#dye my hair get a tattoo and text him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

synthetickitsune · 1 year

Text

17's Vocal Unit & Onewe songs

Hip Hop Unit ver. | Performance Unit ver. (wip) (Yes, this is very self-indulgent.)

Woozi

♫ Parting - If after this parting, an unimportant asteroid could swim against time so that I could meet you again, on that day, even if today, even if tomorrow, without a single lie, I would speak to you my truth

He feels like ripping his hair out. It wouldn’t be hard, given how damaged the recent rounds of bleaching it and dyeing it has left it, and he thinks it might be worth it. He’d be able to hide from the world for a while at least. He goes through a few more pages of lyrics but the hate and disgust sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach only grows heavier with each line and he throws the sheets of paper on the table. Jihoon thinks of burning them.

Anger. Betrayal. Confusion. Hatred.

Heartbreak. Longing. Regrets.

He’s gone through quite a few stages of dealing with a breakup and honestly, he’s had enough. Perhaps this is his punishment for what he’s done. He wishes he could’ve just stayed angry. Honestly. Even if he’d be the biggest asshole in the world for that, it’d be much better than this. He misses the fire of fury that raged inside of him, he misses the way others avoided him just so he wouldn’t take it out on them. Hell, he’d miss hating you too, if only you deserved it.

Right now he just misses everything before this. There’s a few things he hates more than pity, yet that seems to be the only emotion others feel for him lately and it’s honestly embarrassing. He should get his shit together.

But it’s been months and all his songs are still about you.

The worst thing? Anyone who knows him can tell.

They might be a little too specific to be used, which should be even worse but it’s not.

Actually no - the worst thing is that all the songs are so much about you and the lyrics are so specific that anyone who knows him and has read them also knows exactly what he wants to tell you.

Some of the guys told him to text you. Call you. Threatened to take pictures of the scribbled pages and send them to you.

He’s fought with basically everyone at this point. He’s still not on talking terms with most of them.

But he was never good with words, was he? Not when it counts anyway.

He sighs, closing his eyes. Behind his eyelids, as if the scene was tattooed on them, he can see your eyes filled with tears, the shift in your expression as he screamed at you on that day. As he yelled words he never meant, words that were the opposite of what he should have - what he wanted to say.

It was bad timing. Everything was just a little too much for him at that point and he realizes now he should have communicated that to you. He knows you’d have waited for him, but he was - as ironic as it is - secretly terrified of losing you. Way to go, Jihoon.

You must’ve been in so much pain. Just the thought alone makes him clench his teeth and his fists itch to hit something. You must’ve suffered so much, yet you were always so patient with him.

And still he had the nerve to act like the victim.

It was bad timing. He snapped like a rubber band stretched too thin.

The last string of his sanity must’ve snapped too, because he can’t imagine another reason for acting like he did. What else could’ve made him think that you were the one betraying him. Leaving him when he needed you the most? As if you weren’t dealing with your own problems too.

He misses you.

If that’s not clear from the pages upon pages of whining and crying out for you that he’s written.

He’d like to believe you’d hear his words if they end up being a published song.

But he feels like he’s broken you too bad. Like he’s corrupted you in some way. So much so you’ll never be able to enjoy the music associated with him anymore, even if you used to love it before.

He still has your number.

Sometimes he thinks about giving you a call, asking whether you’d listen to him speak.

He never does.

Maybe if he knew the world was ending tomorrow, he’d stop being a coward and he’d call you. He’d play the guitar and he’d sing every single one of the songs he’s written.

Maybe if he could turn back time, he’d tell you exactly what he should’ve and what he wanted to say. He’d drag the words out of his throat, he’d stop choking on his feelings.

He picks up the pen again. He takes a new sheet of blank paper. He writes your name at the top of the page. Neatly, with care you deserve. He hopes it’ll erase your name from his life but it seems it’s been burned into his brain and heart.

Maybe one day you’ll hear the words he wishes to tell you. The thought keeps him alive.

Jeonghan

♫ Eraser - I was going to force myself to erase you but your scent, so familiar, lingers Like the sluggishly melting ice, I slowly intend to forget you

He only just opened his eyes, consciousness coming back to him after a long night of sleep, yet he already hates it as he takes a breath and the lingering scent registers in his brain. He considers just closing his eyes and going back to sleep, yet as tempting as that option is, for once he’s sure he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep if he tried. He’s been sleeping a lot these days, and maybe Jeonghan deserves to be called a coward, but it’s not like it’s anyone’s business but his own.

So he gets up, blindly kicking his feet until they find his slippers on their own. He refuses to look at them. It would be easier to just throw them away. He’s been trying to bring himself to do it for a week now.

He walks into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the selection of tea and coffee pushed to one corner of the cupboard. What he wasn’t counting on was seeing the one mug that has survived the fateful night and that was forgotten here. He should throw it away too. But he can’t even look at it without feeling the overwhelming shame washing over him, making his eyes prick with what are not tears. It’s just too early and his eyes are dry. That’s all.

He closes the cupboard and instead washes the same mug he’s been using for a week straight now.

A coward, a stubborn one at that.

He makes some coffee and he sits on the couch. Despite turning on the tv, he can’t focus. Instead his mind races with fragments of memories, uninvited and painful. He doesn’t want to think about you. He promised himself he wouldn’t, so he imagines every thought of you being torn apart. It doesn’t work. He sips the hot drink, burning his tongue but it doesn’t provide the distraction he hoped it would. Now his tongue hurts just like the depths of his soul.

He’s being childish and he’s painfully aware of it. Everything seems to hurt, or maybe he’s just too sensitive.

Funny how that’s what he told you. He winces at the memory, another sharp stab to his breaking heart that has yet to stop bleeding.

Maybe it’d be easier if all the memories were bad. If the scent that seems to linger in every inch of his apartment didn’t bring him so much comfort. There’s nothing he wants to do more than bury himself into the blanket that smells so much like you and pretend that it's a week ago and things are fine. On second thought, maybe he should throw the blanket away and forget you.

It’s not like he’s not doing well without you. He gets along fine with the others, unless they get on his nerves. He can work just fine too. It’s exhausting enough that he’s physically incapable of thinking about you so that’s a nice bonus.

Things are better this way. You were fighting so much lately anyway. Both of you were frustrated and angry all the time. You kept hurting each other because of how hurt you both were.

Things are better this way.

He will forget with time. Jeonghan’s sure of it, yet the thought makes despair spill in his veins and tears well up in his eyes. It’s gonna be fine, if only he can hold on. He’s surrounded by good people. He will get through this.

So why, then, are his feet moving? Why are they carrying him to his closet, why is he getting down on his knees and opening the drawer that used to be yours? Why is he pulling out the sweater you’ve forgotten, much like the blanket.

He pulls it over his head, curling into himself as he breaths you in, even as you are who knows where. Are you happier like this? Or are you miserably like he is?

He doesn’t know why he keeps all your things where you’ve left them. Maybe he hopes you’ll come back for them soon, after the anger dissipates. His own has yet to leave fully, everything seems to linger.

He wants to be so angry that he’ll pick every single little thing you’ve touched, throw them all into trash, beat them with a bat or something, stomp all over them, burn them or whatever.

But that would mean taking off the sweater that you’ve always worn on cold winter nights because it smelt like him after hours of cuddling. Now it only smells like you and there’s no one but him to wear it.

It’d mean breaking the colorful mug with cute animals. With the bunnies you always said look like him. The one he teased you about carrying your first indirect kiss. And destroying the slippers he’s wearing, a new pair of which always miraculously appeared when the old one was getting torn with use.

Perhaps it wasn’t all that bad. Tell him something he doesn’t already know.

He’s just a stubborn coward. But he can’t admit that or he’ll break.

Someone knocks on the door.

Who knows whether it’s him who rushes more to open them or the heart beating in his chest at the possibility it could be you.

Joshua

♫ Rain To Be - The rain falls, I look out the window You're standing there already waiting for me I prayed to the heavens Not to lose you

The rain keeps beating against the ground, the drops heavy and exploding in splashes all over the deserted playground. Your clothes and shoes are soaked, each of your steps making a squeaking sound. Your white shirt sticks to your skin, turned transparent by the water. You'd feel shy, if only your body wasn't pressed against his. You know he won’t let anyone see what’s his. Joshua’s soaked through as well, his own shirt see-through and clinging to his sculpted body. Even though the rain is cold, he’s so warm and his heat is addicting.

Then he pushes you away, gently, his hand holding yours, and he twirls you around. He keeps humming the same melody as he guides you through the moves of the dance. The wind blows past you, cold, and it makes you shiver in the warm summer night. He pulls you closer again, chuckling when you wrap your hands around him, clinging to his warm body.

“Should we go home?” he whispers, only breaking his humming for a second. You shake your head no, and soon it’s too hot again and you’re grateful for the rain. You let him set the correct stance again, continuing to slow dance with you under the stormy skies. Somehow it feels both sensual and silly. His body is so close to yours, your clothes wet and thin and hiding nothing from your wandering gazes. Whenever your eyes meet you’re ready to ignite. And yet you’re just two people in love, dancing to the melody no one but you can hear while a summer storm rages through the city. You’ve never felt happier.

“Thank you,” he speaks again, lips brushing against your ear. The comforting scent of petrichor fills your lungs. You’re at peace.

“Thank you,” you smile, leaning closer until your lips are against the skin under his ear. Of course it’s only because he wouldn’t hear over the thunder.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he says, twirling your around again before pulling you back. You’re even closer and he holds you against his body firmly. “You’re the most beautiful when you’re getting rained on.”

“You’re just saying that because you love getting rained on,” you emphasize again, chuckling. The truth is he looks breathtakingly beautiful when he’s wet from the rain, something about the water falling from the sky giving him an ethereal glow.

“Just like I love you,” he kisses your temple, still leading you in circles, dancing as you whisper to each other.

“And I love you,” you tell him honestly. Thinking for a second, you can’t hold your tongue. Not when you’re so close to him. Not when it feels like you’re sharing your secrets with the rain, letting it wash them all away.

“I think I first realized when we ran through the rain after the dinner with your parents,” you share, feeling him hum in acknowledgement. His hand squeezes yours. I’m listening. “I was a mess. My makeup got ruined, I looked like a wet rat. My hair was dripping with water. And you just pulled me closer and kissed me like you were drowning. And you grabbed my hand and led me home. I remember looking at you when you turned around and just thinking - holy shit, i love him, he’s the one.” You hear him chuckle, and then he comes to a stop.

He pulls away just to gently take your jaw between his fingers. He guides your face towards his until your lips meet. The kiss is wet, soft, and it’s not the burning passion of the past, it’s the crystalized love and admiration, unconditional devotion that your feelings have grown into.

“That’s why I love watching you in the rain,” Joshua whispers, like he’s confessing his secrets too, “Because I think I knew back then too. I think I saw it in your eyes and I thought - finally, this one I will spend the rest of my life with. It must be fate, don’t you think? I love you so much that every day I’m terrified of losing you.”

“Why would you lose me?” you ask quietly, “I’ll always be right here, next to you, waiting for you, dancing with you… I’m yours.”

“I think our wedding should be on a rainy day,” he says suddenly and his words send tremors through your body, despite the rain nearly drowning them out.

“Let’s do that,” is all you can say, a whisper before a thunder rips the skies apart.

The rain washes all the words away, yet they linger in your minds. You lean your forehead against his. Water runs over your bodies and you feel like this is where you’re meant to be - dancing through the storm with him, inevitably falling for him over and over again just like the raindrops.

♫ Universe_ - Will we feel the same way? Would everything that you are Even your whole world Become my universe?

Your hand fits so nice into his. Like it’s meant to be there - and he wants to believe it is fate, that somehow you were meant to meet each other. If Seokmin’s completely honest, he wants to take it a step further and believe that you’ll always end up by each other’s side, anywhere and everywhere, over and over again. He’s a little too shy to admit it to you, wondering if perhaps it’s still too early to say the words aloud, or whether it’s just the right time.

Would he scare you away with the confession? Or would it reassure you that you’ve made the right choice? As romantic of a thought this thing called fate is, it’s also fickle and he’s not taking any chances. Not if it’s you.

“Where did you go?” you smile at him gently when he finally blinks and turns his head towards you. Apparently you’ve been calling his name. He shakes his head, bringing your intertwined hands to his lips and kissing your knuckles. You didn’t need to know, not yet.

“I’m grateful for you,” he whispers instead. He’s not lying, and maybe that’s what it all comes down to - his appreciation of you. The feeling deep inside his chest that tells him he mustn’t lose you or he’ll lose a huge part of himself. “And everything that you do for me.”

You turn to your side, shifting closer to him and lying your head on his shoulder. His free arm wraps around you, rubbing your bare arm. It’s starting to get cold, you should be heading home soon. But lying under the stars with you, he can’t bring himself to put an end to this perfect moment.

“I told you I got your back,” you remind him, hand splayed over his heart and thumb stroking across his chest. He nods, smiling softly.

“I know,” he sighs, “I guess I wasn’t expecting much of it.” He’s glad to be wrong for once. So so glad. It’s not that life was necessarily too cruel to him, but enough to make him cautious where matters of the heart are concerned. And yet here you are, his home, his safety blanket, the one to hold him when the world crashes down around him and his own mind fails him.

His hand lets go of yours, reluctantly, to cup your cheek. He caresses your skin slowly, gently, and his eyes hold galaxies in them when he looks at you. They say everything is made of stardust, and he truly believes that you both had to be the same star once upon a time. You look into his eyes just as deeply, and Seokmin could drown in the love dripping from your gaze.

He knows you needed this, to clear your head and remember that the obstacles you face are just tiny bumps in the road as compared to the infinite universe and all the complexities of human life. Because he wants to be there for you just as much as you are there for him, he tries his best to help.

And maybe what he really wants to say through his actions is that he’ll gladly run away with you. Somewhere far where no one knows you. Somewhere deep into the forest, maybe, you’d have a little house there, a couple animals to take care of and you’d live a quiet, modest life, filled with love and comfort. You’d have your own little piece of heaven right there.

He’d wake up everyday with you in his arms, kiss you, laze around with you until you’d both be ready to start the day. No rush, no stress, no deadlines and no work that would take him away from you. Just love, so much love and happiness.

“Do you now?” you ask, and he almost forgets what it was that he said. He shakes his head.

“No,” he smiles, “You’re my everything. I know I can trust you.”

“That makes two of us,” you whisper, leaning your head up to connect your lips in an innocent kiss. “We’ll always be together, right?”

“Just the two of us,” he agrees softly, planting a sweet peck on your forehead, “We’ll live together and I’ll always be by your side.”

“And I’ll be by yours,” you hum, “We’ll always care for each other and protect each other.”

“Always, right?” he asks, bringing your face closer to his. You’re breathing the same air, and yet it feels like you’re too far.

“Always,” you promise, “Even if we get more than this life. Always.” You hand finds his again, your pinky wrapping around his. His lips melt into yours, both of you smiling into the kiss. You shuffle closer to him, and he knows you mean everything you said just as much as he does. It fills him with warmth and a feeling of security, even more so because he knows it’s mutual. You’re never leaving each other behind, your joined hands a testament of that.

The moonlight reflects on the ring on your finger, as if blessing the promises that are soon to be witnessed, and that are to be kept until your final days.

Seungkwan

♫ End Of Spring - Because of you I smiled, because of you I cried My spring days were good because of you One by one everything slowly fades away My beautiful season, spring is over

The streets are familiar and full of memories. A breeze blows by that carries the scent of the sea, salty and comforting and something else he can’t quite place, but that triggers something inside of him. Seungkwan was hoping to visit home for a while now, so that’s what he’s doing with his few days off. It got him in a sentimental, wistful mood, walking down the streets almost as if in daze. Something inside of him, something reacting to the scent lingering in the wind, is guiding him towards the shore.

