#everyone lets just ignore I abuse the light flare brushes

[mawwart]

OKAY HES FINALLY HERE BEHOLD MY BLATANT MISUSE OF THE LIGHT FLARE BRUSH

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

And I Love Her

Harry Styles x OFC

Warnings: drinking, mentions of substance abuse

A/N: I have a lot of fics I'm working on at the moment. I have so many ideas I just can't keep them in my head. I hope you guys enjoy this one. Please let me know, the feedback is always appreciated. Much love to you all

  The summer of '92 in Seatle Washington was like some weird fever dream. Nirvana was hot, everyone smelled like teen spirit and the dirtier you were, the sexier. We partied all night, slept all day, didn't give a fuck about the man and smoked all the pot we could get our hands on. I crashed on friend's couches or slept under the stars when it was nice. The freedom of having nothing to tie me down was intoxicating and I ate that shit up. So when my best friend Anna asked me to go out with her to see some bands at a local bar, I didn't hesitate.

    It was a shitty little bar. But I guess it was supposed to be. It was the 'aesthetic' of the day.

     My best friend Anna tugged me along behind her. The music was loud, the makeshift stage upfront holding a band that looked like they were plastered and played just about as well. The singer crooning into the mic about losing someone they loved and how life was a bitch. Didn't we all know it too.

    Anna pulled me to a booth, out of the way of the small crowd that had crammed into the bar to hear this band play. People thrashing and head banging, twisting their bodies and writhing to the music. Red lights set an ominous glow, the smell of booze and weed filling my nostrils.

    I slid into the booth beside her, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. She ordered two shots from the waitress that came by while I fiddled with my lighter.

    "I thought Shannon and Reggie were meeting us here." I said loudly in her ear. Christ you could barely hear anything over the dude screaming on stage. I rubbed my temples, a slight headache forming.

    "They are. But they had to work. Said they'd walk over after....not everyone can live off of painting and commissions." I rolled my eyes. I was a visual artists. I did a lot of abstract and weird art. You'd be surprised by all the people that are willing to buy the craziest shit. There's a lot of weirdos like me out there.

    The waitress came back with our shots and I downed mine immediately, ordering a beer behind it. Anna sipped hers, don't ask me why, she always did shit like that. I was getting ready to say something to her about the band playing when I saw him. He came in through the front door and my eyes immediately landed on him.

   He had long curly hair that looked as though it hadn't been brushed or washed in weeks. He wore a baggy plain black shirt, ripped blue Jean's and what looked like jet black Doc Martens. A green flannel draped over his shoulders and sunglasses draped on his head. If I had a type, he was it.

He was with a group of people. Anna was talking in my ear but I couldn't hear her, entranced by this good looking man who was now making his way towards our booth.

"You look like a prince." I smirked as he walked by, stubbing out my cigarette. The boy stopped, turning to look me up and down. A wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Would a prince do this?" He grabbed me by my forearms, pulling me to the ground and flipping me onto my back. The floor was soaked in beer, my dress instantly wet as I squirmed beneath the boy above me. He grinned triumphantly as we rolled around, wrestling against each other.

"Stay down." He commanded, pressing my wrists into the floor. I smirked up at him, shaking my head.

"Never." He licked his lips.

"You're a fighter....I like that." His accent was thick. His words rolling off his tongue like poetry as he spoke. It had to be English. His voice was low and deep, his words slow, enunciating every word.

"You have no idea." He stared at me for a moment, eyes leaving my face, trailing down to my chest, I squirmed again only to have his grip on me tighten before his eyes snapped back up to mine.

"Sassy one aren't you." He let me go, getting off of me and helping me to my feet. "Sorry about that love...I really couldn't resist." His shirt was wet with beer, his hair matted and pressed against his cheek and neck. "I hope you stick around for the rest of the show."

"You playin'?" I asked. He shrugged.

"Could be....gonna have to stick around to find out." He reached out, wrapping a hand around my wrist and pulling me towards him again. "If you do decide to stay, meet me in the hallway after the set yeah? Wanna see just how much of a fighter you are." He winked at me before letting go, leaving me breathless and blushing.

What in the fuck?

"Tabbi, you know who that is?" Anna asked me with wide eyes. I shrugged, climbing back into the booth, my dress soaked and reeking of the spilt beer that had lathered the floor. "That's Harry Styles."

"Okay?" I said, glancing up to see him conversing with the band setting up on stage. "Is that a big deal or something?" she looked at me like she couldn't believe I didnt know who he was. it was annoying really.

"He's in the band about to play. One direction and...." she leaned forward across the table, trying to whisper now. "He's just....there's a lot of rumors about him. I'd steer clear if I were you." I wasn't impressed. I thought maybe she wanted him and was jealous of our little flirtatious action a minute ago. I rolled my eyes.

"Come off it Anna. It was just a little harmless flirting. Nothing more...."

Anna didn't say anything else, our attention turning to the stage as the soundcheck was coming to an end. Girls screamed endlessly as Harry stepped forward, guitar slung around his shoulder, a confident smirk on his face.

They opened with a number called 'Little Black Dress.' Wasn't really my style but I listened, observing the band as they played. The short, lanky bassist, covered in tattoos, the drummer with the arrow tattoos on his arm, he was cute too. The blonde one playing guitar alongside the boy I had wrestled-Harry.

And boy did he know what he was doing. Once the song ended and they started 'Stockholm Syndrome' his movements became so sexual. He stroked the mic stand with his fingers, loosely twisting his wrist up and down it, grinding against it, licking his lips, winking and sending kisses into the crowd. The men seemed to love it almost as much as the women.

"Hey guys!" Reggie and Shannon showed halfway through the set. I waved half heartedly, still intrigued by the boy commanding the stage. The music wasn't my favorite. But damn if he wasn't a great performer.

"She was wrestling with Harry Styles." I heard Anna telling them what had happened. Reggie called my name but I ignored him in favor of the band. I wasn't going to explain myself. I hated judging people based off of what other people told me about them. I'd rather find out for myself.

I decided not to meet him after the show. It was true, I was attracted to him. But he was going to have to work for it.

We were standing outside, huddled in our group, smoking and talking about the music when I felt an arm snake it's way around my waist.

"Left me in the hallway. Tsk. Tsk. What a tease." My stomach flipped and I gasped as his fingers slid just beneath my t shirt, just enough to trace over the waistband of my Jean's. I turned to see Harry, his pupils were blown, the green of his eyes only slightly noticable, giving his eyes a soft glow. I smirked, leaning in close, eyes darting to his lips before looking him in the eye.

"Don't you know? It's all about the chase." He chuckled, running his hand through his hair. His fingers glinting with the rings on them when they caught the streetlight.

"The thing is...I don't chase baby." He looked me up and down again, sighing heavily, as though he were bored. "You'll come to me when you're ready for me."

"Harry-" I gasped, a blonde girl shoving me back as she threw herself at Harry, kissing him hard on the lips. I rolled my eyes in disgust, trying to ignore the pounding of my heart and the disappointment in my stomach.

"Hey," I turned to see the bassist, the other one with a shit ton of tattoos. He smiled at me, holding his hand out. "I'm Louis. Sorry about Camille. That's Harry's girl."

"No worries. I'm just glad I didn't hit the pavement." He chuckled.

"Can I bum one?" He asked, watching as I pulled out my cigarettes. I held the pack out to him, he took two, stuck them in his mouth and lit them at the same time. 

"Neat party trick." I teased. He shrugged.

"Nicotine addiction. You know."

"Lou." Harry's voice was low, his tone darker as he shouted at his bandmate. Camille had her arms wrapped around his shoulders, he had one hand wrapped around her waist. "We gotta go. Get a move on yeah?" Louis smiled at me sympathetically, pulling a crumbled piece of paper from his pocket.

"My number....I'm havin' a party at my place in a couple days. You should come through. I like meetin' new people. Be cool to hang." I check out of the corner of my eye and see Harry watching me closely, nostrils flaring as I stick the piece of paper in my bra, giving Louis my most seductive smile. Harry wasn't going to win me over. Not that easily. Like I said I like the chase.

"Cool. Maybe we'll swing by."

"Tommo." Harry said louder, a warning beneath his tone. Louis shook my hand again.

"By the way," he asked, before letting go, "what's your name?"

"Tabbi. It's Tabbi." He smiled, bringing my knuckles to his lips and kissing them gently, his lips were soft and he was sweet.

"See ya later Tabbi." I looked, just in time to see Harry look me over once more, licking his lips before walking away with his bandmate and his girl. I kept hoping in a small way that maybe he'd look back.

He didn't.

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score  Chapter 3: Knowing

“You said it yourself bitch, we’re the Guardians of the Galaxy.” Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title “The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma,” by Bessel van der Kolk

“She moves with shameless wonder

The perfect creature rarely seen

Since some lie I brought the thunder

When the land was godless and free

Her eyes look sharp and steady

Into the empty parts of me”

Foreigner's God - Hozier

“We’ll follow your lead, Star-Lord,” Gamora smiled happily, leaning against Peter’s chair. She forced a slow breath, feeling the bright Xandarian suns shining on her through the wide window of the ship. The light feeling in her chest rushing through her veins.

“Bit of both,” Peter decided, swinging the ship upward away from the surface of the planet, away from the Nova Corps. The only thing louder than the bumping music was Drax’s laughter. Let yourself have this, she thought sitting down and strapping herself in. You deserve this. The Benatar leapt through the jump point and her hair went flying into her face playfully as the ship evened out. Gamora  looked from Peter to Rocket regarding the latter with sympathy, it hadn’t occurred to her until just now, he’d lost Groot. She tilted her head carefully to look at him and...there was a pot in his lap, and in that pot ...Impossible. No, not totally, she remembered slicing Groot’s arm off not four days ago. The sharp sound of her sword hacking through his bark. The same bark that had wrapped around her, to save her...despite all she’d done to him. Mutilated him and then virtually ignored him. Noxious guilt writhed in her chest. The little twig in its container stared back at her with wide, innocent eyes.

“Is that….?”

“Groot!” Peter gasped, he shifted the Benatar into auto-pilot and jumped out of his seat, looming over the tiny twig.

“Don’t crowd him!” Rocket hissed, waving Peter’s hand away. The little sapling only blinked up at them. Something’s not right, the realization of it dawned on her slowly. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but the way Groot looked at her was, off.

Rocket unclasped his seat belt and slid off the chair, holding Groot’s container in one arm and baring his teeth as Peter reached out a helpful hand.

“Don’t touch him.”

“Easy man I’m just trying to help,” Peter held his arms out and open. Gamora only watched the raccoonoid settle Groot down on the nearby table.

“Groot! My wooden compatriot, I am glad you have regrown! You are smaller than me now, and quite puny. I am fond of you.” Drax gushed with such sincerity Gamora had to laugh. Groot only reached out his arms and flailed in joy.

“Well team, I think this is cause for celebration! I think we should treat ourselves,” Peter placed his hands on his hips triumphantly looking down at Groot. “We deserve some R and R!”

“R and R?” Drax’s face squinted in confusion, “R is a letter in the English Human tongue. How can we have two of  a letter?”

“It means rest and relaxation!” Rocket grumbled. At least he didn’t attach an insult to the remark Gamora observed thankfully.

“What do you guys say? We could go to Ertrbra or Wvonta, I know some great bars on Presscoa but if the bartender at Ikva asks I am definitely not the same guy who stole their top shelf Hrania bourbon.” Gamora shook her head in amusement, ever optimistic Peter. Peter who could brush off his past with humor.  

“Let us go to this planet of libation!” Drax prompted, “and we will toast to Groot for his sacrifice and his return!”

His return, Gamora watched Rocket ignore the conversation and run off to fetch something. He returned moments later with a jar of water and carefully let it pour over the soil at the saplings thin roots. Groot gurgled in a high-pitched squeak as the water soaked in. The vague feeling of uncertainty persisted in her gut. She swallowed it and punched in the coordinates for Presscoa.

                                                        ---

“Ohh, looking fancy,” Peter leaned against the doorway of her room. She turned, the black cloak stirring with her movement. “What’s the occasion?” She fashioned the strings of the garment pulling it tight against her collar and tie it in a knot.

“The occasion is Nebula is still out there, she’s gone back to Thanos no doubt. We are not his only children,” she fixed Peter with a look. “Once she goes to him she will tell him of my betrayal. It is only a matter of time before they come searching.” Peter’s face softened with comprehension.

“We won’t let that happen,” he tried to reassure her. “And if he or his goons try anything we’ll take them on. And we’re protected by the Nova Corps.”

Protected, that’s one way of putting it. She met him in the doorway, looking over that face still so full of hope and wanton foolery.

“Rocket was right,” she recalled. “I have a reputation.” How did he know her before they clashed on Xandar? Where did he hear of her? What else did he know? She’d ponder these questions later no doubt, later that night when everyone else was asleep. Peter’s hand raised slowly, aiming for her cheek but stopped short, dropping to her shoulder.

“Let’s just go out, have fun, we’ll be back on the ship before long and if you want to leave at any point. We leave. Okay?” She looked at him. “If we’re going to work together you might try trusting me.” Trust. She nodded, pulling the hood of the cloak over her head.

                                                             ---

“I like this bar you have selected!” Drax hoisted his drink into the air, sending a good portion of it spilling onto the table. The five of them crowded into a booth in the dimly lit dive. Gamora had already located two exits and another possible exit point on the ceiling if it came to that. The couple at the end of bar across from their table seemed kindly enough. But the woman had looked over her shoulder four times since the Guardians entered.  Gamora took note and switched her gaze to the booth directly in front of them, over Drax’s head. Two oprevien men, neither of whom appeared to be armed.   But the booth behind her, the woman sitting there…

“Right Gamora? Gamora?”  Peter’s voice called her back.

“Um right,” she mumbled.

“See! I knew it! Drink!” Drax muttered something but downed his glass of ale in three single gulps. On the table Groot struggled to reach for the empty shot glass beside his container.

“Let us toast! To Groot! Who gave his life for his friends and is now living again! We are most glad!” A sad smile lifted on Gamora’s face as she clinked her drink against those of the others. The yekkelian mixed drink was bitter and purple, but oddly tasty. Drax hoisted his third drink towards Groot’s pot and let the clear liquid seep into the dirt much to the saplings delight.

“Drax no!” Rocket was on the bottle in a moment, knocking it away from the Groot. “Don’t give him that!” Gamora nodded approvingly. “Give him this!” Her appreciation instantly turned to concern as the raccoonoid swiped the bottle of Hyerlian Liquor he and Peter had split and tipped it into Groot’s pot. “Don’t give him that cheap shit, top shelf only!” Drax and even Peter, five drinks gone at this point erupted in erroneous laughter. The sapling only laughed and hiccuped, swaying happily. Gamora reached for the water beside her own drink and allowed Groot to drink it in. He gazed up at her, those large brown eyes...too innocent. Too loving. Groot would never look at me that way, kind as he was. I only ever tried to hurt him. Her nostrils flared, taking a long breath out as the uncertainty now revealed itself. She looked at Rocket, who drank from a glass the size of his face. He laughed and slid one paw around Groot’s pot, bringing him closer.

