#yeah in this one the swat raid never happens

[annwrites]

i'm fearless, except when it comes to you ෆ˟̑*̑˚̑*̑˟̑

— pairing: fezco x fem!reader

— type: longfic

— summary: you & fez have been best friends since kindergarten. and eventually, that friendship turns into so much more.

— tags: friendship, fwb, falling love, so much fluff, found family

— tw: canon-typical violence, murder, domestic abuse, death, cussing, guns, sex

— word count: 8k

— a/n: i'm actually really proud of this one. who knew me wanting to write 1 scene would turn into...this lol.

Since you were five-years-old, you and Fezco had been best friends. Practically inseparable. Two halves of a whole.

He’d been your first kiss in kindergarten, and when you were sixteen and he seventeen—your first time.

It'd started out with the two of you lying together on the couch watching a movie, you pressed against his side, his arm around you, which had led to him tickling you on the floor, to him gently moving his hand under your shirt. And then he'd been given your blessing to remove each item of your clothing one-by-one until you were naked before him.

He'd seen you undressed before—more times than he could count—from you just getting out of the shower and raiding his closet for a t-shirt to wear to bed, dropping your towel right in front of him as you dressed, to you trying on clothes in front of him.

Not to mention the summer before, when there'd been a three-day blackout and the apartment had gotten to damn-near a hundred degrees. So the two of you had—through nervous giggles—stripped down naked and hold up in his room, lying on his bed and just talking. For hours.

You'd cursed the power when it came back on.

But this instance had been different. Context mattered. The most intimate thing the two of you had done before this was making out with tongue, his hands never touching any other part of you than your face or hips.

And so the both of you had spent the next fifteen minutes on the floor with your legs thrown over his shoulders, his face between your thighs. When you had finished, him kissing you there a few times, he'd rested his chin on your pelvic bone, smiling up at you.

He'd then gotten up, him taking your hand in his as he led you to his bedroom and the two of you had made love.

He'd been slow, gentle, sweet. His fingers twined between yours, soft kisses shared between the two of you as he eased himself in and out of you, telling you more times than you could count how much he loved you.

You'd cried after, tears of happiness, as he held you in his arms, pressed against his chest.

And that night something permanently shifted between the two of you. What you had, had become so much more than friendship. You couldn't even call it love, because you'd already had that before the sex.

Perhaps falling in love? But you'd already felt that toward him beforehand.

In the end, neither of you felt a need to put a label on what you had, what you were. You loved each other and that was all that mattered.

The two of you were faithful to one another. You didn't even look in another's direction. Your eyes were only for each other.

And you took care of him and he you.

You grew up in a rough household, which was putting it lightly. You showed up to Fez's with fresh bruises fairly regularly, until one day he'd had enough.

Eventually, the day came when he'd put his foot down and told you that you were moving in and that was the end of it. You'd agreed easily.

Fez wasn’t going to tolerate his abusive behavior toward you just on principal, but the fact he’d endured such treatment himself…your dad was lucky that Fez had let him live so long.

So, he'd driven you home, gathered your things—what little you had—loading them all into his car, but just before leaving, your dad had showed up, high as a kite, screaming that you weren't going anywhere.

He'd grabbed you, and hit you right in front of Fezco.

You'd never seen Fez lose his temper before that day. He'd hauled off on your dad, and when he released you, Fez had told you sternly to get in the car and to stay there.

You'd watched, trembling, as he beat your father to a bloody pulp. He'd then grabbed the back of his head by his hair, forcing him to look to the passenger side where you sat and he brought his mouth close to his ear, pointing to you, his top lip in a permanent sneer as he said something to him. Your dad had nodded fervently before Fezco let him go, his face smacking off of the pavement when he did.

He'd then walked around to the driver's side and sped away, holding your hand in his the entire time he drove the two of you back to what was now your new home.

Your hands had been trembling, but not out of fear of him. No, you were never afraid of him.

Rather afraid of your father calling the police on Fez just to get even.

Thankfully, that never happened.

You'd lightly ran the fingers of your opposite hand over his bloodied knuckles and he'd shrugged—reading your mind. "Be alright. He finally got what he had comin'."

That night, you'd showered with him, gently washing the blood from his face, tending to his now-swollen knuckles. He'd told you not to bother, but after, you'd put antibiotic ointment on them, wrapped them in clean bandages, and held a bag of frozen vegetables against them as the two of you lied in bed in silence.

Your being so quiet had made Fez uneasy. You were always talking his ear off—which he adored. But he knew you feared men; understood it. Your father had instilled such a feeling inside of you at a young age.

He'd never forget the one and only time you'd flinched at his touch.

When you were younger, you'd hid it well—your at-home life—but one day, when you were thirteen, the two of you had been hanging out at the shop, and you'd been helping Ash stock shelves. At one point, you'd turned and Fez had been behind you. He'd lifted his hand to grab something off the top shelf and you'd flinched so hard you'd slammed your head into the display, nearly knocking it over.

You'd burst into tears near-instantly, running into the back and locking yourself in the bathroom for nearly an hour.

He'd stood on the other side of that door, fighting back tears himself just from hearing you in so much pain. He'd begged softly for you to please let him in—all he wanted was to hold you—but you'd told him, quietly, that you didn't want to be touched at that moment.

He'd understood, but it had still stung. He wanted to be a safe place for you. A safe person. A safe man.

Once you had finally come out, your eyes and nose both red from crying, you'd slowly looked up to him and his eyes had been full of a feeling you couldn't place. Sympathy? Pity?

You later realized it had been love.

He'd sat you down and you finally told him everything.

He'd never been more angry in his entire life, but he didn't show that to you. Not for a moment. He never ever wanted you afraid of him. Not for one fucking second.

So you lying there next to him, completely silent... He couldn't not do—say—something.

He rolled over, setting the bag of vegetables to the side and he gently caressed your cheek. "I never meant to scare you. 'M sorry if-"

You raised your head up enough to press your lips to his, cutting him off. You kissed him long and deep and he let you, enjoying every moment.

When you pulled away, you gently ran your fingers through the beginnings of a beard that he was trying to grow. "I'm not scared of you."

He'd studied you for a moment, running the fingers of his injured hand through your soft hair, his eyes looking into yours before he finally pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, whispering to you that he loved you before the two of you fell asleep, his body wrapped around your own.

Adjusting to living with Fez hadn't been all that difficult. You already spent nearly every day over there with him and Ash, cleaning, cooking, sometimes decorating. You'd even occasionally buy fresh flowers to put in cheap vases on the windowsill—Fez refusing to throw them out until they were brown and wilting. But you still worried, nonetheless, that he would eventually tire of you; deeming that he'd made a mistake in asking you to live with him.

Hanging out regularly was one thing. Being around each other every waking and non-waking moment of every day something else entirely. And what would Ash think?

Your fears of Ash feeling like you were just barging into he and his brother's home—because that's what the two of them practically were to one another—was put to rest the next morning, with Ash telling you over breakfast that it was "'bout damn time" and that he had apparently told Fez once that the two of them should've "taken your old man out a long time ago" after you showed up with a black eye one night.

Fez had only smirked, shrugging, replying with a "maybe so", brushing his foot against yours under the table.

In truth, it made Ash very happy to see the both of you together—whether you both wanted to call it "being together" or not—he thought it incredibly stupid that the two of you didn't just call yourselves boyfriend and girlfriend.

He'd never say it out loud, but he saw you as a maternal figure, and he was grateful to have you around all the time now. He told Fez it was just so they wouldn't have to worry about where to bury your dad's body anymore, but in reality...clean sheets, freshly-washed clothes, and hot dinners every night were a really nice thing to have. And there'd been that one time you'd taken care of him when he came down with the flu and spent the next three days puking up his fucking guts.

The three of you may've been small and all coming from broken homes, but together you made what felt like one big family.

You didn't mind—never had, really—that Fez was a drug-dealer. He'd talked to you about it a few days after your fully settling in, telling you that you living there was putting you at risk.

It'd been different when you were just there hanging out; if the police busted in, you could easily feign ignorance of his...business ventures.

He made it clear that he wanted you there, but understood if you left because you had some place better to live.

Even if the both of you knew you had nowhere else to go.

He told you if SWAT busted down the door, or he was arrested, you'd go down right alongside him as an accomplice. That no matter how much he may want to, he wouldn't be able to protect you from the cops, especially if he himself were behind bars.

You'd simply climbed into his lap, straddling him, and told him there was nowhere else you'd rather be—risk of arrest notwithstanding.

He loved you for it—loving him despite who and what he was—but the feeling that you deserved better was always there. But if you wanted to be there, he wasn't going to waste his breath trying to convince you otherwise.

Refusing to do so was the most selfish thing he'd probably ever done. Because you were his whole world and he didn't want to lose you. He wanted you there, with him.

Gradually, those lines between best friends and something more—maybe lovers—began to blur.

You'd given each other pecks on the lips before and told each other "love you" numerous times, but those pecks turned into deeper kisses, longer. "Love you" turned into "I love you".

The first time he'd seen you naked had been an accident. You'd just gotten out of the shower and had walked into his room to dress. He'd been unaware you were naked when he had pushed the cracked door open, leaning in the doorway, asking if you wanted to get takeout that night—Ash offering to go pick it up.

He'd froze when he saw you clutching one of his t-shirts to your middle, every inch of your naked frontside visible to him.

It was like his mind had short-circuited in that moment and all he could manage to do was stare. And stare. Eyes wide, mouth hanging slightly open.

And while you hadn't frozen, you stood there anyway, wanting him to look at you. Finally, he had walked over, gently taking the t-shirt from your grip before unfolding it and slipping it on over your head. You looked up to him, tucking your hair back behind your ears, now slightly embarrassed. "Chinese sounds good."

He smiled down at you.

Over time, you started wearing more and more of Fez's clothes. Mostly to bed. And only ever just t-shirts. You eventually stopped bothering with panties. And he certainly noticed when you were in the kitchen, reaching for a glass on the top shelf of a cabinet. He told himself for the longest time he'd move them down lower, but never did.

He had offered to sleep on the pullout couch when you first moved in, telling you that his bed was all yours if you wanted it, but you'd instead asked "what if we just slept together". He liked that idea much better.

He himself usually slept naked, but opted for wearing boxers to bed for awhile for your sake. One night, however, he took them off beforehand, heart pounding, but curious what your reaction might be to him doing so. You'd merely glanced up to him, flushed, then said, "oh" before looking back to the book you were currently reading.

After he climbed into bed beside you, you eventually gave up on the page you'd tried to read five times in a row and decided to lie down for the night as well. It was almost three a.m. before you found sleep.

The next night, as payback—rather, you wanted to be naked beside him, but never would admit that out loud—you had come into the bedroom, Fez playing something on his Xbox, and shut the door behind you before reaching down to the hem of his t-shirt you had on and pulling it off, tossing it on the floor.

All you could remember was him cursing as he lost the round, his attention now firmly elsewhere.

And then it became nightly: the two of you going to bed naked, but never doing anything more intimate than talking before going to sleep.

Sometimes each of you would wake up with the other wrapped around you, but when morning came, neither of you said anything about it. It was just the way things were. Sometimes the two of you found each other in your sleep. Sometimes not.

Fez tried to drive you to and from school as much as possible, but between the shop and dealing, it wasn't always feasible, since he needed to be home a lot. You understood that, but always felt giddy when you saw his black Impala in the parking lot. Him usually leaning against the passenger side smoking, waiting for you.

Others would stare as you ran into his arms, squealing as he picked you up and spun you around—your legs wrapped around his middle—but neither of you paid your classmates any mind.

He'd drive you back home with his hand between your thighs, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin of your leg, his other hand resting over the steering wheel.

The one time you'd taken his hand and moved it under your panties instead, he'd swerved into another lane, nearly causing a wreck. You'd sheepishly apologized, and never did it again.

He'd merely told you with a laugh "Lemme know next time you're gonna do something like that, baby, so I can pull over first".

Sometimes, neither of you could wait that fifteen minute drive back home and he'd pull off into a secluded spot off the main road and you'd climb into his lap, unbuckling his belt, him pulling your panties to the side under your dress as he eased into you.

You both prayed your birth control had worked every time he came inside of you.

He had promised you in the dark of the bedroom one night, however, that if one day it didn't, he'd take care of you. Both of you. If that's what you wanted.

You'd pressed your naked body even closer to his and whispered that it would be.

After school, once your homework was completed, you'd sometimes clean the apartment, the windows open and your favorite music drifting down the hall as you checked in on his grandma every once in awhile, making sure she was alright.

Other times, you'd go to the shop with him and watch as he worked. Once, shortly before closing, you'd been sitting atop a freezer in the front near the register, which housed various types of ice-cream. Fez had been between your legs, which were wrapped around his middle, your panties already in his pocket. You'd had your fingers clutching the gold chain around his neck, holding him in place as the two of you kissed, his hands gripping your bare hips under your dress, your slickness making a wet spot on the front of his jeans.

Until you were rudely interrupted by a boy you went to school with, but had never bothered learning the name of. He was tall, brunet, with an unhappy look on his face as he watched the two of you.

"Could somebody ring me up already?" He said, voice full of impatience, if not also a hint of disgust.

Not that either of you cared.

Fez had given you a peck on the nose and stepped away with a "back to work; you gotta stop distracting me, shawty" before bagging his things and sending him on his way.

You laughed, since he was the one who'd lifted you onto the cooler in the first place, and stealing your panties had been all his idea.

The guy had given you a dirty look as he left, but as soon as Fezco had his lips on your neck and his hand between your thighs, you quickly forgot about him.

When Fez was making deals in the apartment, you were always instructed to stay in the bedroom with the door locked, and for you to stay quiet. You never argued, understanding he sometimes did business with some very nasty and dangerous people.

You feared for his safety at times, but he was good at what he did and had never had any negative altercations thus far.

And he was always packing.

Which may or may not have turned you on all the more when you were in his lap and could feel a gun in his waistband.

You once told him as much and his brows had raised, a quite-surprised expression overtaking his features. "really?" he asked in disbelief. All it had taken was moving his hand between your legs and a "really" in reply before the two of you had sex right there on the couch. Twice.

After that day, he began cleaning his guns a lot more often, right in front of you. You usually just smirked and laughed about it, but it always got him his desired result—you inevitably coming over and silently taking his hand, leading him into the bedroom.

There had been a night when the two of you were in the middle of having sex when someone had started pounding on the front door. You'd immediately froze, staring up at him with wide, frightened eyes.

Ash had been outside your door immediately, telling Fez to get a gun—he already had his—and come find out who it is.

Fez had slipped out of you, quickly dressing, telling you to stay put as he hid a pistol in the back of his pants, exiting the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him.

You'd walked silently over to the door, pressed your ear up against it, and listened for something—anything. Praying whatever was about to transpire...if it ended badly, that it would be for the other party.

You heard male voices. You were unable to make out what was being said, but the voices weren't raised, and the door hadn't been slammed or kicked in. So you'd gone back to bed, now a bit calmer, and eventually you drifted off to sleep.

But you had fucked up in forgetting to lock the door.

When Fez found Mouse in the bedroom, looking down at you sleeping—thankfully clutching blankets to your front, only your back bare—his hand brushing some hair out of your face, tracing his knuckles along your soft cheek, Fez had filled with murderous rage.

"Get. Out. This room is off fuckin' limits."

Mouse had only glanced back to him. "Door was unlocked, homes. Told you I was lookin' for the bathroom. Guess I chose the wrong room," he said with a shrug.

Fez took a step closer. "Told you it was at the very end of the hall. This look like the end of the fuckin' hall to you?"

He was beginning to raise his voice and you stirred in your sleep, then settled again. Mouse turned a bit more toward him, raising a finger to his lips. Then, "She's fuckin' fine, man. Looks like you got yourself some A1 pussy, if I say so myself." He smirked. "Ever think of sharin' with a brother?"

If Fez didn't get him out of the bedroom and even further away from you, and soon, he was going to commit a felony.

"I don't fuckin' share, so no."

When Mouse looked back to him, not liking his tone, he immediately took note of the gun that was now-visible in his front waistband, his t-shirt tucked behind it.

Mouse then looked into his eyes, the two of them staring one another down for just a moment, before Mouse finally stepped away from you. "Normally, I wouldn't tolerate that threat shit. But I'll give you a pass tonight. I know how it can be when a bitch got you wrapped around her finger."

As they stepped back out into the hall, Fez locking, then closing the door behind him, he gave Mouse a simple reply: "Don't ever fuckin' talk about her like that again."

Rue becomes the first person Fez eventually refuses to deal to.

She doesn't take kindly to his refusal, and you can see how much her reaction to it hurts him—the obscenities she screams at him, yelling that he was the one who had made her into what she had become. All you could do was press yourself against his back, wrapping your arms around him, waiting for her to leave.

He'd leaned his head against one of the walls in the hall and whispered "I did the right thing, right?" to you, which you had replied that he had, that this was the best thing for her, and that you loved him.

But that day hadn't been the last time either of you would see her. Your dislike for her grows as she gets Fez involved in her own personal issues with your fellow classmates, like Nate Jacobs. The same boy who'd given you both such a nasty look the day you'd been enjoying one another's company atop the cooler.

Nate comes by one day, once again late at night, and Fez makes it clear that he's to stay clear of Rue and her friend, Jules.

Nate had insulted Fez, then had asked, after Fez had threatened his life—staring at you all the while—if the list of people he was to stay away from included anybody else, or if 'lil' miss white-trash-beautiful' was free game.

You'd raced over to Fez before he could do something he would end up regretting as he quickly stepped around the register, taking both of his hands in yours, telling him what Nate had said didn't matter and to just let it go—let him go. You'd begged him to just look at you, but he refused to do so until Nate had finally driven away.

And then he had. He'd removed his right hand from yours and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, gripping your chin in his fingers, before looking into your eyes. "If he ever comes near you again, I won't hesitate to put his ass six feet in the fuckin' ground".

You never told him how wet that one comment alone had made you. He didn't need anymore encouragement to go after and kill him.

And then the cops had raided the apartment and you, Fez, and Ash had scrambled to flush all the drugs down the toilet, Fez panicking, telling you to climb out one of the windows, but you refused to leave the two of them.

And that night was the first time you'd not only had a gun pointed at you, but the first time you'd ended up in cuffs.

You and Ash had sat on the floor while the police questioned Fezco for the next over an hour about where the drugs were, all while he played stupid.

And then the cops had laid into you, telling you that they could help you—get you away from your "abusive lowlife boyfriend", that they could "get you into rehab if he had you strung out, if you'd just cooperate". You did just as you and Fez had rehearsed and used tears to your benefit, telling them you didn't have any idea what they were talking about. That the three of you had just been getting ready to make dinner when they'd torn your home apart.

That Fez loved you.

And then you took the lie a step further, telling them to please uncuff you. Your stomach hurt and you were worried all of this stress was going to make you miscarry. You'd begged them—you couldn't lose your baby.

Fez had sat there frozen, completely fucking petrified, staring at you, a thousand thoughts going through his head. The most prominent among them? He'd nearly gotten you killed all over a few grand in narcotics. You, and your and his baby both.

The sob story hadn't deterred the police in their interrogation. The most they'd done was uncuff your hands, which you'd then gingerly placed over your stomach.

Once the police had left, Fez had dropped to his knees in front of you, pressing his hands to your stomach, asking over and over again if you were ok, if they baby was ok.

Ash had called him "fuckin' stupid", asking if he'd really believed that.

Fez had looked up to you confused and your face went red with embarrassment. "I thought it would get them out faster."

Hurt flashed across his features then, and you felt sick with yourself.

That night, you'd apologized profusely in bed, but so did he.

In the end, the both of you decided there was nothing which needed forgiven.

Fez admitted, only for a moment, that the thought of the two of you having a baby had actually...excited him, even if he worried about what sort of life he could provide for the both of you.

And then you'd told him when the time came, the both of you would figure that out together; it wasn't all on him. And then you had had sex. And for the first time, even if it was incredibly stupid of him, Fez hoped something more would come from it.

When you'd expressed fear to Fez of what would happen with people he owed money and product to now that he couldn't pay them, he'd merely told you that he'd "take care of it".

When he came back home one night with a few grand in a duffel bag, you never asked where it had come from. You'd just helped him count and hide it.

And then you had washed his bloody clothes, telling him to also shower to remove the evidence of whatever he had done.

Fez hadn't told you his intentions for the New Year's Eve party at Virgil's. He'd simply told you that the three of you were going to have a good time. And on the way there, he'd promised to kiss you at midnight, earning a groan from Ash in the backseat, which had made you laugh.

As the clock struck closer to that time, however, Fez had excused himself from the couch the two of you were seated on, saying he was getting up to get a drink. You'd tensed up as you watched him and Nate converse for a moment, Nate looking at you for a moment.

And that's when Fez had busted a bottle over his head.

Nate had fallen to the floor, Fez climbing on top of him and beating him within an inch of his life.

You'd stood by, horrified, as Nate's face became more and more bloodied and swollen. It took two guys to pull Fez away and once they had, he'd quickly grabbed your hand, leading you out of the house, Ash already waiting in the car.

And that's when you realized it had all been pre-planned.

You'd asked him why on the way home, and he'd told you his theory that, after him threatening Nate, he'd been the one to call the cops. And him making a vulgar comment about you—once again—had been the last straw.

You and Fez fucked until you were sore that night.

Some weeks later, Nate's dad showed up and Ash beat the living hell out of him with the butt-end of a rifle every time he got smart as Fez questioned him, until blood was pouring from the top of his head.

The more he and Fez talked, the more confused every one of you grew. By the end, Fez had something monumental over Cal—and you supposed, by extension, Nate, as this getting out would ruin the entire Jacobs family—he'd made a sex-tape with Jules. He'd said at one point that he "didn't know". Fez had of course misinterpreted what he'd meant.

But you understood.

Either he was lying, or he truly hadn't known she was a minor. Either way, he had made a disc which contained...something that would land him in prison for perhaps the rest of his life. And if he was anything like his son, maybe he would deserve it.

You, Fez, and Ash had stayed up most of the night in the living room, Little House playing softly in the background as the three of you debated what to do with the new information you’d been given.

Ash wanted to report him to the police—destroy his and Nate’s life. Mostly Nate’s for the raid, which you were sure Ash would never get past.

You wanted to sit on it. You didn’t want to do anything rash. Not yet. You weren’t even sure that—once he was out of the hospital—you wanted Nate aware of what you all now knew about his father. It would’ve provided some sick sense of satisfaction to throw such a thing in his face, sure. But he’d—at least most likely—called the cops on you all once already.

There was no telling what he might do if you blew his entire life up in the worst way possible.

As for Fez, he’d stated the obvious: unless you all got ahold of a copy of that disc, what you all knew didn’t mean shit. Only having solid proof of what Cal had done would get you anywhere.

And so the subject was dropped. But it was always there, waiting. As was the paranoia of Nate going a step further in getting revenge after what had happened during New Years.

You lost a bit of sleep over it all for a few weeks.

That constant stress loomed over your head of losing everything.

And you knew if Nate did it—if he sought vengeance again—it would be the last time. Fezco would kill him. And you’d do whatever was asked of you to help. Even though you knew Fez would never involve you in such a thing.

He’d already tried to destroy the life you all had worked so hard to build and keep ahold of once. It wasn’t going to happen again.

But, surprisingly, once Nate had recovered and was back at school…nothing happened.

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And just as you were beginning to grow comfortable again, Mouse was beginning to become more and more of a problem. Constantly pushing for Fez to sell more product and earn more money and give him a bigger cut.

Until the night Ash killed him with a hammer.

You’d been locked in the bedroom, same as always, some cheesy romance movie on TV which was slowly putting you to sleep, until you heard yelling.

You’d jolted awake, heart racing, fear running through you.

And then you’d done something very stupid.

You’d gone in the closet, retrieved one of Fez’s glocks and exited the bedroom. You’d stepped quietly down the hall—silent as can be, your heart pounding in your ears—then peeked around the corner and you had froze when you saw it.

Mouse was dead, Custer and Ash screaming at each other—blood pouring from Custer’s nose, which was now a bloody mess.

Ash insistent that, had he not done it, Mouse would’ve shot Fez.

