#but drop box was a prick and compressed it

[blank-ace]

@murfnes

All hail the art goddess! 

@cojick did the incredibly stunning colors and shading!

[cyborg-franky]

Can I have something fluffy with gn reader x Law please? <3

I WENT ABIT MAD ON THIS. Law is like my best boy. I even have Law tats haha. so writing him after so long I was very nervous. I hope you like.

Law x GN reader SFW Fluff/Angst Words: 1,558 Not proof read oops

You had always wanted to go to sea, being a pirate wasn’t exactly what you had been thinking when it came to visions of the wide-open sea, beautiful sunsets and amazing adventures. But adventures you got regardless of the unforeseen career option. Your only real complaint apart from the dangers of the job was the fact that you felt lonely, being a Straw Hat pirate was great, you loved your crew but there was no one you felt a deep connection with, not the type you’d always longed for, someone to hold your hand, share a bed with.

That was until you’d met the surgeon of death, you didn’t think someone as harsh as him would have been your type. The way he always seemed pissed off and irritated at even being around your crew, the fact he just needed your captains help and had formed a hasty alliance that every moment of every day you thought he deeply regretted the choice, that much was always clear on his face.

You were shocked he didn’t have wrinkles with how much his brows were permanently furrowed, even when the man ate at dinner with you all, the way his stern expression never left his face. Whenever you’d glance at him you always thought he would be so much more handsome if he smiled.

Just like everyone that you’d come across during this new life of yours, Law was no exception, scars of a tragic past remained on his soul. You couldn’t blame him for that and at least he wasn’t ever nasty or ill willed towards anyone. He seemed to even get along with some of the crew. The less intense members.

Thinking back to the first night you really made progress with the heart pirate you recalled how it changed the way you thought about him. It had been late into the evening, everyone settling down to their own devices.

You knocked on Chopper’s office door, opening it before you got an answer, often the small medic had issues rushing from his chair and to the door to open it so you always just stepped in. “Chopper can you look at this for me?” you asked closing the door.

“The Doctor went to bed an hour ago.”

You gripped the doorknob, that deep voice certainly didn’t belong to the sweet fluffy reindeer, you took a breath, why didn’t you just wait for a response like a nice normal and polite person? You had never been in a room alone with Law until now. Taking a breath and telling yourself that your hand wasn’t going to get any better by just going to bed.

“Oh, sorry” cradling your sore hand close to your chest your eyes darted around everywhere you could to avoid looking at him.

He was sat at the doctor’s desk, a medical textbook open, a pot of coffee at his side. His normal irritated expression however wasn’t present, his brows relaxed, his whole posture in fact looked lazy, his long legs stretched under the table, he looked comfortable in the chair, like he was on his own ship.

“I can look at it.”

“Huh?”

He turned to face you, cocking his head to the side to give you his full attention, his gaze rested on your chest, or rather the aching hand you clutched there, feeling your own beating heart as he nodded for you to come forward.

“Are you sure?” You looked at the comfy stool next to his desk, inching towards it.

Your hesitation made him laugh, actually laugh, it was such a nice sound you decided, deep but smooth, you’d never heard him make any show of amusement, he hadn’t even cracked a smile in all the time you had known him. But here he was, the very person who had the reputation of being a twisted individual, a current warlord for gods sake, the surgeon of DEATH in fact, smirking at you as you nervously sat down where he’d gestured.

“I am still a doctor you know” another chuckle as he straightened up in his seat.

“I know I don’t look like one, but my father was a doctor, I learned a great deal from him, it’s not just my devil fruit that affords me my gifts” Law explained and crossed his arms over his chest waiting for you to go on.

“Sorry, I know you shouldn’t believer every rumor that floats out at sea, if I believed everything the papers or drunks in bars said I’d think my captain was the devil but I’ve seen that man with chopsticks up his nose, I’ve seen him sleeping like a baby, he’s no devil” You knew your nerves had turned into rambling, feeling your palms sweat at being so close with the other captain but his soft chuckle, under his breath, trying to be discreet. But you’d heard it, such a nice sound you mused feeling a little more at ease around him now.

“So?”

“Well, my hand hurts, ever since I climbed down from the crows nest about three hours ago, I think I got it tangled in the ropes as I slipped a little” You explained. Law nodded his head before he held his tattooed hands out.

You held your hand out for him, he gently took it in both of his, long nimble fingers moved over your digits, feeling different parts, he was surprisingly gentle, his hands warm and welcoming. You couldn’t help but stare as he expertly examined your aching hand. You felt your gaze drift from his hands, up his arms and towards his face. His expression was like nothing you’d ever seen on the warlord. Soft. The way his tired eyes looked over your hand, he seemed happy to help, in his true element.

If not for whatever plagued him in his past, would he have been happy just being a village doctor? He seemed at peace right now. You allowed yourself to smile, your heart beating faster for an entirely different reason then when you’d set foot into the doctor’s office.

His grey eyes met yours when he pressed a certain painful part of your hand and you yelped. He clicked his tongue pressed a little harder, flexing your hand in his grasp. You bit your lip and focused on where your hands met.

“Sprain”

“H-huh?”

“You sprained your hand” He pulled his hands away and you hated how your heart dropped at the loss of contact.

“Oh..”

Law pushed his chair out and stood up, walking around the doctor’s office and looking for things, opening a few draws. You did your best to stifle any laughter from watching the very tall man try navigating his way around storage designed for a very small reindeer. It was comical.

“Avoid using it wherever you can for starters” he explained pulling out a small box and returning to the desk. “Ice will help it; you should have come to me sooner about it but” yeah, he was a doctor alright you mused as he took your hand once more. “Ice for twenty minutes every two to three hours will help with the swelling, I’m going to bandage it up right now, a compression will help support your hand while it heals, I suggest elevating it as much as possible.”

You nodded along while watching him work on your hand, he did so much damage to people, you’d seen some of the things he was capable of, he was terrifyingly powerful. But the way he held your hand still, being firm but gentle was a side you didn’t think someone who’d swapped out people’s body parts and rearranged souls for what seemed like fun could ever be capable of.

“Come to me tomorrow morning and I can re-do it if needs be” you wished he’d hold your hand longer, but he moved to get something else, a little cup which held two pills.

“For the pain”

“Thank you” You watched him pour you a glass of water and handed it you, aiming for your good hand. You gulped the medication he’d given you and drinking the water to chase it down you let out a sigh.

Law simply nodded in response to your gratitude, saying nothing more as he got comfortable in his seat once more, taking a swig of his black coffee, no wounder the man never slept, you stood from your seat and excused yourself with a small ‘goodnight’ closing the door.

Walking along the deck, just the sound of waves lapping against the ship to keep you company. You turned the corner and pressed yourself against the wall, your newly bandaged hand laid over your heart as you stared out to sea, watching the moon shimmer across the dark surface of water. You felt your lip tremble.

The feeling you’d wanted all your life, the tight feeling in your chest, the fluttering of butterflies, all-encompassing feeling and desire to be by someone’s side. You were in love. You were in love with Trafalgar Law of all people, and you knew this wouldn’t end well for you.

You bit your lip, slowly sinking to your knees on the wooden deck of the ship. You could feel tears prick your eyes. This was going to hurt, worse then never knowing what it was like to long for someone.

[plush-rabbit]

Mr. Compress Courting Headcanons

A/N: Court is such a cute word and !!! 

Atsuhiro has had his fair share of romantic partners. He’s charming, a bit eccentric, but charming. He’s caring and handsome, thoughtful and always going the extra step to produce a bouquet of flowers from seemingly nowhere. It’s little things that make him so sought after. Due to his role as a villain, he hasn’t had the chance to go out and actually date someone properly, but then he sets his eyes on you and he’s smitten.

He’s been nervous plenty of times but has always masked it with his showmanship, always swallowing the nerves with a simple bow and his expression hidden behind his mask. He’ll trip over his words around you, a slight hint of stutter behind your words that makes you giggle in a sweet way and he’s choking up, an awkward smile that doesn’t seem to be familiar to him. But, despite his nerves, he’s smart. He knows what to say to get you to reveal more about yourself. He learns your favorite color and as if by magic, that color begins to pop more into your life.

Courting with him is this gentle thing. He can be a bit of a flirt, smile a bit too much that the creases around his eyes start to deepen, keep his attention on you and lean close unknowingly, and it’s all kept and given towards you. He’ll smile and chuckle at any joke you say, smile encouraging as you laugh at your own joke. If you laugh at a joke of his, pride swells deep in his chest and it’s released at the next heist, always showing off, ever the showman that he truly is.

He has moments where he can be romantic. While butterflies may cause his stomach to tighten and his face to flush, he won’t let that stop him from making his attraction to you known. A gloved hand will linger on your elbow, slowly trailing down until it meets your wrist, watching how your expression becomes flustered as he interlocks his hands with yours. He’s talking and talking, listening to some story as his free hand waves around, chin tilted upwards to give him a sense of confidence while he feels your gaze on him.

He’s physical, always touching you in some sense with either his palm on your back, hand in yours or shoulders touching as he sits close to you. He can sit quietly, read a book or have you slump towards him as you both watch a show and he will never remove a hand from you, always keeping you close to him. He likes touch, he likes the feeling of knowing that you are close to him, always willing to keep his touch on you and relaxing into his body. He gets to have this sense of a protector role. 

As the middle ground of courting continues, he will start to bring you your favorite things. Things will start to appear in your vicinity- a book you’ve been thinking as of late, a manga that you haven’t had the chance to get yet, a candle that smells familiar- it’s all different things that as time goes on, start to become cutely wrapped. While the villain has a flair for the more pleasing to the eye look, there’s only so much time that he has before the night becomes old and the day starts to give birth. 

He would rather give you something when he can’t see your expression. Always thriving off of expressions, yours seem to be the one that he can’t handle. He knows when people fake a smile, when the enthusiasm is forced and he doesn’t want to risk that when you see your gift. He tries so hard to pick something out for you, a bottom lip bit until raw as he tries to think about what you would like now. He’ll sneak in into your room, place the wrapped box down by your mirror. He’ll walk out, trying to control his breathing and the next day, he’ll avoid eye contact with you only allowing a smile to pass when you gush about the present he left you.

He can’t take you out on dates for specific reasons but he will try to set something romantic up that isn’t just a movie in the room. He’s a fairly decent cook and will prepare something, read the instructions and measure the spices before adding them in, tapping nervously on the counter as he watches the food starting to simmer, a rich scent of garlic and butter wafting in the room. It’s date nights where he cooks for you, pulling out your chair and looking eagerly at you to see if you enjoyed the meal. 

Always a gentleman, he is still a villain who hides his face. Not insecure in the slightest, it’s grown to be a comfort item, something that he will keep close on him, the black cloth curving around his handsome features only to be hidden by a white mask decorated with varying lines. He is a villain who hides his face, who lets his prosthetic rise above him as he hears the soft clicks of the metal. A true show of courtship from him to you, is letting you roam his body. He’ll keep his gaze leveled, his chest still as your fingers begin to tickle at the jagged scar that curves onto his shoulders, will wet his lips with his tongue when your fingers graze at the bottom of his balaclava, his body pricking with bumps as his heart pounds against his chest, rattling ribs and making him unable to breath. He’ll let you touch him and will breathe when you let go, pulling away to stop yourself from looking under the secretive man to only hold the man who leans close to you.

Having Atsuhiro court you is something that happens so quickly and takes time to actually let him trust you. He will hold your hand and kiss your knuckles, let his smile stretch against your skin when you call him name. He’ll laugh and hook his arm with yours in a desperate attempt to keep you beside him. He’ll encourage your interests and bring you gifts that he will fret over until he’s dropping it off. It’s letting him have you touch something he’s kept so close to him. It’s a type of courting where he’ll feign having the power, only to show you that you’re the one who holds everything in your hands.

[whump-a-la-mode]

Uhhh. Ok so I don’t know what this is. It’s certainly not very good. It’s different than what I usually write. I’ll get back to normal stuff soon. I just thought this would be fun.

CW//Pet whump, lab whump, wing whump, medical exams, cages, dehumanization, needle mentions, implied past abuse

Signal hated waiting.

They hated a lot of things. They hated Dr. Natalie Sampson, for one thing.

Actually, that was most of the things they hated. Everything to do with Dr. Sampson. Their lab, their stupid experiments, their exams, or whatever the hell they spent all their time doing. Staring at those screens and hemming and hawing like an idiot.

Signal hated Dr. Sampson, more than anything. And, right at the moment, that was connected very closely to why they hated waiting. As, at the moment, they were specifically waiting for one of the doctor’s medical exams.

They had told them the night before that they were due for another one. Not that it was on a regular schedule or anything, the doctor had simply decided it was time again to shine lights in their eyes and take their blood.

Stupid doctor. Stupid medical exams.

In some small part, Signal wished they didn’t know the exam was coming. Of course, they would have preferred that it didn’t happen at all, but at least then they wouldn’t have to anticipate it. They had spent the whole night trying, without avail, to get some sleep.

They couldn’t stop thinking about what was to come. Being forced onto the exam table and poked and prodded and stuck with needles.

Stupid goddamn doctor!

The thoughts refused to stop overwhelming her, and they knew that there was no point to trying to sleep, then. They got up from her position on the floor, moving to a sitting position, sliding back against the wall. The bars dug into their spine.

That was another thing they hated, they thought, blinking open heavy-lidded eyes.

They hated their cage.

Dr. Sampson always insisted on calling it their ‘room.’ As if it was a cute little bedroom where normal humans got to sleep.

It was a cage. Bedrooms didn’t sit in the corner of laboratories. Bedrooms didn’t have walls made of close-spaced metal bars. Bedrooms didn’t have plastic floors. Even with the padded material covering said floor, it was never exactly comfortable.

Hell, bedrooms had beds! The cage had no such thing, just the mattress-like floor covering. At the very least, the cell had a sort of hiding box, in the corner. That was where Signal sat at the moment-- it was where they generally slept. The only place where the doctor could not see them easily.

Right now, though, the doctor was not here. The lights in the lab had been turned off for the night, leaving Signal feeling safe enough to get up, making their way out of their hiding space, and into the wider cage.

Not that it was exactly big. Ten paces by six, if that. The rest of it was occupied, as well. A sort of modified water fountain in one corner, with the food slot next to it.

In the other corner, Signal had thrown all her ‘toys,’ doing their very best to bury them under the mattress flooring. They didn’t need toys. They were human being, at least partly.

They were human at first glance, at the very least. Two arms, two legs, human face, the works. Hell, they had been a human, at one point. It had been great! They remembered with a sickly sort of nostalgia, how it felt to walk down the street, in public, with other people. Other normal people.

But, then, they had become a ‘specially designated class of protected persons.’ In less fancy words, a human lab rat.

That’s what they were. A lab rat. It was a wonder that Dr. Sampson hadn’t thought to put a hamster wheel in here, too.

The way they looked around the lab, checking for activity, was almost instinctual. They quickly confirmed that there was none-- besides the whirring of computers, running their overnight calculations.

They were safe.

With an aching pain of pins and needles, they shrugged off their outer jacket. Their outer downy feathers pricked up at the sudden change in temperature.

Rolling their shoulders, they let their wings fall from her back. They crackled a moment as they stretched them to their whole length-- a length enough to take up the whole of their cage, if they really tried.

They were a mess. Their wings. Not that they actually belonged to them-- they were just stupid things that had been stuck onto their back one day. Or, grown out of their back. It didn’t matter. Whichever way, they took no ownership of them. They were why they were stuck in here in the first place.

That didn’t mean they couldn’t bemoan the state that had befallen them. At some point, they had started molting, leaving clumps of loose feathers barely hanging on by their tips, crowded out by freshly-grown ones. That didn’t even take into account the dirt, or the fact that her flight feathers were all crutheyd together from having been compressed for so long.

They would clean them if they cared to. But they didn’t. Cleaning their wings wouldn’t get them out of this cage, out of this prison. Out of this lab.

Even though they still ached from prolonged cramps, Signal drew the feathered limbs back into themself. They didn’t want to look at them. By all accounts, they would have been far happier if they would just fall off.

Maybe they could arrange th-

The thought got no time, no chance to continue. The creak of the lab door felt like a gong, striking Signal’s rib cage, followed quickly by the burst of light that burned their corneas.

In a moment, they were back in her hiding spot, as far back in the corner as they could manage. With no gentleness, this time, they snapped her wings to their back.

Their face fell as they peered out of the box, seeing their jacket strewn across the center of the cage. It was the only thing that helped them forget the stupid feathery things stuck onto their back, but there was no way they was going out to get it, now. Dr. Sampson might see them.

“Good morning, Signal.” That stupid cajoling voice sounded, alongside the telltale sound of the doctor slipping on her lab coat. Had the whole night passed already?

Signal did not reply to the greeting. Stupid doctor. They fucking hated them, why would they talk to them?

“Hm.” The doctor hummed in disappointment. “You left your jacket. And a lot of feathers... Signal, are you molting?”

They turned to face the corner of their hiding box, digging their head down into the soft flooring as deep as it could go.

“You must be. Well, let’s get this exam started as soon as possible, then.”

Signal’s stomach dropped to her feet. They shouldn’t have let out their wings, shouldn’t have left the stupid jacket, should have cleaned up their feathers. They could already practically feel the prodding, poking touch, latex gloves jabbing at every inch of their body.