That is not Groot.

                                                      ---

“See! We had a great time and we didn’t even have to fake our own deaths or steal a ship!” Peter’s arm weighed heavy across her shoulders as she helped him back to the ship.

He is right, no one made a stir. No one tried to kill us. But they still could have noticed me.  She forced that thought to the back of her mind and concentrated on getting Peter to his room. Behind them, Rocket was sitting a top Drax’s shoulders with Groot hoisted even higher still in the raccoonoid’s arms above his head. A risky move especially as Gamora watched the destroyer stumble forward. Pick and choose your battles. Groot’s safety is…. the little flora giggled, eyes half closed. Let it be. She led Peter into his room and helped him down to sit on his bed. He ran a hand over his face, flushed with the alcohol and smiled.

“Say it,” he prompted, leaning forward. “Say you had a good time.”

“I had a good time,” she responded honestly. His smile widened and he tilted his head forward. Instinctively she drew back. Then waited in the tense silence, whatever it was between them pressed against her at all sides. Suffocating. She tensed, even as his lips missed their target and his head instead rested on her shoulder.

“Good! I think this is going to be the start of something great for us.” Us? Which us? You and I or all of us? She knew the answer to that and nodded, harboring a secret hope that he could be right. “Nova let you leave,” he continued happily.

“Not sure why,” she speculated.  Peter waved a dismissive hand.

“Because you’re….” he caught himself. “You’re cool, you're with us, the Guardians!” She smirked.

“Goodnight Peter,” she sat up, his head falling onto the pillows.

“G’night!” His snoring sounded in her ears before she even made it to the hall.

Alone at last. She made her way through the metallic halls of the ship. Listening to the thrum of the engines. The darkness was serene, the darkness was how she moved, she knew how to navigate it. An empty slate to think on. Think. Groot is not himself. Well he is A Groot, but not our Groot. She tip-toed up the steps to the main deck. Not Rocket’s Groot. Whether or not to tell him. The scales tipped in either direction. She tried to measure as she walked, pausing every now and then to admire the stars out the wide windows.  Better to live a horrible truth than a sweet lie. That’s what I am after all. A daughter of Thanos. A lie. She sighed, running her hand along the cool metal piping of the ship. Down passed the common area, through the storage chambers. Toward the engine room.  She summoned her courage, putting on the face. The imperial, unfeeling veneer of unflinching honest without emotion. One of the many skills Thanos had taught her.

“Rocket….”

“I’m glad your back buddy,” she stopped short of the metal door to the engine room. Rocket’s slurred voice echoing against the corridor.  “Don’t ever do that to me again. I thought...thought I lost yah. Okay?” Groot did not reply. “I mean it man. I know I called you an idiot and all...and...I feel really lousy about it.” 

Gamora peeked forward, Rocket sat on his work bench. Groot’s little pot on the table. The sapling was most definitely down for the count. His head flung back, mouth agape. Yet Rocket’s arms wound around the base of the pot. “You gotta hurry up and grow bud. Or at least say something.” He punctuated the sentiment with a belch and hugged the pot close to him, resting his snout in the dirt. “Your the only thing I got man….I’m...I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.” Gamora watched the tears in Rocket’s eyes fall into the soil at Groot’s roots. She backed away, down the hall. Leaving Rocket in sickly sweet inebriated denial.

                                                           ---

The straps dug into her wrist with a biting ache. The table hard beneath her. She shut her eyes against the blinding lights.

“Daughter,” that voice. It held no face but she knew. “You are doing well my child. But there is always room for improvement.” Gamora made to struggle, arching against the straps but her body lay immobile. Thrash! Kick! Find the lock on the straps it’s to the right just under the...Ebony Maw came to her side, beady eyes gleaming.

“Full facial enhancement then?”

“Yes.”

No! Kick damnit! Kick! Bite him! Why aren’t you…? The needle pressed to her skin, at her left temple just against the metal webbing. Something hot and burning entered her flesh. Gamora screamed, trying to move but her body would not obey.

“Ease yourself daughter.”

I...am...n...not...y..your...daught...ter!

More agony, spreading through her insides, burning the metal inside her.

Ahhhhh!!!!

“Gamora!”

“N...not...your...d...daughter!”

“Gamora!”

Peter?!

Her eyes flashed open in a wicked sensation of falling. She gasped for breath, her heart hitching. Sweat slicked against her face.

“P...peter?!”

“What, no!”

Gamora rubbed her eyes, must have fallen asleep in the common area. She realized, gazing up at Peter’s large movie poster for The Goonies. Whatever that is.

“Rocket,” she swallowed. His disgruntled face nodded.

“Will you keep it down? Groot’s trying’ to sleep.” 

His words barely registered, she nodded numbly putting a hand to her chest to steady her pounding heart. He looked at her with irritation and resolve? She could read most aliens in the galaxy very well. It’s what had led to her “success” as a lackey for Thanos. No matter how many eyes or appendages they had. Gamora was skilled at reading intentions but Rocket ….those red pupiless eyes. They glowed in the dark of the ship, the hairs on the back of her neck rising with the unfamiliarity. Rocket folded his arms in a huff and flicked his tail turning towards the hall. Gamora stood, crossing the room to the kitchen area and fumbled for a glass of water, watching him leave.

“Gotta drink more next time,” he whispered.

“What?”

Rocket halted, back to her.

“Drink more next time,” he repeated. “It keeps the nightmares away ...at least that’s what I tell myself.”

Gamora narrowed her eyes, in the dark she could see him open his mouth to speak once more, then shut it, sniffed, and scurried down the hall out of sight.

[symphonic--chaos]

Mine and wife’s 11 year anniversary is tomorrow and I’ve never written out porn before, so HERE IT IS! One of my gifts to her, part of a College AU idea we had of them.

Eliot/Klaus, Magnus makes an appearance at the end.

You can also read here on AO3!

Thank you to @archeryandeyeliner and @aria-lerendeair for continuously telling me I could do this, while I sweat nervously in gay panic. ~~

Two quick sniffs to send the powder rushing up their nostrils to be absorbed and pushed into their blood stream, a rotten habit that both could relate over during those days where much became too much. Sweat dripping from their skin as bodies around them moved in tandem to the music pounding through the room, air, floor, their veins. A sigh was swallowed by a slow, lazy kiss, one that had tattooed hands moving so fingers could twist in unruly, curly hair that perhaps should have been cut a week ago.  The other set of fingers found their way under a sweat and water soaked tanktop, caressing the damp skin there, the club theme tonight had been 'Wet and Wild'. Both sets had been through their own hell, had held their own loved ones during their death, cradled bags of drugs, cups of whiskey, wine, fought their own battles. Both held their own type of magic, one to control a connection with the dead and one to control matter and energy. "Bathroom."

Energy surged from the cocaine just as hormones flared, both bodies pushing through the crowd to make their way to the black door in the back corner of the club, ignoring couples pressed against the walls as they kissed and let their hands wander. Their hazed minds had them push past the figure coming out of the bathroom, a giggle erupting from the shorter one as a single free, 'Hello' inked hand swung down to slap the patrons ass as they passed, half-lidded eyes following the man as he made his way into the crowd. "Sorry!" "Out." The demand was firm, two more patrons rushing out of the bathroom as Eliot's own hand waved them away. Being a taller intimidating figure had its perks when carried with an air of royalty, something left over from being referred to and treated as the 'High King' in their grade. A slam of the door was quickly followed by the thud of a back meeting it, a click of the lock on it bearing the label machine printed sticker of 'MAINTENENCE ONLY',  lips clashing, messy, desperate. Holding and caressing fingers now became quick in sliding clothes aside, the music outside a full roar just barely muffled by the door, just enough to permit the delicious sound of the unzipping of pants. A single stumble of Klaus' naturally clumsy feet after a step towards the sinks and Eliot was giving a him a single shove to bend him over the counter of the bathroom, damp and covered in paper towels, condom wrappers, and empty drug baggies. Time slowed for the briefest of moments as their eyes met in the mirror, the high fully hitting as the toxic drug began to wreak its havoc on their nerves. Klaus was sweating. "What if..." Nervous eyes darted to the door they'd locked, his hormones briefly stomped out by a swell of paranoia. Not that he cared if they'd be seen or watched, but he didn't want it to break their flow. "They won't." A leather clad cheek was slapped roughly, albeit playful, as an amused smile curled on Eliot's lips. It didn't take long for the fabric to be tugged at, a skilled hand foregoing magic to reach around to the front to undo the lacing there manually, only faltering as the previously abused and still clothed ass pushed back against his half-freed erection. It was a teasing friction Eliot never thought he needed at that minute, calling to attention just how desperate that one area of his body was for touch. It had been too long of a time between in general. Days felt like years and he needed this now. The laces at the side of Klaus' low laying pants strained and resisted as best they could against the metal eyelets holding them in the leather, but they were no match to the final front lace being loosened. A short breath escaped Klaus suddenly as one sudden, rough, yank had the tight pants slid just down beneath his ass. Nothing had to be perfect, not when there was a lack of patience and a great ass exposed and ready for the taking. Klaus had always found a way to point out to Eliot how great his ass was, while never giving himself credit to his own. Really, their asses were better than most of those belonging to the people they were surrounded by. "Fuck, Klaus..." "You could be." "Oh, I will be." Another press back was met by an eager push forward, their bodies grinding together in a slow torture for them both. A squeak of skin on the counter as Klaus slid down, which in turn pushed his tanktop up just enough to rub the fake granite surface against his stomach. It was followed by a soft thud as he dropped to his knees and turned to face Eliot, fingers decorated with chipped black nailpolish tugged the obtrusive fabric out of the way, his dark eyes focused up into those adoringly watching him, even through that druggish haze. The look was only broken when Eliot's head tipped back against the wall as that wet warmth engulfed him, a slow suck as Klaus' lips slid up, his tongue applying occasional pressure to all the parts of the underside of his cock that he knew drove him wild. Eliot's long fingers tangled in Klaus' wild black curls, tugging when he pulled back enough to trail his tongue over his tip, his breath hot against the now slick flesh. Those teasing lips sucked along Eliot's length, slowly, wanting to torture him as much as he could in return for those harsh, impatient tugs. As Klaus shifted to deepthroat rather than tease, his hands traveled up and under the half unbuttoned dress shirt and open vest, stroking along the slim stomach to Eliot's chest and scratching back down as he sucked his way back up his length. The low, throaty moans filling the bathroom were more beautiful than anything Klaus had heard before, reverberating off the dark, dingy walls that only helped the red lights in the fixtures make the bathroom look nothing less than sketchy. The hands that were once in his hair had shifted down, curling into the straps of his tanktop as Eliot tugged him up, their lips meeting in a heated and sloppy kiss, so much better than the one they shared upon entering the bathroom. A sharp exhale as their lips parted, Eliot's hand meeting exposed skin harshly before grabbing and squeezing the skin there, only to release and instead grip his waist. Klaus' backside met the counter, chilly against the skin now adorning an inflamed hand mark. Eliot's fingers slid under half clothed thighs as he lifted Klaus up onto the counter, Klaus' teeth catching Eliot's bottom lip between them with a tug and a suck to the kiss bruised flesh. The counter was wide enough for Klaus to lean back on, his shoulders only briefly resting against the mirror in an uncomfortable angle before he was tugged down towards Eliot's hips, his long fingers digging into Klaus' pocket to remove the travel size lube bottle and condom there. Klaus knew how they were- like horny teenagers who just couldn't keep their goddamn hands off each other, it was also something that everyone around them knew as well. Many friends had walked out of their rooms or the kitchen at the resident beach house only to find the two of them going hot and heavy against a hallway wall or the couch, sometimes even just the floor. This hadn't been planned between the two of them, but he had come prepared and Eliot looked nothing less than pleased on his suspicions being correct of the items being there. They both took on different tasks, Klaus' fingers making quick work of the wrapper, letting it join its brethren beside him on the counter as he happily continued to ignore the thought of how many people had fucked on this counter before them. With some careful pushing, prodding and Klaus multi-tasking in staying as relaxed as his impatient body would allow him to be, Eliot began what, at the time, felt like the tedious task of prepping the other. Had this been a place with some after care supplies and in a cleaner location not 104 miles from their bed, the second and third digits that soon joined the first may not have been bothered with. The rumbled noise of discomfort that originally lingered in Klaus' throat soon turned into a moan of Eliot's name, letting the taller man know that crook of his fingers had been just right in finding the bundle of nerves within the others body. Klaus worked the condom down with minor distractions from each brush against his prostate, his body jolting as each hint of pleasure shot up his spine, his breathing becoming harsher as desperation for more settled into him. Lube was spread onto the condom as Eliot's fingers withdrew, a paper towel grabbed to wipe his hand on as his clean hand shoved up the damp tanktop in his way, sliding down along the freshly exposed skin through the thin patch of hair on Klaus' chest, down along the tattoo on the tender flesh between his ribs and, finally, past his navel to the happy trail that led to the erection that had been ignored until now. Just one digit slid over the tip, the precum slick and trailed along the underside of his twitching cock as a pleased and amused smile curled on parted lips. "Beautiful." "Eliot..." The whine that hinted Klaus' voice had Eliot's tongue darting out over his bottom lip, eyes greedily taking in the figure in front of him, vulnerable, exposed, beautiful. The teasing ended abruptly as his hands gripped Klaus's thighs, pulling him down and soon flipping him back to laying over the counter like he'd been before. Klaus looked up into the mirror, clearly startled, but the bright smile had begun forming already as he gave a playful wiggle, eyes catching Eliot's in the mirror once more. "Hey there, stunner." Klaus' voice was heavy and full of arousal, his cheeks flushed and visible even in the like-colored lighting. A groan slipped involuntarily from Eliot's throat at the sound of it, the sight of him over the counter, the way he knew he could hurt Klaus just right and still the slightly smaller man in front of him would just moan for more like the little masochist he was. Eliot's hand shifted from Klaus' waist to wrap around himself, his other sliding up Klaus' back to hold him steady as he impatiently pressed into him. He could have gone slow, but instead he pressed until Klaus' body wholly engulfed him, until he could push no further, despite his hips desperate single attempt. Klaus' left hand moved, curling around the ledge that separated the counter from the mirror, a space left between to allow the strip of lights beneath the sink to point upwards and help illuminate the mirror, as his head tilted down, his forehead leaning on his forearm. Eliot's hand was hot on his back, his own breath against the counter was hot, the bathroom itself was hot, feeling as if whatever they had for ventilation was of no use. The shift of Klaus' hips was all Eliot needed to know to move, his hand traveling up to wrap around one of Klaus' slim shoulders. The pace of the music pounding through the club was quick, much like the pace Eliot took. There had been time to tease out on the dance floor, plenty of impatience and desperation built once they'd locked themselves in the bathroom, added to the days before when they'd fought and Klaus had overdosed, when Eliot had held him close as he took his last... "El!" Klaus' knuckles were white as his body moved with Eliot's, his head thrown back in pleasure. The arm that had rested under his body to prop him on the counter shifted, his hand blindly grasping for El's until he reached it at his hip, their fingers lacing as another gasp of Eliot's name filled the stuffy room.  A trembled, grunted swear spilled from Eliot as his hips bucked out of the rhythm he'd created, slowing for torturous moment he allowed them for those few deep thrusts. He watched as Klaus' body reacted to it, the way he arched back against him and how the goosebumps rose along the skin of his back; he leaned down to greet them with his tongue, the salty, bitter taste of sweat assaulting his tastebuds. A wet trail was left behind as Eliot listened to the huffed exhale, knowing Klaus had held his breath the minute he felt his tongue on him. Eliot shifted back and with an adjustment to his stance, picked up his pace. It didn't take long before Klaus was falling apart in his hands, he could tell by the way his body was shaking. Other than that one touch to his cock, Eliot knew Klaus was aching for any type of touch, but Klaus knew the rules right now without Eliot even needing to say them. There would be no touching unless it was permitted and Eliot hadn't permitted it. "Klaus..." Eliot hummed, the rings on his hand glinting against the dark curls they were burying in, giving a firm tug to pull Klaus into a more upright position. Pearly teeth found his earlobe, giving it a tug before he whispered, his breath hot and heavy against the ear straining to hear him over the music that had all but become dull noise in his ears before. "I want you to cum without touching yourself." The sound to follow was a pleaded whine, which Eliot took as compliance to the rule. For just the briefest moment, both Hello and Goodbye were reflected in the mirror as Klaus lifted his hands, pressing them hard against the cool glassy surface, and as a reward, Eliot made sure to focus that previously abused spot within. The music had become a dull roar to them, the blood in their ears pounding and drowning it out. Their breathing had become ragged and Eliot's thrusts had started to turn frantic as he moved within him, knowing Klaus was getting there solely by the beautiful, incoherent babbling of words coming from Klaus. Somewhere, Eliot was sure, in the raspy mix, was a steady stream of his name, 'Oh God', 'Oh fuck', and 'Yes, please, there'. It was when he began feeling that familiar almost static like feeling within his groin, traveling up to his stomach which tightened by the second did Klaus drop his head back against Eliot's shoulder. Both hands had dropped from the mirror, a single arm rising so his fingers could tangle his fingers into Eliot's hair, tugging in a silent warning as if his moans weren't enough. Eliot had watched Klaus begin to fall apart and now he was watching the outcome, his masterpiece, as his eyes watched their reflection, glued to the way Klaus' face screwed up in pleasure before it relaxed, a stark comparison with how his body tensed around the cock buried within him. Times before, Klaus had made sure to finish off Eliot first, or on the few occasions they could manage it, to cum with him. This time, Eliot was letting Klaus go first so he could enjoy the view, even if it was what did him in. That familiar snap within him had that pleasant burn flood its way through his lower body, his hips jerking to ride out that high and slowing to a stop as they both began coming down from it. Klaus' legs shook enough that he had rested a hand down on the counter to keep himself steady, but he knew that the arms winding around his midriff wouldn't let him sink down. A smile seemed like so much effort, but he managed it as he turned his head enough to press a loving kiss to Eliot's cheek, then returning the one given to him as Eliot turned his own head. There was impatient banging on the door halfway through cleaning up the mess Klaus had left behind on the counter. Wet paper towels with cheap soap on them were tossed in the trash once they'd made sure to get every spot, Klaus' fingers reaching out to adjust Eliot's shirt and vest, then up to brush gently through his hair. "I look like a hot mess, Klaus, that's not going to help." Eliot chuckled, leaning in to press a brief peck to Klaus' lips. "We both look like hot messes, but at least we look like a million bucks. Two." Klaus assured and looked in the mirror, fixing his own hair and running his thumb over the small cut on his lip, where he assumed he'd bitten it at some point and just never realized it. His hand went back as he saw Eliot reach one out in the reflection, meeting it halfway and lacing their fingers together. "Alright, alright! Relax!" Eliot called out as he unlocked the door with his free hand, swinging it open and glaring at the person outside the door as if they had done nothing wrong in locking it for a quick fuck. "I've had to go to the bathroom for FIVE minutes no--" Kohl rimmed eyes peered at the two curiously before a cheshire grin spread across the familiar face. "You guys were totally having sex, weren't you?" "Magnus! You finally came!" Klaus interrupted from behind Eliot, his eyes scanning behind their friend. "Where's Alec? Is he here? How hot does he look on a scale of 1-10? I bet he's a 1000. His sister, too." "Yes, we were. Sorry for your inconvenience." Eliot mused, though looked surprised when Magnus lifted his hand for a high five. His own hand rose in slight hesitance before he met it. "It's fiiine, I'm not mad now that I know it was you both. Alec is at the bar, now move, really, I've been holding it the entire drive here!"

