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randomfoggytiger · 1 year

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X-Files Collector's Edition: Valentine's Day, the Platonic Way

It's Valentine's Day-- let's see how that day evolves over the course of Mulder and Scully's lives, separate and together.

Loose chronological order below~

Maidenjedi's Discovery

""I've been having dreams. I think I'm remembering what happened to my sister that night. I think I'm remembering her abduction, Diana. And I think this room might have some answers for me."

Diana had worked with abductees in her graduate studies, and the occasional case in the Behavioral Science division brought with it the usual implant stories. But she didn't believe in that sort of thing....did she?

She wasn't sure, now. She knew her partner to be a stable person. He could get obsessed with his work, tuning out the rest of the world while he focused on the profile. It was what made him stand out in Violent Crimes and gave him a reputation in the Bureau as one of the best field agents available. Reggie thought the world of him, and privately, so did Diana.""

Mulder excitedly tells Diana about finding the basement; and she digs around with him until it strikes midnight.

@wtfmulder/@momdadimpoppunk's (Ao3)

are those space pants (Ao3)

""So someone has not only arrived to work ridiculously early (or ridiculously late, considering the time he left), but they put a bunch of effort into sticking it to good ol’ Spooky Mulder.

He opens up his little Valentine’s Day card quickly, snatching his hands away as if the thing could snap his fingers in two. ‘YOU’RE OUT OF THIS WORLD, VALENTINE,’ it reads.""

S1 Mulder assumes the Valentine's card on his desk is mocking him. He's surprised it was a joint effort between Scully and Melissa.

@mappingthexfiles/Apostrophic's

The Patron Saint of Doomed Stakeouts

""She tried stretching her legs. Even at her short height, the brake pedal left her no space. “Switch places with me. I’ll trade you my soda,” she said. That’s how desperate she was. The offer was cruel, Mulder a foot taller.

He had leaned his seat back, a 45-degree angle. “Just slide the seat back.”

“Then I can’t reach the pedals.”

“Isn’t that the whole point?”

“And that’s when this guy shows up, takes off down the street?”

The look Mulder gave her said that of all the things in their life, a UFO landing in front of them would be more possible.""

Mulder is chafing on a boring Valentine's stakeout. Scully is a trooper; and the two of them banter back and forth to keep sane.

@suitablyaggrieved/ScullyLovesQueequeg

Unnamed

""The anger doesn't come out of nowhere. It happens after he catches a glimpse of Scully sitting quietly with a cup of coffee and reading. She's absorbed in her own world. She wasn't expecting the company, despite the fact that it's a Saturday afternoon in February--Valentine's Day to be precise. Around her, couples make eyes at each other, whispering sweet nothings to each other, and Scully is oblivious to it all.

So, what am I doing here? Mulder thinks to himself. They don't celebrate Valentine's Day--Scully because she is single and Mulder because he doesn't believe in it. But the anger is slowly building, the longer he watches Scully sitting alone.""

Mulder's sense of right burns that Scully is alone on Valentine's Days. He shoves himself into awkwardly celebrating; and is relieved she understands and goes along with it good-naturedly.

Something's Gotta Give

""I don't know if I should go out at all tonight..." Scully mused idly.

"Then don't. --Actually I don't really care. Don't listen to me. Go out with Pendrell or something." Mulder said, though not in an unkind way. His tone suggested in difference, though his body language was akin to frustration, as he jabbed the keys on his keyboard. "It's none of my business what goes on in your personal life."

"I'm not going with him." Scully said, sinking in to her chair that she kept beside Mulder's desk. He glanced over quickly, but resumed his frustrated typing.""

S3-4 Scully is bombed with chocolates for Valentine's Day. Mulder descends into jealousy and eats her candy. Scully asks him on a not-date, teasing him with his words from earlier.

Stephanie Lutz The Gift

""And now it was Valentine's Day. The most romantic day of the year. And her last romantic conquest was on his way to the psych ward. Which was where, half the time, she felt her partner belonged as well. <You really know how to pick 'em, Dana Katherine,> she muttered, yanking open her closet door just a bit harder than necessary. She pulled out a black skirt, black blouse, and a black jacket for good measure. For just a moment, she considered dying her hair black as well, but a soreness on the skin of her lower back reminded her than perhaps she'd done enough impulsive redesigning to last her a while.""

Post Never Again Mulder surprises Scully with a new desk for Valentine's Day... and an Elvis tie for himself.

Lolabeegood's (mulderscreek) My Funny Autopsy

""Really, there's..." she started as she walked towards the man holding the box "maybe they're from my mother."

Dana Scully slid off her surgical gloves and threw them into a nearby trash bin. "Thank you," she said as she took the box.

"If those are from your mother, I'm setting you up with this great guy on the third floor." Agent Flores called over to her.

Dana Scully opened the box and saw inside, a dozen perfect burnt orange tulips. They looked exactly like the color of her hair. She knew tulips were not in season, and wondered why her mother spent so much money on her for Valentine's Day. She still smiled though; her mother remembered that tulips are her favourite flower. She reached for the card and, opening it, didn't see her mother's handwriting but Mulder's chicken scratch.""

Cancer Arc Scully spends her day slicing and dicing good-naturedly with other pathologists. Mulder fetches tulips and food for her meds.

Pattie's

The Cupcake

""I know. When I found out Patterson had become, well, what he had become, I was too wrapped up trying to put myself in the killer's shoes. Which brings me to another subject. What about you?"

"Me? I'm fine, Mulder. As long as we do our jobs and the sun still rises, I'm fine. Don't worry about me. Maybe I'll be finished reading these messages before you get back." She smiled. That was a good thing.

"Ten minutes. Tops." He grabbed his coat and left Scully to her work.

Post Grotesque Mulder realizes that Scully feels left out for Valentine's Day. He gets her a little cupcake to celebrate.

(This fic is out of order chronologically; but the below story HAS to follow the cancer arc stories because that maxes the hilarity.)

Amore, Philadelphia Style

""Doesn't it bother you, Scully? This whole thing could start over again when we get closer to their agenda, unless someone comes up with a way to prevent that."

"We don't know that, Mulder. So, some day I will be able to remove it without developing cancer, and until then, there's still a lot of work to be done."

Mulder sat in resignation. He wasn't going to get them the day off to celebrate life as he had planned, but there was a pressing case that did need their attention. He grabbed pictures from a folder and passed them to Scully after she sat in the chair in front of his desk.

"Valentine's Day Cards, Mulder?""

Scully and Mulder celebrate her remission in the usual style: with a case. It takes a comedic turn when Mulder touches a pheromone tainted card and performs a nice little dance number for his partner. She whips out the cuffs for his own good.

Thalia D'Muse's I Lay a Rose Upon Your Grave

""Fox Mulder held the red rose in his hand, the thorns biting mercilessly into his skin. He ignored the pain, focusing all of his attention on the tombstone directly in front of him. He wiped a stray tear that had begun to make its descent down his cheek. He opened his mouth to speak, his voice low and thick with emotion.

"I...I'm sorry it's taken me so long to visit you. I should have been here sooner, but...well, you know how life has a tendency to overwhelm you. You more than anyone know what it's like to live a life against the odds, always wondering what's around the next corner. You had such courage in the face of adversity. I admire you for that.""

Mulder visits his first love's gravestone-- if his love were more tied to an icon than an actual person. Scully is not impressed to visit Elvis.

Enjoy!

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xxinksxx · 1 year

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Dungeons and Daddies Fave Quotes so far

If you haven’t listened to Dungeons and Daddies I highly recommend it.

Some of my favorite quotes:

[upon having a net thrown at him and missed] "This fish cannot be caught."

"I have proficiency in minivan."

"I use my skills I learned from the scouts to hog tie this guy."

"Where are our kids?" "They were auctioned off!" "For how much?"

"We can use him to barter for our children. MY CHILDREN! I called it! I CALLED IT!"

"The last thing I'm going to see is these vomit and iodine and blood stained psychopaths hugging."

"I give everyone the look like 'Just pretend you don't see me feeling things.'"

"I take out the knife and flicker it to his throat and say "You're riding in back with me Kemosabe." and that's a 15 for intimidation by the way if you were wondering.”

"I took 4 psychic damage from your dad joke."

(More under the cut)

"I put on my sunglasses to hide one of the tears running down my face as well."

"Whoa whoa whoa, I am a stepfather. It is my job to bring other people's kids onto my responsibility and take care of them."

*~*~*

"That's not cool, he just killed my kid!"

"I know but that's still not cool what you did either!"

"I WAS DOING FACE THINGS DON'T YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS?"

"You're a dragon thing, there's a facial language barrier here."

*~*~*

"Hey so I know you just saw my dirty little secret."

"You mean the fact that we just killed someone's son?"

"Oh no I meant my Charleston chews."

"Oh you're more worried that I found about your little candy bars than the murder we just did?"

"Well I told [my wife] that I'd try to lose weight, but these were my dad's favorite candy. So could you just like hold onto these for me and I dunno-"

"Wow that's complicated."

"Can you just hold onto them for me and give me one when I do something you think my dad would be proud of me for?

[Bad guy that's helping them from the minivan in the distance] "YOU KILLED MY SON!!"

"I think you're dad would be proud of you right now. Here's a Charleston chew."

"'Thanks man that means a lot.' I take it and I eat it."

"Are you facing the minivan when you eat it?"

"No I'm facing away from it."

"Okay good otherwise you'd just see him staring daggers at you as you shove it into your mouth."

*~*~*

"Go dude-lers!"

"I think we should gaslight them and tell them that they're brother is not dead." "They're already crying. I think they know."

"If they ask me any questions I can't be responsible for what comes out of my mouth."

*~*~*

"Remember, Ron killed their brother, not you! You're good dawg. It's a little thing we do with bandmembers on the road. If Chico gets picked up with an eight ball of coke you had nothing to do with it! That's his problem. That's what you gotta think like now."

"Ron's over here like 'We're all in this together.'"

*~*~*

"You got past our alarms?" "We're smart. We're the whole package." "You broke into our home!"

*~*~*

"He's a dragon! You're supposed to do what backwater people around here do and try to kill him!"

"Well some people were trying to kill him and we helped him." "Yeah! We're helpers! We're good people!"

"ARE YOU?!"

*~*~*

"Dad huddle." "Not to judge another dad, but..."

“The wisest dragon that ever lived was named Ding so we say his name three times when someone says something wise. Ding ding ding!"

*~*~*

"Okay I think I'm ready to kill this guy."

"Does he have any food allergies?”

*~*~*

"What do you wanna be when you grow up?

"....Jesus."

"YOU HAVE JESUS HERE TOO?!"

"Yeah he was a dragon whose his name is invoked when you get a question that stumps you. It's spelled C-h-y-y-z apostrophe s."

*~*~*

“How do you feel Gartok?”

[crying] “What’s mac-n-cheese?”

#Dungeons and daddies #Dungeon Dads

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passerine-writes · 3 months

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Silent Sparks - Volt 83

Warnings: It's the start of the Hassaikai raid, so violence Word count: 4350

Notes: Italics - Tsukare signing Bold italics - Family member/friend signing 'Italics with apostrophes' - Thoughts

Masterlist

Volt 82 | Volt 84

We stood outside the compound at exactly 8:30 in the morning. A large amount of cops standing behind all of us.

"Once they've read the warrant, then you're free to move! I'm counting on everyone to act swiftly." The detective told us.

"What's with this guy? Over here actin' like we don't know our jobs." Rock Lock said, clearly aggravated.

"He's just worried about something going wrong, stop reading into it so much, it's not that deep. It's a big operation." I told him while using my quirk, almost laughing as his head snapped around to find who was talking.

"Not funny, ginger." He grumbled. "The real problem is that these Yakuza bastards are good at livin' in the shadows. They see all these heroes and the police, they might just disappear." He said, a large man in a plague mask punching through the door as if it was on cue.

"Think that counts as probable cause?" I asked sarcastically while I stared the large person down, my quirk on full power.

'That's Katsukame.' I thought to myself.

"Whaddya want? It's too early for visitors." He asked sluggishly.

"Aw man! You kiddin' me? How do they already know we're here?" Rock Lock asked.

"Told ya not to underestimate them!" I called back, ready to go in.

"That's good. I'm waking up a little." He said as his arm grew, readying a punch. Ryukyu turned into her dragon form, going toe to toe with the behemoth of a man. "Why are you people here?!" He bellowed. I shot my wires into the ground and anchored myself in place as the air force knocked people back.

"Listen to me!" Ryukyu called as the dust cleared. "We shouldn't split up too many of our forces yet. The Ryukyu Agency will take care of this villain." She said before shoving him into the ground. "The rest of you. Go!" She ordered. I gave Uraraka and Tsu a glance with a single nod before following Fat Gum, Kirishima and Amajiki inside with everyone else.

"This is the heroes and the police! We have a warrant to search your premises on suspicion of manufacture and sale of illegal drugs!" The detective called to the three standing in the pathway to the front door. Kesagiri Man took down one guy who tried to shoot thorns at us, two cops grabbing the other two so the rest of us could run on by. I stayed by Fat Gum's side, Nighteye on his other. People came out swarming us, trying to slow us down.

"Fat! I got a plan! Throw me up into the air!" He looked at me like I was insane but picked me up and did it anyway. I sent one of my lines to the roof and swung over to the lowest awning. "Shattering Waves!" I yelled as loud as I could, aiming my quirk at all the people resisting and making a mock human barrier. A majority keeled over, cupping their ears in pain. "Everybody, stand down! Now! We have a warrant! Anything you say or do, can and will be used against you, act wisely." I crouched on the ledge of the beam, estimating how I should land the jump when I saw something flying at me through my glasses. I reached up a hand and caught it before jumping down, rolling in right beside Fat Gum. The object in question being a shoe.

"Good thinkin', Sonus!" He said as we ran inside. "I haven't seen any signs of suspicious activity yet!"

"Same here. But, hey, we're in it now, right? We got no choice but to see it through." Rock Lock agreed.

"Fat, this feels suspicious to me!" I jumped in, keeping pace easily.

"How?"

"You threw me up into the air, when I swung over to the building, nobody was upstairs. Only one guy in a mask came out so far! Aside from that? Bad gut feeling." I told him firmly. Him, Kirishima, Izuku and my Dad looked at me with concern. "Not 'explosives bad' gut feeling, but something feels off. They were ready for us. That doesn't sit weird with you?" Fat Gum stayed silent for a minute.

"The kids got a point." Rock Lock said hesitantly.

"Is it possible that somebody leaked our plans for the raid?" Amajiki asked. "There must be a reason they all came pouring out like that. Sonus has a point."

"No, if there had been a leak, I think they would be fighting more cohesively. Groups like this are used to working together." The lead detective said.

"There's nothing that matters more to these guys than their bond with their boss and their brothers. Being part of the underworld only makes loyalty that much more sacred to them. All those people outside, but we haven't caught sight of the top brass yet. They're probably underground hiding or getting ready to flee." Dad replied, voicing my thoughts on it.

"How's that supposed to be loyalty? Forcing their henchmen to fight for them while they run away isn't manly at all!" Kirishima barked out, enraged at how they viewed it.

"Those guys are loyal to the boss and his plans. They feel like they owe him their lives. They're willing to do anything to prove they should have a higher rank." I told him, stopping once Nighteye did.

"This is it." He said, staring at a shelf with a flower vase. "There's a device here that opens a hidden passage. You press down the floorboards in a specific order, and then..." The wall pushed back and opened up.

"Thank goodness for your quirk, sir. Guards up. We don't know what we might be facing in there." Centipeder said, only for three guys to try and lunge out. I shot out my wires and wrapped them around one of the guys while Centipeder went from the other two, holding them up in the air in a flash. Bubble Girl came over to the one I had trapped, my wires wrapped around his wrists and holding him in place. She grabbed his wrists and put a knee to his back, letting me retract my wires.

"We'll make sure these guys don't follow. You go on ahead." She told Nighteye.

"You heard her!" Nighteye called, the rest of us running into the passageway. "We're almost there. Hurry!"

"It looks like a dead end. So, what now?" The lead detective asked. Mirio checked the other side and let us know the path continues on like in Nighteyes foresight.

"I got this." I said confidently, zoning in on the dead center, the weakest point. "Pin point accuracy." I said slowly, watching the wall crack and splinter before it crumbled. The floor shook underneath us as the concrete fell away in chunks.

"We need to keep moving." Mirio said firmly but I grabbed his cape.

"Wait a minute." I told him, reaching a hand up to zoom in with my glasses. "Irinaka's up there, he just injected a drug and is going into the wall. Everyone, get ready for an earthquake. We don't know how much he'll be able to move now." I announced, knowing everyone can hear me. We started forward, the floor starting to twist and turn beneath us. The walls and ceiling moving as well.

I shot a wire forward, watching it sink into the cement of a wall and I took the leverage to fling forward, rolling on the landing with the twisting of the floor.

"He's not supposed to be able to control anything larger than a damn refrigerator." Rock Lock said, clearly annoyed.

"Gotta love drugs!" I yelled back sarcastically.

"Remember who we're dealing with here! Eraser Head! Can't you stop him?" Fat said.

"I can't do anything without seeing his real body." Dad said, clearly starting to feel sick.

"Expect the unexpected and everything seems normal. Rock Lock! Can you lock this place down?" I asked, using my wires to secure me to the ground. The walls suddenly stopped and Mirio gave a speech to Amajiki and started running ahead.

"We need to move!" I called out before the floor gave way. We all fell down to the lower level, I landed on top of Fat Gum and thankfully missed the concrete. "Dammit." I mumbled under my breath, rolling off of Fat Gum to pull Midoriya to his feet.

"Now where are we?" My green haired friend asked.

"Somewhere even farther from the target. Those guys're really screwin' with us." Rock Lock said, frustrated at how this was going.

"Well, what have we here? Looks like some state-authorized thugs crashed our party! Isn't that strange?" A yakuza member said, three of them now standing at the other end of the room.

'Setsuno. Larceny. Hojo. Crystallize. Tabe. Food.'

"These guys are obviously ready for a fight! Let's see how long petty criminals can last against the strength of a pro—" Fat Gum said, cracking his knuckles. But Amajiki stepped up, a determined look in his eye.

"The pro's should save their strength for when we reach the target. These guys just wanna slow us down. Go on, I can handle them myself." He said, ready to fight.

"You don't have to, we'll work together!" Kirishima exclaimed.

"Please, everyone stay. I'll kill you all." Setsuno declared, flicking his sword in the light menacingly.

"Setsuno! We can't use our guns on him. It's up to the pros." The lead detective announced.

"You've done your homework. Oh, well. That just means I'm free to let loose!" He exclaimed, charging towards us with his sword drawn. I shared a glance and a head nod with my Dad.

"Think again. Lay down your sword!" Dad commanded him while using his quirk to diminish the villains. A hand ready on his capture weapon just in case.

"Power erasure? He's just an inferior version of Eri. I'd heard that a hero with your abilities existed. But our job's to slow you down. Quirks or no, we still have fists and weapons." Hojo said as he cocked a gun, pointing it at my Dad. I sighed loudly and raised my hands, feigning surrender and stepping in front of my Dad.

"Ah, my weakness, weapons." I said dryly, watching the man stare at me closely. "I'm petrified of when guns go boom." I stated, staring at the pistol in his grasp as it exploded in his hand. Amajiki's tentacles extended, wrapping around each of them as he threw them across the room.

"I can take these three on." He said while holding them there. "We eat tons of Takoyaki at the Fat Agency, so octopus has become one of my specialties. And you know, I gotta say I'm pretty down on guns since I was shot in the street. It's not smart for all of us to fight them. They want as many heroes stalled here as possible. Let's just give them one. We should save all your Quirks, especially Eraser Head's for later. Fat Gum, I know this is something I can do on my own!" The three slowly started standing up, still trapped in the tentacles. Casually, I walked over and sent a forceful kick into Tabe's head, watching him fall unconscious.

"That was just cold, kid." Rock Lock said.

"Tabe. Quirk is food, he can and will eat anything and everything, it's borderline compulsive for him. There are octopus tentacles directly in front of his face, the longer he's out, the better. You heard Suneater. Let's go."

"I see why the boss was so thrilled to get you alone in that warehouse." Setsuno laughed, making me freeze. "He's probably gonna be so mad when he realizes you're here and not in the hospital still. He was so upset that you made it out, he was going to gather your remains and everything!"

"You're only digging your grave deeper." I said blandly.

"You would fit right in, too! What, with that look in your eyes when you exploded Hojo's gun? You looked insane!" He cackled. "You don't jump in front of a loaded gun like that unless you're crazy, kid." I turned around fully and kept walking, getting to the doorway so I could leave.

"Before you go! You have to take care of Mirio!" Amajiki called out to Midoriya and I. "He's definitely going to try too hard. So please keep him safe." He said weakly.

"We will." I reassured him before Izuku and I followed everyone else. We quickly caught back up to our mentors.

"Fat Gum! You're really gonna leave him alone back there?" Kirishima exclaimed.

"He's from your agency, so I left the decision to you. But are you sure he can handle them? Seems kinda risky." Rock Lock followed up.

"I have faith in him. He's stronger than anybody here. His only weakness is self confidence. The pressure to do things perfectly sometimes leaves him feeling crushed. Breaking his spirit. And yet, he's risen to become one of UA's Big Three under those conditions. So I trust him when he says he can take down those thugs on his own. If he believes in himself, I believe in him." Fat Gum clarified and I was glad to know Fat had Amajiki's back. "Sonus." I sent Fat Gum a nervous smile, knowing exactly what this would be about.

"I know." I said preemptively, hoping it would end the conversation sooner.

"You shouldn't jump in front of a gun like that." He yelled.

"I know, I'm sorry for the stupid and reckless decision. However, I knew Eraser had my back, if I didn't think I would have proper back up, let alone any, I wouldn't do that. Plus, his finger wasn't even on the trigger yet. Rule number one about guns, finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot. Double plus, I exploded the gun." I called back out of breath, reaching into one of my pouches to take a puff of my inhaler.

"You alright, kid?" He asked, a few eyes on me concerned.

"Yeah, still getting some side effects from the rubble. I'll be fine." I told him blandly, finally catching my breath again. Dad shared his theory on why Mimic hasn't moved anything in a while, how he might only be able to control sections or he has to stick his eyes or an ear out, until a pillar shot out of the wall right towards him. "Eraser!" I called out, turning around from where I got ahead with Midoriya and Kirishima. My red headed friend and I both dove, but I landed in my Dad's chest while Kirishima disappeared into the wall with Fat Gum.

I'm okay.

I nodded lightly and gathered my balance again, the majority of us taking off down the hall.

"I hope those two are okay." I mumbled under my breath, keeping my pace steady. Then the walls started moving again.

"They're closing in, fast!" The chief yelled as I anchored myself to the ground.

"He's trying to crush us." Dad clarified and I took a deep breath, not letting myself remember what happened a little over a week ago.

