#i hope she spits in harrow's face fuck you

[greatshell-rider]

my favorite parts of nona. under a read more cuz long and i do some yelling

[image id: Nona had never seen anyone so sad in her whole short life. It made her nearly afraid to die. “Nobody locks me up anywhere,” said Kiriona. /end id]

@ everyone calling gideon a bitch/jerk/”oh no she’s mean now”/”apparently reading her through her own/harrow’s eyes made her look better” YEAH NO SHIT SHE’S MEAN. EVERYTHING THAT IS HER SELF HAS BEEN STOLEN FROM HER. NOT EVEN HER BODY IS HER OWN. FUCK OFF LET HER BE ANGRY SHE HAS BEEN IN HELL FOR 3-4 MONTHS SHE DOESN’T EVEN KNOW HOW LONG. SHUT UP ! you bitches and your romanticzied mental illnesses don’t know what depression does to a bitch gAH

she is the saddest girl in the whole entire world let her have a MOMENT (while i writhe on the ground in throes of agony over my girl)

[image id: She reached out—she touched the side of the Prince’s face — they both recoiled. Kiriona Gaia recovered first. “You always said I’d come back in a box, Aiglamene,” she said lightly. “They killed you,” said Aiglamene. “Crime of opportunity,” said the corpse prince. And: “Don’t tell Crux — I absolutely, positively cannot give him the fucking satisfaction.” Aiglamene shoved her square in the chest, with the palm of one gloved hand; Kiriona tottered a little and wheezed, “Don’t — that’s where my heart used to be,” but the old soldier’s gaze had already fallen upon Nona. Nona cringed back in Pyrrha’s arms, because the expression was as bad as every single time Camilla had caught her putting a mouthful of chewed-up food in the potted plant or elsewhere. She could read this very old, very furious soldier like a book: the woman was angry, and blamed her. Kiriona Gaia could read her too, because she insinuated herself between them, and said coolly — “It’s not her, Captain — it’s only her body.” Over the Prince’s shoulder, Aiglamene looked at Nona, long and suspiciously, then she sighed, and wheeled around, and said: “Get inside. Now. Complete the gate,” she told a few of the other robed people. /end id]

THEY KILLED YOU. THAT’S WHERE MY HEART USED TO BE. (ianthe’s slap (a full lyctor’s slap) didn’t make gideon even flinch but aiglamene’s shove makes her wheeze) aiglamene knowing who to blame. her FURY. gideon putting her body between aiglamene and nona. THEY BOTH RECOILED (aiglamene from her cold corpse skin, gideon unable to bear her touch when she didn’t react even to nona kissing her)

[image id: ��But maybe we shouldn’t,” she said, holding the eyelids to that little slit — watching the onscreen scribbles flash urgently on the truck glass, watching the widening white crack, watching the river water pound itself back into the place where it wanted to be even if the River itself didn’t. “If we end here, it’ll be just like . . . a bad dream, won’t it? And maybe we’ll wake up somewhere else. I know we won’t,” she explained, “but we don’t have to know that . . . maybe if we all go, it’ll be quick.” Paul looked at her, with those dark grey-brown pupils widening, slightly. “Nona,” they said, “Noodle’s in the back.” The middle thoughts surged. The slit widened all the way. “Oh my God,” she said, in a panic. “I forgot about Noodle.” The windshield cracked all the way across the middle. Paul leant their full weight on the accelerator. Nona drove the truck home. /end id]

what you can’t do for your people, friends and family, you can do for your little beast. yeah muir gets it

[image id: “Camilla, we did it right, didn’t we?” Palamedes said, and now Nona knew he wasn’t speaking to anyone else in the universe. “We had something very nearly perfect . . . the perfect friendship, the perfect love. I cannot imagine reaching the end of this life and having any regrets, so long as I had been allowed to experience being your adept.” [/end id]

burst into fucking tears at this part so it’s a good thing none of my roommates were home lmao. THEY DID IT RIGHT. the sheer care and utter devotion. no regrets, as long as he got to be her adept. WEEPING

[fandomsnstuff]

One of these days ill post at a reasonable time

@taznovembercelebration

Day 22: silly

Lup's birthday is coming up, and the present from her long distance boyfriend is haunting her in all it's wrapped glory. Doesn't help that her brother thinks her boyfriend is fake.

Read it on AO3

Dearest Apologies

From: barry.j.bluejeans@gmail.com

To: luptaaco@gmail.com

Good morning Lup,

I would like to deeply apologise for being unable to provide you with the goodnight text you were expecting last night.

Turns out, it is unwise to use one's phone above a pot of boiling water when one is easily startled. According to the respectable phone repairman in my local mall, the damage is fixable and the repair will be cheaper than a new phone, but I am without said device until wednesday. In the meantime, I shall send my missives to you by electronic mail of the g variety.

I hope you slept well. I stayed up far too late, as usual. I write to you as I await the energising effects of my coffee.

Have a wonderful day, my darling.

Yours,

Barry

Re: Dearest Apologies

From: luptaaco@gmail.com

To: barry.j.bluejeans@gmail.com

Barry,

I suppose I can forgive you, given the harrowing phone experience you've gone through. I pray for your phone's survival.

I did sleep well, I had many dreams of you. I miss you more every day.

I would scold you for staying up late, but alas, I have done the same. But I suppose I have stronger coffee than you, as I'm already set to face the day.

I received the parcel you sent me. You're far too clever, putting a note on top telling me not to open it until my birthday. You're also a cruel lover for it. You know I adore packages, I long to tear it open and see what's inside. But I adore you, so I shall follow your instructions.

Forever yours,

L

“What're you writing?”

Lup jumps out of her skin as Taako's suddenly standing behind her. “Jesus fucking christ, maybe warn a girl next time?!”

“I made so much noise walking over here.” He grabs her phone from where she dropped it. “What's got you smiling like a fool?”

She snatches the phone back. “Nothing!” She finishes typing her name and sends the email. “It's just a silly thing with Barry.”

Taako groans. “Not this again. Lulu, I'm not stupid.”

Kravitz pokes his head out of the bathroom with a toothbrush in his mouth, “who's Barry?”

Taako gives her a look that says, go on. Lup sighs irritably, “Barry's my boyfriend.”

Kravitz's eyebrows go up. He ducks back into the bathroom, presumably to spit his toothpaste out, then says, “since when do you have a boyfriend?”

“She doesn't,” Taako interjects, “there's no way he's real.”

“He's real! I've shown you pictures! He sent me a birthday present!”

“You one hundred percent just googled pictures of white men and showed me one.” He looks to Kravitz, “she said his name is Barry Bluejeans. Tell me that's not fake.”

“Your name is taco twice.”

“Thank you!” She says. “See, Kravitz thinks my boyfriend is real.”

“Now I didn't say that.” She glares at him and holds up his hands defensively. “I have some followup questions.”

She crosses her arms. “Fine. Shoot.”

“Where does this guy live?”

“Connecticut.”

“On the other side of the country? How the hell did you meet him?”

“Conferences. We've been flirting for years.”

“Years, Krav!” Taako exclaims. “And I never heard a word about him, until a month ago! She went away for a week and came back with a boyfriend.”

Kravitz looks between the two of them, then says, decisively, “he's fake.”

Lup throws her hands up. “I get texts, I get calls, I get emails, I got a package, but he's fake! Sure!”

“I'm just saying it sounds a whole lot like the fake Canadian girlfriend I had in middle school before I knew being gay was an option.”

She pouts up at Taako, “I thought you wanted me to be happy.”

“I do, but this is closer to delusional.”

She sticks her tongue out at him then stands up. “Fine,” she says, marching to her room, “believe what you want, but one of these days you're going to feel real stupid!”

A few days later, her phone lights up with a text.

🐻E👖

> Hello

> I've returned to the modern world

> How are you?

Lup ❤️

> welcome back

> im trying to bully taako into letting me help plan the menu for my birthday party tomorrow, but he won't let me

🐻E👖

> how rude of him

> Are you going out for it?

Lup ❤️

> nah, it's cheaper and honestly more fun to stay in with the crew and be stupid than going out and being stupid

> other people's stupidity can interfere with our

🐻E👖

> I can understand that

> good luck bullying him, I gotta run

> I love you

Lup ❤️

> love you too, bear

> also when can I open my birthday present

🐻E👖

> I'll let you know

Lup ❤️

> mean

🐻E👖

> you'll love it, promise

Lup's birthday party is in full swing. There's lots of finger foods and cake, the games are as unnecessarily competitive as always, and Lup's having a blast. But she can't help but check her phone a little too often. Barry called her last night, and sent her a happy birthday text in the morning, but he said he'd be busy all day and wouldn't be able to talk until later. It's later, and she still hasn't heard. He hasn't even told her that she's allowed to open her gift yet, which has been sitting in her room taunting her for days now. She even shook the small wrapped box, but the faint rattling gave her nothing.

She's halfway through a very intense round of poker when she vaguely registers a knock on the door. She dismisses it, far too focused on watching every microexpression on Kravitz's face. Then she hears Taako say, “well I'll be damned.” He calls to her, “Lup! You've got a visitor!”

Confused, she turns her attention away from the game to the door. All her guests are here. Who else–

She practically knocks over her chair as she scrambles up and tackles Barry in a hug. She kisses him hard and says, “what are you doing here?!”

He laughs. “I wanted to surprise you!” His cheeks are tinged a little pink. “I hope that's okay? I don't want to intrude. I have a hotel room, so I can go if you–”

“No!” She fists her hands in his shirt and pulls him into another kiss. “You're not going anywhere. If anything,” she leans in close and lowers her voice, “you'll take me back to that hotel room later.”

“Yeah– yes. Absolutely.”

“Lulu, you gonna introduce me?” Taako says from behind her.

“Taako,” she extracts herself from Barry's arms and stands next to him, linking their arms together, “this is Barry, my boyfriend whom you and your boyfriend so rudely assumed was fake. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“Glad you're not a figment of my sister's imagination, my man. Come on in, we have hors d'oeuvres.”

Barry slots in seamlessly with the group. It's around a game of Monopoly that he says, “oh, Lup, your gift.”

She perks up, “can I open it now?”

“Yeah, I almost forgot after all the travel.”

She goes and gets it from her room, already tearing into it as she sits back down beside him. She lifts the lid of the box to reveal a folded piece of paper. She takes it out and unfolds it. It's booking confirmations. She turns to him slowly. “Did you book us a trip?”

He's gotten sheepish now. “I did. I thought… you know, you said you'd never really been on a proper tropical vacation, and you wanted to go to an all inclusive one day, and I had the money, and we're together now, so… yeah.”

“Barry, this is… holy shit. The only travel I've ever done is for work conferences.”

“I know. I've wanted to do this for you for a while, but it felt inappropriate as just a work conference friend that you flirt with. It's not until next year, so there's plenty of time to book off work and whatever. Otherwise, it's all taken care of, all you have to do is show up.”

“Thank you,” she breathes, still scanning over the page in her hands. She looks up and across the table, “a fake boyfriend couldn't do this, could he, Taako?”

[reader1238765]

Alastor x Reader

Chapter one:

One

i swallow

Two

breathing heavily

Three

Sweat drips down my temple

Four.

"Action!"

I smirk up at the camera as multiple men jump onto me.

I make all my prettiest faces.

Make all my prettiest sounds.

"That's it pretty girl"

Disgust riddles my body and I almost slip up.

I spit on his chest and giggle up at him as my arms are bound above my head.

He makes a disgusting noise.

I make an even worse one.

"Cut!"

I drop all my acts and all my trained motions.

"What the fuck was that Lemonie?"

I roll my eyes and roll out of the bed.

"What? Wasn't slutty enough? Or was it that you wanted it more innocent this time?"

"Oh please you don't want to start a fight with me right now. Do it right or don't do it at all and you know what happened when you don't do it at all. Don't you?" Valentino growls through his teeth.

I snarl and go back to my positions.

~

"Tough shoot?" Olivia

Oh Olivia Olivia Olivia.

Your all I breath for

Or... actually

"Ugh. 10"

"10?"

"10."

"Ahhh gotcha" she shrugs and hands me a coffee.

Her bedroom is a perfect palace of pink with her perfect heart mirrors and doors of wood and chains.

She's a very good actress.

I lay on her perfect palace pink bed with a heart headboard.

The tips of the roses sitting in a glass on her nightstand shake softly with the pacing of her soft bunny feet.

"Anyway doll I gotta head out for a shoot so I'll text ya later?"

Her long ears bop behind her as she skips out of the room.

The white fluff of her hair runs down her back, not quite to her butt but right above her little bunny tail.

"Bye Lonna!"

Lonna. Lonna Lonna Lonna.

I hate that name.

The name on my contract the name of my soul.

The very name that got me into this mess.

~

A simple bedroom with cotton pillows and bright hopes and dreams of vibrant colours.

Mashed browns and whites and greys, maybe some ivory, maybe some cloudy blue.

Nothing more than an estate of blandness.

"Lemonie!!!! Into the studio now."

Valentino's grading voice, like when people try to open a bottle with their teeth.

"What" I walk into the purple studio, heels clicking like the slapping of a whip.

"What the fuck is this Velvette? I told u to hashtag it and put as many as you could" Valentino is shoving an iPhone in Velvettes face, mad about something.

"Hashtags are thirsty. I won't be apart of that, do it yourself if u want to ruin your brand fuckface" she claps back and shows herself off.

Valentino's angry red eyes meet mine. Boy am I in for a day...

Walking around the V's skyscraper is like walking around a fire pit. Ash and all.

You have to balance enough to not fall in, but you have to act natural enough so it doesn't seem like you're trying.

The people sitting around the campfire would laugh if they saw you worried about a silly little flame.

A flame that could grow much bigger, a master of deception. A little flame that could secretly take down the entire world if given the chance.

The plain tiles, slick and shiny as always, reflect my bare feet dancing around, heels in hand, headphones berating my head.

I hum along, singing a word every now and then.

My green skin glistens with sweat, my equally just as green hair, down across my shoulders and to the floor.

(See end of chapter for picture of character) (you can change if u want)

I nod my head to the tune, Eyes closed.

"Lemonie what the fuck are you doing?"

I pause. My eyes open. And pretty wide too. Wide enough to see the smirk on Vox's face.

And the 7foot tall red demon he stands beside.

The harrowing smile plastered on his face seems permanent. His eyes just as wide as mine looking at me with curiosity.

"Uh" I look between Vox and the macabre demon beside him.

The demon blinks at me but the rest of him doesn't move an inch.

"Get the fuck out of here" Vox scoffs and I go on my merry way.

The tall demons engrossing glowing red eyes trail me as I leave the room.

Back to my boring little bedroom.

Ivory bed set and grey set walls. All plain and boring.

See, apparently I wasn't a good enough actor to put in bedroom requests.

A knock at my door peaks my interest and I open wide.

Wide enough for the world to see me.

Wide enough for my privatest parts to be plastered all over the city on billboards and jackasses trucks.

Wide enough for the camera to take just one more photo.

"Wider Lemonie" Valentino barks and I comply.

Nothing like contract work for a Saturday night.

"God fucking damn it Lemonie if you don't split your entire fucking pussy for this screen I swear to god I will do it for you" Valentino vociferates and I again try to please his needs.

I roll my eyes and besides my obvious concern for my own body I split.

As big and pretty as I can. Just for my Vali-Poo

"Valentino. My office now" Vox bursts in, giving me no more than a once over before pulling Valentino aside.

I take my opportunity to break and close my legs, grabbing a robe and holding it closer than any childhood toy i ever owned.

"Hey toots! Been waiting to see your face around here" Angel stumbles into the studio as I'm standing from the bed.

"Hey Angie" I smile and welcome him with open arms into a pretty shitty but well needed hug.

"Hey uh I got a favor to ask of u baby cakes I hope you don't mind"

"What's up?"

"So uh I got this friend and uh... so basically you know that hotel I'm staying at?"

"Yea?" I raise a brow expectantly

"Well... the owner, Charlie, is havin' a tough time recruiting people for her whole cause or whatever and I know that you want out of here.. so uh. You can come crash there for a bit? It's all free baby"

My red eyes dart between his and ponder.

"Like... just show up? And.. live there?"

"Yeah! It'll be fun, whadaya say?"

"Uh.. um. Well. How does Valentino feel about that?"

"Well you still gotta come and work.. but yk you don't have to be here your whole life and you can actually live.. even though ur... dead"

"Well."

Months and years and lifetimes worth of torture flood my brain and take my soul into a whorl wind of memories and hopes of freedom.

My first few months of the contract I begged that it wouldn't last forever but deep down I knew it would be till I wouldn't make him money anymore, then he would kill me and I would be free.

Even though I won't be free now... he could forget about me? But no. How could he forget when the name Lonna is plastered on one of his contracts.

He could be madder.. he could leave me alone.. he could punish me more than he ever has before...

I could be free.

"I'm in"

READ MORE ON WATTPAD

Third chapter coming soon! 👹👹

[heshoes]

She was his best friend and they shared everything together already anyway. What difference would it make if it were a hat, shampoo, or the same bed sometimes? So what? That's what the Uni Daze were about, having fun, traditions, getting serious, new relationships, friendships, heart ache, break-ups, make ups, secrets, the occasional/casual bajingo here and there, and possibly, just maybe, finding the love of your life and hoping that it all works out.

Warnings: smut, slow burn, angst, mentions of abortion, mentions of verbal abuse

Harry Styles x OC (Face claim Zendaya)

Uni Daze Masterlist

Chapter 1 (Word Count 4k)

Harry

Water droplets cascaded down my neck before I grabbed a towel to throw over my head. That shower was definitely needed. My muscles would be sore from my workout this morning, but I enjoy the ache. As I headed towards my room to put on clothes I noticed that my roommates door was still closed and for Michelle this can only mean one thing.

I pulled up my trousers and pulled my t-shirt over my head before layering it with a plaid button up. If she doesn't wake up soon, I'll be forced to take measures into my own hands. I walked halfway down the hall and then stopped to pick up the beanie that I let Michelle borrow last night. The hat was carelessly tossed on the floor along with a t-shirt of hers and a pink-ish orange lace bra. This was just one of the many downsides of living with a woman. Even if she is your best mate, finding the occasional bras and panties mixed into your clothes on laundry day can put a damper on your chances of trying and talk to a girl if you don’t have a washer and drier in house, and lets not even mention those four to five days out of the month when a tampon box is left on the bathroom sink and you have to explain that to a date. Not thinking, I picked all of the items up before I dropped the shirt and bra on the ground, feeling somewhat awkward touching something that was so close in contact with Michelle's...intimate bits.

"Michelle?!" No answer…

"Mitchell?! Wake up you're gonna be late for our first class!”

I laughed to myself at her lack of response before I sauntered back down the hall to my room grabbing the Ultimate Alarm; a fog horn that Michelle, the lads, and I nabbed from a school footie game. We each have one and have all have organized to use it with each other when the drink has made us more sluggish than functional.

Not much has changed since the first day I met Michelle. She's the only one here that I've met who seems to have stayed the same throughout all the three years of university that I've known her....That can be looked at as both a good and a bad thing.

Shaking the foghorn with devilish delight and biting my cheeks so that I wouldn't blow my cover, my feet stopped in front of her door once again. I cracked the entrance slightly sticking my arm in the room and turning my head away to shield my ears as much as possible from the noise. As soon as I pressed the button to sound it off, I heard a loud thudding sound followed by cursing. If she wasn't up before, she's up now.

"WHAT THE FUCK, HAZLAND?!”

I ran back to my room to put the horn down and grab my bag. This is the first year that I haven't strained my back to pick it up. Fouth year with a lighter load but more studying than I did in all the other three years combined seems pretty backwards to me, but I won't complain.

"What time is it?”

"Half- Oh-“

Michelle emerged from her room looking worse for wear. Her hair was in a nest atop her head and she only wore a long sleeved burgundy t-shirt and a black pair of boy short knickers on her lithe, lanky frame. I  swallowed deeply and turned my head away not expecting her to be so scantily clad. The colors contrasted with her warm honey/caramel skin tone and it was only then that I took in how much of her skin was actually showing. I've seen her naked before but it was an accident and brief. Very brief. I only saw her outlines really, nothing of real importance... not that I was trying to look or anything.

"Half past eight. Go put on trousers! I don't want to see your bajingo!”

Michelle primped her dry lips at me prior to moistening them with a swipe of her tongue, making sure to flip her middle finger up in my direction before she disappeared back into her room.

"Everyone wants to see my bajingo Harry and that's plenty of time for me to get ready. You didn't have to use the Ultimate Alarm. It's not like I was in a drug induced coma!”

"I called you twice but you didn't answer. I thought that-“

I trailed off my words as a gorgeous blonde walked out of Michelle's room. Her hair was tussled and she was scrambling to adjust her skirt as Michelle looked at me with a tightlipped grin, feeling out the room.Michelle walked her secret house guest to the door and gave her a lingering kiss that caused the girl to stand on tip toe before awkwardly waving a goodbye to her and shutting the door. I was left stunned.

"Pick your jaw up off the floor Styles!”

"That- that was a girl.”

“Yes."

"She was your friend?”

“No."

Michelle walked into the kitchen grabbing an orange juice carton out of the refrigerator. She took a sip straight from the jug causing me to grimace before she rolled her eyes at me and grabbed a  red solo cup. I was only momentarily distracted before I continued on my previous trail of thought.

"But, you were...and she…"

"Yes Harry, spit it out come on. You're almost there. I know it. I can feel it”

"She was putting her clothes back on.”

Michelle nodded her head in agreement as she continued to guzzle the rest of our citrusy, pulp free juice. After she finished it, she tossed the empty plastic to me and then walked out of the kitchen. I was right by the bin but set the cup on the countertop as my brain continued to navigate through what I think I want to ask.

"You didn't have on many clothes…"

"No, Harry. Neither of us did last night.”

Michelle folded her arms while squinting at me. The hint she's dropped allows what comes out of my mouth next to be uninhibited and honestly sound a bit too over zealous about the idea.

"You had sex with her?”

Michelle nodded her head up and down grinning slightly. Almost a smug look on her face I would say. She hadn't been in a relationship in a while. The last one I remember was when she was with my best mate Louis. It's how I met her as a matter of fact. Michelle and Louis are virtually the same person. It's freaky sometimes. She could be a reincarnate of him as a girl. They were inseparable, but when it ended it ended badly. I'm still not clear on the reason why. Neither of them will talk about it, but I managed to stay neutral in the whole situation and still be able to carry on a friendship with both of them. I'm still good friends with Lou, but he doesn't come around as much since I moved in with Michelle. Me and her got on so well while her and Louis dated it was hard not to become friends with her as well. Louis moved on and moved in with his bird earlier this year and I haven't really seen Michelle with anyone...Until now.

"So-so, you're a lesbian then?”

"Yes Harry. I've 'switched teams' as they say.”

"Since when?” I was just so shocked.

"Since over the summer...Does it bother you?” Michelle looked down at the ground and scratched the back of her neck as if she were bracing herself if I said it did and to be honest I was slightly offended that she’d think that way of me.

“No… No, I just never saw you with anyone over the summer.”

I could hear a sigh of relief escape Michelle’s lips as she turned to leave the front door.

I could have sworn she only hung out with me and the lads when Louis wasn't around. She hung out with us so much and we'd gotten so comfortable around her that we actually started counting her as one of the guys and calling her 'Mitch' or 'Mitchell' instead of Michelle. She always pretends to get cross with us when we called her that, but she can never keep a straight face long enough for us to believe that she doesn't like it.

"That doesn't mean I wasn't with anyone Harrow." Michelle winked at me and went back into her room coming out ten minutes later in joggers, a t-shirt, and Nike trainers with no backpack, one pencil, and a pen. Very prepared.

"Told you thirty minutes was more than enough time. Come now, Hazland.”

"...That's what she said." I smiled proudly at my own joke while Michelle gave me an unwavering a stale face.

"If I can say anything about growth in these last 4 years of our friendship it would be that you have made the least of it. You are the worst.”

“The pot shouldn’t call the kettle names. I thought it was funny." I grinned at her irritation grabbing all of my things in preparation to start the final year.

"Of course you did. Usually when you think it's funny that means it's not.”

Michelle exited out leaving me to lock the door to our new off campus apartment but I wanted to know more. 

I followed behind her and asked her all types of questions. You can't just spring on people that you've switched sides and not expect them to want to know all of the details. In all honesty it wasn't a big deal as long as she was happy. Perhaps I was just being nosy, but after usually seeing her with mainly men my underlying question to her was probably, "Why?"

"I wasn't having that much luck with guys, Haz. One night I went out for a drink and a girl approached me so I figured, why the hell not? What could it hurt, really? Nothing. I went for it, and I enjoyed myself.”

She didn't have a great track record with guys after her split with Lou. She was so unhappy at one point, but then again when you bring home assholes and expect them to turn into stand up gents tears are to be expected. They always looked like gutter grunge to me but at the moment that seemed to be her type, so I didn't say anything. I've actually spent a lot of nights with Michelle rubbing her back as she cried against my shoulder and handing her the odd Kleenex to substitute for my shirt. Now that I think about it, last summer I really didn't see her with any guys. I guess when I saw her with girls I always assumed they were just her friends.

"So...What's it like?”

"What's what like?”

"You know the, um, the switch...What's it like?" Michelle threw her head back and laughed as we reached the main building for our senior seminar class.

"You mean what's it like going from cock to fanny? Is that what you're asking me?" I raised my eyebrows at her bluntness and I could feel heat rise in my cheeks. There's no beating about the bush with Michelle, not anymore anyway.

"Pretty much, yeah. That's what I'm asking. I’m just being nosy. If it’s too much you don’t have to-“

"Honestly," Michelle shifted her eyes back and forth as if she was going to tell me the secret to life in her next sentence, "It's so much better. Guys have no clue what they're doing down there. It's so refreshing to have someone know exactly what it is that I want, when I want it, and how I want it without explaining myself like I'm a bloody rubix cube. Did you know that there are three holes down there?” She asked me sarcastically as if we weren’t both on track for Med school.

"I resent that! And no…no I didn't know that.” I replied to sarcasm with sarcasm, grinning to myself much like the purple devil emoji. I surely did know all the holes.