[avyssoseleison]

when half spent was the night

Extremely sappy DeanCas Christmas fluff (Warning: Brief mention of John being abusive) | On AO3 | 2k

Castiel finds Dean in the living room, bathed in the light of the Christmas tree, sprawled out all over the sofa, his entire body loose and lax, and his eyes half-closed. He cannot help but want to kiss him as he is, this very picture of relaxation, and so he does: with quiet steps, he bridges the small distance between them, cards his hand through Dean’s hair, who does not rouse beyond blinking up at him and sighing softly, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Dean’s eyes flutter closed at that, in that content and fulfilled way they used to only ever do once the two of them had found their pleasure in each other, especially so at the beginning of their relationship, when Dean seldom allowed himself any display of vulnerability or honest emotion. But, it happens frequently now. The sight of which never fails to elicit a sense of deep satisfaction within Castiel, and he simply has to lower himself to his knees to reach even better Dean and kiss him again.

The smile that curves Dean’s lips up at the unexpected gesture makes it just as worth it for Castiel as the scent of his hair, the feel of his soft skin, the taste of his husband’s lips. Dean’s mouth is slack, but not unresponsive; it is obvious that he did more than just lie here, probably had fallen into a state of rest, somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, and is not fully conscious, yet is still receptive to Castiel kisses. He still wants them; wants him.

The heat that blooms within Castiel’s chest upon this realization almost wants him to take Dean back to bed, just not for sleep, and to enjoy him in this utterly vulnerable and incredibly beautiful state, in which he is conscious enough to consent, but not enough to even attempt to put up a barrier. Not that he does so often with Castiel, not anymore. Still, for Castiel not even having to coax him into letting his guard down, to instead just receive Dean’s sweet sighs and open kisses like this, must be the greatest gift he has received tonight.

He pulls away from Dean as he feels his own kisses to grow headier while Dean’s stay the same, without heat or hurry, and places his forehead against his to calm himself. In careful measures, he inhales and exhales again, willing his body and heart to be satisfied with this merely level of physicality without urging for more.

Dean gives a half-snort at that -- as always amused by how easy his mere presence serves to arouse Castiel --, closes his eyes as their foreheads touch, and breathes with him. That he does not push for more or less shows Castiel that he has made the right call; that Dean indeed wishes for merely this.

Castiel blows out a long, slow breath, and then opens his eyes again, although he does not even recall closing them. From beneath him, Dean is already looking back at him, his own gaze not quite as half-lidded as before, yet still far from fully awake. Maybe it is because of all the food and drinks he consumed today that he seems only semi-conscious still.

“You okay there, babe?” Dean murmurs so sweetly and sleepily that Castiel simply has to catch his lips in yet another short kiss. It is a peck more than anything else, for Castiel fears that he might not be able to hold himself back again if he received yet another proper taste.

“I missed you,” Castiel says honestly, “when I woke up, you weren’t in bed.”

“Hmm, I woke up and couldn’t fell back asleep, so I came down here.” He shifts minutely, the tip of his nose brushing Castiel’s cheek.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, concern seeping into his desire and content. Just like Dean used to be prone to shying away from showing any sort of vulnerability when their relationship was a new and tender thing, so was he prone to nightmares and uneasy sleep. Throughout the years, due to many sessions of therapy and to some small degree probably also due to Castiel’s unconditional love and support, he has become better about both of these things, but every now and then, the demons of the past come back to haunt him. He is only human, after all.

“Hey, now, no need for that face,” Dean chides, his lips following the path that his nose took moments before in a soft line of kisses along Castiel’s cheek. Castiel does not even know what sort of face he must have made for Dean to attempt to -- by all intents and purposes -- kiss him bcretter, but he decides to simply accept his husband’s loving treatment. “‘m okay, no worries. I just got into thinking about the last few days, the entire Christmas time, really, ‘n wanted to see the tree again. And the decorations. And everything.”

Any other time -- not in the middle of the night, for starters --, Castiel might have simply found Dean’s actions adorable, smiled to himself at any excitement Dean might have had about the Christmas tree or the twinkling decorations in the window. But he could not shake off his concern nor could he ignore that wistful, preoccupied expression on Dean’s face. “Is this about your childhood?”

This time, Dean snorts fully. Probably, as Castiel belatedly realizes, because of the bluntness of his statement, and because Dean has long since given up on trying to teach him more tact. “Yes and no. But a bit, I guess. It’s about my childhood to the extent that it’s not about it. I mean, you know how we grew up, Sammy ‘n me, that we didn’t have all--,” he makes a tiny jerking motion with his chin, but it is enough for Castiel to know that he is gesturing towards the decorations, the house, himself, “that, and I found myself thinking about how I do have it now. The holly-jolly, the merry and bright, the goddamn silent night, and I was…” he drifts off for a moment, his gaze flitting away from Castiel and towards the Christmas tree, decked with red and golden baubles and ornaments, one of the most traditionally decorated trees Castiel has ever seen, “I was thinking about how lucky I was. As a kid, I always believed I’d never get anything like this, that not being hungry or-- or being beaten was all I should be asking for for Christmas. That it would be enough. Just Sammy ‘n me, some stolen snacks, a candy cane or two, and badly-wrapped gifts.  And look at me now: hosting a real Christmas dinner for Sammy and everyone else who’s family now, decorating the house that I bought with my own family and that belongs to me and that I only share with my husband, who supports me and loves me and makes me feel so good and…” Although the Christmas tree is the only source of light in the room, Castiel can still see the tears shimmering in Dean’s eyes. “So, yeah, I’m lucky.”

Castiel’s arms are slung around Dean’s shoulders before he has even made the conscious decision to do so. Simple kisses would not suffice; he needs to be as close to him as is possible, as close as he can get aside from entering him, which he could not do right now.

Dean is trembling in his arms, though only slightly so -- and his breathing is steady. He is not breaking apart like he used to; and it is Dean’s strength that has Castiel speak with his voice dipped as low and intimate as the cradle of them calls for.

“You’re not just ‘lucky’ , Dean. You have worked very hard for this. You did not let how your father treated you stump your growth, but instead, you worked for a good education, you worked for a rewarding job, you took up therapy, you worked on becoming a man capable and deserving of a fulfilling relationship, and none of it was luck. All of it was you. Surviving.” He places a kiss onto his forehead. “Persevering.” To the tip of his nose “Earning your reward.” And to his gently parted lips.

“Cas,” Dean whines into the last kiss, but Castiel accepts no objections. Instead, he takes Dean’s face into his hands and licks into his mouth, well-aware of how his own desire will flare up again for naught, but also of how content Dean is to just receive kisses like this, open and earnest, even -- and some days especially -- without any ultimate purpose.

As they break their kiss this time, Dean finally looks fully awake. There is still a shimmer to his eyes, but also something darker -- Dean’s desire swelling in kind --, the sight of which Castiel has grown familiar with over the years, longs for so often that is is pitiful at times.. For yet another time in his life, Castiel catches himself realizing how helplessly in love he is with Dean, that there is nothing he would not do for him.

“If childhood-you could see you right now,” Castiel says, a bit more breathless than he wants to be, “I am sure that he would be as proud of you as I am today. You are not the child from so long ago anymore.” Dean’s hands are on his neck and shoulders, pulling him back in, pulling him onto him. “You are a man now.” Castiel goes willingly. He twists himself from their rushed embrace to fully drape himself on top of Dean, one hand in his hair, the other on his chin, all of their bodies connected, one solid line, from head to toe. “You are truly yourself now.” Dean presses up against him, warm and willing, tempting and beautiful, making it almost impossible for Castiel to control himself any longer. “And an incredible husband, too,” he sighs into Dean’s ear, earning himself a shuddering moan.

“Cas, please, ” Dean begs.

“Please what, Dean?” Castiel asks, not as a tease, but a reassurance. Despite the evidence of Dean’s desire pressed up against his own, he needs to know that Dean truly wants him like this right now, whether this is alright. Because heat has been growing inside of Castiel ever since he had come downstairs, and he does not want to burden Dean with something he might not be in the right headspace for right now.

Apparently, though, he is not alone in his longing.

“I want you like this,” Dean whispers, sweeping Castiel with relief, “I want you here.” In the light of the Christmas tree, surrounded by the proof of everything he has achieved, everything he has become, he does not say, but Castiel hears it all the same -- understands.

Because the true meaning of Dean’s words is in his hands that stroke the shoulders and side of his husband, gently guiding Castiel into a rhythm; it is in the comfortable Christmas pajamas underneath which his skin still carries scars, but underneath which his skin is also growing warmer alongside his arousal; it is in his eyes, which are dark with memories and desire but which also reflect the lights of the Christmas tree, the fruit of his own labor.

“I will have you wherever you want,” Castiel promises, with nothing but truthfulness in his voice and heart, “I want you however you will have me.”

And when Dean responds with yet another sigh, this one even sweeter and softer than any before, Castiel muses that this is, after all, what Christmas is truly about. What it should have been about whenever John hurt Dean and what it was about whenever Dean wrapped yet another stolen present for his brother. And also back when Dean and Castiel met each other for the first time in their lives, one cold Christmas Eve, in a run-down bar at the edge of town, drunk out of their minds and seeking nothing more than another lonely soul to spend this most painful of nights with, to forget about what they did not have.

Yes, it is and was and will always be about love and peace, and finding home.

[soaimagines]

Run To You

Pairing: Billy x Reader

Word Count: 1,606

Summary: You're new in town and after parking in Billys spot he takes an interest in you.

Authors Note: There will be at least one more part to this. i just didn't wanna make it too long. No real spoilers in this part. I binged the second season the day it was released and have watched it three times since lmao. Billy is the worst but i just wanna bang him like one time okAY and i haven't stopped thinking about him/Dacre since.

Disclaimer: I do not condone Billys behaviour nor do i intend to romanticise his racism or abuse. Billy is an asshole, no denying that. Dacre Montgomery is hot af tho.

________________________________________

The music was blaring as Billy pulled into the school car park at his usual fast speed. He was about to take another drag of his cigarette when he slammed on the brakes, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the steering wheel. In his usual car park sat an unfamiliar black Mustang SVO. There was barely any spare  parks left at this time of morning but he had never had to worry before. Everyone knew that was his park. Billy’s nostrils flared as he let out a breath and Max gripped her skateboard a little tighter. He drove forward and suddenly swung his Camaro into an empty park and yanked the keys out of the ignition. “Don’t be late today.” He said sternly as Max opened her door. She rolled her eyes, and was thankful he missed it before slamming the door and heading into school. Billy stepped out of his car and took a drag of his cigarette. He let the smoke fester in his lungs as he closed the door behind him. His lips parted and he blew out a cloud of smoke as he stalked towards the strange car. Who did this douchbag think he was? He glanced through the window of the car as he walked to the front but saw no incriminating items inside. It didn’t matter. Billy would find them. With a final puff of his smoke he stubbed it out on the hood of the Mustang and strode into school.