"We'll be flattened like damn pancakes!" Rock Lock exclaimed.

"Guess it's true, you can't teach an old dog new tricks." I said sarcastically, trying to find a way out. "Eraser! Switch glasses with me!" He looked at me curiously but nodded.

If they can extend my quirk, they should extend yours too. If you can see any part of him, you can shut down his quirk. These should clear out all of your blind spots.

He sent me a curt nod and handed me his goggles while I handed him my glasses.

"Locklock, do something!" Nighteye ordered.

"Stop giving orders! This is all your fault. Listenin' to you is what got us into this mess!" Rock Lock yelled back. "Fine! This oughta do it! Deadbolt! Once I lock somethin' down, it ain't goin' anywhere." He said, the walls and floors ceasing in movement. Thankfully, I pulled my wires out in time so I wouldn't be trapped there. "C'mon! Let's go! This stretch won't shift around anymore. It's narrow but deal with it." I sent him a single nod and continued ahead with everyone. "My Security Max Deadbolt is strong, but it can only hold so many spots. I'm already hitting my limits." I looked ahead and kept a low hum at the wall starting to move towards us. "Watch the spots I didn't lock down! He's comin' at us!" I watched as Izuku flew forward and sent a forceful kick to the wall, ultimately shattering it. "Shame we lost Fat's team. This'd be a lot easier with them here."

"Yeah, but you still got a few of us able to break stuff. Don't be a pessimist." I told him as we came to a halt.

"We're not makin' any progress here. He just keeps cornering us!" Rock Lock said.

"Thanks for stating the obvious!" I called back, starting to get antsy without seeing my blind spots.

Izuku broke another wall launching towards us. As he recouped himself, I let out a yell towards the moving wall, watching as it crumbled again. He sent another kick to counterattack but then it all stopped.

"What do you think they're planning this time?" One of the cops asked.

"The boost may have worn off finally, or maybe he's plotting, who knows." I said hesitantly. "No, something's not right." I mumbled, my gut clenching.

"Sonus? What's your verdict?" Dad asked.

"I- I don't know. It's just, something's not right. It's like waiting for the other shoe to drop." I mumbled, only for a wall to come up and separate us. Dad threw Izuku and I out of the way from being crushed. Most of us were separated, until we heard a scuffle on Rock Lock's side. Izuku broke down the wall and we saw two Rock Lock's.

"Hey, this imposter clone just appeared out of nowhere and attacked me. Be careful!" The one crouching said, the other on the floor and bloody with a stab wound. Dad went to run forward, but I stuck an arm out.

"Let's see. Toga, or Twice?" I asked callously.

"What? Have you lost your mind? Do I look like a part of the League to you?" The one crouching said in fake shock, moving to stand.

"One more move and you lose your eardrums."

"Sonus." My Dad said in a warning tone.

"I'm sorry, let's try again. If you're really Rock Lock, then you should be able to answer a simple question. You should understand, I mean, we talked about it during the briefing and everything." I said non-chalantly.

"Fine. Whatever. Just ask."

"Eraser." I called, watching as sludge started dripping down, revealing Toga.

She dove forward with a knife and I rolled out of the way.

"Toga Himiko!" Izuku yelled, bordering on getting a bloody nose.

"That's me! Your darling in the flesh. You both remembered me!" She giggled, trying to stab Izuku with her knife.

"Cover me! I'm bandaging him up!" I called back while I got the gauze out of my mini first aid pouch.

"Let me get to Onryo! I want to see him again and cut him up some more! Doesn't the scar I left him just look so cute! I'm just so happy to see you both again!" She squealed. I bit back my bile trying to come up as I wrapped up Rock Lock's stab wound. I turned around and saw Dad had her trapped in his capture weapon.

"This is as far as you go." He said firmly, keeping her trapped, but she swung up and behind him, stabbing him in the shoulder.

"Eraser!" Izuku and I called as my Dad grabbed his own knife.

'The knife has his blood. Is it enough?' I thought to myself in fear while I finished bandaging up the Lockdown hero.

"Eraser, your turn, I don't care if you think you don't need it. You're getting bandaged while Deku finds that knife." He huffed and watched as I packed some gauze on his shoulder before wrapping a bandage around to hold it in place.

"Here, take your glasses back. I wasn't too good at using them." He said, handing me my glasses. I handed him his goggles and crouched in front of him. "How's Rock Lock doing?"

"He lost quite a bit of blood, knife went right into his side so his kidney and spleen are at risk right now. Aside from that, I stopped the bleeding and got him patched up well enough to hold until the medics get here. We should get regrouped with the others." Dad nodded and stood up fully, only for the walls and floor to start moving again. Bits of dirt and concrete flying out in beams, the walls separating us came down.

"That yell. You both heard it, right?" Dad asked. I gave a small nod and got ready for whatever was coming.

"Eraser!" I yelled, pointing to the new hole in the ceiling. Izuku went flying to the top to break the hole open more and fully expose him, allowing our teacher to use his erasure. Nighteye threw something to knock Irinaka unconscious. I ran forward and caught his falling body. "I got him."

"The League betrayed them?" Eraser asked.

"Seems so. And they used us to aid in their scheming. Though at least we're on solid ground now." Nighteye chimed in.

"I need to fill you guys in on something." I announced. "Toga got the jump on us. She stabbed Rock Lock and Eraser. She has a large amount of my blood from Kamino. If Eraser isn't around and I don't seem like myself, ask me detailed questions, something not a lot of people would know. Deku might be the best one for that. The more detailed I answer, the better."

"I wish we knew sooner, but we can't change that. Is Rock Lock okay?" Nighteye asked me.

"Yeah, I patched him up. It should hold him steady until he gets to an EMT. We might want to get ourselves resituated though, our directions are probably all thrown off."

"I'm positive Eri's bedroom is located in that direction." Nighteye replied, pointing one way.

"Irinaka! I want you to straighten out these hallways again, you hear?" The lead detective ordered and I rolled my eyes. "What? You got something to say Ginger?"

"Yeah, open your eyes, they're better than my ears. The drug has worn off and he probably has a concussion. He's in withdrawal. Look at him, cold sweats, his skin is flushed, shaking, bloodshot eyes, if he tried to walk he'd probably be disoriented." He mumbled something under his breath and I turned to the two cops holding him. "You two, if he has a seizure, roll him on his side and get the rope off of him, make sure to time it. We don't know how strong whatever he took was. Got it?"

"Loud and clear." One of the cops responded.

Everyone started having a discussion on what League members might be here and who is definitively. Based on how fast Mirio was running, and if he didn't run into anyone, he should be to Eri soon.

"Why are you fools talkin' instead of actin'?" Rock Lock piped up from where he sat.

"What do you mean?" Izuku asked.

"The cops can deal with the League! You're wastin' time, so ignore them and keep on movin'. Or did you morons forget our mission's top freakin' priority?" He snapped back.

"He has a point. That would be for the best." The detective said.

"I'll hang tight. Someone has to stay behind to keep an eye on Irinaka. And thanks to the crazy girl with the knives, I'm not goin' anywhere anytime soon. Well, go on! Finish what we came here to do. Ryukyu and the other heroes up top. The cops we got separated from down here! Suneater! Red Riot! Fatgum! Lemillion! They're all still fightin' for us. You gotta know that, right? We worked too damn hard to fail that girl now. So go on!" Everyone turned around and headed off.

"I'll catch up, gimme a second back here." I said with my quirk, directing it to all of them with my glasses.

"Sonus!" The detective yelled.

"Unless you know how to check a wound properly, be my guest! If not, then I'll catch up!" The detective paused but nodded.

"You should go on ahead. I'll be fine." Rock Lock tried to press.

"I'm the only one here with any sort of medical experience. You got people to go home to. I'm making sure you do. So work with me for a damn second." He sighed but nodded and moved his hand off the bandage I administered earlier. I slowly took the haphazardly placed dressing off and grabbed my travel size alcohol bottle. "Deep breath, it's gonna sting." I told him, waiting for him to do so before I poured it on the wound. He groaned in pain and tossed his head back, biting his teeth together. I replaced the gauze pad and wrapped him back up quickly. I quickly went into another pouch and grabbed two naproxen, handing them to him. "Naproxen, won't be anything like morphine, but it's the good over the counter stuff and will take a little bit of the edge off." He nodded and swallowed the two tablets dry.

"Sonus." He said. "Thank you. For realizin' that crazy girl wasn't me and making sure I can see my wife and my son again." He told me earnestly.

"Any time. Your son needs his father." He gave me a small nod and I was off towards the others. The only thing audible were my footsteps through the hallway when I saw Sakaki knocked out on the ground, someone from the inner circle. Then I saw the broken wall and the mess inside.

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mylittleredgirl · 2 years

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the most intriguing part of the bodyswap episode “holiday” is that we learn that michael shanks can pronounce goa’uld and made a conscious character choice not to.

all i can figure is that daniel jackson, skilled linguist, was sitting there fuming about his wife’s kidnapping and feeling like he should spit or something every time he says the name of his enemy (but that’s obviously going to be frowned upon in the sgc) and he gets internally worked up about it until around 3 am he’s like you know what? fuck you. *americanizes your pronunciation*

#false gods do not DESERVE the respect of a triphthong #take your apostrophe and shove it that’s what #sgwun #i know that’s not how that fuck you meme works but i mean do you have a better explanation #also i’m sure very intriguing things were done in the fanfic department. not dismissing that #stargate sg1 #stargate thoughts

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enhorny · 2 years

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FUCK

this mf has the prettiest hand like UGSHHWUSBDGDJS CHOKE. ME. PLEASE?!?!?

i have so many thoughts about this mans hand and fingers so l e t apostrophe s g o :D

scenario 1

imagine doing the deeds with him while hes choking you, his other hand grips on your thigh, digging his pretty nails on it.

"you like it, baby? like it when my pretty fingers wrap around your pretty neck huh?" he grunts, pounding harshly into you.

he moves his hands away from your thighs, shoving his fingers in your mouth.

"suck on it baby, show me how much you love these fingers" he commands.

you immediately suck on it, swirling you tongue on his slender fingers, pretending like its a lollipop.

"fuck.. youre doing great, baby" he grunts.

with his fingers in your mouth, he tugs your jaw downward, spitting in your mouth. boy in this pandemic? damn

"such a good girl taking me so well" he praises, earning a satisfied moan from you.

"a good girl must be reward, musnt she? now tell me what do you want my fingers to do, hm?"

scenario 11

youre struggling to hide your moans as his fingers are working wonders in your core. one of his hands is on your mouth, trying to muffle your moans.

"quiet down, baby.. theyre gonna hear you" his slender fingers are ramming inside you like a beast. the sound of your core squelching resonating his room.

'they' refers to heeseung and the other 02 liners. they are in the games room, playing some video games to give you guys some time alone.

"dont wanna them to hear those beautiful noise my pretty princess made." he coos.

you are shaking so hard, your pussy clench around his fingers, eager to get a release.

"already? you love my fingers that much huh?" he smirks.

arching your back, you try to move away from him, but he pins you down, trapping you beneath him.

"try to hold in a little longer, sweetheart.. i know you can take it" he whispers in your ear.

scenario 111 (fluff )

you guys are cuddling, spending some time together after a long day at work/school. his practice finished earlier today, so he managed to sneak out to go to your place without getting caught.

now, you are laying on his chest, with one leg on top of his. one of his hands are moving downwards, playing with your shorts waistband, and his other is on your face, caressing your cheeks tenderly.

he slips his hand inside your panties, massaging your buttcheek, having his long nails graze you skin from time to time.

youve always adore him for taking a very good care of his physical appearance. from his silky hair, to his clean and shiny nails.

his fingers are cold, yet it compliments how they blended well with your skin, making you shiver on his touch.

"cold?" he softly ask.

you shake your head, snuggle closer to him.

"no, your touch is giving me butterflies" you admits, smiling sweetly at him.

"gosh, you give me butterflies too, baby" he smiles, kissing your nose before hugging you tight.

I BELIEVE IN SUNGHOONS HAND SUPREMACY

#enhypen smut #sunghoon smut #sunghoon hard hours #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #sunghoon smau #enhypen imagines #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smau #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios

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whatifyoulivelikethat · 3 years

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period, m | myg, jjk

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, jungkook x reader, mentions of seokjin x reader

summary: Min Yoongi knew he was obsessed with fucking you. Jeon Jungkook knew he was far too attached to stop fucking you. And then your face was splashed all over the tabloids, you and famous actor Kim Seokjin. What could that mean? Only one way to find out – both of them being texted a time and your home address.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; alludes to attempted suicide; descriptions of explicit D/s relationship; intense smut (fem reader, BDSM, restraints, whipping, being fucked with a handle, spanking, doggy, m-receiving oral, semi-public sex in Jungkook’s tattoo shop, tsk); shifting POVs between Yoongi, Jungkook, and you; non-idol!AU; rich heir, dom!Yoongi x tattooed, sub!reader x tattoo artist, dom!Jungkook

2021 Winter Package all-black JK; Yoongi looked a bit equestrian, so that’s why he has a riding crop. This is BDSM. I warned you.

Min Yoongi knew he didn't own you.

It didn't matter if you were the one who called him and asked what he was up to. You treated it like a business meeting, as if you were discussing stocks, and not the prospect of him doing whatever he wanted to you. Cool, confident, direct. You knew what you wanted and he knew he could deliver. Yoongi gave you a time, you already knew the place. Same hotel, same penthouse suite, same sneaking around to avoid the cameras.

You arrived to him wrapped in a black wool cape with silver fastenings, wearing the most sinful black silk dress he had ever seen, short and sexy, with thigh-high black boots. Smokey eye makeup, red lipstick that begged to be smudged, no foundation to show off all your beauty marks. A sleek black briefcase, as if you were attending some sort of important meeting, and a cocked eyebrow, surveying the world around you with a keen eye. Unapproachable in the best way possible.

So different from the version of you being carried down the dorm hallway by the paramedics, eyes glassed over and empty.

Yoongi often wondered what happened after that day. How long it took you to find yourself again. Sometimes, when he was alone and overwhelmed, he would think dark thoughts and then remember your face back then. Remember that moment and find himself fixated on it. What happened to make you do something like that? And was his life really so bad to follow in your shadow?

You weren't aware, but you stopped him several times with these thoughts.

Yoongi knew he didn't own you, but on some level, you owned him, the gatekeeper that kept him from giving in to his nightmares.

When he saw you at his hotel bar, sipping a drink, semicolon tattoo on display, he was surprised and relieved. When he spoke to you and saw your tits, he was intrigued. And when you were tied up, bent over and taking his dick, well.

Yoongi was obsessed.

But he wasn't an idiot.

He let you come to him. He let you decide. And he asked you, very clearly.

"How much do you want to be paid?"

And you had laughed, wickedly amused.

"Let's call this a free trial."

Yoongi really didn't care what it was called. He didn't care if you asked for a million dollars or nothing at all. As long as he had you again, tied up in his penthouse, all your tattoos on display, he owned you for those hours.

This time, tied to the ceiling by your hips, ankles cuffed to the ends of a metal bar, wrists bound to the middle of said bar. Forearms straining, the lotus tattoo and Sith Order tattoo pressed together as you struggled to wail around the ball gag shoved between your lips. Yoongi spun the riding crop in between his fingers casually, then smacked your ass again, leaving a red welt.

You cried out, legs shaking, digging the black bondage rope deeper into your soaking slit.

Yoongi counted the number of hits in his head. He didn't say anything to you. You couldn't reply anyway. He simply kept his eyes at your hands, waiting to see if you would tap out. Three taps were his signal that it was too much.

Nothing.

Yoongi twirled the whip again and slapped the end across your ass, earning a satisfying throaty moan. Spit dripped from the gag and onto the floor. Your juices were soaking the rope, sliding down your thighs. There was a nice pattern of marks on your skin now, inflamed crisscrossed lines of the whip all over that plump, juicy ass.

Prefect.

He turned the crop around in his palm and walked up to you, aware your eyes were watching him the entire time. His shirt was half-open, teasing you with glimpses of his chest as he moved.

"You know how to take a whipping," Yoongi drawled. "I like that."

He pressed the handle of the crop against your opening. You whimpered, face red from all the blood rushing to your head. Yoongi cocked an eyebrow, pushing aside the rope blocking your pussy. Fuck. He saw how wet you were, muscles clenching around nothing.

He shoved the handle into you.

You yelped behind the gag, something between his name and a curse as Yoongi began to fuck you with the leather handle, ramming it into you without remorse, watching your face twist in pleasure and your hips shake to try to get more, more. It was almost lazy, if it wasn't for the force put behind his thrusts, rough and erratic, his hands snaking between your thighs. You jerked your head up as he began to rub your clit in unison with his whip harshly fucking your tight little hole.

"Cum for me."

Yoongi could see the strain all over your body, muscles flexing and tensing, your prefect back shuddering as he pushed you to the edge.

"You can let other men fuck you, but no one will give it to you like me."

And then he shoved the handle in you as far as it would go and you screamed, gripping the metal bar between your legs firmly as you came all over his hands and the whip, hips jerking and cum sliding down his fingers and wrist, soaking his sleeves.

Yoongi smirked, removing his hands from you but leaving the whip sticking out of you like some kind of weird tail. He was a man who planned ahead. The rope against your pussy was not attached to the one holding up your hips. He cut it off, then he reached down to untie your hands. Lifted you up slowly so you could clear your head. He was a sadist, not a fool. He wasn't about to have you pass out in the middle of fucking.

You were panting hard, still holding the whip in between your legs. Yoongi was thoroughly impressed. You had some strong vaginal muscles.

He pressed your back against his chest, not quite touching because of the rope. You shoved your ass into his crotch, whimpering. It made him hard, knowing your ass probably stung like a bitch and you were holding his whip with your pussy and still trying to please him.

Fuck, Yoongi wanted to own you so very badly.

He leaned to your ear. From here, he could smell your perfume. Blackberries and ocean breeze, mixing with the scent of your release.

"Take off the gag," he rasped, voice pungent with lust. "I want to hear every single one of your screams for me."

Yoongi did not particularly care about the people he fucked. He fucked them once, used them as he liked, and they fucking took it because they asked for it. He always made his intentions clear. Yoongi did not give a shit about developing emotional attachment to those he fucked.

He did not give a shit and, yet, here you were, taking his orders.

The ball gag fell to the floor, dripping saliva. You turned your head, looking at him through your peripheral vision, the sides of your lips red and indented from the gag, red lipstick smeared. So fucking sexy. Whimpering for him as he bent you over, ripping the whip out of you, leaving you empty for a second as he rolled the condom down his aching, stiff cock.

He told himself he could get anyone to replace you. Anyone he wanted.

You reached back, presenting him your wrists next to your red ass. Looked back at him, ticking an eyebrow.

Yoongi told himself this repeat fuck was just a blip in his usual pattern and he would be back to his old ways in no time.

You smirked.

"Good luck."

Yoongi told himself a lot of dumb shit and this was by far the dumbest, most pathetic lie he had ever told himself in his entire life.

He grabbed your forearms and buried himself into your pussy, relishing in your cries as his crotch smacked your tender ass, his clothes still half-on, fabric rubbing roughly against your irritated skin. He gritted his teeth, slapping himself into your ass repeatedly, cock choked by your tightness, so good, so fucking good taking you from behind so he could watch the welts on your ass bounce as he fucked you deep, forcefully, drinking in the screams and pleas of his name, feeling it reverberating off the walls, echoing over the penthouse suite.

"Thank you, Yoongi, fuck, thank you for fucking me so fucking good with your pretty cock, oh, fuuuuuuuck..."

He clutched your forearms tighter, using it as leverage to pound you, cock swelling with your words.

"And yet you let other men have this pussy, don't you?" he growled.

Your head turned despite being violently jerked around by his fucking, shoulders flexing as he tugged on your arms with every thrust. You were facing your left, the side where the symbol of the Sith Order was tattooed on your inner left forearm. Yoongi could see it, flashing as he thrust into you.

"Jealous?"

Not a panicked gasp or apologetic sob.

No, it was a measured taunt; you gave absolutely zero fucks.

How dare you.

Yoongi vowed to invite you back again and again until you understood that you were his and only his.

He wordlessly released your forearms and slapped your sore ass with his two palms. You yelped, throwing your head back. Yoongi dug his nails into your hips and snarled, twisting around the rope and bending over you to hit you deeper and harder, thighs, balls, crotch all hitting you at once as he railed you with his rock-hard length.

"You'll be back."

Slap!

"A-ah, Yoongi..." you moaned, desire overtaking your tone.

Slap!

"You'll be back and begging to be tied down and fucked by this dick once again. I guarantee it."

You gasped out his name in a euphoric wail, clenching around him and soaking him all over with your sweet, thick release, brutally pulsating around his cock. Yoongi hissed, control slipping as he came, shooting violently into the condom, cock throbbing with pleasure and flooding his senses, eating up all his nerves. He thought it would be short, but you continued to squeeze his length rhythmically, sending wave after wave of ecstasy through him.

Yoongi lifted you up, grabbing your chin, pressing his fingertips into your cheeks possessively.

"You will never forget the way I feel inside you."

And Yoongi would never forget the way he felt inside you.

In fact, he would crave it for the rest of his life.

Yoongi respected your decision. You didn't want to be exclusive at this point in time. As long as you regularly tested and didn't give him a sexually transmitted disease, he accepted your terms.

He didn't like them.

He just respected them.

You told him he was free to do the same and he thought about it. But he was a busy man. Or it was easier to have the same partner and not fuck strangers.

Yoongi tried his best to reason with himself that he wasn't completely obsessed with your body and the sounds you made when you were under him, but, alas, it was a failed attempt.

Before you left, Yoongi would press you against him and reach under your skirt, tracing the 'GOOD LUCK' tattoo with his fingertip. Pull back your hair, kissing under your left ear, the spot where the semicolon tattoo laid. You didn't know it, but Yoongi knew it was what connected you to him. He would whisper your name in your ear, make you shiver.

"Enjoy sitting down for the next couple days."

Your dark chuckle haunted his dreams.

"Oh, I will."

Jeon Jungkook had a lot of girls chasing after him, but he wasn't interested in a single one. He was only interested in the one that had appeared suddenly as he was closing up shop, clutching a black wool cape with silver fastenings. You wore slim black heels and a tightly fitted black pencil skirt with a black blouse. Sheer stockings. Same white gold lotus collar pins. Your perfect hands holding your briefcase.

Refined and pretty.

Jungkook wanted to bend you over one of his tattoo chairs and fuck you from behind.

"Sorry, is this a bad time? I rushed here after work and didn't have time to text," you said breathlessly.

His lips curved into a small smile.

Don't you know?

"No time is a bad time if I'm with you."

He unlocked the door of his tattoo shop and gestured you inside. But you surprised him.

"I think we should talk out here."

Jungkook stared at your beauty marks, not covered with foundation despite you wearing eyeshadow and lipstick. So beautiful.

