#oh and Gravitas taking it up the ass
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The Temple of Mythal and Greek Sculpture
Or: How Bioware takes from history without any nuance.
--
Picture this. You're me, playing Inquisition for the first time. You get to the Temple of Mythal, the doors shut behind you and you finally get to look around. It's a typical elven ruin for the game, nothing much seems different...
Hold on.
Hold the fuck on.
You know what that is.
You know what that's based on, and for a long time after it tickles you. Oh, maybe that meant something in the grander scheme of things! We've never seen such a blatant reference to a real-life sculpture anywhere else in game (to my knowledge at the time)! Maybe it'll come up later and it'll all make sense!
Here's the deal. I've been bothered by this for years. The more I think about it, the more angry I become. Anger over a single fucking type of statue, you say? There's a lot of other shit to be angry over in this game, and you choose this?
YES! I CHOOSE THIS! AND THIS IS WHY.
--
Picture this. You're me again, aged 14 this time. You're in the Louvre, the first museum of Western classical art you've ever been to. You've grown up in a place where this interest could only be cultivated from extra-curricular reading, and for a kid that age from my country to be ass deep in Greek and Egyptian myth is frankly lmao. Neurodivergent. Anyway.
So we're wandering around the Louvre, I've just taken my parents through the Egyptian section and given them a thorough infodump on everything I know about burial rites.
And then we enter this room. And I very nearly fall to my knees when I catch sight of her.
This is the sculpture the statues at the Temple of Mythal are based on - one Winged Victory of Samothrace.
She is a sculpture from the Hellenestic era, depicting the goddess Nike stood at the prow of a ship. Her head and both arms are missing, save one hand with two fingers (also in the Louvre but displayed separately). She was found on the Greek island of Samothrace, among the ruins of what was known as the Sanctuary of the Great Gods. It seemed like she was displayed at the top of a hill, looming down at all that regarded her.
I’ve had the absolute privilege of seeing her in person twice in my life, both before and after the 2013 restoration. And let me tell you, regardless of which staircase that leads you there, the sight of her will stop you in your tracks.
[Now with people, for scale.]
She is massive. Larger than life, and immediately is the centre of your attention. It's not the fact that she has no head, no arms. No, you will realise the closer you get to her, the more you're able to appreciate the details of this absolutely astounding piece of history.
No. It's because she feels so alive.
The way her robes drape against flesh, wet from sea-spray or rain, yet flowing with the motion of an invisible wind. The wings cast behind her dramatically as her right foot steps forward. Standing tall and proud, unflinching, unbowed against the elements. Even without her arms, you can feel how dynamic the torso and legs are.
You don't need to be an art historian, or even have any knowledge of Greek myth or art history to stand in front of her, as I once did as a young teen, and nearly be brought to tears.
So.
This brings me to the first of the two main gripes I have with the way this sculpture is used in Inquisition.
Compared to the way she's displayed in the Louvre, and also presumably how she was presented to her original audience - larger than life, looming, powerful, beautiful - she is relegated instead to smaller, repeating statues of the same nature throughout the temple.
This diminishes the purpose of the original sculpture, which was to instill a sense of awe and wonder. The singularity that forces you to focus and appreciate the scale and intricacy. The aura, the gravitas of having a single, massive sculpture of such a dynamic figure is completely gone.
And to make things worse, they Mythal-ify her. Adding a helmed head and changing her beautiful feathered wings to leathery dragon wings. They don't even add arms, which is odd because the original sculpture very clearly is missing its arms.
And, may I ask, Why?
It feels cheap, like they saw the Winged Victory and were like 'oh shit this is a cool sculpture, we should add it in game' without giving any fucking thought to what the sculpture means.
Which brings me to the second gripe. The complete disregard for the symbolism of the Winged Victory.
Detail from the Athena fountain, Parliament Building of Vienna, showing Nike the Winged Victory in the palm of Athena's hand [source]
Nike is a minor Greek deity, said to be the daughter of Pallas (a Titan) and the river Styx. Her other siblings by the same parents include Zelus (Zeal), Bia (Might) and Kratos (Strength).
Yes. That Kratos.
She was one of the earliest gods to pledge her allegiance to Zeus in the Titonomachy, and after the victory of the Olympians, Nike and the other gods that allied with them were allowed to live on Olympus. In her aspect as Victory, she is closely associated with several of the major Greek gods, and in particular, Athena.
There's also her Roman counterpart, Victoria. This version doesn't come with the backstory Nike has, but is more of a general concept of victory. This is the aspect that is present in a lot of the modern sculptures and interpretations of Nike/Victoria:
Left: Detail from the Berlin Victory Column. Right: Detail from the Victoria Memorial, London. Note the similar iconography, of a woman seemingly standing against a strong wind, fabric and cloth adhering and yet flowing against the breeze, wings outstretched.
From this, we can probably extrapolate what our beloved Winged Victory might've looked like. Here's an artist's render of one possibility:
There's some iconography we need to go through before moving on - symbols that are commonly associated with Nike/Victoria.
One is the trumpet as see in the reconstruction above, the sound and symbol of the end of war, of impending peace. Another is the laurel wreath, another Greek symbol of victory and achievement. Famously, laurel wreaths were used to crown victors of the original Olympic games.
This is another conversation entirely, but there’s a discussion to be had about the duality of Elgar’nan and Mythal, in term of vengeance and justice, and how an emotional rage versus a calculated wisdom can be compared to the difference between the two Greek gods of war – Ares and Athena.
If we can compare Mythal to Athena, in the sense of her wisdom in making difficult decisions, then it’s not a stretch to associate Mythal with the symbolism of Nike, and therefore explain the presence of statues similar to the Winged Victory in her temple.
But since Bioware absolutely did not put this in the game for anything other than the Aesthetic, there’s some problems that need to be addressed.
Mainly in the way in which these statues are scattered throughout the temple. If you wanted static, ominous statues to line the walls as your player characters explore, perhaps have like, I dunno. Less dynamic statues that you reference?
Left: Nike of Paionos, Right: Stele 1 of Las Incantadas
Or maybe instead of statues, have friezes lining the walls. Like this one from the equally iconic Pergamon altar, depicting the Giganomanchy.
It’s the same symbolism, the wings, the smiting of foes and victory of good over evil.
And then perhaps, at the heart of the temple... where, y'know Bioware, lay a body of water sacred to Mythal herself, you could've perhaps done something remarkable. You could then have had the most dramatic and beautiful entrance you’d ever seen.
[Nike, at the iconic Daru Staircase, the Louvre]
It was at this moment that Mythal walked out of the sea of the earth's tears and onto the land. She placed her hand on Elgar'nan's brow, and at her touch he grew calm and knew that his anger had led him astray.
- Codex entry: Mythal: The Great Protector
Mythal herself strides out of the Well Of Sorrows, the metaphorical tears of her followers that died and kept their knowledge alive in her name. Her (draconic) wings spread out, (restored) hands outstretched to touch her husband, to calm the rage that nearly destroyed this world.
A symbol of victory against the blind rage of a god against His father, the Sun. A symbol of wisdom and grace, against the violence of hatred. A divine sense of something bigger than anything we could imagine.
There's also the lack of iconography regarding victory, instead piling on some cheap representations of what we think of as Mythal. That's another post entirely on the symbolism of the Elven gods, but if Bioware really wanted to hone in on the Athena/Athena Nike parallels, they might have thrown in the trumpet/laurel/palm leaf symbolism with the statues, alongside the dragon wings.
If this were the case, then maybe, just maybe, Inquisition would’ve then earned the use of this sculpture in the game.
Sources not listed above/Further reading if you're interested
https://www.louvre.fr/en/explore/the-palace/a-stairway-to-victory
https://www.worldhistory.org/article/1412/winged-victory-the-nike-of-samothrace/https://smarthistory.org/nike-winged-victory-of-samothrace/
https://smarthistory.org/nike-winged-victory-of-samothrace/
https://www.khanacademy.org/humanities/ancient-art-civilizations/greek-art/hellenistic/a/nike-winged-victory-of-samothrace
#da lore#da meta#mythal#temple of mythal#dragon age#da lore and meta#yo this has been simmering and brewing in my brain for like 8 years now not kidding#and im already neck deep in like..... figuring out the evanuris and trying to tie them into real world mythology and thats super fun too!!!#watch as this consumes and destroys me#my writing
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THE SALES GUY
Business travel is OK, until it's not.
Thunderstorms back east had cancelled one flight and seriously delayed another. Even with the time difference, it was almost 9 when we landed in Denver. At least Carson and I had status and were upgraded to business class. We were the first off the plane, rolling our business carry ons behind us through the airport, making our way toward the rental car area.
Carson Wells is one of the sales guys in our group. The dude's young, about 30, but he's good at his job and moreover has a crazy ambition. It's why he was paired with me on a prospect this big.
I'll be honest, I used to hate the folks in Sales. I felt like we did the work, and they cashed in their commission checks. And Carson was the very type who annoyed the crap out of me. Fratty, capable only of small talk, nice almost to the point of seeming fake. But times like this I was grateful I was paired with him: the guy didn't get stressed out about travel hiccups.
"I love Denver, man," he said in a tone that would sound chipper if it weren't such a masculine bro kind of voice. "Shame we don't have the time to go hiking or anything while we're out here."
For some reason, I was in the mood for Wells' small talk. "You into outdoor sports? I pictured you as more a country club guy," I teased.
"That too," Carson said as he flashed his smile. Pearly white teeth, fucking perfectly formed dimples, well trimmed blondish-brown beard. Yeah, one reason my defenses were down was because Carson Wells was stunningly cute and stunningly hot.
Down boy, I thought to myself. It's not like my dick was chubbing or anything, but I knew how to be a professional at work, and with colleagues. Even ones as hot as Carson. Besides, the dude was grade-A hetero.
Carson had reserved the car and we strutted right over to pick up the key. Of course, Carson went for an upgraded model. I thought of lecturing him about costs, but figured I'd let his manager deal with that headache. Besides, if we reeled this big fish in, no one would give a fuck how much Carson ran up on his business credit card this trip.
We were both tired from the long day and once we checked into the hotel it was time to go to our respective rooms and call it a night.
If you've seen one Marriott you've seen them all. At least this one had a good view of the mountains, though it would be morning before I'd have time to appreciate it. For now, I undressed and brushed my teeth and slipped into bed. I didn't even have my daily masturbation time, I was so tired.
***
The presentation the next day went well. Really well. Carson brought the dynamic sales pitch, and I brought the gravitas. Of course we didn't know what they'd decide yet, but you sometimes get a vibe from a prospect, and that vibe was positive.
Carson was getting it too. We stopped at a trendy restaurant near our hotel that was half steak house, half small plate kind of place. Carson joked it was the kind of place he'd take chicks to if he wanted to impress them. Honestly, I didn't care where we ate. I don't eat a lot on the day of a sales call, and now my appetite was catching up with me.
"I think this calls for the good stuff," Carson announced as he strutted up to the bar, me a couple paces behind. God, he was so sexy in that post-pitch mode, his 5'11" body filling out his trim-cut tailored suit just right, and those thick thighs leading up to an amazing ass...
"Best bourbon you have," he asked the bartender. Then, he flashed those dimples as he turned to me. "Oh I forgot, you gay guys don't drink bourbon, right?"
I rolled my eyes. "It sounds like you're scripting the next HR compliance video, Wells."
He chuckled. "Is that a yes or no, Boss?" I technically wasn't his boss, but I was an officer and somehow Boss had become his playful nickname for me.
"Sure," I said, adding that the prospect was ultimately gonna pay for this round.
"Damn straight," Carson grinned, his green eyes twinkling.
We sat the bar, sipping some pretty damn amazing whiskey. Carson had his legs spread, effortlessly manspreading. I didn't stare or scope him out or anything, but let's say I enjoyed the view.
Our conversation was all business as our food arrived, and even as we ordered another drink.
"Maybe grab another back at the hotel bar?" he asked as we nearly finished that round. It was getting dark out but still wasn't too late. "I'm in the mood to celebrate."
I nodded, signalling for the check. "Sounds good. Only we haven't won the client yet."
"We're gonna win 'em, Bill. You know it, too."
I shrugged. "Yeah," I conceded.
Carson laughed. "Didn't think you'd be so superstitious."
I nudged my leg against his. Hopefully more a buddy nudge than a flirty one, but the booze was loosening me up. "I'm surprised you're not, Wells."
We paid up and made our way back to the boring bar at our boring hotel. It felt great to unwind there. I knew Carson was eager to have more than one other drink, and I wouldn't mind getting a little tight myself. It had been a tough week.
"You're buying this time, Boss," he said. "Just don't order me some well-liquor shit."
I was tempted to get him a cheap domestic beer, just for being a smart ass, but ended up splurging on another top-shelf bourbon.
"Here's to the Dream Team," he toasted as we clinked our glasses. We were just about the only ones in the bar area, seated on one of the couches.
"You did great, man," I said.
He smiled again. Fuck, those pearly whites. "Man, that's probably the first time you've ever thrown me a compliment."
"No it isn't..." I objected. Now that I was in a managerial role, I knew it was my job to provide positive feedback to everyone on my team.
"For real," he said, with a smile that said he wasn't too upset. Or maybe Carson was just being his frat-boy nice. "You're kind of intense, Boss."
"Oh," I said. Not sure what to make of it. Though Carson wasn't the first person with that opinion of me.
He nodded. "I'm gonna say something that's not HR-approved... but you've mellowed out a lot since you broke up with Rob."
Rob was my ex-husband. I still couldn't tell if it ended amicably or bitterly. But it had been a big shift in my life. "It was a divorce," I corrected Carson.
"Yeah, divorce. Sorry. I know that was an asshole thing to say. It's just, well, you seem happier now. I hope you are, Bill."
Something about his sincerity, combined with the booze, had me opening up unexpectedly. "There's good and bad," I replied in a measured way. "But the freedom is nicer than I expected."
Carson nudged my knee with his, in what I would have guessed was a flirtation, and gave ne a "you dog" kind of look. "I bet," he smirked. Then he got an impish look on his cute face. "Maybe I shouldn't admit this to you, man, but I sometimes have fun with guys."
I gulped. This was major HR-inappropriate territory. "Is that right?" I asked with my best poker face.
The man nodded. The sexual part of my brain was just thinking how incredibly fuckable my coworker was. His voice made him even hotter, I thought. "Not the whole nine yards like you gay guys, but yeah..."
"How do you know what I do in bed?" I had to tease.
He laughed and shrugeed. Again, flashing that killer smile. "You got me there, Boss. Guess I shouldn't make assumptions." We paused and, fuck, our eyes met, like really met. I wasn't imagining it: Carson Wells was fucking flirting with me. "Can I trust you with this, man?" he asked.
I gave some motion of my hand that was some combo of crossing my heart and scout's honor.
He bit his lip nervously, playfully, and then lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "Um, yeah, I'm into sucking a guy's dick." He blushed as he said it, but I had to be impressed by how forthright he was. It was the last thing I expected from Carson's mouth. His nervousness carried him on. "I mean, just the feel of a hard cock in my mouth.... it's wild, kind of a taboo you know for a guy like me."
"I can imagine," I said. Not wanting to either encourage or discourage Carson. My dick was getting rock hard in my suit. And there was no way it was going down soon.
"Yeah," Carson beamed, glad I wasn't judging him or giving him any flak for his bi streak. "I mean it's crazy, I don't even need my dick sucked or anything, just that act is enough to get me going, you know?"
I nodded but replied. "Not exactly, Carson. I guess I'm more a receiving is better than giving kind of guy," I joked.
"Did Rob do that for you?" he asked.
This was definitely inappropriate conversation. But fuck it. "That and more," I replied. "Rob was a big ol' bottom."
"Hot," Carson said. There was something weird about our dynamic now. Buddy-buddy, but also like lusty. Carson took a sip of bourbon, but he was nearing the bottom of his glass. "Another round, Boss?"
I held mine up and swirled the last half centimeter of brown liquid in the rocks glass. "I shouldn't, man." I was already pretty buzzed.
"Come on," he urged. "We're the fucking Dream Team."
I caved and nodded. If my boner was riding a good ridge in my trousers it downright throbbed watching Carson's hot suited body get up and strut over to the bar. I needed to find some self control, in case Wells was actually gonna proposition me. Maybe he just wanted someone to talk to about his bi side. Or maybe he liked teasing me as an ego boost.
He was all smiles when he came back with two more drinks. We clinked glasses and had our first sips. "To a killer day," he smirked.
"Yep," I said. I wasn't drunk at least. But I was starting to feel really nice.
He looked around. I thought he was just idly checking out our environment, but I realized he was seeing if the coast was clear. His eyes flitted back to my crotch.
"You look like you're packing a lot down there, Boss," he said. That sexual edge somehow changing his frat-bro voice.
"Sorry," I muttered. Trying to cross my legs.
"Don't hide it, man," he urged. "No one can see it from a distance, not in those pants."
I blushed as I spread my legs again, manspreading as I faced this hunky sales guy. This was so wild and wrong, but my dick was rock hard.
"Nice boner, Boss," he smirked.
"Thanks," I said. Maybe I thought if I limited my words there'd be less cause to get me fired.
"How big is it?" he asked.
"How big?" I chuckled. Wells was the last dude I imagined to be asking me for my dick size. "7 and a half," I replied. "I've not measured the width."
"It's pretty thick," Carson put out there, his eyes back on my boner. "But not too fat to suck."
"Jesus," I exhaled.
Carson's green eyes twinkled. "Am I getting you worked up, Boss?" Jesus, he loved flirting all right.
"You know you are, damnit."
"This is just between us, right?" he clarified.
"It better be," I hissed. "Not how I expected this trip to go..."
"You upset?" he felt me out.
"Depends on if I'm thinking with my brain or my dick," I answered honestly.
That made Carson smile. "How bout your dick?"
"My dick wants to get sucked," I said bluntly.
Carson nodded, almost serious, maybe the reality was making him less chipper. "Let's do this, Bill," he grunted and tossed back of the liquor, like he was building up courage.
I didn't do mine like a frat boy shot, but sipped a good amount of the remainder and set the glass down before standing up, just hoping my erection wasn't too obvious.
I couldn't believe this was actually gonna happen. Carson didn't seem to believe it either. We rode the elevator silently, almost scared to look at one another. Then he followed me to my room.
My heart pounded, because I didn't know how this was actually going to go down. I didn't want anything messy with my coworker - hell, I'd probably be the senior investment guy brought in for half of Wells's prospects - but it was probably too late for that.
I tried to think of how this would go down. For a half minute, a part deep in my brain wanted to put a stop to this. But as I walked to where our rooms were, adjacent to one another, I stopped at mine and Carson looked at me with a look of horny expectation behind his straight-bro smile. I tapped the key card and ushered him inside.
The thing that helped my conscience somehow was that Wells didn't kiss me or make any move to make out with me. Like he'd had some practice he crouched in front of me, looking incredible in his slim-cut suit and gym-toned build, wasting no time reaching forward ot unbuckle my nelt. This wasn't gonna be a messy office place romance, this was just going to be a blowjob. As no-strings as they get.
"Fuck!" I hissed as the zipper came down and Carson tugged my boxer briefs below my hard prick. My dick jerked to attention, harder than I recall it ever being. This felt naughty and sexual in a way that half made me glad to be a divorced man.
"You sold yourself short, Boss," Carson teased as he ran his finger up and down my bone. "You got an amazing cock."
And like that, the sales guy was taking me into his mouth.
This wasn't Carson's first dick. It wasn't his fifth. The dude wasn't lying, he loved sucking cock, and it was clear he'd had some practice. I just stood there, hands on my hips and let him do his stuff. I got off on the mind-fuck of co-worker sex and the straight-dude fantasy come to life. I mean, Carson Wells clearly wasn't 100% straight but he was as close as I'd get to having a hetero guy blow me.
