#step nine is i either get my shit together or i get fired. so uh. that’s fun

[aimeelouart]

How about cursed cloud ending up in a universe where his and Sephiroth's roles were reversed?

The Calamity’s Cursed Child - 1789 words, ASGZC, dimension-hopping, may have a part two later

(Why do all my prompts go off the rails from what I expected? Whatever. I hope you enjoy it anyway!)

--

When Cloud first started bouncing between dimensions, he spent no more than a few minutes in each new world before being sent to the next. Then, slowly, the time between jumps started to stretch. First five minutes, then ten, then thirty, then an hour, then several hours. It was a mixed blessing at best. If he was in a good world, or at least a world that lacked the power to subdue him, then he had a chance to rest. If it was not, then he...endured. 

Always, he endured.

This newest world took all of three seconds to go sideways, and his only saving grace was that the previous world had afforded him nearly four uninterrupted hours of sleep. He drew in a breath as the buzzing faded, immediately diving to the side and smoothly drawing Tsurugi as he heard the whistle of air over a sword’s keen blade.

Sephiroth stood across from him, silver hair rippling in the wind. Cloud had narrowly avoided being impaled by Masamune for the...well, he’d long since lost track of the number of times he’d been impaled on that blade, actually.

Cloud wasn’t surprised. In fact, it was such a familiar scenario that he didn’t feel much of anything. He didn’t speak. He didn’t attack. He waited, ready to act once this Sephiroth revealed what kind of man he was. If he had to fight, he would. If it was better to flee, he would. He had neither pride nor preference left in him.

“Strife,” Sephiroth said, voice hard. 

Ah. That was a new one. Cloud cocked his head to the side. Sephiroth either called him Cloud, possessive as a hand around his throat, or he didn’t recognize him at all. Cloud had never been addressed with the cold distance of Strife before.

Zack was by Sephiroth’s side, expression equally hard. It wasn’t the first time Zack had been hostile to him, but it still burned like a physical wound. “How are you back, Strife?” he spat, sword in hand. “Haven’t we killed you enough already?”

Ah. Ah. Cloud thought he finally had an idea of what was going on. Well, this would either give him another chance to rest or he would be playing an unpleasant game of high-stakes tag against a mirror-image of the family he once knew. He blinked at them tiredly and spoke, not quite ready to holster Tsurugi yet: “Ah. No. I’m not the ‘Strife’ you know. Knew. The opposite, really. I’ve come from a different dimension entirely and I have no wish to fight you.”

Zack scoffed. “You expect us to believe that? After what you did?”

But Sephiroth held up a hand. “Wait. Zack, does he not look different to you?”

Cloud just stood silent, endlessly patient as the two SOLDIERs examined him closely. Zack’s expression in particular slowly melted from angry, wounded hostility to wary confusion. 

“Yeah,” Zack said eventually, tensed muscles relaxing. His eyes lingered on Cloud’s. “Yeah, he does.”

Cloud took a risk, slinging Tsurugi back over his shoulder and locking it to the magnetic holster. They might still try to kill him, but now he would have enough warning to bolt. In response, they slowly lowered their own weapons, though neither fully put them away.

“...Cloud?” Zack asked, soft, cautious...hopeful.

A tiny, tiny smile tugged at the edge of Cloud’s lips. “Most people do call me that, yeah, Zack.”

The dark-haired man’s answering grin was absolutely blinding in its intensity. He took a step forward, only to be stopped by one of Sephiroth’s hands on his chest. 

“Wait,” Sephiroth said, a hard light still lingering in his eyes. “Do you have any way to prove your claims...Cloud?”

He snorted. “I’m guaranteed to vanish into the next dimension within a few hours, but other than that, no.” He shook his head. “I doubt I could even offer you confirmable information. Where I came from⁠, and most of the worlds I’ve seen...well, I’m not the one Zack usually greets with hostility.”

They both blinked in surprise. “What?” Zack asked, head cocking to the side.

“This is just a guess, but by your reactions the Strife of this universe went Jenova-crazy and tried to destroy the world, right?”

Immediately, Zack’s expression shuttered and Sephiroth’s returned to coldness. “Something like that,” Sephiroth said.

“Mm,” Cloud hummed. “Well, sorry to spring this on you⁠—” he wasn’t “⁠—but nine times out of ten, Sephiroth is the one who gets...Jenova’d.”

 Zack looked at Sephiroth, aghast. “Is that⁠—would that have been better or worse?”

“I don’t want to know,” the silver-haired man said flatly. Cloud nodded in agreement. Apparently his words, or maybe his agreement, was enough proof for the silver-haired man to relax from outright hostility. Sephiroth finally dismissed Masamune and Zack followed suit, holstering the broadsword that...wasn’t the Buster.

Cloud didn’t want to know about that either.

Then Zack bounded forward. Cloud flinched as he was swept up into a hug without any warning. His feet were no longer touching the floor. He fought down the reflexive urge to cast a point-blank Firaga. After a few more seconds he even managed to convince his body to relax into Zack’s arms.

“It’s so good to see you again, Cloud,” the dark-haired man murmured, a world of weight behind his words.

The blond huffed. He didn’t share any history with this Zack, a fact which most Zacks tended to conveniently forget (or ignore), but the lingering wounds of his own Zack’s death made him willing to return the embrace and the words. “It’s good to see you, too.”

Zack finally let go, setting him down only to take his face in his hands in a surprisingly intimate gesture. He brushed his thumbs across the dark (and probably permanent by this point) circles beneath Cloud’s eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, leaning in close. “You look like shit, babe.”

Oh boy. Cloud suddenly got the impression that he was missing some very critical pieces of information about the Cloud of this world. He’d also never been confronted by this particular issue before⁠—his mind went blank, which was unhelpful at best.

His expression must have been something to behold, because Zack immediately let go of his face and stepped back. “Oh,” he said, eyes wide, “oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s uh⁠—” Was his face on fire? It felt like his face was on fire. “It’s fine. We⁠—I mean, you two were…?”

“Two?” Zack said, glancing at Sephiroth. “There were uh...a bit more than just us two involved?”

He stared. For once, something other than terror was steadily burning away his fog of tired apathy. “Sephiroth?” he squeaked. “We—I mean, you and him and Sephiroth?”

Then, to his shock (shock deep enough that his hand automatically jerked toward Tsurugi’s handle)  Sephiroth threw his head back and laughed. In fact, he laughed until he had to lean on his knees and tears streamed down his face. “Oh⁠—” he gasped, “oh it really is you, Cloud.”

Cloud looked to Zack for help, but the dark-haired man just grinned and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Me, and you, and Sephiroth,” he agreed. There was a mischievous gleam in his eye that immediately set Cloud on edge. “And... maybe one or two more.”

Sephiroth was still...giggling. Cloud didn’t think his eyes could get any wider without popping right out of his skull. “More? How many more? What the hell?”

“Oh man, is every version of you unbearably cute?” Zack cooed⁠—or maybe flirted, Cloud wasn’t exactly the best at differentiating⁠. “Dunno how you avoided it, but we five fell into each other like...gravity. It felt inevitable, really. You, me, Sephiroth, Genesis, and Angeal.”

“I⁠—what? While I was at Shinra?” He and Zack hadn’t even met until the two commanders defected. A thought struck him. “Was I a SOLDIER?”

Both Zack and Sephiroth shot him odd looks. “Uh, ‘course? You were practically Shinra’s golden boy! Had a fanclub and everything!”

That explained it. Part of it. He didn’t understand why he felt like he’d dodged a bullet. “I never made it into SOLDIER. I was Infantry when we met for the first time.”

At his words, Sephiroth sobered back into the nearly emotionless mask Cloud was used to. “But you are enhanced, clearly. Based on the way you spoke, I would guess that you are enhanced to the same levels that Strife was.”

“Enhanced, yes.” Cloud smiled with bitter humor. “SOLDIER, no. This was Hojo’s doing. I caught his attention by killing my Sephiroth as an ‘unworthy little Infantry brat.’”

They both winced. “I’m...sorry,” Zack said, sincere and awkward. He glanced down, arm still heavy on Cloud’s shoulders. No one seemed inclined to continue that line of inquiry, which was fine by him. “Listen, I⁠—this is selfish of me to ask, but...you said you have a few hours before you leave, right?”

“Four, give or take,” Cloud confirmed. He’d been planning on stuffing himself into a nondescript hole somewhere to sleep, but he was willing to do a lot for Zack. “What is it?”

“Would you...would you come home with us? Not like that!” He added the second part when Cloud blanched and flushed crimson. “It’s just...the others, Gen and Ange, they….they deserve to see you too.”

“Zack…” Cloud sighed, “I’m not the Cloud you knew. You understand that, right?”

Zack’s lips pressed together. He stepped away, letting his hand slide over to rest on the top of Cloud’s shoulder even as he put some distance between them. “I do. I do get that. But you’re still...you. And you are...you’re sane. You’re...whole. It’s enough just to see you. Please. I know it’s selfish. You can say no, we’d still help you, but...” He reached out with his free hand and brushed a thumb over the dark circle under his eye for a second time. “You can just go right to sleep on the couch if you want. It’s enough just to see you. Please.”

He understood the impulse. Hadn’t he been thinking earlier about how soothing it felt just to see any version of Zack alive and happy? For some unfathomable reason, Cloud glanced over at Sephiroth. He nodded in agreement, an unfamiliar softness to the set of his eyes. Huh.

“Alright, Zack,” he said, relenting with a sigh. “I’ll sleep on your couch. All the...boyfriend wrangling is on you, though. I’m not much of a conversationalist even at the best of times.”

Zack just laughed, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go entirely. “I promise I’ll wrangle my boyfriends for you,” he said with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

Cloud regretted his decision immediately.

[cake-writes]

Ruse (Part Two)

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Story Warnings: Bodyguard!AU (except it’s not actually an AU because Bucky’s still an Avenger), Reader’s a loveable idiot, Fluff, Humour, Slow Burn, Angst, Violence, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (Bucky), Eventual 18+

Word Count: 1749

Summary: Natasha ropes you into her plan to help Bucky's mental state: temporarily relieving him from his avenging duties to be your bodyguard. There’s no threat, of course, and it’s a terrible idea – but it just might work.

Part One / Master List

A little after ten a.m., there’s a knock on the door.

You and Natasha have been on the sofa all morning watching some trashy daytime soap opera. There’s not much else to do, and it’s not like you can go anywhere if you’re a target. That’s why she stayed the night, too – you’re in need of protection, now. A real damsel in distress.

Yeah, right.

Unfortunately, you’re not allowed near the door.

“Gotta check who it is and evaluate the risks,” she cheekily rubs it in as she walks over to find out who’s waiting on the other side.

What a brat.

When you shoot her a look to convey as much, she snorts. “You’d better get used to it, because this is your life now.”

And then you groan, because you know she’s right. What the hell did she talk you into?

Laughing, she pulls open the door, and the decorative pillow you’ve just thrown at her sails right out into the hallway. You’ve got impeccable aim, really, but it’s Natasha so of course she’s moved out of the way. Didn’t even have to look to know you were trying to bean her in the head.

It may not have hit her, but it did hit somebody.

“Oh my god—” You jump up from the sofa and, rushing over, you add, “Shit, I’m so sorry!”

You’ve just decked Bucky Barnes with a throw pillow. What the fuck.

At least it wasn’t in the face, and he caught it easily – leather-gloved fingers dig into plush cotton and velour and you realize, then, that of all the pillows you could have thrown, you picked the stupidest one. 

It’s a cupcake. A big pink cupcake.

You’re a baker, but still. You threw a pillow at The Winter Soldier. A cupcake pillow. 

What the actual fuck.

Pretty blue eyes meet yours for a moment, briefly, before gives Natasha a look that says in no uncertain terms that he knows it was her fault. “What did you say to her?”

Natasha just deadpans, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You huff a little under your breath, and she uses her elbow to jab you in the ribs.

His brows raise in amusement – or maybe it’s suspicion. Either way it has you sweating bullets.

“Please come in,” you somehow manage, and when you step aside to let him in, you shoot Natasha another dirty look that makes her cough back a laugh. “I’m really sorry, Mr. Barnes. I don’t usually throw things at people.”

“Bucky,” he tells you with a smile, offering you your pillow. “And don’t worry. Something tells me it’s not your fault.”

Only with him standing right in front of you do you realize how tall he is. And how built. He’s thick and muscular and holy hell, he could absolutely break you in the best of ways.

Jesus Christ.

You swallow thickly and take the pillow from him, but it does nothing to distract you from how attractive he is. Those clear blue eyes crinkle so beautifully when he smiles; not to mention the stubble on his chiselled jaw, or the messy bun that has loose strands of brown hair framing his face so perfectly.

“Thanks,” is all you can think to say.

How in the ever-loving fuck were you supposed to keep it together with him around? You can’t even string a sentence together now that you’ve had a good and proper look at him. 

And that’s on your six-month dry spell. 

“I know I already gave you a run-down on the phone,” Natasha pipes up, startling you out of your thoughts, “but is there anything else you need before I go?”

She’s talking to Bucky, not you, so you flop back down on the sofa and try to focus back on the TV. Unsuccessfully, of course. There’s no way you’ll be able to focus with him here.

“I think I’ve got it,” he responds, eyes sweeping across the apartment. “Entry points?”

“Nine. Three windows in here, two in each bedroom, and one in the bathroom.”

“Fire exit?”

“Off the master bedroom.”

“Thought so.” He doesn’t sound too pleased, and you sneak a glance over at him out of curiosity. When Natasha catches you and slyly arches a brow, you immediately whip your head back to face the TV. Fuck. “I’ll have a look. Thanks, Nat.”

She nods and takes a few steps over to the sofa to catch your attention. Predictably, when you look up at her, she gives you a knowing smirk. “Stay safe, okay? You’re in good hands.”

Another wink, and you know, then, that this was intentional. 

God damn it.

“I’ll be fine, Nat,” you play along, but you don’t believe it anymore. There aren’t any risks to your health, of course – it’s all a ruse, but there is a risk that you’re going to make a complete ass of yourself. Bucky Barnes is too damn attractive for his own good, and what’s worse is that Natasha knew this would happen. “Go on, get out of here. Traitor.”

If you’re not mistaken, you might have heard Bucky stifle a laugh. 

She just gives you both an innocent little wave, and then she’s off, shutting the door behind her with a near-silent click.

Now you’re stuck with him. All alone. Just the two of you. 

Now what?

“Should I, uh,” you stammer awkwardly, peering over to find him standing next to your kitchen table, duffel on the floor, and you rephrase, “I should give you a tour, right? I mean, you are my guest... Right?”

Bucky laughs more audibly this time, and man, if you don’t love the sound. “Do whatever makes you feel comfortable. I’m sure this isn’t how you wanted to spend your weekend.”

Ha. If only he knew otherwise.

So you hop up from the sofa to give him a grand tour of your apartment, heart hammering in your chest. “I should say the same to you! No fun plans?” 

“Not unless you think paperwork is fun,” he teases. “You’re actually doing me a favour.”

You like the sound of that.

It’s an exaggerated show of your digs, because you’re nervous and he’s him and you’re two seconds away from shoving your foot in your mouth – but somehow, you manage.

The living room is easy, and the kitchen. It’s got an open floor plan, after all, and he already saw it when he came in. After that, you take him down the hallway, where on the left is the too-small bathroom. It only fits one person at a time, and barely even that.

Across from the bathroom is your spare room, and that’s where you take him next. It’s not like you have guests very often, so you’ve turned it into an office. Running your own bakery requires a fair amount of administrative work, and you need the extra space for that.

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly, and Bucky gives you a confused look.

“Why are you sorry?”

“My spare room doesn’t have a bed.”

It’s evident, now, that he’s going to have to sleep on the sofa, but he just shrugs.

“You don’t have to apologize,” he tells you. “I’m here to keep you safe. Don’t need a bed for that.”

Of course, he’s welcome to share yours, but you don’t mention that. 

Then the two of you are off to the final destination: your room, which makes you even more nervous until Bucky pauses for a moment to inspect the window leading out to the fire escape.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, and you stop cold.

“Well, uh…” Shit, you’re gonna look like an idiot. “Someone broke in right before I moved in, and my landlord never had it fixed so I nailed it shut.”

Bucky sighs. “That’s not safe. What’ll you do if there’s a fire?”

“Break the window?” you offer unhelpfully. “That’s why I keep a hammer in here.”

To prove your point, you nod at the dresser, where, sure enough, you’ve got a hammer sitting next to your jewellery. His eyes follow to where you’ve indicated, and when he sees the hammer, you can very clearly spot the growing disapproval on his face.

Yep, Bucky Barnes thinks you’re an idiot. Fantastic.

“Any other surprises I need to know about?”

He’s just going to find out anyway, so you opt for honesty, which may or may not be the best idea.

“The bathroom window doesn’t lock either, but we’re five stories up so that’s not a problem, right?” 

Bucky doesn’t answer; instead, he frowns, and you can’t help but laugh nervously. 

“Oh, and one of the burners on my stove doesn’t work right. I taped over it so it wouldn’t leak gas, you know, just in case.”

That’s when he lets out a long, slow breath. Oh, yeah, he’s annoyed for sure – even you can tell as much. “If there’s anything else, you need to tell me. I can’t do my job properly if you’ve done other things like this,” he taps on the window pane, “that I don’t know about.”

Other things. He’s too nice to say stupid things.

You nod.

“Alright. I’m going to check the entry points to make sure they work—” cue a pointed look in your direction that makes you look away in embarrassment, “and that they lock.”

“Thank you.” You swallow your pride and say again, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just be more careful.” 

There’s a certain bite to his tone that cuts deep, and you anxiously chew your lip, eyes downcast. He’s right. You really should have pushed harder to get things fixed. Why hadn’t you? 

Then he swears low under his breath and gently places his hand on your shoulder, and you force yourself to look back up at him.

When he speaks again, his voice is softer than before. “Sorry. That wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, I just...” There’s a pause, during which he lets you go and you very much miss the feeling of his large, warm hand against your skin. “I just don’t want to see a pretty girl like you getting hurt because of something like this. Let me take care of it, okay?”

“O–Okay,” you stammer. Did he just—?

And then he’s out of your room and out of your hair, and you can breathe again. Just for a moment. Just long enough to realize that Bucky Barnes told you you’re pretty. Even if it was just in passing.

Part Three

[katehuntington]

Title: In Bad Waters - part fifteen Word count: ±6250 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part fifteen summary: The hunt is over, and Zoë and the brothers go separate ways. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​ and @deanwanddamons​. Also a deep bow to @fangirl-and-medstudent-help​​ who was very patient with me when I asked about a hundred medical questions. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

     The lights of the suite switch on when Zoë slips the keycard in its holder by the door. After the assault she suffered earlier today, the Hampton Inn hotel management provided her with a bigger and better accommodation. Although she doesn’t plan to spend another night in Paragould, she took the generous offer.      Dean enters the spacious room as well, Sam following close behind, in case his brother needs assistance. It bugs the hell out of the older sibling, who has grumpily told him that he’s fine a couple of times already. Yet, he allows the hovering, because honestly; he doesn’t feel so fresh.

     On the way over, Zoë told him to lose the soaked shirt, which contradicted Dean’s instincts, because he has never felt this cold in his entire life, despite the heaters blowing air into the Chevy at level inferno. Even now, he can’t stop himself from shivering, his teeth clattering every now and then, despite his favorite leather coat that he’s wearing, the only clothing item that didn’t get drenched.

     Exhausted, he plops down on the kingsize bed, to out of it to comment on the luxurious suite. Closing his eyes for a second, he rubs his forehead, trying to rid himself from the throbbing inside his skull. He coughs again, the involuntary action burning his lungs. It’s a painful yet ironic sensation, because he didn’t expect to feel like his airway is on fire after drowning in a fucking lake.

     “Get out of those wet clothes, Dean,” Zoë tells him sternly, nodding at his jeans while slipping her Harley Davidson jacket on a coat hanger. “We need to warm you up.”

     Normally, he would have had at least three sly remarks ready, but not this time. Instead, he nods with a sniff, bending down to untie his shoelaces with shaky fingers. Sam drops one of their duffel bags on the other side of the bed, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, one of Dean’s henley’s, a hoodie, socks and underwear.      “I’m gonna take a shower first,” Dean says, pulling off his soaked boots.

     “Absolutely fucking not,” Zoë intervenes, setting up her extensive medical kit on the nightstand. “I made quite an effort to bring you back to life, so it would be an awful waste of my time if you go into shock and die on the bathroom floor.”      Sam raises his eyebrows at that, much like Dean, who lets his hand slip from his face.      “How else am I gonna get warm, ‘cause I’m fucking freezing,” he returns, his voice still hoarse.      “By raising your temperature slowly. Sam, can you grab a towel and fill that hot water bottle we got from the front desk? And get the extra comforters from the other bed.”

     While the younger Winchester goes to collect the required items, Zoë opens the lid and takes out an ear thermometer from the metal briefcase, placing a clean probe tip on the end while she sits down next to the battered hunter. Dean flinches away from her when she cups his face firmly to hold him in place, earning an annoyed glare from the former med student.      “Would you like me to use the regular one? Because I’ll give you one guess where I’d have to stick that. Now, sit still,” she orders, pulling his ear back to insert the device into his ear canal.      “Jesus, you’re not the one for bedside manners, are you?” Dean mutters, but cooperates either way.

     Zoë doesn’t respond, waiting for the thermometer to beep. She retreats it when it does exactly that and reads the display. “You’re at 95.2.”      “That low?” he says, unpleasantly surprised.      She nods, placing the small device on the side table. “That’s what happens when your main generator loses power. The central heating shuts down real quick when your heart stops beating.”

     Dean sniffles, very much aware of the fluid that is still creeping up his throat. He fights the urge to cough again and clears his throat uncomfortably, when Sam returns with the hot water bottle under his arm, white towels with the Hampton Inn logo on them in one hand and two thick duvets in the other.      “Dry yourself off and put on something warm, then wrap yourself in these.” She takes the comforter and lays it on the bed next to the older Winchester, before folding the water bottle in one of the towels. “Here, keep this close to you. Don’t lay down and don’t fall asleep,” she warns. “I’m gonna freshen up.”

     She gets up and muffles a grunt behind gritted teeth, her cracked ribs once again reminding the huntress of her current fragile state. Adrenaline pushed down the pain in the midst of action, but now that the dust has settled, it’s back at full force. Picking up her bag on the way, she heads to the spacious bathroom, locking the door behind her. Not really ready for the sight, she peels her wet top from her skin while she stands in front of the nine ft. wide mirror. Dark bruises greet her when she discards the tank top, her bra following suit. They match the colorful display on her right cheekbone and the black and blue fingerprints on her neck.

     “Wonderful,” she muddles, continuing to strip down, the soaked through fabric smacking against the nature stone tiles. She has no idea how she’s gonna ride all the way up to the Canadian border with an injury like this, but she doesn’t have a choice. Time isn’t exactly on her side.

     After a shower, Zoë runs a towel over her head and blow-dries her brown locks quickly. Usually, she allows her curls to dry naturally, but wearing a helmet on wet hair is anything but pleasant, not to mention that she will have to deal with a fogged up visor throughout most of the trip.

     She puts on clean underwear and hoists her leather biker pants up her legs, cursing under her breath at the ache that sears through her side with even the slightest movement. Something needs to be done, because she won’t last an hour on the Harley. Before she steps outside the bathroom, she secures her bra clasps. Not bothered to put on her top just yet, she pops her head from behind the door.      “Sam?”      The tall young guy looks up and for a second she wonders if he can actually see her through the fringe of brown damp locks.      “Can you grab me some KT tape from my med kit?” she asks, nodding at the briefcase next to Dean, who is huddled up in the exact spot where she left him, wrapped in the thick comforters.      “Sure,” Sam obliges, getting up. After rummaging for a few seconds, he finds what he’s looking for and turns to the bathroom to hand it over, but apparently she has different ideas.      “Get in,” she tells him.

     Perplexed, but not brave enough to hesitate and give her a reason to scold at him, he enters the large room, which could easily be considered a mini spa. A large jacuzzi is situated in the corner, a walk-in shower next to it. There’s even a sauna, the wooden benches shielded off by a glass wall. It’s nothing like the shabby motel rooms he and Dean usually coop up in. His admiration for the luxury comes to a sudden stop when his absent gaze lands on Zoë. Like a virgin teenager who walked in on his friend’s older sister, he stares at her for a short second, eyes wide and blown away. Shit, she’s not wearing a shirt.

     “Done gaping?” she responds, bored, placing her hand firmly in her unharmed side. “I need to tape my side and I can’t reach properly.”      Feeling caught, he shifts his attention to the KT tape in his hand. “Uh… y-yeah, sure,” he stammers, fiddling to open the package.      Rolling her eyes, she snatches the small box from his hands and opens it. “I swear to God, Sam, get yourself together. You’ve seen me in less.”

     Uncomfortably, the younger Winchester runs his fingers through his hair. Why is he being so awkward? Or maybe the better question is; why can’t he keep his eyes off her? He tries his best not to stare, but when he does, he notices the dark bruises on her ribs.      “Damn it, Zo. She got you good,” he huffs, worry replacing the uneasiness.      “It’s not that bad. I just need to secure it before I hit the road,” the tough woman mutters, peeling the plastic away from the sticky coating. She turns her back to Sam, moving her brown wavy hair over her left shoulder and out of the way. “You need to place the first strip diagonally and downward, starting from just below the scapula. You might need to lift my bra a little.”

     Somewhat nervous, the thoughtful guy rubs his hands together first, not wanting his touch to be cold. After handing him the medical tape, she lifts her right arm, hissing at the stretch.      “Right here?” he asks, lifting the wing of her lace bra, before sticking one end of the strip right below her shoulder blade.      She nods, breathing out a shuddering breath. “Yeah.”

     Sam handles her gently, the pads of his fingers not as rough as she expected hunter’s hands to be. In silence he works, focussed on his task. Zoë watches him in the mirror, a small smile of amusement pulling at the corners of her mouth, despite the discomfort. His eyebrows are knitted together in concentration, hazel eyes tracing her bruised form. After a few more instructions, he secures the second strip with the same precision. Zoë can’t deny nor ignore the current that his touch sends through her body, and it has her intrigued.

     “One more. Vertical along my side,” she says, her voice softer than she has spoken to him all evening.      The younger Winchester tries not to gulp visibly, holding the enchanting woman still, while he smoothens the final strip down her bruised rib cage. He’s careful to prevent pressure on the sensitive area, not wanting to hurt her, but she shivers anyway. When he directs his gaze on her in their reflection, Sam notices it’s not pain that has her shuddering, because her challenging eyes tell a different story. They behold a hint of curiosity, interest... lust even.

     Not sure how to cope with the tension that hangs in the air, he clears his throat and lets his finger slip from her beautifully toned and proportioned body, averting his eyes from the mirror.      “I’m - uh - I’ll let you get dressed,” he stutters, awkwardly pointing his thumb over his shoulder before he heads to the door.      “I’ll be right out,” she promises, picking a clean shirt from her bag.

Zoë watches him leave, smirking at his behavior. He really doesn’t know how to act around her, and it’s highly entertaining. There is a definite pull she experiences towards him, an attraction that she can’t quite place, but it’s not something she can dwell on. This case will be the last one they worked together and tonight will be the last time she ever sees him. But before they go separate ways, she needs to give his brother a thorough check up, even though she doesn’t like his company half as much as Sam’s. Suck it up, Zo. You’ve got work to do.

     Refreshed and dressed, she enters the master suite again, Dean still on the side of the bed, wrapped up in comforters like a burrito. Zoë’s plump lips press together in a thin line, because now is not the moment to make fun of the hunter, who without a doubt feels miserable.

     “Alright, let’s give you your physical exam so I can hit the road, huh?” she suggests, sitting down next to the older Winchester brother, taking her stethoscope from her briefcase and hanging it around her neck, after which she picks up a blood pressure gauge as well. “Stretch out your right arm.”

     He shrugs the heavy comforter off his bare shoulders, silently obeying his physician’s orders. Again, Dean misses the perfect opportunity for a dirty comeback, and it doesn’t go unnoticed. Although Zoë hasn’t known him for long, she did pick up on his usual demeanor, lightening the mood with a witty comment and some dark humor. Now, the joker is awfully quiet.

     “Y’know, you guys can have the room for the night,” she offers. “It’s paid for anyway.”      “Nah, I feel fine. Besides, if we don’t leave tonight, we’re gonna be late for our wolf hunt,” Dean replies, watching her strap the cuff around his upper arm.      Sam leans against the wall, observing the skilled woman as well. He hates to admit it, but Dean has a point. “He’s right. Today was the first night of a full moon, we won’t have much time if we stay any longer.”      “I’m just saying it might not be a bad idea to rest up,” Zoë points out, squeezing the rubber pump that’s attached to the cuff, filling it with air until circulation is cut off. “But you two kamikaze morons do what you gotta do.”      Sam scoffs at that. “You’re one to talk.”

     Her head cocks in his direction, staring him down intimidatingly, but Sam doesn’t budge and arches one eyebrow at her knowingly. His attitude annoys Zoë, and yet she doesn’t bite his head off. If circumstances were any different, she would have gladly spent at least the night in this luxurious suite and added several more, but she simply can’t. Wanting to avoid the reasoning behind her departure by all costs, she drops the matter.

     Instead, she pulls the stethoscope from behind her neck, widens the headset and places the tips in her ears. She then continues to place the diaphragm just above the crease of the elbow, while allowing the cuff to deflate. Blood begins to flow through the brachial artery again, causing a beat to thud against Zoë’s eardrums, and she reads the systolic pressure on the meter. Once the blood vessels remain open and the pounding sound stops, the closest what the Winchesters have to a doctor reads the meter again.

     “Your BP is 125 over 80. For a guy who lives off gas station food, pizza and burgers, that’s pretty damn healthy,” she comments, hooking the stethoscope around her neck again.      “Great. So can I go now?” Dean is about to rise up from the bed, but Zoë  grips him on the junction between his neck and his shoulder, pushing him down to sit on the bed again.      “Did I say I was done?” she snaps back at him.

     Dean bites his tongue when he feels her nails dig into his shoulder. He wants to yelp and call her names, yet he doesn’t, because Sam shoots him a warning glare. He argues with his little brother in silence, the younger sibling’s wide eyes sending death threats when Dean’s upper lip twitches while hinting at the woman who currently has a tight hold on him. He then shakes his head and gives in, too tired to have this discussion.

     Zoë ignores the tension all together. “Well, if you aren’t gonna stay, do you mind starting to load up the car, Sam? I wanna check out as soon as I’m done here,” Zoë states, giving him something else to do other than lurking over her shoulder.      “Sure,” the tall hunter says, and begins to gather their things, including the wet clothes Dean discarded earlier.

     When Sam has left, the tough Winchester drops his head, blinking a couple of times, clearly not feeling his best. Zoë monitors him closely; she had a hunch he was keeping up appearance in order not to worry his sibling.      “So now that your brother is out of the room, how are you really feeling?” she asks, removing the cuff from Dean’s arm. “And cut the bullshit. No one expects you to feel fine after flatlining.”

     The hunter looks up at her from under heavy eyelids, trying to figure out what her intentions are. He assumes she’s asking to determine further medical action, and so he drops the act.      “I - uh… I feel off, man,” he admits, pinching the bridge of his nose again.      “Headache?” she wonders, storing the sphygmomanometer away.      He nods, swallowing hard.      “Let me guess; you’re experiencing dizziness, decreased muscle strength, and feel like you could sleep for a week?” Zoë fills in for him.      “Sounds about right,” Dean sighs.

     Zoë puts in the ear tips of her stethoscope again in order to examine his heart, holding the bell between her second and third digit. She places the diaphragm on the right of the sternum, tracing his ribs under her fingertips to determine the right spot in order to hear the aortic valve. A stillness falls over the two, as Zoë concentrates to dissect the sound of Dean’s steady heartbeat, her other hand still holding him by the shoulder, her touch much more gentle this time around.

     Not wanting to disturb her focus, the older Winchester brother allows his gaze to wander, spending this rare moment without them yelling at each other to admire her. Whenever the tough as nails huntress boils his blood, he tends to only see the ugly side of Zoë Sullivan, but right here in this peaceful serenity, her beauty stuns him. Her face is slightly turned away, the profile of her sharp jawline and slightly upward pointed nose brought out by the warm light on the nightstand. She’s close enough for him to smell the coconut shampoo lingering in her freshly washed hair. Only now does he realize that his shivering has stilled, but he’s not sure if it actually has to do with his body temperature steadily going up, or that her soft touch is what calms his tremors. He’s not used to kind contact, a hand on his shoulder, a sweet ruffle through his hair like his mother used to do, but deep down, he craves it.

     When she shifts the bell of her stethoscope to the left side of his chest, Dean glances to her hand still gently gripping his tattooed arm, which is decorated with a short sleeve that fans out over his shoulder blade. Shades of black display what he stands for, symbols and sigils mixed with personal references to his life and the people who mean the world to him. He only now realizes she has been studying the piece of art forever edged in his skin, while she was listening to his heart.

     When Zoë is sure the pulmonic valve of Dean’s heart sounds normal as well, she slides the bell of her stethoscope to listen for the heart sounds on the right, but when the hunter flinches under her touch, her eyes dart up at his. “That hurts?”      “A bit. It’s fine,” he claims, shifting somewhat on the edge of the bed.      “Sure I didn’t break a rib?” she ponders, feeling the tender area in the center of his chest, where the first stage of a bruise is surfacing. “I worked your chest pretty hard.”

     Dean looks up at her, perplexed, as if it only now dawns on him what lengths Zoë went to save his life. She performed CPR on him, used all her capabilities to bring him back from the infinite darkness that was about to swallow him whole. Capabilities Sam doesn’t have, simply because he’s not trained to give medical aid. It hits Dean like lightning; if she hadn’t been there, he would have died.

     “Zo?”      The huntress shifts her attention from the sound of the mitral valve opening and closing, to her patient’s genuine eyes. The twenty-six year old tough guy seems that much younger all of a sudden, not sure how to get across what he wants to say.      “You - uh... If it wasn’t for you, I… y’know--”      “Don’t mention it.”

     Dean carefully glances up at her, meeting a small smile. A silent huff leaves his lips when he realizes she just returned his own words to him. Words he spoke in response to the huntress, when she tried to express gratitude for his rescue, earlier this afternoon.     “Well then, guess we’re square,” he comments. “Too bad I wasn’t conscious for the mouth-to-mouth action.”      “Ah, there he is. I was wondering when you were gonna feel good enough to start behaving like a jackass,” Zoë sniggers. “Your heart sounds fine, I’m gonna check your lungs now. Take slow breaths, okay?”

     With an amused smile on his lips, Dean does as told. Concentrating, the woman who would have aced med school listens to his respiration, using the stethoscope as an amplifier. Like she was taught, she starts at the left upper zone, then the right, comparing the two sides, before she moves down.      “Can you inhale a little deeper for me?” she requests.

     The hunter pulls in a big breath through his mouth, the action igniting a fire in his chest, similar to the time when he was a teenager, when he had a neglected cold that turned into something worse. He tries to fight another hacking fit, but loses the battle, quickly turning his head away from Zoë and coughs violently. When he settles, she continues the examination.      “Pain?” she wonders, although she has an idea what the answer might be.      “Burns,” he manages to say, his voice hoarse.      “Try again, take it easy this time,” Zoë encourages.

     After moving the diaphragm across her patient’s bare chest, she removes the medical instrument and takes a seat on the side of the bed as well, placing the bell on his back now. Staring at nothing in particular, she lets the sense of hearing take over completely. Brown eyes slightly shift from left to right, narrowing at a certain point.      “What?” Dean wonders, noticing a hint of discontent in her expression.      “Your lung sounds are a little faint; you still got some fluid in there,” the huntress explains, putting her stethoscope away. “It should clear by itself, your blood will absorb it, but if that cough gets worse, you're gonna need to see a real doctor.”      “You seem like a real doc to me,” he shrugs, covering the compliment by clearing his throat. “Haven’t had a check up in years.”

