you would stop by every so often to give him food and give him reassurance—he never needed it so much until now.
Jungkook never told you about the irrational ultimatum his parents had given him. He came to the conclusion that it’d be unnecessary as long as he was able to carry out his plans. Nonetheless, the pressure of the whole situation was getting to him. The love of his life, passion for working with a camera, his parents’ disapproval, and just the own personal dream to be able to tell everyone that “Fuck you, I told you I could do it, and I did,” enveloped his whole mind these days.
Time had proved to not work in Jungkook’s favor. Two weeks passed in a mere blink of an eye leaving him with only two more weeks to finish his film in time for the film contest. This time around, he decided to choose a topic that resonated more with his own personal life. The film revolves around the struggle to be able to conform to the standards and expectations that society implements onto young people, whether it’d be from mainstream media or direct connections, like family. Typically, he stuck a title onto his projects after fully completing it, but for some reason, this time, it had worked in reverse. The title itself suddenly popped into his mind one day and from there he was able to garner ideas from it. And so the title was ‘Moulded’.
A very risky step on Jungkook’s part was what you initially thought when he first told you the idea. He knew that too, which is why he did it. You knew him long enough to be aware of the influence his parents had on his life and their outdated beliefs. You also knew the potential the boy’s zeal could take him, and because of that, all traces of worry left you shortly afterward.
-
Two days. The film contest was in two days. Jungkook was just about finished at this point, constantly playing back frames and adding final touches, rewatching the same parts over and over again until he became satisfied. He leaned back in his chair and let out a heavy sigh, eyes finally averting from the screen of his desktop to the clock on his bedside table.
“Only 9:15?” he muses, realizing these past four weeks had completely fucked over his sense of time, “At least I’m down, color correcting can be such a bit—”
A small jolt reverberates through his desk, interrupting his verbally spoken train of thought. His eyes beeline back to his phone, the contact picture of his mom flashing on his screen. Why would she be calling me at this time?
His brows knit together as he picks up his phone and swipes his thumb across the screen in uncertainty.
“Um, hi mom?” he greets, with the obvious tone of confusion in his voice.
He can practically hear her scoff over the line, “Jungkook-ah, how’s the film coming along?”
���It’s almost done-”
“Are you still with that girl?” she forcibly asks out of nowhere, leaving him dumbfounded to the point his mouth was hanging open in return.
A few seconds pass by as he processes what’s going on. He tightens his grip on the phone at the mention of you as he confesses through gritted teeth, “Yes mom.”
“We had a deal didn’t we?”
He retorted without waver in his voice, “Mom, I’m not a kid anymore.”
“Then give it back. The tuition money,” she affirms without hesitation, “Jungkook, me and your father have done our part. It’s about time you do yours.”
“I’ve done practically everything you’ve asked. I’m doing just fine,” he monotonously states, trying so hard not to implode on his own mother at this point, “Y/N has nothing to do with this.”
There was a short pause, leaving Jungkook in the same state of dejection per usual when he had to talk to his parents, “We just want you to be successful,” her voice softens, using the same line that somehow magically guilt-trips Jungkook every time the words travel to his ears.
He shakes his head in disbelief over hearing the stupid line that seemed to control every aspect of his life, “You say that every time.”
“And we mean it every time,” she interjects, a sigh audibly present over the line, “this discussion is over.”
She ends the call as Jungkook lets out a raspy and guttural groan, slamming his phone onto his desk in frustration with such strength it’d be surprising if the cheap glass screen protector he’s had on it didn’t suffer any damage.
“Kook,” a voice utters softly from the other side of his door, “is everything okay?”
He flinches at the sound of your voice, considering you were just the subject of the conversation he just had with his mom that left him fuming with rage more than anything.
“Can you please leave Y/N, this isn’t a good time,” he objected, adjusting himself in his seat so he’d face away from the door. Even though you couldn’t see him you could still hear the small indication of irritation in his response.
It was more than apparent something was wrong with him, with only two days left until the film contest, you knew he couldn’t manage to keep his guard down, regardless of the stress and turmoil he’d been putting himself through for the past 4 weeks, “Just because you leave whenever you feel like it…” you enunciate, raising your voice loud enough for him to hear your intentions, “doesn’t mean I will.” Both of you knew the last 4 weeks had taken a toll on the relationship, it was only then that he realized how much he’d been putting it off.
The door began to emit tiny clicking noises as he slowly turned the doorknob. He slowly widens the area as he meekly steps to the side, letting you come in as you make your way toward his bed and plop down onto his sheets.
The tension had never been this thick between the two of you, to the extent where it felt absolutely suffocating and unbearable. You had never seen him in such a state of dejection as he simply sat there, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt as he nibbled on his lower lip, eyes diverting away from yours at all costs. The knit between his brows that would usually derive from confusion or frustration, seemed entirely different this time around. It was as if his mind was full of nothing but everything all at the same time.
You heave out a deep sigh as you finally break the ice, “Jungkook,” you begin, looking up to see him looking back at you to your surprise, “you know I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry for making it seem that way.”
“Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it,” he mutters only to see the flash of hurt in your eyes that makes him divert his gaze back to the floor, “I know I’ve been acting so selfish lately. I’d understand if you felt that way.”
“I hate seeing you like this you know,” you confess quietly, “I know there’s something up.”
His eyes meet yours once again, mouth slightly parted as if he was about to say something, but the silences ensues and he closes the gap once again, resorting back to nibbling the skin off of his bottom lip until it starts to bleed. Your eyes soften as you observe the boy once more. The span of your relationship had naturally led to the two of you being able to open up to one another so easily. You were both able to tell when the other was feeling a certain way and why. It just came with time and getting to know the other person more throughout the relationship. And alongside that was the ability to know when the other was purposely keeping something under wraps—this was one of those times.
“Jungkook”, you whisper just loud enough to catch his attention, which works as he gazes back up at you with all doe-eyed glory, the knit between his brows gone surprisingly out of sight for the first time since you came over. You glance at his bed—emphasizing the void of space next to you on his bed by patting the fabric and peering at the cryptic man, hoping he would get the sign to sit next to you.
Fortunately, he does. He places his hands on the armrests as he timidly pushes himself up from his chair. The chair produces an obnoxiously loud squeaking noise almost emulating the sound of your dog’s dog shaped squeaky toy (counterintuitive I know, but it was a gift from Jungkook himself, the prick). The sound causes you to involuntarily snort as you look away in hopes to hide the smile creeping onto your lips. Too bad you missed the smug grin on his face at your lackluster attempt.
He carefully approaches you as he warily lowers himself onto his bed, making sure he doesn’t make the same mistake twice. He shifts his body to turn towards you, propping his hands at his side. His eyes avoid yours once more, sparing glances at every inch of his own room as if he wasn’t already familiar with the enclosed space.
You pause and calculate your next move, eyes studying the boy’s body language. You outstretch your arm, gently grasping his wrist as you slide your fingers through his calloused palms and twine your fingers with his own, allowing your hands to rest on your knee. His eyes glaze over your connected hands, trailing back to finally meeting your own once again—they had this all too unfamiliar gloss to them, not the usual star-like specks you had been accustomed to looking at. As a few seconds had passed, you spotted the pool of tears starting to brim in the corner of his eyes. Taken aback, you retract your focus to his whole face and how his bottom lip started to tremble, hopeless. Hopelessness was what he was denoting, an emotion you had rarely if never seen coming from the man sitting in front of you.
Before you could formulate any words of comfort, he speaks up, voice brittle and wobbly, “Am I just a failure Y/N?”
“Wha— what? No, how could you ask that? Of course I don’t think you are,” you assert, unknowingly tightening the grip on his hand.
“It’s just,” he drawls out, pausing to think of a coherent way to voice his concerns, “maybe it just would’ve been easier if I complied with my parents in the first place y’know. I’ve been spending all my time and energy fighting it, maybe I’ve just been putting my energy into the wrong-”
“I don’t believe that,” you calmly interject, “I believe that whenever you put your energy into something, you have a reason behind it. You thought about it for a while, it obviously wasn’t something that just sprouted overnight,” you countered, staring off as your eyes land on his workspace, the flashing screen of his computer that reveal his last minute editing as well as the camera you seldom see the man without, “Working with a camera, creating art,” you say while clasping your free hand over the one that you were already holding, rubbing miscellaneous shapes into the back of his hand, “that is what you love to do.”
“I love a lot of things Y/N,” he simply states.
“Hm?” you let out under your breath as you notice the single tear that falls onto his cheek, contradictory to the straightforward tone of his voice you had just heard seconds before. Your body stiffened at the sight of the fallen drop.
“Did you hear me on the phone before you came?” he questions, swiping away the tears that threatened to fall with his free hand.
You take a moment to recollect the moments that preceded until knocking on his door, “No, I just heard a loud bang. It sounded like you broke something.”
“Oh, that was my phone,” he shyly admits while scratching the back of his ear, “there is something I need to tell you.”
You perk up at his sudden willingness to tell you what was wrong. Your body language conveys the signal for him to continue, and he does.
“I got a call from my mom before you came,” he starts, “she was checking up on me, knowing the deadline is coming soon and what not.”
You nod slowly in understanding, “I see, what did she say?”
“You have the right to know,” he mutters under his breath while diverting his gaze back to your interlocked hands. He intentionally grazes your other hand before taking it into his own before flashing you a small grin of reassurance, “The farther I’m advancing, my parents just constantly feel the need to strip me of everything else. You probably knew that already. You also know that I tend to just rebel and find a loophole out of things most of the time. I don’t know, lately, it just seems like they solely care about success and money these days more than my own happiness and wellbeing, and it’s been like that for so long. Anyways, I’ve been prolonging and putting it aside for awhile now, but they threatened to cut me off financially if I didn’t break up with you Y/N.”
A single tear slides down your cheek. You’re at a loss for words and coherent thought. The only thing you muster to say is whatever decidedly popped up into your head first, “W-why haven’t you then?”
The brimming tears began to fall more frequently for you as well as from the eyes of the man in front of you. He releases both of his hands and slides his calloused palms up to your forearms pulling you closer in proximity, “I said it before, I love a lot of things Y/N,” he gingerly reiterates as he swipes away the tears from your eyes with the pad of his thumb before trailing his fingers to your fallen strands of hair, tucking them behind your ear.
“I love my parents, I love working with a camera, but I undoubtedly also am in love with you,” he tenderly professes while sliding down his hand to the crook of your neck, “I know my parents never meant harm, but they have to realize I don’t either. I owe it to myself and I realize that I am capable of obtaining and having everything I want in life,” he wholeheartedly declares despite the tears that continue to run down his face, “ And it wouldn’t be everything I want if you weren’t here with me.”
He renders you speechless, tears streaming freely as he continues to wipe them away. He was much more composed now, wiping away his own remaining tears with the back of his wrist. You, on the other hand, were practically sobbing into his palm, tears spilling all over his forearm.
“There’s a reason why I chose that particular subject for the film, “ he describes, hands sliding down to intertwine with yours once again, “It serves as a testament to my parents, to my peers, to you, but also to myself,” he beams, releasing the hold on your hands as he stands up from his bed, extending a hand out to you.
You unhurriedly grab his hand, as he tugs you to stand up from his bed, leading you to sit in his own seat. He swivels the chair for it to face his computer, stepping aside so you could sit down.
“I wasn’t planning on giving any sneak peeks, but it just seems right to show you this now,” he explains, clicking through the frames until he arrives at his destination and clicks play.
It starts off with the emulation of a glitching tv screen, the audio sounds as if someone was inserting a tape into a DVR. The ‘no signal’ screen fades into the familiar setting of the beach in his hometown. Hues of blue fading into muted shades of oranges and yellows flash across the screen, accompanied by the soft crashing of the waves washing ashore on the fine sand. The camera quickly shifts his focus to what seems to appear as Jungkook being fully enveloped and underneath the sand, his head being the only thing that isn’t submerged. Flashing his signature grin, his arm emerges from the sand as he gives a thumbs-up to the camera, making the person behind it erupt into a fit of giggles. That person was you.