He remembers this path. He used to take it often when he was younger and carefree with enough time to go about. How long has it been since then? He can’t remember, but something about the blurry memories makes him smile. There was someone by his side then. Friends, he’s sure, but the closer he gets to the beach, the closer the ocean waves sound, the more he’s sure there was someone else.

He takes off his shoes, walking on the cooling sand barefooted. It really takes him back to that simpler time. When he reaches the line of wet sand caressed by the sea, he sighs. It’s been a while since he could relax and forget about everything. And as he walks in the water, he allows himself to get possessed by his youth and starts running. The water splashes around his ankles, licking at his calves, and he remembers the times in the past he’s done it. He’s laughing freely, runs until he’s starting to get out of breath and embarrassed even if there’s no one to see. He covers his mouth, eyes closing as he cringes at himself. And then the breeze blows by.

He remembers the scent.

There’s an image in his mind. Someone with their back turned towards him, someone who’s leading him by the hand. There’s a name at the tip of his tongue that he can’t remember, but that he remembers calling so many times and in so many different ways - softly, gently, at the top of his lungs, in excitement, and in agitation.

How could he forget?

Your hand was so soft in his, your smile bright and eyes sparkled with mischief. You were adventure personified and the comfort of coming home after a long journey all at once.

You must’ve been more than a friend.

He tries recalling your name, a ghost from a time long lost. Somehow he feels if he could just remember and whisper your name to the wind that you’d appear. You’d take his hand again like you used to do and lead him away for another adventure that wasn’t necessarily stupid and dangerous but sure felt like it.

Seungkwan remembers climbing trees with thick branches hanging low, and he remembers, faintly, as if spoken lowly over the raging ocean waves, your voice. If he fell from the tree, he’d maybe scrape his hands and knees, but you made it feel like his life was at stake.

And he remembers, once he stood up with feigned confidence and gripping on to the higher branch for dear life, soft lips against his cheek.

There’s more, so much more that’s coming rushing into his mind now that he smells the sea breeze again. The smile. He doesn’t want to forget it ever again - and not just yours, but his as well. You must’ve made him very happy. The more he tries to sort through the memories back to that time, the more he realizes those were really good times. One of the best.

He recognizes that it’s all tinted with nostalgia and yearning to go back to the simpler times, that there definitely were bad times, hard times, just the same as now, but perhaps Seungkwan will allow himself to cherish those memories as pure as they appear.

He wonders where you are now, who you are now. He can’t shake off the feeling you’re forever young out there somewhere. He hopes you are. Always coming up with ideas that make others laugh first at how crazy and childish they seem, as he used to do, but that plant the seed of excitement in their chest. There was something about you that set his souls alight. That felt like that first deep breath of fresh air you take after pulling yourself out of a slump.

He sighs. Remembering the old times is a sure sign of growing old. But there’s a chuckle bubbling in his chest. Even after all these years, you make him laugh. Are you haunting this island? He can’t explain why he remembered you so suddenly, or why can’t recall your name nor face clearly. But maybe that’s what makes the memory sweeter, the times he cried because of you, those he laughed because of you, all wrap themself into the scent carried by the wind and settle deep in his heart, forever to stay.

#seventeen #seventeen reactions #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #svt scenarios #svt reactions #svt fluff #svt angst #seventeen vocal unit #fluff #angst #fanfiction

74 notes · View notes

manipulatorkaleidoscope · 1 year

Text

Incorrect Quotes!! (For omega strikers!)

Rune: Zentaro, can you help me? All my clothes keep disappearing for some reason. Zentaro, wearing a hoodie that’s seven times his size: spooky

————————————————————————

Estelle:I’m not being weird. Am I being weird? Luna: yes and that’s coming from me

————————————————————————

Asher: when Ramsus gets Daiquiris he gets into how beautiful he is. Ramsus: hey I dare you guys to dare us to make out Luna: Hey Ramsus, you do know that’s a mirror, right?

————————————————————————

Luna: school sucks Atlas: I know, but you have to do it so you can get a job Luna: what are jobs like? Atlas: they suck

————————————————————————

Estelle: GET BACK HERE YOU DUMB FUCK! Kai: LET ME RUN FROM THE CONSEQUENCES OF MY ACTIONS!!!

————————————————————————

X: can we go to a haunted house? Era: what’s wrong with the one we live in? X: Wh-what? Era: Goodnight, X.

————————————————————————

Juno is hugging Luna Asher: Hey! It's my turn to hug Luna! Asher: grabs Luna Atlas: kicking down the door What do you mean, "yOuR tUrN"? We agreed now is my time slot! Juno: No, It's still my turn! Luna: suffocating Guys, I love you, but just because I'm the smallest doesn't mean you can be hugging me constantly! Asher: But we need the moral support! Juno: And you're small! Which is cute! Atlas: If I don't hug you right now I think the depression will kick in and my body will stop functioning. Luna: close to tears Well- I, I guess.

————————————————————————

Ai.Mi: jail is no fun. I’ll tell you that Zentaro: Oh, you’ve been there? Ai.Mi: Once. In monopoly

————————————————————————

Kai, texting: X, will you please go to sleep? X, texting back: What makes you think you didn’t just wake me up? Kai, yelling: I CAN HEAR YOU CLAPPING TO THE FRIENDS THEME EVERY TWENTY MINUTES SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP! Kai, texting: Just a hunch :) You goin’ to sleep soon? X, texting: I’m trying Kai, yelling again: TRY HARDER I HAVE A 5:45 AM MEETING TOMORROW BITCH Kai, texting: Okay, don’t stay up too late or you’ll be cranky :)

————————————————————————

Atlas: Last night I found out Dubu is a sleep talker. Drek’ar: Oh, really? Atlas: “Dubu!(The mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell)." Right. In. My. Ear. At 3am.

————————————————————————

Estelle: I have met a lot of pricks in my time, but you, Kai, are a whole fucking cactus.

————————————————————————

Dubu, to Drek’ar: Dubu?(When was the last time you let someone hug you?) Drek’ar: thinking Drek’ar: 2012. X: 2012…? Drek’ar: Yeah. I almost died and it really freaked Atlas out so I let him hug me.

————————————————————————

Zentaro: A mosquito tried to bite me and I slapped it and killed it. Zentaro: And I started thinking. Zentaro: Like, it was just trying to get food. Zentaro: What if I went to the fridge and it just slammed the door shut and snapped my neck? Ai.Mi : Are you ok?

————————————————————————

Kai: I need to dye my hair. Juno: … Kai: Or get another tattoo. Juno: … Kai: Or a new piercing. Juno: Why? Kai: To, you know, appease the mental breakdown gods.

#omega strikers #incorrect quotes #i had a bit too much fun making these #Part of the reason why I made a butt ton #Hope you enjoy 😊!#omega strikers incorrect quotes

11 notes · View notes

harryforvogue · 1 year

Text

character tag - fine line (faye)

What do you do for a living? What do you do for fun?

I'm an actress with an established theatre company that has been reported about in several newspapers and entertainment magazines, as well as a stage directer for other theatres. I want to work on indie films soon so I've been working on my self tapes. I like to stay home on my days off so for fun, I'll invite Harry over and we'll watch a movie. We've recently started cooking together so maybe that if we're not in he mood for takeout. Well, okay. Harry does the cooking and I pass over whatever ingredients he needs. I also just really like to sleep. Harry's bed is super comfy because he has those thermal bed sheets. Sometimes I go over to his place just to sleep when he's not there. It's fine, he's given me a key.

I also like to dye my hair at every minor inconvenience. It's currently black, but I've been thinking of adding a different color in. Maybe red?

If you had to call one person to get you out of a bind, who would it be?

Harry would come to mind first, but if not, my second option would be either his housemate and his girlfriend, or a cousin of mine that lives in the area. Harry would likely be able to help out with whatever it is, but if he can't make it, I trust the other people wholeheartedly as well.

What’s the last text in your phone?

Harry's housemate, Timothée, sent me a menu of a restaurant asking if I liked any of the vegetarian options because we were doing a double date sort of thing. I didn't like anything, so he just called me instead and tried to convince me of giving up my vegetarianism.

What’s the last post you liked on instagram?

I liked a photo that Harry posted on his professional account of a tattoo he just finished. It was a really detailed one and every time I see art like that, I'm just taken aback by how talented Harry is. And I was also proud of him because he'd been working overtime a lot because he'd taken on so many projects at once.

What’s your favorite Harry Styles song?

N/A. (But if Harry was a singer in this universe, likely Cherry or Only Angel)

thank you for tagging me @harryscerise!! this was super fun! i had a hard time picking which character to work on, but i realized that faye would work best because i don't really know what half my characters even do for their professions. and the others live in a different era. haha

i'm gonna tag @hoodharlow @freedomfireflies and @shroombloomm <333

19 notes · View notes

phanfictioncatalogue · 11 months

Text

Tickle Fics (2) Masterlist

part one

Dan and Phil Tickle Fic Compilation (ao3) - arandomraven

Summary: As i've said before. I Don't feel comfortable writing about real people anymore, but im backing up old fics from tumblr since that site is going up in flames right now. these fics do not represent my writing or my thoughts on shipping real people as of now.

Glad to Be Home (ao3) - ticklishraspberries

Summary: Dan and Phil make up for the time they lost for intimacy on the tour.

I Didn't Know Tickles Could Be So Dangerous (ao3) - PeanutButterJellyTotsandHobnobs

Summary: Dan's in hospital and his best friend Phil is there through everything. But after a tickle fight gets too rough, things go drastically wrong.

Jumping On the Bandwagon Isn’t So Bad (ao3) - ticklishraspberries

Summary: Dan decides to jump on the ‘boys in crop tops’ trend.

Knick-Knacks (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: Dan wants to get rid of most of their knick-knacks, their forever home has to be minimalistic. Phil isn't helping Dan pack, he's too busy buying more knick-knacks.

Love me (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Dan is cute and he knows it, and he really wants his boyfriends attention. So he decides to annoy Phil until he gets what he wants.

....

Dan loudly clears his throat, “Um excuse me? Yeah your cute boyfriend is right here and asking for attention.” He over-dramatically gestures to himself.

Maybe Only for an Hour (ao3) - AmeliaHollow

Summary:

Dan and Phil are teenagers in love. Conveniently, they also happen to be neighbors. One night, Dan can't sleep so he texts Phil to keep him company. When push comes to shove Dan finds himself sneaking through the window of the bedroom of the boy he loves so he can spend 'Just one hour' with him without risking too much. If either of their parent's found out they were together... or gay at all for that matter- that would be it. But we all know love makes you do crazy things.

Power Outage (ao3) - yeahthisaccountisinactiveso

Summary: There's a power outage and Dan and Phil have some fun.

Puns, tickle fights, and a squishy rat named Dan (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Dan and Phil get into a little argument on Valentine's Day, but Phil was sure he could fix things with a few punny gifts.

Slap and Tickle (ao3) - ticklishraspberries

Summary: Dan is incredibly squirmy when tickled, which inevitably leads to Phil’s injury

stuck together (ao3) - graydar

Summary: Even if Phil dyes his hair blonde or Dan gets a whole sleeve of tattoos, even if they never change their last names or wear rings on their left hands. Even if - everything changes. This will always be it for Dan.

waking up in your arms with my mind on you and me (ao3) - natigail

Summary: On October 19th 2021, Phil wakes up first. Twelve years ago he woke up way too early, nervous for their first meeting and now they are waking up in their shared bed in their forever home. Phil allows himself to be a little sappy but it's okay because Dan easily joins him.

Welcome home! (never leave that long again) (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Dan comes home from tour and stumbles right into Phil’s arms. He is more touch starved than he’d realised.

What Dan Wants, Dan Gets (ao3) - blissedoutphil

Summary: "i hate men but i want them to touch me"

- actual Dan on twitter

so this fic is based on that lmao

Yes, Extremely - phil-and-dan-lester

Summary: Fluff

You're Perfect To Me (ao3) - ticklishraspberries

Summary: Dan is feeling insecure about his body, and Phil can’t have that.

#phanfictioncatalogue #phanfiction #phanfic #phan #masterlists #tickle #tickle masterlist

7 notes · View notes

linpunny · 7 months

Note

Okay so as promised I'll throw you together a few random Taiju Headcanons my head came up with so it won't be silent hehe 🫶

Taiju has to bleach/dye his hair to get his signature look and one time he accidentally grabbed your dye, walking around half pink and he absolutely hated it but when it faded enough to dye over it he was kinda upset because he always got reminded of you when he saw his hair

HATES it when someone touches his hair but you can do everything with it. wanna make funny updos? He'll sit still for you. Braid it? You got it. Curl it? No problem.

Also his tattoos. He's such a sucker to have you trace them or pepper kisses along them especially the text above his hipbone

Talking hip bones. your man is SO defined and could melt when you take your time admiring him, fingers tracing his V-line only for you to add little purple marks to his hipbones

He could burst from the anticipation because you're so close to his length and it's so god damn intimate to him when you kiss him so close but not quite

That's a moment where you see that he's putty in your hands, eyes fluttering shut, head tilted back ever so slightly and his big hands cradling your head or his fingers running through your hair

He won't ever push your head onto him unless you explicitly tell him that he can do that. He might not look like it but it's a consent king.

Your body language is second nature to him as well. He reads you so well and if anything looks off he immediately stops everything he's doing to ask if you're okay / if you need anything

He would let you put a collar onto him if you ask nicely- only if you'll wear one too for him at some point

He actually has a ring with your name engraved on it. It's not a wedding ring or anything but he wears rings often and that one he rarely takes off, only if he really has to

We all know his favorite position is the mating press because you just look so fucking small beneath him and the way your belly bulges from him makes him lose his mind

Fucks his seed into you just so you're nice and stuffed but god he wants to have a child with you so badly

Dad!Taiju who's the biggest softie for his little bundle of joy, letting them sleep on his chest at all times and he almost cries when the tiny hand can't even hold onto his finger properly

He kinda hoped he would have a boy first and then a girl so he could raise his son to protect his younger sister but he would be overjoyed no matter the gender

Because the fact that this is a product of his love for you. The child has your eyes and he swore he couldn't love anyone more than you but then that little bundle of joy entered his life

Spoils them rotten just like you! Would do the dumbest things no questions asked. Wears a tutu and attends little tea parties if asked and ready bedtime stories every night, giving every character a different voice and he really does a great job at being a father

— Rhy 🫶

I frew upped

BAJAKAKAKSKKSKSKSKS

Please please I’m dying I’m crying im screaming and creaming, chasing my tail scratching at the walls, chugging his cum—- and and he I the stuffs me so well so I feel full 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 keeps me warm and cozy with yummy cummy ANJAISKSKSKSKS

COLLAR?! I mean I uh I have a really nice leash and collar obviously but but HIM IN A COLLAR??? I’ll break my fooking hands beating the table right now KAKAKAKAKSKSNNSNS restraining his hands too while I ride him? HELLO the 14% switch in me is clawing at my chest cavity trying to emerge REEEEEEE

The ring he has a ring with my name on it oh my god I’ll cry shut upppppppoo please 😭😭😭 that’s so sweet I love him I’d get one with his name too maybe those ones that leave an imprint/ skin tattoo when you wear them. 😩

Matching mating press always always 🥺 soul mates. Constantly thumbs over the bulge he’s making, loves feeling how deep he is just as much as he loves to see it.