"Why is that, Hazland? The resentment issue?”

We took our seats in the half full lecture room at the back of the class as we normally do. Michelle, myself and the rest of the gang have started many an early weekend by sitting in the back of the class, signing the attendance sheet and then leaving when the professors back was turned. I don't think I'll do that this year though. I have too many important tests to take if I want to be a doctor. I mean to pass the UKCAT exam the first time.

"Because I'm not half bad at it. At least I don't think I am... Never got a complaint before and I don't intend to.”

Michelle laughed loudly as the professor walked in, drawing attention our way. I smiled and waved at the onlookers before Michelle chuckled again grabbing my hand to stop me as the professor started to speak.

"Just because you never got a complaint doesn't mean that it wasn't said, Harrow. Nine times out of ten, if you don’t hear a complaint it’s because she cares more about your ego than her orgasm...It’s a shame really.”

I primped my lips at her and we continued to whisper to each other back and forth while we took notes on what the professor wrote on the whiteboard during the lecture. There would be two major papers in this class. Thankfully for the twenty page essay that we'll be assigned to do later on in the quarter we can have a partner. Michelle quickly leaned her head on my shoulder choosing me to work with when the paper isn't even due until the last week of class. I of course accepted her. Not only is she my friend but she's one of those annoyingly clever people. I've honestly never seen Michelle open or purchase one required textbook in all of our three years knowing each other in our university careers, but every time marks are posted her marks are always first class honors.

By the end of class, I ended up giving Michelle a hefty amount of paper for notes in seminar and for the other classes she had throughout the rest of the day. It baffles me as to how she's this born genius, but the most unorganized person that I know at the same time. Her only response to my annoyance was, "At least I have writing utensils.”

"Was that girl this morning your girlfriend?”

"No. I'm an admitting fuckgirl. What’s the saying? If you can’t beat them join them. I refuse to be part of the played group any more. It's our last year after all. I figure it's time to up the ante. Let monogamy go.”

I laughed and shook my head before another question came up. It was always something I wanted to know about lesbians but was too embarrassed to ask. It's not like I have many lesbian friends who I could turn to and get the information that most want to know.  I'm never that embarrassed around Michelle though.

"So, erm, um...who's more dominant, when you're...You know?”

Michelle rolled her eyes at the question and I began to feel like an ass.

"When we're scissoring?" She spoke loudly making my thought about embarrassment wrong.

“Chelle!"

Michelle snickered knowing that she's put a vivid image in my head of her and the mystery blonde. I shake the thought before I get too carried away. I'm not supposed to get aroused with the thought of my best friend and another girl.

"Whoever feels like it whenever they feel like it? It was always a competition with men isn't it?”

“I don’t think it’s so much a competition as it is that some women don't like being on top?” I spoke presenting the idea causing her to pop her lips in disagreement.

“It’s never asked though is it? Sounds like male assumption to me. When I'm with a girl it's just flat out pleasurable for the pair of us. It's not about dominance, Harry. It's about getting off. Scissoring isn't a thing though, by the by.”

I nodded my head up and down still in awe that she of all people had taken a liking to someone who has the same bits as she does. It didnt' bother me like she thought it did earlier and I hope I didn't give her that impression by my line of questioning. Honestly these were just things I always wanted to know. I'm actually more hurt that scissoring apparently isn't a thing...They make it look so pleasurable in porn...I've been bamboozled.

"That's enough questions about me for now. What's happened to you?”

"What do you mean?"

"Harry full offense, but you were a slut when I first met you. You've since depleted in your numbers dramatically, except I'm sure the use of your hand. There were tissues in your bin the other night when I was cleaning the apartment and you don't have a cold…"

"I have h-hay fever Michelle! Allergies kick up at random times... Don't clean my room, I'll do it! It's personal in there. I knew I couldn't find any of my shit for a reason. And hang on-" I knotted my eyebrows playfully at her earlier slut comment.

I admit that I got around, but I moved very slowly. I've only ever had sex with seven or maybe nine girls in my twenty-one years give or take. I don't really keep count. It's not like they were souvenirs or notches on my belt for me to keep track of. All of them were an experience and I'm pretty sure I could name them all if I had to.

The first time happened my last year in 6th form or high school you could say and I didn't even know Michelle then. I got teased for that a bit, but I wasn't in a rush. The maybe other seven or eight happened here at uni but it wasn't as frequent as Michelle makes it out to be. The first two were in my first year when I met Michelle, one of them ended up being my girlfriend over a span of Five months. After that, I only was only ever active with a few more spaced out over the course of two and a half years, and they were regulars. That's not that bad when you think about it, especially for a guy my age at university.

"You were Haz! You had a new girl every weekend.”

"I did not! They were the same few people. They just kind of, alternated? You just never paid them any attention so you thought they were different every time. You're giving me more credit than I deserve." 

Michelle rolled her eyes and continued to tease me.

"Whatever. What's happened then?”

"I don't know what you mean. I got invested in my studies. I have to take the UKCAT this year.”

"When is the last time you fun bit wrestled, willy waggled, played 'hide the helmet', rolled in the hay as they say?" I scrunched my nose and then thought about it and then got frustrated that I had to actually think about it.

“Yet I’m the worst? Who’s this they you speak of?" I asked her, squinting my eyes and tilting my head to the side.

"Everyone says those things when talking about sex. The more mature ones do anyway. Stop dilly dallying and answer the question. When is the last time you put your 'p' in a ‘v'?"

"S-spring? Early spring? Early Spring terms I guess…"

I could feel my cheeks turn red as I answered her question and Michelle bit her cheeks as an odd snorting noise left her nose while she tried to hold in her laughter. It's not that funny.

"You haven't fucked since the spring?" I  laughed more at myself than at the shocked look on her face and shook my head no.

"No, not actual Spring. Early spring terms, so February...My birthday.”

"Harry, we're at the end of August here! You might as well count yourself as celibate. Not that I can blame the girls for dodging you. You still call a vagina a bajingo.”

I chuckled before I spoke, "The word vagina is honestly just as bad as bajingo. And this is coming from someone who has over a hundred words and phrases for sex.”

"A hundred and counting, Harrow.”

I shrugged my shoulders and tried to make the red in my cheeks less noticeable by rubbing my hand over my face. Spring term is when I decided to get more focused. I threw myself into clubs and my books to try to get more into school and buckle down. I'm even president of our graduating class now, prepared to serve on the Alumni council after graduation and I for one am proud of myself for getting this far. The greater half of my first three years here at university was spent at frat parties and in my bed sleeping class time away. I barely know how I made it through this far with decent grades, but I'm grateful that I did. Failure isn't an option.

Michelle stood on tip toe, leaning her head on my shoulder all the while soothingly rubbing my back. When I turned my head to face her, she batted her long lashes at me and made her big brown eyes look like one of those odd cartoon characters whose eyes cover more than half of their face.

"It's okay, Harry.”

"What is?”

"That you haven't gotten any pussy in over six months." Michelle has officially taken a back seat and let Mitchell take the wheel. This is how she got the nickname in the first place.

"Sod off Mitch! It's not like it's a bad thing-“

"Like shit it isn’t."

"I'm busy anyway.”

"With your hand and those bin tissues." I nudged Michelle off my shoulder feigning to be fed up with her masturbation jokes.

"Well if you weren't in my room you wouldn't have seen them! Gosh, you do something one time and then that's what people automatically associate you with!”

Michelle lets out another awkward snort that causes both of us to laugh out loud as we walk through the halls preparing to go our separate ways for the rest of the day.

"That was actually kind of funny Harry. Your jokes are getting a bit better.”

"Yeah, I know. They're funny when they're at my expense.”

"Aw, Hazland. You poor, poor serial masturbator. I'll see you later, yeah?”

"Yeah," I grinned at her before I turned to leave.

"Wait, how much later?” Michelle walked back towards me with one eyebrow raised to the sky as I tried to quickly map out my schedule for the day in my head before spitting it out to her.

"Uh, I get done with classes at half five, then I have a class meeting at six, and then I work at the first year halls front desk from seven to eleven thirty tonight. So I'll probably get home around midnight."

I contently sighed and grinned at Michelle as a look of pure horror took place of her once relaxed features. Her eyes seemed to widen larger after every additional activity that I listed, but I truly enjoyed remaining busy. Michelle's face remained contorted with displeasure before she spoke.

"So you're still coming to the pub later with the lads right?”

"Uh-oh. Chelle I don't know. I kind of forgot all about that. I don't think I will though, it's Monday and-“

"Ah, ah, ah, I'm not taking no as an answer. You promised and it's welcome week anyway. The pub is gonna be live! Just swing by and have one drink.”

“Nahhh I think I’m gonna-”

"One drink.”

“Sit this one out.”

"One drink, Harrow. One. Come on its tradition. You can't just bum out on tradition. This is our last year." She held up her tiny pointer finger to emphasize her point before she spoke again, this time in a small whisper, “One."

“No."

“Please?"

“No."

“Please?” Her lips pouted and her eyes turned sad trying her hand at manipulation.

"No, Chelle. No. Stop looking at me that way...Oh! Gah! Fine. I'll head to the pub when I get off work. One drink. One.”

Michelle bounced on her feet and clapped her hands in excitement making me shake my head before I turned to leave. Before I could make a real step Michelle called my name again.

"Hey, do you think I could borrow a pen? I seemed to have dropped mine."

[craftycheetah]

Don't Get Mad, Get Oven

↩ previous||Snacks & Stacks||next ↪

Pulling up to the police station (Y/N), with the help of Eijirou gets out of the car and makes her way inside. Locating the first officer she can find, she starts questioning them. “Is Hitoshi Shinsou here?!” she asks, trying not to strain her voice.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” the officer asks.

“(Y/N) (L/N).”

“Right, so why are you looking for this man?”

“He’s my best friend, practically my brother. I got word that he and our other friends were taken here, so I came down from the hospital as soon as possible.”

“I see. Who are these other friends of yours?”

“Izuku Midoriya, Momo Yayorozu, Tsuyu Asui, Mina Ashido, Denki Kaminari, Hanta Sero and Bakugou Katsuki. They didn’t do anything wrong! They’re innocent! Please, let me see them!”

“Right this way,” the officer sighs, leading you to the waiting area where the others are except for Bakugou and Shinsou.

“(Y/N)! Girlie, we were so worried about you! How are you feeling?” Mina gasps as you walk in through the door.

“I’m okay now. It’s been a rough couple of days, but I’m feeling a lot better. I’m sorry you guys went through this. It must have been harrowing….”

“We’re okay. The police are still questioning Hitoshi and Katsuki. They said they should be done soon.”

Katsuki scoffs as the officer lets him off with a warning, escorting him to the waiting room. “Fucking finally. Kept me in there for the longest fucking while.”

A few moments later, Hitoshi makes his way into the room, scanning his friends’ faces before realizing there are three extra people in the room.

“Hi, ‘toshi,” she smiles.

“Hey, donut,” he mumbles out of reflex before realizing you’re there. “Wait, (Y/N)?! When did you get out?!”

“Today.”

“How do you feel?”

“I’ll feel a lot better after I throttle you for doing all of this….”

“Um, well, let’s get out of here, guys,” he stammers as the others laugh softly, making their way out of the room.

As she followed her friends, (Y/N) felt a chill run through her spine as she heard her name being called by the last person she’d ever want to see.

Please not him. Anybody but him….

“(Y/N)!” A familiar voice called out.

She turned around to see a face she hoped to never see again. There Akhi was in all of his glory, well— not glory anymore. He was handcuffed, hands behind his back as a cop had a grip on his arm. The group of young adults collectively rolled their eyes, a scoff could be heard. Probably from Eijirou. She was frozen with shock as she stared at the greasy man.

His words made Eijirou’s right eye twitch.

“Don’t call her that!” Pony snapped before Eijirou even got the chance to speak up.

“Oh look, if it isn’t my other girlfriend… how’ve you been, Pony?” Akhi gave the girl a devious smile.

“That’s none of your business!” Pony barked.

“Enough about you,” he glared daggers at Pony, then redirected his ire once more to (Y/N). “How’s my baby girl doing?”“How’s The question sounded as though he intended to be sweet, but it was tainted by a hint of malice in his voice.

“I…I…” (Y/N) was too stunned to answer him. Seeing Ahki set off a flight or fight response in her, she figured her body chose to freeze instead of run away or tell him to fuck off. The man that tried to kill her had the nerve to speak to her as though everything was fine between them. Certainly, he had to know things would never be the same…right? He hadn’t slipped that far into his own twisted reality, had he?

“Oh, you’ve got some macho man to replace me, huh?” he spits. Gaze sharp enough to cut through metal. “Wonder how long this one’ll last before he gets sick of you~.” A burst of unhinged laughter was let out as he grinned wickedly.

“As Pony said,” Eijirou spoke up this time, his tone barely hiding just how irritated he was, “that’s none of your business,” He calmly moved (Y/N) back so that Akhi’s attention focused on him instead. He had enough of him, making (Y/N) uncomfortable. “You’re a hypocrite, you know that? She’s not your girlfriend anymore. You are just a jerk who can’t get it through your head that she dumped your rabies-looking ass. One of the actual mistakes God made.”

“How dare you!” Akhi broke out of the cop’s hold and leaped at Eijirou.

Little did Akhi know, Eijirou was prepared. While Akhi was mid-air, the taller man stepped to the side and rammed his elbow into the smaller man’s back without breaking a sweat.

“Really, dude?” Eijirou crossed his arms and looked down upon Akhi, his ears filling with Akhi’s groans of pain.

“I think you broke my fucking back!”

“Nah, if I was going to break you, I would’ve split you into two.”

“Eijirou!” Mina interrupted the bickering between the two.

“I’m just saying!” He held up his hands in defense.

“C’mon, donut, let’s get you home. You need to rest,” Hitoshi scoffs, looking down at Akhi.

“And you need to pay the fine, Hitoshi Shinsou,” the arresting officer perks up. “Now leave. You kids JUST got bailed out! Get out before we have to arrest you all!”

Hitoshi blinked a few times, processing what the officer was saying.

“Us?!”

“Yes, you! Now get out!”

“Pigs!” Hitoshi scoffed before running out, mentally deciding to pay the fine online and silently wincing at the large withdrawal, holding (Y/N) ’s hand tightly until the two were safely in the parking lot, the rest of the group following.

“Damn, you run fast for a gamer,” Katsuki commented.

“When you want the best games on Black Friday, you need to haul ass.”

“Hey, where’d Eijirou go?” (Y/N) asked.

“Why do you ask?” Mina teases.

“Uh…no reason….”

“His car’s parked out front, so he went to go get it,” Denki commented.

“By himself?”

“Nah, Tsu and Momo went with him. So what are we going to do next?”

“Celebrate (Y/N) getting out of the hospital. Where should we go?”

“I still have to prove to (Y/N) that my food is better than that shit from that buffet place Y/N and Denki dragged us out to,” Katsuki chuckles.

“Dragged?! It was a smart idea!”

“One of few,” Hitoshi chuckles. “Hitoshi Shinsou, I’m still going to throttle you later….”

“Denki?”

“I’m staying away from that path of fury,” he stammers, stepping back.

“Katsuki? Izuku?”

“Hell no.”

“Nope.”

“(Y/N), donut, let’s talk about this.”

“At home.” “...at least I get time to write my will.”

taglist: @milkmademozzarella @headcannonxgalore @x-kermit-x @wundersou @theechointime

©️craftycheetah: all rights reserved. Do not edit, modify, repost, or claim my works as your own. Likes are okay; reblogs are better!!

[everything-is-by-design]

Bring Me To Life

Hey, folks! Here’s a oneshot that I wrote a few months back. It’s decent, and I hope all of you loverly people enjoy it! I wrote this fic to the gentle ambience of Bring Me Love Games (Bruno Veland Mashup Remix) and I recommend you do the same to get the full effect. Enjoy! Xo.

 Word Count: 1.5k

Lucifer x Reader

Warnings: Blood, dying, death, and fluff

The reader sacrifices herself to protect Lucifer and he tries to save her.

The monster lunged for Lucifer and all you could think was, ‘no, not him’. Knowing that the monster’s plan was to feed on his light and knowing that you might survive the attack when you knew that he would not, you threw yourself between the beast and the archangel. The scorpion-like creature plunged it’s stinger into your gut and you immediately summoned all of your strength, eyes glowing a bright white, and pushed the creature away from the angel. Blood pooled between your lips and began to stream down your chin and neck as you sliced the scorpion’s tail off with your sword. It gave a wickedly inhuman scream before backing off, it’s tail curling inwards as it shrieked and cowered away from you.

You took slow but steady steps toward the monster, gripping your sword tightly as you desperately tried to stay awake. You felt Sam and Dean’s eyes on you while you approached the scorpion. Castiel held his arms out to stop the boys from running to your aid. They shouted your name, clearly upset with your apparent sacrifice for the devil. You tried to smile, “Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, beastie?”

“Y/N, stop! You’re going to kill yourself!” Dean practically screamed at you.

The scorpion slashed at you. You held up your sword to defend yourself against its attack as you fought against its strength. You looked up to the sky, willing all the Grace of every angel in heaven, on earth and in The Empty, save for Lucifer and Castiel’s, to fuel your body and your power. A beam of shockingly bright light plunged into your open mouth as all of heaven’s strength filled your essence. For the first time, you felt something breaking through your bones and skin, protruding from your back; wings. They were huge, bigger than any normal or even any archangel’s wings were and there were twelve of them. They were jet black with horn-like bones protruding from the feathers at the top, like a dragon’s wings. Small swirled horns grew from your head while holy fire ignited between them.

The light continued to flow through your body as you embraced your true form. Half human, half angel, half abomination, and half elemental. You barely noticed the four of their reactions, only slightly astounded that they could all see your transformation. The scorpion’s pincer sank into your side drawing a hiss from your mouth and more blood running down your body. With all of heaven’s might pulsing through you, you placed your hand on the beast’s head as you blasted it with holy fire.

The fire ripped through the scorpion’s body, tearing it apart inch by inch as its harrowing screams filled the air. It finally exploded into a million pieces of ash and dust. You took a few seconds to breathe before falling to your knees. Castiel and the boys ran to you as the power faded from your essence and the new additions to your body disappeared. You watched them as time started to slow down before stopping completely. You fell over but didn’t hit the ground. Instead, arms caught you, wrapping around your body and lifting you up. Whoever picked you up held your broken body close to theirs before you felt them transport you.

Time restarted as Castiel and the boys reached where you had been. Dean looked down at the blood on the pavement. Sam breathed heavily, “Where did she go?”

Castiel looked around, “Lucifer has taken her.”

You felt yourself being laid down on a hard surface and you tried to focus on your surroundings but everything was so swirly and blurry. You cried out in pain as you felt the scorpion’s poison penetrating your blood. You vaguely heard someone shushing you as if attempting to calm you down.

“Why would you do that? Stupid girl,” You heard Lucifer’s voice ring in your ears. You felt sleep calling to you and your eyes fluttered closed. Lucifer shook your shoulders, “No, stay awake. Stay with me.”

He gently but firmly smacked your cheeks, desperately trying to keep you conscious, knowing that if you gave in and fell asleep you’d never come back to him. The archangel worked quickly, trying to suck out all of the poison he could while simultaneously healing your ruptured organs. No one had ever done something like that for him and he had lost all hope over the years being stuck in the cage that anyone would ever care for him again. And yet, there you were, bleeding out on the library’s table in the bunker having only moments prior thrown yourself between him and the creature. You had wasted no time, there was no hesitation, you had simply decided to forfeit your life to save his.

You blinked yourself awake as your blurry gaze fell on Lucifer’s bloodied white shirt. His jacket had been folded and placed under your head. His blond hair was sticking out in all directions as he worked on you, his eyes glowing red. “Talk to me,” Lucifer ordered.

“About what?” You managed. You began to cough up blood and Lucifer briefly rolled you on your side so you wouldn’t choke.

“Spit it out,” He said. You obeyed, spitting the blood from your mouth. It hit both the table and the floor. He rolled you back onto your back and continued his work.

“Are you hurt?” You asked him.

He laughed hysterically at you, “Am I hurt? Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

You were going into shock, you knew it, and you couldn’t control the words the were slipping from your lips. You cried out again as immense pain flooded over you.

“I know, I know it hurts. I’m trying to make it stop,” He snarled at you.

“You’re angry with me,” You sputtered.

The hysterical laughter continued. His arms were drenched in your blood and your gaze fell upon a new being in the room dressed in a black suit. It stood just behind Lucifer, almost ten feet away.

“There’s a reaper here,” You said. Lucifer looked at you as you nodded in its direction.

Lucifer grabbed onto your face, getting your own blood all over your skin. You noticed that his cheeks were tear stained. “No, do you hear me?”

You reached for his face with a shaky hand, “Let me go.”

He shook his head and turned to face the reaper before screaming at it to the point where it exploded into a pink mist.

“Lucifer, you won’t be able to fix me this way,” You said, once again feeling a heaviness behind your eyes.

“Tell me, then! Tell me how to fix you! Please, Y/N, please tell me how to fix you,” Lucifer begged you angrily before shaking you again violently. Rage pulsed through him. He couldn’t lose the only person to show him that kind of devotion since his father turned his back on him. His voice cracked, “Don’t leave me.”

“I need your Grace,” You said softly.

“Take it, I don’t want it if I can’t have you,” He said, lifting you to hold your limp body in his arms.

“Not like that. You need to take me as your Mate to heal me,” You said before the door of the bunker burst open and Castiel and the boys rushed down the stairs.

“Lucifer! Get away from her!” Dean shouted.

Lucifer yelled and a blast of energy erupted from him, knocking the three of them unconscious. He laid you back down, taking your right arm in his so that the two of gripped each other's forearms. He’d only read about Mates a few times in his life and wasn’t exactly sure how to go about it. “Help me. Tell me what to say.”

“Lucifer, Light Bringer, Morningstar, Prince of Darkness, I take you as my Mate from now until the end of days. I will not doubt you. I will not leave you. I will lift you up and heal you for now and for always,” You said the dedication to him as your eyes began to glow red.

“Y/N, Spirit High Priestess, Light of the Earth, Light of the Human Race, Eveningstar, I take you as my Mate from now until the end of days. I will not doubt you. I will not leave you. I will lift you up and heal you for now and for always,” Lucifer repeated the dedication as his eyes shone white.

“Bonded in blood, forever and always,” You both said together before another bright white light shone through the bunker. You felt his Grace pulse through you, healing you and strengthening you into a new being as your essence did the same to him. When the light finally faded, you had been completely healed. Any trace of blood or injury had vanished and you lay in the arms of the archangel whose soft pink wings encompassed you both, shielding and protecting you.

You looked up into his eyes that had faded to blue again. He couldn’t help but lean in and press his lips to yours. You returned the kiss instantly, feeling true bliss, ecstasy and happiness for the first time in your life fill your body and overflowing into him. Lucifer broke the kiss, “Why did you do that?”

“Because you’re worth fighting for. You’re worth saving. My beautiful Morningstar, and because I happen to be madly in love with you,” You smiled.

[67impalaandwhisky]

Destiny Is Heaven Sent

Summary: Knowing Dean Winchester since you were fifteen, you’ve always been pulled in his direction. Always wanting to open up the rattled and broken cage your heart lives in. But when the child you’ve been raising together dies, you find yourself closing up the cage of your heart again. And if destiny has one thing for you, it’s to break you down before bringing you back up.

Characters: Dean x You, Sam, Castiel, Bobby, OFC’s, OMC’s, (Ongoing) 

This Series Is Set Through Seasons 1-6 With Knowledge That The Bunker Exists

Rating: 18+

Warnings (Ongoing and Will Be Updated): Grieving, Mentions of Rape and Defilement (As Per A Case), Show Level Violence, Swearing, Smut, Impreg Kink, Blood, Fighting, Drinking, Dean Being Dean, Fluff, Angst, Dom!Dean, Sub!Reader

Warnings For This Chapter: Grieving Over Dead OMC, Drinking, Swearing, Flirting

A/N: This is my first Supernatural fic ever! I’ve been writing for a while and have adored Supernatural since the beginning so I’m really excited for this series and I hope everyone enjoys it! 

Chapter 1.

Autumn used to be a season that you adored when you were little. It was the fresh chill of the air and the taste of possibility that clung to the wind. Now you can't help but find it mindlessly awful.

You used to love Halloween and all of the holidays that accompanied soon after. It brought you and your family together. Until your mother died. Then it was just a teeth gritting ride of vengeance by your father, who had loved his wife since he was a teenager.

He did his research, something that you would find harrowing if you didn't grow up in this life. He spent your entire life dragging you around, preparing you to fight against monsters and magic. 

Your father had discovered what had killed your mother when you were fifteen on Christmas Eve. He had left you at the Right Swing Motel to kill the monster on one of your favorite holidays.

You weren't mad then and you still weren't mad now. You couldn't imagine loving someone so much that you were overcome with anguish and the need for revenge. 

When he finally came back to the motel two days later, you had expected him to be relieved. He killed the werewolf that ripped your mother's heart out. You expected him to be your father again. But alas, he seemed angrier and more prone to violence then you could ever imagine.

When he finally died on a job that could never be done alone, you realized just how fucked in the head he had become. Just how overwhelming grief could make you and you swore to yourself that you would never become like him.

Even if that meant setting your emotions aside every time.

Pulling up to the old diner on Route 30, your eyes lazily drift over the parking lot. Spotting the 67' Impala you've grown to know since you were a teenager, you park your car beside it before blowing a bubble in your gum.

You watch the bubble expand and expand before sucking all the air out of it as you step out of your car. Slamming the door shut, your combat boots slap the concrete as you enter the diner.

Taking off your sunglasses, you walk past the waitress as she welcomes you. You give her a brief smile before spotting the men you've grown up with.

Without a word you walk towards them, watching as Dean devours the cheeseburger in hand like he has never eaten a damn thing in his life. Grimacing, you plop yourself down in the booth earning both of their eyes as they slowly drift up from their plates.

"Oh Jesus!" Sam yells, putting his hand over his heart.

