#*talking to brain* listen here motherfucker. I’ve decided that I’m going to make steps to improve my quality of life. and to make better

[peapod20001]

*beats whatever part of my body that is releasing an abundance of stress chemicals every time I see something that’s a .07 / 100 on the stress scale*

[hopelesshawks]

Physical Fatality Part 3- A Night to Remember

18+ Hawks x fem, pro hero!reader

Summary: You’re a rising star in All Might’s agency. Hawks is the darling of Endeavor’s. By virtue of your job descriptions, the two of you are supposed to hate each other, or at the very least be cautiously neutral. For a long time that’s exactly what the two of you did. You stayed out of each other’s way and formed little opinion of the other. One fateful night at an HPSC gala changes all that. Based on the album Hopeless Fountain Kingdom by Halsey.

If you don’t want to see Physical Fatality content blacklist #hopelesspf

This story will have multiple NSFW parts so it is 18+ ONLY minors dni

Warnings for graphic descriptions of unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (receiving), creampie, and minor dom/sub themes

Masterlist

Let no one say Bakugo doesn’t make good on his promises.

You wore a black gown that hugged your figure perfectly and a matching black mask. The dress had been designed specifically with you in mind with silver detailing spiraling throughout. The designer had said she chose it because of the way silver would wind up and branch out along your arms when you used your quirk. “I’m not sure how else to incorporate telekinesis in a dress so I hope this is enough,” the small owl-eyed woman had fretted. “It’s perfect,” you had assured her, and now, as you stepped onto the red carpet with Bakugo on one arm and Midoriya the other, you were proving your assertion correct. The press had, of course, immediately picked up on the lack of an engagement ring on your hand and the lack of a fiancé on your arm but you ignored any and all questions about your engagement as you otherwise charmed the press. Then the minute you all were safely inside the hotel the event was hosted at, you and Bakugo had exchanged mischievous looks before making a beeline to the bar. It had taken Midoriya at least twenty minutes to coax you both from the hotel bar to the main banquet hall and by then you already had a pretty good buzz going. That of course didn’t stop your quest to get blitzed on the agency’s credit, however, as the two of you simply switched from the cocktails downstairs to drinking the complimentary champagne like it was water.

“Kacchan, (y/n)-Chan, please, slow down,” Midoriya fusses. “I didn’t think he’d actually fuss the whole time,” you confess to Bakugo. You’re taking the glass of champagne currently in your hand slower. As much as you’d talked about being the opposite of respectable you don’t want to tip over into sloppy territory. You and Katsuki are a little too friendly and a little too loud and that, in your opinion, is the sweet spot. “Tried to warn you. Go hang with your girlfriend Deku we’re fine,” Bakugo insists. “Are you guys fine though? You know this is technically a work event,” Midoriya chides. “If they didn’t want us to get at least a little drunk they shouldn’t have offered free champagne,” you point out. “We’ll be fine dumbass, go hang with your girl and we’ll stay here and be responsibly drunk,” Bakugo insists. Midoriya looks between the two of you multiple times before casting a look back over his shoulder where he can see Uraraka, Iida, and Yaoyorozu all talking. “We’ll even let you be the one to take us home! Promise!” you add on. Midoriya casts one last skeptical look before breaking. “Ugh, fine. But I’m serious guys! You better stay right here,” Midoriya finally relents. You and Bakugo both give him a mock salute before he finally relaxes and goes to join Uraraka. “Hey Katsuki?” you suddenly pipe up. “What?” “I just realized something.” “What did you realize?” “I’m pretty sure since Monoma and I broke up I’m technically fucking homeless right now.” It’s not funny but the two of you crack up anyway.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Tokoyami groans as he trails behind Hawks, who is on the lookout for Mirko. “Even Dark Shadow thinks this is a horrible plan,” he insists. “Dark shadow does not think this is a horrible plan. Don’t put words in his mouth to prove a point,” Hawks says rolling his eyes. “I’m not, look,” Tokoyami insists. Hawks sighs and turns to face his friend. As the now very familiar black form emerges from Tokoyami’s torso, Hawks is 90% sure he’s about to be proven correct. In reality it’s a very good thing Hawks doesn’t gamble. Dark Shadow had promptly agreed with Tokoyami and it had only made the other man even more smug. “Whatever, I’m still going to find her,” Hawks huffs. “Why are you so insistent?” Tokoyami questions him. “She’s the love of my life! I’m sure of it!” “Oh my god you finally snapped.” “Fuck off.” “She is not the love of your life and even if she was she wants nothing to do with you now!” “You just don’t understand. I have to fight for her back.” “Would you tell her your real name?”

The last question makes Hawks stop in his tracks and whirl around back to this friend. “What are you on about now?” he asks. “If she’s the love of your life would you let her touch your wings and would you tell her your real name and if you had to choose between her and work would you choose her?” Tokoyami presses. Hawks opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He wants to say yes. He wants to stick it to his friend and tell him he would indeed let himself be vulnerable with Mirko because she’s the love of his life so there! But Keigo has always hated lying and he knows the answer is no to all of the above. So he opts instead to say “I don’t see how that’s relevant.” “I give up. When Mirko inevitably slaps you or this otherwise blows up in your face at least try not to let it happen in front of paparazzi. Endeavor is very proud we’ve been bad headline free this month,” Tokoyami sighs before turning the opposite direction and leaving Hawks to his own devices.

“One question remains (y/n),” Katsuki announces to you as you both finish your drinks. “And what would that be?” you giggle. “Who are we taking home tonight? Or I guess who am I taking home and who are you convincing to take you to their home since you’re technically homeless,” he elaborates. “We told Midoriya we’d stay here and he could escort us back home so he wouldn’t have to worry,” you reply. “You were actually going to listen?” “No I was gonna sneak off during the speeches to bang someone and then be back here in time for Midoriya to escort us home.” “Smart woman.” “Thank you.” “So who are you thinking?” he asks.

Your eyes scan the banquet hall before finally alighting on a pair of red wings. He’s wearing a black suit with a tie and mask to match the color of his wings. His sandy blonde hair is wild and you wonder if it was styled that way or if the man had flown here and made it that way. Something about him is magnetic and you can’t explain why but you have a strong desire to follow its pull. “I may have found someone, not sure yet,” you hedge. Bakugo hums in acknowledgment as he too scans around the hall. “Why are you bothering to look?” you ask. “The fuck are you on about?” he questions back. “We both know you’re big gay for Red Riot. I would bet you have been since high school,” you tease. “Shut up,” Bakugo grouses. “Am I wrong though? He’s gotta be around here somewhere,” you say looking around. You finally spot the tell tale red hair of the man Bakugo once drunkenly confessed to you he lusts after. “There he is,” you grin. “I swear to god dumbass,” Bakugo warns, looking suddenly nervous. You roll your eyes and flag down one last glass of champagne. You press it into Bakugo’s hands and then you look him in the eye with all the seriousness your tipsy ass can muster. “Listen here Katsuki. Take this liquid courage, down it in one go, march right up to that sexy ass motherfucker and whisk him off his goddamn feet. You are Katsuki motherfucking Bakugo aka Dynamight aka explosion murder GOD, the number three hero in Japan. Now go get your mans,” you tell him. You watch his crimson eyes fill with determination and you have to resist laughing at the way he looks eerily similar to how he does before a particularly daunting battle. “I’m gonna do it,” he decides. “Fuck yes!” you encourage as he knocks back the champagne before passing you the empty glass and storming over to where Kirishima is.

Meanwhile Hawks is still searching for Mirko when he lays eyes on you instead. It’s like everything else stops. The rest of the world fades away as he watches you talk with Bakugo. There’s something about how casual and wild and free you look, even dressed as elegantly as you are. There’s something different about you and he can’t peel his eyes away. How has he never seen you before? Surely he would’ve noticed someone as captivating as you sooner. The speeches are due to start soon and he really should find a seat or something, but then Bakugo leaves and you’re standing there all alone and Hawks’ feet are taking him over to you without his brain having consciously decided to do so. “Mind if I join you?” he asks before he can talk himself out of it, taking a spot next to you leaning against the table. “Not at all,” you reply with a grin. Mirko walks right past the two of you and he doesn’t even notice, too caught up in your smile and your voice. God your voice is just as beautiful as the rest of you. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” Hawks admits. “I could say the same to you,” you fire back. “Trust me this isn’t my first rodeo around here. But I’d remember someone as stunning as you coming to one of these,” Hawks replies easily. “Probably not if I was on another man’s arm,” you admit. “Oh, you have a boyfriend.” “Had a fiancé. Now I’m free,” you pause, looking him up and down, “well free as a bird I guess,” you finish smirking. Hawks laughs at that. “Wow, I definitely haven’t heard that one a million times,” he teases you. “I never said I was creative, just that I was free,” you tell him. When your eyes meet again it’s like a million volts have shot through your gazes and suddenly you’re hungry for him in a way you haven’t been hungry for anyone in a very long time. The lights dim as the first speaker takes the stage, out of the corner of your eye you notice a familiar blonde head leading a red one out of the room. A quick search soon reveals Midoriya eagerly watching the stage for whatever crusty retiree is about to speak. Basically, the coast is clear. “As much as I would love to listen to a bunch of old people recount stories of their hero glory days, what do you say you and I sneak over to the hotel bar for a drink,” you offer. “I’d like nothing more,” Hawks grins.

As it turns out the hotel bar is closed, but you and Hawks have no intentions of letting that stop your fun. After a quick check for security cameras or nosy bystanders, you reach out with your quirk and carefully bring a nice bottle of hard liquor from behind the bar. You promptly pass it to Hawks who raises an eyebrow at you. “I’ve been drinking most of the night, you sir need to catch up,” you explain cheekily. “Fair enough,” Hawks laughs. He cracks open the bottle and takes a long pull from it, wincing a little as it burns down his throat. “Now where to since the bar isn’t an option?” he asks. You pause and think for a moment before coming up with an idea. “Follow me,” you whisper conspiratorially before grabbing Hawks’ hand and dragging him down the hall to the stairs, both of you abandoning your masks as you go.

Hawks has never done anything this wild and reckless before. Regardless of the press’s perception of him, Hawks has had a highly regimented life since the HPSC took him in, and his sense of duty and responsibility had only grown since he properly began his career. Sure, he’s had a few girlfriends over the years, but he truly was looking for love in every one of them. Yes, even the ones after Mirko.

You are something different entirely. What he felt for all of them combined could not compare to the feelings racing through him now as the two of you run up the stairs two at a time, the sound of your footsteps echoing up the tight stairwell. He can’t take it anymore and when the two of you reach the next landing he tugs you into him by your hand and kisses you. He can taste the champagne on your tongue but there’s also something uniquely you in the kiss that he can’t get enough of. So he takes and takes and takes like a man starving and you’re all too happy to give it to him. When you two stop to catch your breath you whisper, “come on, we’re almost there,” and then press another kiss to his lips quickly before tugging him out the door into the hallway.

You keep going until you finally find the door you’re looking for. When you try the handle it’s locked but you’re not concerned. You bend down and extend your quirk into the lock, closing your eyes so you can concentrate. You can feel the different tumblers and get to work pushing at each one experimentally until they click into the proper position and the door unlocks. You grin and push the door open. “After you,” you say. “That’s a neat party trick. You sure you’re a hero?” Hawks teases as he steps into the room. As he finally turns to take it in he realizes you’ve brought him to the hotel pool. “I’m sure,” you laugh, “just grew up a bit rougher than most have. Lockpicking is pretty simple to be honest. Regardless, we should have this place to ourselves.” Hawks can relate but he’s not allowed to tell you that, so instead he asks “Oh really?” “Really.” “Wonder what we should get up to then,” he muses before suddenly pushing you into the water.

It takes a half a second for you to register what’s happening and then you’re plunging under the surface of the water. You quickly resurface and you want to be pissed but your mystery man is laughing and it’s so beautiful it’s as if the sun itself is contained within his smile. Something tells you he doesn’t laugh like this much, so, instead of getting angry, you decide to get even. “Oh you think that’s funny bird boy?” you ask. “I do,” he grins down at you as he stands what he thinks is a safe distance away from the pool’s edge. “Then why don’t you come join me,” you smile back. You reach out with your quirk, feeling it wrap around his body and then tug. You can see the shocked look on his face as your quirk drags him to the water’s edge and then unceremoniously dumps him in the water. As he comes up for air, shaking water out of his hair he looks so affronted but you can see the amusement there too. He hadn’t expected you to retaliate. So now it’s your turn to laugh. Even though your dress is probably ruined and your perfectly styled hair definitely is for the night, you laugh in a way you haven’t in ages. “Oh it’s on now,” Hawks declares and suddenly the two of you are splashing each other like children, both trying to use your quirks to gain an advantage. It’s crazy and chaotic and soon splashing turns to all but wrestling and when he finally has you pinned against him and immobilized, your back to his chest and his arms holding you tightly so you can’t squirm away, both of you stop. You both try to catch your breath, the sound of the water and your heavy breathing echoing off the pool walls. You can feel his growing erection pressing against you and you know how the rest of this will go. You’ve got an impressive resume of one night stand experience, have heard all the lines, so you’re prepared for whichever one he’s about to use. At least you think you are. “I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, “I don’t usually do stuff like this. Someone like you is new to me.” You’re about to roll your eyes when you notice his hands are shaking and it occurs to you that he must mean every word.

You hadn’t expected that. Not at all. This is different than those one night stands. He’s different. The scariest part is that this is new for you too. You don’t do play fighting in the pool. Even with Monoma there had been no magic in the relationship. It was a necessary work deal and then it morphed into something comfortable. When you invited Hawks to the bar you had just meant to drag him away for sex and then leave to go back to the gala the minute you both were satisfied. You’d weather Midoriya’s concerned look and Bakugo would high five you and then you’d forget about the mystery man with the red wings. You turn in his arms, your eyes meet his golden ones, and immediately your heartbeat is kicking in your chest. This is not that. This is more than that.

And that fucking terrifies you.

Before you can fully panic Hawks is kissing you with an intensity you can appreciate and a yearning you are shocked by but can relate to all the same. This is a one night deal. That’s how these things go. But there’s a small, traitorous part of you screaming that it doesn’t have to be this way. So you kiss him like this is the first of many to satiate that small part of you, but you also kiss him like it’s the last one ever because you know that’s the more likely option. You kiss him until kissing isn’t enough and your hands move to push his suit jacket off. He catches onto the memo quickly and removes his jacket easily before tossing it aside. He goes to remove his shirt and fumbles, Jesus Christ his hands are still shaking, so you replace his with yours and carefully begin to undo each button as he instead reaches to pull down the zipper of your dress. Between the two of you and your quirks it isn’t much longer until you’re both naked, pressed together, your clothes laid out on the side in the vague hope they’ll be drier by the time the two of you have to leave the haven you’ve created. You don’t even notice that Hawks is walking you backwards until you feel the pool ledge against your back but small details like that feel irrelevant when he’s got one hand on your waist to keep you steady and the other on your breast to thumb at your sensitive nipple.

“Up,” he commands and it sends a bit of a shiver down your spine as you obediently hop up onto the ledge. You expected him to join you but he doesn’t, instead grabbing your thighs and pulling you closer to him. It’s interesting looking down on him like this but you think you could get addicted to the hungry look in his eyes. He slowly spreads your thighs apart, maintaining eye contact in a silent request for permission as you realize what he has planned for you. You give a short nod and then he’s diving in, his tongue immediately licking up along your folds. You shudder and your grip on the pool ledge tightens as he finds your clit and begins to lavish attention on it, licking at and sucking on the sensitive nub. You think you could get off on that alone but then he switches focus, not wanting to end things too quickly, as he instead begins to tongue fuck you like his life depends on it. You throw your head back and moan as you feel his tongue sliding in and out of you, his nose occasionally brushing over your still sensitive clit. He reaches one hand up to give your nipples some attention too and soon you can’t help the keening noises that spill from your lips unbidden. You card one hand through his hair and then grab onto some of the locks as you press him in deeper, helping guide him and that magic tongue of his exactly where you want it. It doesn’t take much longer after that for you to reach climax and the look of smug satisfaction on his face after has you hungry for more of him.

You’d let him be the boss so far but it’s your turn now. “I need you up here now bird boy,” you pant as you try to catch your breath, tugging on his hair to emphasize your point. He looks a little bewildered but you can tell by the way his dick twitches he’s not opposed. “Yes ma’am,” he replies cheekily as he climbs out of the pool. As soon as he’s on the side with you you move to straddle his hips and his hands instinctively go to your waist. “Ready?” you ask and he quickly nods his head. You don’t need any more encouragement as you line yourself up and then slowly sink yourself down onto his dick. For some reason the moment you’ve fully sunk down and he’s buried all the way inside you is incredibly overwhelming. So overwhelming, in fact, you think you might cry. It’s inexplicable, but when your eyes meet Hawks’ you can tell he feels exactly the same. You stare at each other with watery eyes as he whispers “This is...” and trails off, shaking his head as he struggles to find the words to describe this moment. “Heaven in hiding,” you finish for him and it’s like something clicks into place in both your hearts. “Yea. This is heaven in hiding,” he confirms and then he’s kissing you and there’s something there you’re too terrified to identify but you still give it back to him.

You start moving, lifting your hips slowly before sinking back down onto him again and the way he whimpers into your mouth is intoxicating. He lets you control the rhythm as you ride his dick, instead focusing on trailing kisses down your neck as he rubs and pinches your nipples. You’re so incredibly tight around him that he can barely stand it. So he allows himself this surrender, allows himself to be lost in you and wholly unrestrained for the first time in a very, very long time. “Can I-?” you ask with your hand reaching for, but stopping just shy of, his wings so he can see what you’re doing and decide first. He drops his hands to your waist to still you for a second as he stares at your face in wonder almost. “No one’s bothered to ask before,” he confesses and he hadn’t really realized how much that bothered him until now. “They should’ve,” you reply simply. He takes hold of one of your hands and brings it to his mouth to press a kiss to your knuckles before guiding your hand to one of his wings. You carefully run your hands through the feathers beneath your fingertips, shocked at their softness, and notice the way he shivers at the touch. “Are they sensitive?” you ask curiously as you continue to stroke them. “Fuck. Yes baby, very,” he groans as he leans forward to rest his head against your shoulder, his grip on your hips tightening. You experimentally clench your fist around a handful of the feathers and tug slightly, immediately his hips buck up into you and he groans. “It’s ok I’ve got you,” you tell him. He pulls back so he can finally look into your eyes again and quietly replies “I know.”

You’re not even sure who initiated it this time when the two of you begin kissing each other again. You start riding him again, the two of you quickly finding a tender rhythm together to move in sync. His wings flare and puff up behind him as if loving the sudden attention you’re giving them and as you continue to stroke through them Hawks brings one of his hands to your clit to provide extra stimulation to you too. Your moans echo back to you and it’s like the two of you are creating a symphony in this little safe haven you’ve created for yourselves in the hotel pool and it’s all so much. Almost too much. You can feel tears on your cheeks and you’re not sure if they’re yours or his, but you don’t care. You don’t care in the slightest you just need him, all of him. Finally you give a particularly strong tug on his feathers and it’s enough to have him crying out as he reaches his orgasm. The feeling of him filling you up and the gorgeous picture he makes is enough to send you over the edge as well and there’s nothing either of you can do besides hold each other tightly, moans choking out of your throats like sobs as you’re overwhelmed by your climaxes and the unnamed feelings bursting between the two of you.

When the feeling finally passes it leaves both of you somewhat drained as you pant to catch your breath. Hawks carefully reaches a hand to your cheek and brushes away your tears. You’re more than happy to return the favor. Turns out both of you had been crying. “Was that as insane and overwhelming for you as it was me,” Hawks asks quietly. “Yea... Yea it really fucking was,” you confess. “Good,” Hawks replies before pressing another sweet kiss to your lips. Both of you have the distinct thought, “I could stay like this forever,” at the same time, but it would seem the universe has other plans.

Your quiet moment is disturbed by the sound of an alarm blaring overhead. You both curse your luck but still are in no hurry to move. You carefully remove yourself from his dick, trying diligently to ignore how obscene it looks to watch his cum start to dribble out of you and how it feels like a loss for it not to stay. Hawks seems to be having similar thoughts but tears his eyes away as he goes to get dressed. You use your quirk to squeeze out as much water as you can from your dress without further damaging it. The alarm is still blaring and you’re both well aware you should be moving with more urgency but it’s hard to make yourselves leave the little world you created for yourselves in here. Once you’re both redressed you quietly clasp each other’s hands and finally leave the room.

The alarm is even louder in the hallway and it’s like the magic of the previous moment is shattered by it. “We probably should arrive separately. Avoid scandal and all that,” you say. “You’re right,” he admits. Neither of you let go of the other’s hand. Finally you sigh, pressing a quick kiss to his lips, before slipping your hand from his and heading the opposite direction. You both jog away in a bid to exit the building and figure out what’s going on when a thought strikes you. You don’t know each other’s names. You decide it’s for the best. Hawks spins around to try and catch up to you and ask but you’re already gone. It feels like an ending.

It’s actually only the beginning.

Author’s Note: I typically try to keep the reader’s quirk nonspecific in my work because I know a lot of people have ideas of what they’d want their quirk to be if they were in the MHA universe but (y/n)’s quirk has plot relevance so I gave her a specific one. She can move objects with her mind (telekinesis) but she feels it almost like a physical sensation, as if there’s an invisible extension of herself reaching out to grab things. It’s why she can use it for something as specific as picking a lock. As y’all can see this one got away from me lol but I hope it’s worth the wait. OH ALSO the pool scene is inspired by the one from Baz Luhrman’s Romeo and Juliet.

Taglist [open]: @akkaso @cathy8taffy @eeppff

[kyloren-theprince]

Feral

What makes Hux more feral than Ren? Lack of consent? Maybe, but Kylo isn’t one to always adhere to your every plea; sometimes what he needs is to fuck you hard and fast and without remorse and he never really asked to do that. But deep down, you and Ren both know what you want is each other.

Warnings: smut, edging, inappropriate use of the Force, swearing, brief mention of assault, blood

“Damnit, Ren!” He stands between you and the door, his body solid and taut with barely – just barely – contained rage. He could kill you no problem. But it's not about whether or not he could, the matter at hand was would he. You clench your fist, steeling yourself. “Move.”

He takes a jagged breath, bracing, everything about him so barely controlled. The air hums with an electricity that makes your hair stand on end, makes the lights buzz a little louder than before. Without his helmet, the dark tresses of his hair fall over his face, curling handsomely around the edges of his cheekbones.

“No,” he growls lowly. His left eye twitches. “You’re not leaving.”

“Like fucking Kriff I am!”

“Where are you even going to go?” He’s challenging, squaring off. You roll your eyes. “Are you running to the resistance? Go fuck off with whoever’s left?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t be a fucking child. I’ll stay right where I’m needed-“

“And yet you want to leave,” he interrupts.

“Yes!” You manage to sidestep him, closer to the door, but not yet there.

There’s pressure on your wrist, not warm enough to be his hand, but firm enough that it’s clear you’re not getting out of this quite yet.

“Why? Give me one good reason why.”

You turn on a credit, the hair that managed to free itself from it’s braids flying wild. “You are a lot of things, Kylo, but a man of reason is not one of them.”

“One!”

You watch the way his chest heaves, his fingers twitching. A pain taps the nerves in your arm. You must flinch because he releases only a hair, but it's enough that he’s not hurting you. You look at him, in his eyes, and your heart aches at the sight.

They’re red, glistening enough to know that he has tears in his eyes. You were the only one to ever see him cry (and live), but now you were the cause. Your voice softens.

“I need you to understand that I am not you little fuck toy. You don’t get to use me and then leave for days – weeks – and then get pissed off when I’ve left these quarters during that time.”

His lips press together tightly. You consider the idea of continuing to talk, but you just swallow, feeling the ghost of a hand trail across your palm, pulling on your fingers just enough to have a sense of longing. But then it’s gone, and Kylo lets you walk through those blast doors without another word.

––––

Two, almost three, weeks have passed since that night, and while the ache of Kylo’s absence weighed heavy on your spirit, other issues have arisen. These ones, however, you never realized the extent of before now. Most personnel on the Finalizer recognized your authority, and regarded you with the same respect as before, but there were few outliers.

Take General Artimage Hux for example: he’s a man of some power, and with the idea that he is irreplaceable in his head, he’s proven himself quite the pain in your ass.

He was always on your heels, offering you comfort you didn’t ask for, kind words you didn’t want to hear, gentle reassurances that made you want to pull your hair out, grab him by the ear and thunk him on the forehead, right between his eyes. Either that or kill him.

Right now, as he’s calling your name from the other end of the otherwise empty hall to your temporary quarters, you’ve decided on killing him.

“What is it, General?” You slow enough to glance over your shoulder, hating how close to you he always wants to be. “I’ve somewhere I need to be.”

“And where might that be, darling?” He teases, smoothing over his uniform.

His voice. It’s grating on your ears, makes your head hurt in the worst way. Stars, debriefings with him were awful but this was outright torture.

Maybe that’s how we should interrogate the prisoners, you think. Make him talk to them for a few hours. Melt their brains with his bantha shit.

“None of your concern,” you reply curtly. You don’t give him the courtesy to look at him, you don’t have to. “You’re supposed to be on the bridge.”

“I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

Your door is in sight, but he’s still here. “Actually General,” you snap, turning sharply to face him, “you don’t. Report to your post immediately.”

The cocky motherfucker has the audacity to stop as well, flash his teeth in a smile, bend at the waist and ask, “Or what?”

A beast within you runs rampant, gnashing its teeth, scratching, writhing in his presence. You don’t move, only watch as he flinches, clutching his neck as he chokes.

“You seem to have forgotten your place,” you snarl. “Or you’ve forgotten mine. Which is it?”

He garbles around the pressure on his throat, usually so pale face having taken on a red tone, ripening into a purple. You release him, and he sucks in deep, lungful of air. He’s panting when he looks at you again, his eyes no longer teasing, but dark and dangerous. In a moment, your head throbs upon its impact against the wall, your arms pinned between your bodies. Hux’s breath on your face makes your skin itch.

“Your place has been Ren’s whore.” You thrash, and he takes hold of your chin, knocking your temple into the support pillar. Your vision goes spotty, but you still push against him. “But now he’s thrown you out like the cheap thing you are.”