"Why? It's cold out here."

You hesitated for a moment before stepping inside the shop, heels clicking crisply against the hardwood. He followed you, locking the door behind him. Then, he spun around, grabbing your arm and yanking you towards him, banging your body against his. Oh, yes, so soft, paired with that lovely gasp, your hot breath grazing his chin. Jungkook regretted wearing his long black coat and black turtleneck. He wanted your skin on his, right now. He leaned down, intending to kiss you.

But you tilted your head away.

"Jungkook. I need to talk to you."

He growled lowly. "You can talk to me on your knees."

"I don't want to be exclusive with anyone right now."

What!

Why would you say such a thing? How silly, thinking that he would want that. Never mind that he thought about fucking you for months, never mind that he went home after the first time and prayed for you to call again, never mind that he was hovering over you right now, breathing hard, whole body tingling, chest tight, heart gripped by the thorns of your words.

Oh no.

Oh!

No...

He was so close to you, head tilted, lips brushing against yours.

"What can I have then?" Jungkook whispered, fingertips pressing so hard into your upper arm that his knuckles were white. He didn’t notice. If he did, he would have released you immediately, but he was gazing into your eyes, lost.

Lost because Jungkook was beginning to realize he was very, very screwed.

Your eyes and tone were apologetic. "If you want to fuck me still, you can. But I don't want to lead you on. I working through..." Something flashed in your eyes. A sadness. Who did that to you? God, Jungkook wanted to kill him. "Some things and I don't want a relationship."

Don’t you know?

He didn't wait months and months this time.

"You know I want you."

You didn't lie.

"Yes."

Every time you breathed out, Jungkook sucked it away. Fuck, he loved your breath. There was just something so sexy about taking it away from you.

"I could have told you over text or over the phone," you continued softly. "But I felt I should tell you in person."

He lowered his lashes. He knew how dark his gaze was now, his long black hair shadowing your face, towering over you. You did not yield, below him, but firm in your position. You spoke again, soft breath against his skin.

"If casual sex is not your thing, I understand."

Jungkook chuckled, licking his lips. The action made you shudder as his tongue brushed against your lips.

"I don't want casual sex from you."

His other hand came up and grabbed your other arm, shoving your body into him again, harder this time.

"I want dirty, wild, obscene fucking," he snarled, releasing your arms and seizing your hips, grinding you into him, relishing in the soft needy gasps being torn from your throat. "I want it from you and I want you to promise me you'll give it to me whenever you see me, because even if you're not mine all the time, you're mine when you're in my presence."

He kissed you, hard, desperate, since he couldn't say it yet, couldn't say, I need you, I need the way you make me feel, because sex with you is not like sex with anyone else and I don't want anyone to see this side of me but you.

Jungkook tried to tell himself it was just the way you brought out the animal in him, just the way you mewled in his mouth and said you would do whatever he asked, just the way he shoved you down and the way you got on your knees for him just like that, at the fucking entrance of Golden Closet Tattoo. He ordered you and you obeyed without question, undoing his pants and taking him in your waiting mouth, his cock instantly swelling at the warm wetness.

Jungkook tried to tell himself a whole lot of bullshit, but it all disappeared as you began to bob your head up and down, running your tongue along his length, stiff and hard from rubbing against the roof of your mouth. You went all the way to the base, choking the head with your throat and he pressed his back against the glass front door, gasping for breath as his cock throbbed in the hot wet heat. The door did have cloth blinds he pulled down, but to anyone outside it must have been obvious what was happening from the shadows moving.

He clenched his jaw, glaring down at you.

"You came in person because you knew I would fuck you anyway."

Your eyes flickered up to meet his gaze. No panic. No apology. You cocked an eyebrow.

A measured taunt.

Jungkook placed his hand on the back of your head and abruptly stopped your pace. Pointedly stared at your face as he began to slowly, deeply, thrust into your throat. You whined under him, hands clutching his pants, briefcase set primly beside you as he fucked your face calmly, tangling his fingers into your hair.

He didn't get the geometric lotus tattooed on his left arm because he had some grandiose dreams about you in a bridal dress or anything like that. He got it after he broke up with his girlfriend because it was his art that he had tattooed onto you and because he knew, ever since you spread your legs for him and let him tattoo 'GOOD LUCK' onto your crotch, that it was only a matter of time before he gave in to his desires and finally had you.

You said he could still fuck you?

Then he'd continue fucking you.

Fuck!

Jungkook groaned, thrusting into your lips faster, harder, feeling you tighten around him, your muffled cries vibrating his cock, so good, so fucking good that there was no way to describe it other than pure ecstasy. You took his cock like you had been fucked in the face thousands of times before and it pissed him off knowing it wasn't his cock cumming thousands of times in your perfectly hot mouth, just not fucking fair that he didn't know he loved this sooner and didn't know you could service him this well. There was no way you could know or even attempt to find out with the existence of his previous relationship, so instead Jungkook cursed fate and fucked your face until he shuddered, burying his cock into your throat and cramming the entirety of his orgasm into that tight, wet vise, forcing you to shut your eyes and swallow, neck straining, your nails sinking into his clothed thighs and sending pinpricks of pain through his skin. He hissed your name, rutting the head against the roof of your mouth to heighten the pleasure.

You opened your eyes, slowly, glassy but clear, burning with intensity.

He removed his hand, letting you back up.

You didn't.

Your tongue licked him up and down, all around, not looking away, breathing hard. Still on your knees in your office attire, cape spread out around you. Hair tucked back. Jungkook could see the skin underneath your right ear. He knew the space beneath your left ear held the semicolon tattoo. The space under your right ear was bare.

Hm.

"Get up and kiss me."

You pulled back, planting a chaste kiss on the head of his cock before standing up, heels clicking on place as you placed your hands on his chest and leaned in, kissing him deeply, his taste on your lips. He breathed in your exhale, tongue sliding into your mouth, eating up the saltiness of his own cum mixed with your sweet saliva.

"Jungkook..."

He was pleased to hear the strain on your voice, throat bruised from being used so roughly.

"Hm?"

You panted into his mouth and he sucked it away, making you moan and put your full weight on him. Exactly what he wanted, possessively wrapping his arms around you.

"Don't get attached," you whispered gently.

Too late.

Although, he wasn't sure what this feeling was, but he didn't care, because you came to him and that meant you wanted it too, so he fucking took those.

I'm all messed up because of you.

But for some reason, he liked it.

"I told you," Jungkook purred. "When you're in my presence, you're mine."

They say you always remember your first. Jungkook wasn’t so sure about that. He didn't remember his first kiss. Didn't really remember his first girlfriend, didn't remember his first fuck thanks to alcohol. But he remembered the first tattoo he did. He pushed your hair back and kissed your left ear, taking it in his teeth and pulling on it, listening to your whines. The scent of your perfume invaded his nose, strong and musky, blackberries and the sea. He remembered the first tattoo of his own art, sucking on your earlobe as he traced the inside of your right forearm. Remembered the first time he really wanted someone, so much so that even his own morals were broken, only able to cum if he closed his eyes and thought about you while inside someone else.

He knew how fucked up that was, which was part of the reason why he was single.

The other reason was because the sex just sucked.

He couldn't figure out why for the longest time. Dick into pussy, it should just feel good, right? If the girl was pretty, it shouldn't fucking matter, right? If he loved her and she loved him, then shouldn't the chemistry be there?

He really tried to make it work because he was in love, because he actually did enjoy her company, because he had fun and did all the cute shit and liked it, but it wasn't enough and he kept thinking about the way your pussy smelled so fucking good. As time went on, he couldn't do it anymore and he let it fall apart.

So, there's no way that Jungkook would want to be exclusive with you, because you ruined it all, you made him crazy, you made him realize what was really missing, and that was you face-first onto one of the tattoo chairs, whimpering as he yanked up your skirt to your waist, ripping your panties down so they hung on one ankle before spreading your legs, reaching for the inside of your right thigh.

Traced his work on you.

GOOD LUCK.

He dug his fingers into your thighs, sinking into the soft flesh, carving crescents of lust with his nails.

"J-Jungkook..."

"I know."

The condom was beside your waist, already waiting for him.

You must have had it with you, just for him.

"I know you want me bad. I can see how wet you are." When had his tone gotten so grating, so dangerous? "I can smell how much this pussy wants me." He flicked his eyes forward. You were watching him from your peripheral vision, still mostly clothed.

Nothing innocent in that gaze.

"Why would you want other men to see this pretty pussy, hm?"

Smack!

Right on your clit, sending shivers of pleasure up your shaking spine, tearing a moan from your lips.

"Do you need a reminder? Do you need help remembering how good this cock makes you feel?"

Jungkook told himself it wasn't him. It wasn't him who needed the reminder as he basked in your soft pleas of his name, asking him so sweetly to wreck your pretty pussy with his big cock and it definitely wasn't him desperately ripping open the condom to slide it on, and that certainly wasn't him growling your name like a feral animal as he shoved all of himself into your tight, soaking heat, smelling so much like sex he wanted it painted all over him, wanted you to cum over and over so it ran down his thighs and drenched his crotch.

And it most certainly wasn't him who absolutely loved watching you claw for something to grip on, moaning his name loudly, filling the entire shop, his shop, squealing as he began to pound you into the seat, not caring if someone might peek through the blinds and see him ruining you, too busy watching you squirm and beg for his cock.

Fuck, Jungkook was totally screwed.

He knew it.

The stockings, the heels, the pencil skirt, and the prim little blouse, all hiding your tattoos and your masochistic and submissive nature, now all under him, pussy clenching his cock and cumming on his length, massaging it forcefully over and over, so fucking good.

Jungkook didn't care anymore.

"You'll come back to me, won't you?" he panted, snapping out your name when you didn't respond right away. You turned your head, breath in rapid rasps because your throat was so overused. "You promise me right now or I'm taking my cock out and dumping you on the floor."

You didn't seem fazed. Didn't even blink before responding.

"I'll come back, Jungkook."

Voice thin and sore, but strong in conviction.

"I'll come back and let you have this pretty pussy any way you like."

He came.

Just straight up, couldn't stop it, seeing the compliant and subservient gleam in your hazy eyes, so rich with pleasure you couldn't hide it and it was all him, all him doing that to you and that alone was enough for Jungkook to hiss out your name, slamming his hips into your ass and shooting into the condom, expanding it for all it was worth, jerking his cock inside you because you squeezed him back, walls closing in on him, adding to the euphoria.

"That's right," Jungkook snarled. He grabbed your left arm with his right hand and pressed his inner left forearm into yours.

Lotus to Sith symbol.

"You keep your promises because you're a good girl, aren't you?"

He made his cock pulse inside you. You threw your head back and moaned, so fucking pretty Jungkook wanted to die.

"Y-Yes, Jungkook..."

Jungkook respected your choice.

He didn't like it.

He just respected it.

He liked to touch you all over afterwards. Liked to roam his hands all over your body, even after you fixed up all your clothes. Liked to bury his nose in your hair and breathe in. Even then, he could smell the sex radiating off you.

The best fucking scent in the entire world.

You got into your car, legs elegantly sliding inside before closing the door, hiding the aches he gave you, but Jungkook knew and that's what mattered. Your eyes found his through the glass.

He gave you a knowing smile.

You smirked at him and licked your lips before starting the car.

"I'll have you."

You pulled out of the space, not able to hear him.

"Just wait," Jungkook whispered as you drove away.

They both saw you at the same time.

Neither of them knew it. That’s how the world works, in small moments of coincidences that seem like fate, and yet not, because both Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook had no idea the other existed.

Not yet anyway.

For Jeon Jungkook, it was during his lunch break. The shop was noisy outside his office, artists working away. He was stilling at his desk, nibbling at restaurant-made kimchi fried face. Scrolling through his phone, checking social media.

For Min Yoongi, it was during a lunch at a fancy restaurant, at a meeting he didn’t want to be at, but had to be because of his father. He was picking at a piece of filet mignon, displeased that it wasn’t perfectly medium rare. His eye happened to spy a phone on the table beside him. Two women were cowering over it, discussing the photo on the phone hotly.

Jungkook furrowed his brows, staring at the Twitter trending page, reading the headline.

Yoongi frowned and took out his own phone, searching for the name. It came up instantly.

Prolific actor Kim Seokjin seen with a mysterious, unknown woman; both enter the car together!

But to Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook, that was not a mysterious, unknown woman.

The hair swept to one side, covering your left ear. You had a face mask and a wide-brimmed hat, but it was definitely you. They both recognized your hand on the car door, the hand they dreamt about, holding onto them.

For Yoongi, it was your large fur coat. He recognized the slinky black fur, remembered the feeling of parting it, sliding his hands down your full hips and yanking up your dress. The first time he had you in the hotel penthouse.

For Jungkook, it was the white gold collar pins. Lotus. He recognized the shine, remembered the feeling he had as he watched the silk blouse slide open, revealing your breasts, chest rising and falling for him. The first time he had you, literally on the very desk he was eating at right now.

They both glared at the photo, accusing it.

Then they both pulled up their contact list and pressed down on your phone number.

It went straight to voicemail.

And you?

Asleep.

In a massive bed, phone turned off on his nightstand, arms wrapped around you.

Kim Seokjin’s arms.

Covered in his cum, his marks – welts from his whip, scratches from his nails, bruises from his bites. His head buried into your shoulder, soft breath against the skin under your left ear, warming your semicolon tattoo. Linen sheets all around you, silk pillowcases to keep his brown hair in excellent condition, his broad chest against your back. No one to bother this scene.

Seokjin had deliberately sent all of the housekeeping staff home. The only people around were the security guards stationed outside the massive mansion.

Twelve hours before, Seokjin had told you words that made your heart come to a full stop.

“We have to stop seeing each other.”

Period.

He looked pained, as if the words themselves were shredding him as well.

“It’s not fair to you.”

It wasn’t, but you were a masochist.

“I’m becoming internationally recognized now.”

And you knew. You knew he would say this someday, because Kim Seokjin wanted to be a world-renowned actor and he was damn good at it. He would become known all over the nation and the world, and that was something you didn’t want. You wanted to stay anonymous and fade into the background, because the things you were doing were not exactly widely accepted by society, tattoos and all.

It had started because Kim Seokjin had been looking for a sub, on a website no one knew about except deviants such as yourself. He was willing to pay you. It wasn’t the money you wanted.

It was the dom.

Before Kim Seokjin, no one was that serious. No one needed you on your knees as much as Kim Seokjin did, no one used you like his own personal sex toy, no one made you feel treasured like he did. He still paid you, more and more, made you richer than you ever planned to be, but it meant nothing to you, because it was just another tool in his wheelhouse of perfect torture, crafted all for you.

And then he told you it was time to stop.

Time to end the contract.

Both of you knew it was coming. Almost caught so any times, almost exposed to the world. And it wasn’t like you didn’t love him and he didn’t love you, but it was more that it wasn’t on that romantic level, but a level of satisfying a carnal need.

But as greedy as Seokjin and you were, you both knew when it was time to stop.

One more time, this time, you two were finally caught, pictures flashing in tabloids and on social media, but Seokjin would just tell his management team it was nothing. And that was true, because this was the last time.

Long before this moment, Seokjin had told you it may come. Asked you to look for another dom if you wanted to, because he didn’t want you to feel like you couldn’t. He wanted the other side of you to be satisfied. For you and for him. If you had another dom, it would be easier to leave and he wouldn’t be tempted because he knew you were happy.

And before that moment, Seokjin had teased you, telling you to get a certain tattoo.

He traced the spot with his whip, breathing against your neck.

“Get the words, ‘good luck’. Tattoo them right here.”

He smacked the space in between you right leg and crotch, hard, making you gasp and moan at the same time.

And you did. Because Seokjin told you to.

It delighted him.

“One more time?” you had asked quietly when he told you it was the end.

He smiled at you, his loving smile that wasn’t the smile he gave you when he was your dom. It was the smile he gave to you, just you as you were in everyday life. And he knew you were accepting of the end, because you weren’t broken at his words. Sad, but Seokjin had questioned you about the others you were seeing. If they were good or not.

Not as good as him, of course. No one was as good as him.

Two of them sounded very promising.

“One more time.”

The last time you would sleep in Seokjin’s bed, his memories all around you, not regretting anything.

His fingers brushed against the tattoo on your left arm, the filled-in circle with the four-sided starburst.

Serenity after the dirty chaos.

“I’m in trouble.”

Seokjin craned his head over to look at your phone. You were dressed already, fur coat bundled around your shoulders. His eyebrows raised, seeing the two voicemails.

“Oh dear,” he teased, tone light. “Right before I release you back to the wild.”

He noticed their names on your phone. They didn’t have names. Only punctuation. Seokjin was punctuation on your phone too. A single period. He knew why. You thought Seokjin would be the end all, be all, the perfect dom, your full stop. But all good things come to an end.

“A semicolon and exclamation point, hm?”

You shrugged.

“Can I keep your number?” you asked quietly, afraid he was going to ask you to delete it.

“Of course,” Seokjin agreed cheerfully. “I’m keeping your address,” he added. “I’m going to send you things when I feel like it.”

You raised your eyebrows and he smirked. Seokjin held out the thing in his hand. Elegant, diamond-studded, braided black leather with silver rings attached all around it.

Your collar.

“Do you want to keep it?” His voice was soft, kind. “I’m never going to use it on another sub.”

You bit your lip. “I’m never going to use it with another dom.” You took it from his hand.

His lips curved into a sly smirk.

“You better not or I’ll have to kidnap you and keep you as my pet for the rest of your life.”

You clicked your tongue, challenging him.

Seokjin tilted his head. Then he took your phone from you. Didn’t ask you for it, just took it like he owned it. You frowned, but he shook his head, typing quickly.

“Don’t worry,” he said silkily, implying that you should indeed be worried. “I’m no longer part of the Dark Side anymore.”

You snorted and Seokjin laughed, the high-pitched squeaky laugh that wasn’t very dom-like, but made you smile all the same. He always tried not to laugh when you were fucking. It ruined the mood sometimes. You would miss being around him.

He handed you your phone back, turning the power off again.

“Don’t turn it on until you get home.”

You slipped it into your pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Is that an order?”

Seokjin grinned like the devil.

“Directly from your Master.”

Oh.

Fucking.

Shit.

You turned on your phone when you arrived at your home. Your mouth went dry, heart stopping, seeing what Kim Seokjin had done. Texted two people your address.

Min Yoongi.

Jeon Jungkook.

Not just your address. A time as well.

The same time.

Two hours from now.

You needed to shower, fast.

the next phrase, comma ,

masterpost

#jungkook x reader #yoongi x reader #bts smut #yoonkook smut #yoonkook x reader #jungkook x you #yoongi x you #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #min yoongi smut #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi x you

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yikesharringrove · 3 years

Text

Show Pony

Chapter 2: Legends Never Die

Read on Ao3

Billy was watching porn when Steve texted.

He’s never clicked out of a video so fucking fast in his life.

The message just read hey, this is steve :) which like, of course, the fucker uses little emoticons. Of course , he types out little smiley faces. It’s so dumb. It’s so cute.

And Billy just stared at it. One hand still on his dick, the other hovering over the keyboard.

What the fuck does he reply?

Obviously, Steve knows it’s Billy. Like. Duh.

So he just tapped out a little Hey.

Steve texted back almost immediately.

you have a good day? Billy found himself grinning maniacally, so he rolled over to hold his pillow close to his chest, burying his chin into it. He didn’t wanna deal with the fact that this stupid adorable cowboy was making him smile and flush. Stupid.

Yeah, it was nice. Way too hot, but nice.

lol try wearing jeans in that heat. sweatin through my damn saddle. Billy laughed into his pillow.

Jesus, you’re such a fuckin hick. Billy bit his tongue when he pressed send.

And Steve just sent back >:(. And God. He’s so cute. Billy. Hates him.

And then Billy’s phone buzzed twice, another brand new text from Steve.

One that made Billy’s heart fucking stop.

i have the day off tomorrow. no tiedown on the schedule. you should come by and we could hang

Which sounded like. A date. It sounded like a fucking date. And Billy wanted to ask. If Steve’s invitation was for a goddamn date.

But like, he can’t just ask. Can he? Is that weird? Okay, maybe he’ll just-

Should I bring Max?

Right? Like if Steve says to bring his little sister, then there’s no way it’s a date. Because, who would want their date to bring their little sister? People who are just hanging out as friends, that’s who.

was hoping it'd just be you and me

And hoo boy. Hoo boy. That’s. That’s a fucking. That’s a date.

Then yeah. Just you and me.

And Steve sent him another little :) because the fucker loves his emoticon smiley faces. They’re not even, like, actual emojis. Steve doesn’t take the time to use fucking apostrophes, but he does type out little faces.

And maybe Billy’s spending too much time thinking about the smiley little shits.

But, like. It’s just. It’s Steve. And it’s a cute fucking thing that Steve does.

Billy’s pretty much obsessed with him by now.

And maybe Billy should ask for, like, a time to meet. But he was halfway through a video and his cock’s still hard and kinda starting to ache, pressed against the mattress where it was. He rolled over, slid his hand back into his shorts, and wrapped his fingers around the base of himself.

So it’s easy just to, slide it up. Run his fingers along his length. Pretend his rough hand is Steve’s rough hand. Pretend the tight vice grip is Steve’s mouth. Hot and slick around him.

He could picture Steve, on his knees in the dirt, those tight fucking jeans beginning to stain at the knees, those big pretty eyes looking at him so reverently, so softly.

And he came all over his hand, pictured those pink pretty lips covered with cum. Imagined scooping it on his fingers, pressing them into Steve’s mouth, making him lick them clean.

It wasn’t even the most depraved fantasy Billy’s ever had. But it was for sure in his top five best orgasms. No doubt about it.

He wiped his hand on the sheets, turning onto his side, staring at the short little conversation with Steve.

Thinking about their fucking date tomorrow.

Max was on his ass the second he woke up.

She cornered him as he was coming out of the bathroom, making him startle and nearly smack her.

“The fuck you doing out here, Shitbrid?”

“What are we doing today?”

“ We aren’t doing shit all. I will be heading out. Soon.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, jutting her jaw in a way he absolutely knows she learned from him.

“Are you going to the rodeo?” she hissed through her teeth at him. “Are you going to see-”

“That’s none ‘a your fuckin’ business.” He pushed past her, lumbering down the hall, almost making it into his bedroom before she slipped inside with him, slapping his elbow and kicking the door closed.

“Are you going on a date ?”

Billy glared at her. He clenched his jaw, speaking through gritted teeth.

“Pretty sure we agreed not to fucking talk about this shit here.”

She pursed her lips, shifting her jaw.

“Just nod or shake your head.”

Billy kept his head very still.

She kicked him once in the shin before stomping out of his room, nearly slamming the door, catching it at the last minute, and closing it quietly.

Neil didn’t approve of doors slamming in his house.