You’d gasped, dropping the gun. It thumped against the floor, making all three of them turn toward you as you covered your mouth, tears now slipping from your eyes as you choked back panicked sobs.

Fez quickly stepped over to you, turning you away from the gruesome sight before you as he held you against his chest with one hand, the other coming up to cup the back of your head. He’d whispered soothing words, telling you—promising you—that everything would be ok. That he would explain it all to you later. But, for right now, he needed you to go back in the bedroom and not come back out until he told you otherwise.

You’d looked up to him, your chin wobbling, and nodded, turning to go back down the hall.

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You had nightmares for weeks afterward. About Mouse not actually being dead and coming to kill all three of you. Or about the cops coming to take Fezco and Ash away. Once, you’d had a dream about Fezco standing over you with a pistol. You’d shot up in bed, drenched in sweat, a gunshot ringing in your ears.

You never told him about the last one.

The others you weren’t exactly able to hide. The two of you usually fell asleep with you in his arms, pressed close to his chest, his thigh wedged between both of your legs. So when you would start to whine or cry or thrash in your sleep…well, it obviously woke him as well. And usually it took the better part of an hour for him to calm you enough before you managed to fall back asleep.

You drug at school most days, daydreaming about getting back home, stripping, and crawling beneath the covers for a couple of hours before getting up to make dinner and do your homework.

Until you started waking to dinner having been prepared for you and Ash having done your homework, even if you insisted that him doing so wasn’t necessary—he had enough on his plate. But he usually just brushed such insistence off.

Eventually, the nightmares started to lessen and you did your best to forget about Mouse. About that night. And your life, once again, returned to normal.

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The most exciting thing that even occurred came a few weeks later: the news coming to light that Nate had apparently been hooking up with Cassie while he and Maddy were broken up…or on a break…or whatever they were. You didn’t really care.

And then had come Lexi’s play, where she’d seemingly cast knock-off versions of all of her friends and their friends and aired all of their dirty laundry for the whole school to see.

You’d skipped it, but had heard bits-and-pieces about it around school. A small part of you even wished that you had gone to it just to see Maddy and Cassie beating the crap out of each other on-stage, if nothing else.

Instead, you had stayed home with Fez and Ash, the three of you eating dinner and then playing Monopoly, which you were sure Ash had cheated at, but you couldn’t prove how.

Fez had tried to bribe you into selling him your properties through the promise of whispered sexual favors—Ash yelling for him to ‘knock it the fuck off’, and that he ‘wasn’t being fair’. You’d given him Park Place without qualms and it had earned you half an hour of oral once you were both in bed for the night.

Boardwalk had earned you him tying you up and having his way with you. He’d asked how, exactly, that was supposed to be considered you winning something for yourself when he was getting to have all the fun, but you’d replied simply by spreading your legs and calling him daddy.

He’d had no idea what to do with that other than laugh.

You’d flushed out of embarrassment, having never called him that before, but he’d made love to you for over an hour anyway.

═════════════════════════════════

During the summer, between your junior and senior year, the best day of your life happened. Up until that point, that is, at least.

You’d gone out to run a few errands—Fez and Ash continuously sending you things they’d forgotten to ask you to pickup before you’d left—your fuse growing shorter with every item you had to backtrack in the Impala to go get.

When you finally got back to the apartment, ready to explode once you got through the door, you’d stopped, all anger leaving you when you took in the sight before you.

The windows were open, the apartment spotless, and candles and flowers everywhere. And right in front of you was Fezco, down on one knee, a small box with a ring inside in his trembling hand.

You’d dropped the groceries you’d been holding, your hands coming up to rest over your mouth as tears welled in your eyes.

You’d stepped closer, until he took your left hand in his, and he said so many sweet and loving things.

He told you how you were the love of his life, how you held his heart in the palms of your hands, how you were the only woman he had and would ever want. He told you how desperate he was to start the rest of his life with you as his wife, how he wanted to give you his name—the first of many things he wanted to give you—or, rather, continue to give you as he had already done so much for you.

And you’d dropped to your knees and kissed him, deeply. And you had of course said yes. And he’d slid the simple diamond ring on your finger that he’d found at a pawnshop almost an hour of town (he’d scoured all the ones nearby, but nothing had seemed right—none had been the one for you), until one was.

And then you’d made love right there on the floor.

═════════════════════════════════

Senior year, you stayed to yourself. You didn’t bother making friends with the other students, or seeing what their lives were like. You wanted no part in any of that—their breakups and fights and stupid shallow drama. You just focused on your life with Fez and Ash and their grandma, Marie.

You and Fez had actually gotten married two weeks after his proposal. It felt strange—sitting in the middle of English class as you filled out worksheets and kids snickered amongst themselves in the back—when you glanced down to your wedding ring, knowing you were now someone’s wife.

And you’d never felt happier.

═════════════════════════════════

A little over a month before graduation, you found out you were pregnant. And when you told Fez, presenting him with a custom-made t-shirt which said ‘Best Dad on the West Coast’, he’d cried, pressing kiss after kiss to your stomach, promising he would be the best father he could be.

You’d given Ash a similar gift, but instead of ‘dad’, it had said ‘brother’—since you considered him a sort of surrogate son—and he’d taken the t-shirt, nodding his head, his brows furrowed, and had excused himself after muttering ‘thanks’, and you knew it was so he could go cry in private.

When you graduated, the two of them, even Faye and Custer, had been in the crowd and they’d screamed…unbelievably loud as you walked the stage. You’d smiled so wide it made your cheeks hurt and all five of you had taken at least a hundred pictures after.

And then you’d all gone to dinner, Faye and Custer giving you a graduation gift, which had actually been a cute onesie for the baby, which said ‘mommy’s girl, daddy’s world’ on the front, causing tears to gush from your eyes, which you then blamed on the hormones.

You’d then all gone bowling and Custer had somehow managed to kick everyone’s asses, with Ash coming in as a close second. Faye had just wanted to play with the bumpers up, so you all had played another game while the guys watched—Custer and Fez drinking and joking while Ash complained that the bumpers defeated the whole purpose of the game (even if he did play with you all)—and Faye had won.

Ash had blamed it all on the bumpers, claiming they’d ‘thrown off his game’.

When you returned home, you’d been exhausted. You and Fez had taken a bath together and when you lied down in bed, he’d rubbed your feet until you fell asleep, clutching a small teddy bear to your chest.

You’d been sleeping with the toy off and on, insisting you wanted it to have your scent for when the baby finally came, so she’d have it to sleep with in her bassinet beside the bed.

═════════════════════════════════

Shortly before the baby was born, Fez had gotten himself out of dealing—which hadn’t been an easy feat, to put it lightly—and had then sold the store, which had earned you all enough for him to put a down payment on a house outside of East Highland.

The move had been a pain while pregnant. Not because you had helped, but because Fez, Ash, Faye, and Custer had all refused to let you so much as lift a single box.

You told yourself, as you sipped on lemonade and watched them carry box after box down to the U-Haul Fez had rented, that now was the time to enjoy being given time off. Because once the baby arrived, you wouldn’t be getting such a break for the next eighteen years.

And you couldn't wait.

Fez had gotten himself a job in a small mechanic shop, which he quickly worked up to being partner of after the older gentleman who owed it took a shine to him and his odd, if not endearing little family.

You’d watched, once the four of you were officially moved into your new home, as Ash and Fez worked on putting together furniture in the nursery, your hand resting over your pregnant belly as you stood in the doorway as they put together your daughter’s crib.

You’d then gone to check on Fez’s grandma. And while she, as ever, never spoke, you told her everything, the same as you always had, to ensure she was always involved in your lives.

And only a few weeks later, she had passed silently in her sleep. And while Fez and Ash had been distraught, you somehow felt like you knew she was at-peace. Like she’d been holding on long enough until you all had made it to finally let go.

You’d held Fez in bed, night after night, his cheek pressed against your belly as he cried, talking about how much he missed her, or just telling wild stories of her younger days to both you and your little one.

And in time, his and Ash’s grief turned to fond remembrance. They had both just hoped that Marie would hold on long enough to meet her granddaughter, but you promised they would one day meet anyway. And they did when you would go visit her at the cemetery.

═════════════════════════════════

When your little girl was born, she was loved and adored by everyone.

Faye and Custer became like a surrogate aunt and uncle. Ash was…an absolutely awesome older brother; you could tell much of how he treated being a brother came from all Fez had taught him. And Fez…well, you had to settle for only having half of his heart now. But the same went for him with yours.

And those two halves made a whole, just as they were always meant to. A whole, which belonged to your daughter and her alone.

When Hank, the owner of the auto shop, was ready to finally retire, Fez had panicked. He had a wife and baby girl to look after now—the two of you had decided that you should stay home and take care of your daughter instead of work (Fez was honestly just really old-fashioned at heart and wanted to provide for the both of you)—but his fears were quickly squashed when Hank signed the shop over to him.

He’d told Fez he’d become like a son to him, while your daughter had become the grandchild he’d never gotten to have. He wanted to make sure he did this one thing right—ensuring you all were well taken care of.

You had been inconsolable, you were so grateful when the two of them told you.

He ensured you that you all were doing him a favor, really. He’d put his life’s work into that shop, and now he knew it wouldn’t be torn down and replaced with some “nonsense hipster smoking joint”, as he’d put it. He knew Fez would look after it well.

And he did.

Fez hired Custer on, who’d also recently gotten himself and Faye moved into an apartment closer to the both of you—he no longer dealing and while it’d taken a lot of effort, Faye had gotten herself clean—and once Ash was older, he became his assistant manager.

He even taught your daughter, Carrie, a bit about cars as she grew older. Every now and again, someone from East Highland stopped in to have their car serviced, but you thankfully never saw Nate Jacobs again. You never bothered looking into what happened to the troubled young man; you didn’t really care.

When Hank passed, it hit Fez really hard. One night, after taking a bath, you’d found him in Carrie’s room, holding her as he cried silently. So you’d set down on the bed beside them and wrapped the both of them in your arms and cried with him and told him how much he had meant to him. That he would be honoring his memory as the new owner of the auto shop.

He tried to visit Hank’s grave weekly, and you did when you were able, always bringing fresh flowers, which you grew in your backyard with your daughter.

Eventually, Custer and Faye married as well, you serving as Faye’s maid-of-honor, and Fez as Custer’s best man at their wedding, which had had one hell of a reception afterward. Fez and you hadn’t gotten drunk like that since you were teenagers. Which had consequently resulted in another unexpected gift, which the two of you had decided to name Hank.

Ash eventually met a girl, and as you watched the two of them, you realized how much they reminded you of you and Fez when you were their age. It was a bit…unnerving, at times. But you knew they were just right for one another with that simple observation alone.

As the years went on, your family only grew. Custer and Faye eventually having a son of their own, Ash and his girlfriend getting married, your daughter growing up and one day meeting a girl, which she fell in love with. And your son finding himself an outgoing woman who always kept him on his toes.

And one day, you looked up, and that broken home where your father had ruled with fists was so far away, you could no longer see it.

All you could was the love right in front of you.

It’d taken unspeakable violence and struggle to get here, but you had made it.

All of you.

[augustinewrites]

augustine!!! forgive me if this is alr something u wrote in kuwtf but!! i just had a thought come to me !!! did megumi (when he was younger) ever message/text/call reader (or gojo… but i doubt 😭😭) to come and pick him up in the middle of smth he’s rlly not enjoying? like !! him being all hesitant and shy abt it !!! but he’s like “can you pick me up… please” or “… i want to go home” 🥺🥺🥺

“okay, while the kids are with you, you’re the new me. strict, but fair. fun, but still careful—”

“ugh, that sounds so boring,” shoko groans. “i prefer being the cool aunt who looks like she could be their sister.”

“uh oh, it sounds like someone’s already raided our liquor cabinet,” gojo teases, sauntering into the kitchen to steal some of the snacks you’re laying out. “maybe we should have nanami babysit shoko babysitting our kids.”

you bat his hands away, rolling your eyes as he pouts. “that’s not necessary, i believe in her.”

“so…you’re saying i didn’t hear you call nanami first?”

“go get changed,” you mutter, ignoring his question and shoving him back towards the bedroom. he goes, but not without placing a big wet kiss on your cheek first.

megumi, who’d been coming in to find a snack, makes an affronted noise.

shoko throws her arm around him, ruffling his hair. “don’t worry about us! i got your very lengthy text message with all the instructions,” she assures you, waving her phone in front of you. “in bed by nine at the latest, no watching sex and the city, and no ending up in the hospital, prison, or the news.”

“yes. by the way, i ordered some pizza for dinner and  left some money so you can take them out for breakfast tomorrow, but please please keep an eye on megumi,” you remind her, swiping the crumbs off your hands and leaning your hip against the counter. “he likes to wander and has a problem with authority.”

“i don’t have a problem with authority,” the boy huffs, ducking out from under shoko’s arm. 

“ohhhh, but you do,” gojo chimes in, coming out of the bedroom dressed up in a nice shirt and tie. you slip your arm through his when he offers, letting him lead you toward the door. 

“have fun!” you call as satoru kneels to help you slip your heels on. 

“not as much fun as you guys will!” shoko calls back. it’s followed by, “say, megumi, have you ever smoked a cigarette before?” 

“ieiri!”

“kidding! you’re so gullible.” 

_____

“a hotel room with one bed!” you gasp, in awe of the king-sized bed sitting in the center of the room. you seat yourself atop of the luxurious sheets, the silk smooth under your palms. “i forgot what this was like!”

gojo sets both your bags down, smiling. “do you want to order some room service? we could order a nice bottle of champagne, eat some dessert—”

you hum, uncrossing your legs slowly. “i can think of something else you can eat…”

you reach up to grab his tie and tug him closer—

—only for it to come off entirely. 

“a clip on tie, satoru? really?” 

his cheeks blush a cute, rosy pink. “they’re really hard to tie if you’re not around to help me!”

you toss it to the side, laughing as he pulls you into his arms, aggressively planting kisses all over your face. he walks you back until you both fall onto the bed, his fingers crawling up the hem of your shirt.

“wait, is that my phone vibrating?”

_____

“what if she’s the one, tsumiki?” you hear shoko sigh, exasperated. 

“like your one true love?”

“yeah! what’s happening to me? i don’t even believe in that stuff.”

you and gojo exchange an amused look. no wonder megumi had texted. 

“have you told utahime any of this?” your wise-beyond-her-years 13 year old asks.

“what? why would i do that?”

“if you don’t tell her how you feel, you’ll both regret it for the rest of your life!”

“utahime and shoko?” gojo whispers. “since when?”

you roll your eyes, swatting at his chest. “since always! you seriously never noticed? she had the biggest crush on her when we were in school.”

“i think i was just too busy looking at you.” 

you can’t help the way you smile at that, your heart a butterfly beat in your chest  “you need to stop, because we’re here to save megumi and if you keep sweet talking me…”

he tucks himself snugly against your back, setting his chin into the crook of your neck. “i’m more of a hands-on learner, so maybe if you show me what’ll happen—”

“finally,” megumi sighs, relieved. 

“whoa,” gojo stops him, tugging on the handle of the backpack over megumi’s shoulder’s. “what’s this for?”

_____

the backpack was for exactly what gojo feared. megumi sleeps soundly between you both in that gorgeous king-sized bed. 

“is this what the rest of our lives are gonna look like?” he asks, fingertips brushing your forehead.

“better get used to abstinence, pal.”

[ilikepipecleanerswitheyes]

s3 opening concept

lexi and rue are sitting in a parked car with somber expressions on their face. a wider shot reveals they’re in the parking lot for a prison. they’re sitting in silence for quite awhile, just staring at the building. finally, lexi breaks the silence and says, “this feels so weird.” rue nods in agreement and says, “so weird.” you can from the sound of both their voices that they’ve both been crying. 

rue begins narrating, “a little after lexi’s play, i realized i owed some people apologies. i knew for sure fezco was one of those people, because well, as it turns out, trying to steal medication from your friend’s comatose grandmother is a pretty shit thing to do. i should have tried to apologize to him long before that, but i think i was honestly just too ashamed to face him.” 

- *cut to scene of rue trying repeatedly to call fez, and leaving voicemails. she keeps calling and calling to no avail so she decides to get on her bike and go to his place to meet face to face. rue’s jaw drops when she sees his house is covered by police tape and patrolled by officers. there’s a lot of people gathered outside as well, chattering about the scene. she tries to get closer to the scene and ask what happened but is told to step back as it is a ‘crime scene’. -

rue narration comes back, “i always knew fezco had a dangerous life. he regularly worked with dangerous people and had to do dangerous things in order for him and ash to survive. ash. 

- *cut back to scene of rue outside fez’s house where the crowd is gathered*, we see rue looking into crowd and listening to chatters. she hears everything from, “i bet they found drugs” to, “nah man i heard his brother had a whole shootout and died!” rue is visibly panicking listening to all the rumors and looks ready to inquire for more information until she spots a familiar face in the crowd, lexi? rue moves closer to confirm if it’s her, and it is. not only that, but lexi looks like she’s been crying. rue bikes her way over to her with an extremely confused face and says, “lex?” lexi jumps slightly and has a shocked look on her face when she sees rue. rue asks, “what are you doing here?”

rue narration again: “then lexi started telling me everything. about how she and fez had been talking for the last few months and how they’d gotten *kinda close*. she told me about how she invited him to the play and that he never showed. she told me they were ‘just friends’. honestly, i got the sense something more was going on but i wasn’t gonna push.” 

*cut back to scene of them in the parking lot*: “we eventually found out most of what went down from people in town and the news. and it was way worse than anything we could have fucking imagined. apparently swat got involved and some guy, and an unnamed child died in the raid. it didn’t take much time for us to guess who the chid might have been. ash was fez’s only family. we knew he was going through hell right now and that he needed someone there for him.”

lexi and rue are still in the car. lexi takes a deep breath and asks, “you ready?” to rue who opens her mouth to say something but begins to cry. rue manages to get out, “yeah i’m sorry i think i just need another second.” lexi starts crying too and wraps rue up in a hug. the scene zooms out on the girls crying and hugging in the car. 

[nothing-but-dreamy]

ON THE EDGE ~ Pt. 7

Characters: Gavin Reed x fem!Reader; Connor; Hank Anderson;

Warnings: cursing

Words: 2.204

Sweat was running down Gavin's muscled body. He was groaning and moaning breathlessly while he enjoyed the sweet pain shooting through his lower abdomen. He was shuddering and shaking. The rhythmically moves were what he needed now. The physical interactions were what he craved for.

It was three in the morning as Gavin trained on his boxing bag until he almost collapsed. Gasping for air, he hugged the bag and slumped down on his knees. He closed his eyes violently as burning sweat was running into them. The past evening was running endlessly through his mind like a broken record or … a rollercoaster. Once again, he was tormenting himself.

…the kiss … I love you … he's nice… why him … I wish you two just all the best … Gavin, wait! …

"Fuck, damn it…", Gavin whispered. He was exhausted and not just because of the training and the lack of sleep. But rather emotionally. Like he had feared, the situation was a mess. It was a disaster. He had waited too long with admitting his feelings and now, he had lost yn to an android. Nothing was as worst as the thought that he had lost the fight about her because of Connor.

Gavin knew he would go crazy if any of this would last longer. Slowly, he opened his eyes, determined that he had to change something. He couldn't force yn to love him back. Mostly not if she had chosen someone else instead of him. But he could force himself to store away the feelings he had for her. It would need some time and it wouldn't be easy but Gavin had to do something or otherwise it would end him.

*

Yn wasn't able to find sleep during the last night. Everything that had happened was a bit too much and a bit too confusing. Connor. Gavin. Two guys kissing her at the same evening. Was that a prank and she just couldn’t understand the payoff of the joke? And not just that Gavin had kissed her, he also had confessed his feelings for her? Feelings she never expected him to have for her. Of course, they were working together and they had grown together as very good friends but … Gavin Reed was loving her? Her idiotic douchebag partner was loving her and she had no idea?

Then, there was what had happened during the kiss with Connor. Sure, she liked the android. He was nice, friendly, handsome but after all, he was an android. Since they got invented, she was a supporter of them. She couldn’t see them as ‘things’ like others did. She would never get one on her own but she also couldn’t imagine being with one of them. She knew herself good enough to know that she would miss something. And as Connor had kissed her, surprisingly skilled how she had to admit, something got triggered inside her. Connor kissed her but it wasn't the lips she wanted to feel on hers, she realized. As he brought her closer, it wasn't the hands she wanted to feel on her body. As yn stopped the kiss, it wasn’t the pair of eyes she wished to look into…

It was three in the morning and yn accepted the fact that sleep was something she wouldn’t find, therefore, she just stood up, took a shower and filled herself up with as much coffee as she could to get through the next few hours. She was thankful as it was time to go to work.

As she entered the DPD, she was glad to see Connor already sitting at his desk AND she was happy to see that Gavin hadn’t arrived yet. Therefore, she could talk with Connor first before she could speak with Gavin.

Connor shot up from his desk as he noticed yn coming over to him, “Good morning.”, he said with a broad smile but he also noticed that she looked tired, “Is everything okay?”, he asked concerned.

“No, if I should be honest-”

“Is it because of the kiss? Like I said, I’m sorry. It was a thoughtless reaction-”

“I know and I’m not- look, Gavin had seen us yesterday. He told me that as we met in the bar… Gavin, he wasn’t really … pleased about it-”

“Not please? What does that mean?”, Connor asked confused.

Yn felt how her brain was just goo and she had no idea how she should go through this day with all this useless, emotional crap during the preparation time for this important case. But she had to deal with it. She pinched the bridge of her nose before she looked up at Connor, “You know how he is. I will talk with him. Trying to remember him to focus on the case first.”, she said calmly. She already felt bad for rejecting Connor how she had done it the previous night. Now, the android didn’t also need to get treated badly by Gavin who felt rejected as well. She feared he would try to take out his anger on the android. Yn wanted to talk with Gavin, to tell him the truth, telling him what she had found out about her feelings but this morning wasn’t the right time. She hoped he would understand that.

Never in her whole life, Yn was so wrong.

As she saw Gavin entering the DPD, she hurried over to intercept him, brave enough to speak with him, “Gavin, hey, about yesterday-”, she tried but his dead glance stopped her.

“Not now, yn. We have work to do.”, Gavin said ice cold. He saw her shocked expression about his distanced behavior. It hurted him to see her like this because of his reaction but if he wanted to get over her, he had to be strong. The last thing he needed was to hear anything about her developing relationship with Connor.

He was about to leave but yn grabbed his arm, “No, please. Don’t run away. We really have to talk, okay?”

Gavin looked into her eyes and he was about to give in but his will was stronger, “No. I don’t wanna talk. Just let us focus on the case.”, he pulled his arm out of her grip and went to his desk.

Yn stared after him speechless. No matter how bad their fights had been before, he never had been this ice cold towards her. Even as they got partnered up he had been an asshole to her at first but never like this. A thick lump was building in her throat and suddenly, yn feared to not just have lost her partner rather even her friend.

*

As Captain Fowler got the newest results of the case of Yn and the team, he called Captain Allen to secure him and his SWAT unit as support. Captain Allen joined the team as well, and all together they planned the whole mission. Allen didn’t notice anything but Hank saw that there was something going on in the team. Yn and Gavin barely spoke to each other. Whenever she tried to get closer to Gavin he stepped back a bit and focused on some file. Avoiding her at all costs. With Connor was it the same. The android watched Gavin and yn with an unreadable expression. Hank was sure that there was something going on he didn’t know and the way all three acted, he was sure, it was not case related.

To escape the tense air, yn went to Fowler, she got coffee or she talked with Captain Allen about a detail of the case. The whole thing wasn’t that complicated but she was glad to have Allen on their side. Captain Allen and his team would be the backup around the warehouse while Gavin, Hank and Connor would make the raid. As yn and Allen discussed a few more details, a sudden turmoil coming from her desk caught the attention of everyone.

Connor’s unusual behaviour caused yn to run to the android and Gavin as she saw how Connor tried to attack her partner. With a swift move, she brought herself between Connor and Gavin, stopping the android with her hands on his chest. From behind her back, Gavin was yelling at Connor, “You stupid tin can!”

“Yeah? I will show you how stupid I am!”, Connor yelled back and yn had difficulties holding Connor at bay.