"Am I that hideous? My God." You mumble as you grab a french fry off Dean's plate. 

He smacks your hand multiple times earning pink splotches as you slap his hand back.

"Order your own food, Y/N. I'm a growing boy. Gotta eat." He complains as you rest your elbow on the greasy table surface.

"Can I get you anything?" The waitress asks as she approaches. 

"She wants a philly cheese steak, extra onions. No mushrooms or peppers. And, a strawberry milkshake." Dean says as he wipes some crumbs out of the stubble on his chin.

You hum impressed to him before throwing your legs over Sam's lap. 

He's been used to it by now, earning the title as your best friend quite quickly since you were fifteen. His hand wraps around your thigh high combat boots before ignoring Dean's gaze and continuing to eat his salad. 

You steal a cucumber off his plate before looking at his older brother. His eyes were on yours, forest green irises looking over your body intently before looking back down at his food.

"Job?" You ask as Sam holds up the local newspaper he was reading before you arrived.

"Nothing we can't handle. Why don't you go back to the bunker and just relax, hmm?" Dean offers sweetly and you scowl at his suggestion.

"What's with this whole macho man show you've been putting on lately? It's so infuriating, Jesus. I've saved your life so many times and now suddenly I'm a frail crone that has to be a housewife to her two best friends as they go out and fight demons and monsters?" You ask, raising your eyebrows.

He cringes at your words before setting his burger as if it made him feel sickly.

"This job is dangerous." The oldest mumbles and you find yourself suddenly aggravated. When has Dean Winchester ever made you back down from a hunt? When has he ever begged you not to come instead of joining them? 

The answer is never.

"This ghost seems to abduct beautiful, single women and do things to them. I don't want you at risk." You look over to Sam as his brother speaks and you notice how he avoids eye contact with you. 

Your plate of food is set down in front of you and you thank the girl quietly as the tension in the air thickens. Dean Winchester in his whole life has never called you beautiful. He's never even given you the time of day. Which you don't mind really, that's how he's always been. But he's never kept you away from a hunt and you're wholeheartedly offended.

"Then I'll be perfect bait." You reply. 

"I said no." Dean says through gritted teeth.

Sam squeezes your leg gently as if to beg you to not start a fight in a random diner off the highway. 

"I don't give a fuck about what you say Dean Abel." He coughs awkwardly at the middle name you bestowed on him since you were younger. 

You never use it unless you mean business. 

"Y/N. I'm just looking out for you. Jesus Christ." He whispers. 

Folding your arms, you look over at Sam expectantly. You know he hates to be involved in your spats with Dean.

You're both hard headed beasts that don't quit until you get what you want.

"I mean...When has Y/N ever backed down from a fight? When has she ever been anything but safe with us?" Sam says, still avoiding eye contact with his brother.

If looks could kill, Sam would be dead against the window of the diner.

"Thank you Sammy." You say happily before sipping your milkshake. 

Dean makes an angry grunt before leaning back in the booth and throwing a balled up napkin onto his plate.

"What's so wrong with me wanting you safe? Is it a fucking sin?" He asks bitterly as you take a bite of your sandwich.

You look up at him again, watching as he swallowed thickly.

What's his fucking damage today? 

"In your life you've never kept me away from a hunt. In your entire life. I've been attacked by ghosts. Bitten by vampires. Abducted by djinns and you've never batted an eye. Now when there's an abducting ghost you suddenly assume the role of protector?" You ask pointedly, your index finger pressing into his chest across the table.

Dean sniffs before pulling out his wallet and throwing cash onto the table. His large hand runs over his face before he's shoving his hands in his pockets. 

"You're not going. End of story. I am not losing another person." He mumbles before walking out of the diner and leaning on the hood of Baby.

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" You ask his brother loudly.

Sam shoves a fork full of salad into his mouth as he plays with the laces of your combat boots. He seems to be distracting himself so he doesn't have to look at you.

"He's been this way for weeks. He's...I mean he's worried about you. We only just burned Marsh a few weeks ago and he doesn't seem to think you're ready to go back out." Sam says before looking over at you. 

You begin to smile, a feral nasty smirk spreading onto your face. Gripping your legs harder, he widens his eyes at you begging you to stop.

"Let go, Samuel Cain." You seethe through your teeth and he sighs loudly before finally going slack against the leather of your boots.

Jumping out of the booth, you fix your leather jacket. 

It takes a few large steps before you're barreling out the diner door straight towards the boy you've watched become a man.

"You son of a bitch." You curse as you advance on him. 

His head turns to you slowly and his jaw clenches. 

At one time when you were sixteen, you'd find it absolutely hot but now it just sets fire into your veins at a quicker pace.

"Y/N…" His voice is weak as he holds his hands up.

Opening up your hand, you stiffen your arm before jabbing your palm underneath his chin.

With a groan he slides off the hood of his car.

"Come on!" He yells angrily before standing up and opening his mouth before spitting out a drop of blood or two.

"How dare you decide what I need to do! How dare you for one second think that I need to be told to sit one out!" You yell as you grip his jacket. 

Hauling him up, he puts his hands on your shoulders.

"I'm just looking out for you, goddammit! You're not okay, and you won't talk to me! You look through me! I'm trying to protect you! You mean something to me! Fuck!" He yells as he shakes you about.

"Yeah?! Well I don't need your fucki-" You begin to scream before being cut off.

"Guys. They called the cops. We gotta go." Sam says before ripping the door open to the Impala.

Dean lets go of you before huffing out and smacking the hood of his car loudly. 

"This isn't over you asshole." You mutter, jutting your finger to your best friend as you put on your sunglasses.

"Why am I not surprised?" He seethes as you open the door to your car.

It's incredibly insulting. Unbelievably unfathomable. In all your life, Dean Winchester has never thought you were weak. 

These weeks without Marsh haven't been easy but that doesn't mean you're lost. Doesn't mean you haven't given up sight of who you are and how things need to be. He wouldn't want that.

"Hello Y/N." The deep monotone voice pulls you out of your thoughts and you jump slightly at the man now sitting beside you in the passenger's seat.

"God! Cas, what did I tell you?!" You yell, slamming your hand onto the steering wheel.

"To never appear in your car like this." He states matter-of-factly.

Rolling your eyes, you begin to focus back on the road watching as Dean speeds down the highway.

"What? What do you want?" You ask the angel as you lower the music.

"Well. I don't want you to fight with Dean." He says as he stares ahead at the road.

You give a short laugh before clicking your tongue and tilting your head.

"Sorry Cassy, all me and Dean do is fight." You mutter as you open the window. 

"It's okay to not be okay, Y/N. I have been watching you, seeing your inner struggle. I know it's hard without Mar-" 

"First of all, don't watch over me. I don't need you to. Secondly, you don't know anything about how I feel. He was just a kid, Cas. He was fourteen years old for God sake." 

He stays silent as you drive down the road. 

"He's happy where he is. He isn't in Hell." Cas says and you laugh to yourself before biting your bottom lip almost hard enough to draw blood.

You've been there through it all, through the angels and the demons. Through the ghouls and the werewolves. Heaven and Hell were so far off your list of things to think about, just the notion bleeds your very soul. 

"Doesn't mean Dean can try to keep me away from what I need most." You tell the angel as the Impala in front of you turns into the parking lot of a motel.

"And what is that?" He asks as you park beside them.

You open your mouth to answer before shutting off the engine of your car and turning your body to him. He looks upon you blankly as you run your fingers through your hair.

"Can't you see what I need without asking?" You ask quietly. 

He sighs before nodding, "Yes. I see." 

Exiting your car, you don't even look at the oldest as you grab your bag from the back seat. 

"Room?" You call out before opening your trunk and grabbing your duffel bag filled with the usual gun paraphernalia. 

"Seven." Sam says and you don't miss the irony of it. 

Luck could go shove it.

You push past Dean as he holds his hand out for your bags and you hear him curse under his breath.

"Come on." Dean says as he jogs beside you. 

You hold your hand out for the key and it's immediately placed in your hand by the younger brother.

"I'm gonna go for a walk." Sam mutters out.

"Be careful." You and Dean say at the same time. You crack your neck loudly before pushing open the door and dropping your bag onto the small table the cheap motel room offers.

Closing the door behind him, you can hear Dean sigh loudly. 

Fighting was always fun with him in years passed. It was always an adrenaline rush. But, these days you're so far past it. You just want to do your job, have a drink and that's it.

"You can't just shut me out." Dean says, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"Yeah? Watch me." You retort as you begin to make lines of salt on the window. 

"Y/N. I mean it. This has fucked you up entirely. I know what it's like to bottle things away until you're overflowing. I know that pain you're hiding. Just talk to me." 

"No!" You bark out before you feel arms wrap around you.

You can smell him. The smell is something akin to home. He smells of whisky and musk. Old leather that is worn and creasing. He smells of gunpowder and mint. 

"Get the fuck off me." You seethe, writhing in his grasp as it tightens.

"I know you. I know you so well- Hell, I practically am you. Don't you dare think it's okay to keep it to yourself. You're strong? Yeah well, sometimes dams break too." You set the bottle of salt down on the table before turning towards him.

His evergreen irises, staring deep into yours. His small freckles that you've counted a number of times since you were fifteen. His gentle stubble, a sign that he's been taking care of himself. 

His thumbs run over the leather of your jacket but you can practically feel the calloused skin on yours.

"If I talk about it, it makes it real. I just want to work. I want to shoot things and save people." You say before ripping your eyes away from him to the gold necklace he adorns.

"This is real, Y/N. A kid that we called our own is gone. His mother. His father. His uncle. Are all without him now." Just those words send you hurtling yourself towards him. 

Breaking free from his grasp, he lets you punch him in the chest. He lets you take your anger out on him. Because he's Dean and he's always here to drink in your sorrow whenever it comes around. Because, in order to be truly emotionless you have to give them away to someone else.

"He was just a kid! He was just a little boy!" You yell as you punch the older man in the jaw. His body makes contact with the floor as your screams become intelligible.

With a groan he pulls himself up before standing still. Your hard punches slowly turn soft and then you're beating on his chest. 

Letting out a shaky breath, he pulls you close to him. You let out a sob, a small garbled noise, into his grey t-shirt. Feeling the cotton absorb your tears as your eyes burn.

"He was a baby. We should have just left him at the orphanage like Bobby told us. We sh-shouldn't have taken him with us." You cry out.

You let the sorrow eat at you for a second. Let your mind wrap around your emotions before closing yourself off once more. Something you're getting almost too good at.

You shove the handsome man away from you before wiping at your face and turning away from him.

"Y/N. He wanted to come with us. We couldn't leave him to the system after everything he had seen. He wanted to grow up and be a hunter. He wanted us. And we wanted him." Dean whispers, you can hear the crack in his voice. The strain of his vocal cords from weary emotion.

"Yeah well, we fucking failed him. We should have never taken him with us."

"He loved you, Y/N. You raised him. You were his mother for years when he didn't have one himself. You made him into a strong boy." He tells you.

You look down at the woven bracelet Marsh had bought you for mother's day with Dean's money and your jaw clenches with grief.

But, Dean was his father too. And, you know it's taken a toll on him as well. You can't be so selfish. 

"He loved you too. You were the father he needed and always wanted. I'm sorry." You say finally before looking out the window at both of your cars as they sit side by side like always.

"Me too. I'm-I'm sorry." He mumbles.

You know that's big for him. Even if he is ever sorrowful getting those two words out is like hot searing pain to him but he at least tries with you.

"We good?" You ask him as you turn back around.

You find him still staring, still drinking you in even with your back turned and your stomach coils like when you were a teenager. 

"Yeah. Yeah, we're good." He says finally before opening his arms. 

You almost take that welcoming before snorting and grabbing the discarded salt on the table.

"Nice try." You mumble before putting salt in front of the door.

"It's not a sin to hug someone." He whispers before grabbing your gun bag and throwing it on his bed.

No but it's a sin to hug him.

"So what's the job?" You ask aloud as you all sit in the dive bar.

Sam holds up the newspaper before sliding it across the table. 

"Annalise Greenlee. An aspiring model, murdered and raped in her apartment. Police say there was no forced entry, all doors and windows were locked. Now, get this-- her body from her kidneys and above were mush. Exploded inside her body while she was dying." Sam says earning widened eyes from you.

"Must be one pretty pissed off bitch." You reply before taking a long sip of your whisky and coke.

Dean seems to have meant it when he said you were both okay because his attention has now left you and worrying about you. He's more worried about who he'll be sheathing his cock in tonight. 

Typical.

"Y/N. Go tell that girl that we're producers for a reality t.v. show." Dean says elbowing you and nodding to a pretty petite brunette that leans against the bar.

You sigh almost a little too loudly.

"Hey! Pretty girl!" You call over to her. 

Her head turns and you want to roll your eyes at her confidence. As if she was the only pretty girl in the bar.

Sauntering over, you watch her overly eager hips sway. Her index finger twirling her hair seductively as she approaches.

"My friend here wants to buy you a drink. You okay with that?" I ask her as she looks over at Dean.

Her pupils widen and her tongue slowly licks at her lips before smiling.

"Sure. That sounds great. I'm Olive." She says leaning against the booth. Her breasts thrust upwards in the air as her low cut tank top is pulled lower and you can hear the audible growl your best friend gives.

"Just call me Popeye." Dean says before shoving you out of the way and climbing over you to get out of the booth.

You stare at Sam unimpressed and he covers his face as he begins to smile. 

"See you two later hmm?" He asks.

Kissing the top of your head quickly, you roll your eyes before turning the small black straw in your mixed drink. 

Seems like he's forgotten every reason to be upset when he can be knee deep in pussytown.

Fingering at the small woven bracelet, you let out a small, unamused laugh before finishing the contents of your drink.

"You okay?" Sam asks quietly as you pick up the newspaper.

"Why wouldn't I be?" You bite back, angrier than you mean to.

"It's not fair of him to do that." He replies kindly and you put your fist under your chin before skimming over the bar.

"The word fair and the word Dean do not go hand in hand. Come on, let's go play pool. I could do with beating your ass in something today." You say before standing up.

It's almost too easy for Dean to unlock the recesses of your heart but it's almost too painfully easy to lock yourself back up.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Slashers + Jennifer Check x Reader || Oneshot

Title: Peeping Toms and Bets

Notes:

This is a remake and revamp of an old Oneshot request I did in my old blog. I hope you like this! 

Jed is changed to Bubba, because in this shot the character does act most like Bubba then Thomas or Jedidiah ^^ 

The 2 would you rather’s were found online.

Plot: Jennifer has invited you over for a sleepover and you ask her a very interesting question. Oh and the boys are all listening together in and betting on your response to the question. 

Warnings: Suggestive or course language. 

Chucky, walks down the hall, headed for the kitchen while he knows the succubus and her friend are hidden away in the living room, feels a harrowing sense of disgust at what he sees. Well, the disgust being only on a strictly face value basis. Mostly he’s interested to hear the excuses his fellow Slashers have for their camping outside the closed living room door while two teenage girls have a sleepover inside. The first one to notice his presence, when he stops is Bubba who was taking a break from straining his ears to listen to whatever’s happening inside and look down the hall. Where he spots the bright hair and plastic features of child terror. He gasps, quickly and quietly, and alerts the others by tapping spatially on Michael and Stu.

They all turn to see Chucky, and Michael’s shoulders drop heavily in exasperation. Can’t he be left in peace? Why’d all these people have to join him? Stu gasps along with Bubba, before dissolving into a slightly guilty turned down grin, on one side, looking to the floor. Freddy has the good humour to look guilty, too. But isn’t really.

“… what the hell are you two doing??!” Chucky finally manages to spit out, past his pure amusement of the, concerning and slightly horrifying, scene. He raises an eyebrow and feels a tad out of place but stands his ground, when Stu and Bubba ‘Shh’ him, violently. Spit breaking from their mouths, he’s sure.

Freddy nearly panics entirely and immediately smacks Stu’s hand away from his face, looking between those two idiots and the door. “Shut up! Both of you, you were louder than him!” While he goes off on the two, Michael just sighs and opts to look back through the crack in the door that he was peaking though. “And you! Shut it! They might hear you, and then we will all be in trouble.”

“’All’??” Chucky exclaims furiously, eyes wide and wholly incredulous. “I’m not playing peaking Tom on teenage girls as an old man- “

Freddy’s voice is barely a whisper, in fact it’s much more like TV static then a human voice, due to his burnt vocal cords. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, they’re dressed. This is not a porn video. To my knowledge girls don’t, in fact, get undressed to sleepover with each other.” Stu mumbles a quiet ‘Yeah, unfortunately’ and pouts, as a couple of them share a moment of silence for the tragic misconception. Including Chucky and even Bubba. Michael rolls his eyes, still stretching his neck to look through the crack, back against the wall. “Haven’t caught a glimpse. We’re just listening.”  

“And you don’t think they’d mind?” Recovered, Chucky smirks smugly, words dripping with sarcasm. Almost evilly, as if he’s 2 seconds from blowing their cover and telling Jennifer-or, worse. Jason, - what they’re up to.

Bubba looks nervous, at that, touching the tips of his meaty pointer fingers together and looking ashamedly thoughtful. But then Michael makes an audible ‘Pfft’ sound from under his mask like he really couldn’t care less if they minded, causing their plastic acquaintance to raise his eyebrows in surprise, he relaxes. If Michael doesn’t care, maybe he shouldn’t either. Michael is cool.  

What would Jason say, though? Just as Bubba’s thoughts on that are immediately shut off, when the TV inside the living room turns off and silences engulfs the area. Then the girls inside start talking, which understandably makes every boy or man on the other side of the wall turn on their listening ears to level 99 and lean towards the sound.

Chucky makes a split-second decision and joins them on the floor. To tell the truth, he doesn’t give a flying fuck whether the girls mind, either. But he had to pick on these assholes, so if Stu doesn’t stop snickering at him, he’s going to cut out the teenager’s tongue, wrap it up and use it as a stress ball. Stu seems to get the message when Chucky connects gazes with him, slowly touches his own tongue, and then mimes violently tearing it out.

//

After the obligatory 3 movies (One romance, one horror which was a tough decision due to your friends living arrangements of course, and one comedy), you and Jennifer stop to recoup and recharge, and start talking. You’re wrapped in blankets and your favourite pyjama’s, and she’s dipping into her coloured popcorn. The only sugar, to your knowledge, that this girl intakes. Its no wonder she’s so gorgeous. She decides on a diet and exercise regimen and sticks to it. Truly amazing. You? Well… you prefer your snacks to a model perfect body.

Surrounding the two of you are many, many pillows and blankets. Some you’ve come to realise were stolen from some of her roommate’s rooms, due to their particular smell and some concerning stains. Also, the one that evidently belongs to Michael has a violent looking hole in it and has stuffing poking out.

Another is a full size Hatsune Miku body pillow, and you don’t dare to ask whos’ room she snatched that one from. Although, you have your suspects. Confirmation, though, is an entirely different experience. And one that you would rather not have.

As you start talking, you dig into your own chosen caffeine for the night. You’re playing would you rather, of course.

Because its fun, to give your friend two horrible or disgusting options and make them choose one.

“Would you rather have uncontrollable gas at work for the rest of your life or for every first date you have for the rest of your life?”

“Work!” Jennifer decides, immediately, apparently horrified by the other prospect. “If I was an uncontrollable fart machine for all of my first dates, I would starve! Who cares if my stuffy boss smells eggs for the rest of his miserable life.”

She sure has some… strong feelings, about her non-existent future boss. You snigger, sipping your drink through a chewed straw. “Okay, okay…”

“Would you rather have an animal best friend, any animal, meaning if it were a bear or a horse you could ride them around, or be married to someone who is peak attractive for you.”

That stumps you, and for a moment you just sit there with your mouth open, thinking furiously. Jennifer grins wide. “A wonderful pet buddy or best sex??” And at that, she starts to laugh a bit, patting your knee. You’re lost! “Impossible!”

“I know what I’d pick-“

“Yeah I know what you would pick. Evil one.”

She laughs some more.

Evilly.

After a couple of minutes of that, her teasing you and you thinking, you finally decide. Although, you only say it very, very quietly and into a pillow, so no higher power hears and grants it.

After that, you feel the need to be evil as well and think for a few moments deeply about wat to ask her… then come up with something perfect. You smirk at her over your pillow and sit it back down on your lap, still holding it. “If the world was ending, and it was up to you to save it, and you did want to save it, and you had to sleep with someone to do that… who would it be?” She immediately opens her mouth to say a name, but you quickly, mischievously hold up your hand halt her, and add the evilness. “Thing is!! It has to be one of the Slasher boys that you live with. Patrick and Carrie don’t count.”

Like you did before, she stops. Slowly closes her mouth, and looks off into the distance. Stuck. “Uh, so… one of… Bubba, Chucky, Freddy, Jason, Billy, Stu, or Michael?”

Oh, damn. You think, realising you forgot to cast out Billy and Stu. Well, that was a bust attempt at causing her strife-

“That’s impossible! What the fuck??”

Oh, okay. That’s kind of sad for Billy and Stu… But, uh, good for you!

//

The creepy group outside the door, which has grown a few more hands and legs belonging to Billy and Jason. The former only being there as he was trying to stop them from being weird but had given up and got tired, so he sat down. Now he was, apparently, apart of this. Somehow.

Billy is here because his DVD player got jammed.

After hearing Y/N’s question, multiple reactions come from these Slashers.

1.       Chucky and Freddy are very creepy and partake in some wolfish grinning that frightens Bubba and puts off Jason.

2.       Stu goes very, very red, and grins a little goofy. He shut down the moment the question was issued, so he didn’t hear the incriminatingly insulting thing that Jennifer hinted about him.

3.       Bubba also goes bright red, and covers his face.

4.       And Billy pauses momentarily, having caught the ego crushing material, then takes a deep breath and sits up straighter. “Oof, so, lets lay some bets?”

Billy holds up 10 fingers, sitting cross legged the furthest away from the door or wall, in general. “For Jen saying Michael.” The said shape of Haddonfield turns gruffly to the Ghostface original, who shrugs and grins his knowing grin. “I could explain it to you, but then you would think I checked you out.”

“Oh no, but in reality, you just watch his movie once a month- once a week in 91.” Stu narrowly escapes Billy’s wrath, ducking out of the way and practically into Bubba’s lap when his friends reaches for his hair. Michael just deeply sighs, along with Jason and continues to watch.

“Moving on from that borderline embarrassing bit of information that I’m sure we’re all going to ridicule you for later, I have a bet too. Since you think she’ll pick Michael, I’ll put 50 on myself.”

“30 on Billy. Despite, his gayness.” Freddy adds, preoccupied listening into the living room, but never too preoccupied to tease.

“I’m not gay!”

“Its okay, Billy, its 2020. You can be open with us.”

“Fuck you man, you suck, you’re going down on the favourite Slasher list.”

Freddy just giggles at that, turning his full concentration back on Jennifer.

Jason sighs deeply, his shoulders literally raising and falling in an obvious effort to make it noticeable. It is noticeable, its just that no one cares that he disapproves. He sighs again, this time quieter to himself, in hopelessness. He refuses to gamble on this.

Stu holds up a hand full of fingers and a thumb, five. “On Y/N picking Jason.” Michael nods to that, agreeing and holding up both his hands, 4 times. He’s got 40 on Y/N picking Jason. Jason himself looks specifically at his fellow voiceless murderer Michael, in horror. He thought better, of him. Michael only shrugs in response, like ‘You shouldn’t have though so highly of me. That was stupid.’. besides, its October, he’s naturally bound to take more risks. Plus, he’s had an odd inkling, that Y/N’s liked Jason for a while. She comes over a lot for Jennifer, but sometimes she hangs with Jason instead.

Chucky smirks at the interaction. “As I’m obligated to always contradict everyone else, I’m going to bet fifty-five, on her picking Freddy.”

“Oh. Hell no.” Billy butts in, unhappy with these high ass numbers. “I’ve been flirting with Y/N for weeks. It’ll pay off, she’ll pick me.”

Bubba doesn’t bet. He remembers how Drayton and Chop Top get when they used to bet on horses, and it wasn’t pretty. He doesn’t want to be like that, no.

//

Jennifer’s still thinking a couple minutes later, and you’re starting to worry when she finally moves. And flops back on her mattress that she’d had Bubba carry down here for her, in the hopelessness of it all. You will be sleeping on the couch, but you’re on her mattress too right now for until you go to sleep. If you go to sleep. This particular question may take some time.

“Uhh… lets see… “You crawl up to her head and plonk down where you can see her face. She chews on the inside of her cheek, and then starts to think out loud for your benefit. “Billy’s our age, and so pretty,” You nod, understanding. He is very pretty. “But… “

“But?”

“Well, but… Michael is so big!” She throws her arms onto the mattress on either side of her body for emphasis, causing you to open your mouth and raise your eyebrows and the boldness, then laugh and nod at the same time. Yeah… yeah… that true too…

And a very interesting point… You think to yourself, dusting a gentle pink across your cheeks.

“Y/N, no. This is not a laughing matter!” She’s grinning, though.

You raise your hands, playing surrender. “No, no, of course not! I’ll stop!”

“You better.”

//

“Stop fucking around!” Freddy exclaims, not loud enough for either of the girls to hear of course. He grits his teeth. “I’m betting on the outcome of your decision, bitch! Shut up and say ‘Billy’!”

“So… “Chucky starts to rethink his decision to bet. “What happens if they don’t decide? Is the game off, or… ?”

Billy halts for a moment, then looks at Bubba for a second. “Oh, yeah Bubba? You think the money should go to the new TV fund?? Well, if you say so!”

Bubba immediately looks panicked and confused, a serious squawk escaping him aimed towards the others. He didn’t say that! He didn’t even think that! Honestly, he thinks it’s should go towards a chicken coup…

Jason quickly pats Bubba’s shoulder, still in a perpetual state of exasperation and tired, but still wanting to assure Bubba that, they know. Billy’s full of crap, we know you didn’t say that.

//

Finally, Jennifer decides and makes an ‘Ah!’ sound, moving her finger from her lips thoughtfully, to the air excitedly. She sits up and faces you.

Oh, this is very serious. It must be. It demands eye contact. “You’ve decided?

