#3: belt to make the jacket look less awkward

[bludraws094]

currently just laying in bed in my half finished hyde cosplay tapping the hat bcus mm nice sound

[xiaq]

Steddie Time Travel Fix-it: Pt 4

Ao3 Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

Steve arrives at 6:28, his flashy BMW slowly creeping down the street until he sees them in the open garage. 

They aren’t finished—they need to practice at least three more songs, and Eddie can’t decide if he should call it and piss off the guys or leave Harrington to wait and piss him off. Except instead of idling in the driveway, Steve turns off his car, gets out, and ducks into the garage, nodding toward the couch against the wall. 

Eddie nods back.

Steve settles in to watch like that was the plan all along. 

Steve Harrington.

Couch.

Watching.

Eddie meets Gareth’s wide eyes, then Jeff’s, and, uncertain what else to do, finishes the guitar solo he’d more or less fucked up with Steve’s arrival, leans forward, and starts the final verse of the song.

He probably should have called it anyway because trying to remember lyrics—even lyrics Eddie wrote himself, is all but impossible when Steve Fucking Harrington in his letterman jacket and belted jeans and too-white shoes is watching them, weirdly earnest, tapping a toe along to the beat.

And Eddie is clearly not the only one having performance issues because Jeff is at least a half second off on the drums and Gareth just…stops playing the base at intervals, probably when he accidentally makes eye-contact with the jock in the corner.

By mutual agreement, determined from progressively more frantic glances, they end practice after the second song and Eddie all but drags Steve back to his car when he tries to make small talk with them, what the hell. He throws himself into the passenger seat and scrubs both hands through his hair and tries to breathe normally.

Steve’s car is bizarrely clean. It smells like leather cleaner and the floorboards are spotless. Aside from a duffel bag in the back seat and a cassette tape in the cup holder, he’d think it was fresh from a dealership lot.

Eddie reaches for the tape—how can he not—and is a little shocked to see its Dio. Apparently the king wasn’t lying.

Steve slides into the driver’s side and cranks the car, bracing a casual hand on Eddie’s headrest, thumb brushing the back of his skull, as he reverses down the driveway.

Eddie doesn’t move. Or speak. Or breathe, probably, until Steve removes his hand again.

And then he keeps not speaking because he has no idea what to say.

Steve doesn’t seem to find the silence awkward, just turns up the stereo, playing Metallica of all things, Jesus, and hums along. Eddie might not survive this.

As they’re driving down the main strip, however, Steve suddenly swears.

“Oh, those fucking—sorry.” He veers off the road to park in front of the arcade, slamming the door when he gets out to stalk over the curb and onto the sidewalk where several kids are talking. They all clearly recognize him.

Steve has his hands on his hips like some sort of disproving soccer mom and Eddie can’t parse exactly what he’s saying from inside the BMW, but he can tell Steve is angry. 

A curly-haired kid gestures irately toward his chest, the arcade, and then the general direction of the road. The group behind him all join in a moment later, with their own waving arms and placating tones and Steve’s posture goes slack and weary as he rubs the heel of one hand against his forehead. 

His voice quiets so Eddie can’t hear him hardly at all. 

And then, they’re all looking toward the car.

Eddie freezes.

The curly-haired kid meets his eyes through the window and starts to move forward but Steve catches the back of his jacket and reels him in, muttering something low and urgent against the kid’s protests. 

At first the kid keeps arguing, but then––

Then they’re hugging.

It’s not quite the hug that Eddie had accidentally seen in the hallway between Steve and Robin but it’s…fierce. Desperate. Kids shouldn’t be hugging people like that. Especially not on an otherwise ordinary day when the sun is setting and the muted sounds of laughter and pinball bells are spilling onto the sidewalk.

When they separate, Eddie would swear the kid says his name but Eddie would also swear he’s never seen the kid before in his life.

When Steve returns to the car a minute later, his eyes are bright and his mouth is a hard line. He clears his throat as he puts the car back in gear.

“Sorry about that.”

“Who are they?” Eddie asks carefully.

Steve seems a little stymied by the question. “...some kids I babysit,” he answers eventually.

“You babysit? King Steve, reduced to chasing around munchkins. Is it, like, punishment for something?”

“No,” the hard line of his mouth softens. “Self-inflicted.”

He rests his elbow on the open window and his head in his hand. The wind tosses his hair in his eyes. “Not that I mind, really. I mean. They’re little shits, but they’re good kids. And they’ve been through a lot.”

Eddie’s not going to touch that.

“They sneak out or something?” Eddie asks. “That why you went all disapproving mom on them?”

“I didn’t––“ Steve sighs. “Yeah. Sort of.”

“There are worse things they could be doing than sneaking out to the arcade.” Eddie points out. He would know.

“I’m aware, thank you,” Steve says, tone all bitchy, and Eddie can’t help but grin at him.

He’s still grinning when they park at the diner.

Steve brings the duffle bag inside.

Eddie doesn’t comment on it.

“So,” Steve says, after they’ve ordered and are awkwardly facing each other in a sticky booth. “How’s band stuff? You guys sounded good.”

Eddie pushes his thumb nail under the raised edge of the table’s fake wood veneer. He’s still half-waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Hagan and the other jock lackeys to push their way inside and…Eddie doesn’t even know, laugh at him? Beat the shit out of him? This feels like a prank but it also really doesn’t and he’s so confused. He doesn’t know how to act, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to actually repay Steve’s kindness with the vulnerability of trust. It feels naive to think that the King of Hawkins High would be here, with him, simply because he wants to.

“…Good.” Eddie tips his head, shoves harder at the peeling laminate. “I’m still kinda shocked King Steve likes metal music. But I guess there’s no denying it unless you specifically memorized the B side of Metallica’s latest just to fool me.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

Eddie stills. 

“What?”

“King Steve. I’m not. Or I don’t—I don’t want to be, if it means what it feels like when you say it.”

His eyes are dark and earnest and serious in a way that feels ill-suited for the bright diner lights.

“Oh-kay,” Eddie says slowly. Two syllables. “Steve, then.”

“Thank you.”

Polite motherfucker.

“What’s your favorite song?” Steve asks. His tone, his facial expression, is weirdly intense for such a nondescript question.

Eddie purses his lips. “Right now? Or like, of all time?”

“No. Well, sure, I’d like to know those too. But I mean, if you had to pick a song that would bring you back to yourself, that would—that makes you feel most connected to yourself. What would it be?”

Eddie…doesn’t know. It’s not a question he’s ever had to ask himself before and he could lie, he could just pick something, but he wants to answer the question with the same level of gravitas that Steve asked it.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “That’s a heavy ask.”

“It is.”

“What’s yours?”

Steve’s fingers, folding the paper from his straw into smaller and smaller rectangles, go still.

“Oh. Uh. Probably Holy Diver.”

“Probably?”

“No. Definitely,” he says quietly.

“Why that song?”

Steve meets his eyes. His mouth parts with an inhale.

A sudden beeping interrupts whatever he was going to say and Steve glances down at his digital watch, looking relieved.

It’s 6:59. The face is blinking with an alarm.

“Sorry,” he says, “Sorry I need to––I’ll be right back.”

And then he shoulders his duffle bag and slides out of the booth and into the hallway to the bathroom.

What. The. Fuck.

Obviously, Eddie follows him.

He nudges open the door, just a crack, with the toe of his boot. He can’t see anything except for the metal of a stall door, but he can hear a zipper—too long to be pants. The soft clatter of plastic on plastic. A metallic slide. A beep. And then, the static of a walkie talkie.

“Roll call,” Steve says quietly. “Over.”

“This is Will,” a kid’s voice answers promptly, only slightly distorted from the radio’s speaker. “Just got home. I’m checking in for me, my mom, Jonathan, and Nance. There’s been some slight activity at the shed gate but we’re all good. Over.”

What the hell is a ‘shed gate,’ Eddie wonders.

“This is Dustin.” A second kid’s voice follows. “Checking in for me and Mike. We’re all good. Over.”

“This is Lucas,” a third says, “checking in for me and Erica. We’re all good. Over.”

“This is Robin,” says a fourth voice and Eddie’s pretty sure that voice belongs to Robin Buckley. “I’m all good. Over.”

“Hopper,” a fifth voice says. And that’s—is that fucking chief Hopper? “And El,” A girl’s voice adds. “And El,” Hopper corrects. “We had an issue with the lake gate earlier today but El took care of it. Spoke with Murray and we’re still on target for a showdown in 2 weeks. Over.”

Lake gate?

“Steve, are you with Eddie right now? Over.” A girl asks—and Eddie is so lost. How did he get here, listening to a kid he doesn’t know say his name through a walkie-talkie to Steve Harrington hiding in a bathroom.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “And I need to get back to him. Talk to you guys in the morning.”

“How come you get to hang out with him and we don’t?” One of the boys whines, before adding on a belated, “over.”

“If you can come up with an excuse to hang out with him that doesn’t sound batshit crazy, I’m all ears. But until then only me and Robin are allowed to interact with him, okay? At least we go to the same school. I’m trying not to freak him out.”

“Yeah, and you’re doing such a great job of that so far,” snarks someone else. “Over.”

“Ok,” Steve grates out. “I’m trying not to freak him out any more than I already have.”

“Steve,” one of the kids says, “You keep forgetting to end with ‘over.’”

“Swear to fucking god,” Steve mutters. “Okay, children,” he says louder, “Stay out of trouble, do your homework, and go the fuck to sleep on time, over.”

Beep.

Metal on metal.

A zipper.

Eddie scurries back to the booth.

“So,” he says brightly when Steve slides back across from him. “Your character?”

Pt. 5

[let me know if you want to get on the tag list. This sucker is going to be at least 10 parts]

[lizalfosrise]

New Character - Halys Iori

Okay it’s been a while since I’ve actually had a new OC and I haven’t had an intro or working document masterpost up here before buuut:

Tada! Gunlance-wielding lamia Halys Iori! A tough and flirty delinquent neesan who’s great in a fight but perhaps a bit shy or awkward at things other than that. A metalhead with interest in visual kei, and some other genres too of course. A streamer and possibly mechanic?

Longer rambling post after here:

Although a specific setting isn’t fixed yet unlike Rise, whom there are many different versions of for different works (hence the “multidimensional lizard for hire” title) and even the different character Rize(of my avatar here), Iori is just fine being just Iori. If Rise is a lizard and Iori is somewhat of a counterpart then they should be a snake I figured. Thus we picked the race Lamia.

The snake portion of their body is based upon the tiger keelback (Rhabdophis tigrinus) there. Both it and the Halys Pit Viper (Gloydius halys) are venomous snakes found native within the Ryukyu Islands. Okinawa is a bit more famous for the Habu however, I believe. So Iori does have fangs but the keelback is a rear-fanged venomous snake thus you’d be fine from a normal bite, we just enjoy shark teeth characters a whole lot here!

I was thinking of considering the biker jacket and sarashi look as the possible default outfit choice but I want to add in elements from the Flaming Espinas gear since that would work well, especially those belts and perhaps the halfcoat-leg of the gunner version. No tattoos for now but that might change. No fullbody ref yet but I plan to save for sorting that out sometime. I dig the scaly hands look a lot too, and ears/waist are optional.

There’s also these lil alts for outfits/scenarios. Embarrassing such a character with a maid outfit is still a fairly common gag so I felt obligated to follow suit >:3 Picrew is full of options sure but not everything really meshes well in the creator or the range of positioning is minuscule. Rather than on the highlighted bang the hair ties ought to go to the side locks as is more usual for example.

It can still do fairly good at getting enough variation to try the pngtuber thing though. Until I had this picrew maker (faelion’s) cross my dash I only had the name Iori and no clue what kind of character I wanted to put to it. But we came a long way in a short time - just a name as of 15/11/22 then the picrew was 18/11/22 and more or less sorted to the current degree by 20/11/22

I am also working on this custom gunlance, effectively a Rare 9 weapon akin to the Knight Captain’s Charge Blade using ore and espinas parts for Fire element (and Poison on awakening): Devouring Yamakagashi.

The shells it fires burst into purple flames as a nod to Iori from King of Fighters. Coincidentally the red eye matches that series’ evil demonic eyes of Orochi’s power, making that a twofold reference hahaha. Yamakagashi is also just the Japanese name of the tiger keelback, but this fits in with existing Monster Hunter naming conventions just fine. It’s the shield that I haven’t quite settled on the design of yet. The thoughts and sketches and annotations about the ergonomics etc are tucked away in my head so there’s limited sketching, I’m pretty rusty anyway.

While I prefer to main Switch Axe in MonHun my secondary is gunlance, so Iori has one for her main. Although Kumo Desu Ga? brought up that manoeuvring in a fight with a large nonhuman body is both difficult to protect and to move, I feel that actually a lamia mixing it up between impenetrable defensive stances and blazing powerful agility to hit hard sounds very fun, they could probably do quite well - firing a shell, using the recoil to tense up their coils ready to spring into a lunge etc. The whole post-World gunlance mechanics of stab-shell-slap-stake combo would be pretty nice for that or a fighting game too.

And then once more: a beautiful spicy tease in the very first fanart of her, done by @feedbackfuckshit !

[smurphyse]

The Cracked Spine

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Part 3 of Mutual Irritation

Pairing: Post Prison Jaded!Spencer Reid x Witsec!Reader

Word Count: 4089

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: angst, mentions of murder, suicide, awkwardness, mentions/descriptions of Maeve's death, stalking

Summary: Spencer and the Reader head back to The Cracked Spine to start their first day of living together. Let's just say it's awkward.

You sat awkwardly in the car with the agent, fiddling with your hands as he coolly looked ahead. He paid you no mind, and you were having a hell of a time not looking at him. 

He was pretty, and with that fluffy hair and light stubble he reminded you of so many of the leading men in your books. Since Finn ruined alpha males for you, you'd found yourself writing socially awkward and shy men who turned dominant in the bedroom, keeping your protagonists safe and protected while your story lines raged around them. 

You were glad Emily hadn't placed Luke with you. You knew he was just being kind trying to give you his jacket, but if you took it you'd have to eventually give it back, and the less you saw of him the better. 

He didn't speak, just palmed the steering wheel. He had nice hands, you noticed, strong but nimble, thin long fingers with calluses on the pads. You gulped and looked out the window, no need to think about that. It had been awhile since you'd been with a man sexually, let alone had one sleeping in your apartment. 

That was why you'd gone out with Dani, finally letting yourself go and having a good time. The idea of a hookup passed through your mind at the club, dancing with various men and writhing in a way you hadn't in a long time, but you'd lose your nerve every time a hand rested on your hip, pulling away and going back to the bar to clear your head.

You missed the touch of another person, strong hands smoothing their way up your side and making you feel small, protected, safe. But a man’s touch didn’t do that for you anymore, instead it left you feeling little, thin, breakable.

The closest you got to that comfort anymore was Dani’s hand on yours when you got lost in your memories, trying to get your attention with her kind smile and soft eyes. Her arm around yours last night had been a welcome blessing, though you’d never tell her that. It had brought you a relaxation you needed, and you wished desperately that you could let her know… but you couldn’t. It wasn’t safe.

“Hey,” the agent’s voice came, a warm hand on your shoulder breaking you out of your thoughts with a jump. He pulled it and flashed you his palm, then pointed out the window. “We’re here.”

You said nothing as you got out of the car, tugging the cardigan the blonde woman had given you tightly around your scantily-clad waist. He pulled himself out with a sigh, then opened the back door to grab a duffel bag. You waited on the sidewalk until he threw it shut, then made your way up the steps.

The box was gone. You weren’t sure why you expected it to still be there, but your gaze burned into the spot it had sat. Christian Louboutin, size six and a half, six inch heel. Red bottom, gold glitter.

Gold glitter.

Your favorite color. Your favorite accessory. He knew you so well, even after all this time. 

For your ever-growing collection

He’d signed the note with a heart, a big flourishing one that you’d seen hundreds of times before. That bastard.

You sniffled as your heels clicked up the stone steps, rubbing your face with the soft sleeves before pulling your keys out of your purse. Your hands shook as you held them to the lock, and the agent waited patiently for you to slide it in and unlatch the door.

His hand went for his belt as it opened, the alarm blaring loudly while you stepped inside, unfazed. You went straight for the keypad, moving your body in front of it instinctually to hide the code as you typed it in. 

He sighed in relief as the tone blissfully stopped. You turned and gave him an awkward smile as he let go of his holster.

“There’s a separate one that’ll go off when we get upstairs,” you warned him, and he nodded, but he looked a little angry about it. He took a breath and finally looked around, and for the first time since you’d met him, that pinched brow of his softened as he saw where he was.

Your bookshop was far from neat and tidy, but the foyer was open and airy. Rugs overlapped on the floors, different sized bookshelves placed together against walls and creating hallways through the place. The original owners had converted a half-block wide townhome into a store, and when you bought it you packed as many books inside as you could.

Faux plants hung in between the cases and from the rafters, twinkling fairy lights encasing the place with an intimate glow. The cash registers sat behind a large ornate oak desk, a wall-length shelf filled to the brim with some of your personal collection behind it, the door to your apartment just to the left.

A sign that read Coffee and Snacks -> hung over the opening to another hallway, leading to the original kitchens that you’d converted for the customers who liked to stay long hours. A spiral staircase led up to the top sections of the shop, filled with more books and areas to read. That was why your apartment was so small, so that the original store could be open and tall.

Just before the kitchens laid the original dining room, a large magnificent room that you had turned into a study area for the students who came in. Little chairs and tables littered the halls and open sections, often filled by readers and customers. 

It was cozy. It was home. You were proud.

“Wow,” he chuckled, reaching out to run his hand along a row of spines. “This place is amazing.”

“We should go upstairs,” you told him, and his gaze snapped back to you. “I have to open in like an hour and I still need to shower and get ready for my shipment.”

His eyes lit up, “The first editions?” 

“Uh, yeah,” you told him, smiling a little at how excited he seemed at the prospect. Maybe the calluses on his hands were from pouring over tomes, much like the ones on your hands were from. 

You headed for the door near the register, unlocking it and stepping into the hallway. It was thin and claustrophobic, steep and tight, and you could feel the agent’s warm presence behind you. You looked back to him as you slid the third key into the third lock, you could never be too careful, and he nodded, prepared this time for the alarm. 

The keypad was right by the door, and you turned it off while the agent stepped into your apartment. The sun hadn’t risen outside, so it was still dark in the apartment. You flicked on the lights, suddenly feeling quite self conscious about your home. 

It was basically a large room, the kitchen in the back and to the left of the door, the bathroom next to it. The large bay windows were across from you two as you stood in the doorway. The two bedrooms laid to the right, all illuminated by more fairy lights and soft lamps, your preference in lieu of harsh overhead ones. 

“It’s… nice,” he said, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth and dragging a hand across the back of his neck. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled, and you closed the door behind him. “What’s your name again?” 

He sighed awkwardly and swallowed, “Spencer Reid… Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Doctor,” you marveled, nodding and looking away. “Well, Dr. Reid, welcome to my home.”

You took a few steps in and dropped your bag on a table, kicked off your heels and picked them up. You waved for him to follow you into the second bedroom, and he gasped.

“Holy shit,” he said, and you blanched, knowing exactly what he was seeing. 

There was no bed in this room, but the walls were lined with clear boxes for every single pair of shoes you owned. You had a few step stools so you could reach the ones at the top. There were only about thirty boxes left empty, but by your last count you owned something like one hundred and fifteen pairs. 

“You’ll have to sleep on the couch,” you said quietly, heading to the box specifically for your red patent Jimmy Choos, slipping them delicately inside and shutting it. “You can hang up your clothes on the rack over there.”

You pointed toward a half-empty clothing rack, then started pulling pieces off to put in your closet. The original closet in this room had met evenly with the one from your bedroom, so you tore out the wall and lived your Carrie Bradshaw dream by making it a large walk-through one.

You stepped into the closet hall and hung the clothes up while Spencer’s gaze still trailed along your room of shoes. You knocked on the wall to get his attention, smiling softly when you locked your eyes on his hazels.

“This leads to my room, just so you know. The couch folds out to a bed, which is good because otherwise I don’t think you’d fit on it.”

“Yeah, thanks. Hey,” he asked, pointing toward the crystalline boxes of your favorite possessions. “Why do you have so many shoes?”

You shrugged, “I didn’t used to. Finn bought me a pair of Louboutins after our first date and it started a fascination, I guess. Plus, they’re cute.”

“Most victims don't keep presents from their abusers,” he said, almost like he didn’t really care if you were listening, walking along the wall and flicking his gaze along each pair of heels. “Let alone buy themselves the same things they’re threatened with.”

You scoffed, fuck this guy. Spencer glanced over at you as you turned away, your cheeks heating up as anger and shame coursed through you. He didn't know anything about you or what you'd been through. Who was he to judge you or your shoe collection?

"I'm gonna take a shower," you said abruptly, snatching a pair of jeans and a black satin tank from the closet rack, then went to the drawers for underwear and a bra. 

"Are there windows?" he asked, and your head snapped up to glare at him, your brows furrowed. 

You must have looked really stupid, because he sighed and waved a hand toward the living room. 

"In the bathroom? Points of entry?"

"No."

He said nothing else, just set down his bag and started pulling out his clothing, so you gathered your own and headed for the bathroom, shutting the door quietly behind you. 

A choked sob burst from your chest as you leaned against the hardwood, and you clapped a hand over your mouth in surprise. Your shoulders shook as you sank to the floor, curling up on the cool tile and sobbing softly.

He came back for you. Finn came back, again. He was playing with you first, but eventually he would take you again. This time you'd end up with more than a broken leg, dead or worse. 

And here you were, stuck with this stranger who obviously didn't want to be there. He saw you as a victim, nothing more than a result of your trauma. Having Spencer in your home while you waited for Finn to come was feeling less like protection and more like prison.

Stuck in the compound in Italy for months, living with Finn and his temper, Ian and his creepy friends. Lauren had been your only comfort, your only reprieve, the one who patched you up when Finn broke you down. 

Now you didn't even have her. You were trapped like an ant under a magnifying glass with no way out. Spencer wasn't going to help make that better, his attitude or his presence, he was only going to make it worse. 

Stuck with him, waiting for Finn to come, you were dying in slow motion.

Correction.

You were being murdered in slow motion.

---------------

Spencer felt like a jackass as he lingered outside the bathroom door. The words had slipped out of his mouth before he'd really thought about it, 'victims don't usually keep presents from their abusers.'

He'd called her a victim to her face, something he knew not to do, and the look on her face when he said it left a swelling guilt in his gut. As soon as the door shut behind her he'd heard a cry of anguish, and went quickly to the door to check on her.

Raising two knuckles to rap on the door, Spencer turned an ear to listen. She was obviously trying to hold back her tears, but the bathroom echoed with the shower off, and he wondered idly if she knew.

Probably not. She'd probably never had anyone up here besides him before. 

So there he stood, hand raised and regret burning his face for fifteen minutes and thirty two seconds until it slowed. He heard some sniffling, palms against the tile flooring and clothes shuffling, then the shower turned on. 

If she kept crying, he didn't know. The water muted everything but the sound of it hitting the curtain. He stood there until the faucet turned off, then went back into the little room to finish pulling out his clothes. He tucked his gun in the bottom of the duffle bag, then pushed it under a dresser for safe keeping since he couldn’t wear it or his badge while on assignment.

The scent of vanilla and cinnamon followed her as she stepped into the room, heading straight for her closet to put her old clothes in a hamper. The guilt in Spencer’s stomach eased slightly when he saw she was still wearing the cardigan over a black silk shirt, but she didn’t look at him when she moved to the walls of shoes to find a pair she liked.

Her hair was still held up with one of those claw clips, curls bouncing around as she hummed to herself, the ends of a few of them damp and leaving a trail of water along her neck. Spencer watched with idle curiosity as she ran her hands along the clear boxes, leaning down now and then as she searched. 

She smiled softly as her hands lingered on one, acrylic nails tapping on the front before pulling it open. She pulled out a pair of suede purple shoes that matched his cardigan and slipped them on. She turned quickly to find him looking at her, and Spencer pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, suddenly feeling caught.

“Do you need to shower or?” she asked quietly, and her face turned a bit red as she watched him watching her. 

Spencer shook his head, “I like to shower before bed.”

She nodded, then made her way out of the room, so Spencer followed, feeling like a lost puppy dog as she headed for the door. She led him down the stairs, locking each door firmly behind her and setting the alarm. She went for the hallway that read Coffee and Snacks-> but Spencer reached out and grabbed her arm before she could.

She whirled around, her hand poised to slap him, but Spencer caught her wrist with ease. Staring at him wide eyed, her chest heaved, tongue darting out to lick her lower lip. Spencer swallowed thickly as their eyes met, his hand clamped tightly around her.

“I need to go first,” he told her as her body coiled tightly. “There’s too many hallways, I have to see you at all times, and I enter a room before you do.”

She nodded, and Spencer didn’t miss the slight quiver of her jaw as her eyes flicked from his to his wrist clutching hers. When he released her, she held her arm tightly to her chest and looked away from him… and the guilt was back. 

“You go through and take the first left. The kitchen is on the next right,” she said quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. 

Spencer didn’t miss the wetness glazing her eyes as he walked past her. Her heels pounded softly against the carpet as he followed her instructions, and he stopped in his tracks as they entered the kitchen, and she ran right into him as she rounded the corner.

She tottered for a moment before falling hard on her backside in the doorway, and Spencer turned quickly to grab her but he missed. She huffed angrily, glaring up at him from her spot on the floor. 

“I’m, I’m so sorry,” he said, leaning down to help her up, but she shoved away his hands. 

“Don’t touch me,” she snarled. She got shakily to her feet, holding onto the door frame as she did. She put her weight on her right foot but crumbled, and Spencer reached out to grab her again, this time succeeding. 

“What part of ‘don’t touch me’ do you not understand?” she asked, and she shoved at his arms again. 

Spencer held out his hands, clenching them tightly and then dropping them to his sides. She grumbled to herself as she reached down and pulled off her shoe, and heat rushed up to his face as he saw the snapped heel.

“These are one of my favorites,” she sighed angrily, shooting him a look of pure malice as she pulled off the other one. 

Stepping past him, she stomped into the kitchen and tossed her ruined pair of shoes onto the large island resting in the middle, and Spencer stood awkwardly in his spot, taking in the room.

It was a large servants kitchen, with robin’s egg blue tiled walls and antique furnishings. The original wood-burning stove was nestled between the sink and the counter, but he spotted a new oven in the corner. She’d kept all the original pieces she could, put in the newer appliances away from the old ones. 

