@jegulus-microfic / march 17: body / word count: 291
Regulus is a liar.
Ever since he began his relationship with James a few months ago he has been lying to him almost daily.
Every morning James is the one who wakes up first, stretching his limbs, wrinkling his nose, rubbing his eyes as they adjust to the light filtering through the window and reaching for Regulus on the other side of the bed. Sometimes James merely caresses his head or outlines each of his facial features with his thumb as he contemplates him for long moments. At other times he comes close to hug him, burying his face in his neck and peppering him with kisses. But what never changes is the tremendous warmth in his voice every time he says, "Mi vida, it's time to get up."
The thing is, in all the time they've been together, James has never once woken up before Regulus. Growing up, punctuality was never optional in the Black family. If you were late for breakfast, you had to face the consequences. So waking up early is a habit that Regulus will doubtfully escape one day, even though it is no longer necessary. But ever since he spent his first night with James, and in a moment of panic pretended to be asleep when he saw the body next to him stirring as a sign that he was waking up, Regulus could never stop pretending after experiencing all the attention his boyfriend gives him in the mornings.
Regulus is a liar, but he doesn't feel an ounce of remorse for it.
James knows Regulus is a liar, but he makes a point of reminding him how precious he is and how much he loves him every morning while the other pretends to be asleep.
Warble me to death with the sweetness of your song
Simon is seduced by a siren with the ability to take the shape of whoever its victim desires most.
—
CHAPTER ONE
SIMON
Why is he in the water?
Baz always stays away from the water. The merwolves scare him. He’d deny it, but I know they do. Plus, there’s probably some creatures rivalry, if you ask me.
He’s just standing there, soaked up to his knees, but he’d obviously dipped all the way fairly recently by the state of his shirt. It clings to him like a second skin. It’s grey and thick enough not be see-through even when wet, but it cannot hide Baz’s broad shoulders and strong arms bulging underneath the long sleeves. His hair is slicked back and looks longer than usual, like it does when he comes out of the shower, always neat and untangled. And he’s wearing jeans. Black, tight, snug jeans.
I’ve never seen him wear jeans before. I wonder why because he must be aware of how good he looks in them. Not that he needs the help.
Why is he just standing there?
There’s no sun peeking through the clouds and Baz is uncommonly cold in warmer weather. I approach the water slowly. He doesn’t seem to be shivering. He wears the same smirk he always does when he’s looking at me, like my entire existence dictates his perpetual sneer, but as I come closer I finally notice his eyes. They’re wrong.
Baz’s eyes are usually a clear grey, unlike any I’ve ever seen, but they are darker when he leaves our room late in the evening. To hunt. He’d deny it, but I know he does.
Who disappears until well after midnight—and not for a clandestine meeting with a secret lover? The answer doesn’t immediately scream vampire, but combined with his dubious eating habits, cold sensitivity and wardrobe choices straight out of Dracula? I’m not stupid. I’ve read books, though Baz doesn’t believe me.
His eyes look like that now: dark and wide. Hungry.
“Baz?” I ask tentatively.
He doesn’t answer.
I try again. “What are you doing out here?”
He turns around and walks back deeper into the water. I stand still, watching as his body slowly disappears, and only move once the water has reached his hips and those jeans are hidden beneath the waves.
I don’t know why I go after him. I just know it feels wrong not to.
“Stop.”
And he actually does.
The water has reached the middle of his back now as he turns to face me. I want to ask why he’s here again, but as soon as I glimpse his face he sinks below the water.
The moat is somber and the sky doesn’t provide much light. I can’t see Baz anywhere. I try to spy movement in the water, but everything is so still. I’m ready to plunge ahead when his head breaks the surface right in front of me.
He doesn’t even need to catch his breath.
The rest of his body follows and he stands less than a step away from me. He still won’t say anything, just looks at me. He looks at me the way he always does, he’s just never been this close when he’s done it, or when I’ve looked right back.
I’ve never witnessed this much scorn. Baz is always scowling, and smirking when he sees how much it bothers me, but he’s never seemed this cruel. It’s wrong. He’s all wrong.
But he keeps looking at me and it’s impossible not to do the same. I’m scared of what will happen if I turn away. I’ve never been afraid of Baz, just cautiously on my guard whenever he’s around, which is quite often when you’re cursed with sharing a room.
But I’m scared now. I feel like the slightest movement would break this stand-still we seem to have found ourselves in. Like a pause, an actual rupture in time where it’s just Baz and me and our breaths between us. It’s like being taken out of time and put on a singular moment that will define what happens next.