The scene transitions into the city streets of the suburb that was close to the college. You were walking down the sidewalk, enamored by the bustle of the people who lived there as well as the twinkling lights that were draped from building to building. Clips ranging from his family, his friends, him working, and more are compiled and presented as he talks over it. His voice begins to say, “As individuals living in a society where opportunities seem to just be knocking left and right, we all have dreams and desires. Whether they are attainable or not, that’s what makes them all the more worthwhile and exhilarating to find out for ourselves. Society, whether we like it or not, is filled with certain conjectures that they believe can assure us of these dreams and desires, what they’ve made us believe as the path to success. They mould us from the beginning. As kids, we are told to behave well, listen to our elders, go to school, get good grades, and get into a good college. As adults, we deem success as having a stable job that pays the bills, buying a house and settling down, finding the love of your life, having kids, and working tirelessly until we become worn out and old. We have these presumptions about what’s better and what’s not, what is easier and what isn’t. Regardless of how much we get told that we can achieve anything we want to in life, we grow older and life unexpectedly throws more curveballs at you to make you think that it’s not actually the case. Well, as cliche as it may sound, I’m here to tell you that it’s just not true. Do what you want. Do what you love. Be with the ones you love. Cherish these moments. Film them as keepsakes to look back on. So… what’s your story? What are your dreams and desires? What sparks pure joy within you and keeps you on your feet? Break those moulds that have been holding you down. Reach for the moon and the stars. And maybe someday with the right amount of determination, and a little bit of luck, you can get there.”
The video ends right then and there, and you had no doubt in your mind that this was his best work to date albeit only seeing a snippet of it. A smile graces your lips as you turn your head to look at the creator of it all. He looks back at you with the familiar star-like specks in his eyes, making you feel rest assured that within all the chaos, you would both get through it all.
-
-
MASTERLIST
#bts#bts ff#bts fanfiction#btsboulangerie#btsbookclub#btswriterscollective#btswritingcafe#bts fluff#bts smut#bts angst#bts imagines#bts fake texts#bts smau#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#min yoongi#jung hoseok#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#bts au#bts x reader#jungkook ff#jungkook au#jungkook fanfiction#jungkook smut#jungkook fluff#jungkook fake texts#jungkook fanfic#bts scenarios
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discipline & punish - chapter four
here it is and it is literally a wall of very explicit smut so please don’t read if that’s not your thing. thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoy it!
chapter four - virginal delights
Annabeth looked up from her blueprints when she heard the sound of the bell tolling, signalling it was time for dinner. It was dark outside her office window now, even though it had been early in the afternoon when she’d initially sat down to work. With a sigh, she made some final notes on a scrap piece of paper before standing up and leaving her office.
The wound in her abdomen throbbed with pain as she did, just like it had for the past two weeks since she’d been discharged from the hospital. It wasn’t as excruciating as it once was, but she still hissed and gingerly ran her fingers along the top of the gauze pad taped over her stitches in a vain attempt to soothe the pain.
Annabeth had had her fair share of injuries over the years – it came with the territory of being a demigod, after all – but it was still frustrating to live in constant pain from the moment she woke in the morning till she mercifully fell asleep at night. The only moments of reprieve during her day came as she worked when her sheer focus kept the pain at bay.
Her boots clacked against the cobblestone road as she made her towards the dining pavilion. The path took her through the plaza at the heart of New Athens, and she took a moment to stop and appreciate the fountain, now that it was fully functional. It was made from marble, depicting three dryads standing in the center as water poured out of the vases they carried. The rush of falling water was music to her ears, and she felt a swell of pride course through her.
There was a familiar face sitting on a bench, looking at the fountain. Annabeth made her way over with a big grin on her face.
“Dominick!” she called.
The son of Hephaestus looked up and smiled when he saw Annabeth approaching. “Look who’s back from the dead,” he said.
Annabeth rolled her eyes. “You’re being awfully dramatic. It was only a flesh wound.”
“A damn foolish thing is what it was,” Dominick said, snorting. “I’m glad you’re recovering.”
“Just because I’m injured doesn’t mean I’m not working on new blue prints to terrorize you with,” Annabeth teased, sitting beside him.
Dominick rubbed his beard, a disgruntled expression on his face, and grumbled, “You should be resting.”
“But that would be boring.”
He huffed a laugh and said, “Well, it’s good to know that near death experiences haven’t changed you.”
Annabeth shrugged. “I’ve been through worse.”
The look in Dominick’s eyes softened. “I know you have.”
Annabeth cleared her throat and shot him a small smile of gratitude. “Thanks for taking over while I was out with the fountain and everything. I appreciate it.”
Dominick waved his hand dismissively.
“It was nothing. If anything, I’m hoping this experience shows you the value of delegating. It’s foolish to try and build Rome on your own,” he said. “You should rely on us more. We all want New Athens to succeed as much as you do.”
Annabeth laughed and said, “You’ve gotten far more eloquent than I remember. What ever happened to being the strong and silent type?”
He shrugged and said, “This isn’t the time to be silent.”
There was a pause before Annabeth said, “Thank you for what you said. I’ll try to make a more conscious effort to not micromanage everything from now on.”
The bench squeaked once Dominick stood up with a grin on his face. “That’s all I ask for,” he said. “I know you have to head to the dining pavilion, so I don’t want to keep you any longer. Keep me posted on how you’re doing and if there’s anything I can do to help.”
Annabeth nodded and waited a few minutes after Dominick’s departure before continuing on her way, but the warm glow in her stomach faded rapidly the closer she got to the pavilion. She found herself clenching and unclenching her fists, dread welling up inside her, and by the time she arrived at the pavilion her heart was almost jack-hammering in her chest. Immediately, her eyes scanned all the tables in search of him without her consent until she spotted Percy sitting alone, like always, at one of the tables at the edges of the pavilion, much to her dismay.
Not for the first time, she cursed herself for taking on the mantle of Camp Director. Her position made her presence at the pavilion necessary during lunch and dinner times. Honestly, Annabeth wanted nothing more than to retreat to the confines of her apartment so she could whip up a salad, maybe pour herself a glass of bourbon, and plop down on her favorite armchair, swaddled in blankets, so she could watch something mindless on Netflix.
Although she would never admit it aloud, Annabeth had done her damndest to stay the fuck away from Percy after her discharge from the hospital. The night he had snuck into her hospital room had only cemented the truth that she could not be around him if she didn’t want to do something stupid, something she would regret.
In fact, since her discharge, Annabeth had only spoken to him once directly to discuss his living arrangements. She briefly toyed with the idea of letting him stay in the Hermes cabin until he was claimed before realizing that was a recipe for disaster, so she had instead instructed him to stay at the Big House until then.
However, because of her position as director she was forced to see Percy twice a day for lunch and dinner, and of course that meant that obscene scent of his would unerringly find a way to waft over to her like the world’s slowest heat seeking missile. Every single day was a battle as her willpower wrestled her growing urges, and each day her willpower grew closer to losing. It had gotten to the point where Annabeth could no longer recall what she had had for lunch, let alone what it tasted like, even earlier that same day because every ounce of her focus was on repressing her growing obsession with Percy.
There was something about him that she found irresistible, something that eroded her self-control. On more than one occasion, she found herself staring out her office window, observing him as he sat at the beach and watched the waves lick the shore for hours at a time. He rarely spent time around other campers, but, once or twice, she had seen Percy coaxing the Naiads in the canoe lake into conversing with him.
Every time she caught herself staring, frustration and shame would bubble in the pit of her stomach, and it just got worse with each passing day. Percy, on the other hand, seemed blissfully unaware of Annabeth’s growing anguish. He would just sit alone and finish his meal quickly before disappearing again while Annabeth was forced to give herself mental pep talks to keep from fucking his brains out in front of everyone in the dining pavilion.
Tonight was no different unfortunately. After Annabeth took her seat, she had to push all thoughts of him out of her mind so she could nod politely when the other campers spoke to her, a terse smile on her face. A son of Ares asked her about organizing a game of capture the flag for that weekend after a daughter of Demeter inquired about the logistics of opening a city garden.
Somehow, in the midst of that bombardment, Annabeth noticed a daughter of Hermes walking towards Percy’s table with a determined expression on her face. Annabeth ground her teeth together and fought the urge to intercept her and turn her away. Recently, she had begun to notice the wayward glances and hushed conversations the female campers had amongst themselves as they stared at Percy, like wolves looking at a piece of meat.
It was the scent, Annabeth assumed. If it was strong enough to threaten her self-control, none of the other girls in camp stood a chance.
Annabeth tuned out whoever was talking to her and watched Percy turn to the girl after she tapped his shoulder, a look of mild bemusement on his face. She couldn’t hear what they said to each other, not this far away, but Annabeth found herself digging her nails into her palm as she watched them.
Percy was hers. No one else was allowed to have him.
Eventually, the girl bowed her head before returning to her table with a somewhat dejected look on her face, much to Annabeth’s satisfaction, but the feeling faded when Annabeth noticed Percy staring at her. When their eyes met, Percy raised his eyebrows, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips, which made Annabeth’s skin heat up and prickle, knowing she’d been caught red-handed.
The rest of dinner passed by in a blur. Percy vanished at some indeterminate point in the night, but Annabeth wasn’t sure whether or not to be grateful for that. On her way back to her apartment, Annabeth wracked her brain for solutions to neutralize that ridiculous scent of his – it was what threatened her most of all. Without it, she stood a much better chance of maintaining her self-control.
With a sigh, Annabeth checked her mailbox before taking the elevator up to her floor. Perhaps a child of Hecate could cast a spell on her to make her immune to the scent or maybe a child of Hephaestus could build a contraption that dispelled it. The method was irrelevant as long as it achieved its intended effect.
Once she arrived at her floor, Annabeth was about to make her way down the hallway to her room when she froze at the sight of Percy leaning against her front door. How did he know where she lived? One hand immediately curled around the hilt of her dagger as she stared at him, heart racing in her chest. At the very least, with this much distance between them she would have enough time to react if he chose to attack.
“What’re you doing here, Percy?” she asked carefully.
Percy pushed off the door and stepped towards her. Annabeth had to quell her instinct to step away from him and forced herself to hold her ground instead.
“I think you know exactly why I’m here, Annabeth,” Percy said softly.
Annabeth licked her lips and tried frantically to formulate a response, but nothing was coming to mind. At this proximity, she was exposed to the full brunt of that maddening scent of his, and it was rapidly eroding what little was left of her self-control.
“Do you want to explain why you’re trying so hard to avoid me? You’re doing a very bad job of it though by the way. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all those times you’ve stolen glances at me during dinner,” Percy said.
“You know why. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here.”
Percy smirked and said, “I still want to hear you say it.”
Annabeth narrowed her eyes. “There’s no point – nothing can happen between us.”
Percy raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is stopping you?”
“Common fucking sense for one thing,” Annabeth snorted. “Also, I don’t fucking trust you. In case you don’t remember, you nearly killed me, for Christ’s sake!”
“I gave you my word-”
“And I’m just supposed to believe you?” Annabeth hissed. “All because you gave your word?”
“Yes, that’s the whole point of making a promise,” Percy said slowly, like she had said something incredibly stupid.
Annabeth resisted the urge to scream. “Look, I’m twenty four years old – to me, you’re practically a child, so there’s nothing to discuss here. You need to leave. Now.”
Percy met her gaze for a few seconds before shrugging. “If that’s what you want.”
For a few seconds, Percy stood unmoving and matched her gaze. He wasn’t backing down. The harsh fluorescent light in the hall hummed like a droning bee, adding to the tension between them. Annabeth desperately hoped he wouldn’t continue to argue with her – she wasn’t sure she had the willpower to refuse him again, a realization that only served to inspire more self-disgust.
He’s only 18. He’s the same age as Bobby and Matthew. Send him away. Why the fuck are you still considering this? What the fuck is wrong with you?
It was hard to say how long they both stood there, holding their ground, but eventually Percy shrugged and turned to leave. In the next instant, Annabeth’s body moved faster than her brain could think. There was thud as she pressed Percy against her front door and she surged up to kiss him. His lips were softer than she would have expected, his inexperience showing in the awkward way he kissed her back, but that only served to inflame Annabeth’s lust.
