#anyway every time i cough my lungs feel like they’re gonna pop

[arrowflier]

if you still taking prompts, I wish you could write something about... since Ian's always over-worrying about Mickey's safety, what if he gets a call saying something happened to his husband? maybe Ian's freaking out thinking Mickey could be locked again or hurt so he runs to get him? Thank you!!

Spoiler alert--nothing bad actually happens to anyone in this ficlet.

--

Ian is at Whole Foods when the call comes.

They usually go together, Mickey whining about rich privileged fucks and overpriced organic shit but coming anyway to, and he quotes, “make sure you don’t drop our whole paycheck on fuckin’ tomatoes this time.” But Mickey had begged off today, claiming he didn’t feel up to “dealing with those judgmental dicks at the checkout actin’ like cash is fuckin’ dirty”, and Ian hadn’t pushed.

Now he’s wishing he had.

“You need to come now,” Sandy is saying into his ear, voice tinny and thin through the cheap speakers of his second-hand phone.

“Where are you?” Ian asks her numbly. He kneels down on autopilot, picking up the now-bruised oranges he had been holding when she greeted him with the words, “hey, it’s Mickey.” The tile floor is as unforgiving on his knees as it was on the fruit. He turns one of the oranges over in his hand. He had been planning to make Mickey fresh orange juice with that later.

“That little corner store by your apartment, you know it?” Sandy is asking him.

Of course he knows it. That’s were they run to in the middle of the night when they run out of lube, or beer. Where Mickey bought him flowers once and tried to pass it off as an error by the cashier, until Ian found the receipt in the bottom of the bag. Where they take Franny to pick out candy every other Friday when they pick her up from school.

“Yeah,” is all he says. “I know it.”

Then he’s hanging up, and running out of the store, leaving an overturned basket and the handful of oranges on the floor in his wake.

His heart is pounding as he runs toward home. Not toward the apartment—toward Mickey.

His heart is pounding and his legs are churning and his feet are slapping the pavement with every step, chest aching to force air into his lungs. But his brain is moving faster.

He doesn’t know what happened. He should have kept Sandy on the line longer, gotten more of the story, but it only would have slowed him down. But he doesn’t know if Mickey is hurt, or in trouble, or in danger of being carted off to prison again for daring to live his life on parole.

And Ian’s mind has never exactly been his greatest ally to begin with, so it’s no surprise that the scenarios it comes up with as he runs aren’t exactly comforting.

As he rounds a corner, narrowly missing an old woman and her shopping bags, he pictures Mickey injured, collapsed on the floor of the shop, like back at the Kash and Grab when they were just kids. He won’t let anyone near him like that, no one but Ian, and he’s bleeding out onto white tile waiting for his husband to save him.

Crossing the street between cars and ignoring the honks, he pictures Mickey backed into a corner by his father’s cronies, refusing to look for an escape as Sandy frantically tries to call for help. He still doesn’t know how to back down, would never back down from men like that, would never let them take what they have and try to turn it ugly. He’d held a gun to his own father’s face, more than once, but thanks to Ian he didn’t even have one now.

Approaching the shop, finally, only to see the familiar red and blue flash of police cars, he pictures Mickey cuffed to the counter inside, glaring at the officers and spouting curses to the questions they ask. Knowing that despite living clean for over a year, they could take him in any time they wanted, with no more evidence than his last name and his rap sheet.

Ian dashes across the last street, desperate now, only to come to an abrupt halt as soon as he’s close enough to take in the scene.

Because there’s Mickey, all right. Not hurt, not cornered, not arrested.

But stuck.

Ian’s mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, and he bends over, hands on knees, to catch his breath and his heart. Mickey is whole, and healthy, and right in front of him. Well, in front of him and up a little, pacing along the edge of the single-story shop roof.

“Hey!” Sandy calls out from the entrance of the store. Ian keeps his eyes on Mickey, who starts at the sound and looks down, gaze quickly finding Ian. He grimaces when he sees him, and starts pacing faster.

“Uh, hey Sandy,” Ian manages, finally looking to her just long enough to take in her shit-eating grin before he’s back to watching his husband. “What exactly is happening here?” The question might come out a little unhinged sounding, but sue him, he’s allowed.

Sandy comes up next to him, shielding her eyes from the sun with one hand as she joins him in observing the roof. “Apparently,” she tells him, voice raised enough that Mickey can probably hear, “Mickey here got robbed.”

Mickey can definitely hear, if the finger he throws up toward them is any indication.

“Robbed,” Ian repeats faintly. “On the roof?”

Sandy snorts. “No, you moron, in the store. Some kid swiped his bag on his way out, then went up the maintenance ladder. Mickey followed, but,” she shrugs. “Little fucker started jumping rooftops, and Mickey couldn’t keep up.”

“Uh huh,” Ian says, nodding once. “Okay. So why hasn’t he come back down?”

“Ladder broke,” Sandy offers, and Ian closes his eyes.

“The ladder,” he parrots. “Broke.”

“Yup,” she says, popping the P.

“And your first thought,” Ian continues, “was to call me, and tell me that Mickey was in trouble, giving me a heart attack in the middle of the fucking grocery store, instead of finding another one?” His voice rises until he’s nearly yelling, and when he opens his eyes, Sandy is wincing.

“Um,” she answers. “Sorry?”

Ian just sighs, deflating immediately.

“Mick,” he calls up to his husband.

The response he gets back isn’t even addressed to him.

“The fuck did you call him for?” Mickey shouts down to Sandy instead, finally stopping his incessant pacing. “It was supposed to be a fuckin’ surprise!”

“Well, I am surprised!” Ian yells back. “Thought you didn’t like heights?” That just earns him a middle finger, as expected.

“Why aren’t the cops helping?” Ian asks Sandy at a normal volume, but Mickey catches it and responds before she can.

“Cops ain’t here for me,” he grunts, rubbing at his nose and looking to the side. “Shopkeep called ‘em about the burglary, they got the kid ‘round the other side of the building.”

“What did he steal, anyway?” Ian questions, but Mickey goes silent.

Sandy tells him anyway. “He had a big order come in,” she whispers to Ian. “Told me all about it, had me come help pick it up. Something about some fancy booze and chocolate you like?”

Oh. Ian’s heart, now recovered from its scare, warms.

“Come on, Mickey, come down,” Ian cajoles. He wants to hold his husband.

“Oh, brilliant fuckin’ idea man!” Mickey rants. “Why didn’t I think of that?” He pretends to think for a second, then adds with an overdone gesture, “Oh yeah! Cause I don’t wanna break my fuckin’ neck!”

“It’s one story, Mickey,” Ian points out. “I could probably reach the gutters if I jumped.”

“Yeah, well, not all of us are giant gangly fuckers like you!” his husband shouts back.

Ian rolls his eyes.

“I meant,” he says slowly, “that if you hang down off the edge, I can reach you, dumbass.”

Mickey is silent at that, then promptly sits and scoots so his feet are hanging off the roof.

All the warning Ian gets is “don’t drop me, fuckhead,” before Mickey is sliding down right into his arms, sending them both stumbling backwards until Ian regains his footing.

They stay like that, pressed together from knees to chest, Ian’s arms around Mickey’s waist and Mickey’s looped around his neck, until Sandy coughs from behind them.

“Adorable,” she drawls, and they both flip her off this time. Ian hold Mickey tighter instead, and kisses his hair.

“So,” he whispers into Mickey’s ear, “Sandy scared the shit out of me about this.”

Mickey just hums into his neck.

“I think you might need to make it up to me,” Ian adds. “What’s this I hear about a surprise?”

Mickey pulls back just enough to scowl at him. “Surprise got pinched,” he mutters. “Evidence now or something, greedy pig bastards.”

Ian grins. “I’m sure you can think of something else,” he muses, shifting to that they’re side by side, and starting off in the direction of their apartment. He waves over his shoulder at Sandy, a clear dismissal. “You’ve never lacked for ideas before.”

Mickey sighs, but leans into him as they walk.

“You’re gonna make me buy you fruit again, aren’t you?” he asks, resigned, and Ian thinks of the oranges he had left at the store, and the tomatoes that Mickey liked to tease him about.

“Maybe,” he answers, and smiles all the way home.

[hyunjilicious]

the premiere [chris evans]

A/n: This was requested and it took me TWO AGES to write, so I’m sorry. The anon mentioned I should make it as smutty as possible, but I thought that since this is my first ever Chris Evans fic, I shouldn’t go too far..? I still hope you’ll like it, and if you do, please don’t hesitate to tell me!! It makes my day!!

Summary: You and Chris are friends with benefits. When he takes you the premiere of his latest movie, a series of events leads to a meet-up in the bathroom, where things get heated. (SMUT) 4.1k

Warnings: unprotected sex, dirty talk with a hint of degradation (Chris is a liiiiiittle bit of an asshole but he makes up for it, I promise), daddy kink, choking + breath play and if you squint there is also some size kink there!

-

The amount of nervous sweat that had pooled inside your pores was threatening to pass the threshold of common sense. Tens of cameras and hundreds of eyes pointed at you, the uncomfortable high heels you regretted wearing and the amount of Hollywood A-listers around you, were all getting too much for you to bear.

Initially, Chris remained glued to your side; never allowing even the tiniest bit of space to be put between your bodies, but now things have changed.

You missed his presence by your side as it was literally your safe net, especially in situations like these. That was why every time you felt a conversation with some random attendee had run its course, your eyes would instantly search for Chris. Just knowing he was in the same room, calmed you down. 

Afraid not to seem too clingy, you did your best to stay away from him. But that only proved to be more difficult as more and more minutes passed. He always had a devious grin plastered on his lips whenever you looked at him from the other side of the room.

At one point, alone and away from any group of people that were only looking to make small talk, you retreated into a corner, and took out your phone. Among the tens of notifications on your lock screen, there was also a text from Chris, which arrived about 2 minutes prior. It only read an "😏" next to the name you saved him under, 'Daddy x'

Unable but also unwilling to hide your blush, you raised your gaze and found him, along 3 of his friends about 10 meters to the side. The group seemed to be in the middle of a ravenous conversation, everyone frantically gesticulating. Everyone but Chris. His eyes were trained on you, and remained like that as he took a sip of his whiskey. He watched you over the rim of the glass, and then proceeded to lick his lips suggestively.

You knew what that meant, and before your mind even got a chance to process it, your core already started to ache in anticipation. Busying yourself around the venue, you did your best to make the night pass faster. You wanted to get home, you knew Chris wanted you and that was not a mood of his you ever wanted to miss.

Things seemed to be going well until you found yourself at the bar, ordering another cocktail. As you waited for the employee to prepare your drink, you felt a strong hand caress your side, before shamelessly slapping your ass. You jumped, surprised and offended, only to see Chris as he walked away.

At this point, watching his muscles flex under the navy blue suit he wore, you were basically dripping.

When the announcement was made for everyone to take their seats as the movie was set to begin in a couple of minutes, you breathed out relieved, happy you'd finally be able to spend two hours in his presence without anyone asking any questions. 

Or that was what you thought. When you took your seat, you couldn't have been more disappointed to see Chris was nowhere around. After contemplating how bad of an idea it would be to call and ask, your phone buzzed in your hand.

"3b exit. 2nd door on your left. Now"

As you read the text, you couldn't fight the urge to rub your thighs together. But it didn't help. At all. You knew what was waiting for you so your pathetic attempt to alleviate the pain between your legs proved to be entirely in vain.

When you stood up, the lights went down and the movie started.

Slowly making your way down the hallway, you could already feel your heart beating out of your chest. When you reached the door he mentioned in his text, you saw that it was supposed to lead to a bathroom. A small pang of disappointment enveloped you, as you wished you were actually going to meet him outside and head home. Still, you took a deep breath and pushed the door open.

The light inside was a heavy shade of red, making the anyway overly exotic bathroom look downright erotic. You took another deep breath and looked to the side, your eyes landing on Chris’s frame.

He was standing in front of the mirror, his suit jacket missing from his shoulders. He had his sleeves rolled up, his shirt still neatly tucked into his pants. A sight for sore eyes, you thought to yourself as your eyes traveled down his frame.

Chris raised his head, his gloomy gaze meeting yours through the reflection in the mirror. 

"Hey" you smiled, only now closing the door behind you.

In a matter of seconds, he turned around with a devious grin on his lips. "Glad you listened to me, doll. I was afraid you wouldn't" he said, taking hurried menacing steps in your direction. 

"Why?" you giggled.

His grin only widened at your cluelessness, but only until he reached you. Chris didn't waste any time before grabbing your cheeks into his massive hands and slamming your back into the door before he kissed you.

The air was punched out of your lungs. His lips effortlessly engulfed yours as he pushed himself against you, consuming you.

Eventually, he went on to kiss along your jawline, traveling down your neck as he spoke greedily against your skin, "Teased me all fucking night long, baby"

"I didn't do anything" you breathed out, melting under his touch.

In that moment, you knew he was serious as his hands trapped your waist, his fingers burning through the material of your dress, "Don't play dumb, angel, we both know where you stand"

"Chris-" you whined, holding onto his shoulders for support as you arched your back, your breasts rubbing against his rock hard chest.

He hummed, as a signal for you to say what was on your mind.

"Come on-" you panted, enjoying the way the pain of his teeth sinking into your skin turned into pleasure. "Let's go"

To that, he stopped. Chris pulled away from you with a look of pure confusion in his eyes, "Go where, Y/n?"

"Home..? To your apar-"

"Oh" he chuckled, eyes dark as devious new ideas popped into his mind, thoughts materialising, "You're not going anywhere until I fuck the slut of you"

His words, although crude and delivered in a malicious tone, fueled your senses and made your core buzz. "Hell no" you said, against your gut, "I'm not-"

"You know how things work" he shook his head, forcibly grabbing your forearm and pulling you until you were facing the mirror. "Don't turn all good girl on me right now"

As if you weren't already shamelessly riled up, the reflection in the mirror seriously did the job. You watched your frame, delicately wrapped in the almost see-through material of your dress, and then your eyes slipped to the side, where Chris was towering over you. Shoulders significantly broader and almost a head taller than you, his presence forced your heart into overdrive.

He looked down at you, bringing his left hand up to wrap his fingers around your neck. Instinctively, you allowed a soft moan to escape your lips as you fell back against his stone solid chest. 

"Look how gorgeous you are" Chris grinned, rubbing his thumb up and down your jugular, "And I trained you so fucking well, don't disappoint me"

Heaving, you arched your back, unconsciously rubbing your ass against his already rock hard cock. "I didn't- I didn't lock the door. What- what if someone comes in?"

"Then they're gonna see me fucking my girl. So what? Isn't that why we're together? I have a slut to fuck whenever I feel like it and you, like the whore you are, actually fucking love it?"

"Shit-" you gasped, feeling his grip tighten around your neck as he spoke.

"Isn't it? Am I wrong?"

You fervently nodded your head, and as you gasped for air once again, he released you.

"I didn't hear that?" Chris taunted, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"Fuck, of course" you said, your own words worsening the pain between your legs. "Yes, you're right"

"Now you're not just saying that, are you, angel?"

"No!" you said, with a kind of eagerness you didn't know you owned. Turning around in his hold, you placed your hands on his chest before looking up into his darkened eyes, "You know I'm all in, I'm sorry. You know I always do what you tell me, Daddy, I don't know what's gotten into me"

"That's what I wanted to hear, pet" Chris said, roughly rubbing his thumb across your bottom lip, "Now turn around and open that pretty mouth for me, princess, hm?"

Obediently this time, you spun around to face the mirror and parted your lips, eagerly awaiting his next move.

After enjoying the view for a few brief seconds, Chris sunk his right hand into the pocket of his trousers, fishing out his phone. Your heart rate picked up as his left hand returned around your neck, this time only teasing its way up to your lips. He shoved two fingers into your mouth and your muscle memory kicked in as you instantly started to suck on them.

"Oh my god!" Chris exclaimed. You felt him move around a bit, his cock pressing into your ass, "You're fuck toy material, you know that?"

With his fingers still knuckles deep inside your mouth, you nodded, eyes trained on his reflection.

"Now open wide, you little slut. Poke that tongue out for Daddy" he commanded, and then forced his fingers deeper, reaching the back of your throat.

You coughed softly, your gag reflex threatening to kick in. But he kept going, "Choke on my fingers, angel. Come on, I wanna see a sweet little tear."

A low moaning sound escaped your throat, followed by another cough which signaled your air supply was running low.

"A little more, pet. I know you can do it, show me what I want to see"

But it was him who pushed your limits once again. Chris pushed his fingers down harder against your tongue, triggering another cough. This one was rougher however, as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, while you struggled to catch your breath even after he pulled his fingers away.

The pressure between your legs kept increasing, becoming almost unbearable when you felt his hand against your side, soothingly rubbing your waist.

In just about a few seconds, you came back to your senses and immediately turned around, eyes desperately searching for Chris's.

"That's my good girl" he smiled proudly, looking down at you in awe.

You nodded obediently, rubbing your thighs together.

"Wanna see how hot you are, angel?" he grinned, unlocking his phone and opening up the gallery. The ease with which he scrolled down through the app and typed in the password to his secret album, proved just how often he accessed your pictures. It made you beam.

Once the shots he just took popped up on the screen, your mouth watered. You didn't even look at yourself, just him - admired his immense frame, the proud smirk on his lips and the pure lust in his eyes.

"You’re such a good slut, baby" he spoke against your temple, "You love listening to me, don't you? Having no say whatsoever, no control over what's gonna happen to this sweet body of yours. Being at my mercy? I told you you don't get to breathe right now, you didn't even fight, darling. You're just too eager to please me, aren't you?"

"Yes, Daddy" you nodded, his grave tone of voice sending shivers down your spine.

"Good, good" Chris sighed.

Then, effortlessly and in one swift motion, he spun you around, to face the mirror again. Placing his big hand on your upper back, between your shoulder blades, he forced you down, bending your body over the sink.

With his foot, Chris forced your ankles apart. The sound of his belt buckle being undone made all the hairs on your body stand up, but the zipper was the last drop, forcing a sweet moan to escape your lips.

"Be patient, baby" he spoke, pulling your dress up, over your hips. Curling two fingers around the waistband of your panties, he pulled them down your legs, until they fell around your ankles.

Now, being completely exposed in front of him, you couldn't take it anymore. "Come on, please, I need you"

"I know you do, darling" Chris said with a sweet but still condescending tone, "but I'm not done yet"

It was clear what he meant when you heard the camera of his phone click again. The sound made your walls clench. All your buttons had been pushed, you couldn't wait anymore.

"Please" you whined, wiggling your body to get his attention.

A few seconds of silence followed, and then he threw his phone on the edge of the sink, mere inches away from your face.

His right hand connected to your ass, his fingers sinking into your skin until you couldn't feel the pressure anymore, just a stinging sensation. Nibbling on your lower lip, you tried your best to be good, and you succeeded, at first. When the first slap was delivered however, you couldn't help yourself.

Whimpering, you enjoyed the feeling of pain as it dissipated and turned into pleasure. Chris kept going, decorating your cheeks with countless red hand marks, each more painful than the other.

"You good, baby?" he asked, caressing the inflamed skin of your ass, "Does it hurt?"

You nodded yes.

"Good, angel, it has to. Can you take more?"

"Y-yes"

And that, that was your wrong doing. What followed turned out to be much more than you ever thought you could handle. He showed no mercy or remorse as you whined and struggled, your legs shaking uncontrollably. It was unclear why he stopped when he did, but you were grateful.

"You’re fucking dripping down your thighs" Chris said, moving his hand between your legs, "I wanna see how far I can push you, how long I can keep going until I break you, doll."

You remained silent, fighting the urge to tell him to do it. 

"But I won't, not tonight. Wish we were home, I don't want us to make the headlines for something like this"

"Fuck.." you chuckled, "God, no"

"Of course I won't anything like that happen" Chris assured you. 

A wave of warmth and safety threatened to overcome you as you took in his words, but then, less than 10 seconds later, you felt a nudge against your opening. Your mouth instantly watered as he pushed himself in, his massive cock forcing your walls to spread beyond what you considered comfortable.

He filled you up in an instant, slamming himself balls deep into your pussy. The feeling was earth shattering, just like his heavy breathing. You knew he was in 7th heaven, and you absolutely adored being the source of his pleasure.

At first he didn't move, proceeding to rub your hips and reddened ass, while allowing your pussy to adjust to his size. You felt yourself pulse around his member, every indentation and vein amplifying the sensation.

"I'm sorry, doll, but I think you were made for me. Don't think there's any other pussy in this world that can take my cock like you do"

"Maybe I was" you teased as you rolled your hips back and forth, creating a minimal amount of friction.

Chris grunted, "Fuck-"

He grabbed your hips with force, suddenly his patience dissipating into thin air. It took you aback - the way he controlled your body. Chris picked up his pace, slamming his hips into you without holding back. The momentul had your body rocking back and forth, your hair falling over your face as you didn't have the energy to even keep your head up anymore.

"Fuck yourself with my cock" Chris commanded, letting go of your hips.

He slapped your thighs one more time, as your cue to start, and then gathered his hands behind his back.

That wasn't what you wanted. You loved it when he did all the work and you had no effort to make, and just allow yourself to enjoy the moment. 

Barely managing to maintain your balance on your wobbly feet, you started grinding, slowly moving back and forth against his cock. You were doing a pathetic job and he was quick to object.

"Come on, Y/n-" he scoffed, slapping your ass with anger, "Ride my cock like you fucking mean it. Milk my cock like the slut you are"

His words went straight to your core, accentuating your arousal.

"Oh, oh!" Chris laughed, slapping your ass again, "Did your cunt seriously just clench around me?"

"Holy- urgh maybe" you grunted.

"Make me cum" he commanded.

This time, you didn't hold back.

White knuckling the edge of the sink, you found leverage and balance, now allowing you to move with ease. Slowly at first, but picking up your pace by the second, you rocked your body against his cock, your determination noticeable in the vigor of your movements.

And it was obvious that this time you were doing it right. So on point that Chris's heavy breathing and low grunts echoed above the redundant sound of your skin slapping into his. Catching a glimpse of his expression on the mirror, was proof that he was drowning in pure fucking pleasure. The ecstasy and awe was readable on his features.

And you kept going. Blocking out all sounds and surroundings, until a harsh buzz broke your concentration.

Looking down, next to your right hand, you saw Chris's phone ringing.

"Who- who the fuck is Elle N.?" you panted.

But he didn't care. It was as if your words never even reached him.

"Chris!?" you called again, this time stopping.

"What are you-" he began asking, but stopped when you shoved the phone into his hands.

"Who is that?" you asked.