“I’m really sorry,” he tried again as she limped over to the coffee bar setup they had, easily maneuvering around the strange machines and starting a pot. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she grunted, her back still turned to him. Spencer would be the first to admit he didn’t know much about women… but the little he did know by her cadence and her tone told him that she was definitely not fine.

“I’ll get you new ones, the least I can do.”

She turned enough to shoot him an annoyed glare, pointing at her discarded heels on the table, “Those are limited edition Manolo Blahniks. They don’t make them anymore and the few that are still out there cost three plus grand.”

“What?” he asked, his voice higher than he'd like it to be around a woman like her. “For shoes?”

“Don’t… just don’t worry about it,” she mumbled. She went back to making the coffee and shook her head. “I have a guy a few blocks over who does good work. He’ll fix them.”

“Then that I’ll definitely pay for,” he grunted, still shocked at the frankly astronomical price of women’s shoes, or at least what they were willing to pay for them. 

Spencer sat down at the island, sitting carefully and staring at the shoes on the counter. They were nothing special, how could they cost so much? A small amount of material and hand cut fabric, who would pay so much for something so… insignificant?

She said nothing else as she finished the coffee, turning back to him in silence and setting two mugs on the marble. She set a sugar container and a trivet down next before grabbing the pot. 

“Help yourself,” she told him, then went to the pastry display on the far end of the room. Spencer went about pouring sugar into his cup as she came back, giving him an odd look as she set down a plate of turnovers. 

“What?” he asked at her furrowed brow. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, shaking her head. He was about to continue his pouring when she opened her lips once more.

“You want some coffee with that sugar?” she asked lightly, and though her gaze was guarded, her voice was soft. 

“I don’t actually like the taste of coffee,” he admitted, and she nodded before sitting down. “The sugar helps me stay awake, though.”

“Well, there’s plenty of things to try here,” she offered, waving a hand back toward the coffee bar. “Everything from iced coffee to espresso roasts. Dani’s a connoisseur, she used to run a coffee bar in Brooklyn. It’s how we met.” 

“Does she know who you really are?” 

She shook her head. She took a few bites out of an apple turnover and sipped her coffee, watching him intently as he poured some into his own cup. 

“They call me Elizabeth, she calls me Buffy. I met Dani in Brooklyn during one of my book launches. I was signing books and she brought me a tester set of her beans in exchange for one. It was love at first sight, she’s why I decided to come to DC in the first place.” 

“So you two are together?” he asked, and she laughed sweetly through a mouthful of her pastry. 

“No,” she said, chewing and swallowing before speaking again. “As beautiful as Dani is, it's strictly platonic between us. She’s my best friend, or as much as she can be without knowing my real name or anything about me.”

“Sounds lonely,” he muttered quietly, not really meaning to let it slip out of his mouth. 

“Only when I let it be. I always liked my alone time,” she hummed, staring off into space as she spoke, the pastry hung in her hand while the other palmed her mug. “Thirteen years of alone time is a lot, though. The last six months have been better, since I set up shop here. The patrons, my employees, Dani. Hell, even being around Emily now and then has been better than running for eleven straight years.”

“Eleven years, huh?” he mused, thinking about Emily and her background. 

That meant she spent almost two years with Finn Doyle before Emily had her taken from the compound, almost the same amount of time she’d spent with Ian. Spencer wondered idly what she’d been like before, if she’d always had that caged-animal look in her eyes or if the fire that erupted when she felt threatened came first. 

She seemed to be around her mid-thirties, which meant she must have been eighteen or so when she met him. She’d spent almost half her life running from this man, with no end in sight. Settling down with a friend in a city that ended the life of one of the most dangerous men in the world would have been a big step for a woman in danger… or a suicidal one.

She shrugged, and they sat together for a bit, eating and drinking in silence. The Manolo Blahniks sat next to them like a reminder that both of their lives were broken, sitting in this converted house, hiding like rats from the world outside amid the halls of books and oceans of spines. 

Spencer looked across the table, and she was looking back. A terrified thought ripped through him as his eyes locked onto hers. 

Could she see that he was broken? The same way he took one look at her and knew she was shattered beyond repair? 

Would Spencer be able to save her, since he couldn’t save himself, or was she going to slip through his fingers the same way Maeve had? She had trusted him, the same way Emily’s mistake was trusting him, to keep her safe and intact from a shadowy figure and he’d let her down.

He shivered though his coffee was hot and the pastries were warm. He’d seen Maeve’s brains on the concrete of that rooftop, something he’d never thought about before and hadn’t stopped thinking about since.

Because he found himself wondering about that now, hating himself for the fatalistic thought tearing through him.

What would her brains look like splattered across the floor of this kitchen? How long would it take him to scrub them from his skin?

“You okay?” she asked him, breaking him from his reverie. “It’s gonna be a long day, just so you know.”

Spencer smiled softly at her, but he was sure it came out more like a grimace.

“I’m fine.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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[glowingbadger]

A student! reader (over 18 obviously) who has an awkward crush on Seteth who may reciprocate? This ask is like on the verge of the DONT section in your rules so feel free to ignore if it is too uncomfy xD

I actually got a couple asks in the wake of that post I made about teasing Seteth in the Academy uniform, so I'm glad you guys are vibing with me on that lol~

That said, I will say that a literal teacher/student thing is ehhhhh for me, BUT I think I have a way to make this work for all of us :3

Jeez, the number of times I've written Seteth fucking someone on his desk-

CW: former student, degradation, spanking, me being a Seteth simp

Seteth (FE3H) x FEM Reader - Garreg Mach Uniform

NSFW 18+

Sometimes it seems that your austere lover is even more busy in the post-war scramble for stabilization than he had been during wartime. Seteth had already been known for an almost worryingly dedicated work-ethic when you'd met him during your time as a student at the Officers Academy. Now, many years and sociopolitical shifts and one nervous love-confession later, it only seemed that more rested on on his shoulders than ever. Perhaps that's why, when you discover your old uniform while cleaning up your quarters one day, an irresistible idea forms in your mind.

Seteth's eyes drift, then refocus. He blinks away the exhaustion threatening to break him from his duties, then sighs as he runs a hand through emerald hair. The Chapel bells had signified the end of administrative hours some time ago, but he can't allow himself to become lax. There's still much to be done. It's days like this that make him think with a wry smile that his brothers would scoff at the way he's chosen to live his life, having traded fangs for bureaucracy.

His office door is propped open as usual, but he hears a knock that shakes him from his thoughts.

"Come in-" he glances up at you, and his brows furrow deeply. You can't help a playful smile at the sight of Seteth's face already tinted pink. With as much innocence as you can affect, you step into his office to show off your attire. Your old uniform still fits- more or less -but you've made some careful adjustments. The jacket and white blouse underneath are only buttoned as high as would be strictly necessary to be seen in public, exposing a daring view of your chest. Thigh-high stockings hug your legs, then lead up to perhaps the most scandalous aspect of this ensemble. You've rolled up the hem of your skirt until it flutters about your hips so short that when you're not careful, a glimpse of your backside is clearly visible. This latter point, Seteth clearly notices as you twirl for him, saying,

"Look what I found, love," He's already on his feet approaching you, and you smile up at him as sweetly as you can, "sure brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Without a word, Seteth tugs you away from the office door and shuts it firmly behind you.

"Did you parade yourself all the way here from your quarters looking like this?!" he demands, and you hear the click of the door locking behind you.

"Well I don't see how else I could have gotten here, so..." you reply flippantly.

"Goddess above," he says with an exasperated sigh. His thumb and forefinger worry at the bridge of his nose as he turns back towards his desk, "To think that anyone could have seen you-!"

You roll your eyes with a grin and follow him. You take his hands in yours, drawing them away from him and opening up his closed posture.

"Come on, I just thought you might like it," you say as you draw closer to him. Seteth sighs again and looks you up and down.

"Whether or not I like it is immaterial, my love."

"But you do like it," you prod him further, your grin widening.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. His lips tighten for a moment, then he manages to say,

"It is... flattering."

Releasing his hands, your own travel up the front of his torso, enjoying the dips and swells of his muscled body beneath those conservative robes. You feel his chest rise as he inhales sharply, and you say,

"Have I ever told you that I had a hell of a crush on you even back in my student days?"

Seteth speaks your name with a hint of a warning his his voice. You press your body to his as your touch travels up the strong contour of his neck to tease along the line of his beard.

"It's true. I've always wanted you, Seteth," you go on, "Every single time you scolded or lectured me, part of me was... incredibly turned on. Sometimes, it was simply too much to bear," you curl a lock of his hair around your fingertips. You can see his ironclad will beginning to fracture. "Sometimes, I'd return to my room and pleasure myself, all while dreaming of you disciplining me."

Then, his lips are on yours, his kiss so hard and impassioned that for a moment, you're breathless. Your smug posturing falters immediately. He drags your bottom lip between his teeth as one hand wraps around you while the other grabs onto the plump swell of your ass beneath the flimsy coverage of your skirt. Seteth pulls you firmly against his strong body, and you can feel his cock throbbing against you. Then, as suddenly as he'd initiated it, he breaks your kiss- but before you can speak, his hand holds at your chin and forces you to meet his fierce gaze.

"So, you came here in this shameful attire with the express purpose of provoking me," his voice is a husky whisper, the mere sound of it nearly enough to make your knees buckle, "Very well then- you will have your scolding."

He manhandles you into position, rougher and more forceful with you than he's ever been. Before long, you're bent over his desk beneath him, and he stares down at you with a heat that paradoxically makes you shiver. Then, he raises a hand, and brings down his palm across your ass. You whimper and arch up from the hardwood, but he only says coldly,

"Straighten your legs."

You do your best to obey, holding your backside upright for him as though presenting him with your body. Despite your efforts, his hand descends once more, the wonderful sting of his strike warming your skin.

"Spread them wider." he commands, and once again you obey without question. You hear the familiar rustle of his belt and outer robes coming undone, and you glance back over your shoulder.

"Eyes forward, Miss Y/N." he says, his tone now balancing on a dangerous edge. You whine in protest, but follow his instructions and merely await your punishment. He gives a low hum and says, "I see you are capable of some measure of discipline, at least."

You feel the stiff head of his cock pushing between your folds, but before you can prepare yourself in the slightest, Seteth drives into your waiting cunt. Immediately, your eyes roll back and you gasp out his name. He holds you by your hips, pulling you back against him until your ass presses flush against his pelvis. He's nestled deep inside of you, his powerful manhood stretching you to your limit- and for the moment, he simply remains as such. The tip of his cock is nudging hard against your womb, sending blended pain and pleasure radiating through your nerves. It's all you can do to keep yourself positioned properly for him.

"To think that you would flaunt your body about the Monastery in such attire," Seteth snarls behind you, his cock throbbing against your inner walls, "You're every bit as hopeless as you were as a student." Once again, he spanks you, and you have to imagine by now that his abuse has begun to mark your tender skin.

You're already panting aloud for him when finally, his hips begin to move. His pace is immediately firm and punishing, his cock pistoning in and out of you, stimulating your every aching sweet spot and sending a painful jolt up your spine with each thrust. Your lips hang parted as you gasp for breath, your eyes dazed and unfocused in your bliss. A sudden rush seizes your body, and you feel your pussy clench around the massive intrusion of Seteth's cock.

"Cumming already?" he says with clear derision in his voice, though he never eases his pace as his bucks into you, "Perhaps you were even aroused by showing yourself in public in this shameful state."

"Nuh- no...!" you whimper softly, "It was... it's only for you-!"

Smack! His palm strikes your bouncing flesh once more. You're still riding the wave of your climax- or perhaps you're cumming a second time already. It's impossible to tell.

"Yet you were already soaked by the time I bent you over," Seteth goes on as he pounds into you, "One can't help but think that perhaps my troublesome student quite enjoys behaving like a wanton whore."

You can't manage to reply anymore. Your head is spinning and your body aches. Seteth's full length drives into you to its base again and again, and you can't even begin to say how many times you've cum before he begins to falter. His hips snap towards you haltingly, his body shudders, and his balls feel large and heavy as they slap against you with each thrust. It seems even his immense self-control can't stand up to this lewd punishment session for much longer. As your hands uselessly try to find purchase on the surface of his desk, Seteth leans over you, his hands now on your waist, pinning you down beneath him. His member throbs from base to tip, and with an animalistic groan, he says,

"I expect you... to take full responsibility-!"

With this, you feel the heat of his release pouring out at your core. His length twitches with every shot of cum that he spills into you, and his hands grip you so tight you can feel his nails digging along your skin. Seteth moans out your name, and you're distantly grateful that no one else stays in the offices as late as he does- you've both certainly made enough noise to have caused a scene by now.

At long, long last, his member pulses with the final throes of his orgasm. Seteth's grip on you loosens, and his office is quiet save for soft panting as you both struggle to collect yourselves. He pulls his length from you in one motion, and already, you can feel his thick seed dripping along your lower lips.

"You will head to my chambers," Seteth says, then clears his throat as he struggles to regain his usual composed dignity, "And if you don't want anyone to see this dripping out of you, you'll go quickly."

"Whose fault is that, I wonder," you manage to mumble, slowly pushing yourself up from the desk. Seteth actually laughs at this. Even now, his laugh is a rare treat that makes your heart skip like nothing else.

"I am tempted to say yours, given your intentional provocation," he says, bending over to place a soft kiss to your lips, "but I acknowledge that my own weakened restraint is partially to blame. To that end," he adds, his smile once more gentle and fond, "I am feeling rather rejuvenated. I'll be done with my work before long, and I do hope to see you in my quarters then."

[ohsnapcracklepopfriends]

To be named GGMU fic: Part three - Drunk Mancs and Karaoke Don't Mix

After way too long, I'm back with another instalment of my GGMU fic (three parts down, four to go). Sorry, it took so long, life has been insanely hectic. I just wrote this in an hour of power writing, I hope you like it. Part one and part two if you haven't read them <3

Christmas parties at Sky were generally a disaster. Not only did they usually involve a room full of people all too competitive for their own good, there was usually the presence of both alcohol and cell phones which were a dangerous combination. All of this was worse to witness sober. Jamie had made the terrible decision of being the designated driver. Gary had one rule that he’d made clear to Jamie when they first started going out together: do not put drunk Gary in a cab. Gary’s a handsy drunk with zero self-control. They both know sitting in the back of a cab with drunk Gary was a recipe for a traumatized cabbie and a couple of disastrous news articles in the morning. So Jamie had agreed to drive, and that was fine. He was fine with it, truly. Jamie watched as Gary danced around in the bar they had rented out, jumping around freely while Graeme looked on with his disapproving grimace. Jamie wished he could be dancing with him, blaming it on the alcohol.

Jamie took a sip of his apple juice--which was fucking good, okay? Back off. He swished it around in his mouth, pretending it was something stronger. He swallowed and looked up. Gary was still jumping around without a care in the world. Jamie could tell he was really drunk. Gary was a total lightweight and he’d probably had about four beers to get to this point. Jamie chuckled to himself, thinking back to the nights they’d shared together when they first started dating. They’d spent quite a few nights on the floor of Gary’s living room with a bottle of wine and a bag of crisps. Jamie treasured those nights. He treasured the moments where Gary was buzzing and less scared of his emotions, letting them just enjoy their time together without Gary’s mind spinning.

Gary looked in Jamie’s direction. His face lit up when he saw Jamie leaning against the counter. He scrambled over until he stood right up against Jamie’s shoes.

“Did you see Redders?” Gary asked in a rush. Jamie laughed at the big goofy smile on his lips. He did, in fact, see Redders. Redders had taken to the small stage in the corner after his third pint. He’d been singing away at the top of his lungs--very poorly, Jamie might add--for the past hour or so.

“I want to sing, James. Come sing with me.” He tugged at Jamie’s arm. Jamie had fallen for this trap before. Last year he’d made the mistake of joining Gary for some drunk karaoke and ended up trending on Twitter. Jamie was not a singer for a reason.

“I’m sure Redders will sing with you” Jamie offered. Gary pouted. Gary was one of those people who were easy to imagine as a child. He could see a younger Gary in the way he acted when he was tired, grumpy, stubborn, and bleary-eyed. He could see a younger Gary in the way he giggled at Jamie’s jokes. He could see a younger Gary in the way he pouted during times like this, trying to sway Jamie to agree with him. It worked more than Jamie liked to admit.

“I’ll come and watch you?” Jamie tried to bargain again. Gary nodded this time and dragged Jamie towards the stage. Jamie happily let himself be pulled along. Gary’s hand was warm and sweaty where it was clutching at Jamie’s, but Jamie didn’t mind. After playing football for that long, he couldn’t be bothered by sweat anymore. After one testimonial match, Jamie found he actually liked Gary sweaty: he liked to lick beads of sweat off of Gary’s furrowed brows and watch him shutter--but that’s a story for another time.

Jamie wished they could stay like this, Gary holding his hand tightly, tugging insistently on it every few seconds, but all too soon, they found themselves at the stage. Gary dropped his hand and hopped up onto the small, wooden platform. Redders was still on the stage, red-faced and (poorly) belting the ending to Tainted Love. The stage was so small that the two men took up most of the space. Gary reached behind Redders to grab the second microphone. He grabbed Redders by the shoulder and whispered in his ear. Redders’ amused smile made Jamie nervous: what the hell did this drunk idiot have in mind?

Redders jumped off the stage with far too much grace for someone as injury prone and drunk as Jamie knew he was. He ran over to the karaoke machine and picked their song before scurrying back onto the stage to join Gary. Jamie was confused when the guitar started and he couldn’t place it.

“I got chills--” Redders started to sing and realization set into Jamie’s mind. Oh dear god, he thought, they’re doing Grease. “--It’s electrifying!” Jamie groaned. He couldn’t help himself. There was no way this wouldn’t somehow end up on Twitter. He knew sober Gary would not find this nearly as funny if it made headlines. Jamie started scanning the crowd for people with their phones out. Thankfully, most people had either gone home or were drowning themselves at the bar, after all, what was free booze for? Jamie noticed Geoff filming out of the corner of his eye. He practically ran over to him.

“You better shape up!” Gary starting singing now. He was by no means an angel, if Jamie was honest he was pretty fucking terrible. But like everything Gary did, he sang with a fiery passion and excitement that just made it utterly endearing. Jamie loved it when Gary sang.

“Give me that,” Jamie grabbed Geoff’s phone from his hands, which was pretty easy considering how sloshed he was. He barely even protested as Jamie deleted the videos and shut off his phone because Jamie was smart and knew Geoff was too far gone to figure out how to turn it back on.

“--tooooooo my heart I must be trueeeeeeee,” Gary was dancing around on the stage and Jamie couldn’t help but take a moment to stop worrying and just admire the carefree smile of his boyfriend, so blissfully happy as he made a fool out of himself in front of all of their colleagues. Jamie noticed that Gary was staring at him. Gary then brought his hand up to point directly at him.

“You’re the one that I want! Oh! Oh! Oh! Jamie!” Oh no. Oh no. This was a complete disaster. Jamie couldn’t stop himself, he jumped up on the stage. The limited space meant he had to stand pressed against Gary. Gary just smiled up at him and shoved his microphone up to Jamie’s lips. And as much as he hated it, Jamie could never deny him anything.

“Oh yes indeed,” Jamie half-sang, half spoke. It was awkward and hard to listen to even to his own ears, but Gary beamed at him and Jamie felt a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

And then he remembered why he got up here in the first place: not to sing, not to smile at Gary like a big, lovesick dork--no, he was here to put an end to this. He was here to take Gary home safely before any further disaster could strike just like he’d promised.

“If you’re filled with affection--” Redders started to sing again. Jamie used this opportunity to make their escape. He pried the microphone from Gary’s hands before placing it gently on the stage. He put his arm around Gary’s middle and firmly led him off the stage.

“Where are we going?” Gary asked. He was looking up at Jamie from where he was tucked against Jamie’s side. Jamie knew it was probably too intimate a position for them to hold in public but he found he was too exhausted to care.

“We’re going home, love,” Jamie said softly against Gary’s ear. Gary gave him a wicked grin and started to worm his fingers under Jamie’s jacket. Jamie pushed his arm away holding it against Gary’s side. This was not the time or place.

“You’re going to make me wait for it?” Gary asked. “That’s okay. It’ll be better when you fuck me later. I’ll be so ready. I’ll be begging for you.” Jamie let out a long breath. Fuck. Luckily, or unluckily depending on how you looked at it, they were out of the bar, walking down the street towards Jamie’s car. On the bright side, no one was close enough to hear Gary being far too drunk to care that he’s being far too loud. However, anyone could be on the street: reporters, idiots with cameras, though now Jamie is realizing that those are kind of the same thing. Jamie’s kidding, of course. He guessed he was kind of a journalist himself now. He generally thought of journalists as no-life drama vultures for the Daily Mail or worse The S*n.

Jamie was pretty used to wrangling drunk Gary into vehicles against his will, but this time was different. Gary was usually uncooperative just for the sake of being uncooperative. This trait just worsened after a few pints. That night Gary was shockingly content, though. He wasn’t argumentative or difficult, he was sweet and happy. He leaned into Jamie’s side on their walk and looked up at him like he just signed Messi for Man United (which Jamie couldn’t do obviously, and even if he could, he wouldn’t). When it came time to get into Jamie’s car, Gary went without complaint, let alone their usual wrestling match. Jamie was honestly getting kind of worried.

“Are you high?” He asked as he put the car in reverse. Jamie had never known Gary to smoke but he figured it was a possible explanation for his strange behaviour. Gary hummed in confusion.

“What?” He asked. Gary’s face was smushed against the passenger window, fogging up the glass with every breath.

“Are you okay?” Jamie rephrased his question for Gary’s scrambled brain, “you seem weird.”

“I’m not weird, James,” he said, his words even more drawn out than usual, “I’m happy.” He started humming something under his breath but it was so quiet that Jamie could not make it out over the engine. “Singing makes me happy, Jamie,” Gary said and Jamie knew. Gary was generally not as public of a singer as he had been that night, but he always loved singing. He sang in the shower, something that Jamie found entirely endearing. Jamie loved waking up in the morning to the sound of water and Gary’s slow voice. Jamie remembered Gary doing karaoke all the way back in their England days. He and Crouchy were always the most enthusiastic, though Jamie would never have guessed that until he saw it with his own eyes.

“I know,” Jamie said, “it makes me happy, too.” It was probably a little too honest but Jamie knew Gary wouldn’t notice. Even if he did notice, he wouldn’t remember it in the morning.

“Do you want me to sing to you?” And yet again, Jamie just couldn’t say no to Gary. Jamie expected more of what he’d heard at the pub: some eighties songs, maybe an NSYNC song or two (Redders loved NSYNC). He didn’t expect Gary to start happily singing Glory Glory Man United in his fucking car.

“Gary, what the hell?” Jamie protested but Gary just shushed him and kept singing. Jamie could hear his feet tapping against the mat of the car. And right when Jamie was about to smack Gary in the head, he realized something: Gary was drunk. Now obviously it didn’t take a genius to figure that out: he’d been steadily drinking since the party began and you could see the drunkenness in his red, flushed ears. But Jamie realized that Gary’s drunk brain was prone to forgetting basic, fundamental information. Like, for example, that Jamie was a Scouser.

Jamie figured that in Gary’s drunk brain, he wanted to sing a song to make Jamie happy. But like he’d forgotten that Tracey played netball on New Year the year before or that he was a right-back on one especially wild Wednesday night, he had forgotten that the song that brought his manc heart so much joy, did not spark the same happy memories for his boyfriend. He wasn’t trying to get on Jamie’s nerves and that knowledge comforted Jamie enough not to reach over and strangle him. So Jamie just let him sing and quietly suffered as he drove along. He tried to tamp down the simmering irritation the song automatically sparked in the pit of his stomach.

Mercifully for Jamie, Gary drifted off in the passenger’s seat less than ten minutes into their drive. Jamie instead drove the rest of the way to the sound of Gary’s loud snores.

[spiralhigh]

ranking the sdr2 cast by how much their formal wear hits

this is just my opinion, but my opinions are great and i know what i’m talking about! this will be long so it’s under a cut

S TIER:

s tier is reserved for only the best of them all, the cream of the crop, the fit that i would gladly lay down my life for. s tier is the crown jewel. s tier is what everyone else should strive to be... but only one can take the prize.

#1: AKANE OWARI

the undisputed champion. this look is everything to me. EVERYTHING. the red-trim cape with the fur. the contrast of the airy, gathered blouse with those skin-tight shiny (leather? vinyl??) pants. the pumps. the belt that screams disco style. the necklace accentuating the tasteful titty window. the red white and gold color scheme  are you FUCKING WITH ME miss owari this look could bring ARMIES to their KNEES in an INSTANT. whoever drew this deserves full creative control of the danganronpa franchise and i’m not kidding

A TIER:

a tier is for the fits that frankly own bones. they’re not as jaw-dropping and legendary as owari, but they’re still razor as hell and deserve to be met with riotous applause.

#2: KAZUICHI SOUDA

kazuichi, i didn’t know you had it in you, but this FUCKS. the character of the pins on the lapels, the sneakers, and the mispinned tie. the absolute CLASS of the suspenders, watch, and tiny round glasses. the handsome slick in the hair now that the greasy beanie is gone. the tasteful highwater. he looks like the host of the larry king show if the larry king show was exclusively about ska bands and he has never looked better

#3: HIYOKO SAIONJI

tell me this isn’t the cutest shit. the colors here are EXQUISITE. the bright notes from the blue on top, the way the soft pink is a perfect middle ground of the pink + white flowers on her sleeves, the subtle way the green in her bow matches the green in her collar, the white petals breaking up the sky blue that might otherwise look out of place? remarkable. stunning.

#4: PEKO PEKOYAMA

the ELEGANCE is EVERYTHING here. the monochrome is offset by just a splash of red that ties everything together with her eyes and the flower in her hair, the checkerboard pattern is visually interesting but not distracting, and her hair in that loose ponytail with the little white ribbon? ugh. ADORABLE! but most of all, look at those BOOTS. those CUTE LITTLE HEELS on those SICK LACE-UP BOOTS..... QUEEN shit!!!

#5: CHIAKI NANAMI

rounding out our a tier is chiaki in this adorable little dress just LOOK at her!!! she looks like a little rose, a perfect flouncy skirt with a glittery mesh overlay, a fun and fresh over-the-shoulder collar, a fucking big old bow tied in the back?? i can literally feel the way this dress would feel in my hands. it’s simple and perfect and frankly a GORGEOUS color on her this is flawless

B TIER:

b tier is a perfectly respectable place to be. these fits lack the lustre and flavor of the a tier entries, but they’re still dressed to impress and they still look fine as hell.