She would be his first and she was going to ruin him.
The thought sent a wave of heat rushing through her. Annabeth pressed her knee in between his legs and tangled her fingers in his hair possessively. She jerked his head to the side, harder than she should have, and sucked bruises along the column of his neck, coaxing a strangled groan out of him.
“Shhh,” Annabeth murmured, voice slurring as she covered his mouth with her hand.
Percy’s hand scrabbled for purchase against the door but found none, making Annabeth grin. Served him right, flaunting that intolerable scent of his at every opportunity, tormenting her for weeks.
Annabeth slid a hand beneath the hem of his jeans and palmed his cock roughly, which was already straining against his boxers, and delighted in the way his legs trembled from the effort of keeping him upright.
Jesus, she was already so wet, and they’d barely even started.
They both stumbled into her dark apartment when she somehow managed to prize the door open, kicking it shut behind her. Her fumbling fingers scrambled to find the light switch just in time for her to crowd Percy against the door and claim his lips again. Annabeth tangled her fingers in his hair and cradled to the back of his head, pulling him down to deepen the kiss.
She was fortunate that Percy was such a quick learner. Within minutes, he found the sensitive spot behind her left ear that always made her go crazy as well as how much her body responded when he softly traced the curve of her spine with his fingers. Annabeth had armed herself with a better idea of Percy’s preferences as well, noting how he liked having his hair pulled and when she clawed at his upper back, between his shoulder blades.
It’s hard to say how long they stayed there, exploring with their lips and tongue, trying to coax reactions out of the other like they were sparring again. Percy was already beginning to resist the control Annabeth had initially claimed, but she’d expected as much. She’d known from the moment they’d traded blows in the hospital that Percy would not be tamed so easily, but that was exactly what Annabeth craved. To her, there was nothing better than forcing a strong will to submit.
They stepped away from each other for a moment in an effort to steady their heavy breathing. A grin split across Annabeth’s face once she saw how debauched Percy looked. He was gorgeous like this: hair mussed, pupils blown wide with desire, lips swollen, neck littered with red bites. His body was so responsive, more so than anyone Annabeth had ever been with.
Annabeth pulled him by the hand towards the living room, knowing they wouldn’t make it to the bedroom, and watched hungrily as Percy desperately shucked his shirt. She got rid of hers as well, leaving her in a bra and jeans, while Percy threw his jeans into some dark corner of her living room. Annabeth pushed him onto the sofa and climbed atop his lap, her hands slowly smoothing down his chest. The hunger in Percy’s gaze as he looked up at her while pressing a kiss to the valley of her breasts, his pupils completely dilated, sent a shiver down her spine.
“This is your last chance,” Annabeth said, breathing heavily. “If you want to stop, now is the time.”
Annabeth could feel the low rumble of Percy’s laughter through his chest. “What in the world makes you think I want to stop?” he asked, lips brushing against her breasts.
Annabeth framed his face in her hands and stared into his eyes. “I have to hear you say it. Tell me you want this.”
Instead of answering, Percy teased one of her breasts out from under her bra and sucked, making Annabeth bite her lip in an effort to keep from crying out.
“Percy,” she groaned, unable to mask her exasperation.
“Fine, I want this,” he said, a challenge glinting in his eyes. “Happy?”
Annabeth narrowed her eyes. She would get rid of that arrogant attitude in due time.
She rutted against him and smirked when she felt him harden under her. Percy stared at her, slack-jawed, as she continued mercilessly rolling her hips against him. As desperate as she was to get rid of her pants, she wanted to make Percy suffer more.
His hands reached for her hips in an attempt to stop her, but Annabeth swatted his hands away. If she wasn’t so drunk with lust, she might’ve punished him for even trying to stop her, but tonight she was too far gone to bother with dominance. That could wait for next time.
Annabeth bit and tugged at Percy’s earlobe, eliciting a broken moan that went straight to her cunt. The little noises and whimpers he made stoked her lust for him to a feverish degree.
She stood up and desperately stripped out of her pants, unable to delay it any longer. Her bra and underwear were next to go. Percy discarded his own boxers, and Annabeth took the chance to study him, now that he was fully naked, visually tracing the beautiful lines of his body and the lean muscle he’d formed.
Annabeth pushed him down onto the sofa and climbed over his face, smirking when Percy’s hands instantly went to support her hips.
She tangled her fingers in his hair again. “Lick,” she commanded.
A broken moan escaped her lips as Percy dragged the flat of his tongue along the outside of her cunt. Fuck, that felt good. He repeated the motion a few more times, stoking the fire inside her higher and higher, but it still wasn’t enough.
“Use your tongue inside too,” Annabeth instructed.
When Percy obeyed, Annabeth’s eyelids fluttered shut, and her grip on his hair tightened. It was probably hurting him, but she was too far gone to care. For his first time eating someone out, Percy was doing better than she’d expected. It didn’t take her long to settle on a rhythm and start riding his face. As she grew closer to the edge, Annabeth removed a hand from his hair and rubbed her clit to provide the final boost she needed to cum.
“Fuck, I’m cumming,” Annabeth moaned.
Percy’s hands wrapped around her ass and pulled her closer down onto his mouth as her thighs clamped down on either side of his face. Annabeth jerked hard on Percy’s hair, arching her back, a long moan escaping her as she came. She held onto the sofa’s frame to maintain her balance while her hips spasmed as she rode out the aftershocks of her orgasm.
Once they were done, she moved and sat back atop Percy’s stomach and tried to steady her heavy breathing. Annabeth could feel Percy’s cock straining against the curve of her ass and relished in how dark Percy’s eyes were.
“Not bad for your first time,” Annabeth said, panting.
Percy rolled his eyes and sat up, pressing their chests together. She could feel the outline of his scars against her skin, and she was sure that he could feel her own as well. Neither of them were conscious about – if anything it was a testament to how strong they were as individuals. Percy’s fingers ghosted over the gauze pad taped to her abdomen.
“You sure you’re not hurting yourself?” Percy asked, smirking. “This might be too hard on your elderly body.”
Annabeth narrowed her eyes and shoved him half-heartedly. “I’m not that old, you asshole,” she grumbled.
When Percy laughed, Annabeth could feel it through her skin. “Then does that mean you have enough stamina to keep going?”
Annabeth opened her purse and fished out a condom and tore it with her teeth. “Men shouldn’t talk about stamina.”
She reached behind her and rolled the condom onto his cock before wrapping her hand around it, smirking when Percy’s eyes fluttered shut.
“They never do last very long – most of them are only good for one round.”
Annabeth slowly jerked him off and leaned in to whisper in his ear. “I doubt you’ll even last five minutes inside me.”
Percy glowered at her. “Is that a challenge?”
“Challenge implies you stand a chance of winning, which you clearly don’t.”
A growl rumbled through Percy’s chest, making Annabeth’s smile widen. Good, he was getting worked up. Annabeth found that she often got the best sex out of men once she provoked them.
Percy squeezed her ass hard before he lifted her above his cock and thrust into her. They both groaned in unison and desperately pressed up against each other.
God, it felt so good to be filled.
Annabeth brushed his hair out of his eyes and pressed a messy kiss to his lips. They kissed languidly, their tongues dancing around one another, as she got adjusted to his size. Then, without warning, Annabeth raised herself up and sank back down onto him.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
Percy’s grip on her hips tightened when she circled her hips on her way down. He dropped a kiss to one of her breasts before reaching up to knead the other one, making Annabeth groan. She scratched at his upper back, etching red lines into his skin, and slowly began to ride him.
He managed to work a particularly broken moan out of her when he tugged on a nipple with his teeth. She could feel him smirking against her skin as he sucked it again to soothe the sting.
Annabeth pushed him onto the couch so that she could accelerate her pace, partially to prove he couldn’t last five minutes but mostly because she needed more. Percy tried to sit up again, but she stayed low on him and held him down by the shoulders, sucking a bruise under his chin and making him grunt.
She could feel heat pooling inside her already, the promise of another orgasm on the horizon, and chased after it with reckless abandon, setting a punishing rhythm atop him. The maddening scent of his was stronger now than it had ever been before and seemed to egg her on to go faster and faster. The lewd sounds of them fucking filled her half-dark living room, and the sofa squeaked beneath them, keeping time with her pace.
Percy’s body stiffened a few minutes later, which spurred Annabeth on faster. “Aah, I-I’m gonna,” he stammered.
Annabeth bit his earlobe, pulling with her teeth, before whispering into his ear, “Do it. Show me how you cum.”
Percy wrapped a hand behind Annabeth’s head to anchor himself, his fingers knotting in her hair, as he released a strangled groan.
“Annabeth,” he moaned.
Annabeth felt his cock grow inside her before Percy froze, his eyes screwing shut as his back arched up off the sofa. He was almost completely silent as he came, but Annabeth could feel his entire body quivering beneath her. She’d never seen anything as beautiful as Percy’s face contorted by pleasure, completely slaw-jawed, weaving his fingers into her hair like she was the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth.
The sight itself was enough to send Annabeth over the edge as well. She bit down on his shoulder to keep from crying out, which made his hips jerked upward involuntarily. Her fingernails cut into his upper back, leaving red crescent shaped marks in his skin, while her cunt clenched around his cock desperately.
When she finally came, Annabeth’s entire body felt completely drained, leaving her panting atop Percy’s chest. Annabeth deeply breathed in the smell of sweat, sex, and Percy’s troublesome odor scent that hung in the air. She felt Percy’s hand brush aside the strands of hair that lay matted against her forehead, almost tenderly, and felt her face flush.
Annabeth looked up at him, her head still flat against his chest, and smiled softly when he met her eyes.
“I think that was more than five minutes,” she said coyly. “Well done.”
“Strangely enough, I didn’t really have enough time to check my watch in the middle of all that. Funny, huh?” Percy said.
Annabeth pressed a kiss to his chest and said, “Given how hard I just fucked your brains out, I’m a little insulted that you can still mouth off to me.”
Percy’s ensuing laughter brought a smile to Annabeth’s lips. “Are you always this arrogant?”
“It’s not arrogance if it’s true,” Annabeth said, shrugging. “I fucked you well, and you know it.”
Percy blinked. “That’s fair.”
They lay there in silence for a while. It had been a long time since Annabeth had had such a good fuck. Alyssa and her other partners were fun, sure, but there was just something about Percy. Already her mind raced with all sorts of possibilities.
They hadn’t gotten into any of the good stuff tonight, which fine considering it was Percy’s first time and all, but going forward, Annabeth wasn’t going to be this easy on him. Images flooded into her mind of him bound and blindfolded, sobbing as she edged him for hours, begging her to let him cum. Images of him with his hands tied behind his back, that cute ass of his pointing straight up in the air, red and ready for her, littered with welts from her riding crop, as she fastened her strap-on.
Fuck.
Annabeth bit her lip and rubbed her thighs together discreetly, already feeling heat pool in her stomach. She looked up and noticed Percy’s eyelids were drooping as he resisted the urge to fall asleep. Annabeth traced his scars with her fingers as a small bit of disappointment arose in her – she really would’ve liked to go for a second round, but it was understandable given that it was his first time.
“Not tonight. Next time,” she promised herself. “Next time, I’ll get to have some real fun with him.”
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Sacred Light
A/N: I have a hopeful heart so Erik is alive and redeemed. I also didn’t proofread cause I was trying to get all the thoughts out. Hope yawl like. Sidenote: life hit me like a runaway train literally the first day of this challenge so I’m mad behind now. Sorrrrryyyyyyyyy. I will write and post when I can.
Summary: When the Jabari rejoined Wakandan society, it would seem as if Bast was intent on keeping the tribes joined. M’Baku succeeds in capturing the heart and soul of Wakanda’s most sought after hidden light. Part storm, part flower, and some kind of wild woman, Qaqamba Bejide Achebe - Ramonda’s orphaned niece who grew up alongside the Udaku’s, yet as much out of the spotlight as possible - blooms under the affections of Hanuman’s chosen chief. There is a prophecy tied to the Achebe name - their daughters are said to be blessed by every goddess with a light and love like no other, something late King T’Chaka knew to be true - a prophecy that makes them as much of a target as their light shines. And she, is the last of their line with the gift, with the brightest light since the line began. Can M’Baku protect such a sacred light?
