#Fives is there cos i miss him and i wanna draw hair

[binniesbooks]

hi fayebae, heres the next one for hyuka! (Cos i just saw a clip of hyuka with his new black hair n in a black shirt, and its like cos now hyuka is buff buff, i was thinking mayb smth abt his chest? hyuka x reader!

basically reader is bffs with tubatu, but well hyuka has a crush on reader! reader has mentioned before that her type is men who exercises and have big titties(if u read my tyun pillow fic you would know what i mean🤭)

whenever reader is around tubatu, she will never fail to mention abt how tyuns chest is getting bigger and will joke abt how he should drop his workout routine. But hyuka didnt take it as a joke, so he actually asked tyun for help on building his titties. So after few mths of training, reader finally notices that hyuka’s titties are growing and that sends her on a conflicting journey, because shes never seen hyuka in that way before. But thanks to his titties now reader is looking in hyuka’s way…

trying to play it off cool and not freak out, reader jokes and asked whether hyuka’s builded chest was meant for her, and well hyuka told her the truth and agreed. which she was stunned(this is clearly inspired cos of that gym pic of hyuka n his chest ofc)

things escalated and well now reader is riding hyuka, hands on his big titties as support (smut: tittie play(reader sucks on hyukas nipples, hyuka does the same for reader, tittie fuck, hyuka asking reader to sit on his face , idk what else but please include as much as u want, these are just my ideas of ehat could happen hehe)

hopefully this is good🥺 love u my love💗(once again do this after ur yj fic if u want unless ure hit with inspiration again😭) i’ll come back soon, kith kith💋

• GAINS AND GLORY

HK 002 .F22 2024

wc 3.3k

pairings buff!hyuka x reader

warnings tits play (both ends receiving), multiple marking (scratching and hickeys), unprotected sex, creampie, manhandling (+ anything I've missed)

faye's note the asks be rotting on my inbox, I'm sorry omg 😭 but here it is, coz they're hunting me at my FYP AHAHAHA! Although I see Kai as a softie (the reason why I still incorporated fluff elements in this fic), I think I still love this one, omg! For tho who are waiting for Hyuka's fic, I present to you, Gains and Glory! Please enjoy! 🙂‍↕️

"How is that even possible? Are you cheating? You're most probably cheating!" You frowned after being beaten for the nth time by Taehyun in the game you're playing. Taehyun proceeded to flex both of his arms and laughed at you.

"I don't wanna play with you anymore!" you complained, "Kai! Come here, come play the game with me instead! I don't wanna play with Taehyun anymore!" You called for Kai and the youngest scrambled towards the couch you were sitting on.

"Give the controller to Hyuka, I hate you." You pouted at Taehyun. Taehyun handed the controller to Hyuka and he attacked you with tickles.

"Soobin! Can you grab this man? Wait -- wait!" He was tickling you so much and you were thrashing around causing him to flex his muscles.

You have been friends with the five of them. Despite their very busy schedule, they always find time to at least spend a day with you. Or even a week if their schedules were a bit loose. Every weekend, you would find yourself in their dorm. Laughing, eating, playing, sleeping. Name anything that friends do, and you're sure you would have done it with them.

They never complained about having you around, if anything, they were thankful because, at least once a week, they could refresh their mind and unwind. And your favorite time? It was when you and Soobin baked cookies together. When you and Yeonjun stroll the streets to take some Instagrammable pictures. When you and Beomgyu spent time quietly - which was ironic because you two are the loudest when together - with arts; either painting or drawing. When you and Taehyun would watch exercise videos together, obviously with him exercising while you laze around, sprawled on the couch. And when you and Kai were together, you guys would end up shopping for plushies even though he had millions of them already.

Other people tend to look at you with judging eyes. They even talked about how you were giving the 'pick-me-girl vibe' which you and the guys often laughed about. You were their friend even before they debuted and your mind never wandered beyond being anything more than friends with them -- or so you thought, yeah.

"Back from the gym again?" You felt a presence behind you while you were cooking dinner. You didn't have to turn around to know who it was. The scent was enough for you to decipher who it was. The fresh soapy scent - because after his gym sessions, he would take a bath before coming home, and the mild smell of the mist he was using, you knew it was totally Taehyun.

"You know us so well that you can now tell who it is just by our scent huh." His head pops on your shoulder as he brushes his cheeks on yours, emitting a soft chuckle from you. "Tae, you're not beating the cat allegations again." "Hmm, don't care." He shrugs as he gives you a back hug. "Welcome back home, by the way," you answered.

Hugging them was the most intimate interaction you had with the guys. But the hugs were never sensual at all. They always just felt safe and at home whenever they melt in your embrace. They could feel all their stress and tension disappear just with a simple hug from you

Kai was humming while hugging his plushies when he stepped in the kitchen and saw you and Taehyun hugging. "Guys! Taehyun is hogging y/n to himself! It's not even hug time yeeeetttt!" Kai yelled causing every door in the house to burst open with resounding complains. "Hey, that's not fair!" Beomgyu pouts as he crosses his arms. "It's not hug time yet! This is so unfair!" Yeonjun tried to pry Taehyun's arms off you. "Y/n, stop hugging Taehyun before I throw your things out of our dorm." Soobin was pouting at you as he stomped his feet.

"Okay okay! I'll do it later then!" You laughed as you stopped hugging Taehyun and Yeonjun pulled him away from you. Taehyun even complained that he was just too tired from his gym session and needed a hug, only to be met with a plush that Kai threw.

"Dinner's not ready yet?" Kai sat on the chair not far from you cooking. "Almost done, Kai, go prepare the plates," you smiled.

Soobin and Beomgyu were the ones who were scheduled to wash the dishes. You thought that they shouldn't be scheduled at the same time because the soaps and bubbles would be spilling everywhere due to their bickering and playfulness. Kai, Taehyun, and Yeonjun were sitting on the couch with you, busy watching the TV, with Taehyun and Yeonjun being topless.

You were too used to the guys being half-naked around you. It was like a norm for you to be around so there was no use in making a fuss about it. They often remove their tops just because. Yup, no reason at all, they just do it.

You turned your head towards Taehyun, "You're working on your chest, aren't you?" you asked, noticing how big Taehyun's chest was and how they often looked bigger whenever he wore a tight-fitted shirt, which he nodded. "Are you finally coming to your senses and making a move on me just because I told you how I love men with big tiddies?"You teased and laughed heartily as he looked at you with the same disgusted expression he maintained throughout his life.

"Y/n, you know I love you and know how much I value our friendship, but if you want to keep being welcome here, please avoid saying things like that." And Yeonjun burst out laughing at Taehyun's answer. "You! My goodness!" you just rolled your eyes while still laughing.

"Why not drop your exercise routine? So Yeonjun can start working on his flat--" You were cut off with a pillow being thrown at you. "Yah! My chest is buffed too! They're not flat!" Yeonjun yelled at you.

Unknown to your eyes, Kai's ear perked up, and hugged himself as he felt his own body subtly. He looked over to Taehyun's chest and back to his own chest. He stayed silent, as he watched you guys.

"Hug time!" Kai yelled when the clock struck 10, and all of them gathered around you, lining up as they patiently waited for their turn. "Are you going to stay the night?" Yeonjun asked while taking his time hugging you. "Will do, I want to cook breakfast for you guys before your busy schedule starts again," you answered, he pulled away and mouthed goodnight and Soobin almost shoved him out of the way.

"I want some pancakes for breakfast," Soobin silently whispered as he hugged you tightly, almost covering you with his big frame. "Of course whatever you want, Binnie."

"Goodnight y/n, please rest well too." Beomgyu shortly commented as he hugged you and you hummed back.

"I love you but I think I should start hating you." Taehyun's disgusted look never faltered and you just pinched his cheeks while laughing.

All the other four were already heading to their rooms but Kai was still standing in front of you. You opened your arms for him as he slowly walked towards you, tightly clutching his plush in hand.

"What's wrong?" you asked as you sat up straight. Kai plopped down beside you and melted in your arms as he hid his flushed face which was unknown to you, into the crook of your neck. "Goodnight y/n," he simply whispered. "Sleep tight, Kai, I arranged your plushies earlier," you said as he stood up and walked towards his bedroom.

The next day, you wake up early to cook breakfast for them before they start their busy week again.

"We'll be busy with our upcoming comeback again," Soobin sighed as he poked the pancakes on his plate.

"Cheer up guys, you know I'll be here when your schedule is done." You tried to cheer them up and forced them to finish their breakfast before leaving.

4 months. For four months they were so busy that they weren't able to spend a day with you.

When you went back to their dorm, two guys were missing in action. "Where are the others?" you asked as you removed your shoes. All three heads snapped to where the voice had come from, only to find out that it was you.

"Y/n!" They all screamed almost in unison, as they rushed over to you, dropping everything they were currently doing.

You took a nap that afternoon while waiting for the other two to come back when you woke up to the unfamiliar yet familiar scent. Your eyes roamed around, and Kai and Taehyun caught your eyes. It seemed like they had just taken a bath a little while ago, given that their hair was still damp.

Kai noticed that you had just woken up so he cramped his big body lying down beside you on the couch. You chuckled and tried to push him away but he didn't budge.

When he sat up, you noticed how his shirt was sticking against his chest. "Wait a minute, I was only gone for a couple of months... What is this?" you questioned as you poked Kai's chest. Kai felt embarrassed to answer and scooted over to Taehyun. Taehyun answered for him instead, "He's been going to the gym with me. I don't know what has gotten into him though?"

You were in awe. Taehyun's chest was big but it looked like Kai's chest now was bigger. Especially considering that he had a bigger frame than Taehyun. In the past, Kai was so adamant about not going to the gym, he preferred cuddling with his plushies, telling the other guys that having a baby belly was cute, just like his soft plushies. But as you look at him more, it looks like he isn't the baby you used to know anymore, he has become buff. And only within just a few months at that.

That night, you were awfully silent. Your eyes kept on wandering back to Kai's chest, subtly, not wanting to be caught. Your mind couldn't help but wonder the reason behind Kai's new buffed-up body.

That same night, all of them went to bed earlier than usual. They just wanted to sleep longer. They claimed that their bed had missed them because, for four months, they weren't able to be in their dorm, nor sleep in their own rooms.

You, on the other hand, couldn't fall asleep. Suddenly the guest room felt so big and empty. You didn't know why but you kept on tossing and turning. At that moment, you heard footsteps that stopped right in front of your door. You immediately sat up, waiting for a knock on the door. Which it did. Someone had knocked thrice before pushing your door open. Only then did you realize that you probably forgot to lock it because you were spacing out too much.

The dim light from the hallway shone through the slightly opened door. "Hey, why are you still awake? Can't sleep?" You asked. He closed and locked the door behind him, the room now too dark for anything to be seen. He walked towards the window slightly opening the window, allowing a bluish-yellow light coming from the moon to penetrate throughout your room.

The bed dipped down at his weight, and he crawled up to you, burying his face in your neck, his body now, almost on top of you. "I...I missed you." He whispered, as he tightly hugged you.

"Kai..." You felt how his heart thumped harder the longer he hugged you. This was new. No one ever did this to you, not even when Yeonjun was sick when Soobin got his first breakup, when Beomgyu failed to win the art contest, and even when Taehyun wasn't allowed by their manager to flash his abs at their show. Kai's hug and whisper felt different. As if he was longing for something else.

"I missed you too, you surprised me." You answered when he pulled away. Only then did you finally see him, he wasn't wearing his shirt. You've never seen him topless before. But now he was, and he was right in front of you.

Maybe it was the heat of the moment, but your finger landed on his chest, gently tracing his buffed chest. "Did you, by chance, do this for me? Because you heard I want men with big tiddies?" you joked. But you were stunned when he nodded. "I actually d-did in fact do this for you, I wanted to surprise you since it's b-been four months since I last saw y-you," his voice was shaky as he spoke.

"I-i've been wanting to tell you this y/n, but I just couldn't bring myself to s-say it. Not until now." Kai's face was so close to yours that you could inhale his minty breaths.

You wanted to push him, but putting both of your hands on his chest felt like it might be crossing a line. You felt how hot his body was. The warmth of his body, radiating through his skin, felt electrifying to you.

"I know it's weird... But I couldn't help but have a little crush on you," he carefully whispered as if someone else was in the room to hear it. "One chance y/n, please give me one chance." His forehead now resting against yours, his eyes were filled with longing. The room was so thick with silence that you could hear him gulp.

"Y-you're lucky I'm into big g-guys like you," you squeaked, and your heart swelled at how a bright smile had crept onto his lips.

He placed his hand over yours, which was resting on his chest, and guided you to squeeze it. His soft strangled whimper sent a shiver down your spine.

The wind blew making the curtains on the window flutter and the hair on the back of Kai's neck to stand up. He finally propped himself with his two hands supporting his body as he leaned in closer to you. You ran your fingers to his perked-up nipples and your eyes watched closely at how he bit his lips and how his eyes fluttered.

"You're brave. Coming to this room without a shirt on, and confessing your love." You commented as you roll his nipples between your fingers. He gripped onto your sheets as you chuckled at how he was holding his moans back.

"We're downstairs, you can let out your moans. They won't be able to hear it." Your taunt got him opening his mouth as he let out all those muffled moans he had been holding back. His body trembled at your touch.

You slowly push him down as he keeps on backing up. You finally pushed him to lie down when his head could no longer lie on the bed. His head was now hanging off the edge, and it was making him dizzy with how his blood was rushing to his head while you were licking his nipple.

"Fuck!" He whimpered when you subtly bit his nipple. "Y/n..." He holds the back of your head as you continued sucking. His toes curled at your tongue, rolling and swirling around his nipple.

"To be honest, I've been thinking what could've been your reason for this, but turns out it was all because of me," you chuckled as you kissed the tip of his nose.

Your touch felt like fire over his body. His stomach swirling, his mind blurry. He never thought you'd give in to him.

You dipped your head down again as you littered his chest with splotchy red marks. Leaving some near his nipples, on his shoulder, and on his neck. Kai was a moaning mess under you as he kept on trying to hold his head up, but was always failing. His moans and the rustling of the sheets filled the room.

Since he was being discreet with his moans, you decided to catch him off guard and grind on him. His moans became high pitched and more slutty. You chuckled, the cute guy you often care about was now a totally different guy underneath you.

You felt a wet patch on his sweats, "Did you just come?", you asked as you pulled away. "D-don't look!" Kai tried to stop you but it was too late. You ran your fingers on the wet bulge of his pants. "Kai, you're naughty," you commented, and he only answered with a whimper.

He sat down and pushed you down, to hover above you. "Not fair," he pouted and lifted your shirt over your chest.

"Kai, I swear if you do what I di-" you weren't able to finish your sentence. His mouth was now on your boobs, sucking on your nipples, rolling his tongue again and again. "K-kai.. Kai..." Your breathing was unstable as you squirmed, and you kept on chanting his name along with whines and whimpers.

Just like how you did for him, he also littered your chest, neck, and shoulder with love bites, he was now smiling at how they looked under the moonlight from the window.

"Pretty," he smiled and crashed his lips over yours. The kiss was hot. It wasn't sloppy but it felt eager.

Kai pulled back, sat down and pulled you onto his lap. Your left hand was on your back as he held it with his left hand. You couldn't move, you could only clutch on his hair with your free hand, and nothing else. His right hand was rubbing your clothed ass, lifting the skirt to play with your skin.

"I'm sure hug time w-was n-never like this, fuck," you pulled him closer as your nails dug into his bare back. Kai winced at the scratching pain on his back as you drag your nails down. He kept on feasting over your neck and played with your ass, continuously brushing his fingers on your skin.

When you started grinding again, you squealed when you felt a stinging pleasure on your ass, his hand probably left a mark on your skin. His big hard chest was pressing against yours. They felt hard and soft at the same time. You wanted to play with his nipples but with your position, you couldn't do anything.

He pulled his sweats down to his thighs and slipped inside you with ease. You're too wet for him.

"Wow, you're taking me whole, y/n." Kai was big, you felt him stretch you out, but you were too wet that he could just slip into you with so much ease.

"F-fuck I feel s-so full," you can feel him arranging your guts with his huge cock. You can't help but move your hips wanting to immediately feel the pleasurable feeling of his cock inside you.

"P-pull out okay? I'm n-not on any birth control, you j-just slid i-in w-without a condom," you added. "Sorry, I got t-too excited. Your pussy feels so warm and soft. Makes me wanna cum inside you."

"K-kai!" You warned him, he only chuckled at you.

He started to thrust slowly, while you were still trapped in the position he put you into.

His slow thrust becomes more sloppy as you keep on moaning into his ears. Your moans kept stirring something in him, it made him wanna cum inside you even more.

"K-kai please, I'm c-close." You whined as you scratched his back.

"W-wanna cum inside you, y/n. Wanna cum s-so bad." His thrusts get stronger which made your boobs bounce which caused them to brush against his nipples, making him more aroused.

Maybe you were just too drunk on his cock that you unconsciously nodded at him and chanted 'yes' multiple times.

"I'm g-gonna cum!" you squeaked as you tangled your fingers in his hair. You felt a warm liquid being spilled inside you the moment you came as Kai pants with you. His forehead now resting on your shoulders with his mouth open. You wanted to complain that he came inside even when you told him not to, but it just felt so good that you chose to collapse onto his arms instead.

@binniesbooks 2024

[eggdrawsthings]

some expression sketches from the same file was gonna let it rot in my drive but i feel like might as well just color it and dump it here lol

[amjustagirl]

castles in the air: chapter 2

chapters: one.// two.// three.// four.// five.// six.// seven.// eight.// nine.// ten.//

pairing: kuroo tetsuro x f! reader genre: university romantic dramedy, mild angst, fluff wc: 6k summary: kuroo tetsuro is your pain in the ass classmate. that’s all. really.

The semester hits the midway mark almost too quickly. 

Training grows harder, his captain unrelenting in his demands for more drills, more laps, more practice matches. His fingers ache, more calluses grow, thick and ugly on his palms, and he’d fall asleep in class far more often if you weren’t there to prod him awake. But it’s worth it, he tells himself. He holds on to his starting position because the team’s regular middle blockers are either injured, on academic probation or off in Europe on exchange, so his peers watch with envy when he gets to play almost every match, the defensive cornerstone when the team prepares its march to the intercollegiate championships.

He misses the camaraderie built with Yaku and Kai, the knowledge that they have each other’s back, the unwavering trust formed over years of working towards the same goal. The university team’s not half-bad, the seniors refrain from hazing the juniors (save for Sato-san, who prefers to shoot barbs, the immense chip on his shoulder from having to retake his first year screwing with his brain a bit), and he’s pretty sure he’ll make firm friends with the guys from his batch, but still - he misses his team.  

“Why work so hard when you’re not gonna go pro after college?” you ask, after a project meeting that you had to barge into his room to remind him about, his catnap stretching into an hour-long siesta that he’s horrified at himself for taking.  

“Cos I love the game”, he says simply. “I wanna play as long as I can.”

You don’t sniff at him, nor do you stare at him disapprovingly. Instead, you just peer over your laptop screen as you crouch on his bed. “Well. Just - just don’t burn yourself out.” 

“Are you concerned about me?” he asks slyly, propping his head up to stare at you. 

As expected, your head whips back to your work. “Psh. Concerned that I might lose a competitor, more like. Topping the cohort won’t be as sweet if you weren’t there.” 

“Cocky, I see. Let’s see who’s crying when they release the results - “

“As if! Considering the amount you’ve been studying, which is barely anything at the rate you’re going, you’re going the one who’s left crying  -” 

Ouch, that stings. With competition season drawing close, he has to admit that he really hasn’t been hitting the books as much as he should be, his notes are in shambles, his undone work is piling up, not because of procrastination but out of a sheer lack of time, and - yeah, he has to admit you’re probably right. 

“Oh well”, he remarks. “Guess you’ll be dropping me as a project mate next semester then.”

You stare at him as if he’s grown another head with gravity defying hair. 

“Kuroo Tetsurou, do you really think so little of me?” you say quietly, curling back behind the screen, almost as if he’s hurt you with careless words. 

“I uh - “

Then he sees it, you giving yourself an almost imperceptible shake, shoulders straightening. 

“Well”, you say briskly, flipping over your screen to show him an empty schedule that to his horror, is marked - ‘STUDY SCHEDULE FOR IDIOTS’, in bright red. “Let’s make sure your grades don’t suffer too much, in that case.” 

It’s testament to your strength of personality that he finds himself tucked into a corner of the library with you and your other friends to study and revise for exams almost every night after practice. 

“What”, you ask indignantly when he does a double take, shocked at the fact that you willingly associate with other living, breathing beings. “Did you think you were the only one with friends?” 

“Kinda”, he drawls. “Especially since you’re so -”

“I dare you to finish that sentence”, you growl, pointing a pen threateningly over his wrist. He closes his mouth with an exaggerated snap. 

Your tiny circle of friends are welcoming to him, even though they do look a little taken aback when you drag him in the first time but it’s cosy, companionable, and he gets a lot more work done than he’d have been able to by himself. It certainly helps that you lend him your notes, even though you grumble good naturedly, and he’s pretty sure he’s the only classmate you lend your carefully prepared notes to, because Sato-san and the rest of his team groans in envy when they catch a glimpse of your notes in his bag. 

“Gotta give the rest of us a chance”, Sato repeats his insult, laughing to himself. “You and that machine - what an unfair combination!” 

“If you can’t beat them, join ‘em”, he chuckles a little hollowly, swallowing the sudden urge to argue that it’s unfair to reduce you to that unkind nickname. Because Sato is his teammate, his senior. He can’t jeopardise any good will he has on the team but still, his words sting. He’s glad you aren’t around to hear the insults thrown your way, though he thinks you’re strong enough to ignore them anyway. Your sense of humour would probably even allow you to laugh at that horrid nickname - a machine - even if it’s inherently dehumanising, dismissive of all the hard work and effort you pour into your studies. 

“Why bother working so hard when you could just marry a rich husband?” You make a sound of discontent at his words and he adds quickly - “And hey, come to think of it, maybe I should start looking for a rich wife.”

It’s not his best day, not when he’s a little cranky after a hard practice where his captain yelled at him for not jumping high enough, fast enough to block the spikers, and you don’t let up on him either, drilling him on his finance calculations, on his marketing strategies until his head swims with figures and disjointed words, and he just needs a break from this relentless grind that’s slowly but surely wearing him down. 

“My mom was a housewife all her life”, you tell him. “My dad made sure we were always comfortable, but I tend to think my mom feels like she might’ve preferred a little more independence, especially when my brothers and I grew older.” 

Exhaustion forgotten, he thinks of his own mother. He sees her twice-yearly, once on mother’s day, once on New Year’s where she brings him to the shrine to pray, and while she shows some maternal affection for him, sending him money at regular intervals, asking about his studies, he’s never dared ask if she’s ever regretted walking out of his and his sister’s lives when she looks much happier, brighter even - than back when they all were a family, back when the walls would shake from the force of her arguments with his dad. 

“Sure”, he says. “Independence is good, I guess.” 

He thinks about his father, curled up in a corner, drunk out of his mind, cursing his ex-wife. He thinks about his sister, having to go to their obaa-san instead of their mom when she got her first period, met her first boyfriend. He thinks about himself, having to explain to his classmates with a strained smile that his mother doesn’t live with them anymore. 

“You don’t sound convinced. Please don’t tell me you’re one of those gross dudes that think a woman’s proper place is in the kitchen.”

The thing about you is that you’re far more perceptive than you have any right to be. 

“I just -”, he pauses, mindful that he might be treading into dangerous, murky waters. “Independence is all well and good, but I think you and your siblings benefitted from your mom being around for you.” 

You tilt your head, fortunately doesn’t take offense as he feared. “Yes”, you say slowly, the words treacle in your mouth. “But I’d like to think I can have the best of both worlds by having a husband who loves and supports me in whatever I choose to do. I guess I’m greedy - my dreams make me sound like I want to build castles in the sky but I’m not, really. All I want is a meaningful career of my own. All  I want is a family of my own. I don’t think it’s too much to ask for.” 

“That doesn’t sound like too much at all”, he remarks, taking a swig of coffee even though it tastes like wet dirt, in a bid to keep awake. 

“Of course you don’t - you’re a man. That’s always been your birthright”, you reply, mouth twisting, your tone more bitter than the coffee currently swirling in his gut. 

“I think the solution is to find yourself a nice husband who’d let you do what you want.”

“A decent man who respects that I’m entitled to do what I want”, you retort and he laughs, raising his hands up in defense. 

“As if any man could stop you from doing what you want”, he chortles, and you roll your eyes, pinch his arm playfully as he dodges your attacks. 

So yes - you’re headstrong and efficient, smart as a whip, good at your work. He highly doubts anyone would ever consider you a machine if they spend more than five minutes with you outside of class. You’re so easy to chat with, so easy to tease. There aren’t any airs about you, because you’re unabashedly you, scowling at him when he points out a mistake you’ve made in your work, laughing too loudly about some stupid chemistry joke he’s made, falling asleep on your books like a floppy seal when you try (and fail) to wean yourself off coffee yet again.  

“Why don’t you have more friends? From class, at least. Most young people these days have more friends, y’know?” 

You click your tongue against your teeth, mouthing indignantly young people at him. Another night spent in the library studying, your small circle of friends breaking up in favour of human pursuits like food and sleep. But midterms are coming, you seem to not mind spending a little time tutoring him on the finer points of accounting and cash flow forecasts, and he needs all the help he can get.

“Did we not just spend two hours sitting among my friends?” you reply pointedly. “Or did you think they’re just goldfish - “

“Oi, don’t put words in my mouth, princess”, he shoots back. “You know what I meant. You don’t seem to have friends in class except me - is it because I’m special?” 

“You’re really fishing for compliments here, aren’t you?” 

He gives you a flash of his patented smirk, leans back in his chair. “Nah, just wondering why no one else seems to have caught on to your fantastic personality.” 

You stare at him, obviously searching for the punchline in his words, but he just smirks back at you. 

“I don’t really find making friends easily. A relic from high school, I suppose. It’s even more difficult in business school where everyone seems a bit transactional.” You wrinkle your nose, spinning a pen in your fingers. “They didn’t really take much notice of me until the end of last semester when our grades were announced and then suddenly all they wanted to talk about were assignments and job placements and -” you sigh through your nose, forehead wrinkling. “They didn’t really see me as a person. That makes me wonder whether they see me for who I am, or for what I can do for them.”  

“But here we are - “ 

“Are we friends? I didn’t realise that”, you tease, as he pouts playfully, hand to heart. 

“You wound me, princess, you really do.” 

“Fine, I guess we’re friends”, you answer, a fond smile on your face that he can’t help but wish he saw more of. “You made me a business proposition, I fed you ramen, now you tease me about my books and I tutor you because you like to pretend to be a dumb jock, so here we are.” 

“Here we are indeed”, he replies, smirk smoothing out into a smile.  

It’s their loss, he figures, if they don’t want to be your friend. It’s their loss if they don’t get to see you as a human being, just a soulless machine, racking up points and scoring top marks, someone inhuman, soaring past them in the stratosphere. They don’t get to see the moments when you doubt yourself, when you hunch over yourself whenever you get poor feedback on your projects, when you pour your heart and soul into your work, shouldering more than your share when he falls short without complaint. 

“We did it!” you squeal at the end of the term, when your professor beams at you both, awards you the top grade for your project along with a long review. 

“Of course we did”, he replies smugly. The taste of success is addictive, oh-too-sweet. He chuckles when you shove at his shoulder playfully, catches your hand to rub it in that - “I told you you’d have no regrets partnering with me.”

“Kuroo Tetsurou, it baffles me how you’re so bloody annoying -” 

“Let’s go out to celebrate” he adds, ignoring her barb, still riding the high of success. “I’ll buy you dinner tonight!” 

“Not fish again. You’re such an old man”, you tease. 

“You need fish for docosa-haxaeonic acid”, he retorts, but you only tug at his sleeve, impatient when he’s dangling the promise of food before you. 

You both end up at the ramen shop anyway. It’s become your regular hang-out spot, both yours and his, so much so that the old oji-san recognises his order, grumbles when he doesn’t come in for more than a week. But the old oji-san’s clear favourite is you, always leaning over to ask how your week’s been, feeding you an extra ramen egg or bamboo shoots, and Kuroo points out that it’s probably because you’ve bought his crusty heart by chatting with him about he and his wife’s favourite long running soap operas, even bought him a bottle of sake to celebrate his birthday once you’ve learnt the date. 

“It’s called being a decent human being and listening when people talk about themselves, Kuroo.”

“You’re just sucking up for no reason”, he retorts and you chuckle, chopsticks held aloft. 

“It’s called being kind, you fool. Look it up, someday”, you retort before stuffing yourself full of ramen noodles, which you declare to the oji-san to be the best in Tokyo, nay, the world, as you always do. He swears the old man is about to declare you his honourary grand-daughter at this rate. Well - his grandparents would obviously love you too, his grandma’s been complaining that she misses him bringing his friends home, and she can’t wait til the day comes that he brings a nice girl home to meet her wait - he shakes his head clear of that thought, choosing to wolf down ramen instead of exploring that stray alley his brain seems intent on leading him down.

“Earth to Kuroo”, you call, leaning in, eyes gleaming with that sharp, mischievous tilt, an expression that you adopt too-frequently when you think you’ve gotten the better of him. You wave a hand across his face, and he jolts back, as if he’s fallen out of a dream. 

“Alien acid ate up your brain?”  

“Pfft, there’s no such thing.” He makes a show of shaking himself awake. “Just thinking about exams.” 

“You’ll do just fine”, you say dismissively, kicking his shin. “I’m sure of it.” 

“Cos if not it’d mean your tutoring skills suck?” 

“No! Because it’d mean your brain sucks, if all my tutoring didn’t help you one bit - ”

He pays the old man and compliments him for making the best ramen in the world, as he always does, though the old man only truly perks up when you wave at him and promise to come again soon before stepping back into the world outside. Summer is long gone, autumn is on its way out, and winter, with its chilly gales and bleak, short days, is about to arrive in full force. He tucks himself into his coat - Nekoma red, of course, gloves on his hands when he notices you try to zip your coat all the way to the hollow of your throat, shrugging your shoulders in a bid to hide the exposed skin of your neck to the nipping  winter cold.

Receives, bumps, one touches - movements on court that are honed through many years of training, movements that come naturally without his brain having to be engaged too much, but even though this particular movement is new, he doesn’t even realise he’s unwinding the wool scarf from his neck until he’s tugged you close, tilting your chin up gently to wrap it around your neck. 

“My skin’s a lot thicker than yours, so you better make sure you wrap up nice and warm”, he tells you with as much bravado as he can muster,  since you seem to be stricken silent from shock. 

