#you toss something at me sometimes i can track it but usually i lose sight of it and it wacks me in the face

[uwooyoungs]

//

[fittish]

distractions

@softblesses inspired me to actually finish and post a w/hite co/llar fic

this is part 1, there will be 1 or 2 more, we shall see

enjoy!

“So now we think Gray is… Boss? You there?” Diana waved the file she was holding in front of Peter’s face, snapping his attention back to her.

“Huh? Sorry.” He tried to focus on her but his eyes flitted away again.

Diana sighed. “What’s on your mind?”

“It’s Neal.”

She sighed even harder. “Of course. You think he’s up to something?”

“Not sure, he’s definitely hiding something. But it’s strange, he doesn’t usually make it so obvious.”

“Obvious how?”

“He didn’t say anything during the meeting, kept his eyes down the whole time, and his posture was tense. And he keeps touching his temples.”

“So he has a headache. Maybe he’s hungover,” Diana offered, eager to get the conversation back on track.

“Maybe…” He dropped it, opening the file Diana handed him and giving his thoughts.

***

Over the next hour Peter’s brow furrowed more and more as he watched Neal disappear into the bathroom once, twice, three times. The third time he couldn’t take it anymore, he capped his pen and strode after his CI.

He stopped right outside the door, realizing he hadn’t really thought this plan through. He stood awkwardly for a moment, thinking about just leaving, but then an odd sound caught his attention.

“hkt! hmpt!”

It sounded almost like-

“hpTSschh!”

-sneezing. Ah. Suddenly everything started to make sense. Peter pushed the door open to find Neal in front of the sinks, crunching forward into a bundle of toilet paper with another mostly held in sneeze.

“huh’tSschh!”

His eyes cracked open then widened when he saw Peter in the mirror, and he whirled around to face the older man.

“I was just-“ He broke off into a couple of rough coughs.

“Oh,” Peter balked, “You’re just sick.”

Neal squinted. “…as opposed to what?”

“Scheming, sneaking, plotting.”

“Oh. Uh, no.”

That answer had Peter frowning. It was far from the snappy repartee he had come to expect from Neal Caffrey, and that unnerved him. He tried to move past it.

“You shouldn’t be here if you’re not well. I know you’re not exactly a traditional employee, but you can still call in sick.”

Neal looked off to the side, his expression cryptic.

“I’d rather work, keep busy.”

“Well I’d rather you didn’t make yourself worse and have us lose you for weeks instead of days,” Peter retorted. “Go home and get better.”

“But I don’t-“ He stopped abruptly and sighed. “Fine.”

He stalked past Peter and out the door.

For the rest of the day Peter was even more distracted than he had been when Neal was there. He couldn’t think of a time before now that he’d ever seen Neal sick. Was it that rare, or was he that good at hiding it? Either way, the fact that Peter had found him out this time concerned him. How bad was it? Did Neal even know how to take care of himself?

The questions kept swirling around his mind until ultimately he decided to leave the office early to check up on his CI. He gathered up a few files as a pretense and took off.

***

Peter knocked but didn’t bother waiting for a response, quietly letting himself in to the apartment. He sighed at the sight before him.

Neal was sat in front of his easel, clad in a white tank top and silky blue pajama pants. He held a paintbrush in one hand and a balled up tissue in the other. More tissues filled a waste bin at his feet, fitting well with the angry redness of his nose. He looked much worse for wear than when Peter had sent him home, which only made Peter feel more justified in his decision.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Peter said calmly.

Neal’s dulled eyes blinked slowly. He sniffled, pinching the tissue he held over his nose then tossing it and pulling out a fresh one. His eyelids fluttered as his head tilted back then snapped forward into the tissue.

“huh’htzshooh!”

When his head rose back up, he found Peter still looking expectantly.

“I couldn’t sleep. Sometimes painting helps.” His voice came out strained and gravelly. He tried to clear his throat but it just made him cough.

Peter came around the other side of the easel and raised a brow at the small canvas covered in a flow of wobbly lines.

“It’s not your typical style,” he said, half-amused. Neal put on a sour face.

“Yeah, well, precision and detail aren’t exactly in the cards right now,” he grumbled, jerking a thumb at a canvas propped against the wall. It was the beginnings of a cityscape, but the straight clean outline of the tallest building suddenly swerved into a messy splotch halfway down.

“Let me guess, you sneezed?” Peter chuckled at the grumpy nod he got in response, picturing Neal dragging the brush down as the sneeze built, fighting to finish the paint stroke in time only to fail miserably. He’d have liked to have seen that.

“I get it. If it’s abstract, no one can tell if you mess it up.”

“Exactly.” Neal stared at him for a moment, looking somewhat dazed.

“Why are you here, Peter?”

“Oh! Well you said you wanted to work so-“

“huh’Tsschoo! *snf!* Sorry…”

“Gesundheit. If you were feeling better I brought some files that-“

“huh’pstchh! huH’TSSCHh!” He looked up from the tissue, expression meek.

Peter smirked. “Are you done?”

Neal nodded eagerly, then just as quickly shook his head, his eyes slamming shut as he bent forward again.

“huh’TSSCHT! huh’schooh! Ugh…” He groaned and remained slumped over, a few wet coughs joining the mess he’d made of the tissue and his hand.

When he finally raised his head back up, he looked so sick and miserable it hurt Peter’s heart. He closed the distance between them and clasped a hand over Neal’s shoulder, taking note of the unnatural heat he found there.

“Come on, you need to sleep.”

“I tried already,” Neal protested weakly even as he allowed Peter to tug him to standing and guide him to his bed. He obediently got under the covers and peered up at Peter hovering by his side.

“It’s kinda weird, you looming over me like that.”

“Scooch over.”

Neal’s brow furrowed but he obliged, brain too fuzzy to even guess at what Peter was doing.

The agent sat down on the edge of the bed, and Neal watched curiously as he toed off his dress shoes and swung a leg onto the mattress. There was a long beat of silence accented by Neal’s wet sniffles before Peter spoke.

“When El’s not feeling well…she likes when…when I…” He could feel himself blushing as he fought to find the words. “Just, tell me to stop if you don’t like it, okay?”

Before Neal could react, Peter’s fingers began dragging gently against his scalp, combing through his slightly greasy hair. Immediately a soft moan escaped him and his whole body relaxed by a degree. He turned his head so Peter could get to the other side, in the process smooshing his nose into the pillow. After a second his chest jumped, and he barely got a hand cupped over his nose in time to

“huh’ztsSH!”

The sneeze was small but messy, which Peter seemed to pick up on, his hand leaving Neal’s hair and returning with a tissue box. Neal plucked a few out, cleaning his hand and blowing his nose.

“Keep doing that…please,” Neal rasped, inching closer to Peter’s broad, warm body.

Peter obliged, tracing around his ear to the back of his head in long, slow strokes. He felt the moment Neal fully fell asleep, his body going totally limp and his breathing slow with a drag of congestion.

Peter smiled softly and eased his phone from his pocket, shooting a text to Elizabeth that he would be late coming home.

[thesecrimsonstrings-if]

You know how you said that Juliette's route is heavily inspired by Romeo and Juliet,, can you write a scenario on that? With Tachibana too,, if you don't mind

sugiwara was not the kind of person who dreamt of a world anew. in fact, they were happy enough with the reality of everything they were living in. it was perhaps this fatalistic nature of theirs that made people like them. they knew that no matter what the consequences, sugiwara wouldn't be the type to try and change the outcome of those events.

maybe that would've stayed the case if they didn't meet the person who would make this attitude of theirs turnaround completely. well, that was not exactly the case when they first met though.

“a blood-sucker in the village,” sugiwara spat out, disgusted. “i suggest you leave as soon as you can. my... colleagues may not be as lenient as me.”

“oh?” you raise a questioning eyebrow. “and is there a reason for such leniency, when i've heard that you've shown none to anyone else?”

how was sugiwara to explain that even if they had hated your nature with every fibre of their being, the thought of killing you just did not sit right with them. the hunter left you with more questions than answers, and you could do nothing but look for them.

it was a dangerous game that you were playing. what if sugiwara had lost their patience with you at any moment and decided that killing you off would save them from the headache you give them on the daily? but with the way their cheeks turned pink with your flirtatious smile, and the way you hear their heart beat louder in their chest with your subtle touches, and the way their eyes seem to subconsciously follow your every move in an effort to not lose track of you, you could have been sure that you meant more to them than just a mere supernatural prey.

“kiss me,” you ask, no, demand of them one night. the saké is getting to you, making you say things that you were usually hesitant to say when sober. “kiss me so that i know that you're real.”

the hunter stares at you, slack-jawed. they never expected you to outright say that! good heavens, this was embarassing. however...

their eyes look a tad bit softer and fonder as they look over your utterly foolish, yet mesmerising self. “i'm right here and you better get some sleep before i toss you outside in the cold.”

you smile to yourself. they were real, alright. in all their sweet and sour glory.

the conflict between the hunters and the supernaturals didn't subside in japan. if you had to say something about it, you'd say that it had gotten worse than you'd have expected it to be. supernaturals ending up dead. hunters going missing in action during their duties.

sugiwara was there with you through it all, though. they didn't show it outright but they were ready to vouch for you if the need ever arises. their group trusted them enough to believe they wouldn't be harbouring a supernatural with them, let alone a vampire.

“you have no intention of leaving?” you ask them one day as you both sit on top of their roof.

the hunter shakes their head, hugging their knees closer. “this village is my home and leaving when they need me the most is nothing short of a betrayal.”

you understood the sentiment, of course you did. but it didn't ease up the pain in your heart anyway.

“hey,” sugiwara calls out, looking at you with a small smile. your heart can't help skipping at the sight of it. “if you're planning on leaving sometime soon, can i ask for one thing?”

“of course,” you say with no hesitance whatsoever.

then, with a speed that has you flabbergasted, they press their lips against yours. you almost choke in your surprise, but keep yourself from doing so as you find enough strength in your hands to cup their face and kiss them back.

gods know how long they had been holding back. fearing they'd alienate you from them, that you'd find their affection for you disgusting. most of all, they feared how everyone else might think of their love for you. but now? while they wouldn't lie and say that those fears have completely vanished, they have enough courage to finally follow their heart.

as for you? with your first kiss, you had decided that you could never leave them. you had memorised the very pattern of every beat of their heart. you had taken a hold of their heart and made a promise to cherish it forever. your brave hunter. your darling hero. how you had not regretted even a second of falling for them.

sugiwara would have fought the whole of japan to keep you safe from harm. they'd burn through vengeance and terror and warfare, burn through everything that fuels the human heart and sears it red, burn through everything that covers the outside with hard muscle and tough sinew. for their love was as undying as the power of a million eternal starlit skies.

“[reiko/renjiro] sugiwara. i love you. i love you. i love you.”

“and i am in love with you, {real_name}.”

“to have and to hold, where even death cannot part us.”

“in this life and the next. for however long our souls remain, mine will always find yours.”

those were the last works you spoke as the fire that blazes in the village consumed sugiwara. you couldn't accept them dying on their own, not when there was nothing you could do to save them. were you just an immortal fool to think death would come easy? that you'd be free of this wretched existence and follow wherever sugiwara went? you... you just couldn't. and you hated yourself all the more for it.

so you ran away, away from your memories, away from the place that will always remind you of something that broke your heart in pieces that cannot be put together ever again.

war rages on. prejudices remain. supernatural unions arise to ensure peace between humans and non-humans. and within all of those, the supernaturals and hunters alike, tell the tale of sugiwara and the vampire like some folk song passed between vendors on their breaks. they speak of those two as the ones who had dared to dream. and for that, in an era consumed by hatred and nightmares, they were cut down without mercy.

and yet how, as the chapter of their story ended, they loved each other so deeply that the remnants remained in the hearts of those who knew them.

[norangeyyy]

Late Night HCs

Bucci Gang Edition

TW: nothing too extreme, just a little bit of hurt/comfort stuff sprinkled right here and there.

Bruno Bucciarati

► Bucciarati typically doesn't stay up late at night, he has work and would squeeze all the amount of sleep he can get on his free time.

► Unless he has a lot of things in mind.

► It doesn't matter whether it's a work-related problem, his past, a random thought, or just generally his worries about his future. It will keep him up.

► He'll definitely need someone to be an outlet but if no one's available, he'll just stare at the night sky and distract himself with the moving clouds or finish some of his work until he's too tired to think of anything.

► If you happen to be in the same situation and same place that night though, then make sure that you take care of the trust he has for you when he was at most vulnerable and he will do same with you.

► I personally headcannon Bucciarati to be the type to like those kind of conversations since i highly doubt that he has been so vulnerable in front of anyone besides Abbachio ever since he joined the mafia.

► And even then, he's mostly the one who lifts the spirits up and not the other way around since he's the leader.

► So expect to hear things and words you wouldn't expect to come from the Bucciarati you see everyday come spilling out of his mouth, it'll be a lot.

► Pat his back or better yet, give him a hug and brush his hair while doing so. He needs it a lot since he hasn't really got one after his family fell apart.

► "I feel so much better now, thank you. I'll make sure not to forget about this night. "

Leone Abbachio

► The night owl of the gang.

► Staying up until 3AM is nothing new to this man, hell, he could even go on a whole day without sleep if he has a lot of things that's bothering him.

► He's the opposite of Bucciarati, he prefers to shoulder his intrusive thoughts alone. It'd take some great amount of effort and trust to make him talk and let it out.

► What he does during those times is either using his stand to replay certain memories that could either worsen his guilt or put him at ease, or just drink until he passes out but most of the time, he does both.

► He could also be listening to some music while he does so but if he's feeling guilty for making Bucciarati concerned about his frequent drinking, then he'll just listen to music and hope that he'll fall asleep and not just keep his eyes closed until the sun rises.

► It works, kind of, but even without alcohol driving him to sleep, he'll always be tired. His sleeping schedule is seriously messed up because he never really cared about it in the first place.

► Would sometimes go out for a walk. Leone is fond of the city's peacefulness when everyone is asleep, with the only thing keeping him accompany is the cold air and the dim light of the lampposts.

► Secretly still has his police uniform and would occasionally take it out just to stare at it or talk to it in a not-so-kind of way as he sees his younger self in it.

► Gets dragged in whatever shit Narancia and the others are up to if he gets spotted. Mostly it's just for a movie night behind Bucciarati's back but Abbachio knows better and expects the unexpected when it comes to the gang.

► Knows what everyone does in late night if they're still up and has seen a lot of ungodly sights.

► Whether it be seeing a sleepy Mista and the pistols chanting a weird prayer to a bowl of cereals or Fugo being dragged out of his room by Narancia, Leone knows it.

Pannacotta Fugo

► Just like Bucciarati, Fugo rarely stays up late at night and if he does, it's usually just because he's busy.

► Fugo has hobbies like painting and reading, everyone in the gang knows that. It's just that he gets carried way too far sometimes and loses track of time.

► Who could blame him though when the book he's reading is just too interesting or the painting he's currently working on is almost done, right?

► On extremely rare occasions where something unpleasant enough to keep Fugo up at night happens, he'll bundle himself in his fluffy blanket like a butterfly in its cocoon.

► He always does this back when he's still living with his parents, it makes him feel safe from anything that's haunting him.

► And if it's neither his hobbies or problems that's keeping him up, he'll just hear Narancia whispering outside his door or Mista throwing pebbles at his window.

► For the first few times the duo did this, Fugo was still able to resist until he just can't anymore knowing that they wouldn't leave him alone all night.

► "Well, this isn't so bad. "

► He says as he enthusiastically tosses a popcorn into his mouth with his eyes glued all over the lit screen of the TV.

► Movie nights, along with sneaking out to go the nearest convenience store, became a common thing between the Torture Dance Trio™ ever since then.

Narancia Ghirga

► The type to wake up in the middle of the night and think "Hmm... Everyone's asleep, let's commit robbery tonight!"

► Fugo's sleep paralysis demon.

► Would literally not hesitate to steal chocolate bars with Mista and probably does 3AM challenges with him too.

► Never runs out of ideas to keep himself up at night and is the one who comes up with everything but what he does still depends on his mood.

► If Narancia's feeling a little too lazy then he'll just sleep and most of the time, with music keeping him accompany. But unlike Abbachio, he purposely doesn't wear headphones just to annoy Fugo whose room is right next to his.

► If he's feeling like it, he'll straight up just invite the others to watch a movie or play videogames even though Bruno has already made it clear not to use the TV after 11PM.

► But just as he likes staying up at night doing crazy things with the boys, he also uses his energy left and free time to self-study, as surprising that may sound.

► He may hate reading but he takes advantage of the fact that his brain is much active at night and he doesn't want to depend on Fugo too much. After all, he dreams on going back to school and he's more than willing to be capable enough to do so alone and pass without the other teen's help.

► Will cuddle anything that's near him while he studies but if you give him a plushie, it'll be instantly his favorite and he would definitely use it as a study buddy.

Guido Mista

► Alright, let's be honest here, this dude wouldn't even stay up if it weren't for his bros.

► 5 seconds lying on the bed and he's already knocked out for a good 10 hours if there's no work he has to do for the day. Make it 8 at weekdays thanks to his mafia-related responsibilities.

► He sleeps like a log so only a combination of shaking him up awake with Fugo and Narancia can make him rise from what seems like a two year coma but is really just a normal tuesday night.

► Will pretty much join Narancia at anything he does but since his last three brain cells are obviously still as half asleep as him, he won't be able to remember that much the next day.

► And once he's out of the room and is already sitting on the couch with the guys, Mista's the type to fall asleep halfway through the movie.

► You can't blame him though, it's 12AM and it seems that Fugo got to choose what movie they'll watch since Narancia already got to choose the other night.

► Unless they're playing videogames or are going out then he won't be acting like a slow ass PVZ zombie with a fried brain. Actually, he'll be hella active if that's the case.

► Active at grabbing every snack each second, that is.

► Actually, it's the pistols who does that but oh well, it's not like Mista's innocent too.

► "I swear it's not me who ate all of our groceries for this month! Right, guys?! It's the pistols! "

► And that, everyone, is how Guido blew their little rendezvous without even trying.

Giorno Giovanna

► There's not much to be said about this boy since just like Mista, Giorno goes to bed early as he makes sure he still gets the proper amount of sleep.

► He already has a lot of things to deal with at day so of course, by the end of it, he'll be exhausted.

► Nights before exams are excluded because although he may seem like he skips class sometimes, Giorno still knows his priorities.

► Only when he became the head of the mafia did he really started to lose sleep as great power comes with great responsibilities.

► It took a LONG time for Giorno to adjust to a lot of things cause come on, he maybe resilient but he's still a 15 year old teen.

► Not only does he have towers after towers of work but i like to imagine that he still continued his education and used some of the things he learns in class in the mafia, specifically in classes like history or geography class since as a boss, he has to know every nook and cranny of Italy.

► Not to mention that emergencies happen and he always has to be ready to give out orders, even if it means being woken up at 1AM.

► God, help this child because all the things mentioned above are just an understatement of what happens on the first few months of being in charge of Passione.

► "So this is why Diavolo looks like he's about to explode whenever something goes wrong huh. "

[minteyeddevil]

Prompts 18 "Are you wearing my shirt?" and 100 "Call me selfish, but I don't ever want anyone else to touch you." with F!MC and Mammon.

Is it okay if the MC isn't the one on top? I've been seeing a lot of top!MC lately and I need something different lol.

---

#18: “Are you wearing my shirt?”

#100: “Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch you.”

---

Mammon was her first. He took that position to heart, even if he never verbally expressed it to her. He would show it in his actions; saving her food at dinner if she was running late so that Beel wouldn't devour it, bringing her an umbrella if it began to rain, allowing himself to get soaked in her place. He would be at her side throughout the day, helping her in any way he could, despite how he would sometimes push her away when she would become openly affectionate with him, worried that she might catch on to his hidden feelings for her; he still enjoyed being as close to her as he could, despite this.

But she was slowly being dragged away from him by the hands of another. His younger brother, Leviathan, was slowly encroaching on his time with MC. He would drag her to his room for nights of gaming and watching movies, keeping her until the wee hours of the morning and having her lose sleep. But she was clearly enjoying herself, so what right did he have to tell her not to spend her time so freely, despite it being with his brother?

This pattern continued on for what seemed like weeks, until Mammon couldn't take it much longer. He need to get away from them, hearing them laughing and hollering together in his brother's room whenever he would walk by. Who knows what else the two of them would be doing, alone. All he could picture was Leviathan's hands on MC's body, touching places the Avatar of Greed longed to reach for and take as his own. He hated the picture of MC beneath his brother, smiling up at him when she should be smiling at the Great Mammon.

The images kept dancing around in his mind as he laid out on his bed, growling and thrashing around a bit before finally getting to his feet. He needed to get out, do something, anything to get his mind off of her and his brother. He shrugged on his jacket, pocketing his phone and wallet, before heading out of his room and down the hall towards the entrance of the house.

Before he could make it to the front doors, however, he was stopped in his tracks by MC and Leviathan, walking with their arms linked towards his bedroom. He sneered at the sight of them, trying to ignore them as he made to walk by. But MC saw him and ran up to grab his arm as well, tugging him towards her.

"Mammon, Levi got the latest season of 'My Daughter is a Werewolf But I am Also a Werewolf So Where Do We Go From Here!?' Want to come watch it with us?"

He eyed his brother for a moment, his frown only deepening when he saw the annoyance on his face. "Nah, MC. Don't wanna impose on the two of ya. Have fun."

His tone was nasty and made MC take a step back to look at his face quizzically, but before she could say anything further, he pushed past her and disappeared out of sight. He cursed to himself as he descended the steps leaving the House of Lamentation, and got lost on the streets of the Devildom.

---

She paced the floor of his bedroom, constantly glancing at her phone screen in hopes that he would be calling or texting her. She had tried several times to reach him, but he never answered nor replied to her worried messages. It made her heart ache that he had been gone for hours at this point, the time on her screen reading almost 2am.

The moment she saw Mammon leave, she wanted to follow him, but Leviathan had stopped her. He urged her not to worry about him, he was just being "Stupid Mammon" per usual, but that filled her with rage. She scolded Levi for his cruelty towards his older brother, and left him in a huff, disappearing into Mammon's room to wait for him to return. She wanted to be the first to see him when he got home, and make sure he was alright.

Time seemed to etch on more and more, and she eventually found herself curled up on his couch, trying her best to fight off sleep. She had finally lost out on that fight when the door to his room opened, and the Avatar of Greed walked in, looking worse for wear.

He threw off his now tattered jacket, and winced at the pain in his left cheek when the fabric brushed it. He was in the middle of taking off his alcohol soaked shirt, when he finally noticed her.

He walked over to the couch and kneeled next to her, brushing her hair out of her face. "MC...what are ya doin' in my room?"

She stirred at the sound of his voice, her lashes fluttering until her vision focused on his face. She shifted from her lying position to throw her arms around his neck, pulling him close. "Mammon, you're home! I was so worried about you! I thought something might've happened to you, you didn't return my calls, or anything!"

He frowned slightly, pulling himself free from her hug. "Why would ya worry about me? Weren't ya busyin' yourself with Levi anyway? Ain't nothin' goin' on to worry yourself about."

She pulled back a bit, as if his words had slapped her across the face. But before she could retort, it dawned on her to look closer at his features. A dark bruise bloomed under his left eye, the lower half of the lid swelling and making his eye close. She reached up to touch at his face, but he stepped back out of her reach.

"Mammon, what happened?"

He huffed. "Some decided to get mouthy with me, I mouthed back, and he threw his drink at me. So I fought his ass. Got one good swing in before I leveled him out."

She frowned at this, but reached out for him once more, grabbing him by the arms and pulling him in. "I'm glad you're okay, Mammon. I came to your room to wait for you to come home. I wanted to be here to see you..."

He felt those words tug at his heart, but he refused to look at her. He knew he would crumble if he did. "Well, ya saw me. So ya can go back ta your room or whatever now. So g'night MC."

He tried to pull away, but she held fast, refusing to let him go. She needed to address what was clearly bothering him. "Mammon, I need you to know that nothing is going on between me and Leviathan."

She felt him tense, but continued. "I've been spending a lot of time with him, yes, but only as his friend. He wanted company, so I gave it to him. But, Mammon...," she reached up to cup his face, finally getting him to look at her. "My heart belongs to you. I love you, my first man."

His eyes widened slightly, and darted around her own, looking for any trace of doubt. When he found none, with a deep growl, he pressed his lips roughly against hers his hands possessively gripping her to his front. She whimpered into the kiss when he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up, walking them both towards his bed.

"No takin' that back now," he growled against her lips, before dropping her on his bed and climbing atop her. His mouth latched on to the skin of her neck, sucking the spot right above her pulse. A high gasp left her throat as her hands buried in his white hair.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she sighed, before tugging his head up so she could kiss him deeply.

His hands worked their way under the shirt she wore, finding her breasts bare and he groaned into her mouth as he squeezed them, pinching her nipples slightly as they grew taut from the work of his palm. He pulled away from the kiss to pull the shirt over her head, when he suddenly paused for a moment.

"Are...are you wearing my shirt, MC?"

She giggled, taking over where he started by removing the shirt and tossing it over his shoulder. "I missed you, so I grabbed one of your shirts to feel closer to you," she admitted, the flush in her cheeks spreading to her chest.

He growled once more, only this time much deeper, as he quickly worked her out of her shorts and underwear, exposing her cunt to the cool air of his room. He shimmied out if his own jeans as well, tossing his clothing aside as he nestled between her thighs. His cock pressed against her folds as if he was meant to fit with her, like pieces of a puzzle, the warmth of her skin against his almost intoxicating. He rutted his hips, allowing her slick to coat his shaft, as he leaned his head forward to capture her lips in another deep kiss.

He groaned into the kiss, pulling away a bit to press his forehead against hers, rolling his hips a bit more until she began to whimper his name.

