#get me a new hip bone for less than a million and call it okay lol

[kalee60]

Wondering if you have any thoughts about beefy bucky? And maybe any thoughts about any thoughts that Steve might have about beefy bucky? For a cheeky anon 👉👈

Hoo boy Cheeky Nonnie... Do I have some thots about this??

*ahem - clears throat as it's a little thick for some reason... err - yes, yes I do... Many in fact...

Just to clarify - you mean...

Or even...

I thought so...

Oh - Cheeky anon - you are speaking my language! So I had set out to tell you my thoughts about Beefy Bucky...but Steve came screaming into the room, panting and excited, a light shining in his eyes and suddenly it was all about him... maybe one day I’ll get my say...

This got away from me slightly - hope you enjoy Nonnie! 😘

~*~*~*~*~

Steve tried to not stare, tried to be respectful like his ma taught him, tried to be the responsible adult, hero that he was. He was the paragon for truth, the beacon of all that was good, but all that ran through his head as he looked at his best friend, his semi-recently unbrainwashed best friend, was Bucky’s large frame manhandling him to the bed and doing unspeakable acts on Steve’s body.

He was past caring what these acts might be, he’d be open to anything, try anything - not having had much experience due to time or inclination. But as he sat in the mission brief and watched Bucky playing with a pencil, unintentionally snapping it between his chunky fingers, looking around sheepishly in case someone told him off for breaking SHIELD property - Steve thought about those meaty fingers wrapped around a specific part of his anatomy. A part he knew couldn’t snap off (he’d tried when jerking off - not intentionally, but sometimes he twitched hard in the heat of the moment - and he had super strength after all).

From Steve’s vantage point, a few yards behind Bucky’s immensely broad shoulders, he found his breaths coming in quicker, wondering how it would feel to be picked up and slammed into a hard surface by Bucky, to have all that unrestrained strength pushing him - up against his body. Steve shivered, knowing that, yes, Tony and Thor and the others with the use of their powers or suits could pin Steve for a few seconds - but Bucky - he’d had a similar serum as Steve and it gave him thoughts. 

Would Bucky be at the same level of strength and power, were they evenly matched in every way? And if Steve begged on his knees staring up at Bucky - would Bucky relent and finally give him all he’d been dreaming about since he was sixteen?

Steve didn’t know. But he fantasised about it a lot.

Bucky had always been bigger than Steve, had always towered over him when they were kids, and Steve fit under the crook of Bucky’s arm, snug and nice, knowing that even before the serum, Bucky could have had his way and Steve would let him - even as feisty and independent as he was. But oh god, given half the chance, in a million different ways Steve would have let him.

But then the war happened, Steve had the serum and everything changed - he lost Bucky, had lost his better half, his true north, and that was when Steve lost hope. Until the Winter Soldier appeared - no, when Bucky appeared. Hope welled eternal in Steve for the first time in years, and to now have Bucky before him, it was a dream come true and he was scared to do anything to break the bubble that was surrounding them in case he scared Bucky off again.

So through hungry eyes, Steve watched Bucky closely, helped Bucky with the holes in his memory as best he could, ignored the lack of compassion that sometimes came through, and tried his best not to ogle Bucky’s new physique.

It was hard.

Extremely hard.

Because Bucky was built, he was wide, he was thick and it made Steve jittery inside.

He was unable to hide the most basic of reactions when they sparred, growing stiff the moment Bucky threw Steve over his shoulder like he weighed nothing to land on the mat roughly before straddling him, hand gently around his throat and a smirk on his face. And Steve had to scramble to the toilets for a moment alone - each and every time. Images of Bucky’s muscular thighs either side of his stomach fodder for a slew of fantasies and he only ever felt a little guilty when he came, hand shaking around his dick and Bucky’s name on his lips.

But it was undeniable that Bucky had changed - his quick smiles gone, humour buried away with only a glimpse here and there, but Steve knew Bucky, his Bucky was lurking somewhere in the depths, and Steve was slowly teasing him to the surface. So it would be completely unfair to foist his desires on his friend - a friend who'd never indicated that he liked Steve on a romantic level.

So Steve sat behind Bucky in the briefing, letting his mind wander, allowing his gaze to rake over the back of the too tight dark blue henley, Bucky’s shoulders taking up more space on the chair than Steve’s did - and he watched. 

Steve’s eyes traced the lines of Bucky’s wide stance as he moved in the chair, watching the toned muscles shift under the shirt and he couldn’t help lick his lips, only to look up and find Bucky stalled, stopped in his tracks staring over his shoulder at Steve with something deeply shadowed in his eyes. And Steve had been caught, caught staring like a man dying of thirst and Bucky the only person in the world that had a trickle of water left.

Standing up hastily, Steve fled - heading towards his room on the thirtieth floor, not knowing if the briefing was over or not, not really caring - he’d walked out of them before - it was only a safety meeting about new protocols that Steve himself had helped to create, but he couldn’t sit behind Bucky and stare at his bulk any longer. Bucky might have already realised where Steve’s thought’s had been, and he needed a moment to agonise over it.

He’d only just made it to his hallway, sprinting up the stairs as it was quicker than the elevator, when a huge solid hand grasped his arm, yanking to slam Steve up against the wall and suddenly two very intense blue/grey eyes were staring at him, pinched at the corners, questioning. Steve was no longer concerned about being called out - he was too busy sweating heavily at the sheer muscle Bucky was showcasing by pinning him to the wall, and he flexed, trying to move, but Bucky - oh fuck - Bucky had him. Steve would have to exert a lot of energy to break the hold, and his knees buckled.

Bucky grasped him, holding him upright as he sagged, “hey pal - you okay? What in the hell is going on?”

Steve managed to get his knees to lock long enough to hold his weight, and Bucky wide-eyed and concerned held him trapped. Held him aloft in his strong arms, his flesh one just as huge and muscular as his metal one.

“Yeah I’m alright,” Steve ground out. And he was, mostly - except for the tenting in his cargo pants, something that if Bucky stepped in less than an inch would feel pressed against him in all it’s post-serum glory. And Steve shouldn’t have thought that - what had it done to Bucky if the rest of him had grown so thick.

Bucky exhaled slowly, then looked up at the roof and Steve watched the sinews dance under the skin of Bucky’s neck, the wide hefty expanse of muscle that had to be at least twice the size as before. Steve wanted to lean forward, nip at the jutting Adam's apple, lick it, suckle it and have Bucky tense the muscles so that Steve could trace the hardness under his stiff tongue.

Words escaped him before Steve knew what was happening. “You’re so big.”

Immediately his face flamed because the words didn’t come out like a question, or a matter of fact statement - it was breathy, whispered with reverence, with a tone that couldn’t be disguised - Steve sounded horny for Bucky, and shame welled up.

Shutting his eyes, Steve shook his head, trying to get up the strength to break free of the large hands holding him, but Steve was learning he was a masochist under Bucky's control, Steve wanted it, no matter how he got it - all of that power and force bundled into the man he’d been in love with all of his life, it was too much.

“Open your eyes, Stevie.”

He was powerless not to, not when Bucky called him that.

Bucky’s long hair had fallen over one side of his face, and he peered at Steve, a small frown between his eyes as he worked something out in his head, Steve having seen that puzzled expression many times, usually directed at the coffee machine or at Sam, until suddenly like the dawning of a new day - his face went slack. 

He’d realised something, something big. And Bucky stepped forward, closer, the entire length of his body now against Steve, and although Steve was still a little taller than him, he felt as small as his teenage self while Bucky held him aloft using just his body, and it was only then that Steve realised what Bucky was pressed against and… oh…

What was now pressed against Steve in return.

“Buck…” he said brokenly.

“How long?”

“Errr…”

“How long, Steve?” The demand came with a tightening of hands on his biceps and Steve groaned at the pinch, the pressure, and Bucky threw his massive flesh arm across Steve’s collar bone instead, restraining him, and Steve just about came on the spot. It was too much, the sheer strength, the sheer size of Bucky was making him quake like a teenager with too many uncontrollable hormones.

“For as long as I can remember.”

“Jesus,” Bucky swore and let go, Steve slumping against the wall, and Bucky took one step away, Steve had ruined it - ruined everything.

“Well, are you coming or not?”

Steve looked up at the order in Bucky’s voice.

“Where?” he croaked.

“Your room, it’s closer - I’m going to nail you to your bed and make you scream Stevie Rogers - I have one vivid memory of before the war, and I know it was just a fantasy. And right now... right now I want to make it a reality.”

Bucky strode away, intent in each step and Steve watched the sway of his thick hips, the delectable peach-like ass he wanted to sink his hands and teeth into, and Steve stuck to the spot, couldn’t believe what was about to happen.

“I’m not going to ask twice.”

Steve jumped to attention, and had never ran so fast in his life.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

I’ll Make a Million Mistakes

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.”

“Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.”

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

Bruce likes to think of himself as a patient man. Even more, he’d like to think it’s a trait he earned all on his own, but anyone who’s met him would testify that he inherited his patience from the man who raised him, and Bruce would have to agree. This level of restraint he possesses is an acquired skill—one that is reserved for the world’s best butlers and for fathers of six. Karen from the PTA wishes she were on Bruce’s level. His exceedingly calm temperament is the only reason Bruce doesn’t melt into a puddle on the ground now, his bones turning into a milky froth because Jesus fucking Christ, hasn’t he had a hard enough night as it is? No person should have to spend two hours solving riddles because Eddie was feeling manic tonight and then be forced to come home to human children. Duke smiles around a mouthful of bloody gauze. “In my defenth, I’ve never even had a cavity before.” “No, you just got your tooth knocked out.” “Teeth.” “What?” “Ith acthually teeth, plural. I lotht two of them.” Bruce facepalms. “Goddamn it.” He ignores the giggles from his other kids, all of whom apparently decided they needed to be present for this conversation. He’s picking his battles tonight.

“Ith not my fault!” Duke points over at Tim, standing against the Batcave’s wall minding his own business. “Ith hith fault.” “It is not. Bruce, don’t listen to him.” “Oh, yeah? Who knocked me into the railing in the firtht plathe?” “That was Jason’s fault. He’s the one who threw the football.” “Actually,” Jason chimes in, “that was Cass. I was an innocent bystander.” “Liar,” Cass says. “Don’t call me a liar.” “Liar.” “You’re the liar. She’s framing me, Bruce, I swear to god. I’ve never done anything wrong to my siblings in my entire life.” Dick makes a spluttering noise. “You once threw a pineapple at my head because I was breathing too loudly!” “And I don’t regret it one bit.” Bruce sighs. He doesn’t have the energy for this. He gently grasps Duke’s chin, being mindful of his sore jaw. “Where?” Duke pulls out the wad of gauze and opens his mouth wide. He points at the space where his front tooth used to be, then a canine on the bottom left which now consists of half a white shard. “Ith thith one and thith one.” Bruce hums. “I can get you a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. They’ll put a couple of caps in and you’ll be good as new.” He’ll have to rearrange a few things in his schedule. At least now he has a valid excuse to skip racquetball with Clark. There is no logical reason a bumpkin from Kansas should be better at racquetball than Bruce is, there just isn’t. “Tho my thmile ithn’t permanently ruined? Thath a relief. Thethe babieth are my betht feature,” he says, all the while bloody saliva dribbles from his lip like a deranged vampire. Best feature, definitely. “Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.” “I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.” “Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.” “Y’all need Jethuth.” “At least it’ll make for a good story one day,” Tim says. “Everyone loves scar stories.” Jason snorts. “People actually like death stories more, but go off I guess.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jay. Find new material.” “You want new material? Check this out.” Jason tugs down the collar of his sweater. He shows off the mostly-faded autopsy scar sliced up his torso and to his shoulders. Bruce winces. Dick yawns. “So? You got autopsied. Big whoop. Scars don’t count if you’re dead when you get them.” He tips his head down, parts a section of his hair with his fingers to show off the fresh scar on his scalp. “Talk to me when you get shot in the head.” Tim rolls his eyes. “You realize how stupid this is, right? We shouldn’t be arguing about who has the worst bodily trauma.” “Why,” Jason says, “because you know you’d lose?” “Because I’ve got you both beat.” He pulls up his t-shirt to display the surgical scar on his abdomen. “Missing spleen. Beat that.” “I lost a kidney. Kidney trumps spleen any day.” Cass rolls up the leg of her shorts to show off her bullet-riddled thigh. “Connect the dots. I win.” “But have you lost a vital organ?” Tim asks. “No.” “Spleens aren’t that vital,” Dick says. “Fuck off, at least you still have one.” “I would prefer to keep my organth,” Duke says. “Juth thaying.” “And you will,” Bruce assures him. “Probably.” “Probably?” “Look, I’m tired. We’re all tired. Can we schedule the scar contest for a later time when I’m hopefully not here to witness it?” Maybe he can ask Alfred to drug his tea from now on. At least then he can rest easy in a drug-induced slumber, knowing all the while that he’s missing the kind of petty arguments no parent should have to hear. “No one said you had to be here,” Dick says. “Anyway, Bane once slammed me against a wall and now my hip throbs when it rains.” “At least your wrist doesn’t click when you move it at the right angle.” Jason shakes his wrist next to Tim’s ear. Tim cringes. “You’re all amateurs,” a new voice says, and Bruce wants to die. Damian and Stephanie appear to have returned from patrol, still in their uniforms. “Try having your entire spine replaced.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “Great, it’s time to hear Damian talk about how much better than us he is. My favorite activity.” “Shut up, Drake. You’ve never experienced pain.” “I got blown up once! I still have burn scars all over my neck and shoulders!” “Eh. I’ve had worse.” Steph grins and holds up her left hand, just happy to be included. (Note to self: ponder whether Stephanie is secretly a golden retriever in human form.) “I have no feeling in these three fingers.” She pokes them to demonstrate. “And should I mention that I was tortured by Black Mask once? No? Because power tools were involved, in case anyone was wondering.” “Do I need to reiterate that I once died in an explosion?” “Jason. Little wing. I’m begging you to shut up about your death.” Cass points to a spot on her ribcage. “Two ribs made of metal. Got shattered during a fight. Four years old.” “My dad used to burn me with cigarettes every time I was bad, so...seven times a week, more or less.” “Oh, same!” Jason and Steph high-five. “My grandfather broke my arm in two places when I made a mistake during a training drill. He made me fight assassins for three hours straight afterward without so much as an ice pack.” Duke looks horrified. “Are you guyth okay?” “No offense, but none of you should talk unless you’ve gone through childbirth.” Stephanie rolls up the top portion of her Batgirl suit just enough to show off the scar across her lower belly. “You think getting blown up is hard? Try spending three hours in labor and having a baby ripped out of you. That’s hard.” Jason wipes away a fake tear. “Boo-hoo, someone had a baby when she was a teenager. Human reproduction doesn’t involve being beaten to death with a crowbar.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jason!” “Indeed,” Damian agrees. “Being stabbed by your clone is far worse than being caught in a little explosion. And I can take a crowbar beating in my sleep.” “I’m gonna kill him, Bruce. I’ll kill him right now. Just say the word and I’ll do it.” Bruce sighs, closing his eyes. “Duke, there are painkillers in the medicine cabinet if you need them. I’ll text you the time of your dentist appointment. The rest of you, please refrain from talking to me for the rest of the night.” Bruce walks away toward the manor, silently praying that he can forget this conversation ever happened. “Hey, who wants to see where Killer Croc bit my ass once?”

[eternalstann]

Drunk - Part Two

After your impromtu sleepover, you and Tom spend quite the morning together..

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Warnings: swearing, fluff if you squint & a lil bit of smut ;)

Part One!

Your hand goes to cover your eyes when you wake up, trying to block the sunlight seeping through your blinds. Your throat felt like you swallowed sand. Standing to make your way to the kitchen, you pause smelling bacon as you walked down the hallway. What the hell? You tiptoe on, and literally scream when you see a shirtless man at your stove. He screams back, whipping around to face you; spatula in hand.

"Oh my god! Tom I totally forgot about last night" you sigh, hand on your chest. "You scared the shit out of me" he laughed, voice rough with sleep. "I guess we both surprised each other" you shrug, sitting down at the island. You were surprised that he was still here, you'd assumed he'd be gone when you woke. You were happy he stayed though. "I hope you're hungry darling" he smiles, flipping something in the pan. "I'd better be since you're already cooking half of my fridge" you tease and he chuckles nervously, "I thought about that after I'd already started, sorry" he apologized sheepishly.

"I'm just messing with you Tom, I'm starved!" You exclaim, rubbing your belly for affect. He shakes his head at you, grabbing a plate. There was something about watching him move with ease through your kitchen, making you breakfast. It made your stomach churn in the best way. The muscles in his back moved every-time he did, and you had to shake yourself out of your stare. "Bone Apple teeth" he jokes, placing the plate down in front of you. You start to laugh, but it dies on your lips when you see the masterpiece he's created for you. The most perfect fluffy pancakes you'd ever seen, drizzled in just the right amount of syrup. Fruit and bacon on the side with a cup of tea. "Tom this looks amazing!" You gush and he grins; "I told you I could cook!" He brags.

You almost wanted to go grab your phone and take a picture of it, and maybe one of shirtless Tom too. "Taste it darling!" He laughs, motioning to your knife and fork. "Sorry it was just so pretty" you say, picking up your utensils. "Not as pretty as the girl about to eat it" he flirts effortlessly, and you blush. You think back to all the things he'd said last night. Did he mean them, or was it just the alcohol talking? You push those thoughts aside and take a bite of the pancakes.

"Oh, Tom you've really out done yourself" you moan, they tasted even better than they looked. "I'm glad you like them" he smiles, leaning his elbows on the counter to watch you. You quirk an eyebrow up, "you're not gonna eat too?" You ask curiously and he shakes his head. "Nah, honestly I'm scared to. If I eat I might vomit all over your house" he fakes a gag, before hunching over and pretending to hurl. "Ew gross Tom; I'm trying to eat!" You laugh with him, slapping his shoulder. "I'm sorry.." he says, still laughing at himself and you think his laugh might be your new favorite sound.

"So you got any plans for the day?" You ask nonchalantly, and Tom stills. "What, you trying to get rid of me Y/N?" He scoffs, but you can see the traces of a smirk on his lips. "Not at all, just wondering" you assure him and he sighs. "Actually I do have to work later, but I really want to see you again" he answers softly. You feel your stomach erupt in butterflies at his words, and relief washed over you. You'd been hoping he'd say something like that. "I wanna see you again too Tom" you smile. "What's your Instagram?" You ask, getting up to grab your phone.

When you come back to the kitchen Toms looking at you with a weird look. "Earth to Tom, what's your insta?" You ask again. "You don't know my Instagram?" He asks in shock. "Tom how would I know your Instagram? We met like, less than a day ago" you iterate and now he's really laughing. What's so funny? You’re beyond confused and wait for him to straighten up.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. It's tomholland2013..." he manages to get out between fits of laughter. His account pops up and you nearly drop your phone when it does. 34 Million followers?! Tom watches you with a smug look on his face while you scroll. Pictures of him with Zendaya, Robert Downey Jr, and then the one that finally makes it click. The Spider-Man premiere. "Holy Shit, you're Spider-Man!" You all but scream, jaw on the floor. He nods, trying to hide his grin. "Y/N I thought you knew this whole time!" He exclaims, throwing up his hands with a chuckle.

"I thought you looked familiar yesterday, but I was tipsy and I couldn't put my finger on it! Wow,I loved you in How I Live Now!" You blubber on and he thanks you. "Hmmm, so youre really just a cool girl who brought me home from the club to protect me. Whole time I thought you were a fan" he tsks. "I am a fan! And you-" you shove him, "you shouldn't go out like that! What if someone had taken advantage of you Tom?" You exclaim and he tilts his head and looks you in your eyes when you say that.

"You're something else Y/N" he says, taking a step closer to you. He couldn't believe how much you genuinely cared about him, especially last night when you hadn't even known who he was.

"Oh my god, Tom Holland is my house...." you take a step back and put a hand over your mouth trying to take it all in. "Tom! You're probably so busy, and I've been holding you hostage here. I'm so sorry-" you apologize but he cuts you off by grabbing your shoulders and pulling you closer to him again.

"Darling, I've enjoyed every second I spent with you. And I can't thank you enough for helping me last night. So don't worry about it, this is exactly where I'm meant to be right now" he speaks. His voice flows over you like honey and you look up at him. "If you say so..." you squeak out. "I do say so. I'm gonna call my mate to come pick me up before I'm late though. What's your phone number so I can call you later?" He asks, pulling out his own phone.

You feel like a fish out of water. You stutter a bit, managing to utter out the number to him. "Thank you love, now finish your breakfast!" He demands and you nod before sitting down.

"So you act, dance and cook?" You ask while eating your food. Toms eyes never leave your face, and usually you'd be nervous...but you’re calm under his gaze. "Don't forget sing!" He adds, and you roll your eyes. "A quadruple threat" you giggle and he shrugs, "what can I say?"

You eat, and talk. You were dreading him leaving, heart feeling heavy and he wasn't even gone yet. Unbeknownst to you know, Tom was feeling it just as hard as you were. He wished he could stay with you all day. Everything was so easy with you. He hadn't felt this comfortable around someone in ages. Not to mention how beautiful you were. Your hair was a little messy from just waking up and he liked that. But your face? That was flawless to him. Lips puffy, and eyes big. He liked it best when you smiled, but you were cute when you gave him that fake pout too. Your lips looked so soft, and he was dying to kiss you. To do the things he'd talked about last night. But he'd made it up in his mind he wasn't going to mess this up by moving to fast. He wanted to make you his. He knew it.

His phone pings and your heart drops. "Harrison is here" he says dejectedly and you pout. "You're making it really hard for me not to kiss you" he says with a sigh and you frown. "Maybe I want you to kiss me" you twirl a piece of your hair and walk towards the door to let him out. Your heart is pounding, watching him throw on his shirt and shoes. He comes to stand in front of you, and pulls you in for a hug. "Thank you again Y/N" you whispers into your hair. "Anytime.." you reply cooly, leaning away from him. The two of you stare at each other for a moment and then his lips are on yours.

You'd never been kissed the way Tom Holland was kissing you. His lips were soft but strong against yours. You mouths moved together like they were made for each other. His lips parted yours and then his tongue is in your mouth. You moan against him and his hand presses into your hip, pushing you against the wall. "Tom.." you whimper, puddy in his hands. He uses his thigh to push your legs apart so he's standing between them.

Your whole body was burning for him, and the thin shorts you wore did nothing to help. He rutted against you, pushing you harder into the wall. "Fuck Y/N" he groans, erection pressed to your core as he all but dry humped you. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his on your waist. You gasp when he hoists you up, rubbing against you more quickly now. He buried his face in your neck, kissing you sloppily and you were embarrassed at how close you were.

"Fuck, Tom if you don't stop in gonna cum in my fucking shorts" you cry out, back arched. "You?" He laughs breathlessly. "I've been hard since last night love" he grunts. "Then let's go to my room" you beg and Toms nodding. So much for taking it slow he thinks to himself. But who was he to turn you down? He takes a step backwards to carry you to your room when there's a knock on the door.

"Helloooo?" A voice calls out and you’re worried Tom might kill whoever it is from the look on his face.

"Harrison you div! I'm coming!" He shouts back, and you smack his chest. "Tom! That was rude!" You scold him and he shrugs. "He could've waited for me in the car" he mutters. You laugh at his frustration, "it's okay, I'll make it up to you" you whisper in his ear and give him a peck on the lips. Tom shudders , "I'm gonna be thinking about you all fucking day" he admits before walking to the door again.

He pulls open the door and a blonde boy is standing with his arms  crossed. "How am I the div when you called me to pick you up and then made me wait ten minutes!" He yells at his friend. "Oh." He says plainly when his eyes land on you. "Never mind mate, you're right. I'm the div" he laughs. "Hello! I'm Y/N, it's nice to meet you" you extend your hand for him to shake but he ignores it and hugs you. "Y/N, the pleasure is absolutely all mine. If you ever wanna hang out with a real man and not one who gets plastered alone in clubs; Call me" he flirts shamelessly and Toms pushing him out the door.

You laugh at the pair, you could see how they were friends.

"It's okay, thank you though Harrison. I like drunk Tom"  you wink.