So many emotions are screaming through you, your fight or flight going haywire. Was your brain even processing? Ren’s whore, you hear him say. His hands are moving, dragging, feeling across the planes of your torso.

Spiraling, your consciousness produces the image of walking into your quarters, the one you shared with Kylo, and burying yourself in his chest, running your hands through his hair. Even in the daydream, you’re crying, apologizing over and over. You imagine him saying your name.

Maybe he hates you for what you did, and that makes it worse, so much worse, because that’s the only place you want to be. You want to be in the arms of the person who hates you so fucking much. You’re slipping under, drowning in whatever nightmare this is, shutting down, but you don’t want to. No, no this is not going to be how this turns out. You’ll die before then.

“What was that?” It’s Hux again; grating, disrespectful, disgusting Hux. “I thought you said something, darling.”

You pry your eyes open. You bring your knee up, but he pins both legs with his own, amused by your struggle. He opens his mouth to say something, but you spit right there on his face, wishing it were poison or acid instead.

“You,” he says lowly, leaning close to your face, “are going to regret that.”

You bare your teeth. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Without further warning, you bite down on the bridge of his nose, forcing your teeth down tight around the bone until there’s a resounding crack, copper on your tongue. He shouts, smacking at your face until you let go. He prods at the break, flinching, staring at you with wide and pissed off eyes. He shifts his weight towards you, the very beginning of a step, but you throw him back with the Force. He crumples to the ground, rolling slowly to his hands and knees.

Ever on time, the patrol of the evening comes into view, and with one little flick of your wrist, Hux is sent flying to their feet. They stumble to a stop, looking to you for orders.

“Take him,” you instruct.

They move without hesitation, binding his wrists together, and escorting him to the brig eight levels down. You stand there, in the middle of the otherwise empty hallway, just breathing.

Kylo, you think, hoping – knowing – he can hear you, meet me at the throne.

––––

He’s come home from battle looking better than he does now; the bags beneath his eyes are prominent, shoulders slumped with their own weight. He doesn’t move when you enter the room, doesn’t say anything as you walk towards him. He just watches with those sad and tired eyes. You stand next to him, inches from the throne, studying its intricacies that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Do you understand why?” Your voice is soft, fragile even. He feels his heart twist in his chest, guilt sinking lowlowlow. There’s another moment of silence save for his breathing, and you pull him from his thoughts with the gentlest call of his name.

“I do,” he answers, fearing he’s spoken far too loud for the moment. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t defend himself in anyway, he just knows these last three weeks have been eating him alive. He was rotting in ways he hadn’t expected to. And maybe to say he understood was a lie, but he knew he’d at least try to accommodate, to listen to you a little more than just your moans.

You nod once, eyes somewhere else entirely. Gentle is not his forte. You knew this, you didn’t expect him to console you, you didn’t ask him to, but carefully – awkwardly, even – he reaches out, pulling you into his chest.

“Kylo,” you mumble against the fabric of his shirt, feeling every thump thump thump of his heart. It felt good to say his name, feel it roll on your tongue.

His hands move from your back to your face, ducking down to kiss you deeply. “Say you won’t leave.” You run your hands through his hair, fingers spread wide over his scalp. “Tell me you wont leave again, ever. You can go wherever the fuck you want, but you’ll come back to me.”

Ren’s whore.

“If you promise me the same.” His brows are twisted, and you know with that one look that he’s heard Hux’s words. You shake your head. “I don’t know what I’m-“

He kisses you, short and fierce this time. “You’re Empress. You rule beside me.”

“Wha-“

“And you’ll stay by me.” His words are sharp, but he softens when he says, “Please.”

Though weak, you smile. “How could I ever refuse you?”

His sinks, smashing your lips together in a flurry, and you take it as an apology. Words he was terrible at, but he could show you, Kriff could he show you.

There more he kisses you, the more you dissolve into his touch, shaking, melting away at his fingers. His grip turns a little harsher, nose scrunching up.

He spins, sitting on the throne and pulling you with him, onto his lap. “You-“ he runs his hands up your thighs, thumbs drawing harsh circles “-fuck.”

You cup his face, kissing him, letting his hands roam, but keeping his lips firmly against yours. He’s jumpy, hips rocking, grinding his covered cock against your heat, growling when you don’t move more than your lips against his.

He wants control, needs it; can feel it scathing beneath his skin, but you’re not backing down this time. You need this just as much as he does, more maybe.

You tug at his belt, pulling away to tear off his pants, hands sliding up over his thighs, the thick muscles would tight and jumping at the press of your thumb. His eyes burn into yours, nose scrunched up.

“If you don’t sit on my cock—“

“You’ll what?” He doesn’t flinch at your sharp tone, but his face relaxes, lips parting so pretty, pupils blown wide. You push his arms down to the throne, pinning him by his inner elbow as you shift back onto his lap. His fingers flex. You gyrate your hips, barely dragging your heat over his aching erection, and he visibly shakes.

You’ve never felt this powerful in your life; not when you cut down enemies, had troopers obey your every command. No, having the mighty Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the galaxy, trembling beneath you was what made you feel fucking invincible.

Almost drunk on it, you lean forward, daring, “What will you do, Kylo?” He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Bend me over? Fuck me stupid?”

Poking at the beast is fun. He locks up, every muscle drawn tight, and he gives a clipped, “Yes.”

You reach out with the Force, seeing bind to his arms, and falling heavy with weight. You knock the snarl off his lips when you take a fistful of his hair and tug, pushing his head against the back of the throne, baring his pale throat. His lips part again, arms taut against the invisible pressure.

“Then you,” you taunt, leaning in close, “haven’t learned your lesson.”

All the ways you could bind him flit through your mind, and you know he sees them too, you make sure of it. His eyes grow darker. Every heavy breath makes his chest puff, flexed, bracing for something that might happen, might not. Nearly lost in it, you bring him back to reality, letting only the head of his dick slide into your wet hole.

“Is this what you wanted?” You sink, just enough to watch those pretty lashes flutter, before rising again. He growls through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna have to use your words.”

He hates this, hates you’ve turned the tables. Or maybe he likes it. Fuck if he really knows. He does know he likes seeing you like this, all commanding, rich with… stars, he’s not sure what this is. But you’re flushed, focused, articulate even as your cunt drools all over his lap. It’s a tug of war, whether or not he submits, so he gives back what you’re so good at: being a brat.

“Is this what you wanted?” He lets his tongue drag over his teeth, watching your head tilt as you follow his eyes. “You wanted to come prove something to your Supreme Leader?”

“No,” you hum and oh, he’s in for it now. He holds his breath when you lean forward, the pressure of hands working over his hips and pressing down at the tops of his thighs. “I wanted to break you.”

His back arches, breath coming in harshly, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack as he moans, wishing he could hold your hips down on his, your cunt sheathing him so suddenly he’s keening. He groans, the sound catching on the back of his throat, reverberating. You wigglegrindclench, and he gasps, willing you to move. Your grip on his hair loosens, running your hand through the dark tresses, stopping only at his jaw to tug his lower lip. Kylo’s eyes are glazed over when he looks at you again.

“Please,” he breathes, the plea surprising you both.

“Please what?”

“Fuck!” He snaps weakly, breath leaving in a big sigh. “I don’t know, just please move. Please.”

You roll your hips, biting your lip when he chokes on his own voice. “Will you be good?”

There’s a moment of mixed emotions, clarity returning to his eyes. He blinks, face scrunching up, shaking his head of whatever thought occupying it.

You click your tongue, “What a shame.”

Pressure at the base of his dick and he jerks his hips up, eyes wide, flitting between a plea and a threat as you tighten the grip, fucking yourself on his hot length. He swears, pants, leans forward to bite at your breasts, but you take hold of his chin, pushing his head back against the throne.

“Uh-uh,” you chide. “You didn’t want to be a good boy, so this is what you get.” Breathless but determined, you lean forward, still bouncing. “I’m gonna use you like some dumb fuck doll, and you’re not gonna do a thing. You’re not gonna touch me, taste me—“ you make a point of tightening the invisible cock ring, earning a low, gutteral moan “—and you’re not gonna cum in me either.”

The threat almost makes him scream. He tries to bite it back, but your walls are hugging him so tightly, making this obscene squelching noise everytime you move. Sweat drips down to the hollow of your throat and stars does he wish to drink it down. He breathes your name, husky and desperate for you, for release, both.

“Please,” he begs again. He closes his eyes, nearly melting when your lips ghost over the smooth skin of his neck, nose following the line of his scar. “P-please! I’ll be a good—“ his throat clicks “—good boy! Let me cum, fuck, let me cum please!”

Those words felt foreign on his tongue, but how his whole being sings when your fingers dig into his shoulders. He’s almost there, would be if not for your hinderance, but he can feel the way your walls flutter and clench, and he knows he’s not the only one.

“Do you think you deserve to?”

“No!” Spitting that out was easier than he expected. So was, “I don’t deserve you or your cunt!”

You hum, but don’t acknowledge it further, chin dropping to your collarbone as you pant shudder shake, heat coiling at the base of your spine, muscles flexing. Kylo’s back bows, chest and face angled towards the ceiling, a loud, low moan rumbling through him.

He tries not to think about it — how fucking badly he wants to cum, fill up your pretty cunt — tries breathing, counting, squeezing his eyes shut. He forces his mind away from his orgasm, and of course it goes to you; his conscious seeks out the thread intertwining the two of you, the shared bond through the Force.

A new sensation zips through him, flitting through his thoughts, makes his brain buzz on his own skull. You sigh, moan, and he feels it, feels it against the planes of his face, feels it hum through his head like a tidal wave. Everything is so bright and electric, but there’s something there.

It’s small, tucked away, felt by numb fingers. It’s young and fleeting and yielding and disappearing melting hiding gone behind the eruption of your orgasm, and Kylo feels all of it.

In every cell in his body, he feels you clamping down on his cock, gushing, cumming all over his lap, moaning loud loud loud for him. He feels your release through you and his mind is spinning because Kriff his cock is still so full and aching as you pull away. He whines, low and pitiful.

“Go on.” His whole being hums with your voice, the pressure of the cock ring relieving into a stroke over his shaft. “Cum, Kylo.”

And he does, he fucking cums; thick spurts that touch his chin and splatter on his chest, such a big load that lands all over him. His body sags against the throne, breathing deep through chapped lips.

Fuck, maybe he blacks out for a moment, dragging his eyes open when his cloak is tossed over his lap, the fabric making his over sensitive cock twitch. When the blast doors hiss open, and troopers march in escorting Hux, Ren doesn’t move.

You briefly admire Kylo; the sweat makes his hair curl into his eyes, everything about him draped so leisurely across the ancient seat, thighs spread. The flush of his usually pale skin, little marks across his neck, make him glow. His gaze meets yours, unchanging, but curious. Hux clears his throat.

“Supreme Leader,” he acknowledges almost reverently, falling to one knee.

That something is back, scathing and scratching behind the walls of your mind, and Kylo sees it, turning to Hux slowly. “Your business here is not with me.”

You turn, and it’s now that Hux swallows thickly. At the bottom of those steps, he looks so small and scared, as he damn well should be. His back straightens when you walk forward, the troopers moving back as you approach.

“Empress,” he says lowly, far less reverently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Something dark clouds your eyes, and Hux’s façade fades further. He reaches out, just the barest lift of his fingers, and that’s it.

Kylo’s saber flies easily from its hilt, landing in your palm, burning hot as it cuts through the air, through skin and bone, Hux’s hand falling to the floor in a sickening heap. He cries out, cradling his arm, wailing, face red. The smell of burnt flesh curls at your nose.

“If you touch another woman without her permission,” you promise, low, dark, and deadly. You put the tip of the saber beneath his trembling chin, forcing him to look at you. “I will take more than your hand.”

He nods as best he can, whispering hoarsely, “Yes, ma’am.”

What a sight to behold: an empress wielding a blade to a feral man’s throat, threatening his life with little effort and full understanding.

When Hux is half carried away on tremebling knees do you turn back to your husband. You kill the saber, slowly retuning to him, offering it for him to take. Your heart was hammering in your chest. Whether that’s from the exertion of fucking him or the adrenaline of Hux’s punishment, you weren’t sure.

Kylo’s lips remain parted, eyes wide as he pushes the saber away with the side of his pinky, his focus zeroed in on you.

“Is that what possessed you?” His voice is low, hoarse despite the way he tries to clear it. Your lip twitches and that’s all he needs to know.

He urges you forward, the Force gentle at your back, but buzzing with anticipation. You stand between his parted legs, letting his hands touch your waist, sliding up to your ribcage as he sits up. His thumbs move soothingly. He angles his head upwards, almost your height, but not quite given he’s still sitting.

He wants to say something, he should, but he’s replaying that moment in his head over and over and over until he’s dizzy with it. The power and radiance of you always left him so hard, and now was no different; with his shifting, his robe falls, revealing his cock, already flushing a deep red, precum falling from the slit.

“You are exquisite,” he breathes finally, loving the way your pupils blow wide at the sight of him. And while he doesn’t have words beyond that, your lips meet fiercely in a kiss that you both moan into, and stars he can show you just how much he needs you.

[crashdevlin]

Satisfied- Ch. 15

Author’s Note: Happily Ever Eventually Masterlist, Satisfied Masterlist 

Summary: Dr. McCaullife tells Y/n to get closure, which leads to confrontations across the board.

Pairing: none 

Word Count: 3106

Chapter Warnings: mentions of cheating, mentions of mental breakdown, mentions of self-harm, mentions of noncon touching, bit of PTSD (it's a syndrome not a disorder😂🤣...in joke from another series), 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

My house is fairly small. I don’t need a lot of room. I spent more on the security system than anything, really. It’s a good one...a bajillion cameras running to a computer in my office closet, a doorbell cam going to my phone, a sensor on every door and window. I would love to say that I didn’t have Tom in mind when I bought it, but I was thinking of him more than I was thinking of paps and creepy fans. 

He had to stay in Texas due to the probation agreement, so he bought a house, too. A converted barn on the outskirts of Henly...an hour away from my home. Too close. Too close for any sort of comfort...but the ADA assured me that he was going to adhere to the protection order. So, I spent a lot of money on a security system.

When my doorbell went off and I looked at my phone to see Danneel standing on my porch, my stomach twisted. I just got rid of Jay, sent him home from New Orleans to be with his wife and then she shows up on my porch? How’d she even know where I live? *Guess this is my opportunity to get done with her, too.*

I opened the door and bit my lip as I looked at her. She had her hair down and scrunched up in sexy waves. She really is incredibly beautiful. I will never think anything else. “Hey, sweetie,” she greeted, smiling softly. “Can I come in?” I nodded and stepped back, closing the door as she set her purse on my loveseat and turned to me. “This is a cute place. You chose well.”

“Figure I don’t need a lot of space. Just enough for me and the kids on the occasion I get to see them.” I took a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest. “What can I do for you, Danneel?”

“Jay told me about your fight at the con and-”

“That wasn’t a fight,” I interrupted, shaking my head. “That wasn’t even a disagreement.”

“Sweetie,” she started, but I sighed and caught her eyes.

“No. Please, listen.” I took another breath and looked away from her. “I’m not mad. I haven’t wanted to fight. That’s why I didn’t reach out to you after I saw the video. That’s why I shut down...and shutting down wasn’t the best way to deal with it, but still, I never wanted to fight.”

“But isn’t Jay worth fighting for, Y/n?”

That sentence sent rage zipping through my chest, but I took another breath. Calm myself, move forward. “No one is worth that much fighting. Especially if they’re not willing to fight for me. He wanted you back, Dee. I was always the consolation prize.”

“He loves you.”

“I wish that were enough...but it wasn’t enough to keep him from cheating on me.” Her face fell and I could see she wanted to argue the word ‘cheating’ so I kept talking. “You both knew I didn’t want you touching each other while I was gone...and tell me that you honestly didn’t see that I had a lot of regrets after we fucked. Tell me you didn’t know that it was probably never going to happen again...and that’s why you took the opportunity while I was gone.”

She looked down, avoiding my gaze. “Jensen and I-”

“Danneel, it’s okay.” I smiled and swallowed down my residual sadness. “Seriously. You don’t have to feel guilty here, hon. You and Jensen never stopped loving each other. That’s a fact. I just got in the way of what never should have ended in the first place. I’m moving on. I’ll find someone eventually, but for now...you and Jensen should be together. You always should have been.”

“Y/n, you deserve-”

“I deserve to move on,” I snapped, before licking my lips and stepping closer. “You and Jensen need to be together...and I need to be alone for a while. So...don’t feel bad. Don’t apologize. Don’t try to get me to fight...because I’m done fighting.”

She started crying as I hugged her, but I just felt relief. It was done. Finally, there was closure. She’d leave my house and go back to Jensen and everything would be done. A short time later she did just that...and I sat on my couch and wiped my eyes and...did some affirmations and moved forward.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Closure on two fronts. That’s good,” Dr. McCauliffe said at my appointment the Monday after.

“Yeah. Now I just need closure with Nate and Tom and maybe I’ll be well-adjusted some day,” I said sarcastically.

“You should,” she encouraged, leaning forward.

“Wait...what?”

“You should have a sit-down with Tom and with Nate. You have grievances. You should air them.”

I scoffed and shook my head. “A sit-down with Tom is almost impossible. There are protections in place to keep that from happening and besides, you...you don’t want me interacting with Tom.”

“Not through text messages from unknown numbers when you’re feeling numb and broken. That was unhealthy. With you like this? Making breakthroughs and getting closure? That can only help.” She tapped her pen against her clipboard and smiled. “I’m sure there’s a way for you to meet with Tom, with protections, and clear the air a bit.”

“Clear the air. What would I even say to him? What would I even...How could I even talk to him without letting my brain go back to…” I rolled my shoulders back and ran my hand across my mouth.

“You talked to Jensen without an issue. You stood your ground twice, under stressful circumstances, and you came out the other side. I feel like you could handle this with grace. And I will be right here to help with any fallout that might occur. Okay?"

It took a lot of cajoling from Dr. McCauliffe, and some from Misha and Kim, but eventually I decided that it might not be the worst idea for my mental health if I got some closure with Nate. If that worked, I might go for closure with Tom...with a bodyguard and some lawyers and a knife in my pocket, just in case. 

I flew to Florida and took an Uber to Nate’s house. I had the driver wait, offered a $100 tip, and went up to the door. Jenny answered. I fought down a wave of anger at the sight of her. She used to be a friend. She was Nate’s friend first, a girl he told me was ‘one of the guys’ and not to worry about. I made friends to prove I wasn’t worried. I should have always been worried about Nate.

“It’s not your weekend,” she snapped.

“I’m not here for Nova. I’m here to talk to Nate.”

She scoffed and turned around to look at her husband, who was walking up from the living room. “It’s okay, Jen. I got this,” Nate said, stepping outside and shutting the door. “Sorry, she’s been kinda worried that you might decide you wanna come steal me back ever since she found out you and Jensen broke up.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a homewrecker. That’s her job.”

“Whoa!” he exclaimed. “Don’t talk about my wife like-”

"Your wife cheated on her husband with my husband, ruined two families, and displaced three children all while smiling across the table at me during game nights and pretending she had never sucked your cock. She is as much a liar and a slut as you."

Nate's eyes went huge as I spoke. I really wasn't expecting to explode like that, but years of bubbling anger, I guess. 

"What the hell, Y/n? You flew in from Texas to call me and Jenny names?"

"No, I flew in from Texas for closure. My shrink thinks it's a good idea to get the shit I've been holding back off my chest so I came to talk to you. Honestly? Probably never woulda said a word against Jenny if she hadn't answered the door, but she did." I shrugged. "Too late now."

"What could you possibly have left to get off your chest?"

"Do you even realize how poorly you treated me? No, I'm sure you can't be that delusional. Do you even care?" I took a deep breath and looked up into his eyes. Blue just like Tom. *Gotta get a brown-eyed boy next time. Haven't been fucked over by a brown-eyed guy yet. No. No guys. No dating. Just me.* "I loved you with everything in me, Nate. You were everything to me, and you used that, used me to make yourself feel better, to make your friends laugh at the stupid fat girl who didn't realize you were fucking around. I know Jenny wasn't the first. And I bet she wasn't the last, either. Bet you got a few skeletons hiding from her too. Because you don't change. You're the same exact piece of shit you were when we were in high school...and Jenny knows that or she wouldn't be so scared that you would run away with your ex-wife. Not that I'd ever take you."

He scoffed in anger and I laughed. "I've had literal models in my bed, Nate. How delusionally narcissistic do you have to be to think that I would take a pencil-dicked, scruffy-faced, beatnik-looking motherfucker like you back?" Well, that was almost Tara-levels of confidence. When did that happen? "Look, I know you never loved me. I'm not delusional anymore, but I keep hoping that you'll love Nova...she's part of you, that should play right into your narcissism, but the way you use her like a tool, like a weapon against me...I don't think you love her any more than you loved me. And if you damage her, I will bury you."

He scoffed again. "You couldn't even win custody cause you're so unstable. What do you think you could do?"

"I didn't say I'd bury you in court." My voice was calm, with an edge of threatening. "You damage my daughter and I will do whatever I feel appropriate to pay you back." I was walking away when a final burn hit my mind. “It must be heartbreaking to you that the only thing you have the least in common with Jensen is that neither of you could keep it in your fucking pants.”

Dr. McCauliffe was right. Getting everything off my chest was freeing. I hadn’t even gotten on the plane back to Texas before I was on the phone with my lawyer. “What do you mean, you want a meeting with him? The man tried to rape you! There’s a restraining order on him and a-”

“I have to talk to him. That’s all. Lawyers present, a bodyguard or a cop in the room. I have things I need to say...Things I need to tell him so that I can get on with my life. Please, make it happen.”

“This is a bad idea.”

“Yeah, maybe. But it’s my bad idea, so...make it happen.”

And he did. He got me in a meeting with Tom at my lawyer’s office, a security guard and both lawyers present. 

I wore jeans, a baggy long-sleeved blouse, and I had my hair back and out of my face. I wasn’t there to look pretty. I was there for that closure.

My heart started pounding when I walked into that room and saw him. Obviously I wasn’t even close to over what he did...which is why I needed to talk to him about it. I sat across from him at a table in a conference room and my mind couldn’t help but replay being pressed into a long wooden table in the courthouse conference room, with a silk tie shoved in my mouth and my ass stinging. I took a deep breath and sighed it out as I sat down.

“I’d like to point out that I told my client that this was a bad idea,” Tom’s lawyer said.

“I told my client the same. She insisted,” my lawyer responded.

Tom smiled and my breath hitched. I was suddenly struck with the thought that I wasn’t ready for this. Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe I should just walk out...but I’d already come so far. I averted my eyes from his, looked at the table instead. “My psychiatrist thought this would be a good thing for me. That I deserved closure.”

“Closure? You mean to say you’re completely done with me and want nothing to do with me in the future?” Tom’s voice made me shiver. “I have heard that one before...and you always text back eventually...Dear.”

“Closure means asking you ‘why’ and telling you all the ways you’ve hurt me, getting everything off of my chest so that I don’t have any regrets of things I should have said...and don’t call me that.”

“Why? Why what?” Tom asked and I looked up. Did he really not know?

“Why...our relationship, Tom. Our whole relationship and the way you treated me afterward. Why? Why did you treat me like that? Why did you try to own me? Why did you manipulate and hurt me? Why did you tell the world that Maverick was your son when you knew that you couldn’t be his father? Why did you make it seem like I was a cheating whore when you knew I wouldn’t cheat after what Nate did to me? Why did you try to rape me? Why?”

Tom sighed and looked to his lawyer, then back to me. “I’ve never met a woman like you, Y/n. You create these feelings in me that...I tamp them down with other women. You make me want to possess you. I knew the moment I saw you that I had to have you...completely. You’re the only woman I’ve ever possessed that way...and you did like it for a while, I know you did. I remember the way your body reacted-”

“That was in bed! You tried to take over my whole life and when I left you, you tried to ruin my life.”

“I wasn’t trying to ruin your life, I was trying to get you to interact with me. I was certain that you’d remember how you loved me if I got you away from Jensen. And look what happened. He left you, you started talking to me again.”

“He didn’t leave me. He cheated and I didn’t let him talk to me after,” I argued. I licked my lips and looked away, shaking my head. “I started talking to you because I was in a horrible place and I didn’t think I had anyone in my corner. I hated who I was and I thought it was a good idea to talk to someone who saw who I could be. It was a bad decision, just like the decision to date you in the first place.”

“But you were willing to talk to me when you were without Jensen’s influence. That’s all I was trying to do with the lawsuit. Of course I knew Maxwell isn’t my son but-”

“His name’s Maverick,” I snapped. “You never called Nova by her middle name, why do you insist on calling Mav by his?”

He shrugged. “I know that Jensen named that child. He’s an attractive young boy, deserves an appropriate name.”

“What about the rape?” I asked. “If all you wanted was to get me away from Jensen, why would you-”

“I saw you enter that room, there were several twitter accounts posting pics from inside the courthouse and...you were alone. For the first time in months, you were alone, so I went in to talk to you without Jensen or Jared running interference. I just wanted to talk, but...you got so defensive as soon as I walked in...and you called me a psycho.” He looked down and took a deep breath. “I just wanted you to remember that you loved me. That I could give you the things that you needed. Jensen never dominated you, never made you submit. I just wanted you to remember how you liked that...how you liked me. I didn't mean to hurt you. I just wanted you back."

I shook my head. "That wasn't the way to go about it, Tom. None of this was the way to go about it. I understand going a bit crazy over someone, but you...you went too far. Way too far. I wanted to love you, but you wanted to own me, and that's not the same." I stood and gave him a tight smile. "I'm glad you agreed to meet with me so that we could talk. Because I'm gonna say, with absolutely no doubt or question, I am done, Tom, and it's not because I'm with Jensen because I'm not. It's because you don't love me and you need to move on...because I don't love you. Okay?"

I started to walk out but I stopped at the door when something in the security guard's hand caught my attention. "You should get help, too, Tom. Therapy has done wonders for me. Have a good life."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You should have recorded it!" Misha exclaimed when I told him about the meeting. "You should have recorded the whole thing! Then you could have released it to the media! Everyone would have seen him for the monster he is!"

"And then I would get in trouble for recording him without his consent and it would have blown back on me." I shook my head and chuckled, taking a drink of my Old Fashioned. "That security guard is gonna buy a brand new car when he sells the video he took, though."