"Publicist, who gives a-"

"Chris-" you said, "And I mean this with absolute seriousness, if TMZ bursts into the bathroom, cameras pointed at us, you're fucking done with me. It's all fun and games, until we show up on national TV"

He rolled his eyes, pure annoyance shining through his eyes. "What?" he yelled into the phone after accepting the call.

As he listened to the person on the other end of the line, his hand roamed over the curve of your ass, his fingers purposely applying pressure to the most inflamed areas.

You bit your lips in order to not make any sounds, but eventually started rolling your hips, determined to give him a piece of his own medicine. 

Chris closed his eyes, and threw his head back, murmuring something under his breath that you couldn't quite make out. About 20 seconds later, he ended the call with a harsh, "Bite me"

"The fuck was that?" you asked.

"You have about 3 minutes to make me cum, otherwise you're in big fucking trouble"

"What?"

He nodded his head, somehow looking amused, "And you'll also end up on national TV"

"Jesus Christ-" you scoffed, determined to pull away and leave.

"Oh fuck no" he stopped you, slamming you back down. "I came here to fuck you, you best believe I'm gonna do it. Work that magic cunt and drain my balls now, Y/n"

"Chris-" you wanted to protest.

"None of that, you hear me?" he growled, grabbing a fistful of your hair and pulling you up, "Your time is running low. You've never fucking seen me actually angry. If we get to that, you're gonna regret it. Now, be a good little whore, and make me cum"

For the first time, you actually felt a surge of fear course through your body. "Ok" you muttered.

When he released you, you leaned back down, resumed your previous position, and started pumping yourself into his cock again. For you, it was doing the trick. The angle and the fear of getting caught fueled your senses, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

But for Chris, it didn't seem to be enough. As only a few seconds passed before he took control, framing your hips into his hands and handling your body to fit his needs. His pace was much more aggressive than what you had been doing, but it was also much more effective.

It was all a haze. Chris managed to send you falling down an endless spiral of pleasure, everything around you turning to blur. Your ears buzzed and your body was out of your control, muscles spasming unreasonably as you allowed yourself to get drunk with ecstasy.

When Chris finished too, mere seconds later, you thought you couldn't ever feel any better. He was quick to pull out, and move to the side to clean himself, but not before giving your ass a rewarding slap.

"Gotta go now," he said, fixing himself up.

You were still out of it, catching your breath as his cum dripped out of your pussy. "Yeah, I know, go"

As he did his belt, Chris involuntarily did a double take, "I'm sorry-" he said, his demeanor now unusually soft. "I wish I didn't have to-"

"It's fine-" you giggled, your voice low and breathy, "I'm still not 100% back, but I know you have to go, don't worry"

"Are you sure?" he asked, walking over to you and tilting your chin up, "I kinda feel like an asshole"

"I mean it" you said with a smile, "Plus, this is how we usually do it anyway, so it's nothing new. I don't know why you're so worried all of a sudden"

"Damn.. I really am an asshole.."

"Chris!"

"OK, I'll go" he said, advancing towards the door, "But I'll call you later, ok? I wanna talk to you about something"

"Yes, call me whenever you want. Now go"

"Bye" Chris spoke hurriedly as he rushed out, closing the door behind him.

Confusion seeped through your veins as you were left alone in the room. You studied your reflection in the mirror, and although looking disheveled with your hair a mess, you really did feel pretty. There was life on your features and it wasn't from the expensive makeup you had on.

But all that came in perfect contrast with how you were actually feeling. You felt alone, clingy, in need of cuddles from a person who has never actually given you any. It shook you, how this time, you felt entirely different from how you usually feel after your hookups with Chris.

But there was nothing to be done. You straightened your back and started rummaging through your purse, hoping the spare powder you always had on you would be able to cover the after sex glow you had going on.

As you worked on reapplying your face, the door opened and you instinctively turned away from it. You weren't in the mood. 

"Y/n" a familiar voice called.

You looked up to see Chris sprinting towards you.

"What are you-"

"Fuck 'em. Fuck the cameras, fuck the interviews, fuck the labels, fuck the reporters"

"Wait, what-" you cringed, "Slow down, I don't understand"

He took a deep breath, "Fuck 'em"

"What happened?"

"Come on" he said, grabbing your hand, "Come with me"

"Um.. Chris? I don't think that's a good idea. My hair is all fucked and I'm pretty sure the eye shadow-"

"I don't know what you mean, you look absolutely gorgeous, perfect even-" Chris said, his eyes wide open and fixed on yours, "But that doesn't even matter, let's go home"

"I don't get it. People were looking for you"

"Who gives a shit? Do I give a shit? I don't give a shit!"

"Chris…"

"Seriously, Y/n-" he said, cupping your cheeks and bringing your face inches away from his, "I wanna make you dinner. I have that gross white wine you like so much even though I don't understand how you can drink that shit. And I'll run a bath, I don't have bath bombs but I think conditioner works too-"

"It doesn't"

"Eh then we'll just smell nice" Chris said in a heartbeat. "And then I'll eat you out into fucking oblivion, yeah? Doesn't that sound good? Better than boring interviews and that movie I'm barely even in"

It was all just too much to process. "What changed? I-"

"Nothing changed" he shook his head, "I always wanted to do this. I thought that if I brought you to this event things would develop between us somehow. I don't know why I thought that. Don't ask. And that's why I told you to come into the bathroom. But then I was too shy to say anything and then I left and things were exactly where they were when we got here and I said that-"

"Chris?"

"Yeah?" he sighed, catching his breath.

"Shut up and let's see how good you can cook"

[satoruvt]

the color of you - blue (6)

ITS HERE. I HOPE I DID WELL. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT AKDSHKFJSDH

pairing → keigo takami x reader

word count → 3213

summary → you’re not really dating, so you can’t really be in love with him... right?

song inspo → hell of flying by jeremy zucker, cassette by demian, a lil of bugbear by chloe moriondo

this chapter → y/n comes to conclusions, keigo’s a dork, tension, a fight, crying.

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven

So it’s been… strange.

Or rather, it hasn’t been strange at all, which makes everything even more strange, somehow. You feel like things should be so much different, but they’re not. You reached a wild conclusion that threw you for a fucking loop, made you sit in your kitchen at Angel Cakes and contemplate what the hell you were going to do about anything that would ever occur to you from here on out. Sometimes you almost ask Keigo how things haven’t changed at all, since you’ve decided that you like him, but then you have to stop yourself from saying anything because, oh, right, you haven’t told him.

You don’t plan to, either.

It’d just mess everything up, wouldn’t it? To say “hey, I know we’ve been fake dating for like two and a half months now but I’m kind of liking the idea of really dating you”? Kinda fucked. Not to mention, from a professional stance, what if it ruins your guys’ chemistry when you’re being watched by the entire world? If someone finds out that the whole thing is fake - regardless of your feelings - it means Keigo’s public image and your entire life at the bakery. Everything would go to shit, and after it’s burned down, you doubt you’d even have Keigo.

So you’re not telling him. You’re in love with one of your closest friends, who you are also fake dating, who is also the Number Two hero in the country, and you’re not telling him how you feel. Yes. Okay.

You’ve had a lot of time to reflect about your own feelings, because after Keigo left to fight that villain the other day (and after you managed to get off the ground and clean up) you were sure it was a heat-of-the-moment thing. Yeah, he looked pretty, and there was something dreamy and domestic about laughing and throwing baking ingredients at each other, so maybe your heart just got confused. 

But you’d called him to ask if he was okay (instead of a usual text) and he’d picked up the phone and laughed and your heart had not done that before. Not with Keigo, not on the phone, and not like that. And usually his pet names amused you, but he’d called you “sweetheart” over the phone and his voice was tired and drawled a bit. It made you dizzy. You said goodbye pretty soon after that.

You’re barely walking up the stairs of your apartment complex when your phone buzzes in your pocket. Butterflies (and moths, a few) erupt in your stomach when you read the name, and then immediately die when you read the text itself.

keigo baby 🐦

Do u want to have a playdate with me 👉👈 I could come over if ur mom says its okay

Why him? You think to yourself, swallowing the vomit in your throat and fishing your keys out of your bag to unlock your door. You text back when you get inside, throwing your belongings on the nearest surface.

y/n

don’t ever talk to me again

keigo baby 🐦

Is that a yes??

y/n

….fine, but if u ever use those emojis again i’ll break up with u. legally 

keigo baby 🐦

baby no!!!!

You throw your phone down onto your sofa before flopping over it, letting yourself sink into the cushions for a moment. It takes no more than ten minutes for Keigo to be at your door, letting himself in without so much as a knock. You know that it’s technically your doing, since you didn’t lock it when you came in, but you still whine at him about it, and he mocks you jokingly.

It seems he either senses your tiredness or didn’t have anything in mind to do anyways, because all Keigo does is lift your legs up from where they’re sprawled out on the couch and sits down in their place, letting them flop back onto his lap. He adjusts so his wings aren’t smashed against the back of the couch (or, at least, not as much). You move your feet off of his lap.

You’ve come to really appreciate days like this, where you simply bask in his company and he does yours. As much as Keigo is nonchalant about his lifestyle, you know it’s exhausting for him to do what he does every single day, and then to have to talk to people (fans, reporters, anyone). He doesn’t need to say anything for you to know. And, well, if you can give him a moment of comfort -

God, no, stop thinking like that. You can’t afford to think like that right now. 

The two of you talk, occasionally sharing posts from social media and laughing at dumb little cat videos (there was one that was five whole minutes of one of the guys from that k-pop band being compared to cat pictures and it’s the most wholesome thing you’ve ever seen to date). Before you know it, it’s been a few hours, the sun just fully covered by the distant mountains. The sky cools down in purple and blue hues, dressing up for the night to come. You and Keigo are laughing over old vines, and in your mind you think that it really couldn’t be that bad for this to be every night instead of just… some nights.

At the end of the compilation Keigo groans out a lingering laugh, stretching his legs out as best he can without hitting your coffee table. You stand up, feeling the need to move around as well, and walk towards your kitchen for a drink. Keigo stands after you but doesn’t move, letting his wings flex and stretch from being contained for so long. You get a glass of water, lift it to your lips just as Keigo lifts his arms above his head and holy fucking shit, his stomach -

Tummy! the tiny voice in your head squeals, but the hornier one screams at the top of its lungs ABS and honestly you don’t know what the fuck to do and neither does your body so you choke on your water. Keigo startles, eyes wide, and with a mumbled “holy shit” makes his way over to you as you cough and sputter over your sink.

It takes a minute, but you eventually come back, eyes watery and face red for multiple reasons. You take a deep breath and Keigo rubs your back, eyeing you, which only makes the entire situation worse.

“Jesus, are you okay?” He asks, and you nod, but you can’t look at him.

“Yeah, uh,” you clear your throat, blinking a few times. “Just… went down the wrong pipe, I guess.”

Fuck.

-

You barely recover from seeing a sliver of Keigo’s stomach, and the memory haunts you for days. You attempt at willing it out of your brain, try to tell yourself that you just didn’t see it at all, but your heart is strong as hell and refuses to let your head forget it. You think about it multiple times a day. You think about it for at least twenty minutes each time. You think about it until Keigo texts you a little less than a week after it happened.

Your phone buzzes on the counter in the kitchen and you finish up your bread dough, putting it into a bowl gently and setting a timer to let it prove. Once your hands are effectively clean, you open the message, letting yourself scoff.

keigo baby 🐦

Just finished a photoshoot, could really use a donut right now :/

Attached to his message is a picture of himself, and honestly, he looks really fucking good. It takes pretty much everything in you not to collapse and die. God.

You look up a picture of a donut on Google - they sold out today, and you are not going to make one just for Keigo - and send it to him. For my hardworking fake boyfriend, you send with it. Mostly to emphasize fake for both of you. Yourself especially.

keigo baby 🐦

Fake??? :( sweetheart, u hurt me

Your mind stops working when you read his text, so you leave him on read.

-

The next time you see Keigo in person is when you’re contemplating whether or not you should keep… hanging out with him.

The contract only has a little over a month left, so it’s not as if it’d be that hard to deal with… besides, it’d be easier on the both of you when this whole thing inevitably ends. You don’t see yourself being able to be around him without thinking about kissing him over and over. Not now, at least. You hope it changes. You hope it’s a weird phase or something. 

Keigo texts you and invites - demands - you over (his excuse is that with the hero conference coming up soon many of the smaller heroes are taking care of villains and giving him more time off) and honestly, if you’re really gonna try to stop talking to him as much, this could be your goodbye or whatever. Also, he mentioned wine, and you need to get drunk. Like, “give me an entire bottle so I can cope with the idea of falling for you because I know that you don’t feel the same and I am simply trying to ride out the rest of this “relationship” so I don’t ruin our dynamic and chemistry while we’re being watched by literally the entire world” drunk.

Yeah. It’s been a rough few weeks.

Every time you go to Keigo’s apartment it reminds you of just how broke you are, but you suppose the apartment itself is fitting. It’s definitely modern, but it holds the clutter of Keigo’s personality - blankets strung everywhere, LED lights, a poster of Endeavor hung up in his closet (but you’re sworn to secrecy about that, you pinky promised). When you knock on his door he doesn’t answer, and it’s a good minute and a half before you get a text that says “it’s open, come in” and you sigh, because again, why him?

He’s sitting on the couch, and when he sees you he smiles like he didn’t just refuse to open the door because he’s too lazy. “Well, if it isn’t the love of my life,” he says, and for a second you can fool yourself into believing it’s genuine.

“I’m just here for the wine, dude,” you tease, and he mocks offense at your words.

“Ouch. Mid-relationship rejection.”

Nonetheless, Keigo gets the wine himself (selective little shit) and two glasses, pours each of you one. It isn’t long before you’ve had at least three glasses but no more than five, and you’re maybe, perhaps, a little drunk. 

Keigo is, too, so you’re not really alone, but he’s talking about something Endeavor did like he’s the greatest hero in the world. It makes you smile, just a bit, but then again, you’re usually sentimental when you’re drunk, so maybe it’s just that. Or maybe it’s because you like him. It doesn’t really matter now.

“Hey, Kei,” you murmur when he’s done with his story. He hums, takes another sip out of his glass. “What happens when this is over?”

You look at your feet, scrunching up your toes inside your socks so you have something to look at. Then your eyes move up more, to the top of his coffee table, and then finally they land on him, and he looks gorgeous. He always does.

Keigo blinks once, twice, then shrugs, goes back to his wine. “Dunno. I hope we’re still friends, though,” he says.

“Friends? You want to be friends?”

You’re drunk. You should go to sleep, or go home, or something. Talking is not something you should be doing.

“What?” Keigo asks, but more like he didn’t hear you rather than he didn’t understand, so you take your chance, even through your hazed mind.

“Nothing,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass. “Forget about it.”

And it seems like he does, because when you wake up on his couch the next morning with a killer headache and he stumbles out of his room with a groan he doesn’t mention anything about it even when he talks about everything else.

-

Keigo texts you a few days later, a picture of him posing with another wine bottle. 

keigo baby 🐦

round 2??

The picture is cute. He’s smiling, all lips and curves and blonde hair and tan skin. He’s dressed in sweats, you can see, but he still looks like a model. It makes your heart sink and fly at the same time.

y/n

can’t, sorry. have to stay late at angel cakes. i’ll see u at the hero conference tho

He doesn’t text you for a while after that.

-

The conference comes quick, and before you know it you’re in another hotel suite, getting makeup done. It doesn’t take as much dressing up - your dress is shorter this time, less formal, your makeup less extravagant. You don’t feel nervous, not like last time, but you don’t necessarily feel comfortable either. Your makeup artist is different this time.

It takes a considerably less amount of time for you to get ready, and you stare at yourself in the mirror before it’s time to go. Your dress is beautiful - blue, royal, deep and light at the same time and gorgeous. Simple, too, nothing too out there. When you step out of the hotel room you notice Keigo’s still in his hero costume, but you suppose he has to be. You don’t match with him like you did last time.

There’s no banter, no teasing, no compliments. The ride to the venue is quiet. Keigo sends you a look at one point - a “tell me what’s wrong” look - but you only shrug, offer him the best smile you can, which apparently isn’t convincing, because he frowns when he sees it. You wish he wouldn’t frown so much.

The conference is short, but maybe you’re just distracted. An usher walks you to your seat at a VIP table and it seems like you sit down and then it ends. You clap for Keigo, smile like you’re endlessly proud of him - and you are, even if it doesn’t show that well tonight - and watch him make a scene becuase that’s what he does. He winks at you at one point during the night, while he’s talking into the microphone, and you know it’s for the publicity. The conference ends significantly earlier than the awards show, however, so you don’t have to stay in the suite for the night. 

The ride back to the suite seems shorter than the ride to the venue and it takes you maybe twenty minutes to wipe the makeup off of your face and take off your dress. You walk across the hall to Keigo’s room, knock on the door. He answers.

“Okay, I’m gonna head out, I’m feelin’ kinda tired,” you tell him with a small smile. “Just wanted to say bye.”

“Let me walk you home,” he says instead, and your brain yells at you no!

“No, it’s fine, Kei -”

“Please. I want to.”

He’s never said that before, and a part of you knows you wouldn’t be able to say no to him even if he hadn’t, so you nod and let him follow you out of the hotel and to your apartment. The walk is silent and it makes you feel uneasy but you can’t really do anything about it, not with what you’re trying to do, so nothing happens until you reach your apartment.

You know where this is going, even if you don’t want to, so you take a deep breath, hold the door open for him so Keigo can come inside. He looks at you weirdly for a moment but then enters your apartment, standing in the junction of your entryway and living room like he’s uncomfortable. You let him, then walk to the kitchen for something to drink.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, eyeing him suspiciously.

Keigo scoffs. “Shouldn’t that be my line?”

You know he noticed - it’s impossible not to, but you didn’t think… you didn’t think he’d call you out on it. Your pause is evident, but you pretend like it didn’t happen at all. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say.

“Yeah? Wanna rethink that, sweetheart?”

The almost-malice in his tone when he says your usual pet name startles you, and when you look up at Keigo it seems like it startled him, too, doe-eyed and looking at you. You shake your head, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room behind him to throw your things down, try to pass the message to him that this is not good. “You’re wrong,” you say.

“I’m not - I’m not wrong, Y/N,” he says, turning around to look at you. “Every time I see you it seems like you’re pushing me away, like you’re not here, and I don’t know if I did something, but I -” he pauses, runs a gloved hand over his face and you want to tell him that it’s not his fault, but that would lead to you telling him everything, and you can’t. “I miss you.”

His voice is broken. When you speak again, your voice sounds like his, but somehow worse. Smaller. “You’re wrong,” you insist. You know he’s not.

“I’m not,” he pushes back. “I’d like to think that in the months we’ve been -”

He stops himself, and you take your opportunity. “That we’ve been what? Dating? We’re not dating, Keigo, we both signed a fucking contract to benefit your public image! This is nothing!”

You have no idea what you’re doing. It’s not nothing. It will never be nothing.

“You think this is nothing?”

“Look me in the eye and tell me that you know for sure we’ll still be friends when this is over.”

He can’t, and he won’t. You’re trying really hard not to cry, but it hurts to fight with him like this, and it hurts that you think you’re falling in love with him, and it hurts that if you tell him it’ll ruin everything and it hurts, so a few tears slip out anyways.

“Y/N,” Keigo says, and his voice is so soft. You want to melt into him, but you shy away when he reaches for you. “Please just tell me -”

“I can’t do this anymore,” you choke out. “I can’t - I’m - I’m calling it. I’ll send my lawyer if you need anything but I just…”

You can’t even look at him. Has he always been so far away?

“Get out, Keigo.”

It sounds so cold, so unfamiliar, coming from your mouth and you half expect another person to have said it entirely. This isn’t you, this isn’t how you and Keigo act, this isn’t… this isn’t it. There’s a pause, like he’s waiting for something, but then you hear him sigh - practically feel him deflate, and then he walks out of your apartment, door shutting quietly behind him.

It’s so quiet when he’s gone.

You take a deep breath, walk back to your bedroom, curl into yourself on the bed, and cry in the blue light of the sky left behind by the sun.

[dilly-oh]

Sleep With Me

Kakashi is woken up from a dead sleep at three in the morning by an urgent text from Genma. 

EMERGENCY!!, it says. He quickly sits up, a spike of panic shocking him fully awake as he’s dosed with adrenaline. He stares at his phone, anxiously waiting for the flashing dots to spell out: WE NEED CONDOMS, STAT!

Fucking Genma. He lies back down. 

Another text. YOU OWE ME FOR WATCHING THE DOGS.

...Fucking Genma. Kakashi gets up.

GET A BOX OF CONDOMS, Genma adds as Kakashi tugs on his boots. He shudders at the reasoning behind it. What the hell were he and Raido up to at three in the fucking morning, a sex marathon? Were they trying for the world record? Whatever, he just needs to stumble down the street to one of the nearby convenience stores and buy a box of condoms. Genma lives a few floors down so he can drop them off at the door before crawling back up the stairs and collapsing into his bed. His wonderfully soft, cozy bed.

He hopes it’ll still be warm by the time he gets back. 

It’s way past midnight and all the respectable convenience stores are closed, so Kakashi has to bite the bullet and settle on the least-skuzzy of all the skuzzy 24-hour shops, the one on the corner with the cracked window and perpetual smell of urine. There’s a hobo by the dumpster outside, but he’s busy arguing with a pigeon so Kakashi is able to sidle around him and approach the front entrance, a bell tinkling rather sadly above his head. The hum of the fluorescent lights should be added to the list of known torture methods, and Kakashi does his best to ignore the incessant buzz as he walks along the poorly-lit aisles, trying to find the item in question so he can leave before he catches something.

The condom section of this store is disturbingly well-stocked, and Kakashi spends a good five minutes uncertain on which brand and variety to buy. He has an internal debate on whether to buy ‘ribbed’ or ‘studded’, unsure of the difference or which Raido would prefer. He finally settles on one of the flavored variety, cherry, because who doesn’t like cherries, right? He grabs the box and heads to the front.

Standing in line with the other half-awake zombies, Kakashi yawns, his jaw creaking spectacularly. It really is late and he’s looking forward to kicking down Genma’s door, whipping the box of condoms at him, turning his phone off, and going the fuck back to sleep. He peeks impatiently over the shoulder of the man in front of him to see how close he is to the register-

Oh. God. Oh GOD.

The cashier is hot. He’s smoking hot and Kakashi hasn’t brushed his hair all day and has bad breath and bags under his eyes and a box of condoms in his hands.

OH GOD.