I WORSHIP THIS MAN. HE IS MY GOD ILL RUN MY TONGUE ALONG EVERY SINGLE TATTOO ON HIS BODY. trace em with my lips, nibble, mark , cum on em. Just wait hold on tracing over his v-line fuccccck me. Mmmm I’m so unwell. I just wanna kiss all over his well cut torso, his abs, his hips, that slight happy trail he his—— im gunna be sick

I can’t, consent king 🙇‍♀️ and couple that with how observant his of me. I give him complete consent, absolute territory of my body. But just imagine him looking down at you and he sees that twinkle in your eyes, the way there half lidded, heavy with lust. Before you can even nod HE KNOWS and he’s gently pushing your head down so your lips are level with his dick 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 loves when you trace over that thick bulging vein, makes him groan 😩

That’s so intimate just worshipping him, god I’d do it all night, every second of the day let him feel like the god he absolutely is to me

#I’m so sick #my stomach doing flips #coochie screaming #oh fuck me #taiju I love you #rhy I love you too #Dessy’s confessions #fellow taiju whore: rhy #my eyes were darting and I replied to these out of order lolololo #taiju agenda #Dessy selfships #daiju #my gorilla taiju

4 notes · View notes

lackyghost · 1 year

Text

Todoroki Shouto blinks slowly, gray and turquoise eyes blank and lips in a straight line. His hair, split down the middle in red and white, is lightly messed up, the strands mixing atop his head. He’s currently staring at his best friend, who just said something he’s fairly certain he can never unhear.

“Is there a name for that?” Shouto asks as he raises his phone, pressing the record button.

Piercing scarlet eyes glare at him, blonde spikes wild around a sharp face, pink lips twisting into a sneer that’s not nearly as threatening as usual with the amount of alcohol in the man’s system.

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” Bakugou Katsuki says, scoffing harshly, flicking his empty beer can on the coffee table, knocking it onto its side as he pouts. “I just wanna be fucking myself, and then have the door open unexpectedly because Touya came back early from work or some shit, and he catches me, and then gets all fuckin’ bossy n’ shit, takes over, and fucks me into oblivion.”

“Do you… have a plan to make this happen?” Shouto asks, tilting his head slightly.

“No,” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. “He doesn’t like me like that, I accepted that a long fuckin’ time ago, that’s why it’s called a fuckin’ fantasy, you dumbfuck.”

Shouto stops recording, his expression more deadpan than ever. “Right.”

“He’s just so fuckin’ pretty,” Katsuki says, groaning as he leans back against the sofa, the plush leather comfortable. “I just wanna kiss him on his stupid pierced lips, and I wanna lick his shitty tattoos, and suffocate him with my thighs by riding his face, y’know?”

“Sure,” Shouto says as he goes to his text conversation with Touya, reading over the messages from the past several months as Katsuki continues to wax crass poetry about his eldest brother.

TOUYA:Fuck, he’s so goddamn gorgeous.

SHOUTO:You’ve mentioned that.

TOUYA:DOES HE NOT KNOW HOW THIN THE WALLS ARE!? I CAN HEAR HIM JERKING OFF!!!!!!!

SHOUTO:I’m going to get a new phone number.

TOUYA:Shoooouuuutttttoooooo Why did you let me move in with him So many regerts

SHOUTO: Just ask him on a date and stop complaining.

TOUYA: STFU, you KNOW HE DOESN’T LIKE ME LIKE THAT I’m way too old for him It’s not my fucking fault that he’s fucking PERFECT

“—and then shove me onto the bed and just take me, not even fuckin’ waiting, and then go hard until I can’t fuckin’ think,” Katsuki goes on, and then drops onto his side, letting out a long, exasperated groan. “Why doesn’t he love me, huh!? Is it ‘cause I’m blonde? I’ll—I’ll fuckin’ dye my hair. Ugh, no, I don’t wanna end up like fuckin’ Shitty Hair. But I could get a wig? Does he like brunettes?”

“Katsuki,” Shouto says, and the blonde grunts, tapering off to show he’s listening. “Touya has a night shift on Friday, right?”

“Yup,” Katsuki says, sighing heavily, a little drool dripping past his lips. “Sometimes I go in his room when he works thirds and fuck myself on his bed.”

Shouto really doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he goes for a topic change. “Why don’t you sleep here tonight? I’ll get you a blanket.”

“Fuckin’ better,” Katsuki snaps, scowling, though his lids are drooping. “M’ fuckin’ sleep… sleepy.”

Shouto hums his understanding as he gets up, walking to the hallway closet and pulling out a blanket. By the time he gets back to the couch, his friend is already snoring softly, and Shouto sighs as he drapes the soft fabric over him.

—

KATSUKI: Do not text or call me for the rest of the fucking night, or I will KILL YOU.

SHOUTO:I understand.

KATSUKI: Clearly you DON’T! FUCK OFF!

Shouto’s lips twitch, but he tucks his phone into his pocket and heads for the door, stepping out of his condo and taking the elevator down to the ground floor. He goes through the lobby and out the main doors of the building.

Shouto strolls down the dark sidewalk, earbuds in and playing some music he doesn’t bother giving his attention to, he’s too busy internally hoping that this plan works because he is sick and tired of hearing his best friend and brother pine for each other.

It takes about fifteen minutes to reach the konbini, and he steps inside, nodding to the cashier, Toga Himiko, on his way toward the back of the store, where his brother is restocking potato chips.

“Touya,” Shouto says, and the white-haired man looks over at him, arching a pierced brow.

His plain white t-shirt is tight over his muscles, gained from the five years he spent in prison for arson. That’s where the majority of his tattoos came from as well—all done in black and blue ink, dragons, scales, and flames lining nearly every inch of his body. The piercings had come afterward, in his lips, ears, brows, and nose.

“Yeah?” Touya questions, turquoise eyes curious, white hair spiky and wild around his head.

“I need to speak with you,” Shouto says, his eyes flicking behind his brother to the man beside him, another ex-con, Shimura Tenko, before locking back on Touya. “In private.”

Touya frowns, but nods and walks down to the end of the aisle, gesturing for Shouto to follow. Touya leads the way through the back doors along the far wall, which opens to the large storage room. Touya turns just inside and steps into the small manager’s office.

He turns to look back at his baby brother, concerned. “What’s up?”

“I need you to watch this, it’s important,” Shouto says as he withdraws his phone.

He takes his earbuds out and holds them out to Touya, who takes them, checking the little letter on the insides before placing them in the correct ears. Shouto turns off his music before going to his camera roll, pulling up the video and handing the phone to his brother.

Shouto waits, counting out the thirty seconds that make up the video. Touya’s face is blank, though his pupils are enlarged. Shouto frowns, and he’s about to ask if Touya has finished the short clip, but his eyes flick down and he sighs when he sees the prominent tent in the man’s pants, pushing his blue apron out. He rubs at his temples and gives his brother another moment to re-watch it and then swipes his phone back.

Touya stares dumbly at his empty hands and then looks at his brother. “Was that… edited?”

“No,” Shouto says, his jaw tight as he suppresses the desire to slap the man.

“Holy fuck,” Touya says, wheezing slightly.

“He also told me that he likes to masturbate on your bed when you work night shifts,” Shouto says, and Touya feels woozy with the amount of blood still rushing to his dick. “If you were to go home now, you could bring his fantasy to life.”

“Yes,” Touya says, his cock jerking harshly in his pants. “Fuck, I need to go.”

“I will take over your shift,” Shouto says.

Touya nods, not even caring about anything but Katsuki as he rips his apron off, throwing it at his brother. He darts to the doorway of the little office and turns to look at his brother, eyes wide.

“I owe you,” Touya says seriously.

“Just get the mutual pining to end so I don’t have to listen to either of you anymore,” Shouto says, shaking his head as he sighs, pulling the apron on.

Touya nods furiously and turns, rushing through the swinging staff only doors, awkwardly adjusting his cock as he moves, making him look like a psychopath. Himiko and Tenko both make confused sounds and look over when the storage room doors open again.

Shouto makes his way back to the chips, the silver ‘Touya’ on the nametag shining under the fluorescent lights as he begins restocking the snack items.

“Who are you?” A voice drawls from behind him and Shouto turns, looking up at a black-haired man with dark eyes lined in heavy bags, his nametag reading ‘Shouta’ with ‘Store Manager’ at the bottom.

“Touya’s stand-in for tonight, he had an emergency,” Shouto says.

The man sighs. “You don’t work here.”

“Don’t pay me then,” Shouto says, shrugging as he turns around, placing a bag of cheddar cheese chips in the correct spot.

—

When Touya reaches his apartment, he slows down outside the door to catch his breath. His mind is whirring rapidly, his heart thudding from more than the adrenaline, and his hands are shaky as he pulls his keys from his pocket.

He pushes the brass key into the lock as quietly as possible and holds his breath as he opens it. Even from over in the genkan, he can hear Katsuki’s soft moans and his cock twitches, more precum soaking through his underwear to his jeans.

Touya steps out of his shoes and into his slippers, barely even breathing as he makes his way down to the hall. Katsuki’s bedroom door is open and empty, and Touya’s eyes lock on the way his bedroom door is cracked as he approaches. He takes a shuddering breath before peering in through the small opening.

Katsuki is on Touya’s bed, wearing Touya’s favorite black shirt with a white skull on the front, and he is bouncing on a thick purple dildo. He’s on his knees, leaning back, one hand grasping an ankle while the other holds a small vibrator over his T-dick, the position giving Touya a perfect view of the toy as it slides in and out of him, shiny with creamy slick.

His eyes are closed, head tilted back, and he moans again, this time around a single word that fries Touya’s brain—his name.

Any hesitancy flies out the window as Touya silently pushes the door open, pulling off his t-shirt and dropping it to the floor. He reaches for his belt next, and the sound of the metal clasps on the buckle catches the blonde’s attention.

“Fuck!” Katsuki shouts, dropping down hard on the dildo and choking on a moan as he falls back on the bed, dropping the little vibrator and grabbing the blanket, whipping it over himself.

“Keep going, Katsuki,” Touya says, voice octaves lower than normal, and the blonde shudders heavily.

“I—I can—fuck,” Katsuki says, his face beet red with his mortification.

“I said,” Touya hisses out as he shoves his jeans and boxers down in one go, stepping out of them and kicking them off his ankles, “keep going.”

Katsuki grips the blanket tighter, his eyes flicking down to Touya’s cock for a moment, dragging along the six rung Jacob’s ladder on the underside and the Prince Albert at the tip before he looks away. “F-fuck you, asshole.”

“No, fuck you,” Touya growls out, stopping beside the bed and ripping the blanket away from the blonde. “You think you can just come into my room and fuck yourself without me?”

Katsuki’s eyes blow wide, and he opens his mouth to ask for clarification, but Touya grips the toy still lodged in his cunt and harshly shoves it into him, making him gasp. The white-haired man leans over the blonde, eyes narrowed into slits as he sets a harsh pace, fucking the man with his own dildo.

“Do you know how fucking hard it is, listening to you fuck yourself every night?” Touya says, jaw tight as he leans over the man, chest heaving. “Every time I hear it, I have to stop myself from storming over there and burning your toys so that the only way you can properly fill yourself up is with me.”

Katsuki moans, clenching around the toy, his toes curling as he nears the edge. “I—I—I didn’t think y-you wanted that.”

Touya tugs the toy out, leaving Katsuki’s cunt fluttering around nothing, and he whines, having been so close to cumming. Touya slaps his pussy, and Katsuki jerks at the stimulation.

“You really think you deserve to cum after masturbating on my bed?” Touya growls out.

He climbs up onto the bed, hovering over the blonde, whose eyes are wide, his body flushed and covered in a light sheen of sweat. Touya clicks his tongue disapprovingly and dips down to lick a stripe up along his collarbone.

“How long were you at it this time, huh?” Touya questions, lolling his tongue out to lick up the blonde’s throat.

“An hour,” Katsuki gasps out.

Touya bites onto his earlobe and tugs harshly. “How many times did you make yourself cum?”

“Three—ah—three times,” Katsuki says.

“Hope you’re ready for four more,” Touya says, finally crashing their lips together.

He reaches a hand down to grip his aching length, quickly lining himself up to Katsuki’s hole and thrusts inside, giving the man no time to adjust to his considerable size. The blonde screams into the kiss; unable to describe the feeling of the barbells on Touya’s cock sliding along his sensitive walls.

Touya uses his right hand to grip Katsuki’s thigh, pushing it up so he can get deeper, and he brings his left hand around to the man’s cock, rubbing it harshly. The combination of feelings; Touya’s hot tongue pressing into his mouth, the dick rearranging his guts, and the friction on his own T-dick in combination with his fantasy coming to life has Katsuki cumming harder than he ever has.

His cunt clenches around Touya’s cock, forcing him to slow down with the grip, but he never stops, continuing moving his hips and his fingers until Katsuki pulls away from the kiss to gasp for air.

“Too much,” Katsuki pants out.

Touya growls as he pulls out, grabbing Katsuki’s waist and tugging him up to his knees. He roughly shoves the blonde around, pushing his face against the wall as he lines himself back up to his dripping pussy.

“Not enough,” Touya says, and then shoves his cock back home.

Katsuki drops his forehead to the wall as Touya drills into him, pain and pleasure mingling, building his arousal up higher than he thought was possible. His body is trembling, his nipples hardening as they rub against the chilly wall, but he tilts his hips, and suddenly Touya is hitting the perfect spot.

“Touya!” Katsuki keens as he’s sent into another orgasm.

Touya brings a hand around to Katsuki’s T-dick and slaps it, making the blonde yelp. He switches to rubbing it again, shoving the man harder against the wall as he pounds into him, not stopping when Katsuki chokes out a sob, tears streaming down his face.

The overstimulation has Katsuki squirting, and Touya shouts out a curse at the feeling. He moves both hands to the blonde’s hips, pinning him against the wall as he pounds into him. Katsuki gasps at the coolness against his cock, the cold temperature soothing the throbbing member.

Touya buries himself deep as he cums, groaning a low, throaty sound as he unloads his hot seed. He bites down into Katsuki’s shoulder to ground himself, his dick pulsing with each spurt, his ass clenching and hips shoving up of their own accord.

Katsuki pants heavily, greatly appreciating the break, though clarity seeps back into his head and his anxiety spikes. Touya pulls away from his bite and trails kisses up his neck, and Katsuki turns his face away from him.

“You shy now?” Touya taunts.

Katsuki scoffs, trying to pretend he isn’t panicking. “That was only two more, thought you said four.”

Touya blinks once in surprise and then barks out a laugh. “Oh, you have no idea what you’re in for.”

He pulls out of Katsuki and turns the man around again, shoving him onto his back on the bed. He smirks down at the blonde and pointedly strokes his cock, which is already swelling back up. Katsuki’s tear-filled eyes blow wide, but Touya just smirks smugly and plants himself between his legs.

He slaps his cock against Katsuki’s T-dick, making him gasp. “F-fuck, I was fuckin kidding!”

“Shame,” Touya hums, rubbing the head of his cock along Katsuki’s slit teasingly. “I wasn’t.”

Touya presses inside him again, slowly this time, and Katsuki groans at the feeling, and Touya bites his lower lip as he looks down at where their bodies meet. He slowly pulls back and then pushes forward again, moaning at how fucking hot it is to watch his cock sink into Katsuki’s tight heat.

“God, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to ruin you,” Touya says, thrusting faster, loving the wet squelch that accompanies the slapping of their sticky skin.

He reaches down to rub along Katsuki’s cock again, groaning at the way the blonde’s cunt spasms around his dick. Katsuki bites his lower lip to try to stop himself from cumming again, but Touya narrows his eyes and pivots his hips faster, merciless in his ministrations.

“Touya!” Katsuki screams as he’s tipped over the edge, the name mixed with a sob as more tears fill his eyes.

“Oh, fuck,” Touya groans, stilling his hips for a moment to soak in the blissful feeling of Katsuki’s hot insides.

He slowly pulls out and slides down the bed, gripping Katsuki’s thighs, pushing them open so he can lick between them. The blonde gasps, his hands flying down to tangle in his hair, tugging at the roots and making Touya moan as he laps at his cunt. Katsuki’s body twitches each time, the man whimpering as Touya slurps up their combined arousals.

He pushes Katsuki’s thighs further up, shaking his head to get his tongue deeper, nosing against the man’s T-dick. Touya growls as he drags his tongue along the man’s insides until he’s cleaned him out. Katsuki is panting, body taut and close to another orgasm, but Touya pulls away and Katsuki lets out another sob—not even sure whether it’s from relief or upset.

