#maybe my neighbour has decided to keep bees?? that doesn’t seem like something he’d do since he doesn’t like any animals or people

[fingertipsmp3]

Hi yes for the love of god hello. Why the fuck can I hear bees or wasps or some other sort of buzzing insect, either in my walls or in my neighbour’s living room, in January

[whumpiary]

continued from here, companion piece to this and this

-

All Josiah wants when he hears the knock at the door is Mal’s reassuring smile, an easy hug, the gentle squeeze of his arm that tells him everything is going to be fine. Besides the need for medical expertise, it’s the reason Josiah had called him. Apparently though, when Josiah had called, asked quietly and desperately for Mal’s help with a drugged-out friend, he’d forgotten the three magic words: don’t tell Lou.

He must have, because that’s more or less the only explanation for the 5 feet of leather-clad fury awaiting him when he answers the door.

Lou is easy and laid back most of the time. Quick to joke, quicker to laugh. But for nearly two years now, even the mention of Cass was enough to drain her of humour in a second. And now he’s here. And Josiah had been keeping it from her. Leather-clad fury was probably an understatement.

“Where is he?” 

She’s already trying to push through the door as she speaks. Josiah barely blocks her step with a foot.

“Hi Lou, I’m good, how are you?”

Mal meets his eyes over Lou’s shoulder, raises his finger with an apologetic salute.

“Back room?” he asks.

“My bedroom,” Josiah says, shifting barely enough to let the nurse slide past “Thanks, Mal.”

Mal gives Josiah’s shoulder a quick squeeze as he passes, and the comfort it floods him with is nearly embarrassing. He barely has time to block the doorway again as Lou makes another move to pass. 

“You’re not coming in.”

“Like hell I’m not,” she spits, teeth bared between purple lipstick “I’m gonna kill him.”

“I’m not doing this, Lou, I’m tired. You can come in, calm down, and have a cup of tea or you can leave.”

Lou looks like she might hit him, shifting from foot to foot like a boxer. She opens her mouth to say something, closes it again, before spinning around to let her rage out on a nearby pot-plant. 

“Kick my fern and die,” he warns. She stamps her foot down with a grunt, makes a sound like she’s considering screaming out the excess aggression but doesn’t want to worry the neighbours. Josiah waits.

Lou leans her back against the balcony railing and seems to swallow down a pintful of violence before screwing her eyes shut, running her hands over her shaved head and looking at the sky as she takes deep breaths. They’re so specific and measured, Josiah can count them out.

In for six, hold for four, out for six. In for six, hold for four, out for six.

And Josiah waits.

The wind curls around the house and eventually, Lou open her eyes again, fuse longer but clearly still smouldering. Her are arms crossed in a way that suggests they’d be strangling something if she didn’t have them so carefully folded.

“You better have chamomile.”

Josiah steps aside and Lou pushes past maybe a little too roughly but calmly enough. Josiah takes a deep breath before stepping after her, thanking anyone who’s listening that he’d had time to tidy up the living room before Lou could have that to get angry at as well. But by the time Josiah’s followed her, Lou has bypassed living room and headed straight into the upturned kitchen. Of course. 

She looks around pointedly before sitting herself at the stool by the bench, holding Josiah’s gaze as she does. “We can have the tea in here, right?”

He clenches his jaw. He knows what she’s doing. She’s waiting for him to tell her that the mess in here is making him uncomfortable and that she should move to the couch. To tell her that she’s sitting too close right now for him to turn his back to her. To tell her that he can’t handle this, that he should have called her sooner, that he’s about to go backwards. But he doesn’t tell her any of that. Because he’s fine. Because he is handling this.  

“No problem,” he says, forcing a smile. Only a little bit of disdain sneaks through “Loose leaf or bag?”

“Loose. Make a pot, Mal will have some too”

She leans forward on her arms and begins tapping her finger nails on the bench with a tatatatat, tatatatat. Another test. Tatatatat.

Josiah leans against the bench for a moment, taking a deep breath before straightening up again and flicking the kettle on. Lou’s a bitch when she wants to be.

“Love what you’ve done with the place, by the way,” Lou says, picking up a rogue fork with one hand while the other tatatatats “Really gives the place that ransacked Airbnb feel I know you love”

Josiah scoops chamomile into the strainer and takes a deep breath. Tatatatat.

“Honey?” he asks, fetching a spoon. 

Tatatatat.

“I would, but by the looks, you’d have to scrape it off the tiles”

Tatatatat. Tatatatat. Tatatatat.

“Calming down was part of the arrangement,” he says, reminding himself as much as Lou.

“I am calm,” she says, shrugging. The steel in her eyes only betrays her a little “I’m not going to just not talk about this, Jos.”

“Nothing to talk about,” Josiah shrugs, turning his back. He doesn’t look at her as he fetches mugs “Cass showed up, he looked sick, I called Mal, end of.”

