#but like. red light at the bowling alley fucking sends

[chaseadrian]

vandalism in the closet

Rushing off to Atlantic City to elope with Eddie might be a stupid idea, it might be the best idea you've ever had. But if there's one thing you do know, it's that rockstars know how to trash hotel rooms.

pairing: eddie munson x f!reader tags: 18+ ONLY, explicit, established relationship, elopement, dom!eddie, also soft!eddie, fluff, post-canon, like circa 1989 or something word count: 4k+ a/n: if you listen to She Rides by Danzig right as you start reading, by the time Eddie starts singing lyrics the song should also be around the same lyrics. fun thing i noticed lol but uhh yeah this one is minimally edited so feedback and comments are appreciated as always. likes are great, reblogs are better. 

When you and Eddie came up with the idea in the middle of the night, you thought you’d change your minds somewhere along the way. 

Hopped up on the adrenaline of his cock buried inside you, his hair dripping sweat onto your shoulders, you thought the cold swipe of a wet washcloth on your stomach would change things. 

You thought when your heart rate slowed you’d change your answer, he’d tell you nevermind, you’d both just give up the idea. 

When he slipped one of his rings on your finger—the corroded steel band and webbed howlite crystal just a tad too big for your ring finger—you still didn’t think it was real. 

When you hopped in the van, when you loaded up with snacks at the corner store, every pit stop and refuel, every passing state line—commemorated with grainy photos from your polaroid. 

Every memory you’d made in the eleven hours it took to get to Atlantic City, none of it felt real. 

Sure, you could’ve gone down to the courthouse, could’ve celebrated at the Hawkins motel, but Eddie wouldn’t stand for it. 

“Only the best of the worst for my girl,” He’d said with a wink, with your hand pressed against his lips. 

And though the Elvis impersonator was booked, Cher ended up being a better stand in. Good enough for you. Good enough for two idiots who found themselves wearing makeshift rings and rushing off to the nearest high rise hotel. 

You were against the wall before the door closed, Eddie’s mouth on your neck, towering over you, his hand on the wall above your head. 

“Why don’t you go get all pretty on the bed for me?” His voice had you shuddering, and you pulled him in by the back of the neck for a filthy kiss. Your tongue pushed into his mouth, the slick of his lips sliding against yours, a faint growl sitting in his throat. 

You ducked under his arm, and his hand caught you with a firm smack on the ass before you rushed over to the bed, slipping out of the flowing white dress you’d pulled from the back of your closet and thrown on. 

Shucking off his jacket, he followed you into the suite, diverting to turn on the radio. He turned the dial, finding Danzig somewhere between poppy Madonna and the immortal Sinatra. Cranking the volume up as loud as it would go, he pointed at you and mouthed the lyrics, shaking his head as he stepped towards you. 

You leaned back on your elbows, melting into the mattress as his figure covered you. The giddiness in your chest had you laughing, but as he whispered the lyrics, one of his large, calloused hands dragging down your body, you choked on your laughter.

She slides, Down inside your skin

Falling to his knees on the carpet, he put a hand on either thigh, spreading you slowly, letting his head fall back, shaking his hair with the words. 

In time, She will make you scream

He buried his head between your legs, sucking a wet patch into your underwear, hands on the insides of your thighs stretching you open as wide as you could stretch. Wider, still. 

You lost all sense in that moment, before his tongue had even touched your cunt, before he’d snapped your underwear away from you with his teeth, sticking them in his back pocket before diving back into your folds. The music was deafening, thrumming in your chest, making you ache for him. 

Without asking, you knotted your fingers in his hair, pushing him deeper against you, burying his face between your legs. 

Eddie was too amped up to care, the coarse black denim of his jeans straining his hard cock. He brought a hand down to his bulge, groaning into your pussy as he palmed himself, as he unzipped, tugging on his cock until he was starting to lose focus on making you scream. 

Letting go of his cock, he resituated his hand on your body, sliding over your bare tits, his thumb smoothing over the hard nipple, squeezing nail marks into your skin. 

His tongue swiped up your slit, flat against the wall of nerves, head tilting left and right, coating your cunt with his slick spit. 

You slammed your head back into the bed, over and over as his tongue worked your clit, fuckfuckfuckfuck and please, fuck right there, pleasepleaseplease and all manner of noises almost completely silenced by the thrashing music from the radio. 

Eddie could hear you, though, could feel your voice from your chest, from the way your tits bounced with each jerk of your body, each spasm of nerves, from your head smashing into the mattress, desperate for release. Hot air hit your cunt as Eddie laughed, his lips pressing into your inner thighs, licking away the beads of sweat, skin flushed from the way his hair smothered your skin.

You combed your fingers through his hair, waiting for his tongue to come back, waiting for his face in your pussy, waiting for the release you thought you were promised. You whined and lifted your head up, watching as he stared at you from beneath furrowed brows, tongue skating up your abdomen, between your tits. 

Whining again, your hands sliding over your thighs, just grazing the slick skin of your cunt before Eddie shook his head at you, and you snapped them back, curling them up between your bodies. 

He brought his lips close to your ear, almost a whisper with the music blaring, and you felt the tip of his cock prod at your hole. 

“What’re you whining for, huh?” He teased his tongue on the outer cup of your ear, “You don’t think I’d take care of my wife.” 

Not stated with fondness, but with possession, he slammed his dick into you, and you inhaled a sharp gasp of air. 

“Cause that’s what you are now, isn’t that right?” Fucking his cock into you, he slid a hand behind your head, nails against your scalp, tearing at your hair, tugging until it hurt. 

“You gonna be my good little housewife? Let me fuck you against the stove? Suck me off when I come home from work?” He threw his head back and cackled, closing his eyes and ramming into you harsher and faster until you were losing your breath. 

The rough hilt of his pelvis against your clit, the bursting pressure of his cock in your cunt, he had already worked you enough with his mouth and before you could stop it you were spasming and crying, clawing at the comforter on the bed, framing your bodies with the plush linen. 

Eddie came not long after, hot bursts of cum seeping from the seams of your cunt, his cock pumping the orgasm out from your body, belt buckle clinking with every thrust. He kept fucking you without letting you cool down, but you were high on the night, high on Eddie, and the blunt you’d smoked on the way to the hotel room helped too. 

Tugging his shirt off, he ducked back down to your mouth, squeezing your jaw with his hand and sticking his tongue between your lips. 

“If you think I’m gonna give you a break, you’re dead fucking wrong.” 

Except, he eventually did. 

You both thanked the universe for all-night room service, a white rolling cart of fries and crab and whatever your blissed out minds could think of was there twenty minutes from the moment Eddie put the phone down. 

White robes adorning your slicked up bodies, you sat on the floor of the suite’s living space, shoveling food into your mouths. 

He threw a fry at you, and you caught it between your teeth, beaming at the applause he gave you. 

You took a swig of the champagne he’d ordered, cringing at the taste. Eddie smiled, exhaling a laugh from his nostrils. 

“Hey you uh,” He started, reaching over to play with the cuff of your robe, “You think we made the right decision?” 

Shrugging, you brought his hand to your lips, kissing the knuckles, “I dunno, but like, do we ever know?” 

He looked down and nodded, swallowing hard, shaking himself out of his worry, “Guess not.” 

You squeezed his hand, interlacing your fingers and swinging them in an arc, back and forth in the air, staring at the ring on your hand, the rings on his. The way they slid together, scratched up over years of use. 

You sang the words, plucky and brief, “I. just. know. I. love. you!” Bouncing your hands in the air with each word, you smiled at him and cocked your head, “Eddie, I drove eleven hours in the car with you and we didn’t like, die or kill each other. You ask me, we’re battle tested, baby.” 

There was a moment of pause when he looked at you, the amused smile on his lips teetering between keeping the moment sweet and turning you into a slobbering mess again. The way you rested his hand on your thigh with a gentle pat, the way you went back to the pile of fries, a sip of champagne, a grimace. You did a double-take when you realized his eyes hadn’t left you once, those cavernous brown eyes that wrapped you in warmth, brought you home. 

“What?” You asked, physically unable to wipe the smile from your lips. 

He propped his elbow up on the table, sitting his cheek in his palm, “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” 

You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his nose, “No, you.” 

He shook his head with a laugh, “Babydoll, how are you still this blitzed?” 

Shrugging again, you teetered over to his lips, and he slid his hands into your hair, his palms pressed against your cheek.

“You know how much I love you?” He asked, gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips, the tips of your noses brushing against each other with every deep inhale he took. 

“Nope.” You grinned, letting your head fall into your shoulders, staring up at him. 

He kissed you, a deep, smothering kiss that lit up your brain, had you melting against him. The kind of kiss that forces your eyes shut, forces the world away until it’s just the blackness behind your eyes and his lips on yours. Not rough, nor desperate, just full. Like every step you took was made with this kiss in mind, getting you to this moment, something of a crux, a certainty, an answer to all the times you’d looked up at the sky and asked why? 

Eddie pulled back from the kiss, eyes wide as though he’d just had the same revelation as you, “Me neither.” 

Then there was that tongue in cheek smile you knew, the one that saved him from the kind of vulnerability you both shied away from when you could help it. 

With your heart bursting in your chest, you could no longer help it. 

“Eddie.” 

He pressed his forehead to yours, “Yeah, doll?” 

You wrapped your fingers around his wrists, holding his grip on you. 

“If someone told me that, y’know, waiting, at the end of—of all the bullshit and—and bad things and whatever, I went through,” You looked down for a moment, blinking fast and shaking the thoughts away, “If they said I had to go through it to get to you…there’s no doubt in my mind that I—I would.” You loosened your grip on his wrist, running your thumbs in a pattern over and over the same spot of his skin.

“Ohh, baby.” His voice was soft as he pulled you into his lap, hands wrapping around your shoulders, rubbing your back. 

“No more bad things,” He said, holding you as close as he could, “Not long as I have anything to say about it.” 

You breathed against the soft fluff of the robe, allowing the silence between you to settle, the faintest hum of the radio over in the bedroom carrying the moment, the comforting thrum of an electric guitar. 

Neither of you wanted to break the comfort you’d fallen into, Eddie’s hand petting the back of your head, your fingers sliding underneath the lapel of his robe, grazing the tattoo on his pec. There was no doubt in your mind you’d made the right decision today. In five years, ten, twenty, maybe that would change. 

But right now? 

Right now, nothing felt better than his ring on your finger. 

You pulled your head away from his chest, looking up at him, into those brown eyes. Always sparkling, always home, and they fluttered closed as you leaned up to kiss his cheek, spattering pecks down to his jaw, covering his face until he was smiling and you could press your lips to his dimples, too. 

He shook his head at you, combing a hand through your hair, stilling when you finally made it to his lips. 

Eddie melted easily when you were sweet to him, cheeks flushing pink, posture sinking into a bashful curve that was entirely incompatible with the daunting tower of his frame when you weren’t being so sweet. 

He pushed against your kiss, guiding you down to the floor, keeping rhythm with his lips as he balanced himself over you. 

You linked your hands behind his neck, your ankles around the backs of his knees, bringing his body in, his weight firm and comforting on top of you, but he pulled back. 

“Can’t believe you’re all mine.” He flicked a few strands of hair out of your face, smoothing a thumb over one of your eyebrows. 

You wiggled your left hand in front of his face, “Believe it, babes, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

He licked the back of your hand, and you jerked it away with a hey! and a laugh, Eddie ducking into your neck to press kisses that tickled you more than anything else, and you kept giggling until he pulled away. 

“Hey, excuse me, I’m trynna kiss my wife here.” 

You feigned surprise with a gasp, “You’re married?” 

Eddie cocked his head back, “Well, ‘married’ is kind of a loose term.” He rolled his eyes as he talked, that shiteating smirk on his face, “Don’t you have a hubby waiting at home for you? I thought we were both stepping out here!” 

Sitting up on your elbows, you forced Eddie to back away from you, hovering in wait, “Ugh, I do.” You scoffed, shaking your head, “He’s a total burnout, though, and he’s got a tiiiiiny—”

He covered your mouth with his hand, laughing, “Don’t you dare.” 

You licked the palm of his hand, but he just stared at you, lips stretched into a smile, tilting his head in amusement. You squinted your eyes at him, waiting patiently until he slid his hand away. 

“Tiny dick.” You sputtered out, tucking your lips into your mouth, trying to hold back a smile. 

“Oh how dare you!” He laughed, ducking into your neck, tickling you again, his hands unfastening the tie on the robe so he could get at your hips, fingers coasting across the skin until you were slapping him on the shoulder, pushing on his chest, trying to get him away. 

Eddie held strong on top of you though, kept you there until he’d decided to bring his lips to yours, laughing as you tried to regain your breath, efforts ruined by your own laughter. 

The kisses deepened as the laughter died off, Eddie moaning into your mouth, reaching between you two to tug free the rope of his own robe, bare bodies squishing together. His cock hardened against you as you made out, but he made no move to fuck you yet, both of you content with his skin on yours, lips gliding together. 

There was no telling how long you stayed like that. With the city lights outside, the night was livelier than the day and the only sign of passing time was the change in tempo from the live music down the street. 

When the hard thrashing turned to soft rock, when your lips were swollen and red, bodies slick with sweat, Eddie started shifting down. He dragged his mouth down the column of your throat, over your tits, tongue swirling over each nipple, sucking until you were nice and firm. Slower down your stomach, his fingers finding their way to yours, grounding you in the moment, keeping you from getting overwhelmed with the excitement of what comes next. 

Lips on your pelvis, your thighs. He paused to look up at you, and you brushed his hair out of his face, grazing his cheek, thumb at the corner of his open mouth. A warm wash of exhilaration lit up your skin when he tilted his head, tongue sliding under your thumb, lips closing over the dewy skin. 

Eddie swirled his tongue around, eyes burning into yours, before he pulled back and closed in between your legs, that first graze forcing your head back into the ground. You squeezed his hand, languishing in his slow laps of his tongue, just nicking the nerves of your clit. 

He moaned into your pussy as he sped up, never hitting the speed he’d hit earlier, just driving you deeper and deeper into the feeling of his mouth. You kept yourself disciplined, quieting your moans, holding your body down best you could. It wasn’t that kind of moment, but you knew he’d be proud anyway. 

And proud he was. Spurred by the restraint, he worked harder to break you, sliding two fingers into your pussy, curving them against your walls, coupling the pressure in your cunt with the sharp pleasure from your clit. He never turned rough, only sped up as your breathing did, hand still tightly laced with yours, slowing down every time it seemed you might break. 

You relished the hot moisture of his mouth, stirred with giddiness every time he pulled you back from the edge. 

“Oh,” You breathed, mind fuzzing with television static, his tongue making you dizzy, “Eddie, I love you. I love you so much.” 

You combed a hand through your hair, and he lifted his head, pressing a kiss to your thigh, “I love you too, doll.” And ducked right back in, driving you closer this time. 

It seemed you had cracked the code, because Eddie didn’t slow down this time. He took you to the edge and over it, squeezing your hand and encouraging you with soft hums. The wet laps of his tongue faster and faster until you were paralyzed on the floor with bliss, a velvety pink warmth spilling from your legs, coating your body in pillowy elation. 

Eddie wiped his mouth as he made his way back to your lips, kissing you with the same sweetness as earlier, slow and quieting. He whispered between you, “You wanna ride me, babydoll?” 

You leaned up to kiss him again, nodding against his lips, and he slid a hand around your back, guiding you as he flipped onto his back. You threw a leg over his lap, straddling him, still slick pussy enveloping him between your folds. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, smushing his bangs up off his forehead with his hand, exasperated and wanting. 

“God, I fucking love you.” He exhaled, his fingertips running down your torso, “You’re so hot.” 

“Mmm,” You smiled, sliding forward, lining his cock with your entrance, “Speak for yourself.” 

He slid into you with impossible ease, breath leaving his lungs, eyes screwing shut, “Fuck, you’re so wet.” 

Grinding against him, you smiled, “Wonder why that is?” 

“Shh, don’t tease,” He groaned, setting his hands on your hips, guiding you back and forth over his dick, his hips bucking up, locking your hips together. 

You leaned down to kiss him, “Sorry, babes.” 

Eddie pawed at you until you leaned down to him, burying your head into his neck, kissing harsh marks into the skin. He slid his hands down your back, lifting his hips,   “Make me cum and all will be forgiven.” 

You rolled your hips against him, leaning back up, hands on his shoulders, “Deal.” 

You found yourself struggling to maintain rhythm, already drained from the torture of his tongue on you, the delayed gratification of your orgasm wearing you out now as you tried to maintain your composure. 

Eddie slid his knees up, sensing your fatigue, fucking into you, taking control as he was wont to do. His hands held you down, fingers sliding up your back to bring you down to his lips, letting you rest in his neck, overwhelmed and panting against his skin. 

It didn’t take long before Eddie himself was speeding up, fucking you faster, harder, but with the same delicacy, the same flattery, I love you’s and fuck, you feel so good and the prettiest moans you’d ever heard. 

You pulled away from his neck to see his face as he came, features painted with agony, eyebrows knit together, crinkles under his eyelids, pink lips open and gasping, the shudder of his pelvis with every moment of undoing. It was a beautiful fucking sight, and you pushed your lips hard against his, grinding against him, heightening the orgasm. You loved him like this, loved the way he could lose himself under you, when he couldn’t help but surrender to you. 

With a few last thrusts, Eddie came down from his peak, wrapping you in his arms, his cock still buried inside you, cum seeping onto his thighs. Your breathing synced over the minutes that passed, hands in each other’s hair, stroking through the knots. 

“I love you,” Eddie sighed. 

You lifted your head up, resting your chin on his chest, letting out a pleased hum, “I love you too.” 

He tilted his head up, straining to kiss the top of your head, and fell back against the carpet. 

The two of you stayed there until you were sure it would hurt to stand up, your legs still straddling him, just listening to the muffled music from outside, the faint radio in the bedroom. 

“How cold you think those fries are?” He asked, and you painstakingly rolled off of him, groaning from the dull pain in your legs, the effort it took to unstick them from their splayed position. 

“Ow, fuck,” You whispered, reaching over to grab a fry and pop it into your mouth, stretching each leg out at a time as you munched on several more fries, “Not so cold that I wouldn’t eat the rest of them.” 

Eddie shot up, wiping away the cum on his legs with the bottom of his robe and bringing his hand down onto the fries like a claw, taking a chunk of them off the plate to shove in his mouth. 

You smacked him on the arm, “Hey, manners, buddy.” 

He spoke with his mouth full, reaching over to take a swig of your champagne, 

“Manners? Never heard of ‘em.” 

And that was how the weekend continued. Holed up in the hotel room, throwing away money on expensive room service, hands on each other’s bodies, lips covering every inch they could reach, sweat and champagne and blankets on the floor. 

The room was trashed by Monday morning, bathroom towels flung about, picture frames crooked on the walls, a side table turned over. It wasn’t irreversible damage, but it was incriminating enough that you spent a few minutes fixing what you could to save face with housekeeping. 

With your duffle bag in hand, you waited by the door for Eddie to join you. 

“Hurry it up, babes, we got a long drive ahead of us.” 

“Yeah yeah yeah I’m comin’!” He yelled from the bedroom, and you dropped the bag to go see what was keeping him. 

He had his back to you as he leaned into the closet, scrawling something on the underside of the shelf. 

“There.” He stood back and gestured toward it, “Check it out.” 

Scrawled in fading Sharpie were your initials and the date. 

You laughed and grabbed his hand, “Real juvenile of you, Eddie.” 

He winked and dragged you back to the door, reaching down to grab your bag, “Like I said,” He kissed you, smiling against your lips, “Only the best of the worst for my girl, and I’m the best.” 

[mooshys]

the silver lining of bad first dates

summary: a date gone wrong. a walk in the rain. a simple conversation in a ramen shop. mundane slice of life and mutual pining with kuroo.

word count: 2.1k

author’s note and warnings: curse words galore. set in time-skip. pure word vomit. kuroo’s one of those characters that I’m so scared to even consider writing for because I feel as though I’ll never truly be able to “get” his character. whatever though, I tried.

This date fucking sucked.

Point-blank. No sugarcoating because the dude sitting on the opposite side of the dinner table was more interested in the JASDAQ than your name. Seriously, he couldn’t even be bothered to listen to you talk about your alma mater before he swooped in and started blanketing his insecurities with his recent Bitcoin investment. 

Talk about lame.

Wine and hors d’oeuvres be damned, you were making an escape before he started mansplaining the economy. Even wagyu couldn’t save this candlelit disaster.

Making no attempt to be discreet, you whipped your phone out of your bag and typed up a quick text:

Mind picking me up? Shitty date.

Ping! 

Seriously? Again? What’d this guy do this time?

Ping!

Send the address

Ping!

I swear, this is the last time I’m picking you up

You smiled at the screen, thumbs moving fast.

That’s what you said last week

A bubble with three dots appeared, disappeared, and reappeared.

Ping!

Five minutes.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰*.:｡✧*.｡:｡*.｡✱ ───

Like every cliché bad first date, the weather made sure to mimic the mood. The rainfall was nothing less than dreadful, a downpour that left the streets empty as most people kept indoors to avoid getting soaked.

“You’re so lucky that I didn’t have to work overtime tonight,” Kuroo began, standing close to you in an attempt to shield you both from the shower with his janky umbrella. “Otherwise, you’d be walking in the rain or sitting there having your dinner ruined from hearing that guy talk about his gains in the market.”

You laughed at the truth of his words. There really was no one else who knew you like Kuroo. 

“And you know I would’ve walked in the rain out of the two options. I can’t believe someone so dick-ish exists that I’d bail out on a free meal,” you said, raising your voice over the heavy pelting.

Without any warning, a trio of college kids rushed past you two, not paying attention to the other pedestrians walking the sidewalks as their only priority in mind was making it back home before catching a cold. They had their backpacks held up to cover their heads, but it wasn’t much help as their clothes were completely soaked.

“See that?” Kuroo jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “You would’ve been running like those kids all the way back to your apartment if I didn’t show up.”

You lightly elbowed him and rolled your eyes. Rain fell on your shoulder from the sudden movement, but Kuroo repositioned the umbrella to prevent you from getting wet. “As if,” you murmured, hugging your body in an attempt to keep warm. “Thanks for picking me up. Again.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re oh so welcome,” he waved off your words and then cackled when you narrowed your eyes at him. Sometimes he really knew how to push your buttons. “Anyway, are you trying to date a bunch of crappy guys on purpose? Because I feel like that’s what you’re trying to do.”

“It’s not like I ask to go through a bunch of crappy first dates!” you said, letting out a huff of hot air. The past month had been riddled with unsuccessful first dates. Statistically speaking, you were an outlier; the average person probably went through a handful of bad first dates in a single year: you went through that number in a mere month. Multiple standard deviations past, you were way out of the norm. “Maybe I’m just a magnet for awful guys who only have a thing for themselves.”

Kuroo scoffed. “Or maybe you just like to make my life a little bit harder.”

You smiled at his words.

“Maybe.”

Besides the realization that you were like a honeytrap to flies when it came to bad first dates, another constant came from the start of it all: Kuroo. You weren’t expecting much from the first SOS call; really, just someone to walk you back home when it was late and the taxi fares were jacked up. But you would never forget the first time he waited for you outside that overhyped bar with a bag of take-out, his tie loosened and hair messy because he had just left the office and rushed to the nearest place that sold yakisoba for a decent price.

Maybe you did make his life a little bit harder. It was selfish, but whenever you had a bad date, you actually started to anticipate your escape because that meant Kuroo would be there for you.

He was your silver lining for the past month.

Red brick walls came into view once you two rounded the corner into a more secluded alley, revealing a familiar site that made you hungry. A neon sign which turned brighter due to the haze of the rain drew you in like a moth to a flame. It flickered, but still kept its light. Another constant.

Underneath the awning of the restaurant, Kuroo retracted his umbrella and shook the excess water off of it. He shoved it in the small bin filled with umbrellas belonging to the other patrons and dragged the soles of his shoes on the mat before pulling the door open. 

“Let’s just get some ramen,” he said, ushering you inside. You took the first steps and situated yourself at a lone table. He followed and a waitress quickly took your orders, soon rushing back to the kitchen to help with the line of tickets pinned to the wall. 

“Ramen on a rainy day,” you said, giving a low whistle. “You know your stuff.”

“Duh, ramen tastes best when you’re freezing,” he replied, pulling on his necktie to loosen it. He grabbed two pairs of chopsticks along with a pair of spoons, placing a set in front of you. “And it tastes pretty good after bad dates too.”

“You’re talking to the queen of bad first dates.”

“Oh, I’ve had my fair share too, Your Highness.”

As if on cue, two bowls of ramen were brought over from the kitchen along with an extra soft boiled egg as soon as he finished his sentence. The soup had small ringlets floating at the top from the fat of the broth along with bright green scallions acting as a garnish to offer a vibrant and appetizing color. Wasting no time, you both gave thanks and started to dig in.

“You know,” he started, breaking his chopsticks apart and dipping them into the broth. He pulled up a nice amount of noodles, the steam rising up higher than before. “I really think you should quit dating guys who suck.”

Following Kuroo, you did the same and blew at your noodles. “You say it like it’s easy.”

“It is. It’s so easy.” He ate a mouthful and swallowed before speaking again. “You have your top tier guys, your average guys, and then your totally shitty guys. I mean absolute trash—these are the guys you’re dating. Avoid them and all your problems will be solved.”

“Ugh, I feel like we go through this conversation after every single mishap of a date.”

Translation: Kuroo, you sound like my nagging mother.

“Because you never learn.”

Translation: I will nag at you all I want.

You sighed. “Love’s a lot more complicated than you make it.”

“Whatever. Just find a guy who isn’t an asswipe, and then we can talk.”

As you two continued to eat, the kitchen staff remained lively. The sounds of ceramic bowls clattering together along with the static hum of an old radio buzzing some city pop tune your mom would have listened to in her youth acted as background noise while chatting. 

“So... what kind of guy do you think you are?” you asked, curious to hear his answer. Kuroo was in the middle of slurping his noodles and held a hand up to signal you to give him a second.

“Me?” He pointed at himself and you nodded. Who else would you be asking? “I’m your average guy.”

You frowned. “No way.”

“What, you think I’m an absolute trash kind of guy? Harsh.”

“No, I think you’re definitely top tier. Average guys don’t go out of their way to do stuff like this.”

Kuroo raised a brow at you and set his chopsticks down. His bowl was half finished, but he was more interested in what you had to say. “Stuff like what?”

“You know,” you motioned the space between you two, “doing this awful-first-date-rescue-at-the-drop-of-a-hat kind of stuff. No questions asked. Average guys don’t do that. Average guys just pay for your meal and maybe give you their jacket when it’s kind of cold. And sometimes they call you some gross pet name like...” You shivered at the thought. “Kitten or something.”

He looked slightly taken aback. “You don’t like being called kitten?”

“No, something about it sounds gross.”

“That’s just because you haven’t found the right guy to say it to you when—“

Not wanting to hear the rest of what he had to say, you quickly crumpled up a napkin into a ball and tossed it at him. He threw his head back, putting on an act as if you actually did any damage to him.

“Stop. Please. Enough. Don’t even finish what you’re going to say.” You went back to devouring your bowl, the noodles more soft than before. Still tasted great as you shoveled in mouthfuls. “I don’t wanf tew heur et!”

Sporting a disgusted look, Kuroo grabbed a few napkins from the dispenser and slid them to your side of the table. “Jeez, you eat like that whenever you’re on a date? Maybe I saved that guy from you.”

“Well, you’re the one stuck with all of this now,” you motioned a hand to your entirety and wiggled an eyebrow. “Consider yourself lucky.”

He held his chin in the palm of his hand and stared at you from across the table, eyes still holding a glint of amusement under the low lighting of the restaurant. His bowl was nearly finished, yet he focused his attention on you, allowing a small smile to grace his lips as he pondered your words.

You eyed him, his gaze feeling a bit different from before. “What are you doing?”

“Considering,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“...It shouldn’t take you that long to,” you mumbled and ate another mouthful of noodles. He kept at it and soon started to crack up. When you narrowed your eyes at him, he shook his head and pushed another pile of napkins your way. 

“There’s a scallion at the corner of your lips,” he tapped a hand on his bottom lip and cackled when you rushed to grab a napkin and wipe it away. Heat rose to your face and you sucked on your teeth.

“You know what? Forget about me calling you a top tier guy. It never happened.”

He placed a hand over his heart, wounded by your words. “It was kitten, wasn’t it?”

Unable to contain yourself, you laughed into your hand, shoulders shaking. You had to set your chopsticks down as you fanned your face, trying to get rid of the tears threatening to spill from the corner of your eyes. “If I ever heard that from another guy, I would walk out. The second the word came out of his mouth, I would pack up my things, leave, and never look back.”

“But you’re not right now.”

“I’m not.”

“Because I’m a top tier guy. Admit it.”

Because it’s you.

You shook your head and waved the white flag. “Right, that’s exactly it.”

Kuroo crossed his arms in front of his chest, satisfied with your answer. Like he won something from this conversation. He liked the way your lips tugged into a smile, not too tight, but enough to showcase the apples of your cheeks; he liked these nights when he could unwind after a long day of work and laugh about stupid pet names; he loved how easy it all was. 

Consideration done and over with, he went back to finish his bowl, the steam from the broth no longer visible to the naked eye.

“Eat up or it’ll get cold,” he said and sipped on the broth. It was still warm, much to his surprise. “I’ll walk you back home when we’re done.”

You took small bites, prolonging the meal in any way possible: listening to him talk about his lazy cubicle partner, ordering another side of gyoza, folding a napkin to tell him his fortune through grade school methods. Both your bowls were empty, pushed to the side with a sliver of broth left as the focus was neither the food nor the JASDAQ jerk from hours before, but rather mundane conversation that went in circles until the shop emptied out.

A hundred dates could go wrong only for Kuroo to show up and make things right.

Maybe it was time for him to become more than a silver lining.

[kitkat1003]

Where the Ice Crushes the Wave

Warning, this fic contains instances of:

Dubious Consent  Possession  Emotional Manipulation  Abuse  Minor Character Death  Hurt No Comfort  Blood and Gore 

Summary:

I don't know if you've heard of Possessed Tang, but it's everywhere on tumblr, and it's basically an excuse to hurt Pigsy.  I decided to go ham. The warnings I put are real.  Viewer Discretion is advised.

AO3 Link

Pigsy notices something is wrong immediately.

It’s not hard.  He’s been watching Tang for years, knows him like the back of his hand.  He knows that Tang is always there when he opens, at least for a few minutes.  They’ll banter, then Tang will disappear for a few hours before arriving at lunch to steal some noodles.  At some point, Pigsy will yell, chase him out but not really, and Tang will laugh all the while.

On a good day, Pigsy will invite Tang upstairs, and they eat dinner in Pigsy’s apartment.  They’ll sit in front of the TV for hours, making fun of idiots in cooking shows, and Pigsy will deliberate over and over on the idea of moving his hand to hold Tang’s.  He never does, because he’s afraid to push, afraid to ask for too much and lose what he already has.  

Pigsy can feel the power he has, vibrating in his skin, hidden because the person he used to be is not who he wants to be now, ever.  He knows that if he let that loose, if he grew tall and strong and dangerous, everyone around him would suffer; he holds it all in.

He just waits for Tang.  He can be patient.  He has spent a thousand years learning to be, and he thanks his master for teaching him, because if he was to wait for anything it would be this.

He’d spend an eternity and a day waiting for that.

For four days, though, Tang doesn’t come to the shop at all.

Pigsy texts him, calls him, and gets nothing.  He shouts more, is biting and sharp for those four days, wracked with worry and desperate for answers.

He searches even the town once.  Twice.  He waits, because that’s what he’s good at, but at the same time he wants to grow large and take charge, to roar into the night and shake the world until it tells him where his Tang is.

Four days of waiting before Tang appears in the shop in the morning.  He smiles and waves, as if he hadn’t blown Pigsy off for four days, as if he hadn’t worried Pigsy sick.

“Where the hell have you been?!” Pigsy grabs Tang by his scarf and pulls, too angry and worried and hurt to stop himself.

Tang starts but gives him an easygoing smile in return.  That’s what tips Pigsy off first.  The curve of the lips is wrong, more cunning than kind.

“Sorry-family emergency.” Easy deflection. Tang shrugs.  “I kept meaning to text you back, but stuff kept coming up.”

Pigsy could almost accept that, except Tang has never brought up his family before.  To talk about them now, it seems too...convenient.  And regardless of that, Tang has never left Pigsy in the lurch like this.  It’s too out of character.  A quick text to say ‘I’m okay’ would take but a minute.  Tang is kind enough to give Pigsy a minute of his time, he wouldn’t just let Pigsy sit worried.

Right?

He stares at Tang, squinting a little, and almost lets him go.  But then.

“You changed your glasses,” he notes.

The rims are blue.  He can see traces of snowflakes on the lenses.

Tang smiles, eyes shut and head tilted to one side.  Pigsy is suddenly aware of something dangerous, sitting beneath his friend’s skin.  The hairs on his arm stand up straight, and it is so, so obvious now that this isn’t Tang at all.

“Yes,” Not Tang says, and his smile is all teeth.  “Do you like them?”

Pigsy knows a challenge when he sees one, and he takes a breath.

“Prefer your old ones, actually,” he grunts out.  “Blue isn’t your color.”

Not Tang laughs.  It sends a shiver down Pigsy’s spine.  But it isn’t just fear, no, his cheeks color.

“On that, Pigsy, we will have to disagree.” His name out of Not Tang’s mouth sounds foreign, but it’s Tang’s voice, and Not Tang curls something soft and sweet around Pigsy’s name like it knows.

Pigsy goes to work, and firmly refuses to look over his shoulder.

He can feel Not Tang’s eyes on him anyway.

MK doesn’t notice anything wrong with Tang.  Mei doesn’t either.  Not Tang tells MK a story, talks animatedly with Mei about her next race and promises to be there.  Pigsy makes a bowl of noodles on autopilot and hands it to Not Tang.  Not Tang holds the chopsticks differently.  Not Tang doesn’t slurp up the noodles and fails to give Pigsy a smirk when he finishes the bowl, like Tang would have.

Pigsy is tense the whole day, and he waits until MK heads upstairs and the shop is closed to do anything.

“Can I walk you home?  Figure we should talk.  Haven’t seen ya in four days,” he jerks a thumb towards the door.  Not Tang tilts his head to the side, and his glasses flash in a way that is so familiar, and yet makes Pigsy shiver again.

“Sure.  I missed you.” And Pigsy is taken aback, because it sounds like Not Tang means it.  Maybe he—no, he knows this isn’t Tang.

But how much is it not Tang?

They walk out of the store, and down a block or two.  Pigsy doesn’t know where Tang lives, though he suspects somewhere near the library, but Not Tang is following his lead.  Looks like Not Tang doesn’t know, either.

He grabs Not Tang by the scarf, and drags him into an alley.  He slams Not Tang against the wall, hard but not too hard because Not Tang is still Tang’s body. Tang is still mortal.

“I don’t know who the hell you are,” he starts, and he lets his tusks out, baring his sharp teeth like a challenge, a growl in his throat.  His eyes glow ocean blue, his nostrils flare.  “But you better get the fuck out of my friend or—”

The words die in his throat as Not Tang laughs, cold and dark, and as he looks up and sees his own gaze met with something sharp and blue and icy.

“Or what, Bajie?” 

His voice has an undercurrent of something familiar, another voice Pigsy recognizes.  He wracks his brain.

“What, don’t recognize me?  Not surprising, when only one of your troupe ever could.”