Touya rolls him onto his front and tugs Katsuki’s ass into the air and lines his cock up, pushing the head inside. He slowly rolls his hips, teasing the blonde, who tries to press back to get him deeper, but Touya tuts and slaps his ass, making the blonde gasp and clench around him.

“You want my cock, huh?” Touya taunts, gripping the man’s hips firmly so he can’t pull Touya in deeper. “Did you wear my clothes every time you came in here when I was gone, hmm? Did you cum on my bed and hope that I would come home and smell you?”

Katsuki whines again, tilting his hips. “Come on.”

Touya smacks his ass again. “Answer the questions, Katsuki.”

“Yes!” Katsuki shouts, still trying to rock back. “I didn’t always wear your shit, b-but I hoped you would smell me and get off to it. I hoped you heard me, wanted you to come into my room and fuck me yourself.”

“You’ve been depraved, poor thing,” Touya drawls, giving him a little more of his cock, which he eagerly clenches around. “Do you have a thing for bad boys?”

“No,” Katsuki pants out, feeling close to going mad from being edged and teased. “I love you, you asshole, now fuck me!”

Touya’s brain shuts down for a moment, but his body takes over, slamming deep inside of Katsuki. His heart swells as he processes the man’s words, and when he finally comes back into his body, he leans over the man to grab his wrists, pulling them back, forcing the blonde to arch his spine as he fucks into him harder.

“You’ll pay for that,” Touya snarls out. “Confessing to me first, huh? You insolent brat.”

Katsuki gasps, turning his head to lock gazes with Touya, chest heaving and eyes hazy. There’s some drool dripping down his chin, his face is blotchy and streaked in tears, but he still manages to look cocky. “I win.”

Touya growls, releasing his wrists and he slaps a hand between the blonde’s shoulder blades, shoving him down against the pillows as he pounds into him harder, his balls slapping up against the man’s T-dick every time he’s fully sheathed in his cunt. Katsuki begins to clench around him and Touya uses his other hand to reach for the abandoned vibrator.

He flips it on and slides the small device around Katsuki’s front, pushing it against the blonde’s cock, making the man shout in surprise. Katsuki clenches around him even tighter, and Touya moans at the feeling, his eyes nearly rolling back as Katsuki cums again, his insides flooding. His own orgasm hits him like a truck, and he slumps over the blonde as he fills him up.

“Four,” Touya pants out, and Katsuki huffs weakly.

“I’m not sleeping in this bed,” Katsuki grumbles out.

“Eh, I’ve slept in grosser places,” Touya says, pulling out of the blonde and sighing.

“There is no fuckin’ way I can walk right now,” Katsuki says, barely able to roll over to look up at Touya. Anxiety crosses his features as he looks over the older man, swallowing thickly. “Did you… never mind.”

“Meant every word,” Touya says, smirking as he leans down to kiss the man, sighing against his lips. “Especially the part about burning your toys.”

Katsuki pulls away to laugh. “You’d better not. That shit’s expensive.”

Touya just snickers and his phone dings from his pants pocket. He sighs and climbs down from the bed, legs wobbly as he makes his way over to his jeans. He lifts them up and pulls the device out, reading the one message from Shouto reminding him of the date and he blinks in surprise.

“Huh,” he mutters, dropping his pants and walking back over to the bed.

He purses his lips as he places his phone on his nightstand, looking at Katsuki for a moment before shoving his arms under the blonde’s knees and upper back, lifting him into a bridal carry. Katsuki’s face flushes darkly, but he wraps an arm around Touya’s shoulders and lets himself be carried to the bathroom.

Touya carefully steps down into the bathtub and sits down, shifting the blonde on his lap, holding Katsuki chest-to-chest. He turns the water on, wincing at the coldness that sprays over his feet. He waits until it’s hot before lifting the lever for the stopper and leaning back to let it fill up.

He grabs a washcloth and soaks it in the hot water, lifting it up to drag along Katsuki’s back, his cock swelling up beneath the blonde as the man rubs against him. Katsuki looks down and gawks at his dick before looking back up at him, incredulity all over his face.

“What the fuck?” Katsuki says, eyes wide.

“I have a refractory period that ranges from thirty seconds to ten minutes,” Touya says, shrugging. “Doctor had a fancy name for it that I didn’t fuckin’ care enough to remember.”

“For fucks’ sake,” Katsuki says, shaking his head.

Touya hums, bringing the cloth up to wipe over Katsuki’s face, his expression turning soft. He leans in to capture his lips in a soft kiss, humming a happy sound as they fall into a steady, sleepy rhythm. The kisses are chaste and warm, both of them feeling satiated and neither wanting to voice the desire to simply bask in the presence of the other.

Touya breaks the kiss when the tub is full, leaning over to turn the tap off. He settles back again, rubbing along Katsuki’s spine as he kisses his cheek. “It’s past midnight.”

Katsuki cocks a brow. “So?”

Touya’s eyes crinkle. “Happy birthday.”

#dabibaku #happy birthday kacchan #bakugou katsuki #dabi x bakugou katsuki #todoroki touya x bakugou katsuki #bnha #mha #my hero fic #my hero academia #smut #ao3 fic #ao3 link #ao3 writer

3 notes · View notes

mydemonsdrivealimo · 1 year

Note

We know the MC is amazing, but what's your MC's biggest every day weakness? Are they afraid of the dark? Do they have a hard time getting up in the morning? Do they overthink too much? Etc.

jensen has a laundry list of problems (sorry bestie def my fault) but here are a few of the most commonly occurring ones!!

hes stubborn as hell. he listens and considered other povs, but he usually twists it to get (mostly) his way. to be fair, he is right most of the time, but it can def cause him to be overconfident and cutthroat about things

he ignores texts and calls when he isn't in the mood to answer it. even if it's clearly urgent a lot of the time he cant deal with it so he doesn't. he takes a lot of unannounced breaks from his phone and socials and it drives everyone crazy

omfg and yes he hates getting up in the morning (when he can sleep). he has A Lot of alarms set and bryce eventually takes the place of them, which he Didn't sign up for but doesn't mind too much

jensen also makes impulsive decisions, especially when he's frustrated and/or sleep deprived. when his insomnias bad, it's the Perfect opportunity for those conditions and it results in a lot of shitty decisions. it calms down as he gets older, but most of his piercings and hair-dyeing and tattoo ideas have happened during the early hours of the morning when he can't sleep

he also has a lot of self doubt. as he grew up, the idea that he would not and could not amount to anything was ingrained into him far too often. he's always been questioned and doubted and nobody's ever believed in him, and he had a lot of trouble learning to do that himself. he feels like he's always had to prove himself no matter what qualifications he has. thankfully it's gotten better, but that was a big struggle for him that still pops up here and there

#thank you sm!!!!#<3 #probs too long of an answer but still #jensen valentine #open heart #open heart mc #asks answers #bryce lahela #bryce lahela × jensen valentine #choices open heart

2 notes · View notes

melissawebb-avocado · 4 months

Text

1: Name

Milinda

2: Age

3: 3 Fears

Losing everyone, being alone, people seeing me for how i see my self

4: 3 things I love

My daughter, my husband, my sister

5: 4 turns on

Fatherly, back rubs, asking about my day, takes charge

6: 4 turns off

Dosent listen, trys to take without asking, yelling, procrastinating

7: My best friend

Brianna my sister

8: Sexual orientation

Straight

9: My best first date

Went to make pottery and then to dinner and an arcade

10: How tall am I

5"9

11: What do I miss

My home in chandler

12: What time were I born

2 pm

13: Favorite color

Teal

14: Do I have a crush

My husband

15: Favorite quote

"Most of us are gifted with the

ability to see the monsters hidden

within another, but are unable

to see past them.

It takes a special kind of person

to see the light inside of every

living being."

- Lynette Simeone

16: Favorite place

Oceanside beach

17: Favorite food

Sushi

18: Do I use sarcasm

Yes but only with those im close with

19: What am I listening to right now

Always AJR but the trolls 3 music

20: First thing I notice in new person

How they mingle with new people or stick with the person they know ignoring new people

21: Shoe size

22: Eye color

Hazel

23: Hair color

Brown, waiting to dye mt hair a copper red brown

24: Favorite style of clothing

Graphic t and baggy jeans

25: Ever done a prank call?

Yes.

27: Meaning behind my URL

Its my first ever book i wrote in middle school

28: Favorite movie

Howls moving castle

29: Favorite song

AJR object in motion

30: Favorite band

AJR

31: How I feel right now

Depressed

32: Someone I love

My daughter

33: My current relationship status

Married 💍

34: My relationship with my parents

BFF with my MIL and FIL call them every other day. Talk to my mom whenever i can. Forgave my dad but wont ever forget.

35: Favorite holiday

The days before Christmas

36: Tattoos and piercing i have

C section scar

37: Tattoos and piercing i want

None

38: The reason I joined Tumblr

To find more fans aboit the series i loved

39: Do I and my last ex hate each other?

I dont talk to any of them.

40: Do I ever get "good morning" or "good night" texts?

No because we say it to each other when we go to bed together

41: Have I ever kissed the last person you texted?

My husband?

42: When did I last hold hands?

Last night

43: How long does it take me to get ready in the morning?

Im a stay at home mom so i wake up and thats it.

44: Have I shaved your legs in the past three days?

Yesterday

45: Where am I right now?

Siting on the couch watching my daughter play

46: If I were drunk & can't stand, who's taking care of me?

My husband but my sister is taking me to him.

47: Do I like my music loud or at a reasonable level?

LOUD

48: Do I live with my Mom and Dad?

i live with my husband now

49. Am excited for anything?

To get pregnant with my 2nd kid in summer!

50: Do I have someone of the opposite sex I can tell everything to?

My husband

51: How often do I wear a fake smile?

Not as much anymore. I used to be very good at hiding my emotions no one knew but after years of therapy my face is easy to read.

52: When was the last time I hugged someone?

Last night

53: What if the last person I kissed was kissing someone else right in front of me?

I hope it would be my daughter. But i would probably cry since i dont feel pretty anymore since ive gained weight after birth.

54: Is there anyone I trust even though I should not?

Nope. All the people i used to trust that were toxic i dont talk to or give them anything from me anymore.

55: What is something I disliked about today?

My husband is working and theres no wifi

56: If I could meet anyone on this earth, who would it be?

My old therapist.

57: What do I think about most?

The future, where im not stressed about bills, healthcare, or living somewhere i dont. Planing my future home.

58: What's my strangest talent?

Imagination

59: Do I have any strange phobias?

Speaking in public

60: Do I prefer to be behind the camera or in front of it?

Behind!!!!

61: What was the last lie I told?

Im fine

62: Do I prefer talking on the phone or video chatting online?

Phone

63: Do I believe in ghosts? How about aliens?

Ghosts are real. I beilve there is other life in the universe but they look like you and me. Not movie aliens.

64: Do I believe in magic?

65: Do I believe in luck?

Yes. Sometimes you just wake up with a good start and it keeps pulling you forward.

66: What's the weather like right now

It snowed yesterday

67: What was the last book I've read?

The last olympian percy jackson

68: Do I like the smell of gasoline?

69: Do I have any nicknames?

Mina

70: What was the worst injury I've ever had?

Tore my esophagus from throwing up so much for months

71: Do I spend money or save it?

Spend on temu

72: Can I touch my nose with a tongue?

73: Is there anything pink in 10 feet from me?

My daughters strawberry baby blanket

74: Favorite animal?

Axolotal

75: What was I doing last night at 12 AM?

Watching tik tok

76: What do I think is Satan's last name is?

Hellboy

77: What's a song that always makes me happy when I hear it?

Trolls 3 better place

78: How can you win my heart?

Random acts of kindness

79: What would I want to be written on my tombstone?

The hardest thing she did was survive and she lived through it all.

80: What is my favorite word?

Cascade

81: My top 5 blogs on tumblr

Basbardbin, moringmark, buggachat,

82: If the whole world were listening to me right now, what would I say?

Just a reminder that by the time your child is 18, they will already have spent 93% of the time they will spend with you in their lifetime. So go on that adventure, because you can always get your money back, but you'll never get those years back.

83: Do I have any relatives in jail?

84: I accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow me with the super-power of my choice! What is that power?

Read peoples minds

85: What would be a question I'd be hesitate to tell the truth on?

86: What is my current desktop picture?

Me and my daughter in the sand at the beach

87: Had sex?

Uh yeah.

88: Bought condoms?

Nope

89: Gotten pregnant?

Yep

90: Failed a class?

Nope

91: Kissed a boy?

Yepppp

92: Kissed a girl?

Nope

93: Have I ever kissed somebody in the rain?

Yep, my husband

94: Had job?

Yep. 5 jobs

95: Left the house without my wallet?

Yeah util i atached my keys and my wallet together

96: Bullied someone on the internet?

97: Had sex in public?

In a car parked on the side of the street.

98: Played on a sports team?

Soccer, volleyball, swimteam, softball

99: Smoked weed?

100: Did drugs?

101: Smoked cigarettes?

102: Drank alcohol?

103: Am I a vegetarian/vegan?

104: Been overweight?

Still am.

105: Been underweight?

106: Been to a wedding?

Yes, mine and my best friends and SIL

107: Been on the computer for 5 hours straight?

Yep

108: Watched TV for 5 hours straight?

Yep, just watched avatar 1 and 2

109: Been outside my home country?

Mexico.

110: Gotten my heart broken?

Yep

111: Been to a professional sports game?

collage games?

112: Broken a bone?

Broke my radias of my wrist riding my bike

113: Cut myself?

Tried to. Kept to scratching.

114: Been to prom?

115: Been in airplane?

Yes. Terrified

116: Fly by helicopter?

117: What concerts have I been to?

None

118: Had a crush on someone of the same sex?

119: Learned another language?

120: Wore make up?

Try to at least.

121: Lost my virginity before I was 18?

Nope

122: Had oral sex?

Yes

123: Dyed my hair?

Not yet

124: Voted in a presidential election?

125: Rode in an ambulance?

126: Had a surgery?

Yes, c section

127: Met someone famous?

President uchdorf

128: Stalked someone on a social network?

My exs and their girlfriends

129: Peed outside?

Yep, road trips

130: Been fishing?

Yep with my dad. Hoping to have a better experience one day

131: Helped with charity?

In high school and middle school. Worked for toys for tots.

132: Been rejected by a crush?

Yeah. High school asked a boy out to go bowling.

133: Broken a mirror?

134: What do I want for birthday?

Dnd table or 3d printer.

0 notes

vodka-redbull-daily · 5 months

Text

November 19th, 2023

*Graphic Sexual Content*

I finally said A---- today. he has been making a big deal about how he says he's different than everyone else, how he's going to be such a good teacher, how he's so much better than all these other guys. I was talking about how he would help me get over J----. he had me call him for a whole hour the other night. he was one of the guys that was saying that he really didn't want me sleeping around with everyone else, as if that's not what the whole point of that site is. yesterday, he had gotten pretty annoyed cuz I didn't text him all day even though I told him I was going to be out with somebody else. I did actually have a plan to see M-- this morning, but he ended up canceling on me last minute. so, I went out with A---- instead.

he was kind of demanding and rude. kept saying I was too shy and that I needed to not be shy. I think maybe he was trying to neg me? it was weird and it kept telling me how I needed to dye my hair black cuz it looks good with my skin tone, how I needed to not get any more tattoos because guys didn't like that, basically everything he thought I should change about myself. I was already pretty annoyed with him I figured I wasn't going to see him after that. don't fucking tell me what to do.

we went to go to The Cheesecake Factory and he was pretty rude to the waiters. super bossy, super demanding. he also made me do this weird thing where I sucked on his fingers in the parking lot. anyway, we ate some food and he forced me to eat some of his salmon. I mean it was good, but it was kind of weird cuz he kept just piling it on my plate even though I knew I wasn't going to be able to finish my own pasta. I'm never really able to finish food in front of other people. we also got some cheesecake afterwards, but didn't get to finish. so come I got to take home leftover pasta and leftover cheesecake.

after that, we went back to his place even though I kind of just wanted to go home. at this point, I could already tell that he wasn't going to pay me. he seemed to be one of those “ I'm going to pay you in experience” kind of people. sure enough, he just ended up demanding and bossing me around for a little bit before I took off my clothes and we went to the bedroom. there, we proceeded to have some of the worst sex I've ever had. M--- Was pretty bad, but that was excusable seemings as he's barely had any sex. A---- put on this whole Persona of how amazing he was and how much he knew. maybe he was just blowing smoke. I mean, he had to be, right?