"Please, Mammon...please, make me yours..."

He hissed a swear as he shifted his hips, his head breaching her entrance and stretching her walls with his girth. Her head pressed back into the pillow, mouth lulling open as he filled her deeply. Once he bottomed out, he paused, a hand running along her side to help soothe her. A sharp exhale left him when he felt her walls flutter and tug him in, and he began to move, his pace slow and languid as she felt each drag of his cock.

He pressed his face to her breasts, groaning into the warm flesh there as his thrusts picked up pace, the slapping of skin slowly filling the silence next to their panting breaths. Her hands trailed along his back and up into his hair, where she felt the points of his horns beginning to peak out as he moved faster and faster within her.

A mix of her name and growls of 'Mine' left him as he was lost in the throws, his arms wrapping tightly around her middle to hold her flush against him. He bit down at any spot his mouth could reach, leaving teeth marks and love bites to bloom on her skin. She cried his name when her orgasm took hold, making her walls tighten around him and pull him into his own, his seed filling her up with his warmth.

He let himself collapse onto her frame, his face buried in the crook of her neck where he peppered languid kisses on her marked up skin. She sighed contently, running a hand along his back, while the other mussed his hair. His own sigh left him, as his arms came around her possessively once more.

“Call me selfish, but I don’t ever want anyone else to touch ya," he mumbled against her skin. "I want ya to be mine, and mine alone, MC."

He raised his head to look her in the eye, his own golden blue shinning as she looked into them. Her hands cradled his face as she leaned in to kiss him lovingly. "I'm only yours, my Great Mammon. No one will ever lay a finger on me, I promise."

He smirked at her, pulling her tighter underneath him as he bit on her cheek and earlobe.

"I'm keepin' ya to that promise, babe. Your Great Mammon doesn't like to share."

[nadisabug]

Take On Me

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson! reader

Warnings: terribly written, I apologize, cannon divergence (smol divergence), song fic?????

Summary: Y/n won’t believe that The Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington likes her. 

A/N: aaahhhhh okay so I woke up at seven am and this song was playing and I had a fever dream idea for a fic so it’s terrible no beta we die like men

"Wanna go to the movies sometime?"

I was mid-bite in my ice cream when Steve "The Hair" Harrington popped the question. I slowly backed away from the ice cream and stared at him dumbfoundedly.

He was leaning on the register, his bicep prominent and flexed. He had lost the cap he usually wore, and even though he had probably been wearing it all day, his hair still looked good. He was flashing me a drop dead gorgeous smile and his eyes were almost sparkling.

Gods I was fucked.

This wasn't the first time he had asked me out by any means. He had been hinting at it every time we saw each other for the past half year. This was the first time he was so up front about it, though. Usually I could act stupid and brush it off.

I hid the heat creeping up on my cheeks by digging in my purse. I grabbed a wad of bills and slapped them on the counter.

"Sorry, I got to go pick up Dusty from AV club," I smiled tightly, lying through my clenched teeth. "Keep the change." And with that, I nearly ran from Scoops Ahoy ice cream. I left so quickly that i didn't see Dustin, my brother, popping out from behind the counter.

"Dude, sorry. You'll get her next time," Dusty sighed.

"Next time?" Steve scoffed. "Buddy, there will be no next time."

"Come on, she likes you I swear," Dusty pleaded.

"Sure didn't look like it," Robin piped in. She was sitting on the passway holding a white board that said 'Steve Sucks' with 17 check marks below it and 'Y/n said yes' with no check marks below it. "I think that one counted for two," she announced, adding two check marks to the 17.

"Shut up Robin," Dusty snapped. He turned back to Steve. "Please Steve you gotta believe me!"

"Okay, okay, fine Henderson," Steve sighed collapsing on the ice cream counter. "Then why does she keep blowing me off?"