This is what Baz and I facing each other looks like. This is how I imagine it will be when the time—the real time—comes. Though I don’t know why we’d be in the water. Or without wands.
This is how I imagine someone who wants me dead looks like. This isn’t Baz. I want to know what’s changed. Why he’s acting this way. Why he’s letting me come close enough to touch him.
He looks half-asleep. Why lure me here if he isn’t going to do anything? I feel like screaming. Why is he doing this?
Why does he hate me?
I put my hands on his face. He’s cold. He’s always cold. I want him to push me away. I want him to tease me for the idiot that I am. I want Baz.
I want Baz?
I gasp—now I surely look like an idiot—and bring my fingers to the back of his neck and through his hair. I’ve dreamed of this.
I must have dreamed of it because it feels eerily familiar. And, like in my dreams, he doesn’t push me away. Rather, his arms encircle me and he’s encouraging me to do exactly what I’ve been curious about trying. So, I do.
I pull him to me and crash my lips against his. It’s not gentle or slow; I’m devouring every one of his breaths. He’d been pretty passive so far, but his body lights up and he pushes against me as we’re kissing.
I’m kissing a boy. I’m kissing Baz.
And it feels so good. Unlike any dream.
I feel flushed as his teeth keep tugging on my lips, but my body is cold. Probably a combination of Baz’s body and the water both enveloping me.
The water is up to our chests now. That just means Baz’s shirt is floating beneath the surface and rising up and up enough for my hands to slide on his skin. He’s so cold.
And it feels so good.
I don’t want to stop, I only want to be closer to him. But the closer I get, the colder I feel. My clothes are clinging to my skin and I feel shivers down my back and up my arms that have nothing to do with Baz’s tongue, though it doesn’t help.
I pull away to look at him. Why isn’t he shivering? This is another instance where I notice that I’ve spent way too much time watching him under a pile of blankets trying to battle the chill that I wholeheartedly welcome. But he isn’t bothered now. He’s wearing his trademark smirk. I kiss it away.
I let the water leap at our skins, let the droplets touch my sweat and carry it away so that the water always remembers us. I want this engraved onto the very ground of Watford. Where I first felt at home. With Baz, at the top of a tower.
His legs grip my hips and pull me closer. Closer and down. I could sink into him. I do.
We’re kissing so much that I can’t breathe.
I can’t breathe.
Baz is pushing me down. I grip his thighs, but he doesn’t move. He keeps kissing me, pushing into me until there is nothing else grounding me but him. It’s aggressive. It feels wrong and unlike Baz. Baz who’s a bully and a vampire. But Baz who isn’t actually a monster. Yet, he’s dragging me, not letting me breathe or move until I’m underwater. Until I’m choking on the water and on his lips.
And he’s grinning. Wild and vicious. Unlike Baz.
I want to scream, but my throat is on fire. I can feel us sinking deeper and Baz still looks unaffected. Gleeful, even. Vampires can’t breathe underwater, can they?
Except he doesn’t look like a vampire now, save for the fangs. His eyes are bloodshot around a black abyss. His nails are digging harder and I can feel his arms stiffen to trap me in. I struggle, but his grip doesn’t lessen. He looks like one of those scary mermaids the stories never talk about. A siren.
This isn’t Baz.
This isn’t Baz, I keep telling myself and as I do his face slowly changes to something equally beautiful but terrifying in a way I never found Baz.
This isn’t Baz, I think again and, at once, my sword is in my hand, and I watch the siren’s eyes grow wide as I plunge the sword into its body. A piercing scream fills the water and the waves thrash in response. And I think, if the siren didn’t get me, this surely will.
I manage to get away from the siren, but I can’t see where I’m going. I try to get closer to the surface, but I’m constantly being pulled one way or another. My eyes hurt trying to stay open, my body is cold, but my throat is on fire. For one terrifying moment, I think I’m actually catching fire because, even so deep beneath the waves, I can feel the smoke. My eyes hurt even more now. I try to keep them open.
I try to—
I tr—
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
When I open my eyes, I think the siren must have followed me. It doesn’t just take on the appearance of whomever it wants, it gains their abilities too. It can walk on land. It can grow fangs—I mean, different fangs, vampire fangs, not terrifying serpent-like mermaid fangs.
I try to get away, but my body can barely move. Maybe they’re venomous too. The siren doesn’t try to stop me. Their lips are moving like they’re trying to say something. That’s new. My ears are buzzing but I can make out the word from having seen it enough times. From those same lips.