“Yes.” Her finger lowers to her shoulder height. “Okay so, I simply boiled it down to a science.”

“You did?” You ask, just humouring her.

“Yes. So,” She starts counting off Slashers from her list of possibilities with her fingers. “First of all, Freddy killed his wife. So, he’s out.” Well that makes sense. “And Billy tried to kill his girlfriend, so even though he’s sexy, he isn’t trustworthy either, so he’s gone too.” So far so good. “Jason’s rotting away, and ‘Au Decaying’ doesn’t really stimulate me to do anything apart from spray him with anti-bacterial and Hello kitty deodorant, despite his wonderful shoulders.” Oh, yes. Jason does have nice shoulders. “Then Bubba’s flesh mask is a complete turn off, Chucky’s a Good Guy, not a bad boy. And Stu’s a weirdo.”

You nod, a smile reaching your lips and the pure simplicity of her end decision, coming to the only conclusion. “So… Michael.”

“Yeah!”

“I don’t think he showers regularly.”

“Eh, neither do a lot of the boys I eat.”

//

Stu is gaping, very wide and very deeply. “A weirdo??” He looks in disbelief to his best friend and the victor. Michael nods, being hurtfully honest with the kid and Billy comforts him with a shoulder pat. He is also reeling. He hadn’t previously identified his Sydney fiasco as a warning for other girls… maybe he should have. This could be an issue.

“Yeah… man, you are a weirdo.”

“Thanks so much, buddy.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome.”

“Bad boy?” Chucky asks, pleasantly surprised. He turns to Bubba, who’s looking indignantly at the door because his fashion is ahead of their time! “Do I have bad boy energy?”

Freddy sulks. “Oh… I get it… “

Jason rolls his eyes at them all. They’re all ridiculous!

//

“What about you?” Jennifer asks, turning the tables on you.

“Me?” You squeak.

“Yeah, you.”

“Well… “You square your shoulders, ready in the face of a challenge. “Well, lemme see… Well, Jason is strong, and sweet- “

“Oh yes.” You wince, at Jennifer’s sudden cold tone, as she squinty glares at you. “I know you think Jason’s sweet. You’ve abandoned me multiple times, to ang with him the kitchen! Betrayal!”

“Aha… ah… well, moving on! Chucky’s got a very hot aura!” You quickly push on, afraid of your friend’s wrath about Jason. “A-and, um… He’s also very handsome as a human, so I guess it wouldn’t be bad if he were in that form… “ Jennifer breaks out into a grin, glad to have made you stutter a bit, and back to her good mood. You sigh, back muscles relaxing. Evil girl.

“Yes, and the rest…?” Oh, she still wants you to answer the question, okay.

“Well. Stu’s tall, and rich. Which, of course, isn’t a deal maker but it’s a good point to mention.” Jennifer nods solemnly at that. “Michael provides a very nice… well, err, he would make a nice nude model. And Freddy’s got a really attractive voice, which I don’t think he knows which is very good thing, don’t let him know. And, Bubba’s so sweet. And Billy… is Billy. I don’t know what to say, he’s been flirting with me for weeks now.”

Jennifer rolls her eyes. “Mood.”

//

“I’m… Billy.” Billy grins, feeling proud of his persona for a moment and puffing out his chest in pride. Chucky gazes at Jason, like ‘Yeah, I guess he is the whole package… ‘, and Jason himself scotches away from the ginger doll. “I knew she was picking it up! I learnt all I know from movi-“

“Me, you know all you know from me.” Freddy cuts through, deadpanned.

“Which explains why she wasn’t jumping for joy when she mentioned it.” Chucky yawns.

“Hey!!” Chucky gets a chuckle out of that reaction from the two.

“Who cares?! This girl is just after my money!!” Stu exclaims, looking hopeless. He chuckles, haughtily then and crosses his arms. “Well guess what? None of its mine! It belongs to my parents! So, ha!” Michael shakes his head and looks disappointedly at the teenager. That doesn’t help your case… It really does not…

“Well Charlie, maybe I don’t need to flirt. My voice does it for them,” A devious smirk slips across Freddy’s face and he evilly cackles after a moment. Jason looks severely exasperated at him, and Freddy just sticks out his tongue. “Jealous.”

Bubba is touched that they think he’s sweet. That’s nice.

___ NOW MAKE YOUR DECISION! ___

Billy Loomis:

“I’m gonna have to disagree with you, Jen.” You grin and can’t help it. Its sort of a nice thought, to have to fuck Billy. “Billy’s the only choice.”

She scoffs and throws some of her popcorn at you.

//

Billy stretches and yawns, like he’s so very exhausted of that thing called being fuckable, and turns to look weirdly smug at Michael. “That’s right, only competition. She chose me.”

“-Only competition!? Excuse you, former bud!” Stu smacks his friend, scowling.

“Well that is what you get for outing my obsession with the Halloween movies to Michael fucking Myers.”

“You bitter thing!”

Bubba Sawyer:

“Aww, Bubba.” You decide, finally truly thinking about the cinnamon roll. You smile. “It has to be Bubba. He’s the cutest, and the nicest one here.” Jennifer makes a ‘yuck’ face.

“The mask??”

“That can be removed.” You reply quickly.

//

Bubba blushes brightly in the dimness of the hallway, pulling away from the wall he was listening to, between Stu and Jason continues to look bashful and gooey at the floor for a little while, until Jason realises he’s going to have to guide him home to hid basement bedroom and looks deeply unamused about it. But, still kind of happy for his-pseudo brother.

“BUBBA?! Who bet on Bubba?!”

Chucky/Charles Lee Ray:

Lowly, with an embarrassed, dark blush on your face, you mutter. “Chucky… “ Jennifer looks two seconds from king shaming you, so you rush to add. “In human form!! Dear God.”

“Oh… “She doesn’t look convinced, making you roll your eyes. “Yeah, sure. You tell yourself that. You go be nasty on the couch.”  

//

Chucky looks smugly at everyone, in turn, very, very happy with the outcome of that despite not winning the bet. “Yeah.” Freddy scowls at him.

“Don’t you look at me.”

“Yep, me.” Chucky ignores him. “Suck it.”

Freddy Krueger:

Realising who it would have to be, you widen your eyes and consider lying. But of course, decide to be honest. “Uh… well, um, Freddy… yup.”

She raises her eyebrows. “What if he goes batshit and tries to choke you to death?”

You laugh, at that. “Honestly, I do think choking would be a part of it, but in the case of danger I’ll just call you!” You grin cheerily at her. “Best friend!”

“Aye,”

//

“I don’t understand her.” Chucky feels the need to inform everyone. “But I just one the bet so good on her.”

“Four weeks, of my wonderful flirting, and I’m stabbed in the gut.” Billy groans, and throws is money on the floor. Shaking his head, he gets up and leaves, put out.

Stu sniggers, and gets up to follow him, turning back just to tell the others. “He’ll never recover.”

Freddy looks like he thinks he’s just won an Oscar. “I’d like to say a couple words!”

“Oh, christ.”

“I’d like to thank all my competitors for losing, and uh,” he finishes shining one of his knives on the edge of his jumper. “I promise to say hi to Y/N for you all later tonight when I visit her in her dreams.” Michael facepalms.

Jason Voorhees:

Finally, you decide and nod your head firmly. And exclaim, cheerily. “Jason! He’s perfect, I love, what a guy.”

When you look at Jennifer, immediately you let out a ‘YAH!’ scream and jump back, seeing her horrifying aura.

“I NEW THERE WAS SOMETHING GOING ON!”

“Stop itttttttttt!”

//

Stu facepalms. “Why did I only bet five???”

On the other hand, Michael smirks proudly under his mask, collecting his money. Yep, Jason. What a guy, indeed.

Everyone else, looks to the hockey mask wearing Slasher, who this whole time was against their listening and betting. How will he react?

He… has gone into silent shock. He may need some minutes alone. You… him?? You would pick him??? You… would pick him?? He raises his eyebrows under his mask like ‘Oh’. What is he supposed to do with this information?

“Yeah, I know hockey puck. This may be a shock for you, being ugly and all, but- Jason?”

Jason’s already up walking thoughtfully down the hall.

Michael Myers:

“Ahh, I have to agree with you. Totally Michael.”

“Told you!”

//

Michael but sits and experiences his punishment, which is many, many upset Slasher outcry’s.

“Both of them??!”

“Greedy bitch.”

“How??”

Michael sighs, and turns to an indifferent Jason for help. Jason looks at him and feels zero remorse for him, he brought this upon himself. He should not have been betting and spying.

Stu Macher:

“Well, these are all… interesting choices,” You start, cautious. “But, um… I think will go with Stu. Very cute, very funny. Very not connected to anything rotting, and... less stabby, then the others..”

“Well, that’s true. Probably a good choice.”

“Yeah,” You smile. “Okay, so, moving on. About that movie… “

//

Stu has this goofy ass, shocked, love struck look on his face that makes the rest of them a little nervous for about 2 seconds. Chucky takes the initiative pokes him. “Hey, Daffy Duck, what wrong with your fac- “

The 2 seconds ended, and so does Stu’s quiet, as he lunges up and grabs the doorknob, ready to throw it open and rush on in there and blow all their covers. Michael immediately shoots to action and grabs Stu’s leg to stop him, fighting not to let Stu shake him off. Everyone tries to vein to persuade him not to go, shut him up and clam him down, but their efforts are weak compared to the power of a horny teenager.

“Hey, hey!” Chucky exclaims, through everyone’s panicked whispered, grunts and frantic arm waiving, patting Michael on the shoulder. “… he’s gone.” With that out, Chucky shoots down the hallways as fast as his little legs can take him. Michael and Billy follow, because like hell they are going to get caught because Stu’s stupid, and Stu bursts into living room, revealing the other 3 still on the floor in the doorway… Freddy, incriminatingly on his knees just where the crack in the door would be, slowly, awkwardly waives and Jason bows his head in apology.

Bubba bolts.

[gerrymike]

OK. commentary on my satg playlist. For reasons

lol it wont let me hyperlink but. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0w9pMZtOvP0plqdxT665q7?si=wEFnvdh3Rjaa0p2UX251mQ&dl_branch=1 Plug

1. PIEDMONT (DESTROY BOYS)

Looks like I'm late for the party Everyone knows the attire but me Glass walls separate us Catch a glimpse into different books On different shelves

i.e. teen crisis where u want desperately to live the same life as ppl on the street but also can’t imagine anything worse

2. SWEET ADELINE (ELLIOTT SMITH)

It's a picture-perfect evening and I'm staring down the sun Fully loaded, deaf and dumb and done Waiting for sedation to disconnect my head Or any situation where I'm better off than dead

i.e. she’s alive! is that worse or better. also jfc, you fucking hate hospitals

3. ALAMEDA (ELLIOTT SMITH)

You walk down Alameda  Shuffling your deck of trick cards over everyone Like some precious only son Face down, bow to the champion

also

Walk down Alameda  Brushing off the nightmares you wish Could plague me when I'm awake And now you see your first mistake  Was thinking that you could relate For one or two minutes she liked you But the fix is in

i.e. oops it’s two elliotts in a row, sorry. just. about the connection you can form with someone given just a short period of time, and how sometimes it gets ruined by, like, a werewolf. pretty similar to sweet adeline. mx weisglass gets two songs. plus “precious only son” 😬 “shuffling your deck of trick cards” 😬

4. CAN I PLAY WITH MADNESS (IRON MAIDEN)

Give me the sense to wonder To wonder if I'm free Give me a sense of wonder To know I can be me Give me the strength to hold my head up Spit back in their face

i.e. for Me mostly because i think the whiplash from elliott to maiden is kinda funny. also the gerry VS twisty animosity, in over-the-top wizardy terms. sometimes you are full of hate and that’s OK 😬 

5. ICU (PHOEBE BRIDGERS)

If you're a work of art I'm standing too close I can see the brush strokes I hate your mom I hate it when she opens her mouth It's amazing to me How much you can say When you don't know  What you're talking about

and

I'll climb through the window again But right now it feels good not to stand Then I'll leave it wide open Let the dystopian morning light pour in

i.e. we’re back in london…and, well, yeah. also, song title! we’re still in sacramento, actually, spiritually, at this point in the story

6. CRY FOR JUDAS (THE MOUNTAIN GOATS)

Feel the storm every night Hope it passes by Hallucinate a shady grove where Judas went to die Unfurl the black velvet altar cloth Draw a white chalk Baphomet Mistreat your altar boys long enough and this is what you get

i.e. crew. i think about him

7. IRIS (THE GOO GOO DOLLS)

And all I can taste is this moment And all I can breathe is your life And sooner or later, it's over I just don't wanna miss you tonight

plus

And I don't want the world to see me 'Cause I don't think that they'd understand When everything's made to be broken I just want you to know who I am

i.e. OK. OK. OK. yeah, OK. damn right all you can taste is this moment…yeah OK. SONGS5

8. KILL ALL YOUR FRIENDS (MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE)

It's been 8 bitter years since I've been seeing your face And you're walking away And I will die in this place

to

It's been 10 fucking years since I've been seeing your face round here And you're walking away And I will drown in the fear

i.e. ah…the lyrical differences in the chorus…yes…also i love how raucous this song is despite what it’s about. it’s got satg energy!!! “seeing your face”, of course, is not literal 😬

9. ENCHANTING GHOST (SUFJAN STEVENS)

Don't carry on carrying efforts, oh no, oh oh oh oh Somewhere there's a room for each of us to grow And if it pleases you to leave me, just go, oh oh oh oh Stopping you would stifle your enchanting ghost

and

Did you cut your hands on me? Are my edges sharp? Am I a pest to feed?

i.e. 😬😬😬

10. PAUL (BIG THIEF)

In the blossom of the months I was sure that I'd get driven off with thought So I swallowed all of it As I realized there was no one  Who could kiss away my shit

and PARTICULARLY

Well Paul, I know you said That you'd take me any way I came or went But I'll push you from my brain See, you're gentle baby I couldn't stay, I'd only bring you pain

i.e. HARROWING TERRITORY!!!

11. PITSELEH (ELLIOTT SMITH)

I'll tell you why I Don't wanna know where you are I gotta joke I've been dying to tell you

i.e. sorry. a lot of elliott smith on this playlist. thems the breaks

12. OPHELIA (THE LUMINEERS)

Oh, Ophelia You've been on my mind girl like a drug Oh, Ophelia Heaven help a fool who falls in love

i.e. callbacks to SONGS5…! and more pain

13. CLOUDS (BORNS)

I forget all my dreams I forget everyones name I meet I forget about time and space But I can't stop thinking 'bout your face

i.e. tfw your memory’s shit and also you just threw yourself into the sky and you’re still not over it. yowch!

14. ARCADE (DUNCAN LAWRENCE)

Oh, oh-oh-oh oh Oh, oh-oh-oh, oh All I know, all I know Loving you is a losing game

i.e. sorry i heard this song first in a c#tradora edit and i have never recovered.

15. WARS (OF MONSTERS AND MEN)

Yeah, I love you on the weekends But I'm careless and I'm wicked Yeah, I love you on the weekends It's a cruel war I still have pieces of you stuck on me Pieces of you stuck on me Yeah, I love you on the weekends It's a cruel war

i.e. PIECES OF YOU STUCK ON ME!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! this is the only song of the new omam i’ve heard. i never got around to listening to it. but this one slaps

16. MONTERO (LIL NAS X)

Lookin' at the table, all I see is weed and white Baby, you livin' the life, but baby, you ain't livin' right Cocaine and drinkin' with your friends You live in the dark, boy, I cannot pretend

AND

A sign of the times every time that I speak A dime and a nine, it was mine every week What a time, an incline, God was shinin' on me Now I can't leave And now I'm actin' hella elite

AND ESPECIALLY

I want that jet lag from fuckin' and flyin'

i.e. God i love this song. re: avatarhood. YOU CAN’T LEAVE!!! not saying it’s like being a celebrity, but it’s like being a celebrity. dual perspectives here with G + his morality regarding the person he loves being, uh, evil? (you live in the dark / i cannot pretend) and M + debt he owes to his god, erosion of his own morals. also, SHEER F*CKING VIBES

17. GEYSER (MITSKI)

You're my number one You're the one I want And you've turned down Every hand that has beckoned me to come

i.e. love songs that serve double as to your god and to your lover

18. THAT’S WHAT I LIKE (BRUNO MARS)

Jump in the Cadillac (Girl, let's put some miles on it) Anything you want (Just to put a smile on it) You deserve it baby, you deserve it all

i.e. this song is here because i say so. a real “sorry it’s been seven years let me make it up to you” vibe

19. RUN AWAY WITH ME (SUFJAN STEVENS)

And I say, love Come run away with me Sweet, falling remedy Come run away with me

i.e. more grand ridiculous propositions. more to come. but they’re born out of a real frustration with the situation at hand! it sucks! also, “falling remedy”,

20. LET’S GET MARRIED (BLEACHERS)

I'm gonna get right for you, honey I'll take all of my medicine, spend you all my money, yeah I know it's hard enough to love me But I woke up in a safe house singing, "Honey, let's get married"

i.e. bro.

21. I WILL (MITSKI)

And while you sleep I'll be scared So by the time you wake I'll be brave

i.e. a lot of these here are self explanatory..

22. ME & MY DOG (BOYGENIUS)

I had a fever Until I met you Now you make me cool

also

I never said I'd be all right Just thought I could hold myself together But I couldn't breathe, I went outside Don't know why I thought it'd be any better I'm fine now, it doesn't matter

i.e. title is significant. and yeah. just. recovery’s tricky

23. I FOUND (AMBER RUN)

And I've moved further than I thought I could But I missed you more than I thought I would

i.e. this is like a staple song for like. basically. any pairing. but i’m pathetic and it gets me every time. there’s something about it. not sure if i’m going to leave it on this playlist but. hm. yeah

OK that’s a wrap. highly likely i’ll put more songs on this as i go

[sunriseverse]

short locked tomb trilogy fic below the cut

Gideon creeps through the corridors, feeling her way around with the toes of her boots and the tips of her gloved hands—it’d be a fucking rookie mistake to not wear them; the walls are coated in poison down here. 

It’s also why she’s got three weapons on her—two daggers strapped to each hip and a shiv hidden up her sleeve. You never know when one of the creepy Ninth house servants will jump you. Or worse, one of the aunts. Gideon shudders at the thought of dealing with their blankly staring, wizened skulls, and the scent of ammonia and arsenic that they seem to exude in waves. 

Trying to push the thought from her mind, she taps the walls; rewarded, after a few moments, with a hollow sound. She smiles. Score. 

With on hand on one of the daggers, she pushes the tile in; the mechanism behind it groaning as it goes; and then finally, it slides open.

There’s a moment of silence, and then the shrieking of bones assembling themselves into constructs and lunging at her. With a deft hand, she repels them. “Harrow,” she calls, “I know you’re in there, you creepy little nunlet.”

“Go away,” comes a high, slightly-trembling voice; and Gideon shoves past the fallen constructs into the room. It’s large, with high, austere ceilings, and, in House Ninth tradition, is all in black. Harrow, also in black, her cloak large and trailing on the ground, stands huddled in the corner, surrounded by a dozen constructs. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” she asks; and raises another construct, throwing it at Gideon.

Gideon ducks it. “Your aim is terrible,” she says, bluntly.  “And you’re not supposed to be forming constructs, you’re supposed to be grieving.”

Suddenly, like a snake, Harrow moves; her tiny form leaping across the room, and her constructs coming with her; and then there’s a pair of jaws filled with hooked teeth at Gideon’s throat. “There’s no grieving,” Harrow hisses, “because they are not dead.”

“They did die, though,” Gideon points out, sensibly. “I mean, just because you turned them into creepy zombies doesn’t mean you can’t grieve them.”

“There’s nothing to be grieved,” Harrow repeats.

“Hmm. Or maybe you just don’t know how to,” Gideon speculates. “I mean, are we even sure necros can feel emotions?”

The look of pure, unadulterated hatred Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Saint of Wrath, levels at her, is a good argument in favour. She doesn’t retract the jaws; in fact, they get a little tighter, two of the incisors digging into Gideon’s throat enough to draw blood. She draws in a breath; a slight hiss. “Okay, okay, the message is received,” she manages.

Harrow finally drops the teeth.

Her mistake; but then, she’s only eleven; Gideon, a year older, is, for once, the more cunning one; and she leaps forward, daggers in hand, and pins Harrow to the floor. “Now,” she says, “I’m not letting you up until you admit that you miss your parents.”

“I don’t miss anything,” Harrow spits; clawing at her in a vain effort to get free—Gideon’s about twice her weight and over a foot and a half taller, so there’s really no point, but she supposes it’s mostly the principle of the thing.

“Your recent mopiness says otherwise,” Gideon retorts. “Now, do you want to admit that you’re suffering, or do you like having your face smashed into the floor?”

There’s a beat of silence; and then another; and then a deep sigh. “If I admit to it, will you let me up?”

“Yeah.”

“Fine, then. I am...” she pauses for a long moment before, tone scornful and hissing: “I am mourning the loss. Now let me up.”

Gideon grins. “See, was that so hard?”

“I hope your bones rot in an unmarked barrel,” Harrow mutters.

[tarithenurse]

Stolen - 15

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: All the pining. And a bit of...*gasp*...fluff? A/N: Things are slowly looking a bit better.

15. Heart-Shaped Glasses

... Loki   ...

They have spared no time moving their few belongings from the Stealth Hawk to the Asgardian Reach. [Y/N] had seemed peeved at the prospect of not staying longer at Knowhere, though she did not voice the disappointment. Perhaps, Loki had mused, perhaps she would be eager to leave if she knew how close to disaster we were. The incident that had led them to the alley lingered in the god. It had left a bad taste in the back of his mouth and he saw shadows creeping where there were none.

Even now – with Knowhere as a minuscule, glowing speck in the distance – his thoughts a straying towards the darkness of his past.

“I’ve explored all of the ship.” [Y/N]’s voice startles him. “I’ve chosen my cabin. I’ve waited.” The breath she takes is world-moving. “Please talk to me.”

Images flash before his inner eye, showing distant figures of dread, and his own fingers tenderly stroking the Midgardian’s face, and the look of relief on her face when Arox had returned her. If I say one thing... A memory of gold shimmering on a graceful figure standing in the dusk returns unbidden. I can’t control my mind – how can I guard my words?

“What is there to say?”

A single glance reveals she is standing with stubborn fists on her hips. “You can start with why Arox’s gone?”

Arox’s hands had been wrapped around her knees as she throned upon her shoulder – the recollection highlights how relief had been tainted by a bitterness that surfaces again. “I didn’t think you cared for him?”

“This isn’t ‘bout caring! It’s ‘bout understanding!” she spits back.

I would want the same. “Fine!” Loki turns fully in the captain’s chair to face the woman. “After it has become evident the initial plan will not succeed...he has decided to go his own way in an attempt to get his revenge upon Ronan.”

“Ronan?” Fingertips fidgets with the hems of her sleeves.

“One of Thanos’ henchmen. He led an attack on Arox’s home planet where he lost is sister. His family.”

Silence may be the obvious answer but the god can see how the information is woven into what’s already in [Y/N]’s mind to create new patterns of understanding. He sees the empathy surface in the shimmer of her eyes and the muted O of her lips until that too fades as she reaches a conclusion.

“I...wanted to thank him,” she admits with a meek bow of the head.

“For?”

“For helping me find you back there.”

Finally, Loki is graced by her eyes locking with his.

... Reader   ...

Although you had been tired when you went to bed, you find yourself tossing and turning until you eventually call it quits and sit up. Rubbing your palms up and down the face, knees supporting the elbows to allow for proper force to push away the many thoughts swirling inside your skull. What a day! Wanting to blame the many events on your inability to sleep, you grasp at harrowing feeling of having been lost to...to...to what? There’s no doubt in your mind: being stuck on Knowhere would have been a horrible fate that ultimately would have resulted in an unpleasant and probably short life. Anyone would have rejoiced to be back with Loki.

Or would they? Your cheeks are burning hot, you half expected them to glow in the darkness.

“Fuck.” Slumping back with your arms sprawled as if the never ending night could swallow you, you groan.

There’s logic. It dictates Loki should be feared – if for no other reason then at least because he kidnapped you after (attempting) to kill Aïsha not to mention causing all sorts of trouble even before the attack on New York – although there’s a slight softening because “the enemy you know” always is preferable.

If only your emotions could synchronize with reason rather focus on the ever-changing shades of green in the god’s eyes, or the way his clothes cling to the lithe form. It’s impossible to say when you first began to pay attention to these details. After he showed me...? Shuddering at the memories, Loki’s – not your own, there’s no denying it had fuelled the new dynamic between then two of you but the change had already been set in motion before then and you had seen it in the Asgardian’s face when he pulled back, leaving pain, frustration, and regret in the wake.

Unable to confront the raging sea of feelings, you hurdle through the darkened cabin and out the door.

The narrow corridor is bathed in artificial dusk. Silent, like the emptiness outside the hull. Maybe it’s despair, maybe it’s something else, pressing in from all sides at once until your legs are shaking under the crushing weight and your lungs are screaming for air. The soothing chill of the metal beneath your hands and feet lasts mere seconds, pushing you blindly along in search for more. Something to anchor you. To steady you. And there it is, a hardness seeping through the clothes you sleep in and supporting your left side and back even when your knees buckle.

Finally, you think.

The coldness is grasping your hands, cupping your face, murmuring soft words as it scoops you up and rocks you until the first gust of air is allowed to fill your lungs through enormous gasps.  

And then you’re being carried by the soothing chill. Somewhere, from across the universe, logic is screaming at you to dry the tears still rolling down your cheeks. All you have the power to do is turn your face towards the pale haven, burying against the smoothness in the hopes it’ll keep you safe from your own mind for a bit longer.

By the time you feel the covers tugged around you, reality is waiting in the shadows ready to pounce. Breaths shallow with returning fear, barely enough to manage the words you had been so sure you’d never say.

“Please. Don’t go.”

Loki hesitates and you half expect him to leave. Instead, the god lies down, rigid as an iron rod on the very edge of the bed. Wiggling a bit, you create more room for him so he doesn’t have to lie precariously close to falling out.