Long, luscious hair pulled back into a low ponytail, dark eyes with even darker lashes, and that TAN. Is it natural? Is he that toasty…all over? Fuck, he can see muscles flexing beneath his shirt when he moves, he’s fucking ripped. Abort. ABORT. There is absolutely no way Kakashi is going to greet this ethereal being of his wicked fantasies with a box of fucking condoms in his hands. But it’s already too late, the customer in front has been dealt with and the hot cashier has spotted him next in line and is waving him over, fuck, SHIT, he’s screwed. He’s made eye contact, there’s no backing out of this now. Fight or flight instincts take over, and Kakashi isn’t about to be arrested for stealing a box of condoms. Taking a deep breath, he strides forward with all the confidence he can muster and slaps the box of jumbo-sized, cherry-flavored condoms onto the counter, refusing to show any hint of shame.

The cashier (his name-tag reads ‘Iruka’ and is a million times hotter up close) looks down at the box, blinks, and looks back up at him.

“…So who are you buying these for?”

Kakashi’s brain shorts out for a moment.

Did he just… He wonders, his sleep-deprived brain slow in catching the veiled insult. Aloud, he answers, “I…they…they’re…for me. To wear when I- you know. With...you know.” He trails off lamely, wondering if he should attempt to elaborate more or just die right here.

“I’d rather not, actually.” ‘Iruka’ eyes him for another beat, then picks up the box, frowning at it. “You know, I’m pretty sure we have extra small on the shelf back there, too,” he suggests. “Might be a snugger fit.”

“No, thank you,” Kakashi replies, struggling to maintain a modicum of politeness. Because, you know, hot cashier. Though he is being a bit of a dick.

“Alright, just remember there’s a thirty-day return policy. I’m sure you’ll be needing it.”

Okay, scratch that. He’s being a huge dick.

If this guy wasn’t such a fox I’d pop him one, Kakashi thinks to himself, fuming inwardly. …Instead of popping one-

Finally moving on, Iruka swipes the box over the scanner with no reaction.

“Huh.” He frowns and tries again. Still no beep. “That’s funny. Just a sec.” He leans over towards a small, black object-

Oh God. Please no.

“PRICE CHECK ON THE JUMBO-SIZED CONDOMS,” Iruka says into the microphone, his distorted voice blaring through the store for all to hear. “CHERRY FLAVORED-”

Kakashi lunges forward and grabs the mic, the feed cutting off with a high-pitched squeal.

“Do you really have to-” he hisses out.

“If you want your cough-syrup flavored DICK, YES,” Iruka hisses back, yanking the microphone away from him.

“Hey, I like cherry!”

“Cherry is disgusting. Your opinion doesn’t matter.”

“Okay, dude, you’re being really rude to me for no reason-”

“No reason?!” The cashier all but bares his teeth at him. “I could feel you eyeing me from across the store! Don’t you think I get enough of that from the rest of the creeps?”

...He has a point there. 

“Look, I’m sorry, it’s not like I asked for your number-”

“Good, because the only numbers you’re getting from me is on your receipt,” Iruka snaps, shoving his purchase in a plastic bag. “That’ll be $19.86.”

“Okay, fine, Christ,” Kakashi takes out a twenty and whips it at his head. “Keep the change.” He snatches up the condoms and storms out of the store. The hobo is still there by the dumpster, babbling on. Kakashi stops, fishes in his pocket for a moment, and hands the man a five.

“Here, have a better night than me,” he bites out. The hobo gasps with delight as he takes the crumpled bill, eyes going wide.

“We feast tonight, Fitzgerald!” he cackles, grinning at the pigeon, which is now perched on his knee and cooing.

Kakashi starts down the street, the bag of condoms bumping against his knee with every angry stride.

“Hey!” A voice barks out from behind him, but he ignores it, intent on sulking. “Hey, you! Cherry dick!” Kakashi stops and looks back.

The hot cashier is running down the road after him, breath steaming in the night. He catches up, panting lightly, his cheeks flushed from the cold as much as the run. He glances up to meet Kakashi’s gaze. 

“…Hey,” Iruka says quietly, flashing him an apologetic look before dropping his eyes to the ground. “Um.” He fiddles with the zipper on his jacket for a moment. “I just got off, and… look, man, I’m sorry about back there. I didn’t mean to be such an asshole. It’s just…I was late this morning cuz my car wouldn’t start, and then my stupid co-worker ditched me so I had to work a double shift, and when I’m tired I get bitchy. Like...real bitchy. I’m...really sorry.” He groans in exhaustion, reaching up to free his hair from its constricting ponytail, scrubbing his scalp with relief. It’s an endearing action that cools Kakashi’s irritation and heats up other things. “I mean, it’s past midnight, for God’s sake. Who’s still up at this hour? I just wanna go home and pass the fuck out in bed.”

Kakashi knows exactly what that’s like.

“I’ve been there,” he says. “It’s fine. Sorry for...ogling you.”

“S’okay.” Iruka looks up at him, hopeful and shy. “Listen. Maybe we could…try this again? During the daytime, when we’re both fully rested?”

“Sounds like a great idea,” Kakashi replies, his voice completely calm while his brain is a litany of high-pitched screeches.

“Yeah?” Iruka’s whole face lights up, and holy FUCK he’s a billion times hotter when he’s smiling. Dear God. How is he going to survive this? He'll probably die when he sees him in the light of day. “Are you free tomorrow? For lunch?”

“Make it a late lunch,” Kakashi agrees, nodding. “I’ll probably sleep in.”

“God, me too,” Iruka snorts, and even that’s hot. “There’s this nice cafe that- oh, wait.” His face drops. “Those, um, cough-syrup- I mean, cherry-flavored condoms…are they for… anyone special?”

Anyone special? What is he talking abo- Oh. Ohhhh.

“They aren’t for me,” Kakashi explains quickly. “I was...there isn’t…I’m not…” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m just doing a favor for a friend.”

“...A friend who needs a box of condoms at three in the morning?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I won’t.” Iruka lets out a long sigh and rubs his eyes wearily. “Anyway, I need to be heading home. Ugh, it’s gonna take, like, an hour to walk back to my apartment, none of the buses run this late and I don’t have the cash for a cab. Maybe if I hurry I can-”

“Sleep with me,” Kakashi blurts out before he can stop himself. He can almost see Iruka’s hackles go up. “I mean, like, actual sleeping, no sex stuff. Not that I wouldn’t want to do that with you, you’re fucking gorgeous, it’s just I’m way too tired-” He cuts off his babbling, unsettled by Iruka’s stoney silence. “I’m just saying I live, like, five minutes away and I thought since it’s closer, maybe you’d appreciate-” Iruka’s still not talking. He’s probably about to kick Kakashi in the dick and run. “I, uh, promise I’m not an ax murderer or anything. You can take a pic of me and send it to your friends to let them know you’re sleeping with me-”

“I’m sure they won’t at all take that the wrong way,” Iruka states, finally speaking. He studies Kakashi for a moment longer. “...Yeah okay I’ll sleep with you. My standards are low enough right now.” He pauses to snicker. “Look at me, sleeping with a guy whose name I don’t even know. It’s like college all over again.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m Kakashi.”

“Iruka.”

“I know, I saw your name-tag. So, wait. You’re not worried I’ll try something?” he asks cautiously. Iruka scoffs.

“I know jiu-jitsu. Touch me and I’ll throw you through a wall.” 

That would explain the muscles. And Kakashi’s desire to be pinned by him. 

“I have eight dogs,” he warns.

“They’ll make excellent feet-warmers,” Iruka says dismissively. “Do you have good pillows? I’m a stickler for good pillows, I need the support for my neck, otherwise I get stiff shoulders.”

“I have a couple memory foam ones, plus a down comforter and some quilts-”

“Oh God, yes, talk dirty to me.”

“Anyway, I get the bed, you can have the couch.”

“Screw you, I just worked a double shift. I get the bed.”

“It smells like wet dog.”

“I babysit a five-year old. I’ve smelled worse.”

“Okay, fine. We share the bed, but I get the right side.”

“That’s not fair, I want the right side.”

“You can have the right side if you cook us breakfast tomorrow. Or lunch, rather. I’m not getting up till noon.”

“I’ll cook, but you have to clean up. Deal?”

“Deal.”

They shake on it, firmly sealing the agreement, and head off down the road together.

They don’t let go.

(Written for @kakairu-fest Nine Weeks of Summer, Week Two Prompt: Shop AU)

[boykisserbuckley]

hi!! can i request buck + drowning??👀

I’ll preface this by saying I know nothing about the LA river, or LA, or how drowning works?? But I hope you like it anyway :)

It’s the end of a late shift, there’s a steady rain drumming down on the roof of Eddie’s truck, and the windshield wipers are working overtime. Buck’s humming along quietly to some catchy pop song, tapping his fingers against his knee in time with the beat. Normally, Eddie wouldn’t have enjoyed a drive home in a storm, but it’s better when he’s not alone—tonight, he’s got his best friend in the passenger seat and the radio on low. The truck is warm. It’s nice.

 The drive isn’t long, but Buck had insisted on sleeping at his own apartment for once, so Eddie is taking the long way home to drop him off. Buck hasn’t spoken since they left the station, but given how draining their shift had been, Eddie’s not surprised. They’re left sitting in a comfortable almost-silence, letting the rain and the music wash over them. 

Until, as Eddie goes to make a turn, Buck suddenly straightens in his seat. His tapping stops and he peers out the window, like he’s trying to make out something through the storm. Eddie frowns, shooting him a glance. 

“Buck?” he prompts, confused by Buck’s sudden focus. 

“Pull over,” Buck says. 

“What? Why?” 

“Pull over!” Buck repeats sharply. Eddie obediently slows, startled by the force in Buck’s tone, and pulls the truck to a stop next to the curb.

“What the hell, man?” he questions. He turns to fix Buck with a glare, but the other man isn’t looking at him. 

“I think there’s someone down by the river,” Buck explains, already unbuckling and making to open the door. 

“In this weather?” Eddie says. He doesn’t particularly relish the idea of getting out in the rain, but he knows what Buck is probably thinking—this much rain is likely to cause the river to swell, and it’s dangerous. Whoever is out there might need some help. Or at the very least, someone to tell them how idiotic it is to be out in this storm. 

Buck hops out before Eddie even manages to cut the engine. Eddie mutters a curse and follows. They’re both drenched in seconds, but neither of them turns to go back to the truck. Even if he’s wet and miserable, Eddie knows he could never leave another person out here if they might need his help. 

“Hey!” Buck calls as they near the river’s concrete banks, voice loud enough to cut through the thrum of the rain. “Hey! Are you alright? You shouldn’t be out here!”

Eddie holds up a hand to shield his eyes, squinting into the dark. He can make out, just barely, the figure that Buck must’ve seen. As they draw closer, the familiar thrill of adrenaline courses over him like a wave—because out there, clinging desperately to the wet, slanting concrete, is a kid. Can’t be a day over fifteen, if Eddie’s guessing right, and he looks scared. 

He must call something back because Eddie can see his mouth moving, but it gets lost to the storm. 

“Eddie,” Buck says, eyes wide as he glances over, “we’ve gotta get down there, if he slips—”

Buck doesn’t have to finish the sentence. Eddie can see what he means. The water is running in rivulets down the banks, and the river swells higher every second; if the kid goes in, they might not get him out. 

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, “yeah, just be careful.” 

They tap knuckles the way they always do before a call, and then Buck starts inching downwards. Eddie follows, arms splayed to keep his balance. The incline isn’t steep, but it’s slippery with the water, and the angle makes it hard to stay upright. No wonder the kid was having trouble. 

Buck reaches the kid first. He shuffles down until he’s at his side, hands out in a placating manner. The kid has barely shifted since they arrived, and he’s shivering. From fear or from cold, Eddie can’t tell. The rain is freezing. 

“We’re firefighters with the LAFD,” Buck is explaining, when Eddie makes it down the rest of the way. “We’ll help you get back up safe and sound, okay? You’re gonna be fine.” 

The kid nods, but his eyes are wide with panic. Eddie can't help but notice that he's looking resolutely anywhere but at the water that's rushing below him, steadily climbing. 

"What's your name?" Eddie asks, edging down a little farther. 

"Andrew," the kid responds. After a moment's hesitation, he adds, "I– I can't swim." 

Eddie's gaze flicks to Buck's, just briefly, dread pooling in his stomach. A part of him wants to know what the hell this kid thought he was doing, going anywhere near the river by himself if he can't swim—another part knows that the reasoning doesn't matter. What matters is that Eddie gets him home safe.

"Okay," he says, "Here's what we're gonna do, Andrew. I’ll take your hand, and my friend here, Buck, he's going to get behind you, alright?" 

Eddie catches Buck's nod out of the corner of his eye, and sees him shuffle into position. 

"I know you're scared, but he'll make sure you don't go anywhere near the water. Okay?" Eddie smiles, hoping that it comes across as reassuring. Andrew blows out a breath, fingers still tight against the concrete. 

"Okay," he says. It's quiet enough that Eddie can barely hear him past the roar of the storm, still raging around them, but he catches it. 

"Come on, then," Eddie says, stretching out a hand. He braces himself against the canal wall with the other, making sure he doesn't tilt forwards with Andrew's added weight and send them both into the river. 

It takes them a moment of coaxing and gentle reassurance, but they eventually manage to convince Andrew to let go and reach for Eddie’s hand. Slowly, slowly, they start back up the slope, moving carefully. 

They're barely a foot from the top of the bank when everything goes sideways. Andrew's foot slides on the slick stone, right out from under him. Eddie tightens his grip immediately so the kid's hand won't slip from his, and he latches on to the upper lip of the concrete basin with his other hand, barely managing to keep his own footing. 

Andrew scrambles to catch himself and kicks out in desperation, one foot managing to hit Buck in the jaw, where he's still poised below. Eddie watches—almost as if it's in slow-motion—as Buck loses his balance, stumbles, and goes down hard. He yelps when his head clips the concrete, and then he’s sliding, clearly disoriented.

“Buck!” Eddie cries in surprise, and then he’s moving faster than he thought he could; he yanks Andrew upwards, pulling both of them back to their feet and over the edge onto flat ground. 

“Call 9-1-1,” he instructs, shoving his phone into the kid’s hand. Just in case. 

He whips back around, reaching for Buck before he’s even halfway down the slope. He’d hit his head, but otherwise isn’t hurt, and if Eddie can get to him before he hits the water—

But he’s too late. In the split second that Eddie had his back turned to take care of the kid, Buck had tumbled farther, unable to get a grip on the wet rock. Eddie’s hand brushes his, just barely, before the water catches him and drags him the rest of the way down. 

Eddie dives in after him without a second thought. Buck is normally a strong swimmer, but the water is high and moving fast, and on top of that he’s got a head wound. There’s no way this ends well for him. 

The force of the current takes him by surprise, threatening to take him under too. It’s dark and it’s pouring and he can barely see a thing but he clings to the canal wall long enough to spot Buck, a ways down, coming up spluttering. He’s clearly trying to swim, but he can’t quite get his limbs to cooperate, and he keeps dipping back under.

Eddie pushes off and swims for him, fighting the current. It batters him, hard and fast, and he hasn’t seen Buck pop up again. 

He pushes further forward, sweeping through the water for something, anything. Panic tugs at his heart, climbs into his throat, nearly enough to choke him, and then—his hand knocks into what feels like an arm, and he latches on before the river can tug them apart again. He drags upwards with all the strength he still has, until Buck breaks the surface. 

His head lolls, and he stays limp in Eddie’s hold. It takes Eddie a moment longer than it should to realize he’s not breathing. 

He’s not—he’s not breathing. Eddie blanks. His body moves on autopilot, struggling against the pull of the water to get both of them to shore. He doesn’t know how far down they’ve been swept by now, how far they are from the truck or from Andrew, but it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters, the only thing that’s ever mattered, is saving Buck. 

Eddie’s hand meets concrete again, and he scrabbles for a moment before he gets a grip. He scrapes his palms open on the stone but he manages, somehow, to drag both himself and Buck up out of the river onto the slope. He doesn’t waste any time trying to get to flat ground, not when Buck is turning bluer by the second. Eddie flips him onto his back and starts compressions, bracing himself against the awkward angle. 

“Come on, Buck, come on,” Eddie whispers, barely able to hear himself over the rain and his own breathing. 

Buck’s forehead is bleeding. If—no. When he wakes, Eddie knows it’ll drip into his eyes. He wants to reach up, wipe it away, but he doesn’t dare stop what he’s doing. He can’t stop, not until Buck starts breathing again, not until he opens those gorgeous blue eyes and shows Eddie that he’s okay. He can’t go out like this. Eddie won’t let him. 

“C’mon, you massive idiot,” Eddie hisses, frustrated nearly to tears, “Breathe!”

He slams his palms into Buck’s chest again, harder, feels a rib give way under with the force of it. And then suddenly, miraculously, Buck breathes. He jerks and coughs, trying to expel whatever disgusting river water is lodged in his lungs. What feels like an eternity later, Buck flops onto his back again, exhausted but breathing. He’s breathing. That’s all that matters. 

“...Eddie,” Buck rasps, his eyes fluttering open. They’re glassy and unfocused, and he’s having a hard time tracking, but Eddie has never been happier to see them in his life. He heaves a sigh of relief—though it comes out sounding more like a half-aborted sob—and finally reaches up to swipe away the drop of blood leaking into Buck’s eyebrow. 

“You’re okay,” he says, and he can’t help it. He leans forward, fully aware that he’s crying now, and rests his forehead against Buck’s. “You’re okay.”

They’re still sprawled out awkwardly at an angle, half on top of each other, breathing hard. Buck’s hand, trembling and cold, finds his and squeezes lightly. Sirens wail in the distance. 

Buck agrees, voice rough and quiet, “I’m okay.” 

also on AO3

(buy me a coffee?)

[heliosthegriffin]

Dead Knight VIII

Content Warning: Gore and Panic.

The lack of pain was quite welcoming to Jaune as he flew backwards into a wall. 

He still felt all the air get knocked out of his lungs, but that didn’t stop him from getting up on his feet again, the pair of twins watching him as he did so.

“Ah so the rabbit rises,” The one in white said.

“Just in time for us to skin him.” The one in red responded.

Jaune gulped and tried to think what to do, and then nearly slapped himself.

In the most fluid motion of his short unlife he unsheathed Crocea Mors and released his sheath into it’s shield form.

‘Ok, that solves one problem. Now, how do I deal with the those two and their goons?’ Jaune thought to himself.

The goons didn’t look intent on joining the fight, just gate-keeping the exits in the front, and the stairs to the side.

They didn’t look particularly tough, just big guys in black suits.

Well, actually they did look pretty tough, a week ago Jaune would have just thrown his wallet one of them and ran away. But, considering Jaune had already died this week and just got kicked across a room a moment ago some goon really didn’t make the top of his likely to kick his ass list.

He had much more pressing issues, two of them infact.

Those twins hadn’t made a move yet, but that was probable because he just brought out his weapon.

They were probably reevaluating him.

Then the one in red cut across the room at speeds that would make a cheetah call unfair.

‘Block, and put put your weight on your back foot, don’t keep you knees straight or you’ll break them!’ Summer said rapid fire at him.

All Jaune caught was block, before red claws started slashing at him.

Shink-Shink-Shink

The sound of metal scratching off metal cut through the air as Jaune took the hits on his shield.

It made Jaune cringe at the sound and the force on his shield was unreal. How was she so strong?

If Summer hadn’t given him Vigor, he might have already been dead (again) on the floor!

He could hardly move as he was slowly pushed back against the wall. 

‘Jump!’

Jaune did as he was told, as a bladed boot cut through the space where his knees occupied.

He jumped all the way into the ceiling, though. Hitting it with a loud thunk.

‘Jaune push off the ceiling, otherwise their going to have you surrounded.’

“More than they already do?”

‘You do not want to fight two vs one, Jaune. With one at your back and one at your front.

“Alright, I got you.”

Jaune dug his fingers into the drywall of the ceilings, momentarily halting gravity's tug, and then threw himself legs first and forward.

He landed harshly, falling in a heap, briefly twisting his ankle and tear a couple muscles that were fixed by his regeneration.

The twin were immediately on his case as a pair of claws and bladed heel darted at him.

Jaune managed to block the claws, but the heel dug into his chest, hitting his breast plate and denting it into his ribs, breaking two.

Jaune coughed up a load of spit up, miracuoulsy hitting the red one in the eye as she was going for a second attack at his throat.

“Aghh!” She screamed falling back, rubbing the saliva out of her eyes.

The white one scowled at him, then sent him a flurry of kicks in revenge.

Jaune tried his best to block, but her superior speed let her weave through his meager defense. Letting her hit him repeated across the chest denting his armor and 

‘You know what Summer?’ Jaune thought at Summer as he tried to block the blows.

‘What?’

‘This sucks, I bet if I could feel pain right now, I would have blacked out.’

‘Yep. So, how are you planning of getting yourself out of this mess?’

A bladed kick gouged out his cheek. ‘What do you mean my mess! You’re the one who led me to this place.’

‘Eh, lets not get into semantics, now have you tried hitting them?’

‘No! What if I kill one of them?!’

Jaune could then feel Summers sheer confusion.

‘What do mean? Are you joking with me? Cause it’s a stupid joke.’

‘No, Summer I don’t want to hit someone with my very sharp sword, because I don’t want to kill them!’

‘Their Aura will protect them!’

“What in the Darkness is that!?” Jaune yelled out in confusion.

The twin in white hesitated for a second and misaim her kick accidentally hitting Jaune’s shield and with a trail of sparks then cut into the floor.

‘Now, Jaune! Just trust me!’

“Fine, here goes nothing!’ Jaune said raising his back off the floor swinging his shield, which the twin deftly dodged, that he followed up with the momentum created by the shield to swipe at her with his sword.

Crocea Mors had just enough reach to tag her leg, his undead vigor did the rest as the blade hit her.

The edge of the blade was sharp and was swung hard hitting into the White Twin’s aura with a spray of sparks and flash of light, the aura preventing any damage.

It did not stop the momentum behind the attack however, bladed heels do not provide the best footing.

The twin’s legs were hit with enough force to send her into the air.

‘Jaune, get up and go, now!’

“Got it boss!” He said and rose up.

He looked at the suits and brought up his shield as he charged them.

There was brief moment of shock among them. Then they brought out the guns and fired.

Jaune’s eyes widened and brought his shield up in front of him, the bullets sang through the air and his shield like angry metal wasps, but it stopped them.

Then Jaune fell to the ground as suddenly the he felt very light.

He it the floor with a thump.

Jaune really didn’t want to look behind himself, but did anyway.

His legs and waist were separated from his body a pool of blood and intestines trailing to his torso. The Twin in Red looking at him in shock and horror.

“Summer they cut off my legs.”

‘That’s unfortunate.’

“What do I do now?”

‘Um, have you considered death?’

Jaune thought about it for a second and then got were Summer was going.

“Yeah, dying for a bit seems better than this.”

The Twins and the Goons kept staring at him for some reason.