♔

Billy gripped the wheel in anticipation, his tongue darting across his lips and when he found the park empty he smirked. Four days. For four days he had arrived every morning to find that damned mustang in his park with no sign of the driver and it was always gone before Billy could confront the driver after school. But not today. Nobody messed with Billy Hargrove, he made sure of it. So this morning he had left early. In fact he was the only car in the car park but that didn’t bother him. He would wait until the car showed up and finally he could give the douchebag a piece of his mind. “There’s not even teachers here yet.” Max complained in the passengers seat. Billy ignored her and turned the music up louder. He could just make out a groan above the music before Max got out of the car and skated off towards the entrance. Slowly the car park filled up as more students arrived and finally, he saw it. The black mustang pulled into the car park and Billy smirked, turning down his music as he let out a cloud of smoke. The sun was shining down on the windscreen of the car and he couldn’t yet make out the driver. But he clenched his fists nevertheless and opened his door. His boots hit the pavement and he stepped out of his car, letting the door fall shut behind him. He turned slowly, shaking out his shoulders as he went and when his eyes fell on the driver he stopped. This wasn’t just a douchbag. It was a girl. He pushed out his lips and leant against his own car as the girl gathered her things and got out. She wore a tight black dress that cut off at the thighs and a denim jacket. Even her hair had been teased for maximum volume. Confidence radiated from her and thanks to a light breeze he caught the scent of her sweet perfume. Feeling his gaze on her back, she turned and glanced in his direction. “Can I help you?” He smirked, amused by the sassy tone  in her voice. “You’ve been parking in my spot.” She raised an eye brow and put her hands on her hips. “Didn’t realise there was assigned parking.” Her voice was thick with sarcasm and he enjoyed the way she was challenging him. She clearly didn’t know who she was talking too. Still, she was pretty, so Billy thought he’d go easy on her. “Well, now you know.” He flashed her his winning smile. The one that always made the girls swoon. Only this girl didn’t swoon. Instead she rolled her eyes and he could have sworn he heard her mutter “Loser” before she turned her back and walked into the school. Billy took a drag of his cigarette. Who did this girl think she was? She hadn’t seemed the least bit phased by him and he wondered what a girl like her was doing in Hawkins. There was something about this girl that did something to him and he had always liked a challenge.

♔

You dropped your bag to the floor and slid behind the desk next to the window. Classmates were chatting as the room filled up for class and you played with the pen in your hand as you glanced around. The guy from this morning walked into the room and almost instantly all the girls giggled and flicked their hair in unison. You rolled your eyes as he leant across a desk in the front of the class and started flirting with the girl sitting there. You turned your attention to the window and absentmindedly played with your hair as your mind drifted. The shrill laugh of a girl got your attention and you looked to see the guy from this morning laughing with the girl in front of him. Only he kept glancing at you, almost as if to make sure you were watching and he ran a hand through his hair. He leant forward and said something to the girl, though you were too far away to hear but he stared at you while he spoke, the edges of his lips turning up into a smirk. “Bye, Billy!” You heard her purr back to him, flicking her hair and fluttering her eyelashes so much you thought they might just fly off. You rolled your eyes as ‘Billy’ strutted through the class room and when he reached your desk he trailed his fingers across it. “Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to stare, Princess?” He smirked and walked past you, letting his hand brush against your shoulder before he sunk into the desk behind you. His cologne drifted and you hid your face as you took in his scent. God he smelt delicious, even if he was an asshole. You had to admit, he was ridiculously good looking. You weren't blind, he was fucking gorgeous. But you had seen guys like him in every town you had lived and they were always the same. The same cocky alpha dog routine, thinking they could get away with whatever they wanted. You hated to admit that you usually fell for the act, but not this time. At least that’s what you told yourself as you stared out the window, thoughts of Billy Hargrove running through your mind.

♔

The rest of the week was uneventful. You had passed Billy a few times in the hallway and he had done the same thing every time. Licked his lips, ran a hand through his hair, smirked, and walked past you. Sometimes with a “Hey, Princess.” and sometimes not. God it was driving you wild, though you refused to admit it. It was no secret, the feud brewing between Billy and Steve and since you had moved to town you had gotten to know Steve quite well. It wasn’t just the rivalry either, his ego or Billy’s reputation with the other girls in school. You had seen Billy with his sister one morning in the car park and although you hadn’t been close enough to actually hear the words spoken, it was clear by the body language that Billy wasn’t exactly being a loving brother. So when you arrived at the Halloween party to see him chugging beer from the keg you rolled your eyes. The crowd around him chanted his name and you grimaced as he let out a cheer. “That’s how you do it, Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” He yelled. You watched as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stuck a cigarette between his lips. His friends pushed him into the house, still chanting his name and cheering victoriously.

A few hours and a dozen drinks later you were leant against the wall, taking a break from all the dancing you had been doing. The music lowered slightly and Carol moved into the centre of the makeshift dance floor. “Who’s ready for spin the bottle?!” She was met by wolf whistles and cheers of agreement. The room cleared out slightly and you pushed off the wall, deciding to get some fresh air. Before you could get there however, you were blocked by an arm leaning against the wall. “You not playing?” Billy asked, a coy smile on his face. “Sorry to disappoint.” You shook your head. He chuckled and licked his lips. He leant closer to you and you saw his eyes linger over your body before meeting your gaze. “Cmon, What are you scared of, Princess?” You glanced at the circle forming on the floor and back at Billy. Maybe it was the booze talking or maybe it was the chemistry sparking between the two of you. Either way, you found yourself smirking back at him. ”Fuck it.” You grabbed the beer from his hand and finished it in one swig before sauntering off to join the circle. Billy raised an eyebrow and followed after you. You watched as Carol and some guy you didn’t know went off into a closet for seven minutes, the rest of the group talking and laughing in their absence. Next was Carl’s turn and his bottle pointed to the girl next you you and she squealed in excitement. Slowly the bottle made its way to you and you took a deep breath as you leant forward and gave it a spin. Oohs and Ahhs erupted as the bottle stopped spinning and pointed to no other than Billy fucking Hargrove.

________________________________________________

Part Two Here

[milleniumhan]

Anywhere is better than here. (Billy Hargrove x Reader)

*Trigger Warning: Domestic Abuse. *

Note: Hey guys! I wanted to say a few things before you keep on reading. This fic contains a part in which there is domestic abuse. It is part of Billy’s character traits and the story called for it. I don’t want you to think I am trying to romanticze abuse, that is in NO WAY my intention. Okay, on to the story! I really hope you like it, if you do please let me know, and as always feedback + reblogs are very appreciated! Enjoy! <3 <3 <3 

This was requested by a nonny!: “Do you write billy imagines? because i was wondering if you could write an imagine for y/n meeting billy’s “parents” and his father yelling at y/n.” I changed it a little bit, I hope you don’t mind! <3 

Summary: Neil is not fond of you, but he won’t be around when you have dinner at Billy’s, right? 

Warnings: Domestic abuse, angst and swearing.

Tag list babes! <3 : @ambeazyyy @ditchthesticks @lilo-1398 @missnena2194 @javapeach @justrunawayoftheshit @steveharringtonofficial @theroyalbrownbarbie @tobarblog @tricklingstreamdacre If I forgot anyone please throw sticks at me and make me remember! Please message me if you would like to be added to my permanent tag list! 

MILLENIUMHAN’S MASTERLIST.

P.S: It has a happy ending, kind of. 

“You-uh, you want to have dinner at my house…or whatever?” Billy tried to fake disinterest on your answer, but he really wanted you to say yes. His proposal left you completely confused, not really knowing what to answer. You looked back at Billy who was leaning against your locker like he always did, his eyes searching for an answer through your expression.

“Um…” you started “What about your father? Surely Neil Hargrove doesn’t want me in his house.” Billy swallowed thickly at the question, he had never told you about the abuse inflicted by his father, but he had told you how Neil didn’t let him bring girls to his house. He took your hands tightly in one of his and tilted your chin with the other.

“Hey” he said softly as your eyes locked onto his. “Fuck him, okay? He won’t be there. Susan is the only one who is going to be there, she decided to stay here while my father goes out of town.” You furrowed your eyebrows and pulled back from him slightly.

“Susan?”

“Yeah, as much as I despise her, Max has been gushing about you with her and she thought this was the most appropriate time to have you over.” You couldn’t help but smile widely at the thought.

“I told her you weren’t that great, but she insisted.” Billy started mocking you when he noticed your grin, his own face beaming. You hit his shoulder playfully with your notebook before finally agreeing to go. “Should I pick you up later or should we just go straight to my place after school?” You were about to answer when you heard footsteps racing towards you. Before you could turn around to see where they were coming from, Max collided into your back, giving you the biggest hug.

“Are you coming today?” She inquired with hopeful eyes. She dangled from your side, still holding you, as you started to caress her hair. You and Max had a really strong bond, she saw you as a big sister and felt safe around you. She would always tell you how much Billy had changed since you had started to go out with him, even if you didn’t think that was the case. You nodded in response to her previous question. “Great! Then you can help me with my science project.”

“Well that’s presumptuous of you” you replied, mimicking her famous line. She rolled her eyes at you in usual Max fashion before letting out a chuckle.

“Yes, yes it is, but you’re still going to help me.”

“So, I guess we’re all leaving together after school then.” Billy said as he started to walk away, with the excuse that the cheesiness between you and his step-sister was too much for him, but he secretly loved it.

-

After school you met both of them at the parking lot. Max wasn’t late for the first time. You got into the car and immediately put on some of your favourite songs on the radio, gaining a sigh from Billy and a joyful exclamation from Max. You started singing along loudly as Max accompanied you in the chorus, Billy looking at you every now and then, shaking his head to try and conceal the smile so present in his face. He wanted to cherish this moment forever.

Billy pulled up to the driveway of the house. Your stare lingered on the white façade as you wondered if this had been a mistake, something just wasn’t right, you could feel it in the pit of your stomach. Max nudged your seat, signaling you to get out. You shook your head to yourself “I’m just being stupid” you thought as you unbuckled your seatbelt and stepped out of the Camaro. Susan pepped out the window to see if it was you before stepping out onto the porch. She greeted you with a smile and open arms, your gaze clinging onto the gnarly bruise she had in one of her arms as you walked towards her. You felt your heart sink when the realization of how she had gotten it hit you.

“I’ll let you all know when dinner is ready” Susan said with a smile after you had gone inside, Max already leading the way to her room with her skateboard still in hand. Billy brushed right past Susan, he really didn’t like her, he was still hurt about his mother. You, on the other hand liked her, almost pitied her, knowing she probably went through hell with Neil, he wasn’t exactly a nice person. You set down your things on Max’s room as she hung up her denim jacket.

“Okay then, let’s see that project of yours.” You said determined as you sat on the edge of her bed.

“Oh, about that” she started with an audacious expression “There was never a science project. I just wanted you to come over sooner.” You let out a chuckle at the adorable confession and stuck out your tongue at her in a teasing manner, Max didn’t hesitate to do the same. As you were both mocking around and pulling faces to make each other laugh, Billy appeared suddenly. He leaned against the doorway and gave you a look that made Max roll her eyes.

“I’m going to take a nap” he said before simply leaving the room, making you confused “You coming or what?” he shouted at you from the hallway. You shook your head and headed out the room to follow behind him. By the time you got to his room he was already lying on the bed with sweatpants, but shirtless, of course. “Finally” he groaned at you with his signature grin all over his face. You gave him a cheeky look before leaping into bed on top of him. “Ohhmy-aagh” he breathed out as your body pressed the air out of him. You readjusted yourself next to him as you both chuckled, your head directly on his chest as one of your hands traced over it. You stayed there in silence, watching how it moved up and down with every breath he took, his heart beating rapidly against your ear. After a little while he readjusted himself so he was laying on his side, his hands on your waist. Softly, he started to trace the outline of your figure. His rough fingers complimenting your soft skin, the coldness of them making you shiver. He slowly made his way up to your jawline, his eyes following every move he made. He brushed over your bottom lip with his fingertips with such a gentle and light pulse you weren’t even sure he had touched them. He looked up at you, admiring the way your eyes glistened against the light. His hand slowly started to move towards the side of your face, taking its time to get there. He took one of your stray hairs and placed it behind your ear before starting to caress the rest of your hair, it felt like velvet to him. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against yours.

“I love you.”  Billy’s words broke the silence in the room.

“I love you too, Billy.”

-

The smell of Susan’s famous pot pie infused the house in it’s entirety, waking both Billy and you up. You went down to the dinning room and sat down, both of you still trying to rub the sleep off of your eyes. Max and Susan chuckled at the sight before handing you your plates. You all started to eat, Susan asking about your day and Max talking about the new friends she had made at school. Billy was even laughing along with all of you. It was so different from usual, the air felt light and cheerful, everyone was…happy. Just as you were having your last bite of dessert, smearing Billy’s face with whipped cream for laughs, you heard the sound of a car arriving. Everyone completely froze, fixing their posture immediately, Billy tensing more than anyone. Susan peeked out of the window again, Neil’s car. She quickly grabbed the plates from the table, the panic spreading through the room. The sound of the car door closing, keys dangling, the loud, firm steps coming towards you, it was definitely Neil.

Enter the Devil.

The footsteps stopped and Max snapped her head towards you, her jaw clenched so tightly you could see the blood creeping to her face like paint on water. The room was so silent that you swore you could hear everyone’s hearts beating rapidly. Susan gave you a glare from the kitchen, you could tell by her face she was gathering the courage to call his name.

“Neil?” her tone soft, almost broken, trying not to show her fear. Neil ignored her voice, his eyes never leaving you.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” the words burned like fire, his rage becoming more and more visible. You felt Billy grab your hand tighter than ever before, his nostrils flared as he tried very hard to regulate his breathing. Neil looked over at Billy and then at Susan, waiting for a response.

“I’m-I’m going to go-” you managed to stutter out as you slowly started to get up from your seat with trembling legs, trying to avoid any further confrontation.

“No you are not!” Neil’s called out, the force in his voice making you sit back down instantly. The room felt tight, like all of the oxygen had been drained out and nobody could breathe anymore. “You cooked for this whore?” Neil continued to spit out as he noticed the plates resting on the sink. “Is this why you didn’t go with me? So you could stay and cook for this bastard and his bitch?”

“Neil, don’t call her tha-” Susan started to no amend. Neil’s face was red with anger now, his eyes darting over at you again like fast bullets.

“Get her out of my fucking house” he yelled at Billy, his tone making all of your insides tremble. Billy didn’t move, he was completely frozen. You tugged at his hand desperately, knowing what would happen if he didn’t respond. “Didn’t you fucking hear me?” Neil said once again, even though his voice was lower it was somehow more frightening. Before Billy could do so much as breathe, Neil grabbed him by the collar and pushed him to the wall, the brisk movement making you tumble as Billy’s hand was torn from yours. “I told you to respect me, I told you to respect this house, and what do you do? YOU BRING SOME BITCH TO EAT MY FOOD ON MY TABLE.”

