spoiledrottenmuffinocs

[finleycannotdraw]

if I had my way, I'd guide you to the rocks

everyone look at my oc his name is Casimir and he's a siren who forms an extremely unstable situationship with a shipwrecked sailor named Kieran.

tumblr i am begging. do not ruin my image quality 🙏

[princessbrunette]

you remembered the first time you laid eyes on jj maybank.

a shitty admin job was the best you could score from your father, the sheriff — something light you could add to your resumé, whilst doing minimal work. you didn’t anticipate working in the local jail to be as boring as it was, despite knowing you were going into a job that consisted solely of checking people in and out and punching names into a computer. you tried to make it as fun as possible, showing up in your cutest miniskirts, fluffiest jackets, daintiest mary-jane heels, but there was never anyone interesting coming in and out the cells, only drunks being thrown into the tank after one too many.

that was until jj came along.

it was like everything moved in slow motion the first time he got brought in. your father had the blondes wrists clipped behind his back, shoving him along the hallways. it was the first young person you’d gotten in weeks, your shoulder finding the door frame as you stare, watching in intrigue. whatever jj had done to get himself wound up in a cell, he didn’t seem remotely sorry about it. the smirk on his face was worn proudly as a medal, even whilst being shoved along by the sheriff he had this swagger to each step. you didn’t even realise you were staring, dressed in all your girly glory until he locked eyes with you.

his smirk spread on his face. jj knew who you were, but that was to no surprise — everyone did. the sheriffs daughter. a title you wore not so proudly, as all it did was get you labelled as a narc by association in high school and barred from any party where drinking or smoking could potentially be occurring. jj’s eyes drag down you, and then back to your eyes, even turning his head to hold the eye contact as he got shoved into a cell.

your father followed his gaze before grabbing a fistful of his white tshirt to hold him straight. “and quit eye balling my daughter, would you?”

he holds your gaze with that amused grin for a moment longer before blinking down at the shorter man. “thats my bad, sheriff.” he drawls in that lazy southern accent of his. you had to have him.

it was over from that point on. you’d seek him out, tired of being associated with your fathers profession and wanting to have some fun for once. jj was more than happy to oblige, infact he couldn’t believe his luck. there was a thrill to the two of you being out in the open together, something in the two of you wanting to be caught — just to see what would happen. you’d even go as far as to makeout against your car right outside the station after you’d finished a shift, jj all but shoving his tongue down your open mouth as his hands grope you all over for other officers to see and relay to shoupe.

jj frequently returned to his temporary cell with all the trouble he’d get in — your glossed lips turning upwards elatedly at the sight of his cuffed form trudging its way through the hall like routine. you’d even gotten to the point of ignoring your father and running to him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “oh jayj what’d you get yourself into this time?” you whine, only for him to chuckle it off with the same joke he made each time.

“maybe i just wanted to see you, babydoll.”

by which at this point, your father had yanked you off the boy, sending you away. “go do your work, don’t lemme tell you again.”

of course it drove a wedge between you and your father. but he deserved it! he ruined your social life growing up by shutting down parties and arresting your peers, the least you could do was date one of his hottest cell-regulars. every gaze across the waiting room as maybank checks out was met with your father appearing seemingly from nowhere to ask “you really think it’s gonna work out with a kid like that? don’t come cryin’ to me when you get hurt. i warned ‘ya.” to which you’d roll your eyes and walk away. jj would never hurt you, not unless you asked him to.

he was always desperate to get his hands on you in other ways during your alone time, crowding you from behind at the sketchy bar he’d brought you to and wrapping his arms round your waist.

“your daddy’s gon’ be real mad at me for bringing his sweet little daughter to a joint like this.” he jokes, pressing kisses to the sweet spot behind your ear as you lose interest in attempting to attract the bartenders attention.

“he’s not the boss of me.” you sigh, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his hands and mouth on you. you hear him chuckle, craning round to look at you from the side.

“nah? all grown up now, huh.” he comments, making a weak giggle leave you as you press your ass further into his crotch. “guess someone’s gotta step up then, right? maybe next time i’ll be the one puttin’ you in cuffs. bet you’d like that.” his coarse hands slide down your arms to your wrists before binding them with his hands behind your back, continuing to attack your jaw and neck with little kisses.

“you can do whatever you like to me, jj.” you admit sweetly, and he responds with a kiss to your cheek.

“i know. it’s my favourite thing about ‘ya.”

[satendou]

800 follower special!

⟼  you should’ve gone to shiratorizawa

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⇢  pairing: oikawa/iwaizumi/reader/matsukawa/hanamaki

⇢ au: college

⇢ summary: friday nights are meant for fun, but maybe not the kind you’re thinking of

⇥  masterlist

⇥  requests are open! | rules

⇢  warnings: gangbang, fingering, cocksucking, unprotected sex, double penetration, spitroasting

⇢  word count: 5.3k

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

⇢  a/n: hopefully this lives up to expectations. the name is just a joke and this was written for laura’s birthday in july. it hasn’t been proofread, so hopefully nothing sounds too weird. anyway, i need to go exorcise my computer, so if you’ll excuse me.

Being friends with the former Seijoh third years was...interesting to say the least. They were all flirtatious in their own ways but never more than you were comfortable with, and they were more than a little protective. They went from best friends to brothers and back again in the span of a half a second if someone was making you uncomfortable or someone they didn’t like was paying too much attention to you. It wreaked havoc on your love life, to be honest, but at the end of the day you wouldn’t trade them for the world.

Being the manager for Seijoh with them also led to some issues at school. They were popular, especially with other girls, and that meant a lot of jealousy. It was easy enough to ignore because they were yours and anyone who listened to the rumors were put on the club’s shit list. Girlfriends posed a bigger problem, but you made do with their nasty looks and possessiveness and a petty part of you couldn’t help but be happy when the boys got sick of it and cut them loose. New rumors would fly every time it happened, calling you a multitude of names and saying they needed to “wake up and see what you really were.” They were always there for you when it got to be too much and, once, when you were really considering quitting the team in your second year, they banded together and all but begged you to stay. Even Oikawa, who flew through girls like he flew through serves, wrapped you up in his lanky arms and pleaded with you.

That was probably the reason that, even in your second year of college, you were still best friends with them. Sure your circle of friends had expanded, but the core somehow remained the same.

Which was why you were at home with them on a Friday night instead of out at the club or the bar with your other friends, trying to decide on a movie to watch next.

“Treasure Planet,” you said, pinning Oikawa with a scowl. 

He looked back at you with one of his own, arms crossed over his chest. “Independence Day.”

“Treasure Planet.”

“Independence Day.”

Your petty argument was interrupted by Makki and Iwa walking out of the kitchen with beer and bags of chips, setting them down on the table.

“Children, children, there’s a simple solution to this problem,” Makki said, falling down onto the couch beside you. The action threw you off balance and you fell sideways into him, and he used that to pin you to him, laughing when you squirmed. “It’s _____’s birthday and we’re going to watch The Incredibles, and that’s that.”

Oikawa whined from the loveseat, falling back into it with a huff. “That’s not fair.”

“Well, maybe you should wait your turn. Besides, you’ve been outvoted,” Iwa said around a mouthful of chips. The tab on one of the beers opened and you could hear the faint sound of carbonation bubbling. “Did Issei fuckin’ fall in? Where is he?”

“He probably got distracted watching those Tik Tok dances again,” Makki snickered. You had relaxed against him at that point, giving in and laying down with your head in his lap. He absently petted your hair as he scrolled through his phone, finding Mattsun’s contact info.

Before he could send a message, Mattsun came out of the hallway, saying, “I’ll have you know I had Chipotle for lunch today, so fuck off.”

“Way too much information, Mattsu,” you said, grimacing. “That’s why you should stay away from it.”

“I’m just kidding,” he said, sitting down beside you. You curled your legs up to give him space and then stretched them back out, resting your ankles on his thighs. His hands were warm and rough where they rubbed your skin, and goosebumps rippled up your arms. “I was watching Tik Tok.”

“Ha, called it.”

“Is someone gonna play this stupid movie or what?” Oikawa grumbled, salty about not being able to pick the movie. You could find no reason to complain, however, because The Incredibles was one of your favorites and Makki knew it. “After this we’re watching Independence Day, though.”

Mattsun picked up the remote to find the movie while Iwa threw a chip at Oikawa, saying, “Yeah, yeah, Whinykawa. Just shut up and watch the movie.”

Silence fell for a little while and, for all his complaining, Oikawa became absorbed into the movie, gasping and hiding behind his hands when things got too tense. You were trying not to laugh at his dramatics, but you still found yourself snickering into your hand.

Makki kept looking down at your shaking shoulders, brows furrowed in confusion when you laughed at things that weren’t even funny. Leaning down, he whispered, “What the hell is so funny?”

Still grinning, you pointed at Oikawa, who had his knees up to his chest currently, arms wrapped tightly around them as he watched the screen. Makki snickered at that and nudged Mattsun, who looked up from his phone in confusion and followed his finger to Oikawa. Soon, all three of you were giggling, much to Iwa’s annoyance, and he glared at you after a few minutes.

“Would you idiots shut up? There’s a movie playing,” he snapped, even though he had spent more time on his phone than actually watching. There was a girl from his calculus class he was trying to get with, and that was far more important than The Incredibles.

“Yeah, shut up, please. I’m trying to watch,” Oikawa said, completely oblivious to the fact that it was him you were laughing at. 

Silence fell again for a while, but then Makki and Mattsun got bored. It started off slow, gentle drags of Makki’s fingers up your arm and Mattsun’s ghosting lightly over your calf. You swatted and kicked, thinking they were doing it on accident, but when it continued to happen, you rolled over to glare at them.

“Do you want Iwa to get pissed at us? You know he’ll kick us out of the living room,” you whispered, swiping at Makki’s hand. He snatched it out of reach at the last second, not that you could’ve held onto it anyway with your meager strength.

Makki hummed, pretending to think, and shared a glance with Mattsun. Your eyes narrowed at the mischievous grin on the latter’s face, and then he said, “That’s tempting. I can think of a few other things I’d rather be doing.”

He punctuated it with an eyebrow wiggle and you groaned, covering your now red face with your hands. Because of that, you missed the round of knowing looks that passed between them, smirks rising up onto everyone’s faces.

Favorite pastime number one-- riling _____ up.

“What, you don’t like the sound of that, princess?” Oikawa asked, all interest in the movie suddenly lost. His feet came back down to the floor and he snickered when you flipped him off, keeping your eyes covered.

“Oh come on, you can’t tell us you haven’t thought about it before?” Makki asked, trying half-heartedly to pry your hands away. He didn’t want to hurt you. When he finally managed it, you squirmed against him, trying to tug them back and hiding your face in his stomach.

“What would you say if I said yes?” you asked, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. Your face was so hot that you were sure you were going to combust, but two could still play at their game.

“Woah, wait really?” Mattsun asked. He had had to gather your ankles up when you were fighting Makki to keep from getting kicked in the gut, and he squeezed them now, lazy eyes narrowing. “No way.”

“Wha-- No, of course not,” you said, whipping up to look at him with a scowl. It was the first time you had seen any of them since the whole teasing session had started, and you floundered at the looks they were wearing. Intrigue mixed with amusement, all of them more serious than you had expected. “It’d be weird.”

Of course you would never in a million years tell them that you absolutely had thought about it, with all of them. They were gorgeous and they knew it, how could you not?

It was Iwa who broke the tension in the room, simultaneously bringing on a whole new type into play with his words.

“That’s too bad, princess. Because we have,” he said, and his lips curled in an almost sinister smirk. He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, your eyes growing wide with surprise, but the way you squeezed your thighs together didn’t go unnoticed by anyone. “So are you sure* you haven’t thought about it?”

Eyes flying around the room, you found each of them watching you with near predatory expectation. You had come home from school expecting to get drunk and binge watch movies until you passed out, not be offered the proposition of fucking your best friends. But the heat pooling between your legs gave yourself away, and you shifted to sit up. You had seen a lot of these men in the several years you had been friends with them, and you knew what they were packing through locker room mishaps and when you would go swimming together. And they had all wandered into your room more than once when you were getting changed. Even now, in college, they still just barged in unannounced, throwing things at you or lounging on your bed while you stood there in a state of half-undress. 

“You guys are pervs,” you said, but there was no bite to it. You were thoughtful, still gazing at each of them in turns, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt while butterflies fluttered in your stomach. “You’re being serious?”

The atmosphere shifted to something softer, something you were more used to then, and Makki’s warm breath ghosted over your ear as he said, “Only if you want to, princess.”

The rest nodded in agreement, excitement and anticipation glinting in their eyes and, when you finally nodded too, you found yourself being hoisted into Makki’s lap. Mattsun shifted closer, knees pressing against yours while Oikawa and Iwa stood up and moved to stand in front of you. If it had been anyone else, you might have been scared, but these were your best friends. So why were you so nervous?

Oh right. 

“Anything you don’t want to do?” Iwa asked, and the hands sliding up your sides and thighs stilled, waiting for your answer.

Your already red cheeks seemed to turn darker as you shook your head, and their eyes narrowed eagerly.

“Anything you want to try?” Mattsun asked, squeezing your thigh, and you were sure you were going to combust. If there was a worse time to try anything new, it would be in a five-way. Though was there a better place to try than with your friends? At least they would listen and take care of you.

“Um, m-maybe--” You paused and closed your eyes, expecting laughter at your request. “Double penetration?”

A pin could have been heard hitting the floor in the silence that followed, and then Mattsun and Iwa groaned deep in their throats.

Oikawa whispered, “Oh shit.”

Makki leaned forward, resting his forehead on your shoulder as your eyes opened, saying, “You’re gonna kill us, _____.”

“W-What?” you stuttered, bewildered at their reactions. If they didn’t want to that was fine. It was just something you had fantasized about-- and you weren’t saying any of them were the subjects-- more than once. “If you don’t--”

“Don’t even finish that sentence. Unless you have a preference, how do we decide who goes first?” Makki asked, and his eyes were bright with anticipation, his cock already hard at the prospect. 

Iwa shifted, a dark hunger in his eyes as he said, “I’m okay with watching first.”

“Me too,” Oikawa said, already shifting his erection so it was more comfortable in his shorts. “That okay with you, princess?”

You nodded mutely and then you were being pushed to your feet and guided down the hall by hands in yours and on your back. You wondered if this was how a lamb felt being guided to slaughter as they surrounded you, all rippling muscle and heat. Iwa’s bedroom door was pushed open and then they were stripping their shirts off, dropping them to the floor like it was the most normal thing in the world.

They didn’t seem embarrassed at all, but you squirmed under their intense gazes as you pulled yours off, letting your breasts bounce free.

“Fuck,” someone-- Mattsun, maybe-- cursed, and you flushed. Someone whistled low, and when you looked up they were just standing there staring, eyes roving up and down as each licked their lips. 

Bolstered by the positive attention, you hooked your fingers in the waistband of your shorts, wiggling your hips as you slid them off. They fell down your legs and you kicked them to the side, now standing completely naked before the four men. 

Oikawa groaned, running his fingers through his hair while Makki’s fingers twitched at his sides, and then they were kicking their shorts off as well and you gulped. They were all packing, and you couldn’t recall them being that big before. Then again you had never gotten a decent look at them so close up, but your pussy throbbed at the idea of those being inside you.

They were all standing up straight and tall, and you could practically feel smugness radiating off of them as you stared slack jawed.

“What the hell have I gotten myself into?” you asked, taking a few steps towards Oikawa, who was the closest. Glancing up as you reached out, he nodded and then hissed when your small hand wrapped around his cock. It was longer than it was thick, the smallest in the bunch-- which was saying something-- but still, your mouth watered at the sight of his flushed head leaking precum. Little gasps were escaping his mouth and he wrapped a hand around your wrist loosely.

“I’m a little jealous,” Makki said, watching your hand stroke Oikawa’s shaft. 

You licked your lips when you turned to find him matching your motions on his own cock, heat pooling between your legs as you watched. There was heat at your back and then large hands on your hips, and Iwa’s breath ghosted across your ear.

“Can we kiss you?” he asked, low in your ear but you could see Makki and Mattsun stand straighter at the question and, when you nodded, they smiled.

Oikawa was quick to capture your lips and you tasted chocolate on your tongue as he delved past them. Iwa’s lips latched onto your neck, nipping tentatively and letting his hands ghost down lower, dipping between your thighs. His hips rocked into your ass as he touched your clit for the first time, his fingers already coming away slick.

“Shit, she’s so wet already,” Iwa announced, pressing more firmly against you. 

You pulled away from Oikawa to gasp, spreading your legs a little more, and felt another set of fingers knock Iwa’s out of the way. Oikawa’s were longer and slender, a little more careful in circling the sensitive bud. Then Iwa’s fingers were back, prodding at your dripping pussy from behind, gathering your essence up before delving two thick fingers inside.

Your eyes widened, free hand flying up to Oikawa’s shoulder as you moaned, tipping your head back. “O-Oh.”

“Feel good, princess?” Oikawa whispered, and glanced over your shoulder to Makki and Mattsun, both palming their cocks as they watched. Your nails bit into his skin, hips rocking in time to their pumps, and he smirked. “I know I can’t wait to see you filled up. Been thinkin’ about this for a long time.”

You looked surprised by that statement, and everyone chuckled. It had come out one night when they got drunk and started talking, in typical male fashion, about women. All of them had agreed they wouldn’t turn down a chance with you and, instead of the usual jealousy, they had talked about what it would be like for them all at once. It had stuck in their heads ever since, just waiting for the right moment to come out.

“Did you really think we hadn’t thought about it? You’re hot, _____,” Makki said and, though he tried to sound nonchalant, he wasn’t pulling it off. He and Mattsun were right beside you now, each palming your neglected tits, rolling and tweaking your nipples while they squeezed the soft flesh. You arched your back, pushing into their groping hands for more, and then lips wrapped around them. Your free hand carded through Mattsun’s hair, a loud cry ripping from your lips as they sucked.

Iwa crooked his fingers just right, knuckles grazing over a certain spot inside you, and you cried out again, a babbled mix of their names. His hand tightened on your hip as you leaned into Oikawa and he did it again, spreading his fingers as he pulled out and feeling your slick walls squeeze down on him.

“Need you to cum for us, pretty girl, then we can get to the real show,” he whispered in your ear, dark and gravelly with repressed lust. His cock was smearing precum all over your ass as he ground it against you while your hand continued to stroke Oikawa unevenly, just enough to feel good.

You nodded, sucking your lip in between your teeth as the coil built, and Oikawa’s fingers pressed harder to your clit in an effort to bring you over the edge. His lips collided with yours again, swiping his tongue across the seam and you let him in with a gasp as Iwa slowed, curling his fingers again to focus on your g-spot. Your legs tensed and you pushed your chest into Oikawa’s, thighs shaking as your high crested, pussy squeezing Iwa’s fingers.

You moaned, hips jerking in his hold as Oikawa continued to circle your clit, Iwa basking in the feel of you cumming around his digits. Your breathing came out in puffs against Oikawa’s chest, where your face was currently hidden, and you allowed yourself to be guided around to the bed.

Makki climbed on first, laying down on his back, and patted his thighs to summon you. You crawled across the mattress on shaky legs and settled over him, slit hovering above his cock lying against his stomach. It was slick with his precum, red and twitching occasionally, and you rolled your hips, gasping as it ground across your still sensitive clit.

The bed shifted behind you as you rode Makki, and the sound of a cap opening reached your ears before something prodded your rear entrance. Matsukawa’s voice was low and close to your ear, nipping the shell before saying, “You still sure about this?”

He chuckled when you nodded frantically, and Makki joined him, commenting, “Yeah she is. I think she’s even wetter now.”

Mattsun took his time, massaging and working you up to take him, and your back arched when one thick finger finally slid in. Lips parting in a silent gasp, your toes curled and you rocked back in time with his slow thrusts.

“More, Issei, please,” you whispered, lacing your fingers with Makki’s. He was breathing heavy, rolling to meet your hips every time you ground against him, eyelids fluttering with pleasure. “Hiro, c-can I--?”

Mattsun hummed in response and traced a second finger around your hole, slowly forcing it in and listening to you whine. You were making the sweetest noises as you grazed your clit across Makki’s cock, his face contorted with pleasure at feeling your slick folds moving across him. 

“Can you what?” Makki hummed, helping you move. His eyes were locked on the sight of his shaft disappearing between your folds, and then you were lifting up, to his confusion.

Mattsun let his lips trail over your shoulder and up your neck, sinking his teeth into your skin. You tightened around him, hips jerking in Makki’s hands when you slipped the head of his cock inside you. “Fuck, baby, yes, shit,” he hissed as you slid down. 

You moaned out his name as he throbbed inside you. He had sucked his lip between his teeth to ground himself at the sudden tightness, his back arched off the bed.

“Fuck,” you moaned. Iwa’s fingers had nothing on Makki’s cock, and he eased you down slowly, groaning at how tight you were. “You’re so big, Hiro, oh my god.”

He snickered at your babbled praise, eyes focused on his cock disappearing into your tight snatch. “I know, princess, but you’re tight as hell. I hardly fit.”

If you weren’t already flushed before, you were after hearing his words, and he bit out a curse when you pussy clenched around him. He was panting by the time he was seated inside you, cock throbbing at the tight fit.

The mattress shifted again and suddenly Iwa and Oikawa were surrounding you as well, hands pulling yours from Makki’s and wrapping them around their hard shafts. They guided your strokes while Iwaizumi captured your lips for the first time, groaning as he swirled his tongue around your mouth. Your thumb grazed over the tip of his cock and his hand tightened around your wrist in response. 

The fingers in your ass slid out and the cap snapped open again. Mattsun poured a generous amount of lube on his cock, stroking it a few times to spread it around and then he was prodding at your entrance. 

“You can still back out of this, princess. Just say the word,” Mattsun said, and there was gentle concern behind the arousal. But you shook your head frantically, grinding down on Makki in an attempt to roll back again Mattsun, and he grunted as you tightened around him.

He held you still while Mattsun slid inside you as well, listening to you whine and gasp until he was sheathed inside. His cock was just as big as Makki’s, and your mouth fell open but no sound came out at the feeling of being stuffed so full. Oikawa and Iwa benefitted as well, your hands tightening around them as they continued to fuck them.

All the men released shuddery groans when you began to rock your hips, moaning loudly when Makki and Mattsun thrust experimentally. 

The room filled with groans, mixing with the wet slap of skin on skin. Sweat beaded on your forehead, head lolling back onto Mattsun’s shoulder. You were so full you couldn’t think straight, attention narrowed down to the slide of their cocks in and out of you, their growled praises and moans filling your ears and you whined at their words. Oikawa and Iwa had taken over moving for you, large hands wrapped tight around yours and using them to jerk themselves off.

Oikawa was babbling about how soft your hands were and Iwa enjoyed watching the tip of his cock push between your fingers.

“You look so pretty,” Makki gasped, fingers digging into the skin of your hips as his snapped up, burying his length into you again. He kept grazing over the spot Iwa had found before, unable to avoid it just because of how big he was, and it was drivinging you straight up to the edge. “You’re gonna cum for us, right?”

Your pussy fluttered around them when hands groped your tits again, playing with your nipples. Tears pricked your eyes, your noises muffled by Mattsun’s lips as he turned your head to the side to kiss you. 

Oikawa and Iwa’s hips stuttered when you squeezed your hands, the pleasure reaching it’s breaking point when Makki’s thrusts forced his pelvic bone to grind against your clit, and you cried out, clenching around them without warning.

Makki groaned and Mattsun choked, snarling out simultaneous curses as they buried inside you, giving short jerks of their hips to extend your orgasm. Your toes curled when it became too much and they pulled out, giving a few short jerks of their hands before they were cumming all over them while they moaned.

“Fuck that was so perfect,” Makki panted, sitting up to capture your lips. His kiss was feverish and needy, dominating your mouth and you whined when he pulled away. Shifting you to the side carefully, he crawled away, giving Oikawa and Iwa space while he and Mattsun went to clean up.

Iwa took you from him, peppering your shoulder all the way up to your cheek with kisses. His voice was gentle as he asked, “Are you alright? We can stop.”

But you shook your head, grinding back into him even though your cunt throbbed still. You were already aching for him to fill you again, and Oikawa tilted your chin up, letting his thumb glide across your lips, eyes dipping down to them and back up in question.

Instead of answering, you pushed him back and settled down on your hands, pressing against Iwa’s cock and wiggling your hips while you nuzzled Oikawa’s. His long fingers carded through your hair while Iwa grabbed your hips, wasting no time in burying himself inside your loose hole, eased by the slick from your previous orgasm. You gasped against the head of Oikawa’s cock and he slipped inside your parted lips, grinning slyly.

The sound of a door closing broke through to you, and you found Makki and Mattsun crawling onto the bed, settling against the headboard. They were wearing matching grins, eyes locked on you as you were stuffed again. Your eyes locked with Makki’s and you whined, causing Oikawa to groan. Your jaw ached as you tried to swallow him, drool spilling out down your chin. Relaxing your throat, you let him push further, groaning out praises as he rocked his hips, sliding a little deeper each time.

Iwa still managed to stretch you even after the pounding you had already taken, balls slapping against your throbbing clit and your fingers bit into the blankets, fisting the fabric between them as the pleasure built again.

After a few thrusts, your nose was buried in Oikawa’s curls and he held you there, thighs trembling with pleasure even as tears streamed down your cheeks.

“You’re so tight, princess, swallowing my cock so good,” he rasped, gazing down at you with lustful adoration. You ran your tongue along his length as he pulled back out, suckling on the head for a few seconds before he stuffed himself back in again.

Iwa had set up a steady pace behind you, eyes locked on the way his cock disappeared inside your slick hole, squeezing down around him every time his balls touched your clit. He knew you must be sensitive after two orgasms, but he couldn’t bring himself to be slow, not when you were so tight and hot around him. And not when he had gotten off to this exact mental image more times than he cared to admit. He locked eyes with Oikawa over your head and smirked, slamming his hips into yours nonstop.

You were whining and moaning around Oikawa, eyes rolling as the pleasure impossibly built again, faster and more intense than before. There was no way you could cum again, you swore, but the way Iwa was grazing over your swollen g-spot with every thrust, stimulating your clit each time, was driving you towards your high once again. Your toes curled when Oikawa hit the back of your throat, moaning at the vibrations your noises were making around him.

Both men were panting with exertion, fingers digging into your skin and tightening in your hair, moaning and gasping when you tightened or swallowed around them.

“Fuck, I can feel you’re gonna cum again, huh, princess? Go on, give us one more, I know you can,” Iwa grunted, and reached down beneath you. His fingers were rough against your sloppy, sensitive clit, and you whined pathetically.

Oikawa’s thrusts slipped and he pulled out of your mouth suddenly, painting your face in his hot cum, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as your vision whited out. You were probably loud as you cried Iwa’s name, the intense pressure in your gut exploding.

Iwa grunted in surprise as a clear liquid coated his abdomen, and then he chuckled darkly. His thrusts slowed as he rode you through your orgasm, more cream dribbling down his balls until he slowed to a stop. 

“Did she really squirt?” Makki groaned, and his cock twitched in his shorts. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

Iwa pulled out of your twitching cunt and stroked himself off, moaning as he came all over the back of your thighs. His movements stilled and you pushed yourself up onto your knees, legs trembling from overexertion, to look at the men around you. Oikawa’s cum was still drying on your face, and you took the shirt he offered you to wipe it off.

“S-Sorry, Iwa,” you said, but the look on his face said he didn’t mind at all, so you grinned.

“Someone’s happy with themselves,” Mattsun commented, watching Oikawa help you off the bed. They all snickered when you stumbled into his chest, and you joined in with them.

“‘Course I am,” you said, letting him and Iwa lead you towards the door. You definitely needed a shower and something to eat. “I just came three times. Why shouldn’t I be?”

The door shut behind you on the two of them cackling, and you wandered across the hall to the bathroom. A quick shower later-- and it was quick, even though Iwa and Oikawa insisted on showering with you-- and you were bundled up in fresh clothes between Iwa and Makki on the couch, another movie playing on the TV screen.

“You know, princess, if you wanna do that again, just let us know,” Makki said, a teasing lilt to his voice as he carded his fingers through your hair. Iwa grunted in agreement as he trailed his fingers up your thigh, slipping beneath the hem of the t-shirt you wore-- his, and he was a bit smug about it-- to finger the edge of your panties.

You hummed noncommittally but grinned, already thinking about what the next time would be like. “I’ll think about it. Does it have to be all four of you at once?”

They all furrowed their brows, looking at each other with thoughtful expressions and seemed to come to a decision.

“No, I guess not,” Iwa said, staring down at you with a quizzical look. “But is there some reason you don’t*?”

“No,” you said, shrugging. “I just wondered if I could get away with one or two at a time or if you were a package deal.”

“Oh, so you want this to be an ongoing thing?” Mattsun asked with a smug smirk. He was seated on Iwa’s other side, and leaned forward to look at you. “I’m down.”