It was rule number. Three probably. First rule was don’t be a smartass. Second rule was don’t be Billy. That was kind of an unspoken rule. But it was there.

And Billy was faced with his newest dilemma.

What does he wear?

Because it’s gonna be another hot fucking day, and his typical date outfits have more, more.

He’s got one clean pair of cut-offs left. Okay. Yes. And he puts on a printed button-up shirt. Leaves it almost all the way unbuttoned, because, like, of course, he does. He’s got a good body. He wants Steve to see it.

He’ll be mostly cool, and he looks better than he did last time he saw Steve.

Black Converse complete the look, and he maybe spends more time than he usually would putting his hair into a ponytail, using one of Max’s bright scrunchies.

She’ll get pissed if she notices it but. Whatever. He steals them from her all the fucking time.

He hasn’t looked at his phone all morning, figured he could head over to the rodeo, and whenever Steve texted, he’d play it cool and act like he wasn’t already there.

But, cowboy hick Steve was obviously an early riser. As the most recent text Billy has is from that cowboy hick Steve. At six. In the morning.

you wanna meet up around ten?

It was currently just past nine.

Does Billy head up there now and wander around the grounds for a bit?

Yes. Yes, he does. Because frankly, he looks gay as fuck in this outfit and he should probably dip before his dad sees.

He sends Steve a thumbs up and the three dots show up almost immediately, showing Steve typing.

you got a car right? can you pick me up outside of the parking lot? i gotta get outta here

And Fuck. Billy knows that feeling.

No problem. You wanna get breakfast? I know a good diner if you’re into that kinda thing.

hell yeah im into that :)

Ah, yes. There was that little happy face just in time to give Billy lots of nice heart palpitations.

Great. That’s what he needs. To get sappy and gross over Steve’s emoticons. Again.

He slipped out of his house without interference, taking a lap around the block just to kill time before setting off to the fairgrounds.

He was trying to make his car look presentable, shoving the few gum wrappers Max left by the gear shift into his pocket, brushing off any stray cigarette ash with one of the baby wipes in the glove box.

And by the time he reached the fairgrounds, he saw Steve skulking along the front of the parking lot, hopping over cracks in the sidewalk like the cutest little bunny.

It was the most adorable thing in the fucking world.

Billy pulled up next to him, blaring the horn and watching Steve startle at the sound.

He was wearing cut-off denim shorts like Billy’s, and a goddamn crop top. It had the silhouette of a horse on its hind legs, its mane flowing in the wind behind it, and Harrington American Rodeo brandished across his chest. It was cut just at his waistline, where his body nipped in right above his hips.

Steve smiled his pretty smile at Billy, just about skipping around the front of the car to slide into the passenger seat.

And Billy tried not to think about how fucking good Steve looked in the passenger seat of his car, those long fucking legs all on display, his thighs, thick and pale, covered in dark hair.

“Hi,” Steve was leaning with one elbow on the center console, putting himself in Billy’s space, and Billy was thankful for his dark aviator sunglasses, as his eyes went wide and probably panicked with Steve moving in so close.

Because if Steve was leaning in to kiss him, that kinda feels like a lot. And Billy’s not a prude, not by any means but he's, he’s got lines, and rules, and-

Steve just knocked his head into Billy’s shoulder, leaning back to buckle his seatbelt, like headbutting Billy’s shoulder was casual and normal.

And fuck.

Billy’s in so deep for this guy he barely fucking knows.

All he could do was push the car forward, and will away the flush on his cheeks. And pretend like he hadn’t jerked off to the person sitting next to him less than twelve hours ago.

“So. Billy. Tell me about yourself.” Steve shifted in his seat, turning to look right at Billy. “All I know is that you’ve got a kid sister, a cool car, and that you’re really hot.”

Billy smirked, turning to look at Steve over his glasses, found Steve biting his bottom lip demurely.

“Well, there’s not much else to know .”

“Oh, come on. Where are you from? How old are you? Shit, probably shoulda asked that sooner. Please, tell me you’re not fifteen or something.”

“I’m literally driving, right now. And relax, Pretty Boy. I’m eighteen next month.”

“Okay. Okay, good. I’m eighteen, by the way. Just so you know, that I’m not fifteen.” Billy shook his head, rolling his eyes with a smile. “But I still want answers to the other questions.”

“Well, I’m from here. Born and raised in San Diego. Uh, I graduated high school in May. And I work at the diner I’m about to take you to, which might be the lamest shit in the world, but they have good pancakes.”

“I like pancakes.” Steve was fiddling with some of the knobs in the car, turning the air conditioner up and down. Billy was just resisting slapping his hand away.

And then he reached for the volume knob on the radio, turning up the Ratt Billy had playing, and audibly scoffed.

“God, I should’ve known you liked this .”

“Yeah? What about it?”

“Just, you know. Sex charged drug-fueled hair metal.”

“Oh my God. What in the fuck ?” He gave Steve as incredulous a look as he could muster. “Are you a housewife from the fifties?”

Steve gave one of his excellent bright laughs at Billy, and Billy’s gut got a little bit gay and a little bit fluttery.

“Alright, Stevie. I’ll bite. What kinda music are you into? And if you say country I’m blowing my fuckin’ brains out.”

“Well, unfortunate then because, yeah. Fuckin’ country, man. Although, I prefer folk.”

“See, you call my music sex-charged and drug-fueled, at least I’m not listening to posers rant about their tractors.”

“Oh, no. I hate that shit as much as you do. I mean like, Johnny Cash. Willie Nelson, you know? Emmylou Harris, Marty Robbins, Miss Dolly. The good stuff. There’s like, a few modern artists that are doing the same kinda thing that I like. It’s all just stories and good music.”

“That’s all my music is. Stories set to music. And, you say my shit is drug-fueled, you do know that Willie Nelson is famous for being a stoner? And that Johnny Cash publicly dealt with addiction and all that?”

“Well, yeah, but they’ve got class.”

“Okay, Cowboy. I’ll let you die on that fuckin’ hill while I party it up on mine to some eighties metal.”

And Steve reached out to shove Billy lightly, laughing while he did it.

“Agree to fucking disagree then. Just take me to pancakes and don’t try to reason with me about shitty music.”

“Then change the subject. Tell me other things about you besides your terrible music taste.”

Steve leaned back in his seat, blowing out a puff of air.

“Uh, I mean. Jeez. I don’t do much besides the rodeo, you know? Just movin’ all over the country.”

“That must be. Exhausting.”

Steve reached out to brush his fingers against the dashboard mindlessly.

“It’s not so bad. I try to make friends in the towns, you know? Makes it kinda fun.”

“Where were you born?”

“Indiana. Really small town. My mom and I stayed there for three years while my father traveled around. I’ve been on the road since.”

“Holy shit. Since you were three? Did you, like, go to school?”

“No. Uh, I actually have a tutor that’s on the road with us, and I’m. You know. Supposed to get my high school diploma soon. I’m behind schedule since,” he waved his hand flippantly. He was staring at his lap, playing with the frayed hem of his shorts. And Billy was grasping for another subject as Steve’s cheeks went red. Because obviously school, had struck a nerve.

“What kinda horse is June?”

“She’s an American quarter horse. That’s the usual type for most rodeo events. They’re good ranch horses because they’re a little more compact. I’ve been with June for five years now, and she’s a beast. I’ve got two others with me, on rotation so that none of them get too tired doing the shows over and over. June, Patsy, and Loretta. They’re all quarter horses, and each one is only about fourteen and a half hands tall. I like my horses a bit smaller for tie-down.”

“I understood, honestly, like, nothing of what you just said.”

Steve tossed his head back, laughing loudly over the radio at Billy’s confusion.

He laughed a lot.

Billy liked it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you rodeo slang. You’ll be a natural,” Steve said, reaching out to where Billy’s right hand was resting on the gearshift, wrapping his finger’s around Billy’s wrist.

“What about their names?”

“All ladies of country. Loretta Lynn, Patsy Cline, and June Carter. Carter-Cash, I guess. She married Johnny but had a career in her own right.”

“Jesus, you’re a fuckin’ hick.”

“You’ve said that before. Just because I’m in the rodeo-”

“No, it’s because you’re in the rodeo, and listen to country music, and wear fucking cowboy boots -”

“They are literally made for riding horses, okay? That’s why they were invented .”

Billy rolled his eyes again, but he was smiling brightly as he pulled into the diner parking lot.

It wasn’t too busy for a Sunday morning. Billy bets it’ll pick up in an hour or so for the brunch crowd.

He began working at the diner three years ago, bussing tables and washing dishes, getting paid under the table because technically, he was too young to work. He was a server now, usually taking the evening dinner shifts to miss that time when his dad was home from work.

The bell jingled above their heads as Billy held the door open for Steve, and Billy stuck his tongue out at the kitchen staff, leaning over the counter to swipe a few menus from the stack.

He led Steve to a booth in the back corner, waving at Lorraine, the older woman who was working their section, gesturing to the booth for Steve to take a seat.

“Wow. You’ve totally got this place on lock.”

Billy grinned at him, leaning against the wall to stretch his legs up on the booth next to him.

“I’ve worked here a few years. Kinda done all the staff positions. It’s a nice place.”

“Well, then what do you recommend?” Steve carefully opened the laminated menu, his big eyes flicking over the pictures on the side of every dish.

“Pancakes are good, so are the waffles though, if you’re into that. I like the full breakfast. Eggs, bacon or sausage, hash browns, pancakes, or toast. Kinda the best of everything.”

Steve snapped his menu shut, smiling softly at Billy.

“I’m trusting you with my breakfast here. It better be good .”

Lorraine approached their table, already pouring Billy a cup of coffee and sliding it to him along the table.

“You really love us that much you find your way in here on your day off?”

“Only you, Lorraine. Everybody else can fuck off for all I care.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes at Billy.

“You want the usual cook-up?”

“Yes, please.”

She took his unopened menu, turning and smiling brightly at Steve.

“What can I get for you, Darling.”

Steve’s eyes were wide when he looked up at her, his cheeks starting to flush.

“Uh, just, the same as Billy, please.”

“You want a coffee?”

“No, Ma’am. Just a water for me please.” He handed his menu back, giving her a bright smile, his cheeks a soft rosy red.

Lorraine winked at Billy, nodding her head once in Steve’s general direction. Billy waved her off before she could say something embarrassing.

“Sorry, I get kinda weird sometimes.” Steve had pulled a napkin out of the dispenser on their table and was looking down at it, tearing off little chunks and rolling them into balls.

“That’s okay. Lorraine gets it. Plus, you were polite, and that’s all that matters. I wouldn’t be caught dead with you if you were an ass to servers.”

“Oh, God. My dad is such an ass when it comes to, really any staff. Like, servers, or, frankly, most of the people that work for him. Don’t even get me started on the animal carers. I mean, that’s probably the most important job at the whole rodeo, and he’s been trying to dock pay left, right, and fucking center.” Steve rolled his big eyes, huffing like Max.

“Wait, so your dad is like, the head of the whole operation?”

“My name is Steve Harrington,” and Steve pointed at his shirt, the name Harrington emblazoned over the horse.

“Oh damn. I thought that name was familiar when I saw the shirt. Figured I had just seen the rodeo name or something.”

“Nope. That’s me. A whole Harrington. My great-grandpa started the rodeo. He was, like, an actual ranch hand. Started one in the town we’re from. My grandpa was the one who got the idea to take it on the road. My dad came up through it like I did. He was in steer roping. And basically, his end goal is that I start running the whole show in a few years. Take over for him.”

“And, you don’t want to?”

“Nah. I don’t really have a brain for business. Don’t have a brain for much other than riding and tie-down, honestly. Don’t know the first thing about how to run a traveling rodeo.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

Steve smiled at him, but his eyes seemed sad, and his smile was tight.

“You got plans for next year? College or anything?”

“Nah. I think college is, on the horizon, but I’m taking a gap year. Saving up to move out and pay for school and everything. Probably gonna go to community college to save some money. And then maybe grad school?”

“That’s smart, you know? Finding ways to save up. My dad is debating pushing college on me. Like, if I do run the business, there’s some shit I should know going into it, right? But I think he also sees that I’m way too dumb for college, and, like, I don’t need a degree to get hired. I’ll just,” Steve made an upwards sweeping gesture with his right hand. A gesture that Billy understood to vaguely mean nepotism.

“What would you rather do? If not run the thing.”

“I like tie-down, and I could feasibly do it for a long time. I could branch into other events, too, like steer roping and all that. Same idea as calf roping but a different animal. Literally. It’s a steer. But I’d be content just doing the events until I croak. I have absolutely no desire to rise through the ranks, or whatever.” Steve rolled his eyes, balling up the little napkin wads he had made into another napkin from the dispenser. Billy appreciated it. He’s had to clean up crap like that from this very floor. “I just love being around the rodeo. The animals and all the people. I don’t really wanna be anywhere else.”

“At least you have something you love. Like, you’d be happy to do that for the rest of your life, and not in an I’ve got nothing better to do way, but in an, I’m passionate about this way. A lot of people don’t really. Get that.” Billy included.

It’s not that he doesn’t have passions, it’s just that they’re not necessarily sustainable to him.

He knows he’s dangling by a thread with his father. Knows after his eighteenth birthday, he should be ready to be kicked out or asked to pay rent at any time. He needs a career that’ll get him some fucking money if he wants to get out and cut off his dad entirely. He can’t be forced to go crawling back to him because he wanted to self-publish his gay ass poetry that never took off or drum in a rock band that went nowhere.

To name a few.

“Yeah, I mean. Sometimes I think that I probably would’ve never set foot in a rodeo if I wasn’t literally born into one, so I kinda wonder who I’d be if this wasn’t everything I knew, but I still really love doing it, and it’s something that I’m actually good at, which speaks volumes.”

They were interrupted by Lorraine returning, placing two identical plates in front of them, a glass of water for Steve, and pulling hot sauce and ketchup out of her apron pocket.

“You two let me know if you need anything else.”

Steve beamed at her, thanking her softly and Billy’s heart fluttered like a stupid idiot.

They tucked in, Steve shoving food into his mouth until his cheeks were bulging, chewing aggressively. It made Billy laugh and nearly spew coffee all over the table.

“I figured you’d have better manners, being the heir to a rodeo dynasty or whatever.”

Steve pulled a face, showing Billy the chewed-up food in his mouth.

“How’s that for manners?”

It was actually fucking funny watching him try to swallow everything stuffed in his mouth.

“It’s borderline painful watching you eat.”

Billy laughed as Steve flicked a piece of scrambled egg at him. It landed on his shoulder. Billy slurped it right off his shirt.

“See! Now, who's the one with no table manners?”

“Still you, Sugar. Still you.”

Breakfast was, like, actually fun.

Not that Billy was expecting it to be shitty, but he wasn’t expecting it to be as carefree, as easy, as it was. He and Steve just, kinda, clicked.

Steve was easy to talk to. He was easy to listen to, easy to laugh with, and even easier to look at.

He’s kinda, everything Billy has ever wanted in a person.

He slid his hand into Billy’s as they were leaving the diner, smiling shyly at Billy when he looked over at him.

And Billy stopped in his tracks, right there in broad daylight, tugging Steve by his hand closer to Billy’s body, sliding his hands up his arms, feeling over Steve’s shoulders, and down his back to settle on his hips. Steve wrapped both arms around Billy’s shoulders, leaning closer to him, almost pressing his whole body against Billy’s.

And it was easy. Kissing Steve was just as easy as talking to him, as laughing with him, as looking at him. It was simple and nice and made Billy feel something he really didn’t want to put too much thought into.

Something that was decidedly not easy.

They pulled away from one another, both their lips red and slick.

Billy opened the passenger door, and Steve folded himself into the seat with a ridiculous amount of grace.

And as Billy drove them aimlessly through the city, he tried not to think of the expiration date on this whole thing, on the dates listed on the back of Steve’s t-shirt.

They’ve got a little under a month together.

And Billy was determined to make that the best goddamn month of both of their natural lives.

#yikes writes #show pony #rodeo au #lemons #i got hit with a fat wall of Sad and decided to post ch 2 to see if i get a lil serotonin from the response #we will SEE #harringrove #steve harrington #billy hargrove

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dr3amofagame · 3 years

Text

starting off my old writing w/ this c!wilbur + c!dream drabble from a bit back!! mutually assured destruction duo my beloved <3 ,, they’re so much fun to write (and so messed up lmao)

tw: violence, explosions, dark imagery, contemplating about death, suicidal thoughts, toxic relationship, manipulation

Wilbur watches him, eyes glittering in the dark space. Stacks of TNT surround them, Wilbur tossing a stick from hand to hand far too carelessly considering the redstone dust sticking to his palms, and Dream wonders, darkly, what would happen if he ended up setting off the explosives by accident.

He wouldn't die, not permanently, but it's maybe a little too appealing to think about the prospect, he thinks as he shoves another case into place. Wilbur's still doing nothing but watch him, a small, bitter smile on his face. It's an emotion that Dream is all too familiar with, nowadays, the twisting knot of spite and anger and betrayal pulsing and growing with every new conflict that ends with new scars on his skin and blood under his fingernails.

The explosives could go off at any moment, packed far too tightly to be safe, and every time he blinks he can feel his vision whiting out and being turned inside out in heat and pain, imagines all of the shattered pieces of himself tearing out of his burnt and bleeding skin, shards of porcelain and acid blood stabbing into the earth and staining it black. He can see him and Wilbur, thrown apart and tossed like rag dolls and broken into a million awful pieces that can no longer pull people along like puppets, the plot lines and twisted strings and too-heavy titles dissolving in the brightness of flames falling through his splayed fingers, the world turning white, turning red, turning black-

Would anyone miss him?

Wilbur had a whole nation of people to mourn him, doggedly following his every step with starry eyes and ready hands, drawn to his silver tongue and world-weary ambition like moths to a flame. It was hard not to notice how his speeches were his siren's song, how his voice would deepen and mellow and grow warm enough to melt hearts like a piece of chocolate left in the sun. Dream wasn't the same, all harsh words and sharp edges, too-loud too-fast too-intense to stay with for long. Wilbur could say everything he needed with simple, flowing script and heartfelt rallies to action; all Dream could do was hold his emotions in his hands and watch them bleed between his fingers and spill onto the ground, scream until his throat cracked and grew hoarse with the weight of the thoughts that felt too big to fit in his throat.

Wilbur laughs, the sound grating. "What a pair we make," he says, and Dream ignores how they both watch the way sparks fly from the flint and steel he's now holding, both simultaneously terrified of the explosives surrounding them igniting, and yet maybe just as afraid of what will happen if they don't.

Dream manages a rough murmur in agreement, and Wilbur keeps watching him from the other side of the room. He's begun engraving something on the walls, the L'manburug national anthem, if he is to guess, but he doesn’t quite care enough to read them. Instead, he grabs another stack of TNT and begins digging out the wall to slot them into place.

It takes an embarrassingly long time for him to realize that Wilbur's still staring at him, a small, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. Dream turns around all-too quickly, instincts flaring as he barely suppresses the growl rising in his throat. War makes monsters of us all, one half of him comments self-righteously as the other half throws itself at the inside of his skin like a caged dog. "What," he spits, words like acid, like poison, like a potion-dipped arrow from a perfect weapon, a perfect villain, and Wilbur's smile grows wider.

"It was always going to end like this," the other man's voice is deceivingly smooth, soft like the fur of a sleeping bear. His eyes are dark with bubbling hatred and bitterness held back by a cool mask of indifference and Dream wants the world to fall apart, crumble to pieces and let everything break on the jagged edges. "Tell me, Dream, when did you realize that the part of a villain was one that you could never escape?"

"Fuck off," he rolls his eyes, something caged and furious rising in his throat and Wilbur slinks forward, unfazed.

"Still living in denial, are you? You know, I really thought you would've learned by now." Wilbur clicks the flint and steel once, twice, sparks spraying in the dust-filled space and revealing something bright and burning and broken in the back of his pupils. "Though I guess I was the same way, so I can't really blame you."

Wilbur goes back to scratching his words on the walls, ruining the edge of a diamond sword as he drags it over the stone. A messy, sharp-edged L forms under the bright blue blade, followed by the clatter of a particularly large chunk falling to the ground to create a deep indentation in the wall for the apostrophe.

"I guess you were so desperate to play the hero that you never noticed," Wilbur begins again, tone off-hand, almost friendly. His melody is sweet and patronizing, a lullaby soaked in cave spider venom. "It really is a shame that no one listened to you, Dream. I almost couldn't believe it; of course it would take me months to realize how much of a villain I was, but your own friends stabbing you in the back like that? I can't imagine how it felt." Dream's hands tighten on the dynamite in his hands, and Wilbur laughs. "I guess it all catches up with us, eventually."

"Why did you turn me into a villain?" He can't help the anger that bursts from his lungs with the fury of the not-yet-ignited trinitrotoluene in his hands, and the other man's turns towards him with a satisfied smirk.

"You were right about one thing, Dream," he says, carving a looping "G" into the rock face. He pulls a button out from his inventory, a simple wooden thing that he fastens to the stone.

"It was never meant to be."

#old stuff :]#tw explosion #tw death #tw suicide #tw suicidal thoughts #tw toxic relationship #tw manipulation #queue <3 #my writing :D #my asks !!

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mrs-theirin · 3 years

Text

understanding.

so uh this originally started as “hating rebecca hours”, then it was loving nate hours, and then suddenly at the last second it became.......mutually respecting adam hours??? so here we are. @magebastard this one’s for you <3

calliope langford x nate sewell / calliope & adam du mortain, 2585 words. mommy issues paired with getting to know your stuffy leader better (also on ao3 <3)

The apartment is quiet.

Mind-numbingly quiet, actually.

“Stay home and enjoy yourself,” Tina had said, practically pushing Calliope out the door, a wide smile plastered on her face that said if you don’t go home right now I will end you. Even Verda came out from the lab to say goodbye, his gentle eyes hardened in a way that let her know there was no fighting him.

She needs something to do. The apartment just isn’t the same without Farah’s laughter, Adam’s groans of distaste, the irritating clouds of Morgan’s smoke—which still lingers on everything she owns. Honestly, she’s going to take Morgan’s cigarettes and shove them somewhere unpleasant—and Nate’s warm, calming presence. She debates sending him a text, maybe asking him for coffee, but the idea leaves as quickly as it came.

He’s probably busy. She’s sure he has more important things to do than—

Im bad at this texting thing. Coffee

Calliope laughs. Before she can respond, another text from Nate comes in.

That was supposed to be a question. I cant find the apostrophe or question mark. I would like to have coffee with you.

Another text, separate from the last.

Now, if you can. I heard you were sent home from work and I know how much you like the pastries there.

Her heart races at the thought of Nate frantically typing away at his phone, confused but determined to send her a text. She must admit, it’s a hilarious image, and she laughs as she sends her response.

relax and look for the “123” on the left of the keyboard. you’ll find all your punctuation needs there. and yes, i’d love to go get coffee. meet me there?