And the fact he loved this, really loved this, meant I was getting quality head. Regular, half-suction mouth strokes up and down about four or five inches of my cock, with increasing base.
"It's not gonna take me long," I warned him. If it hadn't been for the bourbon I would have nutted already. Wells was that good.
He was going for it now, kind of twisting the base of my cock with his fist as he bobbed more frantically. I placed my hand on the top of his skull, and that got an excited, deep moan from the guy. I started small thrusts timed with his sucking. Nothing too intense, I'm not an asshole. But I was getting real close, and my excitement was pushing me over that finish line.
"Oh shit! Oh fuck!" I hissed, trying not to be too loud. My cum was incredible. Maybe because Carson did this sucking thing all through my ejaculation that just added to the pleasure. My knees buckled a little.
I was finally was spent, and Carson gave one final lick at the tip before pulling back. "That was hot, Boss," he hissed, mouth full of cum and saliva.
"Damn... it was, man." I looked down. "Need me to get you off?" Once I cum I'm usually out of sex mode. But I know how to take care of a guy's needs.
He shook his head as he stood up. For real, Carson had a hardon riding up his suit pants. Not as big as mine but showing a good tent. "Nah, I'm good... I'm gonna go back to my room now, if that's OK."
It wasn't awkward as it seemed for some reason. Maybe because my swimmers were in Carson's belly now. "Yeah, that's fine... if you're sure." I felt a little guilty for the no-recip thing. But not too guilty, I suppose.
He flashed a grin. "Yeah, I'm sure. See ya bright and early tomorrow?"
"Yeah," I nodded, tucking back in and pulling up my trousers. "Have a good night, Wells. And thanks again." I was tipsy but maybe sobering up some now.
"My pleasure, Boss," he said. He paused and looked at me, and God I half expected a kiss to come right then. But he patted my arm and then walked past to the door. And left me in my room.
"Fuck!" I growled, and had to laugh at how crazy it was I just let that happen. I knew I'd made a terrible mistake, but Carson seemed game to make it with me. And I knew if I had that chance, I'd make it again.
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I’ve Got News For You
(Or the 80s rival TV newscasters AU no one asked for…)
It’s 1987, and Lexa Woods is a serious, austere news anchor, always delivering the news with smooth, measured gravitas. Nicknamed “the perfumed menace” she’s renowned for being a tough and exacting interviewer, a household name with the plaudits to back it up. Meanwhile, Clarke Griffin is a plucky reporter on the ground with a megawatt smile and disarming manner, who’s carved a niche for herself with frivolous, crowd-pleasing fluff pieces and lighthearted human-interest/animal segments. Lexa doesn’t hide her disdain for the rival outlet’s content and tone, yet it consistently beats her own channel in the ratings, to her supreme annoyance.
So she’s furious and indignant when station manager Indra tells her they’re poaching Clarke from their competitor.
“I won a Peabody for my coverage of the opioid crisis in Mount Weather!”
Lexa’s rant gathers steam.
“We’re a respected news source. This,” she gestures at the freeze frame of Clarke reporting from a feline beauty pageant, “is not news.”
Lexa stabs a finger in the air, oblivious to Indra’s subtle eye roll.
“I won’t stand here and watch my reputation for high-minded broadcast journalism be washed down the drain. I’ll walk.”
She also learns they plan to bring in a male anchorman, some eye candy for the housewives. The focus groups find Lexa too severe and haughty.
“I’m the anchor. No one reads the news but me.”
“Well,” Indra tells her firmly. “Things have to change or there won’t be a show to anchor. Would you prefer they take us off the air entirely and replace us with compilations of idiotic home video mishaps? They’re cheap and everybody loves them.” (The “unlike you” goes unsaid). “I’ve heard grumblings from the board.”
Lexa stares, aghast at the notion.
It takes a lot of placating to calm her down, vague promises of a primetime special on a hard-hitting topic of her choosing.
When she’s introduced to Clarke the following week, Lexa is frosty, aloof, giving the cold shoulder. Later that day, they butt heads during a pitch meeting. Lexa dismisses Clarke’s ideas, leaving her fuming, and everyone else stepping on eggshells.
Record scratch cut to Lexa’s dressing room...
Clarke kisses her hard, nipping sharply at Lexa’s bottom lip, an undercurrent of rebuke in her voice when she tells Lexa, “You could dial it down a notch, you know? For someone who wants to get under my skirt, you could stand to be a lot nicer.”
Lexa soothes Clarke by trailing kisses along her jaw to that spot behind her ear that makes her knees buckle slightly. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
She sucks a kiss at the top of Clarke’s neck. The pressure light, not enough to leave a mark, conscious of how that might reflect poorly on Clarke, professionally speaking. Half the station already thinks she’s a ditzy airhead (a false impression that Lexa did nothing to discourage, she acknowledges to herself with a tiny stab of guilt), and a visible hickey would only provide more fodder for snide gossip.
“Anya was in the room and I overcompensated. She’s too savvy not to be suspicious of me suddenly singing your praises.”
“Oh, yeah?” Clarke hoists an eyebrow as she leans back, out of range of Lexa’s roving mouth. “Been trash talking me to your producer?”
Lexa‘s throat bobs. “I… might have expressed some strong reservations about the new editorial direction.” For some reason her mouth keeps moving and words, the wrong ones, keep spilling forth, as though she isn’t actually someone who’s built a storied career on being an excellent communicator. “I’m just not convinced by the pivot from hard news to a magazine format, or that our two styles will successfully mesh.”
Her heart plummets as Clarke pulls away and starts to tuck in her blouse. “Well, you definitely won’t be meshing with me now.”
“Clarke, wait. Come on, can’t we talk—”
“No. You’re such an ass, Lexa. Beautiful, sexy beyond belief, but an ass all the same.” Clarke strides across the room, ignoring Lexa’s pleas, and lays her hand on the doorknob. Pauses to look over her shoulder, not fully able to mask the hurt and betrayal in her expression. “Let’s just do one another a favour and stay out of each other’s way, alright? And a word of warning: don’t try to get me fired. I will lawyer up and sue this station into oblivion.”
“I—”
Lexa stares at the empty doorway, bewildered at how a sizzling secret makeout session went so far off the rails so quickly, and left wondering how she can possibly repair the damage.
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Lesson One: Schooling Steve [Avenger!Loki x Reader x Virgin!Steve] 18+
A link to my Masterlist is here
Schooling Steve Series List [LINK]
Summary: Reluctantly, Steve asks for Loki's help with a special kind of mission. Unfortunately for Steve, Loki is determined to be as unhelpful as possible. (w/c 3.2k)
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Light slash content. Sexual tension. Not threesome related. Language.
A/N: It's not what you think. Thanks @lokischambermaid for planting the seed. Sorry Steve fans, in advance.
Steve’s watching eyes trailed sideways periodically towards Loki, flickering back to focus on the damp cloth sliding between his fingers as he sat with bare forearms resting on his knees.
There he was, the God of Mischief: untrustworthy, immoral, disloyal…no matter what they said. Steve had accepted he must tolerate him, but resolutely refused to warm to him and yet…you had.
He reached out for his water bottle, bringing it to his lips as he subtly observed you and Loki in the boxing ring. Your midriff was glistening with fresh sweat, leg muscles taut and exposed in your tight shorts. Your hair was coming loose in its fastenings as he gripped the ropes around you, trapping you as he pressed his treacherous mouth to yours in an obscene public embrace.
How did he do it?
Every time he saw you and Loki together you were hanging off him like his johnson was still inside your tinderbox, leading you around. Cripes, it was more than he could fathom…what did he do behind closed doors to make you so obsessive over his every word, fawning for his every touch? An addiction that seemingly only Loki’s attentions could quench, a hole that only he could fill.
His mind made up, Steve forcefully zipped the sport bag between his feet and hoisted it over one broad shoulder as he rose to his feet.
“LAUFEYSON. A word.”
Loki reluctantly slid his tongue from your mouth, pulling your bottom lip towards him with a gentle bite as you bemoaned the departure of his attentions. He felt the desperation of your fingers at his hips, the tight fabric of his sports vest clinging steadfastly to his torso as you keened to make him stay.
“Sorry darling, Captain’s orders” he winked as you pouted below him, pushing your hands gently from his waist before crouching under the ropes and jumping gracefully to the gym floor.
He ran his hands through his damp-curled hair, looking back over his shoulder as you picked up your bag gloves that had been discarded during his impromptu dirty tactics. He noted that he should make a point of more fully appreciating that perfectly curved ass later in his chambers.
Turning, he swaggered confidently towards the doors, pulling the sleeves of his black spandex top to his wrists. He followed Steve at a distance down the long hallway from the gym leading to a small conference room, the only one in this level of the compound.
Cap was waiting by the window in the square office, gazing thoughtfully out over the airfield with his muscled arms crossed over his tank top. This couldn’t be good.
“Look, if this is about the fondue incident I really don’t see what all the fuss is abou-“
“I need your help.”
America’s favourite blue-eyed boy angled his face towards Loki as he delivered the message in his signature tone loaded with unnecessary gravitas, looking sideways at him from a lowered gaze.
Norns, he was always so dramatic. It must be exhausting.
“My help?” Loki’s brow furrowed in faux-confusion, his hands finding their way to his hips as indignant sarcasm rose from his barbed tongue.
“Oh, I’m sorry…is my inane servitude accompanying your motley crew of bland miscreants dredged from the corners of this blasted realm not already sufficient in that regard? I do apologise.”
Cap’s gaze travelled silently back towards the line of quinjets stationed outside, watching Clint load ammunition off an open ramp. “This one would be…off the record. Just between us.”
Loki let out a mirthless chuckle, taking a beleaguered stride over to one to the curved leather chairs and reclining into it, propping his feet up on the coffee table.
“I’m listening…”
He watched intently with amusement creeping across his angular jaw as Steve’s large frame began to pace a confined portion of the floor. Was he…nervous?
“I know we’ve never…well gee I’ll just say it - we’ve never trusted each other-
“You’ve never trusted me, you mean?” Loki interrupted, a careless smirk playing at his lips as he fizzed with anticipation for the cause of this unexpectedly intriguing display as Steve sighed deeply in frustration.
“…regardless…I need this to remain confidential. I mean it.”
His eyes narrowed as he took in the irritatingly handsome god lying sprawled bold as brass in front of him, watching as he theatrically raised his arms to clasp those wandering hands behind his head, mussing his hair. His toned thighs widened beneath his tight sweatpants as he rocked the chair backwards against the table, exposing the taunt V of his hip muscles. He really didn’t give a fudge, did he?
“Rogers, I really don’t see what could possibly be so important to cause all this superfluous angst-”
“Y/N.” Steve snapped.
“What about her?”
Cap ran his fingers through his lightly gelled hair, the faint residue becoming tacky under his moistening tips. “I was wondering…I’ve been wondering how you…why she…likes you so much.”
Loki rolled his eyes to the ceiling as Steve attempted to claw back his misworded statement fruitlessly in the undercurrent of a rising diatribe.
“Ohhh I see – because you can��t stand to be in the same room with my unreformed character for more than 30 seconds it means that anyone who does must be under duress. Of course!” he smacked his forehead as Steve braced one large palm against the wall with his head lowered, wishing he had the infinity gauntlet.
“…or maybe she just loves my big cock satisfying her whenever she wants it – which by the way is whenever she can get it-I have to tear her off me to get to your accursed 7am meetings…which…just so you know, everyone hates and are completely unnecessary.“
A clock ticked awkwardly on the wall, its beat straining to fill the silence.
"Are you finished?” Steve remarked coolly as Loki said nothing, pointedly staring at a cheese plant in the corner.
“I’ll be plain, Laufeyson. I wanna know how you make her so darn crazy for you…she’s always touching you like she can’t get enough of you. What’s your secret?”
The God of Mischief pursed his lips, his mind ticking with the possible uses of the information he was gathering from his ‘leader’, most interesting information indeed.
He had long suspected that the Captain was inexperienced in the ways of sex, but this? This was pathetic. And if Rogers wanted to know exactly how they fucked on Asgard…he was going to get a lesson he would never forget.
Loki cleared his throat respectfully, the pieces of his play falling into place like rounds in a cylinder. “Rogers, am I to understand that you are a virgin?”
The other man grimaced, his jaw flexing as he shifted on his feet; processing the directness of the question.
“I’ll take your awkward silence as a resounding yes…” Loki’s tone lowered as he fought a rising smirk. It was too delicious. “How intimate have you been with another, exactly?” he continued, cautiously.
Steve looked to the floor, his cheeks starting to burn as he felt the dark-haired trickster’s gaze penetrate him – he was loving this, and it showed.
“Second base.” he mumbled.
“Second ‘base’? Is that the anus?” Loki’s brow furrowed in mock confusion as Steve raised his palms to press into his eyeballs. Perhaps he was being too harsh in his teasing. Perhaps not.
“Look, Rogers…you can’t deny that it is rather absurd that the man we follow into battle against increasingly ostentatious foes, waxing lyrically about the virtues of bonding, teamwork and the sanctity of life in this realm has never experienced the one thing in the universe that is…universal.”
Loki raised his eyebrow suggestively, unperturbed by Steve’s narrowed stare of disapproval, “…do you disagree?”
Steve shrugged, clasping his hands to his biceps as he pondered Loki’s words. The freshening tang of his stale sweat springing back to life under interrogation stinging his nostrils. This had been a bad idea. A hecking bad idea.
“What would you recommend, Laufeyson?” he huffed, pacing towards him across the room to tower above the relaxed figure sprawled across the furniture, “that I go out, find a dame and say ‘oh hello Ma’am, may I sneeze in your satchel?’”
Loki sighed, gracefully uncrossing his ankles and bringing his feet to rest on the floor as he ran his forearms down his femurs, his hair falling gently around his jaw as he lowered his head in an attempt to hide his mirth.
“No, Rogers – I absolutely would not recommend that…”
He ran his eyes across the figure above; handsome – for a Midgardian – imposing and, although it pained him to admit, authoritative…given the right circumstances. He just needed a push.
Loki gestured to the coffee table in front of him, as Steve cautiously sidled over and lowered himself to perch on the wood.
“You are allegedly the best of your kind – Rogers” he said, raising an eyebrow in an attempt at sincerity through the whirling clouds of mischief in his mind, “the perfect image of idealised mortal perfection and yet…you cannot ‘get laid’. Why do you think that is?”
Loki observed the minute flickering of his eyelids as Cap flitted between anger and fascination at his question, a sarcastic response teetering behind his burning gaze which twitched with resentment.
“You asked for my help, remember…” Loki murmured, tilting his head.
Steve nodded regretfully, accepting surrender to the will of the god in front of him. Whatever his reservations about Laufeyson’s character, he couldn’t argue with his logic.
“As I’m sure you are aware…women of all realms can be fickle creatures – they may claim to long wistfully after a virtuous, open-hearted, saccharine knight in shining armour but in my experience…an air of mystique, a dark past and leather is more…appealing.” Loki winked, enjoying his assertion of superiority as Steve’s mouth twisted in reproach.
“Much of what draws Y/N to me so insatiably is not what I do per say…it’s what she knows I can do. Do you understand what I mean, Rogers?”
Rogers shook his head.
Loki’s sharpened dimples appeared as his lips curled into a soft smirk, hooded eyes flashing with intensity as he watched the super-soldier in front of him soften like a child at the foot of a schoolteacher, waiting for instruction.
“I’m going to tell you a little story, Rogers…would you like that?” his words ran through the air thickly like amber, encasing his subject in place with the viscous power of their weight.
He seized the moment, not waiting for Steve’s response before he reclined once more in the chair, bringing one foot to rest on his knee as a pair of suspicious aquamarine eyes regarded him intently.
“When I wish to bed a woman I ask myself what she wants” Loki began, one long finger pressing lightly against his jawbone as he enunciated every syllable, his smooth voice enchanting the air between them,
“…not superfluous trivialities like humour or inane niceties that seem to so pre-occupy the unimaginative televisual mediums of this planet…but what she craves; the deepest desires of her heart that call to her in darkness when she lies in bed squeezing her fingers on the slickened folds between her thighs…”
He paused, watching as Steve shifted his position on the table uncomfortably. “D-deepest desires?” he mumbled shyly, his gaze flickering to Loki’s which glowed with abject satisfaction as he heard his words repeated back to him on the Virgin’s lips.
Loki ran his narrowed eyes up the man’s body mere inches from him, smelling the tension in the air between them – their knees brushing as Cap fought the rise of pink flirting with his skin, maintaining a look of sincere concentration with increasing difficulty.
“…I picture her in the intimate throes of unbridled passion; the arch of her back against my bed-sheets, the depth of her moans as I carry out my ministrations, my name relentlessly spilling from her lips as if she is beseeching the very universe itself to unburden her of the torment of her pleasure…”
Loki thoughtfully ran spread fingers down his muscled thighs, the thin fabric of his sweatpants un-creasing obediently under the pressure.
“Rogers, I make it my duty to uncover the hidden perplexities of lustful fantasy that would make that mirage a reality - in the way she carries herself, how she speaks when spoken to, her nervous habits, how she fights…every pattern betraying an innate pathway to pleasure that is unique to her and her alone…”
Steve realised with growing alarm that he had leant forward, his forearms inching towards his knees as he drank in Loki’s words, mirroring his body language as he inhaled the heavy scent of musk and amber that hung from his skin. The power of his rhetoric was like a spell from which he couldn’t break away. Even more alarmingly, he found he didn’t want to.
He felt words rising in his throat before he’d had a chance to vet them, his curiosity tumbling over the edge of propriety. “What was uh…what was Y/N’s pathway to…” he swallowed, “…pleasure?”
Loki’s lips curled into a devilish smile, his brow flashing in a furrow as he combed his long fingers through his hair, “I’m so glad you asked, Rogers.”
He leant forward, widening his legs as he closed the space between them. The Innocent was hanging on his every word like Y/N’s desperate lips on his rigid cock and Loki intended to pay Steve the same attention…relishing every moment under his control.
“I will admit, Y/N was a challenge. She was…cold, suspicious, unphased by my standard overtures which have traditionally beguiled the mortals of this realm…much like you, Captain” he winked softly before continuing, noting the small hitch in Steve’s breathing as he did so.
“…but I had to have her, you see. The way she looked at me with such irritation, such derision, such passionate hatred could only come from a place of misplaced desire. It was inevitable…and so I put my plan in motion.”
Steve remembered the many nights that you and he had spent together when Loki had first arrived at the compound– concocting complex response plans for every eventuality of possible betrayal by the wayward Asgardian brother that you could think of. The sting of your betrayal as you gradually succumbed to the temptation of his bed was not on that list. Steve had always been curious, perhaps too curious.
“As you know Rogers, Y/N is fiercely independent…strong, always seeking the most superior opponent to spar with – she is not interested in besting a weaker opponent for empty glory” Loki raised his eyebrow as innuendo laced his words, “she craves to be challenged, the thrill of defiant confrontation of her abilities– no matter the outcome, she desperately desires to feel the adrenaline flowing from her fists to that delicious pussy under a worthy adversary…”
Steve flinched as Loki chuckled softly, noting the slow protrusion of the Captain’s hardening cock shift subtly into view as he shuffled on the coffee table surface, running one hand through his floppy blonde hair.
“…Gee, I don’t know if we should be talking about her like this-“
“Have you ever noticed that Y/N plays with her earlobes, Captain?” Loki continued, blankly ignoring his feeble protestations. Steve nodded.
“So did I.” he smiled, his eyes glinting with the memory of a hundred ways he had gone on to make you writhe in ecstasy from this one, careful observation.