Shrugging, you rolled onto your back, stretching your legs out so your feet rested in his lap and he trapped them there, massaging them gently. “I mean, if you are. I’m not dating anyone so why not?”

“Looks like all those rumors were true, huh?” Makki teased, poking your nose. “You did want us all to yourself. Greedy, greedy, _____.”

Swatting his hand away, you grinned. “Like you haven’t been all mine from the first time we met, Makki.”

“Would you guys please shut up? We can figure this out later, right now, I’m trying to watch this movie,” Oikawa complained, glaring at the three of you from the loveseat.

Iwa threw a chip at him in retaliation, but everyone fell silent after that, at least for a few minutes until Mattsun piped up again.

“So who does she sleep with tonight?”

You groaned.

⇥  masterlist

[nikkithebard]

Your Angel Ellipsis

Geraskier short fic, post S1E6, post mountain-break up, hurt/little comfort, fix-it-fic, angst, angsty thoughts, featuring HSK, open ending, 2.6k words

Rating: T (Mature language)

A/N: I am totally 100% open to fic ideas if anyone wants to share some. Feel free to send an ask with a prompt, I don’t mind in the slightest. (I have never uploaded my work here before)

The bard moved with about as much grace as a broken-legged turtle, holding his lute case close to his chest. It was the only thing around him that felt even remotely real. Everything else had faded into whispers across his skin. The wind, the dirt, the others who remained on the mountain still. The soles of his boots had been worn thin, slipping over the rocky dust of the ground. Jaskier ignored it. He was far too disinterested in anything that wasn’t the very person he was distancing himself from.

Jaskier cared for Geralt of fucking Rivia.

And all he had gotten was shouts, demeaning language, and a wish fit for a djinn.

Oh, how far he’d thrown himself into this wolf’s den. He feared he’d die of heartbreak--again--if he didn’t die from the hunger and dehydration that came with getting lost climbing down a fucking mountain. How far had he gone? Felt like he had been descending in circles rather than going straight down.

Jaskier heard his own words in his mind, reverberating.

You did your best. There’s nothing else you could have done.

Who would have known the words were better suited to him and not the witcher? But, it was true. There was nothing else the bard could have done to change the outcome of this dragon hunt. He tried to talk Geralt out of this, tried to convince him this was too dangerous a task. As per usual, Geralt cared little for Jaskier’s opinion and carried on. Was that his fault, too?

His foot slipped on a larger boulder and he fell. Catching himself before he could do any serious damage, Jaskier decided to take a seat, the sun beating down on his back. Rivulets of sweat pooled around the collar of his chemise. Opening the case, Jaskier made sure his lute was alright. Of course it was, but a peek wouldn’t hurt.

The lute, as it always did, sang back at him through its dark wood, enchanted to no end. Pointless to think it would ever break, really. He withdrew the instrument, strumming the melody he had been crafting for weeks now. It had started out as a metaphor for some sort of unrequited love. As of late, it had been slowly turning it into something much sourer. With naught but the help of a sorceress he watched portal herself away nearly an hour or two ago. Jaskier was still dumbfounded that Geralt was so entrenched in the most awful example of the fairer sex.

“The fairer sex,” Jaskier mumbled to himself, strumming to the opening melody of his latest tune. “How, when she’s as unfair as a thief? A bandit?” He tilted his head, pondering. “A crook?”

Very rarely did lyrics fall into his lap so perfectly, yet the poet learned early on in his life to not look a gift horse in the mouth. Taking out his pen and notebook, he scratched off the first line of his original ballad, writing in the better one.

Jaskier sighed, unable to keep his mouth shut even if there was no one around to listen, “Bollocks, there I go again, rewriting yet another love ballad. Not that it matters, when you spend over twenty years stooped in what others would refer to as a pile of shit, perhaps every tune comes off as identical, yeah? All the words collide and all the notes fall into unbridled repetition--” He stopped, his own voice crashing into his ears, “Twenty years? Is that right?” He scoffed, fingers absentmindedly moving over the strings of his lute, “Can’t be, I don’t even--I can’t be over forty, can I?” He tried to shake the thought from his mind, yet he simply couldn’t get away from the passage of time. The time he had spent trailing a witcher that threw him away like a tankard of spoiled ale. “What...am I doing?”

Over twenty years, Jaskier had spent chasing a man for nothing. For nothing, because there was nothing else he could have done. The years dripped into his mind, at first a simple leak. In seconds, a stream. In minutes, a broken dam of thoughts and images dancing across the landscape of his brain.

At first, he had only longed for a muse after a particular dry spell of wordless thoughts that had plagued him after he arrived in Posada all those years ago. Jaskier had been coming down from a small bout of fame he founded for himself and the money had run out too quickly. And it was then that he had caught sight of the White Wolf. Only, then, he had nary a clue of who the man was. Jaskier saw armor, swords, a very interesting shade of hair. He was intrigued. As the day passed and Jaskier crafted the song that shot both of their names into the stratosphere, he realized he cared little for the money, the recognition, the women. Yes, it was damn welcome, but he found himself missing something.

It didn’t take him very long to admit the thrill of the adventure--wanderlust, to be specific--was the answer to a question he asked himself too many times. And so, when he and Geralt found each other again, he made it a point to tag along. Geralt didn’t appear to care all that much and let Jaskier do as he pleased. Only when Jaskier droned on and on about any random crap that came to mind--which was purely to spur any sort of response from the silent witcher, he wanted to get to know him--did Geralt stir enough to shut him up.

As time went on, years apparently, Jaskier found himself caring less and less for the songs. He just wanted to follow the witcher. His friend, though Geralt refused to verbally reciprocate the fact. After a while, he only wished for his company, to hear the incredible feats and adventures that befell the witcher. It wasn’t until they started to become tight on money and ended up sharing rooms together that Jaskier realized his fascinations went beyond friendly. When they were alone, with a roof over their heads and safety in their minds, Geralt would always relax a bit. He would speak, joke, smile even.

Jaskier thought he was insane in the beginning. To think he could feel anything more than a curious nature. But, no, it became quite apparent.

Jaskier cared for Geralt of fucking Rivia.

And it had become his fatal flaw.

Geralt, it seemed, truly cared nothing for the troubadour that brought him fame and coin.

And it was painful. Of course it was. The two had fought a multitude of times in the past, but this was different somehow. To blame his own destiny on the bard that had only wanted to leave this damn mountain, to leave the witch to her inevitable demise, wanted the witcher to be safe.

Perhaps that was why he had very obviously confessed himself to the witcher. Using the excuse that he had to work out what pleased him when he had done so years before. All to stave off the knowledge that his confession had been viewed as material for his next song. That his love was nothing more than musings to be ignored.

Jaskier never thought he would be faced with his unrequited affection so harshly, though he figured it would come down on him eventually. He strummed the lute, an acute anger creeping up his spine.

The fairer sex, they often call it.

But, her love’s as unfair as a crook.

It steals all my reason,

Commit every treason

Of logic with naught but a look.

He had written a majority of it a night or two ago, when Sir Eyck had gone off to shit in the woods and Yennefer had gone off to “get her beauty sleep”. Scratching off lines and writing over them, as he had gotten so used to for a long time.

Never getting the chance to tell Geralt how he felt, what he wanted, what he needed. Came to a point where he no longer thought it was ever going to happen. Watching Borch, Téa, and Véa fall to their presumed deaths--and nearly watching Geralt follow suit--changed that. He knew there would never be such a delight as “the right time”, especially if this hunt had proven to be so deadly. Jaskier wanted to say his feelings outright, hoping a song would help him in that regard. Alas, nothing ever worked out that way.

Jaskier settled for asking Geralt to allow him the opportunity to prove himself as a worthy travel companion, stretching his tone across the word “companion” to give it a different meaning. Geralt did not catch on and if he did, made no move to show it. And he was shot down.

It made him upset, knowing he had lost the battle for the witcher’s affections long before the bard had even agreed to take part. Rigged and unjust, but he should have known better than to love someone he knew damn well now didn’t care.

A storm breaking on the horizon,

Of longing and heartache and lust

She’s always bad news,

It’s always lose, lose

So tell me love, tell me love,

How is that just?

But, Jaskier cared for the witcher before they had met the witch. And, still, he had lost. He had nothing else but their friendship, and even that was gone now. It wasn’t his fault. Not this time. All at once, everything had gone to shit, more so than it had before whenever Yennefer’s influence on Geralt made his vision turn red. Always lashing out at everyone, always angry, never ever good for him.

The lute was strummed harder, the instrument making the troubadour’s emotions known to anyone within range.

But the story is this,

She’ll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss.

The bard repeated the line, filling the melody appropriately. There was nothing else he could do but let the song continue. He was a bard, all he knew was to let the music escape him, else he might explode. Jaskier heard rustling behind him and chose to ignore it, too caught up in his emotions to stop the tenor of his own voice. If he could just finish the damn song, he would feel better.

He wouldn’t be so angry that he had completely wasted over twenty years of his life. Destroyed his own path whilst following Geralt down his. Getting them free rooms, free meals, making him famous, helping him scrounge up coin for better armor, making him hair tie after hair tie from the leather of old strappings. Fixing baths, cleaning and stitching up wounds, sleeping in the same fucking bed together. And he still lost to a lusty bitch with a hankering for destruction.

Jaskier had lost to a woman that never spent more than a few hours with the witcher at a time. A woman that caused him pain, not healed him of it. A woman that would outlive him and still cause Geralt heartache without respite. Melitele damn her.

Her current is pulling you closer

And charging the hot, humid night.

The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool!

Better stay out of sight.

The troubadour's tune faltered, voice breaking as memories of the past flooded through him again. Asking Geralt a favor in bodyguarding him while being told he was not the White Wolf’s friend, which stung despite the bard’s nonchalance. Learning that Geralt needed nothing out of life. Jaskier telling the witcher that someone--the use of a gender-neutral pronoun had been a flirt, but still remained true to his heart--may want him. “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting.” Jaskier’s tone changed, filling with longing and desire. He knew he had a penance for lofty things. Good clothing, fine wine, upstanding company. But, he steadily gave it all up, choosing a life of grime and dirt and blood. The rustling behind him came closer.

If this is the path I must trudge,

I welcome my sentence,

Give to you my penance,

Garrotter, jury, and judge.

And his chorus repeated over and over, driving home his emotional distress at losing the one person in this godsforsaken world that was still willing to deal with his bullshit. Jaskier knew, now, that Geralt had never truly been willing and was only ever acting in line with his morals. Geralt only saved him from the djinn because it was the right thing to do. Geralt chose not to harm Jaskier out of pure annoyance because it was simply wrong and unjust.

Yet, Jaskier couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps Geralt sometimes acted outside of his moral compass. The banquet, the event that had really changed the course of the witcher’s life, had been the only inexplicable act Jaskier could not explain. The witcher had helped him free of his coin, in the most minute way. Nothing in their initial understanding of the event had even the slightest to do with what was the textbook definition of a witcher.

Was it due to the fact that, even if Geralt would never admit it, they truly were friends?

Jaskier had little time to continue his reverie, a soft hum from behind breaking through his thoughts.

“I will never understand why I am oft referred to as a ‘garrotter’.” Gravelly voice, low toned, and calm. Jaskier froze, music stopping. How much had he heard? And even more, he caught on to the metaphor immediately.

Jaskier cleared his throat, refusing to look, “It also means ‘killer’ or ‘hunter’.” He said plainly. “Not to mention your name matches the sound of the word a bit.”

“Hmm.” Geralt said, “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”

It was a wonder they were even speaking. Jaskier was always so quick to forgive the witcher, though. Yes, he was still hurt and angry. On the other hand, he would fight to keep their friendship and wouldn’t let their squabbles get the better of them. He would just have to bottle his pain, again. Well, maybe put the cork back on the bottle if he was being truthful. He’d let enough spill out of him over the last few days and the song didn’t help.

Geralt walked, moving in front of the bard, gear in hand, “The long way down is safer, but we have a lot of ground to cover.” Face emotionless, golden eyes stared down at the distraught bard.

The bard shook his head, not knowing how to proceed, “Geralt--”

“I’m sorry, Jaskier.” The witcher cut in before the troubadour could make a long-winded speech. His name always sounded intimate when it crossed over the witcher’s lips. Never casual, always private and personal.

Jaskier gave a pained smile, blue eyes still rimmed red with sadness, “Good, that’s all I wanted.” No, it wasn’t. He kept that bit to himself. He stood, placing the lute back into its case and placing the strap on his back.

Geralt gave him another straight look, but his eyes always displayed the man’s thoughts and emotions. He knew Jaskier was lying, especially if he had been paying attention enough to know the truth behind the bard’s lyrics, “Hmm.”

They continued down the mountain together, both silent for once. It wasn’t until they had reached the bottom that Jaskier finally fell into a mindless chatter. His thoughts were becoming too heavy and it wasn’t appropriate when he had company.

They didn’t talk about the song, not for a long time. And when they did, there was no turmoil or miscommunication on either end.

There was only an understanding.

[voltagesmutter]

Baba - Sex Tape

For @alicevaski​ 

Sex tape between OC and Baba

Roleplaying of a maid, masturbation, oral, sex, sex tape

NSFW and Smut below

“I can not believe you talked me into this!” You face was flushed red with embarrassment as your fingers toyed with them of your maids outfit. 

“It will be amazing, I promise my princess, besides it’s just for my eyes only to keep me company when I’m away,” Baba chuckles, setting up the camera on the dressing table, it was centre aligned to the bed. How had this man talked you into making a sex tape?

“Right it’s set up princess,” He says as he rubs his hands together before turning to admire you, your face flushed slightly. “Don’t worry, it’s just like every time, only time theres something to record our love,”. He places a sweet kiss to your lips before positioning himself off camera. 

Taking it as your cue, you walk in-front of his bed, bending down giving the camera a view of your skirt rising up your thighs, slightly peeking at your none pantie cover behind. 

“Well, hello there,” Mitsu hummed, standing at your side, his head focused on your ass.

“Oh, Mr. Baba, I’m just finishing and then I’ll be getting off,” You reply as practised, your hips moving forward as you fiddled with his sheets.

“I’d be more than happy to, get you off,” He replies as a finger traces up your exposed thighs. It took all your might not to laugh at the corny line. 

“Oh, I’m sure a big, strong, man like you could get me off, sir,” Throwing your head over your shoulder, your voice purring for him. He hand ran under your skirt and softly grabbed your ass.

“I have a meeting to attend but I can be back in a few moments, think you could wait to get off til then?” He says as you stand up, turning to him and wrapping his tie around your finger.

“Hurry back, or I might get off by myself, sir,” You purred, Babas erection growing against your thigh. The plot was to be a naughty maid who gets caught pleasuring herself in his bed, this is what he desperately wanted and you were going to give it to him. As he left off camera, you muttered to yourself how you wished he could come back sooner, before you sat on his bed. You ran your hands down the skin tight uniform on you, one hand peeking under the top to fondle your breast, the other mimicking Baba’s movements from seconds ago on your thighs. You let out a light cry as your hands tug your nipples under your dress, your fingertips grazing over your wet folds. You lay back on his bed, your palms of your feet pressed to the bed with you legs spread and bent at the knee, giving the camera a clear view of your slick folds. 

Baba was turned on most when watching you pleasure yourself, watching you touch yourself and mewing his name. You felt the heat rising as your fingers began to toy with your clit, making a circular motion with 2 fingers whilst your other hand comes down to dive a finger into your wet core. You moaned heavily in pleasure, although you loved Mitsu touching you, sometimes you knew what your body wanted most. You got lost in your own pleasure, fingers delving in and out of you as you rubbed your clit in the same pace, moans of spewing from your mouth. You forgot Baba was there watching you, he had so turned on he had to put his hand into trousers and pumped himself watching you in pleasure. 

“Oh~Oh! Fuck!” You cried out, you feeling the core inside you tighten and you tensed around your fingers. Your back arched and your feet dug into the mattress as you came over your fingers, whimpering slightly at the sensation. You had only meant to tease yourself before Baba walked in, but he was so caught up in watching you he had forgotten. You softly panted, removing your fingers from your core, they was glistening with your essence. 

“Well, someone got off early,” Baba smirked as he came back in front of you. Without a word he leaned down and sucked your fingers clean.

“Your so sweet, I must taste you,” With that he grabbed your waist and turned you sideways so your body lay horizontally in front of the camera. He ripped the fabric of your dress open, exposing your breast as his hands gripped your waist, bringing his head to settle between your thighs. His tongue delved between you slits, lapping your sweetness up and commenting how sweet you was. Your back arched off the bed and your hands gripped to his head, crying out as your overly sensitive nub was attacked with his tongue. Within minutes he had you panting and shaking under him, your body relishing in your second orgasm. His chin listened with your essence as he pulled himself up over you.

“You’ve been so good to me sir, let me help you,” You panted as your hands flew to his belt. You helped him remove his clothes as you kissed, tasting yourself on the tip of his tongue. No matter how much you saw him naked, the length size of his cock always made you drool. He shuffled around with you so he was lying on the bed, his head handing off the bed, as you straddled him so the camera would be able to catch your body and face in all its glory. 

You hovered over him before sinking down onto him, you nails digging into his chest and you let out a sharp moan, your back arching as he rubbed against your sweet spot inside. You took a minute before you moved, fearing if you did you could cum instantly. Baba could sense this and ever so lightly thrusted up, that burning feeling ran through your body down to your toes.

“Fuck, fuck~fuck!” You gasped as you curled over slightly, your thighs tensing as you came once more, unable to stop yourself. 

“Christ princess,” Baba groaned under his breath as you clenched tightly around him, he had never seen you like this. He watched you pant over him before nodding slightly and reassuring him it was okay to move. You was beyond sensitive and struggled to move but Baba’s hands guided your hips and soon you was able to settle into a rhythm. The camera captured everything, the way your breasts bounced from the thrusts, the heavy moans, the appearing and reappearing of his cock inside you, the absolute bliss on your face. One of your hands reached up and entangled in your own hair as you grinded against him, the tightness inside you building up for one final time. Your tightening coaxing him in deeper and deeper until you physically cried from the pleasure, the moan not audible for anyone left your throat as you released around him. His cock twitched and came deep inside you, holding your hips tightly against him, your name leaving his lips. 

“My, my princess, four times in such a short time, I’m so glad to have caught that glorious moment,” Baba teased as you lay in his arms, still panting from your comedown, unable to move as when you stood your legs collapsed. 

“I think I had a better time during that, then you will watching it,” You teased back as he chuckled. 

“I don’t think that's possible princess, no-one can enjoy you more than me,” And he kisses you softly.

---

“Bella, we’re going to watch that movie are you coming?” Ota yelled to you from the living room.

“Yeah, I’m just drying off, start it and I’ll join you,” You yelled back, wrapping the towel around your hair. Baba was away on business and the others were keeping you company. Baba had taken his dirty tape of you both with him to enjoy. 

“What are we watching anyway?” You yelled but there was no response. Must be a good movie to shut them up.  You rubbed your hair and threw on your pyjamas before you heard it, ‘I’d be more than happy to, get you off’.

“Noooo!” You yelled and darted into the living room, your face flustered as the men looked at the screen then you, then back to the screen. You searched frantically for the remote but it was too late, your dirty little scene had begun. But just before your little number started it had stopped.

“You and Baba made a sex tape!” Ota screamed like a little child.

“Why do you have this!” You cried, trying to find where the recording was plugged into.

“Idiot, it’s streaming virtually, Baba sent us this, we’d asked for him to send us something but clearly the oath sent this by mistake,” Eisuke smirked, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Can you not-” You pleaded but you were met with rounds of nopes and disapproval. 

“Sorry kid, but it’s too intriguing not to play,” Mamoru chuckled. You sighed.

“Can you just wait until I’m out the room at least,” You whined and quickly left, hearing the sounds of you panting on the screen play, your face going scarlet. You had rang Baba who was furious over his mix up, trying to do all he could to get the video to stop, he had even called in a favour with someone to turn the power off for the Tres Spades, but it was too late, they’d seen it. 

They all sat there in shock, no-one of them expected to see you there pleasuring yourself on screen, all of them getting hot under the collar. 

“Holy shit did she just,”.

“Ew god someone skip the parts with Baba,”. 

“No way is she going to again,”.

“Fuck me,”.

“Four times, she came four times,”.

“Did you see when she rode him! I’ve never seen a woman cum just from sitting on me,” “Your clearly doing something wrong then kid,”.

“Shut up, like it’s ever happened to you!”. 

“He’s got a point boss, that has happened to none of us and we know it,”

By the time it had finished they all demanded personal copies before retreating to their rooms, you deep in all of their thoughts. 

--

“Baba I’m so embarrassed, I dont think I can leave the room,” You whined down the phone.

“My princess, do not worry I have avenged you,” He chuckles. That night he sent a video of himself jerking off to the other bidders to implant in their brains with the following message, ‘You ever think of that tape again and I will send you more of these’. It was safe to say it worked, none of the bidders ever mentioned the tape again. 

[jui-imouto-chan]

Sneak Peek into my Reverse AU (RK1K)

Markus smiles down at Carl, wheeling him beside the table before seating himself. Carl smiles at him, placidly watching him take a few bites before he turns on the TV. Markus’ glabella scrunches as he takes in the news, more coverage on the situation in the Arctic with Russia.

He sighs, sitting back in his chair with a petulant chomp of his bacon. “TV off.”

Carl tilts his head at him, blue eyes curious. “Markus?”

“I’m alright. Thank you for worrying, Carl.” Markus pauses and takes a sip of his coffee, “How about you find something to occupy yourself until I finish?”

He earns a nod and then Carl is wheeling himself across the room to the door beside the giraffe, moving into the studio and grabbing at a canvas before it can even slide shut. Markus smiles softly at the sight, even if the sight of Carl being unable to walk to his favorite activity makes him feel a pang of distant sadness.

“The damage was excessive, you might just have to get a replacement. I’ll give it to you free of charge, good friend, but even if we transfer his memory, he won’t be the same Carl that you know.”

“It’s fine,” Markus assured her.

“Then we’ll prepare--”

“No, I mean that that’s not necessary. We’ll be going now.”

Carl stared up with a certain twinkle in his eyes, and when they arrived home, all he managed was a, “Thank you,” to which Markus smiled, ever enigmatic, and told him that he was only sorry that he couldn’t be fixed.

Markus grabs for the remote on the table, turning the TV on and lowering the volume immediately. He changes the channel and rests his chin on his fist, melting into the table with a large, silly grin on his face.

“Lieutenant Connor Stern has just solved yet another case! Revealing a man who’d advertise himself as a loving father to be an abusive alcoholic, the victims of the abuse come forward to thank Stern personally.”

The scene cuts to a brunet little girl sat beside a woman with short blonde hair, both of whom brighten up upon a distracted-looking, mildly disheveled brunet male entering the room. He smiles at them gently, but his features contort in surprise and then sheepishness as the two females envelop him into hugs, smiling gratefully into his coat.

The newscasters voice-over the scene, cooing and gushing over the bashful grin the Lieutenant has. He notices the cameramen filming them and flushes beautifully, and Markus barely represses the urge to slam his fist into the table as an expression of his overwhelmingly swollen heart. 

“Fanboying again?” Carl asks, suddenly right beside Markus, to which the dark man can’t completely quiet his shout of surprise, nearly toppling out of his chair.

Markus sputters before managing to shout indignantly, “N-No! I was just watching the news and he so happened to show up! That’s it!”

Carl smiles, amused. Markus blows him a petulant raspberry, crossing his arms while looking away. The TV draws his attention once more, as now it shows the Lieutenant, on his own, rubbing his neck and looking to the side.

“I just wanted to help them, the fame be damned. If I couldn’t find a steadfast legal method for saving them, I’d find a loophole or do it someway else,” he says, even as someone in the background attempts to reprimand him.

Markus unwittingly releases a dreamy sigh, upon which Carl belts out chuckles that stain Markus’ cheeks dark red.

“I didn’t take you to be someone who appreciates art,” he says, hinting at an inquiry.

Connor sputters, pink dusting his cheekbones. “I’m not—I mean, I just—it’s—I do! I like...! I like art...” he finishes lamely, deflating. Hank casts him an amused look, his LED cycling yellow as he likely documents that information.

“Quite a reaction to such a simple question. What aren’t you telling me, Lieutenant?”

“I didn’t climb my way up the chain just for my title to be used so mockingly,” Connor mumbles, but Hank doesn’t take the bait.

“You can’t change the subject so easily with me, kid. What has you so intrigued by this piece? Its uniqueness in comparison to the other images in this gallery is relatively low, so it should not garner such attention.” Hank continues his analysis of Connor, heedless of the redness crawling up to his ears, “You paused at a similar work on your terminal at the department, made by the same--“ A smile creeps up Hank’s face as he comes to a realization, his LED shifting to blue, to Connor’s dawning horror, “Do you, perhaps, have an interest in this particular artist?”

Connor’s face burns. “N-No, it’s just a coincidence, that’s all! Je— This artist’s art just happened to come up that day, and the name just... seemed... familiar.”

“Lieutenant, they don’t have the names displayed right now.”

Connor’s expression is that of defeat, his shoulders slumping and smile dead. “...Ah. So it seems.” 

The HK800 refrains from laughing, his social programming dictating that he act as human as possible to maintain a friendly relationship with Connor, though Fowler’s disapproval from within the Zen Garden is inexplicably calling for him not to. His sly grin is still enough to garner a sigh.

“Damn android,” Connor mutters, burrowing into the collar of his coat with a petulant pout.

“This thing is not our dad, okay? Mark, look at it! You’re wheeling it around when it’s supposed to serve you! What good is it to you, huh? Did you replace your brain with your fancy paints? Or maybe plastic, like this fucker-- “

“That’s enough, Leo,” Markus breathes, trying to keep himself from lashing out. He steps in front of Carl, who stares up with forlorn azure orbs and an LED of faint yellow. “That’s enough.”

Leo seems to look for something, in his eyes, in the room, in the sad-eyed android in the wheelchair behind him, the one who’d been introduced as a servant and became akin to their—more Markus’ than Leo’s—father-figure.

Markus’ heterochromatic gaze yields nothing to him, and he flounders for a moment, stumbling over his words and over himself as he makes to storm off, “You--I-It can’t replace dad. Your little toy there, it can’t play house with you forever. It can’t love you the way dad did, and you’re just going to ignore your only family left for it because you think you care about it. But you never cared, Markus, not about it, not about him, and not about me.”

Markus feels a lump in his throat. Carl places a hand on his shoulder consolingly, and the two of them watch in subdued silence as Leo repeats himself quietly and leaves the studio.

“Wakey, wakey, Lieutenant.”

Smack!

“Ah, shit, what the hell, Hank?” Connor whines, rubbing his cheek with bleary eyes, hissing as the stinging mark isn’t cooled by his palm.

Hank appears neutral, but Connor knows that behind the blank expression, he’s cackling at Connor’s expense. Or, rather, he has a feeling that that’s the case. He can’t see any other reason ‘the android sent by Cyberlife‘ would be such a pain in the ass.

“I need you for a case, so I had to wake you.” Hank’s eyes shift to the bottle of pills Connor tries to conceal behind his back, “In regards to your sleep, Lieutenant, why’d you consume a few too many doses of melatonin and then proceed to sleep on the kitchen floor?”

Connor laughs weakly, “I have trouble sleeping.”

Hank sends him a pointed look, glancing at the bottle for barely a moment and then, for just a fraction of a second, flicks his eyes over to the picture frame face-down on Connor’s counter, beside the cabinet where he keeps his medicine. “These are rather strong pills, Connor.”

“And my body has a strong resistance to medication of any sort.”

The two stare at one another, waiting for the other’s will to break, and it seems Connor is more stubborn than Hank had anticipated. Noted.

“I’m still tired, so how about you take care of this case yourself? You’re more than capable, as you’ve proven, so please just replace me early.”

Hank wordlessly stands up, which has Connor laying back on the kitchen tiles, curling up with his hand cushioning his head.

Not a moment later, Connor’s shooting up with a shriek as Hank dumps a pitcher of ice-water over him, enraged beyond measure.

“WHAT THE FUCK-- “

Hank doesn’t hold back his smile as he tells Connor that he’d better freshen up. Connor tries to punish him by having him pick out his clothes, but he ends up regretting it as Hank picks up a gag shirt someone’d gotten him at the department Christmas party, one with the design of a pug, holding a shield and a sword, majestically riding a horse. The words once printed overtop have long since worn off.

Bidding goodbye to his favorite cacti and a picture of his childhood dog, he follows Hank out to an autocab, unwilling to drive or let Hank into his car.

“I’m amazed that you managed to lead a revolution in this state,” Connor says, genuine awe written in the shines of his eyes.

Carl laughs, “It was a matter of planning. I was a strategist, but it was my--“ he almost seems to choke up at the next word, which still has Connor reeling, because how could anyone have ever thought these beings aren’t alive? “--my son who really did the hard stuff, like supply raids and marches. I ran speeches and the like, but it was all thanks to him and his support.”