Touching their wings.

There were a few blissful, or perhaps stomach-churning moments, where Dr. Sampson did not speak. Instead, their footsteps sounded, moving about the lab. Picking up and setting down objects. Preparing to torture their little lab rat.

Whether the wait was nice or terrifying, Signal did not know, but they knew exactly when it was over. The sound of a key pushing into a padlock was all it took to make their feathers stand on end. No no no no no-

The door to their cage creaked open. They tried to wipe their tears on the mattress-like floor-- when had they started crying?

As if it mattered.

“Signal. Come here, bud. It’s time for your exam. I told you last night, remember?”

Signal buried their head deeper, nearly cutting off their own breathing.

“Signal.” The doctor’s voice was firmer, this time. Their heart skipped in their chest. “Come here, now.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Their words were muffled, but must have still been clear enough to be heard.

Dr. Sampson let out a sharp sigh.

“I don’t know why you insist on acting this way, Signal. I don’t want to hurt you, you know that. Just because they hurt you doesn’t mean I will.”

“Shut up shut up shut up!”

Another sigh.

“I understand you’re upset. This exam is happening whether you want it to or not, and I’m sorry about that. I know you don’t like it. But you know I can’t get you out of there by myself, and Dr. Crane hates to be interrupt-”

Signal was at the cage door in under a second. They moved quickly enough that they nearly lost her footing, but managed to retain it.

Dr. Sampson smiled.

“That’s more like it. Come on, then.”

Despite their cheery tone, Signal knew they had no choice, especially as the slip leash was pulled over their head and made taut about their neck. Not that the leash was really necessary-- just because they’d tried to escape two dozen times before didn’t mean they’d do it again.

Stupid leash and all, Dr. Sampson led them to the exam table in the middle of the room. A cold, metal thing, with a sort of pole sticking up out of its side. The end of the pole was marked with a hook-- a hook which the slip lead’s end was secured to as Signal climbed onto the table, legs dangling off the side.

It may have been the worst part of the whole ordeal, the stupid metal pole that stopped them from lowering their head.

“Let’s get started, then.” The doctor clapped their hands with far too much cheeriness. “How have you been feeling?”

“I feel like I want to rip your face off.”

“That’s- Unfortunate.” Their lips pursed together. “Let’s try that again. Physically, how are you feeling?”

“Fine. Is that it?” They strained against the leash a moment. “Can I go now?”

“Hm? Oh, no. This exam is going to take at least an hour, honey.”

Signal’s stomach twisted.

“I’ll start with your wings, so we can talk a bit.”

Somehow, those words made them feel even sicker than before. Still, they didn’t resist as latex-clad hands took up one of their wings, unfurling it until it took up half the lab. The touch made them shiver.

“Your flight feathers are coming back in well. It’s terrible, to think that they clipped them like that...”

“As if you wouldn’t do the same.”

“Of course I wouldn’t.” Dr. Sampson spoke through gritted teeth. Signal’s words were getting to them-- at least that was good news. “Signal, why are you upset?”

“That’s pretty vague.”

“You’ve been so stressed out since you got here. I have tried to make you comfortable, but I must say I’m at my wits end.” A touch to a particularly sensitive feather made the winged lab rat flinch. “Are you bored? I can always get you more toys...”

“I don’t want more toys.”

“Are you sick?”

“I’m not sick.”

Signal placed their hands on their legs, gripping them until their fingers went numb.

“Then what is it?”

They hadn’t decided on the best snippy answer to that one, but they did not have to come up with one. Instead, the air was filled with the sound of the door again creaking open.

Signal snapped their wings closed, and began desperately scratching at the slip lead around their neck.

“Oh, Dr. Crane. How are you this morning?”

[tatooedlaura-blog]

My Person

It’s a Sunday morning drabble complete with head-cold editing and runny nose ruminations ... hold nothing against me except possibly a cold compress on my forehead ...

&&&&&&&&&&

Safe for all -- rated ‘G’ Skinner-friendly Includes Waffles and Stuff 

What more could you ask for

@today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&&

She’d ridden with him in the ambulance, leaving Mulder behind to deal with the blood, the body, and the barrage. She needed a few stitches but those were taken care of quickly and efficiently while Skinner moved from the ER directly to the operating room, the right side of his body full of holes from one Curtis Barkley and his modified AR-15.

She could easily handle eight stitches to her forehead.

&&&&&&&&

Mulder, four hours later, finally had the time to wonder about his boss and his partner. Trying to call, she didn’t answer, so wrapping up his end of business, he trudged first to his car, then drove through the dark to the hospital, figuring since she wasn’t back at his side, she’d still be there.

Leaving his jacket, armor, and swat helmet in the car, he kept his gun tucked under his arm as he made his way through the emergency room entrance. Clearing through security, he asked around, discovering Skinner was out of surgery and in recovery while the red-haired agent he was inquiring about was up in the fourth-floor waiting room. Heading in that direction, he got off the elevator, stretching his back as he did so, and caught a glimpse of her hunched in a chair, head down, hands dangling.

Waving his ‘hello’ to Genevieve, one of their many guardian angel nurses he knew by name, he headed towards Scully. Crouching in front of her, she didn’t startle but looked up, having heard the unique cadence of his walk. Mulder tilted his head, “how’s boss man?”

“Holding his own.” Looking around the small area, she tried to find a clock and gave up quickly, “what time is it?”

“Almost midnight. Nearly had to run out to get Sam a pizza so he’d let me up here but Darla sweet-talked him for me.” Giving her what might have been a small smile in another universe, “we know these people too well.”

“Did you see Genevieve?”

“Yeah. Remind me to ask about her oldest. He was applying to Princeton last time we talked.”

Nodding, she held his gaze for a moment, “how did things go on your end?”

“We’ll talk about that later.” Reaching up, he touched the skin around her stitches, “no bandage?”

“No. It would have covered my eye so I refused.”

Continuing his fingers along her temple then down her cheek absently, he stood, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before he sat down, “so, hungry?”

They hadn’t eaten since the night before and being honest, “I should be but I’m not.”

About to tell her he was buying her dinner anyways, Genevieve popped in, her voice quiet, “Mr. Skinner’s been moved to his own room if you’d like to go see him for a minute.”

“What room?”

“412. It’s around the corner and down the hall. The other end of the floor.”

“Thanks.” Once she’d left them alone again, “how about we go check on him then we go find food?”

Scully didn’t move to get up, instead tilting her head in his direction, “have you noticed at all the lack of people here?”

He didn’t see where she was going with this, “yeah, it’s midnight. On a Tuesday. At a hospital. I think bustling would be more noteworthy.”

“No. I mean, there’s nobody here for him. Some people from the Bureau were earlier but since he can’t tell his side, they said they’d be back tomorrow. Otherwise, he has no family, Mulder. There’s no one here for him.”

Mulder understood now and reaching over, he rested his hand on her knee, squeezing it once, “then he gets us. I never had anyone until you so now, we will be his you.” Shaking his head, “sorry. That sounds stupid but I’m hungry and exhausted. I’ll make better sense tomorrow.”

Her voice low, oddly surprised she hadn’t asked before this, “didn’t Diana or your mom ever come see you?”

“Hell no. Diana hated hospitals. Once she found out I wasn’t dead, she told me she’d see me at home and don’t even get me started on Mom.”

Knowing when to move on, she covered his hand with hers, “412, right?”

Standing, he pulled her up, “let’s go.”

&&&&&&&&&

Once in the room, noting the normal monitors, nothing beeping, nothing blinking red and terrifying, he led her to the other side of the bed, where two chairs sat empty, seemingly waiting for the pair of them, “sit?”

She didn’t object.

Quiet for a minute or two, as the vinyl settled under their weight and their eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, Mulder took a deep breath, “he’s a mess.”

Skinner’s right side was heavily bandaged, covering stitches from shoulder to hip. Barkley had been so close when Skinner startled him that the bullets had gone through Skinner’s flesh to bury themselves in the wall behind but had left enough damage to reduce the Marine to a bloody mess. Scully had held him together as well as she could, pressing on shredded holes, yelling for an ambulance, yelling at Skinner to stay awake, yelling at Mulder to make sure that son of a bitch Barkley was dead.

Thankfully, she wasn’t still covered in their boss’s blood, Genevieve having given her a scrub top and liberal use of a shower in one of the empty rooms. Her jeans were still caked but from the waist up she was clean, dry, and now still staring at her boss without blinking until she broke the silence, “those bullets would have caught me square in the face if Skinner hadn’t gone in first.”

That was what would keep him from sleeping for the next few days, “I know,” his hand found hers over the padded arms of their chairs, “and I’d prefer if we never spoke of that again, thanks very much.”

She was in a strange mood and she could feel it settling in, mingling with the exhaustion of the last five days. Melancholy? Morose? Maudlin? “we’ve never used both chairs before.”

He honestly had to stop and think, “no. I guess we haven’t. It’s usually one of us in the bed.” Giving her a thoughtful look, he took hold of her hand once again, running his thumb over knuckles at random intervals until, “you know I love you, right?”

Sudden, unexpected tears pricked her eyes but she held them back, “you’ve never said it but I figured you did. I mean, how many times have you sat vigil in that chair for me? That tells me more than words ever could.”

“I love you, Scully.”

Finally giving up a smile, “you know I love you, too, right?”

“I think it wavers occasionally, especially when I’m an asshole but for the most part, I think you do … a lot of the time, at least … I hope.”

“I love you, Mulder.”

She would have continued but suddenly, a groggy voice crackled at them, “I love you both, too, now will you shut up and get out of my room already. I’m trying to sleep.”

Scully’s smile broke wide and both stood immediately, Scully starting to apologize as Mulder pulled her towards the door, “g’night, sir, glad you’re still with us.”

Stopping him from taking her out the door, she let go of Mulder for a moment and moved to Skinner’s side, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek, “we’ll be back tomorrow and for the record, I owe you … big time.”

Mulder called from the doorway, “I owe you even bigger. Come on, Scully, let the man sleep.”

Both disappeared out the door and Skinner moaned a groan, his finger finding the call button for more drugs. He’d been happily asleep until those two idiots of his had walked in the door. The three of them would be having a long talk about personal space and indoor voices in the near future.

&&&&&&&&&

Waving goodnight to Genevieve and her cohort, both smiling at them from the desk, Mulder moved Scully to stand by the elevator, button pushed, wait ensuing. Toying with her fingers as they dangled beside his, he grasped one digit then two, “not to scare you or anything but you also realize that you’re my person, right? You are my emergency contact, my power of attorney, and you have the only spare key to my apartment in existence.”

“So, you only love me because without me, you couldn’t get into your apartment.”

The elevator doors opened and he playfully shoved her forward, “get in there so I can take you to breakfast.”

Once in the box, enclosed and moving slowly to the parking level, Scully leaned in, hugging his arm, “do you know you’re my person, too?”

“Always have been, Scully.” Waiting three beats until the doors opened again, exhaust mixed with dank humidity hitting them, “and always will be.”

Leaving her arm through his as they headed to the car, “I think we should go to Waffles and Stuff.”

Kissing the top of her head once again, “you and your waffles.”

“Love me, love my waffles.”

[lexiepiper]

Reflection

Hey @danthectoman, I was your backup Truce gifter! I hope you enjoy this bitter(sweet) Dan thermos fic!

I know my blog’s formatting sucks, I haven’t been able to change it yet, but you can read it on Ao3 or ff if you’d prefer.

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There wasn’t much else to do but seethe.

His body, compressed down to mist, strained against the smooth metal walls. He pressed, and prodded, and tried again and again to pop the seal, but it held eternally firm, and he was left with nothing but thoughts in the darkness.

So he softly settled, like low-lying fog across fields, and sulked.

His anger pulsed at first, and every time he thought about things, his core would flare and he would pound himself against the lid once more. Still, it never budged, and he always ended up sinking back into simmering stillness before his thoughts caught up with him and his fury inevitably swelled again.

It was a dark, stagnant cycle, and he didn’t know how long it had been going on until a tiny thought wormed its way through the haze of agitation. Jazz would be disappointed.

It caught him off-guard, and he paused in yet another attempt to break the seal.

She would be, wouldn’t she?

The thought held a bite of anger, and he coiled in readiness to throw himself against the lid again, but before he could lose himself in his rage he managed to picture her. Time had worn her smooth, and she was little more than long red hair pulled away from her face with a teal headband, and fragments of smiles and hugs that always carried more love than he ever felt from anyone else. He pooled again at the bottom of the thermos, trying to fit the glimpses of memory back together. He couldn’t picture her fully, but the more he tried, the more she slid into place in his mind.

His parents followed quickly, and sorrow pricked his core when he realised that he couldn’t remember what his mother’s smile looked like, or the scent of the aftershave that his dad had worn. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to think about them, and now this tiny effort was far too late.

The deep, hollow ache in his core flared up, like an old wound that never really went away, and he curled in on himself. He wanted to stop thinking about them, to make the yawning emptiness fade into the background once again, but he just couldn’t stop himself… His family sprang back to the forefront, whose faces were blurred by time, and who had never known the truth about him. He wondered if things would have been different, had they known. He tried to picture it — ghost hunting with his parents, or making ectocookies, or trying to dodge Jazz when she ruffled his hair after he had easily caught The Box Ghost yet again.

The imagined scenes brought a fresh wave of pain. He’d never told them, and now they’d never know, because they were dead. They were dead, and it was his fault.

He had no physical body to cry with in the thermos, but he burned with the thick heat of grief, and Dan wrapped his misty form tighter around his core. He stayed there, pressed against the cold circular floor of his prison, while his core trembled and his mind dwelt on the little things that made up the people he’d lost. If he thought about it, he could almost smell Sam’s shampoo, or picture the shape and colour of Tucker’s glasses. He didn’t remember if Jazz’s shirt had been black or white that day, or if his parents had been holding hands when they walked into the meeting. He spared a small thought for Mr Lancer too, but then returned to trying to recall what his mother’s perfume smelled like.

He dug deeper into his memory, and every resurfacing detail felt like pulling out a splinter. It was painful in the moment, but once he stopped fighting the memory, and allowed the thoughts to linger, the pain was not so much that of continual hurt, but more akin to the ache of healing.

Sam’s shampoo had been a vegan one that smelled like roses, and Tucker’s glasses were large half-moons with black frames. Jazz’s shirt was also black, his mother smelled like orange blossoms, and right there at the end, they had been holding hands.

He missed them.

He missed them, and there, coiled as compressed ectoplasmic mist, he realised that he still loved them.

He had no mouth or throat, but Dan’s amorphous body clenched and spasmed in the closest thing to a cry, and he tried to remember as much as he could.

He reached for old memories, of the sound of screeching locker doors, and that his mother would always fold his socks so that the edges lined up perfectly, and how sand felt when it crunched and squeezed between his toes, and Dan realised that his family and friends weren’t the only people he missed.

He missed rain on his skin, and the taste of lime, and the way it felt to sleep in jeans after a long day, and a million other little things that made up the sum of life.

He missed Danny.

He missed himself.

He’d never thought that before, so swept up in the rage of abandonment, and then… then the rage of bloodlust. His core shivered, and he tried not to think about it. He tried to dredge up those nicer, softer memories, of picnics and sunsets and life, but every attempt was swept away by the sheer force of blood-drenched gloves and dying, screaming souls.

He’d started with himself, and then had never stopped… but now that he’d been stopped, and left in a soup can to rot? Now, he had time to think, and the more he thought, the more he remembered.

People had been so easy to kill. At the time, it gave him a rush of excitement, of winning the hunt… but now, if he’d had a stomach, it would have been rolling with bile. Unlike the hazy memories of happier times, he could picture every person he’d killed in crystal clear detail.

They rushed him, breaking through the mental walls that he tried to throw up, until all he could do was cower at the bottom of the thermos and face how each of them had looked in their final moments. Each terrified expression drove shards of revulsion deeper into his core, and these visions continued in an unrelenting wave until he had revisited every single victim, and felt the horror and guilt that had been so absent when their lives had ebbed away beneath his cruel fingers. He didn’t know how long it took, but when it was over, all he could do was lie there and steep in the blood that stained his soul.

He wished he had never done it.

He would do anything to have never done it.

As soon as the thought presented itself, Dan felt a vibration stutter through his prison. The thermos shuddered, and then the compression was gone, and Dan burst out of the darkness into a light that burned his eyes with its sudden intensity after so long in the darkness. He curled in mid-air, pressing the heels of newly-formed palms against freshly-made eyes and hissing in discomfort.

When he finally came to himself, the first thing he noticed was a soft, repetitive ticking. It was strangely familiar but misplaced, like the wrong lyrics being sung to a familiar tune. Dan shuddered, dropping his hands and squinting in the light. His core fluttered with the strain of his unrelenting emotional storm, and if he were a weaker being he might have worried about it collapsing due to stress.

He glanced around, frowning at the sight of a ghost screwing the cap back onto the thermos.

“Who are you?”

The ghost regarded him with red eyes, one of which was struck through by an impressive scar. “You know who I am.”

Its voice rasped like sand shifting, and brought to mind the endless dunes of a desert, eternally changing with the ravages of time.

He did know. “Why now?” Dan snapped, but the snippiness was somewhat lost from his tone as his core heaved with fresh guilt. “When I first learned of your existence, and searched the Ghost Zone, I could never find you.”