That has Pigsy stumbling back, because he knows, now, he knows what that means.  It’s a stain on his pride, one of his many regrets, it’s—

“Baigujing,” he breathes, and she laughs.

“In the flesh, so to speak.  Does he suit me?” she asks, tugging on Tang’s skin and hair like one might with clothes.

She frowns, tilts his head to the side at an unnatural angle. “I’m not a fan of red,” she tells him. Then Tang changes, hair black to white from the roots.  It travels down, red to blue, silver to gold.  His skin gains a blue tint, as well.  The air around them drops in temperature, and Pigsy can see his breath.

She brushes herself off, takes a little bow, and all Pigsy can see is Tang who isn’t—this isn’t—how did she—

She takes a confident step forward, and Pigsy, in all his rage, still only sees blue.

“You get out of him right now, or—”

In a flash, she pulls out a knife and presses it against Tang’s throat.  Pigsy sees a few spots of red from where she’s pressing the blade, and cool terror sinks down his spine.  She wouldn’t, would she?  He can’t be sure, with how she’s wielding the weapon like a promise.  He takes a step forward out of panic, and stops when she raises a brow. 

“You do anything but what I say, and I stain this new outfit.” She smiles, and it’s Tang’s smile, the one that Pigsy melts under the sight of every time.  

But here, now, he’s ice.  Fear roots him to the spot and Pigsy swallows the lump in his throat.

“And if I tell the others about ya when you aren’t looking at me?” he grinds out between gritted teeth.

She tilts her head to the side. “Why would they believe you?  After all, you wouldn’t believe your own brother,” Pigsy flinches, remembering how easy it was to get Triptaka to banish Wukong, because Bajie never would pass up an opportunity to call his brother a liar, to hurt him.  “Turnabout’s fair play, and you’re on the losing side.”

Pigsy clenches his fists.  He can feel the desire to get big, to roar, to tear her out of him, rise in his chest.  But this can’t be solved with violence, as easy as he wants it to be.  Pigsy has never been good at diplomacy.

“What do you want,” he spits out.

She brushes Tang’s hair out of her eyes.  They glow in the evening light, bright and malicious.

“I have a few errands, and while this mortal is useful, he is a bit...weak.” She flexes Tang’s fingers experimentally.  “You’re quite the muscle.  I think you’d be quite useful, hmm?”

Pigsy does know a challenge when he sees one, but this time, he’s backed into a corner, with no way out, so he slumps his shoulders.

“Alright.  Just….just don’t hurt him.” It comes out a tired plea.  “And stop-don’t ruin him like that.” He gestures to her getup.  He’s sure she’s only showing him this to hurt him, because he wants Tang.  Not whatever this abomination is.  Just practically, it would give her away if she didn’t change back. Though he’s not sure how much of a choice he gets, regardless. 

She sighs, but after a moment the pleasant red and gold return, and Tang’s hair is black again.

“Fine.  Picky, though,” she places Tang’s hand on his cheek, cupping the side of his face, and Pigsy’s cheeks warm.  When he looks up, everything about Tang looks normal, except the blue rims on the glasses.  He looks away.

“Tomorrow,” he tells her.  “We’ll start tomorrow.  And once-once I’m done, you’re out of him, got it?” 

He glares, and she smiles, Tang’s mouth curving into something more unhinged.  Brown eyes glow light blue.

“It’s a date.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang doesn’t remember the few days that he disappears.  He doesn’t even remember disappearing, to be honest.  He just walks to the noodle shop as if nothing is wrong, because to him, nothing is.  

He can tell that something off, though.  Not wrong, but off, because when he walks the feeling of his feet against the ground is muted.  Everything is a little muted, like all of his senses are muffled by something.  He shakes his head a few times, to try and break through the fog.  It doesn’t work.

He waves at Pigsy when he walks in, and then nearly jumps when he’s grabbed.  He tries to open his mouth to say something, but suddenly everything goes cold, and he’s pushed back into his own head.  Someone else takes the reins, Something Else moves his lips.

Family emergency, he hears himself say.  He sees the reflection of himself in Pigsy’s eyes.  His glasses are different.  Pigsy notices.

He watches the Something Else make Pigsy very aware that the Something Else exists, and then he is thrown into the passenger’s seat.  When MK comes over to ask for a story, Tang is allowed to tell him one.  When Mei talks about her next race, Tang can avidly respond.

He keeps trying to explain that something’s wrong, to them, but when he opens his mouth to try and say the words nothing comes out, or the Something Else will say something.  A joke, or a fact, or nothing at all, and doesn’t silence sometimes speak the loudest.  

It knows too much about him and the longer he knows it’s in his head, the more he can feel it, cool tendrils poking into memories he’d rather have private.  It searches, it pries, and it leaves no stone left unturned, leaving Tang feeling vulnerable, invaded.

The day ends.  Pigsy asks to walk him home and Tang finds himself agreeing before he can stop himself, before it can.  He wonders if it even tried.

They walk, and it’s only a matter of time before Pigsy snaps.  Tang is honestly surprised it hasn’t happened sooner, when he’s unceremoniously thrown against the wall.  It hurts, but much like his other senses, the pain is muted.  He knows Pigsy isn’t using his full strength though.  Pigsy can throw people five times his size out the door with ease.

He follows the conversation with bated breath, and then he sees something like recognition flicker in Pigsy’s eyes, and he hears Baigujing, and it says Bajie, and—

Oh.

There’s a knife to his throat.  

He sees his reflection in Pigsy’s wide eyes.  His hair is white.  His eyes are a startling, glowing blue, and he can feel blood welling up where the knife pierces his skin.

Pigsy buckles.  Tang watches him leave.

“What do you want?” he asks, to the Something Else.

He gets farther and farther away from control with each step she takes in his skin, every moment he isn’t allowed to speak.  He can feel cool shackles on his wrists, thick as steel.

“You like him very much, don’t you?” A voice, chilling and cruel, rings in his ears.  Tang doesn’t need her to specify who she’s referencing.  They pass by a window, a storefront.  She stops, and turns to it, so Tang can see her smile with his mouth in the reflection.

Tang’s blood turns to ice, and he wonders if it’s because she’s the one in his body or if it’s just his fear, in the end.  She grins wider, and Tang’s helplessness and terror grow.

“I am going to break him, and you are going to watch.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day Pigsy is quiet.  He doesn’t say much besides telling MK to take out the orders placed on the counter.  His eyes occasionally flick to her, to Tang, to the thing sitting on the counter that looks familiar in looks alone.

Pigsy knows he has to remember.  He can’t forget that this isn’t Tang.  Even when he sees her sitting on the same barstool with that same smile, when she learns how Tang holds his chopsticks and learns how Tang eats, even when she is already perfecting something that everyone else sees is perfect.

This isn’t Tang.  Pigsy can’t forget that.

That night, she gestures for Pigsy to follow her.  He does, walking step by step with her, waiting for her to tell him what to do.  She takes him toward the marketplace, where Pigsy goes to get his ingredients a few times a month.

“You remember that Spider Queen, don’t you?  Quite the adventure we had,” she says, and Pigsy bristles at the implication.

“You weren’t there,” he growls out. 

She places a hand on Tang’s chest, expression one of mock offense.  “How could I not have been?  I mean, you were there with me. Is this not the skin?” she tugs on the fleshy part of Tang’s wrist, hard enough that the skin goes red.  

Pigsy says nothing, and shrugs.  

“Regardless, the Spider Queen will get in my way if she isn’t handled, so you’ll take care of her.  Better to squash a bug before it grows.” She points to the Spider Queen’s stall.

“I don’t kill anymore,” Pigsy grunts.

He hasn’t for years.  He took that part of himself and locked it away, made himself small because he wanted people to feel safe around him without being scared of what he could do.  He doesn’t kill.  He makes people food, he doesn’t harm them more than any other mortal could.

The knife is back out, and Pigsy knows where she’ll imply it going.

“I do,” she purrs.  “And you’re mine, so you do too.”

Pigsy clenches his fists, and shifts.

He’d imagined showing Tang his demon form.  Imagined preparing for months, carefully explaining.  Imagined going someplace remote, someplace theirs, and revealing himself.  Imagined scenarios where Tang ran, imagined scenarios where Tang stayed.

He grows tall, and burly, and looming and powerful.  He’s about eight feet tall, here, with the muscles to match the height.  His rake appears in his hand, prongs sharp.  It’s as tall as he is, and the prongs are longer than his forearm.  She looks up at him with an impressed expression that looks wrong on Tang’s face, yet makes Pigsy’s cheeks burn anyway.

“Magnificent,” she breathes, and he shivers at the sound.

He holds his rake tight, setting it on his shoulder and glancing over to the stall.  He tries to stop his hands from shaking, as she leads him to the entrance.

“Give me a lift, won’t you dear?” she asks and Pigsy grits his teeth.

He lifts Tang up, gentle with his body because even if Tang isn’t the one asking Pigsy will be damned if he hurts him like this, and they descend.

The Spider Queen’s lair is as eerie as he remembers it, though it seems to have been upgraded.  There are pods of glowing green liquid everywhere, and a computer as well.  He catches what looks like a human bent over it, tapping at keys and sighing to himself.

“Is it done yet?  The world needs its Queen to return.” He hears her voice from the right, and shifts a little to hide as she comes in.  The man at the computer stiffens, and turns around at perfect attention, bowing.

“U-Unfortunately, such a complex undertaking is going to take more time, my Queen,” the man trembles out.

“What are you waiting for?” Tang’s voice slithers into his ear, and Pigsy fights back the urge to growl, letting out a huff of a breath and narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

“An opening,” he replies.

“This has to be done by New Years!  I want to start the Year of the Spider on time,” she growls the last part out.

“Y-Yes, my Queen,” The scientist replies.

She turns away, and that’s when Pigsy jumps down.  She just barely dodges his rake and Tang jumps off of his shoulder to settle in the shadows.  Fine.  Now Pigsy doesn’t have to worry about him getting caught in the crossfire.

The Spider Queen recovers quickly, getting into a battle stance.  She gives him a once over, and then smirks.

“So the pig is back to fight, hmm?  I would have liked to see you in this form last time,” She purrs out the words, chuckling to herself.

Pigsy charges without response.  He swings his rake, she ducks, throwing out a sharp leg.  He blocks with his arm and grunts when the blade edge of her leg digs in.  He lifts a leg and kicks her, no holds barred where her humanesque body and her spider body meet.  A weak point.

She lets out a shout of rage as she’s knocked back.  He slices to the right, knocking off her helmet.  Long, messy black hair tumbles down in front of her face.  She pushes it back, darts forward, throwing out some webs.

He dodges the first few, but one catches him by the foot, trapping him to the floor.  He twists and dodges as best he can when he can’t move, but she’s closing in.

He throws out the rake, in a last ditch attempt as she goes in for the killing blow, and catches her neck between two of the prongs, following through with the swing, bringing her crashing down onto her side.

“Fool!” she grits out, twisting her legs to try and stand.  “I am the Queen of this world!  I will feed you to my subjects, you—”

Pigsy twists the rake in one sharp motion.

Crack.

She goes very silent, and very still.  Pigsy breathes, as her body slumps down on itself.

Okay.  

Pigsy slowly, carefully, pulls away the rake.  

He waits for movement.  He finds none.

Okay.

“Do try and make sure she stays dead.”

He jumps at the sound, turning around to see Tang.

Tang is watching.  Tang.  Tang watched—

Not Tang.  He has to remember that.

Her eyes glitter in the low light.

“A broken neck can be fixed.  Make sure she can’t come back.  Wouldn’t want to have to deal with a vengeful Queen, right?” She gestures to the corpse.

Pigsy grips his rake tightly.

The prongs go through flesh far too easily.

He thinks they’re about done, but then she points to the computer.  More specifically, to the man cowering beneath the control panel of the computer.

“No witnesses,” she says. “Get rid of him.”

Pigsy is frozen in his spot.

“Please,” the man begs. “I didn’t want to help, I had no choice!  She was going to kill me-I-I’ll destroy everything I did!  I’ll delete the code.  Everything!”

“You misunderstand.” Tang-she-walks carefully towards the cowering mortal.  “We didn’t do this to save the world.  We did this to get her out of my way.”

Dawning horror flashes on the man’s face.

Pigsy hesitates.  A demon is one thing, this is just a mortal.  A human.  Pigsy glances at the man, and imagines her pointing him at MK.  Or Mei.  He couldn’t.  He can’t.

“Would you rather I do this?” She pulls out the knife, pointing it at the man.  “I know you prefer him in red, though I hear blood is difficult to get off clothes.”

At the thought of Tang, who could be still in there, having to watch himself kill, Pigsy moves.

The man hedges his bets and runs.  He ducks under the knife and Pigsy’s outstretched arm, sprints toward the exit, but Pigsy’s arm swings around after him.  He can’t take more than a step forward because his foot is still stuck by the webs, but his legs are long and his arms much the same.  He reaches over in a panic, and grabs the man by the head, aiming to muffle his shouting, stop him from doing anything while Pigsy tries to negotiate, when—

There’s a sickening crunch, and squelch, and the man goes limp.

Pigsy is very, very aware of the liquid dripping from between the spaces of his fingers.  He’s afraid to open his hand.

She claps, then is at his side, cutting him free of the webs.

“Good work.” She pats him on the side.

Pigsy trembles.  Slowly, he opens his hand.

All of his body falls but the head. The head.

Pieces drop, clattering or squishing or dripping.  Pigsy’s hand is covered in it. Hair clings to his fingers.  Skin folds in on itself on the ground, with nothing solid to hold it taut.

Pigsy feels like he’s going to be sick.  He didn’t mean….he hasn’t taken this form in years, decades, he isn’t used to the power it holds.  He didn’t mean to, he was panicked, he just, he needed the man to stop.  That was it, it wasn’t on purpose, he didn’t mean—

“Feels good,” she whispers in his ear, somehow.  “Doesn’t it?”

Pigsy stumbles away, trying to shake the pieces, the blood, the person off of his hand.  He trips over the Spider Queen’s body and crashes into the computer, destroying it.  His knees pull toward his chest as he tries to breathe.  

It takes a good minute for him to realize that she’s rubbing a hand up and down his back in a comforting manner.  He looks down at her, because even sitting he’s taller, and her smile is—that’s not hers.  

“Tang?” his voice is hoarse.  His tusks always get in the way of speaking.

Tang smiles.  It’s soft, pitying, almost sympathetic.

Pigsy feels himself melt, a little.  It’s almost familiar.

“It’s okay,” Tang says, but is it him?  Pigsy doesn’t know if he wants it to be.  A part of him craves the comfort of something familiar, another doesn’t want Tang to see him at his worst, covered in blood, with a body count.

“That’s enough for tonight,” Tang says, she says, Pigsy can’t tell.  His head is already trying to process what he’s done.  “Let’s go.  C’mon.”

Pigsy lets himself be helped up.  He lifts Tang onto his shoulder and climbs out of the cave, shivering when the chilly night air whips past him.  He still has a few hours before he has to get up for work.  He sets Tang down on the ground, shifts back to his smaller form.

Tang looms over him like this.  Pigsy regrets becoming small.

“Shall we?” Tang gestures towards Pigsy’s apartment.

Pigsy nods, and they walk home.  Once they arrive, Tang heads to the couch, and Pigsy to the bathroom.  He scrubs and scrubs at his hands, until the water stops turning pink and then some.  His palms burn, skin scraping against skin, but he can see the pieces that can’t fit in the drain.

He vomits, finally, in the toilet.  He coughs, wiping his mouth, and hunches over the sink, glancing at himself in the mirror.  Deep breaths.  He just needs to remember that this will be over, eventually.

“I’m going to bed,” he calls, as he leaves the bathroom.  

His hands are still shaking.  His throat burns, and he lets it, maybe as a punishment.  He doesn’t know.

“Goodnight!” Comes a voice that sounds too much like the real thing.  Pigsy takes in a shuddering breath and vanishes into his bedroom.

He curls underneath the blankets and tries to get the cold feeling to escape his bones.  It seems to settle in, regardless.

It takes him a long time to fall asleep.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whatever Tang had imagined she’d make Pigsy do, it wasn’t this.  He watches as they head to the market, and then as Pigsy changes, per her request.

He wonders if Pigsy would have ever shown him this form otherwise.  As is, Tang is terrified, but not of Pigsy.  He’s worried for Pigsy.  Because he knows the power Zhu Bajie can wield. here He knows that she knows, too.

Watching Pigsy fight and kill is as impressive as it is heartbreaking.  He can see the shock, the horror, as Pigsy grapples with his actions.  Tang can’t fight the revulsion when he sees Pigsy kill the poor bystander but at the same time he can’t hate him for it.  

He could never hate Pigsy foremost, but in this instance, he can’t hold this carnage against him. Not when Pigsy curls in on himself, his bigger form trying to be as small as possible.  Not when he won’t look at his own blood-stained hands.

He moves to take a step, stumbles as she throws him the controls.  The longer he isn’t allowed to do anything, to speak, to move, the harder it is to get used to doing it when he has control.  He wonders if he’ll forget how to walk eventually.  He wonders if he’ll forget how to breathe.

He tries to comfort.  He’s not allowed to tell Pigsy that it’s him, because she won’t let him, but he can comfort, because she needs Pigsy functioning for this to work.  Maybe Tang should be offended that she’s using him, but truthfully,  he just wants to do something to help Pigsy.  He can’t just stand aside to watch.  It’s almost worth being used if he’s used to help.

Pigsy looks at him, then.  Tang wants to apologize.  To beg for Pigsy to stop. He doesn’t know if Pigsy can recognize that it’s him, either.  The words don’t make it to his throat and she throws him into the backseat again.

When they get home, Pigsy stays in the bathroom for too long.  Tang hears the sound of retching and winces.  He wishes he could do something, say something.

As he falls asleep, he still wishes he could apologize.  For something.  Anything.  Everything.

He can’t feel his legs.

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The next morning, Pigsy gets up and heads to work.  Tang is sitting upright on the couch.  Pigsy pointedly doesn’t look at him, quick while making breakfast, eating, and grabbing his chef’s coat before heading to the shop.  He typically starts two hours before opening, setting up the dough, stringing out noodles.

He’s slow, today.  His hands shake as he tries to work, he’s halfway to where he’s supposed to be when MK comes down, on time for once.  He forces himself to speed up because he knows calls will be coming in soon.

He sets the broth to boil, stirring once, glancing down at it to check its progress, and—

It’s red.

It’s red and it’s spilling from his fingers, sticky and thick as it falls into the broth, the stench of it has him trembling violently enough that the spoon slips from his fingers.  Pieces of hair and bone bubble up from the bottom, and Pigsy sees an empty eye socket, staring at him in terror, pleading horror, begging for mercy.

He grabs the pot and pours it into the sink, he can’t let anyone see it, can’t let anyone know what he’s done, the stains settling deep into his skin with no way out, no way to make it disappear.  A man is dead.  A man is dead and Pigsy killed him and it’s everywhere and everyone is going to know and he has to get rid of it.

When he pours it into the drain, there’s not a spot of red in it.  He watches his half an hour’s worth of work disappear with an unsteady breath, setting the pot back on the stove and washing his hands.  The water boils his fingers.

“Uh...Pigsy?” MK calls.  

Pigsy turns and does not look in the direction where he knows Tang will be.  He catches MK’s expression, brow is pinched in concern.

“What?” He doesn’t mean to growl the words out as he does.

“Um, why’d you do that?  It looked almost ready,” MK points to the now empty pot.

Pigsy hides his shaking hands by clenching them into fists. “Bad batch,” He replies, succinct.

When he glances MK’s way, he imagines how easy it would be for him to repeat last night.  Would it sound the same, the skull crunching in his grip quick, or would MK’s Monkey King powers offer enough resistance so that it’d be slow?  

Pigsy remembers his old name, his old title, his old desires.  He would fight with Sun Wukong and enjoy it.  He is powerful, then and now.

He promised himself he wouldn’t be that person again, that he’d be better.  But looking back at that journey, is it any wonder that he’s so quickly fallen back into the same bad habits?  Zhu Bajie was rude, cruel, a liar.

Why’d Pigsy expect that he could change?

“A shame.” 

He nearly jumps, at the sound of her voice, his voice. He glances at the blue rimmed glasses, brown eyes.  Warm and cold.

“It looked delicious, at least,” Tang says, head resting on his palm.  He smiles, soft.

Pigsy looks away.

He gets back to work.

Some of her jobs are simple.  Break something, find an artifact.  Pigsy learns not to ask questions, because none of the answers give him much comfort.  Occasionally, Pigsy will get his hands messy, stained with the blood of demons.  Those nights he barely sleeps, too busy trying to scrape the dried liquid from beneath his fingernails.

He justifies it, even though there is no true justification for the carnage.  Thankfully, there haven’t been any more mortal deaths.  The demons he fights are bad, he thinks, as he watches them bleed out on the floor.  The demons he fights would be going after MK if he didn’t get rid of them first.  

MK mentions offhandedly that there haven’t been as many demon fights recently.  Pigsy horrifies himself with the sick satisfaction he feels, the pride that swells in his chest.

He’s able to justify his actions, but it doesn’t fix the gaping hole in his chest with every swing of his rake.  The worst part, he thinks, is that it’s becoming easier to do.  There’s a certain familiar numbness that comes with a higher and higher body count.  He went through it thousands of years ago, when he first began fighting, and he goes through it now.

It settles in faster this time.  Must be his experience.

He stays in the kitchen more often during the day.  Ignores the banter between MK and Mei when they barrel in, only half hears the stories shared.  He tries to lose himself in the motions of cooking, something that’s his, safe.  He can still do this.  So he’s fine.

She’s always there, either at the counter during the day or by his side at night.  Pigsy makes a few valiant attempts to text someone, to tell them what’s happening, but she steals his phone and Pigsy isn’t allowed to touch it.  She nearly cut off Tang’s finger when he attempted to take it back.  He stops trying.

She follows him when he goes out, whether it be to the market or just on walks.  No one raises an eyebrow at this—Pigsy has always stuck close to Tang, and vice versa.  To the outside world, this is normal.  She can tease and cloy and claw her way close to him and it’s just the silly antics everyone else expects.  Any reaction Pigsy has is normal too, when he shouts and rages and pushes Tang away, because that’s just how he reacts.  He’s loud and he’s mad.

He’s being played and he’s playing right into her clutches, but he doesn’t know what he can do.

Pigsy is so tired.  Some days, he manages to convince himself that things will be fine, soon.  He has to think it will be. If the demons were stronger than him, he thinks, maybe they’d deserve to live.

If they were stronger than him, maybe he’d get to stop.

Another development, one he can’t wrestle his feelings together on, is how Tang, how she, acts during their expeditions.  There are lingering touches across his back, fingers trailing on his neck, a palm cupping his cheek.  Sweet smiles thrown his way, gentle words whispered into his ear, arms curling around his form as he’s pressed against Tang’s body.

Every time he freezes, caught between revulsion and want, because he loves.  Desperately.

That’s why he’s doing this after all.  That’s why he even bothers.  Sleepless nights, reopened wounds, returns to bad habits—it’s all for a man Pigsy cares just a little too much for.

She gets bolder with each passing night.  Interlaces their fingers when he sets his hand on the counter during the day.  Sends him compliments that make him weak in the knees.  He knows that it’s not Tang, but sometimes he wonders.  Maybe hopes. 

Because she’ll smile at him, but it'll be Tang’s smile, soft and almost a smirk but never quite there.  He doesn’t know if that means Tang is still in there or if she’s just getting better at pretending to be him.

He doesn’t know which is worse.

It’s a little over a month later, one night after a job that leaves Pigsy’s hands bloody and his eyes weary, that he gives way, collapses in on himself.  He grabs Tang’s scarf in shaky hands and trembles, because he’s so tired.  He misses his best friend. He misses the person he’d do anything for, the person he’s doing the unspeakable for.

“Please,” he whispers, voice hoarse.  “Take me-just-I’m stronger than him-I won’t fight back, you can do all the damage you want just—” he chokes on the words.  “Give him back to me.  You can have me, just give him back.” 

He takes a shuddering breath, blinking away tears.  They fall down his face anyway.

“Please.”

He trembles against Tang, something familiar made foreign because she’s stolen it from him, against something as silence fills the space.

Soft hands lift his chin and he hears a chuckle so familiar.  He hates that doesn’t know who is laughing.

“Oh, Pigsy,” And it’s her, and it’s Tang, and Pigsy searches for understanding as a thumb brushes away his tears.  She, Tang, leans down until their eyes are level.

Pigsy searches for something familiar in them.  

His favorite color is the color of Tang’s eyes, brown with a hint of red, soft and warm.  

“Why would I need you, when you’re already giving yourself to me?”

And then Tang-she-his lips collide with Pigsy’s and-and-and—

Pigsy’s eyes are wide.  This is-he’s wanted this for years, it’s everything, nothing, all at once.

He shouldn’t like this.  This isn’t-it isn’t Tang.  But Pigsy is pressed against the wall as Tang’s body leans forward, like everything Pigsy has ever wanted, and Pigsy closes his eyes.  He closes his eyes and forgets, just for a moment, where he is and what’s happening, decides to be selfish.

When his eyes are closed, he can’t see anything.  He can only feel Tang’s hands on the sides of his face, holding him so tenderly, Pigsy’s hands still bunched up in that scarf.  He can’t see the glowing blue eyes, or the smirk, he can only feel the smile against his lips.

Tang pulls away first.  Pigsy drops his hands and nearly trips over himself, eyes wide open again to blue eyes and a wide smile and a laugh that is cruel and knowing.  

“My, my, that sure was something!  You really are desperate, aren’t you?” she says.

Pigsy wipes his mouth, trembling.  He feels sick, not because he didn’t like it, but because he did.  Does.  

“You-I—” he tries to explain himself, but she tuts and walks forward with a small smile on her face, patting him on the head like one would a dog.

“It’s alright, I understand.  For a mortal, he is attractive.” She fiddles with Tang’s hair.

Pigsy wants to throw up.  He wants to scream.  He wants to throttle her, but he can’t hurt Tang.  

He might have already.

How much does Tang see, does Tang feel?  Did he see this, feel this?  Did he watch Pigsy use him, like the monster he is, because Pigsy is selfish?  The thoughts spiral deeper and deeper into something self destructive and Pigsy bites on his thumb hard enough to make it bleed.

“If it’s any consolation, he loves you too,” she says, and Pigsy freezes.  “Do you think he never noticed how your hand would twitch toward his?  You’re terribly obvious, but he’s a coward as well.”

Pigsy feels his breathing pick up.

Tang, he, he love-loved?  Past tense, did Pigsy ruin it?  Did he break something he never even had?  Might not ever have, now?

A hand trails across his back and Pigsy shudders.

“No need to worry.” She leans in close, until Pigsy can feel her cool breath against his ear.  “If you’re good, I think I can make this happen again.”

And then she walks away, leaving him in the wreckage.  Pigsy breathes, clenches and unclenches his fists, fighting back the urge to cry because he doesn’t have the energy for more tears.  He moves to leave, when—

“It seems you do have a bit of control left,” he hears, right before she’s out of earshot.

Everything goes cold.

What does that mean?  Was the kiss...was that Tang?  Or was it-what does that mean?

The more he thinks about it, the more his head goes through loops.  Tang is in there.  Tang has control-some, a bit, no specifics.  Pigsy isn’t a thinker, he doesn’t know how possession works.  Maybe-maybe Pigsy isn’t as terrible as he thinks he is.  Maybe that means, maybe, it wasn’t all a lie?

His walk home takes ten minutes longer than it should.  He keeps bringing up his fingers to his mouth, tracing the spaces where Tang’s lips slotted into, like a perfect puzzle.  Every part of him she touched tingles like static, and Pigsy can’t think, can’t find a single thought.  If it wasn’t Tang, if it was just her...

He doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that he doesn’t want this.  Not like this.

He doesn’t know how to cope with the fact that deep down, he does.  Regardless.

What kind of monster does that make him?  

Is it worse than the one he already is?

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang is quiet when she kisses Pigsy.  He doesn’t feel anything, touch long lost to his senses, floating in empty space.  Some days, he doesn’t know where he ends and she begins but he knows that he has no weight to himself, not anymore.

He’s quiet, an ache in his chest growing ever painful as Pigsy gives in, and he wonders if it would have been like this if it were him.  Something in the heat of the moment, passionate, real.

He wonders and grieves a life he isn’t having.  She uses his mouth and whispers sickly sweet nothings and turns Pigsy around so that Tang isn’t sure that Pigsy knows what’s up and what’s down.  She walks away and leaves Pigsy to try and collect himself, and all Tang wants to do is say sorry.

For what, he isn’t sure.  This isn’t his doing.  But that was him all the same.  

Tang bows his head and sniffles.  He watches her wipe his eyes.

“It seems you do have a bit of control left,” she says, staring down at the tears in his palm.  She flicks the water away.  “Get over yourself.  If you wanted this, you should have made it happen.  You had plenty of time.”

And the worst part, Tang thinks, is that with the years he’s known Pigsy, he knows she’s right.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Pigsy tries to keep some semblance of normalcy after that, though it’s hard.  He can feel Tang’s eyes on him, gaze lingering as Pigsy moves, day after day.  He tries to keep his cheeks from flushing, tries from reacting at all, when Tang looks his way.  He forces himself to remember that the kiss wasn’t right, wasn’t Tang.

But at the same time he can’t forget what he heard.  What it could mean.  Pigsy has mired himself in despair so deeply that the scrap of hope he feels is enough to keep him teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something selfish.  

There’s a change in the air between them, he knows. MK and Mei notice too, as much as he tries to keep this from them, keep them safe.  He doesn’t want them trapped, like he is.  He couldn’t handle it if they were.

“You guys have been acting weird.” Mei hops up to the counter as she speaks, glancing between Tang and Pigsy with squinted eyes.

“Oh?” Tang asks, leaning his head on his hand.

Not Tang.

“Yeah, you guys have been real clingy,” MK slings an arm around Mei’s shoulders, rubbing his chin with his hand.  

Mei brightens.

“You guys have finally gotten together, haven’t you!” She points an accusatory finger at the both of them.

Pigsy freezes.  Flushes from his feet all the way up to the tips of his ears, and Tang laughs, a soft, sweet, bell of a laugh.

“Were we that obvious?” Tang chuckles into his sleeve.

Mei bounces in her seat, and MK looks away, a little flustered himself at the idea.

“Uh, totally!  We, uh, we both saw this coming.  Yeah.” Pigsy would laugh at MK’s poor attempt at a lie if he wasn’t frozen in place, stuck between horror and something else he can’t acknowledge.

Some part of him wants to pretend this is real.  Some part of him, growing with every passing second, wants to play along until he forgets it’s a game.  Because he’s been fed emptiness and sadness and helplessness and, suddenly, there’s this hope—maybe false, maybe real, dangling in front of him.  

There’s something good, and something kind, and something Pigsy needs.  Something so cold it becomes warm and Pigsy would like to be warm.

“How’d it happen!  I want details!” Mei leans forward, face a few inches away from Tang’s, and Pigsy fights the urge to pull her away from him.  He doesn’t know if it’s because he wants to keep her safe or him.

Tang goes into a story, dipping into the tone he would with Monkey King tales, and Pigsy feels the edges of static crawling up his neck, a high pitched tone drowning out the noise of conversation as he tries to make sense of the situation he’s in.

How did he even get to this point?  He traces back memory after memory, but nothing makes sense.  The pieces don’t fall into place, even as he finds each and every one to try and put it all together.  It’s like someone has sanded the edges down, or covered them in ice, so they slip and scrape against each other.  Pigsy stands still, and slowly swivels his head to glance at his family, Mei and MK and Tang, all situated at his counter, like they’ve always belonged.

He keeps reminding himself that it isn’t Tang, not really.  But is it so terrible to pretend?  When he’s already worse than he’s ever been?

“It was really special.  Right, Pigsy?” Tang turns to him with an expectant grin, and Pigsy flushes again, a color Tang once told him was a dusty rose.  

He doesn’t snap.  He bends, because when you bend, the cracks are slow to break.  And Pigsy has always taken things slow, hasn’t he?

“Right.” He steps forward, his hand beneath Tang’s chin.  Tang has always been the most handsome person Pigsy has ever seen, and how could that change, even with blue rims?

Tang’s lips brush against the side of his face, for the effect of MK and Mei’s groans, and Pigsy smiles.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Tang trusts Pigsy with his life

That goes without saying.  As he forgets what it feels like to move his fingers, as he forgets what taste is, he knows above all else that he can trust Pigsy with his life.  

After all, Pigsy is why he’s alive at all.  Anyone else would have buckled under the pressure by now, being the slave of the Baigujing.  Anyone else would have made a mistake that would have left Tang a bleeding corpse on the ground.

Pigsy shoulders on, regardless of everything, because he values Tang’s life above all else.  Tang knows this.  That’s why he trusts Pigsy.

But things are changing, just a little.  Pigsy’s desperation for something real, for Tang as he’s meant to be, is dying.  Somehow, she’s bewitched the love of his life into something that is becoming unrecognizable.  And Tang, though he is losing the memory of touch, of taste, of movement, finds this somehow more terrifying, more horrifying.  

To see Pigsy vanish, just as Tang did, with no one making him disappear but himself.

Pigsy leans into her false touches.  He melts into the kisses she forces upon him.  His resistance falls slow and Tang can do nothing but watch and wonder quietly, as numbness threatens to swallow him whole.

He trusts Pigsy with his life.

But he doesn’t know which life Pigsy is trying to save.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It keeps happening.

At night, when he gets moments of clarity, when he remembers how awful everything is, Tang will be there with honeyed words and precious touches to sweep Pigsy off of his feet and forget.  Pigsy will be horrified by the sight of death in one moment and locked in an embrace in the next, kissed with a passion he can’t help but return.

“You’re so strong,” Tang will say, with reverence to his tone.  “It’s incredible.”

Not Tang.

Pigsy will fight against the pride that comes from the compliment, then fail every time to stifle it.  Because he is strong, incredibly so, and he is powerful, and he can swipe through any demon with ease.

Nevermind the brothers, crying out for each other when he’d separated them, the way one had gone pale and quiet when the other went still, because they were a pair made one.  You can’t kill a pair at the same time, unfortunately.

Pigsy knows he should feel guilty, should fight more.  Knows that this isn’t right, it isn’t real.  It’s so easy to forget, though, so easy to cling to something good when everything else hurts.

It’s so easy to set aside the memories of how wrong it all is.  So easy to hide it all away, focus on the elation, the kind smiles, the gentle touches.  Tang washes blood off of Pigsy’s hands when they get home—it’s their home, how could he forget—and curls up with Pigsy in the night, holding him close, and Pigsy clings, because he needs this.  Needs something that makes him feel like things are okay.

The thoughts reminding him that this isn’t Tang start to slip through Pigsy’s fingers.  He finds himself relaxing around the shop, smiling when he sees Tang at his seat, squeezing back when Tang interlocks their fingers.

Why fight it?  Sometimes it hurts, and god does it, but there’s something so lovely about it now, everything he ever wanted with a price he’s fine paying.

When you take a pig out of its domestic environment, it easily turns wild.  Hair, tusks, a penchant for violence.  And Pigsy hasn’t been out of his domestic environment in years, but he’s a pig, in the end, lost in the wilderness of an icy forest and blue eyes.

“Hey, Pigsy?” MK’s voice comes from behind him.

Pigsy turns from his work to see his boy at the counter, wiping it down as he waits for orders to come in.

“What?” He glances between the pot and MK, deciding the pot will be fine for a few seconds.

“Are you doing okay?  You, uh, you’ve been kind of quiet,” MK rubs the back of his neck, awkwardly.

Pigsy opens his mouth and closes it.  He glances to the empty seat.  Tang’s empty seat.