“Your son? Is he--“

“He’s a human; his name is Markus Manfred. He was my owner, but he always felt more like family, and maybe we can now make that official.” His entire face softens when he says it.

The brunet smiles, and Carl can certainly see why his son is so taken with him. Little dimples frame his grin, and his earthy eyes have this gleam of knowledge that contradicts the naivete he seems to radiate with his boyish features, and his curls seem to bounce with life as he says, “I’m happy for you.” It’s so clear that he really, truly means it. 

Hank seems to take an interest in the ‘making it official’ part, because he gazes upon Connor with a thoughtful look on his face, as though considering it. Carl sends him a secret smirk, and Hank gains a faux-sourness, to his amusement. 

“I’ll introduce you two if you’d like. I think he’d be pleased to meet you.” Carl’s eyes have this slyness he’s no good at concealing, but Connor pays it no mind.

“I’d love that.”

((I’ll paste the link later after im finished ;D))

[janeofcakes]

FJW: Chapter 13

** Hello and Happy Mother’s Day to anyone that applies to! I join you tonight with another spellbinding chapter as I sit in bed with my laptop and my guilty pleasure playing in the background. I intend to do some typing and editing after I post. Gotta keep up and definitely, definitely not disappoint. Sadly, my meds have been knocking me out all weekend. Give me strength with positive Johnlock vibes. Haha. Y’all are the greatest. Thank you. **

John has been home for three weeks now. He has one week of physical therapy left, having continued to make such great strides that Dr. Hoover believes his work nearly done. John tends to agree. He is perfectly capable of nearly anything he could do before. At least, he thinks so. John has remembered precious little since his move back to Baker Street. A fact he finds very troubling.

He is not entirely discouraged, however. Sometimes when he’s reading a book he has actually read before, the words become familiar and he remembers something about the first time he read it. Maybe a feeling or the sun shining through the window and onto the floor of the flat or the expression on Sherlock’s face, the look in his eye. Other times, John will glance up from a book to see short scenes play out before his eyes. Sometimes he can hear what the players are saying and others it’s like someone has pushed the mute button on a remote control. No scene is ever complete and they seldom make sense. He always needs another piece or two of information, but never gets it. John often considers telling Sherlock. Perhaps he would fill in the blanks. He has not yet tested that theory.

Sherlock and Rosie burst through the door to 221B. The little girl drops her school bag and tears off her coat. She tosses it to its hook and hits the target perfectly. Sherlock raises a brow, following her slowly.

“Daddy!” she calls, making her way to the sitting room. Sherlock listens from the kitchen where he starts water boiling and begins collecting ingredients for pasta sauce. “Daddy?”

She walks into the kitchen with a perplexed expression on her face. Sherlock doesn’t even have to look over his shoulder to know she is there and what she is about to ask.

“Do you want to help with the sauce?” he asks. Still frowning, Rosie pulls the three-step stool from where it is slotted between the refrigerator and wall. She unfolds it and pushes it up to the counter next to her father. He hands her the open jar of tomato paste and a spoon.

“Where is Daddy?” she asks, spooning it into a pot.

“Well, he was at physical therapy until five, as you know,” he begins chopping an onion. “Lestrade picked him up to go to dinner.”

“We’re going to a restaurant?” her eyes are bright and excited.

“No,” Sherlock turns his head, “Daddy and Lestrade are going to a restaurant. You and I are making dinner right now. To eat at home.”

“But why can’t we go to a restaurant too?” the girl pouts.

“Because Daddy and Lestrade want to talk. They haven’t had the chance since Daddy came home. They were good friends before Daddy went to the hospital.”

“I want to eat at a restaurant.”

“We’re making spaghetti, remember?” Sherlock holds out the cutting board covered with chopped onions. “You were excited about this all the way home. Now, are you helping or not?”

Rosie casts her eyes upward and quickly decides to abandon her strop in favor of dumping the onions into the sauce. Spaghetti is her absolute favorite and making the meal with her papa is even more fun than experiments. It’s always amazing how he knows the recipe without even opening a cookbook.

***

After dinner and the washing up, Sherlock settles in at his desk with his laptop. He is reading one of the cases from John’s blog. People still comment and send private messages, even though it has not been updated in years. Sherlock has found new clients nearly every time he has visited the website, not that he’s looking. His only desire ever to read John’s words and see into his mind again. While John was unconscious, the blog and his mind palace were his only solace. And Rosie, of course. They were the only ways to see that beautiful mind, the mind of the man he missed so much. Now that John is awake and even in the flat, Sherlock has found some relief, but the bulk of John’s mind is still shut off to all of them. Sherlock finds himself drawn to the blog, especially when John is not at home. He has the need for that connection they have always had through cases. That which they lack now, John still having no idea they have ever worked together.

As Sherlock reads the case, recalling the details and marveling at John’s skill as a storyteller, he glances toward the fireplace where Rosie appears to be setting up a colossal matchbox racing track. The release point is attached to the mantle, making for quite a sizable drop to gain the momentum required to make it through the many turns and loops in the track. She has made use of her blocks and dollhouse as supports for the drop, having already learned that the cars just fall off the track when it simply hangs from a tall spot. Sherlock smiles at her ingenuity and returns his eyes to the screen before him.

A couple of cases later, he feels a little hand on his shoulder and turns his head to look sideways at his daughter. As per usual, she has pushed the footrest up behind his desk chair to stand on so she is at his eye level.

“Have you tested it?” he smirks.

“Not yet. I’m taking a break,” she tells him with her eyes on the laptop. “What’s dee-cape-itation?”

“Decapitation,” Sherlock corrects. “It is having one’s head severed at the neck.”

“Severed?”

“Cut off.”

“Oh,” her expression is somewhere between disgust and intrigue. Sherlock grimaces.

“This is probably not the best reading material for you.”

“But it instrests me.”

“Irrelevant. It is inappropriate for a five year old.”

“Then you shouldn’t read things that are so instresting to me.”

Sherlock lets out a quiet laugh and pulls her into his arms. She giggles, grabbing both shoulders with her little hands and holding tight as he stands.

“Let’s test out this track, shall we?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

***

John leans back in the booth at Greg Lestrade’s favorite pub and pops a chip in his mouth. He laughs at his friend’s jokes as they share stories - police work, living with Rosie and Sherlock. A lot about Sherlock, to be honest. Greg tells some choice tales from crime scenes that have them both in stitches. Greg spears his fish with a fork and brings it to his smiling lips as he finishes a particularly amusing one. John tilts his head back and laughs heartily.

“Oh my god, that is priceless,” John looks to Greg again and then glances around the pub. Greg laughs around his bite and readies another. John turns to him again, sobering a bit. “This is a great pub.”

“It is at that.”

“Did we used to come here a lot?” he asks. Greg swallows the food and watches his friend, his smile fading a little.

“We did,” he nods. “When we wanted to relax or needed to talk. Or you wanted to get away from a certain detective. He can be quite a handful.”

Greg smirks, but John remains serious. There is something on his mind and he has to talk with someone before he goes spare. John studies the DCI with a narrowed gaze. His fingers hover around the rim of his pint as he decides how to best approach this.

“Can we talk now?” he tests the waters. Greg inhales deeply and gestures with his hand.

“We are, aren’t we?” he comments jovially.

“Not quite what I mean,” John fixes him with steady eyes. Greg grows more serious as he picks up his own pint from the table.

“What’s on your mind?”

“It’s Sherlock,” John wets his lips. “He’s troubled.”

“Troubled?” Greg asks in confusion. “About what? A case?” Greg’s eyes go wide and he leans toward the table, suddenly very concerned. “You’re all right?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s not that,” John sighs and rests his elbows on the table, his fingers toying with his half-full pint. “There’s something I don’t know, that I don’t remember and Sherlock seems to...to dread it.”

“Have you recalled anything since you got home?”

“Not really. Sometimes a conversation or a feeling. Maybe part of a scene playing out, but it never comes together. It’s all so murky.”

“I’m sure it’ll come to light.”

“Yeah, but when?” John persists. “And why is Sherlock so disturbed by what I might remember? Can it really be so bad?”

“Well,” Greg purses his lips and contemplates John’s questions. He knows so much more about John’s past than he does right now and John wishes Greg would just tell him what he wants to know. He knows it is far better for him to remember his life on his own, but waiting is so damn frustrating. And feeling like he’s making no progress at all and what the fuck is Sherlock so worried he’ll remember?

“There were a lot of cases. A lot of enemies. It’s a recipe for danger.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” John looks befuddled, and irritated. “They were Sherlock’s cases.”

Greg’s eyes go wide, the beginning of panic, the realization that he’s said too much. John can see it all on his face before he schools it. If John could hear Greg’s thoughts, they would be curses. The DCI clears his throat and shifts in the booth uncomfortably.

“Right. Sherlock’s cases. You’re right,” his lips are a thin line and he bites his upper lip. His eyes dart away from John’s and he grabs his pint, hurriedly taking a pull.

John observes every detail thoughtfully. Greg is clearly nervous about what he just said, but it seems so innocuous. John had worked at a surgery. Sherlock worked the cases. Neither had anything to do with the other, but Greg’s words hinted at it. John narrows his eyes, considering the possibilities. Greg assumed John would know what he meant and became anxious when he realized John did not know. He said something he shouldn’t have and it is now absolutely essential that John know what it is this minute. His deep blue eyes grow wide as the pieces fall into place.

“Unless,” he begins, “someone kidnapped me. Used me to get to Sherlock?”

Greg’s gaze is locked on John. He doesn’t reply, taking a large swallow of beer instead. John hit the nail on the head and can’t help a satisfied smirk. Greg puffs out a bemused breath.

“Christ, you’re more like him every day,” he mutters. John’s lips curl down and he leans in, even more serious than before.

“He told me for years to not just see but observe. I finally feel like I can.”

“Did he now?” Greg places his nearly empty pint back on the tabletop, his face grim. He meets John’s eyes with a weighty gaze and there it is.

It pops into his mind and immediately fills him with a sinking feeling. It is on the edge of his brain, but won’t come into focus. This pane of glass is one of the darkest, like his mind doesn’t want him to ever know what it hides. An image flashes through his thoughts like lightning and he gasps.

“What?” Greg asks on high alert. “What is it?”

“I…” John opens his eyes, not even aware he had closed them, “remember a coat. A parka. And a swimming pool?”

Greg straightens and presses his lips together firmly. He pushes his pint closer to the center of the table.

“Look, John, I think we should talk about something else. This isn’t the place for that.”

“For what?” John challenges. Greg just shakes his head, looking at him with regret. Frustration peaking, John barrels on. “Fine. Fine. Then we can get back to my first question. What is Sherlock so afraid of?”

“John,” Greg begins, his voice filled with sincerity, “there are so many things you don’t know yet. A lot has changed.”

A hot flash of anger courses through John’s body. He wants to snap at his friend, tell him that Sherlock repeats that same sentence every fucking day. Okay, an exaggeration, but still something that pisses him off. He is acutely aware that he remembers virtually nothing about important parts of his life and the man he loves. He doesn’t appreciate having it thrown in his face, thank you very much and fuck off.

But John does not snap at Greg because his last four words stop John cold. ‘A lot has changed.’ Of course it has. Maybe that’s why Sherlock is so worried. John was in a coma for five years, a long time to be alone with a small child to raise. Maybe Sherlock met someone. Fell in love with someone. The very thought squeezes John’s heart sharply and pain bursts into his chest.

“Have I really changed that much?” he shakes his head in dismay. “Am I so different?”

Greg’s expression sparks in surprise before quickly settling into sympathy. He leans in intently.

“Oh, no, John, no. You are almost exactly like you were before. You’re still a good man. Always have been.”

“Almost?” John glazes over the rest. He is different and, even if it’s small, it’s driving Sherlock away.

“John. God, I know how that must sound, but it’s not like that. If anything, you’re more patient than you used to be.”

“More patient?” he questions, raising his brows.

“Yeah, but you act the same, think the same, more or less. Your personality hasn’t really changed, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“What I’m worried about is Sherlock,” John’s tone is all business. He may not remember being Captain Watson, but he can certainly adopt the persona when he wants to. “Things are so different between us.”

“You remember how it was before?”

“Well, no,” John clarifies, shrugging, “not as such. It’s more like assumptions, really. I have no doubt that we were happy and now… He’s happy, but he’s also sad. And scared. That’s what really bothers me.”

“Scared?”

“Yes. He’s scared of what I don’t know and what I’ll remember,” he pauses, taking care to gauge every detail of Greg’s reaction to his next words, “or what I’ll find out.”

His friend furrows his brow, his face somewhere between disbelief and utter confusion. John feels frustration building within, threatening to take over his brain. Sherlock has made every effort to make John comfortable since he moved back into the flat they once shared, but he goes out of his way not to touch him or change clothing in their bedroom at the same time. Or kiss him. God, why won’t he kiss him?

“He’s...distant at times,” John tries to find a way to explain and fails. Greg’s expression changes to one of knowing, certainty - like it’s to be expected.

“When he’s in his ‘mind palace’,” he raises his hands to make air quotes. “Yeah, he does that.”

“Look, I know that. He explained that,” John exhales his frustration. “This isn’t when he’s thinking. It’s different. Times when it makes sense for him to touch me or…”

Greg’s brow is down again, a frown on his lips. John swallows hard. He may as well go all in.

“Like when we’re in bed,” he goes on, abandoning all notion of decorum. He has held this in for so long and can stifle it no longer. “He doesn’t come near me. He doesn’t snuggle or sleep facing me. He won’t even hold my hand.”

“You..” Greg struggles to find the words. He look utterly befuddled. “You sleep. With Sherlock. In his bed.”

“Yes,” John answers simply. Greg blinks once and gapes at the doctor. He has absolutely no idea what to make of that. John is not entirely sure why Greg is so shocked, but fixes him with determination and continues. He’s too close to voicing his real concerns now and he can’t turn back. “Greg, do you think it’s possible that Sherlock doesn’t love me anymore?”

His friend’s face goes completely slack and a rush of breath puffs from his mouth. He leans back in the booth and looks at John for a moment before licking his lips and leaning forward again.

“No, John, there is no doubt in my mind that he loves you. But he doesn’t want to push you. You haven’t been awake long at all and you’re still recovering. It’s going to take some time, that’s all.”

John’s shoulders drop and he sighs, disappointed and frustrated. Gutted.

“I know,” Greg continues quickly. “I know that’s not what you want to hear, but that’s the reality of it. He wants to give you time. To remember, to be comfortable. Everything he’s doing, everything he’s done for the last five years, and even before that, has been for you. Just hold on. It’ll all make sense eventually.”

***

John white knuckles the armrests of his chair and his whole body tenses. He stares wide-eyed at the woman standing before him. The corner of her mouth curls up as she levels a gun at his head. He racks his brain, trying to find a plan of escape where there is none.

“I want to destroy my brother,” she tells him in an indifferent tone, “and the only person he cares about is our brother. His precious little brother.”

Her lips curl all the way into a broad smile. It is eerily familiar and pure evil. Her eyes are emotionless, unreadable, dead. She blinks slowly as she takes a step closer to his chair. He is frozen.

“The only person his precious little brat cares about,” she stops and tilts her head, eyes locked on John’s, “is you.”

John darts out of the chair as she pulls the trigger and misses, but the barrel follows his movements and she squeezes again.This bullet explodes into his forehead. The impact throws off his trajectory and his body falls to the floor awkwardly, landing on his left hip and shoulder. It should be painful, but everything is eclipsed by the searing burn of the bullet in his head. Or has it passed all the way through? John can feel the wet of the blood surrounding his cheek. It is growing larger, enveloping his head as his mind slips away.

“Rosie!” his mind screams loud enough that his head twitches. God, his little girl, his baby. He can’t leave her. She has no on else. No one.

John hears the woman’s footsteps as she comes closer to finish the job and he closes his eyes. Or are they open? He can’t tell anymore.

“Sherlock!” his mind screams again. Even louder this time. “Oh god, Sherlock. Please don’t let me die.”

John can’t see anything. He expects the shot. One shot is all it will take. Instead, a pounding vibration fills his ears. It is more noise than he has ever heard before and yet, it is quiet and far away. He hears footsteps hurry away and a cracking, splintering of wood. Footfalls rushing near, his name, and a pale face surrounded by dark curls comes into view. Or is he imagining that face?

“Sherlock,” John knows he isn’t really speaking, but he continues anyway. “Sherlock, I love you. Take care of Rosie.”

The detective is gone and there is nothing but blackness. It isn’t until that moment that John realizes his eyes were actually open all the time. Or was it no time at all? But now his eyes are closed. Never to open again.

“John. John,” the deep baritone fills John’s ears and he can feel strong hands on his shoulders. His eyes fly open to see a pair of panicked silver-grey eyes looking back. They look like...like hers.

John thrashes his legs and thrusts his arms up in between Sherlock’s, pushing the man’s arms away from John’s body roughly. The detective pulls back like he’s been burned. Without taking his eyes off those shocked grey eyes, John sits up and scrambles backwards until his back hits the headboard. The two men stare at one another apprehensively. Sherlock is on his knees at the foot of the bed, his arms still outstretched at his sides after John’s escape. He lowers his chin and looks at John gravely.

“John, it’s all right,” he says firmly. “You are safe at home. It was a nightmare.”

The doctor continues to stare. He doesn’t move a muscle. Why the hell would Sherlock not tell him he had a sister? A psychotic sister. If the dream is to be believed, and John is absolutely convinced it was a real memory, John had no idea at the time that his so-called therapist was a Holmes when she shot him. Why wouldn’t Sherlock have told him?

“John?” Sherlock draws John’s focus once more. He has not moved his arms and holds his palms out so John can see them, his fingers splayed wide as though John is a danger to him. “John, can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you,” John hisses. “Why wouldn’t I be able to hear you?”

Sherlock doesn’t move and his posture is beginning to annoy John. He isn’t some dangerous caged animal, ready to lash out at anyone who crosses his path. The detective continues to watch him with a measured gaze.

“You had a nightmare.”

“A memory, more like. And a bad one at that,” John lets out an almost involuntary puff of air, just tinted by a humorless laugh. He sets his shoulders and jaw, and then wets his lips. “I remember a woman. The woman who shot me. Your sister.”

Sherlock’s eyes close slowly and his face falls. His arms move to hang at his sides in defeat. John watches his flatmate sink from standing on his knees to sitting upon his calves and feet, his legs folded beneath his body. His shoulders slouch and he looks away as he opens his eyes again. When he finally meets John’s gaze, his face is pained, his eyes filled with such sorrow and resignation.

“Her name was Eurus. She was a year younger than me. She posed as a therapist to gain your trust.”

“She said she wanted to destroy Mycroft,” John says quietly, not wanting to push too hard.

This topic clearly brings Sherlock great pain. Sherlock told him in the hospital that the woman was dead, but never mentioned who she was. John thought it was because it didn’t really matter at that point, but now it all makes sense. Why Sherlock didn’t offer any information and why Mycroft was so interested in what John could remember. As much as he would love to spare Sherlock this pain, John needs to talk about this. He needs to know and he has to understand why Sherlock didn’t trust him all those years ago.

“She you were his weakness and I was yours.”

“Oh god,” Sherlock’s voice breaks. “I’m sorry, John. I’m so sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” John whispers as his eyes fill and shine. He shakes his head. “You couldn’t trust me?”

Sherlock’s eyes widen, lips parting slightly and then he ducks his head down.

“I didn’t know,” he begins unsteadily. He looks back at his friend to see confusion, wrinkled forehead and furrowed brow. “I had no idea I even had a sister. She...did something terrible when we were children. I was so traumatized I rearranged my memories to exclude her.”

Without even thinking, John lets the question slip past his lips. He regrets it immediately, but hasn’t the chance to take it back before Sherlock answers.

“What did she do?”

“She…” he pauses to steel himself and John feels like an ass for asking. The look in Sherlock’s eyes tells it all. He is about to apologize when Sherlock speaks again. “She lured my best friend to an old well and pushed him in. Mycroft couldn’t make her tell where it was and our parents wouldn’t believe she was responsible. Victor was never found.”

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John whispers in utter disbelief. His friend has such a far away look in his eyes.

“Then she set fire to our family home. It burned to the ground. No one was injured. Mycroft was already being courted and groomed by the government, so he used his contacts to manufacture Eurus’ death and held her in a maximum security asylum on an island. She grew up there and when she escaped…”

“She set about her revenge,” John interjects. “God, Sherlock, I’m sorry.”

“It was my own weakness that put you in danger.”

“You were a child.”

“If I hadn’t altered my own memory, I could have warned you.”

“I doubt that would have made any difference.”

“I could have protected you,” Sherlock insists, the tension in his voice growing.

“Stop,” John’s tone is commanding, yet gentle. He moves onto all-fours and crawls to sit on his calves inches from Sherlock. “You blame yourself. You have all these years. It’s not true.”

“It IS true.”

“No,” John’s hand is on Sherlock’s cheek and the man nearly gasps from the surprise of it. “You suffered a major trauma. You can’t blame yourself for what your mind did to survive. And if you’d known, you would’ve warned me, but would I have suspected my therapist? Would you? No.”

“John, I…” his hand closes over John’s and his eyes glisten with tears.

“You have been everything I needed you to be. I need you. So does Rosie.”

“She doesn’t.”

“Yes, she does. You’re her father and she loves you.”

“I’m not her father.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Not her real father.”

Sherlock’s face is cupped between both of John’s hands now. His left thumb brushes away a falling tear.

“You are the only father she has ever known.”

“That’s not true.”

“You have been the best father I could ever imagine. You have taken care of her and given her all the love in the world. She’s so happy and smart and I wish you hadn’t had to do it alone. I wish I’d been there and I’m glad I’m here now. With you. We will be...a family.”

Sherlock is shaking his head and pulling out of John’s grasp. He rises off the bed and walks to the door, mumbling no every few steps.

“Sherlock?” John is beyond confused and worried. He watches as the detective opens the door and slips part way through before he finally stops to look back at John.

“You won’t feel that way once you know it all.”

“We can work through it. It’s all something we can work through.”

Sherlock does not answer, except to shake his head as tears fall down his cheeks. He leaves the room, closing the door softly behind.

@echosilverwolf @technicallywiseoncns @vvaticancameoss @cow-mow@philliphooper@whodwantmeasaflatmate@swissmissing@gloriascott93@kingdomofbrokenhearts@srebrnafh@thetranslucentwallaby@britishaccentfan@plasticstrawsmuggler@spazzz32@absentmindedsstuff@shuukichan @annecumberbatch @maeliandmyself @welcometomyharddrive

[thenovelartist]

Second Chances, Chapter 17

First<< Last< >Next

Marinette’s fingers and toes were crossed that this was going to end well. She and Adrien had gotten Emma hyped about his absence, promising movies and girl-time and sleepovers. And Emma was excited.

Just how far that excitement would go was the question. She and Adrien hoped it would go a very, very long way, but they had their doubts.

So far, day one was a success. She and Emma had spent the day just as normal. They watched a movie in their pajamas with popcorn and Emma fell asleep in front of the television.

Marinette had texted Adrien such, and he texted back a big thumbs up.

Day two started out fine. They made pancakes and played superheroes and colored and then it was suddenly six-thirty and Marinette was calling Adrien on skype for her and Emma to talk to.

“Are you and Marinette having a good time?” Adrien asked Emma.

And she happily launched into everything that they did that day.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Adrien excitedly replied. “That sounds like a lot of fun.”

Emma nodded. “Mm-hmm.”

“Emma,” Marinette said. “Why don’t you go grab the pictures we colored to show your dad?”

“Okay!” And just like that, she vanished from the room.

Marinette leaned conspiratorially closer to the computer screen. “Day two was a success.”

“I’m so happy,” Adrien said. “At least one thing’s going right today. Two down, three more to go. Fingers crossed it goes smoothly.”

Marinette crossed her fingers just as Emma came running back into the room. “Look, daddy.”

After she showed off her pictures, Adrien praising them all the way, it was time for him to go, so they said their goodnights and good byes. “Have fun with Marinette on your adventure.”

“I am.”

This was good. They were doing good. Bath time went smoothly, and then they built a fort in Emma’s room before they read a story. By eight-fifteen, Emma was in bed snuggling Tikki while Plagg was at her back. Marinette slipped out the door, then took a quick shower before slipping into the guest bed. After turning her phone on silent—she didn’t want to risk any dings or noises waking Emma—she sent off a text to Adrien. Day two, success.

She put the phone on the nightstand, then shut off the lamp, tossing the room into darkness. Until her phone screen lit it up with a call.

Adrien.

“Hey,” she said quietly.

“Hi. I just wanted to see how she was doing.”

“Like I said, the day went really well. No signs of her being stressed out without you, yet.”

“Good,” he said, relieved. “That’s really, really good. Best news of the day.”

“How are you holding on?”

“My father was right to send me. The company I audited did lax on a few policies, which my father suspected they would if he sent me in his stead. But that only means more work for… I’d like for you to guess who.”

“You.”

“And we have a winner.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It happens,” he sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“Still, that’s rough. I know how much you already have on your plate.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who would make a really good assistant, would you?”

“You considering hiring one?”

“Big time.”

She paused. “Not that I can think of off the top of my head.”

“Worth a shot.”

Marinette grinned. “I hope for your sake everything else goes smoothly.”

“Yeah. So do I. I think my toes are crossed at this point because all my fingers are crossed for Emma.”

She chuckled. “Here’s wishing you all my ladybug luck.”

“This black cat will take all he can get,” he fondly said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Anything else going on?”

“I’d much rather hear from you.”

“Nothing more than what Emma told you about.”

“What do you have planned for tomorrow?”

“Surprises.”

“Oh?”

“Emma will tell you all about them.”

“Fair enough,” he relented. “Then I guess I’ll let you go. Get some sleep.”

“You, too. I know those hotel mattresses cannot be as comfortable as the one in your guest room.”

“Or my own,” he sighed. “But it will have to do. Sleep well, Marinette.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

…

The next morning was spent going to her parents’ house for pastries. Emma had quickly grown attached to them during the holiday party, and now she had no fear running up to Marinette’s Papa and tackling his leg in a hug, fully expecting a bear hug in return. She squealed in delight as he picked her up and gave her a squeeze.

“He’s not going to give her back,”’ Maman warned, coming up to Marinette’s side.

Marinette shrugged. “Adrien said it was okay.”

Her maman giggled. “Where’s he at again?”

“Parading across the continent, looking at the design houses to make sure they’re up to Agreste standard.”

“Ahh.”

“He didn’t want to do it, but that’s his job.”

“Understandable. At least he left his daughter in good hands.”

“I try.”

“You do,” her maman assured, watching Emma make expressive hand motions as she told a story to Papa. “I know you do, otherwise I don’t think that girl would be remotely as happy as she is.”

Marinette’s heartstrings tugged. “She’s so precious. I adore her.”

Her maman patted her arm tenderly.

“I’m hungry,” Emma said, grabbing Marinette’s attention.

“Well,” her maman said. “We do live in a bakery. What do you want?”

With that, Marinette pulled breakfast for both her and Emma, then she took it upstairs to the kitchen table. After breakfast was completed, Marinette asked Emma if she wanted to go exploring. Marinette already knew the answer, but she had to make it seem exciting.

So Marinette took Emma up to her room, showing off the pink color on the wall.

“It’s just like mine!” Emma exclaimed.  

“I told you so.”

The duo spent the entire day up there, exploring, going through Marinette’s things, and finding Marinette’s old sketch books.

Old enough to have Adrien’s teenaged modeling pictures.

Marinette inwardly cringed. Emma recognized her dad immediately, so there was no escaping it. Thankfully, they were able to move on quickly afterwards.

They ate dinner with Marinette’s parents, which Emma was happy about. Emma and Tom talked back and forth the entire time, Sabine chiming in here and there. Marinette was happy to stay in the background and simply watch the exchange.

Once dinner was over, Marinette helped clean up the dishes until an alert in her pocket reminded her that she and Emma were expecting a call.

“We can finish up,” her maman assured. “Go answer.”

“Thanks, maman.” Marinette turned to look at Emma. “Your dad is calling. Ready to tell him about our day?”

“Yeah!”

Marinette led Emma back up to her room, pulled her into her lap, and answered the video call.

“Hi, daddy!”

“Hey, where are you guys?” Adrien asked.

“We’re exploring my house,” Marinette answered.

Emma nodded.

“Yeah?” Adrien asked, clearly intrigued. “Is it cool?”

Emma launched into her story of everything they did that day.

“And Marinette has pictures of you from when you were little.”

There was a pause on the other end where Adrien was staring at the computer screen with bewilderment while Marinette turned what she fully believed to be the deepest shade of red she’d turned in a long time.

“Really?”

Emma nodded then turned to Marinette. “I want to show him.”