Lou nods slowly, tatatatat, tatatatat, “And then you decided to turn your own house upside down for fun, did you?”

Josiah slams the cupboard draw shut harder than it needs, wheeling around to face her, and catching her hand flat against the bench to stop the sound. He manages to keep his tone relatively even, despite the anger bubbling hot in his chest.

“I’ve had a long fucking day, Lou, are you going to stop being an asshole or are you going to leave?”

“Depends. Are you gonna tell me what actually happened here, or am I gonna go ask Ace myself?”

“I told you what happened, you just don’t like the story.”

“What I don’t like is being lied to.”

Josiah grunts and pushes away from her. He leans back against the stove, resisting the urge to press his hand to his head, which is starting to pound again, to the back of his neck which is starting to itch. He closes his eyes. Weighs his options.

If Lou finds out Cass has been here the better part of a week, Josiah’s never gonna hear the goddamn end of it. There’ll be yelling and you should have called me and your safety needs to be a priority and she’ll be so disappointed in him. Not that the last part matters, he reminds himself, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Not that it matters, it’ll just be annoying. 

“He came yesterday,” he mutters, trying his very best to look resigned and wrung through. If lies look beaten out of you, they seem honest. Then partial truth to sell it. “I just… left to get some milk. And by the time I came back, he’d freaked out. Turned the house sideways. Kept saying I’d drugged him.”

“Had you?”

The glare he fixes her with is violent enough that, for maybe only the second time since he’s known her, Josiah watches Lou shrink in instant regret.

“Sorry,” she says. She means it. 

It’s quiet for a moment as the tea brews. Josiah swirls the pot a little, hoping to make the leaves steep faster. He knows it doesn’t do much, but it helps to have something to do with his hands. 

“I’m sorry. I know you’re not… It’s not…” Lou stumbles for words, spinning the fork idly. It really helps to have something to do with your hands. “Cass just… scares me. He really scares me. Especially around you.”

The comment hits Josiah like a bullet to the chest, and he sucks in a breath trying to shove down the flare of anger that hits him. Despite popular opinion, he’s not a helpless, naive moron being led astray by pretty people with ill intentions. He doesn’t need her fear. He doesn’t want her pity.

“I’m not some fucking waif, Lou,” he grinds out. He pours the tea.

“Come on Jos, you know that’s not what I meant,” she says and that hard line is back in her voice “What if he’s working with Tucker again? Or someone else?”

Josiah doesn’t answer. He’s thought of this. Of course he’s fucking thought of this, she needs to leave it.

“If he is, I’ll handle it.”

“Yeah? How did that go last time?”

He clenches his hands into fists. He doesn’t need reminders about last time. He has enough reminders about last time. He feels his heart in his throat.

“Cass is a time bomb,” Lou says, and her voice is soft and pained. Gentle in a way she isn’t often “When there’s a time bomb in your house you call in the bomb squad, you don’t wait for it to blow up in your face.”

“I called Mal.”

“You should have called me.”

“Calling you wouldn’t have been calling in the bomb squad it would’ve been pulling the pin on a grenade.”

There’s a strike of wounding in her face at that, but understanding too. She knows he’s right.

“What happens when he names you, Jos?” she whispers, and for a second Josiah swears there’s a shake in her voice. “Are you gonna handle that too or do I just have to be okay with losing you again?”

Josiah sags and reaches for her hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze. Old signals. This is why she wasn’t meant to know Cass was back. This is why she shouldn’t be here. 

“It wasn’t like that this time, Lou,” he says “He didn’t-”

But Lou pulls her hand away, like he’s burnt her. Any gentleness is gone from her face, replaced with shock and hard steel.

“I’m sorry… what wasn’t like that this time?” her voice is sharp, loud, probably audible from the other room. Her heart is beating so hard that Josiah can see it in the pulse of the necklace she’s wearing. She laughs and it’s bitter and cold and disbelieving. He sucks in a breath, like bracing for a hit. 

“He’s already fucking named you, hasn’t he?” she says. He doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t need to. The stool crashes to the ground as she stands “Oh, I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

Lou’s already moving before she even finishes speaking, making a bee-line for the bedroom. She’s moving fast enough that despite the pace difference between them, she’s already made it to the hallway by the time Josiah can cut her off. He slams a hand to the wall, blocking the narrow path.

“Move,” she growls. He stays still, shakes his head, knows she won’t risk pushing past him.

"Not even twenty four hours and he’s in your head again,” her voice is a snarl, vicious and low “Is that why you’re so calm? Is that why you’re suddenly fine with that piece of shit in your bed?”

She doesn’t mean it to be cruel or maybe she does, but either way Josiah feels the shame of it settling in his gut. It wasn’t like that - it isn’t like that. It's… different and he’s different and he is in control. He chose it this time. He chose to bring Cass in, to help him. It was his decision.