“She pulls at them absent-mindedly, rubbing her fingers across the roughened skin at the tips…she pinches them to calm herself, rolling them between the nail of her thumb and forefinger to pleasure herself in stolen moments of satisfaction…especially during your 7am meetings, Rogers”.
Steve gulped against his dry throat. Heavens, it was hot in here. He could feel the breaths in his chest tightening at the same rate as his balls beneath his loose shorts in anticipation of Loki’s clandestine confessions, the voyeuristic observations leaking through his synapses like radiation – corrupting his sensibilities.
“The difference between you and I, is that you merely saw…I observed, and used it to my advantage…” Loki leant forward on his forearms, noting the thin sheen of sweat glistening against the Virgin’s temples as his eyes widened – his straight brows straining together, betraying his fascination.
“Challenge. Control. Relinquishment. Pleasurable pain, Captain. And most importantly…tactile, visceral…oral sex.”
“Tactile?” Steve whispered questioningly…completely absorbed.
“Yes, Rogers. From the moment I ran a fingertip across her earlobe innocently under the guise of preening, her mind was afire with how it would feel to have that touch across her soaking lips, dripping with the anticipation of relief…”
Loki’s hands gently encased the taunt skin above Steve’s knees, running them firmly several inches up his thighs as he lowered his chin. His deep kaleidoscope gaze smouldering above sharp cheekbones, “…at your last birthday party, she came to me in the hallway…her tempestuous eyes filled with resentful lust and do you know what I did?”
Steve stared at him, brow creased with his mouth opening and closing in aborted rebuttal as he felt the God of Mischief’s hands edge closer to his throbbing cock which had begun aching in desperation.
“I challenged her, Rogers. As she desires. I firmly pressed her against the wall, allowing her to test her strength against me, clamouring to find the finesse of control she desperately craved. I edged my unrelenting kiss across her skin until she willingly conceded, drawing that soft flesh of her lobe that brings her so much innocent pleasure between my lips and I sucked it, Rogers. I bit it between my teeth and ohhh the moan that escaped her, it would have made even Njörðr erupt in flames of rampant devastation…”
Jeez.
Cap became aware of his shortened breaths as Loki reached one hand from Steve's thigh to brush down his cheekbone. He paused to slide to his earlobe and twist the edge of flesh against his thumb, pressing the folds of skin to a sharp point as he squeezed; his velvet tones creeping over him with slow coyness.
“…she became obsessed with how I might worship her beautiful cunt, an other-worldly force between her legs that would ravish her to the brink of sanity. Wielding her resolve with my mouth around her plump little clit as I gave her everything she secretly yearned for without being asked…”
Loki leaned closer, returning his hand to Steve’s twitching thigh as his warm breath fanned against the soldier’s ear,
“…underneath the weight of my tongue, would I pull the lips of her pussy gently outward between my teeth as she does with her fingers to that pliable skin of her ear? She became haunted. Insatiable for the promise of what I would do to her in order to taste her gushing cum on my lips. Do you see, Rogers…how all things connect in the mind?”
Steve shuddered. His arousal was plain now against the stretch of his shorts – and he didn’t care. The heat from Loki’s smooth skin was tantalisingly close to his cheek, errant inky wisps of curl catching in the stubble on his slackened jaw as he released slow pants, processing the question.
Loki straightened, pulling away from the silently flustered figure seated slack on the coffee table, as he brushed his dark hair behind his ears, a coy smile pulling at the corner of his lips. “I think that’s quite enough to go on for our first lesson, don’t you Rogers?”
Two blue eyes re-focused on the figure before them, a tang of resistance glimmering in the pupils as he considered his response.
“Hey Loki, you in there?”
You lightly tapped the conference room door, the lack of raised voices that could usually be heard from the gym causing suspicion. Carefully, you pushed the handle down and peered inside.
Loki’s face beamed at you, sitting casually just inside the door, as Cap crossed his legs with a deep frown covering his usually placid features, a cough escaping his pursed lips.
“Sorry to interrupt I just… I need you, Loki.” you gestured back towards the gym where you had exhausted the options for your solo training. Plus, it had been twenty minutes since you had felt the pure sexual energy of your god’s touch upon your skin. You were thirsty – and you were all outta water.
Loki’s eyes flickered towards Steve, throwing him a knowing look before rising to stand. He straightened the waistband of his sweatpants as he crossed the room to slide his hand around your waist, slipping it down to quickly squeeze your ass.
“Yes you do need me, pet - don’t you?” he winked, as you giggled – your eyes darting to the Captain as you smacked Loki lightly on the arm before turning to walk back down the hall.
“Until next time, Captain…think about what I said, won’t you?” Loki said smugly, closing the door behind him with a gentle click.
Fuck. Steve thought – this had been a very bad idea.
Part TWO is available here
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Taggos
@lokisninerealms @wheredafandomat @lokis-tigress @lyn-soso @lady-rose-moon @yelkmelk @mochie85 @lokisprettygirl22 @vbecker10 @mischief2sarawr @brokenthelovely @ladymischief11 @ravenwings73 @mcufan72 @kats72 @demoiseller @starfirette @november-rayne @chantsdemarins @glitterylokislut @imalovernotahater @navs-bhat @peachyymallows @thedistractedagglomeration @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @lokiprompts @lovelysizzlingbluebird @peaches1958 @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @javagirl328 @xorpsbane @holdmytesseract @absentmindeduniverse @vickie5446 @sallymagnoliaposts @lulubelle814 @ladyofthestayingpower @loopsisloops
#loki laufeyson#loki x reader#loki smut#loki laufeyson smut#loki x female reader smut#avenger loki#loki fanfic#loki fanfiction#loki fandom#hot loki#loki x female reader#loki x reader smut#loki x steve#virgin steve rogers#loki#loki god of mischief#god of mischief#god of sexy#loki x yn smut
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ty for the tag! @infinitelystrangemachinex
- three ships: I was honestly never a big shipper, so there are very few ships I give a damn about, and even fewer that I'll seek out content for, so I guess the ones that exist stand out?? I used to be pretty turned off by shipping culture because of the aggression and entitlement, and it's still not a big thing for me, but I did discover a community of Rational Adults who are cool about it and its a fun hobby. (I'm sure some would deny "being cool about it", but look... have YOU sent death threats about your ship over social media, or hatemail to the creators? No??? THEN YOU'RE COOL ABOUT IT.)
ObiYuki (Akagami no Shirayukihime) - Because DUH. When I finished the anime I contented myself with the knowledge that it wasn't endgame, THEN I READ THE MANGA. (Came to the server for the ship, stayed for the community.)
Celty / Shizuo Heiwajima (Durarara)- Listen, he's the Berserker and she's the Valkyrie. Shizuo is a good friend and a good man who didn't grow up performing surgery on Celty from a young age. They have chemistry. The official ship with the doctor makes me GAG.
Jason Todd / Stephanie Brown (Batman) - They're the working class Robins who died and are generally mistreated and judged harshly, and they've got some REAL GOOD FIC. Wayne Family Adventures knows what's up. THE CREATORS KNOW WHAT THEY DID. They don't count as Batcest to me. 🤣 In the comics they're supposedly good friends, but it sprang out of nowhere, so Rosenberg can bite me.
- first ship: Pfff.... ummmm. I'm honestly trying to reach back to any pairing I had vague feelings for. ...OH!! Duo Maxwell and Hilde from Gundam Wing, the series that occasionally teased romance and then did nothing with it, because the Pretty Boys aren't allowed to be in an official relationship.
It's an overdramatic show, but I remember watching it again back in college and going "Aww, the pilots DO have character arcs, and they're kind of touching."
- last song: Ummmm... something on youtube. I think the Cyberpunk 2077: Edgerunners soundtrack.
- last film: Godzilla (2014). This is such an awesome, grounded take with a lot of gravitas. The combination of visuals and music for the halo drop into the burning city still gives me chills. I don't know my art history well, but the scene of the city is definitely composed in reference to a specific era, romanticism maybe. So beautifully apocalyptic. The protag is hot and likable.
currently reading: Mediocre fanfiction. 💖 (Scraping the bottom of the Jason Todd/Batfam barrel because I am still DEEP IN THERE.) Some books I've been considering: Children of Time, We Are Legion (We Are Bob), a nonfiction book about American fruit/vedge history, some comic books.
currently consuming: Black coffee.
currently craving: Woods. Sweet Lord... I need to haul my ass out to a real park. I grew up spoiled with wooded common ground that doubled as a bird sanctuary. The massive, gorgeous oaks in my neighborhood are great and a testament to the arborists that care for them, but they are NOT ENOUGH.
#back when I played Valheim for the first time it gave me Feelings because of the woods#it feels like virtual forest bathing
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okay scenario. somewhere mid s3 the Carte Blanche ends up working with some of Buddy's criminal contacts/acquaintances who also take something of a specific and possibly impertinent interest in the Unnatural Disaster. their guy clocks Nureyev as 1.) the shady sixth ranger with the least amount of rapport with Jet, and 2.) a gossipy bitch (bc that was the gender he put on when he left the house that day) so they get him aside and try to get him to talk
nureyev’s is like. hmm. (juno is being mouthy to try to draw attention to himself. buddy has been a very particular kind of polite and pointed, and vespa is. playing with a knife and glaring. which to be fair she Does That but she's watching this guy and only lightly heckling juno and if nureyev is starting to suspect that they're maybe playing off each other a bit? and jet seems like he's just trying to vibe but he's definitely sticking even closer to rita than usual.
and then. oh he can tell the guy's trying to get him to talk about Jet, and sure he could just dissemble without a fuss but… he could also dissemble and make the other guy feel awkward about it)
nureyev: listen. i know what you're after. and i understand, truly. you want to know if it's true what they say about him, but you're too intimidated to ask outright.
contact: *shifts nervously*
nureyev: and of course, who could blame you? he's even more compelling in person, isn't he? the gravitas, the self-possession, the shoulders.
their contact: uhh. i mean you're not wrong.
nureyev: and he can cook.
contact: ...wait really? huh. you know he seems like a really good listener too.
nureyev: oh, absolutely. but i think it's only fair to warn you that you ought not to get your hopes up. because it's entirely true - he's just not interested. in anybody. devoted in his friendships, to be sure, but when it comes to all other affairs, you'll find him completely impervious. nothing personal. you could have just asked him, there'd be no harm in it, and i'm sure he'd let you down gently -
juno (wandering over to see what's up): could go either way, really. he put me in a dumpster and threatened to crush my head with the lid.
their contact: ...
nureyev (dear i am trying to make them feel bad about their assumptions about our friend and you are undermining the bit): compared to what other people have followed through on after meeting you, i'd say that only proves that he's a very paragon of restraint and circumspection. you do have a way about you, dearest beloved.
juno: you know if i had a cred for every time I had a crush on a master thief who put me in the garbage, i'd have... two creds, i guess.
nureyev (nostalgically): we both ended up in that garbage chute, didn't we?
juno: and I hated every second of it.
nureyev: I know dear you complained about it vociferously
*smooching*
their contact: ohh well that's a shame thanks for the heads up im just gonna - i think my hovercraft is on fire
nureyev (absentminded, still gazing into juno's eyes): bye-bye now
juno: i can cook too you know
nureyev: i know dear but we mustn’t let it get around, the last thing i need is another crime ring trying to sweep you off your feet
juno: i mean. wouldn’t they look at you first?
nureyev: my love. I can’t cook.
juno: oh yeah
(their contact's boss, later: so did you find anything out about what the Unnatural Disaster's up to now that he's back on the scene?
their contact: im sorry he's never gonna go out with you. the rumors are true he's like. completely aro-ace.
boss: oh.
contact: yeah
boss: are you sure
contact: no yeah. i thought maybe aurinko's son was just talking out his ass but their hacker backed it up.
contact: she was really nice actually. gave me a coupon for her favorite ice cream place.
contact: do. uh. do you wanna get ice cream with me.
boss: ...yeah that'd be nice.
boss: (later over ice cream) wait aurinko has a son??
contact: or whatever he’s adopted idk but he's super obnoxious
#jfc#this got away from me#i was not expecting the plot twist and i wrote the damn thing#the penumbra podcast#jet sikuliaq#peter nureyev#juno steel#i love my gay space crimes family#it’s real hiatus hours lads
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Where did we leave our college students last time?
Oh yes: Faith was cookin’ and lookin’ (for a husband), Bettina bagged a Dreamer warlock, and Tempe, against all odds, managed to kiss a girl.
As the semesters come and go, what have the Springs-Eternal kids gotten up to?
Seeing has how she had a Popularity Secondary aspiration, Faith felt that she needed to put herself out there and make some new friends.
With the offerings at Brainia U being meager, Faith took a chance on Marsha Tse. If nothing else, Marsha’s a sucker for Faith’s cooking. And Faith loves a good compliment.
“Yuh! You haven’t tried a Spanish-fried flax egg? Bro, it will change your life.”
“I don’t think that’s - Marsha…are you high right now?
“Huhuhuhu, yuh!”
Marsha likes eating snacks and standing still. Truly, expectations for companionship are low.
Faith is happy to cook though. People who cook for others are kind!
Or so she tells herself.
“Faith, we should do this more often! Like, a teatime? But with an actual meal? Get in the habit of taking time to socialize and visit? A girl group power hour?”
“Hell yeah! I’ve been working on this lentil tofu that isn’t totally ass. I’m thinking some kind of creamy coconut milk curry soup thing to do with it…who else can we invite over?”
Bettina knows Marsha Tse from bubble-related hangs.
“Duuuude, can I like, borrow the computer? I totally spaced and my chemistry lab is due like, huh, today. Also, do you have a tampon?”
“Huh! Faith, who is ‘[email protected]’? You have like, hella unread emails from this person.
“…Marsha…go to class.”
“Sooo…you wanna talk about how you got all smoochy smoochy with Skylar at karaoke yesterday?”
…
“…no, I do not. And I wasn’t.”
“What I remember is Kiera being pitchy.”
“Hahaha, stoppp…but she kinda was though...”
♫ Your beauty is beyond compare
With flaming locks of auburn hair ♫
♫ With ivory skin and eyes of emerald green
Your smile is like a breath of spring ♫
♫ Your voice is soft like summer rain
And I cannot compete with you
Jolene ♫
♫ He talks about you in his sleep ♫
♫ And there's nothing I can do to keep ♫
♫ From crying when he calls your name ♫
♫ Jolene ♫
…
“Bettina! Come on! We can do a duet for this next one.”
“Uh, okay…but I’m no singer…”
“This one is easy! Come on!”
“Ha, okay…”
♫ Life is a mystery
Everyone must stand alone
I hear you call my name
And it feels like home ♫
♫ When you call my name, it's like a little prayer
I'm down on my knees ♫
♫ I wanna take you there ♫
♫ In the midnight hour, I can feel your power
Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there ♫
♫ I hear your voice
It's like an angel sighin'
I have no choice
I hear your voice
Feels like flying ♫ – “Bettina, take your jacket off! Come on!”
“Ha! That’s not the words!”
♫ I close my eyes
Oh God I think I'm fallin'
Out of the sky
I close my eyes
Heaven help me ♫
♫ When you call my name, it's like a little prayer
I'm down on my knees, I wanna take you there
In the midnight hour, I can feel your power
Just like a prayer, you know I'll take you there ♫
“I remember Skylar grinning at us like a store mannequin while we were singing Like a Prayer…”
“And? And you remember him totally giving you lovey dovey eyes?!”
“Faith! Gosh, are you a contralto? That was great! You should be getting paid to sing like that.”
“Sorry, I know we don’t know each other well, but I had to say something…”
“Hm, well, I would say that I could be best compared to Karen Carpenter in terms of both range and emotionality in my voice….
…
…thanks.”
…
“Faith, you’d have made a much better Queen Gertrude in the spring showcase, rather than whoever that girl was that they had doing it…she had no, you know, gravitas? You do.”
“…um, wow. Thanks Skylar.”
“I can see it now Faith – you, Sky, total power couple, he’s supporting your dreams, you’re conquering the stage – “
“Bettinaaaaa, stop! I’m totally not serious about him!”
“He’s cool, but like, he’s just a friend, you know?”
“He’s cute I guess.”
“I mean like, he does have good taste. Clearly not an idiot.”
“But like, he’s just ‘some guy’ from Bluewater Village.”
“For my future, I need the perfect husband.”
“You’re so picky! Sky can’t be that man, Faith? I think you need to be more openminded…”
“Uh, guys? Um, like, the computer is making a funny…smell…um, I’m gonna finish my paper on paper …”
Though Faith didn’t take her interaction with Skylar seriously, her talk with Bettina did get her thinking about what her life would be like once college was over.
Marriage was on the horizon, obviously.
And moving back home of course.
On another trip to campus, Faith and Bettina happen to run into another Pitstop Valley native - Benny Navajo.
…
“Hey Benny. Sorry about your dad. I heard from my mom.”
…
“Thanks.”
…
“Hi Faith.”
“Benny! Benny-man! Hi! How’s Brainia U’s big sports star?”
“Hm. You follow our basketball team Faith?”
“Totally. I totally knew what sport you played!
…
How are you?”
“Like, in general?”
“Yeah! In general! And in specific.”
“Um, fine, I guess. Got to go to my history lecture in an hour.”
“Cool, that is totally cool. History is so…like it’s a thing that happened. And we need to know about it. You know?”
“Um? Yeah, sure.”
“So, listen, when we all get back to Pitstop Valley…”
“Oh, I am not going back to Pitstop Valley.”
“HA! Ben! Benny, you’re funny. Anyway, when we get back to Pitstop – “
“I am not going back there Faith. I am staying here.”
“Benny! Ha! HA! What, are you going to do, stay at Brainia U forever? Be a super senior?”
“I dunno. Coach says if I take 15 more credits after senior year that I can do another semester at least.”
“Um, are you kidding Benny? Like – “
“Pitstop Valley is not a good place. It’s pretty shitty actually.”
“What do you mean?!”
“Well, we don’t have electricity, there’s only one store, anyone over 65 practically loses their mind, we can only use the phone one day a week, we don’t have a lot of – “
“Oh, is that all?! What, you wanna stay here because there’s pinball? And a movie theater?”
“…don’t be an asshole.”
“Fuck you! You don’t be an asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck you too.”
“Look, my dad is dead. Candice left town with some new boyfriend the last I heard. And Cheyenne has Mercy.”
“Okay…what about Benji?”
“Fuck Benji. He works for the mob. Fuck the mob too.”
…
“Move over.”
…
“So, what are you going to do then?”
“…I dunno. I can stay here. Or I can go anywhere. Maybe Downtown. I don’t know.”
“Downtown? Dangerous.”
“Whatever. Maybe it’s the right place for me. And you’ve never even been there, so you can’t even talk.”
“Like you have! How would you get there anyway?”
“I dunno. I’d figure it out.”
Faith’s conversation with Benny gave her a lot to think about. Not go back to Pitstop Valley? Faith couldn’t imagine it.
Sure, there wouldn’t be the nice amenities like they had at Brainia U. But her parents were there.
Well, Justice was at least.
Besides, Pitstop Valley was a small nowhere town – the perfect backstory for star who came from nothing.
The nice thing about Brainia U though; Faith and Bettina often had the pleasure of running into friends on-campus. That was one aspect of university Faith would miss.
“You guys are so CUUUUUUTE!”
“Faith! Get lost, will ya.”
Seb’s had been Bettina’s official boyfriend for some time now. Their relationship had a basis of a solid friendship. And they had magic in common as well.
While he’d been reluctant to share his magic training with Bettina, he was pleasantly surprised to find her a quick and eager study.