Ah! Found it. Thank you. And no, I’m outside your apartment.

Calliope straightens, deigning to push aside the curtain and peek out at the sidewalk. Sure enough, Nate stands awkwardly outside, staring down at his phone. His gaze flickers up as her hand makes the curtain dance, and he waves politely. She waves back. She mouths “be right there” and pulls away, cursing herself for looking outside in the first place. Did he just run here? Was he just outside her apartment when he sent the original text? Did he just assume she would say yes?

She rushes to her bedroom, ripping the nicest—and hopefully subtle—thing she owns out of her closet and throws it on, stopping in front of the mirror to undo the messy bun she has her bright orange hair in and tussle it into something appropriate. She glances at the panicked look in her eyes, and tries to calm down. What is she freaking out for? It’s just Nate.

I would fight through any form of technology if I knew you were on the other end.

Nate, who can make her face flush with just a few words. Nate, who towers over her, his warm brown eyes staring into her soul. Nate, who is patiently standing outside waiting to take her to coffee. She tries not to hold out too much hope that it’s a date.

“Hey!” she says when she finally makes it outside, unconsciously taking too large of a step and standing uncomfortably close to him, which she quickly rectifies by inching backwards. They both laugh nervously. “Did you—”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Nate rushes out, his face flushing. “It’s a beautiful day out.”

She accepts the obvious lie with a face full of heat. “Let’s go then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She loves the way he laughs.

At Haley’s, he relaxes; his shoulders slouching, his gaze softening. He is no longer scanning every person on the street, trying to gauge if they’re a threat. He is talking and he is joking and he is smiling and he is laughing. And every time he throws his head back to laugh at some stupid sarcastic joke she makes, she melts.

He sighs dreamily, then faces her with soft, kind eyes. “I really missed you, Calliope.”

Her heart thumps in her chest. “I missed you too. You could’ve called, you know.”

His smile fades. “I wasn’t allowed to. The Agency thought it was better if we just...left you alone for a while.”

“So I could recover?”

Nate turns away, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Before she can ask him to elaborate, she hears a familiar clack of heels behind her. Her body tenses. “Calliope,” her mother’s voice says, clear and professional, though surprised. She wasn’t expecting her daughter to be here.

Calliope doesn’t even turn. Her hand clenches around her coffee and she clears her throat. “Rebecca.”

Something in her dies when she sees Rebecca take the seat next to her. It is crushed to ash as she turns to Nate, who is smiling kindly at Rebecca, ordering another pastry for her, inviting her to stay longer than Calliope prefers. Her mother hums gently. “Coffee date?” she asks, though there is something else in her voice. Something resentful. Something...cautious.

“And what if it was?” Calliope mumbles into her coffee, as Nate replies, “Oh no, just catching up.”

“You should be careful about how much time you spend in the open, Agent Sewell,” Rebecca offers, and it’s obvious why she’s saying it. Calliope begins to shake, as she always does around her mother, and washes her resentment down with her coffee. The warm liquid contrasts the coldness of her bitterness.

It wasn’t always this way with Rebecca; there was a time where they laughed and smiled and shot each other with water guns. But eventually laughter dies out, smiles fade away, and water guns change to Glock 22s. Love changes to resentment. Dads die.

She understands why secrets were kept. She hates that Rebecca doesn’t understand why she would be upset by the secrets that were kept. The way Rebecca’s eye twitches when Nate leans into Calliope is sign enough on its own. Can’t even be happy with the circumstances she has, apparently.

“Of course,” Nate says, professional as always. “Understood.”

“Let the man...or, vamp, live,” Calliope retorts. “We’re just having coffee.”

Rebecca presses her lips together tightly. “Calliope. Do I need to remind you why you’ve been wearing turtlenecks for months?”

She chokes on her coffee, slamming the cup down on the counter, the paper crunching in her hand. Typical of her mother to remind her of trauma, trauma that deeply affects her, as if it’s just a statement she can throw out at any given moment, like a quick anecdote or conversation starter. How can one look at their daughter having her neck torn out by a killer vampire and think, “This will be good for future scoldings”? And her scoldings, well, of course they aren’t scoldings, they’re concerns. Worries from a concerned mother. A mother who was so concerned about her daughter that she left for years with no contact, leaving the local librarians to raise Calliope.

Calliope tenses as she feels a hand on her shoulder, but deflates when she realizes what side the hand is on. Nate squeezes her shoulder affectionately, and she cannot thank him enough for being a rock. If Rebecca is the storm—cold, predictable, unrelenting—then Nate is the hearth; warm, welcoming, reassuring. He smiles softly at her.

“Of course you don’t,” she finally speaks, subconsciously scratching at the scars. “But considering I’ll be working with the Agency again soon, getting coffee won’t matter much, will it? Or are you trying to say that I can only put myself at risk if I’m not having fun?”

Rebecca’s eyebrow twitches as she sighs. “I’m only trying to look out for you—”

“No, you aren’t.” Her voice is stern, but quiet. Don’t want to draw too much attention. That’s the way it’s always been, right?. “You’re looking out for yourself and your reputation as a ‘good mother’, but it’s all crap anyway. If you wanted to preserve that, you wouldn’t be begging me every 5 seconds to tell you you’re doing a good job.”

“Calliope,” Nate gently warns, and she slowly shrugs his hand off of her shoulder. Now is not the time for another one of those sad, soulful looks he gives her when she argues with Rebecca. She doesn’t have the effort.

Rebecca’s lips are thinned again, in that disappointed scowl Calliope’s seen so much of since this whole Agency business started. “Sweetheart,” she starts, and Calliope is already cringing away, already preparing herself for whatever pandering crap Rebecca is about to spew. “I want you to be safe.”

“But not happy, clearly.”

“Calliope Langford.” Rebecca’s voice is harsh, but it only manages to enrage Calliope more. Her mother isn’t stern often, usually grabbing for the ‘soft and meek’ route, but on the occasion she does show annoyance, it’s never a pleasant feeling. Not because it upsets Calliope, but because she knows it’s a ruse. If she holds out, her mother will give in, because they both know she can’t stand being the bad guy (despite making herself the bad guy in every single conversation they have). “This is dangerous business. I don’t want to see you hurt. I do love you, whether you believe me or not.”

Calliope stands abruptly, slapping a $20 bill on the counter. “Why don’t you concern yourself less with whether I believe you, and more with whether you believe yourself. Come on, Nate.”

She starts to walk away, but hesitates when Nate doesn’t immediately follow, out of his seat but hunched over, like a kicked, obedient puppy. A twinge of betrayal tugs at Calliope’s chest, but she waves it off, instead holding up her hand, exasperated. She leaves without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Calliope sighs in exasperation, about to hit the red ‘end call’ button, when the phone finally clicks, a stern, professional voice coming through as clear as day: “Special Agent Adam du Mortain. Is this something important?”

She rolls her eyes, unable to keep the smile off of her face. “It’s just me, Adam. You don’t have to answer the phone like that.”

“Is this something important,” he repeats, though this time it’s less of a question.

She gives in. “I was wondering if you wanted to spar. You said you were...less than impressed with my combat skills, so why don’t you teach me?”

The line is silent for a moment, before Adam lets out a small huff. “Where?”

She blinks. She hadn’t thought of that. “...Here?” she offers, uncertain.

He sighs heavily. “Open the door.”

The call ends and she is rooted in place for a moment before she springs up from her couch, opening the door and peeking out. Adam is standing on her stairs, looming over her, and he raises a single eyebrow, making the action of entering her apartment. She steps aside and watches him analyze the living room. “Move the table,” he says.

“You’re the one with the super strength,” she jokes, closing the door behind her. “Can’t you do it?”

He glares at her. “Are you serious about training with me?”

She straightens under his gaze, nodding sharply. “Yes,” she responds, though it comes out like a nervous question.

“Then move the table. And slide the couch away too. We need plenty of room.”

She salutes him, tying her hair back into a high ponytail. “Can do!”

He groans.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why didn’t you call one of the others?” Adam asks, crossing his arms and staring down at the panting, sweating Calliope, who is holding onto her knees for dear life.

“Oh, you know—” she says between heavy breaths. “You’re starting to grow on me.”

“Your form is poor.”

“Oh, I know!” she wheezes. “You actually told me that, a bunch of times, like two seconds ago.”

If she didn’t know any better, she can swear she sees a ghost of a smile threatening to appear on Adam’s lips, then it’s gone as quickly as it came. He regards her with complete and utter disappointment. “They would’ve been nicer.”

“Ah, but nice isn’t what I need. I need to learn how to fight.”

This time Adam does actually smile, though it’s still not quite a full smile, more like pride over seeing a lesson learned. He cocks his head to the side. “It could also be that you’re fighting with Nate.”

She hesitates for a moment before scoffing. “I’m not fighting with Nate. Fighting would require words, of which there were none.”

Her two seconds of hesitation were enough for Adam, because he nods his head sharply, and scowls. “Figure it out. I don’t want you two at odds next time we’re all together.”

“Why?” Calliope drags the table back to its original spot, collapsing on the couch with a heave. “I thought I was a distraction.”

He joins her on the couch, his posture as formal as ever, the distance an obvious sign of something. “You are a distraction. But you’re more of a distraction when Nate is running through his mind trying to make up a list of ways he can make it up to you.”

“Make what up to me?”

“You’d have to tell me that.”

The two stare at each other before Calliope sighs, smiling. “Thank you for coming over. You didn’t have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything I don’t wish to,” he simply says, and she rolls her eyes.

“Loosen up a little sometime, huh? I think it would do you good.”

“Then you and I will have to have differing opinions.”

A knock sounds at the door, and Calliope starts to stand, but Adam takes the lead instead, gesturing for her to stay put. She doesn’t put up a fight, after all, her body is aching and all she really wants is a nap right now, maybe a 3 day slumber. When the door opens, she strains her ears to hear the soft mumbles of whoever is at the door. Adam’s voice is strong, and overshadows the meeker, much quieter voice of the person—no, woman, that’s a woman’s voice—standing at the door. A few more minutes pass until Calliope finally hears Adam say, “I think you should leave,” and shuts the door. When he returns, she gives him a curious smile.

“Who was that?” she asks, and he shakes his head.

“No one important. It’s late, I should leave. Goodnight, Detective Langford.”

She stops him before he can zip out. “Adam, honestly. You can call me Calliope. I promise you won’t implode.”

He hesitates, gears in his head clearly turning, then gives in, his shoulders visibly relaxing. “Goodnight, Calliope. You did well.”

“You’re lying to me!” she calls after him, and he says nothing as the door shuts behind him. She lets out a soft, incredulous laugh. Well, at least one good thing happened today.

She heads to the light switch, peeking out of the window just for a second to try to catch a glimpse of the woman Adam had sent away. Her heart drops into her feet as she sees the car she knows too well. Rebecca sits in her car, taking a deep breath, and eventually starts it up and drives away, shaking her head. Calliope is frozen at the window.

It was Rebecca at the door. Rebecca, who Adam...turned away? Told to leave?

She takes a moment to suck in a deep breath, letting out a loud sigh. Huh, she thinks, turning off the light and heading to her shower, eager to wash off the grime and sweat of training. Maybe he’s not so bad after all.

#just for you marty <3 #calliope langford #detective x nate sewell #detective x nate #nate x detective #detective & rebecca #detective & adam du mortain #nate sewell #rebecca #adam du mortain #the wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven chronicles #wayhaven #twc #fic #quill's writing

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berensroadhouse · 3 years

Text

(ao3 link)

Davis drags his damp rag across the dusty countertop, sighing deeply once he hits the edge. He scans the barren interior, jumping from empty table to empty table to an empty table with bottles, plates, and crumbs left behind. His previous customers must have dipped when he wasn’t looking. Davis grabs a nearby basket, moving towards the mess. He dumps the plates inside, then the bottles after he guzzles the dregs of beer left behind. Finally, Davis takes what he’s owed. Their bill came out to thirty-eight dollars and ninety-five cents. They paid with two twenties, flat. “Fucking assholes…” Davis pockets the money, returning to his post.

Just another ordinary day at Berens’s.

He brings the used dishware into an equally empty back kitchen, the doors flapping behind him. Davis recycles the bottles and places the dishes in the sink, washing them immediately. As he sets them on the rack to dry, his eyes linger on a framed photograph hanging nearby. He brushes his thumb across a faded face, a wet fingerprint left behind on the glass. Davis smiles, chuckling softly at where water droplets race down Cal’s profile.

He misses him. It’s been so many years, and yet Davis still aches for his touch. Davis remembers the phantom feeling of Cal’s arm draped over his shoulders, of their fingers lacing together, of his nose tracing the lines of Davis’s cheek while they took this picture. It was a beautiful day at the beach for them, on a spring morning where they both decided clear skies were better than the suffocating walls of a lecture hall. They fled the campus and found a deserted shore, and under the cover of an umbrella they talked, ate, and kissed and kissed and kissed until the moon replaced the sun and made Davis’s night-dark skin shine when its light hit him. Cal, in reverence, traced constellations with his lips from memory; him, a creamy-white nebula hovering over Davis’s pitch-black galaxy, both communing in a transcendent ritual. It lasted past curfew. They were grounded. It was worth it.

Someone cuts Davis’s reflection short. A sharp whistle interrupts his thoughts, followed by a gruff, “Anyone home?”

“I’ll be with you in a second!” Davis needlessly dries his hands on the stained apron tied about his waist, hurrying out of the kitchen to greet his new customers.

He finds them waiting by the pool table, the one with deep-brunet hair inspecting the cues while the other, fairer-haired man tickles a hole in the table’s lining. They’re dressed for the beach, in brightly patterned shirts, bathing suits, and flip flops, and Davis prays they haven’t come from it. He doesn’t think his ancient joints can manage an hour of sweeping floors, collecting sand that somehow gets everywhere. Regardless, he plasters a replica of a smile onto his face. He clears his throat, drawing their attention. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, “what can I help you with?”

“Lunch,” Fair Hair says, moving close enough Davis can count the freckles dotting his pinkish cheeks and the bridge of his nose. “What d’you have?”

“Regular fare,” Davis shrugs, “I can get you a menu or –“

“No need,” Fair Hair says, “we’ll have burgers, fries, and beers, the most expensive you have!” Then, as he motions for the darker-haired man to stand beside him, he wraps his arm over the brunet’s shoulders. Davis spies the silver band on Fair Hair’s hand. It matches the one his friend wears. “We’re on our honeymoon,” Fair Hair tells Davis, without invitation to do so.

Davis’s demeanor shifts. A more genuine expression appears on his face, while a warmth rouses the rosebuds sleeping in his chest. It makes their velvet petals bloom, urge forward their aroma, rich and sweet, and causes their thorny brambles to wrap themselves tighter around Davis’s heart. “Congratulations,” he replies, “I don’t have a special newlywed section… but you can sit anywhere, at any table, or the bar… I’ll go and fix up your burgers.” He turns, hiding his glossy, brown eyes before he embarrasses himself. Married men always do this to Davis, unlock a more wistful and sappy part of his soul. Some long-buried piece, that used to dream of a time where he might have had a similar experience to those two on the other side of the kitchen doors.

He places two beef patties on the grill and starts frying oil for the fries.

While cooking, his gaze wander back – as it always does – onto that photo of him and Cal. Inspired by his new customers, he reflects on a memory years after that lazy beach day. They shared an apartment, one that offered little besides its amazing view of the ocean and a balcony they could watch the sun set along the waterline after work. It didn’t matter if Davis’s tips barely added up to a twenty, or that Cal’s eyes went cross from staring at numbers for hours at end, because they’d come home, watch orange bleed into blue, then purple into orange, and when the ink dried above Davis finally went about cooking dinner. Cal watched him; eyes alight like the stove burner that simmered their pasta water. “You deserve your own place,” he told Davis, “that way everyone can have a taste of your amazing cooking.”

Davis shook his head, chuckling. “One day, baby. One day. There’s about a million other things we need to do first, and about half of them involve money.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Cal reached across the counterspace, intwining their fingers. “It might take a while, with how we get paid.”

“It might,” Davis conceded, squeezing Cal’s hand. He brings it up and softly kisses each knuckle. “At least we’re saving where we can. Homecooked meals, cheap place… lucky we can’t get married, so we’re saving money that way.”

Cal frowned, seriousness plaguing him for the moment. He stepped closer, stare intense as he breached Davis’s personal space. “If we could?” he asked, voice hardly a whisper, “would you?”

“Would I what?”

“Want to get married?”

“If they’d let us…” Davis paused, chewing his answer over. He released Cal, moving the steaming pot off the burner. He flicked it off. “I…” He leaned against the stove, arms crossed, “Christ, Cal, I’d want to do more than that.”

Cal arched a brow, head skewed to the side. “What more is there?”

“I’d want a big wedding, with all the bells and whistles,” Davis explained, laughing, “a party, a celebration of you and me as we become… well, you-and-me. Then, after the party, we’d go on a big honeymoon –“

“When we already live next to the beach?”

“A different beach! Maybe an island!” he said, “And once we’ve finished our trip, we’d buy a little property somewhere in the ‘burbs, as we go about looking to adopt.” Davis rubbed his neck, sheepishly peeking through his lashes at a blushing Cal. “What I’m trying to say is… if I could, I’d want more than marriage. I want a life together where we can just… we can be together, without always worrying who might know, y’know? I’d kill for that. Hell, I’d fight to have that.”

Funny, though, that when it came time to fight, Davis lost. He fought the paramedics, but they wouldn’t let him in the ambulance. He fought the doctors, who wouldn’t let him see Cal. He fought Cal’s parents, their harsh words and condemnation like being stoned in front of an eager crowd as they chewed him out for their ‘delusions’. Davis heard Cal passed, but wasn’t there when it happened. He also wasn’t invited to Cal’s funeral, to see him off into his next life. Davis did steal a quick moment, though. A kind nurse took pity on him and snuck Davis down into the morgue. She allowed them a final goodbye, as Davis traced the lines of Cal’s cheek with his thumb and pressed tiny kisses wherever his teardrops fell. “I’m sorry,” Davis croaked, chilled by the waxy numbness of his lover’s lifeless hand, “I’m sorry forever wasn’t as long as we planned.”

Davis assembles the plates messily, mind caught between the past and present like a line of wash. He, hung up by clothespins, is pushed mercilessly by incoming winds. Those clothespins cannot hold forever. The fabric of his body shifts out of their vice-like hold until, finally, he flutters away and out of the kitchen. He returns to the main room of the bar, delivering Fair Hair and his husband’s meals. As expected of newlyweds, they’re wrapped up in each other. The husband whispering into Fair Hair’s ear as they sit on the same side of the table, their fingers laced together atop it. Davis clears his throat, setting the food and drinks down. “Here you are.”

“Thanks.” Fair Hair grabs his burger with a free hand, shoving into his mouth despite the silent, amused judgment obviously displayed on the other man’s face. Fair Hair moans around the bite, puffy cheeks bursting with a grin. “Dufe,” he says around soggy chunks of bun and burger meat, “Thif if awesfome!”

“Thanks,” Davis nods, brushing at his apron, “Now, if you need anything, don’t be afraid to holler –“

“Actually,” the husband delays Davis’s exit, pointing behind him and towards the bar. “I was wondering if you could settle something for us.” Davis looks to where he’s directed, at the glowing neon sign that hangs above rows of bottles. It’s similar to the one that brands the front of his business, in a similar script, too. Except where the cowboy hat-and-bandana hovered above ‘Berens’s’ of Berens’s Roadhouse, indoors it was placed next to it. “Dean here,” the husband continues, Dean – Fair Hair’s name, apparently – rolling his eyes at being called out, “thinks there shouldn’t be an extra ‘s’, after the apostrophe…”

“Cas…” Dean whines, unofficially introducing his husband, “You don’t have to –“

Cas continues over Dean, ignoring him. “Meanwhile, I told him that, as long as it’s not plural an ‘s’ should go after the apostrophe. Can you please tell my husband he’s wrong?”

Davis stares at his sign, tracing the curve of the script with his eyes. In the background, Dean argues in a fierce whisper. “Why are you bringing him into this? He’s not gonna admit he’s wrong!”

Cas volleys, backhanding his response at Dean. “It’s his name, Dean, he wouldn’t spell it wrong.”

“Actually,” Davis interrupts, “it’s not my name.” He turns, laughing at their bent brows and Cas’s skewed head and the tiny dots of sauce staining Dean’s mouth. “It was my old boyfriend’s name,” he explains, “Last name.”

Dean leans forward in his seat, burger forgotten for the moment. Cas realizes there’s a meal in front of him and begins picking at it, chewing absentmindedly on a fry. “You named your place after an old boyfriend?”

“Felt only right,” Davis shrugs, “Couldn’t have bought this place without him.” Cal’s job, while lacking pay, had a generous insurance policy. Davis was listed as the sole beneficiary. That, coupled with what Cal left Davis in his will, meant he had enough to buy the little property near the beach like they always planned. Naming it after Cal soothed him, somewhat. That angry, gnarly scar over his chest numbing slightly. “Besides,” Davis says, “at least, with the name… it’s like he’s with me.”

“But not actually with you?” Cas asks, “Like… you haven’t been feeling any cold spots, have you?”

“Cold spots?”

The table jolts, saltshaker sliding a few inches to the left. Davis guesses Dean kicked Cas, from the serious edge to his expression and the apologetic wince on Cas’s. “Sorry about him,” Dean apologizes, “he spent the morning binging supernatural podcasts. Y’know… monsters, hauntings, ghosts. Must’ve fried his brain better than the sun could.”

Davis huffs, smiling. He moves towards the bar, leaning against it to better chat with his customers. “Ghosts?” he says, “No… ain’t nothing like that, at least the kind you’re thinking of.” Davis lets himself imagine Cal like that, tethered to this earthly plane even after passing. His battered body floating amongst empty tables and dirty dishes. Cal chained to their dream, making it a nightmare. Davis quickly dismisses this notion. While he misses Cal, Davis knows wherever he is must be better than this failing monument to Davis’s love. “Maybe if I thought it’d help drum up some business, I’d’ve entertained it. But I doubt ghost stories would help this late in the game.”

“Oh,” Cas hums. Davis recognizes the tone, familiar with it. Hears it from his accountant, his sister, and the occasional guest who dawdles in the front before skipping off elsewhere for food. “Is your business failing?”

“Cas!”

Davis watches them descend into another fight. The paradise of honeymoon quickly crumbling, storm clouds rolling across clear blue skies. He walks behind the bar, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with the tap until the rim is frothy. As he meanders his way closer again, he tunes into their conversation. Dean picks at Cas’s bluntness, while Cas defends his claim in an even pitch that makes Dean sound hysterical.

“He’s not wrong,” Davis joins them, sitting at an unoccupied seat, “I mean… you think I’d be here chatting with you two if there were things that needed doing?”

Dean shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable given how he’s looked at the door five times in the span of a minute. “Sorry to hear that.” He guzzles his drink, drowning whatever else he might have said.