Blue eyes popped wide on my laptop screen as he grinned in surprise. The blue eyes I can trust. "The security guard was videoing?"

"Yeah. I noticed on my way out, so I added a little flare at the end. I high-roaded and told him to get help. Therapy has done wonders for me."

"So video is gonna hit of him admitting to all the horrible things he did?"

"Yup. I don't know...kinda feels like it's finally over, ya know? I finally feel like I can move on."

"I'm glad. I'm happy that you can finally move forward and be happy too."

I hummed and nodded. “Happy sounds like a good goal. For now, we’ll call it ‘content’ or...Satisfied.”

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Stay tuned for Another Second Chance, coming soon!

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[1000roughdrafts]

Downtime

Square filled: Sex Pollen

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Explicit 18+ / Warnings: language (y/n in this is quite crude and has a mouth on her lol), self-stimulation/masturbation/fingering, smut, vaginal penetration, fluff, 

Word Count: 3.9k 

A/N: incorporating a card from Kink Poker  Poker Card: A♠ (Masturbation, “Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch.”) from KinkPoker

Created for @spnkinkbingo​ 

Hunting witches drug you and Dean across eight different states in a matter of three weeks. Three fucking weeks. No hunt had ever taken so long, and it left you feeling incredibly frustrated, drained, and even incompetent. The bitch was leaving bread crumbs that lead absolutely nowhere, and that was no mistake. No, she knew exactly what she was doing. 

You affectionately nicknamed the first location ‘Ghost Town Fucking Georgia’. You stormed into an abandoned building, guns loaded with witch killing bullets and ready for a fight, only to find a deserted altar with the candles still burning. This last location, Miserable Motherfucking Missouri, you walked into a greenhouse; no witches, just a shit ton of flowers. 

Sam stayed at the bunker with Eileen, with the promise that he’d look further into the case and keep you posted, and you wouldn’t call him after midnight unless it was an emergency. After working non-stop, you needed a break, so Dean and you decided to take two days and one night off; get some drinks, relax, and get right back to it in the morning. 

Right now, you couldn’t even fucking think straight. Not with this - out of nowhere - evocative feeling breathing down your neck. And with the exhaustion that plagues you, you can’t bring yourself to give a shit about the mix up with the motel’s front desk about the bed situation. 

“Looks like we’re finally gonna sleep together,” jokes Dean, but you find no humor in it. Not when you’re feeling the way you have been since stumbling upon the witch’s science experiment. 

“God, I wish Sam were here right now,” you mutter under your breath, kicking off your shoes and leaving them by the door. He would definitely know what to do about this mystery plant. 

“What, don’t like me anymore, Y/N?” Dean says, lips curled up to one side in an intoxicating smirk. Wait, you think, intoxicating? What the fuck is wrong with me? 

You turn your body away from him, trying to place your attention on anything but Dean’s allure. He drops onto the bed, letting his bag fall to the side as he lay back. When you don’t offer a reply, he sits up, rolling his eyes at seeing you at the desk, papers spread out in front of you. 

Even as you’re facing away from him you can somehow still feel his every move as he stands from the bed. From his calloused, yet gentle hands setting down next to him as they lift the rest of his enticing, muscular body , to the way his musk of a long day’s work wafts from him. 

“I thought we were gonna take some time off,” he criticizes, setting his hands on your shoulders and squeezing them tenderly. 

Your eyes shut involuntarily, and you accidentally let out a soft, and thankfully unnoticed, moan. Clearing your throat, you roll your shoulders back to knock his hands from them. 

“Don’t... don’t do that,” you plead. “I’m just trying to figure out what this plant is.” 

“Why?” he asks, moving back to sit on the bed, seemingly indifferent to your rejection. Right. Why does that even bother you? 

“Why what?” you ask, distracted by his smell. 

“Jeeze, Y/N, I know it’s been a while since you’ve had some shut eye, but it’s like your brain is shutting down,” he chuckles, “why are you looking into that plant? There were hundreds,” he says with a shrug. “It was a distraction, another ploy, a wild fucking goose chase.” 

Wiping a bead of sweat from your brow, you stutter, “I just... I find this one interesting, that’s all.” 

“Come on, it’s one in the morning. I don’t need you wakin’ me up getting into bed at six when you can’t figure it out.” 

Without removing your eyes from the picture on your phone, you mutter, “you wouldn’t wake up if the room caught fire, Dean. You’ll survive.” 

Coming to stand next to you, his presence feels magnetizing, like you’re full of static electricity, hair standing on end and needy for him to touch you, to release the built up energy. 

“Dean, could you not-” you sigh, shoulders dropping as you let out the breath. “Could you please not stand so close? You’re making me feel... uncomfortable,” you squeak, shifting in your seat when you feel that intimate slick of arousal in your underwear. ‘Uncomfortable’ is a good way to put the way you feel, but not for the reasons he might think. 

“You’ve never felt that way around me before,” he says, almost insulted. Ugh, I can’t help it! God, why can’t I help it? 

“I know, I know, it’s just,” you force yourself to look at him, “I just-” 

“Y/N, you’re sweating,” he interrupts, placing a hand on your forehead, “and you’re hot as hell. Are you okay?” 

“Can you just go to bed, Dean?” you grumble, jerking your body away from his touch and extending your arm straight to point at the bed. “I’m fine, and you’re kind of annoying me right now.” 

“I’m not even doing anything!” he retorts, arms thrown in the air, “fuck. What’s your problem?” he growls. “When was the last time you got some? ‘Cause you’re being a real bitch tonight.” 

The two of you had been in many fights over your five years of friendship, but him raising his voice like this has never given you the feeling it does right now. The gruffness in his quiet shouts only makes you crave more, to have him degrade you while you ride his dick for hours. 

You shake your head, trying to send the thoughts away. It’s not happening. 

“What’s that got to do with anything?” 

“Puts you on edge, leaves you keyed up, jumpy,” the gruff has dropped from his voice, and he stands to grab a beer from the small fridge. “Besides, we’ve been glued to the fucking hip since we started this lost cause of a case, so Lord knows I need it, too,” he says, bringing the neck of the bottle to his lips. 

You groan, “ugh, can we not talk about sex right now, Dean?” I need to open a window, or take a walk. 

Dean grips onto the arms of the chair from behind you, whirling it around to face him. He has you cornered with his arms on either side of you as he stares you down with squinted eyes. You would do anything to avoid this rousing eye contact, but you can’t pull away. 

“What’s goin’ on with you? Did something happen back there that you’re not telling me?” 

You open your mouth to, yes, feed him a lie, but the sharp bastard catches it before it comes out. 

With a tsk and a quick tilt of his head, he brings a finger up, just inches away from your nose. “Ah ah, no ma’am,” he says, dropping to a crouch in front of you. “I want the truth. Now.” 

Feeling yourself get even wetter than before, you bring your eyes into your lap. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and you throw your hands onto your cheeks in hopes of cooling them down. 

“Is it hot in here? It’s pretty hot in here, right?” you say, dropping your hands and quickly standing to rush past him for the window. 

You allow the crisp breeze to hit the fire you feel on your face and close your eyes as you revel in the short, but sweet, release from this ravenous and almost uncontrollable desire to fuck your best friend. 

At first it’s his finger that you feel, wrapping around your elbow, and then his palm as he closes his grip on your arm, and why is everything seemingly moving in slow motion? 

He flips you around and grips onto both of your arms tightly, and you’ll be damned if you didn’t at least try to hold in that moan. 

His lips pursed, head tilted curiously. He drops his hands and takes a step back, letting your arms drop to your sides as he lets go. 

“Did you just... did you just moan?” Oh God, oh God, he looks disgusted. Or is that intrigue?? 

Covering your face again, you let out a groan and push your knees together, trying to release some of this tension. 

“Yes,” you sheepishly admit, letting out a whine in frustration. “I don’t know what happened! Like, an hour after we left the greenhouse, I started to feel...” you trail off. 

“Horny?” he asks with a faint smirk. You can only nod, keeping your eyes on the floor. “Well, there’s ways to take care of that, but I’ll tell you right now, it’s not by doing homework.” 

“Yeah, except I’m pretty sure the fucking plant is to blame.” You think for a moment, “you know who would know what to do? Sam. And I know what I promised him, but I think this qualifies as an emergency. Don’t you? Yeah, this is definitely an emergency. I can not be stuck in this room, feeling this way, with you loo-” you throw an arm at him in gesture, accidentally meeting eyes with him as the last word nearly slipped from your lips. 

Hoping he wouldn’t press the matter, you grab your phone off of the desk and search for Sam’s contact. 

Dean’s presence even more alluring now, he grips onto your arm and runs his hand down to your wrist, grabbing the phone and setting it back on the desk. 

“’Loo-’ what?” 

“No, nothing, Winchester. We’ve been friends for way too long, I’m not about to do anything to jeopardize that.” 

“Well, that’s both of our decision to make, don’t you think?” he says, “how are you feeling right now, anyway?” he asks like he already knows the answer, but is just waiting to hear you say it out loud. 

You sigh heavily. Just give it up. “I feel like if I don’t fuck someone soon, I’m gonna die.” 

He laughs, softly but heartily. “It’s not funny, asshole,” you say, trying to lighten the mood with a chuckle, but your dripping pussy clenches at the vibration, and you’re right back to square one. 

“It’s been a while for both of us, you know,” he says, trailing off. 

“I’m listening,” you urge. 

“And... obviously you’re a little bit more in need than I am,” he chuckles, “but we both need this, right?” You nod quickly, “and we both... want this, right?” he asks, an eyebrow raised. 

Ah, there it is, you think, my knight in shining fucking armor, asking for consent. 

“I’ve never anted anything more, Dean,” you say in a whisper, taking a slow step towards him. 

“For how long?” he questions, face scrunched up in intrigue. 

“For about six hours. Clothes off. Now,” you snap your fingers and point to the bed. 

“Woah, woah,” he chuckles, “slow your roll baby cakes. I’m not doing anything unless I get your permission. I don’t want you regretting all this in the morni-” 

“This isn’t a fucking contract, Dean,” you shout. “It’s sex. You down? Cause I might just go to that bar we passed and-” 

“Get on the bed,” he demands. 

Smiling, you waste no time in removing all of your clothes and lay on the bed. Running your hands across your breasts and down your stomach, you focus on keeping them above your belly button. 

“Lay back and touch yourself. I want to watch,” he says, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, drawing back the sleeves. 

“Excuse me?” you say, springing up to sit straight, your hands planted behind you on the bed to hold you up. 

He casually walks to sit in the chair. Resting his forearms on the arms of the chair, he leans back slightly. “I’m serious, Y/N.” You stay silent, mouth agape at the surprise, “look, you want this? Prove it.” 

Scoffing, you scoot down to the edge of the bed. “I won’t lie to you, Dean, I kind of like it when you boss me around,” you say setting your fingertips on his cheek, caressing his face as you bring your hand around to the back of his neck. 

He grips onto your wrist, but leaves it. Without moving his head, his darkening eyes turn to yours, “then prove it.”

“Fine,” you chirp. Leaning back and supporting your upper body with one elbow, you pull your feet as close to your ass as you can, exposing all of you to his viewing pleasure. 

Eyes glued to his, you place two fingers on top of your clit, walking them back and forth and moving slowly down to your entrance. As you flick that sweet spot just below your clit, you watch as Dean’s eyes trail down from yours. They slowly roll down your naked chest, soaking up every detail of you and stopping to watch your fingers as the thrust inside of you. 

The way his eyes widen in lust only intensifies your libido. You throw your head back, arching your back as you continue to fuck yourself, needing for your fingers to go deeper. You feel a stir in your core as you’re slowly climbing towards your orgasm, but as soon as you feel that rise it escapes you. 

You growl in frustration bringing your head back to face Dean. Pulling your hand from yourself, you smile when Dean tilts his head. 

Without saying a word, you scoot to the edge of the bed and let your legs fall between Dean’s. You work his belt, quickly unbuttoning it before unzipping his pants. He lets out a sigh, moaning as you pad his growing dick over his boxers. 

His hands fly on top of you breasts, massaging them gently before bringing his fingers to your nipples. You let out a moan when he pinches them, temporarily stalled in your attempt to undress him. 

With his fingers gripping onto the elastic of his pants, he stands and pushes them, along with his boxers, down to his feet. He leans to press his lips against yours in an intense kiss, surprising the both of you at the jolt of it. You stall for a moment, your lips frozen against his as your mind catches up to what you’re doing. 

When you feel that stir once again, you drop your thoughts and leave them behind as you fiercely kiss him back. With his palms against your chest, he starts to gently push you back onto the bed, but you pull away. 

He looks at you curiously, but before he can question if you want to go further, you place your hands on the bottom of his shirt and pull it over his head. Putting your hands on his chest, you push him back into the chair. A smile forms on his lips as it rolls back and hits the desk, causing you both to giggle before you place a knee to one side of him. 

You keep your eyes on his as you bring your other leg up. Dropping down onto him, you use your hand to guide his cock inside of you. Both of you let out a voiceless moan as his thickening member fills you. Your eyes shut as you let out another lust filled moan, and your head tilts back as you lift yourself just a bit. 

Using the arm chairs to hold yourself up, your back arches as you get him to hit your sweet spot. He puts his hands to the small of your back, pulling your chest against his as you ride him. With your hands now on his shoulders, you grip onto him, using them to add more power to your grind. 

Both of you now breathless, the moans come out as croaking pleas for more. His legs straighten out to give you more room to work, so his hands tighten around your shoulder blades to hold you up. He pulls you up and down on top of him, and heat swarms your back where his fingers dig into you, but it only serves to excite you more. 

“Fuck,” you groan, and in hearing your voice, he lets out a low growl, letting his head fall back against the desk. “Oh my god,” you cry, dropping your lips onto his neck.

You only mean to leave pleasurable kisses in a trail to his mouth, but the harder he pounds into you, the more vocal he is, the more your teeth dig into his skin. He hisses at the pain, but doesn’t ask you to stop. Rather, he lowers his hands to get a better grip of you and starts to pull you down onto him as he pumps inside of you. 

His name escapes your lips in multiple syllables as you bounce on him. Your legs begin to shake as the earth shattering orgasm hits you. Your mouth freezes on his neck, open but no longer baring any teeth as you squeak out an airy moan. Thrusting into you a few more times he lets out his own deep moan, filling you with hot cum as you collapse on top of him. 

A few silent moments pass, and to you it feels like hours. You keep your face in the crook of his neck as the both of you catch your breath. With wide eyes you stare at the floor, wondering what the hell you’ve just gotten yourself into. 

This doesn’t have to change anything, right? You think, trying to convince yourself that things can easily go back to normal. This doesn’t mean things are different, you affirm. 

You presume Dean feels a similar confusion, as his hands haven’t moved from your back, nor has he spoken a word. Fear of facing him is overpowered by the numbness that fills your thighs from the position, so you slowly lift your upper body to take a peak at his face. 

His eyes are closed, and a slight smile rests on his lips. Before you can think about anything else, you draw your face closer to his, and plant a soft, affectionate kiss on his lips. When you pull away, his eyes open and oscillate between yours. 

“What’cha thinking about?” you ask him. 

He keeps his eyes on yours, carefully calculating a response. “About how absolutely amazing you are,” he chuckles, lightly blushing. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re just saying that cause I fucked you,” you laugh, lifting your body up to stand down from the chair. You suddenly feel embarrassed to be naked around him. A heat fills your cheeks, and you turn your body away from him to walk towards the bathroom. 

Grabbing a hand towel you clean yourself up and look into the mirror at your sweaty face, the way your hair frizzed up and flies to and fro. Chuckling at the appearance you straighten your hair out just a bit and walk back into the room. 

Dean, still naked, lies on the bed on his chest. His arms rest under the pillow as his head is turned in your direction. Smiling when he sees you, he lifts his head up just a bit. 

“Should we-” you start, pausing to clear your throat. “Should we talk about what just happened?” you sheepishly ask. 

He pushes himself up with a soft groan, sitting on the edge of the bed as you walk over to him. “What’s there to talk about?” he shrugs with a smile, “you were sick and I cured you,” he jokes, but with the thoughts that circle in your mind, you find no humor in it. The smile drops from his lips when you don’t respond. He grips onto your wrists, causing you to look down at him. “See, this is what I was talking about,” he starts, and you detect a shakiness in his voice that you can’t help but to latch onto.

Is that... hurt? 

Your eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head, “no, Dean, it’s not that,” you say, pulling yourself from his hands to sit next to him on the bed. He rotates his body to face you. “I don’t regret it. I just-” you stop, letting your eyes fall onto the floor. “What if we-” you sigh, reminding yourself that this is your best friend. He’s the only person you’ve ever felt comfortable sharing every intimate detail of yourself, even prior to tonight. He’s been there for you through thick and thin, and if you could get through everything you have been, surely you can overcome telling him how you feel. 

You turn your body to face him, grabbing onto his hands. “I just need to get something off of my chest, and I’m sure we could talk more about this later. I don’t want to spring anything on you, especially with everything that’s going on, and the fact that with the life we live we don’t get to make these kinds of decisions often. I mean, you’ve said so yourself, we don’t get a happy ending-” 

“Y/N, what are you saying?” he interrupts with wide eyes. You haven’t a clue how long he’s been rubbing your finger against your thumb, but you zone into it. Does he even know that he’s doing that? Is it on purpose? Does this just come with sex with a Winchester? 

Your mind reels, heart pounding in your chest as you remind yourself that he’s always been a safe space for you, someone you could talk to about anything, so you take a deep breath. 

“Dean, I felt something when you kissed me,” you say, letting out a breath of relief as the words finally spill out. “I know we’ve been friends for a long time, and I really truly meant what I said about not wanting to ruin that, and I don’t know if you felt it, too, but what if?” you leave it open to let him decide what should come after the ‘if’. 

His hand slips from under yours and he cups your chin, bringing your face to level with his. A smile dances on his lips as if he can’t decide whether he should keep it or not. His opposite hand finds a spot on your cheek and he uses his thumb to rub a soft circle on your face before letting his hand trail to your ear. 

He puts a stray hair behind your ear and brings his face closer to yours. Your breath hitches in your throat and you keep your eyes on him, anticipating his every move, but wondering if this is one of his sick, practical jokes. But he doesn’t stop. The hand under your chin cups around your throat as his lips clash against yours. You open your mouth to the kiss, scooting closer as his hand slides down your throat and onto your chest. 

When he pulls away, he plants his eyes on yours, smiling brightly. 

“Is that a... yes?” you say, holding back your smile until he can say the words aloud. 

He nods, and you let out a breath, the smile forming on your lips as you pull him in for another kiss. 

“We can talk about it more in the morning,” he says, scooting back to fluff his pillow. Motioning for you to lay next to him, he says, “for now, lets get some sleep.” 

Still wearing a smile, you lean over to shut the lamp off before cuddling up next to him. Your heart pounds in your chest as you rest your head against his. As the excitement fades out, sleep fades in, and you find yourself falling asleep in each other’s arms for the first time, wondering what the future holds for the two of you. 

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[mcfreakin-bxtch]

Believer

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Warnings: Angst (because, ya know), language, SMUT, daddy kink, oral (f receiving), titty and pussy slapping (wow never thought I’d say that akdjlskjdh), fingering, the infamous black shirt (1.04) gets torn off and I’m not fucking sorry. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Requested: Yes | No

Prompts: #39 “You should leave” - “You don’t mean that”

#135 “I’m telling the truth”

#6 “Do you have the slightest idea of how fucking important you are to me?”

A/N: Phew it’s been a while since I wrote for our man Peña. My requests are open! Send them in peeps

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

You really ought to know that it was a bad idea to start a fight with Javier after a rough day at work, but you were done waiting.

Javier had warned you from the beginning of your relationship of his job and the weight of the impact from it. You also knew that he was not a very emotional man and kept to himself for the most part unless parted by your patience and gentle touch.

All that was good and fine for you. You had known Javier for years – your friendship quick to turn physical – before he finally decided to settle down with you.

Until now. You were naïve to think you could handle all of it at once; being alone most nights now, barely catching a glimpse of the man you loved before he was right back out the door, and when he was home he’d be nothing but stoic, choosing instead to fuck your brains out – which was good and all until after – rather than talk with you.

It was starting to become too much for you. You begged and pleaded with Javier, and all the promises he made would get thrown out the window the very next day. And you let it because fuck you really truly loved the man, even during his bachelor days.

So when you hear the jingle of his keys, you stand up from the couch, twiddling your fingers in your hands as you anxiously waited for him to get through the door.

Javier looked like a fucking train wreck. There were dark circles under his eyes, hair askew – most likely from running his fingers through it in increasing frustration – and jaw ticking. You contemplated waiting until the morning to talk to him, but then again, there might not ever be a right time.

“Javi,” you called out, heart hammering away against your rib cage. “Baby, we gotta talk.”

He turned to you, barely acknowledging your presence before heading to the kitchen. You followed behind, watching with arms crossed over your chest as he dug through the fridge. He turned around, beer in hand, and took a huge swig from it. This was always a tell- tale sign that he had a bad day.

“I’m listening,” he finally muttered, brown eyes staring into yours.

You couldn’t help but you scoff, earning a frown from Javier. “That’s the thing though, Javi: you don’t listen. At least not anymore.”

He pursed his lips, taking another big gulp from the bottle. “What the fuck brought this on, huh?”

The disbelief must have been clear on your face, because he then sighed and brushed past you. “I’m not arguing with you tonight, Y/N.”

You paddled behind him. “Look, I don’t want to fight either, but this is serious. I can’t – I can’t do this anymore.”

He stopped, frozen in his tracks. “Can’t do what, Y/N.”

It was more of a statement than a question. You walked until you were in front of him, back against the kitchen counter. The feel of it was comforting this time, keeping you stable as you fought to keep the tears at bay.

“This, Javier. Not seeing you anymore and when I do you’re just… it’s like you’re not even here. And I’m just so sick of being alone, of not having you here, with me.”

Javier grunted, shuffling on his feet as looked down on the floor. You waited, watching him with keen eyes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

You coiled back, as if he just slapped you. He may as well have. The tears trailed freely down your cheeks, and you had to take a few gulps to swallow down the lump in your throat.

“You should leave.”

His dark eyes widened; mouth agape as he took in your words. The air was static, the silence agonizing as you sobbed quietly, unable to look at him.

His shook vigorously, making him a little dizzy but he could give two shits about a little headache. You were telling him to leave. And a small part of him was agreeing with you.

Spare her from the pain you stupid motherfucker. You don’t need to drag her down with you.

“You don’t mean that.”

Javier Pena was a selfish bastard. He didn’t want to leave the comfort of your shared apartment, the alluring coax of your arms, your lips…

“Then stop this,” you sobbed. “Stop hurting me like this when I’m fucking trying. I know you’re tired Javier, but I’m tired too.”

You wanted to say so much more, but they kept getting stuck, constricted with the pain and exhaustion.

He licked his dry lips, taking a step towards you. When you didn’t flinch or recoil, he took another until he felt your breath on his collarbone. He hated seeing you like this, especially knowing it was his fault. Your sniffles echoed through the living room, and it took everything in him not to pull you into his arms and kiss all the distress away.

But it was hard to do when he was the sole cause of it.

“I’m sorry,” he said, throat strained. “Baby, I – really never meant to make you feel this way. It’s just…”

You looked up at him, watching his face contort as he struggled to explain himself.

“I’ve gotten into some really fucked up shit, Y/N. And the pressure has been cracking down on us like crazy, and I’m just so fucking afraid. Every day.”

You cleared your throat, reaching for the bottle in his hand and putting it down on the counter, grabbing his hand. He almost sighed in relief at the feel of your smooth skin pressed against his rough one.

“Afraid of what, Javi?”

He chewed on his bottom lip, pressing his forehead against yours. His breath ghosted over your lips, which parted automatically at the close proximity.

“Afraid that you’re going to get hurt or god forbid killed because of this fucking job. I don’t… I wouldn’t know what to do with myself if anything were to happen to you.”

You sighed heavily, leaning your head against his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his lips to the top of your head.

“I’m telling the truth, Y/N.” He said into your hair. “Christ, do you have the slightest idea of how fucking important you are to me?”

You did. Because, despite the problems you were having now, Javier had come a long way to get to where he was now, and you were a part of it; he made sure of it, and never failed (until now) to make sure that you knew that.

“I know,” you mumbled, looking up at him. “You’re important to me too, Javi. But that’s why I need you to talk to me. We’re in this together, remember?”

He pulled back a little to look down at you, giving you that soft, goofy smirk you absolutely adored on him.

“I’ll work better on it, amor. Promise.”

You leaned up to the tip of your toes, giving him a chaste but sweet kiss, giggling when he pulled on your bottom lip with his teeth for more.

“Déjame mostrarte cuánto lo siento.”

You smiled, feeling his hands slink down to your ass, giving it a squeeze.

“Up.” He commanded.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped, clashing your lips against his. The tip of his tongue traced over your lip as he set you down on the counter. You immediately opened up for him, moaning into the kiss.

He pulled back from the kiss, breathless, and gave you one more before trailing further down.

His mustache scraped against the sensitive flesh of your neck as he nipped and sucked on your pulse point. You started to quiver, running your fingers through his hair.

Javier’s hands ghosted over your chest, tickling your sides lightly – earning a soft giggle from you – and yanked your shirt over your head.

He growled in approval when he was met with your naked chest. Grabbing your hips, he slid you closer to him until you were practically hanging off the edge, licking his lips as he eyed your breasts.

“Me encantan estas tetas,” he groaned, tweaking a nipple with one hand.

You let out a wanton sigh, rolling your hips up slightly into his; you could already feel the hard bulge poking at your thigh.

“Perfect,” he continued. “Y mio.”

He palmed one breast in a rough palm, the grip bruising but shit you needed more.

You gasped when he latched onto your neglected breast. He swirled his tongue around your perk, nipping at it gently until he bit down hard, earning a loud cry from you.

He let go with a pop, and then he slapped your tits just as hard as he fondled them. You were definitely going to sport out rows of bruises the next day.  

His somber eyes, blown wide, made your mouth close and you could feel your slick juices seeping down the slope of your ass. You wanted to press your legs together to relieve some of the building pressure, but his body stood in the way.

“And to think you thought I didn’t want you anymore. How dare you even fucking think that.”

I don’t blame you. But I love you too much.

“And you’re wearing too much.” You snarled.