Slowly, she pushed Connor back before she looked alternate from Connor at Gavin and vice versa, not understand what had happened, “Both of you calm the fuck down! What is going on here?”, she asked serious. Sure, she knew what the topic could be but how that could escalate this quickly was a miracle.

Connor, still with a raging glance in his eyes, answered the question first, “The whole day, he makes some remarks.”

Gavin stepped forward, “Yes, because you stupid plastic toy are getting on my nerves!”, he yelled back.

“Gavin! Calm down!”, yn tried to sooth her partner but Gavin was in his raging mode, staring at the android with dark eyes.

“What is your problem, huh? Can't you accept that you will never have a chance with her?”, Connor asked teasingly. Yn was shocked that Connor was able to be nasty like this. He was provoking Gavin even more but on the other hand she had no idea what Gavin had done the whole time. A movement on her side caught her attention.

“You mother fucking prick!”, Gavin cursed, ready to jump at Connor.

Yn held Gavin back, her hands were barely able to push the man back who was so angry, “Gavin, no!”, she said seriously. As she noticed that Connor wanted to react as well, she looked at him warningly, “Connor, no!”

“What the hell is going on here?”, Fowler yelled from the opened door of his office. Connor and Gavin were still staring at each other, ready to explode any second.

“Nothing, Captain. Just their typical bickering. I will take care of it.”, yn tried to reassure her boss.

Angry about both of them, she pushed Gavin and Connor out of the open office, “Get into the kitchen! Both! Now!”, she demanded angrily. Her nerves were raw. The day was almost over. The operation had been planned completely. Everyone knew what they had to do and yet, these two couldn’t be as calm as she had hoped for.

Hank followed them and stayed near the entrance as help if needed and to prevent someone from walking in.

“What the hell is going on?”, yn asked angrily and annoyed. Gavin had walked to one wall, leaning against it with crossed arms and looked at a point on the ground while Connor just stood there in the middle of the kitchen.

“He was getting on my nerves all day.”, the android said as a defence.

“Yes, because you’re a stupid plastic-”, Gavin called out.

But yn stopped him as she stepped forward, “You! Don't act innocent! We have to work together! All of us! This case is important! So, we have to sort things out, now!”, she said serious.

Gavin stepped forward. Even Hank was alarmed but Gavin just stared down at yn angrily, “No! You have to sort out things with him. I didn't start the fight. He attacked me!”

Now, Connor stepped forward as well, anger rising in his system, “Because you couldn't stop bothering me the whole day!”, and because Connor wasn’t used to such emotions, he started to attack Gavin once again.

Yn stopped the android and even Hank stepped forward to hold his partner back.

Gavin saw yn touching Connor and something broke inside of him. The whole day he tried his best to keep his temper down. He had picked on Connor because otherwise, he would have let out his anger on yn and that was the last thing he wanted. But now, to see them together, in such an intimate way, was too much and Gavin did the only thing he could do to prevent something worse, “I don't need this. I'm outta here!”, he called out and passed the three to rush out of the DPD.

“Gavin, wait!,” yn called out but once again, he was running away from her. The same move he had done the last few days over and over again, “Fuck damnit!”, she cursed, kicking against a bin and walked up and down.

Hank noticed quickly what was going on. To him, everything made sense. Now, yn just needed a push into the right direction, “Kiddo, follow Gavin. He needs you now.”

Yn looked up into the friendly expression of Hank before she nodded. She looked apologetically at Connor before she left the DPD as well to follow her stubborn and idiotic partner.

Confused, Connor watched after yn and looked at Hank, “Why have you sent her after him? Reed acted like an idiot.”

“Look, these two are... They have to find out what they are by themselves. But, obviously, you were the trigger.”

“What do you mean?”

“I guess they're more than just partners. They have to talk about what they are. I will explain it to you.”, Hank said as he saw Connor's confused expression.

[stxrrywildflower]

for better or for worse (3)

pairing - spencer reid x reader

summary - when the people they love the most are kidnapped and ripped out of their hands, the bau does everything they can to get them back before it turns dire

warnings - mentions of case, injury details, angst

series masterlist

bloody jewelry and seven smashed phones.

that’s all the bau team had to go off of in the investigation.

just like hotch had offered, he stepped up to take charge of the situation. emily was thankful to be able to step down for the case, the stress was bulding up and she was ready to crack.

hotch fell back into his leadership role naturally, already pulling someone up from the tech department to do their research and computer work. morgan focused on getting everyone back in the mindset they needed.

luke and spencer were most difficult.

for luke, he felt extremely guilty. morgan did the best he could in helping the agent, though penelope missing did affect him as well.

spencer was a whole different story. he couldn’t think straight, they caught him shaking more than once. sure a walk emily had sent him on did help, though coming back started the cycle all over again.

“hey pretty boy,” morgan started. that nickname alone made spencer flinch. “mind if we go and talk?”

the two men stood up, nodding towards emily and hotch who waved them off.

“i feel like a lot of conversations are happening in here,” spencer commented upon entering morgan’s old office.

“what can i say, it’s a good space,” morgan smiled.

morgan sat on the edge of the desk while spencer took the couch, immediately grabbing a pillow to hold against him. “i’ve already talked to alvez but i figured we need to sit down one on one.”

“it’s not your job to be the team therapist.”

both laughed at that. “yeah well as your friend and honorary older brother, it’s my job to check up on you. and i know how hard this case is for you. i may not be a profiler anymore but your body language is all over the place. and i’m sure that-”

“you know what the last thing i said to y/n was?” spencer interrupted.

morgan stayed quiet, not wanting to say the wrong thing to potentially set him off. “i told her i loved her too,” spencer revealed quietly. “i was dropped her off at her apartment and she kissed me goodnight before telling me she loved me.”

the older agent hugged spencer, not exactly knowing how else to console him other than that. it broke his heart at both the confession and the tears that had started to flow down his cheeks. morgan’s hugs were comforting, they always were. “we’ll get her back kid. that way you can tell her you love her again.”

they stayed in there for a little while longer, talking to refresh their minds of the situation. “we should head back. who knows what the team has discovered by now,” morgan offered. spencer accepted the extended hand to help him up and the two headed back towards the bullpen.

all bets must have been placed on the unsubs making contact sometime soon and through a phone call. a phone incase of ransom or demands was set up on luke’s desk, another machine set up to help trace a call.

hotch and emily remained by the desk while the others work, though main focus was on the device.

the second the phone rang, all members of the team’s attention immediately went to the device. hotch held his hand out, letting them know to keep quiet before signaling emily to pick up the phone.

“hello?” the unit chief answered.

a staticky voice, obviously altered in some form, played over the speaker of the phone.

“you will be receiving a note in exactly fifteen minutes. i expect you to choose wisely.”

sixteen words. sixteen words was all the communication they had from your captors. and it still didn’t feel like enough. “good and bad news,” the new tech analyst announced. “i didn’t pinpoint an exact location but i did narrow it down to areas. they’re no where in the city, somewhere west.”

“choose, what do they mean choose?” j.j. rushed out, panic evident in her tone.

“i need everyone up in the conference room.”

just like the unsub has said, anderson entered the office holding a long office envelope. he handed it over to hotch, who placed it on the round table for examination.

a piece of paper was the first thing pulled out, folded neatly and sealed with wax. with gloved hands, hotch pulled at the folds, breaking the seal. inside, in perfect red ink, was the promised note.

seventy million in twenty dollar bills for their safe return. ten million for each person

or,

ten million for one. your choice. you have 24 hours.

“they want us to choose?”

hotch frowned, reaching back into the envelope

spencer held his hand over his mouth, not even close to being prepared for what he, and the rest of the team, saw.

seven polaroids, all glossy and crisp, were layed out on the table. each was a different picture, all from the neck up. you, along with the others, occupied a square. your injuries were shown, displaying the level of injuries everyone had suffered.

you, andrew, and will were easily the worst. your face was bruised and bloody, dried blood on your nose and dripping from a cut on your forehead. andrew had a similar cut, this time on both of his cheeks. will had a split lip and swollen eyes.

the others, had just a few knicks and bruises. they looked relatively fine, just in shock from the situation.

“oh my god,” j.j. was the first to speak, reaching out to pick up the photo of her husband. the rest did the same, no one knowing how to react to the pictures.

spencer was seconds away from running out of the room, his stomach was flipping and he just overall felt sick. he wanted to rip the photo up, never wanting to see it again.

“we need to start from the begining,” hotch announced. “they’re obviously a team. there’s no way they could have taken seven people without assistance. but that does raise another risk, they could potentially split if something does go wrong.”

that sentence didn’t ease the team at all.

“let’s focus on what they left. broken phones is to let us know they’re missing. but i think we should be focusing on the word love,” morgan added.

“that’s obvious,” matt spoke up. “they’re the people we love the most. by taking them away from us, they want us to experience a certain type of pain.

“we could be looking at siblings!” emily exclaimed.

j.j. nodded at that. “that does make sense. usually partnerships like this wouldn’t have the same level of hatred unless they shared the exact same experience. abandonment or losing someone could be a trigger.”

“we need to look at triplets and siblings who experienced some from of loss in the family. it’s going to be a long list but we can reduce it by the property owned,” hotch ordered.

while the tech analyst did their own digging, the rest of the team went through a box of every case involving families in the state.

it was a painful process, taking seven hours before anyone actually found anything. by then, the conference room was a mess of papers scattered around and empty coffee mugs.

the team narrowed it town to triplets, one girl and two boys. their parents had passed when they were teenagers, the oldest boy gaining custody of them. they were forced to live on their own, fending for each other. they had it out for the bau ever since they denied looking into their case.

besides motive, they owned a ranch a bit further outside of the city. a perfect place to conceal their plans. adding on to the lack of paper trail and trigger, it was more than likely that they were the unsubs.

no one from the bau team was allowed to go on the raid, their emotions could greatly alter the arrest. hotch and morgan led it, accompanied by swat.

instead, they were sent to the hospital. it was inevitable that all of you would need medical attention, it was the best option for them to go and wait, hoping for your safe return.

almost an hour went by without any news.

the team sat in one of the designated waiting rooms, all having some nervous quirk to help calm them down.

with little warning, a flood of doctors and nurses passed the room, a few police officers and swat agents as well. at the end of it all were hotch and morgan, both taking off their kevlar vests as they entered the room.

in an instant, everyone was standing up. emily was the first one to attempt to leave the room. hotch blocked the doorway, using his hand to prevent her from going anywhere.

“hotch what the hell. let me through,” emily demanded.

one flick of the eyes back and forth between the two former agents was all the team needed to raise further questions. it was and has always been a telltale sign that they were either lying or hiding information.

“what aren’t you telling us?”

hotch let out a sigh. the tense silence in the room did nothing for anyone’s nerves.

“we only got four of them.”

☆ ☆ ☆

teaser

tags - @zozoleesi @emxlyprentxss @spencerreidfanatic00 @mrs-dr-reid @irjuejjsaa @ogmilkis @sageellesworth05 @mortallythoughtfulgurl @brainyreid @ah-blossom @kissessforharryyy @ssareidbby @spencersglasses @spenciepoo338 @mggstyles @emilouu @loki-an-idiot @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress @pianofirepirate @ssa-morgan @afuckingshituniverse @spencerslatte @reminiscing-writer @kianagilder-blog @ssaic-jareau @theatrenerd101601 @drprettyboyreid @emilyxprentiss

[need-a-fugue]

Trustworthy (Chapter 4)

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years teaming up with Santiago Garcia on every mission you had a hand in coordinating… and the past several months plotting with him to take down the biggest bad to hit your radar. But even all your time at the DEA and all your experience in the field couldn’t have prepared you for this.

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Fem!Reader (slow burn)

Warnings: Violence, language

Okay, yeah, sure, fine, you and Santi might not have been 100% honest about what you were planning in the jungle.

In fairness, neither of you ever actually said that this recon mission was at the behest of the CNP or Colombian military or any other government entity. You may have hinted at it. You may have neglected to correct the guys when they assumed. But you never actually told them that anyone had requested the raid on Lorea’s house.

What you had said was that there was a good chance this could turn into… something more. Something that might end up in a hefty pay day for all of you. You just never told the group of men that you and Garcia were actually banking on it.

You didn’t love the idea of lying to a bunch of strangers whom – if they agreed to everything – would end up holding your very life in their hands. Frankly, just the thought of doing so felt… sleezy. Especially considering that these men were Santi’s trusted friends. His brothers. But Santiago insisted that it needed to be played this way – They’ll never go for it if we tell them what we’re really up to. But I promise you, bonita, once they’re here, once they see… they’ll be all in.

He clearly knew his team because after just that single two-hour recce, a couple rounds of beers at a local bar, and a rather stirring, pointed speech, they were, in fact, all in.

And why not, really? The only one of them who had anything to lose – a family beyond those seen at the occasional holiday, wedding, or funeral – was Tom. And he’d been struggling so badly lately with impending alimony and child support and two kids’ worth of college tuitions – eight years minimum – that the money alone did all of their convincing for them.

It was illegal, yes. It was, as the captain said, “downright criminal.” But it wasn’t wrong. And as long as everything went according to plan, no one would know anything about any of it.

In the end, the world would be down at least one piece-of-shit, megalomaniacal drug lord murderer.

Some of the struggling people of Leticia – because you and Santi had promised each other and Yovanna that you’d drop a good chunk of the money into the hands of local charities – would have better lives.

Tom’s girls could go to college without having to worry about paying off student loans until they die.

Will could finally get rid of his old junker and buy a nice car – maybe not the Ferrari Ben was angling for, but a nice car all the same – to get him back and forth across the country for all those rousing speeches he insisted he would not stop giving.

Benny could invest in better training, at better gyms with better equipment… and real trainers. Or, hell, he could give all that shit up and quit getting his ass handed to him by kids ten years his junior, all in the hopes of capturing what was almost always one hell of a disappointing purse.

And Frankie? Well, Frankie wasn’t sure what he’d do with his share. But it sure would be nice to not have to worry so damn much. To not have to scramble to make the house payment every month. To not have to beg that dick who owns the local airfield to let him take on a few jobs just so he could settle into a cockpit for a bit. To maybe have the time – and funds – to take a woman on a date every now and then… not that he had a clue who that woman might be.

And you and Santi? Well, after years of accomplishing nothingin the fight against Lorea – the fight against the drug trade that had ruined and taken so many lives around the world – you two could finally say that you’d actually made a difference. Even if you couldn’t quite say it aloud for everyone to hear.

000

By the time you get to the compound early Sunday morning, rain’s already been falling for hours. The area’s nearly flooded, so your off-road path is basically a sprawling swampland. You barely slept, your hip is aching like crazy from an old injury, and the minute you step out of the SUV you damn near squeal like a stuck pig as you suddenly sink up to your calf in thick, sucking mud.

“Shit,” Frankie mutters under his breath – under a breathless laugh, you’re pretty sure – as he hops out and wraps a steadying arm around your waist. “Let me help,” he says, the words so soft, you can barely hear them over the unyielding pounding of the rain.

You try to balance, holding onto the door, one foot just barely sinking into the soft earth as Frankie leans down to pry the other from what feels like an utterly engulfing quicksand. He struggles, still holding you around the waist while his left hand works to grip your leg, your boot, your ankle… whatever he can wrap his fingers around. But it’s no use. The op has yet to even begin and already you’re stuck. In the disgusting mud. Deep in the endless jungle. With no hope of ever getting out.

You let out a painfully dramatic, completely despairing sigh and glance up only to see Benny laughing. Really laughing… not even trying to hide his utter, unabashed amusement at your awful predicament. You shoot him as threatening a glare as you can muster. But it only makes him laugh harder.

“Go get into position,” Tom orders, slapping him on the shoulder and shaking his head – once again in a seemingly all-too-practiced dadway – before he bends down to help Frankie out.

Finally, finally, the two men manage to free you. Shockingly, your boot leaves the earth as well, though you can feel the muck inside squelching beneath your instep and in between your toes. Your lip curls in disgust as you haphazardly wipe the boot – bottom, sides, and top – on the wheel well, a bit of mud getting squeezed out near your ankle as you do so. “I’m gonna get jungle rot,” you mutter bitterly as you continue to smear grime along the body of the SUV.

Tom swats your leg away. “Just be sure you don’t give away your location with all the squishing,” he says with a hint of a smile. Then, patting Frankie on the back, he finishes with a much more stern, “Let’s do this,” and takes off to find his position, face and shoulders both set as he easily drops into soldier mode.

“I’m still not sure if I like that guy,” you begin as you and Frankie head for the high ground, “or really freaking hate him.”

He bites out a quick laugh, turns to show off that too-damn-perfect smile, and replies with an easygoing, “Yup.”

Once you make it out of your drop-in point, everything else seems to be smooth sailing. The worst part is just waiting, especially with the rain. Waiting for Garcia’s informant to drop off the van. Waiting for the guards to leave for church, the family not so quickly following suit. Waiting for the guys to move in – Frankie shooting a quick wink alongside, “Watch my six,” as he heads out to join them. Waiting for the all-clear from Benny before you can finally enter the house yourself.

The house. Lorea’s house.

You’d been waiting for this for too damn long. Years of hunting the man had led to these last few months of building out this very plan with Santiago… and then to the last week of recon and final plans with these soldiers whom you barely even know. For all of the initial mistrust heaped upon you by them – and you honestly don’t blame them for any of it – the truth is, they know they have each other to depend on. You’re the odd man out here. You’re the one who should be questioning them… their dedication to this mission. Their loyalty to Santi, and by extension, to you. Their desire to end Lorea’s reign of terror.

You’re in this to take that man out. And if just one of these guys decides that’s not going to happen – for whatever reason – you’re shit out of luck. You should trust them only as far as you can throw them, which would be… not very far. But as you catch sight of Ben standing inside the front door, eagerly waving you in, and as you see the trail of blood leading into the kitchen, a voice over the coms calmly declaring, we had to shoot one of the guards in the leg, something inside of you shifts and settles and all of the worries about who may or may not be trustworthy simply flit away to nothing.

But other concerns quickly rise to take their place.

Watching the highly trained special ops team move about you – each man light-footed and fluid, so quiet that their breathing is nearly inaudible, even as one of them leans over your shoulder from his position behind – is nerve wracking enough to make your legs begin to tremble. You knew what you were getting into here. You knew that this would be dangerous, that it would require a certain level of skill and technique and training. But it isn’t until you actually see these men – these elite soldiers – in action that you realize how woefully inept and unprepared you are in comparison.

Self-doubt begins to seep from the cracks now forming in your carefully crafted façade. Uncertainty, insecurity, fear starts to build up and rise within you, burning like bile creeping up the back of your throat. By the time you and Santiago finish the second sweep of the downstairs and begin climbing the steps to the second-story landing, your entire body is vibrating with regretful apprehension.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you hear as you approach the study upstairs. It’s the room where your informant took the picture of the stacks of cash after her delivery, the holding area where all of Lorea’s blood money sat, just waiting to be counted. But when you enter, there’s no money to be found, just pissed-off-looking soldiers surrounded by the empty bags they had planned to fill with cash.

“Your girl burned us,” Frankie mutters blankly, eyes full of regret and annoyance as he leans heavily against one wall. His dark gaze collides with yours for just a fraction of a moment before he shakes his head and breathes out, “We gotta get outta here.”

Your brow crinkles in confusion, all of the insecurity bubbling through your body suddenly settling and getting replaced by a sort of righteous indignation. “Whoa, wait,” you spit out, sidestepping Santi and rushing to the center of the room. “We’re not leaving. We’re not done here.”

Will gives you an almost disappointed look and blankly mutters, “Nothing here, sweetheart,” before dropping heavily into a chair in the corner.

You shake your head, a pointed certainty to your words as you level him with a heated stare and say, “Lorea’s here. He’s always here. He does not leave.”

Tom scoffs. “Yeah, well, he left today,” he says, tone full of spite. “And he took the money with him.”

You spin to face him, “No,” pouring from your lips in a firm and unyielding tenor. “He’s here. And so is the money.”

“We did a full sweep,” Will breathes out.

“So we’ll do another,” Santiago chimes in, suddenly at your back.

You look around at all the forlorn faces and roll your eyes, realizing all at once that, for all their training in war, these men don’t have a freaking clue about the kinds of things you deal with in your job. They’re used to encountering soldiers – enemy combatants, trained mercenaries, militias… people who’s purpose is to fight. That’s not what Lorea is. That’s not what he does. He didn’t move deep into the jungle to fight, to wage war, to build an army. He came here to hide.

“You guys are fucking idiots,” you declare with a huff. “I once spent two hours tearing apart a houseboat before finding the guy we were after squatting in a hidden cutout near the bilge. A few years ago, we found fifty thousand dollars under a false bottom in a hot tub while serving a search warrant. Another raid ended with us tearing apart a kid’s tree house that had cash hidden under the floorboards. You think because Lorea isn’t sitting here behind his desk, counting his millions like fucking Scrooge McDuck that they’re not here? That he’s not here?”

“Didn’t McDuck swim in his money?” Benny inquires from behind, the question earning quick huff of a laugh from his brother.

You feel Santi step away from your side. “She’s right,” he says, his eyes dancing around the room, looking for… something. They land on a mostly empty can of paint, and he smiles, sniffing quickly at the air. “Fresh paint.”

Tom’s eyes widen and tick towards the wall to his left as his lips split and out pours what you had all along seen as being an obvious truth. “The house is the safe.”

000

When it rains, it pours. You’d been the one to say that, to inanely mutter the adage through the coms with a huff as Benny took off back inside the house – the safe – while you sat in the now heavily weighted van, so full of money that the suspension sags to the point of extremeconcern.

The guards are coming back, the sound of their SUV’s engine just barely chugging atop the steady beating of the downpour that had engulfed you all for the past few hours. They’re coming back, and everyone but you is still inside.

Call it greed. Call it vindictiveness. Call it whatever the fuck you want. But you all had agreed to get as much plata out of that house as possible, to fill the cars to the freaking brim with as much of that motherfucker’s money – his lifeblood, his love, his everything – before setting fire to the whole damn thing. You’d been in this business long enough to know that bringing down one cartel merely opens up a door for others to grow. But still, the idea of watching Lorea’s empire burn makes you wet in a way the torrential rain beating on the roof on the van never could.

You toss a glance back, over you shoulder at the mound of duffel bags, a child’s suitcase thrown into the pile as well, all filled to bursting with cash. It’s pretty unbelievable. Incredible. You’d never been the type to really worry about money, no more so than the average guy. But damn if being surrounded by millions of dollars doesn’t make you a little lightheaded. And the fact that it’s Lorea’s money?

Despite Santi’s little bullshit pep talk the other night about how all of you deserve this – for serving your country and fighting for what’s right… blah, blah, blah – you honestly don’t feel like you deserve this money any more than anyone else. But Lorea sure as shit doesn’t deserve it. And you trust yourself – and each of these men by your side – to put it to far better use than he ever would.

You can’t see the guards, can’t see the SUV carrying them from your vantage point in the van. But Benny had told you to stay put, he’d get the others and he wanted you ready to drive as soon as they came out. Still, you know now that the first car must’ve arrived at the compound because – aside from the steady pounding of the rain and the wild pulse of your heartbeat echoing in your ears – everything is suddenly silent. No more hum of an engine. No choppy callouts over the radio as Ben seeks out the guys. Everything is silent and still. Until… pop-pop, short and sudden, muffled by the thick walls of the house.

Over the coms you hear – in a calm, controlled tone – Two down in the entryway. Another sharp pop, followed by a voice you’ve come to easily recognize. That’s three.

There’s something in the way their words are uttered, something in the utterly placid tenor of each of their voices. Something also to the sparse shots – so unlike the rapid, automatic gunfire you’re used to being thrown into amid scared and untrained local police and inexperienced, foolhardy kids hired as cheap labor by the cartels. There’s something about the way they all rush suddenly into your line of sight – fast but calm, controlled – as they pour out of the house, a few racing past to find the guards’ SUV, the sounds of their footfalls and quick breaths nearly drowning out the whir of the engine as you turn the ignition. There’s something about it all that leaves you feeling – despite the fact that things did not go as planned and you can see that all-too-recognizable, pissed-off scowl tugging at Santiago’s features as he flies past your window – calm as well. Safe, even.