My name.
Not Simon.
Snow.
“Baz?” I can feel how scratchy my voice probably is, but he understands me. His eyes widen and he extends his arms before stopping suddenly. He looks down and I notice how square his jaw is beneath his full cheeks—fuller than usual. I look down. I’m covered in blood. Not an unusual sight. But, “it’s not mine.”
“I know,” Baz says. I wonder if I should be creeped out. “Can you move?” he asks.
Only a little. I wiggle my fingers.
“Not what I meant,” he says unimpressed.
I manage to shake my head. Baz sighs in frustration and looks around. There’s no one there except for the two of us. That’s when it hits me. “Did you pull me out?” I ask him.
Here are my headcanons about what Tech would be like bottoming/receiving below the cut. I kept everything focused on him and details about his partner very ambiguous, so you can imagine the person doing the topping as whoever you want. It could be a canon character, an OC, or you railing Tech!
Warnings/kinks: 18+ content. Dirty talk, vibrators, xeno/alien dildos, face-fucking, praise kink, clothed grinding, size kink, begging, thigh/boot riding, edging, manhandling, and referenced bondage. If any of these things are deal-breakers for you, then now is your last chance to scroll away.
Tech is a talker, so he will describe how his partner is making him feel in graphic detail. When he’s really getting railed, however, he dissolved into near-incoherent moans and half-sentences about how incredible he feels. He might even start begging.
Tech likes to experiment with toys and has an extensive collection. He loves to have his partner use vibrators on him and edge him until he cries. He’s also fond of xeno dildos, has a massive collection of them, and will gladly show his partner how well he can take that Trandoshan hemipenis, Lasat knot, or ridged Zabrak cock.
Tech enjoys manhandling and restraints. If a partner holds him down or ties him up while he takes it, then he’s in heaven. He especially loves it when his partner manipulates his body and uses him like a toy.
Tech enjoys being face-fucked. He has pretty lips and pretty eyes and he knows it. He likes to look up at his partner from under his lashes, his lips stretched obscenely around their cock/strap.
Whether he’s taking a cock or a strap-on, Tech likes there to be some good girth. He relishes the delicious, pleasurable burn of being stretched and fucked by something he can really feel.
Tech has a raging praise kink. He loves to be told all about his exceptional mind. Or mouth. Or ass.
Fully-clothed outercourse is also something he enjoys. He loves being pinned down by partners and have them grind against him like they are trying to fuck him through his clothes. He also likes rutting against thighs and boots.
Fandom: Young Avengers
Drabble–
Character focus: Tommy Shephard and Noh-Varr
Summary: Tommy suffers from nightmares, and Noh-Varr comforts him. Based on a roleplay.
Authors note: My own personal idea of Tommy’s life.
It wasn’t uncommon that Tommy woke up from night terrors, however, it wasn’t common for him to wake up with a cool rag against his fevered skin and a calm hush from the alien who roomed across the hall from him. Green eyes took a moment to concentrate, a instinctual flinging of his arm to try and shove the body away from him.
“Thomas.” Noh-Varr said firmly grabbing both the younger males wrists, holding him in place. He blinked rapidly, turning his head to evaluate the room. His room; at the manner. The flight ready panic seeped out of his eyes, replaced by a tired dread. The cool rag returned to his cheek, wiping his face and moving to the back of his neck.
“You can stop.” He mumbled, pulling his wrists away from Noh-Varrs grip.
The Kree didn’t respond, merely continued to cool the fevered speedster. Tommy too tired to object, even when the man refreshed the rag and returned to wipe down his back and chest.
“You want to tell me about it?” Noh-Varr questioned once he was satisfied with Tommy's temperature. No doubt he was using the cube matrix to monitor his vitals again.
“Just… my time imprisoned.” He mumbled.
“By the mother?” Noh-Varr questioned. Tommy shook his head.
“No, Juvie…” He amended, tone pinched.
“You never speak of it, though I’m guessing it has a lot to do with your frequent anxiety spikes during your REM cycle.” Noh-Varr quipped, Tommy scoffed.
“A bit… I guess.”
They were silent again for a while. Tommy staring at his window and the flickering light out in the yard. Noh-Varr waited patiently; he’d asked before with no response so he was pleasantly surprised when Tommy crossed his legs and sighed out a response.