——————————

Part 3

omggg so here’s part two as promised!! If y’all still with me on this then part three is up tomorrow night👀 this part is pushing 2k and I think I wanna drag this out haha 😂 as always I hope you enjoyed ❤️❤️❤️

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright: Baby, Please

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Previous: Beacon in the Night

          Jungkook stares out the window of his bedroom, snow falling lightly, the only sound, his breath, slowly in and out. His phone, volume on, twirling absently between his fingers. In the distance, he can hear the other members laughing and yelling, their conversation and dinner prep echoing. The Yoongi’s space is attempting to be filled with their joy, as if laughing twice as hard would make up for his absence. Jungkook knows soon he’ll have to go out, pretend to be fine with the situation, and eat dinner. He’ll play make believe for as long as he can, but somewhere between dinner and the first movie or round of whatever game his hyungs force him to pick, Jungkook’s mind will slip.

           As he slips, his five hyungs will turn to the only thing that loosens him up, making his sadness bite a little bit less… Christmas Karaoke. They’ll queue the tracks, mixing in group songs with power ballads, a few hip hop and R&B tunes to balance the candy-coated sugar coma of the season, and for an hour or two, Jungkook won’t be swallowed in despair. But then, your favorite song will play, an accident, they didn’t know, and you will be the only thing on his mind. The tears will flow, mixing with whatever alcoholic beverage he’s consuming, and Jungkook will disappear into his bedroom, try not to call you, and force himself into an empty slumber.

           Instead, he’s staying on his bed, watching the snow fall in increasingly larger flakes, flurries swirling and sticking softly to the ground, building upon one another to form snowbanks.

           It’s in the middle of his reverie that his phone rings, your photo popping up.

           “Honey,” He says softly, doe eyes staring into yours.

           “Hi,” You sigh, his voice always feels like a warm embrace. It’s familiar and kind, steadfast in its ability to sooth you.

           “You look beautiful,” He smiles, eyes not crinkling at the edges.

           “Thanks, you look ethereal as always,” You smile, faltering as yours refuses to reach past your cheek bones.

           “Ethereal?” His expression is quizzical.

           “Yeah, I feel like it typically describes Jimin, but that hazy snow filter you’ve got going is just making you look so… heavenly,” You shrug.

           “You’re making me blush,” Jungkook’s smile moves closer to his wide eyes, nearly reaching as his cheeks turn a soft shade of crimson.

           “What are you up to?” You ask.

           “Sitting, feeling pathetic,” He says, the hint of a smile disappearing completely. You watch as his expression completely falls.

           “Kook,” You say, sympathetic to his pain.

           “I’m trying not to be so, sad, but it’s too hard,” He runs a hand through his hair, tussling the locks to one side, his undercut on full display.

           “I’m trying too, it just fucking sucks,” You say, instinctively adjusting your ponytail.

           “We had a plan, you know? We had a plan, we had arrangements, we had so much fun last year, and I was just so excited to share this Christmas with you, here,” His words are tumbling out of him, succinctly and organized.

           “I was looking forward to it... I bought a new hat,” You offer.

           “Oh?” He asks, happy for any sliver of joy.

           “Yeah, let me get it,” You stood up quickly, showing Jungkook your mid drift and legging clad legs as you moved through your bedroom to find your new beanie.

           “Aye, what are you wearing?” He asks, staring at the space your face was just in.

           “What? It’s a long sleeve cropped athletic shirt thing,” You answer, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

           “You look so sexy,” He says, a smirk on his lips, lust flickering in his eyes.

           “Jungkook,” You gasp.

           “Y/N,” He says eyebrow cocking.

           “Isn’t my new beanie cute?” You deflect the rising tension by placing your new cashmere beanie on your head. You bobble, showing the plush toggle on top.

           “It’s very cute,” Jungkook laughs.

           “I sent a few things to you,” You say, taking your hat off and sitting back down. “And by a few, I mean two boxes…”

           “Two boxes? How big are these boxes?” Laughter was in his voice as he waits for your response.

           “They’re standard, Jungkook,” You’re a little embarrassed by the amount of humor he’s finding in this admission of your Christmas splurge.

           “Standard? Oh my god, they’re huge!” Jungkook can’t stop laughing.

           “I got carried away, okay?” Your tone is defensive and chaste, a blush in your cheeks.

           “What’s in them?” He asks, the crinkles in his eyes present as his bunny teeth part to laugh again.

           “Goodies,” You say, trying to hide your smile by glaring at him.

           “Mm, what kind of goodies?” Jungkook settles down, taking a deep breath to tuck his laughs away.  

           “Get your mind out of the gutter, Jungkook,” You respond, faux shock laced in your words.

           Jungkook rolls his eyes at your gentle scolding.

           “What’s in the boxes?” He asks again.

           “Well, something for your hyungs,” You tell him.

           “You didn’t have to,” He’s always amazed by your generosity.

           “I know, I wanted to. It’s nothing big... I don’t know if they’ll even like it. They’re all wrapped, with their names on them. And I sent a few gifts for you, one from my aunts, one from my mom, and a few from me,” You rattle off the list, which seems far longer than Jungkook thought it would be.

           “You didn’t have to get me anything,” He says, a soft smile on his lips.

           “Jungkook, it’s Christmas,” You remind him.

           “I know, but they’re just items,” His words are delicate, he knows how you feel about the holiday.

           “I put a lot of thought into them okay?” Your annoyance is clear in the way your lips punctuate okay.

           “Hey, you know I’ll love them,” His eyes are trained on you, watching as you soften.

           “And you know, some cookies that will probably be smashed or stale… and a few, other items,” You shrug, a flirtatious look in your eyes.

           “Other items?” Jungkook raises his eyebrows, smirk on his lips. Had you sent him what he hoped for?

           “Mm, oh and something for your parents and Jung-Hyun.” You nod, signally the end of your list.

           “Jagi, you’re too sweet.”        

           “I know, my thoughtfulness is unparalleled,” You shrug at the compliment.

           “As is your humility,” He chuckles.

           “You love it,” You smirk.

           “I sent you something too,” Jungkook says, leaning back against his headboard.

           “Oh?” You’re not entirely surprised, but Jungkook has a way of getting you the perfect thing that you’d never in a million years pick for yourself. Your favorite cashmere sweater, the Chanel purse you vowed to yourself you’d buy when you made any money (which frankly, you never did), your favorite winter coat, a ring with gems from your birth months, a 14k white gold necklace with his initials, a tribute you were sure was tacky, but always made you feel closer to him… a photo album filled with your most precious memories… The year he created an entire journal full of art, poems, lyrics, that reminded him of you… You wanted for nothing, and Jungkook gave you everything.

           “Yes, it should be there soon,” Jungkook’s smile begins to falter.

           “Mine will be too,” You look down, picking at the piece of paper sat on your desk.

           “You’re not going to surprise me and send you know, yourself?” He whispers, knowing the answer.

           “No, I’m not shipping myself to you,” Your voice is hollow, eyes still downcast.

           “But can you?” His voice is small, fragile, weak.

           “Honey,” You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t keep having this conversation, it hurts too much. It’s just one holiday. We spent decades without each other, can’t we make it through this?”

           “It’s been months, Y/N. I’ve tried holding back the tears, I’ve tried to sing and deck the halls with everyone, but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. I miss you in my bones,” Jungkook’s free hand clutches his chest, his eyelids becoming heavy as the tears start to form.

           “I feel it too… We’ve never gone this long without seeing each other,” You admit.

          The isolation of being apart from your lover for nearly a year… a year of fear, of anxiety, of sleepless nights and terrors as the world became overwhelmed by a pandemic, and the states were thrust into another round of Black Lives Matter protests coupled with an election that could be deemed as one of, if not the most, important election on American soil. All you wanted was Jungkook. His presence, ever calming, his joy, always contagious, was what your soul craved. You spent hours on video calls and phone calls, which often devolved into video sex, any form of intimacy you could muster to tie you to one another. The promotional work of BE, paired with the success of Dynamite and their Bang Bang Con and ONE concerts, Jungkook had zero ability to even try and find his way to you, or to chart a course for you to find him.

          It wasn’t fucking possible. He knew it, you knew it, and few things had been as devastating as realizing you were going an indefinite amount of time without each other.

           “Who am I going to kiss at midnight? Jimin?” Jungkook scoffs.

           “You’re performing, there’ll be so-

           “No, it won’t be you. I’m not kissing anyone except for you and our children,” Jungkook’s remark is flippant, a call back to a conversation you’d had months ago, wherein he asked where you thought your lives were headed.

           “Jungkook!” You say, eyes wide. You’d vowed to put talk of babies or marriage on the back burner until he had an idea of when he would do military service, before 30 or after. You hadn’t caught baby fever, but with Jungkook you knew it would hit and hit hard.

           “I didn’t know I would hurt this much, if I did, fuck, I would’ve flown you out sooner or come to you-

           “Jungkook you couldn’t have come to me, and there’s no way the government would’ve let me in.” Your tone is stern, moving quickly towards your limit of heartache.

           “I don’t fucking care!” Jungkook’s tears are flowing freely. You wonder if it was possible for anyone to cry us much as the two of you have in the past ten months.

           “I miss you every second of everyday,” Jungkook’s heartache punctuates every word.

           “Write me a song,” You suggest.

           “What?”

           “Write me a song, or five, fuck an entire album. Put your anguish into music, sing for me,” Your eyes are bright with possibilities.

           “I can do that,” He says, the idea sweeping over him like a wave in the pacific.

           “I’ll be here, embroidering and puzzling my sadness away,” You offer a smile. “Might as well put it into something productive.”

           “What if it doesn’t work?” He asks.

           “It won’t, I know it won’t, but can’t we just pretend it will?” You assured.

          “It’s hard to pretend my heart isn’t breaking over and over and over again.” Jungkook wipes his eyes, slightly alarmed at the number of tears he’d produced.

           “Mine is too,” Your words were soft, almost an echo of his hurt.

           “So, just, find a way to come home. Baby, please, just, come home for Christmas.”

Next: Pretend That We’re There

[basenji18]

Castle Nights

Set directly after Castle Destro, James takes care of things - and of someone dear. She’s okay. She’s okay, and she’s going to be okay, and that’s all he cares about.

He barely hears the Commander, the tirades and the threats. Failed me for the final time, a disgrace, family name, punishment. Half of those things he’s already taken from James. What more can he do?

You have no idea, her tired words echo.

The only thing left that James cares about is lying in a room two floors up, under the care of the McCullen family doctor.

James says what he has to to make this meeting end quickly. Successful mission set up. The Joes appeared. Who knows how they show up? Sabotaged the rocket. Launch botched. Mission failed. Baroness? Injured. Taking out the rocket supports before it could blow the whole place. Thank goodness she was here.

He ignores Mindbender’s cackling, the Commander’s threats. By the time the high-pitched ranting is done, the Commander already has three different plans to crush the city they were planning to swarm with biovipers, but as James doesn’t figure into any of them, he keeps quiet.

Her face, so pale as he scoops her up, brow furrowing as he cradles her. Pale, and delicate, but substantial. Heavy for her size, and that, plus the fact that she’s already coming round, makes him hopeful.

“Are you listening, Destro?”

His eyes refocus on the view screen, on a metal face worse than his own.

Her first thoughts were for you, you bastard. And you don’t even ask how she is.

“Yes, Commander.”

“Good. Now get out of my sight.”

The screen blips to black. James takes exactly one nanosecond to wait for any dramatic reappearance. (The Commander likes to end conversations with a vicious hangup or with a million “and another thing’s.”) Then he bolts.

It’s his castle, and he’ll run in the halls if he wants to. Up two flights of old, worn stairs, down a tapestried stone hallway. Stopping in front of a door a stranger couldn’t pick out from among the others, but this is his home.

At the door he stops and straightens his tie. Reaches up to fix his hair before he remembers, and tugs at the tie again. He wraps his hand around the door handle and pushes gently.

The room inside is dimly lit, meaning the doctor has finished his work and is letting the patient sleep. The old man, thick glasses and more white hair sprouting from his ears than on his head, smiles at James, the same reassuring smile he’s given over hundreds of checkups, scraped knees, and broken bones through the years.

James eases into the room. He’s trying to be quiet, but the hammer of his heartbeat must be deafening everyone.

She’s visible by her dark hair on the pillow, the rest of her lost in the sheets and a borrowed shirt that swallows her up. A tube extends from her arm to a bag hanging beside the bed.

“She’s okay, lad.”

The doctor is one of the few people who can still call him lad instead of laird. James nods dumbly.

Anastasia’s eyes are closed, no movement beneath the lids that he can see. Her glasses are off and her face has been washed, dark hair feathered about her head. It makes her look all of twelve, which removes any lustful thoughts having her in his bed might have set off, but redoubles his urge to pick her up and cradle her like a child. Her color is better, and the tension and sheen of pain sweat is gone from her face.

“Mild concussion and some fractured ribs. Bruising against some of her organs, but I’ve not seen any signs of internal bleeding. We’ll want to monitor her, but I don’t see any worrying signs s’far.”

The old doctor polishes his glasses.

“Not much I can do, my boy. Injuries will heal themselves. Just got to let the lady rest.”

He leans forward conspiratorially, the white hair in his ears catching the light and making a halo round his head.

“Between you and me, you may have a job making her do it. Number of old bruises dinna come from tonight. Tell your lass to be less adventurous, lad.”

Your lass. He likes the sound of those words. He looks down at her again.

Well, where can she go? Her plane was destroyed. She’s just been given doctor’s orders for medical leave. It looks like he’ll have to supervise her recovery, doesn’t it?

Her dark eyes catch the light as they open, but she’s facing directly into the lamp, so they flinch shut again at once. She makes small, waking movements, shifting, blinking. She finds the IV quickly and frowns at what to her must be an invisible tether. James reaches past the doctor and retrieves her glasses. He slides them on her face, careful of her eyes.

Anastasia frowns. Even with her sight restored, she’s drugged cross-eyed.

“It’s okay,” he tells her.

He picks up the hand closest to him, the one with the IV in it, and holds it in both of his own. When he’s emotional like this, his accent gets thicker, and he can hear it in his own voice.

“It’s okay. Yer in the castle. Ye’ve seen the doctor. I’m here. Everything’s fine.”

Reassuring one or both of them, he doesn’t know which. Her fuzzy gaze finds the sound of his voice and the hand holding hers.

Say anything. Be angry, be scared, say anything. But don’t ask about Him.

Delicate fingers weakly squeeze his own, and a slow, drugged smile spreads across her face. She says...well, something.

The doctor chuckles.

“Try again in English, lass.”

“Am I not speaking English?”

“Ye are noo.”

“Oh...”

She rolls her attention back to James. Her smile widens.

“You’re far away.”

He’s on the bed in a heartbeat, hip to hip, still holding her hand, careful not to jostle the needle, and stroking her hair. This close, he can see the shadow of bruise at her hairline. Her smile fades for a second as she drops off, but she wakes again a moment later and it comes back the moment she sees him.

James smiles under his mask. The Commander can go blow Nessie.

She’s very high and a little giggly, and the two of them stay there, getting tickled at nothing for a space. Eventually though, he sees teeth in the gears of her brain start to dig in for purchase, trying to solve this state that she’s in.He’s got to forestall this.

“Go to sleep.” Running his fingers across her hairline with hypnotic gentleness. “The doctor says you need to sleep.”

“What about – ”

He can’t take that name from her. Not right now. He cups her face and places the pad of his thumb over her lips.

“I’ve taken care of it.”

A question rises up from the depths of those dark eyes, fighting through the haze of drugs and pain and panic. She nails him with it. A need for reassurance. He leans close and whispers to her,

“I have taken care of it.”

Fear fades to doubt, then a wave of relief so intense she winces like she did when the doctor first probed her injuries washes it away. She looks away from him, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing hard into the pillow, pinning his hand under her head. There’s wetness on his palm and her breathing is harsh.

He leans over her – he can’t kiss her, but he can shield her – whispering, “it’s okay, it’s okay,” over and over again until her breath evens, the tension goes out of her face, and the pressure of fingers around his own slackens. She’s gone back to sleep.

“I’ll be heading out now,” the doctor says softly. “Any change in the lass, you call.”

James nods absently, offers thanks he knows sounds perfunctory, but the doctor must know his attention is elsewhere. He hears the old man’s smile in his parting words.

“I dinnae think she’s sustained any injuries that would prevent a new generation of McCullens in the world.”

Let’s just hope this current generation survives, James thinks.

Dark eyes open and once more there’s that smile he thinks he could happily wake up to every day for the rest of his life.

“James.”

He smiles under the mask.

“Anastasia.”

“Nastya.”

“What’s that?”

“Nastya.”

She makes a kind of drunken pinching motion.

“’T’s short. A diminun. Dimin-in-in-in-nun. Is. Pet name.”

This sets her off again and him with her. It’s good to hear her laughter. He rolls the nickname around in his head. Nastya has a sweetness to it. A private familiarity. Between the two of them, they always use codenames in front of others, real names when alone. Nastya, he knows, is an invitation to something deeper.

She gets her giggles under control. The drugs are back in full swing, and she frowns in concentration.

“Were you here before? Or did I dream it?”

“I’ve been here with ye.”

A shy smile. She leans into his hand. She says the line in Russian again. It sounds happy.

“What does that mean?”

She reaches up a shaky hand and taps his jaw.

“My knight in shining armor.”

That probably should bother him, but you know, it really doesn’t.

She sighs. She’s going to fall asleep and stay asleep soon, and she needs to. She doesn’t make eye contact as she asks,

“Are you going to stay with me?”

He’s going to sleep on the stone floor in the hall if he can’t be in this room, but what he says is,

“If ye want me to.”

Dark eyes as big as the whole world swallow him. She moves and he thinks that’s a no, when he realizes she’s extending her arms, opening them to him, and he sinks into the hug, careful not to hurt her, holding her just so. There’s a small voice, whispering against his chest, in English and in Russian, repeating over and over:

Stay, stay, stay, stay, stay

How can he say no to her?

Note: Am I the only one that thinks Baroness looks super young at some points? As soon as she’s not playing the femme fatale or dragon lady, now and again she looks like a literal child and it’s so cute. (Except when she’s sucked into the M.A.S.S., when it’s heartbreaking.)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

BTHB: Grabbed by the Hair

New @badthingshappenbingo​ piece: @special-spicy-chicken​ requested: Bthb grabbed by the hair for Nate? 

Grabbed by the hair for Nate it is! Remember, bloodstain = requested, puppy sticker = fulfilled. Feel free to request off the bingo card or just, you know, anything - I’ve had requests for “please for the love of god let them be happy for six minutes”, “dog kennel/cage for Danny”, and my favorite ask so far “just please more Ashley please”.

Timeline: More than a year into Nate’s initial captivity with the Denners

CW: Knives, blood, forced shaving, manhandling, restraints, and some serious noncon-dubcon kissing and, uh, a bit more than that. Call it rated R? You have been warned/welcomed/disclaimed.

Tagging @bleeding-demon-teeth​ and @spiffythespook​!

“I really don’t see why I h-have to do this,” Nate says, testing the leather buckled tightly around his wrists, subtly pulling to see if there’s any give. There isn’t, but he didn’t really expect there to be. Instead, the leather digs hard into his forearms and only seems to tighten with every hint of struggle, forced back and behind him, the inside of his elbows digging into the chair. He had to push himself against the wooden back, posture uncomfortably straight, just keep from aching. “I am perfectly capable of sh-sh-shaving myself.”

Shit, where the fuck did the stutter come from? He can’t even remember exactly when it started, a few weeks, maybe a couple of months ago. Like some connection between his brain and his mouth had gotten interrupted, living here, wires crossed. Breathing their air, cooking their food, sleeping with Bram, lost in his eyes every single time and it felt like it took longer and longer to come back, after.

Something had been snapped, inside of him, and he struggles now to speak where it had always, always been effortless before.

But he tries not to think about before. Bram always says it only makes things harder to try and remember a life before him. It’s easier if he doesn’t remember how proud he was to get his first teaching job, the time he’d spent putting together plans for that very first semester… just easier to live like he never did anything but wait around to be chosen, to be found.

(what kind of life did you live before me? no life at all, baby, so just forget it)

It’s just easier, to think of it that way - and still, in the back of his mind, Nate wonders if he can ever teach again. If Bram would let him, maybe, if he promised he’d come back home every day…

Don’t do this - this isn’t your fucking home. Don’t start thinking of it as home.

“I need the practice,” Ashley says with a shrug. She’s been back from a hunt for a few hours and she’s lit up from the inside out like she’s walked out of a lightning strike, wearing tiny black pajama shorts and a black tank top that does nothing to disguise the scratches she’s covered with, wounds from someone trying to defend themselves right to the end. They’re littered across her shoulders and neck, one thin mark up the side of her face. Her hair hangs lank and unwashed, totally unlike Bram’s shimmering waves of white-blonde, but predator snaps and cracks around her in the air, the deepest base-instinct part of Nate’s brain begging him to find some way to run.

When she leans over to look at him, the hairs stand up on his arms and the back of his neck. His hackles go up, around Ashley, and Nate hadn’t even realized people had hackles like this before her. He’d never been such a slave to his instincts before, to what he used to disparagingly call his ‘reptile brain’.

Reptile brain - primate brain, all the long millions of years of ancestors and evolution - begged him to do something, anything, to get himself out of this.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I gave a man a good shave?” She sighs, mournfully, and her eyes are so like Bram’s but where things shift and move beneath the ice-blue surface in his, Ashley’s eyes are flat. Featureless. Empty.

If Bram’s eyes are a lake with monsters lurking just beneath, Ashley’s are a glacial desert where all the life has long since been desiccated and blown away in the wind. There might be bones inside Ashley, but nothing more.

“In general, or wh-where he survived the shave?” Nate is proud of the sarcastic note in his voice, his refusal to let his nervousness infect it. He settles himself back into the kitchen chair they’ve moved into the upstairs bathroom, eyeing the items laid out on the sink. It’d be a little reassuring if his ankles hadn’t been tied to the chair legs, at least, but no… he’s pretty thoroughly strapped down at this point, and he trusts Ashley Denner with a straight razor about as far as he can kick her.

Not that he technically wants to be anywhere near her, but with the two of them, he doesn’t get much of a choice.

Ashley snorts. “Oh, they rarely survived it. But they could have, if I had wanted them to. I just…” She waves one hand carelessly in the air, and Nate tries not to watch her fingers move. There’s always blood under her fingernails and ground into her knuckles, like a farmer’s hands caked in ancient dirt. “You know how it is.”

“No,” Nate says evenly. “I d-don’t.”

“You will,” She replies, a hint of irritation in her voice - but it’s a resigned, affectionate irritation, and he watches her eyes move to Bram, the indulgent smile on her face. “According to my brother, if he ever gets off his ass to dedicate you.”

“Not ready yet,” Bram says from behind him. “You know if they’re not ready, it doesn’t work.”

“Like me,” Ashley says, thinking, one bony narrow hip jutting to the side. There’s a flash of pale stomach were her tank top rides up, just a little, and Nate swallows back disgust at the deep fingernail scratches there, too - slowly closing up. By tomorrow morning they’ll be gone. “I wasn’t ready, and it didn’t work all the way.”

“Not like you, Ash. You were still ready. It still worked. Just… well. You came out of it just fine, right?”

“Did I?” Ashley’s eyes go down to Nate’s. There’s a flash of a smile, bright and shining, just like Bram’s smile but entirely devoid of the warmth, the affection, the love he gives. “Did I come out all right, d’you think, Nate?”

Nate doesn’t flinch away from her. Never flinch, they hate it when you pull away from them. Instead, he raises one eyebrow very slowly. It’s a skill he practiced over and over in the mirror, once upon a time. “That r-remains to be seen,” He says, and his voice is low and deep and perfectly even. It gives absolutely nothing away

Ashley’s smile widens, something dangerous and murderous there, and she spins to pick up the straight razor and leather strop. Nate lets out a breath of air all at once, telling himself he won this round.

“Ssshhhh, you’re okay,” Bram murmurs behind him, sitting on the edge of the old claw-footed tub. He’s perched there like some malevolent fucking pigeon in his own loose pants and shirt, feet resting on the spindle on the back of Nate’s chair, just below his hands.