#6: TERUTERU HANAMURA

say what you will about teruteru (and i do) but this suit is ADORABLE and it fits in with his theme + talent better than any other mfer on this list. the tasteful white/brown/red palette gives it a flashy chocolate cookie look, which is amplified in the fun pattern on the jacket. the chef’s hat switching out for a little top hat and the way the cumberbund looks a lil bit like a chocolate bar is also VERY cute

#7: THE IMPOSTOR

now on its own, the suit is just alright. a vibrant pinstripe blue three-piece with the classic red tie wouldn’t land the impostor in b tier on its own... but that FUR COAT, LUXURIOUSLY DRAPED OVER THE SHOULDERS does WONDERS to pull this look together. not only is it worn with “yeah, it’s real mink, no, you can’t touch it” confidence, but it also ties the otherwise arbitrary white loafers into the structure of the look. it’s subtle and class as hell.

C TIER

c tier is full of looks that are... fine, but ultimately either are boring, lack cohesion, or have a confusing design choice or two that make it hard to get all that amped about. c tier is a passing grade, but nothing more.

#8: NAGITO KOMAEDA

there’s a lot that’s good about this outfit, but there’s also a lot that doesn’t really work. let’s start with the good: the slutty loose bowtie and collar, the tight-fitting vest that ends before the hipbones so you can see the belt, the cute little ponytail? (chefs kiss) exquisite, all of it. but the suit itself is boring as sing, and who the hell decided to put the t-shirt symbol on the sleeves??? was it to add visual flavor to an otherwise bland suit? this does NOT have the black/white/red elegance that peko had.

#9: FUYUHIKO KUZURYUU

the silver and gold mob-boss look, complete with matching shoes vest and fedora, are a nice nod to fuyuhiko’s talent! the plaid is teetering on the edge between fun and garish to me, but the fact that it’s consistent and the only pattern means it isn’t too offensive. quick question though: why are his pant legs rolled up like that?? this isn’t a cute “cuffed at the ankle” look, dude looks like he had to wade across a pond to get to the venue. what gives

#10: GUNDAM TANAKA

out of everyone here, gundam’s suit might be the most boring of all. the scarf is just his normal scarf. the red tie and trim don’t do anything to tie the look together. the only mild point of interest is the asymmetrical vest, and i can’t even tell if that’s intentional. simply put, this “““fancy”““ outfit isn’t even in the same ZIP CODE as the level of ostentatious chuuni that gundam serves us every single day in his casual wear. maybe even worse than being ugly... it’s disappointing.

#11: IBUKI MIODA

now, look. is this dress buckwild and ugly as hell? yes. but you know what else it is? it is IBUKI MIODA’S DRESS. there might not be a single cohesive thing about this dress aside from its color scheme. the huge poofy ruffles of the skirt and arm things with the spiked bow and corset are baffling. the artist somehow managed to draw the awkward, clumping shape of the skirt to make it look exactly like an emergency cosplay sewn four hours before a convention. frankly, i can’t justify ranking it as a c! but i’m doing it anyway, because the sheer level of craftsmanship demands it, and in this house we respect diy queens that are totally off the shits.

D TIER:

d tier is for outfits that aren’t offensive, exactly... but like, they sure don’t look good! d tier is not a respectable place to be. those in d tier won’t be laughed out of the ceremony in shame, but they should really run their outfit by someone else first next time.

#12: NEKOMARU NIDAI

now don’t get me wrong: i have nothing but respect for the titties-out look. keeping the shirt unbuttoned all the way down to where the lapels of the jacket end? that’s sexy as hell. however, this flawless idea has a confusing execution. why emerald green and orange? what’s with the... long-sleeved printed (hawaiian?) shirt? why the red pocket square? and the jacket itself, while fitted perfectly along the chest and midsection, has a weird, unflattering scallop shape flaring out at the bottom. i want to like this fit, but there are just too many bad choices.

#13: HAJIME HINATA

oh, hajime... literally nothing about this ensemble is it. the creamy manila suit might have had potential if there were literally any color variation in the vest (or potentially shoes) to give it a little more shape, or even if you just went with a white shirt underneath it! i could get behind a light, off-monochrome look! but that leprechaun-green shirt is downright perplexing to me. it looks like a mistake! did you get dressed in the dark? did you spill something on your other shirt? this is a mess.

F TIER:

f tier is inexcusable. f tier should never have happened. how does it get this bad. who did this? who’s responsible for this?

#14: SONIA NEVERMIND

y’know, the colors are pretty! i dig the white and teal! but... girl... what the fuck is this construction. the ruffles are all over the place. the bodice looks like it has less fabric than space it needs to cover. the bottom half of the skirt looks like it was sewn on as an afterthought because the top half was too short for dress code. what’s with the weird choker collar detached from everything else. why is the hairband a slightly different shade of green. so many decisions were made here and none of them are flattering

#15: MAHIRU KOIZUMI

yknow, i like the idea behind this. i can see what you were going for! the dress on its own might have worked, even! but everything else about it is just... so ugly. what the fuck is happening with those shoes??? the sheer black tights aren’t the sexy OL look you think they are. the collar of the dress looks like it’s... braided for some reason??? those earrings are so huge for no payoff, statement jewelry with nothing to say, and worst of all... that headband. GIRL. that headband and that belt...... there’s nothing here. also i love orange but it’s not her color.

and finally... the worst.

#16: MIKAN TSUMIKI

what the fuck. what the fuck is this. this is straight up cheap rubber fetish gear. why is the HAT rubber? that skirt ruffle makes this look like fucking polly pocket clothes. why the fuck is she wearing that. the clothes are so bad that it makes her hair look like rubber too. was she dared to wear this? is this some cruel punishment? i don’t even know what to say. this is the worst possible outfit. there is not even one redeeming quality about it.

[petiteyoon]

bunny ears — yoonkook | 10

⚠️ ATTENTION : This chapter contains described smut ! If you're a minor or uncomfortable with this, please read until the cut. The story won't be compromised.

A/N: it's a little short without the smut part, I'm sorry :cc I hope you like it. It's been a while since I've really wrote something, sooo constructive criticism is well accepted!💜

10: 100% brat tamer

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SUMMARY

-> fic type: social media au

-> pairing: rapper!yoongi x camboy!jungkook

-> genre: crack, smut, maybe angst

-> warnings: swearing

-> plot: Yoongi uses masturbation as stress relief and he has a favorite camboy: bunnybun. Everything's fine until Hoseok mistakenly exposes him for this.

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09 <- masterlist -> 11

Warnings : smut, male masturbation, non-con voyeurism? (idk,, jungkook jerks off while watching yoongi on screen), it gets pretty intense towards the end, lil angst because poor koo regrets what he has done </3

Word count : 1k more or less

Two hours earlier

“Actually… I'm going to start in a few minutes” Jungkook muttered while setting up his computer, his phone squished between his right ear and shoulder. “What? No! -he furrowed his eyebrows and scrunched up his nose- I don't want you to watch, Taehyung” he rolled his eyes.

Taehyung kept bugging him about watching his camshow; a thing he never did and a thing that Jungkook, of course, won't ever allow. It would be awkward!

While he sat on the couch he turned on the TV and kept changing channels, while Taehyung, on the other hand, kept talking and talking. There was nothing interesting today. He huffed, until he came across a programme with some boys dressed rather weirdly.

He squinted his eyes, as if he wasn't able to see at that distance, and he immediately recognized the guy in the front row. Yoongi? What was he doing there?

With a quick movement, Jungkook grabbed his phone properly and stopped Taehyung from talking “Whatever Tae… maybe next time. I have to go now, see ya” he pressed the hang up button and threw the phone on the other side of the couch. He stood there, with his mouth slightly open, trying to process what he was seeing. Glancing at the clock, he shook his head and focused on his computer, trying not to get distracted by those boys. He muted the TV and started his live. He angled the webcam so his viewers couldn't see his face, as usual.

Jungkook never showed his face anywhere, because he knew that it could compromise his working life. And because he was too fucking shy for that.

However, this timid behavior captured the viewers' attention, so he became more brave and tried to change from the normal shows he did, to please his audience. His live streams were mainly about him jerking off, but sometimes he liked to push his limits a bit further… and Jimin even helped him with that a few times, but only after a hard process of convincing the bunny boy in question. At this point he tried many things such as toys, vibrators, buttplugs, ropes and handcuffs, and pathetic costumes that made the viewers go crazy.

He waited for a few minutes, watching how the comments flew in the right part of the screen. He pinched his bottom lip with his thumb and index finger, deep in thought. Was he going to let the program play in the background while he entertained his fans? With Yoongi there dressed so nicely?

Yeah the jackets and pants were fucking ridiculous in his opinion, but Yoongi made every piece of clothing fashionable if he was the one wearing it. He tried to focus on his audience, eager to see him in his most vulnerable (and hot) state. He stretched his arms, flexing his muscles and reading all the comments, “I see y'all missed me that much huh…” he grinned, licking his lips.

A lot of comments were rushing past the screen and in that moment Jungkook decided it was time to start.

He slipped his left hand under his black shirt, stroking his chest until it felt too hot to keep that on. He quickly stripped himself, throwing away his shirt and unbuckling his belt, showing his thick thighs. His dick rested heavy against his boxers, waiting to be released.

“Even if I've been absent for some time I'm afraid I can't stay long with you tonight…” Jungkook murmured as he absent-mindedly stroked his clothed member, “I hope you didn't get too much fun without me” he pouted as he gripped his tip, a hiss came out of his mouth right away.

“Where's the maid dress you ask? I forgot to put it on” he chuckled and slowly slipped a hand under his boxers “I will use it next time, I promise…” his tone became more sultry as he started to pleasure himself.

Small waves of pleasure circulated from his head to his toes, focusing around his crotch area, causing his eyes to shut and his head to roll back. He hastily removed the last annoying piece of clothing, finally showing to his audience what they were craving for.

Comments rushed even more quickly, whining and pleading for him to keep going. Jungkook knew how to keep them glued to their screen with his power bottom energy. One thing everyone was crazy about was the fact that he seemed so tough and dominant, but after some dirty words or touches? His fake persona would vanish, only to reveal a sweet boy with a really sensitive dick. And, boy, did he like when someone played along with him.

However, this wasn't the case since he didn't have much time at the moment, and since Jimin wasn't there to help him like the other times, so he had to settle just with his virtual company.

Or maybe it was his television being so distracting that threatened to make him crumble? He tried so hard to focus on the lovely words of his viewers but everytime, with the corner of his eye, he saw it. He watched him.

His quick breathing was the only thing audible in the living room, as well as the slightly wet sound of his hand gripping his lubricated shaft. His left hand reached his chest as he started to play with one of his nipples, a quiet moan slipping out of his lips. He slowed down and started to focus on his red tip, dripping with precum, and suddenly a buzz of pleasure made him twitch. As his thumb kept circling the area to keep up with that blissful feeling, he finally gave in.

His eyes shot open and moved towards the tv. Even if he couldn't hear anything, his eyes were more than enough. Those feline, cold eyes that seemed to pierce through his soul. The way his mouth would twitch in a small smile, only for his lips to be licked soon after by his tongue. And how badly he wanted to have that wet and velvety feeling all over his body.

The thing that made Jungkook almost laugh was that he didn't even know him that much. Heck, he even was Jimin's ex! And maybe he won't even hear from him anymore after what he discovered but, God, was he so attractive. He would give him his whole body, his weak self would let Yoongi do everything to him.

At this point Jungkook was jerking off at a rapid pace, without bothering about the comments or the show anymore. His eyes were solely focused on the brown-haired man in front of him. He felt so dirty about his actions… Yoongi was so perfectly unaware of what he was doing to him, of the raw feelings he was making him feel, of how quickly Jungkook would submit to him.

Jungkook already felt near the edge as he was desperately chasing his orgasm, releasing all kinds of moans from his lips; he was so fucking shameless as he pleaded Yoongi to take him as if he was there. He was completely in his own little world. He swears he maybe even called his name while he was so lost in his pleasure. Doing this while he was just observing his beautiful face felt really intense, he never did this kind of thing; it almost seemed sinful.

The last straw was when Yoongi locked his eyes with the camera for a moment; as his pupils slowly shifted, Jungkook felt like the boy was really watching him. He suddenly felt vulnerable and hopeless. What would Yoongi think if he saw him like this?

A sudden heat exploded on his cheeks and his ears were on fire. His eyes were wide open, taken off guard. It felt like there was a connection between them and it was all it took to bring Jungkook over the edge. As a blinding pleasure pulsated from the base of his cock, his thighs clenched and his hips thrusted upwards, hot strings of white cum painted his honey glowing skin as he rapidly stroked his strained member. He tried his best not to shout that name, even if he wanted to do that so badly, covering it with loud moans. As he came down his high, for a moment he found himself staring at the ceiling, his chest moving up and down as he felt completely weared out.

With heavy breathing he read a few comments and decided to call it a day. He kindly said goodbye to his viewers and ended the livestream.

He brought one of his fingers up to his lips, sucking the digits clean, tasting himself. He glanced at the TV again and turned the volume up, a whimper escaped from his lips the moment he heard Yoongi talking.

What he did was really wrong. He felt like he wasn't capable of looking at Yoongi in the same way as before and he felt so guilty. How could he masturbate while watching a person? A person that he kinda knew?

He wasn't a thirsty fan that jerked off with the photos of his favorite singers, goddammit. He wasn't a teenager in the middle of his puberty. And most importantly, he shouldn't be aroused by his best friend's ex, who didn't even want to deal with him! And who was an Asshole, with a capital A.

He reached for some tissues to wipe the dried cum from his chest and tossed it away with a heavy sigh.

He sat there, still with his crotch exposed as he started at the black screen of his computer, shame slowly consuming him, the faint sound of the TV still going on in the room.

How was he supposed to look at Jimin now? Should he tell him? He really messed up this time.

[silverwhiteraven]

Wings of Broken White - Ch. 4

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 3 ] [ Chapter 5 ]

[ Summary: Alya takes Marinette somewhere, and it turns cute. ]

Alya decided that Marinette wasn’t getting out enough despite the fact that they shouldn't be going anywhere when it was still late winter.

“Girl, you hardly go anywhere anyways unless it’s for someone else!” Alya argues as she dragged a snugly bundled Marinette down snow and salt dusted sidewalks.

“Hey, I went to the school’s Valentine’s party last month, that should count for something!”

Allya scoffed at the weak defense. “You were, like, a ninth-wheel, Marinette. Rose and Juleka, Nathaniel and Marc, Mylène and Ivan, Nino and I, we were the wheels on that bus. You on the other hand…” She trailed off to emphasize her point.

Marinette scoffed. “I think you missed a set of wheels, Als. Max and Kim were there. Chloé and Adrien showed up, too.” 

“Max was there sporting an Aro-pride flag pin and keeping Kim company,” Alya shot back. “They were just being single-wheels, together. And Adrien, with Chloé? More like she had kidnapped him to a secondary location! Adrien clearly wasn't the one to decide to show up. And remember the color coded cups? He was using the one for the ‘Single, just here to support my friends’ category. Just like Max, just like you. So my point still stands: You need to get out more often, just for yourself.”

Marinette sighed, relenting. “Fine, but next time, I get to decide where I go, so no more surprise trips.”

“Yesss,” Alya pumped her fist in the air victoriously, her wings spreading out, too. Marinette laughed and pushed her hand back down to her side while she dodged out of the way of one fairly the overexcited wing.

“Anyways, where are we going? You said something about, ‘You’re going to love it, my treat!’” Marinette quoted in an exaggerated mimic of Alya’s voice, causing both girls to burst into giggles.

“Just a café,” Alya says coyly, almost teasingly. It made Marinette squint in suspicion.

“It wouldn’t happen to be the same café you mentioned two weeks ago on the Ladyblog, right? The one they planned to theme after Paris’s new heroes?” Marinette asked, teasing her friend right back with her confident guess.

“You remembered! Yep, that’s the place! And it’s not just any regular themed café, either. It’s a cat café,”Alya revealed dramatically, while spreading her wings again to wrap them both in a mock cocoon of unnecessary but playful secrecy. Marinette balked.

“Wait, so you’re basically taking me to a ‘Chat Blanc emphasis-on-the-Chat’ Café?”

Alya snorted, pulling her wings back. “Yes, but it’s actually called ‘Hero Rescue Café’. They work together with the animal shelters around Paris, most of the cats they have are available for adoption. The profits are even donated back to those shelters to help keep the animals cared for. Isn’t that cool?”

“Mhm,” Marinette nodded along as Alya continued to rave excitedly and lead the way to their destination. I wonder if they’ll have any cats that look like Blanc? Probably not. Blue-eyed white cats were already popular, and no doubt are even more so now. Not that I could adopt a cat anyways, but it’s a niche thought. Wait, why is it a nice thought? It’s not like I like Chat Blanc or anything, no way! I don’t do crushes! Oh, who am I kidding? Marinette groaned in defeat to her own thoughts, making Alya stop talking and look at her.

“Something wrong, Marinette?”

“Oh! Sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you, I was just thinking about how sad I’m going to be if I see a cat I really want to keep but can’t?”

Alya nodded in acceptance of the awkward excuse, and Marinette sighed in relief. I can never tell her about my crush- I’m scared to find out what kind of match-maker she would try to be. Or even worse, tell me I have no chance! I mean, I know I have no chance, but still, ow. Would Ladybug have a chance? Wait, she and I are the same person! If I don’t have a chance, neither does Ladybug! Hold on, why am I even thinking about this!?

“We’re here~!” Alya announced, breaking Marinette free once more from her internal chaos.

“Is that a cat in the window? There’s a cat in the window!” Marinette let herself get distracted by the café and Alya laughed.

“Duh there's a cat in the window, it’s a cat café, what else would be in the window?” She teased, but Marinette only laughed.

“Well I know that, but I can still be excited over a cat, can’t I?”

“Save it for when we go inside,” Alya winked, opening the door for them both. There was a second set of doors past the first, and Marinette realized that they did the smart thing and made an enclosed entryway.

“Oh, this is to keep the cats from dashing outside, like at a dog park,” she mused, making Alya chuckle.

“Yeah, and gives people a fur-free place to hang up their coats. Oh, look!” She added excitedly, pointing to the opposite wall from the hanger rod. There was something that almost looked like a long shawl or a barber cape. Marinette recognized it easily. “They have wing-covers for patrons to borrow, in case we don’t want the cat’s playing with our feathers. That’s so thoughtful. They really went all-out on this place.”

Marinette smiled and nodded in agreement as she slid off her jacket and hung it up. “It really is sweet of them. Are you going to use one?” Alya shook her head.

“Nope. My wing’s are tough, I can handle a few clingy kitties,” she declared with a proud smile, and Marinette only chuckled as she opened the next set of doors for them both.

Unsurprisingly, Marinette enjoyed the café. She spent a lot of time admiring their logo that was embedded in the resin coating of their tables. The stylized lettering was inspired by some of the animal-themed Akumas. Then the entire name was encircled by the white belt of Chat Blanc and the red and black yo-yo of Ladybug. Symbolic of two heroes saving those in need. They really thought this out. Maybe Ladybug should show her respect here some time.

Surprisingly, the café’s cats also enjoyed Marinette. Alya was convinced they had met every single cat in the building before they even got their drinks. Marinette was just embarrassed and spent a lot of time spreading her attention between each feline before shooing them all off towards other guests. One of the cats, sleek black with yellow-flecked green eyes, was too stubborn to leave, so she let him claim her lap indefinitely. 

But, completely unbelievably, the café got a surprise guest. Chat Blanc himself showed up out of the blue. Alya had spotted him running across a rooftop across the street, and proceeded to book it out the door, fly after him, and then shamelessly ask to take a photo of him with the cats that were inside the café inspired by him and his partner. He was stunned at first, but agreed, soon enough beaming happily as he surrounded himself with cats.

“Is he crying?” Marinette whispered to Alya as she recorded the feline hero sitting on the floor with at least five different cats climbing his back, shoulders, and into his lap.

“The happiest tears I’ve ever seen,” Alya confirmed.

Once Alya was satisfied she had taken enough pictures and video footage for the blog, she turned her focus to getting a few personal memorabilias.

“Mari! Come here! Take a pic of me with Chat, please? I want something for my desktop background, this would be perfect!”

Marinette agreed, to the annoyance of the cat in her lap. She managed to get the photo, a cute scene of Alya, her nerdy school friend, and Chat Blanc, her dorky friend-but-only-because-she’s-secretly-Ladybug, doing a silly pose with their arms linked, wings flared out, and several cats surrounding them.

She gave a thumbs up, and Alya whooped, standing to take back the phone. Marinette stepped forward, only for the clingy black cat from earlier to entangle himself with her ankles.

With a squawk, she went tumbling, but was deftly caught in the arms of Chat before she could meet an untimely end via a floor of cats.

Marinette flushed scarlet. Chat Blanc smiled shyly. The black cat jumped up on them, getting his lap-seat back. Alya, of course, got another photo.

All three of them managed to laugh it off, but not without Alya demanding another picture of the two and the cats before she would let them stand up.

“Marinette, I’m texting you copies to keep for yourself. Sorry, Chat, I’d send you some but-”

“No worries,” he chuckled and rubbed his neck, waving her concern away with his other hand. “Secret identity means secret number. You’ll be using your own pictures on your computer, though, right? Consider me honored by that,” he bowed dramatically and the two laughed as he straightened. “And Marinette, I’d be more than happy to let you do the same if you wanted, too,” he played the comment off with a wink.

“Time for me to go,” Chat Blanc continued before either girl could respond. “Chat out!”

They watched him dash out the doors and off over the rooftops.

“Girl...Did he just flirt with you?” Alya looked at Marinette, awestruck.

“What? No! There’s no way! Nope!” Marinette flustered and started walking out in a feeble attempt to escape the accusation.

“Uh-huh, because feeling ‘honored’ to be a screensaver for one girl and being ‘happy’ in case it were to happen by a second girl, is totally the same thing,” Alya followed after, determined to tease the life out of Marinette.

“Yes, exactly! Completely the same! It would have just been awkward to say the same line twice, so he just reworded himself, that's all! He was just giving permission to use his picture for personal use, nothing more, nope!”

Alya laughed before winking playfully. “Yeah, girl, sure. That was all, nothing more, nothing less. Whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Marinette nodded in finality, ignoring the teasing sarcasm from her friend.

Later that day, Marinette saved one of the café photos as her phone’s background, making sure to put a completely different photo as her lockscreen to avoid any further notice or teasing about her and Chat Blanc.

[missroserose]

the neon light's on me tonight

part 1 | part 2

or read on AO3

here I am, back on this bullshit again.  it's like y'all's enthusiasm is addictive, or something. <3

And yes, three chapters means it's playlist time.

(Thanks as always to @anarchist-billy for being the best beta. <3)

*

The January nighttime air is a shock, whiskey vapors and cigarette smoke and beer fumes cleared from Billy’s lungs in one bracing breath. Something about the cold is soothingly familiar—it mirrors the gnawing emptiness deep in his gut, soothes the constant itch beneath his skin. He takes another lungful, can practically feel the ice crystals forming inside his lungs.

Billy’s not drunk, not really—though not for lack of trying.  He shotgunned each beer and downed every shot somebody bought him, but the buzzing is still there, energy scrabbling in circles like the lyrics of that Ratt song playing on the bar’s jukebox. Between that and the icy fingers that creep under his collar and inside the corners of his leather jacket, what little comforting haze had dropped between him and the world is cleared away within moments.

Still.  It’ll be better soon enough.  He struts out the door, boots crunching on the gravel, gives an extra little swing to his hips for the sake of the man following him.  The weather is the perfect excuse for a quickie—it’s too goddamn cold even to stay out for a cigarette.  No names, no awkward small talk.  Just long enough to get off in the almost-dark beneath the bar’s window signs.  Long enough to feel gravel beneath his knees, to taste bitter salt at the back of his throat.  Long enough to quench the restlessness that vibrates through him, long enough to find his center, to keep up his front of self-preservation—

A pair of headlights clicks on, flooding the darkened space between the lot and the roadhouse where they’re standing.  Billy mutters a curse and throws up a hand to shield his eyes, wondering what kind of clueless asshole—and then something clicks in his mind as the door opens.  Even before the figure emerges, even before it stands silhouetted in its Members Only jacket (in this weather?) and that ridiculous hair and that fucking nailed baseball bat—well, Billy knows who it has to be.  Knows what he has to say.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?”

But Steve doesn’t do the expected thing.  Doesn’t give the reply that by now might as well be their secret code for come kick my ass, or pound it, could go either way.  Instead, he walks towards Billy, knuckles tight around the grip of the bat.

“Who the hell is this?”  The question could’ve come from either of them—Steve, standing in front of him, or the nameless man behind him—a little taller, maybe, a little older, a little less hair product.  But the slightly-nasal tenor is the same, the fancy clothes, the flicker of assessing glance.  Like they only make one model of closeted queer in Indiana.  Or maybe it’s just the only one Billy likes.  

Fast cars.  Cigarettes.  Pretty rich boys.  Billy always seems to love the things that could destroy him.

“Aw, that’s sweet,” the man behind Billy says—Billy’s fairly sure it’s him this time, can practically feel the disdain emanating from behind him as the man looks over Steve.  “Your boyfriend drove all the way out here to defend your honor?”

“He ain’t my boyfriend.”  He isn’t, not even sort of—Harrington’s been avoiding him, after their last encounter, and for the sake of his own safety Billy had decided to take the hint. He takes a step forward, grabs Steve by the lapels, gives him a shove. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

Steve returns the favor, shoves Billy back.  “I need your help, jackass,” he says.  He tilts his chin up and to the right, moving his gaze over to Billy’s companion. “You realize he isn’t even eighteen?”

Billy’s punch lands right on Steve’s jaw.  It’s a bolt from the blue—no windup, no warning, just a swing and a connection, hard enough that Steve stumbles back.  Billy turns, already pasting on his most charming smile, opens his mouth, ready to spin some shit to repair the damage—

It’s too late.  The guy has his hands up, is backing away.  “Thanks, but no thanks. This is way too much drama for me.”  And with that he’s turning, going back—hair metal guitar solo spilling out briefly as the door opens, then shuts, leaving them out in the cold.

Billy stands for a moment.  Savors the heat that fills him—something like anger, something like lust, something completely different from both—whatever, it’s enough to drown out the buzzing, to give the scrabbling energy a much-needed outlet.  He turns back, smile still in place, eyes bright with coiled menace.  

“God, Hargrove.  You’re such an asshole.”  Steve’s standing by the car, holding a hand to his jaw, split lip oozing blood; the nail bat leans against the bumper next to him.  

“Born and bred, baby.”  Billy watches Steve, waits to see which way this is gonna fall.  If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll get in his car and drive right the hell away.  If he cares what’s good for Billy, he’ll man up and throw a punch in return—but he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t, because when has Steve Harrington ever been smart?  He only straightens.  Sneers a little.