The ghost didn’t respond, and Dan shook his head as anger finally began to trickle back into his core. It pushed the guilt aside in its demand to be felt. “You… you hid from me!” he shouted, flinging out an arm for emphasis. “You knew what I would do, but when I came to find you, to… to fix this,” he gestured to himself, “you left me on my own! What did that other Danny have that I wasn’t good enough for, Old Man?!”

The ghost of time rippled, and his form changed into a younger man. “Come,” he said, and floated through an open archway set in the wall.

Dan paused. The room he’d been released into was nothing more than a small alcove, with a pedestal that must have housed the thermos up until now. Frustration bloomed in him, but it was quickly overcome with a spark of disbelief.

He was free?

After so long, it felt impossible. He immediately yearned for open spaces, whether the expanse of the Zone or the wide blue sky of Earth, it didn’t matter. He just had to get out of here.

He could run, but if that strange cloaked ghost with the ticking clock in its chest really was who Dan suspected, then he doubted that he’d get very far. Besides, it’s not like he had anywhere that he could run to, anyway.

Loneliness ripped through him, and Dan clenched his teeth and flew through the archway before the crushing grief could come pouring back. “Hey!” he shouted, speeding to catch up with the figure that was floating leisurely down a long, narrow corridor lined with large clock faces that all displayed different times.

The other ghost reached a door recessed between two massive clock faces just as Dan caught up. “Come, Daniel.”

The simple address struck him like a blow, and Dan recoiled, his hand flying to his chest to clutch at the HAZMAT. “That’s not my name,” he choked. “I’m not… him.”

The time ghost paused with a hand on the ornate doorknob. “Maybe not the way you used to be,” he demurred, “but in many ways, Daniel, you’re still you.”

Dan’s core clenched, and the shadows behind the clocks deepened as his hair flared in an inferno of white flames. “Don’t you get it, Clockwork?” he shrieked, the slight tether of self-control crumbling away. “I killed people! Millions and millions of innocent people! I murdered children, and can still see their faces, and feel their blood dripping off my hands! I am not your precious Daniel!”

Clockwork’s hand dropped back to his side, and he turned so that they were facing each other. His gaze was soft and achingly sad, and the ticking of the clock inlaid in his chest sparked a pang of longing that Dan didn’t even know he could still feel.

He shoved it away. “Why didn’t you save me?” he choked, and his core felt like it would smother him. “You saved him, with your time travel and your second chances. What was so special about him, anyway? Why did he get them back, while I became his lesson?”

Clockwork folded his arms across his chest. The watches lining his wrists flashed in the brilliant light of Dan’s hair. “Saving comes in many ways, Daniel. If I wasn’t going to help you then you’d still be in that thermos.”

“I don’t need your help,” he snapped.

Sad red eyes bored into his. “Don’t you wish that you could take it all back?”

The question pierced him to his soul, and Dan faltered, sinking so that his feet hit the tiles. His knees buckled and he sagged, leaning against the wall and grasping his chest as a half-forgotten sound squeezed where his ribs should have been and wormed its way up his throat and out through gritted teeth. It took a moment to recognise the sob for what it was, and by then, another one had broken out as well.

He tamped down on the emotion, blinking burning eyes and leaning heavily against the wall. “Yes,” he choked. “I… I want nothing more.”

The ancient ghost sighed, and it sounded like the faraway chime of a forgotten clock. “Come,” he said again, reaching for the handle once more and swinging the door open. “You are my ward, Daniel, no matter what form you take. I would fight all powers in the realms to give you peace.”

Dan blinked as an undeniable warmth wrapped itself around his core. “Oh,” he breathed, and for a moment, the pain melted away and he felt like Danny Fenton for the first time in what could have easily been a thousand years. It was nice, but overwhelming in its abruptness, and he sank to his knees. “But… but I’m still half Plasmius,” he managed to say past the swelling comfort that cocooned him like a blanket.

Clockwork shrank until he was in the form of a child, his eyes once again level with Dan’s kneeling form. “Without that half, you’re not stable,” he said, and laid a tiny hand on Dan’s shoulder. “You were stronger, and absorbed him. You have his powers, and his temper, but beneath that, you’re still Daniel Fenton.”

The comforting warmth continued to thicken around him, and Dan screwed his eyes shut and leaned his forehead against Clockwork’s shoulder. “Are you adopting me?” he choked as he recognised the bonds forming between their cores.

He felt the other ghost nod. “Technically, you’ve been my ward for over a thousand years now. I just had to leave you in that thermos until you came to your senses.”

“What, you left me in time out for a thousand years?” Dan retorted, but the words lacked any bite.

Small fingers brushed through his flaming hair, and he forced down a shudder at how unexpectedly nice it felt.

“You needed to experience regret,” Clockwork explained, and gently pulled back from the hug. “You had to want to change the past so badly that you’d do anything. You weren’t going to change until you were ready to.”

Dan leaned against the wall again. He still felt wonderfully warm and cared for in a way that he never had, not even during his distant, fleeting time alive. “I do,” he said, and tried not to think about how cheesy this all was, “and I will.”

Clockwork smiled then, and the scar that slashed through his eye crinkled with the expression. He reached out a hand and Dan grasped it. “Come,” he said, shifting into the form of a young adult and pulling Dan off the floor with the change. “You have some time travelling to do.”

[emlovewrites]

Yandere Mr Compress (Part 1?)

My first ever fanfiction, enjoy and please let me know if you want more! I may be continuing this.

TW Kidnapping

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It starts off very innocent. You’re walking back to your apartment after a long day at work and you find a bouquet of flowers sitting at your doorstep. Puzzled, but somewhat excited, you pick them up and take them inside, setting them on your kitchen counter. You check the card “Your beauty is like the waves of the ocean, relentless, wondrous, and potentially disastrous to a poor, lost soul like mine.” It isn’t signed. You could, of course, take this note the wrong way, how could beauty be disastrous? But you figure it just came from an especially stricken admirer. You haven’t had an admirer since high school, how could you not find it sweet? Smiling, you set the card to the side and arrange the flowers on your dinner table. It’s a nice gesture, you assure yourself.

A few days pass and you’re unconcerned about this “admirer”. In fact, it puts a little pep in your step, so to speak. So far, you’ve received the flowers, a teddy bear, a box of chocolates, and of course the usual unsigned notes. Nothing too strange or alarming. But today was a little different. You come home to find a small red box waiting for you. You take it inside, eagerly rip it open, and find a gold necklace with a heart pendant. Your stomach drops a little. This is expensive. Not only that, but you were just eyeing it the other day, thinking about buying it for yourself for your birthday next week. But it’s not like anyone would have noticed that, right? Whoever the admirer is, he must have just seen it and figured it would be nice, right? You set it aside, pour yourself a glass of wine, and put it out of your mind.

The week passes without any more gifts. You’re a little disappointed, but also somewhat relieved. Maybe the admirer just lost interest. Anyway, it’s your birthday and you’re going out tonight, so you’re excited. You go on your usual lunch break to your usual coffee shop, order your usual cappuccino extra foam, and walk outside. You always take an alley back to work, it’s quick and it’s not even a dangerous area, there are heroes everywhere. You’re so absorbed in thinking about your work, the proposal is due today, you don’t even notice the man standing in the shadows with a Rorschach mask and yellow trench coat. But his voice pulls you out of your thoughts. 

“You’re not wearing it.”

You stop in your tracks. “E-excuse me?” you ask, without turning around.

“The necklace.”

Your heart stops.

“You haven’t worn it at all. I thought you’d like it. I saw you looking at it and smiling.”

Run. You have to run. Or call for a hero, just DO something. You open your mouth, but by the time you even think to scream for help, you’re breathing in a chemical-soaked rag. And you’re out.

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When you wake up, you have a headache. You don’t really remember what happened, did you have a bad dream? Did you end up going out with your friends? You look around for some water, aspirin… your phone? Anything? Your mind finally clears and you realize, this is not your room. The bed is huge, probably a king. The sheets are regal, red satin with a maroon fleur de lis pattern. Where the fuck are you? You begin to panic and try to get up, before realizing you’ve been tied to the dark, oak bed frame. Shit.

The events of earlier today begin to return to you. The coffee, the alleyway, the man. He was the one. The admirer. He WAS watching you. You look around frantically, looking for anything to cut the restraints. The room offers no solution. No way out. You can feel the tears starting to prick at the corners of your eyes as the bedroom door opens.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You turn your head to meet the voice, a tall man wearing an orange button up shirt with a bolo tie, black vest, and black dress pants. Even after having the audacity to kidnap you, he still hides his face underneath a black balaclava mask.

“I do apologize for the restraints, but I’m afraid I just can not let you run off. Not when I’ve gone to all this trouble to acquire you.”

“Acquire me?” you spit. “What am I, a Picasso?”

He laughs, a real, genuine laugh, like you’re on stage at open mic night. “A Picasso? Oh dear, no, you are so much more beautiful than that.”

You blush, despite yourself, but continue to glare at the man. Who does he think he is? You don’t expect a real answer, but you do ask him, “Who are you?”

“Forgive me, where are my manners?” He says with a smile. He flourishes his hand down into a deep bow, “Some call me Mr. Compress, but you, my dear, may call me Atsuhiro.”

[megwritesfanfiction]

Let Go, Chapter 7/?? (Raven/??)

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. This is a work of fiction that I am not making a profit off of.

A/N: So I’ve gotten a lot of people asking why don’t I update faster if I’m ahead. I try to work ahead so I can update every other week consistently. Because last week I didn’t feel like writing and a lot of stuff came up, also yesterday I slammed my thumb in my car door... Sometimes things happen to prevent me from writing. So, I am trying to avoid that and not take two years for this... Hopefully... 

Do you need to catch up? I got you! ->

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six

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WARNING - FLASHBACK CONTAINS LIGHT MENTION OF DRUG USE.

Flashback

Sweat blurred his vision as he curled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Teeth chattering, Roy’s head dropped down to his chest as his chest heaved. “No,” he gritted out between stuttering clenched teeth.

Karen sighed, stepping in front of him. “I hear your con-“

His head snapped forward, falling to the trash can in between his legs as he emptied his stomach once again.

Karen rushed to his side, steadying him. “Roy,” she started, helping him lean up once more. Bringing a cold towel to his face, she wiped his chin. “I think you need-“

“No,” he told her, falling back against the medical cot. Eyes rolling to the ceiling, Roy tried to focus on anything but his pain. His head throbbed, and it felt as though every nerve in his body was on fire. His stomach rolled in wild waves of nausea and chest clenched tightly with panic. Breathing labored, Roy’s body was coated with sweat as he shivered from the cold. “I don’t n-ne-“

“Then let me monitor your vitals,” she huffed, placing a tired hand on her forehead as she watched him. “You could go into cardiac arrest or have a seizure.”

Roy chuckled tightly, looking at her as cheekily as he could manage. “I’m still,” he inhaled sharply, chest constricting. Cardiac arrest sounded pretty good if it meant he got a moment without pain. “Awake.”

“For now.” She pulled the monitors closer to his head. “And I wanna make sure you stay alive if you pass out during the detox.

“I d-don’t think,” he wheezed, laughing, eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “I’m going to pass out.” He was pretty sure he was dying though.

“We can still do the chemical detox,” Karen told him gently. Taking his left hand, she tied the tourniquet around his arm.”You can sleep dur-“

“No drugs.”

“You’re not getting high-“

“No.” Though weak, his voice was firm. “No,” he whispered, eyes closing as he focused on breathing. A small gasp escaped his lips as he felt the needle prick his skin.

“Sorry,” Karen mumbled with a small grimace.

The prick hadn’t hurt him.

Roy had injected heroin between his toes in a gas station bathroom.

Pain wasn’t the problem.

That needle stick brought a flood of nostalgia and wave of doubt. Not even twenty four hours into withdrawal, and he already missed heroin.

Alcohol.

Percocet.

Ecstasy.

Heroin.

And the long list of things he tried from strangers hands and bodies.

The conscious decision to detox meant he was going to work toward sobriety. It meant that he was going to try to deal with the long list of problems repressed.

His mother’s abandonment.

Witnessing his father burn to death.

Brave Bow’s death.

His estranged relationship with Ollie.

Jade.

Lian.

Roy squeezed his eyes shut, swallowing bile and the craving to numb his feelings. “I need,” he gasped sharply, teeth gritting together as his head throbbed. “I need this to hurt.” He wanted the consequences of relapse burned into the front of memory. His fingers dug into his arms as he trembled.

Karen finished the IV, hooking her friend up to the monitors. “Okay,” she told him quietly, placing a comforting hand against his shoulder.

“I-“ he inhaled. Eyes blurred as he watched the the floor crash against the ceiling.

“Roy?” She placed a gentle hand against his chest, shaking him. “Roy?” Karen checked his pupils, then placed her fingers against his neck for a pulse.

The steady note of asystole echoed in the med lab.

“Shit!” She cursed, immediately applying chest compressions. “Roy!” Karen shouted, as she pumped his chest.

Flash Forward

“What time is it?” Raven murmured, panicking as she pushed the hoodie draped over her. She faintly wiped the line of drool running down her chin.

Between listening to Changeling’s voicemail messages, Roy offering to take her back to Jump, and the noisy dialogue running through her mind, Raven had reached her limit. Her lighthearted morning had quickly spiraled down into overwhelming anxiety and panic. When Roy exited to the interstate, she’d hastily crawled into the back seat to locate her backpack to locate her pills for panic attacks.

She wasn’t worried about the clothes and underwear thrown during her search.

She didn’t care that Roy could hear the pills rattling in the plastic bottles.

Raven popped one of her pills in her mouth and settled back into the passenger seat, leaning back into the seat as she closed her eyes in relief. The last thing she remembered was the melody of the radio becoming quieter and Roy’s quiet humming as the world faded to black.

“Hey sleepyhead,” Roy smirked, taking a quick glance at his companion. “Have a nice nap?”

Raven roughly rubbed her eyes, leaning down as her back arched. “What time is it?” She repeated, looking at the clock in front of her.

“Almost six,” he answered with a sure nod. “I tried to wake you up when I stopped for-“

“Grilled cheese,” she smirked, shaking her hair out as she looked out at the road.

“Actually I got a double cheeseburger and a strawberry milkshake.”

“What? No fries?” Raven teased, resting her head against the seat. Her eyes moved toward the dashboard. “You’re slipping.”

He scoffed, “The fries were implied the moment I said double cheeseburger.”

“Roy?” She drawled, her head tilting at the black screen of the GPS.

“I mean they weren’t great fries,” he shrugged as he continued driving. “I’ve been hoping we could find a place that had some potato wedges.”

“Roy?”

His disappointment was evident, “At the very least some waffle fries…”

Raven shook her head, refusing to be amused by his antics. “Roy?”

“I can’t wait till we get to Chicago. I gotta see a man about a deep dish pizza.”

“Harper!”

Roy’s head snapped over to her for a moment, “Roth?”

At least she had his attention. “Why is the GPS off?”

“Oh that,” he answered, wiggling his fingers around the wheel. His neck stretched as he gazed into the rear view mirror and lowered the sun visor. “I know where we’re going.”

“You know how to get to Chicago?”

“We’re not going to Chicago.”

Raven’s eyes widened in confusion as she sat frozen in the passenger seat. She reached forward, snatching the GPS from the dash mount.

“I know where we’re going,” Roy assured casually.

“I didn’t know you were so familiar with Utah.” Her head bounced against the headrest as she waited for the GPS to start. Her fingers tapped against the outside of the device as her eyes narrowed at him.

“We’re not in Utah.”

Raven didn’t have to turn her head to see his smug satisfied grin. “Well,” she started, looking down at the map loading in her hands. “Colorado then.”

“We’re in Arizona,” Roy told her factually. “You hungry? I know you haven’t had lunch, and I could totally go for a sn-“

Arizona? “Why are we in Arizona?!”

“Why wouldn’t we be in Arizona?”

“Because it’s off course.”

“We have a course?”

“She growled, ”Pull over. I’m driving.”

“No-“

“Pull. Over.”

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“Think she’s gonna call him?”

Nightwing allowed his masked eyes to slide to his peripheral vision as he looked at the changeling sitting in the kitchen behind them. “Not my business,” he murmured quietly as he selected his character for the game. Nightwing cleared his throat as he straightened his back against the couch and focused on the big screen in front of him.

Changeling hadn’t moved from the table since breakfast.

After his brief conversation with Raven, Nightwing ventured into the kitchen for breakfast. Changeling had already been at the table with a bowl of cereal in front of him, spoon in his right hand, and cell phone resting beneath his left. Green eyes locked on the wall in front of him, he didn’t bothering acknowledging Nightwing or Cyborg when either greeted him. He barely shrugged his shoulders to reject their offer to play GameStation with them.

“Well he better get his act together,” Cyborg grumbled, twisting to face the Changeling. “Before he eats all of the Sugar Cocoa Noms,” Cyborg‘s voice boomed echoing through the main room and into the kitchen.

The sound of the cereal bowl clanking against the metal sink echoed loudly, followed the changeling’s angry footsteps. “Fuck you, dude,” Changeling growled, showing Cyborg a choice finger and hugging the box of cereal against his chest.