“Thank you.”

The words hang between you, and you turn to your side to see see him better – an impossible hope in the emptiness of space where no lights shine.

You’ve almost given up waiting for an answer when you feel rather than hear him move. Feather light fingertips push stray hairs away from your face, and now the bed feels smaller than before as knees try to avoid knees and Loki’s breath tickles your forehead.

“Rest now,” he whispers.

[7-wonders]

Money, Power, and Glory

Summary: The sordid history of Duncan’s rise to the top, and hand-to-hand combat lessons that lead to other activities.

Word Count: 3855

A/N: Hello and welcome to another chapter of Memento Mori! I hope everyone’s had a fantastic holiday season. As my belated gift to you all, this chapter includes what everyone’s been waiting for: SMUT. A big thanks to my lovely angel @divinelangdon for letting me spitball ideas at her at any time of day, and to @lvngdvns for inserting the original ‘what if’ into the minds of this fandom.

Warnings: Murder, mafia, drugs, fighting, sex; what you would usually expect from a story about a mob boss.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

By all accounts, Duncan Shepherd is not a man known for showing emotion, unless that emotion is sadistic pleasure gained at the expense of others’ well-being. Nobody would describe Duncan Shepherd as patient or helpful, a gentleman or a teacher. Instead, Duncan Shepherd is often referred to as cruel, vicious, heartless, and bloodthirsty, to name a few. But most of all, Duncan Shepherd would not be described as weak. 

Duncan’s proud of the reputation that he’s cultivated through his few short years as the official “head” of the Shepherd family. However much he hates to acknowledge it, he has his strict upbringing to thank for that. 

An absent father who died when Duncan was barely old enough to walk, followed by rumors that the supposed grieving widow was the one who ‘accidentally’ gave her husband too many sleeping pills mixed with a hearty glass of aged bourbon with the endgame of joining her brother and building the Shepherd name into one of the most powerful monikers in Washington D.C. Being passed off from nanny to nanny, his mother and uncle too busy climbing their way up the elitist ladder to take care of the sole heir to the elaborate empire they were crafting. 

The Shepherd family had always been wealthy, but the wealth became exorbitant upon Annette and Bill’s foray into the underbelly of the city’s privileged class. Suddenly, Duncan was shipped off to the best boarding school in North America, with business and political skills instilled in him from the very beginning of his enrollment at the Andover Preparatory School (along with how to dodge punches and how to go on a coke binge and still show up for your 8 a.m. looking none the worse). Prep school was difficult, but it was much more preferable than being around his uncle.

Duncan’s met a lot of douchebags through his close association with the GOP, but Bill Shepherd embodies toxic masculinity. For a man so fond of collared shirts and quarter zip pullovers, he knew just how to emasculate even the most confident of men with a few well-shot insults. For his detested nephew, however, “a few” insults was a daily occurrence that could be counted on with the regularity of the rise and fall of the sun. The physical aspect of Bill’s temperament, slapping and punching and the feeling of his fingers digging into Duncan’s jaw as he commands him to “use your empty, good-for-nothing brain and just listen to me, god damn it,” marred Duncan’s late teen years. 

His uncle saw him as a threat. Even if Duncan wasn’t able to discern that himself from the increasing beatdowns, whether physical or verbal, as he reached adulthood, his mother was sure to remind him of that fact whenever he was younger and would come crying to her about the mean things that Uncle Bill had said to him. If he closes his eyes, he can still feel her hand carding through his light brown locks and her soft voice reminding him that everything under the control of the Shepherd name would be his one day, regardless of what her brother said. She never confronted Bill about the abuse, but she had tried, in her own fucked-up way.

Ultimately, Duncan has Bill to thank for his rise to the top of the Shepherd Freedom Foundation, Gardner Analytics, Shepherd Unlimited, and, of course, the Shepherd family itself. It was Bill who accosted Duncan after the young Shepherd had gotten into a gunfight with a rival group that had attempted to blindside him on his first solo meeting to restake territory claims over the different wards of Washington D.C. It was Bill who grabbed Duncan by the collar of his bloodstained black shirt, throttling him and bitterly spitting out that he would never be a “true” Shepherd. It was Bill who took a swing at Duncan, a horrified Annette frozen with fear across the room.

And, in the end, it was Bill who was too slow to react to Duncan pulling a knife out in retaliation and jabbing it into his uncle’s abdomen. Annette had screamed, but Duncan had hardly heard her over the sound of his blood roaring in his ears as he stared at his hands, soaked in the blood of his uncle who was on the floor and gasping for his last breaths. Duncan’s Goliath was finally slain, dead on the floor with blood slowly spilling out from the stab wound. His first murder had been his most difficult, and while the easiness of ending somebody’s life scared him, the fact that Duncan enjoyed killing his uncle frightened him the most.

It had been all too easy to frame Bill Shepherd’s death as a robbery-gone-wrong. Annette, already shaken from seeing her brother stabbed to death by her son, had been able to pull on years of experience with lying through her teeth to recount to police the harrowing ordeal of how she came to the building that housed the various Shepherd businesses only to see Bill bleeding out in his office. With the notability of the victim and the million dollars that had been stolen from the busted safe behind the bookshelf (in reality, the money was funneled into one of the family’s many offshore accounts, but that was neither here nor there), the case was textbook open-and-shut.

The “grieving” Shepherds had publicly vowed that their figurehead’s death would not be in vain. They would build on his legacy, just as he would have wanted. Behind closed doors, Annette had begrudgingly admitted that Duncan was in the right when he shoved a blade into Bill’s stomach, especially upon seeing just how capable of leading Duncan was. More money, more power, more territory, more influence: the more the Shepherd family became a name at the forefront of every conversation about the VIPs of Washington D.C., the more determined Duncan was to reach the top. He would stop at nothing to be better than his uncle, to prove to him one last time that he was more of a man than Bill Shepherd, cold and rotting six feet under, could ever be. 

So maybe people are right when they refer to Duncan Shepherd as a callous, cruel, bloodthirsty, monster of a mob boss. But Duncan is certainly not weak.

Why, then, does he feel so weak when he’s around (Y/N)? The woman shouldn’t even warrant a passing thought, not when Duncan has far more important matters to be dealing with. He should have killed her; it would have been far easier, and created less of a lasting effect (for Duncan, at least). Yet, when he heard about how she nearly scaled a wall when attempting to run from some of his men, and when he saw the fire blazing in her big eyes as she spit at him when he tried to touch her face, he knew he couldn’t.

Duncan’s found it impossible to stop thinking about last week’s shooting lesson. How she looked to him for guidance on what, to Duncan, is the most basic of tasks. Her defiant comments that make him angry while simultaneously making him chuckle. Her wide smile when she hit the target. The smell of her hair as Duncan loomed behind her to check her sight.

The way that her body slotted perfectly against his when he closed his hands on top of hers.

Duncan’s stirred out of his unusually soft reverie by the chiming of his phone. An email notification from one of his tech employees shows on the screen, the subject line warning him of an extended search of his name and family in the metropolitan area. It may sound conceited, but any search taking place within a 30 mile radius lasting longer than a few minutes carries with it the potential of a threat against the empire that Duncan has so carefully built. He’s sure it’s nothing, but clicks on the email just to be certain.

His eyes scan quickly over the contents of the message, noting the IP address and the approximate length of said search. The IP address traces back to a physical residence, the location of which makes Duncan smirk. It’s (Y/N), and he has no doubt that he’s been on her mind just as much as she’s been on his. Finding her file (because of course Duncan Shepherd is going to have an extensive file for every person he’s ever interacted with) on his computer, he types her number into his phone and sends her a short text.

“Training tomorrow, 3 p.m., same location as last week. Oh, and the next time you’re interested in learning more about me, you need only ask. -D.S.”

//

The embarrassment of knowing that Duncan Shepherd knew that (Y/N) was searching for information about him still controls her emotions as she readies herself to once again meet the notorious mob boss. She thinks she would rather die than see the triumph that sparkles in his crystal blue eyes of the knowledge that she cannot stop thinking about him. 

In (Y/N)’s defense, it was merely an informative search. Not being from the area, she figured that it would be a good idea to learn a little bit more about the man she is now indebted to for the foreseeable future. What she had learned was sad and brutal, but also what she expected. Wikipedia described a rich boy who was coddled until he was old enough to receive a position at the top of one of his family’s companies, while the gossip tabloids loved to speculate on the true amount of wealth that the family possesses. Forbes Magazine called him a bright, young entrepreneur whose tenacity was forged out of the tragedy of his uncle’s murder, and the Washington Herald painted a compelling narrative of various criminal activities and how they lined up with events in the rise of the Shepherd family.

(It’s probably no coincidence that, shortly after the three-part investigative story had been released, the Herald’s editor-in-chief, Tom Hammerschmidt, was found floating face-down in the Potomac river with a bullet lodged in his head. The official cause of death was ruled a suicide, but the popular rumor is that a furious Annette demanded his murder.)

She could skip today’s proposed “training” with Duncan, but that’s useless when he knows where she lives and can quite literally kill her for refusing his demand, so she slips on a pair of black workout leggings and a purple-and-white patterned sports bra.Throwing a sweatshirt on, (Y/N) quickly grabs a water bottle and her phone before rushing out the door so as not to be late. Although she doesn’t know much about Duncan’s personality, she assumes that he hates people who are late.

The man in question is waiting inside the doors of the high-end training gym when (Y/N) enters, slightly out of breath from nearly running to make it in time. A small smile starts to spread across his face as he appraises her outfit, and (Y/N) self-consciously crosses her arms over her chest.

“Sorry that my clothes aren’t right off the runway like yours,” (Y/N) says as she gestures to Duncan’s figure. While he’s wearing workout clothes as well, his joggers and zip-up hoodie carry an air of wealth with them.

“They’ll do.” (Y/N) huffs as Duncan spins on his heel, repeating the same procedure as the last time they were here in order to get through the private door. 

There’s training mats set up in the open area next to the shooting range, and Duncan waits until (Y/N) places her stuff against the wall before walking to a bench and grabbing a roll of athletic tape. “We’re not doing shooting training today?” (Y/N) asks.

“No, I feel like you have a pretty good grip on shooting. Today I’m going to teach you how to fight, as that will most likely be what will happen if you do get into an altercation while under my orders.”

“When am I not going to be under your orders?” She rolls her eyes as she pretends not to watch Duncan take off his hoodie and reveal his strong, muscular arms. (Y/N) realizes that she’s never seen Duncan in shirts that didn’t have long sleeves, the monochromatic tattoos that decorate his skin coming as a bit of a shock.

“Once I decide that there’s enough to implicate you in crimes as well, if you were to ever run to the police.” She scoffs as he holds out his hand. “Give me your hand.”

She shouldn’t talk back, she knows, but she’s feeling defiant after hearing just how Duncan plans to keep her quiet. “Why?”

“This tape isn’t for me.” Giving her hand over, (Y/N) watches as Duncan swiftly wraps her wrist, checking the support of the tape on the joint before repeating the process on her other wrist. “This will help make sure you don’t injure anything. While the main goal today is to make sure you know how to take down an opponent, I also want to know that you know how to effectively punch somebody.”

Duncan lets go of her hands, and (Y/N) takes off her own sweatshirt before joining him in the center of the training mat. He’s conspicuously not looking at her chest, and (Y/N) bites back a laugh at the polite behavior of the crime lord before her. “Hold your hand out in a fist,” Duncan commands.

His eyes are narrowed in calculation as he studies her fist, adjusting her thumb so it’s on top of the space between the first and second knuckles of her index and middle fingers. He’s a good teacher, and he explains his reasoning as he makes adjustments, “you never want to have your thumb tucked inside your fist. You’re almost guaranteed to break your thumb that way.”

“Thumb on the outside, got it.”

Duncan steps back, holding his arm up with his palm facing (Y/N). “Punch my hand.”

“What?” (Y/N) looks at him warily. “I’m not going to punch you! What if I hurt you?”

“I promise you won’t hurt me,” Duncan says with a laugh. “Now punch.”

(Y/N) squares her shoulders, rearing her arm back before punching Duncan’s hand as hard as she can. He nods, and she punches once more, this time with her other fist. “I’m impressed,” Duncan says, “you punch really well.”

“I’ve taken a couple of self-defense classes in the past. They didn’t teach punching, but they did teach how to throw your weight into your hits.” Duncan’s eyes flash with a hint of pride, and (Y/N)’s chest uncharacteristically clenches at the thought of making him proud.

“Great, then we don’t need to work too much on that. Unwrap your wrists and we’ll practice some sparring.”

It seems like a good part of her life lately is following Duncan’s directions, but (Y/N) complies anyways. Duncan’s joggers look like they were tailored specifically for him, his black tank top showcasing the tattoos (Y/N) had found herself staring at earlier. This time, Duncan does notice. “Do you like my tattoos?” Duncan asks with a smirk.

“I just--you don’t seem like the type of person to have tattoos,” (Y/N) stutters.

He quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “I’m a mob boss.”

“Still don’t seem like you’d have tattoos,” she mutters before placing her hands on her hips. “What’s the goal here?”

“The goal is to take me down. When you’ve had me on my back for five seconds, today’s training will be over. However, there will be no dirty moves, got it?”

“But kicking someone in the balls is okay if I’m fighting an attacker, right?”

“Yes, but not in a practice scenario.” Duncan starts to slowly circle (Y/N), watching as her spine stiffens under his gaze. “I suppose I should warn you that I will not make this easy for you. You will be fighting to win, not fighting to learn.”

(Y/N) nods, turning to stop Duncan from pacing around her. He takes two steps back, standing in a defensive stance as (Y/N) attempts to get a feel for how to spar. She snaps her arm towards Duncan suddenly, in an attempt to catch him by surprise, but the man simply blocks it with a quick dodge.

The punch leaves (Y/N) defenseless, and Duncan lunges forward to shove her. He would never actually punch her; he’s been trained in combat since he was 10, and she learned to throw a proper punch 10 minutes ago. It would be unfair of him to swing at her, so Duncan settles for pushing her instead.

(Y/N) attempts to regain her footing, but Duncan’s too quick. His arm wraps around her neck in a chokehold, and (Y/N) gasps for air as she tries to wriggle out of his grasp. Avoiding panicking, (Y/N) thinks desperately to the aforementioned self-defense classes, trying to remember any of the acronyms the instructor swore would save the class’s lives one day.

Rearing her arm towards her body, (Y/N) swings her elbow back as hard as she can to elbow Duncan in the stomach. He releases her with a pained groan, obviously not expecting that move, and she turns around and kicks at his leg. 

“Fuck you,” Duncan gasps out, stumbling backwards but refusing to fall.

“Fuck you!” (Y/N) retorts. “You tried to choke me out!”

“And I warned you beforehand what you were getting into.” The two move warily, neither person wanting to make the next move. (Y/N)’s eyes crackle with anger, and Duncan grins wildly at the fierce expression she wears.

He swings once again, (Y/N) dodging before punching him in the chest. Duncan seizes the opportunity to sweep her leg with a well-placed kick, and (Y/N) goes falling to the mat with a thud. She inhales heavily, trying to get her lungs to work again after having the air knocked out of them. (Y/N)’s barely able to scramble backwards before Duncan is on top of her, his legs straddling her waist as his hands pin her wrists above her head.

Chests heaving, both Duncan and (Y/N) glare at each other as he waits for her to give in, but she refuses to admit defeat. She becomes acutely aware of the fact that Duncan is pinning her down to the mat with his weight, his strong hips against hers making movement impossible. It’s borderline-indecent, and (Y/N) chides herself for finding being held to the ground any shade of arousing. Although she can’t tell if she wants to kick him or kiss him right now, she knows that Duncan feels the same when he glances from her eyes to her lips, and back again.

“Can you get off of me?” The end of (Y/N)’s sentence is muffled as Duncan presses his lips to hers.

The shock of being kissed by the man who just defeated her at sparring quickly wears off as (Y/N) eagerly reciprocates the action, feverishly kissing him back. Her hands flex in Duncan’s grasp, desperate to grab onto any part of him as a way to ground herself. Duncan refuses to acquiesce, so she brings one leg up to the back of his knee and applies as much weight to the vulnerable area as she can.

“Ah!” Duncan groans, the buckling of his knee giving (Y/N) the opportunity to flip them over. Now it’s she who has the upper hand, grinding her hips down harshly on him as she kisses him once more. Duncan licks at her bottom lip, attempting to gain access to (Y/N)’s mouth and getting frustrated when she refuses to let him slip his tongue into her mouth. He’s done playing nice, and nips at (Y/N)’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. He moans when the copper taste of blood hits his tongue, (Y/N) pulling away and panting harshly.

“You fucking asshole, that hurt!” Duncan just chuckles, flipping them over once again and roughly yanking her leggings and underwear down her legs. (Y/N) lets out a surprised moan when Duncan’s finger runs over her clit, collecting some of her burgeoning arousal and using it to slide effortlessly into her cunt.

(Y/N) is not the type of person to engage in casual sex with a person she hardly knows. She’s not even sure she’s had an actual one night stand before; the couple times that she had, it’s been with somebody she knew fairly well. So to be under the most dangerous man she’s ever met, his fingers buried inside her as he works her open, is certainly unlike her. It would, however, be impossible to deny that she’s not thoroughly enjoying this endeavor.

One hand grabs at Duncan’s bicep, and (Y/N) briefly admires the elegant script inked into his skin. Her other hand goes to grab at his sizable bulge, gripping onto his erection as roughly as he’s currently fingering her. Duncan lets out a choked groan at the sensation that’s both painful and pleasurable. Once he’s decided that neither party can handle the tension any longer, he withdraws his fingers from her cunt and pulls down his pants.

After (Y/N) gives his shaft a couple of quick strokes, Duncan lines himself up with her entrance and thrusts into (Y/N)’s tight walls. Matching moans ring out through the training room as Duncan begins to set a quick and deep rhythm. (Y/N)’s hips snap upwards, meeting Duncan’s as the two thrust in tandem. Every other sound, feeling, or experience fades away as Duncan continually bottoms out in (Y/N)’s cunt, his balls slapping against her ass. Her head lolls back against the ground, giving her the perfect chance to admire Duncan’s lustful expression and how his hair falls into his face with each sharp roll of his hips.

(Y/N)’s head begins to spin as Duncan’s rhythm begins to stutter upon nearing his orgasm, and she bites down on the juncture of his neck and shoulder in an attempt to muffle a scream as she cums unexpectedly. He cries out at the sharp pressure of her bite and the fluttering of her walls, speeding up his thrusts before pulling out and tapping at (Y/N)’s bottom lip with the swollen head of his cock. 

She turns her head towards him, eyes glazed with lust as she opens her mouth. Duncan only needs to thrust into his fist a few times before he cums in (Y/N)’s mouth with a deep groan. Her lips are painted white with his seed, and he nearly cums again when she licks it all up before swallowing with a content hum. Duncan collapses next to (Y/N), whose bones feel as if they’re made of Jell-o. As they both come down from their highs, (Y/N) has only one thought on her mind: What the hell did they just do?

//

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[surlybobbies]

For the Love of the Game [deancas, 1.5k, T]

Summary:

“A tense moment on the field between good friends. Novak has taken Dean Winchester’s legs out from under him - did he get the ball? What do you think, Joe? Yellow card?”

“Looks like he just about got the ball to me. Fair challenge. Though judging by his reaction, it looks like Winchester doesn’t agree."

(Dean and Cas over the course of three years as players of opposing soccer teams.)

Author’s notes: written in the 90 minutes it took to watch a soccer game at 1am.  I’m a sucker for athlete Dean and Cas.

Read on ao3 or

“Of course, Winchester and Novak have known each other since they were kids.  Best friends, these two, off the pitch.  On the pitch, however, as I’m sure we’ll see today, is a different story.”

The loss is a difficult one to take; it means that Cas and his team are now on the bottom half of the league table, a position they haven’t been in for well over a decade.  

After the final whistle, Dean jogs to Cas, whose hands are clutching at his hair in disbelief.  Dean puts his hands around Cas’s face, forcing Cas to look at him.  “You okay?”

Cas closes his eyes and grits his teeth.  He’s probably thinking about the goal Dean had scored just 10 minutes before the final whistle, and how he’d been unable to prevent it.  “I will be.”

Dean sighs and pulls Cas in for a rough hug.  “I’ll tell mom you’re coming over this weekend.”

“How long is she in town?” 

“Just a week,” Dean says.  “She’ll want to see you.”

Cas shoves him away and scrubs his face with both hands.  “Just let me know.”

++

“Apparently they stay at each other’s bachelor pads over holidays.”

It’s been coming for years, but when Cas pulls Dean in for a kiss on Christmas, it’s still a surprise.  Dean takes a few moments to fully register what’s happening, that Cas is really finally kissing him, but once it sinks in, he is definitely on board with the developments, and he pushes Cas against the wall and starts to thoroughly enjoy himself.

A century later, Cas pulls away.  “This is unwise,” he says breathlessly.

Dean’s dizzy with Cas’s touch.  He touches Cas’s face because he can’t stand not touching him.  “You started it,” he says, all he can think of to say.

Cas frowns a little bit, but his nostrils flare with how hard he’s breathing.  “How I got here, kissing an absolute idiot, I have no idea.”

“You’ve also got a hand up my shirt,” Dean supplies unhelpfully, “if you wanted to get around to removing that.”

Cas arches an eyebrow, and Dean likes it.  “Do you want me to remove it?” Cas asks, leaning in again, dragging his hand down to Dean’s waistband at an agonizingly slow pace.

Dean’s hopeless - absolutely done for.  “Definitely not.”

“Good,” Cas growls, and Dean likes that a lot.

++

“Their rivalry seems to fuel their friendship - or is it the other way around?”

“Just to be clear, this doesn’t mean I’m going to take it easy on you this Saturday,”

Dean’s lounging, one hand behind his head, watching the progress of Cas’s lips down his chest with lidded eyes.  “Wouldn’t love you if you did.”

There’s a long pause.  Cas lifts his eyes to watch Dean’s expression, but it doesn’t waver.  The only sign of nerves is in the way his throat moves.  Cas acknowledges the word with a small smile and a lingering kiss to the center of Dean’s chest.  Later, he’ll murmur the word over and over and over into Dean’s hair, his hands on Dean’s ass, encouraging him, and Dean will swell and break with it.

++

“A tense moment between good friends.  Novak has taken Dean Winchester’s legs out from under him - did he get the ball?  What do you think, Joe?  Yellow card?”

“Looks like he just about got the ball to me.  Fair challenge.  Though it looks like Winchester doesn’t seem to agree.”

“Could have broken my leg, Cas,” Dean spits.

Cas is adjusting his shin pads.  He looks up at Dean.  “Hardly - it was a fair challenge.”

Dean gets up right in his face when Cas straightens.  Cas has seen this face in the throes of pleasure and he knows he’ll see it again; he lifts his chin and smirks, knowing how much Dean will hate it.  

“Also, ref begs to differ,” Cas says, winking.  “No foul.”

“Jesus, you’re a cocky bastard.”

“And you’re a shit striker.”

“You shouldn’t even be on the field with a challenge like that.”

Cas is getting back into position, walking backwards so he can throw one last remark at Dean: “You shouldn’t even be on the field with skills like that.”

Dean’s face turns red.  “What’d you just say?”

In the end the ref has to separate them; no cards are shown, but neither of them talk to the other for two weeks.

It goes without saying that the eventual make-up sex is fantastic.

++

“It’s Novak’s last game for the Angels - he’ll be officially retired at the end of these 90 minutes, aged 35.  Fitting that his greatest rival and friend should be on the pitch with him, albeit playing for the opposition.”

Cas is subbed at 87 minutes for his last ovation from the home crowd.  They adore him as he adores them, and Dean knows this last walk off the field has got to be an emotionally harrowing moment for Cas.

Dean hopes his fans won’t give him too much shit for what he does next: he pulls Cas in for a rough hug as Cas walks to the touchline to be subbed.  He doesn’t look Cas in the eye, and shoves him away before either of them do something stupid like cry.

++

“Back for the second half of the first game of the season, and Dean Winchester’s 37th minute goal is the only thing separating the two sides.

As most know, Winchester announced over the break that he and his best friend and former Angels player Cas Novak have been dating.  There’s been quite a bit of backlash, mostly from fans who think their relationship has swayed their performances over the years, but both Winchester’s manager and Novak’s former manager have laughed off that particular suggestion.  What do you think, Greg?”

“No, they’ve both been consummate professionals, haven’t they, over the years?  Obviously good friends - well, we know why now - but it never stopped either of them from giving it their all on the pitch.”

“They both loved the game too much to let anything affect it.”

It’s not fun, being the only player in the league out of the closet.  His teammates don’t treat him any differently, but Dean sometimes feels like he’s slowly being frozen out.

“It’s because you didn’t say anything to us.”

“What the hell was I supposed to say, Benny?  ‘I’m fucking a guy, and it’s Cas Novak’?”

Benny sighs.  “I don’t know, Dean.  They just want to know their captain’s being honest with them.  Sleeping with the opposition is pretty shady, alright?”

Dean hangs his head.  He understands.  He’s still pissed, still frustrated, but he makes up his mind.  He slams his locker to get everyone’s attention.  “Just figured you all would want to know,” he says loudly, a little angrily, “I’m asking Cas to marry me tonight.”

Stunned silence.  Dean stares them all down, daring any of them to say anything.  If he has to knock someone out for talking shit about Cas, he swears he’ll do it and damn the consequences.

But nothing happens.  Ash grins, scratching his neck.  “We’re invited to the wedding, right?”

The laughter that follows breaks the ice.  Dean tries and fails to stop himself from crying when they all come forward to congratulate him.

++

“Dean Winchester made history by marrying Cas Novak over the break.  It’s a great moment in sport, but he’s opened up in a recent interview regarding the homophobic abuse he and his husband have received.”

“A shame that.  The sport needs to do more to support their LGBTQ+ players.”

“Agreed.  But despite all that, Winchester says he’s proud to lead the way for others to come out in his wake.  Plus, his husband is here to watch his first game of the season, so that must make up for it somewhat.”