Warning: some violence, mentions of murder/death
Translations (via google translate):
nsọ ìhè - sacred light
umanyano oloyikayo - the sacred light union
It was the night of the joining festival, to commemorate the joining of both the Jabari and the Lost Tribes back into Wakandan society. N’Jadaka was out of rehab and somewhat integrating into his new home, having been pardoned from creating a civil war due to winning the Waterfall Duel which was his birthright. He stuck close to Shuri until M’baku arrived and Shuri ditched them both. Little did those two know, they would soon be walking into an ancient battle for the right of a sacred light.
------
Earlier:
A frightening chill ran through Qaqambe as soon as Queen Mother and King T’Challa declared the beginning of the ball of nations. He was here. The man from her nightmares.
“Shuri, get aunt Ramonda quickly. They’re here,” she practically screamed into her kimoyo beads.
------
10 years ago
“Please! She’s still a child, let her grow into her own like her sister did.” Qaqambe’s mother, Sade cried.
“She bleeds, that is growth enough for me to pluck my long awaited bud.” Adrian said.
“13 is not long enough! I beg of you, let me keep her for a little while longer! She deserves to be her own woman.” Sade said.
“Need I remind you of the outcome last time your family denied me my light?” he asked.
Sade vehemently shook her head and sobbed.
Adrian crouched down and spoke into Sade’s ear and said, “I have no quarrels getting rid of you to get to her. There is no one else left to keep her from me.”
Sade raised her head to look him in the eye and yelled her declaration, “That is what you think. She’s long gone and she will find her light keeper before you ever get the chance to lay a hand on her! You just wait, they will be the most formidable warrior on this continent, unwavering in their stand to be the shield of her light.” She laughed hysterically, scared of her certain death yet finding comfort in her dream of a fulfilled daughter with her destined to be.
Adrian stood up and sighed, straightening his unwavering cuffs.
“How unfortunate, I’d hoped to keep her from being orphaned…” he shrugged, “...have it your way.”
Adrian shot Sade in the head twice.
“Now you’re dead and I have to search all of creation for her. Such a pitiful sight, you could’ve been my mother had you ignored destiny and walked into the arms of fate. Now destiny’s got you dead.”
-------
Now:
Shuri rushed into her lab to find a frazzled Qaqambe pacing a hole into her floors.
“Mother is keeping an eye out at the party, if you stop your pacing you can help us find him much faster.” Shuri said.
“Find who?” N’Jadaka asked, startling both young women into head butting each other.
Shuri said, “Ow! Why are you sneaking around, cousin? Now you’ve caused not one, but two concussions at one of the most inopportune moments!”
N’Jadaka said, “It’s you who was sneaking around lil bit, we just followed you.”
“We?” Qaqambe asked as she locked eyes with M’Bkau, tilting her head back to take in his full glory as he and N’Jadaka walked up to Shuri’s station.
Suddenly, Qaqambe was no longer worried about her impending fate, for it seemed destiny had arrived in the nick of time.
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of such a rare gem,” M’Baku said as he grasped Qaqambe’s hand and kissed the back of it.
“I-” Qaqambe was out of breath and words, unable to stop her body from responding to what she could only assume was what her ma and aunt told her about power of light keepers. She felt as if an inferno was lit the moment his lips touched her hand and spread to her entire body.
“M’Baku, Qambe. Qambe, M’Baku. Introductions made. Cousin, take him back to the party, we have urgent business to discuss,” Shuri rushed out, trying to guide the boys back to oblivion and Qaqambe back to their task.
M’Baku easily escaped her hold and ended up in front of Qaqambe again. “Whatever it is that is troubling you, let me help. And don’t you dare try to lie, I can see your light dimming in the face of darkness”
Qaqambe looked to Shuri for help, but her gaze was just as quickly pulled back to M’Baku, like a magnet. “Aunt Ramonda made us promise not to tell anyone outside the Dora what’s happening.”
“It sounds like he already knows with that last declaration,” Shuri mumbled.
“Just trust that it’ll help not hurt to tell us little one,” M’Baku tried again.
“I can show you better than I can tell you and it’s getting hard to hold it all in anyway,” Qaqambe said.
“Qambe no!” Shuri yelled as Qaqambe rolled her neck, opened her arms, and let loose the reigns on her gift.
Suddenly, lights of various colors burst from her, like an aurora light show escaping from her every pore. When she looked into M’Baku’s eyes it was like a supernova was activated, Qaqambe’s light erupted in a large flash before dimming and folding back into herself.
M’Baku, in awe, whispered, “nsọ ìhè, it’s real.”
-------
Meanwhile, Adrian was 75% certain that his little light was here in Wakanda when he arrived for the festival. He had spent the last decade tracking down Sade’s twin sister, Monda, who had disappeared with her light keeper around the same time Sade did with hers. Using records from before his birth to track down that who did not wish to be found presented as damn near impossible. Damn near.
Turns out that she changed her first name and secured a different last name by marrying. Too bad she married a man who’s responsibilities would put her in the spotlight. Thanks to his father and uncle’s drawings as well as the news of a newly opened Wakanda, he found her and had all the info he needed to infiltrate the party. Qaqambe’s light show gave him the confirmation and motivation he needed.
Slipping from the party virtually unnoticed was easy enough. It was figuring out his way through these halls to find the source of that flash oc light that was going to prove difficult. There were Dora Milaje stationed at the end of every corridor.
He didn’t need to worry since being so close to snuffing out Qaqmbe’s light seemed to strengthen his opposing power of darkness. Adrian slipped past the Dora with ease, able to become one with the shadows of the halls, letting them lead him to Shuri’s lab.
-----
“Aye! Who the fuck are you and what you doing so far from the party?” N’Jadaka yelled at an instantaneously appeared Adrian. Shuri had notified Queen Ramonda and the Dora while putting on her gauntlets and then pointed them at the intruder while M’Baku gently eased Qambe behind him. N’Jadaka picked up Shuri’s nearby disc blades and took up a similar stance to Shuri.
Adrian smirked, breathing in the fear his sudden appearance created. “Ahhhhhhh, it has been a long time since I’ve smelled such purity ready to be stripped.”
M’Baku growled deep in chest, reacting instead of thinking.
“Why don’t you come on out from behind this beast? Don’t you want to get acquainted with your betrothed?” Adrian said.
“My late mother and aunt told me of the forced betrothal alliance! You have no real claim to me,” Qaqambe said with tears in her eyes and voice.
Adrian spoke an unknown language, opened his hand and clutched into a fist. Qaqambe fell to the floor holding her throat as if she was choking. He said, “you will come with me, or I will do that to those you love,” and then he released her to gasp for breath.
M’Baku dropped to his knees beside Qaqambe and held her close. “We will fight him for your freedom, do not worry about us, you won’t have to go with him. I swear by Hanuman’s name, he won’t get your light.”
N’Jadaka and Shuri took a step forward as well as the Dora Milaje that was easing up behind him, but Adrian repeated the mantra and motion. Everyone except M’Baku and Qaqambe fell to the floor gasping for air.
A flash of confusion and fear flitted across Adrian’s face, which was long enough for M’Baku to charge at him. His hold on everyone broke as soon as he made contact, tackling Adrian to the ground like linebacker was his job title. When he wrapped his arm around Adrian’s neck and held him in place by his legs, Adrian started to go limp unable to combat such pressure and force without the use of his powers.
Qaqambe couldn’t let M’Baku take on such a burden as taking a life, especially not on her behalf. “M’Baku, no! Let him live. Do not stoop to his level.”
He loosened his hold, but didn’t let go completely, knowing that someone as conniving as Adrian would take her kindness for weakness and try to use it against them.
“Well what shall we do with him then? I won’t give him another opportunity to harm you.” M’Baku said.
Queen Ramonda walked in with her guards on her tail. “We’ll take away his chances of claiming her. M’Baku?”
“Yes, Queen mother?” he responded.
“Would I be wrong to assume that you are familiar with umanyano oloyikayo?” she asked.
M’Baku said, “No you wouldn’t. And if your next question is whether or not I am willing to participate in it with your niece, the answer is that I would be honored to be her light keeper...” M’Baku locked eyes with Qambe, “...if she’ll have me?”
Ramonda looked to Qaqambe who couldn’t stop crying watching their exchange. She nodded her head vehemently.
Ramonda signaled the Dora and Ayo stepped forward to handcuff and neutralize Adrian, allowing M’Baku to release him and make his way back to Qambe. N’Jadaka and Shuri stood down when he was secure.
Ramonda said, “All you have to do is promise to be her light keeper in your heart and mind as well as out loud, like a prayer, and you seal it with a kiss to her forehead.”
Adrian struggled uselessly against his restraints and guards. “No! She’s mine!”
M’Baku barked his signature Jabari grunt, silencing the interloper. He pulled Qambe to him by her hands until they were flushed against one another. He enveloped her in his arms, resting his hands at the base of her back and rested his forehead against hers, both their eyes closing in recognition of the sanctity of their last minute coupling. Once he spoke the prayer internally and externally, he sealed the union just as Ramonda had instructed. Qaqambe’s head tilted back, letting loose a wail of beautiful pain. Her light burst from her third eye first before it poured from her mouth as well until she collapsed into M’Baku’s arms with her light dancing around her like an aura.
“What in the 5th element just happened?” N’Jadaka asked.
“Much more than you were ever supposed to see nephew,” Ramonda said as she linked her arms with Shuri and N’Jadaka.
“Is Be gonna be okay?” he asked.
Ramonda looked back to the new couple as M’Baku trailed behind the group, refusing to let his eyes leave Qambe’s face for too long.
Ramona smirked and said, “She’s going to be just fine now.”
#sacred light#m'baku x oc#m'baku x qaqambe#black panther fanfiction#tale teller's daily writing challenge#tale teller's daily writing challenge 2021
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An Art of Balance #8
Orion Amari x MC
A/N: I did it, under 2.000 words, hooray! And not because that’s actually HALF of a chapter that I had to split due to way too many words. Sigh. As always, Katriona Cassiopeia belongs to my amazing friend @kc-needs-coffee, I love borrowing her so much <3
Warning: mild swearing
Word Count: ~ 1.700
______________________________________________________________
Chapter 8: Rain & Thunder
Much to her dismay, Lizzie had been right.
Skye had decided to cope with her emotions by converting them into anger, most of it directed at her. Although completely unwarranted, they hadn’t exchanged any words above the bare minimum since the incident at the Quidditch stands. Lizzie had tried to talk sense into her at first, but after a few attempts she had given up.
If Skye was intent on making Lizzie her emotional punching bag, good riddance to her.
As the usual mediator between the girls, McNully had suggested to get Penny to reason with her, but the blond girl had downright refused.
“She is embarrassed because of me, I’m the last person she wants to see right now.”
So they had had no choice but to accept Skye’s stubbornness and leave her alone. It pained Lizzie to be shut out by her friend once again, but there was nothing she could do to set things right. She only hoped they would work things out in time for the match against Ravenclaw.
*
Lizzie shivered as she fastened the buckles of her Quidditch gloves tighter. The air in the Hufflepuff changing room was freezing, the icy winds howling outside making her wish the match was already over and done with.
The cold had hit them earlier than usual this year. It had been raining ceaselessly for the last week and today was not an exception. Even over the sharp gusts of wind Lizzie could hear the rumble of the excited crowd that had gathered on the stands to watch the match Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw despite the horrific conditions.
It was almost time for the teams to enter the pitch. Lizzie could feel the familiar flutter in her stomach settling in. Even after all these years, she had to fight hard to keep her cool before every single match. Pacing up and down, brimming with anticipation, she glanced over to Orion. He was fastening his captain’s armband above his jersey, looking as deeply relaxed as ever; nothing seemed to be able to shake him out of his balanced state of mind.
Trying to distract herself, Lizzie’s mind wandered back to their last tutoring session in the greenhouse a few days earlier. They had talked about her strained relationship with Skye and discussed tactical options for the match ahead. Developing strategies for possible scenarios while trimming leaves or repotting plants had become somewhat of a habit for them.
