#(this is so soft i coul d

[foundtherightwords]

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for "Vecna's Bride" by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie's Gothic name should be Edmund, but... I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Chapter warnings: none (but Eddie doesn't appear in this chapter yet... please bear with me)

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - At the Old Oak Tree

Christabel ran.

In the distance, she could hear the shouts and cheers of the hunting party, the excited barking of the dogs, and the occasional gunshots, cracking sharply in the crisp autumn air. She was not far enough. Lifting her heavy wool skirt above her knees, she pushed deeper into the bushes. The dead leaves from years past formed a soft carpet under her feet, muffling the sound of her steps, while the leaves of this year, despite having turned all shades of gold and crimson on the trees, had not yet fallen, so she need not worry about being discovered from their crunch underfoot. She hoped the party was not headed this way. After all her endeavors to snatch a moment alone, she intended to savor it to its fullest.

Christabel Cunningham hadn't had many opportunities to be alone in her twenty-three years on Earth. The only daughter of a wealthy New York businessman, she had been since birth surrounded by nurses and governesses and servants, who took care of her under the watchful eyes of her mother. Her father had died, quite suddenly, of a heart attack, when Christabel was only a child. Christabel did not miss him. To her, he was but a dim, distant figure, always away on business trips, or holed up in his study when at home, hiding from his wife, leaving Christabel to bear the brunt of her mother's nagging. The sole mark he'd left on Christabel's life was her name, given to her by him in a fit of romanticism, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Cunningham, who preferred classic names like Elizabeth or Catherine or Amelia. His death didn't leave much of a void behind.

Her mother, an ambitious and exacting woman, embittered by her failure to have a son and by becoming a widow so young, had poured all her affection and thwarted dreams upon her daughter, smothering the girl with them. She dictated everything Christabel wore and ate and read and play, and all the friends Christabel made and all the parties Christabel attended had to be approved by her. And so Christabel had grown up with her books and her dolls, lonely but never alone.

In truth, she hadn't been allowed to attend a lot of parties. As she grew up and learned more about her father's will, Christabel discovered a more mercenary side to what she'd once thought was her mother's overprotectiveness. As the trustee of her daughter's inheritance, Mrs. Cunningham could enjoy a lavish lifestyle, a townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a summer cottage in Newport, the latest fashion in her wardrobe and the most luxurious dishes on her table. But as soon as Christabel was married, she would be in charge of her own fortune, and Mrs. Cunningham would be left with half of what she was used to. Christabel believed that to prevent this, her mother would have locked her away forever, like Rapunzel in her tower.

But social standing has its advantages. Afraid of the wagging tongues of the town, the whispers behind closed doors that she was keeping her daughter from society to hold on to her money, Mrs. Cunningham had reluctantly allowed Christabel to make her debut when she came of age. Since then, her days had been filled with balls and theater trips in the winter, tennis matches and yacht races in the summer, giggling friends and fawning suitors, still under the watchful eyes of her mother. It was tedious, but Christabel had endured it because it was better than staying at home, surrounding by the dark walls of her room and feeling her mother's disapproving stare on her at all times. Besides, that was what was expected of all the debutantes. Smile, dance, flirt, ride, sketch or sing a little, play a little piano, speak a bit of French, a bit of German, be amusing but not sarcastic, be vivacious but not feisty, be modest but not withdrawn, and hopefully make an advantageous match, and then have daughters and watch them go through the same thing, over and over again.

Christabel knew she would not break free of this cycle. Her whole life she had been taught to do what she was told, to never question, to never put a foot out of line. But as her own, feeble form of rebellion, she made it a point to refuse every proposal she'd ever received—and there had been plenty of them. With her delicate features, dewy skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair, Christabel always turned heads in every room she walked in. It was true that her nose was slightly upturned and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but these flaws were seen as charming, not defective. And if her manners were at times rather listless and uninterested, well, her inheritance could more than make up for it. So a lot of men had fallen in love with her, or at least with her beauty, or with her money, and had proposed, but she had refused them all.

When Mrs. Cunningham found out about these refusals, Christabel always had a believable reason to convince her mother of her decision—the family had an unpleasant reputation, their fortunes were not equal, or the boy himself did not have a promising enough prospect. Mrs. Cunningham was appeased, for a while, but after two seasons and Christabel remained unmarried, she began to grow uneasy and warned her daughter of the perils of spinsterhood.

To all her admonishment, Christabel said nothing. It wasn't that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life, far from it. But unlike other young women, who dreamed of marriage as a celebration of love or even as a way to further their social connections, Christabel saw it as a means to freedom. And none of the men in her circle could give her that freedom she so thirsted. They all grew from the same stocks, the same root. If she married one of them, she would move in the same circle, lead the same life, beating a tired circle from Manhattan to Newport and back again, perhaps with the occasional trip to Europe, but still seeing the same faces, doing the same thing as everybody else, and never be free of her mother.

For that summer season, Christabel had tried to convince her mother to go to London or Paris, or, if they had to stay, then she was secretly hoping—as hateful as it sounded—to catch the eyes of a European aristocrat, many of whom were flocking to America in search of an heiress to restore their family fortune. Europe would be the ultimate escape. However, her mother disliked traveling, and although Christabel's inheritance was sizeable, it was not large enough to draw the attention of an impoverish earl or baronet.

At least her mother had accepted Mrs. Carver's invitation to their summer mansion in Tuxedo Park for two weeks of English-style country party. There were to be riding and shooting and picnics in the woods, all culminating in a costume ball on All Hallows' Eve. They had just come back from Newport, worn out and looking forward to some quiet days to recover before the winter season, so Christabel had been afraid her mother would refuse, knowing her dislike of the outdoors. But an invitation to the exclusive Tuxedo Park was hard to come by, and when Mrs. Cunningham learned the party was thrown for Mrs. Carver's eldest, Jason, who had just come back from Yale, nothing could have kept her away.

Jason Carver. Christabel sighed. All the debutantes were in love with him, though to Christabel, he had always been just a good friend, nothing more. She'd never imagined he would set his sight on her, not when he was always surrounded by so many other girls. So it had come as a complete shock when, after a dinner party at the Carvers' mansion, Jason had asked to speak to her alone in the gazebo overlooking Tuxedo Lake. There, while the moonlight rippled over the water, turning the surface of the lake into a broken mirror, he had taken Christabel's hands in his and, tremblingly, haltingly, asked her to marry him.

For the first time, Christabel had hesitated.

Jason was one of her few childhood friends her mother had approved of, as the Carvers' Manhattan residence was not far from the Cunninghams'. He had always been kind and attentive to her, and unlike some men, she knew he cared not a jot for her inheritance, since the Carvers was one of the richest and most prominent families in the city. A marriage between her and Jason would send her mother to Heaven.

That was the problem, of course. Christabel never wanted to do anything her mother wished.

"If we are to marry, can we live here?" she'd asked. It sounded as though she had accepted him already, but she didn't care. She looked around at the untamed parkland of the mansion, with the woods surrounding it on all sides and the sparkling lake in the distance. It may not be far enough from her mother, but it would be something.

"Of course!" Jason had said, squeezing her hands. "We'll come here for the summer, and—"

"No, you mistook me. I don't mean for the summer. I mean permanently."

Jason had laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. "We can't possibly live here! I have my business in town, and there's nobody here for half of the year anyway. Why would you want to live here?"

Christabel had tried to say that she wanted to live in Tuxedo Park precisely because there was nobody there for half of the year, but one look at Jason and she knew he wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she'd said and withdrawn her hands.

She'd half-hoped Jason would try to get her to change her mind, that he would say they could live anywhere as long as they were together, but he had only shaken his head, said, "It's not meant to be then," bowed, and gone back inside, leaving her alone on the shore of that moonlit lake. Of course. No amount of love could be enough to compel a man to throw away his whole life like that, and even if he had made the offer, she couldn't possibly have accepted such a sacrifice. Perhaps it was for the best.

Still, that hadn't stopped things from being rather tense and awkward between them when they set out for the hunt that morning. Christabel had never enjoyed hunting, but she jumped at any chance to be outdoors, to be able to walk and run and move freely without being criticized for not acting ladylike enough. And another reason—her mother, having no interest in hunting and riding, always stayed behind on such occasions. That morning, though, Christabel could feel Jason's mournful eyes on her whenever she turned. She'd only wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but it was difficult when she was surrounded by the hunting party with their guns and dogs and servants. It was only when they came across a flock of partridges and the others' attention was diverted that she managed to slip into the woods.

Now, as she walked through the trees, Christabel pondered her situation. Would it be so bad, being married to Jason? It would at least let her be mistress of her own life... except that life would still be tied to another's. No, if she simply wanted to claim her inheritance, she would've married the first man that proposed and had done with it. This regret was simply because she had started to feel anxious about her future. Could she go on like this until her mother died? Could she live as a spinster, becoming brittle and bitter in her old age, facing the pity and contempt of others? Christabel felt the old, helpless anger toward her father blaze up inside her once more when she thought about the predicament he'd placed her in. What was the use of ensuring no one could touch her inheritance, if she had to saddle herself to a man to claim it?

She passed through the line of trees and came to a clearing on the side of a hill, gently sloping toward a small glen, where an old oak tree spread its cape of gold leaves over a murmuring brook. It seemed something straight out of a Washington Irving story—all that was missing was a covered bridge. Tucking her skirt into the top of her gaiters, Christabel threw her arms over her head and sprinted down the slope, letting the cool air fill her lungs and clear her head.

Near the bottom of the slope, her skirt slipped out of the gaiters and tangled around her legs. Her ankles twisted under her and sent her tumbling down. She rolled head over heels the last few feet before skidding to a stop right by the oak. Luckily, the hill wasn't steep, and her fall had been more embarrassing than painful. She cursed under her breath. When they received Mrs. Carver's invitation, Christabel had begged and begged her mother to let her have a split skirt for the occasion so she could move about with more ease and perhaps even learn to ride a bicycle, as some of her friends had, but Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that her old riding habit, with its long trailing skirt, would do just fine. Christabel shouldn't do much walking or moving about anyway, Mrs. Cunningham had argued. Men wouldn't be interested in overly energetic girls. And as for riding a bicycle, showing off her legs in those newfangled bloomers, like some common hoyden? Forget about it.

"Are you all right, miss?" a voice said somewhere over her head.

Christabel looked up and saw a pair of blue eyes. A man had stepped out from the other side of the oak tree and was looking down at her. She suddenly became aware that she was sprawled on the ground with her skirt hiked up over her knees. She bolted up and pulled her skirt down, face burning crimson.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she sputtered, struggling to her feet.

Her ankle turned painfully. The man reached out a hand to help her. His grip was firm and strong.

"Thank you." Christabel peered at him more closely. He was dressed for a day out in tweed and stout boots, but with a walking stick, not a gun. "Are you with the Carver hunting party?" she asked, for she did not remember seeing him. He was a little older than Jason and her circle of friends, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, tall, with a fine-boned, elegant-looking face. But what startled her the most was his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky above, fixed upon her with an expression of fascination and interest quite unlike anything she'd received from her suitors. She reached a self-conscious hand to her hair, trying to dislodge any dry leaf that may have gotten stuck there.

"Carver? No, no, I'm a guest of Dr. Brenner."

Christabel's eyebrows shot up. Dr. Brenner was an eccentric who had inherited one of the largest fortunes in New York, but rather than continuing to run the family business, he had devoted his time to studies of the occult and other esoteric sciences. Unlike most of the residents of Tuxedo Park, who only kept their mansions here as holiday homes, he lived in a cottage deep in the woods year round, engaging in all sorts of obscure experiments, never interacting much with his neighbors. They tolerated him out of respect for his family name; some saw him as a harmless old fool and even invited him to some of their parties to show him off to their out-of-town friends, much like the ornamental hermits that the English aristocrats of old often kept on their grounds. Unfortunately, the Carvers were not one of these open-minded people, so Christabel had never met Dr. Brenner. She had to admit that she sometimes felt envious of him and the male privileges that allowed him to give up his family business, but not his wealth, and pursue his true passion. Alas, no such luck for her.

And here was this man, claiming to be a guest of the mysterious doctor! Her curiosity was pique immediately.

"Are you?" she asked, with interest. "I didn't know he ever invited anyone here. You must be a man of science or some sort of scholar, for him to allow you to encroach on his solitude. What is your business with him?" Then she colored again, realizing how intrusive her question was. Usually she never allowed herself to behave so casually with a gentleman, but there was something about this man that freed her from the confines of propriety. Or perhaps it was the scene around them, the wild woods and the open sky that had no use for etiquette. Still, the habits of upbringing were hard to shake off, so she cast her eyes downward and murmured, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all," the man said with a friendly smile. "As a matter of fact, my family came from this area before it was developed, and Dr. Brenner is helping me to research our history. I'm just looking for the ruins of their village."

"Oh. That sounds very interesting."

"And if there's anyone who must be pardoned," the man continued, "it should be me, for I have been so presumptuous in talking to you without so much as an introduction. You must allow me to make amends, Miss—"

"Cunningham. Christabel Cunningham," she said.

"What an unusual and beautiful name." The man looked into the distance. "The lovely lady, Christabel, whom her father loves so well. What makes her in the wood so late, a furlong from the castle gate?" he recited in his rich, musical voice whose reverberation seemed to reach Christabel's very core.

She laughed to hide her blush. "A very fitting quote. Only it's not so very late, and while the Carver mansion is grand, it is far from a castle," she said. "And I'm simply taking a walk, not praying for my betrothed. In fact"—the noise from the hunting party had ceased, and she realized it must be nearly time for luncheon—"I'm just heading back now."

"And alas, I am no Geraldine," the man said. "But may I accompany you anyway?" He extended an arm toward her.

Christabel hesitated, thinking what her mother would say about walking in the woods with a stranger. But surely, there was no harm in it. The hunting party was not so far away, and she could always tell the truth—that she had gotten hurt, and this man was helping her. She took the proffered arm, and they started walking toward the Carver mansion, not following the route Christabel had, but taking the longer way, along the lakeshore, Christabel hobbling to keep up with the man's long strides. There was a dull ache in her ankle, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to complain.

"I see that you are an admirer of Coleridge, like my father," Christabel said.

"Your father must be a man of great taste then."

Her smile disappeared. "I wouldn't know. He died when I was very little." She caught herself again. Why was she telling this man, whom she met not five minutes ago and whose name she still didn't know, all these things about herself?

"Oh, I am so very sorry." The man took off his cap, revealing longish blonde hair that fell over his forehead in soft curls. His eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how difficult it is, losing one's parents. My own parents—" His voice hitched. "They died when I was very young as well. An earthquake, in San Francisco."

Christabel's heart panged with sympathy. "That must be horrible."

Those brilliant blue eyes dimmed for a moment. "It was."

"So you live in San Francisco?"

"I do, yes."

"What is it like?" she asked eagerly. Outside of Newport and occasionally the Catskills, she had never been anywhere. She had never even left the state of New York.

Before the man could answer, she put her weight on the sore ankle by mistake and let out an involuntary yelp. He turned to her, all solicitous concern. "Have you hurt yourself in the fall?" he asked.

"I must have," she replied reluctantly.

Tucking his cap into a pocket, he knelt down, took her ankle in his hand, and gently turned it this way and that. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that won't do." He put one arm around her and the other under her knees, scooping her up easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. "I should have noticed sooner," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right." Christabel was feeling a little dazed. None of her suitors had ever picked her up like that—indeed, none of them ever touched so much as the hem of her skirt without asking for permission first. She found that she didn't mind being handled, didn't mind the lack of permission-seeking. Nestling against his chest, she glanced shyly up at her gallant rescuer. Despite his slender frame, he was carrying her across the uneven terrain with no effort at all. The sun was shining upon his blonde hair, turning it into a gold helmet, and his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. She was glad they were taking the longer route.

But all too soon, the shingled walls of the Carver mansion appeared behind the trees, and the hunting party came into view. Christabel was afraid her rescuer would put her down the moment they came upon the others, but if anything, his hold around her seemed to tighten.

"There you are, Christabel," Jason said, stepping forward. "We were about to send out a search party—" His countenance changed upon seeing her in the arms of the stranger. "What happened?"

"Miss Cunningham had a bit of an accident," the man said. "I happened to come across her and took the liberty of escorting her home."

"How fortunate," Jason said, his voice icy. He all but yanked Christabel out of the other man's arms, as though she was a child, or worse, a doll, a toy to be fought over.

"I'm perfectly all right, Jason," Christabel said, fighting to put her feet on the ground. "It's just a sprain."

Jason relented and put her down. Christabel turned to her rescuer, who was replacing his cap on his hat, preparing to go. "Thank you so much," she said. "I hope I haven't delayed you from your quest."

"It was my pleasure. It's not every day a beautiful lady fell from the sky and landed at your feet, is it?"

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "I still don't know your name."

"Haven't I told you?" He looked confused.

Christabel frowned, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Ah." He tipped his cap at her. "Henry Creel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Creel?"

He flashed her another of his dazzling smiles. "You can count upon it." Then, with a bow in the general direction of the hunting party, who was staring at him, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter 2

As usual, if you want to be tagged, drop me a line! Any likes/reblogs/comments will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

[senjuushi]

Modern Gun Character Intros

Since the last set of these I did has become rather outdated (and because it's been a while, anyway), here are the new and updated character introductions for the Moderns! :D It's all twenty-six of them, so there's a LOT below the cut.

. . .

This is F. He's a flamboyant, eccentric sadomasochist, and a deviant with a princess-type personality who never quits saying horrible, horrible things. He's very feminine and over-the-top, and expresses a distinct crush on one of the other guns, who he refers to as "Onii-sama". He has MAJOR masochistic tendencies, such as licking the barrel of his gun while it's still hot— but he can show sadistic tendencies too, such as treating his lowest-ranking soldiers like dogs to be trained. However, it's highly likely that these behaviors have been learned from others. One thing of note is that, despite his extremely sexual behavior and lewd tendencies, he's not showing any more skin than his upper neck and a little bit of his wrists.

He's an attention-seeker who struggles to stand out in the shadow of his remarkable older brother, Fal, and it's implied that he's pretty desperate to be loved, whether that’s in a good way or not. He values his appearance a lot, going out of his way to look good and be presentable, such as by doing his nails and wearing perfume. He’s desperately needy in a way that he won’t fully admit since his lewd persona has become deeply ingrained as a way to keep himself safe. There are a lot of implications that he's been through some pretty awful stuff, considering where his sadism and masochism most likely came from. 

. . .

This is Belga. He's a loudmouthed idiot with a violent streak and a love of maniacally shooting everything in sight. Based on his face and calculated height, his physical body is probably quite young. He's very childish and immature, is either ridiculously ignorant or stupid beyond belief, and has a horrifically foul mouth on him. He was described to me as a "laughing maniac". That said, he also has a major soft side, such as crying easily at things like unrealistically sad stories and his beloved pet fish dying. The fish themselves are most likely a tactic to control him with, in ways like letting him gain an attachment just to threaten him with their safety. He's extremely manipulable and gullible as well, and gets called "birdbrain" by 89, a gun who shares the same superior as him. Overall, he's a childish moron who can probably only barely take care of himself. As of the new game, he’s being kept as a test subject and openly mistreated, such as spending most of his time locked in a cage, wearing iron manacles and a collar, and outright being tortured. His behavior is even more erratic at this point, and for good reason. 

. . .

This is Mikhael. He's... kind of a mess. Outwardly, he seems like a calm, collected, elegant type who lives only for his music and the things that strike his passion. When looked at closer, however, there are some very bad signs. First of all, he's blind. His eyes are bandaged over, which... does not imply good things. He also has what's almost definitely a brace on his leg, suggesting that he's kind of broken. Also worth noting is that in his official art (both versions), his gun is pointing at his head. Mikhael has a fixation on "beauty in destruction" which seems to imply that he's trying very hard to cover for how broken he is. He does nothing but play his piano when taken to battle (and next to nothing outside of it), carefreely leaving himself open to getting shot.

He seems like an older, broken-down gun who's acutely aware of how horrible his situation is, and passively suicidal on top of that. He won't do anything to kill himself, but if something happened, he certainly wouldn't complain. He comes across as very sad, finding joy only in his music, and taking every chance to drown himself in it. Because of his physical flaws, I doubt he’s treated very well. He's broken enough that he could be gotten rid of at any time, so he's struggling to make himself seem useful and good through his obsession with beauty in ruined things.

(His version in the new game is an alternate-universe character in my works, and will, at some point, be written as a different individual)

. . .

This is Ninety. He's the "holy shit this is fucked up" one. Ninety is literally referred to as the World Empire's dog... and he acts like it. He's likely one of the youngest of the guns in terms of summoning order and has a mindset that registers somewhere between a child and an animal. He can't speak, most likely from trauma muteness and connected to something like conversion disorder, is only barely literate, and communicates with a signboard. Do note that this boy is not wearing pants and the abuse implications there. He's sort of feral, going so far as to bite the soldiers under him when he doesn't get fed enough (they're probably starving him).

He's known to be a "panic shooter", implying a nervous personality. Also worrying is that he has another mask under his gas mask— a lot of fans theorize that he has a slit mouth. All of that said, though, Ninety is surprisingly mature and definitely a lot more intelligent than he acts. He’s most likely just acting the part of a stupid dog because it's been beaten into him until there’s no going back. There's intelligence in there, he's just not allowed to show it. Also, he's tiny. As in, my height calculations put him somewhere in the 4-foot range.

. . .

This is Ghost. His gun is an experimental, prototype weapon that was never actually put into production, and he has serious issues because of that. With an utter lack of presence, he’s stuck always going ignored by those around him. His bullets are ridiculously expensive to produce, and thus, the only person who's ever given him a chance is Ashley, to whom he's ridiculous levels of grateful and loyal. He has major abandonment issues and considers himself to be a difficult-to-deal-with reject who doesn’t deserve anyone’s time or attention. He's very passive, cynical, and pessimistic, with a very childish side— "cursing" people who upset or ignore him, and "blessing" the rare few who give him the time of day.

While he can be prickly and unfriendly, he latches onto anyone who treats him kindly with an unrivaled sense of desperation. It's implied that he might be rather sickly, and he seems to have a poor physical presence as well. Feeling like he's a failure who no one should waste their time on, he struggles a lot with believing that anyone could ever find him worth the effort to use or keep. He's always teetering on the fear of being abandoned and forgotten, yet when he’s faced with too much attention, he reflexively shuts down.

. . .

This is 89. He's a dead-inside gamer otaku whose catchphrase is "Are you serious?" He's something of the straight man (in the sense of the comedy term) of the lot of them and is definitely the most "normal" in a lot of ways. On that subject, 89 wants to be normal very, very badly... but doesn’t have a shadow of a chance of attaining that thanks to his status as nothing but a weapon. Thus, he forces himself to look down on and resent everyone who’s allowed a normal life. He’s so depressed and done with life that all he does is lock himself up in his room and play whatever mind-numbing games he’s allowed (we know he’s spent a full day on Tetris at one point) as an escape from the unending misery that is his life. He has a ridiculously obvious crush on Mikhael, and also very obviously just wants someone to love him. Belga calls him "virgin", and in return gets referred to as "birdbrain". He slacks off from missions when he can (which he definitely gets in trouble for), and even his favorite foods are cheap things that sound like they've been shoved onto him out of sheer neglect. Though it’s not immediately obvious, he’s a little bit tsundere and a total softie inside.

. . .

This is Eins. He's the powerhouse of the World Empire’s guns, and definitely the strongest person there. He's also the highest-ranking of all of them, and his battle style/gun type is a sniper. He's an ultra-serious person who takes his job equally seriously and produces exceptional results without fail. Though he acts almost normal enough to pass as a human, if you look more closely, you’ll find that he has major empathy issues and shows disturbingly little remorse for hurting people. He takes orders way too far to make sure he's gone far enough, in the sense that he'd kill a hundred people if ordered to kill one.

He has his soft side, though, down to things like gardening, impressive cooking skills when it comes to the other guns, protective tendencies, and considering many of them to be his "family". F has a crush on him, which he's totally oblivious to, Fal is his loyal right-hand man/assistant, and Ghost is ridiculously fond of him. Though he’s merciless when it comes down to it, he most likely sees his more violent actions as doing his job and not getting hurt. He definitely sees himself as nothing more than a weapon and a tool.

. . .

This is Fal. He's F's older brother, and likely some of the reason why F is Like That. Fal is an insanely capable, efficient, and skilled weapon— one who’s easily perceived as perfect in every way. His gun, the FN FAL, is known as "the right arm of the free world" and has been one of the most widely used firearms in history. Fal himself is a calm, collected sort who always seems poised and in control. He's Eins's assistant and has a lot of responsibility because of it, which he handles extremely well. He's polite, subservient, and soft-spoken, despite being very close to Eins in power and skill, as well as well-mannered, eloquent, loyal, and embodying the perfect assistant on every level. He's also extremely intelligent and expresses a particular fondness for torture. He's basically the ideal modern gun, which gives F and everyone else a LOT to live up to.

However, that responsibility leaves him stressed, worn down, and constantly fearing failure, and he has to be all but crushed under the pressure of the expectations placed on him. In the new game, he supposedly has amnesia, which has caused him to forget everything about his past as the World Empire’s gun. 

. . .

This is Kirsch. He's a sadistic, seemingly spoiled-rotten brat who's almost definitely been sexually abused. He's downright desperate for attention from Ashley (and likely many others), resenting Mauser (Ashley's personal weapon) viciously for taking that attention away. Creepily enough, he refers to Ashley as "Papa", which is more like “Daddy” in the Japanese context. He seems fixated on being cute and attractive, doing everything possible to emphasize his charm and try to play up how lovable he is. That said, he behaves like a spoiled child, down to throwing vicious tantrums when he's angry.

Kirsch is also a major sadist (a behavior that’s surely learned) and loves torturing people for the sheer fun of it. He's quite accurately described as "sick in the head" by one of his superiors, but even so, he tries to paint himself as a harmless victim who can do no wrong as he kisses up to and demands attention from anyone he looks fondly upon. He's ridiculously immature, insanely clingy, and probably also has major abandonment issues. His behavior distinctly resembles a love-starved child who acts out in order to get attention. There are a few significant implications that he really has been sexually abused, including his aggressively "touchy" behavior, personal-space invading sadism, attitude towards his superiors, and revealing outfit (short shorts and garter on his leg).

. . .

This is Hokusai. He's an animated, wild-natured person with a major childish streak and the worst decision-making skills ever. The childish part extends to using the pronoun "Boku-chan", which sounds straight out of the mouth of a kindergartener. He's something of a mad scientist, working with the science sector of the World Empire, and has likely experienced the brunt of more than a few experiments himself. He has a massive, personality-defining fixation on the color blue that spirals all the way to a serious obsession, and he's so dedicated to that obsession that he keeps trying to dye his human self (and presumably his gun self) blue... which also, unfortunately, keeps killing him. He's killed himself like this a bunch of times, but fortunately, Ashley’s been able to keep bringing him back.

Matchingly, he has a massive aversion to the color red, all the way to the point where he has a violent reaction to seeing his own blood. He has a number of visible scars (rare for anime art), including distinct ones across his throat and on his wrist, implying some serious damage. His behavior also hints he might have some form of brain damage, probably of the nature that impacts things like his decision-making capabilities and sense of consequences. He's very reckless and has little regard for his own life— yet he's also gratingly cheerful, persistently upbeat, and has more energy than any individual should.

. . .

This is Love1. He's a mess. His gun is famously defective, known in real life as one of the worst and most useless firearms in history. Reflecting this, Love1’s body is equally disastrous. His gun jams constantly (giving him nosebleeds every time), his human body is implied to be equally troublesome, and in the game, his larger attacks did damage to himself as well as the opposing team. With his physical body in such rotten shape, it’s not a stretch to assume he deals with truly miserable chronic pain. Personality-wise, Love1 acts like an utter idiot. He's boisterous, loud, and beyond eccentric, with a glaring presence and seemingly not a shred of dignity to be found. He's cheerful, explosive, and trigger-happy, all while acting like he doesn't have a care in the world. However, his true personality is shockingly different.

In reality, Love1 is a massively intelligent and strategic individual who’s far smarter than most give him credit for. While Fal specializes in physical torture, Love1 is the master of psychologically shattering people beyond repair. Love1 adores his little brother, Like2, dearly, no matter how cruel or rude the other is to him, happily gushing over his "cute baby brother" at every turn. On a darker note, Love1's life hangs by an uncertain thread. He's worthless enough that he could be gotten rid of at any time, with his capability as a strategic, skilled torturer the main thing standing between his dismantlement. He could be replaced at any time, though, so he’s left to dread if or when that day might come.

. . .

This is Like2. He's an effeminate, abrasive, bratty tsundere whose number-one desire is to be spoiled and loved. Though his gun shares some of his older brother’s flaws, he’s nowhere near as faulty and useless. Like2 definitely shares the same worries about being replaced, but instead of covering them up with a smile, he fixates on making himself pretty and strong. He's a bodybuilder who focuses primarily on strength training and keeping a slim figure, and he’s surprisingly tough for how he looks. He loves fine things (the more expensive, the better) and getting as much attention and spoiling as possible, which clearly shows how desperate he is for people to like him. Because of his brother’s status as a rejected, mocked weapon, Like2 is frantic to make himself useful and avoid the same fate as an unwanted mockery.

He also values his personal security massively, can't stand any form of discomfort, and is willing to turn traitor as soon as his safety is on the line. Despite constantly berating Love1, in ways such as calling him "worthless" and "soon to be replaced", Like2 cares a lot more than he wants to admit. He frequently plays the role of Love1’s caretaker... even when he really doesn’t have to. Overall, he’s a fragile person who’s desperate to be loved and cared for, no matter what he has to do to get it.

. . .

This is Mauser. He's Ashley's personal assistant, bodyguard, and weapon, and is deeply proud of all of the above. Mauser is the first gun Ashley summoned, and despite his size and young appearance, he typically acts more like a grouchy old man or well-mannered butler than anything. At the same time that Mauser is an obedient doll to Ashley, lacking any personality or will of his own, he’s also highly aggressive when it comes to protecting his Master. When it comes to traitors, he’ll happily shoot first and ask questions later. His entire life revolves around serving Ashley. He’s blindly devoted, endlessly loyal, and considers his Master his sole priority in life.

However, it seems likely that he’s a lot more helpless than one would initially expect, considering that the chances of him knowing how to exist without someone commanding every detail of his life are slim. I write him as having a serious ��baby mode” deep down, where his inexperience, dependency, and utter lack of emotional maturity come spilling out when he’s distressed— considering Ashley’s apparent fondness for small guns and being called “Papa”, I think the implications here are plenty obvious. He wouldn’t know what to do on his own in the slightest, making him highly reliant on his Master.

. . .

This is Parume. He’s one of the unreleased characters from the first game, and thus, has very little canon information. That one line on his profile picture is literally all of the canon material there is. However, there’s a fair amount that can be inferred! To start, Parume’s gun, the RK 62, is known for being an extremely durable one. As in, there are stories about it being run over by trucks and perfectly fine afterward. That leads to the idea that even though Parume looks cute, he’s a lot tougher than he seems. My interpretation of him is that he’s similar to Love1— a person who covers up his strengths and capabilities by pretending to be something different than he is. Parume acts cute, peppy, and completely harmless so that people underestimate him… while he’s actually a hardy survivor-type who’s more than capable of taking the worst that can be done to him and coming out of it mostly intact. He’s intelligent, easily bored, has a mischievous scheming side, and takes great pride in his strength.

. . .