He doesn’t actually know where Tang has gone, but it’s so rare for it to happen.  Pigsy tries to remember the last time Tang wasn’t in his spot during the day, but tracing memories that far back is like poking at the wreckage of a shattered pot; you’re bound to draw blood.

The tiny vestiges of resistance crawl from ash and leave burning fingerprints on the forefront of his mind.

Tell him, he hears himself think.  Tell him!  This is your chance!

But the truth is so, so painful, and Pigsy doesn’t have it in himself to shatter this equilibrium.  Isn’t it so much kinder to let it settle beneath the surface, to hide the pain and make it so no one knows at all?  He doesn’t want MK to look at him with horror and disgust.  He doesn’t want to have to try to fix something that might be broken beyond repair.

This is nice.  This is okay.  He’s happy like this.  Why ruin it?

He reaches over and ruffles MK’s hair.  MK playfully smacks his hands away, and Pigsy chuckles.

“It’s my job to worry about you, kid,” he tells him.  “I’m fine.  Orders will be out in a minute.”

He waves MK off, and goes back to cooking.

Tang appears a minute later, in his seat.

“Hey,” Pigsy hears, and he turns, leaning on the little divider between the kitchen and the dining area.

“Hey, yourself,” he replies, and Tang smiles and kisses him soundly.  Pigsy’s brain short circuits.

“What was that for?” He asks, something like incredulous elation in his voice as he laughs.

Tang’s face screams victory.  Pigsy wonders what he’s won.

“Oh, I just felt like it.”

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He supposes he has his answer.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

He’s finishing up another job at the end of the month when Tang claps his hands together.

“Well, I think that’s it,” he says and Pigsy freezes, realizing what may come.  “I don’t really have any other errands to run, and you’ve done your end of the bargain.  I’ll be out by morning.”

No, Tang can’t go, he can’t.  If Tang leaves, then what will Pigsy be?  He needs this.  Tang, Tang’s good for him.

He whirls around, and a hand reaches over to rest on Tang’s shoulder.  Tang.  Tang is good.

“I-wait-but,” Pigsy finds it so hard to articulate his thoughts nowadays.

He’s always been the muscle, Tang is the smart one.  Pigsy is good at doing, not talking.  He shouldn’t speak when everything comes out scrambled anyway.

“Use your words, now, dear,” Tang says, and Pigsy melts, like he always does.  How can he not, when Tang is looking at him like that?  Like Pigsy is his?

“I want to-you can stay-can you?  I need you to stay.  Please?”

Because Tang makes Pigsy feel whole, makes Pigsy feel loved.  He can do whatever Tang wants him to do, whatever Tang needs, Pigsy will make it happen.

Tang’s fingers trail down Pigsy’s face.  Pigsy leans into the touch, even though Tang’s fingers are cold.  Tang feels cold, but that’s okay.  Pigsy doesn’t mind.

“Oh, Pigsy,” and it’s Tang.  Pigsy searches for understanding, as a thumb brushes away his fears, soft.  Tang leans down until their eyes are level.  Pigsy finds familiarity in them, like he’s known them for an eternity.

His favorite color is the color of Tang’s eyes, blue with a hint of white, hard and cold.  

“All you had to do is ask,” Tang leans forward, and his lips brush against Pigsy’s, and Pigsy leans in.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When ice touches the ocean, there is no crash.  The ocean fights back against the shift in form at first, but eventually is quieted by the power ice wields.  The ice smothers, the ice settles on top as a slate, and the sea goes still, everything hidden beneath, never to reach the surface.

Tang watches, from the prison in his mind, and the cuffs  on his wrists are so much tighter.  He can't feel where the cuffs end and his arms begin. He can’t feel his hands. He can’t feel anything.  All he has left is his vision, which is more a cruelty than a blessing.

When ice meets the earth it fills in the crevices left by time and expands, cracking stones apart and leaving it crumbling in its wake.

Tang curls in on himself as she shows him a kiss he never got to give, as Pigsy leans in with no hesitation, lost in something Tang can’t save him from.  He curls away from the sight and tries to pretend that things can get better, that they can be saved, but he doesn’t know.  Not when it hurts this much.  Not when he’s lost this much.

Something like betrayal rests bitterly in his stomach.  Pigsy left him.  For an imitation, Pigsy left him, and Tang knows there’s more there, knows there has to be, has seen it unravel, but it doesn’t change the fact.  

Pigsy made his choice, and Tang is the one suffering the consequences.

Tang crumbles quietly.  He doesn’t even know, here, if he has eyes to cry from.  It feels like he’s crying.

It feels like he’s screaming. No one hears. Even him.

If the water is still, it does not crash against the earth.  There is no tide, and the earth remains unchanging.  Except, even without the waves, time erodes it all.

Tang has nothing but himself and time.

[jay4firefic]

“Get Me”

You didn't give me characters so I picked! I kind of split the difference between this and "break me", sorry not sorry. TW for mentions of suicide (not our boys), drinking, implied alcoholism, and Kelly Severide being a giant goddamn mess.

Matt Casey has talked a lot of people off ledges, both real and figurative, in not quite twenty years as a Chicago firefighter. It’s just as terrifying now as it was the first time, holding a life not in his hands but with his words. Knowing that if he doesn’t find the right thing to say they’ll step over an edge they can never come back from. Knowing that sometimes even if he does they’ll do it anyway. But just like he told Boden years ago, these days he can usually tell whether they’re going to go through with it or not.

For one horrible, endless moment after he steps out onto the roof he has no sense of whether Kelly intends to step over the edge he’s teetering on.

“Sev,” he calls, forcing himself to take slow, deliberate steps across the rooftop. Past the tipped over folding chairs they dragged up here not long after Kelly first moved in, past cigar butts, past a six pack’s worth of shattered glass and drying beer, past scattered drops of red that make his heart rate creep upwards. Kelly barely even twitches as his footsteps crunch on gravel near the half-wall that surrounds the roof. “Sev, man, why don’t you come down from there before you trip?”

“He’s gone.” Kelly’s voice is a rasp, like he’s been smoking or screaming for hours. Maybe both. This close Matt can see the blood dripping slowly down the outside of the whiskey bottle in his hand before freefalling three stories to the alley below. A superficial wound, thankfully, probably inflicted by one of the many broken bottles behind them. “He moved his flight so he wouldn’t have to talk to me.”

Matt winces. “I know. Kidd told me.”

Something vaguely like anger bubbles up through his concern - how could Buck leave like this? Leave 51, leave Kelly? Leave Matt to pick up the pieces of his best friend for the third or fifth or thousandth time? - and dies away just as fast. This is the end of the road Kelly was headed down with or without Buck. It was always just a matter of which one of them was going to be left trying to make him see that there are other paths still open.

“He’s gone,” Kelly repeats, his voice breaking. Matt side steps until he can lean his hip on the wall and get a good look at Kelly’s face in the dying light, bites back a sigh of relief at what he sees there. Plenty of hopelessness and heartbreak - but anger, too. As long as Kelly Severide is pissed off, Matt figures he’s got the will to live. He’s too damn spiteful to die without settling his scores.”I thought - I thought we could fix it. I was going to…”

Propose, Matt finishes silently when Kelly holds up the object in his other hand. He remembers Kelly showing him the ring months ago - before Benny died, before the drinking started, back when Matt ordered a replacement turnout coat that just said Buck because he figured it was easier than ordering another one following the inevitable name change. Now Kelly bounces the velvet box carelessly before winding up as if to throw it, his whole body swaying drunkenly as his balance shifts.

Matt takes the opportunity presented by Kelly’s distraction to grab his raised wrist, throw his other arm around Kelly’s middle, and haul backwards with all his strength. They hit the concrete rooftop hard and struggle wildly for a moment. Matt is man enough to admit that on an average day, Kelly would win the struggle easily. But it’s not an average day, the whiskey bottle that rolls out of Kelly’s hand is nearly empty, and the only reason Matt catches an elbow in the eye is because Kelly’s drunken flailing is unpredictable. It doesn’t take long after that to subdue him.

Kelly curses and spits with all the dignity of his three legged cat - is she still his cat? Her bowls and tree were still there in the entry, but maybe Buck picked her up on his way out of town - until Matt drops more weight onto the knee he’s using to pin Kelly to the ground and the fight drains out of him. Matt counts to thirty in his head before standing and giving Kelly space to roll over, holding out a hand to help him up as well. Instead of taking it Kelly sits up and curls in on himself, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes with a raw, keening sound, the ring box forgotten on the ground near his hip.

It dawns on Matt slowly that Kelly is crying. Not the suppressed sniffles from Darden and Shay’s funerals or the silent, angry tears he shed when Buck was hooked up to too many beeping machines in the ICU, but big ugly drunken sobs. Matt freezes. There’s a manual for how to handle possible jumpers, but he’s never found a guide for what to do when someone cries and no one ever showed him how. Emotions like that were frowned upon in the Casey household.

He figures Kelly probably doesn’t want the only solution Casey has ever found - a crushing hug for a crying partner - and he doesn’t feel like getting hit again for trying. Sitting down next to him and bumping their shoulders together seems like a reasonable compromise, and conveniently allows him to palm the ring box and shove it into his coat pocket for safekeeping. He thinks - he hopes - that Kelly is going to need it back someday.

“He’s gone,” Kelly keeps repeating, his words beginning to slur together. Matt eyes the empty bottle a few feet away, the broken glass behind them, and does the math on how long it’s been since Kidd called to say Kelly was leaving her apartment in a rage after finding Buck gone. He doesn’t like the result.

“How much did you have to drink, buddy?”

Kelly makes a wounded noise.

“I’m serious, Sev. Do you need a hospital?”

“No,” Kelly mumbles, his weight against Matt’s side growing heavier as he seems to lose either the will or the ability to sit up. “Just had a few drinks. ‘S not a problem. Don’t have a problem.”

Matt has heard the same refrain off and on for months now. I don’t have a problem. It’s just a few drinks. I don’t need a babysitter, man. Buck’s making it sound worse than it is. I can stop anytime I want, I just don’t fucking want to.

“Yeah,” he sighs, digging out his phone one handed to send a text: Need help. Bring IV. “You do. But we’re gonna get you through it, alright? You and me, we’re gonna get through it, just like we always do.”

[goldenlaquer]

Hi ! Can I request you a rival to lovers short story/ One shot with Sougo please 🥺 ?

In which boys tease the girls they like by setting them on fire. 

AHHH SORRY FOR THE WAIT.

Who Runs the World? Sadists. (Okita Sougo One-shot): 

He is handsome, that much you can admit.

But you also think appreciating aesthetic beauty can be compartmentalized. It is something you can notice, and store in a box to shove in the darkest recesses of your mind, and then think nothing further about the person other than how much you’d like to run over him with an eighteen-wheeler.

So, here is how it is:

Out of context, he is handsome.

In context, he is the most trying, insensitive, sadistic, arrogant, lying dickwad to haunt the face of the Earth and your general vicinity.

You say the second part of this to him whilst kicking the back of his knees (something he very much deserved after slicing the top of your ice cream right off the cone), and he effortlessly dodges and grabs your hair to plant your face against the nearest streetlamp.

When you peel your face off with blood and vengeance dripping off your face, there is a smug smile on his face.

And you are further angered by how, even against the orange-yellow lights of the streetlamp and the darkness of the fading sky, that ugly, infuriating smile does not diminish the prettiness of his face.

And then you are even angrier for even noticing this.

Aesthetic beauty can be compartmentalized. You just aren’t very good at it.

—

You tell him that you wish that he’d fuck off. But only after reimbursing your ice cream.

He tells you to stop thinking about fucking him. And also that you should be thanking him for saving you the trouble of having to buy another gym subscription that you’ll never use again after the first visit.

Again, he dodges the kick, this time aimed at his balls.

—

You sometimes forget that he is in the police force. A fact that makes you shudder for society.

After long moments of name-calling and low blows to genital areas, he tucks his hands into the pockets of his uniform and strides away, no doubt bored of making fun of your existence.

Stop being a nuisance and get off the streets at night, he calls over his shoulder in monotone. He’d have nothing to do if you scared off all the thieves and rapists with your nasty breath smogging up the air.

You are left behind with a soggy waffle cone in your grip. If you didn’t know better, it sounded as if he cared.

—

The universe is playing a cruel and extremely hilarious joke on you.

Because everywhere you go, he is there.

You take a discreet whiff of yourself. Is there something in your perfume that attracts cockroaches?

He is there at the grocery store. Reaching for the last carton of milk at the same time as you do. He refuses to let go, silently staring at you with his red eyes to give up. You sure as hell won’t. You hold on tight and tug. He tugs back. You use two hands and heave. He lets go of the carton and you fly.

At the library. Perusing a manga when you stumble across him. And you would have turned right back around, but the seat across from him just so happens to be the only open one in the entire building. So you mentally curse the other people for educating themselves and suck it up, gingerly placing your tush on the edge of the chair, afraid of the very possible reality of him placing something there that could send you to the hospital. For the most part, the interaction is harmless, the both of you ignore each other until he yawns, loudly, and you glare at him for the rudeness, and he smirks (a warning sign) and proceeds to full-on whine your name out in a high-pitched voice, in the middle of studying students. You and him are kicked out by a buff onee-san with a month-long ban for public indecency despite your many attempts to tell her that you did not touch him, especially like that. Hot blood pools in your cheeks. For two reasons.

Even at the little goldmine of a ramen eatery you have miraculously discovered by sheer luck. Its location is isolated from the usual Edo traffic, hidden in a tiny dingy alley, but their bowls are little pieces of heaven: charred chashu slices that melt across the tongue in smokey savoriness, thin hand-made noodles that have just the right give and firmness, a golden broth that does not taste greasy or heavy and sucker-punches you across the face with umami. This eatery you have found is a safe haven, or so you think until you walk in and see Okita Sougo, schlurping up the last of his noodles and holding up his bowl to ask for seconds.

How is it that you can barely step out the front door of your home without seeing him? Doesn't he have a job? How can one person have so much free time?

(Somewhere, Hijikata is howling his first name.)

—

Once again, the universe makes sure that the only available seat is next to him.

You sit. He comments about how he’s flattered but he’s going to get a restraining order if this continues. You say bullshit, bullcrap, bulldiarrhea— if anyone’s stalking anyone it would be him, creep. He says that he’s not stalking you, he’s making sure that you don’t commit any crimes, and you say, quietly:

So you are following me?

He replaces his reply with an obnoxious noodle slurp. It is all the answer you need.

—

He is not there for two weeks. Two weeks. Two weeks of no sadists. Two weeks of no arguments and fighting. Two weeks of jumping for joy. Two weeks of jumping at shadows. Two weeks of silence. Two weeks of looking at ramen and thinking ‘ah, he’s not here’. Two whole weeks of no Okita Sougo.

You feel… awkward.

Except, awkward is not the word. Ridiculous. Absolutely preposterous. The word is alleviated, instead.

You are alleviated.

You think about the reason for this sudden change. You wonder if he is avoiding you. If so, It must have been back at the ramen place where you last saw him. Something he had said and something you had said.

Something revelatory.

Or he had become truly bored with you and moved on to another toy to play with.

You’re not sure which one leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

—

You see him again in the middle of the third week.

You are walking late at night, when you hear,

What did I tell you? Stop walking so late at night. You’re infecting everyone with your dumb braincells, moron.

You like to think that the only emotion on your face when you slowly turn to him is cool indifference, and you tell him that you don’t speak to stalkers.

Without missing a beat, he says, who would want to stalk such an ugly woman like you?

He pushes off the streetlamp he is leaning against and stalks towards you, long legs carrying him swiftly to stand in front of you. The orange- yellow lights reflect off brown, and long lashes lowers down on red as he looks at you with an expression that kinda makes you lose your breath.

You skin itches and something bubbles up inside you that wants to break free from your mouth.

Shut up. You tell yourself. Don’t say anything.

Where were you for the last two weeks?

Damn it.

Long lashes blink and pink lips slowly curve. Miss me?

No. Not. At. All. You were doing fantastic without him there to ruin everything. You just wanted to know so that you could send condolence flowers to the person he’s bothering now.

Well, you’re out of luck, he says, there was never anyone else.

Your toes curl.

So that means, he continues, I’ll be making your life miserable for a while longer.

You disguise your smile with a glare. Stalker.

Like I said, who would stalk such an ugly woman?

You start walking in the direction of your home. He follows next to you, shoulder and forearms of his jacket brushing against yours. You, idiot.

You’re the idiot.

No, you.

If I’m an idiot, then you are super idiot.

You’re mega idiot.

You’re infinite idiot.

That doesn’t make sense, idiot.

Only because you’re an idiot, idiot. 

----

Little note: Sougo was gone for two weeks, because surprise surprise, he was on a mission for Shinsengumi and I just couldn’t really slide this tidbit in. Not that it’s really important in the grand scheme of things.

[seanfalco]

A Red Carpet Event | Misfits Timeline Anomaly’verse

an oc x oc collaboration between @seanfalco & @super-unpredictable98

Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Language, Smut (fingering, voyeurism, semi-public sex) a/n: And the smut continues.  I love that even when we say we wanna work on something fluffy, it almost always turns smutty. 

[ masterlist ]

——

"Is everyone set for tonight?" Lydia asked as she came into the room, having just arrived from the hairdresser.  "Outfits, hair, makeup..." she mused, ticking off each on her finger.

When Lyddie had told the quad she was taking them all as her date to her first award show, the reactions had varied from excitement, to fear, to complete insanity.  The truth was, she was scared to admit publicly that she was in a quad, but she couldn't keep that hidden forever and it shouldn’t be hidden, there was nothing wrong with it.  Not to mention cheating rumors had been spreading online after some fans snapped pictures of Lydia and Win, which was complete bullshit.

“Are y’sure this dress is alright?” Win asked, looking at her reflection again.  “Or these shoes?  Maybe I should change...” she murmured, second guessing herself.  She thought she looked nice, but this was definitely not her scene.  She was used to band practices in garages and shows in sleazy dive bars, not award shows and red carpets.

"You look gorgeous, Winnie."  Lydia held Win's hands.  "You'll be the most beautiful girl there, guaranteed."  Lyddie's dress was hanging by the wardrobe, it was purple with a wide skirt, a black leather corset around the waist and lacy sleeves.  "Can one of you please make our lipsticks smear-proof so I can kiss my girlfriend?" she asked.

“Comin’ right up!” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, snapping his fingers with a flourish.  “There, snog away m’loves,” he said, pressing a kiss to Lyddie’s temple and then one to the top of Win’s head.  “She’s right, you look fuckin’ stunning,” he whispered in her ear before straightening, leaving her smiling softly.

"I love dating reality warpers..." Lydia sighed before pulling Win by the waist and kissing her hungrily.  "I can't wait to show you off to everyone."  Turning to look at the two very observing Nathans, Lydia cocked an eyebrow.  "Seriously?  Neither of you have even showered yet, do you even wanna come, or should I just bring Win?" 

"It takes literally two seconds for me t'be ready, Lollipop, calm down..." her Nathan laughed at how nervous she was.

“Same,” Win’s Nathan said with a shrug.  “Besides, it’s not everyday we get t’see th’pair of you all dolled up like this.  Gotta savour th’moment,” he pointed out.

"Well, enjoy the show, I guess..." Lydia laughed as she undressed to put on her dress.  "I imagine none of you wanna help me get dressed with magic, do you?" 

"Why would we?" Lyddie's Nathan asked.  "Cut down on your naked time?  No way!"  The other Nathan laughed, wholeheartedly agreeing with him. 

“Do you need some help Lyddie?” Win asked reaching for the dress on the hanger.

"Please, baby.  I need you to pull those corset strings as if I was hanging from a cliff, the camera adds ten pounds and I can't afford that on my first award show," Lyddie laughed.

“You got it, love,” Win murmured, helping her lace up the corset while the boys watched, lounging on the bed.  “Is that tight enough?” she asked, tugging the ribbons as tight as she could, though not wanting to hurt her girlfriend either.

"Yeah, that's good," Lydia said, nearly losing balance for a second, but soon she was able to breathe again; fainting on the red carpet was also not a very good idea.  "Thank you, Winnie."  Lydia turned to the mirror, looking for anything to fix before bending over to lace up her combat boots. She thought about wearing heels, but she didn't wanna be the tallest one in the group.  "So, how do I look?"

“Like an angel, a punk rock angel,” Win supplied with a grin while her Nathan nodded enthusiastically.

"A sexy punk rock angel."  Lyddie's Nathan waggled his brows at her while biting his lip.  

"Thank you, guys," she murmured, looking down, slightly flustered. "We should probably get going, the car should be arriving any second." 

"Oooh, a car?  Right posh, Lollipop, you'll end up spoiling me."  Lyddie's Nathan got up as his usual shirt and jeans became a dark blue suit.

Win's Nathan snapped his fingers, deciding on a black suit to match Win's little black dress.  "There, we look like a right pair now," he said, admiring himself in the full length mirror with a wink before turning back to the others.  "Right, I think we're ready then," he said excitedly.  "I wanna see this car you've got us.  D'you think they'll have champagne in there?"

"Jesus, I hope not..." Lyddie muttered under her breath, partially because she knew the only thing worse than two Nathans were two drunk Nathans.  

When the quad stepped outside, the car was already waiting.  When Lyddie's manager had said he’d send a driver, she didn't expect it to be a limo driver, but hey, she wasn't complaining. 

"Oh my God," she shrieked excitedly.  The lights inside the car made it seem like a nightclub on wheels.  

"I know!"  Lyddie's Nathan grabbed a handful of candy from one of the tiny jars and shoved it in his mouth.  "Brilliant!"

"Damn, this is nice," Win murmured, running her hands over the leather seats as her Nathan plopped down next to her, throwing his arm around her shoulder.  "I bet you could shag back here," she mused, looking around while Nathan searched for the booze. 

"Ohh shit, good idea babe," he exclaimed, his eyes latching onto the champagne flutes on the opposite side of the car.  "Thereeee we are," he cried, rubbing his hands excitedly as he grabbed one, handing it to Win as he reached for the chilling bottle.  "Nathan, Lollipop, some bubbly for you?"

"Hell yeah," Lyddie's Nathan nodded excitedly, shoving more food into his mouth.  

"When in Rome... Sure, why not?" Lydia agreed.  Maybe the alcohol would help with her nerves.  Looking around, she wished she could be as carefree and wild as her girlfriend.  Win was the life of the party, Lyddie was more like... the mum that holds everyone's hair back when they get sick.

“You okay?” Win asked, noticing Lyddie’s anxious expression as she took a sip of her drink.

"Um... yeah, just a tad anxious," Lydia suddenly felt very much like that little girl in the bowling alley again.  Performing was one thing, she was confident in her skills, but this was different.  People would be looking at her, not listening to her music.

“Wanna talk about it?” Win asked, frowning slightly, resting her hand on Lyddie’s thigh.

"You know, it's just... everyone's having fun, thinking about shagging in the backseat, while I'm freaking out.  For once I wanna be able to enjoy the moment."

Win looked thoughtful before quickly tipping back the rest of her champagne. “Would you like me to help you take your mind off it?” she asked, moving closer.  “Because I seem to remember your make-up is rather smudge proof.”

"That actually sounds amazing," Lydia drawled, taking another sip of her drink before handing it to her Nathan, who seemed happy to finish it for her.  "What do you have in mind, baby?"

Win’s only answer was to smirk as she leaned in to capture Lydia’s painted lips, reaching up to brush her fingers along her jaw as she kissed her, moaning softly.

"Oh, okay..." Lyddie's Nathan finally noticed them and watched hypnotized.  Lydia let herself go, the champagne plus Win's cold lips made all her doubt immediately fade away.  "That's better," Lyddie murmured, pulling Win onto her lap.

“I’m full of good ideas,” Win murmured, wrapping her arms around Lydia’s shoulders as she settled in her lap.  “You really do look fucking hot tonight babe.”

"You too," Lyddie murmured against Win's lips, both of her hands sliding down to her girlfriend's ass.  "So hot, I can't believe you're mine."  Lyddie's Nathan stared at them agape, mirroring his clone's reaction.

Win grinned into the kiss, wanting to thread her hands into Lyddie’s hair, but refraining, not wanting to mess it up.  Opening her mouth, she teasingly licked at her girlfriend’s parted lips.

“I would say I’m all yours, but I know how much you like sharing,” she murmured. 

“Oh shiiiit,” Win’s Nathan hissed, whistling low between his teeth.  “If y’keep that up I’m gunna hafta either do something about this hard on I’m gettin’ or it’s gunna be an awkward night.”

"Way ahead of you, man," Lyddie's Nathan was already stroking his cock at a steady pace. 

"Right now you're all mine," Lydia whispered in between kisses, one of her hands resting on Win's thigh, the other kneading her breast.  "I need to blow off some steam."

“Jesus,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed, quickly averting his eyes from his clone’s cock and hastily fumbling at his belt.  “I guess that works,” he muttered, sighing as he took himself in hand. 

“Oh good,” Win murmured, grinding gently against Lydia.  “I can definitely help with that baby.”

Lydia's arousal soaked her knickers, but she didn't worry about that, she just wanted to feel Win, all of her.  "I want you to mark me up," Lydia begged.  "I don't care who sees it, I want them to know I'm being taken care of."

Win pulled back, her brows shooting up. “Really?  Right before your event?” she asked, the thought arousing her further.  It was her guilty pleasure after all to leave her mark on her partners.  She just didn’t want Lyddie to feel self conscious when they got there.

"Yeah, give those bloody gossip magazines something to talk about."  Lyddie bit her lip, her hand slipping between Win's legs, fingers gently teasing her inner thighs.  "Don't you want them to know how good you make me feel?"

“Oh God, Lollipop, you’re such a rebel,” Win teased, but she didn’t have to convince her further and she latched onto Lydia’s neck, her teeth grazing her sensitive skin before she began to suck, drawing a breathy moan to her girlfriend’s lips.  Lifting her face she lapped gently at the spot before moving slightly lower to repeat the processes, kissing her with fervor.

"Just like that, Winnie, it feels so good..." Lydia gasped, the thought of people knowing what she did just made her even hotter.  "I wanna make you feel good."  Lyddie's fingers quickly found Win's clit, circling it gently at a torturous pace.  "Did you get this wet just from snogging me?"

Win gasped as Lyddie touched her.  “Yes, you definitely have that effect on me babe,” she whispered, the soft grunts of pleasure from the boys only serving to turn her on more.  She’d found right away since joining this relationship how much she like being watched.  “Lyddie, please?” Win whined, pausing her exploration of the other woman’s neck.

"Oh, please?" Lydia smirked, finding herself in one of her 'taking charge' moments, which have been more frequent ever since Win came into her life.  "Please what, baby?  Tell me what you need.” 

Lyddie's Nathan was always surprised to see her act this way, but he was starting to realize he liked it... maybe he should ask her to do the same to him sometime.

“More,” Win sighed, grinding against Lyddie’s hand.  “Faster?” she asked with a pout.  Win’s Nathan’s bit his lip.  Hearing Win beg like that did things to him.  She wasn’t usually the submissive type, and as much as he loved when she took charge, he loved seeing her like this, vulnerable and begging for it.

"Aww, you do look cute when you beg..."  Lyddie moved slightly faster, pressing her forehead to Win's with an amused grin.  "Such a good girl.  Nate," Lydia turned to Win's Nathan, narrowing her eyes playfully at him.  "Do you think I should finger her?  Do you think Winnie deserves it?"

For a moment his hand froze as he gaped at Lydia.  “Y-yeah, give it to her Lollipop,” he exclaimed, groaning softly.  “Fuck that’s so hot.”

"Okay then," Lydia smiled at Win, as much as she loved being a submissive, seeing her girlfriend helpless like that was really sexy.  "I guess you deserve it..."  She teased Win's entrance for a second, gathering her arousal before pumping two fingers inside of her, the heel of Lyddie's hand still rubbing against the other woman's clit.

“Oh fuck, Lyddie,” Win moaned.  “I’m supposed to be the one distracting you,” she murmured, dragging her lips along Lydia’s neck.

"You are," Lydia sighed, her fingers curling to find Win's sweet spot.  "I love to see you like this... Just don't come before I say so, alright?"

“Yes, Lyddie,” Win answered obediently, her voice coming out breathy.  “I love you, you’re so good to me,” she murmured, burying her face in Lydia’s neck, biting down hard.

"I love you too, baby," Lyddie purred, clenching her eyes shut, she was really turned on, but she liked the idea of having to wait until they all got home.  "I wanna hear you moan for me."

Win moaned louder, clutching at Lydia as she felt her climax nearing, pleasure coursing through her.  “Oh Lyddie, I’m close!” she exclaimed, writhing in her lap, grinding against her hand as it pumped into her.

"You wanna come, Winnie?" Lydia studied her face carefully, adding a third finger inside of her. "Ask me nicely, tell me how bad you want it..."

“Please Lyddie,” Win gasped, “please, I’m so close, I wanna— I want— oh please baby,” she begged.

"Such a needy little thing," Lydia mused for a second, enjoying what she was able to do.  "Okay, baby, come for me."  Lyddie's words seemed to have an effect on her Nathan as well and he squirmed as he came, making a huge mess on his suit, but he didn't care.

Win’s mouth fell open, her eyes falling shut as she came around Lyddie’s fingers with a whine, her whole body tensing. “Holy shit,” Win’s Nathan gasped, biting his lip as he came over his hand.

"That's better," Lydia held Win against her chest, kissing her temple.  "I feel a lot more confident now, we're gonna crush this thing." 

"Jesus... you crushed me," Lyddie's Nathan exclaimed, zipping up his trousers, leaning back in his seat.

“Ahh, so that was your plan all along,” Win mused, brushing a weak kiss to Lydia’s jawline.  “I’m glad I could help.  Fuck, but I love you like this,” she murmured, straightening to glance back at the Nathan’s.  “Oops, looks like you made a bit of a mess there, Natty,” she purred with a laugh.

"If I can make you beg like that, I can do anything..." Lydia chuckled.  "Maybe I should take charge more often, you look so hot." 

"Oh, yeah," Lyddie's Nathan looked down at his ruined suit, but with a swift hand motion, it was clean and perfect again.  "There, problem solved."

“I’m hot?  You’re sexy as hell,” Win laughed.  “I like dominant Lydia,” she admitted.  “Though I like you every way,” she added, tracing the dark hickies she’d left.  “I left you some gifts,” she whispered before slipping off her lap to sit between Lyddie and her Nathan.  “Nathan, babe, you have a little something too,” she pointed out, glancing down at his trousers and the white stain there.

“Yeah, well, you look a little disheveled yourself sweetheart,” he teased, snapping his fingers to fix their appearances.

Lydia grabbed a mirror in her purse to look at the state of her neck.  "That's definitely gonna leave an impression... I love it." 

"At least we don't gotta worry about fans hittin' on ya," her Nathan muttered, moving to kiss over the marks.  

"You know... even if I don't win tonight, I'm already happy with the outcome."

“And when we get home, we’ll celebrate either way,” Win’s Nathan exclaimed as the car rolled to a stop.

"I can't wait..." Lydia looked over her shoulder to wink at him as someone opened the door, and she hopped out of the car.

The others followed, with different degrees of nervousness, Win slipping her hand in Nathan’s.  Outwardly she held her head high, a slight smirk on her face, but the way her fingers trembled in his, he knew she was anxious.

Lydia was somewhat used to the public by now, but the Press still scared the shit out of her.  She took her Nathan's hand on one side and Win's on the other as they walked down the red carpet. "

Lyddie, Lyddie!  Who are you wearing?" a voice rang in her ear. 

"I have no idea, this is thrifted," she laughed, posing in different angles. 

"Lyddie!  Are you still engaged?" 

"Yes, she is!" her Nathan pulled her hand up to flash the ring.

“Lyddie!  Who else is with you?” one of the photographers shouted before snapping several photos of Win and the other Nathan.  “Is your fiancé a twin?”

“You could say that,” Win’s Nathan grumbled under his breath, while Win flashed a smile at the camera, giving Lydia’s hand a squeeze.

"These are my partners," Lydia nearly shouted, way too excited to say that.  "My boyfriend, and my girlfriend." 

"Are you expecting a win tonight?" A reporter asked, recorder in hand. 

"Oh yeah," Lydia leaned in to speak into the mic.  "But even if I don't get album of the year, I feel that this win already came for me... I mean to me."

At Lydia’s words Win felt her face flare hotly, and a loud cackle burst from her Nathan’s lips.  “Oh you could definitely say that!” he exclaimed, giving her a cheeky pinch.

Lydia smiled for a few more pictures before moving on to sign a few autographs and take pictures with her fans waiting by the barricade.  Her Nathan nudged Win's arm, smiling while he watched Lydia laughing, having fun and being herself without worrying about anyone's opinion.

“Hmm?” she murmured, looking up at him. “What’s up?”

"Look what you did... she's so happy."  He didn't wanna be sappy, but it was too adorable.

Win flushed at his praise, a soft smile lingering on her lips as she watched Lydia.

“Ahh, it was nothin’,” she murmured, leaning into his side.  “She did all the work,” she murmured under her breath.

——

 Delilah glanced at the screen as she took a sip of her drink, only half paying attention to the award show as several musicians walked along the red carpet, until a flash of green hair caught her eye and she nearly choked, leaning forward to snatch the remote and turning up the volume. “And who do you have with you tonight?” 

“These are my partners—“ Delilah’s mouth fell open as she recognized her step sister’s face come across the screen, hanging on the arm of the gangly curly haired bloke she’d moved out with, as well as a woman with cotton candy coloured hair. 

“MOM!”

[danny-chase]

if you want, maybe you could do "severed artery" with Dick and have Roy (or one of the other Titans) take care of him? love your writing and I hope you're having a nice day!

AHH thank you so much! I hope you enjoy!

Severed Artery - read on AO3

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Roy Harper & Dick Grayson Characters: Roy Harper, Dick Grayson, Garth (DCU), Donna Troy (minor) Additional Tags: Can be read as pre-slash, POV Roy Harper, POV Dick Grayson, vomitting, Blood, Guns, Hospitals, Canon-Typical Violence, dick is a little shit, Roy is a Little Shit, Homophobia, Roy Harper Needs a Hug, Roy Harper gets/gives a hug, Dick Grayson Whump, Roy Harper emotional whump, Protective Roy Harper, Hurt Dick Grayson, Garth is the best, Titans as family, Confused Dick Grayson, Medical Inaccuracies Series: Part 6 of Bad Things Happen Bingo Summary:

Dick and Roy are little shits to each other, until the night takes a turn for the worse.

Full story under cut

“Aight, Donna, you ready to go?” Roy chirped, taking a second to look himself over in the mirror, running his fingers through his (surprisingly) soft hair (he��d be stealing Dick’s shampoo more often) – getting that perfect messy, but stylish look. He fired off finger guns at his reflection – he was killing it, somehow listening to Gar of people had worked out – he gave shockingly good fashion advice.

Feeling optimistic, he sauntered into the hall, only to be met with Donna’s confused expression.

“Roy, I’m going out with the girls tonight, I told you like four times.” She leaned against the wall, gesturing to Jesse and Toni, car keys dangling from her hand. Jesse stared at him, an eyebrow cocked judgmentally, as Toni smiled, offering a little wave. He waved back, watching Jesse’s expression morph into disapproval.

“Hey, I didn’t even do anything!” He complained, glaring at Jesse. She rolled her eyes, not deigning to verbally respond. Ice queen.

Reaching out, Donna patted his shoulder, waiting until he met her eyes. “I’m sorry, hun, but we’ve got tickets to a concert, could we go out next weekend?” She fluttered her eyelids slightly, sending chills up his spine. “Why don’t you take one of the boys with you?”