Not bothering fumbling with the buttons of his shirt – that stupid black button up that you loved so much because it looked fucking delicious on him, hugging his curves in all the right ways to get any right mind riled – you gripped both sides of his shirt and pulled until there were buttons flying around you.

Your hands moved in a frenzy, removing any barriers between the both of you. He cupped your heat once he dragged your shorts and panties down, clad only in his boxers, teasing a finger through your wet lips.

“Javi,” you whined. “Please. Do something.”

“I always take care of my girl.”

His voice was as sweet as chocolate – evidently matching his eyes – dripping onto her feverish skin, burying deep inside of her with no ways of escape.

Wack!

You were brought out of your daze by the harsh slap to your dripping cunt. You cried out, twitching against him.

“My dirty, dirty princesa.” He growled, giving your clit another slap.

The noises from it was lewd and obscene, your wetness apparent on his hand.

“For you papi,” you cooed.

“Damn fucking right.”

He kissed you again, dirty and sloppy, before kneeling down on his knees. You leaned back on your hands as he dragged your ass closer to the edge.

Javier hummed and kissed your thigh, biting down and sucking another mark into your flesh. You bit down on your lip, a complaint bubbling in your throat. You knew better than to piss him off when he was in between your legs; the last time you had done so he had edged you for hours, begging and sobbing for that sweet release.

A harsh slap to your thigh brought you back to the man so achingly close to where you needed him the most, staring up at you with fire in his eyes.

“I asked you a question, Y/N.”

You blinked. “I-I’m sorry, papi.”

He teased a finger through your slit, keeping his stare on yours.

“Did you really think I didn’t want this anymore?”

Leave it to sex to get Javier Pena to start talking. The thought alone made you huff.

“I… I did start having my doubts,” you admitted, linking your fingers through his on your thigh. “I just need you to work with me, you know? We’re our own team, and I can’t do all of this alone.”

Javier sighed heavily through his nose, leaning in closer to your pulsing cunt. Your body was thrumming with anticipation, the adrenaline of emotions coursing through you all at once.

You thought he was going to say more, but instead he delved right into your pussy, making you jump and cry out.

Your hand flew to his hair, gripping it as his tongue danced through your folds. He held your hand in one of his, the other gripping your thigh with a feverish strength.

“Shit baby, just like that.” You encouraged with a whine, pulling at his hair when he teased the tip of his tongue around the hood of your clit.

“I love the taste of your pussy,” he grumbled. “Always so fucking sweet for me.”

You whimpered at the stretch of two thick fingers curling inside your pulsing heat. He mercilessly took your bundle of nerves in his mouth, sucking on it hard as he started a slow pace.

“Javi!” You cried.

He took his mouth away from you to say, “Whenever you’re ready baby. Give it to me.”

His tongue darted back out to circle your clit as his fingers moved in and out of you at a faster pace, twisting and curling them until he found that spot inside you that made you see stars.

The vulgar sounds of your juices and his slurping would’ve made anyone blush, but damn was it mouth-watering and had you pleading for more after.

“Oh fuck,” you gasped. “F-fuck papi I’m cumming!”

It two a few more flicks of his wrist and one more powerful suck for you to come undone in his mouth, shaking on top of the counter.

He moaned at the taste of your orgasm, lapping up everything you had to give him.

“So fucking good,” he groaned, pulling his fingers carefully out of you.

Javier was always a sight after eating you out. His mustache skewed and covered in your juices, hair out of place and chest heaving. It was profound, just how beautiful this man could be even in the dirtiest of ways.

“Turn around,” he instructed.

You did as he said without hesitation, pussy still quaking but ready for his thick cock.

Javier moaned at the sight of your ass in the air, cunt glistening and ready for him. You heard him slide his boxers off and pump his length – with the same fingers that had just been inside you – before you felt him lining himself up.

“Ready?” Ever the gentleman.

“Yes,” you croaked. “Fuck me, daddy. Please.”

He growled approvingly and barely gave you any other warning before thrusting into you, burying himself to the hilt in one go.

You gasped, hands flying up to the counter to balance yourself. Every nerve in your body was electrified, bouncing around like balls of fire.

He spread your ass cheeks when he finally pulled back, watching your pussy clench to keep him inside; he continued to watch as your pussy engulfed him, bringing him home.

You arched your back to take him deeper, moaning when he increased his pace. Your body bounced with each hard thrust, faster and deeper than the other before. He pulled your ass up further until you were standing on the very tips of your toes.

“I love you,” he grunted behind you, breathing labored and the grip on your hips tightening. “I love you so goddamn much. And this pussy too.”

He gave your ass a slap, eliciting a whimpered cry from you. He rubbed the already red print before hitting you again.

You were jerked back by his hand in your hair, neck open to him as he pounded into you. The coil in your stomach scalding and constricting.

“I feel you,” he grunted into the nook of your neck. “I feel that pussy gripping my cock. So fucking tight.”

There was no telling of time. Your apartment could be burning down and you wouldn’t notice with the way his dick dragged against your fluttering walls, every vein and muscle pressed against you delightfully.

Javier groped your bruised tit as the other dragged down the expanse of your stomach.

“I want to hear you fucking scream.” He snarled.

You complied as soon as he touched your clit.

“FUCK daddy I’m gonna cum!” You babbled.

“Then let me fucking hear you.”

You moaned loudly, the tip of his cockhead repeatedly hitting that soft spot inside of you with a vengeance. The lower muscles of your abdomen tightened, velvet walls pulsing and constricting.

“Javier!” You screamed.

“Cum,” he said. “Right. Now.”

It was as if you needed his permission. Your knees buckled as your release hit like a freight train, ears ringing and eyes rolling to the back of your head.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him grunt huskily. “S-shit princess, you’resofuckinggoodI’mgonnacum.”

He stuttered, his hips clapping against yours until you felt that familiar warmth fill you.

The grunts that left him as he planted his hips firmly against the planes of your ass was pure animalistic; raw and deep in his chest, and fuck you almost came again from the intensity of it.

Javier leaned against you as the both of you panted, mindful of his weight. Your legs were trembling, body hot and sweaty but so satisfied, complete; the slickness of yours and his release trailing out of your cunt and down the inside of your thighs.

You both groaned as he pulled out of you carefully, turning you around in his arms to plant a sweet kiss to your lips; you could still faintly taste yourself on him mouth.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your lips. “I promise to do better by you, Y/N.”

You looked up at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes.

“I know.”

You stood there in his arms in blissful silence, revealing in the warmth and safety of his arms.

Then suddenly, you found yourself swept off your feet – literally – arms failing to wrap around his neck as he carried you bridal style to your shared bedroom.

“I still have to make it up to you.”

 Google Translate:  Déjame mostrarte cuánto lo siento - Let me show you how sorry

Me encantan estas tetas - I love these tits

Y mio - And mine

Tags: @hystericalmedicine​, @scarlett-berserker​, @justlovetoreadfics​, @lil-baby27​, @mando-vibes​, @beepbeepyabitch, @that-void-witch​, @im-the-music-whore​, @certifiedhunter​, @softpedropascal​​, @hejahockey​, @okaydacre​, @lemongrove​, @appreciating-chase-brody, @iwontforgettheapplepie, @mybabyboytony​, @olyamoriarty, @pcrushinnerd​, @elusive-ivory​, @dizzydazed​, @bluejeancntrygrl​, @dadzawas-eyebags, @moonstruck-witchy​, @our-mrlangdon, @parody-the-emi​, @evalynanne​, @purplewaterbird​, @angel-hunter-winchester​, @tedpicklez​, @pascalisthepunkest​, @coffeeandtodd​, @blunt-cake-yes​, @agoldin​, @ben-is-a-hoe​, @snokesthrussy​, @lustriix​, @readsalot73​, @longitud-de-onda​, @weirdowithnobeardo​, @jokersdoll​

[vincess-princess]

What Is Lost, What Is Found

Chapter 5.

Word count: 4417 Warnings: alcohol consumption, addiction mention

This time Mick stayed late in the store. A bunch of records that arrived that day were damaged, and he spent hours arguing on the phone with the provider demanding to replace the order. He did succeed in it, but when he put the phone down, the sky was already dark-blue and public transport wasn’t working. One more reason to get a car, a gloomy thought crossed his mind. If those problems with the supplies continued to arise, he wouldn’t be able to save up enough to buy a car in the foreseeable future.

Then there was his, well, other problem. As stress was building up in him due to financial difficulties, he found it harder and harder to keep away from the bottle. Even if he managed to keep himself from hiding one more bottle of whiskey in the counter, he inevitably got caught by nearby bars. Every day he passed them on his way to work and on his way home, and often ended up inside with his savings all gone, wasted. The next day there was always shame and self-disgust, and a lot of promises to give up, now for good. All those promises went forgotten once a Friday came about.

This night was a Wednesday night, and Mick already craved a drink. Before, he would just give in to the craving, but now every time he saw Vince’s face in front of him. His relieved expression after Mick lied to him haunted him. You told him you had quit. The only thing you do well is lie. You are so weak.

Mick’s hands were shaking when he was counting money. He dropped a coin, and it rolled under the counter. God fucking damn.

Mick plopped down on his knees and stuck his hand under the counter to get the coin. It was just out if his reach. Now, if he managed to stick his hand a little farther-

The door of the shop opened with a loud bang, and Mick heard steps of three people coming inside. What the hell? He was sure he had put a “closed” plate on the door...

“Anyone in here?” a male voice asked. Mick tried to pull his hand from under the counter, but it stuck.

“A second!” he called, frantically trying to free his hand. Finally, he managed to get it out, grazing the skin on his knuckles in process.

“Yes?” He stood up, and his jaw went slack.

Two policemen stood in the center of the shop, and one of them was holding a boy by the shoulder. The boy’s face seemed familiar, spiky black hair and stubborn crease of the eyebrows, but Mick had to rack his brains to recognize him. He stared mindlessly at the boy for a few awkward seconds until he dug up the face in front of him in his memory.

It was Nikki, Tommy’s and Vince’s friend. Right here, in his shop, accompanied by two cops.

“Uncle Mick!” Nikki exclaimed. Mick blinked in confusion. As far as he knew, he didn’t have any nephews until this very day. “I was just grabbing some hot dogs for us and these co- gentlemen said I broke the curfew.”

“Excuse me?” he murmured, staring at Nikki. The boy stared back, tapping his foot on the floor nervously.

“Sir, this boy claims to be your nephew,” one of the cops spoke. “Is that true?”

Mick looked at the cop, then at Nikki. The boy was making big eyes at him, nodding slightly. Help me, he pronounced with his lips soundlessly. Please.

Should he help him? He was a bad influence on Tommy, didn’t let him come to his store at first and was still reluctant about it now. Vince never talked about him and when asked retreated to one-word answers, which was as far from Vince that Mick knew as possible. Mick could as well tell the cops he didn’t know him - to get rid of him. Maybe without him Tommy would- he and Vince would agree-

Oh well.

“Yeah, sure,” he said. “What, is that so late already? I might have lost the track of time.”

“It is, Mr- what’s your name?”

“Mars,” Mick said on a whim. “Oh, wait, you want my legal name. Deal, it’s Deal.”

“Mr Deal, why did you let the boy out so late? Don’t you know about the existence of a curfew for kids and teenagers?” The police officer said with barely a note of disapproval. He really didn’t care. Well, neither did Mick.

“To grab some snacks. I do, I do; I just didn’t notice it’s already too late for kids to go out. Time flies by, y’know.”

“Well, next time we will have to bring the boy to the police station and file a case. We’re ready to turn a blind eye on it now, since it’s your first offence of a kind, but we’ll have to fine you.” The cop’s face livened up when he said “fine”. Of course, Mick thought with disgust and reached into his pocket with a sigh. Cops were always the same. The boy was lucky Mick hated the police so much – definitely much more than him. He didn’t even hate him to the full meaning of the word, definitely not. Rather, he was irritated by him, which was a completely different thing.

He put three dollar bills on the counter, 50$ each. One cop approached and took them. The second raised his eyebrows, so much greediness on his fat, apathetic face Mick barely managed to hold himself from punching him in that face, just not to see it anymore. Instead, he only nodded and reached for his wallet again. The boy was observing them with interest in his eyes, successfully hiding it for the cops behind his bangs. He didn’t seem to be scared or even mildly uncomfortable at all. More than that, Mick could bet he was enjoying it to the fullest. What a motherfucker.

Mick lined three more dollar bills on the counter, and they immediately disappeared in the second cop’s pocket. Only then they released Nikki and left the shop, smiling smugly.

Mick followed them with his gaze until they were out of sight. Then he turned to Nikki and spoke:

“What the fuck that just was?”

Nikki turned his head away, avoiding Mick’s gaze. The enjoyment he had while Mick was dealing with the cops vanished immediately.

“I need to go,” he said, turning towards the door.

“No way,” Mick stood up. “If you get caught the second time, you’re absolutely gonna end up in a police station.”

“I won’t,” Nikki shook his head, his hand already on a doorknob. Still, he stopped and turned to Mick. “I need to check up on Tommy.”

“Anything wrong with him?” Mick frowned.

“We were heading to Starwood when the cops appeared.” Nikki said unwillingly. “I told Tommy to hide and ran to distract them. I need to check up on him.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Mick cut off. “I’ll go. You tell me where you left him.”

Nikki’s grip on the knob strengthened so much his knuckles went white. “I’m going with you. You don’t know all the places.”

“Listen, you-“ Mick started but had to cut the sentence off short because the kid was right. Mick wasn’t a huge partygoer, and only knew the clubs on Sunset Strip from when he used to play in them – which was pretty long ago. He never went to such places to drink - they were too crowded, chock-full with teenagers. He preferred smaller pubs near his home.

“You don’t know all the places,” Nikki added. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it worked – Mick’s stubbornness was weakening. If only there was someone else who knew Tommy better…

There was no one. Mick sighed.

“Alright. You can go. But if we come across cops, I’m talking, alright?”

Nikki just nodded.

***

“Here is where I left him,” Nikki suddenly said fifteen minutes away from the shop. The place was incredibly unremarkable. “I ran across the street, and Tommy hid behind the corner.” They peered behind the aforementioned corner, both knowing it would be useless and both doing it anyway. Tommy, of course, wasn’t there. Still, they looked at each other with disappointment.

“Why did you decide to attract the cops’ attention?” Mick asked as they were crossing the street.

“To let Tommy get away,” Nikki looked at him like he was an idiot. “Haven’t I already said that?”

Mick sighed. Fucking teenagers. “Yes, I’ve heard that. What I want to know is - why not the other way around?”

“You mean, Tommy runs and I hide?” Nikki clarified in a tone an adult would talk in to a four-year-old.

“Yes.”

“Haven’t he told you about his… situation?” Nikki raised his eyebrows.

“He told me a lot of things.”

“I mean his life situation. How he ended up on streets.”

“Ah, this,” Mick recalled the day the third shoplifter hungry for Deep Purple music appeared in his shop. The memory was accompanied with an unexpected fondness. “He told me that on the very first day, in his first few sentences he addressed to me.”

“Yeah, he does that,” the corners of Nikki’s lips curved into a smile. Mick smiled too. It was physically impossible to think about Tommy and not smile. “A big mouth, he is. Then you should understand why it’s better for me to get caught.”

“He doesn’t want to go back to the orphanage.”

“Exactly,” Nikki said. Mick tried to come up with any other option in such a case, but got nothing.

“But shouldn’t the cops bring you to your parents?” Mick asked, recalling Tommy’s stories about Nikki. There was something wrong with his parents, that’s for sure. Tommy never told him much, probably because Nikki hadn’t told him much as well. So what was that? Abuse? Alcoholism? Single parent family? Neglect?

“Parents?” Nikki grinned, but it looked more like an animal baring its teeth before an attack. “I have no parents.”

“Everyone has parents.”

“Well, I don’t anymore. Physically they are still out there, but for me they’re as good as dead.”

“Okay…” Mick looked at Nikki, but he looked strictly forward. His hair covered a good portion of his face, so his expression in the dim lights of the street was undistinguishable. There was something really fucked up between Nikki and his parents and people are always hungry to learn about fucked up things, Mick was no exception. Still, he knew for sure he wasn’t going to get an answer – Mick and Nikki weren’t on exactly friendly terms with each other, and winning Nikki’s trust would be way harder than Tommy’s or even Vince’s.

“Where are we going now?” he asked after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. Nikki kept glancing at him, thinking Mick didn’t notice. He was probably wondering why Mick would go through all the trouble. Mick was wondering about it himself. Still, he kept walking.

“I think we should check the clubs on the Strip first. The security knows us and could let him in.”

“Is it really that easy for a minor to enter an adult-oriented place?”

Nikki chuckled. “Well, not for other minors. But for us – yes.”

“What’s so unique about you three?”

“Everybody knows us,” came the short answer. One of the clubs was right across the street, and Nikki pointed at it. “Here, that’s Starwood. Are you going in with me?”

***

Upon entering the place they met a security guard who looked over Mick with suspicion and nodded to Nikki. As a “responsible adult”, Mick should probably be condemning such violations of the law. But he was never on good terms with the law in general and the government in particular, and, to be honest, hadn’t he done exactly the same when he was fifteen?

Once they were inside, Nikki headed directly towards the bar. The club was stuffy, full of people dancing, kissing and drinking, with some garage band performing on the background. Mick tried to listen, but quickly realized that the guitarist was probably holding the guitar for the first time in his short life, and lost interest.

The bar was a way more interesting place. Mick strained his eyes, trying to find Tommy in the crowd, but to no avail. He turned to Nikki to ask whether he could recognize him in the crowd and discovered that he was already sitting on a bar stool sipping a beer.

Mick sat down on a bar stool next to Nikki. “Weren’t we looking for Tommy?” he murmured indignantly, trying to fix his gaze on Nikki’s face instead of the glass of amazingly cold beer in his hands. How could the kid tease him like that? Of course, he didn’t know Mick had been trying to quit. But it didn’t justify it!

“We are,” Nikki waved to the bartender. “Hey, Tony!” he shouted as the bartender approached them. “Have you seen Tommy over here in the last hour or two?”

“No,” Tony shook his head. “Is your, hm, friend ordering anything?”

“No, no, I’m not,” Mick shook his head.

“You sure?” the bartender raised his eyebrow. “People don’t go to clubs just because.”

“I’m still surprised I’m here,” Mick muttered, sending Nikki a murderous gaze. Nikki kept drinking his beer as though he didn’t notice it, though Mick was pretty sure he did. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be Nikki.

Once Nikki finished his beer Mick touched him by the shoulder. “So, are we going to search for Tommy, or you’d rather have fun here?”

“Oh, come on,” Nikki rolled his eyes. “It’s just one glass. I was thirsty.”

Mick only shook his head and got up. He had no power over Nikki, and it wasn’t his job to better him. He was just disappointed. He thought better of him. In Tommy’s stories he was always a hero. But Tommy was so blinded by Nikki’s lone wolf appeal that he couldn’t see his friend’s negative sides.

Nikki watched him getting up and moving the chair back under the counter with an unreadable expression. For a second, Mick thought he would stay. But then Nikki got up as well.

“Okay, okay, let’s go,” Nikki put money on the counter and headed towards the door.

The next club they went to Nikki decided not to go in, to Mick’s relief. He just shook hands with the security guard at the door and asked him something. Mick knew the guard would shake his head even before he actually did it. Mick’s anxiety for Tommy kept growing. What if the kid had been arrested and was now at the police station? How were they going to get him out, especially now that he had no legal guardian? Mick could pretend to be his uncle in front of only two not very meticulous cops in his own shop, but at the police station he would have to prove it.

“Nothing?” he asked when Nikki returned. The kid just shook his head.

The next club, apparently, had some relatively famous band playing tonight: the line of mostly teenagers stretched out across the street.

“We’re not going to stay in this line, are we?” Mick asked Nikki, dreading the answer. If they had to stay in the line they would lose too much time. More than that, Mick didn’t feel confident surrounded by so many teenagers. It was their place and their time: Mick didn’t belong in it.

“Nah,” Nikki shook his head. “I’m just gonna go ask the guard. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“I hope so,” Mick murmured, following Nikki with his gaze as the kid found his way through the line, eliciting a few angry calls from the teenagers. Mick leaned against the wall a little away from them, feeling uncomfortable under the gazes of so many teenagers. Someone in the line laughed, and Mick flinched. They weren’t laughing at him, were they?..

Well, that was just stupid, he berated himself. He had as much right to stay here as any of the kids in the line. And since when did he care about what some dumb kids think of him?..

When Nikki returned, he shook his head again silently. Mick sighed. The hope to find Tommy was getting thinner and thinner. And if they wouldn’t find him, how was he going to sleep at night knowing Tommy was in danger?

“They have London playing over there,” Nikki suddenly said as they headed to the next club. It was a little farther away, adding a few minutes of walking. “I used to be their bassist.”

“Got kicked out?”

“Sorta. I got my bass stolen, and didn’t have enough money to buy a new one.”

“It’s a pretty expensive instrument. How did you get it in the first place?”

“Stole it,” Nikki giggled. “Went into a shop with an empty guitar case, and as the shop assistant was searching in the back, I just took the guitar, put it in the case and left.”

Mick glanced at him quickly. “It’s karma. You had stolen the bass and then someone stole it from you too. What else did you expect?”

“Bullshit,” Nikki waved his hand. “I just hope someone steals my bass from that jerk as well.”

Mick smiled. Nikki was more of a kid than he and Nikki himself imagined. And it was reassuring, in a way. Nikki could act like he’s all grown up, but underneath this façade he was still a kid.

The rest of the way they walked in silence. As they neared the last bar – Whiskey, Mick recalled, he used to play there from time to time, - Nikki pointed at it.

“You sure you don’t want to have a drink? Here they’re making good Bloody Marys.

“I’m not drinking,” Mick refused almost confidently. Almost. “Haven’t Vince told you yet? I quit.”

“We don’t speak much now,” Nikki said, frowning. “He’s always at his boyfriend’s, and I don’t like him.”

“Vince or boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend, of course,” Nikki curved his lips in disgust. “Vince’s always picking older guys, and as for me, they’re just using him for sex. But he doesn’t want to listen to me. And his boyfriends always hate me, I don’t know why.”

Mick just nodded. As for him, it was perfectly reasonable why. A mere mention of Vince’s boyfriends got Nikki so agitated it was clear it wasn’t just a nuisance for him. But Mick sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Nikki about that.

Of course, there was no Tommy in Whiskey. Nikki didn’t have to tell Mick: just seeing him in the doorframe, alone, was enough. They both turned around and headed back without a word. Mick kept glancing at Nikki, waiting for “well, I gotta go”, but Nikki was silent. He was silent as they crossed the street and approached Mick’s store. He was silent as Mick opened the door.

“Would you like to, um, stay the night?” Mick finally gained enough courage to ask, tired of the heavy silence between them. He was more nervous now than he was asking his first girlfriend out.

“Okay,” Nikki shrugged. Mick felt his knees weakening. Okay? That was it?! “Not that I have any other place to go.”

Mick inhaled slowly. All the “paranoid junkie” bullshit Tommy was talking about (or, rather, the conclusions Mick drew from his words) made him think Nikki would never agree to come to his shop in person, let alone ask for help and stay the night. Maybe Tommy exaggerated a little. Nikki was wary, yes, but not outright hostile.

“And where were you going to sleep this night then?” Mick finally asked, recalling the “no place to go” part.

“I haven’t thought of it yet. I prefer to focus on the present.”

“I have only one sofa, by the way.” Mick told him, smiling at the confidence the kid said it with. “Someone is gonna have to sleep on the floor.”

“No problem,” Nikki shook his head. “I had it worse. Do you have something to eat, by the way? I’m starving.”

“Say no more,” Mick found a bag of chips in the counter and handed it to Nikki. “As a responsible adult I’ve got to warn you that it’s not healthy and nutritious,” he then fished a half-finished bottle of coke out of the counter and immediately closed the door so that Nikki wouldn’t see all the empty whiskey and vodka bottles lying in it.

“Enjoy,” Mick turned the key in the lock, making sure it was closed. With a person such as Nikki, one could expect anything. Not that he didn’t trust the boy, not really. But money is money.

“Thamks,” Nikki slurred, his mouth already full. “I don’t like your responsible adult mode,” he said once he swallowed and could speak clearly. “Don’t you want to just have some fun sometimes? Go to a bar, get shitfaced, get laid? What do you even do for fun, count your taxes?”

“That was rude,” Mick commented, actually trying not to laugh. He also once had that sex, drugs and rock’n’roll mindset. Until he ran out of money. “Be careful with accident hook-ups, kid, or you will end up like me.”

“What, an independent business owner in the center of LA?” Nikki raised an eyebrow. “Sounds alright to me.”

Mick laughed. “Up to your ears in alimony!”

“Oh,” Nikki said thoughtfully and reached for more chips. “I didn’t know you have kids.”

“We’re talking for the first time since the day I caught you,” Mick reminded. Nikki winced at these words. “I would be more surprised if you did. But, knowing Tommy…”

“Yeah, he tells me everything,” Nikki nodded. “And I’ve heard nothing about them from him. How old are they?”

“Eight and five. They live with their mother.”

“Do you see them often?”

Mick sighed. “No. Can we drop the topic?”

“Sure,” Nikki just put a handful of chips in his mouth and the phrase sounded muffled. “But it’s a pity, really,” he added when his mouth was empty again.

“It is,” Mick murmured. He needed to put an end to this conversation immediately. “Now, isn’t it bedtime?”

“Oh, come on,” Nikki waved his hand. “Turn off that responsible adult mode. Do you maybe by any chance have some whiskey?”

“Bed,” Mick pointed at the backroom and frowned, more for a laugh.

“Okay, mom,” Nikki rolled his eyes, but got up and headed to the backroom. “I can sleep on the floor, but I get a blanket then, alright?”

“Sure, it’s fair,” Mick agreed. The perspective of sleeping on the sofa without a blanket wasn’t very attractive, but sleeping on the floor would fuck up his spine for a long time coming. He checked the lock on the door and followed Nikki to the backroom. It wasn’t the first time he stayed the night at work, but it was the first time he had a roommate. He only hoped Nikki wouldn’t snore.

Meanwhile, Nikki had already put the blanket on the floor and settled on it.

“Good night,” Mick told him as he lay down on the sofa.