Cyborg chuckled, watching the changeling retreat.

“Did you have to antagonize him?” Nightwing sighed, tiredly shaking his head as he paused the game. “Really?”

“What?” Cyborg shrugged, innocently. “I just bought that box of cereal. If he wants to eat his feelings, then he can go buy his own damn box.”

Nightwing huffed loudly, head dropping forward between his shoulders, “I can not believe you, Victor.”

“Don’t you “Victor” me!” Cyborg scuffed proudly. “I am all about supportive because he got his little feelings hurt by his little girlfriend-“

“Girlfriend?!” That was certainly an interesting word choice.

Cyborg rolled his eyes. “I’m half robot, not blind. Those two have been hot and cold since day one, so I’m not surprised that he’s upset about her leaving.”

Nightwing nodded. That was fair.

“I am surprised Raven didn’t bother telling him about her move, though,” Cyborg spoke slowly. His eyes carefully shifted to the masked Titan next to him. “Considering she told everyone else.”

“She didn’t tell Terra.”

“Her and Terra were never close.” Nice try.

Nightwing shrugged, fingers fiddling with the controller. It really wasn’t his business.

“You know something,” Cyborg’s eyes widened with interest. “What do you know?”

“Well,” Nightwing inhaled deeply, looking up at the television and adjusting the controller in hands. “I know that it’s none of my business.”

That was a cop out. “And?”

“You might wanna pay attention before I whoop your ass,” Nightwing smirked, immediately starting the fight on screen.

“I wasn’t ready!”

Raven had watched the sun disappear below the horizon, her fingers nervously clutching a bag of french fries. They’d been driving through miles of the endlessly empty roads of Arizona desert. She’d given up counting tumbleweeds and brightly striped boulders. Instead, Raven passed the time by keeping her eyes peeled for the rare sight of lights from a gas station, motel, or some sign that they hadn’t strayed so far from civilization.

“Will you chill out and eat your fries?” Roy chuckled, shaking his head as he continued to drive.

“I’m saving them in case we get stranded in the desert,” she told him with a sigh that was somewhere between teasing and annoyed. “I can start with the fries, then work on eating you to survive.”

He laughed, “You know a lot of people who are lost in the desert are found dead with food and water on them.”

Raven’s eyes narrowed, her nails stabbed through the damp paper bag as she eyed him strangely. “Was that supposed to comfort me?” She wondered. “Cause it didn’t.”

“These are important survival tips,” he nodded confidently, flipping the high beams. “Eat when you’re hungry and drink when you’re thirsty.”

“Nice for you to mention this now.” The car jerked and wobbled as he turned unto the dirt path. Raven leaned forward in her seat, eyes squinting. “When you’re going off road,” she nodded, her lips tight. “Into the desert. Miles from civilization.”

“I know exactly where we are.”

Dust swirled around the car as they road over rocks and gravel. “We’re driving in the middle of the desert.” The lights from the little service station were fading into the night in her side mirror.

“We’re on a side road headed toward our destination,” Roy assured.

“You know know the word road has certain implications, right?”

He cast her a quick affirmative glance as he continued driving, “I know.”

“The word road literally means an open way for vehicles.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“We,” she looked out into the darkness, dust, and dirt. At least the moon was coming out. “Are not on a road. I can’t recall the last time I had to avoid shrubs in the middle of the road.”

“Just because there isn’t a sign pointing to it, doesn’t mean it’s not a road.”

Raven huffed defiantly. There wasn’t much she could really do in this situation, so she may as well relax. “You know that would be really profound if we weren’t lost.”

“Again, not lost,” Roy told her as he continued to drive. “I know exactly where we are, and where we’re going. Even if we were lost, there’s nothing wrong with that. You get somewhere eventually.”

“How could you possibly know where we are?”

The corners of his lips turned down as he inhaled sharply. “My father,” he struggled, clearing his throat to keep his voice steady and to the point. “My father was a forest ranger and after he passed away the Navajo took me in.” Roy looked at her with a sad smirk, “I know a thing or two about navigating the land, Rae.”

She relaxed allowing her back to fall against the seat. Her fingers loosened their death grip on the bag of fries as she cast him a soft glance. “Okay,” she told him quietly.

“We’re almost there,” he whispered. Placing a reassuring hand on her knee, Roy gave it a little squeeze.

Wherever there was.

Raven glanced at the darkness in front of her focusing on the dark sky and stars glimmering above them. Leaning into the headrest, she exhaled loudly as she felt her body sinking into the soft upholstery. Her eyes slowly closed as a little yawn escaped, pressing the button to roll her window down.

Might as well meditate.

Her lips mouthed her mantra as she focused on her breathing.

The gentle rocking of the car.

Roy’s warm hand against her leg.

The cool blast from the night air.

The crackling of gravel and dirt beneath the rough tire treads.

“And,” Roy’s voice chirped excitedly, pulling to a smooth stop. He shifted the car into park and unbuckled his seatbelt. “We’re here!”

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“Really?”

He didn’t even flinch, phone still firmly in his grasp as his thumbs tapped out word after word. Brows knitted in angry concentration and fang sinking into his bottom lip, Changeling hadn’t even noticed her.

“Okay, look,” Terra huffed, snatching the phone out of his hands.

He frowned, looking angrily at his girlfriend. “Give it back,” he requested, too tired to really argue with her.

“No,” she stated firmly. “It’s almost midnight, don’t tell me you’ve been sitting here all day eating cereal and texting Raven?”

Actually, he’d hung out in their room and the roof before coming back to the kitchen to eat cereal and stare at his phone, but he thought it wise not to argue the details. Changeling groaned running his hands over his face in frustration, “What the hell else am I supposed to do?”

“Let it go!” She exclaimed, gesturing to the walls around them. “Like everyone else in this tower!”

“Why is everyone’s acting like this is okay?” He frowned, slouching in his chair. Changeling placed his fingers against his temples massaging the area in firm slow circles.

Raven would do the same thing anytime she was frustrated.

Terra sighed, dropping into the chair next to him. She set his phone aside, gently taking his hands as she faced him. “I am really trying hard to be supportive of whatever you’re going through, but-“

“I’m not going through anything!” He snapped bitterly, flinching. “One of our teammates just up and decided to ditch us! No one is upset! No one is talking about it!”

“What exactly do we need to say, Gar?” Terra questioned. She inhaled sharply, forcing her tone to be even but firm. “Because I don’t know. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

His elbows crashed against the table top as he hung his head in his hands. Fingers ripped through his scalp as he growled with frustration. “She just…” He shook his head, breathing sharply. “She just up and left us. Not a word, a goodbye, not a hint, not a fucking clue. And it, absolutely, bothers the fuck out of me, Terra.”

“Okay,” she nodded, sympathetically. “So what can we do about that?”

His spine slowly straightened, eyes wide and with hopeless confusion as reality flooded his senses. What could he do?

“You’ve spent the last day calling and texting her nonstop, and she hasn’t responded,” Terra explained softly. “Nightwing isn’t worried. Cyborg isn’t worried, and for god’s sake, neither is Starfire.” The blonde shook her head in disbelief as she gave another shrug. “And if Starfire isn’t worried, then…” She trailed off unsure of what to say.

“That’s my point,” he growled. “They should be worried.”

“For what? She’s gone.” Her fingers gently threaded in his hair, tracing soothing circles against his scalp as she watched his mind work furiously to understand. “Okay, we miss her, but the world keeps going, Gar. You get over it in time.”

Changeling felt his eyes open as realization washed over him. “They knew,” he whispered.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

“Where exactly is here?” Raven wondered quietly as she slowly followed Roy out of the car. Eyes focused on the stars, she stepped in front of the car.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen so many stars.

Maybe on Azarath under a different sky.

“Watch your step.” Roy gently grabbed her arm, stopping her from moving forward. He reached inside his pocket. Clicking the key fob, the headlights illuminated through the impossibly black night air around them.

A large fire pit was nestled between two large tipis a few yards in front of them. Small desert shrubs and cacti decorated the deep orange dirt of the desert and beyond the small camp, a large cliff.

“We’re camping?” She asked slowly looking at him and then back at the tipis.

Roy nodded, “We are. I figured you could use a little nature.”

She took a few steps forward, running her fingers over the heavy material of the tipi. She slid her head inside the large opening, taking a step inside.

The bright lights from the headlights permeated through the white cotton of the tipi allowing her to see. A large rug with bright geometric designs was spread in the center with an ornate low table resting on top. A small silver oil lamp sat on top of the table next to a decorative statue. There was a small bed against the wall opposite the opening, fully set with traditional blankets and a bright white fur blanket at the end. Decorative floor pillows were spread through the tipi and deep red chair sat on the side.

This certainly wasn’t what she was expecting to find in the middle of nowhere.

“Welcome to the Navajo Reservation.”

Her fingers touched the soft blanket at the end of the bed, curling around the fur. “Navajo Reservation?”

“Yep,” he confirmed stepping into the doorway with a smirk. “Granted, this experience is more for the tourist, but…” He shrugged, trailing off.

“Cause all Native Americans used tipis, right?” She smirked knowingly.

“I mean the hogans are down the way a bit, but the tipis are a bigger attraction, especially during the warm weather months, but neither here nor there,” Roy admitted with a small sigh. “I figured you could use some quiet time.” He tilted his head to the sky. “With stars.”

Raven smiled, eyes drifting to the very top of the tipi, “I think you’re right.”

To Be Continued

[billybangssteve-blog]

(Harringrove fanfic) Chapter three

Hawkins, Indiana

March, 1985

Chapter three - The Daymare

In the woods, Steve felt vulnerable. The branches on the looming, skeletal trees always played tricks on his mind, especially in the thin layer of fog that clung to the dewy grass that day. They looked like hands, skinned and bony, and when one would occasionally brush against his skin, it felt cold and wrong. Steve wasn't a vulnerable person, he'd fought monsters from an upside down version of their world for Christ's sake. (Though he couldn't win a fight against a human being). But after it was all over, after he'd dropped all the kids off and returned home, it all kinda just overwhelmed him. He was fine for a moment sitting on the side of his bed, then he just started sobbing hysterically and was shaking so bad it hurt his muscles. 

He told Hopper about it, and Hopper had explained to him it was similar to "Shell Shock". After that and Steve admitting the awful nightmares he'd been getting, Hopper had told him to go to a therapist. The therapist was a guy called Russle Kelly and he'd been recommended by Sam Owens. Russle knew the story and was under the same contract as everyone else who knew about the situation.

Russle had diagnosed him with PTSD, post-taumatic-stress-disorder, and had been given Prozac and Prazosin for medication. Steve was nearly finished with his psychotherapy and would start his 6 to 8 weeks of Cognitive behavioural therapy in a few more weeks.

Steve didn't understand why the experience had effected him so fucking badly. Nancy and Johnathan had been through just as bad, but they only seemed to get the occasional nightmare. Will was even doing better than him, and thank God for that.

It was like he'd taken all the trauma that they'd suffered onto his shoulders; and, if he was being honest , he'd have it no other way. Cause if they were happy, Steve had a reason to be happy. Billy helped a lot. When he'd wake up screaming and crying and punching in the night, Billy was always there to comfort him.

When they arrived at Castle Byers, Steve was a little nervous. He'd walked at the back of the group, his nail riddled bat spinning in his hand. Dustin was holding onto the two cans of paint, Lucas carrying the tool box and Eleven was bearing a cardboard box filled with trinkets and photos and materials. (Several times Mike had suggested to hold it for her, only for El to shake her head dismissively).

"Here we are, Castle Byers!" Steve announced, shaking the anxiousness of monsters away and allowing the delight to warm him. They cheered gleefully and immediently they began to work on the fort. Steve assisted them with the hammering after Dustin hit his thumb with the hammer. (He'd wrapped Dustin's red thumb in a blue pokodot plaster, he'd kept the packet they'd slipped in his pocket after the fight).

Lucas and Max repainted the signs, Eleven sewed the curtains and American flag back to perfection (she'd been practising) and Mike, Dustin and Will filled in the holes in the walls of the castle. Steve watched for the first twenty minutes, helped out with the building periodically before he decided to join El with the sewing. He knew how to sew, his grandmother, Matilda, had taught him when he basically lived with her.

He pretty much lived with Matilda and Phil, his grandfather, from the age of 4 to the age of 13. His parents had dropped him off with them the minute he started walking and probally would've continued to live with them if Matilda hadn't died and Phil hadn't gone looney. His mom had said that to him, and that's when Steve realised he really hated his parents.

Steve had pricked himself twice, deep and quick stabs that drew blood from his middle and pinky finger. El had patched him up two flower plastas.

"Billy said he loved you," Eleven reminded him happily and Steve looked up from the dirty white curtains, he chuckled quietly.

"Yeah, he did.... I mean I've always known he's loved me, it's just actually hearing is so.... real? I don't know, like everything is just so..." Steve pauses and bites his lip.

"Clear," She filled in the gap with a pink smile and Steve nodded, drumming his fingers on his thigh.

"What... What do think... his friends are like?" El asked in broken English, Steve shrugged as he began to stitch a rip in the curtains together.

"Well, they sound nice enough. They support me and Billy so that's a good thing, and Billy says their pretty cool," Steve replied as he threaded the material, but the end of the silver thread had slipped through the eye of the needle. He got up on his feet and turned around to get more thread from the box, but he tripped an arched stick and fell to the ground.

The second his face made contact with the leaf strewn ground, the world flipped.

Steve scrambled to his feet and he became still, like a statue with a pulse in his neck. Steve was in the Upside Down. He was still standing before Castle Byers in the forest and everything looked fucked. The sky was a malevolent black, the shadows in the trees swooned around him like wraiths and vines, thick and rotten, were splayed on the dead floor like the earth's veins. A terrible coldness swept across Steve and he looked around desperately, fear sinking into his chest.

He turned to the fort and his heart was no long in his chest, it was in his throat. The curtains at the entrance were shredded and stained in blood, like a wild animal had attacked it. The ground from his feet to Castle Byers was like a path, like someone had been dragged across the ground. Against his better judgment, he slowly stalked towards the entrance to the fort and his heart was beating like a running rabbit in his throat.

Curling his fingers around the edge of the curtain, Steve held his breath and threw it to the side with a pause of his heart. He stumbled inside at the snap of a twig and the fort seemed like the side of room.

And there it was: the Demogorgon. At first it just stood there, swaying like a drunkard, dried blood stained it's faceless head and it's arm stretched out towards him. Long, scythe like fingers caked in crimson lightly grazing the skin on his cheeks.

Slowly, it's face began to open like a blooming flower and the maroon crust of dried blood flaked off. The fanged-petals fanned out, a black hole leading down it's gullet like the rabbit hole in Alice in Wonderland, leading him to a Hellish dimension.

It roared. He screamed.

......

Billy, Bobby and Ginny heard the scream that tore through the woods.  It was shocking, scary and blood-curdling. And it didn't stop.

Billy didn't hesitate to start sprinting through the collums of trees, and Bobby and Ginny followed hastily. They chased towards the screams, those horrendous shrieks of pure terror that was making Billy's heart shatter. Because he knew that was Steve screaming, but he'd never heard Steve so fucking scared and that terrified him.

"Steve!" He yelled desperately, the response he got was more screaming and the sound of the kids, calling out to Steve as well. When they saw the outlines of the kids, the fort and Steve in the fog, they charged faster towards them.

Steve was stood with his back against a tree and was pointing his bat at something invisible in front of him. It wasn't the kids, his wide eyes were staring at some invisible thing that was 8 feet tall and probally absolutely terrifying. Bobby and Ginny came to a stop while Billy ran in front of Steve.

"Billy! Be careful!" Max called as Steve swung at Billy, he jumped back and Steve cried and shrieked.

"Steve, listen to me! Calm down, it's alright!" Billy's attempt to calm Steve down only seemed to make him go ballistic.

"Go away! It'll kill you!"

The brunette raised the bat behind his head and brought it down to the ground, hysterical and almost falling to his knees. Billy caught him, hands cupping the sides of Steve's face and he noticed how wide his eyes were. Two black orbs with thin brown rings circling them. It was scaring him. Big tears streamed down Steve's face, that was deathly pale, and his chin and lips quivered.

"Steve, can you hear me? I'm here Steve, I'm here... It's okay," Billy spoke soothingly and brushed his thumb over Steve's cheek. The pupils in Steve's eyes slowly shrunk and Steve seemed to be finally see reality, that fear still their but less than before.

"B-Billy?" Steve sputtered quietly, relief washed over Billy and he sighed, nodding.

"Yeah it's me, I've got you, It's alright Princess, I've got you," Billy responded softly.

"The kids? Where are the-"

"They're fine. Steve, they're fine," the two sank to their knees, cause Steve had basically no strength in his legs left, and began to sob uncontrollably into Billy's shoulder. The blond stroked his hair and kissed his neck, he was trembling in Billy's arms and he felt so cold.

"Easy Princess, you're okay and the kids are okay, you just need to breathe, alright? Can you do that for me, Darlin'?" Steve struggled at first, coughing and wailing for a minute before he was quiet and breathing deeply.

"There we go... there we go, you're doing great, Steve," Billy smiled, and he looked up to see everyone watching. The kids looked worried and frightful and Bobby and Ginny looked freaked the fuck out and concerned and confused. 

"What happened?" He asked, Steve was basically catatonic, and Dustin shrugged.