“Terrible company, but babe, have fun, I’ll figure something out.” He cupped her chin in his hand, leaning forward to peck a kiss to the top of her head, ignoring the fact she squatted down to make the moment work.

“Mm, thanks.” With that, the girls were off for the night, leaving him stranded in a deserted hallway.

Well. He could do what Donna suggested and take out one of the guys – he had the reservation, and Lian was already situated with the sitter. But which guy was the question… Wally was out with the league, Garth was visiting home, Vic was with Gar, and Grant had a date. Which left Dick – no - Dick was busy working – actually yes – he likely needed a break.

Actually – was he even here?

He started towards the central control room, poking a head in Dick’s room on the way and had to do a double take.

“You’re actually in <em>your room</em>?” Dick threw a pencil at him without looking up from his desk, child’s play to dodge – Dick speak for hmm, maybe something like ‘asshole’, but he took it as an invitation to enter. But if Dick was going to call him an asshole, he had expectations to live up to.

He took a standing leap, twisting and flopping across Dick’s immaculately made bed, sending blankets and pillows careening off the side. Dick ignored him, scribbling down some notes on a pad of paper. Roy waited for a few minutes, listening to the scratch of pen on paper. Quick and noisy – Dick was likely stressed – he was pushing down harder than normal; he gave it an eighty/twenty chance something was up.

Ripping paper proved him right, as Dick frustratedly crumpled up the page of notes, throwing them behind him, hitting the recycling bin with ease. Groaning, he dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes.

“Showoff.” Dick startled, jumping out of his chair, Roy’s own reflexes were the only thing that saved him from taking a pen between the eyes.

“What the fuck, Richard?!” He yelled, yanking the little missile out of the air. A faint flush tinted the top of Dick’s ears.

“I forgot you were there.” The admission was almost too quiet to hear, but combined with the minute sign of embarrassment, it rang of truth. Roy could milk this, oh he totally could.

“What was that, why did you almost kill me?” If he played his cards right, he wouldn’t be dining alone tonight.

“I didn’t think you were…” Dick trailed off, glaring at him. “You heard what I said.” He retorted, catching on. Sucks to suck, Dickie – he was obviously tired if that spooked him – he was likely running on caffeine.

“Oh, you misunderstand.” Scooching off the edge of the bed, he hopped lightly onto the balls of his feet. “Why’d the batboy forget I was there, hmm?” He pulled a half-eaten energy bar off the desk, inspecting the wrapper. Dick casually rocked back in his chair.

“See, completely decaf, I told you I’d-” Roy yanked open a drawer, Dick darting to stop him. “This is my desk!” He slammed the drawer shut a moment too late – Roy had good eyes after all.

“Hmm, so how do you explain the-”

“Get out, I have stuff to do – aren’t you supposed to be on a date with-”

“-CAFFIENE PILLS IN YOUR DRAWER!” He shouted through Dick’s response, effectively shutting him up. There’d been an intervention years ago after too many days spent on one hour or less of sleep. “You know the deal.” Dick groaned as he ruffled his hair.

“I have to-”

“Eat, shower, and sleep. And I have reservations. For two. You’re coming with me.” Ah yes, a romantic dinner date with Dick Grayson. People would kill for this. Dick crossed his arms. Roy picked up his chair, staggering towards the door. Dick was going whether he liked it or not, a real meal (not protein shakes or energy bars) would do him good.

“No one’s even done this to me in like, a year.” He noted, gracefully leaping out of the seat. “Asshole.” Grumbling he lightly punching him in the arm before heading into his walk-in closet, stripping off his shirt as he went. Automatically, Roy scanned for any new injuries, his eyes lingering over a few of the old.

“Liar, Wally caught you two months ago. Besides, the restaurant is nice, Donna likes it and you two are basically the same person, so you’ll love it.” Dick scoffed, stepping out of view.

“Is that all I am to you? Your replacement for Donna?” He sounded mildly offended.

“Nah, you’re too ugly to replace her.” Dick hmphed. “And your personality sucks.” Roy added.

“Why the hell am I going with you?”

“It’s not like your night could get any worse.” Dinner was better than casework after all.

Dick’s head poked out the doorway, looking completely unamused. “Asshole.” He chirped a second time, ducking back away.

Roy sat across from him, speaking between mouthfuls of pasta, smacking his lips together. “So anyways this kid, Johnny is like, sitting next to Lian in class, and he keeps taking her crayons and won’t give them back.” Dick thought for a moment, watching Roy drum his fingers rhythmically on the table. “And the teacher is being ridiculous, she just believes Johnny over Lian. My Lian! Can you believe it?” He slammed his fork down, articulating the point.

<em>And you’re sure Lian gave you the whole story?</em> Was what Dick wondered, but he’d prefer not to die for questioning Lian’s integrity tonight. “Why don’t you mark her crayons with a sharpie and let the teacher know?” Roy’s fingers stopped.

“Huh, hadn’t thought of that.” He leaned back in his seat, distantly looking out the window. People trickled down the street, passing by the little café, kicking up crimson leaves from half empty trees. Streetlights flickered on; fairy lights crisscrossing the avenue, as the sun lazily sunk in the sky. It was a beautiful night – Roy was right, he did love it, the food was good – catching up with Roy was refreshing – and the location was stunning; as always, Roy always picked the perfect places for dates. Dick was past the point of being annoyed at the situation but was still determined to give Roy a hard time.

“Well, maybe if you thought about that instead of harassing me.” He leaned forward, resting his head on his hand, dramatically looking out the window – Babs was going to kill him for being late with his case reports. Again. Roy smirked as he rocked forward, reaching across the table to lay a hand on his forearm. He at least had the decency to look apologetic.

“Look, you know the deal.” Brushing his thumb against his skin placatingly, he waited until Dick met his eyes. “You’re working full time, and have your nightly duties, and you’re with us.” His voice dropped, his nostrils flaring in irritation. “It’s not like you’ll leave Bruce alone any time soon either. Dick.” His eyes crinkled around the edges – concern. “You’ve got to start taking care of yourself.” Dick rolled his eyes; he was doing fine.

“You’re working with Ollie, you have a daughter, and you’re working with us, look I had one breakdown-”

“More than one-”

“-Only one that wasn’t the result of external influences.” Fuck Brother Blood for the other ones. “We made the caffeine deal after,” he grimaced reflexively “I broke up with Kory but, Roy.” He clasped Roy’s hand with his other hand reassuringly. “I promise I’m doing better now.” Tilting his head to the side, he cracked his neck. “Plus, you only brought me along because Donna was busy, that’s not what the deal was for.”

“Okay, maybe that was shitty of me, but it’s nice seeing you without the tights.” Roy flashed a winning smile. “Not that I don’t like seeing you in them, the new stuff looks great.”

“Oh, so I don’t look great now?” He teased. He’d picked out his brightest shirt for the occasion – a polo patterned after bowling alley carpet paired with the tightest red jeans he could find, and of course, a pair of heels borrowed from Donna. A single giant hoop earring dangled off his left ear. If he was going out with Roy, he wanted people taking pictures. Payback. This would be in the news tomorrow.

“Babe,” Roy lifted up his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “You look stunning.” He grinned goofily, seemingly happy to play along. Welp. If that’s how they were going to play it. He booped Roy’s nose, watching his pupils dilate. Dick recoiled in surprise – Roy wasn’t -

“Wait, you’re not actually-”

A scream cut him off, whirling around in his seat he saw a large man storming into the café brandishing a gun, his face red beet red and angry. He turned back, squeezing Roy’s hand, nodding towards the silverware.

“No-no one else move!” The guests around them stayed frozen in place. Three older ladies on their right, a family of four on their left (he guessed it was the young girl who screamed), and a couple across from them. The staff ducked behind the counter as people outside the restaurant scrambled away.

Dick raised his hands slowly. “I said no one move!” The gun pointed directly at him. Perfect.

“Okay, I won’t move.” He said steadily, watching sweat bead on the man’s head – he was nervous, his hands twitched uneasily on the gun – possibly his first time, and he kept muttering to himself. He watched Roy’s hand carefully creep towards silverware in his peripheral. “Do you want money? My father is rich.” Watching the man jitter about, he slowly stood up. Roy’s hand closed around the fork.

“Okay? You-you can get me money?” The man mused to himself, shifting his weight back and forth. He started lowering his gun, taking a step forward, he reached out his other hand. Dick took a few steps to the right, away from his chair, shifting attention away from Roy. “Okay the-”

*BANG* The world sped up around him, he rushed forward as the man fell-

*BANG* The man hadn’t even hit the ground – he was already dead – already-

“DICK-”

*BANG* Blood and brain matter poured out of the man’s head, someone was screaming, it didn’t need to-

*BANG*

“STOP!” Someone slammed into his side, and he hurtled to the ground. “HOLD YOUR FIRE!”

Roy’s face hovered above him. “Dick! You’re going to be fine.” His hands clamped napkins to his left shoulder, one on his front the other on his back – and shit – that was a lot of blood. “Hey, look at me.” Pain radiated out for the spot as Roy doubled the weight on the wound, blood seeping out past his fingers, waves pulsating in time to his heartbeat.

Cops burst in through the door, rushing to swarm the dead body. One glanced their way. “Oh shit, you hit the fa-”

“Fucking call an ambulance you dipshits!” Roy’s voice sounded farther away. “Slow your heart, fuck, do your Jedi weirdo bat tricks.” He hissed. Too late, sometimes, things happen too fast. “They hit an artery.” The blood wasn’t stopping, the napkin was soaked through, Dick felt himself slipping into shock. “Dick, stay awake!”

“Lo-ve y-ou.” He stumbled over the words as the world exploded – a million things happening at once – his thoughts scattering as black tinged his vision, overcoming everything.

Roy scrubbed his hands, pausing over the sink, watching the pink water rush down the drain, gurgling as it went. He rubbed a hand further, tackling the blood crusted over his elbow. He made a mistake of catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror –Dick’s blood was everywhere, coating his shirt, arms, pants, even some on his face. His stomach flipped, clenching tightly as he started to gag - fuck.

Throwing himself over the toilet, dinner rising back up in his throat, he threw up the seat. Shaking, he held himself over the porcelain toilet, fingertips staining it red, as he heaved. Soap bubbles dripped from his hands over the edge of the bowl, spattering on the ground.

Each drop spurred a recollection of the night’s events.

*Plop* The man was dead before he hit the grown, brain matter spattering the wall.

*Plop* A bullet whistled through the air, missing Dick by millimeters, lodging six inches next to the little girl’s head. He ran, screaming <em>“Dick!”</em>

*Plop* Blood sprayed out, a bullet ripping through Dick’s shoulder, as he kept moving towards the man.

*Plop* <em>“Stop!”</em> Tackling Dick out of the way, he screamed for them to stop, ripping napkins off a table and desperately trying to stop Dick’s life from slipping through his fingers.

He fell to his knees, a pit growing in his stomach spreading to his chest, rooting him to the spot. He curled his knees to his chest. Fuck. Dick had been shot before. But this? It was different. They weren’t in costume, they hadn’t been ready – the man hadn’t even shot anyone, only the bastard cops had.

<em>“Love you.”</em>

What kind of final words were those! He sat on the tile floor, banging his head into the side of the wall. Dick couldn’t die. Not because he forced him on some dumb dinner date! It wasn’t fucking fair!

His vision blurred, but he couldn’t do anything to stop the tears, unless he wanted blood in his eyes. Just – fuck. “FUCK!” His shout reverberated around the room. This was all his fault – he should have stayed home with Lian, guilt pooled in the bottom of his stomach. Why couldn’t he just leave well enough alone? Why’d he always have to have the last word? What was wrong with him!? Normal people didn’t antagonize each other like that!

The door creaked open. “Roy?” Garth called, the door squealing as it slowly opened. “Donna’s here too, are you ohhhhhhhhh-kay?” His jaw dropped, though he quickly recovered. Roy looked away, in a failed attempt to hide the tear tracks on his cheeks.

Garth stared at his hands. “That’s a lot of blood.” He muttered, his eyes darting around the room. “I mean, I brought you clean clothes.” He placed pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt he’d stolen from Dick years ago on the counter. Roy’s eyes lingered on the shirt, no doubt the choice had been intentional.

The sound of rushing water cut through the silence, seeming to grow louder with each passing moment. Garth leaned back against the counter, hopping up next to the sink. “He’ll be fine.”

“Yep.” Dick was always fine. Always fine until he wasn’t.

“It’s not your fault.” Wrong.

“Debatable.” Garth frowned at the response but held his tongue. Instead, he let his head fall back against the mirror, staring up at the ceiling.

Softly, barely above a whisper, he continued. “I left you all alone for one day and this is how it ends up.” Roy bit his lip. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” Guilt bubbled in the bottom of his stomach, and annoyance overcame him; they’d had these conversations before.

“Are you kidding me? I know what you want me to say. It’s not your fault – of course not. But then you’ll say ah but it’s not my fault either.” Angrily throwing his arms in the air, he continued, his voice growing louder. “And no – Garth – actually it is my fault!” He could feel the blood rushing to his face. “I’m the one who made him go to the restaurant. I’m the one was too late getting him out of the line of fire!” His voice resounded around the cramped room. He banged his head against the wall again. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do and thanks. But no thanks.”

Nonchalantly shrugging, Garth gestured to the water. “Wallowing here won’t make you feel less guilty. Apologizing when he wakes up will help, and I’m sure you’d prefer to be clean when the time comes.”

“Garth? Could you just…” He trailed off; anger quickly overcome by a wave of guilt. Shut up? Leave? Stop? He wasn’t sure, but he was sure he didn’t deserve whatever pity Garth was feeling. A wet paper towel smacked him in the face.

“Kick you in the rear so you’ll get off your sorry ass and clean yourself up?” Hopping off the counter, Garth strode over, lifting Roy by the elbow. “That’s not my style. But I’ll help you get cleaned up.” He let himself be dragged towards the running water, facing himself in the mirror once more, though this time he focused on Garth.

Sometimes Dick could swear he was actually a time traveler. Or maybe had latent teleportation abilities. Realistically, he’d probably just blacked out from blood loss or a concussion, but eh, that option wasn’t as fun. Blinking, he found himself in a familiar setting; a hospital room in a private wing, at – a clock ticked to his left, looking up – it was 4:19am.

He waited a minute, watching the clock turn to 4:20 - nice.

What was he doing again? How long was he out?

He struggled for a moment before remembering that he went out with Roy at 6pm last night, so he was out for… god math was hard. Six to twelve is six hours plus four, uh, ten hours and twenty minutes. Right. As long as it was the same day, he was set.

“Shit.” He promptly realized he couldn’t move his left arm. A sling. UGH. “Son of a-” he cut himself off, realizing he wasn’t alone in the room, Donna was gently snoring in a nearby chair, a little throw blanket covering her. The patterns had fish people… there was a word for that… mer-somethings-maids, mermaids. Mermaids – Garth – Garth was here, that was his blanket.

Dick scanned the room, checking for signs of life. Someone’s bag was on the floor, but he didn’t feel like expending the brain power to figure out who’s. Alright. He steeled himself. Now was the perfect time for escape.

The room spun as he sat up, turning around and round again before his eyes. Hah. Count Vertigo was way worse than this. Yep, head empty, room spinning, this was fine. Swinging his legs over the bed, an alarm blared next to his head.

“Fuck!” He jumped out of his skin, springing to his feet, in a defensive position. Well. He thought he did. The room was tilting on its side, the high-pitched noise shattering his thoughts. Instinctively, he tried to run.

“Woah there, shorty.” He found himself held by strong arms, the world turning once more. The familiar scent of Roy’s aftershave overpowered his senses. Distantly he was aware of the alarm turning off, his legs hitting the back of the bed. Roy’s face swam into view as he was guided back onto the bed, now propped up by soft pillows. So much for escape…

He closed his eyes, waiting for the rush of dizziness to pass. “Roy?” Warm arms wrapped around his torso, snaking tenderly around the sling. “What?” He mumbled - not that he was complaining, as he nestled his chin on Roy’s shoulder. He sighed contentedly, pressing his face into Roy’s stiff neck, closing his eyes and basking in the warmth.

For some reason, the wheels in his brain began turning. Roy. Dinner. Gunshots. His eyes shot open. “Fuck did you get hit, are you okay?” He pulled back, scanning Roy for injuries.

“I’m fine.” Roy facepalmed.

“What?”

“You got shot and you’re asking if <em>I’m</em> okay?” Roy shook his head, exhaustion clear in his voice. Dick looked at his sling again.

“I got shot?” It was like a piece of a puzzle clicking into place. “I got shot…” Wasn’t he supposed to be somewhere else? “How the fuck am I supposed to explain this to my boss?”

Sighing, Roy took a seat on the edge of the bed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why are you like this?” Turning, he looked Dick in the eyes. “Don’t answer that actually. Look, I’m sorry I made you go out to dinner.”

“Why? It was nice.” The food was good. Sputtering, Roy searched for words.

“Well. Don’t say I never apologized.” A little bit of a blush crept up his neck.

His mind abruptly recalled something he’d heard Roy saying to Lian. “Apologies come with hugs.” Roy rolled his eyes but moved closer anyways.

“You don’t even know why I’m apologizing.” He mumbled, brushing Dick’s bangs to the side. Dick grinned as Roy pecked his forehead, sweeping him into a second embrace. Two hugs in one day – that was a pretty good day. Roy’s fingers stroked through his hair, as Dick leaned into his muscular side, the world spinning slightly, though he’d found a solid rock to lean on.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Partners {6}***

OA Zidan/Zeeko Zaki x Reader

Warning: Cursing, Fluff, Angst, Talk of Sex Trafficking, Plot, NSFW, SMUT, 

ALL STARS on The NSFW Meter, DO NOT READ AT WORK

Words: 7k

Summary: You’re a damn good FBI agent in your own right. It is definitely partly to do with how well you’ve been trained and partly to do with you not letting anything or anyone distract you. You have a six-year plan that you’re fast-tracking for four. After being transferred from your office in Tampa, you’ve been sent to New York, which you’ve labeled the “big leagues.” Your first day there, after being introduced to your new partner OA Zidan you realized you’ve moved out of the frying pan right into the pot of distraction. A year later and your growing attraction for your partner still hasn’t been snuffed out.

Note: This is a first for me writing about a TV show and interjecting into it. Let’s see how this goes. I hope you guys enjoy this. As always, thank you for reading. 