This is Muku. He’s the other unreleased character, which again means that he has very little canon information. However, with both him and Parume, there’s a scene in the original game that hints at what they might be like. Long story short, F, Kirsch, and 89 are looking for new guns to bring to Ashley. In that scene, it’s mentioned that one of the guns had been owned by one person, used in twelve brutal battles, then had its owner die. And that would be Muku. His gun is also likely to be the youngest of all of the original Moderns. Between that and his violent, disturbing character line, I interpret Muku to be more or less an unstable child soldier (in terms of emotional maturity) stuck in a giant’s body. Fittingly, Muku is naive, oblivious, and highly immature. All he’s ever known is violence, so that’s all he’s capable of. He has some passive yet highly disturbing suicidal tendencies, seeing living as something short-term and bound to end in him being brutally killed. Violence comes naturally to him because of his history, and as a result, he doesn’t at all know how to live as a “person”.

. . .

This is Marks. He’s... special. Marks is loyal to the extreme, and so devoted to his Master that it drowns out anything and everything else that could possibly enter his head. His number one motivation and focus in life is being the best tool possible for his Master, protecting them, and earning their approval in whatever ways he can. Needy, eager to please, and embarrassingly open with his emotions, he gives us a clear picture of just how desperate a freshly summoned gunboy can be. He’s downright puppy-like, to the point of collaring himself and offering the leash to Master in one of his cards. However, he’s also shockingly aggressive. Marks aims his gun and asks questions second when he feels that anyone is threatening or disrespecting his Master, and he can be a lot more violent than you’d expect from his usual, dog-like behavior.

He’s also truly, truly stupid. He can’t pick up on even the most obvious social cues (like Master not wanting him in the bathroom with them), his one-track mind doesn’t budge for anything, and he keeps having incidents of making himself sick when he eats something he really shouldn’t. Out of all of the guns, he’s the one who I think has the least chance of passing as a human. He’s just so very weird. Also, his nickname for a while now has been “abuse bait”, for obvious reasons.

. . .

This is Like Two. He’s more or less an alternate version of Like2. They’re the same type of gun, but I consider them different individuals because of both their distinct personality differences and the fact that the second game, as a whole, might as well be an alternate universe sort of situation.

Overall, Like Two’s personality is similar to his counterpart’s. He’s a similar type of aggressive, abrasive tsundere, but considerably harsher than the original. Like Two is more practical, intense, and defensive than Like2, and far less open about his (heavily suppressed) sugar-baby tendencies. He wants to be cute and pretty too, but he also can’t tolerate looking “weak” because of it. Thus, he covers up as much of his pretty-boy interests as he can, throwing all of his efforts into training instead (as well as worrying far too much about his weight and figure), fixating on his battle capabilities and strength to prove himself. He’s arrogant and dismissive of others, rude, and unwilling to admit to positive feelings about much of anyone. Deep down, though, he’s every bit as desperate for attention as his counterpart. He’s containing his “pathetic” side as best as he can, but that doesn’t stop him from looking like a needy brat whenever his temper flares up.

. . .

This is Herme. His gun is the G3, which is one of the most prominent and useful guns in modern history, one that’s easily comparable to Fal. Matching his gun’s exceptional reputation, Herme is seemingly perfect. He comes across as proud, refined, calm, and polite— the perfect soldier in every regard. Herme takes his duties very seriously, aiming to perform to the greatest extent possible on whatever he’s assigned. His outward appearance is basically flawless, commanding respect and admiration from everyone around him. He’s described as a cold-hearted perfectionist, and it certainly shows.

However, Herme is also highkey an idiot, in multiple ways. To start, despite all of his usual pride, he turns submissive and compliant whenever Dreyse (an Antique) is present, to an almost laughable degree. He has serious issues with the idea of being a “person”, actively considering himself a “lump of iron” instead. Herme is allergic to the very idea of being human, and anything that forces him to be too conscious of his current physical state ends in something called “Iron Days”. Those amount to Herme’s brain shutting off for a while, during which time he’s only capable of lying limp and half-conscious on whatever horizontal surface he can find. ...and he’s usually naked while he does it. He’s determined to suppress every shred of emotion in him for the sake of denying all humanity. He may look dignified, but he’s really just a repressed, stupid brick of a man and kind of a dumb slut.

. . .

This is Arisaka. He has problems. Arisaka’s biggest issue likely stems from the fact that he was a gun used in the period surrounding World War 2 Japan. If you don’t get the implications there, it’s that he’s seen some downright horrifying, sickening things during his time in service, definitely including literal war crimes. That dead look in his eyes is there for a reason. For the most part, Arisaka comes across as blank, emotionless, and empty. His responses are flat at best (even you can even get him to speak), and he seems to be in a near-constant state of dissociation and disconnect from the world around him, most likely due to debilitating trauma. His behavior comes across as almost robotic, with most of his behavior based on what he assumes is appropriate rather than how he actually feels. He usually just does whatever he’s told, rarely thinking for himself or making his own decisions.

He’s very close to Murata, a gun who amounts to something like his brother or father figure, with a loving, yet rather co-dependent relationship where they’re each relying way too heavily on the other. Arisaka is also highly desensitized to violence... and seems prone to acting violently himself. One of his skill animations involves a disturbing, crazed-looking face followed by him impaling the enemy on his bayonet. Also notable is that he’s the only large gun so far who has a small body, which leads me to think that his human form is somehow stunted by the extreme stress and trauma he’s experienced throughout his existence.

. . .

This is Springfield. He’s technically an Antique in terms of when he was made and his workings, but he was modified into a Modern gun in a terrible process that left massive damage behind. Basically, he was changed from a muzzle-loading rifle to a breech-loading one, but that change is far from sustainable. Springfield is implied to be on the fast track to death. In his intro, he talks about having a “short lifespan” and many of his dialogue lines have him speaking very weakly and coughing from time to time.

He frequently mentions how useless he is and how his body won’t last long, and expresses a great amount of guilt and self-consciousness that he can’t do better for his Master. As much as he wants to be loved and worth something, he’s more or less resigned to the fact that he’ll be used up and disposed of before long. Thus, he follows orders and does the best his condition will allow, merely waiting for his fragile body to give out. Springfield has a very soft, delicate personality, is extremely polite and respectful, and tries not to complain about anything despite his awful situation. He doesn’t believe himself to be worth anyone’s time or effort, and is openly self-loathing and ashamed of himself because of it. 

. . .

This is Siegblut. His gun is the G36, which was meant to be Herme’s successor. That didn’t happen. The G36 experienced a serious flaw in which its parts would break down under too much heat, and it was resigned from service because of it. As a result, Siegblut came into the world already deemed a failure. He’s outwardly a harsh, mean, aggressive tough guy who seems to want the rest of the world to fuck right off. He’s rebellious, doesn’t take orders well, and reacts violently to any perceived mockery or humiliation. He claims to see his Master as nothing but a tool, or “consumable goods”... but that’s because his country has a delightful habit of letting their Moderns burn through their Masters one after another. And as any gun would be, Sieg is deeply traumatized by that.

He’s obsessed with success and violently determined to prove himself as worth something— but the universe seems set on thwarting him at every turn. No matter what he does, he receives nothing but abuse and humiliation from everyone around him. He’s shockingly intelligent and capable, a strict perfectionist about everything he does, and has more common sense than most of the others combined. He’s also a total housewife. As in, the interests listed on his profile are cleaning, interior design, and making sweets. He’s highly receptive to praise and outright desperate to impress people, as well as a lot softer than he tries to appear. It’s all too obvious that his issues are the result of no one ever treating him with any form of respect or kindness.

. . .

This is Gras. On the outside, Gras appears to be a composed, charming gentleman with good manners and an almost smarmy demeanor. That’s pretty much the exact opposite of what he’s hiding underneath the surface. Gras was designed for a war that never happened. He was used in only small conflicts until eventually, his technology was surpassed and he was all but forgotten in history, never to see a major conflict. He’s also deeply envious of his Antique older brother, Chassepot, to the point where his entire existence is consumed by the need to be loved like he is, or if that can’t happen, to take away everything that Chassepot has. He’s extremely aggressive, emotional, and volatile, with a propensity for rabid levels of violence. His other outlet for his emotional turmoil is sex. One of his listed “interests” on his profile is “carnal pleasures”, even. He’s implied to often have one-night stands, and his behavior toward the player is excessively seductive. He frequently impersonates his brother to get what he wants (not that people are very good at telling them apart, to begin with), displaying a bizarre combination of identity issues and all-consuming jealousy.

Gras idolizes Chassepot and everything he has at the same time that he despises him with every fiber of his being. He’s also highly immature and self-destructive— and so terrified of rejection or being hated in a way outside of his control that he’d sooner ruin relationships all on his own. He desperately wants to be loved, but soft, emotional connections are much too vulnerable for his secretly fragile self to bear.

. . .

This is Murata. He’s traditional-minded, composed, and somewhat haughty, and he takes a lot of pride in his history, his abilities, and himself. As an older Japanese gun, he focuses a lot on tradition and appearances and is quite concerned with presenting himself in a dignified and honorable manner. He acts more or less like an old man, down to having a difficult time adjusting to modern technology and trends. He can be arrogant, bossy, controlling, and careless of others’ feelings... though that behavior most often is directed at Hachikyu. Arisaka is something like his younger brother or son, and Murata is extremely protective of him. The two have a close relationship, where Murata provides stability, protection, and safety to the one person he so openly adores.

However, Murata is definitely using Arisaka as something of a psychological crutch. He’s deeply traumatized too, and clinging to the idea that he can be strong enough to keep Arisaka safe is one of the only things holding him together. Murata despises vulnerability above all else. He always has to put himself in a controlling or “caretaker” role. Should he end up feeling too helpless, my theory is that he’d spiral into a similar dissociative state as Arisaka. He clings to any means of feeling capable and in control because he’d fall apart if he didn’t. Murata also has an intense, dangerous temper— to the point where he once tried to beat a military official to death for telling Arisaka to make better eye contact.

. . .

This is Hachikyu. Similar to the Like2/Like Two situation, he’s 89’s counterpart in this setting. Though it’s a lot more subtle than the other pair, Hachikyu and 89 also have their differences. Hachikyu is a lot more subdued than 89. Though he’s absolutely dead inside, 89 still had a fair amount of aggression… while Hachikyu is more of a passive, easy-to-abuse doormat. Hachikyu is also considerably more depressed and withdrawn, even asking to be removed from missions entirely instead of just dodging them when possible. Like 89, he’s perpetually exhausted and really just wants to be left alone, probably because interacting with others ends in nothing but stress and rejection for him. Also like 89, Hachikyu has some tsundere tendencies and appears to be very easy to fluster.

However, he’s also more obvious with these and acts like more of a shy, blushy tsundere than a tense, abrasive one. He seems to be very withdrawn, as well as significantly more shy and sweet than 89. Hachikyu is a deeply addicted gamer as well, and would definitely hole up in his room forever and do nothing else if he was allowed to. He’s treated like a servant by Murata, and is outright scared of him… and of Arisaka too, a little bit.

. . .

((Benetta and Carcanore are new characters whose full information hasn’t been released yet, so their descriptions here will be temporarily minimal. Expect updates as we learn more.))

Benetta initially appears to be level-headed, refined, and dignified. As part of the mafia, he holds himself to high standards and is prone to extravagant tastes as a result. He rarely speaks, but the things that do come out of his mouth are often either disturbing or at least slightly bizarre. He’s close to Carcanore in a strange, sexual tension-filled way. Though he usually seems calm, he’s capable of brutal violence, especially for the sake of revenge. Since he’s a little gun, it’s likely that he has a more clingy, immature side underneath his cool exterior, one where he craves closeness with his Master.

. . .

Caracnore’s external persona is chipper, perky, and enthusiastic. Rarely taking anything seriously, he’s carefree and constantly smiling. In contrast to Benetta’s expensive tastes, he’s quite thrifty... and self-conscious about that. He also frequently says deeply disturbing, morbid things, but his taste for violence openly extends to himself as the recipient. He and Benetta have some sort of death pact where they’ve agreed to be the ones to kill each other, and Carcanore is delighted about that. He shows a worrying lack of concern for his human body, to the point of being happily willing to be killed and resummoned for the sake of a simple mission.

[cherrychapstick54]

Amnesia Was Her Name

Chapter Four: A Second Chance

Title from “Amnesia Was Her Name” by Lemon Demon

Synopsis: Tommy wakes up on a frozen beach after… shit, he can’t remember. Oh well, maybe this stranger who appears to know him will help!

This chapter was written by @genderlessbleach and edited by me.

Trigger warnings: Derealization and depersonalization, mentions of death

Tommy’s eyes opened, it was bright, too bright; is this death? Maybe, but why can he feel? His whole body aches and he’s soaking wet, is he still alive? His question was answered fairly quickly as a tall shadow figure seemingly in a large hat approached him, speaking in a soft, soothing voice, almost motherly.

“Tommy, my son, it is not your time to pass on to my world, not yet. Take this as a second chance. You shan't die yet, my child…” Her voice faded out into the distance, and her shadow seemed to leave with it.

What the fuck just happened to him?! HE’S ALIVE????? What is this bullshit?! Nothing that shadow woman said has comforted him, he’s fuckin’ pissed, he didn’t want to live anymore, there’s no point if he can’t remember the life he has! Unable to change what has happened, Tommy begrudgingly sits up, but he can barely move, the pain is almost unbearable, and he feels like he’s ran multiple marathons with how exhausted he is. Tommy quickly realizes how bad of a beating he had been put through earlier. Speaking of, what day was it, and where is he? Looking around, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head, he tried to identify where he was.

The blonde was currently sitting on a frozen beach, the air was frosty and he was cold, very cold, he didn’t even realize at first but he was freezing, and his clothes weren’t doing anything for him with how shredded and wet they were. He wasn’t too sure where he was, just that it was most likely south of home, and that he needed to either get out of here or build a shelter. Seeing as the sun was setting over the spruce trees in the distance already, a shelter was the safer option.

-timeset night-

Tommy had finished his shelter; it was messy and poorly constructed but it would keep him safe overnight, and he hurt too much to care. His body seemed to ache more and his eyes felt heavy, it was all so painful, and before he knew it, he fell onto the icey dirt floor, lacking the strength or care to make the place more comfortable. Tommy laid on the cold floor, so cold, but it didn’t matter, the goddess of death clearly wasn’t on his side, she left him to suffer in the cruel world instead of letting him feel the release of death. The pain eventually became too unbearable to even stay awake, causing him to faint; at least he could rest.

In the brits rest, he could hear the echoing of a female’s voice, this time different from the warm motherly voice he had heard on the beach, this one was young and childish, “Kri-.. You can’t leave him there like that! He’ll freeze!” Was the voice speaking about him? They must be right? His question was quickly answered when he heard the same motherly voice from earlier speak, “Yes, I am aware Dr-…a, but I do not hold the same powers as you, I am not able to create anything more than life or death. D-..t.. if you could, please keep my son warm.” There it was again, ‘my son’, they had to be talking about him! The childish voice spoke again, “I’m not like my brother ma’am! I can’t create like him, XD labeled me as the g-....ss of mischief I-I can’t Kri-.....n” The motherly voice spoke again, comforting what seemed to be the younger, “You can, I know you can, I’ve seen it Dr-..t.. Just allow yourself to be comfortable, and believe in yourself, and you will be able to.”

Tommy wonders why he can hear them, where was he? He looked around, he was still cold but he appeared to be in a void of space and time; nothing was there besides him and the voices, was he even awake? He didn’t feel awake, nor dead or alive, he didn’t feel quite real either, he couldn’t figure it out. Before he could figure out what was happening, he was suddenly warmer, the floor felt softer, and the world around him was fuzzy and soft. Before he felt his mind leave the void he heard the childish voice speak one last time, “I DID IT I DID IT MUMZA!” Giggles and cheers float around him before finally fading away with his mind back into the real world, where his body slept comfortably, tucked away into a warm and fuzzy room.

His body felt nicer and more comfortable, but in the end his mind was still awake yet asleep, he found himself feeling as if he was floating between realities while his body rested. The world felt very small and his body was big, he couldn’t see anything other than the void that was between worlds, but he could still feel the disorientation of size through his body. He fit perfectly in his bed but he felt as if he was higher than the ground, floating in the air above his bed. Everything felt unreal, as if his time and space wasn’t relevant to his body and mind anymore. Was this a dream? What was happening to him? The distortion continued, making his body go numb, pins and needles dropped throughout his body before he could snap out of it. Tommy jolted awake, breathing heavily, looking around, the world was still distorted around him. What was happening? Nothing was truly real anymore, not while he felt like this, his body felt too big for the shack, his shack, he wasn’t home. He forgot about what had happened earlier and was too worried about the current situation and the world distorting around him. How did he end up in a bed though? What was happening? He couldn’t tell with the fuzziness of his head floating away from his body and the large shack that made him question his own body's proportions, he didn't know anymore.

- Divider credits to @issysh3ll -

[littlegnome145]

Finished the little what if scenario. It's with the au where Chimchar survives that I talked a bit about before. I might continue this if I can. 1,535 words

Chimchar wakes up to the dull sound of cracking fire.

Everything is cold, it's so so cold, but he was wrapped in something soft and there was warmth near him. The child had barely half a mind to realize that it was probably a bonfire, but then again, he didn't really care. It was chasing away the cold, even if slightly, and for now, that was enough for him.

The small prevolve would have simply gone back to sleep, not even bothering to try and open his eyes, if it weren't for the fact that a part of him was screaming that something wasn't right.

'You shouldn't be here' it shouts, 'you weren't here when you fainted, you might be in danger'.

Chimchar can't exactly remember what the annoying voice was talking about, but he knew that what it was saying was true. He could feel it in his gut, and his gut is never wrong.

Something happened. He's not alone.

A spike of adrenalina runs through the child, who was gradually becoming more and more aware of his surroundings. He tries to open his eyes, but quickly closes them again with a hiss when the fire's brightness overwhelms him.

There was another sound. One that the child only became truly aware of when it suddenly stopped. He can't pinpoint what it was, but he knows that whatever was making it knew he was no longer asleep.

Chimchar does his best to remain still as he hears quiet steps approaching him. He remembers some stuff Squirtle had taugh him on how to recognize footsteps and tries to put it into practice.

Whatever was approaching him was bipedal. The floor was hard and a small echo was made with each step, so they were probably in a cave.

'What else what else??' Chimchar shouts in his own brain, he had to focus on the sound, but it was difficult to do so when his heart was beating so loudly. When his head was rushing with fearful thoughts and scattered, incomplete lessons from his guardian.

The footsteps weren't heavy, but they weren't exactly light either. He hears shuffling, they were messing with a bag, maybe? So it could-

The child's brain stills as he feels a cold, small hand lighly tap his cheek. Definitely not a human hand. "Hey uh, kid? You awake?"

That was familiar. It felt different, but it was definitely familiar. He knew them, he's sure of it. He trusted them. Or at least he thinks he does.

That was his guardian, his teacher, his d-

Chimchar opens his eyes.

And is met with the relieved face of someone he had never seen before.

He scratches the stranger without even thinking. It does little next to nothing to actually hurt them, but they do seem somewhat stunned, confused.

He had to get out of here. He does not know this pokemon, he's in danger-

Something seems to click for the unknown figure, who puts their hands up to indicate that they mean no harm and looks at the child worriedly.

"Hey- listen it's me. I'm Squirtle, I just evolved! It's okay, you're safe! You need to breathe."

Chimchar only realizes that he was hyperventilating when he gets called out on it.

It was so surreal to have fear completely take him over like that. Before today, the child was sure that he was scared of nothing. He was gonna be the strongest pokémon ever, of course he never felt fear! Fear was for weaklings.

And yet, here he was. Pressing himself against a wall with the little strength he still has, barely able to contain his breathing, his heart beating oh so incredibly loud.

He's safe.

He's not surrounded by ice and snow anymore.

He's…

…He shouldn't be though. Chimchar is sure of it.

Chimchar had climbed the mountain alone. He had snuck away from Squirtle and Turtwig to try and face challenges alone for once. He wanted to get stronger.

He faced that thing alone. He fought it alone and he was killed from it alone, or at least he thought he was…

How is he sitting here with Squirtle unless he-

Chimchar, realizing what had happened, couldn't help but groan in annoyance.

"Why did you follow me? I could do this alone you know!"

His guardian raised a brow, expression filled with sarcasm. The wartortle sighs and starts looking for something in a discarded backpack that was beside him.

Backpack?

Chimchar looks at it, then glances around. The soft surface he was laying on is a winter coat. A human's winter coat. There were also a couple of random items the child did not recognize scattered half hazardly on the cave's floor, around the bonfire.

Wartortle seems to finally find what he was looking for, as he visibly relaxes at the sight of an orange spray bottle. He checks it over for a bit before kneeling in front of the child.

"Okay, so this is a super potion, it's an item commonly used to heal pokémon. You're on pretty low hp, so it's best you use it, just to be safe."

Chimchar, despite his annoyance, nods, and before he know it, he is sprayed with the healing potion. It's cold and sort of uncomfortable, but he gradually starts to feel the remaining aches in his body start to dull. The kid can feel himself becoming sleepy again, but tries to keep himself awake, if only to maintain whatever was left of his pride.

The older pokémon seems to relax a little by the visible relief the potion brought to the child. Putting the item to the side, he adjusts the coat Chimchar was laying on so the edges cover him like a makeshift blanket and, once satisfied, sits beside him.

"Are you feeling okay? You were in pretty rough shape when I found you."

The prevolve loathes it when this happens, loathes with all of his being. Squirtle always got him out of fights as soon as he had to face anything minimally challenging, always with the same concerned look and know-it-all speeches. He was never going to get stronger if he continued being coddled like this.

Nevertheless, Chimchar was way too tired to properly show his frustration. He wanted to scream, to bite, to run away fuming, but his body was just no numb, so cold.

He wasn't just going to thank him, though. He might be tired, but not that tired.

"I'm fine." he replies, only now noticing how scratchy his voice had become, nevertheless he ignores it. "How did you get all this stuff anyway?"

Wartortle looks away in shame, scratching the back of his own head and trying to think of a decent answer.

"Well uhh, I borrowed it from a human."

"You mean you stole it from a human." Chimchar immediately replies. The older pokémon sighs in frustration.

"Yeah, I stole it from them."

The cave is silent for a little while, only filled with the soft cracking of the fire.

"Did you kill them?" Chimchar asks, intrigued with the potential bloody details this even could have caused.

"No. They had a flying type with them, so I just told her to get her trainer out of here. I kept some of their stuff though." Wartortle can't help but chuckle at the kid's immediate loss of interest, it reminded him of…

He shook away the thought before it even fully formed. This was not the time to think about his old friends.

"Anyway, you're safe now. We'll get out of here as soon as possible, but we have to wait for the snow storm to calm itself down first."

Chimchar raises a brow at that. Storm? His memory was a bit hazy, but he surely didn't remember a storm. Did that giant pokémon cause it?

"It hit not long after I found you. I don't think that the gods obsessed guy cause it though. Unless he had been keeping it from happening? I don't know."

The child tries to focus on trying to hear the storm. The entrance of the cave had been blocked with a big boulder- something most likely done by Wartortle- so it was a little difficult to do, but with some effort he was able to listen to the hectic wind from the outside.

Just thinking of how cold it all most likely was made him shiver. Good thing he's inside the cave, he's had enough ice and snow for one day- or maybe even for a lifetime.

"I was lucky to find this place as quickly as I did, or else we would've been in a lot of trouble." Wartortle says, looking at the giant stone blocking the entrance.

Yeah, lucky.

Chimchar was still annoyed, though. He wanted to be able to do these things on his own. Just this once. He huffs, feeling himself gradually start to drift off.

"Ugh, as soon as I see Turtwig again I'm gonna kill him for snitching on me."

Wartortle, who was sitting next to the child, suddenly stands up in a panic. His previous calm posture gone in the blink of an eye and replaced by sheer and utter terror.

"SHIT- THE OTHER KID!"

[ducknotinarow]

[Foot FTM Casey Karai]

Casey had made himself comfortable in Karai's room; never asking for permission to enter, and never planning on doing so anytime soon. But he wasn't being annoying, a rare occurrence. No, he was sat there, simply enjoying the silent company of being with his sister. A sister that accepted him for who he was. Sure, she slipped up here and there, but Casey knew she never called him 'Eve' out of maliciousness.

Shifting, Casey leaned his head back, looking up to Karai. The arguments between him and dad were getting worse; it was starting to weigh him down - tremendously at that. Swallowing, Casey's gaze flickered away briefly, before looking back at her,

"Hey Rai," He spoke up, voice softer than intended, "D' yer ever think father will ever accept the fact I'm not Evelyn anymore...?"

Casey isn't stupid, he already knows the answer. But he's searching for hope in a desolate place,

"Or am I gonna be fightin' him 'bout this forever?" He knows he will, "He can accept mutants an' aliens oh but my daughter's actually my son?? Now that's where we draw the line?! Fuckin' prick."

He's just venting now; he supposes it's simply because it feels nice to be heard,

"I coul' take every drug, 'ave every surgery possible, look like a guy through an' through...but he'd still bury me in a fuckin' dress."

Casey sighs, rolls his head back as he stares at the ceiling. He can feel his anger boiling.

"Karai...d'yer think there's anythin' I'm ever gonne be able t' d', that's actually gonna get him t' accept who I am."

| muse interaction

The room was quite as Karai was reclined back against her pillows well aware of Casey in her room. Hard to miss them but they hadn't said a word simply made them self comfortable on the floor near her bed. Normally Casey made her his presence known running their mouth about something to complain about. From Karai stealing their makeup to bitching about their father. Karai always tended to glare when they came in and make some remark about her peace being disturb over it. But When Casey came in to the the room they hadn't said a word. Hardly gave a look towards Karai even as they made their way in and took their current place in the room. Living with someone so long gave a benefit of just knowing a change in mood from the smallest things. So Karai went back to reading the article on her phone's screen. A museum was going to be showcasing a pretty famous katana among it other exhibits here soon.

What a waste letting such a famed weapon sit to gather dust and grown dull.

It wasn't that she wasn't interested in why Casey was in her room of course she was, but if she simply asked? Casey might just grow defensive suddenly. And well their emotions had been all over the place. Not that Karai fully blame them. The dramatics of cutting their own hair and blows with their dad were still pretty fresh in the end. So she simply looked up the the map layout of the museum that the katana was going to be displayed at. It shouldn't be so easy to find the schematics of a building housing priceless artifacts.

"Hey Rai,"

She hummed slightly to show she was listening to them she noticed how soft their tone was when they spoke up so she set her phone down on her bed and moved from her place among her pillows to instead dangle her legs over the side next to Casey looking down at them as they seemed to be thinking. Shocker there maybe those drug were putting thoughts in that empty skull of theirs.

"D' yer ever think father will ever accept the fact I'm not Evelyn anymore…?"

Karai slightly bite at her bottom lip over the question. There was no way even they were that stupid to think the answer would be so easy as a simple 'yes'.

"Or am I gonna be fightin' him 'bout this forever?"

Karai hadn't spoke up yet moving to slightly lean over and rest her check to the back of her hand. At best this was all rhetorical. Karai had to admit she was a bit thrown by Casey's coming out herself. Granted getting told at two in the morning the sister you have always known was now dead? Was a bit much to take in as they stood in front of you with nothing more than a pair of scissors and chunk of hair.

"He can accept mutants an' aliens oh but my daughter's actually my son?? Now that's where we draw the line?! Fuckin' prick."

If karai was honest which she was the answer would be a resounding 'No duh' But she let then rant and vent it out easily hearing the tone in Casey's voice. She had to admit she was still learning her self often needing to correct both when she spoke and thought alone. She just bite her tongue for a moment. She knows the people around Casey do need to also change in away themselves when it comes to something like gender transitioning. A few of the foot soldiers were proving to be dicks about it themselves from what Karai had hear around the compound. Good thing it didn't take to hard a hit to make them remember their place.

"I coul' take every drug, 'ave every surgery possible, look like a guy through an' through…but he'd still bury me in a fuckin' dress."

"Yeah." She didn't mean for that to slip, but how could she not? It was plain as day, that was the case. Far as thier father cared or was even concured about Casey would never be Caseh to him. Sure Karia could understand maybe an internal knee reaction she wasn't immune to it herself. Having felt nearly the same. Maybe that was discrediting herself too much though at best she just kept saying the wrong name and Pronouns here and there and admitly she was still wrapping her head around the thought.

Him though? No thier father was someone you couldn't make budge an inch. They would be here in New York now if you could after all. One single hint of a cule that any Hamato Clan surviors were around more so a man name Yoshi. Was all it took to move his family to New York after all.

So honestly? This seemed near impossible to Karai. As Casey moved thier head back look up towards the ceiling of her room.

"Karai…d'yer think there's anythin' I'm ever gonne be able t' d', that's actually gonna get him t' accept who I am."

"Well, Eve- sorry, Casey." She was quick to catch herself before moving to join him on the floor. "I think you're asking for the impossible here. I mean, it's dad. He's killed off foot soldiers for not performing katas perfect enough." She states it wasn't comforting it kind of wasn't meant to be though. It was more trying to give them the harsh truth in a sense least from where Karai stood she was able to see that truth. A sage distance from the pain came with it as well.

"I feel like it takes a lot more than beating up a pharmacy worker or simply standing up to him." Slightly calling out Casey's past actions not that she faulted them on the latter. Even karai had to have a heated debate with their father from time to time. She doesn get an idea now however considering her own sneaking around to want to explore the area lately. "You know speaking of mutants I happen to have met one of interest to dad." There was only one set of mutants that had the Shrdders attetion lately. More than he ever even bothered to pay to his three kids as of late.

"A turtle mutant." She smirks a little she clearly hadn't yet mentioned this to their father. There was no real reason she was just bored and messing around. She would mention it or maybe someone else could? Was whar she was hinting at here. Hey right now Casey mlre than anyone needed a win.

[once-upon-an-imagine]

Don’t Worry Baby - Fezco

A/N: ahhh this is my first time writing for Fez, so I hope I did a fair job and you all like it xD

Request - Anonymous asked: Hey!!! I just saw that you want to start writing for Fezco!! Coul you maybe do one where she goes to the drug deal with Fezco, Ash, and Rue and waits in the car. But she gets pulled into the apartment like Faye and Rue?? Protective Fezco! Lots of fluff! Little Angst?? Thank you in advance!

Warnings: +18, reader is 18+, guns, nakedness, drugs, spoilers for S2E1, and also, I know I always casually use curse words on my fics, but this will be a whole new level because... Euphoria xD

Disclaimer: I don’t own Euphoria :) gif isn’t mine :D 

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Don’t Worry Baby

But she looks in my eyes And makes me realize And she says ‘don't worry, baby’

"Yo, can you tell her to shut the fuck up?!" Ash complained in the passenger seat.

Fez looked up the rearview mirror to see you laughing as you looked out the window while Rue kept on singing along and he couldn't help but smile. He turned to Rue, who was sitting next to you.

"Yeah, Rue, you gotta chill out back there. For real" he said, annoyed, looking back at her. "Me and Ash gotta handle some serious business right now, so" he sighed.

"Yeah, for sure" Rue said. "No, I can do that" she said, resting back on her seat. "I can just stay back here and chill with my homie. It's real comfy" she said smiling at you.

Fez rolled his eyes and finally pulled over to where the deal was going to go down where Custer was waiting for him with a girl next to him.

"Who the fuck is this bitch?" Fez asked annoyed as he got out of the car and Ash did too.

As Custer talked to them, you moved over to the driver's seat since Fez always told you to do it in case you needed to get out of there quicker than usual.

"You look real pretty tonight" Rue told you from the back and you smiled back at her. You liked Rue. She was nice and you knew Fez had a soft spot for her. And you also knew she was having a hard time since Jules had left, so you were happy he brought her along to at least keep you company.

"Thanks, Rue" you smiled.

"Does Fez tell you that enough?" she asked all of the sudden.

"He does" you chuckled, feeling your cheeks heating a little.

"Whatever man, let's just do this" you heard Fez walking over back to you.