Dusty smiled. "For that, we do some recon."

~~~~~~~

I was laying on my bed when I heard a knock on my door. I looked up from the book I was reading.

"Momma?" I called curiously.

"No! It's your favorite brother," Dusty announced, throwing open the door. I smiled and put my book on the night stand.

"Indeed it is. To what do I owe this pleasure," I sat up and patted the bed next to me.

Dusty graciously threw himself into the bed and smiled up at me. "A brother can't want to talk to his only sister who he loves?"

I raised an eyebrow at that. Dusty was always so bad at lying. "Spill, now," I ordered.

Dusty sighed and slumped down. He cursed under his breath - which I chose to ignore under the circumstances- and then looked up at me again.

"Steve told me he likes you. Like a lot."

At that confession, I hopped off the bed, turning away to hide my blush. I had just blown Steve off now here Dusty was telling me Steve likes me? Something was off.

"Since when did Steve trust you enough to tell you that kind of stuff?" I questioned, towering over Dusty who was still sitting on the bed.

"Well we've been hanging out." Dusty couldn't even maintain eye contact with me. He was hiding something.

"Where were you today after school?"

"AV clu-"

"Oh my gods you were at Scoops Ahoy." I slapped my hands over my face and turned around to hide my shame.

"No I wasn't!" Dusty tried to cover his tracks, but it was already too late.

"Dusty, there is no AV club today." The pieces clicked together in my mind. "Oh my gods Steve knows I lied to him."

"Yeah! Which really hurt him because he likes you!"

"No he doesn't Dusty!" I threw myself face first onto the bed and screamed.

"Yes he does! He's literally asked you out so many times."

I twisted, propping myself up on my elbow so that I could look at Dusty. "That does not mean he likes me."

"How so?" Dusty huffed and folded his arms.

"Because, Dusty, he's Steve 'The Hair' Harrington, he probably just wants to get back at Nancy for ditching him for Will's brother."

"What? No," Dusty scoffed.

"Yeah," I nodded. "She left him for The Freak so he's going to date The Psycho Bitch."

Dusty got a soft look of his face for a moment. "Is that what they call you?"

"Doesn't matter Dusty. What matters is that Steve doesn't actually like me. He just thinks he does because he's torn up about Nancy."

Dusty thought for a second. "What if he proved it to you?"

I looked at Dusty. "What do you mean?"

"What if he actually proved to you that he really did like you?"

I shrugged. "Then I'd date him and losing Dart won't come and bite us in the butt."

"Really sis you had to bring that up?"

"He ate Mews," I whisper yelled, careful in case Mom heard.

"About that, we finished translating the message, come on," he rolled off the bed, grabbing my arm and pulling me over in the process.

"Ow! No I can't!"

"Why not?"

"I can't see Steve after lying to him like that!"

"Oh just come on, he'll forgive you. He's madly in love with you."

I doubted that but I went with Dusty anyway.

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

After everything we went through, we had a moment to pretend like everything was okay. The middle school dance.

I was upset that Dusty insisted that Steve take him to the dance and not me, but I knew they had something like a brother bond so I wan't too upset. I volunteered to be one of the high schooler chaperones, mainly under Joyce's wishes. She wanted at least someone there to watch Will like a hawk. Or two.

So Nancy and I were here. At the punch table.

"So, how's college going," Nancy piped up.

I had to be honest, I didn't really like her. Not with the way she broke Steve's heart. But I had to remain cordial. I guess.

"Good."

"I heard you got scholarships."

"It was the only way I could go."

"Yeah. With the.... deaths..." she said carefully, "at the Hawkins Post, they're hiring again. So Jonathan and I got our jobs back."

"That's great." I paused. "Not the deaths, the getting jobs back."

"Yeah."

We lapsed into silence after that.

I scanned the room to see that the boys had split off to dance. Some girl was dancing with Will, Mike was dancing with El, and Lucas was with Max.

Dusty wasn't with them though.

I looked around the room to see him sitting on the bleachers holding back tears. My heart lurched at the sight.

"I'm going to go dance with him," Nancy announced. I was about to let her when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. I grabbed Nancy's arm.

"Wait," I ordered. I saw a girl with visible braces wearing a baby blue dress approach Dusty. He immediately perked up and held out his hand for her. She took it and they walked to the dance floor.

"Nice call," Nancy smiled.

I just dropped her arm, nodded, and turned away to watch them.

After a couple of hours, the kids started leaving one by one. Around the time we were at half capacity, Dusty came up to me.

"May I have this dance?" He awkwardly bowed with his hand outstretched. I had to stifle a giggle.

I looked at Nancy. She waved me off. "Go ahead, I can serve punch."

"Of course, mi' Lord," I giggled and took his hand.

He dragged me all the way to the middle of the dance floor and began to dance with me.

"Sure Suzie won't be jealous about baby blue dancing with you?"

"She knows I only have eyes for her," Dusty rolled his eyes at the notion that she could possibly be jealous.

"Turn around," I began in a sing songy voice. "Look at what you see!"

"Oh shut up," Dusty growled and shoved me.

I laughed but kept dancing with him.

At that moment the song changed, and Dusty smiled. My back was to the stage so I couldn't see what was going on, but I assumed it was just the band preparing.

As soon as I heard the signature synth, I squealed.

"I love this song, Dusty did you request it?"

"Sorta," he grinned.

Then I heard his voice.

"Ba ba-ba ba. We're talking away, I don't know what I'm to say, I'll say it anyway. Today's another day to find you shying away."

I dropped Dusty's shoudlers and turned around. When I did I saw Steve "The Hair" Harrington on the stage, mic in hand, singing.

Then he pointed straight at me.

"I'll be coming for your love, okay?"

"No fucking way," I whispered.

"Hell fucking yeah, get it Harrington!" Dusty cheered behind me.

"Take on me, take me on, I'll be gone in a day or two," he sang, the last word high and pitchy. It was so bad. So awfully terrible. He was making a complete fool of himself.

But I couldn't tear my eyes away.

"So needless to say, of odds and ends, but I'll be stumbling away slowly learning that life is okay. Say after me, it's no better to be safe than sorry."

It was only then that I noticed that the middle schoolers around me had parted to make a huge circle, with me at the center.

"Take on me, take me on, I'll be gone in a day or two," Steve sang even worse than the first time. Then he tossed the mic into the crowd and jumped off the stage. Then he began to dance, horribly. He did the running man, switching to the sprinkler, which then phased into a Charleston. It was so horrible but I couldn't help but smile. After the dance break, he turned to the crowd with his hand out. Miraculously, someone handed him the microphone.

"Oh, the things that you say, yeah is it life or just to play my worries way? You're all the things I've got to remember," he sang and walked towards me. I tried to take a couple steps back, but someone - most likely my beloved Dusty - shoved me forward. Hard. I stumbled and fell into Steve, who caught me.

"You're shying away, I'll be coming for you anyway." Steve clicked the microphone off and held it out to the crowd. Someone took it quickly and he brought his other arm around me. I would like to say that I tried to stand up away from him, but I didn't. I just let Steve hold me.

"Take on me..." Steve sang to me and only me. With each word he pulled my arms up and wrapped them around his neck. He then began to sway softly with the music, dancing with me. We danced as the crowd around us reformed, the middle schoolers going back to dancing. It was almost like nothing happened.

But to me everything thing did.

"Are you su-"

"Yes," he whispered.

I smiled.

"Wanna go to the movies sometime?"

Sorry not sorry Dusty deserved some one to dance with I don’t make the rules

Taglist is open! Just shoot me an ask, dm, or comment!

[thrillridesz]

black magic ▫ sangyeon

➳ pairing: best friend!sangyeon x fem!reader ➳ genre: fluff, magic!au ➳ warnings/rating: PG ➳ word count: 2.7k ➳ requested?: no

a/n: this is written as a birthday special for tbz’s best leader sangyeon! happy sangyeon day everyone ^^ this story is also inspired by little mix’s ‘black magic’. This is unedited as of now and I finished this real quick so I’m sorry if it isn’t up to standard!

“Thanks for the surprise, I really appreciated it.”

The night was young as the luminous moon hung high in the dark sky, casting a soft, white glow on the earth below. A cool, night breeze whipped gently against your cheeks while you strolled the quiet streets with Sangyeon, a tranquil silence in the air safe for the soft scraping sounds of the fallen autumn leaves against the gravel ground as it got caught in the wind. Wrapped up tightly in your coat, you felt a sense of warmth spread across your chest, a warmth more cosy than anything else.

“It’s no problem! It’s your birthday, it had to be perfect.” You replied, shooting him a bright smile as you stuffed your hands into your coat pockets.

Sangyeon grinned, his eyes crinkling into crescents.

“It was, don’t worry. Not gonna lie though, I didn’t think it was Eric in that bear costume even for a second. You guys really scared me right there.”

Your laugh rang through the night as his smile grew wider.

“Well, it was a pretty impromptu idea! It was literally on sale for like 10 bucks, we just had to get it,” you threw your hands up in defense as Sangyeon chuckled softly, his breath coming out in white puffs from the cold.

“Always on the hunt for good deals, y/n. Always.”

“Of course! Though since you’re my best friend, I’m usually willing to pay just a little bit more.” You replied thoughtfully, tapping your chin as if deep in thought.

The two of you have been friends ever since you could walk. For the longest time, it was just the two of you against the rest of the world. When you got bullied by the other kids in the courtyard in second grade, it had been Sangyeon who stuck by you and defended you from them even if it meant he was to take some of the punches in your place. Likewise when Sangyeon had been dangerously close to repeating a year in eleventh grade, you had persisted in staying by his side to make sure he studied and understood everything the teachers’ had to teach. All through middle school and high school, the both of you have been thick as thieves. Whatever you did, he did as well and whatever he did, you did too. Things like spending Halloween and coordinating outfits, going to school and studying for exams… The two of you were each others’ constants and if anyone was to ever look up the term ‘best friends’ in the dictionary, they would no doubt find both your names in there.

What sort of ‘best friend’ would you be not to at least fork out a few extra dollars for the sake of an amazing birthday for the one and only Lee Sangyeon?

You didn’t notice the slight frown that crossed Sangyeon’s face which he quickly replaced with a soft smile but the look in his eyes were hardened and detached.

“Right.”

“Wait, what’s that?”

You stopped dead in your track, squinting as you pointed into a distance. Before Sangyeon could reply, you grabbed onto his hand, pulling him behind you while you made your way over. The colour in his cheeks darkened as he scratched at the back of his neck awkwardly, peering at you shyly. You were too engrossed in staring at the display in front of you to notice him, your nose practically touching the glass panel.

“Black Occult?” You mumbled under your breath, your eyebrows furrowing together.

“What’s going on?”

You turned to Sangyeon, a look of confusion etched in your face.

“You don’t find this weird?”

“What about it?”

“This was never here.”

At that, Sangyeon narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the store’s exterior. Wrinkling his nose, you saw the belated realisation dawn upon him.

“Oh, right. Didn’t this used to be an arcade?”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’re so dense sometimes, it’s unbelievable.”

“Can I help you guys?”

The two of you whipped around to see a certain pink haired boy standing with his arms akimbo at the entrance, staring at the both of you. His eyes were blue, almost unnaturally so, and he was clad in just about the most colourful suit you’ve ever seen anyone don on.  It felt like an assault to your sights, with all the neon colours yet somehow there was such a mysterious aura to him. In a way, it felt like there was an almost mystical vibe that you got from him that made you inclined to think that he wasn’t in any way human.

“W-We… Oh, we’re sorry. We didn’t know you were open.” Sangyeon replied and you could hear a slight tremble in his voice. He definitely felt the same.

“Are you guys looking to purchase anything?” The scowl on the boy’s face disappeared as his eyes widened.

“Um…”

“Excellent! Please, come on in. I was wondering why you guys were standing outside acting all weird but I didn’t realise you guys wanted to come in. It’s this goddamn black glass, isn’t it? I’ve told Haknyeon so many times we should change it. Makes it so hard to look in, I swear.” He rambled on, holding the door open with a wide grin on his face.

“Come on in! Feel free to look around. If you need anything, I’ll be here. Just call my name, Chanhee.”

You and Sangyeon exchanged a look as if hesitating to enter but one look at Chanhee’s enthusiastic expression prompted you to see foot into the store. Seeing that you were going in, Sangyeon shrugged as he followed suit.

The moment you entered the store, the overwhelming scent of lilies and peaches hit you with a pang while the dim lighting made it difficult to navigate even within the store. Yet once your eyes adjusted to the dimness in the room, you couldn’t help but marvel at the oddities that surrounded you.

On the wooden shelves attached to the wall, were rows and rows of oddly coloured liquid, too bright or too unnaturally coloured to have come from a source of nature. Several sprigs of unknown herbs hung on the walls, tied into bundles by string while on another side, candles of all shapes, sizes and scents lined the table. Well-polished crystals were arranged meticulously on an old mahogany coffee table near the counter and a particularly interesting looking bird flitted around in a wrought Victorian-style iron birdcage. It was small with a white beak and purple and yellow feathers with its wings flapping so fast, you could barely see it moving. You have never seen a bird like that before and although you started towards it, something else caught your eye entirely.

Picking up a small bottle, you inspected the glowing golden liquid in it, Tilting it in your hand, the viscosity of the mixture and the velvety look it had was almost mesmerising to stare at. As you turned it over, you leaned in to read the faded label on it.

“Love potion.” You said aloud, causing Sangyeon who had been looking at a bunch of tarot cards to look up at you.

“Ah, yes! One of our bestsellers that is!” Chanhee exclaimed, his eyes shining with joy and excitement. “Guaranteed to work! It’s only 15 dollars.”

“Why would you need anything like that?” Sangyeon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as his biceps bulged ever so slightly.

“You never know… I just thought it looked pretty.”

Somehow, you couldn’t stop staring at it. It was as if it was whispering your name to ‘just buy it’. Then again, it could really just be the impulsive shopper in you but there was something so alluring and magnetic about it that you just felt like you had to have it in your possession. It was like letting a child go lose in a candy shop and finally seeing that one lollipop with the most beautiful swirls and crazy colours that just screamed flavour. You didn’t exactly care even if it wasn’t an actual potion, it just looked so aesthetic that you had to buy it.

“I’ll have it!”

Sangyeon looked at you as if you had just sprouted horns on your head as you handed over a dollar bill over to Chanhee who accepted it readily.

“Surely, you don’t actually believe that it’s a love potion.” He blurted out much to the disgruntlement of Chanhee who shot a deathly glare at him.

“It is! It’s been tried and tested. It works, okay?” He said with an air of haughtiness which Sangyeon grumbled at and instantly, Chanhee knew. He should have known earlier in all honesty, from the way he had seen the man stare at you. A slow smile began to spread across his face.

Interesting.

As Chanhee watched the two of you leave the store with Sangyeon still rambling on about how you ‘just wasted 15 bucks for nothing’, he leaned into his chair contentedly. With a snap of his fingers, a cosy glass of grape wine materialised in his hands and with a sip, he sighed.

“Darling didn’t even need a love potion.”

“I can’t believe you actually bought it.” Sangyeon said, his voice still carrying a tone of disbelief.

“Look at it though, isn’t it pretty? I mean even if it isn’t actually a love potion, it’s nice to look at.” You said, still looking at the glowing liquid in the tiny bottle. Slotting in the key and entering the shared apartment the two of you shared with Younghoon, a childhood friend to the both of you and Hyunjae, a mutual friend from university. Since Younghoon was away in Spain with his girlfriend, Bea, it was really only Hyunjae in the house who you found clad in a dinosaur onesie as he lounged in front of the television with a big bowl of buttered popcorn in his lap.

“Oh, you guys are back. I was wondering where you guys went after the party.”

“We were… A little caught up.” Sangyeon said slowly, casting you a knowing glance which you avoided.

“Figures. You guys left earlier than I did.”

“Because you were busy fraternising with anyone you can possibly bring home, which I can see you’ve failed.” You joked and Hyunjae tossed a pillow at you, with a scowl on his face.

“Ugh, get out of my way.”

You laughed out loud as you set the bottle on the kitchen tabletop, causing him to turn to look. When he did, his eyes widened almost comically large as he leapt to his feet.

“What’s that?” He shuffled over quickly with a look of awe.

“Some stupid love potion thing,” Sangyeon replied curtly before you could even open your mouth to say anything. You turned to him with a frown at which he merely shrugged off carelessly as he preoccupied himself in rummaging through the refrigerator for a late night snack.

Taking the bottle from you, Hyunjae held it up against the light, his dark eyes shining with overflowing curiosity and doubt. The light reflected off the smooth,clear glass, making the gold liquid inside it look even more luminous and even wispy with the liquid swirling almost in slow motion no matter how you look at it. You have never seen anything like it and judging from Hyunjae’s expression, neither has he.

“Looks interesting.” He declared after a moment of inspection as Sangyeon turned to him in disbelief.

“Not you too. That guy definitely ripped y/n off. Seriously, y/n.” He tsked, sauntering over and snatching the bottle from Hyunjae.

“Doesn’t seem like anything special. A love potion? In this day and age? I don’t buy it for a second.” There was disdain in his eyes as he pursed his lips in disgust. Popping open the bottle, a sweet scent of tangerines and pineapples rapidly permeated the small apartment and maybe it was just you but you thought you felt your heart flutter just a little. A smile made its way onto your lips quite unconsciously and a tiny jolt of electricity shook you in the most delightful way possible.

Could it be…?

You lifted your gaze to see Sangyeon stare at the bottle in his hand with a startled look on his face, his mouth slightly ajar and you knew that he had felt the exact same thing. Though that look of surprise disappeared just as quickly as it came and his expression hardened.

“That’s a lot of artificial flavouring for one bottle.” He clenched his jaw as his grip on the glass bottle tightened and you could see the veins protruding ever so slightly from his forearm.

You narrowed your eyes.

“If you’re just going to whine, then give it back to me. Just don’t look at it.”

As you leaned forward, Sangyeon took a step back.

“Why? Are you going to try giving that to someone?”

Raising an eyebrow, you regarded him with suspicion.

“Sure, why not? There’s a really cute guy in my statistics class, even if it doesn’t work - which I’m pretty sure it doesn’t so don’t worry - it’s still worth a shot.”

You barely noticed the flash of disappointment in Sangyeon’s eyes and how his shoulders sagged ever so slightly as you ripped it from his hands. Yet before you could cap it back, he grabbed it back so hastily that you didn’t even have time to react. Throwing his head back, you and Hyunjae could only watch in shocked silence as you gulped down almost half the bottle.

Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, he shot Hyunjae a piercing glare as the latter let out a wolf whistle, his eyes filled with mirth and genuine adoration.

“Damn. That was... Ironic.”

You didn't say anything except stare at Sangyeon and a moment passed without anything out of the ordinary happening. There was no burst of sparkles or anything growing out from anyone’s body, nothing crazy at all. 

Huh. So maybe it was actually a hoax.

“That should be enough proof,” he said in an ‘I told you so’ tone which you rolled your eyes at. “That's some nice potion though or whatever you wanna call it.”

“Really? Let me have a taste.” 

Reaching over, Hyunjae took a sip and hummed merrily. 

“Oh dang, this is amazing. It’s like an orange smoothie except a million times better.”

Lifting his head, he turned to look at you and what you saw made you almost stumble back in shock. The colour of his eyes held a faint flash of pink before they returned to normal but when they did, they no longer held the playfulness and casual air that Hyunjae always wore but rather, they were filled with such intense passion and affection. It was like looking into the eyes of someone who was extremely, completely, slap me silly and deeply...

In love.

“Have I ever told you how pretty you look? I know I’ve never said this but... I think I love you,” Hyunjae said in a low, soft voice as he reached out to hold your hands in his.

“I...I...” You spluttered at a complete loss of words, wringing your hands frantically. 

At that, Sangyeon swivelled around to stare at the two of you. 

He could only watch as Hyunjae lifted his hand to gently brush your hair away from your face as his other hand reached up to cup your face. 

“How could I not have notice- Hey!”

Grabbing him by the collar from behind, Hyunjae practically flew back as Sangyeon pulled him away with a disapproving frown on his face. There was a deep frown etched onto his face, his eyes crinkling as he looked at the latter with an almost irritated expression. Though somehow, you could detect a faint hint of fear in his demeanour. In a way, the uneven and volatile energy radiated so strongly off him that it was hard not to see it in any other way.

Was Sangyeon perhaps jealous?

No. It couldn’t be, he was your best friend. Furthermore, how did the potion work on Hyunjae but not Sangyeon? Unless...

You let out a soft gasp as the realisation dawns upon you. It seemed as if Sangyeon may have come to the same realisation almost as soon as you did because he turned to you with such an expression of sheer panic, the sound of his heart pounding so loudly you could hear it. 

The potion didn’t work because he was already in love with you.

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hii uhhh this is for mermay, but it's not one of the fills so please feel free to ignore this if it doesn't catch your interest!!

Idea;; within a mostly-canon setting, Duck is turned into a merperson (probably while they're trying to deal with one of the abominations, but that part's flexible) and has to deal with it while still trying to like,, function. He gets a magic disguise, but hijinks ensue.

Here you go! I attached this to "Summer rain" and another mermay prompt. It's SFW

The last time he went flying through the air and into the water while fighting an abomination, he almost died. So he’s none too pleased when he surfaces from being chucked in Lake Brahe.

“What the fuck Indrid?!”

“I’m so sorry” Mothman flaps above him, both sets of hands tapping together anxiously, “I promise this is for the best but I’ll admit the exact process might have been overkill.”

“You fuckin’ think??” Duck kicks towards shore, grabbing his hat as it tries to float away, “the others are still back there with that thing. And I fuckin hate bein’ chucked into things without warnin.”

“I don’t think there are people who do enjoy such things.” Indrid alights on the shore Duck is swimming towards.

“Well then don’t fuckin do them.”

“It is for your own good, Duck Newton.”

“Yeah, heard that one before.” He hits shallow water, wades to shore trying to shake his hat dry, “now c’mon, fly me back so we can-”

His legs crumple, sending him face first into the lake. Crawling is no good, his whole body contorting and shaking, his throat and lungs burning. He claws at the pebbles and sand, coming away with fistfuls, grabbing for something, anything, to pull him from the water, as if reaching shore will free him from the pain wracking his body.

The world is coming in photo negative now, flashes of color that don’t make sense, the crack of his bones filling his ears. He might he crying, the pain is too deep to tell what else he’s feeling or doing.

“Help” he rasps into the night air.

Human hands cup his face, guide his aching head down across bony legs, “It will not last much longer.”

“Am” he gasps, feels the Sylph turn their bodies for some unknown purpose, breathing easier after he does, “am I gonna die.”

“No. And before you ask, your powers would not have done much for you if you still had them.”

“Fuck” he whimpers.

“Agreed.” Indrid strokes his hair, “five more seconds. Four, three, two, one.”

Duck passes out before Indrid can say anything else. He’s roused by the footfalls of combat boots and wingtips down the beach.

“Duck, Indrid-OH HOLY SHIT!”

“He’s not-”

“No, Ned, he is very much alive. Had I not moved him when I did, he would have suffocated before you could get him to any water.”

“Thank god.” Ned must be by his head.

“Aubrey, can, can you, it hurts-”

“Ummmmm” His friend sounds like she’s trying to come up with a comforting explanation, “which part of your tail hurts?”

Duck sits bolt upright, then falls back into Indrid’s arms, staring at the deep green and silver tail where his legs should be.

“Well….fuck.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

“How are you doing?” Indrid, red glasses glinting and pink and yellow sweater hanging off his tall frame, perches on a rock.

“Great. I’m a regular, breakable dipshit who turned into a fuckin merman without warnin, I had to have Barclay call work and tell ‘em I got a flu so they won’t fire me for disppearin, anything my friends bring me to eat gets soggy, and I ain’t seen my cat in three days.”

“So...not good then?”

Duck raises an eyebrow. Indrid smiles, not his usual confident, casual one. He looks unsure, which is in and of itself kind of unnerving.

“No, Indrid. Not good at all.”

“Ah. Apologies, I sometimes have trouble parsing certain tones.”

Duck swims closer, “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. You have every reason to be angry and upset. Even with me.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t curse me.”

“No. But had I moved faster, gotten to you all sooner, you would not have been in it’s path at all.”

It’s so matter of fact. The same way Indrid talks about anything troubling.

“Certainly my most newsworthy failure”

“Had you not arrived at the cottonwood, it would have been rather bad for me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about the eye. It hurt, but I have felt far worse.”

“And I have yet more bad news; while I can make a charm that will allow you to be in your human form for up to six hours at a time, the properties of that abomination mean eventually you’ll have to return to water.”

There’s a flicker in the smile, so swift Duck wonders if it’s only because his eyes are no longer human, slit pupiled instead of round, that he sees it at all. Or if it’s because this is the first time they haven’t been surrounded by heat, noise, or danger.

“Indrid, you know I don’t blame you, right?”

“Of course, Duck. I was merely being thorough in my apology.” Now it’s his normal, wide smile, but too tight across his teeth.

“He was before my time.” Vincent grins as he sets the DVDs on a well-dusted shelf, “though if Woodbridge is anything like he is now, I doubt they got along. The other ministers say he was...determined when he left. Like he could conquer any challenge earth presented during his quest."

Indrid’s glasses slip down his nose and he pushes them up before Duck gets even a glance at his eyes, “Now, where did I put that pin…” He pats his pockets, freezes when Duck manages to set a hand on his shin.

“Indrid, I mean it. Didn’t blame you then, don’t blame you now. Hell, from the sound of it you saved my ass, big time. So, uh, what I’m tryin to say is thanks. For lookin out for me.”

He squeezes in what he hopes is a friendly fashion. Indrid chirps, once, face losing all trace of eeriness. Then he schools it back to normal.

“You’re welcome. Punching aside, I’m quite fond of you. I’m going to use this for your charm, if that’s alright.” A souvenir pin from the Monongahela's tenth anniversary sits between slender fingers.

“Holy shit, I been lookin for that for ages. I, uh, I try to-”

“Collect them, yes. I saw that in a conversation between you and Juno. I was going to give this to you anyway, goodness knows it took awhile to find it in the trailer, but now it can serve a greater purpose.” With that, he pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Duck’s image unfolds before them, Indrid smoothing it out and setting it on the rock as he begins working. Duck watches with interest, notices the process is much slower than it was when Indrid disguised Billy.

“Am I harder to get right than Ryan Gosling?”

“Yes. Well, not technically, no, but with Billy I just needed him to look human. I need you to look like, well, you. Such a fine specimen requires the utmost care.”

Duck’s about to toss back his usual line he gives to guys who compliment him, then realizes flirting with the Mothman might be weird, or that Indrid may not have meant it as anything more than some clinical, Sylph observation of humans. He tries to distract himself by swimming, but his tail still won’t do what he wants much of the time.

“You’ll have greater success on your back.” Indrid says without looking up.

He’s right, and Duck manages to swim without difficulty, tail shimmering in the sunset. The one time he glances at his friend, Indrid is staring at swaying and rippling in the water.

When the Sylph finally calls that he’s done, Duck speeds to the rock, let’s Indrid pin the charm to the collar of his undershirt that he keeps wearing because he’s still a human, dammit, just one with an inconvenient tail and he’s not gonna start skinny-dipping in a national forest. Again.

Duck flails when legs replace his tail, Indrid’s hand grabbing his a moment before he needs it to and helping him onto dry land.

“Satisfactory?”

“It’s fuckin perfect!”

“Wonderful!” Indrid claps his hands together, “what would you like to do? I may need to escort you for the first day, to be certain there’s no flaw in the charm.”

Duck studies the pink light tracing the angles of Indrid’s face, “Wanna meet my cat? She looks like a bobcat that lost a bar fight, but she’s sweet as can be.”

Indrid’s grin turns genuine for the first time all day, “I would like nothing better.”

The mothman becomes a staple of his life after that. With the charm, he’s able to help the Pine Guard track and slay the abomination, go to work, look after his house, and generally convince anyone not in the know that he’s totally fine. But he has to return to the lake every day, spends his mornings and nights there, even his lunch breaks when he knows he needs to give the charm a break then. It’s far enough away that he’s in no danger of being seen by civilians, but at least once Indrid had to fly him to it before they ran out of time (and Aubrey had to teleport them there, which made him nauseous).

Indrid keeps him company, sometimes with the others and sometimes on his own. He finds waterproof cards and games, listens to Duck talk about work and tells him about his travels. At first he worries Indrid is only doing it out of guilt, but as the weeks go by he comes to see that Indrid likes him. He laughs at his jokes, gives him as close to his full attention as he can, even scratches his scales with his mothed-out claws when they start driving Duck crazy with itchiness.

His friend always goes home to sleep, which is why, as Duck is drifting on his back, half snoozing and half star-gazing, the red eyes high in a tree come as a surprise. He’s on the other end of the lake, doesn’t seem to see Duck as he spreads his wings and flaps into the air. Then he nosedives, pulling up before he hits the water and then skimming across it in broad strokes. He shoots upward, spins, and then repeats the routine.

Duck’s seen him fly during fights and to escape the Cottonwood. Never like this, never so free and graceful. It’s such a joyful sight, makes Duck wish he had wings of his own so he could join him, dance across the stars and their reflections.

He swims towards Indrid, begins mirroring him on a whim, twisting, diving, and leaping as best he can in time with the cryptids flight. Pushes his tail to carry him faster, farther, all for the sake of keeping pace with the beautiful monster in the sky.

Surfacing after a particularly giant splash, a voice lilts down from the sky.

“Race you to the other side.”

Duck loses, but only just, cackles when Indrid buzzes him so closely he can feel the tickle of his feathers. When the mothman finally lands Duck swims to him, scooting up on land so he can watch Indrid fluff and clean his feathers.

“I come to this lake to practice flying without fear of being seen. I assumed you were asleep but, ah” his antenna twitch, “I’m glad you weren’t.”

Duck stretches, moans happily when Indrid gently glides his claws up his tail, “Me too.”

“Same time tomorrow night?” Soft hope flutters between them.

“Yeah.” He grins up at the cryptid, “bring your A-game, I’m gonna carb load tomorrow mornin so I can kick your butt.”

“I look forward to it.”

----------------------------------------------------

It’s been a month and a half since he transformed, which puts them smack in summer thunderstorm season. Duck’s used to it, though he’s more than a little nervous about what will happen if lightning hits the lake. Luckily, tonight it’s just soft summer rain instead of electricity and drops the size of robin eggs.

Indrid isn’t faring as well. The rain droops his antenna, compresses his fluff until Duck can see he’s still a twig under all those feathers. He shivers, chirrs in discomfort and shakes off his wings, but stays put on his favorite rock.

“There a reason you ain’t just turnin human? Could put on a raincoat that way.”