Unfortunately, Rowan got left out of the conversation when she and Orion started discussing team matters; and while Lizzie did feel guilty about not exactly furthering her friend’s ambitions, somehow, she just couldn’t help herself. She had always found Orion easy to open up to, but since they had started sharing something besides Quidditch, Lizzie had discovered he was much more faceted than she had thought before.
Sensing her nerves, Orion casually strolled over to her and put his hand reassuringly upon her shoulder.
“Relax, we’ll be doing fine. Just remember our strategy. If the universe does not interfere, we will come out on top.”
A derisive snort behind them had them turn their heads. Skye, who was leaning against one of the poles supporting the huge tent, was shaking her head in disbelief.
“Our strategy is bollocks if you ask me. Ravenclaw’s Beaters are far too skilled for this nonsense you came up with. Cassiopeia almost never misses a target and I know personally what it does to you to take a Bludger from Rath.”
“This is not the time, Skye. We have agreed on a plan and we are sticking to it. Changing everything now will severely unbalance our team. More so than it is already,” Orion replied calmly, but Lizzie could make out an edge of tension to his voice.
“We wouldn’t have to change anything if the plan was decent. I could have come up with something better suited in a heartbeat,” Skye huffed.
Lizzie’s had heard enough. She was already on edge as it was, and Skye criticising Orion mere minutes before the beginning of the match was enough to make her snap. She abruptly turned around fully to face the other girl.
“Tell you what, Skye I’m so fucking great Parkin. Orion’s strategy is sound, Orion’s strategy is valid and Orion’s strategy will help us win this thing. If you have a problem with this, I suggest next time you don’t run off practise as soon as your feet hit the ground, just because you have a problem with your overinflated ego!”
Skye’s face turned red, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Who do you even think you are, you- “
“That is enough, I believe.” Orion firmly stepped between them, keeping them apart with his hands, their eyes shooting daggers at each other. For a moment, his calm eyes caught Lizzie’s, begging her wordlessly to back down before things got even worse.
Lizzie was not nearly done with Skye; all the times she had been the target of her unwarranted anger were bubbling to the surface with force. But the steady look in Orion’s dark eyes cooled her fury enough to let her draw a deep, steadying breath. Without a word she spun around and stalked to the other end of the changing room.
As Orion called their team towards the huge blackboard at the far end of the changing room soon after, she tried to put her racing mind back to order. This was not the time for fights.
She sat down between Everett and Lucy, watching Orion prepare for their obligatory moment of vivification. Now he was all captain, entirely focused on the task ahead of them.
Listening to his enthusiastic speech, Lizzie felt herself relax. Her boiling rage subsided as her mind focused solely on what was to come. The tingling sensation in her stomach turned to burning excitement to finally get going. Even Skye seemed to be listening attentively.
“This match will set the tone for the rest of the season. Together, my friends, we will vanquish the challenge ahead of us. We will fight for one another as we will fight for the Quidditch Cup. We will fight and we will win, as one team,” Orion concluded his speech.
“One team!” they echoed, firing themselves up. Everybody grabbed their broomsticks and headed towards the exit of the tent when Orion called Lizzie and Skye back. Both girls eyed each other warily, neither saying a word. Orion sighed, his frustration palpable.
“My friends, I hope both of you take our motto to heart. We are one team. We need to be a union to succeed. Especially the three of us; we need to work together in harmony, or we will have a hard time against our formidable opponents.”
Lizzie said nothing, waiting for Skye’s response. She already felt sorry for having had a go at her, and just before the match at that. But she was adamant not yield to her this time. If Skye felt the need to fight, she could very well have that.
Skye’s expression was motionless, however. “I think we need to go. Madam Hooch blew her whistle twice already, won’t wait for us much longer.”
Without so much as another look at them, she turned around and jogged out of the tent, leaving Orion and Lizzie behind.
*
Lizzie was breathing hard. They were one hour into the match and it was exactly as Orion had feared.
Ravenclaw was destroying them.
The other team was in the lead, the score standing at 70 to 30. Lizzie grit her teeth every time McNully announced another shot had made it past their Keeper.
The Hufflepuff offence was utterly teethless. Most of their passes got intercepted and Andre, playing as Keeper for Ravenclaw, managed to block most attempts at his goal posts. Where Lizzie usually felt connected to Orion and Skye, she could have been alone on the pitch for what it was worth today.
Their defence was in shambles as well, the gushing wind making it almost impossible for the Hufflepuff Beaters to accurately aim a Bludger at the attacking Chasers. In fact, one of Everett’s Bludgers had almost knocked Orion out earlier.
This was not a problem Ravenclaw’s Beaters seemed to have though. Rath had been tailing Skye for the whole match, while KC had been keeping a sharp eye on Lizzie. They were effectively cancelling them out of the action, the Ravenclaw Chasers taking care of stopping Orion.
Frustrated, Lizzie wiped the stinging rain out of her eyes and gripped the Quaffle harder when a flash of blue robes and fiery red hair shot past her.
“Cassiopeia is overtaking Jameson, what is she up to? We are about to find out!” McNully’s magically enhanced voice echoed over the pitch, drowning out the roar of the crowd and the thunder rolling in the distance.
“A Bludger has set its path into Cassiopeia’s direction, there is only one way she can stop Jameson from a shot at the Ravenclaw goal posts, a good old-fashioned Bludger Back-Beat!”
Lizzie had seen it as well. The Bludger was racing towards KC who, with a quick glance over her shoulder, swung her bat expertly behind her, redirecting the Bludger towards Lizzie with full force.
She quickly leaned to the side, as the iron sphere shot towards her, but the distance between her and KC had just been too short. The Bludger grazed her shoulder, knocking her off course, a dull pain spreading in waves from where it had hit her. Gripping at the handle of her broomstick, she had to let the Quaffle go. It was immediately retrieved by a Chaser in a blue robe.
Meanwhile, McNully was practically losing his mind up in the commentary box. “And she did it! Cassiopeia pulls the Bludger Back-Beat off like a true professional! Only 12,9 % of all Beaters are able to hit their target with this technique! Ladies and gentlemen, this girl truly is Ravenclaw’s Rising Star!”
Lizzie grunted in pain and tried to catch sight of the Chaser with the Quaffle through the curtains of sleet. She would need to have a word with McNully later on.
Listening to him almost gave the impression he wasn’t as partially impartial as he set himself up to be.
#art of balance#hphm#hogwarts mystery#orion x mc#orion amari#orion amari x mc#lizzie jameson#skye parkin#murphy mcnully#quidditch#quidditch squad#the quidditch squad#why is tumblr making blank lines disappear#I hate putting * in there they're meant to be for POV change only -.-
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After
Summary: Arthur is heartened to have Y/N back by his side. But moving forward isn't as simple as he'd daydreamed.
Warnings: Adult situations, Swearing
Words: 3,391
A/N: This request comes from @jokerownsmysoul! It's a continuation of Ch. 23 of Watch What Happens and takes off right after the last paragraph. Funnily enough, when Karen originally beta'd that chapter she said, "Where's their conversation? Oh, well, I guess it's implied." 😄 Special thanks to Domino, aka @thegirlwho, (who also wanted their conversation 😂) for sharing her point of view and helping me see things from a different perspective.
A good portion of my life is the exploding head emoji right now, so it's been a while since I've posted. However, I'm still here. Still writing. Still trying. Work on the new multi-chapter continues. If you've got any requests, let me know. Your patience, support, and you mean a lot to me. Thank you.
Nimble fingers twined through his loose, brown curls, a gentle tug as lips met and parted, met and parted. Her body surrounding that soft, most intimate part of him was visceral. Warm and wet. "I love you" fell from her mouth. Once, twice, more than the walls of his apartment had ever heard. He swallowed but was unable to murmur an appropriate reply. She came back, his mind affirmed. She came back.
Shit, I haven't mopped for a week.
Arthur braced himself on his knees and elbows to look down at her. The notched collar of Y/N's blouse had somehow remained uncrumpled. Strands of her hair fanned out messily over the beige, aged hexagons of the kitchen linoleum. Her tears had reduced to stains on her flushed cheeks. He brushed them away with the back of his knuckles. She'd said he hadn't hurt her, that she was happy. Both good things. If he could figure out the next step...
His eyes flitted back and forth between hers, brows pinched. Moving to kneel, he tucked himself back into his briefs, pulled his light blue pajama bottoms over his rear, then ran his hands along his thighs. "Have you had dinner?"
Buoyant laughter left her as she propped herself on her forearms. "I'm famished. Especially after that." She extended her hand and he accepted it gladly. When she started to pull herself up, he grabbed the other. Her kitten-heels slid the weave rug along the floor; it took some effort for her to get her footing. Once she stood, she tied the drawstring of his pants and adjusted her skirt. "Be right back," she said and scurried to the bathroom.
The thud of the door closing cleared the awe from head. He'd rather have kept it. Changes in mood were typical as of late. The bliss of her return was already twisting into dread. No longer consumed by the need to be inside her, his mind conjured questions, too many to brush off. He turned the knob of the toaster over. Studied the orange glow of its heating element. Had charity - or worse, pity - caused her return? Had distress afflicted her as deeply as it had him? Had she thought of him half as much as he'd thought of her?
Was she going to abandon him again?
He suddenly felt very silly and quite small for allowing himself a modicum of relief. Nothing had been clarified. By having a quickie on the floor after they'd barely exchanged a word, he'd set himself up to be hurt. The way he had when he'd kissed Helen, or when he'd considered Randall his friend, or when he'd believed, for one foolish minute, that Murray might be kind. He flinched against the fury simmering in his stomach. That same panic and anger from when Y/N had walked out of his apartment and, he'd been convinced, his life. He clutched the counter's curved edge so hard his fingertips went numb.
But then she curled herself into his side and squeezed him tight about the waist. Her blithe bearing was almost enough to quiet his tumult. "Anything I can help with?"
"No." He moved to dig through the freezer. Beans and franks with a brownie. English style fish 'n' chips. His mother's favorite, meatloaf. Only the teal packaging made them appealing. He grimaced at the meager offerings. He snatched one from the door, held it out with some trepidation. It was possible the gel-like gravy, slices of turkey roll, and drowned stuffing wouldn't put Y/N off. "Um, this was on sale. I bought a few."
"It's perfect." She accepted the carton and tore it open. "I heard a song on the radio yesterday that made me think of you."
"Oh yeah?" He closed the door of the toaster and set the timer with a flick of the wrist.
"The man was singing that his name was Carnival. That's your clown name, right?" She chuckled, dragged the black, wooden stool from under the counter, and perched on it. "It reminded me of the subway." A flirty pinch to his abdomen. "And that I still have to see one of your performances."
Arthur scoffed and averted his gaze, struggled to push through his anxiety and enjoy her. But he wasn't the type of man to let questions lie. When he'd gotten the courage to ask Y/N on a date, he'd taken the risk. When he'd read Penny's letter, he'd hopped on the first train to Wayne Manor. After the confrontation in Wayne Hall, he'd gone to Arkham and stolen that wretched file.
His curiosity tended to pick wounds that hadn't yet healed over.
The warmth of her hand met his back. "Thank you for giving me time."
The tenderness of her tone loosened the clench of his jaw. But he still couldn't bring himself to look at her. He'd done what she'd requested, because he'd feared mistakes would drive her further away, not because he'd wanted to or understood. He wondered if someone without a mental illness would have behaved differently. She'd pleaded with him to listen, kissed him goodbye, then left like it was nothing.
Whatever the case, her appreciation felt wrong. He didn't need gratitude. He needed answers. He inhaled sharply. "Why did you go?"
She traced the knobs of his spine. "I had to figure out the best way to be with you."
"Am I that hard to be with?" he bit out.
"Of course not. That's not what I said."
He gulped and released a ragged breath. "It broke my fucking-" He faltered when his voice cracked.