You tuck your chin into the cloud of woolen weave, as you walk beside him, and he’s wondering if he’s wrong for acting over-familiar with you - you’re a friend, but you’re also a girl, and he wonders if his actions might be misconstrued when you glance at him, almost as if you’re looking at him for the first time. 

“Cat got your tongue, princess?”, he asks, his tongue engaging before his brain stops it from its instinct to provoke, to annoy. 

Luckily, your regular scowl crosses your face, and he knows you’re both back on familiar grounds. 

“I just didn’t know you could be nice”, you say airily, tossing your hair behind your shoulder as you dash ahead, laughing merrily. 

“I’ve always been nice to my friends!” he yells, white puffs streaming behind him as he chases after you. 

Your classmates notice around the same time he does that you’re actually friends. 

“Wow, I didn’t know that frigid bitch could actually be human”, Sato comments idly during a break in practice. “What did you do, charm your way into her pants? You gotta tell us if there’s really a stick up her arse if you do.” 

He bites his tongue yet again, preventing him from spitting out some acerbic remark or two. “We’re just friends”, he manages to say with a veneer of politeness. “We work well together.”

“Good for you”, Sato replies. “It’d be a joke if anyone wanted to date that bitch.” 

His mood doesn’t lighten when he turns up at your room for his usual study session after dinner, eyebrows drawn together, a weathervane for his stormy mood. You take one glance at him and snap your laptop shut. 

“Out with it”, you say. “What’s bothering you?” 

“Nothing!” he says too quickly. “Everything’s fine.” 

You obviously don’t believe him. “Did Sato screw up serves again? Or did your captain say something to you? You can’t be stressed about schoolwork, you’re actually ahead, which is good - “ 

“It’s fine”, he stresses, grimacing. “Can you just drop it?” 

Oops. He may have said that a little too sharply because you flinch back into your seat, wincing slightly, even though you try to cover that up with a quick shake of your shoulders, an impassive expression sliding back on your face. He didn’t mean to snap at you - you’re not the cause of his ire, far from it. 

So he fixes it the only way he knows how. 

“Wanna grab ice cream?” 

“What?!” you stare at him, flummoxed.  “It’s a school night and it’s cold, Kuroo!” 

“Perfect weather for ice cream then”, he chortles. “Any weather’s perfect for ice cream. I don’t know a time or situation that’s not a good time for it. C’mon, I know a place that we can study at - or not, since you said we’re ahead.” 

“I thought you only eat old man things like fish”, you jab, but allow yourself to be swept off to a tiny ice cream parlour just off campus. It’s definitely a step up from the combini ice cream the Nekoma team used to eat by the bulk, swirls of strawberry pink in white vanilla, chocolate parfaits abound, a sweet treat you and he both deserve after a hard week at school. 

You settle into a small booth at the back of the store, digging in with a tiny wooden spoon only after he prompts you. “Just admit it’s the best ice cream in the world already”, he teases as your eyes immediately widen when you take your first bite of the overflowing sundae he’s ordered for you to share. 

“It’s good”, you admit, through a mouthful of delicious, creamy ice cream, matcha and chocolate and azuki beans all melding together. It’s horrendously indulgent, because he orders you a huge vat of hot chocolate to go with it, along with pillow-like marshmallows that you giggle at, popping two in your mouth and puffing your cheeks out like a child. He aches to poke your cheeks and laugh at you, but keeps his hands firmly to himself. 

“See”, he says when the urge passes. “Ice cream is always good. In every situation, in every season, having ice cream is like, the go-to. You’ll weed out the weirdos in your life fairly quickly by screening them by their reactions to ice cream  -” 

“Please don’t soliloquise about ice cream, you’re clearly the weirdo here”, you joke, as he clutches his chest, acting affronted. 

“Hey!” 

You scrabble against his arm as he steal the sundae away, he smears ice cream against your nose resulting in a loud, indignant squawk and well retaliation is clearly in order - 

Long story short, you both get asked politely to leave (though the store owner winks at him for some undecipherable reason- he’s become fond of the obaa-chan by now), and you both sit outside on the curb, finishing your ice cream like two happy fools.  

Winter means a brief respite from school, at least at the turn of the year. 

The good thing about attending university in Tokyo is that he’s able to make frequent trips back home to visit his family, so they don’t make any complaints when he makes plans to hang out with the Nekoma team at an izakaya to count down the new year. Yaku and Kai are both in attendance despite the former playing for the Falcons, though with the waves he’s made in the V-league, he won’t be surprised if Yakkun told him he’s headed for Europe in the next year or two, and the latter busy with his studies at the Tokyo University of Agriculture. With Kenma, Fukunaga and Yamamoto graduating in a matter of months, he’s not sure when he’ll get to see his whole team again. He’s not going to miss a chance like this for the world. 

“Lev! Did you seriously grow taller again?!” 

“Yaku-senpai - you look shorter than ever!” 

“I dare you to say that when I can reach you!!!”

“Yaku senpai, please don’t murder Lev, we’ve got nationals in two weeks -” 

None of them can drink just yet, even though Kuroo’s definitely stolen sips of beer from his seniors before, but they’re still by far the rowdiest bunch in the diner. It’s a good thing Fukunaga’s aunt runs the place, and she’s always been fond of the Nekoma team, having fed them over the years, so it’s fine if they all sit around, bickering with each other, ordering so much food that the table groans under the weight of laden dishes. 

He’s debating the pros and cons of playing for a university team versus going pro directly with Yamamoto when the door slides open, and a familiar figure stumbles in, the wind howling outside strong enough to knock a person off their feet. 

“Kuroo?” 

He glances up and his mouth promptly falls open.

“Princess? Wha-what are you doing here?”

It’s probably the wrong move to address you with the affectionate nickname he initially adopted to provoke you, with his team falling silent, watching as their usually unruffled captain turns traffic light red at the sight of a slip of a girl - but they don’t know that he’s so accustomed to seeing you dressed in an oversized hoodie, comfortable pyjamas even, when he’s invaded your room to study - that his brain short-circuits at the sight of you in a form fitting sweater dress that highlights every dip and curve of your form. 

“I live near here, remember? Some of my friends dragged me out to count down the new year, like you it seems!” A gaggle of girls wave over at you, before Fukunaga’s aunt ushers them towards a table at the other end of the diner. “Is this your high school team?”

Yamamoto nods so vigorously he nearly falls out of his chair, not even bothering to hide the fact that he’s eavesdropping shamelessly. You laugh at his antics, introducing yourself to him, and the younger boy looks like he’s about to rocket out of his chair when you ask if he’s the powerful wing spiker that Kuroo told you about, conveniently leaving out the fact that Kuroo’s mentioned that he’s a little over-enthusiastic, almost to a fault. 

“I’m Nekoma’s ace now!” Yamamoto half shouts, puffing his chest, as Shibayama and Inouka hide their smiles behind their hands. 

“I’m sure you are”, you reply, your smile so bright and earnest that Kuroo has to stamp down the urge to push Yamamoto away from you. “He’s said so many good things about you!” 

Yamamoto looks like he’s about to burst into tears, but Kuroo can’t seem to catch a break when Yaku leans over to introduce himself. “I didn’t know Kuroo had a girlfriend!”

Now Kuroo wants to stamp Yaku into the ground. From the frying pan, straight into the fire.  

“Oh!” you toss a look his way, biting down on your bottom lip. “N-no, you got it wrong. We’re just friends!” 

“That makes sense”, Yaku says. “We traded having a manager for having Kuroo as our captain.” 

You laugh again. He wonders if this is the most he’s ever heard you laugh - it just has to be at his expense, in front of his old team. 

“Is that so?” 

“Everyone thinks he’s a pain, but he’s really just an old man despite his Yakuza-like hair, if you haven’t realised by now. They all think we’ve been tormented by him for years, which is kinda true  - ” 

“Right”, Kuroo manages to get between the two of you, gesturing wildly. “That’s enough - don’t you have to hang out with your friends?” 

Yamamoto is still staring even after you’ve flitted away. Yaku is still grinning, mouth stretched wide.  

“She’s a pretty girl - not my type though, I still prefer girls with short hair. She’s definitely more your type though, Kuroo, maybe you should - ” 

For some reason, his brain stops working when it comes to you, so his tongue moves yet again of its volition as he snaps, a little too loudly, “She’s a bossy know-it-all, just like you. She’s definitely not my type either - ”

Yaku stiffens in his seat. “Did you just call me a bossy, know-it-all?” 

He’s too preoccupied defending himself from a roundhouse kick from Yaku to notice that you looked up  at him from your seat, a furrow in your brow that remains throughout the night, even after the everyone counts the year down in unison, the ridiculous variety show playing on the TV finally coming to an end. 

He's shepherding his kouhai out, bowing deeply to thank Fukunaga's aunt for her hospitality when he catches sight of you again, standing by the side of the road as you wave your friends off. 

"It's late", Kai pipes up from behind him unexpectedly. "You should go walk her home."

Ever the voice of reason, his trusty vice captain. He ignores the catcalls from his idiot team when he approaches you for the second time of the night, tries not to flinch when you turn to gaze at him, eyes flinty, though for the life of him, he can't imagine why. 

"C'mon princess." He runs a hand through his hair, shifting uncomfortably. "I'll walk you home, lead the way."

"I can take care of myself just fine", you tell him pertly. "You don't have to go out of your way for someone who’s just a bossy know it all -" 

"Stop being stubborn, it's late. Young people these days lack common sense, seriously -" 

You ignore him, start storming off into the shadowed streets. Luckily, his long legs more than make up the head start you’ve gained on him, hand outstretched to grab the back of your coat. 

“What’s with you today? You’re more stubborn than usual.” 

You whirl around, shaking his hand off. "Oh, just add being stubborn to your description of me as a bossy know-it-all, that's just fine by me!" He frowns in confusion, as you speed up into a slow job, as if intent to shake him off. It makes no difference, he matches your pace easily.

“Stop!” He pulls at your coat sleeve, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object. Physics wins out, and he manages to drag you to a halt. He’s just glad you aren’t armed with a fork or pen, your usual choice of weapon because that might tilt the balance in your favour instead. 

“Fuck right off, Kuroo Tetsuro!” 

This is not how he wanted to spend the first minutes of the new year, spitting and avoiding the claws of a hell-cat. Not to mention the fact that the situation he’s in probably looks really suspicious to any passerby - a guy chasing after a girl, even after she’s told him in no uncertain terms to leave her the hell alone. But he wants to see what you see, even though he’s insistent that no insult was intended. 

“What’s with you today? I’ve called you a bossy know-it-all before, and you’ve never taken issue with it. In fact, you just insult me right back - I think my favourite insult to-date is pompous, rooster-headed prick, so it’s not like the vocabulary I used is new, and I seriously don’t understand why you’re pissed at me right now.” 

“Do you even hear yourself?” You spin on your heel, jab a finger into his chest. “I don’t care that you called me a bossy know-it-all, you gaping asshole! I just - I just thought -” 

“Thought what?” he echoes, seriously confused when you stop short, gaze suddenly losing its heat, falling like a comet discovering gravity for the first time. 

“It’s nothing”, you say firmly, marching on ahead towards the traffic junction. The roads are still busy with cars, even in the suburbs. “Really. Nothing. Everything’s just fine.”

“Oi, weren’t you mad at me?” 

You shake your head, resolutely staring at the road ahead. “I forgive you for being stupid, Kuroo Tetsuro. I think stupidity’s a blight on your gender,  it’s not just confined to you.” 

He stumbles over a stray crack in the pavement, before catching himself. When he recovers from his shock, it melds into confusion at your sudden magnanimity. “Uh, thanks I guess?” Then, because he knows food is the way to soothe the annoyance in your soul, he grins - “I was gonna offer to buy you dinner and ice cream, buy your forgiveness, you know - but I suppose that’s not needed anymore, huh.” 

You snort, loud and clear in the night. “You’re absolutely buying me ramen when we’re back at school.”

The traffic light changes from red to green. He moves forward, a step behind you. 

“It was my turn to buy dinner next, so it’s no loss to buy ramen for you anyway.” 

A familiar eye-roll tips him off to your next move, an elbow to his ribs which he dodges, sidestepping your attack neatly. “You’re annoying”, you grumble, and he just chortles, replying with a quip he knows will frustrate you to no-end. 

“Nah, I’m just Kuroo Tetsuro. Always at your service, princess.” 

“Those words are synonymous now, I swear -” 

Your bickering tapers off when you finally reach your parents’ apartment building, a modest, four storey block that’s thankfully just a bus ride away from his grandparents’ home. He should be happy his night’s almost over because it’s late, the night air growing colder with every passing minute, and he needs to be up early to continue revising for the upcoming exams. But he can’t help but drag his feet, prolong the time he has with you. 

“You sure you’re not still mad at me?” 

He doesn’t need you to know that he teeters on the knife edge of being snarky and annoying - Yaku, and to a far lesser, gentler, extent, Kai too, have both made it very clear that his way with provocative taunts can land him in hot water at times, so he’s also learnt to apologise, where needed. He’ll let you slap him if you’re still mad (not that you’ve actually used enough force to hurt him before, sans the time you stabbed with your fork for stealing your dinner), or throw yet another pen at him (that he’ll dodge anyway). He just doesn’t want to spend the first day of the year fighting with you. 

“And if I am, what’re you going to do about it?” 

He promptly drops onto his knees. Your mouth promptly drops open. 

“W-what are you doing?!” 

His jeans will survive the dirt and dust, even if obaa-chan might complain a little about him dirtying her pristine washing machine. “I’m very good at grovelling”, he informs you, laughing aloud as you dart forward to try tugging him to his feet, ignoring your hissing that you really don’t need to attract the attention of your neighbours, thank you very much! But there’s no way in hell you’d be able to lift a load that’s at least seventy kilograms of pure muscle, no matter how much you threaten said load, so he waits until you pant, exhausted, resorting instead to cheap tricks like prodding his nose with an indignant finger. 

“Kuroo Tetsuro, you stop this right now! Get up, or help me, I will hurt you -”

“I’ll get up after you accept my apology - I don’t think my heart could take it if you’re mad with me, princess.” 

He presses his hand to said heart, both to assure you of his sincerity and act as a shield in case you do decide to stab him right in the chest, which he won’t put past you, considering the way your eyebrows telegraph the way you’re fluctuating between exasperation and annoyance. 

“I didn’t hear any apology from you.” You eventually settle on exasperation, the better option in his opinion, even though there’s a vaguely murderous glint to your eyes that he doesn’t quite like. 

He scrambles to his feet. “I’m sorry for calling you a bossy, know-it-all”, he says contritely. “Please forgive me. I’d have a terrible year if you don’t.” 

“Fine”, you grumble, tone impatient, but he’ll take it as a win, since there’s no bodily harm inflicted upon him yet. “You’re still an asshole, Kuroo Tetsuro.”

“I’ll accept your insult, fair maiden, even though an apology was all I sought”, he says blithely. He’s courting danger right now, the equivalent of prodding nitrogen triiodide just to see what happens (it’ll explode, that’s what), but you surprise him when you don’t react, eyebrows suspiciously straight as you stare him down. 

“Did I say something wrong again?” 

This time, your eyebrows waver. He’s not sure if it’s a good thing. 

“Good night, Kuroo”, you say, so quietly that he has to strain to hear it. Then you reach for his face, and he flinches back, expecting a punch, a slap, a smack, but all he gets is a brush of your thumb against his cheek. It leaves a spark of warmth in its wake, heat rising in his chest despite it being the first day of January, deep in the winter's chill, but then you retract your hand, quicker than any attack of yours. 

“Happy New Year”, he vaguely hears you say, as you look away. “I hope you have a good year, Kuroo.”  

“Happy New Year”, he replies, watching and waiting until you disappear into the lift lobby, until the lift doors hide you from him.

m.list.~ taglist.~

a/n: hope you guys are enjoying the fluffy goodness between these two dorks. 

[5uptic]

hey fanfic spotlight again:)

arm candy by amsves (5up/Fundy, general rating, m/m | 300 words)

Summary: The first thing Fundy does after the stream ends is lean over and engulf 5up in his arms.

a chance encounter by mangoedges (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 450 words)

Summary: Who would have thought Apollo would find his soulmate now?

Desecration Smile by AllianettemiE5 (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: No summary.

She said to me, Oh Death / Come close my eyes by Anonymous (Apollo/Steve, general rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: Steve thought the words on his wrist were the coolest thing ever, but they just didn’t make sense. No, really; he even asked 5up–had called him in a possibly drunk state on his twentieth birthday, when a prickling sensation on his arm made him think that he was about to die, 5up, help, and was reminded drily that it was his soulmark, dumbass–and the best his smartest friend (self-proclaimed) could offer was, “Maybe your soulmate’s a poet?” Completely useless. Steve remembered hanging up on him, the click of his mobile cutting off his indignant exclamation. It was only the next day that he looked, properly looked, at his soulmark and tried to make sense of it. Nope. That didn’t work out either; he blamed the hangover. For the longest time ever, he just dismissed it as the universe fucking up. A slash in the middle of a phrase? Ridiculous.

why’d you only call me when you’re high? by LVTO (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1k words)

Summary: “I miss you,” Steve mumbles through the phone, and his voice has that soft, honest tone that it always does when he’s like this. 5up’s heart clenches. It’s these moments that keep him from leaving like he should’ve done four months ago, these soft-spoken truths that time and time again have him believing that maybe, maybe this time will be different. It never is. or 5up receives a phone call and ponders his life.

jealousy, jealousy by planetwitch (5up/Fundy, teen rating, m/m | 1.1k words)

Summary: 5up and Fundy are best friends and have never crossed that line into something more. Until Fundy gets jealous at 5up's constant admiration for a certain 6 foot tall musician.

mimi's menagerie of the miraculous & the mundane by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.1k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: a drabble for the word of the day, every day, for 100 days.

5up & Co. Throw Yarn at a Wall (and more) by WhenTheFogClears (general rating, gen | 1.3k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: Hafu neither confirmed nor denied, instead snatching the half unraveled ball of yarn out of his hands forcefully, a cheshire grin finding its way onto her face. Before 5up could clearly decipher the situation, she flung it at him, smacking him directly in the center of his face. or 5up loves throwing yarn at walls, and everyone else quickly picks it up from him. But in different ways.

Inside My Mind by SilverSprinklez10 (5up/Apollo, Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.4k words)

Summary: Soulmates are usually a blessing.  But sometimes, a soulmate connection can feel like a curse.

(2021, 190 x 172 cm, oil on canvas) by 5280ft (5up/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 1.9k words)

Summary: Nobody ever painted anything if they’ve never painted the way 5up closes his eyes when he laughs, how his slender fingers wrap around a new tube of paint, how his smile is all teeth and eye-crinkling. Cabanel’s Fallen Angel has curls, but they aren’t 5up’s, are they? Hyllas, in the nymphs, has fair and delicate hands but 5up’s are prettier, especially when he accidentally squirts paint everywhere and slams his palms on the table and goes “fuck!” Steve cackles until he can’t breathe.

Don't Take Me Tongue-Tied by AoDity, LovelyDayForIt (5up/Sleepy, 5up/Apollo, teen rating, m/m | 2.2k words)

Summary: "Sleepy found the ring by luck, something that matches his lover's graceful beauty that he could still afford. Twisted strands of thin silver with a little shimmering opal in the center, it was perfect." Aka: Sleepy's love for Five brought him heartache. If they try, there's still a chance the two could be happy.

implying that the ferris wheel's your body (and i'd really love admission to it) by homeward_bound (David/Hafu/Steve, mature rating, multi | 2.2k words)

Summary: Steve might be drunk out of his mind, but David's just really hot, okay? [or, steve propositions david, kind of. hafu and dumbdog bear witness to his lapse in judgement.]

mi casa es su casa by some_spooky_shit_right_there (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 2.9k words)

Summary: Apollo's soulmate is cautious. Except, apparently, when it comes to coffee. Because, for the fifth time this week, Apollo wakes up to a burnt tongue. It's annoying. He can't really be mad though, because he has given his soulmate so much worse. The occasional burnt tongue is a meager act of penance, comparatively.

I love you too (I love you too) by some_spooky_shit_right_there (5up/Apollo/Steve, general rating, multi | 3.9k words)

Summary: Apollo comes into 5up's coffee shop. He always gets a cup of coffee and either a bagel or a croissant. He always seems tired, and he never comes in on weekends. Steve would really love to find out just who, exactly, he is.

i'm more fool than wise by 5fu (5up/Steve, unrated, m/m | 5.8k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: Steven Suptic is a brilliant crewmate - ask anyone. Okay so don't ask Janet. Or Dk. Or Koji. You know what, don't even ask - it's pretty obvious he is. But when new recruit and stunningly intelligent 5up boards the Crewfu, Steve isn't so sure he can compete. Not that he cares. Totally. Absolutely. On their mission to gather intel on Polus and find out what happened to the previous crew that disappeared from the planet three years earlier, Steve may realize that maybe he was indeed more fool than wise - and maybe it wasn't a bad thing.

i was praying that you and me might end up together by Qupid (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 7.8k words, chaptered WIP)

Summary: Four years at Polus University. Four first weeks of school. Two strangers become two friends, and maybe even something more. Apollo hates being seen, hates having attention drawn to him, hates living in a world that feels like a game where everyone knows the rules except him. Steve thrives on attention, purposefully draws the gaze of everyone in the room, making his own rules as he floats through life. They're a match made in hell, but Apollo finds that when Steve looks at him, gives him nothing but attention, he doesn't mind being seen after all.

Long Journey Home by some_spooky_shit_right_there (Apollo/Steve, teen rating, m/m | 9.6k words)

Summary: Homesick and lonesome and I'm feeling kind of blue Feeling kind of blue, boys, feeling kind of blue Homesick and lonesome and I'm feeling kind of blue I'm on my long journey home

there’s so many ways to say “i love you” and i wouldn’t wanna waste ‘em (on someone who, don’t feel it too) by Dear_MaedaysUnwelcomedGhost (5up/Steve, 5up/Hafu, 5up/Ellum, 5up/Kimi, teen rating, multi | 13k words, chaptered)

Summary: Love was a strange thing, 5up found. It was everywhere. And not in the way it may seem. It wasn’t in the adverts of perfect couples with artificial lighting. It wasn’t in the glittery cards made by factories or the flowers sold at grocery stores. Not in the TV shows made to bring in cash and be thrown out, with couples who don’t have anything to hold onto but brief infatuation and physical attraction. But in the friendly smiles of strangers as they pass by. In a mother cutting fruit up for their child. Running a hand through the hair of your partner, as their eyes flutter close and to sleep. Helping a stranger pick up their dropped papers, asking for nothing in return. In the graffiti on the wall by the alleyway you walk by everyday to get to work. To the goods baked by small independent bakeries. Flowers planted in parks to make it just a little nicer, or the ones growing out of pavement cracks with determination.

Also!

GuardianPuppy‘s this city needs to be destroyed or at least painted in a different color collection.

spaded_ace’s Casino in the Sky collection.

5fu’s among all this pain collection.

FAQ:

Wait what is this: pretty straight to the point! i’ll regularly share crewfu-related fanfictions to this blog :)

How regularly is “regularly”?: great question! LOL. it depends on the flow of fanfics that get uploaded, which i do not have any control over, but i’m looking forward to do this twice a month. after all, it’s only me doing this and i often run on a tight schedule.

What’s the format like?:

[title of fic with link] by [author of the fic with link] ([main pairing(s)], [fic rating: eg, general rating], [relationship: eg, m/m] | [word count in k], [added prompt to specify if it’s complete or not])

Summary: [summary provided by the author. if it doesn’t have a summary, a “No summary” prompt will be put instead]

(What does WIP mean again?): Work In Progress :)

Why are you doing this?: from the beginning, my blog has hosted conversations about RPF (real people fiction) and crewfu pairings. this has evolved into people sending me updates about certain fics in the crewfu tags every now and then, but i wanna take the next step and just do these things myself. after all, i’m already lurking in the tags often to see the fics that get posted. as someone who is both a writer and a reader, i wanna appreciate fanfic writers and help out other people that want to read fanfic and consume more fandom content!

Will it be AO3 only?: well, ao3 has a very helpful tag system that makes finding fics incredibly easy, as well as allowing people with no accounts to like and comment on fics, so that’s the site i will personally look in for fanworks. but if there are any fics you’ve written or liked in any other platforms, such as wattpad, you can always contact me through my inbox (send an ask or a dm!), and i’ll make sure to include for the next fanfic spotlight :)

Does it mean you won’t reply to fic asks anymore?: yeah, i guess. since i’ll be doing the searching myself it seems counterproductive. but if i ever skip a fic or again, it’s in another platform, or you’ve posted/read the fic a while ago and you want to get more traction on it, hit me up and i’ll take it into consideration!

Will you read every single one of the fics on your list?: oh no. again, i run on a tight schedule, and also i have my own taste when it comes to fics. i won’t be reviewing fics or any of the sort, and my intention extends to simply sharing these fics to this page so people will have easier access to them :) that’s where ao3 tagging becomes SUPER useful!!!

So what’s the criteria for the way you’ll sort out the fics in your list?: word count, going from lowest to highest. in case of fics in other platforms, i guess i’ll put them at the top of the list. i’ll also be looking for fairly recent fics, so let me know if you want any old-ish fic to be included.

I see you talking mostly about 5up/Steve and Steve/Apollo. Can I still send/see other crewfu fics?: why yes absolutely! my goal is to push every fic which heavily features regular crewfu characters - 5uptic and supdog just happen to be very popular pairings. so, to give you a list: core 4 (5up, hafu, dk, steve), apollo, aipha, annie, janet, kimi, ellum, koji… you know the drill. it doesn’t have to be centered on a relationship, or about 5up in specific, etc. my only requirement is that any of the previously mentioned members are a central part of the fic or are HEAVILY featured in it (sorry, minecraft fics with 50+ tags who only mention 5up as an afterthought won’t make the cut :/).

Isn’t shipping Bad™?: well, it’s a little more nuanced than that. i will go out of my way to discourage and shame people who often violate CCs’ boundaries by acting like so and so has a crush on this person, or that this and that are Actually Into Each Other or secretly dating. any sort of tinhat bullshit is a big nono (think larries). but i run on the assumption that people who write rpf understand that what they’re doing is simply write a completely fictional story using real life personalities, and understand the boundaries necessary to do it - aka they’re not tinhats, they understand they can’t assume everything about CCs’ thoughts and personalities, they understand that what they’re writing is strictly fiction, they keep these works only in fandom circles, etc. (but again, it’s only one me doing this, so please be kind if i don’t happen to know that this person is Actually a tinhat or whatever).

show fic: NO. (seriously. i don’t feel comfortable putting my ao3 account out there. please respect my privacy on these trying times <3)

I REALLY don’t care about your rpf/fic talk: fair! i’ll be tagging every single one of these posts as “fanfic spotlight”, so just mute the tag using tumblr settings so you’ll never have to look at these! likewise, you can follow the tag if you want to keep up with it, or search it on my blog to look at the other entries you might have missed.

Hey, my fic is here and I don’t feel comfortable with it being shared over here: no problem! let me know as soon as you can and i’ll take it down <3

[guccixstyless]

A Styles Imagine of Harry and yn on Spill your guts or fill your guts please also I LOVE YOUR WORK

Spill Or Fill Your Guts

A/N: Thank you soo much for loving my work, here’s your requested story, I hope you like it!! xx

Word Count: 1.21k words

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Masterlist

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

“Twenty minutes till you’re on, miss Y/L/N!” One of the Late Late Show intern informed you, you smiled at her nodding your head. You looked at yourself in the mirror and took a deep breathe. This still feels surreal.

You were promoting your third film, and then one fine day you got a call from Harry Styles. He asked if you’re up for being in James Cordon’s show that he was hosting. You readily agreed, since you had the biggest crush on Styles. You absolutely adored him, since his 1D days you were a dedicated fan of him.

That was a month ago, then one week before the show, Harry called you again, he asked if you would like to play Spill Or Fill Your Guts with him, you were hesitant at first then eventually agreed, I mean how hard the questions can be, right?

“Miss Y/L/N, if you’re ready then please kindly follow me, the set is ready,” the same intern came again to ask you that.

“Yes, I’m ready. Let’s do this!” You replied nervously.

You were lead towards a grey curtain, waiting for Harry to call you to make your entrance. Shortly afterwards, he announced your name and you smiled towards the audience who erupted with applauds, while waving at them you reached towards Harry and hugged him. It was the first time you saw him face to face, you were a bit late to the set so you didn’t get time to meet him before the show.

And God was he an epitome of perfection, with his hair styled in messy manner, to his jawline as sharp as the blade you were totally mesmerised, you couldn’t help but grin hugely seeing his dimple popping off.

You felt your hands get clammy, how can a person be this stunning?

“You look gorgeous love, are you ready to play Spill Or Fill Your Guts?” He asked.

“Bring it on Styles!” You replied chuckling.

“I like your confidence!” He said smiling.

He briefly explained the items that was displayed in the round table, then he opted to go first before choosing bird saliva for you.

“Give it a sniff!” He said with his cute accent.

You did and immediately regretted, scrunching up your face in disgust, this only made him laugh loudly accompanied by the audience.

“So, Y/N, your first question is,” he dramatically pulled out a question card and then smirked at you, “So this is your third film, rank your co-stars, Noah Centineo, Tom Holland and Nick Robinson from best to worst.”

You went nervous, there was no way you could rank them, they all became your good friends, but you also didn’t want to drink that disgusting thing.

You were weighing down your options then decided to just answer it, “okay, I’ll say, Tom, Nick then Noah, only because Noah always used to draw doodles on my face with markers whenever I tried to nap on set!“

"Oof, you got saved this time!”

“Now my turn, hmm I choose the bull’s penis,” you said laughing seeing him look terrified.

“So, Harry, which songs in your album are about Kendall Jenner?” You smirked.

He shaked his head hiding his face behind his hands.

He then took a fork digging into the thing, then again tried to answer, “uh- I’ll say track..ugh nevermind,” then munched on the item.

“Ooohhh,” everyone including you made a grunting noise.

“Okay,” he laughed then opted to give you the grasshoppers as your bext dare.

“Y/N, so you were a fan of 1D, is that correct?” He read the card aloud then looked at you, he looked impressed, you on the other hand knew where it was going.

“Oh God,” you mumbled bracing yourself.

“So who do you think is the least talented?” He finished his question with a chuckle.

There was no way in hell you were gonna answer that, you adored all five members so much.

“No one,” you answered.

“Sorry, too bad you have to answer one name!” He argued.