Nikki looked surprised. “Good night, I guess. And… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Nikki fell asleep quickly, but Mick stayed awake for a long time, tormented by the pain in his back. It obviously didn’t like his midnight walk around the city. He checked up on Nikki every now and then, amazed at how peaceful he looked while sleeping. It was like all his concerns that left their trace on his face during the day disappeared during the night. A kid of his age shouldn’t have so many concerns, Mick thought. Teenagehood is a time for bad marks, hanging out with friends till sunrise, first crushes, and definitely not a time of thinking where to spend a night and how to survive the next day. Anger washed over Mick, making him clench his fists as he kept looking at Nikki peacefully snoring, clutching his backpack even in his sleep. Whoever did this to Nikki didn’t deserve to have kids at all, let alone take care of them. Nikki deserved better.

Mick couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, recalling the day again and again, every move, every word. He was pretty sure this wasn’t the first time Nikki broke the law. Staying in a police station for a night would have been just another nuisance for him, not a life-changing situation. So after all Mick had heard from Tommy about Nikki he least of all expected Nikki to need help – his help, of all people. They’d never even talked before. Why did he do it then? It was weird, and from the image Mick had in his head based on Tommy’s stories and what he saw today, not at all Nikki-like.

On the other hand, he didn’t know Nikki all that well. Who knew what was going on in that head of his?

There was one thing, however, that Mick was sure about. Nikki would come back. One day or another, but he would. Not after what happened today.

***

Mick woke up from energetic banging on the door. He looked at the clock. Well, no doubt he overslept – it was almost an hour after he was supposed to open the shop. Still, what kind of customer would actually bang on the door of a closed shop?

Of course it weren’t customers. It were Tommy and Vince.

When Mick saw them, he wanted to both hug and kill them. Now it was clear that Tommy went over to sleep at Vince’s. What’s more, it was perfectly logical. Why didn’t they even think about it yesterday?

“Hey, Mick! …why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m gonna murder you one day,” Nikki promised solemnly from behind Mick’s back. He had probably also been woken up by the banging.

“I love you too,” Tommy grinned. “Can I know why?”

“Where the fuck did you go last night? We walked round the entire neighborhood!”

“We?..” Tommy looked at Mick questioningly.

“I’m not ready for this,” Mick waved his hand and stepped to the side. “Nikki, you tell them.”

“Oh, I will,” Nikki promised gravely. Mick retreated to the backroom, sprawled on the couch and closed his eyes, listening to indistinguishable voices from the store.

As though a weight had been lifted off Mick’s shoulders when he saw Tommy alive and well. Why did he even care so much?

[babywarg]

Drpepperony Prompt: Tony may have forgotten to tell Pepper that Stephen was moving in.

Hi anon! This got...a little racier than I intended. Just a little XD I hope you like!

***

She used to ask herself what Tony saw in the new guy.

He was thin. Way too thin. Lean and well-muscled, sure, but Pepper used to think she preferred her men with more heft.

(And for a time, she fancied that Tony preferred his men that way, too.)

Maybe it was his brain? But there were plenty of smart people in the world. Few smarter than Tony, though, and she had to admit, this guy could give Tony a run for his money...

His snark? ...Okay, that was likely. He didn’t always activate it, just when he was getting attitude from someone else first. And Pepper had to admit it was nice, having someone around who could turn the sass on and off.

In fact, it was overall nice to have him around. He mostly kept to himself, but his very presence made a place feel...safe, in a way that didn’t really make sense to her.

And if he was in other people’s company - only Pepper and Tony, really, since it was their house - he would latch on to them, ask after their day, how he could help with anything. As if other people were his lifeline out of the chaos of his thoughts.

It was like he came into their house and established himself quietly, painlessly, filled a space Pepper had not even known was there.

***

Pepper could remember being majorly ticked, when Tony brought him home. Sure, she and Tony hadn’t placed a label on what they had between them, hadn’t committed to monogamy or anything so cliché...

But bringing home a handsome stranger and imposing him on her personal space, on her schedule, was a whole other ball game.

Tony had apologized profusely for forgetting to tell her, and tried to convince her that Stephen was staying with them simply because of “Avengers business.” But Pepper was no fool.

She could sense the attraction between the two men.  It was in their body language, the looks they traded, the easy way they regarded each other: the way Tony, who was normally averse to being touched by strangers, didn’t mind being touched by this man - and in the way this man, who seemed to regard everyone else on earth with an air of superiority, seemed to relax and even act as if Tony was his equal.

When she tried talking to Tony about it, the best she got was an admission that yes, he was somewhat attracted to the new guy, and yes that might have been a factor in him bringing the new guy home...but he was never, ever going to act on what he felt.

He swore. He swore so passionately, so sincerely, that she decided to believe him.

She remembered feeling a bit hurt, in the beginning. Hurt and betrayed. And thinking of leaving, so that Tony could figure out what (and who) really mattered to him.

But Tony’s behavior toward her never changed. Not in the slightest. He was still obnoxious, and hilarious, and clingy, and romantic in all the weirdest ways.

Which led her to ask herself: if Tony’s feelings toward her hadn’t changed, was it really worth it to give up everything they had, just because of one new guy?

***

The only problem was that this “one new guy” messed with her convictions.

More than being unobtrusive, he actually proved himself pleasant to have around. For one thing, she finally had someone to gripe to about Tony.

At the start, he only listened. But as time drew on, he started to smile familiarly. “Oh, yeah, that’s him,” he would say, with a note of fondness + exasperation that Pepper sometimes recognized in her own voice.

(Did he get it from her? Or was it always there?)

She also noticed that he sometimes stared at her. And dropped his gaze immediately when he saw her looking. Sometimes cleared his throat in an attempt to be respectful.

It was...cute.

So maybe she had started wearing sleeveless shirts and short shorts around the house, when he was there. So he had something to look at.

And maybe she noticed that he had started hanging around her more often, wearing tiny, tight shirts that showed off his lovely biceps (too bad he kept away from Tony’s closet, especially the shirts that had diamond-shaped cleavage windows - she loved those), volunteering to do more chores and making increasingly daring offers...like massages, and by the way, “tantric massage doesn’t need the steadiest hands, if you’re familiar with alternative ways of doing it.”

At first, she knew, he hid his scarred hands from her. Now he displayed them openly. The way he did with Tony.

And he started looking at her the way he did at Tony - with a level stare that was somehow both wary and predatory, lustful and shy.

She realized: maybe she was starting to see what Tony saw in him.

And then, she told herself, screw that.

She was starting to like him on her own.

He was sexy as hell.

***

Pepper might have underestimated how deeply the new guy had gotten under her skin. For one thing, she was surprised to find that she had stopped calling him “new guy” in her head.

He was Stephen.

Stephen motherfucking Strange, with the eyes and the hair and the voice and -

The very thought of him getting her wet.

One should not take it the wrong way, of course. Tony still occupied her thoughts.

But this guy...

Tony was a staple part of her fantasies. But now that Stephen had infiltrated her thoughts, too, she couldn’t stop herself from fantasizing about having them both.

At once. Or sometimes, just having them together. With her to watch.

Feeling weird about it had long gone out of style.

So when she caught them speaking to each other, she stayed quietly in the sidelines first, hoping they could work it out between themselves.

“She’s everything to me,” she overheard Tony saying. “But I’m worried she’s reacting badly to you, and -- “

“She’s not reacting badly to me.” Stephen sounded sure, and she silently thanked him for it.

“Excuse me,” Tony answered, sounding indignant, “but I’ve known her for much longer, and I think I can tell when she’s being uncomfortable.”

Uncomfortable? Pepper thought indignantly. Do I look uncomfortable, you clueless -

“Tony,” she heard Stephen say gently, “you don’t need to say anything more. I’ll go.”

Oh, that was it.

She cleared her throat. Both Stephen and Tony started. Were they really so into each other, that they didn’t notice her?

“Sorry for eavesdropping,” she said, without being sorry in the least, “but I think you boys might be overthinking things here...”

“Pep?!” Tony exclaimed. His eyes were huge. His breath was threatening to not leave his lungs.

“Tony,” she accosted. “Are you telling me you’ve really never done anything with Stephen?”

“Never,” he answered with desperate speed, the playfulness in her voice flying right over his head. “Fuck, Pep, you know I love you. More than anything.”

But you love him, too, Pepper said in her mind. Guess what, Mr. Stark...?

She stepped up close to them. First, kissed Tony on the lips. Exactly as he liked it, exactly as she knew how.

He moaned against her. That was all she wanted. Then she moved over to Stephen.

Stephen’s eyes went wide as well. Wow, she would’ve thought they were both smart enough to have foreseen this.

She pressed up close to him, and slowly, carefully touched their lips together.

You brought exactly what we need home to me.

Pepper stepped away, finally leaving Stephen space to breathe (if he could only remember how!).

Then she looked at the bewildered, clearly-turned-on Tony, smirked suggestively.

And asked him, “Are you by any chance thinking of doing something with him now?”

[danetobelieve]

What’s black and white and bled all over? || Orion, Ricky and Winston

Winston hated life right now. It wasn’t that they had a hard life usually. Really they had a pretty sweet deal. But all they had wanted to do was get burgers with their friends and enjoy themselves. So as they stepped out of the car and spotted a mime version of themself and what looked like a mime version of Ricky, they couldn’t help but swallow nervously. “That’s not good news…” they looked at Ricky who was in the passenger seat and behind him Rio, “they’ve just been following us around everywhere so far, I think we’re okay to get burgers right? There’s three of us and only two of them….” Why did Rio get to avoid his mime-ganger when Winston and Ricky were forced to confront them head one. This wasn’t fair. They didn’t want to have to pretend their mime copy wasn’t currently sat in the car park of Al’s. 

“I just wanted a burger. One fucking burger… okay maybe two burgers because I skipped lunch but I just wanted burgers. And fries. What I didn’t want to see that motherfucker in a dark parking lot.” Ricky carefully exited the car and moved to stand next to, if slightly in front of, Winston, “There’re three of us and two of them but I’m not entirely convinced they’re not magical in some way which is what’s scary to me because I definitely know my parents didn’t have any other kids so the fact that there’s a mime twin of me means some fuckery is afoot.” He started to move cautiously towards the door of the restaurant, watching their mime-twins as he moved, “Maybe they won’t follow us in the restaurant? I mean it’s bright and well lit and maybe they don’t like crowds? We can hope? I don’t know. I’ve never had to deal with this before.” 

Orion was starving and had really been looking forward to lunch. At least, he had been. Until they pulled into the parking lot and saw those… things. He didn’t know how to describe them. He had thought Erin had just been playing a trick on him before. Until… well until he ran into the real Erin. And then when he was with Blanche also. Whatever those things were, it wasn’t human. And he hadn’t quite gotten around to mentioning them to Winston or Ricky. Despite it all… it seemed a little unbelievable. Besides, Ricky and Rio hadn’t exactly had that talk yet. About the supernatural. He climbed out of the car with Ricky and Winston, though he didn’t exactly want to. “Hey uh… so now is probably the best time to mention that I ran into one of these earlier this week.” He scratched at the back of his head nervously, deciding which parts to mention. The part where it had super strength, just like Rio himself? Or maybe the part where he murdered it and it… evaporated? What exactly had happened to it? “And it may or may not have tried to kill Blanche and I. So… uh- Maybe we should just eat somewhere else?”

Looking around, Winston decided that they were too hangry to deal with this bullshit, and yet as they conversed amongst themselves Winston noticed that the mimes were also mimicking their conversation. Their mouths moving exactly the same way as Ricky and Winston’s without any sound escaping. “Rio, next time you almost get murdered by something with Blanche please tell us, it usually comes back to bite us in the ass.” They laughed and looked back to the front of the restaurant. So close. But so far. “I don’t know if they’re going to let us go in and I don’t think that going somewhere else is going to stop them from following us or from just reappearing. Either way, I don’t think we can get away from them…” Winston looked at their mime who looked back at them with worrying intensity. “Any suggestions?” Winston’s mime moved on their own, without Winston moving first. It didn’t look away or move, it just took a slow, deliberate step forward.

“I love that girl but I swear every time something weird or creepy happens she’s always got a finger in the pie, as it were.” Ricky kept one eye firmly on the doppelgangers that were mimicking their every move, down to mouthing the same words that they were in the conversation. Which was when he noticed that his doppelganger was the same as him physically in every way; down to the (horrifyingly) black and white striped fangs that were revealed every time it opened its mouth to mimic his speech. He quickly clamped his mouth shut and turned his back to Rio, surreptitiously pointing at his mouth and then at the mime hoping Winston would get the message. He’d been about make some flippant comment about their enemies when the Winston Mime took a slow and unerring step towards them, “Oh that’s not good. That’s so not good. Rio… stay behind us. We should back slowly towards the car and get the fuck out of here.” 

“She’s… just unique.” Orion shrugged. It was true, she did somehow end up involved in everything. She had really become something of a social butterfly. Big change from high school. The Winston mime took a step towards the three and Rio instinctively jumped backwards. It was just a small step, and yet knowing what he knew, it was so terrifying. So far, their versions of the mimes seemed a bit less… murdery than Blanche and Rio’s. But they were also still a while away. Rio heard Ricky tell him to stand behind them and considered whether or not he should listen. Physically, Rio was the strongest of the three, though that didn’t speak much to his ability to protect them. Rio had almost gotten sick when he had killed his mime, and he and Blanche had cried about it. He followed Ricky’s advice, moving towards the car and reaching for the door handle, pulling at it feebly, the door unmoving. “Um… did you lock the door? It won’t open.”

“I won’t hear any shit talking about Blanche, it’s not her fault she’s got a heart the size of a house and all the bad luck of Kansas.” Winston jested of course, there were few people who were less likely to genuinely badmouth their friend then the three of them. Winston noticed the fangs and caught the look and gesture that Ricky shot his way. Winston had been hoping that it wouldn’t mean that their mime was the same, but then the door was locked and Winston knew exactly what was going on. “No, I definitely did not lock the door.” The central locking on their car had gone a long time ago and what did you know it, Winston had had the good fortune of leaving their keys in the car. Great. “I guess we have no choice but to …” looking around frantically they tried to think of an option but the mimes were heading towards them and they weren’t far away now. “Rio, try and stay out of the way I guess, there’s no point running… uh, you’ll see why.” Pulling their jacket off, Winston set it gingerly on the hood of the car. “I really didn’t want this to be the way I first did this.” Winston whined as they saw the other mime’s hands flicker and spark. It didn’t take it long to conjure this into a ball of fire and hurl it their way. “Move!” Winston shouted, tackling Rio to the ground. 

“Oh nobody here is talking shit about Blanche. I’d go to fucking war for Blanche. But she also does manage to find herself in the center of any and all weird supernatural shit in this town. Like literally all of it. I think it’s because she’s friends with literally everyone and everything.” Rio’s comment about the door made Ricky wonder exactly how similar their clones were because if Winston’s clone had the same level of magical ability that the real Winston had this could be incredibly dangerous. “Do you think they’ve got…” the rest of his sentence though was cut off by Mime Winston conjuring a ball of fire and tossing it directly at them, “Well that answers that question.” He looked at his own clone stalking slowly toward them, fangs bared sinisterly, “I THINK THIS RELATIONSHIP HAS A LOT OF POTENTIAL AND WE SHOULD SIT DOWN AND TALK ABOUT WHERE THIS IS GOING. WHAT ARE WE? I THINK THIS COULD REALLY BE TRUE LOVE!!” His clone faltered in its tracks at this and Ricky couldn’t help but laugh a little “That probably says nothing good about me but that is a little bit funny at least” It quickly recovered from the existential terror of a committed relationship and continued moving towards them. “Fuck. This isn’t how I wanted to do this either.” he slid his false teeth out of his mouth and into the pocket of his jacket, baring his own fangs as the mime headed towards them, “You gotta take care of Magic Mike over there but I’ll try to take down Ricky 2.0.” He lowered his shoulder and charged, aiming for ribs that he hoped were as injured as his own were. 

Was that… fire? Orion tilted his head curiously as the magic seemed to appear from nowhere, and also moved closer and closer to them. He felt someone tackle into the side of him and the next thing he knew, Winston and Rio were on the pavement, Winston flattening Rio against the ground. “Woah. Thanks.” Rio muttered, lying there for a few moments as the gears in his head turned. There was a long moment of confusion as he finished the puzzle in his brain. Mime Rio had super strength. Rio had super strength. Blanche’s mime didn’t have super strength. Rio’s mime didn’t have fire powers. Winston’s mime did have fire powers. Which meant… “Holy crap.” Rio gasped, interrupted by Ricky’s yelling. Rio slid back onto his feet and watched Ricky take his… teeth out? Fake teeth. Right. In any other moment, Rio would be incredibly excited that he had been right. But they had other things to worry about at this exact moment, like Winston’s silent but deadly doppelgangar. “Just a heads up… these things aren’t human.” He began, realizing that that wasn’t exactly what he meant. “Or well.. Not that. The human part doesn’t matter. But they’re… not normal. When they die they sorta… poof into darkness.” It was the only thing that had let Rio get over the fact that he had killed it. Knowing it was some kind of demonic illusion or something was comforting.

“You’re welcome, and yeah, holy crap, you’re, I mean, I - this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out about this,” Winston popped up to their feet and summoned as much energy as they could muster. If this thing was them that meant that they could do the same thing right? So Winston just had to be smarter then themselves? That couldn’t be hard right? RIGHT? Winston looked as the flames sputtered out on the pavement and tried to think of something smart to do. But there wasn’t really all that many options. Winston looked around for something, for anything. Their mime was stood next to a car, which was probably as good as this was going to get. Focussing on the windscreen, Winston forced it to shatter, the chunks of glass shooting towards Magic Mime who had just conjured another fireball and prepare to hurl it in Rio’s direction. The glass seemed to shatter into smaller pieces as it approached Winston, but they focussed, forcing the panes towards them as they felt the energy pour out of them. They could do this, if they kept them busy then Winston Mime couldn’t hurt Rio. “Wait, you’ve already killed yours?” Winston felt sweat trickle down their brow, “Any tips?” 

Ricky had a moment of intense pride when he saw Winston, his Winston not the fucking freak in mime makeup, turn a car windshield into a magical shrapnel grenade. The moment however was short lived as his shoulder collided with his own mime clone, sending them both to the ground. Of course, since this was his cursed existence now, his mime made no noise to indicate whether or not Ricky had his freshly healed ribs with his shoulder, but the look of rage and pain that skittered across his face made him think he had, “Jesus we’ve all had the fantasy about fooling around with our clone but this is definitely not how I saw it going.” His moment of glib quippery was quickly cut short as his clone buried fangs into his shoulder “Fucking shit!” He attempted to roll away but Mime Ricky had a far firmer grip with his fangs than Real Ricky would have preferred. “I didn’t know these things were so fucking sharp!” He kneed the clone quickly in the groin, wincing with sympathetic pain but scurrying backwards as the mime released its fangs. “I didn’t wanna have to knee you in my balls but you didn’t give me much of a choice.” The mime started to stalk slowly towards him and Ricky took a low stance, “Winston. You good? I saw the windshield thing. That was dope. Rio? You good? Anybody have a gun?” 

“Uh I think they die like anyone else does, at least mine wasn’t especially hardy.” Orion shrugged, trying not to dwell too much on the feeling Rio had when that mime died. It hadn’t been a great feeling. But he was a bit less horrified once he realized that the things weren’t exactly… living. He stood between Ricky, in a full on fist fight with his mime clone and Winston, having some kind of mental magic standoff with his clone. All while Rio was standing there, doing nothing. Helpless and useless as per usual. He saw Winston’s mime preparing something else when the windshield by it shattered. Orion recoiled back before realizing that it had been the real Winston that had done it. Jesus that was cool. He couldn’t just stand here, watching them as their mimes tried to kill them, right? But from back here, what could he do? “Uh… I’m okay, all things considered. Please focus on your mime and not us.” He tried for a nervous laugh and held a thumbs up out to Ricky. “I don’t own a gun.” He stated as if this should be obvious. “Stay here. Keep them focused on your magic.” Rio said, finally forcing himself to move, staying low and practically crawling on all fours across the parking lot and closer to the restaurant. Maybe he could sneak up behind the mime like he had with his own, when it was trying to kill Blanche. Clearly, he was not being as sneaky as he thought he was, because Winston’s mime turned towards Rio and started conjuring up another fireball. “Oh god.” Rio mumbled, realizing that he was stuck between the building and a parked car. With nowhere else to go, he did the only thing he could think to do, he dove for the window. He crashed through the window just as the fireball crashed into him, tumbling over one of the booths and crashing into a mess of broken glass on the restaurant’s floor. His back ached against the broken glass and his side stung, “Ow.”

As Ricky did his best to keep his mime-ganger busy, Winston felt their energy all but pour from them. Their shrapnel bomb was a good idea, one that they were rather pleased with. But their mime didn’t have all that much trouble dealing with it. The glass shattered against an invisible barrier with a shattering cacophony that Winston would never have been able to imagine. Sweat poured from their body and their shirt clung to their skin, it was already damp from the perspiration and Winston could feel the material stick to their back as they released their latest spell and the remnants of the wind shield disappeared. Winston took a moment to breath but spotted the fireball a moment too late. It hurtled towards Orion, and might well have hit their friend as they went through the window of the restaurant, but Winston managed to deflect the bolt of fire a little, not much, but it didn’t kill anyone and although the customers in Al’s were already scattering via the fire exits, Winston didn’t exactly have time to think as mime Winston started chanting something in Latin. Winston didn’t need to know what they were planning to know that they had to deal with it now. The Latin words for death and decay had been said a total of three times. “Can’t talk gotta counter spell this shit,” Winston snapped to their friends as they spotted Rio, but they couldn’t stop chanting and they couldn’t allow the mime Winston to complete this ritual. 

Several things happened in quick succession that Ricky wasn’t necessarily the most thrilled about; firstly MimeWinston knocked Rio through the window of Al’s with a fireball and while Rio seemed fine, it wasn’t really how this was supposed to go. Secondly MimeWinston started chanting in Latin, which was nice for breaking the eerie silence of the whole mime routine but was concerning in that Ricky had seen enough horror movies to know where this was going. Thirdly… Mime Ricky appeared to have produced a knife from inside his incredibly tacky outfit and had changed his tack to head towards Winston, theoretically to attempt to stop his counterspell. “Not my fucking brother you stripey fuck.” Ricky picked himself up off the ground, ignoring the blood pouring from his shoulder and charged his clone once again; tackling him around the knees and sending him crashing to the ground, “White… and… black… stripes...are… not… our… color… scheme…” Each word of his diatribe was punctuated with as hard a punch as he could manage, at the very least trying to keep his clone distracted “RIO! ARE YOU STILL ALIVE?!” the knife slashed for him and he rolled away at the last possible moment, “Are we gonna have to kill these things to stop this? Not that I’m against a very literal manifestation of kill your demons but I don’t think my therapist has any openings this week to talk me through this.” His mime snarled at him, licking his blood off of its fangs, “Oh that’s just gross. Come on dude, do us a little credit here. You’re making me look bad.” 

Orion laid on the floor of the restaurant for what felt like forever, not wanting to put his body through the strain of standing back up. But finally, after a deep breath and an internal conversation with himself while he stared at the ceiling, his body began to stir and he grabbed onto the booth’s table to help hoist himself up onto his knees. His body felt hot, which probably had something to do with the fireball that had come way too close to hitting him. He glanced down to find the side of his sweater completely singed, a reminder that it apparently had hit him. He glanced out of the window to find that Mime Ricky now had a knife that he was trying to take Ricky out with. And Winston was in a full on chant battle with their mime. Rio guessed that the whole silence thing didn’t seem to matter when it came to dead languages. Rio didn’t know what the spell was supposed to do, but he did know latin. And he knew that those words couldn’t mean anything good. He began pushing himself up onto his feet when a stabbing pain shot through his body. He glanced down to find a shard of glass protruding from his leg. “Oh. Great.” He took a deep breath, grabbing at the glass and pulling it from his leg with a yelp. “Ow, ow, ow.” He kept repeating to himself, raising his arms in a thumbs up towards Winston and Ricky. His sleeve may have been burnt, but at least it still covered his arms. He needed to find a weapon.

Were mimes supposed to chant? Winston was confused at why the thought struck them at that very moment but they were determined to finish their chant first. In reality they finished at the same time. Winston was drenched in sweat now, their bones felt like they were made out of lead and Winston wasn’t convinced that they would have been able to stand up if they weren’t already braced in place. They felt light headed. There was a flicker of sparks around the other mime who looked like they were in an equally precarious predicament and then light leaped from both of them and collided, whirling together for a second before blinking out of existence. Winston was not best pleased by the fact that what remained of their scant energy in that moment drained from their body. They felt faint, the pavement rushed up to meet them and Winston fell to the floor with a fairly visceral crunch. Pain exploded along their left side as their shoulder scraped the concrete and their vision swum in and out. Was this what Morgan and Nell had meant when they’d mentioned that magic could take too much from you? Had they taken it too far?

As far as trips out for burgers went this was probably the worst time Ricky had ever had. He looked up from his narcissists wet dream of tussling with his mime clone to see Winston hit the deck; whether from injury or exhaustion it was unclear “RIO!” Ricky shouted through the shattered window to the restaurant, tackling his clone as they once again tried to go for Winston. “Leave them the fuck alone!” he grunted as they hit the ground once more and Ricky felt a white hot pain lance through his thigh as the knife finally found purchase. “RIO. YOU GOTTA COVER WINSTON.” His mime scrabbled for purchase as he and the true Ricky rolled around on the ground, before Ricky managed to get ahold of the curly brown hair he loved so much. Yanking back as hard as he could he exposed his snarling clone’s throat and the pale black and white stripped skin “There is room for exactly one fucking Ricky Cordero on earth and it ain’t the fucking mime version.” His sharp fangs found purchase easily enough as he bit into the mime’s throat and ripped it out in a great gout of some disgusting tar-like substance. “Burn in mime hell you mute french fuck.” He spit the tar out of his mouth and pulled the knife from his leg, limping towards his fallen roommate “We gotta go!” 