Nothing too crazy – a little spell here, a little charm there…
After all, it was likely that Bettina would follow her mother’s Good alignment, and possibly learn from her as well.
Remy on the other hand, took different approach to magic than Seb. He wasn’t above pushing the envelope.
After having settled on Philosophy as a major, in addition to his studies, Remy’s belief was that writing the next teen/YA novel would set him on the path to security and fortune.
Much to the amusement of his twin.
“Okay, so, let me guess…teeny tiny female protagonist who is not like other girls, somehow knows kung-fu and then she’s forced to team up with the school bully/secret crush who is also a werewolf-"
“Shut up! That’s terrible. That’s not even a GOOD example of a bad YA novel.”
“Just you wait. The book I am going to write is going to be amazing. And it’s going to make me a lot of money.”
At least that is what Remy was telling himself.
Wade, while not being really big on school, finally decided on a major that suited him: Kinesiology.
Going to gym class several times a week with a little bit of science class sprinkled in suited him nicely.
And who knows? Maybe that extracurricular karate class would come in handy one of these days.
At the boy’s house one snowy morning, Wade made the daft decision to shoo away a penguin from the yard right out of the shower.
Little did he know that it would lead to one of the most important days of his life.
Pengu: “BRRR! Indecent!”
A student known to everyone at Brainia U simply as ‘The Streaker’ happened to run past right as Wade was doing his shooing.
“AHHH!”
And Wade, outside and having already made one questionable decision that day, decided to make another.
He talked to her.
���Hey – “
“Wow! Outside in a towel?! Freeing right? The air is to totally crisp today!”
“….uh, heh, yeah! Sur-sure is! Um! Can I ask! What are you – “
“Oh yeah, ha! Totes didn’t mean to startle you if you saw me, but I just couldn't let this crisp and sunny day get away from me, you know? Totally exhilarating! You ever hear of barefoot running?”
“Uhhhh –“
“Wait! You’re in my Pilates class, yeah?”
“Uh…oh! Yea? I think? I’m in the front usually, so if you were behind me – “
“Dude! You give me like, golden retriever vibes, yeah? I like your style! What’s your sign? Do you know that penguin? Is it around your yard a lot?”
Pengu: “I am alarmed at what is transpiring here.”
Snowman: *judgmental and snowy agreement*
After helping her focus her attention, Wade invited the Streaker inside. Most people would find it cold to be outside in weather like that, after all.
Robin (her actual name) turned out to be a pretty interesting person.
She was also a Kinesiology major like Wade, with a focus in bodywork and massage therapy. She took up the habit of ‘frostrunning’ as she called it, to deal with anxiety her freshman year. She found it to be exhilarating and mood boosting, and she’d been hooked ever since.
Before the Fall, a college campus might have had a security team, one that would enforce rules against the kind of fast & naked exercise Robin had accustomed herself to.
But at Brainia U, her only real danger was that of falling on the ice or freezing to death. No other student had dared to approach her.
Except for Wade. He found her to be the most fascinating person he’d ever met.
“I’ll look out for you in class next time. Maybe you can show me that hip stretch you mentioned?”
“Sure!”
Remy’s interactions with girls were usually less…good.
“…then we get to the tower, and the whole time we are following the protagonist – I still don’t have a name for him – and then suddenly at the top of the stairs, in her defense, the princess who has whipped the door wide open in anticipation, has the dagger, aimed right at his – “
“Puh-LEASE! Stop! That’s godawful!”
“Could you come up with something that’s even more pandering?! I mean my god; did you rip that right from the Chronicles of Pretentious Douchebags? Where is the female character’s agency?! Does this heroine have any friends? And what about the arch with the mourning dove? I mean were you going to forget about that entirely?!”
Luckily, there’s some other Brainia U students that are a little more easygoing.
“Howdy Faith! Any luck making friends with that personality?”
“Suck my butt, Bettina.”
*grumble*
“I can make other friends…”
…
“…maybe talking to new people was a bad idea.”
“Hey! I am literally right here.”
“Well, Kiera, you’re being weird, and you needed to know.”
*sigh*
“I hate small talk…. but not everyone should get to know me on a deep level.
…
…how am I supposed to connect with anyone? I hate this! Everyone’s so dumb…but I want to be in a relationship...”
“It could be that you’re feeling overwhelmed about who to choose for the future. It’s a big decision.”
“Well, good point! I’d definitely want to be with someone who would kiss the ground I walk on!”
“Uh, okay…”
“Well, think about it. You need to be careful. A lot of people unconsciously look for partners that have the same traits and qualities as the people they grew up with. You know? Because those people feel familiar. But that’s not always a good choice, depending on your family and upbringing and all.”
“No offense dude, but have you even kissed anyone? Do you even know what you are talking about?”
“Geez. Sorry for trying to help.”
Fortunately for Faith, there’s other people on campus who prove to be more receptive to her.
“Oi! Lambkin! What’s a lovely single lady like you doing here? You seem tense. I may be able to help you unburden your troubles…among other things…”
“Um!! I, uh…”
“Verily! Across the campus I’d seen ye, and I thought – “
“Hey Rasmus, fuck off. Don’t touch people. Go take a shower.”
“Lo! Our fiery leading lady! Faith the Fearless! What say – “
“Beat it Rasmus. What the fuck. Invest in deodorant.”
“Huh?”
“Hey, sorry about him.”
“Wha…what the…who was – “
“God, that’s just Rasmus. Theater majors, you know? Sorry, I’m a theater major too, but at least I have some restraint. We did A Christmas Carol last semester and Rasmus still hasn’t let go of his character and wears the costume all the time. What a creep, right?”
“Ohhhhh…okay that….that kinda makes sense…”
“What’s your name?”
“Hi, uh, Rebecca. Rebecca Beckett.”
“Rebecca Beckett. Becky Beckett! That’s cute! I like it. You wanna get some pizza?”
Though Brainia U’s pool was roofless and unprotected from the year-round winter weather, some students didn’t mind a bracing dip. It was practically the only exercise that Faith would tolerate.
“Hey, you know, I was thinking about what you said, and…you’re full of shit.”
“…you were actually listening to me? Do you even know my name?”
“So, like, I want the opposite of whatever fucked up situation my parents have. That’s what I’ve always been looking for. But everyone’s so like, boring? Like, I’m looking for some spice.”
“You know, heat? Energy? Something interesting?”
“I wouldn’t expect you to get it.”
“Listen, I’m really not interested in whatever it is you’ve got going on. I was just making an observation. I’m in my capstone for Psychology, and you just seemed like you had a pretty obvious blind spot as far as emotional intelligence goes….sorry I got involved. Bye.”
*grumble*
“….what the fuck does he know…”
Life continues to be a blur of eat-sleep-study-repeat until graduation day. And, the penguin is here.
Pengu: “How much longer must we wrestle with disrespectful treatment, brother?! HM?!”
Snowman: *agrees snowily*
With occasional other happenings.
“…I think that was Wade’s new girlfriend.
…
Um, wow.”
“Maybe that dick-idiot with the slicked-back red hair was kind of saying something...”
“Am I looking in the right places for a boyfriend? What am I even looking for?”
And for once, Faith could not distract herself from her issues with cooking.
“Bettina! Are we out of my lentil tofu? The hell? Where is the rice I made on Tuesday?”
“Oh…yeah Temps was over to study with me for our history exam. I think he ate it.”
While on a trip to the store…
…while Faith stocks up on nutritional yeast and noodles…
…who does Bettina run into, but her beloved!
“Sebby!”
“Hi angel. Why are you out late?”
“Oh, the fridge was bare. How are you?”
“Babe, listen I’ve been thinking…”
“Ooh! Lower, there, thank you…”
“Babe, I’d like to do some more advanced magic.”
“Oh, would you now?
…
You still need to work on the firefly charm. 5 fireflies is not exactly multitudinous. You’re really supposed to –”
“That’s kid stuff! I want to do more!”
“Oh yeah, like what? Love spells? Stop time? Making things out of thin air? You know that’s Evil magic.”
“Not like thaaaat….exactly…”
“Bettina…”
“What! I just love it, okay? I feel powerful. I feel like I have a lot of catching up to do, you know? I just want to like, do some extra credit, to get to the next level.”
“Ha! There’s no need to rush. Magic is a life-long practice. Why are you trying to jump ahead?”
“Ugh, like, because! Please?!”
“Bettina, first, I don’t even study that myself. Second, your mother is not going to approve of me – “
“Oh my god, what does she even know! She – “
“She does know Bettina, that’s the thing. Romantic couples are not supposed to be partners in magic. She’s not going to approve of me, and she’s certainly not going to approve of any magic from you that isn’t above-board and Good.”
“We’re a romantic couple then? You like like me?”
“Shut up, haha. But you should really cushion the news for her. I’m serious. It’s not recommended that romantic couples partner in magic, as many have a tendency to break up. Statistically.”
“We are not going to break up.”
“I didn’t say that. I just said that statistically, it’s likely. We are adults. We have to be realistic.”
“Mhm! I love when you talk to me about stats. It’s romantic.”
“There’s always other things we can do together…things that use a different kind of magic…”
Ever needing ‘material’ for his YA novel, Remy manages to get his roommates to wander campus with him.
“…a chosen one arc? No….no, perhaps a soulmate thing, where they are BOTH the chosen ones…”
Seb and Temps are still thick as thieves. Tempe appreciates Seb’s analytical mind and sense of responsibility.
Someone must be the ‘dad’ of the group. If Wade and Tempe are the unsupervised toddlers.
*hurk*
“So, a Long Island Iced Tea doesn’t - *hurk*- have any tea in it at all?”
“Well, I wouldn’t know! Maybe you didn’t get it strong enough. Oh! I’ll order a double, and then maybe that’s how you would notice the tea flavor?”
“…Remy, let’s get these guys some carbs.”
*hurk* “But I ate some popcorn! I found it on the ground!”
“Seb, it looked fine! 5 second rule, yeah?”
“…yeah, food is a good idea.”
Time for a change of scenery – pizza!
The beloved dad of the group isn’t exactly good at loosening up. But he tries.
The campus’s pizza place is a popular spot.
Faith likes it here too.
“What’s up virgins!”
Not deterred by his less-than-stellar previous interactions with girls, Remy keeps at it.
“I am going to go talk to that blond girl eating pizza.”
“Okay. You have something specific as an opener? Or do you know her at all?”
“No, but I got this. Trust me.”
Things start of innocuous enough…
“Oh my god! Hey! I was going to wear that same outfit tonight!”
“Ha? Ha!”
…and goes downhill very quickly.
“…no way could the epistolary nature of the book be captured in film, even if – “
“What?! So, you’re saying that the scene where he’s on the ship with the sirens, even if it was a dream – “
“Oh puh-lease, ‘even if it was a dream’ – what else would it be? A flashback?! A cheesy flashback with a misty cut?”
Remy gaze hasn’t left his navel long enough to realize that not everyone’s is on his wavelength.
“Hmph…maybe this isn’t the hangout for a…sapiosexual…like myself.”
“Less evolved girls just don’t ‘get’ me.”
At least Remy has his brother.
Also, if further proof was needed that Tempe has weird taste in girls…here is Becky Beckett, a cool girl who jokes about being pickpocketed and *winks* - but Tempe thinks she’s yucko.
Available girls could practically fall from the sky, and it’s like Tempe would not even notice.
Back at the boy’s house…
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH – oh, hi Robin…”
“Hi Sebastian!”
Robin the Streaker takes the opportunity to feel the breeze beneath her buttocks. And pay Wade a visit!
“Robin, in this cold and snowy world we live in…”
“… you could be the sunshine of my life.”
“Hahaha, Wade! Oh, you’re too sweet.”
With encouragement, Robin is able to put some clothes on. And Wade gets to know her better!
Wade discovers that she’s an extra social super playful extrovert!
Highly skilled…
And a Leo too – which makes a LOT of sense.
“I’ve never met anyone like you Wade! You’ve got a sick snowball throw, and a nice booty.”
“I’ve never met anyone like you, Robin! Want to go make a snowman?”
“Yeah!”
Awwwww.
Robin’s streaking has inspired at least one other person at Brainia U to pursue some new…freedoms of expression.
Yeah, yeah (I like it when the beat goes da na da na)
(Baby, make my booty go da na da na)
(Girl, I know I wanna show da na da na) baby
That schlong sch-schlong, schlong, schlong
I said I like the way, uh (baby, when the beat goes da na da na)
Uh (baby, make my booty go da na da na)
Baby (girl, I know I wanna show da na da na)
(That schlong sch-schlong schlong, schlong) listen -
“Naked guy. Can I. Help you?”
“Jeez Red, you’re a tough crowd!”
“Well, you’re going to have to do better than waving your hog around if you want to impress me.”
And that’s it for part 1! Part 2 coming soon!
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some dumb jocks for @rainymoodlet/@kissmeinkomorebi's bc
lou larson (contestant)
bisexual bigender butch (she/he)
adult (43)
maker, gloomy, goofball
renaissance sim aspiration
5'9
divorcedest bitch in komorebi
good with kids, has such dad energy you forget he doesn't have any
he's funny but sometimes you have to stop him mid joke to go "hey are you ok?????"
not as committed a jock as katsuo, but definitely makes an effort to keep fit, if only to make herself leave the house.
very handy - aside from woodwork, she fixes cars for fun.
hino katsuo (outsider)
none gender with left gay (he/they)
adult (38)
active, adventurous, childish
extreme sports enthusiast
5'11
dumbass slutty jock with negative impulse control and a heart of gold
a little bit of an adrenaline junkie, always looking for a new way to put himself in mild danger.
he has a tendency to make big plans for holidays or ambitious projects - and then follows through on maybe a third of them.
was a little bit of a musician back in the day - never made it big, but the important thing is he knows his way around sound equipment.
backstory under the cut - it got WAY too long but we move.
There's a story Lou likes to tell, after she's had a few drinks and she's feeling talkative. He takes one last sip to lubricate, clears his throat dramatically, and everyone leans in to listen.
"Okay, so it's Moonlight Falls. Almost 20 years ago, now? They've got this Lumberee thing going on. I used to go when I was a kid, see, and even now I'm a big grown-up boy going out on my own, I still come back every year to eat my dad's food and, fuckin', I don't know, check out the music. They have this little wood-carving competition but I only ever watch for ideas, 'cause I'm a cocky little 20something shit still and I think I'm way too cool for it.
"Except this one year there's a lady." Pause for wolf-whistles, or "aww"s, depending on the crowd. "I've been flirting with her hard, and it's going pretty smooth. I mean, she's so into me it's kind of embarrassing for her. She says she loves the woodcarving competition but I say these guys are all hacks, I've made better easily. And she doesn't believe me, but I've backed myself into a corner now and the only way out is through, so I say I'll enter so I can get her dinner with the winnings.
"It's actually way cooler than I thought. There's this old, old guy who does it every year, some teenager whose friends talked him into it, all sorts. But my favourite is this dude from out of town who entered on a whim, like me. We chat while we work and we really hit it off. Few years down the line, I switch on the TV, guess who that guy turned into? Fucking Daniel Taylor." Sometimes someone will ask "who?" and Lou will launch into a tangent. "Who? Daniel Taylor. Your Dad's Garage Daniel Taylor? Come on, man, you've seen Your Dad's Garage. Well, you should. Look it up. He's great, and he's just as nice in person. He was a really interesting guy, had some good stories - not bad to look at either. We could've been friends, probably, but I look up from the chair I'm making and I see the girl watching me, and our eyes meet across the tent, and I remember - oh, yeah, I'm not here to make friends."
And this is where his story has to diverge a little. The grand finale used to be easy - he would reach for her wife's hand, or fix her with an adoring look, or, if she wasn't around, affect a boyish, half-ironic bragging tone, and he'd say, "So I kicked Daniel Taylor's ass. My chair blows his and everyone else's out of the water, I win us a good fancy dinner and then some, and I've been with her ever since."
As it turns out, it loses its gravitas once the girl leaves you. If she changes the ending, says "and I was with that girl for almost 20 years before she told me I was "messy" and "incapable of taking her seriously" and kicked me out of her house, taking all of our mutual friends with her", the love story feels hollow. If she skips over it, it feels dishonest, and it all starts falling apart at the first follow-up question. This story is meant to end happily ever after. It isn't meant to end with Lou living on his gym buddy's futon, crying periodically and watching old Your Dad's Garage episodes because they remind him of her.
But life isn't a story, and Katsuo is getting worried. When Lou first moved in, she was somewhere between an aquaintance and a friend. They worked out together if they were both around, and Katsuo let her shower at their nearby house when he mentioned feeling off in the gendered public ones at the gym, but they rarely hung out otherwise. Still, though - when she nervously asked if Katsuo wanted a roommate after her divorce, he jumped at the chance. Sure, he needed help with the rent, but living alone had been rough - maybe they'd get a friend out of it too.
It's been months now, and get a friend they did. The two of them are inseparable, their daily routines intertwined - they work out together, cook together, Lou even got Katsuo into her favourite show (and that woodworker is one fine DILF). But the more Katsuo gets to know Lou, the more he starts to worry. He can hardly expect her to be over a relationship so long-term in a few months, but he's grown fond of her now, to the point where seeing her in this state is painful.
Katsuo's solution only makes Lou wonder if his new best friend is an evil genius or a complete idiot. Her interest in Daniel's show was minimal - he hates nostalgic cashgrabs just a little more than he loves Daniel's work - but when they suggested he go on, he couldn't deny being intrigued. When they added that they had always wanted to go up Mt Komorebi, and that maybe a little sound guy work could help cover some of those travel expenses, she laughed so hard she almost forgot about her divorce for a minute. The application process was a drunken evening filling out forms and laughing. Neither one of them had planned on it actually working.
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HANDS UP AGAINST THE WALL WHERE I CAN SEE THEM by deleted user ):
SUMMARY: “literally the gayest cops you can imagine have sex against the wall of amenity number nine”
PREGAME: my partner played officer barrel in a production of urinetown and I saw the closing show yesterday and they are the best barrel of all time!!!!! better than everyone else!!!!! fuck all of you my partner just brings some nice gravitas to the character your stupid ass could never understand!!!!!! i want them to take me to urinetown!!! And so a few days before the show they sent me this fic and told me to read it and of course I would! I read it twice before the show and then twice after so I could gauge how the fanfic was to someone who hadn’t known the characters in full detail and then read it so I could compare the vibe of it to the performance I saw. I am a reviewer who only wants the best for his audience baby and I always deliver except when my friend sends me like a 12 part 500k word story about the amphibia characters disemboweling people I don’t think I can get through that series for him but maybe I will one day who knows. But anyways I was awoken in the middle of the night and that caused me to get inspired to reread the fanfic and write this review so enjoy my fellow alphas
REVIEW: When I opened this shit up and read the tags, I was slapped across the face with a SECOND PERSON POINT OF VIEW. Who the fuck write a fanfiction about two characters in SECOND PERSON??? I am here to read officer barrel get fucked by officer lockstock, “You” doesn’t even fucking exist in this world it takes me out of the immersion baby like what the fuck???? BUT!!! That was just my first impression because oh baby what if I told YOU that this was second person POV being used EFFECTIVELY?? Like what the fuck I didn’t expect it to be actually pretty solidly written so I kinda respected the second person POV as a quirk of the writer and let go of it and the immersion was never really lost it was weird. I’ve read only one other fanfic that did that correctly and that was because it was this one that was in the style of the disco Elysium game and so it enhanced the reading experience very well, I need to review it one day. But the point is that this is like kinda good. Before reading it, my partner and I looked through the comments and we noticed three things: 1) basically everyone reading it was in a production of urinetown and one person who commented actually had lockstock and barrel kiss which was cool I guess AND 2) people who weren’t a big fan of second person POV were into it, AND 3) an account called JDFangirl3.14 commented, “I’m doing this play right now, and we all love how beautifully and grammatically correct this is written! 👨❤️👨”. This comment may seem innocuous and normal but I was shitting my pants when I read that it said that it was grammatically correct. I am the type of guy who can’t really get off to reading fanfic shit, and like especially if there’s a grammatical error it just takes me out of the immersion. But once I read the fic I realized that this dude was almost right. Basic grammar laws were abided most of the time but there was one typo with wall being wal and one mistake where the author didn’t put a space in between two words. But that was easily passed over because man I was already engrossed in this body of work which alluded me because I had to reread it three times to realize that those were there but maybe I’m stupid.