"Arthur, I didn't want to hurt you. I'm sorry." Her embrace was tight, a welcome pressure on his ribs despite the ache. Her palm slid up his sternum. "I was afraid to do more harm than good." He should have contradicted her, told her she was crazy if she believed loving him would damage him. But he stopped himself when she nuzzled his bicep. It was a while before she cleared her throat. "I love you more than I imagined possible." She giggled, then, and sniffed. "Which isn't bad for six weeks, Mr. Fleck."
Tears threatened as his eyelids fluttered. He managed to keep them at bay, covering her hand with his to distract himself. He pressed it tighter to him, until he thought her fingers might break through his chest. Finally, he met her stare. Found it full of love and what might have been joy at being together. In that moment, he knew nothing would ever separate his heart from hers.
~~~~~
"Christmas is coming up. Let me know what you'd like to do."
Arthur's slight nod was typical of their conversation this evening. Well, that wasn't quite fair. More like half of it. He'd been vacillating between bouts of confidence and timidity, with the latter tending to win out. He'd put his arm around her, examined the latest issue of TV Guide, and asked what she'd preferred to watch. She'd let him choose; he'd picked a three-hour variety show. Minutes later, he'd been squished into the corner of the sofa, legs neatly crossed with his hands clasped in his lap. She'd risen to refresh their ice teas, and he'd halted her with a kiss to her knuckles and his handsome grin. Upon her return, he'd focused on the floor and kept quiet. The changes were difficult to predict.
At least the periods of stillness made it easy for her to reflect, even as those reflections weren't entirely pleasant. She'd had faith in his ability to take care of himself and his judgment to reach out to her if he was in crisis. And while she had no regrets about taking five days to ensure she could sustain their relationship, she lamented the pain it had caused him. She'd detected it in his stiff posture in the kitchen. Seen it in his glistening eyes. Sensed it in his inconsistent reluctance to be touched.
It had been hard for her, too. The absence of their nightly calls, of shared laughter, of his presence had been keen. She would have returned to him without receiving his letter. But the ink on the page, with its occasional misspellings and earnest admissions ("I don't kno if I'm doing this right but I want to try. Maybe you want to try with me, to?") had prompted her to run to the subway before she'd taken off her coat. Confirmed that despite their differences, them being opposite in many ways, their hearts were the same.
He perked up slightly when the next performer came on, an old man from Whitefish, Montana and his paper mache ventriloquist dummy. Y/N's attention drifted to Arthur as he leaned forward onto his knees. Though the act was nothing special - terrible jokes, drinking water while the puppet talked, strumming a ukulele as it sang - his face crinkled in amusement. "They just have regular people on there," he said. "I haven't seen anyone from Gotham. I should try out."
Thankful he was focused on the show and not her, she pursed her lips. Had he forgotten how Murray had gone? Or Pogo's? Then again, he'd believed both had gone great. And she wanted him to succeed. To strive. To dream. His determination impressed her, made her proud. She searched for a truthful but kind answer. "Once you've got a set you're comfortable delivering, sure. Would you send a tape? I have a recorder you can borrow."
"I wrote a lot this week. Not many jokes but I've done some brainstorming." He flicked ash from his cigarette into the pink ashtray on the coffee table. Splayed his fingers and rubbed his palms together. The bob of his Adam's apple was faint in the dim, blue light. "Do you- Do you want to sleep over?" He turned to her.
Elated, she smiled widely and shifted to sit side-saddle. "I'd love to, but I didn't bring any clothes."
"Hold on." He rose from the couch and disappeared into the bedroom. After a minute, she followed to find him digging through a couple of cardboard boxes. Boxes filled with his mother's things, she realized. She'd have to follow-up for details, find out what had happened to ensure the transition would go as smoothly as possible. Though the relationship between him and Penny was complicated, change wouldn't be easy.
He held out a threadbare, light-blue, nylon nightdress with ruffled cap sleeves and a ribbon at the neckline. "Here."
Y/N cocked her head. The gown was exceedingly narrow, its seams stretched. If she had been inclined to wear it, it wouldn't have fit. Arthur's hopeful expression made it plain he did not see the oddity in offering his romantic partner his mother's nightwear. It was logical, she supposed. His years had been spent living hand to mouth. He didn't have any siblings. Hand-me-downs - a spare sweater here, a pair of socks there - would have come from Penny. A tad strange, to be sure. But poverty had a way of making the abnormal normal.
"Thanks," Y/N said. "But I'll be fine in my panties." At his pout, she closed the inches between them. "If you have a t-shirt, I'll take it." His brows lifted and he gave a toothy smile, comprised of surprise and conceit. The shirt he retrieved from the living room was plain and white. The lightly stained armpits didn't bother her, nor did its loose fit. It was part of his work outfit, he explained. And he claimed she looked cute in it.
Her sleep was restful, deep, better than it had been the last two weeks. Arthur being nearby and her certainty when she'd lain her head on his pillow had calmed her. She didn't think about the Wayne Foundation. She didn't worry about how to pursue a future with him. She didn't waste her energy being afraid of powerlessness. Warmth filled her, aided by contentment and cozy blankets.
When the mattress sunk beneath his weight, she didn't check the clock. Judging by the speed with which her drowsiness dissipated and the blackness of the room, it was likely around 4:00 AM. She'd gotten a solid five hours. With a slight stretch and mewl, she blinked up at him. Her elbow accidentally bumped his chest. "Aren't you tired?"
"No." He palmed her shoulder, caution palpable in every movement. Then his caress dragged down her upper arm, hovered over her breast.
She stroked his stubbled cheek. "What are you up to?"
"Making sure you're really here."
It was unclear if he was kidding. The extent of his imaginations or hallucinations - if that's what he experienced - weren't yet known to her. She recalled how he'd clutched her jacket, the way he'd fiddled with her wall calendar and coffee table when he'd come to her for help. Tactility oriented him, as it had her father before the final stages of his diagnosis. And, outside of acute episodes, Loving Someone with... had advised her to carry-on as always.
Laughing gently, she entwined their legs. "Where else would I be?"
"I don't know," he scoffed. He tucked his chin. Silence permeated the room, interrupted only by their exhalations. Eventually, he spoke, his rasp bashful and desperate. "Are you going to leave me again?"
"No." She pressed his hand to her breast, tried to soothe his tremble away. "I like it here."
She could hear his smile in the dark. He dipped his head to capture her lips. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her again. She kissed him back until she ached with emptiness. Until she felt him hard against her hip.
"Y/N?" he breathed into her mouth.
Her pulse throbbed in her ears. "What?"
His forehead met hers and she shivered all over. "I wanna make you come."
~~~~~
Drip, drip, drip. A calming, predictable sound. The pungent smell of generic brew wafted to his nostrils, slightly burnt but familiar. Coffee. He was making his girlfriend coffee before she went to work. After they'd made love and snoozed until sunrise. After she'd admonished him for smoking in bed, then caressed his flaccid sex and teased him about his "secret freckle." (He'd covered his face in horror and delight and promised himself that one day he'd find a "secret" on her.) He hummed along to the radio, though he disliked the song, and whistled while he filled their cups. Once he'd added three sugars to his and the last of his milk to hers, he padded to the bath. He leaned on the doorframe, an imitation of nonchalance.
In her apparent rush to get to him, Y/N hadn't simply neglected to pack a change of clothing. She was swiping his stick of deodorant under her arms with haste. When she grabbed his comb and tried to tame her hair, he didn't mind. She declined his offer of Penny's eyeliner and mascara but that was fine. She didn't need them, anyway.
As she buttoned her pleated blouse, he giggled. He'd heard jokes about women going to work in identical outfits two days in a row. The innuendo had escaped him until now. A thrill went through him at finally getting the joke. He blushed. "You're dressed the same."
"I left Patricia a message that I'd be late. It won't surprise anyone." She accepted the proffered mug and took a long drink. A mischievous look as she arched a brow. "She'll want details."
Arthur's eyes widened and he rubbed his forehead. This would take getting used to.
She squeezed a line of toothpaste onto her index finger. "What are you doing today? Any gigs?"
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, braced his arm on the wall. "I have to call the hospital. Figure out where to send my mother." He was glad to begin the process of moving on, moving forward. To start building a life of his own. Freed from the woman who hadn't protected him. Paired with the woman who understood him most. Still. He was daunted.
After a few seconds of attempting to brush her teeth, Y/N rinsed her mouth and washed her hands. "The social worker should be able to help. There must be homes specializing in lobotomy patients, given how common they were. Actually..." She stepped to him and wrapped her arms around his middle. "I bet there's an advocacy group for the elderly in Gotham. I'll call around on my break. We can have lunch and review their recommendations."
The tightness in his chest prevented him from holding her gaze. His longings for kindness didn't make it any less peculiar. He hoped he would be able to accept it without skepticism soon, like a normal person. That he wouldn't wait for the other shoe to drop. He tried to fight his negative thoughts rather than give into them.
But he couldn't. Not yet. "Why are you doing this?" he mumbled.
She gave a small shrug, as if what she was about to say wasn't a miracle. "I love you. Why wouldn't I?" Before he could react, she walked to the front door and slipped on her heels. "Besides, we should plan this weekend. Shall We Dance is showing at the Monarch. We could catch it and have dinner at my place. And there's a doctor I found for you - when you're feeling up to it. We'll go over the particulars."
The offer to see the film, one he knew every number of, was an obvious attempt to butter him up for that discussion. It would work. "That sounds nice." He went to her side and took her coat off the wall mounted rack, guided her arms into the sleeves
"Arthur," she started, zipping her jacket. Her pretty eyes met his. "I wasn't going to end our relationship. I don't want you to fear that."
He winced and clutched his hands together, annoyed she had raised the subject again after the wonderful morning they'd shared. "I believe you now."
"Back home, I made mistakes. That's why I needed time." She shook her head. "The thought of repeating them with you..."
Mistakes? What kind of mistakes was she referring to? She'd said her divorce had been mutual. A big fight with her sister or mother hadn't been mentioned. She almost never talked about what had happened with her father, other than to name his diagnosis and state she'd gone on medication. She was a good woman. Whatever she had done, it couldn't be that terrible. Not half as bad as the notions that wormed their way into his brain like a broken record.
Then she continued. "I didn't know what to do then. But I think I do now. " She nuzzled his sideburn and carded her fingers through his hair. "If I see you walking towards a cliff, I won't follow. I'll pull you back before you get there."
He stared at her, blinking rapidly as he tried to hold himself together. Her words felt like the kind of fantasy he'd created to ease his misery. To try to convince himself he should exist another day. That he should stick around. Multiple hospitalizations had proven that hadn't always worked. But this was new. Real. Maybe that reality would allow him, for a little while, to be all right.
He cupped her face, drifted his thumbs over her cheeks. She leaned into him, into the kisses he placed on her brow, her nose, her mouth. His lips parted but all he could manage was a shaky exhale. The press of his face to hers.
She must have noticed he was overwhelmed. It frustrated him - he wanted to find a way to articulate himself. But her peck to his jaw, her hand covering his, made him feel safe. "Meet you at my office at one?"
"Mm-hmm." He nodded into her hair, not quite ready to let go.
Gently, she pulled away from his grasp, took her purse, and opened the door. She smiled. "Call if you need anything."
At that, she strode down the hall in the direction of the elevator. He stepped out and watched until she disappeared around the corridor's corner. He rested against the door and closed his eyes, wishing harder than he ever had before that every morning would be like this for the rest of his life.
~~~~~
Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve, @ithinkimaperson, @sweet-nothings04, @stephieraptorr, @rommies, @fallenstarsabyss, @gruffle1, @octopus-plasma, @tsukiakarinobara, @arthur-flecks-lovely-smile, @another-day-in-chuckletown, @hhandley80, @jokerownsmysoul, @mrscarnival
#arthur fleck#arthur fleck fanfic#arthur fleck x reader#arthur fleck x ofc#arthur fleck x female reader#joker 2019#watchwhathappens
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Hi :) Could you write enzo (tvd) x reader please? His girlfriend lost her humanity after someone she loved was killed, and enzo try everything he can for her to get it back (and succeeds)
Yes! Here it is!! ❤️🖤❤️
Request still open.
⚠️⚠️Warnings ⚠️⚠️ torcher, death, loss of humanity, sad, angst. Angsty with a happy ending?