“Okay then,” you then ate the disgusting item, immediately afterwards you threw it in the bucket then gulped some water.

“You really loved 1D, huh?” He said laughing.

“I still do,” you smiled.

You chose the salmon smoothie for him, then asked the next question.

“Harry, who is your least favourite member of your current band?”

“Who makes these questions? Why are we even playing this game?” He said.

“It was your idea!” You laughed.

“God, why me,” he said drinking the smoothie.

Laughter erupted among the audience, he then asked you the final question.

“Okay, I’m giving you the beef tongue,” he stated, “so, in your opinion which movie do you think is overrated right now?”

“I-I have an answer but I don’t want to say it so,” you took a bite of the beef tongue.

“Jesus!”

You coughed and cleared you throat then chose cord sperm for Harry.

“God, how does they even arrange these stuff,” Harry said amusingly.

“Harry, who is the most annoying interviewer that you came across?” You read aloud laughing, you knew he won’t answer that.

“Why were my questions the hardest?” He pouted, then took a deep breath and took one piece of the cord sperm, he sniffed it then gagged.

“Disgusting!”

That was the end of the game, you then got a 30 minutes break to freshen up before moving onto the interview part, Harry will interview you and Mena Masoud.

Soon after the interview was over, it was time for packup, then you heard a knock at your dressing room.

“Yes?”

“Hi,” it was Harry.

You looked up at him then smiled, “What’s up?”

We were actually planning to get some drinks, just me, James, and a few more people from the crew. Would you like to join?” He asked expectedly.

“Yeah sure, why not?”

He smiled hugely, you got up and followed him. The drink arrangement was done at the main office’s rooftop.

You spent the whole night chatting with Harry, he was a funny guy.

After a few hours you were exhausted and wanted to call it a night.

“I can drive you home?” Harry offered.

“No, it’s okay, I can go by myself, I don’t want to disturb you” you smiled declining your offer.

“Nonsense, please? I insist.”

“Okay then,” you chuckled.

“Yayy, let’s leave then, shall we?”

“After you sir.”

You both bid goodbye to everyone then proceeded towards Harry’s car.

The car ride was fun as well, he played Fleetwood Mac, and you both had your own little carpool karoake, soon enough you reached your home.

He parked outside your apartment building.

“That’s my cue, thank you for the ride Harry!”

“My pleasure.”

“Goodnight then,” you said and as you were unbuckling your seat belt, he softly stopped you.

You looked at him in confusion, he then said, “um I had fun tonight, do you maybe wanna get lunch someday?” he asked shyly.

“Are you asking me out Harry?” you said teasingly.

“Uh yes?”

“I would love to go out with you,” you replied blushingly.

You both exchanged number quickly, promising you both will keep in touch.

It was an amazing night and you were excited to see how it works out with Harry.

[hopelikethemoon]

Relax (Javier x Reader) {MTMF} [smut]

Title: Relax Rating: Explicit Length: 3000 Warnings: Smut (female recieving oral, blow job, anal sex)  Notes: You can find everything about Maybe Today, Maybe Forever here. Set in the August 1993. Idea credit belongs with Tiernan, despite her anti-pimento cheese slander.  Summary: Javier has a creative way to help Reader unwind after a stressful day at work. 

@grapemama​ @seawhisperer​ @huliabitch​ @pedropascalito​ @rogrsnbarnes​ @thewallpapergoesorido​ @twomoonstwosuns​ @gooddaykate​ @livasaurasrex @ham4arrow​ @plexflexico​ @readsalot73 @hdlynn​ @lokiaddicted​ @randomness501​ @fioccodineveautunnale​  @roxypeanut​ @snivellusim​ @lukesrighthand​ @historynerd04​ @mrsparknuts​ @synystersilenceinblacknwhite​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @exrebelshocktrooper​ @awesomefandomsunited @ah-callie​ @swhiskeys​ @lady-tano​ @beskar-droids​ @space-floozy @cable-kenobi​ @cool-ultra-nerd @himbopoes​ @findhimfives​ @pedrosdoll​ @frietiemeloen​ @arrowswithwifi @random066​ @uncomicalhumour​ @heather-lynn​ @domino-oh-damn​ @cyarikaaa​ @ahopelessromanticwritersworld​ @im-still-a-pieceofgarbage @ksgeekgirl  @yabby-girl @xqueenofthecraziesx @punkass-potato​ @coredrive​​ @pascalesque​​ @theduchessofkirkcaldy​​ @queenquazar​​ @sabinemorans​​ @buckstaposition​ @holkaskrosnou​​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @fleetwoodmactshirt​​

“Today was a fucking nightmare,” You fumed, collapsing back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “I wish there was a hole punch big enough to punch a hole through his smug-ass face.”

“My jaw hurts from clenching my teeth,” Javier admitted, sitting down on the bed beside you, resting his hand on your thigh. 

“If I didn’t have Josie — I would’ve killed him.” You leaned up on your elbows. “I still could kill him.”

“Baby.”

“Only partially kidding.” You patted his hand as you sat up. “I need a fucking cigarette.” You scooted up the bed, pulling open the bedside table to grab Javier’s pack.

He’d tried to cut back after Josie was born, but it was hard to stop when you both led such fucking hellish lives. “Or maybe five.”

You fished the lighter out of the drawer as you tucked the cigarette between your lips and lit up. You inhaled deeply, relishing the burn at the back of your throat before you exhaled. 

“Lay back, baby.” Javier urged warmly, rubbing his hand down the top of your thigh. “Relax.”

“I can’t fucking relax.” You grumbled around the cigarette, pulling a spare out and throwing it on the nightstand beside the lighter 

You did as he told you though. You took another drag as you sank back against the pillows, watching the smoke as it wafted from your lips on another exhale. “The team in Atlanta was never this bad.”

“Yeah?” Javier questioned, the bed dipping as he moved to join you. He settled on his side, his head about even with where your stomach was. 

“It was the casual bullshit,” You explained to him. “While you’re up, can you get me a coffee refill, sweetcheeks?” You mimicked the voice of George — one of your co-workers back in Atlanta. “The asshole had grandchildren my age, but he was one bad day away from trying to cop a feel. I’m almost certain of it.” 

“If Chris lays one hand on you—“ Javier’s grip tightened at your thigh briefly, before his hand traveled higher, slipping beneath the hem of your sleep shorts. 

“I’ll break his hand.” You drew in another breath. “And we both know that hand is his best friend. Arrogant fucking asshole.”

“These need to come off.” Javier told you and you shivered a little as you felt his lips against the soft flesh of your leg.

“Alright.” You lifted your ass up off the bed as Javier peeled your shorts down your legs. You dragged a hand over your face as you sighed heavily, before leaning over to tap off the ash on the edge of the ashtray. “I just don’t get it.”

Javier pressed a kiss to the top of your thigh, running his fingers over your hip. “What sorta shit did you deal with in Atlanta?”

You hummed thoughtfully, “Unsurprisingly, I was the only woman in the department. Shocking, right?”

His breath tickled your skin as he chuckled softly, “Who would’ve thought?” 

“What are you doing?” You questioned softly, reaching down and winding your fingers through his hair. 

“Just keep talking baby, I know how to make you feel better.” Javier promised you, settling himself between your thighs and leaning down to press a kiss to your lower stomach just at the line of your underwear. 

You bit down on your bottom lip as you watched him hook his fingers in your underwear and slide them down your thighs, until they were discarded over the side of the bed. His hands traveled over the tops of your legs, thumbs dragging along your inner thighs. 

“You know,” You started, taking another drag from the cigarette as you settled back against the pillows. “The fact that he dared to call into question my work ethics. When I am always on the ball with my work.”

Javier nudged your thighs apart wider, tilting his head to rest his cheek against your leg as he ran his fingers along the inside of your other leg. He trailed them upwards until he reached the apex of your thighs. “You could run circles around him, baby. He’s just pissed he doesn’t have your job.”

You rolled your eyes, “I’m sure he’ll get it soon enough.” You reached over and grabbed the ashtray, sitting it on the bed beside you as you tapped your cigarette against the edge. 

“He’s never going to be my partner, baby.” I Javier assured you as he traced his fingertips over your inner folds, parting the tender lips of your cunt. “No matter what bullshit he tries.”

You exhaled shakily as Javier shifted between your thighs and swept his tongue between your folds. His hands curled around your soft thighs, palming them roughly as he worked his mouth over your sensitive flesh. 

A quiet moan escaped you as his tongue grazed over your clit, but you composed yourself. “I thought I’d be back in the field by now.” You admitted. But you knew that had been wishful thinking. “I miss it.”

He squeezed your leg three short times and you smiled. 

“I would give almost anything to go on a stakeout with you again.” You mused, taking another drag of your cigarette as you relaxed back, enjoying Javier’s efforts. He wasn’t taking you anywhere fast — brief passes over your clit, just enough to make your stomach burn and your arousal peak, but not enough to get you towards the edge. 

Javier lapped at you, tongue dragging between your folds, dipping into your center, only to press kisses to the junction where your legs met your hips. 

“I’m useless at a desk.” You sighed, “I was useless in Atlanta too. They put me in the field once, you know. A big lead came in while the team was already out chasing a ghost. I jumped on the assignment — nailed the asshole.” You inhaled another puff from the cigarette, watching the smoke swirl as Javier kept his mouth on you. “Fuck.” You breathed out as he worked his tongue into you all too briefly. “My boss got all the credit. I thought it was my day. He wasn’t even there!”

You reached down and scraped your fingers through Javier’s hair, watching as he pulled back up to catch a breath. His eyes were dark with his own arousal and his mustache glistened. “It’s in your file, though. I saw it.”

“You looked at my file?” You questioned, blowing out another exhale of smoke.

“I wanted to know who we were getting.” He shrugged as he lazily stroked two fingers over your slick flesh. “You’re not the only one who does their research.

Javier lowered himself back down, lips wrapping around your clit as he teased that little bundle of nerves once more. You squirmed beneath him, lost momentarily in the bliss that came from his mouth. 

“Did you…” You tapped off the ash again, taking another drag. “Did you like what you saw?”

“Your background on any jackass, would’ve had the talking heads eating out of your palm, baby.” He told you as he looked up at you from between your thighs. “I was impressed.”

You grinned down at him and tugged at his hair. “Past tense?” 

“Baby you constantly impress me.” He remarked before he resumed his work, sweeping his tongue through your folds, delving into you. 

Your eyes practically rolled back in your head as his tongue worked in and out of you — it was enough to make you moan again, your breath catching in your throat. But then he pulled back, hot breath dancing over slick flesh. 

“It’s so fucking unfair.” You complained, dragging in another inhale off the cigarette, letting the smoke slip from your lips. “I miss being out in the field. I miss long drives outside of the city with you.”

Javier groaned against your cunt and the reverberation went straight through you, sending a shudder of desire straight through you. He pulled back again, eyes meeting yours. “We could have so much fun on those drives.”

You laughed softly and nodded, threading your fingers through his hair. “Want a smoke?”

“Yeah.” Javier nodded and you passed the cigarette to him, watching the way his lips wrapped around it. He exhaled slowly, smoke fanning out over your stomach. “We both know you’d be a nervous wreck. Thinking someone might see us.”

You shrugged, taking the cigarette back from him. You wrapped your lips around it and tasted the faint essence of your arousal that had been left by his lips. “Touché.”

Javier had — more or less — moved into your apartment, though there was nothing official about it. He spent more nights with you than not. And you were fairly certain most of his clothes already hung in your closet and sat in your drawers. 

But he couldn’t officially vacate his apartment without drawing attention to your relationship — and you weren’t ready to own up to the lies you’d told the DEA. Not yet. 

Not when you might still be able to get back in the field. 

“You wanna come, baby?” Javier questioned, lips brushing against your inner thigh, his moustache tickling your skin. “You’re still so tense.”

You tucked an arm beneath your head, sinking back against the pillow as you took another drag and exhaled. “Yes, please.”

Javier bit lightly at your thigh, making you inhale sharply. “I could do this every day.” He told you, dragging two fingers between your folds, before sinking them into your aching center. “I fucking love this pussy.” He drawled out.

“I’m pretty fond of your mouth.” You quipped, you took one more drag off the cigarette before sitting it aside in the ashtray. You wanted to focus on what Javier was doing. 

He swept his tongue over your clit, circling the little bundle of nerves with just the tip. His fingers curled within you, always knowing just how to reach that sweet spot within you.

Javier reached up and pressed his hand against the center of your lower stomach as you arched up off the bed. The pressure made a new desire coil through you, a shaky breath escaping you. 

You moaned as he kept dragging his fingers over that sweet spot within you, coupled with the way he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked and swept his tongue over it. 

“Fuck.” You hissed out, your cunt clenching down around his fingers as the first wave of your release took hold. Your toes curled and you dug your heels into the mattress as he kept his mouth right where it was. 

It was pure bliss as your release washed through you, white heat and a blissful tingling sensation that spread through your entire core. 

Javier pulled back, breathing heavily, lips and chin covered in your slick arousal. “I wish you knew just how sexy you look after you come.” He told you. 

You laughed softly, picking up the still-smoldering cigarette and taking a drag before offering it to him. “Bet it’s just as sexy as you look between my thighs.”

Javier snorted, holding the cigarette between his lips as he climbed back up the bed and laid down beside you. “Better?”

You hummed, “Still a little stressed.” 

Javier arched a brow at you as you smoked.

“Think you still have one of those lubricated condoms in a pants pocket somewhere?”

He snuffed out the cigarette, taking it and the ashtray with him as he got off the bed. “Might have one in my wallet.”

You laughed, “Should I be concerned?”

He shot you a look, “I like to be prepared. Never know when you might want me to fuck your ass.” Javier winked at you, before he walked across the bedroom to the dresser where his wallet sat. He picked it up, opening it, and pulling out a condom packet. “Happy?”

You bit down on your bottom lip as you slid down to the foot of the bed, letting your legs hang over the side. “Almost.” You quipped.

Javier stepped in between your thighs, planting a hand on the bed beside you as he leaned down to kiss you. You tasted yourself on his mouth and his tongue and it only fueled the new bloom of need in your belly. 

You curled your fingers around the back of his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Your other hand traveled downwards, cupping his rather noticeable bulge in his jeans. He was hard as fucking rock — all because he’d eaten you out. And that made lust spike through you. 

He groaned against your lips as you started working at getting his jeans off, fingers tugging at his belt and drawing his zipper down. Javier broke from the kiss, taking a step back to kick off his jeans and then his boxers. 

“Come here.” You urged, licking your lips as he stepped closer — his cock jutting towards you. You cupped his balls as you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. 

Javier’s fingers tangled into your hair, a groan escaping him as you took nearly the full length of him into your mouth. You pulled back, giving his cock another stroke before you took the condom from him.

“Fuck, baby.” He breathed out, brushing his fingers over your cheek as he watched you roll the condom onto his cock. He ran his thumb over your bottom lip, “Roll over, baby.”

You smirked up at him, “Make me.”

He caught your jaw, dipping back down to kiss you roughly. “Now.”

This time you obeyed. You pushed your palm to his stomach to get him to back up, before you rolled over. You stretched yourself out on the bed, feet touching the ground as you laid with your ass hanging over the side of the bed. 

Javier palmed at your hips, using his knee to nudge your thighs apart. “You’re still so fucking wet, baby. Did you like coming?”

You pressed back, wiggling your ass. “What do you think?” 

Javier smacked your right ass cheek lightly, making you yelp softly. “Too much?”

“No, it’s perfect.” You told him, rocking back towards him. “Come on, Javi. Don’t tease.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the small of your back. “I love you.”

You smiled, turning your head to the side. “I love you too.” You glanced back at him, breath catching in your throat as he dipped his thumb into your cunt, gathering up your slick arousal and smearing it over your puckered hole.

“Is this what you want, baby?” He questioned, dipping his thumb into you — a slow press as your body resisted. 

“Fuck yes.” You told him, trying to relax beneath his attention. 

He used his spit to add to your arousal as he worked his thumb into you. He teased you for a moment, before he replaced his thumb with the head of his cock. 

Your fingers gripped at the sheets beneath you as his cock pressed into you. “That’s it, baby.” He urged. “Fuck, look at you.” His voice was rough with desire, his hand gripping tightly at your thigh as he used the other to guide his cock.

A throaty moan escaped you as Javier worked the full length of his cock into you, his hips pressed into the soft globes of your ass, before drawing back and repeating the action again. 

“So fucking tight, baby.” Javier panted out, rolling his hips slowly in time with the way you rocked back into him.

He tangled his fingers into your hair, pulling on it just enough to make you arch your back. His name slipped past your lips as you moved with him. 

It felt like heaven. The faint edge of being almost too much. The delicious pressure of being filled by him. You wedged your hand between you and the mattress, fingers teasing at your clit in time with his thrusts. 

“Fuck, you feel good.” You told him, clenching your body around him as he bottomed out. He pulled back, nearly pulling out of you completely before slamming back into you. “Holy shit.”

“You like that, baby? Wanna hear you.”

“Yes. Fuck yes. Javi, please.” You groaned out as he started to pick up the pace. 

He released his hold on your hair, using his newly free hand to smack your ass. Once and then twice, making your cunt clench around nothing and your ass tighten around his cock. “Goddammit, baby.” He hissed out. 

Javier slipped his hand around your hip, batting your hand away so he could work his fingers roughly over your clit. 

You came again. You couldn’t hold back — your back bowing towards him as your fingers gripped at the sheets beneath you. Every nerve ending in your body felt alive as you pulsed around him. 

Javier’s cock retreated from your body and you heard him grunt out your name. You looked behind you, watching him as he peeled off the condom and fisted his hand over his cock. 

He spilled out over your ass, his come painting over your skin, dripping down over your cunt. “Holy fuck.” Javier breathed out, giving your hip a squeeze. “Stay here.”

Javier drew in a ragged breath as he steadied himself before vanishing out the bedroom door. He returned a moment later with a damp washcloth, using it to tenderly clean up the mess he’d made of you. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna need that other cigarette.” You remarked, gingerly pulling yourself up off the edge of bed and climbing back to the center. “That took the edge off the day.”

He chuckled, “Thought it might do the trick.” 

“You make the most stressful days worth it,” You told him as he joined you on the bed, a possessive arm wrapped around your waist. 

“Yeah?” Javier kissed your shoulder. 

“Yes.” You ruffled your fingers through his hair. 

[whiskey-bumblebee]

I Want Candy

Pairing: Pale/Reader

Word Count: 1953

Year: (after Raw, before Vacation)

A/N: This one is a little bit sad but nothing awful. Extensive discussion of Pale being a father (not related to reader) consistent with character’s backstory. Mostly plot, sorry! Mentions of condom-tampering by Pale’s ex.

You’d noticed Pale buying things that were a little out of the ordinary for him. Twizzlers? Sure he’d bought them once or twice when he was stressed, but pop rocks? Skittles? Fun dip?

Then you noticed the packing tape, the little boxes he’d been buying. Most curious of all, sheets of thick cardboard. And marbles.

One night, you got up for a drink of water and found him in the kitchen, bent over the island as he measured out some cardboard.

“Pale?”

“Jesus fuck!” Pale breathed your name as he turned around and saw it was you. You leaned to the side, trying to see around him.

“Look, I didn’t wanna say anything but... What’s happening?”

Pale cleared his throat and stretched out his back, leaning side to side. Must have been leaning over for a while.

“Uh, you remember my kid, right?”

You nodded.

“With Halloween coming up, he’s not allowed any candy and I thought I’d send him some. Not fair if all his friends get to go trick or treating and he doesn’t, you know? His mom, she’s uhh... Not a very nice lady. Kid deserves a chance to get all shot up with sugar now and again. Part of growin’ up.”

You squinted, eyes adjusting to the light in the kitchen after being asleep for a while. 

“So the marbles?”

Pale nodded and gestured for you to look. “I put false bottoms in all the little boxes I send him. The post office doesn’t give a shit because it’s clearly candy right? Hell, even if it was heroin, they’d probably let it through. Anything going New York, Miami ain’t worth their trouble. So, the story is that my kid is having a marbles phase. But the good marbles are the ones that aren’t common in Miami. Gotta come from Canada, that part’s true. So I get them shipped here cos they don’t ship Toronto to Miami, only Toronto across the border. Also true.”

“Hang on, so your kid’s having a marbles phase?”

“Nah, that part’s bullshit. He’s smart, made that bit up, found a company in Toronto that makes good marbles, according to his friends, now he’s got a perfect excuse for getting a bunch of packages from me. Marbles go in and out real fast, who knew?”

You smiled and rested your head on Pale’s back. “He’s like you then, huh? Smart, resourceful. Gonna have to watch out when he gets old enough to work in the restaurant industry.”

He turned around and wrapped you in his arms. “You think I’m smart?”

“Mhm. Einstein level shit, all the logistics you do.”

Pale let you go and turned back to the packages. “Been doing it for a week or two now so he can start a decent stockpile under his bed or wherever the fuck.”

“You wanna send him a big one for Halloween?”

Pale worked for a moment, considering what you’d said. 

“I don’t know how we’d get away with it. Mom’s Catholic, she isn’t big into Halloween. Devil’s work and all that. Apparently she only likes holy spirits, not just the regular spirit schmucks. Poor guys. Reckon they get that kinda discrimination from a lotta folks.”

You chuckled tiredly, then yawned. “I gotta get back to bed. Do this during the day, alright? Ain’t gotta hide from me.”

“Baby,” Pale turned around and took your hand. “It ain’t that. Well, I didn’t wanna upset you by talking ‘bout her, but it ain’t that. Angel, I just ain’t got time during the day. By the time I get home, my eyes are shot from being up so long. Hands are shakin’ from holding a knife, or grippin’ the steering wheel. Gotta rest for a bit before I’m good to go again.”

Sadness fell over your face, you felt it. Your eyebrows drawing together, frown pulling at your chin. “Pale...” You stroked your hands over his hair, gathering the hair at his temples and pushing it back. 

He kissed your palms. “C’mon, I’ll come back to bed with ya. You can cut the things for the bottom of the boxes, you got littler hands that’ll actually fit in the fuckin’ scissors.”

**

“Pale, you know the thing you did before you met me? Before you had your current job?”

“Can’t say it out loud, dollface, but yeah.”

“Did you ever do it in Miami?”

“Yeah, real good at it too. Cops are slow over there. Fuckin’ alcoholics.”

“Are there any guys you trust enough to let them near your house?”

“Yeah. Couple of guys came over a few times, said they were friends from work. Trusted ‘em with my life.”

“Any one in particular come to mind?”

Without skipping a beat, Pale nodded. “Ethan.”

You nodded. 

“What are you getting at, huh?” Pale glanced at you for a moment, away from the road.

“Just thinkin’. What if we made that Halloween package for your son, got Ethan to deliver it early in the morning or something? Leave it somewhere he knew to look?”

Pale was quiet for a while, then slowly began to nod. “That’ll work. I can call Ethan, tell him there’s a package I wanna send to the house. He won’t ask questions. I’d do the same for him. Then call the kid and tell him where to look.”

**

It was childlike, the fun you had with Pale putting the gift together, assembling candy in all the colors of the rainbow into an altogether excessive box. You only wished you could see the look on his face when he opened it. The thought sent a twang of pain through your chest. If you wanted to see his reaction, how bad did Pale wanna see it?

“Pale?”

“Yeah?”

“When’s the last time you saw him?”

Pale drummed his fingers across the coffee table, expressing a guilt he couldn’t name out loud, allowing the feeling to bubble out of him through his hands. Maybe that’s why he liked the piano.

“When I left Miami.”

You swallowed and nodded. It wasn’t the right time to ask. 

“Terrible dad, huh?” Pale was turning inward, caving into his ribcage so he felt like he didn’t have to look at you. 

“Pale, terrible dads wouldn’t be sitting here, making a beautiful little box of candy to send all the way to Miami. A terrible dad wouldn’t be staying up all night shipping candy hidden in boxes of marbles.”

You shuffled across the carpet and rested your head on your shoulder and your hands on his thigh. 

“Thanks angel. Just a terrible husband then?”

You huffed a laugh and kissed his cheek. “Yeah. I’ll let you have that. I’m sure she’s a worse wife than you’re a bad husband. I guess good husbands don’t fuck girls from Manhattan.”

“Girl from Manhattan,” Pale corrected. “If she had any lady parts left she’d be doing the same thing, someone from Jacksonville. Fuckin’ shame they’ve all turned to dust.”

You laughed and turned your face into Pale’s shoulder. “What’s his name? What’s he like?”

Pale shook his head. “I’m not a good dad, never had the whole moment where I fell in love with him. He’s alright-looking, mostly looks like her, but he’s got my nose I think. He’s a math kid. His name’s Joseph, I call him Joe. Typical of her to call him something like Joseph. Surprised she didn’t go with a saint name.”

He lifted the box. “Jesus, this is heavy. I think we’re done. Wanna help me do the ribbon?”

You nodded and pressed on the lid, hovering your finger over the ribbon as he tied the bow.

“I love you Pale.”

He looked at you when he finished adjusting the bow. “Yeah?”

You nodded. He nodded.

“I love you too. Know I don’t say it often enough, but I do. Love you more than anyone else I’ve ever known. And, uh, it’s nice. Not doing Halloween and everything alone. It’s hard sometimes when kids come knocking and there’s a kid with a little mop ‘a hair that looks like him.”

“I wanna kiss you so bad,” You breathed. 

He smiled and ran the pad of his thumb over your chin. “The girl from Manhattan wants to kiss me huh?”

You nodded, smiling like a lovestruck fool. Smiling as a lovestruck fool.

“C’mere then.”

**

brrrrriiiiiiiiiinngggg

brrrrriiiiiiiiiinngggg

“You expecting a call, angel?” Pale mumbled into your skin. 

You nodded and yawned. “Pick it up for me?”

Pale picked up the phone.

“Pale speakin’ but you’ve reached me and my girl, how can I help ya?”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, then watched Pale, waiting for a reaction.

“Joseph?”

“C’mon Dad, you know I don’t like my big name.”

Pale looked over at you, tears in his eyes. He took your hand in his and held it tightly.

“Happy halloween bud. Figured mom wouldn’t want you to go trick or treating so I went for ya. Hope you don’t mind.”

“Do I ever! Thanks dad, you’re the best!”

“Everything looks good? Nothing you don’t like?”

“I don’t like sweet tarts but everything else looks so good.”

“That’s good, kid. You gotta go to school or something?”

“Yeah, I got about five minutes before the bus comes. The girl at your place said I should call if I had time.”

“Thanks Joe. It’s good to hear your voice. You got a phone in your room now?”

“Yeah, my friends all have them and we call when the weather’s bad and we can’t play outside.”

“I should call you more often then, huh?” 

“Mom said you’re too busy.”

Pale scowled.

“Never too busy to catch up with ya. Listen, call me whenever it suits you, right? If I ain’t home then the lady can chat with ya and let you know when to call back.”

“What’s her name? She nice?”

Pale spoke your name so reverently you felt like a goddess. 

“She’s great. She wants to meet ya sometime.”

“That mean you’re gonna come to Florida?”

“We’ll see, no promises it’ll be soon, but sometime.”

“I miss you, dad. It’s funny, I don’t even know what you look like anymore. You could have grey hair like an old man.”

Pale carded a hand through his hair and grinned. The movement sent the tears welling in his eyes streaming down his cheeks.

“Hey, have some respect for your old man, huh? My hair’s still black, eyes are still brown. Is your nose still crooked from when you broke it playing football?”

There was a pause. You could imagine Joseph tracing his nose with a finger.

“A little. There’s still a-”

A pause again.

“Sorry dad, I gotta go. Bus is here.”

“See ya, Joe. Have a good day.”

“Bye!”

The receiver clicked.

Pale pulled you close to him and pressed his face into your chest.

“You see any grey hairs?”

You kissed his hair. “None. Still sexy as ever.”

“You hear what he said? You’re the best.”

“He isn’t wrong.” You ran your fingertips over Pale’s shoulders. “You’re a good dad, Pale.”

Pale hummed. “I wish I’d had a kid with you instead.”

“You know I don’t really want kids.”

Pale huffed a laugh. “I don’t either. I like Joe, but he wasn’t meant to happen. She poked a hole in the condom we used and it ripped. She told me the truth about it when she went into labor. Said it was her duty to have kids, even if I didn’t want them.”

“I’m so sorry,” You breathed. “That’s terrible.”

He sat up and shrugged. “Just wish you’d done it instead, wish I met you first. I’d stick around if it was you.”

You nodded with a soft smile. “I’d stick around too.”

[ateezmakemeweep]

boxer!mingi 

word count: 2k

angst, fluff 

12:52 a.m.

you feel yourself about to succumb to sleep, eyes heavy and breaths even and the worry that plagues your mind every wednesday night finally withering away.

he'll be okay. 

he always comes back okay. 

he's alive.

the sound of your apartment door slamming shut echoes from the hallway, rousing you from your sleepy state. you feel a sense of relief flood through you because he's here but it does nothing to mend the knots in your stomach because a part of you knows he's probably not okay.

heavy footsteps make their way into your room, a face peaking in and surveying your figure in the dark before making their way into the bathroom. you sit up in bed and sigh, raking your hands through your knotty hair before following mingi into the bathroom.

you heart drops when you see him, already shirtless and hunched over the porcelain sink full of red water. each of his knuckles are busted and swollen, the dried blood on them making you feel queasy. he hears you come in but keeps his head down, knowing his face is really gonna make you lose it tonight.

you lean your head against the doorframe, watching him silently as he cleans off his knuckles with just water.

"you should use the peroxide under the sink," you suggest quietly, as if he hasn't been tending to cuts and bruises his whole life.

his only response is a shake of the head and you bite your lip so you don't pester him again to clean them properly. you watch as he roughly wipes the other hand, the white washcloth now stained red and you feel yourself grimace at the pain he's probably in.

he shuts the faucet, draining the pink water out of the towel before turning around to throw it in the hamper. he stares blankly at the wall for five-seconds, not ready to face you and your reaction because he knows it's gonna break him.

he finally turns and tears well up in your eyes almost immediately at the sight of his face. his left eye is nearly swollen shut, discolored and bloody with a bruise already forming on his right cheek. 

your teary gaze surveys the cut on his eyebrow and it definitely could use a stitch or two.

he looks down at you and swallows the lump in his throat at the sight of you already on the verge of crying.

"hi," he says simply, quietly, uttering his first words to you tonight.

you can only look up at him and laugh humorlessly, your gaze drifting away from him because you can't stomach how fucked up he looks right now.

he must know because he opens his mouth to speak again.

"i'm okay," he says reassuringly, resting his hand on your exposed shoulder and rubbing his thumb across your skin.