If you enjoyed this please, LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1  |  2   |  3  |  4  |  5 |

~~~~~~~~~~~

His hand gripped the nape of your neck and squeezed. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt you, but it was just enough for you to clench around him as a new gush of wetness eased his glide. Every time OA’s hips slapped against your ass, his grip would tighten then loosen as he retreated to repeat the action again and again. He knew what he was doing. This new status of your relationship was new, but he’d been paying attention to every single cue your body gave to tell him what you liked, didn’t like, and what drove you insane. When he slammed forward and rotated his hips, your reflex was to lurch forward away from him.

 “Fuck,” you forcefully whispered.

 “Did I hurt you?” His voice was filled with concern as he began to pull out. Gripping around him, you kept him where he was.

 “No, just--.”

 OA bent over your back, pressing his chest onto you before he kissed your ear.

“Can’t take it?”

 His voice was so damn deep and seductive. Your belly did backflips as you turned your face to the side to look at him.

 “You tell me. I thought I was taking it very well,” you countered. OA’s smile was wide before he pressed his lips to yours to passionately kiss you. Just as t, you were getting into it, he pulled his lips from you and kissed a trail down your spine.

Deciding to tease him, you winded your hips against him, eliciting a satisfied “ah” from him. Peeping back at him, he had his head dropped back with his eyes closed, enjoying the sensations your movement gave him. Slowly you began to move back and forth. You knew he was close. You’d paid close attention to the cues his body gave too. The veins bulging in his neck said he was really close. You sped up and forcefully crashed your ass onto him. It quickly turned into you chasing your release while trying to please him. 

OA’s grip on your hips tightened, and you knew what was coming. He quickly pumped into you, sending goosebumps across your skin. Your moans got louder, and soon, you were calling his name louder and louder until your release took over. OA groaned and slammed into you with four staggered thrusts. That was when your knees gave out. OA dropped back onto the bed, taking you with him to cuddle up to your back.

“To think we almost missed out on this,” OA said before he kissed your shoulder blade.

 You let his words sink in as you snuggled closer. You couldn’t get close enough.

 “Was there a time when you almost--,” you paused, trying to find the word.

 “Pushed you into an office or an alley and kissed you?”

 You snorted. “I guess.”

 “There were a few times. Do you remember the hostage case? We got the perp in integration, and you took the lead, I remember watching in the other room and the way you got into his head and flipped every single notion he had and reason he had to protect the other guy had my jaw dropped. Then when he sang like a canary, I couldn’t believe it. I went in after they’d taken him, and I was so close,” OA confessed.

 “What stopped you?”

 “The cameras.”

 You busted out laughing with him joining in. Slowly it dawned on you what your reality was, and you got silent.

 “Are you thinking about it?”

 “About what?”

 “You know what,” OA pressed as he kissed your neck.

 He smelled so good you doubted you’d ever want to be too far from him. Even that thought had you rolling your eyes.

 “Thinking about the fact that this is against every rule? Or thinking about the fact that if anyone finds out about this, then there will be consequences? Or thinking about--.”

 OA rolled on top of you and pressed your hands above your head, stopping your words.

 “I don’t care about the rules or the consequences.”

 You didn’t know how he could even say that. He’d worked his ass off to get where he was today. He’d put up with an incredible amount of shit to be the agent he was. How could he be so ready for it to be for nothing? The way he stared at you said he saw the panic in you. Biting your bottom lip, you pushed against his hands, finding little to no resistance. You cupped his bearded jaw and brought his head to you and kissed him.

 You got enveloped in the kiss and rolled onto him. You decided to focus on here and now with him. You wanted to enjoy him fully without any nagging thoughts of what reality held for you come Monday morning or even beyond. Neither of you was going to put voice to the things you knew about the dangers of you getting entangled.

 You awoke to the soft sound of a sitar and the aroma of cinnamon, nutmeg, cardamom, and other spices that screamed comfort. As you stretched, you noted how sore your muscles were. You climbed out of bed and threw on your robe then walked toward the music. You had no idea what time it was, but it was still light outside. When you rounded the corner, there was OA in your kitchen in nothing but his boxer-briefs cooking up a storm.

 It was a beautiful sight, one you were not accustomed to. He was the first man to grace your apartment, let alone your kitchen and bed. Slowly you let your eyes drink in every inch of his beautiful skin. He was perfect. You got lost in your thoughts and gawking over him that you didn’t realize he’d turned around and was doing some gawking of his own. OA cleared his throat loudly, bringing your eyes to his.

 “Yeah, you’ve been caught.”

 Embarrassment filled you as you covered your face. “No, don’t hide. Own what a pervert you are.”

 You laughed loudly, then glared at him.

 “Come on, the price for voyeurism is a dance.”

 “Oh no, I can’t dance to this,” you protested.

 “Lies. Remember when we all went to that Egyptian place, and everyone had a turn with dancing?”

 You slapped yourself in the head because you did remember. You had the guts to get up and dance that night.

 “You held your own. I remember those moves. Come on,” OA coaxed.

 Rolling your eyes because you knew he would never let it go, you walked to him and took his outstretched hands then began moving your hips to the beat the best you could. As soon as you found your rhythm, the music picked up, and OA was leading you around the kitchen in a traditional and modern mix of an Egyptian dance. In no time, you got into it and tapped into your inner belly dancer. When OA pulled up behind you, you rolled your hips then circled them before you jerked them to the beat. The two of you dance around the kitchen together, having a great time. The song was a really good one; you couldn’t lie.

 By the end of it, you and OA were laughing together while he hugged you to him.

 “See, you’d fit right in. my aunts would love you.”

 That sounded serious. Your eyes met, and both of you realized it then. He kissed your nose, then your forehead enhancing the intensity of the moment.

 “It smells incredible. What’re you making?”

 “Mm, lunch, kofta, or meat on a stick it’s a beef kabab, a red lentil soup, and Aish Baladi, which is a flatbread,” OA listed.

 “Wow. You cooked all of this?”

 “Yes. I can cook.”

 “Wow. I had no idea. I thought in your culture it was all about finding a beautiful wife who could make all of this for you,” you teased. His adorable dimples broke out.

 “Yeah. If you ask my umi, then yes, that is what a textbook good wife would be able to do. If you ask me, though, I’d like to spoil my woman.” He kissed your cheek and carried a trail to your neck.

 “Oh, I bet you would.” a giggle escaped you as he nibbled your skin.                                    

 “Come on, gorgeous, let me feed you,” OA said as he walked away but not before he dropped a slap to your ass.

 He gathered plates and utensils as you pried even more into the pots curiosity getting the better of you. When OA realized it, he ushered you away from the pots and put the dishes in your hands, prompting you to set the table that was in the kitchen by the window. For the next few minutes, you worked in silence, him finishing the details on lunch and you making the table presentable. It all felt so domestic and normal like it wasn’t strange that the two of you had just fallen into this situation. It felt like you’d been doing this the entire year.

 OA served you filling your plate with kofta and Aish Baladi before he filled your soup bowl with lentil soup. The scents melded together so nicely that you could not wait to taste his handiwork.

 “I’m so hungry.”

 “I bet. What else do you expect after having sex on every inch of this place?”

 Your jaw dropped at the call out. “It takes two to tango, thank you very much,” you countered. OA smiled widely. When he sat, you went for your utensils but stopped.

 “We say prayer right?”

 OA smiled, showcasing those enviable dimples again. “Ideally.”

 “Okay, come on. Show me.”

 You watched what he did and mirrored him exactly. With his hands held out palms up, he closed his eyes and said a quick prayer in Arabic that you did your best to repeat the look on his face said he was impressed. Once he was finished, you waited for him to continue. The way he looked at you had you ready to blush.

 “After you,” he insisted. You took up your kofta and bit into it, moaning as the spices hit your taste buds.

 “My goodness, this is really good.”

 “My mother’s recipe.”

 The two of you ate and joked together like you’d done this every since day since you’d met. He told you more about his family, which included his headstrong sisters, who he worried most about constantly. As he spoke about them, you could see how much he loved them and his entire family. Your mother told you that if you were going to settle down with anyone, make sure they loved their family above everything else. It was clear he loved them this much. He asked about your family, and you told him, finding it easier to open up to him now than it had been any time before.

 It was as if you thought if he didn’t know too much about you, it would keep him at a distance. Like the line would somehow be crossed if you told him about your childhood and your friends back in Miami. It was ridiculous thinking about it now, especially since you’d jumped over that line in a way that could not be ignored. You liked this side of him. He looked perfect, sitting shirtless, eating his childhood favorites, and talking about the things that made him happy. Listening to him made you happy.

 When both of you’d stuffed your bellies to damn near capacity, you found yourselves in the bathtub making out like a couple of horny teenagers who’d just discovered sex. When kissing got too hot, and both of you became too flustered, OA would showcase just how good he was with his hands. He massaged every inch of you, dissolving every knot in your body. With your back to his chest and you seated between his legs, he kissed your skin and whispered nothing but the sweetest words that a girl could easily get used to.

After a bath, you sat in the living room with the intention of watching something on TV. Those intentions quickly changed. Neither of you could keep your hands off of each other. Neither of you could go longer than five minutes without giggling or making some form of contact, whether it being eye, or physical. You felt like a schoolgirl who was head over heels with the popular guy in school that was showing her she meant the world to him.

 For the tenth time you tried to focus on the TV and not his scent that refused to stay on his side of the couch or the sight of his colossal thighs spread next to you. his lap looked like the perfect seat and his face like the only throne you’d ever need.

 “Fuck it,” OA grunted before he pounced you, to your delight.

 In seconds you both were naked yet again with your arms wrapped around his neck, and his lips fastened to yours. He kissed you with meaning like you were the beginning and the end for him. You matched him emotion for emotion, desperation for desperation. You were practically obsessed with the way he tasted, and it hadn’t even been seventy-two hours yet. As he kissed you, your hand slowly trailed down his chest and torso, pressing every slope and dip to memory. If temptation and hedonism were a person, he would be it. In a matter of minutes, OA was nestled snugly in your heat, completely filling and stretching you.

 His slow and deep thrusts brought goosebumps to your skin and sucked the oxygen right out of your lungs. The soft music in the background set the perfect tone for the sultry transference you were engaged in.

 “I don’t think I can ever get enough of you,” OA groaned out as he thrust into you at the most torturous speed. You felt every single inch of him as he stretched you.

 “Ever?”

 “Ever. Uuugh, jeez!” OA rotated his hips, making you moan loudly as your back arched off the couch.

 “Mmm, you drive me crazy, you know that,” OA panted before thrusting forward again stroking that part of you that instantly sparked your body to come alive in a hyperactive state of arousal, making you again arch your back. You reached out needing to touch him in some way, but with one of his hands, OA grabbed yours and pinned them to the back of the couch, trapping you.

 You didn’t know how it was possible, but that one action made you want him even more than you already did. His thrust stayed at the same pace. He languidly stroked into you softly, commanding your body to do whatever he wanted. If he wanted it to overheat, all he had to do was rotate his hips to touch spots in you that you didn’t even know you had. If he wanted to steal your breath and have your soul leave your body, all he had to do was fill you to the hilt. The man knew what he was doing, and it showed in everything he did. His kisses were not kisses of an amateur. They were kisses of a grown man, a man who knew how to listen to and follow the cues of a woman’s body.

Every time you tried to move from his grip, OA stopped and waited for you to settle down. When you refused, you’d stare into his eyes, trying to convince him to let you go or speed up, but OA was in no mood to listen. His one goal seemed to be to drive you insane. OA stared down at you with his bottom lip hooked in his mouth and intense eyes penetrating you so profoundly you were sure he could see the contents of your soul. He retreated, leaving just a just the tip of his intrusion. You bucked against him, trying to get the friction you needed.

 OA used his free hand to hold your waist, stopping your feeble attempts to use his body for your own pleasure, then stroke full speed ahead, sending your breasts jerking. Your gasp was loud, and the clench around him tight, so tight his groan was long. Using his weakened state against him, you pushed him to the side, flipping him to the couch. Before he regained control, you straddled, putting him right where you wanted him. You pressed your hands on his chest for brace as your body rolled through the pleasure.

 “Not so strong now, huh?”

 OA smiled through his pleasure, then licked his lips, tempting you more. “You found my weakness and took advantage,” he teased.

 “And what weakness is that Special Agent Zidan?” You slowly rolled your hips and fought the urge to moan. He felt so good.

 OA’s hands gently gripped your waist when you began taking control of his pleasure. What began as slow rolls of your hips turned into energetic circles that had no reason to them but to make him shout your name. Every so often, you slowed it down, never allowing him to predict your next move. With every roll and buck of your hips, OA’s jaw dropped more and more while his eyes rolled back further and further.

 When you began bouncing on him, his curses began, but they remain strangled in his throat.

 “I can’t hear you,” you teased, speeding up your bounce. Every time you dropped back onto him, you forcefully did it hard enough that a shiver rushed through you. OA’s hands moved from your waist to your hips to hold you. As soon as they squeezed, you stopped.

 “Uugh, please don’t stop.”

 “Keep your hands on the back of that couch, or I will leave you to finish this yourself,” you warned.

 The look in his eyes screamed defiance, while the smirk on his lips said he liked this side of you. As he bit his bottom lip, he slowly removed his hands to grip the back of the couch. The way the cushion sunk underneath the pressure of his hand said he was holding it dangerously tight, showing you just how close he was to flipping you back over to show you just who was stronger.

 OA slid his body a little lower, so his back was angled and neck tilted downward.

 “Such a good boy,” you coaxed with a cocky smile as you began to bounce on him again only this time, starting from the beginning with slow teasing swirls of your hips. After circles, you rolled them in a figure eight; after that, you combined the two until you gradually sped up.

 You loved the sounds he made. He was not shy about letting you know just how good you were making him feel. Every change you made, his back arched. Every time you clenched around him, his grip tightened, sending all the veins in his arms bulging.

 “What is your weakness, Omar?”

 The clench in his jaw said he liked the way you said his name. In truth, you liked the way it felt. Swirling your hips against him, you expected him to cave—he did not.

 “Won’t tell me?”

 OA bit his bottom lip and dropped his head back, giving you perfect access to his neck. Hovering over his chest, you licked across his Adam’s apple along his skin, collecting the droplets of sweat that littered his skin. Once at his neck, you bit the flesh and sucked it into your mouth. OA groaned again before he brought his head back down to capture your lips and claim them as his. From the beginning, the kiss was erotic and blazing hot. Your tongues danced together; when yours twisted around his, he sucked on yours controlling who had the power. You’d always suspected he was a tease, and he was showing you just how much of one he was. His kisses did what they always did, made you dizzy, and distracted, making you almost forget what you were trying to do—almost.

 You quickly pulled away from him and went to his ear. “Nice try. My interrogation practices are undefeated,” you whispered before you gently nibbled his ear. You intended to slip away, but OA was quicker. He pulled you to him and kissed you stupid, stepping his game all the way up. You were so open for him that you didn’t care who took control.

 “You forget who I am,” OA gruffly spoke with your faces mere centimeters from each other.

 “And you seem to not know who I am,” you countered, clenching around him again. OA sucked in a sharp breath as his eyebrows knitted together. “Put them back,” you ordered drunk off the power you possessed. You knew if he genuinely wanted to, he could have flipped you onto the couch and had you screaming “fuck me” in the six languages you were conversational in.

 OA groaned but didn’t obey right away; instead, he nudged his hips up, thrusting into you to remind you just how good he could make you feel. One thrust was more than tempting enough to give in, but you didn’t become who you were by caving at the first sign of pressure. OA’s smile was playful as he put his hands back onto the back of the couch.

 Fully drunk off of the power you held, you got lost in the music playing and teased him mercilessly. OA’s eyes never left you and your body. He watched you as if you were the best show he’d ever seen. You knew what he wanted without him saying a word. When he wanted you to go fast, you went slower. When his eyes pleaded with you to bounce, you bucked. After a few minutes, he looked to be on the verge of taking what he wanted to hell with you giving it. You didn’t know if you were more excited at that prospect or afraid. As you sped, you locked eyes with him.

 “What’s your weakness?”

 He was close to cracking, you could tell, but instead of telling you, he remained silent. You braced your hands on his torso and wildly rode him determined to make him speak. OA’s moans tumbled from him one after the other. The setting sun shone through the window and bathed your skin in its glow, highlighting the sweat that decorated your bodies. Your own orgasm was quickly creeping up on you, and you weren’t sure who would crack first. Once you thought it, OA slid further down the couch until it was just his back on the seat, and that was when his hips rose to meet you in one quick thrust.

 His thrust came one after the other until he was pummeling into you. As you panted, the whine in your voice got louder and louder until you were damn near breathless. With one hand, OA gripped your hip steadying you so he controlled your body and controlled just how deeply he delivered your pounding. His other hand sank into the hair at the nape of your neck, pulling your head back just enough to tell you that you were at his mercy now.

 Any control either of you possessed before was gone. Both of you were moaning and grunting at the top of your lungs, not caring who heard or who had a problem with how loud you were. The pleasure you felt was all-consuming and maddening all at the same time. You frantically chased your release just as fiercely as OA chased his.

 “You!” OA’s shout was sudden. “You’re my weakness, Y/N. You make me weak,” he confessed in a rush.

 No words had ever held more power than those from him to you. You bucked against him in no coherent fashion, as if you were riding a mechanical bull. He met your movements with his own penetrating thrusts, which only propelled you more forcefully into the orgasmic cloud that was so close to you.

 Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.

 Ignoring the faint sound, you remained in the bubble of sensual pleasure the two of you were wrapped in. The knocking persisted and even got louder. Soon it was too loud to ignore; your body fell out of sync with his, and your movements staggered and clashed with his. OA’s frustration was evident with his loud grunt.

 “Hold that thought,” you panted out, trying to catch your breath. You stood sliding off of his length. Glistening, it bobbed in the air between you, distracting you. OA brought his hand to it and slowly stroked himself.

 “This thought?”

 You smiled and fell for the trap. You slid back onto him, throwing your head back, relishing in the complicated mix of pleasure and a dull ache that only he could produce.  You rocked back and forth several times, forgetting the knocks and ringing of the doorbell. You tried to focus only on him, and just when both of you were finding your synchronized stride, the doorbell obnoxiously rang back to back.

 “Fuck!”

 OA’s frustration over the interruption had you giggling. He shot you a warning look.

 “I guarantee you won’t be laughing in a little while,” he promised before he pumped up into you, making you whimper. He didn’t stop with one stroke; he did it again and again. Just when you were going to hover over him, another knock came from the door.

 Knock, knock, knock, knock.

 Both you and OA kissed your teeth in annoyance. Sighing, you stood from him and swung your leg over him, ready to find your robe. When you bent to retrieve it, OA dropped a heavy-handed slap to your ass, which had you biting your bottom lip ready to leave whoever was at the door there for however long it took for you to get yours.

 “Get rid of em’—quick,” OA instructed.

 You smirked, “Oh, have plans, huh?”

 With a smirk of his own, he nodded, “A few and they involve several of your body parts.”

 You gasped and pressed your hand to your chest. “Agent Zidan!”

 OA smiled and watched you tie the robe around you before you walked from him down the hall to the door. Forgetting to look at the video feed of your front door, you opened it with a lazy smile to see Kristen.

 “Kristen!”

 Like cold water, your sex induced haze dissipated, leaving you wide-eyed.

 “I’ve been knocking and ringing for like three minutes. What’re you doing in there?”

 You pulled the door closer behind you blocking her view. “What’s happening?”

 “Nothing. What’s up?” You tied to look as calm as possible. “Why’re you here?”

 Kristen studied you for a few moments, then looked to your attire, and her face lit up. “Do you have a guy in there?”

 “What? No. It’s nothing. I was—resting,” you lied.

 “With the screams and shouts, I heard that’s doubtful.”

 You pinched your lips and tried to remain collected to not give anything away.

 “What’s going on?”

 “I’ve been trying to get in touch. Did you hear OA is okay?”

 “Yeah. I saw the message briefly before I fell asleep. I’ve been trying to catch up on some sleep,” you expertly lied.

 “Well, everyone’s been called to assemble at the JOC. We couldn’t reach you or OA for that matter. I said I’d come by and grab you,” Kristen informed.

 “Wow, I haven’t heard from him. He’s gotta be resting after what he’s been through.”

 Kristen nodded, accepting your guesses.

 “Yeah. So do you wanna change?”

 You grabbed the collar of the robe and nodded. “Yeah. I’m gonna grab a shower too. I’ll meet you at HQ,” you said.

 “Sounds good. You should hurry, it’s Sunday, and it sounded urgent,” Kirsten finished.

 “Got it! Thanks, Kristen.”

 You smiled at her as she began walking away. You wanted to make sure she was actually leaving. When you were sure, you walked back into your apartment and locked the door. When you walked back into the living room, the first sight of OA still laying there with his member still out and so damn inviting had you forgetting Kristen’s words.

 “You and I have very different definitions of quick,” OA teased. “Come here.” He stroked himself a few times, reigniting the flame within you that the impromptu visit had doused.

 “God, you look so tempting.”

 “Let me tempt you then,” OA coaxed. You whined and watched him stand and walk to you. Once before you, he easily lifted you into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist and moaned when you felt his giant hands grip your ass to hold you onto him.

 “We gotta go, that was Kristen, we’ve been summoned,” you informed. OA didn’t look phased.

 “They can wait a little longer,” he whispered before he sheathed himself in your soaping core.

 Both of you released a satisfied sigh as if there was nowhere in the world, either of you would rather be. OA took the lead and moved your body as he wished. He began slowly stroking into you, using his lower half as a wave reaching depths inside of you that had you whimpering as you held him to you. When you whimpered, he mewled. When you clenched around him, he slammed into you, holding you steady so you felt every inch of him.

 It didn’t take long for either of you to be at the precipice of your undoing. You felt the wall at your back, and that was when OA hammered into you with the speed of a roadrunner. In seconds you shouted out as your orgasm overtook you and pulled you so deep in the sea of gratifying pleasure that you didn’t care if you drowned in it. Long minutes passed with both of trying to catch your breath and regain your strength. Once you did, OA brought you both to the shower, where you washed each other, trying your best not to get lost in each other yet again.

 After a shower, OA dressed and reluctantly left you. It took him several attempts to get through the door, thanks to his sticky fingers trying to get you back into the bed or on the couch or even against the wall. His will was strong, and you were finding you were so corruptible when it came to him. Once he was gone, it took you some time to come down from the thirteenth cloud you were on.  You kept replaying the last near forty-eight hours and everything that happened and all that you felt. Needless to say, it was challenging to get your head out of the clouds and back into professional mode.

By the time you made it to the JOC, it was almost an hour and a half since Kristen had stopped by. You did your best to hammer into your head to act as if everything was the same, and nothing had changed. When you walked into the office, you politely smiled at everyone and greeted them as you made it to your desk.

 “Y/N, wonderful you were able to join us,” Isobel shouted out, acknowledging your presence. “Any idea where OA is?”

 “No, no clue.”

 “Here, here, sorry. I’m here,” OA called out as he pushed through everyone to show his face. You kept your eyes forward, not confident you could keep the smile off your face.

 “Glad that you’re feeling well enough to join us, OA,” Isobel began. “Are you sure you don’t need more time to rest and recuperate?”

 “No. I’m feeling better than ever. Saturday was just what I needed.” OA replied.

 You couldn’t help but smirk then. Pressing your lips together, you tried to stop the giggle that threatened to escape. You peeped over to him to see he was also smirking.

 “All right. Great work with that bomb, OA. Next time you’re feeling like being the hero, don’t we’d rather have you here with us than watching over us from the great beyond,” Jubal said. You glanced at OA and gave him a stubborn look that was a warning for the next time he wanted to be an idiot. OA smiled and nodded.

 Jubal walked to the front of the JOC, where all the screens were signaling he wanted everyone’s attention. “So normally we don’t do Sundays, but this is urgent. New Dawn Bringers, otherwise known as NDB, have been found to have a connection with a serious trafficking cult that the FBI has been trying to lock down, The Rose Vortex. SVU has been running an operation. They have one of their own inside as we speak,” Jubal informed. He walked to a computer and tapped Ian on the shoulder who brought visuals on the screens before you.

 “As of twelve hours ago, she’s gone quiet. We’ve also heard chatter that leadership in NDB is coming to town, and that means they need to be entertained. We have the big bosses, and we want them all,” Jubal finished.

 “Okay, sounds good. What’s our play?” Jubal pointed at Kristen, acknowledging her question.

 “We have an inside man who says they are getting a new shipment of eh-em, women,” Jubal added.

 “What’s our in?”

 Isobel and Jubal looked at each other with your question. After looking at them for a few seconds, your alarm slowly rose.

 “Uh, why are you guys looking at me?”

 Isobel cleared her throat and stood from her partially seated position. “You’re our in,” she announced.

 OA sat up in his seat. “How?” You caught the controlling tone in his voice.

 “I’ve read your file, Y/N. In Miami, you went undercover with--,” Isobel began before you cut her off.

 “The Mantiago Cartel, yeah. It was a week at a sketchy—sex—club,” you slowly finished catching on.

 “Yes, a well-known club that serviced that cartel. You got in with the leader and were integral in taking him down. The plan is to get you in with that shipmen to get into the cult,” Isobel informed.

 “Absofuckinglutly not!”

 All eyes flew to OA. No one spoke, everyone was in too much shock, you included.

 “Let’s talk in my office,” Isobel coolly replied as she took a few steps in that direction.

 “It doesn’t matter if we talk here or there, the answer is still no,” OA declared.

 “OA!”

 When he looked at you, he saw the alarm in your eyes. He took a breath and rubbed his goatee around his lips down to his beard. You stood and walked ahead to Isobel’s office. You filed in first, then Isobel, Jubal, and finally, OA. Once the door closed, Isobel was the first to speak.

 “Okay, Agent Zidan, take a breath,” she cautiously began as if giving him a nonverbal reminder of who he was. “The plan is simple; Y/N will infiltrate the shipment. Once at the cult location, you will locate the SVU agent and assess the situation. Your objective is to get the bosses into a compromising position for us to bring them in and nail their asses to the wall to give us the win,” Isobel explained.

 “While bringing in whatever intel you can on NDB,” Jubal added.

 “No. You want her to go undercover as a trafficked sex slave, and before you tell me don’t know what’ll happen, yeah, we do. These women are kidnapped, brutally and violently broken in, then drugged up to be pimped out. There is no way we’re letting Y/N in that,” OA finalized.

 “OA, we understand, but she’s had experience with this. I am confident in her ability and skill to get in, find the agent and accomplish the objective,” Isobel reasoned. “Y/N, what do you say?”

 You looked between Isobel and Jubal, who waited each with different expressions on their faces. You could feel the death rays from OA beside you. When you looked at him, the look was worse than you expected. He looked at you expectantly. He expected you to say no.

 “I can do it. It’s not a big deal,” assured. OA rolled his eyes, clenched his jaw, then turned his back to you.

“All right, we’ll get you up to speed. Let me say this, as a woman I know what I am asking you, I know the danger and risk this will put you in but I am one-hundred percent sure that this is not more than you are capable of,” Isobel slid in with a warm smile before she walked out of the room.

 Before you could say anything to him, OA was bolting out the door too. Jubal put the files in front of you. he looked as if he had a question to ask, but instead, he nodded and patted your shoulder. “We have you, Y/N,” he said before he walked out of the office.

 The next two hours passed with you drilling yourself, trying to memorize everything in the files. With your head on the task at hand, it didn’t mean that you didn’t see OA every time he stalked past the room with the sourest expression on his face. You knew he was pissed, and it bothered you. His worry wasn’t unwarranted. He was right going undercover like this was dangerous, especially seeing how dangerous and racist the NDB was that danger was increasingly greater.

 When you got up to stretch your legs, you saw him at his desk. As you approached, you tried to act as normal as possible. Once beside him, you inhaled his scent, one of his favorite things.

 “Think you can quiz me?”

 The look he gave you was an incredulous one that said you were crazy. “No, thanks.”

 “OA, come on. Let’s talk,” you whispered. OA sighed and looked around him, accessing the number of eyes on you.

 “Fine.”

 “Conference room at the end of the hall,” you instructed before you walked off, making a pit stop in the office to gather the files.

 Once inside the conference room, you paced the room, walking around the table. Almost eight minutes passed before the door opened, and OA walked in. He stood beside the door with you, standing across the room where the projector was. You stared at each other, neither wanting to concede. At the same time, you both walked around the conference table to meet in the middle. Once before each other, you sighed when you saw the tight clench of his jaw.

 “Come on, Omar.”

 OA groaned and went soft. “Of course, you’d use my name at a time like this.”

 “You’re being unreasonable,” you continued.

 “Me? Y/N, this is a sex trafficking ring, a racist one. This is too dangerous, and you know it.”

 “No, you know what I know is I've done this before. Neither is the less evil. If this were a week ago, you wouldn’t be acting like this, and you know it,” you breached.

 OA sighed again and dropped his head back. “Are you saying I’m acting worried for your safety because—,” he began.

 “Am I wrong?”

 OA didn’t speak for almost a minute before he sat on the conference table, leaving you to stand there waiting. He rubbed his face and mumbled something that you didn’t catch.

 “Yes, you’re wrong. If it were a week ago, I’d still object. I would still feel the same way I do now, about the case and you.”

 You stared at each other again. He reached out and pulled you between his legs to him. “There are so many ways this can go bad, so many ways you can get hurt, and I won’t be there. I’m—I’m scared.”

 Your heart melted at his admission. OA scoffed.

 “I’m fucking scared, and I don’t know what to do about it. I have no control here. If it’s you and me out there, then there is some control, with this--.”

 You gripped his jaw and made him look at you. “I get it,” you whispered. OA sniffled and clenched his jaw in that control freak trying to keep his impulses internal way that you’d fallen in love with. You couldn’t help but kiss him even though it was a bad idea, especially considering where you were right now. OA kissed you back, letting it remain slow and tender.

 You pressed your forehead to his then sighed as you pulled back to look at him. “We can’t let our fears get in the way of the job. You know that,” you whispered. OA nodded.

 “I know, I know, but you’re more than the job now, Y/N. This is more, and no matter if we wanted to just leave things unspoken or not, it is still something. Friday night meant something, Saturday meant something, a few hours ago—that meant something. You’re not just my partner anymore,” OA finished.

 He was right; the dynamics of your relationship had now changed. You’d crossed a line, and professional was not what this was anymore. It was something more. Something that neither of you had discussed for whatever reasons, but you both knew you would have to have the discussion. Now was not the time, though.

 “OA, this is happening. I can’t be distracted in there. I can’t have you in the back of my head worrying that you’re not okay with this, that you don’t have my back in this.”

 “You’re kidding, right? Y/N, I always have your back; I will always have your back. Yeah, I don’t agree with this op, and I wish that you would reconsider, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have your back with it. Your back, my back, we got that.”

 You nodded and dropped your forehead to his chest to release a relieved breath. You desperately needed to hear those words, and you hadn’t realized how desperately until now. OA kissed the top of your head.

 “I’m going to do whatever necessary to make sure you come home to me. Whatever it takes,” OA finished.

 You locked eyes with him seeing the vehemence of his declaration radiating from them.

 For the next hour, OA drilled you on the contents of the folder and helped you do what he did best, get your head in the game.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!*** ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[patriciasage]

Title: double trouble

Author: Patricia_Sage

Fandom: The Adventure Zone - Amnesty

Pairings: Indrid Cold/Duck Newton, Dani/Aubrey Little (mentioned)

Summary: 

Aubrey feels like her heart has crawled up into her windpipe. The flame in her hand flickers erratically. Two copies of Duck stand before them, breathing hard and holding their hands in the air. Ned, pointing the NARF blaster at them both, is attempting to appear confident, but Aubrey can tell he’s panicking.

“Shit, Duck,” Aubrey says, “Why didn’t we think of a code word?”

[posted in full below the break, but you can find me on AO3]

Aubrey is scared shitless, but she won’t admit it.

This abomination isn't like anything they’ve faced. Before, hunting them felt like finding a dangerous animal that had to be put down. This one is intelligent and intentional, and the attacks are personal. Knowing the abomination had taken Dani’s form sends a shiver down Aubrey’s spine.

Eugene had told Duck that he had seen some ‘alien activity’ at Pins & Needles, the bowling and knitting club, so the Pine Guard was sent to investigate.

“You’re not supposed to split the party,” Aubrey whispers.

“But a group of three people cannot investigate two noises at once, Aubrey,” Ned replies, continuing to sweep the staff room with his flashlight. Aubrey is comforted by the flame in her hand as both a light source and a weapon. “Besides, Duck can take care of himself. He has a sword, for goodness sake.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have his powers anymore and he didn’t bring his helmet! I’m worried about him.”

“There’s only the bathrooms left to check and then we shall be reunited. Nothing to fret about, my dear.”

Except, there is something to fret about. A shout echoes through the building, followed by a loud crash. Ned and Aubrey look at each other for a second before sprinting toward the sound. “Duck!” Aubrey calls. A loveseat is overturned in the knitting area and a ball of yarn has made its way halfway down one of the lanes. There’s no sight of their friend.

The phone behind the front counter begins to ring. Before Aubrey can think about answering it, there’s another sound.

A crash followed by some swearing. It’s coming from the area behind the lanes. Ned makes his way to the carpeted path on the edge of the room. Aubrey runs directly down Lane 3, her combat boots skidding slightly on the smooth wood. When she reaches the end of the lane, she doesn’t stop to think before she hits the floor. She propels herself into a slide, feet first, crashing through the bowling pins and the plastic curtain and emerging in the back room. Ned flings open the door, out of breath, just after Aubrey gets to her feet. They take in a strange and frightening sight.

Duck is on the floor and he is grappling with someone who is also wearing a ranger uniform. The person underneath clips him with a punch to the side of the head and dislodges him. It’s dim in this back room but Aubrey can see his opponent’s rugged features, now. It’s Duck.

Duck reaches amongst some bowling pins and retrieves Beacon. He swings it down with ferocity and Aubrey lets out a startled shout as it moves toward her friend’s face. But the attack is intercepted by another Beacon. The two swords wrap around each other like snakes, spitting insults.

“False! Ephemeral!” One of them snarls.

“Pathetic duplication! You cannot compare to Beacon!” The other shouts.

“Fuck,” Aubrey says.

Ned steps forward in the hallway behind the pin-dispensing machines. Aubrey clambers down next to him as he draws the NARF blaster. “Halt, Ducks!” Ned commands. “Step away!”

Both Ducks look up from their tangled position on the floor. The one on top attempts to yank Beacon back, but the two swords are linked together. The force of their sword tug-of-war causes both weapons, still entangled, to be flung in the air. One of the Ducks reaches for Beacon, but Ned takes a threatening step forward. “Hey!” They both freeze. “Stand up and kick the swords to me.”

Aubrey feels like her heart has crawled up into her windpipe. The flame in her hand flickers erratically. Two copies of her friend stand before them, breathing hard and holding their hands in the air. Ned is attempting to appear confident, but Aubrey can tell he’s panicking. “Shit, Duck,” Aubrey says, “Why didn’t we think of a code word?”

They speak at the same time: “I told you!” / “No shit, Aubrey.”

“Alright. Everybody, remain calm,” Ned says authoritatively. He levels the NARF blaster between them. “Tell me something that only Duck would know.” It’s incredibly cliché. Aubrey resists the urge to roll her eyes.

The two Ducks speak at once, again: “Uh, that we hooked up?” / “Like how we slept together eight years ago?”

Aubrey’s jaw drops and she looks over at Ned, scandalized. Ned adjusts his grip on his weapon, flustered and embarrassed.

Aubrey hits him in the arm with her non-flaming hand. “Ned, you idiot, the Bom-Bom looked through all your memories when you were in that hotel!”

“Right,” Ned mumbles, blushing. He clears his throat and attempts to look intimidating again. “Tell us something only Aubrey would know!” Aubrey groans in frustration.

Duck One, on the left, speaks up. “We don’t have time for this, y’all. The more we fuck around, the more time it has to figure out how to get past us.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” Ned shouts.

“We can’t let it get away again, Ned!” Duck One reiterates. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself. “Shoot us both.”

“What!?” Duck Two protests.

Aubrey sees Ned make a decision. Her heart races, but she’s frozen to the spot.

Ned shoots the Duck on the right.

Except his flesh doesn’t come apart in scattered orbs of light. He doesn’t scream like a malfunctioning computer. Red blood, and lots of it, pours out of the wound in his thigh. Duck collapses with a very human yell. “Fuck! Ned!”

The abomination takes advantage of this moment of distraction to create a rift. It steps through, smiling with Duck’s face. The rift closes and Ned’s second foam bullet embeds itself into the wall.

Aubrey and Ned run to their fallen friend. Aubrey feels sick at the sight of his pants darkening with blood. Duck lifts his shaking hands off of the wound for a second before pressing them down again, hard. “It’s not – fuck! – Doesn’t look like you hit an artery. But holy shit, Ned! I could never take a bullet, but I really can’t take a bullet right now, man; I’m just a regular guy! Fuck!”

“I’m so sorry, Duck. I thought it would be very improbable for the abomination to volunteer to be shot.”

“And you thought I would volunteer to be shot!? Fuck, man, you should have done what it said and shot us both. This is worst-case scenario shit right here. Dammit!”

“Yes. I’m –” Ned looks absolutely miserable, but he steels himself and turns to Aubrey, who has stalled next to the growing puddle of blood on the carpet. “Aubrey, go to the front desk and call an ambulance. Bring back the first aid kit under the counter.” He takes off his jacket and places it on Duck’s thigh, replacing the ranger’s hands with his own.

“How do you know it’s under the counter?”

“It’s always under the count– go, Aubrey!”

“Right!” She takes off running, this time through the door and along the side wall. She jumps over the counter and frantically scans over the bowling shoes before finding the landline on the wall.

The phone rings just as her fingers are about to touch it.

Aubrey answers, “H-hello?”

“The ambulance will take too long. I’ll be there soon.”

The voice is familiar, often heard through a telephone. “Indrid! Wait…was that you calling, before?”

“Yes, Aubrey,” he replies a little harshly. “I was going to tell you not to shoot my boyfriend.”

Her first instinct is to protest, correct him that it was Ned who pulled the trigger. Instead, she says, “I’m sorry.”

Indrid sighs and the sound pushes against the receiver. “No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. I’ll be there soon.” The dial tone rings in her ears.

About five minutes later, the bell above the front door rings. Aubrey and Ned, crouched over their injured friend in the back of the alley, share a meaningful look. Duck is slumped against the wall, pale and bleeding through the bandages. They’re ready to protect him.

There’s a deep fluttering of wings and the scraping of claws on the wood flooring. Then…nothing. It’s almost impossible to hear footsteps on carpet. Aubrey raises a fist of flame and Ned readiest the NARF blaster at the door.

Ironically, they’re relieved to see a monster step through. He’s so tall he has to crouch under the doorframe, wings folded close to his body. His huge red eyes glow in the dim room, flickering in Aubrey’s light. A pair of clawed hands raise in response to Ned and Aubrey’s defensive stance, the other pair holding onto a white box. He chitters in a way that Aubrey assumes is meant to be calming. All she can focus on is the movement of his sharp, terrifying mandibles.