Fandom: The vampire diaries
Pairing: Enzo x reader
Posted: (7-10-20) 1:05 am
Y/n’s world crushed when her brother was killed by Damon Salvatore. Damon was being an asshole and decided he was going to kill some random person, just because Elena didn’t want to be with him. He drained Y/ns brother dry of blood. What was worse was he knew it was Y/ns brother. He knew that Y/n was a friend of Elenas. That maybe if he killed her brother it would make Elena feel upset. But that wasn’t the case.
Y/n walked into her house that she shared with her slightly younger brother. -he was only about a year or two younger than her.
“Jackson!” She called, sitting her bag on the sofa as she walked through the living room to the kitchen to grab a blood bag. - her brother knew she was a vampire.
“Jack?” Y/n asked as she noticed a puddle of blood on the hardwood floor in the kitchen.
“Oh my god.” Y/ns voice broke as she fell down beside her brother. Her arms wrapped around him as tears went down her face.
He was the last member of her family. All her other family either didn’t talk to them or was dead.
“Please, don’t leave me.” She cried as she held onto him.
She already knew was dead so she didn’t even try to give him any of her blood.
“Please!” She sobbed into her brothers chest. She could see the two puncture wounds on his neck. She knew who did this, which made her sick to her stomach.
“Don’t leave me. Your the only thing I have left.” She cried for hours until she couldn’t no more. Her phone rang, but she never answered it. She couldn’t pull herself away from her brothers cold dead body.
A couple hours later she heard knocking at the door, but didn’t answer it. Whoever was knocking on the door let themselves in.
“Y/n, love. You never answered my calls. What’s goin- Oh my god. What happen?” Enzo asked as he bent down to H/n holding her brother.
“He killed him.” She cried holding onto her baby brother as if it would bring him back.
“He knew if he hurt me he would hurt Elena. But he went to far, Enzo.” She cried as she held on her brother tighter. Afraid to let go.
“Damon did this?” Enzo asked as he looked down at his girlfriend of 3 years.
She nodded as she wiped her teary eye.
“I’m going to make him pay.” He whispered looking at Y/n. She shook her head as she looked down at her brother. He noticed her take a deep breath then close her eyes.
“Y/n, Love.” He started slowly as he noticed what she was doing.
Grabbing her shoulders he shook her.
“Don’t, y/n. Cutting it off isn’t going to help not won’t bring him back.”
Y/n smirked as she opened her eyes back open. Her once bright y/e/c eyes were dark no emotion left in them.
“No, but it will make it easier for me to kill Damon.” With that she fled out the house to find Damon.
Enzo cursed as he grabbed his phone ringing Damon as fast as he could.
“Mate, you fucked up.”
“How did I fuck up? I feel good. I just had a fresh bite, and I’m feeling free as hell.” Damon slurred.
“Are you drunk, mate?” Enzo questioned as he started towards his car to go to the Salvatore house before his love.
“Just a little bit. (Knock knock). Hey look someone’s at the door. Probably my next meal. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”
“Damon, don’t.” Too late Damon hung you.
“Y/n, what can I do for you?” Damon asked allowing what he thought was his friend. But right now she wasn’t not a friend. She saw red. She was going to murder the oldest Salvatore is she could.
“You killed him. You killed my brother. So,” she starred at the man with a murderous glare.
“Oh, we’re talking about him. Yeah, didn’t really mean to. I mean, i just snapped and had myself a taste. Didn’t really know he died.” He chuckled looking at Y/n.
She growled as her y/e/c eyes turned red Veins appearing below her eyes.
“Look, we can talk this out can’t we. I mean, you saved him didn’t you.” Damon noticed the lack of humanity in her eyes and started to get nervous.
“I’m gonna kill you. But first a little bit of torcher.” Vamp running over to him she snapped his neck.
He thumped down to the floor “dead”.
Y/n grabbed him and pulled him to her car. Putting his body in the trunk and driving to her parents lake house in a different county.
Damon groaned as he slowly woke up. He tried to move his hands, but couldn’t his hands were chained down to the metal chair. He looked at his arm and noticed a IV going into his arm. He figured the IV was full of Vervain because he was burning from the inside out.
“Awe, look who’s awake. I thought you’d never wake up.” Y/n smirked as she walked over to Damon with a wooden stake in her hand.
“Your not gonna stake me.” Damon spoke confidently.
“Oh really, well..” she stabbed him quite literally in his back. Make him scream out in pain.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I think I just back stabbed you.” She giggled.
“Bitch.”
“I prefer murdeous psycho bitch. Actually, because that’s what I’m about to do. Become a murderous Psyco bitch.”
She pulled the stake from his back twisting it making it hurt worse than what it needed.
“Look at what I stole from Jeremy. You see I know how to use a gun. Always have, my family. Well, my late family. Which is dead, by the way.” Y/n held the pistol with wooden bullets pointed it at Damon’s knee.
“I don’t think you need to walk for a while.” She said shooting him twice in both knees. He was hissed and yelped in pain.
“Now, the torcher is just beginning.” She whispered as she bent down put her face in his.
“How does vervain feel going through veins?” Y/n asked as she sat in a chair in front of the oldest Salvatore.
“I stings, you asshole.”
“Well, I don’t think stinging is good enough.” She laughed.
Walking over to a bucket with a bunch of vervain in it. She put on gloves she grabbed the vervain and walked back over to Damon.
“Open up.” She smirked. Shoving the vervain in his mouth.
“Ahhh!” Damon screamed in agony.
“This is just the beginning, Damon. Nobody is going to find us. Ever. Nobody knows where we are. And I ditched both of our phones. So they won’t be able to track us. Plus I have sage burning. So not even the most power witch will be able to find us.” She rambled with a smirk on her face.
This went on for days. Y/n would torcher him, drain his blood, replacing the blood with vervain, shoot him with the wooden bullets. Making sure not to puncture his heart. But to keep the torcher going as long as she could. That is until someone came knocking on the door.
“Company I wonder who that could be. Doesn’t matter.” Y/n said grabbing the stake and stabbing Damon in his ribs.
“Get up and walk.” She demanded after she unchained the man.
He was pale and weak. Barely able to walk. But did as he was told.
She dragged him by the chains and pulled him up the stairs to the front door where she seen Stefan, Enzo, Caroline, Bonnie and Elena standing.
“Oh, joy more people.” She sarcastically spoke looking at her friends and boyfriend.
“Oh my god.” Bonnie gasped looking at a bloody and weak Damon.
“What, oh this?” She giggled wickedly.
“This is nothing. You should see my brother. Spoiler alert, he’s dead.” Y/n laughed with no emotion.
Everyone in front of her noticed the lack of emotion.
“You can’t come in. I’m afraid. You see I had a special witch bitch friend of mine do a spell where nobody can come in here until Damon’s dead or until I decide they can. So, Bonnie. Elena, You can’t even come in here if you tried. And the rest of you well. You see your all vampire so I ain’t worried ‘bout. But how bout you enjoy the front stage view of me killing Damon.”
“Y/n, you don’t have to do this.” Stefan started looking at his brother and then to his friend.
“No, I do have to do this. He killed the last of my family. Do you understand how it feels to have all your family killed in front of you?!” Y/n yelled as she looked at the younger Salvatore her eyes starting to become glassy as some emotions started slowly coming back to her.
“Yes, I do.” Elena said breaking into the conversation.
“You have no part in this. It’s your fucking fought that my brothers dead. If you would’ve just said the goddamn truth about loving them both of them. My brother would be alive. I would have my humanity. But you know I like being without my humanity. I mean do you know how good it feels to bite into someone and not worry about draining them?!” Y/n bellowed as she made her way in front of the group.
“Y/n, love. Please let’s talk about this.” Enzo spoke softly looking at his broken girlfriend in tears.
“Please, let me be there for you. You don’t need to do this. It’ll hurt him worse if you let him live. He will have live with the guilt knowing her killed the last of your family.” Enzo tried to get her to not kill Damon.
Yes, everyone there was mad at Damon. But they weren’t going to murder him.
“No!” She bellowed holding her head as more feelings started breaking through the barrier.
“Just stop! Make it stop!!” She sobbed holding her head as all the things she has done in the pass three days come back to her.
“Come in.” She whispered to the four people in front of her.
“If you don’t get him, I swear to any god out there I will kill him.” Y/ns eyes flashed black and red.
“Just think about your family. Know they are in a better place. They wouldn’t want you like this.”
She felt Enzos arms go around her as Stefan and Caroline but their arms around Damon and taking him away.
“I’m so sorry.” Y/n cried as she felt all her humanity come back to her. Hitting her like a  title wave.
“It’s okay, love. It’s gonna be okay.” He kissed her forehead as he held her in her arms.
And it was okay. Y/n took her time to try to get back to normal. Luckily she wasn’t alone. Enzo was there the whole time for her. Anything she needed he was there for her. He loved her too much to just let her go.
#the vampire diaries#tvd#Enzo x reader#humanity#the vampire diaries Enzo x reader#tvd enzo x reader#the vampire diaries x reader
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taako meets death (again)
(also posted to my ao3)
taako has met two raven queens in his life before now.
well, close enough, at least. most - though not all - of the worlds the starblaster had traveled to had gods, and surprisingly enough, those gods were usually - though not always - strikingly similar to their homeworlds gods. (this was useful, because one of the crews number relied very heavily on a certain nature god for his magic. luckily, the nature or life god of each world always seemed to have a soft spot for little old merle, even if they werent merles traditional cloven-hoofed pan.)
twice, taako had met the death god - someone equivalent to faeruns raven queen.
this had led to taakos understandable trepidation upon kravitz finally putting his foot down and insisting taako meet his mother boss.
the first time taako had met a raven queen, she had been… overwhelming. the light of creation had fallen into a forest dedicated to her and her followers, and the head acolyte refused to give the wandering crew the light unless they first received permission from the queen.
the crew had agreed, with no other option, bracing themselves to firmly explain the direness of the situation. surely a goddess would be intelligent enough to understand.
that raven queen had burst into a forest cleaning in an explosion of black feathers, half illusion, half steel, so that when lup brushed the smoky feathers from her eyes they blurred and dissipated, but when magnus tried the same thing he yelped and brought his hand back bleeding.
that raven queens laughter had been eerie and echoing, almost but not quite mocking, almost but not quite infectious, almost but not quite joyous. the crew had stood firm and offered their argument, and the queen had given them tests and tokens and bargains and tricky promises with too many clauses and loopholes and at the end of it all the ipres numbers had been halved and the rest were weary and worn as they caught the light of creation and fled with only minutes to spare, the faelike laughter of death following them terribly even through the overwhelming cacophony of the hungers assault.
that laughter had trailed after them longer, if only in their heads. taako would be making stir fry, planning outfits, swapping merles shampoo for hair-loss potions, when hed have to sit down suddenly and breathe through the musical trills of the raven queens cruel pleasure. it had seemed to bounce in his head the way a rubber ball might, ricocheting off thoughts and feelings until it rolled under a couch to be forgotten about, till some slight movement sent it rolling and bouncing about once more.
davenport had died in an illusion, thinking he was saving his crew. poor merle had been choked by his own plants, betrayal writ across hos face. barrys skin had grown sickly purple with poison - ten to one odds arent very good odds. taako doesnt forget easily. he decides the goddess of death can go fuck herself.
the second raven queen taako had met much later in their journey, and taako had met her alone.
lup and barry had become liches a few cycles back. it was something taako had still been coming to terms with.
taako loves lup. this is an immutable fact of any and every universe. taako loves lup and lup loves taako and not death or memory or space can separate them, not for long. but seeing your sister die, and then… go beyond death, to twist herself and latch on to a chance that she may never return except in madness and spite - thats a hard thing to grasp, even when she succeeds. taako had still found himself shivering when his sister forgot she had a body again and grabbed a hot pan off the stove, crying out in pain. taako still woke sweating from nightmares in which his sister and his friend flew apart and reformed as cackling red robed horrors of insanity and cruelty, too far for him to reach.
until that cycle, though, barry and lups choice had only been an asset.
but some raven queens do not take kindly to anything they see as a perversion of their domain.