Ashley and Bram might be dressed, but Nate has to be naked for the whole goddamn experience, apparently. Which he absolutely does not appreciate, especially not because when he looks up he can see himself in the mirror, the thinner face and shadows under his eyes, the bruises across his neck and body, bandages where Bram cuts him every fucking night.

If only he didn’t get so lost in Bram, lost enough to like it, he might be less ashamed of them.

“I know I’m okay,” Nate says softly, turning his head a little to catch the flash of clean, shining wavy hair behind him, the hint of Bram’s black shirt and pants, the curve of a shoulder. It’s all blurred in his peripheral vision, but still, he can see it well enough.

Bram’s presence is a constant cold along his back, the knowledge that he will melt away and fade, sooner or later, like he always, always does. But Nate turns his eyes back to Ashley, for now, and his mind stays clear.

Ashley slides the blade of the razor back and forth on the strip of leather, humming tunelessly to herself, and Nate finds his eyes caught on a particularly deep scratch that runs up her left arm, nearly from elbow to shoulder. “Wh-why did you l-let yourself get hurt like that?” He asks, and she pauses in her movements, a slow smile on her wide lips, nostalgic and starry-eyed when she turns to look back at him.

Schlip. Schlip. Schlip. The razor picks its rhythm back up, the sharp blade that will soon be at his cheeks, his chin, his neck.

“Because I was bored,” She replies, simply. “And starving. I let him think he had a chance, for a while. I like to play.” She sighs, dreamily, and Nate thinks of one of his students sitting in his office one day, sighing like that about one of the books he’d been teaching, thinking the hero was so romantic, and misunderstood, and Nate had thought to himself, Percy Shelley would have loved you. Briefly.

“When I’m done, I want him to cook me a steak,” Ashley says not to Nate himself but to Bram behind him. Schlip, schlip, schlip, goes the slow and steady rhythm of the razor on the strop. Nate tries not to listen, but feels something in him relax in relief - if she wants him to cook her a steak, she’s not going to kill him.

Not today.

“Mmmmn, when you’re done I need about forty-five minutes with him first,” Bram retorts, and Nate’s heart drops to his stomach, his eyes lowering to the tile floor. He’s scrubbed this grout for hours to get it clean after years of their mostly-benign neglect. “Then he’ll cook you a steak. He’ll be bloody, though.”

Ashley is silent, but Nate doesn’t look up, not this time.

“I like it bloody,” She says, finally. “I always like it bloody.”

“Mine,” Bram warns her, and one cold hand slides over Nate’s shoulder and down over his collarbone, fingertips skimming the line of the bone under his skin. His voice goes low and serious. Wolves fighting over an elk leg. “Not yours. He’s mine.”

“I meant the steak, of course, you jealous baby,” Ashley says with an affectionate sneer, and puts the straight razor down for the moment. She turns on the sink, and with a low gurgle of ancient pipes, the water starts to run in a constant, reassuring rush of sound as they wait for it to warm.

The main bathroom in this old house is halfway between the two largest bedrooms, right in the center of the hallway, just next to the staircase down to the first floor. Nate keeps it as clean as he can - Bram and Ashley don’t clean for themselves, and Nate had at first promised himself he wouldn’t turn into some kind of fucking servant, but that had lasted until he couldn’t take their squalor any longer.

Now it was all clean, which at least was reassuring, since he was pretty certain he wouldn’t die of an infection, even if he died of whatever they did when Bram lost this weird delusion he had that they were in some kind of relationship.

“Now, Nate,” Bram says in a voice that’s not quite a purr, right into his ear so he jumps at the sudden loudness of the sound. How does he move so fucking silently? “Ashley is going to give you a shave, with a straight razor. They used to do this way back-"

“I know,” Nate cuts in, his voice slightly softer for Bram than it is for Ashley. When Bram’s fingers graze the back of his neck and slide up into the back of his black hair, he swallows against the little shiver of pleasure down his spine, the faintest curl of warmth. Bram knows him by now, every inch of him, knows exactly where to touch and when and how much. “I know h-how shaving worked. I t-t-taught fucking 18th and 19th century lit, Bram. Historical context is k-kind of important. Everyone’s s-seen old-style shaving now, anyway, in Sweeney Todd or s-something.”

There’s a pause, and the arm over his chest tightens. Ashley shrugs, carelessly, her eyes on Bram behind him, and Nate finds himself laughing a little. The sound is a low, warm rumble pulled out of him against his will, and next to his ear he hears Bram hum a little in appreciation at the sound.

Nate doesn’t laugh very often, here. Not when his mind is still his own. When his mind is Bram’s, and he stops fighting the pull, sometimes he laughs all the time in the dark.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what Sweeney Todd is.”

Ashley frowns, turning back to the array of tools laid out on the sink, her back to him. There’s a scratch along one shoulder blade, a couple of bruises. They’ll heal up over the course of a day and be gone. Nate has seen it happen, over and over and over again. Small wounds simply disappear, like they never happened. But deeper wounds stick - Ashley came home with a bullet in her shoulder weeks ago and she’s still healing from that - and there’s something there he can use, if he can only figure it out.

“We don’t do a lot of popular entertainment,” Bram says, fingernails scratching gently into his scalp, soothing and pleasant. “Maybe you can take me out sometime, Nate. I’ll see a show with you.”

Nate goes still, mind working, and Ashley laughs at him. “Oh, don’t look so hopeful. You’d be lost the whole time. He’s not stupid. Now let’s get that shit off your face.” Her eyes, identical to Bram’s but somehow totally different at the same time, flick up to meet her brother’s just behind his head.

“I like him better clean-shaven,” Bram says, his voice low and sweet and Nate finds himself curling his fingers until his hands are fists, cuffed together behind the back of the chair. “Always have. I think he’s been refusing to shave just to bother me.”

“Honestly, Brammie, just make him.” Ashley flashes a sharp-toothed smile, turning to the sink to pick up a washcloth as steam began to show from the water running from the faucet, finally hot. She stuck her hand right under the flow of water, letting the washcloth soak it up. That was another thing Nate had noticed, and didn’t know if he could use - they didn’t seem to feel heat very easily, either of them. Dead nerves, maybe? He’s been here for a year or so, trying to figure them out, trying to decide how to escape, and slowly beginning to wonder if there would ever be a chance for that. “He’s yours, right? Just look him in the eye and tell him to shave.”

“Hm, tried that.” Bram’s arm tightens a little around his chest, almost defensively. “He’s not so good with dexterity when he’s like that. Cut himself pretty badly.”

“Oh.” Ashley pauses, chewing on her bottom lip in confusion, then brightens. “Oh! I remember that. I thought you did that to him. You know, like…” She gestures at the bandage across Nate’s shoulder, the newest one from last night.

(listen to you… you like that, huh?)

Nate turned his head to the side, trying not to feel the way his face reddened at the reminder.

(every second of the life you lived without me was a waste of your potential, darling, we’re going to make something special out of you)

“Sadly, no. You know I don’t want to fuck up my darling’s face, Ash. Come on, let’s get him shaven. You’re the one who said you wanted to do this. I’m the one letting you. So let’s get it done.”

Ashley grins like light glinting dully off a rusty, bloody blade. Nate holds perfectly still for her, letting her rub the hot washcloth over his chin, his jaw, up over his cheeks and down his neck. The cool air kisses the wet skin afterward, making him shiver, goosebumps rising up his arms.

Bram’s arm around him tightens, and the grip on his hair slowly pulls his head back and back and back, until he can see Bram looming over him, the gentle sweetness of his smile as he leans down to slowly kiss Nate’s forehead, lingering there for just a moment.

Nate closes his eyes before he can look right at Bram’s.

He needs to be in his right mind for this, but he couldn’t have said why. Being in his right mind never did him any good.

Ashley takes a small boar’s hair brush with a knobbed wooden handle that fit perfectly in the palm of her hand, the end somewhat pale with what Nate was beginning to think might be centuries of use. She holds that under the hot water, too, taking up her humming again.

“The solitary bird of night,” Ashley sang, in a cracked soprano, vibrato trilling in her throat like an actress from the 1950’s. “Through the thick shades now wings his flight…”

She dips the brush into a small bowl, swirling it around. Nate keeps his eyes closed, listening to the clink of the brush against the side of the bowl. He could picture it, because he’d tried shaving the old-fashioned way a time or two himself (with a safety razor, because he wasn’t a murderous psychopath), the way the soap lathers up in a rush of whitish liquid and tiny bubbles. The scent of something clean drifts his way.

“Brammie, will you do the honors?” Ashley asks as she turns back around.

Bram’s grip on his hair tightens even more and he’s bent over the wooden back of the chair, the back of his neck digging hard into the old, worn-smooth wood. His back arches as his throat is fully exposed to her, and Nate holds back a nervous whine, just barely swallowing it back.

The only sound he makes is a gasp.

“Hold still for my Ashley, okay, sweetness?” Bram presses a kiss to the side of his forehead again, as Ashley leans over him.

Too close, the predator is too close, the prey instinct in him is screaming. Run, you have to run, the predator is too close.

His hands yank hard at the leather cuffs again, he’s breathing in audible panting gasps, his heart pounding in his chest in a sudden burst of fear. Ashley smiles at him, leaning over and steadying herself with a hand on his leg, thumb digging hard into the flat space just inside his hip, ice-cold palm settling over his thigh.

Run. Fucking run. These are the wolves and you are the wounded deer. Run.

He can’t run. He’s tied to a chair in a bathroom in a home he woke up in one day with no idea where he is. He’s being held by a brother and sister who seem to bristle and brighten at his fear, who look at him with pinprick pupils, whose eyes will drag him down into the darkness with them.

She lathers his neck and face with the little brush, and Nate clenches his eyes shut, trying to keep breathing through his nose, while Bram’s grip in his hair just grows tighter and tighter. She won’t kill me, he won’t let her kill me was a comforting thought but it wasn’t like it didn’t mean she couldn’t hurt him. God knew Bram hurt him all the time…

But usually Bram wanted him to enjoy it, and he is not being forced to enjoy this.

“He’s so scared already,” Ashley whispers playfully, bopping the end of his nose with the lathered brush, leaving a dollop of the white soap there. “I haven’t even started shaving yet. Hey, little man, what makes you so scared of me?”

Nate doesn’t answer her - there’s a retort in his mind, some kind of witty reply, but the connection between brain and mouth has been totally severed by the panic pumping adrenaline-soaked blood through his veins.

He doesn’t see her pick up the razor, but he flinches hard at the first pass of the cold blade, gentle as a whisker's brush from a cat, along his cheek, pulling his head to the side.

Ashley hisses. “Bad,” She snaps. “Hold still for me or this is going to get fucking bloody. Brammie, he knows the rules.”

Never flinch. Never pull away. Never flinch away from Bram or Ashley. Never pull away

Don’t flinch don’t flinch don’t flinch

“S-sorry,” He gasps out, as her thumbnail digs hard into his hipbone, a subtle, small flash of pain. A reminder. “Sorry, I f-f-flinched, g-g-give me a sec, I just, give me a s-second-”

“Sshhhh, I’ll allow it this time,” Bram murmurs, loving and sweet. His head aches where Bram is holding him but his fingers are so twisted into the thick black hair that Nate can’t possibly hope to pull himself free. “Breathe, baby. Breathe. There you go. Take it slow... slow and deep.”

"That’s what Nate said,” Ashley says gleefully, and she laughs, the shattered-glass sound, a broken echo of her brother.

“I really regret letting you watch that show,” Bram says, but there’s humor in his voice. “You’ve never stopped doing that since.”

“Oh, like you let me do anything,” Ashley snorts. “I do what I want. Now hold your fucking Prince Charming still or I’m gonna cut the shit out of him.”

“Will you hold still for my Ashley, now, Nate? Please, baby? Be good for me.” Bram coos the words more than says them, and Nate manages a silent, terse nod, letting Bram bend his head back again.

“I-I’ll be good,” He whispers, barely moving his mouth, words for Bram alone. “I can b-be good for you."

Bram hums, low in his throat. “I love you so much, baby,” He whispers just as the straight razor touches Nate’s cheek again. This time he holds still, he’s as still as a statue, as still as the bloody Jesus in the church when he was a child and his grandparents were still alive. Still as the saints at their weekly mass. Still as the God who never answered his prayers when he made them, and who seemed horribly dead and blind to him now.

Nate holds himself as still as the grave that waited, somewhere, for Bram to get bored of him.

Ashley lets the weight of the razor do most of the work, a gentle shave he can really barely feel, the blade only just touching his skin enough to shave off the stubble he had been stubbornly growing. His breathing starts, slowly, to calm.

Both cheeks, across his chin, just above his upper lip. Her movements are quick and expert, gentle as a lamb. The blade isn’t a cut, it’s a kiss.

Down his neck, and he tenses again, but his body is tired of trying to throw adrenaline at the problem and it’s easier to keep still this time. He focuses on the pull of Bram’s fingers in his hair, on the cold arm across his chest, on the thumb still digging hard into his hip.

Being naked felt vulnerable. Baring his throat to a fucking animal wearing a woman’s face feels worse.

She lathers him up again, takes another pass with the razor, slower this time. Taking her sweet, sweet time. And the longer it goes on, the more his heartbeat slows, the stronger he feels. Not so bad. It’s not so bad. She’s not hurting him, beyond the bruise he thinks will be on his hip in the morning from the pressure of her thumb.

Bram won’t let her hurt him, as long as he’s good. As long as Bram still loves him, he will get to stay alive.

Have to be good.

Stay alive.

Finally she steps back to grab the washcloth, washing the remaining bits of lather off his face and the end of his nose, surveying her work. “What d’you think, Brammie?”

Bram lets go of his hair and Nate gasps in relief, letting his head fall back forward. The arm is removed from his chest and Bram slips off the edge of the tub and comes around in front of him, the siblings standing side by side.

So alike, and totally different.

They cross their arms in front of themselves, and Nate fights back a hint of hysterical laughter at the image, looking at them from beneath the sweep of his hair, his chin still slightly tucked. Bram sighs and leans down, taking him by the chin and lifting it hard so he’s forced to look up.

Nate closes his eyes immediately.

He wants to stay here, as long as he can, in this place where he has his own mind.

“I think you did a great job,” Bram says after turning his face side to side, looking him over. “Didn’t miss a spot. You’ve always been so good at this, haven’t you?”

“I like razors.” Ashley shrugs and turns back to the sink. “Something wickedly sharp, right up against the blood under the skin. What’s not to like? I need to clean all of this. Take your boy and go.” She turns to look back at them, and catches Nate’s eyes. Something mocking is in her smile. “I’ll give you an hour, I’m a generous woman and I’ve decided to take a bath. Then I want my goddamn steak.”

“An hour it is.” Bram drops into a crouch, undoing the ropes that tie Nate’s ankles to the chair legs with quick movements born from long experience. Nate could kick him in the face like this, he thinks, but it wouldn’t do him any good and he doesn’t dare.

When he pulls Nate to his feet, he stumbles a little, but there’s an arm around him and a kiss to his damp neck, and Nate tilts his head back for it, swallowing hard against the curl of disgust and something darker deep inside him.

“She did a god job,” Bram whispers into his jaw, and Nate shudders. “Thanks, Ash.”

“No problem. Ugh, you’re disgusting with him, Brammie.” Ashley waves a hand at them, rinsing the brush out under the hot water again. “Get him the fuck out of my bathroom and go fuck him blind already.”

“I'm on it, big sister.” Bram laughs, barking and high-pitched, and Nate closes his eyes against the flinch he has to force down inside of himself, with all the other true feelings he has to hide, layered on each other like corpses in a plague grave.

“B-Bram, my… my wrists, will you m-maybe take the, the cuffs off?” He asks it softly, keeping his voice low and maybe a little flirty, the way Bram likes. If he can just have control over one thing, just one small thing, it’s easier.

Bram pauses, then the arm around him tightens. “No, baby. I want them on.”

Nate lets out a breath and slowly nods, looking down at the ground as Bram leads him out of the room. He's stumbling a little on legs that had fallen asleep while he was in the chair, pinpricks and static straight up his ankles as his feet were forced back awake.

“You want this, baby, right?” He blinks in surprise at the question, looking up, realizing only too late that it was a trick. Bram smiles as their eyes meet, and after a second, Nate smiles back at him.

Screaming in the back of his mind, hoarse and deafening, furious and helpless.

“You b-bet I do,” Nate breathes out loud, low with the sudden push of desire inside of him, and when Bram tilts his chin up for the kiss Nate moves forward first, pressing his lips to Bram’s, warm life to cold death, and he lets the dead thing take him, lets Bram pull him down the hallway by one arm, smiles when he’s shoved onto his back on the bed, arching his spine to try and take some weight off the arms still forced behind him and cuffed together with leather.

It’s easier, to let it take him, to let the dark things pull him under.

Just an hour.

It’s only going to be an hour.

He can go away for an hour, and that won’t be so bad. Then he'll come back again.

Bram on top of him is ice pressing down on his lungs, seeping under his skin, infecting every blood cell. There's a knee on either side of his thighs, a cold hand sliding up over his ribcage on one side, and Bram's mouth licks up his neck, trails of wet he blows cool air over that lights a heat in him, an electricity under his skin. Nate shifts under the attention, squirms a little when fingernails scrape over sensitive spots, press lightly against yesterday’s and last week’s bruises.

“Mmmmn, smooth,” Bram whispers as he kisses his neck, nips at the skin, teeth grazing just deeply enough for a hint of pain. Nate breathes in, holds for five, breathes out. His heart beats hard against his chest, but there’s no fear left, and his heart pounds for a different reason entirely now.

“Such a close, smooth shave,” Bram murmurs into the line of Nate’s jaw, and Nate swallows hard, pressing his hips up into Bram’s until the pressure is a warm rush of pleasure that shatters his thoughts, gives Bram an invitation for more. He pretends that he can’t hear the screaming trapped in the back of his own mind.

He pretends he is smooth, and cold, and empty. He pretends he is just like them.

Just for an hour.

And then again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. It stretches out ahead of him, endless days of this. When Bram picks the knife up off the bedside table and slips it into the skin along his collarbone, cutting him apart as easily as silk, he hisses at the pain at the same moment Bram bites hard into his neck and the cold hand slides down his hips and finds him hardening under the attention.

"L-look at me," Nate manages to whisper, not quite begging. "J-just look at m-me, Bram, first, please. Before you... before there’s more."

Bram lifts his head - and the pain and pleasure mix in him. When the ice eyes meet his, he can't tell the two apart any longer, and his hips buck to meet the seeking hand, the cold fingers, to ask for more even as warm blood trickles down his shoulder to soak into the sheets.

"Y-yes," Nate breathes. "Just keep looking at me. J-just like th-that."

"I love you, baby," Bram says, so sweetly, and the new slice along his collarbone bleeds and aches and Bram's hand moves and he is lost, he is so fucking lost.

Nate moans softly and smiles up at him, dazed and foggy and gone somewhere far within his own mind. "I l-love you, too, honey," he says, low and hoarse, his voice heavy and slightly thick.

One day I'm going to get out of this.

I just don't know how or if I'll be alive when I do.

"Please," Nate whispers, his hands clenched into fists against the sheets, cuffed together behind his back, Bram's hips moving against his. "Please."

"What, baby?'

"Just please d-don't stop looking at m-m-me when you hurt me."

[meganshinsou-tm]

Crimson|Ink. (m)

↳ chapter two: bath salts

❧ genre:  tattoo-shop/hitmen au | tattoo artist/hitman kirishima

❧ fic warning: major character(s) death; happy ending

❧ chapter warnings: none

❧ chapter song: Bath Salts by Highly Suspect

♬crimson|ink playlist | ♧ character profiles | artist credit

[multi-chap masterlist] [previous chapter - next chapter]

"Pardon?"

The heavily tattooed red-head quirk a brow and made a face, "Look, unless you want this tattoo going somewhere else then I suggest you remove the shirt and bra so we can get this done and over with."

Kiri walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a small black hand towel and tossed it to you. He pointed to a white folding screen with black panels before sitting down on his stool and going back over all his equipment and opening the fresh packages. You gulped and trekked backwards before fully turning and going to place yourself behind it. 

There was a chair that you could sit your clothes on and you stared at it for what had to be a solid minute. Your heart was beating fucking fast and you didn't know why. You were more than confident in your body, that's why the placement and having to strip for it was of no issue. And there was no way that red-headed jackass on the other side of the screen was the reason, yeah he was attractive but his attitude so far was less than that.

"Waiting on you princess," an impatient voiced called out to you.

You glared at the barrier separating the two of you and stuck out your tongue. Taking one last deep breath you began to remove your shirt and placed it on the chair with your coat and scarf, next you removed your bra and hung it over the back. 

The whole time you were undressing, red eyes would steal glances at the silhouette behind the screen. Following the movements of the shadow cast on the screen, hands peeling off piece by piece of clothing, hair flowing and falling down. Kiri growled to himself, forcing his gaze to avert somewhere else.

Behind the screen you placed the towel around your chest, holding it close when you stepped out from behind the screen and walked towards the tattoo chair. Upon hearing your footsteps Kiri instructed you to walk around to him. He stood once you got closer, making you hold back a gasp with wide eyes. 

The man towered over you like a massive building - he was like a solid brick house!

Besides his alarming and totally not hot as fuck size, being closer to him you could make out the various tattoos that covered his tanned skin. There seemed to be an ongoing theme of traditional Japanese dragons, clouds, flowers and oni masks. The tattoos flowed from his arms and under his shirt to his pecs. You looked up to see his crimson red eyes staring at you, causing your body to stiffen as if his stare had some hold over you.

His face was really ... beautiful, his dark brows contrasted with the red hair on his scalp and you figured he dyed it. There was a small cut on his right eye, among more scars littering his inked skin. 

Kiri tilted his head and sucked on his teeth impatiently, making you look to see that the teeth were razor sharp. Your eyes squinted and without thinking you leaned forward and poked at his lips. The man didn't swat you away, in fact he seemed just as taken back with you. It's like you were a child, examining something new with wondrous eyes. You were so caught up in his teeth that you didn't notice his own eyes scanning your body. 

You had these marks across your face that most people would call moles but they weren't raised, almost like freckles. There was another random one on your collarbone, one right where your cleavage started. Quickly averting his eyes from your breasts he noticed an extremely faint but legit scar on your right hip. He looked back to your face, having to admit you were attractive, actually incredibly beautiful - and so fucking small. 

If love at first sight was even a real thing, he was sure that you'd be the one he'd fall for.

There was something about your skin being perfectly devoid of any ink unlike his. It was a clean canvas and he was about to make his mark on it and it would be with you forever. Something inside of Kiri was prideful about this for some reason, but he quickly shoved that pride away. He didn't have time to be drooling over some random girl that happened to walk in. Maybe if he lived a different life he'd change his attitude drastically within the next hour but that wasn't his case. The more you disliked him, the better.

"Which side," he finally spoke, muffled around your fingers still prodding at his teeth.

You blinked as his nonchalant voice questioned you and quickly pulled your fingers from his mouth. 

"Oh I'm sorry, I kind of don't have a sense of personal space." 

Kiri only shrugged and re-wet his teeth.

You didn't actually put any thought into which side you wanted the piece on, so you just chose at random. "My right I guess."

Kiri nodded and instructed you lift your arm up, "I'm going to roll this enough to where I can place the stencil and tape it down so it doesn't slip. You okay with me touching you?"

You nodded and bit down on your lip, doing as the red-head instructed. Before doing anything he put on some black latex gloves and hunched over to roll and fold the edge of the towel that covered your rib cage. Even if his skin wasn't coming into contact with yours, his feather-like touches still managed to send surges of something old and forgotten through your body. 

You decided to look away and focus more on the music that was quietly playing as Kiri grabbed some tape and finished with your towel. He sat down on his stool and grabbed the stencil, moving it around on your skin until he found the perfect spot for it. He leaned over and grabbed a container from his tray and a paper towel. You flinched and gasped when you felt something cold being brushed onto you skin.

"Shit," you breathed out while shivering.

"Sorry, guess I could've warned ya," Kiri replied with a smirk and quiet chuckle.

You rolled your eyes and he placed the stencil on your skin. It felt cool until his warm hand rubbed over it, flattening out any ripples and edges. Kiri slowly pulled off the stencil and rolled back on his stool to take a look, he told you to go look for yourself to make sure the placement was fine. Doing so you turned in the mirror and examined the small piece. 