This author (I wish they had not deleted their account so I could thank them) somehow blended in together some elements of shit I didn’t like (second person pov, italics for internal and external dialogue, cops) and somehow brought it together into something pretty solid and immersive to me. And like character wise it’s kinda in character like maybe the production I watched played it different than theirs because I couldn’t really imagine officer lockstock being too intimidating and I had to like separate the characters appearances and voices in my head from the actors in the production because it would be weird and kinda cuck-y to imagine your partner and the dude that played lockstock getting at it at amenity number nine so take my interpretation of the characters with a grain of salt. Like the dialogue isn’t the best sometimes and it feels like I’ve read a few fanfics that have said the same shit before but I don’t know maybe I’m riding a high on something that’s not making me as critical as I usually am. Yeah so if you like a nice combination of second person pov and you wish you could watch urinetown cops fuck on stage then hey this fanfic is for you.
BEST LINE: I’m too tired to find a line sorry I’m just gonna post this and then go back to sleep
RATING: 3.7/8 bunnies (gamma status I think??)
#alpha review#fanfic review#urinetown#urinetown fanfic#urinetown fanfiction#officer lockstock x officer barrel#my partner played the best officer barrel ever#I love my partner they killed it on stage#they’re the best barrel ever dude you’ll never compete#the formatting was weird because the app was acting weird#anyways I’m tired goodnight love you mwah mwah
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OOC
Hey, Katie, remember when we first started roleplaying Gravitas and Grimmjow together?
Remember when we plotted nearly endlessly about the reasons why they wouldn’t be able to have sex (because they’re too dominant and always trying to be the one on top, so it just ends up in a fight), or why they can only be an intense brotp, no romance (because Grimmjow is aromantic, incapable of having romantic emotions, and Gravitas would be driven to kill and eat Grimmjow because he can’t handle being away from him anymore, but he must leave at some point and continue his journeys)?
Yeah, lmao. I don’t know what happened.
#destrozcs#[out of snow]#// they have sex endlessly; Gravitas falls in love; Grimmjow is developing feelings that he doesn't understand;#they get married and Gravitas sets down roots on Earth as his new home; and they now have a new chapter ahead of them#oh and Gravitas taking it up the ass#definitely that one#he's NEVER allowed anyone near his ass
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Baby boy souya♡
fucking the shit out of souta while nahoya is in the next room
(Afab and g/n reader)
List of kinks: pegging, Dacryphilia, giving him a rim job if that counts,
You had come over to souyas house, to pay him and his brother a visit and eat dinner with them, but a little more than that happened.
“hAah- y/n!!” “Shhh baby, Nahoya might hear us if you moan so loudly”
How did you guys get here?
Well, souya bent over while picking something up, looking back to make sure you were looking. He’s so innocent but so…sultry sometimes. So..you decided to give the blue haired boy what he wanted. Your attention. “Damn, have you been doing squats angry?” He expected something like that from you, but, he still blushed bright red. “What’s wrong baby? Did that make you uncomfortable? Sorry-“ “No no! It’s fine it’s fine!! It just t-turned me o-on…”silence filled the room for a few seconds until you gulped and whispered “I see…how perverse of you. Pervert.~” “The fuck’re you guys doin?” Nahoya had walked out of his room to get some water. After eating he was thirsty. Although you and souya were thirsty in different ways.. “…never mind” he grabs water quickly and heads back to his room. You let out a cackle no matter how hard you were trying to maintain your gravitas. You look at souya to tell him something like ‘let us continue’ or ‘now back to what we were doing’ but you notice how extremely red souya is. You proceed to breathe “what’s wrong baby?”. He immediately forgets all the embarrassment he felt and he is so turned on it’s like he’s under a spell. “Let’s go to your room baby, we don’t want nahoya walking in on us like this again right?” “Y-yes master..
As soon as you guys are in his room you notice there was already a towel on the bed so you carry him and lay him on the bed, baby boy souya again embarrassed that he’s being carried like this and that he was already prepared for you prior.
“Turn around, souya,I’m eating you out today.” Souta blinks twice, probably finally out of his trance. “O-o-oh…” souta couldn’t lie. The sound of that made his hole twitch. “What’s wrong baby? You don’t want that?” You ask, concerned that he might be uncomfortable with that. “No. Please do.” He shifts around and positions himself to have his ass up and his face down. As soon as he does this you just want to gobble him up. “I already, uhm, c-cleaned myself back there..” His back arches when he feels your cold hand go under his shirt from his lower back to his neck. You slip his pants off. Fuck he looked so tasty like this. Ass up, knees shaking barely holding him up, the way his hole twitches around nothing, the way he’s still trying to look at you through his blue fluffy hair, they way his breath hitches whenever you touch a sensitive spot. It’s all driving you insane. You move your head towards your ‘second desert’ and start licking. You felt him twitch around your tongue whenever you put it in. He whimpered & moaned so cutely and would grind against the towel to get any friction he could get.. “please…more.”. You pick up your pace and lick him more. The adorable “hng right there” he had breathed out almost sent you over the moon, but, it was time to make him cum in a different way. You got up from the bed, walk to his closet, grab a box, and take the lube from the box. “Pleaseee just put it in!! We don’t need it! Please quickly master” he moaned out for you but you held yourself back. “Shh be patient, love.”. After buckling the strap in, you begin to pour lube on your strap and his hole. The familiar feeling of the cold lube made him shiver, anticipating for your silicone dick to be inside him. Your reply to his action was “Just a little more preparation my love.” And he whined like a cute puppy.
Now, back to where we were.
“How many times do I have to say you have to be quieter, baby?”you say as you slow down your thrusts. Not to stop him from moaning. No no no, you want more of that. You slow down to make him beg for you to go “faster!!” and “harder!!”. And that’s exactly what your beloved, souta, did. “Hmmaahgh go fasterr” he’d say as grinds so cutely against your strap. Who are you to not have mercy on your cute baby boy? You pull out for a second,making souta whine in both confusion and frustration, and place the tip of the silicone cock on his hole. Then you slowly pushed the tip in to quickly thrust roughly into his hole. He let out a half gasp half moan, making you giggle. You continue to thrust in and out, seeing it disappearing into him over and over again while it rubs against your clit felt amazing. You position yourself closer to him. Your warm chest on his upper back and your fingers fucking his mouth now. You’re ramming into him now, literally fucking him dumb like the little cute slut he is for your strap. Repeatedly hitting his prostate just feels sooo good. “You can cum whenever you want,baby”. He came as soon as you said that. “Ohmygodohmy” and he’d gasp a few more times. God it was adorable, you’d leave kisses on his neck the whole time. As soon as he’s done you go for a bit longer so you come, making him twitch and moan extremely loudly until you cum.
As you guys are laying next to each other about to cuddle, you guys suddenly hear “ya finally fuckin done?” From smiley. Being too exhausted to laugh you wheeze a little and souya hides his face in your neck.
Baby boy souya is soooo cute.
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Kyle’s Kilos Chapter Two
Kyle had used Grindr for hook ups for a while after things fizzled out with Pete during Uni and after he graduated.
Never having much trouble pulling guys with his washboard abs and athletic physique, he last went on Grindr about a week before starting at the computer firm and had enjoyed pulling guys in left right and centre. After settling into the city, he intended on partying every weekend and getting laid as much as he did on campus, but he soon realised this just wasn’t possible. However when his holiday started, he decided to give the app a look over on the first evening. A guy named Adam tapped him and they got talking (Kyle’s pic was still the same he had used in the summer of him standing by a pool looking like a Greek god.) Kyle agreed to accom, and Adam came by immediately that evening.
As they made out on Kyle’s bed and Adam began stripping him of clothes, something felt different to Kyle as Adam’s hands explored his body and his own hands explored Adam’s. Fondling the taut, twink’s slim honed waist and small perky buttocks was like feeling his own body, or the body he used to have he was reminded, as Adam’s hands squeezed deep into his plush growing love handles. He was reminded again of Pete, though he was now the chubby one, and he really didn’t know how to feel about it.
In bed, Kyle realised that Adam was ‘undergrad Kyle’ - less experienced and submissive, doing as instructed by the grounded, graduate Kyle. He had never really been dominant as a partner before, but something was different - maybe this weight gave him more gravitas, he wondered, as he topped for the first time.
‘That was hot man, thank you for having me over’ Adam said the next morning as he pulled together his things, he paused and looked cautiously at Kyle before continuing ‘If I were you though, I’d take some new photos for your profile’
‘Why?’ answered Kyle innocently, though he knew where this was going.
‘You look a little different’ Adam said tactfully
‘What do you mean?’ quizzed Kyle, strangely wanting to hear the words
‘It’s ok, I don’t mind - it’s just you’ve put on weight since your photo’
‘Yeah, but I’m planning on losing it’
‘Oh man, that’s what they all say! Don’t worry though - people are more open-minded these days you know - if you can’t be a twink forever why deny yourself a twinkie?’
That was the last Kyle saw of Adam, but being outrightly shaded for getting fat made him feel oddly aroused, like the embarrassment and humiliation was a turn on in itself. Perhaps it was time to take a look in the dreaded mirror, he thought.
Kyle was indeed more bloated than ever - not just in his body but in his face now too. His once angular jawline was puffing out, making him look like a completely different person. That skinny fit suit really was a mistake too, especially now that he’d gotten fatter. It was such a strange experience, to find clothes getting tighter round the middle, round the shoulders for sure he was used to that happening with all his sporting efforts, but having to tug his blazers for the buttons to close; constantly tucking his shirts back in after riding up again and again; sucking in a little harder each morning to get the fly of his trousers to meet; not to mention having to relent to buckling another hole further along on his belt to stop it digging in, not that there was any worry of the trousers falling down; and worst of all, the unnerving creak of the seam down his ballooning ass.
It was a Tuesday when Kyle was greeted with a surprise encounter. Floor five had just hired a new manager, and he was due to be dropping by to meet the team that afternoon. As nice as it would be to meet the new guy and finally not be the new guy, Kyle was more looking forward to the spread of buffet that he was reliably informed would be provided by the company by Dale. ‘Not that you need any encouragement! Don’t want anymore pants ripping this side of Christmas do we now’ he remarked cheekily, giving Kyle’s belly a playful slap.
‘You can talk!‘ Kyle retorted with a smile ‘that stone you were bragging about losing is piling back on’ and reaching over he pinched Dale’s returning paunch and love handles with glee.
‘It’s you man - you’re a bad influence! Completely wrecked my diet with all that damn McDonalds you keep bringing to your desk’
‘Well at least Laura’s got something to hold onto again’ Kyle bantered ‘I’ve decided, this January my resolution is to get my bod back so perhaps we could gym together?’
‘I don’t know if I can be bothered to be honest, Kyle. You see, I’ll lose it, get into reasonable shape and then just end up getting fat again as I’ve no reason to stay in shape - so I’m just gonna watch I don’t over do it… too much’ he winked.
That moment, the doors to the office opened and the new manager was ushered into the room by his accompanying predecessor. It was Pete.
‘Oh my god, it’s - it’s….’ Kyle panicked
‘Kyle you look like you’ve just seen a ghost!’ Dale chuckled
‘Oh worse than that, an ex’
‘No way’
‘Yes way… I haven’t seen him in ages’
‘He’s fucking gorgeous, I totally would-eh if I was into guys that is’ Dale quickly corrected himself, but Kyle wasn’t listening. Pete was now in better shape than Kyle, like underwear model good shape. His suit dressed him to the nines, fitting every contour of his honed physique like a glove - this was old sixth form Pete 2.0 with bigger arms, bigger legs, tighter ass and, probably, smaller waist. Kyle watched him beadily as Pete was escorted around the room as his fellow co-workers blushed and exchanged pleasantries; clearly Pete hadn’t lost his charm! As he grinned that cheeky grin, light from the window seems to sparkle off his now chiselled jaw and cheekbones, and his teeth were they ever that pearly white?
As Pete approached his desk, Kyle hoped that one discernible benefit from getting fat would be that Pete might not even recognise him… perhaps he could give a fake name?
‘Hi guys, I’m Peter, just here to introduce myself’ he cut short and squinted at Kyle ‘you remind me of someone… Kyle?!’
‘Damn i- Hi! Do I know you?’ Kyle asked unconvincingly
‘It’s me, Pete!’ He replied grinning from ear to ear. ‘I’ve changed a bit since Uni, huh?’
‘Oh Pete, hi - yeah you have, you look different to when I last saw you - and I must look different too’
‘Yeah, you’ve gotten a little bit fatter man, I can’t lie, obviously not just this company that needs whipping into shape!’ He joked and nodded at Dale’s mid-riff too, whose smug grin quickly disappeared.
‘Wow, I know he’s your friend and all, but that guy’s a jerk’ Dale bemoaned as Pete strutted off.
‘He never used to be’ Kyle replied ‘and I wouldn’t worry, there’s only one guy whose shape is gonna change round here and it won’t be you or me’ Kyle said with a sly grin.
The weeks wore on, and Pete’s popularity on floor five hit the ground like a lead balloon. He pushed for extra work and assignments to be completed, cut breaks, cut out bake offs and cake Fridays - bringing in fruit bowls instead, the vending machine and god even the coffee machine were taken away, and worst of all every morning before work, he insisted everyone take part in a workout with him after blowing the floor’s party budget on showers and changing rooms in the staff lavatories…
‘Come on Kyle, those extra kilos won’t shift themselves!’ He taunted one session as Kyle sweated through a circuit of press ups. ‘Did I ever tell you guys me and Kyle here were roomies for first year at Uni?’ He told this story every week. ‘You wouldn’t have recognised this guy, and you certainly wouldn’t have recognised me. All I can say is the tables have turned, but I’m here to get us both in the same direction again’ he chuckled slapping Kyle’s ass and watching it wobble. No one laughed, they just looked on with disgust. Though no one said it, everyone became very collectively hostile towards Pete, who now insisted everyone call him Peter, consciously working less hard and leaving him with unfinished work to explain to management, which he would often have to work overtime to get done or face the wrath of his superiors. Although he was above everyone in the room, the rules of the game were simple: ‘last in, first out’ and Peter knew it. The morning exercises continued though Peter didn’t take part anymore, asking Kyle to lead the sessions instead watching the proceedings from his office window to make sure he didn’t go easy on either himself or the others. Kyle was partly wrong about what he said, for he and Dale were getting into better shape - perhaps he wouldn’t ever be quite as fit as his sporting prowess again but he was able to sit comfortably in his suits again and not having to worry about his trousers ripping.
No one really noticed for sometime time as he hardly left his desk, let alone his office, but the stress and the workload were beginning to take its toll on Peter’s waistline. On the rare occasion he strutted round the floor to inspect everyone, Kyle noticed that Peter’s trousers were getting tighter and tighter, that the buttons on his shirt were straining and he had to keep tucking it back into the waistband of his trousers uncomfortably. His tie also seemed to follow a growing, outward curve along his mid-riff rather than lay flat. He had the unmistakable beginnings of a belly.
‘Well, well, well’ Dale said with a sly grin ‘that’s what I call the taste of sweet success’
‘What do you mean?’ Kyle asked curiously
‘What do you see round Peter’s mouth?’
As he came round to their desk, Kyle eyed his old friend, and saw the slob he had slept with beginning to return and sure enough there was an unmistakable smear of chocolate around his upper lift.
‘Kyle that report I set this morning better be done by the end of the day’ Pete snapped, his cocky, laid back confidence was well and truly gone.
‘No problem, Peter. Hey why don’t you come out with us tonight?’ He offered kindly
‘Where?’ Pete softened
‘Just for a beer, there’s a pretty good bar round the corner me and Dale like going to on a Friday night’
‘Well, yeah, I guess could… though I’m meant to be going - hey, why not… I can always start again next week’. He answered, though this was partly muttered to himself
‘Start what again next week?’ Dale asked coldly, though he had a sneaking suspicion what
‘Never you mind Dale’ Pete snapped again ‘You won’t be going anywhere until that Haverson report is done and I mean it, you’ll be here all weekend with me if it isn’t done’
‘You’ve been coming in on weekends?’
Pete looked sheepishly at the two of them ‘just get it done’
‘You need to have a break man, in fact, have a KitKat’ Dale grinned knowingly
‘So it’s you whose be-?!’ Pete blurred out, his rounding cheeks flushing red.
Kyle looked confused, and in that moment knocked a pen off his desk by accident.
Peter instantly went to pick it up. RIP. That seam busting sound, Kyle was so familiar with, knelled the end of Peter, the born again gym bunny, as his skin tight suit trousers gave way. Everyone in the room laughed, and Pete marched into his office, slamming the door and rolling down the blind.
‘That worked a treat, literally!’ Dale lauded Kyle ‘nice stunt with the pen, I wish I’d thought up that one, well, at least the KitKats worked’
‘First off, that pen was an accident and what are you talking about?’
‘Oh, I’ve just been sneaking chocolate into his office… Just a few bars in his desk drawer, but I think he must be buying his own in now, there’s no way he would put on that much weight so quickly’
Kyle didn’t know how he felt about this, sure Pete, Peter he corrected himself, had been a bit of an asshole to everyone, but was fattening him up like a pig for company slaughter really fair? But there was something else about the whole thing, something… how could he put it? Arousing. He felt the crotch of his trousers tighten as his dick got thicker with this thought. After all this time he still found Pete turned him on, but this was more than an attraction for the boy but the man he was becoming, and the belly he was growing.
The day wore on, and Peter hadn’t left the office, even for lunch.
‘Bad news Kyle, the missus wants me home tonight’ Dale announced glumly
‘Ah no worries pal, another time’ Kyle replied, though he was inwardly glad, it bothered him that he had been party to humiliating an old friend - even if he had been humiliated by Peter in the last few weeks, he still cared about the guy, after all they had history, and he wanted to make an effort to make amends without Dale’s input.
At the end of the day after all had cleared out, leaving many papers strewn at their desks and projects left unfinished, Kyle went up with his report to Peter’s office and knocked.
‘Just a moment’ a stressed voice called from inside. Kyle could hear a vast flurry of papers being scuffled around the desk.
‘It’s alright, Pete-err-Peter, it’s me Kyle’
‘Piss off, dickhead, I’ve got work to do’
‘I’ve done the report you’ve asked for’ Kyle replied ‘Look I’m sorry about the pen it was an accident, please can we just have a chat? For old times sake, at least’.
There was movement behind the blind, the lock clicked open, and Peter pulled the door open. He looked an absolute mess; five o’clock shadow, unkempt hair, buttons undone on both his collar and trousers to relieve the growing strain of his corporate corpulence.
‘For god sake call me Pete’ he exclaimed with an honest smile, beckoning Kyle into a very different office.
’Sorry about the mess, I guess I’ve been letting a lot of things go recently’ he admitted, giving his belly a casual slap. Kyle felt a twinge in his trousers.
‘I swore to myself I would never let this happen again, Kyle’ Pete moaned. ‘I hated being fat, I had no friends, no one would look at me let alone get into bed with me’.