     Zoë casts her gaze down, appreciating the words, but unable to thank him for it. “Let’s keep it that way. Take these.”      She takes a small plastic bottle from her briefcase, a prescription on the side. “With the swamp water you took in, you’re likely to develop pneumonia without antibiotics. Take two tonight. The coming days, one in the morning, one in the evening, never on an empty stomach, until the bottle is empty, alright? If it hurts, you can take Ibuprofen, but don’t go over the maximum dosage. You want me to pack you some?”

     Somewhat stunned, Dean nods and takes the bottle between his index finger and his thumb. The doctor role Zoë is fulfilling right now, brings out an attentive and empathetic side of her, which he hasn’t seen yet to this extent. His injuries aren’t downgraded, he’s not told to man up and keep going, like his father so oftenly does when he suffered an injury on a hunt. He’s not used to this kind of care, but he values it.

“Thanks.”

The simple word that falls from his lips in a whisper has Zoë shift her eyes to him in surprise. She clearly wasn’t expecting a ‘thank you’, but doesn’t call him out on the sentiment. Her smile grows a little wider and for the first time since their reunion, Dean sees the innocent Californian surf girl he remembered from back in the days.

     The huntress takes out the thermometer one last time, inserting it in his ear. He doesn’t move away this time, but slightly leans into her. The device beeps and she pulls it back.      “96.8; you’re getting there. If you want you can take a shower now, just not too hot.” She removes the tip and gets up, throwing it in the trash can. “You’re all set.”      “Alright,” he says, putting the water bottle aside and picking up a towel and his clothes.

     He retreats to the bathroom and appreciates the spacious rain shower, and returns to the main suite, dressed in a warm hoody and dry jeans.      His brother is back as well. “Ready to hit the road?”      Dean nods, putting on his leather coat and straightening the collar. “Let’s go.”

     The three hunters check out and walk out towards the parking lot five minutes later. The Impala is parked in front of the building across from Linwood Cemetery, the black paint job shimmering beautifully in the pale moonlight. Zoë approaches her bike, carrying a saddle bag over her shoulder and her helmet in the other hand, as the boys walk over to their car. Instinctively, Dean moves around to the left side of the car, but Zoë stops him.      “You’re not driving,” she decides, as if it’s her call to make. “Unless you wanna be a road hazard.”      “Oh, c’mon,” the owner of the car complains, redirecting a glare from the woman in their company to Sam, who is waiting for the keys with a smirk. After rolling his eyes, he tosses his brother the keys and drags his feet to the passenger side.      “Sleep upright for a night or two,” the med student suggests.      “Why the hell would I do that?” Dean returns, puzzled.      “Because I reckon you don’t want to suffocate during the night.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “It’s called secondary drowning, asshat.”      Dean scoffs. “That’s a thing?”      Zoë chuckles at his obliviousness. “That’s a thing.”      “Noted,” Dean says, shoving down his warm jacket coat.

     “You made your deadline,” Sam reminds her, leaning his arms on the hardtop while looking over as she checks the time.      “Not yet, but at least I’ll make it in time for the big show,” she smiles faintly. “What about you two? Texas?”      “Yep, Waco,” Sam specifies.      Zoë nods. The Winchesters can tell from her reaction that she knows the place.      “When you’re in town, stop by at Honeybee Ham & Deli. I tell ya, their ham and turkey is awesome,” Zoë recommends.      Dean smiles happy as he pictures the plate full of juicy meat. “Will do.”      “What about you?” the younger sibling wonders.      Zoë climbs in the saddle of her Road King, which faces the two men. She doesn’t put her helmet on just yet, though. Her small smile disappears when she’s confronted with what’s coming. “I’m going up north,” she answers vaguely.

     A silence follows and Dean glances at Sam over the top of his car. They can both sense that something’s up.      “If you need a hand--” Sam starts carefully.      “No, I don’t. Really guys, you need to stay out of this one. It’s not your fight,” Zoë says, stern.      “Complicated case?” Dean comments.      “It’s just something I need to take care of. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the help you gave me here, but this is personal business,” she answers, looking from one to the other. “Whatever you do, don’t follow me.”      “We have our own personal business to take care of,” Sam assures.      “Your Dad?” the huntress assumes.      “We want to find him. He’s probably after that thing that killed Mom and Jess by himself,” Sam states, determined.

     For a moment Dean observes his brother, aware of the strong mindedness in his voice. He could fight him. Hell, he can start an argument with him right now, but what would it matter? Sam isn’t easily convinced otherwise, not when it comes to this. He wants to find Dad and kill whatever brought so much misery upon them so desperately, that it’s becoming an obsession. When he returns his gaze Zoë, he’s caught off guard by her, who stares directly at him. She has been reading him all this time.      “Seems like you do have your own personal business to take care off,” she states wisely, hanging her helmet on the handlebar.

     “Sure you can ride?” Dean checks with her.      Zoë glances at him, but he isn’t mocking her, the oldest Winchester son actually has a solid point. She doesn’t feel great at all. Her head is still throbbing from the blow she took during her physical fight with Laura; she probably suffered a mild concussion. A 520 mile bike ride isn’t going to improve the ache in her bones either. She would love to go back into the Hampton Inn and get some sleep, which she normally does after an exhausting hunt. This time things are different, there’s just too little time.      “I don’t have much of a choice,” she sighs. “I should get going.”      “Be careful,” Sam offers.      Zoë only responds with a smile and looks down at her biker boots. It’s funny, all this time she has been fighting the Winchester boys, but now that she’s about to leave, she’s lingering.

     “I hope you’ll find John,” she says out of the blue.      Surprised, the brothers take her in. Where did that come from? The huntress notices the surprise on their faces, because she continues to explain herself.      “He’s your father. I know he can be a pain, but he’s family. Treasure that as long as you can.”

     Sam watches Dean nod agreeing, and he too realizes that she’s right. The last time he saw his father, they had a huge argument. Ever since, he has been afraid that he might never see his dad again, that he will never get the chance to say he’s sorry. That’s what he is, because he regrets yelling at him, he regrets picking a fight. He knows he’s not the only one to blame, but he bailed on both his brother and his father and chose his own path. He stands by that decision still, but he does realize how much his actions hurt them. The youngest Winchester is done fighting his Dad, he just wants to make sure he’s alright. Zoë knows loss. She lost her father in an unforgivable and certainly unforgettable manner. It’s that fact that makes both Dean and Sam understand that these wise words are coming straight from the heart.

     The huntress looks at them with a calm expression on her face, a satisfied one, and yet a glint of sadness is noticeable in her eyes. She doesn’t expect to see them ever again. Not wanting to wait until the goodbye becomes sentimental, Zoë kicks the ignition, the characteristic Harley Davidson rumbling loud in the night.      Before she can put on her helmet, Dean calls out for her. “See you around.”

     As he watches her response, Zoë keeps quiet. Not likely, she realizes, not pronouncing the words out loud. She gives them a last nod, pulls the helmet over her head, turns the throttle, and with a loud roar her Harley hits the highway. The  brothers watch the single red taillight get smaller, then she disappears out of sight. Silently, they stare at the road ahead, both thinking about what she just said. Sam is the first one to reply to it.

     “Did she just… say goodbye?” he checks, making sure he didn’t just interpret her words wrong.      Dean doesn’t respond and forks his fingers together while leaning his forearms on top of the car. Pondering, he stares down the street.      “As in… for good?” Sam adds.

     He glances at his older sibling, who opens his car door. Sam takes his example and settles in the driver’s seat. Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac sounds from the speakers as soon as the younger Winchester turns the key in the ignition.      “Are we going after her?” Sam wants to know, before he drives off.      “No,” Dean responds, annoyed by the fact that for a split second, he was thinking about it himself. “She’s a big girl, Sam. She can take care of herself.”      “That’s what you said last time,” his sibling bounces back.      “That was just bad luck. It’s not our job to protect fellow hunters, it’s our job to protect innocents,” Dean brings to mind.      “If Zoë's in trouble, she's innocent.”      “Believe me, Sam. I believe Zoë is everything but innocent,” the oldest of the two disagrees.

“I don't know, man. I think she’s after something big, or something big is after her,” Sam sighs, staring through the windshield in the direction where Zoë vanished just moments ago.      “So she’s onto a big fish,” Dean returns nonchalantly. “If she needs our help, she’ll call.”      The driver scoffs. “No, she won’t.”      Dean glances aside and observes his brother for a moment, confused by his brother’s motives. “I thought you were so determined to find Dad?”      “I am,” Same confirms.      “Then why the fuck do you care so much for some girl? We have better things to do. There’s a werewolf on the loose last time we checked and I don’t see why we should be bothering ourselves tracking down a hunter who’s fine on her own and is not keen on our company,” Dean rambles annoyed, after which he quotes her. ‘Whatever you do, do not follow me’. Her words, dude.”

     Sam gives in with a huff; maybe he’s right. Zoë made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want them on her tail. Maybe they should just let her be. But deep inside he feels it eating at him. His gut tells him that something bad is going to happen to her. Contemplating on the choice, he stares ahead.      “Seriously, if you want me to believe that you don’t have a major crush on her, you’ll have to do better than this.” Dean’s brows are raised as he looks aside.

     His younger brother glares at him, but decides not to respond. Dean is making fun of it, but he’s not sure himself how he feels about Zoë. She’s such a mysterious girl, with a dark sense of humor and a peculiar personality. She’s fierce, rapid on the counter, sarcastic, confident, smart. An amazing huntress with a big heart, even though she might act like she couldn’t care less. He can’t help but to be curious about her. Why? He can’t put his finger on it. There’s a connection between them, if they like it or not.

     Sam decides to change the subject, determining their new destination. “So? Waco then?”      “Waco it is,” Dean agrees.      Sam turns the Impala around, when they hear a strange clunk coming from the back of the car as he drives over a speed bump while exiting the parking lot of the Hampton Inn. Uh-oh, he realizes, assuming his brother heard it too.      “What is that?” Dean says out loud, looking over his shoulder. “Did you close the trunk? Stop the car.”

     Sam does as told and in the middle of the exit, Dean gets out. Sam stares in his back mirror, waiting for the inevitable. He already noticed the damage when loading up the car, but didn’t have the courage to tell the person who loves the Impala so dearly. That, and he wanted to give Zoë a head start. When he rolls down the window and pokes his head out, he sees Dean, boiling in rage.            “What’s going on?” Sam asks, pretending to be unaware.      He gets out and joins his brother, beholding the back of the Impala. The paint of the trunk is scratched, leaving the Chevrolet damaged by the shovel that Zoë used as leverage to break open the trunk. For a moment, Sam just stares at the car without saying a word. Dean, on the other hand, grits his teeth so hard that his brother can hear them grinding. His face looks like a volcano that is about to erupt as he clenches his fists, trying to contain his anger.

     “Insulting Baby is one thing, but this -” Dean hisses furiously, “this is unforgivable. I’m gonna kill her, I am so gonna fucking kill her!”      “Calm down,” Sam tries to ease him.      “Calm down?!  She fucked up MY CAR!!!” he shouts as he turns red.

     He slams the trunk and pushes it down hard, but it doesn’t lock as it should. Then he strides back to the front and gets in on the passenger side again. Quickly, Sam sits down behind the wheel, not wanting to piss him off even more. Dean is about to detonate; one wrong move, comment or facial expression and he will explode.            “Get the fuck going,” the owner of the classic car growls, squeezing the blood out of his hands around his cellphone, tempted to call perpertrator.      Sam gulps, surprised that the device doesn’t break in half, and uncomfortably leans back before he hits the gas. The day that Dean got this car from Dad, he learned a very important lesson; if you mess with the Impala, you mess with Dean.

     “For the record,” the older Winchester starts off. “This isn’t the last time we will see Sullivan.”      “It isn’t?” Sam carefully questions.      “Oh, we’ll see her again,” he snaps. “And I’m gonna kick her fine little ass when that time comes.”

      Poor Zoë, Sam can’t help but to think. She’s probably laughing that same fine little ass off right at this very moment, as Dean so poetically described it. A part of him hopes they will indeed never run into her again, because she is going to feel his brother’s wrath. What are the odds anyway? America is a big country; she is only one of over 320 million people in this nation. Sam glances ahead into the dark night and grins, because something tells him that their paths will collide again. Maybe even sooner than expected.

Well, that’s it! Episode 2 is wrapped up, now on to the next one. 

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

[graces-secret-tommys-love]

Falling All Over Again

Title: Falling All Over Again

Pairing:Thomas Shelby x Reader

Word Count: 7900 (BIG GENUINE OOPS)

Warning: very slow burn smut

Summary: The Reader has known the Shelby’s nearly all her life. Like many she had a crush on Tommy. After a sweet moment many years ago she became almost speechless around him. Following a very embarrassing moment she finally found the courage to start to converse with him again. 

A/N: I definitely got carried away with this one. The slow burn just kind of did it for me, and I hope it does for you too. Enjoy and I’d love your feedback!!!

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“Shhhh Elena, you’ll get caught!”

“Ada, shut it! You’re the one who said it’s here!”

You kept an eye on the staircase, while Hannah was downstairs watching the front door.

“If none of you shut up, then everyone will hear!” Hannah hissed up the stairs.

Elena got it in her head that Thomas was hiding something of her brothers in his room and had set out to get it. Of course the rest of you girls thought she went mad, but you weren’t about to let her attempt a solo mission. The four of you had grown up together in town since you were children, so when one of you started something it became everyone's job to finish it.

Elena had older brothers always telling her she was too much of a child and didn’t know anything about the world, despite all of us being around twenty years old. She worked it out that if she pulled a stunt like this, then she wouldn’t be such a child anymore. The rest of you also worked out that she might lose her head trying to dig around in Thomas Shelby’s room, so you hoped by there being a group of you, there might be less bloodshed. In theory of course.

Hannah’s loud slam of the book on the table meant someone was coming. You held up a finger to the girls, telling them to be quiet, and kept your eyes open. Mens shoes were making their way to the bottom step and you whirled around towards the girls. As you tried to push up from your crouched position, your foot slipped backwards off the top step and you went crashing ass over tea kettle backwards down the stairs.

“Fuck! Shit! Damnit!”

A man had gotten nearly crushed in your fall. He was able to move just to the side fast enough that your tumbling body only grazed him and didn’t knock him down. It wasn’t the plan, but now Ada and Elena had plenty of time to get out of there.

“Y/N!” Hannah rushed to your side. “Are you okay!”

“Wha-yeah. Yeah. I’m fine. I think.” Sitting up slightly your head was throbbing in the back, and you could feel the bruises settling in already.

“Are you alright?” The man’s voice startled you. When you looked up, Thomas Shelby was crouching down next to you, helping you sit up. He kept his hand on the small of your back, and helped you straighten out your legs.

Before you could answer, Elena and Ada were practically in your lap screaming and panicking like your head had been snapped off.

“I’m fine! I’m fine! Fuck stop screaming!” Elena and Ada froze, but Thomas laughed a little. “And what’s so funny?” You snapped as you turned to him.

The second your eyes met his, you felt like someone sucker punched you. Of all people to get snippy with, hurt or not, he was the last person to do that too.

“Oh my god Tom- Mr. Shelby. I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at yo-”

“It’s fine, Y/N. Please just call me Tommy. We practically grew up together for fucks sake. I just never heard you raise your voice like that before, let alone throw the word fuck out so easily. I forget you girls aren’t all seven and eight anymore.” He gave you a small smile, helped you to your feet, and then headed upstairs.

Now you were not only in pain, but absolutely mortified as well.

The girls got you in a chair, and near the fire to relax.

“You yelled at a Shelby!” Elena teased.

“She yells at me all the time,” Ada rolled her eyes.

“Then don’t be an ass!” you shot back. “And I didn’t mean to yell at him. You were both so fuckin’ loud though!” You grabbed each of their hands. “I didn’t mean to be harsh though. I was just scared.”

“So were we!” Hannah threw her arms around all of you. “You could have died!���

“Oh shut up Hannah,” Ada laughed. “She fell down the stairs. We’ve all done it. The real triumph of the day though was that she didn’t turn into an absolute mime in front of Tommy.”

All the girls started laughing and poking fun at you. Literally everyone in the world must have known you’d had your heart set on Thomas Shelby since you could remember.

-------

When you were all much younger, Thomas and Arthur would lookout for you since you were an only child. Being Ada’s close friend, they saw you as another little sister they were protecting. Thomas was different than Arthur. Some would doubt it possible, but he was very gentle with you. He was patient and would play along with the games you came up with with Ada. Arthur was more of the one to beat someone up if he caught them looking at you wrong. It was once the boys all got older and went to war that they all became the ones to beat someone up before they would sit down and listen to a silly child’s game.

When you were around 10, one of the boys on the street dared you to kiss Thomas. He said that if you didn’t ask Thomas to kiss you, then he would tell everyone that you never stopped wetting the bed and no one would ever like you. Of course this was the worst dare in the entire world because Thomas was around 15 or 16 at the time.

Finally, one night when you were leaving dinner with their family, Thomas said he would walk you home because he was going out for the night anyways. When you crossed the street you stopped and started to panic.

“Are you alright?” He had looked so concerned. “Love what is it?”

“I...can….uh…” He was so patient, waiting for you to come up with some sort of a coherent word. “Kiss me.”

Your eyes slammed shut and you wanted to die the second you let those words slip past your chattering lips. The silence was painful, and then you heard him take a few steps towards you. His breath was suddenly warm on your face.

“You want me to kiss you, love?” When you didn’t open your eyes or respond, he laughed to himself a little. “And why would you want me to kiss you?”

“Ian said he would tell everyone I pee the bed if I didn’t kiss you and then everyone would hate me and I am so sorry Thomas. I didn’t mean it. Just leave.” Your face softened, but your eyes never opened. Just a small tear ran down your face. It was the epitome of embarrassment.

You flinched when a rough thumb grazed your cheek. “Well now love, we know that’s not the truth. Ian’s probably the one to still pee the bed.” When you started to laugh, you could hear him laugh as well. “Now, lets see those eyes.”

Taking a shaky breath you opened your eyes. The two of you just stared at each other. Thomas straightened up a bit, and then looked around the street. No one was outside. He held out his hand, and you took it.

Taking off at a brisk walk, you followed him down the road. When you saw the destination, you started to pull back. But Thomas didn’t stop, he pulled you along the entire way.

The door flew open and of course Ian was the one to answer it.

“Uh, hello.”

Thomas pointed at you. “Did you tell this girl that you would tell the block she wet the bed if she didn’t kiss me? And don’t you lie.” Ian went white as a sheet.

“I, well..yeah.”

Thomas nodded, then turned to you. He took off his hat, picked you up just like a groom lifts his bride, gave you a nod, and then kissed you. Soft, quick, and extremely chaste, but it felt like so much more to you.

“Now, Ian, you leave her alone and tell everyone that she kissed Thomas Shelby. You hear me?”

Before Ian could shut the door Thomas turned around, carried you home, and was setting you down on your doorstep in what felt like only moments. You tried to say something, anything to let him at least know how grateful you were, but he kissed you on the forehead, turned to light a cigarette, and left before you could. After almost nine years, that was still the moment that came to mind every time you saw him. You could do nothing but just freeze up, barely say a word, and blush.

----------

Tommy ran his hands over his eyes as he stood from his desk. As he started to cross his office to get a drink a soft knock at his office door startled him. His hand went to his gun as he slowly moved to the door. “Who is it?”

“Y/N.”

When the door opened Tommy visibly relaxed when he saw it was just you standing there. The second you saw just how tired he was though, you started to regret even showing up.

“Mr. She- Tommy, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I’m so-”

“How are you feeling?” He laughed when your face froze. “From the fall?”

“Oh! Oh, um. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Come in,” Tommy moved to the side as you stepped past him. You didn’t make it more than five steps though before you froze up again. “Drink?”

“Yes.”

“Everything okay? Here, sit.” Tommy went to the drink cart as you slowly sat yourself down across from his desk. The bruises from the day were definitely setting in.

Tommy handed you a glass of whiskey before moving to sit behind his desk again.

“So, Y/N. What’s on your mind.” He took a sip of his drink, and relaxed back into his chair, not really looking at you.

“I’m sorry,” you declared before downing your drink and setting your glass down a little too hard on his desk. You made a face at the harsh, sudden whiskey burn, but you needed the help to talk to him. “I didn’t mean to be short with you earlier. I almost hurt you on the stairs. Ada and Elena just wouldn’t shut up. I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t mean to yell at you I ju-”

“Yell?” Tommy cut you off. “That’s what you thought you did? Y/N, you’ve been to so many family events I would have guessed you’d worked out what real yelling is. But, then again you rarely ever talk, so maybe that is yelling for you.” Tommy smiled as he lit another cigarette.

“Well, either way. Yelling or not, I am sorry. Just wanted to tell you that.” You shot out of your chair to go, and immediately regretted it. “Fuck.”

“There’s that word again,” Tommy grinned. “Sit down or you’ll hurt yourself.”

As you sat back down slowly, Tommy crossed the room and brought the bottle back. This time he took the chair next to yours so you were both on the same side of the desk. He poured each of you a drink.

“Out of curiosity, what were you doing up there?”

“Where?” You sipped at your drink, this time letting the warmth rush over you.

“By my room.” Tommy watched you as you focused on your glass, not looking at him. “ As soon as I realized it was you coming tumbling down I was actually quite shocked. Ada and Elena didn’t surprise me at all though when I saw their heads at the top of the stairs.”

“Nothing. Just bad timing. I fall a lot.” You took another sip.

“Mmmm and this had nothing to do with my borrowing something of Elena’s brothers?”

“Didn’t know one of them was missing anything.” Your grip got tighter on the glass. Why did this feel like an interrogation all of a sudden? Did you step into something more than you should have?

“You’re very good, Y/N. Much better than Ada when I talked to her about an hour or so ago. She told me right away what the plan was.” He took a long drink. “Not talking must do wonders for you.”

“Oh I talk all the time,” you shot back. You tried not to externally show how shocked you were that you managed to say that so quickly without a care in the world. Damn whiskey.

“Is that so. Well, what do you usually say?” You hesitated.

“Nothing important I promise. I should go.”

“Oh come on, you never talk to me, or anyone. Can’t be shocked I’m curious.”

You took a long swallow and finished your glass. As the whiskey warmed your body, you were finally able to turn yourself towards Tommy and actually look at him.

“I talk about a lot of things. All of us girls do when we get together. Town, the world, clothes, boys, drinking, trav-”

“Boys and drinking? I’m surprised.”

“What? That twenty year old girls talk about boys and drinking? Like you said earlier, we aren’t seven and eight anymore.” You grabbed the bottle and poured yourself another glass.

Tommy sat a little shocked for a moment. He hadn’t heard you speak this much in years, and now you were very clearly not the tiny little girl who begged him to play anymore.

“No, you definitely are not. None of us are.”

“I’m sorry if that was rude. Like you said, I don’t talk much around you.”

“And why is that exactly?” You froze. Shit. That was not something you deliberately meant to point out like that.

“You, uh, you’re just usually the one talking, or Ada, or Polly, or something. So, um, not much to say I guess.”

“Bullshit.” Your head snapped towards him. “You do talk, like you’ve said. I’ve heard you talking with the girls. With Polly, and sometimes John or Arthur. Just not me. Why is that?”

Your hand started to shake so you slammed your whiskey again, and this time tried to fight the weird face that came with it. You took a deep breath and reached for the bottle again.

“You’re not an idiot Tommy. You know why.” You’d decided there and then to just let it all out. Fuck it. You’d embarrassed yourself several times already. May as well.

“What? No I don’t. We were friends, I left, came back, and ever since I haven’t heard more than ten words.”

“Twenty,” you smirked. “It’s been more words than that.”

“I doubt it.” Tommy leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he held his drink. “Y/N, look at me”

Taking another deep swig, you let yourself truly look at him. Let your eyes wander over his handsome face. You could still see the remains of where there would be crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. You could see the curves of his face you’d memorized over so many years. You finally looked into his eyes, and your heart broke when you didn’t see the sparkle that used to be so irresistible. Now he just looked tired and worn down.

“Why don’t you talk to me?” His words snapped you back to the present.

“Because I can’t. Not like I used to.”

“Did I do something?”

“Yes.”

Tommy straightened back up. He prepared himself to hear the worst of one of his actions thrown back at him. Looking down at his glass, he finished the rest of his drink.

“You kissed me.”

You could feel him staring at you, but you kept your eyes locked on your glass resting in your lap. You’d said it. It was out in the open. But the whiskey confidence wore off and you felt extremely vulnerable all of a sudden.

Tommy’s laugh made you look up. “I did kiss you. I picked you up like a bride and kissed you in front of that little prick of a boy. He was bullying you or something right?”

You relaxed back in your chair and started to laugh a little yourself. “That’s right. He was going to tell everyone I was ten years old and peeing the bed if I didn’t kiss you. And I had a crush on you, so he figured I’d never do it. You made it happen, like you make everything happen, and that was that. He never bullied me again.”

Tommy looked more relaxed as he rested in his chair than he had in ages. He sort of marveled over the silly story from the past as he finished his drink.

“Well, apparently I cannot kiss properly since you have refused to talk to me for so long after.”

“Oh fuck off,” you laughed back. “That wasn’t the case and we both know it. Like I said, you’re not an idiot.”

“Clearly I am, Y/N. I kissed you. You had a crush. That was the-” And that’s when it hit him. You had a crush. Back then. But also right now. That’s why you couldn’t talk to him.

When you realized it was finally setting in you finished your drink, gave yourself a moment, and started to stand.

“Y/N, wait.” You paused, but you couldn’t look at him. “I’m so sorry I didn’t see it before. I truly am. You just pulled back. Stopped talking. Ada never let a hint on. I just didn’t notice. I’m so sorry.”

“Well,” you laughed a bit, “Ada was on notice that she would die if she let anything slip. So believe it or not she can keep a secret.”

The two of you laughed quietly as you stood at the desk. Tommy took a moment to truly look at you, as you were now in the moment. He let his eyes wander over your curves, how your clothes fell across your body. His eyes traced the profile of your face.

Tommy stood up and poured himself another glass. He shifted his weight so he was all of a few inches from you.

“There was a boy once sitting up at the bar at the Garrison. He was talking with his mate and I overheard him say he was going to go and talk to you and Ada. It immediately made me on edge. So I watched as they strolled over. They talked with you two, made you both laugh. As I watched the one with Ada, everything in me wanted to hit him for coming onto my little sister. But the other one talking to you, I just wanted to hit him because he was talking to you. You both left with them, and it took everything in me to not chase you down.”

You looked up at him, completely confused. “Why would you be mad he was talking to me? You’ve said it yourself I never talk to you. We’ve both been with other people. Why would it matter?”

“It just….it was the first time it really hit me how gorgeous of a woman you grew up into. We’ve known each other for ages. I was your first kiss I’m pretty sure. And seeing another man suddenly have an interest in you...you just weren’t that girl that only had eyes for me anymore.”

“Well, I knew there would be no point waiting for you to be all my firsts,” you laughed. “If I couldn’t bring myself to talk to you, I wouldn’t be able to bring myself to ask for anything else. Besides, you had so many others that adored you. One’s who never begged and cried for a kiss.”

Getting all of that off your chest, and the whiskey, made you suddenly feel lighter. Stronger almost. He was Tommy, the boy you grew up with. Your old friend, and someone that you could in fact talk to.

“I’ve drank enough of your whiskey for one night I think. I’ll let you go.”

When you set your glass down, Tommy slid his arm around your waist and turned you to him. He rested his forehead on yours, and you could feel his chest rising and falling.

“Y/N.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I’ll cry,” you could hear him smile a bit, “but would you kiss me?”

You didn’t know if you were suddenly hallucinating or what, but the only thing that came to mind was what he had said when you had asked him that, so many years ago.

“And why would you want me to kiss you?” You smirked.

“Please, Y/N,” his tone was more serious than you expected. “I have to know that I taught you well.” The laugh was back in his voice as his thumb came to raise your chin.

Your lips brushed as they found each other, and as soon as they did, he pressed long, drawn out kisses into your trembling lips. You couldn’t believe you were actually kissing Thomas Shelby. And not because he pitied the embarrassed little girl. But because he wanted the beautiful woman you’d become.

You decided it was now or never, and stepped into him. You pushed deeper into his kiss, letting him know how desperately you craved it. You let your body press against his, running your arms around his waist. If you were going to kiss him, you wanted to make sure he knew how badly you’d been dreaming about this moment.

Pushing your chest into his, you could feel how restrained he was trying to be. You dug your nails into his lower back just slightly as you pulled him tighter. One hand moved to his face as you pressed your hips into his. Pushing your tongue past your own lips, he eagerly met you with his own. Tommy’s arm circled you, one on your waist, and the other moving up your back to the base of your neck, bringing you closer. As your tongues caressed and teased, you could feel your own breathing becoming slightly labored at your own self restraint.

You slid your hand up to his hair, lightly tugging as you dug your nails into his lower back again. He slid the hand on the back of your neck up to grab a handful of hair before gently thrusting his hips into yours. Each of you pressed your bodies as close together as possible as your kiss deepened. Tommy was the first to pull away, his lips finding your neck as he teased you. Your fingers tangled in his hair, giving a slight pull and the tiniest groan passed his lips. That sound shot through you, and you knew you needed to hear it again.

Bringing his lips back to yours you swirled your tongue around his, teasing him with the skill you had developed. Your hand on his lower back dropped to his ass. Giving him a long, deep kiss you tangled your fingers in his hair again. Biting his lower lip, you squeezed his ass and pulled his hair all at once. Just as quickly as that groan passed his lips, he was pushing himself from you.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Tommy stood there, his eyes burning into you as they ran up and down your body. His chest was literally heaving as he tried to make up his mind.

“Y/N. You….you’re not as quiet and docile as you seem are you?”

You could see where this was going and immediately knew you needed to step up if you really wanted him to know how badly you wanted this.

Closing the distance between you, you pushed Tommy down into his seat. Before he could fully process everything, you were slowly dragging your skirt up your thighs, and climbing into his lap. You made sure that you adjusted yourself in his lap as slowly as possible. Making sure you used his chest and thighs to brace yourself. Pushing your chest into his face whenever possible. And when you finally got settled, your lips went straight to his ear. Your hot breath on his skin made him stiffen underneath you as your words sunk in.

“You want the truth? The entire dirty truth?”

He simply nodded. You shifted yourself again, dragging your chest across his face as you settled to whisper in his other ear.

“I have dreamt about you for longer than I can remember. I have craved the feeling of your hands on my skin. I have spent hours wondering how your lips would feel, not only on mine. But everywhere on my body. I have ground myself onto my own fingers, dreaming about how your cock would feel instead.”

Pushing back a little, you brought both hands to the sides of Tommy’s face as you let yourself ease down into his lap. You started to slowly roll your hips as you locked eyes with him.

“I am not docile. I am definitely not quiet. And I am all yours Thomas Shelby. All. Yours.”

“Fucking hell,” tumbled like a groan mixed with a whisper from Tommy’s lips as he crashed his lips back into yours. His hands found your hips almost immediately. As his tongue met yours again, his fingers dug into your ass as he ground your hips harder into his. You moaned into his mouth as your hands ran up his chest, one hand cradling his face and the other moving to his hair. You dropped your lips to nip and bite at his jaw. His head fell back as you sucked at his neck. Bracing yourself with one hand on his chest, you circled your hips into his, grinding as hard as you could on the bulge in his lap.

One of his hands moved between you, finding your breast he grabbed hard, and pulled you to him. His breath hitched as your fingers brushed the skin on his chest as you undid his buttons. As one of his large hands palmed your breast, his other hand ran up your thigh, pushing your dress as far up your body as he could.

You could feel the heat rising in your body, and needed more. Capturing Tommy’s lips again, you teased him with your tongue as you pushed his shirt back over his shoulders. When his hands left you to pull his shirt off, you grabbed the edges of your dress and pulled it over the top of your head. When your face cleared the fabric, Tommy’s eyes were locked on your body.

He looked hungry as his eyes traveled over your breasts, down your torso. His hands ran up and down your thighs, occasionally grazing your ass. Your eyes fixated on his lips as your hands ran over his chest.

“Tommy.” Your voice snapped him from his trance. “Fuck me.”

Tommy crashed his lips into yours, his hands gripping your ass as he lifted you from the chair. Your legs tightened around his waist as he spun you. He took two strides and then slowly lowered you both to the ground. With each of you on your knees, Tommy’s lips left yours to find your neck once again. Your fingers flew to undo his pants as his fingers started to remove your slip. As soon as you felt his pants give, you slid your hand down his length and started to pump his cock while it was still in his pants. His breath hitched and then he grabbed a thick handful of your hair.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing?” He breathed against your ear.

“Getting ready to suck your cock...Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy released your hair a bit, and pulled back so he could look at you. “Normally, that’s exactly what I want to hear. But right now...call me Tommy.”

Pushing his pants towards his knees with one hand, you pushed his shoulders back gently with the other. Tommy shifted so his pants came off and he slowly fell to his back with you moving over him.

“Tommy,” you breathed as you kissed his chest. “You are too tired. Let me take care of you. Just this once. Please. Tommy.” Pressing a deep kiss into his lips, you leaned back to read his face. You could see how badly he wanted control, how he wanted to show you how badly he wanted you. But you could also see the relief in his eyes. How desperately he needed to be taken care of as well.

Tommy raised his head, gave you a slow and tender kiss, and then nodded his head as he let it fall back to the floor. You pressed gentle kisses onto his forehead, each cheek, and then quickly on his lips. You let your warm breath and wet tongue drag down the sides of his neck. Your fingers trailed over the curves of his arms and shoulders as you left wet kisses across his chest. Your hand lazily trailed down his sides as you dragged your tongue down his torso.

His head came up when he felt your touch leave him. You pushed off the floor, and stood at his feet. He had never fully removed your slip, or your panties. Making sure he was looking at you, you slowly raised your slip over your head. As you let it fall to the floor, your hands found your breasts and slowly messaged them, showing Tommy just how you liked it. Your hands slowly made their way to your panties. Leaning over so your chest fell towards him, you pushed your pantines down your legs. As you stepped out of them, you let one hand slip between your legs, playing with yourself for a moment as Tommy’s eyes blew wide open.

Towering over him, you couldn’t believe it. Thomas fucking Shelby was laying completely naked on the floor of his own office. He was laying there for you. Practically drooling as he watched you tease yourself. His cock literally hard and throbbing only for you.

As you lowered yourself back between Tommy’s legs, he propped himself up on his elbows to watch you. Moving forward like you were going to kiss him again, Tommy leaned in, but let out a small huff when your lips dropped to his chest instead. One hand moved up his thigh making him twitch. Your teeth grazed his nipple and his head fell back again. Teasing him with your warm tongue, you swirled and dragged it down his torso as you took his length in your hand again. Slowly pumping his length, you lowered yourself between his legs, making yourself comfortable.

The second your tongue flattened and touched the tip of his cock, Tommy fell back onto the floor. You slowly swirled your tongue on his tip, letting your hand fall to the base of his cock. Keeping your tongue wide you lapped at the sides of his length. You could feel his veins pulsing underneath your tongue. As you let go of his cock, you positioned yourself on both hands. Slowly you lowered your mouth around him, just covering his tip. You sucked gently, and then pulled back. Leaning down again, you moved just as slowly but this time going an inch or so deeper, gently sucking, and then pulling back. Slowly, and painstakingly, you worked your way down Tommy’s shaft as it literally throbbed against your warm, wet mouth.