"I don't know. He like tripped or something and then he stood up and looked freak the Hell out. He didn't respond to us and then walked over to the fort and just started screaming!" Dustin explained, panicky and afraid, and looked like he was about to cry.

"He got his bat and just- God it was fucking terrifying dude, he just started swinging at something! It was like he was having a nightmare but awake- a Daymare" Lucas exclaimed frantically and Billy licked his lips and compressed them together, breathing out. Will stepped forward a little.

"It was like when I had my episodes, I'd be doing something then I would just be there," Will said quietly, Mike and Lucas nodded in agreement.

"But why would it happen to Steve?" Max questioned and everyone remained silent, showing that they did not know the answer to that question.

"You should take him home, we'll stay here and finish-" Steve seemed to spring to life at Lucas's statement and looked scared again.

"No! I'm staying here, I'm not letting any of you out my sight!" He declared shakily, Steve attempted to stand up but feel back down into Billy's arms.

"Steve's place. It's safe," Eleven said suddenly and Billy nodded. 

"I agree, leave all this shit here and let's go,"

[perpetually-jungshook]

Goldilocks || 06

Happy kind of early 700 followers! How?! I only reached 600 last week. You guys spoil me. As thanks, here’s 6.4k of “pure,” unadulterated Goldilocks.

Rated M (language and smut)

Warnings: Masturbation, hand job, just general cringe worthy stuff

Summary: After getting evicted, your two best friends Jimin and Taehyung offer you a place to stay until you get back on your feet. Needless to say, with a part time job and a mountain of student debt, that’s not happening any time soon. Eventually, they DO become really fond of having you around, helping with chores and even splitting rent. So when you come home one day to find someone has been sleeping in your couch-bed, well… it’s something you won’t take lightly.

Out of context Goldilocks quote: “Wait, random arguments about ass? Or just like, getting mad about nothing? Because one of those is definitely better than the other.”

Links to: Goldilocks Masterlist || Previous || Next Part

not my gif, credit to owner

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

A/N: OH LOOK THE RATING CHANGED. If you’re someone who doesn’t like smut, asterisk* is where it starts, skip until the *asterisk where it ends. You won’t be missing plot stuff. I made sure of that. Special thanks to @echo-writes. 

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

Taehyung’s room, too hot.

Jimin’s room, too cold.

You flop onto the empty sofa. Just right.

While you love Taehyung and his bed, there is a strong possibility that you would give your nonexistent left testicle to kick out Jungkook and sleep here again. Couch is love. Couch is life. You contemplate taking a nap while you have the house to yourself, but then you smell it, something that is awfully, unmistakably him.

You roll sideways, onto the floor, almost hitting the coffee table.

He’s contaminated it.

Jungkook has gone and rubbed his stupid smell all over your precious couch-bed. Not that you… know what he smells like. You cringe. Spending a third night in Taehyung’s bed might not be so bad after all. If you just down another dose of god knows how old NyQuil like the past two days, at least you’ll be spared the horror of another wet dream.

Besides, you’d probably have to fight Jungkook for the couch anyway. Then again, maybe you could shove the golden haired muscle pig into Jimin’s room. That would take care of two problems.

The sound of jingling keys pulls your attention to the entryway. It’s too early for Jimin to be home from work and Jungkook can’t get in without someone unlocking the door for him (maybe there’s still a chance you could “accidentally” leave him outside at some point). So the logical conclusion is, Taehyung is home from school early.

You’re pretty sure he had an exam today, but because your friend is surprisingly one of those people who can get a solid 95% without reading the textbook, studying, or even attending lectures in some cases, he probably finished in less than twenty minutes. Classic Tae. Technically, you’re not supposed to be home either, but your first class was canceled despite having spent all weekend slaving away, shut inside the bathroom on Jimin’s laptop to finish writing your essay.

The bathroom? Yes. Don’t judge yourself. What were you going to do? Continue suffering in Jimin’s room? Move to Taehyung’s and get distracted by the mess that would even put a garbage dump to shame? Or worst of all, confront Jinglekook in the living room or kitchen?

So there you found yourself, in the bathroom hunkered under a layer of blankets in the bathtub and on a throne of pillows, telling all three guys to “fuck off- go piss on a tree” whenever they came knocking. The only time you let them in was the rare occasion you had to leave for important things like food or when you left for a four hour shift at work on Sunday.

You were being difficult, yes.

But if a certain someone hadn’t taken your beloved couch, it wouldn’t have been a problem.

Suddenly, the door swings open, slamming against the wall and bouncing back to hit a very excited looking Taehyung in the shoulder. Leave it to him to make an entrance.

“I’m home early~ before everyone else~” he playfully sings to himself. You contemplate telling him you’re here, but then, “Gonna go watch porn~ with the volume on~”

If you’re going to tell him, now’s the time. From your position on the floor, sandwiched between the couch and the coffee table, you watch as he obliviously saunters down the hall, dropping his backpack and enthusiastically stripping off pieces of clothing in a none-too-graceful dance. First his coat, then his shirt, and oh god there go his pants.

You should really tell him…

Yet, something inside you insists that you don’t, manifesting in a small, warm thread of curiosity that knots in your stomach. It causes you to carefully, quietly get to your feet, ears straining to hear something, anything. Each step takes you closer to his door, interest pricking pleasantly at your skin.

A loud, wet squirt causes you to jerk to a halt. His door is only open a crack and you’re less than a meter away from being able to look inside.*

You can’t help but wonder what position he’s in. Lying down? On his knees? Sitting? You don’t know his kinks. Still, he must have headphones on if you can’t hear the video yet, but lord knows you can definitely hear his first moan. It’s breathy, but low and raspy, a sound that travels straight to your core.

Immediately, the images from your dream begin to surface- Taehyung’s lips exploring your breasts, your legs wrapped around his waist, his hard arousal pressing against you. Heat floods to the pit of your stomach and standing makes it more difficult to press your thighs together, searching for friction, but it’s not like you can just start touching yourself. Can you?

Unable to make a decision, you stall by closing the last few steps to take a peek.

The bed sits directly across from the entry and because the door is cracked open just slightly, you’re only given a sharp forty-five degree angle view of the room. This doesn’t allow you to see what’s on the screen, but from the way he’s kneading his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration…

Of course, you can’t stay focused on that beautiful mouth for long. Taehyung tends to sleep in his boxers, so the sight of his bare chest isn’t exactly new. However, you can see he’s lying on his side, now completely naked, partially propped up on his elbow, head resting against the heel of his palm.

It’s his other hand though- fingers wrapped around his hardening, lube covered length- that draws the majority of your attention. Your eyes widen as you watch him easily, slowly run his fist from the base of his growing erection to the tip.

You can feel the blush color your cheeks, guilt pinching your throat, drying your tongue. And yet are you moving away? Are you telling him he’s not alone? No and hell no.

Taehyung’s fingers lace in his hair, eyelids threatening to flutter shut as his tongue briefly flicks over his lips, toes curling as he circles his thumb across the head of his cock. He lets out another, breathier moan.

The throbbing heat that’s gathering at your core is becoming unbearable and you don’t notice (or choose not to notice) as you slide your fingers to the apex of your thighs, running the middle digit along the seam of your jeans in an attempt to relieve the aching frustration. Some of the tension in your chest begins to evaporate, but your heartbeat starts to hammer in your throat, knees weakening, bliss threatening to knock subtlety down a level on the priority list.

To keep your balance, you rest your forehead against the door frame as Taehyung’s leisurely ministrations begin to get faster, filling the room and hallway with slick, wet sounds.

Forcing your breaths through your nose to try and quiet them, you watch helplessly as he flips onto his back, planting his feet on the mattress, abandoning the video on his laptop screen to begin thrusting upward into his still pumping fist. He seems indecisive about what to do with his other hand, first grabbing onto the sheets, then hovering above a tissue box on his nightstand, then settling on roughly massaging the beautifully tanned, slightly sweaty skin near his collar bones. A guttural sound escapes his throat.

*The already tightly wound coil in your stomach begins to compress, a moan sitting at the tip of your tongue, breathing becoming noticeably heavy.

“Fuck, baby,” he suddenly whines loudly, voice cracking, hand visibly tightening, stilling.

It’s a miracle he hasn’t noticed- wait, ‘baby?’

Taehyung’s gaze suddenly drifts down from the ceiling to meet yours, a wicked smirk twisting the corners of his lips.

Panic searing through your veins, you back away immediately and stumble, shoulders hitting the wall of the hallway which causes you to sink to the floor. Everything feels too warm, namely your face, but it only gets worse when you hear him get up.

Taehyung shuffles to the door, pulling it open to give you a boxy smile, still slowly stroking himself.

“Enjoying the show hmm?” he teases breathily, only making your mortification worse. You knew he wouldn’t care, not really, but Taehyung is the type of person that will give you shit for this for the rest of your pitiful life. Then again, don’t you kind of deserve it? After a few seconds of you not responding he says, laughing,“Aw baby, don’t be shy.”

“Fuck off.”

Attention roaming everywhere but his hand and crotch, you can’t seem to settle on anything. Looking away makes you seem defensive, but you also can’t meet his gaze directly. You eventually settle with the little beauty mark on his nose.

“Touching yourself is normal,” he coos between deep breaths, much to your obvious displeasure and his amusement. “I mean, I can’t say the same for watching someone masturbate but-”

“How long did you know?” you curl into a tighter ball, trying to hide behind your knees.

“Mmm. Well, when I turned over one of my earbuds fell out and I could hear you breathing,” he says as casually as if you were talking about dinner plans. “Now my question is, why over your jeans?”

“Shut up.’”

“I mean, was it not hot enough to-?”

“Taehyung.”

“What? I’m just curious. Kind of like someone else I know…”

Embarrassment flares through your chest and cheeks in the form of an uncomfortable heat, but also through your core as a small quiver.

“I’m sorry, alright? I should’ve said something.”

“You should have, but you didn’t,” there’s a suggestive undertone in his voice that leaves you squirming and suddenly he’s kneeling down, hardened length still in his hand, which has slowed its pumping. At this point, you must admire his self control and the steadiness of his voice. He continues with one word that destroys whatever dignity you have left, “Why?”

“I…” you have to acknowledge that you don’t actually know the answer. Because you’re a pervert? Probably. But do you want to admit that? No. “I just wanted to see…”

“Wanted to see what? My big beautiful dick?” as he’s giggling, Taehyung is clearly teasing, but you can’t find it in you to laugh. “You could’ve just asked.”

What.

Your dream reality hadn’t lied. You and Taehyung had kissed on multiple occasions, but besides his obsession with all things boob, you had never actually done anything with him. Granted, you joke about sex more than enough, but… you stare at the hand wrapped around his length as it comes to a stop near the tip, where he’s leisurely rubbing circles again with his thumb.

Embarrassment sends another chill down your spine and you wrap your arms around your knees. Why do you feel so exposed when he’s the one that’s completely naked? And then, as if it couldn’t get any worse:

“Idea,” he shimmies his shoulders, pulling his bottom lip tightly between his teeth. “Wanna touch it?”

Silence.

“Wah, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, but like, I wouldn’t mind.”

Had you heard that correctly? Did he just… proposition you… to touch his dick? You glance down quickly, blush burning your cheeks. This is bad. You should’ve just told him earlier. You should have said something right when he walked through that door. But now you’re here, trying not to stare as of one of your best friends jerks himself off while he’s less than a meter away, watching you watch him. And the worst part? All you think is, “What would it feel like?”

You’d read your fair share of dirty internet smut. Would it be “rock hard” like people claim? Or more flexible? Would the skin be- why are you thinking about this?

You clear your throat, “Tae, I’m gonna be honest and tell you that I’ve never actually… touched a penis.”

He stills, confusion spreading across his expression, “Are you a virgin?”

“I mean, do fingers count?”

“Were they your fingers?”

“Tae.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes and no… there was one guy a couple years ago-”

“Years?” he sounds astounded.

“I’ve just been really busy with the apartment and family and work and school, okay?” you start sounding defensive, even to your own ears.

He takes a breath.

“Look, baby, there’s nothing wrong with waiting,” Taehyung hums, rising to his feet to back toward his room. He continues with a teasing slowness, “But yknow, if you wanna change it up, I’m just a shout away.”

The typical list of consequences scrolls through your mind on fast forward. Jimin. Roommate. Friendship.

Fuck it.

“Tae.”

“Yeah?”

Before you can respond, you hear the telltale sound of your phone, device frantically vibrating from where you left it in the kitchen. No. That’s the alarm you set to remind you to go to your second class.

You reluctantly push yourself up, “I… need to go to school, but…”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” his voice is laced with a playful, suggestive sing-song quality, but it’s also unusually deep, raspy, aroused and only leaves you more frustrated as you race for the door, picking up your phone, jumping into your shoes, and dragging your backpack (well, the one you stole from Jimin after your binder incident on Friday) after you.

Panting, you burst through the door of the classroom only to find that the professor has thankfully not yet arrived. Fuck parking. Fuck your low endurance. And most of all, fuck Kim Taehyung for making you this confused.

“Wow ____, why does it look like a tornado ate you and then shat you out the other end?”

“Thanks Yoongi, how flattering,” you deadpan, taking your regular seat beside him.

“Well you know I live for giving top notch compliments,” he shoots back. You both laugh.

“I just had a crap morning,” you admit vaguely, throwing your notebook and a pencil on top of the ridiculously small university desk, trying to dispel the image of Taehyung from behind your eyelids, frustration still throbbing in your core. “But I’m so ready to take this quiz.”

“Quiz got canceled. Didn’t you get the email?”

You freeze, unsure whether to be relieved or furious. You’d stayed up late last night to read the chapter.

“Clearly your face says ‘no.’ It got moved to Wednesday,” he scrunches his nose at you with a smugness that makes you want to smack him.

Why you’re friends with someone like Min Yoongi, you can’t really say. Maybe it was because you coincidentally ended up in two classes with him two years ago, sat next to him both times- again, coincidentally- and eventually found out you were the same major. At that point, it was only logical that you would schedule as many classes as possible together. After all, while Yoongi seems like a lazy student, always wearing sweats, slowly scratching out notes, and constantly looking ready to fall asleep, you know that he is one of the most diligent, intelligent people you’ve ever met. Unlike Taehyung who’s smart but lazy as- why are you still thinking about him?

As for why Yoongi graces you with his presence, you really don’t know. Maybe it’s got something to do with your killer good looks. Just kidding. You’re pretty sure it has something to do with the fact that you get his sense of humor, generally hate the same things, and don’t pressure him. And isn’t that kind of the basis of friendship anyway?

It probably also helps that you’re both slightly above the average age of the student body. You’d taken a few terms too many to get your general ed done and apparently he’d taken a few years off to work on his music. Somehow, both of you ended up studying literature- well, Yoongi is double majoring in business, but you prefer only torturing yourself a little.

“Stupid fucking school email,” you groan, stabbing the eraser of your pencil uselessly into the notebook. “Why can’t they send us texts?”

Yoongi smirks, “Because that would bee too easy.”

“But why can’t life just be easy? What memo did I miss?”

“The same one that says girls can start the most random-ass argument with a guy after he just fucking coughs.”

“Wait, random arguments about ass? Or just like, getting mad about nothing? Because one of those is definitely better than the other.”

Yoongi looks like he’s about to rip you a new anus and your incessant laughter is probably not helping your case, but before he can reply, the professor enters the room and all conversation politely fades away. Your participation in discussion today is minimal. For that you blame Taehyung as well. Every time you attempt to raise your hand, all you can feel is the ghost of the seam of your jeans running beneath your fingers. Every time you speak, all you can hear is the echo of his moans in your mind.

“Remind me why we took lit in translation,” you complain as you exit the class a torturous hour and forty five minutes later.

Yoongi lets out a humorously derisive hum, “Because it’s required?”

“Right… I knew that.”

“Of course you did.”

He seems to have forgotten about his outburst prior to the start of class, so in lieu of letting him try to verbally beat you to a pulp for your earlier comment, you let go of your curiosity and walk with Yoongi in a pleasant silence to his next class.

“See you later,” he nods, not sparing you a smile but also not ignoring you completely. Since meeting a couple years ago, this is a vast improvement so you don’t really mind.

“Bye Yoongles, don’t forget your essay on Wednesday!” as you run away giggling, he bristles with irritation.

He hates the ridiculous pet name and you know that perfectly well.

Excitement and nervous anticipation waltz through your body as you jog away from your car.

“Tae, I’m home,” you announce, throwing your backpack down near the door. You hadn’t seen Jimin’s car outside and from the lack of noise in the apartment, you’re pretty sure Jungkook is still gone as well. All the better.

“In my room,” he calls back and, kicking off your shoes along the way, you shuffle toward his voice, stopping in the doorway. He greets you with a boxy smile, “Wassup? Did you have fun in class?”

Pleasantries. Alright.

You aren’t sure whether you’re relieved or disappointed to see he’s put on a tee shirt and boxers, but exhilaration bubbles in your chest all the same as you reply, “Remember the quiz I was up all last night reading for? It got pushed back.”

“At least you’ve studied,” he says, pulling the earbuds from his ears and closing his laptop. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”

Is he avoiding the subject because he’s regretting his offer? A little bit more of the excitement changes into apprehension, but you decide to throw caution to the wind. He was technically the one that started it.