‘I did’ Kyle replied simply
‘Yeah but that was just experimenting, wasn’t it, I mean I was the first guy you’d properly done it with, so you didn’t exactly have much to go on after that you could have any fit lad you wanted’.
‘Pete, I did those things with you because I was attracted to someone who was confident, laid back and fun to be around and who made me feel confident and trusting to love. I fell for Pete, and I would have done those things with you no matter if you were fat or thin’.
‘You’re just saying that’ Pete interrupted.
‘I mean lately, there’s been this new guy around, Peter, who’s a bit of an uptight prick, I’m not gonna lie, and you know where his cockiness and banter used to be fun and sexy, this guy’s been just plain nasty and unattractive’.
Pete looked at him so vulnerably all of a sudden, like all the defences had been stripped away.
‘You know what though’ Kyle continued, moving closer, centimetres from his old pal’s lips, ‘just recently I’ve been seeing a bit of the old Pete, you know, the guy I fell in love with’.
They kissed, slowly at first, and Kyle felt tears moving from Pete’s eyes and rolling down his own cheeks.
They began to fondle one another; from memory it was strange for Kyle to find hardened muscle in places which had been soft - equally for Pete it was strange to feel extra flesh on what he remembered was a honed and fit sportsman. As they groped up and down each others fleshier bottoms and love handles, the arousal intensified. Both boys had nevertheless become heavier men, and the two vied for domination of one another, pushing and pulling one another about the small room, knocking the few stacked piles of papers onto the floor.
‘Bottom for me, Pete’ Kyle whispered breathlessly into his ear ‘There’s a serious amount of ass there going to waste’
‘Old Kyle was always a bottom, I like this new Kyle’ he replied cheekily ‘He’s willing to give new things a try’.
With that he ripped his shirt off, his returning, bloated belly and moobs jiggling.
‘Help me get these trousers off, there might be a surprise underneath’ he teased.
Kyle helped to yank the ripped trousers off, struggling to get them past Pete’s thickening thighs, finding Pete was wearing just a jock underneath.
‘I won’t lie, they fit me great a few weeks ago, damn office job, just wait till I get back on track at the gym’ he said tensing to try and contract the burgeoning muffin top and pooch riding over the waist-band.
‘Well, as you can feel’ Kyle replied huskily grabbing one of Pete’s hands and rubbing it over his straining groin ‘I kind of like how it looks on you now, little porker’
‘How could I forget, you like a bit of belly, don’t you?’ Pete retorted.
‘I need something to hold onto whilst I pound into that fat ass’ Kyle bantered back.
With that, Pete began to rip off Kyle’s clothes
‘My, my you really have changed since Uni haven’t you? Those abs are just a distant memory to me now’ he teased ‘but that belly is gonna feel so good pressed hard against my back.
‘It’s not what it was, I need a natural greedy porker like you to fatten up with’
With that, Pete pushed Kyle into his chair and freed his ripe, long dick from his boxer shorts, his own was now poking out of the side of his jockstrap white pre-cum oozing all over his chubby legs. Climbing on top of Kyle’s spread lap he lowered himself down onto his thick shaft, wincing with the strain of taking such a large penis.
‘Better if we do this now’ he whimpered ‘cause in a few weeks’ he breathed heavily as he slowly undulated up and down aided by the springs of the reclining chair bearing the brunt of the two overweight men both of their lardy lily white bodies rippling and jiggling faster and faster with every convulsion as they speeded up and up ‘this chair’s gonna break’ Kyle finished.
The two men spent the rest of the night fucking, taking turns in topping and bottoming on the chair, on the desk, on the floor of papers till they were exhausted, drenched in sweat and simply held each other.
Pete’s office had an ensuite and personal shower, as the manager of the floor could be expected to work long days and nights. The two couldn’t help but take a shower together, lathering themselves in a steamy embrace. In a couple of months they wouldn’t be able to fit in that small cubicle together at the same time.
They worked the rest of the weekend, getting all of the outstanding work completed for Monday morning and also keeping the local deliveroo and uber eats boys fit by their continual orders for take out. It was hard restraining from sex, but they worked hard to get the office into shape as they endeavoured to get themselves well and truly out of shape leaving their antics of Friday night exclusively for their apartments.
By Sunday evening, the caretakers had reinstated the coffee and vending machines and posters were made up announcing the reintroduction of not only cake Friday but a new McDonalds Monday too.
Feeling accomplished but knackered from their hectic 48 hours of transformative work, the boys decided to take an impromptu holiday for two weeks, finding a late deal on a cruise around the Mediterranean… with an all you can eat buffet.
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Hii! From Prompt List 1 can u do number 3,51 and 243 w javier peña please ✨
Also i love ur writings so much ⭐
3. "Am I supposed to be scared of you?"
51. "Go on them, tell me. Tell me you don't love me."
243. "Oh my God, you're in love with her!"
Enjoy!
Javier Peña x Fem!Reader ; warnings: language
Javier Masterlist
»»————- ♡ ————-««
"Tell me," there was nothing but venom lacing your voice as you stared at Javier. Your face was slick with tears as you tried to keep your lips from trembling. You wanted to break down, gods knew you did, but you weren't about to give him the satisfaction. You would do that as soon as he walked out of your apartment for what would be the last time, "go on then, tell me. Tell me you don't love me."
"Don't do this cariño," the bastard had the audacity to try and call you by your pet name, "you know this is the way. The only way."
"You're such a damn liar," you hissed at him. You should have seen this coming. You should have known.
You shouldn't have fallen in love with Javier Peña.
"We always knew what we were doing was wrong," it was a meek insistence, hollow and empty and neither of you quite believed it, "it was never supposed to go this far."
"This far? This far?" you wanted to scream, to grab his shoulders and shake him, to knock some sort of sense into him, but instead you just stared at him, eyes glossy with unshed tears, "did you think we would fuck and that’s it? I told you it was never going to be just that. And you never seemed to have a problem with that."
"You need to stop," this time it was more firm and his nostrils flared as he tried to control the hit of rage that had seemed into his bones, "we both knew what this was from the start. It was just sex."
"You're here, in my apartment, lying to my face," you sniffled as you dabbed at your eyes and wished you would wake up to find this was a horrible dream. You wished you'd wake up, wrapped in his arms while he slept soundly, like you had so many other times. You wished, you wished, you wished. But that didn't change the reality of the situation, nor the gravitas of it, "if you can look in my eyes and tell me you don't love me - never loved me - do it. If you can do it, I'll let this go."
"You're being ridiculous," he huffed and rolled his eyes ever so slightly as his hands went to his hips.
"I'm being ridiculous?" your voice rose up about two octaves as you realized just how hysterical you did sound. But it didn't matter - once Javier had made up his mind, he was a stubborn piece of work. But you refused to let this go, "I'm not the grown man that won't even admit his own feelings. That runs every time something comes up. That shuts out everyone and everything anytime it gets real."
"Maybe you're just thinking too much into this!" and there it was - the fiery temper that he was famous for. It wasn't shocking because it had suddenly jumped out; it was shocking because he'd never raised his voice at you, "maybe you just want to make something out of nothing! It was never anything - it was just sex. Why can't you just accept that?"
"Am I supposed to be scared of you?" you raised your voice and yelled back with just as much as anger and spite as he spit at you, "you're a liar and a coward. You can't even look at me - if you don't love me fucking tell me!"
"I'm not doing this right now," he huffed as stepped over the threshold, shoulders rising and falling in rapid movements as tired to control his anger, "I'm done - whatever we had, its over now."
"Javier," you tried to reach for his hand, but he was quick to pull out of your grasp, causing you to sigh heavily, "don't walk away - not like this."
"There's nothing left to say," he insisted quietly, staring at the floor, rather than daring to look in your eyes, "I'll see you at work and that's that. Everything else is done. Obviously you cannot handle this."
"You're just going to walk away," you were incredulous as a few tears of grief and anger rolled down your cheeks, "fuck you, Javier. I hate you."
You slammed the door shut before he could say anything else. Tears were heavily pouring down your cheeks and spilling onto the cool slide as you sank to the floor. Small ugly little sobs racked your body as you gave up and in to your pathetic inner, upset self. You loved him, you really, really did. You knew that.
You knew he loved you too. You knew he was scared. Damn scared. And it was okay - if he would have opened up to you.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
“You look like shit,” Steve barely looked up from his coffee and morning review of documents as Javier stormed in, practically slamming himself down in his chair. He groaned and flipped Steve the middle finger before reaching for his cigarettes, effortlessly lighting it up and leaning back, “what happened to you?”
Javier closed his eyes but remained silent, a vain attempt at letting his mind wander too far. He hadn’t slept the night before, mind and thoughts racing over and over with snippets of his conversation with you. Your words had stuck in his mind all night: coward, coward, coward. And you had been right.
He was a coward; pathetic and scared all because he didn’t want to risk getting hurt. Or hurting you. And in the end he had managed to do both. It was never supposed to go this far, it was never supposed to be anything more than sex, but the lines had become so blurred and so fast, and before he knew - he was in love.
And that terrified the shit out of him.
So he reacted how he tended to do; to push you away. To isolate himself. It was supposed to be easy, supposed to work. All it had down was leave him with regret eating him up alive. He should have admitted you were right, he should have confessed. If there was anyone worth taking a chance on - it was you. He’d known it was you from the first time you’d had sex it was just...different. Different from every other experience he’d had. And gods, how he’d slowly fallen for all the little things you did, all your little quirks.
Your smile, that laugh, those eyes that seemed to convey a million emotions at once. Your steadfast stubbornness, the fact that you always called him on his bullshit, how you never backed down from confrontation, how you gave so much to others and asked for so little. How you’d chide him for getting even a papercut, and how you’d love him, even when he didn’t ask you to. How you;d take him in your arms, wordlessly, and give him everything he needed and then some, how you’d chase away his fears and pain. How -
Everything.
He was in deep, and when it came down to the wire, he’d run. Like a liar and a coward.
His eyes snapped open and landed on the desk, the spot you normally occupied and found it empty. A scowl tugged on his features as his brows knitted together, “where is she?”
“Hmm?” Steve looked back up and followed Javi’s line of sight before he shrugged lightly, “I talked to her this morning, said she wasn’t feeling good.”
“Bullshit,” he hissed under his breath, just enough for Steve to hear, “did she say when she’s coming back?”
“I dunno, Javi,” Steve sighed heavily, “she’s a grown woman, if she’s not feeling well, she’s not feeling well. She’ll be back when she’s better. Calm down.”
“Steve-”
“Oh god - you’re in love with her. Aren’t you?” the smirk tugging on his features was undeniable as Javier rolled his eyes but refused to look over, “I knew it - everyone knew it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” his mouth went dry as he looked at his partner and felt like slamming his head against the wall. Of course. It’s so obvious.
“I mean...it’s just...everyone’s known, Javi,” Steve couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised look on his face, “it’s so obvious. You’re different because of her - for her. You might be the last person to know. Shit...you haven’t told her, have you?”
Javier made a small sound in his throat but otherwise remained silent as he stared at your desk. Not feeling well my ass, he thought to himself before running a hand over his tired face.
But you didn’t come back the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Or -
Shit. He had really messed up.
You were all he could think about, plaguing his waking and sleeping hours as he tried to figure out what to do. His mind was on you as he sat in the office and smoked cigarette after cigarette and glossed over paperwork. You were in his every thought as he and Steve chased after some of Escobar’s men; so much that he almost slipped up and let them get away.
By Friday afternoon, he couldn’t handle it any longer. This was ridiculous and he was going to put an end to it all, one way or another.
Javier almost jumped out of his seat, grabbing his leather jacket and half empty pack of cigarettes without a word as he stormed out of the office. Steve barely looked up in time to catch him, his question dying on his tongue as he watched his partner storm out. He didn’t have to ask to know exactly what was going on.
Finally, he thought to himself shaking his head, finally.
»»————- ♡ ————-««
"Open the door," Javier's voice was commanding but it still managed to shake as he rapped his knuckles against the peeling paint of your door, "cariño, I know you're in there…"
And you were. You were curled up on the couch in your pajamas, an empty bottle of wine on the table as an old, cheesy romance movie played in the background. The lights were off and you were tired, but you still couldn't manage to find sleep.
You'd avoided going into the office for the last couple of days, feigning illness and earning a scoff from the ambassador, but nothing else was said. In the time you'd been in Colombia, you'd never so much as used a single sick day, so they didn't question you. But of course your partners did. Well, one of them. The other had known exactly what was going and it had been eating him up inside, even if he wasn't ready to admit it.
But his little heart to heart with Steve had inspired him - practically shoved him in the right direction. You'd been on his mind rent free since he'd left. Hell - for much longer than that.
"Go away," you managed to croak out before burrowing further into your pillow, feeling a fresh wave of tears spill down your cheeks at his presence. Knowing you almost had him but didn't was heartbreaking, "you made it clear we have nothing, Javier.”
“Open the damn door,” there was a tone in his voice that you hadn’t heard before - was that...desperation? Javier paused and sighed heavily, “please. I-I...fuck, I fucked up.”
“If you’re going to play some sort of cruel joke, save your breath,” you huffed, “like you said, we are nothing. We’ll be work partners and that’s it.”
There was a beat of silence and a part of you thought he left, you were almost relieved at the thought. But before you knew it, you heard the keys jingling in the lock and the door opened; you cursed yourself for giving him a spare set. Either way, he probably could have figured out how to get in anyways. He just couldn’t let it go.
“Cariño,” he came and swiftly made his way over to you, frowning when he saw you all curled up and the discarded mess around you, "I-"
"Go away, Javi," it was a pathetic plea as you glanced up at him. His heart felt it was going to shatter and break at the sight of your red, glossy eyes as you sniffled at him, "haven't you done enough? Or should I be apologizing for having feelings and being honest about them?"
"I should be begging you for forgiveness," he dropped to his knees beside you, a hand tentatively reaching out to you, as he tried to see if you would pull away. Despite wanting to, instead wishing you could yell and scream, you stay rooted in position as he gently pushed your hair out of your hair. He brushed his thumb gently over your cheek as your eyes fluttered closed at the familiar touch, "I am so sorry."
"Sorry for what?" your brow furrowed at his words, "you made yourself very clear."
"I fucked up - you're right. I am a liar and a coward," he confessed as your eyes snapped back open to meet his. They were gentle, softened in the corners with the crinkles that you adored so much, "I realized I had feelings and I panicked. I shut you out and hurt you."
"My head hurts, Javier," you sighed slightly, "just get to the point."
"I love you," he admitted and suddenly it felt your heart had dropped into your stomach as you stared at him. He was sure you must have heard the wild beating of his heart as he tried to anticipate your reaction, "I-I'm in love with you."
"If this is your idea of a joke," you moved his hand away and sat up, trying to prepare yourself for any possibility, "its even more fucked up than just breaking my heart. I knew what this started this and I should have stopped it when I started to catch feelings but I-"
But Javier didn't let you say anything further. Instead, he cut you off by crashing his lips onto yours and kissing you deeply - slowly and with meaning. It was an easy dance, one you'd done hundreds of times before. But this time just felt...different.
His arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you close, and yours wound around his neck. Effortless and easy, just like everything with him was. It was anything frenzied or hurried, but slow and gentle as he tried to convey his every thought and feeling through his touch. He thought his heart might burst when he felt your smile whilst his lips, as you carded a hand through his dark locks.
Only when you were both breathless and drunk off of each other did you pull apart. He stared at you, his gaze soft as you grabbed his face and delicately cradled it before pressing another kiss to his lips.
"I hope this means what I think it means or I'm going to have to murder you," you whispered against his lips, as his own tugged into a smile, "because I am in love you and I don't know if I can ever change that."
"It means I'm an idiot," he admitted, "a cowardly fool that ran when things got real - although they were always real. Its obvious, isn't it? I just never realized."
"That's because you gave a thick skull, Peña," you gently tapped a knuckle against the side of his head, "and you need to learn to be more open - with me anyway. You don't have to be afraid, Javi. Not with me; I'm not going anywhere, you know that. I know you - the real you - and nothing about you scares me or whatever you think it is. I love you and that means every little bit of you."
"I…" he paused for a moment, inhaling and exhaling slowly as your words washed over him. His heart had never felt warmer or more light as he realized the immense weight your words held. He closed his eyes and nodded, gently pressing his forehead against yours, "I love you. Fully and completely cariño. Even if I am an idiot."
"My idiot," you promised softly, "just talk to me next time, okay? Don't run and hide - stay with me. It'll be okay, you will always have me."
"Fuck," he whispered as he pulled you into his arms and wrapped you up in the tightest hug possible, "I'm sorry - so sorry. I love you."
"I love you, Javier," you whispered, "stay with me?"
"Always."
»»————- ♡ ————-««
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Lessons (MLQC Shaw - NSFW)
Description: Let Shaw remind you of what a kiss is supposed to feel like.
Warnings: NSFW/18+: Explicit/graphic language & mature themes — reader discretion is advised. Potential trigger warnings: PDAs, lots of tongue LOL
Word Count: 1263 words (~6.5 mins of sexual tension)
Author’s Notes: I had to write this because who wouldn't want to get hot and heavy with Shaw after he steps offstage? 😆
(This piece was originally posted on my Patreon page on March 17, 2021 as an Early Access benefit)
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“What was that?”
The air hung heavy in the space between you, hazy still with summer heat though the sun had set hours ago. And there, in the dark alleyway behind the Live House where Shaw had just stepped off-stage, even the moon’s silver slivers seemed hesitant to intrude on the pair of lovers merging in the shadows.
Gentle fingers pinch your chin, tilting your eyes until you slip into the amber gold of his — leaving you breathless, as always.
“I said, ‘what was that?’ ” Shaw repeats, so near now every detail stood out in the dark — those lips, faintly pink and soft, the line of his cupid’s bow so perfect it looked drawn to life. “That wasn’t a kiss.”
Masculine hands fit to the curve of your hips, pulling you even closer. You can feel the heat rolling off his body, permeating the V-neck tee that clung in parts to that lean, muscular physique; was drawn to the sweat-glazed skin stretched over the Adam’s apple bobbing along the length of his neck and you knew.
Knew he was getting impatient, impetuous…
…and right where you wanted him.
“I did kiss you.” Your response is flippant despite the excitement rising in your chest.
“That was a peck.”
“Our lips touched. That’s the definition of a kiss.”
“Not in my books.”
Feigning coyness, you turn your face away, wondering if he caught the smile crossing your lips before you promptly bit down on it.
“I thought I taught you better than that, didn’t I?” Shaw whispers, breath warm and moist on the shell of your ear. And if it had been any other man — let alone one younger than you — you would’ve rolled your eyes at the bravado.
But Shaw wore it well, cheek and worldliness sitting upon the square of his shoulders like a faded leather jacket, weathered and wise. Even you couldn’t deny the gravitas that graced his countenance when the corners of those amber eyes weren’t crinkled in a teasing smirk, like an old soul trapped in the body of a young man.
And what a body it was: hard and beautiful from above and below and in all the angles you had the chance to study him in when he wasn’t leaving you gasping for dear life. It presses upon you now, molten heat running from your core to the tips of pebbling nipples when he steps his leg between your own, those ripped jeans burying beneath your skirt to dampen silk.
“I…I don’t remember.”
It was near impossible to formulate a reply let alone a witty one. Your mind was already blanking at the touch of his hands running lightly up and down the sides of your body, leaving you frazzled with the promise of lust in this very public place.
“Looks like we need to brush up on our lessons then.”
The tip of his nose touches yours; you stop breathing. Heart thundering in your chest, the rush of blood in your ears competes with the bass-heavy beat barely contained by the walls of the Live House. Every now and then, the heavy steel door of the back exit swings open, idle chatter and laughter spilling out into the night as people came and went. But there, caught in the shadows of your lover’s embrace, you couldn’t care less who saw.