Jaune looked at the goons and lifted an eyebrow.

“So, you guys just going to keep gawking or something? Why haven’t you shot me? I thought toughs like you guys do it all the time?”

The goons said nothing the shades they wore prevent them from making eye contact, but their faces clearly were locked into a mask of horror as the bisected and deathly pale boy just kept talking to them.

“Summer, do you think I could cut my own head off?”

‘Probably, but it wouldn’t kill you. You need to destroy your brain, otherwise you’re going to have to wait for your body to regenerate.’

“Alright, this may sound a little strange, but-”

Jaune didn’t get to finish however, as a familiar bladed heel separated his head from his neck.

Jaune’s head landed on the floor and rolled off into the corner. His head facing the wall.

He opened his mouth to try and talk, but he had no lungs to push air through his throat. He could still feel, hear and see though.

“There, there sister it’s not your fault. I thought he had aura too.”

Jaune could hear the other sister sobbing. ‘Why are they crying, I’m the one who just got dismembered!’

“Look, I finished him off. I killed him, all you did was, eh, uh, you got him on the floor for me to finish him off it’s not your fault.” 

The sobbing quieted but was still audible.

“Alright Miltiades, how about you go back into the car. Micky! Take my sister to the car. Me and the others will take care of the rest.”

Jaune heard the sound of footsteps as Miltiades was led to the car.

A loud clap was heard. “Alright, boys the house has been compromised, I don’t know who that freak was, but if he had any friend or connections, or who knows maybe the cops suddenly decide to do their job, their going to come check out the house that suddenly became a shooting range.”

That got a couple chuckls.

“Now, load up everything of value, don’t bother with the furniture, leave the body too and anything he had, we don’t want to take any chances dealing with him he might be a rogue Atlas experiment or something. So, remember grab everything of value we can and move out, leave me box of fire dust and I’ll be good.”

Fire dust? What are... They gonna do.. Oh shit

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. 

‘Summer they’re going to burn the fucking house down!’

Summer said nothing.

‘Summer, please! What do I, what do I, what do I?!’

Tears started falling from Jaune’s eyes to the spreading pool of blood around his head..

‘Please, Summer!’

Footsteps ran up and down the house, grunts came from upstairs as boxes, crates and tools where taken from the house.

Then it was quiet. 

Then came the the crackle and swoosh of flames, followed by the click of heels and a closing door.

‘I’m so sorry, Jaune.’

That was the last thing Jaune heard before flames consumed him and the house.

They say that smoke is the biggest killer in most fires, suffocating those stuck and keeping them from escaping. A small mercy, perhaps, as it only takes around two minutes to lose consciousness, two agonizing minutes.

For a Servant though? 

A Servant does not need blood or oxygen too keep their brain functional.

Jaune remained alive even as the flames consumed him. He could not feel the pain however, the Vigor still active.

He could feel the flames, the heat, his skin bubbling and melting, every sizzling burn and pop.

His eyes burst out and his face was consumed by the flames.

His very own brain was slowly cooked and began seeped out his nose and ears.

Even still, Jaune aware of it all.

Aware that once he was resurrected he’d feel every ounce of the pain.

In his last moments of awareness, Jaune had a moment.

One moment of emotion.

Hatred.

Dismay.

Desire.

And want for change.

Jaune never wanted to be in this situation again, he wanted to change and not be here anymore.

A light was born.

Inside Jaune’s empty sockets a dim light briefly existed, a light so faint it may not have existed at all, and then it was gone, as Jaune’s skull was crushed by the falling ceiling.

Then their was nothingness and darkness. Jaune accepted it as a warmth enveloped him.

“I am so sorry, Jaune. I am so very sorry. I am so sorry, I’m sorry, please, please, please stay with me. Stay strong please. I need you strong, Jaune. I can’t do this alone....I’ll never let this happen again.” Summer said to Jaune as she held his soul, Jaune unable to respond as he was deep into sleep.

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

Melanie held her sobbing sister close to her as they drove back to the club.

She’d like to say she felt bad about what happened, but she really didn’t. He was just another face to the many live she had taken.

It was an accident really, they hadn’t meant to kill the guy. They just thought from the ways he was dressed and that sword he was either a beacon reject or maybe a runaway from Signal, nothing they couldn’t handle as long as he wasn’t on Cow-Tits level, especially with the boys helping.

They just wanted to rough him up a bit and give him a bit of scare, threaten him little, that if he said a word about their warehouse that they’d kill his family or something. That usually got most people to shut up, if not, she’d have just have to get creative again.

Why he was in the Xiong Clan’s warehouse Melanie hadn’t the faintest idea, how he got in was better question as they had the best locks they could afford on their. Shit she forgot to get the locks off didn’t she. Oh well.

Anyway, It didn’t matter if that kid knew something or not, it was about sending a message.

The Xiong Clan is not weak and will not be fucked with.

And after Cow-Tits rampage, they couldn’t afford to take chance with somebody who managed to get into their warehouse.

She felt her sister stir against her shoulder and rise, showing puffy red eyes and tears. She looked a damn mess, she make sure no one saw her like this when they got back to the club, she’d take her up to their room and made sure she went to sleep.

Melanie pulled her sister against her chest and let lie there stroking her head.

“It’s not you’re fault, it’s not you’re fault Mils, and we are going to get through this together, alright?”

Miltiades said nothing but weakly nodded.

Melanie wanted to sigh, but held it back. Despite being the younger twin, she felt like she was the more mature one.

Miltiades was always the more emotional one. Not that many people would notice, considering the lack of friends and family they had. She was always the one to cry at soap operas, the one to make sure the boys were taken care of, and the first one to help anybody who got assaulted at the club, sexually or otherwise. She cared for the Club and the Xiong Clan, she was the velvet glove to her iron fist underneath. Even if she wasn’t that expressive. 

Miltiades had killed before, sure. But, it had always been in self-defense of herself or the club. Easily justifiable. That why Melanie had told Junior she’d shove his ball up into his lower intestine if he tried to rope Mils into the darker elements of the clan.

Melanie, though? She had no problems what so ever with hurting anybody for any reason, so long as it involved protecting The Xiong Clan’s interest. The Clan was her life and her blood, it was her purpose in life to defend it and her sister.

“Everything is going to be fine Mils, it’s all over, and we’re never going to think about this again.”

AN: Famous last words before tragedy struck. It got dark again didn’t it? Shit, I mean I was writing trying to think who I wanted this to go, but then I realized that these guys are criminals, and was like huh this could further my agenda. Anyway, Jaune gained his ability this chapter, what it is will be explored later. I’m using a power system similar to Zombie Knight, but modified to suit Remnant. Even though it’s just because I don’t want to look up a bunch of chemisty facts.

Next part is going to be pretty dark too

[tiny-pun]

Have you considered a bit of prompt where the both hero and villian are taking a break because how bloody they are and they start verbally fighting and hero says somthing along the line of"I have to be good, I have to be the hero" and villian retorts with among the lines of "Your no hero" Thanks my dude, also honored to be your first prompt giver.I always love to see your writing pop up.

Hey! Thank you honestly so much! I know this sounds kinda cheesy but I'm honestly so happy about your feedback!

And thank you for the prompt! I believe you meant it in a more funny, sarcastic kind of way but I just wrote what came into my mind and it went a different route. Sorry.

But I'm gonna come back to this prompt when I'm in a more fitting mood! Anyway I hope you like this!

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

The sounds of their swords and their continuously shorter breaths was the only think the hero could hear. With every clash, it was if their energy was dragged out of their own body, fighting a war with their body itself, to stay for just a little while longer. But the fight has been going on for too long and the tremble of their body was bordering on violent. The hero barley escaped the villians sword, pressing their own sword just enough against the others, just enough to not be sliced in two.

Now there was only the panting for air to be heard. The hero vaguely registered that the villian was in just as bad of a shape now, as they were. That neither of them had the power for another collision of swords. That their only chance was to push harder, to make the other surrender by being the last one to stand, even if that meant standing there, trembling, bleeding and out of energy. But before the hero had time to process, let alone act on them, they buckled. It wasnt clear who lost their balance first and it didnt really matter now did it? .

With barley a sound, their swords started gliding down on one another, and with them their wielders.

Tho everything seemed to suddenly slow down, the ground coming closer and closer, the hero was unable to react properly. Shortly before they collided with a ground, they held up their arms a little, knowing full well how much that will hurt. But better than their head.

The hero tried to focus on their breath, taking air in, longer and deeper with every breath. Their head was buzzing and the ringing in their ears filled up any other senses. It was as if their body existed only to the end of their lungs, pounding against their ribcage, taking away their senses. Curling their hands into fists, the hero tried to get a grasp of their body again. Trying to remember how to feel it and even more so: how move it. With a couple more longer and deeper breaths, the hero tried to sit up. It took longer than they wanted but when they finally sat, clutching their chest, hoping it would ease the burn in their lungs, they could finally think clearly again. They pressed their eyes closed, trying to focus a bit more for a second and then tried to keep moving.

This time it was easier. Somewhat at least. They tried not to stare at the villian or to think of their obviously failed mission. But it seemed like they were cursed with exactly that. The villian looked just as defeated in all the wrong ways, they felt themselves. Down on the ground, bleeding and panting, with an expression screaming, they weren't done yet. The villian rolled onto their back, closing their eyes. The hero tried not to think of the amount of pain the villian must be in. And how all of this was their fault.

'It doesn't matter.' The hero tried to tell themselve. ' they're a villian. They deserved this. If they just would've listened, if they would've tried to do better, to BE better, this wouldn't have happend'. More convincing. But it only working barley. 'Just cause they did a few things wrong, doesn't mean, they deserve THIS', another part of them argued.

The hero collapsed onto the wall the villian had already pulled themselves up against. They sighed.

"This isn't over. Just so were clear." The hero finally croaked out. " This isn't over." The hero could feel the villians gaze boring into them. "Why ?" The villians voice quivered but the hero couldn't really judge them. After all, they weren't in a much better shape either. They tried to gather themselves enough to answer. "What do you mean 'why'? " "Why do you always have to keep fighting? Why are you doing this?" The villian sounded desperate now, fear and confusion laceing their voice equally.

The hero still didnt dare to look at the villian. To scared what they'd see. Too scared to wonder about, who would heal the villians wounds, who would embrace the villian and comfort them, when they got home. Too scared to remember they weren't supposed to think about these kind of things.

" I have to. I have to do good. To BE good. To be a hero." The lack of firmness surprised them. The flatness of their voice, combined with a lulled voice sounded unconvincing. Even to themselves.

"You're no hero"

The hero hadn't been prepared for their body flinching this hard. All of their wounds seemed to close and reopen again, stones settling heavily in their stomach.

The villians whisper cut deeper than their sword could've ever had.

With burnin eyes and trembling lips, the hero finally turned their head, meeting the villians eyes. Keeping their hand, pressed tightly to their chest again, as if to hold their body together and keeping it from shaking so violently, the hero could barley hear their own words. "What?", they whispered, just as desperately as the villian had earlier. They knew it was a foolish question. One they shouldn't have asked, furthermore shouldn't have even THOUGHT about asking. Since when did a hero need the validation of their villian?

But the hero knew that this wasn't about validation. Or at least it shouldn't be. It should be about moral. About what is right and fair and what is wrong and unfair. 'Everybody knows: the lines between those things are blurred. Sometimes what is right isn't fair and what's fair isn't right.', the voice in their head was taunting them. 'Maybe it wasnt really taunting, maybe it was begging?', the hero contemplated.

"You're no hero. I know you think you a-." The villian coughed and then pulled themself up, to sit a little more comfortable. It didn't look more comfortable. ' But how could it, when-' "I know you think you are a hero but you're not.", the villian interrupted their thoughts.

"Look at the mess you've made of the city. How many buildings crashed and burned because of you. How many people were in it, you couldn't save. That I couldn't save. And look at me! Look at yourself! How long are you gonna fight for them? For what they represent? Its obvious, that you dont believe in them. That you're just doing you're task, like you're a robot. Making excuses after excuses, that you're doing the right thing, never looking back at the chaos you create just to point fingers at everyone else. So tell me: Why? Why are you fighting a fight that you dont believe in? What do they have on you? Just: Why?"

The hero hadn't noticed how close the villian had come. How they were now basically leaning into one another. Their opponents eyes were filled with tears and desperation, their hands twisting the heros shirt.

'They dont have anything on me.', Is what they don't say. 'I'm helping them because I want to. Cause I belie-'

Memories of their time with the Organisation, of their training, of their fights filled the heros mind. The time they were recruited, how happy they were to be part of something, something big. The first time they managed to be top of their class and how since then, that hadn't changed a day. All the times they ditched a party or meeting or hang out in favour of going up against the villian. All the times they've been told about the evil nature of the villian. All the times they berated themselves for doubting the Organisation. All the times they wondered 'what was even the point in fighting this fight, if the ones, who seemed to truly believe in the fight, wouldn't dare to fight it themselves. Who would rather sit behind a monitor and lecture them on all the ways they fucked it up this time.

"Say something. " The villians desperate cries pushed them back into reality, into the present. "Dammit. Just say something. Why aren't you sayi-" The hero caught the villians hand, that had reached out to take a swing, which wouldn't have done any damaged anyway.

"I'm sorry." The hero finally croaked out. "I am so sorry." The hero finally took in all the damage they had done to the villian not only half an hour ago. Examining the villians torn clothes revealing, purple bruises and red, angry cuts. Examining the broken gear, hanging off of their belt and the bloodied ground. Examining the beheaded statue nearby and cuts in the ground and walls, marking the frequently rising violence of their fight.

Finally the heroes gaze dropped back onto the villian. At their messed up hair and busted lip, just to follow the path of a long gone tear back into the villians eyes. "I am so sorry.", the hero repeated. This time their voice didnt crack. Instead there was the firmness and passion, they had missed before. The villian held their gaze for few calculating seconds, nodded and leaned into the hero. The hero laid a protective arm around them, pulling them even closer, ignoring the pain it caused.

The hero knew they had a lot to make up for. A lot of things to take a responsibility for. Afterall the fight wasn't over yet. But it was between the two. Them against the Organisation. And at the next fight, the hero had a hunch, they will actually believe they are a hero. And more importantly: they will belive in the fight itself. Cause what is a hero worth, what's a fighter worth, who doesnt believe in the war they're fighting?

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader -”What Death Tastes Like”

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; the young woman didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late. Y/N always had a fascination for the much older King of Gotham and despite the consequences, maybe it’s finally time to do something about it.

Part 2      Part 3      Part 4      Part 5

“Hi daddy,” Emma enters the kitchen and you follow, immediately greeting The Joker.

“Hello Mister J.”

“Pumpkin,” he acknowledges his daughter. “Miss Crane,” he growls at your presence and you can’t help it:

“I like your purple shirt Mister J; makes you look ravishing.”

“Oh yeah?” he scoffs, used to the 22 year old throwing this kind of stuff his way on a regular basis.

“Definitely!” you approach and point at his can of grape juice. “Can I take a sip?”

“Since when you like grape juice?’ The Clown Prince of Crime frowns but hands over the container anyway.

“I don’t,” you taste the sweet liquid and continue: “I just wanted to touch something your lips touched.”

“That’s a new one!” he rolls his eyes and snatches back his drink while Emma closes the fridge in a hurry, appalled you always flirt with her father.

“Keep her on a leash!” J advises his offspring and you snicker as she pushes you out of the kitchen.

“I can’t believe you say those things to him!” Emma gives you a nudge on the hallway, amused and horrified in the same time. “He could be your dad!”

“But he’s not,” you wink, dodging her grip. “He could be my daddy though!”

“You shameless jerk!!” she laughs and starts chasing you. “How dare you??!!”

“He’s really hot for being 40-ish!” the enthusiastic Y/N teases more, speeding up so she won’t get caught. “I’m going to marry him and I’ll be your step mom. You’ll have to call me mommy!”

“Whaaaattt??!!” Emma shouts and The King of Gotham shakes his head because he can still perceive your aberrations: the truth is he’s uncertain if that’s all they are, thus the dilemma J doesn’t care to solve regardless.

You quickly run into Emma bedroom and snatch a pillow in order to protect yourself from her attack.

“I love your dad!” you grin and she keeps relentlessly hitting you with her fluffy cushion, annoyed:

“I hate you!! I totally hate you!!!”

You suddenly start coughing and your best friend halts her rampage, concerned.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry! Where’s your med?”

You pull the vial out of your jean’s pocket and she opens it while your cough intensifies; Emma fingers tremble at the sight of blood stains on the palm of your hand.

“Here, take this. Two?”

“Y-yes,” you struggle to talk and swallow the tablets, finding it difficult to calm down without the remedy you failed to ingest earlier before the worse happened.

“Come’ere,” she carefully sits you on the bed and begins wiping the red spots off your skin with a clean tissue. “There you go… Deep breaths, OK?” the young woman urges on the verge of crying: although she’s used to your episodes, she can’t cope with the thought of losing her best friend.

Scarecrow’s daughter might be only 22, yet the terminal lung cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago didn’t discriminate against her age; she didn’t show worrisome symptoms until it was too late.

“Better?” Emma analyzes your face and you can tell how upset she is, that’s why you try to distract her the best way you know how.

“Is your dad wearing a new cologne?”

“Huh?”

“He smells sooooo good, I swear I get this uncontrollable desire to kiss him all over,” you cough a bit more and she slaps your thigh, outraged.

“Would you stop it???!!!”

“I think he’ll miss me when I’m gone,” you playfully giggle. “Who else would flirt with an old man in his 40’s?!”

“Stupid girl…” Emma’s voice quivers since she doesn’t like to be reminded you’ll leave her. You both are silent for a few moments before she gathers the strength to continue the planned evening.

“I’m going to prepare you a nice, warm bath, then we’ll tag along with my dad at his Neon Devil club, alright?” she pouts and you don’t have the heart to admit you don’t feel like going out anymore.

“Sure… … sounds perfect,” you sigh and underline. “Only if I can spend some time alone with Mister Joker in the VIP section.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Emma concludes and you won’t quit.

“I didn’t say anything bad, you’re the perv for thinking indecencies regarding a man and a woman…alone… in the luscious VIP room… a few drinks… music blasting… attractiveness mooing to be unleashed…”

“Mooing???” she burst out laughing, forgetting she was about to admonish on your crazy ideas…again.

“Yup, mooing…” you proclaim with delight. “It’s a very sexy term, won’t you agree? … … Sexy like your dad!” you immediately blur out and stomp towards the bathroom while she hunts you down with the only purpose of shutting down the outpour of nonsense flowing out of you.

***************

Neon Devil Club, 10:36pm

“Are you going to dance?” Emma’s red cheeks pop up next to you.

“No, not tonight. Don’t worry, I’m having fun!” you point at the two empty cocktail glasses in front of you, still working on your third one. “I think I might call it a night soon, I’m tired.”

“OK, Y/N. Let me know when, we’ll both go!” she yells over the deafening tune.

“Stay and have fun, I can get a ride!” you glare at The Joker sitting at the bar a few inches away from you, totally absorbed by his text messages.

“Are you sure?” Emma hesitates and you poke J’s arm in order to get his attention.

He finally looks up and his daughter pleads:

“Daddy, can you take Y/N back to our house when she’s ready? I want her to be there when I return, this way we can gossip after the wild intercourse I’m gonna have with one of these lucky guys!”

The Clown Prince of Crime stares at her, displeased with the comments.

“Hilarious,” he growls and she jumps up and down, excited to see Bane’s son in the crowd.

“Don’t get mad, daddy!” she pecks his cheek. “I’m joking… Maybe…” Emma chuckles at his grumpiness and you are proud of her achievement in mocking the forever serious Joker: despite the nickname, the green haired menace is not the epitome of joyfulness.

“Are you supposed to have alcohol with the medications you’re taking?” he gestures at your cocktail.

“Nope,” you serenely confess and guzzle down more. “I’m a burden to my father and he doesn’t even know it,” you sniffle and J senses something strange about your affirmation. “He locks himself in the lab for days, researching on ways to overcome my terminal cancer. Did you know Evelyn left him two weeks ago?” you ask and The King feels cornered; you’re probably tipsy and in mood to chat while he’s not. “She’s perfect for him and he let her go… He would ignore her for days, immersed in his ridiculous project of saving me. The amazing Doctor Crane can’t take the hint this is a battle he won’t win. I made peace with what’s happening to me, but he can’t...,” you wave at the bartender for another glass. “Why won’t my father accept the inevitable outcome?” the pain in your tone prompts J to mutter:

“He just tries to postpone the inevitable.”

“I’m grateful for his help,” you ramble on. “I take remedies he makes for me and it’s nice to avoid the traditional chemo and losing my hair. I don’t look like I’m dying, correct? If you wouldn’t weren’t aware of my illness, you couldn’t tell, right?”

“Yes,” The impatient Joker signals the bartender to halt mixing your fresh drink; in his opinion you had enough.

“I got my test results this morning, “ you disclose, pouting. “They’re bad…” Y/N inhales the rest of her liquid courage and taps on the marble counter, disappointed at her own statement. “Did you ever taste death?” the weird question makes him taunt.

“Naahhh.”

“This is what it tastes like,” the heartbroken Y/N softly kisses The Joker and his remark hurts more than her disappointing routine evaluation:

“Strawberry margarita?”

You hop off your high chair so fast he realizes you’re flustered; it was the first time you kissed him, not that kind of kiss anyway and he completely dismissed your candor in the worst possible way.  

“Can we go please?” you intensely glare at your sandals and J opts out of attempting to patch up his callous reply; possibly the best decision regarding these circumstances simply because it doesn’t affect him at all.

“Sure, we can bail,” he grumbles and escorts you out of the club, wondering if you are done talking about matters of no importance to him.

****************

The master bedroom is cracked opened and you knock until The Joker bothers to acknowledge your existence.

“What is it?”

You sneak inside, adamant to request a tiny favor.

“Can I watch TV in here?”

“Why?” he wiggles in the middle of his bed, certainly not thrilled at your proposal.

“I won’t inconvenience you, ok?” you evade his inquiry and still being a bit tipsy briefly aids your plan; your drag your feet to the humongous mattress, then slip inside the purple sheets at the edge of the bed. “You know… If I would have lived longer, I bet you would have married me,” you gaze at the man relaxing close to your body.

The Joker nonexistent eyebrows go up so high it’s possibly a new record: why did Emma have to stay at the club instead of distracting you from whatever the hell this is?!

“We would have had at least 4 kids…” you continue your story. “ I’m young so every two years I could have been convinced to get pregnant; we would have had a small army of little Jokers and Y/Ns… I picked a few names already, would you like to hear them?”

“NO!!” he sucks on his teeth, irritated.