"you're not, mingi" you squeak, voice breaking as your gaze meets his again, "look at your face...look at your knuckles," you say quietly, taking his hand off your shoulder and rubbing your own thumb across it.

he hopes you don't notice when he winces at the pain of your touch over his broken skin.

"it'll heal in a few days, baby," he says softly, like he's trying to brush off his injuries as a little cut. he draws his hand back from your touch, putting it on your waist and pressing his lips against the top of your head.

"but it's so-“

he puts his finger to your lips softly, silencing your words and you have half the mind to bite it.

"how 'bout we just go to bed now? please?” he mumbles against your hair, smelling the lingering scent of your shampoo. 

you let him guide you back to the bedroom silently before you crawl in to bed, feeling the mattress dip behind you. his long arms wrap around your waist seconds later, the back of your head against his chest as he hums contently against you.

"i missed you," he says quietly, drowsiness already evident in his deep voice but his words do little to calm you. you can only keep thinking about the bruises littering his body, thinking about how someone slapped and punched and kicked them into him on a dirty, fighting ring floor.

"why do you do it?" you ask.

“y/n..."

you turn around to face him, his arms falling from your waist as you look up at him, your head resting on a pillow. 

"why do you do it, mingi?" you ask again quietly, wet eyes pleading with him to give you something, anything.

"you know why," he says shortly and it's the same answer you've gotten every other time you've asked him.

"there...there are other ways to make money," you say softly, "other ways that won't make this happen.”

your finger comes out to trail it across his bruised cheekbone, the sight threatening to make a fresh tear fall from your eye.

"we go through this every week, baby," he says, words and tone soft but his patience wearing thin.

because even with his face looking like this, he lost the fight tonight. meaning he made no money off the illegal bets.

and usually, he can deal with your questioning and attempt at persuasion because your heart's in the right place. it hurts you to see him like this just as much as it hurts him to see you sad about it.

but…

"you know that when i win, i bring in a lot of money. a lot more than if i did stupid little side jobs.”

"but my co-worker said that her boyfriend does construction jobs and-“

"please, y/n, enough," he says, cutting you off because he knows where this is going. and he doesn't wanna hear it tonight, especially after losing.

but you're not having it either. you can't keep seeing him come home like this.

"and depending on the day, he could make a lot of money. i can ask her to see if there's something you can do and-“

"i said enough!" his deep voice scolds, loud and booming and causing you to jump away from him on instinct.

he watches you cower into the wall, tears gathering in your eyes again as you look at him in disappointment and he feels anger swirling in his chest at himself.

"why the fuck can't you just drop it," he growls, "why do you wait until i get loud?”

"why can't you just hear out my ideas," you say timidly, voice threatening to break as you try to hold your shit together, "you don't even try to listen. i'm...i'm just trying to help you.”

"because this is what i'm always gonna do," he says, "this is what i have to do, y/n, you've always known this. i don't need your fucking help, i just need you to accept it.”

"but you're getting more and more hurt, mingi," you say, an almost pathetic whine in your tone as you try not to think about how much his words are hurting your feelings, "look at your face.”

"i'm well aware, i can feel it," he snaps and you feel yourself recoil from the onslaught of harsh words and snippy tones.

even with the room only lit by the light-post outside your window, you can see the anger building behind his swollen eyes. you stare back with tears in your own before dropping them after a few tense seconds. 

"okay," you finally say, timidly, before you turn around so your back is to him.

you expect him to do something or at least say something. but you only feel him get out of bed and walk down the hallway.

you lay there quietly, praying he's not walking out the front door and a part of you calms when you hear him moving around in the kitchen.

you're not surprised when you feel the tears come streaming down your face, quiet cries leaving your body. 

because every wednesday, your boyfriend's still gonna be coming home bloody and bruised. because he's not even trying to hear you out and understand how shitty it is that you have to sit here with the knowledge that other men are beating the shit out of him for money.

you silence the sobs leaving you into your pillow, feeling the tears soak through it and you just really fucking hate this. you hate crying and fighting with him and staining your pillowcase.

you're not sure how long you lay there and cry, it could've been two minutes or twenty, before mingi comes back in, padding his way over to the bed.

"y/n, stop crying," he says, his own pain now evident in his deep voice.

you hesitantly turn around and see him kneeling next to the bed, arms resting atop the sheets.

"come here," he demands quietly and you just stare at him, unable to gauge his mood right now.

"please, baby, come here," he repeats, his voice sweet and soft and desperate causing you to scoot over until you're only an arms length away. 

he pulls you closer with one hand, wiping the wetness off your cheeks as his eyes roam over your blotchy face.

he feels his heart pang at the fact it's his fault you look like that.

"i hate when you cry," he says quietly, his hand moving to stroke your hair, "i'm sorry.”

you lick at your lips, tasting the salt from your tears and you shake your head. "it's okay.”

"it's not, y/n," he says, "i...i know you're only trying to help.”

you roll onto to your stomach, crossing your arms in front of you to rest your chin as look up at him. "i just don't like seeing you hurt," you say softly, "i don't like thinking that... one night, you might not come home," you confess your fears quietly.

"baby, i'm not gonna die fighting down there," he says, the slightest hint of amusement in his voice and you scrunch your eyebrows at him in anger.

"you don't know that!" you squeak, feeling the heat from your slight embarrassment rush to your cheeks.

he smiles, his eyes looking down at you with such a soft expression. because this all means you care about him. even if you're dramatic and overbearing and a little annoying, it's because you care.

"you're cute.”

you huff in annoyance, shaking your head and rolling your eyes at him.

"fine, whatever. keep getting beat up then," you say sarcastically, the pain still in your chest looking at his battered face.

his eyebrow raises mischievously at you, "keep crying for two hours about it," he counters, his thumb softly rubbing over your red, tear-stained cheek again as if he's trying to wipe it all away.

you hide the smirk on your lips at your teasing back and forth, knowing this conversation isn't over but for tonight accepting it.

you move away and shimmy back to your spot closest to the wall.

"are you coming back up?”

a smile appears on his lips and he nods, crawling back in next to you and laying on his back, extending his arm out for you.

you lay your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat as your legs tangle into one another. he presses a kiss to the top of your head, down to your temple, then to your cheek until you're pulling your face away in a fit of giggles.

"stop," you whine tiredly and he smiles against you, watching as a big yawn interrupts your laughs and you burrow yourself further into chest.

he hums against you for a few minutes causing your body to relax and eyes to grow heavy. the smallest smile makes its way back onto his face when you go slack against him, face burrowed into his bare chest.

you feel him tighten his hold around you, his deep voice whispering, "goodnight baby" just as sleep takes you.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm

Masterlist here 

AO3 link here

Author’s Note: And we’re at the penultimate chapter! Am rly excited to hear what you guys think - so please, drop me an ask, a note, a comment, anything!!! Thank you for following this fic with me <3

He stays away from her over the next two weeks. He still picks Shino up from childcare - he’s never leaving his little girl again - but takes Osamu’s advice to duck into the kitchen the minute he hears the bell chime to mark her entrance into the shop. 

‘Is everything alright with Atsumu?’ he hears her ask Osamu after a week of radio silence from him. 

He imagines Osamu just shrugs, because his twin later gives him a look of askance that he ignores. 

‘Meet me on Sunday afternoon? Was hoping to have a quick chat and pass something over to you since my arm is out of its sling.Osamu agreed to take Shino for a couple of hours, so don’t worry about her’, he texts her. 

‘Fine’, she texts back. ��Works for me’. 

‘Hey’, he greets her as she opens the door, fighting the impulse to scruff his shoes into the ground like a nervous schoolboy on his first date. 

‘Hey yourself’, she responds without heat, slipping on her shoes. ‘Shall we?’ 

He nods, turning on his heel and she follows suit, their footfalls matching in pace, though they angle their bodies to avoid each other’s gaze in the lift. They do not exchange a single word until they reach the car park, and he leads her past all the cars to a dim corner, lit by a single flickering electric bulb.  

‘Atsumu - what’s this?’ she says, staring uncomprehendingly at the motorbike parked in front of her, the exact replica of the bike she sold when she got pregnant with Shino, albeit updated with a shining coat of new paint and the latest modifications, top of the line. 

‘Surprise?’ he tells her, unable to hide a grin when she runs a hand reverently over the seat of the bike. 

‘I can’t accept this, ‘Tsumu. It’s too much’, she demurs but he knows she’s fallen in love when she’s unable to tear her eyes away from the bike.

‘Sure ya can! I registered it under yer name, and paid for the parking fees for the year, and look! It even comes with a helmet!’, he assures her, crossing his fingers behind his back. ‘Ya can ride it whenever ya have time to yerself - I’ll make sure I or ‘Samu will take Shino-chan for a couple hours every weekend so ya can go break some speed limits on the bike!’ 

‘This isn’t a bribe, right? Or some attempt to trick me into agreeing into something I don’t want to do?’ she asks him suspiciously. 

‘No - no tricks, I swear on my life. Look - I’ve signed the divorce papers, they’re in my bag. I just wanted to give ya the bike as a partin' gift’, he says, keeping his voice deliberately light. 

She stares at him, searching his face for any sign of duplicity, but he holds her gaze until she turns away, satisfied. 

‘You never do anything by halves, do you ‘Tsumu? But thank you anyway’, she laughs breathily and his heart lurches to a start when he sees her slowly start to glow whilst fussing over the bike, exclaiming to herself as she admires the paint job and the extra compartments he’d gotten the mechanic to install. 

Watching her brings back memories of their adventures together before Shino came along. She’d pick him up for a ride to the outskirts of Osaka on their rare days off, in search for a spot to lay their picnic mat down and shoot the breeze. They’d never found that perfect picnic spot, but that just meant that there were more places to explore, more roads to traverse, more adventures for them to go on. That’d all stopped once Shino came along, and he wonders if they wouldn’t be in such a state if he’d put in more effort to carve out more time for them.   

And even before that - there was the time she’d surprised him by turning up in Kobe for one of his matches, sweeping him away from his confused teammates right after the match to celebrate over egg mayo sandwiches at 7-11. He suspects that was the day he’d fallen in love with her, half realising that she was probably the only person crazy enough to burn hours on the road on the back her rusty old bike right after an exam, just to stay up all night sitting cross-legged in a dim combini with mayo in her hair, listening to him ramble about his volleyball match. 

Wow. 'Samu's right. Even the reason he fell in love with her was fucking selfish. 

‘Hey ‘Tsumu’, he hears her say after a while and he looks up. ‘Wanna go for a ride?’ she asks brightly, twirling the keys around her finger. 

‘Huh?’ he responds, genuinely perplexed. 

‘A ride, you idiot. Don’t you want to find out how the bike feels on the road, especially since you’re the one who paid for it?’ 

‘Sure’, he says, a little lost - but then again she’s always found ways to keep him on his toes. ‘But there’s only one helmet’. 

‘I still have my old one upstairs. Give me a second so I can get it!’ she rushes off, a spring in her step he’s sorely missed seeing and despite the ache in his heart, he smiles. 

His smile vanishes the moment she kicks the bike full throttle and hurtles through weekend Osaka traffic at breakneck speed, making such sharp turns he almost falls off the bike if he weren’t already clutching her waist for dear life. ‘Oi! Look out!’ he yelps, as she weaves her way through narrow gaps between cars, seemingly deaf to the horns of outraged drivers behind her - and fuck he wants to puke but can’t because there’s no way that doesn’t end badly for him. 

‘Slow down, you fuckin' maniac’, he manages to shout when his stomach gives itself up for dead, but the wind swallows his words and she only whoops in response. The neon city lights blur into a mess of colours and he runs through his repertoire of curse words. He swears she’s evil - it’s not enough that she’s killed him once by divorcing him, her insane riding is going to make sure he’s doubly dead.

They burst onto the highway in a squeal of tires, the city skyline fading into a sea of lights, and they’re both so focused on the road ahead of them, well – she is, at least, he’s trying his level best to stay on his seat - that neither of them notice the dark clouds gathering above until the first splatter of raindrops on the road. 

The sky is threatening enough to make her swerve off the highway into a quiet neighbourhood, screeching to a halt at the nearest park with an empty shelter large enough to fit both of them. They jump off the bike, helmets dangling over their arm, and she catches hold of his hand as they splash their way through muddy puddles in a bid to escape the incoming storm. 

‘That was amazing!’ she laughs when they reach shelter, twirling on the tips of her feet, cheeks flushed pink with excitement, looking so happy and bright and alive -  like a bird spreading its wings to fly high in the sky, the way she used to be before their marriage broke her wings and shackled her to the ground. 

If only he hadn’t been blinded by the false allure of his dreams to appreciate what was right in front of him - a woman bold enough to whisk him away from the clutches of deranged fans on the back of a motorbike, fierce enough for Osamu to assign her to deal with his bullshit - and most of all, crazy enough to marry and have a child with him. And he knows she isn’t his, not anymore, but he's a greedy, selfish man, and he wants her one last time, so he throws his jacket over her shoulders as a pretext for drawing her close to him, slanting his mouth gently over hers. 

She stills for a second, and he’s about to pull away when she melts into him, tilting her chin up to grant him greater access to her lips. An unexpected heat coils in his stomach when she tangles her fingers in his hair, scraping her nails against his scalp, a thrill running down his spine as he loses himself in her familiar softness and warmth and groans.

She gasps, jerking away from him, tracing her bruised lips with her fingers, looking up at him with wide eyes.

‘Tsumu’, she begins to say, but he cuts her off, frantic with worry that he’s scared her off before he’s had the chance to say his piece. 

‘I’m sorry - I know I shouldn’t have but I just...can I just say what I meant to say to ya before this?’ he asks, banking on the fact that she hasn’t slapped him yet, and to his relief, she nods. 

‘I’ve thought about what ya said, and yer right -  I’ve taken so much from ya I don’t deserve to ask ya for anything else, not when I should be the one making it up to ya for the rest of my life,’ he says, his heart cracking beneath his ribs (so it’s true, a heart can actually break) – because he knows now she’s lost to him, has been the second he'd forsaken his vows and stormed out of her life, but he gulps a breath to calm his pulse, forcing himself to continue on. 

‘All I want is for ya to be happy and free - and if signing these papers is the price I have to pay, I’ll do it for ya’. Then he draws the brown envelope from his bag, holding it out to her with shaking hands. 

She makes no move to take it from him. 

‘Do you even love me, ‘Tsumu?’ she asks, her voice feather light, a wisp in the wind. ‘Be honest with me, you don’t have to lie’.

There’s a searing pain in his chest and he closes his eyes, losing himself to the undercurrent of regret pulsing in his mind. 

‘I do’, he manages to choke out, peeling aside the rotting layers of vanity and greed and selfishness and pride to flay his chest open to present his heart to her, in all its bleeding, broken glory. 

‘Yer everythin’ I could’ve ever asked for, and it’s killin’ me to watch you walk away - but I deserve it cos I’m a fuckin’ idiot for not realisin’ that sooner, and ya have no idea how fuckin’ sorry I am for hurting ya so badly and making you think that I don’t love ya - because I do, gods, I do, I love ya so goddamned much.’

‘Does our marriage mean that much to you?’ she stares at him, her eyes clouded with an emotion he can’t make out. 

‘Yes’, he says simply, his response both a confession and a prayer. He makes no move to touch her, fearful that any misstep might tip them both over the edge, the storm of emotions swirling within him already threatening to swallow him whole. 

‘Then ask me again, ‘Tsumu’ she whispers, her fists clenched, trembling by her side.    

He blinks at her, but his confusion morphs into elated disbelief when she takes the brown envelope from him and rips it cleanly in half. 

Oh. 

‘Ask me again, ‘Tsumu’, she repeats, the clouds in her eyes clearing into pools of light. He wonders if it mirrors the rush of warmth and love and most of all - hope, overflowing in his heart. 

‘Wanna try jumping off a cliff again?’ he asks, voice shaking, echoing the request he made of her years ago.

She steps forward into his waiting arms, her smile like golden sunlight spilling through grey rain.  

‘Only if you promise to jump with me’, she says softly against his chest. 

He catches her forgiveness desperately in his hands, and seals his promise with his lips. 

[kelyon]

Nephila Chapter 5: Everglades

The fic where the Stiltskin men are all giant spiders (and some people are into that.)

In which Emma Swan is Florida Woman

Trigger warning: Killian Jones

Read on AO3

“Parks department is gonna shoot us with their tranquilizer guns if they catch us out here, Swan.”

Emma rolled her eyes at Killian and kept steering her fishing boat through the swamp. This section of the glades was tricky to navigate. She couldn’t let his whining distract her. 

 They were in a flat-bottomed aluminum jon boat, ten feet long. It didn’t have a built-in engine. Normally Emma used a paddle to get her where she needed to go on the water. Since her plans today were taking her further out than normal, she had “borrowed” a portable Evinrude motor from her friend Penny. It would be fine though; Penny’s boat just got impounded, so she wasn’t gonna miss the motor.

“I never said you had to come, Jones.” She shielded her eyes from the bright Florida sun. Her glasses were dirty and scratched. The reflection on the water doubled the light and made it impossible to see. She shoulda brought a visor. 

“No, you just said you were going to do something dangerous and stupid.” Killian lounged against the side of the boat and used both hands to swat at bugs. “You know I can’t resist a challenge.”

“Of course not. That’s why you keep hanging around me, even though I don’t wanna bang you.”

“You mean you don’t want to bang me yet!” He gave her the grin that had worked on every other girl in the tri-county area. “I remain hopeful.”

“You remain delusional.”

Every once in a while, Emma thought about sleeping with Killian just so he would get over it and stop bothering her. He was decent company when he wasn’t horny. He was the only person in their group who would go on crazy adventures with her, and he never minded letting her crash at his place. They’d gotten each other in and out of trouble at least a hundred times since she’d moved to Florida during her freshman year of high school.

That was part of the problem with Killian. She’d known him too long. When they’d met, he’d been zitty and awkward, tagging along after his older brother Liam. Killian hadn’t gotten hot until senior year when he started growing a beard. All that shaggy dark hair brought out his bright blue eyes and covered up his acne. He wasn’t bad looking. And he was almost smart. Growing up on a houseboat made him act like he knew everything about every kind of boat, so he was never afraid to act like a drunk pirate. A lot of girls were into that. 

For herself, Emma had heard his voice crack too many times to ever think about him as a sexual option. And yet, ever since graduation, she had found herself at the top of his “to-do list.” It was putting a real strain on their friendship.

 “Oh, come on, luv! You know I’ll do anything for you. But if I’m gonna get a hand bit off by a crocodile, I’d feel better about it if I knew there was gonna be some kind of reward for my trouble.”

“Sex isn’t a reward, dumbass.” Hand on the tiller of the motor, Emma steered them around a patch of sawgrass and into a free-flowing slough where the water could carry them. “And besides, there aren’t any crocodiles in Florida. It’s all gators. I only lived here five years and even I know that!”

“Ha!” Killian pointed a triumphant finger at her. “Well, I’ve lived on these waters all my life! And I know that the American Crocodile is the only crocodile that co-exists with alligators. It’s an endangered species and it only lives here in the Everglades!”  

She narrowed her eyes. “You just heard that on the Internet.”

Killian shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” 

Emma shook her head. Whether or not Killian should believe something he read on the Internet was an argument they had at least once a week. Going over it again wasn’t worth it. 

“Point is,” she said. “We’re going to the part of the glades where there aren’t any gators or crocodiles.”

Killian made a face. “There’s no such place.”

“There sure is!”

He still didn’t believe her.  “How do you know gators aren’t there?”

“Cuz there’s too much other stuff. There’s a billion more birds and bugs and lizards in this part of the swamp than there is anywhere else.”

“In the whole Everglades?”

“Yeah. I read an article about it. On the Internet.” 

If Killian wanted to give her crap about her news source, he was going to have one hell of an argument. But he had just enough brains not to, so Emma got to explain. 

“The article had all these science people talking about the ‘explosion of biodiversity’ in this one tiny section of the Glades. It’s probably been going on for a while, but they just noticed it a couple months ago. All the animals and things that you find one of in any other part of the Glades, you’ll find ten of ‘em in this part we’re going to now.”

“With all the animals there, why aren’t there any gators snapping them up?”

“That’s what the scientists wanted to know. They said it makes sense that there’s more little things crawling around when there aren’t any big things to eat ‘em. But it doesn’t make sense that all the gators, the ‘apex predators,’ just disappeared. They think something is killing the gators but letting everything else go. They’re real worried about it too. So I figure there might be some kinda reward for finding out what’s going on.”

“A reward?” Killian sat up so fast the boat rocked. “You didn’t say anything about a reward!”

“I just did,” Emma smirked. “But we gotta keep it secret. I don’t want anybody trying to edge in on our find.”

“Wait, what are you trying to find?”

“Didn’t you hear a word I said? I’m going to find whatever’s eating the gators!” 

Killian’s jaw dropped. “Are you crazy? You think there’s something big enough to eat gators and the first thing you wanna do is go after it?”

“Mm-hmm.” 

Emma turned back to the tiller. She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and unlocked the screen. The article she’d read had a dinky little drawing of a map where all the strange activity was going on. Emma had compared it to the real map on Google and taken a screenshot of where she wanted to go. They should be close. 

Killian was still freaking out. At least he was smart enough not to move so much that it would tip the boat over. “What the fuck is wrong with you, Swan?”

“I told you I was gonna do something stupid and dangerous.”

“You know it’s probably just snakes, right? Them pythons people get as pets, then they get too big and people let ‘em loose in the swamp and they eat everything. My buddy Kaa had to do that once.”

“If it was just a bunch of snakes, the science people wouldn’t be so weirded out about it. It’s something they can’t explain.”

“For all you know it could be a giant fucking monster! Did you bring a gun or something? You know McLeach is good to hook us up.”

Emma shook her head. “This is just a fact-finding mission. I don’t need a gun, I’ve got this.” She held up a digital camera in a plastic zipper bag. “I told Hat Man the whole story and he let me use this to take pictures.”

Killian ran his hand over his face. “Of course he did. Hat Man is the only other person in all of Florida who’s as crazy as you!”

Emma threw up her hands. “There are lots of people who do dumber stuff than me or Hat Man ever tried!”

“Yeah, but none of them ever did something that’s gonna get me killed! I swear, Swan--”

“Would the two of you please shut up?” Some guy’s voice rang out over the water. “You’re bothering the monster!”

Emma cut the motor and stood up. The jon boat wobbled but steadied itself after a second. Pushing up her glasses, she scanned around the water. She couldn’t spot any other boats around all the sawgrass patches. 

“Who the hell are you?” she shouted. “And how the fuck do you know about the monster?”

The voice chuckled. “Lady, I know more about monsters than you know about your own parents.”

Emma clenched her jaw and muttered. “You don’t know shit about my parents, jackass.” 

Sitting on the bench seat closest to the front of the boat, Killian put his head in his hands. “Let’s get out of here, Swan. Whoever this asshole is, the gator-eater can go eat him.”

“The gator-eater can eat this guy, just so long as I get a picture.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted. “Where are you? Can you see anything?”

“I’ve got so many eyes, I can see everything.” The voice wasn’t shouting anymore. It sounded close. Emma hadn’t heard a motor running. Was this guy in a canoe? This far out away from the shore?

Her head spun as she looked around, but she didn’t see anything besides sawgrass and dead tree limbs and a million birds and bugs. There was an extra glare on the water around here, some kinda gold light coming off the patches of land. 

“Where are you?” she asked again.

“Over here.”

A head popped out of the nearest patch of sawgrass. This patch had the most of the weird light, so much gold it barely looked green at all. Squinting, she tried to see who she was looking at.  

At first, Emma thought it was just a normal guy with a tan. Then she thought the guy had some killer tattoos, maybe jail tats. There were dark brown circles all over his face. Then, the circles blinked at her. Then the guy smiled--and his mouth was green. No, that was not a human mouth. He had fangs. He had pincers.

“Oh, Jesus,” Emma whispered. 

She couldn’t move. This was the thing she was looking for, but she couldn’t move. The camera was right by her feet. Her phone was in her back pocket. The boat tiller was less than a foot away from her hand. But she couldn’t move.

From up on his mound of sawgrass, the guy--the thing, the monster--was still smiling. He waved at her. 

Somehow, she could wave back.

Sitting down, Killian hadn’t seen what Emma was looking at. “Do you see him?” he asked as he stood up. “I wanna get a good look at our competit--holy shit!” 

Everything happened at once. Emma could only think of things in freeze-frame. She saw one second of Killian panicking. One second of him falling over backwards into the water. One second of him toppling the whole boat on his way down. One second of Hat Man’s camera in its ziploc bag flying into the air. 

One second of the water coming closer as she fell.

The water wasn’t deep--just deep enough that she didn’t hit her head on the ground. Her glasses almost flew up off her face, but she grabbed them just in time. Spitting and sputtering, Emma managed to get to her feet in the soft mud. This time of year was the dry season, so when she stood up, the water only came up to her chest. But that didn’t mean much for the phone in her pants pocket. By the time she thought to raise it up over her head, it was already soaked. 

“Shit,” she swore. “You owe me a new phone, monster-guy!”

At least Hat Man’s camera was in a waterproof bag. But from where she was, six inches above the water’s surface, there was no way she was going to find it.

“Shit!” Emma swore again. “And if I don’t get that fucking camera back, you are gonna be in huge trouble!”

Laughter rang out over the swamp. It wasn’t Killian. It had to be the guy. That monster jackass was laughing at her!

“This isn’t fucking funny!” she shouted.

The thing kept laughing. “Yes it is. I mean, come on, lady. You gotta admit this is classic comedy.”

She could not believe this. She’d gone out on the water to find a monster, found out it was a smart-ass jerk, and then lost any way to prove it to anybody! That wasn’t funny, it was…

Okay, it was pretty funny. But she still had every right to be mad about it!

“Killian, can you believe this sh--” Emma stopped when she realized she had no idea where Killian was. She couldn’t see him or the boat. He hadn’t said anything since he had seen the monster. There were a million sounds coming from a million animals, but none of them sounded like a grown man swimming. 

Or drowning.

“Shit!” The third time Emma said that word, it was with bone-deep dread. Her mouth went dry and for a second she panicked. God, Killian could not be dead. She would get in so much trouble!

“Hey, asshole!” she shouted as she began to wade towards the gold-covered island. “You with the eyes and the sense of humor!”

“Call me Neal!” the monster shouted back. He sounded like he was trying to be friendly. 

Emma’s mouth dropped open, but then she closed it before a bug could fly in. Where did a monster get off having a name like Neal? She shook her head. It didn’t matter. What mattered was Killian.

“Okay, Neal. Sure. Listen, Neal, I need your help. I know I talked a lot of shit to you, but this is serious. Can you see my friend?”

“You mean the wannabe bad boy? Yeah, he’s getting eaten by crocodiles.”

“WHAT?” Emma shrieked. 

“Nope. That was a joke. Bad taste, I guess. Actually, he looks fine. He was able to get the boat flipped over and he is motoring off to the horizon.” 

“WHAT?” Now Emma was in a full-on bellow. Over the sound of blood pounding in her ears, she could hear the faint whine of an Evinrude outboard motor. “That son of a bitch stole my boat!”

Now that she knew Killian wasn’t dead, she was fully prepared to kill him. She staggered to the island that was covered in a haze of gold--it looked like a bunch of fancy spider webs, but that was the least of her concerns. 

“Are you around here?” she yelled. “Neal?”

The same head and arms emerged from the grassy water. Up close, the face looked even weirder. There was a circle of brown eyes, all different sizes and all dark as buttons. She couldn’t tell if there was a nose or not. And the mouth was way too wide and way too fangy, especially when it looked like it was smiling. There were… things on either side of his smile, bright, shiny green things, a part of his mouth, she guessed.  

Weirdest of all, over the monster’s human-looking chest and arms, he was wearing a Hawaiian shirt. It was green, with yellow flowers.    

“My father always told me to help a human in need. What can I do for you?” 

Right now, Emma was too angry to be confused. “Can you swim?”

Neal raised himself up a little higher out of the sawgrass and Emma saw what the rest of him looked like. 

It was one of those half-man, half-horse things she’d seen in movies. Centaurs, that’s what they were called. Only it wasn’t a horse that Neal was half of. Too many legs for that. He was light brown and gray, so he blended in with all the mud and sticks. His legs looked kinda stubby, and they all came out of one place in front of… Emma didn’t have any other word for it but spider-butt.

Sweet Jesus’ birthday. The gator-eater was a goddamned spider-man!

Neal didn’t talk for a second. Emma figured he was letting her get used to him. But that was gonna take a while and Killian the rat bastard was getting further away by the second. Emma put her hands on her hips and looked this thing in its two biggest eyes. 

“Did you hear what I said? Can you swim?”

“I’ve got so many legs, I can swim anywhere. You want me to catch up with your boat and teach that guy a lesson?”

“Hell no. I want you to take me to my boat so I can give that son of a bitch a black eye myself.”

Neal snorted--or maybe it was a snort. He sounded like he thought it was funny. “I can do that.” He smiled and lowered his spider-legs so his whole body was near the ground. “You wanna climb aboard?”

Emma wasn’t afraid to ride on the back of a spider-thing through the Everglades. She’d been riding jet-skis since she was ten. This couldn’t be that different. It’d probably be easier, since Neal would be able to do all the steering himself.  

He was already mostly in the water, so she just kind of fell on top of him, with her legs on either side of his… Was it a waist? The lower part of his human half. 

Short, prickly hairs grew all over the spider half. They came out when she moved her legs against them. Emma was glad she had decided to wear full pants today instead of shorts. 

“Okay.” She grabbed the Hawaiian shirt with both hands and tugged. “Giddy-up.”

 Neal tensed up and for a minute he didn’t say anything. Then he turned his head to talk to her. “What’s your name?”

“Emma,” she said. Oh crap, was he mad?

“Okay, Emma, listen up. I’m going to help you get your boat, because I am a helpful kind of individual. But if you ever treat me like an animal again, you will be swimming home. Understand?” 

“Oh.” Emma let go of his shirt. “Crap, I’m sorry.”

He shrugged. “No big deal. I’m sure you’re not used to people like me. Now, let’s go retrieve some stolen property!”

Neal had four legs on either side, but he only used the front three to swim. His back legs dragged through the water to balance him out like a dead man’s float. The other legs pushed past the water, all working together. It almost looked like a bird flapping its wings against the wind. Was that what a butterfly stroke looked like? Or was this just a spider stroke?

All that mattered was that Neal was fast. And he knew this area better than Killian did. They caught up to him when he was trying to push his way through an area too shallow for the jon boat.

“Hey!” Emma shouted. “Are you fucking running my boat aground?”