In fact, you welcomed it.
Hoped that the next person to pass through the door would be one of those groupies who had watched Shaw perform with tears in their eyes, screaming his name while trying to pass scraps of paper with scribbled phone numbers to the bouncer who kept them from rushing the stage. Just so they could see him now, with one hand on your cheek and the other moulding to the curve of your ass.
There would be no mistaking who was going home with him that night, no room to wonder about who it was that he wanted.
So you close your eyes, catch a sweet, spicy hint of cinnamon from the gum he habitually chewed. His lips brush yours: top, bottom…warm silk dragging from corner to corner, touch barely there and pulling back right when they baited yours close.
Like the tease that he was.
You fight back the only way you knew how, hands combing through lavender hair until they lace together at the back of his neck, tracing the initials of your names with fingertips onto the skin at his nape just to feel his breath stop short on your lips.
The hand that falls at the small of your back pulls your bodies together until there is nowhere left to go. And the heart beating in time with yours tells you that despite that cool exterior, Shaw was just as much of a mess on the inside as you were.
Because in the moment that handsome face angles to yours, pink tongue gliding over the swell of your lower lip before it is sucked into his mouth, hot and moist, you bloomed.
Flushed cheeks. Weak knees. The sweet drip of dew between petals that spread only for him.
It was disconcerting — the intensity you felt for someone you couldn’t quite grasp. And though you had intended from the very start of your relationship to remain detached, matching him tease for tease, the enigma of this man had a way of keeping you honest.
Your body certainly was.
“C’mon, baby. You know what to do,” Shaw breathes, amber eyes half-lidded and darkening with each passing second.
Drunk on the lulling buzz of his exhalation, the mask of inhibition slips and suddenly, you are ravenous. He slips the tip of his tongue into your mouth and you welcome it, tasting him further with every swirling caress of yours until the man is irrevocably drawn in.
The hand in your hair tightens the way you like it when you pucker around his tongue, gently sucking it into your mouth until you release it just to hear him moan. Shaw lays faint expletives at the seam of your lips before he dives back in for more, frantic kisses spreading to cheeks, chin and jaw before they warm the pulse throbbing along your neck.
A slight pinch of pain and you know the proof of your lover’s passion will be obvious to all in shades of vermillion and plum, but you could not stop, craved more of those lips on you, of the hands wandering your curves with all the authority of one imprinting his name onto your body.
He didn’t need to.
You already belonged to him.
“Oh my god! Is that…oh shit, it is! It’s Shaw!! Who the hell is that girl?”
You stiffen at the shriek that echoes down the alleyway, the waves of hostility following on the heels of a cacophony of high-pitched screams and too many women speaking all at once. But the arm around you holds tight, Shaw cupping your cheek to turn until you are facing the crowd head on.
“Shall we teach them a lesson?” he asks, amber eyes full of mischief as he winks so only you could see.
Before you could even process what was happening, those lips are on you again, full of passion as your eyes widen to take in the crestfallen expressions of groupies with broken hearts.
He really was a tease. But he was yours. And you were glad for each and every one of his lessons.
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"Lessons" is copyright 2021 Otonymous, all rights reserved.
Hope you all enjoyed this piece and thanks so much for reading! 💕 You can find more of my work here and check out my newest and spiciest content exclusively on my Patreon page!
- XOXO, Otonymous 🥰
#mlqc#mr love queen's choice#love and producer#mldd#mr love dream date#evol x love#mlqc shaw#mlqc ling xiao#mlqc fanfic#mlqc fic#my writing#mine#mlqc smut#mlqc shaw smut
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in the lambent light
pairing: mason x detective (grace bennett)
word count: 2.4K words | rating: T (language)
summary: On the rooftop of the Warehouse, Grace and Mason have an honest conversation about sexuality, small towns, and love (sort of), with the revelry and light of Unit Bravo’s first Wayhaven Pride in the background.
For Week 1, Day 1 of @wayhavensummer:
First Pride + #wsfchallenge “belonging”.
*
She finds him on the roof of the warehouse, of course, kicking his feet idly as they dangle over the edge, a thin wisp of smoke coming up steadily from his cigarette.
When he sees her, he puts it out and links his fingers together, eyes following her as she comes to sit beside him.
They're high up – too high; if she looks down she feels a bit dizzy – and he grunts, his eyes narrowing as she dangles her legs, too. She looks at her colourful socks - one purple, one pink - as she tries not to think about how steep the drop would be if she lost her balance or even just shuffled forward a bit.
She wonders if maybe he'll put his hand out to hold her steady, or force her to sit back.
(He does neither.)
"You don't have to do that, you know." She gestures belatedly to the ash of his crumpled cigarette still smoking lightly on the concrete. "I know I gave you a hard time before, but really, I don't want you to stop on account of me."
He shrugs. "It's fine. I don't even know why I still do it when I don’t even really need it anymore. Habit, I guess."
She opens her mouth to insist, say how she doesn't want him, doesn't need him to change for her – but her mouth clicks shut instead. It's easier to let it slide. To not delve too deeply into why he doesn't need it anymore.
They sit in silence for a bit, the evening breeze settling on them.
The sounds of revelry in the town square continue. Grace can hear the celebrations, the music, can feel the general aura of happiness radiating from below.
When she’d left to seek out Mason, Tina had been painting a rainbow on Adam’s sharp cheekbone as he sat very still, giving the situation a gravitas that it perhaps didn’t deserve, but was still heartwarming to see nonetheless.
Eric and Verda had been watching indulgently as their girls got spoiled with treats provided by Nate, who had been doing his very best to succeed at the task of “enjoying his first Pride”.
(When he’d asked if he was “doing it right”, Grace couldn’t help but give him an impromptu hug.
“You’re doing perfectly,” she’d said warmly and he had smiled down at her, eyes sparkling.)
Felix, for his part, had been bouncing around, examining the stalls set up to highlight the queer-owned business in Wayhaven, coming back to hand Nate a new trinket or snack or pin he’d purchased, and then bounding off again, the excitement practically vibrating off of him.
She smiles wistfully at the memory of how the town embraced Unit Bravo as their own, as she regards it all from a distance now, a bloom of warmth in her chest – a collection of the happiness and pride that she feels towards her little town for coming together in this way year after year. To celebrate its people; the people who make Wayhaven what it is.
To celebrate love.
She turns to Mason, spontaneously dropping a hand to his knee. He looks down swiftly and then back up at her, silver-grey eyes meeting her own.
"Was it all too much for you?" She nods in the direction of light, laughter, colour, and music. "Down there?"
He shrugs. "I respect the idea behind the celebration and I'm glad the others are happy and having fun. But yeah. It's not really my thing."
She nods slowly, going quiet again. He idly begins to play with her fingers, splayed out on his thigh. Tracing them with his own, up and down.
"You know it's not—"
"You know that we—"
They both go to speak at the same time, their voices stuttering to a stop as they realize.
"You go," Mason says eventually, the side of his lips quirked up in a small smirk. "You do most of the talking for us anyway."
"Hey!" Grace squeaks out indignantly. "I do not. Most people say I don't talk enough."
Mason snorts. "People who don't know you, maybe."
Her cheeks grow warm with pleasure at the unspoken confirmation. It feels like what he really said was: "People who don't know you the way I do."
And he's right.
"I was just going to say, Wayhaven has been doing this for years now. Decades even. We used to come when I was a kid.” She laughs in reminiscence. “There’s this picture of me – maybe eighteen months old or something – on Rook’s shoulders, watching the parade as my mom smiles up at us both.”
She feels her own smile go soft, like the edges of that faded cherished photograph. She shakes her head to clear the cobwebs of nostalgia before turning to him again. He’s regarding her in a way that can only be construed as fondness and her heart twists, ever so slightly.
“I’m glad you guys got to be here for your first Pride,” she continues, steering the conversation back to the present. To safer territory. “You hear all these things about the intolerance of small towns, and lord knows it’s true in some cases, but I dunno." She shrugs, a small smile gracing her lips once more. "It feels nice to be part of one of the good ones."
He's quiet and she turns to look at him after a moment of prolonged silence. He's still staring at her, this time a more inscrutable expression on his face. She can't tell what's going through his mind, whether it's concern or agreement or even anger. His fingers have stilled overtop hers and his large palm rests on her hand, warm and steady.
It takes another beat before he clears his throat and breaks eye contact, moving his hand off of hers. The cool air rushes to the spot where his hand used to be and she finds herself missing its warmth and comfort.
"It's true," he says finally. "It is one of the good ones." He looks at her carefully. "And you’re right. They aren't all like that."
There’s a wealth of meaning in his simple statement and it’s her turn to stare at him now, processing his words and trying to formulate an appropriate response.
"Have you…" She hesitates, trying to parse her words carefully. "Have you experienced… bad ones?"
He lets out a sigh. The very human sound, probably borne from a habit he could never quite kick, sends a tender pang straight to her heart.
"Listen, sweetheart." He leans back and looks up at the quickly dimming sky, the summer heat dwindling to a more tolerable mildness, the breeze picking up slightly and bringing with it the sweet scent of the magnolias below them. "It's no secret that I am not what people would call…"
He smirks and shoots her a side-long glance, his mischievous look belied by the glint of a single fang. "Discerning."
She stays quiet, waiting for him to continue.
“I’ve never seen value in—” He pauses, appearing to search for the right word. “—In curbing my desires to fit into a certain mold. I like what I like, I like who I like, and no real external factors – like gender or appearance or the shape of your tits or your bits – have ever really come into play.” He shrugs and pulls a cigarette out of his shirt pocket, fiddling with it without lighting it. “Some people have a problem with that and some places like to make it known more than others.”
Something about his final sentence causes her pulse to quicken, her thoughts jangling in her head. She tries to gather them up before she speaks.
“Do you think…” She hesitates. “Do you somehow think that I… have a problem with that? That I don’t understand?”
“Do you understand?” He looks straight at her then, his eyes sharp and intense. Not intimidating or cruel, but as though he’s looking for something – perhaps the honest answer to a question he’s not sure he’s even asked properly.
“I mean—” She feels indignant slightly, even though she tries to tamp it down. “If you think I somehow have an opinion on who people love and the circumstances around that, then I feel like maybe you don’t know me that well.”
“Whoa, whoa.” He holds his hands up, unlit cigarette still between two fingers, lip curling slightly. “Who said anything about love? I’m talking about who I decide to fuck.”
That one stings. She purses her lips and looks away, trying not to let him see just how much, inhaling deeply as she tries to get her feelings under control.
“Yes, yes,” she says finally, looking away with a wave of her hand. “Fuck, love, whatever.” She turns to him again, eyes narrowed. “I might not understand in the way that you do, through lived experience, but I care enough to try. And I certainly don’t judge.”
“I never said you judged, Gracie.” His voice is soft and the way he says her nickname – so rare from his lips – makes her breath catch in her throat. He flicks the cigarette between his fingers now, back and forth. “I just want everything to be out there between you and me. So that there’s never any—” He hesitates. “—Surprises.”
“Oh, you mean like finding out you’re a centuries-old vampire?” she quips, raising an eyebrow at him, arms crossed.
He barks out a laugh. “Watch who you’re calling centuries old, sweetheart.”
She chuckles along with him, before getting serious once more.
“The least surprising thing about you, Mason, is the fact that you have no qualms about who you choose to be with. I’ve never met a more accepting and open person.” He looks like he’s about to argue with her, so she holds up a hand to stop him. “And just because we aren’t—exactly the same, in that regard—” She looks down, feeling her cheeks warm slightly. “—Doesn’t mean I don’t get it. Or respect it.” She shrugs, laughing self-deprecatingly. “I find it hard to believe you’re interested in my boring ass, to be honest.”
“Your ass is the least boring thing about you, Detective.” For that comment, he’s rewarded with a light whack on the leg. He laughs and wraps his arm around her. “C’mere.”
Putting the cigarette behind his ear, he tugs her closer. He holds her tightly against him, thighs touching and feet brushing against each other.
“I’m going to say something cheesy as fuck and you’re going to listen. And then you’re never going to repeat it again. Got it?”
She nods quickly, eyes widening in anticipation.
“I see people—not for what they look like or any of that shit, but for what’s in here.” He taps gently, right above her left breast. “Yeah, I don’t get mixed up in all that love stuff, and attraction does play a big role in who I seek out and why, but it’s not an attraction to physical things. I just get this—sense of who a person is, I guess. And if I like what I sense, I follow through. If I don’t, I move on.” He gives her a squeeze. “You understand?”
She bites her lip, breath growing shallow as the impact of his words infiltrates her blood stream and causes her heart to flutter painfully.
He smiles slowly, a cheshire grin, and she curses his ability to hear the increase in her pulse.
“And guess what, sweetheart?” His voice has dropped an octave now, mouth close to her ear.
“What?” It comes out as a hoarse whisper.
“I like what you’ve got in here.” Another tap, same spot. “And I’m not ready to move on.”
As far as grand romantic statements go, Grace knows this one won’t make anyone’s top ten list. But for Mason, it’s a lot. And for her, for right now—it’s everything.
She leans forward and kisses him softly, sweetly, on the lips. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, but neither makes a move to deepen the kiss in any way, keeping it gentle and close-mouthed; an affirmation rather than the initiation of anything more. Pulling away, she looks at him, feeling the softness she sees in his face reflected in her own.
Giving him one more brief kiss, she scooches back and stands up carefully, dusting off the bottom of her blue shorts.
She catches him watching the action intently and he catches her catching him. They share a smirk that turns into a laugh and it feels comfortable and fun. It feels like an inside joke.
Like belonging.
“Let’s go, hot shot.” She holds out her hand to him and he takes it, swinging his legs around and standing up, his full height enough that she needs to tilt her head to look up at him.
“Think you can manage to rejoin the party?” she asks, her hand still in his as she tugs him to the door that will lead them back through the warehouse. “We’ll stick to the quieter corners. I’ll hold your hand the whole time,” she adds, smiling up at him, her tone cajoling, teasing.
There’s something about summer in Wayhaven, something about Pride in Wayhaven – the air feels lighter, sweeter. Grace feels lighter. Bolstered by love and friendship, warmth and comfort. All the good things about her little town seem to be highlighted during this time.
All the good things about her little life, she thinks, glancing at their joined hands.
Mason snorts and looks down at her, amused, before giving her hand a squeeze.
She squeezes back, feeling happier than she can remember ever feeling before.
“I’ll even buy you a snow cone without the syrup,” she offers as they leave, bumping his shoulder with hers.
He grunts and then stops short. “Isn’t that just ice?”
She bites back a smile, feeling laughter in her throat, and nods.
There’s a pause. He blinks once. Twice. Then—he bursts into loud laughter. The sound is so free, so surprising yet pleasant, that she can’t help the grin that spreads across her face. And when he pulls her even closer and presses a kiss to the top of her head—well. She’s not sure that smile will ever go away now.
“Lead the way, sweetheart,” he murmurs, keeping her close to him.
And she does.
#wayhaven summer#day one: first pride#week one#wsf challenge#belonging#grace’s sexuality isn’t really addressed but you might pick up what I’m trying (fumbling) to put down#it’s not the focus because this is really about mason#and his no apologies take on sexuality#or his past#while still being a lil soft for his detective#tw subtle mention of homophobia#/ intolerance
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Climb to the Rooftops
[Read on AO3]
Written for @another-miracle; a birthday fic that is COMING OUT ON TIME would you look at that (though I am definitely doing some fancy footwork to make it work out in both time zones 😂 Yixin asked for the Post-Rescue Tanbarun Tree Scene for WFB, and then I said, I could give you that, but what if I told you about a secret scene instead...
And then Yixin told me to write whichever one was Obi POV
He knows her.
That’s what keeps running through his head’s hamster wheel as he clomps up the student center steps. He knows her; he’s always known her. If he reached out on that park bench, if he’d grabbed her with both hands and just said, don’t leave me--
He would have been laid flat on his ass, courtesy of that mean right hook her dad taught her before he bounced. And there’d be another demerit on his record to boot, one more instance of anti-social behavior to make him even more unadoptable than he already was. Doc was always destined to go to a loving home, complete with cozy hideaways and towers of books, with warm firesides and even warmer grandparents, and he...
Well, he wasn’t meant for anything like that, no matter who he clung to. Sometimes shit just happens, and no wishing on stars thirteen years gone can change that.
It’s good to see her though. He’d always wondered what happened to his muppet girl, whether she’d gone off and had her happy ending just like she said she would. And now he knows she did.
He glances down at the peanut butter canister in his hand. Well, at least for a little while. That’s the thing about happy endings; they don’t really stick.
Obi hesitates, one foot poised over a step up, his hand wrapped around a ruddy safety rail. “Um, Doc.”
It takes her three steps to bounce to a stop, just enough to let her look down instead of up or across. He’s got double vision for a moment: Doc in the here and now looking at him with so much hope and anxiety that he’s half-afraid she’ll shake apart like a Hot Wheel in a blender; superimposed over the little girl in his memory, round face beaming up at him and her worries far behind her.
She’s got more freckles now, though most of them are hidden beneath her coat, fading without the direct application of summer sun. More inches too, though not as many as he’d given her in his head; for once he’d given more benefit of the doubt than nature could provide. And her hair-- well, that’s the same. Red. Fluffy. Muppety, too, if it’s the morning.
“Obi?”
He should really be paying attention to this conversation he fucking started, instead of just staring at her like a creep. “I just wanted to check in.”
“Oh.” She goes rosy under the freckles he can see, shifting the urn from her hands to her elbow. “I’m-- I’m fine. I’m glad that we could find--” one arm juts out, trying to encompass both them and the containers-- “everyone.”
“Yeah, I got you, but I meant...” He angles a pointed look over her shoulder. “Why are we going up?”
Doc’s jaw drops, and he sees it, the way panic crests right behind her eyes.
“Not that I’m suggesting we don’t.” He takes the next step slow, just enough to put them on equal standing. Except it doesn’t, it puts him a little above her; the beginning of really looking down. His heart flutters in the exact way it shouldn’t when he’s carrying human remains. “I’m just saying, if we’re going to carry geriatrics up a few flights, the elevator’s better for their hips.”
He expects her to laugh at that one, or maybe even roll her eyes, but instead Doc breaks out into a full-body Chihuahua tremble.
“Obi.” Her eyes are so big in her face they might swallow him whole. “We can’t take the elevator.”
“We...can’t?”
Her head jerks in the scarcest side-to-side. With one long, steeling breath, she informs him, “We’re going to do something a little illegal.”
His brows raise. “Illegal?”
The urn bobbles treacherously as her hands fly up between them. “Only a little!”
“You cashed in your favor with me,” he repeats slowly, savoring the thrill that zips through him with every syllable. “To do something illegal.”
Doc deflates with all the gravitas of a popped kiddie pool. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if that would be okay. Especially with, um...”
She’s far too polite to say, your presumed preexisting criminal record, Doc just hasn’t realized it yet. Not when she doesn’t know for sure whether it does exist or not. It’d be easy to help her along, but it’s kinda satisfying to watch her flounder, fishing for the pieces of him she does know.
“If it’s a problem,” she says finally, lifting her eyes to his. “You don’t have to--”
“The only problem is how hot that is, Doc.” He wraps a hand around the rail beside her, leaning in close enough that her eyes nearly cross watching him. “Are you gonna get into your old field hockey kit and punch a girl up there too?”
She blinks, heels clunking into the concrete rise. “I don’t think it would fit. The skirt would be too short, at least.”
Are you sure, he wants to say, stretching every last inch over her, but instead he rumbles, “Honey, you’re saying all the right things to me--”
“Hey.” A finger presses into his nose, hauling his words up short like a pileup. “No call list.”