Orion limped towards the counter of the new abandoned restaurant. He heard Ricky screaming his name from outside, and limped faster, the fresh wound from the glass still hurting. A good night’s sleep would mostly take away any of the limp, but the wound would probably scar if the glass went too deep. But that wasn’t important right now. He limped behind the counter and started scrounging around, finally settling once he got hold of a steak knife. He turned and bee lined it for the entrance. Pushing out of the door just in time for Ricky to spit some gross black liquid out of his mouth. Gross, but it must have meant that his mime had been taken care of. Which just left Winston’s. Both Winston and their mime seemed to be completely exhausted, whatever spell the two had been working on had done a number on both of them. Rio didn’t waste any time, he stalked up to the crumpled mime and fell on his knees besides it, plunging the heart into the mime’s chest. A few seconds later it exploded in a cloud of black and white striped smoke. Not human, not human, not human. That thing had to die. He pushed himself back onto his feet and jogged over towards Ricky and Winston, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. Orion wasn’t much for PDA. In fact, he wasn’t really comfortable with any form of intimacy in most cases, so it surprised even him when he got to Ricky and wrapped him into a hug first thing, “Holy crap! That was horrifying! And also really cool. Later we totally have to talk about the Selkie thing. Please don’t get that gross slime stuff on me.” Rio laughed, jerking away from Ricky and the gross liquid on his mouth. He swooped down to help Winston up, taking the chance to wrap them into a hug too, “I’m really glad none of us died. You’re amazing.” He took the opportunity to help Winston backup to their feet. Clearly, Winston was too exhausted to do anything at the moment, and Ricky looked like his leg might be hurt pretty bad too. But they would figure that out after this. “So uh… Guess this means I’m driving home then?”

It all happened in a blur, Winston couldn’t imagine what on Earth was going on but they could vaguely see Ricky and their mime scuffling then they moved out of view and Ricky came out wiping something dark from their mouth. Their head was spinning, everything seemed to throb and pulse and Winston gasped down several gulps of air. Suddenly Rio was by their side and hugging them. Almost delirious with exhaustion Winston clung to Orion still squinting at where their mime-ganger had lain, now there was just a weird smoke drifting away. Winston could’ve sworn that they were hallucinating but was it black and white? “Fuck, you guys were great, fuck has anyone got like anything to eat, I am fucking starving …” Winston looked over at the ruined restaurant and sighed, “fuck I guess we can’t eat there.” They tried to stand but faltered, leaning on Orion for support. “Please, take the keys, we’re going home now.” 

[heisthq]

you all certainly didn’t make this easy on me — it was an incredibly tough decision for many of the roles. there were THIRTY-EIGHT applications for only ELEVEN roles, which is insane, and please know that every single one was incredible. i’m only one person on the internet, and this decision is in no way a reflection of the quality of your writing ( seriously, i know i just said it, but i’m kind of shocked by how good every single app was ). i’m so grateful for all the love heist has gotten, and i couldn’t be happier with the beautiful submissions i received ! from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

for those of you who were accepted, please follow the checklist, familiarize yourself with your fellow members, & review the triggers list. once your blog is set up, please send it in to the main within 24 hours so i can send you a link to the discord server. 

but enough talking — the newest members of HEISTHQ can be found under the cut !

welcome, DEDE ! you have been accepted as THE BLEEDING HEART, otherwise known as JUDY FAULKNER PRYCE ( ELIZABETH OLSEN ).

good god. what a way to start off acceptances — judy reached into my heart and took it for herself, and i’m not upset about it in the slightest. her gruff outer shell, still with that instinctive need to help, to do something, is so bleeding heart, and i ached at every step of the way through her journey. i knew i was really in for it when i dedicated a skeleton to loss itself, but you spun that concept into a living, breathing person and shot her back at me. i’ll happily let her knock me down any day, and i know she certainly will as soon as she makes her way onto the dash.

welcome, CHERRY ! you have been accepted as THE CAREER CRIMINAL, otherwise known as MISCHA DOSTOYEVSKY ( NATASHA LIU BORDIZZO ).

though you made my decision very difficult with that eleventh hour app, i couldn’t stop coming back to mischa. from the beginning of her childhood crimes to her current position as the head of the motherfucking bratva, she pulled me in and got me hook, line, and sinker. you painted such a brilliant picture of her that i felt she was going to jump off the page at any moment — and that last line of her bio ? chills. literal chills. finally, i have now decided their next heist is going to be stealing lip gloss from claire’s, shoutout to mischa for that hot idea. all in all, she’s an absolute delight, and i cannot wait to have her here. 

welcome, REED ! you have been accepted as THE EYE IN THE SKY, otherwise known as INDIANA “INDIE” ASCENCIO ( ANA DE ARMAS, BUT ONLY WITH PINK HAIR ).

okay, first of all, are you kidding me with that bio structure ? that was the coolest shit i’ve ever seen. what a way to kick it off for the eye in the sky — i said break the stereotype and you said bet. indie is an absolute gem of a character, as stunning as she is valuable, and damn if she doesn’t know it. she’s so vibrant that i could practically hear her voice when i read your answers to the prompts; i’m still howling at thirty five pages of criminal offenses. the eye in the sky needed to take me by the throat to show me who they are; you broke down the door and said here she is. i couldn’t be more honored to have her.

welcome, NOAH ! you have been accepted as THE GETAWAY DRIVER, otherwise known as CARLISLE “JACE” JACOBI HARRISON-SHEA ( CYRUS AMINI ).

the getaway driver was, arguably, the toughest choice i had to make — but i couldn’t help myself. jace drew me back in every single time like a moth to a flame, and i know he’d read that fact with that same, secret little smirk. every moment of reading your app is exciting, like i’m white-knuckled in jace’s passenger seat, along for whatever twists and turns his psyche brings, which was exactly what i was looking for. there are too many incredible quotes to put in one acceptance post, but one such example is stunningly simple: you weren’t just running. you were chasing. i posed a question in the getaway driver’s skeleton, and with one quick pivot, you took my breath away. just... wow. that’s all.

welcome, MARS ! you have been accepted as THE HIRED GUN, otherwise known as ASLAN “MAZZIE” YILMAZ ( ALPEREN DUYMAZ ).

mars, i’m gonna be honest, i hate you a little bit ( but not really. i love you ). i’m pretty sure forcing me to choose between two stunning apps should count as some sort of personal attack, but after much agonizing, i’m delighted to settle with the absolute tragedy that is my newest son mazzie. there’s a quiet power, a quiet ( but no less imposing ) threat threaded throughout his story, and somehow you managed to weave my own heartstrings into the picture alongside it all. you sent me tumbling head over heels for this man who, in his own words, is death himself. you gave me my hired gun, and he’s everything i dreamed. thank you.

welcome, LUCY ! you have been accepted as THE INSIDE MAN, otherwise known as IVY WANG ( GEMMA CHAN ).

lucy. lucy !!! you didn’t make it easy on me, but man, i couldn’t be more wrapped around ivy’s finger, which is probably just how she’d like it. the structure of your app was so interesting & unique ( that arrest report ?? HOT ). she encapsulates the inside man so perfectly — from her mannerisms to her motivations, everything was so spot on that i’m pretty sure you reached inside my brain to pull out my exact vision. she feels so real, so human and so powerful all at once, and i would personally let her arrest me and write her a thank you note for putting me in jail. i’m obsessed. obsessed !

welcome, BEE ! you have been accepted as THE MASTERMIND, otherwise known as BISHOP LEE ( CHOI MINHO ).

my beautiful mastermind is no longer mine — he’s yours, bee, every inch, and i couldn’t be happier about it. from his recruitment log ( which was !!! you wove his voice into it so perfectly ) to his reasoning for creating the group in the first place, bishop is someone i didn’t expect, but i adore him, shaping his little family & leaving behind a legacy he can be proud of ( “so bishop acts like they’re immortal, because he truly believes they are. it’s just his version of immortality is in the history books rather than an eternally beating heart.” are you KIDDING ??? ). please don’t take him from me — i don’t want to let him go. 

welcome, MIA ! you have been accepted as THE NEW KID ON THE BLOCK, otherwise known as MARTY CHOI ( KANG MINA ).

listen, i’m pretty relieved i didn’t get another app for this character, because i didn’t need one — marty is the new kid, through and through. she has that hunger that is so quintessential for this role, the drive and ambition for something more in this grand universe of ours. it’s so perfectly exemplified by marty’s own words: let me be excellent at something again. let me be proud of my own capabilities again. let me be part of something so i'll stop feeling so alone. this !! this is so perfect i almost jumped out of my skin reading it. thank you for bringing me our perfectly imperfect new kid — i can’t wait to see her in action.

welcome, LEXI ! you have been accepted as THE SECOND IN COMMAND, otherwise known as PERCY BANKS ( BRENTON THWAITES ).

holy shit, lexi. holy shit !! from the moment i saw “STATUS: deceased” at the beginning of your app, i knew i was in for a wild ride — but i had no idea what truly awaited me. from percy’s humble beginnings through his ambitious rise to hotshot fbi agent ( speaking of, can you say hot fucking take to have him as ex-fbi ? i’m floored ), i was hooked into the twists and turns of his story, my jaw dropping when i realized who jupiter was after all. the highs and lows of his first foray into the world of heists had me on the edge of my seat, and i truly cannot wait to see what percy does next — because at this rate, who knows where he’ll end up ? i’m excited to find out !

welcome, HANNAH ! you have been accepted as THE STAR OF THE SHOW, otherwise known as STRIKER KIM ( CHARLES MELTON ).

god, hannah — break my heart, why don’t you ? as each tidbit of striker’s past fell into place, that’s what you did, and i’m aching for this boy who’s just trying to stay alive ( and live as much as he can while he still is ). though the star could be played in so many different ways, you took this role an entirely different direction, and suffice to say it blew me away. literally, your mind. exhibit a — you didn’t go running to high society for fame or fortune, no. it was your insurance policy — god, striker !! he’s such a complex, heartbreaking character, and i can’t wait to see him on the dash. he may have a hand in two different worlds of crime, but he’s also got a place in my heart, and god knows he could use the love. also, making me crack a code just to understand your bio headings ? touché. i deserved that.

welcome, ELLIE ! you have been accepted as THE WATCHDOG, otherwise known as THEA JAIN ( NAOMI SCOTT ).

the watchdog requires a delicate balance: soft edges bathed in steel, a gentle person capable of terrible things. it can be a tough image to capture, but i shouldn’t have worried. your entire app painted a picture of this exact person, tugging at my heartstrings until the very end: remember that you are thea jain, and that you are a good person. you are kind. you are loved. and you are in control. that was it — just like thea’s fifth rule to round out the reminders of her morality, you completely sealed the deal. the way she cares for the team, baking for them and occasionally mothering them, exposes that soft underbelly guarded by her quiet yet surprising strength and power. you’ve made a beautiful character, ellie. i can’t thank you enough for bringing her to me.

[unpack-my-heart]

Unpack My Heart With Words

Read on AO3 HERE

@violetreddie @constantreaderfool @xandertheundead @tinyarmedtrex @eds-trashmouth @mrs-vh

Chapter Six: Thus of every grief in heart he with thee doth bear a part

From: Unknown Number:

How dare you make me worry about you.

The phone, sat on his chest, burns a hole straight down to Richie’s rapidly thumping heart. The messages, from an ostensibly unknown number, were imprinted on the inside of Richie’s eyelids.

blink – how dare you make me worry about you – blink – today was a fucking disaster – blink – how dare you make me worry about you – blink – make me worry about you – blink – worry about you

There was no question as to who sent those texts, and Richie could practically hear Eddie’s snotty tone ringing in his ears.

“You didn’t text me when you got in, you said you’d text me and let me know you’re safe but you didn’t”

“Eds, baby, I’m sorry, I forgot”

“I was fucking worried, Richie”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry”

“It’s not fair of you to make me worry like that”

“Baby, you’re killing me, I’m sorry”

“How dare you make me worry about you”

The familiar words burrowed deep into Richie’s gut.

To: Unknown Number:

Eds?

From: Unknown Number:

It’s Eddie. Where were you?

To: Eds:

trying not to vomit soz will b there on Mon

From: Eds:

Good. Feel better.

Richie doesn’t sleep at all that night.

– X –

The morning after the night before isn’t a rehearsal day. They have every Sunday off. Richie silently thanks a God he doesn’t believe in that he doesn’t have to face Eddie for another twenty-four hours. That gives him time to prepare, to try to school himself out of feeling too much. It doesn’t work, because as soon as Working for the Weekend starts pumping out of his speakers Richie is nearly sick into his cereal as he remembers leaping around his shitty little flat with Eddie, drunks as skunks on shitty three pound cider and a whole lotta love.

He decides to walk it off. Like a stomach ache. Or a cramp.

Richie aimlessly wanders the streets, scarf wrapped tightly around his neck like a dormant boa constrictor, pressing just firmly enough so that the constant pressure against his throat reminds him that he’s alive. His hands are numb. He can’t feel his heart.

Eddie had always hated the cold. He’d bitched and moaned when Richie dragged him out into the January cold, hats jammed on heads and clasped hands buried in coat pockets. Richie always laughed as Eddie’s nose always turned bright red, where it poked out above his scarf. A red scarf with a large black check. Soft. Always smelt like soft cotton. Sandalwood. Eddie.

Richie adjusted the red scarf around his neck. It was practically threadbare.

Richie used to love the cold. The kiss of the frost, the sparkling of the black ice on the road. The puffs of air when Eddie spoke, spiralling into the air. Dancing on the wind that bit at their noses, ears, eyelashes. Eddie would always huddle into him, a penguin seeking shelter from arctic gales. Richie would welcome him in with open arms. He’d let Eddie gut him, and sleep inside his still-steaming carcass for warmth, if he’d asked.

Perhaps he still would.

Richie walks until he finds himself in the park that sits on the outskirts of the city. The plush grass is still wet from the morning’s rain. Trees litter the border, and people scurry across the surface like ants, ever busy. Richie stands and stares at them, cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t bother to try and catch it when it falls, cherry red fading to inky, dull black.

A bizarrely familiar figure crosses the park.

The figure walks across the field, holding tightly to a lead attached to a large black Labrador that bounds next to them. The stilted, harsh lines of the figure remind Richie of late nights and early mornings, of running through London with fire in his veins.

The closer the figure gets the more familiar he looks, until he’s stood right in front of Richie and of course it’s Eddie.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Uh – yeah. Yeah I feel alright now, Eds, don’t you worry about me”

“How many times am I going to have to tell you not to call me that before you listen to me?” Eddie huffs.

“Oh, infinity and one more time, Eds. Infinity and one”

“Were you really sick?”

“Something like that”

“Are you going to tell me the truth?”

“Probably not”

“He likes you”

Richie glances up at Eddie, from where he’s crouched on the floor scratching the Labrador’s ears.

“Lots of people like me”

“He doesn’t normally like strangers”

“I guess he knows I’m not a stranger”

Richie watches Eddie close his eyes.

“Are you not?”

“No”

“I haven’t seen you for over a decade”

“Doesn’t mean I’m a stranger”

“I wish you were a stranger”

“I know”

“I wish you weren’t my Hamlet”

“Do you really?”

A pause.

“No, not really”

“It’s really great to see you again, Eds. I missed you”

“I – Yeah. You too, Rich”

Richie watches Eddie walk away.

– X –

“Jesus Christ, woman! I do have ribs you know. I am not, in fact, an invertebrate”

“Coulda fooled me”

“Wh–what?”

“I have no idea. Now shut up, I gotta adjust your inseam”

The costume department of the RSC was a jungle of dresses, powdered wigs, crowns, swords, handkerchiefs, and, of course, a large Papier Mache donkey’s head hanging from the ceiling attached to thin wires. Richie was standing on a rickety wooden chair, balanced precariously whilst Beverly Marsh, head of costume, poked and prodded at him.

“I need to take around 50 measurements, Rich, so you gotta stay still for me so we can work as quickly as possible. I’ve got to do the first fitting of Mike’s dress later, and god knows how long it’ll take me to pin the corset around his waist”

“Bev?”

“Hmm?” Bev responded absently, pins sticking out of her mouth. Brave.

“You were in my year at RADA, right?”

“Yup”

“Do you remember Eddie?”

“Sort of. I was only in one class with him, and I dropped out of that to take more costume classes but – Motherfucker! Leather really is the most annoying fabric to work with, I swear to God, why did Eddie have to decide that this damn production needed you to be wearing skin-tight leather fucking trousers”

“We both know why he made that decision, Miss Marsh, have you seen my ass”

Bev stepped backwards, bringing her hand up to stroke her chin pensively as she stared at Richie’s leather-clad ass.

“So?” Richie prompted, waggling his ass at Bev as much as the constricting leather would allow.

“Yeahhhh,” Bev drawled, still stroking her chin, “I still don’t get it”

“You’re a fucking liar, my ass is great. Eds says that – I mean, Eddie used to say that – Aw, fuck”

Bev patted Richie’s arm comfortingly, helping him down off the chair.

“D’ya wanna grab a smoke?”

“Aw, Dahlin’, I thought you’d never ask”

Bev helped Richie shuck off the tight leather trousers, and they walked out into the biting November cold. Leaning against the wall, they puffed on their cigarettes in silence, listening to the wind whip around the walls.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Richie instantly knows what Bev means. She wants him to tell her about why he didn’t show up yesterday.

“About what?”

He’s not going to tell her if she doesn’t work for it.

“You know exactly what, why didn’t you show yesterday?” Bev responds, sharp as a knife but her words don’t slice at Richie’s skin.

“Red, we both know that you know exactly what happened yesterday” Richie deadpans, flicking the cigarette butt into the gutter. Bev offers him another one, but he declines with one sharp shake of his head.

“Do you still love him?”

“Aw, hell. What kind of a question is that?”

“The questioning kind”

“I haven’t seen him for fourteen years”

“And?”

“He left me”

“And?”

“He left me! He walked away. He made it pretty fucking clear he didn’t want me anymore”

Bev hums, flicking her own cigarette into the gutter. It lands next to Richie’s.

“He wrote to you, though?”

“He did”

“Did you ever respond?”

Richie stares at Bev with tired, don’t push it eyes. She doesn’t push it.

– X –

The door to the office was closed, and three minutes had passed since Richie was supposed to knock.

Three minutes, twenty-four seconds …

Eddie was waiting for him on the other side of the door. The days rehearsal had gone pretty well. He’d worked on the ‘get thee to a nunnery!’ scene with Mike, which had gone unexpectedly well. Mike Hanlon, it seemed, was an absolute tour-de-force and his Ophelia was heartbreakingly sympathetic. A rather large part of Richie’s brain was ecstatic that he’d have someone so technically skilled to bounce off of, but a small, nasty part of Richie’s brain was worried that Ophelia would steal the show. He’d have to work on that.

Three minutes, fifty-five seconds …

Richie still hasn’t knocked on the door. He nearly has, twice. He has raised his clenched hand to the door twice, and twice he has lowered it again without making contact.

Four minutes, three seconds …

Perhaps he will never knock.

Four minutes, fifty-nine seconds …

Perhaps he is locked in a cyclical system of nearly-knocking-but-never-knocking.

Five minutes …

The door swung open.

“Richie?”

Where the closed door once was, Eddie was now standing, hands on his hips, confusion imprinted onto his brow.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh – Yeah, yeah, sorry, I was just about to knock”

“You’ve been stood out here for five minutes”

“How did you know?”

“I could see your shadow under the door”

“Ah. Well, I was just about to knock, though, honest”

The ghost of a smile chased its way across Eddie’s face, left to right, until it had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. His eyes remained brighter, though, stars reflected onto the irises. Eddie stood to the side, motioning for Richie to walk into the office. Richie slunk into the room, standing awkwardly in the corner as Eddie rounded the desk and sat down behind it.

“Whatcha wanna see me about, then?”

“I just wanted to talk to you about your no show on Saturday. You don’t have to tell me the reason you didn’t turn up, I understand that we are all complex life forms and some of us are more complex than others, but –”

A disbelieving snort forced its way out of Richie’s nose before he could stop it.

“Problem?” Eddie challenged, crossing his arms across his chest defensively.

“Nope. No problem, not at all”

“Richard”

“Edward”

“Can we – can we not play these stupid games? I thought we’d be more mature than this, that we’d be able to get past all this animosity and act like adults. We have a job to do. You have a job to do. Please fucking act like it”

Richie blinked.

“Sorry, Eddie”

“It’s okay, Rich. I’m just – you really screwed us over on Saturday. I had to get Bowers to stand in,” Eddie stopped talking to scrub his fists into his eye-sockets, before continuing, “and he’s … he can’t do it properly. He’s not – You do it…”

Richie blinked again.

“You can’t just not show up. You can’t do that to me, to us” Eddie implored, eyes and eyebrows earnest as ever.

“I won’t, I won’t do it again, Eds, I promise”

From his current position, standing in the corner of the small office like a spare part, Richie thought that Eddie looked awfully small. He’d always been small, of course, a tiny firecracker threatening to explode in your hands and burn off your fingerprints, but this Eddie was not that Eddie. Past Eddie, Richie’s Eddie, didn’t have these eyes that looked permanently punched by tiredness, frown lines etched into his forehead, or shoulders that dropped when he thought no-one was looking. This Eddie, not-Richie’s-Eddie, made Richie’s heart thump with something past-compassion and not-quite-yearning. Sitting behind the desk was a black sweater clad, fully formed human being that Richie didn’t recognise, with glasses and wrinkles and a slightly wonky front left canine. It wasn’t wonky when Richie had known him, when he’d been Richie’s-Eddie, he’d have known, he’d stared at the sun in Eddie’s smile that many times.

Richie wanted to ask Eddie why his tooth was wonky, and why the skin around his nailbeds was red and raw, but he didn’t.

“S’that all?” is what Richie said instead, rubbing at his left bicep furiously, scratching a phantom-itch.

“Yeah, yeah, you can go. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay? Good work today. You work excellently with Mike”

Richie wanted to take advantage of this seemingly unguarded Eddie, sit down in the uncomfortable looking chair and rip his still beating heart out of his chest and serve it to Eddie on a platter.

Why did you leave me?

But he didn’t. Instead he waved his fingers at Eddie, an aborted attempt at a wave, and left the room.

– X –

Hamlet and Horatio haven’t spoken for fourteen years. Richie hasn’t spoken to Stan for fourteen years, and he can’t remember how to talk to his former-best-friend without causing him to roll his eyes. What makes this worse is that the pit of jealousy in Richie’s stomach grows ever stronger each time Stan stays behind after rehearsal for one-to-one sessions with Eddie.

Richie has never had a one-to-one session with Eddie. He knows he’s going to have a one-to-one session, to work on the various soliloquys. He knows this, and yet his gut still twists angrily every time Eddie dismisses them for the day, and Stan follows him back into his office. Smiling. Eddie smiles when he looks at Stan, but his mouth only twitches when he looks at Richie. It’s not a smile. It’s more like a grimace, but not quite as heated.

It all explodes before Richie realises he’d detonated.

“Why are you giving Horatio more attention than me? I’m supposed to be the lead!”

Richie holds his breath.

The rest of the cast filter out of the rehearsal space like liquid.

“Pardon?”

“I mean – I guess – No, you know what, I’m confused. I’m supposed to be the lead, and we’ve been rehearsing for nearly two weeks and we haven’t worked on my soliloquys yet”

Stan rolls his eyes. Richie wants to scream.

“Stop being a fucking child, Richie”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the lead. We all know this, it’s not like we’ve forgotten, but that doesn’t mean that this whole production revolves around you”

“I just thought that–”

Stan strides over to where Richie was standing, and stands toe to toe with him. Faces close, breath mingling. They were close enough that Stan could headbutt him right now, if he wanted to. Richie doesn’t think he would.

“You don’t have a claim to his time anymore, Rich” Stan whispers, and it’s kind, his voice is kind and soft but the words burn through Richie’s skin like acid.

Richie steps backwards, burnt.

“Woah, woah woah, Stanely the fucking Manly, I never said anything about that, this is purely professional”

“Is it?”

“Yes!”

“It doesn’t look very professional”

“Well it is!”

Neither of them say anything, just look at each other. Waiting for the other to strike.

– X –

The sky is mottled with stars. Stan’s humming a song that Richie doesn’t recognise as they lie on the grass out the back of Richie’s apartment building.

“You’re my best friend, you know”

“Aw, is this soft hours with Stan?”

Stan huffs out a laugh and smacks Richie on the stomach.

“Yeah, yeah it fuckin’ is”

“You’re my best friend, too” Richie replies, honest as the day is long.

They don’t say anything else. They don’t have to.

– X –

“What happened to us?” Richie asks, not wanting to hear the answer that he’s sure Stan is going to give him, anyway.

“There hasn’t been an ‘us’ since you ignored me when Eddie left,” Stan replies, eyes downcast, “I missed you, Rich, I rang you for two fucking years, of course I missed you. But this petulant child isn’t you. You need to sort it out. You can’t draw him in when you’re pushing everyone else out”

Only then does Richie remember that Eddie has been in the room the entire time, that Eddie has heard everything.  

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Four

Part One , Part Two , Part Three

Pairing: Douglas Booth!Nikki Sixx X OC

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Language, sexual situations, mentions of drug use, brief allusions to abuse of power

Tag List: @fandomshit6000 @lilmou5ie @tamedhearts @divaanya @allieburakovsky @kingbouji3 @evrsncnewyork @6ixx6ixx @ratedrkohardychick91 @floregrohlssard @oldschoolimagineblog @thanks2pete @abaldboi @swoopygorl @liith-ium @justjodeye

**Let me know if you want to be tagged**

———————————————————————

The slow push and pull of absolute ecstasy drives me to near insanity, my eyes closed as my head tips back, a soft whimper brushing past my lips because the feeling is just so good that I can barely breathe. 

A sweat-slick chest moves against a sweat-slick chest, my legs encircling his waist to get more of him, in a worn down bedroom that smells strongly of alcohol and cigarettes. A scent I’ve grown fond of the past several weeks, but I won’t admit that to anyone.

Another push in to me, another hit of my drug of choice, another whimper, another change of position.

His hand grasps at my hair, pulling it to one shoulder so his lips, tongue and teeth can explore where my neck and shoulder meet. My nails scratch at the back of his neck, a moan mixed with a gasp escapes my lips as he grabs at my waist and displays just as much control underneath me as he showed above me.

I feel cross-faded, my mind completely gone as I continue to take what he’s willing to give me in as big of a dose as I can get it.

With one last stroke in to me, he finishes what he started.

The both of us try to catch our breaths as he falls back, causing me to fall on top of him, and my head rests on his chest as his hand starts massaging my scalp.

“Tommy does not find out.” I tell him quietly, closing my eyes.