"Faye... in the car" Custer said and the blonde opened the door, sitting next to Rue.

Fez leaned on the window next to you. "Ten, twenty minutes tops, princess, okay?" he said, kissing your forehead and you nodded at him. "I love you" he whispered.

"I love you too" you said giving him a peck on the lips.

"Y'all just please stay in the car" Fez said, looking at you and then at Rue. "No fuckin' funny business. Let's go" he said, leaving with Ash and Custer.

"Hi, I'm Faye" the blonde girl said, waving at you and Rue.

"Yo, fam, uh Rue" she replied before you introduced yourself as well.

"So... how's your New Year's going?" Rue asked.

"What?" she asked confused.

"New Year" Rue repeated.

"It's fucking New Year's?" she asked, looking at you.

"Uh- I believe so" you informed her.

"I swear my boyfriend doesn't tell me anything" she complained. You sighed, bringing your knees to your chest. This was going to be a long night. You then heard Rue tell Faye the story of her and Jules, again.

"My girlfriend. At the fuckin' train station, she left me straight-up" she told her.

"She left you at a fucking train station?"

"Yeah! I was like crying and shit!"

"What a fucking cunt" Faye said.

"Yeah" Rue said sadly. "Holy fucking shit!" she yelled all of the sudden, and you turned around to see her and Faye.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" you told her.

"Um... I don't think... I wouldn't do that here" Rue suggested.

"It's just heroin" Faye said as if it was nothing.

"No, no. We see that" you said, turning around to face her. "But maybe, like, uh... this isn't the best place to do that" you said, widening your eyes at Rue.

"Why?"

"I just feel like this is really not the right time to be doing that-"

"Listen, I fucking know what you two are" she snapped. "You're just a fuckin' junkie-ass bitch" she said to Rue and then she turned over to you. "And you're probably fuckin' eating that ginger's ass for fuckin' oxys or whatever the fuck you're into!" she yelled before she went back to her business.

"Yo, what the fuck are you doing?!" you yelled.

"What? What the fuck?"

"Are you just putting it in there?" Rue said. "Jesus, that is your whole fucking crotch" she said, looking away.

"Fuck, that looks like it hurts!" you said, looking away as well.

The next thing you knew you saw a man grab Faye out of the car by the window and another one grabbed Rue. When you tried to scream for her, you felt a pair of arms grab you as well. And then, you were being pulled inside the apartment where you saw Fez and Ash unharmed and you felt just a little relieved. You saw Faye being thrown to the floor and Rue was pushed against the opposite wall from where Fez and Ash were.

"Yo, get your fucking hands off her!" you heard Fez yell and walk over to you but the guy holding you pointed his gun at your head and he stopped. The guy still holding your arm laughed before he pushed you his way and he quickly caught you. "You okay, ma?"

"I'm fine" you said, trying to smile at him.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" you heard one of the men hit Custer on the face. "You come into my motherfucking house! With a fucking twelve-year-old!" he said pointing at Ash. "Three junkie whores and a motherfucker I don't know!" he said, pointing his gun at Fez, who pushed you behind him. "You out of your fucking mind?! I'm on fucking probation!"

"Brucy" you heard a woman in the next room call for him and he went over to talk to her.

"You sure you're alright? Did they hurt you?" Fez whispered, inspecting your face to make sure.

"I'm alright" you assured him. "I promise" you said. "Are you and Ash okay?"

Fez felt his heart melting. He had no idea what he had done to have someone like you. You had just been grabbed by some random fuckers and pushed around and your only concern was if he and Ash were okay. He also noticed you looking at Rue every now and then to make sure she was alright as well. He was about to answer when Bruce came back into the room.

"Alright, check this out" he said, putting on music. "All y'all, let's get naked right fuckin' now" he said as he started dancing around. Fez could feel you shaking behind him and he grabbed your hand in his. "Let's go, c'mon" he said, snapping his fingers.

"You heard what he fucking said!" the guy that brought you in said, pointing his gun at you and Fez. "Come on!"

"Yo, yo, come on now y'all. Chill" he said, trying to hide you entirely behind him.

"Come on! Let's go" Bruce said, as he kept dancing in the middle and then he stopped in front of Ash. "Except for you. Keep your shit on, man" he said, grabbing him. "Nobody wants to see you naked. B.J. take his ass down. Put 'em in a fucking closet!"

You were about to say something, but Fez squeezed your hand. "He's fine" he whispered to you. "Look man, chill. Nobody got no fuckin' wire" Fez insisted.

"Prove that shit!" Bruce said, looking at him. "I don't know who the fuck you are! Far as I'm concerned, you're a fucking cop!"

"Obviously I'm not wearing a fucking wire!" Faye complained. "You paranoid f-" she was interrupted when Bruce slammed her head into the wall behind her and she screamed in pain. When Custer tried to argue, Bruce did the same to him  and you gripped Fez’s hand tighter.

"Anybody else?" he said, looking straight at you and you slowly shook your head. "Let's go, come on!" he snapped his fingers. "Everybody, let's get naked!"

Fez turned to look at you with sorrow in his eyes and started taking off his sweater. "Just stay behind me okay?" he said and you nodded.

Your hands were shaking as they moved over to the hem of your skirt, pushing it down and then followed by your top. You felt sick to your stomach when you felt all of the men eyeing you in your underwear. You saw that Fez noticed too because his face was turning red.

"Look at me" you whispered, knowing that you were in no position to do something stupid. "Just focus on me, okay?" you said and he gave you a soft nod. You then removed your bra and quickly placed your arms in front of your chest, standing in nothing but your underwear now. You scanned the room around you and saw that Faye and Custer were already undressed, but Rue was standing there, frozen.

"You not hear what the fuck I said?" Bruce asked, getting closer to Rue.

You saw Rue taking off her jacket but then she froze again.

"F-Fez" you said, still shaking. You saw him mouth something to her but Rue shook her head and then Bruce grabbed her by her arm and pulled her out of the room. "Fez, he's taking Rue!" you said, frightened.

"Yo, yo, hold on, man." Fez started but the guy next to you quickly grabbed you, pointing his gun at you.

"Whoa there, pretty boy" he said, making him stop instantly. "You ain't going anywhere."

"Get your fuckin' hands off her, man!" he yelled.

"What are you gonna do about it?" he laughed. He pulled you over to move you into a line with Fez, Custer, and Faye. when he saw you were still wearing your underwear, he grabbed the hem of it with his finger to see inside your underwear, and then let it fall back against your skin. "Nice" he said, winking at you. "No wire" he said, smirking and looking at Fez.

You looked up at Fez, who was clenching his jaw and his face was red as he threw daggers at the man. "Hey" you said, getting his attention. "Just look at me. It’s okay" you assured him, trying to smile and he nodded.

You saw Rue coming back in, unharmed but soaked and shaking, with a towel in her hands. And then, the lady from the other room walked in and Custer started making a stupid introduction of Fez and explaining the whole situation to her.

"Where's Mouse?" she asked looking at Fez.

"Um, you think that you can let me and my girl get dressed, and then I can talk to you in the other room for a sec?" he asked, moving closer to you.

"Okay" she said, calmly. Fez quickly grabbed his sweater, which was closest to him, and threw it at you before he started getting dressed. He saw that after you put the sweater on, you immediately went over to Rue.

"Are you okay?" you asked her trying to calm her down and she nodded. Fez tried to suppress his smile. You had the biggest, kindest heart he had ever known.

*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

"Yo, that was hon-... Honestly, that was the craziest shit I've ever experienced!" Rue kept on rambling on the car.

After Fez and Laurie talked, you were finally gone. Ash was now sitting on the back with Rue, rolling his eyes at her conversation. You were sitting on the passenger seat, next to Fez. He wanted you close. You had been dead silent the entire car ride. His hand was resting on your thigh. He knew how your mind worked. Whenever you were in a stressful situation, you kept as calm as you could, but as soon as it was over, and you knew everything was okay, you would break down crying and he was always there for you when it happened.

"Geez, oh my fucking God" you heard Ash mutter under his breath as Rue kept on telling you a fucking recap of what you had all gone through not long ago.

Fez felt you shaking next to him so he grabbed your hand to bring it to his lips and you turned to smile at him weakly.

"And that lady, let me just say, she's a fucking gangster!" Rue kept going. "She's a fucking gangster. They all work for her-"

"Aye, why you actin' like that shit was fun, Rue?" he snapped when she didn't shut up. "For real. You're pissing me off. Actin' dumb as fuck right now" he said.

"Fez-" you tried to calm him down but he ignored you.

"Goddamn, all smilin' and laughin' and shit!" he kept going. "You know half of that shit was your fault, too. Fuckin' around actin' stupid! You could have gotten hurt! You could have gotten Ash or my girl or me hurt! For fucks sake!"

"Sorry" Rue muttered and was quiet for only a moment. "I'm just saying, serious question. How many female drug dealers do you know?"

"Good ones?" Fez asked.

"Yes."

Fez shared a look with Ash and then saw Rue through the rearview mirror.

"One" he replied and you smiled, knowing he was talking about his grandma.

"Case in point" Rue said as you moved a little closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder, stroking his arm with your hand.

"You good, princess?" he asked, kissing your forehead and you nodded.

As soon as you pulled over at the New Year's party, Rue got out of the car and Fez told Ash to go first, handing him the backpack. You were about to get out too, but he pulled you back.

"Aren't we... going too?" you asked, confused.

"C'mere" he said, pulling you onto his lap and cupping your cheeks with his hands. "Hi" he said, softly.

"Hello" you smiled at him, throwing your arms around his shoulders.

"You okay?" he asked, giving you a peck on the lips. You nodded but Fez could already see the tears forming in your eyes. "I am so sorry, princess" he said, hugging you to him and kissing your head repeatedly.

"It's okay-"

"No, it's not" he insisted, hugging you closer. "You shouldn't have been there tonight. You could have been really hurt and I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you" he said, wiping away your tears.

"Nothing happened, love" you said, kissing his cheek and burying your head in his shoulder. "I just..." you took a deep breath. "I don't want anything to happen to you" you cried a little more.

"You don't have to worry about me, princess" he said, hugging you tighter. "I ain't going anywhere" he assured you.

"You promise?" you asked, pulling away and looking at him. Fez smiled wiping away the remaining of your tears.

"'Course I promise" he smiled at you before bringing you to his lips to kiss you. "And I swear I'll never let anything happen to you" he said when you pulled apart. "You trust me?"

You smiled at him, remembering what Fez replied when Laurie asked him if he trusted you. "With my life" you said, kissing him once more.

"You wanna head inside?"

"Can we just... stay here a little longer?" you asked, resting your head in his shoulder again. "I just want you all to myself for a while" you said, making him laugh a little. You knew that as soon as you went inside, you would lose Fez to all of his customers, and after what happened, you just wanted to be close to him for a moment.

"Of course" he said, kissing your forehead. "Anything you want, princess" he said, stroking his hand on your back, soothing you. "I love you."

"I love you too, Fez."

The End

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A/N: ahhh xD please let me know what you think! I have more Fez imagines to come :) 

[stjarnaloki]

The Hands that Hold You (Loki x f. reader)

hi! I finally have something to post! I am thrilled! this is the spicy sequel to this fic request about Loki's hands.

Major CW besides 18+: reader in this fic does suffer from mental health issues. please be aware if this is triggering to you. I wrote this heavily based on my own experience with derealization. It's so dark and dramatic in bits lmao but it felt good to write about. Words: 6k Tags: major friends to lovers, Loki is a simp, Loki is also an angsty idiot, post-Avengers Loki, Loki forgiveness arc, romantic smut, mentally ill reader, anxiety, healing, HANDS. Taglist:

@mad4marvelloki @lokiprompts @littlepupthoughs

finally, this fic is dedicated to the WikiHow page, "How to Throw a Knife"

Loki stayed for a long time, letting you rub and squeeze and caress the expanse of his beautiful hands, never once making a move to leave until you squeezed twice and yawned. 

And then he kissed the thumb that was wrapped around his, chaste and pure and honest. And then with a quick “night, sweet,” he was gone. 

Loki found you curled up in a ball in the pantry. 

“Hey…hey…what’s this…” he murmured, kneeling quickly beside you. Your back quivered with shivering breaths, your hands clutched to your stomach that threatened to spill at any moment with anxiety-induced nausea. 

“I d-on’t…I d-d-” your tongue, that didn’t even feel like your tongue, how was it moving? stuttered as you tried to explain how you felt. You wouldn’t wish this experience on your worst enemy. It was the most terrifying sensation, completely alien to anyone who hadn’t felt it themselves. And when you explained it, you felt insane. 

“I d-don’t feel like I’m real I’m not real I don’t feel like anything’s real…” you blurted all at once, followed immediately by a stuttering inhale that immediately crumpled into a sob. Snot ran from your nose freely, but you didn’t care…none of this was real anyway. Who cares what you look like?

Loki’s brows furrowed in worry, saying nothing as he placed one of his broad hands on your back. You felt the warmth from his palm vaguely as he rubbed slowly, but it was a numb, dull sensation. Like a sedative had been slipped in your drink. Only you wished it was such a simple explanation as that. It was your own head torturing you like this, no one to blame but yourself. 

From somewhere far away, you felt Loki gently pry one hand off your knee and clasp it in his. Loki knew something was wrong when your hand didn’t immediately start rubbing the pad of his thumb. That was your routine, a nearly immediate cure that the trickster was used to by now and secretly, though he’d never admit it to you, felt immensely proud of. But now, you held it limply, like you barely noticed it was there, your breath still wheezing raggedly. 

So Loki rubbed your back a little more forcefully, like a mother to a sick child. But to no avail. Your hand was clammy in his, and it still wasn’t responding to his touch. The confused Loki scanned your features hurriedly, his mind versed in Asgardian health literature trying to diagnose what you needed. Your eyes were glazed over, unblinking and staring down at the ground, the only movement in your wracking breaths. You were going to make yourself sick, or pass out completely, Loki thought, if this continued.

“Sweet, you must try to breathe…” he finally spoke, his voice soft as silk. 

“...try to breathe…” you heard from far away, in a voice that sounded muffled underwater. 

None of this was happening. The life before your eyes moved like a dream, in frames that didn’t make sense. You felt like you were a million miles away, staring at your own body as you cowered in the corner. Your own heartbeat roared in your ears, completely aware that your hyperventilating was making you feel worse and completely unable to stop.

“Deep breath now, please…” Loki murmured, an uncomfortable worry beginning to bubble in his stomach. Whatever was happening was an entirely new beast, far more complicated than nerves from a presentation. He could feel the tumultuous energy around you, nearly see the chaos swirling around in your head. 

“...please…” the faraway voice said again. It was Loki’s. But Loki wasn’t here. It was just your own stupid head, making you think that you weren’t real and now it’s making you hear voices that weren’t there. The panic increased, your sobs more violent. You felt like you were suffocating, marooned on an island with only the tortuous thoughts in your head. 

You vaguely felt hands grab your face, and Loki’s face swam into your vision in slow motion. You saw the green of his eyes first. 

“Breathe…” his lips moved, and you registered the word a few seconds later. Your heart thumped a little less loudly.

“Look at me…” the lips moved again. A command this time. Louder. His eyes were brighter than you’d ever seen, deep pools of emerald, with some emotion behind them that you couldn’t distinguish as anger or concern. Looking at them felt nice. You swallowed thickly, finally having enough time between pants to feel your own tongue. Then another swallow, and finally a slow breath that filled your lungs completely. You felt a squeeze of your hand and came to realize that Loki was not a trick of your mind. Loki was there, full flesh and blood, his long legs crossed awkwardly in front of him, his worried face inches from your own.

“Rub my hand, darling, feel it…” the man in front of you murmured softly. His voice sounded nearly normal now, no longer warbled and far away. You obeyed, feeling a little better now that feeling was returning to your limbs. “It’s real, see?” 

Your mind caught up to reality all at once, like a video resuming after being rewound. Loki was now in full focus, and you heard the tick tick of the fridge and the hum of the air conditioning vent above you. Loki’s hand was real. There was the soft pale skin, the bony ridges, and squishy thumb pads you knew well, bringing you slowly back into your body. You sniffed pitifully, still unable to speak, fresh tears streaming down your face. You readjusted your grip on Loki’s hand where it lay on your lap, smoothing over his knuckles. He offered his other one and you grabbed it with a shaking hand. Loki slowly brought it to his breast, pressing your hand flat against the spot over his heart. You felt a steady thumping, much slower than a human’s, but strong.  

“I’m real, I’m right here…” Loki murmured, squeezing your other hand again for emphasis. You nodded, trying to stop the flow of tears. After a long few minutes of focusing on his heartbeat, your breathing was steady and your pulse returned to a normal level. You felt weak and shaken, but the worst had subsided.

Loki brought the hand on his chest to his lips, laying a soft kiss to your knuckles. The intimacy of this gesture was completely lost on you, still reeling from your out-of-body anxiety attack. 

“Sorry…” you found your words again, but the word came out more like a burble, halfway caught in your throat. 

“Shut up…” Loki replied, gently, unfolding his long legs so you could lean against his chest. 

 At his kindness, you lost it again. Fresh tears welled in your eyes and they fell in fat puddles on his gray shirt where you buried your face.

“Shh…shsh…” Loki said, wrapping his free arm around your shoulders and drawing you closer. 

“I fucking hate it…” you sobbed. “I don’t know why this happens.” 

“You don’t have to understand why,” Loki murmured, his hand still in your own. You wrung it in such anguish you thought he would cry out, but he did not. “Some things just happen in your mind. Norns, if anyone would understand that it’s me.” 

Jesus, he was being sweet. With a long sniff, you gathered yourself enough to stop crying. You reluctantly pushed yourself up to sitting again, beginning to wipe your eyes with the backs of your wrists. 

“Ah-” Loki said, snapping his fingers to stop you. With a glimmer and a deadpan wink, Loki materialized a silk cloth with gold trim and presented it to you on an outstretched palm. You snorted, but took it gratefully. 

“Couldn’t you have just healed me?” you said, dabbing your eyes with the cloth, a little embarrassed at the fat tear stains you’d left on his shirt. “Zapped my head a little?” 

“I wanted to. You needed to break out of it yourself,” Loki said apologetically, leaning his long frame against a shelf full of rice. “The more you practice getting out of your own head, I think, the less daunting those feelings will be when they arise….” he said slowly, like a doctor postulating to a colleague. He looked at you apprehensively, like he was bracing for anger from withholding the remedy. 

You nodded instead, to his relief. 

“You sound like my shrink,” you sighed. “The only way out is through.” 

“The unfortunate truth, most times,” Loki replied. His words hung in the air, neither of you knowing what else to say. 

Loki broke the tension by clearing his throat. 

“I feel, personally, like a distraction would be a very good thing at the moment, no?” Loki said, all matter-of-fact. You smiled at his confidence, raising your eyebrows as if to say is that so? 

Loki jumped to his feet, holding out his hand to pull you from the ground. 

“Come with me.”

—-------------

“Not a workout…” you groaned, . “Loki…” 

Loki had led you at a brisk pace down the stairs to the doorway of the compound’s training center. He held the door open for you expectantly. 

“No, no,” Loki sighed impatiently. “Unlike my brother I don’t use my emotions as fuel to lift heavy things. Close, but not quite. Come,” he finished, nodding at you to come inside. “Trust me…” he wheedled when you didn’t move. 

You rolled your eyes, but allowed yourself to be ushered in. Once inside, Loki opened another door to what you thought was a closet, but turned out to be much more confusing. It was long, with a large padded board at the end of the room. Foam stuck out of the three dummies standing upright, where hundreds of slash marks had hit them. 

“Jesus Christ…” you said, marveling at the rack of daggers and battle knives that lined the opposite wall. 

“Marvelous, isn’t it?” Loki said, beaming, while he ran his finger down the edge of a dagger. It pinged when he flicked it. “Tony’s idea, the annoying fuck.” 

“Very nice…” you said slowly, more charmed by the grin that was stretching Loki’s face. The shadows that usually hung around his brow had faded entirely. 

“Try it,” Loki said, handing you a gilded handle of a blade. “Just throw one and see how it feels.” 

You took it silently, looking apprehensive. Loki faltered a little. He wasn’t used to displaying such enthusiasm. 

“It helps me feel better,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I thought it might do the same for you…” his voice trailed off. 

You suddenly realized how much you enjoyed the crinkles that appeared at the corners of his eyes when he said something serious. 

“Okay…” you sighed, trying not to blush, and took a wider stance on the padded floor. You wound up your arm, gripping the dagger with force. With a slight grunt, you hurled it at what you thought was the third target’s upper shoulder, but turned out to be his mid-calf. The blade only stuck a few inches, and the weight of the handle made it tumble to the ground with a dull clunk after a few seconds. 

When you looked back at him sheepishly, Loki was rolling up his shirtsleeves. Your eyes fell on an exposed forearm, admiring how his dexterous fingers folded the fabric in on itself, how handsome his nose was as he focused on that insignificant, mundane motion.  

“That’s a fair first shot, my lady,” he was saying, skimming his fingers along the top rack of knives like an artist peruses tubes of paint. “But, erm…”

You had raised your eyebrows at “my lady,” but expectantly waited for Loki’s inevitably perfect execution. 

Loki tossed his choice, an eight-inch blade adorned with an intricate vine pattern, a few inches into the air and caught it again. 

“A little harder, darling,” Loki said, picking one up and hurling it with what could only be the energy of hundreds of years of anger and mistreatment. His smile was gone, replaced with a dark focus. The lips drawn thin, the eyes bright, his opposite fist flexing and unflexing at his side. He observed where his dagger had hit, directly in the heart of the dummy, and relaxed slightly. The shadow lifted, and he looked at you with a nod as if to say got that? 

“Did you see how I turned my hips?” he said, shaking his dark curls a little. 

Did I ever, you thought. “Think so,” was what you said. 

“Try again. And, um, try exhaling this time. When you throw it,” Loki said, handing you another blade. 

Loki, bless him, had handed you a much smaller blade this time. Still wickedly sharp, but no longer than a butter knife. It sat nicer in the curve of your hand. With less weight, you felt much more in control. 

You took a deep breath and stood sideways, gripping the handle. With a twisting motion, you hurled your arm in an arc at the target. This time, the blade landed with a much more satisfying thunk, and it stuck in place. 

“Oh, well done,” Loki said, quirking the corner of his mouth. “Our victim certainly requires stitches, at least,” he said, motioning to the dummy, where your blade was protruding out of its upper shoulder.

“You’re the one that gave me the butter knife,” you quipped, stripping off your sweatshirt to just your sports bra. 

“They’re just as deadly, if you want them to be.” Loki said with a chuckle, and you didn’t fail to notice his eyes flicking up and down your now-exposed torso. You felt a shiver run through you. 

“Can I?” he asked, stepping forward with an expectant hand. 

“Sure,” you said, swallowing thickly. 

He reached for your throwing hand, readjusting your grip so the thumb rested on the blunt edge of the knife. He shifted the rest of your fingers down with delicate touches, then clasped it in his own. 

“Now…” he stepped behind you, your back just brushing the front of his shirt. His touch was so unlike what you were used to. Instead of soothing, his hands were electrifying. The hand that didn’t hold the knife trailed down to your hip bone, where he pressed gently in the direction he wanted you to move.

You hoped he couldn’t feel your heartbeat that was hammering in your ribs. 

“It’s more in the elbow,” he muttered, drawing your arm up so it was perpendicular. He mimed throwing in slow motion, and you tried your hardest to ignore how his breath shifted the hairs on the back of your neck. 

“Got it?” he questioned once he’d done it a few times, stepping away.

“We’ll see,” you said, entirely skeptical you had absorbed anything he showed you with the scent of his aftershave still making your head spin. 

You inhaled deeply, eyes shut. When you snapped them open, you moved all at once, releasing the frustration you felt with your own mind. How unfair it was that other people had brains that just worked and were able to go about their days without the impending dread that something terrible was about to happen. The knife left your hand at the same time you let go of a shout of fury, shame, and fear, a loud bark that echoed off the walls until the knife sunk directly into the center of the dummy’s chest.

Silence followed, in which you just stared, panting at the emotional discharge. 

“Oh, shit,” Loki whistled, breaking the tension. When you didn’t respond, he leaned his head into your field of vision, where you still stared at the dagger sticking out of the dummy. 

“How’d that feel?” he said softly, snapping you out of your trance.

“Quite good,” you admitted, shaking yourself a little. “That must have been a fluke. Did you use your magic to make me feel better?” 

“On Valhalla, I did not,” Loki said, smiling at you. 

—---------

You threw daggers with Loki until orange light poked through the windows, signaling dinnertime. By the last throw, you felt cleansed. It was as close to forgetting about your panic attack as you ever would be. 

Loki tossed you a towel to wipe the sweat off. He’d made himself an outfit more comfortable than a button down, which turned out to be gym shorts and nothing more. He was glistening, too.

“I’ll see you at dinner?” you asked, suddenly feeling exposed and unsure how to end this violent therapy session. 

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” Loki said. But neither of you moved. You shifted your weight to the other hip, not wanting to be the one that ended this moment. Loki’s moods were forbidden rooms, too, often hidden by heavy doors. You didn’t know when you would see this one again.

You cleared your throat. 

“Thank you,” you said earnestly. “It helped. A lot.”

“Don’t mention it,” Loki said gruffly, freezing where he stared at you. 

“I’m sorry you had to see…this afternoon,” you continued, unable to hold your tongue. 

“Stop it,” Loki said a little forcefully. 

You took a step closer to him, feeling bold and foolish all at the same time. The emotions of the day left you feeling like you had little else to lose.

“You…make this bearable,” you said. 

“I don’t need thanks,” Loki cut you off gruffly. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s just what…”

“What friends do?” you said, your voice barely a whisper. Another step and your face would be inches from his. 

“If you’d like to call it that…” Loki said again, indulging in a long glance at your lips.

“Is that what you’d like to call…this?” you asked all at once, not breaking his dark green stare. His face moved an inch closer to yours in the long pause that followed, and then another inch. Your exhales danced on each others’ lips. 

“You trust me. And I trust you. And it is very hard for me to trust. I think that says enough,” Loki said, his lips so close to yours they brushed on his vowels.

That was as close to a confession as you’d get from the trickster, you reasoned. 

The first meeting of your lips was a pillowy-soft question. His lips spoke neither encouragement nor resistance at first. But the hands that flew to your waist a second later were not indifferent. They commanded you closer, drew you to his firm body so fast that you broke the kiss to gasp against his mouth.  

Loki’s mouth was devouring yours again a second later, kissing you with a fervor that caused goosebumps to prickle up your arms. 

For once, your hands got to explore the rest of his body. Caress his still-damp chest, tug gently on the curls at the back of his head. He was everywhere all at once, tasting your lips, licking your neck, nibbling your collarbones until you gasped against his cheek.

Loki stopped suddenly, leaning his forehead against yours and panting. 

“...you’ve had a shit day,” he said, the quiver in his voice giving away any chance he had of concealing his arousal. 

“Please don’t stop…” you moaned, trying to tug his broad shoulders closer to your body again. He backed away instead, making your insides feel like they were shriveling up. 

“I feel like you’re going to regret this,” he said, rubbing a frustrated hand over his forehead.

“What?” you exclaimed, but Loki was already sweeping out of the room, muttering I’m sorry. 

Loki didn’t come to dinner that night. When you went to bed, you slammed the door neighboring his room loud enough to rattle the paintings on the wall. 

—-------

You awoke a few hours before sunrise, with no other explanation but the annoyance you felt at your jilted kiss. You tossed in the sheets, running things you’d like to yell at Loki in your head. It was humiliating, the way he’d left you standing there, and after a kiss like that. 

Worst of all, and this shook you to the bone, you were afraid that your little outburst yesterday had ruined whatever chance you had to turn your friendship with Loki into something more. Maybe finding you in that snotty heap in the pantry had been the nail in the coffin on your connection. You could hardly blame him. 

No, Loki wouldn’t do that, the tiniest voice in your head said. 

Do you really know that? The louder, ruder voice said. 

After ten minutes of this, it became clear you were not going to get back to sleep. You threw on a t-shirt and didn’t bother with pants, assuming the rest of the compound was asleep. 

Going to Loki’s room crossed your mind, but you shoved the thought aside, feeling foolish. 

That is, until you opened the door and there was Loki, apparently working up the courage to knock. 

“Fuck,” you yelped, startled at the unexpected tall, dark shadow.

“Oh,” he mused. “Hello.” 

“What do you want?” you asked him sullenly. 

“I saw your light turn on. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“What, so you can take care of me because it strokes your ego and then run the other way once you remember how much of a fuck-up I am?” 

You threw the words at him, wanting them to make him yell and scream so this could just be over, but the trickster denied you of that as well. He frowned, making you feel even worse. 

“You know as well as I do that we’re both fuck-ups,” he finally said, looking at you with the trace of a smirk at the corner of his mouth.

You lunged forward to hit him square in the chest, and found yourself instead on his lips, kissing them with all the violence of the punch. Loki made a noise in the back of his throat as your tongue circled his, clawing at his shoulders to get him inside. 

Without breaking your lips, Loki pushed you backwards and spun you around until the door clicked shut with the weight of him pressing you against it. His hands rifled up the fabric of your long t-shirt as he licked into your mouth, and you helped him by ripping it over your head. 

He groaned at the sight of the pale moonlight dancing on your bare breasts, squeezing them with both hands until you gasped. 

“I’m still mad at you,” you half-moaned as he took one of your nipples between his teeth. 

“I know,” Loki said, licking a hot stripe up the center of your chest before pressing his tongue into your mouth again.

“I…” your admonishment was interrupted as a gasp escaped your lips, brought on by Loki’s hand trailing down to your thigh. “I got the impression I scared you off…”

Loki sighed, kissing you again, this time a little more gently, letting his lips drag off of yours before he spoke. 

“I am sorry for what happened yesterday. I felt…guilt, and it was unnecessary, and it hurt you,” Loki said, speaking slowly, as if he chewed each word.  

“You’re not the only one whose mind spirals out of control sometimes. I was worried you’d think I’d only cared for you because I wanted something,” Loki said, his eyebrow knit together in an endearing worry. “I assure you, I’ve wanted you for some time and I have not been capable of expressing it. You were the one who faced it head-on, and I ran like a scared little boy, and for that I am truly sorry,” Loki finished, looking at you expectantly. 

You said nothing, but a smile curled your lips and you toyed with the hem of Loki’s shirt. 

“Besides, wasn’t my rock-hard cock enough of an indicator that I wanted you desperately?” Loki murmured, the lust returning to his voice. “Frankly, I didn’t come to dinner last night because I couldn’t stop thinking about how pretty you’d look with my come leaking out of you,” Loki said between kisses he nipped onto your breasts

“Oh…fuck, Loki…” the image of his white liquid defiling your skin sent floods between your legs. Your hips arched off the back of the door on their own, searching for friction. You clawed at Loki’s back, wanting to be so close to him that he absorbed you. 

“Easy, darling…” Loki purred, but relenting, hiking your leg up so your throbbing heat rested on his hip. You ground onto it, heaving a shuddering breath at this first delicious friction.

Loki watched you write your hips against him, his lips pink and shining with your saliva. 

“Look at you…” he murmured appreciatively, training his hands down your abdomen and appreciating the twitches they sent into your core.

“So sensitive,” he purred as your skin jumped under his fingertips. 

“Loki,” you whispered, looking at him through half-lidded eyes, his name on your lips more of a request than a statement. He understood.

With your other leg already wrapped around his waist, he grabbed your other hip and easily hoisted you so his body was the only thing holding you against the door. His weight was deliciously smothering, his hips gently rocking his straining cock against your stomach. 

“Tell me,” Loki breathed hot into the crook of your neck, his hips grinding in tandem with yours, each trying to chase pleasure through clothing. “Tell me how you want me and I’ll give it to you…anything…” he panted.