“Ahh.” Her mouth twitches as he pulls back, rubbing at his nose. “Haah. You know I hate that.”
“Then stick to the list,” she informs him pleasantly. “Besides, are you really trying to flirt with a girl in front of her grandpa?”
“Well.” He holds up the tin, giving it an experimental shake. “You think they’d mind?”
There’s a quality to the silence in the stairwell that clues him in to the fact that he’s cocked up real good this time. First with the tomb joke, now asking if grandma might be watching from beyond the grave, objecting to his game. At least he knows he never had a chance; otherwise he’d have to go take his hopes out behind the woodshed--
“No,” she hums, confident. “They’d like you.”
It’s a good thing she doesn’t get it in her head to try the nose trick again; it’d push him right over. He can survive a lot, but four flights is pushing it. “Doc,” he huffs, scratching the bristle at the back of his head, “I don’t think--”
“Well...” She’s thoughtful when she puts her back to him, bouncing up the next couple of stairs. “Opa would. Oma would think you needed to be fattened up.”
He laughs, but even to his own ears it sounds busted up, wings broken. “Sounds like my kind of lady.”
“Ugh,” Doc sighs from one landing up. “She’d love that you said that.”
“That just makes her even more--”
“Don’t.”
RESTRICTED ACCESS, the doors says, bright red letters fading against the plastic sign. ALARM WILL SOUND.
Doc’s been bullish these last few flights, pushing a pace that makes him want to remind her he’s a hitter, not a runner, but now--
Now she shuffles on the stairs, daunted. “Do you think it will really...?”
Obi thinks this might be a private university, funded by mommy and daddy’s pockets to keep their babies safe, but alarms go off all the time. Unless this building has a rent-a-cop watching daytime TV down in the atrium right now, it could take hours for someone to answer the call, especially mid-afternoon on a Saturday.
“Who knows.” He’s not sure what she’s got up her sleeve that involves two dead people and a rooftop-- especially when even Doc is quick to admit it’s got at least a toe on the wrong side of legal-- but it probably won’t look good if they’re interrupted, even by the Diet Coke of the law enforcement vending machine. “Maybe you should plan to keep the fancy speeches to a minimum.”
“Eulogies.” Her thin fingers flex over ceramic, white where they press in. “You mean a eulogy.”
“Gesundheit.”
Doc turns her head, real slow, letting him soak in every drop of her disapproval. Well, that’s one pigtail successfully pulled.
With a breath so deep it makes her pea coat really earn the name, Doc nods. “Right. Okay. I think...”
Obi expects some dithering, some real soul-searching doubts being dragged out for airing right here in the stairwell. Doc likes that sort of thing, taking everything out of her head so she can fold it all up real nice again, but instead--
Instead she barrels across the landing, plowing right through the metal door, a whole stretch of gray winter sky stretching out before her. There’s one blink, two, and then-- well, the sign wasn’t kidding. The alarm does, in fact, sound.
He catches the door with a hand; it’s weighted, ready to swing right back into place and-- if he knows his doors-- lock right behind her. Not that it’d be a problem if he meant to stand around on the stairwell and act as look out; a role he’d be happy to play if that’s how Doc wanted this whole show to run. But right now she’s slumped at the ledge, every last ounce of her usual moxie wrung out.
Maybe she might tell him to stand back, that this is something she’s got to take on alone, but Obi knows every aching line of that pose by heart. A car can keep going for fifty miles once it hits empty, but that just means you’ll never know when the tank runs dry. That’s where she is right now, stalling out at her limit.
And that’s what he’s here for, to push her that last inch over the finish line. Besides, he can’t just stand back, not when he’s grandpa’s ride.
“So.” There’s a shim in a corner-- a naughty thing to have around an emergency door like this, but Obi’s not about to tattle. He’s perfectly happy to wedge someone else’s problem right where the paint’s flaked off the door. “What’s the problem?”
Doc blinks, one hand trembling on grandma’s lid. “W-what?”
He settles grandpa on the ledge, arms folded around him, taking in the sprawl of buildings below. Clarines isn’t as big as one of those state universities, but it makes Tanbarun look like a college playset instead of a campus. Both of them have those stuffy brick and marble buildings they like up here, the kind that say academic and too good for you loud and clear, but whereas Obi’s walked across Clarines for thirty minutes and still never hit the edge, it looks like he could lap this place in twenty. No wonder Doc was miserable here; the real mystery is how she managed an entire year in this fancy rat cage.
“There’s got to be one.” He knows better than to look at her; if he’s going to make her talking about feelings, the least he can do is give her the privacy to have them. “You were all gung-ho a minute ago, ready to do your thing even if you had to punch out a cop to do it--”
“--I didn’t say that,” she murmurs--
“--but now you’re just standing here.” He shrugs, chancing a glance from the corner of his eyes. “Looking lost.”
“I just...” She shifts, head twisting toward him, he doesn’t need to meet her gaze to know it’s wild, desperate. “It doesn’t feel right that they don’t go together.”
It’s his turn to stare now, lost. “O...kay.”
“What if...” Her teeth fold over her lip, worrying at places already worn. “What if I left them go, and they don’t find each other?”
“Ah...?” It seems like a bit of an oversight now, not asking what the plan is, but he ventures, “You mean...the ashes?”
Her mouth twists up, annoyance in every wrinkle. “It sounds weird when you say it like that.”
“No, no, I’m just...” He glances down at the tin between his arms. “I’m just putting things together. There’s nothing wrong about how you feel, Doc. Not like anyone’s really written a book about how this works.”
She looks up at him, so guileless. “Of course they have, Obi. There’s a whole section in the bookstore for it. It’s just that they’re all written by charlatans and quacks.”
Whatever the conversational version of whiplash is, Obi’s experiencing it now. For a minute all he can do is stare, taking in the abject disapproval rumpling her face, and then he-- he--
He laughs. Because this is what he’s into. The sort of person who pumps the breaks and spins the conversation 360 without even a courtesy ‘buckle up.’
“Listen, I’ve been thinking...” He taps the top of the tin, the metallic ting drowned out by the blare of the siren. “What if we just...mixed them? Then when you release them--”
“--They’re already together.” Doc blinks up at him, eye shining like he’s her savior, the center of her world, the answer to her cosmic question--
The way she really shouldn’t, when she already belongs to someone a hundred times better than he’ll ever be. Not when she’d never mean to get his hopes up.
“Thank you, Obi,” she breathes, a smile dawning on her lips. “That’s exactly what we need to do.”
Like all his good ideas, it’s easier said than done. On the ground, it’d been breezy, the sort of gentle push he’d come to expect from New England right before it got its first good snow, but up here--
“Here, take this.” Obi shrugs off his jacket, hurriedly pushing it into Doc’s boneless hands, but it’s too late-- they’ve already lost a bit of grandma. “Hold it up.”
She stares down at it, thumbs rubbing over the leather in a way that makes his shoulders itch. “Hold...?”
He swings out one arm-- the one not holding a geriatric-- yanking it wide. “Like a wind screen. I don’t want to lose Oma’s pinky toe or something.”
Doc blinks, stretching the coat between her hands. “Pinky toe?”
“Wouldn’t that make you cranky in the afterlife?” he asks, shaking more of Oma loose in a lull. “Losing a toe? Or a finger. Like just the last knuckle. A bit of your nose.”
The leather starts to ripple as the wind spins back up, and Doc stomps a foot down on the end of it to keep it from smacking up into his face. He appreciates the effort; it’s hard enough trying to pour from a large container to a small one without his zipper clocking him over the eyebrow. “Would that really matter?”
He shrugs. “To some people, probably. I got plenty of nose to spare.”
Doc mouth curves shyly, hunching down to hide behind his coat. “I think it’s fine just as it is.”
“Haah.” It’d be nice if she could give him a heads up when she plans to make his heart pound like that. “Think you might be the first to think that.”
“I don’t know,” she hums, eyes electric with some mischievous spark in their depths. “Maybe I’m the first to say so, but you certainly weren’t getting any complaints a few nights ago--”
He huffs. “Drunk college girls aren’t exactly arbiters of taste, Doc.”
She fixes him with that steady stare of hers, the one that’s so earnest it makes his heart make a bid for freedom through his throat. “I think,” she says, each word weighed before she lets it free, just like a good scientist, “that they did just fine.”
He smothers a whimper into a sigh. “Maybe your grandparents don’t mind me flirting,” he mutters, hunched over that stupid peanut butter tin, “but I’m sure they wouldn’t like you returning the favor.”
She blinks, head cocked. “Did you say something Obi?”
“No,” he says, just a little louder. “Just talking to myself.”
“You know--” he sets down the urn, wiping the sweat off his forehead-- “this would have been a lot easier going the other way.”
“We can’t.” Doc’s mouth twists up into that troublesome knot. “Opa always said he never wanted to be in one of those big fancy vases. And even if he would never know, I...”
Obi sighs, hanging his head. “Yeah, I know, I get it, just...complaining to complain. You know how it is.”
She stares down at him like he’s a fish on a dock telling her about the dangers of air. He shakes his head, stifling a laugh. Of course Doc wouldn’t get it; she could lose a limb and she’d still be thankful for the other three. Probably point out how much better things were now that she didn’t need to keep track of all of them. He might complain like it was as easy as breathing, but Doc-- Doc would take every last uncharitable thought to the grave.
Haah, give her some time. A few more months around him, and she’d discover some things to complain about. People always did.
“So,” he says, picking grandma back up. “Why here?”
Doc blinks. “Huh?”
“You know, on top of the roof of the campus center at one of the prestigious universities on the East Coast?” He raises a brow. “I know you used to go here, but most people just settle for leaving dog shit on the stoop when they want to send a ‘fuck you,’ you know.”
Doc unleashes a sound that can only be termed a squawk. “What? What do you mean most people--?” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t-- I mean, it’s not supposed to be a, um...”
“Fuck you?”
“Ah...yes. That.” She grimaces. “They met here. And when I tried to think of places they might want to be...”
Her words drift to a stop, but it’s gentle. They don’t abandon her, leaving her high and dry, but she just...stops saying them, letting the wind carry them away.
“I couldn’t think of any place else,” she admits, fingers tightening in the leather. “They always talked about Tanbarun so fondly, and I...I always thought it sounded like paradise.”
“But the roof?” Obi asks, incredulous. “Is it just easier to scatter the ashes, or...?”
“It’s where they met,” she repeats, like that makes any sense at all. “They used to have movie nights up here, played on one of those reel projectors,”
Her gaze swings out over the concrete like she could see it; all the hippy bean bags piled up, big screen pulled down and movie hardly able to be heard over the wind. Not a bad picture, he’ll admit. Wholesome, just like he’d expect out of the people who raised this Precious Moments doll of a person. Doesn’t really explain Mukaze, but well, shit happens. Half the people who raised him don’t deserve the person he’s become either. “Nice story.”
She’s hardly here with him, eyes hazy and distant, stuck in a past only she can see. “That’s what I always thought. I always wanted...” Her voice trails off again, but this time her smile falters, topping like china from a wobbling shelf. “I always wanted to have a story like that too. But it, um, didn’t really work out that way.”
He shouldn’t say anything. He’s not some neutral party, here to give her that impartial, unbiased pick-me-up she wants to hear, like telling her won’t rips a strip right off his back, so-- he should keep his big mouth shut.
But he’s never been good at any of that being smart shit. “It’s not like you didn’t have your own meet cute, it just wasn’t here. It was, er...”
Huh, now would you look at that. He’s never actually asked.
“At a record store,” she supplies slowly, like she has to think on it too. “Between the aisles after I missed my bus. No--” she laughs, more bitter than he’s ever heard her-- “after I chose to miss it.”
“See?” he hums, vibrating the knife deeper. “That’s already a good start.”
Her lips press thin. “I suppose...”
“No supposing about it.” He taps grandpa so the ashes sit flat before he starts another pour. “If I know anything about your Oma and your Opa-- and I don’t know nothing besides what you told me--” and what he saw a decade ago, sitting on that park bench-- “I don’t think they care whether you met your person at a rooftop movie or in a Walmart--”
“Record store.”
“They have CDs too,” he informs her, just as prim as Doc gets with him when she indulged the one pedantic bone in her body. “But the point is, they wouldn’t care where it happened, they just wanted you to find what they had.”
“I...” She deflates, the leather bowing over her legs. “I know. I think they used to worry that I wouldn’t, especially since I wasn’t really, ah...”
“Looking for it?” he offers.
She nods, relieved. “Yes, that. After my parents, I think they expected a much more, um, active interest in...anything. And I wasn’t.”
He doesn’t need to hear her say it to know that there’s more to it than that, that what she means to say is, and I don’t think they understood.
“Well, nothing for them to worry about anymore, is there?” She blinks up at him, alarmed, and he adds, “You and chief are kind of a done deal right?”
“Ah!” It’s hard to tell with the wind slapping both their cheeks red, but he could swear Doc’s blushing. “I don’t-- it’s not-- we haven’t really talked about--” she heaves a heavy, resigned sigh-- “I mean, I...I guess?”
“As done as it can be without getting PR involved.” He gives her the sort of eyebrow Kiki might. “I’m sure that if they’re out there floating on clouds or whatever, or, i don’t know, free energy in the universe, molecules just bumping around...they’re happy for you.”
“Right.” Her reply’s so faint he nearly misses it, but the wind that snatches it away carries it right by his ear. “Yeah.”
“All right, I think I’ve done as much as I can do.” Obi levers himself to his feet, brushing off his lap before handing her the tin. “You ready for this?”
Doc stares down at the canister, jaw set, the same way he’s sure it looked right before she threw herself out a window. Certainly looks the same way it did when she tried to bean Itoya with her purse.
“Yeah,” she breathes, fingers tightening around the metal. “I think I am.”
The wall’s not tall, but neither is Doc; she has to go up on tip-toe to throw an arm over it, the wind already pulling at the ashes laying loose at the top. Her brow furrows, mouth working for a good minute before she manages, “It’s time to say goodbye, I think.”
Obi stares. Sure, he’d said to keep it short and sweet, but if it’s taken this long for the rent-a-cop to hustle up, maybe she can spare the people who raised her more than--
“Thank you.” He’d thought it might be hard to hear her over both the alarm and the wind, but somehow all her words fly true, brightening the air. “For...everything. I don’t really know how you...”
Her breath catches, but her eyes are clear, no tears streaking down her face. “But that doesn’t matter, does it? You did everything and more. But I think...” She sniffs, taking a moment. “I think I can take it from here. I’ll miss you, Oma. And Opa...”
She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I forgive you. For whatever still needs forgiving. Rest well.”
Her hand tips, just the barest degree, and the ashes scatter, wind whipping them past, twisting high over the quad.
“Hey.” Obi steps up beside her, shrugging his coat on over his shoulders. If it’s a little gritty-- well, good thing Doc thing thinks Oma would like him so much, because part of her might linger until the next wash. “I’m pretty sure it’s super illegal to scatter human remains like this.”
“Oh,” Doc hums, shoulder bushing his arm. “It absolutely is without a permit. I was not joking about the slightly illegal thing.”
Obi grins. “Well good thing that no one ever came to check on the--”
As if summoned by the mere mention of potentially having something approaching good luck, the door bar rattles, accompanied by some creative cursing.
“Who the fuck is leaving this open?” A gruff yet feminine voice demands, as if she might be able to shake down the universe and pick up the answers from what fell out of its pockets if she just rattled it hard enough. “Bill, is it you? God, what did I say about using the roof for your smoke breaks--?”
The door swings all the way open, and there she is, a security guard with shoulders that could have dropped straight from the Lowen family tree. Obi would take a picture if he wasn’t sure that would get him thrown in the campus drunk tank.
She takes one glance at them, then another angrier one. “Who the fuck are you?”
“UM,” Doc shrills informatively.
“No, wait.” One broad hand waves in front of her. “I don’t care. What are you doing up here?”
Doc flounders in the face of authoritarian disappointment-- which is fine by Obi. This is his wheelhouse, after all. It’s nothing to reach out, cinching Doc’s waist against him, grin wide. “Sex, obviously.”
If it were possible for a body to choose the time and place of its expiration from this earthly dairy aisle, Doc’s mortified stare suggests she might curdle on the spot. “Obi.”
The guard’s glare is a study in skepticism, taking in the both of them, and then the concrete wasteland around them. “Here? With your clothes on?”
“It’s our kink.”
“Please,” Doc mutters against his shirt. “Don’t talk.”
The guard spares them one last weary look and sighs. “You know what? I don’t care. Just get out.”
Doc certainly doesn’t need to be told twice. Obi’s got his mouth open, what can’t you let us finish first about to spill right out, but her small hand clamps around his, and she drags him right off the roof.
“SORRY,” she yelps as they pass. “WON’T LET IT HAPPEN AGAIN.”
“Yeah,” Obi agrees with a grin. “Next time we’ll fuck on some other roo--”
Doc pauses for one moment, just long enough to raise a finger and inform him “DON’T.”
This time he lets her drag him off, grinning.
They’re halfway down the stairs when Doc finally slows, her cheeks reaching a shade of red that looks more lipstick than lobster dinner. Her hand wraps tight around the rail, and it’s not until he saunters down the last couple steps to stand beside her that he realizes-- her eyes are screw tight, breath coming in ragged bursts.
“Hey,” he murmurs, trying to ignore the spark of alarm zipping under his skin. “Did you just realize we could have used the elevator?”
Her fingers, already wrapped tight around his palm, squeeze. “Obi...”
The muscles in his arm lock, the way he’s sure lizard tails do, right before they drop them off and run. “Doc?”
Her head turns toward him, and when her eyes flutter open, they’re bright, clear. “Thanks. For being there.”
“No. No, no,” he murmurs, his fingers spasming against hers. “You’ve got it all wrong. I should be the one thank you for letting me. No one...”
No one has ever asked me to be there, he doesn’t say. No one but you.
It’s too much when she’s looking at him like this, like he’s not just a stand-in but her first choice. Like there’s more to how he feels than some one-sided over-investment. It brings him so close to feeling like someone, like the kind of guy who might be her person--
And maybe he could have been, if he hadn’t let some asshole rip her right out her arms in the middle of the night. If he had a record of being something other than a professional disappointment.
The grin doesn’t sit right on his face when he says, “No one’s ever asked me to get rid of a dead body before.”
Doc blinks, then rolls her eyes. “Come on,” she sighs, tugging his hand. “Let’s go.”
“Back to the hotel?”
���Well,” she wheedles. “That. And I dropped the tin when the guard surprised us...”
“Ah I see.” He slips his hand from hers, grin finally sitting the way it should. “So we’re adding evidence removal and obstruction of justice to our list of crimes.”
She tips a dubious look back at him. “Are you complaining?”
“Doc,” he breathes, pressing a hand to his chest. “I would never. I’m touched that you would even think that I could--”
“Come on, Obi,” she laughs, hopping down the steps in front of him. “I’d like to do this sometime today.”
His mouth curls as he watches her back. “Your wish is my command.”
#obiyuki#akagami no shirayukihime#snow white with the red hair#my fic#The Wide Florida Bay#modern au#ans#this has been a scene I've had on my radar since I started plotting out this fic#i knew that Tanbarun Arc needed to end with a request#but a request to come back to this old college didn't make sense#so i wanted to make it purposeful rather than a promise#an invitation to stay in her life#and I knew she'd cremate her grandparents#but hadn't done anything with the ashes#so i wanted to drop the hints in the sanddollar fic hoping someone would seize on it#but the sand dollar part proved too interesting 😂#though not to worry i'll be coming back to that part too#but when Yixin asked for this Joanna was like ASK HER IF SHE WANTS TO ASHES SCATTERING PART THOUGH#SO HERE WE ARE
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