“Right. Thanks babe. But, anyway… are you still okay with…? Cuz like…”

“Okay with what?” it takes a few seconds, but Taehyung’s eyes widen slightly in realization. “Wait, you actually want to touch my dick?”

“Yes?” you say, wincing, unsure whether his disbelief comes from his thinking you are joking or the possibility that he had been joking earlier. Anxiety shoots through you like ice.

Taehyung has never been the shy or reserved type, obviously. He’s very open about his sexuality and has almost no shame because, to quote him, “It's just a normal bodily function.”

“But you’ve never touched a dick before,” he sounds like something’s not adding up properly in his head. “And you want to touch mine?”

“Yes?” you repeat, gaze dropping down to stare at the floor.

What if he says no? That thought hadn’t occurred to you before. He has every right to decline your advance- even if he was the one who propositioned it in the first place, so every second he keeps you waiting, staring at you with that dumbfounded expression, you can almost feel hours of your life being stripped away. You chance another look up.

Taehyung’s big brown eyes search your expression for something, but the adrenaline prevents you from reading them. And then he says, “Alright, well what are you doing all the way over there?”

You can feel the blood rush into your cheeks as you close the door, approach the bed where he’s patting the covers, and take a seat. Once you’re settled, sitting crosslegged facing him, Taehyung makes quick work of his boxers, kicking them off and letting them join the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

“So what’s the plan, baby?” he giggles, obviously noticing the fact that you’re now looking everywhere but him.

“I guess I just want to… I don’t know… touch it a little?”

“Well go right ahead.”

You don’t move. Pulse pounding in your throat, mouth dry, you inwardly admit that you’re not even sure why you want to do this. Maybe that wet dream got to you more than you’re willing to admit. Maybe you’re finally realizing how hot Taehyung is. Maybe you’re just so sexually frustrated because a certain someone decided to come crash on your couch and rain on your parade- no. He has nothing to do with this.

Besides, it’s only a penis. But will your friendship be weird afterward? Is your arousal and curiosity worth ruining something like that? Still, it’s literally just a penis.

“Baby, don’t be shy,” Taehyung whispers, making you jump as his breath brushes against your ear. When had he gotten so close? A shiver runs up your spine, making you lean away from him. His lips pucker in concern, “You okay?”

“Just nervous,” you admit, running your fingers through your hair.

He lets out a small sigh, “If you don’t want to-”

“No! No, I do. I just… I don’t even know where to start.”

“Well, you’ve pretty much already got me naked, so that’s good,” Taehyung laughs, a sound filled with just as much amusement as relief.

You still don’t move. He sighs.

“Looks like I’ll have to get you warmed up,” the amusement abruptly leaves his tone, replaced by an intense sultriness that leaves you confused. How’s he able to just switch it on so fast? Tilting his head so that he’s looking at you through half lidded eyes, Taehyung’s gaze suddenly gets darker as he slowly leans closer, tongue peeking out momentarily between his lips. “But I can help with the rest too.”

“O-okay,” your voice cracks as he presses the briefest, lightest kiss to the apple of your cheek.

“So, you got any kinks? Cuz I can dirty talk like a motherfucker. Not that I’ve… fucked any mothers. Shit, sorry, probably ruining the moment,” he muses, pressing another kiss to your jawline, then to the sensitive skin beneath your ear.

You’re not sure if it’s his wandering lips or the fact that Taehyung unwittingly just made a reference to your dream about him, but as he begins tonguing at your neck, some of the nervousness melts away to be replaced with misty pleasure.

“I mean, I haven’t really done much exploring in that arena,” you try to keep your composure, but with each open mouthed kiss against your skin, you’re finding it harder and harder to form coherent words.

“That’s alright,” he soothes, working his way slowly back up to your cheek. “How you feeling?”

“Better,” you admit, though still aren’t exactly sure what you should be doing at the moment. Do you touch him now? Should you kiss him back? As a reference social cues, you try to recall what happened when that guy fingered you (or tried to) at Jimin’s nineteenth birthday party, but you can’t seem to remember much except not orgasming and leaving the apartment shortly after.

Oh well. It seems like Taehyung knows what he’s doing and you’re kind of okay with letting him take the reins here.

“Great,” he growls playfully, placing a finger underneath your chin to tilt your face toward him. “Now the first thing we should do is get me hard.”

Again, your dream-self hadn’t lied. You’ve kissed Taehyung before, but the other times were drunk accidents or the result of rather cruel rounds of truth or dare that usually also involved alcohol.

Taehyung doesn’t give you much time to start questioning. His lips meet yours, soft, gentle. Your eyelids flutter closed.

God, it’s been so long since you’ve kissed someone sober.

Taehyung lets out a hum of appreciation, pulling back just enough to tell you, “I can see you’re still using that strawberry chapstick from last time.”

A memory. A new dress. Strawberry chapstick. Spilled beer. A slap. A drunk consolation kiss. So part of the seventeen percent of the party Taehyung claims to recall includes making out in the corner of the living room. You’ll have to talk to him about that later. Right now, you’re horny, you’re here to touch his dick, you’re mad about your fucking dress again, and you’re easily able to disguise the sudden anger as confidence.

“You ‘see?’ Or you taste? Pabo,” you laugh, taking the initiative and fisting the collar of his shirt to bring him forward.

This time, it isn’t just his lips, but his tongue, asking for entry. You’re ready to deny him just to be a tease, but as you shift to a more comfortable position and your hand lands directly on his warm, bare thigh, you take in a sharp breath of surprise. He takes the opportunity to unabashedly slip his tongue into your mouth.

Groaning in what’s clearly fake displeasure, you immediately fight back, pressing your wet pink muscle harshly against his. A laugh builds in Taehyung’s chest, but you swallow the noise, pushing him down so that his back presses into the mattress.

“Oo, someone’s a dom,” he winks as you attempt to situate yourself- though you’re finding it difficult when your main focus is to continue avoiding his manly bits. From what you can tell, because you’ve never actually seen a penis outside of a health book or occasional (you’ll admit) porn video, he’s only half hard.

How long does it take for a guy to get it up? You want to ask, but you’re also pretty sure that Taehyung would tell you if you’re doing something wrong.

“Shut up,” you shove him back down as he tries to prop himself up on his elbows. Your gaze momentarily travels to his crotch and your nerves get the better of you, making you sit with your weight resting on your heels, a very unstable position considering you’re on a mattress.

He shoots you a boxy grin, “What? Do you want me to touch you a little more? Get you in the mood?”

“Is that just a ploy to touch my boobs?”

“Maybe.”

“You’re disgusting,” you laugh, but the outburst relaxes you, which seems to be what he’s aiming for. “This isn’t about getting me off. I just want to know what it’s like to…”

And suddenly, the words are lost again, caught in your throat behind a lump of apprehension.

“You know, baby, it’s not gonna bite you,” Taehyung’s tone is soft, encouraging as he reaches down, taking his cock in his hand. “I mean, I might, if you’re into that kind of thing. But it definitely won’t.”

“Tae.”

He gives you a sympathetic smile, “And again, if you don’t want to-”

You cut him off by extending your hand, offering, “I’m gonna close my eyes. You do it.”

Darkness. The smell of him, musky pine. And the feeling of warmth as his larger hand envelops yours. It takes a second or two, blood rushing and pulse drumming in your ears- and fuck you hope you aren’t trembling as hard as you think you are- but then you feel Taehyung’s other hand. His thumbs press firmly into your palm, moving outward in a ghost of a massage until your fingers relax and he’s able to gently close your hand around what you can only assume is his cock.

And all you can think is: why is the skin so soft?*

“Your hand is so much better than mine,” Taehyung sighs, tightening his grip on your fist, in turn, tightening yours on his dick. “Okay, baby. Goal achieved. You touched it a little. If you want to back out, now’s the time.”

Your eyelids flutter open as he, maybe subconsciously, begins to drag your fist slowly toward the tip. How can he be getting pleasure from this? Doesn’t it hurt when there’s no lubrication? Well, maybe not hurt… but like… chafe? Yet he doesn’t hesitate to loosen his grip momentarily to pull both of your hands back down. Heat floods to the pit of your stomach as your brain finally catches up to what your eyes are seeing.

You’re touching Taehyung.

No, not just touching, you’re pleasuring him. The thought sends a strange mix of confusion, platonic revulsion, and pure exhilaration through your stomach in the form of frantic metaphorical butterflies.

“Baby, I need an answer please.”

Your attention travels to Taehyung’s face, his expression contorting in what looks like a mix of slight pain and bliss. He’s clearly trying to maintain eye contact, but is mostly failing.

You clear your throat, replying, “This- this is fine. Just don’t expect me to suck it or anything.”

“Nope. No expectations here,” he feels around almost blindly with his free hand, the one he’s not using to help you pump. It only takes him a few seconds to deftly find the bottle of lube in the top drawer of his nightstand. “Alright. I guess I better start- wah- being a good coach again.”

You snort at his faux smugness, earning you a breathy laugh.

“So because I’m assuming you’d rather not have your spit or mine all over your hand, and the whole point of this is to actually touch my dick,” he pauses to take in a shaky breath, letting his head roll back against the mattress before forcing himself to continue explaining. “A sock won’t work. So I’m using lube. It just makes it more pleasant for everyone.”

The gel feels cold against your skin, but with Tae’s hand around yours and the constant movement, the sensation doesn’t last long.

“Every guy will feel a little different,” Taehyung grunts, chewing on his lip, now unquestionably fully hard. He drops his free hand to start palming his balls. “And every guy gets off to different things- fuck- but maybe we can work on that next time.”

“Next time?” you tease, independently tightening your grip for a moment.

His reaction is immediate, a whimper leaving his lips.

“And who ever said I’d finish getting you off?”

Where is this confidence coming from? Weren’t you a hesitant mess earlier? Your core feels like a furnace and a pleasant tightness has wound its way into your stomach, likely devouring your good decision making skills. Maybe you are just too aroused to care anymore. But like hell you’ll let him touch you or worse, give him the satisfaction of watching you touch yourself.

“Now that’s just cruel,” Taehyung’s voice becomes humorously unsteady. “I let you touch my dick and you leave me with blue balls.”

“You can just jerk off again.”

“Touche.”

You watch curiously as his face contorts in pleasure and can’t help but feel accomplished that you are the one causing that expression. Kind of. He’s doing a lot of the work. The same lewd, wet sounds from earlier begin to permeate through the room, each one resonating within your core. Maybe you should let him touch you. After all, what’s the harm? You’re already getting him off. Again, kind of.

The thought of his fingers buried deep inside you- or even better, his tongue- makes you a little bit braver.

“I can do it by myself,” you offer as one of his legs naturally bends, foot planting on the mattress, muscles tensing.

“You sure?”

Instead of answering him verbally, you slip your hand from his, causing his eyes to widen in shock and confusion. But you only do this to change the angle of your grip, running your palm along the underside of his cock.

Images from watching him masturbate earlier flood back into your memory, the movements of his wrist and fingers.

“Is this okay?” you ask as you circle the pad of your thumb lightly over the head of his length, disturbing the pearl of precum.

“A little harder- yeah okay that’s good,” Taehyung glares at you, collecting himself as his thighs visibly tense. “You’re sure you haven’t given someone a hand job before?”

“Why would I lie about that?”

“Because you just wanted to see me-”

Your arm stills momentarily as you lean forward to pull down the collar of his tee shirt and press an open mouthed kiss against the base of his neck, the same place he had started massaging earlier. Maybe your estimation of five minutes had been a little too generous. Then again, he also surpassed Jungkook’s guess of two.

Taehyung’s dick twitches and his release spills all over his thighs and the exposed part of his stomach where the tee shirt had ridden up.

*“Damn it,” he lets out a long, shaky breath as you gently continue pumping him until he pulls away, likely from sensitivity. “That’s embarrassing. Usually I last longer than that. I promise.”

“Aw babe, that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” you tease as you sit back on your heels, not so subtly wiping your lube covered, penis-cooties infected hand on his already partially soiled shirt.

Taehyung scoots over slightly to reach into his nightstand drawer, pulling out wet wipes to start cleaning himself off. He hands one to you as well, voice more raspy than normal, “I just kept thinking of Friday… when you moaned my name in your sleep and I guess I blew my load-”

“What.”

It’s less of a question than the auditory equivalent of a deadpan.

He looks confused momentarily, but then a boxy smile slides onto his lips, “Oh yeah, I heard that. Sorry, baby. Couldn’t help it. Were you dreaming about me?”

He heard.

You can feel the heat of the blush run to the tips of your ears, “I can’t fucking believe-”

“Don’t be mad,” he sits up, still grinning, tossing the wet wipe aside. “It was hot.”

Your response locks in your throat as he, in a single swift movement, reaches up, fists the collar of your shirt, and drags you forward to press a kiss to your lips. You aren’t sure why, but this makes you relax immediately, like flipping a switch.

You are practically leaning over him now, which makes it easy for him to shift only slightly and whisper huskily in your ear, “I can get you off now… if you want.”

It’s undeniable that this whole affair has left your panties a sticky mess. Your body wants you to take up Taehyung’s offer and your mind can easy justify it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

He seems to notice this and abruptly pushes you down, hoisting himself over you, straddling your lap.

“How do you want it, baby?” he gives you a reassuring smile as he begins playing with the hem of your shirt, softened dick resting against your crotch. “Do you want to come around my fingers? Or… maybe my tongue?”

The thought of his mouth against your folds sends a blinding amount of arousal shooting through your veins and another flood of heat straight to your core. If there had been any hope of salvaging your panties, it is now gone.

You try to suppress a shiver that runs pleasantly up your spine. You fail.

“Baby wants me to eat her out, hmm?” Taehyung teases, clearly having seen your reaction. “I can totally do that.”

He crawls backwards, gently pushing your knees apart so he can sit between them. Why hadn’t you worn a skirt today? Why did you wear jeans? What if he thinks you look ugly? What if he thinks you taste bad? Why are you letting him do this?

He hooks his fingers in the band of your pants and you close your eyes tightly, biting back the anxious anticipation to focus on the excitement.

This is Taehyung. The same Taehyung who casually jokes about jerking off, loves pressing his face in your breasts, and has no shame. The same Taehyung you’ve been friends with for over a decade. The same fucking Taehyung that you know you can feel comfortable around no matter what because he’s one of your best and closest friends- but also because he’s horny as shit all the time.

He knows what he’s doing. You should trust him.

A small sigh escapes your lips as you feel the material of your jeans start to move down your hips. Your arms reflexively cross over your chest and face in a subconscious attempt to hide yourself.

Whether or not he noticed, you’ll never know.

An obnoxiously loud knock causes you to sit up and diverts Taehyung’s attention vaguely toward the front door. He pouts, “That would be Jungkookie.”

You groan, knowing whatever window of opportunity had been presented is now closed, “Can’t we just let him squat outside for a while?”

“Jimin would kill us.”

You swallow your retort, suddenly wondering if Taehyung knows why Jimin would kill both of you for leaving Jungkook outside. Had they talked? Had Jimin told him? Even if he came out to Tae, maybe he hadn’t said anything about his crush on the maknae. So you stay quiet on the subject.

“Still, babe,” you whine. “I… I’m…”

Taehyung shoots you a sympathetic smile, “We’ll take care of your problem in a little bit, okay? Just go let the kid inside.”

“Why can’t you-?”

With a pointed yet amused look, he gestures down to his partial nakedness and smeared shirt.

“Fine,” you grumble, rolling off of the bed and shuffling away, trying to keep your thighs together to hide any signs of arousal, but also trying to desperately give your frustrated body some relief. It’s not working.

Adjusting your pants, you unlock and open the door, revealing a rather disgruntled looking Jungkook. He glares, practically spitting, “Took you long enough.”

You’ve never wanted to punch him more than in that moment, but somehow, you magically manage to restrain yourself.

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

EOPQ 14: New character, Yoongi. Thoughts?? AND/OR do you like the more realistic, less sensational smut?

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[thisdiscontentedwinter]

hunger - chapter 3

Hunger master post. 

Death and the wolf have walked in step for years now. Death wears Laura’s face, and smells of the fire. Laura lived for three days after the fire. Just three days. And then she died, and the alpha spark went with her. The wolf doesn’t know where it went. Maybe the moon holds it now. Sometimes the wolf looks at the moon and the moon whispers soft words of consolation to him. Sometimes he looks at the moon and it is cold and silent. He howls for the moon some nights, and some nights it listens. When he was a cub, the wolf believed the moon guided his paws through the woods at night, and lit the way home always. The moon saw everything, knew everything, and the moon loved the wolf and his pack. After the fire he turned his back on the moon so that he didn’t have to see her turn her back on him first.

Now, in the narrow, cold alleyway, the wolf stares up at the sky and wonders if the moon still knows him. He wonders if the moon still has a plan for him. He wonders if the moon brought him to Stiles for a reason.

Stiles wants to find home.

The wolf’s heart aches at the word.

Stiles wants to fix something, to make it right. The wolf knows that feeling as well. The frustration, the devastation. The hopelessness.

Death is silent tonight. Her face is pale and beautiful. More somber than Laura’s ever was in life.