“I” Indrid sneezes, “I want you to feel comfortable. It can be so unpleasant, feeling like the only non-human in a place.”

Duck swims to the rock, flicking his tail up and down as he float, “You’re always changin form to make me comfortable.”

“Yes. Because I want you to not be unnerved by me.”

“But what about what you want?”

A feathery shrug, “That doesn’t matter.”

“Drid-”

Red eyes glare at him, “I am well aware of how I look, Duck. What people think of me. Would you have spent even a fraction of the time you have with me if your transformation had not forced it?”

“Y-fu-uh-I mean not no?” He sinks into the water as resignation becomes visible on Indrid’s inhuman features.

“I’m glad for our friendship, Duck. And I don’t doubt that you’re fond of me now. But please don’t pretend I was your first choice for company.”

“I mean...you weren’t. But that’s because we barely knew each other, hell, you only got back to town three months ago.” Duck takes the hand nearest him, “if this happened to me now? You might be the first person I’d want lookin out for me.”

Indrid chirrs, dips his head down to rub his cheek against Duck’s hand. Suddenly he wants nothing as badly as he wants to get Indrid warm and dry so he can run his fingers through every inch of those feathers.

“May I turn human?’

“Of course. Means you can come swimmin with me.”

Indrid, now in a tank top and yoga pants, cocks his head, “Why?”

“It’ll be fun?”

“My kind are not the strongest of swimmers.”

“Good thing I got a tail and gills, then. Besides, you’ll stop feelin as sticky from the humidity if you’re in the water.”

Indrid pulls off his shirt and pants, revealing duck-patterned boxers, and cautiously wades into the lake.

“Ooohhhh, that is so much better” his sighs, too blissed-out to notice the sudden drop, and only just manages to grab his glasses before going under. Duck zips forward, hoisting him easily into an embrace as he splutters.

“Blechhh, I despise the taste of lake water.” He clings to Duck, skinny legs teasingly tense around his tail.

Duck rubs his tail up and down his inner legs soothingly, “you, uh, want somethin to get rid of the taste?”

“Please.” Indrid smirks, clearly expecting a goof. When Duck tips his glasses up his forehead, he goes stone still.

“Can I kiss you?”

“This was not in any of the timelines.”

“Just came to me now. And that ain’t an answer.”

Indrid nods, tips his face forward to bring their lips together. Duck sighs, floats lazily backwards as Indrid slips his tongue between his lips. When they part, there are more stars in his eyes than in the whole milky way.

“Do you want some good news?” Indrid nuzzles his neck with an adorable trill.

“Lay it on me.”

“The futures just shifted; Aubrey and Janelle will have a cure for your condition tomorrow.”

“Hell yeah.” Duck flips them upright, Indrid “eeping” and holding tighter, “can’t wait to stop worryin’ about whether I’m gonna start suffocatin on land. And, uh” he nips Indrid’s lower lip, forgetting about his sharpened teeth until the Sylph lets out a little moan, “if you ain’t busy tomorrow night, like to take you on a date.”

Indrid beams, “I’d like that so very much. Though I will admit, I’m going to miss how this looks on you.” He squeezes his thighs around Duck’s tail.

“You can always whip me up one if we wanna, uh, relive the fun parts of this experience.”

“True. And with that in mind, my sweet; how do you feel about wings?”

[bloomyn]

satin robes & city smoke

pairing:  chrollo lucilfer x reader

tags: smut

warnings: badly written smut!!

unedited as of june 6th

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

you didn’t know how, but the packages always managed to find you. it didn’t matter if you were wrapped in a thick acres of trees or warped city skylines, nothing could stop the delicate bundles of lace from finding your arms. they were wrapped in the same shell every time, two fish emblazoned on the corner and a cross stamped on the inside flap. 

really, how discreet of the sender. 

-

there was a beautiful sort of despair that surrounded yorknew city. you never get used to the smell or the people but there’s a comfort in knowing that absolutely no one can rock your shit, that the foundation of the city rests idly in your hands and in just a wink you can send the city crumbling. the power in it all keeps you going, it gets you going.

you own this city.

the spider tattooed on your back decrees it.

-

a conversation from five years ago

“ since when are the legs more important than the head?” 

besides you chrollo laughed.

“i’m serious!” you sat up, jabbing a finger into his chest, “if you really want to make this happen you can’t hold yourself to a lower regard. you can’t be the most useless one.”

the man beside you sighed, “tell me, my love. would you die for me if it meant the safety of the group. could you sacrifice yourself if it meant the rest of us live.”

the smell of burnt metal wafts over the two of you and you scowl.

“that’s the dumbest question i’ve ever heard and you’ve said some pretty stupid shit to me.”

“hm. and i’d like to think that i’m the smarter one of the two of us.”

 you scoff, “would i die for the safety of the group?”

he nodded.

“we live in meteor city, i don’t even consider myself alive right now.”

-

but you do know something about the packages; besides the contents and what they’re meant to be used for. the packages are markers, date setters, they keep track of how long you’ve been away. the bigger the bouquet the longer you’ve been gone and the larger the reward for your return. sometimes the packages are nothing more than palm sized bundles, delicate lace decorating the inside and outside. 

the theme of the contents sitting inside stay the same.

the one sitting at your feet is different though. instead, the trademark fish and cross are gone, a twelve legged spider in it’s stead. the classic lace wrapping is painted red and you almost wish that the king could see the smirk decorating you’re face.

it seems you’ve been away from the city too long.

-

the black dress fits nicely, oh who are you kidding, chrollo was the one who sent it to you, of course it fits exactly. as you make your way towards the hotel you bask in the warmth of the city; the heat of street food, the smell of middle-aged men who’ve been left wifeless after losing their money in gambling schemes, it almost brings a smile to your face. 

and of course, the thought of chrollo waiting for you at the top floor of a highrise hotel has your thighs tensing in anticipation. the face you’re making right now must be a little much because when you arrive at the front desk the heart rate of the poor attendant spikes and her fingers quiver on the keyboard.

“h-here you go. please-please enjoy your stay.”

you tilt your head a little and flash a smile, “i’m sure i will.”

the elevator is empty when you step on and press for the top floor. you’re sure he can sense you by now if the shift in the air is anything but a dead giveaway. 

the lust enveloping your figure sparks at your fingertips and makes its way up until its rattling at your jaw. your toes curl inwards as the aura around you grows stronger, and your tongue goes numb at the sight of the doors sliding open. 

in front of you is a sight worthy of the most expensive canvases, delicate enough to view but almost too dangerous to touch.

and its all yours.

his back is broad and worn, his scapula protruding like wings, and your eyes can’t help but follow the way his lower back dips harshly into the waistband of his pants. when you look back up your eyes are caught by his own. his hair falls loosely around his face and internally you sigh.

“took you long enough.”

you hum, stepping into the hotel room, penthouse actually, and you can’t help the wash of pride when his eyes rake over your figure taking in every inch from the bottom of you calves to ‘those sweet sugary lips’ of yours. 

“miss me?” you tease, accepting his outstretched hand. he pulls you closer, his hands wandering to the down curve of your spine, while yours loop around his neck, resting on his shoulders. tracing your lips with his thumb he smirks, 

“i take it you got my presents.”

“you can see can’t you?” 

softly, chrollo unzips your dress, exposing the titillating lingerie beneath it. his gift to you.

it’s horrible how weak you make him, just the sight of you has his guard down for the count. he’s known you for years but he’s caught off guard everytime the two of you meet like this.

“i knew you’d look good in this,” he muses, “-look good in everything but you look even sexier in my gifts.”

“your ability to suck at being subtle is astounding.”

at that he laughs.

“can’t help it.” he sighs against your dewy skin, “gonna eat you up.”

your eyes flutter shut at the words and you let him guide you to the massive four post bed in the middle of the room. quick enough, he maneuvers you onto your back refusing to tear his eyes away from your silky curves. he likes you like this, squirming idly in his palm, right where he wants you. where nothing but time can pass over the two of you and leave you unscathed.

“stop teasing.” you plead, shifting your hips upward to graze against his. he ignores your words, opting to press kisses against your neck and leave you whining instead. swollen pink lips ghost over yours, refusing to meet them. “have you missed me?” his lips trace over yours.

“obviously.” you croon, “you’re the one who took forever to decide a time and place.”

lowering himself between your legs he parts your thighs just a little more, his hands massaging the smooth skin. using his teeth he drags your black panties down, eyes widening at the string of arousal sticking between you and the thin strip of fabric.

“chrollo i swear—”

but he doesn’t waste any time with a retort or tease instead delving his tongue into your core, not even bothering lick you open. you mewl at the feeling of his tongue working itself against your clit, you’re sure he’s mouthing prayers between your legs like your a deity meant to be worshipped.

they weren’t kidding when they said “you’re body is a temple.” it is infact a temple, a place where he could offer up everything to you. usually his body, his mouth...

his tongue moves in and out switching between spreading your pussy lips open and stretching your tight walls so they’re ready to take his cock. he loves this part, watching you squirm on his tongue, fingers holding your hips down because if he lets up for second you’ll snap your legs closed in embarrassment. and he can’t be having that, no, not after he’s waited six months to taste your arousal.

“thinking about something?” he ponders aloud, his face stained with your slick. he grins at the sight in front of him. you’re flushed, sweat dripping down the side your face and your eyes screwed shut. your nipples are pert against the lace.

ah cute, he thinks to himself, so helpless

and then he’s wrapping his mouth against your nipple, soaking in the moan you release, only encouraging him even more. his long fingers are pushing your soiled panties aside entering your pussy so gently, you almost scream at the way he flicks his wrist, pumping two fingers so fast you can’t tell if you’ve just orgasmed or if it’s really been that long since you’ve had something so deep inside you. but just the thought of his cock had you mewling , the idea of him filling you up, marking your walls with his cum while he works his mouth against yours; and decide you’ve had enough of his teasing.

you pull his mouth up to yours, almost regretting it when the cold air hits your bare pussy. you can taste yourself on his tongue, it’s not bad but by the way he eats you out you’d think your arousal would be the sweetest thing the world. your tongues work against each other, trying so hard to make each other submit.

but chrollos known you for years, he knows your endgame when you pull stunts like this, and absolutely revels in the sound of surprise you make when he sucks on your tongue.

“bastard.” you growl.

“behave and you’ll be rewarded.” he murmurs, “you know the rules.”

slowly, he unzips his pants revealing the hard outline of his cock. it takes all your willpower not to just flip him over and ride him till you’re crying.

but that will come later.

you whine impatiently as he slides his cock against your folds. you know he gets off on the idea of edging you, teasing you till your begging for him to fuck you, so you can’t help the nasty moan that spills out of your mouth when he slides his entire length inside you.

“oh f-fuck please,”

you don’t even know what you’re begging for, and you think that you might’ve come just from the feeling of his dick inside you but you have no time to decipher the pleasure running through your veins, not when he’s moving his hips so thoroughly against yours. your fingers knot themselves in his hair, and moans are pulled out of your mouth. incoherent garbles of his name are echoed across the room but all you can here the low grunts and groans up against your ear. he’s not a moaner or screamer, but the noises he does make enough to get you to clench tighter around his length .

“chrollo, baby please.”

he groans low in your ear, “want you to scream, wanna hear my good girl screaming my name.”

it’s not hard for you to comply.

your thighs are trembling when he lifts them over his shoulder, and he pulls you onto his cock. the sight of your legs tossed so easily onto his shoulders and the view of his impeccable abs push you closer to edge you’ve been waiting six goddamn months for. your hands find purchase on his shoulders as he pounds you recklessly, with no hesitation. he knows you can take his cock, he knows how far he can push you, and you forget he’s been waiting for this release too.

“never going to let you out of my sigh again.” he growls, “gonna fuck your pussy so hard it’ll be molded to my cock, never gonna be able to take some other bastards.”

“don’t want anyone else’s,” you pant, “only yours, only ever wanted yours.”

it only takes a few more slams of his cock and your orgasm rips through you so harshly you think you might pass out. you can hardly feel your legs and your hands are numb from gripping his shoulders so tight, but he doesn’t stop. he still hasn’t come and you know he won’t stop until he’s had his way with you, even if it means turning into his own pillow princess. so when he does come, spilling his load deep inside you with your name on his lips, you almost sigh in relief. you love the man you really do, but his stamina is unmatched and you only have an hour tops until he’s mounting you again.

-

nuzzling his face into your neck you bring a hand up to push his hair back.

“don’t leave.” he says childishly against your neck.

“—i know you want another round of course i won’t leave.”

it’s unbearable how adorable he looks like this. he’s just finished fucking your brains out but there he is, a pout sitting on his lips.

“no, that’s not what i meant.” he props the two of you up against the headboard, somehow keeping you stuffed with his dick, “don’t disappear again. stay here.”

“with you?”

“who else.”

you can’t say you love him out loud. it would be like admitting you have a weakness. there’s a reason you don’t stay in one place to long. a reason you act like you’re just another one of the spiders legs.

he makes your heart crescendo. and that’s dangerous.

your souls love each other too much, and maybe that’s more hazardous than keeping yourself away from each other. so when the sunday morning dawn comes over the horizon, you let him keep you in his arms, wrapped in satin sheets and city sunshine.

-

[chipper9906]

Heal The Cracks Within My Heart - Chapter 8: Homesick

< - - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR LOKI SEASON 1 EPISODE 6 ‘FOR ALL TIME. ALWAYS.’

Pairings: Loki/Sylvie

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 7,142

Overall Word Count: 72,547

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (8/?)

Chapter Preview:

“Is it because you don’t want to hit me?” It takes everything Sylvie has not to physically laugh in his face. “I know we’ve grown a fair bit closer since then, but you seemed to have no trouble doing it in the past. You slammed my face into that… stool thing, remember? Just… think about how annoying you found me then, or… or think about when I accidentally destroyed the TemPad, or -- Oh! How angry you were when I tried to stop you from killing He Who Remains, that was -- Oh wait! A little bit earlier, when I said about falling in love with this other version of you! What would you do if you saw me after catching me flirting with—”

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The morning after was never usually so comfortable for Sylvie.

That was because most of the time… there was no morning after. It didn’t matter how kindly her partner for the evening has treated her, or how clingy they became — whether they knew the Apocalypse was upon them or not. She would never, ever, let herself fall asleep in a strangers bed, or… or couch, or… well, sometimes in an Apocalypse, it’s more of a ‘hook up in this dark alley’ kind of moment, so it wasn’t like she would be getting any sleep there, either. 

It was a new experience for her. For a moment, she wasn’t sure why she had awoken with a smile on her face, given that there isn’t usually anything good happening in her life to warrant its presence. But then her sleep-addled mind registered the sensation of arms securely wrapped around her, of warm, bare skin pressed against her own, and the memories of last night came flooding back: clothes haphazardly tossed to the side, slick mouths sliding together, hands exploring toned muscles that danced under each others touch, fingers tangling into long locks as breathy moans are panted against each other's lips, the feel of sweat covered skin as they moved against one another. 

She hadn’t realized just how much she wanted this, how much she had been missing. She had only really known the physical side of sex, because… it is a very physical act. But now she knows how different it is when she’s not letting some random stranger be the one to explore her body, but someone she cares for, and someone she knows cares for her in return. No, not just cares for her, but loves her. 

She still couldn’t quite believe it, even though Loki had repeated the confession a few times at her request. She had never really considered the possibility of love — both loving someone, and having someone love her back. There had been no room for it in her life, living the way that she did, and she could never look past the mission. It hadn’t seemed to matter what became of her life once she took down the TVA; revenge had been all she knew, and all she ever wanted. 

It was strange that now, that want had transitioned from one singular mission to… a person. Actually, when she thought about it… that was greatly oversimplifying things. She wanted more than just Loki, she wanted… a life with him, some sense of normalcy — as normal as normal can be in their life, anyway. Something other than being on the run constantly, or being hunted down, or being the one doing the hunting. 

Even now, living in this small slice of domesticity with Loki, she still struggled to see that future. Not just because she’s never lived that kind of life, but because… she couldn’t see an end to this. It had taken all this time to kill one man, and now… they have to kill endless amounts of that same man?

They still had so much to learn about the Multiverse. Even if she could wrap her head around the number of timelines that now exist, and even if they could kill every version of He Who Remains in those timelines… wouldn’t there always be timelines popping up into existence with every small alteration? From one singular timeline, there had been an eruption of other timelines, to which those timelines bred their own timelines, and so on and so on. Killing every version of He Who Remains — or at least, the bad versions — didn’t seem like a job they could just… wrap up and then carry on with their lives. It wasn’t even a job that seemed achievable in their lifetimes. They would have to pass it on to someone else — which then brought up the question of who they would pass such a burden onto, especially when… when all this was on her. 

Or… or they’d have to find a way to run things from outside the limits of time. Set up shop in the citadel at the end of time, keeping them from aging so they can do this… endlessly. Never growing old, never able to find a moment of peace. It would make these little moments they found within Apocalypses seem like dream vacations in comparison…

“Should I be worried over whatever you’re worrying about?”

Sylvie startles at the sound of Loki’s voice, shuffling around and glancing up to see him peering down at her with groggy eyes.

The clarity slowly comes back into Loki’s eyes as he wakes up. It was surprisingly easy for Sylvie to lose track of her thoughts when his eyes met hers, still able to picture the way they had looked last night:  the blue of his irises all but disappearing as his pupils took over; darkened eyes hungrily taking her in, drinking in every detail and preserving it to memory like he may never get the chance to see her like this again—

“Sylvie?”

“Uh…” Sylvie snaps herself back to the present. “…What makes you think I’m worrying over anything?”

Sylvie feels Loki’s arms shrug around her. “Call it a hunch. Or… call it the fact that you feel so tense, I was wondering if you were about to bolt from the bed.”

Loki’s tone was a joking one, but Sylvie could hear that little tidbit of anxiety hidden in there, too. He genuinely thought that the last part was a possibility, and whilst she knew that wasn’t going to happen, she couldn’t blame Loki for thinking so. 

“Nothing, just… overthinking, as usual.” She gives him a small smile, one that he mirrors back at her. 

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m… just getting used to the feeling of all this, I suppose.”

Loki chuckles in agreement, glancing around at the cozy wooden and stone walls of the Inn that sheltered them from the elements. The single window situated in the wall to the left of them showed views of the snow-covered forest they had come from, the few snowflakes they could see lazily drifting to the ground in no way an indicator of the deathly snowstorm that was supposed to befall this picturesque little village. 

Sylvie turns herself around in Loki’s arms until they were face to face. “Aren’t we supposed to be out there saving all the universes?” she asks teasingly, playfully nudging her knee against his. 

Loki lets out an odd mixture between a hum and a groan. “We probably should be, yes. Doesn’t mean I want to right this minute, though.”

Loki was much too comfortable right now to do much of anything. He didn’t want this small bubble of peace they were engulfed in to be burst — which it would be. It always is. But if he could just get a few extra minutes of this, then… He’d do whatever good deed the universe… universes —plural — was now apparently expecting of him.

Sylvie apparently agreed with him, seeming in no hurry to escape the comfort of the bed’s plush blankets — or his arms, for that matter. 

“How did you end up being the big spoon?” Sylvie asks him, referring to the sleeping position she had woken up in.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Loki was getting strangely offended at the challenge to his role in spooning. “I am the taller one; it makes more sense for me to be the big spoon.”

“Hmm… you didn’t exactly have that kind of mentality last night,” Sylvie’s words land exactly the way she intended, grinning at the flush that steadily made its way across Loki’s face. “The man who clamors for control… actually prefers being dominated.”

“When it’s you,” Loki grumbled. 

“Oh? So you’re more… ‘in control’ with other partners?”

“Yes,” Loki asserts, trying to claw back some of his pride. “I usually prefer being the one who dictates the flow of things… leaving my partner at my mercy — and my mercy alone.”

“Mm-Hmm,” Sylvie hums thoughtfully, peering up at Loki through squinted eyes. “So… why did you leave all that to me last night?”

“Because, when I typically take control, I intend for my partner to thoroughly enjoy it,” Loki answers. “With you… I didn’t think you’d like that all that much; losing control, especially when in... in such a vulnerable state. I…”

Loki paused for a moment, frowning in concentration as he tried to find the right words. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but… I think we both know that all of your previous partners have been one-time affairs, have they not? With this, I…”

“Were you… worried you wouldn’t compare?” Sylvie asks.

“What? No—” It was kind of that, but it wasn’t the main point Loki was trying to get across. “—No, it’s…” Loki sighed harshly. “Call me sappy if you’d like, but… I guess a part of me was scared you might see this as another one of those one-time things. I… I didn’t want to do anything that you’re not comfortable with, so I just let you take the reins, because… the last thing I wanted to do was scare you off. I wanted to ensure that this, that our first time with each other, would be one to deposit into your good memories. Because, whilst it might be our first time, I was rather quite hoping that it would be the first of many.”

Oh…

Loki’s eyes dropped down and away from her, and just like that, any pretensions of teasing him any further had flown right out the window. Sylvie lifted up her hand from where it rested against the bed, placing it tenderly across his cheek. Her thumb slowly drifted up and down across the sharp edge of his jaw, drawing his line of sight back to hers. 

“First of all? You don’t need to worry about comparing yourself to the others. Not one bit,” Sylvie assures him. “In fact, it doesn’t even compare. None of them do.”

Her words at least seem to be reaching Loki as the truth she intended them to be, the corner of his lips curling up by just the slightest. A part of her wondered if he was playing this as a whole ‘self-conscious lover’ kind of thing so she’d sit here and boost his ego. Then again, she’d probably do the same thing…

“Secondly, I fully intend for this to be a regular occurrence,” Sylvie states like it’s a matter of fact. Loki raises an eyebrow in surprise at the confidence in her voice — but naturally, he doesn’t question it. He’d have to be crazy to question such a thing. “And… okay, so you might have been right—”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Loki asks in disbelief, untangling one of his arms to cup his hand around his ear. “My, my… hearing that might just have felt better than—”

Sylvie shut him up with a swift punch to the arm, glaring at his ear-to-ear grin. “Egotistical bastard…”

“Sorry, sorry -- you were saying?”

Sylvie kept up the glare for a good few seconds more before she continued. “I was just going to say… thank you. Letting me… be the one in charge, it… it helped keep me at ease. And I know you wouldn’t do anything to me, but… bad habits die hard, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” Loki reassured her, lazily drifting his knuckles across the soft skin of her chin. “Having this… it’s already more than I ever thought I’d have. One step at a time, right? These are big changes; I wouldn’t just expect you to jump between them like it they’re no problem.”

“No -- but I’ll still give it my all.” Sylvie surges up to plant a soft kiss on his lips, pulling away before she lets it lead into a repeat of last night that they, unfortunately, didn’t have time for. 

Ironic, considering they had two devices in their possession capable of transporting them through time and space. 

“But that means you’ve got to start pushing me a little, too. Sometimes I’m going to need some help, someone to nudge me out of my comfort zones, okay? I want to start meeting this other Loki your other partners have had the privilege to meet.”

Loki grins unabashedly at her, raising a hand to his head in a mock salute. “Yes, Ma’am.”

“Good. Now, come on—” Sylvie makes a start to get up, pulling herself out of Loki’s grip. “We should really start getting ready—”

Loki’s arms almost immediately snake back around her, dragging her back towards the warmth of the bed. Loki’s smile was nearly bright enough to match the pure white of the snow-blanketed on the windowsill, placed there not because of his actions, but because of hers. He knew that, if she really didn’t want to be pulled back into the bed, she would have stopped him. The fact that he was able to pull her back into his arms was because she was letting him.

Because she didn’t fancy leaving the bed as much as he didn’t

“Five more minutes?” he offers when she falls back into his chest. He uses his free hand to pull the blankets back around them before she even has a chance to respond to his offer. 

“Fine.” Sylvie sounded annoyed, but Loki could hear the pleased undercurrents to her tone. “Just five more minutes.”

Two hours later, Sylvie was perched on the edge of the bed, finishing up tying the laces on her boots. She watched Loki out of the corner of her eye as he crouched by the fireplace, extinguishing the last few stubborn embers that continued to burn despite most of the fire having burnt out during the night. 

Sylvie shrugged on the fur coat Loki had created for her — and then later discarded to the ground in his haste last night — reaching into its pockets and pulling out the TemPad. She slides it over her hand, squeezing her hand into a fist as she stares down at the TemPad. 

“Would be nice to stay here forever, wouldn’t it?” Loki says wistfully, leaning back from the now-empty fireplace with a bitter-sounding sigh.

Sylvie barely hears him, too preoccupied with running a finger down the singular timeline that glowed up at her. Loki looks over at her silence, standing up from the fireplace and making his way over to her. He shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers, cocking his head at Sylvie as he comes to a stop in front of her. 

“Is it whispering secrets to you that I can’t hear?” he asks teasingly, leaning forward as if trying to listen in closer. 

“Oh, definitely.” Sylvie looks up from the TemPad with a sly smile. “It’s telling me every little dirty secret you’ve been trying to hide from me.”

“Ah… I’m afraid I don’t have any,” Loki counters. “At least, none that I’m aware I’m keeping from you.”

“Well, that’s not ominous…” Sylvie returns her gaze to the TemPad, tapping her finger against its surface. Not to input or choose anything, from what Loki could see. 

“Are you keeping secrets?” Loki jokes… for the most part. 

“None worth telling.”

Now that was ominous, Loki thought. 

Loki takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to her, sighing softly as he runs a hand across the top of his head to push his hair back and out of the way. “You going to tell me what you’re thinking about? Is it… something to do with what you were worrying about earlier?”

“No,” Sylvie answers, and it’s the truth. She wasn’t thinking about that — not right now, anyway. “I was… thinking of doing something selfish.”

A beat of tense silence passes between them. Sylvie glances up to see Loki looking rather concerned, his eyes darting between her and the TemPad she held. It was only natural that he was thinking back to the time she last used the TemPad doing something ‘selfish’, resulting in him tumbling back through a Time-Door and nearly ending up imprisoned and potentially reset. 

“...And… what exactly is that?” Loki finally gathers up the courage to ask. 

“I… I know that we should really get a start on this whole… saving everyone thing…” Sylvie begins, her choice of words getting a hushed snort of laughter from Loki. “But… ever since what Mobius told us, I… I haven’t been able to get them out of my head.”

“Get… who out of your head?”

Sylvie taps at the TemPad, the patterns of squiggly lines atop its surface shifting around until one lone timeline shone up at them. “My family. I know they’re out there now; my past life -- the life I could have lived.”

“You want to see them.” Loki didn’t phrase it as a question. 

“I know I probably shouldn’t. I know it… it won’t do me much good, to see everything I missed out on. But… it’s…”

“It’s home,” Loki uttered softly. 

“Is it selfish?” she asks him, dropping her hand back down to her lap. 

Loki takes in a deep breath through his nose, rocking back slightly. “If it is… I think you’re permitted to be, after everything that’s happened; everything that was taken from you. And besides—” Loki gestures to the TemPad. “—Maybe after we regale them with stories of the terrifying dictator we are courageously facing, we might just sway them into giving us a helping hand. The soldiers of Asgard would certainly be a good acquisition in the coming fight. We’ll need all the help we can get…”

“Kind of sounds like we’re building our own army…” Sylvie notes. 

“I suppose… we are,” Loki realizes. “But… not in the traditional way. There’s a difference, fighting using those under your command, than with… fighting alongside allies.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Sylvie says with an awkward shrug of her shoulders. “The only other person I’ve had fight by my side is… you.”

“Well... it won’t be long before we have more allies for you to compare.” Loki stands from the bed, nodding his head towards the TemPad on Sylvie’s hand. “And family is as good a place to start as any.”

A grateful smile hitches at the corner of Sylvie’s lips. She looks down to the TemPad, letting her finger hover over it for a moment before she pressed down on her timeline. The lights of the TemPad pulse with her touch, fading away as the Time Door materializes into existence in front of them. 

“Do you… want me to come with you?”

Sylvie whips her head around at his offer, confused as to why it was even a question of whether he was coming with her. She had thought it would be a given by this point. 

“I understand if you’d rather not have me there for something like this. That’s not to say I feel particularly comfortable with the thought of you being quite so far out of reach, but… if that’s something you want, then I can stay here with the other TemPad and meet up with you on a different—”

“Loki?”

Loki stops in his ramblings when she says his name, mouth snapping shut at the part-adoration-part-exasperation on her face. 

“...Yes?”

“Are you always this much of an idiot the morning after, or is this just a rare occurrence?”

Loki shoots her quite the impressive bitch-face. 

“You’re coming with.” Sylvie reinforces this by grabbing hold of his hand, giving it a squeeze as they move towards the shimmering time-door. “Let’s go home.”

“Wait, wait, wait—” Loki splutters urgently, digging his heels into the ground to bring Sylvie to a stop. She does so, looking back at him expectantly. “Just thought I’d check… you did enter a time before the events of Ragnarok, right? Just… you know, to make sure there’s actually a home to go back to…”

* * *

They hadn’t moved an inch since stepping through the Time-Door.

It was quite the juxtaposition: them, stood hidden within the shadows of the forest that sat on the outskirts of the city, whilst the streets of the city itself were bustling with life, crowded with people as they went about their lives. 

It was both overwhelming and not enough at the same time. Neither one of them had said a word, greedily taking in every sight of the place they both once called home. 

The palace stood proud and tall as always, golden and gleaming in the afternoon’s sun, casting an impressive shadow across the city it sat within. Loki wasn’t too sure if it was just nostalgic memories taking effect, but even the bridge itself seemed to be sparkling just that little bit more than what he remembers. 