“Hmm…” you get discouraged yet it doesn’t last. “ You would have died at 65…”

“Why would I die at 65?!” J interrupts and his interest gives you a boost of much needed confidence.

“Car accident; you’re a shitty driver,” you lift your shoulders up, instantly correcting your sentence. “I meant reckless.”

The Clown Prince of Crime huffs and the fact that he engaged into this monologue of yours hopefully suggests he won’t chase you away until you finish.

“After your demise I would have mourned you for a decent amount of months, then I would have remarried a guy my age, this way I’m not in any danger of becoming a widow for the second time. I would obviously have our children too so not to worry, I would have survived without you.”

“Awesome, I was anxious you won’t overcome the grief,” his sassiness triggers your approval.

“Indeed; yet I have to warn you: if you ever cheated on me, I would have asked my father to create a special virus to obliterate you from the face of the planet!”

“Why are you shouting?!” The Joker scratches his chin, confused about your attitude.

“Sorry,” you take it down a notch. “I always get emotional when I think about this part…”

“Is this soap opera of yours almost done?” the impatience emerges; I suppose you tested his composure enough.

“I really like you,” you cut off his vexation. “You should be happy a young woman would crave an older man in his 40’s or 50’s,” you snort while adding to his growing restlessness.

“I think it’s time for you and the alcohol in your system to take a nap!” J hints at your departure and you abruptly bring it up since he’s basically throwing you out:

“Do you like me? You never get mad or chase me when I flirt with you…” you scoot over and cuddle next to him.

“What are you doing?!” J gets pissed at your boldness.

“I’m cold,“ you lie without a problem and he’s done with the dumb night he had to put up with so far.

“Get out!” The King of Gotham snaps and his sudden aggressiveness throws you off.

“I want to stay and watch TV; I promise I’ll be super quiet from now on. Cross my heart and hope to die!” you smile and your silly pun doesn’t have the outcome you hoped for.

“You know why I indulge a shallow brat’s idiotic flirting?!” he raises his voice and you shrivel because you realize he won’t utter anything nice at this point. “Who wouldn’t feel sorry for a walking corpse, hm? Despite what people think, I’m not that insensitive!”

You gulp and slowly roll out of bed, trying not to cry in front of him; you don’t remember sensing a stronger pain in your life, not even after you got sick.

“You’re so mean, “ you whisper and can’t stop the first tears streaming down your face. “I wouldn’t have married you anyway,” you rush out of the master bedroom and The Joker reprises his movie, undisturbed at the events he created out of spite.

“Fuck…” he mumbles when it hits: Emma will chew him alive if she finds about his behavior; would you mention this to her? Or she would guess something went wrong if you depart from the mansion when she asked you to stay? The only person that counts is bound to make him rethink his awful actions; his daughter wouldn’t forgive him unless he patches up things. Might as well get it over with before he lands in hotter waters.

“Uggghhhh,” The Joker puckers his lips and contemplates his choices: not too many, thus he ends up in front of your bedroom 10 minutes after the fight.

He can discern your sobbing and opens the door without knocking because another human’s privacy is simply not his issue. You are standing by the windows and turn towards him, mad you didn’t lock the entrance.

“Your company is required in the master bedroom,” J elaborates on the subject and Y/N’s silence evokes a faint apology. “I don’t think you’re a walking corpse… … …”

No reaction.

“Come on, let’s watch TV in my room…”

“Why would you need a shallow brat’s idiotic company?” you blow your nose in a tissue and emphasize. “I don’t want your pity.”

“Crane’s a genius but the trait is clearly skipping a generation,” his way of attempting to restore the mood totally sucks. “It’s not pity.”

“What is it then?” you wipe your tears and he has no clue himself.

“Not…pity.”

Are you debating on his offer?

“Come on,” J grabs your hand and your resistance works a miracle nonetheless. “I’m sorry, alright? Not a word to Emma, deal? Or your dad, he would probably create a goddamned virus to exterminate me from this planet. Don’t laugh, it’s not funny,” he sulks, crabby at the idea of being killed for offending Scarecrow’s princess.

“I won’t…” you promise and you’re actually surprised when he lifts you up, guiding your legs around his waist.

“You can sleep in my bed if you want to… until Emma gets back,” The Joker recommends and you hide your astonishment the best way you can.

“Sleep like in dozing of or…?” you wish to determine and the response doesn’t fail to deepen the mystery:

“As I said, genius sometimes skips a generation.”

The King strolls out of the bedroom with Y/N clinging to him while he lifts her higher in his arms, closing his eyes when she kisses him.

And the only thing The Joker can think of for the moment is that if death tastes like this, it’s not the worst way to go.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[the-sarcastic-trashmouth]

How can I love you when I can’t love myself? (Request)

Prompt: Oh man i loved the silence of nothing. can i request something with some more soft stozier snuggles? maybe something addressing richie's neglect.--Anonymous

Summary: “Richard?” Stan called, thumping up the steps as the others followed him. He could hear the sound of David Bowie coming from Richie’s room as he cracked open the door. “Richie--What the fuck?” He asked. /

Richie was laying on his bed in just his boxers with the half-drunken bottle of vodka cradled in his fist, hanging off the side of his bed. Richie’s head sluggishly picked up as he looked to the others with a huge grin when he immediately sat up. 

“Staniel the manual! Welcome, I didn’t expect you today! Oh shit, you even brought some of the motley crew!” He laughs before he stood up and turned down his music. “Sup my dudes, what brings you over to mi casa?” He asked with a huge grin.

“Richie, what in the world--are you drinking? You’re underage!” Eddie exclaims before covering his mouth and nose at the pungent smell of alcohol on Richie. “Age is but a number, dear Spaghetti.” Richie grins before handing over the bottle when Bev walked up to him. “And Jail is just a place.” Eddie resorted, making Richie snorts.

Pairing: Richie Tozier x Stanley Uris

Warning: Contains underage drinking/smoking. 

Richie loved to make his friends laugh. It made him feel like he was doing something right whenever any of the losers would laugh at his dumb jokes. Because if they were laughing… they wouldn’t find him annoying and they wouldn’t leave him.

Now, his parents were a sensitive subject for him. So he didn’t really care to talk about them. There was a part of him that was envious of others, seeing as they had parents who loved them. Richie’s parents tolerated him if they really had to, but most of the time they’d leave town for Wentworth’s job for months on end.

Richie was currently laying on his floor, staring at the ceiling. He was glad that it was summertime so he didn’t have to go to school. His parents had just left, saying they’d be gone for a least two weeks with some money on the table. So now he had the house to himself which depending on who you asked was a good or bad thing.

He waited a few more minutes after they had left to make sure they didn’t have to come back for anything. The moment he knew the coast was clear, he stood up and went downstairs to raid the small liquor cabinet. Today was one of those days that he really needed something to stop the buzzing in his mind and alcohol was the best solution.

Snagging the bottle of vodka from the wooden chest, Richie thumped back up the steps to his room before shutting the door. He pulled out his cassette player and popped in one of his mixtapes before flicking off the top of the bottle. He thumped down onto the edge of the bed as the music began to pour out from the speakers.

The alcohol burned going down his throat, but god, did he love the warm feeling that bloomed throughout his chest. It replaced the cold dread that had been growing larger since his parents popped into his room this morning. It replaced the want for his parents to even pretend to act like they even cared about him once in a while.

Richie fucking hated this feeling. It was so stupid how it affected his daily life because his parents wanted a girl and got a Richie instead. It was one thing to be ignored by them but it was an entirely different thing when they spoke about how beautiful a daughter would be. It was like they did it to get a rise out of Richie when in reality… It just made him upset.

He didn’t tell the losers because he didn’t like to discuss personal shit… I mean he used humor to block out all the negative thoughts that tried to weasel their way into his head. His jokes are what kept him floating, kept him from breaking down because if they were laughing no one could see the tears in his eyes.

Richie winced before taking a huge gulp of alcohol before coughing violently. He wiped at the moisture around his mouth before thumping the bottle onto the floor as he stood up. He looked around his room for the other cassette tapes unaware that he was going to get some unsuspected visitors.

Stanley knocked on the Tozier’s door with Bev and Eddie behind him. They were going to invite Richie out to do some stuff, but no one had answered when they called earlier. So here they were, waiting for someone to answer the door but there was nothing.

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to hang out today.” Ben offers gently.

“Trashmouth, open this fucking door, you ass!” Eddie shrieked beating on the door.

Suddenly Stan reaches up for the small porch light, flicking open the small door and snagging the spare key Richie had told him about. He glanced at the losers who stared at him in shock before he unlocked the door and went inside.

“Richard?” Stan called, thumping up the steps as the others followed him. He could hear the sound of David Bowie coming from Richie’s room as he cracked open the door. “Richie--What the fuck?” He asked.

Richie was laying on his bed in just his boxers with the half-drunken bottle of vodka cradled in his fist, hanging off the side of his bed. Richie’s head sluggishly picked up as he looked to the others with a huge grin when he immediately sat up.

“Staniel the manual! Welcome, I didn’t expect you today! Oh shit, you even brought some of the motley crew!” He laughs before he stood up and turned down his music. “Sup my dudes, what brings you over to mi casa?” He asked with a huge grin.

“Richie, what in the world--are you drinking? You’re underage!” Eddie exclaims before covering his mouth and nose at the pungent smell of alcohol on Richie.

“Age is but a number, dear Spaghetti.” Richie grins before handing over the bottle when Bev walked up to him.

“And Jail is just a place.” Eddie resorted, making Richie snorts.

“Yeah and your mom is the perfect woman to fuck.” He comments as Eddie murderously glares at him.

“Beep Beep, Richie!” He hissed as Stan walked over to Richie’s player and shut it off.

“Hey, I was listening to that!” Richie frowns when Stan crossed his arms over his chest. “What?” He questioned before huffing as he walked over to his dresser so he could get a shirt on… It was cold in his room anyway.

“You gonna tell us why you’re drinking?” Stan asked quietly, tilting his head to get a better look at Richie.

“Same reason every teenager drinks. Because I was bored and wanted to have some fun.” He points out before slipping on a t-shirt as he snags up the jeans he wore yesterday.

“You wanna smoke?” Bev asked, pulling out her pack as Richie immediately snagged it off her.

“What is wrong with you two! You’re gonna get lung cancer and die!” Eddie threw his hands up with a huff.

“Shit maybe then my parents will actually care.” Richie laughs before lighting the cigarette as he opened his window.

Everyone went dead silent at that.

“What?” Stan asked as Richie took a puff before feeling the wave of calmness wash over his alcohol riddled mind.

“The old man and the old lady. They don’t give a fuck about me. Why do you think they’re always leaving? I mean shit… I’m sure they forget about me while they’re out there.” Richie snorts before glancing out the window. “I’d wanna forget about me too if I was them.” He laughs, tossing his head back as it bumped loudly against the sill of the window.

“Jesus, dude,” Bev comments with a frown. “Why didn’t you say anything?” She questioned as Richie glances at her.

“Music.” He comments, standing up again when Stan grabbed his wrist before he could turn the cassette player on.

“Richie, talk to us. You can’t move past this if you don’t.” Stan comments when Richie laughs.

“Ah, Stanny, I’m one hundred percent fine. I don’t need to talk about anything. Come on. Let’s listen to music or go do something!” He grins when Stan plucks the cigarette from Richie’s lips and put it out on the sill before tossing it out. “Hey!” He huffed.

“I’m done playing this game, Richie. I’ve waited for you to come and tell me on your terms, but you won’t. I know you don’t like to talk about your parents and I get it… I do, but Richie making light of this situation isn’t going to help anyone.” Stan comments when Richie swallowed thickly before moving away.

“Dammit… Why do you have to fucking sober me up like this you asshole?” Richie demanded before thumping down onto the edge of his bed. “Well, I don’t know what you want me to say. My parents leave all the time and I am left with nothing okay? I can’t function like a normal human being sometimes because they decided that since I’m not a girl they can just throw me to the wind.” He snorts, reaching for the bottle as Stan snags it.

“No, you need to be sober,” Stan explains before dumping the rest outside as Richie grits his teeth.

“You know what, Stanley! Fuck you! Okay! Fuck you for being so perfect and having these parents who love you! Fuck you because my parents think the world of you! Think the fucking world of all my friends!” He spat and pushed at Stan who let Richie’s hands continue to make contact with his chest.

“Richie--” He’s cut off when there was a sob. “It’s not good for you to hold this in,” Stan whispered when Richie slumped against Stan as his body started to shake.

“I hate you so fucking much… I hate everyone that has parents who love them… Fuck them… Why can’t… Why can’t they love me? What’s wrong with me?” Richie sobs out as Stan’s fingers slowly raked through Richie’s hair.

“No, Richie. It’s them who have something wrong with them.” Stan comments before looking to see Bev and Eddie standing there. He gestures for them to come over as Bev was the first one to wrap her arms around him when Richie flinched before relaxing into the warmth Bev provided.

“I’m sorry… I just fucking hate talking about this. I’d rather just ignore it.” Richie murmurs, voice muffled since his face was buried in Stanley’s sweater.

“I know, but… sometimes ignoring it only makes it worse.” Bev comments as Eddie wraps his arms around all of them. “Come on, let’s go meet the others. We can all go do something fun!” She grins excitedly as the three of them pulled away from Richie.  

“Yeah, get your mind out of this spiral and away from this empty house!” Eddie points out when Richie scrubs at his curls.

“Yeah, let me get ready. I’ll meet you guys at the clubhouse.” Richie grins.

“We’ll meet you at the clubhouse.” Stan corrects as Richie glances at him before looking to Bev and Eddie with a nod.

“Alright, don’t be late. If you aren’t there in two hours I’m coming back to kick your asses.” She calls as she and Eddie head out.

“You don’t have to stay with me. I was just gonna take a shower and--” Richie’s cut off when Stan looks to him.

“Richie, do you think we don’t love you?” Stan asked instead as Richie blinked for a moment.

“Why do I need you to love me when I have your mom to do it instead?” He grins, earning a glare from Stan.

“Richie, don’t… Look at me. I can’t help you if you push me away.” Stan comments before crossing his arms as Richie glanced down to the floor.

“Look, can we please just drop it?” Richie begged before Stan walked forward and smashed their mouths together before backing them up until they hit Richie’s closet door. Richie’s eyes widened at the feeling before Stan deepened the kiss, making Richie moan from surprise. “What… What the fuck was that?” Richie asked breathlessly.

“Something I’ve been wanting to do for a very long time,” Stan whispered, throat tightening as Richie’s face flushes.

“You… You kissed me. You actually wanted to kiss me? But… Why?” Richie’s voice cracks when Stan looks at him.

“Why else would people kiss?” Stan demanded.

“Well in my case, probably to shut me up. Which… you succeed.” He laughs awkwardly.

“Apparently not. Richie,” Stan’s voice was soft as he cupped Richie’s face gently. “Listen to me.” He begged quietly before smiling at the sight of Richie leaning into the soft touch. “I like you, Richie.” He whispered softly.  

“You… You like me? But I thought you liked Bill?” He questioned, making Stan snort.

“I thought you liked Eddie.” Stan resorted with a quirk of his brow.

“Eddie-Spaghetti? I mean… I think my feelings for Eddie were a crush. I think they died when he admitted he might have felt something for Bill.” Richie explains when Stan started to laugh. “But… Did you mean it? Like you like me like me?” He questioned.

“What are we five?” Stan quirked an eyebrow as Richie huffed. “Yes, Richie, I like you like you. I actually love you. I’ve been trying to figure out a way to tell you, but I never could. I guess this is a good of a time as any.” He explains when tears flooded down his face as Richie’s hand slowly reached up and took Stan’s wrist in his hand so he could keep the hand on his face.

“Holy shit…” He laughs before looking to Stan with a wobbly grin. “Is this what love is supposed to feel like?” He asked quietly. “I like this feeling. Kiss me again.” He leaned forward as their lips brushed together.

“I’m guessing that means you like me too?” Stan snorts when Richie nods and kisses him over and over again.

“I do, I love you,” Richie promised before Stan’s other hand came up to cup Richie’s face. “So fucking much.” He smiles at Stan.

“Good,” Stan smiles back before biting his lip. “Can we hold off on telling the others?” He asked as Richie nods with a gentle frown. “I just… I want you to myself until we figure out how to tell the others about us.” He explains when Richie smiles.

“Fucking sap,” Richie comments before going to pull away only for Stan to tug him against his chest. “St-Stan! I have to go get a shower! We have to go see the others!” He laughs when Stan groans.

“Can’t we just call Bev and tell them you got sick?” Stan asked as Richie gasps.

“Staniel! Are you suggesting lying to our friends? Oh my god! You’re corrupted! And now you’re corrupting me too!” Richie swoons loudly, making Stan roll his eyes before dropping Richie onto the floor. “Ah! Okay, let’s call her you dick. But you’re talking to her. I’m supposed to be sick.” Richie sing-songs.

“Get in the bed you fucking little gremlin.” He huffs as Richie laughs before crawling onto the bed before looking to Stan who went downstairs and called Bev.

About three minutes later, Stan came back with a smile on his face. Richie glanced up when Stan flopped down onto the bed with him as the two boys shared a smile. Richie moved before laying his head against Stanley’s chest as Stan watched the ceiling, taking comfort in the silence.

“Thanks for… for everything. I know I’m a handful sometimes.” Richie mumbles.

“No, Richie, you’re not. Whatever your parents taught you… they’re wrong.” Stan murmurs, running his fingers through Richie’s hair as Richie’s eyes fluttered at the tingling feeling on his scalp. “And I’m gonna make sure you know that you are loved… even if it takes me the rest of our lives.” Stan promised when Richie’s eyes squeezed shut.

He didn’t want to cry anymore… but God… He has no idea what he did to have Stanley actually love him back… but he definitely wasn’t going to complain. Richie smiles softly to himself as Stanley’s fingers continued to comb through his hair when suddenly Richie fell asleep, safe and sound in the arms of someone who loves him.

[purplepersnicketywrites]

17 for that mini fic thing?

#17: things you said that i wish you hadnt

Trying to trick me into writing angst, I see! ;P

—

“Dudes,” Kirishima said, addressing them all quite suddenly. “I just thought of something.”

Katsuki looked up from his phone at the boy whose feet were in his lap. His expression was a mixture of wonder and fear. Ah, great, what now?

“Shoot,” Kaminari said. Sero and Ashido chimed in twin noises of encouragement for Kirishima to continue.

“Guys,” Kirishima pointed to his stomach: “Do you think my organs harden too when I use my quirk?”

“Oh my fucking god,” Katsuki groaned, locking his phone and preparing for the travesty that was a debate among the self-proclaimed Bakusquad.

The rest of the idiots had dropped their mouths wide open, with triplet-widening eyes.

“Of course,” said Kaminari, recovering the fastest.

“Absolutely not,” Ashido said.

“Well,” Sero hummed. “Probably some of them?”

“None of you are right,” Katsuki said. Kirishima snorted.

“Bro, they said ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘kinda’. That’s all bases covered. One of them’s gotta be correct,” he said.

Katsuki folded his arms. “I say they partially transform but to different degrees and not all in the same way your skin does. So there.”

“Hey, that’s covered under ‘kinda’,” Sero said. Katsuki rolled his eyes. “We’re on the same team here, just admit it.”

“I don’t form teams,” Katsuki said, haughty.

Ashido coughed a very fake cough and muttered under her breath. “Unless Kirishima’s involved.”

“Say that to my face, Pinky,” Katsuki demanded, palms popping. Kirishima kicked his chest. “Bite me, Kirishima.”

“Down, boy,” Kirishima said. Katsuki’s face twisted into a sour expression.

“Anyway,” Kaminari said. “Kirishima clearly hardens internally ‘cause like, he gets heavier. Way heavier than if it was just his skin turning.”

“Counterpoint,” Ashido said. “If his heart turns to stone then how does his blood go? If his lungs turn to stone then how does he breathe?”

“Does he, though?” Kaminari stroked his chin.

Katsuki sent Kirishima a flat look. Kirishima shrugged.

“I do breathe while hardened, man,” Kirishima said. “I can last like, an hour now in the basic transformation if I don’t take any hits.”

“Ah, but do you breathe or do you just think you breathe?” Kaminari asked.

Katsuki shook his head. For fuck’s sake.

“I’m serious! Like, if all your skin and stuff is turning into like, rock, then are the cells even still there to like, use energy?” Kaminari asked, expression serious. “’Cause if they’re not then you don’t need any of your organs to be working, right?”

“He has a brain, dipshit,” Katsuki said. “He kinda needs that at the very least.”

Kaminari opened his mouth. Kaminari closed his mouth. “Oh. Point conceded. I guess he can’t just go Full Rock, huh?”

“Like I said, you were wrong.”

Kaminari gave him as withering a look at he was capable of mustering. A dying plant would have laughed at him. “I think you’re being contumelious on purpose.”

“Oh?” Katsuki raised an eyebrow. “How fucking malapert of you to say.”

Kaminari pouted. Loser couldn’t handle that Katsuki was a fucking genius so he was always trying to catch him out with weird words. Well too bad, Dunce Face! Katsuki was the fucking best. He knew everything.

“Stop it!” Ashido wailed. “I feel like my brain is melting!”

“You have one of those?” Katsuki asked. Ashido huffed at him and Kirishima kicked his chest again. “Kirishima I swear to all that is holy I will destroy you.”

“Bet Kirishima would love that,” Sero snarked.

Kirishima flipped Sero off. Good, that saved Katsuki the effort.

“Alright so like, we’re now all in agreement that Kirishima’s organs don’t harden, right?” Ashido asked.

Oh, honestly, did Katsuki have to spell all this shit out for everyone?

“No,” Katsuki said. “Kirishima’s organs hardening is the basis of his fucking quirk.”

Ashido blinked. “What?”

“Skin is an organ, Raccoon Eyes,” Katsuki said. “I rest my fucking case.”

Ashido blinked again. “What?”

“Oh I know this one,” Kirishima said, shooting Katsuki a quick glance. He had better damn well know this one ‘cause Katsuki had taught it to him last week. “Organs are a collection of tissues that all work together to provide a function! Skin is there to serve as a barrier to everything - water, diseases, uh, yeah!”

Katsuki nodded, satisfied. Ashido looked between the two of them, blankly. “What?”

“You’re wrong is what,” Katsuki said. “Also Kirishima’s fucking eyes harden.”

“They do? No, no, wait, wait,” Ashido said. “I think we specified internal organs earlier. None of that counts.”

“Our boy gets heavy, and that’s that on that,” Kaminari said.

“That’s not definitive proof of anything,” Ashido said, frowning.

“If Kirishima’s organs didn’t change in some way, he’d end up bruising them every time he gets thrown around, which is way too fucking often, by the way,” Katsuki growled.