Beside him, tucked in between the wolf’s back and the scant shelter the cardboard boxes provide, Stiles sleeps fitfully. He twitches in his sleep like a pup dreaming of rabbits. He makes odd little noises that prick the wolf’s ears, and digs his fingers into the wolf’s ruff for warmth.

All this time the wolf thought he needed to get his boy out into the woods so they could be safe, but perhaps that’s not what the moon intended at all when she led the wolf to Stiles.

Maybe Stiles is not a beginning, but an ending.

Whatever Stiles is here in Beacon Hills to do, then perhaps the wolf is meant to help him. Perhaps they’re not supposed to shake death after all, but to walk with her. Perhaps the moon will guide them both to a new home, in a place where it isn’t cold anymore, and there is no such thing as hunger and the world doesn’t smell like ashes.

Perhaps death’s embrace will be kind.

***

 Stiles watches the deputies who come to the diner with the same narrow-eyed stare the wolf reserves for rats and squirrels. And the wolf watches Stiles. Watches his narrow frame thrum with restless energy. Watches his mouth compress into a thin, angry line. Watches his long fingers twitch by the pocket he keeps his butterfly knife in. Stiles carries as much hate in him as he does misery, and the wolf whines in the back of his throat in sympathy.

It’s dangerous for Stiles to hold that much anger inside him. It pushes him to do reckless things, like the night he use his knife to scour the deputy’s car. The wolf knows that Stiles is still a boy. He knows that if the police catch him, they’ll send him away to some place the wolf cannot follow, but Stiles is drawn to the deputies, drawn out of the shadows toward the danger.

The wolf closes his teeth around the hem of Stiles’s hoodie and tugs him back into the alleyway each time, and watches closely while Stiles kicks at the gutter and swears, and flips his butterfly knife open and closer, open and closed, open and closed.

The wolf doesn’t know yet where his boy is leading them, but he knows that he is compelled to follow.

Death smiles sadly at him from the darkness. “Oh, Derek.”

 ***

 Scott said that he worked on Mondays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Sunday afternoons. The problem is, sometimes Stiles doesn’t have a good handle on what day it is. He can pick a weekday from a weekend, sure, but during the week he sometimes loses track. When every single day is like the day before, and when he sleeps fitfully whenever he can, it’s hard. He hopes it’s a Wednesday when he finally makes his way back to the animal clinic—a journey that takes at least thirty minutes on foot—and not still Tuesday. He pushes that worry aside though, and concentrates on finding his way there. He thinks he remembers it from when he was crying in the back of the stranger’s SUV, convinced the dog was dying, but he gets turned around once in the street behind the big CVS and the dog has to tug on his sleeve to get him going the right way again.

The dog is pretty fucking amazing.

He’s smart, and he listens attentively to all of Stiles’s rambling like he knows exactly what he’s saying. Like he understands.

Stiles wonders how much of that is projection. How much of it is his own loneliness and sheer desperation for a friend that’s coloring his perceptions of the dog. He doesn’t want to over-think it though. It might be a delusion at worst and a dumb fantasy at best, but Stiles would like to keep it alive, thanks. It’s pretty much all he’s got going for him right now.

It’s terrifying how much he doesn’t recognize Beacon Hills. It’s only been four years, but Stiles was twelve then, and he wasn’t roaming the streets. His world was the bus route from school to home again, with the Sherriff’s Department and the grocery store and the pizza place thrown in. He could probably find his way home from the Sheriff’s Department, except he’s been reluctant to get too close in case he’s recognized. He’s not sure how much he’s changed in four years, but if anyone did recognize him he’d be sent straight back into the system.

And he’s never doing that again.

They lied to him there.

They fucking lied.

It’s already dark by the time Stiles and the dog reach the animal clinic. That’s good. Stiles approaches the door. It’s locked, but there’s a light on inside. He knocks on the door and waits, his heart in his throat, until a figure darts out from behind the counter and peers through the window at him.

It’s Scott. He smiles when he sees Stiles, and opens the door. “Dude! You came back!”

Stiles shuffles his feet. “Um, yeah. I was hoping you could take a look at the dog?”

He nudges the dog with his knee to get him through the doorway. The dog huffs and moves inside.

Scott closes and locks the door behind them. He sees the way Stiles flinches when he turns the deadbolt. “Sorry. I have to keep it locked because there’s drugs on the premises.”

“S’okay,” Stiles says, and what sort of person is Scott McCall that he’s admitting that to the homeless kid he just let inside? For all Scott knows, Stiles might knock him on the head and steal the drugs.

He won’t. That’s not who he is. He pushes away the memory of the guy he tried to rob. That doesn’t count. If the guy hadn’t been trying to buy a blowjob of an obviously underage kid, Stiles never would have tried to mug him. It was practically a community service. The only thing Stiles regrets, apart from not getting any money, is that the dog got hurt. 

He shoves his hands into the pockets of the hoodie Scott gave him last time he was here, and tries to ignore the way his stomach growls. He didn’t actually come here to get the dog checked. The dog is fine, miraculously. Mostly he came because he’s hungry, and he really hopes Scott is in a generous mood and offers him something to eat before Stiles has to swallow the scant remains of his pride and ask.

Scott checks the dog over, running his fingers through his fur and manipulating each of his limbs. “Wow. He really seems okay. He’s eating okay? And, um, pooping okay?”

“Yeah.” He’s eating better than Stiles, since Stiles won’t touch the rats the dog catches.

“He’s still really thin,” Scott says, a hint of censure in his voice. “You should make sure you feed him more.”

Stiles’s stomach twists.

It seems to take Scott a moment to realize what he’s said. He straightens up, flushing. “Shit. Sorry. That was dumb.” He wrinkles his nose. “Hey, I’ve got my dinner out back. You want some?”

“Y-yeah,” Stiles manages. “Thanks.” And then he clears his throat. “Is… is there a computer I can use?”

 ***

 They leave the animal hospital an hour later. Stiles has ten dollars and a printed map of Beacon Hills in his pocket. They both have food in their bellies, courtesy of Scott’s packed dinner. When they’re back in the alley behind the diner, Stiles folds the ten dollar bill up and puts it in his shoe for safe keeping and then studies the map under the dull light cast by the flickering streetlamp on the corner.

The wolf watches curiously as Stiles traces an uncertain path from the centre of town out toward the outer edges, where the streets are further apart.

“I think my house is here,” he says. “Maple Street. I think this is the right block.”

The wolf rests his head on Stiles’s knee and blinks at the map.

He knows there are things Stiles isn’t telling him or, rather, things that Stiles isn’t saying. It’s a narrow distinction, but an important one. Stiles isn’t hiding things from him. He’s not practicing any deceit. He just doesn’t know that the wolf can understand. He doesn’t know that the wolf has questions.

The wolf’s boy is clever, but he’s not that clever.

Stiles moves his finger along the map, tracing routes that the wolf blinks at lazily.

“Here’s my old elementary school,” Stiles says, and sighs. He drops his hand briefly to the wolf’s head and gives him scritches behind his ears. “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how it all went so wrong.”

The wolf rumbles.

“I miss my mom and dad,” Stiles whispers, his voice raw. Tears shine in his eyes. He blinks, and one slides down his cheek. He doesn’t bother rub it away. 

The wolf whines and presses closer to his boy. They’re pack, but a pack of two is very small and very lonely still.

“It’s not fair,” Stiles says, but there’s no childish petulance in his tone. No complaint. His word are just a simple statement of fact, of a truth that the wolf knows bone deep already.

It’s not fair.

Here they are living in a cardboard shelter in an alleyway, a pack of two, and it’s not fair.

Stiles sniffs and looks at the map again. “Here’s the park at the end of our street. There’s nothing much there, only a slide and a swing set, but my mom used to take me when I was little. We’d pack a picnic lunch and everything, even though it was only five minutes from home.”

The wolf likes the way his boy’s mouth curves in a smile. It seems so slight, so fragile, as beautiful and ephemeral as a shooting star in the night sky. 

Make a wish, Derek, his mom used to say. Make a wish.

The wolf closes his eyes and makes a wish on his boy’s smile.

Stay with me.

Stiles huddles closer to the wolf for warmth. His finger traces out another route on the map, this time slipping away from the grid of the streets in the town, and following the curve of a road through a block of green.

When Stiles speaks, his voice is quiet and solemn.

“And this,” he says, a shiver running through him that reverberates through the wolf as well, “is where the Hale house burned down and all those people died.”

The wolf’s heart howls, and he skitters away from his boy and makes a break for the entrance to the alley.

“Wait!” his boy calls. “Come back, please!”

He sounds as though his heart is breaking too.

The wolf runs.

[sceawere]

an post | alfie solomons

for anons who wanted worker!reader, bigsister!reader, and domestic!alfie

i hope i did you proud

“It’s perfect for you, I promise”

“I don’t know, Alice, I have the girls to think about”

“I know, but think about it. If you’re going to live in gang territory, you can pick a trench and have people to back you up or you can sit in no man’s land and hope the shit misses you on the way past”

“That’s very romantic, I’ll tell Ollie you said that”

“Oh piss off, I got with Ollie before I knew all his shit. You have that advantage – you’d know what you’re walking into”

“When I get with Ollie?” you teased back at her, trying to avoid the serious part of this conversation. You’d had enough of serious the last few weeks.

She lifted her eyebrow at you and tilted her head.

“You need a job, I have a job for you”

“As a gangster’s personal secretary, yeah it’s a dream career”

“I don’t know, there are benefits”

“Such as…?”

“He’s a dish, if I’m being honest”

“Alice!”

“I’m just saying, if I’d seen him first, maybe…”

“I’m definitely telling Ollie you said you wanted to fuck his boss, you know that right? That poor puppy dog of a boy, you’re gonna tear him apart one day”

“You have no idea”

“Oh, Jesus, Alice, stop there”

“No, you wanna know”

“I don’t, I do not”

“He does this thing…”

“Who does?”

“Sarah, out!”

Alice broke down laughing, dropping the box she was ‘helping’ to unpack (you’d seen her open the lid and do little else) and walked over to grab your little sister into a big hug.

“Oh, little Star, how are you?”

Sarah gave her a smile back and played with her freshly curled hair.

“I’m good, your hair is nice”

“Oh, thank you! You look as scuffed as ever” She picked up your sisters hands, running the pads of her fingers over the bruised knuckles there.

“A girl at school is teaching me to fight”

“Good skill to have”

“That’s what I said”

Alice turned to you with a smile, pulling Sarah to her side.

“Star, tell your sister to trust me”

“What are you doing now?”

“I am seeking her gainful employment”

“She’s lying to you, Star”

Ellie, the middle girl came in with the baby Martha on her hip, crying and passing her to you.

“Oh baby, come here, what happened?”

You shushed at her, rocking her little body against you in the small room.

“I think she wants to go home”

“Well, this is home now, sweetheart”

Ellie gave you a look and went over to cuddle with Sarah and Alice. Alice had been your friend since school and stood by you through the hell of the last few years. First your brother had died in the war, then your father passed a year ago. You’d managed off his2 war pension and their savings for that time but when you lost your job at the offices it all went to hell very quickly and you hadn’t been able to stay in the house you’d all grown up in. You were the oldest, now that your brother was gone, and double Sarah’s age. Everyone just assumed you were a poor widow with her children, rather than an orphan and her sisters.

You’d manage to scrape together enough for the first month’s rent on a flat big enough, just about, for the 4 of you, and enough money to keep you fed in that time too. But you needed to start working again. And Alice had come over with a promise to help you get situated and also of an exciting new opportunity her boyfriend had told her about.

“Think about it, please” she whispered to you as you hovered in the hallway outside the flat, and you’d hugged her and given her a promise to not discount it immediately.

-

15 applications later and nearing closer to the end of the month with every day, you found yourself trying not to slip down stone steps into the basement of a…bakery. You’d known for years that your friend’s boyfriend wasn’t on the up and up but you’d never actually been this close to the reality of it. You’d always had plausible deniability, except that time early on when Alice had climbed up your front step with a bottle of rum under each arm screaming ‘delivery from the kind bakers at the Aerated Bread Company!’.

Men were rolling barrels around and giving you side glances as you tried your best to keep your head high and marched forward towards the office at the end of the way. Ollie spotted you and walked over, hugging your side and guiding you over.

“He’s a puppy underneath, I promise”

“Oh, well that bodes well”

“Just…be you”

“What in the good Lord’s name does that even mean, Ollie?”

He gave you a wink as he opened the door and showed you in.

“Right, another one?”

“Last one, boss, I promise”

“Last one. Name?”

You stuttered for a moment, having been looking around the room while the two men talked and having to quickly whip you head back around to reply.

“Why is he so sure you’re right for this?”

“I’m his girlfriend’s best friend, he knows me pretty well”

“You’re his-wait what?”

He looked up at you for the first time and scowled at you for a moment, then relaxed his face, then scowled again.

Fuck, Alice was right, he’s hot.

“Ollie, you bringing me girlfriend’s friends now?”

“She’s good, boss, she worked at that factory up town, the government one”

He hummed, turning back to you and staring you down. You assumed he was trying to intimidate you, and it was working a little but probably not as much as he wished.

“You got a piece of paper for me or something?”

He lifted his hand to wave you over, holding it out for you to put your references in, and he looked you over again before he studied it.

“Why ain’t you working for the big government factory up town anymore?”

“I punched my boss”

He left his glasses half perched on his nose to look up at you and you saw Ollie smile out the corner of your eye. You pulled the corners of your lips up – a ‘yeah, it happened’ grimace.

“You punched your boss?”

“And…his boss as well actually. I think he was a minister for something?”

He dropped the glasses and flopped back in the chair, smiling wide.

“Why the fuck did you do that, love?”

“Cos I found out he was putting hands on the girls on the floor”

“What, the minister?”

“No, my boss. He knew they couldn’t stand up to him without risking their job, the prick”

“What did the minister do then?”

“He didn’t stand up to him, either”

“So you did?”

You nodded to him, suddenly feeling very self-conscious under his gaze. He threw the paper back onto the desk and it floated over to you.

“Yeah, she’ll do”

-

You settled in surprisingly quick to the job of personal secretary to a gangster boss. Most of the business he had you handle was the legitimate stuff, or at least stuff that appeared that way. As time went on, he trusted you more, and lowered you gently into the riskier stuff.

The pay was good, nearly double your last wage, and you guessed it was a form of combat pay. That and the boon of the private sector, you joked to Alice. She picked the girls up from school for you when you had to work late and you formed a steady rhythm to your life, despite the erratic environment.

And you were good at your job. Alfie had parked a desk outside his office for you, next to Ollie’s space, and you spent the days flitting in and out from the floor to the office. The men treated you with respect and brought you lunch when you couldn’t find time. Some of their kids went to school with your sisters and you ended up forming an odd little community here, in the shadows of the basement of the Aerated Bread Company.

“ABC? Honestly?” You’d quirked an eyebrow at Alfie when he leant out his office window and handed you your new business cards.

“We came up with it when we young and drunk, din’t we? You try founding a bloody empire” he’d muttered as he backed his way through and slammed the glass shut again.

You smiled to yourself, staring at the card and biting your lip.

“Chief Secretary for the Aerated Bread Company”

-

The break came when you were trying to wrangle the girls into bed one night, your patience draining faster that was little energy was left over from work. You had a very giggly toddler strewn over one shoulder when there was an insistent knock on the front door. The sound made you start, and the girls laughter faded away as the rhythm beat more frantically only a moment later.

“Sarah, get everyone under the big bed, go on”

You helped the older girl round the smaller ones up and cast an eye back to check they were safely tucked under the frame before you checked the peep hole.

“Holy fucking shit”

You sputtered with the locks, hands uncertain, and wrenched the door open.

“Ollie, what the fuck?”

He didn’t speak, just charged into the close hallway, half dragging Alfie with him. He had his arm wrapped over his shoulder, Ollie supporting most of his weight, and there was a fall of blood sneaking down his shirt from the contact.

“Lock the door”

You didn’t even check the hallway, afraid someone might be right behind them, and secured the locks again. He was slowly dropping Alfie onto the sofa, groaning with the pain, flopping about like a rag doll.

“Ollie, what the fuck is happening?”

“I need to patch him up, this was the closest place”

He was furiously working, pulling off Alfie’s jacket and waistcoat, bundling the latter up to use as a compress, already too soaked with blood to be worth trying to save.

“He needs a doctor – you need to call a proper doctor”

“I can’t”

“Oh, like you don’t have a doctor on the payroll”

“We do but…they shot him too. Looks like we’re hiring”

“Oh for fuck’s sake”

You dragged your hands up and over your face, blocking out your eyes for a second to think.

“Alright, move”

You threw yourself down in front of Alfie, barging Ollie out of the way and taking over the pressure on the wound.

“Go put some water on a boil, there’s a big pot under the sink, you need to fill it right up”

He nodded and jumped up, stuttering in mid-air.

“Uh, where-“

“That room there”, you nodded in the direction of the kitchen.

You lifted the makeshift compress slightly, rolling back the edge to see the damage and saw a slice across his abdomen through the tear in his shirt. The bullet had ripped across his front and side and that’s what was causing it to bleed so badly, rather than being a deep wound.

“Ollie, there’s clean cloths in the blue drawer – bring them all for me please”

He ran back in a moment later, cloth in hand, and dumped them on the sofa next to Alfie. He went back to check on the water and left you alone with Alfie again. You were suddenly aware of the fact that you were sat only in your vest and knickers and thanked your stars you’d worn your best pair to cheer yourself up.