Marinette forced a smile and allowed Emma to grab the picture from her old sketchbook. “See?” Emma said, holding the picture up to the computer. “It’s you.”

Adrien stared for a while before breaking into a smile. “Yup. That was my old job. I used to dress up for pictures.”

As the conversation progressed, Marinette gradually returned to her normal color just in time to bid Adrien good-bye and get back home.

“Are you coming home now, daddy?”

And in a snap, Marinette’s heart sank through the floor.

Adrien’s undoubtably did, too. “I’m going to be on an adventure a couple more days, sweetheart.”

Emma’s expression fell.

“But I’ll be home soon,” he assured. “And Marinette is there, right?”

Emma nodded.

“So you two are going to have more fun together before I come back. Okay?”

She frowned. “Okay,” she said, her voice soft with disappointment.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Best daughter in the whole wide world.”

“Best daddy in the whole wide world.”

“I’ll be home soon, okay.”

“Okay.”

“I promise. But for now, I’m going to say good night and I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Good night, Emma.”

“Good night, daddy.”

With that, Marinette clicked out of the computer. “Ready to go home? We’ll set up a pillow fort and read a story?”

Emma simply nodded.

She wasn’t quite as enthusiastic as normal, but the fort still got built and Emma seemed happy about being in the fort. When she crawled in Marinette’s lap, she snuggled closer than normal, her head half buried in Marinette’s shirt.

Two chapters in, and Emma was yawning. Thankfully, she put up no fuss when Marinette put her to bed.

“Night night, Emma.”

“Night night, mommy.”

Marinette’s heart froze for a second before it ramped back up to superspeed. Her mind ran a million miles an hour, trying to process that her favorite little girl in the world just called her ‘mommy’.

And she loved it.

She bent down, pressed a kiss to Emma’s temple, and whispered, “sleep well, sweetheart,” before slipping from the room.

She took her time in the hot shower, thinking over Emma’s words and trying to process them as well as face the guilt that came over not being able to regret just how pleased it made her.

Marinette got out of the shower, drying off before tossing on her pajamas and checking her phone. One message from Adrien. She gave him a call.

“Hey.”

“Emma called me ‘mommy’.”

The silence between them was a surprised one.

“What?” Adrien asked, his unsteady voice proving it was about the only thing he could say.

“Emma called me mommy, tonight,” Marinette repeated.

Another silence. One where neither knew what to say.

“What should we do about it?” Marinette asked. “I… I don’t want her to get used to her calling me that.”

“I’m okay with it.”

Another silence.

“But… I’m not her mom.”

“Nathalie wasn’t her grandmother.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“I’m not family.”

“You could be.”

Marinette’s heart skipped a beat.

Adrien cleared his throat. “Like Alya.”

She worked her jaw, hoping words would come out at some point. “But… Auntie Alya is different than being her mom, Adrien.”

There was a tense sigh from over the phone. “Well,” he said. “I… I guess I’ll let you decide what you’re comfortable with Emma calling you.”

Mommy. Marinette thought. She can call me mommy. “We’ll see if she’s back to ‘Marinette’ in the morning. She was tired so… I’ll cross that bridge if and when I get to it.”

“Okay,” Adrien agreed on a sigh. “That’s… a good idea.”

Another pause.

“So,” Adrien said. “I… um, just wanted to give you a call to check in on how Emma was doing after we got off the skype call.”

Marinette took a breath to refocus herself. “She’s just missing you,” she answered. “At this rate, I’m worried that the next two days are just going to be a bundle of fun.”

“Um…” there was a pause. “Call Alya. Maybe try to pump Emma up that way.”

“Worth a shot,” Marinette said. “I’ll do that tomorrow. Maybe I should have waited for the bakery trip until later.”

“Oh well, nothing you can do about that now. Maybe try taking her to the zoo? She’ll enjoy that.”

“Worth a shot. Anything to keep her mind off you.”

“Sorry for making your job so difficult.”

“You can’t help it,” Marinette assured. “You have a job to do.”

“Guess you’re right.”

“How’s things going, by the way?” she asked. “Was today better than yesterday?”

“Much,” Adrien said. “Thankfully. And I found out something interesting.”

“Really? What is it?”

“That my nanny apparently has my modeling photos when I was a teen.”

Marinette’s gut sank to the floor while her face flamed. She could hear that smile on his face, and she knew he wasn’t going to let her get away with it. “I can explain,” she rambled off.

“Please do.”

“You know I like fashion,” she said scrambling to get her story together. “And your dad was a big inspiration to me. So the totographs were because I loved you-R father’s fashion!”

“Hmm? Really?”

“Yup!”

“So… that’s why you have a picture of just my face?”

Oh, she could hear the smugness in his tone, and her heart was running faster than a racehorse, pumping heat from the pit of her stomach to her face. She was sure she was red as a ladybug. “GottaGoBye!”

She hung up on him, tossing the phone onto the dresser and faceplanting onto the pillow. She let loose a groan as ‘almost admitting to her boss that she had a crush on him’ found it’s way to the top of her ‘most embarrassing moments of her life’ list.

…

Alya was a huge help in perking up Emma. Big time. They spent the day together, went out to lunch, and just hung out like girls do. Sadly, Alya had to leave at three, meaning Marinette and Emma were left to their own devices. So they went to the park and played a bit before heading home for dinner.

And when Adrien called, Marinette realized with a large grin that they only had one more day to go.

The conversation started out really well…until it ended in tears. Marinette held Emma tight, soothing her while she cried about how much she wanted her daddy.

“One more day, Emma,” Adrien said over the computer. “I only have one more day, and then I get to come home to you.”

Of course, it didn’t help. So Marinette suggested an early bedtime. She got Emma bathed and in her pajamas before settling her down for the night.

Once she shut the door to Emma’s room, Marinette let go a heavy sigh. How was she going to get through one more day?

She hoped spending a decent amount of time in the magical portal known as the shower would bring some ideas to mind. Sadly, no such luck. After she finished, she stepped out of the bathroom into the hallway.

Only to see Emma sitting cross-legged in front of Adrien’s bedroom door, Plagg in her hands as she cried for her dad.

With her heart officially in shambles, Marinette went up to Emma, sitting beside her. “Emma, let’s go to bed.”

“Daddy,” she cried, tears running down her face. “I w-w-want d-daddy.”

Marinette pulled the girl into her lap. “Daddy will be home soon. Don’t worry.”

But Emma just cried into Marinette’s shoulder, her squealy sobs wracking through her little body.

Marinette stared up at Adrien’s door. Well, desperate times called for desperate measures. “Come on, Emma. Let’s go to bed.”

It took a moment for Emma to calm enough so that Marinette could lead her into Adrien’s room. It felt slightly invasive, but he’d surely understand.

Emma leapt onto his bed, crawling around before settling into a ball on one of his pillows and crying into the back of Plagg’s head.

Marinette took the other side, crawling under the covers and pulling them up around Emma.  She sided up next to her, snuggling the crying girl against her and rubbing her back soothingly until the tears subsided and she finally fell asleep.

…

He’d begged Nathalie for a red-eye flight. It was only half a day, but he’d be home and there for Emma to wake up to. He couldn’t stand the way her tears shook him last night. Thankfully, Nathalie pulled through.

Hence why he was getting on a very late fight that was projected to get him home just after midnight.

“A-choo!”

“Bless you,” Adrien said to the man sitting beside him.

“Thanks,” he said, digging into his bag for a tissue.

Adrien was anxious to be home. To get off this flight surrounded by people, take a hot shower, and crash in his own bed, only to be there for Emma when she woke. That was his plan.

He did catch a few minutes of shut eye on the plane, though it was difficult when Mr. Sick beside him was snoring like a chainsaw. Soon enough, Adrien was back in France. Then he was back in Paris. Then, finally, just after midnight, he was back home.

Oh, he was so happy.

He dropped his bags on the floor, a signal to Marinette and Emma for when they woke, then started up the stairs. However, before he did anything, he went to peek in on Emma.

Only to find her bed empty.

His brow furrowed. He walked over to the guest room. The door was open, and while he hated peeking in on Marinette, he wanted to know where his daughter was.

Except that bed was empty, too.

Now he was worried. Had they stayed somewhere else? No, Marinette would have texted him. Right?

He got to his door, opening it, and immediately freezing upon the sight. Emma was curled into a ball under the covers, Marinette’s arm over her protectively, holding Emma close to her chest. She shifted, holding Emma tighter, and that’s when Adrien realized he should shut the door, keep out the light, and let them sleep.

Well, so much for his shower and his own bed.

He peeked in the other bathroom, finding Marinette’s things on the counter as well as in the shower, but Emma’s bar of soap and shampoo were in there, too. It would do, and he desperately wanted to rinse off the airplane. So, grabbing his pajamas from his bag, he showered off, already feeling better, before collapsing on the bed in the guest room and promptly falling asleep.

…

Marinette woke before Emma, which was shocking. She slipped out of bed and quietly shut the door behind her, allowing Emma to sleep. She was probably still tired from her crying fit again last night. They’d managed to make it though the day with minimal tears, only to break down when they got home.

At least Adrien was coming home today.

She made it halfway down the stairs before she paused. Because that looked an awful lot like luggage in the hallway. She looked back upstairs, only to notice that her bedroom door was shut.

And that’s when she realized Adrien was home.

She grinned. He was home.

When he got in last night, she didn’t know. Nor did she care. All she cared about was that he was home and Emma would be happy to see him again. Since she didn’t want to start breakfast, yet, she decided that she could get her sketchbook…

Which was in the guest room. Where Adrien was.

Along with her clothes.

And basically, sleeping in her bed.

She tried not to dwell on that.

Instead, she pulled a couple pieces of blank paper and a pencil from Emma’s room, then started the coffee she really needed.

After downing cup number one and filling out a couple really terrible pages, she heard a door open. She was sure it was Emma, so she rounded the corner with a grin, ready to greet her good morning.

Only to see Adrien at the top of the stairs.

Her smile only grew. “Good morning.”

His bedhead was one of the greatest things she’d ever seen: wild and fluffy. Oh, so fluffy. She really wanted to run her hands through it.

… She needed more coffee.

“Hi,” he greeted with a yawn. “Forgot to turn off my alarm.”

She chuckled. “What time did you get in last night?”

“Morning,” he said, descending the stairs. “Early, morning.”

“Oh.”

He nodded. “But I’m here and that’s all I really care about.”

“I’m glad you’re home,” she said. Then realized how that sounded and quickly tacked on, “For Emma’s sake.”

Was it her, or did he look disappointed. No, he was just tired. He had to be tired. And so did she.

She needed more coffee.

“Coffee?” she offered.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

She shooed him to sit down at the table before pouring a mug of coffee for him.

“Cream or sugar?”

“No, just black.”

She quirked a brow as she handed off a mug. “How do you drink that stuff?”

He took it with a thankful grin. “It’s most potent when not dressed up.”

She shrugged then proceeded to pour cream and sugar in hers.

“So…” he started. “Any particular reason that, um… You were in my bed last night?”

The spoon clattered against the counter as heat flooded her cheeks. “Um…” she struggled, not daring to look him in the eye lest she remember that, yes, she was sleeping in his bed and she enjoyed it because the sheets were warm and soft and smelled like him. “Emma… she, uh, that second to last night, she just… it was rough.”

“Really?”

At the tightness in his voice, she turned to see he was wearing a grimace. “Yeah, she… she was outside your door crying for you, so I hoped that maybe it would calm her if, you know, we slept in your bed. And it did, thankfully.”

He nodded. “Good. I mean, not good but… good she got sleep.”

“I was willing to do anything at that point.”

An awkward silence slipped between them.

“So how did everything go?” she asked. “With the fashion houses, that is.”

“Fine,” he answered. “Long. Not fun.”

“Anything other than the one troublesome house?”

“No, thankfully.”

“Did you get any time for sightseeing?”

He shook his head. “I was either walking through our fashion houses or doing piles upon piles of paperwork.”

She frowned as she took a seat beside him. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “What are you gonna do? That’s just part of the new year.”

“Still,” she said, reaching out to place a hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry. I had hoped that things would go smoothly for you or you might even get a chance to relax a bit. I know how busy you’ve been lately. Would have been nice for you to have a few moments to yourself.”

“I would much rather have just gotten as much done as I can so I can spend time with my daughter.”

“It would have been okay to have a bit of time to yourself. You were out of the country. You could have enjoyed a little sightseeing.”

“Well, that’s a little hard when I was far too worried about the sight of Emma crying.”

She squeezed his arm. “Yeah. It was rough and long for her.”

“Hence why I wanted to get stuff done,” he said, taking another sip of coffee. “Because I know she would like to have her dad back.”

Marinette stared at him for a while, just long enough for him to notice and stare back at her. “You’re a good dad. Emma’s very lucky.” She patted his arm. “But don’t worry about taking care of yourself a little bit, either. Don’t work yourself into the ground in the process.”

He held her gaze a while before reaching over to place a hand on top of hers. It made her realize that she had her hand on his arm, a very intimate gesture. She should remove her hand; his hand was only a light presence, allowing her to do such an action. But she didn’t want to.

The pitter-patter of little feet descending the staircase called their attention.

Marinette retracted her hand quickly just as Emma came into view. Marinette grinned at the sight of Emma in her pajamas, Tikki in her grasp. “Look who’s home.”

Adrien stood from his seat, and Emma lit up like the morning sky. “DADDY!”

Tikki was immediately forgotten as she ran to Adrien’s open arms. He scooped her up and swung her around. “I’m so happy to see you,” he said, squeezing her tight.

Marinette watched the reunion with a wide grin.

Tears were involved, but that was mostly because Emma absolutely refused to let her daddy go lest he disappeared again.

“It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere for a long time. I promise.”

Emma sniffed. “Pinky promise?” she asked, her voice warbling with tears.

“Pinky promise.”

It wouldn’t be for a while for Emma’s cries to stop, now only the occasional sniffle escaping her.

“Emma,” Marinette said. “Why don’t you tell your dad about our adventures while I make breakfast? Does that sound good.”

Emma nodded, then started in on telling her dad about their adventure in the zoo yesterday.

Marinette dug through the cabinets before deciding on sweet crepes for the occasion. Emma, and Adrien, watched with fascination as she easily flipped the crepes by tossing them in the air.

Adrien cleaned up the dishes once breakfast was over. “Thank you so much for everything,” he said. “I’ve got this.”

“I’ll help. It’s no trouble.”

And that’s what she said throughout the whole day as she helped do laundry and generally clean the house.

“Marinette,” Adrien said, stopping her before she made it to the laundry closet. “I’m serious. Thank you for everything, but I’ve got this.”

“It’s a load of laundry.”

“You said that three loads ago.”

“It’s no trouble.”

“But you don’t have to. I can handle this.”

“But I’m here and don’t have anything to do today.”

“Yes, but you’ve been here for five days straight and I need to pull my weight.” He reached for the laundry.

But she pulled it away. “You said you came home for Emma, so go play with her.” She smacked his rear to emphasize her point.

And that’s when it hit her.

He wasn’t her husband.

She stared at him a while, her mind blank. His expression mirrored her own: wide-eyed and stunned. Slowly, bright red sprawled across his cheeks as he looked away.

And her face… her face was on fire. “Um… I’ll… put this in then I think I’m going to head out.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

She’d never done a load of laundry so fast.

[no-error]

Looking for more klance?

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Have fun reading~

                                                    Magic

Magic Me Some Love

When Shiro's arm gets cut off while he is trying to protect Keith, Keith doesn't see any way to save his life but to break into the Galra's castle and steal some of their magical medicine. But nothing goes as planned and when he exits the castle empty handed he is cursed to look like a Galra until he accepts his "halfbreed" status. He is convinced that he has condemned Shiro to death - and then he learns of a magician that might be able to help just in time.

Meanwhile Lance didn't expect a Galra to turn up at his door, demanding him to save his half dead (human?!) friend. And he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with him either.

143,711 words   AO3

Where Light and Dark Meet

(The Fallen Series not completed  1 works)

The Fallen One arises:A captive star yearning for the heavens from which it was stolen... So begins the Prophecy of the Fallen Star, which speaks of the one who will save the kingdom from Haggar’s curse. Lance, Keith, and their friends are summoned to get in touch with Allura, the deposed princess of Altea, who is widely believed to be the Fallen Star from the prophecy.But things aren't going to be quite so simple. Lance was cursed to become a cat at night; Keith spends his days as a crow. They both have a role to play in the coming battle, and they're going to have to learn to trust each other--but how can they when they only ever meet in the fleeting moments at twilight when they both are human?

34,168 words   AO3

                                               Ghosts etc

Forget Me Not           (Myosotis series not completed 23,144 works 4)

There Keith was, surrounded by all his friends, a picture of total contentment. At least, he would be, if something weren't missing.

Keith agrees to test a spell for his brother's best friend and discovers a vaguely familiar boy who no one can remember. What follows is a series of magical shenanigans that will either be tragic or entertaining as hell.

16,084 words   AO3

Over My Dead Body!

"Hey, Keith? Are you done yet?" Lance asks from behind the door. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, I'm done changing."

Out of curiosity, Keith looks over his shoulder of how Lance will enter his room. He eyes the door.

"Aaaaannnddd, you're in your boxers." Lance says.

Silence.

Sonovabish went through the door!

38,038 words   AO3

How To Date A Werewolf In 5 Simple Steps

How To Date A Werewolf In 5 Simple Steps by Keith Kogane

Step 0: Don't do it.

31,373 words   AO3

Just a Little Death          (no romance here)

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At least Hunk is a good bro that's helping him keep his secret.

217,634 words AO3

                                              Soulmates

Unfamiliar Constellations

Soulmates. That was the reason his mother always told him for the random markings that would show up on his skin. It was an old legend, but not unheard of. Most people just didn’t have a soulmate.

Lance had found out about his soulmate early. They both enjoyed drawing on their skin. Whoever was on the other end of the pen was an artist, but Lance enjoyed adding his own shitty drawings to the artwork on his arm.

25,199 words   AO3

Soulmate Line

Lance moves from a small town where everyone's soulmate lines branch outwards. He never expected his matchmaking abilities to work, especially with there being 7.5 billion people in the world, but moving to university has increased the chances of success more than he anticipated. With Pidge and Hunk's help, he starts a business pairing naïve college students together if their lines connect, and by the time Shiro's cousin, Keith, comes to tour the campus, he already has a reputation.

So how can Lance explain who Keith's soulmate is when their lines connect, and yet they're total strangers to one another?

23,523 words   AO3

You're Not a Bad Soulmate

Keith puts a tentative hand to his jaw. Moron that guy might have been but weak he was not.

“Fair enough… Um…” He isn’t sure how to ask, or even if he should, but it’s very important to him that this incident be quickly forgotten so he takes a breath and goes for it.

“Please don’t tell Lance about this,” he can’t even be bothered by how sheepish he sounds.

“I mean sure but I won’t have to,” Hunk points to his own jaw. “He’s gonna find out anyway, Bro.”

22,869 words   AO3

                                                    Altean

Of Backups And Outcasts

Lance, a young prince second in line for the Altean throne, sets out to prove himself. He wants to kill an injured dragon that attacked one of their villages and escaped the knights that were sent after it. Much to his surprise, the dragon turns out to be a lot more human than anticipated - and thus begins a friendship that, despite having to be kept secret, changes his life for the better.

It's the story of how a backup and an outcast fall in love.

27,784 words   AO3

No time for caution

When you're a Galra prisoner, the question is not whether or not you will survive, but how long.

"I have a business proposition for you." Lance ignored Keith's snort.

"I want out, you want out. I can't operate any ships without having Galra genes, you can't get into any ships while trapped here. Let's help each other."

10,004 words    AO3

                                                   Heroes

So Cold It Burned

Lance is the Blue Lion, the hero of the city of Altea, and his main goal is to protect Keith - and the city, but mostly Keith - from his archenemy, Blaze.

"Come at me, cat boy, let's play with fire."

31,098 words   AO3

Behind the Mask

(Behind the Mask Series not completed 19,330 words 2 works)

Keith is one of the smartest kids at his school, but he's never really been remotely noticed by anyone. Lance, however, is one of the most popular guys at this same school. Nobody can take their eyes away from him, including Keith, who's had a crush on Lance since the day he met him.

What he doesn't know is that Lance has a crush on the city hero, Spiderman. After a chance encounter ends unexpectedly, the masked hero fears for his secrecy... and his feelings for the mysteriously adorable boy he saved.

18,547 words   AO3

                                                    Space

Blind Affection

After Lance gets injured in battle he finds himself without his eyesight, a situation he never would've expected himself to get into. Half expecting to get kicked off the team, Lance is determined to train harder and keep the fact that he's upset about his loss of eyesight from his teammates. No harm ever comes from bottling everything up, right?

25,888 words   AO3

No way out.

Alarms started to blare through the castle. "Princess! Are you alright?" Shiro rushed in.

"..Guys?" Keith looked around the room. "Where's Lance?"

26,879 words   AO3

A Kiss is a Kiss (But it's never like this)

“How does this keep happening to us, every time.” Lance grumbled.

“You’d think they’d stop sending us on away missions,” he agreed. Honestly, between the poisonous plants of their last planet, and Lance’s tendency to always end up on the business end of every blaster or pointy ended stick, Allura was just being inefficient at this point.

Or, five times Keith kissed Lance but the situation was less than ideal, and one time Lance finally kissed him back.

25,285 words   AO3

Space used to be the biggest thing, then I found your heart.

'Okay, calm down. It was just Lance. Just Lance. Lance Mcclain, the blue paladin… the sharpshooter… the loverboy. Just Lance. Nothing else. He didn’t have to be anything else.

Except for the fact that Keith Kogane was hopelessly head over heels in love with him. And Keith being the stoic, brooding, moody, emo that he was; his solution to the problem was to try and ignore Lance. Not shut him out completely because they still needed to form Voltron and all, but not go out of his way to talk to him, for fear of revealing everything.

25,780 words   AO3

i could be the one

After he is hit with a spell, Lance has visions of Keith's heart's desires and he's left incredibly confused when he finds himself appearing in all of them.

Keith shifts a little in front of Lance, protective; Lance grips his arm, tugging him back. “What do you need me to do?” Keith asks.

“Not you,” The one in blue dismisses Keith, their head turns to Lance. “We have decided to focus our efforts on the blue paladin - who wears his heart on his sleeve, and yet hides so much.”

19,857 words   AO3

in stasis

The story starts like this: with a story where you think you know the end, until it turns out you don’t, until it turns out you didn’t have a clue.

In which for three months of Lance McClain's life, he lives as an AI, waiting for his prosthetics to come online. It goes about as well as expected.

26,951 words   AO3

                                                   Modern

Accidental Love

(11:35) Hey, so I was thinking...if you hit me with a motorcycle, that means you're like, at least over sixteen.

(11:36) What the fuck?

Or Lance and Keith meet under accidental circumstances.

30,919 words   AO3

The Customer is Always (a) Right (asshole)

Keith has been working at this huge department store for three years now. He's not particularly good at it. In fact he's awful. He knows he is, and the customers seem to have no problem telling him this. He needs help.

Maybe this new guy who seems to have a natural talent for customer service will be able to give him some tips.

20,276 words   AO3

Shades of Purple

Lance McClain finds his safe haven and comfort online under the username blu97 on a messenger website called UniverseChat. There he meets a person under the username 1redrebel. Smart, charming, and having an amazing sense of humour, they pull Lance in immediately.

But what he doesn't know is that the intriguing person behind the handle is someone that he could never imagine being with in a million years; Keith Kogane. An arrogant, impulsive, hot head at his school, who he doesn't exactly like.

32,504 words   AO3

Keith's Type

“How would anyone notice what anyone else’s type is in the middle of all this?!” Matt demanded, laughing. “What’s Keith’s type?” Lance blurted out like an idiot.

“It’s… obvious,” Pidge said.

“He gets all flustered over shitty puns and most physical comedy. And have you seen the way he stares at Hunk when he’s going on about the mechanics of something? Like how the lions work? I’ve literally seen him blushing when Hunk goes into explanation mode.”

“So, you think he has a crush on Hunk?” Lance squawked.

“No. You bonehead,” Pidge laughed.

“I’m saying any dad-joke-telling, klutzoid with good grades has probably got a pretty good shot at Keith.”

24,050 words   AO3

Of booty shorts and Injuries

Keith is sure that he’s having a heart attack. Or that he hurt his brain when he fell earlier. Because it’s simply not possible that the boy who’s sitting next to him is not a hallucination. How could someone so gorgeous just sit in an emergency room at night?"Keith and Lance unexpectantly meet at the emergency room in the middle of the night.

23,862 words   AO3

The Bet

Something about the casual way Lance spoke to him, with easy grins and direct words that made Keith feel comfortable, but at the same time put him on edge.

Like he wasn’t supposed to be feeling this ok around someone, not him. Keith, who barely had friends until college, shouldn’t have someone who could coax him into such a sense of security that he found himself agreeing to do things he’d never thought he’d do.

35,847 words   AO3

at least i've got you in my head

Sleepovers always killed Keith, mostly because being in the same bed as Lance broke his heart every single time. But who was he to say no to his best friend? He'd do whatever he could to be this close to Lance.

He was hopelessly in love with a boy he could never be with. No matter how much he pined and wanted, Keith and Lance would never be together.But Keith didn't care too much, because he'd suffer a million broken hearts just to have the opportunity to be Lance's best friends for as long as the two of them were breathing.

It was painful, one of the worst pains he'd ever experienced, but he'd do it for him. Lance meant that much to him.He was just so damn in love.It broke his heart.

26,243 words   AO3

The Mark of a Lion

Lance has finally saved up enough money to get the tattoo he's been dreaming of for ages, but there is one slight problem. He has no idea where to go for it. So he decides to put his faith in his childhood and current best friend Hunk who recommends him to his neighbor, a great tattoo artist. However, Hunk failed to mention two very important details before Lance went down to the shop: a) he is extremely attractive and completely Lance's type and b) he's a total prick.

The bakery door burst open as Lance marched in with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance marring his normally carefree face. He stomped over to the counter, glad that for once the sweet shop was relatively empty because he had a few strong words to say to the man behind the counter.

“Hunk, what the hell?! How could you let me go in blind like that? I thought that you of all people, my padawan, would know to give a guy a fucking warning!” “Lance, be quiet! And what are you talking about? Did you not like his designs or something?” Lance snorted. “His designs! No, they were gorgeous and guess what? SO, IS HE! You didn’t tell me he was hot!”

20,842 words   AO3

Mail me your Heart (you already got it)

Lance has a hopeless crush on someone who doesn't notice him and goes to his internet friend—Red—for support. Meanwhile, Keith thinks he has no chance with his online friend—Blue—because Blue likes somebody else.

Things are complicated until they’re not, and they find what they're looking for in each other.

20,657 words   AO3

Hold Me Now (Warm My Heart)

“You’re sticking me with a newbie!?” Lance squawks. “Shiro, my guy, you must be joking. A newbie is going to triple my work tonight. I’ll be running around like crazy while trying to teach some slack-jaw to count by fives. I swear, if you…”

“I’ll try not to slow you down too much.”

Keith is a loner who’s had trouble keeping a job for longer than a couple of months. Lance is an exuberant flirt who gets on his last nerve in his latest workplace….and then, not so much.

16978 words   AO3

darling just hold on

Hunk warned him from the start that something was off about this guy. Lance, of course, didn't listen. Not until he ran into the boy whose pictures he had been sent.

Or

It isn't the first time Keith has had to deal with someone using his profile pictures to catfish someone. It is the first time he falls for the catfish-ee, though.

15,862 words   AO3

[perlocutionary]

Morning Glory pt. 1 - The Maze Runner - Thomas au

Description: Based off the original story of The Maze Runner, where Y/N has been around a long time and she and Thomas might be the key out of here. Relationship: Thomas x Reader - THE MAZE RUNNER

Title:  Who’s Thomas? Word count: 1825

A/N: Somewhere, a long time ago, I started out with a Thomas one shot that ended up in my own version of The Maze Runner. Snips and bits are taken from the original story (as are the characters) but with a twist of my own. There will be a lot of smut in here.

PART 2 

For three whole days I had been coped up in the small space I’d started calling my office over a little year ago. I had been away from all my friends, continuously working or sleeping. If they didn’t bring my food to me, I probably wouldn’t have eaten. All because Alby thought it was necessary to re-inventory everything.

I'm not very subtle when I loudly let my tray of food clatter against the worn out wooden table. I'm annoyed, aggravated, and I'm sick of everyone eyeing me like I have grown two heads overnight. All I want is to be left alone and eat my breakfast in peace. Although if you asked me twenty-four hours ago, I would’ve been craving some social interaction. But after I realized I had made a big mistake which would cause me to hunch over the papers for several more hours – maybe even a day – I had lost any desire to speak to anyone. Everyone just needed to leave me the fuck alone – just for now. I know it won't happen though as soon as Alby appears in the dining room, his eyes casting over everyone present - but searching for me.  "Ah, Y/N. There you are. We have some matters to attend." I kick my feet against a table leg as I groan out. "Now what? You know, Alby, I also have a job I am supposed to attend. The one you are continuously keeping me from." A few snickers from the surrounding people fill my ears and I'm quick to send a glare their way. Silence immediately flutters among them and without a word, I follow Alby outside along with a sly grin covering my lips.