Duck speaks up from behind them, his voice weak. “Hey, darlin’.”

“Hello, Duck.” Indrid reaches out a clawed, dark hand and hands Ned another first aid kit. He must have brought this one from his Winnebago or from another room in the building. “You need to add more bandages – tighter – if he’s going to make it to the hospital.”

Ned nods and gets to work. Aubrey wonders absentmindedly why he’s so calm about this. The moment she saw the bullet go into Duck’s leg, she just about passed out.

Indrid turns to Aubrey and tilts his head to the side in a swift, insectoid motion. Aubrey has only seen him in his Sylph form once – the time they asked for his glasses at the Winnebago. If she didn’t know he was a friend, she would be absolutely terrified right now. As it were, she’s still a little unsettled by his proximity. He towers over her, dark and frightening.

Indrid seems to notice her reaction. Shoulders hunched a little, he draws a pair of glasses from a pouch on his waist (like a moth fanny pack, Aubrey thinks). When he puts them on, he becomes the pale, tall, slightly disheveled man she’s familiar with. He’s wearing an old sweater of Duck’s, emblazoned with one of The Smiths’ album covers. Indrid looks a little uncomfortable. Aubrey realizes with a jolt of guilt that it’s because of her.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I’m just not, you know, used to seeing you as the Mothman. You can take your glasses off if you want!”

“It’s alright, I understand,” Indrid replies. He fiddles with the large lenses and shivers a little. He keeps his disguise on. Aubrey feels bad for making him feel self-conscious. Empathetically, she thinks of how it would feel for people to look at her and act scared or unsettled. Just because he’s a giant, frightening moth doesn’t mean she should make him feel bad about himself.

Before Aubrey can make an attempt at a better apology, Ned speaks up. “Won’t you be spotted transporting him to the emergency room?”

Indrid’s head tilts back and he freezes for a moment, evaluating potential futures. He returns to the present with a sigh. “He’s going to pass out before we get there.” His hands clench in frustration. “I can’t carry him in my human form.” Indrid turns to Duck. “Sorry, Duck, I’m going to have to leave you on the sidewalk outside of the hospital and call in from a payphone. Too many questions.”

Duck manages a weak shrug and grimaces. “Well, shit. Alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Indrid glances over at Aubrey before taking off his glasses again. Aubrey makes sure to keep her face neutral as the Mothman appears in front of her once more. Ned scrambles out of the way. Indrid kneels and his claws dig into the carpet. When he stands up, he has Duck cradled gently in his top set of arms, the other two providing support. Duck is a big guy, but he looks almost small surrounded protectively by Indrid’s wings.

Aubrey thinks about how most people would find Dani scary in her Sylph form, but all Aubrey sees is the woman she cares about, the woman she would do anything for. Indrid must be like that for Duck. Even though the Mothman’s transformation is significantly more intense than Dani’s, this is his authentic self. As the four of them make their way out of the back room and past the bowling lanes, Aubrey can’t help but notice the comfort the two take in each other. Duck buries his fingers in some chest feathers while Indrid’s free hand gently strokes his hair. It’s kind of…cute.

Ned opens the front door to the bowling alley and peers around the parking lot. “Coast is clear,” he says, holding the door open for everyone to step through.

Aubrey turns to Indrid. “Take care of him.”

“I will,” Indrid replies, then takes off into the sky with a powerful beat of his wings.

Aubrey and Ned watch until Indrid’s form disappears into the night sky. Ned sighs and Aubrey looks over at him. He looks like he’s about to crumble from guilt. He’s much bigger and taller than her, so all she can do is place a comforting hand on his arm.

“Come on, baby driver, let’s hit the road.”

[paradox-psyc-hoe-sis]

Your Energy

Klaus hargreeves x reader, Diego hargreeves x reader (platonic)

Description: You and diego have been friends for a while now, and he finally agrees to you meeting his family. Klaus, in particular, takes a liking to you - but how will they react when they find out you have powers?

Word count: 1.9k

(There's no warnings other than swearing and this tiny tiny tiny moment in the second part that is NOTHING like smut, but I guess it could be implied? Idk, you'll know what I'm on about when you read it)

• Okay.

• You are one of the 43, but Reginald couldn't get you.

• Your power was being able control energy, and that included spiritual energy.

• This meant that you could see people's souls and auras, dead or alive.

• You and Klaus met quite strangely, to say the least. You were one of Diego's close friends, and after years of knowing each other, he finally let you meet his family.

• It was a warm summer's afternoon when you and Diego arrived at the Umbrella Academy. Just as Diego was about to open the main doors, you both heard bellowing screams coming from inside.

• Silently, you both shared a confused glance before proceeding to walk through the doors.

• Standing before you in the main hall was a very large man, who seemed to have somebody on his shoulders. They were seemingly fighting, the larger of the men trying to get the other off his shoulders.

• "Uhh, Diego, does this happen all the time?"

• Before he could answer, the broad shouldered man threw his opponent from his shoulders and directly into you, sending you flying backwards.

• In this case, you'd be able to stop yourself from falling and float in mid air, controlling your gravitational energy. However, this came as such a surprise that you didn't have time to save yourself.

• You were sent back through the open doors, and onto the empty street. The person who had been launched into you laid half on top of you, half next to you.

• Not a second went by before you used your powers to lift the man up in the air. Getting up from the cold pavement, you dusted yourself off.

• "What the fuck is going on?" He asked, in quite a calm tone.

• Diego jogged through the doors, running over to you.

• "I could ask you the same thing." He scolded, standing in front of you. Placing a hand on your shoulder, he asked if you were okay.

• "I'm fine," you responded, "just hurt my back a bit." You looked up at him with a small smile. Carefully, you lowered Diego's brother down until he was back on his two feet.

• You only just realised that your summer dress had ridden up slightly, and you blushed as both Diego and his brother watched you pull it down.

• "Y/n, this is Klaus." Diego muttered under his breath. Smiling, you turned to him and stuck out your hand.

• "It's wonderful to meet you, Klaus. My name's y/n, but you can just call me y/n/n!"

• Instead of shaking your hand, he bent down slightly and placed a chaste kiss on one of your knuckles.

• "It's my pleasure." He replied, a small smirk on his face. Only then did you notice somebody standing behind Klaus; he wore a black hoodie and had his arms crossed, yet wore a bemused expression.

• Instead of introducing yourself to him, you shot a small smile his way. You wanted to wait until you got into the mansion to properly get to know everyone.

• When he saw you smiled at him, he seemed confused, and looked behind him as if to see if anyone else was stood near him. Contently, you turned back to Diego.

• "Can we go inside?" You politely asked, and Diego stuck out his arm for you to hold. "Be my guest."

• Once you, Diego, Klaus and the mysterious man got back into the house, Diego called for everyone to come to the living room.

• Slowly, everyone trickled into the common area, the last being a 13 year old boy. Once Diego noticed the last of his siblings enter the room, he closed the door behind him.

• "Everyone, this is y/n." You smiled, looking at everyone in the room, hearing them all say hello. One by one, they all went around and introduced themselves, until you got back to Klaus.

• "Y/n/n and I have already met." Klaus proudly admitted to group. Next to him, the man wearing the black hoodie spoke. "God, Klaus. Don't act so love sick."

• He looked both irritated yet amused, which made Klaus turn to him and roll his eyes. Laughing, you stuck out your hand.

• "I don't believe I've introduced myself," you replied, "it's lovely to meet you."

• You felt everyone's eyes on you, burning into your skin. The boy in the black hoodie didn't shake your hand, but merely looked at you, a stunned expression plastering his face. Meekly, you took your hand back and fiddled with the hem of your skirt.

• "Who are you talking to?" Allison asked, not really understanding what was happening.

• "Ben." Klaus answered for you, wearing the same shocked expression as everyone else in the room. The only person who wasn't surprised was Diego.

• He perched on the end of a sofa. "Y/n's one of us, but our prick of a father couldn't adopt her." He looked almost proud and nodded towards you, as if to let you carry on.

• "Oh, right." You added. You were talking directly to Allison, but everyone listened intently.

• "Yeah, I can control energy. It's more complex than it seems, really. I can control all main types of energy like light, sound, gravity, the like. But I can also control spiritual and emotional energy. So if I really wanted to, I could change any of your emotions."

• "Spiritual energy..." five repeated. "That makes more sense."

• Now you were the confused one, furrowing your brows. "What do you mean?" You asked five, sitting down on the chair next to you.

• "What I mean," he started, "is that Ben's dead."

• The air lay thick among you all, as you turned to Klaus and Ben.

• "I'm...so sorry." You quietly spoke, avoiding eye contact.

• "Hey, don't worry about it." Ben said at last, smiling at you. "I've grown bored of only being able to talk to this moron."

• "Hey!" Klaus exclaimed as you laughed. Everyone else was silent as you, Klaus and Ben had your own conversation.

• "This is so weird." Luther whispered to Allison, who nodded in agreement.

• "Why don't we all go and get some lunch?" Diego offered, ending the awkwardness between you all.

• "Sounds good to me!" You replied, grabbing your bag. And with that, all of you were making your way out of the living room, off to Dennys.

☆☆☆☆☆

• All 8 of you were sat in a large booth, you sandwiched directly between Klaus and Ben. The waitress came around and took everyone's orders, and once she left, Diego hopped out of his seat at the end of the booth.

• "I'm going to the bathroom, if the food comes before I'm back and any of you even think about eating me fries, I'll cut you." You were very much used to his knife threats, so didn't dare going near his food. As soon as Diego was out of earshot, everyone bombarded you with questions.

• "Are you and Diego dating?" Allison asked, eyes wide. "How did you two meet?" Added Luther. "Where do you live?" Five questioned, kind of creepily. "Are you single?" Inquisioned Klaus, quiet enough that only you heard him.

• "Jesus christ, guys. I live a few blocks away from Diego, which is how we met. I was at target, and was about to get the last bag of doritos, when we both reached for them. Finally, no, Diego and I aren't dating. However we do have lots of sleepovers."

• Happy with how you answered the questions, everyone turned to each other to star their own conversations. You leaned in to klaus, and very quietly whispered in his ear.

• "And yes, I'm single."

• You weren't going to skip around the fact that you found Klaus attractive; his messy hair, dark eyes and cheekbones chiseled by the Gods did something to you.

• Diego returned, sitting back on the end of the booth, just as two waitresses walked over with arms full of plates and cups.

• You only started eating once everyone had gotten their food; you ordered a bowl of fries and a strawberry milkshake, your favourite. The restaurant hummed with chatter as the people around you laughed and quietly spoke to each other.

• "So Vanya, Diego told me you play the violin, right?" She nodded, taking a sip of her cola.

• "Yeah, I play in an orchestra." She added.

• "That's really cool! I played the flute when I was a kid, but now I-"

• As you spoke, you felt a warm hand on your thigh. Klaus's hand was soft, his slender fingers slowly inching their way up your leg, sliding underneath the skirt of your dress.

• "Now I play the drums." You finished, taking a sip of your milkshake. Before you could swallow, you felt Klaus's fingers get dangerously close to your underwear. You choked on your drink, coughing like it would save your life.

• Klaus removed his hand as Luther passed you a red napkin. "Thank you." You uttered, still trying not to cough up your strawberry milkshake.

• "You better get used to this, there's no escape now you've met him." Ben advised, a smug grin lining his face.

• "You can say that again."

☆☆☆☆☆

• Roughly a week had passed since you met Diego's family, and you couldn't stop thinking about it.

• After you all went to dennys, Allison suggested that a game of bowling would be fun. Spoiler alert: Luther broke the mechanism at the back of the bowling alley by bowling the ball too hard.

• You were sat in bed in your apartment, mindlessly scrolling through your phone. Realising it was just past midnight, you turned your light off, switched off your phone, and laid down.

• After a few minutes of trying to get to sleep, you heard the window open behind you, and the sound of someone crawling through it. Not in the mood to deal with an intruder, you used your powers to slam them against your bedroom wall. With your other hand, you turned on your light switch and found Klaus pressed up against your wall.

• "For shits sake, what are you doing?" You asked, letting him go. Ben stood next to him, leaning again the wall.

• "Go on, Klaus. Tell y/n why you've broken into her home at midnight, despite me warning you not to."

• Klaus was silent for a second, his tired eyes staring in to yours. He wore the same outfit from last week, looking like he came straight from the mansion.

• "Uh, y/n, would you like to go out with me?"

• He actually seemed pretty nervous, despite how he had been acting at Denny's.

• "...now?" You asked, looking at the clock.

• "Not now, but maybe tomorrow? Diego told me you have a day off and I was thinking maybe we could..." he took a deep breath, and looked down at the floor. "Maybe this was a bad idea."

• He made his way back to the window, but you managed to convince him to stay.

• "Klaus, of course I'd like to go out with you."

• You spoke in a gently tone, not wanting to startle him.

• "Plus, if you want to, you could sleep over here?" You knew it was a long shot, but it was worth a try.

• "I'll only stay if you give me a makeover!"

• "Deal."

• That night was filled with a lot of sad movies, you painting Klaus's nails bright pink, and Ben rolling his eyes about 400 times.

[geminimoonbeamx]

And the snakes start to sing

A/N: Okay, so my anxiety since this entire Covid-19 situation came to light has been...pretty deteriorating to say the least. It’s funny(which it’s really not),The only thing I can think might help is to dig back deep into my writing. I really want to live in the fantasy worlds I can create in my head right now. So I will.

Warnings: Some angst(it is during the Marauders era), cursing, SMUT, and I feel like I should add this here- I wrote this as self therapy so this reader insert def has some specific looks and traits, if that bothers you I understand, but also I warned you so...

Summary: Sirius Black and Y/N steal a tender moment in the middle of the war. Marauders Era. Young Sirius Black(Ben Barnes) x Plus Size Reader

The way you slam your body into mine reminds me that I’m alive,

But monsters are always hungry darling- and they're only a few steps behind you.

Finding the flaw,

The Poor weld,

The place where we weren't quite stitched up right- Richard Silken

Part l

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

You mull on that fact as you sit in the driver's seat of the muggle car, gripping the wheel, skin pulled tight across your knuckles. You’re shaking - vibrating from deep in your core with so much velocity that it makes your teeth chatter. Your muscles ache as you try to regain control of your body, of your breathing- the only thing keeping you from completely crumbling is the focus that you have on the road in front of you-

Even then you don't really see the asphalt, dimly lit by street lamps that seemed to be few and far between the further you drove.

All you can see is that alley.

Dark, dank and frigidly cold, the death eaters that weren't supposed to be there, but who had seemed to show up in puffs of smoke. In three’s- and then four.

Five.

Six.

You hadn’t been able to keep count.

Faster than you, James and Mad Eye could take on.

For a moment, everything had been lightning speed. Time passed fast, in a blur. Blood and screaming. Spells, violent spells that you’d never uttered before thrown left and right, by both sides.

You'd watched bright green flashes pass by like shooting stars, almost grazing you. Illuminating the corridor in razor sharp rays.

So close that you could taste them.

Death tastes acidic. Bitter. Fizzles on your tongue and sticks to the back of your throat.

You still swallow around it even now, hours later, as you drive.

You’d forgotten how much you hate muggle travel. You’d much prefer to apparate, but James is in no state. He sits beside you, slumped in the passenger seat, clutching his side and wincing at every bump. Having grown up with his pure blood parents, there's no way he could have driven anyway, didn't know how. Perfect Potter isn't capable of everything, turns out.

That's fine, you’d assured him. You needed to be able to focus on something before the very little part of your brain that was still loosely wound, unraveled.

You hadn't shared that part, but you think he knows.

The radio crackles and a muggle band plays lowly.

The car makes its way down the long winding roads in silence. Shock settling over the two of you like a heavy blanket. There’s nothing that can be said- no words that could describe the ice that still ran through your veins or that could balm what had happened.

When you hit a particularly nasty pothole, cajoling the car roughly he hisses through his clenched teeth.

“Sorry’, fuck, I’m sorry” You apologize, righting the wheel in a tight jerk to the right, pressing on the brake. “Are you okay? Still bleeding?”

He’s damn lucky that that Confringo charm hadn't caught him directly, but still. When he’d flown into that brick wall, he’d done it with a bone crunching thud. You knew a few of his ribs were broken, his skin rubbed raw and cut open.

“M’fine. Moody did what he could- stopped the bleeding. I think. It stings like a son’va bitch though” James sounds tired, gravely. Voice void of that usual mirth it carried- his chestnut skin pale, clammy. “Drive faster- hopefully Dorcas is already back”

He’s right, Dorcas has healing hands. She’d whip up an ointment, utter an incantation, and he’d be good as new. You step down on the accelerator, foot heavy and mind eager to get somewhere that feels safe, even the trees you pass by feel like they’re watching you, waiting to leap at any turn.

Would you ever feel safe again? After looking into those eyes, seeing that face-

———-

The ride takes hours,

Your mind zones to dark places,

The two of you reach the current makeshift safe house.

———

Protective charms line it heavily, Dumbledor himself had drawn them

To the naked eye, you pull up onto what looks like an old decrepit factory in a row of old decrepit factories- all concrete and broken glass windows. Gritty rust covered metal high beams and caved in ceilings, the tires crunch on the gravel out front- you can barely put the car in park before you’re overcome by a sea of red-

Red hair, soft hands. Vivid green eyes.

Lilly comes bounding out, long legs propelling her forward fast.

“Y/N!” She shrieks as you climb out, you don't blame her for how she runs to James' side of the car. He looks far worse than you do, you think. But then again you haven't seen your reflection because the glance over she gives you is horrified.

“I’m okay, just get James! Lets get him inside”  You hurry, your legs feel heavy as you meet her on the other side of the car.

It’s begun snowing again, fat flurries falling from the inky night sky, cold enough to start the shaking again. Your hands are uncoordinated paws, good for nothing and yet you help Lily, take one of James arms around your own shoulder as she takes the other, the two of you supporting him - dragging him towards the entrance.

“Gideon! Go find Dorcas!” She yells for one of the fiery headed Prewet twins who are spilling out of the building. Merlin, they look similar- she could be their kin. “Mad Eye was able to send us word about what happened in London! We’ve been waiting for you! I’ve been so scared- thank bloody God you two are even alive”

“We’re okay-“ you start, trying to calm your friend down. She seemed like she was two seconds away from blowing a fuse and well- you were one of the few who knew about her condition. You weren’t so sure complete emotional breakdowns were good for developing fetus’.

“Only because Y/N. She saved my life. She saved us all back there” James is barely conscious and defining not coherent.

You hadn’t saved, you’d killed. Innocent people included.

Lily is staring at you past James' bowed head and you can’t see her eyes.

Not when James is dragged in and whisked away by Dorcas who is already whisking something in a bowl, her braids piled atop her head and her deep eyes worried- yet sage. Calm, as she calls to you from over her shoulder. “That gash on your forehead is nasty! I’ll get to you next”

You hear them laying James down on the makeshift kitchen table and for some reason your feet are frozen in place. You can’t follow. Don’t care to see the chunk that was taken out of him back in the alley.

In the alley. In the snow; cold and frigid. Voldemort had appeared from the shadows and raised his wand high and you knew you were going to die, even though you weren’t ready to. Didn’t want to-

“Y/N” you raise your eyes-your mint and her emerald meeting somewhere in the middle. Lily’s are worried, the almond shape exaggerated.

You wonder if yours convey how far away you feel. How close you are to drifting right out of your body and floating up- somewhere quiet.

Because everything was too loud now- everyone bustling in and around you. Emaline Vance, Sturgis Podmore, Frank Longbottom- where was Marlene? And Sirius?

Had the night been as bloody and brutal for them as it had for you?

“Go” you croak at her “Go with him, Lil. Mending bones hurts like hell- I’ll just- I just need to-“

She looks torn, and you imagine she is. Her best friend is quite obviously on the verge of a panic attack and her fiancé is bleeding out on the kitchen table.

“Go” you insist once more, squeezing her forearm through her maroon cardigan, trying to encourage her.

You don’t inculpate her for James taking precedence, she all but peels herself away from your side to go sit next to him, to grasp at his hand as Dorcas covers his wounds in dittany and he grunts loud and pained.

You stumble backwards, not wanting to see anymore blood for the moment.

Maybe ever.

No, focus.

You force your brain not to check out yet as you limp back into the open space that seems to be slowly but surely filling up with other members of The Order.

People talk over each other and it's hard to get anyone to answer your questions.

When Remus, Shacklebolt and Peter walk into the fort, all looking disheveled but uninjured- you finally start getting somewhere.

Peter’s speech is fast and broken and nervous- you keep telling him to slow down. You can't manage to understand what he's saying.

“Fuck, Peter! Merlin just shut up- shut up for two seconds. Remus, what happened?”

Edgar Bones and his family were killed, but everyone else was still intact- just scattered. Trying to find their  way back home, back to headquarters or any local safe house.

You gape at Remus, as he tells you the news. His voice is sturdy even though he looks like he might keel over at any moment, which is why you’d always sought him out, since you were kids. Remus was in a constant state of suffering, and yet he was nearly always the most clear headed person in the room.

His eyes though- they always did betray him. You can see it in the amber iris. The horror. The sorrow. The fear.

Edgar Bones was dead.

Edgar, and his husband, and his two children- he’d show them to you once. Opened the silver locket that was ever presently around his neck and two smiling waving dark haired cherub cheeked kids waved back from the photos inside.

Bile rises in your throat and you stare up at Remus, still just trying to process it all. His mouth is still moving and is certainly forming words, but the loud whomping in your ears keeps you from hearing them.

You’re all going to die, the thought is sharp and ragged and cuts up your brain.

“Oh”, is all you can manage. It’s a whisper, the most you can force. Remus reaches for you and you easily avoid his big scarred hand, stepping away from it before it can land on your arm.

You choose to ignore the hurt look that flashes briefly on his face.

Kingsley Shacklebolt starts listing off the known locations of other members then. Dumbledor is delivering the news to the Bones, Feniwick is held up at Hogwarts- there had been an attack in Hogsmeade. Four Muggle borns had been killed in the street. Sirius and Marlene along with Alice Longbottom have made fort at the McKinnon’s cabin, a known safe house, stuck for the moment as most are.

“Mad Eye’s gone to rally with Aberforth. I think they’re trying to track the Lestranges- that’s w-who ambushed us tonight”

By the look they give you, you know they know those aren't the only people who you’d crossed wands with.

“You know who is on the move, we heard it- he’s angry cause’ of what happened back in London. What did happen? Is James okay?” Peter questions and you really do feel bad for snapping at him, for telling him to shut up. He's just scared, for himself and for his friends.

You know how much Peter cared about James.

“He’s fine, he’s in the kitchen getting mended by Dorcas- Lily’s with him”

The rest of it, the story that everyone seems so eager to hear,  you hold back. Tight lipped, chest heavy. The stout blonde man looks like he wants to ask more, go forward, but he just nods and scurries into the kitchen.

That’s fine. James’ll relay it all to his friends, to the Order.

And everyone will know just what you did.

Your stomach rolls threateningly.

————-

Adrenaline is a hell of a drug.

First- you soar on it. It carries you through, you can’t feel pain or time as it curses through your bloodstream. But then,then, after your body’s flight or fight checks off, it makes you crash. You stumble down from the high- pain throbbing and world going molasses slow. Your stomach churns and your head pounds from the whiplash like stop.

You empty what feels like your soul into the porcelain toilet of a spare bathroom that you’d barley found before you started spewing. It’s violent, your whole body convulses with every gag, and it seems to go on for an eternity even though you can’t even remember  what and when you’d last eaten.

You choke on bile a bit before you stumble over to the sink, turning on the creaky faucet and putting your mouth right in the stream.

You’d been able to stand the questioning and the looks and the pricing for just about a half an hour before that familiar wave of anxiety that you’d managed to keep at bay overwhelmed you and sent you running.

A breakdown was very much due. You’d rather no one bare witness to it.

Not even Lily who’s threatened to plow down the door at least twice now.

When you connect eyes with yourself in the mirror you almost look away. The reflection that stares back at you is alien. The woman feels so far away- that you raise a shaky hand, touching the glass. Trying to convince yourself that it’s real.

That you’re real.

There’s blood, mostly dried, that has run into your eye from the cut in your hair line that’s really more of a sloppy open bruise and you rinse it off, scrubbing with your fingers til’ it hurts. The blood won’t come off, your hands stained red. Blood everywhere. Your blood. James blood. That Death Eater’s. Those muggles that had just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time-

Your breath goes choppy again, sobbing on air as you think about it. You just need the red to be gone, you’ll feel better once it’s gone.

In the corner of the mirror, you side eye the shower behind you.

——————

Part ll

The rooms in this place remind you of the girls dormitories back at Hogwarts.

Or maybe you just miss the girls dormitories back at Hogwarts.

You bet it’s the latter, because the only thing similar is the fact that there’s a row of beds. There’s no Lily laughing, or Marlene painting, or Mary dancing. All of those things feel so distant now, memories that you never thought to cherish but that you now hold on to with claw like ferocity.

You’d do anything to be fifteen again, cooped up in the castle on a sunny afternoon.

Instead you stand in the middle of a drafty room, your skin raw and flushed from the blistering temperature of the shower, the ends of your curly hair dripping down your back as you clutch the towel that someone (Lily) had left outside the bathroom door to your body.

You sit down on the bed where your nap sack had been dumped- the extender charm you’d put on it had been a bitch to get right, but you're grateful for it as you dig around it’s never ending contents- able to find a clean cream colored sweater and leggings.

You're shimmying the clinging black fabric up your thighs when there's a knock at the door.

You sigh. You can’t keep putting her off. You’re being a shitty friend when she’s trying to be a good one, and you know it.

“Come in, Lily. I’m dressed” You call, back to the door as you drag the towel over and through your hair, frowning at the curly untamed state, before beginning to twist it into some semblance of a bun.

“Actually, not to disappoint you but it’s just me”

The voice is deep, silken. Familiar. Distinctly masculine, and definitely not Lily’s.

You turn fast, and hopeful. Your eyes wide when they land on the tall figure that looms in the doorway.

“And I was hoping you wouldn't be dressed”

Sirius stands there, his slate eyes combing over you, a small grin tugging at the left side of his mouth. He looks a little tired- the fine lined wrinkles on the outer corner of his eyes and the bags under them both deep, pronounced. He obviously hasn't shaved since you’d last seen him, weeks ago. What had been a shadow was now dark scruff. His hair is scraped away from his face, tied in it’s usual knot at the back of his neck and he’s donning his signature worn leather jacket. He looks so familiar that it almost brings tears to your eyes. Standing there, being crude and handsome and real.

You felt so foreign in your own skin that seeing him so solid is a relief that you can't quite explain. He’s a strong boulder, a rooted tree, that you can tether yourself to.

You want to tell him that. That you didn't realize how much you needed him until that moment. You kind of hate that realization because needing Sirius Black was stupid, so stupid.

“What are you doing here?” Is what comes out instead. Wrong, you always say the wrong thing when he’s around “I thought you we’re stuck at the Cabin”

He doesn't look offended, but he does look concerned, as he closes the door behind him. “I was. I was able to slip past them though.'' He shrugs, casually, as though he hadn't risked his life leaving the McKinnon’s.

He was always so blase about everything. It drove you absolutely bonkers.

“I’m taking it you did that on four legs?”

Ever since you’d learned about Sirius, James and Peter's Animagi sized secret, everything made sense. You knew they weren't lucky enough to get away with all that shit they had back in school. Definitely not smart enough, either.

He shrugs again and you bite the inside of your cheek hard as he sits down on the bed that you had claimed for the night as your own. He's so much taller then you that even sitting in this position, the two of you are almost eye level.

“I heard what happened, I wanted to make sure you guys were okay. Plus, once my cousin got her pound of flesh she took off- left Crabbe and McNair in the forest. Fucking idiots couldn't find their own noses in a mirror. There’s no IQ test for up and coming Death Eaters, is there?”

Of course he’d heard. You can't meet his gaze- that intense stare that he’s been giving you since he’d walked in. You don't know what to make of it, don't really know how it makes you feel.

But then again none of that was anything new. There was no label to slap onto what you and Sirius had started, onto what you felt for him. Marlene had accused the two of you being fuck buddies, but that wasnt it.

You’d have to have been friends before it for that to be accurate, which you weren't.

You weren't even sure that you were friends now.

All you knew is that you were glad to see him, even if that happiness was laced with confusion.

“I suppose not. Your cousin isn't the brightest bulb either. She’s just cunty enough to be through most of the time” You’ve always despised Bellatrix Black- ah, no, she’s a Lestrange now isn't she? Figures she’d marry one of those fucked up inbred brothers. Trash congregates with trash.

“True. She always was committed to being cruel”

“She needs lend some of that commitment to brushing her hair regularly”

Sirius snorts, shaking his head a bit. You’re good, so fucking good at deflecting “You know Dorcas is still looking for you. She wants to check out your head”

“It’s a shallow cut, I’m fine” sounds hollow even to your ears and his small scoff is honestly what you would've given him if the roles were reversed. “I am” you start stronger, trying, really trying “I’m just...tired. I’m rubbish at combative spells- I know you remember me in D.A.D.A. I could barely pass my Newt. It took a lot out of me, is all”

Sirius lets you ramble, which is a nicety for him because you can see that he’s fighting himself from cutting you off. Sirius doesn't take bullshit, can't stomach it.

“You went head to head with Voldemort tonight and you’re trying to tell me that you’re ‘rubbish at combative’ spells? What the fuck, Y/N?” He says bluntly, grabbing you by your wrists as you try to back away, holding you steady, not letting you run away. “It’s just me. Talk to me”

The vulnerability you feel in that moment is only just weighed out by your stubbornness as you stare right back at him, teeth clenched, unwilling to break that eye contact. He was calling you out, almost challenging you.

“What do you mean what the fuck? You what the fuck, Sirius! I don’t know what you want me to say-” You’re defensive, your hackles are raised and your voice is razor sharp.

“What happened?”

“Oh, bugger off. Don't act like you didn't talk to James before you came up here. You know exactly what happened”

“I want you to tell me what happened- no, don't look at me like that. I’m not the others, I’m not- I’ve told you everything. All the ugly that I’ve seen, that I’ve done. I would never judge you, and what you were forced to do tonight? That’s not something that anyone is going to judge you on” His voice is too soft, it doesn't match the strong grip of his long fingers around your wrist.

Doesn’t match the rough way he usually fucks you or the lukewarm looks he gives you when the two of you are in public.

You tug on his hold, if only to make sure he won't let go.

He doesn't.

Tethered, your brain again supplies that word for the feeling of security he gives you.

“I killed three people tonight, I think. I don't know- it was all so fast, everything happened so fast. We were just supposed to be gaining intel, you know? And then out of nowhere they were swarming us, Sirius. Blocking is in. James got hit right before Voldemort apparated in and I- I knew we were going to die. So I- I just blew everything up” Tears are rolling down your face as you recount the events. You don't know how to describe to him how cold it was, how scared you were. You’d never experienced fear like that “I didn't have control of that spell, I’d read about it, but I had no idea that it was going to…”

The fucked up part is that you knew it might. You knew that it could incinerate everyone and everything. Including you and James and Moody. But in that moment...that desperation you felt out weighed it all.

“Hey, hey look at me- we’ve all been there. You did what you had to do. You dont think we all throw out spells that we have no fucking idea how to use In the heat of the moment?” You didn't realize that you’d said that last part aloud, but confessing to Sirius had gotten all too easy these last few months.

He made your lips loose, lowered all your inhibitions without your permission. You hated him for it. Craved him every moment that he wasn't around for it.

This war was turning you to stone. Cold and rigid, but You didn't feel like you had to be marble hard when he was around.

“I could've killed us all. I killed those muggles- fuck. They didn't know- they didn't do anything” You’re sobbing again, soft underbelly exposed. He could gut you right now if he wanted to. “They were innocent”

“Shh, C’mere” He pulls you in between his spread legs, lets go of your wrists in order to envelope you in his gangly arms, to squeeze at your thick waist and shoulders as he holds you. “You didn't kill them, Y/N. James said it was the counter curse that Voldemort used that hit them- think about the positioning. They were on the same side of the alley that you were- crossing that street, they got hit with a curse that was meant for you”

You shake your head, burying your face in the soft thin skin of his neck because he’s wrong. You know he is. James was out of it, pain clouding his senses. You knew what you did.

Sirius doesn't argue it further, just lets you cling to him. Allows your cries, ugly and snotty, to shake you both.

He lets you get it all out- until you're hiccuping on the last of your tears. You're completely slumped against him, pretty much sitting in his lap as he supports all of your weight. You’d be more self conscious in that moment if you had any energy left to be.

“It was so horrible. There were...pieces of people. Everywhere” You shudder because you can still see it. Like you're still there.

Sirius’ arms tighten at that, squeezing you to him for a minute. A hug within a hug,

“There are casualties in war...it sounds fucked up, and it doesn't make any of what happened tonight better, but it is what it is”

He’s not nice, not really. He gives you the hard truth that you don't want to swallow. They aren't the pretty words that you want, but they are what you need.

War is ugly, and up until tonight, you’d been willingly ignorant to that fact. You’d heard the horror stories of what Voldemort and the death eaters had done, and were doing, but you'd never experienced any of it first hand.

Seeing changed everything.

No one, from either side would come out of this clean. Everyone and everything would be blood stained, tainted.

It’s a heavy realization, that the world you were fight for would never be the same.

You pull away from Sirius then, grabbing his hand and losing your fingers with yours when he goes to grab, to keep you close. He watches, dark brows pulled together, as you lie down on the lumpy old bed, head resting on the singular flat pillow.

“Lay with me? Please?” You give his hand a tug, tac on that pretty please at the end.

Like it’s necessary.

Like he wasn't planning on staying since the moment he’d walked through that door- you could have thrown a fit. Hit him, hexed him, and he still wouldn't have left you. “I’m so tired”

He stands from the bed and you make a small hurt little sound.

“I’m not going anywhere, hush” He smiles, canine grin and crinkled nose as he sheds his leather jacket, combat boots and scratchy dark jeans coming off next, leaving him in a long sleeved t-shirt and a pair of threadbare black boxers that had seen better days and definitely were sporting a hole or two.

“Lumos Nox” with a flick of his wand, the lights in the room go out.

The bed really wasn't big enough for two people, but you made due. Sirius all but laid his entire long lean body on top of yours, acting as a sort of human blanket.

“Oof, bloody hell, Sirius!” you tease, squirming under him for a minute but loving every inch of him pressed down on top of you. You felt secure, safe. So different then you had in the car when you’d wondered if you’d ever feel this way again. You twine your arms around him, giving him the room to nuzzle his face into your bosom, nosing at the soft fabric of your sweater as your fingers bury themselves in his thick onyx hair.

He’s all but purring as you scrape your nails against his scalp. He’s not really a big scary dog at all, no. He’s more pussycat than anything.

The silence is peaceful, his head rests on your chest and everything smells like him. Sandalwood and cigarette smoke, and something sweet that you could never quite put your finger on. Dark and sensual and overwhelming. It always sticks to your clothes, after nights like this. You know you'll smell him in your hair for days.

Sometimes it’s still mind boggling that this is where the two of you had ended up. That you got to have him like this. You remember the days that you would pine for him, years one through four at Hogwarts had been hard on your fragile little heart. Too young to fully understand that boys like Sirius didn't look twice at girls like you.

And he hadn't.

The girls he dated, and Merlin was there a slew of them, had been beautiful in a way that you just...weren't. You’d never have a thin nose or mile long legs. And so you dropped the torch you carried for him, let the flame die out until all that was left were low simmering, angry, embers. Because fuck Sirius Black for not wanting you.

Even now, you wonder if he really does.

Want you.

Yes, the two of you had shown each other your bleeding hearts, had let each other see the dark, odd, ugly puzzle pieces that didn't quite fit into the persona’s you publicly displayed...but you wonder all the time if it wasn't just...trauma bonding.

Clinging to the only available warmth during a blizzard, trying to find someone to weather the storm with.

Without this war, without the two of you being forced together by the horrible things that were being done, that you were doing, would there even be anything there? The two of you weren't James and Lily, weren't destined to be together, to get married and live happily ever after. Your love, if that's what it was at all, wouldn't survive the war like theirs would.

“Your going to hurt yourself” Sirius’ words are muffled as he speaks them into your sweater.

“Huh?”

“You’re thinking too hard. I can practically hear the muscles straining in your brain Y/L/N” You tug on his locks at his statement, lightly enough to not cause pain- even though you knew now that he liked that.

“It’s nothing” you insist.

The last 24 hours has been hard enough, you aren’t about to fuck them up further by questioning feelings, stirring up the inevitable end of this...thing.

“”It’s something” he’s an insistent pushy tosser.

“I’m just wondering why you came back tonight, is all” you try to keep a casual cadence to your tone, but still.

Sirius props his chin on your chest. The room is dark enough that you can’t see him, but you can feel him studying you “When I heard about what happened and then found out that it was you and James that’d been there...I knew I had to find a way to get here. The two of you-“

There’s a long gap of silence. You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat hummingbird fast in your chest as you wait for him to continue.

“- Are my best friends. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost one of you. And then I hear that I almost lost both of you at the same time? It was fucked. I don’t know what I would’ve done if...I’d things would’ve gone differently”

You know this is hard for him.

Sirius is just about the most emotional person you’ve ever met- he feels everything so intensely, it’s alarming really. And yet he can’t ever voice those feelings in a way that’s not screaming or drunken declarations.

His parents had really done a number on him.

“We’re friends?” Your question might sound stupid, but really, you were curious. You never thought he wanted you as a friend.

“Blimey, Y/N, are you serious?” He sits up even further, voice laced with disbelief as he rests his elbows on either side of your head, his face hovering above yours now.

“I’m just asking! I never knew, and you’ve never said. Don’t be a dickhead about it” Is your barbed reply.

He lets out a barking laugh and you can’t tell if he’s annoyed or amused. Probably some mixture of the two.

“I told you about my father breaking my fingers when I refused to learn the piano” He sounds...guarded. You hate it, that you caused that. His guard to go back up. You should’ve kept your big mouth shut. Your right hand planes up and across his biceps. Resting on his shoulder.

“I know. I’m sorry”

“Don’t be sorry, just know that I would never tell that to someone that I didn’t consider a friend. That I didn’t care about”

See? Emotional. So emotional. It’s like it bubbles up within him, always threatening to overflow. You could never guess when the next outburst would be.

“Well that’s good, I guess I consider you a friend too. I never did before, when we were kids, but now I don’t know what I would do...without your friendship”

Friendship is a deceitful word, a mask of something else that was far too big for either of you to attempt to tackle.

“I don’t know what I’d do without your friendship either. I never want to find out. I really did lose it a bit when I heard about what you did. Ask Marlene. She said I was overreacting”

This is a confession- it’s I love you without the strings. It’s I need you without the commitment.

It’s not fair, to either of you and it’s messy and doomed.

But it’s beautiful, all the same.

“I bet you were” you give a watery chuckle, and he presses his forehead to yours, nudging your nose with his.

“Maybe just a bit, but if we would’ve lost you tonight, I would’ve-“ he breathes deep through his nose “I don’t know what I would’ve done. Hunted them all down, probably”