“She’s not a bitch” Billy said through gritted teeth

“What was that?” Neil said trying to provoke Billy.

“I said, she’s not a BITCH OR A WHORE.” You looked down at the floor and shut your eyes tightly, knowing what those words defending your honor would cost him.

“Are you talking back at me? Be smart about this son.” Neil’s grip tightened even more, Billy’s face turning red as he started grasping for air.

“NEIL! YOU ARE KILLING HIM. ” Susan shouted desperately, not knowing how to stop him.

“Take Maxine to her room, RIGHT NOW!” He snapped his face towards Susan, giving her a menacing look. She quickly grabbed Max and took her to safety, if you could even call it that. You closed your hand into a fist trying to muster some courage, your grip so tight your knuckles started turning white. You knew how stupid it was to intervene, but you also knew how this would end if you didn’t.

“Get your hands off him” you shouted in a stern voice even though your lips where trembling. Neil clenched his jaw tightly before slowly turning his head towards you. “Get your fucking hands off of him” you repeated. Billy looked over at you tears of frustration drowning his face “Stop” Billy tried to say to you, but he couldn’t.

“How dare you talk to me like that? Who the fuck do you think you are?” Neil suddenly took a step towards you, startling you, but you still stood your ground.

“How dare you? How fucking dare you treat your OWN son like this? You are a disgusting piece of shit” You could feel the tears forming in your eyes as the words you had kept inside all of this time poured out. Neil let go of Billy, shifting his focus on you. Billy collapsed to the floor and started coughing for air as he tried to get up on one of his hands, desperate to help you. You quickly ran towards him but you were stopped by Neil. He took your arm tightly in his hand.

“I will not be disrespected by some low-life like you” his sharp eyes freezing you to the core. You were ready to let out a scream when you heard a familiar voice coming from behind.

“Step away from the girl” You looked behind Neil to find the one and only Chief Hopper, pointing a gun at him. “I said, step away from the girl, asshole.” Neil let go of your arm with an unreadable expression. As soon as you were out of his grasp you ran over to Billy, helping him regain his posture. He placed his arm over your shoulders as he tried to stand up “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry” He placed his face on the crook of your neck as he started to cry. It was a weird feeling for you, Billy had never cried in front of you.

After Neil was in cuffs, you ran towards Hopper. He hugged you tightly before pulling back to look at you.

“Look kid, I know your intentions were good, but it was a stupid thing to do. Don’t try that again, okay?”  You looked up at him

“How did you know?”

“We received an anonymous tip” You furrowed your eyebrows at him as he signaled to the entrance of the house. You turned to look at what he meant. Max. You looked at her and gave her a small sad smile as you started to walk towards her.

“Are you okay?” She said softly. You didn’t answer, just pulled her into a hug as she started sobbing into your coat. You let go of her and crouched down to meet her at eye level.

“I’m okay, we are all okay. Thank you.” You whispered at her as you wiped the tears off her eyes before hugging her once more.

You sat on the porch as you waited patiently for Billy, who was currently being interrogated by the detectives along side his family. When they were finally done he came over and sat next to you. After looking at you for a second, he started

“So much for dinner, huh?” he tried to create some comic relief.

“Yeah, what a night.” You tried to smile back. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I don’t know. I just, I didn’t want to seem weak, I guess.” He admitted with guilt and sadness creeping into his eyes. All you could do was hug him tightly

 “I love you, you are not weak.” you whispered into the hug

“I love you too” he whispered back.

“What’s going to happen?” you said as you took his hand in yours.

“Well, he’s probably going to spend the night in jail but after that it’s our choice, it comes down to our decision to press charges or not.”

“Are you going to?” You weren’t sure if you should ask but you couldn’t help yourself, you hated Neil so much, you wanted to know his fate.

“I don’t know…what am I supposed to do? I don’t even want to think about it. I don’t even want to back inside the house.” Billy’s voice sounded tired and sad, his tone so fragile it could break. “Come with me?” He suddenly said as he looked back at you.

“Where to?” you replied back at him with confusion.

“Well, I’ve got a fast car and we’ve got the whole night. Let’s just go.” he softly said as he looked into your eyes, his hands grasping yours tighter with every word.

“Where?” you said as you placed your forehead against his.

“Anywhere is better than here.”

[kenzieam]

Lost Girl - Chapter 1 (Eric and Fox)

Rating: M (swearing, violence, smut, blah blah)

Genre: Drama/Angst

****Trigger Warnings - mention of torture, abuse****

Thanks everyone for the re-blogs and support!!! IT IS SO AWESOME!!!

@emmysrandomthoughts @beautifulramblingbrains @iammarylastar @tigpooh67 @bookwarm85  @badassbaker @captstefanbrandt  @treeleaf  @beltz2016  @girlwith100names @gaia25 @readsalot73 @slayer0507 @stone-met @lostinthebeans @lauraaan182 @girlslovestorys  @lacy-love @fuckthatfeeling  @sparklemichele @vitaevandal  @micolegg @frecklefaceb @jaihardy  @bookgirlthings @queenara4  @bluelassbird @mom2reesie @pathybo @letmagichappen @shaunarcanine @equalstrashflavoredtrash @itschibi @elaacreditava @lilu46 @tonyt1995 @jojogoo65 @littlesouthernrebel @sterek-foreverandever

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

A huge thank you to my beta and Jai-sister @iammarylastar ! Quelle equipe!

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

What happens if Fox disappears, and is returned to Eric two years later, but is not the same woman he loves???

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

Eric groaned and rolled over with a curse, fumbling blindly for his ringing cell phone. Finding it, he pressed it his ear.

“Leader Coulter?”

Eric grunted.

“Head Leader Miller wants you down in the vehicle bay sir, ASAP.”

Eric lifted his head groggily and glanced at his alarm. 2:14 AM. What the actual fuck?

“What the fuck for?”

“He didn’t say sir, just to insist you get down here.”

Eric rolled his eyes. “I’ll be there in five.”

Still yawning, Eric pushed through the heavy armoured door of the vehicle bay and squinted in the sudden bright light, seeking out the reason for this early morning foray. Max stood a few dozen paces away, deep in conversation with a few soldiers. Setting his jaw Eric stormed over.

Max flicked a glance in his direction. “Coulter, good. ETA is seven minutes.”

“ETA for what?” Eric grumbled, scratching at the stubble he’d had no time to shave off. He’d barely had time to gel his hair for Christ’s sake.

Max’s face went dead serious and he dismissed the other soldiers with a jerk of his chin. Eric eyed him suspiciously as Max guided him by the shoulder farther away from the bustling men.

The Head Leader crossed his arms over his chest and Eric copied him, raising one eyebrow. Finally, Max dropped his hands, resting one on his hip while the other scratched at the top of his head. “We found her, Eric.”

“Found who?” Eric’s voice was almost bored, but an ember in his chest had begun to flare to life. Was it true? After all this time? Was she alive?

Max scrubbed his face and bit back a yawn before continuing. “Jensen and his team were on patrol, they intercepted a small party of factionless and engaged in a brief firefight. One of the bastards got loose and took off, so they pursued and found him again near an old collapsed strip mall trying to scramble into some sort of a hidden entrance. They neutralized him and entered the building…… they found a secret bunker underground, stuffed full of supplies and weapons. There were a few factionless guarding it, but Jensen had the take on them and his men dispatched the majority. They captured three prisoners. One of those three is Fox.”

Eric stared at Max in shock. A wave of vertigo hit and he staggered slightly before regaining control of himself through pure iron will. Gritting his teeth he glared hotly at Max. “Is she okay?”

“Jensen said he hardly recognized her, probably wouldn’t have but he caught sight of that tattoo on the back of her neck, that ‘E’ and looked closer.”

“Is. She Okay?” Eric repeated.

“She can’t or won’t recognize Jensen, is combative and uncooperative so far. He had to restrain her. That’s all I know. We’ll keep the prisoners here in the detention wing for now. Erudite is sending some medical staff in the morning to evaluate them but they’ll more than likely stay here until we figure out what to do with them.”

Eric turned away from Max, reeling with shock. Just over two years ago, Fox, his fiancée and love of his life had disappeared on patrol along with three other Dauntless soldiers. One soldier had been found dead a month later, but no trace of Fox or the other missing soldier, a man named Dawson, had ever been found. The last two years had been absolute hell for Eric, complete torture. The unknown, the lack of closure had been the worst, and Eric had started to finally accept that his soulmate was gone forever, that the one woman he’d allowed into his heart had disappeared for good. He’d only wished to know what happened, collect her remains for a proper funeral, closure. His bed and his life had been empty since that day.

Eric rolled, pulling Fox beneath him and burrowed his face into her throat, nipping and grinning against her skin when she started to shriek, struggling in the cage of his arms.

“Eric! Eric stop!” Fox pleaded.

“No way baby,” Eric laughed, burrowing deeper, nipping harder, in love with the feel of her pressed to him, her breathy shrieks of delight, her nails clawing at his back.

Desperate now, Fox arched her hips up, brushing against Eric’s half-hardened cock and he pulled back with a hiss.

“Hey, no fair,” he grinned, dropping his head with a groan as Fox continued to rub against him.

“We didn’t decide on any rules,” Fox grinned back, wrapping her legs around Eric’s thighs and pulling him roughly against her. Eric groaned raggedly into her hair, his body curling against hers and Fox knew she’s won, Eric could never concentrate when she started to do this. His hips began to rock against hers, and he moaned low in his throat as his lips replaced where his teeth had just been, his tongue soothing the previous sting.

Kneeing her thighs apart Eric sank into her with a groan, eyes squeezed shut. Slowly he started to thrust, arching his spine, pressing deeper each time, helpless in his desire, grunting roughly in Fox’s ear. Fox writhed beneath him, rapidly losing herself in bliss and she pulled Eric’s head down to hers, crushing their lips together, her tongue sweeping against his with a sigh. They devoured each other’s mouths, tasting every inch and Eric rose above her, muscles flexing and bunching with each thrust.

“Eric, I’m -” Fox breathed, starting to tremble. Eric shuddered above her.

“Let go baby, come with me,” he moaned and he felt Fox surrender beneath him, give in to the pleasure and her walls tightened around him as she cried out and Eric stopped fighting his own release. Groaning into Fox’s throat, Eric spilled inside her, filled her with his seed and collapsed, panting, on top of her, pulling her close to his chest as aftershocks coursed through their bodies.

Fox had accepted Eric’s proposal that night, had whispered ‘yes’ with tears in her eyes, pulling him to her as she’d cried and he’d rocked her gently, murmuring how much he loved her, how he would never let her down.

Fox disappeared that following day, the last contact being a garbled, static-filled scream from the commander, then dead air. Eric had searched for weeks, scoured the city, become unrecognizable in his mixed grief and rage. Many captured factionless met grisly ends at his hands, unwilling or unable to answer his questions before they succumbed to their injuries. For a time, Max had wondered if he would need to remove Eric from leadership, perhaps imprison him somewhere until he came back to some semblance of normality; but gradually, Eric had begun to accept the cold, hard facts.

Fox was gone, she had disappeared and she was never coming back.

Until now.

“Hey!” Max’s hand came down hard on Eric’s shoulder, jolting him out of his reverie. “Get it together, they’re less than 60 out.”

Eric swallowed hard and nodded, yanking his vest straight and smoothing his hair back. The most uncharacteristic feeling of nervousness had settled over him, giving him the faintest tremor in his limbs. Max had said Fox was unrecognizable, unresponsive and uncooperative, would she recognize Eric? Had her nights been spent lying awake, wondering about him, crying for their loss? Had her bed been as intolerably cold and empty as Eric’s since they’d been separated?  

The first of the personnel trucks pulled up and the sounds of a struggle and yelling hit their ears.

“Christ.” Max growled. “Get up there!” He barked and the team jogged forwards, swarming the truck. Eric moved to follow and Max grabbed his arm, warning Eric with a glare to stay put.

The cab doors were thrown open and the soldiers converged on one struggling figure. First one, then two soldiers fell out of the truck with surprised shouts, then a final struggling mass of bodies launched outwards, landing in a pile of flailing limbs and shouts, curses and thuds. Ignoring Max’s order, Eric leapt into the fray and soon found the root of the problem, a single struggling factionless. Elbowing a soldier aside Eric body-slammed the individual, pinned the factionless’ shoulders to the cement and pressed his knees into their thighs. They were scrawny and bony, no match for Eric’s superior mass or strength but they were putting up a hell of a fight anyway. Eric let his body go slack, holding the troublemaker down with his greater body-weight and roared in his most dangerous voice.

“Stop fighting!”

The factionless spat in his face and, enraged, he slammed their head on the ground. The body went slack under his, their eyes rolling in a daze and Eric finally was able to concentrate on their face. Brown eyes of a dozen different mysterious hues flashed at him, a mix of rage and semi-conscious confusion. The lips were full but chapped as they curled back over sharp white teeth and it wasn’t until the factionless snarled at him did Eric realize with a jolt that it was a woman he was fighting with. Then it hit him, the shape of the cat-like eyes, the curve of those full lips, the heart-shaped face, this was Fox beneath him, Fox was fighting with him like she was fighting for her life. There had been no recognition when their eyes had met, no flash of surprise or joy. The woman beneath him was acting little better than an animal, struggling like a fox in a trap, snapping at everything within range. Heavy guilt coursed through Eric, he’d slammed her head into the floor, and he scrambled off of her, stumbling to his feet.

“R-restrain her.” He barked, chest heaving with a tangled mix of exertion and emotion. Max appeared at his side.

“Is it her?” He asked, shocked.

“Yeah,” Eric muttered, “it’s Fox.”

Fox was lifted to her feet, and she came to life again, struggling madly against the soldier’s grip, but they were expecting it now and cuffs were quickly snapped onto her wrists. Eric turned to Jensen in a rage.

“WHY THE FUCK WASN’T SHE RESTRAINED PROPERLY?!” He roared.

Jensen shuffled nervously, “Eric… it’s Fox.”

“Does that look like Fox?!” Eric growled, throwing an arm in her direction. He could have hurt her, seriously wounded her just now, and that could have been avoided if she’d been restrained from the start.

“Get her out of here.” Max said tiredly.

The soldiers started towards the doors, pulling a still-fighting Fox between them. She threw her head back, teeth gritted and let loose with a wild scream. Her eyes met Eric’s as he stared at her in shock, and again there was no recognition, only indignant rage. Their gazes held, Fox still fighting the soldiers, not willing to give an inch, until they’d pushed through the doors, cutting off Eric’s view. The thumps and cursing faded and finally Max sighed, turned towards Eric with a resigned frown.

“She doesn’t remember you.” It was a statement, not a question but Eric answered anyway.

“No.”

“They did something to her,” Max observed.