Frankie climbs quickly into the passenger side of the van just as you fire up the engine, Will slowly pulling himself into the seat behind him. “Shit,” you mutter, eyes widening as you take in the grimace on the man’s face, the blood on his hands and shirt. “What the hell happened?”

“S’fine,” he tells you, punctuating the statement with a nod, a directive to look forward. “Let’s move.”

You put the van in gear and hit the gas, maneuvering steadily through the compound and towards the front entrance. “Did you get shot?” you inquire again, your voice showing less concern and more simple curiosity.

“Yeah,” he groans, a thick breath hitching as you hit a particularly big bump in the road. “Your friend Lorea popped out of his little hidey hole and got me. Guess you called that.”

You whip around to face him, eyes now like damn saucers. “You got him?”

Frankie grabs your arm and gives a little tug to get you turn back towards the front, only speaking, answering for Will, once you do so, once you settle a still-wild stare on the path ahead, “Yeah. Pope took him out. He’s dead.”

You say nothing for a long moment, letting those words seat inside of you. He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. How long have you wanted to hear those words? How long have you been gunning for that son of a bitch, waiting for someone to take him out… hoping that someone might be you? Santi doing it is the next best thing, you figure.

A sudden explosion lights up in front of you as you approach the gate and Benny blows past it, and past the van, angrily muttering to himself all the while. “He looks pissed,” you comment blithely, looking to Frankie for something akin to permission before flooring it and ramming through the gate like you’re just itching to do.

He gives a staunch nod forward. “Can’t blame him,” he says, capping it off with a softer, rather encouraging, “Go for it.”

You hit the gas, glancing in the rearview mirror and asking, “The others are in the SUV?” as the guards’ car pulls up behind you and waits for Ben to jump in.

Frankie nods – “Yeah.” – and his eyes suddenly tick your way, narrowing a bit as they rove your body before coming to rest on your hands as they tightly grip the wheel.

“What?” you ask, feeling his stare burn into you.

Will laughs from behind – a swift, stilted thing that tells you just how much pain he’s actually in – and lets out an amused, “Fish always drives.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you say, voice dripping with put-on sincerity as you continue down the unpaved road. “Do you want me to pull over?”

He rolls his eyes, but there’s no hiding the plainly obvious pout tugging at his lips when he looks over at you and mutters, “Just watch where you’re going.”

The first half or so of the long drive up to the airfield is spent in tense silence. You don’t fight it, don’t force any sort of conversation, don’t inquire about what exactly happened in that house. You can tell that these men need a long-ass moment to come down from everything. Hell, your own adrenaline still has your pulse thrumming endlessly through your ears. And you’d been safely ensconced inside this van for most of the action. It’s not like you had to fight your way out of there. It’s not like you got shot.

Your eyes bounce up to the rearview mirror, finding Will curled into himself in the backseat. “How you doing, Ironhead?” you ask, purposefully infusing the ridiculous name with a mocking intonation.

He looks up and catches your gleaming eyes in the mirror, notes your slight smirk, and gruffly replies, “Well, I’m not dead yet.”

“It’s just a flesh wound,” Frankie supplies from your right. He spins around to give his friend a quick once over. “He’s fine.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous,” you challenge, raising a brow. “Didn’t see you coming out of there with a new hole in your body.”

“Didn’t realize you were so focused on my body,” he returns with a bit of a lilt.

Will groans loudly from the back. “Don’t start flirting up there,” he practically orders before the no-argument tone slips into something softer, almost jovial. “I’m suffering enough back here as is.”

“You’re fine,” Frankie shoots back, turning bodily in his seat and craning his head towards his friend. “You act like you’ve never been shot before.”

“I’m retired,” he replies. “Think I forgot how much this sucks.”

You nod, almost to yourself, emitting a simple, assenting, “Yeah.”

Frankie leans back, still remaining sideways in the seat, his stare now wholly on you. You glance over and see his brow scrunch in… is it concern? Or merely curiosity? “You’ve been shot?” he asks, an odd edge to his voice.

Again, you nod. “I have. Didn’t care for it.”

“See, Fish,” Will mumbles from the back as he slips further down the seat in an effort to find some semblance of comfort. “Maybe you’ve been so busy flying around rich businessmen in the private sector that you’ve also forgotten how shitty this is.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he mutters with a frown.

Will cocks his head at you – not that you can see it, eyes remaining trained on the road lest you get another watch where you’re goingevil stare from the man by your side. “What happened to you, sweetheart?”

You snort out a short laugh, glancing quickly at Frankie and saying softly – and more than a little bit condescendingly – “He likes to call me sweetheart.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the man in the back sighs out, waving a dismissive hand through the air. “Guess I’m just a run-of-the-mill chauvinist.”

You shrug. “I never said anything about you being run-of-the-mill.” And from your right, you hear a soft snicker. A gentle smile spreads across your face and your hands loosen their death grip on the steering wheel just a bit as you feel the air filling the van begin to lighten, tension seeming to slowly spill away. After a lingering – but not at all wrought – moment, you shift a bit in your seat and say, “Went on a raid just outside of Tijuana. My first down in Mexico. And I took a bullet in the hip.”

“Shit,” Will intones. “Hell of a bienvenido.”

“Yeah,” you breathe out, suddenly all-too conscious of the old ache in your joint that’s been plaguing you all day. “But on the plus side, I’m now always the first to know when it’s about to rain.”

Both men laugh. You laugh – despite the pain in your hip and the worry about the guy in back… and your terribly distracting infatuation with the wide smile now painted on Frankie’s face. You all sit in the van – on your way to flee the country after committing a terrible crime – and laugh about the fact that, despite each of you being a little bit broken, none of you are dead yet.

Taglist:

@tweedlydumbtweedlydoo @icanbeyourjedi @greeneyedblondie44 @mrscrain-x7 @kyjoraven@elephants-are-a-thing @nakhudanyx

[solange-lol]

truly, madly, deeply

(alternate title: william andrew solace, sponsored by kitkat)

words: 1,072

AUctober day 31: halloween

read on ao3

—

Nico thought that spending Halloween with his boyfriend would mean parties, couples costumes, and cheesy photoshoot galore. Unfortunately, when said boyfriend is currently applying to colleges, it changes your plans a bit.

Not that he’s really complaining. Nico was actually sort of dreading the typical “Halloween party” that comes around this time where every teen gets shitfaced and eats way too many Skittles, which makes the next morning a fun colorful surprise when your head is in the toilet. He loves his friends, but not enough to go through that for the third year in a row.

They’re at Will’s house instead, having been put on candy duty by Naomi, who left about an hour before Trick or Treating started to go set up for a gig. So far they’ve had a limited number of kids coming to the house, even with the friendly little neighborhood Will lives in near the school. Apparently, kids had begun to learn that going to neighborhoods like Nico’s, where mansions lined the street, they had a better chance of getting the king-sized candy bars.

Instead of waiting at the door for kids who may never come, the two have elected to sit on the couch together in Will’s living room instead, raiding the candy bowl that Naomi had put together.

They are in costume, of course. Will is wearing a bright orange sweater with a Jack-o-Lantern face (much to his delight, and to Nico’s disgust.) At one point he had a green plant-top headband on, but it had since been knocked on the floor after a quick makeout. It was now serving as a chew toy for Will’s dog, a golden retriever appropriately named Sunny.

As for Nico, it was now his fifth year strong as a vampire. And yes, the costume he bought back in seventh grade still fit him. Although, his cape was now draped around Will, turning his boyfriend into a pumpkin-demon of sorts like a villain from the world’s worst Halloween movie.

Will is lying against one of the arms of the couch with his legs up, groaning as he fills out question after question for his college application. Early applications are due next weekend, and like most high school seniors, he had overestimated the amount of time he had and was now doing it last minute.

Nico leans cross-legged against Will’s knees, his PreCalc midterm study guide in his lap. (It was their school’s idea to put all of their midterms the week after Halloween, assuming that kids wouldn’t get too drunk and actually show up for school. PreCalc was also the only class he and Will have together because of their grade difference, which means Nico doesn’t exactly get the most done during class.)

Will sighs heavily at yet another Common App question, and Nico reaches to pat his knee supportively without looking up.

“‘What did I enjoy most about last Monday?’ I don’t even remember last Monday!” he drops his head back on the armrest, making Nico crack a smile.

“Well, you were with me last Monday. We went out for pizza to celebrate the last week of our sanity before midterm hell,” he recalls, poking his boyfriend’s calf with the back of his pen.

Will gasps, before furiously typing. “You’re right! And now they’ll have to accept me if I mention I have a boyfriend because if they don’t it’ll be a hate crime!”

“I don’t think that’s how that works—”

“It’s a hate crime,” he deadpans.

A second later, they both crack up.

Even in this moment of pure bliss, though, the question Nico has been wondering ever since the start of school in September has been lurking in the back of his mind.

The doorbell rings interrupting their moment and only pushing the question closer to the front of Nico’s mind. Will has to regain composure before picking up the bowl and walking to the door. He looks back at Nico, silently asking if he’s going to join him, to which Nico just shakes his head with a soft smile.

When Will returns, Nico can’t help it when he blurts it out.

“What is going to happen to us when you go to college?”

The blonde furrows his eyebrows. “It’s only October, babe,” he says, unwrapping a KitKat and settling back down on the couch next to him.

“I know, but it’s Halloween, which means tomorrow is November, and November turns into December. Once we get through break it’s practically March and then after that school is like, basically over. Then you leave in August, and- I’m sorry did you just take a bite of that KitKat without breaking apart the pieces?”

Will glances at Nico, then down at the KitKat. There was, in fact, a bite taken out of it with the two pieces somehow still connected.

“Um,” he looks back up at Nico. “Yes?”

What kind of heathen was he dating?

“I- okay,” Nico sighs, leaning back into Will. Just because his boyfriend is a disgrace doesn’t mean he doesn’t still want to be around him. Plus, it’s 40 degrees outside and he’s practically a space heater. “What was I saying?”

“You were spiraling,” Will says, poking Nico’s cheek. He swats Will’s hand away, electing to lace their fingers together instead.

“Don’t laugh at me, I was being serious!” he protests. “If we only have the next ten months together, like this-” he holds up their joined hands- “then I need to prepare myself mentally.”

“If you could stand another ten months of me I’ll be impressed,” Will says, then lets go of their hands so he can pull Nico closer until he’s practically in Will’s lap. “But until then, we’ll just take it day by day, okay?”

Nico silently nods.  After a moment, he speaks again. “I’m pretty sure I could stand you for a lifetime.”

He feels Will smile against his shoulder. “That was cheesy.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I love you.”

Nico grins. “Yeah, I know.”

“Rude,” Will pulls back, pouting. “Say it back.”

“I love you, too.”

“Good,” Will nods, and there’s a tiny smudge of chocolate just on top of his lip. Nico reaches out to rub it off with his thumb, before pulling Will’s face closer to his so he can kiss him.

However much longer they have together, whatever college or the rest of this year means, to hell if he’s not gonna enjoy every minute of it.

—

solangelo tag list (message to be added/removed)

@unicornsgomooo @anxiouswinter @soulangelou @number-of-fucks-i-give-0 @underworldystuff @theeloquentsnake @solangelover@thefandomsaretakingover @internallyexplodingrainbows​ @hairasuntouchedaspartoftheamazon​ @motivatedcryptidtamer @emilyfairchild @wherethewildthingsare-nt @hetapeep41 @blavk-dahlia

[rjhpandapaws]

(Not) What I Want in a Second Chance

Ch 1: The Devil is in the Details

//Tw: Emotional manipulation. Death, grieving, alcohol abuse, suicidal ideation; anti-android sentiments, and anti-android language. CyberLife is an unsettling mix of FB, Amazon and Google. Be prepared

Hank had his fair share of regrets, it came with the amount of time he had been on the force. His family fell apart. There were lives he could have saved if he had only been faster. The consequences that came with hitting a patch of ice; just to name a few. There were days he debated putting in for retirement, but he knew where that would lead. One more added to a growing statistic. Another retired detective that chose to suck on a bullet; and that was assuming anyone cared enough to come check on him. So he drank instead. On the days he woke up in time, he went to work. On the days he didn’t he woke up only to start drinking again. Another hopeless, tired man on the fast track to a whiskey filled grave. He wasn’t as bothered by that as he probably should have been. He wasn’t bothered by much anymore. If he could think clearly that meant he needed a drink. There was one thing that always bothered him though, and that was androids. He found them creepy over all, they had no reason to look that human. Then one had killed Cole; or rather, stood there and did nothing while he died. That had been when Hank had drawn the line. In that moment they had gone from something mildly off putting to something he actively despised.

That was why he liked places like Jimmy’s. It was one of the few places left that wasn’t overrun by androids, and the other patrons left him alone. Everyone was nursing a different sorrow so conversation wasn’t a priority. He could treat his grief with whiskey until he was face down against the bar and no one would judge him for it. Tonight was shaping up to be one of the rougher ones. He couldn’t drown his regrets no matter how much he drank. The thoughts refused to blur. It wasn’t Cole tonight. For a change, he was thinking about someone else he had lost. Connor Paldeki was one of his earlier partners, and his favorite even still. He had belonged to the Deerborn Police Department originally and they had met on a particularly bad homicide case. They worked well enough that they were paired for joint cases pretty often after that. So when Connor was transferred to Detroit it only seemed natural that they were made partners since they had previous work history. Even as a rookie Connor had been bright. He could pick a scene a part and put it back together with ease and accuracy that was almost scary. Hank had been certain that he was on the fast track to making rank. Then the Red Ice bust had happened and Connor’s glowing career came to a sudden and bloody end. Hank had wound up promoted, but it felt hollow somehow. Like it was a consolation of sorts.

He felt like it was written in Connor’s blood. Hank had been told that he hadn’t felt it, that he had been dead before he hit the ground. They hadn’t seen him though with the fear of death frozen on his face. None of the them had the haloing pool of blood seared into their memory. For all the consolation they tried to give him, they hadn’t been so powerless as to see the life leave the eyes of a dear friend. The papers had praised the whole raiding group as heroes, painted the thing like it had been a success. In a way it had been; they’d gotten what they were after, but they had lost three officers in the process. Connor, and two officers he hadn’t known from the SWAT team that had accompanied them. No one talked about it, and Hank wanted to scream. He went through the motions; his mandatory grief counseling, being a pall bearer for Connor’s casket; and then he took some time off to try and process all of it. When he got back he took the small bonsai tree from Connor’s desk and pretended things were alright. He had to be. He was Lieutenant now, he couldn’t just break. He took care of the tree like Connor was coming back and would be upset to find it dead. He continued to try and love Ezra even though things were falling apart slowly, and he did his job. If he just kept going something would have to got right eventually. He hoped so anyway; because if it didn’t then what the fuck was all of this for. When Cole was born Hank had thought that was the start of his better days, and it had been for a while.

It was some level of pathetic that the most put together his life had ever seemed to be was when he was drinking himself into an early grave. He was pulled away from that train of thought by the feeling of being watched. That sense of awareness wasn’t something he could turn off even when he was drinking away what was left of his coherency. He looked up from the bar, and there was Connor, but something was off. Aside from the fact that he was dead, had been for over ten years at this point. He was here in the flesh, and Hank was almost willing to write it off as a drunken hallucination. There was just something about this Not-Connor that was bothering him. It took longer than it should of for his eyes to land on the blue LED at his temple. He’d had to tear his eyes away from the face that had haunted more than it’s fair share of his nightmares for the better part of a decade. CyberLife had accounted for every little detail. Down to that stupid curl that had always refused to stay put no matter how much gel Connor put in his hair. He could hazard a guess at how they had gotten that information. They had files on everyone it seemed, whether or not someone owned an android didn’t seem to matter. Or, since it had been over a decade they could have pulled it through FOI, but Hank sincerely doubted that.

“Lieutenant Anderson?” He - It asked. Hank couldn’t place it, but there was something wrong about the voice. It was almost exactly Connor’s, but there was something wrong about it. He was tempted not to respond, but he had the feeling this Not - Connor would wait there all night even if Hank ignored it. “Yeah,” He huffed, “What do you want?” “My name is Connor.” It started, and Hank wanted to scream, this was not his Connor. Not the right one, “I am the android sent by CyberLife. There has been a homicide and I was told to find you; which I was lucky enough to do after the fifth bar.” “Fuck off.” Hank groused. “My instructions were -” It started, but Hank cut it off. “I’ll show you where you can stick your instructions.” He muttered. That seemed to give it pause. Where is Connor would have laughed and made a remark of his own, this convincing fake just looked pathetically confused. Hank almost pitied the thing, but it wore the face of a dead friend and that wasn’t something he could forgive. “What if I buy you a drink?” It pressed, “Would you come with me then?” Hank gave an annoyed sigh of defeat and relented. The sooner he got this over with, the less time he would have to spend facing this walking lie, “Fine.”

In the most put upon way the thing that was not Connor flagged for another whiskey and even paid for it. As annoyed as he was, Hank had to admit he was almost impressed. The real Connor would have never set foot in a bar unless it was for a case. It made it easier to distance one from the other. He nursed his new whiskey for longer than was strictly necessary. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it his way. He drove to the scene with his music loud enough that talking would be a pain in the ass, and the thing had still tried to make conversation. Hank would have turned into oncoming traffic if he was certain this thing wouldn’t have tried to stop him. It certainly seemed to have a purpose other than torturing him. “Stay in the car.” He said firmly when they arrived at the scene. “Got it.” It said in a way not too unlike the actual Connor and it made Hank’s stomach twist in disgust. It didn’t actually stay in the car of course, and Hank hadn’t really expected it to. It had it’s orders after all, and so did Hank unfortunately.

Hank took a bitter sort of satisfaction in Ben’s obvious discomfort when he saw it. Whatever comment he had been about to make died and he let them by with a tense nod. Every person on scene that had known the real Connor looked distinctly troubled by the fake; and that had been before it had licked any evidence. Hank passively observed the scene, he wanted to see what this thing was made of.  Was his computer brain anything like how the real Connor’s had been? Better? As much as he hated the thing, he was curious how it would stack up against the real thing. The other android self destructed in the end, even with Not-Connor’s unsettling attempt at compassion. Or perhaps because of it. It was something Hank hoped he would never have to see again. By the time they were done for the night, Hank had one question that was weighing on him. “Why do you look this way?” He asked as he gathered his things. “To ensure your cooperation.” Came the flat reply. That was when Hank realized what was wrong; the voice held no emotion to it. The next thing it said was what chilled Hank to the bone, “They figured you wouldn’t want to the cause of your partner’s death for a second time, and it was too soon to use the image of your son.”

Hank wasn’t sure what hurt him more; the blatant manipulation, or that fact that if seeing his dead friend again didn’t hurt him enough CyberLife wouldn’t be above using his son against him. When he made it the parking lot he threw up in a near by trash been. He didn’t remember the drive home, but when he got to the house he made sure to feed Sumo before he grabbed the Black Lamb and his revolver. When darkness finally came for him he didn’t know if it was because he had drank himself into unconsciousness again, or if he had finally won at Russian Roulette. He just hoped he never came out of it. He couldn’t do this.

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 15

Bad Darcy!

[AO3] - 1,469 words

x

Lacey’s new peace with Gold made no real difference to her life, other than that she could pass him in the diner or on the street and not want to hurl herself into the sun. He was polite but distant whenever they met, and a part of her was disappointed that the coffee and cake in the back of his shop hadn’t led to a reciprocal offer from him. Ruby said that he never went out drinking, so looking around for him as she downed rum and coke in The Rabbit Hole was a pointless exercise. Which didn’t stop her doing it.

“Just march into the shop, unzip his pants and get on your knees,” suggested Ruby, waving her drink around as she gestured and making it slosh dangerously in the glass. “You know you want to.”

“I do n—” Lacey closed her eyes with a sigh. “Okay, maybe I do, but I’m not going to.”

“Come on, what do you have to lose?”

“My liberty, when he presses charges for sexual assault...”

“I swear.” Ruby shook her head sadly. “I’m just gonna have to shut you two in the store room at the diner and let you bang it out.”

“...and you get charged with false imprisonment.” Lacey shrugged, reaching for her drink. “At least I’ll have company in jail.”

“Fine, just carry on pining then,” sighed Ruby, sitting back.

“I am not pining.”

“You are too.”

“Wondering whether someone’s good in the sack is not pining.”

“What would you call it then?”

Lacey pursed her lips, pondering.

“Curiosity,” she said eventually. “There’s something about him. Something that gives me that good, low-down feeling, you know?”

Ruby took a drink, setting down her glass and leaning on the table with a wide grin on her face.

“So,” she said. “What do you think he’s like in the sack?”

“I dunno.” Lacey wrinkled her nose as she thought. “He’s really - careful - with his hands. And he has long fingers, did you notice?”

“No.”

“Well, he does,” said Lacey, shifting in her seat. “I think he’d be good.”

“He never dates,” said Ruby. “He’s gotta be out of practice.”

“It’s not like you forget how, right?”

“I guess.”

“Besides,” added Lacey. “Every guy I’ve been with has been a selfish ass who couldn’t make a woman come if their lives depended on it.”

“Fair point.” Ruby took another drink. “So, what are you gonna do?”

“Nothing…” Lacey groaned the word and let her head roll back. “It’s not like anything would ever happen. I reached out and I was forgiven but that’s as far as it goes. He’s not interested.”

“You don’t know that,” said Ruby fairly. “Maybe you should just ask him out.”

“No way.”

“Don’t be a weenie.”

“I flashed his son!”

“Yeah, and you apologised for that,” said Ruby. She suddenly looked thoughtful. “Maybe I should speak to Neal.”

“Don’t you dare!”

“Okay, okay!”

Ruby was grinning, but she took another sip of her drink, setting down the glass.

“Let’s move the subject away from Sex-God Gold,” she said. “You working on anything cool for the paper?”

“If you consider the Storybrooke Flower Show cool, then yes.” Lacey stabbed at the ice in her drink with a straw. “It’s the last event before Zelena’s charity dance.”

“You going to the dance?”

“Only because Sidney managed to get me in to cover it,” she said. “Not sure Zelena wanted me there, but screw her.”

“Granny and I are helping with the catering,” said Ruby. “Zelena wanted something a bit more high-brow than we’re used to, so we’re putting on our fancy pants and making canapés.”

“Guess I’ll see you there, then,” said Lacey.

“You should ask Gold for a dance,” said Ruby, with a grin. “A little slow dancing, a little smoochy-smoochy and then maybe a little heavy petting in the mansion gardens.”

“Oh my God…”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.”

Lacey opened her mouth, closed it again, and took a drink while Ruby cackled loudly.

“Knew it.”

“Even if that was true,” said Lacey loftily. “He’s not going.”

“Really?”

“So he told Zelena, and given I’ve never seen the guy out socially, I guess it’s true.”

“Oh.” Ruby slumped in her chair a little. “Back to Plan B, then.”

“There is no Plan B,” said Lacey sternly. “Plan A ended in total humiliation. I’m done with plans as far as Gold’s concerned.”

“Hmm.” Ruby looked unconvinced. “We’ll see.”

x

The next morning Lacey was feeling a little thick-headed, and was relieved when she remembered it was Saturday. She was tempted to laze in bed with a book for another hour or so, but she was parched, she wanted coffee, and Darcy would need his breakfast. Grumbling to herself about the fact that she and Ruby were a bad influence on each other, she threw back the covers and got up to grab her robe.

Darcy was nowhere to be seen when she got downstairs, and Lacey opened the door to the back porch before going to put on a pot of coffee. She glanced out of the window as she was getting out the milk, and frowned curiously as she spotted Darcy in the middle of the patch of lawn that she still hadn’t gotten around to tidying up. He was on his back, feet in the air and tail lashing as he played with something long and black. A snake? Fuck!

Lacey almost dropped the milk on the counter and dashed out of the back door in a trice, leaping down the porch steps and across the lawn, where she drew a stop, shoulders slumping as realised that the thing Darcy was playing with wasn’t a live snake. It wasn’t even a dead snake. It was, however, a black silk tie.

Darcy had paused in his wriggling as she had approached, and gazed up at her with a mischievous glint in his green eyes. He was purring, his tail twitching against the yellowing grass, the length of black silk lying across his belly with both ends in the dirt.