"I want to be stronger than oceans," curved around the small wave and you smiled. It looked good enough to you, he was the artist after all so you trusted him, at least when it came to tattooing. Nodding, you walked back over and Kiri motioned for you to lay out on the chair before him.

"Should I face you or no?"

"No, turn your back to me so I'm not all up on your tits."

You huffed out a laugh with a shrug and turned to sit on the chair. Holding the un-taped side of the towel close you gathered all your hair and pulled it over to the left side of your neck, fully giving Kiri your bare back. Not being able to help himself from looking, his eyes wondered up and down your spine and curves, until he scanned the blades of your shoulders and squinted when he saw a medium sized scar running across the back of your left one.

"I thought you didn't have any scars?" He asked as you laid down on your side.

"I never said I didn't have any, just that I could heal the majority of them. If they're minor ones, it's nothing."

Kiri grunted in response and dipped his fingertip in a lump of petroleum jelly that was on a napkin, smearing a thin amount of it onto your stencil as he made the tattoo machine come to life.

"What happened," he and put the needle to your skin.

Your body slightly flinched from the new sensation, immediately you felt the needle hitting a bone and clutched the head of the chair that your arm hung over.

"Uh – you tell me and I'll tell you. What happened to your eye?"

Kiri chuckled and wiped off some excess ink and went back to tattooing. 

"When I was a child and my quirk activated for the first time, I was rubbing my eye and cut myself."

You couldn't help but quietly chuckle, you were expecting something more like a bar fight. 

"What's your quirk?"

"It's 'hardening'. I can basically make my skin like a rock and become indestructible to a point."

You hummed and thought about it more, imagining a human shield pretty much. With a quirk like that he would've been a great hero, so why was he just a tattoo artist?

Another thought immediately popped into your mind and you asked a question without thinking. "So you can harden your entire body, like ... everything?"

"If you're asking if it applies to my dick as well, then yes."

"Gotcha!"

Shaking his head Kiri asked you to explain the scar on your back. 

You chewed on your bottom lip, thinking of a way to somewhat explain what happened to you without giving too much away or leading him to ask any further questions. Either way though you couldn't find a possible way around it other than to cut him off if he delved too deep.

"I was stabbed," you replied nonchalantly.

The buzzing of the gun stopped momentarily before sounding back off again. Kiri swallowed thickly and thought hard about whether he should ask anything further. Not in a million years would he picture someone like you being stabbed and for what?

"Was it random or –"

"I honestly don't remember, I don't remember why it happened in the first place. I just woke up and had a knife in my back."

Kiri nodded and cleared his throat, "Did they give you the one on your hip too?

"Yeah, that was my warning."

Kiri willed away a shudder as your conversation seemed to be taking a turn for the darker. Before he could think of anything else to ask, the door to his room slammed open, causing you to flinch and the red-head to harden his hand. On accident he used a little too much force and ended up cutting your skin, the sound that followed and fell from your lips had Kiri's head spinning. It sounded like a mixture of pleasure and pain.

"Oh shit, was I interrupting something?" 

A brash and teasing voice questioned when you sat up and turned to look at your new wound bleeding down your skin.

"Goddammit Bakugou, don't you know how to fucking knock?"

Immediately Kiri had a napkin pressed to your skin as he tried to help the bleeding. Your hand grabbed his wrist, making his red eyes look up to see you smiling. 

"It's alright Kiri, I've got this."

You removed his hand from your skin, the entire time he was reeling from the way his name sounded falling from your lips, so soft and delicate. And the look you gave him, he couldn’t explain it but it was something he had never expected.

"Nice job shitty hair, now she gets it for free!"

You turned back around to look at the face this obnoxious voice was coming from. A set of ruby red eyes looked back at you along with gleaming white teeth that were set in a wicked smile. The male had spiky ash blond hair with a grown out undercut. His jacket hung from his finger over his shoulder and his v-neck plunged showing a cluster of roses and grenades. Both of his arms were bare except for two thick black bands around his forearm. A hint of metal shimmered from between his teeth and you figured it was a tongue piercing. His facial features were sharp and strong and he was extremely attractive. 

Hell almost every man in this shop was a panty dropper.

"It's fine really, just give me a second," you spoke finally.

Your hand kept the left side of your towel close while the other flattened against the cut on your skin. Light flashed beneath your palm and once you pulled it away it was if nothing happened. 

The blonde male whistled and you gave Kiri a smile. He didn't smile back however, just instructed you lay back down so he could finish. Your smile turned flat as you did so, facing forward to the other male who was dragging a chair forward before you, turning it backward and planting himself in it. His strong and lean looking legs straddled the chair and his arms crossed and rested on the back of it.

"So you're a healer huh? You know you'd come in handy around here, for more reasons than one, am I right Red?"

"Dude shut up. What are you even doing here, it's your off day."

"And? Do any of us fuckers ever truly leave this place? Plus, I was hungry and came into town for food. Anything else you need to know honey?"

A quick smile crossed you face, the blonde noticed and chuckled. 

"So, what's your name princess?"

"(Y/N)."

"That's cute. I'm Bakugou, one of the other artists. So, when you gonna come back and let me stick you?"

"Wow, you guys really have no filter around here huh?" You replied, cheeks blushing.

Shrugging, Bakugou rubbed the side of his neck, "I was talking about piercing you, but if you're down for something else then I'm your man! I haven't seen you around here before so you must be new, especially with that pretty skin."

Quirking a brow you didn't know whether to feel flattered or creeped out. These guys kept talking about your 'pretty skin' like it was a rare treasure that they wanted to have. They probably wouldn't think such things if they saw further down to your other un-healable scars that were hidden from the world.

"You got a job princess?"

Kiri stopped tattooing and gave Bakugou a questionable look that matched your own. It was odd how quick the topic changed with this guy.

"You are new here right? So you must not have a job yet," Bakugou explained himself more.

"You're not wrong, but why do you want to know?"

"Come work for us. We could use a cute girl around the shop, plus with your quirk, you can make things easier for us when the real pussies come in and think they can handle anything."

Before you could even answer Kiri was answering for you with a stern objection.

"You can't just go handing out jobs that don't exist because you think someone is hot Bakugou."

"Of course I can, because one, the job does exist, and two, she'd be perfect for it. What's your problem, you're the one who even brought up the idea to Sero and Shouto. We have a grade A candidate right here! She's stunning, friendly, and her quirk is a fucking godsend! Plus, she's probably looking for a job, right princess?"

Shyly you nodded but other than that you showed no interest. Clearly, Kiri didn't want you working there so why would you even want to. Before Bakugou could press the issue any further his phone went off and he groaned. Looking at it he rose from his seat and flashed you a wicked smile.

"Think about it," he suggested before walking out the room.

Once he left a thick tension filled the silent room. Thankfully you were facing away from Kiri and didn't have to worry about looking at whatever agitated expression he was probably making. For ten more minutes the room was silent except for the sound of the tattoo machine. When the needle brushed over one particular spot that was close to the inside of your ribs you hissed and flinched slightly. An amused snort came from behind you and had your blood temperature slowly rising.

"Did I do something to you?"

Kiri continued his work as he replied, "What are you talking about?"

"Well, you've haven't exactly been as friendly as everyone else I've met and just now with that whole job thing."

"Look there is no job, he's fucking pulling your leg. Even if there was one he doesn't have the final say so in it. We don't need you around here, sorry but that's just it."

You frowned at the harshness from his words and in his tone, unsure of why they hurt so much. It felt like someone was slapping you in the face. You couldn't quite understand what it was that this man had against you. It didn't matter though; his sour attitude just solidified your choice in never coming back here again.

"I only have a few more strokes to go over then we'll be done. So let's just get through the rest of this and we can go our separate ways, okay?"

"Whatever."

A few minutes later Kiri sighed and the buzzing noise you had grown so used to suddenly went dead. After cleaning and drying your tattoo you immediately sat up and removed yourself from the chair to stand up.

"Go ahead and take a look in the mirror and make – hey!"

Before Kiri could finish his sentence you had tore the towel from your chest and tossed it over your shoulder onto the chair and walked behind the folding screen not even caring to cover your chest anymore. Once behind the screen you healed your tattoo quickly so you wouldn't have to go through a lecture about caring for and cleaning it. You couldn’t wait to get dressed immediately and 'go your separate ways'.

"Don't you want to make sure it looks okay?" Kiri called out from behind the screen.

Grabbing your coat, scarf and bag you walked back out from behind the screen and to the door of the room before stopping. 

"I'm sure it's fine, do I pay up front?"

The red-head knitted his brows and gave you a chuckle, "Are you serious? I just branded your fucking skin and you're not even going to look at it?"

"Do I fucking pay up front or not Kiri," you finally yelled back, your voice cracking as you called out his name and your eyes pleading him to answer you.

It took Kiri off-guard and all he could do was nod. You thanked him and walked out the door, firmly closing it behind you. A knot formed in the pit of Kiri's stomach and he stared at the door. He felt like shit and that look you gave him it was already burned into his brain. 

Gritting his teeth and clinching his fists Kiri kicked at the tray next to him, making the tattoo machine, ink and needles fly everywhere.

Back up-front Denki had made his way through the door as you were paying for your tattoo. He smiled and jogged over to you, his smile instantly disappearing when he saw the sad look on your face. 

"Hey shorty, what's wrong?"

"Oh - uh it's nothing. I'm just tired and I need to get home," you brushed off his concern and signed the receipt Sero handed you.

Bakugou walked behind the counter from the hallway and you froze. He must've been in one of the other rooms the whole time and probably heard you yelling at his friend. Quickly he walked to the counter and before you with brows furrowed.

"The fuck did he do to you?"

"Nothing, really. Look guys I gotta get out of here, thank you for everything though, I really appreciate it, maybe I'll see you around."

"Yeah when you come to work for us right," Bakugou questioned and you frowned. 

Your hand wrapped your scarf around your neck and you shook your head.

"I appreciate the offer Bakugou, really, but I'm not going to willingly work somewhere that I'm clearly not wanted. I wish you the best of luck in finding someone though."

Before Denki, Bakugou or Sero could even stop you, your body was jogging out of the door and into the flurry of snow. The three men watched as you entered your vehicle and wiped your eyes before starting it and driving off. They were all furious, even if they just met you they were really hoping you'd take their job offer because they felt some sort of connection with you. 

But no one was as pissed off as Denki. Electricity was starting to surge around his body and he hopped over the counter and took off down the hall.

"Fuck," Sero breathed out as he quickly closed the cash register.

Bakugou grabbed him by the collar before he could take off after his friend, making him question what he was holding him back for.

"I just want to hear what stupid shit he's gonna yell out first," Bakugou replied.

The two waited patiently, hearing Denki's footsteps speeding down the hallway. A blast rang out signaling that he had kicked down the door. Kiri could be heard yelling a 'what the fuck Kaminari'. Bakugou held up three fingers and slowly counted down until he got to one and pointed down the hall.

"What the fuck did you do to lil’mama!"

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧  Chapter 184

Frank Castle was found overwhelmingly guilty by a jury of his peers. Though you’d tried not to give too much of your mental space to the entire trial, you had watched pieces of it. Matt Murdock had been missing through many key parts of it. Their defense fell apart. They were trying to go for not guilty by reason of mental defect. Maybe they would have won if they’d been better. Or maybe they would have won if they’d had a better handle on their client. 

Your lawyers would have never put Frank Castle on the stand. Never. Not in a million years. For good reason. You knew the second he was put there, it was over. And, predictably, the jury had a hard time finding him innocent after he’d had a huge outburst and told the entire courtroom that he was happy that he’d killed all those people and that the second he was out, he’d go on killing. 

That was it. It was over after that. 

Damage control became your life the day the trial ended. This was a hot topic and there was no getting away from it. A pit formed in your stomach. All you could do was deny and deflect and try to use reason. Which was what you did that night on MSNBC. It was what you did the next day on three different daytime talkshows, two afternoon interviews, and one late night beatdown. It went on and on like that for a week.

Assuring the guests and the interviewer- and everyone watching at home- that you were sorry for what Frank Castle went through. That it was a terrible atrocity what happened to his family. But he was also not enhanced. He was not like your team. And that your team did not condone wanton violence. Did not condone murdering. Frank Castle had his methods, and he was being put behind bars probably for the rest of his life because of them. A jury had ruled. There was no other way about it. 

You usually left off with that maybe it would have been better to put him in a psych facility where he could get help. That he was troubled. That he was grieving. And that grief had made him very dangerous. But… this was not your call to make. And when one of the hosts got perturbed and asked if you wanted to grant a murderer leniency- if you wanted to go easy on someone who had taken other people away from their families… you kept steady as you talked about the cycle of violence. 

Locking Frank Castle up… maybe you didn’t agree with it. He needed help. And he wasn’t going to get it in prison. But no matter what, despite the way you felt, you were not behind murdering for justice. Never. That was not something you stood by, it was not something Stark Industries stood by, and certainly it was not something the Avengers stood by. 

Stocks miraculously held steady as you put in the work. The conversation drifted. People moved on. And that was about as much as you could ask for. 

--- 

It was raining on the night you were coming home late from another television interview. November twentieth. A friday. Your time on air had felt less like an interview and more like a debate- but you’d agreed to go on Fox, so you’d been prepared. But even sitting in the backseat of your car while Happy drove back to the Tower felt difficult. You were ready to just go to bed. Call it quits. On many levels. 

There had been heavy traffic ever since you’d taken off from the curb. Moving about five inches at a time. Happy apologized, overly so. You told him it was okay. Gotten on a long phone call with Tony. Told him you were going to be home later than you’d planned for. He, of course, told you you could always take the short route. But to be fair to Happy who you’d asked to accompany you, you, of course, were not going to do that. 

About ten blocks out from the Tower, traffic really halted to a standstill. You’d been sitting in place for six minutes or so. Needing some air, you rolled the window down, held your palm outside, skyward, catching a few cool drops against your skin. Took a deep breath and just reminded yourself to be patient. Happy apologized. Again. You told him it was okay. Again. 

And just as it seemed like cars were moving again, he drove by a darkened alleyway. At least it was. Until a brilliant flash of colors went off. You were suddenly moving too quick to see after all that time being stuck. You tapped against his backseat anxiously. “Stop- hang on-” 

It wasn’t the spark of light. It was the feeling of dread. Of absolute terror radiating from the back of that alleyway. And if not for that, a young girl crying out, “Somebody help me!” Would have been more than enough. 

Happy screeched the car to a halt and you jumped out of the back, into the rain. He called after you, and you heard his car door open as he scrambled to follow you, popping an umbrella up over you. At the mouth of the alley was the girl that voice belonged to, and crowding around her were three big men in what looked like SWAT gear. 

She spotted you and waved a hand. “Hey- please! Over here!” She had big fluffy black hair, half parted back in top pigtails, sporting a bright yellow jacket covered in enamel pins. 

“Excuse me officers.” You neared. Happy stayed right behind you. Without looking at him you felt his hand going to his gun. He was holding expertly still but inside he was nervous. 

The men didn’t even turn to you. “Leave the area ma’am. This is government business.” 

“Oh is it now? The government is asking secret police to round up innocent young girls?” Your Reactor was in your purse. In the car. If they wanted to do something about your presence there was probably little you could do to stall them. 

To make matters were, you were pissing them off. And, with all their government authority, the man in the middle didn’t even turn to look at you. Instead gaging your distance- probably by the sound of your voice- and then stepped back and moved to ram the butt of his gun against your temple. 

At least that’s what he wanted to do. 

You instead dodged and grabbed him by the wrist, giving him a nice sharp twist. The other men turned once you yanked his gun from him with your free hand and threw it back. Weapons were drawn on you, Happy had his gun up- but once they saw you- 

“Oh shit.” 

You made a face at him. “You think?” Giving the one in your custody a little warning turn without breaking his wrist and then letting him go. “Now- you’re gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing here- and on whose orders.” 

“We don’t answer to you.” 

A roll of your eyes. “Who do you answer to?” 

The one you’d grabbed cradled his arm to his stomach. “President Ellis. So you can take this up with him.” 

Purposefully, you changed positions on the field, getting right in his face while stepping back and to the side a few times over. Covering the girl finally- although… there was a strange presence nearby her- “And what is this?” 

The two idiots looked at each other and then their little ringleader, who issued an order. “Call this in!” 

Your mouth opened to tell LUNA to throw out an EMP and disable their communications, but something strange happened before you could. A chill passed by you, and then it looked as if a girl came out of nowhere- maybe out of the dumpster- bumping into them- no… through them?- at least until she rounded to the side and then made physical contact with the last guy and faked a fumble as she said, “Oops! Sorry!” 

 It all happened so fast but you realized the reason- whatever electronics they had on them- walkies, night-vision goggles and phones hanging on their hips, all crackled up with static. The soldier on the left started getting very nervous. He shoved the girl back- you caught her by the arms and then twisted to turn her in a deposit behind you, one arm up to protect the two of them, as one of the men shouted, “We’re busted!” 

Using his sudden anxiety you drew it up into a bigger ball and then pushed it onto them. “Tell me what you’re doing here. Now. What does Ellis need with kids in New York?” 

“Not kids.” The leader spat, standing tall to you despite himself. Though he couldn’t exactly hide his sudden tremors. At least not from you. “We’re following orders. To round up inhumans.” 

Your nose wrinkled and your brows knit with the very picture of disgust. “That’s what we’re doing now? What a reprehensible term.” Ellis was starting a scare campaign right underneath you? “Inhuman in what way?” When they all looked between each other you forced it. “Come on. Be honest with me. I know that’s what you want.” 

Whether or not they had a genuine bone in their body, you were able to replicate the feeling for them. 

The one that had yet to speak up looked at you. “You know. Like your people.” 

“Enhanced.” Helping him out. 

“I don’t care what you call it. They’re calling them Inhumans and we have orders to round them up.” 

You stepped forward, feeling a certain rage coming to a boil. “And do what to them?” 

The main soldier sneered at you. “Who fucking cares what happens to ‘em after that.” 

“I do.” You were frightening them. Good. “I don’t know if you gentlemen remember, but we fought a whole war over secret police rounding up people and throwing them in camps- I assume that’s what we’re doing here, right? Being a little on the nose? Ellis isn’t a smart man.” 

He scoffed in your face. “What’re you, now- Captain America?” 

“I’m Lady Iron.” Getting right in his space. He tried to back away. But there was nowhere to go. “Part of the Avengers, in case you need a refresher.” 

“Really? ‘Cuz way intel’s been telling it, you and your boyfriend haven’t been part of that team for a while. What happened? They kick you out?” 

You let no surprise or curiosity enter your expression. “Interesting intel you’ve got. What’s their name? And- while we’re at it- what’s the name of this squad?” He opened his mouth but you held a finger up. “And don’t lie to me.” 

Maybe he was going to. But for one reason or another, he reconsidered. “ATCU. Advanced Threat Containment Unit.” 

Threats. Ellis was supposedly sending out little SWAT teams to go contain threats. Enhanced individuals they were labeling as inhuman. This was pretty far gone already. How had it gotten this bad? While deliberating on just exactly how you were going to send this band of idiots on their merry way, you’d given the leader an opening. 

He was mad. Which made sense. You’d blown his operation and were standing in the way of his goal. Talking down to him, no less. So when he grabbed your arm you only started a little. “Fuck this. We’ll take the both of you. Let Price sort it out herself.” 

“Hey-!” Happy was ready to make a move but him shouting and drawing his gun again had the other two soldiers turning towards him, raising their own weapons. 

You drew attention back very quickly, seething while also projecting a tidal wave of fright over all three of them. “If you want to keep that hand, I’d suggest you take it off me. You know exactly who I am and exactly what I’m capable of. I’ve put down things far bigger and more important than you. I won’t even blink. So you’ve got until the count of three and after that my mercy has run dry. One-” 

That sharp start of the count was all he needed. He reeled back like you’d burned him. Trying to gather up any last shred of dignity he pointed his gun at you, one handed, finger on the trigger. You stood firm. If not for yourself, then for the poor girl you were protecting. The two of you stared each other down until finally he lowered the weapon and shook his head. “Fuck this.” Again with even more emphasis than the last time he’d said it. “Not worth this much trouble. Come on. Fall back.” 

The other did men did as commanded, following their little leader out of the alleyway and into a parked black SUV on the other side of the street. You watched them. Maybe a little too menacingly. But after they were gone, Happy turned back to you and frowned. “You alright?” 

“I’m fine. Thank you, Happy.” Assuring him easily. This was hardly the hardest thing you’d ever had to do. And it was for good reason. Turning back you saw the girls just waiting. And finally you actually saw the other one that had pretended to stumble onto this little scene. Small and slender, with brown hair in a high ponytail and bright blue eyes. “You kids alright?” 

The one that seemed to appear out of nowhere nodded. “Thank you- so much.” 

The other girl grinned. “You really did a number on those creeps. It was awesome.” 

“Let’s talk in the car.” They’d been standing out in the rain for so long it was unfair to keep them hostage any longer. It wasn’t hard to convince them, either. Once in the spacious backseat of the limo- after they were done oo-ing and aah-ing over all the tech and lights and looking around, you put one leg up over the other. “So. Are you girls really enhanced?” 

 In what way, you wondered. They were so young. Mid-teens, maybe. The only kids you’d seen that young were Wanda and Pietro- and they were older than these girls for sure … you were mostly sure, anyway. What did the government want with them? Had they been experimented on by the government? And now Ellis was trying to round them back up to cover for his mistakes?

The girl in the yellow jacket sighed with the biggest eye roll you’d probably ever seen. Teens. “Shows what they know. Inhumans. Totally rude. We’re mutants.” She said this like she was… proud of it. Like mutant was a better term than inhuman. ...you weren’t so sure about that. 

“Mutants?” Asked with a little tilt of your head. “I think we’re jumping ahead. Do you two have names?” 

The girl with the brown hair smiled. “I’m Kitty, ma’am. And this is Jubilee.” 

“And what are you two doing out so late?” 

They both looked at each other. Probably trying to concoct some sort of cover story. But they couldn’t seem to come up with them. Kitty frowned. There was a modicum of guilt radiating off the both of them. “We were just… we wanted to come see the city with some friends but. They bailed when we actually got here.” 

Jubilee fell back against the seat, tilting her head back with a sigh. “The professor is gonna kill us.” 

You already knew asking what professor was asking for even more trouble. This seemed like a whole thing. And maybe a little bit beyond you. “Did you travel from far away?” 

Kitty nodded. “Hours. It’ll practically be morning by the time we get home.” 

That was no good. They were too young to be traveling this late at night to go back wherever they came from. Especially with what had just happened to them. “Look. It’s not safe for you to go back out. I don’t think you’re being followed but, it’s possible.” The two of them looked at each other suddenly. Spooked. “Is there somebody you can call- so you can let them know you’re okay? And that you’ll be staying at the Avengers Tower tonight?” 

“We will???” The question came out of both of them. 

You couldn’t help a smile. “If you’d rather a hotel…” 

Jubilee waved her hand. “No way! I’ve heard so many things about that place. I need to go there.” When Kitty elbowed her she slowed down. “I mean- ...we appreciate it. What you’re doing. ...and that you saved us.” 

“You’re welcome. Just. Let me call Tony.” He needed to know about all of this. Especially the whole rounding up enhanced kids in the middle of the night for who knew what reason. This was something you were going to have to deal with immediately. But… first came the girls’ wellbeing. So. With that in mind. You took your phone out and dialed him. 

He’d know what to do about this. Tony always knew what to do. “Still sitting in traffic? I’m starting to think you just don’t wanna come home.” 

“Never.” Assuring him quickly, turning away to hide an amorous smile from the kids in your backseat. Who were staring. “I uh- I picked up a couple of kids-” 

“Date night is getting very weird.” 

“-they were being attacked.”

“Less weird. ...for us, anyway.” 

“You don’t know the half of it.” 

“So what am I missing?” 

“They call themselves mutants.” A very unexpected silence hit the other end of the phone. Even though you weren’t there with him, you could feel it. Tony was thinking. About something. And when he took a little too long, “Tony?” 

“-I’m sorry. Did you say mutants?” 

This made you very uncomfortable. This… was something very telling. “I did. What do you know about this that I don’t?” Clearly something. 