No shit, hovered on the tip of Eric’s tongue, but he held it back. Fox’s long glorious red mane was gone, her hair shaved almost to the skull. Small irregular scars peppered her scalp, as if she’d crashed through a window at some point. She was scrawny, hard and bony, sickly pale. A vertical scar bisected her lips, from the corner of her nose to the point of her chin and a horizontal scar blazed red and fresh just under her left eyebrow. Beyond her physical state however, was the massive difference in her temperament.

There was no trace of the Fox Eric remembered in this new incarnation. The lively spark that had always illuminated her mysterious eyes was now a blazing furnace of hate. The gentle curve of her generous lips was now a defiant snarl. The latent strength and feline grace of her athletic body was now the wiry might of desperation, an animal willing to do anything to survive. The only part of her that was the same was the ‘E’ tattoo on the back of her neck, the one that had tipped Jensen off; Fox had surprised Eric with the tattoo just a few days before they’d become engaged, a proud brand of his possession of her on her flesh. It matched the ‘F’ Eric had inked over his heart, to strengthen his soul and resolve, in the first week of Fox’s disappearance.

Eric drew in a deep breath, exhaled raggedly.

“What the fuck are we going to do Max?” He mumbled.

[dragonandtiger]

Digimon 00 - Fragments - 32

The rhythmic clicking of keys and mouse were the only things to break up the monotonous silence in the bedroom, aside from the occasional weary sigh. Ryo tried not to look back at his bed, where Wormmon lay sprawled on his back, staring at the clock. The books, snacks, and portable gaming system Ryo had given him to entertain himself lay scattered around him, now ignored in favor of watching time pass.

Ryo glanced at his computer clock to verify the time and let out a chuckle that was far too forced for his taste. “I know you’re excited, Wormmon, but the cherry blossoms will still be there even if we have to wait an extra hour.”

“I know,” Wormmon muttered as he focused intently at the long hand of the clock as it diligently ticked to the next minute. “Ken-chan is only late because he must be spending time with his family. Maybe things are getting better between them and they’re all doing something fun.”

Ryo could practically hear Wormmon’s unspoken “without me” at the end. He tried his best to remain optimistic, however, and flashed the Digimon a smile. “Yeah, that’s probably it. Maybe Ken and Osamu are playing a video game together.”

Wormmon nodded with a quiet hum. “Yeah… I hope Ken-chan is having fun.” An awkward silence settled in until the minute hand moved forward one more small increment. “Though, I hope Ken-chan will get here soon too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ryo said, swiveling in his chair to fully face Wormmon. “Hey, you know what’d help us pass the time while we wait? A nice game of-”

The laptop monitor suddenly flared with a golden light, outshining the sun spilling in from the windows outside. Ryo jerked back with a cry of alarm and shielded his eyes while Wormmon rushed forward blindly to defend his friend. Ryo barely had a moment of deja vu before the light engulfed them both.

When the light was gone, the room was empty, and the laptop shut down completely.

---

While the room was officially stated to belong to both Osamu and Ken, there was an unspoken understanding that it was Osamu’s room first and foremost. When the eldest Ichijouji needed to study, it went without saying that Ken was to vacate the room and make himself as scarce as possible so as to not bother Osamu in his important work.

The fact that Osamu was always studying was irrelevant.

Osamu typed away at the computer, his eyes focused intently on the screen. He ignored everything else, his attention entirely devoted to his work. He was so focused that, when the screen suddenly shifted to the face of an unfamiliar blond-haired man with angelic wings, it completely disrupted both his train of thought and his balance, causing the eldest Ichijouji child to cry out as he fell backwards right out of his chair and onto the floor, taking his keyboard with him.

“Ken!” Higashi said, desperately. “Ken, are you there?”

“What the hell!?” Osamu shouted, gawking at the angel on his computer screen.

Higashi stared down at Osamu, then furrowed his brow before he craned his neck to look for the younger Ichijouji. He hesitated, before finally addressing the only child before him. “Is Ken not home?”

“Who the hell are you!?” Osamu sputtered, pointing at Higashi. “And how the hell did you hack into my computer!?”

Higashi hesitated before he glanced off screen, his expression uneasy. After a moment of deliberation, he sighed heavily and returned his attention to Osamu. “I am Higashi. I am… a Digimon, and a friend of your younger brother.”

Osamu was on his feet in an instant, quaking with rage. “You!”

Higashi didn’t bother to hide his exasperation, as Osamu reacted precisely as he expected. “So you will not tell me where Ken is? Or do you simply not know?”

Osamu clenched his fists so tight that his fingernails bit into his skin. “Why the hell do you want Ken so badly? Go target some other kid who doesn’t know any better and leave my brother alone!”

Higashi looked at Osamu in silence for several moments, then sighed. “I’m sorry, but I really don’t have time for this. If Ken isn’t there, I need to find him.”

“For what?” Osamu demanded. “To throw him at monsters? To put him in another coma? To shove more lies down his throat that he’s some sort of ‘hero’?! He can’t even stand up to kids his own age, and you’re feeding him anime garbage about being some sort of chosen one who’ll save the world!”

Higashi grimaced and was about to retort when a pen-click interrupted him. He turned to his side and stared as Zennyu suddenly took over the screen, glaring hard at Osamu.

“Considering your world will be destroyed if we don’t reach him, I would say that qualifies him as a hero - as a Chosen Child.” Zennyu said, his tone sharp. “Your lack of faith in him is your issue, and yours alone.”

Though taken aback by the appearance of the darker, much more intimidating angel, Osamu continued to glare at the screen. The words stung, especially in the wake of the rift that had grown between him and Ken, but he shook them off as the manipulations of a kidnapper with sinister intent. “Why the hell should I believe either of you?”

Zennyu clicked his pen and a small screen suddenly appeared in the corner of the monitor, like a video feed. In it, Osamu saw a strange white void filled with what appeared to be metal beams jutting out in all directions, like a chaotic construction zone. In that void, several creatures fought one another - a large spindly beast that looked like a demonic marionette against four combatants. At that moment, a small orange dinosaur and furred beast-like dinosaur were glowing with light just as the screen settled on them.

“If you do not believe words, then will you believe your own eyes?” Zennyu asked, his words cutting. He didn’t bother to wait for a response. “An enemy has invaded your world and is currently wreaking havoc. They are targeting the other Chosen Children and has already leaked their information all across the world. They have hijacked nearly all electronic devices in your city - crippling your ability to communicate. If nothing is done, then you, and everyone you deem important, are at risk of death.”

Osamu stared at the screen, as the angel’s words faded into nothing more than background noise. Instead, he was focused on the way the smaller of the creatures began to glow before changing. Before his very eyes, the diminutive dinosaur and beast were gone and in their place were two behemoths - a cybernetic wolf and a humanoid dinosaur covered in armor.

Realization dawned, and with it a sick feeling within the pit of his stomach. His impression of Wormmon had been that these ‘Digimon’ were actually quite small, manageable. The greatest threat seemed to be from their manipulation and the magical attack abilities Ken described to him. Their transformations added a whole new variable he hadn’t been expecting. This was only confirmed by the presence of two more small creatures - a beetle and flying hamster-pig hybrid - underwent their own metamorphosis into larger, far more imposing monsters.

Digimon might have started out small and diminutive, but could change their forms, becoming horrific beasts. If this ability was a common trait for these creatures, then there was little doubt that the insect that Ken claimed to be his partner had it as well. Visions of a massive centipede rampaging through the city filled Osamu’s mind, making his blood run cold.

“T-this is…” Osamu muttered.

“The other Chosen Children are currently fighting the enemy responsible, but they’re in dire need of assistance,” Higashi said as he shoved his head back in to view, brushing up against Zennyu in the process. “We need Ken to find Keiko so she may help them.” He then grimaced. “We can’t do it ourselves. She is currently away from all electronics, making it impossible for us to reach her.”

When Osamu didn’t immediately respond, the two angels glanced at each other. They shared a long look before returning their attention to the human child as he gaped at the screen, the fight continuing onward before his very eyes.

“Osamu?” Higashi asked, tentatively. “Are you listening?”

“M-monsters…,” Osamu said, his voice hoarse. “You really are monsters!”

Zennyu fixed Osamu with a deadpan stare before he gave a click of his pen.

Higashi furrowed his brow, then let out a resigned sigh. He didn’t verbally respond, instead immediately cutting the communication and reverting Osamu’s screen back the way it was before, save for the live video feed that continued to stream the fight in the corner. While they had no doubt made things more difficult for Ken in their attempts to appeal to his brother, they didn’t have time to concern themselves over it. They were rapidly running out of time.

Osamu slumped in his chair as he continued to watch the fight after the angels left him alone, moving only to enlarge the window to get a better view of the madness. As the demonic marionette abused and tormented the other Digimon, completely pulverizing two of them, all he could think of was Wormmon - the creature that had wormed its way into Ken’s life, and heart.

“I should have killed it when I had the chance…,” Osamu muttered.

---

Ken did his best to keep his expression neutral, trying not to show the irritation that he felt. He shifted weight between his legs, his hands holding two grocery bags apiece filled with food and whatever items his mother had dragged him out to buy. The fact that he was late to meet up with his friends because of her loitering only added salt to the wound.

If it had been just the trip itself, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But unfortunately, it was never that easy - not when there was gossip to be had.

Yui stood in a small circle of housewives, giggling at the latest bit of scandalous information. “He didn’t!”

“It’s true, I swear!” one wife said. “An entire box right under their bed! Can you believe it?”

“I can’t believe she never noticed,” Yui said, covering her mouth.

Another wife gave a shifty sideways look. “Well, if you ask me, it’s not surprising after hearing her complain so much about his performance the past couple years.”

Ken rolled his eyes before he let out a heavy sigh. It seemed that, like always, his mother forgot he was even there. But then, he may as well not have been for all she cared.

“Oh my God!”

Ken blinked as the horrified cry was enough to finally snap him at attention. He looked up, as did his mother and her gossiping friends, and glanced about in search of the person who had shouted. He immediately saw a large group of people staring off in the distance in varying degrees of hysteria and terror. Panic sparked inside of him as he quickly glanced about before looking up in to the sky, just in time to see a massive missile surging downward towards the center of the Tokyo Bay.

Ken gaped at the scene, his expression going blank as the bags of groceries fell from his limp fingers.

---

The dropping of the nuclear bomb was a horror witnessed in many in the nearby districts of Tokyo, including a small family playing in the outdoor heated pool at the Ryuzaki estate. Keiko stood at the edge of the pool, halfway up the ladder, completely drenched and wearing a simple dark patterned bathing suit as she stared at the sky, utterly aghast.

Nearby, Nyamon mirrored the expression on her face as she sat on a beach chair out of the water’s range. Slowly, her black sunglasses slid down her face before falling off entirely, landing on her lap.

Jin stood in the pool, the water coming up to his waist. He held a beach ball as if in mid-throw before he had come to an abrupt stop. Slowly, the beach ball fell from his frozen hands and landed on the water with a soft ‘plop’.

Keiko had only been frozen for the span of three heartbeats before she was out of the pool, racing along the paved path towards the house, past the shallow end of the pool where her brother’s wife Mina, a brunette with sharp almond eyes, sat with her little niece Sakura, staring at where the bomb fell. The black-haired, red-eyed toddler was the only one not on edge, giggling and splashing about.

“Buh bye Kei-Kei!” Sakura chirped as she waved at Keiko and then Nyamon who raced after her partner. “Buh bye Nya-Nya!”

Jin recovered at the sound of his daughter and whirled to stare after the Chosen of Darkness as she disappeared into the mansion. “Kei-”

Keiko was far too fast for her elder brother, as she promptly gated into the Digital World the moment she came within reach of an electronic device. The screen of the television flashed and, with a burst of black energy, she and Nyamon were gone.

---

Keiko was the first of the trio to arrive in the Digital World, appearing in the temple of Darkness. Upon arriving, her bathing suit was immediately replaced with her typical dress as she instantly became dry. She took no more than two steps before she felt a pair of arms wrap around her in a hug from behind.

Without even needing to look, she knew whose arms held her in a death vice - it was none other than Narakumon in his more “human” form. Though silent, his trembling arms spoke volumes of what he felt, as he buried his face in the back of her hair.

Keiko returned the embrace as best she could just as Tenraimon joined in. “I’m okay, Papa… Mama. What happened?”

Tenraimon leaned back to stroke Keiko’s hair while Narakumon continued to hug the little girl. Her smile turned sad before it faded into a grim mask. “A nuclear missile was dropped in Tokyo. Fortunately, it was disarmed before it could detonate, but, regardless, a Digimon tried to eliminate you, as well as the rest of the Chosen Children in your world.”

Keiko felt her blood run cold as Narakumon’s grip on her tightened, as though he was terrified she might disappear at any moment. “Millenniumon?”

“We suspect it might be another of his puppets, yes,” Tenraimon said quietly as she clasped her hands together around her adoptive daughter. “The Chosen of Courage and Friendship, with the help of others, managed to delete the culprit, Diablomon, but we fear the threat isn’t over.”

“Ryo and Wormmon are currently trapped, in a place you know as Turkey,” Narakumon finally murmured, his voice quiet. “He is unable to gate in, which prevented him from assisting.” He paused, lifting his head slightly. “We need you to break the seal so he may return home.”

“A seal?” Keiko repeated. “Is it made of Darkness? Is that why Ryo can’t break it himself?”

“Actually, it’s made from Miracles,” Tenraimon said. “It would seem Millenniumon is learning how to use Ryo’s own crest against him…”

“What?” Keiko stared at Tenraimon in confusion before she turned to Narakumon, which was a touch difficult due to how her adoptive parents held her so close. “Papa, why didn’t you just tell me yourself? You don’t need a computer to talk to me any time.”

Narakumon responded by tightening his grip around Keiko, wordlessly.

Tenraimon sighed and slid her hand up to gently stroke Narakumon’s cheek. “He tried. Just as I tried to speak to my Chosen Child, Hikari. It would seem that… Millenniumon has learned how to use Ryo’s crest against us as well.”

Nyamon’s eyes went wide as her ears canted back. “What!? But Miracles is weak to Darkness!”

“But Miracles also holds domain over the Digital World,” Tenraimon said, quietly. “Just as I hold domain over the Light World and Narakumon over the Dark World.” At Keiko’s blank stare, Tenraimon’s expression grew strained. “He… disconnected our worlds, trapping us out of the Digital World, and thus the real world. Think of it like taking a server offline. Narakumon’s power cannot overwhelm his if he cannot reach him.”

Horror bled into Keiko’s expression as her eyes widened to their utmost. “He… he what?”

“Then… that means...!?” Nyamon struggled for words before she flew her gauntlets out in a wide sweeping gesture. “What do we do!? What can we do!?”

“You’re a Chosen Child,” Narakumon finally spoke, his voice rough. “You… can do anything. He can no more keep you out than I can.”

Keiko straightened up with a jolt of adrenaline, but Narakumon’s embrace still held her fast. “We have to hurry! Tell me how to break the seal! If you two are kept disconnected, then the Digital World…!”

Narakumon gave a sharp nod, his grip like a vice even as his arms trembled.