When you finally got to his base, you just held him there for a moment. Just let the warmth of your mouth surround him. Without backing off, you pressed your tongue hard into him as you lapped and sucked. Tommy’s body nearly seized up as the pressure changed. Bobbing your head gently, you slowly backed off him. Letting him go with a pop, you ran your hand up and down his cock, changing the pressure of your grip as you went.

“You like my soft mouth, Tommy?”

There was only a strangled whisper that passed his lips.

“Do you want me to keep sucking your sweet dick?”

“Ye...yes” This time his whisper was a little clearer.

Moistening your lips, you settled yourself back in. Holding him at the base, you used your other hand to start massaging his balls. Once his hips settled from the sudden change, you flattened your tongue and lapped at the sides of his cock. You let yourself coat him in your spit, literally drooling over him. Your hand started to pump him again as your tongue began to tease and flick at his tip. Beads of precum began to meet your tongue and it was just as sweet as you imagined. The heat between your legs was pooling more and more, part of you actually worried you might drip onto him. But you knew that would only make it that much better.

Taking his length all at once you let him hit the back of your throat. Holding him there for a moment, you felt his dick literally twitch in your mouth. Practically begging you for more. As you let him go with a pop again, you braced yourself on either side of his hips. Running your tongue up and down his length a few more times, you looked up at him.

“Fuck me, Tommy. Fuck my mouth.”

Tommy’s hands flew up to your hair and where slamming you down on his cock in an instant. Again and again he drove you down on his cock, fucking your mouth as hard as he could. He felt you tighten your grip on his thigh and his hands let up. You took a huge gulp of air, and then grabbed his cock. You pumped him hard as you bobbed your mouth up and down. Coating him with your spit you moaned on his cock as you worked him with your tongue. Strangled moans started to pass from Tommy’s lips and his breath started to become even more ragged. He was nearing his limit.

Moving your hands away again, Tommy fisted your hair and drove you back down around his cock. This time he lifted up his hips and fucked your mouth fast and quick. He barely let you do anything with your tongue he was going so fast. When you finally did squeeze his thigh, Tommy let go of your hair and pushed you back.

“Now you’re mine.”

You’d barely even registered what he said when Tommy was pulling you on top of him, his lips crashing into yours like he’d been craving them for ages. As your tongues met again, he groaned into your mouth as he rolled you to your back. He laid to the side of you and let his fingers travel up and down your body. Tingles flew across you as he moved up and down your back, down your stomach, and then his fingers settled on your breast. Slowly massaging and cupping just how you liked, you arched into his touch.

Tommy’s lips dipped to your neck, nipping as he moved to your shoulder. His fingers rolled your nipple between them and you let out a soft whimper. Tommy’s cock was still pressed against you and you could feel him twitch with every soft moan and hitched breath. He captured your lips again and muffled the sound of your whimper as he brushed along the inside of your thigh.

Torturing you with his pace, Tommys fingers ran up and down your thigh, inching towards your center. You could feel yourself literally dripping onto the carpet beneath you. Tommy bit at your lip as he finally brushed at your sex. Your whole body responded and you could feel him smile as he kissed you deeply. Your hand dropped to stroke him, but he caught your wrist.

“No, no, not now. This...this is all for you, Y/N.”

As your body relax back into the floor Tommys fingers cupped your pussy and started to rock his palm into your crest. His lips latched to your breast as his teeth grazed your nipple. Letting out a loud whimper you writhed underneath him. His fingers glided through your folds as the heel of his hand pressed into your clit. Rolling it beneath his palm he let one finger tease your entrance. As he bit at your nipple you arched hard into his mouth, pressing yourself into his hand.

“Please Tommy...please….I...please let me feel you.”

Tommy groaned against your breast as his fingertips found your clit. Pressing his calloused fingertips into you, you whimpered and moaned as you ground yourself into him. His mouth left your chest as he rose up, pressing is strong lips into yours. As he teased your clit he swallowed each moan as his tongue teased yours. Dropping his lips to your neck, his breath was hot on your ear.

“You said you weren’t quiet.”

“Yes” you breathed, trying desperately to keep some control over your body.

“Prove it. Let me hear how bad you want it.”

Your eyes snapped open as Tommy pushed a thick finger inside you. Curling and dragging at your walls you ground yourself into his hand and cried out. You dug your nails into his back as your other hand pressed into the carpet. Another finger joined the first and he stretched you perfectly. The slight burn was incredible as he plunged deeply inside of you. The heel of his hand stayed presssed to your clit as you fucked yourself into his hand.

“Tommy….oh fuck...yes…..oh god….Tommy…”

You were so strung out you couldn’t think straight. Your pussy drenched his fingers as he buried his face into your neck. Biting and sucking, occasionally dipping to tease your breasts. As you started to tighten around his fingers you could hear how his breathing changed. He knew you were close. You rocked your hips faster, trying to keep with his pace as he fucked into you. Your fingers found his hair again and started to pull as you cried out.

“Please...yes...Tommy I’m so close...I...Tommy I’m so….fuck….oh fuck...Tommy!”

You tightened hard around his fingers, your orgasm slamming through you and into him. Your grip on his hair made him practically growl as you spasmed around him. No one had ever made you feel this high before. His fingers started to slowly bring you down. You felt his body shift and before you fully processed it, Tommy was pushing your legs apart. You tried to speak, but you had nothing left.

Tommy’s fingers never left your core, completely dripping with your release. Your legs slammed around his head the second his strong tongue touched your clit. You were still on fire practically and he wanted to keep you there. Tommys tongue flicked at your swollen clit, his fingers expertly curling and scissoring inside you. You were arching practically off the floor and too dizzy to know which way was up. Your legs were like live wires, kicking out every time he grazed your g-spot, but then clamping down around Tommys head each time he sucked at your clit. You were writhing so much that Tommy finally took his fingers out of your spasming pussy so he could hold your hips down.

His tongue lapped through your folds. Lazily finding every glistening and dripping wet corner of your pussy. You drenched his face as he fucked into your core with his tongue. Lapping up your sweet taste and literally groaning into your cunt. His tongue was strong and quick as it would go from rolling your clit to flicking it like mad. Your fingers were buried in Tommy's hair, pulling and yanking. He had scratch marks all over his shoulders and forearms.

“Tommy! Tommy!” He just groaned into your cunt sending waves through your already overloaded body. “Please! Please fuck me...please Tommy….oh god I wanna feel your cock inside me...please…”

In an instant Tommy was off of you. He flew to his knees, grabbing your hips and dragging you down the carpet towards him. Tommy thought about flipping you over, fucking you from behind so he could get deep inside you. But this time he wanted to watch you. He wanted to see you come undone around him. There would be plenty more times to fuck you howeverelse he liked.

Tommy settled himself over you, panting as he looked down on you. Sweat glistened his brow, his lips were bright red. His eyes were in a daze, but still hungry. You had a sheen of sweat as well and couldn’t get your breathing together to save your life. Thomas Shelby held himself over you on all fours. Just watched as the mess of you he created. You were practically vibrating there was so much energy and heat running through you. Each of you tried to match your breathing as you both prepared yourselves.

Lowering himself towards you, Tommy rested on his forearms on either side of your face. His fingers intertwined over your head as he rested his forehead on yours. You let your legs fall apart so he could line himself up. You reached down to feel him throbbing, to the point you wondered if it was painful for him.

Slowly taking him in your hand, you felt him twitch at your touch. You gave him a moment before sliding him between your folds. You felt like someone had dumped a bucket between your legs, you had never been this wet in your life. But, you’d never fucked Thomas Shelby before either.

You lined him up with your literally aching core, and waited for him to press into you. You let your other hand drag lazily over his back. You could feel from the weight of his forehead on yours he was trying to collect himself. Maybe steel himself somehow, you weren’t sure.

“Tommy,” you whispered only loud enough that the two of you could hear. “Tommy look at me.”

Taking a deep breath, Tommy shifted so he could look into your eyes. You could see a small sparkle coming back to his eyes. They were lustful but content. You’d never seen him like this before. You let both of your hands rest on either side of his face, and then gently lifted your head to kiss him tenderly.

“Let’s just….Tommy…”

“Yes, Y/N.”

“Just let me feel you.”

Tommy’s entire body relaxed into yours. Slowly pushing himself into you, your arched as he slowly filled you. Letting that gentle stretch and slight burn wave through you. You pressed warm kisses into the tops of Tommys shoulders as he settled himself inside you. One of his hands cupped your face as he kissed you deeply, you could feel him twitching inside you.

“I want….Y/N….I want you to feel how badly I wa-”

“Tommy,” you cut him off with a quick kiss. “Just let yourself go. It’s me. I’m right here. Just let go.”

Slowly Tommy started to thrust into you, keeping himself inside of you as he rocked his hips. He filled you so completely that every movement was so intense your eyes were pressed shut and you were biting into his shoulder as you whimpered. As his pace started to pick up, his hips started to snap into yours. Thrusting fast and hard he shifted his weight and lifted his hips.

Tightening your legs around him, the angle shifted and he drove directly into your g-spot with unrelenting force. You lost all control and whimpers moved into screams as Tommy fucked you. His pace was unrelenting as he fought his own orgasm. You had come so many times at this point, you weren’t even sure you could again. But when your name slipped past Tommy’s lips, your coil tightened immedaitely.

“Oh fuck….Tommy...I….oh I’m gonna cum...oh...Tommmy…”

“Y/N,” his strangled moan of your name almost made you snap. “Fuck you’re so beautiful. Oh god, Y/N. I’m….I…”

“Yes...yes Tommmy!” you cried out, your hands pressing into the floor below you. “Please! Please I want to feel you!”

You were so close you felt like any second you would snap. Tommys pace almost faltered for a moment, before he finally just let go.

“Y/N, Y/N….I’m….I…”

“Come for me” you breathed.

At that moment, everything went black. Your body coil snapped harder than you knew it possibly could. Every emotion of ecstasy you ever had in your entire life intensified and crashed into you. Tommy completely lose control and buried himself inside of you as he exploded. You could feel him coating your walls as he shook and whimpered over you. Each of you collapsed into each other, completely and utterly spent.

Tommy rolled to your side and pulled you close. Each of you glistened in a layer of sweat as your bodies came together. His frame held you perfectly, and you fit in to every inch of his embrace. You could feel his heart racing with yours, and the last thing you remembered was trying to slow your breathing with Tommy’s.

When you both heard people coming into the office the next morning, you started to wake up. Your body felt like you’d been run over by a series of trucks. Between the fall down the stairs and having the most incredible sex of your life on the floor, not to mention sleeping on it, you were in more pain than you had been in a long time.

“Y/N?” You rolled over and Tommy was looking you over as if he broke you. “Oh my god. Fuck. Y/N, I am so sorry. This floor. And last night I was too hard on you a-”

You stopped his rambling with a deep kiss, and pulled him close to you. Your fingers ran along his jawline as he caressed the side of your face. You both just laid there, lazily kissing and soaking up each others presence.

“If you so much as attempt to apologize for anything that happened last night Thomas Shelby, it will be the last thing you do. Understood?” You laughed as you gave him another kiss.

Voices started to get louder outside, and you knew it was time to go. As you tried to sit up though, your body was having none of it.

“Here,” Tommy sat up next to your side, “let me help you.”

Tommy handed you your clothes as you both got dressed on the floor. He helped you sit up and gathered his things and your coat. When you were all settled he helped you gently stand.

“You alright?” Tommy’s eyes searched yours trying to read your mind for how you were really feeling.

“I won’t lie,” you laughed. “It does hurt pretty bad. But I’ll make it home. With some help if that’s alright?”

Tommy smiled wider than you had seen in years before he gave you a deep and long kiss. He broke the kiss only to dip down and sweep you into his arms, just like a groom does to his new bride.

“Let me take you home, and let me take care of you. How does that sound?”

You couldn’t find the right words, so you answered with a kiss instead.

As Tommy carried you out of the office heads turned to stare. Polly and Arthur came through the door just as Tommy was carrying you out.

“Hello Polly. Hello Arthur.” You smiled and waved as you both left. They stood in the doorway and watched Tommy carry you to his car just down the street.

“So she’s talkin’ around him again then?” Aruthur looked at Polly, completely confused.

“Oh she’s talking alright,” Polly smiled.

[afternoonpoppy]

Camping

Poppy awakens from her slumber, aaaaaa! This was for a commission but also something I’d wanted to sit down and write for a looong while, so this finally got me to do it and I’m glad for that. This turned out longer than I expected but I had fun writing it, so I hope it turned out well!

A bit of a chill had started to creep into the night air, but Allister hardly minded at all. Being sat by a modestly-sized campfire with Wolfram beside him, there was plenty of warmth to go around. And besides, Allister was camping again! 

Sort of, anyway - it was honestly more of a meetup with friends for the evening, and they weren't even more than a twenty-minute walk from Allister's house. But the group had gotten a fire together, brought out a cooler with drinks, and even found some sizable logs to sit on. Allister preferred fold-out chairs, but his cousin Sadie had insisted it would make the whole night more 'authentic.' Plus, it did allow Wolfram and Allister to sit closer together. In all, they'd ended up with about nine people gathered together, some of them being mutual friends of Allister and Sadie, with others being acquaintances invited by said friends. The total was 'about' nine since Allister's coworker Vincent had shouted that they were going on an impromptu snack-run to the nearest convenience store thirty minutes ago.

"Honestly, I don't know what she was expecting to happen," Sadie was saying very emphatically from across the campfire. While the group had split off into their own conversations and activities, she'd recruited Allister and Wolfram into listening to the evening's third rant about the obnoxious roommate she'd been putting up with for the past while. "Like, she was gonna yell at me and then just expect me to finish cleaning up the apartment for her? I am under no obligation to do her laundry, thank you very much." 

Marcus, the other of Allister's two coworkers that had been invited, walked over to take a seat by the fire just in time to catch what was being discussed and followed up with, "I mean, you gotta remember, Sadie. This is the same girl that thought she'd just hand in a Wikipedia article for one of her college assignments. You think she thinks this stuff through?"

Allister's eyebrows furrowed as he stared into the fire and tried to parse that statement. "Wait, as in she plagiarized a Wikipedia article, right?" Surely Marcus hadn't literally meant -

"I mean, I guess it's still plagiarism if you download an entire Wikipedia page and send it to your professor, yeah."

Oh. Allister nodded, struggling for something to say to that, but quickly gave up. Even if that anecdote weren't so absurd that it demanded speechlessness, he'd been content to let his friends steer the conversations of the night. Allister was just glad to hear what they'd been up to as of late, as well as to have a chance to sit outside and enjoy the wilderness. Crickets chirped in the trees of the woods and stars coated the sky up above, making a beautiful sight. 

That sight had been one of his favorite things about moving out here from the city. The other being that he'd been able to meet Wolfram. Wolfram who had spent the first part of the evening nearly dozing off by the fire after the walk to the group's meetup spot, but looked to have regained some energy now that he'd been sitting down for a while. He hadn't bothered to take part in the conversation much either and had also been focusing on either the fire or the stars for most of the night.  Allister wasn't very surprised, though. Considering this was the first time Wolfram had properly interacted with... anyone else in this world in person, Allister was just glad to get him out of the house. Getting into the car was still a no-go, but perhaps that would be another day.

"So, Wolfram, what do you do, anyway? You work, doing the whole 'actually trying to learn' thing, what?" Sadie asked abruptly, apparently letting the previous topic rest for now. "I don't think Allister's ever mentioned."

Allister's eyes widened and he glanced at Wolfram. The two had long ago decided not to mention the whole... 'magic and other worlds' situation to other people for any number of reasons. Not least of all being concerns as to what sort of attention Wolfram would draw as a (somewhat, at least) practiced spellcaster. It wasn't as if the pair hadn't discussed what their cover story would be to other people, but it hadn't come up very much as of yet and Allister couldn't help but worry.

Still, Wolfram seemed unphased by the question and smoothly answered, "I'm a writer. Primarily focusing on short fiction at the moment."

"Whoa, cool," Sadie said with a grin. "What do you write, like, romance, fantasy, sci-fi? Romance? I'm into romance if you've got any of that."

"Apologies, no. It is fantasy, my current project is a series of stories taking place in the same setting, so right now much of my time working on it is spent on world-building."

Allister was impressed at Wolfram's confidence in that answer. Sadie nodded, reaching into the cooler near her for a drink. "Neat. I don't actually read a whole lot, so no promises, but I'll try and give it a look when it's done. Either of you guys wants a beer?" She held up an extra can and tapped on the side with one nail.

"No, thank you," Wolfram said.

Allister shrugged. "Yeah, sure, I'll have one."

Sadie aimed to toss it to Allister but realized the fire between them might pose a problem. Rather than stand up and walk around it, she settled for instead trying to throw the can around the fire at an awkward angle, which resulted in it flying off to the side and rolling across the ground a bit. Marcus stared at Sadie with eyebrows raised.

"Uh, I think we can let that one settle there for a while," Allister said, standing from his seat to grab a can from the cooler. "Let's not ask you to throw things when you've had alcohol."

Sadie objected by holding up her freshly-opened can and saying, "Hey, this is my first one, Alli!"

"That was a sober throw?" Wolfram asked.

"Wait, shit. Okay, yeah, let's say I was drunk for that."

For a while longer, the conversation shifted back and forth through various topics among the group. Eventually, though, Allister glanced over to the trees around the campsite. He leaned closer to Wolfram and asked, "Hey, you wanna go for a walk?"

"A walk?" Wolfram leaned against Allister's shoulder. "Where did you intend to go?"

"Nowhere, in particular. I just wanted to stretch my legs and get away from the fire for a bit. We don't gotta go far."

Wolfram thought for a moment, then said, "We walked here and have to do so again to get home, so I would rather not. Feel free to enjoy yourself, though, so long as you don't end up lost."

"You sure?"

"I'm not frightened of people, Allister," Wolfram said with a smile. "I can handle any questions your cousin directs at me. Either that or I can ask her something about her housemate and let her talk for another thirty minutes."

"Hmm, I guess so. Alright then, if you're sure. I'll make sure I can still see the fire anyway." Allister stood up, stretching a bit, noting that Sadie and Marcus had both wandered off to the rest of the group and were yelling into someone's phone at Vincent, demanding they return from whatever had distracted them on their snack run. Allister had meant to tell them he'd be back shortly but figured he wouldn't disrupt anything if he just stepped away from the campsite.

Once he'd gotten some distance away, he noticed how quiet it was out in the woods. He hadn't been aware of the background noise his social circle's chatter made until he could hear the contrast in nature's quiet cricket chirps. It was nice out here. Much more Allister's pace than when he lived out in the city with his family, but this was the first time he'd taken the time to stop and appreciate it even after moving out here.

He leaned back against a tree, occasionally sipping the beer he'd brought with him, and started searching the stars for any constellations he knew. The answer was none, he'd always been terrible at telling constellations apart and never knew where one ended and another began, but at least they were pretty.

Allister's thoughts were interrupted, unfortunately, as a strong hiccup shook through his chest. 'HUP!' He raised a hand to his chest in surprise and instinctively tried to muffle the next 'HMK!' to follow, his own hiccups startling him as they broke the silence.

"Why n - HULP - now..." he mumbled to himself. As usual, Allister's hiccups were fast and obnoxiously loud. Considering it was almost unheard of for his cases to start up with no reason, he cast an accusatory look at the beer can in his hand. "Thi - HUC - this is you - HIC - your fault - HUC-UP!" He sighed - or tried to with yet another hiccup interrupting - and turned his attention back up to the stars.

Allister had planned to try to wait out his hiccups in the hopes they'd stop on their own. He preferred not to return to the party only to be a distraction for everyone. Unfortunately, he did wait for some time, looking back at the campfire now and then and eventually checking his phone to see that almost fifteen minutes had passed. It was becoming apparent that just the same as the hiccups didn't typically start without reason, they wouldn't stop on their own anytime soon either. 

Allister grimaced at that thought. He had wanted to be back by now, but here he was instead, without even so much as a bottle of water to try to solve the problem. He hated what he was contemplating, but he hated leaving Wolfram on his own even more. So, without putting too much thought into what a terrible decision he was making, Allister inhaled deeply and held his breath. In the past, that had always been a terrible idea, but maybe that had always been a coincidence?

Successfully holding his breath with hiccups leaping through his chest every other second proved to be more difficult than he remembered, and it felt like he ran out of air much faster than he would have otherwise. And he was forced to give up that effort and breathe fresh air when his hiccups abruptly became faster.

Allister immediately regretted his decision. "Wa - HUP - wait - HUC-UP - please ju - HIC! HIGK - just - HUK-ULP - h-hold on - HIC!" His attempt at talking his hiccups into calming down did little to help. Even worse, they had gotten stronger and were starting to hurt now. Allister would have said it was because his own body seemingly wanted him to suffer, but he knew this was his mind's fault instead, for thinking holding his breath might seriously work this time.

"Allister?"

Allister jumped when he realized Wolfram was now standing next to him. When that had happened, he had no idea. "Fr - HUP! HIC-ULP! - Fram, I - HUC-UP! HIGK! - what - HIC!"

Wolfram reached out and patted Allister gently on his back, a look of concern on his face. "Everyone at the fire is currently engaged in a round of trivia about media that is flying completely over my head, so I thought I would come to find you. And it didn't take me very long to hear where you were... Are you alright? Those sound worse than usual, somehow."

Unable to form anything even remotely close to a proper sentence at the moment, Allister could only answer with, "B - HIGK-UP - bad ch - HIC! HUC-ULP - choices - HUP!"

"I'm not sure what that - oh. Allister, did you try to stop them by holding your breath?"

Allister nodded.

"Haven't you told me that's the one thing you absolutely cannot do?"

Allister answered with another nod and a whine between hiccups.

"And why in the world would you do that?" Wolfram asked. "From what I was last aware, there are plenty of drinks available that you could have cured them with instead. That's at least had a partial success rate before."

At first, Allister contemplated how to phrase the answer in a way that his hiccups would allow, then settled for pulling up a note app on his phone and typing. 'I didn't want to bother anybody. My hiccups aren't exactly subtle.'

Wolfram stared at the message, thinking. "I hardly think anyone present tonight would mind as much as you think. You honestly did not need to make yourself suffer like this."

'Suffer' sounded melodramatic, but considering he was still putting up with nonstop hiccup after hiccup, Allister figured it wasn't exactly wrong. 'I know it was a dumb idea. But everyone's having fun, and I didn't want to be a problem.'

"Honestly, Allister, you worry too much about these things..." Wolfram sighed. "Though I... have also hidden in a crate to avoid being seen with hiccups, so... perhaps I am not the best person to hear this from."

"You - HIGK-ULP - what?" Allister asked, too surprised by that statement to bother typing his response on his phone.

Staring down at the ground and fidgeting a bit, Wolfram mumbled, "I, um, it was rarely an issue back home but I... did have a particularly stubborn case at one point and... Hiding away until they stopped seemed ideal..."

"But a - HUC! HIC - a crate?"  

"It - I panicked, I was in one of the Academia Arcana's storerooms to retrieve spell materials and - and I heard someone outside the door - the details aren't important. My point is, I do understand but don't do this sort of thing to yourself in the future, please."

Allister appreciated the thought, smiling at Wolfram and nodding. "Don't w - HUP! HIC-UP - worry, I - HIC - I won't."

"Good. Now then, I'll fetch you some water. Wait here, I'll be quick about it."

After a minute or two, Wolfram returned with a bottle of water, which Allister accepted gladly, trying and failing to state his gratitude, "Th - HIGK - thank y - HULP - you, F - HUC-ULP - Fra -"

"Just drink it," Wolfram interrupted. 

Allister did so, drinking the water in quick gulps between each hiccup. It took a few tries, but eventually, they slowed down somewhat and finally came to a stop entirely. He waited for a few seconds, still unsure if he'd genuinely been cured at first, but then finally sighed with relief.

"Better?"

"Much," Allister said. "Thanks, Fram."

Wolfram smiled and leaned his weight against Allister's side. "Very good. Shall we be returning to the camp?"

"Hmm..." Allister wrapped an arm around Wolfram's shoulder. "It is getting a bit cold, huh? I guess we should." He paused for a moment, then added, "But... Hey, how about we have a real camping trip sometime soon?"

"We won't have an oven for you to cook proper meals, then," Wolfram objected.

"I mean, I guess not. But you've never had s'mores before. Those are best when they're toasted over a campfire."

"I've heard of those... what are they?"

"Chocolate and marshmallows, Fram."

Wolfram's eyes widened at the statement, clearly intrigued. "When is your next day off? We can do it then."

Allister laughed and hugged Wolfram closer. "Okay, we'll talk about it when we get home. C'mon, let's head back to the camp before Sadie comes to chase us down."

[octoberobserver]

For the kids prompts, Can you do 45 and Reddie?

Hi Nonnie! Of course, I’m happy to fill 45. Thanks so much for the ask 😊 hope you like it ♥️

45) Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed.

Fuck Fight Club and Pretty Woman too

“You wanna fill me in on why you’ve been a grade-A asshole all night, Eddie?”

Richie was pissed. More pissed than Eddie could ever remember him being.

And it was all his fault.

Not that he’d admit it

He took his time hanging up his coat, staring doggedly at it and ignoring Richie’s piercing gaze burning a hole into the side of his head.

“I don’t know what you’re—

“Oh cut the crap, Kaspbrak, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Richie practically growled, shirking off his jacket, draping it over the couch and throwing his keys onto the coffee table instead of the key holder in the exact way he knew drove Eddie up the wall.

Eddie did in fact know what he was talking about. His sour mood had not gone unnoticed among some of Richie’s associates the entire latter half of the evening. It hung over him like a dark cloud as he grew quiet and withdrawn, excluding when he threw more than a few barbed comments at one of the particularly obnoxious attendees.

But Eddie was never the type to give in this early on in an argument. Well, unless it was against his ex-wife back when they were miserably married and he just gave her her way to avoid having to talk for long periods of time. With his best friend/roommate, though? He only dug his heels in deeper. Always had. Since the day they met in third grade.

“No Richie, I don’t know,” he replied through a clenched jaw, snatching up the keys and depositing them in the little dish by the door, where they were meant to go, “why don’t you enlighten me?”

Richie stormed into the kitchen, wrenching open the fridge door roughly and pulling out a beer, twisting the cap off and angrily guzzling it.

Eddie watched him, a spike of irritation beginning to form under his skin.

Richie’s infuriation was infectious.

“Don’t throw the—”

The words died in Eddie’s throat as he watched Richie fling the bottle cap towards the garbage can like he did most nights, despite nine times out of ten missing the shot by a mile.

The cap bounced off the lid and clinked to the floor.

Eddie saw red.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Richie! Why do you always—”

“Were you jealous?”

Eddie blinked.

The atmosphere in the room began to shift.

Heat rushed up his neck, to his cheeks as Richie tilted his head, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Why would I be jealous?” Eddie asked, gaze lowered as he bent down to pick up the bottle cap. “You’re entitled to flirt with whoever you want.”

Richie snorted, and even though Eddie couldn’t see his face, he knew he was rolling his eyes.

“I wasn’t flirting with him, Eds. He was flirting with me.”

Eddie’s entire body tensed as he straightened up, shuffling over to the trash can and muttering over his shoulder, “Whatever. It’s not like I’m your boyfriend or something.”

He could feel Richie’s stare piercing into the back of his head as he continued, “We…we’re just best friends who get each other off, Rich. And that…that can change whenever you want.”

A beat of silence met those words.

Eddie refused to turn around.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He couldn’t decipher anything in Richie’s voice, it sounded almost robotic, but a dart of pain shot through Eddie’s chest, right under his scar anyway as he tried to prepare himself for what he had to say next.

“It means…” he began as evenly as he could, moving across the kitchen to get a glass, his back still turned, “if you wanna date, or…or fuck other dudes, or whatever…have at it. We’ll…we’ll stop this…” he waves a hand over his shoulder to where he estimated Richie was standing, “arrangement. No questions asked.”

Because if anything was obvious to Eddie after seeing him flourish tonight, it was that Richie…he deserved more. More than their little arrangement allowed. And Eddie would be damned if he held him back from that for his own selfish reasons.

Another silence followed his words. He had to turn around sometime. He knew that.

He managed to delay it just a little longer by walking over to the sink and turning on the faucet, resting his palms on the counter, hunching his shoulders, making no move to fill his glass. The rush of water almost drowned out Richie’s quiet reply, barely above a whisper.

“Do you wanna stop, Eddie?”

Hell no.

It had all begun three months earlier when Richie accidentally walked in on Eddie ‘punchin’ the upside down clown,’ as Richie so fondly called it. Their eyes had locked, Richie frozen in shock, Eddie in embarrassment. Richie could have hightailed it outta there, they could have brushed it off, marked it down as one of the hazards of being roommates and maybe, after a time, even laughed about it. Instead, Eddie had choked out Richie’s name, his cock still gripped in hand, so impossibly hard as Richie’s eyes began to lower.

They had just watched each other, breaths ragged as Eddie’s hand began to move, slowly at first, then gradually speeding up, pumping his cock hard, over and over and over, a surge of confidence flowing in him that was fuelled by Richie drinking in his every move, until his orgasm started to rake through him, causing him to cry out and begin to come all over his stomach.

That had lit a fire under Richie, he scrambling over to the bed and dropping to his knees, his giant hand covering Eddie’s, squeezing and moving in time with his jerks.

“Shit, fuck—Richie,” Eddie gasped, his voice broken as they pulled the last of orgasm from him together.

“Eds—I—can I…?”

Eddie had nodded, happy to grant him anything, whatever he could possibly want in that moment.

Turned out, what Richie had wanted was his mouth around Eddie’s dick.

Wildly, all Eddie could think as Richie’s head lowered to his lap was how Dick wants my dick.

He almost passed out when the wet heat enveloped him, hissing a little as his over-sensitive nerves tingled.

“R-Richie, oh my god,” he wheezed, his hand reaching up and clawing at his hair, pulling it tightly through his fingers.

Richie groaned, the vibration heading straight to Eddie’s cock and causing his back to arch off the bed.

It was then that Eddie realised three things.

One, the hand currently buried in Richie’s hair was covered in Eddie’s come, it smeared into his locks in a way that should have had Eddie recoiling in disgust, but instead sent a bolt of arousal through him, despite his exhaustion. Two, Richie’s mouth was ridiculously talented—the type of talented that could get a 41 year old man’s refractory period shaved significantly down—holy shit. Eddie may never call him a Trashmouth ever again after this. And three, Richie was rock hard. His erection pressing into Eddie’s side from where he kneeled along the bed.

At that revelation, Eddie’s free hand had wandered almost unbeknownst to himself, out to cup Richie through his pants, causing him to jump in surprise, his mouth pulling off Eddie’s dick with a pop that had him shivering.

They stared at one another, Eddie marvelling at Richie’s plump, crimson-stained lips that had a bead of Eddie’s come gathered in the crease of his mouth.

A beat passed where their eyes met, they on a knife-edge, the precipice of something unknown.

Then Eddie squeezed his hand a little tighter, causing Richie’s breath to hitch.

And the rest…was history.

It became a regular thing, then. Just them…tending to each other whenever they needed it. Quick hand jobs before Richie had to meet with an exec, sloppy blowjobs to celebrate Eddie’s promotion and Richie’s Netflix deal and one very memorable rim-job on the eve of Eddie’s one year ‘death-day.’

They hadn’t talked about it much. But they had unwritten rules.

One — don’t talk about Fight Club. AKA The Arrangement.™ So no spilling the beans to any of the Losers.

Two — don’t talk about Fight Club. Seriously. If the Losers found out they would be un-fucking-bearable and put a screeching halt to the most (and best) sex either of them had had in years. (Maybe ever.)

Three — no kissing. Eddie had deemed that a step over the line. Which, Richie had easily countered with, “Oh, so you can have my tongue in your ass, but not your mouth? Some logic ya got there, Eds.” But Eddie wouldn’t budge. So Pretty Woman rules it was.

And Four — no fourth base, going all the way, the whole enchilada, whatever you wanna call it.

They both agreed that that would definitely be over the line.

And so, with those firm set of rules alá Fight Club and Pretty Woman in play, Eddie and Richie made it work, it somehow slotting almost seamlessly into their daily lives, their friendship and cohabitation hardly changing at all.

Until Eddie’s green-eyed monster reared its ugly head, of course.

Except…that isn’t exactly true, is it? You were compromised from the start, asswipe.

Eddie ignored his inner-voice that sounded irritatingly like a thirteen-year-old Trashmouth as he shoved his glass under the water, letting it fill.

“That Eric guy seemed pretty into you,” he murmured, pivoting from the question as he shut off the faucet, “it would probably be a good idea to uh…call off The Arrangement if you wanted to call that number on your hand.”

He turned, then. Just in time to see Richie blink in surprise.

Yeah. Eddie had seen the exact moment the hot, young blond had reached across and playfully tugged on Richie’s hand, scrawling something onto the palm of it. It didn’t take a genius to know what.

“Eric’s a kid,” Richie snorted as Eddie’s eyes finally met his.

“He’s 29.”

“Exactly. He’s a millennial.”

“Your new fan base is made up of mostly millennials, Richie. And Gen Z’ers,” Eddie rolled his eyes, crossing the kitchen and realising in his haste that he had left his water but was too stubborn to turn back, trudging on towards the living room.

Only to have his way blocked by the garish, tuxedo T-shirt that Richie had insisted on wearing to his press junket despite Beverly desperately pleading with him no to. In compromise, she had designed him a very sexy faux-leather jacket that highlighted the breadth of his shoulders very nicely.

Not that Eddie noticed, or anything.

Liar liar pants on—

He slowly raised his gaze, eyebrows furrowing as he saw an enigmatic expression cross Richie’s face.

“That Ron guy seemed pretty into you.”

Eddie frowned.

“You mean Ross?”

“Whatever,” Richie waved a hand dismissively, his eyes bouncing around the room, “he was flirting up a storm with you at the bar.”

Eddie snorted, “Ross was just being friendly, Richie. He saw that I was on my own when you were—”

“He was flirting with you, Eddie. He couldn’t have been more obvious than if he shoved a rose between his teeth and asked you to tango.”

Eddie’s lips, the traitors, twitched at that. He cleared his throat.

“I’m pretty sure I know when someone is flirting with me, Richie.”

“Really?” Richie scoffed, the pitch of his voice climbing as he threw up his hands in exasperation, “see, I don’t think you do, Eds. Fuck, I’ve been flirting with you since 1986 and look where—”

He cut himself off abruptly, but it was too late.

Eddie watched as Richie froze, his eyes as wide as saucers behind his glasses.

His heart began to race.

“You…what? Rich—”

“Nothing, forget it,” Richie held up his hands in surrender and that’s when Eddie caught it.

The remnants of a dark smudge.

Eric’s phone number.

Or what used to be his number anyway.

Eddie’s own hands shot out before he knew what was happening, both grasping the larger hand and tugging it closer.

“Did you rub it off?”

He kept his gaze carefully trained on Richie’s palm as he heard his breath hitch.

“…maybe.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t wanna get ink poisoning—why the fuck do you think, Eddie?”

His grip tightened around Richie’s fingers as his eyes slowly lifted.

They stared at one another, the silence ringing loud in the kitchen.

“I…” Eddie floundered, desperately wracking his brain for some words to form a coherent sentence.

Don’t get your hopes up, Kaspbrak. You know how that always ends.

Richie must have taken his hesitance for a dismissal however as he heaved a heavy sigh and began pulling out of his grasp.

“Forget it, Eds, I’m tired and a little tipsy. I’m just gonna go to—”

“I was jealous.”

Richie stilled, his eyes darting back to Eddie’s, his hand still firmly in his grip.

“You were?”

Eddie heart hammered against his rib cage so hard he felt it might burst out of his chest Alien-style any second now.

What the fuck are you doing, dickwad?! This is not a part of The Arrange—

“Yeah, Richie, I was. Am. Jealous,” he swallowed the lump in his throat, squeezing Richie’s hand tight as he forced himself to continue. “I—that guy was hot and young and I’m not and—”

Richie closed the space between them, crowding Eddie back against the kitchen counter, bending his knees to catch Eddie’s eye.