“Does it live up to your memories?” Loki breaks the silence, somehow finding a way to tear his gaze away to look down to Sylvie. 

“I don’t know yet.” Sylvie’s eyes dance across the sights of the city, repeatedly landing back on the palace. “It… it doesn’t feel like I’m home. If anything, it’s more like… this weird sense of Deja-Vu. It feels familiar, and yet… like it’s the first time I’ve stepped foot in this place. 

“Well… maybe your memory will be jogged as we take a closer look,” Loki offers, gesturing towards the city. “…That is why we’re here, isn’t it? To see home, see our -- your -- family?”

Sylvie nods, unable to hide the nerves that were on full display. Loki steps in front of her, blocking her view of Asgard as he wraps his hands around the top of her arms. “I won't pretend to know how you’re feeling right now. Our memories of home are different; the way we see our home is different. But I know you want to do this.”

“I do,” Sylvie agrees, a glint of determination in her eyes. “I’m just… I never thought I’d get this, you know? Returning home was never something I thought I could do, because… because there wasn’t a home to return to. And now… I don’t know. I guess I’m worried it won't be the way I’m thinking it’ll be.”

“It probably won't be.” Loki surprises Sylvie with his answer — not at all the reassurance she thought she’d hear from him. “Expectations are almost always impossible to reach. But whatever home ends up being for you… surely it’ll be better than never knowing?”

Sylvie’s eyes drift to the small sliver of the palace she can see past Loki. Somewhere in there, is her family. Her mother, her father, her sister… even herself. She can’t walk away from them. She can’t just… leave them again. 

“Okay…” Sylvie modifies her fur coat with a burst of magic, forming a hood that she flips over her head. Loki raises an eyebrow as she hides her face within the shadows of the hood, reminded just a bit too much of the mysterious figure of her that he face to face with back in the RoxxCart. “You should be fine to walk the streets, but I’d rather not risk our people catching sight of two of me if my other self is out there somewhere.”

“Right…” Loki steps back to her side, joining her as they take one last look at the city from this distance. “Do we… do we want to meet the other you?”

“Could be fun,” Sylvie says with the beginnings of a smile. “It’d be interesting to see the type of person I became if… you know — the TVA had never decided to ruin my life.”

“Aren’t you worried?”

Sylvie frowns. “Worried about what?”

“Another version of you out there…” Sylvie could hear the smile in his voice before she saw it on his face, knowing right away he’s about to say something stupid as a joke. “Better hope I don’t go and fall in love with her, too…”

Sylvie slowly turns her head to face him, sporting a bitch-face that looked almost identical to Loki's. She steps up in front of him, wiping the joking smile off his face as she grabs hold of the neckline of his coat, tugging his face closer to hers. Loki swallows nervously, eyes flickering from the eerily calm look in hers to her lips oh so close to his. He wasn’t too sure whether she was trying to terrify him, or turn him on. Either way… both were working. 

“I suppose I’d have to get rid of my competition.” Sylvie’s other hand brushes agonizingly slowly up his chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake despite the thick clothing he wore. Loki finds himself leaning towards her, eager to close the minuscule gap between their lips. Sylvie jerks her head back before he gets what he wants, forcing him away with a firm push of her hand against his chest and a teasing smile on her face. “Or I suppose I could call you out for the idiot you’re being and leave your dumb-ass behind.”

Sylvie turns around and walks away from him, heading in the direction of the city and leaving a rather stunned-looking Loki behind. Loki stands there watching her retreating form for a moment until coming back to himself, shaking his head as he hurries after her. 

“So, just to be clear—” Loki starts as they approach the beginning of the city, emerging from the cover of the trees. “—Making jokes about myself and the other you are strictly off the table?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“On whether you value your jokes over my affection.”

“Consider them off the table,” Loki asserts with a wave of his hand. “In fact, they’re more than just off the table; they’re no longer on this plane of existence, reduced to nothing more than a wisp of a former construct developed from—”

The first impression of the two Loki’s this universe is not entirely familiar with is seen through the eyes of a young Asgardian child, who watched as Sylvie unceremoniously shoved Loki into a stall to shut him up. 

“My deepest apologies, I must have tripped over my own feet.” Sylvie bit back a smirk as she continued walking, waiting for Loki to catch up with her after apologizing to the bewildered-looking owner of the stall. 

“Sorry, that was a tad bit harsh of me.” Sylvie has the decency to apologize to Loki as he reaches her side with a huff. 

“I think I might have landed on a wedge of cheese…” Loki wonders out loud, getting a snort of laughter from Sylvie. “If that man chases us down and demands payment for damages, I’ll pass the bill along to you…”

The people of Asgard were all wrapped up in their personal lives, some making their way through the busy streets as they make their way home, others congregated in small groups that added to the bustling crowds within the center of the city. All around them was the buzz of multiple conversations all occurring at once, muted laughter from their people as they went about their day, all sounds of… life. 

Sylvie had lost count of the number of people who had bumped her shoulder as they passed by each other in the crowded streets, tensing up at every touch as she waited for the inevitable moment they would recognize the Princess of Asgard mingling among the common people. Every time, she would pull her hood just that little more over her head, turning her entire body towards Loki as they walked. 

Yet… no one seemed to notice. She was just another name-less and face-less person to these people, going about her business the same as they were. Loki’s towering presence next to her was comforting, his hand wrapped securely around hers, appearing as just another couple walking the streets of Asgard. 

“They look happy,” Loki points out, referring to the swaths of people they had walked through. “It’s… good. Nice.”

“I’m just glad to see that me not being pruned doesn’t result in the destruction of our home…” Sylvie murmurs quietly, still not wanting to attract too much attention to herself.

Sylvie went to continue forward, only to find herself being pulled to a stop. She glances behind her shoulder, confused to see Loki frozen in place, staring at something to their right. She slowly turns towards the direction he was looking to, immediately laying eyes on what had brought him to a standstill. 

It was… her. Not the actual her, but a statue. Its well-polished bronze surface shone brightly as the sun beat down on it, displaying her in a rather impressive looking set of Asgardian Armor. Her metal figure stood proudly, wielding a familiar-looking sword in her hand that she held pointed to the ground, looking out towards the city and its inhabitants. 

“Huh.” Is all Loki can think to say. “That’s, um… that’s something.”

“I don’t know whether to take this as a good sign, or… a very bad sign.”

“...Bad as in…?”

“As in, this version of me had a similar hunger for ruling that you did.” Sylvie glowers up at the bronze cast version of herself. She shifts her gaze from the statue to the palace, the golden spires now looming over them, having inched closer and closer to home.

“We don’t know for sure yet,” Loki says. “We can't be sure of anything until we get in there, and… see exactly who it is that sits on the throne.”

* * *

The Palace was as beautiful as she remembered. 

She would have dreams of walking these halls, albeit from a much shorter height perspective. Everything was as pristine as usual, still clearly well looked after by those that serve her family. Sylvie was only really able to get a few moments to reminisce before yet another patrol of Einherjar would appear, this now being the fourth time she and Loki have had to duck and hide from their watchful eyes. 

“You know, Thor and I did something similar when we snuck out one night.” Loki’s breath tickles the side of her face as he whispers, the two of them hiding behind a marble pillar after waiting for the next set of patrols to pass.

“What for?”

“We were young, and decided that the fading of the sunlight shouldn’t dictate when the fun was to come to an end.”

Sylvie quickly checks to make sure the coast was clear before tugging at Loki’s sleeve to signal for him to move with her. Their footsteps are near-silent as they make their way down the hall, each step careful and deliberate to reduce the amount of noise they make.

“Were you caught?” Sylvie whispers in asking.

“Of course we were caught,” Loki answers. “Two foolish children stood no chance hiding from father's guards. I had only just started learning magic from mother, and to say I wasn’t particularly well-rehearsed in the art of deception and mischief at the time would be an understatement.”

“They realized you had snuck out, then?”

“Realized? They saw us making our escape attempt from a balcony. We weren’t terribly subtle with the way we went about it…”

"I can believe that." Sylvie holds out a hand to stop Loki as they approach a corner. They stand flush against the wall, Loki waiting just behind Sylvie as she cranes her head around the corner, taking a peek at what lies ahead. Or, more in particular, to see just who stood in the way between them and the throne room.

Between her, and..her family.

Or... Her and whatever this other version of herself had become...

"Two guards stationed outside the door," Sylvie whispers over her shoulder to Loki. "We could enchant them, but... I don't see a way we could get close enough to do it before they spot us."

"Hmm... If we can't rely on the element of surprise, then..."

Sylvie glances back over her shoulder, waiting for Loki to finish his sentence. She nearly has a heart attack when, instead of Loki, she comes face to face with one of the Einherjar. Her hand twitches, reaching for her sword, when something in the man's eyes brings her to a stop. There was something... Familiar shining in them. An odd sort of... Glee...

Oh, right, of course... Illusion Casting. What else did she expect from the God of Mischief…?

"Bit of warning next time, Loki," Sylvie grumbles under her breath. 

“I did,” Loki counters. “I said ‘we can’t rely on the element of surprise.’ That was my warning I was about to do something.”

Sylvie rolls her eyes with a barely audible sigh, leaning back around the corner to check on the guards. They were still stood ramrod straight in position, attentive eyes staring dead-ahead, as they usually were. 

“I could pretend to be escorting you, like I did on Lamentis,” Loki suggests. 

“Except the guards would probably be wondering why you’re escorting their Princess,” Sylvie shoots down his idea. “Also, there’s every chance you might be escorting me into the throne room, and in front of… me.”

“Right…” Loki mumbled in defeat. “Um… Illusion Casting requires a little bit more tutoring than a basic crash course, so… unless you suddenly become a master at that, too… we’re running out of options.”

Sylvie sighs from frustration, chewing absentmindedly on her bottom lip as she thinks. She takes another glance at the still stoic guards, quickly ducking back behind the corner to avoid being spotted. 

“Wait -- I think have a plan!” Loki whispers excitedly, bringing Sylvie’s attention back to him. “You need to punch me in the face.”

Sylvie was sure she hadn’t heard that right. “You… you want me to punch you in the face?”

“Need, not want; big difference between the two.” Loki lets the illusion of the spear in his hand fade away. He grabs Sylvie by the shoulders, maneuvering them around until he was the one standing by the corner, his back to the edge as he places Sylvie directly in front of him. “You need to get me right in the nose -- make me bleed.”

“You still haven’t explained to me what for?”

“To make it believable, of course!” Loki states like that helped explain his plan any further. “You’re going to hit me as hard as you can, and I’m going to be sent flying backward. The guards are going to rush to help me, and that’s when you step in and enchant one of them.”

“And what about the other one? I can’t enchant both at the same time.”

“I’ll enchant him from the ground,” Loki answered with a grin full of confidence. “Then we can just… put them to sleep and store them somewhere for the time being, steal their armor, and waltz right into that throne room.”

“I don’t know…” Sylvie didn’t hold quite the same confidence in Loki’s plan that he did, given that his last few plans have been less than stellar in both execution and their outcomes… 

“You have any better ideas?” Loki asked, and he had her there. “Look, I have complete faith that the both of us could… go rush them and subdue them ourselves. But could we do it quietly enough that no one hears us on the other side of the door? This way, we bring the guards to us, and take care of them before anyone knows what’s going on. It’s perfect!”

“I think ‘feasible’ would be a better word than ‘perfect…’”

“Is it because you don’t want to hit me?” It takes everything Sylvie has not to physically laugh in his face. “I know we’ve grown a fair bit closer since then, but you seemed to have no trouble doing it in the past. You slammed my face into that… stool thing, remember? Just… think about how annoying you found me then, or… or think about when I accidentally destroyed the TemPad, or -- Oh! How angry you were when I tried to stop you from killing He Who Remains, that was -- Oh wait! A little bit earlier, when I said about falling in love with this other version of you! What would you do if you saw me after catching me flirting with—”

CRACK

Sylvie’s knuckles land squarely in the center of Loki’s nose, the force of the impact sending Loki crashing into the wall opposite. She winced, both from not meaning to hit him that hard, and because the punch was forceful enough that it had ripped open the skin above her knuckles. Loki’s nose was — as expected — bleeding quite profusely from the hit, made all the worse by the edge of the TemPad on her hand catching him right across the bridge of the nose. 

Loki groaned from where he had crumpled down to the ground, and Sylvie had to remind herself to stick to where she was and keep to the plan than go over and help him. She wasn’t too sure whether he was struggling so much to push himself up because it was all part of the act, or… if she had perhaps gone a bit overboard with her punch. 

Either way, what mattered was that the plan, miraculously, was working. The guards had sprung into action the second they heard the crash of metal from Loki’s fake armor smashing into the wall, their weapons held tightly in their hands as they marched over to him. 

Sylvie waited until their echoing footsteps were upon her before darting out from her hiding spot, grasping onto the closest guard's arm whilst yanking the spear out from his other hand. The man underneath the armor didn’t even get a chance to voice his protests before her magic was flowing into his mind, his face going slack as his eyes pulse with a burst of green light. 

Thankfully, Loki was not concussed from the hit, and still had the mental capacity to carry out his part of the plan. His hand had shot out towards the other guard who had come to his aid, wrapping it around his ankle and hoping more than anything that his first time using enchantment on his own on someone that wasn’t Sylvie would work. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly, focusing every little drop of concentration he has towards the task at hand. 

Loki’s eyes pop open in surprise when he feels the man’s foot shift under his hold, greeted by the sight of the guard going slack and collapsing to the ground next to him, landing in a less than graceful heap. Seconds later, the guard is joined by his friend as Sylvie releases her hold on the other guard's arm — although Sylvie does at least do the man a kindness and slowly releases her hold so he drops down gently. 

“Ow…” Loki groans from the ground, letting his hand flop down the ground as he rolls over onto his back. He raises his hand to his nose, wiping away the excess blood that had congealed around his face, wincing as he brushes across the tenderized skin. 

“Gods -- are you okay?” Sylvie hurriedly steps over the unconscious guards, rushing to get to Loki’s side. “I probably shouldn’t have hit you that hard…”

“I said to make me bleed and to hit me as hard as you can…” Loki says, his voice nasally due to the blood blocking his sinuses. “You certainly did as I asked.”

Sylvie grabs hold of one of his arms, helping him get back to his feet. Loki groans as he gets upright, pinching up and down his nose to check for any breakages. 

“In my defense, you were doing everything you could to rile me up,” Sylvie says, gently knocking his hands away to check his injury for herself. Loki lets her examine him, surprised by the gentleness of her hands as they brush across his skin, feather-light and delicate as they pass by the area of his nose where the skin had been broken. “And for the record? That wasn’t me hitting you as hard as I could.”

It probably shouldn’t make her feel proud of herself that Loki looked genuinely afraid of her. And… a little bit awed by her. “It wasn’t?”

“Not even close.”

Loki’s nose had long since stopped bleeding by the time they had stealthily moved the guards to an unused room nearby. Whilst he didn’t need to steal the guard's armor given his abilities to cast Illusions, it was much easier to do so than use up most of his focus on keeping the Illusion up and —more importantly — believable. 

Sylvie finished up the last of her temporary golden armor, securing the helmet over her head and making sure it fits snugly. It was a little loose given that the man she had taken it from was slightly taller than her, but not so much that anyone would question it. She looked over to Loki as he scooped up the guard's weapons and shields, nodding in appreciation as he passes one of each to her.

“Wait—” Sylvie stops him just as they reach the doors to the throne room. Loki looks to her with a questioning frown, to which she gestures to her own face with a twirl of her hand. “You’ve still got blood all over your face.”

“Oh.” It only takes a small wave of magic washing over him for the blood to be wiped clean like chalk off a chalkboard. Sylvie nods her approval when he looks back to her, turning back with a shaky breath to the door that, just beyond it, held the answers to what was supposed to become of her family.

What was supposed to become of her. 

Loki didn’t say a word next to her, which she was infinitely grateful for. He was doing all that she wanted from him, which was… just to be there, standing by her side. He knew how important this was for her. He knew that now, more than ever, she just needed to know he was there for her if she needed him. 

And it was rather terrifying just how much she did need him. 

“Okay…” Sylvie breathes out, steeling herself for whatever is about to come their way. She just about catches sight of a flicker of a proud smile from Loki out of the corner of her eye as she nods to herself, raising a hand up and placing her palm against the intricately engraved golden doors. Loki’s hand joins her seconds later, her eyes trained on the door under her hand whilst his were focused solely on her, waiting for her to make the first move. Sylvie pushes hard against the solid metal, Loki following suit and joining her as they push against the heavy weight of the doors. 

Slowly… the doors open.

Next Chapter - - - >

[musedblues]

Call It Fate Call It Karma

summary: In which your band gets signed to the same label as Queen, and Brian May takes a whole bunch of fun out of your new musical journey.

a/n: Here’s what to know… There’s an age gap! This takes place sometime in the 1980s and reader is in her twenty’s. There are also mentions of sex / sexual situations. (Not 18+ just be aware!) Here’s what’s been dubbed as The Bitchy Bri Fic! Title from this song!

w/c: 10k

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Everything changed as you’d started to lose hope. And you owed it all to Jim Beach.

It was the afternoon you and your bandmates managed to sneak past the receptionist desk at EMI and present the reel of tape you called you an EP to a bored producer called Watts; Jim Beach was already occupying his office. By then, you’d been to every other record label in the city and were prepared to be kicked out of this one all the same.

But then the producer agreed to listen to your tape. Watts sat with his feet on his desk and a glazed over look in his eye as two of your only three songs played. Jim spoke up from the back of the room when your third and final song started to crackle to life.

“Well, aren’t you going to give them a shot?” He asked, in a warm, gentle tone.

“What are you three called?” Watts asked.

“Loba.” Wilda piped up, picking her nails in place of her guitar.

“It means ‘she wolf’ in Spanish.” Joane pointed out, twisting strands of her pale fringe as she perched on the edge of the bench at your side.

“Can you lot throw together the couple hundred bucks it takes to record, by the end of next week?” The producer asked.

“Yes.” You spoke up, though you weren’t sure how you’d get the money, this was the opportunity of a lifetime.

“Beach! Manage these lady wolves, will you?” Watts dragged his feet back to the floor with a thud.

“Me? I-I well,”

“You’ve got Queen, and who else? No one.” Watts exasperated. “McCartney has half our staff on lockdown this month and Iron Maiden has already gotten our three best workers to quit. You liked this mediocre garage rock well enough to say something…” The producer gathered your tape and tossed it to the manager with kind eyes and a smile under his furrowed brow. “Now everyone leave my office.”

You’d barely processed the life changing news as Jim turned toward you and your band with a grin that just kept growing.

“What do ya say, girls? Wanna make a record?”

///

You worked overtime and Joane got a second odd job to come up with the money to make a real-life record. And in a matter of a couple of months, you had an all new stage show, a new shiny Fender bass, and your very own album.

Well, almost. The record was in the final processes of being pressed. Watts helped put it together with his feet propped on the soundboard he manned. Past his usual cigar, he mumbled suggestions and even some encouragement; as you Wilda and Joane perfected the songs from your EP and threw together a couple more. Joane was praised for tightening her drum kit and bringing back up sticks. Wilda’s method of retuning her prized guitar worked without a hitch. You sang all your worries away with your bass playing in time. It was as easy as ever to work together, and one thousand times more terrifying all the same.

Jim lingered by on days like those, and on nights you’d booked gigs at local pubs and places of the like. On tea breaks, and in storage closets turned green rooms, Jim helped you and the girls make plans for the future. He carried around a pad of paper to jot down every time one of you thought up a new goal or two.

You went on and on about the sounds you heard in your head, and how you dreamed of bringing them to life. Of the words you longed to share with the world, and your favourite old tunes that never failed to inspire and excite.

Wilda dreamed of parties and people and places, the things she’d say on guest appearances and press tours. She dreamed of stages much more grandiose than the rickety old ones you were so familiar with now.

“We’d quite like to be as big as that other band of yours, one day.” Joane quipped, to a smiley Jim Beach. She was always going on about Queen. Bet she never dreamed of being graced with the assistance of her favourite band’s very own manager.

“No worries there.” Jim chuckled. “You ladies are a well-oiled machine compared to those four old bats. You’ll see for yourself tomorrow at the party.” He seemed to raise a brow like an omen but you couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

///

Your first ever album had been slowly climbing the charts since it’s release at the start of the week. When your single aired for the first time, Joane parked her old beaten down truck outside of your flat and turned her car’s radio up all the way. You dismissed your neighbour’s pleas for peace and quiet by hopping in your drummers ride and speeding away to EMI, squealing along to your very own song the whole way there.

You met your guitarist outside of the company’s biggest office. Inside, the three of you hurried through a few pages of papers, and scribbled your signatures along odd dotted lines. Just like that, you were signed.

Even though Loba was gifted a bottle of champagne and a couple of snapshots to prove it, the label decided a proper party was in order to welcome you. Apparently, EMI liked to use every excuse they could to make use of their loft and it’s impressive bar top that wrapped around nearly every wall.

So no sooner than you’d shuffled into the head office, you were escorted out and up to the very top floor. The party, Jim said, was already in full swing.

And that’s when you met his other band. Though he never said so outright, you could tell Jim was most excited to introduce you to the only other group he’d had the pleasure of working with till now. Behind poorly placed streamers and the backs of people too busy carrying on conversations to notice you, there was Queen. All lazily huddled together against a spot at the long and winding bar.

When Jim made his presences known, you and the girls stopped in your tracks and traded a few nervous glances.

Freddie Mercury was all of a sudden shifting his weight before the lot of you, casting a sweeping gaze across each of your faces.

“Miami, are these the children you’ve adopted now that we’re all grown up?” Freddie asked, greeting the manager and turning his oxen eyes to your band. His champagne sloshed in the glass he held near his chest as he threw one arm around Jim’s shoulders.

“Awe, you talk about us?” You jabbed an elbow toward the manager though you couldn’t quite reach where he stood. As his grin only grew, the rest of the band shifted closer.

“Boys, meet the girls.” Jim smiled, introducing you each by name.

But you couldn’t be sure if Roger even heard the manager’s introduction. The blonde floated up to your guitarist like he’d been supernaturally dragged across the room to meet her. Wilda stood before him, trying desperately not to pick at her nails, and smiled. You wanted to laugh, but you wanted to hurl. It was just too much, the way Roger seemed to drool at the simple sight of her, like Pepe Le Pew.

“What are you lovely ladies called, again?” He asked in a voice just as rasped as you’d come to recognize over the radio. Wilda blanched and seemed to go shy all of a sudden, but you weren’t.

“Loba.” You shrugged speaking in the drummer’s direction.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer to the other side of you, standing taller than you expected him to be.

“It means she-wolf.” Joane piped up, reciting her favourite and well-practised line. It always saved her from going too quiet, that fact.

“Uh-huh.” Roger seemed to agree, shifting to stand at Wilda’s side instead of ogling her head on- holding her gaze all the same.

“Better than their almost name. Guess what it was, lads.” Jim raised a brow to Freddie. Oh no. With Joane likely having shut down at the mention of her old idea, and Wilda entirely preoccupied with whispering to Roger, everyone turned to glance at you- Left with no choice but to bury your embarrassment and answer.

“Doin’ Alright.” You admitted through a smile, because if you didn’t laugh, who would? It was your drummer, resident Queen fanatic’s idea, one you talked her out of shortly after joining.

“How bloody un-o-fucking-riginal,” Brain huffed and crossed his long arms over his chest.

You had barely officially met the guy. He loomed near the back of the gathering and stood in silence, till then. And you might have thought he’d only been joking if it wasn’t for the way his stoic expression remained unchanged when your eyes met his for the first ever time.

“Hate to break it to ya, but your name was already sort of taken, too.” You pointed out, giving a weak mocking curtsy at the vague mention of her majesty. Queen’s guitarist’s glare remained.

“Oh, I like this one. Good ear, Miami.” Freddie sauntered over and nudged you away from Brian’s burning gaze. Roger was pointing Wilda out to the balcony, where a rowdy group grew larger every time you glanced out beyond the open glass doors.

“Don’t mind him.” John cocked his head toward the sulking guitarist, and handed you a bubbly drink. “He’s in the middle of a divorce and a midlife crisis, it’s really quite the combination.”

“Poor thing.” You stuck your lip out on your turn in Brian’s direction, as Freddie yanked you toward the balcony, laughing all the while. The wild-haired guitarist watched you leave with an expression you couldn’t quite understand, though you wanted too.

But before the lot of you could spin your separate ways and dance until sunrise, one of the men from the head office stopped in front of everyone with a smile.

“Nice to see you’re all already so well acquainted.” He said, in a sickeningly posh tone. Roger draped an arm across Wilda’s slim shoulders as the rest of you hummed in agreeance.

“So how would you like to tour together, then?” The man grinned. Freddie flourished, making a grand gesture and saying something about how that was the best idea he’d ever heard in his life. Joane turned to you, not even attempting to hide her squeal of excitement. Jim shared a look with John, like a proud father.

“Good. Because that’s what the label wants.” The man nodded and turned to Jim with instructions to phone him to start planning. Freddie swept you away to kick off a night of fun, and when you turned to see if Brian cared at all, he was gone.

///

Your single topped the charts in the US. Jim came into your work, feigned an emergency and gathered the rest of your band to share the good news over a celebratory brunch. You might have won over the yanks, but Queen had stolen the hearts of billions long before you’d written your first tune. So it was naturally decided your band would open for the much more renowned group.

You turned your two weeks notice into your job, and blew your last paycheck on an all-new wardrobe. If you were going to prance around America with the likes of Queen, you had to look the part. Some platforms and a few dazzling dresses found their way into your suitcase a week before it was time to go.

By the time you met up with the other band at the airport, you knew Roger well enough to stick out your tongue as a greeting. He’d come around your flat once, trailing behind Wilda to crash a night out you’d been planning all week. And again to steal her away from your last band meeting. When you, Joane and Wilda sleepily trudged through the waiting gates, he stole your guitarist away for the third time, and you wondered what might become of them.

You were still dazzled by Freddie, charmed by his laugh and stunned when he insisted on sitting next to you on the plane ride over, to share gossip. All of his friends seemed just as taken with the ethereal singer, too. John sprung up from his catnap to go help Freddie find the best snacks the airport had to offer. And while Jim sat going over the schedule with Joane, Brian sat across from you with his arms crossed and his legs a mile apart.

“Are you excited?” You wondered because you really wanted to know if someone who’d done this a time or two was still thrilled by it. But mostly, you wanted to get the lanky guitarist to open up a little. If you were going to spend a whole month and a half near each other, wouldn’t it be nice to get to know the guy a little?

“I’m tired.” Brian nodded, his hazel eyes fluttering toward the windows.

“Lighten up Mr. May. You could have my job. Was just sent to phone Fred’s cats and we haven’t even left home.” A man as gangly as Brian shuffled to sit at your side, adjusting the sunglasses on his head that did little to hide his thinning hair.

“I’m Crystal, that’s Ratty.” The guy pointed across the lounge to another slim, long-haired fellow bent over an open acoustic guitar case.

“We’re everyone’s personal lackeys and will be glad to lend you ladies a hand all the same.”

You thanked the guy with a chuckle and felt charmed enough by his sudden kindness to admit your growing nerves. But then Freddie and John were back, and the plane was ready, and it was time to go on tour.

///

The first week flew by in a flash. You were jarred by the size of every new arena and crowd that filled the seats. You lost yourself entirely to the music that blared from the speakers at your band’s command; but never got used to hearing the songs you once plucked away at in your bedroom, fill stadiums.

Going from entertaining grotty pubs to seas full of people wasn’t something you ever expected to happen. The sound of their collective cheers directed to your band didn’t seem real. All you could do was play on, and sing with your friends until the time came to rush to another green room, catch your breath, and a glimpse of the headlining act.

You usually only saw Queen in passing- in revolving hotel doors or shuffling about the same backstage halls. If you weren’t on stage, your band was hauled off to radio stations for interviews while Queen partied on. And if your band had an afternoon to do as you pleased, Queen was off signing records and privately touring art museums.

But there were the rare occasions your paths crossed for longer than a minute or two. John would always make a point to ask after you, from time to time. He said you and the girls seemed to be handling the road like old champs.

“I’m too busy to be bothered with stage fright.” You laughed, when John asked how you looked so at home in front of the crowds that had started to sing along to the songs you played.

Where most of Queen felt like friends your parents warned against staying out past curfew with, John felt like your older brother; who waited up to sneak you back home with a kind word.

Freddie always invited you to the after parties and nights out, even when he knew Loba was meant to do a photoshoot one city away. And when you failed to show up, the singer would always say he’d missed you. And you believed him, because of the nights he’d sneak in your hotel room to share the last of the liquor that had knocked the rest of his bandmates cold. Freddie went out of his way to include you and the girls more often than not.

But Roger seemed to include himself in your groups circle any chance he could get. He trailed behind Wilda, sure, but he seemed genuinely fond of chatting away with you and Joane all the same. And when your guitarist and Queen’s drummer partook in their weekly game of playing hard to get, you were awarded tiny moments with just Roger.