“Look, do you want to help the kids out or not?  We could use some backup on this.”

“Oh, is that what’s going on?”  Billy can’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice—of all the pathetic, weak-ass excuses for his erstwhile hookup to cockblock him at the one fucking homo bar in the county—he stalks towards Steve.  “You drop me like a hot potato, not so much as a Christmas card, then one day you just decide to ruin my night because something came along that your little midnight chess club couldn’t handle?” Billy waits for the sidewise slide of the eyes, the backing down, the slinking away—all the shit Steve’s been pulling on him since November, that leaves Billy fuming.  But something tonight is changed, charged; Steve’s eyes narrow, and something in his eyes looks—delighted, almost.  As if he’s missed this fire as much as Billy has, as if the pit yawns in his gut the same way it does in Billy’s.  

Billy feels his heartbeat kick up a notch, feels the buzzing under his skin tune itself, become a humming, harmonizing with whatever electricity always seems to fill the space between them.  A power chord, the fifth to Steve’s tonic.

Oh fuck yes.  The King is out to play tonight.  

“You wanted to know what’s going on in this town.”  Steve’s hands find Billy’s hips, fingers curling in his belt loops.  “Now’s your chance, Hargrove.  If you’re not too chicken.” He gives a sort of half-smile, pulls him forward, pulls their crotches flush against each other, and goddamn if Steve isn’t halfway hard and getting harder.  Goddamn if Billy isn’t right there with him.  “Or would you rather just go at each other right here in the parking lot?  Your call—”

 “ksssssh—eve, you there?  Code re—kssssh—can’t find—over—”

Steve doesn’t take his eyes from Billy, but something in his expression changes—goes from seductive to steely.  He reaches back, grabs something from a belt clip—it’s one of those fucking walkie-talkies the kids are always using.  He uses his teeth to raise the antenna, brings it to his mouth.  “This is Steve.  What’s your position?”

The static hisses, breaking up the words—they must be right at the edge of its range.  “kssssh—odog—got Max—chasing—towards you—”

Billy feels his heart give a jump, much less pleasantly this time.  “What’s going on with Max?”

Steve steps back, his face grim.  “I don’t know, but if Dustin didn’t get after me for not saying ‘over’, it’s bad.”  He hits the button on the walkie.  “Do not engage.  Repeat, do not engage.  I’m on my way.  Over and out.”  A pause as he clips the walkie back on his belt, looks up to Billy’s face.  “Look, I’ve got to go.  I could use your help.  But you should know.”  His expression changes again, steel giving way to a—hollowness, almost.  Hauntedness, at a depth Billy wouldn’t have credited him with even a few minutes ago.  “Once you’re in, there’s no going back.”

He should be worried about Max.  Billy can feel it, practically etched into his forebrain.  Out of sheer self-preservation alone—if something’s happened to her, Neil will have his hide regardless of whether or not he was supposed to be watching out for her.

He should laugh this off.  Billy can feel it, deep in his gut.  The idea that this boy from podunk nowhere has something life-changing to show him is patently absurd.  He should throw another punch, maybe two, rough Harrington up a little.  Teach him not to mess with his personal life. It’d let the energy out another way—less satisfying, maybe, but just as sure. Billy realizes he’s starting to shiver, deep against his bones—soon enough it’ll take over his whole body, leave him visibly trembling. Thinks, for a moment, about the heat that he and Steve always seem to bring out in each other.  Remembers the way it roars through his veins, his muscles, drowning out everything, until the world is pure and breathless and beautiful—

“Just tell me one thing, Harrington.” He steps back, squares his shoulders.  Squelches the shivers that’re threatening to work their way up his spine.  “Whatever it is that we’re chasing—can we burn it?”

A smile slowly grows over Steve’s face.  A kingly sort of smile.  And Billy has to fight the sudden urge to drop to his knees right the fuck there in the parking lot.

Luckily, Steve moves.  Grabs his bat, crosses to the trunk.  Pops it.  Reaches in, and pulls out something long—Billy only sees it in shadow until Steve tosses it to him, until he catches it by reflex, feels the uneven weight, sees the dinged red paint on the head.  An axe.

“Get in,” Steve says, opening the driver’s side door.  “We’re gonna start ourselves a fire.”

[chenfordupstead]

Will you be my valentine? Upstead fluff.

The lights outside gave an orange glow to the snowy streets, and snow was falling hard on Chicago. It had been a long day for the 21st detectives , big case, freezing cold weather. Hailey and Jay were walking back to his truck after talking to the victims mom, he was holding her coat because she insisted she was not cold, his girlfriend was one of the most stubborn people on the planet. Every time that he tried to give her it, she would shake it off with “I’m fine.” He could see she was shivering, she claimed she was hot. She told Jay she enjoyed the cold and quite frankly he did too, but right now it was almost -5 degrees in Chicago right now, and they couldn’t catch colds. “No, I don’t want to wear mine, yours is big and comfy.” She said while climbing into the truck. “Oh.” “You want my hoody?” Jay asked his shivering girlfriend. He smiled and took his navy blue Chicago police hoody and slid it over her, she was still shivering as she put on her seat belt. She gave a frozen smile while she still shook, Jay gave her a puppy dog smile towards her. “What.” She said putting her hands to the heat. “How did I get so lucky with you.” He said. Tucking her hair behind her ears. “I guess I’m just your guardian angel.” She said leaning her head against the cold glass of the window. Jay smiled at this. She was right, Hailey was his guardian angel, she has been there every step. She is the best thing that has ever happened to him, she thought to herself. He started up the engine and they headed home because Voight told everyone to. “Hey you know what tomorrow is.” Jay said looking over at his semi sleeping girlfriend. “What.” She said pulling the jacket sleeves over her hands. “Valentine’s day babe.” Jay said. “Oh, is it really.” Hailey said kind of sarcastic because she was mildly tired. “Will you be my valentine.” Jay said. “No.” Hailey responded. “ No...why no.” Jay said putting his hand over his heart. “Ouch that hurt.” He said nonchalantly. “Oh, because I don’t know...Hailey said raising her shoulders , “people usually ask their significant others on Valentine’s Day.” “Alright we got to get you home, grumpy pants.” He pointed out. “Come on, you can do it Hails.” He said lightly pushing her up the steps and putting his arm next to her so she doesn’t fall at the same time. -(A few minutes later in the bathroom.)-“You know, tomorrow is going to be very hard for me to not kiss you.” Jay said looking at his girlfriend already falling asleep, with a toothbrush in his mouth. “Is it my turn yet.” Hailey said getting up off the bed to go to the bathroom. “Wow...babe I’ve never seen this sarcastic side of you.” Jay said looking at her as she crossed his other side in the bathroom. “Ahh...might as well just wash my face right now.” She said putting her hair up, and slathering face wash on, ignoring him. He finished brushing his teeth and watched his girlfriend wash her face leaning against the bathroom door. “So...no jokes tonight sleepyhead...” he said coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her cheek. She looked at him and cracked a smile. “ sorry..I’ve never been this tired.” She said while she finished brushing her teeth. After putting her toothbrush in the holder, she popped two melatonin in her mouth. “No..need to apologize..I this sarcastic side of you....it’s cute.” He said looking at her and smiling. “Really.” She said giving him a look and rolling her eyes. “Wow...alright.” He said quickly tossing Hailey over his shoulder. “Jay....I’m not In the mood for your craziness.” She said as he threw her on the bed. After tucking them both in Jay kissed her on the forehead before pulling her in to his chest. “Love you.” She said before yawning one last time before the melatonin kicked in and she was softly snoring. “I love you,you are my whole world.” Jay said to her. Squeezing her tighter. (Continued scroll down)

10 hours later. “Alright, we need approximately 3 bottles of wine for this party.” Kim said as she checked the list, strolling along the aisles of the liquor store with Hailey. “We will Probably need more, if we are going to get the good stuff.” Hailey said in a smirk pointing towards the rose that everyone always seemed to like. “Hey I appreciate you being cool at work knowing the Jay and I are together.” Hailey said nudging Kim’s shoulder. “What do you mean.” Kim said looking stunned at Hailey. “Nice.” Hailey said. “Well, I am a detective I got to pretend like a lot of things are cool.” Kim said laughing. After loading the cart with tons of chocolate, any alcohol that was necessary for the party, and many bags of chips, Hailey and Kim were satisfied with their search, so they headed to the checkout. “I have...not had that much..., Jay Halstead.” Hailey said stumbling her words. as Jay took her glass,leaving Hailey to pout. “Oh..I think you’ve had enough, Hails.” He said guiding her over toward their couch. After everyone had left except Kim and Adam, Adam came up to the Jay who was trying to get Hailey to drink some water and an Advil. “Hey,man thanks for the party,I think we are going to head out.” Adam said holding Kim’s hand. “Alright, have a good one.” Jay said as he waved him off. “Wait..wait..wait Kim your leaving without saying goodbye.” Hailey said Sounding like a little kid. “Oh..Hailey you are so drunk.” Kim said feeling a little tipsy herself. “I am not...Jay tell her.” She said looking back at Jay pursing her lips. “Oh...babe you are a little bit wasted.” Jay said helping her back to the couch. After Adam and Kim left, Jay had convinced Hailey to drink enough water to help her feel a little less drunk and water down the alcohol inside her system. “Oh..goodness.” Hailey said. “I feel so much better. She said sitting up and raising her head from Jay’s lap. “Ope....nope never mind.” she said laying back down. Jay laughed a little at his girlfriend. A few minutes later she felt good enough to grab some chocolate from the counter. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” She said looking down at Jay, motioning for him to get up. “I have something to show you.” She said taking his hand and opening the door. The floor had rose petals laying everywhere. And there was lit candles. “Oh, this is awkward I did the exact same thing for you in the guest bedroom.” “Ummm..how did you do this.” He said. “Babe...before I got drunk...do you remember when you and Adam were watching the nfl game...I snuck behind you as you were facing the tv, and got it done as fast as fast as I could. “I’m glad the candles lasted.” She said looking up and him and glancing at the work she did. “Aww..Hails I love you.” He said grabbing her hand. “Oh I need to go blow out my candles. “Wait...how did you do yours, I wanna see it.” She said as she walked into the guest bedroom. “Aww..babe...imma cry.” She said as she saw the first picture of them. The first picture that they took as a couple at Bartolis. Hailey was holding her margarita and Jay was holding a hotdog. “Okay...you win.” “How did you manage to do this.” She asked him. “I did it while you were talking to Kim at the counter, you two seems really busy so I decided to sneak in the room to do it.” He said glancing down at her. “I love you, my darling Hailey Anne Upton.” Jay said as he stroked her face. “I love you more than you could ever say Jay freaking Halstead.” Hailey said as she laughed. Jay managed to laugh too, he couldn’t help not laughing at his girlfriends cheesy jokes.“Goodnight and happy Valentine’s Day, Hails.” Jay said. “Happy Valentine’s Day, I love you Jay.” She said as she snuggled into his arms. They wouldn’t want to be anywhere else beside in each other’s arms.

Authors note: (Hope you enjoyed this Upstead Fluff, as much as I enjoyed making it. This was a good Valentine’s Day, did everyone have a good one.) goodnight y’all and Happy Valentine’s Day!!!

[kinkyacademia]

Could I request a scenario or even headcanons (whichever is easier) with Overhaul of how he would be with fem s/o and she just so happens to have a erasure-like quirk.... (I’m sorry it’s so vague I can elaborate if necessary) thank you so much!

So the thing is it is 3:30AM and my dog is alseep next to me, hands not working, I want to write sex.Okay I ended up rewriting and finishing the request, but the fact that my intro was so dumb still makes me laugh XD

-Mod Pasta🍜🍝

💊You had met Overhaul when he was just starting the Shie Hassaikai, you being fresh out of a mediocre Hero Course and still struggling to find your place in the world.You were always told that hero life suited you, but that it would be hard to find work because of your quirk. Why did it have to be hard? Why were everyone’s compliments so backhanded? You wanted to do good, but it felt like the government didn’t care.

💊He pulled you out of that mess and depression, telling you that you were incredible, your quirk was a blessing, wrapping his arm around you without flinching. Without flinching. One of the first things he said to you was, “You’re clean, you may have a quirk, but it’s clean.”

💊That was about a year ago. Overhaul sometimes asked for you assistance with Eri’s “temper tantrums,” Or to teach certain members a lesson, or just to make himself feel temporarily clean. The more skin-to-skin contact he had with you, the better his mood would get that day. There were many parts to his business that you opposed, especially the use of Eri, but you didn’t want to be useless and deny him your service. This wasn’t the easy route you had to remind yourself. You were helping.

💊More contact meant less clothes, and despite his adverseness to germs, the closest he could get to you was sex. He was infatuated with you, and for the first time in his life, he opened his being to someone. It was all on his own terms, of course, but you were more than happy to oblige. You were helping a man achieve his dreams after all, and what was more desirable that a driven person?

💊You had to admit that Kurono throwing you at Chisaki like a happy pill was a bit annoying, but you also felt important. You were this important to one person, especially a very important man - this was what you wanted. You wanted to help others, and this did the job just fine despite the obvious drawbacks. Overhaul made it very clear that you could return to the hero world whenever you wanted, but reminded you of what would happen: You would be shunned for leaving for so long, you would never find work, you would fall into a pit of despair and never be recognized.

💊Technically you only needed to touch someone once to cancel their quirk for a couple minutes, but Overhaul obviously enjoyed your continued use.

On one particular bad day, you were drinking tea in the backyard when you heard footsteps approaching, blocking the sun from reaching you and casting a shadow, “Yes?”

“You’re needed (L/N),” It was short and sweet, but you knew what Kurono meant. His voice was strained, and you pushed yourself up slowly, giving him an apologetic smile.

“Is he okay?”

“Not exactly,” He nodded to the back door, and you felt a prick of annoyance at his rushed tone, but proceeded inside nonetheless. You went down a staircase, down a few winding stone halls, then found Kendo Rappa standing outside of Overhaul’s room, arms crossed in front of him as he pouted, glaring at you. You looked away, hoping he wouldn’t confront you.

As you passed him, reaching for the doorknob, he spoke up with a crackly tone, indicating how his conversation with the masked man went, “You’re going in? He’s pretty pissed,” he chuckled, reaching for your hand.

“That’s okay,” You giggled, waving him off, “Thank you though.”

“I warned yah,” He shrugged, looking up and down the hall before leaving you, throwing one last sentence over his shoulder, “We should fight!”

“Right,” You muttered, rolling your eyes. It was like his departing phrase: fight me, give me a battle, see you next round, etc. You pushed his warnings out of your head, taking a deep breath before opening knocking with one hand and pushing the door open, “It’s me.”

“Close the door,” Just as you were got inside, you were ordered around. You had to swallowed your pride and not state that that was exactly what you were going to do. Usually he praised the ground you walked on, but Kurono and Rappa were right: this was a particularly bad day, likely because of Rappa.

You sat in front of him while he looked over a set of papers, “Did Chronostasis send you?” He hummed, turning a page. You nodded.

“Yeah,” Your eyes traveled to a few books that had fallen from his shelves. The fact that they weren’t picked up made your nerves stand on end. The clean-freak himself wasn’t cleaning.

You got up to clean the books up, and he didn’t stop you. Once everything looked orderly, you turned to him, approaching him now from behind his desk, “I guess today was hard?”

“Correct,” He mumbled, getting to the last page, “I would rather my subordinates do what I ask of them without question, but some need motivation,” He clicked his tongue, rubbing his fingers over the paper delicately. It looked like he was trying not to crinkle it, but his anger caused the edge of the paper to turn in. He stared at it for a second, then slowly placed the paper on top of the stack, shaking his head with a groan of disappointment.

You smiled, gingerly placing a hand on his shoulder to provide the much-needed relief he craved, “They’ve fought before, but last time their reasons were jaded. You provide a clear goal: Maybe that’s what’s important to them,” You gave him an experimental squeeze. He didn’t respond, his eyes closed as he thought. A moment passed, and you began to feel an awkward silence brewing. Suddenly he pushed his chair back, reaching up to grab your wrist and pull you down to eye level.

“I’m their boss. You,” His eyes travelled to your chest, then back up, causing your cheeks to flare, “You’re too perfect to give trash like them excuses.”

“Oh,” You whispered, heart pounding. Your surroundings became sharp and in better focus as adrenaline surged through your veins, “Thank you.”

He let go of your hand, and you crouched in front of him awkwardly, awaiting his word. You found trouble thinking for yourself these days: it was just so easy to let Overhaul make the decisions. He pulled his gloves off, putting them in his jacket pocket before removing the coat and placing it on the back of his chair. You knew what was coming, and it excited you to no end.

“You should be ready,” He started working on his mask, and you eyed the awkward man before reaching under your skirt and hooking a finger around your shorts and panties. You stepped out of them, looking around. You ended up placing them on the ground next to his seat, turning back to him. He was staring at your chest, and you instinctively went to cover your breasts.

“Over-”

“Leave the skirt,” He continued to stare with hungry eyes, “I enjoy all of you, (F/N),” He raised a hand up to form the come here sign. You obliged, and he reached a hand out to your legs. You too the cue to climb onto his seat, straddling him and sitting on his knees, “You’re a pure form of human.”

“I think you underestimate your own worth, you’re just as amazing as me,” Your hand came up to his neck, resting against it as your quirk took hold once again. His mask was on the desk now, but a black one underneath had taken its place. You rarely got to kiss him, but he seemed to enjoy the contact of the kiss rather than the emotions behind it. He was better at expressing those through speech and touch.

“We’re powerful together,” He settled that, “But that’s not important now… Tell me about your day,” You chuckled- he was quite monotonous when it came to casual talk. His bare hands went to your shirt, pulling it off of you. He wasn’t one to hold back - the moment your shirt was off, he went to your bra. Skilled with his hands, it dropped immediately and they went to your breasts.

“It was-” You had to pause when he took your shirt off, “Good! I went and made lunch for Eri. She’s so big now,” You hummed with content, then was cut off by his roaming fingers, “You’re cold,” You whispered with a laugh. He stopped for a second, then nodded slowly.

“You’re warm,” He stroked your breasts downward, his fingers reaching your skirt. His eyes flickered up to your own, “You know I enjoy watching you.”“Yeah,” Excitement bubbled within you as you looked down at his lap. Your boyfriend could even be labelled as nice after sex, having been as intimate as possible with the girl who gave him the relief of being “clean.”

He started to seem impatient, leaning closed to you. Your stomach did flips, and you reached for his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling it off. You placed it on the ground, then undid the button and zipper to his pants, pulling them down a bit. All that was left was his boxers, and this was where the leader-type man would usually take the reigns. You were given them for today, however, and you had some feeling of pride in it

You pulled the hem down, enough for his semi-erection to spring loose. You gently gripped it in your hand, enjoying the veins and texture. The rest of his body had a smooth, flawless feeling, likely due to using his quirk on himself. He hadn’t done the same to his member, and the contrast was a strange, but interesting aspect of the man. His breath caught for a second, and your eyes flickered to his own. They seemed expectant. You gave an experimental pump, and he took a short, sharp breath. You felt your own core aching - you had never been with someone other than Overhaul. The Hero Course strictly forbid fraternizing, and everyone was too good two shoes to try anything serious. Overhaul’s style, the way he ordered you, the way he pleased you - it was all you knew, and you knew you liked it a lot. He always left you satisfied, if not yearning for another round.

You raised your hand to your mouth, licking it before going back down to lubricate him. You bit your bottom lip, seeing he was fully erect and ready. Your heavy-lidded eyes met his own, and his hands made their way under your thighs, lifting you up slightly, “I’m growing impatient.”

“Sorry,” You chuckled, pushing yourself up on the arms of his chair and scooting forward. You reached down and position himself at your wet entrance, already remembering the intoxicating pleasure. Overhaul was a scientist after all, and he took data in so he could improve results. Sex never got old with him. You slowly sat, and your sigh of pleasure mixed with his sigh of relief.

“You’re just… perfect, you know?” You smiled, taking a few seconds to adjust to how deep he already was inside of you. His hands returned to your ass under the skirt, his hands still cold against you.

“I am clean, never perfect,” He shook his head, and you pushed yourself up a bit, then sat back down on his member. You gasped at the deep feeling, rolling your hips forward to relish it. You could see his jaw clenched and you reached up to rub it.

“You’re perfect for me, I never want anyone else,” Your hero side showed a bit, and you raised yourself up again, starting to find a rhythm. You weren’t used to riding, but you learned quickly. You were finding out what felt deeper and oh god what made your head spin.

“I feel the same to you,” He squeezed your ass, and you yelped, then laughed, a small sigh of content escaping your lips. You were starting to like pleasing yourself on him, and you knew he liked being inside of you, so it was a win-win. As you used his shoulders to support your bouncing, you got a surprise when his hips instinctively bucked up into you. He swallowed hard, and you realized he was holding back for your own sake.

“Ah… Fuck…” You moaned, rolling your hips into his own. His hands shifted to wrap around your waist, using his small thrusts to get even deep than your bouncing. With the joint effort, both of you felt pleased. Even Overhaul was groaning, his teeth grit. Your head fell next to his own on the side of the chair, your breathing heavy. You knew you were close, and he was as well.

“Overhaul!” You both were startled by a loud shout from behind his door. You pulled back to look at him with dazed confusion, and when there was a bang on the door, he leaned over and grabbed your shirt off the ground. You pulled it on, but the moment you did, a very angry Rappa entered the room. Your blood ran cold - Overhaul was still inside of you!

Overhaul was much better at handling the situation than you. He whispered for you to grab your phone and just play on it until this was over. After a lengthy conversation about the politics of the Yakuza and where Rappa stood, he finally calmed down. You had to use all your might not to react, looking away from Rappa and hiding yourself in the crook of Overhaul’s neck, looking at your phone mindlessly.

Rappa finally left, slamming the door as he did so. Once he was gone, you both waited a moment before you pulled back with a laugh, placing your phone on his desk and then turning to him, “That was close, good thing I kept my skirt-” When you saw how intense his eyes were, you had to do a double take. He’d really been holding back all of those emotions this whole time?

His hands slid under your ass, and he suddenly stood up, taking a step forward to place you across his desk, “It certainly was (F/N).”

“D-Do we get t-to finish?” You tried to play dumb, but your heart was racing, face flushed as his hands slid to your thighs. He grabbed them and pulled back, then snapped his hips forward. You were yet again at his mercy.

“Wait, I thought I was-” You began to whine, then was interrupted by another snap of his hips. A small gasp escaped your lips.

“I still own over you,” He reminded you, “I own over your perfect existence,” He immediately started at a fast pace, already riled up from being edged before. You had to grab the edge of the desk, back arching. You choked back a cry of surprise and pleasure.

“Ah-yes!” You exclaimed, legs wrapping around his back and keeping him close. You were both still aroused and stimulated from before, so you felt your orgasm coming quicker than expected.

“You’re perfect in every way,” He was barely panting, while your breathing was hot and heavy. You whined, gasped, and moaned, pitiful at best against his expertise when it came to your body. Each of his thrusts hit you in a pleasurable place, and you couldn’t hold back for long. Riding him was nothing like this - he was the master of pleasuring you.

“Fuck…” You quickly reached your climax, and once you did, you cried out and pulled him close to you, toes curling and muscles taught. He stayed buried inside of you, then once you were finished, you felt his own orgasm fill you with warmth. His level of control over his own body still surprised you.

After calming down and him pulling out of you, he set to cleaning up the mess with wipes and his quirk. You got your clothes back on, making sure he was better now. His mood was vastly improved, “Should I stay?”

“You may if you would like to,” He shrugged, wiping his chair down. You happily did so, sitting on his chair once he had moved onto the desk. He gave you a temporary glare, and you just giggled childishly. He rolled his eyes.

“I’ve got to say, that was a pretty silly situation.”

“It was,” He agreed, but you still wanted a laugh from him. You dramatically pouted.

“Aw, but you never laugh! Everybody laughs,” You whined, kicking your legs out.

“I’m not everyone,” He commented, then glanced at you once again, “I laugh. I laughed last night at dinner.”

“Chuckled,” You pointed at him, and he nodded slowly.

“That’s laughing,” He paused for a second, then nodded to himself as if to confirm his own belief. This left you laughing as well: he was just so odd.

[pizzagrlmeetsboy1980]

So many people have given me feed back on the Alan and Sarah have 4 evil children AU so I made some more vignettes!

How Alan responded each time to Sarah telling him she was pregnant.

Oliver: Was absolutely elated. It meant he would appear as a family man and would be more likely to get re-elected.

Marie: Was overjoyed. Didn’t know he was going to be ousted though. Was in awe that he had a girl and liked that she looked like Sarah from day 1

Constance: Was happy, told Sarah that this was it. No more children. Was hoping that this would be another boy, but was happy none the less.

Grace: A surprise! He was furious. How could Sarah be so forgetful?! How hard is it to take a damn pill?! Another child, it threw his plans completely out of whack and that new yacht he was wanting would have to wait. However the moment he first held Grace he knew she was going to be special. But no more. Sarah’s getting her tubes tied.

...

Connie: Honestly, what kind of night vision goggles are these?! I can’t see a thing!!

Gervais: *takes them and looks at them* These are regular binoculars..

Connie: Then why is Dad always using them at night?..

-Awkward silence from all of them-

Connie:...Oh.

...

Oliver: *dangling keys at Marie* Do you need a ride home or is your trust-fund prince taking you to the local stupor?

Marie: I never should have pulled you out of the pool that one time..

...

Leslie( Pier’s and Clarissa’s middle child. 14): I worked all summer for these arms! Why won’t Constance notice them?

Oliver: You shouldn’t have stopped. You look like a potted plant that’s barren.. also you’re never going to get my parents permission to date my most problematic sister. *lights a cigarette*

Leslie: Why not?!

Oliver: *takes a drag* Because my father hates The Gentry. Sir Leslie. He hates it when blokes just get handed things without working for them.

Girl: Oliver!...Here. I did your biology homework.

Oliver: Aww..thank you, Darling. Shall I see you at lunch?

Girl: Sure..*giggles and walks on*

Leslie: Who was that?

Oliver: Hell if I know.

...

-A girl has threatened to beat up Connie for running her mouth. Leslie is trying to save her but it does not go as planned-

Leslie: ...Honestly why must we fight, ladies? We are the children of the most powerful people in Great Britain. What on earth could we possibly want for? After all Neville Chamberlain once said : “I am myself a man of peace to the depths of my soul. Armed conflict between nations is a nightmare to me; but if I were convinced that any nation had made up its mind to dominate the world by fear of its force, I should feel that it must be resisted...”