A thrill went through you, as this was surely the most desperate thing you’d ever heard him say.  

“I want you inside me,” you said shamelessly. “Fuck me until I’m sore and leaking your come all over the sheets, Loki, please.” After those sinful words left your mouth, you grabbed one of Loki’s hands that you loved so much and brought it to your mouth, slowly sliding two of his digits into your wet lips. You sucked them gently, bringing their length down the back of your throat, saliva coating them as you suppressed a gag around them. 

Loki’s eyes went black. His cock jumped against your stomach, so hard it must have been painful. His lips parted in, was it shock or desire?, and his other hand was suddenly gripping your hip so hard you felt blood vessels burst. You finally released his fingers, letting your lips drag over them as they left your mouth. Loki growled as he watched a trail of spit connect your lips to the tips of his fingers, a feral sound that sent floods gushing into the panties that still kept your cunt from him. He was captivating and terrifying.

Loki attacked your mouth again, panting and moaning against your tongue in a frenzy as he threw your arms around his neck. Lips still connected, he carried you over to the bed and set you down, not removing his tongue from your mouth until you scrabbled impatiently at the front of his sweatpants.   

Loki’s cock was nearly at eye level when he stood over you. With his clothing glimmered away, his tip was shining in the moonlight, beckoning you, and without thinking you licked up the shaft until the entire head was in your mouth. You tasted the tang of salt and you moaned around it. Loki gasped with the vibration you made around his cock, pulling you by the chin off of his length. 

“You do that again and I’ll come…” he said, almost a threat, but his eyelids fluttered with pleasure. 

“Isn’t that the point?” you said, dipping forward to lick at the pink head again. 

“Uhn….” Loki groaned, pulling you off again, trailing one thumb over your wet lips as he stared down into your eyes. “Not yet. Get on your stomach.” 

You obeyed in an instant, and in another Loki’s body was encompassing yours, his heavy cock resting in the curve of your low back as he lay sweet kisses up and down your spine. One hand snaked under your hips until it found your clit and you jerked at the sudden jolt of pleasure.

“Shhh….sh..sh…that’s it…” Loki said into your shoulder blade, circling slowly until you relaxed into his touch. Soon you relaxed and your hips began to grind down onto his fingers, fresh wetness flowing over his hand and sheets under you.

“You’re dripping, my darling…” Loki said in reverence.  

“Oh, shit…” you moaned, your voice muffled into the bedsheets. You felt your core begin to flutter, the rock of your hips becoming more desperate. Loki sensed this too from the way your body shook with every circle of his index finger, and withdrew. Your cunt clenched around air, left wanting in his fingers’ absence. 

“Are you ready for me, sweet girl?” Loki murmured into the crook of your neck, letting his lips drag down your shoulder where you quivered under his touch. 

“Please…” you cried, shifting your hips to angle towards him. You were aching to be filled. 

“Turn over for me, baby,” Loki murmured. “I want to look into your eyes when I fill you up.” 

Your cunt clenched again at this idea as you flipped and drew him into a deep kiss. His body rippled over yours, his cock leaking clear fluid onto your stomach.

Loki hoisted one knee to your chest, spreading your entrance open for him. He dipped his head to kiss you once more before drawing back, pumping a handful of your slick up and down his shaft. With one thumb he tugged your lips open, gazing at the glistening pink softness with blown pupils.  

“Loki, please,” you mewled, growing impatient. “Please, I need you inside me.” 

Loki leaned down, one hand lining up his slicked head at your entrance. He nipped at your bottom lip, and gave you what you wanted. 

“Oh-fuckkkkk” you both cried. Loki exhaled into your mouth as he pressed the head of his cock into your tightness. 

“Fuck,” he echoed, drawing back before pressing himself further inside. 

“More…” you said in a strangled voice, clawing at his back with your nails. “Loki give me more.” 

He plunged into you again, deeper this time, his green eyes still piercing yours. He absorbed every furrow of pleasure in your brow, every shudder the ridge of his head brought when it brushed against your g-spot. 

“Oh, darling, I love watching you take my cock like this,” Loki groaned, thrusting once more. He worked your clit with his thumb, adding delicious pressure that opened you up while he stretched you. 

“Oh, god,” you gasped in a breath that was entirely Loki’s air. 

Loki bottomed out inside of you at the same time he slipped his tongue between your lips. He broke the kiss when he felt you clench around him, gasping fuck, darling, before kissing you wetly again. 

“You like feeling me all the way inside?” Loki murmured when you parted, rocking his hips ever so slightly. “You like being all filled up like this, don’t you, sweet girl?” 

You whimpered and nodded, arching your back to your chest pressed into his. Then he took your hand and placed it on your abdomen, pressing it down until you gasped.

“Yeah, you feel me right there?” Loki growled, rocking his hips in and out so you could feel his length moving inside you under your palm, stretching you, ruining you. You covered your mouth with your other hand, practically sobbing at how much this aroused you. Fluid gushed around Loki’s cock and down your thighs, making him murmur in approval.  

“You could come just like this, couldn’t you?” Loki’s teasing was relentless. 

“Yes, oh, fuck, please, yes, I can come, I’ll come for you,” you gasped all in one breath, still feeling the swell of Loki’s cock stretching the skin of your stomach. 

At once, Loki’s hips began to move with purpose, drawing a gasp of pleasure from you every time the ridge of his head rubbed your g-spot. With his thumb, he circled your swollen clit, each touch its’ own little wave that rippled through your core. 

“Gods, I can feel you gripping me,” Loki said, his voice shaking with the rhythmic tightening of your cunt that meant you were about to explode. 

“Loki, Loki..ah- Loki,” your voice was a high-pitched whine. 

“Tell me, darling” Loki goaded you, rocking his hips faster, the sound of wet skin filling the room.

 “I’m gonna come, I’mgonnafuckingcome…” was your incoherent whisper. You grabbed the sides of Loki’s face, drawing him closer, wanting to be filled by his tongue and his cock as you came.

“Come for me, darling, that’s right, yes, oh, you’re almost there….” Loki’s lips brushed your own with every word. “Look at me when you come,” he thumb echoing the command as it swirled harder on your clit. Your core was fluttering rapidly, making Loki grit his teeth.

“Come for me, now,” Loki choked out, at the same time his cock twitched inside you. His last thrust was sloppy and wet and perfect, and together you both went rigid with pleasure, eyes locked on each other and sharing hot, stuttering gasps.

“OH….fuck…” you rasped, wave after wave of white-hot ecstasy rushing through your body, milking Loki’s cock as he spilled inside you.

“Uhnnn…” Loki moaned as your cunt drew his come deeper with every clench of your orgasm. His release flooded you with warmth, pooling inside you until you were entirely his. 

Loki’s arms shook and he collapsed on your chest, both of you struggling to breathe in the aftermath of your pleasure. 

You felt limp as you came down from your high, completely content with being smothered by Loki’s firm body on top of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, stroking his back until his breath returned to normal. 

He raised his head at last, his face flushed the most gorgeous tinge of pink. He kissed you slow and deep, lust quickly replaced with sweetness. 

Loki hissed when he finally slid out of you. As promised, white liquid followed, running down the seam of your cunt and onto the sheet. Loki smirked, admiring the mess he’d made of you.   

“What have we done?” you questioned, smirking back at him. 

“Are you complaining?” Loki questioned, tugging you so his body encompassed yours. 

“Far from it,” you murmured, shivering at his hands on your body. Those hands. The ones that had started all of this.

“Good.” Loki said, sleep already creeping in the edge of his voice. 

“Is this going to be a problem?” 

“Undoubtedly.” 

-----------

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[withloveajaxx]

I just found your blog and it's so good!! I see that reqs are open so here goes

Kaeya, Thoma, Itto, Xiao and Albedo (if you write for all of them) with a s/o whose love language is gift giving and they always give them little things that remind them of their love, from a tiny cute pebble to making a pretty hand-crafted trinket for them. They're really bad with words so they try their best to make up for it with little thoughtful gifts. How do you think the boys would react and what would they think?

I hope this isn't too specific or doesn't work for headcanons ^^' happy holidays and I hope you have a wonderful new year!

s/o whose love language is gift giving

✧ genre: kaeya, thoma, itto, xiao, and albedo x gn! reader fluff

✧ warnings: none

✧ summary: how the boys react to the little gifts you give them

✧ note: this is my first ever request and it's my first time writing for itto so hellohello anon, thank you so much for requesting and i hope these lil headcanons are to your liking!! <33 happy holidays, advanced happy new year, and i hope you take care ^^ (not beta read btw so sorry in advanced for the mistakes :"D)

KAEYA

no matter what you give him, whether it's something small you found on your adventures or something you hand crafted, he will treasure it greatly.

unlike kaeya, not everyone is good with their words. he knows your love for him is expressed through these gifts so he tries to keep them somewhere safe at all times.

keeps some of the items you give him in his office over at the knights of favonius headquarters.

looks at your gifts whenever he's stressed, missing you, or simply bored.

whenever you come up to him with an object in hand, he can't help the grin that spreads across his lips.

"oh? what's this, sweetheart? another little gift?" he'd ask, a playful and teasing lilt to his smooth voice.

his gloved fingers take the small gift and he examines it with a soft expression in his icy eyes.

affectionately snakes an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him.

bends down to grace your lips with a brief and sweet peck, genuinely smiling down at you afterwards.

"thank you, darling. i really appreciate it," he says, pocketing the object to keep it later as he continues to spend the day together with you.

THOMA

trust me when i say that thoma's never going to get tired receiving gifts from you.

he feels so loved whenever he sees an object in your hand, sheer happiness spreading through every fibre of his body when you tell him it's a gift for him.

he will for sure keep every single thing you give him.

would never forget where he puts your gifts. he'll always know where they are because he likes looking at them throughout the day for motivation.

whenever you bring a gift to him, the brightest smile begins to form on his charming features.

you can nearly see his eyes sparkle in excitement and joy as he takes whatever you give him into the palm of his hand.

he's careful when handling what you gave him, gentle hands feeling out the object with a wide grin on his face.

will always repay you in his own way, placing a sweet kiss to your cheek as he proudly stares at the gift.

"awwe, my love, you didn't have to do this," he coos, pocketing the object safely in his oants so he couls put it somewhere safe later.

"but as always, i appreciate it lots, love. i'll be sure to keep it somewhere nice later yeah? i love you."

ITTO

kind of shocked, but still very very happy with your gift nonetheless.

he gets so excited when he hears you have something for him. like it doesn't matter what it is, he will be ecstatic about it.

he tends to misplace or lose some of the gifts you give him though.

whenever that does happen, he'll be so sad and pouty about it because he never wants to lose anything you give him.

whenever he loses a gift he'll apologize to you sincerely and it's pretty hard to stay mad at him with how adorable and genuine he is.

itto's eyebrows furrow in confusion first when you hold out something for him to take.

when you explain it's something you got for him because it reminded you of him, he'll get all giddy.

would definitely give you a bear hug, sweeping you up off of your feet and spinning you some times in the air.

peppers your face in happy kisses and outs you down, taking your gift in his hands afterwards.

you can hear the utter joy in his voice when he thanks you saying, "baby, this is so cool! thank you so much, i love it!"

XIAO

he's never going to get used to you giving him gifts. it's always a pleasant surprise that gets his heart pounding loudly in his chest every time.

he is very surprised when you first give him a gift, simply explaining that it reminded you of his love.

immediately flushes a light shade of red as he clears his throat saying, "you went out of your way for something so unnecessary."

realizes his words are a bit rough and mean so he takes the gift carefully from your hands. "but... thank you, nonetheless. it's very nice."

pockets the gift you give him for any day and makes sure it doesn't get damaged whenever he goes out to fight off some mobs.

sometimes he'll fiddle with it in his pocket whenever he isn't doing much and you aren't there with him.

other times the adeptus woukd take your gift out out from time-to-time.

he absentmindedly stares at the object with clear fondness in his eyes and the hints of a smile beginning to form on his features.

always shows how thankful he is, how meaningful everything you do is by his little acts of affection.

you'll find him being closer to you on some days, hands shyly intertwined with yours as he pecks your cheek from time to time. he may not be good at words as well, but he had his own ways of showing you his love.

ALBEDO

he loves every gift you give him, no matter how small or big it is.

he gets used to your little habbit and language of gift giving, so sometimes, he'd have a gift to return to you as well.

he keeps your gifts in a variety of places, just so he has a little piece and reminder of you everywhere he goes.

there are some gifts up in his lab at dragonspine, place atop different shelves and tables.

there are also some in your own shared home, used as decorations and symbols of your relationship and love.

as an alchemist, he figures out how to keep some of your gifts on him. he'll turn them into something wearable so he's reminded of your love at all times.

will always accept your gifts with a gracious smile and a loving gaze, examining the gift with nothing but a gentle hold as you explain what it is and why you gifted it.

when he hears that it reminded you of his love, his heart melts with the warmth of your affection.

he's kiss the top of your head lovingly and smile down at you.

"thank you for the gift, my love. it truly is beautiful and heartwarming, just like your love, no?"

taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @justsidecharacterthings @cxlrose @chichikoi @datu-tadhana @xyliope @simplyxsinned @yaqui-soba @inky-page @mooscutely @spookii-does-stuff @the-gayest-sky-kid @yuezhong @callmemeelah @xsunaryn @tiredzephh @motherscrustytoenailclippings @xxsweetdreamzxx

© withloveajaxx 2021. please do not copy, plagarize, or translate in any way.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Stay Now, Little Prince

Prompts: Hi there!!! Can I request a romantic DLAMP + platonic dukeceit fic? The idea I had was from the incorrect quote:

Remus: And that's when you'll kill the light sides!

*Janus doodling the light sides and him holding hands with hearts all around them*: Kiss the light sides! Got it!

Remus:........ Why do I even try with you?

Except! It's a superhero AU! And these two are the vigilantes/villains (your choice really) and Remus is secretly rooting for Janus and also gives the others a shovel talk *read*: threatens to drag them to hell and back and through the core of the earth and feeding their remains to his shoebill if they so much as think about hurting Jan

You don't have to write it tho! 💝 - anon

Hiya! Will you be up to. writing an "enemies to lovers" Roceit au? By that I mean they act like enemies but behind closed doors are best friends and maybe more!!!! Your writing is beautiful and magnificent and you're amazing!!!!!! - anon

Hi hi hi hi!!! I LOVE your writing it's- *so* amazing- and I was wondering- (if you're still taking requests ofc) if we coul have more of that SWEET SWEET roceit content in that one hero roman fic? maybe talking more about how he rekindles his relationship with remus after being so far apart, how janus helps him come out of his shell, and how he deals with the fear of being abandonded by the two of them? tysm i hope you have an awesome day!!! :D - anon

Y'all really like this au huh

Read on Ao3 Part 1

Warnings: self-destructive behavior, gaslighting, implied/referenced torture (kinda)

Pairings: roceit

Word Count: 10063

Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the ‘good guys.’ Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.

The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don’t see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.

No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don’t shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.

But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake’s den.

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

Roman opens his eyes.

He expects to see the sterile white ceiling. He expects to see the pockmarks in the tile. He expects to see the bedcovers, the tray of first aid supplies he never clears away properly until the inspection comes, and the single photo.

He doesn’t expect a darker ceiling with a soft amber light, nor the linen sheets that slide carefully off his shoulders as he sits up. He winces slightly at the pull in his middle and immediately puts a hand to it. It doesn’t come away red.

The bed is empty except for him, the other side neat and pristine. He swallows.

He didn’t expect to wake up. Not after what happened.

Not after what he did.

He doesn’t know what pulled him all the way across the city, dragging blood everywhere he went in the grooves the guilt had etched behind him. Only that he needed to get somewhere away from the horrors he’d left, away from the bright lights and cityscapes.

And white lies…and masquerades…

He shakes his head to clear it. Now is not the time.

But did he have to come here? Did he have to walk—no, crawl on his knees before the Serpent and willingly let teeth be set to his throat? And why? For what?

He runs a hand over the wound again.

The better question would be why the Serpent hasn’t killed him yet.

Why he all but invited him inside, took him into his private rooms and patched him up. He’s used to rough patch jobs, used to being pushed around a little as he’s fixed to the point of maneuverability and ushered back to his room to lick the rest of them away, but that wasn’t what happened at all.

No, the Serpent had been…gentle.

The hands on his skin hadn’t touched him to bruise him, hadn’t wandered a little too far this way or that. They’d…they’d stitched him up and…and comforted him. Even when he confessed his mistakes, when he’d said that he was a coward, they’d…the Serpent hadn’t hurt him.

Only when there’s a soft twinge does Roman realize he’s been rubbing at the stitches. He flings his hand away from himself like he’s been burned and quickly lies back down, reducing the strain on the wound as much as possible. He stares at the ceiling, eyes wide, trying to make the ache in his chest fade. If he rips them out…

Well. The window for killing him easily has probably passed, right? Would…would he still kill him now? After all he’s done?

Roman has plenty of marks that attest to the Serpent’s creativity.

Though…now that he thinks about it…the Serpent has never been the one to hurt him directly. He’s had people to do that.

He’s had Remus.

Remus.

Memories.

Memories of another body pressed against him as they shivered together in the cold, wrapped under a single sheet so thin that they could feel their nails scratching together as they pulled it closer around themselves. Memories of a streak of white hair in his face when he woke up, limbs twisted so closely around each other they didn’t know whose was whose. Memories of his throat screaming in protest as he cried out, as they were ripped apart and locked in separate cages.

Rooms, Roman. They aren’t cages, we aren’t villains.

He barely remembers having another voice tell him that wasn’t true.

But Remus is alive. Remus is alive and he’s here and—and—

They didn’t kill him. They never killed him. They may have abandoned him, left him for dead, but they didn’t kill him.

The ache in his chest blossoms and whines. He wants his brother back.

Footsteps.

Roman shuts his eyes and hopes whatever position he’s in looks at least somewhat convincing. Maybe he can fake startling awake, he’s done that enough times to have some practice. Maybe he can make it look like he’s just waking up, maybe then they won’t—

“Little prince, you really don’t have to pretend to be asleep.”

Well, he certainly startles, much to the Serpent’s amusement. He quickly brings a hand to his chest to make sure he hasn’t pulled any of the stitches and tries not to scoot away as the Serpent sits on the edge of the bed.

“There’s no need to be so skittish,” the Serpent chuckles, “really, little prince, you didn’t seem this afraid last night.”

Last night. When everything in his body ached and screamed from lights and cameras and people and open air and only by holding a knife to his own throat could he get away from it.

“Roman.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly, “I just…”

“You were drifting,” the Serpent says softly, “did you see something?”

“S-see something?”

“A memory, a flashback, an afterimage…” The Serpent lifts a hand to card through his hair. “Whatever you want to call it. Something from last night, maybe?”

Roman swallows, trying not to lose himself in the gentle fingers in his hair but it’s so hard. No one…the Serpent has always known, somehow, how to throw him off balance.

“Little prince?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Shh-shh-shh, none of that, now,” the Serpent chides, the hand coming to lift up his chin, “I’m not angry with you.”

Roman blinks. “You’re…not?”

Something flickers across the Serpent’s expression too quick to be seen. “No, Roman, I’m not.”

“Oh.”

The Serpent watches him for a moment longer before sighing and standing up, lifting Roman’s chin as he goes. “Come out to the living room, little prince.”

Roman stands obediently and follows, body adjusting to the order before he’s fully understood it. He tucks his shoulders, bows his head, keeping his gaze high enough to see the Serpent’s path, but no higher. He isn’t walking toward the counter this time, nor is there anyone else in the apartment.

He tries to pretend the ache is just from the healing wound.

“Sit,” the Serpent orders, tapping the arm of a chair that Roman shouldn’t be allowed to touch, let alone sit in, but he doesn’t dare disobey. “Good.”

Oh, that should not do what it does to him.

The Serpent sits across from him, one leg crossed elegantly over the other. He reaches for one of the teacups on the coffee table between them and gestures for Roman to do the same. Roman picks it up and immediately winces. He isn’t allowed to hold fragile things, he’ll break them. But he can’t just refuse the Serpent’s offer so he sets it as carefully as he can in his lap. He can feel the Serpent’s eyes on him so he takes the smallest of sips.

It’s warm, slightly spiced, and sweet. He finds himself relax, just a little.

“Good?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m glad.” The Serpent sets his off cup to the side and folds his hands in his lap. “I learned something interesting about you last night.”

Roman’s hands begin to tremble and he quickly sets the cup down. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” He tilts his head. “Well, several things.”

He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to die.

“You have a very high pain tolerance, little prince.”

Roman swallows. “Isn’t that to be expected for someone like me?”

“Mm, even little heroes aren’t immune to stab wounds,” the Serpent says easily, raising an eyebrow, “unless there’s another side to your powers you’ve been hiding from me?”

He shakes his head and immediately bites his lip. The Serpent’s mouth tugs up into a half-smirk.

Shit.

“So then you know you’ve got a high pain tolerance, hmm?” He tilts his head. “That does make a few things click into place.”

Roman stays quiet.

“You also seem quite used to operating under severe blood loss,” the Serpent continues, “are you being captured by others as well? Do they regularly leave you to bleed out on your own? I’m quite jealous.”

He isn’t quick enough to hide his flinch. The Serpent’s eyes narrow.

“Perhaps that would explain why you refuse painkillers, even though you know it does more damage to your body in the long run.”

The curtains are drawn, Roman realizes too late, he can’t tell what time of day it is. Is it night? Did he sleep all the way through a day? Is it the middle of the day? Are people walking around? If he screams, could someone hear him?

No. He can’t. A fist closes around his throat before the thought is fully formed and he swallows, trying to dislodge it.

“You’re drifting again.”

Roman’s gaze snaps back to the Serpent, who looks at him with badly concealed amusement. He quirks an eyebrow.

“If I’d have known my living room would be so distracting,” he purrs, “I would have let you stay in bed.”

The tips of Roman’s ears turn red and heat rushes through his chest. The Serpent chuckles.

“Come, now, what is it? Not enough of an ‘evil lair’ for you, is that it?” He tilts his head. “Is your only impression of me dark warehouses and abandoned factories?”

“You’ve not given me a lot of evidence to the contrary.”

The Serpent spreads his hands and gestures around. “Then how do you explain this, little prince? You’re the one who found your way here, after all, all on your lonesome.”

Another smirk.

“Am I truly so intriguing, or is it the allure of my interior design?”

The words stick in Roman’s throat. The Serpent raises an eyebrow and laughs.

“Oh, and here I thought we were back to business as usual.” He idly toys with the fingers on one gloved hand. “I have missed your witty remarks from all of our other talks.”

“Those were interrogations.”

“Mm.” The Serpent doesn’t blink.

“Is…this an interrogation?”

“Yes.”

Roman stiffens. He glances down at the chair, expecting restraints to appear out of nowhere. His gaze darts to the cup sitting innocuously on the table in front of him.

“It’s just tea,” the Serpent says, “with a little honey.”

He looks up. The Serpent cocks his head to the side, waiting for Roman to say something. “Why are you not pointing a gun at me?”

“Guns aren’t my style, little prince, and I did just spend a considerable amount of time fixing a hole someone put in you. Seems a little counterproductive to put one in you myself, now, doesn’t it?”

“Then what’s stopping me from attacking you?”

The Serpent raises an eyebrow and chuckles, his voice rolling through the room and leaving Roman breathless. “Oh, little prince, I think the time has passed for threats, don’t you?”

“You’re threatening me.”

“Am I?” The Serpent flicks his hand. “I’ve just answered your question about whether or not this is an interrogation. How is that a threat?”

Roman’s somehow forgotten that every exchange they have ends with game, set, match to the Serpent. He swallows the lack of response on his tongue and feels his shoulders square.

“Look at you,” the Serpent murmurs, “all tough now. Is it truly so easy for you? To shrug that armor back on when you know it doesn’t work?”

Roman remains silent.

“Oh, let’s not do that,” he sighs, his hand tapping against the arm of the chair, “the silent treatment isn’t an effective strategy for you, little prince, especially when you do so well with the quips.”

He holds his tongue.

The Serpent sighs. “Then I suppose I won’t tell you where your brother is.”

Roman’s head snaps up. “What?”

The Serpent just looks at him, a slight condescending expression on his face. Roman feels his cheeks start to heat up and his hands clench into fists in his lap.

“What do you want?”

The Serpent is quiet for a moment. Then he shifts his weight and leans forward. “I have questions, little prince. I want you to answer them for me.”

“And then you’ll tell me where Remus is?”

“And then I’ll tell you where Remus is.”

Roman takes a deep breath. For Remus. He can do this for Remus. He’s waited over a decade for his brother, he can…he can get through this. He just has to be very, very careful.

The Serpent watches him, huffing softly. “You still look unsure, little prince.”

“Just not used to not being restrained.”

The Serpent’s eyes darken and a smile slowly cuts its way across his face. “Is that an invitation, little prince?”

Oh, god, not that fucking voice. Roman splutters, face bright red, trying to come up with something to say.

“I’m teasing,” the Serpent says with a softer smile a moment later, “relax, little prince, you’re alright.”

Roman isn’t sure which he hates more, how easily the Serpent is able to rile him up, or how easy it is for him to calm him right back down.

“I just want you to talk to me,” he continues, still in that soft voice, “answer my questions the way you like, try and be honest. My hospitality is not contingent on the information you give me, nor will I hurt you if I don’t like the answers I get.”

“Why should I believe you?”

The Serpent nods to his chest. “Have I not established a little bit of goodwill with you, little prince? Am I not the only person you can trust?”

“That hasn’t exactly worked out for me in the past,” Roman snaps before cold horror rushes through his veins.

It’s too late. The words are already out.

“What does that mean?”

His tongue ices over. He stares at the table. After a few moments, the Serpent sighs.

“You have my word I won’t hurt you, little prince,” he murmurs.

Roman looks up at him slowly. “…I thought you said this was an interrogation.”

“I’m asking you questions about information you seem hesitant to give me. Is that not an interrogation?”

“But you’re not hurting me to try and get it.”

“Is that all you think an interrogation is?”

“That’s the kind I’m used to.”

The Serpent rolls his eyes. “The standards around here…whatever happened to keeping oneself civilized?”

A giggle bubbles out of Roman’s throat before he can stop it and the Serpent winks. His expression turns a notch more serious after a moment and Roman takes a deep breath.

“You’re allowed to drink your tea, by the way,” he says, gesturing to the abandoned cup, “that’s why it’s there.”

“Did you drug it?”

The Serpent levels him with a look. “Yes. I spent an entire night patching you up after you bled all over my carpet, dressed you in my clothes, let you sleep in my bed, and held you as you cried without reactivating my security system, risking my own life to make sure you were alright, so I could then poison you.”

Roman sheepishly picks the cup up. “…you could’ve just said no.”

“And where would the fun in that be?”

The tea is good. Of course the Serpent has excellent taste in tea. He drinks for a moment in silence before the Serpent opens his mouth again.

“You’re touch starved,” he says quietly, “do you know how severe it is?”

He swallows the drink of tea. “I don’t know how you measure that.”

“You said I was the last person to touch you before last night. Down at the docks, over that disagreement with the freighter.”

‘Disagreement with the freighter,’ he says, not ‘black-market arms dealings that threatened the safety of the city.’

“Yeah.”

The Serpent frowns. “But that was almost a month ago, little prince, surely someone else has touched you since then?”

Roman shifts in the chair. “I mean, I’ve gotten into fights since then and that…that counts, right?”

He doesn’t say that the fists burned nearly as much as the Serpent’s hand on his face did, nor that he sometimes let himself get hit just to let the burn sting a little more.

“…that was the last time someone handled you gently,” the Serpent says slowly, “that’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

Roman nods. The Serpent stares into space for a moment, thinking. One of his hands twitches.

“You were surprised to see Remus.” He tilts his head. “Why?”

“I thought he was dead.”

“Why?”

“I, um…hadn’t heard from him in a while.”

The Serpent quirks an eyebrow. “Do you know how many times Remus has been a few feet away from you?”

Roman stiffens. Is…is the Serpent saying that Remus…before, when he’s—when he’s been caught, has Remus—was Remus ever the one to—to—

“Judging by his response last night,” the Serpent says, “he didn’t realize it either, but that doesn’t seem like the nosy little prince who managed to figure out my address, does it?”

Oh. So Remus wasn’t—he would’ve seen. He would’ve known it was Roman. Kind of difficult to not know who the person you’re beating is. His shoulders slump with relief, but not enough to wash away the knowledge that he wouldn’t have cared.

Even if it had been Remus every single time.

“You haven’t answered my question, little prince.”

He blinks. “I, um…the circumstances under which I couldn’t contact him were what made me think he was dead.”

The Serpent hums. “And what circumstances were those?”

“…ones where I couldn’t really question them.”

The Serpent chuckles. “You, the little rascal who snuck into my warehouses and investigated every scrap of intel I told you? You, the wrench in so many plans that had been laid out?”

“Didn’t realize you paid such close attention to me.”

“Clearly, little prince, we’ve not been operating on the level of mutual respect I thought we were.” The Serpent raises a hand to his chest. “I’m hurt.”

Roman huffs, taking another sip.

“You did find this place, I suppose,” the Serpent sighs, “which begs the question. Why drop the matter of your brother’s death so quickly?”

His throat is strained for three days. He loses every inch of ground he gains on his voice by crying out for a brother that isn’t coming back. They tell him he ran away, they tell him he’s delusional. One time they try and tell him he never had a brother.

He’s punished for a week after he screams that they’re wrong, but they never try and lie to him like that again.

He stops asking when they bring in a body in the middle of the night with a streak of white hair.

“…because I thought I saw him.”

The Serpent hums, idly flicking a speck of dust from his glove. “But he’s alive.”

A shuddering breath leaves him. “But he’s alive.”

“So what does that mean?”

Roman blinks. “What?”

The Serpent meets his gaze easily, spreading his hands. “What does that mean, little prince? You thought he was dead, you thought you saw him dead, but he’s alive. How does that change things?”

Remus isn’t dead. They didn’t find his body. It wasn’t his body they brought in that night under the cover of darkness, where none of them could see because of how dark it was.

…even though they passed right under the light outside Roman’s room.

Even though the morgue is on the other side of the building.

Even though the sheet just happened to flop down.

Roman’s eyes widen.

They’d known.

They’d known it wasn’t Remus.

They probably didn’t think it was Remus.

They wanted him to see. They wanted him to see what he would think was his dead brother so he would stop fighting. So he would give in. They wanted him to see it. They did it so he could see it. They put on a show just for him and they made him think his brother was dead.

They…they did that.

To him.

To all of them.

…so what does that mean?

Roman could laugh. He won’t, but he could. He could cry, he could laugh, he could scream.

It doesn’t mean anything.

Some part of him always suspected. Always thought that maybe they’d had him killed, or at the very least, didn’t care enough to try and stop it if it happened. It wasn’t the farthest stretch to imagine they’d do something like that.

Not after everything else.

Roman takes a drink of tea.

“It doesn’t.”

Surprise flickers over the Serpent’s face. “No? Not at all?”

Roman shakes his head. “No. Remus is alive. That’s…that’s all that matters.”

“Alive…and not with you.”

“No.”

The Serpent frowns at him for a moment. Then he sets his cup back on the table. “You seem remarkably sure about that for someone who was near incoherent just from seeing his brother last night.”

Roman shrugs. The Serpent waits a moment longer before asking another question.

“Why did you come here, little prince?”

“I think I’ve answered this one already.”

“I’ve led you to answers,” the Serpent corrects, “you’ve not exactly volunteered one yourself.”

“I did. I said you were the only person I could trust.”

“Mm.” The Serpent steeples his fingers. “And why is that?”

Roman swallows. “You…you’re the only one who hasn’t lied to me.”