“Well…” He glanced back to Noh-Varr hesitantly before resuming his gaze out the window. “I lost control of my powers… super shitty week…”
“I woke up like normal, my mom screaming at me to get up. I got dressed and rushed down the stairs too quickly, which made her even angrier. She didn’t like that I was a mutant; always reminded me to act like a human, not a freak…” He let out a long shaky breath before continuing. “She was arguing with my dad on the phone for a while, she wanted me to live with him, said she couldn’t handle me anymore. To hyperactive, bad student, bad son, can’t do anything right…”
Quiet filled the room again. Noh-Varr was silent, certain that even breathing to loudly would be cause enough for Tommy to stop.
“At school I was dealing with this guy… Fuckin’ Martin Reyes. He hated me for some reason- I don’t know maybe I flirted with his girl or something, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. Always picking fights. He liked to remind me too how much of a fuck up I was, to rile me up, you know? So we got into it, and he slammed my head into the locker as a teacher comes up to stop it. Some how… its my fault. So I end up in the principles office, soon enough, its me, Reyes, three teachers and my mom on conference call all screaming at me. Reyes smirks at me, cause he knows, he fucking knows I’m the screw up. So… I tried to leave. I ran. But I ran to hard… to fast. I couldn’t stop, I blasted through the school and I couldn’t stop. I vibrated so hard, and slammed into the gym so fast that it just all kind of….”
“Accidentally vaporized…” Noh-Varr summarized. He remembered them reading Tommy’s file. He flinched, remembering the sarcastic tone the others- that “He” had used.
“My mom blamed me… before I’d even seen her again, she blamed me. She turned me over to the cops, explained that I was a freak, a fuck up, a mutant… Murderer.” Tommys breath caught and he rubbed his eyes furiously with his palm. “She signed me over, said she never wanted to see me again.”
“And this gives you the terrors?” He asked hesitantly, arching an eyebrows.
“No!” Tommy snapped. “They’re apart of them… I mean… fuck its stupid, never mind.”
The kree caught Tommy’s arm before he could make his escape from his tangled sheets, urging him to sit back down.
“Please, continue…”
Tommy glared for a moment, a long silence filling the air before he continued.
“The juvenile detention center only held me for a week… then the scientists got set up. Put power dampeners on me and… They treated me like a lab rat! Thats what the dreams are, needles and prodding and being shocked… beaten.” The boy gave a full body shudder. Noh-Varr noted his temperature dropping rather suddenly, he looked pale and clammy. “She stopped by once… to drop off my paper works. I begged her to take me home… She didn’t care.”
Noh-Varr scooted closer, pulling the younger human close and holding him against his chest. Tommy looked torn between bolting or bursting into tears; He settled for the mid ground and landed his head on Noh-Varrs head with a soft thump. They stayed like this for a long while. Noh-Varr feared that the human had fallen asleep against him when Tommy began to squirm.
“Alright bug, enough of this wanny boo-hoo shit. Let go.” Tommy grumbled, pulling away. His face was red with embarrassment. “Everything said night is private.”
“Absolutely. I will not share it with anyone.” Noh-Varr assured him. “But Thomas… you are not a monster. You know that right? Your brother, our team… Even The Scarlett witch… we are your family now. We may not be a normal one… or biologically sound; but we are a suitable replacement prehaps.”
Tommy rolled his eyes and flopped backwards.
“You are cliche and gross, roach.”
He smiled at the speedster. “You insult me as a form of endearment when you are pressed to personally.”
“Bite me.”
“Mark a spot.”
Tommys face colored a brilliant red. He remembered the last time they’d had this threat. Noh-Varr hadn’t been gentle either, there was a bite mark shapped bruise on the pale white of Tommys ass for a week.
“I hate you.”
“You are a liar.”
Noh-Varr leaned over him, kissing him gently on the forehead. Tommy made a face and stared up at him, prehaps it was to much for one night. He was ready to pull away and retreat to his own room, but Tommys hand hooked around the back of his neck, pulling him down for a gentle kiss. An invitation to stay for a little while.The Kree shifted so he could lay on his side next to him; Tommy allowed the kiss to break, leaning his head on the man’s chest.
“You gotta stop sneaking into my room. Its creepy.” Tommy remarked.
@jegulus-microfic / may 5: surface / word count: 236
“Bye, Reggie.”
“Goodbye, estrellita.”
“See you later, Reg.”
“Chao, Regulus!”
The way James says goodbye every time he picks Sirius up in his car to go to work changes practically every day, but what remains constant is the way he looks at Regulus from inside the car. It doesn't matter if it's glasses or sunglasses, his brother's best friend always looks him up and down over his glasses and proceeds to wink.