-Girl punches him in the gut and falls to the ground-

-Oliver steps over him-

Oliver: Yes, but Winston Churchill said: “Those who can win a war well can rarely make a good peace, and those who could make a good peace would never have won the war."...You have a mean right hook. I like that. Oliver B’Stard. Future MP, current president of the Senior Cla-

-Girl knees him in the groin, he’s now on the floor with Leslie. Both groaning-

The girl’s father has requested to speak with Alan and Sarah.

Alan: “There is no need to fuss. We will have a civilized discussion..Pay attention, Oliver this is how -adults- handle things.”

Oliver: “If her parents are anything like her you might want to keep a reasonable distance. I’m still recovering...oh..here Mum..”

-Oliver reaches into his pants and pulls out a bag of frozen peas-

Sarah: Here. Thaw out these carrots while you’re at it. -hands him the bag and he slides them under his belt making a tiny noise of relief-

-Sometime later-

Girl’s father: As a doctor I can tell you it would be in your incredibly unstable child’s best interest if she were immediately sedated sent to a personal care home.

Oliver: -Watching from the stairs with his siblings. chuckles. Knowing how this will end now. Accepts the bag of popcorn Connie gives him-

Alan: Oh really? It’s my understanding that your child is jealous of mine. I mean...look at my wife...look at me..she comes from incredible stock. She’s going to be naturally beautiful and popular..if ..a bit of a late bloomer..

Constance: -offended gasp-

Girl’s Father: You know what? All of your children are spoiled, problematic derelicts and they’ve done nothing but bring the academy into a further social decline since they arrived!

Sarah: -stands up- ...I would tread lightly, Doctor..you’re standing in a mansion full of guns, explosive devices and illegal immigrant ex-assassins from Russia working as our house staff...

Marie: I thought there was something off about Mrs.Gorbachev..

Girl’s Father: I knew you B’Stard’s were evil but raising children to be evil?...I‘lol report you all to the school board...

Alan:...Now now..let’s not get hasty...-Alan reaches into his jacket-

Connie: Aw here it comes. I bet it’ll be 12,000

Marie: No more than 10

Oliver: He’s made Dad pretty mad. I say 3

Grace: I think it’s a gun. -points at Alan having a gun-

Oliver:..Well. That’s certainly new.

..

Sarah is watching Grace play with William, Pier’s youngest son who is one year older than Grace.

Sarah: Alan...come here. Look at Grace playing with William Fletcher-Dervish.

Alan: Another one? They just keep spawning like Sea lamprey..

Sarah: Watch her. She’s being incredibly demanding and bossy. I don’t like that one bit..

Alan: Oh dear, I wonder who she inherited -that- from.

-She glares at him-

Alan: But I can see your point...She won’t attract a husband with that attitude.

Sarah: She’s seven years old!

Alan: And that’s my point, we’ve got to get on this NOW, Sarah. I mean by the time she turns 21 who knows what society will look like. We have to have submissive conservative women or the Tories will die out!

....

One of their children is in trouble

Alan:...Alright Sarah. Which one is it?

Sarah: It’s Oliver.

Alan: Oliver?! He’s the good one! I mean..Marie will probably get pregnant before she’s 21, Connie will marry the first bloke that gives her attention and Grace will probably be in prison before she’s 13 for money laundering or leading an organized crime syndicate. He’s the only one that has a future!

Sarah: Alan! Surely you have more faith in your daughters than that.

Alan:...I would if it were legal to keep them at home until I find suitable husbands for them. That was the plan when I was Protector..BUT NoOoOoooo. This is the 20th century women are “liberated”. They get to pick their -own- husbands.

Sarah: Do you know who you sound like?....My father. You forget..I got to pick you...*rubs noses with him*

Alan: *pushes her away* I’ve had a bitch of a day, Sarah. Don’t tell me things like that....and our marriage was a strategic masterpiece, Darling. I only hope Oliver finds -his- Sarah one day...hopefully one that doesn’t try to kill him all the time. I’d like my name to live on.

Sarah: I’m only stating the truth, Darling. Just admit it. You’re protective over them. It’s okay to love them. I love them...sometimes.

Alan:...*sighs...running a hand over his face* ....What did he do?...

Sarah: He was caught in the girl’s locker room. Showering with the girl’s field hockey team.

*Alan grins and nods approvingly*

*Sarah crosses her arms and rolls her eyes*

Alan: Oh, that’s just a healthy growing boy’s habit, Darling. I was doing the same thing at his age. Except I showered with the future homemakers club. A conservative boy’s fantasy come true...

Sarah: You were showering with them because they couldn’t tell you were a BOY.

Alan: Your point? I still got to see 12 naked girls all at once.

...

Sarah: Marie...that Diamond bracelet is lovely where did you get it?

Marie: Oh. I bought it with the money Daddy gave me to breakup with Brian.

Sarah: Aah. I see. Seems it wasn’t serious as you thought?

Marie: Oh no. I really just wanted this bracelet and I knew you and Daddy would never give me the money to get it so I fake-dated Brian Crippen and poof!...Bribe money. Bracelet. Pity though I don’t think I’ll be able pull it off twice

Sarah:...Marie...That’s ..brilliant. I’m so proud.

[wildshub]

WHO: The Twilight of Adam Boys WHAT: The boys come across Warren’s dead body and bury him. WHEN: Day 3 NOTE: For future reference.

Blue blue had been replaying the entire night over in his head. he had been against leaving sawyer and warren alone on the cliff, they were all a team in this but theyd always be combative until they got that. maybe the guys saw how much carrying another guy around + a lack of good sleep had done to blue, he himself felt like his energy was cut in half. maybe that's why he relented and followed the rest back, in what felt like a half sleep daze. But there they all stood, having seen far too much of what remained of warren on earth. it was the first dead body blue had ever seen, and the image seemed to puncture through any other thought. "what um, what did you guys last say to him?" his eyes housed some extra moisture, but he would be unashamed of this. a brother died, even if he wasnt blue's favorite. and sawyer, soy dog, being given this huge task, and having this be the outcome, it was heartbreaking. "i last told him he needed to translate the message..." he wished he had said anything more comforting, personable, leas tinged with annoyance. but that was the truth

Kian Kian had never been good at dealing with death. When the great aunt he barely ever spoke to on his mother's side passed away, he hid in the coat closet at her wake and refused to come out until the body was gone. That was eight years ago. It wasn't any easier now, standing here in front of a lifeless, mangled corpse...especially not that of who, just hours earlier, was joking and laughing and lazing around like they weren't in dire need of rescue. He had to tear his eyes away from Warren, focusing his gaze on a rip in the hem of his t-shirt. "Dunno. Probably something about how much of a twat he was being," Kian mumbled, none of his usual bite to his words. "But we were all kind of being twats yesterday."

Sawyer Warren was a fuck up. And, selfishly, Sawyer felt drawn to him for that very reason—because he took comfort in knowing he wasn’t the only person on the isle whose smart mouth and poor rationale got him into trouble more often than it got him any good. When Warren chose to stay with the fire, Sawyer hung back with him. He could read people like he read books, knew there wasn’t something right with the guy after he’d been choked out, beaten up, and hung off the ledge of a cliff within an inch of his life. If he indulged in a little alcohol he’d been keeping from the rest of the boys—and if Sawyer shared some with him—nobody needed to know. He’d needed that liquid courage to face camp in the morning...fuck. It felt like a given, only seven hours ago, that he’d even wake up to see the next morning. “S’my fault,” he said suddenly, drawing fourteen sets of eyes away from Warren’s body and to where he stood, feet away from the group. His voice shook as he spoke. “We were drinkin’, a-and I knew he was upset about the radio and shit, and I should’ve…looked after ‘im.”

Joe Instead of properly processing the events of yesterday Joe had pushed them to the back of his mind. He shoved the memories into a filing cabinet where they became an unorganised jumble of shouting, pulling and dashed hope. He trudged back to the camp with the hope that a good night's sleep would fix everything. He prayed that a new dawn would make for a bright new start or maybe he would wake up to find out that the last forty-eight hours had been a nightmare based on some disaster movie he watched years ago. But turns out the exact opposite happened and the new dawn brought more fucking anguish. Eyes still transfixed on Warren's lifeless body he was about to tell the Adams that the last thing he probably said to Warren was be careful, Joe wished he meant be careful in general instead of specifically with the radio. Maybe things would have ended differently if his past life prioritised Warren's life instead of a stupid old radio. That train of thought was interrupted by Sawyer. "Don't you fucking dare." It was supposed to be a command but it was more of a whimper. The words blame yourself remained stuck at the back of Joe's thought. "It wasn't your fault,ok. You couldn't have seen it coming." Yeah, Sawyer stayed behind to babysit Warren but making sure somebody didn't get yelled at wasn't the same as making sure they didn't die.

Dash Dash had seen a dead body once before but Warren’s looked mad different, mangled and limp and scraped up from the rocks. He loitered away from the group huddled together in lieu of getting any closer to the body after the panicky, failed revival. Touching his cold, lifeless skin to drag him ashore had been enough macabre bullshit for one day. Dash flexed his hand as he looked at Warren’s lax face. Well, third time’s the charm, he thought wryly, then felt a little sick. Any of them could die here apparently, and it started to feel a whole lot less like Total Drama Island as the Lost vibes violently rocketed up. The neckbeards who worked at Google were gonna have to hurry up and tap into their space stations to find them before someone else met their untimely demise. His eyes cut toward Sawyer when the other guy spoke and then to Joe when he replied. Dash shrugged uncomfortably. “Yeah, I mean, I guess there’s not much you could’ve done about it if you were asleep, man. Alcohol plus dangerous heights equals...” he trailed off. He rubbed the back of his head, eyes narrowed when he noticed something missing. Warren’s belt bag was gone; it had been one of the first things Dash noticed about his fit on the place, not entirely without envy. “Looks like Mother Ocean wanted his fanny pack.” He paused. “Uh... should we let her take him too? Yunno, ol’ Viking funeral style. Those were basically his people, and we gotta figure out what to do with the body.” Dash was all for suggesting some kind of action if that meant he didn’t have to stare at a bloated corpse anymore. Besides, he was going to start stanking the beach up in the hot sun sooner or later.

Lukas Put him in front of the grossest, goriest movie or game and Lukas had a stomach of steel. The second he laid eyes on Warren, he lost the airplane nuts and seltzer that had filled his stomach the night before. Though he did have the decency to at least step away from the group to do it. Wiping his mouth as he returned taking up the spot beside Dash towards the back of the group to avoid his stomach being unsettled again. He shook his head when Sawyer spoke up, wasn’t his fault he wanted to say but he was worried he’d say it with a side of puke. Thankfully Joe had them covered on that front, even if he did say it with a wobble of his lower lip. “ Isn’t that usually with a boat and fire and shit? “ Like that even mattered right now but it was a lot easier than thinking about having to bury Warren.

Liam for the first time in his life, liam was glad he was shorter than most. surrounded by so many taller than him, liam couldn't get a good look at the body in the water, not that he wanted to. while he may have found warren annoying and after the whole ordeal with the radio, everyone was pretty pissed; but that didn't mean he wanted the boy to die. it didn't take long before liam's eyes stung with tears a the thought of one of them dying. he looked to sawyer as he explained what happened, liam reached out and placed a hand on his bicep. "yeah, it's not your fault," he repeated joe's words, but as he did, the tears started to spill. liam quickly rubbed his hands over his cheeks to try and hide the evidence before some of the meaner members of the group (cough sebastian cough) noticed. dash and lukas started talking about what to do with the body and liam had nothing to add, worried if he did have anything, his voice was shake and crack if he spoke.

Kian "He's got family, though," said Kian, shifting his weight from foot to foot. As much as he desperately wanted to go all out of sight, out of mind with Warren's corpse, the thought of lighting him up and sending him off to sea settled in his stomach like a handful of rocks. He couldn't imagine being Warren's parents in that situation, forever haunted by the fact that they'd never get to see their son laid to rest. Fuck, this was all so fucking fucked. "Maybe we should keep him buried somewhere cool. So he doesn't...get too bad before rescue comes."

Joe "Kian's right." Joe said bluntly, breaking the silence that hung over them. He buried his hands deeply into his shorts pocket. Fuck he wished he had his jacket. It didn't matter that he was already being smothered by the humidity of the island."Just throwing him into the sea would be dead disrespectful." Warren was a disrespectful twat when he was alive but that didn't mean he deserved to be dumped into the ocean. He was a person with a family that loved him. Plus, a decomposing body would probably fuck up the ocean floor's ecosystem or whatever it was called and the poor crabs didn't deserve that. Joe took Liam quickly rubbing his cheek as a sign he needed to go into full distraction mode (something he learned to do from awkward family dinners)."And there's so much shit wrong with the viking funeral idea, no offence Dash. We don't have a boat and the Vikings were from that bit of Europe that looks like a tongs grabbing a bit of lettuce. That's not where Switzerland is." He was hardly a viking expert but being forced to go on a two hour coach trip to go to some museum on the other side of the Pennines when he was in year 3 counted for something. It didn't stop him from being complicit in the death of some rich bastard but it counted for something." Not that any of that matters."

Sebastian  Sebastian looked at Warren's lifeless corpse and saw the shape of his own hands reflected in the discolored bruising around the other boy's neck. Would it ever go away or would he be buried with the reminder that his last hours had involved Sebastian trying to kill him? He swallowed hard, disturbed by the thought but the lump in his throat refused to shift in even the slightest way. He decided not to answer Blue's question, everybody knew what Sebastian's last words to the other boy had been and he didn't want to repeat them, not now. "It's not your fault," he insisted, his voice low and gravely as he responded to Sawyer, "You're not his keeper," none of them were. They were looking out for each other to an extent but they weren't obliged to one another beyond that, not really. He looked over at Kian and nodded his head, "Yeah," he concurred when Joe spoke up, assuring the group that Kian was indeed right. He cleared his throat softly and contemplated their options, "We gotta bury him," he announced, though the prospect was unbearably grim. "The animals will get him if we don't," that was worse, much worse.

Sawyer Sawyer appreciated the words of comfort—really, he did—but nice as they were, they did little to lighten the guilt sitting heavy atop his chest. He was the last person Warren ever spoke to. The last person Warren ever saw. If any of them had the ability to prevent his death, it was Sawyer, and he just…drifted off to sleep after a measly half-canteen of cognac. Did he ever ask if Warren was okay? Did he notice if he was drunk enough to make any dumb, rash choices? And if he did, did he even care? With a hard sniff, Sawyer tightened his jaw and focused his attention on an upturned shell poking out of the sand. Having a pity party for himself, he decided, wasn’t gonna bring Warren back from the dead. “Yeah. We can use that emergency blanket to wrap him up, keep the bugs an’ shit out.”

Dash Yeesh, it was just a suggestion, Dash thought, and it was easier to focus on that small smidge of annoyance than the word 'family'. Things were less complicated when Dash could look into Warren's empty eyes and imagine that he spontaneously generated on the plane like one of those meat flies. Okay, so now other cultures’ funerary rites are disrespectful? Awright, cheers, Sir Moseley, he wanted to say, half-jokey in tone and a painful mimicry of Joe's accent, but the quivery feeling that rattled his insides made him swallow the words almost immediately. Maybe it was his Catholic upbringing, and sure he just suggested they log roll Warren into the sea, but cracking jokes in front of a dead body actually seemed kinda uncouth. Kept him from pretending to snore in response to Joe’s list of Viking-related facts, too. Before he could say anything though, his mouth snapped shut when Sebastian spoke. If there was anyone he’d believe actually went on a Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde midnight ride and yeeted Warren from the cliff, it was that guy. The bruises on Warren’s neck seemed evidence enough for a case of premeditated murder in his books. He pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek and his gut twisted again at Sawyer’s next words, the prospective task nauseating. “Sure, yeah. Makes sense.” He cleared his throat and nodded, then promptly expelled the thought of bugs burrowing into Warren’s carcass from his mind or else he’d follow in Lukas’ footsteps in the retching department. He gave his buddy a commiserating pat on the back as he looked over his shoulder at the stretch of beach, totally lost as to where they’d have to put him. “When my mom’s dog died, we had to bury that thing pretty deep so the bobcats wouldn’t dig him up. So, uh... guess we should get started on that, too. Might take awhile.”

Kian If he wasn't in the presence of a decomposing corpse, Kian would've rolled his eyes. The flippant way Dash was acting about the whole "Warren is dead" situation unnerved him more than he would've liked to admit; as if this was just another fucking Saturday for him. "There's no bobcats in Hawaii," he said.

Lukas " Polar bears then, " Lukas retorted dryly. Even if he had made it to day 3 of the island before making a LOST reference, he wasn't gonna start outright joking about things this soon after Warren's death. He'd give it, like, five more minutes. " Point is, I don't wanna meet whatever the fuck lives on this island because it decided to make Warren a midnight snack. " And he also didn't want to deal with the body, clearly he did not have the stomach for it so he was definitely aiming to be part of the dig crew. " It shouldn't be near camp either. Just in case. "

Dash Dash exhaled sharply. The words ‘what did I do wrong!!!!’ broadcasted themselves in bright, obnoxious colors in his head. Did it start when he wouldn’t say some bullshit things over Warren’s dead body about him and what Dash might or might not have said to him in their final moments together? Because that felt insincere and shitty. He wasn’t going to pretend that he meant anything to Warren, or make the guy’s death about himself. The best thing they could do was save him from the indignity of lying around like a washed up CPR doll while they all stood around crying. He snapped then pointed at Lukas. “Exactly." Kian and Joe wanted Warren to get back to his family? Well, hey, Dash was sure there was a fair chance they wouldn’t wanna see him with chunks missing. But fuck him for trying to be helpful, apparently. “Hence: deep hole.” He lifted his hands in faux surrender. “Can we move on from bitching at me? Yeah? I’ll help dig.” Anything to put some distance between himself and Warren’s body. He hadn’t looked at him once since he said the Viking thing, and he was happy to put that off for awhile longer. He nudged Lukas with his elbow. "Let's find a spot. Who's gonna help?"

Sawyer So that was that. Warren was dead and he wasn’t coming back and they were going to bury his body deep in the ground so wild animals couldn’t eat away at his rot before help arrived. Sawyer felt like shouting, or hitting something, or running off into the ocean until the saltwater swallowed him whole. He felt everything at once and nothing at all. “I’m gonna...go grab the blanket.” If he had to spend any longer staring at Warren’s emotionless face and twisted limbs, he wasn’t sure he’d make it to the burial.

Callum “I’ll help.” They were the first words to leave Callum’s mouth since they found Warren’s body. Unlike most of the group, he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the boy’s mangled corpse. He fucking hated Warren when the bastard was alive and breathing, but looking at him now, unmoving and silent for the longest period of time since he’s met him, Callum actually felt something other than irritation and rage for the boy. Was it regret? Guilt perhaps? And possibly some weird variation of yearning where he just wanted the idiot to get up and start doing something stupid like he always did. Yes, he was an annoying son of bitch who fucked up drastically, but he was also the first person Callum saw on this island. The first person to make him feel less alone. Whatever was going on in Callum the longer he stared at Warren’s body wasn’t great. It was a strange mix of things he didn’t quite understand and he wanted so badly for the feelings to go away and be replaced with something familiar. Something he knew how to react appropriately for. Something like... anger. That’s what he preferred to feel when he couldn’t understand what was going on within him. He turned his head when Sawyer spoke, grinding his teeth together and squaring his jaw. “Sure you can do that? You're not gonna let your fingers get all slippery and have it be blown away by the wind? Maybe we should have someone go with you, you know, since you clearly can’t be held responsible for a simple. fucking. task.”

Blue blue froze, bewildered by callum's reaction. while he knew in their time together that callum couldnt be....intense, how could someone so clever not hear the pain in sawyers voice. dash, a guy he admired for his unabashed self and how he expressed it with ease, was ready to point fingers. "it wasn't an easy task. was it an easy task for us to keep warren away from the radio? we don't know what the hell happened up there last night, for fucks sake, if you think something shady happened, share with your brothers." his voice broke a little on the last word. and his eyes darted from callum to sebastian. he expected it from seb, but he thought cal ran cooler than that. "Ill go with sawyer...." his eyes darted more quickly than usual to each boy, wondering on their thoughts. though he always gave a helping hand, he knew it usually came with a smack from a more callous present, but he already put his faith out there, and he did it for sawyer, and the truth.

Sawyer When Callum spoke, Sawyer found himself wishing he’d just punched him across the face—would’ve hurt a whole lot less than taking some salt and throwing it to the fucking sea to pour acid on the wound, instead. He recoiled as though Callum had shot him in the chest, mouth working and gaze darting from boy to boy as he fumbled for something to say. Where were you when Warren decided to hang back? When he needed someone to help carry him down the hill? When he was hovering over the ledge of a cliff and having his windpipe crushed by someone twice his size, where were you? Where the fuck were you? His arm swung uselessly at his side. The ugly truth of it all was that Callum was at the camp, and Sawyer was sleeping right beside Warren, and neither of them were able to stop him from taking a tumble into the ocean. And nothing he could say was going to change that. So, Sawyer did what he knew to do best, and choked out something that might’ve sounded like an “I’m sorry” before he turned and started walking briskly in the other direction.

Kian "Fantastic," Kian said, all-too-ready to participate in the blame game when it suited him but not to stand up for the other members of the group when they were under fire, "you pissed off the guy with the criminal record. Great going." Maybe that meant Callum's body would be next to mysteriously wind up wedged between two rocks tomorrow morning. Maybe Kian would've preferred that to hearing him flex his macho bullshit over a group of grieving 18-year-olds. His arms found themselves wound tight around his middle as he moved away from the body—the last thing he wanted to do was go searching in the jungle with two of the most annoying people on the isle, but like fuck he was going to sit here and stare at a rotting corpse for the next hour. "Guess I'll go, too, then.”

Lukas Lukas was team dig even before Dash nudged him with his arm, starting to move when he did. But he'd barely taken a step when some other bullshit started. Callum spoke up, and was mad at Sawyer. As if he wasn't suspect number two in Lukas' mind. He'd spent all of Warren's two days on the island threatening the dude, was no homo best buds with Sebastian, and had already taken a swipe at Dash. Speaking of, as Callum was having a go at Sawyer, he cast a glance to Dash, making a quick face as if to say What the fuck, are you seeing this shit? And then just as he's trying to start moving again Blue said, share with your brothers and Lukas had to try really fucking hard not to laugh, especially because his voice cracked. These mother fuckers weren't his brothers, especially not Warren. He rubbed the back of his hand against his nose, trying to conceal the small exhale that had escaped, as he started moving again, the task of digging a fucking grave on his mind. " For auto theft– not assault and battery. " Lukas pointed out as he walked, meaning it in Sawyer's defence. The perfect proof that having a criminal charge didn't make you inherently dangerous was Liam, but since the guy was crying he wasn't gonna throw his name down the gauntlet. And he also wasn't gonna offer up his own name and felony seeing as Kian had been so quick to judge Sawyer's record. For what he was going to say next he leaned into the small group going to dig a grave, lowering his voice to avoid getting some bruises to match Warren's, " 'sides, think we all fuckin' know who's got the quick temper 'round here. " He said, raising his brows. Lukas was ready to accept that Warren was just a moron that slipped off the cliff in the middle of the night, but if they were gonna point fingers he didn't get how anyone was pointing them anywhere but Gigantor.

Blue blue rose his hands up, palms to his brothers as he listened to his peers, his fellow castaways though it was easier to think of them as as more in his nature. "seb lost his shit more than anyone." The image of his hands on Warrens neck burned hard but that's wasn't the whole story. "but his strength helped pull warren up when he hung by the ledge.." blue looked each castaway in the eye,unfazed by the personal distance. "If any of you know more than dumb guy blue....say it!"

JJ He understood the tensions raising and the unpredictability of reactions to ensue. However, he knew couple of things for certain, Warren was dead. The radio was gone. The help is not here. There was no need, in his opinion, to pass around blame or mope for too long or make a bad situation even worse. Then again, if his opinion mattered they wouldn’t have left Sawyer and Warren alone over night in the first place. He will look over at Callum then Sawyer than back on Warren and laugh. “Sorry, it’s really not funny...” he will say and nod at Luke and Blue who seemed to have been the most clear minded at the moment. Aside from palpable tension in the air that is. “Sawyer man, don’t beat yourself up. It’s was reckless as fuck leaving yall alone up there in the first place.” He said in his best attempt to provide some comfort to the other before focusing on what to do with the issue at hand. “Burying him in the woods is the best option. We wrap him, dig deep so animals can’t dig him out and mark the place so we can find him when the rescue gets here. But first...” he will kneel down and start digging through Warrens pockets. If there was anything there, they could use it more than the dead guy.

Dash Without a backwards glance, he started toward the jungle, lowering his voice like Lukas did just in case: “Did I or did I not call this shit Day One, dude? Roasted. Fuckin’. Pigs.” He shook his head. “The whole Macho Man rescue thing? Red herring moves. Zigging when we expect him to zag. Classic misdirection.” He looked at Callum out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t know if him and Sebastian had any kind of bro bonding moments so far, but Dash at least knew he was on Team Sawyer’s Fault which put them at odds once again. Perfect. His shoulders hunched and he fought back a shiver; the moment they flipped Warren over onto his back replaying in his mind like the most twisted boomerang. The word family haunted him almost as much as those few seconds. “This blows,” he said with feeling. Once they past the treeline, he picked up the first fallen stick he saw. It looked like it broke off at an angle, leaving a slanted end. “I once watched one of those 3 AM History Channel specials about how aliens helped ancient people build pyramids and shit. Alien Theory Guy goes, ‘You want me to believe these Incans could dig thousands of holes totally randomly? Nah, that’s a Martian move.’” He looked over the stick in hand. It seemed pretty sturdy, about an inch and a half in diameter. “Then some corduroy jacket-wearing Ivy Leaguer crops up and says, 'Ever heard of sticks, bitch?’” He cleared his throat again and rubbed at his jaw. Weirdly the further they got from Warren’s body, the more it preoccupied him. Like now that they weren’t looking, he’d pull a grisly Toy Story move and get to his feet. Except he’d be making daddy jokes in his Dr. Doofenshmirtz accent. Dash held up the stick for inspection. “What do you think? Could try and make it work a little bit. Just so we don’t all end up with bloody hands by the end of this.”

Kian “What in the actual fuck are you talking about,” was the only response Kian could muster when Dash started going off on a tangent about Aliens and pyramids. Warren didn’t need a tomb, he needed to be lowered into the earth and kept cool long enough to be recognizable when someone—anyone—could come and exhume him. Chopping him up and stuffing his body parts into little holes in the ground seemed like JJ’s gig, and like, they didn’t need even more of a reason to be suspected of group murder. “We’re burying him, not cutting him open and harvesting his organs. Only reason there’d be any blood is if Godzilla here and his buddy King Kong decide to swing on one of us again.”