“Huh,” Ashido said.

“Probably depends on who’s throwing him around,” Sero said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh my god, shut up,” Kirishima groaned.

Katsuki nodded. “Seconded.”

“Thirded,” Ashido said.

“I think Sero’s right, but we’re going off-topic,” Kaminari said, pointing at Ashido. “And the topic is proving you wrong.”

Sero tilted his head. “Are you on our team now, Kaminari?”

“It’s not a fucking team.”

“Hell yeah, brother,” Kaminari said, leaning over to give Sero a bro-fist. “Team Don’t Argue With Bakugou Go!”

Katsuki glared at Kirishima. “This is all your fault.”

“You’re welcome!” Kirishima’s grin was all fang.

Katsuki cleared his throat. “Whatever, I’m right.”

“Fine, I can’t be bothered to argue with you any more,” Ashido said.

Sero smiled smugly at Bakugou: “Looks like we won the debate.”

“We? We didn’t do shit,” Katsuki snarled. “I won the debate and you just sat there and implied Kirishima was a masochist.”

“Is it an implication if it’s true, though?” Kaminari asked.

Ah, here came the spiral of descent.

Kirishima huffed. “Listen-”

“Anyone who hangs out with Bakugou willingly must be a masochist,” Ashido said.

Katsuki took issue with that. “Hey!”

“Ah, but what does that say about the rest of us?” Sero said. The three amigos gave each other pensive looks.

Katsuki looked at Kirishima again. “I wish you hadn’t started this conversation.”

“Well,” Kirishima said. “Nothing I can do now.”

“Other than Bakugou,” Kaminari said.

“I hope you enjoyed having eyebrows, Pikachu!” Katsuki made to lunge from the sofa, and Kaminari squawked, but Kirishima’s leg pressed him back. “He doesn’t deserve them, Kirishima.”

“I agree, but I’m obligated as a friend to give him a head-start,” Kirishima said, jerking his chin meaningfully at the electrobastard.

Kaminari yelped and fled the room. Good fucking riddance. Katsuki stopped trying to fight through Kirishima’s leg and settled back down.

“Are you not going after him?” Sero asked.

“Nah,” Katsuki said. “I’ll let him live in fear for a few hours instead.”

“F,” said Ashido. “Okay, who wants to-” Ashido stopped, looking at her phone. “Say goodbye to me, ‘cause I’ve gotta meet up with the girls.”

“Yeah, see ya, Ashido!” Sero said.

Kirishima grinned. “Have fun!”

“No,” Katsuki said. Kirishima kicked him again. “Do you have a fucking deathwish, man?”

“Be nice!” Kirishima scolded him. They held eye-contact for a few long moments before Katsuki scoffed and spat out a couple of words.

“Bye, Pinky.”

Ashido giggled. Great. “Aww, bye guys!”

“Oh,” Sero said, eyeing Katsuki and Kirishima and sounding like he’d just figured out the answer to a puzzle. 

“What?” Katsuki asked.

“There’s a bee,” Sero said, standing up.

Kirishima looked around. “A bee? I don’t think-”

“No, no, there it goes,” Sero said, pointing over the couch. Katsuki and Kirishima both turned to look.

“What the actual goddamn fuck are you on about?” Katsuki asked, scanning the air. “I don’t see anything.”

“You sure?” Sero asked. “I guess that makes sense. The B from your Bromance has flown right away!”

Katsuki turned back to look at Sero, who had taken a number of quiet, long-legged steps back towards the stairs. Sensible. Kirishima removed his leg. Also sensible.

“And,” Sero said. “I gotta apologise to you, Kirishima.”

It felt a little like the moment in a storm just before the lightning struck.

“I was mistaken. You’re not the one who’s the masoch-”

“I’m gonna use your elbows as drinks-holders, you gangly recreant!” Katsuki bellowed, charging at Sero with his palms flashing. Sero bolted up the stairs, cackling, and Katsuki bellowed obscenities after him.

Kirishima’s sigh caught his attention before he made up his mind about going after Sero and feeding him his own tape, and Katsuki turned back to the sofas.

“He’s not entirely wrong, y’know,” Kirishima said.

Katsuki snorted and stomped over to give his friend a proper squint. “About which thing?”

“Yes,” Kirishima said.

Damn, Katsuki had secretly been rooting for Kirishima. He lifted up one of his hands. “Time to die.”

“Bring it, babe,” Kirishima said, his face the picture of innocence. He made his escape while Katsuki stood there spluttering incoherently.

[disneylanddirectioner123]

Heart-In-A-Box

I could get used to this, instead of saying hello, i just AHOY here and AHOY there. ANYWAYS. This is for  everyone who didn’t get a Valentines Day gift or don’t have a Valentine AT ALL. Don’t worry though, I have some Spidey Spice Doritios and a small thing of Ben & Jerrys if you wanna share with me. I KNOW, I WAS ALONE ON VALENTINES DAY. (Don’t rub it in, I’m emotional :( I’ll change my mind.)

However, I did get a nice smelling bottle of Sea Scrub peel off mask. Now I’ll smell like Ariel!!! :D

I also got a red Birds Of Prey shirt and some small cookie biscuits. BUT. 

I just wanted to make this imagine for everyone who didn’t get the Valentines Day that they wanted, and of course because of the title: IT’S A DADDY PATRICK IMAGINE!!! Brace yourselves! This may get a little bit spoopy!!!

—

IMAGINE #2

Title: Heart-In-A-Box

Pairing: Patrick Hockstetter x Reader

Word Count: 

Theme: Valentine’s Day.

For: Anyone who had a sucky Valentine’s Day, but for this imagine, I’ll put my name: Jae. (You don’t have to put up with my name :) Do what you want! You do you honey!!)

Warnings(?): Anatomy (guts, body parts, blood, etc.) A butchery, Just blood. IMAGINE WILL PROBABLY BE THE CRINGIEST YOU’VE EVER READ IN YOUR LIFE.

Scene: Reader is having a terrible Valentine’s Day. Nobody has given them a Valentine so they’re feeling left out, resulting in them to focus on schoolwork. On a field trip to the local museum for a science class, Reader slowly starts receiving Valentine’s gifts from a green eyed admirer. 

PLAYLIST: 

1. Love Hurts by Nazareth

2. Every Breath You Take by The Police

3. Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden

—

The sound of other students in the hallways of Derry High annoyed Jae.

It was the dreaded day; Valentine's Day.

Pink, white and red littered the entire school and it made her sick. What a way to rub in the pain that she was gonna be YET AGAIN alone on Valentine's Day.

Students, mostly pathetic little middle schoolers wore dumb pink and red outfits as they scurried around, giving each other bouquets of flowers, boxes of chocolates, and cringeworthy love letters.It seemed that someone, probably someone from the student body or arts committee wanted to make Valentine's Day this year special, hence why everyone was wearing either pink or red. Some idiots even came dressed as angels, pretending to shoot people with arrows.

It was disgusting.

Jae was probably the only girl wearing a different colour. As she walked over to her locker, students stared at her and snickered.

"Looks like she has no Valentine." "She'll be a loner forever!" "Happy Valentine's Day Jae!" "What a LOSER." "Don't you mean LOVER?"

She barged through the laughing students, shoving a making out couple off her locker. After opening her locker and scrunching up some hurtful Valentine's Day cards from some neanderthal jocks and prissy skanks, Jae grabbed what she needed for the field trip to the museum. Her anatomy class was going to the museum as a part of an assignment on individual parts of the body.

Jae couldn't wait to get to the museum. As well as getting away from all these morons, it was no secret that Jae took a close interest into anatomy class. Her father was a butcher and her mother was a nurse so it wasn't her first time seeing blood and guts, whether it was a bonus help that she learnt about the nifty things that went on inside the human body, much to the other students' horror and disgust.

"So," An obnoxious voice rang in her ear followed by a loud POP!, "who ripped your heart out?" Greta smirked as she leaned against Jae's locker. Jae rolled her eyes, out of all the days that she didn't want to be tormented, today took the angel cake.

Enough was enough. Jae turned to Greta with a fake sad expression.

"You. When I saw you making out with Sally Mueller in the bathroom," she fake sobbed, "it broke my heart in two. How could you Greta?!"

Gasps erupted throughout the hallway followed by mean and taunting chants of "Greta likes girls." With an angry huff, Greta stormed off with all the attention now focused on her.

Jae's anatomy classmate, Beverly Marsh approached her locker in the direction of where Greta charged from. "Jeez, didn't know you and Greta were-"

"I'm not. I just got sick of her. Thought I might do some rumour spreading of my own. Anyways," Jae changed the subject onto the exciting excursion ahead, "what's your project about?"

"Feet and legs and what makes them work."

Jae nodded, not wanting to continue the discussion, due to her bored and slightly irritated tone. "You?"

"The heart." Jae responds, rolling her eyes at the ironic theme. Beverly gave a small smile before looking behind her. Her face dropped, scurrying off with a quick; "See you on the bus."

Instead of the cliche turn around, Jae shrugged before following Bev out to the bus where her anatomy class were waiting.

If only she did turn would she have met her green eyed admirer that would soon spoil her silly in the weirdest of ways.

---

After the lame presentation which was both interesting yet extremely irrelevant to Jae, the anatomy teacher granted the class permission to do individual exploring, where the students could either get something to eat or explore other parts of the exhibit.

Jae had her eye on the heart exhibit; it was a maze where there were info cards, hanging and touchable props and video diagrams on all walls. It looked like fun.

So, being a lone ranger, Jae headed directly to the heart maze. But she wasn't the only one.

It seemed that a certain someone had his green predatory eyes for Jae. Patrick Hockstetter was fascinated by her. He followed her around town and the idea that she was working on the anatomy of the heart made him fall for her. He loved that she liked what people would call macabre, he loved that she had an IDGAF attitude yet how devoted she was to her anatomy class. He loved that she was an all out badass.

And don't get him started on her beauty. She was SO MUCH prettier than the other girls of Derry. Her hair was so shiny and when he sometimes stepped behind her at the cafeteria and managed to smell her hair, her hair smelt like strawberries and cream and her skin smelt like the seaside.

He always thought of himself as a smooth operator, yet when it came to Jae, he couldn't muster up the balls to ask her out.

Patrick Hockstetter the chicken.

He didn't like the idea of that going around especially in front of his crush.

So since Valentine's Day was today, it was his chance.

He stood a decent feet away and got out the crumpled love note he was gonna pass to her on the bus. In his neatest writing, which was still messy, he wrote;

"WILL YOU BE THE FIRE TO MY LOINS? LOVE P.H"

As disgusting and cringy as it sounded, Patrick tried to be poetic and literate as he had caught Jae reading the novel "Lolita" on regular basis when the teacher forced him to go into the library instead of loitering with the other members of the Bowers Gang behind the gym. Wrapped in the paper was a small animal heart; in particular a chicken heart.

He clenched the paper, trying not to rip it or squish the heart. Patrick wasn't gonna chicken out now.

He scrunched it up and flung it at her. It hit her, the heart fell out of the paper and splatted on the floor and as she turned around, he disappeared into the other entry of the maze.

---

When she got to the heart of the maze, her eyes bulged as she saw a giant squishy heart in the centre that could be touched. She loved the idea of an interactive model. She pulled out her polaroid camera and took a photo of the model as she had been doing so through the maze.

When she checked the picture she noticed a tall figure in the background but it was blurry so she couldn't determine who it was. Right next to the model was an info card, basically explaining the model was a photo opportunity and that it instructed kids to not climb on the model. There were two small plates; one with another heart; this time a dog heart and the other plate with a small heart cake, there was a note attached that said; "Dissect me? P.H"

This was the second note that she had received from 'P.H'. It was probably some stupid jock playing a prank on her. She knelt down at the little block with the info card nailed to it, grabbing her pocket knife and visciously stabbed it, noticing jam bleeding out of it. There was no way she wasn't ruining the dog heart.

"What is it with people today?" She yells, "Why me of all people to prank on Valentine's Day?! I bet you this is how you're gonna get me! You're gonna jump out and say; 'Ha Ha! Just kidding ya!' Well i'm not as dumb as you think, so knock it off!!!"

Patrick was watching the whole sight, obviously amused and a little hurt that she thought he was messing her over. Patrick crouched down next to her, coughing to get her attention. As soon as she looked at him, she pieced everything together;

PH=Patrick Hockstetter. The hearts= Rumors of him kidnapping and killing animals.

When she turned to him, he sat down beside her and pulled out a small heart shaped box. He really wanted to give her this gift but wasn't sure how she'd react to seeing the gift. "I got this," He rasped as he held out the box, "for you."

Cautiously, she took the red box and lifted the lid. Inside was a heart. She picked it up to check if it was real. It was. It was bigger than the dog heart. His next two words made her slightly shudder.

"It's Human."

"Patrick, How'd you get it?" Jae asked, raising an eyebrow. On the inside she felt weak.

Instead of answering her, he lunged at her, planting his lips on hers. His lips were a bit slimy and chapped and although he did have a bit of bad breath but it didn't matter. Jae may or may not have had an attraction to him due to his mystery. She really liked him but everyone always kept her away from him. This was a dream come true.

"Pat," She asked when they departed from their soft kiss,

"Where'd the human heart come from?”

[neo-culture-mafia]

내 실수

We were looking for an answer when we knew there wasn’t one to be found. “Don’t walk away when the world is burning,” his words echoed in my head. “for when you decide to come back, you’re going to act surprised that nothing is left.” it echoed. “Even though that’s one of the reasons you decided to walk away in the first place.” It haunted me now as I look back on everything that has happened.

Even with the iron curtain drawn across the family, I still felt connected. I knew everyone was connected deep down, even if not everyone wanted to admit it. It was a hard pill to swallow for some, especially when they were raised with no one. Now being thrown into this current situation, the boys were faced with following the right path: morally right path, or the path their heart was telling them to take.

Not even the stars in the current night sky could shine on the right pat- I coughed in the middle of my inner monologue. I looked over to see the familiar looking boy with that damn cigarette hung on his lips. “These are bad for you, dumbass.” I called taking the lit cigarette and rubbing the burning ash on the concrete floor we both sat on. Jaemin didn’t waste time in grabbing another from his coat pocket and shoved it between his lips. I just didn’t want to fight anymore.

He sucked air in through his teeth along with the toxic smoke. Jaemin’s eyes were closed in a euphoric state as he held the smoke in his lungs. His lips made the usual form to puff the smoke out. “Wanna drag?” He asked as he held the white devil stick out to me. I just shook my head no and continued to stare out into the night sky lit by the nearby city. I didn’t even bother looking up for there were no stars in sight.

“You good, y/n?” He asked and I can only shrug. “When am I not okay?” I asked looking at him and he nodded, taking another drag. “You should go back home.” He said looking for what I was so invested in.

I couldn’t answer because I didn’t want to be sent away anymore. He whistled, waving his hand in front of my face. “Yoo-hoo. Hello.” He said and I finally looked at him. “What?” I asked as if I didn’t hear his first request for me to leave. “I said, ‘You should go back home.’” He smiled very small, wanting me to feel better about the situation.

“Whatever.” I sighed as I stood up. I walked into the single room apartment and grabbed my backpack sitting at the feet of a passed out Jisung. “Leaving already?” Mark asked from the kitchen table that was illuminated . 

The place smelled like boy, as wallpaper was tearing from the walls and tiling was practically non-existent. Every time I visited, Mark was always in that damn seat; stress lines and reading glasses seemed permanently etched into his face. Renjun and Jeno always sat with him, going over the same stack of papers as if they had missed something the first million read-throughs. Chenle and Jisung were always passed out in the ‘living room’ that ironically reeked of death and desperation. Hyuck and Jaemin were always out trying to find food or money. I...I just came around to make sure they were all breathing, even though I could tell that even that was getting tiring and a daily chore it seemed they were forced to do. 

“Oh...yeah.” I nodded, finally realizing the question he was asking me. “I think he’s gonna want me back soon.” I sigh at the fact. “Well, let me walk you back.” He said getting up and lunging to his jacket before I could think over his request for more than a second. 

“Oh...okay...I guess.” I mumbled the last part, trying to figure out what will happen once they see each other. In a matter of a minute, we were already running down the apartment steps to the quiet yet deafening street below. We began walking the way he always walked me back. 

Yet, this time just felt awkward and almost emotional. 

“...How’s my class doing?” He asked out of the blue. I had to think and register what he had just asked. Out of everything he could have asked, I was shocked he asked this small question. “Still asking when some of their teachers are coming back.” I shrugged, letting a sigh fall from my lips. He just nodded, but he would never tell me of the guilt he feels. 

“Well...how are you doing?” He asked, and I could tell he was running out of ideas of things to talk about. “I...fine. I’m fine.” I nodded and he just nodded along with me. “How're classes?” He asked and I could only think of one word that came to mind: “Boring.” He just laughed at my lame excuse for academic work ethic. “Did you do your homework though?” He asked me as we walked up the small hill to the Neo Culture residence. 

“Yep. Jisung helped with anatomy. Jeno help with Chemistry. Then Jaemin helped me with explosives.” I nodded, thinking of the incredibly smart boys that helped me only hours ago. 

“Well, remember to eat and brush your teeth before bed.” He said and I could only nod and oblige by his request. In no time we were walking up the driveway to the cold residence that I could call home. Taeyong, Doyoung, and Johnny stood on the steps awaiting our arrival.

They reminded me of hyenas that stalked their prey for what seemed like hours before making their first move of attack. “You’re late.” Was all Taeyong said while looking at Mark, not even bothering that I was more than fully capable of walking myself home and staying a few minutes past curfew. 

“It’s my fault...I didn’t want to leave.” I mumbled but still looked into Taeyong’s tired and cold eyes. “Why not? We made your favorite for dinner. Being prepared by the second. Kun’s in town.” Taeyong said and my heart began racing at the thought of Kun being home. Yet, I could hear the rate of Mark’s breathing pick up; yet he was for a different reason. He couldn’t come in and see Kun, or sit down with everyone and have a home-cooked meal like it used to be. 

“Fresh and hot, waiting for your arrival.” Taeyong taunted, yet even though he talked of my presence; his words were like hot daggers laying into Mark’s psyche. I could sense the stare-off the two dominant-willed men were having only inches from my figure. 

Doyoung and Johnny looked guilty as they had to keep their composure next to their leader. “Can’t Mark come in? He’s my guest.” I interjected as I stood in front of Taeyong’s stare. As if I was a gentle angel, his stare faltered to his usual warm and puppy-like nature. “Sorry bunny.” Taeyong said and I could only nod. “You understand: dinner is for the family.” He said and I could tell it hit Mark in the heart, but it also hit me in my own. Everything had fallen apart, and I could only watch from the safeness of behind Taeyong and the rest of the family. I couldn’t stop what had already been done. 

“I didn’t want your food anyway.” Mark spat from behind you. “Then...shoo.” Taeyong said and motioned for Mark to leave the premises. You could physically see Johnny restrain himself from running to Mark and hugging him. “Y/n. Dinner. Now.” Taeyong said as he turned his back and began to walk inside. 

I nodded, digging crescent-shaped indents into my palm to restrain myself. I turned around and didn’t waste time in throwing my arms around Mark. His waist was dainty and small in my arms, and I wanted to drag him inside and feed him the biggest bowl of food for I knew he didn’t eat to let the rest of his members eat and stay the slightest bit healthy...but I couldn’t. 

“It’s okay. Go. Eat.” He rubbed my back. I could only nod, and make this easier for him. “I’ll see you soon.” He said beginning to walk away. He looked to Doyoung and Johnny. Johnny nodded, immediately walking in the house where he was obstructed from Mark’s tired and help-needing gaze. Doyoung nodded to Mark, letting him know he was here; not directly with him, but here. 

Mark walked down the path and down the road until I couldn’t see his figure anymore. 

“Y/n. Let’s eat.” Doyoung softly called. I walked up the stairs and into the supposed to be warm and welcoming house; now turned cold and uncomfortable. Doyoung grabbed my bag and set it down by the staircase. “Kun made your favorite.” He said as he comfortingly guided me into the dining room. 

I took my usual seat, next to the 7 empty seats where my favorite people used to sit. And as I am served my first plate, I look around at my family; and I wonder how the rest of them are. 

Even though I am seated next to Jungwoo and Jaehyun, nothing feels the same without Mark and Jisung sitting close to me though. Between Mark that sat across from me, always reading over my homework while everyone else chattered; Jisung and Chenle who always ‘accidentally’ flung food at my face, it seemed lonely. Not to mention the after-dinner ritual of talking to Renjun about space and aliens and the million and one possibilities of how the universe will turn out. Even when the constant bickering of Jeno and Jaemin seemed like absolute hell, I missed it.

They’re not dead, and I could visit them anytime that I wanted...but it just wasn’t the same when they weren’t a couple of feet away- a flick was made onto my forehead. I looked up and saw the whole table staring at me. “Sorry. Did someone need me?” I asked and they chuckled. “I asked if you did your homework yet?” Taeyong asked me as he popped a piece of food in his mouth, and the question hung in the warm and dinner filled air. I nodded quickly. “Of course...Jisung helped me with anatomy, Jeno helped with ch-” I cut myself off, as I realized I was speaking of basically forbidden people at the expense of Taeyong’s ears. I coughed a little, rejecting the thought of them at the moment

“...yeah...I got it done.” I nodded, saving the long answer for open ears that really wanted to know in the privacy of one on one time; where I didn’t have to say their names with a ‘tsk’ sound or the word ‘bastard’ followed after it. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Taeyong sighed, speaking to me as if we were in the living room, but it felt more like an office. “-talking about them like they aren’t human, I mean.” He explained. I just nodded, feeling a small knot grow in my throat. I focused my eyesight at the food in front of me, trying to count the seasoning flakes on a single piece of sweet and sour pork.

“They’re still your family. It’s okay to talk about them.” Taeyong said and I shook my head slightly, repeating the cursed line that felt as if it was on repeat. 

They’re still your family

Still your family

Your family

I nodded, not knowing what else I could do without blowing up at Taeyong. 

Family? Only my family? They’re all our family...but we’re just hitting a rough patch. 

“I’m full.” I stood up quickly. I turned towards Kun and bowed slightly. “Thank you so much for dinner.” I smiled at his shocked but understanding stare. He nodded, giving a warm smile.

“I’ll be heading to my room now. Goodnight.” I said bowing to the table and running up the stairs with my backpack haphazardly thrown over my shoulder. 

I went up, and closed my door; immediately punching it out of protest. “Bullshit. They’re all of our family you two-faced asshole.” I said ripping my shirt off and getting dressed in comfier clothes. I face planted into my pillows. 

Turning over, I was met with the stars Renjun and I threw up lazily with sticky-tac. 