She was too far away to see the expression on Killian’s face. All Emma saw was him looking at the tiller, looking up at her shouting at him from the back of a swimming spider, then looking at the motor again, frantically pulling at the line to get it started.

“Stop doing that, you’re gonna flood it!” Emma shouted again. Killian stopped, and she leaned forward to talk to Neal. “You can take it easy if you want. He’s not going anywhere.”

Chuckling, Neal reduced his speed. The strokes through the water were slower now, but they felt more powerful.

Now that she knew she’d be getting her boat back, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She leaned back on her hands against the spider-butt and rested in the sun.

Neal must have noticed. “You enjoying the ride?”

Emma nodded, but then realized that he couldn’t see her. “I figured I been on these glades every way you could be except over ‘em in a helicopter. Never thought I’d get to see ‘em on the back of a spider.”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah.”

They were getting closer to Killian. His freaking out kept getting louder, probably because he could see Neal in better detail. Or maybe because he knew Emma was going to beat seven kinds of crap out of him for stealing her boat and running away without her.

“He is such a dingus,” she muttered. 

Neal chuckled again. “Listen,” he said. “If you ever wanna… find me again, I’ll try not to scare you next time.”

“Now that I know you, I don’t think you could scare me,” Emma said proudly. “But I might not be able to get out here again for a while. I’ll have to do a little hustle to get another phone. Plus, I gotta tell Hat Man I lost his camera. He might want me to pay for that too, so my weekends are probably gonna be booked.”

“Oh.” Was she crazy or did he sound disappointed? 

They were within spitting distance of Killian now. It was a weird thing, but Emma almost didn’t want to stop swimming with Neal.

“Here’s your boyfriend,” he said as he swam up to the boat.

Killian’s terror had gotten to the stage where he was huddled in the furthest corner of the boat, white faced and wide eyed. Over and over he whispered, “What the fuck?” 

Crawling off Neal’s back, Emma scrambled into her boat. Yep, Killian the pirate had run a ten-foot fishing boat into the only section of the Everglades that jutted up over the water. It was a miracle there wasn’t any damage  to the hull that would make them take on water. 

Neal was already swimming away, but Emma called out. “Don’t leave yet!”

He spun around. Was she crazy or had his eyes lit up?

“Can you do me another favor? Can you pull us away from this sandbar?”

Nodding, Neal grabbed the boat with his human hands. His hands and arms were the same weird color as his spider parts, kind of a muddy brown. The Hawaiian shirt covered his shoulders, but his chest was bare. Emma could see the muscles in his forearms. He looked… strong.

He swam out to a slough with the boat in tow. Killian looked like he was going to throw up. 

“Thanks,” Emma said when Neal let go. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t know what.

“No problem,” he answered. 

Treading water, all of Neal’s legs pumped like he was riding eight different unicycles. He bobbed up and down like a jellyfish. Emma got the feeling that he wanted to say more too.

“Jesus Christ,” Killian moaned. “Swan, can we please go home?”   

“Now you be nice to Emma, okay dingus?” Neal swam around to that side of the boat. With his human hand, he reached up and ruffled Killian’s hair. “I bet if she wasn’t such a nice person, she’d push you out of the boat and leave you here with me.”

“Jesus Christ!” Killian squealed. He crawled backwards away from Neal like a panicked rat.

Emma tried not to laugh at her friend. She needed to get him home before he started crying. She started the engine and began to motor away.

“Thanks again, Neal,” she waved. “I’ll see you around!”

He waved back. “I hope so.”  

****

Even when they got back to shore, Killian was still spooked. Emma had to talk him through every step of docking, even though they’d both done it a million times. At least they were able to sneak the Evinrude back into Penny's garage without getting caught. That was about the only thing that had gone right all day. 

 When they got back to the houseboat he lived in with his brother Liam, she plopped him down at his kitchen table. She put a cold beer in his hands and started to fry up some hot dogs for lunch. 

He just stared at the bottle. “What was that, Swan?” he asked. “What the fuck was that thing?”

Standing in front of the two-burner stove, Emma shrugged. “He says his name is Neal.”

“‘He’?” Killian repeated. His head fell into his hands. “‘He says.’ He talks? Swan, this is insane!”

“Sure is.” Secretly, Emma was glad Killian was freaking out. It meant she didn’t have to. She could be the reasonable one in the face of all this fucked up shit.

They ate lunch in silence. Emma hated the taste of beer, but there was a hard lemonade in the fridge and she helped herself. Once they were done eating, Emma threw away the bottles and the paper plates. Killian and Liam never asked her to clean up for them, but she knew that if she didn’t, the garbage would stay on the table for the better part of a month. 

“I gotta go see Hat Man,” she announced. “Better tell him now what happened to his camera.”

“I’m coming with you,” Killian said with more life than he had put into anything for the past hour. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”

Emma nodded, and they started walking. 

****

Geoffrey “Hat Man” Jefferson was the closest thing to an adult that either Emma or Killian trusted. He told them once that his family used to be rich, that a hundred years ago finding feathers for hats in the Everglades was a big business. His great-grandparents bought a lot of land and built a big fancy house on the water. Hat Man still owned the land, and he still wore fancy hats. But the big house had gotten flooded so many times no one could live there anymore. Now he lived in a trailer and spent most of his time getting high on magic mushrooms.

He was a pretty chill guy. Emma didn’t think he would get mad about the camera, but that just made her feel worse about losing it. Hat Man had done her a favor and she had fucked it up. 

Story of her life. 

When they got to the trailer, Emma and Killian found Hat Man and the usual group in the front yard by the road. It looked like they had taken the dining room table from the big house and set it up outside. All their friends were sitting in the dining room chairs, drinking from China teacups and saucers. Margot and Tilly were holding hands and singing to themselves. McLeach was drinking tea with his pinky up and his rifle slung over the back of his chair. 

The table was set with all kinds of pretty platters and bowls--though the menu seemed to be made up of whatever could be snuck out of a gas station convenience store. A red-headed kid named Oliver held out a crystal serving dish of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos to Dodger, who was using a pair of silver tongs to place them, one by one, on his plate. The lace tablecloth fluttered in the breeze and got tangled in the tall grass.

If these were Emma and Killian’s friends, maybe they weren’t actually good judges of what was or was not crazy.

Hat Man noticed them, and raised his teacup in greeting. “Salutations!” he called. “Far-flung comrades, come back to join us in the fold!”

Everyone at the table looked at them. Without anyone saying anything, they all moved around and adjusted their chairs so Emma and Killian could both have seats. Killian found refuge between McLeach and a girl named Vixie--though Vixie seemed a lot more interested in Todd. Todd was a new guy to the group, and had never lived away from his momma before getting dumped here. 

Emma sat down next to Hat Man, who handed her a three-level cookie tray loaded with Ding Dongs. 

“How mellifluous to see you on this fair day, Mademoiselle Swan! To what honor do I owe the occasion?”

Today Hat Man was wearing black tuxedo pants and a silk purple vest with no shirt underneath. The brim of his battered top hat shadowed his eyes, so Emma couldn’t see exactly how blasted out he was. It appeared to be a lot. 

 “Actually…” Nervously, Emma fiddled with her glasses until Hat Man, very gently, pulled them off her face and placed them into a glass pitcher of blue slurpee. 

“You see better when you don’t have stuff in front of your eyes,” he explained. 

“That’s true,” Tilly nodded from across the table. Unlike everyone else at the table, Tilly had drugs that she should be taking, but wasn’t.  

Emma actually saw much worse without her glasses, but that wasn’t anything worth caring about now. Even without them on, she still kept touching her face. 

“Hat Man, do you remember the digital camera you let me borrow?”

“I recall it with the utmost vividity!” he said. His mouth was full of a burrito that appeared to still be frozen.

“Well, I’m super sorry but, it’s gone.”

 He patted at his mouth with a cloth napkin. “Desiccation and decay is the way of all flesh, Emmy-wemmy. And all the goods we horde will crumble into dust or be swallowed by the somnambulatory sea.” He took off his hat and solemnly placed it over his heart. “Adieu, O photographic device of mine! May your memory be a blessing unto the next generation.” 

The only other person paying attention was Tilly. She had tears in her eyes as she nodded along with what Hat Man was saying. 

“So you’re not mad?” Emma said.

“Very mad, but not at all angry.” Jefferson took a burnt Pizza Roll off a silver platter, threw it into the air and caught it in his mouth. “What happened to it, anyway?”

“I…” she didn’t know how to start. “I wanna say you’re not gonna believe this, but I think you’re the only person who will.”

In hushed tones, she told him the whole story. The news article, the missing alligators, the island of gold thread--Neal. Hat Man listened politely, nodded and asked questions, but in the end he shook his head and said that the whole thing was poppycock.

“What?” Emma said. “But I saw the whole thing! And Killian was there, you can ask him!”

“Don’t be farcical,” Hat Man took a sip of… well, it was in a teacup, but it probably wasn’t tea. “How on earth could such a creature get here from Australia?”

Emma frowned. “I didn’t say anything about Australia.”

“Indubitably,” he said. Emma had no idea what he meant by that. “But Australia is the only place where I’ve ever witnessed such a creature before.” 

[wheregayeldhidsthewips]

Descendants of Madness

Disclaimer: Nobody belongs to me. Which really sucks.

 Spoilers: TS - S2 (try to contain your shock); S&H – Bloodbath, Sweet Revenge

 Rating: PG-13

 Warnings: Don’t run with scissors.

  Descendants of Madness

By Gayle Smith

  May 30, 1998

Vacaville, CA

 “Si-mon.”

 “Si-mon.”

 “Si-mon.”

 “Si-mon.”

 Chanting filled the air as a shadowy figure stepped out of the prison transport and raised his shackled hands before him in triumph. “I dreamed this day and it has come to pass. I dreamed that my children would come for me, so that I might walk, unfettered once more, through the unclean cities of the fallen ones and gather the chosen before me.”

 His hand drifted down to touch the head of the supplicant kneeling before him, blank eyes reaching up to meet his. “I dreamed you’d come.”

 The young man, his guard’s uniform covered in the blood of a man he’d once called friend, dropped down to press a kiss to manacled foot in front of him. “Si-mon. Si-mon. Si-mon. Si-mon.”

* * *

 The harsh jangle of the phone disturbed the peaceful silence of the room, bringing a weary sigh from the lone occupant of the bed and seconds later a hand fumbled across the night stand until its fumbling fingers closed around the handset before disappearing beneath the blankets again.

 “‘lo?” A sleep-tinged voice answered, “‘s’it? Yeah. What?” The curly-haired figured shot up in bed, throwing back the covers and reaching for the crumbled pair of jeans on the floor. “How the hell did that happen? Damn it. When? Has anyone told Hutch? No, I’ll call him, then I’ll meet you down at the precinct. And I wanna see everything you’ve got on this. Everything.”

 * * *

 June 3, 1989

Boston, MA

 Laughter followed Debbie Foster as she crossed her office and called out to her companion. “Just give me five minutes to print that file and I’ll meet you in the board room.”

 Stepping across the room, she leaned over her computer and quickly brought up the document in question, sending it to the printer. Eyes still on the printer, she reached over idly to pick up the ringing phone and bring it to her ear, “Hello?”

 “Darkness falls, Simon calls.” A sibilant voice whispered in her ear.

 Papers drifted to the floor, falling from fingers gone slack. Every trace of emotion was wiped from her face.

 “Si-mon.”

 “The time of ascension draws near. Are you ready my child?”

 “Yes, father.”

 * * *

 June 10, 1998

Somewhere in California

 “Pick up the phone. Please, Gail, pick up the phone.” She clung desperately to the phone, her gaze moving nervously between it and the door. “Please, please.” A sigh of relief escaped her lips as the connection was made, “Gail, thank God I...”

 ... awfully busy, but if you leave a number, I’ll be sure to get back to you as soon as I return.” A light, breezy voice informed her.

 “Gail, oh please, you have to get this message. It’s very important. Simon is free. He’s coming for the children, you have to warn...”

 “I dreamed you’d betray me.”

 The soft voice froze the blood in her veins and she turned toward it in mute denial, shaking her head as she stumbled backward.

 “Yes, my child, I dreamed of this.” Simon Marcus reached out to touch her face, cupping it lovingly between his palms. “All of this. And then, I dreamed your death.”

 “No! Please, Simon, please, no.” She fell to her knees in front of him. “Please, I wasn’t betraying you. I swear. I was just trying to find him for you. I swear.”

 “There is no need for untruths between us.” He bent down before her, brushing her hair away from her face. “Simon knows the truth. He dreamed it.” With one swift motion, Simon snapped her neck, watching serenely as she fell bonelessly to the floor. “I dreamed your death.”

 * * *

 June 13, 1989

Cascade, WA

 “Get a move on, Chief.” Detective James Ellison bellowed at his partner as he checked his watch again. “Sandburg, what the hell’s taking so long?”

 “I’m coming, I’m coming.” Blair mumbled around the leather tie in his mouth as he smoothed his hair back into a ponytail, “Geez, Jim, what’s the hurry? Simon’s not expecting us to be at the station for another hour.”

 “I know, but I want to try and get some of the paperwork cleared off my desk before those bozos from the Federal Task force arrive.” Jim motioned toward the open door. “Which I’m not going to do if you don’t get the lead out.”

 “Get the lead out of what?” A cheery voice and the scent of sage brushed past Jim as Naomi Sandburg swept through the open doorway. “Blair, darling.” She enfolded her son in an embrace.

 “Mom? What are you doing here?” Blair’s arms tightened around her as he returned the hug. “When did you get here?”

 “I came straight from the airport, sweetie.” Naomi held Blair at arms length and ran a mother’s eye over him. “You look tired, are you getting enough rest?”

“I’m fine, Naomi.” Blair smiled indulgently at her, “And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

 “Oh, that’s quite simple, I’ve come to kidnap you,” Naomi responded brightly.

 “Kidnap?” Blair backed away warily. “Mom, what are you up to?”

 “Just trying to spend some quality time with my favorite son.” Naomi linked her arm though Blair’s and led him to the couch. “I thought it might be nice if we spent a little time together. I know the semester is over and I’m sure that Jim can spare you for a few days. Isn’t that right, Jim?” Naomi turned and fixed her bewitching gaze on Jim. “What do you say?”

 “I... ah...” Jim looked between the two figures on the couch, from Naomi’s steady gaze to Blair’s beseeching one. Noticing the slight shake of his partner’s head, a grin crept across his features. “You know, Naomi, I think that sounds like a wonderful idea. Our little Blair’s been burning the candle at both ends trying to get through finals and help me out at the station. I think some time away to relax is just what the doctor ordered.”

 “But, Jim, man, don’t you need me down at the station?” Blair’s voice held a barely checked note of desperation. “What about that meeting with the Feds? Simon was expecting both of us for that.”

 “I’m sure Simon will understand, Chief,” Jim replied with a good-natured grin. “He knows how much extra time you’ve been putting in. Go on, go with your mom. Commune with nature, eat granola, meditate. I’ll be sure to save you all of the really exciting paperwork.”

 “Gee, thanks, man.” Blair frowned across the space at his roommate. “No, really, man, I mean that. Sincerely.”

 “Oh, come on, honey, is it really going to be so bad spending a few days alone with your mother?” Naomi reached out a hand to brush a stray lock of hair from his face.

 “No, mom, of course not.” Blair reached up to capture her hand and held it. “All right, I surrender. What should I pack?”

 “A little of everything,” Naomi replied mysteriously.

 Stopped in the doorway to take a final jab at his friend, Jim thought he saw something akin to relief cross Naomi’s face at Blair’s capitulation. He opened his mouth for a moment, intending to ask her if something was wrong just as she turned to him with a graceful smile and quietly waved him out the door.

 * * *

 “Ellison!”

 Jim winced as hot coffee splashed across his hand and turned to face his commanding officer. “Yes, sir?”

 “Where’s Sandburg?” Simon’s gaze traveled anxiously over Jim’s shoulder to the space usually occupied by his partner.

 “Probably still back at the loft, why?” Jim’s focus shifted to the two men waiting in Simon’s office. Both in their mid-50’s, neither had the look Jim had come to typically expect of Feds. The slight arrogance that seemed to surround most of their brethren was missing and both wore an air of weariness that Jim associated with cops who had spent too many years on the streets.

 “What do you mean ‘back at the loft’?” Simon snapped. “I told you both to be in my office at 8:00 to meet with the representatives from the task force.”

 “I know, sir, but Naomi turned up just as we were leaving.” Jim’s attention shifted back to Simon, a faint alarm going off in the back of his head over his captain’s reaction. Simon had said nothing to indicate that Blair’s presence was required at the meeting. “She wants spend a few days with Sandburg and with the way the kid’s been running himself ragged between school and working at the station, I figured he could use the down time. Why? Simon, what’s going on?”

  “Jim, you’d better come in here.” Simon motioned for Jim to join him in his office, closing his door on the curious glances of their co-workers.

 * * *

 “Blair, sweetie, you don’t have to pack everything you own,” Naomi chastised lovingly from the doorway of his room.

 “I’m not packing everything, I’m just... You know, this would be a lot easier if you told me where we were going.”

 “And ruin the surprise?” Naomi’s bright laughter filled the room. “Where’s that sense of adventure I always loved about you, my darling?”

 “Probably somewhere in this bag.” Blair gestured to the large duffel covering half his futon. “But if you tell me what the emergency is and why you’re in such a hurry to get me out of here, maybe I’ll be able to drag it out.” Shoving the duffel aside and plopping down on the bed, Blair reached a hand out to his mother and pulled her closer. “Naomi, what’s wrong? What are you running from?”

 “Nothing, sweetie, nothing at all.” Naomi drew him into her arms. “I’ve got everything I could ever need right here.”

 “Mom, please, I can tell you’re upset about something.” Blair rubbed soothing circles across his mother’s back as she clung to him. “What is it? Please, tell me. You’re not...” Naomi saw the sudden fear shining in Blair’s eyes. “Are you sick?”

 “No. No, Blair, love, I’m not sick. It’s nothing, nothing important.” Naomi stood and brushed away the tears that had suddenly sprung to her eyes. “Let’s just take what you have and go, Blair. We can get whatever we need when we get there. Please.”

 “Okay, mom,” Blair hefted the bag over his shoulder, “but when we get there I expect you tell me what’s going on. Everything.”

 “Anything you want, Blair, just hurry.” Naomi started for the door, her eyes widening fearfully as the phone began to ring. “NO! Blair, leave it.”

 “Mom, it could be Jim.” Blair dropped the bag and reached for the phone.

 “Sweetie, no!” Naomi’s hand closed over Blair’s. “Jim knows we’re leaving, and I know you, if that’s one of your friends from the University we could be here all day. Just let the machine get it. Please. For me.”

 “All right,” Blair shouldered the bag again and followed Naomi out the door. “But you’re going to tell me what’s going on, mom.”

 “Of course, sweetie. Of course.”

 * * *

 Jim paid little attention to the phone ringing in his ear, instead fixing his attention on the files scattered across Simon's desk and the worried frowns surrounding him. The topmost folder was open, revealing bloody crime scene photos of a man in prison guard's uniform with half his face blown away and the inside of a prison transport drenched in blood.

 Fixated on the dark red patterns and the tension radiating off the other men in the room, Jim nearly jumped out of his skin as his own voice greeted him from inside the phone. 'Shit. Answering machine.' Jim silently berated himself and took a deep breath, trying to push aside his feeling of impending doom. "Sandburg, are you there? Chief, if you're there pick up the phone. Okay, listen, I want you to call me as soon as you get this. If you come back to the loft don't leave before you call me, got that?"

 Hanging up the phone, he looked up to find three pairs of eyes watching him. "He must've left with Naomi already."

 "Who's Naomi?" One of the Feds, the angry looking blond one Simon had called Hutchinson, barked at Jim.

 "His mother. What the hell is it to you?" Jim returned the man's icy glare. "And what do you want with my partner?"

 "Hutch, calm down." The second man, his short, dark curls just beginning to turn gray, reached out and placed a calming hand on his partner's arm before fixing his gazing on Jim. "Do you have any idea where they went?"

 "No. Naomi just that said she wanted Blair to come away with her for a few days." Anxiety crept through Jim's gut again. There was something seriously wrong with this situation. Why the hell were these people so damn anxious to find his partner?

 "Simon, what the hell's going on here? Who are they?" Jim jabbed an angry finger in the direction of the visiting Feds. "And what the hell do they want with Sandburg? Is Blair in some kind of trouble?"

 "Jim, I think you'd better have a seat." Simon motioned to the table behind them and started gathering the files off his desk.

 "I don't want to have a seat, Sir." Jim replied coldly, his jaw tensing. "I want to know what the hell is going on."

 "Jim, please..."

 "Captain Banks," the dark-haired one cleared his throat uncomfortably, "I think you'd better get an APB out on Sandburg."

 "You think I don't know that?" Simon snapped at the man before taking a deep breath and continuing. "Captain Starsky, please, just take the files and wait with your partner at the table. Give me a minute to make that call and have a word with my detective."

 "We're wasting time here." Hutch hissed toward his partner. "I told you that we should've just headed straight to the apartment and picked up the kid."

 "Hutch, drop it." Starsky curled a hand around Hutch’s forearm and directed him to the table. “These people know what they’re doing, let’s give them a chance to do it.”

 “All right, I just...” a weary sigh escaped him and Hutch closed his eyes.

 “I know, babe, I know.” Starsky turned back and scooped the files off of Simon’s desk, meeting Jim’s hard stare. “While your captain’s taking care of that, there’s somethin’ I think you should see.”

 Jim studied the man closely, once again gaining the impression that he and his partner were something more or less than the harried Federal agents he’d been expecting. “Unless it’s going to tell me why you’re so interested in my partner, I don’t care.”

“It is. Please.” He gestured toward the table. “All I’m askin’ for is five minutes, detective. Just listen to what we’ve gotta tell you and then decide from there.”

 Jim sat stiffly across from them, suddenly not sure if he wanted to know what those bloody pictures had to do with his friend. As he watched, Starsky reached to pull the second file from the pile and flipped it open in front of him. Inside, a man of approximately 30 stared up at Jim, his guard’s uniform neatly pressed, his warm brown eyes holding a glint of humor.

 “Joseph Spinelli, a prison guard for the last 8 years. He and his partner and another guard were transferring a felon from Folsom prison to San Quentin thirteen days ago.” Jim tried to place the note in Starsky’s voice as he recited this information. Sadness? Regret? “Their prison transport was found abandoned at the side of the road, their prisoner gone and both Spinelli’s partner and the other guard murdered. No sign of Spinelli.”

 “What do a dirty guard and a prison break in California have to do with my...”

 “Debbie Foster,” Hutchinson intoned as he tossed the next folder down in front of Jim, “twenty-eight year-old investment banker in New  York. Walked into her office ten days ago to get a file and hasn’t been seen since.” He sorted through the files, “Jennifer Santo, disappeared from her home, leaving her five month old daughter behind, that same day. George Murphy, disappeared off a construction site. Tyler Parker. David Rhodes. Kathy Wilder.” His voice rising as he slapped each file down, until a hand land softly on top of his, stilling it.

 “What the hell have any of these people have to do with Sandburg?” Jim snapped, what little patience he had wearing thin. “Damn it, Simon, what’s going on?”

 “Twenty-two years ago,” Starsky leaned back in his chair, his voice so low that Jim had nudge his hearing up to catch it. “Hutch and I were part of the investigation that brought down Simon Marcus...”

 “Simon Marcus? The cult leader?” Jim found himself straining forward, vague memories of news stories flashing through his memory.

 The knot in Starsky’s stomach tightened as he remembered the horrors they’d found. “We were the arresting officers...” his voice faltered and he exchanged a glance with his friend that bespoke shared pain. “God, I can’t even begin to tell you what we found there. After all this time, everything we’ve seen as cops, none of it, not one other unholy terror compares to what they were doing. We managed to arrest Marcus and most of the cult’s hierarchy, or so we thought. It took eight months to bring Marcus to trial and convict him of the nine murders we could pin on him.”

 A sudden spike in Hutchinson’s pulse drew Jim’s attention. The man was reaching for a glass of water with a hand that trembled so slightly that even with his senses Jim could almost believe it was his imagination.

 “Hutch?” Somehow, Starsky had picked up on his partner’s discomfort as well, reaching out to gently touch Hutch’s back. The move was so intimate and familiar that for a moment Jim found himself leaning into the comforting hand that was always there when he needed it, turning to catch the smile that always offered support and encouragement, only to find it missing. A chill worked its way down his spine as he turned back to the two men.

 “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” The blond man waved off his friend’s concern and turned to Jim. “At the sentencing hearing, they got into the court house somehow and...” there it was again, that telltale spike in his pulse, a slight increase in respiration, “they kidnapped Starsky. Right from under our noses, right from under my nose.”

 “Hutch.” This time the warm voice held a note that was at once both supportive and concerned. “Don’t.”

 “Yeah, I know,” in a tone that clearly said he didn’t agree, “it wasn’t my fault.” Brushing a hand across his face, he looked up at Jim and continued, “When we found Starsky, the remaining cult leaders were holding him at an old, closed down city zoo. But that wasn’t all we found. God, if we’d had any idea...” his voice cracked, “they were holding children there. Thirteen children. Jesus Christ, you’d think that someone, some parent, grandparent, teacher, someone would’ve reported at least one of those children missing. The things they did to those children...”

 Starsky reached to pull Joseph Spinelli’s folder out and dropped it on top again. When he finished flipping through the first few pages, Jim found himself looking down at a picture a thin, young boy. Hunched in the corner of what appeared to be a cave, he was covered in filth, welts and bruises showing through the torn clothes he wore.

 “Damn,” Jim swore softly, his heart breaking for the scared little boy in the pictures, “Spinelli was one of the kids?” The implication suddenly hitting him as he looked sharply at the two shrewd pairs of eyes studying him. “All of them?”

 “Yes.” Hutchinson turned the pages in the next file. “It took over a week for anyone to make the connection between the disappearances and Marcus’ escape.”

 Feeling the cold dread that had started in the pit of his stomach spreading outward, Jim looked to Simon for support, afraid to ask the next question, not wanting to hear the answer he already knew. The brief flash of pain in Simon’s eyes before he turned away only confirmed Jim’s fear. Taking a deep breath, he asked. “Blair?”

 No words were spoken as another file was pushed in front of him. Worn, the edges tattered with age and use, the precise letters, written in neat block, everything about the file seemed to mock Jim, daring him to open it. In that moment, he found he couldn’t. Couldn’t open it. Couldn’t look at the words, the pictures. Couldn’t know that once, somewhere, someone had hurt Blair and that he’d been unable to stop it, hadn’t even known about it.

 But he had to look, didn’t he? Had to know if he was going to help, going to stop this from happening again. And so, slowly, so slowly that no one could tell it contained the same slight tremble that Hutchinson’s had just moments before, Jim’s hand reached out and touched the file. He ran his finger across the faded letters: Sandburg, Blair, as though it that could somehow change them. Then, with an almost too casual flick of his wrist, he opened it.

 Jim slammed his eyes shut at the sight that greeted him, as if those thin tissues of flesh could block out the image that was now seared into his brain. The sight of that achingly tiny boy, curled into a corner, his small body covered in bruises, painfully thin ribs straining against flesh that seemed stretched to the breaking point. And then there were the eyes, eyes that Jim recognized despite the intervening years and the changes they’d brought, eyes that should be full of joy and wonder, but only held fear.

 “Simon, I...” Jim closed his eyes against a flood of emotion, anger and fear warring with pain and regret. “I can’t look at this.”

 “Jim, I’m sorry.” The compassion in Simon’s eyes almost undid him. “I should’ve warned you. But...” he shook his head and turned away, whispering softly. “But how do you prepare someone for that.”

 A hand gripped his arm, squeezing briefly before pulling away. “Me too. I should’ve taken the pictures out. You didn’t need to see that, no one does.” Starsky shuffled through the file, removing a handful of photographs before handing it back to Jim. “Just the reports, if you think...” He left the thought unfinished, shrugging apologetically.

 Trying hard to check his emotions, Jim opened the file again, running a professional eye over the reports, ignoring the pang in his heart at what each methodically catalogued injury had meant to the little boy who was now his best friend. Closing it again, Jim pushed aside the nagging voice in the back of his head proclaimed there was something missing and focused his attention on Starsky and Hutchinson.

 “Why?”

 The question, spoken coldly, startled the two visitors and they exchanged a quick glance before Hutch asked. “Why what?”

 “Why help him? After everything Marcus and his followers did to these kids, why would Spinelli help him escape?” Catching the silent, almost imperceptible signals that flew between them, Jim knew there was still more they hadn’t told him. “And why kidnap the other children? What could they possibly want from them after all this time”

 Hutchinson’s pulse spike again and Jim turned a laser fine glare on him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

 “They weren’t kidnapped, at least not that we can prove.” Hutch slumped back in his chair, rubbing his face. “At least one we know wasn’t. Kristine Anderson was in protective custody in Portland, three days ago she answered the phone and then hit the officer guarding her over the head with a lamp and disappeared.”

 “So, she was in on it, went voluntarily?”

 “No, she was... From every report, the girl was terrified when the Portland PD picked her up and told her what was going on. She didn’t remember a lot of what happened, but enough to be scared. She went into protective custody willingly, gladly.” Hutch shifted uncomfortably, making eye contact once more. “Until she got that phone call, a phone call that shouldn’t have gotten through to her at the safe house, she was fine. Afterward... the officer said that she just went blank, like there was no one there.”

 “What the hell does that mean?” Jim’s heart raced at the implications. “Are you saying that they got to her? With just a phone call?”

 “We’re not sure what happened, but...” Starsky heaved a sigh, once again breaking eye contact. “Given the sudden circumstances behind each disappearance, the out-of-character nature of them... We know that the cult was usin’ brainwashing techniques back in the 70s and the docs figure that maybe the kids are reacting to some kind of post-hypnotic suggestion that was planted in ‘em before they were rescued. Now all they gotta do is call the kids and activate it.”

 “Naomi.” Jim suddenly sat upright in his chair. “I knew something was wrong with her. She was too desperate to get Blair out there this morning. She has to know that something’s wrong.”

 “You think she’s trying to protect Sandburg?” Simon asked dubiously.

 “If she is, it’s about time.” Jim’s eyes narrowed angrily as they drifted over the folder bearing Blair’s name. “How the hell could she let this happen, Simon? I know she wasn’t the most attentive mother, but for Christ’s sake, how the hell could she let something like this happen to her own child?”

 “I don’t know, Jim.” Pain shone in Simon’s eyes as he thought of his own son. “I can’t even begin to imagine.”

 “Wait a second.” Hutch snapped his fingers and reached across the table for the file. “Who did you say this Naomi person was?”