“Eddie, trust me when I say this, man. You were the hottest person in that entire bar tonight.”

Eddie let out a loud snort, refusing to meet his stare.

“Yeah righ—”

Fingers clasped his scared cheek, forcing his head up.

His breath stuttered at the sheer sincerity in Richie’s eyes.

“I’m serious, Eds. I could barely take my eyes off you all night. I—all I kept thinking about was getting you home and…” he trailed off, his hand breaking from Eddie’s face to drag down his neck, chest, stomach, to finally rest, feather-light on his belt.

A bolt of arousal shot through Eddie’s abdomen.

Along with his mouth, Richie had very, very talented hands too.

But they were getting off track.

Shaking his head, Eddie forced his foggy, horny brain back online, stepping around Richie and trying to catch his breath. This was important, he couldn’t get sidelined with the promise of sex. He had known that this was a long time coming, pretty much ever since they started in the first place.

All good things must come to an end. Literally and figuratively…

“We need to call it off, Richie.”

He watched as Richie’s shoulders sagged, his entire body deflating like a balloon as he drained the last of his beer and shuffled across to the recycling, avoiding Eddie the entire way.

“Okay, Eds. If that’s what you want. Consider Fight Club disbanded.”

There was that almost robotic voice again. Completely void of emotion. So very hard to read.

“It’s…it’s not what I want,” Eddie found himself admitting before he could think better of it, “but it’s what you need, Rich. What you deserve.”

Richie whirled around suddenly, brow furrowed, eyes shining bright.

“What I deserve ? The fuck does that mean?”

Eddie sighed, not wanting to have to explain himself further but knowing he had to. Shrugging, he ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to maintain eye-contact.

“You just…you deserve more than my dry hand-jobs and amateur blow-jobs, man. I—I know when we started this it was a way for us to blow off some steam but…you’re out and proud and deserve so much more than our arrangement. So much more than what I…”

He trailed off, eyes lowering.

“I just want what’s best for you, Rich.”

And it’s not me.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might already have what’s best for me?”

Richie didn’t sound robotic, anymore. Now he sounded downright incredulous.

“Uh—”

“No, ‘course it didn’t,” he continued, stepping closer, ducking his head to catch Eddie’s eye, “‘cause instead of asking me, you just went ahead and decided you knew what was best for me. But you’re wrong, Eds. So fucking wrong I—I don’t even know where to begin explain—”

He cut himself off, tilting his head to the ceiling as if asking the heavens for help. Which, for Richie, was really saying something.

Shit.

“Why were you jealous, Eds?”

Richie’s voice was small, now. Resigned. As if fearful of his answer.

“Was it—was it that a hot, young blond was flirting with me and not you?” he asked, tilting his head back down from the ceiling and staring straight into his soul, laser-focussed.

“Or was it that I was flirting with a hot, young blond and not you?”

Eddie’s heart leapt into his throat.

“I thought you weren’t flirting?” he gasped out, biting his bottom lip.

Richie let out an awful, humourless laugh, his eyes shining in a way that had Eddie’s stomach twisting painfully.

“Okay. Okay, Eddie,” he held up his hands again, taking several steps backwards, out towards the living room, “I hear you loud and clear. Say no more,” he paused, sounding more resigned than Eddie had ever heard him, lifting his shoulder in a one-armed shrug, “‘S like you said. We’re just best friends who get each other off. That can change whenever you want. I get it. Good night.”

Eddie watched as he turned on his heel and began walking out of the room.

“I was jealous that he was flirting with you and laughing with you and…fucking touching you when that was all I wanted to do!”

Richie stopped dead in his tracks.

Eddie scrambled forward, his mouth running away from him, “I was so fucking pissed that some hot fucking himbo got to drape himself all over you, without a care in the world as if you were free and single because—”

The rest of his sentence lodged in his throat.

He swallowed, taking a deep breath, staring at the hard line of Richie’s shoulders, his heart samba drumming in his chest.

Well, you’ve come this far, Kaspbrak.

“Because I…I want you. All the time. Not—not just since The Arrangement. Since…shit, since I was a kid. And these last few months have given me just a taste of what life would be like if I could…if I could have you. And I…I hate that it’s just made me realise that I want more. Not just hand jobs and blow jobs here and there. I wanna…I wanna flirt with you in public, and flaunt you on my arm and…and fucking kiss you goodnight and good morning and just because I feel like it. I wanna sleep next to you and fuck you and get a fucking dog with you. I want all of it. All of you.”

A horrible, heavy silence followed his words, marred only by Eddie’s gasping breath as he fought to catch it. His heart sank lower and lower with each passing beat. He couldn’t ever remember a time that Richie had gone this long without making some kind of noise, so he did what any good risk analyst would do. He started mentally making contingency plans for how he could salvage their friendship.

I’ll move out immediately. Leave the group chat for a while. It’ll be awkward, but eventually we might be able to—

“Himbo?”

Eddie gaped as Richie finally turned around, staring wide at him, a small but definite smile on his face.

“W-What?”

Richie’s smile grew bigger.

“You called Eric a himbo. I didn’t think you kept up with today’s slang, Eds,” he tilted his head, apparently amused as he started to close the distance between them.

“Really?” Eddie groused, staring at him, “that’s your response to everything I just said? What the fuck, Rich—”

Lips crashed into his, a large hand clutching his cheek and another squeezing his hip, propelling him backwards, colliding them both into the kitchen counter. Eddie let out a rough ‘Oomph!’ but there was no way in hell he was breaking this kiss. Whose dumb idea was it to enforce Pretty Woman rules anyway? To withhold oneself from a mouth as talented as Richie’s? That was just fucking martyrdom.

The kiss was feverish, desperate as they clung to one another, knocking over various knick-knacks that Richie insisted on keeping on the kitchen counters, Eddie’s tongue tracing along Richie’s bottom lip, his teeth nipping just slightly. He sighed as Richie groaned, opening his mouth and deepening the kiss, his hands raking up and down Eddie’s body as if he couldn’t decide where to rest them. Eddie buried his own hands in Richie’s hair, clutching tightly, using the leverage to do a little pushing of his own, shoving him back against the kitchen table.

Richie let himself be manhandled, stumbling backwards, almost tripping over his own feet if Eddie didn’t have a firm grip on him. The back of his legs bumped up against the table with a soft thump. Eddie’s grip left Richie’s hair to fly to his waist, tightening as he urged him up. Richie took a second to get with the program, too preoccupied with sucking on Eddie’s tongue to do much else. But eventually, he scattered the place-mats and newspaper and stress-ball from off the table and he heaved himself up, arms reaching down to clasp the back of Eddie’s legs, lifting him up with him until he was kneeling, knees either side of his hips.

The kiss broke.

Their eyes met.

Eddie’s heart skipped a beat when he saw moisture gathered behind Richie’s glasses as he stared at Eddie like he was the greatest gift he’d ever received.

“I’m in love with you, by the way,” Richie murmured, quietly but firmly, as if they were words he had long since lived with, “have been since I was twelve years old. In case that wasn’t clear.”

A little line formed between his eyebrows as he cleared his throat, “It’s—it’s okay, though. You don’t have to say it back or anything, I know it’s a lot and—”

“I’m in love with you too, dickwad. In case that wasn’t clear.”

They stared at one another, twin smiles gracing their faces before Richie leaned forward, capturing his lips once more.

This kiss was softer, slower, but god…

Eddie could feel thirty years of emotion flowing between them, as if Richie was pouring every ounce of pining, yearning, ache and love that he had ever felt for Eddie into it.

The burn of tears welled up behind his eyes as Richie’s hands clasped his cheeks, his thumb gently tracing his scar. They eventually had to break for air, but didn’t go far, their lips barely an inch apart as they heaved in breaths, until Eddie leaned forward again, pecking the tiniest of kisses against Richie’s mouth.

Fuck Fight Club and Pretty Woman rules.

Richie leaned up, returning the kiss that was more the pressing of smiles but still had Eddie’s stomach flipping with butterflies.

“God, Eds. I’ve wanted to kiss you practically my whole life.”

Eddie hummed, raking a hand through his hair and straightening his slightly askew glasses.

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” he sighed, resting their foreheads together, “I just…I just knew that kissing you would be too much. Would make me wish too much and hope too much and—”

“Me too,” Richie nodded, bumping their heads gently, practically going cross-eyed as he fought to keep eye contact, “you were right. I wouldn’t have coped with kissing you without constantly wanting more and hating myself for it. Even though I did anyway. Always have,” he laughed a little self-deprecatingly, “but ya know, I’m used to that.”

Eddie’s heart panged.

“Fucking Derry.”

“Fucking Derry,” Richie agreed.

“Dumb Eddie.”

“No,” Richie shook his head, leaning back to properly look at Eddie, “not dumb at all, Eds. We—that shithole fucked both of us up, right? All seven of us. So, don’t feel dumb about not picking up on my giant heartboner for you back in the day, alright? I…I did everything in my power to hide it ‘cause I was scared shitless. Homophobic clowns and Bowers, you know? And now…now we’re so fucking repressed I still marvel we managed to con ourselves into The Arrangement in the first place.”

Eddie snorted, silently agreeing until that snort turned into a groan, this one of discomfort as his knees gave a painful twinge.

“We’re too old to fool around on the kitchen table, Rich…” he breathed, his breath bouncing off Richie’s mouth, “my knees are fucking killing me.”

Richie huffed out a laugh, squeezing his hips and nudging him back down to the ground and shuffling to stand up himself.

“Fuck!” He hissed as his thigh roughly collided with the leg of one of the chairs, knocking it over with a clatter.

“As graceful as ever, Rich,” Eddie teased, reaching down to gently rub his palm along the back of Richie’s thigh, a small smirk spreading across his face.

“If you take me to bed, I can kiss it better. And other places too.”

Richie Tozier had never moved so fast in his entire life. And that included the time he was chased by a murderous space clown.

They collectively collided with no less than four pieces of furniture, one novelty-sized pencil that Richie insisted on keeping in the hallway, and tripped over a copy of Bill’s new book before they made it to bed. But that just meant there was more to kiss better.

They were allowed to do that, now. Kiss and so much more.

And all because they stopped living their lives using the ‘logic’ of two dumb ‘90s movies.

Read my other friends-with-benefits Reddie fic here

@tinyarmedtrex @reddiegays @richietoaster @and-thats-when-she-snapped

[thiswasinevitableid]

hello! Not sure if you’re still taking winter prompt requests, but 34 seems like it has strong NSFW OT4 potential :o)

Here you go! It is indeed NSFW

34. we’re stuck together on a group project and everyone is tired and frustrated so you suggest we take a break and build a snowman 

There are lots of things Joseph likes about attending UWV Kepler. For starters, it’s one of the oldest schools on the Interplanetary University System, meaning he’s surrounded by students from Earth and its sister planet, Sylvain. The first gate between the two worlds appeared in Kepler, giving the whole area an air of mystery that he relishes. And, at the start of the summer, the cute Sylph in his lit class asked him out. 

Barclay is soft spoken, an amazing cook, and part of a whole community of Sylphs who live on Earth full-time. Sometimes, when they’re cuddled up watching the X-Files or he’s helping Barclay in the kitchen, he looks at the other man and is awestruck that he’s chosen Stern as his boyfriend. 

As much as he loves being at school, it has downsides. For instance, while the spring semester on Sylvain uses more experiential means of testing students, the fall semester on earth ends in finals weeks, just like high school did. He’s good at tests, so while they’re a pain he doesn’t hate them. Projects don’t often bother him, but when they’re group projects he gets flashbacks to his junior year of high-school and develops a sort of pre-emptive anger at the people he knows wont pull their weight. 

The final project for his Community Development class started off well. Barclay was in the class with him, and is one of his partners. The other two in the group are Duck and Indrid, another Sylph/human romance, and in the midst of their first planning session Indrid let it slip that he and Barclay hooked up during the Sylph equivalent of high school. Duck was wholly unbothered, though that may be more to do with him being even-keel in general, and Joseph got a little distracted imagining the two of them together. 

Between his organizational skills, Duck’s environmental knowledge, Indrid’s knack for art, and Barclay’s ability to incorporate different elements, their plan for the hypothetical sustainable community center on Sylvain was chugging along. Even if Duck and Indrid kept cuddling up or stealing kisses whenever they could. It’s just a little much, in that it makes Joseph wonder what it’d be like to be between them, Indrid’s wiry frame wrapped around his back while that wide smile pressed into Joseph’s neck while Duck gave him that crooked grin and pushed his legs apart with strong hands…

Focus. He needs to focus. 

Because they have been trying to put it all together for two hours straight and have made no progress.

“...just think this bit is gonna read as convoluted. What do you think babe?” Barclay points his pen at the section in question.

“We could probably do without it.”

“Maybe” Duck pulls up the directions for the fortieth time, “I’m worried if we over-edit we’re gonna fuck up section five on the rubric. I still don’t know what he means by those last two bullet points.”

“Not sure reading them over yet again will reveal anything new.” Joseph rubs his forehead, “Indrid, what do you think.”

No reply, just a scratching pencil. 

“Indrid?”

“Earth to ‘Drid.” Duck nudges his boyfriend, who abruptly shakes his head. 

“Apologies, I got caught up in a future. How can I help?”

“Does this need to be cut?” Even Barclay sounds on edge.

“...maybe.”

“‘Drid!”

“It does not strike me as having a large impact on the grade either way.”

“Someone please just make a decision.” Barclay groans. 

“Hold on” Duck leans back to look out the window, “it ain’t snowin as hard. So, here’s what I’m thinkin; how about we take a break and get some fresh air. All four of us.” He looks pointedly at Stern, “seriously Joe, you been outside in the last two weeks?”

“Only to get from point A to point B.”

“C’mon” the shorter man hops up, heading for his coat, “last one out has to make the next pot of coffee.”

Soon they’re tromping across the lawn near Indrid’s house; because he’s a seer, the silver-haired man is in high demand by universities, governments, and businesses, which resulted in one paying his tuition and another for his house. 

“I have to do a stint as court seer anyway, I may as well take advantage of it.” Had been his explanation the first time he showed them the building, so at odds with his unkempt appearance that Joseph wondered if it was a practical joke. 

He still has no idea what kind of Sylph Indrid is, as he keeps a human form at all times. Barclay also leans that direction, but when he’d offered to show Joseph his Sylph form and Joseph practically jumped for joy before, during, and after the reveal, he became more comfortable wandering around as Bigfoot (“a bigfoot, babe”) at home. 

Indrid pauses mid-stride, turning to Duck, “An excellent idea, love.”

“Gotta let me say it first, sugar.”

“Apologies” Indrid kisses his cheek. 

“The snow ain’t turned to horrible slush yet, so: who wants to build a snowman?”

Twenty minutes later, they’re standing before a six foot tall snowman. It’s very well engineered, if he does say so himself. 

“Wonder if we can get it higher.” Duck contemplates the structure. 

Barclay winks at Joseph, slipping off his bracelet and rolling up another ball.

“Hell yeah!” Duck whoops and Indrid claps with an appreciative chirp.

“I’m going out on a limb and saying we’ve maxed out height.” Joseph shields his eyes as the snow falls in larger clumps. 

A wide grin cuts across Indrid’s face, “Not necessarily. Allow me.”

He hands his glasses to Duck and Joseph gasps; standing before them is creature coated in black and grey speckled feathers, save for his arms that are a smooth, dark grey chitin. Feathery antennae and glowing red eyes complete the picture.

“Holy shit.” 

Indrid trills, seemingly pleased by Josephs awe, and gathers a ball of snow before flapping into the air. 

“Ta-dah!” He bows, still flapping, having brought their sculpture to what must be closing in on nine feet. 

“It look a little rickety to you?” Duck whispers to Joseph.

Barclay, yelling over the sudden burst of strong wind, calls, “Indrid? You might wanna land buddy.”

“I suppose you’re--oh damn it.” 

The storm picks up, sending the top layer of the snowman straight onto Indrid, knocking him the rest of the way to the ground. 

“Fuck” Duck moves faster than Joseph’s ever seen “you okay ‘Drid?”

“C-cold, b-but otherwise f-fine.”

“Thank fuck.” With that Duck wheezes, shaking with laughter, “you shoulda seen your face.”

Indrid snickers, then sneezes. Which they all take as a sign to head inside. Having been the last one out the door means Barclay goes to start coffee, while Duck steps away to call his friend Juno to be certain she has a safe way of getting back to their shared apartment in the storm. Which leaves Joseph to be the one helping a very damp mothman dry off. 

“Why not just take your human form?” He scrubs the fantasy wicking towel along Indrid’s back.

“It would probably let me dry faster, you’re right. But I’m nervous that water droplets would stay in the feather somehow and freeze, which is unpleasant.” When Joseph finishes his head and back the Sylph poofs up, then  shakes his feathers back down. 

“That got a great deal of it, thank you. I can do my inner wings, if you’d rather go warm up.”

“It’s alright, I’m happy to help. Same motion?” He takes up position by Indrid’s extended right leg as the Sylph spreads his wings.

“Yes. Ah, be careful towards the innermost fourth. They’re sensitive.”

He nods, sets to work. As he glides the towel over the eye-spot, he murmurs, “I’m amazed you keep this form hidden.”

“It tends to alarm people.”

“Even Duck?”

A small laugh, “Only the first time, because he wasn’t expecting it. And I turned up at his window to warn him about a fire that was about to start in the dormitory.” 

“I think you look incredible.” The sincerity in his tone registers at the same instant their physical closeness does.

Indrid smiles, “So you do share Duck’s proclivities.”

“I, um, I’m not sure what you mean” He busies himself cleaning.

“You are attracted to me.” Indrid replies, folding both sets of hands in his lap. Startled, Joseph moves his hand too far in and Indrid chirps, higher than normal. 

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright, as I said they’re sensitive, but that does not mean they’re painful to touch.” The smile tinges with mischief and Joseph is ready to toss the rag aside and ask Indrid to let him put his fingers there when a drawl comes from the doorway. 

“Makes an even better sound if you play with his antenna.” Duck pushes off the doorframe, sauntering over as red eyes stay locked on him, “see?”

Indrid trills as Duck rubs the tip of one antennae between his thumb and finger. 

“Careful, sweet one, don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Joseph doesn't know if he wants to take Indrid’s place or Duck’s, just that he’s wringing the towel so tight it’s tearing. 

“Coffees ready.” Barclay pokes his head in, chuckles, “or do you two need me to put it in hold until you’re done fucking in front of my boyfriend.”

“We would do no such thing without permission. Yours and his.” The way Indrid says it, as if Joseph is merely something can give or revoke access to, makes him cross his legs in a hopeless attempt to turn himself off. 

“Joseph?” Barclay’s voice is gentle as he joins him on the floor, “it’s up to you, babe. I’m happy to get my hands on some feathers again while you get your hands on those two but, uh, if you don’t want to or, uh, or need time-”

“I…”

Duck, blushing, sticks his hands in his front pockets, “Sorry, didn’t mean to come on too strong, was tryin to flirt a little-”

“Yes.” Joseph tosses the towel into the laundry hamper, “yes, I want this, you, all off you, oh my lord I haven’t been this turned on before. And that’s saying something” he turns to Barclay with a smile and gets a kiss in return, beard scratching his skin as the other man trails his lips down his neck. 

“That worked out nicelEEEEH, ohohyes” Indrid leans against Duck as the human plays with his antenna. Joseph crawls forward, eager to get his hands on Indrid’s wings, only for a clawed hand to come palm-up towards him. 

“Ah-ah, I didn’t give you permission to touch me, pet.”

He moans, hears Barclay growl, pleased, as Indrid chuckles. 

“Goodness, Barclay, you didn’t say he was that submissive.” Clawtips rest under his chin as Indrid keeps him in place. 

“Hold up, you two been comparin notes on fuckin humans?” Duck raises an eyebrow as Indrid nods, unashamed and Barclay goes bright pink. 

“Oh yeah? What’ve you been sayin about me, sugar?” He teases, tugging on the antenna. Indrid releases Sterns face and growls, pivoting onto his knees to trap Duck against the wall.

“That you are the finest, most accommodating human in either world and you make such lovely sounds when I bite you.”

“Sounds about right.” Duck kisses Indrid’s forehead, “but if you wanna see how Joe stacks up, I ain’t gonna complain. Long as I get a turn with him too.” He looks past Indrid to Joseph, “been wantin to know what you look like under the whole buttoned-up nerd thing.”

“No time like the present.” Joseph pulls his sweater off, grumbles as he remembers the shirt beneath it has buttons. As he undoes them, Indrid cocks his head. 

“I have an idea. Duck, remove your pants and underwear and whatever else you see fit. Barclay, stay clothed for now. Joseph, take everything else off.”

“I’m working on it.” 

“Then work faster, pet. I’ve been wanting to do this since you first touched my wings. Ah, there we are.” He purrs as Joseph kicks his boxer briefs away, “come sit in my lap.”

He does as he’s told, sighing as feathers tickle and caress his skin, “this form is even better from this angle.”

Indrid chirps softly, tongue darting out to lick his cheek as he closes his wings around him, “there will be ample time to explore it later, I promise. Right now, there is something that requires your attention.”

“OHmylord” his fingers sink into Indrid’s chest feathers as something thin and undulating teases between his legs. Two more appendages join it, one the same size and one thicker.

“To answer the question you’re about to ask, the shape has various, ah, biological functions.”

“And means you can get fucked more’n one way at a time.” Duck chimes in with what is obviously a happy memory. 

“Very true. However, for your first time, I think you can be a good boy and take the whole thing.” 

“FUCKohmyfuckinggod.” Down comes loose in his fingers as all three tendrils thrust inside him at once, twining into a single, ridged form that wastes no time in fucking as deep as it can manage. 

“Good boy.” Indrid tips his head back, purring louder, before turning his attention to Barclay, “Enjoying the show, sunburst?” The Sylph term of endearment gets a pleased rumble in reply, and Joseph steals a glance behind him to see his boyfriend palming himself through his jeans. 

“You know it, gorgeous. Seems like Duck is too.”

“Hell fuckin yeah I am.” Duck is rubbing his dick, the sight making Joseph lick his lips.

“Such an eager little human, my sweet.” Indrid glances at his boyfriend, “I think that deserves a reward.” He grips Josephs jaw with an upper hand, forcing his lips apart and his face up, “come and get it.”

Joseph moans, wiggling his hips as Duck’s two hands replace Indrid’s one. 

“Fuck, you look so goddamn good like this Joe.” He strokes his cheek, cock temptingly close.

“I don’t know, the view fromAH god, from down here is great.” He kisses Duck’s thigh, relishing the sweet smile the compliment gets him. 

“Gonna look even better in a sec. Now” he shoves his head forward, “suck my dick, pretty boy.”

He whines against slick skin, brings the hand keeping him balanced up and around to grope Duck’s ass. He loves the shape of it, and will tell the other man as much the moment his mouth is free. 

“Barclay, come here dearest” Indrid’s lower hands remain on his hips, but the upper two lift to do something he  can’t discern until there’s a zip of metal and an appreciative trill. 

“Yeah, you like the look of it little moth? Ohfuck, Indrid, baby, fuck that feels good.” A wet, rythmic sound suggests Indrid is blowing him, but when Joseph turns to look Duck jerks him back, fingers tightening in his hair. 

“Uhuh, ‘Drid gave you to me as a reward, so you’r gonna fuckin focus until I cum. Fuckin christ, wanna see just how good you look when I cum on your face, pretty boy. Nnn, fuck, bet your mouth feels even more amazin when your cummin. ‘Drid?”

“‘On ‘oment” 

A high, sharp chirp echoes through the room and Joseph can see Barclay’s hand from the corner of his eye, jerking up and down near the base of Indrid’s antennae. 

“Yeah, fuckyeah, Indrid, that’s it, fuck, can’t believe you’re lettin me cum on your feathers, god it’s gonna look so good, fuck, fuck, yeah.” Drops of cum hit the back of his next as Barclay howgrowlpurrs, Indrid’s tongue-tied reply sounding pleased with itself. 

A thud as his boyfriend drops to the floor, “Fucking-A, forgot how fast I cum from that.”

“It’s very gratifying. As for you, sweet little pet” all his claws dig into Josephs skin, the delicious pain sending whimpers up his throat, “I believe it’s time I made you cum.”

He yelps, muffled, as Indrid fucks him roughly, one tendril slipping out stroke his dick.

“Here, let me help.” Four thick fingers push in and he whines, Barclay kissing his shoulder and still letting out little growls of effort. 

“How’s that, my sweet?”

“So fuckin good, goddamn Joe, you feel fuckin perfect when you scream, heh, someone’s got a praise kink” he smirks as Joseph grabs him harder at the word ‘perfect.’

“C’mon babe, take it, you wanted all of us, remember?”

“Oh, I’m certain he does. And he’s going to feel it in the morning, I’ll make sure of that.” The tendrils still inside him curve just right and he cums, clinging to Duck’s legs as it ripples through him. Barclay pulls his fingers back, but Indrid continues fucking him, thrusts turning short and erratic as Duck grinds into his mouth. The other human cums with a groan and a string of curse words, stroking Josephs hair as he finishes. 

There’s a trill and Indrid’s wings flex, sending Duck stumbling backwards and Joseph pitching against the Sylph’s chest as he spills into him. It takes longer than usual, even accounting for the times it’s been with Barclay in his Sylph form. Just as some it drips out and down his thighs, there’s a final pulse and then the tendrils retract.

“Mmmmmmm” Indrid closes his arms and wings around him, “that was spectacular, pet.”

“Goddamn, came so hard I can’t feel my legs. You okay, Barclay?” Ducks fingers appear under Indrid’s...armpits? Wingpits? He’ll have to ask later.

“Uhuh.” A scuff as his boyfriend cuddles up with them. 

“......wait, we don’t need that section, we cover the rubric points Duck’s worried about in our ‘considerations’ portion.” Joseph sits up.

Duck guffaws, Indrid gives an amused tilt of the head, and Barclay leans over Indrid’s wing to kiss Joseph on the cheek. 

“What? Post orgasm clarity is a documented phenomenon.”

“We can fix it soon.” Indrid rubs his face, “I for one need to bathe, and given the storm will only intensify overnight and leave you all stuck here, we have ample time to fix it.” He flutters his wings shyly, “would anyone like to join me?”

An hour later they’re all clean and dry, the project is at a stopping point, and Barclay’s made fancy coffee for three of them and eggnog for Indrid. They settle in on Indrid’s nest of a bed to watch T.V, Duck in Indrid’s lap and the Sylphs wing draped over Barclay and Joseph. The weather outside chills and darkens the world, but as he nestles against soft feathers and warm fur, Duck’s hand in his, he’s got plenty of love to keep him warm. 

[whathappenedtomyweekend]

It’s Just A Spark Ch. 9 - Night Shifts

Gobber couldn't believe his eyes. What had originally started as a casual glance out the window had spiralled and now consisted of him staring down at the sight on the street in front of the fire department in parts fascination and parts complete and utter disbelief.

There he was, his colleague who might as well be his own son, the boy with the gapped front teeth and the scraped knees, the young man who was so busy reading that he forgot to eat sometimes, and the man who had told him, only a few months ago, that if his fate was to become an old cat lady it would be fine with him - beaming at the young woman facing him. She had blonde hair, tied up to a ponytail and was dressed, similarily to him, in sports clothes. They were still talking as they came to a halt in front of the building, both smiling at each other.

And of course, Gobber knew that this was Astrid Hofferson.

He watched Hiccup - Hiccup - grin down at her and gently press his lips to her cheeck (Gobber almost had a heart attack), then shortly hug her and turn around to walk up to the building, still grinning from ear to ear.

Well. Gobber remembered the first time the young woman had set her stove on fire. He remembered the exact expression Hiccup had had on his face and the way his eyes were flickering to the side when he'd mumbled something about his ears only being "this red, Gobber, because we were just near a fire, it was hot in there" after they had already been outside again for at least five minutes.

Gobber tried to act normal as the door opened and closed with a click.

"Morning!"

"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to show up to work!"

Hiccup placed his phone and headphones onto his desk, ducking away from Gobber's prosthetic arm.

"Sorry, I got held up."

"Yeah, I could see you getting held up alright - in the arms of a certain young blonde, I believe?"

He watched Hiccup's cheek flush and laughed, giving him an enthusiastic pat on the back.

"Was about time, boy! You were one arm and three cats away from becoming me."

Hiccup snorted, "Yeah, right. Don't think having a girlfried will deter me from adapting that lifestyle."

There were not many things you could get past Gobber without noticing. And words, no matter how fast- or low-spoken were definitely not on that list.

"Girlfriend now, eh?"

"I, uh - I mean - oh, man."

Hiccup looked at him, a bewildered expression on his face as if he'd only realised this for himself just now, his hands already flying up to his hair.

"Ooh my God, Gobber, she's my girlfriend. She's my girlfriend," he repeated as if this alone had been something he had never thought to actually be possible.

"Oh, boy," the older man chuckled upon seeing Hiccup's disbelief change to surprise to complete and utter joy.

"Astrid. Hofferson. Is. My girlfriend."

"Yeah, how'd you do that? I'm surprised you're able to hold up a conversation with that vocabulary you've got yourself, boy."

Hiccup had not really thought about this earlier when Astrid had accompanied him back to work instead of his apartment, but now, standing in front of his locker next to the bathroom, his only options for the monthly meeting with the mayor and comissioners a crumpled-up old shirt with Toothless' handiwork at the hem and gym shorts, he regretted not having stopped by at his apartment prior to this.

The young man uttered a curse on his breath but knew he didn't really have time to explore any further options.

So he quickly grabbed the shirt, returned to the bathroom and pulled it over his head, stepped out of his towel and put the remaining clothes on.

He couldn't wait until this day was over. The morning run had energised him, but a nine-hour response-shift ahead and a two-hour meeting were already pretty high on the list of things that would use up that energy.

Thinking about said run - or rather, its aftermath- , however, sent his heart spiralling and made him grin at his reflection in the department's bathroom mirror.

She'd said yes. To being his girlfriend, essentially. Or had she? Had she misunderstood him and had only agreed to an extended status of "just dating"?

Oh, God. Suddenly Hiccup didn't feel all that confident anymore.

"Okay," He leaned on the edges on the sink and stared at his ruffled, still wet-haired reflection. "Stop it. Get it together. Just ask her tomorrow, just to clarify."

Yes. Just to make sure they were on the same page.

His thoughts went - in an effort to take his mind off the question of their 'status' - over the preparations left to be made for their date. He'd have to sweep the flat over before 15:30, and clean the bathroom thoroughly. Also maybe dust off the shelves. Get something to wear - oh, no. He remembered his last confrontationnwith his wardrobe situatuon.

This was their fifth date.

He was out of shirts.

Shit.

"Hey, Gobber, you ready to-" Hiccup broke off when he saw Snotlout at his desk, waving at him.

"Yo."

Hiccup stepped in further, furrowung his brows in confusion.

"Where's Gobber?"

"Went to get lunch."

"What? The meeting's in five minutes, and we're already running late! When did he leave? Did he say anything about when-"

"Woah, take it easy, cuz," his cousin interrupted him lightly and spun his chair around. "Gobber's been late to these meetings since they exist."

Hiccup exhaled and chuckled, sitting down next to the dark-haired man.

"Okay, true. How's your morning been?"

"It was okay. Pretty chill. I took Hooky out for our morning walk - did you know Fish is out of town?"

Hiccup's head perked up. "He is?"

"Yeah, the café's all closed up."

"Huh. No, he didn't mention," Hiccup leaned on his desk and squinted his eyes at his cousin. "He usually always lets us know."

"Maybe something urgent came up and he's not ready to talk about it yet?" Snotlout wondered aloud and leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling. "I hope he comes back soon, I could kill for a plate of his waffles."

Hiccup smirked. "He'd kiss you again if you told him that in person."

He knew his cousin would never admit it if he asked, but it was quite obvious, even to Hiccup. Snotlout himself blushed, grumbling,

"It happened once, okay? And it obviously didn't mean anything to him, since he never brought it up again. SO," he pushed himself back and reached for his water bottle, fiddling with the lid with some degree of suppressed fury. "I'm not going to either."

"Alright, sorry."

His cousin sighed, his mood lightening up again. "It's okay. Just don't … tell him."

"You have my word."

"Speaking of which, you finished up those reports from last night?"

Hiccup chuckled. "Yup. I'm back on track." His cousin smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Despite being 'busy'?"

"Shut up."

He laughed. "Come on, nobody ever tells me anything anymore."

"Good," Hiccup shot back indignantly but grinned. "I'm not really keen on all of Berk knowing about it."

"So what's 'it'?"

"Honestly? You think I'm that unattentive?"

"When you're drawing, yeah."

Something about the smirk that was plastered on his cousin's lips seemed fishy to Hiccup. He did not like this grin.

"Scott," he drawled. "What did you do?"

His cousin's grin widened. "Oh, I did nothing. I just *sat* there. Listen, all I'm sayin' is, that maybe you should pay more attention to who else is in the room in the evening."

Hiccup blushed immediately as he remembered being in the common room in the evening, reading until he had absentmindedly started sketching - a pair of eyes, grey on paper but blue in memory, lips, just slightly parted, outlines of a face - "Oh, God," he spluttered. "I - it wasn't - I mean."

Snotlout laughed and nudged his cousin's shoulder. "Hey, I'm not judging."

He offered Hiccup an amicable smile and grinned when his cousin slumped his shoulders and returned the smile.

Who'd have thought? Seven years ago he'd have never even dreamed of sharing the same job with Hiccup and spending most of their shifts together, let alone having normal, amiable conversations and sharing jokes.

Gobber's voice from outside interrupted the dark-haired man's thoughts.

"Come on, Hiccup, we're gonna be late!" Gobber suddenly shouted from the hall, making Snotlout laugh and offer Hiccup a fistbump.

"Alright, I'm coming, just - stay where you are!" Hiccup shouted back rolled his eyes at his cousin, who only grinned and shrugged.

"Alright, I think we're done here, everyone. Dismissed," Stoick Haddock concluded and closed his folder, nodding at the men seated around him.

Hiccup sighed inwardly. The monthly check-in was something that had to be done, he knew that, but these meetings could be both lengthy and boring.

He'd tried to excuse his attire and had only got a few amused looks and some raised eyebrows; 'Could've been worse,' Hiccup thought and got up. At the sight of his father gathering up his files he remembered his post-meeting-agenda and quickly tapped his father's shoulder, lowly asking, "Dad, can I … talk to you for a sec?"

"Of course," Stoick nodded at the other men and led his son off to the side. "Excuse us."

His eyes met Hiccup's expression. The young man leaned in and murmured, "Hey, Dad, listen, um. I need you to do me a favour, please."

His father raised his eyebrows but Hiccup didn't fail to notice the faint smile playing on his lips. He sighed and inhaled deeply, shortly raking a hand through his hair.

"Oh man, I can't believe I'm actually saying this - Dad, I need a shirt."

"You need a … a what?"

His father looked at him, speechless. Hiccup nodded sharply and elaborated, "Yes, a shirt. Any colour, I just need - listen, Dad, Astrid is coming over tomorrow and I've run out of shirts, and I can't just wear the same over and over again, so - please. I just need a shirt or two, button up or down, you decide, I'm desperate."

To his suprise and utter mortification, his father let out a whoop of laughter, starting him and the other men in the room.

"She's really got you bedazzled, aye, son?"

"I - what?"

"I thought I'd never see the day you'd ask me to help you with your shopping!" his father bellowed, still laughing. "Oh, this is great, son, I've been waiting for this my whole life-"

"Dad, don't you think you're … overreacting, a bit-"

"-and I will not waste this opportunity. Consider your wardrobe situation saved."