"I was always afraid of the dark...but the stars guided me home and lit the path for me to return safely," I spoke, recalling everything Renjun told me about the cheap stars stuck on my ceiling.

"Family are like stars." I breathed, wanting Renjun to be here to finish the saying, but I had to pull up my big girl pants and do it myself.

"You don't always see them..." I couldn't help a couple tears fall from my eyes as I felt so alone in this one moment.

"But you always know they're there."

MARK

I tried...so hard 

➼ Text intermission  ➼ Next chapter 

[maj0rmayhem]

Master Plan

Fandom: Persona 5

Warnings: none

Ships: Pegoryu

Highkey for @candymadness​ since she wrote the original idea and gave me permission to run with it.

AU: Youtube AU! The Phantom Thieves are a political activist group that operates illegally and no one is sure if they’re real or not. Akira plans to keep it that way, and Futaba allows them to make their work public without risk of being tracked. Each of the Thieves also has a separate channel.

Summary:  That’s when he remembered his original mission and sat up straight, “Wait a second. Where are my glasses?” His tone was suspicious. He was damn perceptive. “I got ‘em,” Ryuji conceded, holding them up between two fingers, watching as Akira tracked them with narrowed eyes, “But you’re gonna have to give me something if you want ‘em back.” He continued, biting back a laugh when Akira stiffened from where he had been standing to go grab them.

Also read here on AO3!

Sunlight filtered through the sheer white curtains, swaying slightly in the hot mid-August breeze. Akira blinked open his eyes, squinting at the bright light and lazily rolling over, intent on continuing one of the most peaceful rests he’d had in the last several months.

That was until he threw his arm out, planning on curling close to his favorite pillow, which he’d managed to commandeer the night before, only to be met with air and cold mattress. With an obviously displeased grumble, he once again opened his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow, sleep shirt falling off his shoulder. Searching for his glasses, he reached out to the bedside table, only to be met with a dull thud and a low pain in his palm as he made contact with the edge of the table. With a high-pitched whine he collapsed back down onto the bed, resigning himself to a boyfriend-less rest.

Before he had the time to sulk too long about the lack of Ryuji, a low chuckle sounded from the other side of the room, a sound Akira could place anywhere, and he beamed as he squinted at the blurry shape standing by the doorway.

“Mornin’ Sleeping Beauty,” Ryuji teased, grinning in response to the sleep-ruffled expression being sent his way, softened at the edges by fatigue, and haloed by a wild halo of dark curls, even more wild in their messy glory.

Every time he got to see Akira like this, sharp edges softened by the open emotion on his face, and vulnerable in his smile, Ryuji felt his adoration for the boy increase. It was like their secret. Nobody else ever got to see the fearsome leader of the Phantom Thieves like this, warm and relaxed. It almost made him feel bad as he toyed with the cool metal of Akira’s glasses, a camera in the other.

Almost.

“I sure am,” Akira replied, voice still rough from sleep as he slowly sat up, stretching his arms high over his head until something popped with a satisfied sigh, “What time is it?”

Ryuji’s grin widened, and he spun the frames in his hand, obviously amused as he replied, “Two in the afternoon, babe. Must’ve finally been a quiet sleep, you slept the whole morning away.”

Akira froze for a moment before his arms fell back to his sides, face taking on a pink dusting as his gaze flickered away, slightly unfocused without the help of his glasses, “A-Ah.” He turned back to pin a half-hearted glare at the blonde, “Why did you let me sleep so late? You could’ve woken me up! Oh my god, I feel awful, I just wasted the whole day,” He complained, burying his face in his hands with a huff.

That’s when he remembered his original mission and sat up straight, “Wait a second. Where are my glasses?” His tone was suspicious.

He was damn perceptive.

“I got ‘em,” Ryuji conceded, holding them up between two fingers, watching as Akira tracked them with narrowed eyes, “But you’re gonna have to give me something if you want ‘em back.” He continued, biting back a laugh when Akira stiffened from where he had been standing to go grab them.

“What? What do you want?”

“Come on man, you know what I want,”

Akira sighed and leaned against the wall, rolling his eyes, and in that moment Ryuji couldn’t help but be reminded that he was just a kid like them, fighting against the shitty parts of the world.

Most of them tended to forget that.

But he couldn’t think about that right now, absorbed in the soft pink still staining Akira’s cheekbones and getting the best angle for the video - their fans always seemed to get excited over behind the scenes videos of their group (which is why Akira was so popular, it was like all the guy posted. Well now Ryuji was going to capitalize). He was going to milk this for as long as possible.

“Ryu, come on, I need those,” Even as he complained, Akira trudged closer, “Negotiation is supposed to be my thing,”

Ryuji snorted, “Oh yeah? Tell that to Ann, who has managed to rope you into almost every makeup challenge she’s ever done. I’m pretty sure you’re on her channel just as much as you are on mine,”

Akira pouted, now stopped only a few feet in front of Ryuji, “That’s no fair. Maybe I just do that because I’m nice,”

“Mhm. Doesn’t mean you ain’t a big ol’ softie at heart,”

“Hun, I have a reputation!”

“Keep telling yourself that,”

He was met only with a huff, the tips of Akira’s ears still tinted pink in embarrassment as he made a half-hearted swipe for the glasses, easily thwarted as Ryuji shifted his weight, Akira’s hand only lightly skimming across Ryuji’s chest.

“Come on, you gotta know it ain’t gonna be that easy,”

Akira sighed, and Ryuji was forced to shift how he was holding the camera when Akira leaned forward and his head thumped solidly against Ryuji’s chest (now that Ryuji didn’t slouch as much they’d discovered a considerable height difference).

“This is abuse. Boyfriend abuse. Babuse. I should report you for this,” Akira’s threats were made less effective by the fact his voice was muffled against Ryuji’s chest, and in his groggy state, not even Ryuji’s laughter would shake him off as he melted further against the warmth his boyfriend provided, momentarily content.

“I’m sure that would go down great with your probation officer, dude,”

With obviously displeased grumbling Akira pulled back just enough to glare up at him, eyes slightly unfocused without his glasses and no heat behind the gesture, “At least she actually likes me,”

“You sure ‘bout that? Pretty sure she thinks you’re a delinquent,”

“Technically, I am,”

“That’s a lot less intimidatin’ when you won’t move off of me,”

“You’re warm!” The protest was weak, and though Akira flushed at the accusation, he didn’t make any motion to move away.

“Just keep proving my point for me,”

Now, Akira moved, rocking back onto his heels, a hand fluttering over his chest and an expression of mock-hurt twisting his features, “I can’t believe this. Betrayed by my own boyfriend. My Sun… shot me down,”

“Moon, come o-” Ryuji’s counter was cut short when Akira lunged forward and made a second grab for his glasses.

The only thing that allowed Ryuji to escape was that Akira was still slowed by sleep. Otherwise? The dude had crazy reflexes. It was close.

Shoulda remembered Akira never forgot a mission once it had been planted in his brain.

“Ryuji…” Akira drew out the word, looking up at him with an odd mix of amusement and exasperation.

“Now, that was kinda low, man. You’re definitely gonna have to pay the fee now. I mean, I was thinkin’ of just giving ‘em to you because you were being so soft, but… now? Nah, no way.” He couldn’t help the grin that curled his lips as Akira’s aggravation was further foiled by the way the pink staining his cheeks darkened to a bright red.

“It’s humiliating.”

“That’s just the price for sleeping in until two.”

Akira narrowed his eyes, “How long have you been planning this? To say my sleep schedule is unpredictable is an understatement,”

A cough, “Not important.”

Now, an impish grin spread over Akira’s face, looking for all intents and purposes like a cat who got the cream, “Oh?” He rolled onto his toes so they were nearly nose-to-nose, “You been planning this, Sakamoto?” His voice was little more than a purr.

Damn bastard looked smug as all hell.

“Shut it, Kurusu.” Now Ryuji’s face was the one flushed red, and it only seemed to fuel Akira.

“How devilish. Maybe you’re picking up a few tricks from me after all!” He sounded far too delighted.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Rather than respond, Akira leaned up the last few inches, their lips meeting in a sweet kiss. Almost unconsciously, Ryuji’s free arm wrapped around Akira’s waist to pull him closer so the two were flush against each other. He could feel Akira smile into the kiss, but didn’t have much time to cherish it before Akira pulled back, a sly smile firmly in place.

“It means…” He pulled one hand back from where it had been curled behind him, twirling his glasses triumphantly in one hand, “I win.” Something dangerous flashed in Akira’s gaze that sent a shiver down Ryuji’s spine.

There was a reason the Phantom Thieves hadn’t been caught yet - hardly considered more than an urban legend, and he was looking at it.

He hadn’t even noticed the glasses leave his hand.

“You’re a monster,”

“Maybe. But you love me,”

Ryuji rolled his eyes, stealing the glasses back from Akira, slipping them over the bridge of Akira’s nose before he could protest.

“Does it really count as a win if the toll was a kiss anyway?”

“I stole them on my own terms so… yes.”

“Really? Was this part of your master plan, then?”

And now that Ryuji had one hand free, he snaked them around to attack Akira’s sides, delighting in the way the other immediately shrieked, laughter tumbling out from his chest as he collapsed back onto his bed.

The video cut out.

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

in sickness and in health [one-shot]

Flu season returns, and Ben is the first to fall victim to it. But that's okay, because he and Rey have promised to always take care of each other - through thick and thin, in sickness and in health, whether it's seven days or seven months...

(The one in which Ben gets a flu, and Rey gets a stomach flu... or does she?)

After an unplanned month-long hiatus, I’m back! ... with yet another plotless fluffy one-shot, because it’s important to stay on-brand, guys.

Also available on AO3. And hey, maybe check out my Twitter or Ko-fi?

Ben ❤️❤️❤️[04:26PM]: I think I’m dying

Rey rolls her eyes at her husband’s dramatic text and huffs out a little laugh under her breath as she replies. His whiny exaggeration and – more tellingly – the lack of proper punctuation are obvious indicators of his condition, but it’s hardly as serious as his message would suggest.

Rey [04:27PM]: Pretty sure it’s just the flu, babe

Ben ❤️❤️❤️[04:28PM]: Come home anyway Miss you Please

She shakes her head at the texts rapidly popping up on her screen and chances a look around the office. The workweek ends in just half an hour, and most people are already winding down for the day, either putting the finishing touches on whatever it is they’re working on or discreetly starting to shut things down and pack up to leave as soon as the clock strikes five.

It’s probably okay for her to leave early just this once.

Rey [04:31PM]: You’re a bad influence, Ben Solo Fiiiine Leaving work soon, will swing by the store on the way home to pick up a couple of things Try to survive without me for a little longer, okay? Love you ❤️

“Hey, Rose?”

Her cubicle neighbor wheels into sight with a smile on her face. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Ben’s sick, so I think I’m gonna leave early and go get some stuff for him. Can you just let people know if anyone comes looking for me?”

“Sure thing,” Rose agrees easily as she watches Rey pack up for the day. “Send my regards to Ben. Oh, and let me know if you guys need anything.”

With one final click of her mouse, Rey’s workstation is shut down and packed up for the day. “Will do. Thanks, Rose, you’re the best.” She shoulders her bag as she stands and leans down to give Rose a quick hug goodbye, and by the time Ben replies to her message Rey is already on her way down to her car.

Ben ❤️❤️❤️[04:37PM]: Thank you thank you thank you Love you too See you soon, Nurse Rey 😉

If the uncharacteristic use of an emoji is any indication, he’s probably pretty feverish already.

Rey sighs as she pulls out from the underground parking lot and straight into traffic. There’s no escape, not even with a ten-minute head start on everyone else. By the time she finally gets home, armed with the spoils of a quick detour, the winter sun has long since disappeared and so has what little energy Ben managed to derive from his feverish state.

She finds him asleep on the couch, curled up in a quilt from their bed while the TV casts dancing shadows across his face. Rey takes a moment to smile at the scene before she heads straight for the kitchen, careful not to wake Ben as she puts the kettle on and sets aside her purchases. It’s only once she’s armed with some lemon ginger tea and a plate of saltines that she heads back out to her sleeping husband and gently shakes him awake.

“Don’t wanna,” Ben whines even before his eyes are open, face scrunching up as he catches a whiff of the dreaded tea. Rey sets everything down on the coffee table before she braces herself against the couch and pulls, a determined force meeting a stubborn object.

“C’mon, up you go,” she insists as Ben groans and grumbles, and eventually he opens his eyes just long enough to take pity on his wife, forehead creased with effort and chest heaving from exertion. “No complaining from you,” Rey orders as she retrieves the tea and crackers and foists them upon a reluctant Ben. “I had to deal with looks because of this, you know.”

Bleary-eyed and two seconds away from a sip, Ben seizes upon the opportunity for a distraction. “Looks? What kind of looks?”

Rey shakes her head at him with a knowing smile and nudges the cup closer, pointedly silent until he gives in with a sigh and gulps down half the cup.

“Apparently Leia’s idea of an emergency flu supply run looks a whole lot like a morning sickness starter pack,” she explains as he starts nibbling on a saltine with considerably less disgust. “Maz even came out from the back to ask if congratulations are in order.”

“As if I’d make you buy your own morning sickness supplies,” Ben scoffs as he washes the cracker down with the rest of his tea, making a show of draining every last bit for her.

She runs a hand through his sleep-rumpled hair before sliding her hand down to gently pat his cheek. “Good boy. Think you can handle some soup?” Rey asks as she gathers his cup and plate and makes to leave the couch. “And for the record, I’d be perfectly capable of getting my own saltines, pregnant or not.”

Ben reaches for her wrist, his grip feverish and looser than usual. “I know,” he assures her, his thumb stroking the inside of her wrist. “But you wouldn’t have to. I’d take care of you. I’ll always take care of you – you know that, right?”

Even with his eyes fever-glazed, Ben still looks at her like he holds all the world’s sincerity in his heart; she doesn’t think he’s ever made her a promise with anything less than that. Rey smiles as she leans down to kiss his burning forehead. “I know, baby. But for now maybe let me do the caretaking, okay?”

“For now,” he relents, and lets her go with a loopy smile that’s only partially flu-caused.

Ben continues to be sick for the next five days, and by the fourth so is Rey.

“You did this to me,” she accuses him on Tuesday night, squirming as he pulls her overheated body closer to his. “I told you you were going to get me sick.”

“And I told you it was going to happen whether or not I kissed you,” Ben counters easily, his voice almost back to normal after days of sounding like he’s hacking up a lung. “Besides, I promised to take care of you too, didn’t I?”

Rey settles against his chest with a huff. “You better.” She knows she’s being snippy, but she figures it’s well-deserved because somehow, Ben managed to transform his regular flu into some kind of stomach flu from hell before passing it on to her. Her rational brain knows that’s not how it works, but rational thinking went out the window after the fourth time she failed to stomach a goddamn cracker.

Ben presses a kiss to her clammy temple. “I will. I’ll wait on you hand and foot until you’re 100% back to normal, okay? I promise.”

He keeps his promise for a whole week, tending to her every need without so much as an aggravated sigh even when she wakes him up multiple times a night with a coughing fit or sudden bout of nausea. So when Ben does finally suggest she see a doctor, she knows it’s not because he’s tired of playing nurse.

“I’m just worried, sweetheart,” he murmurs against her sweaty temple one morning when he’s running late, sitting on the bathroom floor with her instead of rushing out the door. “At least take another day off?”

“I’ve already stayed home for a whole week,” Rey protests as she struggles to get to her feet, only to have Ben scoop her up and seat her on their counter. “Besides, it’s probably just the last of this bug making its way through my system. I’ll be okay, baby.”

Ben frowns at her, complete with a crease between his brows and everything, but Rey maintains eye contact and refuses to back down. She knows he won’t hesitate to call in sick for her, won’t think twice before taking the day off himself to care for her, but at some point things have to go back to normal. And if her body refuses to acknowledge that, she’s more than willing to force it to play along.

“Look, staying cooped up in bed can’t be good for me,” Rey points out as she takes his hands in hers and gives them a little squeeze. “Maybe getting out of the apartment and actually moving around a bit will help me bounce back.”

“I don’t think that’s how it works,” Ben says, but his shoulders sag and seconds later he lets out a defeated sigh. “But okay. Just… promise me you’ll call if you’re not feeling well?”

Rey smiles and presses a kiss to his jaw, painfully aware of the lingering acidic taste in the back of her throat. “I promise. Now go, you’re going to be late!”

It takes another five minutes before Ben actually leaves, and another hour after that before she makes her way out of the apartment. Rey’s not too worried about that, though; Holdo made it clear yesterday that she doesn’t expect Rey in at all this week, so she’ll hardly mind a little tardiness.

She’s a little over an hour late by the time she gets to her desk, but everyone’s too busy asking after her health to care about that. It takes what feels like an eternity before her coworkers finally break apart from the circle they’ve formed around her cubicle and get back to work, leaving her alone with Rose.

“I know you’re probably sick of talking about this,” Rose says with an apologetic little smile, “but are you sure you’re okay?”

“I mean, I might avoid the breakroom today, but other than that I’m perfectly fine,” Rey assures her. “Really, Rose, I’m practically back to normal. It’s just a bit of nausea being stubborn.”

Rose, already half-turned away, suddenly spins back to her. “Nausea?”

“Yeah, the joys of a stomach flu, right? All my other symptoms disappeared days ago, but I still can’t keep anything down. I gave Ben hell for getting me sick, but it probably wasn’t even him. He was lucky enough to just get the regular– What?” Rey interrupts herself, skin prickling under Rose’s scrutiny.

Her friend has never been one to mince words, not even back when they were just colleagues, but there’s something delicate and careful about Rose’s next question. “Rey… are you sure it’s just a flu?”

“I mean, what else could it–”

She freezes up the second the thought occurs to her, rendered speechless mid-sentence.

Rose gives her a little smile. “Yeah. That.”

They spend their lunch break at the nearest CVS.

When Ben gets home on Thursday, she’s sitting cross-legged on the couch and twisting her fingers together into a hopeless, nervous knot.

“I went to the doctor today.”

He drops everything in a heartbeat, barely stops to kick the door shut behind him before he’s hurrying over to her side and taking her hands in his. “Rey, why didn’t you– I would’ve– oh god, is everything okay?”

She’d planned to build up to it a little, but Rey can’t bear the look of utter terror on her poor husband’s face for another second. “Ben, I’m fine,” she assures him, leaning down for a lingering kiss before she pulls him up to sit next to her. “It’s just…”

“Just?” Ben echoes, looking only slightly less terrified than he had ten seconds ago.

Rey decides to put him out of his misery.

“Remember that deal we made last week, to take care of each other?”

Ben nods. “Yes, of course,” he says as his brows knit together in concern. “Rey, whatever it is… I’m here for you, sweetheart. Always will be. Just tell me, please.”

She rises up on her knees to press their foreheads together, looping her arms around Ben’s neck as his hands find her waist. “I’m okay, I promise. It’s just… you definitely got the short end of the stick, babe.”

He draws back to frown at her. “What do you mean?”

Rey brings one hand up to cup his face, brushing her thumb along his cheek as she smiles. “Well, I only had to take care of you for a week.”

“Okay…?” Ben replies, concern slowly giving way to confusion.

She moves her free hand down to one of his, pulls it from her side to her abdomen. “Meanwhile you’re going to have to deal with this,” Rey whispers, applying the slightest bit of pressure on his hand and her stomach, “for another seven months.”

It takes a second, but she can see the exact moment Ben’s brain breaks. His eyes are fixed on hers but she knows he’s not actually looking at her, a million miles away as his lips part but nothing comes out, not until a full thirty seconds later when he finally says–

“Oh.”

And then, as his eyes trail down to their joined hands – “Oh.”

“Terrible deal, wasn’t it?” Rey laughs when he finally returns his attention to her, only for her laugh to turn into a gleeful shriek as Ben gathers her up in his arms and jumps to his feet to swing her around, his exuberant laugh joining her rare giggles in the moments between kisses.

“Are you kidding me?” he grins once she’s finally grown dizzy enough to ask him to put her back down, and Rey blinks back a sudden well of tears as her husband kneels before her and presses a reverent palm to her belly.

“Best deal ever,” Ben declares, and doesn’t change his mind even once throughout the next seven months of morning sickness and midnight cravings.

Was this just another excuse to write devoted, married Reylo? ... Why yes, yes indeed.

Hard to believe it's been more than a month since I last posted anything, but time's weird like that. I'm glad to finally be back after a particularly hectic month, and I hope I'm not too rusty!

As always, thanks for reading and please don't hesitate to like/comment/reblog!

[thattimdrakeguy]

A few scratches on his face and a bandage on his nose (a Batman one if you were curious) Timmy Drake looked close to laying on the ground. His lungs breathing in deeply and breathing out just as hard. He looked around him like he was expecting something, something, somewhere, at any given time, and he was all out of Batarangs. All he had was his brains, and his staff. Some other cyber-ninja stuff too but it was starting to spark from malfunctions.

Next to him floating in the air was his best friend Conner Kent, clone of Superman and his arch-energy Lex Luthor, LUTHOR, not Luger, he is not a 90s WWE superstar with a mullet, and shame on you for thinkings so, who looked prepped up and unbothered. Although it always does help when you’re bulletproof*. He had his hands behind his head and hovered like he was resting in a hammock on the beaches of hawaii.

The two of them were in a murky swamp. Dark at night and a mysterious myst all around. Guck was on the buttom of the Boy Wonder’s ninja toe’d shoes, but noticeably nothing on Superboy (must’ve been the floating). Unbothered as could be, and like he tends to do he opened his mouth for some highly worthy face palming material.

*Thanks to his tactile telekinesis.

“Are you kidding me? We’re not fine!” spouted Timmy face palming himself as one would expect. His cape retracted after one of the enemies of this story tried grabbing at it. His staff on stun mode like a Star Trek phaser, or at least that’s how he explained it, because he wasn’t gonna break his no-kill vow, especially not now, he was not gonna set that staff to kill. He held it up like a spear he was going to throw.

Rolling his eyes, the half-kryptonian clone patted the Boy Wonder on the back. “Relax, Wonderboy, it’s gonna be okay. Just chill out, this isn’t life or or other thing or nothing. So just like … not be tense, and stuff. Ya know? Just chuck a few birdarangs or something. (Is that what you call those?).”

“I’m out of those!”

“Out of Birdarangs-- Batarangs? Birda-bata-rangs?” he itched the back of his head and coughed into his fist “Umm … outta rangs?”

“Yes, I’m out of birdarangs!”

“(Oh, so that’s what you call those.)”

“And this is technically a life or death scenario, Conner! We can get bazapped at any moment!” the Boy Wonder turned around in a full circle in a bizarre battle pose, waiting for any strikes at any angle, at any time. He was prepared.