 “Blair’s mother.” Jim replied, scorn coloring his tone.

 “Not according to this.” Hutch flipped quickly through the pages, pointing insistently at the relevant line.

 “What are you talking about?” Jim snatched the file back, quickly scanning the page.

 Name: Blair Alonso Sandburg

DOB: 12/27/69      Age: 7

Father: Unknown

Mother: Deceased

 * * *

 “Blair, honey, you’re not eating.” Naomi reproved gently, cupping a hand over her son’s. “What’s wrong?”

 “Besides the fact that you won’t tell me what’s going on?” Blair turned his hand over to grasp hers. “Mom, I know there’s something more going on here than just your wanting to spend time with me. What is it?”

 “Yes, sweetie, you’re right, there is.” Extracting her hand, she reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear before patting his cheek. “But I’ve already promised to tell you all about it once we get to the cabin. I’m talking about whatever else is bothering you. Blair, sweetie, I can tell just by looking at you that something is wrong. You’re too pale, too thin. What’s wrong?”

 Blair looked at his mother for a long moment, as if weighing his choices, before shrugging and pulling away. “There was an accident, a few weeks ago. I guess I’m still recovering.”

 “Accident?” Naomi’s breath caught in her throat as she looked at her son’s pallid features. “What kind of accident? Does this have something to do with your work with Jim?”

 “Yes, no... Not exactly. It’s a long story, Mom. And I don’t think I’m really ready to talk about it yet.” He shifted uncomfortably and recaptured her hand. “The short version is Jim and I kind of had a falling out and we both said and did somethings we shouldn’t have and we’re still trying to put the friendship back together.”

 “Oh, sweetie, I know how much Jim means to you,” Naomi squeezed the hand holding hers and sighed. “My timing couldn’t have been worse, could it?”

 “Actually, Mom,” Blair laughed gently. “It could’ve been a lot worse considering. Besides, maybe some time apart will do us good. It seems like lately we’re either trying too hard to act normal or sniping at each other.” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable with the turn their conversation had taken, and pushed his plate away. “What do you say we get this circus on the road again?”

 “You’re right,” she sighed, gathering her belongs. “We still have a long drive in front of us. I’m just going to freshen up.”

 “Okay, I’ll meet you at the car.” Blair dropped some money on the table and started to slip his wallet in his back pocket before catching sight of a payphone across the restaurant. Pulling out his calling card, he walked over and quickly dialed.

 * * *

 “Major Crime.”

 “Hey, Henri, is Jim around?”

 “Hairboy, is that you?” Henri swiveled around in his chair, grinning gleefully at the sight of Jim shut away in Captain Banks’ office with the two federal task force agents. “Man, Simon was not happy to find out you’d skipped on this morning’s meeting.”

 “Damn. I was afraid that would happen. How loud was he?”

 “Loud,” Henri confirmed. “Just about took Ellison’s head off.”

 “Maybe I should head back...”

 “Where are you?”

 “A restaurant outside of Yelm.”

 “What’re you doing all the way out there?” Henri asked, rifling around in his top desk drawer.

 “That’s a good question.”

 “What?”

 “Going... somewhere with my mom. She showed up on our doorstep this morning to whisk me away for a long weekend of family bonding.”

 Henri burst into laughter. “I’ve seen your mother, Hairboy, I’d take a weekend in the mountains with her over a meeting between Jim and the Feds any day.”

 “Henri, man, she’s my mom. Cut that out. Listen, can you tell Jim I called? I’ll let him know where we’re headed as soon as I know.”

 “You got it Sandburg, later man.”

 * * *

 Jim stepped out of Simon’s office, pale and grim, making his way, woodenly, over to his desk and sat down heavily.

 God damn, he needed a drink. Jim couldn’t remember the last time he’d needed a drink to numb the horrors his job brought to him everyday, probably the night Lila died, but he’d just about sell his soul for one right now. For anything to help dim the memory of that thin, battered little boy and eyes that should only know joy filled with terror.

 “Jim? Man, are you all right?” Henri stood next to his desk, brow furled in concern. “I called you a couple times.”

 “Sorry, H. Yeah, I’m fine, just...” He waved a hand in the direction of Simon’s office. “This case is...” He trailed off, staring back through the blinds at Starsky and Hutchinson sorting through the files.

 “Ugly, huh?” When Jim nodded, Henri just shook his head. “Sorry, man. Listen, I just wanted to pass on a message from Sandburg. He wanted you to know—”

 “Sandburg?” Jim’s head whipped around audibly and he glared up at Brown. “When did you talk to Sandburg?”

 “About twenty minutes ago,” Henri replied, puzzled by the sudden change in Ellison’s attitude. “You were in with Captain Banks and the Feds.”

 “And you didn’t call me?” Jim snapped, rising angrily to his feet.

 “I told you, you were in with Simon and—”

 “I don’t give a damn who the hell I was in with, you should’ve called me.” Jim’s voice rose with every word.

 “Ellison.” Simon stood in the doorway of his office, glaring at his detective. “What’s the problem?”

 “Brown talked to Sandburg,” Jim ground out, pointing an accusatory finger at the other detective.

 “You what? When?” Simon demanded, the two Feds crowding in behind him.

 “I talked to Hairboy on the phone. What’s going on, Captain?” Henri asked, concerned. “Why the big deal about my talking to Sandburg?”

 “Did he say where he was?” Starsky pushed in between Jim and Simon.

 “Yeah, he said he was in a restaurant outside of Yelm.” Henri answered. “Simon, is Sandburg in some kind of trouble?”

 “We think he might be. Did he give you any idea where he was headed?”

 “No.” Henri shook his head in disgust. “He only said to let Jim know he called and that he’d try and call back when he knew where they were going. Jim, man, I’m sorry. If I’d had any idea that Sandburg was in some kind of trouble, I’d’ve got you right away.”

 “I know. I shouldn’t have come down on you like that,” Jim admitted apologetically. “I’m just worried.”

 “Yeah, I hear you, man.”

 “Okay, listen up people, I don’t want to have to repeat myself.” Simon stood in the middle of the bullpen, making sure he had everyone’s attention before continuing. “If anyone here takes a call from Sandburg, you find Detective Ellison or myself right away. Do not let him off the line. Is everyone clear on that?” A round of affirmations followed.

 “Captain Banks, this Yelm, where is it?” Hutch asked, following his partner and Jim back into the captain’s office.

 “It’s a small town about thirty, thirty-five miles South of here.” Simon pulled a map out of his filing cabinet and spread it out on the conference table. “Here.” He pointed to the spot on the map.

 “Is there anywhere around there that you think they could be going?” Starsky traced the line of freeways leading to the small dot on the map.

 “Nothing I can remember Sandburg bringing up,” Jim replied thoughtfully. “And from there they could be headed to any number of out of the way places. Up into the mountains to one of the National Parks or Forests, back over to I-5 and down into Oregon. Damn it, I should’ve stuck around and found out where Naomi was taking him.”

 “She probably wouldn’t have told you the truth anyway,” Hutch pointed out, turning to his partner. “What now?”

 “That’s up to Captain Banks.” Starsky watched him expectantly. “We’d like to stick around here, with your permission. Sandburg’s the last kid on the list, and the hardest to track down. I think if we’re going to have any hope of findin’ the others or Marcus it’s gonna be through him.”

 “We’d appreciate any support you’d be willing to lend us.” Simon replied, glancing significantly at his detective. “Have you checked into your hotel yet?”

 “No, we were kind of hoping we wouldn’t be staying that long,” Hutch sighed, rubbing long fingers across his forehead. “We should probably check in with the task force, too, let Franks know what’s going down.”

 “Ellison, forward your calls to your cell and tell Brown I want to see him in here. I want him to get started calling all of the contacts listed for Naomi in Sandburg’s personnel file. Then make sure Captains Starsky and Hutchinson get settled in their hotels,” Simon directed. “When you get back we’ll see what Brown’s come up with and see if you can come up with anyone else Sandburg’s mentioned.”

 “Contact list?” Hutchinson questioned. “You don’t just have a number you can call?”

 “For Naomi?” Simon snorted softly. “Not hardly. Ms. Sandburg travels quite frequently, usually to some of the more exotic locations. It makes it hard to find her when she isn’t trying to get lost.”

 “Makes her hard to find when her son needs her,” Jim muttered angrily.

 “Jim,” Simon warned softly.

 “Whatever,” Jim replied curtly. “I’m going to go transfer my calls, let me know when you’re ready.”

 “Mind if I ask what that was about?” Starsky motioned toward the closed door.

 “We’ve had a hard time getting a hold of Ms. Sandburg after Blair was injured on a couple of cases,” Simon explained. “Detective Ellison is a bit... protective of his partner, he tends to take things like that a little more personally than Sandburg does.”

 “I can understand that,” Hutch said softly, exchanging a knowing glance with his partner.

 * * *

 Jim leaned against the wall outside of the hotel room Starsky and Hutchinson had just checked into, carefully extending his hearing to pick up on their conversation.

 “What do you think of Ellison?”

 “Seems like a good cop to me. Really seems to care about the kid.”

 “You don’t think it’s a little strange that a former army ranger just happened to lose his partner at a time like this?”

 “Hey, you lost me once in a crowded court house.”

 “That’s not funny, Starsk!”

 “I know, Babe, but it’s true. I think Ellison’s a good cop who got caught in somethin’ none of us are prepared to deal with and I think you’re takin’ too much responsibility for this on yourself.”

      * * *

 Hutch jumped from the car, not even taking time to turn off the ignition, and scrambled around the front, his long legs eating up the distance between him and the horrifying tableau in front of him. With each hurried, pounding step, he could hear the sounds in front of him, the low fervent chanting of the cult members, grow louder, “Si-mon. Si-mon. Si-mon,” filling his ears.

 But it wasn’t the black robed figured that transfixed him, driving a cold spike of terror through his chest. It was a tiny slip of girl, red hair flowing across her simple white gown, and the knife she held above her head, poised to strike. It was the sight of his partner, his best friend, helpless before her, his hands tethered over his head.

 Even as he ran, legs pumping, lungs straining, he knew he was going to be too late. Too late. Too late. And then, there it was, the flash of morning sun against the blade as it moved in an inexorable arc, down, down, until the only sounds he heard were the soft sickening squelch of the blade sinking into vulnerable flesh and Starsky’s cry of pain.

 “NO!” The cry was torn from his throat as Starsky lifted eyes already fogged with pain to meet his. A brief second of recognition passed between them before those eyes slid silently, permanently, shut. “NO! STARSKY! NOOOOOOOOO!”

 "Hutch! Hutch!" Strong arms wrapped around the sobbing man, holding him close, "Hutch, come on, babe, wake up. It's just a nightmare, that's all," Starsky soothed, rocking his partner gently as he held him tight, "Just a nightmare. I'm right here."

 “Starsk?” Hutch clutched weakly

   Sentinel, Too – part 1: May 20 1998

New Moon – May 25th, 1998/June 24th, 1998/July 23rd,1998

Full Moon – June 10th, 1998/July 9th, 1998

Bloodbath - Judge Arlen B. Yager

[artificialqueens]

Paper Hearts Chapter 5 (Branjie) -- meggie

A/N: I’ve changed to using male pronouns for Brooke and female for Vanjie because it felt more natural. I hope the switch isn’t distracting!

A huge thank you to Evan, my conspiracy partner in crime. I buy 100% of your theories and live for Nancy Drew nights, babe. Thank you for being you and for letting me borrow one of your theories. ;) Thank you to pinkgrapefruit for taking a look at this before anyone else and telling me I was on the right track and to writworm42 for giving it the final once-over.

This chapter is dedicated to all the beautiful souls on the Branjie Discord because every single one of you lights up my life on the daily. Who else can I geek out with about THAT LIVE at 11 p.m. and theorize with at 11 a.m. when I’m supposed to be teaching America’s youth? TL;DR: you guys are the best and I’m so glad we’ve made our little family.

And to all of you, for reading, liking, reblogging, and commenting. Let me know what you think either here or on my personal blog @artificialmeggie. My ask box is always open and I LOVE hearing from you. You make this otherwise useless hobby of mine worthwhile. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Enjoy Chapter Five: In which Brooke regrets telling Nina, asks Vanjie what it all means, and receives an offer he can’t refuse.

It’s halfway through Monday before Brooke starts to regret telling Nina.

He and Vanessa spend Saturday talking and kissing and “getting to know each other.” Production takes them to a movie on Sunday, so they hold hands under the cover of darkness in the theater and hidden under Vanjie’s hoodie in the van.

No one really seems to be any the wiser. Silky and Nina watch them with sidelong glances, Silky through narrowed, cynical eyes, and Nina with her Disney character smile and the excitement of a mother watching her child flourish and blossom for the first time.

Brooke guesses he can’t exactly hold that against her—Nina has been like a surrogate drag mother to him, and this is a pretty big step forward for Brooke Lynn, who until this point was pretty sure he was going to die alone in his apartment and be devoured by his cats.

He’s an optimist.

What he can and absolutely will hold against Nina is choosing both him and Vanessa to be on her team for the Diva Worship challenge.

(Although Brooke will never complain about working with Nina because he adores her. Just call him Delano.)

And Brooke isn’t mad about working with Vanjie, but they had decided (together. After many shared kisses and touches) that it may be better to keep things under wraps for now. They both know that eventually this thing between them—whatever it is—will have to be revealed to the other girls, but Brooke is hopeful they can get to the top seven or eight before it becomes an issue.

Not to mention that it’s probably best they keep their distance. It will be easier to keep their heads on straight that way. Easier to not get distracted. Just a better situation all around.

(If he’s being completely honest, he had said all this while Vanessa nibbled at his neck and run her hands under Brooke’s shirt and hummed her consent against Brooke’s lips.)

But before Vanjie had left for the night, Brooke paused and pulled away and said, “Seriously. We can’t let this get in the way.”

Vanessa had smirked a little, but nodded. “You right. When I beat you I want it to be because I beat you, not ‘cause you were distracted by all this.” Then she’d taken Brooke’s hands and run them down her body until they’d landed on her hips and they’d started kissing again, long and deep and languid.)

Ballet training is about discipline, and normally Brooke has that in spades. But when Vanessa is around, all bets are off. He wants to touch her, hug her, kiss her. He longs to pull her into his lap, press his mouth against the sensitive pulse point just under her ear, and suck gently, like he’d done countless times over the weekend after he’d discovered the way it made Vanjie’s breath hitch in her throat.

But Brooke is a Professional™, and no amount of animal magnetism that draws him to Vanessa will distract him from his main goal: the crown, the title, the $100,000 he has earmarked for charity. The knowledge that he actually fucking did it. That he won the biggest pageant of his life. That he’s worthy.

There are no second chances on Drag Race for girls like him, the polished, poised, and perfect ones, the ones who should win the first time around, and Brooke knows he has to get this right on the first go. No. Excuses.

No distractions.

So. He isn’t pressed about working with Vanjie, but he doesn’t think it’s fair that he’s essentially performing two challenges in the same go, even if it’s by his own making. Because fighting the temptation to touch Vanessa is proving to be one of the most difficult things he’s encountered so far. Even though he knows it’s for the best.

Luckily Nina sees it fit to assign Brooke the role as her co-host and give Vanessa a role of her own, and Brooke sighs in relief. He’s more than happy to play second fiddle to Nina, feed off her energy, banter. That part will be easy. Finding ways to treat Vanessa like just a good Judy for the next twenty-four hours… That might not be so simple.

*****

Silky’s on their team too. Which is fine. Silky is good off the cuff. Silky will make the best of the challenge, even though she’s working with Ariel, and their relationship is more than strained after last week’s blow up. But they’re fine. They’ll be fine.

Brooke constantly feels eyes on him, and he knows they almost certainly belong to Dr. Ganache, watching him, judging him.

They fly through the challenge. He and Nina banter and it’s easy and wonderful; their years of friendship pay off again. Silky and Ariel sound great when they do their music number, any drama from last week cast aside in Britney’s name. And then there’s Vanjie…

Vanessa performs her exorcism on Yvie and Mercedes, and Brooke nearly ruins his makeup because he’s laughing so hard. And it’s that personality, the sense of humor, the sheer wit and ability to let go and be human (flawed and brilliant and totally, completely beautiful) that Brooke feels himself so attracted to.

“You messaged me,” Vanjie had said on Saturday when they were lying together in Brooke’s bed, the lengths of their bodies pressed together, her fingertips tracing the outlines of Brooke’s daisies with the lightest of touches. “Remember? Last year?”

Brooke had nodded. “When you were eliminated. I thought you should have stayed. I remember.”

“You were so nice.” Vanessa had kissed him then, soft and sweet. Innocent. Like (almost) all of their kisses had been over the weekend. “People were being nice to me because of the meme, but you were… I don’t know. It was different. Like you already saw Jose and not just Vanjie.”

“I’m surprised you remember,” Brooke had admitted, propping his head in his hands and looking down at Vanessa.  “I’m sure I wasn’t the only one who messaged you.”

“No,” Vanjie had confessed. “But you were the only one that stood out.”

“Damn, I must be a better writer than I thought.”

“Sure…” She’d drawled. “Also I thought you were cute.”

“Then why didn’t you message me back?”

“I never said I was smart, Mary.” Vanjie had shrugged. “If I knew what kind of kisser you were, maybe I would have.”

Brooke had covered Vanessa’s body with his own after that, and slotted their mouths together, and time had slipped by while they kissed and caressed and whispered secrets into one another’s skin.

Brooke has just started on his third makeup wipe when Vanessa saunters up to him at the mirror. “You be lookin’ like Jinkx Monsoon in that red hair today, Miss Brooke.”

They bump hips playfully. “I was just channeling a winner,” Brooke says, carefully picking the Pros-Aide from his eyebrows with the wipe. “Don’t want a repeat of last week.”

“Mmm. Made me wanna kiss you real bad.” Vanjie’s voice is low, barely audible even to Brooke, and it sends shivers down his back and raises goosebumps on his arms.

Brooke pauses, face still half-smeared with makeup, and places his palms on the counter. Vanessa follows suit, twisting their pinkies together. He knows he’s imagining it, but to Brooke all the background noise of the Werk Room fades to nothing. Silky’s boisterous laugh disappears, Ariel’s incessant vocal runs dissipate… All he hears is the pounding of his heart in his ears and the rush of breath in and out of his lungs that burn for Vanjie with every inhale.

“Hey, guys!” Nina drops her own package of makeup remover wipes on the counter to Brooke’s right, shattering the moment and causing Vanessa to pull her hand away suddenly.

Brooke starts at the lack of contact, and he misses it immediately, but he sighs.

No distractions.

“Great work today,” Nina says sincerely. “Both of you. You were hilarious, Vanessa.”

Vanjie gives Nina a tight-lipped smile and turns to Brooke, pulling him into a hug. “Come to my room after dinner,” she whispers into his ear. “And don’t chicken out this time.”

Brooke nods and watches as Vanessa rejoins Silky and A’keria across the room. Then he sighs heavily and looks at Nina.

“Was it something I said?” Nina asks, concern painted over her features. “I really meant it! She was great!”

Brooke just laughs. “Girl, I love you, but you really do have the worst timing.”

*****

They have dinner together in the conference room (with Silky, A’keria, and Nina; totally innocent, even with Vanessa’s bare foot rubbing against Brooke’s ankle under the table), then Brooke brushes his teeth and waits the agreed-upon fifteen minutes before he ventures into the hall and knocks on Vanessa’s door.

She answers almost immediately and pulls him in by the collar of his hoodie and crashes their lips together in a rough greeting kiss.

“Hey, papi,” he says when she pulls away with a quiet moan.

“Hi,” she echoes, palms landing flat on his chest. “Bitch, I been wanting to do that all damn day.”

“I know. Me too.”

“You got me fucked up, Brock,” Vanessa says, running a hand through her short hair and turning towards the bed. “Okay so. So… Okay. We just can’t work together anymore.”

He nods. “I told you. It’s just better that way.”

She’s pacing the room, nervously rubbing her hands on her shorts, occasionally shaking her hands out when she starts to speak.

One of his favorite things about her, he’s noticed already, is the way she talks with her hands. He’d asked her once, in the middle of a diatribe, if she would still be able to speak if he held her arms behind her back.

She’d merely raised an eyebrow, told him she was kinky, and offered to let him find out. Which had made him blush and change the subject rather quickly because too many offers like that and he was going to take her up on it. And that kind of control, he can’t afford to lose right now.

“Whatever this is,” she mutters, waving her hands wildly, “we gotta keep it separate from the competition.”

“What is this,” he responds before he can stop himself. “Exactly?” He knows it’s asking a lot. It’s far too soon for them to have this conversation, but in the microcosm of Drag Race, everything seems to be moving at warp speed. Truth be told, nothing’s ever felt as firm as whatever this is between him and Vanessa. Putting a name on it, well… It just seems like that natural next step.

Plus that’s just how he operates. He’s an all-in kind of girl.

Vanessa stops pacing and looks at him. “It’s whatever you want it to be, baby.” She shrugs. “We can just fuck around and never speak after this, we can… Shit, I don’t know.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want for breakfast most days.” Vanjie shakes her head and smiles a little. “But I know I like you… A lot. And I like kissing you a lot. You’ve made being here easier and I don’t want that to end any time soon so…” She shrugs. “Whatever that means to you, Mary.”

“I like you a lot, too,” he says and grips her chin and presses his lips to the corner of her mouth, testing the waters, waiting to see how she responds.

She melts into him, body folds like origami against his sturdiness, and he uses his other hand to catch her underneath her elbow as he probes deeper into the crevices of her mouth.

This is familiar now. After their weekend spent cuddling in bed, he knows every inch of her mouth, recognizes her taste. His lips are familiar with the way hers move against his (and what a spectacular way they move). Less familiar is he with the way she grips his back, fingernails digging into the muscle that ripples beneath his t-shirt, holding on for dear life; the way she moves to straddle his thigh, the semi-hardness of her already evident in her shorts.

They could… It’s just after nine. Room checks aren’t for another hour and a half…

Desire stirs in his stomach and he shifts and reaches for her thighs, lifting her in one swift motion so her legs are wrapped around his waist, and carries her backwards to the bed as she presses gentle, airsoft kisses into his jawline.

Brooke lowers them both down softly, careful to shift his weight onto his knees and not on her as he joins her in bed. “Is this okay? We can stop anytime. Just say the word. I’ll listen, all right?” he asks, desperate for her to confirm, to beg him to continue.

“If you don’t stop talking and kiss me, I swear to god, Brock…” As if to prove her point, she tilts her hips upwards, right into where he’s most sensitive and yearning for her, and his breath catches in his throat as she grips his neck and pulls his face down to hers.

He reaches for the drawstring on her shorts, finally ready to realize every dream he’s had for the past week, when there’s a knock at the door. Vanessa pulls away and glances at the door, confusion written across her delicate features.

“Vanj? You in there? It’s Silk. I got one of the PAs to go get some snacks from the Walmart!”

“Shit. Shit.” Vanjie scrambles out from under Brooke, tugging at her shorts to cover the obvious bulge, rubbing at her lips to diffuse the redness, both to no avail.

“Ignore her,” Brooke whispers.

“Nah, she won’t go away,” she replies, running a hand through her hair. “We just… Look, turn the TV on, okay? We were watching a movie.”

Brooke Lynn sits back against the headboard (and pulls a pillow into his lap) as he flips on the TV and watches Vanessa open the door to reveal Silky standing in the hall, holding a reusable shopping bag.

“It’s not a lot,” the larger queen says as she barrels into the room, “But I got gummy bears and Pringles and—Oh. Hey, Brooke Lynn.” Silky pauses halfway between the door and the bed and glances between Vanessa and Brooke a few times.

Vanjie shifts uncomfortably from her left to right a few times and offers Silky the chair against the wall. “Brooke and I were watching a movie.”

Silky’s eyes narrow and she glances at the TV. “Yeah? Which one?”

Brooke hadn’t been paying that much attention to the TV when he turned it on, so he presses the info button on the remote and can hardly believe their luck. He clears his throat. “Umm. Deep Impact.”

Silky nods. “Should I come back?”

“No!” Vanjie says quickly and guides her to the chair. “No. No, you can definitely stay and hang with us and watch…” She glances at Brooke, “Deep Impact with us, right, Brooke?”

Brooke offers a sort of half-salute, but he feels his cheeks burn with shame. Five minutes ago, he thought he was about to get laid. Now he’s watching a bad sci-fi movie with Silky and Vanessa.

After procuring a bag of gummy bears from Silky, Vanjie crawls back in bed and situates herself underneath Brooke’s arm. She looks up at him and grins.

It’s not what he had in mind, but he guesses it isn’t the worst thing he could be doing.

*****

Ten-thirty rolls around much more quickly than anticipated when he’s spending time laughing and snuggling and sneaking kisses when Silky’s head is turned to A’keria or Nina or Yvie, filling them in on the latest gossip from the Werk Room.

But soon the head Production Assistant—Maya—raps on Vanessa’s door and tells the girls it’s almost time for room checks. So Brooke waits until everyone else has filtered out of Vanjie’s room before he lands his lips on hers and kisses her goodnight.

“Sorry our plans got derailed,” she says quietly, pulling on his hoodie. “I didn’t know she was coming.”

He shrugs. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Until we don’t.”

“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon, okay?” Brooke kisses her again, harder this time, to convince her just how confident in her he is already. “Especially not this week, Miss I-Thanked-Myself Vanjie.”

Vanessa closes her eyes and rests their foreheads together. “See you tomorrow, mami.”

“Good night,” he whispers and closes the door behind him.

Maya is waiting in the hallway, back against the wall between their hotel room doors.

“Hey, Brooke,” she says softly. “I’d like to talk to you for a moment. Can I come in?”

He doesn’t really think that’s a question he can say no to, so he swipes his key card, holds out his arms, and welcomes the woman into his room.

Maya is all business—clutching a clipboard to her chest, earpiece firmly in place, walkie-talkie permanently connected to her hip—and Brooke’s stomach drops because surely this can only mean one thing: they’ve been found out and he and Vanjie are both about to be sent packing. A double disqualification. They’ll make Willam’s ordeal look like child’s play.

He swallows hard and tries to smile as Maya eases herself into the chair against the wall. “What’s up?”

“First of all, you aren’t in any trouble.” Maya smiles up at Brooke, who feels the weight of the world lift off her shoulders. He’s safe. But Vanjie… “Secondly, we’ve noticed that you and Miss Mateo seem to be growing close.”

Brooke freezes,tries to carefully control his features so as not to give anything away. Maya had said he wasn’t in trouble. And there’s nothing in the contract that says relationships are forbidden… Still, at this point, it’s probably best to play things close to the chest. For everyone involved.

“We’re good friends,” Brooke finally settles on. “I like her a lot.”

Maya grins. “I know that our rules here at the hotel can seem a bit… strict, especially when it comes to keeping you girls separated at night. I know there are times this ten-thirty room check seems a bit much because I realize there are certainly nights when you’d like to stay up to chat with each other.” She raises an eyebrow. “Or engage in other activities with each other.”

Brooke can’t help it; he blushes furiously, like a 12-year-old girl caught admitting her crush.

“I’ll be blunt, Brooke,” Maya continues. “This is the eleventh season of Drag Race, and we’ve yet to have a romance despite Ru’s wish that there be one. I’m not going to ask you to force feelings if they aren’t there… But if they are developing naturally as I believe them to be, production would be willing to overlook certain rules as far as you and Vanessa are concerned.”

At first, Brooke doesn’t know if he should be offended that they want to use him and Vanessa for ratings or be grateful that they’re being given this opportunity to get to know each other more intimately.

Vanessa had been handsy over the weekend, grabbing Brooke’s ass over his shorts and running her hands under Brooke’s shirt along the broad expanses of his chest and stomach, but Brooke was hesitant to push things too far. It was too fresh, too new. And, if production caught them, who knew what would happen then?

So Brooke had to pull away and look down at Vanessa and tell her to stop, even though what he really wanted to say was, “More more more.” Like tonight. Just like tonight.

Brooke looks up at Maya. “So all we have to do is what exactly?”

“Exactly what you’re doing now,” Maya says with a shrug, “but more in front of the cameras. No need to hide the beginning of something beautiful, am I right?”

“And what exactly do we get out of it?” Brooke isn’t convinced.

“Well, nothing officially. But we’d be willing to…” Maya chews her lip, carefully choosing her words. “Overlook it if certain rules were broken. Say if one of you were in the other’s room at room checks and had an inclination to stay there… We would probably be willing to turn a blind eye.”

Brooke studies Maya’s face carefully. He’s always played things by the book, afraid to bend, let alone outright break, a rule. But here’s the lead PA practically telling him it would be okay. Still, Brooke isn’t a fool. She understands how easy it would be for production to rescind their offer if he or Vanessa made a misstep.

He remembers Vanessa’s lips leaving trails of fire down his neck and her fingertips brushing against the black outlines of the daisies on his arm. He thinks about running his tongue over Vanjie’s cat tattoo, like it was put there just for him, a beacon calling him home, signaling him to where he’s truly supposed to be.

We have plenty of time, he’d told her and meant it, confident in both their abilities to last in the competition.

Until we don’t.

Then they just can’t misstep.

“Can I talk it over with Vanessa?” Brooke says quietly, still not completely believing that he’s considering this, that it could be real, that he’s fallen into something so deep.

Maya shrugs and pushes herself to her feet. “Sure. Or don’t. Either way, I was never here. But we’ll be watching the two of you very carefully.” She pauses by the door with a hand on the frame. “Have a good night, Brooke.”

Brooke nods and watches as Maya flashes him a brilliant smile and leaves the room, walkie-talkie flashing green on her hip.

[samsylviasmoustache]

prompt: your version of the jacuzzi scene in Vegas! : D

Ahaha what a prompt! I honestly have NO IDEA how on Earth that scene is going to happen; and I have a feeling it’s going to be a DISASTER. But here’s a hopeful take from a S x R ship perspective anyway. PG rated, but only because Sam’s in it (language): 

“I still can’t believe your room has a hot tub.”

He shrugs, as the elevator climbs. “It’s not that great.”

“Oh, come on—”

“I’m serious. It’s… noisy. And Federico keeps coming in to, I don’t know, clean it and shit? It’s just a huge fuckin’ distraction—”

“From what? The show’s solid. And it’s not like you have lines to learn.”

He makes an irritable sort of noise. “I’m still working on other stuff, alright?”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Silence, filled by the rattle of moving cables. She pushes her luck. “Like… a new script?”

“Oh, God.” He sighs heavily, shaking his head. “No.”

The lift stops; her floor. “No, what?”