It’s hot, no, physically hot. You’re burning up, his words striking a match and lighting an inferno inside of you that’d laid dormant for years.

“You can’t leave me anytime soon, got it Y/L/N?” His mouth is less than an inch away from yours, his words feel feathery against your parted lips.

“Mmhmm, I’ve got it” you're breathless already, on the verge of whining and Sirius is just a man, only human. How is that not supposed to drive him mad

“Good” he grunts out fast, before slamming his mouth to yours. He’s not slow like he’d like to be, like he knows you deserve. His kisses are hungry and wet and consuming and you just part those pretty lips and whimper into his mouth, begging him to keep going. To keep taking, so he does. Bracketing his hands on either side of your face, using it as leverage to fuck his tongue in and out of your mouth as his skin hips slot between your fatty thighs.

You pant into each other's mouths as tongues explore the places behind teeth, and Sirius hips find a rhythm that matches his tongue.

“Fuck” you pull away with a gasp and Sirius just drags his spit wet mouth down, across your chin, down your neck. When he sucks an earlobe between his teeth you mewl, legs coming up, your feet propped against the back of his thighs as you pull him closer, nestling him even deeper into the center of your thighs.

He very much likes being between your legs, as he’s told you that very fact before.

It’s warm and you’re plush and soft all over, his fingers dig into the meat of your thighs, hips, belly as yours muse his hair, slipping the elastic out so that the tendrils fall freely, long enough now to curtain the two of you, brushing against your cheekbones.

It’s needier than it’s ever been, and when Sirius tugs off your sweater impatiently he literally groans as his hands map out your bare skin touching all the places that usually make you flinch. Rolls and stretch marks- it’s like he needs to feel everything. When he cups your large breasts, one in each palm you full body shiver. He paws at them, thumbing your nipples until they pebble under his touch, before his mouth takes over.

His tongue swirls around the hard buds sloppily. Too much spit, less teeth that usually are biting and sharp. He’s suckling, all over, marking you up, taking his time.

“Sirius, please” your whines are high in your throat and almost pitiful as you fist his hair. He hushes you gently, suckling turning to open mouthed kisses, before he pulls away, stripping his shirt off, in one elegant sweep.

His torso, long and lean- yet toned and sturdy is on display then and honestly you kind of want to turn the lights back on just to look at him for a while.

Usually, Sirius loves to tease. To draw things out at an almost painful pace. It’s maddening. But not tonight.

No, he’s helping you peel your leggings off your curvy calves, then stripping himself of his boxers quickly.

Things are different- somethings shifted. Everything feels all consuming, passionate, both of you are gulping for air as you rut against each other, rubbing and writing. Trying to press as much bare skin together as possible.

He presses two fingers inside of your wet cunt as he rubs his scruff against the sensitive skin of your neck and you keen, high and loud.

Instead of shushing you, he reaches blindly and clumsily for his wand. “Muffilato”

He really is a great multitasker- he manages to cast the silencing charm as he crooks his fingers inside of you, padding at your g spot and making you wail brokenly.

“That’s it, pretty. You can be as loud as you want, go on love” he coos in your ear and holy shit sex with Sirius has been good since it’s inception- but this is something else.

Maybe it’s because of what you’d experienced earlier- all of those negative emotions being combated by all of these good ones but fuck. It felt so good.  

He fucks you with his fingers, two and then three and you’re sobbing even before he kisses down your body. Lips scorching and brandishing. When his hot wet tongue slithers between your lips, zeroing in on your clit you’re done for.

It’s embarrassing how little time it takes for your body to tense up, for you to clench around his pounding digits.

“S-s-shit- oh fuck! Sirius!” You grapple at his shoulders, yank at his hair as you convulse, lost to the orgasm that rips through your chest like a bullet.

He works you through it. With little licks, and then soothing words as he pulls his fingers out of you. Your legs fall even farther open and you feel like a well wrung out dish towel.

He’s still being so sweet, as he situates you both on your sides, spooning you from behind. He nuzzles at your still wet curls and really, you’re almost asleep at this point- but not so out of it that you’re unaware of him hard against your lower back.

“Sirius” you mumble, reaching behind you, your short chubby fingers wrapping around his cock. It’s so perfect in your hand- skin hot. Rock hard and velvet smooth.

He groans low at the contact, stills your hand with his “No, it’s okay. I just wanted to take care of you”

You frown at that, whining- and not a happy one “But I want you inside of me”

“You’re barely coherent right now- you’re gonna’ fall asleep any second” he counters back, although you can hear there’s little fight in his strained voice.

“So fuck me while I’m asleep. I want you. We can do it just like this, gonna feel so good” you’re exhausted, but you’ve never wanted anything more. You rub your ass against him, you can feel the tip at the top of your crack and he’s breathing raggedly into your hair.

“Fuck woman. You’re insane” It’s a laugh, or maybe a moan as he grabs the back of your knee, raising it, giving him access to the wet hot flesh between your thighs. He hisses as he guides himself inside of you, and you both sigh when he bottoms out.

Hells, this angle is so good. You get to be completely lazy, just laying there like a doll and taking it as he holds you close and pumps his hips.

The room is filled with wet slapping and breathless panting.

There’s no way you can come again so soon, you’d never been one of those multiple orgasm kind of girls- Sirius gives a strong thrust, the tip of his cock brushing your cervix and sending shockwaves down your tailbone.

Your nails dig into his forearm as you gasp. You’re totally going to come again. Everything is hypersensitive, molten fire, pleasure so bright it’s almost pain as you hold onto him.

“God- you feel so bloody amazing” Sirius’ mouth is right at your ear, you can hear how close he is, that stutter in his breathing “I’m not gonna last- I can’t- fuck. It’s too good”

“Come inside me. Please. I want- fuck I want you closer. Never want you to stop. Want you like this forever, Please” It’s your own words that tip you over the edge for the second time. Thinking about Sirius being close like this, forever. You want him, balls deep inside of you for the rest of your life. You’d never really had an orgasm that was completely internal, your neglected clit not responsible for the tightening of your walls, for the screech that leaves your throat.

Sirius curses, chokes on a loud moan, and then stills inside you. Grabbing you, holding you still as he buries himself to the hilt and empties himself in hot spirits into your womb.

He feels shaky and uncoordinated as he tries to regather himself. Merlins fucking beard- he’d never come that hard. Ever. He swears he’s still feeling the shock waves minutes later when he’s finally able to move.

He breathes in through his teeth and you let out a squeaky mewl as he pulls out.

“Sorry, I’m sorry” he kisses your shoulder soothingly.

Never want you to stop

The words that you’d spoke in the throws of your pleasure ring in his head as he manages to locate that towel you’d used earlier and clean both of you off. It’s half assed and you’d both certainly need to shower before you but back on clothes but at least he’d tried.

“You still awake?” He whispers to you because you’ve gone so still, your body loose and your breathing even.

You make a noncommittal sound, half of an ‘mmhmm’ and he chuckles, managing to get the blanket up and around the both of you before curling himself back around your body.

He’ll let you have the only pillow, that’s fine. You’re so plush and soft anyway. One big pillow, really. More comfortable than the expensive peacock feathers his mom used to fawn over when he was little.

You’re out like a light, and yet Sirius’ mind is going a mile a minute.

I want you closer

You’d almost died, less then twelve hours ago. James has told him how close it had been for both of you. How narrowly you’d escaped death's grasp.

Sirius presses his face onto your back, off centered from the nape of your neck. You smell like your shampoo here- blackberries and sweet lavender.

He had ran, lungs heaving and paws aching through the woods around the McKinnon Cabin. Desperation fueling him. He’d been so scared. The moment he’d been out of sight, he’d appirated to this safe house. He’d only been here once and could barely conjure the image in his head, but he’d still done it.

He could’ve gotten caught, he could’ve been splinched.

Even now, he doesn’t care.

He can pretend that it was out of concern for his best friend, and yeah a big part of it was. James was his brother. The only family he had left and seeing him to make sure he was safe and okay was important to Sirius…

But in the dark, with his arms wrapped around you and the smell of you all over him, he can admit that he’d snapped in a way that he never had before. When he’d heard that you’d been the one to lift your wand and fight, that Voldemort had thrown curses directly at you…

He was terrified.

Not much scared him these days- and that was the sad truth. He was brave to the point of recklessness, he’d always prided himself on that fact.

But the idea of losing you? That he was scared of.

Want you like this forever.

Please.

Another thing that Sirius Black was scared of? The fact that he wanted you forever, too. He wasn’t made for love, not the kind that he knew you wanted. Not the kind that he watched his friends partake in.

He’d let you down eventually, he knew it, and with as smart as you were, he knew you knew it too.

But not tonight.

Tonight he’d hold you, breathe you in, and pretend that there wasn’t a war waging in the world outside.

————

Many years later, while he lay on the dirty stone floor of his Azkaban cell- he stares wordlessly at the ceiling and remembers how you smelled of lavender and blackberries. How you’d giggled like sunshine and fought like hell.

And he remembers, most, how much he loved you. 

Alright guys! Thank you for taking the time to read this massive one shot! I hope you enjoyed it. As always I ask that you comment, and reblog if its possible. Love you all!

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@peacefulwriter88 @jalapenobarnes @jaamesbbarnes @gifsbysimplysonia @brieannakeogh @allaboardthereadingrailroad @all-about-sirius @spidey-babe-parker @propertyofpoeandbucky @hufflepuff-always-and-forever @autirobo @louisianaspell @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @hufflepuffing-all-day-long @threeminutesoflife @writeturnlove @benbarnesescape

Well, that was painful lol. I’ve been feeling really angsty with everything that’s been going on in the world- so I decided to lean into it. I will be writing some fluff pieces soon too, to cope with this quarantining, so keep an eye out.

Okay so we all have the time I thought I’d write a kind of long author's note down here. Harry Potter is my all time favorite Fandom(and fun fact, was the first fandom I ever wrote for) and I definitely don’t give it the love it deserves here on my page.

Sirius Black *chefs kiss while sobbing* That man taught me how to love. He was my first true male character love.

My Fan-Casting has always been a little different then everyone else’s, but lately I’ve really tightened up my dream cast and I love it so much so I thought I’d share(obvs, please feel free to imagine whoever you want in these roles):

Sirius Black: Okay this is probably the only casting I have that is like OG dawn of time Sirius fan cast. BEN BARNES IS SIRIUS BLACK. He always will be to me and nothing will ever change my mind. I imagine Ben with like some Harry Styles mannerisms when I write my Sirius.

James Potter: Chance Perdomo. James Potter was brown and that is that. Chance won me over as Ambrose in Sabrina. He’s so cheeky and thoughtful and arrogant and perfect.

Lily Evans(Potter): Sophie Skelton! This is actually a pretty popular cast for her which makes me so happy because Sophie is so perfect for Lily. I could never get behind the Karen Gillian wave. Sorry.

Remus Lupin: Daniel Sharman- I recently came across a post with Daniel as a young Remus and omg my life is changed for the better!

Peter Pettigrew: Okay so I feel like Peter is so hard to cast- but when I think of Rowling’s book desript of him I always come back to one actor. Jonah Hill. I feel like he would tear this part uppppp. Also he’s plus sized unlike all the other actors I always see people fc him with.

Marlene McKinnon: Okay so idk where this came from but I’ve always seen Marlene as Latina? Like always. Her fc has jumped around for me but has recently landed, hard, on Ana De Armas

Dorcas Meadows: Ashley Blaine Fearherson!!! Dorcas is cannonly black which I fucking love because she was so bad ass that Voldemort’s bitch ass had to go take her out himself. A queen. She’s always been a fave of mine

Alice Longbottom: Florence Pugh! She didn’t make much of an appearance in this particular one shot but I love her!

Frank Longbottom: So I know Nevilles like really white in the movies, but I’ve never been able to get over Diego Luna as Frank. Sweet sunshine man.

[platypanthewriter]

The Prince and the Pauper (Who Drives An Uber) Ch. 5

(Prince Steve flees his wedding, and asks his Uber driver to take him bowling...and on a date.  WIP)  Part One | Two | Three | Four | Five

Billy stumbled into his room, wishing he'd drunk a little less, and flopped onto his bed—then slapped around beside him for where he could hear Steve’s muffled laughter, and found his phone.  “Steve,” he mumbled.

“You sound sleepy,” Steve told him, and Billy growled.  

“My dick isn’t,” he muttered, and Steve laughed again.  “It’s not,” Billy snarled, yanking his jeans open.  “Heard your voice.”

“Ohhh,” Steve said.  “...that happens to me, too.”

“Your dick likes me?” Billy asked, feeling kind of fuzzily like it was a weird question to ask, but Steve sounded like he was smiling when he said “Yeah, Billy, it does.”  

“What about your hands,” Billy asked, sliding his shirt up to his chest.  “They like touching me?”

Steve muttered something that sounded like vlakoss, or vlakas, maybe, and Billy mouthed it to himself, so he’d remember.  “All of me likes you,” Steve said softly, and Billy rolled sideways into his blankets, laughing into his pillow as he flushed.  

“...lemme put you on video,” he whispered, feeling kind of like they were hiding, together in his bed. 

His face warmed further as Steve whispered back, “Show me.”

Billy’s fingers were clumsy, but finally he could see his prince, leaning back on a shiny green overstuffed chair kind of thing, in a soft yellowy robe, his skin lit with warm morning light.  He was smiling, his hair bed-ruffled.  

“...oh,” Billy said, biting his lips together, and hoping Steve couldn’t really see the taco stains on his shirt, or the Thomas the Tank Engine twin-size sheets Max had picked up as a joke at Value Village.  

“Want to turn another light on?” Steve asked, and Billy snorted a laugh, shaking his head.  

“You can see more than enough,” he said, grimacing, and Steve frowned.  

“I can barely—”

“Shut up, it’s fine,” Billy sighed, suddenly exhausted.  “Look, I’m—I’m going to bed, actually.  I’ll—I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Steve blinked back at him, wide-eyed, and Billy hung up, yanking the pillow over his head with a groan.  

His text alert—it was the treasure chest noise from one of Max’s Zelda games—made its ting ting ting noise, and he lifted the pillow to look.  Sleep well, Steve had sent.  I miss you.  

Billy nearly called him back, staring at the words, and then sat up and yanked his stained t-shirt off.  He flung it into the corner with the other dirty laundry, and then sighed, and stumbled out of bed to gather it all up and stomp downstairs to the laundry room.  When he got there, he had no quarters, and he sat heavily against a washer, wiping his eyes, until the door creaked open, and it was Max, carrying the box of detergent.

“What gives,” she said suspiciously, and he shrugged.

“...just thought I’d do some laundry, y’know,” he said, laughing.  “I’m such a fucking slob.”

“Did he say something,” she bit out, shooting him a glare as she fed quarters into the machine.  

“...he didn’t,” Billy sighed, rolling his shoulders, and frowning around the laundry room.  “Stinks in here.”

“It’s apartment 312,” Max growled.  “She washes and lets it rot.  All the time.”

“Once I have my degree I’ll get us somewhere better,” Billy promised, wincing.  “Once I get a real job.”

“It’s not so bad,” Max told him, grabbing his wrist and hauling him back out.  “Come on, you don’t need to watch, that washer knows what it’s doing.”

“...didn’t look all that smart to me,” Billy told her as she drug him back upstairs, not because he desperately wanted to stick around smelling the sour, heavy funk of rotting laundry, but because Max was handling him again, like she was the adult.  “I bet I’m smarter than that washer.”

“I sure hope so,” Max told him, shoving him inside their apartment.  “You, uh…” she said, glancing up at him, and then frowning, and Billy tried to stop being an asshole.

“I’m fine, Max, play your game,” he told her, and she narrowed her eyes at him.  He opened his mouth to try and argue with her cutting look—proving he was actually not smarter than a washing machine, really—and his texts chimed again.  It was just a red heart emoticon, but Billy’s whole body warmed again at the thought of Steve sitting there for so long, typing and then deleting.  He started to send back a kissy face, and then realized it’d be obvious he wasn’t asleep, and Steve would call, and Billy groaned, mashing his face against his phone.  

“...is he being a dipshit?” Max asked, reaching up to grab his phone, and Billy stuck it in his pocket.  

“Get one out we can both play,” he told her, waving at the Xbox and dropping on the couch.  She grinned, delighted and a little evil, before rummaging around and returning with a selection of five.  They looked like little kid games, he thought, all bright colors, but it wasn’t like he needed to murder zombies, so he decided to let Max cheer him up.  He hummed thoughtfully, and let her lean in and advise—ruffling her hair to make her yell—before sitting elbow-to-elbow with her until nearly midnight, yelling insults at each other and at the screen.  

 Over the next few weeks, his most royal prince-ness kept texting, sending pictures of everything from a frog he found in a downspout licking its own eyeball to pictures of plasticine-covered dead people in a museum exhibit.  There were rows and rows of people posed like they were playing tennis, or crouching, their skin peeled back to show musculature.  

I’m in Germany…said the text, with a picture of Steve posing with a horse whose skin and muscles rippled out like its mane.  “#notaserialkiller” he sent, immediately after.  

tell that to the horse judge, Billy sent back, grinning.

“Who is this guy,” Max asked, leaning her sharp little chin on his shoulder as Billy flipped his phone so she couldn’t see the screen.  He tried to tuck it into his Trig textbook, and it slid out.  “Your Uber fare?”

“He’s, uh, he’s not the kind of guy I usually date,” Billy said, swallowing, and thinking about his last ‘date’ before Steve, who he’d never seen in daylight.  Billy’d awoken—hungover, late to class, on the floor, with his head pillowed on the remains of a half-eaten six-foot Subway sandwich, and a used condom stuck to his thigh—to Max’s unimpressed glower.  He tried to imagine Steve’s clothes on his apartment floor.  A crown on his bedside table.  “He, uh.  He’s a good tipper.”

“That’s a good sign,” Max told him, blowing into his hair as she sighed, her weight against his back, watching the microwave rattle its way through heating her Hot Pocket.  She leaned to flip the phone over—My Prince, it proclaimed.  Three missed calls.

“He’s a nice guy,” Billy told her, trying to grab his phone back.  “He’s too nice, probably.  Calls me his bad idea.”

“If he calls you a bad idea,” she enunciated carefully, through gritted teeth, “—he’s not nice.”

“No, he’s—it’s not—” Billy groaned, then scrambled to try and snatch the phone back from his sister as she hit redial.  “Give it back,” he growled, and she raised her eyebrows, knowing he wouldn’t so much as step towards her angry, since—since they’d written everything down, how much he’d drink, and when, and how often he’d see his therapist, and came up with rules about when he was angry.  “Max,” he hissed, through his teeth, and she smiled her widest fake smile and turned away to talk on the phone.

“Yeah, hey, it’s Billy’s sister,” she said.  “Oh, gee, did I wake you up?”

“No, no, no,” Billy muttered, trying to block her in around the table, so he could grab the phone, but she paced away, keeping the table between them.

“Your bad idea has a sister, didja know?  Oh?  Huh.  Yeah, shut the hell up now.  How come you’re giving my brother shit when he calls you his prince, huh?”

It sounded like Steve just said “Uhhhh,” and Max growled just like her brother.  

“You got money?” she asked sweetly, and Billy slid across the table and grabbed for the phone.  She grabbed his little finger and bent it, making him spin in place to face the wall, cursing the self-defense he’d taught her.  “Yeah?  Okay, how come you’re snogging my brother in bowling alley bathrooms?  How come he’s secret, huh?  You in the closet?”

“Max, stop,” Billy hissed, but she’d frozen in place, and dropped Billy’s hand to grab the phone with both of hers.  

“...I don’t know!” she sort of whisper-yelled, and he started laughing.

“What,” she whispered, and Billy started to snicker.  “What are you—what?!”

“Give him back!”  Billy whispered.  “He’s a prince, right?!”

“I don’t know where he wants to go!” she hissed into the phone, waving Billy off.  “But you should ask him!”

“Give him back,” Billy begged.  “Max!”

“Fine!” she yelled, slapping the phone into Billy’s hand.  

He could hear Steve laughing.  Billy took a relieved breath, and held it to his ear.  “Glad you’re still there.”

“Your sister loves you so much,” Steve told him, and Billy glared after her.

“Loves making fun of me, maybe—”

“She’s right, no, she’s right, pick somewhere you’d like to go, okay?  I should take you someplace nice.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Billy told him, with a snort.  “I seriously don’t care.”

“No, no, look, I found this restaurant, it’s like.  There are knights.  They fight each other.  On horses.  We could bring her?”

“...what,” Billy mumbled, blinking.

“It’s, um, it’s a medieval...kind of thing.  Would she like it?”

“Death-match dining?  Fuck yeah.”

“Okay,” Steve took a slow breath.  “Okay.”

“...why you so worried, Prince Harrington?” Billy laughed.  “You want my little sister to like a restaurant, Mister Royal?  My Stevie Wonder?” Billy asked, feeling over-warm again, even next to the air conditioner.

“What?!” Steve laughed.  “She’s important to you,” he said, sounding a litle confused, and Billy started laughing, not even because anything was funny, just his stupid feelings leaking out everywhere.  

“Okay,” he whispered.  “Okay, yeah.”

“I, uh,” Steve said, and cleared his throat.  “Um.  So.  Nancy and Barb are having their honeymoon later, next—next year, they wanted to know if, uh.  Uh, um.”

“Want me to suggest words?” Billy laughed.  “I can just say words, tell me when I hit the right one.  ‘Chickadee’ is a word, is that any help?”

“Shut up, dickhead,” Steve said, but it sounded like he was smiling.  “Darn you.  They wanted to know if we want to...drive and meet them.  Road trip.  Thought I’d be your Uber fare again.”

“...you...what?” Billy mumbled.  “You want me to…”

“We can fix it so you don’t miss too much class,” Steve wheedled.  “They just need to know your schedule.  Max could come.”  There was a pause, and then he talked really fast, all in one breath.  “Lot of Uber fare, there.  I mean, if you’re—if you’re afraid of missing work.  You don’t have to come though, it’s okay—”

“No, I—” Billy swallowed, dry-mouthed, imagining—how long?!  At least a week?!  Of sharing hotel rooms with his prince.  “I—yes.  Yeah.  I wanna go, yeah—”

“Hey,” Steve said, and stopped, and Billy shut his eyes.

“—if you want me to,” he said quickly, wiping his suddenly-sweaty hand on his jeans.  “—if you’re not just—you don’t have to—” he tried to take a silent deep breath.  “Don’t have to see me if you don’t want to—”

“Babe, babe, no,” Steve told him.  “Come on, take a breath, okay?”

“Yeah,” Billy nodded, and did, holding his phone with both hands so it wouldn’t shake.

“Billy Hargrove,” Steve said, “—you know you’re not a bad idea, right?”

“I’m your bad idea,” Billy told him, laughing, and wiping his nose.  

“No, no, no—no, I didn’t—I never meant—you’re a good idea.  Billy.  You’re such a good idea.”

“Bullshit,” Billy whispered, laughing.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, and the phone went kind of staticky, like he took it away from his ear.  Billy could hear his voice speaking...some language.  He’d have to see whether they offered Greek or Danish classes at the college, he thought, listening.  When Steve’s voice came back, he was still mumbling in definitely-not-English.

“Need to call me back?” Billy asked.

“What?!  No!  I need to—I just didn’t—augh,” Steve groaned.  “Look.  Puttemus.  You are a good idea.  Leaving my wedding to go bowling without calling anyone was a bad idea.  Taking a stranger to my hotel for sex was a bad idea.  I—ag—argh, Billy.  I did—I did that because I was upset, and—”

“Are you...swearing at me?” Billy asked, fascinated.  

Steve’s end of the call went staticy again, and Billy heard him roar—kind of pathetically, like a baby predator at the zoo.  “No!  You aren’t listening!”

“Oh, I’m listening,” Billy told him.  

“I’m so glad I met you,” Steve said hurriedly.  “Not someone, you.  I’m so—thank you for being there.  You made me feel better, I—” he started mumbling again, incomprehensibly, and Billy listened, smiling.  

“Need to learn more languages, don’t I?”

“...how will I mutter about how stupid I am if you can hear me,” Steve huffed.  “I’ll have to make up words.”

“...speak English,” Billy told him.  “I can’t tell you if you’re being a dumbass right now if I don’t understand.”

Steve took a deep breath.  “I—I think about you all the time.  Not just—not just you naked, I—I want to take you on a boat.  I want to watch you out on the water, let you relax.  In—in the sun.  I want—” he stopped, taking a shaky breath.  “—I want you with me.  I want you here, I know that isn’t—possible always, but I want that—”

Billy was doing his breathing exercises, holding it in for a few seconds, letting it out, not because he felt bad, but he was feeling a lot.

“I’m yours,” he laughed.  “I-I mean, as much as you want me.  I need to be here for Max, but…”

Steve groaned.  “I want to see you.  Damn it.”

Billy trotted to his room, and hit video call as he dropped to lie back across his bed.  “Hey,” he whispered as Steve answered, frowning intently at his phone in a flurry of feedback noises.  

The tall white arches around him blurred as he walked quickly down a hall, then sat against the wall under some huge portrait with a gold frame.  He sighed.  “No, this is worse, look at you.”

“I can’t see my own face, my eyeballs don’t work like that,” Billy said, licking his lips—he could try to be sexy, he thought, running his fingers slowly down his face to try and look seductive while checking for mustard—and Steve leaned out of frame, muttering in a language Billy didn’t understand.

“I want to see you, not just...see you,” Steve muttered, and Billy snorted a laugh.

“Well, I can’t fly to Europe,” Billy told him, “—so this is what you get.”

“I can’t kiss you like this,” Steve huffed, and Billy laughed, punching the pillow up behind his head.

“I could put on a show,” he offered.  “Probably nothing that great—”

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed, then bit his lips, and frowned away.  “Uh.  Do—do you want to?”

“I got a couple hours,” Billy told him, trying not to squirm as his dick woke up in his jeans, and started feeling squished.  “You wanna watch me get off?”

“So much,” Steve groaned.  “Um, just a second, okay, I—I gotta make something up, I’ll be right back.”

“Wait, Steve—” Billy shouted, but the line was dead, and Billy had the sinking suspicion he always got with Steve Harrington, that Billy’s overeager dick was causing a war someplace.

The phone rang again, and Billy answered with “Don’t bail on your job just because I’m horny, christ—”

Steve laughed, his face lit mostly by the phone.  “Lynn’s covering for me,” he said, as Billy squinted.

“Are...are you in a storage closet, or something?”

“No, I am not in the closet, I told public relations about you, and they’re figuring out what to say,” Steve said cheerfully, as Billy stared at him.

“...what...what did you tell them,” he whispered.

“I told them I had a boyfriend, and they should be prepared for somebody taking pictures, or something,” Steve said.  “Why?  

The idea of being the boyfriend was new to Billy, and he stared back.  “...you tell people about me?” he asked softly, and Steve bit back a weird little spluttered laugh, grinning at him.  

“I tell everyone about you,” he whispered.  “I pick up my phone and everyone laughs and rolls their eyes, because I’m checking how long until I can call you, and if you’ve sent a text, everything stops until I send you hearts back.”

Billy, who’d been feeling a little dismissed when he’d ask a question, get a string of hearts, and no answer for five hours, groaned, smacking his hand over his face.  “Kinda thought you were telling me to fuck off,” he mumbled into his hand.

“Wha—no, I—why?!” Steve yelped, waving his hands, one of which contained his phone, so everything whirled.  

“You didn’t actually answer, I dunno, I just—”

“I can answer faster!  I’ll answer faster,” Steve told him, grimacing.  “I’m sorry—”

“No!”  Billy laughed.  “No, now I know what the hearts mean, I mean—you’re just busy.”

“I’m busy and I l-like you,” Steve told him, a little clumsy over his words, for somebody who probably had a speech coach.  “And I wish I wasn’t busy.  But I’m checking my phone, because if you need me I’m not busy, not for you, I just don’t know whether—”

“Relax, your highness,” Billy told him, grinning.  “It’s cute.”

“I’m never ignoring you, you’re too distracting,” Steve said, his eyes narrowed, and Billy laughed.

“You still wanna see me strip down?” he asked, cocking his head against the pillow, and Steve laughed.  

“More than almost anything, I just wish I could touch—” 

“Mmmm,” Billy said, taking the zipper of his hoodie between two fingers, and dragging it slowly down his body, his hand flat.  “Maybe you better hurry back and do that, then.”

“God, I wish I could,” Steve whispered, as Billy reached back up to slowly pull one side of his open sweatshirt off his chest, revealing his grotty t-shirt, washed until it was the greyish color all t-shirts eventually ended up.  “...you look so soft,” Steve whispered.  “Is that t-shirt as soft as it looks?”

“...what,” Billy said, having frozen at the word soft, because he’d been drinking less beer, and he’d thought he’d prevented his developing beer gut, but then Steve looked at his stomach—“My...t-shirt?”

“Your t-shirt,” Steve breathed, “—and your hoodie.  You look so soft, I want to squeeze you.”

“Soft,” Billy repeated, unimpressed.  “Soft?!”

“Oh, he thinks he’s hard,” Steve laughed.  “Only your dick, babe.”

“The man who was that disappointed he couldn’t get a buffalo wings plushie does not get to lecture me about being soft—” Billy told him, growling, but Steve laughed.

“I just wanted a souvenir.  I kept a coaster.”

“...you what,” Billy muttered, disbelieving.

“I kept a coaster,” Steve said cheerfully.  “From our first date.  At the bowling alley.”

“You what...took it back home with you?” Billy asked, sneering a little, but he could feel how wide his eyes were.  

“If I can’t drink my Billy, I’ll at least—” Steve began, slyly, but Billy started laughing so hard he stopped.  

“If you’re so thirsty, how come you’re telling me I’m soft instead of seeing the evidence otherwise,” Billy asked, still snickering.  He held the phone out to show the lump of his dick in his jeans.

Steve shut up quite respectfully after that, and Billy got to finally tease him with the slow zipper reveal.  “Put your hands everywhere,” Steve whispered.  “Pretend they’re mine.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” Billy told him, waggling his fingers.  “Where d’you want to touch me...your highness?”

“...everywhere,” Steve said again, his brain taking a second to catch up, and then, “Oh, ah, touch—push your jeans down, I can’t see.”

Billy snorted softly, thinking maybe he needed to try and get...something sexier, to have on already, when this kind of thing happened.  He couldn’t always be wearing stained, stretched-out cotton.  He sat the phone aside—Steve yelped—and shimmied out of his old saggy jeans, and then grimaced down at the holes along the elastic waistband of his briefs, and yanked those off too.  The threadbare t-shirt went next, he pulled it off over his head, and then ran his fingers through his hair, wishing cologne worked through the phone, or that he’d shaved.  “Prince tames wild jungle beast,” he muttered, glaring into the mirror over his dresser in the dim light.  “—suspected to be time traveling caveman.”

“Billy?!” came Steve’s voice, laughing, and Billy groaned, scooping it up, and dropping back to lie on the bed.  

“Should I get like a...g-string, or something,” Billy blurted out, angling the phone so Steve could see his hard dick, which was looking stellar, he thought, surrounded by the red marks from his jeans, on a body that hadn’t gone tanning in recorded history.  

Steve bit back a laugh.  “A  what?” he asked.

“You know, those stripper wedgies,” Billy said, frowning.  “Instead of my stretched-out gray cotton undies…”

“Are they comfortable?” Steve kind of wheezed, and Billy rolled his eyes.  

“I feel like I need to up my game, what with all your...everything,” he said, waving at his prince’s gleaming medals.  “Look, my dick’s sprung a leak,” he growled, pointing at it smearing pre-come over his belly, and feeling his face flush as Steve made a weird swallowed moaning noise.  

“I’m honored,” Steve said, in a strangled voice, and Billy couldn’t help it, he started cackling.  “Billy,” Steve said, softly, and Billy’s dick bounced.  Billy smacked his hand down over it, blushing hotter.  “...you don’t need a G-strip,” Steve said, and Billy laughed harder.  “Billy,” Steve whispered again, and Billy’s cock jerked again, and Billy curled onto his side he was laughing so hard.  “Billy,” Steve groaned, but he was laughing too.  “I love your clothes,” he said, and Billy tried to shut up and listen, shaking with snickers, and wiping his eyes.  “You feel good.  My clothes are scratchy—”

“Your clothes are fucking silk,” Billy told him, grinning.  “Don’t try and tell me you’re always in that stupid uniform, highness.”

“Every time I see you in your soft shirts I want to hold you,” Steve breathed, and Billy swallowed back a soft grunt at the thought of the crown prince of anywhere wanting to put hands on him.  “I want to slide my hands up underneath.”

“Now you’re talking,” Billy said, grinning, rubbing his thumb over the wetness at the tip of his dick.  

“I can’t touch you from here,” Steve said, softly, and Billy sighed, then, reluctantly, took his hand off his cock, and scraped his fingernails down his chest, and up his abs.  Steve sounded like he choked.  

His big brown eyes looked deeper in the shadowy light of the storage closet, and Billy watched him stare, licking his lips.  Billy rolled back onto his back, smoothing the flat of his hand up his thigh, and over his belly to grip himself on the ribs in a one-armed hug, and Steve made a soft noise in his throat.  “Cristos,” he muttered.  

“You’re so easy,” Billy laughed.  

“Only for you, malaka,” Steve laughed, and he sounded so fond Billy flushed hot, staring at his face, and repeating the word in his head, wondering what he’d just been called.  “...with only the light from your mobile, it looks like candlelight.”

Billy laughed, feeling a little gooey, like one of those chocolate cakes that were melted inside.  He tried not to squirm, panting as Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “Yeah, sure, blue candlelight—”

“I wish I could kiss you,” Steve said softly.  “Lean over you, slide my hand down to thumb over your cock.”

“Jesus,” Billy panted, gripping himself as instructed, his dick hard as a rock in his hands.  

“If I was actually there I’d put my mouth over it,” Steve huffed, and Billy groaned, licking his hand so he could jack himself.  His feet started to cramp, he was clenching them so hard, trying not to just jizz all over himself at the sound of his prince’s voice, and he shifted, trying to take deep breaths.  “Suck you down,” Steve whispered.

Billy came over his fingers, panting, and Steve sighed.  

“...I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said.  “Sorry I had to leave, I mean, I’d...I’d just met you, and—thanks for waiting for me, Billy.”

“...there’s not really a long line of people beating down my door,” Billy mumbled, curling up, and pulling the blanket over himself as the breeze from the fan over his sweat made him shiver.

“Thank you for waiting,” Steve said again, softly.  “I want to kiss you as soon as I can.”

 Two months later, Billy was paying bills, while Max hovered around saying things like “I don’t really have to go on school trips, they can’t make me,” and “These sneakers are fine.”  When he was done, there was just enough money to pay rent, the water bill, and send Max on the trip with some food money, and Billy folded forward on the table, dropping his face with a thud among the envelopes.  His heart was pounding.  “...maybe some new shoes next time,” he mumbled, and Max kicked his chair.  

“These are fine,” she said stoutly, and he eyed the frayed, greying converses where they sat next to the duct tape.  She’d started just wrapping the whole shoe every couple of weeks, and they smelled horrible in the summer heat.  “It’s so hot the tape kinda sticks to the sidewalks,” she said, like that wasn’t depressing, and then, “—and I know they’ve got no traction now, so I’m more careful on the stairs,” which was worse.

“...yeah,” he sighed.  

“...this prince of yours,” she said, and he smiled automatically.

“Yeah?”

“...you trust him, right?”

Billy opened his eyes, frowning at her, and she shrugged, biting her lips.  “...yeah, I trust him,” he said, feeling his stomach twist a little—he trusted Steve to act like Steve, but Billy couldn’t help wondering at what point his life would wear Steve to the end of his patience.  “What d’you mean, Max?”

She stared back for a long moment, then bit her lips.  “...nothing.”

“Why are you asking?” Billy asked, trying to think of what she could have seen, passing through while he and Steve played League of Legends.  

“Nothing, moron, shut up, he’s so into you, stop freaking out.”

“O-okay,” he said, burying his face in his arms to hide his grin.  

“God, stop,” she sighed, but she was gentle as she punched his shoulder on the way by. 

My other Harringrove stuff

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 11 (Mafia AU)

Summary:   Ah, brotherly love! Or LOVE, depending on how this goes.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Cherryberry, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10

~~*~~

Read on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

“Where have you been?”

As he was shutting the door, Rus caught a glimpse of their current Dog guard. He cringed, his tail drooping to tuck between his legs and Rus had no doubt that if he had a tail of his own, he’d be doing the same thing. Blue wasn’t very tall, but he packed a lot of punch per square inch and from the bright, erratic glow of his eye lights, he was very tempted to send all that punching right in Rus’s direction.

Rus turned to him, clutching his backpack to his chest, pins jangling and digging in. There wasn’t time to come up with a real plan and he didn’t exactly want to go with ‘hung out with strippers then ended with sitting on Edge’s lap’, so deflect, deflect, deflect it was.

“what i was told to do,” Rus tried, “staying out of trouble. i…i was reading a book.” Hey, it was true and only left out a few key details.

Instead of soothing his brother, Blue only seemed angrier, a hectic flush of near sapphire staining his cheekbones as he snapped out, “Reading a book?!” The last word soared up to a level of shrill that threatened to shatter the glasses on the little minibar in the corner. “Are you mad? Look at you!”

Rus glanced down at himself, shit, how could he have forgotten the state of his shirt? He looked like he’d taken on a part-time job as a chimney sweep. In a burst of inspiration, he said, “i…lit the fireplace, the room was cold.” Rus laughed, a touch raggedly. “i guess i need practice, it was harder than i thought.”

“You would have been warm enough back here!” Blue retorted. “It’s been hours! I’ve been sitting here, waiting and wondering, near out of my mind worrying! I asked the Dogs to bring me to you or to bring you back here and none of them would do a thing!”

“maybe they didn’t want to bother me. what were you doing, then?” Rus flung back, his own shamed guilt curdling into anger. He turned away from his brother’s accusing face and went to the closet, stashing his backpack roughly inside and ignoring the clothing hanging within. “red seemed to think you had something awfully important to talk about that both of you assumed i didn’t need to hear!”

Stupid of him, Rus cursed inwardly, as if he wasn’t keeping his own secrets about last night, secrets that he himself revealed existed with his foolish breakfast table apology. Rus hunched into himself as he waited for Blue to throw that one at him, wildly trying to come up with an explanation his brother would believe. Only Blue said nothing and when Rus risked a look at him, his round face was crumpled in upset.

“We do…we did! It’s not like that, Papy.” His brother took a hurt, hitched breath and his sudden misery only made Rus’s sinking guilt worse. He hated fighting with his brother, Blue always worked so hard, did so much for him, and here he was doing…what…with Edge? He wasn’t even sure, but what he did know was his brother who’d cared for him, bandaged his hurts, made sure he was properly clothed and fed since Rus was old enough to remember was near tears because of him. “Little brother, these people are—” Blue broke off, biting back whatever he’d planned to say. He scrubbed a hand over his face and Rus suddenly noticed Blue had changed his clothes into something simpler, his own clothes from the day before. Blue sighed heavily into his hands and when he dropped them from his face, he was calmer, “I was worried, that was all. I’m sorry I snapped.”

Rus swallowed hard, trying and failing to swallow away the swell of his guilt. His brother probably wasn’t wrong to be worried, but all he said was, “it’s okay, bro.”

Seriously, of course Blue was fucking worried, two days ago someone shot up their shop, yesterday he’d been kidnapped, had it only been yesterday? It seemed so much longer, days, weeks, since he’d been tied to that chair, bruised and terrified, wondering if he was going to die. He sank down to one knee and hugged Blue, took comfort from like he couldn’t yesterday.

His brother hugged him back, short, strong arms circling his neck, holding him tightly. Rus only vaguely remembering ever having to look up to him, he’d been taller than his big brother for ages now. Blue’s wordless murmurs of comfort became a barely audible whisper, “We mustn’t assume they can’t hear us.”

Oh.

Rus gave him a tiny nod, felt his brother sigh as he murmured, low, “We need to stay together as much as we can, to stay safe, do you understand?”

“yeah.” That must be why Blue wasn’t questioning him about what Edge let slip this morning, he was afraid of who might overhear. Rus couldn’t help being relieved at the reprieve even as his guilt threatened to strangle him. He wasn’t used to keeping secrets from his brother, not about anything. He’d explain soon, Rus told himself, he would. First, he’d use whatever time he had to figure things out for himself.

Blue finally pulled away, his eye lights suspiciously shimmery. “Now! Change your shirt and come along with me. Dogamy showed me something earlier that you might enjoy.”

“dogamy?” Rus asked, confused. Some of the clothes in the closet were in his size, he realized, and he hastily changed, this time a soft lavender pullover, before following Blue to the door. He tried not to think about what the sheer quantity of clothes might mean.

Blue nodded “He’s the leader of the Dogs around here, or so they tell me.”

“So… you got to meet the top dog, huh,” Rus said teasingly.

Worth it for the way Blue grumbled out with familiar, exasperated fondness, “Don’t start. Come along, now.”

This time Blue led the way down the hallway. Neither of them looked back at the shadow they picked up, the sound of paws on carpet as their latest sentry followed along. Blue gave no sign of his discomfort past a certain stiffness in his shoulders. The trip seemed a lot shorter than any other, to a door with a strange symbol on it. Blue pushed through it and they went up an echoing concrete staircase, easily the least elegant part of the building Rus had seen so far. Probably meant for maintenance people or even in case of fire…and he stopped that thought right there, he didn’t want to be thinking of fire in any capacity for some time.

At the top of the stairs was a heavy door with a push bar and it took both of them to push it open, but once they stepped through, out into sudden fresh air—

Well. No wonder Blue was so eager to show him.

It was a rooftop garden, arbors of cooling greenery overhead and a winding stone path leading through overflowing planters and pillars covered in winding ivory. Rus followed the path to a bench and sat, breathing in the smell of plants and soil that he’d been missing.