He sighed. “I have to make some calls.” 

“So do they.” 

“I’ll bet. Bring ‘em here. I’ll explain when you get in.” 

You couldn’t help your frown. “Is this something I’m going to be mad about?” 

From his end of the line, you knew he was frowning, too. “I’d like to count my blessings and say no. And I’d also like to not get you wound up.” 

“...but.” 

“Yeah. There’s always a but.” 

You felt his guilt from where you were. Basically like it was raining from the Tower- which you could now see out the window. Approaching fast. “We’ll talk soon.” 

“Sounds good. Hey-” Trying to catch you before you hung up. So you waited. “I love you.” Thankfully this didn’t sound like an admission of guilt. Just… something he thought you should know. 

Thankfully for him, you did. “I love you, too. Whatever this is we’ll deal with it.” 

“We always do.” Understatement of the century. 

 Your anniversary was five days away. Hopefully this wasn’t as bad as you were suddenly dreading...

[dumpsterd1va]

Sometimes when Andrew wakes up, the world is trying to tell him too much. All the details crawl up his skin like ants. A million itches he can’t scratch warring for his attention, begging to be noticed, until the only escape is shutting all his doors.

And sometimes when he wakes up, he sees Neil.

okay so i tried editing my fic on mobile and then suddenly the whole thing deleted??? so then i had to wait till i got home to repost it lmfao... anyways fluffy domestic andreil w sensory hypersensitivity andrew because why the hell not (more under the cut!)

breathe me in

The crackle of heated oil. A muttered curse. The clanging of metal against metal. A single beep. The whirring of a fan. A dryness in the back of his throat.

He breathes in. He breathes out.

Sensations start to trickle in, anchoring him back to the waking world, but Andrew keeps his eyes closed, attempting to stay weightless for a little longer.

The slip of cotton between his calves. The muted thuds of paws against the hardwood. A pleading mewl. Fur in his face.

Shoving the offending creature away to the empty side of the bed, Andrew rolls onto his side.

Hair brushing against his ear. The squeak of the mattress. An ache in his shoulder. The scrape of a shirt tag against the nape of his neck.

The last one forces Andrew’s eyes open. Taking a cursory glance at the shirt, he realizes why the tag hadn’t been cut off as soon as it was purchased.

Said reason is pacing around a few feet away. The footsteps aren’t as subtle as they’re trying to be and Andrew lets his eyes close again as he focuses on the feeling of him.

Bare feet squeaking across the floor. The air tastes of burnt toast. A muffled chuckle. The faint scent of mint on the pillow.

He breathes in. He breathes out.

The world clicks into place and Andrew sits up, pulling himself out of bed and yanking a sweatshirt poking out of an overstuffed drawer. He feels the elastic of the sweatshirt protesting against his efforts but he pays it no mind. Instead, he gives his attention to the cool grooves of the wood beneath his feet and the faint sizzles and pops in the next room over.

He’s just finished putting on the sweatshirt, the worn cotton of it gliding around his triceps with every sway of his arms, when he steps into the kitchen.

Sometimes when Andrew wakes up, the world is trying to tell him too much. All the details crawl up his skin like ants. A million itches he can’t scratch warring for his attention, begging to be noticed, until the only escape is shutting all his doors.

And sometimes when he wakes up, he sees Neil.

He is hunched over the stove now, one arm pressed into the countertop, the other poised over it with a spatula. His hair is like a firecracker, sticking up in different directions and glowing shades of red, orange, and gold in the morning light. His eyes don’t betray any particular emotion but his lips are pursed, his hips cocked, his right foot tapping the ground. One of their cats, the one with the slightly less stupid name, is circling around his feet, face turned skyward.

When Andrew starts walking towards him, Neil flicks his gaze up and smiles, the closed lip one that takes place more in his eyes than his mouth.

“Morning.”

Andrew doesn’t grace him with a response, but slots himself into Neil’s side, head resting against his shoulder. Their hip bones click against each other. The fabric of his borrowed shirt bunches up against his arm.

He breathes in. He breathes out.

A brush of lips against his forehead. The rise and fall of his chest. The heat of the stove.

“How’d you sleep?”

Andrew shrugs. “No dreams.”

Neil’s smiling again, the burn scars under his eye stretching as he does so. Andrew traces the puckered lines with his thumb.

“It was a good night for both of us then,” Neil says. Nose crinkled. Tone light. Hand hovering over Andrew’s hip.

Leaning into the offered hand, Andrew closes his eyes. “Is that why you’re making a racket this early in the morning?”

Neil pulls him closer and squeezes. “I know you don’t speak French, but what I’m making is called an omelette.” He releases Andrew from his grasp. “Now be useful and get me a plate before it burns.”

Instead of heeding those words, Andrew collapses further into Neil, turning his face towards the thin cotton of Neil’s shirt.

The warmth of his skin. The rounded edges of his shoulder blade. The smell of detergent. The ridges of his scars.

Laughter shakes Neil’s shoulder and Andrew along with it. “Comfortable?”

Andrew grunts. “Tired.”

The vibrations of Neil’s laughter echo through him again. “C’mon Andrew." A deliberate nudge of his shoulder brings Andrew’s eyes level with Neil’s. The quirk of his lips. A mouthwatering aroma. A long stare.

He breathes in. He breathes out.

Andrew ghosts his fingertips under Neil’s chin and leans in closer and closer until he can feel a breath that is not his tickle his lips, before pulling back and strolling to the cabinets on the opposite wall.

Neil blinks. Once. Twice.

“Tease,” he mutters before turning back to the stove. Andrew allows the corner of his lip to tug upward for a brief second as several plates clink together in his hands.

After he sets the plates on the counter, he folds his arms and looks up at Neil.

The scrape of the spatula against the pan. Coconut shampoo. A tail brushing against his foot. The stove clicking shut. Sinewy muscles tensing in Neil’s forearm. Crumbs falling. The light flush of Neil’s ear that makes it look like a shell nestled in the warm sand of the beach.

Neil glances at Andrew and smirks. “What? Waiting for your reward for doing what you’re told for once?”

Andrew uncrosses his arms and reaches for Neil’s earlobe, rubbing it between his fingers. “You’re one to talk.”

Leaning into the touch, Neil chuckles. “You’re right. Enough talking.” He levels a look at Andrew that’s on fire despite the glacial blue of his eyes. “Let’s eat.”

The space between them shrinks in an instant but they’re still half a breath apart. Andrew’s whole body crawls with the feeling of not quite there touches, near kisses, and words almost said.

He loves it more than anything.

“Yes or no?”

The yes that falls from Neil’s lips is more like a heavy exhale, syrupy, delicious, and satisfying.

Andrew plucks that sweetness from Neil’s lips with his own, swallowing a shuddering breath that tastes like peppermint. He knows what he’s giving isn’t nearly as palatable, but Neil’s hunger still matches his own.

Hands find their way to the air around his hips. The question he asked Neil is returned to his lips and Andrew gives back the answer he’d taken. Thumbs rub circles around his hip bones. Fingers splay against the small of his back. The last inch of space vanishes so quickly that Andrew wonders if it was even there to begin with.

But he isn’t one to be distracted. With one more insistent press of swollen lips against a half formed moan, Andrew leans back just enough to remind Neil that air can exist between them before forgetting himself immediately against the hypnotic curve of Neil’s ear.

Tongue tracing the maze of skin. Teeth nibbling at the soft flesh. A sigh with a whimper buried deep within. Fingers digging deeper into his sides.

“So that’s what you wanted,” Neil huffs, voice dry and cracking like a log on fire.

Andrew hums against his ear and leaves Neil a trail of kisses to find later. One. Two. Three. Four. More and more until numbers become a meaningless soup in his mind.

When he’s confident he’s carved enough sensations along the slopes of his body for Neil to be feeling hours, days, weeks from now, he indulges himself in Neil’s parted lips once more.

“Andrew,” Neil whispers. It’s like a prayer and a curse all at once. It drips like honey down Andrew’s throat and he finds himself wanting more, more, more.

His roaming hands and tongue are rewarded when once again his own name is shoved against his mouth but now it tastes like spun sugar, light and sticky, simple and delicate.

It’s too much and not enough. It fills him up and breaks him down. It’s dizzying. It’s grounding. It’s his beginning and his end. He is lost. He is found.

He breathes in. He breathes out.

Neil.

Andrew’s not sure if he says it as much as radiates it, but the body pressed against him seems to hear it all the same. A smile, a sigh.

“You are everything,” Neil rasps. There’s a pink haze coloring his cheeks, but his eyes are clear. “Everything.”

Something spills inside Andrew and it’s like he’s a dam about to burst, a flame one breeze away from a wildfire.

“If you say you’re nothing, I might have to kill you.”

Neil is laughing now. It tastes like lemon drops. “No, I won’t say that anymore.” He nudges his nose against Andrew’s. “Unless you still want nothing.”

Sometimes when Andrew wakes up the world is trying to tell him too much. It always has and today is no different. Cool floors, hot flame. Spiced smoke, sweet air. Soft fur, sturdy shoulders. Itchy fabric, gentle gazes. Sharp words, lingering hands. Everything.

And Andrew knows he hasn’t wanted nothing for a long time.

But instead of answering, he leaves a kiss on Neil’s nose, then one on his cheek, then his chin, and jaw, and both eyelids. He’s created a whole new galaxy on Neil’s face before he finally replies, “I want breakfast.” Another kiss on an infuriating smile. “And a cigarette.”

When Neil peels himself away and squeezes Andrew’s hands in his own, a hush falls over his body except for the tingling in his fingers.

“You’re lucky I happen to have both.” Neil extricates a mostly empty and crumpled pack out of the pocket of his gym shorts and places it in Andrew’s hands. “Knock yourself out.”

“You have everything don’t you?” Andrew asks, the amusement in his voice well hidden by stoicism but Neil manages to find the traces of it anyways.

“I do.” He brings Andrew’s knuckles to his lips. The sensation is chapped yet damp and not at all unpleasant. “Jealous?”

Andrew rolls his eyes and brings his hands back to his body. Picking up a plate with what is now a very cold omelette, he says as he fishes a fork out of the drawer, “Why would I be? I have everything too.”

The rattling of silverware. A sharp inhale. Cool porcelain. A warm buzz.

A smile let loose, uncensored, laid bare, blinding like the sun. Andrew wonders how it tastes.

It tastes like melted ice cream.

“I have everything.” He’s repeated the words but the tone is new. Raw, coarse like gravel, hushed like snow. The way Neil swallows it up after he says it makes him wonder, for the first time, how his own words taste. If they’re worth this hunger.

“Yes, you do,” Neil murmurs after a moment. “And if I can manage to stop kissing you for five minutes, maybe you can have pancakes with chocolate sauce too.”

It’s too much. It’s too little. His heart is breaking. It is soaring. There is a heat pressing at the backs of his eyes. There is a chill deep in his bones. He is sinking. He is weightless. He’s living. He’s dying. He had nothing. He has everything.

He breathes in. He breathes out.

[ricky-corderbro]

It’s Raining Fish... Hallelujah ||Ricky & Morgan

Ricky and Morgan discover a new and weird twist on that disco classic, and more than they bargained for on the beach. 

Morgan decided she’d rather supplement her income by selling crystals concocted with alchemy, she imagined herself wandering sandy beaches in a heavy knit sweater that billowed around her hips like an H&M photoshoot. She’d fill neat mason jars full of sand and, stop to sip wine and stare at the crisp sky and the rolling tied, and cart her fresh, beautiful resources back to her beachfront bungalow (because of course, with the wild money making wonders of online salesmanship, there would be a beachfront bungalow) in a weathered wagon rescued from an antique store and lovingly brought to a shine. Perhaps she had needed this fantasy in order to talk herself into doing something so ridiculous in the first place. How many of her other mistakes had started with ‘this is fine’ or ‘I got this’? 

Today Morgan was sweating through her hoodie, prickling up to her knees in sand, and dodging broken debris and beached jellyfish from the rough tide. She had her picturesque mason jars, and a number of glass and plastic tupperware from Tookies, and was scrounging for any beach party scraps she could break down for packaging and flourishes. Maybe if she ever got around to breaking the curse and not worrying about her lease at the traveler’s rest, this would all feel the way it was supposed to. 

Though most of the town of White Crest tended to avoid the beaches in the middle of January, this was the time Ricky felt like he enjoyed it the most. Sunshine and beach beer was all well and good but in the middle of winter it turned into an almost alien landscape; wet sand sculpted by the frigid wind and small drifts of snow painted a picture of bleak desolation that spoke to the tremendous power of the ocean. He found himself wandering the beach with no real goal in mind. He had half an eye out for the sea glass, driftwood, and bone he used for work  but mostly it was a day to take in the salt air and try to forget the flooding and the karkinoids and the rest of White Crest’s nonsense.

As he strolled along the cold sand he saw a figure in the distance, apparently scrounging through the beach for something. It’d be rude to walk by and not say anything so as he got a little closer he waved and called out over the wind, “Morning!”

Morgan toppled out of her crouch and landed splayed in the sand. So far she had managed her supply runs without an audience, something she hadn’t realized made the whole thing less shame-inducing. But Mr. Cheerful passing by her didn’t need to know that. “Morning!” She called. “Fancy seeing you or...anyone out here, really. Aren’t you afraid of the tides?”

Ricky rushed over to the woman and offered his hand to help her up, “Sorry! Didn’t mean to startle you. Brushing the sand from his hands he looked at the beach and shrugged, “As long as you know them and what they’re doing there’s nothing to fear from the tides. What about you? What brings you down here to this little slice of the Arctic?” It was a little surprising to see someone else there, but, she seemed to be looking for something, so it wasn’t the strangest thing Ricky had seen on a beach.

Morgan accepted the helping hand and wiped the excess sand from her back. “Thank you. And I’m just, you know, enjoying the scenery! Beaches look kind of picturesque when they’re wind-tossed and and brooding. It makes you feel like you’re in a Bronte novel, right?” As she spoke, the wind rose and the waves crashed forward, splashing their way rather un romantically. Morgan edged out of the splash zone, but not before the next wave reared and crested again. “So uh, what was that you said about knowing how tides are gonna work?”

“Not quite as picturesque as wandering the moors, but it has the same desolate charm. All we need is a lone rider on horseback looking pensively over the surroundings.” Ricky neatly backstepped away from the wave as it crept closer to them, “I mean… they’re on a pretty set schedule. You can always have at least a general idea of when they’re coming and going. Like now. Tide’s coming in. There’s gonna be a lot less beach in awhile.” 

The guy was right, with each wave the sea came closer to her Tookies wagon. Morgan hauled her tupperware up in one armload, then scooped a cup or so of seawater with one of her empties. There were a lot of helpful minerals in seawater and it would make her life so much easier to have them fresh on hand. “Don’t mind me, just collecting!” She said. Actually, a second jar wasn’t such a bad idea. Morgan held up a finger--just one second!--and waded up to her knees to take a good briny scoop. As she did, she knocked into something hard and heavy. “Oh, shit!” Oh god sharks swam up in high tide didn’t they? Was this what shark felt like? Or what about turtles? Had she killed a sea turtle? Did they have sea turtles in Maine? Morgan stumbled back, her errand forgotten. The tide curled away, revealing--a treasure chest? Morgan looked over at her new beach friend. Was he seeing this too?

Ricky watched with a bemused smile as his apparent new beachcomber friend waded into the surf to collect sea water. It had to have been absolutely freezing, since even he could feel the chill of the waves and he was usually fine with water that was all but frozen. He’d been in the middle of reserving a table at The Artesian for his meeting with Deidre when he heard the woman give out a shout. Fearing that some brazen karkinoid or even worse aipaloovik had crashed out of the surf he turned quickly to see her standing in front of what appeared at first to be a mammoth piece of barnacle and seaweed covered driftwood until he looked closer and saw that it was in fact, a giant chest. “The fuck?”

“Okay, so that’s not just me! Good!” Morgan looked back at the trunk. “Second question: does this happen here often? Is the kind of place where buried treasure just casually comes up over the weekend?” Morgan half expected a demon to pop out of it and go ‘boo!’ That was much more the White Crest way. But still--it was kind of exciting. She’d have to tell, well, someone about it online later. She leaned in conspiratorially.  “...Do you think we should open it?”

“Well… i’ve been on this beach regularly for 23 years and never seen anything like this so I”m gonna go out on a limb and say no. Definitely doesn’t happen often.” 23 years on the beach had, however, instilled in Ricky a healthy fear of things that just magically appeared on the sand from within the bottomless maw of the deep. He took several cautious steps toward it and hummed pensively, “On the one hand… treasure potential. On the other…. Body parts from a drug deal gone south. Seems like it could go either way, and with the week the town’s been having it doesn’t seem likely it’s that first option.”

Morgan nodded. Much as she wanted to believe she was about to fuck the universe and her stupid curse with a boatload of cash, she knew sea boy was probably right. “Okay, granted, but we should at least haul it in, right? And uh, fifty-fifty split if it’s buried treasure?” She winked, enjoying the absurdity of the wish. She crept back into the ocean to get a good angle on the thing. She was at least snapping a good picture. Hopefully it wouldn’t have to be captioned something like, taken just before Morgan Beck was eaten my mysterious sea creature! That would be a terrible way to find out krakens are real. 

Nodding pensively Ricky approached the chest to get a closer look, pulling some of the seaweed and ocean grunge off of it. He could faintly see some sort of writing carved into it, but it definitely wasn’t in any language he knew or had seen before. “Looks like there’s something carved into it.” He called as he cleared away more debris. As his fingers touched the wood of the chest he had a sudden shiver run up and down his spine, the rough wood catching on the pads of his fingers as he traced the symbols. Weird he thought to himself as he followed his new friend’s lead and started taking pictures. Definitely weird. “Of course we’ll split it fifty-fifty. If it’s treasure and not the rotted corpse of someone who crossed the mob.”

As soon as Morgan touched the trunk a wave of no clammied up her body. That was definitely not a million dollars. Or if it was, it was the kind of million dollars that made you wish you’d never seen it. But Morgan didn’t know how to explain that to beach boy. She kept her smile on and gave the trunk the ol’ heave-ho until it was out of the water. Christ almighty on a cracker this thing looked terrifying. It looked like it had been sitting at the bottom of the ocean longer than the Titanic. “Um, maybe you should do the honors!” She said. She tried not to sound like she was freaking out, like some of the gunk growing on the lid had slid inside her, but her voice jumped an octave or three as she gestured to the lid. “You got the uh, guy muscles for it, right?” So help her, if this thing was cursed…

It didn’t seem likely to Ricky that they could get the chest out of the surf and up onto the drier dirt, but somehow between the two of them they managed. Every single time he touched the chest to push it or pull it his body rebelled at the action. The truck was cold, the kind of cold he could feel in his fangs and it almost seemed to pulse with it. “This is totally why I go to the gym daily, to open strange runed treasure chests that wash up mysteriously on the beach.” He scraped more of the detritus off, shivering with every touch of the chest. “Have you ever seen this writing before? I may speak three languages but they all use the same alphabet and this ain’t it.” As he cleaned more and more he came to a strange conclusion. “I don’t think this thing opens….” He made a full circuit around the chest and came back frowning, “No crack where the lid meets the body, no hinges, nothing. I guess it could be the world’s largest puzzle box but it doesn’t seem to have any pieces that move.”

“There has to be something,” Morgan said. She crouched down and took a closer look at the markings. Nothing really stuck out as particularly alchemical or magical. “Maybe you just have to...pop the lid off straight up?” But where was the lid? It was just..box. Morgan fished out her phone. She could try turning the box into something that was already open, but as she scraped her fingers along the sides, looking for something, anything, she lost interest in putting her magic anywhere near...whatever this was. She backed away slowly. “You know, maybe we’re better off just calling the police, or the neighborhood watch or--” Morgan didn’t finish. The clouds overhead grumbled with thunder and a wave of fish hailed down.

“I’d be inclined to agree with you and go get the crowbar from my truck… but I don’t even see a seam at the top. It’s just solid gross damp wood.” Ricky tried to do exactly that though, no harm in trying, but as soon as he gripped the wood tightly to try to pop what was supposed to be the lid off he was hit with a gut-punching wave of nausea and he doubled over in pain, retching slightly, “Okay. It’s not coming off like that. Definitely not like…” before he could finish his sentence the sky murmured with the sound of a far off storm and Ricky felt himself get hit, not with raindrops as might expect, but with what appeared to be a halibut. “Okay what the fuck.” The sky opened up and they were suddenly pelted by a wave of fish, “This. Is not. Supposed to happen!” Ricky shouted out. 

[axel-fics]

Because of You - Chapter 4

A/N: Writer’s block is a BTCH but I’m back!! Pretty proud of how this chapter came out :D 

Summary: During his Mark of Mastery Exam, Sora falls into the hands of Master Xehanort and is taken to the Realm of Darkness. Now, it’s up to his friends to save him before he succumbs to the darkness. This is the story Axel and the reader as they journey through the Sleeping Worlds, begin their training as Keyblade Masters, and learn just how much they secretly care for each other.

In a flash, you summoned your Keyblade and charged at the swarm of Nightmares. It was only your second time using the weapon in battle and it clearly showed; thankfully your Meow Wow Dreameater was by your side helping you defeat the colorful creatures. At least going through the seven sleeping worlds will help train you to use the Keyblade better. 

Lea held out his hand to summon his Keyblade, only to have a single chakram appear in his hand. He was completely taken aback at his inability to summon his new weapon, only having a split second to defend himself from a panda Nightmare striking him. 

“Shit,” he gritted. 

“What?” You called over your shoulder, still defending yourself from the Nightmares. 

Lea didn’t have time to answer. He summoned his second chakram and started throwing them around like boomerangs slicing through the air and destroying Nightmares in a single strike. Over the next several minutes, the two of you, alongside with your Dreameaters, vanquished every last Nightmare in the town square. When the coast was clear, Lea caught his chakrams midair with barely any effort and glared at them. 

“I couldn’t summon my Keyblade…” he murmured, staring at his weapons in disappointment. The vision of his Flame Liberator danced around in his mind, the Keyblade he obtained when he took his own dive back in the Tower only a short time ago. Why all of a sudden could he not conjure the weapon now?

“Wait a sec, I’ve never seen this door before!” Your gasp shook Lea out of his thoughts as he watched you run past the tiny cafe behind him. Grabbing the large door handle, you pulled it with all your strength and continued on with Lea hot on your trail. It was a dark alleyway with a ton more apartment buildings surrounding it and a long, narrow roadway that lead up to a water canal. Without hesitation you ran through the small waterfall and followed the pathway until you reached another exit with a number ‘4’ inscribed over it. Your whole body was soaked with water, but your excitement over discovering a whole new area of town took precedence. 

“A fourth district?? This is unbelievable! I’ve only been to three in this whole world,” you exclaimed. You turned back to see Lea emerge from the canal, his spiky hair dripping wet at the sides. He shook the water loose like a wet dog, which made you giggle. 

“There’s a fifth one, too, if you continue down that road,” a voice called. 

“Huh? Who’s there?”

A boy in a lavender dress shirt and jeans jumped down from a tall building and landed in front of you, scaring the skin off your bones. 

“Are you always this jumpy?” He asked. 

“Only when strange guys jump out of nowhere,” you retorted. “Who’re you?”

“My name is Joshua. You’re friends of Sora and Riku’s, aren’t you?

“How did you—?”

“They were here not too long ago. Though it is interesting: they were here at the same time but separated by the portal. You see, this world was split into two, and each of them were in one of the two parallel versions of Traverse Town. The two of you though are here in the same version of Twilight Town.”

“We’re following Sora’s path specifically. He’s…in trouble,” you whispered. You didn’t want to be rude to this Joshua, especially since he’s been in contact with Sora and might be able to help. But you couldn’t help but feel pressured to find the Keyhole to this world and continue on as quickly as you could.

Joshua eyed you carefully, as if he were probing your inner thoughts. He pointed down the alleyway to your left. “Follow that path to the fifth district and hook a right. The Keyhole you’re looking for is by the town greenhouse. But be prepared: you’ll have to fight your way to uncover it.”

“Greenhouse…?” You placed your hands on your hips and sighed.

“What is it?” Lea asked. 