The first time it happened, Regulus could barely control the surprise and the blush on his cheeks, but now that he's been living with Sirius for nearly two months, he's used to James' flirtatious nature, or at least knows how to pretend it doesn't affect him. Under the surface he's still a mess who has to take a few seconds after entering the house to compose himself from how illogically attractive the gesture makes him look.
Of course, Regulus knows he doesn't need to walk his brother to the door every morning; in fact he might sleep a little longer if he didn't, but so what if he likes to start his mornings by seeing the sun before the real one even appears. So what if he has put on his cropped pyjama tops that expose the tattoos on his belly everyday. Sue him, it doesn't matter as long as James doesn't take his eyes off him.
@jegulus-microfic / february 14: lips / word count: 334
James Potter has an obsession with chapsticks, Regulus can bet he probably has one of every flavour in existence, and wherever he goes he always carries at least one. Regulus shares classes with him all week and this week's summary was:
Monday: Cherry - which he applied while frowning and trying to answer a particularly complex question.
Tuesday: Grape - as he leans in close to Regulus to ask the result of number 4.
Wednesday: Marshmallow - just before saying goodbye to Regulus.
Thursday: Mint cocoa - while offering him his homemade brownie.
Friday: Mango - while asking Regulus what he's doing for the weekend and inviting him to a party.
Not that Regulus is keeping track, but who uses so many at the same time.
So on Saturday, with a few drinks in him and watching from the kitchen door as James wins a game of beer pong, Regulus feels more bold than usual. The moment the older boy starts applying lip balm is the only signal he needs to approach.
"You use a lot of chapstick," is the opening line he decides to use.
"Regulus, you came!" he replies excitedly and gives him a hug. From this distance it is possible to smell the sweet smell of caramel (maybe). "And yes, if I don't use them, I feel like my lips are dying, plus they taste wonderful," he continues, before applying some more moisturiser.
And the younger Black has never pretended to be a strong man when it comes to Potter, so when his eyes linger as the other slides the golden-brown stick across his lips wishing and wanting to be it, it shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone.
"Do you want to try?" asks James when he catches him looking.
"Sure."
The thing is, Regulus was waiting for him to drop the small cylinder into his outstretched hand, not for James to hold him gently by the chin as he slowly approaches.
@jegulus-microfic / march 15: use / word count: 456
"Regulus? Please don't hang up!,” the person on the other end of the line says as soon as he picks up the call. “I know you told me you never wanted to hear from me again, but I really need to hear your voice," It's three in the morning and the incoming call dragged him out of the peaceful sleep he was having.
A moment passes and the man continues with an abnormal speech rhythm. "Well, if you don't want to say anything just listen. I miss you incredibly much… and I know I need to move on, but how could I look away now that I've seen you?" there is the faint sound of clinking glasses and laughter. "I think I'm starting to forget things about you that I never thought I'd have to forget. I can't remember which of the bookshops near your flat you like best, or what brand of pencils you prefer to use," a hint of anguish and despair creeps in at the end of the sentence.
"Oh, by the way your favorite black hoodie is still here, I didn’t forget about it! It still smells vaguely of you and sometimes I wake up thinking that you'll be on the other side of the bed and that this will all have been a bad dream. Please come get it whenever you want, it would be more than nice to see you.
“Anyway, I'm surprised you're so quiet and haven't insulted me yet, I hope it's a sign that you're not so angry anymore. It hurts me every moment we are apart, and if you forgive me I promise I won't fail you ever again… I'm so sorry and I love you." the sound of sobs fills the line.
"Hey, do yourself a favour and never call this number again or you will regret it." James Potter answers in a steady voice.
The caller audibly gasps. “Wha— who are you? Where is Reggie?”
“I’m his boyfriend, that’s all you need to know,” the arm around his waist pulls him closer. “If you ever call again, I won’t be this calm, be warmed.”
"James, who is it?" asks a sleepy Regulus as he snuggles closer to his chest.
James is more than fed up with the pathetic speech, but he ends the call with a pleased smirk when Regulus' ex starts to protest after hearing his voice.
"Wrong number."
It's the fourth time this month that the ex-boyfriend who cheated on Regulus has called. James and Regulus are not together (at least not yet), but after seeing him torn to pieces after the break-up, James refuses to let the bastard hurt him anymore.
Wrapping Regulus in his arms they go back to sleep.