The silence is deafening after all this time. "Are you going to tell me what this is about?" I pry again, falling into step with one of my best mates as I follow him to where his make shift office is located. "Not before Newt and Minho are present. They are with the new greenie." "Ah yes, a new shipment came in. What's he like?" I dare to question, my curiosity gaining the best of me. A smirk graces his lips at almost an instant. "You're about to find out for yourself. This Gathering is for him." "You're not telling me that this guy already got in trouble on his third day." I speak incredulously; even more curious about what male I'd find in front of me in a few minutes. “I wish I were lying, Y/N.” "Newt!" I instantly cheer up, the newcomer almost completely forgotten as I see his blonde hair wave in the wind a few metres away. His head snaps to where we’re walking, an instant smile growing on his face as he waves. “Y/n! Back from the dead.” As we approach, I let him drape his arm around my shoulder and pull me along to our destination.

“You have no idea what hell I’ve been through and crawled back out from. Alby is a complete monster.” I throw a glare over my shoulder as Alby’s head falls back with loud, boisterous laughter, Newt chuckling beside me as well. “You’re in for a whole other treat then. Thomas broke our number one rule.”

“Who’s Thomas?” I question, not even thinking it through as Alby pushes the large steel door open for me to enter, answering as I stop dead in my tracks. A brunette male occupies the lone chair in front of our tables, his head snapped in our direction at the sounds. “The greenie, Y/n.” Alby laughs as he pushes me fully through, Newt slipping past me and disappearing towards the back.

“I haven’t seen you in so long, I might’ve thought you’ve already died on me.” Minho jokes, snapping me out of my daze – maybe I had been staring at the newcomer for quite a bit too long. I feel the blush creep up my cheeks as I try my best at my well-known smirk, stalking over towards the guy I considered a brother.

“Some protector you’d be if you didn’t come look for me after three days of absence, Min.” My hand smacks against his shoulder and I pull back quickly, worrying I might’ve hurt the poor boy. When a grin breaks out though, a sigh of relief leaves my lips.

“Why am I here?” My attention is pulled back to the boy – Thomas – in the chair in the middle of the room. As I open my mouth to answer, Minho beats me to it. “If I were you, I’d shut it greenie. Otherwise you might have Alby on your ass.” “Stop calling me greenie.”

A chuckle slips past my lips before I can stop it, Minho’s elbow harshly coming into contact with my ribs. “Minho, the fuck?” “Who is the girl? I thought there were only guys here.” The newcomer, Thomas, speaks again and I see Minho clench his teeth beside me. It causes me to lay a hand on his arm to rest, calming him and nodding that I’d take this question. Everyone has been in this position and we should be a bit more understanding.

“There were more girls. Sadly, I am the only one left.” I smile shortly and as Thomas opens his mouth to probably fire a question again, Alby intervenes. “Y/n, shut up. And sit down. This Gathering is starting now.”

“You sure as hell have a big mouth for someone who needs me for almost everything they do, Alby.” Snickers fall out of every other mouth in the room other than Alby, who is red in anger. Hey, if he can’t handle a little bit of teasing, he’s at the wrong address.

Instead of waiting for Alby to retaliate, I drop onto my designated chair and look around the room at all my friends, sitting in their original spots. “I’d like to address the first matter of this Gathering, then.” “And that is?” Minho chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest as he kicks his legs up on the table in front of him.

“Who the fuck is Thomas and why the fuck do you keep me from my work for a Gathering for this boy? I’m intrigued.” I receive a lot of groans from the other boys in the room, Thomas staying quiet throughout the whole ordeal. “What? I would like to be informed of matters before I’m even deciding anything remotely to fuck this boy’s life up. And if none of you even think about visiting me back at the shed…” I make sure to glare at every single one of them, shutting them all up at an instant.

“Fuck my life up? I’ve helped. I may have not listened – but no one else was doing anything.” Thomas intervenes and as soon as I hear his voice, I know it isn’t doing any wonders for the decision made here today. “Greenie, shut the fuck up. And speak when I tell you.” Alby shuts him up immediately, turning to his left, where I am sitting, to look me dead in the eye.

“It doesn’t really matter. You need to know that even though he knew the rules, he broke them. And I vote to banish him from our group.” My eyes widen alongside Thomas’, my eyes flicking to everyone present to see what their thoughts are – Alby was being way too harsh. We have all broken the rules before – even I – and I’m still here, and not banished anywhere.

“Alby what the – no man. You’re going too far with this. He helped me! I could’ve died if he didn’t step in!” Minho immediately counteracts. Every thought coils together in my mind – he helped Minho? What the fuck had happened while I was away?

“Minho has a point, Alby. He did save Minho’s life. I say we cut him some slack.”  Newt adds pointedly, taking a slow sip of his glass of water before glancing towards Thomas. A chatter of arguments broke out among the present males, but I could only focus on Thomas. His whiskey-coloured gaze already transfixed on me.

This man was beautiful. He had something pure about him, and he seemed fearless, even sitting here and facing a possible banishment. I didn’t know what he had done for there to even be demanded a Gathering, but it had to be bad. I would stand by him if he had really saved Minho’s life.

The other guys stood behind Alby, and it came down to me. I know Alby expected me to choose his side, but I just couldn’t. “No banishment. We’re not savages.” “Y/N what the hell man, didn’t you even listen to the arguments?”

“I did. And the only thing I remembered,” I glance back at Thomas, his lips pursed together as he waits for me to speak, “is that he – apparently – saved Minho’s life. That’s enough for me.”

His face heats so quickly I can’t help but utter the rest of my words in a blur. “Alby, calm down. I’ll even make this easier on you – I’ll take him under my wing.” “Girl, you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.” He stands up, shoving his chair backwards before throwing me one last glare. “Hear this and remember it, because if Thomas does anything that doesn’t please our community it’ll be your ass up there contemplating for banishment. Am I understood?”

“Stop trying to scare me Alby – I know how everything works. Don’t worry.” I roll my eyes and stand up, for once taking over the Gathering as if this had been my duty my whole life. “Then I declare this Gathering to be over. Now everyone get the fuck out of my sight I have work to do.”

I’ve never seen them get up so quickly, all of them shuffling towards the door leading outside. “Greenie, be good to our Y/n. I will have your ass hanging from the vines if you don’t.” Minho leaves with one last threat. Leaving Thomas, Newt and I alone in the room.

“This isn’t very promotional for your relationship with Alby, Y/n.” Newt laughs, sighing straight after as he glances towards Thomas again, who was getting up as we watched him. “Sometimes it isn’t just about him, Newt. Sometimes it’s doing what feels right.”

“It helps that he’s hot as well, yeah love?” Newt’s thick accent hits my ear in a whisper and my eyes widen as soon as I slap him in the abdomen. “Newt. I carry professionalism.” “Doesn’t mean I didn’t see you drooling over our greenie, Y/n.” Newt winks before jogging off, just in time for Thomas to approach me.

“You didn’t have to do that. But thanks.” Thomas smiles, only the table separating our two bodies from one another. I grant him a small smile, heading towards the door as soon as I realize what I’m doing. “Get ready for the most dreadful days of your life Thomas, and welcome to mine.”

[insanitysscribblings]

Reyna Writes: Crazy - A Miraculous Christmas Fic

For my partner in crime and Alyadrien shipping, @siderealsandman, I bequeath to you an Alyadrien Christmas fic~

Merry Christmas, babe~ <3

~Reyna

Alya watched the snow dance to the earth, indifferent. As beautiful as the display was, she just wasn’t feeling this Christmas. She didn’t even know why she agreed to come to this party; what was the point when she only knew one person there, who was too busy playing host to everyone else to hang out with her?

She sighed, her breath fogging up the window.

She missed Marinette. As proud as she was of her best friend for moving to New York to pursue her fashion degree, it didn’t change the fact that Alya was unbearably lonely without her here. Especially since their holiday plans had fallen through, with Marinette missing her flight back to Paris due to a massive snowstorm that had hit her adopted city. And with her and Nino giving each other space after their break-up last year, Alya was as far into the holiday blues as she could be. It was official: getting out of her apartment tonight to be around people she didn’t know had been the opposite of what she needed.

‘Screw this,’ she decided, moving away from the window to squeeze her way through the party, which was now in full swing, bodies pressed so close together that she was uncomfortably warm in her sweater. As Alya pushed through the crowd to reach the door, she sent a brief glance Kim’s way, wondering if she should let him know that she was dipping out early…aw, he wouldn’t notice. She’d just send him a text later, thanking him for the invite, even if she didn’t particularly have much fun…

Alya was just reaching the door when it suddenly opened, and she jumped back in surprise.

“Oh, sorry,” said the stranger as he stood in the doorway, looking sheepish. Alya spared him a brief glance before she edged around him.

“No problem,” she mumbled, just ready to leave. “Merry Christmas.”

She got to the front step before her shoulder was suddenly seized. She turned, scowling at the sudden contact. Who the hell did this guy think he was?

“Ah,” said the stranger, blinking green eyes as if he was surprised; he released her shoulder to ruffle the back of his blonde head. “Sorry. I just…you look familiar…”

Alya adjusted her glasses, squinting at him. …Huh…now that he mentioned it…

“…Adrien?” She gasped, once her mind actually made the connection, gawking at him now. “Adrien Agreste?”

“Alya Cesaire?” Adrien asked in turn, and when Alya nodded, his face broke into a miracle grin, warming his angular face and helping Alya see past the man to the boy she once knew. “Oh wow! I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since we graduated collége, yeah!” Alya finished for him, laughing breathlessly at the pleasant surprise. As she eyed him up and down, she added, “Well, you haven’t seen me, but I’ve certainly seen you, M. International Supermodel. What’re you doing slumming it with us commoners? Shouldn’t you be at a fabulous fashion soirée somewhere, not eating the decadent hors d’oeuvres?”

Adrien cringed, still somehow looking handsome despite the anguished expression.

“I decided to skip that this year,” he admitted, burying his hands in the pockets of his designer jacket. “I kinda wanna eat this Christmas.” He glanced over his shoulder, and then blinked down at Alya. “Are you leaving?”

“Ah, yeah,” Alya admitted with a shrug, tugging her scarf a little tighter around her. “It’s a little too wild in there for me. But you go ahead and enjoy. There are a couple old faces in there I’m sure would be thrilled to see you.”

Adrien glanced over his shoulder again, and then back down to her. She smiled when she met his eyes. It was nice to see him in person again…maybe she’d send him a message over Facebook sometime so they could get reacquainted properly the next time he was in town…

Adrien stared at her for a long moment…and then, to Alya’s surprise, he stepped back outside, shutting the door behind him.

“Wanna go get coffee?” He asked with a hopeful smile, the tip of his nose already turning rosy from the cold. Alya stared at him in utter disbelief…and then she smiled, feeling a rush of gratitude for the kindness that seemed to stay with Adrien, despite the years that had passed.

“I’d love to.”

“Really? You and Nino aren’t…together?”

Alya made a face over her mug. She really didn’t want to rehash, but…

“We had a good run,” she pointed out, sipping at her latte as Adrien sat across from her, staring as if he had just been informed that Santa Clause did not exist. “And we’re still friends. We’re just giving each other some space for the holidays. Cuffing season, y’know.”

Adrien’s brow furrowed. Alya pursed her lips. How did his skin manage to remain perfect when he made faces like that? She was going to have to learn his secret before she went home.

“Cuffing season?” He asked, the phrase obviously foreign to him. Alya smirked at his innocence.

“You know how you see more couples than you usually do around the holidays?”

“I guess?”

“That’s because it’s cuffing season. No one wants to be alone during the cold months, so they jump at anyone who’s even remotely interested, and they stay together until the spring, only to break up as soon as it gets warm so they can find someone more suitable. Hence, the end of cuffing season. Although,” Alya said, interrupting her explanation as she eyed Adrien up and down, “I doubt you’ve had this problem. Any girl you date is probably looking to stay with you for life. On that note, make sure you always wear a condom. Some girls out here will trap you by getting pregnant, you know.”

Adrien turned an interesting shade of red. It was kind of cute.

“Uh, anyway,” he said, changing the subject after he cleared his throat, “how’s Marinette?”

“She’s good. Stuck in New York for the holiday, but I doubt she minds too much, since her boyfriend also happens to live in New York,” Alya said, making a face. Lucky bastard, getting to spend Christmas with Marinette.

“Oh, she’s seeing someone?” Adrien asked, and Alya was bleakly amused at his surprise.

“Well you didn’t expect her to wait around for you forever, did you?” She teased. Adrien stared at her, and belatedly, it occurred to Alya that maybe this was a can she shouldn’t have opened. Whoops.

“…You mean,” he began slowly, as if piecing together a puzzle that was only causing him so much difficulty because he was looking at it upside-down, “that Marinette—”

“—Had a huge crush on you in collége, yes,” Alya finished for him. A part of her felt bad, divulging this long-kept secret to the object of affection himself, but hey, enough time had passed where she figured it was safe to talk about it. It wasn’t as if Marinette was still hung up on the guy anyway, if her letters about her new beau were any indication.

Silence filled the air as Alya sipped at her coffee, watching the snow fall. After a couple minutes, Adrien spoke.

“I didn’t know,” he admitted, his voice quiet. Alya turned to him with a dry look.

“I know you didn’t know,” she assured him flatly. “Everyone but you knew. You took ‘obliviousness’ to a whole new level, and frankly, I was kind of miffed at you for not noticing. I know it wasn’t your fault,” she prefaced when Adrien began to look troubled, “but Marinette’s my best friend, so I’m obligated to be upset on her behalf.”

“Um…sorry?” Adrien said awkwardly. Alya laughed, waving away the apology.

“Don’t sweat it. It was a long time ago; we’re cool.” She set down her mug, eyeing the model across from her once again. “So? Who’s occupying your bed nowadays? A girlfriend? A casual hook-up?”

Adrien’s blush deepened. Red was a good color on him, Alya mused.

“Ahem. Uh, no,” Adrien replied after a flustered moment of him getting himself together. He raised his mug, mumbling shyly behind it, “there’s no one in my life like that.”

Alya stared at him.

He wasn’t serious, was he?

“Seriously? You’re not seeing anybody? You?” She shook her head in disbelief. “That’s not possible, you’re way too hot to be single.”

Her candid comment made Adrien choke on his coffee; she had to lean forward and thump him on the back to help him clear his air passage. Once he could breathe again, Adrien mopped his chin with a napkin, looking more embarrassed than he had all night. Alya relished it; she doubted many people were able to see him so ungraceful. She kind of wished she could take a picture without him noticing.

His next comment cut through her smugness: “I could say the same about you.”

Alya blinked, and then stared at him.

…Did Adrien Agreste just say that? To her?

He wasn’t looking at her, his face as red as a candy cane, still rubbing at his mouth with the napkin, though it looked as if it was an unconscious gesture at this point. He glanced over at her after a moment, and his blush grew. …Intriguing…

“…Well,” she said, choosing to take the comment in stride, “thank you. But I’m not a supermodel, unlike some people I know.” She gave him a pointed look, and he grinned sheepishly. “Besides, it’s Christmas Eve. Your ignorance of cuffing season aside, don’t you naturally just hate being alone this time of year?”

Adrien took his time answering this time, contemplating his mug as if he was watching an interesting program occurring within the liquid. After a few moments of silence, his gaze flicked up, meeting hers.

“…But I’m not alone,” he pointed out, nodding to her when Alya took a moment to understand his meaning. She considered that, finding herself smiling without meaning to.

“I guess not,” she agreed, lifting her mug to clink it against his.

Before Alya knew it, it was four in the morning. She blinked at her phone when she eyed the time, certain that couldn’t be correct. After all, there was no way she had spent the whole entire night walking around Paris and talking with Adrien Agreste, right? There was no way she found herself drawn in by him and his smiles and stories, laughing at his stupid puns and bantering back and forth with him all night…there was no way she found herself walking close with him, accepting the warmth of his arm when she shivered in the cold, making a competition out of catching snowflakes with their tongues…there was no way that this was real. That this was possible.

Was there?

“Alya?”

She jumped, startled by the hand that brushed past her cheek, somehow warming her skin more effectively than any hot beverage. She glanced over from where she leaned over the fence overlooking the Seine, gazing wryly at the model beside her as he reclined against the fence. What, was he constantly posing out of habit or something?

“What?” She asked him, wondering if he had asked her a question and she had missed it, too wrapped up in her own thoughts to pay attention. She watched as Adrien’s brow furrowed, his eyes intense as he studied her. Suddenly, she found it difficult to look him in the eye.

“You just look like you’re worried about something,” he said after a moment. Alya’s lips twisted. She never was good about hiding her emotions.

“It’s nothing,” she lied initially, not wanting to make a big deal out of this for more reasons than one, all of them complicated. But when Adrien kept staring, she sighed in defeat. She didn’t know why, but…it felt wrong to lie to him. Maybe it was his innocence. “It’s just…”

“Yes?” He prompted when she paused, leaning closer to her. His proximity was like a physical touch; Alya let out a huff, watching her breath mist over in the cold before she finally made herself turn to face him. After all, she was never one to avoid things; if she couldn’t face difficult situations head-on, then she would never get anything done.

“…Are we crazy?” She asked after looking at him for a long moment, searching his eyes. There was something there…something she had witnessed growing all night, the later they stayed out, the longer they talked, the closer they got. She knew he felt it too, this…thing…between them, which was why she said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, because it couldn’t be just her. He felt it too, she could see it.

The question was: what were they going to do about it?

The thing twinkled in Adrien’s eyes, all but acknowledged. He blinked slowly, searching her face just as intently as she had searched his. The air seemed to still around them, the early morning holding its breath, waiting for them to teeter one way or the other…

“…I don’t think so,” he replied at last, lifting and dropping a shoulder, as if it was the most casual thing in the world to admit that there was a spark between them. “I mean, I get it—it does feel crazy…” He dropped his gaze for a moment, and then glanced up at her through his lashes. Alya felt her heart thump unevenly, and she wanted to scowl. He was doing this on purpose, wasn’t he?

“…But it’s a good kind of crazy, isn’t it?” He finished quietly, as if he was afraid of disturbing the hush of the morning.

For probably the first time in her life, Alya hesitated. After all, this was seven thousand kinds of complicated: not only had Adrien been the love of Marinette’s life at one point, but he had also been Nino’s best friend, and they still kept in regular contact, as far as Alya knew. To do this—to actually even consider what she was thinking—felt like two types of betrayal to people she loved.

But on the other hand, to deny something like this—to betray her own heart—

Adrien interrupted her internal debate; his hand touched her face, his thumb sliding across her cheek. Alya felt her eyes close, her head tipping back automatically as she felt his breath on her lips—

His lips were warm, soft, and inviting, and as Alya melted into the kiss, she felt herself surrender. Even if this meant she would have to have a couple potentially awkward conversations with her friends later, she knew that in this moment, in this kiss, that there was something between her and Adrien Agreste. Something that had the potential to be amazing, if she would let it.

When they parted for air, Alya opened her eyes, finding that Adrien’s were still closed, his face flushed deeper than the cold was responsible for. As she watched, his eyes slowly opened, and the warmth there…well, Alya felt that her knees might turn to jelly. But she wasn’t about to let him know that.

“…” A slow smile stretched across Adrien’s face. “Wow.”

Alya laughed. ‘Wow’ indeed.

Somewhere nearby, a bird chirped. Alya glanced up, surprised to find that the sky was beginning to lighten. Dawn was coming.

“C’mon,” Adrien said, straightening up and sliding an arm around her. “I’ll walk you home.”

“What a gentleman,” Alya teased him, willingly sinking into his warmth. Well, not a bad way to spend Christmas in her book. Not a bad way at all.

[artificialqueens]

caught in the way you got me (raven x manila) - goneawaygirl

David is electric, Raven’s poise and possession radiating to reach Karl. It’s careless, and Karl feels so fucking delicate, with David looking like he’s here to break him just because he can.

a/n:  bitch you THOUGHT I was finished with magical realism. anyway, here’s an All-Stars 1 fic set in the “queens are literal magic” universe, and based around that first shocking Untucked. thanks @dylann for the constructive hollering.

Cw: smoking; irresponsible kai kai, marry, kill; exhibitionism; and Willam being Willam

“I would fuck you.”

There’s a collective breath between Raven and Manila that takes too much time to exhale. Manila is acutely aware of the four crew members in the room - especially the boom hanging directly over them, and the stedicam focused on her face. This is contrived - product placements mandated, and at least one queen needing to reapply lash glue, and pots being stirred as much as cocktails. And above everything, this ridiculous, orchestrated “fuck, marry, kill” is going to be broadcast on national television.

Yes, it will be edited to hell and back, but they can’t put words in Manila’s mouth. That’s all her.

So Manila rolls her eyes, huffs out a laugh, and repairs the air.

“All of y’all can die, and then I’ll just fuck myself.”

And the room breaks into laughter, led by Latrice’s tension-shattering holler. Jujubee snickers so much that she snorts, and Manila plays it up, waving her hands in front her face in mock-disgust. If she’s being honest, it’s one of her better punchlines, so she’s going to milk it for all it’s worth. Those cameras are going to be on her, so she’s going to be on.

Raven seems to have had an opposite strategy thus far, though. Manila hasn’t seen her off-camera yet, but her boy and girl persona are almost…low energy isn’t the word, but maybe reserved. Manila can’t help thinking that Raven is always holding something back in both bodies, even though she has no trouble speaking her mind.

“You’d fuck her if she kept her mouth shut,” Willam says dryly from where he’s holding the damn pink box, and that sends Juju into a whole new spiral of laughter.

Maybe it’s just the crackle of intrigue and shit-stirring induced by this ridiculous game, but Manila has to wrench herself away from focusing on Raven, who isn’t laughing as she lounges back against the Form Decor tm couch, inclining toward Willam. Raven’s smiling, but it’s that silent, secretive smile that isn’t for anyone else’s benefit. But Manila bites her cheek, and when she brushes past Raven to head back to the queens on the bottom, she tries not to notice the low there you go as Raven puts a hand on the small of her back to steady her.

————

Karl is fucking restless. Even more so than the first time around — there are so many more rules this time about how they have to check in with the coordinators, how much time they can spend outside the hotel, even when they can use the laundry room. Fucking Willam. Now they can’t have anything nice, or even remotely autonomous.

The thin, cotton-candy-faded duvet is too much for the stifling heat and cabin fever that Karl’s already developing, so he tapes a note on the door and heads to the fire escape at the end of the hall.

Apparently, it’s the only fucking place they’re allowed, because Chad and Gabriel are already there, smoking voraciously. They smile, so Karl smiles back and wills his nerdy, asthmatic, couldn’t-play-sports-as-a-kid lungs to keep their cool.

“I can’t believe Willam was allowed back on set,” Chad says as he stubs out the cigarette, and Karl laughs, and then immediately coughs. Gabriel drops his cigarette, and pats Karl on the back in a little lo siento, pero what do you expect, darling gesture that both comforts and condescends.

“I’m going to fucking sleep off this motherfucking day,” Gabriel groans. “Happy to see you putas here, love you. But I gotta fucking sleep.”

“Mm, yeah,” Chad acknowledges, with one last look out over the parking lot before he turns to follow Gabriel. “She’s gotta have it.“

“Ok, I get it!” Karl says, and he’s struck, yet again, with the image of being last on the bench, pretending to study the grooves of the wood as he watches everyone else so far ahead of and above him. “Leave me out here to overanalyze!”

“Bitch, you won. Be happy,” Chad laughs, squeezes Karl’s shoulder, and holds the door open for Gabe and himself. Karl doesn’t miss the way the words are underlined by Chad’s own turn in the bottom. Maybe Chad’s too tired to give it to Karl, but he knows there’s more than an encouraging rebuke on the queen’s tongue.

Karl walks the five feet to the railing, and steadies his torso on it. The door slams shut, and immediately opens again - probably Chad feeling a little guilty, and back to give him some of that much-coveted wisdom.

“Well, this is a sight.”

Karl immediately tenses at the soft drawl, and the spark of a lighter.

Great, Karl thinks, turning around as leisurely as he can.

“Talk about a sight,” Karl says, the words out of his mouth before he has the wherewithal to stop them. David is leaning away from the door in a dark long-sleeve pushed up to his elbows, and it seems incongruous with the dry mid-September heat. His face is lit from the orange glow cupped in his hands.

David doesn’t look at Karl as he puts the lighter in his pocket and takes a drag, instead staring past the parking lot, and to the blurring reds and whites of the I-10 freeway. When he finally exhales, it’s thicker than Karl expected it to be, and he instinctually takes a step away from its trajectory.

Which means he’s diagonal from David, and in his haste to escape another coughing fit, he’s missed the shift of David’s gaze. He’s watching Karl with an impassive stare, his arms crossed, cigarette between two fingers, and Karl notes how his shirt is just long enough to show off his forearm sleeve.  

“Did that hurt?” Karl asks, gesturing toward the tattoos.

“You don’t like smokers?” David shifts, resting against the door. Karl is a little bemused, but he supposes it’s a rhetorical question to a rhetorical question. Karl has never liked rhetorical questions.

“Second-hand isn’t really my jam,” Karl shrugs. “Sorry, I guess that was stupid. Of course they hurt.”

David shrugs right back, taking another drag, and then blowing it away from Karl before dropping the cigarette.

“Worth it,” David says. “You don’t have any?”

“Are you kidding?” Karl laughs, then sweeps into a kind of self-indicative half-curtsy that he immediately regrets. He rights himself self-consciously, shuffling a hand through his hair. “I don’t think I have anything I would want to go through that kind of pain for. I’ve heard it’s like a cat that just keeps scratching.”

“I don’t know you that well,” David says, looking at Karl with some skepticism, like he’s searching for evidence of a hidden tattoo. “I was…refraining from judgment? It’s this new thing I’m trying.”

Karl snorts, and David cocks his head slightly. It’s bait, but it’s such irresistible bait, and Karl is always distracted by shiny things.

“How’s that working out for you?”

For a second, David’s only reaction is to stare, but then he cracks into a laugh, a murmured bitch under his breath, and Karl feels like he’s been granted some sort of beatitude for breaking David’s facade.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Karl says. “You gotta stop with that look. It’s unnerving.”

David looks taken aback for a moment, and he pushes himself up from the door with some sort of momentum to object. But maybe the wind changes, or there’s some sort of tiny, freak electrical storm, because the air between them is suddenly five times as volatile, and David settles into a stance that reminds Karl of why he never concerns himself with trying to get close to Raven.

She’s so self-assured that it comes off as arrogant - cold, really, and that kind of attitude just doesn’t mix well with Manila. Not fire and ice, per se - just two completely different elements of expression. Neither cancels out the other, but they stay in their separate corners for the most part.

And it’s not that Karl doubts his own style of artistry when it comes to Manila. She is a creation that’s entirely reliant on him, and their frequent successes are each others’. But sometimes, when he is forced to stand next to someone like David, aggressively steady and sure of his effect in any gender, there’s this surge of unease and expectation that he doesn’t know how to combat.

“Stop that,” Karl says, quietly. “You know you’re doing it again, creep.” He turns back to the balcony, and rests on his forearms. He tries to make himself focus on the traffic, the lights of the city, the asphalt - anything other than the knowledge of David walking toward him, curving around him, and stopping a foot away from Karl.

David turns so that his back against the railing, and Karl knows that he’s just making himself comfortable. He’s resting on his elbows, looking down on Karl. Casually watching, like his gaze just happened to alight on Karl, and he might as well look.

“Whatever you say.”

Karl doesn’t want to meet his gaze, but for once, he lets himself be drawn rather than repelled. And he’s not disappointed.

David is electric, Raven’s poise and possession radiating to reach Karl. It’s careless, and Karl feels so fucking delicate, with David looking like he’s here to break him just because he can.

“Or you could not say anything,” David shifts his weight, running a hand over Karl’s shoulder, up to the nape of his neck. Karl shudders, moving in slightly to the touch, but his head snaps up.

“Are you fucking serious? Willam ruins every –”

He’s cut off by David pulling him up into a kiss, and the way his body reacts immediately is downright desperate. He curves toward David, whose hands go to his neck and the small of his back, pressing them against one another. And Karl has no real choice but to let himself be supported.

David kisses the same way he moves through the world - with utter confidence. And Karl can’t really blame him, though he can be a little upset that David hasn’t made some sort of deal with the devil. As far as Karl knows, that is.

David moves to kissing his jaw, and then he’s spinning them, pressing Karl’s hands to grip the railing of the balcony.

“I’m going to say this once,” David says smoothly, not a fucking hint of exertion in his voice. “You make noise when I tell you to. We’re not getting caught.”