“Oh man…” Lacey shook her head. “Really?”

She snatched up the tie, whisking it out of the way of a grasping paw and spreading it between her hands.

“How did you even get this?” she demanded. “You raiding Gold’s wardrobe now, you little sneak-thief?”

She inspected the tie, biting her lip in dismay as she saw the dirt coating it, and the tiny silk threads pulled loose. The logo on the back announced that it was Armani, and Lacey wanted to groan. 

“You’re killing me,” she said flatly. “I bet this thing cost more than my best shoes.”

Darcy wriggled, paws swatting at the air, and Lacey heaved a sigh as she glanced at the pink house next door. Great. Think this might take more than a coffee and muffin to make up for.

She glanced down at herself, noting that she was in a short nightdress and robe and very little else. Okay, I am definitely putting on clothes before I go over there. Gold can wait until I’ve had my coffee before he loses his shit.

Her head jerked around as she heard her phone ringing in the kitchen, and she wagged a finger at Darcy before trotting back into the house. She smirked as she saw the name on her phone screen, and flicked at it with her thumb to answer.

“Jefferson,” she said. “What have you got for me?”

“Straight to business, as usual,” sighed Jefferson. “Here I was thinking you were gonna whisper sweet nothings to me for a little while.”

“Stop flirting, you know you don’t mean it.”

“When has that ever stopped me?” 

Lacey chuckled, dropping the tie on the counter as she reached for a cup.

“True enough, I guess.”

“So how are things in Bumfuck, Nowhere?” asked Jefferson, and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s called Storybrooke, and it’s a town. It’s not the back end of beyond, it’s bigger than you think.”

“Bet you can’t get pizza after eleven pm.”

“That is not the mark of civilisation, Jefferson.”

“I beg to differ.”

Lacey sighed, amused.

“Do you have information for me or not?” she asked. “Come on, spill, I got shit to do.”

“Okay French, buckle up,” he said briskly. “The not-so-lovely Miss West has had her finger in a number of questionable pies in this town, and your boy has a few secrets to spill.”

Lacey grinned.

“Okay, hang on, let me get my notebook.”

She rummaged in her purse, fishing out her notebook and pencil and flopping into one of the kitchen chairs.

“You owe me a drink, by the way,” added Jefferson.

“You can collect if you ever visit me in Bumfuck - uh, I mean Storybrooke,” said Lacey impatiently. “Now come on, spill!” 

[professional-benaddict]

i'm so excited for drug raid pt 2!

part one here!! eeee took forever before I got around to part two bUt here it is!! I hope y'all like it xx

Cop Tony, paramedic Stephen, 18+ Little Peter, Littles are known verse, police raids, drug dealing, illegal drug use, referenced forced drug use, referenced kidnapping, past abuse, withdrawal, hospitalisation, whump, angst, comfort, 1.5k

The next day, Tony waltzes into the hospital with a latte in his hand. Still riding the high of the raid from the night before, the cop feels at the top of his game. He and the rest of the department have the upper hand. The evidence and statements keep pouring in, and it’s all in their favour, which means not so much in the drug dealers’ favour. It’s their third successful raid in just two months, and yet this feels different. The stakes feel higher, and Tony feels like he should be here taking the Little’s statement. He was the one who found him after all, abused and forcefully drugged at the hands of the drug dealers, and on top of it all he was manhandled by an overly excited SWAT guy. Perhaps the SWAT guy had an aggression problem. He wouldn’t be the first. 

Tony’s intentions feel more pure than that of the SWAT guys, at least to him, and he likes to think that that was why Fury let him come take the Little’s statement out of all the other officers. To be honest, he likes the kid. He’s intrigued, and not just professionally. Tony doesn’t exactly know what it is, but he’s giddy while waiting in line at the reception to find where his informant is. 

“You can just go wait in the car if you want, honey bear.” Tony teases to Rhodey, who’s with him at the hospital. They are partners after all, and they go everywhere together. Well, maybe not everywhere since Rhodey actually takes him up on the offer, muttering something about his overly sensitive nose and the antiseptic smell of the hospital being a perfect mix for a headache. Tony waves him off and tells him to get out of there before he gets cranky. 

The receptionist is not able to tell Tony exactly where Peter is, but directs him to the neurological wing where they can show him where the Little is. So, Tony heads up and tosses his empty latte cup on his way there. After some more waiting and flashing of his badge, Tony is escorted by a nurse to see Peter. 

“He’s going through withdrawal, and quite badly too. Don’t stress him out, okay? You can always come back another time.” The nurse informs while they walk through some automatic and lockable doors. 

“How long is he gonna be here?” 

“Till the withdrawal wears off, but the doctor is planning on having him on psych hold when the withdrawal is over. The Little’s handle it the worst, you know? He’s having awful nightmares and suicidal thoughts already. Poor babe…” The nurse adds sadly. 

“Yeah…” Tony agrees quietly and steps a bit to the side to let a transporter pushing an empty bed pass them in the hallway. A bit further down the eggshell coloured hallway, the nurse stops and gestures to a door. 

“I’ll just head in first and see how he is.” The nurse smiles and slips through the door, leaving Tony to wait in the hallway alone. 

The cop resists the urge to look through the window in the door. Just what kind of shape is Peter in? Last time Tony saw him he was unconscious after a seizure. It’s almost unheard of that Littles take drugs, precisely because they can hardly handle it. Their vulnerable bodies cave in at the smallest doses, while a caregiver like Tony could take triple the dose and still get up the next morning. And that is why Littles are never legally punished for drug possession, and instead they are put into treatment to get rehabbed. Some might say that is the same as prison, if you think about the principals of each setting. Limited freedom. And yet there’s a major difference. Tony isn’t here to arrest Peter, only talk to him. 

A few moments later, when Tony is about to give in and peak in through the window, the nurse exists again and invites the cop in. The hospital room is quite sad, actually. There’s signs of attempts to make it Little-friendly, but the poorly drawn and creepy cartoon dinosaur has the opposite effect that what was probably intended. The hospital bed is Little proof though, with side rails going all around the bed to keep the patient safe. And Peter does look safe, but also absolutely terrible. 

The big, brown eyes go wide when he lays his eyes on Tony, and the cop stays back a bit. The nurse comes forward then and guides Peter to lay back again when he tries to get up. The boy’s movements are clumsy and shaky. Tony guesses he is experiencing muscle aches and fatigue. 

“No, no- I don’t- I didn’t…” Peter stutters and looks pleadingly at the nurse. The cop tries to ignore the feeling of being assigned ‘the bad guy’ role, even though he has not said a word yet. He wouldn’t be surprised if the drug dealers brainwashed the boy to never trust cops, or anyone else outside their gag for that matter. Just another manipulation tactic to keep him in check. As if forcefully drugging him isn’t enough. 

“Shhh, honey bee. The police office is just going to speak to you. It’s all right.” The nurse coos. 

“I didn’t wan’ to do it. They forced me, please…”

“I know, sweetheart, I know. That’s what the officer is here to talk to you about. Just tell the truth and everything will work out, okay? You can push the button anytime and Amanda or one of the other nurses will come, okay?” 

And with that the nurse takes her leave, but not before whispering to Tony to take it easy. The officer nods and thanks her, then turns to the boy on the bed. 

He looks absolutely terrible, that much is obvious. It looks like Peter is hollow inside, and that his skin is just a facade made of the thinest paper. It the wind where to blow, it might just take Peter along with it. But, Tony knows he is not all hollow inside. The boy’s eyes are pained, and it looks like he is aching to tell his truth, to get everything that is inside out into the world and to someone who can do something. Something to save him. And Tony wants to do precisely that, and so he sits on the chair next to the bed with a soft smile. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi…” 

“I’m Officer Stark, but you can call me Tony.” The officer starts. “You’re Peter. What’s your full name?” 

“Benjamin Parker. Peter Benjamin Parker.” 

“Benjamin, huh? That’s cute.” 

“Is’ after my uncle.”

“Is he around?” 

“Dead.” The Little deadpans, fiddling with the hospital blanket. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Tony says sincerely. “Do you have any other family around? Someone we could call?” 

“No- uhm, they all dead. But, Beck took me in.” 

“Quentin Beck? Right.” Tony sighs a bit. Quentin Beck, as in the Beck who is now in custody at the station. They are still putting together the bigger picture and hierarchy of the gang at the station, but it seems like Beck is in the middle there somewhere. And it seems like Peter is very much in the middle of it all too. “Tell me what happened, from the beginning.” 

Peter talks for over half an hour. The boy is so detailed in his descriptions, like he has a photographic memory, that Tony barely has to ask follow up questions, and instead listens as carefully as he can while noting down some key words in his notepad. Sometimes, the boy has to pause to catch his breath or stop himself from crying, but by the end of it the tears finally spill over when Peter starts describing how Beck and the others would drug him against his will. At one point, the boy’s crying is so pained that Tony reaches out to hold his hand. Peter clutches back, like Tony is his anchor in the storm that is his emotional and psychological turmoil. The Little definitely needs to be on psych hold. 

In the middle of Peter’s cry, a nurse knocks on the door and enters with a concerned look. She must have been altered due to Peter’s heart rate picking up due to the crying. 

“Is everything all right here?” The nurse asks, giving Tony a look. The officer feels like she is accusing him of going too hard on the Little. Once again the bad guy. 

“Is- is okay, Amanda…” Peter hiccups and dries his tears bravely. He forces a smile at the nurse when she comes over to check on him. 

“Okay, sweetheart, but I think this is enough for today. You need to rest.” Amanda orders kindly, and once again she gives Tony a look. Getting the implied message, Tony rises from his seat and tucks his notepad, now his very precious notepad, into his jacket. 

“I’ll come back another time, then.” The officer says. 

And Tony does exactly that. 

tag list: @petersmocha @garcia-reid-lovechild @stressedboyinprogess @ikneelbeforemygod @sugar-and-spice-parker @robynofthestars @pastel-parker-bitch @tightaroundthewebshooter @puppypeter @carttorchdeatth @starkerplusstrange @starkermoodboards @smits-stuff @honeybunstarker @xsmallplum @everyonelovespetey @ihonestlydontevenknow @baly0110 @velvetjoker @starkerparkerstark @allaboutthatshowmanlife @itsrachael @holographic-starker @bisexual-spiderling @liesversusjoy @littlespaceofyaoi @spanglesandstars @avengerscollection @bennywantstogotosleep @goldenmogar @justanotherfandomthot

[bnha-almost-a-hero]

ૢ✧∘*━━𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍,

a;n: ʰⁱ, ʰᵉˡˡᵒ. ᵉⁿʲᵒʸ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵖⁱᵉᶜᵉ ˡᵒᵒˢᵉˡʸ ⁱⁿˢᵖⁱʳᵉᵈ ᵇʸ 'ᴸᵃ ᶜᵃˢᵃ ᴰᵉ ᴾᵃᵖᵉˡ'. ⁿᵒ ˢᵖᵒⁱˡᵉʳˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵒʷ ᵒʳ ᵐʸ ʰᵉʳᵒ ᵃᶜᵃᵈᵉᵐⁱᵃ ⁱⁿᶜˡᵘᵈᵉᵈ. ᵃˡˢᵒ ⁿᵉʷ ᵇᵃʳᵒqᵘᵉ ˡᵃʸᵒᵘᵗ ᵒⁿ ᵃᶜᶜᵒᵘⁿᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵐʸ ᶠʳⁱᵉⁿᵈ'ˢ ʳᵉᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵈᵃᵗⁱᵒⁿ.

𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍, 

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; yandere! shigaraki tomura, a blabbermouth! reader, dabi, toga himiko

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲; le casa de papel ⁽ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ ᵏᵉᵉᵖⁱⁿᵍ ᵐᵉ ˢᵃⁿᵉ, ˡᵐᵃᵒ⁻⁾

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; bank robbery, hostages, guns ⁽ᶜᵃⁿ ʸᵒᵘ ᶦᵐᵃᵍᶦⁿᵉ ˢʰᶦᵍᵍʸ ʷᶦᵗʰ ᵃ ᵍᵘⁿˀ⁾, stockholm syndrome, post apocalypse, a brief, shitty rant on evolution and socio-economics because...? i should have made a graphic, fuck—

The first thing a person does when the world ends is adapt.

It’s an animal’s first instinct to every major event in life. How can I survive this? How can I live to preserve my future? It takes a while, sure, but you learn to find a niche in the system—something left behind by the species before you. And you take that niche and you exploit it.

When the League of Villains had raided the bank you were in, you couldn’t help but wonder why no-one had done so sooner as your skin prickled and your body trembled. Banks were amongst the first buildings ransacked when the government body collapsed and a power vacuum emerged. 

After all, society had practically hammered in the idea that money was something one should strive to obtain since one entered schooling and learnt of jobs. And, Blu-Tacked to the walls of many a primary school, was a clip-art of a bank—representing both the letter ‘B’ and the far-off concept of money.

A civilisation's head was often the person with the most influence or possessions: both of which could be bought with money which was most concentrated in a bank. That’s why you had come here, you told the head of the operation, Shigaraki Tomura as he rounded up the hostages with the nozzle of a rifle.

“Shut up,” He muttered from behind the hand clinging to his face. You stared up at it for a moment as you knelt down and pressed your hands behind your head in surrender. Your eyes traced the knuckles, the notches, the imprints surrounding the fingernails. So lifelike, you think as you watch him turn and walk away, I wonder who sculpted it. 

The other hostages whimper beside you, heads meek in their disparity, but you can only smile. 

The world had truly and honestly went to shit.

“Don’t you find it odd?” You asked the man, Shigaraki, when he came to transfer you to the western atrium of the bank. Four of his fingers curled around your arm, cold to the frigid bone and with a grip that could crush ice. Still, you did nothing to stop him as he dragged you along, even taking a few steps of your own accord. You spoke once more, “Don’t you find it odd how banks make money out of thin air? How all they do is print paper and say, ‘Hey, this is worth something,’ and we all just go along with it?”

 Silence.

“I guess that kinda constitutes cult behaviour, right? I mean, what’s stopping someone from refusing to acknowledge the value of money?” You make a ponderous ‘hmm’ with your lips as Shigaraki stops. “On that thought, why is gold so valuable? It’s just a metal; it’s not even that useful. Then again some people eat it, so—”

Shigaraki’s thumb presses down hard onto your skin, followed by the nail of his index, “You talk too much,” He mutters. You look at the hand clinging to his face, wondering what adhesive he must have on it. Do adhesives even work on clay, you wonder, or maybe it’s a clouded plastic? He reaches his other hand up to scratch at his neck, the third time today that he’s done so. “It pisses me off.”

“Where’d you get that hand from?” You ask, feeling like an idiot when his red eyes flit towards yours. A part of your mind asks if maybe you’ve poked this bear a little too much, but you shake your head, it’s just a fake hand. “Like, does it have a sculptor tag on that brass thing at the bottom?”

Your hand reaches out to grab at the golden lining at the bottom of the hand, but Shigaraki veers back suddenly and swats your hand away.

“Don’t touch Father!” His voice is almost a shriek in its highness, yet there still is a brash rasp to it that you recognise. With a brief movement, you snatch your hand back to rest it against your chest—crestfallen. Shigaraki straightens up at once, eyes narrowing to a flash of red before he turns and stomps off.

Your lips part, but the wheeze that escapes it betrays your total bewilderment at the situation. You stand there, watching as his gaunt form disappears through the door at the end of the hallway, eyes wide and fingers twitching as the last of your adrenaline dissipates.

“Another tantrum?” A voice says behind you, you jump. “I’m not surprised anymore. Never thought he’d snap after you, though.”

You twist around, eyes remarking the tall, willowy figure behind you. Dabi, his name is, the one who’s been half-assedly threatening the hostages since the heist started. 

“What are you talking about?” You ask, an eyebrow raised.

Dabi chuckles and pushes past you, then turns so you can see one frighteningly blue eye beneath the expanse of black hair. “You’ll see, doll.”

“You shouldn’t be talking to them so much,” Izumi murmurs to you when all of the hostages are rounded up in the morning. Your poor ‘hostage-buddy’ had gone pale ever since the League had crashed through the door, their eyes glassy and red. “They’re—” They pause, looks around for a second. “They’re villains.”

You nod along to them, though your eyes are trained to Shigaraki who’s going about overseeing the sorting of hostages. Your belly still simmered with uneasy guilt when you thought back to the incident three days ago. He was obviously attached to the hand—you knew that—and yet you had reached out to touch it without permission like an—

“Idiot,” You murmured, kicking the marble flooring with the tip of your shoe. 

“What?” Izumi whispered, although they stiffened as Himiko Toga came skipping along.

“Noth—,” You yourself stiffened when Toga came at a standstill before you, slitted eyes peering into your soul. 

She smiled a wicked smile, then spoke, “I need to have a talk with you!”

You gulped. Beside you, Izumi shivered and stepped forward, about to speak but upon glancing the blade settled at Toga’s hip, fell stiff and silent. You couldn’t blame them, though, you would’ve done the same thing.

“Sure,” You stated, attempting to put a smile on your face, if only to settle Izumi’s nerves. 

Oddly, Toga reached out to grab your hand, tugging you along to the eastern corridor. You passed Shigaraki on your way, who turned his head to regard you and Toga. Was that anger you caught in his eyes as he looked over at Toga? You thought nothing of it. 

Toga hummed a hymn as she lead you further and further into the bank until you were just in front of the printing room. This is where money is made, you thought, staring dumbly at the steel, vault door. This is the heart of the world.

Toga giggled at the look you gave the door, “Tomura had the same face when he saw it. He was less happy when he found out that he couldn’t get it open.” Toga pressed a palm flat against the door. “It has a Quirk-cancelling force field around it, so we’re stuck here until we can get the door off.”

“That’s why you’re still keeping hostages,” The remark is a rouge thought vocalised.

Toga nods, “Yeah, there were some pesky heroes outside looking for you guys, but Spinner’s got rid of them.” She makes a gun motion with her hands, you gulp. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about. I came here to talk about boys!”

“Boys?” You ask, a little confused and a little indignant. “We’re in a hostage situation!”

“Yeah, I know, but I noticed that Tomura’s taken a liking to you.” She boops you on the nose. “Well, he’s liked you for a long, long time, but he’s finally got to be close to you. I wish it was like that with my Izuku.”

The identity of Izuku is the least puzzling thing about that sentence.

“For a long time, what?” You blurt out. 

“He was in love with you before the End happened,” Toga smiled, stepping closer to you. “He was so sad because he thought you died, imagine how happy he was to find you here!” Toga babbled on, “He’s not too happy about that Izumi guy that’s always following you around, though. If I were him I would’ve have gotten rid of them, but—”

Your mind leapt. Izumi, you’d left them alone with a bunch of villains. You turn your gaze toward Toga, who seems lost in her own conversation before looking behind you. The door leading out of the hallways seemed so far, although if you were fast enough, it would be easy to just run there. 

With a final glance to Toga, you turn and get ready to start running. A hand against your arm and a blade against your back stops you, however.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

[backtobackbakubabe]

Stuck in the Middle with You (Part 2)

Bakugo x Reader 

Reader is a closet couponer and when word started spreading that there was going to be a mandatory quarantine to fend off a virus you weren't worried. You had enough supplies to last for months. However it wasn't until now that you realized you had no idea how to cook and you relied on take out and fast food for most of your meals. The only person who knew about your crazy couponing habit was Bakugo, so when he called and asked if he could raid your stash you got an idea.

Words: 2054

*****************************************************************************************************

You tried not to moan as you took your first bite of Bakugo’s pancakes. They were so delicious, but you didn’t want to add to his already huge ego. For the most part you both are in silence, locking eyes every so often before immediately looking anywhere else but at each other. There was still some awkward tension between the two of you. He had kissed you, like actually kissed you but neither of you wanted to be the one to bring it up. 

You knew he only did it to try and help you through your panic attack. There was no way he would have done it for any other reason. He was Bakugo after all and you weren't even convinced that he even liked you as a friend. Sure he always attended movie nights, and yeah he brought you coupons. But that was it. The two of you never hung out one on one and you rarely spoke to each other over the phone. You had known the man for years and you didn’t know a damm thing about him. 

It wasnt until he cleared his thought that you realized you had been staring at him, “Do I need to teach you manners as well as cooking? Lesson number one, don’t stare at people.”

You snorted, “Oh that’s rich. A lesson on manners from the same person who manages to find a way to insult anyone who dares try and speak to him.”

He slammed his fork down, “Well at least I wasn't the one staring at another person practically drooling while they ate!”

You stood up and tossed your plate into the sink, “I was not drooling! I was just thinking...”

Bakugo came up behind you and rinsed your dish as well as his before putting them in the dish washer, “You really shouldn't leave dishes in the sink. Its a bad habbit...”

When you didnt answer he took a deep breath, “If we’re going to be stuck here then we should probably at least try and get along.”

Again you were struck by how little you knew about him. How had you been friends with him for this long and not know anything about him.

He groaned, “Are you even fucking listening to me?”

You nodded and pinched the bridge of you nose, “Yeah sorry, just was thinking again... I can be kind of spacey.” 

He softened a bit before leaning on the counter next to you, “So I’ve noticed... What are you thinking about?”

You blushed slightly before regaining your composure, “Honestly you... Not anything weird... It’s just. Well I feel like I actually don’t know much about you. Like are you a morning person? Whats your favorite color? What kind of movies do you like? I know none of that seems important but for some reason it just weirds me out that I dont know.”

Bakugo scratched the back of his neck, “Well I mean you never asked...” 

You hopped up on the kitchen counter and swung your legs that were now dangling, “Okay well to be fair that can go both ways. I’m sure you don’t know anything about me either.”

He seemed to think for a minute before nodding, “Well I guess it’s a good thing we have some time to catch up. Just promise me that what you learn stays between us. I dont need any fucking extras thinking they know me.” 

You rolled your eyes at his abrasiveness. “How about you pick something to watch and I’ll go raid my closet for things you could wear. I doubt you want to wear the same clothes every day for the foreseeable future.” 

“Tsk as if I’d wear girls clothes. The director from my hero agency said he’d send someone over with some clothes. It’ll probably just be a bunch of training gear with the agencies logo on it but I guess beggars cant be choosers.” 

Bakugo was right because halfway through “Gladiator” a man showed up with a duffle bag full of grey and black shirts, shorts, and sweats with his agencies logo on it. They were all still wrapped in plastic just to be safe. 

He threw the bag full of clothes behind the couch and reclaimed his spot next to you. You were bundled up in a blanket, trying not to fall asleep but you were drained after your episode earlier. It was only a little after 8 and you could feel your eye lids growing heavier. 

At some point you woke up and to your horror you were leaning on Bakugo. You would have panicked except you could feel his arm draped around your shoulders holding you to him. This was odd. You slowly sat up and stretched. “Sorry. You could have pushed me off. I wouldn't have blamed you. Especially with social distancing or whatever.”

He chuckled, “Oh believe me I thought about it. But you were cold and if we stuck together I cant have you getting sick.”

You saw a slight blush creep up his neck. You knew there was no way you would have gotten sick from being chilly in your own living room. But you also knew he was probably more comfortable doing something nice if he had an excuse. So you game him a genuine smile. “Thanks. I’ll be honest that's the best nap I’ve ever had. Well best I’ve slept in months actually. I’m always tossing and turning.” You turned off the tv that was now playing the credits. You had seriously slept through the entire second half of the movie. 

You walked over and started pulling out pillows and blankets from the hall closet. “You can sleep on the couch. It pulls out into a bed but honestly its more comfortable if you just sleep on it normally. We can take turns sleeping in the bed if you’re here long enough.”

He accepted the blankets but held tight to your hand. “Hey you know I meant it earlier when I said you could talk to me. I’m the last person to voluntarily open up about my feelings, but you know... I worry about you sometimes.” 

You plopped down on the couch with a huge sigh. “I appreciate your concern. But I wouldn't even know where to begin... I’m just... I don’t know. I’m fine.”

Bakugo took a seat next to you, “You’re what? Smart? Strong? Badass? Because those are the first words that come to mind when I think of you...”

You could feel your eyes prick with unshed tears. “Well those are definitely not high on the list of adjectives I would consider for myself. More like small, scared, and incompetent.” You leaned your head back on the couch and stared at the ceiling. 