“What d’ya think doc?”

Alfie’s voice was weaker than you’d ever heard it, tired and gruff as usual, but fainter. You jumped, not even realising he’d been awake the whole time, thinking he’d long since passed out. When his eyes set against yours they were bright as ever but there was pain behind them.

“It’s not as bad as the bleeding looks – it’s shallow so it’s bleeding more, like grazing your knee, you know? It takes ages to stop when you rip the surface”

“Well that’s good”

“No, not really. There’s no bullet to dig out which is a saving grace but if I can’t get you clotting soon you’re fucked”

“Oh, lovely, thanks darlin’”

You set about folding up a new cloth with one hand, the other keeping the pressure on, then performing a quick switch, rolling the new into the space of the old as quick as possible.

“Sorry, did you want me to lie? Thought you paid me to be honest”

“Your bedside manner is fucking atrocious, love”

“Yeah well it’s not my manners that are going to keep you alive so stuff it”

He groaned as you put another bout of pressure on the wound and you shushed quietly to him, doing your best to soothe him but not achieving much.

“I only have aspirin and I can’t give you that”

“The fuck not?”

“It thins your blood out, what you lose in pain you’ll also lose in blood, and you can’t risk that now”

“Fucking hell”

He dropped his head back against the headrest and took deep, ragged breaths.

“Tell me you have booze at least”

“I do actually but you can’t have any”

“Why not?”

“Because it thins you-“

“Thins my blood, yeah, lovely”

“Ollie! Whisky bottle, top shelf!”

He rolled his head back up to scowl at you and the pale tint to his skin sent a rush of worry through you.

“It’s for cleaning you up, nice and sterile”

You shrugged back at him, taking the bottle from Ollie, uncorking it with your teeth, and taking a deep swig.

“Uh- that’s-“

“Shut up, both of you, I needed that”

You dropped the bottle to the floor by your knee and pushed yourself up to hover over Alfie.

“Right, Ollie, I need his shirt off”

“Steady on darlin’, I’d love to but I’m not in the best of health and Ollie here, he’s only a boy ain’t he?”

You laughed despite yourself, breathy with a head shake, while Ollie set to work giving you better access. You placed a splayed hand against his chest to support him as he leaned forward and found yourself a little closer than comfortable. He’s bleeding out in front of you, can you calm it down? When his head fell to your shoulder, nuzzling into the skin there with the pain, you shushed into his ear and nuzzled back, the only relief you could give to him.

“Lean back, let me get you fixed up”

Ollie retrieved the boiling pot and after a moment of stuttering about, kicked the rug over to protect the floor from the heat.

Rolling back the cloth slightly, you noticed the bleeding was a lot slower now, the pressure doing its work, his body responding. You dropped the sodden cloth to the floor next to the pot and collected a new one, draping it over the edge to soak, before splashing your hands with the whisky to clean them off. You set to wiping at the wound with the cloth, drawing away the blood to better assess the trouble.

“Oh, that’s even better than I thought, might not even scar”

You noticed a few little scars dotted around the plain of his chest, the inside of his arms. You wondered how many times he’d been dragged into the closest room and stuck back together.

“Here, take-over”

“Where are you going?”

“I need to get some stuff to stitch him up with, just keep cleaning the blood off”

You moved out of the room and headed towards the bedroom, checking yourself for blood before entering. You dropped to the floor and reached for the girls.

“Come on, it’s ok”

They crawled out to you and you picked the little one up and held her close while the others sat on the bed.

“I heard you swear”

“Yeah, Sarah, I’m sorry, don’t you repeat that”

“Are they still here? Is it bad men?”

You stuttered over the answer in your head while you dug out your sewing kit. The obvious answer was yes.

“They’re not going to hurt us, sweetie. They’re…my friends. You remember Alice’s Ollie? They just need some help”

It wasn’t a lie and it avoided speaking to their morality. The perfect answer.

“Just stay in here with each other, alright? Try to get some sleep”

You passed Martha over and made sure to shut the door tight behind you, not wanting your sisters to stumble out and see a bleeding gangster strewn about their living room.

“Who were you talking to?”

Alfie looked on guard, trying to work out if there was someone else in the flat that could pose a threat.

“Just my sisters. They’re 10, 7, and 4, so maybe don’t shoot them”

He settled at your sarcastic tone and let out a gruff laugh, then winced. You set the box on the table and pulled out a smaller container from inside.

“I have some stuff left over from when my brother used to box, proper stuff, he won’t get an infection or nothing”

“You have a brother?”

“Had”

You concentrated on sterilising the needle and threading it up, avoiding the conversation entirely.

“You can have a tiny bit of whisky, now”

You passed him the bottle over, pulling it back from his grasp at the last second.

“Notice I said ‘a tiny bit’ and not ‘one drink’ so don’t go pulling any shit like downing it in one go and telling me it doesn’t break the rule, yeah?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, grabbing at the bottle again.

He was a good patient overall, barely wincing while you stitched him up. You dumped everything in the hot pot and told Ollie to dump it all in the kitchen, you’d sort it in the morning.

“You need to sleep here tonight. Can’t have you stumbling around half bled, ripping out your stitches”

You braced yourself for an argument but Alfie just slumped down onto his good side, too out of it to bother. Ollie fell back into a chair next to him and nodded at you.

“Thanks”

“Yeah, sure thing. I’ll grab you some blankets and that”

When you got back into the bedroom the girls were huddled under the covers, whispering to each other and you quickly swapped out your clothes in the shadows so they wouldn’t see the flecks of blood that had ended up making their way to you. Crawling in, you made sure to lie between them and the door, between them and the wounded gangster sleeping on your couch. You sent a prayer up for nothing in particular, your brain so frazzled and fatigued. You just wanted peace for the night.

-

“-and she did. So I said I might want to be a nurse someday, too”

“You’d be good at it”

Alfie was in the strange space between sleep and consciousness and he swore the bullet had taken his sense because he heard Ollie chatting with a little girl. A cool cloth was draped across his head and someone was poking at his wrist.

“Fuck’s happening?”

He tried to drag himself up on the sofa but a weight pushed him back down and when he opened his eyes they met with the wide ones of a small girl.

“Don’t let my sister hear you swear. And don’t get up, you’ll die”

“He won’t die, Sarah”

“He’ll die if I say he will, Ollie. I’m his nurse”

Alfie looked towards Ollie with an expression that repeated his question without the need for words.

“She had to run out for some supplies and stuff, this is her little sister”

“I’m Sarah. I’m your nurse”

Alfie pulled the cloth from his forehead and chucked it at Ollie with his good arm, turning to shake Sarah’s hand.

“Lovely to meet ya, darlin’”

Sarah preened a little at that and her eyes lit up.

“Oh, hello”

“Could you go get me some water please, sweet, only I feel like I’ve swallowed that cloth right there, the one I just threw at Ollie”

She giggled to herself and ran off out of his sight and he turned to Ollie with fire in his eyes.

“You let her go off alone?”

“I sent guys with her, I didn’t think it was a good idea to leave you here with nothing but children to watch out for you”

“You should have left the guys here and gone for her”

“She wouldn’t let me, I don’t think she trusted strangers around the girls”

“But, she left the kids here with us?”

“Yeah, she struggled with that one. She looks after them by herself Alfie. Three of them. Alice does what she can but…”

Sarah was back with the water now, hovering in the doorway with a glass in hand.

“Are you done whispering or should I come back?”

Alfie waved a hand and lay back.

“Where’s the rest of ya?”

“Ellie has homework and Martha is napping”, she dropped the glass into his hand and set him with strong eyes, “which is what you need to do once you’ve drank that”

“Bloody hell, you my nurse or my jailor?”

“Oi!”

“Yeah, you’re sisters” he handed her the glass back and scowled at her sudden beaming smile, turning his back to stare at the couch and try to sleep once more. His side ached and he felt weaker than he wanted to admit. He drifted back in and out, listening to them shuffling about the house, chattering away. He woke up at one point to Ollie explaining a sum to one of them and wondered how exactly he’d found himself here. He was a boss, he ran an empire. And here he was, camped out on a sofa, in his secretary’s flat, listening to his right hand man explain numbers to children.

-

They ended up sleeping on your sofa for a few more days, until Alfie was strong enough and calm enough that you trusted him not to do something stupid and end up needing serious care.

You fell into an odd rhythm together, though you had to set some rules after the first day when you’d woke up to an empty bed and found the girls stood around the sleeping men, daring each other to poke one of them awake.

Sarah had taken to acting as Alfie’s full time nurse, bringing him glasses of water and fresh bandages, watching intently as you swapped them out and taught her how to spot the signs of infection. He was doing well but the blood loss had taken its toll and he ended up sleeping a lot.

You got back from ferrying the girls to school one day to find the flat empty, nothing but the bleached cloths drying on the radiator to prove they were ever there.

-

Alfie didn’t come back to the bakery for another week so you and Ollie ended up playing defence, trying to hold down the fort and bat away the rumours that Alfie was dead. People were nervous. As much chaos as Alfie caused, he kept everything running smoothly too, sometimes the only thing controlling very sensitive deals and keeping dangerous people in line. His absence was noted. By people who weren’t nervous too, by people who were excited. Some low level sleaze-ball had the gall to turn up at the bakery and practically start measuring for drapes. He’d leered at you and Ollie had gone for him before you could when he’d slapped your arse on the way out.

You spotted the headline the next day while you jogged past the newsagent’s in the rain. It made you turn back and stand in the open, staring, until you felt it start to soak through your coat.

“Gangster found on steps of his home, throat slit, hand missing”

-

You threw your coat over some old barrels to dry, though down here in the damp of the basement you doubted much would shift. You were so busy wringing your hair out you didn’t notice Alfie was sat at his desk until you were already in the office.

“Mornin’”

“Mr Solomons! Christ alive, what are you doing here?”

“I’m back, aren’t I?”

“Should you be?”

“Yeah, yeah, had a proper doctor take my stitches out, he said you did a good job. Anyway I hired ‘em so I won’t be bothering you or the girls anymore”

“Oh…alright”

“Yeah”

You stood staring at each other, neither really knowing what to say.

“I have the Dickinson papers to sort out, so…”

“I, uh, I moved your desk in here, I hope that’s alright”, he scratched at his beard, pointing to the desk at the back of the room, “well I had it moved because to be honest my fucking side still feels like someone tried to make mince out of it. Ollie moved it. But…saves me screaming for you half the time, don’t it?”

You nodded along, looking between him and the desk.

“Yeah, that’s fine with me”

“Right…papers”

“Yeah, yeah, papers”

You worked in silence together for a while, stealing glances. A question burned at the back of your mind but never quite made it to your lips, until he finished a phone call and you jumped on your chance.

“Did you kill that guy?”

“What, the one who shot me? Yeah he’s long gone, love”

He waved off with his free hand, still concentrating on the numbers he was tallying.

“No, the creep who tried to stage the takeover?”

“Oh him…”

“Yeah, only someone…there seemed to be a statement in there and I thought-“

“You don’t put your hands on ladies, do you? My mother made sure to teach me that bloody early, his should’ve too”

“Oh…well”

“Anyway, can’t have men coming in here sniffing round my grave before I’m already in it, sends a bad message”

“Thank you”

He hummed in his throat.

“Ollie said you helped sort things out while I was down, I appreciate that”

“Just doing my job, Mr Solomons”

-

He sent cars with you to pick the girls up from school that afternoon - ‘just in case anyone’s still sniffing around, yeah?’ – And half the street stared as you waited at the gates with two men in suits. The girls acted like princesses, waving to everyone as they passed, and you slapped their hands down with a giggle.

When you got home there was an envelope in your mail locker, blank except for a scrawl on the back flap.

“The doc said you did a good job”

Inside were a stacks of cash, crisp new notes, bundled together in tens.

-

“I can’t take this”

You threw the envelope onto his desk the next morning, crumpled from where you’d been playing with it so long, trying to work out what to do with it.

“Why not?”

“It’s…it’s nearly 6 months wages, Alfie, what the hell made you think I would?!”

“Well, it were either that, or I buy a new house for ya, so I thought…”

“What the fuck are you talking about?!”

You’d long since lost your reminder to be professional and started acting purely on impulse, the whole situation too messed up for you to pretend it was normal.

“You can’t stay in the flat, not after I was there”

“What-“

“There’s been people sniffing around. I put men on your street when I was there and they never left. People have been sniffing around, people they recognise. People who work for people I’m not friends with, and they think you’re mine now, don’t they? I was in there nearly a week, that’s suspicious. So you have to make yourself scarce with the girls”

You let the information stew in your for a few moments, dropping into the chair in front of his desk.

“They would have never got near the girls, I made sure of it”

“The new guy who lives under me, he’s…”

“One of mine, yeah”

“Fucking hell”

You bent over, head to knees, hands in hair.

“They would have never got near the girls”

His tone was soft and you lifted yourself up to look at him, wiping tears away from the edge of your eyes.

“I made sure of it”

He nodded at you and you nodded back. He pulled himself up from the chair and walked round to perch on the edge of the desk in front of you.

“Your dad’s gone, yeah?”

“Yeah, and my brother”

“What about your mum?”

“She…” you shook your head, “I don’t know where the hell she is. Haven’t in years”

“Right, just you and the girls then”

“Are we going to have to leave? London?”

“No, I don’t want you too far just in case, we’ll find you somewhere in my territory”

You looked up at him, looking down at you, and pleaded to him with your eyes.

“It’s just been me and them for a while and I…”

“I’ll keep you safe”

Neither of you said the next part out loud but you could tell by each other’s expressions what you were thinking.

It was me who put you in danger.

-

The girls felt like all their numbers had come at once as they shuffled into the new house. A whole house, to themselves. Not a room on a floor. No more of the long, dark corridors, and paper thin walls. They ran about, from room to room, Ellie screaming her way up the steps and off out of site.

Martha was perched on Alfie’s hip as he gave you both a personal tour of the place and at some point you broke down crying in the kitchen.

“No…no sweetheart, that’s. Right, that’s not productive, though is it so…” he huffed about as you sobbed into your hand, not sure what the hell to do with himself.

Sarah ran in holding hands with Ellie, smiling wildly until she saw you crying, moving over to you and throwing her arms around you.

“She’s just happy, Mr Solomons. This is big for us”

“Right, well. That’s lovely”

“Thank you, Alfie”

It was the first time you’d used only his first name and he shuffled Martha on his hip.

“Well, thanks for saving my life as well, I never said that” he pointed at Sarah “and you as well for what you did”

“You’re welcome, Mr Solomons”

“Well, you can call me Alfie too, while we’re here. It’s well into my territory so I can pop in and out, no bother”

“Oh, you can, can you?”

“Oh fine, I’ll piss off then, you buy a lady a house and-“

“Don’t swear in front of the kids!”

Martha laughed and he turned to scowl at her.

“Are you laughing at the swearing or me getting told off? Hmm?”

“Both”

“Both, right, getting it from all sides, fuc-“

“Oi!”

It was Ellie’s turn to scold him and everyone’s turn to laugh at his expression afterwards as he scratch his forehead and looked off through the window to the courtyard, muttering to himself.

“Why do I bother? House full of bloody women, you’re an idiot Alfie”

-

He stayed for tea that night, and came again the next, and eventually you ended up seeing more of him at home than you did at work. He was softer here, he wasn’t the boss – the girls were. It was his sanctuary and as the days passed and the seasons turned you felt the space around you change too. Smiles over dinner tables, fingers flitting together over paperwork, silences that stretched a little too long.

One night he’d had enough of playing coy teenagers and picked you up onto the desk, pouring out 6 months’ worth of swallowed kisses. You had his shirt halfway over his head when Ollie threw open the door and it was all broken.

There was a knock at the door that night and you wondered who it could be. Ollie and Alfie both had keys, Alice would just borrow yours or Ollie’s, and no-one else was supposed to know you lived here. You’d pulled out the gun Alfie’s had left in the drawer by the door and kept it to your side while you checked out the peep hole. Alfie was there, shuffling in the stoop, and you pulled the door open.

“What the fuck are you knocking for, you never knock?”

“I thought I-bloody hell, love, you gonna shoot me? If the kiss were that bad you could have just told me”

“What are you-“You put the gun back in the drawer and moved to let him inside “get in the house, Alfie”

“Do you want me in though?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Because today changed things a bit, didn’t it, and if I come in now, it’s not as your boss”

You messed with your hair a little, nervous hands, and leaned against the doorframe, keeping your eyes on the street, rather than on him.

“What would it be as?”

“Well…”He had his own nervous hands, scratching at his nose, at his beard, pushing his hat brim up and down “I was hoping we were gonna fuck, to be honest love, and I can say that because I’m not in the house see, and so I can swear how I like”

You broke down laughing, him smiling along with you.

“Never mind it’s my bloody house in the first place”

“Uh…our house”

“Oh, right, she’s moving me in already, bloody hell, we’re doing happy families now”

“I meant me and the girls, you twit”

“Yeah, you and the girls, right”

“Alfie…get in the house”

“In the house?”

You leaned forward, grabbing at the front of his shirt, and joining your lips, stepping back and pulling him with you in one motion.

“Our house” you mumbled against his lips as he kicked the door shut behind you.