With this he strode past him, muttering something about "my boy's finally getting his life together" and "wrapped around his finger, completely head over heels", leaving an abashed Hiccup and chuckling collegues behind.

"Well, you did it," Gobber laughed and patted his back, making Hiccup stumble forward involuntarily. "he will not rest until he's got you a month's worth of clothing."

Hiccup groaned. "What have I done, Gobber?"

"Made him the most excited I've seen him in years, you did," Gobber smiled, his expression gentle now. "Come on, let's get back to the department, lover-boy."

"Please don't call me that."

"Romeo?"

"Tragic death and stupid as fuck."

"That a yes?"

"No."

It hit Hiccup like a bolt of lightning. He'd forgotten to fill up Toothless' bowl when he'd left the house this afternoon.

"Shit. Shitshitshitshit," he spat through gritted teeth as he frantically searched for options. He couldn't leave the department now, he was the only one in.

Okay. What else? Call someone. It was at times like these Hiccup wished his entire support system wasn't built on people working in the administrative departments.

And Fishlegs was out of the city.

Then it dawned on him. The only person he could hope to be home.

His hands had already picked up his phone and clicked on the number.

"Hiccup?"

He exhaled. "Oh, thank God. Astrid, do you - do you have time? Are you at home?"

Her answer was hard to make out over the background-voices and music.

"I'm on my shift, why?"

His heart sunk.

"Okay, nevermind then-"

"Hiccup? Hello - hang on, I'll go outside, just give me one sec."

The noise faded.

Her voice got clearer as she grumbled, "You'd think people'd wait for a Friday 'til they hit the bar."

He chuckled. "I'd honestly love to be somewhere else right now, so I can't blame them."

Astrid snorted and finally there was nothing blocking out her voice anymore. "Trust me, you don't wanna be here. Anyways, what's up? Something wrong? You never call this late."

"Oh - yeah, I actually … Astrid, can you do me a favour?"

She didn't even hesitate and her answer let a wave of warmth and affection wash over him.

"What do you need and where should I be?"

"At my apartment. Or rather, first here and then my apartment."

Astrid furrowed her brow, for a second asking herself if this was some kind of disguise for something else but quickly discarded that thought as Hiccup continued quickly, "I forgot to feed Toothless when I left today and I locked everything, so he can't go out to hunt. Could you pick up my keys and feed him, please?"

She hummed. "Yeah, of course."

Hiccup sighed and smiled. "Thanks, I really owe you one."

Astrid laughed breezily and was apparently making her way back inside. From what he could hear, Pink's 'Raise your glass' was playing and people were screaming.

"No problem," he heard her say over them. "I'll think of something."

He chuckled and leaned on his desk.

"You have until tomorrow."

"Oh, so now there's a deadline for favours?"

"Only for that one."

She laughed again. "Well, maybe it's a project that can't be done overnight."

"Am I still talking to Astrid or Ms Hofferson who just pulled the ultimate teacher-joke on me?"

"Both. Hang on a second."

The sound was muffled since she seemed to be pressing the microphone against herself to block out the sound, but he still heard her distinct voice shout, "Heath, can you tell Al I'm taking my break? Be back in 45."

Another voice answered, loud but friendly, "Sure, don't worry. Gotcha, Stellar!"

Stellar?

The sound was back in its full intensity and so was her voice.

"Alright, I'm heading out. Be there in ten."

"Okay. See you."

Astrid smiled up at the sky. "You know, this isn't even a favour I'm doing you. You're doing me one."

Although she had called it multiple times, Astrid had never been inside the fire department of Berk before.

It looked a bit intimidating in the dark, and she only saw one big window with lights on inside. She squinted her eyes up and into the darkness and registered movement.

A slim figure approached the window, waving at her, chasing a smile across her lips as she waved back. Hiccup's sillhouette disappeared.

Astrid herself made her way into the building and up the staircase to the second floor, where she was greeted by a dark hallway.

A door was pried open, a small ray of light emitting from the crack.

"Astrid?" His face was stuck out of the open door.

"Hiccup? Why's it so dark in here?"

"We're saving up energy."

He was leaning out of the door, supporting his weight by the frame.

Astrid smirked and came to a halt in front of him. He didn't move, just stayed with his eyes fixed on her.

The young woman felt a weird sensation rushing through her stomach as she remembered her dream from a couple of nights ago, which had started just like this, opening a door and -

"You wanna come in for a sec?" he asked and interrupted her thoughts.

Astrid nodded, smiling. "Let's make the workplace situation even."

He laughed and led her inside. The building itself wasn't that big, but the headquarters seemed pretty spacious. There were only three desks inside with multiple screens, and by the wall stood an unsafe-looking plank bed.

"Welcome to my job where we get Sicca Syndrome and a bad back trying to sleep on these," he joked and ran a hand through his hair.

Astrid sat down on the plank bed, wincing as it squeaked and bent violently, making him laugh as he sat down next to her.

Without giving herself much time to hesitate, Astrid leaned against him and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Do we have enough time for me to ask you what your day looks like?"

He chuckled and gently wrapped his arm around her, trying not to let on that he was shaking slightly, thankful she still had her eyes closed so she wasn't able to see his blush.

"Maybe. We could save that conversation up for tomorrow, though."

She opened her eyes and moved to get up, but Hiccup tightened his grip around her shoulders and grinned lopsidedly.

"That wasn't me trying to tell you to immediately get up. It's …" he hesitated, his blush deepening. "It's, um, really nice sitting like this. With you."

Astrid chuckled lightly and leaned back into him, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck.

"You're really trying to outdo yourself today, huh?"

Her voice was muffled against his skin, her breath sending sparks down it.

"Is it working?"

Astrid grinned against him. "Yeah."

The young man laughed and tried to calm his heart yet again. To think that only sitting with her head on his shoulder, her lips making direct contact with his skin when she spoke was enough to turn him into a flustered mess. And they hadn't even KISSED yet.

"I'm beginning to regret this."

He froze, his heart dropping immediately. Regret what? This? Her decision from earlier? Being alone with him? Out of a sudden? Somehow?

Of course, his logical side knew better than that and patiently waited for Astrid to continue - his worry got the better of him.

"Why?"

"Because now going back to my shift is going to be really fucking hard."

'Oh. Oh, thank God.' He exhaled and relaxed again.

"Why?" he repeated, feeling stupid.

Astrid closed her eyes again. "Because I'd much rather be here and spend the night with you than going back."

Aaaand there it was. His pulse was sky-rocketing. And she was so close she might actually hear. His blush had deepened even more.

Astrid continued after a pause, "Or you know, I could just crash at your apartment and cuddle with Toothless."

He rasped out a laugh. "If you let me in tomorrow."

Astrid opened her eyes and pursed her lips to hide her smile.

"We'll see."

Hiccup really wanted to kiss her. He wanted to so bad it almost hurt.

Yet, there was something holding him back - the question from earlier. But he didn't want to bring this up now. Especially not since-

"Speaking of Toothless, I should probably get going now."

"Oh, y-yeah! Uh," he uncurled his arm from around her and jumped up, stumbling towards his desk. "Let me just … find the key … uh. Should've probably done that earlier."

"Let me help. I've got a knack for finding things."

She joined him at the desk and grinned when he shot her a short, amused glance.

"You do?"

"Oh, yeah. I found you, so that's one."

Hiccup chuckled and watched her pull out his keys from underneath the printed draft of the day's report and hold it up in front of him, grinning smugly.

"And you say I'm trying to outdo myself?" he muttered, making her laugh.

"Well, now we're even."

He shrugged and grinned. "True. You remember the direction?"

Astrid nodded, leaning against the desk.

"Good. Ah, and uh, mind the door, it always gets stuck, so it's a bit hard to open. Just, uh, throw your entire body weight againt it. At least that's what I do."

She nodded again and smiled up at him. "Jot that down. Anything else? Where's the food?"

"Second left cupboard by the window on the floor. You know, the one with the scratches?"

She snorted as she remembered which one Hiccup was talking about - and it seemed like he was either very forgetful or had a cat that loved to eat.

"Alright, got it."

"Thanks again, Astrid."

Somehow they had ended up facing each other, his hands on her arms.

Hiccup's gaze fell down on his hands and his first instinct was to let go, but Astrid smiled and put her own hands on his arms, squeezing lightly.

"You're welcome. But - by the way, where's everyone else?"

"Oh, Gobber's already home and Scott went for a quick nap down in the living area. He complained that my typing was too loud for him to sleep."

She snorted. "Well, at least you've got the place to yourself, right?"

His hands subconscuiously had wandered to her waist.

"I'd rather not. But I'm a bit picky about the company."

"That so?"

He hummed, his eyes dropping to her lips ever so shortly. He looked like he was almost going to lean down and kiss her - but there was something in his eyes Astrid knew well by now.

Hesitation. Something was holding him back.

Astrid smiled and pulled back slightly.

She'd give him time.

Until then … she stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek.

"I'm gonna get going now. Don't wanna keep Toothless waiting."

She grinned up at him and was relieved when he returned it.

"Yeah."

She turned to leave but was held back by his voice softly calling out her name.

"Oh, and … Astrid?"

She hummed, turning around, already halways out the door.

With a few steps he had closed the distance between them. His eyes were warm as he gently wrapped his fingers around her left wrist, tugged her closer and pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead.

Astrid's eyes fluttered closed at the contact.

"Stay safe tonight," he whispered, his lips barely grazing her skin before he pulled back.

Astrid opened her eyes again and was met with his open expression and small smile.

She returned it tenfolds and whispered back, "You too."

Then she turned around and took the stairs downstairs.

Fires and people had a lot in common, but most people could be either reasoned with or at least punched (which was her own interpretation). Then again, her boyfriend was not the type to underestimate a thing like a fire.

Astrid stopped, her hand on the doorhandle. Boyfriend. She'd thought 'boyfriend'.

The air was a tinge colder when she stepped outside, but still had the distinct warmth of a summer night.

Well, he was, wasn't he? It was what he'd asked her this morning, wasn't it?

Astrid smiled to herself and maybe the sky, Hiccup's keys clinking in her pocket.

This was a very girlfriend-thing to do, after all.

[lynn-does-stuff]

Hanahaki

An Afterdeath Oneshot

—————

Hanahaki

Hana- flowers

Hakimasu- To throw up

A Japanese myth disease that claimed if a person were to hide their feelings towards someone for too long, flowers would begin to grow in their lungs. They would then throw up/ cough up the flowers, starting with only a few petals until it got to large amounts of full flowers. By the time it reaches full flowers there would be little time left until they would die. There was no cure, other than the victim feeling loved in a romantic way by their crush. If the victim expressed their feelings and the other declined, the process would instantly speed up and would die in minutes. The victim can also choose to have the flowers removed through surgery, though many choose to suffer through it, due to the fact that the removal of the flowers often caused them to lose all feelings towards their crush. Sometimes it would completely erase any memories about their crush all together, or even erase any ability to love again.

————

Reaper floated carelessly into the Save Screen, home of the infamous "immortal" skeleton. The resident of this empty space was supposed to die a long time ago, but had somehow escaped DEATH itself. And when Reaper went to the Save Screen personally to dispose of him, he was shocked to find the character didn't dust after making physical contact with him. Reaper had never met a being that didn't die by his touch, so he was genuinely surprised, and almost hopeful. Maybe he could finally have someone close to him that he could do normal things with, instead of simply standing to the side and looking awkward.

Ah yes.. Geno..

Geno was the resident of this empty space. When Reaper found he couldn't kill Geno, he immediately decided to try and warm up the the glitched skeleton. He then proceeded to get a smack on the face and a stern lecture about how you shouldn't try to befriend the person you were just trying to kill.

That's what Reaper liked so much about Geno. His Tsundere attitude, his pouting, and of course, his overly bossy tone. And they did become friends. Good friends even. But.. Reaper wanted more. He really wanted more. But there was no way he could flat out tell Geno. That would just make their friendship incredibly awkward, and possibly even ruin it. Better to just stick with the simple flirting and frequent compliments.

This had been going on for about nine months..

Reaper's eyes widened as he saw Geno sitting in his usual spot, the area of grass and flowers, and then grinned at the evil idea forming in his head. He floated up silently behind Geno and took a breath, before exclaiming in a loud voice. "Heeeeeya Geno!"

Geno whipped his head around, eye flare burning, as he smacked Reaper across the face. He then realized who it was and diminished his eye flare and menacing look and instead equipped a more annoyed face.

"Reaper you idiot! Don't sneak up on me like that! My soul is weak enough as it is, I don't need jump scares like that to give me a soul attack!"

Reaper simply rubbed his face and chuckled, though he felt a small pain in his chest. It was short and quick, so he waved it aside as side effects of floating for too long. He slowly touched the ground in front of Geno and grinned.

"Good to see you too beautiful."

Geno frowned. "Again with the flirting? Come on, it gets old after a while. And it's not funny either!" Geno huffed and turned away, causing Reaper to laugh.

Reaper walked next to Geno and sat down. His friend reluctantly followed and sat next to him as well. Reaper looked over at Geno, taking in all of his features. His rounder cheeks, the glitches that covered his eye, the extremely faint red tint that was always on his face, there was so much to look at, Reaper soon found himself lost in his eyes. Geno soon glanced over and made eye contact with Reaper, causing him to frown again. "It's rude to stare you know!"

Reaper blushed slightly and turned his head away. There was that pang again. This one seemed slightly worse however. And it only softened, it didn't completely go away.

Reaper frowned at the sudden pain, losing his usual carefree grin. Geno looked over and noticed this. "What, can't take criticism? Jeez, your ego is immense."

Reaper felt the pain suddenly grow as he winced, but it soon toned down again. He replaced his frown with his usual grin and winked as he looked over at Geno. "Oh, it's nothing. Just thinking."

"What were you thinking about?"

Reaper was going to reply with a quick nothing, but he soon realized he could be flirty and possibly get his point across at the same time.

"You~"

Geno just got an angry look as he blushed slightly, before replying in a quite upset manner.

"Well stop thinking about me! It's weird! And dumb! Especially when there's so many other things to think about!"

Weird.

Dumb.

Geno thinks I'm weird and dumb..

Reaper suddenly burst out into a coughing fit. Geno scrambled away from him, yelling something along the lines of "Don't infect me with your stupid virus you weirdo". Reaper continued to cough until a singular golden petal fell from his mouth. His eyes widened as he quickly scrambled to grab it and shove it into his robe pocket. Geno hadn't seemed to notice.

"Are you very much done? I'd like to make sure I don't get the idiot virus."

Reaper's body suddenly went rigid as he slowly stood up. He coughed slightly before turning to Geno.

"Uh, sorry Geno, but I gotta go earlier today. My brother wanted help, and I've been putting off work for too long."

Geno looked surprised before going to his usual strict face. "Well, I don't remember inviting you, so you don't have to feel bad about leaving."

Reaper's chest felt like it was on fire.

He turned away and opened a portal to his AU, walking through, something he rarely does.

When he entered his room, he immediately sunk to the floor. He trembled slightly as his eye sockets widened.

"Oh god.. what am I gonna do?.."

————

It was about four days until Reaper visited Geno again, which was very out of character for his usual daily, sometimes even quick hourly visits. He casually floated into the Save Screen once more, though this time feeling slightly anxious. When he saw Geno sitting in the patch of flowers, he felt his soul flutter as he rushed to get closer. He was about to make the same entrance as the other day, but remembered how that went and decided to silently plop down next to Geno.

Geno was so lost in though that he didn't even realize Reaper arrived. But when he suddenly looked up and saw him sitting next to him, he yelped and jumped back a little. He then took on a confused yet strict face.

"Who are you and what have you done with Reaper?"

Reaper was a little confused by his statement. "I'm me?"

"No idiot! Reaper would've come here days ago, and proceeded to either scare me or flirt with me every time he arrived!"

Reaper was a bit taken aback by what he said, but simply grinned. "Well, what I did today scared ya, didn't it?"

Geno huffed and simply turned away, crossing his arms and muttering something along the lines of "stupid" and "no it didn't".

Reaper laughed but soon started choking and coughing once more. Again, Geno stepped away, but there was a slight flint of worry in his eyes.

"What's wrong asshole, something caught in you throat?"

Reaper continued his coughing fit for a while until three golden petals fell from his mouth. He quickly scooped them up and shoved them in his pocket, but too late. Geno noticed.

"Ew, flower petals? What were you doing, shoving those things up your throat?"

Reaper turned his head to Geno with a slightly panicked look in his eyes. "It's nothing."

"That wasn't the question dumbass."

"O-oh, right. Uhm.. yeah! I saw those flowers and thought it would be a good idea to eat some!"

Geno simply stared at Reaper with an unamused look before walking away. Reaper panicked, this is not going how he thought it would.

"Geno wait!" He called out, his voice sounding slightly weaker than before. He quickly stood up and followed behind Geno.

"I'm ignoring unintelligible beings who decide that shoving flowers up their throats is a perfect way to waste time at the moment, thank you."

Reaper continued to follow behind Geno, the pain in his chest increasing every second he was ignored.

Unloved..

Reaper suddenly stopped at his realization.

Geno doesn't love him. He never will. It's all simply a fantasy of hope and lies. Geno's made it quite obvious after all. How many times had he been called "dumbass", "idiot", "weirdo", "dickhead", and "asshole" in just the past month? It was obvious.

Reaper suddenly broke down into another fit of coughing, suddenly falling to his knees. He felt weak, incredibly weak. And the coughing wouldn't stop. Geno whipped his head around and rushed back to Reaper, now very worried for his friend.

"H-hey, are you good? Snap outta it Reaper!"

Geno started patting Reaper's back in an attempt to stop the coughing, but Reaper misunderstood it as more of Geno's slaps and coughed even more. It wasn't until a fistful of petals fell from his mouth that he stopped. Geno looked at Reaper with a cautious, yet judging look.

"Uh, that seems to be more than a few flowers shoved up your esophagus."

Reaper replied quickly in a dark tone, though his voice seemed somewhat strained. "N-no shit Sherlock."

Geno's eyes widened slightly. Reaper never talked like that to him. Now he knew something was up.

"What the hell is wrong with you Reaper?! You never act like this! What did you do?!"

Reaper just stared to the floor with empty eyes. He quickly spat out a few remaining flowers in his mouth and stood up. He kicked the petals aside and turned away. Geno watched as Reaper simply stood there for a few moments. Suddenly, Reaper seemed to look around frantically and stare at his hands. He kept bouncing up and down on his feet before eventually going on to full on jumping.

"Now what are you doing?" Geno gave him a questioning look. Reaper immediately stopped and whipped his head around, a panicked look plastered on his face.

"I can't float! I can't get off the ground!"

Geno was a little stricken before finding a way to get back at Reaper for all the teasing.

"Oh, well it looks like you'll have to walk like the rest of us mortals and deal with the inability to have god-like powers."

Reaper winced before bringing up his hand. Suddenly he seemed even more panicked. He waved his hand around, opened his eyes extremely wide like one does when their eye flares, and held out his hands like he was trying to grab something.

"I can't do anything!!"

Now Geno was worried. "What?.."

Reaper started yelling. "I can't summon my attacks, I can't summon my scythe, I can't activate my eye flare, I can't even teleport out of here!!"

Reaper suddenly broke down to the floor and stared at his hands. He spoke in a small, weak voice that seemed extremely strained. "I'm weak.. I'm powerless... I-I can't do anything..."

Geno suddenly rushed forward and wrapped his arms around Reaper. "H-hey, it's okay, it'll be fine!-"

"How could you still care..."

Geno suddenly sat up and stared at Reaper. "What do you mean?"

Reaper replied with a shaky, hesitant voice. "How could you still care for me... you've made it clear..."

"Stop the stupid mind games Reaper! Just tell me what's fucking wrong!"

"YOU HATE ME!"

Reaper began hacking up full flowers, chocking between breaths. The flowers continued to fall around them and in their laps as Reaper shook uncontrollably. "G-Gen-no-"

Geno backed away in horror at the scene. His eyes shrunk to small pinpricks as he took a shaky breath.

"W-what's happening to you R-Reaper?.."

Reaper chocked our words between coughs. "H-hana-ha-haki-!" Reaper coughed up another fistful of flowers.

Hanahaki... The name was familiar to Geno, but he couldn't seem to place it. "What the hell is Hanahaki?!"

Reaper's eyes went wide as the burning sensation returned in his chest, worse than ever. He knew.

He was out of time.

Reaper didn't want to do this, not like this, but he knew he had no choice. If he didn't, he would die.

"G-Geno!" Reaper choked out between flowers and coughs. "I-I l-love you!"

Geno's eyes went wide as blush dusted across his face. He loves me... Suddenly knowledge came flooding back to him. Hanahaki: The disease where people throw up flowers. The only cure is from the crush to show affection and show their love back.

His blush increased. Did he love Reaper?.. He enjoyed Reaper's company, and he hated it when he was feeling down and always wanted to make him feel better..

Geno was suddenly cut out of his thoughts when a shaky hand reached up towards his face. The words were small, shaky, and almost inaudible. "Please.."

Geno felt the pang in his chest. He gave in. He pushed away all doubts in his mind and pulled Reaper's face to his, closing the gap. He kissed him with all his might, allowing some magic to be forced in the kiss, truly expressing how much he cared. He wanted, no, he needed Reaper to know. He didn't care about the flowers, he just wanted to share this passionate moment.

When they finally pulled away after what seemed like eons, they stared into each other's eyes passionately, glimmering with love and happiness. Reaper stared in awe.

"Y-you.. you really.."

Geno smiled warmly at Reaper. "Yeah, I suppose you're not that much of a dork." Reaper shakily smiled with tears in his eyes before suddenly turning away and began coughing again. Geno panicked and gingerly wrapped his arms around Reaper.

"D-did it not work! I-I'm so sorry Reaper!!"

Reaper continued coughing, but they didn't seem so violent this time. He continued coughing until dead flowers fell from his mouth, and eventually the source of the disease itself- the dead plant. When the dead plant finally fell from his mouth, Reaper put a hand on his throat and looked up weakly with a smile.

"I'm cured.."

—————

Word Count: 2466

Eeeeeeeee I forgot about this thing so take my awful writing okay bye-

[yue-muffin]

Time Raiders (2016)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

In my quest to consume the entirety of the DMBJ franchise available in English, I have decided to start with the non-canon movie because at least this one has an ending, unlike the train wreck that is Reboot/Chongqi’s pacing. I will probably be bitter about that for all eternity, but I digress. I heard good things about the movie from the bird app, and as I am a Pingxie shipper at heart, I decided to finally watch this one.

P A R T O N E

The cut-in animation to the title was gorgeous, I do so love the qilin in every adaptation. It’s particularly striking here with the gold outline and geometric, maze-like lines. It looks like the cards at the very beginning were being arranged in the image of this qilin.

My first reaction upon seeing white people in a dmbj adaptation is: oh no, the English, but I was pleasantly surprised to hear perfect English that matches the actor’s lips! What a miracle, haha. I remember The Lost Tomb 2 being the worst for how many lines had to be in English, sob.

These look so cool. I see we start off with a good old “seeking immortality” antagonist, and an obsessed collector who has dedicated his whole life to this apparently. As usual, he is a scumbag threatening the locals.

The old guy’s accented English is also better than TLT2, ha. The breathy/nasal quality is not at all uncommon. I don’t know what language the locals speak though.

Me, immediately: Zhang Qiling already??

I know he appears in rather early in TLT1, TLT2, and Reboot/Chongqi, but he’s so often mysteriously absent or stuck behind a gate (or in Reboot’s case, put on a bus) that I got excited, ok.

My favorite Zhang Qilings are the cold-looking pretty boy types in terms of my mental image of the character, but this one is also very easy on the eyes and as usual, unfazed in the face of danger coming at him with a knife. This is the only series in which I’m not bothered by the constant cast change between adaptations (unlike Ever Night), I suppose since it’s been this way from the start.

I’m interested in seeing how the backstories differ from canon. It’s actually rather interesting that this is pretty much an official AU, like that’s kind of wild as a concept. I’m used to the late 1990s/early 2000s anime adding new characters and changing plot points and endings everywhere, but Time Raiders takes it a step further.

Zhang Qiling being an ultra-competent badass who doesn’t even need a weapon to take the bad guys down never changes, no matter the universe. He steamrolls everyone, no questions asked.

Did he- he break the blade with his bare hands hahaha. Oh, yup, and a Zhang Qiling with a weapon is even more dangerous. I see those severed fingers. Such a good fight scene and we’re not even 5 minutes into the movie.

I love how he could have simply fired the arrow while he was still on the statue, then jumped down, but he had to be Extra and fire while he was jumping off haha.

It- the divine piece was right there?? By “beneath the statue” I would have thought it would at least be under it, not in a convenient little slot on the side of the altar area haha. So Zhang Qiling’s mission is to destroy the divine piece(s)? To, um, save the world apparently.

WHO ARE YOU? What an excellent question to ask a Zhang Qiling (and that staring into the mirror shot, too.)… I wonder if this one even knows - it’s possible he doesn’t have his signature amnesia here.

Wait- a gate? I think it’s in a cave or something in the novels, but gates have significance in DMBJ. The cinematography is really nice in these mountain shots. I know nothing about film, but I like the shots in the snowy mountains.

This Zhang Qiling knows and practices martial arts on screen! You would think he’d pull some moves normally, but in the drama-adaptations he tends to just beat people up as efficiently as possible. Sometimes with his sword. Other times he just fights ‘em. I have to admit Jing Boran looks excellent going through some forms. He nailed the force and power underlying every movement, then exploding outward with a strike. I do like the impression it leaves.

I, on the other hand, am an absolute noodle and look ridiculous when I do martial arts.

What in the world is happening in this flashback scene with the weird CGI qilin. Ah, it’s when he received his tattoo. That was super dramatic.

Wushanju is looking real edgy with the heavy iron gate on the interior, haha.

He is puzzling (ha!) over those cards so intensely you’d think it was a thousand piece puzzle instead haha. You’re almost there! Just a few more to finish the qilin!

Aw, is this our Wu Xie? Haha his facial hair is- hm. But I love his voice it’s so soft. Really fits that “Mr. Naive” vibe.

Is that. Is that the author of the series. I found out that he makes cameos in almost all (if not all of) the adaptations!

NO. ONLY I CAN FINISH THE PUZZLE. HANDS OFF BUDDY.

Why are there so many pigeons in here. Who let them inside.

A writer, who came to hear his story and turn it into a novel- HA yup it’s the author.

“This should be a story about me and him.”

Ahh I’m loving it already. DMBJ is the ultimate bromance story. Fair warning, I do ship Pingxie so my shipper goggles will be on throughout the movie. But even without shipping, you do have to admit the series is a bromance underneath all the mystery – between the Iron Triangle, between Wu Xie and Xiaoge.

This Wu Xie is a photographer and that is sort of adorable. Already there’s a theme emerging of needing to record events and telling stories. Interesting that he wants to turn his memories into a novel to record his experiences, because otherwise he’s afraid those memories might turn into a mere story in his own head. Wu Xie, that’s a worrying mindset.

Those ancient mask things always make me crack up, I don’t know why.

Ooh, background about Wu Xie’s birth into the Wu family. I’ve never read up to the part in the books where they go into his place in the family in detail. To be fair, his grandfather had three sons and only one of them had any kids – and Wu Xie is his parents’ only child. So, he becomes the only one who can really carry on the family legacy. Aw, I really like seeing his extended family present though! In the dramas we only ever get either his Second or Third Uncle, and he rarely ever mentions his parents even though they’re alive.

And there’s his namesake! The origin of his nickname, and the irony once the story gets into the Sha Hai timeline.

Wu Xie was a bit of a rascal as a kid, haha. To be fair he has a pretty sharp tongue in the novels and is mostly a pure cinnamon roll in the early dramas.

Little Wu Xie in a suit is so adorable. Nooo kid don’t go into locked up abandoned places. He’s already so adventurous haha. Seems that it’s not actually abandoned judging by all the lights on, but.

UH. MASKED MAN BEHIND YOU. I think he wants that item back. This is why you don’t go into abandoned places, kid. He definitely does not learn his lesson though. Also why are you still holding onto that thing, just drop it, I think he wants it back.

Haha he kept one of the coins.

WOAH. Every month someone in your family dies?? That’s uh- sort of traumatic. Also that would be a really good first line for a novel…Just saying. I do love the singing though.

Oh, the Nine Families exist in this universe too! They even give a quick explanation about the ranking system.

Oh yeah, I love how Wu Xie is such a nerd for all this knowledge of ancient texts and tombs. And YES HE FINALLY DOCUMENTS STUFF FOR ONCE.

Uncle Three looked dead for a moment there, scared the shit out of me too.

VAMPIRE MOTHS? Oh I hate bugs I would not be okay lol. WHOOPS. You guys are really good at reading ancient texts on the fly lol.

That’s the mask he has in the beginning of the film, isn’t it. NO DON’T TOUCH THINGS IN TOMBS. AHHH. So you just put it on your face?? Well that was a stupidly simple way to open the door. I’m guessing the creator didn’t care if anyone opened it.

This guy just severed his own arm, ok…and how many years later is his hand still clinging to it? UH. THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T TOUCH THINGS IN TOMBS. Then he proceeds to steal the box thing.

Ah the white dude again. I am so happy there is GOOD ENGLISH though haha.

Oh, hi Zhang Qiling. Just hanging out on a rooftop I see.

He looks so melancholy. Someone give him a hug! This adaptation makes him more human, less stoic robotic superhuman, I noticed. You rarely see him eat or drink anything in the other adaptations, but here he’s just chilling on a rooftop having some drinks haha. It’s ok. I love all the Zhang Qilings.

WHAT THE HELL, LIGHTNING? What the hell is this high tech machinery haha. Eight days? Coincidentally eight days after sitting in a tomb for how many years.

That is a very Extra bookcase to hold a book that apparently has ALL the secrets.

WOW that is a fancy notebook. It looks so beat up in the other versions haha. In this one, it even gets its own hidden shelf in a giant portable bookshelf!

The props for this franchise are so cool and detailed. I always wish they would show more of the creative process in the BTS, I’m such a nerd for that stuff. The Longest Day in Chang’an was pretty good at that, which is half of my enjoyment of that show haha!

I’m also still pleasantly surprised they bothered to incorporate other languages. I’m not sure what the Snake Lady and the old man in the beginning were speaking, but at least the English is good.

I can’t believe they worked in a steampunk chastity belt this movie went all out, huh. Also with these weirdly high tech structures and lightning and moving tomb structures.

And all the pieces start coming together! So that’s why it’s believed they hold the secret to immortality. What a steampunk-looking key.

Is that a writing desk??

Oh, they’re getting a team together to go tomb raiding! Ha, forget money! You may or may not end up dying on this adventure, so who cares about money, right.

He’s so cute standing there with his camera. Look at the little smile as he watches everything going on!

It’s a desk and a storage container?? Oh, there are ~qualifications~ to going on tomb raiding. Makes sense. That is the oddest looking sword.

Must appreciate Zhang Qiling’s fingers in every adaptation. They look very strong and steady here. Let’s not talk about the slooow trailing across the handle.

Wow did you really just throw sand in his face. Have we not learned not to mess with Zhang Qiling after he trounced that first guy who attacked him. I love the fight scenes so much after the bore-fest that was Reboot/Chongqi’s second half of Season 1.

Super pretty, but why did it cause him to stop and stare in the middle of the fight?

This is like a Final Fantasy sword haha. Also I think you should stop while you’re ahead, why did you think a table would stop this dude. (Hey, it’s Da Kui! He was in the novel but not TLT1.).

It’s HERE. Their first meeting. How did he know the coin was on that cord? It wasn’t visible, I don’t think. But uh. That was a hilarious move on his part, he is so Extra?? He just casually flicks the necklace off with his big-ass sword and it drops into his hand. Then casually goes “oh, here, you dropped this” as if he wasn’t the one responsible for it coming off in the first place!!

HERE IT COMES. The unnecessarily long eye contact. Pingxie in every adaptation needs a Staring Into Your Eyes scene.

Real smooth.

Ahh this Wu Xie is such a cutie. He’s like a puppy.

WHAT. Third Uncle, I can’t believe you let him tag along so easily haha. In the beginning he was scolding Wu Xie to never get involved in tomb business, then what happens? They’re going tomb raiding!!

Next Up: to the tomb we go! This can’t end badly or anything what are you talking about.

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter three: fire and lemons

“i'm goin' back, of course i am! as if i ever had a choice. back to what i always knew i was on the inside. back to what I really am.” -”burning bright (field on fire)”, nine inch nails

It would be another couple of days before Sam heard a peep from Joey again. In the meantime, she had picked up Metallica's phone numbers given she knew she would have more encounters with them in and around their shows, and she made a promise to a tipsy Lars to share some of her drawings when she found the chance.

Cliff offered to take Sam home but she had already been promised a ride from Marla, Frank, and Charlie back up to the Bronx; Joey hitched a ride with them given he was in no shape to drive back upstate. The last thing she saw before she left the restaurant was Cliff's thoughtful facial expression, there right behind James and Kirk; Legacy, meanwhile, were headed on back to their hotel somewhere down in Manhattan. Sam peered out the car window in time to see that boy with the little white tuft in his hair at the curb: darkness shrouded his face but she could make out the shape of the small piece of white through it all.

The warm spring night greeted her and Frank once the two of them had returned to the apartment complex for the night: Sam's knee still ached a bit as she took the steps up to her place, but it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it used to be before. She made a mental note to head on back to Frank's apartment to fetch that journal and make some more drawings, that time to show to Lars.

In the meantime, she used a small journal she had delved out from the bottom of her bag for doodles. She kept her mind fixated on Cliff, especially since she knew it was him at that point. Indeed, when she fell asleep on the couch that night, he appeared in the wake of her dream. The white stripe bled away into darkness and into a pair of snakes atop his head. His handsome face gazed back at her like the old stone face of a statue.

It wasn't him, but it also was. The man of her dreams, same as he ever was and always will be to her. He was in between something, somewhere, someone who graced the earth. It was Cliff. It wasn't Cliff. Somewhere in between there.

She reached out to touch him, to feel him, to get to know him, and yet he drifted away from her, much like that of a ghost in the shadows. He wondered around her as if he was about to circle his prey, but he never said anything. His deep set eyes watched her, even as he walked behind her and underneath her.

She awoke with her arms outstretched before her, such that they dangled over the edge of the couch cushions. She let her fingers curl back towards the base of her palm. So close and yet so far away from her.

Sam also recalled the promise she made to Joey, to go and hang out with him at some point that week. She had made a couple of calls to him over the course of two days but he never picked up once. She did, however, pick up his answering machine and the sound of his soft voice coupled with his distinct upstate accent. Every single time she did, she closed her eyes to relish in it.

“Hey, this is Joey Belladonna—I'm either out jammin' or playin' hockey, but you can leave a message if you'd like, please and thank you.”

It was only for a few seconds, but it was something.

He finally made the call back to her early one morning, but she was quick to pick it up there in the kitchen as she began to brew a small pot of coffee for herself.

“Hey, my li'l Sam I am,” he greeted her in a soft, broken voice.

“Hey, Joey! I've been wondering what's been going on with you.”

“I had a feelin' that was the case.” A gentle crackling noise on his end caught her attention.

“Is everything okay?” she asked him. “You don't sound good.”

“I just woke up,” he answered, “I haven't been able to get back to ya 'cause I was nursin' the hangover.”

“Oh, I see.”

“It was also one of those things where it was like—I kept forgetting to get back to you. That's kinda my fault, though. I kept forgetting and by that point, it was always like almost midnight and I figured you had already gone to sweet. So—but here I am now! How is everything?”

“Oh, you know,” she replied with a shrug of her shoulders, “—just waiting to hear back from the admissions desk at my school and doodling and whatnot. I can foresee hope of paying my rent soon.”