“It’s not like that-”

"You’re always defending him. No matter what he does to you, no matter how he hurts you, you’re always defending him.”

“He hasn’t done-”

“This is why you didn’t call, isn’t it?” and she’s not even listening. She doesn’t even care, she’s just barreling on no matter what he says “He made you lie, he made you keep it from me.”

“No, Lou, I chose to keep it from you. I chose to lie. I chose to call Mal because I didn’t want to deal with this- I didn’t want to deal with you, alright?!”

He doesn’t hear the door opening, doesn’t hear Cass’ furious rambling as he pushes through to the hallway. But he sees Lou looking over his shoulder, and sees her face crumpling, hears the breathless, shocked “Cass” that escapes her lips. Then he hears Mal.

“I take it you’ve met my wife?”

Then he sees Cass’ eyes rolling backwards. He only has just enough time to catch him as he faints.

[v177293]

That’s How We Roll

Summary: The silence, heavy with a mixture of disbelief and horror, only lasted for a couple of seconds before the room dissolved into utter chaos. Or in which Saitama is a Dungeon Master for fun and should probably get paid for all the shit he has to deal with.

Word count: ~1800

Note: D&D AU, everyone is as human as can be and there is no running around in capes and thighs (sadly).

It started like any other game night.

Which is to say, Genos spent all day cleaning the apartment from floor to ceiling as if their place wasn’t already spotless, the fading light of the sunset shining through the windows only emphasizing how Saitama could probably see his reflexion on every surface if he wanted to. Weren't it for the fact that he got tired of seeing him run around the place like a busy bee while he was trying to catch up to his latest manga, he was sure the teenager would have forgotten to at least sit down and eat before the day was over. The man could admit he had been a little bit of a slob before Genos decided to all but forcibly become his new roommate, but this was just a whole new level of ridiculous dedication.

Seriously, when the gang came to their place for game night, it always became so much worst.

Like right now.

“You know,” he said with a strange mix of horrified fascination and boredom, “if you keep sweeping the floor like that, I'm pretty sure you're gonna make a hole right through it.”

Genos froze, looking down at the broom in his hands as if seeing it for the first time. “I was only-”

“-obsessively sweeping the same patch you've already cleaned at least five time since this morning?”

“Well, that is-”

“Aw, come on.” While there was something almost cute about seeing him play the regular housemaid while sporting one of the most epic resting bitch face he had ever seen, enough was enough. “Sit down, will you? You're making me dizzy, man.”

“Ah, sorry!” Leaving the broom in a corner, Genos took place next to him, contrite, before perking up slightly after Saitama patted him distractedly on the head, leaving his soft pale hair in disarray as he went back to his manga.

Or at least tried to, only managing to read a couple of pages before the other started fiddling with the different books and miniatures on the table, clearly antsy to start now that the agreed meeting time was almost there.

Not that he had to wait for long; Saitama was just about to tell him to stop fidgeting so much when Mumen rang the door - right on time, as usual -, a smile on his face and a box of store bought cookies in his hands. He probably stopped on the way while riding to their place despite knowing they had more than enough discounted junk food stocked especially for the occasion.

“I know,” his friend answered, slightly sheepish, when Saitama lowered his eyes to the proffered box. “But one can never be too prepared!”

Soon after, King was knocking at the door, the older man joining them in the living room with his usual stone faced awkwardness, greeting them with a nod before taking place at the table. His portable console was already out, ready to wait until the last member of their group deigned to grace them with his presence.

Which could take a while, if past experiences where anything to go by.

Turned out, they were.

It took a good fifteen minutes filled with insults badly disguised as complains from Genos before Sonic finally barged in with a “Hey losers!” To be honest, Saitama was sure the other did it just to piss them off. Not that he was bothered by it, but the man had to admit, seeing how his boyfriend was seething not so silently next to him while glaring hotly at the newcomer, it probably worked.

One day, maybe Genos would finally understand part of the reason Sonic kept doing things like this was because the kid kept rising to the bait. If you ignored him long enough... well, Sonic wouldn't exactly get bored of it, but he'd at least try to bother someone else.

Oh, well. In the end, as long as the other wasn't trying to be a pain in his ass, he didn't particularly care.

They had a game to start anyway.

The story in itself was fairly simple, as far as campaigns went. Not that Saitama was too lazy to come up with a good and fulfilling plot, three dimensional NPCs and compelling quests, but after all these months playing with what had now become his usual group, he'd quickly come to realize one thing: even with all his careful planing and best intentions, they always somehow managed to screw things up.

Every. Single. Time.