I was actually wet when he took off my pants. to be fair, I'm usually wet. but then he went and got paper towels and started wiping me off. it was so weird. that's the point of sex. he literally wiped away all the natural lube. then, he started rubbing my clit, was so extremely rough with it. since I just had kind of a wild night with W---- the night before, he was going at it so aggressively that I was painful. anytime I would try and close my legs or push him off, he would super aggressively tear my legs open again. he kept pulling my lips so wide apart, way past where they were supposed to go. it was almost like he was trying to get inside of my clit. it was so weird and so painful and I kept pushing him off because it was so uncomfortable. he only ever put a finger in me once and I tried to make it very clear how much I like that and he almost immediately stopped.

the entire time, he was sweating profusely. it wasn't even that warm in the apartment and we were both completely naked. he wasn't even moving that much or doing that much work. I was doing 90% of the work with all that sucking and shit that men always have me too. he kept grabbing my Fistful of my hair and yanking it so hard, being so painful for no reason. he was sweating so much that when he was leaning over me to finger my clit terribly, it was dripping down on to me and made a little puddle in my stomach. it smelled so bad. it was so gross. with how rough he was, how gross it was, how uncomfortable the whole thing was, I was honestly on the verge of telling him to stop or starting to throw fists. I wasn't going to get paid for this terrible experience, he was going to get his own satisfaction and I was just going to be left there annoyed and covered in his nastiness.

after way too long, and of course too much dick sucking, he finally put on a condom and tried to actually fuck me. but it didn't work of course because he had wiped away all the natural lube. I was incredibly dry now cuz he kept wiping me off with paper towels and those latex condoms just wouldn't go in. plus I think he got soft almost as soon as he saw me. maybe he's closeted gay. it was really weird. it obviously wasn't working so he had me suck him again. After a minute, he just decided that we were done. he said something about wanting to shower and we went over to the bathroom.

we got in, I rinsed off, then he just started pouring soap on me I started rubbing me up and down. he was still incredibly rough, but at least I was getting all this fucking nasty sweat off me. he kept saying random shit like “ oh I bet you've never had anybody wash you off before”. first of all, it's kind of weird, so no people don't normally do that. second one I actually have had somebody do that for me. T---- did that a few times when we were dating. but that was more like reaching my back or for places that I couldn't. of course, A---- demanded that I wash him as well which obviously turned into more dick sucking because what else do guys want. this time, he actually came and I swallowed it. which was good, because hopefully that meant that he was fucking done finally.

He kept asking me if I wanted a towel, but I just got dressed trying to signal that I was ready to go. he spent like a good 10 to 15 minutes in the bathroom doing God knows what. after he came out, he tried to ask me to stay there and watch TV with him, but I was pretty strict about saying I wanted to go home. on the drive home, he asked me if I had a good time and I told him flat out no. maybe a little bit ironically, but that was the loudest I had said anything to him and it kept telling me to be loud. he seemed a little bit annoyed, but it was whatever. it was one of the most horrible experiences of my life. he dropped me off, told me to text in the next day, then blocked me on everything.

fucking men. I hate them.

Total Earned: $3,360

Body Count: 15

Dick Pics: 13

Sex Ranking:

B-------

Him

T-----

W----

P-----

F----

A---

G--

R--

T------

J--

M--- (x2)

D--

A----

M---

#blog #daily blog #suagr baby #suagr dating #vodka redbull #my writing #spilled thoughts #daily journal #journal

0 notes

the-letter-horror-lover · 2 years

Text

Sailor Moon."

Chapter 7

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter, Eric goes out. Rox comes into the picture. Alan has a friend. And the past is a hard thing to outlive.

Notes:

Thanks to my betas and all who give me feedback, in whatever way. :)

Chapter Text

Rox's night was good. The private dancehall was nicely full, and business was brisk. Ze was bored, doing the more predictable work. Ass antlers and nose rings paid the rent so ze wasn't going to bitch, plus the club bouncers threw the drunks out for zir. It was nice, though, when a client wanted something a bit more original and personal. Zir latest client went off with a two-hearts tattoo on the bicep that would no doubt need to be reinked with thought to the drawbacks of someone else's name permanently etched upon your body. The dance floor was full, and the bar packed three deep with people dancing and drinking as if their lives depended on it.

"Media vita in morte sumus." In the midst of life, we are in death. Now, who was here that would let zir play?

Tool Box was what Rox called 'panqueer.' All genders, all expressions, all flavors, and all colors - and Rox loved a good assortment. Ze moved out onto the floor, feeling tres bonne femme tonight - a good dye job had brightened zir hair to an arterial red, plus a splurge at MAC would make anyone feel so very New York. A new underbust corset from Vollers in a tartan ze had no right to wear any longer nipped in zir waist, accentuating zir hips and modest bust.

Ah. There he was.

Hello, you pretty man. Don't you look just as tasty as one of your own cakes.

When you did significant work on someone, you came to know a great deal about them. Simple things like a tattoo or branding design, where they wanted their piercings and which ornaments they chose could tell you so much. Eric Slingby's first design was a biohazard trefoil covering his upper pectoral and the hollow of his shoulder, a red positive sign nested in the center like the hourglass on a black widow spider. Red roses cradled a skull, scythe, and old-fashioned pocket watch, covering his right arm from shoulder to elbow - the hands of the watch rested at a minute to midnight. A work-in-progress of a magpie about to take flight and red roses adorned his left shoulder.

Rox had done all of them to Eric's specifications, and ze looked at them critically now. He really needed to come to the studio - the lighting was better for the whitework. Announcing zir presence was as simple as hooking zir fingers in his belt and pulling him in. What that man did to a pair of low-slung jeans and a black tank top was more pornographic than a gangbang.

"Rox. Baby, you are fucking up my gaydar all over the place tonight."

His voice was low and sweet, and it charged zir up. It was good to be appreciated. Rox pulled him in for a grind. "There's so much you don't know, sweet baby boy."

This time he didn't pull back or shy off, and he was the tamest thing when ze took the lead with him. The DJ did them justice, playing every low, dirty, grinding tune in the archives - and even spun The Cult's 'Sweet Soul Sister' into a fifteen minute jam that had the hookups flying fast and furious.

"Get in my chair, you pretty man. I want to ink you goooood." Yes, you did learn things about a person, like how they saw themselves when you worked on them. You learned things they didn't even know lived in their head and heart. "How did the feathers heal?"

Ze was meticulous when working on positives. They sometimes had problems with healing, and could be prone to opportunistic infections. However, Rox did zir best never to turn anyone away. What was silly and trivial to one was a matter of heart and soul to another. That lesson still lay smoking on zir own soul, raw and blackened even now.

"They did really well." Eric showed zir as they walked to zir setup. "About the whitework-"

"I want to do that in my shop, the lighting's better than in this hellhole." It was lovely, actually. Sadism and theater were not incompatible with making a living. "I need to add some to those lovely red roses, too. A little reminder of purity against the flagrante delicto of red. Come on, shirt off."

"Why? Did you want to do some more work on the pectoral?" He obediently peeled it off.

"No, I just like looking at you without your shirt on." Rox pointed to the chair. "Park it right there. Have you decided on the thorns or not?"

"I don't know. I really don't want to go into overkill, but I think that they're kind of fitting." Eric fit his large frame into the chair. "We can try a few on the right, though."

It was a basic tenet that reincarnates had no memories of their previous existence, they carried only the ghosts of memory in their deepest subconscious. Rox repeated this in zir own head and held fast to the belief.

"Small ones. Sometimes a little prick causes more damage than a knife in the guts."

"Or a whole bunch in the back. Sounds like experience, Rox." Eric's smile was as bitter as zir heart. "Been there."

"I know. I read the article in Alt.Queer magazine." Eric stiffened, eyes going hard as ze continued. "You were a side column in Rolling Stone for the federal corruption trial, but AQ was the only coverage of the assault trial. I know more about you than you do about me. I thought it was fair to tell you."

Rox took a calculated risk, telling Eric what ze knew about his past. That Buckland bastard gave him a mortal disease, then he and those other bastards broke him. It was too bad that Rox couldn't tell Eric how Buckland died. It was some of zir finest work - a magnum opus in red.

"Why?" The word came out tightly, and all of Eric's muscles were cranked for fight or flight.

"I read it before I met you, honestly." Truth. The magazine had been left in the shop by a client. "A customer wanted a tattoo based on the cover story from the Body Art Expo."

The trapezius muscles eased visibly, though Eric remained silent and watchful.

"If you want to get up and walk away, I will understand." They found him on the Golden Gate, barefoot and shirtless in February with a bottle of whiskey. Despite the years passed since then, Rox had the feeling that Eric was still a man with his toes out over the edge. "I mean you no harm, and maybe I should have told you when you first landed in my chair, but I didn't."

It was tense as Eric thought it through, looking zir over as if trying to see zir soul. "You knew and didn't say anything."

"I thought that after something like that you might want some... privacy."

Eric's smile was humorless and his eyes as empty as a pair of glass buttons. "Try dignity."

The wound was reopened, and grimly Rox set zirself to drain it. "You have that. They broke you because you were young and foolish, but you survived. Never, ever think that survival is less than a victory."

And how well had ze learned that one? Another lesson still smoking on zir soul.

Eric reached out and cradled zir face, wiping a tear away with his thumb. Shit. Ze hadn't even felt it.

"Sometimes my soul leaks." Even a sadist felt pain, and sometimes even the masochist railed at the injustice of it. "I should pack it up for the night. Unless you want to do that whitework."

"At your place."

"At my place. Nothing you don't want. But at the same time - nothing I don't want."

The way he'd touched zir, the way he moved when they were tearing up the dance floor made Rox's blood race, but at the same time he went where ze led him. This might be a massive overstep, but boldness was ever a friend and should favor zir now.

He helped to pack up, loading the stuff into the Zipcar van - and did not resist when ze pushed him up against the rear doors and kissed him hard. It was good to kiss a man as tall as ze was in heels. Oh, yes - lips and teeth and tongues. But why oh why was the passionate swain not busting the buttons of his fly? Inquiring minds wanted to know.

"Rox. You're screwing up my gaydar bigtime."

His fingers brushed the tops of zir bosoms and ze had to smile.

"Shh. Rox has a secret." Taking Eric's wrist, ze guided his hand under zir crinoline skirt and my, that opened his eyes. "I told you - there's so much you don't know."

The part of zirself that ze could not be rid of nonetheless gave pleasure, and at other times ze had rather enjoyed playing the man. A lifetime ago, Rox thought it a curse of zir origin that no surgery, nor even a demon's magic could alter zir gender to the one she then desired. In later decades, hormones could stop a beard, change a voice, and give the cutest little champagne-saucer sized tits, but that part remained. Eric, it seemed, did not mind - and he gave it a stroke that made zir purr.

"Now. Why, my pretty man, are you not busting your buttons for me? Hm?" One by one, Rox popped them free - and for a moment he almost seemed about to stop zir. "Shh. Let me play."

As if anyone was going to notice in this part of the Village. He wore black boxer-briefs, silky to the touch, and ze slipped a finger in... Oh. My.

"I put it on lockdown." Eric was redcheeked and Rox laughed in delight. "It got rowdy."

There was a 'Gates of Hell' in silicone keeping Eric's rowdy prick constrained. Rox's finger trespassed more deeply into Eric's underclothes. They were going to have such fun!

It was the first time Eric had been to Sharps - zir own studio and home in one. A huge, floor-spanning loft off Canal Street filled both needs. The Victorian-era former warehouse was redolent with the ghosts of baled tobacco and rum. The ancient floors and elaborate white plaster Corinthian columns set off red walls and faintly sinister modern furniture all in black. Theater and sadism went together like vanilla ice cream and hot fudge sauce.

"Put the chair there, pretty man, and follow me. I want the best light for the whitework." Ze rigged the natural-light lamps and arranged the instrument trays next to zir custom tattooing chair. "And the shirt can come off, too."

Alone, he was uneasy and off his game so ze simply assumed the role of Senior. Senior says and junior does, so ze simply bossed him as if ze'd never done anything different. Truthfully, Rox laid the groundwork for this from the first visit. With the needle-tipped quill in hand, Rox was authx and actrx and artisan - Eric was the work in progress, and Rox loved zir work.

"Now this is my favorite object in the whole house." Rox patted the red vinyl padding. "So many uses - tattooing, piercing, branding, bondage..." Ze smiled toothily. "I have a peg for every hole, my sweet, and one for most days of the month besides. If I'd known you'd follow me home tonight, I'd have a selection of goodies picked out for you."

Eric was not, however, staring at the chair. He was staring at one of Rox's favorites from zir own Incubus Unleashed collection - the large tentacle-formed item called 'The Rear Ender.'

"Rox? You have not only managed to confuse my gaydar and mess with my head, but also to scare the living hell out of my ass."

"Oh, pretty man - that's not for you! That's like playing Carnegie Hall - you're not going to make it unless you practice, practice, practice." Scooping up the piece, Rox put it back in the toy cabinet. "Now this... or this... maybe this..." Abstract or artistic representations were his apparent favorites, and Eric's glance lingered on one in particular. So - not really a size queen, and he actually knew where his own prostate was located. "Are you out of practice?"

Oh, the blush rolled almost to his shoulders. "Fairly out of practice."

"Mm." Taking the shirt from him, Rox hung it and configured the chair. "Here, let me make you comfortable."

Barechested in the chair, he made a very engaging exhibit. Restraints would not be a good idea at this point, so Rox began to set up the whitework materials. "Now, your magpie, I like the way the feathers came out, but I want to highlight the black with a little more white and sharpen the definition in the white feathers."

"And you mentioned something about the roses?"

The studio was a much more conducive atmosphere to in-depth discussion, and Rox was very pleased at the ideas Eric produced. He accepted the suggestion of being inked with Media vita in morte sumus, but was not sure where to put it - inking it in white around the black biohazard trefoil was one idea. And all during this time, ze touched him on the arm, the shoulder, the knee, the thigh. Jumpy at first, his reaction told Rox so much - Eric hadn't. Not with anyone. Not for a long time. The tension and desire almost made him quiver.

The touch of the needle on his skin was as sweet as kissing him. Rox made small thorn after small thorn, depicting them as hooked into Eric's flesh, the redness around the punctures more suggestive of torment than dripping blood and gaping wounds. Eric seemed to surf the sensation, his skin lightly flushed, respiration quick and light. When Rox nudged his basket with zir fingers he gave the most delicious moan. Ze just had to take it right from his lips and swallow it down.

"Be still. Behave." Rox admonished breathlessly. The boy could talk you into anything without saying a word, kissing like that. Popping the buttons on his fly and Rox slipped a hand inside the boxer briefs, teasing out the locked-down goodies in the black silicone cage. "My, my. Such a pretty toy."

The cage was very well made, and not your average cheap sex shop model. It was meant to restrain and prevent a rowdy prick from erecting as well as holding back the foreskin for the obvious reason - it made a lovely display. Rox picked up an Exacto knife from the instrument tray and smiled as the pretty thing twitched.

"Hold still for Rox, darling."

"Fuck." Eric breathed the word out but held still.