Sebastian Sebastian was admittedly surprised by Callum's response. He'd seen flickers of the other male's disdain toward the group but at the time, it had seem warranted. Now, however, he seemed more irritable about Sawyer's failure than perturbed by the fact that the course of the evening, regardless of whether it had to do with Sawyer at all, had resulted in the death of somebody they knew. As he digested it, he considered that maybe Callum was in shock, maybe he'd never experienced death and couldn't process it. When Sebastian's grandfather had died, his Dad had been angry for no reason at all but it was a part of the grieving process, his mother had assured him. "We're not arguing about who is in the right and who is in the wrong right now, we're not arguing at all- we're getting this done," he instructed, leaving little room for protest. Then Jorts piped up, "Who the fuck are you pointing fingers at, Jorts?" Sebastian shot at the other male and he would have had more, far less civil words for the other boy if Blue hadn't chimed in.

Lukas God, Sebastian was so back and forth wasn’t he? Yesterday he was barely tolerable and now he was back to giving off future military recruitment vibes, like pick a lane already. Perhaps stupidly, Lukas rolled his eyes as Sebastian pulled his attention from what Dash was saying. “ It was just a fucking joke, “ well, sort of. It was a joke he had meant. “ Obviously, he took a drunken swan dive off the cliff, right? “ he looked around the group, confirming that was the consensus. “ But you’re not gonna go far trying to convince anyone that those are my hand prints on his neck, that’s all I’m saying. “ He held up his hands as he said it, continuing to take a couple steps backwards before he turned back around, hands returning to his sides. Back to the project of digging a grave for the less than dearly departed. He grinned along with what Dash was saying about Martians  building the pyramids. An easy chuckle leaving his lips too. Then head turns to Kian and Lukas finds himself unable to stop another stupid snort escaping him. “ Who the fuck is talking about cutting him up? “ He asked, amused Kian had even gotten to that point. “ Like maybe old grave robber over there, but not me that’s for sure, “ he said, feeling a little too bold about the distance between them and most of the group as he nodded back at JJ literally looting a corpse. Though the comment of King Kong and Godzilla was a good one and again he laughed. Reaching for a stick like Dash had he held it up, inspecting it as if he knew what would make a good grave digging stick. “ What is it about big dudes that think they gotta fucking rough everyone up to prove something? Like we get it, you’re fucking boring, quit making it our problem.”

JJ He looks over at Lukas "He's dead, he won't need any of his shit. We might."

Callum Seeing JJ drop down to his knees and not hesitate in the slightest to search Warren’s pockets for something valuable was fucked up beyond belief but Callum couldn’t argue that he did have a fair point. And if they couldn’t find anything useful, maybe they could find something to give back to his family. It was then that Callum took notice of the watch on Warren’s left wrist. Fuck, was he really about to do this? With an irritated sigh (because even in death, Warren was making him do things he didn’t want to do), he walked over to the other side of Warren and knelt down to undo his watch. He figured they could give it back to his family along with Warren’s body when they were rescued. Rising to his feet once he was done, he brushed some dirt off of Warren’s watch with the pad on his thumb. The watch face was cracked and after giving it a closer look, he noticed that the hands weren’t moving, stopped at 1:49AM. “Did everyone manage to sleep through the night last night?” He then asked, his gaze still fixated on the watch.

Kian “Something something toxic masculinity, something something animals.” Kian knew he could be a dickhead sometimes, but at least he was a dickhead to everyone. Boys like Sebastian and Callum were wolves in a pack, sniffing out other people’s weaknesses and arranging them accordingly on the ever-arbitrary pecking order. In their eyes, all you needed to be was tall and muscular to be deemed worthy of respect, and that was pretty fucking gay if you asked him. But god forbid anyone point that out to them. “They’ve never had to develop personalities beyond being human jockstraps and it shows.”

Sebastian Sebastian kept his arms folded tight to his chest, perhaps to stop himself from choking anybody else out that afternoon. Everybody knew that the bruising around Warren's throat matched Sebastian's prints perfectly but they also knew that it was as a result of the argument yesterday and not anything that had happened over night- right? His gaze shifted between a few of the other boys, trying to read their thoughts to no avail. He shrugged his shoulders, "I woke up a few times but it was too dark to tell the time," he explained, looking at his own watch briefly, "I don't think I even bothered to check," he confessed a moment later, he'd been exhausted, maybe even a little delirious the few times he'd woken up, irritated by the sand, the cold wind chill, the sound of other boys snoring and talking in their sleep.

Dash Dash distracted himself from Kian’s bonkers, nauseating interpretation of his suggestion with what Lukas had to say. “He's pretty batshit for doing that but can’t imagine they’ll find anything useful on him, unless they plan on hocking the fancy watch when we get out of here. Other than that, he’s probably just got a busted Juul, a nipple piercing, and a few kroner he planned on slipping to the flight attendant for a splash of Stoli in his OJ. None of which are super beneficial to our survival.” As the conversation continued on the topic of Chud and Chuddier, he scoffed lightly when Kian said ‘human jockstrap’. Dash used a similar phrase the other day too and he wasn’t stoked about their thoughts running parallel right about then. He wasn’t stoked about some dude hating him on sight either, but whatever. He poked at the ground with the flat edge of the stick. “My bet’s Mayor of Poutineville’s concussed to hell. Goddamned walking, talking potatohead. Dude operates on nothing but pure, scrambled egg-brain aggression. Rabid dog ass — no fuckin’ hope for the guy.” He stopped when they soon hit a relatively clear area, not too dense with trees and not so far from the beach that they couldn’t hear the sound of the ocean waves or catch the odd glimpse of sand. There was enough shade that the air felt cooler too, and he was sure that it’d be easy to find again. In a pure asinine move, Dash thought hopefully 'hey, maybe Warren'll like it here.' He leaned on his stick and surveyed the dirt like he had any real idea of what he was doing. When he dug a hole for the little rat dog back home, the soil had been pretty sandy. He hoped they had a similar experience here, because he didn’t wanna lug rocks around on top of burying a body. It had to be immoral for a day to be physically and emotionally exhausting. “How’s here?”

Lukas Lukas couldn't help but feel a little elated when Kian joined in on the trash talking, his choice of words especially tickling him. " That's fuckin' true, ay, " he agreed, more than happy to accept that Sebastian and Callum were so easily annoyed by him because they were jealous of his sparkling personality. Even if that was not what Kian had meant in the slightest. " For sure, dude, " he concord with Dash on the topic of Callum without missing a beat. " Yo, you know who they remind me of? " Enthusiasm quickly filling his tone, looking to Kian and Dash, " You ever play Outlast? " He did not stop and wait for an answer to that question, though he probably should have, " The fucking twin meatheads from that. The ones that just like walk around the map, like, " He severely hunched his shoulders, arms dangling comically at his sides as he pulled his face into an over exaggerated expression for the next few goofy steps before he straightened up again. " Dicks out and just saying weird as fuck shit to creep you out. " Lukas was misremembering a lot of details but he could not forget the fact that those characters had been naked the entire fucking game, seemingly for no reason. That image had been seared into his brain in 2013 like a curse and he had not been able to forget it. By the time he's finished his comparison, Dash had stopped in a clearing. When he asked how's here, Lukas actually looked around the place. It seemed as good a place as they could get without putting in, like, actual effort so it seemed perfect. " Yeah, here's probably good. " He dug at the ground with the heel of his shoe, noting how it moved easily out of his way. " Ground's not too hard. " he assessed before moving again. Drawing out an approximately Warren-sized rectangle with the stick he'd picked up, before kneeling to the ground, ready to dig. " How deep d'you think? Like two, three feet? "

Kian Kian could only blink at Lukas's comparison, nose wrinkling in disgust as he tried not to imagine Callum and Sebastian running around camp with their dicks out. Unlike Dash, he couldn't seem to decide who was the worst offender of the two; in his book, a cunt was a cunt was a cunt. He followed the other boys to the clearing and stomped around a bit in the dirt, testing the soil's softness with the soles of his trainers. "Yeah, I'd say a meter at the least. We want it to be deep enough for the animals to keep away, but not so deep we can't get him back out." If they'd have to dig him back out. Personally, Kian was hoping that the rescue team came armed with shovels. "Anyone have objections to using their hands?" He asked with a pointed glance at Dash.

Callum "Hm," was all Callum could think of to say in response to Sebastian. Out of all them, the other boy was clearly one of the most upset with Warren yesterday. But seeing as Sebastian was also one of the first to dive in to save Warren, Callum didn't feel the need to prod for further information. "We need to ask Sawyer what the hell the two of them were doing last night after we left when he gets back here. And what time they fell asleep. All that." He tucked Warren's watch into the pocket of his pants, looking around for sign of Sawyer. "Why the hell is he taking so long? It's a blanket, not a pile of rocks." He shook his head, irritated. Then he shifted his gaze to JJ. "Did you find anything?"

Dash Dash shook his head but still watched Lukas act out the so-called Dick Out Twins with sincere fascination. “Sheee-it. Uncanny resemblance, dude. You even got that bowlegged caveman shtick down pat.” The internet told his mom that they had to bury the dog at least three feet to keep any predators from digging him up, so Dash nodded when Lukas suggested that depth. His eyes still went skyward when Kian agreed, because wasn’t that motherfucker just giving him shit about the very same topic because ‘there are no bobcats in Hawaii’ like five minutes ago? If Dash said it, it was bullshit. But if Kian said it, it was apparently obvious fact. Good to know! he thought sarcastically. At Kian’s question, Dash hummed contemplatively. “Huh. Okay. Here’s the plan,” he started, walking closer to where Lukas drew a rectangle in the dirt. “When the Russians spot us on their satellites and decide to hit up their Navy—yunno, headed up by Nikita Khrushchev's chemically preserved ballsack—and then a rusty little battlecruiser rolls up to haul us to the Gulag, I’m gonna ask Count Admiral Baba Yaga to take out his busted Samsung and google the Ancient fuckin’ Mesoamericans for you.” Dash lifted the stick for emphasis. “Digging stick. It’s a thing, and I’m gonna use it.” He suddenly felt very sure of his expertise as a man who had dug literally one (1) hole in the woods in his lifetime, and ignored the fact that he only doubled down once Kian gave him such a hard time. He stuck the flat end of the stick into the ground and pressed downward. There was some resistance, possibly a shallow root snapping under the pressure, then he bent it to upend a large chunk of dirt. “Hooty-fuckin’-hoo, it works," he announced, voice dripping with performative surprise. "Now let's just get this shit over with. This morning sucks enough already."

Sawyer Sawyer took a few minutes to gather himself before he returned with the space blanket, eyes rimmed red and torso covered with the sweatshirt he'd been wearing on the plane. Didn't make much sense for him to hold onto a dirty wife-beater covered in another person's blood...a dead person's blood, at that. This way, he figured, he could at least be comfortable and respectful. "S'got a couple holes in it," he sniffed, unfolding the blanket as he approached, "y'know, from the fire and all, but I figure we can stuff 'em with grass if we really wanna..." His voice trailed off when he spotted JJ, knelt at Warren's side with his hands down his pockets. Even beneath the warm inner lining of his sweatshirt, Sawyer's blood ran cold. "...Seriously? We're fuckin' lootin' him, now?"

Kian Dash, Kian was convinced by now, was just inventing names and facts for the sole purpose of making himself sound smarter, although it was obvious to anyone with ears that the guy was a complete and total prat. And Kian would've pointed this out to him had he not proceeded to shove his stick in the ground and flick dirt everywhere, onto Kian's shoes, his shins, his clothes. Dickhead. "Are you taking the piss right now? You're getting shit everywhere, we'll go a lot faster if we just use our fucking hands."

Liam in all honesty, liam wasn’t paying attention, he was off to the side and trying to keep what very little control he had over his emotions. his eyes kept wandering to group of boys standing over warren but every time he glanced at the boy laying there, he could feel his chest tighten and anxiety bubble up inside him. that’s going to be all of us. we’re all going to die here, he thought to himself as he sat on the ground, hands gripping his hair against his scalp. he tried to think back to the last thing he said to his siblings, probably something dumb like don’t touch my things or don’t go in my room. now he wished he had told them he loved them one last time. just as he was getting sucked into these thoughts, he heard sawyer come back to the group. his head shot up and he wiped his eyes quickly as if it wasn’t already obvious that he had been crying. “they think he might have something useful on him,” he chimed in, as if sawyer couldn’t figure that out on his own, but liam didn’t know what else to say without breaking down completely.

Lukas " Thank you, " Lukas gave a facetious bow when at least Dash seemed impressed with his impression. Arms extended out to the side then straightening up with a grin. If it wasn't for the fact that they then very soon afterwards stopped to dig a literal grave, Lukas could have almost forgotten the body that had been found less than an hour ago. When Kian brought it up, he crinkled his nose a little at the idea of using his hands, or honestly digging the hole at all. But it seemed the suggestion was not for him, but for Dash, who was still holding onto that stick and quickly started making a case for it. A case with a lot of words that kinda just went right over Lukas' head to be honest. However, when the stick launched a collection of dirt into the air (mostly onto Kian), he couldn't help the laugh that escaped him. And it was only made funnier when Kian responded in anger with that fucking accent. Hand on his stomach as he tried to subdue it. " Okay, okay– as fuckin' funny as that was, ol' Alfred Pennyworth's got a point, hands will probably be quicker. " That's what she said. But before he gave in to covering himself in dirt completely, he took off his sweater, about to toss it behind him before he paused to offer it out to Dash. " You want it? So you don't fuck with your nice Neil Bar-whatever? " He asked, brows raised. He could not remember that fashion name for the life of him, but he assumed Dash still cared far more about his clothes than Lukas did his own. Then glance to Kian, holding up the front of the remaining two layers he'd slept in. " Got one more layer up for grabs if you want it. " Because even with two of the least threatening of the group, Lukas was still not gonna show his chest. And he'd feel like sort of a dick offering Dash something and not Kian, even if the dude was already covered in dirt.

Sawyer “Useful,” Sawyer echoed after Liam, huffing a dry laugh as he traded his sorrow for anger. As if the dead kid was hiding a secret cellphone or something from them - he barely knew how to use a radio when he was alive. “Why don’t we just strip his clothes while we’re at it? Can even use his fuckin’ sneakers as tinder for the fire. Fuck ‘im. Fuck his folks who might want somethin’ to remember him by.”

Callum Fucking finally. Callum thought it'd take ages for Sawyer to get back. "We got a keepsake to give his parents." Well, he did but Callum didn't care to get into the specifics. What he did care about was what the hell Sawyer and Warren were doing up there last night. "What the hell were you and Warren doing up there last night?" He asked, brows slanted downwards in a frown.

Sawyer His gaze flickered to Callum's shoes before they found his face, jaw working like not going off on the guy who just rubbed Sawyer's nose in shit over someone else's death caused him physical pain. "I told you, we were..." Didn't he tell them? They were drinking. Talking, about what fuck-ups they were and how they ended up at the retreat. At least, that's how he remembered it - brandy always made his memory a little hazy at the edges. "Drinkin'. Some of that fancy cognac he smuggled with him on the plane."

Callum "Drinking?" Callum repeated. "That's it? You were drinking one moment and Warren was taking a swan dive off the cliff the next?" Was that insensitive? Probably. But Callum needed Sawyer to hear how fucking vague that sounded. "I'm trying to get some context for why this fucker would off himself, and all you're gonna tell me is that you two were drinking." He scoffed and shook his head. "What else? Were you talking about anything?"

Sawyer "Nah, we drank in fuckin' silence." Callum's edge, no doubt, was starting to rub off on Sawyer, sharpening his tongue like the blade of a knife. Fuck was he supposed to say? That Warren told him he was gonna jump off a cliff and Sawyer said 'sounds good, man, I'll just leave you to it'? It wasn't that simple. Nothing in life was that fucking simple. "Y'know, I don't know if...it were an accident, or if he did it on purpose, but if I was askin' myself what might'a pushed someone to make a decision like that, I think I'd start with the ones threatenin' to off 'im the night before," he said, tapping his temple.

Liam liam's eyes went between the two boys as things started to heat up, blame being thrown around. as someone who preferred to avoid conflict all together, liam chimed in. "maybe we shouldn't be pointing fingers, yesterday was super fucking stressful but whether this was an accident or if he did it... on purpose," liam had to pause to swallow down the lump in his throat, "we can't be putting that on sawyer."

Callum Callum squared his jaw. He thought back to the last thing he'd said to Warren. You fucking idiot! That was our only chance! The last thing he could remember anyway. He walked off to cool his temper before he did something stupid, like break Warren's jaw in three places. Callum just wanted someone to blame, to direct whatever was going on inside of him at someone, and he couldn't very well do that with a dead boy. "Oh, fuck you," Callum shot back. "We may have been pissed with Warren yesterday, but we went back to camp, tired as hell. You think one of us had it in us to hike all the way back up there and throw him off in our state? And you fucking heard Sebastian, it was too dark to fucking seeing anything even if any of us did wake up so there's no way it could have been one of us, and all the more reason it could have been you." That was a little out of left field but Callum was angry and it was all he had. "You're telling me you weren't pissed off with Warren? Who's to say you didn't get drunk, start spouting horrible shit to fuck with him, and that sent him over? Or maybe you just pushed him off yourself, fuckin' criminal," he spat venomously.

Sawyer So, admittedly, the laugh that escaped Sawyer the second ol' fuckin' Dudley Do-Right accused him of second-degree murder didn't exactly help his defense, but sue him. He couldn't help it. Back in Conrad, he'd been called all sorts of nasty things to his face - from felon to fairy - so he wasn't too miffed by having his criminal record thrown back in his face like a handful of sand. What did unnerve Sawyer was the implication that he was a violent drunk, the kind of person who yelled and raged and hurt people after a few drinks. After a fucking nightcap, at that. "Pushed 'im?" He said, each word dripping with disbelief-tinged mania. "Pushed 'im? You think this is a fuckin' Tarantino movie? Is that it? Are y'all so goddamned sheltered in Moose Nut, Canada that everyone with a parkin' ticket looks like cold-blooded killer?"

Callum "Yeah, pushed him," Callum echoed derisively, stepping forward. He wanted to rile Sawyer up to see what he was capable of. A hand of his balled into a fist at his side. He couldn't tell what part of the Hick's comeback irritated him more but the dig at his home country definitely didn't sit right with him. All Callum knew was that he had to get his hands on Sawyer so that's what he did. Crossing over, he held his hands out and shoved the boy. "Yeah, pushed him. Like that."

Liam tension between callum and sawyer escalated, and liam felt like his protests were futile as they got into each other's faces. fuck, where the hell is lukas and the others? he thought to himself. he watched as callum pushed sawyer and liam shot up, trying to push his way in between the two of them but considering they both towered over him, they could easily push him aside. "guys, seriously, this isn't helping anything, just stop," he said, raising his voice at them.

Sawyer They hardly needed Liam’s intervention to put any distance between them; Callum was strong enough to send Sawyer stumbling backward with a shove. Like that, Sawyer was in the mess hall at juvie again, getting pulled into fights with the rougher guys because they were bored and he was an easy target, big bark and little bite. And when Callum pushed him, he wanted to push him back. Worse, even—he wanted to punch him in the fucking throat. “Yeah, Pretty Boy,” said Sawyer, grinning ear-to-ear over Liam’s head, “would be a shame for you break a nail fightin’ the criminal.”

Sebastian Sebastian was getting tired of people pointing fingers in his direction when he had just as much reason to suspect any of them of foul play. He'd been asleep on the beach for most of the night, he'd already said as much so why did it still keep coming back to the argument he'd had with Warren a whole day ago? "Unless you're saying you were so blacked, you wouldn't have noticed one of us coming up on the cliff, you wouldn't have heard a struggle and you wouldn't have heard him screaming as he fell- and if you're happy to go ahead with that summation, you'll also have to accept that you were too blacked to remember what the fuck you said to him or what he said to you or what happened after that. You could have been messing around, accidentally tripped him over- or you coulda been mad about the radio, pushed him," he insisted, "Alcohol changes people- I don't know what kind of drunk you are, do you? I'd make sure your name is clear before you start throwing anybody else's on the table, huh?"

Sawyer Sawyer did not have “get gaslit into thinking you might’ve committed a murder while drunk” on his vacation bingo card, but neither did he have “become stranded on a desert island,” so he supposed he still had a thing or two to learn from the local senior living home. The spark in his stomach fizzled out with the last of Sebastian’s cold analysis, a flame touched, expression falling from a manic grin to a hollow, tight-jawed stare. People could say what they wanted about him: that he was a hick, a petty criminal, a burnout with no fucking future. But Sawyer had never laid his hands on another person—not on anyone who hadn’t laid theirs on him, first—and he’d never used his buzz to put out someone else’s. “Fuck you,” he said, voice wavering. “You don’t know jack shit about me.”

Joe Joe couldn't believe they were having the most stressful game of Cludeo ever over Warren's fresh corpse. Where the fuck were Pinky and The Brain and Kian ? Maybe the others would see sense and realise that accusing an innocent guy of murder wasn't going to fix anything once their focus was on burying Warren's body. "Everybody simmer down.",Joe moved to Callum's side. Somebody had to be there in case the situation escalated beyond shoving and Thumbelina wasn't going to be much use. Bless Liam for trying but with his mild manner and short stature compared to the other boys he could easily be ignored."Baseless murder accusations aren't going to fix anything. We don't have any reason to believe Sawyer murdered Warren, there's only circumstantial evidence. Couldn't Warren have just fallen because he was hammered?"

Blue he wasnt proud of it, but blue could not see the boys without picturing their fates the same as Warren's, and he slipped out to go yell at the water, and write dirty words in the sand just to watch the water take them back, it might have been an odd grieving process but it was his, and as he returned to the group, the air was so tense he, he instinctly reaching his pocket for his phone to see 204 unread messages and feel the dread. but there wasn't anything there, the dread wasn't contained to the tiny electric box, it pumped through the mob's veins and they breathed it back into the air. he looked to each one, lingering a but before speaking it. "hey boys, the fucks all this?" his tone sounded fatherly, concerned but orderly, and he got the chilly feeling that warrens blood wasn't the only time theyd see the red stuff tonight.

Kian Alfred Whomst? Kian opened his mouth to make a quick retort, but was beat to the chase when Lukas offered him his...shirt? It read you're too close in bold, angry red letters, which just about summed up how Kian felt about the two boys he'd made the terrible decision to come grave-digging with. "Fuck's sake," he muttered, looking off into the jungle for a few silent moments as he contemplated his life choices. "Just...give it here, then."

Lukas Stupid grin spread on Lukas' features when Kian, albeit begrudgingly, accepted offer of a protective t-shirt. Pulling it off, he made sure to grab the white long sleeve underneath so it didn't lift up as he removed the top layer. Removal successful he held it out across the drawn rectangle for him. Pushing his own sleeves up to his elbows once hands were empty and announcing " Let's get to it then, " kneeling down on the ground and starting to dig. " Before the Dick Twins get over here and try and find something else to be assholes about. "

Dash The only thing that truly kept Dash from laughing aloud at the way Kian’s voice went high and warbly in his Peppa Pig accent was the fact that the hole they were all bitching about would soon occupy an actual human body. But even that just kept it at bay. When Lukas agreed with Kian, he snorted—the proffered sweater going a long way in quickly smoothing down any ruffled feathers. Dash pressed his lips together, but felt the fight slowly leave him when he suddenly just felt tired. He couldn’t sworn he slept the whole night, but he definitely didn’t feel it. He sighed heavily, stretching his arms out and letting the stick fall by his side. Dash had every intention of bringing it back to camp, regardless of whether or not it had any other use than as a makeshift shovel. “This is not a concession,” he started, and gently pulled his own sweater over his head and folded it neatly to place on the ground. He only had a white t-shirt on underneath but even that was Tom Ford, so he didn’t hesitate to take Lukas’ offer a moment longer. “This? It’s an act of benevolence.” His voice went slightly muffled for a moment as Lukas’ Thrasher sweatshirt went over his head. “We’ve spent more time arguing than getting this shit done, so I’ll throw you a bone here.” With a grimace, and a silent miserable thought about his pants, he got down next to Lukas and dug.

Kian Lukas's shirt was smaller and tighter than the baggy one Kian had on underneath, causing the sleeves to pillow out at his elbows like some kind of weird pirate tunic. He exhaled sharply through his nose. Fuck. This. Properly incensed, Kian knelt across from the Americans and began to claw his way through the dirt. Unlike Dash, however, he at least made sure not to kick it up everywhere. "Would you stop calling them that?" He huffed. "The last thing I want to think about is Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dipshit stomping around camp with their pricks out."

Lukas Lukas wondered if Kian saw the irony in him grumbling out some complaint about his hilarious joke the second after Dash had said they'd spent too much time arguing already. " You knew exactly who I was talkin' about though, and it only took two seconds to say, " he defended as he dug. Defending the phrase for no reason other than he didn't want to talk about the fact that a dead body would be heading towards them any minute now. And god forbid they fall into silence and he just had to think about the dead body again. He's stomach churned just a fraction, so he quickly continued. " Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dipshit is good, but could be anyone, " for example, it could have very easily been used to identify Lukas and Dash.

Kian "Bert and Ernie, then. Literally anyone else." Kian had hardly even made a dent in the ground before his nails were caked with dirt, and if he hadn't spent the better half of his childhood digging through the mud for bugs to show Clarke, he would have been disgusted at the state of them. God, let there be a freshwater lake in the wilderness for him to wash off in. "Besides," he said, wiping hair out of his face with the back of his sleeve, "I think they're the sort to be flattered that you think about them naked so often."

Dash Dash let a low whistle as he tossed a pebble over his shoulder. He didn’t think flattered would actually be the appropriate word for how those two would feel if they knew Lukas had mentioned their names in relation to dicks. “I think the word you’re looking for is disgusted, actually. Or, uh. Vein-throbbingly violent? Like, on the edge of going full-on berserk.” He scooped out another handful of dirt and already felt exhausted by the whole endeavor. Dash reminded himself that they were doing this for what was a good cause and it’d be fucked up if he sat back now. “Gay bash-y, definitely, but whatever.” He gritted his teeth as he came across another root. Fuckin’ weak ass trees and their weak ass roots. Some of the ones back home were similar, always getting blown to shit by every passing hurricane. He stood enough just to bring his heel down hard enough to snap it. “Wait, just to confirm, we’re in agreement that Lord Humungus took the kill shot, right?” he asked Lukas.