The railing cuts uncomfortably against Karl’s abdomen, and he lets out a small whine before David’s hand is over his mouth.

“That is, assuming you want this,” David states, leaning down to speak into Karl’s ear. It sounds like an assertion, but Karl realizes that he’s pausing, leaving space for Karl to give a clear yes or no.

A thousand things flash through Karl’s mind - not the least of which is the 100,000 dollars just out of his sight. But the most immediate picture is David warm and solid against his back, and somehow, it feels like a window of opportunity that Karl hasn’t recognized before.

Karl nods.

“Yeah, thought so,” David says, and it would rankle Karl if he had any room to disagree. But seeing as he’s already slightly weak-kneed when David wraps an arm around his torso, he can’t really object.

The next thing he knows, David has pressed him back against the door with a muffled thud, and Karl’s disoriented, with David’s hands on his hips and his mouth on the join of Karl’s neck and shoulder, pressing kisses that are jarringly light.

Karl has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing, but his chest shakes a little with the effort, and David pulls away.

“Are you that fucking sensitive, bitch?”

Karl’s about to launch into a full-on diatribe about how sensitivity and ticklishness are not the same thing, but David’s thumbs digging into his hips is enough to remind him of their situation, so he, again, just nods.

“Figures,” David sighs, but then he’s pulling down the wide strap of Karl’s tank top, and is using teeth and tongue with an intensity that’s dizzying.

Karl doesn’t have time to be ticklish, or loud, or even all that conscious of how he usually responds. He just arches into David and prays that he won’t have any marks that he can’t cover up in the morning.

David’s hands move to Karl’s ass, pulling him to grind against David, and Karl swallows with a dry mouth. David’s hard, and Karl is sure that he’s already sweating profusely from the way that prickle of arousal has turned into a full-body experience, starting from the crown of his head and flowing to his fingertips.

Apparently, David has a thing for Karl’s ass, because he’s fucking kneading it, and Karl has so many jokes that he would normally be indulging in. Because, when it comes down to it, sex is fun for Karl - it’s silly and it’s odd and yes, loud, and messy. And for someone who was so uncomfortable with how his body was supposed to be perceived for so many years, Karl is now firmly in charge of how it interacts with others.

Right now, though, he wishes they could be in one of their rooms, on a bed, without having to dig his teeth into his lip. He wants David to hear him, and he wants to hear David.

The thought of David unable to control his own noises combines with one of David’s hands moving to squeeze at the front of Karl’s shorts, and Karl lets out a hard puff of air against David’s cheek. He congratulates himself on the restraint because not a second later, footfalls are audible on the other side of the door.

They both freeze, but don’t move away from one another, and for what seems like an eternity, Karl is hyperfocused on two things: the stumble of feet, and all the places on his body David is pressing against. Karl knows they should separate, but it’s so tempting to instead push David’s shirt up, and draw even closer. Karl has seen those abs – kind of hard not to when David has already spent half the time in the workroom shirtless.

The steps stall near the door, and then another pair joins them, accompanied by a cackle that Karl doesn’t recognize. And then there are two voices speaking Spanish and Karl relaxes a touch. It’s Nina and Alexis. Sure, it would be embarrassing for them to walk through that door, but they’re not about to rat a sister out.

Karl is close to suggesting that he and David just join them, when David starts unzipping Karl’s shorts. Karl whips back to look at him, and he hopes he’s shooting fucking laser beams out of his eyes, because this is, full stop, a bad idea.

David merely smiles, and presses to Karl’s ear.

“You keep quiet, and keep your weight against the door. They’ll think it’s locked. Got it?”

It’s the lowest David’s voice has ever been, and that stupid confidence must be fucking infectious, because instead of pushing David away, Karl covers David’s hand and nods. He doesn’t trust his ability to whisper.

And then, instead of going for the handjob that is still, surely, a bad idea but would be easy enough to recover from, David is sinking to his fucking knees, working Karl’s cock out of his boxers. Again, David looks up at Karl for a moment, waiting for him, and his eyes are dark and his mouth is shiny and wet, and Karl puts both hands in David’s hair and just breathes.

Please.

David gets the message.

It takes a lot more effort than Karl wants to acknowledge to stifle himself. But most of that is absolutely David’s fault, and despite the ridiculous precarity of their situation, Karl is certain that David does, in fact, want to experience Karl’s loss of control.

Karl’s not going to give that buried desire any satisfaction, so he alternates between tugging at David’s hair, and digging his nails into the palm of his own hand and David’s shoulders.

Even with one ear turned toward the possibility of catastrophe, Karl has no choice but to admire the way David looks on his knees. The lights from the parking lot and the pool below them mix to cast David in smudges of blue and white, and Karl’s breath catches in his throat, envisioning him as a gas lamp angel, dissolving into the night.

Karl has to push his hands through David’s short hair just to remind himself that David is there, that he’s not going anywhere. Karl certainly isn’t moving when David is working him, indolently and too slowly to be anything other than a tease. But Karl can’t communicate like he normally does; can’t urge him with promises of what he’ll do for David in the aftermath. So he bucks forward, only for David to pull away, receding into shadow.

Karl nearly groans, but catches himself, and slowly, quietly settles back against the door. And David reemerges, looking for all the world like every man of which Karl had ever told himself (rightly) to steer clear. He looks smug, vibrating with a low, selfish energy. Like he’s going to take his goddamn time, especially if it kills Karl.

And that just about flips a switch.

When Karl thinks about it later, catching himself staring a little too fixatedly as David paints in the workroom mirror, he’ll try to justify it as the necessary choice, given their circumstance. That it was a reasonable incentive, equally pleasurable for both of them. But when he’s being the hardest on himself, he’ll remember that well of determination and satisfaction that pushes him to reach for David, run his thumbs over David’s cheekbones, and just let him feel how much Karl is not messing around.

As warmth passes from Karl’s fingertips, David’s eyes unfocus. He looks in Karl’s direction with this glazed, dreamy expression that is so unlike anything Karl has ever seen play across David’s face. It’s overwhelming for Karl to see him this relaxed - Karl can’t imagine what it is for David.

But then David blinks, shakes his head like he’s dislodging something and the fog clears. David stares at Karl for a moment, and there’s something clicking almost audibly in David’s mind. His hands are on the backs of Karl’s thighs, mouth around his cock in a matter of seconds, and this time he’s actively bringing Karl further into his mouth and close to the edge as they both dare.

Now Karl does have to focus most of his energy on keeping his mouth shut, an occasional hiss issuing out of him. David is, predictably, incredible, and even with this faster pace, everything feels intentional. As soon as Karl’s nails are digging into David’s shoulders, David is moaning around him, low enough to be nearly inaudible, but his eyes are fixed on Karl’s face and Karl hates him for it. Hates that he’s effectively gagging himself and still finding a way to wreck Karl and Karl can’t say a word, can’t breathe, can’t keep himself focused on anything other than that insane mouth and those unrelenting eyes.

It’s not as if Karl has ever considered himself to be a particularly vindictive person - he doesn’t believe in vengeance, and has never thought anyone profited from spite. It doesn’t do anything good for a complexion. But there’s something in David’s ability to render Karl all but useless that hits a nerve; that keeps hitting a nerve.

So where Karl would usually just give in, he finds the indecency to hold out, letting David work him with an obscene grace. David pulls back for just a moment, his hands moving from Karl’s ass to trace under his tank to his hipbones, and when he takes Karl again, it’s so excruciatingly slowly that Karl’s hands rise to fist in David’s hair.

It’s that final glance between them that does it. Karl’s head knocks back against the door, his eyes closing, and if he had any presence of mind to spare, he would curse himself for the luxurious heat he sends to envelop David as he comes. But as it is, he’s a little caught up in the burgeoning warmth that threatens to send him past consciousness, and he’s relieved to impart some of it.

When Karl opens his eyes again, it’s to David wiping the corner of his mouth with his shirtsleeve. There’s a gold patina to him, settling into his skin, and Karl is caught between berating himself for his lack of control, and marvelling at how well is suits David. The glow dims as David stands, sliding Karl to the side to briefly open the door, then shut it with a satisfied grunt.

“You’re a good team player,” David says, coming back to face Karl. “Wouldn’t have been a bad choice.”

For a split second, Karl is puzzled, but he nods. Right. All-Stars. Teams. 100K.

“Is this your strategy with Juju, too?” Karl’s voice is curiously raspy - strained without the use. David shakes his head, absently watching his own movements as he runs a hand up Karl’s side. Karl shivers unnecessarily, David’s knuckles catching the notches of his ribs.

“She wouldn’t have been able to shut up, and we both know it,” David says. Karl is pleasantly surprised at the smile in his voice - the smooth tone turning light and teasing. “Besides, we’ve never seen each other that way.”

“And how do you think I see you?”

David’s hand stops its wanderings, falling to David’s side as he looks at Karl pointedly.

“As someone you hope you get another chance at.”

Karl nearly protests, but David doesn’t give him the time, instead opening the door and slipping into the hallway. Karl gapes after the click of the door, and the night air, finally clear of smoke, rushes into his lungs.

Square…not square one. Square B?

Karl squeezes his eyes shut, letting himself get a little dizzy, then shakes out his hands, hoping it somehow empties him of the last vestiges of an insane day.

Tomorrow’s a new everything, and he’s got a win under his belt. If this is David’s way of trying to intimidate him…no. Karl opens his eyes and shoos the thought away. This is something else entirely, and he’s got to table it.

Just because Raven’s an enigma doesn’t mean Manila has to be the fucking Nancy Drew of drag. Shangela’s got that one covered.

Karl opens the door to the flickering and buzzing of fluorescent lights, and he thinks he hears a door shut decisively at the other end of the hallway. It snaps at Karl’s attention, insisting on a consideration, but he shakes his head.

Square Zero. Square Nothing.

__ __ __ __

The second Untucked is heavy - gut-wrenching and emotionally twisting, and Manila has too many buried memories that surface to be concerned with Raven taking the seat next to her.

But then she’s crying, and watching Yara sob, and Raven’s hand is around her, practically pulling Manila into her body with a command that’s compassionate enough to spook Manila. But Raven is warm, and her palm is gentle against Manila’s shoulder, and Manila lets her reservations dissipate enough to lean in.

Raven’s breath is quiet and steady against Manila’s ear, and Manila’s hand (that isn’t occupied with a snotty tissue) travels to Raven’s knee. And it’s just enough heat to melt spun sugar, but Raven’s hand tightens against Manila’s shoulder.

Her last round of tears are drying, and Manila inhales, exhaling another, sweeter wave toward Raven.

Thank you.

And then, in the space of a heartbeat.

I want my second chance.

Manila feels, rather than sees, the intake of breath - the little silent gasp from Raven. Raven’s hand relaxes, but she doesn’t let go. Manila’s shoulders shake a little with one last dry sob, the excess of emotional exhaustion, and it doesn’t matter that the cameras are capturing every tear, and it doesn’t matter that the ratings are based around their toil because she feels a faint, shy reply.

You can have it.

[petersvibes]

end up here - peter parker

anonymous asked: Hi! Do you think you could write an Imagines with Peter based on end up here by 5sos? It’s totally ok if you don’t want too! Thanks and I love ur writing!!

song: end up here - 5 seconds of summer 

pairing: peter parker x fem!reader

warnings: none 

author’s note: I’M SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG IT’S JUST. i was struggling ngl. i’m in high school now but when i was 12 this song used 👏🏾to 👏🏾 bang👏🏾. i mean BANG. haven’t listened to it in a long time so i was lacking some inspiration. if you want to hear about my 5sos stories i’ll gladly dish. this is also p short but i have my reasons. 

You thrive in settings like this, where the music is loud enough to drown out all of your sorrows and the relationships you forge are superficial. People don’t care enough to know you at a party; they care about the your body, the way you act, and you’ve definitely learned how to deal with that. At a party, you can be whatever people want you to be, a pretty face, an intoxicating presence, or a shadowed mystery. But for Peter, the setting doesn’t matter; because no matter what light he sees you in, you’re you. You’re funny, you’re charming, you’re witty. You can recall a math formula with as much ease as you can a comeback, and you can bring him to his knees with the simplest of touches.

However, aside from the occasional conversation in calculus or the few times you’ve decided to sit at his lunch table, you’re practically strangers. Somehow, he’s known you since you were in middle school, but in all this time it seems you’ve grown to be so enigmatic that what casual interactions he has with you are merely fleeting

“Peter Parker.” You drag out his name, sliding into the seat next to him. You live to see the blush make its way across his cheeks, so profound even in the dim light surrounding you. He sits up straighter, wishing he had time to adjust his hair despite the countless hours he spent on it, knowing he’d be at the same party as you. But of course, he didn’t see you coming. He never does. 

Peter takes a deep breath, ordering himself to calm his heart rate. His eyes flicker to yours, set ablaze by “H-Hi (Y/N).” He rubs his hands on his jeans and looks down, unable to see you pout as you lose sight of his pretty latte colored eyes. 

You sense his nervousness and you lean further into him, resting your elbow on the back of the couch. You’re curled up so that your knee rests slightly on his thigh, your touch burning through the fabric of his dark jeans. “So what’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?” You quip, your smile dazzling.

He doesn't know how to respond, but he smiles anyway, trying not to get lost in the brightness of your eyes. You chuckle, patting his arm. “I’m just messin’ with you.” You say. “However, I never thought I would see you at one of Cindy’s bashes. And I haven’t seen you at an out-of-school function since Liz’s before homecoming.” 

Peter swallows, brushing his hands on the denim. Truthfully, he only self-confirmed his attendance when he overheard you talking about the playlist with Flash, but if you ever found that out, he’d probably die. “I just thought it’d be fun.” He shrugs, trying his very best to keep his voice level. 

The sound of a pair of screaming teenagers fills your ears, making you momentarily roll your eyes. “I can assure you it won’t be.” You say, glancing around the backyard. In the corner, Flash is DJing and taking jabs at anyone who looks even remotely funny. A few feet ahead is a very intense game of beer pong, and at this stage, you and Peter are probably the only people here whose cups are filled with nothing but water. It’s music and drinking and sexual escapades in their initial stages, but in no way is it happy, nor is it good, nor is it fun.

Peter follows your eye line, clearing his throat. “Then why do you come?” He asks. “You are the (Y/N) (Y/L/N) after all.” 

Ignoring the latter half of his comment, you shrug. “I suppose I don’t have to.” You say, Peter listening intently. “I don’t know. I guess I just hope I’ll meet someone intriguing at one of these things. Like you.” You waggle your eyebrows and he grins. 

“I’m in no way intriguing.” The word tastes foreign on his tongue but you can convince him of anything. 

“Don’t kid, Mr. Parker. I’ve seen you around school all secretive with Ned. Disappearing as soon as the bell rings.” Peter gulps, and unbeknownst to you, anxiety starts to build in the depths of his stomach. “Very suspicious if you ask me.” 

“Just the Stark Internship.” He glances around, hoping he’s playing the part of a nonchalant high school student just well enough to convince you.

Eyeing him slyly, you speak. “You don’t think you’re suspicious, fine, but you’re easily the most interesting person here. So for me, this party’s a success.” 

Peter’s palms fly to face, covering the redness of his skin and the embarrassment of his wide smile. “Stop,” He whines, and you giggle. 

“You are just too easy.” 

You and Peter spend a majority of the party on the couch, but from the perspective of any one that happened upon the two of you, with your knees tuck into the warmth of his sides and his arm around the back of your cushion, you were definitely closer than too mere acquaintances should be. By the time the sun sets and moonlight casts its light upon the backyard, neither of you have noticed when you throw your head back from one of his comments about your chemistry teacher, you end up leaning on his shoulder. If you get splashed by pool water you hide in his chest and at one point, Peter’s arm ends up around the back of the couch, sliding down so that it barely touches your shoulders. 

What astonishes Peter the most about his newfound composure around you is that after the initial shock from the fact that you were intentionally sitting with him, his nervousness fades instantly. You’re easily the most beautiful person he’s ever seen, or met, but this part of your allure is new to him; you have this unique way of sending warmth and relaxation through him with only your words. A few times his jokes are good enough that after the initial laugh, you settle into his airy little giggle where your cheeks flush like a peony. You light up when you talk about travel, you frown when he mentions the future, and in the few hours that you speak it feel like he’s known you forever.

It rounds eleven o’clock and you’re dividing your attention between his face and your watch, your quips sometimes interrupted with your own yawns. 

“I should probably head on home.” You say, although from the looks of your less than sober classmates the party is only just beginning. “Even the (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has parents who would kill her if she stayed out too late.” You mock his tone from earlier and he rolls his eyes, a twinge of sadness plaguing his expression. “It’s been real Mr. Parker.” You send him a small smile, standing up to collect yourself. 

He doesn’t know if it’s his stupid impulsiveness, or if another part of him is too desperate for your presence that he can’t  et you go, but he springs up from his seat, startling you in the process.

“I can walk you home?” He suggests, his voice cracking on the last word. 

For a moment longer than you intended, your expression is blank enough that he feels his confidence completely deplete. He opens his mouth to change the subject in defeat, but stops himself immediately when he sees your lips upturn.

“I would really like that.”

Truthfully, the walk should’ve taken no more than twenty minutes, but in your cheerful stupor, you’re making him stop to pet every dog, stare at every street art piece, and avoid cracks on the sidewalk. Much to his surprise, by the time you’ve arrived at your home, your shoulders are drooped and you make no efforts to open your front door. 

“This is me.” You say, rocking back and forth between your heels and your toes. ���Thank you for tonight though. I had fun.” You step towards him, placing your small hand on his muscular shoulder. 

Peter makes a face, but looks down, folding his hands together. His brow furrows but he starts to pout. It’s a cross between surprise and disappointment as he drags his feet on the brick of your landing, a rock rolling under his shoe.

Your eyes crinkle as sunshine spreads through them. “What’s that for?” You ask, poking the frown. He shakes his head, mumbling that it’s nothing but You place your first two fingers under his chin, tilting it unto look at you. He feels his lungs constrict from the intimacy of your touch, your eyes trapping him again. “What?” You muse, smiling sweetly.

Peter clears his throat, his eyes drifting to the sight of your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. In no way is he being remotely discreet and you know it, your ego inflating from his demeanor alone. 

His wispy curls blow in front of his eyes and you reach up, brushing it away with cold fingertips that send shivers down his spine. “Peter,” You murmur, your voice quiet and as sweet as sugar. “Do you wanna kiss me?” 

His breath hitches and his lips part, yet no words come out. You feel a chill brush past the tip of your nose and you smile, but not that dazzling way you usually do, but the real way you hardly show. You’ve completely compelled him, your words as effective as the lasso of truth. He nods silently, afraid that if he answers you with words, the best case scenario is that he stutters himself into oblivion and the worst is that what comes out of his mouth is actual vomit.

So you reach up, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in until your chests touch and you’re on your tiptoes. Peter tentatively places his hands on your waist, awestruck as he feels you lean in, goosebumps forming on his skin. Your lips, what little he’s felt from them, are just as soft as he pictured, and with you this close he can feel your lulling heartbeat. His eyes flutter shut and just as he’s about to meet your lips, he feels your lips brush past his cheek and rest right by his ear. 

“Good to know.” You whisper, and before he can open his eyes in shock, you’ve disappeared into your building, the feeling of your lips on his skin a mere memory. 

[justauthoring]

Feigning The Connection (19/?)

Prompt: You seem so invincible. But just touch you and you’ll wince. You have secrets and trust no one. You’re the perfect example of betrayal. Because anyone you’ve ever trusted broke you. Thrust into a new world, will you be able to stay alone, or will Bellamy work his way in

SEASON ONE + SEASON TWO

SEASON THREE: PART ONE - PART TWO - PART THREE

A/N: I had to skip episode seven because (which I forgot) it’s dedicated to Clarke and Lexa, so please excuse that. Anyways, I wanted to say thank you for being so involved in this story and helping me right when I asked :) it makes me so happy to know you all are so invested in this story. When I started it I never even thought that it would become this loved and well appreciated, so once again thank you!

I hope you all enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Send me a little comment in the ask section or leave it below on what you thought of this chapter. It doesn’t have to be long, I appreciate every single comment I receive and telling me just helps inspire me to write it more frequently.

AGAIN, remember if you’d like me to continue this series, just leave a little comment or an ask letting me know. I will NOT continue the series if no one wants me to.

Pairing: Bellamy x Reader

Based off of: The 100 03x08, 03X09 and 03x10

Warnings: spoilers?

Tag’s List: @super-river-walker - @deathofthethrones - @dontstopxx - @chebz - @isabellaskyliner - @jeppthatsme - @sarita-villa - @jedibookmasterofnorta - @hoesugh  want to be featured on my tag’s list? message me letting me know.

“It’s an old saying, but it’s true... the walls have ears. And we can’t afford any more assumptions about who’s a friend and who isn’t. Not your old acquaintances, not your husband, wife or lover.”

Taking a deep breath, you looked over at those around you, unsure of how to react to what Pike was saying. The radio piece that allowed you to listen into their conversations that you’d managed to hide in the Chancellor’s office and set up, clearly worked. But it also wasn’t hard for Pike and them to get the sense they might be being listened on.

“We’re fighting two wars now and the more dangerous one is here inside this camp.” Straightening your back out, you watched your father stepped closer to the table, clearly intrigued to hear what Pike was going to say. Steeling yourself, your prepared yourself for the worst.

“We can’t prove it yet, but Kane and his accomplices passed information to Octavia.” You bit your lip, your head falling to your hands. At this stage they already knew Kane was an accomplice and it wasn’t too hard to see you were one too, especially with Bellamy knowing more he hadn’t told yet. Though, as of right now, that may only be a matter of time. “I know none of you signed up to investigate your neighbours, but Monroe and Lacroix died because the traitors in this camp sold them out to grounders.” 

You hadn’t even know Monroe had died... 

“Whoever did that will be hunted down and exposed for what they did to their own, for what they did to us.” You flinched as Pike’s voice slowly raised, anger evident in his tone; “now you get whatever resources, whatever personnel you need to make that happen. Dismissed.”

Reaching out, you clicked the radio off in frustration. Turning to your father, you waited.

“If they’re gonna play that game, we need to play it, too.” Kane stated.

“And how do we do that?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Kane turned, getting up from his seat as he uttered; “meaning we don’t meet here anymore, for starters.” Shaking your head, you crossed your arms over your chest, trying to push down the panic you felt building up within you. “We change our patterns, forget our habits. Take a different route through camp every time we go out. Assume that there are eyes on us at all times.”

“Or we could just shock-lash Pike’s fascist’s ass and hand him to the grounders.” Harper spat. 

“That would be murder, not to mention treason, and that’s not who we are.”

“And maybe that’s who we should be.” You argued, shrugging your shoulders. “I mean they’re hunting us like prey. And clearly our methods aren’t working.”

Miller nodded from beside you; “I agree with Y/N. Maybe it’s who we need to be.” Kane looked at you, seemingly looking over things before shaking his head. “Not yet.”

You sighed, frustration and fear deciding your actions. Taking a breath, you kept your mouth shut as Miller rubbed aggressively against his face, sighing heavily. “Alright, then what’s the plan?”

-

“Hey, anyone followed?”

Turning to your father, stopping your pacing and shook your head no. “And what about you?”

“No, no. I’m good.” Kane shook his head, turning to Harper at the radio. “Any word from Octavia?” 

She shook her head, playing around with the radio; “been flipping through different channels all morning, nothing.” She replied. Keeping your breathing calm, you crossed your arms over your chest, biting your lip. Octavia not answering could mean a number of different things and at the moment, none of you had anyone out there available to discover which one it was.

“Nothing, I mean either she’s out of ranger--” Harper rambled. “Or they already got her,” Miller finished for her. Your father turned to him quick, shutting down his option; “or she ran her battery down, or she needed the radio silence to run the blockade. There are a lot of reasons why she might’ve gone dark.”

“I’ve been out there patrolling for the past three months,” Miller reminded. “I know this area better than any grounder, just let me go out--”

“Guys,” Harper interrupted, looking up at you three. “Listen to this.” Pulling off her headphone jack from the radio, she set the radio down carefully, letting the message play. Your heart dropped when you heard Pike’s voice, knowing it could mean anything, anything but good.

“Results of this mornings inventory was sobering,” he started. “In no way do we currently have the ammo for an extended series of firefights, not even close.” Turning to your dad, you looked at him in question.

“So what’s plan ‘B’?” Your shoulders slumped at the familiar sound of Bellamy’s voice, still finding it really hard to listen or be near him after your last conversation with him. Your father noticed your immediate change in attitude and turned to you in concern, letting a hand fall on your shoulder. You only shrugged it off, sending him a small smile. Kane didn’t have time for your pity party, besides after everything else that had gone wrong in your life, you’re not surprised the love aspect fell.

“Our lookouts say the largest Grounder encampment is in this valley, so we deploy an assault team in Rover one, and we do as much damage as we can with automatic weapons.”

“And they’ll just fall back and make a run for reinforcements.” Hannah cautioned.

“I’m counting on that.” You heard Pike reply, “the only way there and back is over this ridge. Now we can bottleneck their soldiers and pick them off.” You shook your head, not like the plan one bit. Pike and his team, including Bellamy, a become a group of mass murderers and it made you feel sick. Just picking the Grounder’s off one by one...

“We got the fire power for that?”

“We won’t need it. We have a dozen concussive antipersonnel in our armoury.” Taking a deep breath you leaned forward on the table, shaking your head. You felt Miller do the same thing beside you. Your father and Harper who only continued to listen as their faces grew more and more panicked. “I’ve already got a weapons man rigging them with a remote trigger. We load the APD’s into the rover and mine the field before we attack. After we strike, we lure their reinforcements onto the ridge and once we have enough grounders in the killing box--” 

“We detonate.” Bellamy finished and you felt your heart dropped to your stomach. “It’ll buy us sometime, but--”

“Time’s what we need.” Smacking your hand against the table, you bit your lip. “We move at dawn.” With that, Pike ended his discussion and silence filled the room.

“Alright,” your father started. “We need to disable that rover. If they take it out, it doesn’t matter how many grounders they kill. Ten times will march on Arkadia.” You nodded, completely agreeing with your father’s plan. “And no one’ll survive.” 

“You got any idea how we’re gonna stop them?” 

“I might.”

-

“Were you part of it?”

Sighing, you turned your head around catching Bellamy. Though instead of replying, you only turned back to your table, looking around you as you had before. Looking at your hands, you took a moment to stare at the chip you’d been fiddling with. After your decline earlier from Jaha, he’d insisted you took one and thought over it, so you did. And you had been thinking about it before Bellamy came.

Hearing his footsteps, you shoved the chip in your pocket just before he could see it. Bellamy fell beside you, pulling out a chair to sit in. “Why?” You finally answered, “gonna lock me up too like Sinclair?”

“How many times do I have to te-”

“That you’re trying to help me.” You finish for him, finally looking at him. “Trying to not get me arrested, yes I know.” You sigh, shaking your head. “I just didn’t know you were so okay with doing it to any of your other friends.” 

Bellamy paused and you watch him hesitate before his eyes narrowed. “There’s a threat outside these walls-”

“The threats inside these walls.” You interrupted, glaring back up at him. Shaking your head, you bit your lip looking away. “But I guess now you’re the threat too.” You ignored the pang of guilt you felt as his face faltered for just a second before he composed himself. Standing up you moved to walk away before his hand gripped your wrist, tightly, holding you in place. You slowly turn your head, willing him to say what he wanted to. And he was about to, but you never got to hear what he ‘needed’ to say because of voice interrupted him.

“Bellamy!” Turning you saw Monty heading your way, until he stopped at your table. 

“Better leave, i’m sure you both have very important business to attend to.” You scoff at both of them. Ripping your wrist from Bellamy’s hand, you turn around, stalking off. When you were far enough, sure that neither of them could see you, you pulled out the chip. Rubbing your thumb softly over the design on the top, you thought over it. It was tempting, just as it had been that night, but you weren’t one to give up that easily, especially when so many of your friends and your father needed you now.

Shaking your head, you tossed it to the side, forgetting about it.

-

“Dad, i’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“Not this time.” Kane interrupted, grabbing ahold of your shoulders, he cautiously looked around him, making sure no one was listening. Frustrated at the fact that your very own father was treating you like a child, you crossed your arms, pouting and looking the other way. “Please, Y/N. You have to promise me that when the plan goes into action you’ll stay out of it.”

“Why?” Was the first thing that slipped through your lips. “I mean I can help with the distraction, o-or I could help with Pi-”

“No.” Kane interrupted, “no, Y/N. Listen to me, if this goes wrong, I will be arrested. And Lincoln and Sinclair, all of them will go back to lock-up, and if Harper and Miller are unlucky they could go to lock-up as well. Pike will have me and them executed. I need you to stay out of this so if things go wrong I know there’s someone left that I can trust.”