He leans against the door as she steps out, stopping it from closing on their conversation. “No, you can’t talk me into letting you read it.”

She rolls her eyes, putting her own shoulder to the corridor wall, dragging out their goodbye. “I didn’t even ask.”

“I know, I just…” He stops, sighing again, long suffering. “Fine.”

“What’s fine?”

“You can – you can look at it, alright? But I don’t want notes—”

“So, the point of me reading it would be..?”

“I don’t know! You’re the one who—”

“Look, Sam. If it’s not ready, it’s not ready. I can wait.”

He deflates slightly, folding his arms. “Hmm.”

“Or, you know, I could come up to enjoy the trappings of directorship and just happen to glance—”

“Jesus. Are you really so keen to get in that thing?”

“Yes!” she grins. “It’s like… the most Vegas thing imaginable.”

And tonight has been all about the Sin City experience. Playing blackjack and eating dinner together. His grey sweater and her dowdy knitwear carefully signalling their activity as casual and friendly, rather than anything remotely date-like.

Admittedly they might be sailing a little close to the wind, climbing into a hot tub together… But, Ruth tells her rising sense of unease, is there any better way to draw a line under any romance between them, than being perfectly at ease together in their swimwear?

“It’s a fucking white elephant,” he growls, but it’s the rumble of the defeated. “Alright, alright. Just – just give me five minutes to make the place presentable. Okay?”

“Okay.”

*

She gives him fifteen, covering her bathing suit with tonight’s clothes, finding a towel and a hair tie. And a pencil, she thinks, plucking one from her desk. In case he rescinds his ruling on notes.

Reality catches up with her in the elevator, ascending to his floor. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. But chickening out now surely means there is something unspoken still between them…

He opens his door under her slightly tentative knock. “Hey. Uh.” He coughs, clearly a little nervous himself. “Your, um, your Vegas experience continues.” He indicates his room beyond with his arm.

“Thank you.”

She steps over the threshold. He has a point she can immediately see. The room is too small, really, for the tub and the four-poster bed inside. There isn’t anywhere to put her clothes other than on his sheets or the back of his desk chair. He’s turned on all the lamps, but it’s still hotel-dim without Las Vegas sunlight streaming through the windows.

She takes a deep breath, squaring her shoulders. Determined to see a non-awkward version of this scene through.

“Do you want a drink?” he asks. “Cos I was probably going to have a drink.”

She shakes her head. “No, thanks.”

“Right.”

He turns to pour himself a scotch and she uses the break in his focus as an opportunity to strip down quickly. Doesn’t risk looking at him again until she is seated in the hot tub, where she finds him minutely examining his whiskey.

He must feel the weight of her gaze, glancing up to meet her eyes from across the room.

“Do you want me to—?”

“I wasn’t sure if—"

They stutter to a mutual halt. “You first,” he says, taking a sip of the liquid courage she now wishes she’d accepted.

“Um, do you want to…?” She baulks at the words join me in here, waving a hand at the frothing water as if that can convey what she means instead. He just looks at her blankly from Planet Idiot, so she tries again. “I mean, it feels a little awkward if you’re just standing over there.”

“Oh. Fuck. Uh. I just wasn’t sure if—” He grimaces. “Gimme a second.”

She definitely should have accepted the drink. If nothing else, it would be something to occupy her hands and eyes while he clatters about in his bathroom. Presumably stripping down to his own bathing suit—

How, she wonders, did she ever conceive of a reality where this wasn’t the most awkward moment, even in her long personal history of embarrassing situations?

She pretends to be watching the bubbling water when he eventually lumbers out. He drains the rest of his scotch in one fluid motion, slamming the glass down slightly harder than necessary, and comes over to join her. Even in her peripheral vision she can still see too much of him. All that’s usually hidden under old-fashioned jeans and faded shirts. Broad shoulders and biceps; a dusting of salt-and-pepper hair—

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“I told you it wasn’t that great.”

Now he’s safely in the water, bubbling up to his mid chest, she risks looking at him again. “You don’t take off your glasses?”

His face pinches behind those aviator frames. “I like being able to fucking see.”

“Don’t they steam up?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

He sits back in the intervening silence, stretching out, hooking his arms over the edge of the tub. “So, have you decided what you’re doing with your winnings yet?”

“No,” she admits. Starting to relax back herself now, her feet find the edge of one of the jets in the floor. “Maybe I should invest them in the show,” she continues coyly.  

“Maybe.” His pulse, beating his throat, is all she can look at as he stares up at the ceiling in thought. “I mean, it’s going better than I thought it would with ticket sales. I guess I’m hoping…” He trails off with a sigh, realising he’s about to say something he shouldn’t.

“Hoping for what?”

Brown eyes find blue, flinty and dark. Deciding how far, she thinks, he can trust her. “Hoping I might be able to get enough of a stake together to make another movie.”

“The one you’re writing?”

“Ugh. I don’t fuckin’ know, Ruth…”

“You really don’t want any notes?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not ready.”

“Well. We could at least talk through the storyline—?”

“That’s not how I—” he starts to snap, but stops himself almost in time. “I don’t usually work that way,” he tries instead. “You know. Collaboratively.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Oh, this isn’t the same—”

“Why not?”

“Because! It’s just different,” he huffs. The roar of the jets is the only sound for a beat. “What, you think you could work with me? Outside of wrestling, outside of this… crazy fucking thing we’ve gotten ourselves into?”

“I like working with you.” She sounds too earnest, even to her own ears. “You know, when you’re actually working and not just self-destructing.”

“Hmm. Same.”

“Oh, ha-ha.”

“No, no, I do. It’s a… big fuckin’ surprise to me too. But… I do.”

Her mouth is suddenly very dry.

“I, uh… I like hanging out too,” he continues, more hesitant. “This. This has been fun.”

“Yeah,” she creaks. “I—um—”

And it’s time to leave, she thinks. Whatever her stupid plan was about coming here and making everything straightforward has boiled away. Her leg spasms, involuntary, and under the water her foot brushes against his. The contact seems to send her heart into her mouth.

“Ruth?” His voice is similarly thick.

“Uh-huh?”

“Why did you come here tonight?”

For a long moment the only sound is the water bubbling. “I don’t know. I think I was… trying to figure out what it is that I want.”

“And what do you want Ruth?”

“I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“And what’s that?”

He can never make it easy for her. For either of them. She twitches her foot away from his.

“Friendship. Working together. Hanging out. Look, I know there’s an… attraction sometimes. But, really, how long do you think we could make that work? And then we’d lose everything. And I don’t think either of us has enough going on right now to want that…”

There’s a word for the look on his face, and it’s not one she thought could ever apply to Sam. He’s a terrible actor. A dreadful poker player. Everything is always right on the surface. And right now, in this moment, the only word she can think of that describes his expression adequately is heartbroken.

“I’m sorry,” she hears herself say. She really didn’t come here to hurt him. And a question occurs, one that she’s never really considered before. “What is it that you want?”

“Oh, you know. Friendship. Working together. Hanging out.” He sighs. “To be annoyed by you every goddamn second you’re around, and never understand why I miss that when you’re not. I wanna… be around someone who makes me into an okay kind of person. At least, you know, some of the time.”

She realises she’s holding her breath. “Woah.” Not the right word at all, but what could be?

“I want to make things with you,” he continues. “You know. Collaborate.” The word still sounds like it’s a bad taste in his mouth. “Even though you try way too hard all the time. I want to—fuck.” He chuckles to himself, darkly amused at what he’s about to say: “I wanted to be Hitch and Alma. I wanted to fool myself that I could ever be remotely capable of something like that. But you’re right. You’re right. I’m not… We’re not.”

The universe is flapping loose. “Hitch and Alma?” she hears someone say. She realises that it’s her. “You remember that?”

“Obviously.”

“I didn’t think you were really listening.”

“I’m always listening. Sometimes it just takes a while to process. Through the breathless enthusiasm.”

She laughs. “Hmm, same. But through the deep, deep cynicism.”

He tilts his head to one side. “Realism.”

“Pessimism.”

“Talk to me in twenty years, that’s all I’m saying.” He considers this. “Through a Ouija board, probably.”

“Sam! Proving my point much?”

“Sometimes I can’t help myself.”  He sniffs. “I’m gonna get another drink. You want one?”

“No. I should… I should probably go.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, finding his feet and holding out a hand to help her up. “Probably.”

She takes his hand, and finds herself standing far too close to him. Wet and half-naked; the heavy weight of their confession in her chest making it hard to breathe.

“Ruth?”

“Mm-hm?” It’s a mistake to look up at him. His glasses are starting to fog, like she knew they must.

“Are we okay?”

She nods. “We’re okay. Yeah.”

She can’t kiss him. She won’t kiss him.

She wants to kiss him.

Instead, she presses her lips to his whiskery cheek.  “I think we’re good,” she says, next to his ear. “I’m glad we talked.”

“Yeah. I mean, can’t pretend it wouldn’t have been interesting…”

“Definitely interesting,” she breathes, and she can feel him shiver involuntarily. Her hand is still in his. They seem to be stuck, cheek to cheek.

“Ruth?” This time her name is whisper quiet.

And she likes the way it feels, when he says her name. Likes how his nose bumps across her face as he draws back from her. She remembers him looking at her like this once before; the same hammering fear in her chest.

Only this time he doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t move to kiss her. She could let go of his hand now and just walk away. The stage is set, the pieces all laid out. They can be Sam and Ruth, co-directors, friends. Forever.

And nothing more.

“Oh, God,” she says, with feeling.

His face asks the question before his mouth can move, frown beetling his eyebrows, moustache quirking as his mouth twists.

But what? he doesn’t get to say, because she’s kissing him like the world ends when she stops.

Maybe it does. Maybe it doesn’t. This is Vegas, after all. Sometimes you just have to roll the dice…

[temixart]

Omg!! Can we do ask for the cute golden hair boy!? I wanna know how him and Doros meet.

So I drew HELLA much shit to answer this ask but homey’s PM is a complete troll who wrote fucking paragraphs and my arm fell off before i could finish it and it’s killing me that i never put it anywhere after so much work just because my friend is an asshole who likes making me regret involving him in things so here’s the answer to that question anyway

[IC, I picture this as being initiated with both men independently by Artemis and her voracious…curiosity for all the details of her Doros when she isn’t/wasn’t around]

A: The first time we met?  Oh, dear, it was love at first sight! We were both in the military, of course.  The life suited him better than me, naturally, but I had certain…familial obligations to fulfill.  It wasn’t quite fifteen years ago. Man alive, you should have seen him in his dress uniform, he was something to see, I just wanted to…

D: He’s always been like this.  Always.  Always.  I’m not saying I don’t love him like a brother.  Maybe that’s it.  You can always get really annoyed at your family.  So my unit was...

A: I don’t think it would be prudent to disclose where we were operating, you understand.  Overseas.  Very hush hush.  Possibly in violation of international law but it had to be done.  It had to be done.  The group he was targeting was just heinous.  Awful, wretched scum of…

D: …Insurgents is what we were supposed to call them, right?  Providing material aid to terrorists; that much was definitely true.  But honestly?  They were just…look, most of them were younger than me.  A few were old enough to be my father, but were they the ones holding the guns and running into fire?  Fuck no.  It all seemed so…so clear at the time.  Now I don’t…

A: …most awful, heinous material.  Biological weapons.  Holy Mother of God, what sort of people want to get involved with that, I ask you?  Not my sort of people.  Probably.  I hope.  Where was I?  Ah…yes.  So it was a volatile group and volatile goal and there was this…one…teensy little problem.  These men chose the most vile tactics to…

D: …human fucking shields.  Children.  Orders were to wipe them out if it was clear and to draw back if there were civilians mixed in.  It just made me furious.  These…cowards and…we’d pulled back the last three times.  They knew we were after them, and they kept…pulling this same shit.  I’d had enough.  It wasn’t against orders.  On paper.  If it was a clean operation, it was authorized.

A: I arrived after they’d set up a perimeter with my men and our highly flammable devices.  We were going to make that place look like it had been wrecked for a hundred years if we got the go ahead.  Not a single brick or beam standing.  Only I couldn’t find the CO.  I’d ask one of the unit and “He’s just over there sir, ‘round the Jeep.”  Off I’d trot and find no one.  I grab the next soldier, “Oh you just missed him, I saw him heading out inspect the perimeter.” Around and around, each man said I was right behind him and…

D: So officially it never happened.  None of us wanted to let these bastards get away again, so everyone agreed that I definitely, positively, absolutely was not inside the compound.

A: Finally there’s gunfire from the building below and I drop down and watch.  Every one of his men gets into position, just…waiting.  At first I thought it was an explosion…dust and splinters everywhere, but in fact…

D: …kicked down the door and ran for our emplacement.  It was a success.  I had all four of…

A: …COMES RUNNING out into the open with at least eight children.  He had them in his arms, he had them on his back, there was…

D: …suppose there might have been five, if I think about it, but…

A: …a dozen screaming orphans.  Everywhere.  They were in his pockets.  One was swinging from his rifle…

D: …six.  Tops.  If you count the baby, and I had to…

A: A MOUNTAIN of adorable, filthy children completely obscuring him.  Hundreds.  And I remember the infant, all bundled up in a blanket.  He had it in his teeth, so he’s shouting to the men and none of us can understand a word he’s saying.  I’m standing up at this point.  STUNNED.  Total disbelief.  He races up to me sweating and mumble screaming, spits the baby into my hands and shouts

D: “Open fire for God’s sake!”  He just looks at me and gasps,

A: “I want to have your children.”  Obviously.  Who wouldn’t?  So he starts shrugging and wriggling and…

D: “Fine, do it!  Take them!  Just…”

A: “…Burn the fucking place to the ground already!”  So we did of course.  Cheers!

[1000roughdrafts]

When Reality Starts to Falter - Part 2

Summary: you get a call from your ex, Jared, to work a few scenes on the set of Supernatural as a hunter that takes a liking to Dean. The producers love the chemistry between you and Jensen, so they decide to give you a full time gig. Feelings for Jared come back in a flush, but over time, as your character falls for Dean, you find yourself falling for Jensen.

A/N: Posting this 2 hours early because I’m having SO much fun with this so far! Couple things I have to note before we continue: 

When dating Jared, Y/N was an actress on a television show I ‘created’ specifically for this fic called Code Red, as a character named Pamela Banks. 

Your characters name on Supernatural is Bell. 

Italics are the Supernatural scenes, or YN’s thoughts - I hope it’s not too difficult to discern

A/N 2: Uhm, also...I don’t really know where the goofball!Misha thing came from, but I made myself laugh when I wrote it - so you get to be a victim to that, too.

Pairings: Ex!Jared X actress!Reader, Dean Winchester X hunter!reader (and single!Jensen X actress!reader in the future)

Warnings: swearing, supernatural themed violence/action, confusing!Jared (idk how else to put that-you’ll see), general angst, angst/snubbing from Jared, fluffy support from Jensen

Word Count: almost 1.8k

Part One Master List

Opening the passenger door of the Impala, the breeze wraps itself around you in a cordial, tepid hug. You sweep your feet out and stand up, adjusting your outfit. It’s eerily dim. The sun’s reflection on the clouds is the only true light offered to you as you stare in horror at the people running from the fairground’s entrance.

A siren is blaring just loud enough that parents are covering the ears of their children. A strange feeling sits in your gut while you watch the police guide the families out into the parking lot. Sam coasts to your side and places your FBI badge into your hand, “you ready?”

His eyebrows raise as you look up at him, only mumbling a reply. “You’ve been pretty out of it the last few days and-”

“I’m fine, Sam,” you snarl. Forcing a foot in front of you, you pedal towards the entrance and push through the mob. With his height, it doesn’t take very long for Sam to catch up to you. The conversation between the two of you is choppy as you walk against the flow of traffic, and attempts at masking the siren’s screaming.

Since Dean left with Jody and Bobby to work a ‘small, quick’ case, Sam had been nipping at your heels, pleading for a case much like a dog holding a leash in it’s mouth and nuzzling at their owner.

Small, you think, recalling the story Dean had relayed to you about his last encounter with a Djinn. You bite the inside of your lip in worry, unable to take your mind off of him, hoping that he’s okay.

It’s been a few days since you heard anything and when you asked Sam about it he’d shrugged it off. Said something about how he’s a good hunter, and Jody and Bobby would never let anything happen to him. You shake away the thoughts.

As you get closer to a tent in the back of the circus, you see a man wearing a lousy cape and a top hat. You scoff at his wanna-be magician appearance. Initiating a stand-off, you fold your arms and halt to a stop. Sam, apparently not paying attention, slams into you. Grunting irritably, you lurch forward and catch your balance with one, agile step.

Immediately and aggressively, you confront the caped man. “Where is it?” you shout. “I know it was you. I had visions of it!”

Sam jerks his head in your direction, giving you a concerned glance. You ignore it, figuring you would now have to explain sooner rather than later, but press in on the suspect. The ‘magician’ laughs, taking a step forward.

Shrugging, he slows his drawl, “if you saw it then why don’t you tell us where it is?” he asks in the most cynical and creepy of tones.

“Freakin’ bastard,” you spit and lunge for him.

You don’t feel Sam’s hands on your arms, gripping firmly to hold you back, until you’re moving in place. You wiggle around in his clutch, “Sam! What the Hell are you doing?” The magician’s bouncing laugh riles a fury inside of you.

“Not. Here.” Sam whispers between clenched teeth into your ear. You elbow him  in the stomach. He grunts out a wheezy breath, but doesn’t relent his grip.

“Let me go, damn it!” you cry, and only when the magician disappears does Sam let you out of his grasp. You fall to the ground, growling at him. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the forensics team have pulled up a brown tarp.

Brushing off their confounded expressions you focus on the patch of packed dirt that was underneath it, with what look like five gopher holes. They are small and organized in a strange, zig-zag pattern. You tilt your head at them in confusion. A gasp escapes your throat, causing you to choke on your breath.

You leap up and grip onto Sam’s arm, ignoring his prior assault as a new obstacle comes to light. “I think these are decoys, Sam. Uh, think like model trains that replicate a real one. There are bombs, I think, scattered across town.”

You’re on the brink of hyperventilating, but suck in a deep breath. “I saw them in a dream last night. We have to figure out how this correlates and stop it!” You push off of Sam and begin running back to the entrance, yelling out, “call Dean!”

“Dream?” Sam questions. “Bell! Where are you going?” He cups his hands around his mouth as he calls out.

Without looking back, and not particularly bothered whether he hears you or not, you say, “to find Crowley.”

“And cut!” The director’s voice brings you back to reality. “Wonderful job, everyone. How about lunch?”

You hunch over, dropping your hands to your knees to catch your breath. Right. Lunch. Acting.

The reason you dropped out of the media wasn’t entirely because of your less than amicable break-up with Jared. In fact, that didn’t even make it onto the list. You had a ruinous habit of taking things on, getting too engrossed and becoming one with your character in the worst ways imaginable.

When you played a supporting role on Code Red, you completely flew off the handle when the main character, your best friend, died in the season finale. The entire crew, from the producers to hair and make up to your co-stars, applauded the authenticity of your characters reaction and threw a celebratory bash to commend and treasure your work.

Fans went crazy, you won awards. It was in the news, in the tabloids. You were named Actress of the Year by one of the most popular drama television series magazines. Your expeditious rise to the top of fame was torturous to say the least. Only your agent and Jared knew the truth. You had lost grip on reality. For a few sleepless and caffeine fueled days, you were no longer Y/N Y/L/N. You had, in your mind, really become and taken over the life of Pamela Banks; a wife, a mother, a faithful nurse and a woman who’d lost her best friend in a brutal accident.

You spent hours crying over your lines as you rehearsed them through the panic attacks. You pushed on. You fought against your instincts to ask the producer to just kill off your character instead. It wouldn’t have been the same that way, though, and you knew it. So alternatively, you played the part. You watched your best friend die in front of you, and it sent you spiraling into the worst spell of depression in your 26 years of life.

A hand pats on your back. You peek under your arm as Jensen lets out a sympathetic laugh, “you alright there, kiddo?”

Pulling your body back up, you laugh with him. “Yeah, just out of shape, I suppose.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulders, “you bring lunch today?”

You laugh, “yeah. I don’t know what I was thinking!” Catching Jared’s attention as you sway to the table under Jensen’s arm, his eyes squint slightly before a smile lights up his face. “I didn’t even think about lunch yesterday,” you look up at Jensen, giving an honest smile. “Thanks for sharin’ yours with a stranger.”

He pulls his arm away, but keeps a hand on your shoulder. “You’re not a stranger! It’s just been a while,” he winks, plopping down at the table with his sandwich and a bag of fruit.

Jared keeps a fixed stare on you as he sits across from Jensen. Only you would know that it’s a look of ire and ill-suited lust. You keep your eyes on him, omitting the rights to the muscles in your face. You don’t know what reaction you have to his expressions, you only know that he’s married and looking at you with vexation and a longing, desperation in his eyes.

You had never known him to be a complicated man, so why is he giving you the impression that he’s jealous of Jensen’s harmless embrace? He invited you here, and how he’s acting like he regrets it. Or worse, like his feelings have resurfaced as well.

Or did he call you to work on one of the most tormenting and grueling shows only to bring you back to that low point? Maybe it’s just in your mind. He couldn’t be that spiteful.

Or could he?

“You must be Y/N!” A voice proclaims as energetically as a puppy. “So glad to meet you. I’m Cas-” he cracks out a bellowing laughter, watching as Jensen and Jared roll their eyes. “Oops,” he says sarcastically, drawing a finger to his lip and looking back at you. “I almost name dropped my character, didn’t I? My bad,” he jokes, waving a hand dismissively before holding it out to you. “Nah, I’m just playin’. I’m Misha.”

You smile, shaking his hand and cutting in before he can continue, “Misha. Yes,” you chuckle. “Sorry I missed you yesterday, but it’s very nice to meet you.” Pulling your hand away you nod between the three of them, “I’ll see you all in an hour.”

Starting to turn and walk down the set, Jensen calls out your name. “Yes?” You flip around to see him standing now, twisting the top half of his body in your direction.

“You’re not gonna eat with us?”

“Not today,” you grin. “I thought I’d head to that, uh, new pizza place. It looked appetizing,” you flash an ear to ear smile, hoping to hide behind it while you spin your web of lies.

He pressures you, “you could get it to-go? I’m sure these lovely people here would like to get to know you better,” he waves his hand around the table at familiar, nodding and smiley faces. He shrugs in victory, looking back at you.

“Thanks, but I-” you fiddle with your elbow, blushing imperceptibly. Throwing your hand out to the side and propping it on your rip, you open your mouth to spew another lie about calling your ‘fiance’.

“I brought pie,” he offers, holding the container up. “In honor of Dean.” He smirks, “he’s going through a tough time, thought I’d get him his favorite. I can share-”

“Drop it, man. She said she’s going out. Let her,” Jared shoves a spoon full of soup into his mouth, raising his eyebrows and tilting his head at Jensen. 

You furrow your brows, but smile weakly and turn away. Heat fills your cheeks as you briskly walk to the back door and out to your rental car. Flopping down in the seat, your phone vibrates against your side.

<3 If you would like to be tagged in any upcoming chapters let me know here! Have any feedback? 

@awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @fangirl490 @judewinchester123 

Part Three 

[dbhilluminate]

DBHI: Redemption- "The Open Door", pt. 2

ARE YOU A FAN OF DETROIT? DO YOU LIKE GAY SHIPS AND COMPLICATED, LOVEABLE BOYS?? Then please keep up with our fic, you’ll love it, I promise!

(Chapter art by dark_dumb)

**Co-authored by grayorca15

Characters: Trevor Langley, Dylan Fleur, Dennis Lenore (mentions of Rhea Fleur, Dahlia Fleur, Spencer, Nicodemus) Word Count: 8,354

Trevor finds the wayward Fleur sibling and discovers there's a lot more to the boy than rumors let on.

• Archive link • Chapter Index • • Related Works • Characters •

Previous Chapter

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July 4th, 2041 - 7:56 PM

The appearance of the elusive gremlin was as unsurprising as it was surprising, just as he both was and wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting. His honey-brown skin, auburn red hair, and generous number of freckles pegged him a Fleur without a doubt, but compared to the rest of his kin (including the youngest boys), he was certainly the most informally-dressed. Typical of most art students, he favored comfort over fashion, while still maintaining some sort of hipster style. A loose gray v-neck shirt under a long-sleeved black cardigan that hung down to his calves, obscured the waistline of a pair of slim-cut, tattered jean-shorts (spotted from years of dry-brushing to switch colors) down to his knees. About five different black corded necklaces of varying length, set both tight and loose over black-inked tattoos splayed around the back and sides of his neck, completed the picture of the family ‘black sheep’ in exhausting detail. Though most worrisome was the ever-growing smirk twitching its way into his cheeks the longer he stared at the newcomer that had knowingly breached the boundary of his territory. It didn’t bode well for anyone trying to not get roped into upcoming shenanigans. “If you’ve got a thing for redheads, you’re in the right place, but she’s already spoken for,” Fleur teased as he snapped one more rubber band into the side of his shoulder. Trev stared him down but didn’t bother affecting a scowl or a flinch, having seen it coming. “I know, so your warning is hereby rendered painfully redundant,” he stated with a tilt of his head, still preoccupied with studying the young man’s appearance. “Yeah…?” The boy’s brows twitched with a soft pop between the eyes, a misdirect for the extra stretch taken to grin. “Then who’re you?” A simple enough question, except when it wasn’t. Trev only bothered with crossing his arms. He wasn’t about to launch into that topic all over again with the family outcast. “A guest of Detective Lenore. So you can see why I am in the know of his and - Miss Fleur’s association.” After letting that information sink in for a moment, he added, “And I needed a break from the company, in part because of it-” The rubber band on the tip of his finger stretched back, poised to fire, but it halted when he instead gave a half laugh and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I could tell- I heard you coming a mile away,” he commented before letting the band fly, this time flinging across his visitor’s other shoulder. “Those hurried, annoyed steps really carry in here when you’ve got two wooden blocks in your soles.” “Very astute observation,” Trev retorted, eyes narrowing, slowly coming around to the thought of disliking this one’s company as well. As if the arm-folding wasn’t hint enough. “That said, me and my hurried, annoyed steps will just be going, then.” Predictably enough, the moment he tried stepping away, another band zinged toward him. He stopped short just in time for it to wing by his nose, having anticipated it.

“It only gets more peopley the further you get toward that side of the house,” Fleur informed as he loaded another rubber band, tilted his head, and squinted skeptically. “Didn’t you say you wanted a break from that…?” “Yes, well, your mansion is so small, I went looking for no one and still ran into you.” The redhead pursed his lips, clicked his tongue, and chuckled with a coy grin. “Sure you weren’t just drawn here by my charm? I’ve been told it’s magnetic.” “More like repulsive, so I’ll just be on my-“ Trev happened to look away at just the wrong time- the next rubber band clipped him right across the forehead, harder than the rest. Expecting the boy to look as cross as he felt, Trevor huffed and turned back to find him on the verge of bubbling over with laughter, chest rattling with only the faintest hint of a wheeze. Exasperation didn’t begin to describe the feeling the sight evoked. “What are you- stop that,” he demanded, patience finally worn thin enough to warrant a reaction. “C’moooon…” Fleur drawled as he primed another rubber band and rolled his head against the wall he’d been leaning on, ankles crossed and shoulders slumped. He creased his brow and turned muddied green eyes to regard him, and from somewhere behind the couldn’t-care-less façade flashed a moment of sympathetic candor. “You really wanna go back to all that weird family bullshit…?”