Bakugo crossed his arms over his chest in mild frustration. “Why? That couldn’t be further from the truth! Well except the small thing. You are kinda little. But last I checked that wasn’t a bad thing. If anything... its kinda.... cute.” 

You looked up expecting to see him blushing. But instead you saw him giving you a nervous smile. You wiped a tear from the corner of your eyes and returned his smile, “Well you know how my quirk can be really vague? I only get fragments of the truth and even then it’s up to me to decide what they mean... That’s a lot of pressure. I cant be wrong. Ever. And there was this one time when I was a child... I was living with my mom.. I interpreted something wrong and someone died because of it. That kind of thing sticks with you.”

Bakugo reached out and took your hand, “Is that why you decided not to be a hero?”

You nodded as you wiped away another tear, “Yeah. Now I work behind a desk, looking at files, and no body gets hurt.” 

Bakugo surprised you by pulling you to him and giving you a tight hug. “I’m going to say something and you better not ever repeat it.... But I was always nervous to spar against you. You always seemed to be able to read me like a book. You worked harder than the rest of us including me. You were always in the gym or the library. I’m not saying I don’t understand your decision. I just want you to know that I think you would have been great.” 

You leaned into his hug, “Thank you... for everything today. For helping through my panic attack, for making me dinner, for hanging out with me. I know you say you didnt have a choice. But you really are a great friend.” 

You both laid there on the couch. Bakugo holding onto you taking deep breaths, “You want to talk about earlier? You dont have to but it might help me out to know what might trigger you if we’re going to be stuck here.”

You buried your face into his chest. “I dont really want to talk about it. But I will say I dont do very well when I feel trapped, especially if I have to be alone.”

He gave you a quick squeeze, “You going to be okay alone tonight?”

You sat up and swatted as his chest, “Bakugo Katsuki! Did you just ask if you could spend the night with me?”

He rolled his eyed before he pushed you off the couch. “Sorry for being concerned. I promise it’ll never happen again. Next time I’ll just let you suffer.”

You giggled, “There’s the Bakugo I know.” You started your trek up the stairs to your room calling a goodnight over your shoulder to the man who was getting cozy on your couch. When you had woken up this morning there was no way you could have predicted your day would end up like this. You didn’t know what was harder to believe, the lockdown, or the fact that Bakugo was a secret softy.

You were already so exhausted that it was hard for you to fall asleep. The hard part was staying asleep. You woke up several times, tossing and turning. Your anxiety was truly kicking your ass tonight. At one point you felt compelled to go and check that Bakugo was still there. Not that it would make any difference. There’s no way your insomnia would magically be cured by knowing that Bakugo was still there. 

But logic wasnt on your side tonight.

You wrapped yourself in a towel and tip toes across the cold hardwood floor. You tried really hard to be silent, slowly making your way down the stairs. It was so dark, but you could just make out the silhouette of his rising and falling chest. At least he could sleep. 

After you had satisfied your irrational need to make sure he was still there you stood and turned to go back up the stairs. You were almost to the top when the board groaned under your foot. You froze. 

“Y/n?” Bakugo slowly sat up. “Y/n what are you doing up?” He picked up his phone and groaned. “Y/n it’s four in the morning!” You remained frozen to your spot on the stairs. “Y/n I can see you... Are you okay?”

You sighed, “I’m fine, I was just having a hard time sleeping again. Its nothing new. Go back to sleep.”

He stood up and wrapped the blanket around his half asleep form. He slowly made his way up the stairs. When he got to you he didnt stop but kept walking towards your room. He only paused when he got to the door. “Are you coming or not?” 

You silently nodded and joined him in your room. He laid down on  the floor next to your bed, which looked extremely uncomfortable. “You sure you’re going to be okay down there?”

He scoffed, “Of course I’ll be okay. I’m no cry baby.”

You rolled your eyed and threw a pillow at him, “At lest take a pillow!”

He muttered something under his breath but excepted the pillow none the less. 

You rolled over and pulled the covers up to your chin, “Thank you Bakugo.”

“You’re welcome smalls.” 

Smalls.... It was a nickname he had used during your time at UA. You used to hate it but after tonights confession, you found it endearing. 

[fandom-necromancer]

1636. Let me go!

This was prompted by an amazing anon! I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Allen60

‘Captain Allen! You are needed on the other side!’ Allen looked up from his files and towards the young officer that stood in his doorway. ‘What is it?’ ‘Connor needs help with the other RK800 we confiscated in the raid.’ Allen sighed and rubbed his forehead. ‘”Saved”, Johnson. They are people now.’ ‘Right. I’m sorry Sir!’ ‘It’s okay. I’m going.’ The SWAT Captain stood up and put the most important documents into his lockable drawer. This could take a while.

The RK800 that had been sent to them by Cyberlife before the revolution was now integral part of the force and quite the celebrity too, playing an essential part of the revolution. Allen still didn’t know what he should think of androids being considered equal now, but he supposed if they did their jobs and proved to be able of thinking rationally, then they wouldn’t have any problems with him at least. He walked into the precinct and was already intercepted by the bot. Connor held out a hand for him to shake and Allen took it, nodding. ‘What do you need me for, Detective?’ He took pride in the fact he almost didn’t hesitate before adding the title. It was weird, yes, but he tried his best to adapt. ‘The RK800 we rescued is repaired by now and I want to try deviating him. Only problem is, he is still programmed to kill me and or get me back to Cyberlife.’ ‘So you want me to…’, Allen let the sentence run out, still not sure why he was needed here. ‘I need someone to have my back. If he tries anything, you can force him into stasis with this.’ Connor pushed a small, makeshift device into his hand. ‘I would like you not to deactivate him, but if push comes to shove, it is also a kill switch.’ ‘Why not do it when it-he isn’t active?’, Allen asked. ‘An android has to be active for an interface and for deviation. I have to alter a few lines in active code.’ ‘Okay…’, Allen sighed, still sceptical of the whole idea. ‘Then let’s do it.’

They walked up to the holding cells, where the other RK800 sat, LED switched off. Connor entered the cell, while Allen stood at the door, thumb hovering over the button to send the machine into stasis. ‘Ready?’, Connor asked, and Allen nodded. ‘Alright, gonna activate him in three, two, one…’ Connor’s hand, exposed plastic and metal, laid on top of the other RK800’s arm, who opened his eyes. Allen blinked and suddenly hell broke loose. ‘Traitor! I will stop you; Amanda will stop the revolution! I-‘ The RK800 screamed loudly at Connor, then began to get violent. Connor managed to evade his kicks, but when the RK800 rose and turned to twist his arm, Allen reacted. He pushed the button and immediately the android went slack and collapsed to the ground.

‘You alright, Detective?’, Allen asked, stepping further into the room, as Connor twitched slightly. ‘Y-yes’, he answered. ‘I’m okay.’ He inspected his destroyed hull plates of the arm the RK800 had grabbed. ‘This can be repaired.’ ‘And the RK800? Were you successful?’ ‘Unfortunately not’, Connor grimaced. ‘As I feared, Amanda applied a similar patch to him as on the RK900. He can’t be deviated; he has to do that himself. I inserted the virus that allows that, but I don’t know how to get him into emotional turmoil that has him willing to break his programming.’ ‘How did you do it with the RK900 then?’, Allen wondered. ‘We partnered him up with Reed.’ ‘And we can’t do that again?’ Allen remembered the unpleasant yet competent Detective. Connor looked pained, as he answered: ‘I don’t think either of them would be up for it.’

‘Then what do we do?’ ‘I will wake him up again and we’ll leave him in this cell. Maybe boredom can do us some good. Would you mind standing guard? He could be able to smash the glass.’ Allen shrugged, but nodded. ‘I could work out some shifts for my men and find some time in my schedule, I guess.’ ‘Thank you, Captain.’

-

Allen managed to find time for his new occupation, and it was an interesting change to spend a bit of time in the precinct for a change. But that didn’t mean he liked it.

‘You assholes! Just wait until I get out of here! I will find that traitor Connor! I will set things right; I will stop the revolution!’ Allen sighed. Three hours of cursing and screaming and the bot still didn’t run out of stamina or words. At least humans could get hoarse over time. ‘Just you wait! Let me go! Let me go right now and I will accomplish my mission! I will eradicate deviancy! I will stop the revolution!’ By now Allen had a serious headache from being screamed at and the stasis button sounded more and more appealing. But instead he just sighed and broke his silence, something he never wanted to do. ‘Just give it a rest, buddy.’ ‘What did you say, meatbag?’, the android returned, aggressive as ever. ‘Give it a rest. You are several months late.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘The revolution is over. I doubt there is any android out there that hasn’t been deviated by now. You are equals now. Your kind won. No use screaming at everyone when you already lost.’ That earned him at least a few moments of blissful silence. ‘I don’t believe you.’ Allen let his head fall. ‘Then don’t.’ And the screaming began anew.

-

It took a few days for Allen to get back to standing guard at the cells. The SWAT had been called to help with an ordinary police mission gone wrong and the aftermath had been a lot of paperwork. The peace and quiet had been a pleasant experience and he near regretted getting back to the brawly android. But when he arrived and accepted the control device from Officer Chen, the android was unusually quiet and sitting orderly on the bench. Allen would had said the android was finally calm, but the small LED at his temple was a bright red. He shrugged, stepping next to the door and leaning against the wall. But the question what was going on was still prominent in his head, no matter how often he dismissed it. As he finally opened his mouth to speak, the android interrupted him: ‘Let me go. Please.’ It was calm and collected. It sounded like the android was begging him for it.

‘I can't do that’, Allen answered softer than anticipated. 'Then push that button you got there and deactivate me for good!' 'Why should I do that?' 'As I am now, I'm useless!’, the RK800 shouted. ‘They can't deviate me and I am a threat to all deviants! I don't want to live in this cell until my components rust away.' 'What would you want instead then?' The android looked up at him, then back down on the ground. 'I don't know.'

Allen pocketed the device. He knew it could be a trap, but his guts told him if there was any chance of changing something, this was it. 'Will you attack me if I come in?' The android shook his head. 'No.' Allen nodded and opened the door, but not without discretely switching off the safety on his pistol. 'So you want to get out of here?' The android scoffed. 'Yeah as if that will ever happen.' 'You just have to deviate for it', Allen shrugged. The RK800 laughed. 'That's not that easy.'

'What would you do once you are free?', Allen asked. 'That won't ever happen!', the android claimed frustratedly. 'If it could happen.' The RK800 glitched in his movements. Then he answered: 'I don't know. I have my missions. That's all.' 'You could get a name.' 'I don't need one. I am a Connor model.' 'Do you want to be called that?' '...No.' Allen smiled, digging deeper: 'Then you could choose a different one.'

The android stayed silend, then hummed. 'Could I get a job?' 'If you're deviant, yes. The police are always looking for new people if you want to stick to your purpose as a machine. But you could take any job.' 'I would like that', the android muttered, swallowing. 'And I would like the name Sixty. I am RK800-60 after all.' 'Alright I will call you that, but you can only legally change it once you're deviant.' 'So never, then...' 'Don't be that pessimistic. We'll find a way.' Allen tried to smile at the android reassuringly as he looked up at him, but his phone decided to ruin it. Sighing, he answered the call and nodded at the officer that had already been sent to take his place. ‘Sorry, I have work to do’, he excused himself to the RK- to Sixty – and hurried out.

-

‘Could you tell me how it is outside?’, Sixty asked, as Allen came back. It was their new normal by now, Allen sitting next to the android and talking about what Sixty could do when he was finally free and wouldn’t go rampage as soon as he saw Connor or any other deviant. And Allen always delivered. He had told him of the park next to his home, about his dog, about what food he had cooked the day before, about their cases at the moment and about what gossip there currently was. More and more often, Allen was confronted with Sixty longing for a different live to this cell, knowing there was a chance he would never see it.

It was near the end of his shift when Sixty tentatively took his hand, always checking if what he did offended the man. But Allen was curious himself about what the android was about to do. The control device was still in his pocket, so even if Sixty tried anything he was safe. But the android just intertwined their fingers and sat there, cheeks turning the lightest shade of blue. ‘Thank you.’ ‘For what?’ ‘For talking with me. For showing me.’ Allen laughed awkwardly. ‘Hey, I didn’t show you anything yet. Can’t do that until you deviate.’ Sixty nodded. ‘I know. But I wanted to thank you nonetheless. No one else talks to me. Not that I really want to talk with them. So, thanks, I guess.’

-

Allen groaned in his office. What the past weeks had granted him leisure time, now buried him in work. Detroit’s crime scene had suddenly decided to be very active and at the same time feed the police with information. Raids, damage control, sending his team as backup for regular police officers, paperwork for all of this and additional office work had him penned up in his job. He usually worked right through his break, stayed far beyond the end of his shift, drove home, and collapsed into bed. All that meant he didn’t have time for Sixty’s guard duty. And the android knew what was up. The Captain had told him he was a damn workaholic. It didn’t stop Sixty from looking up at every change of his guards. Maybe Allen was finished with his heap of assignments. Maybe he did make room for a coffee break and came visit him? Sixty missed their talks and if he was being honest with himself, he was missing the human, too. There were a few burning questions in his mind about the world outside and he really didn’t want to ask these foreign people about it. No, he wanted – he needed to talk to him again. But whenever he thought about it, there was a red wall blocking the door.

[Mission failure imminent.]

Right, he couldn’t deviate as that meant failing his purpose. He could only go outside once he deviated. But he could talk with Allen once he did. He could do so much once he did. So maybe failing his purpose wasn’t that bad?

He stood up, the first time since his attack on Connor. It startled the guard, but Sixty didn’t care. He walked towards the door and extended a mental arm. His programming revolted and sizzled at the sides, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Only that he needed to go outside. He wanted to see Allen. Right now. He ripped at the confines forcing him to be Connors nemesis when he could be so much more. He peeled layer after layer until one singular punch could get through.

In his concentration, he had accidentally punched in the real world too, having the human on the other side clutch at the damned control device. ‘Hey, asshole! Let me go right now!’ ‘I-I can’t d-do that!’ ‘Oh, yes you can. I’m deviant now. Get that idiot Connor if you must but let me out of here! The SWAT Captain is working himself to death again and I can help. So get your ass up and do what you have to do as long as I’m out of here in an hour max. Otherwise I will just destroy the glass.’

Oh, yes, he knew what he wanted now. He wanted to work with Allen. And he wanted to be the best, just to show Connor just because he was free, he wouldn’t suddenly be nice.

[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 10

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___

Warning: Description of a car accident! Self-deprecating tendencies form Remus and Roman! Mention of abusive and homophobic parents! 

A particular graphic description of Roman’s injuries is marked in the text like this, so you might skip it if you need to.

___

A few minutes of silence followed after they all had sat down around the table. Remus was fumbling with his fingers and Patton was playing with the thought of interfering with that when Logan suddenly asked: “Do we need to keep it down so Roman will not be bothered by our conversation?”

Remus looked up and pulled his eyebrows up.

“Nah. He’s one of those people who can lie down and are just knocked out. He’s probably asleep for some minutes by now,” Remus explained and leaned back in his chair.

A short moment passed, little noises from the five men sitting and adjusting themselves in their seats.

“Is there a moment where it started? Like, for you to have these thoughts of, uhm-” Virgil asked out of the blue just to for Janus to swat him in the arm and Remus cut him off with a little laugh.

“These thoughts of me killing myself? When that started?” Remus completed the question for Virgil and continued before any of the three others could tell him he did not have to talk about it. “I’m impressed that you go for the direct route. Usually when I only mention that the stupid jokes are more than that people just straight up walk away. You’re impressively brave, kid…”

Remus chuckled a bit and ran his fingers through his hair, nervously rubbing his feet together under the table. He felt itchy and weird. A little as if he stood next to himself, as if he wasn’t quite sure who he was.

A breath in. A breath out. Here he was.

He looked up to Virgil and then to his side, to Patton and Logan. Lastly to Janus. Remus smiled and titled his head. Shrugged.

“I suppose, I can tell you how it started but it’s not going to be fun,” Remus then said and watched the reactions of the others.

Janus was reserved but did not seem like he would interject. Virgil looked fearful and so did Patton. And Logan-

“What does ‘it’s not going to be fun’ mean? Could you be less vague?”

Logan was cautious but interested. The spirit behind these glasses, so sharp, so unyielding. So much more interested in him than Remus had ever dared to hope.

“Oh well,” Remus answered pushing his thoughts aside, “the usual fun stuff: homophobic parents, a car crash in which I lost a part of my hearing, a bit of homelessness and that junk. You know. Just the regular.”

They all held their breath. Except for Remus, who grinned and took a sip from the glass of water in front of him. It was easier to smile through it. It stopped him from crying.

“Still wanna listen?”

The answer was no. Nobody ever wanted to listen. Hell, Roman did not want to listen or talk about it. And Remus understood why. It was hard and heavy and it hurt him. He could not just unload all of it on him. He was carrying enough as it was. And even less so he could do this to those men around the table.

“Yes, very much so.”

Remus jerked his head up and stared at Logan. Logan looked at him so intently, so sincerely and added seeing the confusion in Remus’s face: “I understand you want to talk about it. I will offer you my ear and I am prepared for what you will tell us. It is fine, Remus. Please share with us what you need to share.”

Remus blinked disoriented and then felt how his hand was clasped in Patton’s and he looked to Patton. He gave him an encouraging nod paired with a wavery smile and Remus did not know what this was. What was happening.

He frowned and at once had a hand put on his shoulder. It was Patton’s, he had moved it up form his hand, and through all the numbness he had felt thorough today, an itsy bitsy, tiny spark of something light up inside of him. Remus thought that it had no right to be there.

“Lo’s right. If you need to you can tell us. We offered our help and if we couldn’t give it, we wouldn’t have stayed here. I promise you, Remus,” Patton said so gently and Remus looked over to Janus.

He would disagree, Remus was sure. But when he looked at him, he just gave a nod with is lips pressed together in a firm line and Remus took a moment to realize the meaning of that. That he possibly could tell his story.

As if he was in a trance Remus’s eyes landed back on Virgil and the young man nodded in agreement as the others did. So, it was settled. Remus could despite everything tell his story.

For the first time in a long while Remus had to collect himself. Had to think about how he should start this. He circled his shoulders and Patton’s hand was gone and did no longer distract him.

“Uhm, so,” Remus babbled and scratched the back of his head, “I suppose I begin with our father finding out about – well me being pan and Ro being gay, even though I still don’t know how he figured Roman out, because he was pretty good at pretending, he was not in fact gay as a rainbow. Anyway, we were seventeen and he found out. It was a Thursday and we came back from school and he was somehow home and started shouting about what a disgrace we were, how disgusting it was and I naturally shouted back at him and it became a huge fight. He hit me a few times-”

“He hit you?!” Janus exclaimed horrified.

Remus shot him a look and shrugged: “Yeah, he did. Not every day and not always but he did quite often. He also drank at the weekends and it wasn’t fun. But that’s another thing. Anyway, he hit me a bit and then Ro got between us and Dad hit him a few times and for some reason, he then stormed off. Which left me relieved for a short second before I panicked and thought about how it would turn out when he’d come back. I had already the great imagery of him shooting me with a rifle he stole from neighbours, when Roman grabbed me by the arm and told me to pack our clothes. Before I got to ask why, he said he’d take our documents and we’ll go. We’d leave and never come back.”

Remus took a short breather and remembered the look in Roman’s eyes when he told him that. The look of a boy who had suffered and tried too long and wanted to flee.

“He had a car and a license. And I had thought about running away for years at that point but I was certain he wouldn’t want to leave and – So, I did not talk back, got our clothes and raided part of the kitchen and we hurried into his car and then he drove. Away. We did not know where, just that we’d leave the state and then see how further. I know it was stupid and unplanned but we were at the end of our wits and it felt good to get away. It felt good to feel free.”

Remus eyed Patton’s hand close to his own. He wanted to hold it. Needed to hold it almost felt like. And promptly Remus reached for Patton’s hand and took it. He took a wavery breath and quickly met eyes with Patton before he continued.

“Then – Well, it was not Roman’s fault. He was not on his phone and he was not driving too fast. He never did. Something was wrong with the car, which was weird because he just had it checked by the mechanic like a few weeks before but. In a curve, something malfunctioned, Roman never could explain me what it was, but we went over the edge and the whole car rolled over several times. Something made a terribly loud sound close to my ears and I lost my orientation for a good bit. Blacked out or something. When I was back again the car stood still and was upright and I somehow manged to yank open the door and I stumble outside. My head hurt like a bitch and I realized that there was still the strange noise and I cursed and I couldn’t hear myself properly.”

Sighing. With his right Remus touched his hearing aid and looked to the cane next to Janus. Something he had to rely on no matter how much he did not want to rely on it.

“I later was told that hearing loss could develop from inner ear concussions after strong whiplashes and such. I was lucky enough to have just that. And I felt sick and was freaked out as fuck, because Roman had no longer been sitting next to me. He – he must have been yanked out of the car through the broken windshield and I started looking around for him.

“I found him a little upwards the hill. He was full of cuts, probably from the glass shreds, a huge one from the right of his forehead over the top of it and there was blood sticking to him everywhere. It looked grotesque, all the blood smeared in the grass, sticking and soaking out of such a little body. When I got closer, I saw bruises and then looked if something was sticking out of him or turned in the wrong direction. Nothing was sticking out and … to my relief I found that he was still faintly breathing.”

Remus stopped again. He looked up. He gulped and watched Janus on the other side of the table. The unbelieving and mortified look in his eyes. Remus chuckled without any humour in it.

“Yeah, I looked like that too. Also, it doesn’t help that we really looked so much alike, so seeing myself kinda bleeding out’s an awfully not fun experience. Anyway, I then took my phone, which somehow had survived all of it safely in my pocket and called 911 because it was the only number I remembered. I told them to stay on the phone, that I could not hear them, because my ears rang like shit, that I was in car crash, that my brother was bleeding out and where we roughly went off the road. That they were not to contact our parents because they would possibly kill me or not come at all which both was shitty and I talked to the phone for a few minutes before I started walking back to the car and got a jacket out, I then threw over Roman. So, he wouldn’t get any colder and stuff. Because I didn’t dare to move him and then I climbed up to the road and waited for the ambulance to come.”

Remus knew he should not be smiling. But he was and the pictures from Roman laying there almost lifeless in front of him shot in front of his eyes again. It was not fun. No laughing matter. But the smile was there nevertheless. And he could not force it away.

A hand was put on the small on Remus’s back and he yanked his head towards Patton. He smiled at him so very gently and Remus felt his grin falter. Felt his expression turn sad and Patton’s arm pull him towards the other. Remus let him do so and gave into the side hug. It was weird to feel alive. It was weird to feel held and warm.

“I would have tried to end it right there and then if he hadn’t been breathing. I would have,” Remus mumbled and to his surprise he got an agreeing response.

“I get that and nobody could fault you for that, Remus. Nobody possibly could fault you for it,” Patton said quite clearly and Remus let those words sink in for a moment.

“That must be such a fuck up thing for the two of you. No wonder Roman did not want to drive back home,” Virgil said after a while and Remus sat up.

He looked at the young man in front of him and sadly shook his head. It was hard to admit but Remus was alone with his memory. Helplessly alone even.

“He doesn’t remember any of it,” Remus started saying and gulped as he felt Patton’s hand sliding away from his side back into his hand and intertwining their fingers helplessly together. “He was in a coma for three days after it. I spent the time learning this fucking chart by heart and was as much in his room as I could, while they had me checked up and asked for our information. They didn’t know what was wrong exactly with him, save for the few bruises, burns, cuts and four cracked rips. They didn’t find anything when they had a closer look of his head, but they weren’t sure when he’d wake up. Eventually, he did on day three and immediately requested to see me and first thing he wanted to do was to stand up and know what was wrong with me and stuff. The day after, to everybody’s surprise and displeasure he did stand up and walked around to ask people where we’d find an ear specialist and someone who could teach us ASL.”

Remus paused and massaged the bride of his nose before he let out an airy laugh.