Finally putting his feet on the ground and putting his hands on his hips he yawned. “Nah, not really. Such an over-statement, and what happened to the no name rule?” he stuck out his tongue as he stretched his back. Would’ve thought they were playing in an arcade of some kind.

“Coooooonnnnnnneeeeeeeeer, SHUSH!” his nerves her pointed and jagged as he began to hear something. Something from the cold distance, being able to hear it from past the murky disgusting looking trees. Into the distance that only appeared to be a black void from where the boys were standing.

Not pleased with Robin’s words his hands on his hips turned to fists on his hips in a quick moment of sass-back, the classic game the two teenage heroes loved to engage in “Hey! Don’t gotta be rude, Batboy. I’m just trying to enjoy myself while we’re here.”

Snapping his whole body towards Superboy and back like a rubber band he put his finger on his lips for only a nanosecond before returning to battle positions “Nonono, not like that!” he that uses that same finger to point to the direction he heard it. “There’s something over there! Something … probably super nasty.” he engaged into his battle pose once again. As impractical as it probably was.

Cupping his ear in an attempt to hear the supposed nearby sound, Conner heard nothing, nothing at all. It felt as barren as could be besides a faint whisper “Pshhhh, there’s nothing over there!” he rolled his head and crossed his arms. He was starting to feel like how Tim normally does “and that pose by the way? Totally battle inappropriate. Batman would be pissed if he seen that form. If this was like, the olympics of battle poses, I’d rate that a 2 out of 10, and those 2 points are just for being my best friend, cuz you sure didn’t earn them the easy way, and you’d just be lucky I’m a bias friend.”

Trying not to let his friend get on his nerves the Wayne boy started to approach the sound, allowing it to get louder and louder. The Gotham sidekick appeared to be imitating a crab by how far apart his legs were spread and how he was walking sideways.

Crickets were getting louder, and there was a sound Timmy couldn’t quite put his fingers on. A rustling sound of some sorts. Then it hit him like a freight train, but that’s only because the flying fly creature snatched him right out from under his feet, grabbing him by the collar. “Superboy, help!”

Flying to the rescue with a swift punch and a quick grab, Conner Kent the Local Smallville student shined as the former Hero of Hawaii, making quick work of the fly creature and picking up his best friend from out below it. “Dude, you’re really not on your a-game right now are you?”

“Hey, shush! At least I heard that thing, what happened to your super hearing!” the 5ft 4 teeny teen was being held like he was on a honeymoon with his hypothetical husband.

Emotionally hurt, Tim could just feel Conner cringing from his own comeback “Low blow, Timmy. I can’t help it doesn’t work here! ‘Least I didn’t try using a big stick to try and whack the fly with. The heck are these things anyway?”

“I … dunno. Some kind of Brundle fly looking thing.”

Pausing for a moment as he hovered over a large chasm to try and understand that his friend as spoken “Brundle … fly? Dude, what the heck is a Brundle Fly, you can’t keep popping these science terms on me. I don’t know every fly ever.”

Sighing before responding, Tim crossed his arms as he stayed cozy in Superboy’s arms “It’s from The Fly!”

“Yeah yeah, I gathered that, but what fly?”

“Jeff Goldblum!”

“Dude, don’t be a total jerk-wad to Goldblum.”

Face-palming yet again, Timmy couldn’t believe his nerd ears “It’s a movie! Jeff Goldblum? The Fly? Scary movie? Jeff Goldblum has the teleporter thingy and a fly goes in and stuff, and then becomes a fly!”

“Sounds gross.” Conner said as he finally continued his flight towards safety.

“Oh trust me it is. Had to watch it with Nightwing, first time I tried by myself I had nightmares.”

“Really? Figured after Man-Bat you’d be used to trash like that.”

“That’s what Babs told me …” blushing from embarrassment he only looked inwards towards Superboy’s chest. Enjoying the ride over top the chasm of what looked like an endless abyss. Feeling the light breeze of motion hit his chubby red cheeks. Then, because of course there’s a ‘then’, Timmy boy heard the sound again. The screeching sound of the Brundle Flies. “Oh no, dude, watch out! They’re coming!”

Having a hard time comprehending what Timmy could be talking about he didn’t take any direct action “Umm, be more specific if you want me to actually understand what you’re talking about”.

WHAM -- the two boys have been struck. Nothing to grab onto, and Tim had fallen out of Conner’s arms and down into the chasm, seeing the green-toned sky with musty gray clouds turn to black in an instant. With his best pal Conner Kent falling in close behind him. Letting out only a large high pitch squeal of fear before it all turned black. Falling into the darkness of the chasm, unable to return back. For a very good, if frustrating reason.

With his eyes close and heavy breathing, Tim was okay, don’t you worry, he was just breathing heavily as he kept his hands on his knees trying out a breathing exercise Cass had taught him. “That, totally, bombed.” he spoke, in a calm squeaky tone, his voice cracking after each word. Opening his eyes to see the bright red glowing letters say ‘GAME OVER.’

Taking off his headset he saw Conner with it already taken off, not a scratch on him in any shape or form, looking mighty pissed off at him. “You’re telling me. That was your fault 100%.”

Feeling offended Tim put his hand to his chest as if he was checking the damage on his pride “What? No way! If you just used your super heari--”

“It’s VR, Timmy! There is no way for my super hearing to work in a video game! It’s all in the game! Use your bird-brain, man.”

[decaffeinatedcatastrope]

Sorry for not posting much this week, it’s the busy season at my workplace and I’ve been doing 60′s!  Mostly just teaching people how to not be stupid or lazy.

Anyway, have this snippet from the fic-in-progress; Red and Sans meet for the first time.  

aka: Sans is pissed that he got blamed for dumb stuff Red did, got thrown in jail for three days, and wants to ‘talk’ to Red.

aka:  Red thinks Sans is gonna kill him (he’s not) and falls off a roof, and Sans gets threatened with dick biting.

There’s some weird perspective shifts, since Red still thinks of himself as Sans at this point in time.  There’s also some Papyrus being a cutiepie.

warnings:  cursing and injury

‘should be a good haul this time’  Sans thought with a grin, as he practically jingled with loot he’d lifted off random humans around town.  Cash and coins were all well and good, but so many humans only carried those stupid plastic cards protected by PIN codes that were completely useless to him.  So, he’d moved on to sneaking off with watches and jewelry, sometimes whole handbags and even sunglasses.  So many humans owned stupidly expensive pieces of garbage.

The door to the pawn shop beeped as he entered, and the pawn broker, Johan, beamed at him.  He’d become a regular in the past few months, and the shady little shit of a man never questioned exactly where he’d gotten all his loot.  Sans swore he’d stolen the same custom Rolex off three different people already.  But as long as he got paid...

“’ey bud.  got some good stuff for ya.”  Sans sauntered up to the counter and began to empty his pockets.  

The door beeped again, another customer, but no one got in line behind him, so he ignored it.  He was well disguised enough now that he didn’t worry about getting recognized.  Curiously, he plucked a ring out of the pile of shit he’d stolen before the broker could snatch it away.  Thick band, gold with a ruby red gem.  Fake, but pretty.  Some kind of class ring or something, probably not worth much.  

It fit on his middle phalanx nicely, and he just grinned as Johan gave him an incredulous look.  “Cheap.  It suits you.”  He replied, mildly amused.

“fuck you too bud.”  Sans grumbled, also amused.  He felt pretty good today.  Less pain.  Today was gonna be a good--

He jolted as he felt himself being checked, and barely stopped it before it completed.  Whoever had entered the store was a monster, and one with shitty manners at that.  Hardly anyone just randomly checked him anymore, unless he freaked them out.

Curling in on himself, Sans hid his hands in his pockets and looked over his shoulder.  He didn’t see anyone, but he knew they were there.  He could feel them staring daggers into his back.  “...hey, i’ll be outta yer way in a sec.”

Johan was just finishing up the tally on his haul before dumping it all into a box and setting the case full of cash on the desk.  “Alright, I can give you 250 for all of--”

“250?  the fuck man, you know that watch is worth at least a hundred on its’ own.  350.”  Sans snapped.  

Johan rolled his eyes and sighed.  “Fine, you’re right.  300?”  

“fine, you frugal ass.  gimme.  ‘m in a rush.”  Sans held out his hand for the cash, and as soon as Johan was done counting, he turned to leave.   “alright i’m out.  see ya.”

“Until next time, friend!  Maybe rob a Hot Topic this time so you don’t smell so much like a fast food dumpster!”  Johan called after him, laughing.  Sans snarled and flipped him off, before taking all of three steps before he ran right into whoever had checked him.  

Sans glanced down to see his alternate in all his short, shitty glory glaring up at him, his sockets dark.  Welp.  “...hey buddy.  i think you and me need to have a talk.”  Spoke an all too familiar baritone.  Just barely an octave deeper than his own.  

Of course it has to be him.  Fuck this day.  Fuck me.  Just fuck.  Sans paused for just a second before shoving his alternate out of the way and bolting for the door.  

“shit shit SHIT.”  He hissed, slamming through the door and running for the corner, before he felt himself bodily flung against the side of the pawn shop, held there with blue magic.  “fuck, why did it have to be him!”  

“well that was rude.”  Other Sans replied, approaching him cautiously.  His left eye was blazing with magic, and he hardly looked like he was putting any effort into keeping Sans pinned.  It was actually infuriating how easy the weakass bastard made using Blue Magic look.

“the fuck’s your problem, man?  put me down.”  Sans demanded, trying to play the ‘i have no idea what’s going on so you better stop’ card.  Hopefully his hood was keeping his face hidden.  

Other Sans caught his bluff and simply scoffed.

“nah.  you and me, we’re gonna have a chat.  if you behave, maybe i’ll put you down.  but maybe not, since you’ve got some pretty heavy LV going on there.  you’re probably pretty dangerous, actually.”  Other Sans commented.  

Sans flinched.  He’d stopped the check, when had he...?  Oh god, was this Sans also The Judge?  The cold, knowing look he was getting told him that yes, this was The Judge of this world and his ass was getting Judged real hard.

Sans tried to speak, to say something, to do something, but he was panicking.  The way he was now, he was way too weak to do much damage, even backed by strong intent.  But all it would take was one hit, just one, his alternate only had one HP.  But...he didn’t want to do that.  What kind of damage to the timeline would that cause?  What would happen to him if the anomaly reset while he was here?

Other Sans raised a brow bone at his silence.  “...uh, you okay there pal?  you’re looking a little rattled.  heh.”  He asked, sounding almost concerned.  Almost.

‘do something anything fuck fuck FUCK’  Sans’ mind finally screamed at him, and he delved into what little magic he’d stored back up.  His alternate jumped in shock before being thrown across the street into traffic, causing his hold on Sans to falter.  Unfortunately, Sans’ own hold failed not long after, letting his alternate shortcut safely out of the way of a passing truck.

“shit.”  Sans whispered, ducking into the alleyway before forcing himself into his own shortcut.  Just getting on top of the building hurt like a bitch and made his soul scream in protest, and he barely rolled out of the way in time to dodge a set of bones flung at him with surprising accuracy.  For someone with such shitty stats, Other Sans sure seemed to have good aim.  

It took him another moment to realize that now he was actually being attacked by his alternate, and decided he’d probably pissed the smaller skeleton off enough to be worried.  Another set of bones came a second later, and he took off sprinting across the roof.  There was a pop as his alternate appeared behind him, and Sans managed to escape another attempted pin by shoving Other Sans back with his own Blue Magic.  But his alternate barely stumbled.

He was nearly at the edge of the roof when a wall of bones shot up to block him.  Out of instinct, he pulled himself into another shortcut - at least, he tried, before he felt the most god awful stabbing pain in his chest and he screamed.  His magic had refused, and he tumbled into the bone attacks before slipping off the roof.  

Looking back, he barely caught the shocked look on his alternates face before he crashed against the railing of a fire escape, bounced off a closed dumpster, and tumbled onto the asphalt to lie in a heap.  

Everything was pain.  Drawing in air for non-existent lungs was pain.  Trying to moan in pain was pain.  He shuddered and felt the tingle of shortcut magic shoot up his spine, his soul screaming at him for magic he wasn’t using.

“--oh fuck.  i thought you’d shortcut around them, not run right through them, geez.”  His alternate whispered harshly, tentatively reaching out to touch his shoulder.  “i’m sorry, i just--”

Sans snarled, and snapped his teeth in an attempt to bite the little fucker’s hand.  “don’t fuckin’ touch me, you little bitch.”  He hissed.

His alternate pulled back and glared at him.  “wow, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?”  He spat.  “sorry for actually worrying about you, asshole.”  

Sans managed to choke out a laugh.  “y-you should be sorry.  for being a f-fuckin’ creampuff.”  He shook with the effort of talking, and everything was just...pain.  Why did this hurt so much??  “...although, for someone with only 1 ATK, this...hurts.  a lot.”

His alternate actually looked...remorseful?  “that’s because of your LV.  only one attack, but it hits you once for every LV you have.  So, five bone attacks multiplied by your 13 LV--”

“i know basic math, dipshit.” Sans coughed.  He tried to get up, and cried out in agony as his bad arm gave out.  His alternate had the gall to try and hold him down.  

“don’t move, you also took some pretty nasty damage in the fall.  just, uh, don’t try to bite me again.”  Other Sans let him go after a moment, and pulled a monster candy out of his pocket, offering them to him.  “here.”

Sans’ soul clenched at the sight.  He wanted to, he knew that the candy was full of magic he so desperately needed, but he also knew it’d probably kill him at this point.    “god no, please.  no monster food.  i can’t.”  He moaned, almost sobbing.

His alternate pulled back in confusion.  “what?  you need to heal, this’ll--”  

“i know what it does, i just - i can’t take it.  yer fuckin’ creampuff magic is trying to kill me.”  Sans explained.  It didn’t seem to help.  “ugh, i’m not...from here.  this universe.  so turns out, my magic is different enough from yours that they’re incompatible, or some shit.  i dunno...”  He felt something in him give way, and everything went dark for a moment.  But at least the pain stopped.  

Wait, that was probably bad.

“...so you are me.  how did you even - wait don’t fall asleep, you gotta stay - oh fuck.”  

---------

Holy crap, so this was actually Sans’ alternate from another timeline.  Or universe.  An entirely different set of timelines, so different that he said his magic couldn’t even process their food.  And he’d probably just killed him by chasing him off the side of a building.

“paps, it’s near the pawn shop.  yeah, i’m fine.  i’ll explain everything in the car, just hurry.”  Hanging up the phone, he cautiously gave the other skeleton a quick check, since he couldn’t just cheat his way out of it this time.

Sans

LV: 13

ATK: 60 DEF: 10

HP: 12/145

*His bark is worse than his bite.

Sans grimaced.  Just...what kind of twisted hell verse did this guy come from, where any version of himself was forced to have so much LV?  At least his HP seemed to finally stabilize.  He sighed, deciding that there wasn’t much else to do but wait for Papyrus, since he’d figured a shortcut would probably do more damage than good.  

Cautiously, he reached out and touched one of his Other’s distal phalanges.  The ends were slightly darker, curled into barely noticeable claws.  He wore a well-worn leather jacket that held the lingering scent of Dust that he’d hoped would stay in his nightmares.  

And his teeth, they were jagged and pointed, one of them having been knocked clean out at one point to be replaced with a false, gold one.  The bone around the area was still cracked, and Sans hoped that was from the fall rather than being a lingering injury - it wouldn’t scar like that unless it’d had to heal the natural way.  The long and painful way.  

It...hurt, to see someone, anyone, this...worn down.  And yet...he couldn’t ignore that LV.  There was no way anyone got that amount of EXP just by defending themselves.  And yet, his alternate hadn’t attacked him.  Actually, no one had been attacked.  It would’ve been on the news.  And, if he was correct in thinking that this was the suspicious ‘doppelganger’ that’d gotten him thrown in jail for three days for missing curfew too many times, he’d clearly been here for months already.  But where?

Then he realized.  The pawn broker had taunted him about smelling like a dumpster.  He’d...he’d been on the streets for months.  Had resorted to petty thievery to survive.   Was literally starving to dust because of some kind of...magical incompatibility?  Sans jumped when the skeleton in front of him groaned.

“hey, don’t move too much.  you passed out.”  He said, his tone as gentle as possible.  It didn’t stop the doppelganger from jolting and struggling to scoot away from him, staring at him and at his surroundings in confusion.  In complete terror.  

“it’s okay.  you’re okay.”  Sans assured him, and his Other focused on him for a moment before slumping in exhaustion.  Sans noticed his eyelights, the normal ones, were red instead of white.  Maybe another result of his LV twisting his magic?   He certainly recalled Frisk’s eyes having a crimson glint in the bad timelines...

“...ugh.  well, ‘m still alive, so...i’m guessin’ yer not gonna kill me.”  His alternate whispered, his voice hardly audible.  Sans looked heartbroken.  

“no, i’m not going to kill you.  also, what the heck kind of accent is that?”   He asked, genuinely curious.  Maybe he could make light of this situation, kind of put him at ease.  The doppelganger snorted.

“...picked it up off mobster movies, to sound intimidating.  it, uh, kinda stuck.”  He replied quietly, and Sans was surprised to hear just how similar they sounded when his Other got rid of the accent.  Similar, but different enough.

“whoa, that’s...so weird.  to hear you talk in my voice.”  He commented.  

“that’s my voice, you asshole.”  And the accent was back.  Along with the anger.  

Sans shook his head.  “stars, are you what i would’ve sounded like if Paps hadn’t forced the swear jar on me?”  

His Other stared at him in shock, and after a moment he realized it was because he’d mentioned Papyrus.  “do...do you have a Papyrus?”  The doppelganger’s eyelights went out, and he started to shake a little.  Sans backpedaled, holding his hands up in apology.  “hey, s-sorry i mentioned--”

“yeah.  yeah i do.”  His alternate choked on the words.  “i...i was hopin’ to avoid yours.  i miss paps so much.  he’s still...back home.”  

“...oh.  i’m sorry.  i can’t imagine...”

His alternate let out a shuddering sigh.  “it - it’s fine.  he probably doesn’t even care that i’m gone.  probably thinks i’m dust.  he’s better off.”

Whoa.  Hearing that shook Sans to his very soul.  It just sounded so wrong, Papyrus would never just...not care.  About him.  They were brothers.  “that’s not - stop.  don’t think like that, i’m sure he’s worried about you.”  Sans tried to assure him, and his alternate just gave him an empty laugh.

“that’s a nice thought, princess.  i dunno what yer paps is like, but sounds like he’s a lot better than mine...”

“that’s not what i meant, your brother can’t be that--”

“SANS!”  Papyrus ran towards them, before skidding to a stop at the sight of the other skeleton.  “WHAT...SANS, WHAT HAPPENED??”

“it’s...a long story, bro.  just help me get him home, he’s hurt pretty bad.”  Sans said, getting to his feet.  His doppelganger didn’t even try to fight him when he looped an arm around him, he was too busy staring at Papyrus.  

Papyrus shook himself out of his shock to help Sans lift the stranger.  “WHY ARE THEY INJURED??  AND...A SKELETON?”  He asked.  Sans ignored him to wheeze at the effort it took to lift his doppelganger.  

“oof, why the fuck are you so heavy?” He asked, only to wince when Paps glared at him.  “LANGUAGE, SANS!  ...HE IS ODDLY HEAVY FOR A SKELETON.”

“oh for fucks sake, let go of me you absolute fuckin’ weenies.”  Sans’ alternate snarled, and the brothers jumped back in shock.

It took some effort, especially with his injured arm and barely being able to stand, but the doppelganger finally managed to shrug off his jacket.  It landed on the pavement with a disconcertingly heavy ‘thud’, and the brothers looked between the jacket and it’s owner for a few moments before Papyrus reached out to grab Sans’ other before he toppled over again.

“what the heck is that thing lined with, concrete?”  Sans asked incredulously.  

“special metalized-polymer i developed back in my lab days.  stronger than concrete but heavy as shit.”  The doppelganger panted slightly, before yelping when Papyrus picked him up bridal style, his face flushed faintly with red magic.  He seemed so much...smaller without the jacket, too.  More similar to himself.

“WOWIE!  THAT WAS CERTAINLY WHY YOU WERE SO HEAVY, YOU HARDLY WEIGH ANYTHING WITHOUT IT!!”  Papyrus chimed, before heading towards the car.  

Sans looked back at the jacket for brief moment, before turning to follow.  

“you better not leave my fuckin’ jacket back there you dick!”  “LANGUAGE!”

Flinching, Sans rolled his eye lights and retrieved his Other’s coat.  It must’ve weighed 100 pounds, at least.  Thankfully, Paps had the trunk open and he wasted no time hefting the stupid thing into it.  Panting, he headed towards the passenger seat before he noticed his brother shaking his head and pointing to the back.  

“i can’t sit back there, the uh...our friend is back there.”   He said through the door.  

“BECAUSE HE IS INJURED, I DON’T WANT HIM TO ACCIDENTALLY ROLL OFF AND HARM HIMSELF FURTHER.”  

“sooo...?”

“SANS, JUST SIT BACK THERE AND HOLD ONTO HIM, PLEASE.  YOU SAID IT IS URGENT THAT WE GET HIM HOME AND, WELL...”  Papyrus fidgeted shyly.  

“ah, right.”  Paps was...well, to call him a hazard behind the wheel was a understatement.  Sans opened the door to find himself being glared at by his flustered alternate.  “heh...hehe, you’re lookin’ a little red there, bud.”

“shut the fuck up and get in before i die in your brother’s car.”

“PLEASE DO NOT DIE IN MY CAR.  OR ANYWHERE ELSE FOR THAT MATTER.”  Papyrus tensed, upset.  

Sans shoved his alternate further into the car so he could sit and put on his seatbelt.  His other elbowed him in the knee, before scooting back so his skull was resting on Sans’ leg slightly.  Sans raised a brow bone at him curiously.  “...w...what are you doing?”

“makin’ sure i can bite you in the dick if you let me fall on the floor.”  

Sans tensed, his look shifting to one of horror.  “wh - i don’t even have it - what the actual fuck is wrong with you??”  

“LANGUAGE, SANS!  AND DO NOT BITE ANYONE, Uh.”

“...let’s just call him Red, bro.”  

“that’s not my name.”  

“do you wanna tell him your name?  be my guest.”

“...name’s Red.”

“HELLO RED!  PLEASE REFRAIN FROM ACTUALLY BITING ANYONE, ESPECIALLY IN...INAPPROPRIATE PLACES.  LIKE MY CAR.”  

Sans’ doppelganger, now dubbed Red, broke out into wheezy laughter at Papyrus’ statement, before whispering “oh my god, creampuff, he’s precious.”

“Paps can you please just drive?  now??”  Sans hissed, his face dusted with blue.