In this, Eric's prick spoke for him, a clear bead of fluid forming at the tip. Oh, ze had read him correctly. Rox cut the bands of silicone away with a nonchalant expertise, and then cut the anchoring ring from around Eric's balls. Freed, he was most impressive - thick-shafted and uncut, the glans as rosy as his flushed skin. Rox cupped his balls in zir hand, then pressed behind them with a knuckle.

"All nice and primed for me, hm?" Ze smacked the head of his prick against his belly. "Are you going to behave, or do I need to make my own arrangements?"

Theater. Rox waved the 'arrangements' at him - the stretchy red silicone ties in varying thicknesses and lengths. In short order his jeans and drawers were down around his boots - with a token tussle and some trash talk - and the ties held him very securely.

Very safely.

Rox could see the tension bleeding out of Eric, as hard as he fought to hold onto it. The poor boy. The poor wary darling. It was a lovely work, though. Eric's arms were secured and supported behind him, a thick band of red silicone held his hips still, while two others held his nicely muscled thighs apart.

"So pretty, and such a filthy mouth." If Rox's touches were proprietary, it might not be entirely theater. "You need seeing to."

Sauntering away, Rox took satisfaction in the lustfulness of Eric's gaze as ze undressed. Baring zir body had bothered Rox a lifetime ago, but coming to terms with and embracing queerness had made Rox proud of zir physique. Swinging a scythe did things to set off a pair of tits that no bra or corset-maker could equal. .

Ze dressed in flowing scarlet silk - a bias-cut sleeveless robe and nothing under it, with zir hair up in a snood. Slowly, Rox walked around the presentation, allowing Eric to look more fully.

"Pretty man, look at you." Rox walked to the cabinet and opened it, making selections from the array of toys - with special provisions for fluids. Ze kept buckets of detergent and bleach for a pre-autoclave soaking - they worked just as handily for penetration toys. "You're starving for it."

A couple of the selections made his eyes go a little wide behind the purple titanium frames, but he made no objection.

"Now, here are the Rules of Rox. When you want to pause, you shake the rattler. When you want to stop, you drop it. When I tell you to shake it or drop it, you do so or I will stop and make sure you're okay."

"Okay."

Rox placed the rattler in his dominant hand, made him shake it, and then smiled as ze took out a box of black nitrile gloves. "Now, pretty man, I am going to milk that prick of yours until you haven't a drip left to give."

The gloves went on with a snap, and an unfeigned fiendish grin; the expression of ohyes!ohno! on Eric's face was priceless. The other considerations that were inhibiting Eric simply became part of the performance. Rox had not built zir reputation by being careless or cavalier in any role, and Eric had experienced zir needles. To begin with, ze completely ignored his cock. Rox preferred to find out what other spots rang his chimes. There were fond memories of a lover who would come hard from having the backs of his knees sucked, so it paid to never rule anything out.

The lower back was a given - how many people had ass antlers there? Neck and nipples. Ears - also a given because of the piercings. Ass - naturally. Eric's sides were ticklish. Scratching his shoulders made his hips buck. And the unexpected - massaging his feet with particular attention to the heel made him moan.

Finally, Rox sat between his spread thighs, with a smug smile for the straining flesh of his prick, and opened a packet of Surgilube.

"You're killing me, Red." His voice was a low, warm murmur; almost slurred from the endorphins and hormones.

The pain that nickname gave zir was sweetness and agony all at once, because he couldn't possibly remember.

"Pretty man." Rox kissed his thigh, picking up a ribbon of silicone. "We haven't even started."

How Eric cussed like a deckhand when ze tied his balls down and apart, then beribboned the base of his cock. Then, to be fair, ze had to do the same for zirself. Eric had zir at a lovely cusp of desire, torn between simply fucking him silly and wringing him of every bit of tears, sweat, and come that he had to give. It was pure art when he fought his bonds, fountained foul language and curses, kissed Rox as if ze was his lifeline and the embodiment of angelic mercy. He felt safe enough to let loose and it was Rox's privilege to work him over.

The only balk was at the silicone sounds and urethral plug, and Rox demonstrated them on zir own equipment. "Surgical lubricant. Nothing else - it has to be sterile and water-based. Now this is a small diameter rippled sound-"

Playing with his prick was almost as much fun as playing 'how many toys can go into and come out of Eric's ass tonight?' But the best was denying him orgasm for hours until he was delirious and incoherent, burning up with the need for more than getting his shot off.

Rox regloved. "Come on, pretty Eric. You've been such a good boy-"

"Rox, goddamnit, stop being evil and fucking fuck me or I'm going to just up and fucking die on the damn table-"

Oh, so pretty. Foul-mouthed, hot-eyed, with the muscles of his ass, thighs, and abdomen flexing as his body tried to come.

"Nobody in the history of the world has died from not ejaculating." Rox smacked his ass. "Spread it, boy."

When ze had been Red, ze had often asserted that Eric's sexual orientation was 'Yes' and he did not disappoint now.

"You think you need to fuck here." Rox touched his temple. "Because you're so primed and ready here." Ze trailed a sharp-edged fingernail down his rosy-headed prick, then between his buttocks. "And especially here."

The toy Rox pressed into him was not the largest, but given that Rox was now very familiar with Eric's intimate anatomy, it was perfectly positioned for maximum stimulation. He writhed so prettily when ze loosened the bonds on his hips, breath hitching as he took the knob-shaped plug into himself and squeezed - only to almost levitate off the table when Rox twisted the bullet vibrator within to life.

Nitrile gloves and a condom were not what ze wanted to give him. Rox wanted to give him flesh and sweat, semen and blood. Ze hadn't killed Gary Buckland slowly enough for what he'd taken from Eric. Instead Rox stripped off the glove, swung astride him, then wrapped zir hand around both of them, pressing prick to prick and stroking them together.

"Rox-ahAHFUCK!" Eric's eyes went wide, arms twisting in his bonds even as he thrust into zir grip. "I- you-"

"Shh, sweetheart. No exchange." Rox's breath hitched hard in zir chest; he was as smooth as peachskin and hard as granite. "Trust Rox, baby. I'll take good care of you."

"Fuck goddamnit Rox if you're yeah going to make me come this hard then you can nf fucking kiss me-"

No need to tell zir twice. Kissing was great. Coming was awesome. Kissing and jerking off with someone else's needy prick was zir new favorite flavor. Rox liked zir bits just fine.

"I still want you to fuck me, Rox-" Eric smiled like an angel, and ze could feel the pulse at the base of his prick pressing against zir and no way to stop and didn't want to-

"B-b-brat! AH!" Rox arched and shuddered, barely in time with a cloth to catch their mess, shouting as incoherently as the man under zir.

After, once Rox freed his arms, he was sweet and nuzzly - and somewhat freaked. Considering it was his first sexual contact aside from his hand in years it was understandable. Eric felt himself a leper, mutilated, diseased - for him the idea of possibly infecting anyone was a horror. That had kept him in fear of a part of himself - sexuality, intimacy and the trust needed for both - that Gary Buckland had blighted. To give Eric some of that back was very satisfying indeed.

Rox cleaned him up and tucked him into bed fuck-drunk and softly dazed, waiting until he was asleep in the red satin to go clean up. The disposables, toys, and equipment were autoclaved separately with the toys going back in the cabinet, the equipment into sealed trays, and the trash into a medical waste container. The buckets took a solution of boiling water, soap flakes, and bleach to sit and cool overnight.

But all this busy-ness, fucking, and cleaning could give one the hungries. As Rox stepped into the kitchen, ze eyed a pigeon feather falling slowly to the window ledge.

So.

Just to be sure, Rox looked in on Eric - taking his glasses off and putting them on the night-table.

When dealing with Reapers, or even suspecting their presence, Rox took few chances and always watched zir back. The life of an outlier and rogue was precarious, and ze had made plenty of enemies in a little over two centuries. To a mortal-fleshed reincarnate, such an encounter would be quick and final - and fatal. This soul, Eric's soul, would be going with Rox when the the time came. Rox's books showed a heavy balance owed, and bringing a lost Reaper's soul home would go a long way to paying it off.

Ze simply slipped into bed next to Eric and spooned around him. This time he was frail and mortal. This time Rox would protect him. And when the next time came, maybe ze wouldn't screw it up so badly. The last thing Rox remembered before falling asleep was wondering if Ronnie and Alan were somewhere out there, too.

Sunday morning, Alan awoke and lay in bed. His coffee maker (Amazon was proving dangerous to his American Express card) kicked on, and the scent of the Pearl Street Joe blend began to waft through the apartment. Saturday had been spent holed up and thumbing his nose at the Filgrastim, taking hydrocodone-induced naps, eating, and urinating very, very gingerly.

Andrea called when he was working on his post-breakfast-at-noon cup of coffee and recommended phenaholycraphowdoyoupronounceitadine and Alan asked what it did.

"It anesthetizes your urinary tract including your urethra, but it makes your urine orange. Still, after a Foley catheter you might need it. Annabella Rose, you knock that off right this second!"

"Doggies, Mama!" Piped a little voice.

He really should not have looked up 'Foley catheter' on Google. That was a really stupid thing to do. "What did they to my... stuff?"

"Alan, I'm a nurse, you do not have to use delicate euphemisms like 'my stuff' for referring to your genitals. No doggies Annabella - all muddy. Dirty. Ick."

"Shh!"

"I don't believe it. Did you just 'shh' me?"

"Doggies wanna cookie."

"I Googled 'Foley catheter.'" His stomach did a slow flip and his stuff tried to hide up inside of him.

"Possibly not the smartest thing you could have done to yourself. There are times when you need to leave Google alone. Ma! Come get Annabella! No more cookies, you."

"How old is she?"

"Three. I love my kids, but three makes two look like general anesthesia. No Anna don't open-!"

There was a sound as if a crowd of demented tap-dancers had invaded the house. The doggies.

"What kind of dogs?" He was trying not to laugh.

"Chocolate Labradors. Three of them." Andrea took a very deep breath. "Ma?"

There was a brief conversation in Italian and the sound of the door opening and shutting again - followed by sudden quiet and birdsong. "Gimme a second."

"Okay."

There was the sound of keys, and going down a set of stairs. Then there was the sound of a car door opening, closing.

"The quietest room in the house." Andrea sighed in relief. "My minivan."

"Oh, my God. You are such a mom." Alan laughed.

"Don't laugh! It has to hold me, Carmine, the Nonnis, the kids, three dogs, one walker, Tito's soccer stuff, Annabella's stroller, and commute bags. It's got heated leather seats, cup holders, lots of room, and I even have a dvd player with a 17-inch screen." Andrea had a bit of swagger over her minivan and it made him smile. "Rainy weekends just do it to me - the kids are really active and you can only pacify them with Disney for so long. Now."

"You should be enjoying your weekend. I'm fine." He added, "The cheesecake was the best."

"Junior's. Carmine and I do date nights there. And you were not fine last I saw you."

"But I'm fine now." Alan reasoned. "I'm home, I feel pretty good, and UPS delivered my new slippers while I was out."

"Alan. You had a serious pain episode. You were in shock and a full ten on the Pain Assessment Scale." Andrea paused. "Could I ask who you were talking to?"

"Huh?" Alan frowned. "When?"

"You were looking past me, and I thought you were talking to Dr. Chowdree but he was in the room, not in the doorway. I turned to look, but there was nobody there."

"He must have got out fast. I think it was just a passerby. A younger guy in a black suit." There had been something odd about him, though. Hadn't there? "Not a doctor or anything."

Andrea was quiet for a long time. "You know. Sometimes pain makes your brain do funny things, or your brain does strange things when you're in pain."

"That sounded like it comes from experience."

"I was in a car accident when I was little. It was a wreck and I was hurt very badly."

"Did you see a man in a black suit?" Alan felt his skin break out in goosebumps.

"Yeah." Alan could hear the shiver. "And it made no sense for him to be where he was."

"I think that maybe it's a coincidence. You're right that the mind does weird things." Alan took a long drink of his coffee. "I mean, hurt - right? In shock. Scared."

"Did yours say anything, Alan?"

For a moment he thought of denying it. "He said 'Shh. You're not supposed to see me.' and then I... I guess the morphine hit."

"Alan, mine said the same thing - and when I woke up again, I'd been in the hospital for two weeks."

Alan could hear the rain start, the both of them were so quiet. "Some kind of psychopomp imprint. Afraid and in pain, maybe our ancient brains thought we were dying and our higher brains provided us with a psychopomp - an authority figure in a suit - to take us to whatever-after."

"But wouldn't it be something more traditional? I mean, I was raised as a Catholic-"

"And I was raised as an Evangelical Lutheran - a pastor's kid, no less. I don't think it has any bearing, otherwise we would have seen... I don't know." Alan got up and went to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator door and looking for the potato salad. "I mean, in psychological terms a person in pain or perceiving themselves as near death is in an altered state of consciousness, right?"

"Well, yes. The biochemical process of traumatic shock even when not followed by death causes a massive release of hormones and other substances within the body depending on the originating event." Andrea knew her stuff the way Alan knew his stuff, and he shut up to absorb it. "Hallucinations - olfactory, auditory, visual - are not unusual in the presence of severe pain. I remember some migraine and cluster headache patients would report someone being in the room with them - talking, standing just behind them or out of view, sometimes even touching them. I started nursing in an ER environment before I became interested in oncology."

As she talked, the tension went out of her voice and out of Alan's shoulders and he chuckled softly. "Look at us. We scared ourselves."

"Oh, you're right! We really did!" Andrea laughed. "I'd been carrying that around for a long time."

"Well, it's a big thing to carry around. You were a little kid. Was it a very bad accident?" Alan dug into the potato salad - it had a little grated something in it, something Dijonny, and some mix of herbs he couldn't identify.

"Yeah. An eighteen wheeler jumped the median. My dad and brother were killed, but my mother and I were in the back seat and literally blown out of the liftgate still buckled in."

"I'm so sorry." Alan was horrified that he'd even asked.

"People tell me that things happen for a reason. I never saw a reason for that."

"Sometimes, you know, I think that if my cancer happened for a reason it would make me madder than hell." Alan confided. "If someone was doing this to me, putting me through this, I'd be completely psychotic."

"I know, right? I mean, I've been a patient, and I've been a nurse, and if there was some... some agency behind all this..."

Alan let out a long breath. "You have no idea how good it feel to get that one off my chest. I'm a pastor's kid. Some part of me is still waiting for a lightning bolt."

"Alan? Anyone says that to you, you come find me and I will beat the snot out of them for being such an asshole. Then I'll tell them that everything happens for a reason."

He couldn't help it - Alan laughed until he cried. It was so good just to talk with someone, not about anything in particular, just about stuff. If asked, Alan would deny being lonely. He had what one of his teachers had called 'a rich interior life' - ignoring the fact that Alan developed that rich interior life because of the bullying and intolerance then present in his exterior life.

"When's your next injection of Filgrastim?"

To Alan's surprise, he was scraping the last of the potato salad out of the bowl. That was delicious! "Right after I put this dish in the sink, actually."

"Okay. Take your pain medication first."

"First?" Alan opened the 'fridge - the cleaning service personnel rigorously arranged his medications, and put his injectables in the butter niche. They generally came on Tuesday and Friday now, since those were days when he was out of the house for chemotherapy and infusion - leaving him the other days to huddle and recover. "Why before?"

"Because it's better to not let the pain get a grip first. What's the saying? It's more effective to unload a gun than to shoot into a bulletproof vest?"

"Andrea? That's birth control - specifically a vasectomy."

"The same principle applies!" She insisted. "Stop the bone pain before it starts."

"You're the boss." Alan opened the vicodin and washed two down with a glass of water, then took the little pre-filled syringe out of the box in the butter niche. "Can I tell you how much I hate this? I really, really do."

"Deep breath."

"Okay." One. Exhale. Two. Exhale. Three. Ow.

"Exhale."