Now the Serpent truly looks surprised. “And how exactly have you come to this conclusion, little prince?”

“You leave things out, sure, and you’re not exactly upfront about things, but you don’t outright lie to me.” Roman stares down and swallows again. His throat is dry. “You…you were also right.”

The room is silent.

“You said that one day I would realize that they don’t care about m-me. You said that one day I would realize that the world isn’t black and white. You said that you would help me if I didn’t—if I couldn’t do it anymore.”

He looks up to see the Serpent staring at him, unmoving.

“And you did.”

The Serpent’s hand slowly clenches and unclenches. He looks away, his eyes closing.

“So…yeah, you’re the only one who hasn’t lied.”

“I see.” There’s another pause and then he looks back. “Where are your scars from, little prince?”

Roman frowns at the abrupt change of topic. “What?”

“Your scars, little prince, where are they from?”

“Uh…you do know what I do, right?”

The Serpent stands, slowly crossing the short distance between their chairs. This…this is more familiar. A smirking, elegantly-clad figure leaning over him, to murmur threats and vaguely flirty promises in his ear, distracting and mesmerizing touches to his face, his arms, his chest.

But the Serpent isn’t smirking. The touch is soft, yes, but almost timid as it runs along the scar peeking out from under the shirt by his collarbone. The voice isn’t purring, it’s…it’s…

“I didn’t do this,” the Serpent whispers, running his fingers lightly over the raised skin, “what happened to you?”

Roman swallows all the same. “Accident.”

The hand stills, then flattens to press lightly against his chest. Not a threat, just pressure. “Don’t lie, little prince.”

It’s the gentlest chide Roman’s ever heard and it robs his words quicker than he can recognize. The touch burns. He wants to burn in it. But he has to answer the question but he can’t answer that question.

His silence is enough of an answer.

“So,” he mumbles when enough time has passed to make it clear that’s all the Serpent is going to get, “what now?”

A sigh comes from above him. “What now, indeed.”

Gentle fingers under his chin to lift and turn him.

“Tell me, little prince,” the Serpent asks quietly, “when was the last time someone held you captive?”

The blood drains from Roman’s face. Being held prisoner? No, those…those are the bad ones.

“It’s—it’s been a while,” he manages in a strangled whisper.

The Serpent hums. “What did you expect, little prince, when you crawled on your knees into the snake’s den? Did you expect to be let go so easily?”

He’s going to die. He’s going to die. He’s going to die.

It’s going to hurt.

In the midst of his panic, he doesn’t notice the flicker of concern across the Serpent’s face, nor the split second of rage before he’s sighing.

“You really are shaken, aren’t you?”

“Wh-what?”

He blinks and the Serpent is cupping his face in both hands, now, looking down at him the way he did last night. “My apologies, little prince, I thought we were back to playing again.”

“P-playing?”

“Yes, but you’re still terribly afraid, aren’t you?” The Serpent lets out a soft noise and rests their foreheads together. “I’ll stop teasing, little prince.”

“What’s going on?” Roman manages, words coming out in a whine as the hands on his face burn.

“Stay,” the Serpent murmurs, “stay here, little prince. You’ll be safe here, I can look after you. Remus can too.”

“Wh-what?”

The Serpent pulls away a little. “Do you want to go back?”

“Back?”

“To your people. Where you normally go. Do you want to go back to them?”

It isn’t a question of ‘want.’ He has to go back. He has to. He has to.

He…if he doesn’t go back…

…the others will get hurt.

It will be worse the longer he stays away.

But they don’t know that he’s here. They probably think he’s dead.

Can he do that to the others, though? He knows how much it hurt to see Remus dead, what if they—what if they do the same thing with him?

He doesn’t want it to hurt. But he doesn’t want them hurt.

But the Serpent…the Serpent kept him safe. The Serpent was kind to him. He is kind, at least he has been. He’s…

…maybe?

He’s still waiting for an answer.

Slowly, so slowly, Roman shakes his head.

“Then stay,” the Serpent murmurs, “stay here, in this apartment. Stay here with me.”

Roman looks up. What…what is the Serpent offering? A safe haven? A—a safe house? Safety? What…why? Why offer this to Roman? Doesn’t it—wouldn’t it—why?

“…why?”

The Serpent’s expression softens the barest amount. “I told you, little prince, you’re not that difficult to care for.”

“You don’t know that,” Roman blurts out, only for the Serpent to gentle his hand away when he claps it over his mouth.

“Then I’ll learn it,” he says, “but if that’s what you’re worried about, little prince…you needn’t be.”

A harsh laugh bursts out of his throat. “So what, you’re—you’re just going to keep me here?”

“No,” the Serpent says smoothly, “I’m going to unmake you here.”

Roman’s eyes widen.

He’s…he’s going to what?

“This is what they made of you,” the Serpent murmurs, trailing a finger over the scar again, “a touch starved, isolated tool who submits to them out of fear. They lied to you, they hurt you, and they’ve made you believe that death is a viable way of redeeming yourself from mistakes you couldn’t avoid.”

The burning hand cups his cheek again.

“I’m going to unmake that,” he promises in an achingly gentle voice, “until they won’t recognize the little prince they’ve made of you anymore.”

Oh.

Oh.

“…you want to keep me.”

The Serpent’s smile is blinding. “Yes, little prince, I want to keep you.”

He shifts his grip a little on Roman’s face, smile softening when he sees the traces of fear that must still be in his expression.

“But you can decide how much you’d like to be kept later,” he murmurs, “because you still look like you’ve not had enough rest.”

Indeed, Roman’s eyes are beginning to droop again. “Are you sure you didn’t drug the tea?”

The Serpent chuckles warmly as he helps Roman back to bed. “Tell you what, little prince, next time you can watch me make it.”

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

The snake settles the little prince back into the nest with a gentle hiss and a quick squeeze from its coils. It is best to learn how to be soft now, how to never raise a hand to the little prince when fury licks at the underside of every scale and every inch of it longs to find something to sink its fangs into.

No. Not the little prince. Never the little prince.

So it learns now, how to be soft, how to be gentle, how to channel the fury into kindness for the little prince in order to make the den safe.

Only after the door closes behind him does Janus let the rage run free.

How dare they.

How fucking dare they.

How dare they make Roman so starved for touch he willingly gets into fights to feel something? How dare they strip him of his family, going so far as to fake a death right in front of a child? And how dare they break him to the point where trying to oppose them feels hopeless?

Janus closes his eyes and tries to swallow. But it’s too late. He’s held back the tide for too long and it’s starting to freeze him. It runs into the hot and possessive urge that still warms his hands and his arms begin to tremble.

The little prince is safe for now, where he sleeps beyond the door, but he won’t be if they don’t do something about it.

The snake hisses.

He’d suspected, of course, that the little prince had been hiding something, that the hero life wasn’t all the papers made it out to be, but not this. Never this. And oh, how long must Roman have been warring with himself to plaster a smile on his face, to shrug on a dashing persona to fool the world, himself, everyone into thinking he wasn’t being hurt so badly?

And they had the audacity to call people like Janus supervillains.

How barbaric.

Janus takes a deep, slow breath and lets it out over eight counts.

He can’t afford to lose his cool now.

Only after he’s reached for his phone to summon Remus does he realize he never filled his end of the bargain. He allows himself a brief, bittersweet smile before he’s typing out a message and turning to the teacups.

“Someone is nice to you,” he murmurs as he clears them away, gaze lingering on Roman’s mostly full cup, “and your first thought is that they’re attempting to kill you. What have they done to you, little prince?”

Remus arrives a few minutes later, walking inside and standing at attention. Janus raises an eyebrow.

“Why the sudden interest in formality, my darling?”

“Your security is wired through me,” comes Remus’s answer.

Ah.

“So, you heard?”

“Yes, I fucking heard,” Remus snarls, and now Janus can see why he’s holding himself so stiffly, it’s so he doesn’t scare the little prince either.

“Report.”

“The news stations have been scrambled successfully, we have our team monitoring the waves to make sure nothing pops up. So far it’s been described as a gas leak, one that made the head delirious as he staggered out onto the roof.”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “Adding insult to injury, I suppose, to imply that the head’s death was anything other than planned.”

“Well, that part is true.” Remus glances at the ground. “And the gas has been disposed of. Labs are working on a quarantine schedule, trying to figure out if anyone needs to go into isolation.”

Janus nods. “And the other side?”

Remus’s body armor groans as he tenses. “The outside sweep is done. No agents, no boots on the ground. They did a basic scan and abandoned the trail when it went cold.”

“And when was that?”

“About a block away from the site.”

Janus raises an eyebrow. Impressive. He can see a gleam of appreciation in Remus’s eye too. “Just as well. Can’t have anyone else learning the address of this place, now, can we?”

“Especially not now that you’ve decided you’re keeping him.”

Janus hums. A warning for Remus to watch his tongue.

“That puts a bigger target on your back, Jan,” Remus says, a bit of concern slipping into his voice again—truly, how sweet—as he steps closer, “and it makes this place more vulnerable.”

“That’s what I have you for, isn’t it, dear?”

Remus sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Janus watches him over the rim of his cup.

“You’re thinking,” he says after Remus is still for too long, “what about?”

“Why do you want to keep him, Jan,” Remus asks finally, voice weaker than Janus has ever heard it before, including the times the man’s been hovering at death’s doorstep, “why?”

“You’re not jealous, are you?”

Remus just looks at him and waits.

Janus sighs, bracing his hands against the counter. A beat passes. Then another.

“Fucking hell,” Remus whispers, “you don’t know. You actually don’t know.”

Janus’s head jerks up, ready to put Remus back in his place, only for it to falter as he sees the look of genuine panic on Remus’s face. He frowns.

“Remus?”

“You don’t know,” Remus repeats, stepping back, “you don’t—know—“

The man stumbles to a chair and sits down, his hands flying to tangle in his hair. Janus watches him in alarm. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s seen Remus panic.

“Remus, talk to me.”

“You’re keeping him alive and you don’t know why!”

Remus’s eyes are wide and he somehow manages to look small, even under the kevlar. Janus takes a step closer.

“The longer you keep him alive without knowing why you’re doing it,” he says quietly, “the longer you give them to sink their hooks back into Roman. If you can’t plan for how you’re going to keep him and you’re sure about why? They’ll find the uncertainty and rip him away from you.”

Oh, these broken boys…

Janus steps around to Remus and pulls his head up.

“I swear to you,” he says, low and dangerous, “that I will never let them lay a finger on your brother ever again.”

Remus stares at him. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Something shifts then. There’s another level to the bond between them now, something connecting them that isn’t just business. Something that has the potential to be incredibly dangerous.

Then Remus smiles and oh, there he is, the feral man who tears cities apart with his teeth, and Janus feels his own smile crawl back.

“You said you hated him,” he says lightly, “why the sudden spur of brotherly affection?”

“Something had to keep me alive before you did, Jan.”

“And that was him? How sweet.”

Remus snarls. “Not to them.”

“Well, luckily for you, that won’t be a problem anymore, now, will it?”

He lets Remus go and steps back, carefully pulling on his coat and taking his cane from its holder.

“I’ve got an appointment to fill,” he says, “and you have guard duty.”

Remus stands, nods sharply, and Janus leaves.

The security system clicks into place behind him and Remus slowly turns his attention to the bedroom door.

Something rustles on the other side and he carefully steps through.

Roman turns and is immediately struggling out of the bed to meet him.

“Easy, easy,” Remus barks, catching him and pushing him back onto the bed, “Jan wasn’t kidding about the stitches.”

But Roman isn’t listening to him, no, he’s scrabbling for a hold on Remus like they’re both stupid children who don’t know anything and all they need is each other. Remus swallows the sudden lump in his throat and curses his stupid, stupid brother.

“…calm down, Roro,” he mumbles, leaning down and letting Roman wrap his arms around his neck, “shh, shh…you gotta calm down.”

“I’m sorry, Remus, I’m so sorry, I thought you—I thought it was you, I—“

“Shh, shh, shut up, you’re gonna make yourself freak out.”

“But I’m sorry—“

“I know you’re sorry, Roman, you won’t stop saying it.” Remus lets Roman drag him further onto the bed and sits with his back to the headboard, trying not to let any of the weapons get anywhere near him. “Shh, I’m right here, you got me, okay? I’m right here.”

Roman just buries his head into the crook of Remus’s neck and oh—oh, fuck.

“Hey,” he tries, but shit, his voice is already going shaky, “none of that sappy shit, we’re grown adults.”

But Roman doesn’t care. He’s clinging onto Remus like he’s a teddy bear and godfuckingdamnit.

“Oh, Ro,” Remus murmurs, burying his nose in Roman’s hair. “I missed you too.”

A sob is choked out between them and you could not pry Remus away from Roman right now.

“I’m sorry, Re, I—I wanted to believe you were alive but then they showed me the body and I couldn’t—“

“I know, Ro, I know—I didn’t mean to leave you, I thought I could get us both out, I should’ve listened—“

“But you got out, you got out, you’re safe—“

“But I left you. I let you be taken from me.”

“No, no, Re, you can’t—you can’t think like that, you’re—you did it, you got out, I should’ve listened to you—“

“You were scared, Roro, you’re still scared, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m not mad at you—“

“Don’t you hate me?”

The question pierces right through the kevlar and embeds itself in Remus’s ribs.

Not Roman’s broken voice, so certain that his brother despises him. Not the shuddering remains of the strongest person Remus knows. Not the scared little prince that should be dead.

He remembers the hours of punishment after failing to beat Roman. He remembers the strain of having to look at his brother being praised for everything while he was ignored. He remembers Roman telling him it was just a game when they both bore marks to prove that it wasn’t.

But he also remembers a vicious little brat getting in between him and the world and baring his teeth until they left him alone. He remembers little hands doing their best to patch him up with stolen medical supplies and food rations. He remembers another voice in the dark, whispering that they still cared about each other, that nothing in this world would keep them apart.

“…no, Roro,” Remus whispers, “I don’t hate you.”

Something breaks then, as Roman’s frantic energy dissipates and Remus is left with a shivering, shaking mess of a brother crying into him. He closes his eyes and feels tears build up too as he gently lies Roman back down.

“Relax, Ro, I’m not going anywhere, I just don’t want you to pop those stitches.”

Roman lets him set his head in his lap but wraps his arms tightly around Remus’s leg.

“…yeah, you got me.”

“Good. I win.”

Remus chuckles and ruffles his hair. “Sure you did. I won’t go so easy on you next time.”

“You can try.”

How they slide back into teasing each other he can’t quite explain, just like he can’t put a finger on how it feels to have Roman’s weight on him and recognize it, even though it’s been so long since they were together. He keeps his hand in Roman’s hair, scratching gently the way he did to coax him to sleep so long ago.

“…Re?”

“Mhm?”

“What…” Roman swallows. “What does the Serpent want with me?”

Shit, starting off with a hard one, aren’t you? Wait… “‘The Serpent?’”

“Y-yeah, that’s…the, um…the guy you work for.”

“That’s his—“ Remus sighs— “do you not know his name?”

A pause.

“…sure, I do.”

“Wow, you fucking suck at lying.”

“No, I don’t!”

“You may as well have said his name was fucking John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt, that’s how believable that ‘sure I do’ was.”

“Hey!”

“You know what? That’s his name. John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.”

“No, it isn’t, Re.”

“Oh, that’s right, because you know his name.”

“…yeah.”

“How are you still bad at lying?”

“Leave me alone.”

Of course, as soon as those words leave Roman’s mouth, there’s a strangled gasp and the grip on Remus’s leg tightens.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, please don’t leave me.”

“Relax, Roro,” Remus says, ruffling his hair, “I know you didn’t mean it.”

There’s a pause for a moment, then Roman carefully squeezes Remus’s leg. “…what does he want with me?”

Remus sighs. “…he’s not gonna hurt you, Roro.”

“But what does he want?” Roman turns to look up at him. “I can—I can do it, I just need to know what it is.”

I am going to fucking skin them and feed them their own kneecaps while their intestines writhe in agony.

“…he wants you, Roman,” Remus decides carefully, “and right now that means you staying here and healing.”

Roman swallows. “Why?”

“What are you, eight?”

“Remus.”

Remus sighs. “Because it’s really fucking hard to hate you, Roman, even with all your messy shit.”

Roman looks confused and no, that’s not the reaction he’s supposed to have, he’s supposed to grin and tease Remus about how much he missed him, “but…but…then…”

Remus swallows. He’s going to regret asking this. “But then what, Roro?”

“…why did they do that to me?”

You know what? No, they don’t get to die. They can spend their lives in eternal pain while I rub salt onto the exposed nerves until their vocal cords fracture.

“Because they’re fucking awful, Ro,” Remus growls, “they don’t do it because they hate you, they do it because they can.”

Roman blinks. Then he blinks again. And oh, yeah, okay, maybe Remus understands why Janus suddenly wants to keep Roman because the sight of those eyes welling up with tears is too much.

And he will never tell anyone how weak he is for Roman’s little pouty crying face.

“Shh, shh, Roro,” he tries, fumbling to wipe Roman’s tears away, “you’re not there anymore, you’re here with me, I’ve got you, you’re safe.”

“Remus—“

“Shh, shh, shh—come here—“ he hauls Roman up—carefully!—and wraps his arms tightly around him— “you feel that? You with me? I’ve got you, Roman, you’re alright, now.”

Roman lets out a weak sob and Remus curses, fisting the back of the shirt he’s wearing and letting him cry again.

“I’ve got to go back,” he hears faintly, “I need to—the others—“

“What others,” he asks sharply, “what are you talking about, Roman?”

Roman’s silent. Remus curses again and pulls back to see his face.

“They’re still there?”

Roman’s lower lip wobbles. “You were the only one who made it out, Re, the rest of us…they…they…”

Fuck. Janus isn’t going to like this.

“And I’m sure you took the brunt of everything, didn’t you,” he growls, “stupid overprotective, self-sacrificing idiot.”

Roman just stares at him with fat tears rolling down his face and Remus yanks him back into his hold.

“…sorry.”

“I’m not mad at you, you fucking idiot.”

“…you seem mad.”

“Yeah, at the fucking bastards who did this to you.”

“Oh.”

“You’re a real pain in my ass sometimes,” he sighs, “you know that, right?”

“…I love you too, Remus.”

Fucking Christ on a fucking saltine floating in a fuckpuddle with cranberry fucknuts sprinkled on top.

“Go the fuck to sleep, you asshole.”

Roman does eventually fall asleep, his head pillowed on Remus’s thigh with one hand tangled protectively in his hair. Remus just sits there, watching his brother’s chest go up and down, up and down.

He keeps the security system live on his phone, watching Janus’s car approach the building and pinging him as soon as he’s in the elevator.

“Well,” Janus chuckles as he walks in to see Roman asleep on Remus, “you certainly took the assignment seriously.”

“There are more of them.”

Janus pauses as he sets aside his case. “Excuse me?”

“More of them,” Remus repeats, jerking his head toward Roman, “and my idiot of a brother is convinced he can’t leave them there.”

Janus’s expression flickers. “He’s not planning on sneaking out, is he?”

“I don’t think so, but I don’t think he’s gonna be content with sitting here either.”

It’s Janus’s turn to sigh as he stares at the sleeping Roman. “Oh, little prince, what will we do with you?”

“Change the plan.” Remus doesn’t flinch as Janus’s gaze turns to him. “Come on, you know we can’t just do what we planned if you’re keeping him, and there’s three more of him.”

Not many people know how to watch Janus. He’s far too clever for that, far too prepared as soon as he steps foot outside of his lair. But Remus, Remus knows how to watch him and he can see the rising tide of terrible fury that threatens to overtake the room.

But then Janus reaches out and smooths Roman’s hair away from his face and it settles.

Ah. Well, fuck.

He knows what Janus’s order is going to be before he says it.

“Find out what you can. Report back to me.”

“Aye, aye, boss.”

“And Remus?”

Remus pauses, shifting a pillow under Roman’s head to let him sleep as Janus walks up to him. He reaches up to take hold of Remus’s chin.

“You’re mine,” he says in a low, dangerous voice, “do you understand?”

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Janus is staking a claim on him too.

“…I understand.”

“Good. Now go.”

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

The lights in the medical bay are bright. Rows and rows of people in scrubs hustle to and from the room, some pushing trays of equipment, some walking with tablets, a select few wheeling gurneys.

One of the figures turns a corner and heads to an elevator. The doors close on their face and when they open again a floor later, the elevator is empty.

A figure sheds the scrubs and stashes them back in the air vent, crawling through the ducts. Sometimes they have to lower themselves to the floor and they run on silent feet, heart in their throat, until they can climb back up into the vents.

They finally drop down into a dark corridor outside a set of rooms.

“He’s still not back.”

“That’s two full days.”

“He’s—he’s not—you don’t think—“

“He’s Roman,” the figure says, “he’s survived worse in our training fields.”

“You know those are more dangerous than half of the assignments we get, Virgil.”

“Of course I know that, I’ve got the scars to prove it.”

“You think he’s still alive, though?”

Virgil sighs, rubbing his forehead. “I don’t know, Patton. I don’t know.”

Patton glances at the other person in the corner. Their fingers tap anxiously on a notebook. “Logan? What do you think? Have you…”

Logan shakes his head. “I haven’t heard anything. His tracker went cold and I don’t know…I can’t be sure.”

“Whether it’s dead cold or cut out cold?”

Patton winces.

“Sorry, Pat.”

Patton waves him off. “I just…it won’t matter. You know it won’t.”

“What, because The Prince isn’t back yet and the city’s gonna mourn him like no other?”

“No…”

The three of them huddle a little closer together.

“…yeah, I know. Me too.”

“We don’t know anything,” Logan reminds them, “we can’t give anything away because there’s nothing to give away.”

“I just want him back.”

“We all do.”

A cold voice suddenly sounds from the intercom.

“Assignment. Level 2, landing bay 19, 20 minutes.”

Virgil sighs. “Well, let’s not keep them waiting.”

The assignment is brief. There’s a rumor of activity at one of the warehouses downtown. Now that the Howlies leader’s turned up dead, a few of the other crime rings have started to make bids for the remaining territory. They’re supposed to go and investigate, clean up whatever’s there, and report back.

“Why are they sending all three of us,” Patton mumbles as they move out, “normally they just send one?”

“They might be being cautious,” Logan whispers back, “since…you know.”

“You two, shush.”

They shush, waiting until they get to the vehicle and climbing inside.

“This is Craft 7, requesting exit.”

“You’re clear to go.”

The ride isn’t long, only about ten minutes. They leave the vehicle a few blocks away and make the rest of the journey on foot.

“It looks empty, save for a few crates on the fourth floor.”

“On my way up. No other cars parked here. You got a heat sig?”

“Nothing yet. Oh, wait—“ Logan squints at the display— “just one. Fifth floor, southwest corner.”

“’S it just me, or does this smell like a trap?”

“I’m not sure what a trap smells like, Virgil.”

“Oh, for the love of—just be on the lookout.”

“That is my job.”

Virgil swings carefully into the warehouse and lands on silent feet. He sticks close to the walls, activating the scanners so Logan can see what he’s seeing. Patton’s on the other side, doing the same, and occasionally he catches sight of him through the goggles.

“Signal’s getting choppy,” he hears Patton murmur, “you’re gonna have to move in.”

“Copy that.”

“Yeah, this is definitely a trap,” Virgil mutters as he tracks Logan’s location to the roof.

“Target still hasn’t moved from the fifth floor.”

“Making my way down.”

“Mirroring.”

The two of them land on the fourth floor and immediately their signals die. They hear a muffled curse from Logan as he descends to get closer to them. The trap is closing in on them, a bubble to keep them isolated.

“I got eyes on the figure.”

“Me too.”

“ID?”

“Nothing yet.”

“You know I can hear you assholes, right?”

That voice…they know that voice.

At least, a much younger version of it.

Patton steps out first. “…Remus?”

Remus waves. “Long time no see, Popping Corn.”

“What the fuck,” Virgil spits, “are you doing?”

“Well, it’s nice to see you too, Emo.”

“How are you still alive?”

“I’m a cockroach, remember?” Remus grins and yes, that’s—that’s definitely Remus. “Impossible to squish.”

Logan finally appears on the floor and quickly takes his comm out. “They’ll know you’re here.”

“Only if you tell them.”

“They can see things through us, you’ll—“

“Oh, please,” Remus rolls his eyes, “I’ve spent nineteen years dodging those motherfuckers, I know what I’m doing.”

That gives them pause.

“…you’ve been here,” Logan says slowly, “in this city, for nineteen years and they never found you?”

Remus smacks his lips together. “Yup.”

Patton edges a little closer. “…how?”

“I found a good place to hide.”

Virgil glances around. No one else makes any move to get closer but he and Patton pluck out their comms too. “Who helped you?”

“I think you know, Squirmy.”

Virgil’s eyes widen. “You work for the Serpent.”

“Got it in one!”

“Wait, but that means—“

“You’ve been working directly—“

“How have they not found you?”

“You have Roman.”

Logan’s statement rings in the empty warehouse. He takes a step closer.

“You show up after all these years now, after Roman has gone missing, and you reveal that the reason you’ve been able to stay hidden is because of your ties with the Serpent.”

“You always were the smart one.”

“Is he safe?”

Remus shrugs at Patton’s question. “As safe as he can be.”

Patton narrows his eyes. “Is he safer than he would be if he came back?”

Remus’s figure stiffens. Some of the facades slip away and he looks at them with a serious expression.

“Undoubtedly.”

The three of them exchange glances.

“If you’re about to think about asking for him back,” Remus says, “don’t.”

“Will he be safe,” Patton blurts out, “if he stays where he is?”

“…if he stays, yes.” Remus looks at all of them. “But I don’t know if he will.”

“Why not?”

“You know Roman, why do you think?”

Virgil curses. “He’s gonna try and come back for us.”

“He can’t,” Patton says, “they’ll—they’ll—“

“Which is why,” Remus interrupts, “I’m offering you a choice.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “If we help you, you’ll keep him safe?”

“No.”

One lone figure takes a step toward three.

“If you help us, we can keep all of you safe.”

A bubble, in the middle of a city, with four people inside. Time slows. Reality holds its breath.

A silhouette of a figure reaching up and snapping something off of his armor. The slow scrape as it slides across the floor. The weight of an agreement as another figure picks it up.

“It’s good to see you again, Remus,” Logan calls before they leave.

Remus pauses for the briefest of seconds before he nods and vanishes into the shadows.

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

Janus pauses as he walks through the door, a fond smile tugging at his face as he sees Roman on his side. At some point, hopefully, the little prince will be alright with not pretending to be asleep.

Then the door closes audibly and Roman flips around faster than Janus can blink, the tease freezing on the tip of his tongue. Roman’s eyes are wide, his breathing frantic.

“Where’s—where did Remus go?”

“He’s out, little prince,” Janus says softly, “he left while you were sleeping.”

He frowns when he sees how worried Roman is, clutching at the sheets, and lets out a soft noise, coming to sit on the edge of the bed and take Roman’s face in his hands.

“Look at me, little prince,” he calls, and swipes his thumb across his cheek, “Remus is fine. He checked in a few minutes ago. He’s alright.”

Roman’s eyes search his face and he nods slowly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, little prince, you’ve done nothing wrong.” And it’s so easy to tuck Roman’s hair behind his ears, a fond smile coming to his face as he watches Roman shudder under the gentle attention. “Did you sleep well?”

Roman nods after a moment, but then he keeps nodding and it quickly becomes nudging Janus’s hands lightly and Janus chuckles.

“You poor thing,” he murmurs, “you must be so cold.”

Suddenly Roman jerks and he stills.

“What’s the matter, little prince?”

“Nothing,” but the tips of his ears are turning red and he won’t meet Janus’s eyes.

“Little prince…”

“It’s nothing,” Roman insists, “really.”

Janus just waits. Roman ducks his head and oh, the little prince has such an adorable little blush. He mumbles something Janus can’t hear.

“A little louder?”

“It tickled,” Roman mumbles, “see? Nothing.”

Oh, this sweet little prince…

“Did it, now?”

“Ye—wait, wait,” Roman says quickly, scooting away as Janus reaches for him, “don’t!”

“Don’t what, little prince?”

“Don’t,” he says again, but frantic giggles are starting to bubble out of his throat, how sweet, “don’t, don’t—“

“Don’t what, little prince,” he teases, still reaching for him, “I don’t know what you don’t want me to do if you don’t tell me.”

“Don’t ti—ah!”

Janus lunges forward and catches the little prince in his arms, heart in his throat as Roman gasps in pain. He looks down to see red blooming on the front of the shirt.

“Oh, sweetie…”

“I’m sorry,” Roman gasps, “I—I—“

“Shh, shh, sweetie,” Janus soothes, gentling him back to the bed, “lie still. You’ve popped your stitches, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry—“

He pauses as he pulls away from the bed, going to retrieve the first aid kit, when Roman looks up at him, panicked.

“I’m not angry, little prince,” he murmurs, leaning down to caress Roman’s cheek, “I just need the first aid kit to stitch you back up.”

“I didn’t mean to—“

“I know you didn’t, sweetie, but I need you to lie still. Can you do that for me?” He presses a hand to Roman’s chest to lie him back down on the bed. “Just like that…right there. Good, little prince, now stay put.”

He doesn’t imagine the shudder that goes through the little prince as he lies there, so he quickly fetches the first aid kit and comes back, pulling on a pair of plastic gloves and carefully undoing the shirt.

“It’s only a little bit,” he says as he opens the kit, “this won’t take long. Just be still for me, would you?”

Roman nods.

“Good.”

He carefully pulls the popped ones loose, setting them aside to be dealt with in a moment, and prepares the new ones. True to his word, Roman lies there as still as he can. His breath hitches once when Janus starts and he lets it out slowly.

“Good, little prince.”

He sees Roman’s cheeks flush out of the corner of his eye and hides a smile.

Focus.

He finishes stitching the little prince back up and clears everything to the nightstand, pulling off his gloves and resting his bare hand next to the wound. Roman’s breath hitches again, but this time he can’t seem to let it out. Janus raises his eyebrows and pointedly takes a long, slow breath.

Roman lets it out with him and he smiles fondly.

“Good.” He tilts his head when Roman’s face keeps burning. He raises his hand and runs a finger down each cheek. “What’s all this for?”

Roman tries to glare at him but it comes out like a pout.

“Use your words, little prince,” he says softly, “what’s the matter?”

Roman looks away from him and swallows heavily. “…’s new.”

“What is?” When Roman doesn’t answer, the snake coils. “…being praised, little prince, is that it?”

When the little prince nods, the snake coils tighter around him, holding him safely on the bed. Never again, it hisses, never again will you doubt that you are worth something.

“I’ll say it as often as you need to hear it,” he murmurs, “until you believe it too.”

“B-believe what?”

“That you’re good.” Oh, Roman shudders on the bed and this poor thing… “You are, sweetie."

Roman blinks up at him, cheeks still flushed, but eyes shining. Janus smiles at him and ruffles his hair.

“Why did you look so scared,” he asks softly, “when I came in?”

Roman’s face falls. “When I woke up, no one was here, and I thought…I…”

“…did you think we’d left you, little prince?” When Roman nods, Janus lets out a soft noise and leans down to kiss his forehead. “No, little prince, we won’t leave you. You’re staying here, where I can look after you.”

“…I can stay?”

“Yes, sweetie, you can stay.”

After a moment, Roman’s fingers curl shyly into the folds of Janus’s coat and he smiles.

“Is this your way of asking me to stay, little prince?” Roman nods. “I’ll stay, don’t you worry. Do you think you can sleep?”

“I’ve slept a lot.”

“You’re allowed to sleep, you’ve been through a lot.” The snake nestles the little prince in its coils. “And I can see your eyes closing, sweetie, go on.”

“…will you be here when I wake up?”

“Yes, little prince, I will.”

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

“I found it.”