Like the time everyone crashed before midnight, and the two of you stayed up by the quiet hotel poolside, with an acoustic. It wasn’t long before your goofing around turned into some kind of jam session, and you were writing a song together. Roger insisted you keep it to use, and left the cocktail napkin full of scribbled lyrics tucked between the strings of Wilda’s guitar that you’d been left in charge of.

Then, there was Brian.

He strolled ahead of you off of the riverboat where both of your groups had been invited to enjoy a day off, cruising around somewhere in America’s deep south. You couldn’t help but watch Brian’s figure move as it seemed to tower just over all the people at his side. It was time to head back to the hotel, or at least, time for your freshwater adventure to end. Everyone was glad for the easy-going ride, still tired from the night before.

Maybe that’s why he was so quiet all afternoon. Brian usually was, but there was something more to his silence today. And you didn’t know the guy well enough to figure, or dare ask why. The weather was nice, and Queen was received with reverence every place they went. Brian had no reason to sulk- none you could possibly understand.

A slew of people with cameras and questions flocked to the boat docks as the one and only Freddie led the way, pretending to introduce Crystal as some kind of rockstar in his own right. The roadie ate up the attention as Brian’s pace set your own. You couldn’t move until he did. And while he stalled, cameras flashed and a desperate middle-aged man held a skinny microphone toward the band.

“Brian, how are you finding America?” They asked in a mousy pitch.

“Oh, it’s lovely here, as always.” Brian politely grinned, curling his fists in his jacket pockets, from what you could see.

“How’s touring with another group? Queen usually don’t need the support of an opening act.”

“Right.” Brian seemed to agree in a curiously cynical tone.

“They’re called Loba, and we quite like having them around.” Roger was suddenly shaking your shoulders like an overzealous coach. You chuckled at his antics as Brian dared to glimpse at the commotion.

He turned his gaze over his shoulder to look at you for a moment. It might have been the most exciting part of your whole day, considering how Brian hardly ever looked your way till now. But why did it have to be like that? What did you ever do to the guy?

The best you’d ever gotten from Brian was an empty hum when asked if he cared if you sat in the only open seat at his side, during some dinner. And over that meal, he chattered away with the likes of his band, and even yours. And maybe it was because you became utterly paranoid by his silence to break it with all of the questions you had for the guy. But he never spoke to you. The seat at Brian side seemed a void in his peripheral. And you were growing a bit anxious by the thought of actually being invisible to Brian. So you started speaking up.

When Freddie asked you with help on matching one of his many jackets with a pair of trousers, you’d already made up your mind, but twisted around to ask what Brian thought. His brows upturned in a painfully confused expression as he hesitantly gave his answer to Freddie’s clothing debacle. You got your own answer too, that at least Brian heard a voice coming from the space you existed in.

When both tour buses stopped for gas one random midnight; Roger raced you into the convenience store and distracted you from buying anything in place of dancing to The Cars tune crackling from the overhead speakers. Your spontaneous party was broken up when Brian breezed by with his freshly purchased candy bar in hand.

“We are on a schedule you know?” He glared your way on his turn to leave.

“I’m sorry you weren’t invited to the dance party Bri.” You mused, stopping the guy in his tracks, who turned to look at you in the way he did. “We’ll let you sulk in the corner of our next one, since it would obviously kill you to actually join in the fun.”

But all that got you was a roll of Brian’s hazel eyes and a cackle from Roger. That was the norm. Brian either seemed to pretend you weren’t there, or traded you bone chilling glares like you’d wronged him in a past life. But you’d never known less of a person than you’d known of Brian May, and you were beginning to wonder if going about finding out more was worth it.

///

By the time your next soundcheck came, Queen had nothing better to do than bop about the stadium to wait their turn. You and the girls rushed through your usual set up but decided to change things around for your second to the last song. And while you started to unplug it was decided Joane would have to turn a certain drum fill into a solo while Wilda rushed off stage to retune her only electric guitar to properly close out the show.

Brian overheard, from the place he stood arguing over an amp with Ratty, who’d kindly agreed to stick close by your band during times like now. The roadie shuffled over to take your bass away, while Brian issued a complaint.

“You’re going to retune? Just use a bloody capo and don’t waste everyone’s time.” Brian shifted his weight, furrowing his brow your way. Though you weren’t the guitarist in question, you seemed to be the one and only person Brian felt most comfortable yapping at.

“There’s more than one way to do things, you know?” You pointed.

“Yeah,” Brian shrugged, agreeing with you in a breathtaking turn of events. But then again, not really… “The right way and the wrong way.”

“Christ no wonder you’re divorced.” You shook your head in the guy’s direction. His eyes might have been pretty if they weren’t burning into yours with such disdain. Then you both made a show of storming past each other. You were getting really sick of his attitude, and what it did to yours.

///

“Oh no. Oh no, no, no!” You cried, cradling your bass that had fallen from the stand to the concrete floor below. The neck was ever so slightly cracked and a tuning peg was bent and your heart was near stopping. When you looked up from the ground, you saw Ratty cursing out one of the stadiums impish young stagehands. The kid had blown an amp and sent it smoking, and your guitar flying off the stage in his rush to run from the trouble he’d stirred.

You clutched your one and only instrument to your chest and hurried away for help. Ratty was wrestling the broken amp, Crystal was nowhere to be seen, and John was off phoning home. You recalled the sights of the city from yesterday’s afternoon off. There was a guitar shop across from the Chinese place where you stopped for lunch.

So you raced past Joane and shouted that you’d be back in an hour. The exact amount of time you had until it was time to go on stage.

You ran down the city streets with your bass in your arms like a wounded child. The guitar shop appeared like a beacon.

Inside was blaring a song by Led Zeppelin you might have wanted to sing along too if your heart wasn’t in your throat. There was a mass of teenaged boys crowded the counter. You waited, held your breath and checked the clock as it ticked away at a frightening speed. By the time the boys buying strings and straps shuffled away, you threw your broken baby to the older man behind the counter. He assured you the fix would be a breeze and tried to sell you an overpriced Gibson while you waited. You stood drumming beats on the sales counter and tried not to scream when the clock showed you’d only had ten minutes left to waste. A couple more later, your bass was in your grasp. You threw an extra bit of cash to the guy and ran off in a flurry, praying to make it on time.

You’d never ran so fast, certainly. You didn’t even have time to apologize to a kid on a bike who had to swerve out of your way. You burst through the back doors of the stadium, much to the shock of the doorman. When he shouted at you to take it easy, you ceased running to walk as fast as you could toward the green room.

Brian was the first familiar face to greet you after the nerve-wracking scene.

“So nice of you to finally show up.” He let out a mocking cheer from the place he kicked back on a torn leather sofa. So relaxed in his gloom. Your heart used to ache at the thought of his troubles. At the sight of his far off gaze as his friends joked on around him. When Freddie would drunkenly whisper to you details of Brian’s trying year. But the guitarist’s sneers your way were getting old, and the ache in your heart for him was slowly growing cold.

Freddie spun to greet you, let out a sigh of relief like an anxious mother, reaching out to adjust your shirt collar skewed under the strap of your instrument.

“Well, my guitar had to get fixed one way or the other. And unlike you, your highness, we haven’t got a gaggle of roadies to call upon.” You swatted Freddie away and snapped toward Brian.

“No, but what’s ours is yours. Next time ask for help.” John spoke like a stern father, tossing you a bottle of water and pointing toward the clock on the wall. You had about a minute to run out on stage.

“Let her learn the hard way, Deacy. She seems to like it that way.” Brian rang. You dashed away before you had time to curse him.

“Brian, stop being such a bitch, I mean, my God.” Freddie whined as you stormed off, glad for once that someone else seemed fed up with the guitarist’s sharp tongue, too.

///

When the show was over, John insisted you hop along his band’s tour bus back to the hotel. The other two-thirds of your band were still enjoying the amenities of the afterparty, and you were in the middle of trading bass themed horror stories with Deacy. So he kept on talking as you walked to follow him, settling near the front of the ride as it travelled to your latest hotel.

As Queen shuffled to cross the bleak lot to get to the grandiose lodge, Brian was the last to leave. He shouldered past you with that same old sullen pout. His eyes caught yours for a moment before he took another step, but something about the usual interaction was the final straw for you.

“What the hell did I ever do to you?” You demanded to know, as Brian’s bandmates disappeared inside the hotel. Brian stalled reluctantly and turned to face you with pursed lips and the smallest shake of his head.

“Look,” He began, as you stood ready to get to the bottom of whatever this was. “I’ve really never meant to be so cross with you. And I’m sorry my temper’s been so easily getting the better of me. I am sorry.” Brian nodded. He looked exhausted, like this was the millionth time he’d had to give a similar speech, but he did so in such a genuine manner- that you could only stand and trade a perplexed gaze to the lanky guitarist.

“It’s… it’s best if we just keep to ourselves, yeah?” Brian concluded, turning away with one final nod. You didn’t get the chance to agree, or disagree, or understand what just happened before Brian was on his way, and you were on your own.

///

After the tour was said and done, a new year was just kicking off. And the label was pushing for another album right out the gate. You and the girls had two months to throw together a collection of new songs, and were struggling for most of the time to do just that.

The song Roger helped you write was the best one you had to offer, and Joane was nearly crippled under the stress of being creatively confined to a certain amount of time. You’d never had such a hard time working together before, and the pressure was building up between each of your bandmates in a way you were afraid of.

When Watts strolled in to take control of the soundboard you’d been fiddling with all morning, you couldn’t help but to warn him against changing any of your settings. You and the girls were finally making some kind of progress, albeit bickering along the way. Poor Jim could only sorrily sigh each time one of you turned and ask for his help. This bit of work was a little outside of the managers league.

And Watts only seemed to egg you on, pressing the few buttons you asked him not to.

“You want to control this soundboard so bad, have at it.” He stood in a huff, “I only strongly suggest you don’t fuck this up.” The producer hissed before slipping out of the door. He smiled a smile that made you queasy, and you nodded knowing full well you were on thin ice.

Jim left you and the girls to fight over tempos and key changes and came back from the studio’s kitchenette with an unexpected announcement.

“Brian is coming.” He said, matter of factly.

“What’d you call him for?” Joane groaned from the floor, where she laid fiddling with her kit.

“Because Queen is the best help I know. But Freddies in Barcelona, John’s with his family, Roger is MIA and Brian is right down the road. You lot have a day left, and I’m running out of helpful ideas. And quite frankly, you girls are in need of a lot of it.”

“Yeah, maybe, but now nothing will get done.” Joane countered. “Not with the way he and y/n square off like old alley cats.”

“He’ll be here in five. Come on lady wolves… Claws up, plugs in.” Jim pointed as he sat back down on the studio sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Wilda shot into a speech, begging you over and over to keep it cool. The sooner you started, the better. She was right, and you wanted nothing more than to get this record finished. So with a nod, you accepted your fate.

Brian strolled in the studio right on time. His eyes looked desperate for sleep, and his already wild mane seemed even more unkempt. His small smile Jim’s way made you want to reach past the wall Brian put up, and shake his shoulders, and tell him it was okay to be actually happy once in a while.

Maybe it was the time that had passed since the tour. Maybe Brian forgot that he’d cared so little for you, and that’s why his faint grin lingered when his eyes met yours, past the glass of the recording booth. You willed your own weak smile his way, weary of this new civility, but just as tempted to take it in stride.

“Hello, ladies. Let’s see what you’re working with so far, shall we?” Brian leaned in and spoke just to you, it seemed. Maybe it was because you were closest, front and centre before the guy in a little glass box.

You’d felt more vulnerable than ever, under his forest coloured gaze. There was no place to run off and hide. You were right in Brian’s line of sight, right under his thumb, as he pressed a button stopped your band from playing to suggest a few dozen changes.

You knew he was here to help. And Jim looked so hopeful, tapping his foot to the beat in the corner of the room. So even though your throat was going dry as Brian settled his eyes on your bass- you played on. When he stopped you again, your blood began to boil.

“Please tell me you plan on adding a keyboard? A harmonica, something else?” Brian grimaced.

“We only play on the record what we can play on stage as a three-piece.” Joane raised a drumstick to make a point.

“Yeah well, it’s sure sounding that way.” The older and wiser musicians voice crackled through the speaker.

“Fuck you, that sounded good!” You hissed into the mic, wielding your bass like a weapon. That might'a been the best take you’d done all day.

“Yeah, but it didn’t sound great. If I turned my car radio on to that I’d fall asleep at the wheel. Joane, try using your snare on the bridge, instead of the cymbals. Y/n… from the top.” Brian sighed, sitting back in his chair like an exhausted parent.

You sighed too, adjusting your headphones and tossing Wilda a glare, a sign that you couldn’t keep your cool much longer.

You tried harder. But Brian kept stopping you. And every time he did, you couldn’t be stopped from cursing him just a little. If he’d only give you just one chance to find your rhythm, you might’ve made a whole record by now. When you told him as much, he let you play on for almost half a song before he’d stopped you again. When he did, you nearly exploded. But Joane snapped first. She got up from her kit, chucked her headphones, and stormed away. You slung your bass away to follow after her, but Wilda was quicker and raced out of the back to chase Joane down.

That left you with time enough to break out of the glass box and give Brian a few choice words.

“Way to fucking go, drill sergeant.” You gestured toward the guy who was slow to rise from his place before the soundboard.

“It’s not my fault she decided to-”

“Yeah, it is. Thanks for showing up and doing fuck all.”

“I came here to help you, and I could do if you’d stop acting like a damn child.” He pointed a finger your way, and the fire in his gaze sent a chill down your spine for the first time ever. You weren’t afraid of him. You were only stunned by the way he spoke to you. The way he always had. Why did Brian bother showing up here tonight?

“We might be able to take some of your suggestions if you stopped stopping us! Why don’t you just stick to pissing your own band off? You do it so well.”

You’d heard him trade sharper words with Queen. Roger told you that Brian was just working through some things. John said he’d always been like this. You just couldn’t understand why you got the worst of it.

“Well, it’s clear you’ve got more than enough hell to give your own group. You might sound less like the second place winners of your primary school’s talent show if you learned to stop making so many executive decisions.”

“I have a suggestion for you.” You decided, “Why don’t you take all your bleeding suggestions and fu-”

“Yeah, alright, let’s all take a break.” Jim intervened as you let out an exhausted sigh that doubled as a frustrated cry. The manager waved Brian over and the two men started to share a word as you stormed out of the back from fresh air and a clearer mind.

“He’s right you know. We sound like a washed-up wedding band.” Wilda shouted your way as she stayed leaning back against the hood of her car with a cigarette in hand.

“Where is Joane?” You asked, already knowing the answer. Wilda glanced at the empty parking spot where your drummer’s new mustang was earlier today. Great. Just what you needed.

“Right. Let’s forget everything, and finish. We’ll just… get it done.”

And so that’s what you did. Brian was gone when you ventured back in, and his absence left a familiar little ache in your heart. You didn’t like shouting at each other like cross siblings. You’d wanted to be his friend more than anything, at the start of all of this. The stars that might have aligned for that chance were all askew by now.

Jim left you and Wilda to go fetch some takeaway. Then he sat around the small table in the studio and shared dinner and some words of wisdom with the two of you. You thanked your manager for being so kind, and forgiving of your antics thus far. He chuckled and said something about having witnessed and dealt with much worse. Jim stayed a while longer, while you and Wilda worked together, and it was you who had to encourage the guy to go home and get some rest.

He entrusted the key to the place to you and your bandmate and left you to finish up for the evening. And you did, eventually. You and the eager guitarist listened back to the tapes and added in riffs and fills, and even a few of Brian’s suggestions; until well past midnight. But right on time for the label.

You could sleep soundly knowing you’d finished when you were meant to. But your dreams were full of worry that the record still wasn’t good enough.

///

“You did what?” Joane shrieked in the hall of your flat.

“We had to finish, Joane. You never came back, what else were supposed to do?” You yelled back, worry saturating your tone. It was far too early to be having this fight.

“You were supposed to wait for me!” Joane shouted, looking to you with big sad eyes. You rushed to remind her that you were out of time, and she could have shown back up and helped you finish, but she didn’t. And in her typical fashion, the drummer spun on her heels and stormed away, fringe flying far behind her shoulders as she shouted something about never coming back.

The girl had been known to fly off the handle on occasion. There was the time she drove your van away from a sketchy Welsh pub you travelled miles to play in, because Wilda called the drummers shoes ugly. Or the time she nearly chucked her cymbals from your third story flat window. You prayed that this episode was like the others you’d endured as you shut your door and rushed to get ready. It was time to take your record to the head office.

No one was particularly happy to find your three-piece only consisted of two when you showed up with Wilda to present your latest creation. Jim flashed a couple of smiles as the tracks played on, but all you noticed were Wilda’s shrugs. The record was done. But under unexpectedly trying circumstances and lacking a lot of help from your drummer. It wasn’t what you’d envisioned. The label still decided it was good enough, and sent you to fill a couple of talk show slots before the week was up.

You went with your guitarist to a couple of press junkets, and watched as your dazzling friend gave away answers she’d been practising since before you’d played your first gig. The only thing that made her umber eyes glow brighter was the sight of Roger Taylor waiting up after a certain interview. He invited her back to wherever it was he’d run off to, and Wilda had the decency to look toward you with a furrowed brow.

With a sigh, you agreed to handle the rest of the press on your own. Because she deserved to have the fun she’d been wishing for with the capricious drummer.

Four talk shows, three guest appearances, and one very hectic game show later, it was time for your record release. Roger phoned to assure he’d bring Wilda back in the nick of time. But Joane wasn’t answering her phone. You’d hoped after a bit of space that your drummer would come back around. But she wasn’t any place you’d gone to look. You spent until the witching hour driving to the places you knew she might have been and came up short.

When the time came to get ready for the party, half of your time getting ready was spent trying to hide the dark circles under your eyes. Before you left home, you took a couple of shots and prayed tonight wouldn’t crash and burn around you.

///

The mansion belonged to the head of the company, a place he’d invite people to when celebrations were too grandiose to fit in EMI’s loft. You wondered if you were the last to arrive when you opened the massive carved doors to find the stunning home littered with faces most of whom you didn’t recognize. One you did finally emerged from the crowd.

“Thank God you made it, I feared I’d have to put on a show instead.” Freddie chuckled, greeting you with glee. You ruffled the boa around his neck, thanked him for showing up, and wondered where you could find the drinks.

“I’ll take you round back dear, but you’d better hurry. The old important men are tired of waiting.” You could have explained how you’d waited up in hopes that Jonae would phone. And how when the phone did ring, it was Wilda worrying that she’d missed the only flight back home. But you only gave Freddie a sorry smile and spun into the garden. There was a bar in the veranda, where a handsome man made a show of mixing you a drink, making little passes along the way.

The time you thought you were stalling by answering all of the dude’s dumb questions was very soon interrupted. All of a sudden a towering guitarist was casting a shadow over you, and swiftly excusing the man behind the minibar.

“It’s about bloody time you showed up.” Brian rang in a mockingly sweet timbre. And as your stomach fluttered with nerves, you knew time was up. But how could you release a record without the rest of your band?

When you started to argue as much, Brian clamped his fingers around your arm like a vice and yanked you away from the bar and the drink you didn’t even get to try.

“Saving the day again, are you?” You rang dryly, as he towed you away. Brian’s face was set in its usual frown, one you’d become so familiar with that his smile on magazine covers made you look twice. He said nothing as he marched you out of the yard and into the mansion. You figured he’d part ways from you once you passed through the doors, but his grip didn’t loosen on the way down the empty marble hallway.

“Let me go.” You struggled, huffing out the words as you fought his grip and won. Before you had time to storm away, Brian spun to face you.

“Would you grow the fuck up? There is a room full of people depending on you and you’re acting like a fucking child, like always.”

“I’m not a child.” You hissed, curled your fists and glared up at Brian as he loomed over you. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest. His feet and fiery eye’s pointed to back you into the corner. But you wouldn’t let him get to you. “I’m trying my best it’s just not fucking good enough.”

A bit of a waver passed through your tone, as you targeted the words through your teeth. You watched Brian bend at the knee to look right in your eye, and pretended not to hold your breath.

“No, you aren’t.” Brian pointed a finger right at you and spoke in a low, unnerving rumble. “I’ve seen you at your best and I can guarantee you’re far from it, tonight.” He snarled, glaring you up and down with those dangerous hazel eyes. They raked over the span of your figure before landing on yours once more. “You look a bloody mess.”

“Because I’ve been running around till two in the damn morning, trying to find Joane! And when I couldn’t, I had to finish everything all on my own again. Because Roger took Wilda away and bought her nice pretty shoes and put her in good graces with all the higher-ups, and unlike her, I have to earn that shit myself.” You yelled, the dam holding back your bottled up emotion had crumbled in the overflow. You could feel the threat of tears stinging the backs of your eyes as Brian stood gaping at you in your outburst.

“So now I’ve lost my voice from all the interviews and the lack of sleep and I probably won’t be able to sing on tour to promote this shite album with a single you’ll switch off when it comes on the radio, anyway!”

And before you’d even stopped shouting, it seemed, Brian had his hands on either side of your face, and his lips pressed to yours. Your back was pushed to the wall and it took great effort not to melt down it with the way you were consumed by an all new kind of fire; mixed among the usual. But above it all, you were too shocked to kiss him back. Then you parted from each other, and past his unbuttoned top you watched the rise and fall of Brian’s chest while he caught his breath and stared at you.

“What the bloody hell was that?” You asked in a stunned hush. Brian blinked and shook his curls.

“I’m, I- I don’t- I didn’t mean-”

“You think you can just kiss me and, I don’t know, that everything is just magically going to be okay?” You wondered in a fluster, knowing there was nothing that could be done about the blush burning your cheeks. After months of frowning every time the two of you passed each other he kisses you?

“No. No I- I’ve always wanted to kiss you and I just thought I knew better than to do it.”  Brian held up a hand like he was swearing not to come closer. Talk about some seriously mixed messages.

“What?” You asked in an embarrassingly high squeak.

“I wanted to kiss you before I even knew your name. And it just seemed like the entirely wrong thing to do. So I shut you out, and my ire kept getting the better of me, and that’s not an excuse, just the truth,” Brian sighed, at what seemed like a sudden loss for words as his eyes searched yours.

“Well, you’ve gone and done it now.” You pointed out with the faintest laugh despite everything. Brian shook his head, asking, in a way, to understand what you were on about.

So you shook your head too, and latched onto his loose collar. You yanked Brian closer because you weren’t angry. You were actually feeling fine all of a sudden about everything. Only sure that you had to kiss him again good and proper. It was your first kiss with him, really, as your mouths moved together. Brian’s fingers were wrapped around your arm again, less claw-like than moments ago. And he didn’t seem too keen to break away from pushing you a little closer to the wall, a second time around.

But just as you lost yourself to the feeling of Brian’s frame moulded against your own, your name was hollered from somewhere down the hall. Music grew louder over the speakers that reached out to the sparsely decorated hall. Brian let you go, and you released your latch on his shirt to wipe your lips in a hurry.

But before you could scurry away, you watched Brian watch you prepare to bolt, and couldn’t help the small smile blooming across your face. He smiled, too.

You looked a mess. You were a mess. And you might’ve been one step away from fucking this whole thing up. But for the first time all year, you accepted it.

///

Your second record, somehow, was praised by the label and adored by the steadily growing following you’d gained. The old burnt out hippie man who ran your home town record store stood from his torn leather stool and applauded you, the day you came in to buy the Talking Heads new record.

“You’re really finding your sound, man.” The old hippie grinned. You told him to sit back down and thanked him despite your embarrassment. He asked you to autograph the cash box and gave you a discount on the album you bought.

After your single reached the top five in the charts, you talked Joane back around. It wasn’t easy. You had to promise you’d keep a cooler head, and she did too. She started stopping over every Sunday with a book of songs for you to think up a tune to, and turned the radio up every time one of your hits came on air. You laughed when she danced around your coffee table like it was the first time she was hearing your band name on the lips of a local dj.

Wilda cut all her hair off and wore the shoes Roger bought her everywhere. She talked about him after every breath, but you knew she hadn’t talked to him in months. Queen were busy planning a tour of Europe and trying to save the families that hadn’t already slipped through the cracks at the homes they bought but hardly visited.

You knew because you called Freddie to ask after Brian.

“Why are you asking about Brian?” You could hear the smile in Freddie’s voice, after he’d finished gabbing about the others.

“I want to know how all you boys are, naturally.” You panicked, realizing how lame your excuse was as you spoke it into the receiver. Freddie only hummed after a beat, and let another silence linger before speaking up again.

“I know you both secretly care for each other. Just give him time love, he’ll come around.” Freddie chirped before giving you a sweet farewell and hanging up.

Throughout your ever-changing year, Freddie had been more than kind to you. He’d become your friend. He gave away secrets like a kid at a slumber party. And when Brian came up in his conversation, Freddie always got serious. When the singer told you about the rough year Brian had been through, and the state of his well being, Freddie seemed to look at you with all of the seriousness in the world. Like he was desperate for you to understand. Did he know you were desperate to understand? Did he know Brian kissed you?

You could have phoned Brian. But you were too busy secretly hoping he’d ring you.

///

Your only notable call came from Jim, who gently nudged you to agree to being Queen’s opening act, once again.

“It’s what the fans want, according to the label. It’s what the label wants.” Jim explained, in the soft, kind, way that protected the guy from ever receiving a glare or harsh word from you, or Brian, you realized.

“We’ll do it, if the royal court isn’t up in arms.”

“Freddie said, and I quote, 'Beg her on my behalf and tell her I’ll fly home from Barcelona to do it myself if she even thinks of saying no.’”

So you called your band, packed a bag and showed up to the airport at five in the bloody morning with a smile on your face.

And then you were off. For the first week, a local band had been chosen from each new city, to open for Loba. By the time you, Wilda, and Joane took the stage, each audience of what seemed like billions were more electric than the last. You’d never had more fun, jumping around to the music you’d worked your ass off to create with the girls. You each ran off stage, changed in a flurry and ran back to the sidelines to watch Queen light up the black ink night. And like the last time, that was about the only time you’d see much of them- till one show got delayed when a wicked storm showed no signs of passing.

Roger took Wilda to dinner, and she followed his burning trail after about a minute of pretending she wasn’t at all interested. Joane made a speech about everyone catching up one sleep, before she crashed in your bed with her shoes still on. After unlacing her heavy boots and tossing them aside, you went to find your favourite band of boys gathering in the lobby with plans to go out.

“Now the party can really start.” Crystal grinned, reaching to wrap a strong arm around your neck as he pulled you to follow the gang to the limo in waiting. You broke loose of the roadies hold and shoved him into the back of the car before crouching in yourself.

A couple of girls you’d never met sat on either side of Freddie, and cast their doe eyes to John who scooted over to make room for you. And holding the bassist’s attention was Brian, who had yet to look your way all week. Ah, just like old times. You both had been busy. But you couldn’t stop from wondering if there was something more to it…

Had you upset Brian beyond your wildest dreams, when you kissed? Did he smile at you after it happened in the way people who were so angry did, that their furry appeared in a mask of calm?

Or… did you finally get him to shut up for good? Did he realize how unremarkable you were? That you weren’t even good enough to bicker with any longer? Pushing his buttons was one thing. But you always hated the times you and Brian paired harsh words with those deadly glares. Now that you were getting the silent treatment though, you’d take his arguing with you with a relieved smile.

Freddie pulled you along into a club adorned in sickening green uplighting. The purple-tinted insides held a crowded bar and a dance floor where patrons overflowed toward the restrooms. Some tune by The Velvet Underground was pulsing through the speakers as Freddie spun you around, dancing you both closer to the mass of people doing the same.

You noticed members of your group beginning to lose themselves in the crowd when you decided a drink was in order. The bar was packed, so much so that you nearly couldn’t turn to see who you’d wedged yourself against until you felt him tense up.

Brian kept his eyes on the wall decorated with drink options and dared not move as you shifted to notice him. His hip jabbed into your side, his white knuckles rested on the ledge of the bar brushed against your arm as he drew his hands together.

“Aren’t we going to talk about it?” You asked all of a sudden. If it were up to you, you would have cornered Brian like he’d cornered you, that night. But the tour had been so busy, and this was the closest you’d been since the night he pushed you against the wall… And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Still, Brian kept his eyes pointed front and said nothing.

“You kissed me first, ya know?” You spoke plainly, desperate for a response.

The barman shoved a tall drink toward Brian’s chest just then, at the same time Freddie reached past a few strangers to yank his guitarist toward the dance floor. As he was pulled away, Brian’s eyes swept over yours, and they were prettier than ever.

///

You’d nearly forgotten all your troubles that weekend, as everyone rushed to make up the cancelled show with two in a row, and one another city away with no time to sleep, not really.

After a montage of screaming crowds, ringing guitars, and squirming in and out of too-tight clothes, a three day break awaited the lot of you at long last. You trekked behind familiar faces down a lime green hotel hall, and dreamed of sleeping until you were good and ready to wake up.