“He’s probably not happy to see Novak in Angel colors, though!”

“The rivalry lives on!”

“Who wants to bet that it’ll be a tense atmosphere in the Novak-Winchester home tonight?”

Cas is solemn as he greets Dean at the door of their home, but Dean scowls at him anyway.  “Don’t think I didn’t see you cheering when they scored.”

Cas looks a little abashed.  “They’re my friends, Dean.”

“I’m your husband.”

Cas hides his smile in Dean’s neck.  “And I love you.”  He wraps his arms around Dean so he can’t wriggle away.  “But I also love my team.  My fans would have rioted if I’d shown up in your jersey.”

Dean doesn’t bother arguing.  He played for the full 90, and the emotional toll of the loss is just now sinking in.  “I’m ready to go to bed,” he says, his voice raw.

“Alright,” Cas says, kissing Dean on the cheek.  “I’ll be there soon.”

Dean is half asleep when Cas walks in wearing Dean’s jersey and a pair of sweatpants - then Dean’s suddenly wide-awake and half-hard.

Cas gets under the covers and leans over Dean, smelling like shampoo and toothpaste.  “Good night,” he says cheerfully.

Dean stares at his husband, marveling at the audacity.  Finally, he says, “You’re such a jackass,” but diminishes the effect by pulling Cas in roughly by the front of the shirt and kissing him, much to Cas’s delight.

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[myaekingheart]

119. The Choushoku Club

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"...And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds are immune to your consultations. They're quite aware of what they're going through..." -David Bowie 

               Rei toyed with the fraying end of her blanket as she stared up at the ceiling, watching the moonlight shadows dance overhead. She had made peace with her promotion once and for all but unfortunately that peace was short-lived. All too soon, Rei was struck with a harrowing realization: this was only the first step in a very long adaptational process. The impending doom of step two left her restless and caught in a cold sweat she couldn’t shake. Come sunrise, she would have to face the subordinates she had mistakenly failed.

               Rei wasn’t sure if she could stand the confrontation. True, she would have Yugao and Toshio steadfastly by her side but the guilt of her transgressions was all her own. No one could take on the weight of that but her.

               In retrospect, Rei was incredibly embarrassed by the way she had acted. Where was her sense of decorum? Her honor and dignity? She had behaved like a whiny child, not like a captain of the ANBU. At this rate, she didn’t even deserve the title but that was another matter entirely. Still, she hated to think of the way she had been perceived by the people she was meant to lead. If they ultimately decided to abandon her, she would accept it. After everything she had put them through, it wasn’t at all a surprising possibility. They deserved better. If only she had faith in her ability to be better.

               Toshio nudged her hand as he shifted on the bed, smacking his lips and licking her fingertips—a reminder to refocus. He looked back at her with his big brown eyes full of hope and promise and encouragement. “You’re right” Rei sighed, rubbing his silky ear between her thumb and forefinger. Now was not the time to dwell on the negatives. Rei could not afford any more setbacks. She needed to muster an unwavering confidence in her ability, even if it was just a façade. She needed to do what was required of her, what was necessary for the safety and success of these young recruits. Their opinions of her were secondary. Rei rested a gentle hand on Toshio’s back, right between his shoulder blades, as she closed her eyes and heaved a sigh. Heaven help me.

               As Rei stood in the locker room, propping her leg up on the bench to fasten her shoes, Kakashi’s mantra echoed in her brain. Those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum. A shiver ran down her spine—was she scum? She felt so. But by that criteria, so was the rest of her team. They didn’t give a single shit about one another and that was a problem. Unfortunately, it was up to Rei to remedy their apathy. Kakashi had expended so much energy into drilling the importance of teamwork into his students and now Rei needed to follow in his footsteps. She would have to take her fiancé’s words and meld them in her own hands, find a way to translate them to a new audience. Temawork above all else.

               “Are you nervous?” a voice then called from around the corner. Rei’s head snapped up to find Yugao approaching.

               Was she nervous? What kind of question was that? Of course she was nervous. Rei swallowed back her sarcasm and replied a nonchalant “I guess.”

               Yugao chewed her lower lip, toying with the gauntlet strapped to her forearm. “You know…I’m glad you decided to stay” she said. “I’m sorry about the other day, too. I was really hard on you and I shouldn’t have been.”

               Rei shook her head, trying to keep her composure. “No, really, it’s okay” she assured softly. She stuffed her civilian clothes into her locker and slammed the door shut. “I was being a selfish piece of shit. I honestly deserved everything that was said to me.” She sensed a second pair of eyes on her back and quickly scanned the locker room, paranoid, but couldn’t find the source. It was probably nothing. Her anxiety was just playing tricks on her. It was fine. Forcing a nervous laugh, Rei raked her fingers through her long bangs and added, “Besides, I’m sure nothing you said will ever be as bad as what everyone else is going to say to me after the briefing.”

               Yugao pursed her lips with a minute nod. She knew all too well what they were up against. After all, Rei had failed them. She had told them all to go home, that they weren’t good enough. Yugao doubted any of them would really be happy about the situation even if Rei was trying to fix things. Not after everything she had put them through. Not after the mess she had made. But still, Yugao tried to have faith. “Just think” she said, forcing an optimistic smile, “After today, the worst part will be over. It will all be smooth sailing from here.”

               Or this could be the beginning of a nightmare, Rei thought to herself but she shoved those thoughts out of her mind as quickly as they came. Sucking in a deep breath, Rei fastened her gauntlets and adjusted her vest. “I sure hope you’re right” she sighed.

               From the other side of the row of lockers, a young, eavesdropping recruit smiled softly. Perhaps forgiveness was worthwhile after all. Perhaps this wasn’t going to be so bad. She gently shut her locker and stalled for a moment before stepping out into the light, pondering the potential of her future with optimistic amethyst eyes.

               Following their morning briefing, Yugao corralled everyone around a table near the back of the room. Their faces were filled with panic, uncertainty, and displeasure as they eyed Rei like a poisonous insect—the kind highly recommended to be killed on sight. Nothing she said seemed to mean a damn thing.

               “And what makes you think that we’ll all come crawling back to you?” Kikkake asked sourly. “Obviously you don’t give a fuck about us. Not really. So who you are doing this for? Yourself? Your ego?”

               Sukui pursed his lips and shook his head. “Really, why would we want to be on a team with a captain who has so little faith in us?” he asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

               “Listen, I know” Rei replied, raising her hands in surrender. “I fucked up. I know I made a mistake. I never should’ve screwed you guys over. Just believe me when I say that this is for the best. I want to help you guys. You’ll never find a better captain than me. Honest.”

               Kikkake rolled his eyes, displeased. “Then that speaks more for the shit show that is the black ops than on your capability to change” he spat. “Do you really expect us to believe that you are the best the ANBU has to offer?”

               Rei clenched her jaw, trying to remain focused and composed. If she was going to keep this position, it was clear she was going to need to fight tooth and nail for their approval. “Okay, I’ll admit, I may not be the best of the best” she started, and Kikkake scoffed in satisfaction. “But I promise, I am the best captain for you. You’re in good hands. I’m not going to let you guys fail.”

               Hitsuji chewed his lower lip, wrapping his arms tight across his chest as if in attempt to make himself smaller. “B-but you’ve already failed us once” he added, quiet and anxious. “Statistically speaking, based on projected permutations, the possibility of—”

               “Okay, okay, I get it!” Rei interrupted, raising a hand. Hitsuji shrunk even deeper into himself, a part of him hating himself for ever speaking up in the first place. “I know you don’t have a ton of faith in me. I’ve said I’m sorry. I’ve promised I’ll change. That’s all that anyone can ask of me.”

               Arai pursed her lips, surveying her comrades stony faces and lack of faith. Rei seemed so small and pathetic like this, begging for forgiveness. There was a desperation in her eyes, something sad and pathetic and hungry. Kikkake rolled his eyes and the fear of irreparable failure burrowed even deeper into the pit of Rei’s chest. She searched the bald man’s face for even the tiniest ounce of sympathy but found none. Sukui leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and knee bent, appearing incredibly disinterested and perhaps even burdened by having to be there in the first place. After a long moment of silence, Arai stepped forward.

               “Well, I think we should give her a second chance” she announced confidently.

               “You what?!” Kikkake exclaimed. There was no way she could be serious.

               Arai whipped around, glaring at him as she stalked forward and grabbed him by the collar of his vest. “You heard me” she snarled. “I think we should give Captain Rei another chance.”

               Hitsuji’s eyes widened in panic, stammering, “B-but the statistics say—”

               “Oh, fuck your statistics!” Arai shouted. “How about trying some goddamn empathy for once? Captain Rei is no different than the rest of us. She’s only human. She makes mistakes, too. If she’s willing to show us a little fucking humility, don’t you think we ought to do the same for her?” The question was far too immediate for Hitsuji’s fragile demeanor. He opened his mouth, choked on his words, then dropped his eyes to the ground in defeat.

               “If you ask me” Kikkake started, swatting Arai’s grip off of his vest, “I think the black ops should show no mercy. From what I’ve seen so far, everyone’s a damn pussy. I’m surprised they even let some dumb kid lead a team in the first place!”

               “Hey!” Rei interjected. “I’m twenty-six! Does this even look like the chest of a kid to you?” Here, she motioned to her breasts—despite the flattening effect of her tactical vest, it was clear by the stretch of the fabric that she was well-endowed.

               Kikkake opened his mouth to rebuke but Sukui raised an index finger over his lips. “I wouldn’t answer that if I were you” he interjected and for once, Kikkake had to admit that he was right.

               “Still” Kikkake glared. “Our lives are on the line. How do we know she’s not going to lead us to our deaths? I bet she wouldn’t even cry. If anything, she’d be happy to get rid of us!”

               This was, surpisingly, the accusation that sent Arai over the edge. “You son of a bitch” she growled, abruptly drawing Kikkake into a headlock. “I’ll show you no mercy! Maybe you should’ve been sent home after all, huh? Maybe the black ops should show no mercy to you!”

               “Alright, settle down!” Yugao implored. She lunged forward, ready to physically break the pair up. Toshio followed close behind, growling and baring his teeth. He would not hesitant to step in and help manage the altercation. “Now is not the time for in-fighting” Yugao reminded them.

               “She’s right” Rei replied. She glared at the two combatants—a threat. “The first step to being successful in the black ops is working together as a team. Flexibility, resiliency, adaptation. Which means that we all need to find a way to get along. So far, you’re all failing miserably.”

               “Not my fault” Kikkake muttered as Arai released him. He rolled the tension out of his neck, making note of his comrade’s iron grip.

               “So how do you expect us to all start liking each other, exactly?” Sukui asked. He glanced to the others and felt his faith wavering. Kikkake was a brute, Arai was insufferable, and Hitsuji was absolutely spineless. They were doomed. It was almost even comical. Restraining light laughter then, Sukui added, “What do you expect us to do? Sit around in a circle and sing kumbaya or something?” The mere thought of it was absolutely ridiculous.

               A sly smile touched Rei’s face and suddenly Sukui was filled with instant regret. “Actually, that’s exactly what I want us all to do” she affirmed. “We are going to spend the entirety of today getting to know one another.”

               A collective groan swept across the room, shoulders slack and eyes rolling into the backs of heads. “It’s just like the first day of school all over again!” Hitsuji complained.

               “Oh, come on!” Rei enthused, leaping forward and wrapping everyone in a vigorous group hug. The smile on her face was equal parts eager and dangerous, a sign that perhaps she was getting far more fun out of this torture than she should’ve. “This will be fun! I promise. Just be grateful that you all got a cool captain.”

               If there was one thing that everyone else could agree on, it was that “cool” was the last word they would’ve used to describe this. As Rei and Yugao led everyone outside, Kikakke muttered sourly, “Yeah, if only we had gotten a sane captain.” Before he could even finish his sentence, Arai reached over and slapped him hard on the arm.

               Luckily, it was a beautifully clear spring day. The air was warm and sweet, the grass soft, and in the distance echoed the sounds of children screaming with laughter. Yugao glanced to Rei, searching her face for a hint of the pain of what she had given up. Surely the wounds were still raw. Rei, however, had blocked out the sound completely. She refused to let herself think about it.

               Once they had reached the large training field near the ANBU headquarters, Rei instructed everyone to sit in a big circle with her and Toshio at the very head. She surveyed the group as they took their seats and something small and unexpected tugged at her heart. Really, they made for a nice picture. Seeing them now, she saw not the chaos and helplessness from earlier in the week but rather youth and potential. She forced herself to remember this moment, to imbed the image into her memory. This was officially the start of something promising.

                “So forgive my idiocy” Sukui started, “But what, exactly, is this supposed to do for us again?”

               Yugao took a seat beside Rei and Toshio as she replied, “The best way to better establish teamwork is by getting to know one another. How are we supposed to work together if we’re all practically strangers?”

               “We managed in Ishoku just fine” Kikkake muttered.

               “Yeah, and that was fine for Ishoku” Rei countered, “But out here, it’s eat or be eaten. No mercy, remember? You can’t just get by on the skin of your teeth anymore. You need to actually put the effort in and part of that means familiarizing yourself with your comrades.”

               “So you just want us to go around our big dumb circle and talk about ourselves then. Right?” Kikkake groaned. Rei nodded.

               At her affirmation, Hitsuji immediately spiralled into yet another swirl of panic. He didn’t know how to do this sort of thing—talk about himself and socialize. Part of the reason he had joined the black ops in the first place was because he thought it would mean avoiding exactly that. Unfortunately, he was sorely mistaken. The importance of teamwork made perfect sense to him now, but he felt like an idiot for never considering it sooner. But if he had to do this—and he did—he needed a plan. Hitsuji awkwardly raised his hand like he was back in the academy all over again, asking, “What are we supposed to say?”

               Rei shrugged. “I mean, the usual, I guess” she replied. “Things you like, things you hate, dreams for the future, hobbies. All of that good shit.”

               Arai nodded slowly before commenting, “Why don’t you go first, boss? Set an example and show us how it’s supposed to be done.”

               Rei blinked. Were they really so stupid that they didn’t know how to introduce themselves? She eyed Arai skeptically but found nothing but ingenuity, which unfortunately only made Rei that much more suspicious. What was she trying to pull here? Rei knew letting herself be vulnerable in front of her the other day was a bad choice, but what else could she do? The only option was to level with her, even if that put her at a disadvantage now. She hated to think of what kinds of things this girl was plotting with the information she had been given. But then again, she had been so defensive and supportive the entire morning. The shift was strange to say the least.

               “Alright” Rei sucked in a deep breath, raked her fingers back through her bangs. “My name is Rei Natsuki, codename Aisuru, and I’ve been in the ANBU for about six years. Things I like and things I hate? Not important. Hobbies? Too many to count. Dreams for the future? Not really any of your business.”

               It’s no wonder she and Kakashi get along so well, Yugao thought to herself. She remembered the day she joined Kakashi’s team so many years ago, his introduction ringing much the same. In Rei’s tone, however, there was a certain sharpness. A bitter defense dripped from that last sentence, especially. Clearly Yugao was correct in assuming that the sting of her abandoned motherhood was still fresh and painful. Her heart hurt for her. Rei had truly given up so much.

               Before anyone else had the chance to comment or criticize, Yugao stepped up to the plate. “I’m Yugao Uzuki, codename Kasha, and I’ve been in the ANBU for about twelve years. I like cats and watching the moon, my favorite food is tsukimi dango, and my dream for the future is just peace and happiness.”

               Yugao’s response was so pure and thoughtful, it seemed to wash away any reservations that Rei’s response, in contrast, may have forged. Her willingness to be open and optimistic among the others put the whole group at ease and filled the new recruits with an inexplicable sense of light and security. It was almost as if Yugao was a kindergarten teacher currying favor to her new, anxious little students. Much like the moon itself, she had a way of making others feel safe and seen in the dark.

               To her right, Kikkake cracked his knuckles and opened his mouth to speak. After all, it was his turn, wasn’t it? Before he could make a sound, however, Toshio barked a happy interruption. Kikkake paused, staring dumbfounded at the dog, before meeting Rei’s unapologetic gaze.

               “The dog goes first” she grinned.

               It took a long moment for Kikkake to comprehend what she was saying. “Y-you mean..you’re telling me I’m getting stonewalled by a dog?!” he finally shouted. He glanced to the others in hopes that they would find this just as ridiculous as he did but alas, they seemed perfectly unaffected. Digging the heels of his hands into his eye sockets, Kikkake complained, “Come on! Where’s the manger?!”

               Toshio, offended by the uproar, growled in Kikkake’s direction. Rei rested a tender hand upon his back to calm him, serving a reminder that “He is a member of this team, too, you know.”

               Arai couldn’t help but smirk at all the chaos. Nothing amused her more than watching Kikkake lose his mind. And to think, this time it wasn’t even her fault. She and Sukui exchanged amused glances, finding a common interest, before Hitsuji leaned in and whispered, “What does a manger have to do with anything?” The other two shrugged, clueless.

               Overhearing the confusion, a little light sparked in the pit of Rei’s chest. It was so rare that she was able to use her literary knowledge in a context like this. Leaning forward, she answered, “The Dog in the Manger. It’s an old fable.”

               “But what does that have to do with anything?” Sukui asked back. It was clear by the look on his face that he was not a big reader. Unless, of course, it was Icha Icha, that is.

               “It’s allegorical” Rei began. “As the story goes, there’s a dog lying in a manger who refuses to let a horse take what he’s not even using. The interpretation was loose but, I mean, hey, A for effort.” The others shrugged and nodded. Who were they to judge? They didn’t even know the story to begin with.

               Kikkake was beginning to lose his cool. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was the book club” he complained. “Can we get a move on already? We’re wasting time!” Toshio barked yet again, perhaps the only thing he and Kikkake could agree on, and Rei urged the dog to begin his own little introduction.

               Leaping to his feet, Toshio barked and spun in circles, chasing his tail and bowing playfully. He was adorable, there was no doubt about that, but it was also strange to think that he was trying to communicate something to them at all. Once he had finished and sat back down beside his master, the recruits all looked to one another in amused confusion.

               “So, Captain Rei, um…care to translate?” Sukui asked.

               Rei pursed her lips and nodded slowly, turning to Toshio who in turn gave an approving little bark. After all, what was the point of introducing himself at all if the others couldn’t understand him? It wasn’t his fault they never learned to speak dog. “Alright, so basically” Rei sighed, “he said his name is Toshio and he likes long walks, big sticks, and licking people’s feet. And that if anyone so much as dares to cross his master, he will rip your gut open and play tug-of-war with your intestines.” What was once playful confusion had now transformed into uncomfortable horror as everyone slowly turned their gaze yet again to the dog. Toshio, in contrast, seemed perfectly content—if not even amused. He barked in concurrence as he rolled onto his back, begging for belly rubs, his big spotted tongue lopping out of the side of his mouth. There was no way a dog this goofy could ever be so threatening.

               “And we’re really supposed to believe he said all that?” Kikkake asked, unconvinced. At the slightest insinuation, Toshio went rigid and bared his teeth, proving that he was perhaps serious after all.

               “I believe him” Hitsuji whispered. He sniffled as he wiped his running nose with the back of his hand. Utterly bothered, Kikkake swatted him away and tried to compose himself.

               “Alright, fine, whatever” the bald man groaned. “Now let me fucking speak.” Arai rolled her eyes, leaning back boredly as she half-listened to his spiel. “Kikkake. 25. I like my space and I dislike people who invade my space. And I really dislike people who can’t keep their damn head on straight.” Here, he glanced to the others and frowned.

               Hitsuji, feeling personally attacked, drew his knees up to his chest in an attempt to make himself as small as humanly possible. Rei’s eyes landed on him, a soft smile touching her lips. She felt sorry for him, really. He was probably the least fit for the black ops out of all of them but there had to be something that made him worthy of being here. Sympathetic, Rei motioned toward him. “Your turn.”

               “Ah, oh god, okay” Hitsuji started. He shifted, trying to make himself seem more confident than he obviously was. “M-my name is Hitsuji Akado b-but I prefer the codename Chishiki. I’m 22 years old and I like math and science. My father is an accountant and I have a twin sister named Hiretsuna. A-and I’m also…t-terrified of dogs.” Toshio’s eyes darted to the poor boy and Hitsuji clutched his hands to his chest, eyes wide and heart racing. After a moment, he gasped and sneezed into the crook of his elbow, adding groggily, “I’m also highly allergic.”

               Rei frowned as she scratched under Toshio’s chin. “Well, I can’t really do anything about the allergies” she replied, “But I guarantee Toshio would never hurt anyone in his pack. You’re in good hands.” In reply, Toshio gave a quick bark before rubbing his back enthusiastically against the ground. A cloud of hair flew up around him as he went.

               Hitsuji wasn’t sure how comforting he found this, but he at least appreciated the effort. Before they continued onto the next introduction, however, Yugao paused and asked, “Wait a second, what did you say your sister’s name was again?”

              ��Nodding, Hitsuji replied, “Hiretsuna. She, uh…she works at the hospital.”

               A look of understanding crossed Rei’s face as a wide grin touched her lips. “I thought her name sounded familiar!” she exclaimed. “Brown hair, blue eyes, works reception, right?”

               Hitsuji nodded. “That would be her.”

               Rei chuckled softly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Damn, I never would’ve guessed” she said. “I mean, you’re twins, yeah, but you’re both so…different.” Hiretsuna was truly a sweet girl—after all, she was always so kind to Sekkachi on her frequent doctor’s visits—but her head was undoubtedly full of hot air.

               Chuckling anxiously, Hitsuji replied, “She got the beauty, and I got the brains.”

               Yugao shifted in her spot to get more comfortable as she replied, “Well, I’m sure your brains will come in handy on our team.” Hitsuji’s cheeks immediately burned red as he dropped his gaze and tried to remain composed. It was clear to Yugao that he was definitely going to be the type that benefits greatly from positive reinforcement. He needed the reassurance that he was not only welcome here but that he belonged here. That he was capable and a valuable asset to the team. Hitsuji’s gratefulness was almost palpable.

               Yugao then slowly turned her gaze to Sukui, who had since laid down in the grass and was staring up at the wispy clouds overhead. It was as if he was in a daze, lost in his own daydreams. Rei waited only a moment longer before clearing her throat. “Yo, pretty boy. It’s your turn” she jested.

               Blinking, Sukui’s stupor faded and he immediately bolted upright. His eyes seemed brighter than ever before. “Finally!” he exclaimed, running a hand through his hair before winking and shooting his index finger in Rei’s direction. “I am Sukui Yukio, codename Kishi! 22 years old, Leo, blood type AB. I like beautiful women and making others happy, and I dislike brutes and pushovers—” here, he glared to Kikkake and Hitsuji respectively. “My hobbies are serenading prospective dates and reading Icha Icha novels! Which, by the way, have I ever mentioned that people tell me I am the spitting image of—”

               “Keihaku Goman. Yes, we are aware” Rei interrupted. The memory of her bizarre little one-off date with the man sent shivers down her spine. If she was lucky, she would never have to hear the name Keihaku Goman ever again.

               Hitsuji withdrew even further into himself, muttering, “I-I’m not a pushover”—more to himself than anything else—before he was interrupted by yet another sneeze.

               Kikkake, rolling his eyes, replied, “Yes you are.”

               “As if you’re not some bald-headed brute” Arai joked, reaching around to poke Kikkake teasingly in the shoulder. Kikkake gritted his teeth, prepared to counterattack, but it was Arai’s turn to speak now and she wasn’t going to let anyone infringe on her moment. She locked eyes with Rei from across the circle and in those amethyst eyes, there was something different—something almost reassuring and uplifting. Before Rei could analyze it further, however, Kikkake attempted to rebuke but Arai slapped her hand over his mouth with a sly, satisfied grin. The strange softness in her gaze had vanished as quickly as it came. “The name’s Arai Kawakubo, but you can call me Dokyou. I’m 23 and I like boxing and sewing, even if I suck balls at it. I have an older sister and my grandma owns a clothing shop in the village. I dislike assholes and I especially dislike people who don’t know when to shut the fuck up.” Here, she grinned at Kikkake, sickeningly sweet. Another sharp jab at his unpleasant personality. Clenching his fists was all he could do to keep from pummeling her into the ground. She removed her hand from his mouth once she was finished, sitting up straight and proud.

               Kikkake wiped his mouth on the back of his hand in an attempt to rid himself of her as he groaned, “Why are you the way that you are?” Arai tilted her head as she looked at him, urging him to elaborate. “What is it? Do you get off on throwing people under the bus?”

               “You know” Sukui said with a flourish of his hand, “Brutal honesty is actually quite attractive in a woman!” Here, he arched a brow and smirked to further enforce his point.

               Arai shot him a sharp glare, muttering under her breath, “Shut up, sweetie, this isn’t your fight” before locking eyes with Kikkake. “And why do you always have to get so offended by every little thing? Hmm?” she countered. “Why is every comment somehow a personal attack on you? Are you really that oversensitive, Mr. Big Shot?”

               “First it’s my head, now it’s my self esteem” Kikkake muttered through clenched teeth. “Are there no boundaries to what you will pick apart?”

               The conflict had meanwhile clearly triggered yet another wave of panic in poor Hitsuji. “P-please…stop fighting” he whimpered, recoiling. The probability of people breaking out weapons was surely at least 64% and if kunai were going to fly, he did not want to be in the proposed line of fire.

               Tensions were mounting and Rei knew that if she did not do something soon, things were bound to spiral out of control. She glanced to Yugao in concern for a moment and was met with a single nod of approval. They both knew what must be done. If these kids were ever going to behave themselves, they needed discipline. The only one worthy of administering it was Rei.

               Sucking in a deep breath, Rei rose to her feet and stepped into the center of the circle. Toshio finally rolled upright, watching with focused intent. This was about to get good. Bracing himself for the chaos, Hitsuji swallowed hard as he studied her every move. With fists clenched, Rei closed her eyes and focused all of her chakra. She envisioned kneading it like dough, forming it into a condensed ball with mass and weight. She felt the lump rising higher into the back of her throat. Then, snapping her eyes open, she launched a massive bullet of chakra-infused water straight into the fray. The bubble exploded on impact, soaking Arai, Kikkake, and Sukui in the process. They all fell silent as Rei grinned down at them in condescension.