“Location confirmed?”

“Names en route.”

A slow cut of a dark smile across a face full of teeth.

“Let’s make it hurt.”

“Aye, aye, boss.”

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs@el-does-photography @princeanxious @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams @averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne@queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws @cecil-but-gayer @i-am-overly-complicated @annytheseal @alias290 @tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance @whyiask @crows-ace @emilythezeldafan @frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires @cyanide-violence @oonagh2 @xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx @rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734 @triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo @cerulean-watermelon @puffed-up-bees @meltheromanstan @joyrose-fandomer @insanitori @mavenmush

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist, let me know!

[cthulhuliet]

Hi hi ~~ big fan of your Lawlight work * chef kiss * So, if it serves to inspire you I got this little idea! NSFW A huge hc of mine is that Light loves L reading for him with that hot British accent of his, like come on, L`s dubbed voice with a brit accent??*agressive chef kiss* SOO imagine Light resting his head on L`s lap while L is reading to him and things get lewd in the novel :D maybe things coul get lewd in reality too 👀👀 oh, and another hc of mine is that Light rides D like a pro so ... maybe something with both? if you'd like 👉👈 No pressure at all tho!

Thank you so much for your kind words :') I am a fan of your Lawlight work as well, and even though it took a two weeks or so (my bad) I really hope you enjoy! (it also, as always, turned out to be a lot longer than I meant it).

close your eyes and imagine it

3.1k words | AO3 Link | warnings: explicit content, general kink, you know the drill

Most of the dreams were incomprehensible nonsense, and L had just about given up on the month of April when he saw a long entry that made him pause. His eyes widened at the contents. “Huh.”

Light shifted a little bit to make himself more comfortable, eyes only half open, “Hmm? Find something interesting?”

“I am in this one. Did you frequently dream about me?”

There was a beat, and Light responded coolly, “I cannot remember specifics. Hence, the journal.”

L hummed, a small smirk Light could not see grew on his face, “Well then, I will read this one out loud for your benefit.

OR

The one where Light discovers a dream journal he had written during the Kira investigation and can't help but be embarrassed by L's role in his fantasies. L, of course, does not mind. -

“A dream journal?” L questioned. He closed his laptop and Light smirked, raising an eyebrow, holding the notebook in his hands. L crossed the room and took the journal from Light, “Where did you find this?”

Light shrugged, “On my bookshelf with a lot of my other textbooks and such.”

“How old is this?”

“Was in my late teens, I suspect.”

L flipped through the book idly, Light’s neat handwriting was pleasant and clean compared to L’s own scrawled and messy penmanship. The pages slightly stuck together, as the old notebook seemed to have not been touched in years. L stopped at a page and briefly read the contents and looked at the date, before his own eyes widened.

“Hang on, this is during-”

“The Kira investigation? Yeah.” Light’s slight smirk turned into a large cheshire. “I figured you might be interested in reading what I wrote.”

L bit his bottom lip, looking up at Light, one eyebrow raised, “Does the Death Note still give you nightmares to this day?”

Shrugging, Light came up to L and looked over his shoulder at the notebook, “I mean, sometimes? But I also believe that having nightmares is just a part of being a person.”

“Or you have become so numb to your own murderous tendencies the nightmares do not affect you that much anymore.” L muttered, just loud enough for Light to hear.

He did hear him, of course, and he retaliated by shoving L hard enough for him to fall backwards onto their bed. Light socked L on the arm when he flopped down onto his back as well as L went to read Light’s journal to himself.

“Leave me alone, Light, can’t you see I am busy?” L teased, which earned him another hit on his arm, “You are being bothersome.”

Light crossed his arms, now sitting next to L laying down on the bed, “Those are my dreams, you are not reading without me, obviously.”

“Well then lie down so I can read them to you.” Light was the most frustrating man that L had ever been with. He wouldn’t have him any other way.

L sat up and rested his back against the headboard. Light assumed his usual position and rested his head on L’s lap. L idly put his hands through Light soft brown locks, twirling his soft hair through his fingers.

This was not an unusual position to find the pair in. Light often requests that L read to him, the other man finding the restrained but smooth baritone of L’s voice to be incredibly attractive, but also incredibly calming to listen to. It is not the first time his voice has been complimented, and it certainly will not be the last. Sayu has told L multiple times that he should become a voice over actor. He politely declined. The rest of the people do not matter, really. The only praise he needs is when Light humbly hands him a book he reads before bed, and falls asleep to L’s voice quicker than any amount reading on his own.

“‘ April 1st, 2004: I was present for class at To-Oh university, however we were all forced to give a presentation about when we believe all of our classmates will die and why. This was a horribly dark and drab lecture hall, and I had forgotten my cue cards about why Sakurano Mari was going to die due to dementia .’  This is not exactly a fun read.”

“It was not exactly fun to think about either.”

“I am going to find a different one.”

L used one hand to run his fingers through Light’s hair and the other to flip through the journal, skimming through the contents. Most of the recounts were incomprehensible nonsense, though there is no judgement to be had there. Whenever L does sleep, most of his dreams are disconnected fragments of stories -- feelings and emotions rather than a complete narrative.

L had just about given up on the month of April when he saw a long entry that made him pause. His eyes widened at the contents.

“Huh.”

Light shifted a little bit to make himself more comfortable, eyes only half open, “Hmm? Find something interesting?”

“I am in this one.”

“Are you?”

“Did you frequently dream about me?”

There was a beat, and Light responded coolly, “I cannot remember specifics. Hence, the journal.”

L hummed, a small smirk Light could not see grew on his face, “Well then, I will read this one out loud for your benefit:

“‘ Damn that Ryuzaki. He is plaguing my thoughts not only during the day, but I cannot even escape the damn bastard in my dreams’, I love you too, dearest ,” L sardonically snided. Light pinched his thigh , “ ‘Last night's events were particularly egregious, as this is not the first time something like this has happened, but I feel mortified even writing this down. Though, maybe if I recount what happened (like with the nightmares) these dreams will go down in their numbers.

“‘Ryuzaki and myself were in the library studying next to one another. I was eating a biscotti with tea. As it was in my mouth, Ryuzaki came up and bit off the end of my biscotti and just chuckled at me. I wasn’t sure what to do or say, but I just know I felt really hot an -’”

“L…” Light gripped his thigh dangerously, “What are you doing.” It was phrased as a question, but Light said it as a command. He ignored him. Light was never the one to give out commands anyway.

“‘ I cannot remember much but the next moment Ryuzaki’s lips were on my neck. Everything was fuzzy, but I could feel him biting marks into me and was teasing me by grinding against my di- ’”

Light growled, “I’m taking this away from you. Now.” He moved to sit up, but L’s hand was still in his hair. L gripped his roots harshly and shoved him back down. Light whined at the action, swallowing hard.

“You are not going anywhere.” That was a command, and Light took it as such.

“This is mortifying…” Light muttered against the mattress, his speech breathy.

L hummed and pulled Light’s hair up, forcing him to look at him, “I disagree.” He lied. “You are going to be good and listen to me read this whole thing.”

Light laughed, cocky, though his eyes were glassy with flushed cheeks, “Oh yeah? Or what?”

“Or how about I get to come and you don’t, hmm?” Light opened his mouth and closed it again, face flushed with shame. L let go of his hair and Light buried his head in L’s lap. L smirked and chuckled, “You are so adorable, all blushy and embarrassed…” Light whined at that, running his fingernail down the inside of L’s thigh.

“‘ This is not the first time this has happened, though I have to admit, it was the best incident. Even hazy, I had never felt that sensitive and stimulated. I just wanted to stay like that forever.’” L had one hand on the book, the other held a distracted, but firm, grip in Light’s hair, who was presently biting his lip and running soft strokes over L’s cock. “‘It was even better when I got to put my mouth on Ryuzaki. I have never sucked a dick before, so my brain could only supply what it imagines it feels like, but it was not even that that made it so good. Ryuzaki would hold my hair tight and look down at me while I was on my knees. He kept telling me that I was a slut, but that I was doing such a good job for him. Even before this I thought Ryuzaki had such a nice voice, I wish I could hear him more…’ You think my voice is nice, huh?” L asked, keeping his voice level, as Light’s feather touches became firm palming.

He groaned again, “Tch, shut up.”

“No.” L pulled him by his hair, forcing Light to look him in the eye, “I think it is time you shut up.” In only a few seconds, L manhandled Light and dropped him to his knees on the floor at the edge of the bed. L sat at the end, grabbing the journal with one hand and undoing his jeans with the other. “How many times have you sucked dick since writing this? Hundreds?” Light finished the job of removing L’s pants and underwear, his cock standing erect in front of him, “C’mon cock-slut, show me what you got.”

Light eagerly took L in his mouth, expertly utilizing his tongue on his head. L closed his eyes and tried to not become overwhelmed by the sensation. He opened his eyes to see Light’s cocky doe-eyes staring back up at him.

“What was it that you dreamed of? My hand tight in your hair, fucking your mouth, telling you you’re being a good slut, right?” L asked, rhetorically as he returned his hand to harshly grip Light’s locks. He slowly moved Light’s head up and down, spit dribbled out of the corners of his mouth. Light’s face was blood red with humiliation and lust, it was perfect.

L bit his lip as Light took him all the way down his throat, refusing to be the one to break first. He picked up the journal again, eyes focusing and unfocusing on the work in front of him. “‘ Ryuzaki kept calling me good boy, telling me I was taking him so well, and never had anyone ever made him feel as good as I was. I felt so overwhelmed. I had never felt such extreme desire for anyone, but I think at that moment I would do anything for him.’ Do you still want to hear all that? Still want me to call you a good boy, and tell you you are taking me so well?”

Light groaned around L’s cock, the vibrations from his throat sent a shiver up his spine and L suppressed a needy whine on his end. After years of doing this, Light knows exactly how to push him to the very edge-- to give him so much and yet not enough.

“‘ My memory gets a little fuzzy here, but Ryuzaki laid down on the desk, and he grabbed me by the thighs so hard I think I would have had bruises in reality. I grabbed him by the throat and rode him on the desk. A part of me was worried, because the conference room in the library was all glass, but also my head was so hazy and it felt so good.’” L pressed a thumb against his lips, “Had Light fucked himself on toys at this point?”

He pulled off of L, slowly stroking him as he thought about it, “I think at that time I had. I only realized I was not straight shortly after high school, and my sexual drive moved pretty fast after that.”

“‘Shortly after high school’, shortly after meeting me, right?” L smirked. Light opened his mouth to attempt a retort, but just narrowed his eyes.

“Such an egomaniac you are,” Light scoffed, “Not everything is about you.”

“No, not everything. But this is.” L reached under their bed and pulled out a box of toys and lube. He casually tossed the bottle and a large blue dildo in front of Light, “Stretch yourself open with that. I want to see you.”

“You don’t want to do it yourself?”

“Like you have earned that privilege yet.” L leaned forward (careful to not fall off the edge) and grabbed Light by the chin, forcing him to look L in the eye, “You’re going to open yourself up on that cock, and when your slutty hole is ready for me, you can ride me like in your fantasies.”

He could almost see the blood rushing to Light’s ears-- being literally talked down to-- condescended and scolded like a child. And yet, his pupils were blown all the way out, L barely seeing the amber color of Light’s eyes, and his jeans and underwear were, of course, already halfway to his ankles.

Light took the tip of the toy and fucked his mouth in and out with it, eyes never leaving L’s. He was already 3 fingers deep inside of himself, lewdly moaning around the cock very intentionally.

“This is a good look for you,” L remarked, breathily, slowly stroking his own cock.

Light suctioned the dick to the hardwood, and hovered over it, teasing his hole with the tip, “Well, if you are going to keep calling me a slut- fuck… I might as well lean into it.” Light bottomed out on the toy, one hand running through his hair, another sucking on two fingers as he slowly moved. Light, flushed and fucked out and using himself, was the pinnacle of sex and desire-- L began to question his decision about who exactly this was a punishment for.

“Ngh, this cock is so big , L… But it doesn’t feel nearly as good as yours.” Light dragged his teeth across the bottom of his lip, pointed looking at L’s cock, now leaking precum. Light knew he was getting to L. He knew exactly how he looked and exactly what L was thinking.

Fucker. Two can play at that.

L slowed down his own movements, raising an eyebrow at Light, “A common whore like yourself would be satisfied with any cock inside of him. You want mine so bad? Close your eyes, think…” L held the book open with one hand, “‘ I feel like I am going crazy. I am supposed to want this stupid bastard dead. And yet all I want right now are my hands on him and his on mine-’” Light groaned, finally touching his neglected aching cock, “‘-and it is so hard to focus on bringing him down, when the entire time I am dreaming about Ryuzaki’s voice in my ear, and my hands around his throat, and his tongue and mouth on me everywhere . I may just have to take care of him so I stop feeling this way... ’ My my, Kira... ” Light groaned at the name, “I thought you would be a bit more careful than to let your inner thoughts so out in the open like this. What would have happened if someone had gotten a hold of this?”

“I- Fuck- Academic rivalries are not uncommon....”

“I wanted to sentence you to death and you still could not stop thinking about me inside of you-”

“Oh shit L…”

“-or my hands on your cock or my fingers stretching you wide open. You still want me to whisper in your ear and moan , telling you what a good boy you are, right?”

“Yes… yes I want that L…”

L tutted, “And yet you aren’t a good boy. Desperate and begging… Writing down naughty thoughts and fantasies about someone who you wanted to die?” L shook his head, casually tossing the book aside. He reached for his own cock again, slowly stroking it watching Light fall apart, giving himself dual sensations, “Kira needs to make up his mind about what he wants. Because I don’t think he is good at all.”

“ L please…”

“Please, what?”

“Please let me on your cock.”

“Why would I allow that?”

Light stopped his movements on the dildo, only slowly stroking his cock at the same speed as L was his own, “I am not a good boy, I am a cock-slut for you, and only ever you. Fuck me please,” Light begged, broken and desperate.

L stood up and grabbed Light’s hands, pulling him off of the toy. He brushed the hair out of Light’s eyes and pulled Light on top of him, “So good, Kira. You don’t have to be a good boy for me, you can just be my good slut.”

He kissed L, hard, biting his bottom lip as he lined himself up on L’s dick and sunk down on him.

“ Fuck, you feel so much better than that cheap plastic,” Light straddled L properly, pressing his hands against L’s chest as he rode him, not wasting anytime picking up speed.

“Such a good whore for me, Kira,” L said, kissing his wrist, “You really do ride cock like you get paid to do it.”

“I know,” Light said, breathy and fucked.

L huffed, “A bit cocky, aren-”

“Now it’s your turn to shut up,” Light said, pressing down on L’s pressure points, his fingertips pushing hard enough into his throat it will surely leave marks against his pale skin.

L’s eyes rolled in the back of his head and Light moved his hips faster, L snapping back up to meet his thrusts, which quickly became sloppy as black dots began dancing in the corners of his eyes and his lungs started burning. His eyes welled up with tears and his entire body was on fire, his limbs going limp. He felt the white, hot edge so close and tangible. Every thrust felt like a rattle of electricity hitting every nerve and every part of his consciousness so closely and he just needed more -- Light relented, moving his hands away from his throat. L eyes snapped open wide and he coughed, taking heavy breaths. Tears fell from the corners of his eyes, and he dug his fingertips into Light’s waist, harshly grabbing him by the hips.

“L? I’m sorry, you told me you would tap out if-”

“Kira, more-- again-- now.” L commanded, and Light did not hesitate. He grabbed him by the throat and put his fingers in L’s mouth for good measure. Light was riding him with expert pace and precision, his lower body strength and years of running paying off. L’s legs trembled, and he used the last bit of his unfucked mind to dig his nails into Light’s hips and rock him faster and faster on his cock, reaching that beautiful and terrible and intense edge.

“ Ah- L! ” Light comes only a few seconds before L himself, moaning around Light’s fingers as he loosened his grip, but still only letting a fraction of the air healthy for the human brain into his head.

Light did not move himself off of L immediately. He moved his hand away from his throat, but kept small pressure on his neck with one of his thumbs.

“What are you doing?” L muttered. Light said nothing. L opened his eyes, tapping him. “Light?”

Light blinked, looking back, “Sorry, was feeling your pulse.”

“Why?”

“Wanted to make sure I didn’t kill you.”

L smiled softly, “Don’t want me dead anymore?”

“Sometimes. Certainly not like this, it’s too personal.”

“What, killing me while my cock is in your ass is too close for comfort?”

“Something like.” Light smirked and pressed a soft kiss against L’s lips.

After cleaning up, Light told L he wanted to burn the dream journal to prevent further embarrassment.

“Over my dead body.” L said, holding the notebook just out of reach.

Light smirked, “I have no problem arranging that.”

[yourlocal-lichen]

hello. *insert question abt ur worldbuilding*

oh boy :D

I've been writing a lot and so suddenly the answer to this *question* is under the cut :)

I kind of shitposted about the basic premise of the city like a week ago but it's pretty much a city built in and around these giant trees with like streets winding between and under roots. The streets are walking paths, paved for accessibility, and a kind of surprisingly high amount of the city budget goes into maintaining them because the ground is very soft and while the pavement is reinforced with a bunch of stuff it's really hard to keep these paths flat and elevated for very long.

Most of the streets are designed for walking/wheelchairs, but there are express streets for bikes that also make it through. Elevated above the streets and (most of) the roots is the light rail, known as the RiboMetro (like ribosomes! eh? eh?) which is a bit like the Loop in Chicago but a lot more extensive.

The local climate is very moist (hence the soft earth) and the forest is known as le forêt qui coule (the forest that drips) because of condensation dripping from... kind of everything. There are moss and vines growing on every available surface pretty much, except those specifically maintained to stay clear. To offset any of the lost moisture to the tree roots caused by buildings and walkways, there are gutters running alongside most of the walkways that facilitate the movement of clean water, both for the inhabitants of the city and for the trees.

It's relatively dark here, too. Sun makes it though the canopy here, but the natural light is not very strong. It does not take much for it to get very dark, be that early dusk or rain. Most of the lights turn on pretty early in the day.

An important thing to note here about it is that the primary building material here is a kind of bronze/copper-looking metal. It's not like an elven civilization where everything here is made out of wood. These are still humans who inhabit it, too.

While any electrical lines are underground, there is still an appearance of electrical wires, which are upon closer inspection just vines strung between buildings. Buildings often have brightly colored awnings, not just on the ground level but also protecting windows from rain on higher levels. It's really not hard when looking around this city to find every color in the decorations and architecture everywhere. The smell here is a mix of damp earth, plant air (I can't really explain it but like the smell when there's a lot of plants in a room, especially when there's a breeze? My bedroom smells like it sometimes and it's amazing), and wet metal (ew ew ew). There are sounds of dragonflies, mosquitoes, birds, and the RiboMetro is also pretty loud when it's going by.

Finally, of the most notable parts of the city, at the center there is a (natural) clearing where most of the farming is done. While livestock and such are kept more on the outside of town, there is a massive vegetable garden in the middle, mostly kept on raised beds. It can get very sunny here, and this is where the city maintains free-access foods. It's not the best crop of vegetables ever, and there is better produce to be found by vendors throughout the city, but it's free, and tended by city employees. This space is called le Bois de Cœur and is surrounded by a wide street with stores surrounding it, which are a little bit in the trees themselves. I need to make a map at some point.

[kuroosweakness]

oikawa and iwaizumi with a s/o doing face masks

prompt: oikawa and iwaizumi with their gender neutral s/o who wants to do face masks with them and how they react 

a/n: please like, reblog, and request !! thank you so much for reading <33

bokuto and akaashi’s version here 

ushijima and tendou’s version here 

oikawa:

- “y/n, don’t you think I look beautiful ?” oikawa asks as he looks up at you with a grin on his face. you sigh, just wanting to focus on the movie you guys were watching and you couldn’t help but smile at his adorable smile

- “yes oikawa, you’re very beautiful. and handsome too.” 

- “thought so,” he grins, “and for the record, you’re kinda pretty too :D” 

- :) if oikawa says i am, than i am 

- suddenly, your boyfriend crosses his arms and pouts, “if only if my skin wasn’t so dryyyyy than i’ll look even better :/” 

- you’re like ? but your skin isn’t dry ? and that’s when you thought of face masks :) “babe babe, what if we did face masks together ? our skin will feel so smooth and soft :D plus, we can take cute couple pictures ...”

- beautiful skin and cute couple pictures ? oikawa couldn’t say no to that. 

- “y/n, your brain is so beautiful for thinking of all of these wonderful ideas” 

- “you wanna go shopping for face masks ?” 

- “no not really, i’m too lazyy for that :P” 

- “ you lazy bum ......... but same” 

- “online shopping ?” he eyes you 

- “okie :)” 

- you grab your laptop from the coffee table and cuddles next to your boyfriend. he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close, takes a whiff of your shampoo and smiles, “we’re gonna get the best of the best face masks hehe” 

- when the face masks gets shipping to your door, you both opened the packaging together with excitement gleaming in both eyes, “package reveal vlog !!! :P” 

- “oikawa we’re not youtubers-” 

- “let’s try the green tea one first !!” 

- “okay okay okay wait for meeee” 

- you place his face mask on him and he places yours on you. 

- “close your eyes babe ...i can you peeking, y/n ... oh wait this part is wrinkled let me smooth it out” 

- selfies time :DD.    “you look so so so cute here”  .... “i always do.” 

iwaizumi: 

- one day, you were doing your daily nighttime skincare routine in the bathroom when you found some extra face masks on the counter. you don’t remember buying face masks so you’re like ? you didn’t think they belonged to iwaizumi because his skincare routine included just one bottle of face wash that he used for a good three months 

- “iwaizumi ... are these face masks yours ?” you call him over to the bathroom and sees him jogging over as red as a tomato 

- “uhh ... i got some face masks because i heard that some couples do couple face masks and i thought that maybe we coul-” 

- you’re like :DD especially since iwaizumi almost never paid attention to those cute couples activites and skincare “hurry babe, let’s try these !!” 

- he could see the excitement in your eyes and immediately relaxed his shoulders ... “if you insist :)” 

- when iwaizumi first opens the package he’s utterly confused. “why is it so small ?” 

- you look over with your mask on like ._. “babe you’re supposed to spread the cloth out ...” 

- “ohhhhh ... okay”  you don’t bring up how wrinkled his mask is because you knew he would turn into a blushing mess 

- “you look so cute. we should do this more often :) but next time I’LL buy them” 

- iwaizumi quickly nods and sneaks a look at your satisfied smile 

- after taking off the face masks, iwaizumi definitely complains how sticky it feels 

[firefly-in-darkness]

Smooth

Pairing → Sam Wilson x Reader

Characters → Marvel 

Summary → Y/N has to fight off the smile and laughter at Sam Wilson’s chat up lines throught their relationship but here are a few of their milestones.

Word Count → 3.7k

Prompt → Trope: 5 Things Plus 1 for @bonkywobble​ challenge - congrats on your follower milestone lovely!

SSB2021 Square Fill → Posted at the end of the story as it’s a spoiler // @star-spangled-bingo

Warnings → Fluff, sweet, tooth-rotting fluff. Cheesy chat up lines.

Betas → @daydream3r-xo​ // all mistakes are my own.

A/N → This is my first proper Sam Wilson fic - I have done one in the past but there was more platonic - so I hope you enjoy this story!

Firefly’s Masterlist 

Sam Wilson couldn’t believe his luck, he’d signed up to the right gym, that’s for sure. There was the most beautiful woman standing at the opposite wall with a group of women. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her as she instructed the class. It was like he was hypnotised, but at least he was happy about it. Her figure was strong, and she commanded the attention of the women with ease and a stunning smile that made her eyes sparkle.

He dropped his bag onto the floor and folded his arms, as he watched on in wonder while she instructed them to loosen up with various stretches. The way her body bent and twisted into the poses was enough to make him stir under the belt.

Lost in his daydream, Sam didn’t realise the instructor had turned away from the class and walked in his direction. Lost in the sight of her plump lips and then he realised that she was looking at him. No, not just looking, her lips were moving. She was talking to him. He snapped out of his haze and apologised for not hearing.

“Are you here to assist with the self-defence class?” Her eyebrow raised at him, slight confusion on her face.

Now that she was in his personal space, Sam felt nervous. He was usually so quick and an absolute charmer with women. Well, with most people, young and old. He’d get himself out of any situation and this is when he needed his wits about him.

“Uhm- No, I think there’s something wrong with my eyes.” Sam wrinkled his nose and cringed at his train of thought.

The woman looked at him with widening fear and reached out to take his arm, “Right, okay, what do you need? What’s wrong?”

The feel of her soft skin warmed his arm in an instant, a tingle bloomed across his cheeks. Then he refocused back on his plan, even if it could potentially end badly, he wanted to charm her.

“I just can’t take them off you.” Sam grinned, but it dropped when he saw the scowl, she was giving him. 

Suddenly the most beautiful sound came from the woman, the laugh that fell from her lips made him feel like a cloud, completely soft and weightless. And the sight of her head thrown back brought the grin back to his face. It worked.

“But I am more than happy to help out with the class.” Sam’s smile didn’t drop but his heart raced at the thought of his offer being rejected.

“Oh, you are definitely helping out now.” grabbed his bicep and brought him to the front of the group. “Now ladies, this is-”

“Sam” He waved and gave them a lopsided smile. “Sam Wilson.”

“Sam is going to be our test dummy for today’s session.” Y/N grabbed a [added vest and handed it to him, “now put this on and be a good boy so these Ladies can practice kneeing someone in the stomach.”

“What? I thought you were going to wrestle me or something.”

“Nuh-uh, good luck sugar.” She grinned.

“Wait, do I get to know your name?” Sam asked as he pulled on the vest.

“You can call me Boss Lady.” She replied and returned to the group of women.

Sam didn’t miss the teasing smirk she sent his way as she walked away and discussed the techniques with the women that were lining up to practise their recently learned moves on him. He was glad he had this padded vest and years of training in the army to deal with the blows about to come his way.

At least he got to meet her, see that stunning smile, and hear that beautiful laugh. It was all worth it.

Y/N stroked her fingers through her hair, a failed attempt to tame the flyaway while giving herself a once over in the pocket mirror. Nerves swirled in her stomach as the Uber approached the Italian restaurant. She wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not, she hadn’t been on a date in over a year and she had only known this guy for a few weeks through an online dating app.

The maître-d took her coat then led her to an empty table, leaving her to browse the drinks menu. Y/N wasn’t fazed by being here before him, she was a little earlier than planned and decided to order a glass of wine.

Yet, the minutes ticked by. Y/N sipped on her drink, eyes focused on the entrance for any sign of her date but after twenty minutes and an ignored message, she decided to ask the waitress to clear the reservation and bring over the cheque for her wine. She wasn’t going to sit there any longer, waiting for someone that wasn’t going to arrive.

Feeling scorned by being stood up, she left the restaurant in a flurry but tried to remain composed and swiftly began to walk down the block to the busier part of town to hail a taxi. But before she reached the end of the sidewalk an illuminated sign across the street caught her attention. Compound. It was the place that Sam had mentioned to her earlier in the week when they were at the gym. 

They’d formed a good friendship over the last few months and with a few of the other regulars at the gym. Sam had invited Y/N alongside Bucky and Nat who were personal trainers at the gym. Y/N knew them well but had declined the invite to the bar that was now opposite her. She made up an excuse, unsure as to why she lied about needing to go to her parents.

But now that she was here, she might as well put the time she had in getting ready to good use. She could just think of some other excuse and pretend like the evening hadn’t started as badly as it did. With a renewed surge of confidence, she skipped across the street and entered the bar.

It was busy but considering it was a Friday night, most people ventured further into town for a night out. She spotted Bucky and one of his best clients, Steve, at one of the pool tables in the corner. Bucky had just broken the set and Steve moved to take his shot. That’s when Y/N saw that Natasha was here too, almost hidden from view by the muscular giant that was Steve. Y/N was sure that Natasha never looked less than radiant, she never looked out of place anywhere. She was perfect.

Y/N removed her coat and hooked it up, uncertainty starting to worry her about turning up unannounced. She shook it off and walked over to the bar to grab a round of beers to take over to the table, she couldn’t go over there empty-handed.

At the sound of her name being called, she turned around to see Bucky, his signature smile on his lips and arms opened wide to welcome her in a light hug.

“Hi Buck, parents didn’t need me so thought I’d gate crash.” Y/N grinned and held up the bottles, “And I have beers.”

“Always welcome. But we need one more.” Bucky gestured over to the table, the new addition at the table was Sam.

An unexpected rush of butterflies assaulted Y/N’s stomach as she ordered the remaining beer and walked over to the bar with Bucky in tow. She greeted everyone, pausing as she approached Sam. This was the first time she’d seen him in something other than gym clothes and she appreciated the form-fitting shirt that hugged at his muscular arms.

“Somebody call the cops because it’s got to be illegal to look that good!” Sam bellowed out and held out his arms, gesturing up and down her body.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that erupted and wrapped her arms around his neck. She was glad that her date had stood her up because now she was able to enjoy the night with friends that wanted her to be around. Plus, who doesn’t love a confidence boost from a handsome guy?

Even though Sam used the most ridiculous lines to get Y/N’s attention, something was charming about him. It was a confidence boost for sure and when later that night, he asked her on a date, she secretly hoped that it was going to lead to something more. Even if the rational voice in her head told her not to get attached too soon.

Sam couldn’t believe his luck; they were on their fifth date and Y/N had invited him up to her apartment for coffee. Of course, he hoped it was code for sex. But honestly, he didn’t mind if that didn’t happen, he just wanted to spend more time with Y/N. She was great company, had a wicked sense of humour and was genuinely fun to be around.

Nerves bubbled in Sam’s stomach while he waited for Y/N to return with their drinks. He had sat on the cosy couch that was adorned with plush cushions and the softest blanket he’d ever felt but he needed to distract himself from the butterflies somersaulting in his stomach. A display of photographs and memorabilia adorning one of the walls caught his eye and he wandered over.

Several photographs of Y/N with different groups of people; at festivals, out for dinner, on vacation. Some of the frames had ticket stubs tucked into them, the other frames had ornaments hanging from them or polaroids stuck to the corners. It was a collage of happiness and colour. He couldn’t help the smile that formed as he thought of all the possibilities of their dating heading towards making memories like this, together.

Sam returned to the couch and Y/N placed the cups onto the coffee table. He noticed the change in her body language; she smoothed down her skirt several times, a coy smile played on her lips as she sipped on the drink. He grinned, she was on the same page as him and maybe just as nervous.

“We don’t have to do anything.” Sam’s voice gained her attention, “I’m happy to wait and see where things go if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Y/N’s eyes sparkled, she looked as if the weight of the world had been taken off her shoulders and then she plunged towards him. Their lips met in a heated kiss; Sam was shocked at the sudden change of pace, but he couldn’t resist the need to feel her body pressed up against him.

They both pulled back for air, and Sam brushed his knuckles against her cheek, “I guess that means you do want to do something.”

Y/N bit her lip and shuffled backwards, straightened up and gestured for him to follow her to the bedroom. Sam kicked off his shoes and loosened his tie in the doorway, completely enamoured by Y/N while she removed her heels. 

“Sam, can you help?” Y/N looked behind and pulled her hair over her shoulder, exposing the zip that she couldn’t quite reach the top of the dress.

Slowly, the zip glided down, showing a hint of the black lace underwear. Sam looked up to the ceiling, thanking God for the beauty before him. She turned around and began unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers delicate and features focused on the clothing. But there seemed to be an air of nervousness coming from her.

Sam tipped up her chin before she could finish undressing him. He kissed her lightly, in hope to ease her, comfort her. 

Their lips parted and he rested his forehead against Y/N’s, “as I said, we don’t have to do anything.”

Y/N nodded and guided him to the foot of the bed to take a seat, “I’m okay. It’s just been a while.”