Lukas Lukas didn't know where the fuck Kian had got the idea that Gigantor and his Mini Me would be flattered that Lukas was talking about them in such a fashion, but he definitely disagreed. Thankfully, Dash quickly put his thoughts into words. " Yeah, that's more the vibe I'm getting, for sure. " Lukas agreed, eyes staying down on his hands as he dug for a moment. Just get this fucking over with, get Warren in the ground and then they could move on. Eyes lifted when Dash spoke again, meeting his and for the second time today having to disagree with him. " I think he totally could have. You know, definitely had motive and means down, " Start with agreement, wasn't that a debate thing? He didn't fucking know, he wasn't a debate weeb. " But opportunity? " He sucked his teeth, eyes back to the ground as he continued making work on the grave. " Unless he turns into a fucking werewolf at night, there's no way he would've been able to make his way up there in the middle of the night. It was dark as fuck. " Okay maybe there were a couple of ways, but Lukas wasn't sold. " So, like, maybe he did it, I dunno. But what are we supposed to do about it? "

Kian Lord Humungus? Did he mean Sebastian? "Think he's just upset he didn't push him off himself when he had the chance," said Kian. Because Lukas had a point (as much as it pained him to admit), it was way too fucking dark for Sebastian to be able to get up, hike all the way up that cliff to murder Warren, and slink back before sunrise without anyone noticing. All signs pointed to Warren's death being an accident - a shit, unfortunate fucking accident. Kian picked a worm out of the shallow hole he'd created and flung it into the grass. "I'm not taking my chances with him, though. You saw the way he choked Switzerland out - he's definitely out for blood."

Dash "Involuntary manslaughter, then." If that's what it even was called. "Lack of oxygen gave him a big brain booboo which lead to the guy seizing like a motherfucker. Bumble balled it right over the ledge.” Dash raised his eyebrows like, huh? How about that? But what could they even do about that? He didn’t know fuck-all about like, obtaining quote-unquote justice. The whole system was wanky back home, so pulling from real life examples didn't really vibe with him. Plus, there was the whole... they were stuck on an island thing. The best he could come up with was: "Uh. Banish him to the other side of this tropical limbo to go think about what he's done?" He kept digging, and digging, and digging. It couldn't have been a more boring activity, and he wished the other guys would hurry with the body if only so they'd have more hands on deck. Dash tilted his head to the side in lackluster agreement with Kian. Lackluster because he kinda hated to agree with him right then. "For suuuure. I can really respect Warren's kinky side, but that shit's not in my wheelhouse."

Liam clearly, no one was paying attention to anything liam was saying since the giants of the group wanted to keep going back and forth at each other, blue and joe chiming in with a more level headed approach, but liam was already over it. he understood that everything was stressful and the past few days have been a roller coaster, but he couldn't deal with the fact that the others would rather fight with each other than take care of warren's body. he pushed his way out from in between the other boys, "fuck this," he muttered to himself as he walked away from the group. if they weren't going to be helpful, the least he could do was go find the others and see where they are at with digging. he took one last glance at warren, which was probably a mistake because the second he did, he felt the familiar tightening in his chest again. looking away quickly, liam started the walk to the others and hoped he wouldn't get lost in the process. though, being lost in the jungle was starting to seem like a better option than being stuck with all the toxic masculinity of the other group. alone and walking, he finally let himself feel everything and didn't stop his tears until he started to hear the three boys talking. he ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath to compos himself before stepping out to make himself known. "uh, how's it going here? do you guys need help?"

Lukas Lukas made a small chyeah sound with an accompanying chuckle when Dash suggested involuntary manslaughter. Even though it appeared he had more experience with the justice system than these two, specifically in a case of involuntary manslaughter, he didn't think they could prove such a thing. Even with the, what? 14 witnesses? 13 now he supposed. They couldn't even convince one another, how could they convince a court of people who hadn't even been there. He kept digging. " What, like Survivor? " He asked when Dash suggested banishing Sebastian. " Even if he didn't kill Warren I wouldn't be against sending him the fuck away just so I didn't have to see him stand around and brood all fucking day. " Though part of him wanted Sebastian to stay close, so they could see when the eventual murderous rampage was coming on. He's about to tack on some crude joke about Warren getting choked out to what Kian and Dash were saying but that's when he hears a voice behind him. Head turning to look and stupid smile widening on his features. " Yo! " Same shirt! Lukas thought again, even though Dash was currently wearing his Thrasher sweater. " Yeah, for sure, get in here. " He tilted his head back to the grave, resuming his digging while Liam pulled up a spot. " So, the fuck were the others up to that you decided digging a grave was the better option? " He asked, chuckle falling from his lips at the very circumstances. Even if this was definitely the better group of people, by Lukas' definition, Liam had stayed with the others a while before joining them, Lukas figured something must have been happening.

Liam liam tried to muster up as much of genuine smile as he could despite the fact that his had just spent a better part of his walk over crying. he looked between the three boys, noting the progress they achieved in the amount of time it took the other group to do literally nothing but fight and point fingers. with a nod, he walked over to them, getting on his knees at the edge of where they were digging and started to help. he let out a broken laugh when lukas asked what was going on, he couldn't even hold it in because the whole situation seemed ridiculous. "they're fucking not doing shit. jj's, like, looting his shit because he's not going to need it. which fair, but he just went straight to it. everyone's pointing fingers. and sawyer got the emergency blanket but as soon he came back, him and the one tall roid head started going at each other because apparently sawyer and warren were drinking last night and they think it's his fault. then fucking gigantor came in and amped everything up." liam realized he was probably talking pretty fast and agitated and he rambled, so he paused and took a second to catch his breath. "i just- i needed to get out of there. none of them would listen to me."

Kian "Fuck's sake," Kian said for the second time in the span of ten minutes, pushing his momentary annoyance at yet another member joining their group aside to express his utter exasperation at the sheer dickheadness of the dickheads on this island. JJ being a weirdo didn't shock him; nor did Thing 1 and Thing 2 using someone's death to be complete pricks to everyone around them. "What did I tell you? Out for blood."

Dash Dash looked over his shoulder when he heard a new voice, and his brow furrowed. Liam looked a helluva lot like a guy who had just been crying, and Dash could vaguely recall him getting a little choked up when he had still been loitering around Warren’s body. Clearly he was taking this hard. The threat of a big-d Death was annoying and years-long over the course of his life, so he could forget that someone's shit could get really rocked by the whole thing if they had never lived like that. “You good, dude?” he asked, only a little awkward in execution. Being on the receiving end of a barrage of friendly check-ins didn't really make him any better at extending them. As Liam recounted what was up on the beach, Dash rolled his eyes. Day Three of hanging around these reprobates and he already wasn't shocked by some of their behaviors. JJ looting a body? Bit fucked, but not totally out of left field. He was sure the guy still had multitudes of weirdness to expose though. "Okay, cringe. But, uh, did they find anything?" he had to ask, still a little curious if he was right about the nipple piercing thing. Kian’s out for blood comment spurred him to continue: “And is anyone bleeding yet? Someone should probably them it’s kinda tacky to duke it out in front of a dead body.” Warren’s body. Dash grimaced, and went back to digging.

Callum Callum huffed grumpily when Joe came by his side and diffused the situation. "All the stories Warren tells about taking champagne up his ass and having to swim in whiskey before he feels anything, you think a fucking flask got him hammered? That's a joke." He stayed glaring at Sawyer. Then Blue came into the picture. "Something is up and this criminal's just too good at hiding it." Callum couldn't help but take another dig at Sawyer.

Sawyer Sawyer should’ve taken comfort in the fact that the other boys, some of whom he’d barely even spoken to, were willing to stick their necks out for him. He should’ve heeded Liam’s advice, walked away when he had the opportunity to do so with his hands clean. There were a lot of things in life he should’ve, could’ve, would’ve done if he were a better man. But there was something in Callum’s tone—an undercurrent, heat simmering beneath the surface of his icy demeanor—that made him see red. Who gave him the right to speak about somebody like that? He didn’t know Sawyer. None of these assholes knew any more about him than he did of them. His limbs moved of their own accord before his head even had time to process what was happening, tackling Callum to the floor of the impacted sand, arm reeling back and fist connecting with his smug fucking face—once, twice, until his knuckles began to split. “Fuck you,” he spat. “Fuck you—”

Sebastian Sebastian couldn't deny that Callum had made a good point about Warren's alcohol tolerance. The kid seemed to actually be more efficient with a little booze in his system than he was without- so how were they supposed to believed he'd managed to get so plastered the night before that he'd toppled off of a cliff all by himself? Something wasn't adding up and Sawyer's increasing irritation was only adding to fuel to the conspiracy fire. "Whoa- hey!" Sebastian called out impulsively as Sawyer leapt at Callum, tackling him into the ground and taking one manic swipe at him after the other. On instinct, he crashed into Sawyer's back, throwing his arms under Sawyer's and pinning them back as he dragged the other boy, rather clumsily, to a standing (ish) position, away from Callum. "Come on, come on, come on," he insisted, for a lack of anything more profound or meaningful to say to either boy. "Bro, somebody fuckin' check on him," he instructed anybody that was listening to aid Callum after the spontaneous beating. "You gonna cool off man?" he asked sawyer, using all his strength to keep his arms in a submissive position with his arms locked between Sebastian's. "-Or we can go for a walk, you gotta choice here," he insisted, giving Sawyer at least some sense of control in an otherwise out of control situation.

Callum "Umpf—!" One second, Callum was throwing Sawyer a dirty look that could piss off a pacifist monk and the next, he was on the ground getting his face rearranged. He should have probably seen this coming with the way he was running his mouth. For a moment, the embarrassment of being put down was worse than the pain of actually getting his face pummeled. Callum was just barely catching up, getting his hands on Sawyer's arms when he felt the boy's weight be pulled off of him entirely. Then he heard Sebastian's voice. Thank fuck, he thought. Relief washing over him for only a moment before the pain set in. "Fucking prison rat..." He muttered, turning his head and spitting out some of the blood in his mouth. "I'm fine," he insisted, swatting a hand before any of the other boys could do something like rush to his aid. He wasn't some pussy, he could get up just fine. Or so he thought when he attempted to sit up and a sharp pain shooting up his back reminded him he was still very much recovering from an unfair bar fight. "Fuck," he grunted, sucking in a sharp breath in an attempt to contain his reaction to the pain.

Sawyer Sawyer could do little more than let out a pained yelp as his arms were wrenched behind his back—Sebastian had all the strength of a corrections officer and less than half of the patience, pulling Sawyer to his feet before he could get a final blow in. “Don’t—fuckin’—touch me!” He tried, in vain, to weasel his way out of the other boy’s firm grip. Fuck him. Fuck Callum. Fuck Warren for dying, fuck the pilot for crashing, fuck his parole officer for sending him on this retreat and fuck him, fuck Sawyer for thinking he could better himself, that you could add bells and whistles to a broken-down car and expect it to get anywhere good. “You wanna talk about me?!” He yelled, eyes stinging hot with tears again. But this time, he wasn’t crying out of guilt or sorrow—rather, the frustration at his inability to control his situation, or anything, had nowhere left to go but out of him. “Huh?! You wanna talk about what kinda drunk I am?! You’re not even good fuckin’ people sober!”

Callum "And what makes you think you are?!" Callum shot back from where he was twisted uncomfortably on his side. "Fuckin', Mr. Criminal Record!" With his back fucked, Callum was all bark and no bite right now. "Take a fucking hike, convict," he spat from where he was on the ground. "We'll carry Warren ourselves. Don't you need you hijacking his ring and that stupid fucking chain around his neck for some spare change and a place to live."

Sawyer The next thing Sawyer did, he wasn’t too proud of (he wasn’t very proud of pummeling Callum to the ground, either, but in the heat of the moment it felt more than deserved). If these guys wanted to assume the worst of him, though, he’d give ‘em a better fucking reason to. He mustered up the last of his resolution to spit at Callum’s immobile form, hoping, childishly, that he felt the touch of cold saliva on his skin, that he felt every bit as tainted by Sawyer’s indecency as Sawyer did. What little dredges of fuck he had left to give died on his fists the moment they made impact with Callum’s face. With a full-bodily jerk, he managed to free himself from Sebastian’s grasp at last, holding his middle fingers up at Callum as he took a few steps backward before he turned his back to the group. He wasn’t hiking back to the camp or the jungle, but to the furthest corners of the beach, where he could melt into the shoreline and imagine himself turning into sea-foam—swept away, all at once, by the tide.

Callum Spitting on him? Really? Callum scoffed and shook his head. Then he watched Sawyer's retreating figure. "Yeah, walk away, convict. We don't need you," he called out. A final nail in the coffin if Sawyer didn't hate him enough already. He brushed his hand against his pants where Sawyer's spit landed, making a face at the wetness that now covered his palm. Gross, he thought. When he figured the boy was far enough, Callum decided it was high time for him to get up and move too. "Can someone give me a hand?" He asked grumpily, after having attempted to get up himself; though he couldn't quite do it without assistance. "And let's get Warren out of here already."

Lukas Lukas couldn't help but grimace as Liam told the three of them what had happened in their absence. Yeah, no, definitely the superior group right here, he thought. Looting, yelling, and pointing fingers at each other. He was only a tiny bit upset to be missing it all. He nodded in agreement at Kian's point. " Dude, they're so fucked, " he commented, pulling more dirt out of the hole. However, he did also kinda want the answers to Dash's questions so he looked to Liam expectantly, waiting an answer. Then Lukas thinks he hears something. Not sure what he looked over his shoulder again with furrowed brow. " Y'all hear that? " he asked the group, his gaze remaining behind him for a second longer. Sounded like yelling, but it was just too far away for Lukas to put any more effort into finding out what it was. As he looked back to the hole, soon to be grave, he was pretty fucking impressed with their efforts. Someone had to be. " That's probably deep enough, right? Looks about two foot, bit over. "

Joe This had to be some kind of divine punishment. There was no way he would be stuck on a desert island with wankers that couldn't go a full day without getting into a punch up if he wasn't tainted in some way. As tempting as it was to leave Callum on the floor Joe knew had to be a bigger person and make some kind of contribution ,he didn't get Sawyer off of Callum and he did a shit job at including Liam. He would have to apologise to Liam later but in that moment his main focus was grabbing Callum's hand and dragging him off the ground. "Oh yeah, yous are going to have to stop being pricks for a second because we need to move Warren. Is there a technique to moving bodies?"

Callum Callum let himself be pulled up by Joe, offering a short grunt of 'thanks' in appreciation once he was back on his feet. He dusted himself off, scoffed a little at being referred to as a prick, and answered Joe's query. "Not that I know of. But we got the blanket–" Thanks to Sawyer, who he did not care to credit or mention even if there was a gun to his head. "–we'll lay Warren on there, and there's..." He counted whoever remained. Him, Sebastian, Joe, and Blue. Perfect. "Four of us. So each take a corner and just carry him like that I guess." He shrugged. Heavy lifting wasn't a great idea with his back all knotted up and achy like it was right now but Callum figured with three other guys helping carry the load, it shouldn't be too bad. He walked over to the lower half of Warren's body and grabbed his ankles. "Someone get the top half of this kid please. And the rest just like, hold the blanket down flat, hands on the corners."

Blue blue told himself that it was like carrying an injured teammate,  you'll pull your brother up, move him off the ice, the nurses patch him up, or that one time when he had to visit beau at the hospital...but he needed that visualization to make it through this strange night. as he placed the blanket down with the others, and then took a step back, all of that went away and the darkness all around enveloped him. "does anyone know the song from sound of music? the sad one?"

Kian It was easy to block out the events of that morning when you had nothing to do but dig and dig until your arms ached. Moving meant you had less time to think, and the less time you had to think, the less time you had to feel. Mostly, Kian just felt numb...and like, he couldn't figure out whether that made him a shit person or not. That he could look at a dead body and feel nothing but a sense of disgust and dread, like if he stared for too long, the clutches of death would reach out and grab him by the wrist. Scary shit. He scoffed at Lukas's remarks, blowing a piece of hair out of his eyes. "Two feet's not deep enough. It has to be a meter, so, like...three." God. Fuck the Yanks and their stupid measurement system. "You can go tell the others to hurry the fuck up if you want, though."

Lukas Personally, if Lukas was wearing someone else's shirt to prevent dirt getting on him, he probably wouldn't be such a dick to them. Well– he probably would but that didn't stop him from being offended when Kian had a go at him. " I said two and a bit, didn't I? " he rebutted, begrudgingly returning to digging. " And you've gotta give the metres thing up, you're clearly fuckin' outnumbered here. " He cast a glance to Dash and Liam as if to say, right guys? As for going back to the others, however, he shook his head adamantly " No fucking way, I'll fuckin' puke, " again. You would fucking puke again, Lukas. " You can go tell them if you want though, " he offered back to Kian, being completely facetious. He didn't think there was any way any of them were volunteering to go back and tell the others what to do. " Tell them all about how we've got a metre " he poorly mimicked the other's accent for that word and that word alone, " deep hole here and they need to hurry up, you and Warren would look good with matching hickeys. "

Liam liam looked to dash when he asked if he was okay, and again he tried to put on a brave face and pretend like everything was okay. "yeah, i'm good," he said despite being the opposite. liam has never experienced death before, not even a pet. even if they hadn't known warren long and he was pretty annoying, it still made reality hit him hard. "i don't know if they found anything good, i wasn't really paying attention," i was trying to not cry in front of everyone he finished in his head. but then kian seemed annoyed by how deep they should go and lukas teasing him about meters. liam just looked up at the others and shrugged. he didn't see what the big deal was. "they probably wont even listen to you," he mumbled. "they didn't listen to me. they're too busy seeing who's dick is bigger by ganging up on sawyer." he just hoped they were done being dicks long enough to actually get to moving warren over here.

Kian If Lukas's hastiness didn't tick him off, that piss-poor imitation of his accent certainly did. He did not sound like that - Kian could pronounce his r's just fine, thank you very much. With a saccharine-sweet smile, he took the next fistful of damp soil from the ground and flicked it in Lukas's direction. "There. Now it's two and some more." Prick. Liam was much more tolerable than the other two prats, if only for the fact that he seldom talked and always looked like he was on the verge of tears. No wonder he couldn't stick it out with the meatheads, Kian thought. "The one from jail? Why're they ganging up on him?"

Liam he grimaced at the comment. the one from jail. everyone was so focused on the fact that sawyer had been to jail, he wondered what all of the others would think if they knew he had a record too. sure, his was probably much less than sawyers, but they really didn't know anything about each other. "yeah, him. because he was the last to see warren alive and i guess they were drinking last night. they think he got drunk and killed him or something." saying it out loud sounded so ridiculous. even if they didn't know each other well, he couldn't see sawyer doing it. after all, sebastian was the one who choked the dude out.

Lukas He's late to see the handful of dirt flying at him but still he tries to bat it away, leaning back as he did. As if that would help. Looking down at the mess, he couldn't help but snort another chuckle again. How fucking stupid was this whole situation. He thought as he returned to digging. He glanced to Liam as he spoke, but then he laughed again when he revealed the others had been pointing at Sawyer as the cause of Warren's death. " You're joking, Sawyer? Seriously? " He chuckled, giving it a moment to gage that Liam was in fact serious. While Kian was pretty keen to keep bringing up Sawyer's record, Lukas wondered if he was the only one who remembered the cowboy had admitted it was for auto theft. Plus, if a criminal record was all you needed to be a murderer then well shit, guess him and Liam were on their way to the janky island electric chair too. " That's fucked. " He shook his head, still amused but at least a fraction more somber about it now. " There's no way they actually think that, they're just tryna shift the blame 'cause they know they're the most fucking suspect. "

Kian For the first time, Kian and Lukas were on the same wavelength; he couldn't help but let out an ugly guffaw when Liam revealed that some of them were now accusing others of murder. Yeah, no. Sawyer was way too friendly to kill someone - and not in a, like, American Psycho way, but in a weird uncle who drinks too much and mistakes you for your sister way. Believe him, Kian sat across from the guy on the plane. He knew a person who spiked their drinks in secret when he saw one. "And besides, Warren was dumb enough to nearly fall off a cliff without alcohol. What makes them think he didn't just take a long walk off a short ledge when he was trying to piss or something?"

Liam "that's what i thought too," liam chimed in. warren didn't seem like the brightest person sober, nearly walking off the cliff just hours before. "i think they're all so focused on making sure they don't look guilty that they're trying to put the blame on someone else. but i think we all know that if anyone did anything, there are far more convincing people than sawyer."

Kian "Like that JJ fucker," said Kian, eyes going wide. "Swear, I haven't seen him so much as smile since we got here. I think he's a proper psychopath."

Dash Dash didn’t really believe Liam’s ‘I’m good’ and made a mental note to check in on the little dude later. He might not be a total help to him, of course, but it made Dash at least feel like he had something to fill his day after this hellish morning instead of staring vacantly at the ocean. Drops of sweat gathered on his brow from exertion as he listened the other guys contemplate who to point fingers at. "You know where I stand on this whole thing, man,” he said. “Chokey time, brain damage, mouth frothing and a one-way ticket cliffside — ipso facto: Gigantor’s fault.” Dash wiped the moisture away with the back of his hand, and tiredly thought that maybe he should’ve taken his aunt up on the repeated offer to join her at her godforsaken, soul-sucking cycling class. He stood to inspect their work—the boundary of the hole came up to his thigh-ish, edging toward his hip—and stamped down a boot to flatten the earth beneath his foot. “Jesus...” he spoke under his breath, then continued aloud, “Is this finally a fuckin' meter or what?"

Kian Kian sat back on his haunches, heaving a sigh. Grave-digging was no easy task on its own, but having a sweaty mop on your head and a boa constrictor wrapped around your chest put it on equal footing with, like, running laps. Or building pyramids with tree branches. "Proper fuckin' meter," he said, ricocheting right off of Pink Floyd, "where the fuck are the pallbearers?"

Callum Callum made a face at Blue. "The fuck. No?" He shook his head. "Can we just focus on getting Warren out of here?" He asked, his patience thinning quickly with his back pain. Once everyone was in position and Warren was safely wrapped in the emergency blanket, the boys hauled him off, proceeding across the beach until they came across the boys responsible for digging Warren's grave. "Yo, you guys done?" Callum asked when he was close enough to be heard by the other boys. They looked like they've been busy digging so Callum hoped they were, and didn't just spend all this time fucking around.

Dash It was like Kian’s pure pissiness summoned the ‘pallbearers’. Dash looked up from where he watched a shiny beetle scuttle around his boot and was met with a real one-two of shitty and honestly fairly gratifying images. One being Warren’s body, wrapped up like a shoddy mummy—that was horseshit—and the second the pretty black eye developing on Callum’s face. Dash was a pacifist by nature but it was still a refreshing look, if you asked him. He let out a low whistle and leaned back against the edge of the hole, letting his hands rest palms down against the grass. “Wow. Sweet shiner.” He shook his head as he turned to hoist himself out of the grave. “Gotta say, babe. You’ve never looked better,” he wisecracked, a grin started to itch at the corner of his mouth until he looked back from where he came. An empty hole. For Warren. What a way to spend a vacation. He cleared his throat and shrugged both shoulders. “So, uh. Guess you guys just lower him in then,” he continued, gesturing toward their work.

Kian Yo yOu gUys DoNe? As if Moose Knuckle and the park rangers hadn't just taken ages to wrap a body in a blanket and carry it not half a kilometre into the jungle. Kian had a quip ready to go, a right hearty fuck off, but the second he turned around to open his mouth, he lost his shit. Seeing one of the Winklevoss Twins with a bruised eye nearly made up for the corpse within arm's length of his face. "Has he risen from the dead to punch you in the face?" He asked, scuttling out of the way so they could lower Warren's body into the hole. "I miss the fucker, already."

Liam liam’s whole body tensed up when he heard the unmistakable sound of callum’s voice. but at least that meant they were finally done and they could put this whole awful day behind them. getting up from his spot by the hole, liam turned around just as the other boys started commenting on his black eye. clearly the arguing turned physical after liam left, which really didn’t surprise him. but rather than bring attention to himself, he just moved out of the way so the others could move warren’s body into the hole.

Callum Callum swore if he wasn't helping carry a dead body right now, these fuckers — Dash and Kian — would be in the grave along with Warren too. Ignoring the heat he felt in his cheeks when he was cheekily referred to as 'babe', Callum merely scoffed and shot a measly "fuck off" at the two boys with comments. "Let's go," he urged the boys helping him with Warren's body, shuffling forward to position the corpse directly above the hole so it could be a smooth descent. "Ready? Bring him down slowly." It was easier to pretend this was his summer job doing construction work, and not burying some guy they survived a plane crash with. Nice and steady, Warren was lowered and just like that, the boy was laid down in his temporary resting place. Callum blew out a breath once he was standing at full height again. "Fuck..." He didn't expect it to be difficult to look at the grave with the blanket-wrapped body in there. "Guess we just... cover him up?" It felt strange to discuss. He wondered then how Dash, Kian and Lukas felt digging up this hole knowing what it was for.

Dash Dash watched the way Callum’s face heated with fascination, as his tongue poked at the inside of his cheek—one part confused to two parts jazzed about the power he must’ve had to elicit a reaction like that. He badly wanted to say something, to make a joke about how there must’ve been a heart beating there in his chest all long ‘cause his pink cheeks proved it. But he swallowed it down, the words like bile at the back of his throat. It seemed his body would only allow one joke in the presence of an actual burial, which kind of sucked really because without that there was nothing much to do but look at the lump that was once Warren get lowered into the ground. Dash thought about the last time he was at a funeral—and the shower of roses that were placed on the casket before it too was buried beneath pounds of dirt—and glanced around until he saw a flower. “Wait a sec.” It had five large pink petals, and looked like it’d work well enough. He plucked it, then looked over at the other guys. “I dunno, like a fuckin’ — show of respect or something,” he defended himself. “To make up for that Viking burial thing.” He tossed the flower down the hatch. It fluttered, then fell near Warren’s feet. Close enough. “Alright, dirt time,” he said, but still waited for someone else to make the first move.

Kian Kian watched the flower fall to Warren’s feet with little fanfare. That was shit, he wanted to say, but for once, he held his tongue. This was an actual, real thing they were doing; no going back now. Dash’s words hung in silence for eons before Kian began to shove dirt into the hole with his foot, covering up what he assumed—and hoped—was Warren’s face, first. “Where’s Sawyer gone? Thought he’d wanna...pay his respects or whatever.”

Callum "He's off being a pissy little bitch," Callum muttered as he pushed some sand into Warren's grave with the side of his foot. He knew it would be far more useful to go on his knees and shovel dirt in with his hands but he couldn't be fucked to hurt his back even more.