Freddie waved as he twirled into his room, and Roger followed Wilda all the way down the hall. And while you watched your feet move toward your room number a few dozen doors away, you were stopped in your tracks.

You grinned when you recognized the feeling of the fingers around your arm, and the way Brian dragged you in his tow. You didn’t have far to go, just behind the door he was already closing in one swift move…

And in a flash, the door was shut and he was kissing you like how he did before, without a word, all of a sudden. Like he was trying to suck the life out of you. You kissed him right back, like you’d been dreaming of doing since you knew how nice it was.

And then you shoved him away. Because you wanted this, but not like last time.

“You’re not going to leave me in the quiet after tonight are you? I might at least be able to stand the radio silence if I knew what it was all about.” You searched Brian’s face in the dark. All the while, you kept ahold of his shirt sleeves and slowly found your way to his haphazardly made hotel bed.

“I was afraid.”

“Afraid?” You couldn’t help but chuckle. He’d treated you with all the interest of a passive-aggressive house cat since the day you met. Brian went quiet as you guided him to sit on the mattress, leary to close the space between you until he spoke up again. Though his long fingers fell feather-light against your hips, you only kept yours on his shoulders and held his gaze, silently hoping he’d speak up again.

“Of how desperately I’ve always wanted you.” He whispered while his fingers curled to grip you the slightest bit closer. “There were about one thousand reasons I was afraid of ever kissing you, and they all seemed even scarier after I did.”

Brian let his eyes rake up your figure before meeting your own. His lips were close enough to brush yours now. It made such sense, now. All those looks weren’t really glares. All those bitter words weren’t so malice. The tension that lied between you and Brian was all to do with how badly you’d wanted to be this close all along.

Maybe he was afraid to cross that line, because of all the love he’d so recently lost. Or maybe it was because of how young and dumb you really were. And maybe it was because of something you wouldn’t come to find out for a while, yet. You decided there wasn’t time to worry over why, tonight. That could come later.

“I hope you realise now, there’s nothing to fear.” You wrapped a hand around Brian’s neck and watched his eyes search yours in the dark. Then he nodded, softly bumping his head against yours. He pulled you closer between his legs and kissed you. You pushed him to lay down and started on your mission to show Brian just how fond of him you really were.

“I’m still pissed that we could have been doing this ages ago.” You breathed a laugh as Brian’s teeth grazed your neck.

“Never could handle not getting your way, could you?” He hummed against the skin you’d started to expose.

“I mean it.” You chuckled, tugging at a few of Brian’s highlighted curls. His head lulled until he was looking at you again. Brian stayed perfectly fitted against you while his eyes peered into yours. You recognized the uncertain look on his face, but it was different than before. Softer. Sadder, maybe. 

“You really want this?” He asked in a soft timbre.

“Yes.” You nodded, tracing the length of his nose just because. A bit of quiet lingered after your assurance.

“But do you want me?” Brian asked in a hush. His sweet voice saturated in a worry you didn’t realize he had.

“Yeah,” You nodded again, searching his pretty hazel eyes as you placed both of your hands on the sides of his lovely face. “I want you Bri.”

The kiss you shared then was one that meant more than you knew a kiss could. There was something about Brian, a part of him you’d always longed to know. You felt closer than ever to that side of the guitarist now, when he deepened the kiss, and you felt him smile.

///

You woke up with a song in your head.  A melody left over from a dream. But instead of rushing to find a pen and paper, you rolled over to covet the warmth of your unexpected company.

Brian draped an arm across your middle and hummed in delight when you nuzzled closer. You stayed like that, perfectly content in the tangled up sheets, watching the patterns of the sun through the window on their slow shift across the room.

“We’re going to have to leave this bed at some point you know?” You sat up a little after dozing off for the third time in a row. Brian stayed happily tucked close to your side. “And someone is more than likely going to figure this out.”

“That’s fine by me.” Brian shrugged, peering up to you from the pillows you leaned against.

“We’re supposed to hate each other.” You reminded through a sleepy chuckle. Brian only grinned and blinked, conjuring up a thought.

“I never hated you. I might always be sorry for picking such fights. I did always want the best for you, I just had a nasty way saying so.” Brian murmured thoughtfully.

He caught your eye once more and the corners of his mouth turned up when he looked to find you were already staring at him, trying to memorize the perfect outline of his profile against the bright sunlight. You inched lower to meet his gaze, and said,

“I think we might’ve finally figured out what’s best for both of us.”

And the way Brian looked at you then sent a chill down your spine that raced back up and shot through your heart in one go.

“S'Just, sometimes you’re a real bitch.” You joked to fight the way your heart was beginning to beat like a drum. Because you weren’t quite brave enough to fall all the way in love yet. But you decided just as quickly that Brian was probably worth falling for.

“I know. And sometimes you’re fucking unbearable.” He countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, I guess so.” You noted with a laugh. You had it real bad for this guy. And that kind of scared the shit out of you. How could this have happened so quickly? How had you failed to see it coming? What if it was over no sooner than it began?

“But…” The only thing that broke through your hesitancy was Brian’s long fingers slowly trailing across your jaw.  "Do you want me?“ You echoed his statement from the night before, in a hush. You’d only just realized the depth in asking so.

"Yeah.” Brian said, wrapping a lean arm snug around your middle without a moment’s hesitation. “I want you.”

And he said so like he was trying to encapsulate all the things that made you whole and wonderful and unbearable all at once. And even then, you giggled before leaning in for a kiss.

You spent the rest of what was left of that morning doing all the things you’d done the night before. And when you decided to finally get dressed, you and Brian hopped into your clothes while squabbling over what and when to tell your friends.

You hoped you’d get to hear his maddening whinging on for the rest of forever. Because if it ever became too much, at least you’d finally discovered some pretty effective ways to shut each other up.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[mandohasmyheart]

The Beskar Guard // 1.

Masterlist  AO3

Chapter One - The Landing

The Razor Crest rocked and swayed as the Mandalorian within swore at himself for braving taking on those Imperial ships without back up. Not that he would have been able to get some in time, but still, he could have alerted the locals in the surrounding areas of what laid ahead. Whatever they had hit in the back of his ship had cut off his radio, not allowing him to send out the proper beacons or alert the local landing bay that he was coming in hot.

At this point, he was simply hoping for anything other than a hostile welcoming.

With a silent prayer, he was able to land the large ship in one piece without losing too much of the engine to his left. And from the looks of his surroundings, he could make out that there were various life forms moving about the bay, but none seemed all too concerned with his arrival. Taking a moment to collect himself, he reached for his valuables while making sure he had all the appropriate weapons on hand should he need them. He was often a target on his own, despite what he was currently chasing down.

Making sure the tracking fob was tucked away, he opened the back platform and made his way out into the unknown that was Savareen. He was greeted with nothing but sand and the chittering of something to his right. When he turned, he noticed there was a line of formal looking cloaks stepped forward, almost as if they were coming from the shadows. Instinct took over and Din reached for his pistol about ready to draw it forward when a soft, level voice came through the quieting chaos around him.

“There is no need for violence,” the shadow spoke, stepping forward even more while the others stayed back. “We know why you are here and we can help.”

—-

“Ha, I win again Zoros,” you smirked at the blue alien across from you while happily leaning forward and pulling all the credits forward. “At this point, you might want to just start tossing these things my way before the game even starts.”

The alien threw down his hand of cards before standing and muttering something in his foreign language. Despite your father always harassing you about the importance of learning the languages of the galaxy, you never really felt the need. Especially if all you needed to know what how to tell someone how much you were kicking their ass at cards, the money spoke for itself.

Busying yourself with counting, you waited for your next victim to make its way.

“Y/N.”

That familiar icy tone had you frozen in your spot, the cool credit warming in your palm as you stared ahead, not daring to turn around to the look of displeasure that would have graced his face, just as it always did when he found you anywhere but the palace. “Rafan,” you said slowly, rubbing the pad of your thumb over the slick credit still in your hand.

“Your father is requesting your presence.”

Of course he was, there was only ever a reason that Father’s right hand man came looking for you in the middle of the night. “Tell him he can wait until the morning.”

All the hustle and bustle of the underground card game seemed to fall silent as you felt the firm grip of a cold metal hand on your shoulder. “I have orders to take you in with force if I need to,” his voice continued to stay calm and collected as if the two of you were just talking about the weather. “I don’t think you want me to do that in front of your new… friends.”

Stealing a look around, almost every single being that was squished in the tight quarters of the room had their eyes on the man behind you. Not that you blamed them, Rafan was the kind of man that demanded attention. He was also the reason that you knew that your cover was totally blow with this crew. There would be no card games in the future for you here.

With a sigh, you threw down the credits and stood, aggressively shrugging off the hand on your shoulder before turning to face the man of the hour. Despite having known the man your whole life, the scars that riddle the stern look on his face always caught you off guard. His dark skin drew out the blueness in his eyes, the way they reflected the sky on a warm day while the scars along his right cheek and across his left eye gave way to the fact that he had seen some things. Even more when you caught a glimpse of his mechanical hand under his long robes.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” you said with a sigh, shoving past the man and out into the cool night.

Rafan managed to stay quiet while he trailed behind you. The walk through the bazaar at this time of night was an easy one with very few citizens wanting to be caught by the things that went bump in the night, so you really didn’t need the escort back home, but knowing your father, he had probably insisted that you were not to leave his line of sight.

As the oversized palace grounds came into view, the lush green grounds standing out in the sandy bleak city, Rafan finally spoke the obvious. “This is the third time this week alone,” he said in that calm tone of his. “Your father is not pleased.”

“Is he ever with me?”

There was a humorless chuckle from him. It gave you goosebumps as it reached your ears. “When you focus on your studies and know when you should stay quiet, he is always so thrilled.”

Thankful that he could not see the large eye roll you just gave, you squeezed your mouth shut while passing through the grounds, noting that several of the guards took a glance at you and stilled briefly before shaking their heads. Something was different tonight, usually everyone was at attention and concerned about your walk of shame back to the royal chambers, but everyone seemed to be little bit more relaxed? Was that possible when your father reigned with a sense of stern control?

Entering the main hall, the air felt different. It was not the kind of thing you felt like you could explain to anyone who asked, but it swirled and tightened with every breath in your chest. It was almost growing thicker as you approached the heavy doors that led to where your father would be waiting with that bored look of disapproval at his one and only child. The one that was supposed to have spent the night studying her politics and having been tucked into her bed chambers with a guard outside the door several hours ago.

“Ready?” Your escort asked as he side stepped around you to stand before the doors.

“Ready to get it over with.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would think that he gave you a knowing smirk like he knew something you didn’t. Once more, you stomach twisted with uncertainty at the unusual behavior surrounding you, but you held it together as the sturdy doors lurched forward with a loud groan. Sure enough, your father was wide awake, his evening robes flowing across his large seat at the head of the hall as he glanced up from the book in his hands like he was just doing some light reading.

He eyed you, his tired gray eyes glancing at your choice of common robes before looking over at Rafan. “What was it tonight?”

“Just cards,” he answered disinterestedly.  

“Thank the stars,” he said sarcastically before he turned his attention back to where you were standing waiting for whatever punishment that was going to be thrown your way. “Have anything you want to say for yourself?”

That thickness still settled in your chest, so you only were able to give him a small shrug. “I was bored and couldn’t sleep.”

Despite the look of exhaustion that plagued his face, you caught the ghost of a smirk at your answer. “Naturally.”

Now it was your turn to give a small smile at your father. One of few things the two of you shared was insomnia in varying forms. He used his to catch up on the important things that came with overseeing the planet of Savareen or reading the latest political journal while you used yours to see what was so exciting outside of the palace walls - the very walls you had been confined in for the last twenty or so years of your life.

The two of you held eye contact for no more than a few seconds before he cleared his throat and gave a nod towards Rafan, silently releasing him from his babysitting duties. It was quiet as his steps echoed out the hall and the doors closed with that familiar groan so that it was just the two of you. Not knowing what to do with yourself, you focused on how dirty your hands looked in the bright lights, something that would surely get a lecture during one of your lessons tomorrow.

“You know I don’t want you sneaking out,” his voice came out gentle, but stern. “Something could happen to you.”

“But nothing did.”

He stood from his spot, those robes hanging off him heavily as he took the steps down to meet you were you stood shifting your weight back and forth on your heels. “That doesn’t mean it won’t always be the case Little One.”

You knew he was right and that he was just simply concerned for you. Ever since what had happened to your mother, he did not waste any expenses at keeping you safe - one of the many reasons you were rarely given the privilege of getting out of the palace grounds. Sometimes it was suffocating, but having known what your father had been through you couldn’t blame him. Which is why sneaking out made it so much easier than having to have fight after fight for basic freedom.

His eyes continued to roam your face as you remained silent before him. “I think it’s time for a change,” he finally said, turning away from you and nodding towards something off to the side of the hall.

“A change?” You asked, your interest suddenly peaked at your father doing something different. He was a man of habit and old ways, ones that were considered very out of date, so the mere suggest of something new excited you more than it should.

“Yes,” he nodded once more, “a much needed one I think.”

Just as you opened your mouth to inquire more, a shadow moved forward from the spot your father had been facing. A large man stepped into the light, his armor reflecting the glare was almost blinding as he moved to stand beside your father. He was much broader than your frail old man, he towered over him with the thick layers of protection. The way he carried himself, his silence and overall demeanor was all you needed to see to know just what this man was.

“A Mandalorian?” You asked in a quiet gasp, your mind running through all the varying information you had learned of them over the years. “What’s he doing here?”

His covered face tilted to the side as he looked you over, despite not being able to see what was underneath, you could feel the way his eyes raked over your frame in silence. Taking a step forward, your father answered clearly, “He’s here for you.”

Your stomach dropped. If you remembered correctly, Mandalorian’s were known bounty hunters and damned good ones at that. “Me?”

The look of terror must have been clear on your face as he gave a low chuckle and a soft smile. “No, my dear child, he is here for you as your new guard.”

“Excuse me?”

Now the man of silence stepped forward, his throat clearing before he spoke. “I’m having some ship trouble,” his voice came through the modulator and moved deep into the pit of your stomach. “I might be stuck here for awhile and while inquiring for some work, I was made aware I was needed here.”

“As my babysitter?” You asked halfway towards the Mandalorian and your father. “I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

A knowing smirk crossed over your father’s lips once more. “Oh Maker,” he said like you were still a youngling running around with a dagger, an accident waiting to happen. “You need to be kept safe.”

Something in his tone was both soft and fierce, it was the kind of thing that you knew you couldn’t argue with, despite ever fiber of your being screaming at you to do so. Squeezing your eyes shut and taking a deep breath to make sure you could sort your thoughts clearly, you thought about how the armored man said he was having ship problems, most likely meaning that he would be sticking around just long enough to get it fixed and being on his way again.

You could do that. A couple weeks tops with the bounty hunter.

“Okay,” you finally said, letting yourself relax enough to shoot the strange man a smile. “Welcome to the shit show.”

—

[forever-rogue]

52, 180, 182, 184 for the prompts with din pls 🙏🏽😍

52. “Can we cuddle?” & 180. “You have no idea what you do to me.” & 182. “I’ve wanted this for so long.” & 184. “Can I touch you?”

Oh boy, did someone order some Din fluff? Because y’all are about to feast on some Din fluff. Enjoy 🥺

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

You tried your best to stop the trembling of your lip as you pulled your thick, hooded parka tighter around your frame. But it was no use; the cold was pervasive and seemed to seep into every part of your body, despite the many layers you were sporting. You sneaked a peek over at Din and the Child, both of them bundled as well, but neither as freezing as you. Surely, it couldn’t be just you? Perhaps the Mandalorian wasn’t human underneath the glimmering beskar after all, but something that was immune to the cold.

“Are you sure we haven’t made a mistake and ended up on Hoth?” you tried your best to stop the chattering of your teeth, but it was no use. The Mandalorian slowly turned to you and shook his head; you were sure that he had his eyebrows raised at you. You peered out of the cockpit and studied the snowy terrain outside. There was nothing but snow, snow, and more snow as far the eye could see. This was Hoth, you would not be convinced otherwise.

“I did not lie to you and bring you to Hoth,” it was like he could easily read your mind. Sometimes it was almost annoying how well he could read you, usually without you even having to say a word, “we won’t be here much longer. I’ve tracked the quarry and should be able to easily capture him.”

“Can we go somewhere warm after this?” you asked, tucking your legs underneath you in the co-pilot’s seat as you hoped maybe, somehow, that would help aid in your warmth.

“Yes,” there was a lilt of amusement to his deep, modulated timbre. You turned to give him a small smile, and he met your gaze giving you a small nod. It was times like that you relished, when things were quiet and peaceful, despite the knowledge that he would have to soon leave again. Despite the bitter chill, the freezing cold of this foreign place, it still felt like him when he was next you.

Without another word, Din stood up and pulled off the thick cape from around his own shoulders and gently draped it around you, tucking it as best as he could. You wanted to protest, to fight him off and insist that he needed it for himself, but instead you offered him a quiet acquiescence, “thank you, Din.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for,” he insisted, letting his gloved hand linger near your cheek, so close, so kriffing close, but still too far away. If you leaned at all, his hand would be touching you, just like your heart was screaming for. He seemed to have something on his mind, like he wanted to say something else, but he was quickly stopped by a light tugging on his leg.

Glancing down you saw that the Child had waddled over to him, his eyes wide with anticipation as he waved his little arms in a quiet plea of pick me up. Din bent over and quickly scooped him up in his arms, holding him to chest. He cooed happily and tried to wrap his short arms around Din’s neck, but failed short, settling for nestling against his neck. You heart melted at the sight, and a part of you wished that you were the one cuddling up to him.

“I'm going to make him something to eat," Din's voice was gentle as he gave his small green son a few pets in between his ears, "are you hungry too?"

"Yes, please," you gave him a small smile as he started to head out of the cockpit and towards the kitchen, "soup?"

"Of course," he lingered again before disappearing, leaving you in silence with only your thoughts. Drumming your fingers along the arm rest for just a moment, you contemplate what he might have wanted to say. You often wondered if he felt the same as you, but you could never be sure if he returned the sentiment. With him, unless you directly asked and demanded an answer you might never know. But you were also of the mindset that you would rather remain silent and keep his close companionship than lose him completely.

Yes. You'd just suffer in quiet silence...and cold. The cold was enough to keep you distracted right now and tear your mind off of Din. When you were back in the warmth and had nothing else to distract....well, you would have to find something.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Just as you had all day, you'd found it an impossible mission to try and get warm and get sleep. You'd even taken the Child into your small cot with you in the vain hope that he would keep you warm. But it was no use. He was dozing off just fine, little snores coming from his small bundle. You laid him gently next to your side, trying to make sure he didn't wake up, before swinging your legs over and sliding out of the bed. Once your socked feet hit the cool metal floor, you scurried over to the Mandalorian's small quarters.

A light was still on, signaling that he must be awake and doing something. You had his attention before you even tapped on his door and he just beckoned for you to come.

"What's wrong?" there was a tone of concern lilting throughout his voice. He was sitting in bed, studying something on his data pad, sans armor except for the helmet. You tried not to let your eyes linger for too long, but it was hard not to. It was such a rare thing to see him without the armor, and you never too for granted, "cyare?"

It was his nickname of choice for you, and although you didn't know what it meant, you never questioned it. You liked how it sounded - soft and gentle.

"I'm freezing," you confessed, a chill run down your spine as if to prove your point, "I can't sleep...can we... cuddle?"

You realized your choice of words as soon as they left your mouth and your hands flew to your face in horror as a blush crept into your cheeks, "I-I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it like that, I'm just...cold."

"Come here," he pulled the blankets back and slid to the side, making a spot for the you in the warmth he'd just occupied. He didn't even hesitate, which was not lost on you. You went over to and slowly climbed in, letting him wrap you up in the blanket. He felt so warm and delicate next to you, a surprising contrast to how he looked with the armor on. He tossed the data pad gingerly to the floor and reached to turn off the light, shrouding the room in darkness.

"Thank you," your voice was a mere whisper, as you laid there and rested your head on his pillow. It smelled just like him, sweet and warm - an intoxicating mixture. There was something about knowing that you were using the same pillow as him, as he did without the helmet that warmed your soul up.

Din seemed to hesitate for a moment, trying to figure out his next move. You were facing away from him, staring at the door, slowly closing your eyes as a bit of warmth finally seeped into your body.

"I..." he trailed off for a second but quickly regained himself. His voice was...almost nervous as he asked, "do you mind?"

You instantly knew what he was talking about without needing him to expand. Of course. He wouldn't sleep with the helmet on, not unless there was a reason for him to be on heightened alert. Your heart fluttered lightly in your chest; to know that he tested you in such a manner was something so special and intimate. It spoke volumes, "of course not. I would never..."

"I know," he answered and slowly, almost painstakingly so, he reached up and you heard the small metallic clink as he pulled off the beskar helmet and set it on the shelf behind the bed. He laid back down and he let a long sigh; this one wasn't annoyed or exasperated...it was content, "I trust you completely."

You were sure your heart stopped at the sound of his unmodulated voice. It was somehow even better then before, so rich, so warm and velvety. Din settled down and you could him next to you, his warm breath hitting the back of your neck.

"Can I touch you?" it was a timid question and his voice trembled slightly.

"Yes," you answered softly, a smile working it's way on your face, your heart beating so rapidly that you were sure he could hear it.

Din put an arm around your waist and pulled you closer to his warm body. A small sound escaped your lips as you relaxed against him. His legs were soon tangled in yours and his face was nuzzled into your neck. Feeling bold you out your hand on his hand and laced your fingers through his.

You laid in comfortable silence for some time, allowing yourself to get warm, your breathing starting to even out as you felt your eyes start to heavy. Din shifted slightly behind you and you couldn't hold back your giggle as his stubble tickled the bit of bare skin on your shoulder, "Din...I...I've wanted this for so long."

He remained silent for a moment and you were almost worried that you'd said something wrong, but suddenly you felt him...smiling against your skin, "I just never...I didn't...know if you felt the same way. And I never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable."

"You have no clue what you do to me," he admitted, subconsciously tightening his grip on your waist. His dark eyes were closed and burrowed his face further into your soft hair and skin, "for so long. I've just...you are so special and I never wanted to chase you away."

"You could never chase me away," you promised, "I'm here, I'm all in, Din."

He murmured something so quiet you couldn't hear, you almost weren't sure if it was meant for you to hear. He slowly, gently, as if he was testing the water, placed a kiss to the skin at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

"Din...you always me call cyare...what does that mean?" you finally felt like it was the right time to ask, while you were here, warm and tangled up in him.

"It's Mando'a...it means beloved," his voice was barely above a whisper as he tensed, waiting for your response, "it's used for those that are most special to someone."

"You've called me that...for a long time. Since shortly after we met..."

"Yes," your heart instantly melted at his revelation, "I think that...sometimes you just know, you know?"

You couldn't contain the grin that crossed your face as you nodded. You suddenly felt warm, from the inside, radiating all the way out. You took his hand and brought it your lips, pressing a small kiss to his knuckles, "I know."

Neither of you said anything else, instead just falling asleep holding each other. Maybe you didn't need anything else right. Sometimes it was just enough to be there together. When you know, you know.

[kgraces]

With a Fearful Trill

@badthingshappenbingo

Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: Captivity

For @sassydefendorflower​

Read it on Ao3 here!

The clouds overhead threaten rain, and Dick is seriously annoyed with himself for forgetting his umbrella that morning. The streets of Blüdhaven are crowded, as usual, and the cracked pavement under his feet makes for an uneven walk. Dick takes a sip of his cold coffee, mind alight with some sort of nervous energy. He can’t place it, but something feels off as he walks home from work. 

Dick stifles a yawn, stepping over a particularly mangled piece of concrete. His shift at work was a tough one; he’s wrapped up in a nasty homicide case as both Officer Grayson and Nightwing, and his brain feels sluggish after hours of wading through evidence. He checks his watch, frowning at the way the numbers seem to blur together. He thinks he’ll have time to get in a quick nap before patrol, at least. 

The foot traffic thins as Dick gets closer to his apartment, so it catches Dick off guard when a man pushes past him, hitting his shoulder roughly. Dick stumbles a bit, and before he can recover his footing, electricity arcs through him. Getting tazed hadn’t been a part of his plans for the day, and Dick only has a moment to mourn for his nap before he crumples to the ground. The sole of a boot enters his line of vision before it connects with his temple. He loses consciousness, sinking into the peaceful dark.

When Dick was a kid, he used to try to joke with Bruce about the stupid ‘Boy Hostage’ nickname. Of course, Bruce was never fond of the ‘X days since our last kidnapping incident’ whiteboard, but Dick thought it was hilarious. He mentally resets the counter back to zero when he wakes up tied to a chair. 

Years of vigilante experience honed into instinct kick in as soon as he regains awareness. He keeps his eyes closed and his body lax, listening hard to determine whether or not he’s alone in the room. He was kidnapped as a civilian, so he can’t fight his way out, but he can use his skills to help himself however he can. 

Still, this is probably going to suck.

Once he figures he’s alone, Dick carefully opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings. A dimly lit basement greets him—underground, if the chill in the room is any indication. A short window close to the ceiling lets in weak sunlight through a heavy layer of grime. He’s mostly uninjured—for now, a voice in the back of his head sings—but restrained at his wrists and ankles. His head aches from getting knocked out, and his muscles feel stiff, but he’s okay. He just needs to tough this out until Bruce can track him down and orchestrate a rescue from Batman...

Dick’s blood runs cold.

Bruce is off-world with the Justice League.

Before he has a chance to really let the panic set in, he hears heavy footsteps and the jingle of a set of keys. The lock turns, light spilling into the room as a burly man steps across the threshold. He smiles, a nasty thing, and shuts the door behind him with a heavy thud. He holds up a cell phone, still smiling, and Dick recognizes his own phone in the man’s hand. 

“Mind explaining why your daddy ain’t answering his phone?” The man says, a sneer creeping onto his face and into his tone. 

“Call the WE number,” Dick says, voice more tremulous than he feels. Judging by the last vestiges of daylight leaking through the window, it’s still dusk, and if he knows his little brother, he’ll still be at work. Dick can only pray Tim will answer. The man dials the number, leaving them both to wait with bated breath.

“What do you need, Dick?” Tim’s smooth voice comes over the line after a few heartstopping moments. “I’m a little bit swamped right now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Grayson can’t come to the phone at the moment,” the man says, tone oily. Dick hears Tim’s sharp inhale over the line. “If you want him back in one piece, it’ll cost you.”

“I need proof of life, first,” Tim says coolly. The man sighs, as though he’s exasperated already, but he presses the phone against Dick’s ear, regardless.

“Tim?” Dick says, voice breaking just a little—the perfect image of a frightened civilian. His brother hums softly in acknowledgement. “Don’t worry about me; I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” He starts to ramble a little, but he’s cut off by a sharp blow to his ribs. He exhales a wheeze as the phone is jerked away from him.

“One million dollars and you get him back. Every hour you delay will cost him.” The man hangs up before Tim can reply, but Dick isn’t worried. Tim’s already tracking him, and the cavalry will be here soon enough. 

He looks up at the man holding him for ransom, disdain etched on his features as he looks into beady eyes. The man scoffs and shakes his head, turning to exit the room again. Dick wants to make a quip, some sort of stupid pun, but he can’t let himself seem too much like Nightwing, not right now. He bites his tongue and sits silently as the door swings shut again.

His headache worsens as the time passes. The light from the small window fades little by little, but it’s hard to track the time. Dick waits patiently, but his limbs itch for movement. He hates being restrained like this—cut off from grounding himself in motion. Nervous energy builds up in him, and he has to tap his fingers against the wooden chair arm to stop himself from losing it. He hopes Tim hurries up.

The next time the door opens, it isn’t to a vigilante, but rather to Dick’s captor. His smile is meaner, somehow, and he’s holding a hammer in his hands. Dick’s breath catches in his throat. Has it already been an hour? He doesn’t know, but judging from the man’s impatient pacing around the room, Tim is late.