“Couldn’t agree more.” Nikki replies in a light tone and I smile.

I wake up from my dream in a frenzied sweat, glancing around my room. After a few deep breaths, I groan, and fall back on the bed, wanting to pull my hair out as I grab my pillow and scream into it as loud as I can.

———————————————————————

“You look like shit.” Mick tells me mercilessly and I choke on my Coke, the acidic liquid stinging my nose as it drips out of my nostrils, sending me in to a coughing frenzy which entertains Tommy and Vince.

It’s Saturday, so I decided to come spend it with Tommy at the apartment he’s recently moved in to, with Vince and Nikki, since I couldn’t spend time with him the other night after their first sold out show. My parents think I’m with Tansy again, though.

“Gee, thanks, Mick.” I rasp out as I start to get control of my coughing, leaning forward in my seat on the couch. “I didn’t sleep last night.” I tell them, my eyes watering as Tommy hits my back as if trying to dislodge something from my airway. I hit his hand away from me and he gawks as if I just told him to go to hell.

“Are you sure you’re not on your period this week?” Vince pipes, glancing up from his Playboy magazine to watch my reaction to his question. “I’ve noticed girls look like shit and act like it, too, during that time of the month.” He licks the tip of his finger to turn the page of the pornographic picture show before him.

“No tampons.” Tommy tells him, shaking his head as he takes a bite of Captain Crunch from his cereal bowl and Vince gets a confused look on his face.

“What the fuck do tampons have anything to do with when she’s bleeding or not?” He asks Tommy.

“Are you seriously having a conversation about my bleeding vagina?” I ask them, grossed out.

“They save the more conservative topics for when you’re around.” Mick mumbles, continuing to tune his guitar.

If this is their “conservative” talk, I’d hate to hear their more perverted topics.

“Her mom won’t let her wear tampons so I have to sneak them to her.” Tommy explains and Vince gives me a look.

“Why won’t your mom—“

“She thinks it’s sexually immoral to have a piece of cotton shoved up in there.” Tommy interrupts just as Nikki comes back in from outside.

“Can we please stop talking about my anatomy?” I ask them.

“Absolutely.” Vince surprisingly agrees.

“Thank you.” I sigh out, and the room gets quiet as Vince turns another page, making an impressed facial expression as he turns the magazine to get a better look at whatever he’s seeing.

“We sure as fucking hell can talk about Vicki Lasseter’s anatomy, though.” He grins and Tommy and Nikki rush to his side to see what he’s seeing, tilting their heads to match his, oohing and ahhing and I gag. “Hey, Viv, why don’t you try to get in to one of these?” Vince asks, waving the magazine.

“I’ll pose for Playboy when you do.” I tell him without thought.

“Oh, please, Saint Vivian would never lower her standards to match that of those worthless whores with lack of morals and spiritual compass.” Nikki mocks my voice and I look at him.

“You’d be surprised to find that I don’t think the same way my mother does, Devil-Spawn, and if you would stop writing me off all because I go to church and pray to a God you couldn’t believe in any less, you would discover I don’t think any less of the women who pose nude, I don’t think any less of troubled rockstars and I don’t think any less of people who don’t share the same beliefs that I share because if everyone kept their clothes on, only listened to mundane music and agreed on everything, the world would be a boring place.” I argue, giving him a smug smirk when he rolls his eyes and steps to the kitchen.

“You don’t look as shitty as I thought.” Mick tells me blankly.

“Awe, thank—”

“Just take the fuckin’ compliment and shush Virgin Mary.” He waves me off and I give him a closed mouth smile, flattered he complimented me...sort of.

“Hey, Tommy, do we have rubbing alcohol?” Nikki asks, about to light a cigarette.

“Under the bathroom sink, why?” Tommy answers and in a few seconds, Nikki’s in front of us, holding the bottle of rubbing alcohol in one hand and a box of matches in the other with his cigarette hanging from his lips.

“I have an idea.” He tells us and we look at him blankly. “We need more special effects for the shows, man.” He adds with a raised brows, as if that makes it a better idea.

Apparently I’m the only one with a brain because Vince and Tommy jump up with bright smiles.

“Dude, it’ll be fuckin’ awesome!” Tommy exclaims and Mick and I exchange looks.

Before I can say anything, Nikki’s offering the bottle of rubbing alcohol up to Vince and he starts dousing Nikki’s leather pants in the stuff before taking a match from the match book.

“Um, you’re doing that in here?” I ask them before Vince can start any fire.

“Sure, why not?” Vince shrugs and I take a few steps back, waiting for him to light his friend on fire.

———————————————————————

The crowd’s screaming gets louder and rattles my eardrums once Vince lights Nikki’s leather clad legs on fire during the middle of “Live Wire.”

I watch from behind stage, not feeling like dealing with the pushing and shoving of the crowd.

Once they’re done with yet another sold out show, they’re stumbling backstage, high off adrenaline and tipsy on Jack and I’m a few paces behind them as they head in to the dressing room.

I stop at the payphone, getting ready to call my parents and check in with them, when someone catches my attention from the corner of my eye.

Turning my head in that direction, I see a mass of curly, blonde hair that compliments blue eyes that seem a little lost as she looks around.

“Tansy?” I ask from where I am and she looks at me, her face brightening.

“Hey!” She rushes to me, careful not to trip in her bright red heels and I hang the phone up, deciding her appearing at a place like this is far more important.

Tansy Reilen, who would later become Tansy Rose, was the walking incarnation of perfection. Her natural hair color was so blonde it almost appeared white, her eyes captivated whoever she was looking at with their vivid bright-blue color and standing at 5’3” made her the perfect size to fit in your pocket and take her with you anywhere. She had a voice that could calm a Hurricane and enough strength in her to start one.

Her one and only flaw was that she was a people pleaser. Even if it meant pleasing the wrong kind of people. She would do whatever anyone wanted, not because she wanted to but because she hated telling people “no”, afraid of being a disappointment or making someone unhappy. Everyone took advantage of that when we were growing up, especially boys once we made it to high school, but the industry slowly violated everything of her’s there was left to violate after she got recruited for modeling at age 19. Her own “god fearing” mother, who became her manager, turned her out to whatever photo shoots paid the most, including nude and everything else in between.

By the mid 80s, Tansy made sure she was either too doped up or too wasted to care who photographed her naked and plastered her on a magazine...or who abused their power and got a lot more out of her than a photo session.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her, not trying to sound rude.

“Vince called me and wanted me to come.” She tells me, the excitement still hasn’t left her face and I raise my brows.

“Vince?” I ask, all of it starting to come together and she nods. “The same Vince that cheated on you multiple times freshman year?”

“It’s been, what, four years? Maybe he’s grown up a little.” She tried to reason with me and I clear my throat, knowing the Devil is a liar.

As if on cue, I hear the familiar sound of Vince’s current girlfriend’s voice, shouting angrily.

“Fuck you! Piece of shit! Motherfucker!” She screams, the echoing of her hitting Vince bounces off the walls as he keeps saying “babe” trying to reason with her for whatever he did wrong.

“My pants! Babe!” He pleads.

“Fuck you!” She yells back, marching up the hallway angrily, giving me a glance when she passes me, carrying the high-dollar pants she bought for Vince that he loves so much.

Tansy’s confused until Vince appears, naked as ever, hand cupping his privates.

“I fucking love those pants.” He complains weakly, giving me a pouting look.

“Your swimsuit parts are out.” I inform him and he cuts his eyes at me, before he sees Tansy over my shoulder.

Then the pouting stops and his inner peacock comes out.

“Hey, Tans,” he grins like an idiot and I put a hand on his bare chest to keep him from approaching us any further.

“Go put clothes on.” I order him, and he gives me a roll of his eyes before doing so, giving us a full show of his butt as he walks away. “You had sex with that.” I remind her and she exhales.

“Yeah, he hasn’t changed a bit has he?” She asks me, disappointed.

“He’s gotten worse.” I sigh out. “C’mon, let’s go see Tommy.” I grab her hand, pulling her in the direction Mick, Nikki and Tommy went after they got off stage.

Just as we turn a corner we see the three of them walking in our direction in their street clothes. Tommy sees me, opening his mouth to say something, but he stops when he sees Tansy and gets a smile on his face that’s at least a mile long.

“Tansy fucking Reilen!” He pipes out, eagerly accepting her hug, bending down a little so she could wrap her arms around his neck before he picked her up.

“Hey, Tommy!” She replies with just as much enthusiasm.

The three of us haven’t hung out together for almost a year due to Tommy and Tansy thinking they could have sex one time without it making anything weird. I guess this was their official “it doesn’t bother me anymore” because neither of them are acting too awkward.

He puts her down, introducing her to Nikki and Mick in time for Vince to rejoin us, fully clothed.

“We’re about to head down to the Rainbow.” Tommy tells us, looking at me. “If someone’s willing to stay out late.” He clears his throat, raising his brows at me and I look at Mick, Nikki and Vince, who wait for me to answer.

“Fine.” I finally relent after weeks of their pressure.

“Hallelujah. Thank fuckin’ God.” Vince states with a relieved sigh, throwing his arm around Tansy.

When we get to the Rainbow, Tansy pulls me in to the bathroom so she can touch up her makeup and when she’s done she glances at me and licks her lips.

“So...have you lost your virginity?” She asks me and I scoff.

“No.” I tell her honestly and she purses her lips.

“Oh.” She mumbles.

“Why?”

“It’s just...” She starts but closes her mouth again. “Nothing.”

“Tansy.” I say, starting to get a little frustrated. “What is it?”

“Nothing. I just thought you and that Nikki guy have messed around or something.” She admits and I feel my body freeze up, my heart racing as flashbacks from my dream a few nights ago cloud my mind.

“I—eww...why would you think that? We haven’t.” I shutdown her assumption and she holds her hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry, I just thought you had.” She tells me truthfully.

“What makes you think we have?”

“There’s a tension.” She argues with a smirk.

“There is not a tension. There is so not a tension.” I almost laugh at how ridiculous she sounds. “We argue. All the time. He thinks I’m a self-righteous prude and I think he’s the spawn of Satan. If there’s a tension, it’s because we hate each other.”

“You don’t have to like someone to have sex with them.” She points out almost in a sad tone, and I know she speaks from experience. “I really like him for you, though. You get all riled up and firey when he’s around.”

“Oh, please.” I roll my eyes.

“I just met the guy and I can tell he has you acting different. You used to be so quiet and shy around people you don’t really know, now you’re jumping in to conversations just to piss him off and prove him wrong.”

“Because I don’t like him.” I shake my head. “And he doesn’t like me. That’s where the tension comes from. See? It’s full-circle.”

“Hate-sex is always an option.” She suggests with a shrug.

“Do not even start.” I point my finger at her.

“What? It gets rid of all the aggression and ill-feelings.” She explains.

“So does their shows. Did you know they encourage people to get their feelings out during a show so they go home chilled out and not so uptight?” I tell her the exact quote from Nikki and she gives me an unconvinced look. “And it works.”

“Yeah, until he gets off stage and then you get all hot and bothered.”

“I get hot because he’s Devil-Spawn and the heat from hell radiates off of him and I get bothered because he’s an arrogant idiot.”

“Or you like him and don’t know why you do so you displace your frustration and confusion on to him.” She doesn’t give up. “I was honestly joking about the hate sex okay? I don’t want you to go jump in to bed with him if you don’t want to but you two were fighting like cats and dogs the whole time we were on our way here. I think you should try to let whatever kind of bravery he evokes in you come out in a way that’s not in the form of riled up anger or fiery hatred.” She recommends and I nod slowly. “Now, c’mon because I have a slutty blonde waiting.”

Once we get to the rounded booth the guys are at, we’re met with a man who walks up to the table just as soon as we slide in, that I’ve never seen in my life.

“Hey, Guys, I’m Tom Zutaut. I work for Elektra Records.” He holds his hand out for a handshake.

“Nice to meet you, bro.” Nikki tells him lazily, taking a sip of his beer at the same time Vince says “hey man.”

“I would love, uh, the opportunity to talk to you guys if you have a second.” He offers them.

Tommy does his infamous cigarette trick, one of them, at least, where he sticks the end of his cigarette under his curled lip.

“Wanna sit down?” Tommy asks him in a voice that’s not his own and Tom chuckles.

“That’s really cool.” He motions to Tommy’s cigarette.

“Sit. Do it.” Tommy says as his eyes flash to the empty space by Vince at the end.

“Thank you.” Tom accepts the invitation.

“Scoot over, dude.” Vince tells the guys, and Nikki scoots closet to Mick, I scoot closer to Nikki, Tommy scoots closer to me, Tansy scoots closer to Tommy and Vince scoots closer to Tansy, allowing room for Tom.

As he starts talking, I feel something shift under the table and just as I’m about to see what’s under it, Nikki stops my hand from lifting the table cloth, nodding to Tom.

“Just watch.” He whispers in my ear and I ignore the heat that spreads through me when his lips brush against my skin as glance at him, before looking at the man trying to sign them.

“Look, I’ve been seeing what you guys are doing in L.A. and I think, with my help, I think I could really do something for you—” He snaps up and stumbles back, his zipper pulled down and his face full of shock.

The guys all laugh, Nikki throwing his head back before doubling over at the reaction.

A blonde girl’s head peaks up from under the table, resting her elbows on the now empty seat Tom sat in.

“Oh, my God!” Tom let’s out, surprised to see the girl but he quickly gathers himself.

“No?” She asks him. “Not for you?” As the guys continue chuckling. Tansy and I just exchange speechless expressions.

“No, thanks.” He tells her flatly.

“You sure?” She asks.

“No, thank you.” He repeats and she smiles.

“Okay.” She says before pulling the table cloth down and disappearing under the table again.

“Anyway,” Tom sits back down and stammers on. “Let’s get back to, you know, what I was talking about. So, uh, what do you guys say? Do you want a record deal?”

“Uhh,” Nikki says it like he’s thinking, but he reaches across me, grabs a handful of Tommy’s hair at the back of his head, and knocks his forehead into the table a few good times, the members of the band laughing like fools when he stops and I shake my head a little.

“Is that a yes?” Tom asks them and Vince cuts in.

“I don’t know if we can trust a dude who turns down a free blowjob.” He states.

“Yeah,” Tommy echos, his eyes cut slightly at the man suspiciously.

“Yeah.” Mick even says from behind his sunglasses, smoking his own cigarette.

———————————————————————

“He said we could possibly score a five album deal, Viv, why aren’t you happy about this? I thought you wanted us to get signed?” Tommy asks me as I throw my keys across the living room, in to the kitchen, angrily, causing him to flinch.

“You just told me you were dropping out of school, Tommy! We are so close to graduating, can’t you just wait?!”

“No, I can’t! I can’t just wait because what I wanted is happening and I need to focus on the band right now more than ever!” He argues, motioning to Nikki and Vince as they stand with Tansy by the door, observing our disagreement.

“Your education should be your main focus, at least until you graduate! You are so close to being done, Tommy, why can’t you just—“

“Because I don’t give a fuck about school, Vivian! What I am passionate about doesn’t require a diploma, and I’m sorry if me dropping out makes you feel like I’m leaving you behind or whatever the fuck you feel, but I’m not sorry for wanting to focus on my main priority!”

“What I’m hearing is that I wasted hours of my time throughout school trying to tutor you and help you all for you to throw it away on the idea of being some hot-shot rockstar with girls and drugs and booze—”

“Oh, my God, you act like you would have had better things to do with that wasted time!” He throws his hands up and I roll my jaw. “And it’s not a fucking idea, it’s fucking reality and you’re only mad because you have no control over it!”

“I’m mad because we talked about this and everything we agreed on, everything we promised each other, is absolute void to you now that it’s actually happening!”

“Shit changes, Viv, people change! What I considered important junior year is completely different than what I consider important now.” He calms down, sighing.

“We agreed we would both graduate high school and I could either put off college or drop out if I needed to...” I trail off, trying hard not to cry in front of Tansy, Vince, and Nikki. “That was our plan to avoid this,” I motion to him. “From happening. To avoid you leaving me behind.” I give him back his own words and he gives out a shaky breath. “You considered me important junior year when you came up with that plan. When you promised me you wouldn’t go on to bigger things without me and forget me. And now...” I take a step back as he tries to step towards me.

“Viv, I didn’t mean it like that.” He tries to tell me.

“No, you’re right.” My whole body shakes with nerves and anger, I feel like a complete idiot. “Shit changes.” I curse for the first time in my life and even in this moment he’s shocked about it. “People change.” I continue. “Glad this is happening now, though, so I don’t waste any more time on a completely different page than you, Tommy.” I struggle to not let my voice crack, stepping to the kitchen to grab my keys.

“Viv—“ he tries to grab my arm as I head to the door but I snatch away from him.

“Fuck you.” I crack, my voice barely coming out as tears spill over my lashes.

Nikki and Vince step aside to let me leave, Tansy looks like she might follow me but decides against it and I slam the door shut.

[artificialqueens]

Notebooks and Post-it’s - chapter 4 - (Branjie) - thankyoumissvanjie

A/N: I had so much fun writing this chapter. I hope you have as much fun reading it.

Listen… I might have gone and been doing somethin’ a Lil dumb… or maybe a lot of dumb,” Silky looked on with dread, as the younger queen was twisting her hands - seeming distressed in a way that she had only been in connection with one simple subject… or someone.

“What bitch? As long as you ain’t touching that Canadian ice Queen, you golden.” Vanjie’s steps faltered slightly as he kept on pacing, trying hard to avoid looking Silky in the eye.

“ I mean...”

LINK TO AO3

José was frantically knocking, hoping that her friend wasn’t snoozing just yet.

“Fuck, Silk! Open the motherfucking door. Code red, bitch. Co-“ he wasn’t keeping his voice down, not caring that it was after midnight and that the guest probably wouldn’t take kindly to being woken up by his foghorn voice.

The door was opened by a bleary-eyed Silky, who was rubbing her squinting eyes with her glasses in her hand.

“Why you be waking me with your screaming and knocking, bitch. You know us beauty queens be needing at least 8 hours of sleep to look as good as -“ As Silky finally put on her glasses, she noticed how bad the smaller queen looked, his body vibrating with energy and agitation.

“Fuck, Vanj. What happened?” The big queen had a suspicion, but hoped to both God and the ever-loving Jesus, that she was wrong.

“I’ve gone and been a stupid ho…” He hurriedly barged past Silky, walking into her hotel room, immediately pacing the length of the room.

“What?” Closing the door after herself, Silky tried to clear her sleep-deprived brain, so she could understand what was going on. She tried to focus on Vanjie, but he was walking back and forth quicker than a queen at a wig sale.

“Listen… I might have gone and been doing somethin’ a Lil dumb… or maybe a lot of dumb,” Silky looked on with dread, as the younger queen was twisting her hands - seeming distressed in a way that she had only been in connection with one simple subject… or someone.

“What bitch? As long as you ain’t touching that Canadian ice Queen, you golden.” Vanjie’s steps faltered slightly as he kept on pacing, trying hard to avoid looking Silky in the eye.

“ I mean...”

“Vanj, you dirty ho.” Silky sat her fine ass down on the bed, feeling tired. Not just because she had been awake for more than 20 hours, but also because she didn’t want to rehash the whole Branjie telenovela. And the way Vanjie was looking had 4 different alarms going on in her head.

“Bitch, I know.” Vanjie finally looked Silky in the eye nervously.

Silky knew what had to be done, and grabbed her phone from the bedside table.

“Fuck, I ain’t awake enough for this.” She scrolled through her contacts, searching for the number of a certain someone who would be able to set Vanjie straight.

“Nah, Silk don’t - I’ll just-“ understanding what was about to happen, Vanjie walked towards her, but Silk raised her hand in a stopping motion, effectively shutting up Vanjie - an achievement in itself.

“You sit yo stupid ass right the duck down and enjoy the ride. Imma call auntie Kiki, no matter what you be thinking, you idiot…Loooord have mercy…”

————————

Nina lightly pushed against the already slightly unlatched door, fearing what she would be met with. She had run as fast as she could down to Brooke’s hotel room after receiving a text that just said,

Please come. Need help. Room 417.

“Brock?”

“Hiiiiii Miss Nina!” Sitting on the floor with his back against the bed and a stupid smile on his face, Brock seemed deceivingly cheerful. The almost empty vodka bottle in his hand, however, told a different tale of alcohol indicated that the smile was due to alcohol and not joy.

“Please tell me that bottle wasn’t full when you began?” Nina closed the door behind herself and walked towards Brock, already dreading the night she had in front of her.

“You betcha, it was,” he was giggling, but Nina could see the dried tear stains on his cheeks as she sat down next to him.

“Give it here.” She tried to take the bottle from his grasp, but he tightened his grip. “Brock, give it. You’ve had enough. More than enough. Jesus, we have a show tomorrow!” He stubbornly kept holding on to the bottle.

“Nope. I still remember.” His voice was low, almost reverent.

“Remember what?” Nina lightly pushed against his shoulder, trying to figure out what had pushed him over the edge this time.

“His lips, his smile…. how he felt in my arms… I need to forget.” José. Why was she surprised?

“It’s been six months. Shit Brock, I think I need to call Steve if you keep this up”. Brock leaned his head against Nina’s shoulder, trying to seek comfort.

“Six months? I kissed him today?” It was mumbled against Nina’s shoulder, almost too low to be decipherable.

“I know you don’t want to but this can’t keep…. you did WHAT?!”

“Sucked his cock, too” Brock looked sheepishly up at Nina through his lashes. His drunk eyes a weird mix of mischief and hurt.

“... I’m sorry, WHAT?”

————————

“So lemme get this straight. You went down to his Lil dressing room before the show and ended up having a Lil Kai Kai and then he went icy as Chris Evans in that marvel movie and left you with yo dick hard?” A’keria was standing in front of Vanjie who was on the bed. She had a fluffy bathrobe and looked both unimpressed and tired as hell.

“Uh-huh.” Vanjie seemed to have shrunk in on himself, A’keria’s disapproval making him look like a little schoolboy who was being chewed out by his teacher.

“And then yo stupid ass decided to go back after the show, thinkin’ “imma speak with lil Miss Hytes” and then she both blew yo mind and your cock? Am I missing something here, Mary?”

“... nah, that’s all,”

Faster than Silky could react, A’keria leaned closer to Vanjie and slapped him on the back of his head.

“OW!! Bitch what the fuck?” Vanjie shrieked at A’keria, rubbing where she had hit him. Silly knew from experience that Auntie Kiki had a mean slapping hand when she disapproved of your choices, and sent a silent look of understanding to the tiny Puerto Rican in his moment of pain.

“You a damn fool. Gurl, ya’ll went and broke up. I know the boy is good in bed, but you don’t need no post-it relationship, boo.” Sighing, she sat down next to Vanjie. “You be needing a man who can hold your hand in daylight not just suck your dick in stupid ass dressing rooms after hours. You know a “you a bird and he a bird” kind of relationship?”

“A’keria… fuck, I know.”

“Then why did you go and done it? You just got over his pasty white boy ass.”

“Well…”

“Vanj. José… you guys ain’t good for each other, you know this. That’s why ya’ll decided to break up. Just get through the tour in Europe and ya’ll don’t have to see each other for a couple of months.”

“You right,” Vanjie leaned his head against A’keria’s shoulder, seeking comfort, as she draped her arm over his shoulder, giving him a tight hug.

Silky woke from her slight slumber on the bed. Seeing her two Dream Girls hugging it out, she decided to join them. As she gave them a big bear hug, she leaned close to Vanjie’s ear.

“... was it good, tho? Did your man suck it good? Did he take you to new… Hytes?”

“Shut the fuck up, Silk!” The shriek from Vanjie only barely covered the scream of pain from Silky as A’keria simply leaned over and gave her one of her patented Auntie Kiki disapproves slap, to the back of the queen’s head.

————————

“So…”

“Yeah.”

“Uhm.”

“I know.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Fully aware, Nina.”

“Brooke. We talked about this.”

“Shit, I-“ Brock ran his hand over his face. Attempting to clear his head and make himself sober up a bit, “I know, just…”

“You’ve been spiralling. This whole tortured artist who drinks and smokes to forget shit is getting real old, real quick.” Nina shook the vodka flask for emphasis.

“I am trying” Brock mumbled, knowing that Nina was right, but not wanting to admit it.

“Are you? ‘Cause to me it seems like you’re self-sabotaging. You guys broke, you were the one who ended it. It sucks, but that doesn’t mean that you have to suck him. Like, you move on.”

Nina felt like a broken record. Sure, the fact that the two idiots had somewhat made up was new, but this? Comforting Brooke over Vanjie? That had been her life ever since the reunion had happened.

“I just miss him. I see him almost everyday, and I still miss him.” His voice was small. Nina knew that this level of emotion was only reserved for drunk Brock, as he always his behind his mask of professionalism during the day.

“I know. But hon, he moved on. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. You’re supposed to be having the time of your life, not moping over your ex. You’re our reigning queen.”

“It hurts,” Nina sighed, knowing that this could take the rest of the night. Already dreading the morning with rehearsals and meet & greet’s.

“Right, but you need to stop this,” Brock finally looked up at Nina, exasperated.

“How? We have Europe after this week”. Which was true, the three queens saying yes to dxp months ago, way before the reunion, when Branjie seemed like the best of friends.

“Okay…” Nina looked around the hotel room, searching for something that she could use. Her eyes spotted a notebook lying on the top of the side table next to the bed. She quickly got up from the floor, her knees cracking and her back aching. Reminding her that drag did not do a body good.

“Right… so here’s what you’re going to do!” Nina grabbed the notebook and threw it down to Brock, who amazingly caught it.

“You are going to write down all of these feelings. All of these memories. Just all the stuff that want to tell him. Write it down on those pages. See it as an outlet, a way for you to get it all out…”

“Right and-“

“And then you are going to cut down on those cigarettes. And Jesus, will you please slow down with the drinking. Please. If not for yourself then for me” Nina stared into Brock’s eyes, searching for some affirmation that he understood what she was saying.

“Okay,” He was nodding slowly, donning a wry smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Promise me,” Nina wasn’t dumb, had known Brock for too long, to let him find a loophole.

“I promise.” Nina just looked at him unimpressively. “Okay. Fine. I promise you that I will cut down on the cigarettes, slow down the drinking and write in the goddamn notebook. Happy?”

“Immensely.” She could see that he wanted to ask her. But that he was too proud, so she threw him a lifeline.