Dash Dash bent to pick up his abandoned stick. He used the flat end to knock dirt onto Warren’s body — it gave him something to do and saved his boots from more damage: two birds, one stone. “Lemme guess,” he started, angling the stick only enough to point in Callum’s general direction. He placed a fingertip under his right eye and tugged down for emphasis. “He responsible for that?”

Callum "Oh fuck off, Troll Doll." Though with his tiredness (and slight guilt), the insult didn't quite have the bite Callum wanted it to have. "It's not my fault the Prison Rat can't take the heat. If he wasn't guilty of anything in the first place, he wouldn't have had trouble sticking around." Callum moved some more sand over the grave with his foot and brought his hands up in a 'it wasn't me' gesture. "S'all I'm saying."

[fieryfafarfanfics]

Wishful Pining

 Ever since she showed up, everything he’s done has gone completely wrong.  He thought he had everything figured out. He thought his life would turn for the better. From the moment he was adopted by Chairman Rose, Bede legitimately thought he had everything at the palm of his hand.  But no.  He was supposed to be unbeatable. He was supposed to be the next Champion of Galar. People would see him for who he shaped himself to be. People would be in awe, would be at his feet to gawk at the marvellous trainer who was gifted by the hands of the amazing chairman himself. He had everything planned out. His first Pokémon. His first battle. His first victory. Everything was coming to his favour.  He had everything, and he would gain everything more.  That is, until she came into his life.

 She just had to ruin everything! That single thought haunted him day and night. Thanks to her, he was disowned by the very man who gave him food and shelter. Thanks to her, he was robbed of his very desire to become Galar’s only hope. Thanks to her, he was dragged by a strange old lady and was visibly forced to shape up into a gym leader against his will.  Well…technically the last part was only half the truth. In time, Bede actually enjoyed and appreciated all the lessons – gruelling as they may be – and this, in time, actually made him into a stronger trainer than he was before.  Hell, thanks to her, he is now one of the most powerful gym leaders in Galar.  Gah! He shakes his head, anger and annoyance bubbled uncomfortably in his stomach. Hands run through fluffy white hair. Teeth grind together, jaw tightening before he opts to take a deep breath. Warm air puffs out of pink lips. He needs to stop, he thinks to himself. It has been 3 years since that happened. Life moves on, and so have they.  He’s moved on. He is moving on.  There is absolutely no reason to lament on the past. Orphan that he is, Bede cannot deny the fact that Opal is family to him now. Despite the harsh trainings and quizzes and all that pink, she is a loving and kind-hearted woman. Everything she did made him into the excellent leader he is now. Groan and whine and growl as much as he wants, Bede will never forget the fact that Opal is the only who…adopted him when he thought he would be alone all over again.  The old lady still has some spunk in her, visiting him once in a while after taking a break from her little travels. She is an estranged woman, no doubt, but it did not take long for Bede to see Opal as the grandmother he never had.  Not that the young man chooses to admit that publically anytime soon.  Oh well, he is sure Opal knows how he feels.  He just wishes the ex-gym leader wouldn’t know much about his feelings for a certain someone.  A sigh slips off his lips.  His train of thought reaches a halt when he hears an eerie caw. Violet eyes look up, spotting a dot of deep black growing bigger and bigger until it forms a shape. Hands tucked inside the pockets of his pink jacket, he takes a few steps back to let the Corviknight land soundly.  Violet eyes never stray away from the young woman who hopped off the back of the Raven Pokémon.  “Thank you, Hilda.” A smile graces those pretty pink lips. Her voice is all he hears, and Bede rues at the fact that his heart starts to pound a few beats faster.  Apparently that wasn’t the worst of it; the second a pair of crimson meets violets, Bede can feel himself breathless.  Oh, he hates this.  “Sorry I’m late,” she apologizes. Her smile still remains present. Still remains beautiful on such a pretty face. “I had to fly back home because I needed to give my mom something. Hope I didn’t make you wait.” Her voice ever so soft, so serene, yet lulls such confidence that comes from such calm teenager.  Ooooh, he hates the beat of his heart.  “You’re irresponsible.” Why would he say that? “Making me wait when I have a lot of things to do.” He really didn’t have anything to do today—and he didn’t wait that long.  Arceus, her smile is a knife to his heart.  “Sorry,” is all she says. Returning the Corviknight back into her ball, Devina shrunk the Pokéball before clipping it to the right side of her belt. “If it makes you feel better, how about I treat you to some ice-cream?” Head tilts slightly to the right. Fingers lightly brush the bangs of deep dark hair. Patiently she awaits his answer, completely unaware that her actions alone cause a whirlpool of emotions in his heart.  “Do you really think free food will please me?” It does. “I’m not one of your rambunctious Pokémon.” He really likes ice-cream.  He wonders what it would be like to see a frown on her face.  “So, no ice-cream?” she ponders curiously.  He does not want to see it anytime soon.  His left eye twitches. “I accept the ice-cream.” He huffs once. Defeats slowly looms within him, but he would rather bite off his own tongue than admit it.  The second his gaze fixates on her again, Bede then holds back a groan to see that smile beam brighter. ---  He wonders how the hell he got roped into hanging out with her.  Was it 3 years ago? No, 2 years to be exact? They were both 15 and still trying to get used to living lives as strong, famous trainers. Devina all the more had to accommodate faster. Ever since she was crowned Champion, task after task came flooding down on her until she had no time for herself. After saving the world from the second coming of The Darkest Day and basically defeating the so-called Unbeatable Champion in a span of a week, the girl definitely had her hands full to the brim.  He couldn’t complain much, though. He was busy prepping himself to replace Opal as Ballonlea’s gym leader. He overthrew her easily (as how he would explain it) and since then, only a very, very handful of trainers were able to defeat him in the yearly Gym Challenge. He guessed he should take pride on that. Trainers were able to see that he was a force to be reckoned with before they could actually see the real force that is the woman sitting right beside him.  It all happened the year after they’ve met that she started to form a sort of friendship with him.  Well…'try' would have been a more appropriate term.  She was relentless. One would wonder how such a calm and collected person could be so assertive and persistent. He was perfectly fine with seeing her as his rival. Nothing more. Nothing less. She is the Galarian Champion. He is the most powerful gym leader in Galar.  But one day came, and so did she. The first morning, Bede took it as nothing more than the usual training routine he had with Opal and the other Fairy Pokémon. The second he opened the front door, however, he was laid stumped at the sight of a smiling trainer right in front of his doorstep.  “How are you?” He remembers the first words that came out of that pretty mouth of hers.  “I was wondering if you’re free today.” He remembers how baffled he was when she admitted that.  “In that case, how about a battle? If I lose, I’ll leave you be to your things. If I win, you have brunch with me.” He remembers rejecting her invitation, then being baffled again, then immediately accepting her challenge.  He lost, of course. And Bede still wonders if that was a good thing or a bad thing.  It became a habit as time went by. Monthly challenges became weekly. Weekly challenges became weekly hangouts. From sitting in a café in Ballonlea with such an awkward silence around them to going around other places with many topics to converse, Bede wouldn’t lie that he was still dumbfounded at the outcome that is their friendship.  Friendship…  Her laughter brings him back to reality. Focused gaze lures to her, then stays perfectly put at the gleam of her smile.  It is the damn mushrooms. It is definitely the damn mushrooms’ fault for putting light into her smile.  “It was the first time I’ve ever seen Hop run so fast.” Snickers tickle their way out of her mouth. “Turns out he can outrun a Charizard, and an angry one too.” Fingers brush her giggling lips. Both sit on a log inside Glimwood Tangle. Of all the places they could explore, Devina decided to chill inside the mystical forest. To her, the place was peaceful and mystifying. And given that it is going to be winter soon, she loves that the forest is not too hot nor too cold.  Bede didn’t complain when she suggested today’s venue. If anything, he doesn’t mind any venue at all if it means being close to her—wait.  Wait… Realization kicks him right in the head. He flinches on the log, then freeze on the spot. Immediately he shakes his head. The strands of long, white curly hair softly slaps his face, but the boy was too preoccupied in making sure he never finished that thought—  “Bede?”  Shit.  Violet eyes snap open, pupils enlarge slightly at the sight of his rival.  Curiosity turns into concern. “You okay there?” Voice ever soft, she scoots an inch closer.  He feels the air getting colder.  “I’m fine.” Sharply he retorts, only to silently regret his tone at the sight of Devina being surprised at his cold reaction. “I just—tired, is all.” Quick. His mind needs to be quick. “Trainers have been coming to the gym lately and trying to battle me as training sessions. They lost, of course. But the amount of trainers this week took quite a toll.” Keep talking. Just keep talking and ignore her mesmerizing eyes.  Maybe he needs to get up and move away from her as well.  But like hell, “It’s really annoying…” He wants nothing more than to close the distance between them. “They just…can’t give up and realize that they’re no match for me and my team.” Words are out of his mouth, but sight is hypnotized by the fiery glow of her iris.  Silence fills the air around them. Only the soothing sounds of Shiinotics and Spritzees can be heard nearby. Two teenagers do not a muscle. One looks at the other quite quizzically. One wishes his body can be swallowed by the earth below.  Pretty pink lips part, then gapes. “A-Anyways—!” he stutters. “Why are we here?” Quickly he changes the subject. Quickly he breaks his gaze away before it can falter down to the shape of her lips.  She is surprised; he can tell.  “Well…” Hesitance bites off her next words. Fidgeting on her seat, Devina cocks her head upwards. “There’s a special reason why I wanted to come to Glimwood Tangle tonight.”  “With me?” Damn it shut up!  He wonders if the tiny fraction of silence was her being offended at his foolish reaction.  “Yeah…” She looks down. Slim fingers play with each other, one pad of her finger tapping the nail of another. “I mean, I know I could have bring Hop or Marnie along.”  To hear Hop’s name, to hear Marnie’s name; Bede doesn’t know why—he somewhat knows, but he rather does not want to know—but to hear those two names feels like needles poking his wild heart.  “But today is our day, you know?”  Whatever feeling of bitterness he felt a few seconds ago disappears in a flash. “What?”  She turns to look at him.  Her smile truly is brighter than any mushroom in Glimwood Tangle.  “Our day to hang out?” She adds on, meekly. “We always chill at different places a few times in a month. And I know you live in Ballonlea and this forest is practically your home, but I feel coming here tonight will make it even more special.”  Oh, she is definitely aiming to make him die of suffocation.  “O…okay…?” His reaction this time is not out of spite, but out of sheer bafflement. Like every other time, Devina truly has a knack in knocking him right out of his comfort zone. He takes a sharp breath, then exhales in a slow, shaky manner. “I don’t want to sound like I’m not having a good time.” Believe me, I do. “But what’s so special about tonight?”  She didn’t answer immediately.  Instead she remains silent, yet her mouth slowly curls that smile he adores so much. Without a word, Devina looks at the giant mushrooms a few steps away from them. Taking the silent signal, Bede dumbly brings his gaze to the colourful fungi.  As is right on cue, the mushrooms glow brighter.  The colours are warm and soft and mesmerizing all together. But unlike the other times where they only glow when touched, these mushrooms begin to glow on their own. Shock paints the man’s face, then awe comes next as the mushrooms start to gleam and sparkle like crystals.  One by one the fungi around them shine. The sounds of Pokémon nearby are music to the twinkling mushrooms, probably in awe as well at nature’s beauty. A colour of pink, blue, lavender, and green paint the forest. The leaves and tree branches sway gently by the touch of calm wind, and this cast glorious shadows on the ground thanks to the shine of the breath-taking moon.  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”  Her voice. Her voice is all it takes to make him come back to reality.  He didn’t realize he was holding a breath, for Bede gasps silently as he looks at her. She is so enthralled by the sight of nature’s gift. She is so absorbed on the sound, the music of floral and Pokémon. Both hands lie on her sides, palms pressed gently against the log.  Ever since she showed up, everything that has happened was completely not part of his plan.  “It is…” She is the biggest inclusion of this unplanned fate.  The glee of enjoying the sight around her turns to surprise when she feels something caressing the back of her right hand. Her head turns to his direction. Crimson eyes widen in silent shock. Smooth cheeks redden at the heat of the moment. She is a sharp person, so Devina holds a short breath when she realizes the very close distance between them. Pink lips part slightly, though she is at lost on whether to ask if everything is okay or to just call out his name—  All of that is flown out the window when she feels soft lips against hers.  Eyes are round as they can be, then immediately shut tight in a second heartbeat. Oh man! The words scream in her mind. Oh man! Oh man! Though panic seems to ring her brain, unspeakable joy burst inside her racing heart. Body now trembling slightly from hand to toe, Devina brings her right hand closer to his, fingers intertwine like perfect puzzle pieces. Breath still held firmly in her lungs, she tilts her head slightly, further deepening the kiss.  And this…her actions alone…the fact that she is returning his kiss…Bede feels as if there are fireworks exploding in his chest.  Emotions completely overpowering what little common sense he has, he brings his hand to cup her face. It’s soft…he wonders. She’s soft… Palm gently caresses her cheek. Fingers slowly slides upwards until they brush the short strands of dark hair. Nerves rattle him endlessly at the physical contact, yet he wants nothing more than to have her desperately close to him.  Chu… He presses the kiss again. Chu… And again. Chuu… And again.  Eyes closed and lungs ache at the baited breath, Bede whines slightly and brushes the tip of his nose against hers. He feels her other hand grip his arm. He feels those soft lips brush his own. The little whine that escaped causes his mouth to part slightly, and Bede feels like melting into a puddle when he feels her lips on his lower lip.  “Bede…”  Her voice feels like a pair of scissors that cut the strings that kept him afloat.  Immediately he snaps his eyes open. As if being kicked by her Cinderace, the young man gasps sharply before pulling apart way faster than they like it to be.  “I—!” Words fail him horribly. “I…I—!” Oh dear fuck, what has he done?  Though darkness consumes the area of the forest, Bede can perfectly see her under the light of the moon, stars, and glimmering mushrooms. He can see her face, flushed and red and utterly kissable. He can see her eyes, quite heavily-lidded with eyelashes fluttering at every needy blink. He can see her lips, parted and wet, deliciously inviting him to taste what he has been missing all along.  Saliva tastes like rocks as it slides down his throat.  “I need to—” He has ruined it. “I just…!” He has ruined a perfectly sound friendship with someone who has the common decency to like him for who he actually is. “I—go—!” He doesn’t know why, but the thought alone pricks tears in his eyes.  Not taking a chance for her to respond, Bede jumps to his feet and runs away.  …Or at least, he decides to, if not for the fact that he has forgotten the young woman before him apparently is way stronger than she looks.  “Wait—!” Impulse works faster in terms of verbal and physical reactions. Actually forgetting her own strength, Devina grips his hand that still holds hers and accidentally tugs him downwards.  “What the—!”  Plop!  “Oof!”  Thankfully, the ground is soft.  Unthankfully, the young woman above him is made of flesh and bones.  Everything happens so fast. The first minute, they were sitting on a log, talking and enjoying their little moment. The second minute, they were kissing – intensely, he might add – and thought of nothing but her body pressed closer against his. The third minute, he remembers panicking, then trying to run away, then being forcibly chucked down by the strength of what society calls her ‘The Divine Champion’.  And now? Bede only groans in ache as his elbows press against the soft soil.  It takes him a moment, but heat then paints his face to realize his rival whom he has kissed like a hungry fool is now leaning against his body.  The mushrooms still glimmer beautifully. The wind still hums its soothing tune.  But by Arceus, not even the Alpha Pokémon itself can rid the raging wave of emotions in the gym leader’s heart.  He then hears mumbles on his chest. “Uh…” Like a fool, he gapes. One elbow still placed as an anchor, Bede nervously moves his right hand towards her. “De…Devina…?” His hands shake terribly. He knows damn well she can hear his heart screaming like a mad Loudred right now. “Devina…?”  “Don’t go…”  His hand flinches and hovers near her back.  Truly he is at lost for words for the hundredth time tonight. He remains frozen in place despite the ache in his left elbow. Bede feels a shiver—her shiver, his shiver—and this drives the boy nothing more than the need to wrap his arms around her.  “Bede…” Her voice rumbles against his still chest, against his drumming heart. Hands clutching the front of his jacket, Devina takes a deep breath and looks up at him.  Arceus take him now for her longing gaze is a surely the reason for his death.  “Don’t go…” She repeats. Legs brought up until her knees touch the soil beneath them. This allows Bede some room to breathe properly—which he still fails—and this also allows Devina to adjust herself so that her weight won’t crush him.  She is now leaning on his chest, though. Not that he’s complaining.  “Bede, I…” What will she say? What will she do? She already yanked the poor guy onto the ground. The least she could do is get off of him. “I just…” But no. Instead she just tightens her grip on his jacket.  Mouth pressed softly against his chest. “I love you…” It is now or never. “I… Please don’t go…” Her face is hot. She really wishes winter will come falling to her body now. “I love you…” Unable to handle the pressure of the moment anymore, Devina presses her face against his chest.  While the young champion wallows in shame, Bede is too busy being flabbergasted by her confession.  “I love you…” Did he hear her wrong? “I love you…” Did the impact of her pull and weight actually killed him and he was sent to heaven?  Violet eyes widen, sight sharpen then blur then sharpen again. Time feels as if it has stopped for them. If Bede didn’t realize that he has been holding his breath for a good minute, he sure does now as he gasps out loud in shock.  Devina doesn’t know what he is feeling right now. She is too afraid to even look at him right now. As much as she wants to run away from this, ironic that is sounds considering a few minutes ago, the champion only lingers on his body until she grimly awaits the second Bede pushes him away out of disgust and hatred—  Her body startles, but she feels herself being dropped downwards.  Quickly she brings her head up. Crimson eyes widen in shock, pupils dilate and enlarge at the quick adjustment of darkness and light. She then sees Bede lying on the ground, one arm draped across his eyes while the other spread to the side.  Man, she surely is feeling so many emotions in one night; she is just glad Starlight is sleeping soundly inside her Friend ball or else the Hatterene would definitely throw a violent fit.  He isn’t saying a word. Neither is she.  Both wonder if they can stay like this until the next morning.  “…ou…too…”  Confusion sparks her mind as she tilts her head. “Uh…what?” Deciding to not get off his chest, Devina instead scoots closer. “Bede—?”  “I said I love you!” His arm flings away from his face, and he is equally startled and glad that he didn’t accidentally smack her head.  Well, they sure are feeling a lot of emotions right now.  Their faces mirror each other. Cheeks burn like a thousand suns. Their heartbeats now boom as one. Their bodies still and shiver in a mixture of shock and glee.  “I…” Ever since she showed up, he has the tendency to pour his heart out to her.  Unleashing a sigh of great defeat, Bede finally just throws his arms around her. “I love you…a lot...” Very thankful that her face is close to his, the young gym leader lifts his head to plant a short kiss to her lips. Stifling a shy groan, he shuts his eyes and let the earth take him.  Her body jolts slightly at the hug, at his kiss, at his confession. Did she hear him right, she wonders. If this was truly the trick of some trickster Pokémon, Devina really did have the right mind to unleash and awaken all six of her Pokémon to hunt the cruel being down.  But to feel his embrace, so warm and snug. To hear his rapid heartbeat beating against hers. Devina can’t beat back the smile that shakily, shamelessly grows on her beet red face.  She giggles once. Twice. Then laughs gleefully before nuzzling into his neck.  Arceus, she will be the death of him as he flinches from the delicious contact.  “I love you, Bede!”  Ever since she showed up into his life, Bede has known nothing but wonderful happiness.  His smile grows wider and wider. Laughter then accompanies her own. Not caring about the flushed red that burns right to the tips of his ears, Bede lifts his head again to press a lingering, loving kiss to the top of her head.  “I love you too, Devina.” END

[wordsfromthesol]

Forever Together…Hopefully Not. (1/2)

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary: Red Hood asks for your help on a case, but things go sideways quickly and now the two of you are closer than ever before. Warnings:  Language (when is it not?) Word Count: 1.5k

Part Two

“Remind me who we are going after, and why I had to be the one to help you?”

“Because I wanted a hot side kick.”

You rolled your eyes. “I will never be your side kick Jay.”

“And yet who jumped when I called?”

“Just because I won’t be your side kick, doesn’t mean I want you dead…Now who are we waiting for?” You had been sitting on a rooftop for hours now and Jason wouldn’t read you in. “How do you expect me to help if you won’t tell me anything?” You could tell he was smirking underneath that red mask. Jason Peter Todd just loved to push your buttons, ever since he followed you that first night you stepped out in your vigilante costume. He took every minute he could to chastise your chosen vigilante name, your technique, your cases, basically just you in general.

“Sometimes, Y/N/N, you don’t have all the information…I’m mentoring you.”

“Mentoring bullshit. You are doing it to annoy me. I know you all too well, it’s been 3 years after all.”

“And there’s still so much you must learn my eager little child.”

“I’m a year younger than you…”

“Maybe in age.”

The two of you sat in silence once again, until the lack of information was gnawing at your mind again. You had never been known for your patience.

“How am I supposed to know who I’m even looking for?”

“Someone acting sketchy. Duh.”

“UGH!” You threw your hands in the air and stood up, walking away from the edge of the building.

“Wait! Y/N/N, there!” He pointed at the figure entering in the toy store, the toy store that everyone in town knew was a criminal front.

“Is that…” you waited for your mask to focus on the figure’s face, “you’ve got to be kidding me. You brought me to fight a damn magician.”

Before you could protest further, Jason had his arms wrapped around your waist and the two of you were plummeting to the street. Once you landed you shot him a scowl.

“You know I hate that.”

“Why you do think I do it, doll?” With that the two of you walked into the toy store in silence. What you hadn’t accounted for was any kind of traps or precautions the villain you were after might have taken. Within minutes you were greeted by the magician.

“Oh look. Two wonderful vigilantes come to stop little old me! What a joy to meet you both!”

The two of you look at each other with confusion before Jason spoke up.

“Usually the bad guy isn’t so happy to see us.”

“Well I can only imagine. Though I think you’ll find you may have a hard time capturing me.” She raised her hands in the air and shook her wrists. You watched the idiot magician continue to wave jazz hands at the two of you until you looked down at your own wrist which has been locked to Jason’s. Once the magician saw the look of astonishment and realization spread across your face she was gone. Unfortunately for you, Jason had yet to realize and charged after the woman just as she disappeared, leaving you trailing behind him before crashing into his back. The two of you tumbled to the ground.

“Really, Jay, really?”

“Hmph, just get off me.” You rolled to the side and you both sat up on the floor of the toy store. “I’ll get us out of these in no time.” Jason pulled a lock pick from his belt, and within seconds the handcuffs fell to the floor. As Jason tried to get up, he was pulled back down and collided with you once again. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Looks like your stuck with me a bit longer.”

“Great,” a smirk formed on his lips, “So your place or mine?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mine. I don’t trust who you let in yours…or what you do in there.”

“Fine,” he pulled you both up and headed for the door, “But we take my ride.”

**

The ride on his bike was awkward enough, due to whatever was binding your wrists together, you had to sit facing him, with your arm stretched out behind you near the handle bar. This position forced you to lean even further into his body. And then he took you to his apartment, claiming he just needed to grab a few things.

“So, we just going to waltz through the front door?” You motioned at the costumes the both of you still donned. Before he could give an explanation, he grabbed your bound wrist and twirled you into him before shooting a grappling gun into the air. Landing on the fire escape in front of his window (you assumed), you pushed him back, “I’m so paying you back for that.”

“I think you already have,” he said as he raised both of your wrists before turning to open the window. As soon as he two of you successfully, albeit awkwardly entered the apartment, you noticed someone sitting on the couch.

“Little wing, you brought a date home.”

“Yeah, so why don’t you scram.”

“Calm down, I was just coming to check on you after…” Dick looked over at you, “you left pretty mad. Didn’t know you had plans tonight.”

Jason sighed, knowing his brother wasn’t going to let this go, “Aurora, this is my brother Dick. Dick, Aurora.”

“Another vigilante in town.” Dick eyed his brother, clearly wanting to say more and wanting an explanation, but he got up to leave Jason in peace.

“Alright, well…Alfred requests your presence for dinner tomorrow night.”

“Not sure I’ll make it there.”

“It was less of a request and more like delivering the news.” Dick said as he turned and headed for the door. “It was good to meet you.”

You just smiled silently, until he left, when you punched Jason in the arm. “What the fuck?!”

“I didn’t know he would be here!”

“Just get your shit so we can go before any more of your family members show up.”

“What your family doesn’t just barge into your apartment?”

“Ghosts don’t tend to barge in.”

**

The ride to your apartment was just as awkward, but this time you insisted on just walking through the front door.

“I have no one to protect, so I’d rather just have villains know who I am than ride your death trap up to my window.” You scoffed as you pulled out the key from your utility belt. “So, you think our clothes can go through this invisible bond thing?” Pulling him through the door you waltzed over to your bedroom.

Jason’s eyebrows raised, “What did you have in mind princess?”

Shooting him a stern look of disapproval, “Well a hot shower and getting into more comfortable clothes would be nice. I don’t really like to sleep in Kevlar and spandex.”

“A shower, hmm.”

“With you on the other side of the curtain, Jason.”

“You take the fun out of everything.”

You rolled your eyes, “Hopefully this stupid spell wears off quickly.” Pointing at your bound wrists, “Try to get your jacket off.” Thankfully the clothing passed between the two of you.

“I call first shower!” Jason screamed as he forced your arm around, stripping off his clothes and leaving you to trail behind him to the bathroom.

“You. Suck.” You mumbled under your breath as he closed the curtain behind you.

He let out a quick laugh as he poked his head out from behind the curtain, “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“JASON!”

His shower went off without a hitch, and you wished you could say the same for yours, but your clumsy self had to slip while getting out – landing you naked on top of a towel-clad Jason.

“I knew you couldn’t stay away.”

“Shut up, Jason.” You moved to get up and realized you couldn’t put any pressure on your left foot. Fuck. You played it off while wrapping yourself in a towel, until Jason went to move towards the bedroom and you attempted to use your injured foot. You would have landed flat on your face, once again, if Jason wasn’t paying attention. Grabbing your wrist, he pulled you into him and sighed.

“You had to make this more complicated, didn’t you?” Before you could speak he picked you up and walked over to your dresser, where he pulled out a t-shirt and shorts before going to pick up his own bag. He placed you on the bed, and the two of you got dressed. The situation had long surpassed the awkward phase and you the two of your realized there were worse people to be tethered to. It had been nearly an hour and you were laying on your back, unable to fall asleep.

“Jay?” you whispered, checking to see if he was still awake.

“Hmm?”

“What if this doesn’t wear off?”

“I know someone,” he turned on his side to face you, “though I’d rather not ask for help.”

You stifled a laugh, “Shocking…but I get it. Me either. 24 hours?”

“24 hours.”