barely a week into that cycle, taako had awoken from the guilty non-elven pleasure of a nap only to find himself in some cold, hard court, fashioned seemingly of steel and silver and concrete, onyx lining the floor and the only color coming from sparse sapphires sparkled throughout the long echoing hall.
at the end of it - and taako had known his eyes must have played tricks on him, because at first the being at the end of the hall seemed, while large, not much larger than a giant, but when hed called a nervous greeting his voice had echoed so awfully he knew the hall stretched much farther than hed thought and the goddess at the end of it must have been unimaginably huge.
her eyes had glinted a flinty sapphire in her carven steel face when she ordered him to defend the existence of his sister and his sisters lover.
taako had tried. he truly, truly had. but while taako is a being of preservation and caution, full of intelligence and cleverness, he is not one of cold hard logic. perhaps lucretia could have convinced this raven queen, the only of their number who had ever been able to grasp true hard reason… but taako doubts it. he had doubted it then and he doubts it even more these days.
the point is, taako, for all his love for his family and his brilliant wit and devotion (probably, in fact, because of it) taakos arguments couldnt convince that raven queen. she saw past his genuine belief that lup and barry had made a good decision, and into his fears for her, and the goddess of death had based her own argument on those. she won. taako never had a chance.
he, lup, and barry had woken up in the next cycle, newly resurrected. taako never stops feeling guilty about it.
so. yes.
taako is more than a little nervous about meeting the goddess his boyfriend serves so devotedly. but, and youd be hard pressed to convince him to admit it, taako would do anything for kravitz. and despite it all he does actually want to see what the deal is with his sister and his best friends boss, and his patron gods… friend? lover? girlfriend? taako isnt quite sure what fate and death are to each other, but its definitely something.
kravitz lays a warm hand on taakos shoulder, but taako squares them up. he can do this, for fucks sake - hes died a shitton of times, he can meet death.
the doors open and taakos breath - the only breath in this realm of the dead - catches in his throat.
taako is a die hard istus fan, and shell always be his goddess. but if taako wasnt a taken elf, hed follow the raven queen, he realizes with a startle.
shes beautiful, yes. shes gorgeous, and taakos always been weak for beauty, but hers isnt the cold hard beauty of gemstones and gold, thinks his nimble fingers snatch up and hoard in his endless pockets. the raven queen is beautiful in a way that taako cant describe as anything other than simple.
he cant pin down any features. she has a kind face, gentle hands, bright eyes, but taako can tell she is a goddess because despite staying still the image of her flicks and shifts in his head. at once she seems to have every kind face hes ever seen, even if he doesnt recognize anyone. her hands reach out to comfort him - no more than comfort - but she stands without moving in front of taako and kravitz. her eyes glitter and sparkle and crinkle up with cheerful laughter, except taako isnt entirely sure she has eyes at all, or maybe she has too many.
he thinks… he thinks maybe she has wings, or maybe theyre arms, or maybe theyre black fabric, draped around and behind and below and above her, shifting with the last breaths of every mortal in the universe. its darkness but its not scary, taako realizes, its solacing, healing, the way that he feels when dusk passes to night and the sky is huge and warm and the brush of lups hand against his as she says goodbye for the night is a relief and a love.
hello, taako, death says. its lovely to meet you.
she means it, taako knows. he can tell, somehow. shes just happy to meet him. nothing more, nothing less.
'oh,' taako says aloud, and kravitz laughs his quiet sweet dorky laugh, and the raven queen laughs too, and its just that. its just a laugh, and its a nice one.
'oh indeed,' kravitz says. 'taako, did you really think id serve a monster or a cruel master?'
'well,' taako replies hesitantly, 'honestly, homie, i kind of thought you were, and id, like, have to start some quest to slay death itself and rescue you.'
the anthropomorphic personification of death laughs again, a note of delight in her tender voice. i like him, my kravitz, she says, good job.
kravitz does the dead-reaper equivalent of blushing. taako grins a little because its very cute.
'death is different here,' taako hums. 'its… it wasnt like this anywhere else i went. it was cold, or cruel, or empty. i dunno why its different in your world.'
'then i guess we're the lucky ones, huh?' kravitz asks. taako leans up against him and murmurs an agreement. 'its why i love my job so much, why it means so much to me. its not that im some hardass, i just…'
'yea, cha'boy gets it now,' assures taako. 'still.' he looks at the ever-shifting, ever-stable face of death again. 'you better treat my boy kravitz and my lady istus well, capiche? or we will have issues.'
its a deal, taako, the raven queen says, smiling.
when taako opens his eyes, hes in his home in the material plane, and kravitz is next to him, and theyre both smiling.
#this is unedited and also i wrote it at 4am#taako#kravitz#taakitz#the raven queen#taz balance#the adventure zone balance#fanfiction#death tw#trigger warning for death because it is a fic about the goddess of death#and also taako mentions some times that they died before story and song (so they dont count)#m text#fic#text#ask to tag#o shit yea and its lowkey lowkey inspired by gaimans death because i like the idea of a nice death
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The Complete Tragedy of Lord Egbert
Your feedback has inspired me to craft an entire story for Evil!John so here you go.
After the game, John Egbert tries to go back to living a normal life, only to discover that he can’t. He’s literally worshipped everywhere he goes, so just living in a normal house is out. He tries to distract himself from that by hanging out with his friends, but he can’t help but feel like he’s third wheeling. Between Rose and Kanaya being all lovey dovey and Dave and Karkat always being this fucking close to just kissing already, John can’t help but feel awkward. Even Jade never seems to fully focus on him. He figures he shouldn’t hold it against them and decides to make new friends instead.
This similarly doesn’t work out. Vriska is now focusing on patching things up with Terezi, while the other trolls just show no interest in him. The Alpha kids are similarly focused on fixing their relationship kerfuffle, not to mention Jane’s Dad tends to bring up painful memories, causing John to spontaneously leave. John eventually decides to isolate himself, figuring that his friends will visit once everything is in order, but it never happens. He’s still invited to parties and such, but he’s always just… there. He’s hardly even acknowledged or talked too. No one pays him any mind.
Constantly neglected, John is just left to fester. His old life and everything he enjoyed doing is gone. Gone. Gone forever. Every second of every day forces that thought to sink in. He’s left staring out the window and pondering. Everyone else got a happy ending, why not him?
He decides to fix it. Using his Retcon Powers to mess with Doomed Timelines, he tries to see if it’s possible to get a happy ending. It is…. but not without screwing over someone else. There are timelines where he and his friends talk daily, only for most of the trolls to die. Timelines where he ends up friends with everyone, only for Dave or Dirk to end up neglected. Each time he thinks “No, I can’t do that. That wouldn’t be fair to them.” He eventually settles on trying to find a way for everyone to get a happy ending and goes scouring Paradox Space for an answer. The conclusion he comes to is that he needs to control the narrative so that everyone lives happily ever after and begins planning to accomplish just that. It’s only after studying as much of Paradox Space as possible that he puts his plan into action.
Knowing that his friends wouldn’t approve of his upcoming actions, he decides to distract them to keep them out of the way. He just occasionally sinks a city or obliterates and a planet with a storm to keep their attention. It’s okay, once he controls the narrative, he’ll just undo it. No harm done. In the meantime, he travels across the multiverse gathering as many heroes as he can. Whether they be random players (“Hey, I’m John Egbert, Hero of the Multiverse! And I need your help!”) Or alternate versions of himself (“I’m you from the future! No time to explain! Follow me to the secret basevand join the resistance against evil!”). He also begins gathering up some of Caliborn’s followers. He claims to be Lord English, having possessed John as a last ditch effort to survive his death. In order to never be defeated again, he needs his followers to gather up various JuJu artifacts to increase his power.
Eventually, he sends his Heroes against a Lord of Breath, claiming him to be a threat to the Multiverse. They defeat him and lock him away, giving John opportunity to use his JuJus to absorb his powers. With newfound power, John adopts the moniker Lord Egbert, mostly as a front to appease the LE worshippers. Lord Egbert promises his newly dubbed Egbert Armada that he’ll gather them all again once another threat to the Multiverse is found and then orders LE’s apostles too gather more JuJus. He repeats the process continuously, absorbing the powers of several Lords and Muses with intent on becoming the most powerful being in Paradox Space, strong enough to eventually bend the narrative to his will.
Eventually, some of the more cosmically aware players in his session, such as Aradia, Terezi, and Rose, become increasingly aware of something related to breath becoming dangerously powerful in the outskirts of Paradox Space. As such, John needs to step up his distractions. He find the ancient Beforan Empire and starts pulling strings. Playing to Beforan Feferi’s ego, claiming she’s the only one “kind” and “wise” enough to show humans the way. Meanwhile, he frames Beforus for the atrocities he commited in the Alpha Timeline and leaves them to sort things out. After all, Beforus is huge, but it’s no Alternia. They’ll only last so long against a bunch of God Tiers.
Eventually, Dave figures out something is wrong with John and confronts him, leading to a similar scene to the one you dipected. Dave travels back in time to meet up with John before he starts slipping into his funk and the two begin gathering up players from past, present, and future to defeat Lord Egbert. Will they succeed? Or will Lord Egbert get his Happily Ever After?
Personality wise, I’d compare Lord Egbert to Hank Scorpio from The Simpsons. Kindly chatting up a friend and colleague one minute, blowing up bridges the next. Look up the episode “You Only Move Twice” or even just Hank Scorpio to see what I’m talking about. He’s hilarious, friendly, and utterly ruthless in equal measure.
In conclusion, Homestuck^2 would’ve been better if John Egbert was the main villain, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.
—
Mod Sky:
DUDE OH MY GOSH I NEED THIS TO BE A THING I NEED THIS TO BE A THING - FANFIC OR COMIC OR OTHER, I LOVE IT!
Dude.. christ, this is absolutely amazing! Not only did you give a method to HOW he’d to ultimate BUT you also gave him a strategy to do it all!! You also gave him a sad backstory AND good..ish morals to stand by, dude you achieved it ALL here! I cannot stop going back and rereading things, gosh.. Like the comparison to Hank is amazing, at first I couldn’t remember so I had to look it up but as soon as I saw the dude’s face I knew and gosh dang it dude you’re correct.
There’s so much I can say but I’m gonna be honest; I want John to win. I’m not biased! As much as I love John and just automatically want him to succeed, I want him to win because I want a bad guy to win for once, they have their reasons just as much as good guys do so why not? Besides, it would make for a GREAT story, don’t you think?
I would like to personally thank you for this evil!John anon, for writing this all out and for sending it to us I preesh it SO much honestly! If you can make something of this I would be on it in a FLASH, I swear! So thank you so much.
P.S. I love the name Lord Egbert! It’s.. perfection :D
EDIT: This post was NOT submitted by me, it was submitted by Evil!John Anon!! I don’t know why it says me
#preesh submission#homestuck#john egbert#evil!john anon#mod sky#evil!john#LIKE SERIOUSLY THIS IS AN AMAZING CONCEPT!!#i am SO sorry it took me so long to get this out trust me i wanted this out MUCH sooner but things got in the way#and i wanted to give you a good response too!!#i wish i could respond to every little thing but MAN that would get SO long#just.. the fact that you'd bring beforus into this too.. and allow john to get so powerful and have his own army..#evil!john anon i love you#i really do#i wanna give you a big hug dude#i am just SO happy you came here honestly i am SO happy dude!! my lil john blog's attracted some GREAT concepts!!#dude i really preesh you i preesh you so much#i love this i love this#mod fav#huge preesh#BOOM#i also didn't want to take up TOO much of the spotlight with my reply because this is your work so :D#OH YEAH DUDE BY THE WAY I LOVE HOW YOU CALLED YOURSELF THE EVIL!JOHN ANON THAT IS AMAZING#long post#text post#like.. imagine lord jake english meeting lord egbert.. just.. imagine that *eyes emoji*#submission#i'm so sorry evil!john anon i'm so sorry#i hope i didn't do anything wrong?? i literally have no idea why it says that..#first ever submission aaahhh.. D:#okay now it says submitted by anonymous on mobile?? tumblr please fix yourself
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