"I'm okay." Alan put the emptied syringe in the sharps unit and chopped it.

"Shh, it's okay. Get your juice and climb back into bed."

There were just times when you had to listen to the boss. He'd showered and just put on a fresh pair of pajamas after breakfast. The bed was fresh and soft, and the new bed-lounge pillow (Amazon again - boredom, confinement, and a credit card) was super comfortable. "I'm going to get loopy."

"That's fine - loopy's better than hurting."

He could hear the seat adjusting on the other end. "Getting comfortable?"

"Heated seats and a cup holder - also? Quiet. It's a total Mommy Room."

He settled in and rolled his new bed-table into place. "Now there's an investment idea. Mommy Rooms."

"Padded. Soundproof. With a wine bar and chocolate buffet."

"Wine doesn't go with chocolate, Andrea."

"Alan, in one house I have my husband, three Labs, a seven year-old boy with soccer and dinosaur obsessions, a three year-old girl unable to hear the word 'no,' my grandmother Rinaldi, and Carmine's grandmother Capello. Wine goes with chocolate."

The rain pattered on the fire escape as they talked, and Alan realized that he was feeling muzzy and the bone pain wasn't coming and-

"Sleep well, Alan. I'll see you on Tuesday."

"... 'kay. Night." He set the phone down, turned on his side, and slept.

There were good ways to wake up in the morning, Rox thought. Showering with Eric and taking him back to bed was one of them. Ze tied him up, put his legs over zir shoulders, and then rode that boy's ass as if his mother had named him Six Flags. Once untied and capable of speech, Eric made zir a breakfast of crepes filled with strawberries, thick whipped cream, and topped with chocolate shavings - served to zir in bed.

Rox gave him an encore, and was pleased that Eric was an attentive and passionate top with stamina to spare.

When ze sent him on his way home, the little deviant turned the Walk Of Shame into the Stride Of Pride in a Sharps logo'ed scarlet hoodie under his black cavalry coat.

Now for another cup of coffee and the Sunday Times... and a black-and-white pigeon in the living room. Rox felt zir teeth go to full points and zir vision tinged with red.

"OUT!" Sang-froid had never been the thing, had it? This... invasion was the outside of enough. "Out or I have roast squab for dinner, William T. Spears!"

The pigeon blurred and then resolved into William - as ever in black and white. Perfect. Immaculate. And from the looks of it, absolutely furious.

"Grell Sutcliff, you overstep." The tone was so cold that Rox should have been able to see zir breath.

"And you have no right - I am not one of yours!" Scythespace, ever a part of a Reaper, provided zir with an axe with which to give forty well-earned whacks. "You have no say over me, no authority over me, and I give no fucks for the likes of you. NOW GET OUT!"

Mortal guise or not, ze was a god and that shout shook the brickwork. There was a fine line between love and hate, and this one had given that line one hell of a push. Where William was dripping icicles, Rox felt ze could breathe dragonfire. Evidently, Will had some sense that matters had entered a dangerous new territory - he immediately re-assessed.

"Grell-"

"-is decades dead. I am Rox Sharp. If you want to fully understand how much I had to change to survive, I am certain that that demon and the ancient would be more than willing to share their newfound understanding with you." An eyebrow twitch let zir know that both those beings were certainly on his mind, but the green-eyed monster was not idly named. "Your jealousy ended his life last time and lost two souls to the darkness. He has reincarnated, with the name no less, and that means She Who Spins The Threads has a hand in this."

Will glowered. For a cold man, his passions ran hot and deep - but deeper still was his loyalty to the Society. "With the full name?"

"Eric Ryan Slingby. He told me last night that he has a half-brother - Ronnie."

"All the same, you took him to your bed-"

And he had no right to be accusatory. "Well, at least nothing's changed there-"

"I gave you a trainee, Grell, not a playtoy-"

"And what, William, made you think I was merely playing with him?"

Hit. Score.

It gave zir a vicious satisfaction and ze dismissed the axe.

Unfortunately, ze'd also scored on zirself. Eric had loved Grell - as Senior, as lover - and Grell dumped him cold when Will only crooked a finger. Every decade after that, Grell found zirself still held in fond regard - but also at arm's length.

"I am not yours - no longer a Reaper nor your lover. Whatever you believe I owe you, that belief is one-sided at best. You uttered not a word when the elders broke my scythe and stripped my rank."

"I spoke for you." Will's jaw firmed. "I just did not at the time possess the rank or years to command their attention."

"Fat lot of good it did and not word one from you then 'til now." Rox turned on a heel and walked into her kitchen. "Let's see if we can set a new record."

If ze no longer had a scythe, words would do.

"Blast it you mad creature, give me something! The demon or the the elder - either would see your rank reinstated, your Deathscythe returned."

That was more emotion than ze'd heard from him in two centuries - and it was at least fifty years too late. "And what makes you think for a minute that I want that back? I have other satisfactions now, and the elder and the demon are paying in suffering for what they cost me."

"You know where they are?"

"Of course I do, you silly man. I put them there, and they will remain and suffer until my heart is satisfied enough to kill them. I'm in no hurry." Will's thunderstruck expression made her smile. "If you would be thought of no consequence, first be thought a fool. How handy that has been for me - even you thought me so."

"Grell-"

"Rox - short for Roxanne, when the gender still mattered to me. I have a birth certificate that says so, too. Grell was another person, and lived another life. Mourn her, if you can find it in you."

There was no reply, and when Rox turned he was gone.

There was wetness on zir cheeks. Sometimes zir soul leaked. That was all.

Chapter 8

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

In this chapter, Alan is fine - just ask him. An observer observes. Eric has a beef, and a visitor.

Notes:

Thanks to my betas and all who give me feedback, in whatever way. :)

Chapter Text

Monday morning, Alan felt pretty good. He set up the bicycle with the pannier bags, bolted a carry-crate on the cargo-deck, and emptied his backpack. The extra carry-capacity was needed. The food was gone again, and while he understood that he ought to sign up with a meal service or go to the damn grocery store, there was something so satisfying in the meals from Pearl Street. Something as mundane as meatloaf and mashed potatoes, followed with apple cake made Alan's stomach happy. It was the oddest feeling.

The Financial District was largely deserted at six in the morning, and Alan was waiting when Ronald opened the doors. "Good morning, Ronald."

"Good morning, Alan. How are you feeling?"

"Better than some, and you?" If he was wearing a fleece stocking cap and a couple of extra layers, well, it was damp and chilly.

"Awesome! One of my brews has been picked as a finalist in the Five Boroughs Brew Bash." Ronald preened. "Fire Engine Red - a red wheat and honey lager with a little chipotle."

"Congratulations - what's first prize?" Alan brought in the panniers.

"A six month brewing facility and distribution deal with Hudson Micro Partners." Ronald opened the shades and turned on the signage. "Don't worry, I read the contract. The recipe is my intellectual property, and so is the artwork. I'll go get your bags from the back."

There was a person-shaped shadow traversing the hallway very quickly, and Alan pretended not to notice. It seemed that Ronald's butch honey brother was either very shy or a dire misanthrope. Alan was pretty certain that at the moment he himself was far from being presentable, much less date material. Alan also ignored the hushed exchange of 'Goddamnit, get out there. He doesn't bite!' and 'No. I've been cooking all night and I have swamp-balls. I'm going to take a shower. Get me feedback, Beer Brat.'

There was a deathly silence and Alan nonchalantly perused the cold case.

Puddings, yes. The lentils were good, too.

A scuffle.

Caprese sandwiches - on little rosemary rolls.

"Ow ow ow ow - fucker!"

Ronald.

What was this? Mini cakes? Flourless chocolate. Strawberries with cream and chocolate shavings. Cup tiramisu. Cookies? Spice dusted sugar cookies. Chocolate chip. Chocolate-chip-cherry oatmeal. Sour cherry mini pies. Peach mini pies. Pile. He really should get some soups. It was dreary as hell with all the rain. Tomato-basil. A rich cream of mixed mushrooms. Matzo ball - that was for tomorrow. Cioppino - with garlic bread.

"Curried butternut." Came the hiss from the hallway.

The large shadow was halfway down the hall, and Alan took a position between the cold case and the counter.

"No butternut soup. It's always too sweet - it's like drinking pumpkin pie." Alan replied.

"You have nine different desserts and let's talk about sweet. It's curried, not sugared." A gruff baritone, and somewhat indignant.

"Eric, move your ass." Ronald came out bearing three bags and the shadow beat a retreat down the hallway, and from the footsteps, apparently up the stairs.

The disappointed puppy face was back, both for Alan and Mr. Curried Butternut The Hot Butch Honey.

"Ronald-"

"You think he's cute, though! And he's checked you out a few times, but he's got his head all up his ass."

Wait. He'd been checked out by-? Never mind.

"Ronald, anyone laying eyes on him would think he's very handsome. I'd lay off calling him cute, however, unless you want to be noogied or dodging flung pies until you're thirty." Alan opened his wallet, smiling. "Now, I've added to the pile-"

A sigh. "He only acts like a gruff asshole - it's a front. Try the curried butternut?"

Alan gave into the fate's decree and added the curried butternut squash soup to the pile, then extracted two folded sheets of paper and handed it to Ronald. "Feedback."

It was exacting, too. The chef liked the spicy and was mostly subtle about it, but there were some very complex blends. Further, he was a rank hedonist when it came to deserts; he favored sensual but simply presented confections that seduced from the plate. However, considering some of the complex seasoning of the entrees, perhaps that was intentional. There was a quibble about the salt (too little) and the fennel (good Lord) in the bouillabaisse. The seasoning in the vegetable dishes was amazing - anything with potatoes Alan would willingly eat a bucketful.

Ronald was reading and chuckling. "Oh, he's going to have a ball with this! Expect rebuttal."

"Where did he train? Some of the seasonings say France, but others say Spain." Alan started distributing the haul as Ronald rang him up. "There's almost Cajun or Creole influence, too. Very Caribbean but with Mediterranean, too."

"Well, we grew up moving around pretty often - Paris, Berlin, Milan, London, Amsterdam, Vienna, Chicago, Atlanta, Miami. Eric has been cooking since I can remember." Ronald smiled. "He bounced around a lot, too. Miami, Aspen, Atlanta, Sun Valley, Myrtle Beach, New Orleans, San Francisco. He could chef anywhere."

"He's very talented, and he has his own kitchen so he can cook as he pleases. That's pretty unusual for a younger chef."

The Pearl Street Kitchen had only been open for a few months when Alan bought his place on Broad Street. It became his instant, every morning stop on the way to work.

For a moment, Ronald looked sad. "He's a good guy. Don't be put off."

"I'm not. I think that maybe your brother and I are just not good with people we don't know well." Alan admitted as he signed the receipt and added a comfortable tip. "I never have been, really."

"I know how to fix that!" Ronald's sunny demeanor came back from behind whatever cloud had dimmed it. "You guys should come with me to the Beer Bash on Saturday night."

Alan hated to shut him down. "I'll have to see how I'm feeling, and this thing throws so many change-ups that it's hard to make plans. Thanks for thinking of me, though."

He was in week three, and as hard as Alan was trying to handle it, he was deeply afraid that he was not. Andrea could only so so much as a professional and a person - she should not be lumbered with him in her off hours.

Back home, Alan answered some email from the office. His superiors checked in every Monday and Thursday morning with questions, and his salary was deposited like clockwork on Friday mornings. Several of his own investments were ripe for flipping, though until Alan had a better idea of his own physical condition, he really did not want to make a long term plan. As it was, he needed to rethink his longer-term strategies - or did he?

Was the chemotherapy working? What was scheduled for intensification phase? After this Friday he had only one more induction-phase session. It was frustrating, frightening, not to have something quantitative. Then there was the way he felt physically - always cold, tired, sometimes feverish, achy. After the anti-nausea and anti-anxiety meds wore off from a Friday infusion, he felt simultaneously nauseated and exhausted until Monday morning, then fatigued and doped up after Filgrastim left him crappy in general until Thursday.

"Stop. Breathe." Alan rested his forehead on the granite countertop. "Breathe. Don't wind up."

Alone with his thoughts was turning out to be the worst of all possible places.

Time to do things before the vicodin and the Filgrastim laid him out.

Yoga on the Wii. He'd only started a week ago, but if he did the whole program he felt about like he did after a good twenty laps. Squash on the Wii was not as impressive - Alan had a definite desire to get in there and smash, but playing on a digital court was just not very satisfying. He still had two more 'exercise and fitness' packs to evaluate this week - one that included strength training and pilates and the other a general racquet sports package.

Doing things kept him from introspection, and that was good because panic attacks quite frankly sucked - and not in the good, wet way. Ativan knocked them down, mostly by knocking him down, and when combined with the vicodin, Alan was worried about developing a massive pair of addictions. Then there was 'chemo brain' - what if that happened and he was stupid from tranks and painkillers? What if he already had it and didn't know it.

Alan. Shut the fuck up and do some yoga.

Anything to take his mind off the current reality.

And, at times, that included stray thoughts of a hot butch honey in chef's whites.

Who had been checking him out.

When he stopped to think about it, it made him blush.

"Come on. You're twenty-eight. You've had lovers, boyfriends, and one-nighters. Get over it."

Alan did not think he was all that, but he was swimmer-fit and dressed well. The lovers and boyfriends left because they hated his hours. Flings and hookups were less demanding, but sitting here alone on the living room floor with the Wii's balance board, Alan wondered if maybe his energy and attention should not have been more... evenly distributed? Honestly, he hadn't felt alone or lonely before this. There was too much to do, places to go, and things to see. There was a world out there, and Alan wanted to live in it.

He could get a dog. Or a cat.

But what if he-?

"Yoga, Alan. Do not brain. Yoga."

And he did. It was harder than he imagined when he picked out the game, but it did keep his body too busy for his mind to start shenanigans. Then the doses of Ativan and vicodin wiped him out for the rest of the day - leaving him little to do but sleep and vegetate. He couldn't even read, much less play his violin, or follow a simple recipe. This was why he hated the medication - it turned him into an idiot.

All he could hope was that his neutrophils would get with the program and no more Filgrastim.

There was an email from his brother - sent to his work account, not his personal - doing what Teddy called 'Laying Down The Law.' Mostly this consisted of telling Alan to put his affairs in order, designate Dad as next-of-kin, and grant Ted power-of-attorney, and how to get right with the Lord. Alan wrote back with his attorney's name, number, and address with a directive to cease and desist. He should not have called in that vulnerable moment, as telling anyone in his family anything had never yielded any result other than a complete shitstorm.

A quick call to his attorney resulted in a return call from Mr. Conti, and Alan's reassurances that treatment was going well (without really defining that term). In turn, Mr. Conti reassured Alan that the firm would safeguard his privacy. After that, Alan was - all things considered - glad to take his medications, change back into his pajamas, and go to bed at one in the afternoon.

The next morning was an infusion day, but a short one. Alan packed just a couple of snacks and juices, his reader, medicines, and warm socks. Carmine picked him up at eight, and agreed that oatmeal-cherry-chocolate-chunk cookies were breakfast - they even had eggs. Alan split his cookie ration because eating four cookies for breakfast was vaguely naughty, and he wanted to meet Andrea with a clear conscience.

"Man, these are good! Where do you get them?" Carmine had a blissful expression as he dunked the rest of the cookie in his coffee.

"The Pearl Street Kitchen. It's my favorite local place." A three-story brownstone on a narrow horse-carriage street, found only when he was taking a direct walking route to work. "Everything's fresh every day."

"I'm going to check them out for sure. What else have they got?"

Alan was more than happy to tell him. "I hate meatloaf - and I love their meatloaf! No joke. And the soups are delicious - you just need to add salt, the chef undersalts on purpose."

"Oh, man. I'm hungry now."