Cas resists the threatening tide of awkwardness lapping at their ankles. “It’s odd that this place isn’t more packed,” he tells Davis, “with the amount of people here – the vacationers alone – there should always be a steady stream of customers.”

“Those lemmings?” he snorts, sipping at his beer, “They’re always chasing after the next thing. What��s new? What’s shiny? When Berens’s was new and shiny, we got a lot of traffic. There was a time when you couldn’t walk three steps without bumping into someone else. But then more fancier places were being built… chains and clubs and all that… I couldn’t compete. I mean, Roadhouses are popular in the middle of nowhere when there’s barely anything else to do! But I’d’ve been damned if I had to live somewhere without the ocean. Would never want to be fuckin’ landlocked…” His eyes find that swirling script of Cal’s last name. Something heavy crushes his chest, each subsequent breath more labored. “It does suck though. This was our dream, having a place that was… ours. Even when it was just me, I still went ahead because, I thought, why not? Wasn’t as if I had much going for me after Cal… but every month now it’s like the water rises a bit higher and keeping myself afloat doesn’t seem all that worth it anymore.” He glances back at the newlyweds, seeing how he commands both their attention. He notices a somberness in their gaze Davis does not care for. “What am I doing?” he asks aloud, scoffing “This is your honeymoon. You probably have something like parasailing or jet skiing planned, right? Probably cutting into your time –“

“No, no,” Cas assures him, lips tight as he smothers the pity straining for release. “That’s not it at all –“

“Yeah,” Dean adds, “We’re all jet skied out from yesterday –“

“Dean!”

“And I’m afraid of heights,” he trails off, shoving fries into his mouth, “so that’s a no on parasailing…”

“What he means,” Cas translates for Davis, “is that we don’t mind listening. It must be stressful, running this place by yourself?”

Davis chuckles. “Stressful is an understatement.” He slides his drink back and forth across the table, its rhythmic scraping sound almost hypnotic. Skrt. Skrt. “You’d think being mostly empty would make it easier, but actually it’s worse.” Davis looks away from them, bouncing around the room. He frowns at how stray sunlight highlights the dust covering his furniture or floating in the air. “Getting to the point where I don’t know why it’s worth it, coming back day after day.”

“Because this was your dream,” Cas says, “Yours and Cal’s.” Davis bites his tongue, holstering whatever pointed he comment he had that might burst his bubble. It’s not his fault. Four minutes cannot compare to the four decades of hell Davis lived through without Cal. Forty years of slowly being picked apart by people who didn’t care nor understand what this place meant to Davis. They saw a building where they could eat for an hour, maybe two, and then leave without thinking twice about it. Dean and Cas didn’t plan on gnawing his ear off with this conversation, they stopped by because they were hungry. They were here for their honeymoon, and some of that magic must shield Cas from the harsh reality of Davis’s predicament. He’s blinded from the pain by those romantic, rosy shades. “Doesn’t that make it worth it?”

“It did, at first,” Davis concedes. He rests his elbows on the table, shoulders sagging with the tiniest amount of relief that feels like water on a blistering, arid day. “But I can’t keep doing something because it’s worth doing… not at my age… not with how business is doing.”

Cas bristles, responding with more heat than appropriate. “But what you’ve done, for as long as you’ve done it, it’s been good,” he insists, “why stop now because of a – a slump!” Davis’s good temperament chars from the observation.

He squeezes his drink, hands trembling. “It’s more than a slump,” Davis says, “it’s a freefall. I’ve been putting in all this hard work, and for what? What do I have to show for it?” Davis finishes his drink, meeting Cas’s fierce gaze with his own. “This place’ll probably do better as a condo –“

“You don’t know that.”

“I might not, but some folks do.” He bites his lip, unsure why he hurls his troubles into these strangers’ laps. Davis guesses it’s because Cas’s eyes, while hard, effortlessly prodded at the truth and that Dean listened like he cared for whatever left Davis’s mouth it made him want to say something meaningful. Or perhaps Davis was tired of keeping this to himself, and these saps were the tipping point. “Got some realtors skulking about, always asking when I’m ready to put this place out to pasture. Condos were one thing that was discussed… so were gyms, a dispensary, a parking lot –“

“You’d let them turn this place into a parking lot?” Cas asks.

“I don’t have much of a choice in my position,” Davis says, “They’ve got money that I need.”

“But you said this place… you named it in memory of your love,” Cas murmurs, softer. He shrinks, drooping slightly. Dean gently cups Cas’s neck and massages with such care Davis sucks in a quick breath. Davis feels the memory of a caress on his neck, enough that he ghosts his fingers over the skin there in case someone had touched it. “If you sell… then isn’t that like giving up on him?”

Davis wondered the same things. He spent countless hours awake in bed, worrying about how admitting failure went past the surface. That giving up on Berens’s meant letting go of that final piece of Cal he can call his.

But Davis, weary from these thoughts, has made peace with this sacrifice. “Everyone else already gave up on Berens’s,” he says, “I’ll only be the last…”

“That’s bullshit.” Dean speaks, finally rejoining their conversation. His sudden outburst places him at the center of this conversation, affixed at his husband’s side. “You shouldn’t give up. Cal wanted this place for you, didn’t he? You were only able to buy it because of him.”

“Because he died,” Davis growls, “That’s how. If he knew how much of a shitshow this whole business would’ve been, I doubt he’d have wanted me to use the money for this. Hell, he’d probably hate if I stayed and pissed away the rest of my money trying to keep the lights on in here. Like stopping footprints from being swept smooth by the tide, it’s like.”

“Well…” Dean fumbles, scratching at his plate for something to do. There’s no food left. Neither on Cas’s plate. Davis knows Cas was too busy to eat. “Okay, what if you sold it to people who… who want to run it as it is?”

“I’d ask them how they think they can do this any better,” Davis sighs, slumping backwards. “Besides, there isn’t anyone who wants to do that who’s also eyeing this property.”

“What about us?”

Davis asks Dean what he said. Dean repeats himself. From Cas’s wide-eyed stare, Davis knows he heard correctly. “Really?” he drawls, sarcasm heavily coloring his tone. “You want to buy this place? Like that?”

Dean shrugs, fiddling with his thumbs. He sweats, spotlight too warm for him now. “Uh… yeah?”

“Have you ever run a restaurant before? Or a bar?”

“No,” Dean says, “But I had family, who ran a roadhouse. Helped them a few times when my brother and I stopped over – we traveled, a lot, for work. It was years ago but I still remember a lot of what went into it…” Dean smiles unnaturally. It reminds Davis of those phony grins motivational snake-oil salesmen would coach suckers into doing in front of mirrors, to inspire confidence. “Besides, Cas and I have been looking for a career change.”

“That is true,” Cas adds, brow raised, “Although we never discussed running a roadhouse.”

“Cas, sweetie, I mentioned how owning a bar might be cool.”

“Bars and roadhouses aren’t the same thing.”

Davis coughs, nipping the budding argument while young. “As nice as the offer is,” he starts, “You boys don’t haf’ta buy this place from me because of pity –“

“It’s not pity,” Dean insists, “No, not at all. I…” He glances at Cas, a strange emotion shuddering across his face. Like maybe he’s seen a ghost. That grip on Cas’s neck visibly tightens. “I know what it feels like, wanting to keep something… of someone you love. A physical reminder that they were here and that they mattered and… they mattered to you.”

Cas leans into his husband’s side. “Dean’s very sentimental.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughs, “I guess you could call it that.” He takes the empty plate with his free hand and stacks it atop the other, pushing them towards Davis, knocking it into the salt-and-pepper shakers and napkin dispenser. “I’ve lost a lot in my life, and I’ve only been so lucky to not just have them come back to me, but to get second chances. Or third chances, or even fourths.” Dean’s lips lift at the corners, flashing a friendly smirk. He definitely appears more relaxed than he did seconds ago. “I want to be the one to give chances, now, because I can. I want to buy Berens’s from you… if that’s okay?”

It’s too good. Davis pinches himself, first. When he doesn’t wake, he knows he isn’t dreaming. He places a hand over his heart. Its strong beat reveals Davis has not died. Still, Davis cannot lower his defenses completely. “This isn’t a sting?” he asks, “Some harebrained scheme cooked up by scuzzy developers to get me to sell?”

“The fuck this look like, Scooby-Doo?”

Cas chuckles, “It might if you brought your ascot with you.”

“Cas –“

“So, you’re…” Davis scrubs a hand over his mouth, pressing it against stubble and focusing on the drag. “You’re serious? About wanting to buy this place?” He huffs a tired breath, tension leaking out of the cracks in his bones and leaving him with little support. Davis collapses on himself, smiling. “What about your honeymoon?”

“Honestly?” Dean laughs, mirroring Davis’s posture, “We were running out of things to do. Probably would have hit the road in a few days, head on back to Kansas.”

“Kansas?” Davis squawks, “You sure you aren’t using this as an opportunity to jump ship from there?”

Cas sips at his drink, a bead of condensation falling off it from how long it went untouched. “We love Kansas,” he tells Davis, “but where we live now it… there’s a lot of baggage there. We want to start fresh.”

“Besides,” Dean adds, “my brother was talking about renovations, making it more… work-friendly. Figured it’s best me and Cas dip and let the little brat have a go at it on his own. He’s earned it, I guess.”

Davis nods. “If that’s all…” His gaze darts to the neon sign, a question in his mind. “Hey,” he says, “if you are plannin’ on doing this… this crazy idea of yours, are you – do you have any preference to what you call this place?”

Dean taps at his chin, drawing the silence longer than necessary. “Well… a few come to mind. Harvelle’s… Campbell’s… Singer’s… hell, I could follow your lead and name it after Cas here, Novak’s – “

“You’re not funny.” Cas elbows Dean hard enough the other man gasps from the pain, the other two delighting from the bug-eyed look that flashes. “We’ll keep it Berens’s.”

“Thank you,” Davis says, standing, “Really… I – this is good. Great, actually. You want another round? On the house?”

“Hey!” Dean protests, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes, “No giving away free booze! That’s our profit you’re eating into…”

“Not yet,” he jokes, digging through his pockets, “Deed’s not yours until the I’s are dotted and money’s in my hands.” Davis finds what he searched for, tossing a quarter towards them. Cas catches it, effortlessly. “Why don’t you pick something from the jukebox, my treat!”

He rises, and Davis turns to round the bar. Davis grabs three smaller glasses, and the Jameson he keeps on the highest shelf. He pours them each a generous fifth, maybe more. It’s a celebration, after all. As he carries the drinks back over, the opening chords of a familiar song start. Davis nearly drops the drinks.

His expression must concern them, because Cas clears his throat and asks, “Is this okay?”

Elvis croons from the speaker. Davis’s face strains from the too-wide grin threatening to crack his face in twain. “It’s perfect,” he says, settling at the table. He distributes the drinks, Cas joining them. “Cal always dug Elvis.”

“I get it,” Dean says, “guy was a hunk, for the fifties.”

They spend the next hour like that. Getting drunk, discussing the hardships of running a business and debating Elvis’s legacy as ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ plays in the background on loop. During a lull in their conversation, Davis feels, for the first time, that Cal is alive again.

It wasn’t because of the bar, or how it fares. But because of these two men, a sense of calm washed over him. They make Davis hopeful for the future.

Berens’s is in good hands.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fanfic #destiel wedding #destiel honeymoon #berens's roadhouse

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zmediaoutlet · 4 years

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in support of Black Lives Matter, @aspiringmehood donated $25, and requested ‘Sam/Dean, late seasons, dealing with Stanford.’ Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

Dean’s cooking--kind of, in that he’s stirring boxed pancake mix with some water--and Sam’s on the phone.

“No, I think that sounds great,” he’s saying. “Seems like the essay matters a lot depending on the school you’re hoping to get into, but your test scores and grades are obviously big, too. How did you do on the SAT?”

This isn’t a conversation that they’re on speakerphone for--Sam’s easy at the kitchen table, the phone to his ear and his laptop open in front of him, and when Dean turns around with the bowl of mix he looks at Sam’s shoulders, turned away, and chews the inside of his cheek, and puts butter on the griddle.

“Definitely,” Sam says, to something Dean can’t hear. He laughs, quietly. “I think Jody could probably do as well as I could, but let me know if you need more help. Sure thing.”

He hangs up, shakes his head. Dean pours a neat circle of batter onto the griddle, listens to the hiss. “How’s Alex?” he says.

“Applying to schools,” says Sam. Like that wasn’t obvious. He glances at Dean over his shoulder with a small smile, turns back to his laptop. “Jody made her call me because she was convinced she couldn’t get in anywhere with a sketchy school record. Think I proved her wrong.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, and looks down at the pancakes. Bubbles starting and soon it’ll be time to flip. “She’s smart.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, absently, and closes his computer, stands up. “Those’ll be done soon, huh?” he says, and at Dean’s nod he says, “Cool, I’ll be right back--just want to get something sent over to Alex before we eat,” and he’s gone, then, and Dean’s standing in the kitchen by himself, looking at pancakes, with no idea why his stomach feels as knotted up as it does. Except he does know, really. He flips the pancakes. It’s not worth thinking about.

It eats at him anyway. All day. Sam’s researching something-or-other to do with the Darkness, and Cas isn’t answering calls, and Dean--doesn’t have anything to do. He about drove himself into the ground, trying to come up with something, and Sam practically sat on him and told him he had to take some time away from it. They still don’t know what’s going on there, and going insane about it isn’t helping, and so he’s trying. He changes the oil in the Impala; he cleans the kitchen. He goes down to the shooting range and cores neat holes through the faceless targets and wants--a rot-eaten fence at the edge of the woods, and shooting up Coke bottles, and the sun beating down.

He takes a shower and when he goes to bed, Sam’s on the chair in his room, typing at something on his knees. “What are you doing?” Dean says, and Sam glances up at him, smiles at him in his pajama pants, but says, “Editing,” and when Dean frowns he clarifies: “Alex’s college essay. Apparently it’s too embarrassing to show Jody.” His eyes drop back to the computer screen and he shakes his head. “She’s got an interesting relationship with apostrophes.”

Dean doesn’t have anything to say to that. He didn’t know apostrophes were something you could have a relationship with of any kind. “You going to be done with English class in my bedroom any time soon?” he says instead, and Sam glances at him, shakes his head again.

“Yeah--sorry, just didn’t want to wait on it,” he says, and clicks something, and closes the laptop, dumps it on Dean’s dresser. He’s in pajamas too, that touchable washed-to-death shirt and the flannel pants Dean got him when his last pair got accidentally eaten by the dryer--Dean still maintains that that one wasn’t his fault--and when he climbs into bed he’s just--warm, and soft to the touch, and he settles like it’s natural against Dean’s back. Maybe it is natural for them, anymore. Ever since he got the mark off his arm they haven’t really bothered, with separate beds, and it’s--good. Better than Dean thought it’d be. He settles his head more comfortably on the pillow and Sam kisses the back of his neck, just--soft, not going anywhere with it, but it makes Dean’s gut tighten up anyway. Sappy bitch, he thinks, fondly, and then Sam sighs, slips his arm around Dean’s waist.

“She’s so excited, man,” he says. Dean opens his eyes, looks into the darkness on the opposite wall. “It’s kinda cool, you know? She had this screwed up life and now she gets to get out of it--make something of herself.”

“Lucky,” Dean says.

Sam huffs, obviously smiling. “Her version of this will be a little easier, though,” he says, “since she actually has--you know--a mailbox. No weird forwarding addresses and hoping she doesn’t miss an envelope. Seriously, lucky.”

Dean turns his face more into his pillow, doesn’t answer. It’ll be easier for her, too, he thinks, without having to hide every part of it from her family--for her not to have to pretend it’s not happening--and when she leaves--

He closes his eyes, feels Sam’s bulk all up against his back. He’s here. Here, and he swore he’d always be, and Dean has to believe that. If he doesn’t, then what’s the point?

Apparently it’s application season. Sam calls Alex again the next day, talks her through some of the things he suggests she might change in her essay. She doesn’t have her sights set on the stars--no Stanford or Harvard or MIT for her--but she’s still nervous, wants to get it right. Sam snorts, when he gets off the phone, says, “Claire says she hopes they’ve got hairdressing electives at Minnesota,” and Dean thinks, jesus, Claire. He shoves back, away from the table, and when Sam gives him a startled look he says, “Forgot, I was going to go to the store,” and it’s a shitty lie but it’s the only thing he can come up with in that second--imagining Claire and Jody, alone in the house, and how it feels when three people turns into two--and then because he’s said it he grabs his coat and gets into the car and drives into town, and he knows he’s being an absolute dumbass but it comes like this, sometimes, and he can’t help it.

He’s nearly calmed down, by the time he gets back. “Got beer,” he announces, which he did, and even crap for a salad for Sam, and stuff for burgers, and Sam helps him carry it into the kitchen and helps put it away, and then he grabs Dean by a jeans-pocket and traps him against the island with his hands on the counter either side of Dean’s hips, and he looks down at him square, and he says, “Why are you being weird?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Pot-kettle, Sammy,” he says, and pushes at Sam’s stomach.

Sam doesn’t budge, though, and Dean looks away. “Dude, like I don’t know you,” Sam says. He resettles his hands on Dean’s waist, squeezes soft. “Is it--are you having dreams, again? About the Darkness?”

He is, but that’s not new. He could lie and say it was that. “Nah, I’m good,” he says, because he is--he really is, no matter how much of a spaz he’s being.

Sam doesn’t let him go, though, and Dean knows he’s frowning. “Then...” he starts, and seems to--get it, somehow, from Dean’s brainwaves or something, because he sighs and it sounds disappointed. “The college thing.”

“It’s no big deal,” Dean says, or tries to, because before he can really get the last word out Sam’s cupped his face in both hands and pulled him straight and is kissing him--shallow, precise like Sam can be sometimes--good enough that Dean grabs Sam’s hips, opens up to it, tilts. Sam’s mouth, taste of bitter coffee. Perfect.

When Sam pulls back it’s by a few inches, and when Dean opens his eyes Sam’s smiling at him, but it’s kind of--sad, or compassionate, or pitying maybe. Hard to tell. “You’re a bad liar,” Sam says.

True, lately. Still. “You’re a bad liar,” Dean retorts, and Sam rolls his eyes.

“Come here,” Sam says, and Dean doesn’t want to, but Sam tugs at his wrist and Dean follows him--out of the kitchen, into the hall, and then into Sam’s room, where Sam kicks off his boots and sits on the bed, and when he holds out his hand Dean takes it, and is drawn up to... sit in Sam’s lap, his knees spread around Sam’s hips.

Not a position he usually takes, at least when they’re dressed. He raises his eyebrows and Sam shrugs. “Trying some positive reinforcement,” he says, which doesn’t make any damn sense. The way he’s propped up against the headboard, Dean’s looking down at him, for once. Sam’s mouth lifts at one corner, his eyes all over Dean’s face. “Talk.”

“This is dumb,” Dean says.

“I agree,” Sam says, but he squeezes Dean’s hips, soft. “But something’s bugging you. The college thing? It’s just a kid going to college, man.”

Dean licks his lips. “I know,” he says, and he does. “Alex is smart to get your advice. You’re the expert.” He meant it to be light but it comes out--bitter, and Sam frowns. Fuck. Dean shakes his head. With how they’ve been he doesn’t want to be an asshole--they’ve been trusting each other, open, and he didn’t mean to screw it up. “I don’t mean--Sammy. It’s cool, it makes sense. I mean, you’re probably the only person who knows what she went through who also knows what they’re doing, with this kind of stuff. You’re doing a good thing.”

Sam looks up at him, eyes steady. “I know,” he says, after a minute. “But it’s got you thinking about--back then. When I left. Dean, that was--god, fifteen years ago or something.”

“I know,” Dean repeats, raw, and goes to push off Sam’s lap but Sam doesn’t let him. “Dude, give it up with the manhandling routine.”

“No,” Sam says, sitting up. He loops his arms around Dean’s waist and kinda smiles, in that Sammy way where it doesn’t so much look like a smile at all. “C’mon, man. You--seriously, do you still think about that?”

That night, in front of that busted-ass old house. Everything he’d been clinging to crashing down around his ears. Maybe not the worst night of his life anymore, but it’s still ranked. “It’s dumb,” he says, which he realizes a little too late is more revealing than maybe he wanted it to be, with how Sam’s face changes. “Sam, it’s no big deal.”

“You keep saying that,” Sam says, quiet, and one of his cheeks sucks in, like he’s gnawing at it. He keeps holding on, like Dean’s a flight risk or something, and it’s--nice, sort of. Close like this, outside of just sleeping or screwing. Sam takes a breath and Dean feels the way his chest expands. “It’s one of the best things I ever did. Going to school.”

Dean looks up at the ceiling, the slow-spinning fan.

“I got to just--live,” Sam continues. “Exploring the world, and figuring out what I liked. Meeting people who weren’t hunters and learning stuff that wasn’t just how to kill things. I mean, obviously I know now it wasn’t going to go anywhere--I was never going to be allowed to be a lawyer, or live a normal life like I thought I wanted, but. I still wouldn’t change it.”

Dean swallows, and tries to muster up how to be a man. “I get it,” he says, and--he does. This he knows how to be honest about. When he looks back down Sam’s still watching him, total focus, and he tries a smile. “You needed to get away. Grow up a little. Anyway, you and Dad were probably gonna shoot each other if you’d been cooped up together any longer.”

Sam snorts, leans back a little with his hands still locked at the small of Dean’s back. “Yeah, maybe,” he says. “So--it was important. But I don’t think I got until--way later. How much it screwed us up. That it screwed you up. That--I wish I could go back, sometimes. Fix that.”

Still watching. Sam’s whole laser-attention thing is annoying as hell, sometimes. “It was a long time ago,” he says, shrugging.

“Right,” Sam says, ironic. “That’s why you always think I’m gonna bolt the second there’s a pretty girl in a nice town, or there’s an ad for a college on TV.” Dean’s jaw clenches hard enough that his teeth kinda hurt and Sam shakes his head, but he slides his hands up Dean’s back, too, a long stroke, and lifts up to kiss the underside of his jaw, tender. “You know,” he whispers, “I’m taking an online class right now.”

Dean blinks. “What?”

“History of the Meiji Era in Japan,” Sam says. When he meets Dean’s eyes again he’s still smiling. “Undergrad elective through Michigan State. Really interesting stuff.”

“You never told me that,” Dean says. He shifts, in Sam’s lap, and does put a few more inches between them.

Sam sighs. “I know. Maybe--I don’t know. Didn’t want you to freak out. Can’t imagine why I thought that might happen.” Dean nearly shoves at his shoulder, then, and Sam catches his arm, reels him back in. “Sorry,” he says, and he actually does look kinda sorry. “I just don’t know how to convince you, man. You’re it, for me. No matter what kind of crap happens, or--whatever, how many planets fall down on our heads. It’s you and me, no matter what. A college class isn’t going to change that.”