               “Ugh, absolutely disgusting!” Sukui whined, shaking the water from his clothes. “Why did I have to get hit? I had nothing to do with this!”

               Rei shrugged, joking, “If you can’t handle the water, stay out of the pool.”

               Arai shook her choppy hair dry like a dog, smoothing her short bangs back with a comical grin. “So you’re a water style user then, huh?” she asked, pleased with this new discovery.

               “Primarily, but being a part of the ANBU also means you need to hone in on other chakra natures, too” Rei rose an informative finger in the air as she turned on her heel. “And it’s also important to know the chakra natures and other strengths of everyone on your team so that we can coordinate our attacks perfectly. There is no room for error.”

               Scooting nearer, Hitsuji made a quiet little hand sign before a jolt of wind whipped against Arai, Kikkake, and Sukui, drying them instantly. Taken aback, Arai whipped around to face him but where he expected to find malice, he was instead met with an impressed smile. Hitsuji blushed and dropped his eyes, murmuring, “Sometimes it’s helpful.”

               “I’ll say” Arai smirked, slapping him proudly on the back. Leaning across the circle, she then looked to Kikkake and mused, “Let me guess: you’re an earth style user, aren’t you?”

               Unfortunately, Kikakke could not hide his initial surprise. His wide eyes and gaping mouth, much like a dead fish, were enough to sate Arai’s destructive cravings for the rest of the day. After the shock had worn off, he furrowed his brows and crossed his arms like a whiny child. “Yeah, and what of it?” he asked.

               Shrugging, Arai leaned back on her elbows and replied, “It’s easy to tell. You’re stubborn as a rock but sensitive as soil. One thing goes wrong and you’re killing every plant in the area.”

               That was actually a very clever way to put things—accurate but easy to understand. Rei had to admit, she was impressed. Skills like that were far more advanced than that of any regular rookie. “Where’d you learn to interpret chakra natures like that?” she asked, leaning forward in intrigue.

               The only one Rei had ever known to have any semblance of knowledge on the subject was Grandma Teiko. Tucked away in one of her old books was a chart, the paper soft and print fading from years of use. On it was both the wheel of basic chakra natures as well as the way in which each chakra nature can combine to create new elemental subsidiaries. At the very bottom was a detailed list of telltale traits for each user—indeliable information for espionage, no doubt. In the middle of the night, when her life had begun falling apart, Rei would carefully tug that page out of Grandma Teiko’s book and read the description for lightning style users over and over again until the words became foreign and numb. To this day, she still had the excerpt memorized: Sharp and focused, hard to read. Concentrated, cold, unyielding, unpredictable. She thought of Kakashi and a shiver raced down her spine. She had refused to believe the accuracy of such a statement. There was no way that any of that was true of Kakashi, or at least not the Kakashi that she knew. Over time, she would come to discover the unfortunate ounce of truth within that analysis but where lightning was seemingly apathetic and condensed—a manifestation of concentrated, aimless rage—it was also unexpectedly nourishing and protective. It lit fires from long distances, sudden and prophetic, and could strike down enemies in one fatal blow. A shock of anger, yes, but also orgasmic, unhindered joy.

               Arai sucked her teeth, digging her toe into the dirt. “My grandma used to have this book that talked about chakra nature and the personality” she explained and in the back of Rei’s mind was a ring of familiarity. “I don’t know where she got it form or where it went, but I used to look at it a lot when I was a little kid. I liked trying to figure out which of my friends had what chakra natures. The psychoanalysis of it was kind of fun.”

               A jolt of something struck Rei in the chest, overwhelming and bizarre. Like a punch to the soul, separating her from her body. The tattoo on her forearm stung. In the back of her mind, a voice told her kindred spirit. None of it made any sense, though. It was stupid. She gripped at a patch of Toshio’s thick fur to anchor her, sucking in a sharp breath. Before she could spiral further, Sukui excitedly interjected and recentered the focus.

               “Ooh, try me!” he shouted, raising a hand. “What chakra nature do you think I have?”

               Cocking a brow, Arai leaned back as she stared at him. “Water” she said bluntly. “You’re bubbly, charismatic, and fluid. You have a nice voice and can be a little, um…much.”

               Sukui’s eyes widened, looking to the others in delight. “Oh, she’s good!” he exclaimed. He then turn his attention to Yugao, exclaiming, “Try her next!”

               Arai furrowed her brows in concentration. “She’s harder to pinpoint” she muttered. “I don’t really see her as much of an elemental user to begin with, but more of a yin/yang release type. Based on her clear connection to the moon, however, and her sensory abilities, I’d say she’s naturally a water type but hones more of her skills into other forms of ninjutsu and swordplay.”

               A small, satisfied grin touched Yugao’s lips. “You’re very perceptive” she replied. Arai’s analysis was surprisingly approximate. Her identification abilities would certainly come in handy in the future. “So what about you?” she then asked, motioning toward the blonde across the circle. “We know everyone else’s chakra natures now but yours.”

               Just as Arai went to open her mouth, Rei spoke for her. “Lightning” she said bluntly. She still clung to that tuft of Toshio’s hair. Her mossy eyes remained locked on the ground, her jaw tense. “My guess is lightning.”

               Yugao blinked, turning to her captain. “How do you know?”

               “Arai is sharp, quick, tactile. Every blow is concentrated and aimless” Rei explained. She knew lightning style all too well—as she should. She saw the same fire, the same cold and unyielding determination, in Arai’s eyes as she had in Kakashi when she first joined the ANBU. Her rage was chaotic, specific, strong.

               Dumbfounded, Yugao turned to Arai to find that she was just as taken aback as the rest of them were. “Well?” Yugao asked slowly, quietly. “Was she right?”

               Arai fought an incredulous little laugh as she leaned her forearms onto her folded knees and nodded slowly. “Yeah” she said. “Yeah, she was.”

               A long stretch of silence encumbered the group then, uneasy and strange. There was a sense of anxiety in Rei’s eyes now and Yugao knew this mustn’t be a good sign. Don’t give out on me, she begged in the back of her mind. Not this time. Not now. We made a commitment, remember? Do not give up.

               Rei tried to regain her composure but her mind kept sticking on one nagging point of contention: where did Arai’s grandmother get that book? Was it something that all the elders of Konoha had? An ancient relic from a bygone educational era? Perhaps. Or perhaps Grandma Teiko simply acquired hers from a former shinobi—Kaminoki did acquire a fair amount of used books for resale each year. They were always tossed aside on a rickety corner shelf and sold for a hefty discounted price. Rei’s father never could find the strength to ask full-price for books with broken spines and dogeared pages, books with life and history. Either way, it was not important. So what if they had the exact same book with the exact same diagram in it? None of it mattered. Rei forced the thoughts squarely out of her mind. This was exactly the kind of distraction she did not want to let ruin her today.

               “Well” Yugao smiled to the group. “Now that we all know each other’s chakra natures, we can better strengthen our teamwork and make sure our attacks are especially strong.”

               “Wait a second, Lieutenant Yugao” Sukui interrupted. “Now, I’m not fond of correcting a lady” he continued, and Arai rolled her eyes and fake-gagged, “but I’m afraid you’re not entirely correct!”

               “Oh?” Yugao asked, arching a brow. Rei’s gaze snapped up from the ground, searching Sukui’s face for panic or pain. The prospect of something being wrong only further amped up her anxiety.

               Nodding, Sukui replied, “We don’t know everyone’s chakra nature yet!”

               Rei’s eyes widened as she surveyed the circle, trying to figure out who they had missed. She recited each verdict in her head as she went: water for Yugao, earth for Kikkake, Hitsuji is wind, Sukui water, and lighting for Arai. “Who did we leave out?” she asked.

               A wide, childish grin touched Sukui’s face as he tried to restrain his laughter. “The dog!” he exclaimed, falling back and letting himself succumb to the pleasure of his own joke.

               Toshio leapt to his feet and barked happily, spinning in circles. The idea was so ridiculous, Rei couldn’t help but crack a smile herself. All of the anxiety that had built up inside of her began to vanish.

               Tapping her chin, Arai smirked and mused, “I’d say he’s a water-style user. I mean, have you seen the slobber on that tongue? Disgusting!” She said this with no malevolence toward the dog, however. Rather, she fought an amused giggle as Toshio jumped toward her and swiped his spotted tongue right across her face, drenching her in spit. She cringed, though clearly stil in good spirits, and wiped the residue away with the back of her hand as she affirmed, “Yep, absolutely disgusting.”

               Patting her thigh, Rei beckoned her loyal mutt back to her side and chuckled, “Why do you think him and I work so well together?”

               “You have a good point” Yugao jested. She, too, reached over to scratch Toshio affectionately behind the ear. It was nice to see that he was finally taking to the group.

               A small, shy smile touched Hitsuji’s lips as he watched the interaction unfold. “I guess he isn’t so bad” he mused quietly. Though big and clunky, perhaps Rei was right about Toshio: perhaps he truly wouldn’t hurt anyone within his pack—or in this case, their black ops team. Hitsuji wanted to believe that the dog’s affectionate side was reinforcement that they were all in good hands; he wanted to believe that there was nothing to worry about. It would still take him some time to warm up to Toshio completely, but the thought that he was not very bad at all was at least a step in the right direction.

               In response, Toshio grinned and barked once more, though kept his distance as if he could sense Hitsuji’s anxiety. And really, he could. He knew the poor boy was terrified and despite Toshio being slightly, instinctively pleased with that, he also knew that he needed to try to make this boy comfortable among him. Rei’s success depended on it and he was not about to hinder the progression of her career. She deserved nothing but good things and if he could help move that along then by god, he was going to.

               By sundown, Rei’s anxiety had drastically depleted. Their little kumbaya circle had done some good, it seemed, after all. What was once a group of disinterested misfits had soon transformed into a team of hope and growing camaraderie. There was still more work to be done but a solid foundation had been laid. They all knew each other a little better now, saw each other a little more clearly and had a greater appreciation and understanding for those they would have to call friends.

               And really, the breakthrough was necessary. Rei had quickly discovered that she was not the only one at fault. She was not the only one seeing this team how she wanted to see them, in the simplest terms and the most convenient definitions. She never cared to know them and they never cared to know one another. If sitting in a circle under the bright spring sun was what it took to break down each of their walls, then so be it. The results were worth all of the drudgery.

               Upon returning home, Rei haphazardly peeled a little mikan from their humble fruit bowl—tossing a wedge to Toshio as a consolation prize—before humming along to the clank of dirty dishes in the sink. The setting sunlight filled the room with a warm, hazy glow, catching on the surface of the soap suds in a translucent rainbow. For the first time in a long time, everything was light and peace. Maybe this was where she was meant to be, after all.

               By the time Rei was elbows-deep in soap and halfway through the dishes, Toshio leapt to his feet and began barking and leaping wildly. The key turned in the lock and the front door creaked open. Kakashi. A jolt of excitement struck Rei at the sight of him and she immediately rushed to pull him into a strong embrace. She couldn’t care less if she soaked his vest.

               “Oh?” he chuckled, setting his supplies on the table as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “What’s all of this about? Did you have a bad day?”

               “No” Rei shook her head. “I just missed you.” The smile tugging at her lips was oddly suspicious but if she was happy, then who was Kakashi to judge? If anything, her joy was a relief after the overwhelming anxiety of the past few weeks.

               “So how did things go today?” he asked, brushing the bangs back out of her face. “How were the new recruits?”

               “Actually…” Rei started, “It wasn’t that bad.” The more she thought about it, the more Rei realized that perhaps she even enjoyed their chaotic company. They made her feel young again. They reminded her of a simpler time, back before the black ops had made her distant and serious. A time in which she was not plagued by fear, uncertainty, and the numbing pain of difficult choices. Kakashi, delighted to hear that things were going well, cupped her cheek and kissed her forehead tenderly. A small smile touched Rei’s lips as she added softly, “You know, I think they’re really starting to grow on me.”

[storyknitter]

Kissing Scars

Read on AO3!

The first night that Theron spent in the Commander's quarters after escaping medbay, Vassanna had slept on the couch.

She'd claimed it was nothing new and she hadn’t wanted to accidentally hurt him in her sleep. The thought of her curled up alone on the sofa every night for months, the bed pristinely made and completely ignored, broke his heart anew; he wondered again how he could have screwed things up so badly.

It had been a week now since he’d returned to their rooms. Five whole days. Things were mostly fine between them during the day, but nights... nights were the hardest. They both fell back into old patterns, wrapping the habits of the past year around themselves like a security blanket.

Theron wanted to let Sanna take the time that she needed to be comfortable around him again. There were a handful of occasions when she’d startled quicker than a wild daubird at the slightest touch from him, on her elbow or her back, and he’d felt like a monster. He didn't want to push her, but he was concerned – no, he admitted to himself, he was terrified – that they wouldn't be able to change this lonely routine of theirs. He needed to make things right, to put things back together the way that they used to be. Well, as close as he could.

And so, as Sanna finished her nightly ablutions, Theron waited patiently outside the ‘fresher, where he was definitely not pacing.

Okay, he was pacing.

Thoughts ran rampant and no amount of meditative tricks could contain them or put them in any sort of order. Doubts swirled through him, obscuring the bright hope sparked by their brutally honest conversation when they’d first returned to Odessen. For kriff’s sake, he could talk his way into infiltrating the enemy, cozying up to them with no problem, yet he couldn't talk to the person he loved without screwing things up? Pathetic.

He sighed in irritation laced with embarrassment and swore under his breath, remembering the mess he’d made trying to ask Sanna to marry him. There was no doubt in his mind that he wanted her, wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. Hells, he’d known years ago that he wanted to be with her forever. He just hadn't expected her to bring it up first, and definitely not at that point in time. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed again.

How in all the hells was he going to fix this?

(He should probably bring up his fears and guilt in his next re-acclimation therapy session: the mandatory meetings with his counselor were standard procedure when an Alliance member came back from a harrowing mission – and nearly dying after most of a year in deep cover was definitely classified as “harrowing.”

Regardless, the sessions seemed to be going fairly well. Theron was doing a lot of talking to a Jedi Empath, though he wasn't sure that simple chatter would truly help his nightmares go away. The paranoia was fading, thankfully.

At least, he thought it was.)

Theron nearly jumped out of his boots when Vassanna opened the ‘fresher door, so entrenched was he in his thoughts. She looked as surprised as he felt to find herself face to face with an anxious, pacing wreck who was muttering to himself.

“Are you all right?” she asked hesitantly.

“Uh, yeah. I'm fine. All fine here now, thanks,” Theron stammered, and she didn’t appear convinced. “Everything's perfectly all right.”

“If you’re sure,” she said, excusing herself. She slipped past him to the bed and took her pillow with a small smile, but he grabbed her hand before she could make her way to the sofa, squeezing it.

“Wait,” Theron said, hushed. “Stay with me tonight. Please, Sanna.”

A look of uncertainty flickered across her features before she met his gaze, that damned Jedi mask firmly in place. “Okay.”

“Oh,” he said, unable to keep the shock out of his voice. “Okay, great.” Relief flooded his chest and it was exponentially easier to breathe; he couldn't believe that she'd agreed so quickly. “Great,” he said again, carefully making his way to the side of the bed, but her puzzled voice stopped him in his tracks as he reached for the covers.

“So... are you planning on sleeping in your coat and boots?”

Glancing down, Theron realized that he was, in fact, still fully clothed from the day. He sighed and ran his hand over the back of his neck, feeling heat creeping along his jaw toward his ears. Be honest with her and to hells with your embarrassment, he thought. Just spit it out.

“I’m really nervous,” he rushed out, turning to face Sanna. “I don’t wanna fuck this up any more than I already have, but I have no idea how to make it better.” Meeting her eyes, he saw the worry and confusion he felt reflected in her features.

“I don’t, either,” she whispered with a shrug, still hugging the pillow to her chest. “But, um, why don’t you start by getting ready for bed?” A small chuckle from both of them broke the tension in the air.

“Sounds like a plan.” With that, Theron eased his boots off with his feet, wincing only slightly as he stepped out of the left boot and kicked it toward the armoire. Shrugging painlessly out of the long, grey duster proved more difficult, but Sanna took pity on him after the briefest of moments. Crossing to his side of the bed, she reached up, whisking the jacket off his shoulders and hanging it up with practiced efficiency.

Turning back to him but avoiding his gaze, she pulled his pajama shorts over with the Force, setting them within arm’s reach at the foot of the bed. She stretched out her arms to help remove his trousers. Her limbs froze centimeters from the fabric, as though just realizing what she was about to do.

“Sorry, I–” she muttered, pulling her hands back to her chest.

“No, it’s okay. I, uh... I got it,” Theron answered, wondering just how awkward things could get between them. Stars, he missed the easy camaraderie they'd had. Sanna turned aside as he undid the closure at his waist and leaned over to slip off his pants. His healing wound protested the movement and he crumpled into himself, gasping at the heat that shot through him, arms clutched tight to his chest.

“Theron.” He turned his head in her direction, trying to meditate around the fiery spasms. A cool hand on his cheek helped him focus, but her worry buzzed in the back of his mind. “When are you due for your next dose of pain medication?”

“What time is it?” he asked through clenched teeth, and carefully dropped to sit on the edge of the bed, still curled up tight, his trousers around his knees.

“Just past 2300 hours.”

“‘bout an hour and a half ago, then.”

With a frustrated sigh, Vassanna retrieved the pill bottle and waited, arms crossed and lips pursed, as he swallowed the light blue tablets. “Stop it,” she bit out. “Just stop trying to be a big damn indestructible hero and take your meds when you’re supposed to.”

“I lost track of time,” Theron answered, his tone pacifying.

“Every day? Because this happens pretty often. Too often, in fact. Shouldn’t you have an alarm on your implants or something?” Concern and fear lay beneath the anger and frustration in her voice. His earlier admonishment echoed in his mind: Be honest with her and to hells with your embarrassment.

“I don’t like to depend on them,” he admitted sheepishly. “I don’t want to need them. And they make me fuzzy for a couple hours, or just knock me out completely. I hate it. I have zero control over what happens to me.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize– That’s understandable, I didn’t think about....” Her mouth pressed into a worried line and she knelt to remove his pants, folding and tossing them haphazardly on the reading chair.

“You don’t have to do this, sweetheart.” He couldn’t keep the endearment from slipping off his tongue – he'd missed saying it so badly while he was gone.

“I know,” Sanna said softly, looking away. “It hurts,” she admitted in a whisper, her hands balling into tight fists. “Seeing you in pain, it hurts.” Her subdued confession knocked the wind out of him and rendered him speechless.

“I’ll do better,” Theron promised when he found his voice. “I’ll make sure I take ‘em on time. I didn’t mean –”

“No, it’s okay, I’m just –”

“Sanna.” Theron reached out to comfort her, but she rose smoothly, quickly pulling herself together before gesturing for him to lift up his arms. Instead, he grasped her hand, turning it over to kiss the palm; she stood stock-still, eyes wide, and yanked her hand back to her chest as though his touch had burned.

“I’m sorry,” Vassanna said, blinking. “I’m sorry, this is–” She took a gasping breath and continued. “Theron, this is harder than I thought. I can’t seem to let this go but I’m trying, I swear. At least I think I’m trying. I don’t even know anymore.”

“Nah, you’re doing great.” He offered a lopsided grin that he couldn’t quite make reach his eyes. “If it helps, I can take the sofa or go to a new room, just for a little while, and–”

“No,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “No, you said you wouldn’t leave.”

“I said I’d do what would make things better for you, what you wanted. Do you want me to stay?”

Sanna nodded and stepped toward him, standing between his knees, her breath hitching. Gently, so very gently, she took his cheeks in her trembling hands and pressed a tender kiss to his brow.

“I want to make this work, Theron. I do,” she said, resting her forehead on his and drawing a shaking breath. “Oh stars, I almost lost you.” Her whisper was harsh and anguished. “How did you stand it, after Asylum?”

His palms came to rest on her hips and he nuzzled her nose. “Honestly? I have no idea.” Sliding his arms around her waist, Theron pulled her close, resting his head on her chest. Sanna's heartbeat thundered in his ear and the weight of her chin on the top of his head comforted him. Long moments passed and a peace settled over them.

“Let's finish getting you changed, shall we?” she asked and the tranquil spell was broken.

As Vassanna carefully lifted the shirt over his head, her eyes avoiding the bandages on his torso, Theron glanced down at the scar on her right thigh. It was hard to miss: as wide as his thumb and just off-center, toward the outside of her leg. It began about five or six centimeters above her knee and ran upward, disappearing under her pajama shorts. It wasn't there last year and, as much as he didn't want to know about its origins, he had to ask.

His hand came to rest gingerly on the side of her knee, his thumb brushing the bottom of the jagged scar, and he looked up at her. “Sanna, what’s this from?” She ignored his question, balling up his shirt and tossing it into the hamper with an intense focus.

“What happened?” Theron asked softly. The roughly-healed wound was too old for Nathema. Maybe Copero? He dismissed the thought, knowing that most of the combat she'd faced there had been against blasters and knives – and one lightsaber. None of those weapons left quite so ragged a mark.

“It’s nothing, Theron,” she said, giving him a small, sad smile.

With a frown of determination, he tugged on the back of her leg. She yelped as she fell forward, her hands finding his shoulders in an attempt to keep her balance. Drawing her knee to him, he pressed his lips tenderly to the bottom of the scar. Theron trailed kisses interspersed with apologies and declarations of love along the blemished skin until he reached the bottom hem of her pajamas.

“May I?” he asked, looking up at her, waiting patiently. Sanna closed her eyes and bit her lip, nodding. He gently, carefully pushed the shorts up to her hip, aghast at what he found: the rough, puckered scar ran nearly the entire length of her thigh, ending near her hip, an agonizing twenty-five centimeters from the start.

Oh Force, what had he done?

He shifted back on the bed until his calves hit the edge, and looked up at the woman before him. “C’mere,” he whispered, gently pulling her to straddle his lap as his hands rested on her hips. He tried again to meet her eyes, but she was focused on her nails. “Tell me what happened. Please, San?”

“Why do you need to know? It’s not important.” The sharp edge of her words sliced through his heart and he saw that he’d pushed too far – the one thing he hadn’t wanted to do.

“I don't,” he said softly. “I'm sorry for pressing, I shouldn’t have.”

She met his gaze, surprised that he wasn't going to insist on an answer, and rested her forehead on his. He was getting fuzzy-headed; the pain was practically gone, but so was his focus. Thankfully, he had an anchor in Vassanna as the room wobbled around him.

“Lana and I....” Her hesitant utterance brought him back to the present and helped him concentrate. “We jumped, but I don’t know if the train rocked while I was in the air or if I just misjudged the distance from the start; it's all still a bit of a blur.” Theron's winced as the hangnail she'd absently picked began to bleed. “Broken transparisteel is a lot sharper than I’d thought.”

Oh no. He thought he'd given them enough time to jump from the train safely. Damn it all, another miscalculation, another failure. His catalog of mistakes had damaged her shoulder and her leg, to say nothing of her heart and mind. Hissing out an expletive, he cradled Sanna's face in his palms and opened his mouth to apologize, to say something, but couldn't figure out where to start. The lines of her features softened, blurring, and he tried to blink her back into focus. Unable to do so, he simply rested his forehead on hers, his eyes screwed shut, breathing ragged as a sob threatened to escape.

“Hells, I’m sorry. I never meant to... I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I–”

“No. No more apologies, I forgive you.” He shook his head with a sniffle.

“I don’t deserve–”

“Stop,” she insisted, her thumb pressed to his mouth. Leaning in, Vassanna kissed him softly, her lips brushing his like a whisper. “Quit apologizing and kiss me instead.”

“But I–” She cut off his protest once more with a kiss, though more forceful this time, her hands curling around the back of his neck.

“I forgive you. I will say it as many times as you need to hear, but I would like to stop eventually.” Sanna trailed her fingertips up along his neck and jaw, curling a finger under his chin, and tilted his face toward hers. Summoning up the courage to meet her eyes, Theron glanced up and offered a sad smile. The pads of her thumbs brushed away the tears he hadn't realized were trickling down his cheeks and she kissed his forehead. Gentle fingertips traced his implants before she hugged him close, cradling his head to her chest.

Her tenderness broke down the last remaining walls that Theron had constructed to hold back all the guilt, the shame, the horror and regrets of the last year. Overwhelmed as the dam shattered, the emotions he'd buried for so long spilled over and he wrapped his arms around his Jedi – his Jedi, how in all the hells was she his again? – holding her tight. Memories threatened to drown him and Sanna was the only thing keeping his head above water. When had he last cried? He couldn’t even remember. He dug strong fingers into her back, twisting the fabric of her tank top, and buried his face in her neck.

Between the harsh sobs that wracked his body, Theron mumbled apologies and how much he loved her and missed her, so damned much, and how leaving her there, hurting her like that killed him. All that he had wanted was to keep her safe, he had to keep her safe because he couldn't bear to lose her again, not again, please not again. He wanted so badly to make things right, but if she didn't want this, didn't want him anymore, he understood.

Sanna murmured, calm and soothing, as Theron's shoulders shook and his chest heaved, gently rubbing his back, her other fingers curled around the back of his neck. He told her how much he hated what he'd done, working for the Order; hated himself for the things he'd done at their request, in their name. Was he any better than they were? They did it to destroy, but he'd done it to protect. He didn't think the distinction made that much of a difference, though.

“Shh, it's all right, Theron. You're all right; I'm here, it's okay,” she hummed, echoing the soft comfort he'd always offered to settle her after a nightmare. The memory brought a bittersweet smile to his lips and he kissed her collarbone, declaring his love for her once again. “Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. No, I forgive you, we’ll be okay. We’ll make this work, sweet.” Sanna's words provided a healing balm that he tried to ignore: he didn't deserve her forgiveness, but she offered it so freely, so lovingly.

His tears had run their course, and Theron nuzzled her neck with his nose. “Stars above, I love you.” She gave a contented hum, squeezing him close.