“That's so good,” he remarked and the crackling noise emerged from the background again. “So, uh—what you wanna do when we see each other again?”

“What do you have in mind?” Sam leaned back against the edge of the counter and folded her arms across her chest.

“Well, Metallica's coming back out this way—not this week but next Friday, I think? They haveta finish up on some important stuff for their new record. Apparently they recorded it over in Denmark so they left for there just last night and then they're comin' back here.”

“Wow. Why Denmark?”

“I dunno—sump'n 'bout the studio being cold so everything stands out better. Scott, Frankie, and Charlie know about it way more than I do. Legacy are comin' back over this way around then, too. I guess they'll be playing at L'Amour again.”

“Oh, how fun! I'd like to see them again—I wanna get to know them more.”

“Right? They're kind of at the tail end of this whole wave going around here and back out West, too. This wave of... 'speed metal' as it's known. Everyone is calling Metallica, Anthrax, and two other bands outta California, Megadeth and Slayer, as like the ones who're leading the way. Like the big ones.”

“The big four?” she followed along.

“Yeah, they're like the big four! The big four of the whole thing. And Legacy are kinda at the tail end of it 'cause they started a little later and they're still shuffling around.”

“A 'transition stage' as Zelda described it,” she recalled. “And you're part of it!”

“And I'm part of the big four! It almost feels like a movement of sorts. Although Anthrax to me feels like the oddball of the bunch 'cause y'know, we're from New York and those guys are all from your neck of the woods in California.”

“But they all frequent out this way, though,” she pointed out. “At least Metallica and Legacy do anyway.”

“They all do, yeah—we should meet up with Megadeth and Slayer at some point. The couple of times I got to meet Slayer, they were—for lack of a better word—fucking badasses. These seemingly scary looking dudes but they were real cool, though. Real friendly and genuine buncha guys. I haven't met Megadeth yet, though. We all should have a big party together some day.”

“All the parties and all the rage,” she remarked.

“All the parties and all the rage, all the world's a stage,” he waxed.

“That's good, you should write that down.”

“I ain't no song writer, though. Some people are good at that sorta thing—I don't really see myself as that.”

“But that was good, though! I liked that, Joey. You should do something of your own some day, like Stormtroopers of Death.”

“Do my own shtick and release under the label down there in the City,” he joked.

“Yeah, exactly!”

“But anyways, that's next week when Metallica are coming back from Denmark, though,” he continued, that time in a serious tone. “What about this week and before you hear back from the school people is what you wanted to know, though.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, let's see—I'm not doin' anything together. And I haven't been able to do anything, either, 'cause—you know.”

“Hungover.”

“Hungover—that lasted a little more than a day, too. But I'm back and invigorated, though.” He fell silent for a second, and the rustling noise caught her attention once again.

“What's that sound?” she asked him.

“What sound?”

“I keep hearing like this crackling sound on your end.”

“Oh, I'm layin' on my couch and there's a bunch of newspapers down on the floor and I keep brushing my foot up against it. Sometimes I don't even pay attention to what I'm doin' when I'm on the phone and—ah, shit—” More crackling on his end.

“What happened?”

“I kicked it over—hang on a sec.” Silence fell on his end: she could hear him shuffling around and doing something off of the phone. But within time, he returned to the phone and let out a long low whistle. “Here's an idea—how 'bout I drive on down there to the Bronx and come on over to your place and we play by ear there?”

“Sounds good. I'll be waiting for you.”

“It's gonna be a while—like—well, you've been up here before. It takes a while to get on down there. So—take a shower if ya wish. I know I'm gonna do that.”

“You wanna look good for me?” she teased him.

“Well...”

“Well?” She raised her eyebrows even though he couldn't see her.

“I won't deny it, but I also need a shower,” he finished in a single breath. “I smell like an empty liquor bottle.”

“Oh, yeah—get in that shower, big fella.”

He laughed at that and within time, they hung up, and Sam made her way to the bathroom for a warm shower and a fresh change of clothes. She knew she would have to return home from her day with Joey soon enough given the thought about her attending school hung over her. An excuse to get away from there and a reason for him to get away from that awful feeling.

Indeed, as the warm water cascaded over her head and shoulders, she figured she could help him out of that. That night in the alleyway told her that he was a boy in need of help. There was no way she could fix him but she could at the very least be a friend to him and dig him out of the alleyway once again.

Within time, she had dried off and ran a brush through her hair. A knock on the door caught her attention and she flung it open to find Joey standing there in a little white shirt and fitted black jeans. His jet black flyaway curls glistened under the ambient sunlight of the hallway and his sun kissed skin looked so soft and smooth. His black Chuck Taylors fitted his feet like a new pair of gloves. Meanwhile, the marker ink had stayed intact on his dark skin even after a couple of days and after he had cleaned up for her.

She noticed a flat silvery metallic band on his right wrist: something she hadn't seen before with him.

“What, no flowers?” She was taken aback.

“Was I supposed to get ya flowers?” he asked her, slightly hurt.

She hesitated for a second, and then she realized what she had done.

“Can I ask you a question?” she started.

“Yeah, sure,” Joey raised his dark eyebrows at her.

“Is this your first date?”

He stopped with his eyebrows still raised up into his bangs. She gazed into those dark irises.

“You really wanna know?”

“Please.”

He nibbled on his bottom lip.

“Is this a date?” he asked her.

“It's a date if you want it to be one,” she pointed out. “It can be a play date.”

“Nah, it's a play date if you and I are jammin' together.” He hesitated. “Do you—”

“Do I what?” She turned her head a bit to make sure her purse was within her arm's length on the hook.

“Play an instrument at all?” he finished with a bit of reluctance.

“I don't. I probably should, though.”

“Yes, you totally should.” His face lit up at that. She showed him a smile and then she reached to her right for her purse.

“Shall we?” she started.

“Yeah, let's,” he said as he lifted his elbow up for her to link up. She slung the purse over her shoulder and she closed the door in one fell swoop. The two of them made their way outside to the bright sunlight and the fresh aroma of springtime. Joey reached into his jeans pocket for his mirrored sunglasses: with one hand, he put it on over his dark eyes and his straight Roman nose. The lenses shone in the bright yellow light; Sam squinted her eyes once they reached the sidewalk.

“There's a little park over here,” Joey told her with a point up the block. “Like, around the corner. We can hang out and take a walk around the place.”

“Is there a lake or something there?” she asked him as she shielded her eyes from the midday sun with her free hand.

“I don't think so,” he confessed. “I didn't see one. I also saw a hockey rink not too far from here.”

“You wanna show me a little round of hockey, don't ya?” she teased him.

“If ya don't mind,” he replied with a little shrug of his shoulders and a lopsided little smile.

“Can we walk?”

“We can,” he said, and he ran his fingers through the fine, minute ringlets on the side of his head.

Joey linked up his right elbow with her left and they strolled together down the sidewalk to the corner. Sam peered past him to the narrow side street and she spotted the narrow strip of grass which he called the park.

“That's more like a dog park,” she declared.

“Yeah, now that I look at it—I imagine a bunch'a little dogs running around there now that I really look at it.” He lifted the sunglasses from his face for a moment; once they crossed the pavement, he brought them back down. She spotted the hockey rink in question, a long low dark building set back from the blacktop.

“I should've brought my skates with me,” he confessed over the noise of the street. “But then again, I don't think either of us can go onto the ice without one of us asking.”

“You could always say you're a hockey player,” she suggested as they looked both ways before they crossed the street.

“Yeah, but I'd need to do a little more than just say it, though,” he pointed out. Stray, damp black curls flew out from the back of his head as he led her across the first two lanes of the street. He paused at the center divider to let her catch up to him.

“You sure can run fast,” she remarked with a bit of a pant.

“That's part of the trade,” he replied with that lopsided grin back on his face. “Here—” He extended his hand for her and he guided her across the other two lanes to the sidewalk and ultimately, the hockey rink. Joey's black curls sprawled over his shoulders once they were in repose so as to catch their breath.

“For a skinny little guy, you sure are strong and full of stamina,” she said as she adjusted the strap of her purse.

“As I said, it's part of the trade. The strength of the whole thing will make you help the others find it for themselves. C'mon...” He led her to the hockey rink, which had been closed for the springtime, but he was willing to look in through the front window at the dark front room. She joined in next to him: through the cold shadows, she could make out the sight of a low bench and a series of lockers on the side of the wall.

“God, this takes me back,” he said in a low voice. “It seems like a lifetime ago since I would sit on a bench like that and lace up and put on my knee pads and my jersey.”

He turned to her with a serious expression on his face.

“Do ya think maybe you'd be up for a game of hockey at some point in the future?” he suggested. “I can show you how to do it if you don't know anything.”

“It'll be a while, though, Joey,” she pointed out.

“Oh, yeah, for sure,” he nodded at her with haste. “But I wanna show you the world that came before I turned into Joe the singing drummer—or Joe the drumming singer, whichever suits best. And I'll see if I can find a pair of skates for ya. And now that we bring it up, I kinda wanna show you something...” His voice trailed off and he turned his head. Without hesitating, he ducked over to a white plastic pipe laying on the grass. She stood there before the window and watched him.

“I was a goalie for a long time,” he called out; he held the end of the pipe with two hands, and he held it down by his slim waist. He spread his legs so it looked as though he was about to brandish a sword. “I did act as offense and defense a few times in the past, but I was mostly a goalie.”

“Did you have those big pads on your knees?” she asked him with a gesture down to her own knees.

“Oh, yeah—they stuck onto my knees and went all the way down to my ankles. I had these big oven mitts for gloves to protect my hands. You don't really think of the goalies taking a lotta shit, but we do. Well, I did, anyway. I got hit in the head and in the stomach a lot. Anyways, I'm holdin' this pipe like this 'cause you never wanna raise the hockey stick any higher than this. Any higher and you hit the guy next to you right in the face and you get sent to the box, too. You don't wanna be in the box.”

“Do I have to spread my feet like that, too?” she asked him.

“Nah. I'm only doin' it out of habit. When I'm on the ice, I wanna steady myself so I have a good shot for my teammates. C'mere—” Sam sauntered over to him and he handed her the pipe. She held it by the opposite end with both hands herself.

“And when you're swingin' it, like you're hittin' the puck with it, you wanna put the hand you write with closer to the head. Which hand do you write with?”

“My right.”

“Okay, so, here—” She moved her right hand down the pipe right as Joey stood right behind her. “Just like that, yeah! Well, not that far—” She moved her hand up towards her. “—yeah, that's better. And now put that end down to the ground—” She did just that and her purse slid off of her back, but she didn't mind. “It's a lot easier if we're movin' around and we're on the ice, like it just becomes natural to you.”

Sam stood back upright and held the pipe as if it was a baton.

“I was going to say, I can see this being real hard on your back.”

Joey shook his head a bit.

“It is kinda, like at first it was for me. But you get stronger with each time and on top of that, like I said, we're usually moving around at a real pace so you don't really think about it too much when you're playing a round with your team or you're hanging out with a bunch of friends.” He ran his fingers through the ringlets on the side of his head yet again.

“Wanna take a walk?” he suggested.

“Yeah. I haven't really seen much of this neighborhood since I moved here. I've either been hanging out with all of you guys or concerned with school and my own things.”

“Or it's been snowin',” he added.

“Or it's been snowing, right!”

“I'd put that pipe back on the ground, too—I saw something crawl out of it.”

Without even thinking for a split second, Sam tossed the pipe off to the side and they made their way down the sun bathed block. That time, they didn't link arms, but Joey walked side by side with her. All of the buildings were made of faded pale brick, but the whole neighborhood of the Bronx was in stark contrast to the rest of the city with all the little shops and the apartment complexes that lined the street.

“Maybe at some point, I can take ya a little bit upstate,” he said at one point.

“We can go now if you'd like,” she suggested, “you know, if you're not doing anything else today.”

“You wanna?” He showed her a grin.

“Yeah, let's do it! I only saw the one part of it when we went to go get you.”

“Alright—let's get on back and I'll drive you up to Poughkeepsie. It's one of my favorite places to play a gig at. It's a little bit of a drive, but I think we do it, though.”

It took them a little bit to return to Sam's block and to climb inside of Joey's beat up car. The same car that broke down in the months before out in the middle of the harsh New York winter. The same car he almost froze inside of.

“You still haven't gotten a new car?” she asked, stunned, as she rested her purse upon her lap and rolled down the window.

“There hasn't been any money,” he admitted with a solemn look on his face. He slipped the key into the ignition. “Trust me when I say this, though—the second there is a bit o' money, the first thing I'm getting is a new car.” It fired up without any roughness, but once they made their onto the parkway outside of the Bronx, Sam could feel the car was nearing its final miles: the way in which it seemed to struggle with staying in a straight line on the hard black pavement and also with staying up to speed with the rest of the traffic.

“I don't know if we'll be able to even get there,” he confessed at one point. She peered out the window at the sight of one of those green road signs, and its decreeing that Poughkeepsie was eighty miles away.

“You were able to drive down this way with no problems, though, didn't you?”

“Not at all. So this—this kinda worries me a li'l bit, if I'm honest.”

“What do you think we should do?” she asked him.

“Well—let's see. Keep an eye on those payphones out there. If we break down either out this way or on the way back, we're gonna haveta hit up either Frankie or Aurora or somebody to come and get us on one of those. I'll do the same if it breaks down and you're not with me.”

They drove up the wide four lane parkway for a few miles when the whole car began to gyrate and shake while in motion. Sam caught the smell of something burning.

“Shit,” he blurted out. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit—shit!”

“What the hell is that? What's wrong with it?”

“It's overheating.” Joey shuffled his feet underneath his seat. Sam clutched at her purse. He drove towards the far right lane and the guard rail. He hit the brake pedal and the car screeched to a stop. The second they were at a halt, hot steam emerged from underneath the hood. The steam was then followed by a short flame out the front grill.

“Oh, my god, this car is dying, Sam!” He hit the edge of the steering wheel with both hands and bowed his head in frustration. “This fucking piece of shit!”

Sam climbed out of the front seat with her purse in hand and she made her way towards a tree on the side of the road to be away from the burning car. Joey followed suit right behind her. They stood together several feet away and watched the whole front of the car catch on fire.

“I'm sorry, Sam—I didn't mean for you to see that part of me,” he sputtered; Sam looked into his face to see tears in his eyes.

“Joey, you did what you could. That car was going to die anyway.”

“It was, yeah.” His upper lip trembled and she moved in closer to him. Sirens down the parkway caught her ear.

“Joey—I don't want to fix you. I want to be a friend to you. You're a sweet boy. You are. You are!”

“But I'm fucked up, though.”

“You're not! You're not fucked up, Joey. You like to party and have fun, and sometimes things like a burning car happen. But it's not your fault, Joey. I promise you. None of it is your fault.” She threw her arms around his slender body and she held him close. She leaned the side of her head against his chest so she could watch the back end of the car ignite into big hot yellow flames. They stood a ways away from it to keep away from the smoke, and the black column rose in the other direction from them, but she could feel the heat from the inferno.

“Thankfully I took my blanket out of the back,” he tearfully said. “That thing belonged to my grandma.”

“And thankfully, we're out of there,” she pointed out; she peered up at him and she brushed a tear away from his face.

“What the hell am I gonna say to my dad now?” he asked, and his brown eyes grew wide with concern.

“Tell him the truth,” she advised. “That's all I can tell you. Just tell him what happened.”

“I don't wanna lie to him after all,” he said with a sniffle and a shrug of his slender shoulders.

Within time, a fire truck and an ambulance showed up. But at that point, the car had burned down to the axles and Sam had already hunted down the payphone to give Aurora a call.

“They're taking us down to the station to check on us,” she told her. “Okay—call Marla and Charlie and tell them what happened. I'll give you a ring when we get there.”

Neither of them had inhaled any of the smoke given they stood so far from it and the column billowed in the opposite direction, but Sam could hardly shake the image of those bright flames from her mind as she and Joey rode in the back of the ambulance back to the Bronx.

“Why do I always get into deep shit when we're together?” he pointed out to her as they neared the familiar neighborhood. “Like it almost feels like karma is working against me whenever you and I hang out.”

“Why would karma work against you?” she asked him.

“I puked my guts out twice, the hockey rink was closed, and now my car caught on fire. It's almost like the universe is telling me we shouldn't hang out together.”

“I drew your face, though,” she pointed out. “It's in my journal—the same journal I handed in to get myself into school.”

“Oh, shit. I don't wanna jinx it then.”

“You won't jinx it,” she insisted.

“But that's my fear, though.”

They reached the driveway of the hospital, where a pair of nurses checked on them to ensure they didn't inhale that acrid smoke or received a bad burn of some sort. Sam recognized Marla's orange hair in the afternoon sun at the far end of the driveway.

Charlie reached them first with his arms wide open and he was quick to embrace them both.

“God, I'm so glad you guys are okay,” he murmured into Sam's ear.

“It was so scary,” she told him as Marla pushed him out of the way to embrace her.

“What were you guys even doing?” Charlie asked them.

“I was gonna take her up to Poughkeepsie for the day,” Joey explained, “we got a few miles out of town and the damn thing started overheating. It started shaking like a boiler, and then I pulled over and that was when the radiator went out and it caught fire. She got out of there so fast. Like she saw the steam rising and she just bolted. Right, and I'm the fast runner.” That coaxed that lopsided grin out of him, and a slight chuckle out of her.

“So what happens now?” Marla asked him.

“Bunk with me?” Sam suggested. “My couch is so comfy.”

“You're gonna make him sleep on the couch?” Charlie cracked.

“Where else is he gonna sleep at? On a hook?”

The two men burst out laughing at that.

“Yeah, I don't see why not,” Joey replied with a shrug. “I need to call my parents and tell them what happened, too.”

* * * * *

Given he had no means of returning home and fetching a fresh change of clothes for himself, Joey stayed in the same shirt and jeans for the next couple of days before Frank offered to take him home on Saturday night. But he lay on her couch with his sock feet and he greeted her every morning with that crooked smile plastered on his face. He always asked her how she slept the night before, and he always offered to help her out whenever he could.

On Thursday night, right before they turned in for the night, she realized that she was correct about him. Joey just needed someone to talk to in the whole grand scheme of things, being the boy from upstate New York and the guy thrust into the music scene from the hockey world. He only drank as much as he did because he needed a means of escape. He took it out on himself because of that old stone face that stared back at her through the darkness as she switched off the light.

The next morning, Sam was jarred awake to the sound of the phone ringing in the kitchen. He caught it first given he lay there on the couch partially awake.

“Yeah,” he was saying in a broken voice; she stepped into the room right as he turned to face her. He showed her a smile. “Yeah, yeah, she's right here.”

And without changing his expression for a second, he handed her the phone. “I won't jump to conclusions but I think you're in business,” he told her with a twinkle in his eye.

Sam gasped and she brought the receiver to her right ear.

“Hello?”

“Is this Sam Shelley?” a man asked her.

“It is.”

“I'm Bill Gaunt—the man from admissions you gave the journal to about a week ago.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. I remember you well.” She couldn't resist the excited smile on her face.

“Well, all I have to say is we love your art so much that we need to meet you and we need you here with us.”

“Seriously?” She brought a hand to her chest. Joey leaned in closer to her with his eyebrows raised high up into his bangs.

“Seriously, seriously. If you can come down some time today or Monday—the sooner the better—we'll figure out a grant for you. Welcome aboard!”

“Oh, thank you so much! I'll be there soon.” She hung up and she turned to an excited Joey.

“I'm in!” she declared. “I'm an art student!”

“Oh fuck yeah!” He threw his arms around her and she leaned her head against his chest. “Oh, my god, Frankie and Charlie are gonna freak when they hear about this.”

“Make a pot of coffee,” she told him as she stepped towards the kitchen doorway. “I'm gonna tell Frankie about it.”

“Is he even up?”

“I don't care if he isn't,” she quipped, “this is a time of celebration!” That brought a laugh out of him, and she ran out of the apartment in her pajama bottoms and her camisole; down past Emile's place and down the hall. She pounded on the door panel with both hands, and Frank greeted her with bleary eyes.

“Sam? The hell's going on?”

“I got into art school!” And his face lit up.

“Holy shit! See? I told you you'd get in!” He threw his arms around her. “Oh, god, that just made my life!” His chest shuddered a bit from the feeling. She pulled back to look into his face and he wiped away some happy tears.

“Oh, fuck—fuck, man.” He then rubbed his hands together. “I've gotta call Charlie and Marla and tell them—they're gonna be thrilled.”

“I'm gonna call my parents,” she told him. “I owe them absolutely everything.”

Frank returned to his apartment still with tears in his eyes and she ducked past Emile's apartment right as he poked his head out to the hallway. “What's all the commotion, Miss Shelley?” he asked her.

“I got into school, Emile! I'm gonna have some money coming in!”

“Excellent!” He showed her a thumbs up.

Sam hurried up the stairs to call up her parents and to have a cup of coffee with Joey. Every step up felt lighter and swifter. It was like a dead weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was finally a part of New York City, and she was going to let everyone know it.

Indeed, when she and Joey made her way down to Manhattan together so she could do it that day, and he didn't want her to go alone, she had a desire to tell everyone on the subway about it. She had to stop herself given she knew what Charlie had told her about living in the city. Joey huddled close to her on the other side of the support pole but he never touched her. He only showed her a big, excited smile and the twinkle in his eye.

“How exciting!” she decreed as she clutched the strap of her purse.

“Got a hand in Anthrax's world and now you're about to embark into art school,” he said with a nod of his head; the smile never left his face as they arrived in Manhattan and they surfaced from the subway to the bright sunshine outside.

“I'm just dyin' of thirst right now,” he confessed to her over the noise of the street. “I'm gonna grab a glass of lemonade. Would you like one?”

“Yes, please!”

Joey made his way down the block to one of the cafes on the side of the street. Right across the street, she spotted a tall man with a big floppy hat atop his head. She recognized him even from a distance. She hurried towards him right as he reached the street and turned in the opposite direction.

“Cliff!” she shouted over the noise of the street.

He never moved, even as she reached the corner of the side street.

“Cliff!” she called out again, and that time, he wheeled around to look at her: that black brim cast a soft shadow over his handsome face, and thus she could see into his eyes as they crinkled up at the corners with his big greeting grin.

“Hey!” he answered in a big bold voice; he set his hand on top of his hat. She peered both ways on the street, and then she darted across the pavement to meet up with him. He never dropped the grin from his handsome face as she came within earshot. She put her arms around his long torso and he returned the favor.

“What the hell, I thought you guys were in Denmark all this week?” she asked him as part of her greeting.

“Yeah, we were but we came back early, though,” he explained.

“How is it there?”

“Beautiful. It's springtime so the darkness and the daylight is perfect at the moment before it falls out of wack again.”

“Joey told me that you guys went there for the perfect sound of your new record,” she said as he led her away from the crowded street.

“Yeah, we were told—it was like a warehouse, this big empty space in the heart of Denmark—it was cold enough for Lars' drums and for the three of us to work harder. So what'cha doin'? I was just gonna go into his little book shop here.” She turned her head for a look at the cozy shop nestled in between a restaurant and a tattoo parlor.

“I got into art school!” she declared with spirit.

“Oh, that's so cool! I'm sure Lars'll like the sound of that.”

“Joey's across the street getting lemonade, but—I don't really wanna stand there on the street, though.” Without hesitating, Cliff held the creaky wooden door for her and she stepped inside of the cozy shop first. Right before her stood a low wooden table covered in books and faded papers: beyond that was a series of bookshelves, and to the right stood a short staircase. Cliff stepped around her and took off his hat to reveal the crown of fine brown hair atop his head. The black stripe was missing that time, to which she frowned at the sight of it.

He gazed on at her with a puzzled look on his face.

“What's the matter?” he asked her.

“For a second, I swore you had a black stripe in your hair,” she confessed.

“I don't,” he promised her, and he showed her a lopsided little grin. “But I can see how it'd confuse ya, though. My hair likes to change color depending on the lighting. One time, I went out with a girl who thought I had some white hairs on the side of my head.” Indeed, he gave his hair a toss back with a flick of his head and it looked as though his hair was comprised of a myriad of different colors. But she spotted a black stripe and a white stripe on the side of his head. It might have been part of the lighting after all, because the colors disappeared and returned to plain brown.

“You are a man of many colors,” she remarked with a grin upon her face. He set his hat down on the edge of the table and he picked up a book from the table in front of him: a blue paperback about the size of his hand from the base of his palm to the tip of his middle finger.

“What book is that?” she asked him.

“Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse—guess it's about Buddha? It's got a picture of Buddha on the cover.”

“Oh, yeah!” she squeaked with a wave of her finger. “I remember reading that when I was in high school.”

Cliff opened up to a random page near the back.

“'I have always believed,'” he read aloud, “'and I still believe, that whatever good or bad fortune may come our way we can always give it meaning and transform it into something of value.'” He glanced up at her with his eyebrows raised and his eyes big.

“I remember it well,” she said in a low voice.

“Sam?” Joey's voice floated in through the door behind her.

“Oh, there he is!” She opened the door for him, but he stood there on the sidewalk with glasses of lemonade in either hand. “How'd you know I was here?”

“Saw you walk in,” he explained, and he lifted his gaze into the shop. “Hey, Cliff!”

And Cliff nodded at him and showed him a smile. Sam took the cup in Joey's right hand.

“I gotta go,” she confessed to him, and he nodded at her, still with his eyes big and his face warm and soft. Before she followed Joey out to the street, and with the glass in hand, she stepped closer to Cliff.

“Call me when you get home,” she told him in a low voice.

“That is if you call me first,” he vowed to her with a wink.

[harringtonheartache]

Daybreak | Part Four

Part Five

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Lab Escapee! Reader?

Summary: Part four of this fic. 009 meets someone new. 

Word Count: 3,800+

Warning(s): Mild cussing

A/N: I am so sorry for the wait, I hate not posting! Things have been very hectic. I hope you enjoy nonetheless. This chapter is a bit longer than the others (0:

Gone off to dinner most likely, Steve’s parents were not home when the two arrived. Unbeknownst to this detail, Steve entered the house alone while Nine waited on the porch until she was told the coast was clear. His feet were only two steps inside, and his hand had not left the door handle when he called out for his mother. No answer. He tried his dad. No answer. “They’re not home,” he told the girl outside. She followed him in, hesitant and with a handful of bags. “They probably went out to dinner, they are always going places without me.” Steve explained his parent’s absence to someone without concept of what parents truly were or when they were supposed to be home. They placed their bags on the counter top, enjoying the liberty of being downstairs. Steve leaned his newly free hands against the island, looking to his visitor who stood before him. “Are you okay from earlier? I mean I don’t know how this power stuff works, but, ya’know.” He removed one hand from the counter to gesture with it when he got to the last part of his sentence, unsure of what to say.

“Yeah,” she told him. “Are you?” She asked, eyebrows raised and a half-smile sneaking onto her face with a teasing attitude. She moved to sit at the island, getting on her toes to land herself on the chair that stood at bar stool height. “Yeah! Yeah I’m good, I just wanted to make sure you were. I mean I-”, his hand was now motioning to himself with comedic nature. “I can’t throw three men through the air and only suffer a nose bleed,” he was quick to answer, giving her a look that hinted of his playful demeanor. They laughed together, but she felt not that she necessarily owed him an explanation, just that she wanted to give him one. “Using my power drains me. The more I exert, the weaker I get. Just like normal people, right?” She said, a lightness to her tone. He watched as she swiveled slightly in the chair. “Yeah,” he told her. “Just like normal people”.

The doorbell brought an end to their conversation, but it spiked her alarm. Steve, confused himself, looked in the direction of the door. He looked back to her. “It’s okay, my parents wouldn’t ring the doorbell so it’s not them. I’ll just tell whoever it is to leave.” She watched him carefully, wishing him not to even answer the door. She removed herself from her seat and chose a more concealed position, one completely out of view from the doorway. He approached the door, turning around to take note of where Nine was hiding before opening it. She listened to the door open and a small voice she had not heard before invited itself into the room. “What the hell?” it piped up. “Woah! Woah! What the hell yourself? What are you doing here, Dustin?” Steve said a little frantically, unhappy with the boy’s sudden entrance. “You were supposed to pick me up and take me to the arcade to meet the party! You said you would, remember?” Dustin spoke with an accusatory tone, clearly not happy with Steve either. “Uh, ye- yeah?” Steve responded. He didn’t remember. “Listen, change of plans. I can’t do it.” he told the kid. 

“What? Why not?” 

“Things came up.” A small head shake accompanied by half of a shoulder shrug. He said it simply, as if Dustin were really going to take this as an answer. Steve’s hand still sat on the doorknob as the door remained open. He was hoping that if he kept it this way, Dustin would recognize that he was being invited to make an exit. 

“What ‘things’? You’re not doing anything right now.” he responded questioningly, with a hint of attitude for good measure. 

“Uh,” Steve’s placeholder for words wavered in the air. Improvisation was not a specialty of his. 

“I have groceries to put away.”

“Since when do you go grocery shopping?”

Steve gestured to the bags that had been thrown on the counter, their presence now complementing his weak excuse. “Since today.” Dustin followed Steve’s hand, his eyes landing on the pile of groceries he was surprised to see was not fictional. “Okay fine, I’ll help, but please tell me you at least got some good snacks.” He began walking towards the kitchen before his response even concluded. Unknown to him, he was about to invade someone’s hiding spot. 

“No, Dustin-” Steve moved to grab after Dustin’s shoulder, but the kid had already rounded the corner, meeting the girl face-to-face. Caught off-guard, he shrieked, reaching a pitch neither Steve nor Nine expected. She flinched, scrunching her face and bringing her eyes to a tight close. Steve had flinched too, his hand hanging in the air from his vain attempt to grab Dustin. 

“Shit! Who are you?” he questioned the girl who had been without a proper introduction. She opened her mouth. Improvisation was not her specialty either. “I-” her attempt to speak matched Steve’s attempt to stop Dustin in falling short of success. The child interrupted before he even got her name. “Really Steve, you’re trying to blow me off for some girl?” Nine welcomed this shift in conversation that momentarily drew Dustin’s attention away from her. 

“No! No, I really need to put away these groceries. She, uh, she was helping me,” Steve started. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t take you. I need to be here and so does she.” He barked out the rest of his answer with authority, his tone mimicking that of a parent speaking adamantly to their child. Dustin dropped his sass temporarily, hopeful that his forthcoming proposal would score him his forgotten promise of a ride. 

“She can come too!” He inhaled before his next sentence. “As long as you promise not to suck face.”

Nine’s expression sprung into one of wild confusion and alarm. She was perhaps even more alarmed than she had been when the doorbell rang. What the hell was sucking face?

“No, no it’s not- no, okay? We don’t suck face, and she is not coming with us.” Steve spoke with a firm tone and a quick pace, wishing for Dustin to accept his fourth decline since his lack of compliance with the other three. 

“So that means you’re taking me?” He said, his voice picking up at the tail end of his sentence. His eyebrows raised and a goofy look of sincere optimism flashed across his face.

“No! Her and I are both staying here.” Refusal number five. Dustin’s smile faded. He sighed again.

“Okay fine, you can make out but just try to do it when we’re not looking.” Dustin said, his voice falling in distaste. 

“I-”  Steve cut himself off, his head tilting slightly and his eyes closing in frustration. He sighed, his left hand balling into a fist midair. The kid’s lack of understanding was wearing on him. “We aren’t dating. And she has to stay here because-”

“I can go”. She spoke her first sentence to Dustin. Now facing a battle of two against one, Steve looked to her, dismayed.

“No you can’t. What if you get caught by-” he stopped himself. If Dustin couldn’t understand that Steve wasn’t taking him to the arcade there was no way he would grasp the reality of having to hide from the men of Hawkins’ lab. “Uh, your- your parents?”

“Her parents are going to be at the arcade?” Dustin chimed in sarcastically, still fighting for his chance to secure a chauffeur. 

“Ah-” Steve’s words fell short but his mouth stayed open. He paused. “Maybe!” Steve said, defending his foolish statement with a shake of his head and wide eyes. 

“I’ll be okay. I can go.” She spoke up for the second time, and Steve almost immediately fired back. “No! How many times do I have to say it? Dustin, we are staying here, and I am not taking you to the arcade.” 

--- 

“She is riding shotgun, shithead,” Steve told Dustin, his index finger being used to point at the kid and the rest of his hand clutching onto his car keys. Indifferent to the insult, Dustin was smiling as the three walked to the car. As she had been indirectly instructed to do, Nine took to the passenger's seat. In her lap was the hat she had worn to the store. Her thumb played with it’s brim before she placed it on her head. 

“Why the hat?” Dustin broke the silence between the three from his place in the back of the car. Steve started the engine. Nine turned to look back at Dustin and offered a shrug. “You’re wearing one too,” she said. This was true, a hat colored red, white, and blue sitting atop the unruly curls of his hair. He wore it regularly, and now noticed that she had been the first one to question him about it. “Fair enough..” he shrugged back at her. “Isn’t that Steve’s though?” He was full of questions, and no one seemed to be offering satisfactory answers. For the first time since meeting her, he considered her appearance. His eyes took a modest roam over her body, contemplating her choice in noticeably over-sized, boyish clothing. He turned to Steve next.

“Is she wearing your clothes?” This was only a question, but it felt like an accusation to both of them. A moment of silence without a response prompted Dustin to continue. “You guys are totally dating!” Dustin’s head grew larger in the rear-view mirror as he sat forward, and Steve watched him in the reflection rather than turning around. Somehow, turning to face the kid in the backseat seemed like it would grant him too much of Steve’s attention and validate his allegation. 

“No we are not! She just had to borrow my clothes. This is completely platonic. Can’t I have friends my own age?” Steve responded after a small sigh, raising his eyebrows to reinforce his questioning tone. 

“No, you can’t” Dustin said easily, a smile establishing his jaunty attitude. Steve gave him a look through the mirror.

---

Dustin trotted up to the arcade’s door ahead of the two who accompanied him. A car ride of trying to spark conversation that never seemed to get picked up had met it’s end. He had tried to get to know the girl who sat shotgun, assuming that he would see her quite often considering his own relationship with Steve. Almost every question he threw was dodged in between “uhh’s” and “um’s”. Steve engaged himself a fair amount in Nine’s Q&A, even without invitation. “Do you go to Hawkins High? How come I’ve never seen you around?” Steve told him that she was new. “How long have you known Steve?” Steve told him a while, avoiding any and all specifics. “Where do you live?” This one was met with a “you don’t ask people that, dipshit”. 

“I never got your name.” An implied question that Nine could surely answer without assistance, if she had a real name that is. Forgetting her personal obscurity, she started to respond. “Ni-” 

“-na!” Steve threw an unnerved glance her way, renaming the girl in one panicked shout. “Nina! That’s her name. I’m sorry, I- hah” Steve decorated his sentence with a chuckle that was supposed to relieve the awkward atmosphere. It wasn’t much of a help. “I forgot to introduce her,” he said. Nine sent Steve a confused look, subtle but present, and he was grateful that Dustin couldn’t see her do this. Nina was not her name, and she had to recall her conversation with Steve the first night she had spent at his house to rationalize why it was he had just called her this. “Nine? The number nine? What, is that supposed to be your name? That’s a number.”

---

“Who’s she?” Dustin was asked the question he had wondered himself all of 15 minutes ago. A taller kid - a member of “the party” Steve would later disclose to Nine was called Mike - gestured lightly to the girl, her and Steve walking a few paces behind Dustin.

“I dunno, some girl who was at Steve’s house,” he answered with a simple shrug. Two more boys caught up with Mike to greet the new arrival. 

“Is she wearing his clothes?” Mike continued to voice his confusion. 

“Yeah, don’t question it. He has a bug up his ass.” The four boys dropped it, leading the member of their group last to arrive to the game they had been huddled around a few minutes ago.