“I know,” Dean says, and when Sam’s eyebrows crease uncertainly he shakes his head. “Dude. I really do. It’s--the same for me. You know that, right?”

“Come whatever,” Sam says, softly, and Dean dips his head then and kisses Sam first, gentle because--because they can afford that, now. With the promises they’ve made, and what those promises meant.

When he pulls back Sam looks gratifyingly pink, in the hollows of his cheeks, and Dean shrugs one shoulder. “I’m just screwed up, Sammy,” he says. “When it comes to you. Probably always will be.”

Sam smiles at him, lopsided. “Guess that comes with the territory,” he says. Dean snorts. Understatement. Sam licks his lips, looking up at him, and then--flips them, in the bed, rolling Dean underneath in a surge of show-offy muscle so that he’s propped up on his elbows, his body solid in the cradle of Dean’s body. He looks kind of smug about it, too, and Dean pinches his side and says, “show-off,” and Sam kisses him soft, doesn’t acknowledge it.

“Maybe if Alex needs her dorm room demon-proofed, we can both help,” he says, when he pulls back.

Dean tucks his hair back behind his ear, shakes his head. “We’ll teach her how to do it herself,” he says. “She’s supposed to be a college girl, right? She needs to learn.”

Sam nods. “Deal,” he says, warm, and kisses Dean again, and they move on then, to better things.

#fffb #aspiringmehood #wincest #wincest fic #my writing

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frischkasekuchen · 3 years

Text

Dreamtalia Carrie AU

Credits:

Kyokyo866: Reve, Nevo, World(Nicholas) and Dreamtalia in general

Thriftlita: Vanya

Hetalia: Hidekaz Himaruya

Carrie: Stephen King

Warning:

Swearing

Religion

Religious abuse

Child abuse

Self-harm

Starring:

Reve and World(Nicholas) as Carrie White

Nevo as Margaret White

Germany as Tommy Ross

Canada as Sue Snell

Vanya as Miss Desjardin

(Author's Note: I've finished reading the book a while ago so I wrote something to celebrate- also I think this'll be my last piece until after my exams..)

(Note: the way i’ve written thoughts in parentheses is mimicking how Stephen King wrote telepathic communication and thoughts in Carrie- he only used apostrophes)

Carrie Memory- Father

Reve was humiliatingly trying to slip on the lacy stocking for he had bought to go with the dress Nicholas made for him. He was hobbling on one foot- knocking into nearly everything in Nicholas’ bedroom.

Nicholas snickered,

( christ, you look funny)

at this point Reve looked like he was wrestling a boa constrictor- and losing.

“And-And-Annnnnnnnd-'' Reve teetered backwards, “Got it!” The left stocking slipped on as he fell on the bed.

Nicholas let out a loud “HA!” as Reve fussed the skirt of the dress out of his face. He pushed himself out and stomped over to Nicholas, who slammed his mouth shut.

Reve pouted, “Shaddup! Who’re you laughin’ at?”

“You-!” he squeaked.

“You ass-” Reve blurted out. He went over to his white open-foot 2-inch heels and gloves. Slipping on the opera gloves were easier than the stockings, they latched on to his arms with a ‘SNAP’, they covered his scars easily. Next were the shoes, he slipped them on and he tightened them with a ‘SNAP’ as well, much more comfortable than the mary-janes he was offered earlier. He walked over to the full-body mirror and looked his entire outfit over. Reve began to worry, he went over to the dresser and sat down on a stool to let Nicholas fix his hair.

Reve’s face grimaced as his head became a jambalaya of worries.

( what if he doesn’t like how i look do you think the dress is weird nicky do you think it’s wei)

Nicholas hummed a hymn softly as he tried to soothe Reve.

( i think you good like you steal someone’s date you could steal all the boys from their dates that’s what i think)

Reve shrinked.

(what if this is a big joke what if luddie and mattie come hooting and hollering at my get-up what if he calls me a fag i don’t wanna be what if stands me up o god o god)

Nicholas smirked.

(i’ll tear out his tongue and feed it to mattie for being a big fat liar i’ll throw his ride into the gym that’s what i’ll do)

Reve gave a playful smile in turn.

(naughty nicky o no don’t do that that kills people)

The door to Nicholas’ bedroom slammed open to reveal his darling father.

“Red,” Papa said, glaring daggers into Nicholas’ uniform. “‘Course it’d be red.”

“I’m wearing blue and white- not just red.” Nicholas scoffed as he helped Reve put on a faux-flower armband Ludwig had given him. He finished combing down all of Reve’s hair save for a cowlick that refuses to go down.

(i think you should go downstairs reve this will turn sour go downstairs and wait for me)

(no i won’t let that windbag hurt you i’m staying i’m not leav)

“Take off that uniform- burn it.” Papa said sharply, approaching. “You can stay home- we can pray for forgiveness.”

“I. Don’t. Want. To. Pray. That’s final, papa. We have to get ready for prom.” Nicholas said. Oh that’s what he said to ‘pa, the ultimate curse word- worse than the Eff Word. Nicholas pulled Reve up to his feet from the stool and draped a shawl across his shoulders.

(leave reve go downstairs and wait for vanya i don’t want you to hear this)

Papa stayed still and stunned as though he had been slapped. “.......Take off that uniform, burn it, there’s still-”

“No. I. Said. No. Go fuck yourself, ‘cause after prom- I’m coming to pack up.”

He smacked himself- hard, leaving a red mark. It looked like a scar, a bunch of scratches. Nicholas paid no mind. With a blank stare he turned to the wall rushed at it- head forward.

He slammed into the wall with a loud ‘THUD’, he burst into tears and screamed. Reve jumped and his face scrunched up, he took hold of his wrist and stroked it- knowing what was under the gloves.

(what why you don’t hurt yourself like that no no leave nicky out of this you don’t hurt yourself in front of others no no you do that alone alone in private i know i do stupid bad man)

Nicholas still did not falter.

Papa then stared at Reve- like an angry father meeting his daughter’s secret boyfriend, climbing through her bedroom window. “You.”

Reve backed up into a corner near an open window- as Papa rushed up and seized Reve’s throat. He shook him back and forth raving- a s Nicholas tried to pull them apart.

(nicky i can’t breathe help me i’m gonna be sick)

“You rat- you parasite-! This is your fault!” he moaned as Nciholas tried to smack him off of Reve.

(don’t touch him don’t you do that papa don’t hurt him hurt me instead hurt me HURT INSTEAD ME HURT ME HURT ME PLEASE GOD HURT ME HURT ME HURT ME HURT M)

“I tried to keep the devil out of my house- and it was so difficult- it almost worked-!” Papa gasped, throwing his head up and whining to the ceiling. “Then you-you came along and taught him about those- those whores! You’ve turned him into an agent of the Wicked One- ” he paused for a moment and stopped shaking Reve- yanking the boy to look straight into the eyes of madness.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Reve shrieked in confusion.

(o god i’m scared i’m gonna shit myself)

Flex.

Papa was flung to the wall. Reve fell against the window sill, as a car pulled up to the house. The three rushed to the window as a station wagon came to a stop.

Mr.Bazarov had stepped out of the car; he was wearing a light, mute blue three-piece tuxedo that surprisingly matched his eyes- with a tar black bowtie.

Papa flew into a panic, he grabbed Nicholas by his wrists- “Please. Nicholas you can just stay here with me-!”

“I don’t want to stay with you papa-!”

“I’ll answer the door- I’ll tell him you changed your mind- that you don’t want to be around him-!”

“Let me go-leave me alone-!”

“You heard ‘im he doesn’t wanna stay-!” Reve yelled nearly breathless.

“Sit down-.”

“I’ll tell him you’re sick-!”

“SIT DOWN BE QUIET!’

FLEX.

Papa was flung to the floor and Reve was flung out of the bedroom.

(reve wait downstairs i’ll deal with this)

The door slammed shut, and Reve finally decided to go to the door.

Reve slammed the door open- to meet Mr.Bazarov, pacing up and down the porch, the slam startled him.

“Faucher! It’s nice to see you!” Mr.Bazarov looked him up and down. “This is wonderful handiwork!” he said,coming closer and examining the homemade dress. “Where’d you get something like this?”

“Nicky made it for me, he didn’t really want me- us- to go to prom- but he wanted to help me get a dress.” Reve said, stepping out on the porch and twirling to give him a full view of the pink gown. “He thought it was too plain but I like it!”

“That’s wonderful-! But where’s Nicholas?” Mr. Bazarov asked.

(oh shit)

“He’s-.” Reve was about to explain, before everything went awry.

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

Everyone outside, even Ludwig and Matthew who were still in the car-and now leaving to investigate- put their hands over their ears. A scream rang out, a scream from Nicholas- but it wasn’t as vocal as it sounded.

(LEAVE ME ALONE GET IN THE CLOSET LEAVE ME ALONE GET IN THE CLOSET LEAVE ME ALONE GET IN THE CLOSET LEAVE ME ALONE GET IN THE CLOSET LEAVE ME ALONE GET IN THE CLOSET LEAVE ME ALONE GET IN THE CLOSET LEAVE ME AL)

Windows and doors all over the house slammed open, and they heard Papa screaming his head off. “Nicholas stop this! Don’t you dare-!”

Finally, everything finally stopped opening- just closed. Save for Papa’s screaming- now accompanied by sobbing.

“N-Nicholas please! Don’t-They laugh at you-THEY’LL LAUGH AND YOU KNOW IT!” he howled. “COME BACK-PLEASE- I’LL PROTECT YOU! I JUST WANT TO HELP!” Footsteps were approaching, fast and loudly- and intensified as Papa’s tirade continued.

“COME BACK-! THEY’RE GONNA LAUGH AT YOU! YOU FOOL! THE LORD IS NOT MOCKED! COME BACK AND PRAY!”

“SHUT UP!” Nicholas screamed into the air, “STAY IN THAT CLOSET- and don’t say a word until I’m gone.”

Everyone outside could finally breathe again as they had been holding their breaths.

Nicholas choked out a sob, “I’ll be home at 11:30, and if you’re good- I won’t leave like this again, okay?”

“................”

“I’m sorry Papa, I love you.” Nicholas hiccupped.

Now a quartet of Mr.Bazarov, Matthew, Reve and Ludwig met Nicholas as he stepped out onto the porch.

Mr.Bazarov approached him and put a hand on his back and rubbed it, bending over to see if Nicholas was crying. “Boy-boy are you alright?”

Nicholas simply nodded.

(please please hold me please someone hold me)

Reve came over and embraced Nicholas. “That was very brave of you Nicky, very brave.”

“Sorry to interrupt-” Ludwig had finally spoken, “But- is everyone ready to go?”

Nicholas said, “Yes, we’re raring to go.”

Reve turned to Ludwig and whispered, “Um, how do I look?”

Ludwig gave him a small smile with a red face, “Wunderbar.” before shoving his face in his hands.

Reve tilted his head, “Eh?”

“Wonderful- he means wonderful.” Matthew said butting in.

Reve swore steam was coming out of his ears like a kettle.

(ohohohohohohohohohoho)

“Thank you.”

#dreamtalia #carrie au #my writing #tw child abuse #tw swearing #tw religion #tw religious abuse #bad god au #long post #tw self harm

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jaskier-the-bard · 4 years

Text

All Cried Out Chapter 2: Hangover

Masterlist

Chapter 1

Chapter Warnings: Implied/Referenced torture, forced stripping, and kidnapping

Taglist: @theflamboyantstranger @dinchenrockt @this-is-whump-dammit @avengerssherlocknerd @rock-on-the-radio @sarcasmwithasideofsass @spookylostboy @borncreativity @darknightchan @sayoonnor @passionfangjrl @master-of-apostrophes @hologh0st @wickedrum @jemenszi @jacksnervesofsteel @ironwinterhawk @baldyxavier @watanukidomeki @tyrala1 @not-so-daily-shit-of-a-fangirl @pandabearlawliet @sapphic--nerd @widevibratobitch

When Jaskier woke up, his entire body ached. He groaned when he tried to move, his limbs screaming in protest. He stayed on the ground, closing his eyes and taking deep, shaking breaths. It hurt too much to open his eyes, even though the only source of light was a dim, grey glow filtering in from a tiny barred window. Jaskier's wrists hung heavy with thick iron shackles that matched the ones around his ankles. He sighed, sitting up and leaning against the wall, cringing at the dampness and the mold growing on the bricks. He wanted to move, but he knew he wouldn't have the energy to keep himself upright. Jaskier grimaced as his cell door opened, flooding the room with light. A man dressed in all black with a mask over his face grabbed him by the wrist, pulling him to his feet.

"Let go of me!" Jaskier growled, yanking his wrist away and throwing a punch at the man. His fist was easily stopped, and the next thing he knew he was on the ground clutching a most likely broken wrist, gasping for air through his pain. He was pulled off the ground by his hair and dragged out of the room, his chains scraping against the stone floor below. He hissed and squeezed his eyes shut as he was pulled through a sunlit hallway, the light nearly blinding him and making his head pound. Jaskier was brought into a room similar to his cell, only bigger, and with various unpleasant tools hanging from the walls that were stained with blood. A man in a hooded cloak that covered his face stood in front of a bloodstained table with shackles on either end. Jaskier trembled as he was forced to his knees, his knuckles white as his nails dug into his palms. He ignored the throbbing it caused in his wrist.

"You've brought the prisoner?" the man asked gruffly, folding his arms across his chest. Jaskier dared to look up and his blood ran cold at the sight of two black eyes staring directly at him. He quickly ducked his head back down. "Seems timid. It should be easy enough. You're dismissed." The cloaked man shooed the guard away with a wave of his hand, and then Jaskier was left alone with him. The man stood, clasping his hands behind his back and approaching the terrified bard.

"If you cooperate, there is nothing for you to be afraid of," the man said, patting Jaskier on the head. The bard shivered, flinching away from his touch.

"Well, that's reassuring," Jaskier spat, his voice shaking despite the venom behind his words. The stranger chuckled, his eyes sparkling dangerously, and he pulled Jaskier to his feet by his wrists. Jaskier's head reeled and he stumbled backward, black dots dancing in his vision. He felt his throat burn as a wave of nausea hit him and he doubled over dry heaving. His captor rolled his eyes before shoving Jaskier towards the table.

"Strip. You may keep on your underclothing. Then get onto the table." Jaskier glared at the man before seizing up against, coughing as a bit of bile bubbled up in his throat. He spat it out, grimacing at the foul taste it left in his mouth. He heard a sigh. "You're hungover, aren't you?" the man asked. He didn't respond, clutching his stomach and trembling slightly. The man grabbed him by the back of his shirt and forced Jaskier to face him before forcing a vial of liquid down his throat. Jaskier tried not to swallow it, but it was soon sliding down the back of his throat. He waited fearfully for some terrible reaction to take place; fire in his veins perhaps, or maybe his flesh would dissolve from the inside out. To his surprise, his nausea began to fade and his head cleared. His wrist even began to stop hurting, a faint popping sound coming from it and the blues and purples fading to light yellow splotches.

"How-"

"You're not the one asking questions here. Strip and get on the table," the man barked. Jaskier flinched and quickly obeyed, taking off his pants and shirt before getting up on the table. He was pushed down by his chest and then his ankles and wrists were placed in cuffs, shackled so that he could barely move. His breathing was shaky and he closed his eyes, trying to calm down. if he complied he'd be alright. This would be fine. Surely, what they wanted wouldn't be of too much importance. To Jaskier, anyway. "So...you're friends with Geralt of Rivia, correct?" the man asked, turning his back to Jaskier and studying the tools on the walls. Jaskier strained his neck to see what he was doing.

"I- Well, sort of, we're more acquaintances than friends, I'd say," he said quickly. When the man turned back to look at him, Jaskier whipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. Cool drops of water dripped down from the stone below and fell on Jaskier's body, making him shiver.

"Regardless, you traveled with him, yes? You're the one who wrote all those songs about him?" the man asked impatiently. Jaskier paled as he heard a loud grating sound and he flinched when the interrogator set something beside him with a loud thud.

"Y-Yes, yes I did," Jaskier stammered. He glanced at the thing beside him and all the color drained from his face. He had no idea what the thing was, but there were a lot of spikes and sharp blades sticking out of it. He closed his eyes.

"What do you know about the girl traveling with him?" Jaskier's mouth twitched.

"Which one?" he commented smartly. His smart mouth was rewarded with a punch to the stomach. He groaned as all the air rushed from his lungs, twisting slightly in his cuffs. "That was a serious question! He's been with a lot of women, alright?" he huffed. Even Jaskier was surprised at the humor he managed to conjure in a situation like this.

"Well, this isn't a woman. She's young, about twelve years old. Nilfgaard has taken an...interest...in her." Jaskier stiffened. Geralt was traveling with a child? The bard faintly recalled Geralt mentioning a child of surprise, a princess that Geralt was promised when he saved her parents. Now, Jaskier may have had his qualms with Geralt, but he would not do anything to harm a child. He kept his mouth shut, biting his lip and clenching his fists in defiance. This was going to hurt like a bitch. The man stared down at a moment and sighed, shaking his head as he lifted the tool off of the table and set it down.

"What a shame. I hoped this thing would intimidate you into talking, but it appears not. We'll start off light; don't want to kill you before I've had the chance to get anything out of you," the interrogator joked, a smirk on his face as he pulled something from his belt. Jaskier closed his eyes.

Geralt and Cirilla were headed North. The young princess was asleep, riding on Roach's back as Geralt guided the horse down the rough dirt path. They'd been traveling all night, Geralt taking the princess with him the minute that they were reunited in the woods. He couldn't stop looking at her. He had a child, a daughter if you would. How would this correlate with his lifestyle? How could he protect her from the entire nation of Nilfgaard single-handedly? As Geralt's mind reeled, he couldn't help but wish that Jaskier was there. The bard had always liked children, or so he told Geralt. He'd mentioned having a nephew he'd taken care of until the boy was old enough to fend for himself while his parents weren't at home. He probably had a better idea of what to do than Geralt ever could.

"Geralt?" Cirilla sat up on the horse, her eyes still drooping heavily with sleep. Geralt quickly stopped Roach, coming to his horse's side and looking up at the princess.

"Yes? Are you alright?" he asked, trying to keep his voice monotone as usual but unable to keep away the anxious edge. Ciri smiled a bit.

"I'm fine...just hungry. Is there any chance that we could get something to eat?" Damn it. Geralt hadn't even thought about food. Well, he had, but only for himself. What did Cirilla even like? Did she have any allergies? Geralt was going to get the princess killed on their first day together. Jaskier probably would have bet on those odds too. His heart sank but he tried to ignore it.

"I think there's a pub up ahead. Do you think you can manage a little longer, princess?" Geralt asked. Cirilla smiled again.

"You can call me Ciri, please, no need for formalities. And yes, I'll be alright." Geralt grunted and nodded, getting back on the road again. Perhaps Jaskier would be at the pub performing. He did like his ale and the company that came with it. Maybe this would be Geralt's chance to apologize to the bard. As they rounded the next corner, the pub Geralt had been speaking of came into view. It was small and neat, with a post to tie horses to standing outside and a cobblestone path leading up to the door. It seemed to be more of an inn than a tavern, but inns had food. Geralt tied Roach to the post and helped Cirilla down, holding her hand as they walked in through the door. Geralt approached the counter and placed a pouch of gold coins down in front of the bartender.

"All of the food and drink this will buy," he said. He glanced back at Ciri and cleared his throat. "Ah...I have a kid with me, so, um...only one mug of ale, the rest water. Thanks." The bartender nodded and busied himself making the food and drink. Geralt carried the mug of ale and four cases of water back to the table. "The food will be out soon. Drink this," he said, handing one of the glasses of water to the princess. Cirilla took it gratefully, gulping down the water. The bartender came with their food momentarily, and Cirilla looked hungrily at the plates of hot food. She looked at Geralt for permission, and when the witcher nodded, she pulled one of the plates towards her and began to eat. Two boys at a nearby table stopped their conversation, eyes widening as they saw the witcher and Cirilla sitting together. Geralt sighed and took a swig of ale as the two teenagers approached, whispering to each other.

"Are...are you Geralt of Rivia?" one of the boys asked, taking his hat off and fidgeting with it. Geralt sighed and nodded. Cirilla watched on with interest. The two young men immediately perked up. "You know Jaskier then, right? The bard?" He nodded curtly. "He's been taken. We thought you ought to know." Geralt choked on the ale that he had begun to drink, coughing and spluttering, wiping the liquid dribbling down his face with the back of his hand.

"Taken? What do you mean?" Geralt asked. The one boy, the one with his hat off, shrugged and looked at the other boy.

"We mean he was kidnapped, sir. Jaskier was staying with my mother- his sister, see- and he came here last night to perform. I saw him leave the bar with a few men and they forced him into a wagon. They looked like Nilfgaard soldiers," the young man explained. Geralt inhaled sharply.

"Then he's in danger," he muttered. The boy nodded and swallowed thickly.

"Please, sir, I...I know you got into a fight the last time you saw one another, but he's my uncle...can you save him?" The boy looked at Geralt with pleading eyes. Geralt clenched his jaw. Of course Jaskier had told his family about their fight...why shouldn't he, though? He had a right to talk about things that upset him. Geralt took a deep breath.

"I'll set out in the morning. Tell your mother that her brother will be brought back safely," Geralt promised. The boy gasped and flung his arms around Geralt's neck, hugging him tightly. The witcher, caught off guard, gave a grunt and pat the boy on the back awkwardly. The young man pulled away, rushing out the door, his friend quickly following. Geralt turned back to his drink, but his stomach was churning. What would Nilfgaard want with a bard?

"Are you alright?" Ciri asked timidly, looking up from her food and tilting her head. Geralt mustered up a smile, not wanting her to be frightened.

"Yes, I'm fine. Go back to your dinner. We'll be staying in a room here tonight." Cirilla complied, leaving Geralt to stew away in his mangled thoughts.

#the witcher #the witcher netflix #jaskier #jaskier the bard #cirilla fiona elen riannon #cirilla of cintra #geralt x reader #geralt of rivia #all cried out #all cried out fic #torture #forced stripping #jaskier x geralt #geralt x jaskier

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passerine-writes · 1 year

Text

Silent Sparks - Volt 10

Warnings: Mentions of bullying, violence, swearing (and not because of the angry pomeranian) Word count: 2887

Notes: Italics - Tsukare signing Bold italics - Family member/friend signing 'Italics with apostrophes' - Thoughts

Masterlist

Volt 9 | Volt 11

After the new year, Shinsou and Tsukare started at Aldera Middle School. Not many schools were open for taking transfers so late in the year but the drive was on the way to UA, so everyone agreed it would be the best opportunity. On the first day there, the brothers were swarmed by a majority of the students, plenty of kids welcoming to the fresh set of faces, especially a certain kid with green hair.