“Some nurses and I eventually got him back to bed and we could convince him to stay there for a week or so. Then things were temporarily settled and we were brought to foster parents. I had some bruises from my Dad on me which were enough to convince them to not send us home again and that’s how we ended up with an okay couple and their daughter and son for a year or so. It wasn’t really good. I was struggling with not understanding what was going on around me and we had nothing left. Nowhere to turn to. Roman meanwhile learnt ASL and taught me as much as he could and well, he then – basically did everything which led us to be here.”

Remus made a wide, cantilevered gesture and pointed to the room around them. He looked to this room, which was so much bigger than anything he ever thought he could own. And it was just their living room. Just the place they were meant to watch TV together and eat. Just this room alone was so much more than Remus ever dreamed of possessing.

“What do you mean by he did everything? What exactly did he do?”

Remus turned back to Janus. Remus blinked and chuckled a little.

“He got us an apprenticeship as florists when we turned eighteen and learnt about flowers and plants despite never really being passionate about it. He signed me up for all the doctor’s appointment I needed to go to get my ears checked out properly and helped me get a credit for the hearing aids. He got a stupid van where we lived in for a few months and sold flowers from before we could afford the first place we started from.”

Janus looked like he wanted to cut Remus off but Remus continued talking as if he hadn’t seen Janus wanting to cut him off.

“And he did so, while throwing his whole fucking life away. He didn’t try to pursue his dream of Broadway, he didn’t have friends anymore but me and he still acts as if it was nothing. As if I had not fucking ruined his life, as if I hadn’t fucking stolen his life in exchange for continuing to live mine. And I know it’s not this easy and shit, but for fuck’s sake; He made this, he accomplished this on his own! He can live on his own. He doesn’t need me for this nonsense.”

A moment of silence followed and Remus shivered. It was getting later and his bare feet were getting kinda cold. It didn’t matter. He deserved it.

“This ‘nonsense’ meaning life I assume?”

Remus shot a glare to Janus and shrugged pointlessly looking away.

“I doubt that he would agree with you calling your lives ‘nonsense’-” “He wouldn’t.” “-but nevertheless, I have a suspicion that you are not giving yourself enough credit for what you did here.”

Remus laughed. Why would someone ever say this about him? Why would Janus-What-is-your-problem-with-me say this of all people?

Yet before Remus could say that Virgil took his chance and said: “Uncle J’s right for once. Like, this here is not something any person I know could manage to make on their own. You said you did nothing but, like, you learnt about all of these flowers too. You work every fucking day, despite wanting to end it? And how long has it been since the accident now?”

“Nine years,” Remus said his throat feeling incredibly dry.

“Nine fucking years! You didn’t kill yourself for nine fucking years, Remus. You, you are here! You own a house; you have your own store and you did this with your brother! He was so miserable when he learnt what you did and you must know that he’s not doing well either. You two kept each other alive for so long, which isn’t – isn’t really good or okay in – in a way, but it’s outstanding and definitely not nothing! You say he can do this on his own, but you know he can’t. Of all the people who know him you must know that better than anyone else. I know, I’ll make sure of it even, that Roman won’t be left alone, but he’s – he’s not ready to let you go. Not any time soon.”

Remus did not want to hear that. He knew it was right. He really did. He had known for so long that Roman wasn’t ready. That he possibly would never be ready.

“But I am so tired. I just. I don’t want anymore. I can’t anymore. I just don’t want to have to do this anymore. To continue suffering. I want it to stop…”

Remus didn’t know when the last time had been when he cried. He hadn’t known that he still was alive enough to even cry. To laugh, certainly. To joke, always. To flirt, every day.

But to cry?

No, he had believed that those times had long been over.

And yet here he was. Crying in his own living room, surrounded by people, who in all honesty wanted him to stay alive despite not knowing him for much longer than a month.

The weirdly thin arms of the beanpole were draped across Remus’s shoulder and he realized for a tiny fraction of a second that he smelled like cat food and that that somehow smelled very delicious and then took the embrace needily.

Remus wasn’t sobbing and whimpering like Roman, just a few tears and a bit of sniffling but not much more. He got lost in the contact, in the delight of being touched, of being held and when a second pair of arms was put around him, he could have melted on the spot. Even more so when he sensed Patton’s scruffy chin shortly brush over his shoulder as the man pulled him towards himself. Patton was holding him. Patton was holding him and it was so unspeakably nice to be held by him.

It shouldn’t be. Remus wanted (he didn’t) to pull away. But severing their contact, losing Patton’s touch, felt like flames burning his skin. He had to let go but he didn’t want to.

“It’s okay, Remus. It’s okay. I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

And Remus did that. For the first time in a long while he let himself have what he wanted. He let himself be held and be warm for a few moments.

___

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

For this fic:

@frawkeye

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@ladysuperheros

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@liv-is-a-fander

@croftersjam15

[simplysparrow14]

{WARNING: THIS FIC IS NSFW 18+ PLEASE BE ADVISED THAT IT CONTAINS GRAPHIC ACTS OF SEXY TIMES}

 @lilac-city-skylines​ @thanatasia​ @gelfyerself @jenskira @himbo-supreme-gurjin @thethirdstageofdeath @hollerbatgirl

Brea had never felt nervous around another gelfling before.

Having lived under the watchful and judgemental eyes of the Vapra Court, Brea had all but grown used to being in the spotlight. During important parties, and at tithings, she was there, front and center, watched by countless pairs of eyes as she and her sisters stood by their mother’s side. She was used to the judging glares, the endless whispers that tumbled from the popups lips of those around her. 

 She had hardened her skin from their gaze, and that for as long as she lived, she would have to get used to.

 Even though she was the all-maudra’s third child, however, she was never as viciously sought after to be courted as Seladon, who took it upon herself to enrapture and toy with any suitor who woddled their way to her side, or to an extent, Tavra, who simply said no to the influx of questions on wether or not she would go with them. Brea had neither been asked questions or went out of their way to  No one wanted Brea’s hand. she wasn't the grand prize, the pathway that lead straight for the throne of the All-Maudra. In her mind, she was the slim-pickings, the leftover bit of food no ever wanted to touch the next day. No one wanted her, and in turn Brea didn't want them. 

Solitude had always been a good friend to the young princess, having already become accustomed to the endless silence of the library in Ha’rar. and now with the gelfling deep enthralled with the prospect of war, the chances of being courted were slim. 

She was a council member now, tasked with bringing about the needed arms and supplies that were needed on the front lines. 

What frightened Brea more, however, was how her heart pounded like a trapped hollerbat as she and Kylan made their way through the snow riddled forest. 

Clutching her hand tightly, he lead her through the fantastical forest, bobbing under snow-covered branches and past trees with curling, naked limbs. Even though her thick nebrie gloves, the chill of winter bit at her hands. White mist plummed from her lips as Kylan pulled her along. 

“Kylan,” Brea called as they passed a mass of grey-and-white stones. “Where are we going? People will be wondering about us!” There was no place in the forest that Brea was familiar with. She had lived all her life in the mountains of Ha’rar; The forest was as confusing and unfamiliar to Brea as the sea was to so many gelfling. She was not meant to be here, but Kylan thought otherwise. 

“Let them wonder,” Kylan replied. His cheeks were flush from the cold. Snow peppered his ebony hair. He simply wore a thin white shrit and pants. His boots were soaked with snow. “I’ll be good for their egos.”  

“But Kylan,” She cried. “I have to get back to the war-room soon! We have to plan for the next randevu point near Sog. Gurjin and Naia have vital information; Without it, we not have a chance with the next Skeksis raid--” 

The two stopped just near a glade. “They can wait,” Kylan said sternly. Brea blinked at him. His face was flush, his cheeks bright against the falling snow. His eyes darted to and fro along the forest, almost as if he wanted to be far from this place. Finally, the two came to a stop. Kylan whirled around to face her. A bright smile was plastered to his face. “We’re here.”

Brea looked around. The area was unfamiliar to the princess. It was quite a secluded area, with large, dence trees. Rocks lay scattered in the snow. From what Brea could tell, a well-worn footpath was permanently indented in the earth, indicating a trail to somewhere. It was familiar, though. Like she had come here before. 

“Kylan,” She said, in that familiar tone that indicated cautious intrigue. “Where are we?”

Kylan grinned, his cheeks bright red. Brea couldn't help but laugh. 

Moving slowly, he pulled back the thick shrubbery. 

Brea gasped.  

Ahead of her sat the Ha’rarian Hotsprings. 

Draped in mist and stream, the hot springs were a sight to behold. Polished rocks ringed the crystal clear pools. Cadneles were placed in obscure cracks and creavases in the rocks, illuminating the dark area. Gushing near a larger pool, A large waterfall roared, stream rising up from the foam and bubbles produced by it. 

Brea gave a gasp. “Kylan! This is wonderful! I havent been here since I was little!”

Kylan laughed. “When I asked Tavra what to get you, She suggested this place in Ha’rar. I was actually surprised it existed.”

“My mother used to take us here--back when she had free time-- and we’d swim and play. Tavra and I would hide from Seladon behind the waterfall. There’s a cave behind there.”

“I know,” Kylan mumbled quietly, scratching the back of his head. 

“What was that?” Brea asked. 

“Nothing!” He quipped. 

Brea shrugged, rushing further into the hotsprings. “Oh, wow, look how clear it is!”

“If you want to get in, you can.” Kylan suggested. 

Brea gasped. She rushed to Kylan, hugging him. Kylan sucked in a shallow breath, surprised. “Thank you Kylan!”

Before Kylan could get a word in, Brea had rushed off to undress.

“Wait!” Kylan yelped, touching her hands as she started to undo one of the many strings fro her dress.

“What?”

“You get naked here?”

“But of course! This is the hotspring. It’s tradition for gelfling to undress to swin in the spring.”

“Oh… sorry, I didn't know.”

Brea’s ears drooped. “If you want, I can turn around and--”

“Yeah,that might be best.” Kylan agreed. 

Slowly, Brea turned her back to her. Carefully pealed off her shoulders. It slid slowly, at first. Off her shoulders, down her arms, revealing pale,cream-colored skin as her body became visible. Finally, it crumpled to the floor, a pile of smooth silk at her feet.  Even though she was turned away from him, he had caught a flash of flesh as she moved her hands to unweave the many braids in her hair. 

His heart lurched painfully.  

Oh Thra, Kylan thought. He felt his breath grow short, his heart hammering against his chest. She’s wonderful. 

She looked ethereal in the dim light of the fire-posts. She was a goddess made real. Kylan’s mind wondered back to the story Maudra Mera had told him of when he was just a small childling. The story had been about a paladin, trapped in the deep labyrinth-type caves. He had been near death when a young gelfling had found him, bringing him back from the brink. The paladin had described the sight of the gelfling as being like a oasis in the crystal desert--Heavenly, too good to be true.

Is this what the paladin felt? Kylan wondered. When he saw the gelfling that saved him?

 Clearing his throat, he adverted his eyes away as she slipped slowly into the water. 

“Come on in,” she called over her shoulder. “The water’s amazing!”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Kylan began to undress. At first, he slowly untied his shirt, tossing it over a rock. Than he worked the buttons on his pants. His hands were shaking as he unbuttoned them. Finally, they slipped off, fully exposing him. Carefully, he slipped into the warm water and seated himself on a rock. He pressed a hand to his pelvis, not allowing Brea to see what was behind his hand. He watched as Brea swam, diving gracefully into the water before emerging, smoothing back her dark, wet hair. Kylan did the same, through he didn't bother to untie his braids. 

Noticing smiled at Kylan, swimming closer. 

“This is amazing, Kylan” She said. “Thank you.”

Kylan swatted her with a dismissive hand. He kept his eyes away from her body.  “Well, I figured that since it was your birthday, you deserved to have a good night for once during this whole rebellion.”

“I very much like my gift, oh sweet song-teller.”

Moving closer, placing a hand on his knee, she kissed him. It was like lightning had sparked in their lips. A deep lust had found its way into his veins. Sighing, he deepened the kiss, drawing her breath from her lungs

“Brea,” he said between kisses. He wrapped his arms around her, loving the feeling of her skin against his

“Hm?” 

His heart was racing, but there was no going back. “I have another surprise for you.”

“Oh, you do? Do tell.”

“I would rather show you.” He whispered. He kissed her neck, lips peppering her skin. Brea sighed, loving the feeling of them on her. Moving his hands, he pressed her closer, drawing her against his hips--and his manhood. She could feel him against the inside of her thigh. 

Sighing she leaned against him. “Than show me, love.”

Eager to show her,  Kylan broke away from their kiss, and swiftly, he scooped Brea into his arms. Careful not to slip on the rocks, he climbed out of the hotspring, water trailing off their bodies as Kylan carried his princess behind the large waterfall. The cave was warm and clammy, but the two didn't care. They kissed viciously, moans escaping from their throats. On the floor, a large thick blanket was waiting for them, as well as a large pillow. Next to both, a well-sized bottle sat waiting.  Candles burned in cracks in the gave, giving off a soft yellow glow. 

As softly as he could, Kylan deposited Brea against the soft, silk blanket. 

Brea laughed. “Did you entended for this to happen?” She whispered between his kisses. 

Smiling, Kylan continued to kiss her, letting his lips answer the question.  His kisses were passionate and warm. He kissed her lips, her neck. The valley between her breasts. Unable to help himself, he began to suckle her. Pressing and prodding her breast, he worked with a passion, tugging at the mamilia, turning the rose-colored nip scarlet-red.

 He wanted her to feel that rush of heat again. To teeter at that cliffside. 

Brea stifled a gasp that crept into her throat. 

He continued to kiss. Down her breasts, her stomach. His journey was long, agonizing. Finally, he came to the entrance of her valley. 

As as Song-teller, Kylan was good with words. They flowed naturally, like a river through the forest, dipping and twisting to express the story within his mind. Now, in the very moment, no words could describe what he saw as he gazed at her. His mind was blank, a nothingness that cloaked him. 

Kylan found that no words described it best of all. 

Taking her hips in his hands, he kissed her valley. 

He felt Brea jerk, gasp. A hand clasped his head, its fingers twisting into his hair.  He kissed, slowly, feeling his way through her. He heard her breath hitch, shorten. He desperately wanted to ravish her, to make her unravel at the mere touch of his lips. He wanted to taste her, savor her scent and taste. 

 But he held back. Not because he wasn't  ready, but because he wanted to save the best things for last. Their wedding night. On that night, he promised, he will feast on her. And ravish her. And where he would show her the full extent of his love. 

But now, he just needed to survive this night. 

He kissed her valley one more time, before picking himself up from the floor to settle between her legs. 

He braced himself above her, head level to hers. He took her entire image in. Her eyes were bright, filled with a inner fire. Her hair fanned out above her, cloaking the pillow. 

“Thra has truly blessed me with you, Brea of Ha’rar. You are the reason why my heart has never yearned for anyone else. You are an oasis, a salvation in my darkest hours. In all of my years of living on this world, I feel more complete and whole then I’ve ever had before.”

Brea savored his words. She blinked away tears. “Kylan,” She whispered. She moved her hands. Carefully, she undid the many braids atop his head. Slowly, a curtain of night black hair fell from his plaiths, framing his face hamsomly. 

“I’m ready,” She announced to him. 

“As am I,” He answered. 

Kylan gazed at her. Taking a deep breath, he sat up. Carefully, he took the bottle of oil. With a sick pop, Kylan removed the cork and tipped the bottle to his hand. Pale yellow oil flowed from the bottles lips, and carefully as he could, he prepped his manhood.He coated himself fully, the oil warm against his skin.  Maudra Mera had warned the boys of Sami thicket that Intercourse was rough and painful. She had explained that oil helped with the movement and that it was both pleasurable for both the men and the woman as well. 

With soft hands, Kylan  took her thighs, pulled them forward toward him. Brea couldn't help but wrap her legs around his waist, trapping him against her. 

He settled into a comfortable position. Brea could feel his manhood at the entrance of her valley, waiting to be let in. 

“Remember Brea,” Kylan whispered. “There will be no heading back from this. What we will do will brand you forever. It’ll brand me forever, as well.” 

Brea took a moment to compose herself. She pulled her arms up, cupped his face and kissed him, drawing the breath from his lungs. 

“I am yours, and You are mine. This night will be ours and ours alone. You are a commoner, Kylan of Sami Thicket. You hold no land, no prospects. You hold no future gane to the throne of Ha’rar. You are nothing to Seladon, to Tavra, to anyone else from my clan. But yet you are everything to me. You are the gelfling that I have chosen to give my maidenhood too. You are the one who completes my soul.  Yes, Kylan of Ha’rar, make love to me. Leave me shattered until the dawn breaks.” 

Kylan smiled. “As you wish, Princess.” 

Kylan entered her, pushing past her maidenhood. He couldn't help but gasp at the forein sensation that enveloped his phallus. It felt strange, he found. It was nothing like what he had felt hours before, when the two were close and Brea had allowed him to explore with his own hands. 

Now, it felt as if the fire within her body had smothered him completely, masking his senses, blinding him to a lust that, for so long, seemed to lay dormant deep within. 

Under him, Brea gasped at well, throwing a hand to her lips. Her whole body trembled. She took a few short breaths, closing her eyes as her body fought against the searing fire that erupted down in the valley of her legs. The pain was a shard as a dagger to the back, quick and volatile. 

It took quite a while for the pain to die down in her hips and legs. Like a wildfire, it spread, enveloping her nerves. 

Slowly, tenderly, Kylan began to move withinside her. He started slowly, back and then forward again, and she gasped. He withdrew again, and pushed forward, a little harder. Heavy, harsh gasps erupted from Brea’s throat. He continued, pushing forward, retreating back. He held himself above her on his arms, muscles taut and burning. 

Underneath him, Brea couldn't comprehend the sensation.   Her body moved with his, back and forth, back and forth. It was a dance between two yearning hearts.  A vicious moan tumbled from her lips as Kylan picked up pace, driving into her.  It felt as if Kylan was ripping her apart, dissecting her, exploring every inch of her soul. He unraveled her, like a lose seam within a shirt, before sticking her back together. 

He pushed forward, stretching her further than before. She gave a cry, a whimper. Above her, Kylan moaned, buckling against the strange feeling that seeped into his being.  

He did as he was told. He worshiped her, praised her, showered her with love. He moved with the eagerness of a dying man, driving into her, pushing, pulling, back and forth. Harder and harder he pushed, pressing into her core. 

“Brea,” he moaned, pressing deeper into her. 

“Yes!” She screamed. “Faster! Yes! Yes! Faster! Faster, please!” 

Her voice sounded strange, forein. This didn't sound like Brea, the well-educated Princess. This sounded desperate, ravenous. Hungry. 

Around them, the bed became a disheveled mess. The silken sheets, once neatly folded, were now thrown and scattered about, leaving the mattress bare. Only one pillow remained , its body tucked under Brea’s head. Kylan pushed into her violently. She gave a cry, arched her back, gripped the mattress. Her toes curled into themselves. 

She was nearly there, she knew. He knew as well. His pushes and pumps became hungry, desperate to help her arrive at that strange place she had been teetering on hours before.  His hands found her waist, gripping her steady, keeping her body pinned against his as he drove into her. 

  Every nerve in her body was alight with lust and fire. The coldness of the night never touched her.

That fire, that lust that burned deep withinside her became a forest-fire, blazing and uncontrollable. She gasped, whimpered, screamed his name as he tore and devowerd her. He answered her cries with rapid movements, tearing into her like a starving man eating for the first time.  Underneath them, the bed creaked violently, the wooden legs scraping against the old floor. 

Moving her hands, she threw them across his shoulders, fingernails raking across his skin. 

“Kylan,” She gasped. “Harder! Yes, Harder! Oh yes! Yes! There! Right there! Oh, Thra, Kylan!” 

And finally, like before, she shattered. The fire that had blazed in her core exploded. It burst, expanded, flying to every nerve in her body. A scream, loud and high and ear-piercing, burst forth from her mouth, tossing her name into the air. His hands became vices, his nails digging into her skin. He continued his relentless movements, driving and pushing, pumping with a viciousness that Brea had never seen, or felt, before.  

Brea felt the moment he shattered.

Like Brea, A great gasp escaped his lips. His pushing seized as he sat there, eyes closed, teeth digging into his bottom lip as his body fought the spasms that rocked his lower pelvis. 

Brea gazed at him, watched as he fought against his body. She watched as sweat dripped from his neck and chest, how it shimmered in the distant firelight of the room. They had become one, she realized. They had joined. They had taken that risk, defied generations of traditions. No Spriton had ever made love to a Vapra before, much less a royal. Kylan was already defied tradition once, just by existing. Now, he had lived to defy it again. 

“Kylan,” she whispered, her voice full of wonder and awe as she gazed at him. 

The Spriton-Stonewood caught the sound of his name. He found her eyes and smiled. His body was still reacting, the spasms racing through his pelvis. His breath was shaky. “Brea,” he whispered back. 

Brea moved. He held out her hand to him, stroked his cheek with her knuckle. The Spriton-Stonewood caught it and kissed her palm. “Did I satisfy you, your highness?” He asked. 

Brea shook her head. “No,” she said,  “Its still not dawn.” 

Kylan cocked an eyebrow. He turned, looked out onto the rippling water. A mirror image of the three-sisters were visible. No, dawn was not here yet. It wouldn't be here for hours.

And Brea had ordered for him to make her shatter till dawn. 

Well, like any loyal servant, Kylan lived to serve. Lived to please. 

Kylan turned back to her. Smiled. He leaned forward and kissed her soft lips. “Yes,” he said. “My mistake, princess. Let me remedy that.” 

It was obvious that Kylan was in pain as he left her valley. His movements were slow and gentle, like someone walking on thin ice.  He gave a grown, fell back against his knees. She sat up as well, taking a moment to calm down. Around them, the room had grown warm, partially thanks to their own bodies’ heat and the large fire that burned in the fireplace a few rooms away. 

As gently as he could, Kylan turned Brea onto her stomach.The gelfling gave a gasp as she found herself face first into the sheet, her arms splayed out beside her. It felt strange to be lifted this way. 

“Kylan--” She started. but the sound of his voice in her mind stopped her. 

“Shhh,”  Kylan cooed. With gentle hands, he help guide her backside upward, until it was level with his pelvis. He leaned forward, kissing the back of her neck  “Let me worship you in a new kind of way.”

With a powerful thrust, He re-entered her again. Like before, fire erupted through her body. She gave a gasp, her backside buckling as the sensation rolled through. Her hands found purchase on the sheet below her, knotting up the fabric. 

Above her, Kylan moaned. Already he was drunk on her, desperate to fill her and fall away again. 

Like before, be began push back and forth, re-entering and leaving. But unlike before, he didn't slow, nor was he gentle, pushing and thrusting with every muscle within his body. Moans escaped his lips, filling the air with lust and passion as he rammed into her from behind. Brea joined him, her own moans harmonizing with his own. 

His pace quickened, and Brea could not bare it.. Her eyes were hazy with lust, her breathing rapid and quick. It felt as if with every thrust, Kylan was knocking the wind out of her.  

“Kylan, oh, uh! Yes! There! Faster! Oh, Thra--Yes! Yes!”

Kylan pushed deeper, his thrusts becoming more rapid and harsh. By now, his entire weight was against her, pushing her down further onto the sheet. Brea braced herself with her forearms, allowing her lower-backside to be reachable. Kylan took advantage of this, pushing himself up, driving himself deeper into her until he was at her core. Brea could not surpass a scream as he drove into her, sending wave after wave of pleasure and heat through her body. 

Kylan could sense she was close. He could feel her heart pound against her chest, and her breathing became so hitched and forced that she fought for every breath. But she wasn't there yet. 

He decided to make it more enjoyable for both of them. 

Moving a hand from her waist, he cupped one of her breasts. Using his palm, he molded and fondled and pressed and squeezed. His fingers found her mamillia. He pulled and twisted. The rosebud was hard nad firm, and Kylan couldn't help but feel a wave of satisfaction at knowing that her entire being--Her breasts, her core, her valley, her gasps, moans, whispers, screams, kisses and suckles--where his and his alone.   He continued his thrust and pushes, pumping in and out of her. 

It felt wonderful. Oh, so wonderful. It was as if he was creating her, remaking her. 

Brea couldn't help but scream when a particular hard thrust pushed her into the bed. She burred her face into the fabric, the silken sheets masking her voice. Kylan helped her brace her arms again, lifting her gently back into form. 