Sam was in a similar situation and didn’t want his nerves to add to the concern that was already laced on her features as she stood in front of him, “We’ll do this at your pace.”

She nodded, a smile now taking over her features as she removed her arms from the sleeves of her dress and letting it pool at her feet. Sam’s mouth dropped agape as he took in her all beauty; the soft skin that curved and dipped in exquisite ways. 

His hands rubbed at his thighs and looked back up to the woman who approached cautiously, a smirk on his face, “I hope you know CPR because you are taking my breath away.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip and straddled his lap, “I think I’m pretty good at mouth to mouth.”

Sam held her waist with one hand, the other exploring and massaging the exposed skin of her thighs, her hips and stomach before he reached for her neck. Their lips crashed together, and they shuffled up the mattress, exposing more of their bodies and letting passion guide them through the remainder of the night.

The episode of The Big Bang Theory played in the background, Y/N was too occupied with painting her toenails, her feet rested on the coffee table as she tugged up her sweatpants for the fifth time in the hopes to not smudge the polish.

Sam had been in the bedroom for ten minutes, putting on an outfit that he needed Y/N’s approval on. At least they’d ordered food before he went in there because otherwise, Y/N would have consumed everything in his fridge which didn’t consist of much other than a block of cheese and a bottle of vodka.

The buzz at the intercom made her jump but luckily there were no smudges to her newly pampered feet.

“I’ll get it,” Y/N shouted from the lounge of Sam’s apartment and headed to the front door to wait for the delivery person. She handed the guy some bills and a little tip before hitting the door shut with her hip.

Y/N held onto the pizza boxes and bottle of soda tightly and cautiously made her way down the hall. She waited for Sam to appear, but he still hadn’t come out of his bedroom. It was getting a bit ridiculous now.

“Sam, hurry up or your food is going to go cold.” She called and poured out the drinks.

“What do you think?” Sam asked as he entered the room, arms wide as he twirled slowly.

Sam was in a crisp white shirt, smart black trousers, and a suit jacket. The bowtie was a little crooked, but it made his sheepish grin all that more endearing to her.

“A little formal for movie night don’t you think?” She smirked and dipped an onion ring into the garlic sauce.

“Thought it might impress you.” Sam grinned at her, “Thought it would bring a bit more class to the charity gala. We need to raise money for the community centre.”

“Well, I think you look rather handsome and I’m sure someone will bid a lot of money on you.” Y/N’s eyes squinted at him, for being reminded that Sam was being auctioned off alongside Steve and Bucky for dates to the rich women of New York.

Y/N knew they weren’t exclusive, but she knew they weren’t dating other people, they just hadn’t talked about that. It had only been a couple of months since their first date and as much as Y/N was enjoying Sam’s company, she didn’t want to rush into anything or mistake how she felt and that it was unreciprocated.

“Do you know what my shirt is made of?” Sam walked towards her and knelt to be at her eye level, “Boyfriend material. Yeah, I like the sound of that.”

Sam pressed a kiss to her cheek then stood back up to return to the bedroom while Y/N remained glued to the spot, eyes wide at the way he’d casually pulled off another cheesy line and quietened her insecurities in one swift movement. She was falling, hard.

Sam pulled the van into the driveway, feeling giddy at the sight of Y/N standing on the porch with their realtor. The sun beamed down onto Y/N’s skin, an ethereal glow as she spoke animatedly with Phil, probably talking his ear off about the cost of hiring a van themselves in comparison to hiring a removals company.

It had taken them a while to get here but Sam was over the moon to be where they were now. Everything came into alignment, apart from the odd bump in the road. But after many sleepless nights, a last-minute scramble for cash and only a few days to pack up their separate lives; they were finally moving into their dream home. 

They had talked about this for months, both unsure to take the leap when viewing different houses until this one came along. The minute they walked into the place, it felt like home. It was vacant and they were able to imagine what it would look like with their belongings; where the sofa would look best in the lounge or which room should be the guest bedroom or office space.

Of course, the kitchen was Sam’s favourite place, it was open planned and the best for socialising and he couldn’t wait for everyone to come round for a barbecue as the French doors opening onto a patio that stretched into a neat lawn. Perfect for hosting their friends this summer.

“Did you get lost pumpkin?” Y/N smiled at him.

“Never, I’m like a homing pigeon when it comes to you.” Sam chuckled, “are we ready now Phil?”

The middle-aged man that had a childlike spark, gave him a curt nod, and headed into the property, “Right this way.”

The papers were signed, and all that was left was to be handed over the keys so that they could begin unloading their belongings. The atmosphere was charged with excitement as Phil placed a set of keys into Y/N’s hands.

“Be careful with those.” Sam gave her a lopsided smirk and a raised brow.

“I’m not going to lose them!” She retaliated.

“Yeah, but this one,” Sam pointed to one of the keys, “is a special one.”

Y/N turned to him, brows knitted together in confusion, “what are you going on about Sam?”

Sam placed his hands on her shoulders, focusing her attention on him. His face lined with seriousness, “It’s the key to my heart.” 

Y/N groaned and rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him.

“Nailed it!” Phil said as he high fived Sam, “Now, I will leave you lovely pair to get acquainted with your new home.”

Y/N placed the keys onto the kitchen island and looked out onto the garden. Sam’s arms wrapped around her waist; his chest pressed tightly to her back.

“We did it, baby girl,” Sam whispered into her ear and lightly pecked her cheek.

“That we did.” She turned her head to capture his lips with her own.

Y/N grabbed the plates, shoving them into the dishwasher while Sam waved Steve and Peggy off from the front door. It was a good date night, regardless of the lack of wine. Peggy was almost ready to burst with the twins that had wriggled constantly in her belly. They’d finally decided on a name but refused to tell Y/N or Sam.

“Anything else I need to do, baby girl?” Sam asked as he returned to the kitchen.

“All done in here.” Y/N yawned, “Think it’s time for bed.”

Sam’s face dropped for a split second, but Y/N spotted it. She wandered round to his side of the room and wrapped her arms around his neck, fingers massaging the back of his head.

“What’s up?” She asked, pressing a light kiss to his lips.

A grin formed on his lips, the warmth spreading to her in an instant, shared happiness was a beautiful feeling.

“I was just thinking that I don’t think there’s anything I’d like to change about you.” He swayed your body to the music that filtered through from the music dock in the living room.

“So why the grumpy face?” Y/N pouted and squeezed his cheeks together; lips mushed into a dramatic grimace. 

“Because I realised there was something I’d like to change,” Sam mumbled through your hold on his face.

Y/N pulled away instantly, her hands dropping to her side as anger began to bubble under her skin, “excuse me?”

Sam tugged her by the waist, keeping her close, “Let me finish.”

She relaxed the tension in her body and placed her hands back on his chest, the annoyance still simmering but less noticeable. Sam’s fingers traced soft lines up and down her back until she gave in and placed her head on his shoulder.

“Now, where was I? Ah yes, the one thing I’d change about you.” He spluttered as Y/N hit him on the arm, lightly but still effective. “The only thing would be your last name.”

Y/N cringed at the chat-up line and pulled away, breaking their hold in favour of turning out the lights in the kitchen before re-joining him but he was nowhere to be seen when she turned around. The sudden silence had her on edge as she headed to the lounge to find Sam kneeling in front of her, his hand raised with a velvet box.

She gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth, he was being serious. He wasn’t using some cheesy chat-up line, well he was, but he was doing this! Y/N squealed internally, the sudden realisation that Sam was talking had her snapping up to his eyes.

The gorgeous brown brimming with tears as he told her how much he loved her, “I want you in my life always baby girl, will you be my wife?”

“Yes!” she responded, throwing her arms around his neck as he spun her around the room. 

Y/N pressed kiss after kiss to every place she could, their salty tears mixing in with their passion. Sam pulled back with a chuckle, he took her left hand and placed the sparkling ring onto her finger.

He might have used his cheesy pick-up lines to get to this point, but Y/N loved every single one. Especially this one.

The End.

SSB2021 Square Fill → Proposal // @star-spangled-bingo

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[foxanonforneon]

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I made the story with just two random lighthouse operators and @neonthewrite 's character, Chase. I used the picture above as a prompt.

Please have a good read. Likes and reblogs are appreciated!! :>

Warning: This contains catboy, fearplay, angst, mention of eating people/hard vore, and dehumanization of a person.

If you are uncomfortable with any of these things mentioned, you may pass this now.

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Viewer Discretion is Advised.

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

It is that time of night again, where the seaside is calm and the night is dark as burnt charcoal, with pretty stars in the sky as if it were an artist's canvas.

The seaside playing Mother Nature's music playing for anyone willing to listen was interrupted by two forms, one with a gruff exterior with a purpose in his stride, the other timidly but quickly following close behind the older man.

The two of them came out here for a purpose, the purpose needed and only could be done in the cylindrical, white tall building near the shore of the coast.

"S-Sir, are the rumours true?" the new operator's voice quivered as he got his query out. The voice soft enough that it could be mistaken for the wind.

"What?" the older man huffed with a sharp raspy voice, looked sceptically at the newcomer with a hint of disappointment in his eyes.

"I dunno what yer' talking 'bout boy, once we get to the top o' this place," he waved his hand lazily to the lighthouse, "ye' can tell me what ya mean." The operator looked at the newcomer expectantly as he presumed to walk to his desired destination.

As the younger of the two was unparalysed from the uneven gravel, both of the occupants in the vicinity felt a slight vibration from under their feet. It was barely noticeable as they stepped foot into the building.

As the seasoned lighthouse operator took his time up the winding stairs, the newcomer felt, off. Like the lighthouse suddenly dropped in temperature. Uneasy. Darker than usual in the room containing the giant flashlight. He felt a pit in his stomach with a mix of butterflies, a different contrast to the older operator, who seemed to be at ease.

As the top of the lighthouse drew closer in the operators' eye line, the newcomer felt tremors and heard the gravel underneath but brushed it off as someone having a late night dip and kept it in mind to question why were their steps so heavy, it when he calmed down and got settled.

Unfortunately, those thoughts vanished as he watched in astonishment as the elderly man took the two foldable chairs from the flashlight and plopped them down in front of it, near its sides, at an age that that would be a problem to do at that speed.

As they settled into their seats, the tremors and crunch of gravel came to a steady halt. The older man then stared at the younger one intently and curiously as to proceed with his queries.

The younger took this as his cue to speak. "Sir, did you not hear the rumors about the monster, that creeps around these parts, of the coast at this time of night?" the newcomer spoke as he looked around skitishly.

His posture hunched over fearfully as it looked like his spine was about to jump out of his skin. The older man took the information he was given into consideration. He stared at the flashlight, moonlit enough to make out its shape, as he hummed in deep thought.

"No, I don' recall any rumors 'bout a monster round these parts, guess ya coul' describe it fer me?" the older operator gestured softly to the other, so they could calm their own nerves. He leaned back and loosely crossed his arms as to indicate that he was all ears.

"I-I heard that it has very dark fur, from w-what I heard from some p-people, they say b-black or dark gray. They s-say that the monster has teeth longer than the tallest h-human being and it has claws that can reduce trees to nothing but a pile of sawdust! Very few people say it has the eyes of an apex predator!" The younger operator explained fearfully, his body quaking from fear.

"And? Do ya know wha' it does or eat fer that matter, if you want ta keep explainin'?" The seasoned operator asked as he gently cupped the newcomer's palms in his own to aid his worries about this 'monster'.

"I-I've also h-heard that it goes a-around looking for p-people that are by th-themselves and it-" the young operator quickly stopped and stared as the other got up quickly with a huff.

"You continue talkin'. I'm listenin', am jus' gonna operate these lights an' make sure people git home safely." He said as he quickly glanced back at the young operator, as he strode over to the back of the huge flashlight. "Ye might wanna wear t'e sun glass, y'er...whatever t'ey called." He said trying to identify the object with a hint of annoyance. Again, the unknown tremors started but weren't heavy enough to notice from the top of the tower.

"Oh, yeah, as I-I was saying, it m-maybe kidnaps the people t-that are by themselves, s-since I haven't seen those people a-again and the only way to get to the next t-town is by c-car or bus, some of the people gone, don't have enough money f-for that, or maybe it eat-" The younger of the two snapped his mouth shut as he covered his ears shut, a reflexive motion, from the loud ringing in his ears.

What he didn't expect, was that the seasoned operator had a cross and annoyed look on his face. His pale skin allowing his emotions to be seen in the glowing moonlight. What he really didn't expect, was the monster chasing the bright beam of light, and mostly likely causing the source of the tremors before and now, like a kitten.

As the monster continued to chase the light around like a cat on catnip, an idea popped into the young operator's head. He rushed over to the giant flashlight, shoving the seasoned operator away as gently as he could, as he used his strength to turn the beam of light towards the ocean of the cliff side.

As the older man was about to bark out an order to stop turning the flashlight, it was already too late as the blur of fur(presumed as the monster) fell off of the cliff and into the freezing ocean with a loud yowl of distress, followed by a splash, which sounded closer to cat more than anything. Making sure there was no movement from the over the cliff side, the young man turned to check on the other operator. "See sir! That was the monster I was talking about from the rumors, it is real...Holy shit, it's actually real and I stopped it!" Assuming the monster didn't know how to swim, why would it? There's plenty of people to eat on land!

He then quickly turned off the flashlight to make sure the beast didn't find its way back to land.  Who knows how much damage to the nearby village it can cause.

When he held out his hand out to the shaken officer to give him a lift. Otherwise, the seasoned one didn't seem too pleased with what he had done.

"Sir...Di-d I do something wrong??" As the young operator checked over the experienced other, looking for any outward signs of damage. The younger one of the two, energy drained from a chain broken from his schedule, looked as if he were to pass out, adrenaline looking as if keeping them from doing just that.

The gruff operator took the hand's invitation, steadily but not in a way that was anything but pleased.

"No, not really." He quickly huffed as he took to a stand. "Then, sir, what have you gotten your mind? I also need to ask out of curiosity, do you have a cat or is there any in vicinity? I haven't seen any coming all the way out here." The newcomer asked pure curiosity and a sheepish smile appearing on his face. If observed carefully in the moonlight, the older man could barely make out a faint tint of pink, in the moonlight, on the other's cheek. He's embarrassed.

If the other saw his face completely, he didn't mention it.

Meanwhile faint splashes and rumbles came from the direction of the ocean as the gruff man began to answer the other's question. "Nothin', just," he paused as he turned to the direction of where the gigantic being pounced off, the scene replaying in his mind. Then derailing his train of thought, he resumed, "that damn cat is back, but no, there isn't a cat 'round here, a' least one that I know o'." He stormed off in annoyance towards to the flashlight as to get it on again with the scowl on his face directed at no one.

The younger operator gaped at the other in complete confusion and bewilderment. If there is a cat that returned, why would he go ahead and tell me there isn't one right after? "T-then sir! How is there a cat when their isn't one??? I-I don't.." he trailed off but quickly spoke up again with a high pitched squeak, "What, does he get into the garbage cans?" As he got out his question, his posture quickly changing from one of fear to uncertainty so quickly that if you blinked, you would of missed it.

The distant tremors were getting closer now, and if focused intently, they felt and sounded like footsteps. After some time, the pace slowed to a halt. As that noise stopped, another started, which could be identified as someone pawing a tuft of grass. With the sound and surface known, there must be a place where it is identified, which directs the younger operator's eyes to where the beast threw itself off.

"I'm afraid not, but aye, keep watchin' the cliff fer the cat to climb back up, I'm gonna try fix this thing." The older man barked the command as he tried getting the flashlight back on.

"What am I supposed to be watching for, si-" Before he got the question, awe and shock kept him shut and began to override his thoughts as he's trying to process what he's seeing.

The claw of the monster, dug into the dirt of the cliff and pulled itself up. Following after the first claw, was another which pulled what seemed like a head of soaked, black hair with black cat ears on top to match.

A deafening whine and deep growl slightly shook the lighthouse to its core, as the rest of the beast tried pulling itself unto the cliff.

The operator had time to process that the beast had clothes. So far, a red jacket with a gray shirt underneath, reflecting as much light as the moon allowed. Apparently, the seemingly intelligent beast, moved faster than the operator had expected from such a large being, that when it moved, his brain was trying to figure out what the blur of fur was, not if it had any human emotions of its own. His eyes widened as he saw the beast express human emotion through the growls it was making, like it was talking to itself. Frustrated. Distressed.

If the operator could open his eyes any wider, they might fall out of their sockets, as he stared in awe as more parts of the beast rose over the cliff's side. The beast looked so, humane yet the young man's mind couldn't comprehend that the beast, itself, is absolutely massive. Trying to take in details of this being all at once while it's crawling on all fours, while quickly coming closer, getting away from the edge, and flashing the water off like a dog trying its best to get dry,  isn't working.

About one hundred meters from the lighthouse's base, the seasoned operator kicked the giant flashlight once more, this time turning the light on, snapping the awestruck operator out of his trance, while directing the beam unto the beast which shielded its eyes from the sudden brightness that laid upon it while it let out a whine and quickly shielded its eyes.

The flashlight shining its brightest, clearly showed what or who the young operator was looking at. "You're posed be watchin' fer the cat." The seasoned operator spoke, words slicing through the silence like a sharpened knife, as if the silence itself were butter. The other operator lightly flinched at the words spoken out of the other's mouth as he turned around to acknowledge his presence.

Noticing how calm the older man was about the monster in the vicinity, he gave the man a puzzled and skeptical look as for the man to explain himself.

The gruff man sighed, as he saw the look on the other's face, like he's been caught stealing a pie from a kitchen window and forced to apologise. Taking slow steps to inch his way beside the younger man, the older started to explain his calm attitude towards the titan so close to the lighthouse. "NOPE, as you can see, there is no cat and I know fer sure, that there is no monster nei'er. I know fer sho' that that manegy bein' on the other side of this lighthouse, ain't eaten' a single person nor has tried to, since I'm here."

As the seasoned operator paused to think, he looked at the young operator who looked to have a face that didn't show any emotion, just a blank stare.

The beast movement caught the operator's eye in the bright beam the flashlight seemed to cause. At least now the young man could make out what the beast looked like.

Curled up on the ground, the beast seemed to have a humane figure of a short, skinny man, if put at the right scale, would be smaller than his five foot, six inch frame. The beast itself slowly unfurled itself, keeping its eyes shielded and squinting towards the beam directed towards it. That didn't stop the young operator from picking up its features he hadn't seen yet.

Like its dark gray sclera around its pupil as it-...he's trying to adjust his eyes to the sudden brightness. The beast's olive sun kissed skin, appeared to have a silky texture other than a few healing bruises visible on its body. The rest of the articles, of clothing, seemed to replicate a pair of black boxers fitting snugly around his waist and upper thighs.

As he saw before a loose, gray shirt underneath a thin, dark red sweater, reaching from the collarbone of his neck to the bottom of his waistline, covering his unmentionables. At last, the darkest but most outstanding feature of this beast was his soaked, fluffy, black tail, which seemed to convey the some emotion on this beast's face.

As those details got into the young operator's head, the beast let out a tiny(for its size), sneeze which, still shook the lighthouse. Recovering from the quick but sudden noise he made, he got on all fours as he crawled over as slowly as he could, while keeping his eye on both of the operators, intent not to scare them, especially the younger one out of the two.

Once he got close as he dared, he slowly sat on his knees to stare back at the people who watched him with awe and ease. Both at eye level, staring hesitantly, as if waiting for him to do something. Hesitantly, he returned the stare, with a look of curiosity for the newcomer then looked at the seasoned operator questioningly as if he would tell him about this new person staring at him and why he's there.

This new person quickly looked to the gigantic one staring at him curiously then to the other operator who looked slightly annoyed at the titan outside, yet the man looked so at ease.

"Hey! Quit scaring all the new workers away! We've got business to do at this time o' night!" The older operator scolded the titan as if it were a small toddler. The only thing keeping both of them separated, is the movable, giant glass screen in front of them and the beast holding back its unimaginable strength. Surprisingly, the beast didn't make any move of hostility towards the building, but he let out a low whine and a look of shame as if he didn't know his presence should have people gone running with a glimpse of his shadow.

"S-Sir, what does i- he want??" The young operator stuttered out his question in fear as the beast turned his eyes to observe his quivering frame with, corcern?

"I think he wants ya ta r'deem yer self innocent. Or somethin', I don't know.." The seasoned operator said with a light teasing in his tone as he gently pushed the new operator to the window. As the young operator got close enough to window without getting hit, the older man opened the window, pulling it from the inside, a gentle night's breeze flowing in.

The young operator glanced back at the gruff man with worry, showing clearly on his face, as he turned back to the beast watching him outside. Taking his time, he got to the edge of the open window making sure the beast didn't do, something...terrifyingly, horrendous. Instead, he was just watching the man inch forward, carefully wary of him, with curiosity and excitement.

As the frightened operator leaned out far enough to see over the beast's cat ears, his stomach dropped. He realized too late that he was being lifted up by bigger than some tree trunk sized, fingers. Which were surprisingly gentle and barely put any pressure on his back, and his waist. It wasn't as painful he thought it would be in the beast's pinched grip, he didn't leave any bruises on the his body as was he gently placed him in the middle of his cupped palm, not realising he was shrieking the whole time, until his feet touched the warm but soft surface.

Which he gradually stopped, as he tried to focus on the white noise in his head. Trying to focus on a certain noise, he turned his head to the lighthouse, presumably, where it was coming from. Looking down at the window where was at mere seconds ago, the seasoned operator was firmly waving his arm at the beast and commanded him to give the young operator back to him, but the beast deliberately ignored him to focus on the young operator in his hand.

As he mentally noted that, he tried to figure the other sound out. It not only came from underneath him, but it enveloped the entire direction his backside was facing. He quickly spun to face the direction of the sound to confirm his theory, which was correct. The noise came from the beast's throat and vibrated through its whole body, which was identified as a loud purr.

Once identifying the sound and its source, the operator's head hung from vertigo of the sudden ascent from the beast's midsection to his face. Identifying his transportation's sudden break, the operator begged, with tears in his eyes, to the beast to not put him in his dark, humid cavern, presumably his huge mouth.

Upon hearing the pleas, begs and cries, the beast let out a sharp chirp of surprise and a high pitched whine of guilt, tears almost forming at the corner of his eyes, his thoughts playing on repeat on what people thought he was, a mindless beast. A freak. A feral man-eater. A monster. He quickly brushed those thoughts away in hope of trying to calm the weeping, shaking mess of the man, that's still begging for his life, in the centre of his palm. On impulse, he quickly brought his hands to his cheek, trying to hug the operator long enough for him to calm down.

The seasoned operator kept an eye on the beast with baited breath, watching to make sure the newcomer was unharmed in the titan's clutches.

Maybe the beast was toying with him when he started purring again, but the young operator wasn't wet nor fighting for his life against a giant muscle, so he took it as a good sign to open his eyes and maybe calm down. His bloodshot red eyes cracked open, glancing around trying to identify the pitch black area with only a few beams of moonlight coming from above loose fingers. He then spread out his arms in front of him, hands being met with the resistance of skin, pushing and kneading into the unknown area of flesh in front of him.

After pushing it for sometime, the beast's pulled his hand away to bring it back down to the lighthouse's window, where the gruff operator patiently waited for his return. Halfway there, he hesitated. He then quickly brought up his hand up to bridge of nose, to, by the looks of it, nuzzle the operator in the form of an apology.

The operator seeing the beast's ears flattened on his head with the heavy regret and guilt in his eyes, was taken back how he made a titan, a being with immeasurable power, more than enough to destroy cities and end people's lives, if he wanted, apologise(without speaking) for nearly scaring him to death.

After he got his bearings together, the beast saw this and briskly put the young man back into the room, but not before giving him a sloppy, gentle lick on his side, spiking the side of his hair into the air being held by nothing but, much thicker than usual saliva.

The seasoned operator took the other into his arms, bridal style, relieved that the beast outside didn't do any lasting damage to the person sitting limply in his arms. He looked into the operator's eyes but all he could see, was no emotion. Just a blank stare off to who knows where. "Tha' was quite scary, wasn' it?" the older man asked, snapping the other out of whatever thoughts he had. He wouldn't admit it to himself but, he'd almost passed out from when those giant, gray eyes first landed on him, and the only thing keeping him awake at that time, was awestruck adrenaline.

"Yes, sir, that was, terrifying but, also, exciting, to say the least." The young man admitted, shock on his face, directed at no one. He had time to process the rollercoaster of the events that just happened to him in the span of under half an hour.

The seasoned operator walked back over to the unlit flashlight preparing himself to have a hard time turning it back on again.

While all of this is happening inside of the lighthouse, the rumbles of kneefall, were coming from the beast skirting around to get the back of the lighthouse. Most likely to get out of the workers' hair, metaphorically.

Once the young operator got up to help the seasoned one to help to get to back to work, the beast idly watched them to make sure it worked. Not for that reason only, but also to reassure himself that the younger operator is okay, keeping in mind that he caused enough trouble for himself, and he would leave when the two workers got the flashlight on.

Within seconds, it did.

So with a couple rumbles in the earth, he pushed himself to a steady stand to get himself ready to go back home. What he didn't expect, was the young operator shouting a "Hey!" at him so suddenly, it was enough for him to flinch. Whipping his head to the direction of the top of the lighthouse tower, his eye fell upto the operator with the older one in tow. Seeing this for himself, he slightly turned to have a better view, letting out a quiet chirp of question and surprise to the one addressing him.

"Uhhhhhh," the younger operator bowed his head as he got the beast's full attention, "you don't have to leave if you don't have a place to stay. You can stay here, please don't leave here forever because of me!" The younger man projected as he looked up to see shock on the beast's face in the dim moonlight.

"Do you have a home?" the younger operator asked, voice watery, scared of the answer he might receive. To his relief, the beast nodded and gave a chirp of approval but went ahead to take a quick step away, thinking that he's overstaying his arrival. Before the young man could get out of the beast's vision, he shoved a hand at the beast in the form of a handshake.

Before realising how stupid the action looked, the beast came over, slowly crouched behind the lighthouse and gently took more than half of the arm between his thumb and index finger, making sure to not add any pressure to the limbs between them. The beast appreciating the gesture nonetheless, purred the whole time, content that the operator gave him a second chance and even wanted him to stay.

As the beast let go of the arm, he gave out another short purr as he turned and left to go wherever home was. The young operator watched him go until he was just another shadow in the dark sky.

He couldn't wait until he came again because he the only monstrous thing about the legend's beast, was only his size.

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

The End

@neonthebright

@nightmares06

@borrowedtimeandspace

[ducknotinarow]

[SF Rasey]

The bleeding had stopped, thankfully, but the ache was still deep in his side. Though he had told Raph to 'stop giving him that look', and trying to stop him from worrying, he was silently thankful that they had helped him out. It felt good to lay down, not keep any pressure on himself, and be taken care of - despite his light protest. It's just who Casey was, someone that didn't care about his wellbeing, and rarely let down his walls long enough for someone to help...

Then again, Raphael wasn't just any old somebody now, was he?

No, course he wasn't. He was his boyfriend, his rock, his soulmate. The one that dragged him back cause he knew he was too stupid and stubborn to not nearly let himself get killed. The one Casey trusted with his life, with everything, and in turn, Raph trusted him back. That's why he merely stared up at Raph with a soft gaze, frowning at the tremble in their voice, the crack in their words.

Oh Raph...

Slowly, Casey lifts his arm, the one on his good side, moving to gently cup Raph's cheek - he's glad they hadn't moved away. Dragging his thumb across their skin, Casey offers a smile, warm and loving,

"Ya doin' more than enough Raph," Casey tells him, "If ya weren't, you and the guys woulda gave up a long time ago, quit this stupid game, but you don't - ya keep gettin' back up, yous keep goin'," He points out, "Raph, you're always lookin' out for everyone, includin' my dumbass, ya always goin' in to protect us without a thought," He goes on, "You're doin' a lot Raph, for all of us - your brothers, me, Master Splinter."

He manages a soft laugh at that, trying to act normal about this situation himself,

"Betcha right now, Master Splinter's watchin' all of ya an' thinkin', 'wow, I'm so proud of my kids - look at 'em fighting all these stupid games to save me'," He stares at them, before managing another laugh, "Okay maybe not exactly like that, but ya get what I mean right?"

Casey thinks they do, or at least, he hopes they do,

"The point I'm makin', shell head, is ya doin' more than 'nough, ya keepin' us safe, ya fightin' an' takin' care of us, an' soon, Master Splinter's gonna be back home with you and the guys, makin' that rice an' veggie dish you all like, wearin' that apron of his," He suppresses his chuckles just thinking about it, "Gettin' emotional over his Soaps, drinkin' that tea of his - things will be normal."

Despite the ache, Casey forced himself to move, using his other elbow to help prop and push himself up. He ignored the way he winced, how his aches got worse; safe to say, he wasn't going anywhere for a while. It was enough though, Casey managed to keep himself up, long enough to steal a warm kiss, letting lips linger for a moment before pulling away. Forehead press to their own,

"I promise, things gonna be normal soon," He tells them, "An' I promise to be more careful to, least, try to, heh, can't have you worryin' all the time - make ya scales grey."

Though reluctant, Casey allows himself to move back, practically collapsing back onto the cot with an audible and tired huff,

"Ya fightin' hard 'nough Raph," He tells them again, "More than enough, an' I promise, at the end'a this, it's all gonna be okay."

Moving slightly, carefully rolling onto his good side, Casey made sure there was enough room for the pair of them to, just about, fit on the cot he was currently using as a bed,

"Now uh, Casey Jones may be outta the ring for now, but I'll be back out there takin' down those foot-bozos an' puke-frogs b'fore ya know it," He smirks at his dumb names, "But uh, 'til then, how 'bout ya lie down with me an' let me take care of yous for now Raph - think ya coul' d' with the extra lovin'."

| Muse interaction continued from [here]

It was just so, so much. It was heavy but Raphael couldn't explain that there wasn't anything physical weighting him down but damn it felt like something was. He blamed it for why his movements grew slower. Why he could sweep out foes fast enough. Like he was stuck in syrup. Raphael felt short on breath even like there just wasn't enough air in his lungs.

Every time they came back to the lair either because they were sent back or too hurt to continue. It got worse. Seeing Casey all beat up didn't help either, it was more a reminder it was more than just the four of them dealing with this shit. Before his mind could spiral out though he felt something rest against the side of his face it took him a moment to sort of understand it was Casey's hand, drawing him back from that back corner of his mind no one else could go. Feeling Casey's hand on his cheek though, that felt nice as he leaned in against the palm of their hand. Soaking in Casey's touch. It helped, Casey just helped. Seeing their dumb face was enough. How their thumb stroked over the side of his face seemed to help ease things to retreat again or in the least got Raphael to snap out of the mind set he was in a moment ago. Looking at Casey as they offered him a smile.

The way their smile curved, almost matched the way Casey's eyes creased in the corners to go along with it. Focused on grey and yellow coloring in Casey's eyes. They had his attention with the single touch that he was leaning into. Soaking in the warmth that he just wished to soak in to.

"Ya doin' more than enough Raph,"

"Maybe," Raphael manages to argue just a bit in turn, slightly turning his face into Casey's hand. He wasn't so sure himself about if he was doing enough. If Raphael had been doing enough these fights would be done with sooner. If he could sweep their foes a bit better even. His head was starting to hurt from thinking so much about it. Mikey like to joke that smoke could be seen working out of his nose when he tried to think.

"If ya weren't, you and the guys woulda gave up a long time ago, quit this stupid game, but you don't - ya keep gettin' back up, yous keep goin',"

Raph doesn't speak up this time he lets Casey talk as he simply presses his face in against their hand. Which kind of help with the headache he was starting to get. Just seeking out the comfort he got from their touch alone. Raph felt like that was more what Mikey did. But he guessed the getting back up part was true. He had to keep getting up there was still a fight to be fought after all.