“Oh, nothing…” Lea raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Okay, fine! I’ve lived here most of my life and all of a sudden there’s more districts and places to go that I didn’t even know existed. It’s just that my life is already a mystery to me, and now this place just adds to that mystery. I feel like I know less and less about myself every day…” 

Lea couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Guilt ate away at his heart as he watched you struggle with your thoughts. The words he wanted to say came to his lips but disappeared before his voice could make a sound. Just tell her the truth. Tell her you know. 

Tell her how you failed her… 

“Well, anyways, there’s no time to think about that now,” you suddenly perked up. “We have a Keyhole to find!”

“Wow. You really are friends with Sora. You two are cut from the same cloth,” Joshua mused. 

“Hey, what does that mean?” 

“You’re both resilient to distress practically,” he chuckled, “and extremely upbeat, even in the toughest of situations.”

“I guess when you travel to different places for so long together, you kinda become one in the same person,” you laughed. “Thanks for your help, Joshua! Let’s get going, Lea.”

“Just… be careful. The Nightmare guarding the Keyhole is a strong one. Don’t let your light go out,” Joshua warned. 

As you and Lea ran down the road, Joshua’s eyes followed until you were out of sight. 

“Sora’s counting on you.”

~*~

“This place is so beautiful,” you observed. 

The town’s greenhouse was bigger than any building you’ve seen around town. It was made of glass and radiated a warm, yellow glow that lit up the entire fifth district. From inside the greenhouse you could smell an aroma of different flowers, all sweet and soothing that you were tempted to lay down inside and take a nice long nap. A cool breeze sent chills down your spine, snapping you from your daydream and back to the situation at hand. A Nightmare was around here somewhere, and you had to stay focused. 

“Let’s try the top of the greenhouse,” Lea said. The two of you climbed your way up and looked at the area from above; the night sky was so beautiful and the stars were burning bright above you. The last time you saw this view was from the roof of your old home, only it was from the first district. You couldn’t help but feel a slight bit nostalgic again, remembering spending hours sitting on your roof enjoying the peaceful silence the night time brought. Things were a lot simpler back then; so much has changed… 

The ground suddenly shook beneath your feet, almost knocking you down. Summoning your Keyblade, you searched the area for the disturbance but saw nothing. Your Meow Wow Dreameater hid behind your back, too scared to move. Lea tried summoning his Keyblade again, only to have his chakrams appear in his hands once again.

“What is going on…” he gritted through his teeth. 

“Worry about that later,” you said. “We’ve got company.” You pointed towards opposite side of the greenhouse to where a pair of large, purple ears stuck up. 

A Nightmare appeared in the form of a giant tiger with teeth bigger than your Keyblade and piercing yellow eyes. Without hesitation, the creature shot a large ball of fire in your direction, sending both you and Lea flying in opposite directions. Both your Dreameaters came to your sides, only to freak out and hide once again from the ginormous Nightmare. Looks like the two of you were on your own for this fight… 

The creature charged for Lea, who only had a split second to defend himself before one of it’s large claws came swiping down. Lea sent both of his chakrams flying ablaze, forcing the Nightmare backwards to avoid getting burned. But then the Nightmare overpowered Lea’s attacks and lunged towards him, his mouth wide open and boasting a mouth full of sharp teeth. Lea defended himself from the attack by raising his chakrams to defend himself, pushing back on the Nightmare’s mouth with all his strength. 

“Axel!” From behind the creature, you shot a Blizzard spell and froze the tip of the Nightmare’s tail, distracting it from it’s assault on Lea. When the creature turned around, it’s frozen tail sent Lea flying again to the far end of the greenhouse. You held your Keyblade steady and waited for the Nightmare to charge at you, only to use it’s now frozen tail to it’s advantage by breaking the glass of the greenhouse roof from under your feet. You had no time to brace yourself before you fell through, the Nightmare following you down into the greenhouse interior. Before you were about to land harshly onto the floor, you extended your arm and caught on one of the railings and saved yourself from any major damage. 

“[Y/N]!” You heard Lea’s panicked voice from above you, and as you looked up you saw the glass ceiling magically repair itself, officially separating you from Lea and locking you in with the Nightmare. 

“Just great,” you mumbled. Dropping down to the ground safely, you turned toward the Nightmare and continued your attacks as best as you could. The creature did seem a bit run down, but it wasn’t enough for you to take it on one-on-one. Despite the disadvantage, you knew you had to try with all your strength to take it down. You weren’t going to let one silly-looking tiger get in the way of saving your best friend, not in a million years. 

You fought with all your strength against the nightmare, sending your most powerful spells to help slow it down from it’s onslaught of attacks. Now getting more used to using the Keyblade, your attacks were already improving in the heat of battle, and you did your best to counter any attacks against you. Suddenly, you became aware of your new surroundings and found yourself cornered by the beast with no where to run. You raised your Keyblade once again as the Nightmare’s hot breath and sharp teeth got closer and closer. 

“[Y/N]! Over here!” Lea’s voice called out to you again, this time sounding closer to you. From behind the creature, Lea came charging with his flamed chakrams, distracting the Nightmare once again. You took the opportunity for a splice attack: Lea attacking from one end of the monster and you the other. The attack was successful, and the creature fell to the ground with a loud thump before vanishing into thin air. 

Completely exhausted, you fell to your knees and slumped over, trying to catch your breath. “Well, that was fun,” you sighed sarcastically. 

“Are you okay,” Lea asked. He held out a hand towards you offering to lift you up, which made you blush. 

“Yeah, are you?”

“I’ll be better when I figure out why this damn Keyblade won’t summon for me,” Lea grumbled. 

“Maybe something’s on your mind distracting you? When I think about summoning my Keyblade, I clear all my thoughts and believe with all my heart that the Keyblade will come to me. And sure enough, it does. Maybe try that next time,” you smiled. 

“Clear my thoughts…” Lea folded his arms and closed his eyes.

“So, what’s distracting you?”

Memories flashed through his mind in an instant. The mysterious white castle. His home world suddenly swallowed up in darkness. His hand reaching out for her’s. The scream that escaped her lips. 

“Lea? You okay?”

Lea snapped out of his thoughts and looked at you, your eyes watching him closely. Once again he felt the words bubble up deep inside him, ready to burst. “You…”

But he couldn’t say anything. Not just yet.

“You…called me Axel before,” he whispered.

“I did? Oh, I’m sorry, Lea. It must’ve just slipped,” you said. 

“It’s okay. You can call me Axel if you’d like; I don’t mind either way.”

“Okay then, Axel. I’ll get it memorized this time, promise,” you winked, giggling as you mocked his signature catchphrase. 

Just then, a bright light appeared above you, and the outline of a Keyhole emerged.

“Go ahead,” Axel said. “You’re the only one who has a Keyblade right now.”

Aiming your Keyblade at the Keyhole, a beam of light shot through and the sound of a door unlocking in the distance filled your ears. If Sora were here, you thought, he’d be proud. 

“One down, six more to go.” 

[spiltscribbles]

Notes: I am a soft ball of fluff who also loves these two to bits! 

A reblog saves a life<3

~*~

.-

“Hurry up, hurry up,” Stiles bucks up his hips, sliding greedy hands under the waistband of Derek’s briefs.

“You ever wonder if the romance in our relationship is lost?” Derek snorts, nibbling on Stiles’s collar bone, across his jaw and finally landing with a searing kiss onto his lips.

“Mmm,” Stiles flips him over so that Derek’s writhing underneath him. “Dude we have four kids under five! No time for romance between frantic hand jobs.”

“Freya’ll be six next month,” Derek points out, peppering kisses all over Stiles’s face.

“Fine, we’ll have a really romantical, slow bone session right after we clean up all the cake and ice-cream from her party. But right now, I can barely remember the last time our dicks touched.”

“Two weeks, nine days, and three hours ago.”

Stiles leers, “Bro I don’t know whether to be flattered that you’re counting down the hours till we fuck, or be concerned the my man is obviously thinking about me every second of the day instead of focusing on  his actual, very dangerous job.”

“One,” Derek pulls Stiles back underneath him—always having enjoyed the push and pull of their relationship, the way neither of them let the other have anything easy. Always poking and prodding and forcing each other to do better. To be better. “I’m your husband, not your dude, or bro or any of the other colorful nicknames you like to use, pretending you’re some douchey, snapback wearing frat kid getting drunk off his ass in some lame  party.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t have been that douche in another life…You know one vacant of wolves and hunters and all that shit.”

“Two,” Derek continues as if Stiles hadn’t even spoken, grinding down into him and reveling in the little, gasps of groans that he lets out at the contact. “We’re doing much more than fucking, don’t ya think?”

“Oo, ah ah yeah, yeah definitely,” Stiles almost squeaks out. “But we’re not going to be doing anything if you don’t shut the hell up.”

“My have the tables turned.”

“Ass face,” Stiles latches their lips together with a fervor that Derek feels in his bones—making his toes curl and his dick shoot up in excitement. “Hello my old friend,” Stiles simpers before wrapping it with one of is large hands.

“It—huh—It hasn’t been that long.”

“Says the guy who’s been counting down the hours,” Stiles gifs another savage tug—using some of Derek’s pre-cum to rub up and down his shaft. Derek swears he sees light while he’s frantically smacking down on their night table, in search of some proper lube. That is until…

A bloodcurdling  screech bursts through their baby monitor.

Derek collapses onto Stiles’s shoulder in defeat.

“Jesus Christ!”  

“God fucking damn it!”

They freeze there for a moment more, Matty’s cries growing ever louder.

“One of us must’ve been a mass murderer in past life and that’s why Karma’s being such a bitch,” Stiles says, slowly pealing himself off of Derek and throwing on the nearest pair of boxers he could find.

“Oh I’m sure,” Derek reasons.  “Though I put my money on it being  you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say sour wolf.”

“Touché, you want baby duty or going down stairs to make the bottle?”

“Fuck, we didn’t bring one up?”

“Ah no, we were—erm, otherwise compromised.” Derek suddenly remembers much of the same actions taking place last night, but rather than a fitful baby that haunted their plans, it was a very fear ridden Freya, who had watched a scary clip on Youtube with some school friends earlier that day. And then him and Stiles had another argument over not sending her to a private  school and were angry at each other until this morning, when Derek agreed that he was acting a bit hot headed, and Stiles offered to talk with her teacher—which then lead to heated kisses and the bright prospect of finally getting off.

A prospect which never came into fruition.

“Right, well I’ll grab Matty,—he always likes your bottles more, for some reason.”

“What can I say,” Stiles sniffs. “I have magical hands.”

Derek licks his lips on a swallow. “Don’t remind me.”

.-

“Shhh baby, c’mon Matthew. c’mon you’re okay,” Derek croons, rocking him into his arms. “You wanna hear a lullaby? Huh? Yeah kiddo?”

“Derek! Derek!” Stiles clammers into the nursery, hair askew and shirt boxers slung dangerously  low on his narrow hips. “”s broken! His bottle! ‘s broke!”

Half dazed from a serious lack of sleep, not enough coffee, and the worst tease of his fucking life, Derek plucks out the  aforementioned bottle right from Stiles’s death grip.

“Ah Stiles—You didn’t even screw on the nipple?” Derek points out, rattling it in his face.

“Is it bad if you saying the word nipple is really making my pants tight?” Stiles ponders out loud,  biting into the nail of his thumb.

“Well considering your referring to the utensil our child needs to use to eat with, and that your not even wearing pants right now-“

“Does it take effort being such a dry witted ass hole so early in the morning?”

“You forgot functional. I’m a functional  dry witted asshole. Unlike you evidently.”

“Hey! I’m functional!” Stiles argues, to which Derek just gives a pointed look to his disheveled mop of hair, and bare chest speckled with dried milk that spilled out when he must’ve been shaking the bottle without properly sealing it’s lid. Stiles’s face goes a very fetching scarlet, and Derek very much feels the ache of their lack of, well…erm, private time, yet again. With Carson and Freya starting the school year, and the twins beginning teething—well it’s all been way too hectic, and something had to give way eventually…Derek just mourns that it had to be their sex life. “Hey! Don’t you dare use those judgmental eyebrows on me pretty boy!”

Derek’s eyes go owlish before meeting Stiles’s glower. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

“Yuh huh,” Stiles snorts unconvinced, taking Matthew out of Derek’s embrace, and tucking him into his own chest. “Well I’ll have ya know big guy that back in college,  I spent many a days fueled purely on Starbucks refills and sugar highs that these munchkins would salivate over.”

“Is that right,” Derek drawls, eyes flickering to the mural Isaac had painted on the wall of the twin’s room—a family tree where each branch has an emblem dangling off it’s tip—symbolizing the most important people in their lives.. Derek feels a rush of pure elation when spotting the Hale triskelion up on top. It’s so right and perfect, and never in a million years did Derek think he could have this. A set of friends and family who truly loves him, and who he trusts and adores implicitly. A partner that snarks at him at every turn, but also makes Derek’s knees go weak, and his heart swell with affection. Hell, never did Derek ever think of himself as being the fathering type—but with Stiles, it all just feels natural, definitely not easy (Especially when Carson’s favorite blanket is in the wash and he refuses to go anywhere without it, or when Freya brings in some new critter she’s caught outside in a sudden save every animal and bring it back home with me kick.) but it all feels right. Like Derek’s not screwing up completely.

“Yeah, well that and your vigorous love making of course,” Stiles clutches a hand over his heart, and flutters his lashes like he’s in a fucking mascara advert.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know,” Stiles straightens up, hitching a now fast asleep Matthew into a more comfortable position. “But I’m also right. I use to be the king of doing shit without even a blink of sleep.”

“You know Stiles, it doesn’t bother me that you’ve become less spry in your old age.”

“Fucker.”

“Not in front of the children, they’ll be up soon for school.”

Stiles’s face lights up at that, n almost kitty gleam pixilated in his eyes. “They are, aren’t they?”

“ah, yuh…That’s what I just said?”

“M’kay! Me and you got bout the same amount of sleep last night, right?”  

“Sure, I think?”

“Well I know for da both of us. So let’s prove who’s actually the spry one in this little  relationship of ours”

“Oh?” Derek perks up at the sound of that, moving up to settle a hand on Stiles’s hip—his eyes going dark. “And how do you suppose we do that?”

“Definitely not in the way you’re thinking,” Stiles sucks in a breath   when  Derek begins to  ravish his neck with a fresh batch of kisses.

Derek deflates at the clarification. “I don’t think anything else really interests me.”

“Don’t be such a sour wolf.” Stiles chides, cuffing Derek on the back of the head. “Me and you should have a competition.”

Derek kinks up one of his brows. “See who can get Carson or Freya ready for school first?”

Stiles’s grin goes devious. “Winner gets head.”

“Loser?”

“Oh Derek, babe there are no losers in this game.”

“I’ve got Freya,” Derek calls, striding to her room, knowing full and well how difficult Carson could be in the mornings—probably because he stays up way past his bedtime without ever being caught.

“Succor, her favorite dress ’s in the laundry.”

“Fuck.”

.

-

“C’mon princess,” Derek coaxes with a slight jostle  to the frilly dress, trying to make its sparkles catch in the light. “This one ’s just as good as the red one.”

“No ’s not,” Freya sniffs with an imperious tilt of her little head, arms crossed and weight slung onto her left hip. (If Derek is being at all honest, he thinks she might turn out being an exact replica of Erica, and that scares him shitless— his best friend is a force that Derek hasn’t the slightest clue how to restrain.) “I want the red won!”

“I know you do baby girl,” Derek squats down to level her with a look. “But sometimes we don’t always get what we want.”

“”m the star of the week! I’m s’pose to be  the bestest dresser in the class! “s the rules.”

Somehow, Derek seriously doubts that the teacher had ever referred to the student’s way of dress being at all related to being line leader and snack maker, but he plays along anyhow, because damn it straight to hell,  if his girl wants to look the bestest, she damn will.

“Baby girl, I promise this dress’ll still make you the bestest dressed in the class.”

“Aunty Lydia picked the red won out for me,” Freya sniffs, beginning to eye the pink one in Derek’s grasp—much in the same way that Stiles always assesses something right before giving in.

Speak of the devil…

The door to Freya’s room pops open, a beaming Stiles swaggering in. “Morning buttercup,” he crows with a kiss to her forehead.

“Papa I don’t have my red dress,” Freya explains to him the dilemma at hand, her big, pale eyes peering up at him mirthlessly.

“Oh shoot sunflower, ’s in the laundry, isn’t it?”

Freya nods solemnly, which is about the time Stiles’s facade breaks, and he looks like he’d do anything to salvage her hopes of wearing that particular dress to class today.

“Freya, gorgeous, what bout while I go downstairs and start frosting the cupcakes you and daddy made last night, you could face time Aunty Lyds and pick out a brand new dress. You know, with her sealed approval?”

Freya’s whole face lights up, and Derek is left marveling at how collected Stiles could be under such a crisis—one with a lot less blood and gore than back in their heyday—but still, a crisis all the same.

.-

“You’re kinda smart, you know that?” Derek lightly  hip checks him as the pair cross the threshold from Freya’s room, the sound of her and Lydia joyously speaking in rapid tongue French over Freya’s new dress dilemma, left in their wake.

“I felt guilty,” Stiles shrugs. “You know that bitch Caitlin Snow would’ve teased her mercilessly if our baby girl was looking all upset over such a little thing.”

“Isn’t Caitlin like five?”

“Yeah, and her mom ’s the piranha who was trying to flirt you up last week when you had to pick the kids up cause I was running late at the paper…Your point?”

Derek shakes his head with a chuckle. “I take it that things are going smoothly with Carse if you had time to come peak us a visit.”

“Oh totally,” Stiles preens. “Carson is like basically ready.”

Queue a very lively Carson bounding through the hall—pantsless and a fresh pair of underwear proudly perched on his head.

Derek kinks up  a brow at Stiles.

“Okay…So I may’ve exasperated a tad,” he shrugs.

“Papa! Daddy! Look! I’m Captain of the world! I kill monsters just like you guys!”

“C’mon Carse,” Stiles calls out, his face going pained. “I said only five more minutes of play before you have to start actually getting dressed.”

“Die you  flesh eating alien!”

“A little bit?” Derek snorts, to which Stiles just waves a hand over his face and mouths, “It’s the eyebrows of doom.”

“You’re impossible.”

“But you’ll still Finnish up with him while I go frost the cupcakes for Freya like I promised? Thanks beautiful, Imma love you up real good later.” Like the whirlwind he is, Stiles pecks a chased kiss onto Derek’s lips and leaps downstairs to their kitchen— because they’re full grown adults now, who have a house with multiple floors and children, and a fucking breakfast nook— before Derek could even comprehend what he had just said.

“Papa’s got u whipped daddy,” Carson laughs maniacally, all the more insane looking with the conspicuous  vacancy  of his two front teeth.

“I’m monitoring anything you watch from here on out,” is all Derek remarks, a long suffering sigh and knowing full and well that Carson hit the nail on the head.

“Do I still have to go to school then?” Carson’s eyes go owlish, and Derek swears by the Angel that Stiles’s been teaching him the art of wrapping Derek around his littlest finger, on the sly. (Well that, or Derek is just a big old succor for his family.)

“Sorry kiddo, but all signs point to yes.”

Carson deflates. “Can I still keep on my Captain of the World suit?”

Derek’s eyes flicker up to the underwear on his son’s head. “Are they clean?”

“Yes, yes I double checked!” Carson squawks gleefully.

“Well then, I see no problem  with that, as long as you got on a fresh pair underneath your pants too.”

“Yes! Thanks daddy!”

Just as soon as the door to Carson’s room clacks shut, a fresh looking Freya steps out of the bathroom—Mouth smelling minty, and her long curls still damp from the night before.

“Daddy?”

“Hey there princess,” Derek hoists her up into his arms, brushing away a stray lock from her heart shaped face. “You had a good talk with aunt Lydia?”

“Yeah, she picked out  anew dress and even shoes, and Uncle Jackson told me how ta put on one of the pretty tattoos he bought me for my birthday.”

“That’s great baby girl!”

“But there’s only one thing daddy.”

“What’s that?”

A moment passes before Freya pulls out a bright brush from her nightgown’s pocket. “Can you give me a princess braid?”

.-

Fifteen minutes, a pair of dressed kids, a very deformed french braid, and a set of permanently woken up twins for the day, later, and the whole family has congregated around their kitchen table.

“Derek we got anymore apple juice?” Stiles shouts from where he’s making his patent, pancake and egg to go sandwiches. Freya’s biting into a cherry tomato before setting it on Marie’s fork, who in turn just pounds her tiny fists into her yogurt in delight, Matty’s munching on his bottle, probably going to be the only one to adopt Derek’s calm demeanor in the whole bunch, but that doesn’t really bother him considering that Stiles’s nonstop chatter is one of the things he finds most endearing about him.

“We’ll need to go to the market this afternoon,” Derek notes before pouring Carson a glass in his favorite, sparkling Ninja Turtle cup, and recycling the emptied bottle afterwards.

“dad, dad! Look!” Carson tugs on Derek’s hand, flailing around an obviously hand drawn picture.

“What’s that little man?”

“’s a chinchilla! Did you know that they sleep in the day time, just like uncle Isaac says he’s gotta do because he’s an artist.”

“is that right?” Derek silently hands Stiles a couple of apples to put in the kids’ lunch bags.

“Yuh! And they only eat grass and can shed their skin like snakes and have huge families just like ours!”

“That’s insane. You think they have brothers and sisters  too?”

“Definitely!” Carson crows, practically jumping up and down. “And this one even has a Uncle Boyd who shows him neat card tricks and an an Aunty Allison who shows’m how to shoot a bow and arrow real good!” Derek idly wonders if Carson’s teacher just thinks he has a hyperactive imagination, or if she just thinks his kid is completely insane. “Do you like it daddy!”

“Yeah Carse,” Derek gives him a blinding grin, genuine to a fault. “I love it.”

“Really?” Carson preens.

“Of course sport.”

“You think Grandpa and Grandma Hale would’ve been proud of  it?”

For a second, Derek’s heart clenches, and he’s back to lonely days and fear ridden nights and the smell of smoke clung onto his very skin. He’s back to thinking he’d never be able to be good enough to ever deserve a family, not after what he’d done. Not after his world crumbled to ash and his heart sunk into itself.

But no.

Derek knows that it wasn’t his fault. Knows that he was a fifteen year old kid who’d fallen right into the trap a woman twice his age had set. He knows now that he never deserved the way he once upon a time use to shelter himself from all the world had to offer because of his fear and guilt and despair. Derek knows that now after years of therapy and assurances from his pack— his family— and especially subsequent countless late night talks with Stiles before they had adopted Freya from a teenage werewolf who wasn’t ready to be a mother.

Derek knows that Carson didn’t mean anything behind the statement, that he and all his siblings know just how much Derek and Stiles and all of their family adores them to bits and pieces, but that doesn’t stop Derek from swinging Carson into his arms, an giving him a slobbering kiss on his cheek.

“ew, gross daddy.”

“I know Grandma and Grandpa Hale would’ve loved this kiddo,”,” he speaks with conviction. “C’mon, help me hang this up on  the fridge with Freya’s spelling test.”

.-

“You sure you can drop’m off to my dad’s  on your way to the precinct?”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine if I’m a little late this morning.” Derek chastises, buckling Marie into her carseat, who just gives a little huff of annoyance when his hair is replaced with one of her rattles.

“Alright, alright, I’ll see ya tonight then,” a dopey kind of smile melts into Stiles’s face, right before kissing Derek—one a little more languid that the last, and Derek is appreciative for it. “Your parents would’ve been so proud  of the man you’ve become, just so you know,” Stiles gingerly sweeps a thumb over Derek’s cheek, a small smile tugging on the ends of his lips.

Derek has no idea how to adequately reply, so opts to just kiss him again—hoping it comes across just how much it means to him that Stiles always knows what to say, and how much Derek loves him—that is  until the kids start pounding against the windows to hurry them up.

“Hey wait!” Derek calls out to Stiles, who’s about to swing into the Volvo. “Who lost?”

“Like I said hot stuff,” Stiles leers. “There are no losers in this game!”

Derek thinks he’s a lot a bit in love with him.

.-

Scott and Allison offer to babysit that entire weekend, and Derek is sure  he’s never been so thankful when a very cocky, and very naked Stiles gets down on his knees for Derek the first time in months, and thinks that Stiles feels very much the same if his yells and commands for Derek to go faster already are anything to go by.