“Tallest is Mike, that one’s Lucas, and the smallest is Will,” Steve explained to Nine. Pointing to each kid as he spoke, he was less subtle than Mike had been in motioning to Nine. She nodded as she followed Steve blindly. He walked slowly, watching the kids run off into the maze of gaming machines. “And I’m Nina?” she asked, looking to him with both confusion and an unexplained dissatisfaction on her face. “Oh, um-” Steve looked down a little to meet her eye. His arms were crossed in a casual manner now. “Sorry about that. It was the first name I thought of. Calling you ‘Nine’ would have made him ask more questions.” She nodded again. She had not wanted more questions. “We only have to call you that in front of them, is that okay?” He asked her for permission, although knowing that there wasn’t really an option for backpedaling if she said no. “Yeah, I get it,” she told him. She smiled gently to reassure Steve, something she noticed herself doing often. 

Deciding that it was his duty to wait around for Dustin - sure of the fact that he would be asked for a ride home - Steve found a table in the “dining” area of the arcade. He wasn’t too sure of the food they served here, but he was thankful for a place to sit nonetheless. Nine sat across from him, a look of expectancy on her face. She wasn’t completely sure of her place here, but just as it had been in the store, other people occupying the establishment seemed unconcerned with her presence. “Why did you want to come here?” Steve asked her. It was a question she had little confidence in answering, as she really didn’t know herself. “I guess I just wanted to see more of the town.” she said. Her voice was quiet, almost easy to lose in the shouts of children battling one another’s high scores. Steve’s hands rested on the table, and he leaned forward a little. Nine’s laid in her lap. “I don’t know how interesting the arcade is,” he said to her with a mellow shrug.

She looked around, letting herself truly consider the location. The main light sources in the room were those coming from the game screens. Colored fluorescent lights also lined the walls, but the building was dim for the most part. This was her favorite detail. It was more crowded than the store had been, but it was full of kids rather than adults. She tried for a moment to find the four Steve had named for her, but they were gone from sight. It was loud; kids were hollering and arcade games overlapped one another with energetic music and sound effects. This was her least favorite detail. 

“They seem to be having fun,” she responded after her look around the room, finally finding the party who were adding to the noisy environment with their own shouts of frustration. She nodded in their direction to indicate who she was referring to. “Yeah,” Steve said. “They can be shitheads sometimes, but they’re good kids.” 

As if they knew they were being discussed (which they most certainly couldn’t considering the volume of the room), the four abandoned their game and found the two at the table. “Hey Steve, do you have any money? We’re out.” Dustin lead the conversation for the group. Steve, who had been looking at the kids questioningly, turned to give Nine a knowing look. “See? Shitheads.” 

“Hey! They spent all of the money waiting for me to show up! Technically this is on you,” Dustin spoke. 

“And you came to the arcade without any money?” Steve rightfully accused. Dustin stood there for a moment, eyes breaking away from Steve’s in a defeated silence. It was slightly humorous, and Nine smiled at the dynamic she had picked up on between the two. “Fine,” Steve said, digging into his pocket for some money to gift the kids. 

“I’m Lucas,” the one dressed in a green shirt politely introduced himself to the unfamiliar girl who had tagged along. Not expecting any conversation to be directed towards her, Nine was caught off-guard and made a little nervous by the boy’s words. She looked to him, and then glanced once more at Steve before speaking. He wasn’t listening, instead fully engaged in his bickering with Dustin. She wished he had been paying attention. “Nia,” she told Lucas. He smiled at her kindly, but she felt panicked once she realized her incorrect reciting of the name Steve had given her. “Uhm, Nina.” She corrected herself quickly, and Lucas’s smile twitched, but he tried not to let his puzzlement show. “I’m Will,” another boy joined in. “Mike,” said the last. “And I’m sure you’ve got Dustin down,” he added with a hint of sarcasm to his speech, gesturing to the boy she had met earlier with a head nod. She smiled at the three. While she hadn’t much to compare them to, she decided that Steve was right: they were good kids.

“That’s all you’re getting, Henderson”. She tuned back into Steve’s squabble with Dustin, which seemed to be reaching its end. “You’re the best,” Dustin said with gratitude, swiping the money off of the table. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” Steve responded. There was an indisputable attitude to his words (and the additional eye-roll), but it was easy to detect the fondness behind them. The party departed, “thank-you’s” tossed behind them as they ran off to resume their gaming tournament. Steve turned back to face Nine again, his hands folding together and settling on the tabletop once more. “It’s like I’m their mom, I swear.” He said. Nine laughed at this, although not completely understanding of the family reference. 

Light-hearted conversation drifted between the two for a few minutes; these few minutes were all they were allowed before disruption ensued again. Nine’s hands that had been placed in her lap broke away from one another with her startled jump. An argument between kids in the arcade was ensuing, and somehow their yelling managed to top the hollers coming from just about everywhere else in the room. Following the sound, Nine barely managed to find it’s origin before Steve had already taken off in it’s direction. A child unfamiliar to her was now advancing on the four she knew, a fight about to become physical. “Hey hey hey!” Steve tried to break it up with his voice, as his feet were a few paces too far behind to allow him to intervene with his body. Will (that one was Will, right? Nine wasn’t too good with names) was shoved backwards, two hands to his chest, as so aggressively inflicted upon him by the instigator. It was after this that Steve was able to step in, using one of his own two hands to hold the quarrelsome child back with a strong restrainment.  

“What the hell is going on here?” Steve asked sharply. “Are you okay?” He asked Will, looking to him first before redirecting his eyes to the kid he held back. Will gave a nod, preferring this over speech. The four stood around one another, Mike throwing an arm over Will’s shoulder as an act of reassurance. 

“These freaks are taking up too much room,” the aggressor spat, only glancing at Steve, making sure to spend his showtime glaring at the party instead. He wasn't too forceful against the prohibiting hand, understanding that he would not win against the teenager who towered over him. Maybe he could take on little Will, but when it came to Steve, he’d rather not push it. “They’re allowed to be here, okay? Why don’t you just leave.” Steve was composed. This was not to overlook his anger - he was very much angry - but he remained composed. He was handling a thirteen year old kid, as he had to remember. “No way! I’m going to play Dragon’s Lair.” The kid was considerably more contentious than Steve. “Well they were playing, so you’re going to have to w-” Steve was interrupted by Mike. He removed his arm from around Will and stood up with slightly better posture than before. “Steve, it’s fine. Let’s just go.” He didn’t want any more confrontation, and he certainly didn’t want to watch Steve beat the shit out of a kid half his size. Maybe then he’d walk from a fight without a black eye and a bloody lip.  

“No-” Steve started, but the child had moved from his place against his hand, turning around to do exactly what he had said he was going to do. Sound effects resumed from the arcade game that had been the subject of the turf war. He was no longer concerned with the party - or with Steve - and instead became concerned with beating the high-score of whomever resided at the top of the list. “It’s fine,” Mike reminded Steve again, his voice glum. Nine decided that it wasn’t fine. Having watched the interaction as it played out in a mere minute or so, she decided that this unnamed irritant was not one of the good kids. 

In just one second, all of the cheery arcade music came to a mild humming silence. All of the machines powered down, and even the lights faded out, no longer illuminating the room with fluorescent purples and greens. The sound of the music was replaced quickly with the sound of booing children, a noise perhaps louder than what came before it. Shouts of “come on!” and “hey!” could be heard, the loudest of which coming from the kid who had been standing at Dragon’s Lair. “No! Come on!” he yelled. The four kids that Steve had been fighting for were just as confused as everyone else, and for a moment Steve was too. He looked to Nine, an innocent action taken to ensure that she was okay. When he did this however, he noticed a little trail of blood beginning from her nose, and he couldn’t stop a smile at the realization of what she had done.

Considering the games were no longer worth fighting for, the gang of two teens and four kids decided to leave the arcade. “Woah,” said Dustin as they walked through the parking lot. “Even the big sign lost power.”  

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag list: @ggclarissa @hyp-oh-critical @notvvarriors

[theverybestpencilsoftuscaloosa]

May I Have You For Dinner?

My second story for OP Bingo 2020, hosted by @op-pirate-fleet. Is it low-quality Hannibal pastiche? No, it’s high-grade Hannibal pastiche. I wrote it in two hours after seeing the first two episodes of Hannibal before I knew Hannibal actually had a castle. Is it funny? At this point, I don’t know. I did work all nine Straw Hats in there, though, which is actually much harder to do than you’d think, especially in a comedic cannibal fic. God, WHY DID I DECIDE TO WRITE CANNIBAL FANFICTION? In three years when I get into fandom drama this is gonna be the one that gets my ass. AO3 link here.

“Excuse me,” said Usopp. “Do you think I could have a sandwich?”

“Pardon me?”

Usopp swallowed. “No, I mean, I’m sure you’re a great cook, but, well, um -- I just have this disease I actually got from a swarm of vicious mosquitoes, and if I have any dish with a red sauce I’ll--”

“You cannot have a sandwich,” snapped the host, Count De Lisces. Usopp quailed, and nodded quickly.

“Right! Right! Of course! I’ll just, uh, enjoy this meal! Yum yum! Yummy!” And he began picking at the vegetables without intent.

Sanji’s frown deepened, and he glared at the count. That was no way to treat a dinner guest. He could sympathize with not wanting to waste food, of course, but he could make an exception if the diner was clearly not going to eat it anyway. And from the way he was tucking in, their host would have no trouble polishing off another serving of -- Sanji looked down -- ...pork. With red sauce.

Sanji shot Usopp a look and mouthed I’ll fix something up when we get back to the ship. Then he cleared his throat, catching their host’s attention. “Count,” he said evenly, “this is a very interesting preparation. What did you say your secret was again?”

The count grinned. “The thing, you see, is to marinate the meat well. After seventy-two hours, you create a flavor so deep, so sublime --”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Count De Lisces blinked. For a second his mouth worked silently before he managed to spit out an “Excuse me?”

“You don’t marinate anything for three days. It’d start falling apart.” Sanji poked the uncarved slice of meat on his plate. “Honestly, do you even know how to cook?

The count’s eyes flicked from his plate to Sanji’s face. “Look,” he began, and stopped. “It’s an old family…” he trailed off. He closed his eyes for a second, collecting himself, and began again. “Why don’t we just -- what on earth are you doing?!”

Nami and Zoro turned, halfway to the ornate liquor cabinet. Zoro held up the empty bottle. “Refill.”

The count reddened. “That-- that was a seventy-nine year old vintage! That wine was an heirloom! And you finished it?”

“Yeah,” Zoro said at the same time as Nami clasped her hands together.

“Your Excellency,” she said in a syrupy-sweet voice, “we were only trying to be good guests. If we don’t sample your wines, how can we compliment you on the range and profile of your good tastes?”

“This is a place of decency,” said the count in a low, dangerous, tolling tone. “For years and years my castle, my island, has been a place of culture. A place of class! Sit down and eat your food and stop ruining the ambience!”

Franky cracked open a bottle of cola on his nose.

“Hey,” he said between gulps of carbonated sugar water, “where’s Robin?” Beside him, Chopper was examining his own untouched meal with forensic care.

“Sanji,” Chopper said, urgency in his voice. “Do you recognize this cut of pork?”

“No,” Sanji growled, “I don’t.” His hand closed around the knife reflexively, and he had to force it to open. He settled for pulling a cigarette from his pocket and lighting up. Unforgivably bad manners in most fine dining situations? Sure. In these conditions, though, he didn’t particularly care. And he was enjoying the look on Count De Lisces’ face.

“Luffy,” he said after a long pull. “What do you think?” Luffy looked up from his plate. It, too, was untouched. That about did it, Sanji thought. There was no reason Luffy wouldn’t clean his plate unless something was seriously wrong.

“It smells weird,” he said. “And this guy’s weird.”

“Hey!” squawked the count. Luffy turned to him, brow furrowed.

“What did you say your name was again?”

A smile spread across their host’s face like a bloodstain on a fine white tablecloth. He stood slowly, drawing himself up to his full height, savoring the moment like the finest of wines -- one his irritating guests couldn’t sample. “Count De Lisces,” he said slowly. “Count Yannibal De Lisces.” He bit each syllable off, and let them fall into the spreading silence.

“Oh!” Said Brook. “How funny! Your name rhymes with cannibal! Yohohoho-- that’s not really a skull joke, is it?”

“So this guy--” Sanji began.

“Cannibal,” said Usopp, shivering so hard the word came out with three Cs and five Bs.

“This is people?” Said Luffy, pointing at his plate. Chopper nodded. Sanji stood so fast his chair went flying, raising one leg to lash out, but Yannibal’s hand was raised.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he said slowly. “Not so fast, Mister Know-It-All-About-Marinades. You’re forgetting someone, aren’t you?”

Sanji’s breath caught in his chest, and he froze. “Robin.”

“Indeed!” Yannibal cackled. “That lovely dark-haired angel… where is she now, I wonder?”

Franky sat upright, knocking his plate to the ground. His left hand was already unhinged, revealing the wide dark mouth of the gun barrel beneath. He leveled it at Yannibal’s chest. “Where is she?”

“I have no way of knowing,” the count said. “She went wandering off, did she not? My castle is large and dark and full of… secrets. If she has delved too deeply, searched too ardently, she may not like what she has found. And I cannot guarantee no harm has come to her…” Sanji’s weight shifted, and Yannibal turned, clicking his tongue. “Mister Cook! No no no… indeed, her safety is not guaranteed. Indeed, a woman as… refined as her…” Yannibal’s eyes glazed over.

“What class. What taste. She is a cut above the rest of you, certainly. Perhaps I will be having her for dinner soon…” He focused on Sanji again. “Regardless, sir. I cannot guarantee her safety… but if you raise a hand to me, I can guarantee you will never see her again--”

“Excuse me,” said Robin from the doorway. “I’m back.” Sanji turned, hearts in his eyes.

“Dearest, lovely Robin! You’re safe! Oh, darling, thank goodness, I was so worried! You aren’t hurt, are you? Where have you been?”

“Ah,” Robin said. “I was gone some time, wasn’t I? I apologize. I was on my way back from the restroom when a small, strange man with facial deformities tried to knock me unconscious.”

“A-hem.”

Robin looked down. Standing by her hip, a small, strange man with facial deformities was scowling up at her, arms crossed. She smiled.

“My apologies. I meant to say a small, strange man with an interesting and unique face tried to knock me unconscious.” The small, strange man with the interesting and unique face smiled. It was a very interesting and unique smile.

“Is he… cool?” Franky said after a long moment of awkward silence.

“Oh, certainly,” said Robin.

“Cool,” said Franky. “We were figuring out if this guy’s a cannibal or not.”

“Oh, he’s definitely a cannibal,” said Robin. “He told me all about it.” She gestured to the small, strange man, who nodded vigorously. She smiled, and looked up at the Count De Lisces. “Your castle has a fascinating history, count. I was hoping to learn a little more about it from you. Such a shame it turned out to be written in blood.”

Sanji was a little more economical with his words: “I’m gonna beat the shit out of you, you no-good excuse for a cook!”

The count laughed, and stepped back. In the glow of the fire, his silhouette seemed to stretch, to warp, to grow. “Oh, you poor souls…” There was an edge to his voice, a hard, rough undertone that hadn’t been there before. “You think this story ends with you defeating the monster, emerging victorious?” The small, strange man shrank behind Robin.

“No… no, I’m afraid not. Tell me, did you know that of all the animals of the world, only one hunts man for sport… besides man, that is?” The count was definitely growing now, his shadow blocking out the roaring fire. “On a certain island in the South Blue, villagers began disappearing without a trace. They suspected slavers, pirates, but do you know what the true culprit was?”A growl ripped through the air.

“It was the hunter of the forest! The only true equal to man in his viciousness! The shadow of the night! And I have made its power my own!” Count Yannibal De Lisces stood in the firelight. Orange and black flickered over his skin, but the stripes ran deeper than the light of the fire. They were laid into his skin, and beneath them bulged rippling muscle packed onto a frame that dwarfed even Brook. “Witness the strength of the true apex predator, the top of the food chain! Cat-Cat Fruit, Model: Tiger! I will feast on your--”

“Yeah, okay,” said Sanji, and kicked him in the face. Count De Lisces went over backwards yowling.

“Now listen to me, Count,” said Sanji, stepping forward. “In my opinion, you’re a shitty host leaving the human meat aside. But cannibalism? Serving human flesh to your unsuspecting guests?” On either side of him, Luffy and Chopper stepped up, fists clenched. “Do you have any idea how --”

“--unethical--”

“--gross--”

“--unprofessional that is?”

The count leapt, but Sanji’s leg moved faster, sending the tiger-count crashing into the finely decorated wall. In the light of the fire, the ember of his cigarette burning, he looked positively demonic. He leaned down, the sound of Luffy’s knuckles cracking echoing behind him.

“Consider this a lesson in cookery.”

As the chaos started at the far end of the dining table, Robin walked over to Nami and Zoro, who were surrounded by empty bottles -- apparently, far fewer than Zoro was hoping for.

“This one?” He said, exasperated. Nami shook her head. “No! Don’t open anything more than seventy-five years old!”

“Yeah, it’s eighty-three years old, from a vineyard that hasn’t been shit for two centuries! No one’ll give you more than fifty, fifty-five thousand berries for it! You have pants that cost more than that!”

“My pants are none of your -- wait, how do you know what a good vintage is?”

“Which one of us spends more time in liquor stores?”

Robin snuck a bottle away from the squabbling pair and sat down next to Franky. She  popped the cork, offered him a swig, and when he declined took a few deep gulps for herself. Brook helped her finish off the bottle, and along with a queasy-looking Usopp, the four sat in companionable silence and watched. Dinner had been ruined, but at least the show was nice.

Some time later, Sanji stepped back, panting. He took a long draw of his cigarette, and ashed it over the feebly moaning count. Luffy and Chopper, who had worn themselves out a bit earlier, watched from the table. Sanji straightened his tie.

“When preparing tiger--” He stopped. “Wait, no, fuck this, no one cooks tiger! And no one cooks people! No food-related metaphors for you, shithead!” And with a final kick, he turned away.

“So, uh, what are we going to do about this?” Usopp said. Everyone else looked at him. He looked back defensively. “I mean, I don’t think the marines are going to take him! What, are we going to kill him?”

“Well…” Sanj said slowly.

Robin cleared her throat. The Straw Hats turned to look. Behind her stood the small, strange man. Behind him stood another few dozen small, strange people.

“The count’s servants,” she said. “Apparently, they have some, ah, grievances. I’m sure they’d appreciate being left alone to… renegotiate the terms of their employment.” Sanji rubbed his chin. He walked over to the small, strange man and bent down.

“Look me in the eye,” he said. “No, both eyes. Oh, you-- your-- oh. Oh gosh. Okay, that’s fine. One eye is fine. Look,” he said, pushing past the pitfall, “this is important. Are you going to eat him?”

The small, strange man screwed up his face in disgust. Sanji looked him in the eye a second longer, then stood.

“Well, if you guys are okay with it…”

The Straw Hats left the castle of the Count of De Lisces behind, stumbling in the darkness (and, for some of them, drunkenness). They left with empty stomachs and arms full of old and expensive wines. When at last they arrived at the Sunny, Sanji went to the kitchen. Usopp was already swearing up and down that he’d never eat again, and he was pretty sure Zoro had drunk two or three dinners, but everyone else would need the calories. And Usopp would probably be hungry in an hour. He had an excellent cut in the fridge; he could fry it up and --

Sanji opened the walk-in and saw the meat he was thinking of. It was a prize-winning slab of pork shoulder. Sanji thought about it for a long time. Come on, he said to himself. You watched the butcher cut it off the pig yourself. It’s fine. Are you really going to let that stupid count go to your head?

Sanji threw it over the side anyway, although he felt a pang of guilt as ten pounds of pork vanished below the waves. Tonight, at least, he thought to himself, he would stick with fish.

[sunkissedpages]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Twenty-One || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: I’M BACK AND DONE WITH FINALS

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst, mentions of previous smut

What I listened to while writing: my mamma mia + rap playlist… lmao

Word Count: 3k

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine| Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen | Part Eighteen | Part Nineteen | Part Twenty

“I was just leaving,” Tom said with a smirk, brushing past Harrison and into the hallway, leaving you with the confused blond boy standing in front of your door.

You wanted to grab Tom by the shirt and yank him back into the room to help you get out of explaining why he was there in the first place, but he was already out of reach and you were getting increasingly suspicious that he’d jump at the chance to tell Haz the truth anyway.

“Good night, y/n!” he called to you without turning around to see you fuming.

“Good night, Tom,” you called back, hoping he picked up on the bitterness laced in your voice.

“What did Tom want?” Harrison asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Uh, he just wanted the... um,” you blinked, mind still fuzzy, searching for a foothold. “He wanted the schedule for tomorrow.”

“The filming schedule?”

“Mmhm.”

“Can’t he get that on his phone?”

You paused, not having realized exactly what Haz was telling you. “Yeah...”

“So, what, he wanted a hard copy?” You nodded, forcing a neutral expression. “What for?” You only shrugged, unsure of the answer now yourself.

What had Tom’s motives for coming to your room really been? You could feel the pleasant haze that still lingered in your mind evaporating quickly as it was replaced by confusion. Trying to figure that boy out was pointless, you knew that by now, but it didn’t stop you from wondering.

“So, what did you want at this hour?” you asked Harrison, trying to divert his focus.

“Oh, right!” he said and stood up straight. “Can I um, come in for a minute?”

“Sure, why not?” You figured you weren’t getting any sleep at this rate so you stood to the side and let Harrison pass by you into the room.

Nearly everything was as it had been when Tom dropped by, aside from clothes on the bathroom floor.

Harrison looked around, as Tom had, with his arms crossed over his chest. You waited for him to speak, rocking back and forth on your heels anxiously. Whatever he came to tell you must’ve been important if he was stopping by this late.

He turned back towards you with a deep breath, eyes trained on the ground. “I’ve been trying to hype myself up for the last hour now,” he said with a light laugh, still not making eye contact with you. You furrowed your eyebrows, a little lost, but let him continue. “Actually, I’ve kind of been wanting to tell you for a while now.”

“Tell me what?”

Harrison finally looked up at you, chilling blue eyes finding yours, lips curling into a nervous smile. “Uh, I-” he stopped abruptly, you wouldn’t have even thought he said anything at all if you hadn’t been paying attention.

“What?”

He took a step closer to you, eyes traveling your body. “Your neck.”

Shit. You slapped your hand to your neck instinctively, ignoring the sting that followed. You held your hand against you, even though you knew it was futile. He’d already seen. Haz leaned forward to get a better look at the bruises through the space in between your fingers, then looked back up at you expectantly. 

“Would you believe me if I told you I dropped my curling iron on my neck, like, a bunch of times?”

“Maybe, if I’d literally ever seen you curl your hair.”

You dropped your hand in defeat. “I’ve curled my hair before,” you muttered, not helping your case at all.

Harrison was rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“What if I told you it hailed?” You tried again, with a hint of a smile. “Only on my neck?”

“Then I’d say I missed some really odd weather.” He was joking with you, but there was an undercurrent of something you couldn’t put your finger on. The space between you was filled with awkward tension, it felt like a balloon that was about to pop if either of you moved any closer towards each other.

Harrison sighed and looked back down at the ground, hands on his hips, then flicked his head back up as if noticing something. “Are those Tom’s?”

You looked down at yourself to see what he was referring to and noticed, for the first time, that you were wearing a pair of boxer briefs. You didn’t own any boxer briefs. In the aftermath of the shower you hadn’t paid attention to the pajamas you’d grabbed from your suitcase, and now you realized you were wearing a pair of Calvin Klein’s that didn’t belong to you with an old Spider-Man T-shirt of yours. Some of Tom’s clothes must’ve gotten mixed with yours in the chaos of the hotel room, and you’d mistaken the briefs for pajama shorts.

You pinched the bridge of your nose, knowing you were fucked. It was no use trying to hide it now, Harrison knew you couldn’t lie. What gave it away was the signature white elastic band at the top of the black shorts with the classic black letters. Even you knew that Tom was a Calvin Klein’s guy. Maybe it was because you’d noticed how they peeked out above the waistband his jeans more than once when his shirt rode up, but it was still a commonly known fact.

“And are those Tom’s?” Harrison asked, nodding at the marks he’d already addressed on your neck.

“Do I really have to answer that?” you asked, rubbing at your neck absentmindedly.

His eyes widened like he hadn’t been expecting to be right. “Are you serious, y/n?”

You shuffled awkwardly over to the bed and sat, crossing your arms. “Please don’t make a big deal about it.”

“How can I not?” he hissed, probably a little harsher than intended. “He’s your boss.”

“Only kind of!” you argued defensively, completely aware of how that didn’t make it sound any better.

“You could lose your fucking job!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” you nearly shouted, making Harrison jump a little. You softened a little, feeling guilty for snapping at him. “It’s not like I planned for it to happen.”

“How long has it been going on?”

You bit your lip, not wanting to tell him you’d literally started sleeping together yesterday. “Not long,” you promised. “And it’s nothing serious.”

He scoffed. “It’s Tom.”

You pushed down the wave of emotions that threatened to overcome you when he said that. It’s Tom. Of course Harrison assumed you were just another in a long line of flings, and he wasn’t wrong, but it still hurt to hear that’s what Haz thought about you.

“You like him, don’t you?” Harrison asked, gentler now. He moved from where he had been standing to sit beside you on the bed.

You sighed, flopping backwards onto your back so that you could watch the fan go in circles and not have to look him in the eyes. “I don’t know,” you said honestly. “I shouldn’t.”

Harrison laid back next to you, forcing you to look at him even though it’s what you had been trying to avoid. You thought his eyes would hold judgement, or hostility when you met them, but all you saw was your friend looking back at you, listening intently to you pour your heart out. He played with your hair that was splayed out on the bed behind you comfortingly as you talked.

“I mean, after everything he’s done to me, it’s messed up isn’t it?”

He twisted a loop of your hair around his finger. “Can’t blame you for falling for someone you work closely with.”

“But it’s Tom!” you cried.

“Yeah,” Harrison agreed, sounding restrained. “It’s Tom.”

You rolled over on your side so that you were facing Haz and curled your legs up. “I’m going to get hurt, aren’t I, Harrison?”

He paused and let the piece of your hair slip through his fingers and fall back onto the bed. “I’m not sure, love. But I think Tom should know.”

“Know what?”

“How you feel,” he said softly, eyes glistening with something that made you wonder if he knew something you didn’t.

“I don’t even know how I feel,” you reminded him.

“Yes you do,” he insisted.

“But he doesn’t feel the same way.”

Haz pursed his lips. “You don’t know that. Maybe you’ve both been lying to yourselves.”

You turned it over in your mind, but the idea was too outrageous to even consider. Tom Holland didn’t fall, not like everyone else. He didn’t let himself.

You yawned suddenly, exhaustion seeping into your already sore muscles.  “I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about all this,” you apologized with a sigh.

“I’m always around to listen if you need me,” he assured you with a smile, sitting up. “What are friends for?”

You pulled yourself up next to him by using his shoulder as a grip. He laughed as you nearly launched yourself off the bed in the process. “I feel like it’s always you listening to me, though,” you said, recovering. “Shouldn’t it go both ways?”

“In theory.” Harrison smirked. “But my life isn’t as dramatic as yours.”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s late I should get going,” Harrison said as he stood from the bed. “We have to be up early tomorrow.”

“But wait, didn’t you have to tell me something?” you asked, suddenly remembering why Harrison was in your room in the first place.

“It’s not important.”

“No, you came all the way down here to talk to me,” you insisted.

“It can wait until morning,” Harrison promised. “You should rest.”

“Okay,” you surrendered, and followed him over to the door.

“Good night, y/n,” he said, opening the door and walking out into the hall.

“Good night, Harrison.”

You gave him a little wave and watched him walk down the hallway before he disappeared around the corner and out of sight.

The sunlight didn’t wake you up. Your three separate alarms didn’t wake you up. No, the seventh call from Harrison is what finally jolted you awake in a cold sweat.

“Hello?” you asked into the phone, already knowing you were about to get an earful.

“Where the hell are you?” he asked, sounding worried.

“I just woke up, shit, what time is it?”

“It’s after ten.”

“Shit shit shit I’ll be down in five minutes!”

You hung up without saying goodbye and leapt out of bed, scrambling to pull a pair of leggings over the briefs. You brushed your teeth at the speed of light, and pulled your hair into what looked like something in between a ponytail and bun before sprinting out the door with all of your things and towards the elevator.

You were almost to the lobby when your realized you hadn’t put on a bra. Whatever, you weren’t going back upstairs.

They had already started filming for the day a few blocks over. You pulled up the schedule on your phone to try and see where they were. You had thought they’d be shooting right downstairs, but apparently that was in a few days from now. People on the sidewalk breezed past you with annoyance, often bumping into you, muttering something about how you shouldn’t be on your phone while walking.

You ignored them, trying to figure out where the fuck the corner of 8th and West 33rd Street was. You started off in the wrong direction and had to do the embarrassing thing where it’s totally obvious that you’re lost and turn around and starting going the complete opposite way. You knew that no one cared or was paying attention to you as you did it, but you knew.

Now that you had some sort of idea of where you were headed, you broke into a run, dodging and weaving through the crowd as swiftly as possible. Your legs immediately started burning, still sore from days prior. You were doing a lot more physical activity on this job than you’d anticipated and it was starting to get on your nerves. They hadn’t taught you this in film school.

Once you got closer, set wasn’t hard to spot. The crew had roped off around three blocks for filming purposes and the tents were easy to see over the crowd. The crowd. You had to come to a complete stop once you reached the wall of people blocking access to set. Getting through them was a challenge. You didn’t look official in any capacity, so when you asked nicely to get through, you were brushed off. You were already over an hour and a half late, you didn’t have time for this. With a sigh, you began shoving through the masses of people, using your elbows when necessary. They were New Yorkers they could get over it. You called out a chorus of “I’m sorry”s and “excuse me”s as you navigated through the crowd, not knowing or caring if anyone could actually hear you.

Once you reached the border you were stopped by one of the several policemen on duty serving as security for the shoot.

“I’m sorry, Miss, I can’t let you past. You’re free to observe from here, though.”

You narrowed your eyes at the man when he called you miss. He couldn’t have been much older than you, most likely a recent graduate of the police academy who had no doubt been stuck on security detail.

“But I’m supposed to working,” you insisted, pulling out your staff pass and ID for good measure.

He took the items from your hands and examined them much harder than necessary. “This pass doesn’t look like the other crew’s, ma’am.” He handed them back to you with a shrug, lowering his sunglasses to look you in the eyes. “The others aren’t blue.”

“I know, they’re green. But green is for crew. Blue is for assistants.”

The officer looked over his shoulder and flagged the nearest crew member down for confirmation. You fought the urge to roll your eyes, but felt a sense of relief when you saw Harry jogging towards you.

“Do you recognize this chick?” the man asked.

“Never seen her before in my life,” Harry said with a shit-eating grin and you had to stop yourself from jumping over the barrier and tackling him.

“Harry, what the fuck?” you groaned. “I’m already late.”

“I’m kidding, she’s one of Tom’s assistants.”

The officer had no choice but to let you by, but made no move to shift the barriers or help you over them. Harry offered you a hand to help you hop up and over the fence so that you could finally get to where you were supposed to be.

“Porn-stache didn’t even apologize to me,” you seethed as you followed Harry back onto the lot.

“Hey give porn-stache a break he’s probably still adjusting from time-traveling here from the seventies,” Harry joked, making you snort. “I mean, he called you a ‘chick’, if that’s not a sign I don’t know what is.”

“My pass looked exactly like yours, but blue, why didn’t he just let me through?”

“Because he’s sexist,” Harry shrugged. “That much is obvious, I mean look around, literally every crew member is an old white guy.”

He was right. “Sometimes I hate film.”

“Me too. Although, in porn-stache’s defense, you are dressed like a fan.”

You looked down at yourself and realized you were still wearing the old Spider-man t-shirt you had fallen asleep in last night.

“I can’t wear Spider-man merch to work?” Harry shrugged. “No, I won’t even give him that. He’s an asshole.”

“Agreed.”

Harry split off from you to get back to his post on one of the camera rigs while you looked for Tom. For once, he wasn’t hard to find. A blur of red and black flashed in the distance and you knew immediately where you’d find him.

He was in the Spider-man suit and hooked up to a harness, being yanked around for web shooting scenes.Harrison was over by the monitor, grinning as his best friend was having the time of his life.  

In between takes, while suspended in midair he gave you a thumbs up and waved, trying to get your attention. You laughed and gave him the finger in response, knowing they were still rolling and hoping they caught it.

You waited for Harrison to bring up what he had been going to tell you last night, but he didn’t. He didn’t say much to you at all. To be fair, everyone was supposed to be relatively quiet, while they were filming, but Haz had never been one to follow that rule.

They called break and you met Tom over in one of the makeup tents. They were about to do a scene where he pulled the mask off so they needed to make him look unrealistically pretty and not sweaty.

“Sleep well?” Tom asked, with a smirk as he ran a hand through his hair.

“Like the dead, apparently. I can’t believe I slept through all of my alarms.”

Tom shrugged. “Happens to all of us.” He pretended to look for something before speaking again. “Hey, last night was fun.” He said it nonchalantly enough, but you knew he was baiting you.

“We shouldn’t talk about this here.”

“No one’s around.”

It was true, the tent was empty aside from you and Tom, but tents weren’t exactly soundproof.

“It was fun,” you gave in stubbornly, trying not to smile. “So was the night before.”

“Yeah?” Tom asked, inching closer to you.

“Yeah.”

“Nice shirt,” Tom smirked, tugging on the end of the spidey t-shirt once he was within arm’s reach.

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s three years old.”

“Well then you must’ve kept it for a reason?”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Tom.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” he asked.

“You’re one to talk.”

You were smirking at each other now, daring the other to make a move. You knew you shouldn’t, not here, it was too risky, but you wanted him to kiss you. Tom was the first to pull away, leaving you in the middle of the tent with your arms crossed in frustration.

“What did Harrison want last night?” he asked, starting to run his hands through his hair again even though the crew was constantly telling him to leave it alone. “I’m...not exactly sure,” you said slowly. “Actually, have you talked to him today?”

“Not really, we left the hotel separately, why?”

“Um, no reason, just that... he knows.”

Tom made eye contact with you through the mirror and wrinkled his eyebrows in confusion. “Knows what?”

“About us.”

this probably has hella typos, but thank you guys for being patient while I took all my exams! I hope you liked it! lmk what you think I always appreciate feedback!!

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[angrylizardjacket]

Run to Paradise {Nikki Sixx} Part 21

21. you look like a man you’ll never meet

Summary: They all have houses! The tour is over! Lola and Nikki fight about what is and isn’t a shitty father! 

Warnings: uh, drinking and drugs and blowjobs in ikea but not explicitly. arguments about shitty parents.

ragtag bunch of misfits: @starlalove @toofasttofallinlove  @xrosegoldwolfx @obsessivesky  @trpwthme @lovehelpmewrite @colsons-crue  @marvelismylifffe  @lilytalebi @glitterdreamsz  @freddiessmallnipples @crazysaladchopshop @inthebackofmycarlaytheirbodies  @dramatique-moi  @missqueeniewrites @calspixie  @aryssav @catsoo12  @sweetshutter @silvertonguedserpent  @shamelessobsessions @lavenderbones22  @keepcalm-and-beyou @scarecrowmax  @nicholeh7 @unknownoblivion

{masterlist}

Three houses. No license. Three different sets of emotions and feelings that can pass for love. More money than her family ever had locked in a safe in the back of her closet with her piano score books.

When they get back from tour, the four of them clear out what little shit they care about from the apartment. Vince doesn't even bother coming to collect anything.

"If I've left any shit there, burn it."