"Hi! My names Midoriya Izuku! We never really get transfers so everyone's really excited! If you don't mind me asking, what are your quirks?" The two were immediately taken aback and gave each other quizzical looks.

Do you think we should tell him?

I'm not worried about telling him mine, I'm just worried about accidentally using it on him because of how overwhelmed I am. Do you know when lunch is?

"Lunch is at twelve thirty! Sorry, I wasn't trying to eavesdrop, I don't know if that's a thing with sign language, I just know sign language. If you accidentally use your quirk on me, I won't take any offense! I just think all quirks are so cool and useful, I want to learn as much as I can about them!" The brothers were now in shock, never seeing a fan to this extent.

"Hey nerd! Back off before you rub your quirklessness all over them! They probably don't even want to be around a useless Deku like you." The pair glared at the loud blond, not enjoying his loud and brash tone as he shoved Midoriya out of the way. "The names Bakugou Katsuki, I'm gonna be the next number one hero. What're your names, extras."

"If you were paying attention maybe you'd know." Bakugou's palms crackled at Tsukare's retort.

"HAAAAHHHH? WHAT WAS THAT YOU WORTHLESS EXTRA?" The youngest of the group shirked back a bit. Old, fresh wounds, stirring to the surface before he bounced back.

"I said what I said, I thought I was supposed to be the one with the sound quirk. Jeez you're loud. You can go now, we were actually having a pretty nice conversation with Midoriya before you interrupted." He watched as the blond stomped away, his followers giggling under their breaths that someone actually told off the loud blond.

That took a lot more focus then it should have to not accidentally use it on him. So yeah, I have a sound quirk.

"Nobodies ever told off Kacchan like that before. But you have a sound quirk? That's so cool! How does it work?" Shinsou nodded for his brother to explain, knowing the boy still needed guidance here and there.

I call it sound wave, I can control how loud someone hears me. So if I used it on you, I can make it sound like I'm playing a radio next to your ear at max volume but to Hitoshi it would sound like I'm regularly speaking. But I can only use it if I'm looking at the person.

"That's so cool! Do you know who Present Mic is? Your quirk is kind of like his but on more of a select scale and could throw someone off in combat if needed. Do you plan on being a hero?" The brothers tried not to laugh at his first question. They knew the hero far too well, however nobody needed to know that.

I plan on applying to UA.

"I want to go there too! They finally lifted their quirkless rule so I might have a shot! How come you called Shinsou by his first name? Are you two related?" The scattered conversation felt comforting to Onryo, with his ADHD he could easily keep up.

Yeah, we're brothers. Adopted, but still brothers.

"That's cool! I've heard how bad the system is though, I'm sorry you two had to go through that, but at least you both found a family together in the end!" Shinsou smirked and nodded along, something about the gentle nature of Midoriya warmed his heart and gave him butterflies.

My quirk is brainwash. If someone answers me, I can control them for some time. But like all quirks there's limitations and rules.

"That's so cool! Are you planning on being a hero too? There's not a lot of hero's with mental quirks so that could be beneficial to a lot of people! Plus you could easily capture someone before they could even attack as long as you use your quirk!" That made Shinsou blush, nobody had gone on a mini tangent about the benefits of his quirk that wasn't related to him. He looked down to try and collect himself, his brother sending him a confused look but didn't push anything.

Thank you. I plan on going to UA as well, Onryo and I are applying next school year.

"I hope to see you both there! Ah, it's almost time for lunch, I'd suggest not eating with me. I'm one of the only quirkless kids here so I don't want you two getting any backlash for it. Especially from Kacchan." The brothers shared a look, easily reading each other after having lived together for four years to know they made a new friend.

We'd honestly rather eat lunch with you then the rest of the class. Most of them are nice but we aren't big fans of the blond kid from earlier.

A new, strong friendship was made after that. Every weekend, at least two of the three would hang out when Shinsou wasn't busy training with his capture weapon his dad got him and Tsukare wasn't busy training in general. Shinsou wanted to get a decent grip on it before entrance exams and it took his dad six years to master, so if he can learn a decent amount in a year and a half, he might have a shot at the exam.

Onryo met Midoriya Inko first and was slightly taken aback by his friends extensive All Might collection. Not understanding why he adored the man so much, however that sparked a friendly debate for the two and Onryo probably hadn't talked that much at once in his whole life.

Then he got in his first fight. Out of the two, Aizawa and Yamada thought Shinsou would be the kid to get into a fight first, but they were wrong.

Onryo was already pissed about how Bakugou decided to treat his friend, let alone how he cornered him in class. So at the end of the day, when everyone was packing up, Tsukare stayed behind with Midoriya like normal on a Friday while Shinsou headed out for capture training.

"That fight from this morning is all over the news, is it okay if I write some stuff down before I forget anything?" The boy nodded, knowing about his hero analysis journals and sat down. The two were planning on going to the Midoriya household after school so he wasn't in a rush. The two froze when Bakugou appeared and swiped his notebook.

"I dunno what you think you're doing Deku, but we're not done." Tsukare was prepared to stand up, already on edge.

"Whatcha got? His diary?" One of the goons said before glancing over. "Huh? Don't tell me you're taking notes on how to be a hero."

"That's so pathetic!" The two started laughing while Bakugou held his notebook.

"Says the ones who can't even think for themselves and follows their friend around everywhere like some dumb dogs." The two froze as he spoke, not expecting his retort.

Midoriya went to grab it back but froze, yelling as Bakugou exploded it and tossed it out the open window.

"Most first-string heroes show potential early on. People look at them and just know they're just destined for greatness. When I'm the only student from this garbage junior high to get into UA, people will start talking about me like that. They'll realize I'm legit, the next big thing. That's not ego talking, I just know I'm good." Tsukare scoffed and rolled his eyes as he stood beside his quivering friend. "Here's a little word of advice, nerd." It took a moment for Tsukare to see the smoke streams coming off of the others uniform. "Don't even think of applying, or else." Onryo quickly moved, grabbing the explosive blonds wrist and taking it off Midoriya's shoulder.

"I could say the same to you."

People have said that when the sunshine friend gets angry, somethings wrong. And these four finally knew what that meant. Tsukare Onryo, one of the seemingly bubbliest kids in the class, always smiling and laughing in the back of the room, was pissed. A dark look in his eye that made the two bystanders quiver. He watched as Bakugou huffed and stalked off.

"Y'know, if you really wanna be a hero that badly, there actually might be another way. Just pray that you'll be born with a quirk in your next life. Then take a swan dive off the roof of the building." The next thing Tsukare did, was walk up to Bakugou and send a right hook into his face. The unexpecting blond stumbled towards the door, turning around the see a very angry classmate. "What the hell! I was just being honest!" Bakugou went to send an explosion to Tsukare's face but he was prepared.

He gripped his wrist, spun him around and kicked his knees in, making him tumble to the ground.

"You wanna be a hero? Then act like it. Get your head out of your ass. You have no right to tell someone to go and kill themselves just to feed your fucking ego. You wanna pick a fight? Then make it a fair match. So pick your next words wisely before I give you more then just a black eye." He tugged his elbow a little harsher to prove his point.

And that was when a teacher walked in, of all times.

"Principals office! Both of you! Now!" Tsukare stood up with a scoff, not even caring about getting in trouble. What the blond said hit too close to home and he'd be damned if he watched his friend go through the same thing he did.

"Onryo? Why are you in here! I was expecting to see your brother, not you." Tsukare chuckled glumly and nodded his head towards Bakugou, his black eye on full display. "You didn't.."

"Why the hell is there a pro hero in here? Thought our parents were supposed to show up." The father and son duo both shot him a glare, making the blond shut up for a second. Two sunshine people angry is scary.

"How come we're here, principal?" The principal paled at the sight of a pro hero in the room.

"Your son was in a fight today."

"The extra lunged at me for no good reason!" The three sighed at the temper of the aggressive blond.

"Tsukare, what do you have to say to this?" Mic turned his attention to his youngest, curious as to why his sunshine child would start a fight.

"He told Midoriya to kill himself, he's been bullying him for well over a year now. The teacher doesn't do anything, my brother and I are the only ones who try to stop it and he claims that he wants to be a hero. If he did, he wouldn't tell someone to take a swan dive off the roof and pray for a quirk in the next life. So I don't feel guilty about what I did, I'll take a suspension or detention or whatever you think is fit but he needs a consequence too." Yamada looked at his child in shock, not expecting his son to go off on a tangent but he was proud of him for sticking up for his friend.

"Do you think this is acceptable behavior since your father is a pro hero?"

"What? No, I'm saying he's a bully and like every other school out there, you and your staff have failed at protecting its students so I took matters into my own hands. You just don't like that I stopped violence with violence and I stopped quirk misuse without resorting to those very same means." The principal sighed, and rubbed the crease between his eyebrows.

"Both of you, one days detention. Bakugou, you're free to leave. Tsukare, Present Mic, I'd like to have a word with you both." They waited for the door to shut again before the principal continued. "I understand the circumstances that Tsukare came here under, and I understand how that can make unwanted memories resurface. However, the way he handled it was unacceptable. By no means he should harm a student."

"How is that fair?" The principal looked to the child in shock. "You're reprimanding me for using physical force once, but you won't even send a second glance towards Bakugou who's physically and verbally assaulted a student multiple times under your care. Let alone misusing his quirk to harm said student. Why? Because Midoriya's quirkless?" He scoffed at the principals silence. "I don't care that his parents are rich and he grew up privileged, I know privileged when I see it because I didn't grow up like that. You can't prioritize children based off of their parents status in society, I'm not using the fact that my parents are pro-heroes to my advantage. I'm here accepting the consequences for my actions but instead you're fueling a teenagers god complex and destructive behavior. And I'll gladly accept my detention and any repercussions I might get at home. So if that's all you had to say then I'm going home." The principal sat in shock as he watched the student walk out followed by his loud father.

"You got in a fight?" Aizawa deadpanned as the four sat at the dinner table.

"He had it coming." Aizawa shot his older son a look before turning back to the other.

"Care to explain?" And so, Tsukare did. Explaining in detail how Bakugou has acted and what he said, everyone turning solemn at the comment and understanding why he reacted how he did. "I can't even be upset at you for that. Hitoshi's right, he had it coming."

"I have my first detention on Monday. I used the self defense moves you taught me when he tried to use his quirk on me." Everyone looked at him in shock, Mic didn't hear about this in the office. "He tried sending an explosion to my face, so I grabbed his wrist, tucked it between his shoulder blades and kicked the backs of his knees. Had him pinned down in under five seconds." Aizawa smiled proudly and ruffled his sons hair.

"I'm more proud then anything. You defended your friend, granted you messed up by throwing the first punch, but you got him down without unnecessary force." Tsukare smiled brightly, not expecting his dad to be proud of him. "I'm not too happy about the detention but you win some you lose some. I know how important Midoriya is to you both, despite his severe All Might obsession."

"Can I be excused from dinner so I can call and check in on him?" The parents nodded and watched as he scurried away.

After a few rings, the boy answered.

"Hey Tsukare!"

"Hey, I just wanted to check in after today."

"Oh I'm okay! It didn't bother me all that much, he was just being stupid." Tsukare tried not to sigh out of distaste.

"It doesn't make it okay."

"W-Was he mad?"

"Yeah, we both got detention, but it's not a big deal."

"Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry! This is all my fault!" Tsukare tried not to laugh at his friend and focused on settling his qualms.

"It's not your fault, it's Bakugou's fault for saying what he did. He hit a sore spot with me, I just reacted. Hey what ended up happening after you left? I know we were supposed to hang out today." He could sense how tense it was and worried that he asked the wrong thing.

"I met All Might today."

"What? Midoriya that's been your dream since you were a kid!"

"Yeah, I uh, I asked him if I could be a hero even though I'm quirkless, and he said no." Tsukare felt another new distaste form for the number one hero, not even remotely enjoying the comment and insinuated bias.

"Well he's wrong. Look at how many heroes have to basically fight quirkless everyday! If someone's wearing a gas mask against Midnight, or is deaf against Present Mic. The list goes on. They all have to fight quirkless sometimes." Something about his effort to prove a point warmed Midoriya's heart.

"He also left me on a roof right after.."

"Impeccable fucking timing. Is he dense or something? Especially after Bakugou said that to you!" Tsukare was fuming now, his scattered mind bouncing all over the place. "He's supposed to be the number one hero, not someone going around and crushing peoples dreams! You're getting into UA, you'll be the first quirkless kid to get in."

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megalodont · 4 years

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mdzswomen’s Women Appreciation Weeks: WOMEN!!!!

i have had so much fun doing this challenge with @captain-apostrophe; thank you so much for sharing it with me! and thank you to all the other amazing creators who contributed to the project, and of course to the people at @mdzswomen who created and ran the event. i hope you all like the final installment!

read it here or on ao3

JiaoJiao to Wear World’s Largest Ruby to Phoenix Mountain Ball

Instagram influencer and controversial girlfriend of the already-married second Wen son, Wang Lingjiao, known professionally as JiaoJiao, to wear the famous Nightsun Ruby as part of her ensemble at the annual Phoenix Mountain Ball...

Wen Chao’s Mistress to Rock Nightsun at PMB

JiaoJiao posted a picture of herself in a vault wearing the famous ruby, revealing she’d be wearing the necklace to this year’s PM Ball…

Instagram Influencer Slammed for Exposing Necklace Secret

Popular Insta model JiaoJiao, who this week revealed she’d be wearing the world’s largest ruby to the Phoenix Mountain Ball, is receiving harsh backlash for “inviting trouble”, says Song Zichen, head of security at the Baixue Museum…

Luo Qingyang had sworn she was out. She’d been straight for years, enjoying life as an upright citizen with her wonderful husband and bright daughter.

But when she’d heard that Wang Lingjiao of all people, was going to be wearing the Nightsun —well, who could resist that kind of temptation? Luo Qingyang had turned down bigger jobs in her years since going straight, but the thought of humiliating Wang Lingjiao was too much for even her iron resolve. She could still remember the headlines; JiaoJiao Ruins MianMian’s Career, JiaoJiao Leaves MianMian With No Face, Need Some Ice For That Burn MianMian?. Luo Qingyang had never cared what people thought of her, but the memory of the harassment she had received—her family had received—made her burn in a whole different way.

So she had started calling in favours.

It hadn’t been as difficult as she’d expected to get a man on the inside. The Wens were notoriously insular and suspicious, so the chances of someone infiltrating them this close to the ball were astronomically low. Desperate, Luo Qingyang had approached someone already in the Wens’ confidence, hoping to get at least a little information out of them. The minute she had walked into the doctor’s consult room, however, before she’d even had a chance to speak, Wen Qing had declared she was in.

From her Luo Qingyang had learned that in the wake of Wang Lingjiao’s indiscretion, the decision had been made to have her wear a replica after the initial red carpet photo session, which would be rabidly monitored by both security and the press. After this the necklace would be placed in a vault in the building’s basement.

It had been many, many years since Luo Qingyang had been a part of this set. She’d lived as a regular mum for so long now that there was no chance of her getting an invitation. Thankfully Yu Ziyuan, an indispensable member of her little team, attended such things regularly. She brought Luo Qingyang as her plus one, which also gave her the excuse to follow her around, ready to knock out (as she’d been specifically instructed not to kill) anyone who needed to be with the poison she kept in her tanzanite ring.

Luo Qingyang had been introduced to the terrifying woman by the enterprise’s benefactor, Jin Lusi. The head of the Jin family was the only reason Luo Qingyang could afford the designer gowns for herself and the rest of her team, much less the various bribes and equipment that needed to be paid for. Luo Qingyang had thought she was sunk when Jin Lusi caught her talking to Wen Qing on the phone, but it came out that Jin Lusi had just as much reason as her to see Wang Lingjiao humiliated. Apparently, before attaching herself to that toad Wen Chao, Wang Lingjiao had attempted to sleep her way to wealth and fame by seducing the late Jin Guangshan and posting about it online.

Well, if it was a scandal Jin Lusi was paying for then Luo Qingyang felt confident she could deliver.

The carpet was a nightmare. Many an insensitive question was asked when people saw ‘MianMian’ on the arm of the Violet Spider, but Luo Qingyang hadn’t forgotten her media training in her years as a mother, smiling for the cameras and speaking without saying anything without breaking a sweat.

Finally they were inside, and everything was just as Wen Qing had said it would be; the layout, the security measures, the guest list. Luo Qingyang had been impressed with Wen Qing’s ability to lie to her family without flinching, and she was certain this operation wouldn’t be possible without the information she'd been funneling back to her.

And all to humiliate her repugnant cousin. What a motivator spite could be.

The ball was exhausting, but Meng Shi’s performance was an incredible highlight. Luo Qingyang especially liked the part where she almost fell off the stage at the exact right moment for Jiang Yanli to switch the security cameras focused on the vault to a prerecorded loop.

“It’s just a hobby!” She had insisted when Luo Qingyang had approached her, coding with one hand and rocking her sleeping daughter with the other. “But I’m always happy to help out a friend.” That woman’s finger sandwiches were almost as dangerous as her.

The hardest person to get on board was the woman Luo Qingyang had known as Granny Wen. She’d insisted she was retired—and Luo Qingyang sympathised, but had hoped to convince her anyway. But it wasn’t until Wen Qing, who turned out to be a distant relative of hers, had whispered something to her that she’d agreed to participate. She was currently busy convincing one of the high-ranking security guards that she was a confused old woman, thoroughly distracting him to allow a-Qing, who had the lightest fingers in the city, to lift his security pass. It was the work of a moment for her to clone it, using the RFID cloner hidden in her waiter’s uniform. Luo Qingyang was so lucky to have a woman like Sisi on her side; tell her you needed something and she’d get it to you within hours, as long as you didn’t ask any questions.

When a-Qing shot her a subtle okay sign Luo Qingyang made her move. She let out a groan, clutching her stomach and leaning heavily on Yu Ziyuan’s arm. The older woman made an effort to look concerned instead of irritated, and was partially successful.

“Could you get me to the bathroom please?” Luo Qingyang gasped, and stumbled along convincingly as Yu Ziyuan led her there. Luo Qingyang tried not to feel too guilty about the women in the bathroom who were knocked unconscious by the Violet Spider’s bite, focusing on unscrewing the vent cover in the ceiling, perfectly steady as she balanced on the sink in her high heels.

Once it had popped off Luo Qingyang lowered it quietly to the floor, and pulled herself into the narrow tunnel with the help of a firm push from Yu Ziyuan. It took her an inordinate amount of time to shuffle through the aluminium shaft, the embroidery on her dress pressing into her skin uncomfortably.

“Left...left...right…” She murmured to herself as she navigated. Finally she reached the last fork and encountered the two women waiting for her.

“Took you long enough,” Jinzhu huffed.

“Put this on,” Yinzhu ordered, holding out a harness.

Luo Qingyang obeyed, allowing them to take over when she shrugged with the many buckles and straps. Soon she was harnessed and strapped onto a line.

“Yinzhu will go first,” Jinzhu explained, “then you, then me.”

“Just like we practiced,” Yinzhu said, and tipped backwards into a vertical shaft. The line slithered across the floor and pulled taut. Swallowing a tickle of nerves Luo Qingyang lowered herself into the tunnel as well. Together the three women rappelled down into the dark, the small space echoing with their footsteps and grunts of effort.

Finally they emerged into the basement, right in front of the heavy vault door. Luo Qingyang raised her face to one of the cameras and shot it a thumbs up, knowing Jiang Yanli—and possibly her children—were the only ones who could see them.

“Hey you made it!” The mysterious woman known only as Cangse Sanren said, grinning at them.

“Now for the hard part,” Luo Qingyang replied with a matching smile.

“Pshh.” Cangse Sanren blew that off. “Hard? No way. Look at these little babies I invented, could blow right through a door five hundred times this thick.” She pointed to the several sticky charges she had planted around the perimeter of the circular door. “They’re noisy little suckers, though,” she warned. “So I’d plug your ears if I were you.” That was all the warning she gave before raising a single finger and dramatically pressing a button on her remote with maximum flourish. Luo Qingyang and the catbuglers clapped their hands over their ears just in time—

Ffft

The sound of Cangse Sanren’s laughter was louder than the tiny explosion which barely jostled the door. Luo Qingyang glared at her.

“There isn't time for jokes, this is ser—”

BOOM

The delayed explosion rattled the room and all teeth in Luo Qingyang’s head. Cangse Sanren was still cackling, but the sound was now almost drowned out by the wailing of alarms.

Luo Qingyang shot her another look, but wasted no time rushing through the gap their demolitions expert had made.

The vault was full of crates, but the velvet box containing their prize sat in pride of place on a shelf near the entrance. Luo Qingyang flipped it open matter-of-factly, taking a moment to inspect the stunning piece in a loupe she’d pulled from her cleavage.

It was the real deal.

Leaving the box on the shelf Luo Qingyang shoved the necklace down her dress and rushed to clip herself to the line where Cangse Sanren and the catburglers were waiting. Jinzhu gave the line two tugs and suddenly the four were being yanked sharply upwards, sailing through the air to the top of the shaft.

“This way,” Jinzhu called, leading them on hands and knees through several twists and turns, before kicking out a grate with one booted heel. She dropped through first, followed by Yinzhu.

“Jeronimo,” Cangse Sanren said with a wink at Luo Qingyang and disappeared after them. Luo Qingyang was the last, landing in a perfectly balanced crouch despite her fancy footwear.

They were in a loading bay, just as planned, but instead of a catering truck or armoured van, parked in front of them was a car clearly built for speed.

“Get in,” Yu Ziyuan snapped, throwing open the back door, and the four women piled in.

“Don’t forget your seatbelts!” Qin Su said cheerfully from the driver’s seat, and tore out of the garage so fast she spun the wheels.

Luo Qingyang held on as she was thrown around, Qin Su expertly dodging through traffic with a speed and precision that left anyone who might have been following them in the dust. Eventually she merged into traffic, blending right in, and took an exit which would lead them to their fence, Bicao. Luo Qingyang settled back into her seat as the adrenaline wore off, and finally allowed herself to relax. She pulled the necklace from her dress and looked at it, warm from the heat of her body, like a pool of blood in her palm. As they passed under a streetlight Luo Qingyang caught sight of her grin in the polished surface of the gem.

Vengeance was sweet.

NIGHTSUN STOLEN

The world’s largest ruby was stolen today in a shocking heist at the Phoenix Mountain Ball…

Wen Chao’s Mistress Loses Nightsun Ruby Thanks To Insta Post

JiaoJiao couldn’t resist the urge to flaunt her record-breaking necklace on Instagram and now the Nightsun Ruby has been stolen in a shocking turn of events…

JiaoJiao Being Sued for Role in Ruby Heist

The Baixue Museum is suing Instagram mode JiaoJiao after their famous ruby necklace was stolen during the Phoenix Mountain Ball…

#mdzswomen #mdzs #the untamed #cql #mdzs fic #rated g #paris writes

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