You sighed, angry at the fact that you knew he was right. But you hated having to stay on the sidelines, do nothing and be useless, it made you feel like you were worth nothing. But you also knew that your father was right and in the long run, if things did go south, you still being thought a none traitor would be beneficial.

Uncrossing your arms, you looked over, nodding your head; “fine.” You mumbled. Kane nodded, letting go of your shoulders as he turned to go. He needed to meet up with Pike like he’d planned in order for this whole thing to work. Knowing that you won’t be able to do anything to help him, should things go wrong, you grabbed onto his arm before he could walk away. Kane turned, opening his mouth to say something before your arms fell around him.

“Be safe.”

You felt your father’s arms fall around you, accepting your embrace. You could hear his heart beating rapidly and that’s when you knew he was scared. You squeezed him tighter; “I will.” Your father pushed away from the hug, giving you one last look before he walked away.

Watching his back disappear from sight, you sighed. 

-

“Get the hell out of the way!” You screamed, shoving at the guards that blocked you. Standing as tall as you could, you tried to meet your father’s eyes but the stupid guards in front of you held you still and blocked any means of seeing your father. Trying to hold in your tears, you tried to push your way past but it was hopeless. The guards weren’t budging.

“Y/N,” you father called. “Y/N! It’s okay.” He attempted one last attempt at calming you down.

“Nothing’s okay.” You mumbled, pushing at the guards one final time. You winced when one of the guards grabbed your upper arm, pinching it slightly and aggressively. Though you ignored him, still trying to get through. “Let me go!” You uttered, trying to break his grip off of your arm. He relented, only squeezing tighter. “That’s my father, my father. Let me through!”

“Ma’am, your father has been arrested for treason. No one but guard detail is allowed by that door.” The other guard spoke, his voice rather calm. Shaking your head, you tried to think rationally. The mission had gone wrong and when cornered between driving through Bellamy or surrendering, your father had chosen surrendering. Now he was being kept in lock-up until his execution. You couldn’t lose him, you refused to lose the only family you had left. And not to mention the family you’d just gained.

“I don’t care,” you breathed, out of breath. “I need to see him.”

“We’re going to have to ask you to calm down and take a step back or we’ll be forced to restrain you.” The guard threatened, taking a minute, you looked back into his eyes. “Will arresting me get me to my father?”

Both of them seemed genuinely surprised by your reply and your determination. Turning to look at one another, you waited for their answer. Just before it seemed like they’d let you through, or restrain you, a voice interrupted them; “hold up.” Taking a deep breath, you turned around only to see the one and only Bellamy walking toward you and the two guards. You couldn’t hide the anger you felt at the sight of him, since he’d been the one to arrest your father.

“What are you doing?” He asked the two guards.

“I’ll answer that,” you interrupt. “I’m going to see my father.”

“i’ll handle this.” Bellamy shooed the two guards away and pausing a moment, they finally left. Turning your head down the hall, you couldn’t even see your father anymore and figured he’d already been put in lock-up. Ignoring Bellamy, you turned to walk down the hall before his hand caught your wrist. Turning to him you glared; “i’m going to see my father.”

“No, you’re not.” He suddenly let go of your wrists, his arms wounding around your waist before you could do anything. Bellamy began dragging you away, hauling you off easily enough. You fought his grip, trying to get away from him but he seemed to use all his strength to keep you there. You felt all your emotion pulled up, as you began yelling for him to let you go. All the same, Bellamy kept his grip on you, ignoring any effort you had to make him let you go.

When he finally stopped, you were well aways from lock-up. Once you felt Bellamy’s arms leave your waist, you whipped around to face him, your hands falling against his chest harshly again and again. “You murdering son-of-a-bitch!” You screamed against him, emotions clouding your judgement and actions. Sobbing you shook your head; “they’re gonna kill him!”

Bellamy let you hit him, not making any effort to stop you. Clouded by your fury, you beat against his chest, slumping when you grew tired. Your fists hurt from how hard you’d been clenching them, and you didn’t even realize how hard you’d been trying to hit Bellamy until you finally stopped. The worst part of all was he didn’t even seem effected by your lashing out as all he did was stare down at you.

You were so pent up on your emotions you missed the sliver of guilt fill his eyes, you missed the way his guard immediately fell around you. And of course you didn’t notice Bellamy finally realize the amount of emotion turmoil he’d caused you with everything he’d done. But now he could see it, just in your eyes alone, how tired and mentally exhausted you were. How hurt you were.

Taking a shaky breath, you backed off from Bellamy. There was no point trying to get your father now, Bellamy proved he could just pick you up and carry you away. You were lucky you hadn’t been arrested yet despite your eagerness before. Wiping at the tears that had cascaded down your face aggressively, you turned. “I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

-

“What do you want?”

Looking around Miller’s shoulders, your eyes narrowed at the sight of Bellamy. Looking back at Harper, you composed yourself, tired of Bellamy seeing you at your weakest and waited to see what he needed. Your brows furrowed when Miller stepped back, letting Bellamy in. As soon as his eyes fell on you, his composure somewhat fell but you ignored him, crossing your arms. You were done playing games, and didn’t trust Bellamy one bit.

You let out a sigh when Monty stepped in behind him, shaking your head. “This should be good.” You uttered below your breath. They shut the door behind them, seemingly cautious of who was around. 

“What do-” You closed your mouth when Bellamy signalled you to be quiet. Raising an eyebrow, your gaze fell to the knife in his hands, taking a step back. Harper moved her hands to her gun, Miller doing the same thing and you prepared yourself for the worst. 

“Whoa, whoa, hey.” Taking a careful stepped forward, Bellamy slowly placed the knife against a patch on Miller’s jacket. Sliding it through, he cut off a section of the patch, revealing an opening. You watched him turn the knife over, handing the back of the knife to Miller before reaching out and taking a small chip from the jacket. You sighed, shaking your head.

“The bag blocks the signal. Now we can talk.” Monty explained, showing the bag for explanation.

“Who put it in there?” Miller asked.

“That’s not important right now.” Bellamy dismissed, “Pike just sentence Lincoln and Sinclair to death alongside Kane.” Keeping yourself calm, you couldn’t hold back the tears that welled within your eyes. Biting your lip, you laughed dryly; “yeah, like that’s news.”

“Are you trying to scare us?” Harper asked, her own voice shaky.

“No. We’re here to help. I’m sure you have a plan to break them out. What can we do to help?” 

You shook your head, turning to Bellamy. “Did you not hear me earlier? We have no plan!”

“Y/N, come on,” Monty argued.

“Look we can pull this off.” Bellamy added, “but in order to we need people to hand them off to someone the outside.”

Looking over at Miller and Harper, you looked at them in question. “We seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.” Miller repeated, to make it more clear.

“You think we want them to die.” Monty incredulously asked.

“You know what? Forget it. If my sister wants to save Lincoln’s life, you tell her to meet me at the drop-ship in a hour.” Bellamy finished, before grabbing his stuff and leaving. Monty turned to him in alarm, calling out his name but you only looked over at him unimpressed as he looked back at you three.

“After everything we’ve been through,” he started. “You don’t trust me?”

“Does your mom know you’re here, Monty?” Harper asked, tears welling up in her own eyes. Looking away when he gazed at you, you gave him the answer he needed. It felt hard, to not trust your friends like this, but after everything both Bellamy and Monty have done, you didn’t blame you or Miller and Harper. You watched Monty slowly turn, leaving through the door. Falling back on the seat, your head fell to your hands.

-

“They wouldn’t let me see you.” You gasped, taking a hesitant step forward. Your heart broke at the sight of your father in chains, it reminded you of when he’d once been staring back at you in the same position. But things had changed, majorly and that wasn’t who he was now. 

As you stared back at him, you looked to see if he had any shred of fear, but he looked as calm as ever. Opposite to yourself which you were sure you were red eyed and shaking, a mess basically. Taking the intuitive, you stepped towards him, falling just short of him. You had limited time, as you had to fight to see him and Abby still needed to see Kane before the execution. 

Looking up at his face, you hated the way he looked back at you with that same, reassuring smile. Your eyes glossed over and not caring about who was around you threw your arms around his neck, taking the moment to bask in it. If this didn’t go right, which you were praying it would, you might never see your father again. Your father hugged you back as best as he could with the restraints but you didn’t so much care.

Taking a heavy breath, you tried to control your sobs. Making sure no guard was near enough, you moved your mouth close to Kane’s ear so only he would hear. “I’m gonna get you out of here, and the rest. We have a plan.”

“Y/N, no-”

Leaning back, you sent him a small smile. “I won’t lose my father too.”

Kane only gazed back at you in shock and before he could say anything back, the guard stepped forward; “times up.” You nodded, not arguing. Following their lead, you let go of your father and began to move back to the door. “I love you.” You called.

And for the first time in a long time, worry etched his features, you could only imagine it was because he knew whatever you had planned was dangerous. But you only smiled back, before you were out the door. Taking one last glance at him, you turned down the hall, nodding determined.

-

Walking into the room, you smiled upon the sight of your friends and father okay. Making a beeline for your father, you smiled at the sight of him and Abby, happy to see things were still going well there. When he caught sight of you, he hesitated, shaking his head. “I-”

Holding your hand up, you smiled; “no need to thank me.” Kane chuckled, shaking his head at your behaviour. Hearing a beep from the radio, you turned to Octavia in alarm. As someone who’d helped craft the plan, Harper signalling Octavia first wasn’t part of it. “OKS, come in.” You heard her voice, but it sounded hushed.

“What is it?” Lincoln asked.

“This wasn’t part of the plan.” You answered, shaking your head. Octavia nodded, pulling out the radio as she panted; “we used their frequency so they could hear us.” She explained for you, before pressing the button on the radio and bringing it up to her lips. “Go ahead.”

“Stay right where you are.” Harper whispered and your heart plummeted; “repeat stay where you are. The exit is not clear.”

“How many guards?”

“Too many,” Harper replied. “I said stay put.”

Looking around, you stood straight, trying to think of what to do. Before Monty’s voice echoed over the radio; “calling all guards. The prisoners are headed for the main gate. Repeat main gate.” You paused, unsure if you had heard those words right. Had Monty just helped you all?

“That was Monty.” Octavia breathed, and you nodded, still not quite believing it yourself.

“Guess he’s with us after all.” Miller stated, and you turned to look at him. It seemed that maybe you should’ve listened to him earlier... 

“Pike will find out.” 

“We don’t know that.” You argued, turning to your father. “We have to move, now.” You reminded in a rush, this was possibly your only chance and you needed to take it. Monty had given you leeway, better not waste it. Looking over Octavia, she nodded at you and soon enough you all began rushing through the halls. 

-

“Go, go, go.” Your father rushed, pushing Harper and Miller through. Looking around you, you looked for guards, pacing on your feet. A voice over the P.A. caught your attention, and you paused, handing one of your bags over to Miller to take. Kane turned to you, signalling you to go in. “You’re next, go Y/N.” Taking a look back, you nodded, finally stepping through into the small space. Your father smiled at you and you accepted the bag he offered.

“Go Abby,” Kane started ordering, “you’re next.”

“Abby,” you called, signalling her in with a confused glance when she didn’t take the step forward. “Come on.”

When you saw she wasn’t coming, you looked up at your father only to see him already stepping towards her. Looking down at your hands, you silently listened to their conversation. “I’m not going,” she sighed. “They need someone to show them the way out of the dark.”

Your attention was turned upwards when your father leaned towards Abby, bringing his lips to hers. Your eyes widened in shock at his forcefulness, and despite the moment let a smile slip through your lips as you rejoiced in his happiness. Part of it stung, seeing him kiss another woman than your own mother, but if it made him happy, you didn’t so much mind. You couldn’t remember the last time you saw him so happy.

“May we meet again.” Kane whispered. 

“We will.” You watched her walk off, your gaze falling on your father who stared after her. Stepping out of the small space, you walked over to him; “you okay?” Kane turned to you, seemingly snapping out of his thoughts before nodding, sending a small smile. “Yeah, yeah.”

Your attention was brought to Octavia and Lincoln who stepped over to you two. Leaning down, you listened to Pike’s voice as it came on the radio; “I have a message for the traitors of Arkadia. There will be an execution today. Either turn yourselves in, or the other grounder prisoners will die in your place.” Your gaze slowly moved up to Lincoln as he turned to Octavia, you bit your lip knowing what he was about to do. 

Octavia quickly grabbed ahold of Lincoln, “let’s go.” She rushed, only for Lincoln to step aside, towards the direction back to Pike. Clenching your fists, you shook your head repeatedly.

Octavia turned back to Lincoln, grabbing his wrist in panic; “no, wait.”

“I can’t let them die because of me.” Lincoln shook his head, staring down at Octavia with regret but determination. Stepping back, you respectively let them hash this out. It was undoubtedly the brave thing to do, and you knew no matter how hard Octavia fought, Lincoln was going to sacrifice himself.

“Lincoln please,” Octavia pleaded. “We’re almost out.”

Kane stepped forward; “I know what you’re feeling, but they’re searching the station. We need to go now.”

Lincoln nodded slowly, “you should.” 

“Fine, i’m going with you.” Octavia declared before she said something in grounder tongue, looking back at your father, you shook your head. Lincoln leaned forward, once again nodding as his hand fell to Octavia’s chin, rubbing his thumb over it softly. “I love you,” he whispered. He brought his lips down on hers, and you looked away just for a moment only to hear Octavia utter a soft plea of no.

Turning around you saw Octavia in Lincoln’s arms, passed out; “what are you doing?”

“Same thing you’d do for your people. Just get her out of here.” Lincoln slowly passed Octavia over to your father, and you swallowed a lump in your throat, trying to bite back the tears. You watched your father stepped through the small passage way, uttering something to Lincoln in grounder tongue.

“Lincoln,” you called, finally speaking. He turned to you and you offered a small reassuring smile, “thank you.”

Watching his back, you once again watched another figure disappear before your eyes. “Y/N.” You heard and turning, you saw Kane signal you to come through. You nodded, letting your gaze falling in the direction Lincoln had gone one last time. Stepping through the passage way, you slowly closed it, trying to be as quiet as possible. Taking a deep breath, you stepped forward. 

You’d managed to get away, but at what cost?

-

Hugging your jacket closer to yourself, you didn’t dark look up at Bellamy who you knew was there. Instead, you gaze at the ground, following your father’s footsteps. Octavia walked in behind you, and you wouldn’t lie and say you weren’t scared of what would happened between the two Blake siblings. As much as you hated yourself for saying it, and wanted to say it wasn’t true, Bellamy was just as responsible for the death of Lincoln as Pike was.

You stopped just beside Kane, everything in slow motion as Octavia stalked by you. Finally looking up, you watched Bellamy as he stared at the entrance of the cave, willing just one more person walk through. When no one came, Bellamy’s panicked eyes looked across the cave. “Where’s Lincoln?”

“Pike put a bullet in his brain.” You closed your eyes at the sound of Octavia’s raw voice, rough around the edges.

“O- O-” Bellamy started, stumbling over his own two feet. “I’m so sorry-”

You flinched when Octavia whipped around, not even giving time for Bellamy to finish his sentence before her fist landed across his cheek. Biting your lip, you couldn’t tear your eyes away as she continued hitting him, every emotion fumbling out at once.

“Octavia,” you father dared to speak up. “That’s enough.”

Bellamy shocked you with his next words; “Kane. Stay out of this.” You winced every time her fist landed on Bellamy, shaking your head as blood started to seep from his nose and mouth. Your heart dropped at the sound of her sobs and his grunts of pain as whatever had been left of their relationship was shredded.

Miller stepped up, seeming to not be able to take it anymore. ��Alright, That’s enough.” Octavia only retaliated on him shoving him away aggressively.

“Miller, stay back!” Bellamy pleaded.

Octavia screamed, lashing out her fist so hard Bellamy fell to the ground. Your hand found your face, shaking it as you turned. You could hear Octavia panting, and another grunt before all sounds of punching stopped. Looking up at the entrance of the cave, you listened to her next words carefully; “you’re dead to me.”

When you dared to look back at Bellamy, the only thing you saw was the image of a bloody, broken expression.

-

“Bellamy, it’s Monty.” Upon hearing Monty’s voice, your gaze fell to the radio beside you. “I’m in trouble. Please say you still have your radio.”

Sinclair grabbed it from your hands, blocking Kane from grabbing it himself. “If we respond and Pike’s listening-” he warned, before Bellamy spoke up. “Go to channel seven.” He offered numbly, you looked up from Sinclair over to him. “ ‘Please say you still have your radio.’ That’s seven words after trouble. It’s code. Go to seven.”

“He could be telling the truth.” You offered, seeing the looks of uncertainty around you. Looking at your father, you nodded as he reluctantly told Sinclair to continue. Sinclair switched it to channel seven before handing it over to Kane who placed it in his lap unsure.

“Bellamy, are you there?” Monty spoke up again.

“Monty,” you father finally replied. “It’s Kane. What’s wrong?”

“Pike knows that I helped you get out.”

“Can you get to the drop-ship?”

“I think so,” he responded slowly.

“Good. Go there. I’ll bring you in.” Your father informed. “Stay off the radio. Over and out.”

“Hold on,” Harper interrupted. “What if it’s a trap and Pike’s there waiting?”

“That’s why i’m going alone.”

You immediately stood up, ready to argue before Octavia beat you to it; “like hell you are.” She spat, cleaning off her sword.

Turning to your father, you raised your chin defiantly; “i’m not letting you go alone.”

“I’m with Octavia and Y/N,” Miller spoke, standing up and prepping his gun. “Monty saved our lives. I’m going to.”

“No, you’re not.” Kane declared. “If it is a trap, i’m not marching our entire insurgency into it.”

“To stop me you’re gonna have to kill me.” Looking over at Octavia, you emotionlessly looked back at your father, shrugging when he raised an eyebrow at you. “I’m with her.”

“Octavia hopes it’s a trap.” Bellamy uttered, making your attention snap over to him. “He’s coming too.” Octavia declared. “We need a hostage to trade for Monty.” You stayed silent, regrettably agreeing. It made sense and oddly no part of you really felt guilty for treating him like a stranger and hostage, but it also felt strange. There had once been a time where you never even thought of doing this, and if you had you would’ve considered it crazy, now it seemed the best idea you’d heard in a while.

“It’s a good idea. He stays chained.” Your father complied, before hesitating. “And gag him.”

Miller stepped forward; “sir, with all due respect-” He seemed Miller didn’t quite agree with the decision either. But your father cut him off before he could continue; “he’s the enemy. Do what I said.”

He’s the enemy... Looking back at Bellamy, you meant his gaze. It took every bit of your willpower to believe that statement.

-

Stepping through the gates to the drop-ship, you held your gun high, your heartbeat racing. Part of you thought it typical that the place you traded Bellamy would be back at the drop-ship, where your friendship with him had first started. But you shook those thoughts away, knowing it not to be the time and instead focused on searching around the camp with guarded eyes.

“Monty?” You father called. You received no response, and after a moment of waiting you stepped forward Octavia and Kane following. “We got here first,” you stated.

“No, we didn’t.” Octavia suddenly mumbled, shoving Kane away from Bellamy to place her sword against his neck. Confused, you kept your gun up, looking around as you hesitated.

“Hey! What are you doing?” 

“Get outside... now!” Octavia bellowed and your eyes flew to the drop-ship doors. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you tensed your stance, preparing for the worst outcome as you watched carefully. Eventually the curtain moved, revealing Monty’s face. Not taking the moment to be relieved he looked okay, you kept your eyes on the drop-ship, willing more to step out.

You were right when Monty stepped fully out, followed by a gun that led to Pike. You tried to contain the anger you felt at the sight of him, not even beginning to imagine what Octavia felt, and stayed focus.

“They followed me,” Monty explained, his voice shaky. “I’m sorry.”

“Let him go, Pike!”

“Can’t do that,” Pike stated, and you felt your heart beat quicken. “One at their feet.” You jumped when a gunshot landed right beside your foot, flinching slightly. You didn’t hesitate to move back into position, gun raised. “It’s over. Put down your weapons.” Pike finished, pressing the gun harder against Monty’s back.

“Shoot him,” Octavia told Kane, and just by looking through your own gun, you knew your father couldn’t, no matter how skilled he was.

“Monty’s in the shot.”

“Come on, Marcus.” Right after his words another gunshot landed, this time beside your father. Taking a deep breath, your grip on your gun tightened. “I promised Monty’s mother i’d bring him home alive. Don’t make me a liar.”

Your father shocked you when after a few seconds he lowered his gun, pulling it over his head. “Dad,” you whisper-shouted. “What are you doing?”

“Kane, no.” Octavia panicked.

Your father threw his gun beside him, raising his hands. Looking at him for guidance, he only nodded; “drop your gun, Y/N.” Shaking your head, you looked back through your gun, contemplating if you should just take the shot. It would be risky, but it was better than surrendering everything you’ve worked for.

“I’ll shoot him in the head, Y/N.” Pike warned, “I know you don’t want that.” Turning your head in thought, your eyes fell on Monty’s scared face, regretting the thought that crossed your mind. The thought that ultimately decided your next actions.

Sighing, you aggressively ripped the gun over your head, chucking it to your side before raising your hands in surrender. You hated yourself for it, but even if Monty had done some terrible things, he didn’t deserve to die. Plus he’d saved your life before.

Pike turned to Octavia, “now you.”

Taking a step around Bellamy, Octavia moved her knife more dangerously against his neck, defying Pike. Kane’s breath quickened as he whispered; “what are you doing?”

“One in the girls leg.”

Flinching, you turned to see Bellamy had flipped his lethal position around with Octavia, her being forced on her knees. You winced at the awkward position he had her wrist bent, but lowered your gaze when you realized that it was done. Guards came out, surrounding you three as they stepped up against you all. Snarling at the guard before you, you let him tie your hands together knowing better when a gun was pointed at your face.

Soon enough, your wrists were restrained, the gun still pointed at your face as Pike stepped towards Bellamy. You tried to hide the disappointment you felt at Bellamy betraying you all once again, but reminded yourself that you shouldn’t have thought any differently. He was the enemy.

“You don’t look so good,” Pike commented, viewing Bellamy’s beaten face.

“I’m fine.”

“You got about five seconds to make me believe you’re still with me.” 

You held your breath, staring at the back of Bellamy’s head as you willed him not to say it. But you felt your heart break even more as he leaned towards Pike, whispering; “all the others are in a cave not too far from here.” Grunting, you struggled in your restraints, just the same as Octavia.

“You son of a bitch!” She bellowed, falling to her knees as she was hit by a shock-lasher.

Pausing in your defiance, you looked back at the guard before you, following down his arm to see his own shock-lasher. Narrowing your eyes, you took a step back, watching as he turned it off. 

“Give me the coordinates.”

“Bellamy,” you whispered, waiting for him to turn to look at you. Once his eyes fell on you, you softened your look. Looking at him with vulnerability only he’s seen, you looked pleadingly at him; “don’t.” Your felt yourself go completely still when he only ignored your plea, turning back to Pike.

“I don’t have coordinates. But I can take you there.”

-

“Hold on.”

You reluctantly stopped behind the guard in front of you, running your tongue along the gag in your mouth in discomfort. You looked around, trying to see what had made Pike stop. Looking ahead, Bellamy stepped forward, pointing forwards; “the caves just on the other side.”

You heard a rustle, making your eyes snap up from the restraints on your wrists to around you. Furrowing your brows, you hesitated.

“Keep a sharp eye out.”

Soon enough, you stepped forward, walking down the path and trying to ignore the gun pressed against your back. Though as soon as Bellamy made it to the bottom on the hill before you, a horn blew, making you jump. Looking up around you, you paused, trying to figure out what was happening.

“The blockade!” Pike declared, “anybody got eyes?” No one answered, and you let your eyes fall across the tree tops to see if you could see anybody. “Back up! Back to higher ground!”

“Drop your weapons.” You whipped around at the sound of Bellamy’s voice, only to find him pointing Pike’s own gun at, well, Pike’s head. Your eyes widened with shock, as Pike’s face contorted into confusion and betrayal as well. “What the hell are you doing?!”

“Drop your weapon!”

Noticing the guards moment of dumbfoundness, you turned to the guard behind you, smacking your fist against his stomach. He groaned in pain, leaning over and you kicked the guard beside you before he could do anything. Soon enough yourheard Bellamy call out again; “we bring you Chancellor Pike of the sky people.” He announced, “O, translate.”

Octavia listened, pulling the gag from her lips as she yelled something in grounder tongue.

Once she was finished, Pike turned to Bellamy. “You’ve killed us all.”

“Take him, lift this blockade.” Octavia was quick to translate.

An arrow suddenly shot through the sky, hitting the guard beside you. More followed, knocking out the enemies beside you as grounders began running in from the trees, surrounding you all. Your head turned every which way, watching in bewilderment as you were completely surrounded. 

A scream tore through the silence and you turned to see Octavia ready to stab a knife in Pike but your father caught her wrist, pushing her back. “Hey, no.” He mumbled through the gag, before pulling it off. “No. The grounders are gonna need him alive. They didn’t get justice for Finn. We won’t get away with that again.”

“In that case-” Pike took a threatening step towards Bellamy before an arrow hit him in the chest, knocking him to the ground. A grounder stepped forward, kicking him twice in the face before completely knocking him out cold. Then a larger group stepped forward, hefting his unconscious body up.

“Where are you taking him?” Your father asked.

“To the new Commander.”

“May I join you?” Your father asked, and you stepped forward in alarm. Kane managed to get his wrist restraints off, pulling up his sleeve to show the sigil from before. “We’re the thirteenth clan.”

“Don’t slow us down.”

“Dad,” you mumbled in alarm, muffled through the gag. You went to pull it off before hands grabbed ahold of it for you, stunned you looked up only to see Bellamy. He softened his eyes, telling you it was okay as he slowly pulling the gag off your lips. Panting, you slowly nodded at him, before turning back to Kane. “Are you sure? We know nothing about the new Commander.”

“I’m sure,” he reassured, smiling. “Go home. Tell our people what happened here. Tell Abby i’ll look out for Clarke.” You hated leaving him, but reluctantly you nodded. 

Stepping away, you left Bellamy with your father, slumping against a tree. Your head fell in your hands, mentally exhausted. Staring down at your restrained wrists, you realized you’d forgotten about it getting someone to untie them. “Allow me.” A shadow fell over you, and sure enough Bellamy was back before you, kneeling down in front of you. You hesitantly looked up at him, flinching your hands away by habit when he reached out for them.

“I won’t hurt you.” The sentence was ironic enough, as all Bellamy had been doing for the past bit was hurt you. But sighing, you reluctantly let him cut the ropes in half. Once they were gone, you rubbed at the burn marks on your wrists. 

You weren’t sure what to say to Bellamy, he felt like a stranger to you now. But still you knew you should at least say something. So slowly looking up, you met his eyes, “thank you.” You muttered, knowing he knew what you meant.

“I’m so-”

“Not now, Bellamy.” You interrupted, shaking your head. “It won’t matter. I don’t know if it ever will.”

[choniisdaddyyy-blog]

2 - Cheryl Blossom x reader

request: one where betty is lowkey in love with the reader but she’s already with Cheryl and it starts to mess with the friendship…

• • •

You walked into the gymnasium, with a confident bounce in your step. Today was the day you would try out to be a River Vixen. With your countless hours of practice, and not to mention your girlfriend at the top of the pyramid, you basically had a guaranteed spot on the team. You walked over to Betty and Veronica, your fairly close friends seeing as you only hung out with them on the rare occasion when Cheryl was too busy for you.

“You look hot.” Veronica said, sending a slight smirk in Betty’s direction. Betty was still gawking at you, her jaw slightly ajar as her eyes raked over your body.

“Thanks, Ronnie!” You blushed lightly at the compliment.

You looked around the room as you pulled your hair up into a ponytail. You watched the other river vixens as they did their warm ups and stretches.

“Are you nervous at all?” Betty questioned, finally gaining back her composure. Betty straightened out her posture and did her best to act like she didn’t want to rip your clothes of then and there.

“Nope, not at all! I think I have a pretty good shot.” You winked at both the girls. They understood that even if you completely butchered the routine Cheryl would still give you a spot on the river vixens.

Just then, familiar arms wrapped around your waist. You immediately relaxed into the warm, comfortable embrace of your girlfriend’s arms. She placed a quick peck on your cheek before turning you around to face her.

“Are you ready, babe?” Cheryl asked. You ran your fingers through her glorious ginger locks, keeping your hand at the nape of her neck.

“I was born ready.” You said, a cheesy grin on your face.

“Really? That’s the line you’re going with?” Cheryl rolled her eyes playfully at you.

“Shut up and let me feel cool for once.”

You pulled Cheryl in for a quick kiss, smudging her iconic, bright red lipstick on your mouth. You let Cheryl go, as the rest of the girls gather around on the sidelines to watch your performance.

~

You ended the routine with a wink at Cheryl. The rest of the vixens applauded and cheered for you. Most of the girls were shocked that you actually did perfect the routine and you actually earned a spot on the cheer team.