Tommy, after hearing that, follows his lead, but he comes along for nostalgia, if nothing else. Nikki collects a few stashes of drugs and cash that he'd left behind in case of emergency. Lola collects up the porn magazines and piano sheet music she'd left in the closet, along with a folded up piece of paper that Tommy snatches the moment it catches his interest. His expression turns amused as he unfolds it.

"You have got the weirdest fuckin' spank bank, Lo," he turns the photo to Nikki, who laughs, though Lola's expression sours considerably and she tries to awkwardly get the picture back, "seriously, in with all those nudie mags you've got a fuckin' photocopy of a burnt picture of an old, Hawaiian dude?" He squints at words written on the back, reads out the first of two names; "Oh, Maleko Fields, sounds saucy, or is he Kaitlin?" Lola actually flinches at that, but he doesn't seem to notice, "Either way, I've gotta hand it to you, that's an extremely specific-"

"That's my dad, you asshole!" It comes out as a growl, and Tommy's face falls. Lola grabs the old picture back, carefully refolding it and tucking it into the front of one of the piano books.

The three of them are looking for places, but they crash on Vince's sofa until they find ones they like, though it doesn't take long. They're not exactly picky, just wanting something gaudy, with a good view, and a pool, and more bathrooms than any of them rightly need. Lola doesn't care much about how the house is decorated, but she calls up Doc the morning after she and Nikki are given the keys; she wants a piano, and she wants him to put her in touch with whoever can give her the gaudiest, most expensive piano known to man.

"I want Elton John to have fucked on it, I want those keys diamond encrusted, I want Freddie fucking Mercury to have done coke off of it, I want the Piano Man piano!" She announces, standing in the sparsely decorated living room, hand on her hip, looking out the window, already feeling herself getting bored of the conversation and wanting to explore the balcony and the view beyond.

"Are you fucking high? It's not even nine," Doc grumbles. It's a Sunday, Lola doesn't even consider for a second that she might have woken him up. If you pay enough money, anyone will get up when you ask, real estate agents and band managers alike, is how she reasons it.

"Of course I'm fucking high, and I've got a house of my own and cash to blow; I want what Johann Sebastian Bach had! I want Tchaikovsky, I want Stravinsky, I want fucking Gershwin!" She demanded, getting louder and more dramatic with each name she rattled off.

"If you yell one more composer at me, you're fired." Doc cuts her off, before yawning, "listen; you guys are coming in next week to start work on the new album, right? I'll get a number for you by then if you promise to make sure they're here on time."

"On time?" Lola actually laughs. Doc sighs, and gives her an hour leeway, but they come to an agreement.

Nikki's still asleep on the mattress on the floor of their new bedroom, but Lola's strung out body clock had her up at four in the morning, and she hasn't been able to get back to sleep. She watched the sun rise over the LA skyline on one side of the house, lost track of time watching the ocean from their balcony on the other side while drinking a bottle of spiced rum, swam naked in their brand new pool, and tried to make a list of all the furniture they needed to buy, but just ended up writing sofa and underlining it five times as she lay on the plush carpet of the living room.

The photocopy of the photo of Lola's father sits on the kitchen island, staring silently at the ceiling; Nikki calls it creepy when he wakes up. He laments for a moment about not having a fridge before pulling a beer from the case they'd opened the night before in celebration.

"Why is it burned?" He asks, cracking the can, "and why haven't you finished the job?" He snickers and takes a loud, obnoxious sip. Lola gives him a shove, glaring down at the picture for a long moment.

"Because he's fuckin' out there somewhere, and what if I forget what he looks like?" She turns, raising her eyebrows at Nikki expectantly.

"So you keep it around so you know who to burn when the real thing shows up?" He asks, and Lola scowls. "Why don't I know shit about your parents?" Nikki asks bluntly. Lola takes the drink from his hands and begins to gulp it down, but he steals it back, and ends up getting beer all over both of them in the struggle.

"I'm not gonna burn my dad," Lola, beer covered and strung out at midday on a Sunday, speaks in a tone that Nikki can't quite identify. Her hand comes up to scratch at her shoulder blade, and he's not even sure if she's aware that she's doing it. "He was great, okay? When he was around he was great. When - when he comes back, I wanna show him that I'm better, alright? That - you know what? Fuck it, I don't have to explain shit to you, Nikki." Her whole face scrunches up and she picks up the photo.

"If he was such a great fuckin' guy, why'd he leave? Great dads don't fuckin' do that-"

Lola pushes Nikki had enough that he actually falls on his ass, and there's tears in her eyes.

"I get that you're dad's an asshole, Frankie, but-"

"Shut up!" Nikki snaps, scrambling to his feet, expression furious, "you fucking bitch, that's not my name-"

"Don't talk shit about my fucking dad!" Lola steps up to him, her hands braced against his chest, but he catches her wrists before she can shove him again.

"He sounds like a fucking dirtbag!"

"You're the dirtbag; don't take your daddy issues out on me!" Lola doesn't fight his hold, just glares up at him as tears begin to flow down her cheeks. Nikki's mouth is pressed into a thin, unhappy line.

"A dirtbag with daddy issues, and mommy issues; a slut with no standards, no taste, and good hair?" He laughs but it's bitter; he won't let her go, still holding her to him by her wrists. Lola's still crying, face twisted and angry, but she doesn't step back or try and escape his grip, "we're two sides of the same fuckin' coin, Kaitie, and I know from shit dads. If your fuckin' dirtbag dad wasn't there when he could have been, when he should have been, then he's shit." His grip on her hands tightens just a little. "No exceptions. Burn his picture."

The damn bursts and Lola actually wails, presses her forehead to Nikki's chest. He doesn't hug her, his expression is stony as he tries not to think too hard about the moment he found himself in. He'd made Lola cry.

"You look just like him anyways." He's not sure what he means by that, and he's not even sure if Lola registered it.

"I hate you." He hears her sniffle quietly.

"You'll get over it."

It's the worst fight they've had in a while, and Lola pins her father's photo directly to the living room wall out of spite. She stays with Tommy for a few days, but Nikki still doesn't touch the picture.

With Tommy, she actually goes grocery shopping with him, as strangely domestic as it is. They take turns pushing the cart too fast down the aisles while the other rides on the front until Tommy loses control and Lola ends up winded and crushed against the cereal boxes. They try to cook together and almost start a fire, and end up eating pizza that first night Lola stays at the house. Tommy's sofa is excessively big, and they could easily spread out in space of their own, but they enjoy being tangled up with each other while Invasion of the Body Snatchers plays on his brand new TV.

If she never wanted to go back to Nikki, she knows she probably wouldn't have to. They haven't even been living together officially for two days and they're already fighting. Her body clock is fucked, and she contemplates her life at five in the morning, watching the gentle rise and fall of Tommy's chest with his breathing as he sleeps soundly.

She loved Tommy, and she knew he loved her, and the same could be said for Vince, and even Mick, though to a much lesser extent. The point is, if she wanted to keep running from herself, she'd never lack accommodation, she'd never lack love, in one way or another. Doc had once told her that she was very easy to love, when she wanted to be, very easy to be endeared towards when she wasn't spitting acid or starting a fight or kicking up a stink. Even Doc himself admitting to being rather endeared to her, though he clarified that 'it's like the love you have for a rescue animal, a stray you nurse back to health and give to a shelter'. She's smacked him angrily, and told him she was a person. Doc agreed, but his words had stuck with her.

Very easy to love. Very hard to like.

When she gets back to her house, it's almost six, almost sunrise, the house is still mostly empty, and Nikki's awake. The picture's still on the wall, and he's sitting on a deck chair on the balcony with a bottle of Jack for company. The sun rises on the other side of the house, but he's fixated on the ocean.

"His name was Maleko, and my mom's name was Irene."

"I didn't-" he seems confused to see her there at all. But Lola's quick to cut him off.

"Shut up, I'm telling you about my parents," Lola grabbed the bottle from him, sitting cross legged on the cool tiles right by him, looking out at the ocean.

"Why?"

"Because I've know you for years, and it's weird that I haven't told you about my family, okay? You were right." She tipped the bottle back, swallowing hard.

"You look like your dad," Nikki's voice is softer this time, though it's neither positive nor negative, and Lola snorted a laugh.

"Yeah, it was the only part about me mom liked after he left." She inhaled sharply, passing back the bottle, "like I said, his name was Maleko, but from what I can remember, he went by Leo, and I don't know why he left, but he's not a damn dirtbag, okay? He was kinder than my fucking mom ever was, and-" she clenched her jaw, pausing for a moment to search her jacket pockets for her cigarettes, before lighting one, "and listen, I just wanted him to be proud, I just wanted him to smile again, because I swear that motherfucker was made of sunshine." She angrily wiped a tear from her eye before it spilled.

Nikki was quiet for a very long time, didn't know what to say, still up from the night before, and drunk as all hell. He reached out and scratched at Lola's scalp gently, in liu of a reaction. She just laughed.

"Why- why 're you back?" Nikki asked finally.

"Do you like me, Nikki?" She counters with, and Nikki hums a little, still scratching her hair.

"Of course, you're one of the few assholes I can put up with for more than a few days at a time," it's not the highest compliment in the world, but Lola's beaming nonetheless.

"I think I like you too," she snorted. Nikki's stopped scratching her head and is raising the bottle of Jack to his lips, frowning.

"Did we go back to the damn third grade? What's gotten into you?"

The house is undecorated because Nikki says he didn't have the patience to not go into a homicidal rage in IKEA. He won't admit that it felt weird to be buying furniture for their house without Lola. It's decorated mostly in blacks, or dark chestnut wood, and the bedframe is strong enough that Lola won't break it if she's tied up to it, and Lola buys a frame for her father's photo. They buy a new sofa, and Lola feels the strangest, most irrational twinge of guilt, like she's betrayed the sofa they pulled off the curb all those years ago; she tells Nikki and he smirks, offers to buy a box cutter and slash the sofa up to make it feel like home.

"Or we could just fuck on it until it's got just as many stains," he grins, it's all sharp teeth and the promise of a bigger bite.

"Now you're speaking my language," she smirks back, and she grabs his hand, pulls him behind a display bedroom set with a particularly large cupboard. She sucks him off before some underpaid assistant can interrupt them, and he repays the favor in the store's bathroom, and somehow this is the strangest situation they've ever gotten each other off in. Clubs, pubs, hotel pools, closets at TV studios, parks, alley ways, any number of places on tour that Lola honestly doesn't remember - they've got nothing on a furniture store where they're deciding on furnishings for their shared house. Lola doesn't want to think about why that is, so she just enjoys the moment.

It seems like no time at all before they're back in the studio, and so when they're not working, they're drinking, and partying, and using their mansions the way LA mansions often found themselves being used; for parties.

Tommy's out every night in LA, still looking like he could walk on stage at any minute, but he has a few starlets calling him up every so often. If he's not at clubs, he's with the Vince at a strip club, and sometimes Nikki's with them, though Lola's there about as often as Vince. Vince himself got his heart caught on a woman he meets at a club named Sharise, who is lovely and loud and beautiful, and she calls Lola 'sweetheart' without making it sound condescending, even when she's coming out of Vince's mansion and Lola's coming in, both fully aware of the situation at hand.

"I'm pretty sure she doesn't actually know my name," Lola sits on Vince's marble countertops in her underwear, eating grilled cheese in the afternoon. Later, Tommy and a few other guys Lola sort of knows will be around, pregaming before they hit the town. Maybe Sharise will come by, maybe she'll bring friends; Lola likes when she brings friends, finds she likes getting ready to go out with girls, sometimes even more than getting ready with the band.

Back in the present, with Lola on the counter, Vince laughs where he's mixing a bunch of spirits in a fancy glass and calling it a cocktail, even though it seems closer to molotov rather than anything you'd be able to find at a bar.

"Sorry, baby, do you want a formal introduction?" He asks, and offers the drink to Lola to try.

"Needs more Captain Morgan," Lola wrinkled her nose after a hearty gulp, handing it back, "and yeah, maybe, I don't know; you seem pretty serious about her."

"Why've you gotta keep drinking like you're broke, at this point I'm begging you to get better taste," Vince took back his drink with a faux wounded expression, holding it to his chest before he took a tentative sip. Lola's eyes shined with amusement.

"Believe me, lover boy, you don't want me to raise my standards in any way, shape, or form." Her leg comes down from the counter, dangling by the cabinets, and she leans back onto her elbows, cheeky smile on her lips as she poses, a challenging look in her eyes.

"Ouch," Vince snorts, but he's clearly not hurt by her words as he leans in and kisses her. When he pulls back, however, he's more contemplative than Lola's used to seeing him, and he sips his drink again before letting his thoughts form words; "I mean, yeah, Sharise-" he pauses, "there's just something about her, dude, she's hot and sweet and fuck, she's got a real bite to her-"

"Of course, you wouldn't like her half as much if she wasn't at least a little bit mean to you," Lola teased.

"Watch it, it's the only reason I keep you around anymore," Vince fires back with a smirk, and though they both know it's not true, Lola plays along.

"Oi! I also give fantastic head."

Sharise is going to be around for a while, and she and Lola get along well enough, so Vince will walk that tightrope as long as he possibly can.

Lola splits her time between houses, between her partners, although occasionally Tommy will spend the night with her and Vince, or her and Nikki, though Nikki's never been one to take the initiative the way the others would. Both Vince and Nikki's places have a piano, while Tommy has a keyboard in his studio, and Lola finds herself playing more and more.

For a while, for a good, long while, Lola thinks she might be happy. She finds herself taking less pills, if only to clear her head enough to remember how to play her favourite songs, though she's still drinking rum like it's water, and taking more coke than any reasonable person probably should.

It won't last, this feeling, this contentment, she knows it won't last, but right now, she's playing Elton John, watching the sun set over the Ocean, while Nikki applies his eyeliner in the bathroom, and Vince is singing along where he's eating Chinese food in the kitchen with Tommy. Someone rings the doorbell, and she can hear more cars pulling up, and there's a strange, warm pride that fills her chest.

[honestsycrets]

No Thieves Welcome XVII: Lilies

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | houseshopping. funeral. something he probably shouldn’t have said but can’t take back now!

❛  warnings | drugs, drug use, depression, mention of death, mention of murder, nsfw, oral (female receiving), overbearing aslaug, jealousy

❛ sy’s notes | this chapter is super fucking long. smut is toward the bottom!

The next morning is tense.

Hvitserk had been looking for an apartment for some time. Something… nice. For his new, insta-family and you. You’re not particularly hard to please. Or at least, not compared to mother. Mother wouldn’t accept an uncustomizable apartment. No, no, no! She strides around the condo like she owns it. Your hand is tight in Hvitserk’s. Something has changed since the last time you met Aslaug-- and it’s not just your baby bump.

“We can the crib here.” Aslaug motions to a grey wall. She cups her cheek, holding her tiny pooch under her arm.

“Crib?” You say.

“Well yes, the boys should sleep together.” She informs you. “If they’re together in your womb, the gods want them to be together in their crib. A big one, white I think.”

Hvitserk’s puffy eyes are raw, incapable of dealing with the imbalance between his mother’s attitude and yours. She was, after all, the matriarch. He usually went with whatever she had to say. Now his bones were being crunched over your forceful grip-- and his mind kept wandering to the night before.

“But what of independence?” You ask.

“Who needs it?” Aslaug laughs, patting your belly without so much as consent. “My grandchildren will be just fine sleeping together.”

Thor--

“I thought we could have two.”

“You won’t say that when its two twenty-nine in the morning and you’ve just put one down.”

You blank. You know that it won’t be easy, not with two, but… you glance over to Hvitserk. A faux lily sits in a tall vase. You’re not sure what it is with the lily. Lately, he had been bringing two vases of flowers home. One for you, of course. But the other…

“It only has two bedrooms.” You note.

“Will you need more?” Aslaug asks. She has a point, you suppose. The twins can share a bedroom. You would be just across the open hallway. Unless you had the intention for another child and-- you glance over to Hvitserk’s face. He turns his head, red-rimmed eyes considering the thoughts that you were thinking.

“Yeah… uh. We can move if we have more.” He reasons. Aslaug claps her hands together, mumbling something about completing the paperwork to the condo. You let go of his hand, going to the double doors that lead out to a harbour. It… makes you anxious. But there were two doors. As Aslaug said, you could put a lock on it or improve on the security.

It’s a clear, beautiful day. Hvitserk listens to the door closing. The sound of his mother’s proud and loud voice over the phone practically riveting with the pride of becoming a grandmother. Hvitserk steps closer to you, his head fuzzy but intentions clear. He’s happy-- happy to be a father. Not yet, but soon. The sooner Thora’s funeral came, the better. He needs to close the trap on his dead best friend. You cup his hand.

“Are you okay?”

“As okay as I’m gonna be.” He says, nuzzling his head against the side of your neck. You reach out, opening the double doors. It looks like it’ll make a good place to raise a young family as… well, a mother. For all your proud studying, it would be on the back burner until the kids were in school.

“Are you sure we can afford this?” You ask.

“Mor doesn’t have any grandkids.” He explains. “She wants them happy.”

You don’t know the interworkings of his family. Something tells you, you don’t want to know them either.

--

Hvitserk wears a finely pressed suit the following week. Mother buys it from some upscale company and wastes his father’s money on a fancy name that he can’t pronounce. She buttons him into a suit with a sheening satin vest. The black-tie is tucked underneath the vest. She slides in a silver clip to keep his tie from becoming less than spectacular.

“If they ask anything,” Aslaug begins to button his suit jacket. Her slender fingers have a slight tremor.

“They won’t,” Hvitserk grasps his mother’s hand, leaning into her wavy reddish-brown hair. Her father was in too much grief to prolong Thora’s pain. There was nothing to do but bury her. “It’s a funeral.”

She knows. She knows there’s more to it than that. Ragnar and Bjorn know that too. Hvitserk slides a crisp roll of paper from behind his ear, digging in his pocket for a lighter. Aslaug’s hand tightens along his wrist to stop him.

“Hvitserk. You can’t smoke.”

“Why the fuck not?” He grumbles, jerking his wrist free with his lighter.

“You’ll smell,” she says. “Take a pill instead.”

He wanted to be in his right mind for this. To say goodbye to his best friend. But right now, being in the right mind looks fucking pointless. He rolls the metal wheel of his cigarette lighter out of anxiety. The fire plumes, burning his thumb because of how sloppy he was.

“Gimme a hit.”

Aslaug reaches back into her black designer handbag, finding a small baggie full of all the medications that made mommie’s day in that much better since they were children. He didn’t slip into the waters of Kattegat by accident, after all. She hands him a pill; Xanax. Attempts to give him another.

“Na,” he looks to the oak door. “I gotta go get (Y/N) with Ubbe.”

“She should come to get you.”

Aslaug is just worried. But Hvitserk, unscrewing the lid to his plastic bottle of booze, slumps into one of the chairs in his room. “She’s fuckin’ pregnant, Mor. Besides, Ubbe’s driving.”

“I’m only worried she might not be the one for you. I heard you the other night. Throwing things because she won’t say it to you.”

At least, not on your own accord. No ‘i love you.’ Maybe he was already in love before this even got so deep. Hvitserk looks down to the cigarette between his fingers. It’s going to be one of those kinds of days. One where he really can’t hide it but has to. Thora’s father needs him there.

“It’s uh--” an excuse, he needs one. “--daddie hormones.”

What the fuck is he saying?

Mother gives him that look. The softening of her eyes, the pull of her eyebrows together in sheer, pathetic pity. Hvitserk becomes mush against the chair, slouching under his need for this conversation to end. Aslaug reaches out to tighten his bun.

Clack! Clack! Hvitserk’s eyes pan toward the door.

“Can I come in? We have to go soon.” Ubbe pushes the door apart. It was never a real question, just a statement. Hvitserk shuns his mother away, stumbling to his bathroom.

“Yeah, we can hit the road.”

--

Everything was okay.

He has his woman on his arm, his babies under his hand. There are lilies everywhere. Big lilies. Little lilies. So many lilies. He likes lilies. He’s paced the chapel so many times, up and down, to see Thora in the dress her father and he chose. The ethereal one that she made by hand, stitching the butterfly sleeves herself.

“Sorry about your loss Hvit.”

He’s heard that so much that his ears are going numb. Ubbe stands behind him, expecting him to drop like the little opportunistic fuck that he was. He isn’t about to drop in front of Thora’s grieving father, who hadn’t left Thora’s side since this whole shit storm began.

“Do you need out?” You ask him, turning your head against his shoulder. You both sit on some plain bleachers. The thin cushioning is making his ass go numb. But god, you’re gorgeous. Hvitserk brings his fingers up to brush your lovely, pinky strand of hair away from your face.

“Na,” he whispers in your ear, but it's elevated enough that others can hear. “Coul’ use a blowjob tho.”

You look at him with that look. The one that said he wasn’t getting jackshit in this damn church. Your hand smoothes over his thigh, cupping inward and traveling up. His breath hitches and you lean in, your lips tickling his. “When we get home, I’ll fuck the sad out of you.”

He holds your gaze as his tongue courses over his upper lip, unusually moist. “I’ma hold you to tha,” the words come out sluggish.

“Sorry about your loss, Hvitserk.”

He recognizes the voice as belonging to that little waste of spunk, Magnus. He turns up his drowsy red-rimmed eyes, swaying in his seat.

“Na, you ain’.” Hvitserk accuses, “Stop lyin’.”

“Hvitserk.” You reprimand, elbowing him in his flat stomach. As opposed to Magnus’s usual duck down and out, he shoves his hands into his pocket.

“He’s right, (Y/N).” Magnus cuts you off. “I don’t mean it. Because I know he had something to do with it.”

“With her death? Magnus--”

“I loved her.” Hvitserk cuts off. Your head turns so quick, Ubbe swears it spun, twisting your head unnaturally to look at Hvitserk with an ‘excuse me?’ pending. You never say it though.

“I think you should go.” The voice belongs not to any of the young adults there. But an older man in his mid-forties. His eyes are red-rimmed and raw. Thora’s father turns his arms over one another.

“I’ll take him,” Ubbe grasps Magnus’s bicep, tugging him out of Hvitserk’s line of sight. Hvitserk slumps back in his chair and looks up to Thora’s father with eyes as guilty as the dog that stole the steak, but in his drug haze, it looks like nothing short of intense grief. Her father pats his shoulder.

“You okay son?”

He nods. “I’m okay.”

Then there’s a relief when his so-called ‘father’ leaves to speak to relatives. He doesn’t remember anything after that.

Hvitserk wakes up in his room. His head is pounding-- he looks to the minifridge in his room and debates just how much effort it would demand to go get some water. He slumps over the edge, huffing air to get his honey hair out of his eyes.

“You’re awake?”

Not entirely, but okay. Hvitserk flops around to look at you, wearing a pretty in pink slip with gorgeous white lace. That… yeah, that looks good. Hvitserk’s dick is acting up already, jolting up behind some shorts he doesn’t honestly remember putting on.

“Yeah, pretty baby.” He says in a sleepy haze, dragging himself over to your side of the bed. His hands trace your hips-- but he lets out a hiss when you smack them off of your hips. “What was that for?”

You don’t answer.

“Aw c’mon baby…” Hvitserk groans, slinking his muscled arm under your neck. All that work moving boxes had done his arms a world of good. He twists you back to face him, facing the wiggles to the very edge of the bed. “What’re you pouting about now?”

“You said you love her soo much.”

He blanks. He doesn’t know exactly what you’re talking about. The medicine had done a world of good-- and a world of ‘I don’t fucking remember my last name’ during the day. Does he even remember being a pallbearer? The answer, no.

“Uh.”

“Thora,” you spit out.

Shit. Hvitserk realizes that in that state-- there’s no telling what he probably blathered on about. In the presence of his… really, really pregnant baby mama. Not the best way to wake up. But hey, he could work himself out of it with the truth.

“Babe,” he says. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Sure you didn’t.”

There’s not enough Xanax in the world to deal with this shit. When he took it from his mother, he forgot one itty bitty, teeny weeny important detail. He was a man with an incredibly pregnant girlfriend. Then again, he didn’t really think you gave a rats ass about who he loved. It wasn’t like you were writing his name in notebooks or anything.

“Are we really doing this again?” Hvitserk slumps. He doesn’t mean to-- but for once, he doesn’t have the energy to deal with it. The fits are tiring.

“Doing what, again?” You peer over your shoulder.

“You’re jealous. Over her.”

“It tends to happen when you cheat on me for--”

Cheat? You broke up with him! He laughs at the sentiment, causing you to roll around. Your fist is a few inches short of his face when he catches it, twisting and pulling you down on top of his chest.

“Ha, gotcha!” He beams, a proud little joke behind his voice. “But for the record-- I’ve never cheated on you.”

“Stop lying. Precious pretty Thora and you--”

“You don’t understand.” He exhales, listening to you blather on about kissing or loving or… whatever the case was. How she was always his endgame which most the time Hvitserk couldn’t pick between almond cake or oven pancakes!

Exasperated, Hvitserk lurches to his night table. He knocks off a book, Hygge: Fatherly Parenting on the way to the knob. Pulling it open, he locates a worn down sketchbook.

“What are you doing?” You complain, irritated with his long stretching and fumbling around. He surfaces back into the bed with his notebook, flicking the pages open. He flicks past the tiny squirrels fisting little fat snacks in his mouth or the old lady who always brought him cinnamon cookies.

He settles upon a charcoal portrait of a young woman, her eyes bright despite the lack of colour. She whirls a piece of hair around her finger, laughing at the viewer with keen admiration. He’s outlined the portrait and now, he began to fill in the shading.

“Is that me?” You lean over.

“Yeah, who else?”

Thora, that’s who.

He suppresses another groan as to not have you actually say what was on your mind.If you did, you’d be sassing off in a minute. Instead, you take his sketchbook from his fingers and flip through the many pages. Past the portrait of you biting your pencil, smiling at him from the other side of old Harald’s table. Or the one where you were dancing, an elective class-- and he, admiring.

“Did you draw all of these?”

That’s not the important part. He shrugs his shoulders, bringing an arm behind his head. You’ve settled out of the rage enough to actually amuse him by cuddling close. His other hand cups your shoulder.

“Yeah, that ain’t the important part. The important part--”

“But they’re incredible. You should be an artist.”

“Tch.” Hvitserk scoffs. “I’m a Ragnarsson. Only shit I’m gonna do is oversea some goods on the dock.”

“But--”

“But that’s not important. What’s important are the dates.”

You flick back pages, running your fingers past old, smudgy dates. Many of the dates run such a time ago, you swore that Hvitserk was still dating… Thora. He had to be. While you do the math in your head, Hvitserk takes the sketchbook, whizzing it across the room like a flopping frisbee, pages making audibly ruffles in the air. That shit wasn’t gonna do crap for him. What artist made money? Unless they were dead. And he wasn’t planning on dying any time soon.

He had twins, a… family. Everything was waiting for him. That didn’t specifically include dying so, while he loved drawing like a second breath, his family’s health and wealth was more important than his happiness at work. Besides uncle Rollo was fun. It wasn’t the worst job on Midgard.

“You were… dating her.”

He nods, “Yeah. Was.”

“What changed?” You ask, settling back against him. This time, without that backsass. Shit was better. He doesn’t want to ruin a good thing going.

“Fell outta love I guess.” Hvitserk shrugs. “Or in it.”

“That’s--” your brain scrambles, reassembling pieces in his admission that is more than a passing ‘i love you’ during dinner as he grabs a chunk of rye bread and whizzes out the door to the docks. “--an obsession.”

Hvitserk scoffs. He shouldn’t be surprised.

“You call it an obsession. I call it love. I mean, is there a difference?”

“No,” you mutter. Maybe he knows better. You never had been in love before. For all the cheesy K-Dramas you made him feast, maybe-- maybe you should be more receptive to his love. What was love but watching crappy shows with someone you loved?

“But I…”

“But what?” He asks. What else? What else could he possibly do to reassure you?

“It’s just-- she’s dead.”

Yeah, that much was sure today. “What about it?”

“She can’t fuck up. What if I fuck up? What if I let one of the kids run into the harbour or--”

“Mother did that once.” Hvitserk realizes that you-- you don’t understand. You don’t understand a fucking thing about what he’s eluding to. “Trippin’ off fuckin’ Xanax every day that Ubbe and I got tired.”

“Tired?”

He ignores you this time. “Point is, ya can’t fuck up that bad. I mean, how bad can it be?”

Neither of you really know.

“Just seems like kids are for like-- married people, right?”

You don’t say. Hvitserk can’t hide his brewing excitement, lurching annoyingly again to his nightstand and fetching something for the second time in one night. He knows how much you hate it when he wiggles mid-cuddle, but he promises you its worth it. He fetches a small box, flicking the top open.

“Do ya wanna be?”

A more reasonable you would have said no, your relationship was too young. That it was founded on sex. That you were having babies! You couldn’t worry about the ramifications of a wedding or marriage or whatever-- did he just ask that? Did he just--

“Yes. Wait-- no, wait-- did you just?”

You look down. The ring-- the one from before. The one that the chubby man accused Hvitserk of being unable to afford. Clearly, he had. Somehow. You don’t know, you don’t even care, picking it out from the nesting of plush cushions. Hvitserk swipes it up, glimmering it with his fingers.

“It’s yours if you say yes.” Hvitserk grins, toothy and cheeky as he always was.

“Who said I was saying no?” You accuse, cheeks feeling suddenly hot. He wants to hear it-- that word. Those easy little words that would seal everything up for him. You pout momentarily, too embarrassed to focus on anything but the ring between his fingers and the promise behind them.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Hvitserk prompts. He’s milking it.

“I’ll marry you, Hvitserk. Stop smiling so much--”

“I can’t help it!” He laughs, “You’re mine!”

Easing the ring onto your finger, you feel his hand shaking. So unlike the boy you met, smooth and as collected as a Hvitserk could really be. Which wasn’t a whole bunch in his opinion but, yeah, it was something. It glimmers just like he thought it would.

“I wasn’t before?”

“I mean yeah but--” Hvitserk laughs, rolling over you. You push his chest, reminding him of his twins. Hvitserk steadies himself on his forearm. “Sorry, guys-- but really mine. All mine.”

���I was all yours before.”

Maybe you said it, but did you mean it before? Hvitserk doesn’t think so. But now, everything feels raw, and pulsing red, and-- real. Melodramatic as he was, it was real like it had never been before.

“Fuck,” there’s a lot of laughing. That’s how you know when the man is really happy. He dips down, dragging you over the bed to the edge. With a creak, he kneels on the floor.

“What are you doing,” you laugh back to him, bracing yourself for his usual favourite. When he was truly happy, he was eating. It’s only natural of course-- and fuck does he love easy access. You tug your blanket tight in your fingers as he lines up your thigh in small, growing hungry kisses. As you expect him to dig in, of course, he’d run away with a mean bite on either leg. The welts blossom under your skin, new with the old.

“Fuck Hvit-- ow!”

“Can’t let any other dick not know it’s mine,” Hvitserk rumbles. Dick like who? Dick like Magnus. Fuckin’ shit. With your short skirts, sometimes when you bent over the bites could be seen. He loved it when you would get questions. How did you manage that? Do you need some cream?

Fuck no, because at the end of the next day they’d be back.

He guides your legs over his broad shoulders. All that work at the docks helped his physique and you enjoyed it just as much if not more than before. He dips in, knowing for a fact that you don’t wear panties under slips. His nose nudges against your neatly kept pussy, gently inhaling. He’s such a dog.

“Hvitserk would you stop--”

He knows when he’s about to get booted. He relents, spreading you apart with his fingers. One smooth, broad and flat lick sends soft tickles up your spine and back down again with a second. Your breathing is always his first clue, smooth breaths picking up, quicker and hotter. He ceases his licks, suckling your folds near your entrance and dragging up-- toward your clit. It’s almost deliberate in the way that he avoids your clit, knowing exactly what might happen if he touched that pretty number.

“Hvit...” You whine, shoving his head closer to it. A quick orgasm is a useless orgasm to Hvitserk. He doesn’t just want you to get all you wanted, no, of course not. He wants it all. Hvitserk sways his tongue agonizingly slowly over your lips, twisting from one side to another all the way up to your clit. With one pang of a lick, your hips jolt up.

He drifts back down, drawing two of his fingers over the mess he’s made. Once his fingers are nicely wet, he prods your entrance. HIs mouth attaches to the side of your lips, enjoying your loud intake of air and the rush to expel it when his pace quickens. Finally, he allows himself to trace back up to your clit, experimentally darting his tongue out for a quick lick. Your abrupt jerking causes him to shift, pressing his lips against the button and sucking with force in time with the hot thrusts squelching inside your pussy.

It’s the ride he likes, bringing in the bud of your clit for a nice suckle always results in your hips undulating. Bringing him on a wild ride while his fingers fuck the juices out of you. When you cum, he doesn’t let you go for a second. Your juices flow down his knuckles, over the cold metal of the watch he had been wearing to the funeral.

“Fuck--” Hvitserk parts only when your hips slow down. “Who knew pregnant bitches made such a mess?”

Below your ass, you feel the sopping wet mess. You would have been ashamed if you were with anyone else. For Hvitserk, it's all apart of the ride. He suckles the remaining fluid off his finger, lapping away your mess between your legs.

“I don’t make messes…” you murmur, though it comes out as a pathetic whine. Hvitserk laughs, standing up with his thumbs caressing the waistband of his shorts. The material brushes down over his cock, already straining. He wraps his hand around the shaft as he steps out of his shorts, kicking them off into some other area of the room.

“C’mere,” Hvitserk says. Your legs fall open in offering, wiggling your hips closer. Hvitserk knows he’s not great at brilliant, romantic sex. He’s not going to delude himself into thinking that’ll be him either. Bending at the knees, Hvitserk hugs your legs to his chest. He slicks his dick in your slick, lip twitching into a smile when your hips shift. His eyes find yours, the only token of romantic concern he has. The rounded head of his cock teases your hole, teasing with a few faux pushes in before allowing himself to press inside. He slides inside with a playful thrust, slapping deep.

“Nnnh,” you whine, the complaint stretched out and loud. The others have probably heard-- Hvitserk pushing deeper, but slowly now until he’s ensconced.

“You look so--,” he soothes, pulling out a bit before thrusting back in. He braces himself into shallow thrusts, immediate and quick. His pace would slow, giving a deeply powerful one at the end of it all. “So-- good.”

Softly now, your hands trace your body. First, it’s something innocent. Trace your breasts, those wonderful titties Hvitserk loves to massage, dreams to fuck, and dies to sleep on midway in his shift at work. But then, your hands glide over his brood in your stomach. Two little ones, growing in his fiance’s womb now.

Bjorn didn’t tell him how that would feel. To see you full of him, so full and knocked up. No one could tell him of a hotter sight. His thrusts crack deep, holding your legs now over his elbows as he moves. He uses your legs like anchors, dragging them to you with every well-placed thrust.

“Ah-- fuck, Hvitserk.”

And his name-- off your tongue, it makes it even better. Hvitserk pants, pumping at a steady and brutal thrust into you. He cums, filling you deeply as he always had. As if it would make a difference now-- you were pregnant already! Hvitserk rides out his pleasure, pulling his cock out. Hvitserk kneels down, letting his fingers serve another purpose. They finger fuck you, nasty squelches of his cum and your excitement intermingling. Small kisses trace alone your thighs, trailing closer and closer.

Before he can get his lips back onto your cunt, you gush, spraying him with sweet pleasure. He’s soaked-- and he almost jolts back in his surprise. You feel as much you hear his low, pleased rumble. His fingers slide out as you calm down-- and he can’t deny that wide, cocky smile.

“You’re a mess.” You tell him, pouting so cutely that he knows he did a good job.

“A mess that made you a mess,” he returns, smiling wide and bright. If testament to anything-- the ring on your finger symbolized so much more than what the day started out to be. From grief to excitement, he knows Thora would have been happy for him. In the end, that happiness is all he wants--

And maybe. Just maybe, he can have it too.

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