“this is nice, isn’t it,” Rus murmured. Hardly up to his brother’s standards when it came to gardens, but without the need for the high fences surrounding it. To his professional eye, it was all a bit of a hodgepodge; whoever set this up didn’t have much of a sense for design, or perhaps they simply didn’t care, and already he was itching to move things around a bit, arrange them into a more aesthetically pleasing form.

It was no surprise that his brother seemed in agreement of that. “Nice,” Blue sniffed, “It’s so overgrown and chaotic it’s a wonder it hasn’t wandered off down the side of the building on its own! The hanging baskets need clipped back and the drainage for the roses is so poor I expect all the bushes have root rot.” His distaste brightened into determination, “but I think we can improve it.”

“spruce it up, you mean.”

“Papy,” Blue groaned, but there was laughter beneath it. Underneath the bench was small tool caddy and Blue dragged it out, snagging a pair of gloves. It seemed he meant they should work on it now and suddenly, no idea appealed more. For all that opening the shop was his brother’s idea, Rus genuinely enjoyed the work and he’d honestly been missing it. There wasn’t much he could do about the way their shop and garden were being neglected, but there was no reason to let these atrocities continue. He grabbed a pair of his own gloves, rolling up his sleeves and got to work.

By the time Rus looked up again, sweating through his shirt and aching a bit from effort, most of the containers close to the door were trimmed and weeded, and several transplants moved to where they could be both aesthetically pleasing and benefit from the sunshine. Honestly, the rainbow was all good and well, but tossing a bunch of different flowers into one pot did not an arrangement make.

Rus peeled off his gloves as he climbed to his feet. He pressed both hands to his spine as he stretched, groaning in relief as the joints popped. A quick glance showed Blue was still hard at work, unclipping the hanging baskets to shape the unwieldy stems. Rus left him to it, wandered to the side of the building where the breeze was stronger. He braced his hands on the waist-high ledge, peering down. Past the neon glow of the sign, the street level was busy, Monsters on the sidewalk going about their business.

The Dust Bowl was too small to allow for any empty spaces and despite the overwhelming presence of the strip club, there were plenty of shops lining the street and their products became less salacious the further away they got. No Humans were in sight, but that was no surprise. Any Humans who drove through here were seeking an extremely specific product that was sold on street corners, often invited into their cars and back to a hotel room, or at least a quick park in a deserted back alley. His brother certainly tried but he couldn’t keep all the gossip from Rus’s hearing, and he knew some Monsters were unable to get paying jobs on the surface, reduced to prostitution themselves to the Humans that so often despised them.

That made Rus think of Mona, her generous kindness and her gentle smile. He really hoped that wasn’t something she had to do, that Edge meant it when he said he took care of his people.

Across the street something caught his eye, disrupting that line of thought. Rus frowned a little as he studied the car that was a tad too luxurious to fit in this neighborhood. It was parked across the street from the club and there was someone sitting in the driver’s seat, though he couldn’t make out anything about them from the distance. Not one of Edge’s people, he was sure, they’d have gone into the parking garage, so who—

*We know it’s there.*

Startled, Rus whirled around with a choked gasp. The Dog that followed them up here was behind him. None of the Dogs had ever spoken to him before but there was no mistaking that woofy accent.

“you know?” Rus asked uncertainly.

The Dog nodded, impatiently brushing back a floppy ear that fell over one eye. *Stay in the club, pup. Safe here.*

“i…yes, i will,” Rus stammered out. He turned away from that ominous car and looked back out at the rooftop, at the plants they were working so hard on. “but. is it really safe up here? couldn’t they hurt—” Us “…the garden? i mean…all right, this sounds ridiculous, but i’m not sure, a bomb? like a molotov cocktail, i’ve seen movies.”

Dogs couldn’t properly laugh, but this one’s tongue lolled out in a doggish grin. *Not Blaze, too blunt, no finesse. Couldn’t anyway.*

He stepped up to the ledge and held out a paw, gestured patiently for Rus to do the same. He did, confused, pressing out as though pushing an invisible wall and when his hand reached the edge of the building, he stopped with a startled cry. There was nothing to see, but he could feel the buzz of protective magic and the fierce intent behind it.

“spells,” Rus murmured. Edge did mention they’d been weaving plenty of protective spells over the club.

*Yes, many,* the Dog agreed. *Keep you safe, pup.*

Pup, honestly, now there was yet another nickname that he did not need.

“i do have a name,” Rus said, exasperated,

*Yes.* Another doggish laugh. *Flower shop.*

“oh, for—” Rus laughed himself, helplessly, “rus, you can call me rus.”

*Rus,* the Dog said agreeably. He didn’t offer a name of his own and Rus didn’t press. Obviously, he hadn’t reached Blue’s level of rank with the dogma around here. Something to strive for.

Rus went back into the garden proper, casting a last uncomfortable look back at that car and the watcher inside. They really were trapped in here, Rus thought unhappily. Little wildflowers plucked from their freedom and tucked into a pretty vase and the very idea of once again being imprisoned after a lifetime underground chafed, this time to a much smaller area even if they could still see the sunshine.

Trapped, and there wasn’t a thing Rus could do about it.

Instead, he snatched up his gloves again and got back to work. Rus didn’t have his brother’s skills with growing, but he liked to think he brought his own talents to the party. Time passed and Rus was finishing up trimming a bed of lovely but overgrown miniature roses when a voice spoke up behind him.

“You two have been busy.”

Rus tried to whirl around and stand in the same motion and instead toppled off his perch on the side of the planter to the ground with a painful thump.

“honestly, what is with you people always creeping up on me!” Rus grumbled, casting a glare in the direction of his frightener. Edge, who was standing by one of the arbors and likely had been for some time, stalker that he was proving himself to be.

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Edge said, not quite contrite.

“you…you didn’t.” As if his soul wasn’t hammering in his rib cage. Then it throbbed wildly for another reason entirely. Edge must have showered, and he’d changed out of the sooty wreck of his suit into tight slacks and another crimson button up shirt. Only this one was undone halfway down his sternum, showing off a wealth of scarred collarbone and ribs that seemed to point in the direction of his sleek belt buckle and lower. He looked casually posh and temptingly handsome.

And here Rus was, sweaty, unwashed, and probably filthy from face to foot.

Angel have mercy.

Rus scrambled to his feet, rubbing at his poor, abused tailbone in awkward flusterment. Welp, if you couldn’t go for pizzazz, may as well go for bluster. “your garden isn’t in very good shape, you should find a new gardener. maybe try one who’s seen a plant once or twice before you hire them on.”

Edge glanced around them as though the garden just sprung up in that moment and he was only now noticing, “To be honest, I hardly remembered this was up here.”

“don’t let blue hear you say that,” Rus warned, “he nearly wept when he saw the state of your roses.” The poor things were in awful shape and Rus was very sure he’d heard his brother muttering words he hadn’t even thought Blue knew under his breath. Rus looked down at the ones he’d been tending to; the sweet-smelling blossoms with curled velvety petals were hardly larger than a knucklebone, “you seem to like your roses.”

“I do like certain flowers.” The words were much closer than expected and Rus looked up, newly startled to find standing Edge right next to him, the sneak, so close Rus could see the faint sparks crackling in his eye lights as he slowly ducked his head. Rus knew it was coming and somehow still couldn’t brace himself for the feel of Edge’s mouth against his own, coaxingly soft.

Oh. Oh, this was—he couldn’t think, not with Edge so close to him, the smell of him, the heat of his body, his mouth. Rus swallowed down a whimper, tipping his head up and let his teeth part. There was a flicker of a tongue over his own, coyly enticing, and Rus followed the invitation, shyly exploring Edge’s mouth with his own, tasting the heady spice of magic and desire.

That mouth began to draw away far too soon and Rus would have chased it, frantically rising up on his toes as it slipped out of reach, desperate for more. Would have, if strong hands hadn’t caught his shoulders and a low chuckle dragged him back to embarrassing reality.

“Eager, are we?” Edge husked out. It took far too long for his meaning to register, long enough for him to cup Rus’s face in a large hand, his gloved thumb brushing away what was probably a smudge of dirt from his cheekbone.

“you--!” Rus sputtered, but all his indignance faltered, fading, when he caught sight of his brother.

Blue was looking at them, white-faced and grim, and his sockets were empty caves of blackness.

Fuck.

Edge followed his look, catching sight of Blue before he turned away and stormed off the furthest corner of the garden, and frowned. “You haven’t told him anything about us, have you.”

There was an understatement. “i wasn’t sure what there was to tell,” Rus admitted, too soft.

“That’s a discussion all its own. Don’t keep secrets from your brother,” Edge said, “You have nothing to be ashamed about.”

Something about the confidence in that roused Rus’s indignance again. Honestly, Edge hardly knew him and certainly didn’t know a thing about Blue, and here he was, making blanket statements like that. As if he knew a thing about shame. Tartly, Rus asked, “you’re so sure about that?”

“Yes,” Edge said, a low, amused rumble. “There’s no shame in giving in to the inevitable.”

“inevita—" Rus gasped. Of all the arrogant, conceited…! “you don’t even know my name!”

“No? Talk to your brother, tell him the truth.” Edge’s humor went suddenly grim. “Once you get into the habit of keeping secrets, it’s difficult to break it.”

That was enough to cool some of Rus’s roused temper. He suspected Edge was speaking from experience. But then, his brother was Red. Who wouldn’t want to keep secrets from him? Blue was another story; how could he even begin to make his brother understand that in a way this did feel inevitable. He hardly knew Edge, he certainly didn’t approve of his business, and yet, Rus was helplessly drawn to him for reasons he wasn’t sure he could articulate, much less in a way Blue would believe. “that’s easy for you to say.”

“All you have to do is say the words, flower shop,” Edge said. Then, briskly, “Now, I came up here to see if you were hungry. Breakfast was some time ago.”

As if waiting for the perfect moment to embarrass him, his magic chose that moment to give a ravenous sort of growl.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Edge chuckled. “Would you rather eat dinner in your room or with my brother and I?”

Talked about choosing between the devil and the deep blue sea. “with you,” Rus sighed. At least if dinner was with the devil, it gave him a little time to figure out how to flounder in the deep water.

Edge nodded, unsurprised, “Come on, then, we’ll get your brother together.”

A large hand settled at the base of his spine, warmth bleeding through his thin shirt as Edge guided him along. Rus gulped, but didn’t protest.

His brother loved him, Rus told himself, he did, Blue always took care of him. They’d figure this out.

tbc

[connordavidscamera]

Welcome to Our Channel! | CB

A/n: here’s part 1 of a very (hopefully) long series to come. I hope you enjoy it because I already love this series and these characters so much.

Summary: Just a couple trying to navigate a YouTube Channel together.

Warnings: sexual innuendos? fluff?

Word Count: 1.8k

***

Connor sets up the camera in front of the big window of his apartment.  I’m sitting on the floor in his hoodie, one of the cushions of the couch beneath me. “How’s the lighting, bub? Everything look okay?”

He hums, “Almost. Just gotta adjust - there. Perfect... Wow.”

“What?” I ask, playing with the ends of my hair. 

“Nothing, you’re perfect.”

I feel the burn on my cheeks. “Con, stop it!”

“Never,” he comes around the set up and squats down next to me. “Can I have a kiss?”

“Always,” I grasp the side of his jaw and press a soft kiss to his lips. I lick my lips when we pull away, scrunching up my face. “You taste like coffee.”

“And you love it, don’t you?”

“The only way I like it,” I concur and lean in to kiss him again, letting him take the lead, deepening it just a little, his tongue brushing against my bottom lip. “Mmmh…” I groan and pull away. “Not right now, bub. There’s a camera,” I tease.

“It’s not on yet. Should I turn it on? Start our channel off with a bang… literally.”

I laugh and push him away, causing him to fall down. “You’re gross. Stop it.”

“You did not think it was gross last night. Or this morning. And probably not after we finish this video.”

“You never get tired, do you?” I ask, playing with the hem of my shorts, smiling adoringly at my beautiful boy. 

“Not when you’re looking at me like that. Or when you’re in my hoodie like that. Which reminds me,” he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, “you’re keeping that on later.”

I bite my bottom lip and nod. “Yes sir.” 

He groans, “Alright, lover, let’s get this going. Yeah?”

“Yes, let’s. Sit with me.”

“You can sit on my lap.”

I roll my eyes, “Just sit down, bub. You have the remote?”

He hands it to me, situating himself next to me. “We’re in frame?”

I squint at the viewfinder, “Yeah, it looks like it. Are we even in focus?”

“Yeah, I made sure when you sat down. You just have to press that button to start recording.”

“Okay, but what are you even supposed to say in an introduction?”

“Umm… we’re the Brashier’s and welcome to our channel?” He says with a raised eyebrow. 

“Come on, Con. I’m serious. This is different from when I started my channel. I just reviewed some makeup. This is new territory for both of us.”

“I know, but hey, it doesn’t have to be perfect. We’re just starting out. We’ll figure it out as we go.”

“You also realize that doing this means fully exposing our relationship. Letting everyone in. We can’t go back to our secret love affair once they know,” I tease.

He bumps his nose with mine, “I do know that, Harley. But I also know that I can’t keep you a secret any longer. The taciturn posting has to come to an end at some point.”

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my throat, “Someone learned a new word today, huh?”

“I did,” he beams. “Hey that should be a thing in our videos.”

“What should?”

“Like a word of the day. Or a word of the week or something.”

“A word of the week, Connor, what the fuck?”

“It’s a suggestion. We can be both entertaining and educational.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely gonna be our hook. Get that alliteration thing going on. We just need one more ‘e’ word to really send it home. Entertaining, educational, and…”

“Electric?”

“Electric?” I repeat, a small smile on my lips. 

“Yeah. Like what we have, our relationship. It’s electric. We’re entertaining, educational, and electric.”

I lean in a press a chaste kiss to his lips, “Connor Brashier, have I told you today how hopelessly in love with you I am?”

“Well, I’m just as in love with you, Harley Madden.”

There’s literally nothing I can do to hide the blush that creeps up on my cheeks. “We should start filming.”

He tilts his head toward the camera. “I think it already is.”

“What? I didn’t even press the button.” I look up and sure enough, there’s that familiar blinking red light. 

“Well I don’t exactly know how much you got, but we’re not cutting it out.”

---

I look over at my boyfriend, “Is it bad that I’m nervous? I mean, yeah. We’ve confirmed that we’re together. But this is confirming we’re together. That’s scary, right? Tell me I’m not the only one that thinks this is scary.”

He chuckles and pulls me closer to his side, covering my legs with the blanket thrown over his lap. “You’re not the only one. I’ve liked the privacy of us too. But we both know that it was getting harder to hide from the public eye. Don’t you think it’s better for us to go in this way, just full force, no more hiding.”

“Well… maybe a little hiding. They don’t have to know everything.”

He nods and presses a kiss to my cheek. “But you also know that we don’t have to do this if you’re not ready. We can wait a little while longer.”

I stare at the video in front of us. It’s only 2 minutes and 37 seconds. Just an introduction. But this is giving everyone their first real view of our life. Of our relationship that’s been (for the most part) completely private. One that (even without full confirmation) people already have an opinion on. Sure there have been one or two Instagram posts without tagging, without captions. And for a year and three months, on almost every single video or photo I post on my social media, I get asked “Did Connor give you that necklace?” I subconsciously reach for my necklace that rests against my collar bone and rub my finger over the small “c” that connects the chain. 

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours, hmm?” His lips rest against my temple and press the softest of kisses to my skin. 

I shake my head and curl deeper into his side. “Post it, bub.”

“You sure?”

I nod, “I’m sure. I think you’re right. Can’t keep you a secret anymore.”

He hums and lifts my chin. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I murmur back, pressing my lips against his. His lips are like home - warm and inviting and if I could kiss them forever, I would do it without a doubt.

“A word of the week, Connor, what the *bleep*?”

“It’s a suggestion. We can be both entertaining and educational.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely gonna be our hook. Get that alliteration thing going on. We just need one more ‘e’ word to really send it home. Entertaining, educational, and…”

“Electric?”

“Electric?” I repeat, a small smile on my lips. 

“Yeah. Like what we have, our relationship. It’s electric. We’re entertaining, educational, and electric.”

I lean in a press a chaste kiss to his lips, “Connor Brashier, have I told you today how hopelessly in love with you I am?”

“Well, I’m just as in love with you, Harley Madden.”

There’s literally nothing I can do to hide the blush that creeps up on my cheeks. “We should start filming.”

He tilts his head toward the camera. “I think it already is.”

The screen fades into the true intro of the video.

“Hey,” I say a little too chipper, which is definitely why Connor is laughing silently into my shoulder. “I’m Harley Madden.”

Connor clears his throat. “And I’m Connor Brashier. And welcome to our YouTube channel,” he shrugs with a soft smile.

His hand is resting over mine in my lap, playing with my fingers. He’s nervous about being in front of the camera, that’s obvious. He’s never really had to be the one in front. I bring our hands to my lips and litter his knuckles with kisses. He smiles fondly at me and leans in to kiss my cheek. 

“We weren’t really sure how we were going to start this actually. But I guess we should start with this: Yes. We are in a relationship. Have been for a year and a half,” I nod. “Most of you, if you follow my makeup channel or my social media, you’ve been speculating since before we even got together. So here’s your confirmation. We are very happily together.”

“And because of that, we decided that it was time to share our love with you. And what better way than this? Letting you guys in fully.” He shuffles in his spot. “This is very new for us - not the relationship, obviously. But being so open with it.”

“But we have both decided that keeping each other a secret just isn’t what we want anymore.”

He nods, “So if you want to see more of our faces and our relationship, follow all of our social media, and subscribe to my pretty girl’s makeup channel - MaddenMakeup. And subscribe to us - Not So Brash Brashier’s.”

“And I guess give this video a like? Maybe? And comment below what you’d like to see from us because honestly we have no idea what we’re doing with this. We’re just winging it as we go. So give us video ideas and we’ll see you in the next one.”

---

Violet - my best friend since kindergarten, and current roommate - walks into the house, taking her shoes off at the door. “Hey Vi,” Connor says, turning to face the door, greeting her with that signature soft smile. 

“You started a YouTube channel,” is her greeting.

We both laugh, “Yeah. We did.”

“I’ve been telling you to do that for like a year now!” She exclaims, plopping herself next to us, resting her head in my lap. 

“It wasn’t the right time then. But… did you subscribe?” I ask with a cheeky smile.

She pinches my arm, “What kind of question is that? Of course I did. You think I wasn’t your first subscriber? What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t?”

“Well, in celebration, I was planning on taking my girl out to eat. You want to come with?”

“Where were you planning on going?”

“Harley’s been saying for weeks that she’s craving pizza from the bowling alley by my place.”

I look happily at my boy. “Really? We can go?”

He nods, “You want to go put on some shoes and we can go before traffic gets too bad?”

I nod and press a quick kiss to his lips, “Let me change pants first.”

Vi sits up andI catch the end of their conversation before I walk into my room. “Sure, any excuse to beat Lee at bowling.”

“I heard that!”

“You were meant to!” She yells back.

***

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[inosuketingz]

the sheets are stained with blood [p.1]

( gif not mine )

[ PART ONE ] PART TWO PART THREE PART FOUR Victor Zsasz x fem!Reader Warning: Some swearing and mentions of violence. Spoilers for Birds of Prey Word Count: 1482 Summary: Zsasz survives the ending of BoP and somehow snaps even further after finding out what happened to Roman. Desperate to find a new obsession, he latches on to the reader while meeting her on a heist. A/N; Thought about this after watching BoP and decided to write it for my new tumblr acc. Also posted on my Ao3. Its gonna get smutty in future parts of course but this first part is quite mundane lol. Future parts will also feature some Helena x reader bc I’m a whore for Helena Bertinelli. Reader is a witch-y metahuman and is a part of Wonder Woman’s rogue gallery.

The TV plays the latest news report as you stuff a spoon of cereal into your mouth. The reporter stands in front of some nightclub near the city reporting on yet another death by stabbing.

"... she was found in the back alley of the nightclub last night, her body purposefully positioned in a life-like stance. Due to CCTV evidence from the previous stabbing murder, the Gotham police are suspecting ex-businessman Victor Zsasz to be the wicked man behind these crimes..." An image transitions onto the screen, showing a low quality image of a man with almost paper white hair and dark bags under his eyes. The reporter continues to drone on about the twisted results from the autopsy report.

"Yikes," you say to yourself before you grab the remote from the coffee table and switch to another channel playing reruns of Martin

You came to Gotham a few months back since Wonder Woman never let you have any fun in Boston, even though she's currently stationed all the way in London. You assume you’ll be able to keep away from the Bat's radar while he’s busy dealing with psycho clowns and knife-wielding serial killers.

A soft ping rings from your phone and you glance at the screen. Shipment's called off is all the text on your lockscreen reads. It's from an unknown number, but you know that it's another henchmen of the crime boss you’re working with for the time being. Putting down the bowl of cereal, you pick the cell up and tap in three letters before pressing send: Why.

It only takes a moment for you to get a reply. Got reports of the Birds of Prey being in the area. Better safe than sorry.

“Fuck,” you curse and throw your head back in anguish. You were relying on the cash you’d get from the heist for rent.

The phone dinged again. Meeting at the mansion to re-work the plan. In an hour, be there on time bruja, the new message reads.

Great. You thought all you were going to to tonight was show up at the docks, use your powers a bit, and run off with your share of the money. But no. God forbid you get your way for once.

With an annoyed groan, you force yourself off the couch and into your bedroom. You kick off your plaid pajama jogger as you push open the door. Your closet is over piled with clothes and you immediately regret not picking out an outfit earlier. You are a strong believer of wearing revealing outfits for yourself, and the amount of bodycon dresses you want to wear was overwhelming. Then you remember it’s winter and inches of snow are already forming outside.

To be a hoe or to care about your well-being. It is a conflicting life that you live.

~ ~ ~

You decided to go for a pair of black cargo pants and a turtleneck. The weather won this round. The mansion’s already filled as you park your car based on the amount of luxury vehicles filling the house's driveway. You hated working in big groups- it only led to problems. But, you’re down to do anything for the amount of checks you would be cashing with this entire heist.

Two burly men guard the front door of the mansion. One of them smirks as he watches you approach.

“Look, it’s the witch,” he tells the other and you roll your eyes. “Where’s your flying broom?” He teases.

“Shut the fuck up,” you mutter as you pass the two, pushing the heavy doors with a grunt.

The other guard laughs at your reply. “Careful, Hermione. It’s all fun and games until Wonder Woman comes and drags you out of Gotham.”

You don’t bother to look back as you retort “It’s all fun and games ‘til I cast a spell that leaves you two without your dicks tomorrow morning.” The silence as you continue down the dark hallway tells you they stopped smiling.

Are you actually going to bewitch their genitals away? No. But most people knew better than to assume you wouldn’t.

The corridor is dark, tinted red by the only source of light- an open set of doors leading into a grand meeting room. Expensive pottery and paintings lined against the walls of the mansion, all what you’d expect from Hernando del Rey.

Originally, you actually meant it when you decided to lay low in Gotham. You’d find a nice apartment, steal from the rich, and stay off the news until the end of time.

Then, you were contacted by Hernando del Rey, a Venezuelan crime boss straight out of a mob movie. Though you’re not necessarily a bad person- you define yourself as a chaotic neutral- you are dangerous. Del Rey wanted your powers, and you wanted the money- so here you are now.

You shove your hands into your pockets and swagger into the open doors. A group of about 20 people, men, women, and all those in between, sit at a long table. Some of the faces you recognize, either from previous meetings you’ve had with del Rey or from news reports.

One such face belongs to none other than Victor Zsasz. He immediately stands out from the others with his snowy hair and scruffy beard. He also looks like he hadn’t slept in days, so there’s that. Plus, ever since the CCTV recording of him at the last stabbing was leaked, his face is all you saw on the news.

His tired eyes watch you as you enter the room. You can’t tell if he’s giving you bedroom eyes or staring you down like a predator does a prey. Quite frankly, you aren’t in the mood to find out.

“My bruja!” del Rey, who made his seat at the end of the table, cheers when he sees your face. “The most important member of my team!”

You stretch your lips into an awkward smile “Hi.”

“Please take a seat.” Hernando motion towards the table. “Then we’ll begin.” You glance over in the direction of all the seated guests. Powers or not, way too many of them look like they wouldn’t mind killing you.

“I’m fine standing, thanks.”

Hernando shrugs and begins lecturing about the game plan with the new threat of the Birds of Prey. You only pay half of your attention, catching a few words here and there. You never listen carefully at times like this, since your job is usually to just show up, cast some hexes and head out.

“I didn’t know they let witches in on heists.” You look down and see Victor Zsasz in front of you. His head is leaning back, since he sits facing away from you. Now that you are closer to him, you can see his features more clearly. From the silver teen in his mouth, to his token scars that cover his body- the nastiest being one on his neck that you assume wasn’t given to him voluntarily.

You bend down slightly so you can whisper in his ear, “I didn’t know they let mass murderers in on them, either.” He scoffs and straightens his neck and you straighten your back.

“-Y/N and Victor Zsasz will be the ones going to Hyunwoo Kim’s estate tomorrow.”

Yikes.

“I’m sorry, why do I get put with him?” You confront the boss. “I don’t think our attributes really compliment each other, to be honest.”

Hernando del Rey sighs, like an annoyed parent dealing with a bratty child. “Zsasz will be doing all the work, Y/N. You’re only there to make sure he doesn’t act out. If he does, just use your brujeria to kill him.”

The inside of your cheek starts to bleed due to how hard you bite it to refrain from arguing any further. You’ve never seen del Rey angry and you want to make sure to keep it that way.

From the corner of your eye you see Zsasz is back to looking at you. The wicked smile he wears tells you that this wouldn’t be any good.

~ ~ ~

A tired sigh leaves your mouth as you enter your apartment. The lights are off, just like you left it. It’s pitch black, leaving you blind against the darkness.

You begin to take off your pair of pumps when you notice the energy is off in here. The voice in your head yells that you are not alone. Immediately, you begin to mumble a Haitian spell you learned while in Port-au-Prince once summer- one that allows you to find a foe before they find you.

You’re not even halfway through the first line when a strong force pushes against you and your neck is pricked by a sharp object. Using your elbow, you hit the light switch.

The lights flicker on, revealing Victor Zsasz staring at you with the same look from earlier.

“Hello, witch.”

[allmightyneed]

Villain!All Might (Smite)x reader. part 1/20

I wanted villain Might as a Dominant so I wrote it. More to follow

“It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living god.”

This night is a fateful one. Not that you knew it yet. It’s the same as any other: routine. The edges of your life are narrow and sharp and easy to find. You do everything the same, day after day. Take the same steps down the same streets at the same time. All so familiar you could do it in the dark, feeling it out by touch.

Street lamps flicker overhead, the yellow light they give off too dim and unreliable to be much help. The asphalt is wet from recent rain. Mist hangs in the air, dampening the normal sounds of city life. All in all, it’s not the most comforting area.

You square your shoulders as you round the corner and head down an alley. 

Straighten out that backbone. Nothing to fear. Easy day. 

Inane mantras play on a loop in your head. You don’t know why this alley still weirds you out. You’ve taken this shortcut countless times before to be able to get to the metro quick enough to catch a train a couple minutes earlier. Hardly saves any time, but in your mind it makes a difference. 

Work today had been… fine. It always was. Reasonably engaging, not too exciting. Being an employee at a quirk analysis firm usually garners questions about what such a job is like, but you find them hard to answer. It can be difficult to characterize. Plus, being a foreigner in Japan, you’re always careful not to say anything that might be taken as an offense to the culture. No matter how long you live here, no matter how comfortable you feel, you are a guest.

Your eyes adjust to the darkness and you shove your hands in your pockets after hitching your purse strap higher on your shoulder. Dinner tonight would be… hmm. You don’t know. You’d bought makings for a salad a few days ago, in a fit of healthy optimism, but that didn’t sound as appealing as a bowl of ramen from the little shop in the bottom floor of your apartment building. It’s cold enough to convince yourself that heavy comfort food is justified, but no… you’ve spent enough eating out this month already, between office lunches and Kiko dragging you to every restaurant grand opening in Musutafu-- 

A booming laugh interrupts your thoughts. The shock of it nearly makes your heart stop. You whirl around, looking for the source, but you already know who it is. Anyone would recognize that laugh. You turn and behold a towering monolith of a figure, not twenty feet away, hands on his hips, stance wide. Even silhouetted dramatically in shadow, you can tell. 

All Might. 

The number one villain.

You freeze. Maybe he hasn’t noticed you yet?

“You there! Girl!” 

Crap. 

He takes a step forward and you struggle to steel your nerve. It’s public knowledge, essentially, what he can do. Not what his Quirk is, but his basic abilities. He’ll be fast if he wants to be. Inhumanly strong. Ruthless.

He laughs again, sinister and mirthless, sending a shiver of revulsion through you. You remember what he did to that tour group at Mt. Fuji. And there had been that attack on Best Jeanist’s satellite office. Over five hundred casualties. He’d leveled the building, for god’s sake, and then shouted at the late arriving news crews that they were all lucky he was holding back. 

Yes, you remembered that day all too well, having watched the coverage live on TV from your own office, only a few miles away.

What could he do if he didn’t restraint himself? A whole block? A neighborhood? You had looked away from the TV when the building came down, too horrified to watch the spectacle, only to realize that the previously clear sky had glutted with rain clouds. The scale of his power had made your heart drop on that day. Sure, it had been the most exciting thing to happen to you, and a great story. But it was still terrifying.

And now here he is, standing in front of you. This is just your unlucky day. Is it bad that you’re a little disappointed not to hear his infamous catchphrase?

I am here. Such a bold threat. 

It’s times like this you wish you had a better quirk. Granted, you’re very rarely in mortal danger; there really aren’t very many times like this. Strike that-- there are never times like this, not in the cautious, unadventurous existence you’ve curated for yourself. There is nothing in your experience that has prepared you for this. 

You gawp at the spectacle that is him. He’d made a scene once again on the news today, tearing through a rival quirk analysis firm’s downtown complex until the number one hero Endeavor had shown up to stop him. As imposing as All Might looks on TV, it hadn’t prepared you for what he’s like in person. 

Seven feet tall and change, muscled like a beast, blond hair swept back down his neck save for two unruly tufts that stuck up like rabbit ears. Nothing about him is timid, though. Utter confidence in his own power radiates off of him. 

“Yes, you!” He strolls towards you. His voice is muffled, metallic sounding underneath his iconic metal gas mask. Light glints off of the two orange glass pieces covering his eyes as he passes out of a shadow. No one has ever seen his face before, as far as you know. He’s never shown it in public, and who the hell knows who he associates with in his personal life. All Might having a personal life. What a bizarre concept. 

“Wh-what do you want?” You lift your chin, trying to sound defiant even though your voice betrays you. In a lull between the waves of fear, you realize you’re staring at his chest, his stomach, his legs. It’s a physique worth staring at. 

He shrugs, a strange gesture with his massive shoulders, then lifts a hand to his face, working at the fastenings of his mask. “I get asked that a lot.” He lowers the mask, lets it drop clattering to the ground, and you can’t believe what you’re seeing: All Might, face uncovered, and oh no he’s good looking. How is it fair that he’s attractive? Everyone speculated that he work the mask to hide a bad injury, or just because he’s ugly, but no. His features are handsome, symmetrical like a sculpture, with gleaming blue eyes and a wide, menacing smile that twists your fear into some other emotion you don’t quite recognize. “Entertainment, I guess.” 

Your pulse thuds in your ears. He couldn’t mean-- 

He reads your confusion. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” he sneers dismissively. “You think I have to resort to forcing myself on women? I have--” he gives you a pointed look up and down “--standards.”

That stings. “I’m not your entertainment!” You burst out, indignant. “And I would never do… that with- with someone like you.”

“Someone like me?” He prompts, all joviality gone. He’s still smiling, but it seems dangerous now. 

“A villain,” you spit. It’s hard to stop yourself from shaking. “You’re-- you’re evil and cruel and careless and--” you cut yourself short, realizing how foolish you’re being. 

He tilts his head, clearly amused by your attempt at bravery. “Let’s try again. Who are you? Tell me your quirk.” Without his mask, his voice is deep and enticing. Almost reassuring. He can sound normal when he wants, not like the cheesy, bombastic public persona. You have no idea what to make of him. Should you be running away? Or should you acknowledge the part of yourself that is inexplicably intrigued?

His unwavering attention on you is an unexpectedly heady feeling. Not that you aren’t scared-- you are-- but some strange part of you thrills at being the very center of his focus. His eyes do not leave you, even as you glance away, flustered and nervous.

He snaps his fingers in front of your face. “Are you dumb, girl?” He winces suddenly, breaking off to clutch a huge hand to his left side, though he quickly covers it.  “What’s your quirk?”

“W-why?” Prying about quirks is rude, but All Might does what he wants and fuck everyone else.

“Most people want to see if they can get in a hit or two on me. I figure I’d head off the time wasting and tell you if your quirk has any chance.”

Your quirk. You can’t tell him. You absolutely can’t tell him. If he knew… “I’m quirkless.” Your tongue feels thick on the lie, your voice raspy.  

“Pathetic,” he chuckles, breaking into a cough. “You’re one of those. Useless.” 

“I’m not useless!” You insist hotly. You don’t want him to look away and dismiss you. He was right, though, it kind of was, but making value statements about others’ quirks or lack thereof is just as rude as prying. 

“Then again,” he muses, as if you hadn’t spoken, “your quirk isn’t you… and you are not your quirk. Maybe you have some worth after all.” 

Frustratingly, your heart lifts at the slightest hint of his approval. How ridiculous. He’s nothing to you. And yet… you’d been talking to him, and he talked back. There had been more than the persona. You let the silence sit, and it’s enough space to realize that you’re rather star struck. Figures. The first big time supe you meet is the number one villain, and he’s both better and worse than you expected. Meaning— he didn’t murder you on the spot, but he’s a total dick. 

“So, quirkless girl. Got a name?”

It feels like a bad bet telling him, but you do anyway and he repeats it before asking you slyly, “what about a hero name?”

Clever. He’s much smarter than the media gives him credit for. You almost replied with the name of your quirk, but manage to sound embarrassed about not having one: “please don’t rub it in.” 

He rolls his eyes and sighs in annoyance. There comes more wet coughing, and he pulls at his side again, the same spot. Mentioning it seems both stupid and futile. You still have no idea why he’s actually here, other than coincidence, and what he wants with you. You’re happy being nobody special and yet, the imperious way he’s looked at you in these brief few minutes— or has it been longer? Shorter? For some reason you don’t want him to stop paying attention to you. 

Then, to your utter shock, he starts coughing up blood. He puts his fist to his mouth and it comes away smeared red.

“Are you okay?” The question is a reflex. He ignores it. 

Tendrils of steam rise from him, like he’s a kettle at the boil. Before your eyes, All Might is replaced by someone else. It’s a bit much to comprehend, but your logical mind makes the connection quickly. Blood at the mouth, blond hair, and of course they’re wearing the same clothes. Though, the drab olive green pants, navy shirt, harness and spiked pauldrons hang off of his body like they would off of clothes hangers. Your analyst’s sense spins into overdrive. So many questions answered. If you brought proof of this back to work you’d get put in charge of the division. Hell, you could quit Masuda & Matsuo and start your own company with this information. And yet you can’t help but ask, and really mean it this time—

“Are you okay?” 

The gaunt man glares at you. “Fuck off.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“You’re irritating me.” His tone is pure acid. And still, you feel slightly bad for him. He wants none of your soft hearted platitudes. He coughs more, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. 

You dig in your purse for a packet of tissues, and hold it out to him when you find it. “Here.”

His expression is all that’s needed for you to retract the offered tissues. You stay perfectly still watching him. He’s maybe half a foot shorter, and has terrible hunched posture, but it’s the same person, you’re sure. Which is the real All Might? Is there a real All Might? The number one villain’s identity, background, and quirk are the biggest unanswered questions of the past two decades. No one could say who he really was, or even if he looked like that all the time. 

Evidently not...

“... is it a transformation quirk?” You ask, willing your voice to be low and even, talking like you would to a scared, wounded animal.

Predictably, he lashes out, though you can’t help flinching. “You will not tell anyone about this. No one.” His eyes are unnaturally blue, almost glowing from deep set sockets. “Not your coworkers, not your friends when you go out drinking, not your fling, not your great aunt on her deathbed. No one.”

You find yourself agreeing. “No one. I promise. No one. But is it—“

“Be silent!” He snarls, getting right in your face before his tone takes on a silken quality. “Pathetic thing. You want to prove your worth, be silent. Stand where you are and do not speak.” He wipes blood away from his mouth with the back of his hand, letting his eyes drop, taking in your figure. He smirks. “Who knows. Maybe you’ll impress me. If I see any hint of this in the news, or online, I’ll know who to hunt down.” He repeats your name venomously. 

He turns and walks away. You do nothing. Say nothing. Don’t even twitch your fingers. 

That was All Might. The shock of the entire exchange floats and gradually settles, like silt in water. You don’t move, not even a step; your breath and heartbeat become calm once more. He had ordered you, after all, and he had, inexplicably, trusted you with a monumental secret. 

Had it really been him? Would the real All Might have done such a thing? You turn the thought over in your mind, fiddling with each piece of what you know. He’d certainly had the presence of villain. Deranged and volatile... and all too intriguing. His eyes are so blue.

You mentally scold yourself. Focus. Focus on what you actually know. You’d seen All Might on TV earlier in the day, trading blows with the flame hero Endeavor. What exactly had happened? All Might had been the aggressor, attacking Bando-Arata-Horikawa— your firm’s direct competition. You know people who work there, decent, average people. There hadn’t been any news about casualties, thank god. Endeavor had appeared shortly after the initial assault, slamming into All Might with a huge burst of power. The cameras on scene had caught it all, tracking the spectacle in real time, though it had been hard to follow. All Might was particularly enraged, turning his fury on Endeavor, and withstanding the huge gouts of flame like they were nothing more than a light breeze. 

Had he been breathing heavily then? Coughing blood? He hides injuries too well. The tussle with Endeavor earlier is hardly the first time All Might has taken some heavy punches. 

Shit, it’s cold out here. How long will you be standing here? All night? Your rational self asks the right questions. You should leave. Why the hell are you obeying him anyway? Likely he limped off, he won’t chase you. That was the real deal, you realize. Somewhere in the space of… how long?... you’d decided. He is. 

The uncomfortable press against your bladder grows heavier, even as you slip into an uneasy sleep where you stand, swaying slightly. That had been All Might, and you had not wanted him to send you away or discard you so thoughtlessly. 

Why hadn’t he touched you? This is a man who takes whatever he wants, does whatever he wants. He could have defiled you, or snapped your neck but he didn’t. The logical conclusion being that he doesn’t want you. You have nothing he wants. Why hadn’t he touched you? It’s an embarrassing sort of neediness that worms its way into your head as you’re standing there in the cold. Not good enough.  He really was right to call you pathetic. 

Stand where you are, do not speak. You yearn to prove him wrong. 

Hours later, he returns for the mask he’d left. His sudden arrival jolts you awake and still, you do not move. Only raise your nodding head, eyes bleary. He’s in the muscle form again.

“Still here?” He stops short when he notices you, a little incredulous. 

In a daze you regard him. 

“Tch. Run along home, little girl. The streets aren’t safe at night.” Do not color outside the lines. Remember, the edges are sharp. Too close and you’ll drop off. For the second time that night he turns away from you and you want to plead to him, to the number one villain, not to go.

link to part 2