Which was why, an hour in the game, the man should have thought a bit more before setting a small group of slightly hostile mercenaries on their path to spice things up. Honestly, they all needed it after Genos and Sonic spent what was admittedly way too much time arguing over who's character was going to sleep on which side of the room of the next inn they were going to encounter.

Sometimes, he couldn't believe he was dating one of those children. Cute or not, he was this close to throwing his pen right in the middle of that pretty face.

“Master!”

Sighing, Saitama gave the teenager the stink eye. “Dammit, Genos, I’ve told you a thousand time to stop calling me that!” Was it really so hard? People were going to start asking weird questions if he kept that up. Only that kid could go around calling his boyfriend master with such a straight face and not care about being heard by someone else.

“But Saitama-san! You’re our Dungeon Master! It is only proper to refer to you by your title!”

Sonic snickered, smirking. “Is that the excuse you use in bed, too? Kinky.”

“You-”

“Alright!” Mumen cut in brightly, lifting a finger to adjust his glasses. “I say we try talking to them. Who knows, this might be a big misunderstanding and if we make them see reason, we wont even need to fight!”

Going by Genos' put out expression, the plan wasn't to his liking. No surprise there, he thought. Kid seems to think heading straight in the middle of the fray is an acceptable reaction for a wizard. Which, to be fair, usually worked in the grand scheme of things since it more or less forced everyone else to follow lest they wanted to be short of a mage. It also more often than not ended with Genos' character KO'd on the floor in dire need of King's healing spells. At this point, though, it was kind of a given that Genos couldn't finish a session without at least one near death experience.

Honestly, his weird fondness – read, obsession – of fire spells was not a good reason to choose a class with so little defence, especially considering how boneheaded he was.

Eyes narrowed and arms crossed tightly across his chest, Genos didn't take long before letting know his far from surprising opinion on the matter. “We can take them. There is only seven of them, we don't need to lose any time talking to those low lives.”

“What about you guys, then?” Mumen looked at the other two, clearly uncomfortable with making any decision before hearing from everyone. Sometimes, Saitama wished he had twenty of him. “Any thoughts on the subject?”

“I, uh,” King started after a short moment of silence before wilting slightly when everyone's eyes turned on him, his voice dying as he caught the full force of Genos' intense stare. “I don't mind either way.”

“See? He doesn't care, so we should just-”

“And now,” Sonic cut in loudly, posing dramatically with the plastic katana he always brought for the occasion drawn towards the ceiling, a self-satisfied grin on his face, “comes the time where I, Speed-of-Sound Sonic, double-crosses you.”

The silence, heavy with a mixture of disbelief and horror, only lasted for a couple of seconds before the room dissolved into utter chaos.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Genos said with a growl in his voice that promised mayhem.

“It means, you numbskull, that my ninja-”

“Rogue,” Saitama said with the long suffering annoyance of someone who've had the same argument one too many time.

“Ninja,” Sonic continued with a side eyed glare in his direction, “thinks that he'd rather align himself with the winners, and clearly, it's not you.”

“Now, everybody, I'm sure we can-” Mumen started, always the voice of reason, before being rudely interrupted by the incensed blonde.

“You perverted asshole, I’m going to fucking incinerate you!”

“I’d like to see you try, you useless piece of trash wizard!”

King wisely kept his mouth shut, his shoulders hunched on themselves as if this could make him a smaller target. An incredible feat, really, for a man of his stature – and not to mention the slightly terrifying and foreboding expression he tended to wear as soon as his nervousness got the better of him. Saitama could all but taste King’s anxiety permeating the air.

Not that he could blame him.

“Master!” Genos' voice was full of determination, his pale golden eyes burning with overwhelming furry as if he had forgotten, once again, that this was only a game. “I cast fireball on the stupid thief!”

Because with everyone's characters standing so close to each other, this was sure to end well.

“Not if I cut your throat first, you brat! Even your lame-ass boyfriend won't be able to save your skin, then!”

“How dare you talk about Saitama-san like this!”

Saitama sighed, silently face palming as Genos disrupted the entire table with a scream of outrage as he went over it to try and strangle Sonic, dices rolling under the furniture with a clatter and snacks spilling on King’s character sheet. The man barely had time to save the picture of his well endowed cleric maiden before it got ruined forever by a handful of greasy party mix.

Sadly, this was another familiar sight on their game nights. And here he'd thought that this time, maybe, hopefully, things could be different. Honestly, he thought as he watched Mumen try to calm the other two down, voice barely audible over the ruckus, once again glad there were no neighbours close enough to get annoyed by all this noise. It’s like I’m a babysitter or something. And I don’t even get pai- oh, no they didn’t.

Yes. Yes, they did. Alright, that was it.

“Oi! Watch my floor, you little shits! You’re spilling soda everywhere!”

His only answer was the shocked howl bursting out of Sonic's throat as Genos suddenly got a hold of his hair.

Seriously. Every damned time.