Another meeting with this panel of doctors was another exercise in headbutting, and Alan dug in on the ANC. He didn't want to hear anything until that bloodwork was back with the neutrophil count - because when his second >1,000 microliters neutrophil level came back, he was quitting that stuff so fast-

"You think it's so wonderful, you can sign up for it." Alan snapped. "I'm the one who ended up Googling 'Foley catheter' on Sunday morning when I was turned into a beta-tester for a cross-reaction." No. He was not being a good patient. At the moment, he did not care. "I know how agony feels. I don't like knowing that."

"Medicine, especially oncology-" Dr. Chowdree was again the man on point for this, his colleagues sitting around like so many mannequins in white coats.

"Is an art, a science, and a crap shoot. I know that, but I was Black Swanned by a drug interaction known to happen and was not warned about the possibility." For that, Alan had the same contempt as he did for someone cooking the books and presenting them as pristine. "I'm a patient, not a set of data, and that was terrifying and hideously painful."

"I am sorry, but there was no way to tell-"

"I expect to be informed. Not informing me was a bullshit move." Alan sat back in the chair. "Now stop blowing sunshine up my ass and start informing because you lost a huge measure of trust last week."

As meetings went, it was productive. Alan found that with his smaller stature and slight appearance, people consistently underestimated his intelligence, his tenaciousness, and his temper. It was as he was handing people their asses on a plate that they'd realize the little guy was serious and quit playing games. The real hardball was over the pain and anxiety control medications, with no good routes to take out of the vicodin until his neutrophil count got with the program. The Ativan was the safest route for his anxiety - and he might be able to taper to one every other day.

All things considered, it was a 50/50.

He got ready for infusion, deeply relieved that this was a simple three-hour session instead of an all-day two-bagger. Just Pegaspargenase today. And the fucking Filgrastim.

Alan glanced nervously at the doorway, then laughed at himself. Scared of an imaginary man in a suit.

Andrea tapped at the frame, then stuck her head in and smiled. "I know. I caught myself looking, too. Stupid, huh?"

"Easy to laugh from at home on the couch..."

"Or the Mommy Room..."

"Yeah. Come on, we're being silly." Alan shook his head and opened his cooler bag to reveal peanut-butter-and-jelly cookies and apple-raisin oatmeal cookies. "Cookie?"

"Ooh. Carmine told me about these." A momface with petit silence and eyebrow. "Cookies are not breakfast, you."

"They have breakfast things in them! Oatmeal, wheat, fruit, eggs-"

"Chocolate-"

"In Europe, even in Italy, people have chocolate for breakfast. Also - Cocoa Puffs!"

All objections evaporated when Andrea bit into a PB&J cookie. "Oh, that's delicious!"

Another convert. "I told Carmine where they are. Also - meatloaf."

"I hate meatloaf - love meatballs."

"Meatballs are meatloaf - bite sized." He opened his shirt for the blood draw as Andrea leveled the recliner out.

"Meatloaf is nothing like meatballs." Andrea pulled up her mask and gloved up. "Any discomfort or swelling?"

"No, none." The ritual was actually very comforting, and Alan found himself relaxing. "Reversed proportions. Meatballs go in the red sauce, and red sauce goes on the meatloaf."

He managed to not need the tissues. Maybe he was getting on top of the needle problems.

Andrea covered him up.

"It's just a short session." Alan objected slightly from under the warmed blankets. "Let me know about the neutrophil counts."

"Have another cookie and I'll be right back."

Reaper Andrew Whitley paused as the nurse exited the patient's room and held his breath as her gaze paused on him, then a blink, and she continued on her way. That one could almost see Reapers, having seen one herself when very young. Now, perhaps having seen so many under the shadow, she perceived them more than most mortals could. This was his beat, but this was her territory, and Andrew respected the young mortal.

However, he had no collections scheduled until later this afternoon. His assignment this afternoon was altogether different - from outside of Manhattan division, from the UK Home Office of the Society. It began with Andrew's incident report - a routine sighting by a mortal near extremis. It took an extreme shock to the corporeal vessel to begin separation of the record. Honestly he'd thought the poor bastard was for the chop from the pain alone, but Humphries Alan Gabriel was not slated for collection. Instead, there seemed to be some interest in him at a very high level.

Andrew raised his phone and snapped a photo of the subject's face, editing in the name and vital information from the Akashic Records and sent it to his superiors. Mission accomplished.

A chime denoted an incoming message - two words:

'Maintain surveillance.'

It was signed by the Director-in-Chief of the whole damn UK - William T. Spears. The device chimed, letting Andrew know there was a collection in his immediate area.

A nurse and doctor ran by, and down the hall someone was breaking out the crash cart. Andrew sighed. They didn't know, and it always distressed him that they'd try so hard - as if corporeal death was not traumatic enough. Down the hallway and into a small room where Vitter, Reese Audrey was under the shadow. Andrew brought up the data on his phone and took out the small, grey-metal stylus.

"Collection of subject Gardner, Reese Audrey. Born 19 August 1944. Death from cardiac fibrillation." The commotion was intense and purposeful around the frail figure in the recliner. Audrey Gardner's gaze flickered above the oxygen mask as she perceived and watched him. Drawing the small stylus from the body of his phone, Andrew touched it to her flesh and released the record. "Record uploading."

They shocked her body, compressed her chest, put tubes into her throat and down her airway.

"No further notes." Andrew collected the soul and record. "Collection complete."

He pocketed his phone and went out into the corridor, watching Andrea Rinaldi as she exited the pharmacy office. And for a second, just one, the mortal looked right at him - and away again. It was not unusual for certain mortals - EMS, firefighters, law enforcement, hospice and nursing home workers, and medical personnel - to perceive them. They were a flicker of black in the peripheral vision, the brush of someone passing by in an empty hallway, the person at the scene that nobody quite remembered. The mind generally trained itself to unsee what it did not understand, but in certain cases someone from the office had to step in and reinforce that tendency with a dose of Lethe.

He liked her. He didn't want anyone to interfere with one of his favorite mortals. So long as she could convince herself that he was really not there, then nobody had to know.

Alan was actually able to stay awake for his treatment, albeit slightly groggy from the Benadryl, talking with Andrea on her rounds as she tended to him and four other patients on infusion. They talked about moving his Filgrastim to evening - his neutrophil counts were rising, but not there yet. If it was the only way not to blow a hole in the middle of the day, Alan would take it.

No Filgrastim until bedtime! It was like a getting snow day off from school.

Andrea was also able to cover the likely course of treatment in the ominously-named 'early intensification' phase. "I'm still going to be your nurse. Continuity of treatment is important - your caregivers know you."

It was caregiver - singular - and Alan's insides exploded in butterflies at the first day's schedule.

No Pegaspargase for two whole weeks. Intrathecal methotrexate. Infusion cyclophosphamide. Oral mercaptopurine. Another self-inject called cytarabine-

"It's not a self-inject. You'll have to come up here for that one and stay for some observation."

"For four days in a row for the first two weeks? And what's intrathecal?" He knew he wasn't going to like it when she held his hands to tell him and held him very tightly as he had a bad case of the shakes. "I had a spinal tap when I was admitted. It was really bad. Are there any alternatives?"

Andrea was so straight with him. God, Alan was grateful for that.

"A port in my HEAD?"

NOPE.

"That's not used very often." Andrea opened Alan's juice for him and made him drink. "It's because cancer cells are tricky, hidey little shits. They can hide in your central nervous system. Some people do need to repeat this course, but that's at their doctor's discretion."

"How many?" Alan drank down the Mean Greens.

"Eighty percent of patients with your type of leukemia enter remission within the induction phase, but it's a temporary remission - not a knockout." Andrea explained. "It only covers the blood and bone marrow. During first-phase intensification, we consolidate and intensify the gains in the blood and marrow, and prepare for the second phase - when we go after it in the central nervous system with radiation, CNS prophylactic chemotherapy, and add tyrosine kinase inhibitors that prevent more blasts from developing."

Alan took a shaky breath and leaned back on his neck pillow. "You shoot so straight with me, and you've been so much help. I can honestly say that I don't know what I'd do without you."

"You don't have a caretaker - so I'll take care of you as much as you'll let me."

Alan considered his family, then asked, "I'm not on good terms with my family. I can honestly say that before I found out I had leukemia that I hadn't spoken to any of them in a decade. Can a next of relative do anything about my treatment? Interfere with my directives?"

"I can't advise you there, but I'll refer you to a lawyer who can. He's really good and makes it stick." Andrea shook her head. "Some people think that the hardest part of this job is dealing with the outcomes that aren't like the ones on the brochure. The hardest thing for me has been seeing my patients get their lives taken over; partners barred, fights over money, patients guilted into treatment after treatment, or abandoning effective treatment. All kinds trouble when all of this, everything, should be about the patient and what they want. Not anyone else."

That was a nasty jolt. "I never thought of that."

"Alan, there are times we've had the cops up here. I'll get you his business card and you call him, okay?"

"I will. I promise."

Alan went home a little after noon with more pages for his binder and had a long talk with attorney Hal Foreman about a) his family, b) his assets, c) his wishes and directives, and d) how to make sure that everything was handled. Alan needed an attorney to draw the documents for a living trust, coordination with his financial services, a professional fiduciary to hold his financial power of attorney and administer the living trust, and another professional guardian to hold his medical power of attorney in the event he couldn't make decisions about his own care...

For fuck's sake, it was almost less complicated (not to mention less expensive) to die.

The observation actually made Carmine laugh and that made Alan laugh in turn.

"Yeah, but it's better to just get it done. That way even if nothing happens, you're still covered."

Carmine was taking the scenic route. "You'd better be billing me for this - and I can't think that my brother's going to give up on this easily. For a preacher's kid from Idaho, I make a lot of money."

"I bill by the hour - livery, not a cab. I'm just giving you your money's worth." Carmine laughed again. "Besides, Didi-"

"What?" Alan asked, unable to believe his ears..

"Didi - Andrea. The wife. It's her nickname." Carmine grinned. "The first time I called her that, we were both still in elementary school. We were having this fight over Real Ghostbusters. I said Janine couldn't have a proton pack because she was a girl. Didi nailed me right in the nuts."

"That's adorable. Painful, but adorable." Alan snorted. "She'd make CEOs I've met run for cover."

"Takes no shit - that's my girl."

At home, he laid out all his notes and started researching, There were professional guardians who would do all this stuff for you - consolidating the legal, medical, and financial aspects into one firm. Most of them seemed geared to the elderly with dementia or the developmentally disabled - not wealthy homos with cancer and grabby next-of-kin. Hal Foreman had sent a list of firms and services to Alan's email, and would coordinate with the one that he chose.

Research was good. Except when it was about yourself and your chances. Andrea had not pulled any punches, Alan was deeply gratified by that. He opened the Preggo Pops as the nausea really kicked in. Andrea - he had a giggle over 'Didi' - bought him the Costco-sized jar. Setting the alarm on his phone to tell him when to take the Filgrastim and go to bed, Alan sank back into his research, letting his brain feed on something other than its own internal processes for a change.

"I'm okay. I'm going to be okay." Alan murmured to himself, tugging the cashmere throw around his shoulders. "I'm doing just fine."

"Bullshit!"

"But he liked everything else. It's a minor point, Eric."

"Fennel is not a minor point in fucking bouillabaisse, Ronnie." Eric groused, reading feedback presented with bullet points on the neatly printed two sheets of paper. "Aside from the saffron it's one of the most characteristic notes in the whole goddamn thing."

Ronnie rolled his eyes as he flopped into the purple people-eater sofa. "Out of everything else you fixate on that."

"And I do not undersalt. A chef who relies on salt or sugar to carry his food is a burger-flipper." Eric tucked his towel around his waist and cut himself a big slice of lemon-blueberry muffin bread. "It's not my fault he eats half-assed cuisine in tourist joints that are timid with the seasonings."

"You wanted feedback." Ronnie added. "If it helps, he thinks you're cute."

"You do realize I have a knife in my hand?" The bread only needed a little butter and Eric bit in with gusto. "I can admit that he has some points."

Perhaps Rox had blunted some of his sharper edges. It was hard to get worked up about anything when you'd had all your kink-spots scratched and come three times in twelve hours. Even if it was two days later, his ass still had fond memories of Rox whenever he sat down. Ze had read him like a book, honestly. However, Eric admitted, as a bottom in the hands of a capable top, he was about as subtle as all the neon in Times Square.

Rox was very, very capable and Eric had been delightfully surprised.

Titties were fun, too.

"What?" Ronnie asked.

"What what?"

"You're blushing."

"Shut up." Because, actually, he was. For fuck's sake!

"You got laid! YES! FINALLY!'" Ronnie proceeded to get up and do some twerking dance around the living room, singing, "Eric got laaaaaa~aaaid!"

Eric glared. Ronnie was a world-class chain-jerker - and Eric should know because the Beer Brat had learned everything from him. The things that came around to bite you in the ass. Fortunately Eric had good aim and took the chance to pelt the Beer Brat with those asinine little throw pillows until he fled into the night.

Or at least into the bathroom, preparatory to fleeing into the night.

"And shave, you ass!" Honestly. The face-weeds had to go. And the knit cap. Did Ronnie own anything to wear but skinny jeans and old bowling-alley and gas-station shirts? "Put something nice on! Like a shirt without someone else's name on it!"

Heaven knew how many times Ronnie had just flipped him off behind the bathroom door. But, really, how long could he go around looking like some satire site's cartoon hipster?

Eric finished his breakfast for dinner, then put on his whites. There was a good bit to do downstairs in the way of use-up-or-toss out, making stocks and sauce bases, and he fully expected to cook until three this morning.

The walk-in freezer was stocked with tubs of bones, trimmings, vegetable peels, and leftover bits from previous nights. These went into brown stock and demi-glace, chicken stock, turkey stock, vegetable stock, fumet de poisson, and court bouillon. The doughs for breads were ready for a second rise, and the cookie doughs had been resting for a full day. The grill needed firing and so did the stone oven for the breads. He sliced the meats and cheeses for sandwiches, prepared the garnishes and spreads. Roasted red pepper and eggplant soup, garlic roasted potato soup, and kale with linguicia soups took up three five-gallon stockpots. The breakfast dishes were done first, the baked goods second, soups and lunch selections third, desserts fourth.

It was midnight when Eric sighed, swept the sweat-soaked bandana off his head and walked down the kitchen hallway into the darkened storefront. It was a point of pride that after three years here, Eric had almost no leftovers at the end of the day. There was a roast beef, mushroom and brie sandwich, a small side of Dijon potato salad, and one of his beloved Manhattan Special coffee sodas.

His phone vibrated in his back pocket and he pulled it out - then smiled and answered. "Rox."

"Hello, pretty man." Ze purred. "You need to come see me tomorrow afternoon - we never got to those feathers on your magpie."

Jesus. He had to replace the Gates because if a phone call was all it took to get him hard-

"Red, you sound like chocolate ganache tastes."

"Is chocolate another of your kink spots?" There was the sound of splashing, the sensuous sound of water over flesh. "Should I get an icing bag and write naughtiness on your skin in Scharffenberger?"

"Yes." Great. The dick preempted the brainstem and hijacked the mouth. "Now I have to finish the grab-and-bag dinners with a boner, you sadist. And-"

Something... someone moved in the shadows of the hallway. A shadow in the shadows. Eric put his hand on the knife used to cut the sandwiches.

"Eric?" Rox prompted. "Are you all right?"

"Ronnie?" Eric called. "Hey, bro. You're back early."

No answer. Eric drew the knife from the sheath. How had anyone gotten in? Everything was locked and barred, and the fire-escape operated from the inside.

"Eric?" The sultry tone disappeared, replaced with something sharper than ordinary concern.

"Rox? Give me a second. I think there's someone in here."

Chapter 9

Summary:

Alan Humphries is a man who has it all together - until a diagnosis of leukemia leaves him adrift, alone, and afraid.

Eric has a visitation. Rox to the rescue. Ronald's evening is full of surprises.

#black butler fanfiction

0 notes