“Do you need me to stay?”

“Please.” The look of sheer gratitude on Brock’s face told Nina all she needed to know, as she helped him get up from the floor, tucking his long body into bed, and cuddled into his side, hoping that her nearness would give him some sense of comfort.

These two idiots.

—————————

“What’s the Tee, Christine?” Silky looked at Vanjie with knowing eyes. A’keria had left them alone, stating that she couldn’t deal with their bullshit, warning them that they shouldn’t wake her unless Oprah showed up.

“... I just… have you looked at him lately?” Vanjie was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, looking almost lost.

“Sure. Blond wig, unclockable mug and them dance moves… he fine, he always been fine.” Something that Silky would never admit to the Canadian’s face, but he trade. That wasn’t a secret.

“No… like… you seen his face? Like them bags under his eyes the size of Michelle’s titties? How he be drinkin’ like it’s Mardi Gras up in here?” Vanjie looked at her searchingly.

“Well…”

“He ain’t right, Silk. I worry bout him.”

“Vanj. That ain’t yo job no more. Not yo monkey and defo not yo circus.” Which was true. But Silk has noticed. And she was worried too, it Vanjie didn’t need to know that.

“But what if I want it to be?”

“Then you a stupid ass bitch, who makes bad choices”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Banjie huffed, smiling sadly.

“But boo… if you went them cookies, then go get those cookies, ya know,” Silky knew that she wasn’t helping, but she couldn’t stand to see that sad face on the otherwise happy tornado of energy that was Vanessa Vanjie Mateo.

“What, but A’keria-”

“Is right. And yo is a stupid dick hungry queen who should be spending time getting pounded by some unknown twink in every new city… but if ya want that Canadian bacon? Then go get it. Munch, munch, crunch, crunch, bitch.”

Silky and Vanjie looked at each other for a beat, before they cackled louder than two seagulls who had just seen some fresh fish.

[chinatea]

Tattoo/Christian, Superhero AU.

The one where Tattoo is a Superhero and Christian is a reporter who always ends up being saved by him.

(Tat is your generic superman - super strength, super vision, super speed, all that jazz.)

(A fun fact - I actually started writing this as Tattoo/Baby G, but ended up writing Christian, behavior-wise, so I changed the pairing to Tat/Chris. Although there is still a few Baby G-ish traits to him I decided not to edit out, cuz it’s just more fun that way, isn’t it.)

It’s Friday night and Jimin could think of a million ways how to spend it in style.

Like, having a hot bath with candles and a glass of Bordeaux. Classic. One could never go wrong with classic on a Friday night. And that was his plan for the day. Hell, he’s been looking towards it all week, but the plan has changed and that’s why Jimin is not currently soaking in himalayan salts, but instead soaking his ass in some dank-ass basement, all tied and gagged up like someone’s messed up idea of a Christmas present.

(Sadly, that wouldn’t even be the first time - the criminals around here lack both brains and originality, like, big time.)

Times like these, Jimin truly hates this city. Times like these, he swears as soon as he’s outta here, he will pack his shit and catch the first bus out of this hellhole, because he’s had enough of this bullshit.

Why him? Just...why?

A rhetorical question, mind you. He bloody knows why.

It all started with Mr. Titanium Glutes, or Tattoo, who spawned out of nowhere one day, like most superheros do, in his spanking new spandex briefs and has been stealing the front pages across editorials all over city ever since.

Meanwhile, Jimin was just a modest reporter (with awesome hair and scintillating smile) who did his job. And sometimes that job had him doing some footwork, sending him places no-sane-person-would-ever, putting his life at risk and other occupational hazards.

Running away from enraged crime mobs was nothing new to him. Little did he know, however, how much of a pesky menace Tattoo would become once they get to know each other a little better. Despite all Jimin’s attempts to minimize their contact as much as possible.

There is only so much he could do, however. He’s not a miracle worker, after all. His job is dangerous and dangerous spells Tattoo in big sparkling letters. The man would just turn up, whenever a shitstorm rolled in, to save those in need with his superhuman strength.

And yes, Jimin might have been a hair away from the imminent death, but was he in need? Hell no.

He never asked to be saved. Never asked to be held like he was made of glass. And he definitely didn’t ask Tattoo to look at him like a lovesick fool. (Must be the hair, dammit.) Naturally, it was exactly the moment when a million of stringers around the area chose to snap their best winning shot of the day - and ever since that day Jimin has gotten unfortunate notoriety and a new nickname...

Lois Fucking Lane.

Inevitably siccing every single villain who has beef with Tattoo on Jimin’s ass. Which is, like, the entirety of the criminal underworld by now.

Gee, thanks.

“Stupid rope,” Jimin mutters under his breath, struggling to loosen the knot holding his wrists together just enough to hopefully slip a hand out and undo the binds.

Whomever kidnapped him was stupid enough to leave him and his tiny hands unsupervised and is so going to suffer for it, because Jimin also has a superpower - in times of need, his tiny hands have the capacity to become even tinier. He’s a badass like that, obviously.

A few little huffs and puffs later, Jimin lets out a happy little squeal, wiggling his hands free and tackling the foot binds next. Followed by a nasty gag that smells like something Jimin doesn’t want to linger on too much to avoid a lifelong trauma.

Although free and unbounded, it still leaves him locked up inside a dimly lit basement, containing nothing but a rusty tankard left forgotten on a shoddy wooden chair in the corner.

Jimin has a mind to kick it in frustration when he makes out faint footsteps approaching from behind the door. In panic, he grabs the chair, the rusty tankard flying off with much racket.

Jimin cringes, cussing out loud, as he hurries to take point next to the door, readying the chair above his head. If he is to die tonight, at least he’ll take one of those motherfuckers with him.

He holds his breath as seconds stretch into long moments of waiting. Then, the door knob turns and Jimin squeezes his eyes shut, smashing the chair down on whomever glides right in.

The man doesn’t even flinch as the chair disintegrates into dust upon contact, raising a cloud of fine specks to float in the air. Jimin stumbles back by the sheer force of the impact, air caught in his lungs. He wheezes loudly, struggling to catch his breath. He feels a hundred years old, for some reason, utterly tuckered out. Who knew that holding that chair for two seconds could be so damn exhausting.

“W-what the hell are you doing here?” he finally stutters out, shooting a glower at Tattoo who just stands there, arms crossed over his massive chest, thoroughly amused by Jimin’s fumbling around.

“Oh c’mon, toots, you just jumped me with a chair. I don’t exactly expect a written apology, but a kiss would be nice, don’t you think?” Tattoo intones as he flicks away a few splinters off his bicep. “Besides, one would think you’d get the memo by now. Your knight in shining spandex has arrived. Now gimme my kiss.”

“Shut up,” Jimin grouses. “Where are the scumbags who kidnapped me?”

“Probably running for their lives now,” Tattoo shrugs. “I’ll deal with them later, don’t worry.”

“If you can find them, that is,” Jimin scoffs.

“Oh I will,” Tattoo adds smugly. “Just like I always find you, toots.”

It occurs to Jimin then that Tattoo indeed is infallible when it comes to tracking him down just in time before the heat. If only he hadn’t been too preoccupied being exasperated with the man half the time, he would have questioned it much sooner.

“Super hearing,” Tattoo explains then, tapping next to his ear, looking like he’s about to burst from smugness. “I always listen in if my toots is in trouble.”

“First, I’m not yours, second, excuse me??” Jimin seethes. “You can’t do that. This is violation of my privacy. I know my rights, dumbass.”

The look Tattoo gives him is far from remorseful. His unapologetic grin shines like a beacon of self-righteousness.

“Then go ahead and sue me, toots. I’d rather have you mad at me than hurt,” Tattoo says before adding in a voice that belongs in a bedroom with moody lighting. “Besides, I usually tune out for a while then you...ah, you know. Even if those are the prettiest little sounds I’ve ever heard anyone make with their mouth.”

Heat creeps onto Jimin’s cheeks as he gawks at Tattoo, feeling disarmed and stripped naked, metaphorically, of course.

“You didn’t...” he whispers.

Tattoo’s big stupid grin tells otherwise.

What a fucking sleazy bastard.

Mind gone black, Jimin turns on his heels and wobbles out of the creaky door and up the steep staircase, so steep in fact, he has to almost crawl up the steps, hating himself for choosing skintight jeans to wear today. As much as he loves how they hug his thighs, he hates the very idea of treating that douchebag to the dreamy panorama of his ass. He doesn’t even need to look over his shoulder to know that Tattoo is watching him go like a creep.

Because Tattoo is a creep, regardless of how many grannies he saves per day. And Jimin just happened to catch his fancy. Oh woe is him.

He pushes the heavy door and finds himself in a quiet back alley, heaps of trash bags and not a soul in the vicinity.

“Eh, toots?” Tattoo calls after him, hot on his heels, as always.

“I’m not talking to you. Ever.”

“Sure, but I think you’d still like to know that there is a huge damp spot on your ass that looks like you peed yourself, just saying,” Tattoo supplies helpfully. “Did you really pee yourself?”

Tattoo looks genuinely concerned for him while Jimin cranks his neck this way and that to access the damage done. His ass does feel wet to the touch.

“You know it’s okay if you did,” Tattoo continues, nodding to himself. “I won’t judge. We’ve all been there. Well, not me, obviously, but I still find you hot, don’t worry about th-”

“Jesus fuck, will you shut up?” Jimin barks at him. “I didn’t pee myself, you asshole. I sat in a fucking puddle for an hour, okay? And it’s all your damn fault.”

“I know.”

Tattoo sounds somber, for a change, all usual mirth gone, which makes Jimin eye him suspiciously. Did the bastard suddenly grow a conscience?

Then, Tattoo holds his hands out, squeezing the fingers in a grabbing motion, shamelessly lewd.

“Hop on,” he pipes, eyebrows wiggling. “C’mon, toots, you know the drill.”

(Or maybe not.)

A million curses later, Jimin finds himself successfully loaded into Tattoo’s arms. What choice does he have? Brave the streets with damp asscheeks? Hell no.

Arms wrapped around the bastard’s neck, Jimin tries to think happy thoughts - like choking Tattoo to death with his tiny hands which gradually translates into choking Tattoo with his thighs which ends up with Jimin power-riding Tattoo’s face, choking him with his ass.

His thoughts are weird, so what.

He just hopes that Tattoo doesn’t have a telepathic ability or anything of that sort, because…

(He’s totally fucked, isn’t he?)

Only the bastard doesn’t take him home as Jimin belatedly discovers. While in the air, Jimin keeps his eyes squeezed tight because Jimin and heights don’t mix well, so when he opens them, deeming it safe, what welcomes him is not his balcony with petunias from his mum.

“What in the frack is this?” he says, wobbly on his feet, soaking in the sight of a lonely tent on the roof of some apartment building. The inside of the tent, decorated with fairy lights, are layered cozily with blankets and throw pillows. Jimin spies a food basket and a bottle of wine, which leaves little room for misunderstanding - he knows what in the frack this is.

A romantic roof picnic set for two.

He faces Tattoo then, hands akimbo, and taps his foot impatiently, waiting for explanations.

“Well,” Tattoo starts. “I hope you like chicken, toots. It’s organic, I promise.”

“Did I ask you to do this for me?” Jimin asks, unamused.

“No, you didn’t,” Tattoo replies, looking too somber for comfort for the second time this night. His chest sinks with a sigh as he rubs the back of his neck, a touch sheepish. “Listen, I wanted to apologize. Better late than never, right? I’m sorry for making you a target even if it was not my intention, I just...I’ll be back in a second.”

Jimin has barely any time to blink as Tattoo flashes in and out of his sight, only this time, the spandex suit is gone and, in a way, Tattoo is gone, too. What Jimin sees in front of him is a guy in a hoodie, sweats and a pair of round glasses. What the..?

“My name is Jungkook,” the guy says. “Apart from doing, you know, superhero stuff, I’m an average student who majors in culinary arts with a minor in photography. I love video games and working out even though I break pretty much every gear I touch, so I don’t. I have a doting mum and a little brother. They’re normal, by the way, in case you wanted to know. I don’t know why I’m the way I am. My favorite color is yellow and hey, I’m single.” 

The guy, Jungkook, wraps his speech up with a stupid wink and even a stupider grin and the only reason why Jimin doesn’t shove him off the roof is because of the major cognitive dissonance he’s experiencing right now.

So he lets it slide, just this once.

“You really are an idiot, aren’t you?” he says, quiet, hugging himself from the chill of the night. “Why would you expose yourself like that. That’s stupid.”

“Because I think it’s only fair after all I’ve put you through, besides I know that you won’t tell anybody,” Jungkook smiles cheekily. “And I don’t know how about you, but I’m starving, all this superpower can’t sustain itself on air, you know.”

Jimin stares at him as he shakes his head to himself.

“Fine, but only because I’m hungry too, okay? Don’t get any ideas now, brat. This is not a date!”

“Sure, toots. Here, I’ve brought some spare sweats for you.”

“The fuck I’m gonna do with them? Wear them as a dress?” Jimin gripes as he grabs the sweatpants offered, five times his size from the looks of it.

He quickly strips out of his skinnies and tugs those parachutes on as Jungkook crouches over the basket, unloading its contents. Jimin’s stomach grumbles at the mouth-watering smell of food and he mentally wills it to shut the fuck up - he’s been through a lot today and doesn’t need Jungkook being even more smug than he already is.

A total husband material he may be, but Jimin won’t give in.

Not on their first date, anyhow.

“Scooch, or something,” he gripes, settling down next to Jungkook who only scooches closer, unapologetic, and even if Jimin scrunches up his nose at that he doesn’t complain or move away - it’s warmer that way, okay?

(Yep, totally fucked, he is.)

[deathbytitanium]

Too Good To Say Goodbye (A Nessian Fic)

About a year or so ago, my wifey @rowanismybae​, introduced me to the idea of Cassian singing Bruno Mars songs. This week I’ve been listening to Bruno Mars in a successful attempt to stave off my motion sickness while driving in Atlanta traffic and this song just gave me such Nessian vibes that I had to write this fic. ACOFAS inspired but no spoilers.

Bruno Mars: Too Good To Say Goodbye

@rowanismybae‘s Original Fic (this is kinda a sequal to that one)

Nesta did not want to be there. She could not express that enough. She hated karaoke and she didn’t like hanging out with her little sister’s friends and she didn’t even want to leave her house… but Feyre had blackmailed her, so she had come.

The last year had been entirely horrific and she’d decided early on, when everything started to go downhill in her life, that she wasn’t going to bother with any of this stuff anymore. No more “hanging out”, no more “smiling as if nothing is happening” and absolutely no more of her sister’s friends. That last one was the be all, end all of her current life. Despite all that, here she was, at that stupid Karaoke bar they had gone to almost two years ago, where everyone but her had sung something stupid and she’d drank and laughed. Today, drinking was a certainty, laughing was an impossibility.

She steeled herself for the inevitable crooked looks she’d get from Feyre’s gang, prepared to ignore the dead stop in conversation that was bound to happen once she appeared and sighed, opening the door and finding them immediately. The brightest bunch in the large corner booth, laughing with brightly colored drinks in hand. She walked as slowly as she could, hoping to delay the inevitable recognition, the pregnant pause that would follow it, as long as possible. Feyre was the first to see her, her smile falling the moment she saw her, her eyes widening, promting the entire group to see what was in the direction she was looking. She nearly snorted as she noticed the look in everyone’s face, she might have been the Loch Ness monster in the flesh for the way they looked at her.

Feyre recovered eventually, plastering on one of the fakest smiles Nesta had ever seen, to cover her obvious distress at her presence. Though what exactly she expected was altogether unclear to Nesta, she blackmailed her, was she expecting that she wouldn’t come even after that? Yeah, that’s probably what she thought. Felt real good to see how low Feyre’s expectations for her were.

Everyone muttered a hey or hello at her as she took a seat. She muttered ahey of her own, trying her best to takes the least amount of space without actively rolling herself into fetal position. Nesta didn’t know what to do, not really. She knew full well that none of these people liked her, that they all would have been happier if she hadn’t showed, Feyre included. So she just took her drink - Feyre had immediately ordered her some scotch - and drank in silence, ignoring them so they could feel free to ignore her as they wanted to.

One pair of eyes lingered on her, but she pretended she didn’t notice the same way the person staring pretended… pretended a lot of things really, but mostly that he cared.

She downed her scotch quickly, signalling for another as soon as she was out. The drinking she was used to, she’d been doing a lot of it since her father had… She drank and tried to forget all the things that plagued her days and nights, pretty successfully if she could say so herself. She could almost convince herself that she couldn’t remember the last year, that she didn’t remember him singing Versace on the Floor to her on that very stage almost two years ago, pretended she didn’t remember that he’d been deployed just a few weeks after that, pretended she didn’t remember the promises he’d whispered to her the night before he left, pretended she didn’t remember… everything else.

If she pretended hard enough maybe she would actually forget… or so she told herself.

Five shots of scotch later and she realized how utterly useless her wishful thinking really was, there was absolutely nothing that could make it all go away, not one thing. She sighed and got up, trying her best to tune everything out, just making her way to the door.

Before she could reach it, Feyre caught up with her, placing a hand on her shoulder to stop her, “Here,” Feyre said, placing a small piece of paper in front of her. Right, Nesta thought, that was all I was here for anyway, her share for their father’s inheritance. “Thanks for coming,” Feyre continued, “I… umm, hadn’t thought you would.”

Nesta snorted at that, folding the handsome check and shoving it into her pocket, “Yeah, like you left me much choice.”

Feyre sighed, “Nesta…”

“Don’t ‘Nesta’ me. Don’t lecture me. Let me leave and leave me alone.”

Feyre didn’t even flinch, she just gave her that same disapproving look she had been giving her for the last year or so, “Have a nice night, Nesta,” she said weakly, walking away.

Nesta turned her back to the group, to the music, to all the stupid memories that she had been trying all night to ignore. And just when she was about to step out the door when the soft notes from a Bruno Mars song started soon she heard an incredibly recognizable voice start singing.

I've made mistakes

I could have treated you better

I let you get away

There goes my happily ever after

Nesta turned around, feeling her eyes widen as she immediately made eye contact with the singer. Cassian was singing. To her. Again. Another motherfucking Bruno Mars song. And he looked so intense and serious while doing it, too, so sincere. She knew this song by heart, she loved this song. She knew the words that came next.

Tell me why, why can't we try and start again?

This can't be how our story ends

You're more than my girl, you're my best friend

Tell me you remember when

Oooh, I was your man and you were my girl

It was you and me against the world

Baby, ain't nobody gonna love me like the way you do

And you ain't never gonna find a love like mine

Tell me what can I do to make it up to you?

'Cause what we got's too good to say goodbye, goodbye

Too Good to Say Goodbye… that’s what he was singing to her. This time it wasn’t a sexy song about throwing clothes on the floor and doing it all night. This one was a… sad song. She’d always thought that. No matter how upbeat the song was there was a heart wrenching sadness that came with his pleas that his girl come back to him, for them to try again.

Yeah, I'm still in love with you darlin'

I know you feel the same

She closed her eyes at that part. She couldn’t look at him as he sang that part. She couldn’t take the blow of Cassian saying those things to her, even if it were just a song. Her brain never was very good at sorting out the things Cassian did and said, not need to confuse it furter.

Oh, 

What's the point of both of us being broken hearted? She sang along to her favorite line, her eyes opening to meet his gaze once more.

I pray it's never too late

Did he? The way he sang it, the way he looked sad as the words crossed his lips made her think that maybe he did. Maybe it really never was...

So tell me, why, why can't we try and start again?

This can't be how our story ends

You're more than my girl, you're my best friend

Tell me you remember when

I was your man and you were my girl

It was you and me against the world

Baby, ain't nobody gonna love me like the way you do

And you ain't never gonna find a love like mine

Tell me what can I do to make it up to you?

'Cause what we got's too good to say goodbye, goodbye

He stopped he song there, the music stopping with him. They just stood there, looking at each other. Looking him in the eyes the events of the last year came barreling back.

Cassian having got himself blown up while deployed in the middle east. Almost literally. The bomb had gone off on one of his friends, who had died immediately, but he got caught in the blast, coming back home with significant burns and most of his bones in pieces. She remembered sitting next to his hospital bed, begging him wake up, to open his eyes, to just stop playing around and get up. She’d still been there when he’d woken up, finding his entire body in a cast but alive.

Then she had gotten the call. Her father had been in a car accident. She had to go say goodbye to him before he was gone.

That had been the last time she had seen Cassian… She’d been different after her father’s death, things had changed. She learned a few months later that Cassian had made a speedy recovery and was already making a lot of progress, walking even.

He hadn’t bothered to call her or text her or email her or… anything. Not even to tell her that none of the damage to his bones would be permanent, that the only reminder he would carry with him would be the scars from the burns he had gotten from his neck to his thigh on the left side of his body.  That was when she decided that alone was the way to be.

Now here he was, singing to her, hoping it was never too late?

Well, maybe it was.

She turned around and walked out of the bar.

Cassian sat in his apartment, a bottle of the finest Kentucky Bourbon in hand as he played the events of the night over and over again in his head.

Seeing her leaving, running up to the stage and begging the manager to let him sing the song, it was an emergency, he’d said.

It had been.

And he’d sung his heart out, looking her in the eyes, hoping beyond all hope that she would listen, come talk to him, so they could start again, like the song said. He’d thought he’d had her, too, when she sang with him…

What’s the point of both of us being broken hearted?

But he was wrong. As soon as the song had ended, he saw her entire demeanor change. She stiffened back up, her eyes had hardened and she had turned her back to him and left.

Maybe they weren’t both broken hearted, maybe it was just him.

He took a big swig of bourbon after that thought. Then another, for good measure. And another, for luck. Maybe just one more, because he had nothing else to lose.

He ran a hand down the burn scar on his neck. He’d fucked up, badly. Getting deployed, getting fucking blown up. Trying to give her space. All of it came together and formed the most insurmountable cluster-fuck he had ever seen in his life.

Maybe he should pray for it never to be too late for them, like the song said.

Maybe the song was being way too goddamn optimistic.

He was taking a large swig from his new girlfriend, Bourbon, when he heard his cellphone vibrate. Probably one of the guys making sure he hasn’t drowned in this curvy bottle. He picked it up only to see the most unexpected name:

NestaSweetheart: 

You and Bruno Mars songs.

I hate that you sang that song.

I love that you remembered it was my favorite.

I hate the way you make me feel.

I hate you.

Sometimes.

Maybe you should keep praying.

Maybe you should try harder.

Maybe it never is too late.

All the messages came one after another quickly so that once he had finished on, another had popped up. Cassian read them all, over and over again, having some bourbon in between readings. By the tenth time he read them, he knew what to do. 

He typed:

I’ll never give up, Nes.

[attackofthezee]

I’m literally dying from a bad happy meal so I’m scrolling through people’s writing meme/ask game tags and decided to steal this from somebody. 

What is your total word count on AO3?

171,523

How often do you write?

I’m disabled and stay at home most days taking care of my younger sibling so usually I write every day, multiple times a day. 

 Do you have a routine for writing? 

Not really. Like I said, I’m a more or less stay at home caretaker so I’ve got a good bit of time in my day that I’m not really doing anything in particular and writing tends to just kinda happen. I do occasionally like to make a cup of tea, sit down with something playing in the background and hammer out some writing if I feel like turning it into an event. In general though it’s just like a “oooh thought of this sentence, BETTER ADD IT” or “GOOD IDEA BETTER WRITE IT DOWN” kind of thing. 

What’s your favorite kinks/tropes/pairing?

I’m a Stucky girl through and through these days and I can’t see that changing any time soon, but I’m also super into steve/sam, steve/peggy, steve/sam/bucky, steve/peggy/bucky, natasha/sam, natasha/clint, natasha/sharon, bruce/thor, and the occasional logan/bucky. Basically I’ll read anything so long as it’s not a notp and I have very few of those. Outside of Marvel I’m still hella obsessed with Sterek (Teen Wolf) and Drarry (Harry Potter) and thoroughly enjoy reading both. AS FOR TROPES I’m a fluffy humorfic til I die kinda gal. Kidfic, friends to lovers, ‘and they were ROOMMATES’, fake dating, and basically anything with a low commitment to heavy emotions and a high guarantee of happiness is my jam. 

Do you have a favorite fic of yours? 

WHERE THE HEART IS. WHERE THE HEART IS. MOTHERFUCKING WHERE THE HEART IS. It’s not my most popular fic, it’s probably not even technically my best fic, but it is my personal favorite thing I’ve ever written and I have a very special attachment to it. I’ve also got a particularly tender spot for Lunches, Knitting, and Definitely Not Dating which I wrote when I was attempting to write Sterek fics a couple years back.  

 Your fic with the most kudos? 

If we’re talking all fics period then it’s Lunches, Knitting And Definitely Not Dating. Just Stuckywise though, it’s 21st Century Supergrandpas with Steve Rogers Is (Not) A Good Influence following VERY close behind. 

Anything you don’t like about your writing? 

PLENTYYYYY. Because I’m a human being and also a virgo I AM GREAT AT JUDGING, particularly when that judging is aimed at myself! I oftentimes feel like my writing can feel a little bit stilted and not flow as well as I’d like it to. I also don’t like that I’m not always the greatest at expanding ideas so my fics tend to be on the shorter side. I also sometimes feel like my fics are less “HERE’S A COMPELLING NARRATIVE” and more “HERE HAVE A COLLECTION OF SEPERATE AND RANDOM SCENES THAT ARE KINDA SORTA RELATED.” I could go on but I SHOULDN’T so I’m not gonna.  

Now something you do like?

I genuinely like a lot of my dialogue that I write and sometimes if I step out of my head and read things I write like they’re not mine I’ll find myself laughing at a lot of it. One of my fics got podficced for the first time just the other day (I’M STILL SCREAMING ABOUT IT OMG GO CHECK IT OUT) and listening to it instead of reading it let me really see that it was like, genuinely a really funny fic so I’d have to say I like my sense of humor in my writing. I like my writing style, and the fact that it’s casual. And sometimes I even like the thing I sometimes don’t like, which is the fact that I DO keep some things brief and don’t expand too much. If a story can be told in 5,000 words I generally tell it in that. I also appreciate the fact that my brain can sometimes come up with things like “magical possessed coffee pot” or “fae Bucky that Steve thinks is a closet monster” and just run with it.