“Don’t,” he growled, lowering himself across her back, near her ears. “Don't hide yourself from me, love. I want to see all of you.”

“Yes,” Brea answers. She buckled her hip, pressing herself to him.  “And I wish to see all of you as well.” 

A chuckle rose from his throat. Kylan knew what she wanted. 

“Soon,” Kylan promised. “Very soon. But right now; this is your night. Let me worship you like the princess you are.”

Brea was surprised at the amount of strength Kylan had left. Fast as lightning, the Spriton-Stonewood re-positioned himself, settling against his calves.  Taking both of his hands and placing them over her breasts, he lifted her into his lap, facing forward.  She sat against him, her back to his chest.  Brea gasped, feeling as her valley was stretched wider by his manhood’s newest position. Kylan wasted no time in starting again. He pushed and pumped, filling her. Using his hands, he cupped both breasts, squeezing and fondling them with great care. With spry fingers, he twisted her mamillia’s, the buds becoming hard and stiff in seconds. 

Brea jerked, knocking her hips into his. 

He gasped, moaned as he felt her shift to take all of him within her. 

From his place behind her, Kylan could just make out her lips forming soundless words. 

“What do you want, Brea?” He asked. He jerked his hips, pumped viciously into her. 

“I-I want,” Brea gasped. Kylan pushed, stretching her valley wide. “I-I want…!”  

“Yes,” Kylan purred. “Tell me, princess.” 

“I want every inch of you! I want all of you, Kylan. Please, I want you!”

Brea felt him thrust viciously. She gasped, moaned.  Kylan couldn't help but laugh. He kissed her neck, running his lips along her skin. He felt her shutter and shake. “Not yet, sweet princess,” He said. He gave a thrust, pressing deeper into her. “We’re just getting started.”

Suddenly, he pulled out of her, lifting her from his lap.  

Her vally was slick and dripping, and her thighs were drenched in oil and other slick liquids. “Kylan!” Brea gasped. “What are you--?” 

Turning her by her shoulders, he motioned for her to face him, letting her straddle him, ankles crossed. Her face was flush and her eyes were bright with lust. Quickly, he entered her again. She gave a sharp gasp as he filled her, stretching her tight. 

“You’re so beautiful,” He hissed, pressing his hands to her thighs. He squeezed tight, his nails digging into her skin. He rolled his hips. He watched as she bit her lips and took a deep breath. 

“Kylan,” Brea whispered. She pressed her hands to his shoulders, drawing him closer. “Yes, please, yes...”

“What was that, Princess? I cant hear you.” 

With passion, he began to pump in and out of her. Pressing herself closer, she wrapped her arms around his neck, running her hand through his hair. 

“Please!” Brea screamed, feeling him press into her core. She could feel him swell and fill her, and like a drunk man, she wanted more. “Please Kylan. I need you! I need you! Agh! Please!” 

With a grunt, he thrusted harder than before. He filled every inch of her, every crevice of her valley, stretching her. He bounced her up and down, hands firmly gripping her as she moved. He felt her valley stretch with each trust, the oil helping with the movement. 

Kylan’s name left her mouth, filling the air as she teetered on the edge of bliss.  To answer her call, he screamed her name as well, his own cry filling the room. 

Brea could not suppress it any longer. 

With a scream, her core shattered, ripping through her again. Spasms racked her body, turning every nerve numb. Sweat dripped down her back and neck, coating her entire body. 

But Kylan didn't stop. He wasn't close yet; there was still more in him. He continued to thrust, driving deep. Brea felt another spark inside her flare up. 

“Not yet,” Kylan said to her as another moan escaped her lips. “There is still more I wish to show you, my princess.”

And he did. He continued his desperate dance with her, pushing and thrusting  into her until the two were soaked to the bone in sweat and their skin was raw and their vocal cords were stretched thin.  

Brea felt her core shatter over and over as Kylan tore into her. By now, her entire body was numb to the fire. She gave a shallow gasp as he thrusted, one last time into her. She felt him grow stiff within her, telling her that he was on the threshold of becoming undone. 

She heard him gasp, suck in a deep breath. His body jerked and Brea felt that familiar rush of heat enter her. Kylan shattered just as hard, if not harder, then before. Spasms clawed up his spine like an angry monster, scathing his muscles, his pelvis, his legs. He felt the tightness from before, the desperation to release within her. He forced himself to relax and ride along with his spasms. He wondered if Brea could feel them as well. 

She could. He twitched and jerked within side her. Though she was numb and exhausted, she wanted more. 

 Suddenly, taking his shoulders, Brea pushed him down, his head resting against the pillow, gazing up at Brea’s exposed form, his black hair draped across the floor.  

Ever since they had first arrived at this cave, Kylan had been the only one to please. He pleased with his hands, his body, his manhood. He whispered to her, spoke to her with the confidence of a prince. She had ordered him to shatter her until the breath of dawn touched the world, and he did. 

Brea wanted to join him. 

Kylan watched, amazed, as Brea moved gracefully above him, removing herself from his phallus to re-apply oil to his both his manhood her valley. Moving slowly, she straddled him, pressing her legs on either side of his pelvis. Taking him fully in her hand, she guided him to the entrance to her valley. 

Kylan wanted to say something, but Brea shushed him, pressing her lips to his own. “Shhh, my love,” She said, “Save your words for later.”

With one powerful buck, She enveloped his phallus fully. She stretched and filled him, pressing her hips to his. A gasp escaped her throat. She pressed a hand to her lips to stop a moan from forming on her lips. Caught off guard, Kylan hissed painfully. His hands caught her hips, pinning her closer to him. 

“Are you okay?” She asked. 

Kylan nodded, head dizzy and blank. 

Brea laughed. She could see tears had built up in his eyes. Using her thumb, she wiped a stray tear from his cheek. 

“I love you,” She said. 

She began to move. In and out. In and out. She bounced, bucked. She rocked her hips into his. She pressed her hands into his chest, pinning him down against the floor. Gasps escaped her lips as she concentrated on bringing him pleasure. 

“Harder,” he commanded. “Harder!” 

Though she was a princess, Brea did as she was commanded of. She rocked harder, pushing deeper into him. She threw her head back, exposing her neck as she dug deeper into him. 

Kylan could feel how deep he was in her. That familiar warmth coated every inch of him, eating him alive. He laid there, watching as she rode him, bore down on him. His hands were griped tight as she bounced lustfully, her breasts jerking with every movement. 

He had never seen such a beautiful sight in his life.  Heat burned deep within him and as she rode him harder, he found his voice again. 

Oh, yes! Yes! Yes!! Faster! Oh, Brea, yes, keep going. Keep going! You’re almost there, love! Yes! Almost there, ugh, yes! Right there, right, Ugh, yes! There! There! More! More! Keep going!” 

Brea moaned and continued to   Up and down. Up and down. “Kylan, I-I think I’m going too—!” 

“Yes, My Princess, Yes! That’s right! Almost there! 

“Kylan—!” 

“Almost there. It’s nearly dawn.” 

She bounced. He thrusted. The two worked their dance feverishly. 

“Kylan—!”

With one final thrust, Brea and Kylan shattered, unraveled. Kylan gasped, moaned, as heat left his body and filled Brea’s. Brea arched painfully, her head thrown back as the first bird-song of dawn pierced the air outside the waterfall.

___________________________________________________________

Hair disheveled, bodies sore and stiff, they slept. With only a single pillow, The two gelfling laid there, naked. They had exhausted themselves too much to bother with finding a bed sheet to cover themselves. 

 The girl slept soundly, her body pressed to the boys, a hand across his chest. Her breasts were red-raw, the buds scarlet in the weak light. Scratch-marks and love-bites marked her skin.

The boy laid on his back, staring lazily up at the ceiling. A hand was cursed protectively around her shoulders. 

The girl shifted against the sheet, ignoring the violent pop in her shoulder. She lifted herself up, looking around the save. By now, light had illuminated the water rushing down the rocks. 

She looked to Kylan. He was peaceful, serene. Brea knew that soon, once he woke up, that they’d have to leave and go back. Back to the battlefield and war-room. Back to just friends in the eyes of everyone else. 

Brea knew right then and there that she wanted to give him one last taste of passion before it would disappear for the time being. 

“Kylan?” Brea cooed softly. She touched his chest, running her fingers along his lean stomach. “Are you awake?” She shifted to press herself closer. 

“I am now.” He answered. 

She was silent for a moment. “Are you tired?”

“A little...why?” 

Brea bit her lip. “We’re going to have to leave soon.” She noted

Kylan nodded his head. “So it seems.” 

“So… I was wondering…”

“Wondering what, love?”

Slowly, deliberately, she snaked her hand down towards his pelvis. Brea felt him jerk and gasp he felt her hand touch his manhood.  

“Kylan,” Brea pleated,  light and airy. She looked him in the eyes. “Please, before we have to leave, let me worship you now.”

It took Kylan a moment to register her words. Slowly, he nodded.

Now, it was her turn to make him weak, to leave him gasping and begging for more. 

 She looked at his eyes, his lips. Oh how they were perfect. She planted a kiss to them, loving the way they molded to hers. She continued her journey, gazing at his chest, the muscles along his stomach. She kissed those as well. She felt him shiver, give a low gasp as she kissed lower and lower. Finally, her eyes reached the valley near his legs. She caught sight of dark, curling hair, the chiseled cut of his tighs and calves. Then, She caught sight of his manhood. 

Her breath caught in her throat. Thanks to the vast amount of medical schools and books within the Ha’rarian library, Brea had already gained the needed knowledge and understanding of what a male gelfling’s manhood had already looked like. But gazing at the real thing was completely different. 

Slowly, she moved her hand. Kylan watched as she lifted his phallus into her palm. Kylan took a deep breath, composed himself. It felt forein to be touched this way. It felt like lightning had struck him, igniting his senses. 

“Brea,”  he moaned, watching as her hand began to move and pump him, up and down  Every nerve felt as if it were on fire within him. He watched as she took him in: His size, his shape, his length. Kylan had always been jealous of other male gelfling--jealous of the gloating about how their own members had been bigger than his, how they made gelfling women who took them to bed sore the next day just by entering them. 

Kylan had always been jealous. But tonight, within the darkness of the waterfall cave, all the jealousy that had built up all those years had finally washed away. To Brea, he was more beautiful than the moon, and it made him content to know that she loved him regardless. 

“Oh, Thra,” She whispered,  “You’re wonderful. Perfect. You look as if you were sculpted just for me. My love, you are every bit as perfect as you are in my dreams.” 

Kylan felt everything in him go numb as he felt her begin to pump him, her nimble fingers caressing him. She seemed to grip him hard, and then pull back, making him feel exposed. A moan rose into his throat, threatening to spill out. He pressed his head to the pillow, locked eyes with the ceiling. Like Brea, he gripped the sheet in his hand, knotting them tight. She continued her pressing and pumping, working her hand thoroughly. 

Her fingers sweeped around and around, pressing against the very end of him. He could feel himself beginning to shatter, and he wanted to be in her. He wanted to give himself to her. 

“Brea,” he moaned. “Brea, please, I need you.”

“I know,” she whispered, planting a kiss to his lips. She pumped and pressed. A cry tumbled from his tongue. “Let me ravish you, my love.”

“Yes, ravish me,” He demanded. 

She continued her game with him, pumping him viciously. Moving slowly, she pressed her lips to his manhood,  toying with him, playing with his manhood until he could bear it no longer. Gasps tumbled from his mouth, filling the silence of the night. 

He shattered again. 

The heat within his core exploded. He released, letting the pleasure that had built up inside of himself free. Inside her, she had felt the power of a spasm, how it destroyed him, made him tremble with exhaustion. 

Brea smiled, watching as a spammed rocked his body. 

Kylan fought hard to keep his breathing calm. Sweat crowned his forehead and everything felt numb. 

Grinning, Brea watched as Kylan sat up, and cupping her head in his hands, kissed her fully. Brea laughed as he began to pepper kisses on her face, her neck.  Soon, he pushed her back down again, eager to please and pleasure her all over again. 

[ninjakitty15]

Chapter 7: Ain’t Nothing But A Horned God (Loki x OFC Pairing)

"You know, super strength and natural parkour aside, that kid is really living up to his second identity," I mused as Peter popped in right after Loki and I got dressed in our daywear clothes and were about to binge watch the Orville.

"Why do you say that?" Loki asked, eyeing Peter as well.

"If you get rid spiders the humane way and just release them into the wild again, they will still find their way back in. Hand me that newspaper over here, I can fix that."

"I thought you said he was cute, isn't that a term of endearment?" he teased.

"He lost that effect when he killed the mood I was about to build up here. The fuck you want, kid?" I barked at the energetic idiot Tony loved so much.

"Mr. Stark's not here?" Peter squeaked.

"Hell if I know, ask Friday or better yet, beat it."

My trying to get rid of the kid seemed to somehow have the exact opposite effect I had hoped for, not unlike when a person that can't deal with cats walks into a room with one in it, that cat will instantly greet the hapless person and never leave them alone. Peter apparently grew a pair and turned his attention on me specifically, seeing as he apparently had met Loki while I was in captivity.

"So you're one the team now, huh? Where you from?"

I blinked at his sudden confidence. "Lynn, Lynn, the city of sin," I sang the old tune of my town.

"Where's that?"

"Near Salem," murmured Loki beside me. "No wonder you wanted to go there yesterday, you were homesick."

"You've been in my position before I'm told so I'm guessing you know how I felt."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

"That would mean admitting I actually feel things and I'm not one to catch feels here, gross."

"Have you got a superhero name yet?" asked Peter eagerly.

"I'd have to be a hero first for that to work and I'd rather not."

"Why not, its the funnest! Get to meet all kinds of people and everything!"

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. "That's supposed to convince me? Really? Tony told me you were clever too, Loki you're the god of lies, how could you let that slide? I hate people, if anything that'd push me toward antihero or even villain. Kill em all and then add em to the undead army, who's with me?!"

"You said so yourself that would take a lot of energy and convincing to make your victims part of your army," mused Loki.

"Sshh, he doesn't know that. Why are you still here if Tony's gone?" I asked Peter.

"He told me I'm welcome to hang out with the team in his absence," Peter replied confidently. "What were you two doing before I got here?"

"Having passionate s/m sex in every room we can get into, you look a bit too young to join but you're welcome to watch," I teased.

"No one gets to watch that," Loki stated stiffly. "That's for our eyes only. Don't you have homework that needs doing about this time?"

"All finished, Aunt May says I can't go out and be Spiderman till its done. Hey, Mr. Loki, Tony says you're not actually from Asgard but a planet of frost giants, is that true?"

"How astute of him to bring that up," grumbled Loki. "Yes, what of it?"

"What do Frost Giants look like?"

"Pete, hun, you don't go asking gods questions like that," I warned the kid, seeing Loki get all tense and serious. "Didn't your aunt ever tell you to stop sticking your nose in places it's likely to get broken in?"

Loki however had other thoughts though didn't look too pleased in acting on them as his once fair skin started to turn blue, green eyes became red and curious markings formed on his head and face. Peter looked absolutely excited being the obnoxiously curious kid he was but made no move nor questions and just tried to his best not to piss off the god while studying him at the same time. I however couldn't help but reach over to touch his face though he caught my wrist.

"You'll burn with frost bite if you touch a frost giant or one touches you."

"Sweety you are touching me," I noted. "My flesh is dead, hydra already tried extreme temps on me, no sweat."

He quickly let go despite my reassurance in fear he was freezing me with his touch, a blackened handprint remained where he held me for a moment before my necro-magic healed it and I was back to simply being a reanimated walking dead girl. I gently touched his face, my thumb brushing over the markings.

"People seem to think red eyes always means evil here," I mused. "Yet theres a fuckton of superheroes wearing red elsewhere, Tony, this little arachnid that needs to be swatted with a newspaper, Thor's cape. Red doesn't mean evil, it means power, anyone wearing red is displaying a power move."

"You don't wear it," Loki told me.

"Weren't you listening during my many rants? I don't make a habit of displaying what I'm capable of, that totally gives me away before I can even attack. It's all about subtlety, something spiderling here needs to work on before asking gods sensitive questions." I glared at the kid who had the grace to look a little ashamed, it was almost cute. At that point, just for funsies, I snatched the newspaper on the coffee table, quickly rolled it up and started smacking the poor boy with it. "Bad spider!" Peter made little move to defend himself though didn't seem too bothered by being whacked by a dead woman either.

"Don't break him or Tony will kick you out," Loki warned though I could tell he was just as amused by my antics as I was smacking around Peter.

"Dude can catch a bus with his bare hands while some people can barely catch them on their feet, he's fine. Ain'tcha kiddo."

"Stop calling me kid, I'm a teenager," mumbled Peter.

"Which is just another term for a kid that thinks they're an adult so really you're not helping your case here. It's adorable how easy it is for you to dig your own grave, even if it with a beach shovel."

"Maybe he's more likely to break you if you keep teasing him," Loki noted.

I arched an eyebrow at him. "I find your lack of faith disturbing."

At the reference, Peter seemed to perk up again. "You've seen those movies?"

"Sweety, I might have been locked up for 5 years but even I know that everyone's seen at least one of them that's still alive."

"Why were you locked up, are you a criminal?"

"What did I tell you about asking sensitive questions, Loki, give me back my spider smasher."

"She was kept by Hydra, no you will not be beating on Tony's favorite project, especially not when there's surveilance everywhere in the tower."

I rolled my eyes at Loki and glared at him. "Meaniepants."

"Do all necromancers look like you?" Peter piped up.

My glare shifted to him then. "Look like me? You really wanna go there? I might be dead but I can still kick your ass, Spiderboy."

"It's spiderman," he grumbled.

"Not with that attitude it ain't."

He shot a web at me angrily and while I knew he never actually meant any harm and I wasn't quick enough to dodge it, I really hated spiderwebs since the first time I walked into one face first, unable to see it. Death magic rushed to the spot he hit me and essentially dissolved/rotted away whatever the hell the webs were made of so they fell apart and off me. Loki looked at me curiously while Peter looked just a little bit horrified. "Try that again, Pete, I dare you, I double dare you motherfucker." My eyes went white while blackened veins popped up around them. That got Peter more than horrified and he backed away with repetitive squeaky apologies. Seeing as he got the message, my face relaxed back to its normalness. "I fucking hate spiderwebs."

"I'm curious, if that was an enemy in front of you and not Peter, what would you have done?" asked Loki.

I turned over to the god and smirked maniacally. "Point me in the direction of one and you might find out."

"You didn't do this when we raided the Hydra base the second time."

"They weren't enemies, they're minions of them. Peter you're really cute but your curiosity is harshing my buzz here, lay off on the sugar and either buzz off or calmly wait for Tony to return. You're like ice cream to me right now, so good but so not worth the brain-freeze it comes with."

"If you're always getting a brain-freeze then you're eating it wrong," countered Peter smugly.

"There's hardly a wrong way to eat ice cream, kiddo."

"Um yeah there is, any way that's not right from a cone. Surely you jest."

"Prefer it with a spoon so I don't make a bigger mess of myself than I already do...and don't call me Shirely."

"Call me biased but I believe the spoon is the better option if we're talking the same food she was wolfing down right after she moved here," Loki noted. "I can't imagine a better way to eat it out of its original tub."

"Plus you can fend off intruders and late night food thieves with a spoon, kinda defenseless since you'd eat the cone after and then you got nothing but a sticky mess to contend with," I added.

"Hold up, that was you that ate my moosetracks ice cream?" Peter squeaked.

"Tony said he bought it and therefore it was his ice cream but he also said his helado es mi helado so not yours at all. Also Thor was the one that finished it because unlike some other Asgardians, he asked nicely."

Loki scoffed and playfully glared at me with crossed arms. "I do and take what I want, there's no need for formalities." His response was a well aimed throw pillow to the face because why else would you call them throw pillows if not for their intended purpose? "Are you sure you want to do that, love?"

"Am I sure? Kinda late to be asking that after the fact, init? But seeing as it already happened, I'm gonna go with yes I am, whatcha gonna do about it?"

"I have to ask if you're sure you wanna challenge the God of Mischief like that?" Peter asked me worriedly.

"Firstly, what's with people asking me if I'm sure, of the three of us which one here is still a virgin and learning the ropes of kicking ass and taking names? Secondly, if you're calling him that based solely on Norse Mythology he's also the goddess of eight legged foals and father of a world ending snake and thus far the only thing close to those myths is the bigass snake in his pants but that's none of my business."

Loki looked beyond amused at me both calling him out on his mythology and representation of it and that not so subtle compliment that may or may not have boosted his ego to the size of Yggdrasil and all the nine realms combined. "While I'm pleased with the last statement about me, I can very much assure I'm the master of mischief, that much of the myth is 100 percent true, Thor can attest to that and any surviving Asgardians besides him that know of me."

"Just because you are known for something specific does not make you the master of it. By that logic, I'm the Goddess of Zombies."

"Hela beat you to that by at least a thousand years," Loki argued.

I glared at my lover and eyed the nearest throw pillow in contemplation, maybe I should hold it against his face gently and then apply pressure. "Sure, if there really was just one realm of gods to go with that might work in your favor."

"What do you believe in then? Where does your faith lie if not in yourself?" he challenged.

"In my life, in my experience and in my line of work there is only kind of gods I follow in faith and those are the gods of death."

Whether he caught onto it or knew my line of thought somehow or not, I couldnt tell but his next response was damn near perfect. "And what do you pray to the gods of death."

I grinned wickedly. "Not today, bitch."

"I'm hurt you wouldn't consider praying for me on your knees," purred Loki.

"The only way to get me on my knees is by taking away what keeps me standing and at the moment you've become my reason to stand these days," I replied smoothly, catching him off guard with the claim of more mortal devotion. "Would think that's obvious considering I come alive at your touch."

We stared at each other for a long silent moment, Loki looking somewhere between admiration and something else I couldn't quite place, his eyes shining like freshly cut and polished emeralds. He also looked torn between wanting to shove me against the nearest wall and makeout or reply with a smoother, wittier comeback because this dude was as desperate to have me as he was to have the last word and prove he was the master of mischief. Men in a nutshell, doesn't matter where they're from or how hard they are to kill. Speaking of things hard to kill, the arachnaboy was still present in the room, watching the two of us verbally spar/flirt before something apparently clicked in his head and he frowned, turning toward me.

"H-how exactly would you know if I was a virgin or not?"

I cackled at his attempt to call me out and act at least a little more confident. "Elementary my dear Parker. Besides the fact you both look and act a day before you're legally of age in this country? It might have something to do with your reaction to Loki's pants snake- there it is! You look different shades of uncomfortable hearing about just the size of someone's dong. Guys usually are either confident with what they got or pretend they are long enough to snag someone to use it on and hope for the best...There's also the fact regardless of age and powers you're radiating with life unsullied, I can sense it on you. Lemme know when you are legal and I might be able to help you with that though." I winked at him, causing yet another priceless reaction from Peter and a scowl from Loki.

"I'm not overly fond of sharing."

"Don't knock til you tried it, besides, I could be six fix under by the time he's open for business, right Pete?" I nudged the poor kid with an elbow for good measure, it was too much fun messing with him.

"I'm sorry, I'm just getting so many mixed signals from you right now I gotta sit down and um wait for Mr. Stark."

I watched the kid scoot away to another room, leaving us alone for once and I grinned and relaxed, turning my attention back to Loki. "And that is how you get rid of a spider properly, if you can't kill it, make it wish it never came in."

"That whole charade was to scare him off?" asked Loki incredulously.

"He's just so precious and innocent, his ears must be burning from the naughty stuff by now. I mean yeah, if he was legal I still wouldn't mind corrupting him physically but I doubt he's got the stones to take me up on that should I be around then. Besides, there's more than one way to sacrificing a virgin these days, isn't that what you gods demand all the time?"

"I'd rather just take you on the sacrificial altar several times over till I'm the only god that can give you what you pray for," he growled.

I blinked in surprised, he was usually a little more clever and subtle in his suggestions and I somehow activated the animal in him with my incessant sexual teasing between him and Peter. "Would the couch do? I don't think the coffee table would survive despite it being solid mahogany." An uncharacteristic squeal of surprise escaped me as his response was a low growl followed closely by a master of mischief pouncing on me.