“Just… just give us one more moment like this, Keiko,” Tenraimon said softly as she pulled closer to Narakumon and Keiko. “Please forgive us for being selfish for just one moment more. We were so close to losing you…”

Keiko hesitated at those words and squeezed her adoptive parents tighter. She wasn’t used to seeing the fear in their eyes; it was unsettling. However, she knew too that they were only afraid because they loved her so much. “Okay, Mama, Papa. I love you.”

“We love you too,” Tenraimon said softly before kissing the crown of Keiko’s head.

A quiet huff escaped Keiko in spite of the loving moment, as she couldn’t stop feeling uneasy about the whole situation. “We’re not going to let this happen to either of you again. I promise. We’re going to train twice as hard after this is all over.”

Nyamon watched the exchange, her expression softening for just a moment before it became hard again and she glared at the ceiling, her ears canted back. “We need to deal with Millenniumon - permanently. This proves that nothing is safe.”

Keiko nodded her agreement. “The fact that he can apparently affect the human world and even manipulate our crests… it’s clear now that he is an enemy that can’t be allowed to live.”

Narakumon grimaced. He glanced up to meet Tenraimon’s gaze, who returned it with a somber expression of dread. Closing his eyes, he lowered his head, and finally forced himself to speak in the low somber tones one would deliver a death sentence. “So it would seem.”

Tenraimon similarly closed her eyes as she bowed her head and took one of Narakumon’s hands in hers as they continued to embrace the daughter they came so dangerously close to losing forever. “For the sake of both worlds.”

---

A nuke. A nuke was dropped on Tokyo.

Osamu couldn’t believe it, but the media was blowing up with the news, speculating and trying to figure out who was responsible. Talking heads wondered if this worldwide hack of the internet was done by a super cyber terrorist group, but he knew the truth with total horrifying clarity.

The fact that Ken had disappeared during the crisis only made the situation that much worse.

Unknown to Osamu, Ken was on his way home, though he was taking his dear time getting there. His head was full of the day’s activities, and he didn’t look forward to the explosion that he fully expected to be waiting for him when he got home. After all, there was always an explosion waiting for him. It was one of the many reasons he decided to gate back with Ryo before making his way home by foot - it allowed him to drop Wormmon off and then delay the inevitable as long as possible.

“They’re probably upset that I took off,” Ken muttered as he slowly walked along the darkened street, his head bowed. And it was true - while his mother was busy gawking with the neighbors at the place the nuke fell, Ken ran to the nearest electronics store and gated out, leaving the groceries all over the ground. There was no way he was going to stand idly by when something so serious happened.

Even if Osamu didn’t think much of him, everyone else said they needed him. And even if he didn’t feel useful himself, he wasn’t going to let them down.

“I can’t believe he’s back. Again,” Ken sighed heavily. While they couldn’t prove it yet, the odds of it being anyone else but Millenniumon were incredibly low. The fact that the culprit was able to interfere with the real world showed just how serious a threat Millenniummon was. It was hard to tell if that was more or less horrifying than the disruption to their means of communication, especially Keiko’s to Narakumon. It was the perfect storm and, if not for the other Chosen Children who managed to defeat Millenniumon’s latest puppet, they would all be dead.

That knowledge made Ken’s stomach churn with fear. Even though the threat had passed, it did little to soften the impact of that revelation.

“Thank goodness Omegamon was able to stop him,” Ken said with a sigh before he looked up at the sky. “Omegamon…”

Ken had to admit, he wished he could have seen the fight. The name itself told him nothing of what kind of Digimon defeated Diablomon, but the creation of Omegamon was what was truly inspiring. Jogress - the ability to merge four hearts together and give birth to a Digimon forged of their bond. Such a being must have been truly incredible. “I wish… I was that strong...”

Ken gave a quick shake of his head, dispelling the negative thought. “We need to stop him!” he said as he reached up to press his hand against his chest. His pulse was still quicker than it should’ve been, as he simply couldn’t calm down. The danger they were in that day came so quick, so unexpected, and it was only a miracle that it didn’t end in utter tragedy. “And we need a way to communicate that he can’t block. There’s got to be something we can do…”

Ideas churned inside Ken’s head, theories quickly discarded and unknown variables lingering as questions he needed to answer before he could go further on that train of thought. The frustrating cycle only came to an abrupt halt when he found himself staring at the nameplate outside the door to his apartment. He hesitated, hand hovering near the doorknob with a grimace twisting his face.

Ken really didn’t want to go home.

It took longer than he liked to gather his nerve before he could finally open the front door. The air felt tense around him, suffocating, and leaving Ken feeling as though he had just stepped into a minefield instead of into the entryway of his home. Even before he got his shoes off, he could hear his mother sobbing from deeper within the apartment. The sound twisted his heart, but he couldn’t shake the cynical thought that going to her side would only result in another round of scolding and yelling.

With a defeated sigh, Ken went to find his mother, as prepared as he could be to face his family.

The rapid sound of footsteps startled Ken, and he barely made it past the kitchen before he came face to face with Osamu, who skidded to a halt before him. The two brothers stared at each other as if frozen, eyes wide. It seemed like forever until one of them moved and Ken was stunned to find that it was Osamu who pulled him into a hug.

“Nukes,” Osamu whispered in a trembling voice. “Digimon have access to nukes!”

Ken blinked repeatedly before he furrowed his brow. “U-um… apparently, yes? If they hack the government...”

Osamu jerked back and Ken was shocked to see his eyes were surprisingly moist. “How can you be so calm about this!? A nuclear bomb almost went off because of them!”

Ken was more than a little disoriented as he found himself compelled to reassure the brother that he had been prepared to argue with not even minutes prior. “I’m not… it’s just something we have to deal with, that’s all.”

“Why!?” Osamu sputtered, bordering on hysterical. “You’re eight! Don’t you see how insane that is sending kids after nukes!? You and everyone else would be dead right now if it went off!”

“We… didn’t know he could do this,” Ken said, his voice quiet. “He’s not supposed to be able to do this.”

“God…” Osamu breathed, rubbing his face to ease some of the tension there, though he kept one arm around Ken. He had to pause to readjust his displaced glasses before resuming the conversation. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Nothing,” Ken said, more to himself than Osamu. “You aren’t supposed to do anything.”

“Nothing,” Osamu repeated, the word an empty echo as he stared at Ken dumbly. “Nothing?” Fear was swift to fill the void of emotion. “You mean all we can do is just sit around and wait for these monsters to bomb us again and see if it actually detonates next time!?”

Ken struggled with how to respond to Osamu, churning the words over and over in his head. He knew his brother wouldn’t be satisfied with his answer, no matter how it was phrased, but it was an unfortunate truth that Osamu needed to hear. “Yes. That’s all you can do. That’s why there are Chosen Children - like the ones who stopped the nuke.”

One look at Osamu’s face was all it took to tell Ken that he had said the wrong thing.

“You ran off to take on a nuke?” Osamu said, the question shaped more like a spear with a jagged tip as it launched at Ken.

Ken blinked. “The nuke was already taken care of.”

“That’s where you were,” Osamu said, growing a tinge more hysterical with each word that tumbled from his mouth. “You ran off to see if you could fight a nuke because of this ‘chosen one’ bullshit!”

Ken’s cheek twitched slightly as his jaw clenched. “Osamu. I was with Mom by the bay when the nuke fell. I watched the nuke actually land in the water! I would have been the first to die! With or without Wormmon!”

Those were the words that hit home. Instantly, Osamu deflated, anger drowning under a tidal wave of fear, and once more Ken found himself caught in his fiercely protective embrace. Tremors ran through his body from the knowledge that if the warhead had been active on the nuke that was dropped on Tokyo, he might have lived long enough to learn how Ken had been instantly vaporized in the explosion.

Unbidden, knowledge came rushing to the forefront of Osamu’s mind - of World War 2, of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, of nuclear radiation and its effects on the human body. All too vividly he recalled photographs of nuclear shadows and bodies that barely qualified as human after radiation ravaged them. All too helpfully, the genius’ brain gave him a vivid picture of what he and his family had nearly experienced, what had been so narrowly avoided. All his studies came back to bite him, taunt him with the knowledge he had learned.

Osamu wanted to throw up.

Ken watched the turmoil in his brother’s face and his heart panged in sympathy, as it was something he himself was trying desperately not to think about. Instead, he reached up to awkwardly rub his brother’s back in what he hoped was reassurance. The fact that he was reassuring the very person he was still fighting with only added to the awkwardness.

“There you are!” Haruto bellowed, startling the two boys as he stomped towards them. “Ken! Do you have any idea how worried you made us? Your mother has been crying ever since you disappeared on her! And you’ve been scaring Osamu to death!”

Ken jumped at the sudden appearance of his father and stared over Osamu’s shoulder, wordlessly. There really wasn’t anything he could respond with, after all.

Haruto glared down at Ken. “You better not have run off to play with those monsters again! I swear, if they had anything to do with this…”

Ken said nothing once again. He didn’t want to lie and he preferred to not to say anything at all if he had an option for it.

Unfortunately, Haruto didn’t take the silence well, his anger growing by the second. “Where were you?! Answer me!”

Ken hesitated before he went for the safest truth. “I went to check on Ryo.”

“You what?” Haruto sputtered. “You ran off to play with your friends and didn’t say a word to your mother first?! Do you know how hysterical she’s been since you disappeared! It’s only because of Osamu that we haven’t called the police to look for you by now!”

Ken wanted to correct his father about ‘playing’ with Ryo, but knew no good would come from it. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and hoped his father would drop the matter after enough scolding.

Haruto’s lip curled up at the corner, and he pointed down the hall with a quaking finger. “You march your butt right in there and beg your mother for forgiveness for being such an ungrateful son! Then you go to your room and say goodbye to your friends! You’re grounded!”

Ken felt a flare of anger flicker inside of him, a flame that threatened to burn through him and unleash hell upon his stubborn kin, but he did his best to suppress it. If apologizing to his mother was all it took to make peace between them, he’d do that for the sake of getting the matter over with. He didn’t care about being grounded or his father’s ultimatum, as he knew neither would ever pay attention to him long enough to enforce it. After all, it was the same thing they had said after the fight over Wormmon, too.

Rather than cause strife, Ken pulled away from his brother to do as he had been told, only to be startled as Osamu resisted and reaffirmed the hold on him. Surprised, he turned a questioning gaze back to his brother. “Osamu?”

“You…” Osamu’s voice shook, muffled against Ken’s shoulder. He paused only to strengthen it and speak just loud enough for their father to hear him. “Ken almost died today.”

Haruto went silent. After a long moment, his hand fell to his side, and he let out a huff of air, deflating like a balloon. “Just go apologize to your mother for running off, Ken,” he eventually said, still gruff but with far less bite to his tone. “She’s been worried sick about you disappearing like that and won’t calm down until she sees you’re okay.”

Ken was taken aback by the sudden change, but relieved all the same, before he gave a small nod.

It took a little time and patience, but eventually he managed to coax Osamu into letting him go. However, as he made his way to the living room, his brother wasn’t far behind. For the rest of the night, Osamu was his shadow, scarcely saying a word until long after an exceedingly awkward dinner when the two of them retired to their room.

“Ken?” Osamu said, startling Ken as the younger boy into pausing with a foot on the first rung of the ladder to their bunk bed. “Do you mind if we stay up a little longer?” He hesitated a moment. “We could play that game I gave you if you want. I’ll even be player two.”

Ken blinked at that before he nodded, taken aback by such an offer. He couldn’t remember the last time Osamu acquiesced the first player position. “Okay, Osamu. I don’t mind. I… really don’t feel like sleeping right now, either.”

For the first time that day, Osamu finally smiled, though it was shadowed by eyes still haunted by the fears of what might had been. He doubted that he could ever sleep well again - not as long as they lived in a world where monsters had free reign to kill whoever and whenever they pleased.

[pokeasleepingsmaug]

Slow Hands

A modern Ubbe AU where the reader manages an equine sanctuary and Ubbe is the new farrier. Because let’s face it, dudes and horses..... It just WORKS. Plus I feel it’s a job Ubbe would enjoy, working with his hands and with animals all the time. It just feels right to me.

Trigger warnings: mention of animal abuse/neglect. Very mild nsfw.

Word Count: 3, 996

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11570421

Finding a farrier was always such a pain, and of course as soon as the horses had gotten familiar with John, he'd thrown his back out. “Don't worry, I'm sending my apprentice. He's great with horses, good hands, calm voice. Even yours will be alright with him, I promise.”  You were the assistant manager of an equine sanctuary that about fifty horses, ponies, mules and donkeys, all rescued from various forms of abuse or neglect, called home. Needless to say, there were some pretty severe.... issues that some of the horses had. You were about to protest, but he must have read your mind. “Shari met him last week. Loved him. I brought him to the sanctuary to help me with Ruby's shoes. Wanted to see what he thought. He helped me design them. Shari said they're helping?” His question was pointed.

You sighed, hating to admit defeat. “Yeah, they are. A lot, actually.”

“Ubbe will be there at one. You're the last appointment of the day, you guys usually take a whole afternoon.”

“Ubbe?” You sputtered, still looking for an excuse not to like him. “What kind of name is that?”

“He's from Sweden,” John explained. “Just give him a chance, okay? He's good, I taught him myself.”

“Fine,” you sighed. John chuckled before saying goodbye, and you hung up with another sigh. It was noon, and a dozen horses were scheduled to get their hooves taken care of today. Only Ruby would need shoes. Most of the horses at the sanctuary went without them unless they had a medical reason for them, like Ruby. Even an apprentice should be able to trim hooves, but it would still be a long afternoon. You went to start bringing in the horses.

...

You stood in the barn doorway, arms crossed, watching the green truck rumble slowly up the driveway. You'd given the horses a quick once-over with a soft brush, knocking the worst of the dust off them, and spending time with them had calmed your annoyance. Not even an apprentice farrier could shake your good mood now, you told yourself. The truck parked, and as the man climbed out of it, the breath left you in a rush. He was tall and handsome, even with his hair pulled back in a long braid. You didn't usually like long hair on guys, but on him, it worked. He grabbed a toolbox out of the bed of the truck before starting toward the barn with a long, easy stride.

He smiled as he saw you leaning against the door and stretched his right hand out to you. It was strong and calloused, but his grip was gentle as he shook your hand. “I'm Ubbe. You must be Y/n. John said to find you.” His voice was lightly accented, giving it an almost musical quality that put you immediately at ease. No wonder he was good with horses, with a voice like that.

“Yeah, come on in. John said you met Ruby before?” You asked, leading him to Ruby's stall. The little chestnut mare stuck her head over the half-door, greeting you with a gentle headbutt. You laughed and kissed between her eyes, grabbing her halter and slipping inside the stall. You led her out into the aisle.

“Ah, I remember you, sweet girl. Let's have a look at those shoes, hmm?” Ubbe crooned, voice soft and low. Ruby whickered, the quiet, affectionate noise horses reserved for people they trusted. You felt a pang of jealousy; you'd had to work hard for the old mare's affection. Ubbe stroked her silky neck before bending down, sliding his hand down her shoulder and leg, stopping at her hoof and applying a little pressure. Ruby lifted her hoof slowly, and you craned your neck to try to see. Stupid Ubbe and his broad back. You could see the definition of his muscles through the thin blue t-shirt he wore, and mentally slapped yourself into focusing on Ruby. It was hard though, with him bent over like that. You noted he had a nice butt before mentally scolding yourself again.