"Raph, you're always lookin' out for everyone, includin' my dumbass, ya always goin' in to protect us without a thought,"

That did get the turtle to peek out from the hiding place he turned Casey's hand into. Was that enough though?

"You're doin' a lot Raph, for all of us - your brothers, me, Master Splinter."

Bringing up Splinter was a bit of a sore spot in that moment, it was sort of all any of them were focused on right now trying to get him back. Bring him back home. They just wanted their Dad home. Despite them all being here it just didn't feel right returning home and not seeing him in his room. Hell even his things were gone, so one couldn't even pretend he hadn't be take away from them the way he was. It was such a simple thing Raphael just wanted his dad back home, wanted to sit in their room with him as they forced him to fold pieces of paper over and over again. Growing annoyed and crumpling them only for Splinters usual joke about making snowballs to be mentioned. When Casey laughs though? it brings Raph back once again.

"Betcha right now, Master Splinter's watchin' all of ya an' thinkin', 'wow, I'm so proud of my kids - look at 'em fighting all these stupid games to save me',"

Raphael slightly lifts a brow as he tilts his head a tad bit at what Casey says, another laughs works out from his boyfriend and it helps lighten the air Raphael swears by it. Whatever that heavy weight was pushing down on his shoulder was? It seemed to lessen just a little bit. Maybe that was crazy but he swears it's true. Raphael down pull away from Casey's hand and lower it back down now.

"Okay maybe not exactly like that, but ya get what I mean right?"

Raph offer a slight nod of his head to answer, yeah he got what they meant and well he hopes that's true. That Splinter at least knows how hard they are all trying? Casey's right, Raphael too comforted by the thought Casey offers to really focus on the fact this idiot was right about something for once. Splinter had to know they were doing everything in their power to save him right? That they aren't going to give up on him Splinter. Splinter knew that right? Maybe he was proud of them for still going even.

"The point I'm makin', shell head, is ya doin' more than 'nough, ya keepin' us safe, ya fightin' an' takin' care of us, an' soon, Master Splinter's gonna be back home with you and the guys, makin' that rice an' veggie dish you all like, wearin' that apron of his,"

Raph nods once more and breaths as Casey speaks thinking about it himself. First thing Raph thinks him and his brother might ask for is that very dish of Splinters.

"Gettin' emotional over his Soaps, drinkin' that tea of his - things will be normal."

Again the turtle manages to breath, the air didn't seem so thin anymore. Raphael hears the shift of Casey's weight on the cot as the idiot starts to move around. He narrows his eyes a little feeling that usual flicker of his temper at work as he grew annoyed. "Casey-" not able to fully scold the idiot of his when thier lips press in against his beak. The white of his eyes widen a little not expected the kiss. But he feels himself lax against Casey's warmth, it didn't last long though for Raph to melt into as he found Casey's forehead pressing in against his own. Slowly he let the clam that Casey seemed to bring to him settle as he close his eyes a moment. Just focusing on breathing in the moment, he swears there is the faintest whiff of rain.

"I promise, things gonna be normal soon,"

"Yeah" Raphael hopes for the same. He like to be able to tell Splinter about him and Casey after all.

"An' I promise to be more careful to, least, try to, heh, can't have you worryin' all the time - make ya scales grey."

"I can jus' kick ya ass for you if ya don' I know ya don' learn ya lesson 'ight away." Raph manges to say back at Casey, soon letting the slight smile that got from him slip as he watched Casey need to pull back. Near about collapsing on to the cot as they let out a tried breath. The pit of worry in his gut just twisted a bit as he set his hands to side of it for a better look at Casey. Seemed they were in even more pain than even the turtle was aware of. If that was too much,

"Ya fightin' hard 'nough Raph,"

Raph blinks behind his mask as looks at Casey letting the corner of his beak twitch back into a slight smile. Yeah that's the idiot for you was all he could think, despite Casey being hurt and tried he still focused on Raphael.

"More than enough, an' I promise, at the end'a this, it's all gonna be okay."

Casey soon moves working to roll on to his good side opening up the space beside him

Moving slightly, carefully rolling onto his good side, Casey made sure there was enough room for the pair of them to, just about, fit on the cot he was currently using as a bed, Raph offered a faint tilt of his head trying to understand what they were doing. Laying on their side can't be better than being on their back? Casey was pretty big too that just made less room for him. Tempted to just take hold of their shoulder and make them flip on to their front so it be even harder for them to move off the cot. Nearly ready to assume Casey was going to try and get up and leave. He knows Casey's gotta protect his home turf and such but he needed to rest and heal first. Or Casey was going to wind up worse than he already was.

"Now uh, Casey Jones may be outta the ring for now, but I'll be back out there takin' down those foot-bozos an' puke-frogs b'fore ya know it,"

Oh? So Casey dose know he needs to rest? maybe its less painful on his side? Raphael least glad they are listening to him. Raph breaths out a laugh over the nicknames Casey gave to the foot ninjas and punk frogs, especially the punk frogs. It was funny. Before he looked towards his own room, he was pretty sure he got a spare blanket in his room he should grab it for them so they can rest a bit better the cot was gonna be their bed for the night.

"But uh, 'til then, how 'bout ya lie down with me an' let me take care of yous for now Raph - think ya coul' d' with the extra lovin'."

Raphael faintly blushes at the suggestion, and freezes on the spot for a moment as he looks down. Oh that's why he moved he was trying to make space for Raph to lie with him. He fixes his beak into a tight annoyed frown over the whole needing extra love right now. No resort because from just them cupping his cheek, the kiss and pressing his forehead to his own? Casey was right again. Fuck twice in one night?

Raphael dose, however, move to lie down. Gonna need it with Casey's undoing streak right now. "Thibk ya hit ya head," he idly tosses out before he gets settled beside Casey.

For a moment, he hesitates to get closer but soon forgets it. Casey and tank down nearly a tank of a bot on his own. Scooting in closer, he simply moves in to rest in against Casey. Slipping an arm gently as he can around Casey's side as he simply presses his face in aginst Casey's broad full chest. He can hear the sound of their heart slwoly beating. It's better than the claiming sound of ocean waves at night kind of, like the steady pace of rain. Raphael didn't feel as heavy as he had been for so long. He felt like he could breath so much easier now, the pressure on his head seemed to lighten away even.

"Thanks" He speaks against Casey's chest in that moment. It was all he really could bring himself to say. The only word he could really speak at that moment but he turly meant it. Casey really did help him to feel just a bit better about this all. Being here for him to hold to to just like this even. It's all he needed, and it what Casey gave to him a moment to need excatly this.

"Hey Case?" He waits a moment as he mulls it over "Do ya really 'hink my scales can turn grey?"

[secretpeachtea]

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 7

Title: the fox’s den

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word Count: 5.4k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: Hey y’all! There’s gonna be quite a lot of dialogue in this chapter, but I hope it’s not too boring. I was really excited to write this chapter since Inarizaki is my favorite team :D Hope you enjoy!

Previous///Next

There was always something entrancing about the second half of the year when the green and gray streets transform into a multicolored wonderland as a response to the incoming shift of seasons. You admire the different shades of red, orange, and yellow that litter the ground that you’re walking on as you make your way to work. The only things going through your mind right now are serenity, peace, and-

“‘SAMU, YOU BASTARD!”

At the sudden voice, you almost trip on your own feet in surprise. Once you’re sure you won’t fall flat on your face, you look up and see two familiar twins right outside the front door of Onigiri Miya, clear irritation written on their faces.

“How could you say that?! Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?” Atsumu yells at his brother while clenching his hands by his sides.

Osamu’s eyebrows are furrowed in distress. “I’m pretty sure I’m the one with common sense here. I’ve done what I can to convince you, but you just won’t listen to me!”

You start to worry now as you continue to watch the two glare at each other from where you’re standing a few feet away. You know it’s best not to interfere, but there’s a part of you that wants to stop them before things get out of hand. It seems like you don’t even have to make a decision as Atsumu’s eyes meet yours. “Hey, sweetheart! Come over here and tell this tasteless scrub that he’s wrong!”

“Who you calling a tasteless scrub, you uneducated swine!” Osamu crosses his arms in disdain but softens his gaze when his eyes land on your approaching figure.

“Hold up. What are you guys even talking about?” You try your best to keep your voice as relaxed as possible but still proceed with caution in case one of them were to blow up again in anger. 

What you didn’t expect, however, were the next few words that came out of the blonde’s mouth. “The best Disney princess is obviously Rapunzel, but ‘Samu doesn’t agree!”

“You just like her ‘cause she’s blonde! Clearly, Belle is the superior princess!” The other twin spits back.

You pause for a moment to process the situation. That’s...not exactly what you expected when you first saw them arguing outside of the shop (and quite loudly too). A deep sigh leaves your lips as the two childish men in front of you continue to banter.

“Oh yeah?!” Atsumu suddenly directs his attention on you and places his hands on your shoulders for emphasis. “Sweetheart, who do you think is the best Disney princess?”

Already feeling an incoming headache, you just say the first thing that pops into your mind in hopes of stopping this madness. “Oh, uh...I don’t know. I think Mulan is pretty badass.”

The twins go silent as they contemplate your response for a brief minute. It seems like you gave a satisfactory answer because they both make eye contact with each other and nod their heads. Their strange twin telepathy is something you’ll never understand. 

No longer having the patience, you just brush off Atsumu’s hands and use your spare key to open up the front entrance of the shop. The two men just follow you inside and the blonde is the first one to break the silence in a much calmer tone than before. “Okay, fair. But, I really do think-!”

Atsumu halts his footsteps as you and Osamu just glance at him confused. The blonde gasps dramatically as he stares at the new additions to the shop’s walls. “HEY! Why do you have their autographs on your wall?!”

Not wanting a part 2 to the previous fiasco, you just head over to the back room to put your belongings away and get yourself ready for work. Securing the cap on your head, you walk out of the room and stroll to your spot on the register. It seems like Atsumu is a lot more fired up than usual because he’s still arguing with his brother. 

It took everything in Osamu to keep his voice at a normal level while responding to Atsumu’s pettiness. “They came over to eat one day and I thought it would look good for the shop.”

“Don’t you know that we’re ultimate rivals?! You can’t be siding with the enemy!”

“They’re your rivals, ‘Tsumu. Everyone’s technically considered a customer to me.”

“Traitor!”

You swear you saw puffs of smoke pop from Osamu’s ears from his frustration. You were about to place a hand on his shoulder in hopes to keep your boss from throwing something at his brother, but a smooth voice interrupted the tension in the room.

“Calm down, Atsumu.”

You and Osamu jumped in surprise, while Atsumu let out a startled yelp at the unexpected guest. The three of you turned toward the front entrance to see who showed up an hour before opening. Although you only heard one voice, three tall figures in casual clothing stand at the doorway. They step inside the building and you vaguely remember seeing their faces in a picture Osamu once showed you from high school.

The person in the middle of the group brushes away a couple strands of his gray hair with black tips while his other hand sits on top of the handle of a small suitcase. The one on the left has a built body with dark skin sporting a kind smile. The one on the right has a lanky body and long fingers that reach up to his face to cover a yawn on his bored expression.

If you remember correctly, Osamu had told you about some of his former teammates and the ones standing in front of you were Kita Shinsuke, Ojiro Aran, and Suna Rintarou.

The twins brighten in recognition and make their way over to the newcomers. “Kita-san! Aran-san!”

“I’m here too, you know.” Suna comments.

All of the guys greet one another in the middle of the room with smiles on their faces. You’re not really sure what to do since you’re the odd one out.

You stand off to the side behind the counter awkwardly, but you are interested in their little group dynamic. The Inarizaki alumni all hold completely different demeanors and postures, but one thing that they all share is that all of them are incomprehensibly attractive in their own way. Why are all of the former and current volleyball players that you’ve met so far like this?

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize that you’ve been staring at Kita in particular for a couple minutes. He must have felt your eyes on him because he momentarily looks away from his current conversation to make direct eye contact with you. You let out a small squeak after getting caught staring, but it doesn’t seem like Kita is bothered at all.

“Ah, sorry about that. I didn’t mean to ignore you.” Kita leaves his group to walk over to where you are and this catches the attention of the other four males as well. 

“It’s no problem! I wanted to give you guys room to catch up.” You lift up your hands to wave off his apology and give Kita a bright smile as you speak. “It’s finally nice to meet the oh-so-praiseworthy rice provider for the shop, Kita-san.”

Your reply elicits a soft laugh from the man’s mouth. “Nice to finally meet you too, (Surname)-san.”

“You know my name?” You ask, surprised.

“Aside from looking at your name tag, yes. I’ve heard some things about you from the twins,” Kita answers.

Your cheeks turn a bit pink in embarrassment because you completely forgot that you were wearing your name tag for work. Your embarrassment doesn’t last for long, however, when you quickly realize what Kita had just implied about the twins. You shoot an intimidating look at the two culprits and neither of them meet your gaze. “They talk about me?”

“Only good things. No worries.” Kita tries his best to reassure you that there hasn’t been any slander against you, but you still feel a bit insecure.

Knowing that feeling this way is probably unnecessary, you just resort to a little bit of teasing. “I don’t worry so much about Osamu-san. It’s the other one that needs to be kept in check.”

“Hey!” Atsumu’s head quickly turns to your direction at your very obvious accusation.

Suna snickers while ignoring his friend’s outburst. “She’s a smart one.”

“Hey!”

Aran chuckles in amusement and Osamu just smiles at his brother’s distress. You try to fake exasperation by placing a hand on your cheek and Kita’s smile falters as he catches something from the corner of his eye. The charm bracelet that you received from Osamu is secured to your wrist with the small onigiri charm shining under the fluorescent lights.

 “Oh, so you’re the one…”

You look back at Kita in confusion. “The one what?”

Kita hesitates for a moment before simply shaking his head in dismissal with a knowing grin on his lips. “Ah, it’s nothing.”

You’re bewildered by his mysterious response, but it doesn’t look like he wants to talk about it anymore, so you just brush it off for now. 

As everyone else continues their own conversations, Kita thinks back to a conversation he had a couple months back.

“The rice should be coming in a couple days, Osamu.”

“Sounds good, Kita-san.”

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Actually...I have a quick question.”

“What is it?”

“What would you...um...give to someone who just graduated that’s not so generic or meaningless?”

“...Are you asking for your coworker?”

“Scary! Are you sure you don’t read minds or something, Kita-san?”

“I don’t believe I can. But, to answer your previous question, if you want to give a gift that holds more meaning, I would say buy or make something that’s personal to both of you. It could be from a fond memory you share or a common interest. However, based on the positive things I’ve heard about her, she would probably appreciate anything you give her.”

“Hm…”

Kita is pulled out of his thoughts when he hears Osamu’s voice nearby. “I’ll get you guys the usual, right?”

The rest of the guys all nod their head and Aran makes the motion to take out his wallet. However, before he can do so, Osamu lifts up a hand to stop him. “No worries, Aran-san! All of this is on me!”

Atsumu’s ears perk up. “You’re not gonna make me pay for my food this time, ‘Samu?”

Kita looks towards Osamu and slightly tilts his head in confusion. “You make your brother pay for his food?”

“Always.” Osamu answers without hesitation and with one of the most deadpan expressions you’ve ever witnessed on him.

“I see.” Kita simply nods his head in understanding. “It would be detrimental to your business if you gave things out for free too much.”

Atsumu grabs onto his former captain’s arms in exasperation. “Kita-san!”

A quiet giggle leaves your mouth at the scene in front of you. It seems like the twins are a bit more competitive and bicker more often when their former teammates are involved. Seeing this side of Osamu amuses you since you’re more used to his laidback nature.

Eventually the brief comical moment calms down and Osamu begins to prepare all of the food. Kita and Atsumu seemed to be in their own world, so you decide to try and speak with the other two people in the room that you have yet to be acquainted with.

Suna and Aran seem to have been thinking the same thing because they are already walking up to the counter in your direction. Suna raises his right hand in greeting, while Aran gives you a polite smile before speaking, “You must be (Surname)-san. Apologies for taking so long to greet you.”

“No worries.“ You wave off the apology. “You guys were also teammates with the twins in high school right? The only thing I really know are your names. What were your positions?”

“I was a wing spiker. I’ve actually known the twins since we were in elementary school,” Aran replies.

You clap your hands together in realization. “You guys are childhood friends then! I’m surprised you haven’t come up in my conversations with them more.”

“Those two were always running around all over the place just to compete against each other, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they don’t remember half of the things they experienced in school.”  Aran lets out a deep sigh, but you couldn't detect any real annoyance. 

If the counter wasn’t in the way, you definitely would’ve patted the man on the shoulder. “Well if you’re as patient and calm as you are now with their antics for all those years, then you definitely deserve the appreciation, Ojiro-san.”

“You deserve it just as much since you see at least one of them almost every day now.” Aran sends you another kind smile and you can’t help but mirror it.

Not wanting to leave out Suna from the conversation, you turn your head towards the male who is just listening with his hands shoved into his pockets. “What about you, Suna-san? What was your position?”

“Middle blocker. Although, I did work as a part-time witness to the twins’ stupidity.” The stoic male smirks and looks at you in the eye. “Seems like you’ve taken up that job?”

You burst out laughing. “I can’t really deny that. We should be compensated for all this work.”

Suddenly, you feel a heavy weight on your shoulder that catches you off guard. When you look up, Osamu’s elbow is leaning on your shoulder and there are pieces of rice stuck to his fingertips. He has one of his eyebrows raised in suspicion. “Hey, why do I get the feeling that you guys are talking behind our backs?”

Suna looks directly at Osamu with his usual expression. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Feeling a bit playful, you also answer with the same deadpan tone. “Yeah, we’re just bonding over some relatable stuff.”

Suna takes one of his hands out of his pockets and raises it up next to you. Without hesitation, you give him a high five while holding back your smile. Aran just chuckles at the unexpected tag team between you and his former teammate. 

Before your boss could make any more comments, his phone dings from where it’s sitting on the counter between his work station and the register. Osamu seems briefly conflicted since his hands are covered in rice but quickly comes to a decision. “Hey, (Name)-san. You mind holding up my phone for me? I think it’s a message about a shipment for some ingredients we needed to restock.”

“Yeah, sure!” You pick up the phone and a picture of Onigiri Miya with a large ‘Grand Opening’ sign in front of the entrance illuminates the lock screen. “Oh, you have facial recognition. I’m gonna have to borrow your face for a bit, Osamu-san.”

Osamu leans down as you place the phone in front of him for a couple seconds, but nothing happens. You try to angle the screen differently and wait a little longer, but it’s still not unlocking. Across the counter, Atsumu watches the two of you struggle through a few more attempts before losing his patience. “Just put the phone up to my face. It’ll probably work.”

A bit curious to see if the phone will actually unlock for the other twin, you move your arm to where Atsumu’s waiting. You keep the phone up for a few moments, but there’s still no response.

The blonde just stares at his brother’s phone in disbelief. “What the hell? Why isn’t it working??”

“Wow, even my phone can tell who the uglier brother is.” Yup. Osamu’s definitely feistier today.

“WE LITERALLY HAVE THE SAME FACE.”

The twins look like they’re about to start another round of unnecessary bickering. From the side, Kita sighs at the idea of having to intervene in yet another argument. He opens his mouth to stop the madness, but you beat him to it. You shove Osamu’s phone into his face again and surprisingly it unlocks. “Alright, guys. You can shut up now. I got it to work.”

Both Atsumu and Osamu shut their mouths immediately. They still looked a bit irked at one another, but no longer have the will to fight. Kita stares at you with shock. He’s never seen anyone other than himself dissipate the twins’ bickering so quickly and you haven’t even known them for as long as he has. Even Aran gives up at some point. Perhaps you are a much more important presence than he realized.

Clicking on the message notification, you lift up your arm just enough so that both you and Osamu can look at the screen comfortably. The message consisted of a picture of a shipment with a list of items. The list is barely legible due to the small font, so the two of you have to lean in closer to the screen. 

“The text is so small. Can you read anything?” You ask as you bring the phone closer.

Osamu squints and wipes one of his hands on a clean towel before placing it over your own to steady the phone. “Barely. Why did he send such a terrible picture?”

The close proximity and subtle touches between you and your boss do not go unnoticed. As you’re discussing the contents of the picture, Suna and Aran share a knowing look with each other.

After a couple minutes of trying to decipher everything in the message, you and Osamu have successfully written down a complete list of all the shipment contents on a napkin. Osamu pockets his phone and the napkin before turning to look at you. “Okay, I think everything’s all good. Thanks, (Name)-san.”

“No problem!” You rub your eyes from the slight strain and move back to where you were standing before while Osamu finishes up making the last of the group’s food. Suna and Aran just watch you both go back to whatever you were doing before as if your cheeks weren’t millimeters away from each other a few seconds ago. The two males make eye contact once again, but just shrug their shoulders.

“Food’s ready! Grab your onigiris and drinks. We can sit at the table for a bit.” Osamu announces to his friends. Your boss turns to you briefly as he starts going around the counter. “Wanna join?”

“No, that’s alright. You guys use this time to catch up. I can take care of setting up the shop on my own, so take your time.” You give him a reassuring smile and he returns a grateful one back.

While the guys chatted about their lives, you set up the chairs and checked each of the sauce bottles to make sure none of them were empty. About fifteen minutes went by and you now had a broom propped up against your shoulder after sweeping. On your way back, you pass by the table where everyone is still talking with one another. 

“I am funny! There just wasn’t anyone competent enough to get the joke!” It seems like Atsumu was yet again becoming a victim to the endless teasing of his former teammates because his face is slightly flushed and he’s fidgeting with pent up frustration. In hopes to ease his heated face, Atsumu roughly starts refilling his cup with ice water with a tight grip on the glass.

Suna shakes his head. “I thought it was funnier when you almost passed out from being overheated from the Jackasuke suit.”

“What?!” Atsumu abruptly stands up from his chair and in his haste, he doesn't realize that he had also raised his cup just as quickly causing the water to splash onto the nearest thing which just so happened to be you. “Oh shi-! (Name)-chan!”

The front of your shirt is entirely soaked and water drips down from your face and the tips of your hair. You mentally thank your boss for making the uniforms black. Lucky for you, your pants are completely dry because your apron took all of the damage. Aran, who is the next person closest to you, takes the broom from your possession and hands you a couple napkins to at least dry your face, but it’s definitely not enough to make a dent in your drenched clothes. 

Atsumu frets over you with a look of immense guilt in his eyes. “I’m so sorry, (Name)-chan! I-I didn’t mean to do that!”

“It’s...it’s okay. Just try not to lose your cool so easily next time.” You can’t really say you’re happy about your current predicament, but it wouldn’t do anyone any good if you lash out in anger. The running A/C is much more apparent now that it’s much easier to feel the circulating cold air and you start to shiver a bit.

Osamu catches your attention from the corner of your eye when he stands up from his seat. “You good, (Name)-san? You should probably go put on a jacket or something.”

“I didn’t bring a jacket or any extra clothes with me today.” You sigh at your misfortune at how something like this happens on the one day you don’t have your hoodie with you.

Osamu’s frown deepens at the growing unfortunate circumstances. “Ah, damn. We usually have extra shirts in the back, but I left them at home to wash.” 

You dread at the thought of either working with a wet shirt or having to walk all the way back to your apartment to change while suffering through the chilly breezes. However, the universe must be taking pity on you when you hear another voice join in. 

“(Surname)-san, I have some spare clothes in my suitcase.” Kita pats the suitcase that he had brought into the shop with him. 

You know that the best and most efficient way to get out of your misery is to accept his offer, but you’re still reluctant. “Oh no! It’s okay! I wouldn’t want to cause any trouble for you.”

“I don’t mind. It wouldn’t do you any good to go around with wet clothing. You might catch a cold, especially since the weather is becoming cooler.” Kita immediately brushes off any concerns you may have. He zips open his suitcase and grabs a simple navy sweater from his pile of folded clothes. There’s a slight pause when he holds out the shirt to you before continuing the conversation, “It would mostly cause Osamu to be very distressed.”

There isn’t much room for arguing, so you slowly take the soft sweater from the older male’s arms and nod your head in understanding. “Yeah, I guess he would have to work twice as much if I’m not able to help out.”

Kita blinks at your oblivious rationale. “...right.”

You hear a hint of something in his tone but don’t dwell on it for too long because another blast of cold air hits your body causing you to shiver again. Muttering a quick thanks, you rush to the bathroom to change. After peeling off your uniform shirt and bundling it up with your apron, you wipe off any water that remains on your skin before slipping on the borrowed sweater. It’s much larger and warmer than you thought it would be. After gathering the wet pile of clothes, you head out of the bathroom in your new attire. 

The table that everyone was sitting at is now completely cleared of any food and some of the guys are sitting at the counter while Osamu is washing all of the used dishes. Atsumu’s head is laying on the counter and still has distraught laced into his expression. He immediately stands up to apologize again when he hears you come out of the bathroom, but his words get caught in his throat when he sees you.

Kita’s sweater is definitely too big for your frame. The sweater reaches your mid thigh, but you’ve opted to fashionably tuck the front of it into your pants. The sleeves go past your hands only exposing your fingers and the collar reveals a sliver of your collarbone. The overall fit of the sweater creates an image that can make anyone stop and stare.

Atsumu’s ears redden at the sight in front of him and Osamu is frozen in front of the sink. Even Suna and Aran have briefly halted their conversation to stare silently. The only one who is visibly unaffected is Kita.

Kita decides to walk over to where you are and hands you an empty plastic bag. “You can place your wet clothes into the bag so it doesn’t get anything else wet. You can return the shirt to Osamu and he can give it to me before I head back home.”

“Ah, thanks! I’ll wash it tonight and give it to Osamu tomorrow when I come in for work.” You smile at him gratefully and do as he suggested. During the process, your sleeves roll down uncomfortably and you have to constantly pull at it so that it doesn’t get in the way.

Kita notices the way you are fidgeting and gives you an inquisitive look. “Are the sleeves bothering you?”

“Oh, um...just a bit, but it’s not too bad.” You reply.

The male just pulls the plastic bag away from your hands and puts it off to the side for the time being before holding out his own hands in front of you. “Here, let me help.”

You accept his assistance and hold out one of your arms to him. Kita calmly folds the sleeves to a proper length while you just watch quietly. Once he’s finished with one arm, he gently lifts the other and proceeds to fold the sleeve as well. 

The rest of the guys were just watching silently. The entire scene is almost like it’s from some kind of shoujo anime. Atsumu swears there is even a sparkling background with multiple flowers to match the sweet moment. There’s a strange feeling bubbling inside Osamu’s chest, but he chooses to look away and continue washing the dishes. You and Kita looked really good together.

“Thanks again, Kita-san!” Once Kita finishes up the last sleeve, you smile at him once again. “I guess I was lucky that you decided to visit so suddenly today or I might’ve been in trouble.”

“You’re welcome.” Kita returns the smile. “We were all busy on the twins’ birthday last week, so it’s a good thing we rescheduled to today.”

“What.” You blink once. It takes a few seconds for you to process what the man in front of you had just said, but once it clicks, a wave of shock passes through your body. “What?!”

You scramble over to where Osamu is avoiding your gaze and grab onto his arm. “Why didn’t you tell me your birthday was last week?!”

“Oh uh… it never came up?” A bead of sweat runs down the side of your boss’ face.

Still enraged, you swerve your head towards the blonde twin and point an accusing finger at him. “And you! I would’ve expected you to be all over having the attention!”

Atsumu shrugs his shoulder in an uncharacteristically nonchalant way causing you to drop your arm in confusion. “Meh, I’m not really all that big on birthdays. I thought my brother would’ve told you.”

When you look back at Osamu, his hand is rubbing at his neck sheepishly. “It was your day off and you looked like you weren’t feeling well the day before, so I thought it’d be best if you rested.”

You’re not sure if you should feel touched that he noticed that you weren’t feeling so great last week or upset that he didn’t think to tell you about such a special day. Your boss has also been pretty busy lately due to work, so there is a part of you that is understanding of the situation. There isn’t really anything you can do about it now since it’s already too late, so you just sigh in defeat.

Kita decides to intervene before you get even more upset. “No worries, (Surname)-san. There’s always a next year for birthdays. If you wanted to spend time with him, I’m sure just asking will suffice.”

“Indeed. Osamu would definitely not mind making time for you, (Surname)-san.” Aran adds.

Atsumu seems to be feeling a bit left out and chimes in, “Wait, but what about me? It was my birthday too.”

“It’s not like Osamu knows how to do anything but play volleyball and work. Might as well take him out somewhere nice.” Suna mentions while ignoring Atsumu’s outburst for the nth time today.

“Woah, guys!” Osamu’s face flushes a bit from the teasing. You laugh at the group's antics and feel your frustration melt away.

Suddenly, a phone alarm goes off and Kita pulls out his phone to shut it off. “Well, we should get going now. We wouldn’t want to be in the way of your business, Osamu. We’ll see you tonight with the rest of our former teammates.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys later.” Osamu replies with a wave of his hand.

“I have to get to practice too, so I’ll walk out with all of you.” Atsumu walks towards the exit with his hands folded behind his head. Aran and Suna get up from their seats to get ready to go as well. The two say their goodbyes to both you and Osamu before stepping outside to catch up with Atsumu.

Kita is the last one out, but before he closes the door he gives you one last glance. “It was nice to meet you, (Surname)-san.”

“You too, Kita-san!” Your lips curve upwards at being able to have met yet another kind person at work. Kita finally closes the door and now it’s just you and Osamu left in the shop. After having such an eventful morning, the peace and quiet is pretty refreshing.

Osamu looks at you from the corner of his eye thoughtfully. His gaze then shifts down to where his former captain’s sweater rests on your figure and he feels a twinge of irritation but keeps his expression neutral. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home and change? You live pretty close by too.”

You think for a moment but eventually shake your head. “Hm...no it’s fine. I wouldn’t want to miss work just to change into another shirt. I think my extra uniform needs to be washed anyway. Is there something wrong?”

“...no.”

“Jealous that I talked to your friends more than you?”

“N-no!”

A giggle escapes your lips when you hear your boss stutter. “You know you’re my favorite onigiri chef, right?”

“I’m the only onigiri chef you know.” Osamu points out and you giggle even louder. The male can’t even be upset because your laughs are quite contagious. Although, he does make a mental note to bring one of his own sweaters to keep at the shop from now on.

Leftovers

The Miya household is a simple two bed apartment with a decent view of the suburbs around the area. Both Miya twins are considered residents of the complex, but Atsumu usually stays in the dorm available for MSBY players. Today, both twins are in the apartment.

“‘Samu, I swear this shirt makes me look fat-...?” Atsumu barges into his brother’s room without knocking but cuts off his words when he sees his brother intensely staring at a pile of hoodies scattered on his bed. “What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to figure out which hoodie I wanna keep at the shop.” Osamu responds distractedly.

Atsumu stares at him incredulously. “What? Just pick whatever. It’s not like you don’t go to work every day. Why does it matter? ”

Osamu pauses for a moment. “...for emergencies.”

“Whatever, man. I’m heading out to go buy some new volleyball shoes with Shoyo-kun.” The blonde shrugs off his brother’s strange behavior and chooses to just walk away since he needed to leave soon. He momentarily looks out the window and notices some dark clouds filling up the sky. “And, I’m taking your umbrella!”

Osamu doesn’t hear what Atsumu says and barely registers the slam of the front door because he’s too deep in thought. What was your favorite color again?

A/N:  Ouch. I realized that if you were to actually follow the haikyuu timeline, some of this wouldn’t actually make sense. BUT I don’t care :D Also, not me indulging on some Kita action cause I am whipped for this man (but not as much as Osamu hehe)

taglist: @kiyoo-omi​ @tris-does-stuff​ @livshotel​