“You did amazing, y/n/n!” Betty beamed as she pulled you in for a hug. You quickly reciprocated the hug, thanking Betty for the compliment. Betty enjoyed holding you in her arms. It felt right to Betty, like that was where you were both meant to be.

Betty’s perfect hug didn’t last long though. Soon Cheryl came to steal you away from Betty. Betty watched from afar as you blushed profusely at your girlfriend’s praises and compliments. Betty watched from afar as you pulled Cheryl in for a quick, mostly-innocent kiss. She watched as you kissed her again. And again. And again. And again. Until she couldn’t bare to watch anymore. Until she couldn’t bare the thought of you kissing someone that wasn’t her.

“Maybe if you told her how you feel you wouldn’t have to suffer like this.“ Veronica suggested.

“I can’t, V. Not after what happened last time.” Betty sighed.

“You can’t just base everything off of Archie not returning your feelings. You just gotta take a chance.” Veronica said.

“Not gonna happen.” Betty dejectedly walked out of the gymnasium.

~ ~ ~

“Hey, Betty! Wait up!” You called down the hallway as Betty walked by, not sparing you a second glance.

It had been three weeks since Betty started avoiding you. When you tried texting her, her replies were short and simple. The second you tried to start a conversation, she wanted to end it. You weren’t upset about Betty not wanting to talk to you. You mad that she would try to just cut you off like nothing.

You walked after her quickly. “Betty wait.” You caught up to her, grabbing her arm to keep her from walking further. You turned her to face you.

“What do you want, y/n?” She questioned, seemingly annoyed.

“I want to know why you’ve been avoiding me.” You said. Betty wouldn’t meet your eyes which only added fuel to your fire.

Betty took a quick glance back towards your locker. As expected, Cheryl was waiting there for you. You followed Betty’s gaze and saw Cheryl fixing her makeup in the mirror hung up on your locker.

“This is about Cheryl, isn’t it?” You crossed your arms. After everything, you had hoped your friends were past all that hating Cheryl bullshit.

“Yeah, it is.” Betty admitted. “Of all people, why did you choose Cheryl?”

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t quite figure out what it was about Cheryl that drew you to her in the first place. She was just so… Intriguing. You just had to know more.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Betty tried to walk away, but you grabbed her arm again.

“Why do you care about that? I thought we were past this.” You said, sadly.

By now Cheryl was listening in on the conversation, there wasn’t anyone in that hallway that wasn’t trying to.

“She’s not right for you!” Betty almost-shouted. “You could do so much better! She’s a self-centered, manipulative bitch–”

“Don’t you dare talk about her like that!” You cut Betty off. You calmed your will to slap Betty, not wanting to start something physical in front of all those kids in the hallway. “You don’t know her like I do. Why are you so sure she’s not right for me, huh?”

“Because she’s not–” Betty cut herself off, seemingly on the verge of tears. She shook her head softly, looking down at her feet.

“She’s not what, Betty? Spit it out!”

“She’s not right for you because she’s not me.” Betty almost whispered.

You were taken aback by that. You didnt even think Betty was even remotely gay. And if she was, you would have thought she’d go for Veronica.

“Betty …” You gave her small, sad smile. “I’m sorry but–”

“No, no I get it.” Betty let a few tears fall from her eyes. “Not everyone’s going to return my feelings. I’ve just gotta find someone who does.”

“You could’ve told me.” You said, pulling her in for a hug. Even though you didn’t love her romantically, you hated to see her so sad. “I’m glad you told me. Maybe one day.” You whispered the last part in her ear, making sure no one else would hear.

You pulled away from the hug, held Betty’s face in your hands and wiped away her tears with the pads of your thumbs. Then, you walked back over to Cheryl and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, keeping in mind that Betty has a raging crush on you and you shouldn’t be too affectionate towards Cheryl while around Betty. You didn’t want to push her away.

“What was that about?” Cheryl asked, as if she wasn’t listen the whole time. You knew she was listening. She knew you knew she was listening. But, Cheryl didn’t want to push anything. Cheryl was on cloud 9 knowing that you wouldn’t leave her for Betty.

“We can talk about it later.” You dismissed the question. You held out your hand for Cheryl to take. “Walk me to class?”

“Of course.”

[vivaciouswordsmith]

Chapter 7 lives

Finally got some of my work under wraps, so I finished the next chapter of FLF. As always, you can read it here or beneath the cut. Enjoy!

(Unrelated note: I’ve seen quite a bit about that Ender Eye AU, and I’ve gotta say...I’m pretty intrigued. Might write something about it when this is all wrapped up...)

Chapter 7: Growing Into It

For a while, the reaction to their heist appeared to be minimal. 

Geoff poured over every newspaper from the last week and watched every single news video under the rather extensive ‘Local Crimes’ section on Weasel News’ website, but their heist was a mere footnote, a blip on the massively overloaded radar that was Los Santos. Still, it blipped, and there was coverage, and even an investigation. That was definitely something.

Their crew’s image had to be put on the back burner for the time being as Geoff, Jack and Michael wondered what the heck to do about Gavin. He’d brought what was practically a Wal-Mart’s worth of computer gear from his ‘place’, set it up, and showed them everything he’d cobbled together about their crew. Security camera footage of them staking out the bank. Screen mirrors of all three of their phones showing every text they’d ever sent to each other. A map of Los Santos with all their planned escape routes drawn in red. And a plethora of other files tucked away in a thousand folders, most of which had names relating to male genitalia. It was a downright frightening amount of data, and it made Jack and Michael nervous. Geoff was a little unsettled as well, but the Brit’s knowledge of their operations, along with the sheer tenacity with which he had complied his data, convinced him to keep him around, at least for the time being.

For the most part, Gavin fit in fairly well with the crew. He liked to go drinking with Geoff, had fun butting heads with Jack, and was playfully chased around and yelled at by Michael. In that aspect, he was one of the boys, and he was happy, even if Michael and Jack weren’t one hundred percent on board with him being one of the crew.

Ryan, however, had not been won over in the slightest. He’d stopped snapping at the Brit, but he still lunged at him, if only to see him fall on his ass and run away squawking. He never gave chase, just watched him run and walked away, tail held high and a bit of a strut to his stride. He ruined a pair of Gavin’s tacky Converse by pissing on them, chewed through two pairs of headphones, and, for several nights in a row, woke him up at five in the morning by barking outside his door.

As Jack so succinctly put it, Ryan accepted that Gavin was there, but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“I think you’re growing on him,” Michael told him one day. Gavin had come home after a job and Ryan charged straight at him. The techie barely had time to screech before Ryan hit him hard and knocked him to the floor. Now he lay on Gavin’s torso and panted. He wiggled underneath the wolfdog, but no matter how much he tried, the pup would not budge.

“Yeah, well, I well wish he’d grow off me!” he said back. He shoved at the wolf’s bulk, and only managed to make him jiggle. Ryan yawned, long and slow, and put his head on his paws and shut his eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake!”

“He’s faking it.” Michael did his best to hide his laughter and failed miserably. He stooped down and rubbed the white splotches between Ryan’s eyes. The wolf cracked open an eye. “C’mon, Rye-Bread, let him go.” He grunted and shut his eye again. “Ryan, you know Geoff likes him. And he’s fucking harmless anyway.”

“Michael!”

“Shut up, you know it’s true.” Ryan huffed loudly and rolled off Gavin. He shook himself and walked over to Michael for pets. “There you go. Good boy.”

Gavin pushed himself upright and glared at the wolf. “Prick.”

The wolf looked back at him and growled. His lip curled up enough to show off a bit of white fang. Michael threaded his fingers through his ruff and managed to calm him down. “Man, if looks could kill, you’d be fucking dead.”

“What’s his deal, anyway?”

“He’s just not used to you, I guess.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What do you mean what’s that supposed to mean? It means he’s not used to you yet!”

At that moment, Geoff walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. “The fuck are you dickheads arguing about?”

“Geoff, why do you have a bloody wolf, Geoff?”

“Uh…why not?” Ryan walked over and hopped up on the couch. “I mean, Jack’s the one who adopted him. Ask him.” The wolf’s wet black nose bumped against Geoff’s hand, and he absentmindedly scratched the pup behind his stump ear.

“Just look at him!” Michael gestured at the wolf’s facial markings. “Look how cool he is!”

“He’s pretty fucking smart, too,” said Geoff. “Saved my stupid ass, at any rate.”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause he doesn’t like you.”

“What? I’m not – why would I – I don’t even – what?” The Brit spluttered and gesticulated while trying to gather his thoughts. Ryan glanced at him, and they swore to God the wolf smirked. “I don’t give a shit about him!”

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t.”

“Anyway, not that this isn’t fun, but I actually need you dickheads to do something for me.”

Both Michael and Gavin looked over at Geoff, all levity forgotten. “What is it?” the demo man asked.

“There’s a warehouse on the docks with some…stuff…in it. If we want to be a big, badass crew, we’re gonna need it.”

“So…”

“So you’re reconning! Just scope it out, see what the defenses are like, and all that good shit.”

“Why do you want me to go?” Gavin asked. “God, I just got back, for Christ’s sake! Why’re you sending me out again?”

“Because, as far as I’m concerned, you still haven’t proved yourself to us.” He held up his hand when Gavin squawked again. “I know, I know, you helped us with the heist, and you’ve been working with us ever since, and you’re sort of growing on me, but still, y’know, not quite on board.” Geoff gestured vaguely and sagged into the couch. “You know how it is.”

“No.”

“Well, my decision’s final, so tough shit.” He reached out for the TV remote, but paused and looked back at Michael. “Oh, and take Ryan with you. I, uh, forgot to take him for his walk this afternoon.”

“What?” said Gavin.

“Sure,” said Michael. “C’mon, Ryan.”

The wolf jumped up and sprinted over to the door. Gavin shifted back against the couch and held up his hands. “I’m not sitting in a car with that monster.”

“He’s a wolf, not a monster. And fucking calm down, already. He’s not going to hurt you.” Michael unhooked Ryan’s red harness and beckoned him over. The wolf sniffed the harness and let out a growl. “C’mon, man, I know you hate it, but we don’t need you running off all over the place, okay? You’re too wild, man! Can’t control ya!” He twisted and wrestled until he finally managed to get Ryan into his harness. The red straps nearly disappeared amidst the wolfdog’s fluff, but Michael managed to clip the leash onto the D-ring without any problems. “Where is this warehouse, anyway?”

“Uh, hold on, I’ve got it here somewhere.” Geoff rummaged through his pockets and pulled out a wadded up notecard. He flung it at Michael, who caught it without looking. “Have fun. But not too much fun. Adequate fun. Not-destroying-the-warehouse fun.”

“We’re not going to destroy the fucking warehouse, all right?” Michael put his hand on his chest and batted his eyelashes. “What sort of monsters d’you think we are?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Geoff waved them off and settled back to watch his show.

“C’mon, Gavin!” The Brit let out a startled noise and jumped back a step. “Fucking move already.”

“I was going anyway,” he said under his breath. “Don’t see why I gotta go to the sodding warehouse anyway.”

“Cause it’s protected with cameras, you dumbass!” Geoff yelled. “Also, seriously, you want to be part of this crew, don’t you?” The startled hacker could only nod. “Then shut the fuck up and do your job.”

“Aw, but Geoff-”

“No buts.” He waved them off and focused on his show.

“You heard the boss, Gav. Let’s check the warehouse out.” Michael grabbed Gavin’s arm with his other hand and pulled him toward the door. Ryan tugged at the leash and pawed at the door. “We’re going, we’re going.”

They stepped out into the greasy parking lot and made their way to Michael’s car. It was a shitty old square thing, painted blue with a red stripe down the middle, but it was Michael’s, and he liked it. He popped open the back door and whistled at Ryan. The wolfdog wiggled in place for a moment and gracefully leaped into the back. Michael let go of the leash and shut the door on the pup. Gavin slouched in the passenger seat while Michael started up the car and rolled both rear windows down for Ryan.

They didn’t talk during the fifteen-minute drive to the bay area. Michael focused on the drive, Gavin largely sulked, and Ryan ran back and forth between the two open windows, occasionally stopping to let the wind play in his fur and pant happily at passing cars.

Michael stopped on the beachfront and stepped out into the blinding sun. It was a busy day on the Los Santos beach, which wasn’t all that surprising. It was a lovely Sunday afternoon, and the beach was one of the few places the gangs agreed not to touch. Hopefully they’d just be two dudes and their dog, and nothing that would raise eyebrows. Or get the police called on them.

It would be about a five minute walk to the warehouse, and Michael wasn’t in any sort of hurry, so he unclipped Ryan’s leash from his harness. The pup’s ears twitched, and he immediately set off for the ocean.

“What’re you doing, Michael?” Gavin squeaked. He drew closer to Michael and gripped his bicep. “Why’d you let him off his leash, you bloody lunatic?”

Michael shrugged. “It’s a nice day, and it’s not like we’re doing anything serious. Let him have some fun.” He pushed Gavin’s hand off his arm, but let him stay close. “Also, Ryan’s not going to hurt anyone. You especially.”

The wolfdog in question bounded back toward them. He left a trail of sandy pawprints in his wake, and had something shiny in his mouth. He stopped at Michael’s feet and dropped a dead fish onto the toes of his boots. He looked up at Michael and licked his chops expectantly.

The techie let out a horrified retch and jumped back. Ryan snorted and nudged the dead fish with a paw.

“Nice job, Rye-Bread,” said Michael. He lifted the dead fish up by the fin with his thumb and forefinger. “It’s very nice.”

Appeased, the wolf turned tail and hurled himself back into the surf. Michael flung the fish away and continued walking, ignoring his companion’s gurgling and vomiting. Eventually, Gavin finished his heaving and wobbled after Michael, muttering irately under his breath.

What was probably a five-minute walk ended up taking nearly half an hour. Michael and Gavin weren’t in any hurry to scope out the warehouse, and the wolfdog leaped through the white surf and snapped at fish, foam and debris alike. Michael called him back over once they reached the dock area, and clipped the leash back on his harness. Ryan grunted and flicked his good ear, but he allowed Michael to leash him again and stayed by his side while they mounted the warped wooden stairs up to the docks.

“So, which one of these is our warehouse, then?” Gavin asked.

“Uh…” Michael pulled the wrinkled card out of his pocket and squinted down at it. “Fuck, Geoff’s handwriting’s awful…couple more, I think? Yeah, yeah, it’s that one over there.” He pointed towards one of the newer buildings.

“Let’s get this over with, then. I could do with a damn break.”

They drew closer. Gavin made note of the security cameras posted by the front doors and on both sides of the building. Michael noted the make of the doors and considered breaching them to see what was inside. All in all, while more modernized than the weather worn wooden buildings around them, it didn’t look like it would be that hard of a heist. Or whatever the fuck Geoff intended to do with it.

Then Ryan snarled. They both jumped and looked down at the wolfdog. His fur stood on end, his hackles raised and his muzzle pulled back to reveal his teeth. His ears rotated, and he turned his head to face one of the other buildings.

The hair on the back of Michael’s neck stood on end. He put his hand on his gun and glanced around. “Something’s up,” he hissed.

“What?”

A movement beside one of the other warehouses caught Michael’s eye, and he whirled around. Two men strolled out from the neighboring dock and froze at the sight of Michael, Gavin and Ryan. They were dressed in dark clothing and had thin, grim faces. Both of their hands jumped almost in perfect unison to their waistbands.

“The fuck are you two doing here?” one of them asked.

“Just walking my dog,” said Michael. He reached down and put his hand on Ryan’s harness.

“And what’s the twink doing with you?” the other asked.

Gavin let out an indignant sound, but any protest he was about to make was cut off by Michael’s elbow ramming into his stomach. “He just wanted to walk with me. The fuck are you asking for?”

“You’re on our fucking turf, that’s why.” They stepped closer. Ryan tried to lunge, but Michael held him back. Froth dripped from the wolf’s bared teeth, and his good ear pressed flat against his head. Michael’s fingers shifted down to the clip keeping the leash attached to the harness.

More footsteps sounded from behind and to either side of them, and several more black-clad men closed in a circle around them. Gavin’s fingers dipped into his waistband, where his gun rested against his stomach. Michael did his best to hide this movement, but he supposed there was no point. He could feel the tension heating the air around them, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before it erupted in violence. Ryan huffed and growled and shifted in place, eyes flicking from enemy to enemy.

One of the guys gave them a once over. His eyes suddenly widened, and he pulled out a Glock.

“That guy’s one of the assholes who did that bank heist! Remember, a few weeks back?”

Guns appeared amongst every single person on the dock. “So, was that bank not enough for you greedy fucks? Had to rub your greasy dicks all over our stuff?”

“Hey, hey! My dick is not greasy!” Michael slowly pushed the leash’s clasp open. Ryan must have realized what he was doing, because he stood stock still, his eyes fixed on one of the men who’d first accosted them. “I have excellent genital hygiene.”

“Michael,” Gavin said. “Don’t antagonize them!”

“I’ll antagonize the shit out of ‘em! They’re pointing fucking guns at us, Gavin! We’re past the fucking ‘Oooh mistah we’re so sorry!’ stage.”

“You’re right about that, at least.” The main guy clicked the safety off on his gun and pointed it at Michael’s chest. “Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of your bodies.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Michael yanked the leash free and dived toward the nearest building. Ryan surged forward and leaped. His paws slammed into the man’s chest, and he went down with a scream. Two other men were taken out with headshots from Michael before the others cottoned on to what was going on, and then the docks erupted in gunfire and shouting.

Gavin somehow managed to duck a hail of bullets and took cover behind a nearby wall. Ryan had already vanished into thin air, leaving behind a wide-eyed corpse with a bloodied mass of meat in place of a throat. There were already four dead bodies lying in pools of blood, but other men swarmed, seemingly out of the woodwork, and took positions near their fellows. He pulled out his gun and returned fire as best he could. He winged one of the guys and killed another. He briefly considered calling Geoff and asking for help, but the storm of bullets dissuaded him for the moment.

He backed further into the alley, considering his options. The car had been left way back on the beach, and he didn’t want to leave without Michael anyway. If he had better weapons, he’d feel a lot more confident fighting until every last member was dead, but the gun was more a precaution than anything else, and he’d packed a pittance of ammo. The hacker’s heart thumped in his throat, and his legs trembled. He couldn’t see things getting worse.

So, naturally, things got worse.

An arm wrapped around his throat and yanked him powerfully backwards. Before he could yell or shoot or do anything, really, the still-warm muzzle of a gun pressed against his temple, and any thoughts of…anything, really, flew out of his brain.

“Listen close, you little shit,” a voice growled in his ear. “If you want to get out of this, you’re gonna do exactly as I say. Got it?” He nodded. “Good. We’re gonna walk back out there, and we’re going to convince your friend to stop shooting. Then you’ll both come along quietly to our boss’s place for a heart to heart chat. Hell, maybe we’ll give him a nice wolfskin rug while we’re at it.”

He started pulling Gavin back towards the no man’s land, ignoring the Brit’s dug in heels. His thoughts were frantic, desperate, trying to find some way to get out, some plan to escape, but he saw nothing…

A snarl sounded behind them, and the gangster turned to face it. Gavin couldn’t help the fearful adrenaline that clenched his heart at the awful sight behind them. The wolfdog stood silhouetted in the “alley”. Blood dripped from his muzzle and soaked the fur of his chin and chest. He stepped forward a few paces and growled again. His red-stained teeth glittered in the afternoon light.

“Stupid dog,” the man sneered. His gun moved away from Gavin’s head to point between Ryan’s eyes.

The moment the gun moved away from him, Gavin brought his pistol down hard on the man’s penis. He let out a garbled shriek and fell back, clutching his crotch. Ryan charged forward the same moment Gavin stumbled away and fell. For a moment, the Brit swore the world slowed down. He saw Ryan’s knees bend, watched him spring into the air, flinched when long teeth tore into pale flesh. Blood spouted into the air, and a shriek cut off almost immediately, replaced by pained gurgles. In moments, it was over. Gavin’s would-be captor lay dead on the ground, blood streaming from the gaping hole where his neck had been.

Ryan snorted and shook himself. He bent his head and snapped up the semi-automatic from the dead man’s fingers. He turned back and walked over to Gavin, who was busy trying to catch his breath. At first, he drew away from the beast. The fresh blood literally dripping from his muzzle was not a particularly endearing sight. The wolfdog huffed loudly and nudged Gavin’s hand with his nose. When Gavin still didn’t react, he growled and dropped the gun in his lap. He twitched and stared dumbly down at the weapon. Ryan put a paw on top of the semi-automatic and nudged it toward Gavin’s right hand. Finally, the techie reached up and grabbed it.

Ryan turned away and padded back down the space between the warehouses. Gavin hastened to follow him, and saw another dead man lying near the entrance to the “alley”. More bloody marks stood out on his pale skin, and the Brit shuddered when his eyes locked with the corpse’s blank lifeless ones. Ryan hopped over him and glanced around before heading to the right. There were still sounds of gunfire echoing through the area, but there weren’t as many of them this time. Unfortunately, one problem was replaced with another: the distant sounds of police sirens slowly called over the beach, steadily growing louder and louder. Unless they wanted to spend the night in LSPD lockup, they needed to get out now. He swallowed and tailed after the wolfdog.

They reached the end of the dock area, rounded around one of the shoddier warehouses, and headed back to the main area. Two men had taken cover behind some old steel barrels and shot at the side of another warehouse. Ryan’s pace slowed, and he crouched to the ground. He glanced up at Gavin, then looked at the man to the right. He pointed his gun at the man’s back. He swore the wolf nodded at him before turning back to the other. Gavin opened fire and blew the man’s skull wide open while Ryan leaped on the other man’s back and ended his life with a swift bite to his neck.

“Is that all of them?” he asked.

Ryan huffed and walked to the edge of the pier. He snuffled at the boards and the entrances to the warehouses. His ears jumped upright and he ran to the warehouse where the men had been shooting. Gavin sped after him, heart in his throat.

He turned the corner and nearly gasped out loud when he saw Michael sitting with his back to the warehouse wall, blood pooling around one of his arms. Well, he kind of saw Michael, because most of the demoman’s body was obscured by the giant black wolf sitting on top of him. His mind flashed back to the sight of long white fangs tearing into flesh, and for a moment he considered shooting the wolf right then and there. His fingers curled for a moment around the trigger.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Ry-Bread, I’m okay, it’s just a graze!”

The words pulled Gavin out of his fears, and he finally saw the wolf’s pink tongue lathing Michael’s freckled cheeks, and saw the smile on his face. Ryan’s tail wagged when Michael stroked his fur and gave his flanks a few pats. Gavin lowered his gun, and felt a sudden twinge of guilt low down in his guts.

“Michael, did they get you, Michael?”

“Huh?” Michael’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “Yeah, but it’s just a scratch. It’s nothing, I swear.” He pushed Ryan off him and pulled himself upright. He stepped toward Gavin and showed him a bloody tear in the sleeve of his jacket. “Fucking assholes. I like this jacket, goddammit.”

“Still, we’d better leave. Cops are showing up, and you know Geoff hates it when we get locked up.”

“Shit, really?” Michael cocked his head, and scowled when he heard the sirens. “Fuck. Let’s hit the road, then.” He walked out into the main area, but wobbled and would have fallen if Gavin hadn’t caught him. “Fuck me.”

“C’mon, boi. We’ll get you home, and Jack can patch you up, yeah?”

“I’m fucking fine…just a little dizzy, that’s all…” Ryan whined and bumped his nose into Michael’s palm. Blood dripped down his jacket sleeve and splashed onto the worn wooden planks. “Okay, he might…have cut something important.”

Gavin wrapped Michael’s good arm around his shoulders and dragged him back toward the stairs. Ryan trailed behind them, letting out the occasional whine.

“Don’t worry. We’ll get you home.”

It was fairly late in the afternoon by the time Gavin, Michael and Ryan returned home. Jack was playing what looked like Call of Duty, but he immediately paused the game and stood up upon seeing the blood still oozing from Michael’s jacket.

“What happened?” he asked. “I thought Geoff was just sending you out for reconnaissance!”

“Some arseholes were watching the place. Shot us up and injured Michael.” Gavin propped Michael up against the kitchen table and stepped back to let Jack tend to him. “We managed to take care of it, but we, uh, made a right mess of the docks.”

“Fuck. Guess Geoff got bad intel on that warehouse.” Jack pulled his first-aid kit off the shelf and popped it open. Michael shifted about an inch away and grabbed his injured arm.

“M’fine,” he said. “S’not a problem.”

“You’re bleeding like crazy, Michael.” Jack batted his hand away and pulled the jacket off his shoulders. Gavin retched at the sight of the jagged wound torn into the meat of Michael’s arm. It looked much worse than it had with the jacket covering it. Ryan sniffed Michael’s hand, leaned his head back, and let out a howl.

“He’s gonna be okay, Ryan.” Jack briefly patted Ryan’s head before pulling a pair of gloves out of his kit and tugging them on. Ryan whined again and walked over to Gavin. He leaned his bulk against the Brit’s leg and nearly toppled him. After a moment’s consideration, Gavin put his hand on Ryan’s head. Surprisingly, the wolfdog’s tail wagged a bit, and he looked up at Gavin with big blue eyes. The dried flakes of blood clinging to the fur of his muzzle was still off-putting, but he didn’t look quite so batshit insane now.

It took Jack about twenty minutes to get the wound cleaned and to sew it shut. He gave Michael some painkillers beforehand, and by the time he stitched the last wound shut the demoman had nodded off and snored peacefully. Gavin had graciously lent Michael his shoulder, but scowled and shifted him off when he drooled on his shirt. Jack wrapped the wound up with gauze and bandages, and led Michael to the couch. He flopped down and let out a loud snore.

Not five seconds after that, the front door banged open again, and Geoff strolled into the room.

“Great news! I finally found my..” He trailed off when he saw the group clustered around the couch. “Uh, what’s going on?”

“Geoff, why didn’t you tell us the warehouse had a billion bloody guards, Geoff?” Gavin glared at his boss and crossed his arms. “They blasted the shite out of us, Geoff.”

“Guards? It wasn’t supposed to be guarded.” Geoff frowned and moved to look at Michael. “Guess that answers my question, though.”

“Not that it matters anyway,” said Gavin. “Cops showed up right as we left.”

“If that’s the case, they’ll probably confiscate everything in the area as evidence,” said Jack.

“Fuck. I really wanted that warehouse, too. Dammit.” He sat down in his chair and brushed the hair off his forehead. “This’ll set us back a bit.” Ryan walked over and put his head on Geoff’s knee. He reached down and scratched behind his ear stump, and the pup’s eyes closed happily.

“What did you find, Geoff?” Jack asked.

“Oh, yeah! So, me ‘n’ Gavvers here got royally fucked up a few nights ago, and we had the best discussion on what we’re going to name our little group!”

“Do we really need a name?”

“You – wha – of course we need a fucking name! We can’t just be ‘Those Fuckers Who Fuck Shit Up’ forever!”

“I don’t know, ‘Those Fuckers Who Fuck Shit Up’ is kinda catchy,” said Jack.

Gavin, meanwhile, stared at the ceiling and frowned. “I don’t remember this.”

“You wouldn’t, you fucking lightweight.” Geoff laughed when he squawked indignantly. “Anyway, we came up with some fucking amazing names, and I had the presence of mind to write ‘em all down. I lost the paper for a bit, but I finally found it in my car!” He pulled a cocktail napkin out of his pocket and offered proudly to Jack. “Tell me what you think of ‘em.”

Jack took the napkin and carefully uncrumpled it. “Geoff, this is completely illegible.”

“What? No, it should all be there.”

Gavin wandered over and peered over Jack’s shoulder. “What? Geoff, this is utter nonsense.” He laughed and tugged the napkin out of Jack’s hand. “God, this is absolute bloody gibberish! Nothing on here makes sense!”

Geoff stood up and pulled the napkin out of Gavin’s hand. He squinted down at the scrawling on it and frowned. “Fuck. This was brilliant a few nights ago.” He brought it up to his nose and squinted his eyes almost shut. “Wait…wait…I think…I think I see an f.”

“Where do you see an f in that mess?” asked Gavin.

“Yeah, I think…maybe…if that’s an f…maybe that says ‘Fake’? Fake…Fake ah…Fake AH Crew! There, that’s our fucking name!” Geoff slammed the napkin down on the table and sat back down in his chair. Ryan wandered over and sniffed the napkin. His nose wrinkled, and he turned tail and ran back toward his food bowl.

“That makes no goddamn sense,” said Jack.

At the same time Gavin said, “Did you make that up?”

“Obviously I made it up! And I don’t hear you coming up with anything better!”

“Is there a Real AH Crew? Also, what the fuck is AH?”

“You know what? Shut up. Everyone shut up. I fucking quit.” He shot to his feet and stormed off to the kitchen.

Jack shook his head and crumpled up the napkin.

“Fake AH Crew. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”