“This one looks good, and her hoof isn't long enough to need a trim yet. John only put these on her a couple weeks ago, he just wanted me to check on her. I'll look at her other hooves and then would you walk her for me, maybe a little trot, just to see how she's moving?”

“Sure,” you agreed, working hard to keep the approval out of your voice.

Ubbe raised his eyebrows at you as he straightened, moving to the hind hoof. “John said you would be hard to win over.” A slow, lazy smile spread over his handsome face, and you had to work hard to not just agree with him.

“I am not!” You disagreed, maybe a little too forcefully.

He laughed, picking up the hoof to inspect it. “Mmm, of course not. It's not a bad thing to be protective of these horses.” He stood and walked to Ruby's other side, trailing a hand above her tail to let her know he was still there, keep her from spooking. He finished checking Ruby's hooves in silence, nodding in approval. He fondly patted her shoulder. “Her hooves look great and the shoes don't need to be adjusted. Can you walk her for me?”

You led Ruby to the little grassy area outside the barn. You led her away from Ubbe so he could watch her hind legs, then toward him so he could watch her front legs. “The walk looks great,” he called. “Can she trot?”

“I've seen her trot in her field,” you answered, coaxing the chestnut into a trot. She obeyed, and you could swear you felt eyes on your ass as you jogged alongside her. You scolded yourself. He was here to take care of the horses, not to flirt with you. You turned Ruby and caught Ubbe smiling a little to himself, but his eyes were firmly on the mare, not you. You slowed her to a walk, and she heaved a longing sigh in the direction of the grass. “If she's good, I'm going to turn her out before I grab Gunner for you.”

“Of course.” Ubbe waved you off, pulling a water bottle from his toolbox. You turned Ruby into her field and jogged back. He was in the barn when you returned, chattering idly at Romeo in his stall.

“He bites,” you warned.

“Don't sound so much like you're hoping he already bit me,” Ubbe laughed. You didn't dignify that with a response, only brought Gunner out into the aisle to get his hooves trimmed. Ubbe grabbed the clippers from his toolbox. You tried to ignore the perfect shape of his butt and upper strong upper thighs, the broad expanse of his muscular back and the way his damp t-shirt clung to his skin, but you were finding it harder and harder to dislike him. His voice was soothing as a lullaby, his manner steady and calm. He finished trimming Gunner's hooves quickly, and the two of you passed the afternoon in companionable ease as he took care of the rest of the horses.

He straightened, stretching his back out, as you led Romeo back to his stall. “There should be one more, right?”

You nodded, settling Romeo in. “Yeah, just Bucky.” You sighed. “I really wanted John to take care of him, but...” you trailed off, shrugging. “You've done fine with the rest so far.”

Ubbe laughed. “Thanks for the resounding approval. Bring him out.”

“It's never that easy with Bucky. He's only been here about a week. He's in the quarantine barn. We put all the new ones there until we're sure they don't have anything contagious.” You explained, leading him out. The quarantine barn was only a short walk from the main barn. It was much smaller, only two large box stalls and a small feed room. You changed into the muck boots sitting just inside the door. Everyone had to change their shoes when leaving the quarantine barn, in case there was parasites in the manure. “Here,  John leaves an extra pair of boots here just in case,” you explained, motioning to them. Ubbe changed into them quickly, then followed you into the barn.

It was light and airy, all the doors and windows open. Bucky was out in the small, grassy turn-out area that his stall opened into, and from there he could see some other horses in their field so he wouldn't feel lonely. At night you brought one of the goats into the barn to keep him company. You opened the stall door, halter in hand, crooning Bucky's name.

He charged in through the field door, ears pinned and teeth flashing as he snapped. You backed quickly out of the stall, murmuring softly, explaining, “he wasn't handled too much and he hates being in the barn. He was locked in a stall for most of his life, it's why he's so small. Stunted his growth.” You were used to the sight of Bucky by now, but he'd shocked even you at first: emaciated, rough coat and ragged mane, hooves so long he could barely hobble. With a few good meals in him and his hooves trimmed last week by John, he'd gotten some life back into him. All that meant, though, was that now he had the strength to protect himself from the perceived danger that was humans.

“Would he be more comfortable in his paddock?” Ubbe asked.

“Probably,” you admitted. He followed you outside. You easily climbed the fence, again swearing you felt eyes on you, and again telling yourself you were crazy. Bucky snorted as the two of you landed in his paddock, but he made no move to charge you this time. He was smaller than he should have been, still too skinny, but he had some fire in his eyes now. He stood tense on his cracked, overgrown hooves, eyeing the two of you with head held high and nostrils flared. “Bucky,” you called out softly, starting toward him. One slow step at a time, murmuring softly the whole way, you finally made it to his side. You kept the halter on him, since he was hard to catch, so you just snapped the lead rope on it.

“Good boy, bud,” you praised, gently scratching his shoulder. He huffed, still uneasy, but allowed the touch. He followed you slowly, still nervous. He snorted and planted his overgrown hooves in the grass when you got close to Ubbe, refusing to budge another step.

“Easy now, big fella,” Ubbe intoned in his soothing, melodious voice. Bucky tossed his head a little. “I'm going to help you feel better so you can go play in the fields and make new friends.” He held out one hand, Bucky whuffed his palm, cautious, distrusting. “That's it, that's it, steady now, friend.” He slowly reached up to stroke between Bucky's eyes. He flinched only a little.

Ubbe slowly bent down, setting down his toolbox and grabbing his clippers. He walked to Bucky's side, singing in that calm voice of his, in a pretty language that you assumed was Swedish. He laid one soft hand on Bucky's shoulder and left it there, motionless, continuing to sing, as he waited for the little gelding to stop trembling. With a heavy sigh, Bucky dropped his head ever so slightly. Ubbe slid his hand down Bucky's leg and applied pressure at the top of the hoof, clucking his tongue once. Bucky hesitated and Ubbe waited, patient, until the horse decided to lift his hoof.

Finally he did with a big sigh, and Ubbe placed the hoof between his knees to hold it and went to work with his clippers. He worked slower on Bucky than any of the other horses, singing in that language the whole time. He finished with the first hoof and set it on the ground. He moved to the rear hoof, still singing. Bucky swung his head around to watch him, ears pinned, suddenly tense. “Bucky,” you warned, voice a little firmer than normal as you tugged gently on the lead rope, asking him to turn to face you. That was when he decided he'd had enough.

Bucky lunged, pulling his hoof from between Ubbe's knees. He reared up onto his hind legs, tugging the rope from your hands as you dodged his swinging hooves. One glanced off your arm as you jumped back, scanning for Ubbe. He'd been knocked over but seemed to have rolled out of the way. He'd jumped up into a crouch. Deciding he was free now, Bucky turned and ran to the other side of the paddock, tail streaming behind him. He huddled against the far fence, quivering.

You sighed, rubbing your arm as Ubbe walked over to you. “Did he get you?”

“He got my arm a little, not bad though. You?”

Ubbe rubbed his jaw, you could already see the beginning of what would be a deep purple bruise blossoming under his skin. “He cracked me with his leg.” He shook his head ruefully, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “And I bit the inside of my cheek.”

“Alright, let me get the lead rope off him. Do you have time to come back tomorrow? I can get the vet to come and give him a tranquilizer. Shari wanted to see how he would do without one.”

Ubbe nodded. “I have some time in the morning.”

“Thank you. Once I get the rope off him, I'll take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” Ubbe asked, but you were already walking slowly to the shaking horse.

It had taken nearly twenty minutes and a handful of apple slices to get close enough to Bucky to take the lead rope off. “Come on,” you motioned to Ubbe after changing into your other boots. “I have a first aid kit in my apartment.” You lead him over to the main barn and up the back staircase hidden in the corner of the feed room. Your small apartment was above the feed room and part of the barn, making it easy for you to check on the horses before bed. More than once, you'd flown down the stairs in the middle of the night, roused by shrill whinnies or hooves thudding against wooden walls.

“Have a seat,” you instructed Ubbe, motioning to the couch in the small living room. He sat obediently as you walked into the kitchen first and grabbed two water bottles from the fridge. You tossed one to him as you walked into the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. You settled yourself on the couch beside Ubbe, opening the small plastic kit on your lap. “Open up,” you instructed.

He raised his brows at you. “I am not one of your horses, Y/n.”

“No, if you were, you would have listened by now,” you retorted. He laughed, opening his mouth. This close, you couldn't help but notice how white and even his teeth were—no wonder he had such a charming smile. He pulled his lower lip back so you could see the bite mark, and you hissed at the sight of it. “That must sting.”

“It doesn't tickle,” he agreed mildly as you dabbed at it with gauze. There wasn't too much you could do for it, given the placement of it. You inspected the bruise on his jaw, shaking your head.

“I'm sorry,” you sighed. “He'll be sedated tomorrow. I can probably get the vet here by nine.”

“Then I'll be here at nine.” He grinned at you. “It's an occupational hazard, don't worry about it.” He caught your wrist in his big, warm hand and pulled it closer to him, peering intently down at your arm. “I thought you said he just glanced you,” he accused, prodding it gently with his long, blunt fingers. You flinched. “It's alright,” he soothed automatically, like you were a nervous horse. “It's not so bad. Nasty bruise, though.”

He looked up at you through his long lashes, blue eyes unexpectedly tender. You tilted your head at him, questioning, and with a small smile he planted the gentlest of kisses in the center of the bruise covering your forearm. You drew your breath in, surprised. Maybe you hadn't been imagining his eyes on you earlier. Stunned into stupidity, the only thing you could think to say was, “the horses liked you. Usually their trust is harder to earn.”

Ubbe laughed, drawing a hot blush up your cheeks as you cursed yourself. Smooth like chunky peanut butter. “I bet they're not the only ones around here that don't trust easily.” His blue eyes were warm, and he turned the full force of his gaze to you. He tilted his wrist to look at his watch. He still hadn't let go of your arm, and he squeezed it gently. “It's almost six-thirty. May I take you somewhere for dinner, Y/n?”

“Why don't we get delivery and stay here? I have a bottle of wine,” you offered, suddenly bold. His eyes practically shot fire as they met yours, and he nodded. You quickly ordered Chinese from the place in town and settled back onto the couch, glasses of cheap merlot in hand. “So John said you're from Sweden?” you asked, taking a sip. You could feel it settling warm into your belly, and knew you'd feel it quickly. You hadn't eaten anything since before bringing the horses in for Ubbe, and a day in the sun made you relaxed and happy.

“I moved here as a child, with my mother and brothers,” he told you. “After our father ran off. She thought a change of scenery would be good for us.”

“Was it?” you asked, aware of how rude the question was. You were too intrigued not to know.

He nodded. “It was. My youngest brother, Ivar, he's in a wheelchair. Mom put him in therapeutic riding when we moved here. That's how I discovered my love for horses, and because of that I'm drinking wine with a beautiful woman.” He smiled, winking at you, as he lifted the glass toward you in a mock toast. You couldn't help but admire his hands—broad palms and long fingers, callouses at their base. You wondered how those hands would feel on your skin.

Ubbe must have read your mind, sliding his palms up your arms, raising goosebumps in their wake. The doorbell rang and you hastily jumped to answer it. You carried the bag of food back over to Ubbe, twirling his wineglass in his strong, graceful fingers. “Dinner's here,” you announced unnecessarily.

“I'm hungry for something besides Chinese, Y/n,” he said, voice practically a low growl washing over your skin. “Come here.” It was a gentle command, but one you were glad to obey as he opened his arms. He pulled you unceremoniously onto his lap, kissing you. His mouth was gentle and slow as his hands, rubbing circles on your back, and you melted into his touch. You parted your lips beneath his and his tongue slid into your mouth. He tasted of red wine and fresh air, his skin smelled faintly of leather and horses. In a word, he was intoxicating. Your hands moved to his head, fingers untangling the long braid and setting his hair free around his shoulders. It was almost as long as yours, wavy and dark blond, and you ran your fingers slowly through it. It was like silk in your hands, and seized by a sudden impulse, you pulled it roughly.

He groaned into your mouth, hands tightening in the fabric of your shirt. “If you do that again I can't be held responsible for what happens,” he warned lightly, moving his hands from your back to your hair and freeing it from the ponytail. He tugged lightly on it and you kissed him again, harder this time. You leaned back against the couch, using Ubbe's long, silky hair to pull him down on top of you.

Those slow hands of his all over you, sliding up your stomach and chest to pull your shirt over your head. He took his hands in yours and guided them up his body. You moaned at the feel of his hard abs beneath your hands, the shock of hair in the middle of his chest, before pulling his shirt over his head. You slid your hands down his shoulders to play with his chest hair for a few seconds before running your hands back down his abs and over his sides.

His hands were busy, too, and your bra sprang open at his touch. He tossed it to the side before wrapping his big hands around your breasts. He teased them for a bit before his wandering hands found their way to the waistband of your jeans. He unbuttoned them but left them on for now, stroking down below the waistband of your panties with one finger. “Your skin here is so soft,” he told you, nuzzling into your neck. “I could stroke it all night.”

“I hope you decide to put your hands to better use than that,” you laughed. He grinned, the corners of his blue eyes crinkling.

“Your wish is my command.” And with that, he yanked your pants and underwear down in one quick jerk. The sudden rush of air at your already wet core had you practically panting, but his usually slow hands were quick to take their place there. “But since you specifically requested my hands, I don't think you're getting anything but them tonight.”

You palmed his cock through his jeans and he ground himself against you, gasping. “Not even this?” Desire was plain in your voice.

He shook his head. “Not even that. Not until you let me take you on an actual date. I have my virtue to look after,” he teased, one finger lightly flicking your clit. You bucked at the touch, and he grinned down at you. You unbuttoned his jeans and reached into his boxers, wrapping your hands around his thick girth.

“Why bother taking my pants off then?” you asked, pouting, as you began to slowly stroke him up and down.

“Makes it easier. I make a living with my hands, and I want you to understand just how good they really are.” He dipped one finger slowly into your entrance, hooking it to hit a spot that made you moan. He pumped his finger experimentally into you a few times fore adding a second, his thumb caressing gently over your bud. He was right, his hands were good. Deliberate and thoughtful, those slow hands had you calling out his name in almost no time. Ubbe was attentive, watching your reactions to discern what you liked.

Your grip tightened on his cock, still stroking him, marveling at the length and width of him, as he changed the pace of his fingers. They quickened just a little, still curving within you to hit that sweet spot he'd discovered. One of his hands gently slapped your ass and you came apart, writhing beneath the power of Ubbe's slow hands. You could feel him shuddering over you, the warmth and stickiness of his cum as his manhood twitched in your hands.

You looked up at him, surprised. “I didn't think I would make you cum just from that.”

He rested his forehead against yours, meeting your eyes with a smile. “Hearing a woman moan for him does powerful things to a man.” He slid his fingers slowly from you and brought them to his mouth. He sucked on them, eyes rolling back in his head as he sighed in satisfaction. “Way better than Chinese food.”