The hammer swings, and Dick’s hand shatters under the force of the impact. He stifles a sob, and bitterness flares to life in his chest at the chuckle he hears at his side. He’s definitely got a few broken bones, but it’s not enough. The weapon hits Dick’s fingers next, and he nearly screams as white-hot agony roars through him. The man steps back, admiring his handiwork, before he snaps a photo with Dick’s phone and presumably sends it to Tim. 

Dick glares up at the man, hair matted with sweat as it falls into his eyes. He nearly snarls out a threat, but he has to resign himself to acting as a civilian would—terrified and vulnerable. He hates it, but it’s the role he has to play for now. The man leaves again, and Dick lets out a shaky breath. 

What’s taking his brother so long?

Another hour must pass. The sun has gone down, casting the room in shadow, and when the door to the small cell opens again, the light is blinding for a moment. Dick cringes back when he hears heavy footsteps. He can’t go very far with his limited range of motion, though, and his arms strain against the zip ties lashing his wrists to the chair. He hears a heavy sigh, but it isn’t his captor. 

No, the sound is mechanized, warbled by vocal modulators.

Jason.

His younger brother is at his side in an instant, using a knife to free him from his restraints. Dick hears him curse lowly at the sight of his mangled hand, so he offers Jason a reassuring smile. It probably comes across more as a grimace, but he tries his best. 

“C’mon,” Jason says, helping Dick to his feet and steadying him when he stumbles. “Tim’s going crazy upstairs. Someone needs to stop him before he permanently cripples someone.” 

“You left him alone to deal with them?” Dick asks, raising a brow. “That’s just not fair.” He pauses as a thought occurs to him. “Wait, how many guys are up there? I’ve only seen the one.” 

“Ah,” Jason says, and Dick can hear the cruel smile in his tone. “That guy. There were five others, but last I saw, Tim was going toe-to-toe with that one. Last man standing and all, you know how it is.” 

“He saved him for last on purpose,” Dick says with a sigh. His brothers are ridiculous sometimes. Overprotective over him, even though Dick is the eldest and should be worrying over them, instead. 

They make their way up the stairs, with Jason supporting most of his weight, since his legs are still wobbly from being restrained for hours. Dick can hear the sounds of the fight grow louder as they reach the first floor—sounds of shattering glass and wood splintering reaching him, along with the telltale thwack of Red Robin’s bo staff hitting its target. Dick almost winces in sympathy, but the pain in his hand keeps him from feeling bad for the guy.

“Let’s get out of here, Red!” Jason calls, sounding amused. “I got him, and GCPD is already on their way.” 

“Fine,” Tim replies, tone lilting on a whine. He emerges from one of the rooms branching off from the hall a moment later, looking perfectly put together, despite the fight. “Want the last word, Hood?”

“Don’t I always?” Hood passes Dick over to Red Robin and draws a firearm, heading toward the room Red had just left. Dick sighs, shaking his head as he hears both Hood and his assailant start shouting. He turns his attention to Tim.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he tells his little brother. 

“Like we would just leave you there?” Tim asks, tone sardonic. Dick grins at him. “Let’s get you back home, okay?” Dick nods and lets Tim lead him out into the night. One of the Batmobiles is already waiting at the street corner, and as soon as Tim gets Dick settled in the backseat, Jason joins them, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car. Tim pulls down his cowl and sends an unimpressed look toward Dick.

“What?”

“You’re an idiot for letting yourself get injured like that,” he says. “Also, B’s losing his mind.” 

“You told Bruce?!” Dick practically yelps. 

“Alfie insisted,” Jason says, turning to look at him. Sometime between starting the car and now, he’d tossed his helmet onto the passenger seat, leaving him with just a domino mask obscuring his features. “No one says no to Alfie.”

“Especially once those assholes started hurting you and broke the terms of the deal,” Tim grumbles. “They only waited half an hour.” He glances over at Dick, reaching out to examine the damage done to his hand. “Sorry they had the chance to hurt you, Dick.”

“It’ll heal,” he says easily, brushing off Tim’s concerns. He ruffles his little brother’s hair with his uninjured hand. “Please tell me Bruce didn’t come back to earth over this.”

“Okay then, we won’t tell you,” Tim says, grinning wickedly. Dick groans, letting his forehead rest against Tim’s shoulder. Tim and Jason laugh, but Dick can’t muster up a scowl to send their way. He’s safe, and he’s hurting and exhausted. Tim seems to notice him droop, slumping against his side a little more with each passing moment. “Get some rest, Dick. We’ve got you.”

“Sleep it off, Dickiebird,” Jason says. “You’re in for a hell of a lecture when you wake up.”

“Prolong the inevitable,” Tim agrees, nodding along. “We’re taking bets on whose lecture will be worse: Bruce or Alfred.”

“Nah,” Dick mumbles, smiling a little as Tim carefully wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Dami’s will be the worst of the bunch.” His brothers both snort, and Dick falls asleep to the sound of their laughter.

His brothers have him. He can rest easy.

[iam93percentstardust]

Longing to Hold You Again

Written as an early birthday present for @crownofstardustandbone (i don’t know what it says about our friendship that i think porn is an acceptable birthday present but it definitely says something) and @starkbucksbingo (bingo details are below the read more)

Hopefully the read more works because this is 2.7k words of porn but if it doesn’t, I sincerely say “my bad”

Also on ao3 here

~

There’s a gasp.

Soft, quiet, too low for Tony to hear over his own whimpers. But Bucky does. Bucky hears it and half-glances up to see Steve standing in the sliver of space left open by the door, eyes riveted to where Bucky is slowly pushing a glass dildo into Tony’s sloppy ass.

He hides a grin in the curve of Tony’s shoulder before using his grip on Tony’s leash to pull him close enough to take his ear between his teeth. Tony whines, rutting his cock against the soft flannel of Bucky’s shirt, and Bucky stifles a groan at how good it feels. He’s not supposed to be affected by this. He’s supposed to be calm, collected—or at least, he’s supposed to look that way because it drives Tony absolutely insane.

“He’s watching you, baby doll,” Bucky hisses into his ear, low enough that Steve won’t be able to hear. “You gonna be good for him?”

Tony nods frantically. “Wan’ be a good boy,” he slurs.

“Then you gotta stay still for me, baby. Gotta let Stevie watch me wreck your pretty hole.” He punctuates his words with a hard thrust of the dildo, angling it directly into Tony’s prostate. Tony cries out, head jerking back, but his hips don’t move even an inch. Still, Bucky tightens his grip on the leash and yanks Tony’s head back down. “Stay still, baby,” he snarls.

“’m good,” Tony sobs. “I’ll be good.”

He presses a kiss to the underside of Tony’s jaw, soft for what they’re doing, thinks about offering up some reassurance. Tony is always good, even when he’s being bratty, and Bucky knows that sometimes, he needs that praise. But soft, gentle, isn’t right for what they’re doing right now, not when he’s trying to prove to Steve what Tony looks like when he’s being utterly wrecked.

Across the room, Steve groans lowly. Tony whimpers and Bucky just knows that he catches the sound this time. He grins viciously—let Steve make of that what he will—and hooks his chin over Tony’s shoulder to watch his hole spread wide around the dildo.

It’s taken them months to get to this point, months of futile flirting because Steve apparently can’t believe that there’s room in this relationship for him too, that Tony and Bucky would even want him in their relationship. Months of Tony peeking out from under his eyelashes, stealing furtive glances at Steve, until Bucky had pinned him down, snarled, “Say his name,” and refused to let him come until Tony had screamed Steve’s name. Steve wants them too. Bucky is pretty sure Steve has wanted him since even before the war and to hear Tony talk about it, he thinks that Steve has wanted Tony since the Battle of New York. But Steve has never been the kind of guy to make the first move, too used to rejection as he is, so it’s been up to Bucky and Tony—except that their advances keep flying over Steve’s head.

He doesn’t think Steve is that oblivious as to completely miss them so he must be feeling guilty—and isn’t that just like Steve? To have Bucky and Tony, the two hottest Avengers if he did say so himself, hitting on him and he just feels guilty about it? For a while, Bucky had been surprised that Steve hadn’t come to either of them to apologize for being hit on but then he’d realized that Steve hadn’t apologized because he wasn’t guilty because he was being hit on. He felt guilty because he wanted it too.

That realization had changed everything. They’d redoubled their advances, making it painfully obvious that they both want him, but Steve has stayed away—right up until Bucky heard him outside their door last night, listening to them fuck. He doesn’t know how long Steve has been doing that or if last night had been the first time but it had given him the idea for this.

He screws the dildo in and Steve groans and Tony whimpers. “Pretty Tony,” he whispers. “Pretty, sweet boy who lets me put a collar on his neck and cuff his hands, just so I can do whatever I want to him.”

Bucky slides down the bed, clothes rucking against the sheets, until his head is just below Tony’s cock. He purses his lips around the head, slides his lips down, and sucks. Tony wails, hips twitching like he wants to move he doesn’t and he doesn’t come either, knowing better than to come without permission. Bucky pulls off and licks at the pre-come beading at the tip. Above him, Tony is trembling as he tries to keep himself from thrusting into Bucky’s mouth.

“Could share you,” he mutters, just loud enough now for Steve to hear though his gasp is muffled under Tony’s desperate cry. He breathes out slowly, warm air on Tony’s cock, and then pushes back up, pulling Tony back into his lap. There’s a wet spot on his pants from his own cock and Tony’s leaking dick leaves a shining trail on his stomach between the buttons of his shirt, gaping open from his movements.

He wraps Tony’s leash tighter around his hand and pulls him down for a hard kiss, tongue invading his mouth, as his other hand toys with the dildo, pushing it in and out of Tony’s ass. He imagines the sight Steve must be seeing right now and wishes he had a third hand to give his dick some relief. Tony takes a cock so prettily, better than anyone else Bucky’s ever fucked, and he’s aching to get himself off at the sight. Not yet, he reminds himself. Not yet but soon.

“Could get the whole team in here,” he continues eventually, fucking him harder. “Let them all see how fucking gorgeous you are, how goddamn needy. Whaddya think, baby doll?” He stills his hand again, traces his thumb around Tony’s swollen, puffy rim, and then slides it in just to hear Steve moan. Tony whimpers, dropping his head against Bucky’s shoulder. He could punish him for that, usually would if this had been any other night, but Steve’s here tonight and Bucky doesn’t want to push him too far. Instead, he pulls his thumb back out and says, “Hmm? Get ‘em all in here, let ‘em see how fucking desperate you get for anything in your hole?”

“No,” Tony gasps and Bucky grins because he knows what’s coming now.

“No?” he queries. “You don’t want them to see your greedy hole?” He punctuates his question with a hard thrust against Tony’s prostate. Tony cries out, sobbing even as he arches back into the dildo.

“Just one,” he whispers.

Bucky’s smirk gets filthy, the look in his eyes dark and heated as he glances back toward the door. He can just barely see Steve through the crack in the door, the darkness of his pupils, the way he’s palming his dick. Oh yeah. Steve wants them. They just need to get him through the door.

“Yeah, I know, baby,” he says, pitching his words loud enough for Steve to hear them. “I know you’ve been screaming his name when I fuck you. He’s watching you right now, doll, can’t hardly take his eyes off you.”

Steve stills, cheeks going bright red with embarrassment and this—this is crucial. Here’s where they’ll either lose him entirely or things will go very, very right.

It’s Tony who makes that choice for them, who thrusts his hips back and moans, “Steve.”

Steve’s eyes snap to Tony, then back up to Bucky, a little worried and Bucky can’t really blame him. He knows he’s possessive—who could blame him when he’s got Tony Stark in his bed—but Steve is his brother. He’s got nothing to worry about. Bucky steadily meets his gaze and pulls the dildo out of Tony’s hole, tossing it aside. He lets go of Tony’s leash to palm his ass with both hands, spreading his cheeks to show off his gaping hole. The dildo had been big, not as big as Bucky, but not small either.

“Look at him, Stevie,” he commands.

Steve’s breath hitches and he takes half a step into the room, eyes fixed on Tony’s ass. It’s nearly silent in the bedroom, the only sound coming from Tony’s shuddering breaths and the clink of the cuffs around his wrists as he squirms.

Bucky slaps him once, hard, across one cheek, biting back a self-satisfied grin as the skin beneath his hand reddens, leaving a pretty mark across Tony’s ass. “Thought you wanted him to fuck you,” he whispers into Tony’s ear. Steve’s head jerks to face him and Bucky winks. There they go; now Steve’s starting to get it. “He’s not gonna fuck you if you’re not being good.”

Tony lets out a single desperate sob but he’s visibly holding himself still now, waiting for Steve’s decision. Bucky pets his hand over Tony’s side, gentling him, and looks right at Steve as he says, “We’ve been waiting for you. Got a little tired of being subtle.”

“I can see that,” Steve chokes out, a little amused but mostly overwhelmed.

“Whaddya say?”

Steve’s eyes flick to Tony again and he takes another half-step into the room.

“Gorgeous, isn’t he?” Bucky says fondly. He wraps Tony’s leash around his hand again and pulls him in for a filthy, messy kiss that leaves Tony panting and limp, held up only by his hands fixed to the headboard and Bucky’s grip on his ass.

“Buck—” Steve starts to say.

He glares at him. “Isn’t he?” he repeats.

He sees it, the moment Steve surrenders, turning fully to Tony like a flower seeking the sun. “Beautiful,” Steve agrees quietly.

“Got him all ready just for you,” Bucky says. “He wants this and so do I. Come on, Stevie, we’ve been waiting for you.” He’s almost whispering by the end, desperate for Steve to come to them, unsure what he’ll do if Steve doesn’t. He feels like he’s been waiting for this his whole life, since they were boys, since Tony tracked him down to an apartment in Romania, smiled at him, and took him by the hand to lead him to where Steve was waiting for him. He loves Tony to pieces, absolutely adores him, and if Steve turns them down, he thinks he’ll be able to be very happy with just Tony for the rest of their lives but they—they’ve been building to something, haven’t they? Building to this moment, to this decision, and now that they’re here, he can see what’s beyond it and to him, the future looks incredible.

“Steve,” he says again, softly. He holds out his hand.

Steve looks at it, at him, over at Tony again. He takes another jerky step and then another and then he’s stripping off his clothes, leaving them scattered behind him. His eyes have gone still darker, his cock harder than diamond, and when he climbs up onto the bed to palm Tony’s ass, it’s with a rough grip.

“This is mine?” he asks gruffly.

“Yours,” Tony mewls, shoving into his hands.

“Ours,” Bucky swears.

Steve looks at him and Bucky is nearly bowled over by the want in his expression. “We’re going to talk about this later,” he firmly says and it’s as much a promise as it is a threat—there’s a reason Bucky and Tony went with this way instead of just plainly telling Steve that they wanted him—but he doesn’t get a chance to respond before Steve is lining himself up and snapping his hips forward, burying himself in Tony.

Tony nearly screams, hands scrabbling for purchase on the headboard as he’s jerked forward, only to stop when Bucky tightens his grip on the leash. Steve leans over, pressing a kiss first to the side of Tony’s neck and then to Bucky’s lips. It’s almost chaste, completely at odds with the way his hips are harshly pumping into Tony.

“He’s gorgeous, Buck,” Steve murmurs, “and you’re incredible.”

Bucky will forever deny that he blushes but his cheeks heat anyway and he kisses Steve again, happy with just the thought that he can. Tony whines as they break apart and Bucky places a finger under his chin, lifting it so he can kiss him as well. Steve buries his face in Tony’s neck again, licking and sucking and biting and Tony—Tony is gasping into Bucky’s mouth, less a kiss than their mouths smearing together.

“Bucky,” Tony pants. “Bucky, please.”

“You’ll have to ask Stevie, baby doll. He’s the one fucking you.”

Steve groans at that, head dropping against the back of Tony’s shoulder. Bucky gives him a wicked grin and reaches for Steve’s hand on Tony’s hips, wrapping the leash around his fingers. He leans back when he’s done, tucking his hands behind his head, lounging as he watches Steve take over. Steve’s a natural at this, knows exactly how tight his grip on the leash needs to be, exactly how Tony likes to be fucked. Bucky could watch them all day and never get enough.

Tony looks at him with big, wet eyes and Bucky doesn’t know whether he’s crying because of how long he’s been teased or because of how hard Steve is fucking him but either way, it’s a fucking gorgeous sight.

“Go on, baby,” he urges. “Ask him.”

Tony strains to throw his head back over Steve’s shoulder and only when he finds that Steve’s grip is too tight, does he drop his head back down and ask, “Please, sir, can I come?”

Steve moans again. Fuck, Bucky moans. Tony has never called him “sir” before; it’s never felt right between the two of them. But with Steve there, it’s just right. It’s exactly right for those two and when Steve snarls, “No,” that just makes it even better. Bucky has never been good at denying Tony anything—tying him down, yes; edging him, absolutely; giving him orders, oh fuck yeah, but not outright denying him—and seeing someone who can is just about the hottest thing he’s ever seen.

Tony gives him those pleading eyes again, keening as he wordlessly begs for what Steve has denied him. Bucky kisses him quiet, holding him still as Steve chases his pleasure, fucking into Tony again and again and again until he lets out a strangled groan and his hips still. He slips out from underneath him just as Steve is pulling out of Tony’s body, leaving a trail of come dripping out of his gaping hole.

“Fuck,” Bucky groans at the sight, dipping his thumb into Tony’s hole. Tony is warm and dripping as he thumbs him open and he finds that he can’t resist pulling his cock out of his pants and jacking himself off until he’s coming in white stripes across his open hole.

“You can come now,” Steve says as he pushes two fingers in beside Bucky’s thumb, shoving his and Bucky’s come back inside and petting over Tony’s prostate. Tony comes almost immediately, mewling and trembling as he spills over the blankets.

Tony is still shaking when Bucky gets up to find a water bottle and a washcloth and when he comes back, Steve has uncuffed him, removed the collar, and pulled him into his lap, crooning soft words about how beautiful he’d been, how perfect. Steve glances up at him when Bucky climbs back onto the bed to start wiping the sweat off Tony’s back, expression a little worried but then Bucky wordlessly hands him the water bottle and Tony asks, “Are you going to stay?” and he relaxes again.

“For as long as you’ll let me,” Steve says quietly, holding the water to Tony’s lips.

Tony takes a few small sips and then tilts his head back so Bucky can see his satisfied smile. “Guess you’re staying forever then.”

Bucky laughs, presses a kiss to Tony’s cheek, and agrees, “Guess he is.”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Guess I am.”

~

Title: Longing to Hold You Collaborator Name: iam93percentstardust Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25318036 Square Filled: I1 - Steve Rogers Ship/Main Pairing: Established Winteriron, Future Stuckony Rating: E Major Tags & Triggers: Explicit sexual content, voyeurism Summary: It’s taken them months to get to this point, months of futile flirting because Steve apparently can’t believe that there’s room in this relationship for him too, that Tony and Bucky would even want him in their relationship. Steve wants them too. Bucky is pretty sure Steve has wanted him since even before the war and to hear Tony talk about it, he thinks that Steve has wanted Tony since the Battle of New York. But Steve has never been the kind of guy to make the first move, too used to rejection as he is, so it’s been up to Bucky and Tony—except that their advances keep flying over Steve’s head, driving them to this point. Word Count: 2.7k

[silverhandsass]

Countin’ On You (Part 2)

Some time after their first meet, V runs into River again for a short but pleasant interaction. She did not realize that she would be needing to call in his favor soon after.

—Canon Divergent meeting between V and River—

Ao3

— — — — —

The second time she saw the officer was a good two weeks or so after the incident. V walked up to a stall, adjusting her aviators as she took a seat. She absentmindedly pointed at a pastry and coffee on the menu beneath the glass as she hummed into her comms.

"Alright, well I dropped it off now so it should get to you in just a bit," V said.

"Good, I'm sure the client will be happy to hear it. Contract closed," Wakako replied before promptly hanging up.

Flicking the her cigarette ashes off the side, V brought it to her lips and took a long drag just as the figure sitting behind her shifted to face her.

"Look what the cat dragged in," he spoke.

Glancing at him briefly, she grinned and exhaled her smoke away from him before speaking. "Officer Ward, fancy meetin' you here. You on a case?"

"Was just headin' back. You on a job?" he motioned to her.

"Just finished up myself," she replied, then looked at the man who ran the kiosk as he brought over a pastry and a cup of coffee for her. She glanced at River again before sliding the pastry over to him. "Here, you take this. On me as... thanks, I guess."

"What for?" he puzzled.

"For not leavin' me behind that time. Not every cop woulda done that," she told him, taking a long drag out of her smoke.

"What, you mean after I shot you?" River smirked, "I guess I felt sorry for you, leaving you like that."

V tried—and failed—to suppress her grin, pulling her plate back to her, "Fuck you, I'm keepin' this."

River chuckled and turned to the man, his eyes lighting up momentarily. "Add those to my bill."

"You didn't have to do that," V replied, raising a brow.

"I know," he told her. Once his coffee was ready, he took it and stepped off from the stall. "Good seeing ya, V. You stay outta trouble. If you can."

V thought about replying in kind, but watching him walk away sparked a sense of curiosity in her. He didn't seem very by-the-book for a cop that seemed to want to make Night City a better place. She couldn't tell what was worse in this place; a cop that didn't care or... a cop like him.

Then her eyes dropped to his ass. She smirked. "Ward!" She called, and he stopped to look back at her. "Next time you want to buy a girl a drink, maybe ask her out first."

He watched her for a good handful of seconds, then smiled, snapping a finger-gun at her. "I'll keep that in mind."

He turned around again, heading for a big red truck that was parked nearby. Her eyes were glued to him until he was finally out of sight. She wasn't sure what to make of the man, wasn't entirely sure what he made of her. All she knew was that he seemed kind—and that was dangerous.

—

A week after that, she met Jackie. A spitfire of a man, as live and wild as her. After they got thrown into the mix together, right with a bit of cop trouble, it seemed as though they were going to become fast friends. Sure, they were trying to steal the same car for different reasons, but all that was behind them now. A broken nose or two was enough to settle differences, it seemed.

With that friendship seemed to come a whole lot more adventure, particularly starting nearly a couple of weeks later when both V and Jackie found themselves in a whole lot of trouble. A client had wanted them to retrieve a device that he had claimed was his, but it was nothing more than a sugarcoated klep job that understated the security measures. V was quick on her feet, easily climbing fences, hopping buildings and descending down fire escapes. Jackie was good at that too, but he wasn't as fast as her.

She did not take that into account when she managed to jump over a secure fence while Jackie got caught. Peeking from behind a large dumpster, V managed to see just enough to know that NCPD had nabbed him. He made brief eye-contact with her, mouthing for her to go, to run.

Fuck that.

It took a while, but V had finally managed to track down the precinct that Jackie had been taken to. She wondered whether it was a good idea to go to him or not, but thankfully he called her as his one phone-call. That gave her enough of a cover to walk right through the front doors.

Except they wouldn't let her see him. They wouldn't even let her get him out of there, and it was only a matter of time before they'd toss her in there too for insisting. However, something clicked in her mind, a lightbulb went off and she retreated from the front desk, stepping right outside.

He did say to call if she needed something.

Her comms rang out once, then again, and partway the third ring, the call clicked and went through. "This is Ward," he spoke.

"Uh, hey..." Great start. "You the man that shot me after I saved his life?" V asked with a hint of humor, but more to get to the point. Still, she cursed at herself, knowing there were about a million other ways she could have done this better.

"Aaand you need a favor," River replied through a smile. "Big one, sounds like."

"Yeah, um..." V took a breath, glancing at the precinct behind her and then walking over to the railing that separated the sidewalk from the street. She leaned against it and sighed heavily.

"V? What's going on?" He asked her, voice laced with concern.

"Look, I... I was on a job with someone, but there was a misunderstanding about the details and he got caught—arrested, actually, and... I need your help."

River now sounded a lot more serious, his voice lower than she'd heard from him. "You askin' me to bust someone outta jail?"

"I know... how it sounds. It's not like that, I—" she paused, hands clenched around the metal bar as she cursed below her breath. Cop offers her a favor and first thing she does is sound exactly like the street thug he thought she was. "It's complicated, can you just come? I'll explain everything in person. Please, he shouldn't be in there, this is all just a big fuck up."

There was a long pause and a heavy sigh on his end, one that sparked a bit of hope. "Where are you?"

"Kabuki."

"Stay there, I'm on my way—just to listen," he clarified.

"Thanks, River." V swallowed the lump in her throat, leaning heavily against the railing and letting out a deep sigh.

She had never had to trust a cop for anything before, let alone with something like this. V really hoped that she had made the right choice in calling him, and more than that, she hoped he meant it when he offered to help. Jackie was in there because of her, he was in there because she wasn't there to help him get away. She got away and left him behind. She had to try every alternative.

—

V had paced up and down that sidewalk the entire time she waited, her stomach in knots. She hoped that they hadn't done anything to Jackie in there, that he was alright during the wait. The second River's truck pulled up, she stood up straight and stood still. River looked around him as he left the vehicle, glancing up and down the street and once at the doorway to the station. He walked up to her—close—and rested an arm against the railing.

"Alright. Lay it on me," he said, now watching the street.

"A client had a job for us. Said we had to return a stolen device that belonged to him. The whole thing was doomed to fail to begin with. He never told us the datapad wasn't his, that it was full of data that would heavily incriminate his rival—I... forget I told you that," she turned, joining him in leaning against the railing as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Point is, he undersold just how heavy security was gonna be and made us out to be petty thieves. We ran, but my partner, Jackie, he got nabbed for attempting to klep valuable property, when that wasn't even exactly what we were out to do."

V took a breath, her mind trying to word everything else while she waited to see what River would say. He seemed to be taking in everything she told him so far, calculating it silently.

"River, he's a good man. Alright? Heywood blood, born and bred, just like me, just does what he needs to to survive in this city. He doesn't deserve to be in there, they're just... It's a late night and they're bored, they wouldn't even let me see him..."

River turned his attention to her, then straightened his back, gesturing over to her. "I'll help, but on one condition." Her eyes were fixated on him. "You give me everything you got on that client of yours."

V's eyes grew wide as panic set in. Her brows furrowed and she took a step closer. "You want me to narc on a client?" she hissed. "River, this is my job, discretion matters most, they... they'll never hire me again if I do this!"

"And this job of yours," his 'ganic eye narrowed. "You ever assassinate anyone?"

"Sometimes we're told to zero gangoons or people with a lotta blood on their hands, sure. Usually scop-eating dirtbags."

"And the thievery?"

"Usually from people who can afford high-level security or won't miss what we grab. Or people who grabbed it first," V explained, then folded her arms. "Look, if you're not gonna help, just tell me and go. You don't have to keep... Jerking me around," V frowned, the last few words being a little quieter than she intended. She was just at a loss, not knowing what her next step would have been if this did not work.

Mama Welles would have torn her a new one, that's for sure.

Next to her, she could hear River shift his weight, feet shuffling sharply against stone. Then, another defeated sigh as he began walking away from her. "Wait here," he told her, heading into the station.

She could have sworn that her heart was bound to burst through her chest, or perhaps her nerves would cause her insides to turn to mush before that could happen. The wait was killing her, but she could see River striking up a conversation on his way in. Losing sight on him, she turned and began her pacing anew.

It took a solid twenty minutes or so before the front doors opened again, with more than one set of footprints sounding out. V turned to see River descending the few steps in front of the door, followed by the hulking figure of her friend, grinning brightly at her.

"Chica!" He called out to her, immediately closing the distance.

V sighed heavily in relief, immediately taking him in for a hug once he reached her. "I was fucking worried for you, Mano."

"Ai, not you too. I'm gonna get an earful from mama the second she hears about this," he shook his head, pulling away.

V then punched him hard in the arm. "Next time, we don't take a job unless we know everything."

Jackie muttered a few words under his breath, something Spanish, something about her knuckles being too sharp. She chose to ignore them, seeing him nudge his head toward River. "Hey, uh... Thanks for getting me out."

"Nah, you should thank her," he replied, gesturing to V. "She's the one who called."

Jackie faced her with a look that showed his understanding, his appreciation. He clapped her shoulder with his hand and held it there for a moment. He did not need to state his appreciation. She knew. He then spoke, voice low and quiet, "You good here?" She knew he meant with River and gave him a reassuring nod. "See you tomorrow?" He asked.

"Dinner at mama's, wouldn't miss it," she replied.

He smiled at her, then saluted at River, before walking off with certain purpose. V then caught River staring at her, his arms folded. "River, I won't forget this."

"Don’t mention it. But we shouldn't talk about it here. Got your ride?" He asked, stepping away as though he was already headed off.

"I was going to take a cab," V replied, pointing toward the street.

"No need, let's take my truck. I'll get you where you need to be."

The favors just kept on stacking.

—

An awkward, heavy silence had grown between them during the ride, or maybe it was just V that shifted in her seat more times than she could count. River was not saying anything, was not even sparing a glance—granted, he was driving, but there was no reasoning with V's anxious mind. He simply drove to downtown Watson as she'd asked.

Somewhere along the way, she finally decided to say something, unable to bear the silence. "I, um... I owe you a lot for what you did."

"How about," he began, focusing on a turn, "we don't owe each other anything?"

Well, she was stumped. She fiddled with her fingers, eyes darting to a hangnail that she suddenly found so interesting. V wasn't entirely sure what to do with that. "It still meant a lot to me."

"It's like you said, they were bored. I just went in and told them it'd be more paperwork into the night and that I was sure they'd want to go home earlier rather than later." As they stopped at a red light, River glanced at her. "I don't get the impression that you're used to people lookin' out for you."

"I got people lookin' out for me," she corrected. "But I don't get used to it. Night city doesn't let you. One day, everyone you know will either be gone from this place or be eaten up by it. Can't depend on anyone but yourself."

"That's a lonely way to live," he replied grimly, continuing the drive

"I don't expect you to understand, Officer," V sighed, looking out the window.

"Never said I didn't."

Another pause ensued between them, and looking outside the window, V realized they were getting close to her apartment. She wondered what he meant by his words. Never in her time in the streets had she ever relied on a badge to help her with anything—not that she met many that were willing to offer. V did wonder, though, why he helped her. He had asked for something in return, she refused, and yet he still helped.

It made her wonder while they turned the corner, reaching the street just over from her apartment. She opened her mouth to tell him to stop, drop her off here, but she suddenly had a different idea. "So, about that coffee you offered once. That offer still standing?”

Driving carefully along the more crowded streets, he threw a glance at her briefly, pursing his lips. “Maybe. Why?”

“I know a place we can get some preem decaf at this hour,” she shrugged, hands tapping at her thighs idly.

River hummed in thought, tapping his fingers against the wheel for a few seconds, and then he asked, "This place serve any grub?"

V smiled.