Before his return home to Odessen, her hesitancy to respond in kind would have torn him to pieces, but he understood now. She still cared for him, loved him; her actions spoke louder than those three little words that had taken them both far too long to say. She could take as much time as she needed to say them again. It didn’t matter, so long as she wanted him by her side.

“I forgive you, a thousand times over,” she whispered in his ear, her arms still twined around his neck, resting on his shoulders. “Tell you what: I'll keep working on letting go of the hurt and the anger like a good little Jedi, and you can work on forgiving yourself.” Before Theron could protest, Sanna continued, her head resting on his. “I can feel it, you know: all the guilt that tries to smother you every time you think about... about your time with the Order. Our link isn’t the same as it was before, not yet, but I can feel it. And it breaks my heart.” She sniffled and tightened her embrace. “I need you to look at me and... and I need you to see me, Vassanna, not just some priceless family heirloom that you accidentally knocked over and broke into a million pieces. Because that's what it feels like and, oh stars, I can't...”

He nodded, his breath even once more. “I'll try, sweetheart. I–” Theron's next sentence disappeared with a groan as the room swam before his eyes. Sanna's arms tightened around him, his anchor at sea.

He blinked, opening his eyes to find himself on his back, her features – that beautiful face he'd missed so much – floating above him. Confusion furrowed his brows. Wait, was he actually home? Or was he dreaming again? Either way, he begged her not to leave him, not to sleep on the couch. He needed her to stay, please stay, he needed...

“Shh, it's okay, Theron.” Sanna twined her fingers with his, bringing the back of his hand to her lips, and the world pivoted sharply on the wrong axis.

Ah, fuck me, he thought as he tried to steady his vision, blinking to bring the room back to rights. A delicate snort came from his Jedi.

“No, my sweet,” she said, amusement dancing in her voice. “You're in no condition for fucking.”

“What?” he asked, dazed. Why had she brought up... shit, had he said that out loud?

“Yes, you did say that out loud. And I thought it was a rather clever response, too. But it’s all right. Just relax, Theron. Rest.”

“But you... no, don’t go.” Her hand was cool on his forehead and stars above, he’d missed her. He tightened his grip on her other hand, desperation clawing at his heart, and stared into her eyes, memorizing every fleck of amethyst. “Stay with me. Please, Sanna. I missed you so much. I hated joining them, they were terrible, and I hurt you. It killed me to hurt you.” Theron was rambling by this point, his words slurring, jumbled together as they raced from his lips. “Hells, your face. Seeing your face, it broke me. Then that damned droid sent a vid of you after our call and you cried. You cried and it was because of me, because I hurt you. I hurt you and I have to fix it but I don't know how. Stars help me, I don't know how. And I'm terrified that I'm gonna lose you because I don't know how to fix it. I have to...”

“Hush, Theron, it'll be all right.” She bestowed a kiss on his forehead, the light scent of her shampoo wafting past his nose. “I'm not going anywhere. Sleep now. Rest, and I'll be right here when you wake up. I promise.”

His vision faded to black, eyes fluttering closed, but Theron's fears and worries disappeared as a beautiful, golden warmth filled his heart. She'd promised, and Sanna had never let him down before.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 3 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

"You'll never believe what happened today," Len says, settling into the chair next to Mick's bed. He's panting lightly, trying to regain his breath, and his skin is covered by a sheen of sweat; he was a little late, and he suspects his physical therapist took those two minutes out on him.

Shlomit has no mercy.

To be fair, mercy isn't what he's paying her for. Little by painful little, Len is getting better. No one can deny it, not even Shlomit, and she's even agreed to let him try out maybe using a more discreet leg brace instead of always using his good friends the crutches.

Fucking bullets. It's been four months already, but the bullet to his leg tore through muscle and nerves at a bad angle and the bullet to his gut nicked his spine in a dangerous fashion, and he maybe - maybe! - went back to work a little too fast and tore up a whole bunch of stuff again.

So even after all this time, he’s still here.

He can't wait to be up and about and able to move freely again. The new leg brace - accompanied by a back brace to help keep his spine straight - won't give him that, especially since he's only allowed to use it for an hour or two a day in the beginning, but still, it's progress.

Len is determined to make progress.

(And if that's in part because Len can't quite crush the superstitious hope that the second he no longer needs Shlomit's services, Mick will finally wake up and be the one in need of them? No one needs to know that.)

"No, really," he says to Mick, whose eyes are closed today. Sometimes they're open, and he gargles words without meaning, and hope will seize at Len's heart only to break it all over again when nothing comes of it. The doctors say it's a good sign, a promising sign, that it means there's hope that Mick will wake up out soon, but they've been saying that for a month or more. "Today was, quite literally, unbelievable."

He settles down more comfortably in his chair so that he has a good view of the window. He doesn't look at Mick; not looking makes it easier to pretend that Mick's not actually comatose in a hospital room. That instead he's just lying in bed, too lazy to bother getting up, listening to Len ramble on about whatever-and-nothing as always while rolling his eyes and humoring him with an occasional grunt and a "Sure, boss, whatever you say" or two that Len can imagine so well that sometimes he feels like he can almost hear it.

"Let me start at the very beginning - a very good place to start," he tacks on, unable to help it. Mick likes musicals; Len has no idea where that came from, but Mick took it upon himself to ensure that Len was appropriately educated as to them and now Len keeps dropping references into conversation no matter who he's around - fellow criminals, dangerous gangers, or the Police Commissioner, to name a few semi-recent examples.

It's embarrassing, is what it is.

"I had court in the morning,” Len continues, “the last bit of testifying against Cichowski - he's the one I told you about, the cop who was taking bribes from the Families to slow-walk certain investigations so they had a chance to cover up the evidence? Anyway, that was harrowing enough, given that the defense brought in his weeping wife and a whole wall of blue to sit out there in the audience, glaring death at me like that would make me think twice about what I was doing or stutter or something. Didn’t work, of course; I don’t regret testifying for a second. After all, no one made him take those bribes..."

Len's a cold-hearted sonovabitch, he’s the first to admit it (and he's pretty sure his mother would agree with him that Lewis is a total bitch), but the whole experience had still been fairly awful even by his unduly elevated standards.

The first person to go down for corruption in a given precinct is always the hardest, because the assholes always think their precious blue line will save them right up until the moment it doesn't.

Cichowski had been the first one in this precinct.

At least Singh’d had the dignity not to show up.

Len'd finished up his testimony in the morning, last one to go before closing arguments because the defense wanted one last try at breaking his story as their last desperate hope of victory. It hadn't worked, of course. And then during the midday break Cichowski's wife somehow got ‘accidentally’ let into the same hallway as Len – accidentally, his crippled ass – and she took advantage of the fact that he moved slowly to come right up to him and start screaming about how he was destroying her husband's life, and her life, and the lives of her little boys, five and three, and didn't he feel any shame about it?

"I didn't make him take bribes just because he couldn't afford to buy that fancy house of yours without 'em," Len pointed out to her. "That was all his own doing."

"Is that what a good man's life is worth to you?" she spit at him. "Sure, he took a few hundred dollars -" Wrong by an extremely large magnitude; Len's seen the figures. "- of course he did, they're the Families, this is Central; you don't cross the Families, not in this town, but he didn't do anything that wrong -"

"We have proof of him dragging his feet on investigations -" Len started to say, since he didn’t want to get into the issue of the Families.

Honestly, he doesn’t blame most people for giving in to Family pressure; Central City is what it is and all the clean-up in the world is still just starting to make a dent for the first time in forever. It’s just that he believes that people who are willing to give in to the Families have no business becoming or being or remaining cops. Cichoswki should've turned in his badge the second after he took the first bribe - he could've gone to work in security or something, and Len would've not thought twice about him.

"So he went slow a few times!" she shouted. "That's not that bad!"

Len isn't exactly proud of how he reacted to that.

He gave her his best smile filled with bared teeth and his iciest glare, the one he perfected on Family gangsters instead of suburban housewives, and while she was still quailing a bit from that, he asked, "Do you know, Mrs. Cichoswki, that most kidnapping cases are solved in the first twenty-four hours, or not at all?"

"I - what?"

"You've got about twenty-four, maybe forty-eight hours to get a good lead," he repeated. "I mention that only because your husband was assigned several kidnapping cases, during the period he was getting paid off."

"I -"

"You've got two kids, dontcha, Mrs. Cichowski? Five and three, you said. And if you go back to the house where you left 'em today and the babysitter meets you at the door in tears and tells you one of 'em just got snatched by some man in a van, but don't worry, she's called the police, and they say don't you worry, ma'am, they'll be getting right on it - well, Mrs. Cichowski, I guess you'll be just fine if they're just a bit slow getting on it, won't you? Maybe they take an extra couple of days here, couple of free weekends there, that’s no problem by your standards, ain't that right, Mrs. Cichowski? You wouldn't hold it against 'em if they traded a bit of speed and your darling baby's best chance of rescue in exchange for, what'd you call it, a few hundred bucks?"

She was quiet, pale-faced and tight-lipped.

"I mean, maybe it's just that you don't give a fuck as long as it's other people's kids your husband's selling out, but hey, what do I know? Maybe it’s more straightforward – just, y’know, fuck the kid, right? You can always have another, s’long as the money’s good enough," Len added, unable to keep himself from doing it because he's an asshole like that, because he hates corruption so much it overcomes his self-control sometimes, and - and, well, because he's seen all too well the sort of parent a corrupt cop can be.

Of course, that's when she went for his face, nails extended.

Luckily, the court officer was there nearby and yanked her away before she did any actual damage – or, more accurately, before Len was forced to bash her over the head with his crutch to ensure that she didn’t cause any actual damage.

He didn’t press charges, of course. No need; the inevitable guilty verdict came down less than twenty minutes later, and he figured that was punishment enough.

Still.

What a fucking day.

"So that's how it started," Len tells Mick, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know, I probably shoulda been a bit more sympathetic about it, her losing the nice safe foundations of her life like that - losing the father of her kids, probably losing the main family income, not to mention Cichowski's pension - fuck it, Mick, you're such a goddamn softy, leave off! I only reacted that way 'cause I'm all but sure she knew what he was up to and couldn’t actually bring herself to care until the consequences started coming home to roost."

He shakes his head, his eyes closed as he imagines the smirk on Mick's face turning into a mock glare as Len impugns his impartiality and general pretended attitude of apathy towards the world, not that Len's ever really believed in that anyway.

If Mick was really apathetic about it all, he wouldn't be here.

He wouldn't -

No. Len's not thinking about what ifs now. He's not thinking about Mick.

He’s not thinking about Mick’s well-hidden kindness and sympathy, about the way he always pretended to be tough but always checked in to make sure people were doing okay, even people he didn’t know, just because that’s the way he is – or at least, was –

No.

He’s not thinking about Mick.

He's talking about his day.

"Anyway," Len says, clearing his throat. "That's not even the interesting part, you know? I went back to the office after that -"

And arrived to face a solid wall of angry, hateful eyes.

That was fine. He’d been expecting that.

" - and, well, I figured I could do with a bit of time outside the office, doing something else."

He remembers seeing Danvers' worried face through that crowd of implacable rage. He waved jauntily at her before he left, calling out cheerfully that he’d be in later because he had another appointment he needed to get to, and she looked relieved that he wasn't going to throw the precinct’s newfound vulnerability back in their faces.

Maybe on another day he would, but not today. He’s a spiteful asshole, but he’s not dumb enough to incite a full-on riot among armed police.

"Didn't really have all that much to do outside, though," Len says, making a face. "Office filled with pissed off pigs, all of our favorite bars are filled with Family informants ready to tell their masters that they have a good clear shot at me, all our old haunts -" Too empty to go to, without Mick. "- and even Allen was too busy to talk when I swung by Jitters."

Len pauses, imagining Mick's response to that and smiling. He's maybe mentioned Allen a time or twenty.

Or maybe more.

And Mick's always been the number one fan of Len's love-life - or, perhaps more accurately, the number one critic of Len's lack thereof.

"Okay, yeah," he says. "You've got me. I like the kid. Doesn't mean I ain't gonna nail him to the ground - not like that, you jackass, get your mind outta the gutter - when I find out what lies he's been cooking up."

He winces a little at that, his smile fading away. It'd been good to see Allen that morning - Allen has an infectious sort of joy about him that's positively catching - but Len is investigating him, not making friends.

And certainly not dating, no matter how attractive Allen is.

That's why he's already regretting their scheduled dinner, at least a little. Yes, it'd be good to get more info from the main source, especially since he'll have a few hours to work on Allen rather than the five-ten-fifteen minute intervals they’ve had so far, but doing the investigation personally like this will only heighten the betrayal when Allen eventually gets dragged away to prison on corruption charges.

Len can see his face now, upset and hurt and angry and shocked and horrified, just like that woman from this morning...

He doesn't want to see that.

But unluckily for Allen, Len's very good at betrayal - as Mick could testify.

If he ever wakes up, that is.

"Anyway," Len says, putting the Allen question from his mind for now and ignoring the pang at the thought of sweet, smiling Allen stuck in the harshness of Iron Heights. Honestly, Allen has the sort of personality that would probably let him make friends even in there - not that that would help make it any less of a miserable pit to be in - not that the fact that Allen would be sad to be in prison even matters, since if he was there, it’d be because Allen'd chosen to be corrupt in the first place, bringing all the consequences down on his own head. "As I was saying, I didn't have anything better to do, so I ended up ringing a few old buddies of ours - neutrals, all, the sort that'd sell to anyone, even cops, the dirty ratfuckers that they are, but they're all I've got left right now, being as I got outed as a pig myself – and long story short, they got me a heads up about an absolute beaut of a job about to go down on Grand."

He smiles a little at that. One of the biggest perks of being in Internal Affairs is that his mandate generally applies to cops, not criminals. Sure, strictly speaking he ought to be stopping any illegal conduct he sees happening, and of course he won't hesitate to call for back-up if he sees something that'll actually harm people, but a nice clean in-transit robbery conducted by a reputable thief known for covering all the angles and minimizing casualties?

Nah.

He’ll leave that for the ‘real’ cops to stop, if they can.

Besides, as an IA guy, it's good for Len to know which armored car drivers can be bought.

"You'd have loved to hate this one," Len assures Mick. "Guy got a decent crew together; had liquid nitrogen portable backpack form to pop the door; pulled out to chase the truck in motorbikes the second the truck passed Friedman, gave the driver a goose to scare him into going faster before coming in for the final hit, then caught him right in that sweet spot between Glenview and Highwood, with all the police over two minutes thirteen seconds away and shouting about it helplessly on their speakers - beautiful. Just beautiful."

Len feels his smile go a bit wicked. "Pity it didn't help them."

He shakes his head, his smile fading back into seriousness.

"The job was planned out perfectly," he tells Mick. "Perfectly, and you know how rare it is that I say that. Hell, this is the sort of thing I’d’ve put together, back in the day. It should've worked. But - you remember how I told you that Danvers was getting really into this one blog about weird events in Central? How she kept nattering on about some sort of weird 'streak' phenomena and I laughed her off?"

He makes a face. "Turns out I owe her an apology -"

He'll buy her a super-jumbo box of donuts the way he always does; she’s a sugar fiend.

"- because the Streak itself showed up to mess the job up."

Mess it up thoroughly, no less. Not only were the crew unable to get their target (a super-sized diamond of all dumb things – who were they even going to fence something like that to, anyhow?), they'd tried to fire at the blur of light and ended up scratching one of the bought-off guards, who promptly got whisked away by the Streak to a nearby hospital (Len'd called and checked – the guy was fine).

"That got my attention, though," Len says. "How'd a local phenomenon like that know how to stop a crime? Or to take someone to a hospital after they got shot? That's sentience, that's what it is. Thinking. So I got curious and pulled the surveillance tapes. And you'll never guess what I found."

He pulls the laptop out of his bag and flips it open, looking at the image that's still frozen on his screen.

"Looks like our Streak ain't an it. It's a him."

A figure barely visible, more a blur than anything else, but with a definitely visible hand, a raised arm, and the outlines of a head. A human being; one moving too fast to be spotted naturally, yes, but a human being regardless.

A human being who is choosing to fight crime on his own, without authorization, without working with the justice system, without being watched over to keep to the rules.

A vigilante.

In Len's own city.

How dare he.

Len bets this guy was inspired by that shadowy Hood vigilante over in Starling, that hypocritical murderous fuck. Maybe even there was some inspiration from that old time urban legend over in Gotham, the shadow Bat that supposedly stalks the streets at night meting out Gotham-style justice without any restraint, leaving broken bones and concussions and worse in its wake.

And sure, maybe this one's just starting by messing up crimes in progress, but Len knows far, far too well how quickly things go wrong when someone who views themselves as enforcing the law starts thinking of themselves as being above the law.

He wonders grimly how soon it'll be before the deaths start. Death, served quick as a blink and the perp gone in a flash. Best way to be sure a criminal won’t re-offend or betray you, after all...

(if you're in, you're in - and if you're out...)

Len stares at the image a moment longer, then shakes his head to dispel the memories. He leans over towards the bed to show the image to the still-quiet Mick. Even though he knows it's dumb, the thought of not showing Mick, of not pretending that Mick can actually hear him despite his deep sleep...it's too painful to contemplate.

He puts the laptop away.

"Anyway, I'm having Danvers dig into all the mysterious shit that's been going on in the city recently," Len continues. "She’s real good at that stuff – runs in the family, apparently; she’s got a cousin who’s an investigative journalist, I think? Either way, she’s looking at everything: murders, disappearances, the like. Gonna pull on my underground contacts, too; see if they've heard anything, seen anything. No one ever pays attention to the cardboard brigade."

Len's got no idea who first thought to organize the homeless people in Central City into an information network, setting up a central station where upstanding criminals like Len can go ask a question and have it be spread out all over the city, and, in return for the opportunity or the intel he gets, he pays regularly into a distribution fund that keeps all the homeless in the city (both informants and otherwise) fed and in coats and shoes.

Len's never been bad enough off to have to join their ranks, but it's been close a time or two, the times when he couldn't access any of his legit money without blowing his cover and he couldn't get enough illegal work in to cover expenses. Mick helped him then, too, just as Len helped him whenever he got kicked out of yet another place for lighting fires...

Don't think about the past. It brings nothing but pain.

He shakes his head and forces himself to continue.

"Now, I know what you're going to ask -"

If Mick ever wakes up, that is, which he might not. Looks like the future isn't safe to think about either.

Clearly Len's going to have to embrace living in the now.

"- and I'm at least 90% sure that he ain't a robot. No, I don't know how he's moving that fast, maybe some sort of super-suit tech or something, but the way he moves, that raised hand like a runner? That’s definitely organic."

Len pauses, frowns, thinks about Mick's response - it'd be snide, of course, and insisting that he hates all of Len's stupid sci-fi shows and movies even though they're no stupider than Mick's own dumb ninja thing, and yet also usually insightful.

"Could be technorganic, sure," he concedes, caught on an intriguing line of thought. "Like the ones in that film you like ragging on so much, yeah. And if he-she-them-it is like that film, then yeah, it's possible that they're - he's? - communicating with something, or someone, and getting instructions from a distance like a drone...huh. Y’know, if he's corresponding with some sort of main entity - there could be radio transmissions, or over-Internet transmissions using the local WiFi. If I could just figure out another place where the Streak's likely to be, maybe manage to stall him a bit before he runs onwards, I might be able to tap into that communication line. If he's talking with someone, that can't be at super-speed or else it'd be unintelligible on their end."

Len starts to smile. "And it won't be all that hard to set up a place where he'll be, either, assuming he's tapped into the local police radio to hear all about ongoing crimes for him to stop. No – don’t worry, Mick, I’m not gonna go up against a super-speed vigilante blind! I could get some untraceable weapons from that fence, you remember him, Bertolli; he’s always good for some stolen stuff. Yeah, yeah, I know, I’m a pig now, I’ve got a licensed pea-shooter and everything, but if I use stolen hardware to start, that means that even with the best surveillance in the world, the Streak won’t realize I'm a cop until I’ve laid eyes on him. Of course, before I get to that, I need to get some place that’ll agree to me using it as an ambush point -"

And best of all, it would be fun. That old adrenaline rush of planning and executing a job...sure, hunting vigilantes isn’t quite in IA's bailiwick, but whatever, IA or no IA, he's still a cop.

Might as well use that fact.

Len grins at Mick. "Good ideas all," he says happily. "I wouldn't have thought of it without needing to defend myself from you on your usual bullshit. As always, you're a real lifesaver -"

Len's voice catches in his throat.

Lifesaver.

How true that is.

He breathes in, long and slow and shaky, and exhales it all out again, the way he always does whenever he remembers – as he always remembers – that terrible day when he thought he was going to die, and in the process lost one of the few reasons he had to live.

Len never even got a chance to tell Mick the truth about himself.

Never told him - anything.

Never told Mick how much Len appreciated him, never told him that he was Len's best friend, his brother, that he loved him and that he’d always love him no matter what was between them, never told him that Len never meant to hurt him by keeping all those secrets - all those lies -

"I asked Allen out," Len says abruptly, desperately casting out for another subject to talk about. He can’t think about that. He can’t. "Not on a date, of course; that’d be unethical. Just a dinner to learn more about him. Danvers' idea, she has this stupid idea that I should date him, but just because that's a terrible idea doesn't mean that going to dinner with him isn't a decent one. I've already figured out that he's Doc Allen's kid, you remember, that guy from Iron Heights, the wrongly accused one, but if anything that counts in his favor -"

No, he can't. He can’t do this. He can't stop the thoughts, the feeling of failure, of guilt, of sorrow.

He leans forward in his chair, exhaling hard, dropping his head into his hands and pressing at his temples like he can keep the thoughts away by physical force.

"I'm not going to dinner with Allen just because I like him. It's because I don't have anyone else to go with," he admits, his throat sore and tight. "I don't - I don't make friends easy, you know that. Lisa's off living her own life – we still talk, you know, but she’s not – she hasn’t been – it’s okay, really. It’s just I don’t think she’s entirely forgiven me for getting hurt, after all the times I promised her that no matter all the risks I was taking, that I’d be fine. I broke that promise. She’s still pissed, and you know how we Snarts hold a grudge. And, I mean, I like Danvers plenty, she’s a peach, but she’s still an employee, and you -"

Len swallows. It hurts. "Well, you know me. I get too caught up with work without you to kick my ass about it, you know how it is. And this Allen kid -"

He scrubs at his face. If he were anyone else, he'd say his eyes were getting wet, but he's him, so they're not.

"He's nice," he says. "He's - he's fun, for what little I know of him. Really fun, not the put-on-a-charming-face fun that I put on for marks. And I know you'd be telling me I ought to drop the work inquiry, just let it go, focus on the real bad guys and date the one that's just a maybe-criminal because lord knows it's hard to find someone who meets my ridiculous standards, I know that's what you'd be telling me, but - I can't. I can't. He disappeared for nine months, Mick. Nine months unaccounted for -"

Len's hands are trembling.

"Nine months in a coma, supposedly," he says bleakly, staring at his hands, watching them shake uncontrollably. The tools of his trade, when he was a criminal, his most prized possession, and now look at them. His dad would’ve called the whole thing a disgrace. "And that's the problem, ain't it? Nine months. You’re almost halfway there already. It’ll be nine months soon enough. Nine months in a coma...that's how I know he's got to be corrupt. That he’s got to be hiding something. ‘cause the docs have told me all about what I ought to expect when - if - you wake up, and exactly none of it is running around the city with a brand new set of abs in the best physical shape of your life."

Len closes his eyes.

"He's got to be corrupt," he repeats, even though every time he's met Allen in person his instincts scream at him that Allen's not, that Allen's sincere, that Allen's one of those rarest of rare creatures, the honest policeman. CSI, whatever. The good man. Just like old Doc Allen, back in prison, the way Len had taken one look at him and known that the guy hadn’t murdered his wife, he really hadn't, no matter what the accusation said, and the only reason he isn’t still appealing his unfair sentence is because he’s given up. Just like Len's always known that Mick’s a good man, too, underneath the violence and the pyromania; the way Len knows down to his bones that Mick’s the best man he’s ever met or will ever meet. "You don't understand, Mick, he's got to be. There's no choice in it for me. Because if he ain't corrupt - if he's telling the truth -"

He looks at Mick, forces himself to look at Mick as he is right now, not as Len likes to imagine him to be, but the way he really is: lying there like a lump, still and unresponsive, his muscle mass slowly starting to fade away and atrophy despite the best efforts of medical science, connected to a dozen wires and other machines that stand imposing and silent and are the only things keeping him alive now that his body has decided it doesn't want to do the work itself. Burns everywhere, even after the skin grafts; snarls of raised white scar tissue and shiny angry red marks instead of flesh, still healing so very slowly all these months later.

The damage done – to the muscle, to the nerves, to the bone, to the heart, the lungs, all of his insides – damage that would take years to fully recover from, even by the best possible estimate –

"If he's telling the truth," Len says, refusing to tear his eyes away. Forcing himself to look at what he’s done. "If he's telling the truth, then I might start hoping for a miracle again. And I can't, Mick. Not another disappointment. Not another heartbreak. Not another hope for me to make an ass out of myself over, just for the meagerest chance that you might wake up and be yourself again, just like before. I – I can't go through that again, Mick. I can’t. And that's a shitty reason to go after someone, I know it is, even if he probably is corrupt, but - I've got to do this. I have to know. You know how obsessive I get when I've got my teeth in something."

Mick doesn't respond, because he's not actually listening. He's in a coma. A coma Len's responsible for.

"I've been eating badly, without you," Len tells him. "The way I always do. You'd be pissed at me for letting myself go this way."

Nothing.

As always, nothing.

"Please," he says, and Leonard Snart never says please to anyone. He never begs anyone for anything, not even for his very life, but he's begging now. "Please, Mick. Even if it's to yell at me about my diet or to make fun of me for my crush on Allen, I don't care. I don't - I won't even care if you hate me for being a pig when you wake up, or if you think I betrayed you, or if you never want to see me again, just as long as I know that you're okay. Just - please."

Len buries his face in his hands.

He doesn’t cry – he can’t; his father beat it out of him years ago. But somehow his shoulders keep shaking.

"Please wake up."