[geartime]

Rough Draft Chapter 1: A New AU

-Ink's pov

‘Things have been pretty slow lately. Error has been quiet, all the universes are fine, and there haven’t been any NEW AU’s in the making for m…’

Suddenly, I got the magnificent sensation of an AU starting out its first sketches. I immediately teleported to the source and got to work. However, as I worked I began to realize how small this universe was.

It was a tranquil universe, nothing but trees, grass, and flowers of every kind. A stream cut through it, glistening like fresh snow. Rather than being out in the open, the place seemed to be surrounded by sheer cliffs, surely impassable without the right skills and tools. The only major change in the cliffs was a single cave, and inside, the source of the stream. A gorgeous waterfall that sparkled like a million stars in the night sky. Echo flowers grew in an abundance her in the cave, each one waiting patiently to hear a passing conversation.

As I finished the final brush strokes of the land, I looked around and admired our work until I noticed something. While I was carried away working on the landscape, they had already started on creating the first inhabitant of the world. They appeared to by in a sitting position, relaxed and waiting to take in the sites of the land upon being brought to life. There head, was just a head at the time, no face or anything to hint at who they were, except for the bones.

As they continued working I never bothered to help, they were confident with every stroke and line they made. They appeared to be a Sans, but the cloths were rather interesting, simple, yet still interesting, and creative. They wore green boots with faded blue and yellow straps that crossed each other. They also wore a skirt that matched the color of one of the straps and the shirt matched the other. Over their shirt they were wearing sleeves that trailed behind them, kind of a marigold in color.

Eventually, they added brown finger less gloves to their hands, the right one slightly longer than the left. Then, almost as if it were a last thought, they added a gorgeous green scarf that was tied to the left. And to top it off, a star pendant were the scarf was tied. And then, they started on the face, which was a bit of a let down, for they had chosen to have the eyes clothes as if they knew I was there waiting in anticipation. To top it all off, they added green goggles to their head.

It was beautiful. I sat there, waiting, knowing that it was only a matter of time before they woke up. I suddenly realized that it would be best if I hid myself so as to not startle them once they woke up. Seeing a nearby tree I went over to it and started climbing, making sure to pull my scarf up so it didn’t dangle below the branches were it could be seen.

I began to doodle as I was waiting in the tree, occasionally looking down to check if they had woken up yet. At one point I noticed something different about them. This helped to explain why they hadn’t woken up yet, the creator of this AU wasn’t quite done. There was now a giant pencil on there back. Strange, it was the same size as my paintbrush.

Their eyes suddenly snapped open, and that's when it started.

-??? Pov

“W-what? Wh-where am, AHHHHHH!”

My mind was suddenly screaming with voices. I grabbed my head as it throbbed in pain.

“I can’t think of anything.”

“I’m no good.”

“I give up, my AU will never get noticed without a story.”

“Wait, what? What’s an AU? And don’t say that, I’m sure you all can come up with great stories.”

“Um, hi there.”

I suddenly plummet back to earth as I realize I’m not the only one here. To make things more interesting, I decided to look up very slowly so as to take it all in slowly and not rush myself.

“Hi. Now be quiet and give me a seck.”

First thing I notice is the shoes, brown sneakers with tiger print. A little higher and I notice light brown shorts on top of darker brown leggings with blue stripes. I then notice a light blue hoodie tied around their waist. They have their hands down to their side as I notice they are wearing brown finger less gloves. I also noticed what seemed to be the ends of a rather long scarf that started out a light cream color and gradually became a light brown. On top of that, I could see the bristles of what appeared to be a giant paint brush? Interesting. On his arms, I am not sure, but it resembles the leggings they're wearing.

I now venture back to the center and notice a belt going across from their right shoulder to the left of their hip. On the belt there were little vials of various colors with little hearts for the caps. They also appeared to be wearing a darker, kind of faded brown sleeveless, jacket, I suppose. I am not entirely sure what to call it. Anyway, under that they had a kind of cream colored short sleeved shirt. I know also notice they are wearing suspenders, brown in color with golden clasps.

I then finally moved on to their face. I had no words.

They looked at me with curiosity, a smirk on their face. I am now beginning to think they are male, but I would hate to make any assumptions. The main thing that stood out about their face was their eyes. The left one was a yellow star, sparkling with excitement. The other eye was a simple blue circle. One thing I found rather interesting was that on their left cheek was a splatter of, ink?

“Can I talk now?”

He asked me, I decided they were male because of their voice, but I wasn’t planning on revealing that I believed they were male until I knew for sure. I didn’t plan on being someone to assume something without solid confirmation.

“Ya, sure.”

“Hi. My name’s Ink, Ink sans.”

He then held his hand out to me. I looked at it, and then back to him. Unsure if I could fully trust him. I remained hesitant. His smile slowly shrunk as he watched me. Not wanting to assume the worst, or disappoint him, I reached out and finally took it, his smile coming back

“H-Hi Ink. I-I’m not entirely sure what m-my name is quite yet.”

“Don’t worry, I understand. You were only just created after all. It will come to you in time.”

I began to think, but that just brought the voices back.

“Gahhh, why are you all so loud.”

I rested my head on my knees and held my hands to my head, slowly rocking back and forth. The voices seemed to scream negativity as they shot down their own ideas left and right. I felt terrible with every good idea that faded. I desperately wanted to help, but there was nothing I could do.

“What do you mean? Is everything alright?”

I looked up to see Ink looking at me with a concerned look on his face. As I focused on his face the voices slowly quieted down.

“I don’t know, I’m just hearing a ton of voices in my head. They keep saying that their stories aren’t good enough and that their “AU’s” will never get noticed.”

“HOLY COW, YOU’RE HEARING THE CREATORS! I-I can’t believe this! I-I think I. O-Oh no.”

Suddenly, Ink opened his mouth as a black substance came spewing out like a high pressure hose. Rather than being grossed out, I was actually kind of amused.

‘What an interesting quirk’

“Erk. S-sorry, I tend to do that when I get to excited, hehe. Eh.”

“It’s okay, I actually find it interesting.”

I warmly smiled at him, tilting my head to the side just slightly. He perked up at this, surprised by my response.

“Really!?”

“Ya.”

Suddenly, something popped into my head, a voice. It stood out from the rest so I tried extra hard to listen. Although it gave me a headache doing so, I didn’t care. This voice called to me. It felt important and in some way, familiar.

“Draft.”

“Draft?”

I repeated the word out loud, trying to get a feel for it.

“What did you say?”

“Draft.”

“Draft. Draft? You mean like a rough draft you make to give yourself an idea of what you want a story to be but without the details, so you can add them later as they come to you?”

“Ya, I suppose so?”

I then decided to look at my own clothes, I loved them! I notice a giant pencil on my back and take it off, trying it out. At first glance you'd think it was heavy but it was actually nicely balanced, almost as if this weren’t my first time holding it.

“DRAFT!”

My eyes light up with excitement as the star on my scarf seemed to glow with my enthusiasm. Questions burst through my mind. What is my purpose? Why Draft? Why do I have a giant pencil? Why is Ink here in the first place? I didn’t care however. I would find out the answers to my questions eventually. Right now, I just wanted to live in the moment. I twirled around, my sleeves and skirt flowing around me as I did so.

“MY NAME IS DRAFT SANS! I LOVE IT!”

______________________ Next>

Draft by me Ink by @comyet​

Enjoy!

[let-it-raines]

Betting on the Bullseye (26/30)

Summary: Emma Swan loses a drunken bet that means she has to ask her celebrity crush - if you can call him that - to be her date to her office’s annual fundraising gala for Boston’s Children Shelter. Killian Jones is that celebrity. She expects all kinds of humiliation and for her dignity to be completely lost all because of the ridiculousness of the situation. 

What she doesn’t expect is for him to say yes.What she truly doesn’t expect is to actually like the man.

Rating: Mature

A/N: This has turned into one of my favorite stories, so if you guys have to force me to give you the new chapters, don’t be surprised. They’re all just chilling in my documents ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26

Tag list: @idristardis @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @wellhellotragic @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @captainsjedi @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @artistic-writer @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @galaxyzxstark @lifeinahole27 @andiirivera @ultimiflos @hollyethecurious @thejollyroger-writer @superchocovian @cs-forlife @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @notoriouscs

“Have you seen my nude heels?”

“Have I seen you nude?”

“My nude heels.”

“Swan, I have seen you nude. Are you okay? I feel like you should remember things like that.”

He doesn’t hear back from her until suddenly she’s walking out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom with her arms crossed over her chest, already dressed in a red skirt and tucked in white blouse with sleeves that flow from her elbows. He’s not really looking at her elbows.

“Well you’re certainly not nude,” he sighs, thumbing a page of his novel and flipping it over. “That’s only a little disappointing.”

She clicks her tongue before she starts tapping her foot on the ground, her lips continuously parting and closing like she can’t decide just which way she wants to tell him off.

Living with her is the joy of his life.

“I asked if you had seen my nude heels, not if you had seen me nude.”

“Well that makes a hell of a lot more sense.”

“You need to get your hearing checked.”

“My hearing is fine, love. The walls are thick, and you’ve got your music playing. Plus, I was concentrating on this novel. I think the murderer is about to be revealed.”

“Killian, I promise I will listen to you talk about whatever you want when I get home from work, but I’m running late and need these shoes so I don’t look like a bum for my presentation.”

“Alright, alright,” he mumbles, sticking his bookmark on the page and throwing the covers on the bed back so that he can climb out and help her look for her shoes. He probably needs to get ready for today as well, but it’s usually easier to wait for Emma to be mostly ready before he starts moving around in the bathroom. “So the nude ones, then? Your black ones would look nice with your skirt.”

“Ruby borrowed them.”

“Ah,” he sighs, walking into the closet and over to her shelf of shoes to try to look for them. They have to be here. He cleaned the living room yesterday when he was finishing up some of their final touches of unpacking so that they could start decorating for Christmas, and they weren’t in there. It’s a never-ending cycle, but he’s enjoying it. “They’re up at the top with your boots, Swan.”

“What? They are not.”

“They are,” he points out, reaching up to grab them out between two of her riding boots. “You probably just looked over them in your haste.”

“You had to have put them there. I wouldn’t have. It’s up too high.”

“I promise you it wasn’t me.”

“It had to have been you.”

“Fine, we can say it was me if you put the shoes on and stop freaking out about them.”

“Sorry,” she huffs, taking them out of his hands and sliding them onto her feet, using his shoulder to prop herself up. “I’m nervous over this final presentation for the gala next week. It’s so far and above what I do on a daily basis, and I’ll never understand why we didn’t hire an event planner after how well it went last year.”

“Because you cost less.”

“True, but I don’t like that answer.”

“You’re going to do wonderful,” he promises, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her closer so that he can brush his lips against her cheek, letting his nose inhale the flowery scent of her perfume that she’s spritzed on her collarbone. It’s new, and he’s rather fond of it. “You’ll kick arse like you do every time, and then instead of stressing out about it, we can go and enjoy the night.”

“I don’t remember asking you to be my date.”

“I figured it was assumed,” he murmurs against her neck, teasing her with the way she cranes her head to the side to give him more access, the smallest of moans escaping past her red-painted lips. “Though if you want to ask me out again over a video, I’d be okay with that. You can even wear your sweater.”

“I’d only do that if I lost a bet, and I’m smarter than to do that now.”

“How quickly they grow up.”

“You’re – ah – ridiculous.”

“I know,” he whispers before gently biting her neck, pulling back only after he’s gotten a firm squeeze of her arse. “You look beautiful, and you’re going to have a good day today at work. I’m sure of it.”

She reaches up to mess with his hair, pushing it back off of his forehead while her lips are pressed together in a kind smile. “How?”

“I can feel it in my bones.”

“I think that’s the cold weather.”

“Go to work, Swan. I need you to financially support me while I lounge around at home all day.”

“What are you doing today?” she asks as she steps back from him and over to the case where she keeps all of her jewelry, picking up her pearl necklace and clasping it over her neck. “Do you have any plans?”

He does, but he’s not about to tell her all of them.

“I’m going to go to the gym to work out for awhile before running a few errands and coming back here to clean up and to get some more decorations put up. I’ll save the tree for us to do tonight. I might go meet David for lunch.”

“That would be nice. I’m sure you love sitting at his messy desk at the precinct.”

“We go out, thank you very much.”

“I’m sure you do,” she hums, putting an earring in. “Well, have fun. Give him all of my love and invite them and the kids over to lunch one night soon. Like, next Sunday or something.”

“Won’t we be exhausted from the gala?”

She shrugs. “So we invite them over for late lunch or early dinner. This month is super busy with work and the holidays, and I don’t want to let anything slip.”

“You’re not going to.”

“Thanks, KJ. Alright,” she sighs, slapping her hands against her skirt, “how do I look?”

“Beautiful. Go kick some arse.”

The moment Emma leaves the apartment, he quickly gets dressed in some of his gym clothes, pulling on sweatpants and a jacket over his shorts and t-shirt to combat the cold. Emma says it’s not too bad, but he’s not used to this weather yet, not at all, and he knows it’s only going to get worse. He remembers when he came in for the gala last year, in the few times that they were outside, he was freezing. It wasn’t even that cold, the winter chill not nipping at his nose quite yet.

He’s been listening to a few too many Christmas carols.

It’s also been a long time since he lived somewhere with weather like this. England was a bit similar, but it’s been…sixteen years. He’s practically been gone for longer than he lived there.

That’s an odd thing to think about.

It’s a quick drive to the gym now that he has his car here, having had it shipped to Boston instead of driving it across the country, and he spends the next hour running, letting his legs burn and his lungs gasp for air while his entire body drips in sweat. He needs to find a trainer here in town, but it can mostly likely wait until he has to start prepping for Life After, which is so close to what Emma had suggested for the movie title and yet so far. She’d been damn frustrated when he told her the title they were officially going with, but there’s always time for them to change it. They might not require him to train much for it, especially since he’s playing a father who is likely going to spend most of his time indoors grieving, but he never knows.

Plus the script is being written for the next Superman movie, and, well, his suit is indecently tight. It’s not so much about looks for him but for comfort. How he managed to score that roll, he’s got no clue, but damn it if it’s not fun to do it.

That’s his mindset with everything he does if he’s honest with himself, though he does think he’s becoming rather adept at historical and fantasy pieces. He’d like to do something like Highland Waters again.

So he runs and runs and runs until he knows that he has to stop. He doesn’t want his legs to be like jello tomorrow, even when he’ll likely only work on his upper body, so he does eventually stop and head to the showers, letting the cool water rinse him off before he gets dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, lacing up his boots and pulling a beanie over his head before he pays for a few more hours for parking and walks the seven blocks to David’s precinct, pushing through the double doors and waiting in the lobby as he pulls his phone out.

Killian: I’m in the lobby.

David: Give me ten minutes to finish up this paperwork, and I’ll be right with you.

So he finds a seat in the corner of the lobby, tugging his beanie off and shaking his hair out, letting it dry a bit more as he thumbs through his phone, reviewing the list of jewelry places he’s found and the pictures he’s saved to his phone. It’s been a bit of a covert operation managing to find a ring. He’s only told David and Liam. He thought about telling Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Elsa a million times so that they could help him, but honestly, between the three of them, one of them would definitely let it slip to Emma. They all talk to her so often that he knows it would slip. He and David talk to her as well, but he had to tell someone who lived here. Plus, David already knew from Emma’s birthday dinner.

Lying to Emma is difficult, but there’s no way he could lie to her about reasons for flying back to California to get Elsa or Liam to help him look at rings.

She’d spot the lie in a second with her superpower and uncanny ability to know just when he’s telling the truth and when he’s not.

And she definitely knows him far too well that she’d realize something was up with him. So he doesn’t lie. He simply…leaves things out.

It’s a fine line, especially when Emma has put her trust in him after having others betray that trust, so he doesn’t want to do that, even if this is a good thing. He’s not cheating on her or hiding a family. He’s not doing something to hurt her, and he doesn’t want her to think that he is.

There’s the element of surprise as well. They’ve talked about the future, how they want one, so this won’t be out of the blue, especially with what Anna told him after Thanksgiving. He simply wants to be able to do something romantic for Emma…not that he knows how he’s going to propose yet.

He wants to have this ring in his possession and not need to sneak around Emma. The tenseness in his shoulders will go away, and absolutely everything will be fine. He’s got no bloody clue how people do this. That’s another reason he’s told both Dave and Liam. They’ve both been through the exact same thing, and it seemed to work well for them.

Support in numbers and experience, he guesses.

“You look familiar,” a woman starts, and he startles a bit as he looks up at the older woman sitting across from in, her legs crossed at the ankles as she taps her fingers on the chair’s arm. “Do I know you? Do you work with Lance?”

“I don’t think so, love,” he says, flashing her a smile, “but I do get that a lot. I believe I’ve just got one of those faces. Is Lance your son? Does he work here?”

“My grandson. He’s a forensic analyst. Just started. He’s supposed to take me out to lunch today.”

“That’s sweet of him.”

“He’s a sweet boy. Are you meeting someone for lunch or are you here to file papers or something? Have you gotten yourself in trouble?”

“No,” he laughs, amused by this woman’s concern for him and if he’s gotten on the wrong side of the law, “I haven’t. I’m meeting a friend.”

“For lunch?”

“Aye. I’m taking him to lunch since he’s doing a bit of a favor and helping me with something for my girlfriend.”

He doesn’t know why he’s sharing this, but he figures it can’t hurt to talk to an elderly woman who has absolutely no idea who he is, even if she does recognize him on a certain level. She seems kind, and he realizes that he didn’t ask her what her name is when they started talking. He should have, but he might be able to coast by without it now.

“I should have known a handsome young man like you would have a girlfriend.” He winks at her, making sure to really exaggerate his movements. “Oh, lass, you flatter me, but don’t try to hide your disappointment that I can’t take you out on a date. I can see it written all over your face.”

She throws her head back in laughter, all of the lines on her face scrunching up. “I don’t think my husband would be very happy, but then again, he’s not as handsome as you are.”

“Well, I promise I won’t tell your husband that you said that if you don’t tell my girlfriend that I practically asked another beautiful woman out on a date.” “Oh I don’t know. I think it might be good for George to hear that he needs to be sweeter to me. Is your girlfriend good to you?”

“She’s wonderful,” he gushes, totally amused by the situation he’s found himself in. “I’m actually taking one of her best friends to go with me so that I can find her an engagement ring.”

“Truly?”

“Truly, love,” he promises, reaching over and holding out his hand so that so he can shake hers, figuring now is as good of a time as any to introduce himself since this woman is one of three people in the world who knows that he’s getting engaged (hopefully). “My name is Killian. It’s been a pleasure to meet you.”

“Sarah,” she smiles, squeezing his hand before letting go. “It’s been lovely talking to you. I’ll have to tell Lance to be as kind as you. I hope your bride says yes.”

“Ah now, Sarah, she has to say yes to the question before she’s my bride.”

“With a face like yours, how could she say no?”

“If you keep charming me like that, I’ll be asking you to marry me instead of Emma.”

He smiles at her one last time while she continues to laugh before getting up and walking to the other side of the lobby, waiting by the door that David should be coming out of any second now. He could have stayed talking to Sarah, but he’s a bit anxious to start looking at rings. He does have other things he needs to get done today, decorating included, and he only gets David for an hour and a half. He’ll have to do everything else alone.

The doors swing open three minutes later, David coming out as he shrugs on his jacket, and he flashes him a smile before David pulls him in for a brief hug.

“You ready to do this?”

“I’m ready.”

He almost says “I’m ready, Freddie”, and that’s when he knows that he’s past the point of no return on picking up on Emma’s speech patterns. It’ll only truly be bad when Emma starts calling people lass and love.

Sometimes she calls him “my love.” That makes his heart swell three sizes.

Maybe he is a bit of a sentimental fool.

He doesn’t mind.

When he asks, David fills him in on Mary Margaret and their kids, telling him all about how excited Leo is for the upcoming holidays and sharing far too much information about Brody’s growth and bodily functions, but the man is taking time out of his day to help him find a ring. He can listen to him talk about his kids, even the things that are a little too much information. Dave is simply a proud husband and father, and Killian can only bemoan him a little bit for it all. As long as he doesn’t keep talking about bathroom habits, of course.

There’s only so much he can handle.

Something very obviously gets twisted in one’s mind when they have kids to think that other people want to hear about how often they use the toilet…diaper.

This is not the thought process he should be having right now.

It only takes a few minutes for them to hop on the train and get to Bond and Green. Parking has been hellish lately, so even if they could have taken either of their cars, it takes up too much time to walk to their lots, work their way through traffic, and then find new spots. This is the place he’s most wanted to go to look at rings, and he’s in a hurry to look over it all. There’s one he found online that’s an oval cut with a halo surrounding it (he’s now pretty much an expert in rings now), and he wants to see it.

“Why do I feel like they’re watching us?” David asks him as they peruse the cases, thick glass covering every type of sparkling jewelry that he can think of. There’s an entire case of broaches, and he wonders if people still wear those.

He wonders if they ever.

“Because they are,” he answers simply, his eyes glancing up at the sales assistants watching them before he looks back at a few sapphire rings. “They want to make sure we don’t steal anything.” “I’m a detective.” “They don’t know that.”

“I have on my badge.” “It’s underneath your shirt, Dave,” he laughs, pointing out a diamond ring in the case and ignoring David’s offense that anyone could ever possibly think that he could be a thief. “Do you like this one?”

“It’s nice.”

Nice isn’t what he’s looking for.

He’s known that he was stressed about this whole thing, known it for the weeks that he’s been thinking about that, but he didn’t honestly feel it until right about now with all of these options in front of him and none of them seeming right.

Emma deserves right.

“I don’t think it’s very Emma, though,” he sighs, eyes glancing up again at the saleswoman who’s been following them behind the cases. “Excuse me,” he glances down at her name tag, “Mallory, do you have any like this, with the oval cut, but with a gold band?”

“We have a few that I can bring out from the back if you’d like.”

He curls his lips up into a smile, some of anxieties calming. “I’d like that.”

Mallory nods her head and walks away, disappearing behind a door that he assumes is where they keep the nicer jewels. He imagines that the security in this place is wonderful, but it’s likely smart to keep some things in the back. He really doesn’t know. He’s never bought an engagement ring before. It’s always been earrings or a necklace, and those seem to be a little different than this.

No, those are different than this.

For one, there’s far less security.

For another, there’s far more meaning in an engagement ring.

“You’re vibrating out of your skin, Jones.”

He rolls his eyes at David. How the man romanced Mary Margaret he’ll never know. “I’m excited. I want to find a ring, get it sized and, and then have it with me. Do you think if we don’t find anything today I should think about customization?”

“I think you should look at all of the stores beforehand and then maybe. Do you know when you want to ask Emma? If you keep it a secret for too much longer, she’ll figure it out. She would have been the best detective in the city had she gone that route.”

“Aye, she’d be a hell of a lot better than you,” he agrees, tracing his finger over the glass case at some sapphire earrings he might get Elsa for Christmas. He’s got to get his gifts together as well. It’s difficult when no one says what they want. Maybe he’s bad at gift shopping. “And if I can, sometime before Christmas. I don’t know. It just feels…right. We met this time of year, and I think that’d be nice. Not on Christmas, though. I think it should be a separate day, and I was kind of thinking before my family flew in. I have a feeling Anna would somehow find the ring even though she wasn’t looking, and she’d definitely tell Emma.”

“There’s less than a month until Christmas,” David points out, tapping his fingers before checking his watch. They’ve only been to one place, and they’re nearly out of time.

“I know. I should have started looking back in October, but life was so busy with the move and with all that comes with it. I’m probably crazy for doing all of this.”

“Being crazy and in love are kind of synonymous, but it’s in a good way.”

And there’s a bit of the romantic Dave that likely helped him court Mary Margaret.

“Look at you acting a bit like your wife,” he laughs, his fingers tracing the case a bit more while Mallory continues to take too much time in the back. “That happens more and more every time I see you.”

“I’ve been with Mary Margaret for eight years. It was bound to happen sooner or later. It won’t be weird until she starts being realistic like me.”

He briefly wonders if he and Emma have picked up on each other’s tendencies and speech patterns too quickly, but he brushes it away. It’s not an important thought, and he’s rather fond of Emma telling him “it’s a plan, Stan.” It means she’s happy and willing to play around.

“The world will be ending if there were to ever happen.”

“Alright,” Mallory sighs, walking out the door with a black case of what he assumes are the rings, “so these are all of the ones with the similar oval and pear shapes that you’ve been looking at but with the gold and rose gold bands. I put a few different ones that you might like too.”

“Thank you.” His eyes scan over the box quickly, each ring getting a little of his attention. He definitely likes the gold better, thinks Emma will too, and when his eyes scan over a singular oval cut diamond with a gold band, he knows that’s the one he wants. It’s stunning but it’s simple, and that’s what Emma likes. And somehow he knows just like every cliché that’s ever been written. “Do you think she’ll like this one?” he asks David, pointing to the ring.

“Yeah, I think she will.”

It takes longer than he expects to fill out the paperwork for the ring, and while for a brief moment he considers going to other shops, he’s sure on this one. He’s done enough research to know, and he’s got this gut feeling that he’s planning on trusting. So he fills out the insurance, pays for Emma’s ring (bloody hell is that insane to think about) and the earrings for Elsa, and then makes his appointment to pick it up once they’ve sized it for Emma. It’s all a bit of a blur, which likely shouldn’t happen when he’s in the middle of one of the most important decisions of his life, but David assures him that it’s normal as they leave the store and grab lunch to go since they’ve run out of time. It’s the least that he can do for David coming to help him when he should be working.

After he and David part ways at the precinct, David going back to work and Killian walking to his car still in the garage at the gym, he pulls his phone out to text his brother, knowing that Liam won’t answer a call while at work.

Killian: I’ve bought a ring and will pick it up after it’s sized in a few days. Hope you’re having a good morning!

He stuffs his phone in his pocket and hurries the rest of the way to his car, excitement bubbling over him so that he walks a bit more quickly than usual. Maybe it’s relief, maybe it’s nerves. He really doesn’t know. But as the day goes on, as he goes grocery shopping and picks up dry cleaning (one of his favorite things about living in Boston is the fact that he has more anonymity than California and can do things like picking up his dry cleaning without too much trouble), everything starts to settle. The nervous beating of his heart becomes steady, the erratic tapping of his fingers becomes measured, and he’s able to simply focus on what is ahead of him to do for the day.

And maybe a bit for his entire future.

He’s got to stop watching soap operas during the day.

The rest of his afternoon is spent hanging wreaths on their exterior doors, adding baubles and accents to them to brighten up the plain green. He notices that none of their neighbors have done anything outside, and he wonders if they’ll be the only ones to do it. Then again, they’ve lived in this building for over a month now and despite many efforts, he still hasn’t met anyone who lives on his floor. Maybe they’re not interested in decorating for the holidays. Maybe they don’t celebrate them. It doesn’t matter to him. He’s going to leave the wreath up.

His phone starts ringing in his back pocket, and he quickly pulls it out, sliding his finger across the screen and hitting the speaker button as Liam’s voice booms through. “So you bought a ring? Are you feeling like Gollum?”

“That may very well be the nerdiest joke you’ve ever made.”

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Liam laughs, the gentle thud of a door closing clicking behind him. “All jokes aside, you’ve bought it?”

“I have, so I guess that makes it all pretty official.”

“My baby brother is all grown up.”

He scoffs at Liam’s condescending tone, and even though Liam can’t see him, he rolls his eyes while he shuffles through a box of string lights to find some to put out on the balcony and in the bedroom.

“Is this what finally makes me a man in your outdated ways?”

“Possibly. So how long am I going to have to keep this from my wife? I already deleted your text because somehow she’ll see it from across town.”

“She has superpowers, that woman.”

“And figuring out my lies is the main one.”

“Maybe if you didn’t lie to your wife so much.”

“Oi,” Liam laughs, the sound of a can popping open mixing in with the laughter, “you know what I mean.”

“Aye, I do.” He turns the phone off speaker and presses it between his shoulder and ear before he grabs three boxes of white lights and pushes out onto the balcony door, gooseflesh rising across his arms almost immediately, all of the warmth of inside fading away. “I’ll hopefully have asked before you all come in for Christmas. I’m not…I have no idea how to ask her. I know what I want to say, but I haven’t figured out all of the logistics of it.”

“I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s never going to go like you plan. And your speech, whichever one you have in your head, you’ll remember to say about one sentence out of it.”

“That’s how it went with you and Els, right?”

“Elsa didn’t even let me ask the question.”

“She does like to take charge.”

“You have no idea.”

“Oh God no,” he groans, his eyes scanning the balcony to try to figure out just how he wants to set up the lights. He thinks stringing them around the top of the trellis and down the sides will work since he can’t really hang them on the glass railing. “I love you, but that is not something I’m going to talk about with you.”

“Your mind is dirty, brother.”

“The tone of your voice was absolutely salacious.”

“It was perfectly innocent.”

“I don’t believe you’ve ever been innocent.”

“I am as pure as the driven snow.”

“That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Well, according to you I lie to my wife all the time.”

“Because you do, and you’ll continue to until I ask Emma.”

He’s eternally grateful for a lot of things, but in this moment, there’s nothing he’s more grateful for than the fact that he stopped speaking when he did. He didn’t see Emma come into the apartment through his view from outside, and he definitely didn’t see her make her way outside. She’s already changed into her pajamas, warm flannel and thick socks covering her from head to toe. He has no idea how long she’s been home, but he could have ruined absolutely everything there.

Every cent that he’s worth comes from acting, and he can’t manage to act in his personal life when he really needs to.

“Who’s that?” she mouths, crossing her arms over her chest and walking further toward him.

“Liam,” he says aloud, opening his right arm and letting her come to stand beside him, tugging her close and kissing her temple in greeting. She’s warm, so much warmer than he is. He hasn’t even put the lights up yet.

“Why are you saying my name?” Liam asks, his voice raising in pitch.

“I was telling Emma who I’m on the phone with,” he explains, rubbing his hand up and down her waist. He’s not sure if it’s to warm him or her up.

“Tell him I said hi.”

“Tell her I said hello.”

He chuckles at that, their timing of their demands almost identical. Emma and Liam are two peas in a pod for two people who had a bit of a rocky start. It was all Liam’s doing, but everything seems to be fine now.

“Emma said hello,” he tells Liam, knowing that Emma can likely hear the conversation now. “I’m going to let you go, okay? Text me later. You still haven’t told me what I need to get Aiden for Christmas.”

“Preferably a new aunt.”

He practically drops his phone at that, the glass screen only saved because he does manage to get his bearings. Man does he hope that Emma did not hear that.

She probably couldn’t over all of the hysterical coughing that he’s doing.

Has he officially turned into a madman.

“Bye,” he coughs, not able to get anything else out even with the way that Emma is patting his back.

“Are you okay, KJ?”

“Y-yeah,” he sputters, trying to take a few deep breaths before he looks down at Emma, dipping his head to quickly slide his lips over hers. He can briefly taste chocolate, which means that she stopped for a milkshake on the way home. He’s not sure if that’s a good sign for her day or a bad sign. “Hello, darling,” he mumbles, greeting her properly. “How was your day? How did the presentation go?”

“Can we go inside to talk about it? It’s nothing bad. I’m just really freaking cold and want to sit down on the couch. Besides, I don’t think you’re ever going to get these lights up tonight.”

“I could.”

“You’re not going to.”

He nods before they walk inside, Emma’s steps hurrying until she’s inside first, practically jogging down the hallway to the living room, grabbing a blanket out of the basket and curling up into her favorite corner of the sofa before he even manages to get into the living room. She’s either full of energy or really got that cold in such a short amount of time. Emma should most definitely be used to this weather, but she is cold natured.

“So,” he hums, plopping down on the opposite end of the couch and sticking his feet next to Emma’s legs, “how was your presentation? Did you crush it?”

“Like Fat Amy.”

“Yeah?” he laughs, his eyes crinkling at her reference. He’s so damn proud of her all of the time, but he’s mostly happy that she likely doesn’t feel as much stress as she has been, even if the gala is still a little over a week away. “You’re amazing, Emma.”

“I know.” She winks, but he still sees the blush rise on her cheeks. “But thank you. I’m so damn excited that it’s over. I mean, I’ve still got the actual gala, but I’m only in charge of a little of that. But John and Ella gave the stamp of approval on everything. I’m free, baby.”

“So celebrations are in order then?”

“If by celebration you mean some hot chocolate that you spike with your good rum, then yes.”

“You’re not interested in decorating the tree?”

“Maybe after I’ve had something to drink. And eat. And maybe after a nap. Ooh, and after catching up on Superstore.”

“So never?”

She reaches forward and grabs his toe, wiggling it a little bit. “Later. I promise we’ll decorate later. You know how I feel about Christmas now.”

He does, and they do.

It’s slow going. Emma takes awhile to get up and get her drink, her exhaustion from weeks of stress hitting her the slightest bit, but once she’s had her hot chocolate (rum included) and watched two and a half episodes of Superstore, she gets up off the couch and they start decorating the tree. With the two of them, it doesn’t take long. Really, it’s pretty quick, even if Emma keeps leaving giant spots in the tree without ornaments. But it does get done.

As do the lights out on the balcony, the white glow covering the trellis. It mixes in with all of the lights of their other apartments and some of the boats down below, but really, all he can think about is the fact that if he can manage to get Emma out into the cold again, this would be a nice spot to ask her to marry him.

Then again, if he truly thinks about it, it doesn’t really matter where or how. He thinks it’d be just fine to ask her like they are now, curled up on the couch with Emma’s head resting on a pillow in his lap while he threads his fingers through her hair, lulling them both to sleep with the comfort of it all.

[izzy-b-hands]

Get Mean

Fumbling at BDSM Sledgefu?

Fumbling at BDSM Sledgefu. Blame the Hatari songs and that one Mitski song I keep listening to lol. 

Also a group called Pigeonchild came across my dash while I was writing the rest of this, and if you like any sort of screaming goth/emo stuff mixed with electronic then you might like them too! They’re on Spotify! I admit I know next to nothing about them other than that they’re from Sweden, but they’ve definitely got an interesting sound.

“Get mean,” Snafu almost growled, his arms tied back to the bedposts with two of their shared ties, blue and green soft material against the white metal of the bed frame. 

“I’m tryin’,” Eugene bit back a laugh. He was, but this was new enough that he was struggling a bit. Plus, it was hard to be ‘mean’ to that face, those big gorgeous eyes watching him. 

Snafu rolled his eyes. “Sledgehammer...” 

“No, I got this. I do, just...give me a minute,” Eugene sighed and cracked his neck. Snafu wanted mean, a bit of rough. He could do that. Some teasing and leaving marks. Hell, he left marks all the time. Dirty talk...sure, why not. At least, that’s what he told himself as he took a breath and...

“Um. I’m going to...I mean, when I’m through with you...shit,’ he grumbled, and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re really overthinking it,” Snafu said. “I mean, you’ve done this before, you just weren’t thinkin’ about it. Weren’t goin’ into it plannin’ to be rough, it just happened.” 

“I know,” Eugene said miserably. 

“Get over here and kiss me. Let me inspire you,” Snafu bit at his bottom lip and smiled as Eugene settled into his lap. 

Snafu was excellent inspiration, but less to be rough and more to kiss him until neither of them could catch their breath. 

He wasn’t giving up yet. If the words wouldn’t come, then he’d rely on action. 

Midway through their next kiss, he bit at Snafu’s lip, harder than he might have on any other day. 

He pulled away and gasped as the taste of iron hit his tongue. “Shit, sorry.” 

It wasn’t like he’d bitten Snafu’s lip apart, but there was a definite nick, and a bit of blood beading up there. He expected the safe word (pineapple, after the pineapple grenades they’d once used), and didn’t blame Snafu one bit for it. Maybe he just couldn’t do this, in this way. 

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Snafu growled, his hips bucking just slightly underneath Eugene. “You’re finally gettin’ it.” 

He tried to lean forward, to reach Eugene’s lips, but the ties held him back, and it started to click. 

“Oh, so you want me to kiss you again?” he slipped off of Snafu’s lap and sat on the bed instead, watching Snafu lap at the blood on his lip with a quick swipe of his tongue. 

“Yessir,” Snafu sounded just the tiniest bit desperate, his eyes lingering on Eugene’s lips, and it was like a light bulb flicked on. 

“Show me you deserve to kiss me again, and maybe I’ll let you,” Eugene said. 

Snafu’s eyes were lit up, and for a moment he broke the atmosphere and giggled. “And how can I show you that if I’m all tied up?” 

 Eugene moved to lay between his legs, and took Snafu’s half-hard cock in his mouth, then let it slip from between his lips with a smile. “You don’t come until I tell you that you can. No matter what I do.” 

“Then I can kiss you again?” 

“Maybe,” Eugene shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll make you come again first.” 

“You been fuckin’ holdin’ out on me, actin’ like you didn’t know how to do this,” Snafu laughed. 

“That mouth gonna keep runnin’ while I try and work?” Eugene asked, half wary in his head that this might be a step too far. But he trusted Snafu would say if he wasn’t comfortable with it, they had the safe word for a reason. “Think I might need you quiet for a bit, if I can find a gag-” 

“My red tie in the closet,” Snafu interrupted, and spoke so fast he barely got the words out separately. He was apparently just fine with the idea of a gag. 

Eugene retrieved the tie, and carefully tied it around Snafu’s mouth. It was just tight enough that the bigger part of the tie wedged in his mouth, so he could bite down on it, but just loose enough that if Snafu needed to move it away he should be able to with his tongue. 

“You need me to stop for any reason, and can’t move this, then you tap at me twice with your left foot, okay?” Eugene waited for the enthusiastic nod before continuing. 

He moved back in between Snafu’s legs and started to suck his cock in earnest, flicking his eyes open and up to peek at Snafu’s reactions every now and again. It was a gorgeous picture, his head tossed back while the tie muted his moans, his hips and stomach moving and twitching at everything Eugene did. 

His own cock was hard against the soft sheets of the bed, and it was tempting to rut and chase his own orgasm. He could get there, easy, just like this, with Snafu’s cock in his mouth and the sight of Snafu writhing against his binds in front of him. 

Suddenly, Snafu’s left foot less tapping and more almost kicking him. 

He was up in a flash, pulling the tie from Snafu’s mouth and moving to undo the ties around his wrists. 

“No, no,” Snafu was panting, his hips bucking. “Just close. And you said...” 

Eugene leaned down, and let Snafu almost kiss him, moving his lips just before they could connect with Snafu’s. 

“Oh that’s mean,” Snafu whined. “Very good, but mean. You might be too good at this.” 

“You’re likin’ this?” Eugene asked softly.

Snafu nodded. “Started off a little slow, but now...this is good.” 

“Good,” Eugene said, and lay down in the bit of space by Snafu’s side so he could sit beside him and kiss his neck. A few gentle kisses, then the one thing he had learned he liked just as much as Snafu. 

He didn’t want to draw blood, but he bit harder than he would have otherwise, enjoying the sound of Snafu moaning weakly in his ear, begging to be allowed to come. 

Instead of answering those pleas, he moved to a new spot on Snafu’s neck and bit again, letting a hand fall to trace a pattern on the bone of Snafu’s hip. 

He pulled himself back and looked at Snafu. 

He was a mess, a few tears running down his face, and Eugene waited for the safe word again. They’d had multiple conversations about each other and the trust that went into this before doing anything like it, but the sight of tears still made him concerned. 

“The fuck did you stop for?” Snafu whined. “Jesus, either keep it up or let me come or somethin’, but don’t just look at me.” 

It was too much. All he wanted to do was kiss him, but that would ruin what he’d set up. He settled for returning to Snafu’s neck, kissing and sucking and biting at it enough that Snafu wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without a high collar for the next week or so, unless he wanted stares and potentially some very rude and invasive questions from anyone bold enough to actually ask about the marks. 

He waited until Snafu let out another breathless moan before whispering in his ear. “Come for me.” 

He moved so he could wrap an arm around Snafu, pull him close and watch as he came, writing against his binds, his hips violent in a search for friction that wasn’t there. 

Once he’d stopped moving, he kissed Snafu’s cheek, then slipped away from him to settle once again in between his legs, ignoring the precum dripping from his own cock. 

Snafu watched him with eyes just slightly wide and curious, whimpering once he realized exactly what Eugene was about to do. 

The yell he elicited as he started to suck Snafu’s cock again was glorious, but damning. He was barely holding himself back, but every moan and whimper from Snafu made it difficult. 

Snafu’s second orgasm hit quicker than he anticipated, and set him off, his hips rutting against the bed as he came with Snafu’s pulsating cock still in his mouth. 

He let Snafu’s softening cock fall from his mouth, and pressed kisses to the inside of his thighs as he came back to himself. 

“Hey,” Snafu’s voice was shaky, but he had a smile on his face. “I was promised a kiss if I came when you said.” 

Eugene bounded off of the bed and nearly ripped off the ties holding Snafu’s wrists back before crawling onto his lap and kissing him hard. 

As fun as it had been, he’d missed Snafu’s hands on him, roaming and warm, one hand moving to cup his jaw and rub a circle against it as they kissed. 

They calmed after a few more moments of making out, and he held Snafu close, tracing a pattern on his back lazily with a finger. 

“You did good. I couldn’t have held back like that,” Eugene told him. 

“You did, technically,” Snafu murmured, kissing his chest. “Just weren’t under the same...duress that I was.” 

“Maybe I could be the next time,” Eugene said. 

Snafu looked up at him and grinned. “Really? ‘Cause I have ideas for you.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Snafu whispered as he moved back up to kiss him again. 

He done more than well enough to earn a million more kisses, and in that moment kissing Snafu was all Eugene wanted to spend the rest of his life doing.

[humansunshineao3]

Parabatai Fix-It 1x08

What the parabatai bond could have been if the writers weren’t incompetent.

Read on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~

It was an unpopular feeling among his fellow shadowhunters, but Alec sort of liked doing paperwork. Being in the midst of the action was fine, but there was nothing like the sense of accomplishment when your ‘in’ pile got halved in just a few hours. Alec was on a roll. He’d even run out of ink in his pen and had to pick a new one. All in all, he was having a pretty good afternoon, considering the fact that there was a Clave Envoy skulking around somewhere.

“Alec!” Jace didn’t knock before coming in, his eyes alight with excitement. “It’s your lucky day!”

“Has Clary decided to behave herself?” Alec asked drily, which made Jade scoff.

“No, of course not, don’t be silly. No, Magnus is on his way! Lydia sent for him to check out this weird forsaken with Izzy.” Jace explained.

Alec narrowed his eyes as he looked up at his brother. “And…?”

“And?!” Jace sighed, wondering where his brother got his denseness from, “this is your chance to ask him out!”

Alec actually laughed. “That’s funny. I have paperwork to do.”

“Come on, I know you wanna jump his magical bones.”

“Please never say that again.”

“He wants to jump yours too, it’s obvious.”

“When did you start picking up on homoerotic tension?” Alec asked, arching his eyebrow.

“Hey, trust me,” Jace said sagely, “I have been hit on by more than a few guys in my time. I know when a dude is into it.”

“Name one guy who hit on you.” Alec dared.

“Simon,” Jace shrugged, “guarantee you the dude’s jerked it thinking about a threesome with me and Clary.”

Alec blanched. “I could have gone my whole life without that mental image.”

“Sorry,” Jace grinned, nudging Alec. “Come on, take off your shirt.”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because you have a good body, and Magnus is gay.”

“Bisexual,” Alec corrected him, and Jace rolled his eyes.

“Alright, bisexual. Point is, he sees your abs, he’s putty in your hands.” Jace shrugged. “Go to those punch bags close to the door in the training room, get your shirt off and get all sweaty and shit, and then I’ll tell Izzy to tell Magnus to deliver his findings to you, and then bam! You’re on a one way train to bone town.” He let out one of those devious little chuckles that he did when something terrible or embarrassing was about to happen, and Alec gaped at him.

“Are you seriously suggesting that I disrupt the chain of command and go over Lydia’s head just to hit on Magnus?”

“It’s the Lightwood way,” Jace reminded him, and Alec scrubbed his hand down his face. “You’re carrying on the tradition! Izzy put her fingers up to the Clave by messing around with Meliorn, I made out with Valentine’s daughter in the ops centre and now you’re gonna get busy with the High Warlock in a time of crisis! Go big or go home, Alec.”

“You really think Magnus will be into it?” Alec asked with trepidation.

“Dude! Yes! Girls and gays can’t resist abs, okay, it’s science.”

“You’re not supposed to call gays gays, you’re straight.” Alec pointed out.

“Girls and guys who are into guys didn’t sound so snappy,” Jace admitted, shaking his head. “Stop distracting me! Go shove your abs in Magnus’ face!”

Alec got up from his chair, his hands in a surrendering position. “Fine! Fine! Jesus Christ! Fine! I’m going!”

Jace nodded, and squeezed his shoulders, making an excited noise. “That’s my boy! Go get that magic dick!”

Alec snorted out a laugh, letting Jace steer him towards the training room. “I’m not a child, I know what I’m doing.”

“Oh, do you?” Jace asked skeptically, “then what’s your plan of action?”

“I don’t think flirting is something you need a plan for.”

“For a novice like you? Of course you need a plan!” Jace nudged him, pointing to his shirt. “I know you, you clam up if you go somewhere dangerous without knowing what the plan is.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t count talking to Magnus as a dangerous place.” He lifted his shirt up and over his head.

“Are you kidding? I’d take a hundred shax demons over asking out someone I liked any day.”

“Yes, but you have intimacy issues,” Alec reminded him, and Jace pretended to upper cut Alec in the abs. “Why are you so focussed on me? Shouldn’t you be squinting and pouting at Clary?”

“Haha, very funny,” Jace deadpanned, shrugging off his own hoodie and snatching Alec’s shirt out of his hands. “So here’s our play…”

Alec sighed, wondering how he’d ever thought Jace would be anything less than annoyingly invested in his love life. “Magnus is a person, not a football.”

“Do you want my advice or not?” Jace asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“I guess I do,” Alec groaned, looking at the hoodie in his hands. “What’s this for?”

Jace held up his hands. “Okay, this is what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna be working out, and then Magnus will come in and be like ‘here’s the report Alexander, oh, what lovely abs you have’.”

“Okay, first of all, Magnus’ voice is deeper than yours. Secondly, he’s like a million years old, I doubt he’s going to be impressed by my abs.”

“I thought you’d say that, which is why I did some research,” Jace said wisely, “it turns out that guys who are tall and have hairy chests and abs are pretty much the ideal in the gay community. You would be classed as an-”

“If the word bear comes out of your mouth I’m killing myself.”

“What?!” Jace spluttered. “No, no, don’t be silly.”

Alec sighed in relief.

“You’re not big enough to be a bear.”

“Oh my God-”

“Okay, okay, back to the plan!” Jace said hurriedly. “So you act all coy and sexy and be like ‘oh, these abs? Let me just cover myself, how embarrassing.’”

“I definitely don’t sound like that.” Alec smirked, unable to keep from laughing at his ridiculous brother.

“Just go with it, Jesus! So that’s when you put on the hoodie.”

“Why can’t I just put on a shirt?” Alec asked.

Jace facepalmed. “Because, Alec, with a hoodie, you can zip it up a little to pretend to be modest, but then actually end up framing your titties. It looks hot, try it, go on.”

Alec was skeptical, but he did as Jace said, zipping the hoodie halfway. “Like this?”

“Nah, little lower.”

“This?” Alec pulled the zipper down an inch. Jace stepped back and tilted his head to the side.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it. Exactly like that.” He surveyed Alec with a approving eye. “Fuck yeah, he’s not gonna know what hit him.” Jace pulled out his phone. “Now all I gotta do is get Izzy to tell him where you are…” His thumbs flew across his phone, a grin growing on his face. “She already told him. He’s on his way.”

“He is?”

Jace nodded. “Yeah, and apparently he made a little innuendo about wanting to get his hands on you,” he wiggled his eyebrows, and Alec scoffed.

“You’re disgusting.” Alec shooed him away. “No go, before he sees you coaching me.”

“Don’t forget to take off the hoodie!” Jace insisted as he backed towards the door. “And don’t forget to tense!”