The accuracy of his assumption caught him off guard, but considering they were the only two people in the house actively trying to avoid the festivities, it wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion to draw; however, it was his choice of words that grabbed his attention. “Weird family bullshit” at an event thrown primarily for friends was entirely too specific. No, he thought with a small pout. He didn’t want to go back to it. Trev knew the last thing he wanted was to be needled and patted on the head and told everything would work itself out. All he had to do was ‘chin up and smile and play along’. They made it sound so disgustingly easy. Standing here letting himself be a target of another sort was hardly better, but in a way, this cursory annoyance was easier to bear. Trev’s fingers curled into fists and he let his arms drop from their folded position, shoulders hunched in clear aggravation. “Say I do. Are you going to follow me all the way back?” Undeterred, another shot snapped Trev across the hip, causing him to flinch and flare his nostrils. “Sure you wouldn’t rather do something fun instead…?” “I have my own idea of fun, and it doesn’t involve-“ Another shot slapped across the back of his hand before he could finish the thought, and he yelped quietly and yanked it out of the way a split second too late. “...rubber BANDS, for starters. “Then let’s do something else, ya wet blanket,” Fleur suggested in a mocking tone. “I am, I’m leaving, something you can’t-“ Another popped him square in the middle of the forehead. “Seem to-” Followed by another in the neck. “Grasp- for the love of- KNOCK IT OFF!” “Ah ah ah-” the man scolded with a smirk as he impudently wagged a finger and loaded another rubber band. “The punishment will continue until morale improves.” Trevor’s lip curled, the corner of his eye twitched in irritation and one finger lifted in idle threat as he warned, as calmly as he could manage, “If you keep shooting those at me, I am well within my rights to confiscate them as evidence of-“ But it only served to embolden his assailant’s taunting. One, two, three, then four pelted him in rapid succession, leaving Trevor flinching, backstepping, and sidestepping, as he attempted to block every last one. “-haraSSMENT!” The second half of his threat stuttered out with an angry huff. “Go ahead and try,” his opponent laughed, “But be warned, I have worse things in my pockets that’ll find their way onto your clothes before you can get to them.” As that constituted a fair warning, a second scanning look with a few extra filters layered on confirmed as much. His heads-up-display outlined about a dozen round objects filled with some sort of liquid, stuffed into the deep outside pockets of his cardigan, as well as a few unconventional inner pockets. Trev grimaced and shook his head at the sight, less perturbed by what the contents could be than the fact his mind engaged such programs on automatic -depending on the input given, like Fleur admitting to being armed for mischief- without his consent. Of course it would scan to see what concealed weapons there might be. Convenient as those features were, sometimes he missed the days when he was too naïve to have ever been aware of those programs. But now that they’d come to an impasse, he couldn’t get closer, as much as he couldn’t walk away- “non-negotiable nonsense”, as Spencer might have called it. Coining such a term to describe the paradox which typically triggered a deviant break had been astute of him. Trev’s expression soured at the reminder, and he turned away. “Go find someone else to pelt and laugh at. I’m-“ The redheaded, squinting blue-eyed face he almost stepped into stopped him cold. “You’re what, Langley? Off to places unknown?” He turned to hide the embarrassment flushing into his cheeks but found himself stuck between two people he didn’t want to speak to. Naturally someone had come looking when he didn’t return with a fresh drink like he’d claimed to have left for, and of course, that person was Dennis. Better go find your missing puppy, Lenore, before he trips and falls down a foxhole, Trev retorted inwardly. Interestingly enough, his company also seemed perturbed by Dennis’ sudden arrival. The Fleur rolled his eyes and exhaled a loud sigh. “Go away, Den,” he muttered as he turned his whole body and leaned back with his shoulders flat against the wall, slight tension evident in his tone and body language. The boy’s fingers stiffened and his jaw clenched as the Detective peered over at him from behind Trev’s shoulder. Not that Langley was curious enough to ask, but there was clearly more to the story there. At least, for now,, they could agree on finding Lenore’s presence a bother, albeit for different reasons. “Hmph. Knew you’d bite if I brought bait.” His choice of adjective was enough to get a raised eyebrow out of Trevor, if not a revolted frown. He did not appreciate the notion of having been brought anywhere without being told he was the lure in a given plan; but then again, Dennis couldn’t have counted on him getting fed up and walking away. Or had he? After a pause, he glanced back at his mentor and adjusted his frames in nervous habit. “I’m sorry, sir. I was on my way back before this one decided it was worth wasting time to interrupt me-” The next rubber band whizzed past him with a sharp fwip, picking up enough speed to make sure it would hit Dennis right in the chest. Olive green eyes leered over at him from the direction it had come. “Told you once, Detective- you’re not my type.” “Yeah…? Well, what about this one?” A thumb and a loosely closed fist gestured toward a slightly flustered Trev (who sputtered a surprised look of protest and puffed his cheeks) as Lenore took a few steps forward to stand next to him. The boy exhaled long and slow in response, eyes rolling even further into the back of his head before closing completely. “Still deciding,” he mumbled in blatant annoyance. “But I don’t need you to go shoppin’ around for friends for me.” “No, you probably don’t- but this one is a cut above the other kids you’ve been hangin’ around, even if he’s a tough one to crack. You think you could loosen him up? Without getting any of that stuff on the floor?” This much confirmed the balloons definitely weren’t full of water. Trev frowned again, only this time it was out of bewilderment. “What ‘stuff’ do you mean?” The boy sighed with an audible groan and turned to face them, pushing himself up on the wall to stand up straight. “I’m tryin’, but he’s not makin’ it easy,” he retorted as he shifted his weight and snapped another one at his thigh, at which Trev jumped aside with a half shrieked ‘STOP IT!’ Politeness be damned, this was getting to be too much, too fast. Dennis’ expression shifted from exasperated to something like smug as he glanced between them. Over what was the question. He looked like someone who had just discovered a reason to be proud of some unintended brilliance; or, much more likely, he was only making that face as to further addle the situation. “I could tell you, but that’d ruin the surprise.” The creeping grin returned, smaller than it was before, as he threw Dennis a skeptical squint laced with curiosity. “What a mood you’re in…” Fleur commented impishly, as if he was reluctant to see him go. “Why can’t you be this fun all the time?” Before he could answer or Trev could protest, he let one last band snap across his target’s neck, harder than he had yet, and braced himself for the impending reaction. A foot chase was the last thing Langley thought he would be doing tonight, but enough was enough. He had hit his threshold for dealing with irritation, however low or high said bar was set that day. Words clearly weren’t going to stop this assault, so the next best thing to do was make it stop. “I warned you- MULTIPLE times...” Trevor hissed as he stormed over, reached for his sleeve before he could get too far, aiming for the pocket from which most of that ammo had been drawn. “Now hand, them, over-!” But Fleur was far more nimble than he’d anticipated, and reflexively stepped back in the half-second before Trev could get a secure grip. With a low chuckle of delight, he blitzed out of the way of Trev’s hand, dipped under his arm and bolted through the door of the room he’d been in and out of all night, the hem of his cardigan flapping in the wind draft behind him. With a disgruntled sound somewhere between a groan and a shout, Trev rushed after him. Dennis might have said something to the effect of “mind the floors”, but in that moment all Langley was really interested in was a bit of payback. Secret weapon or not, if anything went his way he would get every one of those remaining rubber bands and stretched them until they- Langley stopped cold in the threshold as a water balloon struck him in the chest and exploded in a canary yellow mess all over his burgundy jacket, splashing a few large drops over his shoulder into his hair and into the hallway. Trevor held his breath until he could feel the thick liquid seeping into his shirt and dripping down his blazer. “What in the-” Paint. The little devil had filled them with PAINT, because of course he did. “I warned you,” the redhead scolded in a sing-songy tone as he tossed another balloon between his hands and flashed him a coy grin. “Follow me, and you’ll only catch another,” he warned with a wink as he trotted back a few steps toward an open door at the back of what looked to be an enormous art studio, furnished just as chaotically as he looked. Trev grit his teeth and clenched his fists as his face flushed a darker shade of red than ever, inwardly mortified at what Dennis would think of the now-spattered suit. Now he really wasn’t going to let this stand unanswered. “I said, get back- hey!” One unfortunately-placed puddle of paint foiled a second attempt at catching his sleeve. Trev’s lunge stopped short as he slipped, and his hand caught empty air as the boy laughed and skipped out of the way; another balloon filled with indigo pigment splattered onto his shoulder as he broke the fall with his left hand and right knee. Some of the smaller splashes of yellow on his suit morphed into an unsightly mahogany brown as the new color mixed in with it. “Watch your step,” his quarry chimed from the doorway, just before he turned, sprinted out onto the veranda, and vaulted over the balcony railing with an effortless hop. Trev did his best to up and follow, not wasting his breath on more fruitless shouts, but the paint on the sole of his shoe made for poor traction. One leg skewed out from underneath him and he made a few scrambling steps before he caught his bearings, then pushed off from the floor with one hand and charged after him. His target was already halfway to the tree line and pulling away quickly by the time he’d reached the balcony. This shouldn’t have been any contest, but it was quickly turning into a farce of a chase, like a fox trying to outrun a hare that was armed with paint bombs to keep its pursuer’s traction down. “We’ll see about that,” he huffed as he hiked himself over the rail in one smooth motion, absorbed the landing with a deep crouch, and took off again. The mansion wasn’t close enough to the lakefront that he could see it at a distance, with all the bands of trees between them, but he could tell where Fleur was headed- the northwest-facing property put the backside exits pointing southeast toward Lake Saint Clair. His target knew the area well enough that he didn’t even slow as he turned to glance over his shoulder, then took a sharp left turn into the tree line off the stone path. The road was well-trodden but unpaved, and he was running barefoot through god knew what; but whatever grit and sticks might have been poking into his feet didn’t appear to slow Fleur down. For a moment Trev thought he’d lost sight of him until a particularly loud crack of blue lit up the sky and traced a form moving through the trees to his right. “Got you! Come here, you bloody…!” In the middle of nowhere among the foliage were several rope and tire swings, a stone fire pit, and two wooden park benches that looked like they’d been there a while... But no Fleur. Langley paused momentarily in the clearing, only to be blindsided from above by another balloon full of orange paint, now coloring his right thigh. With a protesting groan of “Oh, come on!”, he lunged for the boy as he dropped from his perch on the rope-swing platform and managed to snag a handful of his sweater before yanking him back in his direction. Fleur took an off-balance slide in the dirt with a wild look and bumped into him shoulder-to-chest, as Trev reached into the pockets of his cardigan and pulled out three pieces of ammunition with a triumphant “HA!” But he only smiled back with a devilish grin as a crack of red and white light illuminated the area with successive loud booms. “Hey now, aren’t you coming on a little strong?” he teased as he reached into one of the inner pockets. “Well, I’m not about to stick my hand down your trousers to see if-” A handful of bright green paint slapped across his cheek while he was only halfway through his snarking, leaving him furiously gawking for a moment long enough for his prey to escape, laughing all the way. Somehow, he felt like the supercilious hare going after the cunning fox, not the other way around. It only took a few seconds for his aim to calibrate the weight of the paint balloon, and calculate the trajectory and speed necessary to hit him at a distance, but when he’d finished he wound up like a major league ball-player and pitched it as hard as he could- successfully clipping Fleur’s arm in bright red paint. It wasn’t a direct hit, but he was trying to throw around all those sneaky trees. Finally, he had made his mark, and with Trev now holding the majority of what remained of the paint bombs, it meant he had the advantage. The hunt was on. Another couple minutes of running beneath an increasing amount of fireworks popping off overhead yielded another brief victory resulting from a misstep on (who by now he was pretty confident was) Dylan’s part. In the darkening twilight, in between bursts of flashing light, the maintenance shed managed to sneak up on him. Wide eyes turned to look for his pursuer but spotted him a moment too late. A balloon overfilled with white paint burst open with a particularly large splash, drenching his right hip in white gesso. “And that’s for my suit!” Trevor shouted in vengeful victory; but just when he thought he’d won, Fleur threw his head back against the hollow shed with a soft, clanging thud and let out a rolling laugh. Dumbstruck as he was by his behavior (because being covered in paint didn’t seem to bother him at all), he was quickly learning that this was typical of him. In fact, if Trev didn’t know any better, the way he smiled looked like he was saying ‘This is exactly what I wanted’. Too distracted by the nuance, if only for a moment, Trev didn’t even notice as Dylan slipped away and chucked one of the smaller balloons still in his pockets, and matched his last hit with a small splash of blue on his hip. “How many of these things do you HAVE!?” he half-shrieked in dismay as Dylan sprinted toward the lake, and began the chase anew. Ten minutes and another shot to his left leg after they’d started, and Trev was about ready to admit defeat and call it quits; but by now they were so far from the house and so deep in the woods, he couldn’t tell which way would lead back. Even if his internal map of the property had updated the further on they went, like the unexplored canvas of an open-world adventure game, there were still too many blank spots to get lost in. And he would rather not have Dennis have to assemble a search party to come find them; he hated being the center of anyone’s attention enough as it was. Heedless of their antics, the fireworks show launched into its third, loudest, most explosive phase yet. Wherever they were shooting them off from, it sounded close. He could hear the shrill whizzing, screaming, and shrieking of each payload as they propelled into the sky, and felt the explosive percussive blasts in his chest cavity like an uncomfortable pressure in his gut. Only so much of the bursts of light from the fireworks illuminated the undergrowth beneath the elms and oaks, but it was just enough for him to notice Fleur’s footprints had disappeared from the path. The tracks came to an abrupt halt after a sharp right off the trail, as if he had grown wings. In addition to being nimble and quick, it seemed he was also stealthy enough to get the drop on him, quite literally. Langley figured out where Dylan had gone (or rather, not gone) a second too late. Trevor barely had time to brace himself as the boy leaped from his perch in the tree above and tackled him to the ground. Wrestling for several moments just to get a grip on the squirrely foe, he finally rolled him over onto his back and gripped both hands in as many layers of clothing as he could, stood, and hurled him back toward the beaten path, harder than intended. For being so observant, he’d failed to account for how light Dylan was. The boy flew further and longer than he’d anticipated, arms and legs flailing almost comically as he tried to flip himself so he wouldn’t land on his head. His back and shoulders took the brunt of the landing, momentum absorbed by the damp soil as he hit, but he just took it in stride with a tuck and roll and sprinted along the lakeshore. Much to his dismay. It was unbelievable that he was still running. How could he have so much stamina when he looked like he only ate enough to keep his family off his back? With a long, tired sigh, Trev wound up with the last balloon he had, and threw it right at the back of his head, hitting him with enough force that it knocked Fleur clean off his feet. A stumbling face-first trip into the damp grass and sandy dirt of the marshy lakefront was all it took for him to decide he was finally too tired to continue. So instead of getting back up, he lay giggling on the ground for a few moments. But at least he hadn’t been hit by a rubber band or paint balloon in almost two whole minutes. “Now will you please leave me be...?” Trev whined after him. “I just - ugh.” Now that he didn’t have to worry about any surprise attacks, he took a moment to absorb the disheveled state he was in. Between the mud on his shoes, the paint streaks over his body gummed up with bits of leaves and shredded rubber, and the half-covered lenses of his glasses, it all added up to one conclusion: he was a hot mess, but that wasn’t really news. The only difference was, the outside now matched the inside. Trevor frowned. “This is terrible. You’ve ruined my only suit.” “Nah, it looks way better than it did when you got here...” Dylan joked with a beaming smile as he rolled over, sat up and ran a hand through the back of his hair to fling free as much of the dirt and paint as he possibly could. Too mentally and emotionally exhausted at the moment to protest, Trev caved and plopped down next to him on the beach. “That shit’s acrylic, it’ll wash out with water,” the freckled imp explained, gesturing to the lake as he leaned forward over bent knees, pulled a hard-earned cigarette from behind his ear, and lit it. Already Trev had started to paw and scratch at the green paint drying onto his jaw with a grimace. Beneath it was a cool tingling sensation, as his projected skin hadn’t yet reformed from the trauma of the impact. “C’mon… you really still wish you would have stayed inside? You’ve finally loosened up a little,” he scoffed and mumbled with the cigarette between his lips as he capped the lighter, then looked over at him with a small sigh and an expectant look. The faint cloud of smoke that puffed into his face stung his eyes and nose, but he cringed for another reason. Trev held his breath until it had passed before answering with a hearty dose of sarcasm. “It didn’t loosen anything up. If anything, I’m in an even better mood than I was before, only thanks to - oh, come on, it can’t have dried that fast!” The sarcasm gave way to real dismay. He rubbed at the bigger smear covering one eye and left an impressive track along the side of his face, though didn’t make any real progress to clean off any of it. The thought rankled instantly. “Are you happy now, then? Got what you were looking for?” “Yeah, actually,” Fleur confirmed as he tapped at the end of the cigarette and folded one arm over his knee, then directed a big grin his way. “You know- you’re not bad for a stick in the mud.” The sun was gone. The fireworks hadn’t stopped, they’d only changed in location- now instead of them launching from the Fleur estate, they’d begun firing off on the other side of the lake’s impressive horizon. For a few quiet minutes, they sat and watched the faraway spectacle, until Dylan brought up a sore subject, unintentionally. “Guess I should’ve figured you were an android if you came with Den and Dahlia.” To anyone else it was a casual enough observation. These days it tended to matter who was what just as much as it didn’t. Trev wasn’t so political about it as others were, owing to his seemingly-unique situation. Their opinions didn’t line up with his, but as much as it felt like the case most days (being an anomaly), he hated to think he was the only android who had ever been fooled so completely for so long. Nevertheless, daily reminders were bad enough without someone putting it into words. He cringed again as the skin projection finally dialed in on the missing portion along his jaw, feeling a faint spreading of warmth as the false epidermis melted back into place. It gave him away, if nothing else had up until this point. “Great. Just when I was starting to fool myself into thinking it wasn’t true all over again...” he muttered under his breath as he tried to unbutton a loose cufflink and use it to scrape more paint out from under his eye, only taking his glasses off as an afterthought when he realized they were in the way. A look of pure confusion crossed his company’s face. “Sorry- what? Fool yourself?” He dodged the need to answer that with another slightly-ridiculing question. “And so long as we’re comparing, what does that make you? Some kind of - French-African type?” The redhead’s smile faded just a little, and he rolled his eyes. “Take it easy... alright?” There was a real gentleness in his eyes as he looked at him and reassured. “Doesn’t matter to me either way what you are, I just wasn’t aware of it.” “And there you have discovered my reasoning for wanting to be left alone. Bravo.” After everything he’d endured since arriving at the Fleur’s estate that evening, he wasn’t exactly in a frame of mind to be placated by that. Trev took another dig at the caked-on acrylic, and his skin receded like water being pressed out from under a sheet of paper. “I don’t want to talk about it, to you or anyone else, understand?” “Fine, I get it- I won’t ask,” he replied, apparently un-insulted by his curtness. Of the small handful of redeeming qualities he’d discovered thus far, this was one of them. It was extremely hard to offend him, though it was proving to be more of a curse than a blessing. Just when he thought he was safe, Dylan took one last balloon out of his pocket and smashed it over the back of Trev’s head with a couple of fond pats to his shoulder before laying down in the dirt. Instead of wasting energy on a hapless wail, Trev sighed deeply and lulled his eyes shut to brood. Another silence passed between them, though that time it was just a little more comfortable, as opposed to tense and awkward. Instead of prodding further, Dylan had actually made true on his word not to ask; in spite of what he may have thought about the boy, it was one more small thing to be grateful for. “So, what’s your story…?” Fleur asked after about ten minutes of watching the distant fireworks and listening to the humming and chirping of insects in the night. “I mean-“ He paused mid-thought to tap the butt of his cigarette and knock the ashes into the dirt on the other side of him. “How’d you end up here, with Detective Lenore?” It wasn’t as much of a change in topic as he would have liked, but it was just enough. Trevor hesitated to answer, but Dylan’s silence as he took another drag on the cig was as insisting as asking the question over and over, without being as demanding. Trevor drew his knees to his chest looked away as he fidgeted and leaned over them. As much as he had kept to himself over the last few months, the desire to talk to someone about his trauma eventually overcame the shyness. It was more than most in the academy had bothered to do. Keeping everything to himself hadn’t exactly discouraged developing a reputation as a misanthrope. Appealing as it once sounded, the more time went by and he realized he missed people as he once knew them, that want had to win out somewhere. Besides- by the looks of him, it appeared Dylan Fleur wasn’t that far off from a kindred spirit. Trev stopped fidgeting after considering the offer to speak freely a little longer, then slid the paint-spotted glasses back on. “I’m from… out east. Boston.” One word there sufficed to explain the where and why of the equation in a single breath. If Dylan was really stuck on the idea of getting to know him, he’d have to work harder. “It’s where I met Detective Lenore. He found me- wandering the streets, trying to get out as they were… headed in. I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. He clocked me over the head and handcuffed me to a water main behind a laundromat for safekeeping. They found me again after Nicodemus was arrested. The rest is… well, here I am.” His company froze visibly, stared at the horizon and held his breath for a moment longer than planned before he turned and exhaled the smoke in the opposite direction. It hadn’t quite been six months since the Horsemen -a violent group of android supremacists- had rolled up on the unsuspecting city of Boston and turned it into hell on earth overnight. For two weeks they’d held the city and all its inhabitants hostage under threat of nuclear detonation in the form of a dirty bomb that would have killed all human inhabitants and left Purgatory to the Androids. Nicodemus and his Horsemen had eventually been taken down by Archangel brass (with the help of one rogue RK900), but it was only after the military’s efforts to save the city had resulted in the deaths of nearly a thousand people, humans and androids alike. It was considered a national tragedy and had again fanned the flames of prejudice spread by gangs like the Watchdogs (human supremacists, hell-bent on making sure the line between human and android remained defined). Clearly, it wasn’t the answer he was expecting, but it sure explained a lot. To his credit, Dylan didn’t divert from the heaviness of the subject right away. One dark, freckled hand lifted to run through the longer lengths of hair as he turned back to him and grimaced sympathetically. “You were there…? Fuck… I’m really sorry...” His response was more genuine than Trev had expected from the family misanthrope. But then again, based on the way his family had been talking about him, he’d assumed little more than to expect nothing short of a spoiled brat. So far, though, Dylan was proving to be the opposite. Impish did describe him well, but so did kind. “Sorry’s not your name, either,” Trev muttered in a muted, underwhelmed tone, arms folded once again. The weak impulse to joke, he couldn’t quite rise to; just as well, Dylan didn’t take him up on that. “Look- say no more, y’don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he assured as he put his mostly-spent cigarette out in the dirt, stood and waded into the water up to his knees. The cardigan came off, followed by his shirt, revealing several tattoos in addition to the branches wrapping around his right wrist and thumb- across his shoulders and the back of his neck was a lotus flower, the petals spreading out and around the sides of his neck in inky black brush strokes. The other, on his upper left arm, an ornate floral piece, and an hourglass on the underside close to his body; all of them were in black and white, and still a few years fresh, no greening or bleeding of the ink to indicate their relative age. It seemed he wasn’t afraid of a little pain if he was willing to sit long enough to have such detailed work done. “So, what’s your name?” came the question as he stooped down to rinse the paint off his shirt, then wadded it up into a sopping heap and scrubbed at his jeans with it to remove as much of the white paint as he could. Trev attempted to wipe some out of one eye, but only smeared the coagulating mess back above his ear in an unintentional homage to Nicodemus’ bullet. He could still feel the furrow in the panels there, even if it wasn’t visible with the skin projection running. “Trevor,” he replied, a little less annoyed than before, even with paint gunking up his hair and sticking to his fake skin. “...That’s it? Didn’t Dennis call you somethin’ else?” “Langley,” he added as a begrudging afterthought. No use in hiding such a crucial detail if it had already been revealed once. “And you are?” “What- you mean you didn’t hear my name bein’ thrown around by my disappointed family?” he teased with a quiet smirk thrown over his shoulder. “It’s Dylan. Fleur. Unfortunately.” It was true- their response to his absence was nothing short of exasperation, borderline apathy, and irritation, but Trev knew that giving someone the chance to introduce themselves, apart from what others had said of them, was key to understanding them. Archangel had afforded him the same courtesy once they had gotten back to Detroit. “You were clearly intent on doing something else tonight,” he noted instead, elbows propped on his knees, eyeing him warily from his spot on the ground. Dylan nodded and gave a crooked shrug. “What can I say? I got tired of big dinners and parties a long time ago.” Trev squinted, tilting his head so as to look out from behind sullied lenses. “Why?” he persisted, curious rather than judging. “Aren’t you one of them?” It kind of defeated the point of family to separate oneself from the pack. Dylan stopped from scrubbing the last of the paint off his pants and half turned toward him in deep consideration. It was clearly a loaded question with a multifaceted answer that he wasn’t yet willing to give. As he slung his shirt over his shoulder, he reached for the sweater that was still floating in the water a foot behind him, rolled his eyes and shrugged. Trevor knew a sore subject when he saw one, so he dropped it. Seemed they were both a study in living removed. “Forget I asked, then.” “It’s a long and boring story,” Fleur replied dismissively as he rubbed the pink paint off his face with the dripping wet sweater. The bright color transferred to the cotton fabric in a wide swath, leaving a slightly opaque layer smeared across his cheek until he swiped a clean sleeve over it again. “So boring, you’re carrying around balloons full of paint for laughs?” Dylan scoffed, popped his brows and shook his head as he dunked the cardigan in the water again to wash out the paint. “No- I was getting ready to do something else when you found me, but this sounded more fun.” Naturally, that only raised more questions than it answered. What purpose would water balloons filled with paint possibly serve, if not to be thrown at other people...? “By the way,” he added as he lifted the sweater out of the water, still sopping wet, and hurled it at him. Trevor jumped as it slapped over his face with a loud, hollow PLOP and pushed his glasses uncomfortably high up on his nose. “You should wash up before it dries.” Trev tugged the wet fabric free with a grudging groan, but took his advice and started scrubbing at the paint on his cheeks. Most of the lighter streaks were easily saturated and wiped from existence. On a whim of a program recommendation, he sampled the substance out of curiosity and determined it was exactly what Dylan claimed. The molecular formula ghosted across his vision to add itself to the pile of data still compiling. His company snorted in amusement at the sight of him licking paint off his finger, not at all subtle in calling attention to it. “You can’t get high off that shit, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Dylan teased, then bent forward to submerse his hair in the water. Hands rubbed vigorously at his head for a few seconds before he whipped it back and pushed as much of the water as he could out of the thick mop of auburn red. “How far out here are we, anyway?” Trev asked in idle thought, rubbing the glasses between the folds of the sweater as he looked out over the lake at the last fireworks going off in the distance. Dylan shook the water out of his hair and wrung out his shirt as best he could, then pulled it back on and ran his hands through his hair in a futile attempt to push it out of his face. “Far enough that no one would hear you scream.” It was a joke. Obviously. But he delivered it with such deadpan finality Trev couldn’t help a bemused pause, eyebrows hiked up in mixed skepticism and concern. Scream? Because…? The look said this plainly enough without him putting it to words. The devilish smile returned to its rightful place below squinting green eyes as the boy stepped out of the water and stopped beside him, reaching down to take back his cardigan. “Relax, I’m only half kidding…” Again with the comical vagueness. Trev didn’t smile back through bent, paint encrusted eyebrows. The suit was still a wreck, but at least his face was mostly clean again. He indulged in one last wipe across the brow with the improvised rag as best he could and handed it back. “About which part…?” Dylan sighed and rolled his eyes, draped the cardigan over his shoulder, and extended a hand in an amicable offer to help him stand, but Trev just leaned back and eyed him warily. “Don’t you wanna get out of those clothes and clean up?” As badly as he did, to fuss and bemoan over his current appearance wouldn’t do. Even after an impulsively-sparked, borderline-foolhardy chase, he wanted more to pretend he had retained some kind of composure, a stab at maintaining a shred of dignity. Other than that, it wasn’t as though he had another set of clothes readily available. “It can wait until we get back.” Trev pushed off the ground and grabbed his outstretched hand in the same movement, as Dylan leaned back and helped him up. “I’m not about to go wading and end up smelling of lake silt.” “There are worse things to smell like,” his for-better-or-worse company mused as he slipped his hands into his pockets and turned up the path back toward the mansion. It was a clear enough trail, even if at a walk it would still take them a quarter-hour to return. “But that’s what showers are for- first you live a little, then you deal with the mess later.” There it was again, Dennis’ sage advice about getting out to experience what chaos existed beyond the walls of the academy dorms. Right about now -as he trekked back in muddy, slippery loafers- Trev missed the clean, orderly nature of the place. Langley rolled his eyes, out of sight as he was following Fleur’s lead, and avoided mentioning what a mess Boston had turned into. And how, prior to that, he thought that lie of a life was all he needed. “Detective Lenore is still not going to be happy with the state I’m in, half clean or not.” He laughed, in a way that spoke of how little he cared. “Yeah? Well, if he isn’t, he can eat my ass. He knew what was coming, and he practically endorsed it.” The flagrant disregard with which he said it made Trev’s impression of him do a slight flip-flop. On the one hand, Dylan was obviously more perceptive and sensitive than he led others to believe; on the other, it was because of such nose-thumbing the rest of the family probably found him so tiresome, and therefore regarded as a lost cause. But in the most cursory of ways, Trev simply found the use of vulgarity annoying. “Be that as it may. There’s no need to be crude about it.” “You’re right, there isn’t.” The agreement came without explanation or apology, and the way he smirked as his voice trailed off said all he needed to let him know he couldn’t care less about how he was perceived. They walked on in silence for a minute more before Dylan thoughtfully asked, “Do you miss it…? Boston, I mean, not Purgatory…” Purgatory seemed like less of a place and more of an event the country would just as soon forget. Even if those files could be selectively deleted, Trev didn’t fancy letting go of them. Without that reference how was anything now supposed to make sense? The rapid-fire slideshow played over his retinas again, but instead of focusing on any one frame too long, he tried to shrug off the resulting discomfort; whether it had resulted from this train of thought or the chaffing of the paint-saturated fabric was hard to tell. Regardless, how interested could Fleur actually be? “Sometimes- there are fewer boats here, obviously.” The bustling Boston harbor made the Detroit River look like a carnival ride of a channel. “And I probably won’t miss the winters. Although Detroit isn’t much better on that front, is it?” “It’s worse,” Fleur chuckled with a quiet grin. “Guess you haven’t heard about the ice storms and freezing rain… make sure you get a thick coat, it gets so bad it’ll freeze even an android’s joints.” Trev stomached the reminder with only another shrug and batted a thin branch out of his way as they turned a corner along the path. “Boston has the same issue, only here it’s lake effect snow you have to worry about. You’re sooner to get buried in and freeze if your car breaks down.” He hadn’t spent all that time shut in simply not doing any research. Both cities were at the same given latitude. “By what I’ve heard the spring thaw came early this year, though…” In a manner of speaking. One near-silent minute later, he blinked down at his company, who had stopped to stare with an exhausted grin. “What?” “I’m sorry, but- are we really doing this…?” Dylan stopped, held up a hand, then covered his face and laughed under his breath. “Doing what?” Trev scowled, ever so slightly, not seeing the humor in a simple discussion about the weather… Until he did and slowed to a stop just a couple steps ahead of him. The hardness in his brow dissipated. “Oh.” It seemed it wasn’t as easy to derail uncomfortable conversations with this one unless he outright stated he didn’t want to talk about something. “I mean- I’m glad you’re talkin’, Trev, but the weather…? Really?” Meteorology was the one subject most near-strangers went for when they weren’t quite sure what should and shouldn’t be touched on. The more benignly, the better. But it was the former half of that statement that set him on edge all over again. “You’re glad? /What difference does it make to you that I don’t care to discuss much else?” The last time he was so familiar with anyone it turned out to be a sham, and he wasn’t eager to relive it in any capacity. The man sighed deeply and rolled his eyes again. “Because being a killjoy is no fun, and the weather is boring, but you’re the most interesting person I’ve laid eyes on all day. Is it really so bad to just want a little social interaction that doesn’t lead into a lecture about god knows what…?” Interesting didn’t always necessarily mean good for getting to know. In hindsight, Trev could see so many occasions in which he might have strayed and wondered, had Spencer not kept him on task and none the wiser. He missed that arrangement more than the city itself, that steady presence, and as yet Dylan Fleur was at best a fifteen percent match to Langley’s former partner. Of course, it would mean looking at compatibility issues, front and center. Dylan hadn’t the first clue at what an inner wreck lay under the hood; but as of yet, he didn’t need to know, either. It was safer for everyone if they just left it alone. Time to reiterate that. “I’m afraid all I’ve got are amended lectures at the moment. The rest is too much to go into, like I said. Would you care for it if I started picking your brain apart just as thoroughly?” “Who said y’had to tell your story?” The look on his face bore no hint of playfulness so he’d get the message across loud and clear, and boy did he. When he really wanted to, Fleur could be downright convincing, and genuine, contrary as it seemed. It wasn’t as tiring trying to keep up, but it was a little jarring how easily he could switch between carelessness and seriousness in the blink of an eye. “Didn’t I say I wouldn’t ask…?” Dylan turned on heel in front of him and took a couple of steps back, holding up his arms and lifting his brows. “I get the feeling you’re not too practiced in conversing for the sake of entertainment, ‘cause there’s plenty more we can talk about without rippin’ open old wounds- like why the hell you decided to wear a suit to one of the most casual holiday parties of the year,” he gestured with a teasing grin. Trevor shuffled his feet and crossed his arms, glanced down and tapped a toe into the dirt to hide the embarrassment in his expression. Admitting he didn’t own any respectable clothes besides his cadet duds was yet another confession he’d sooner avoid. How had he not grown tired of hearing what he didn’t want to talk about yet? “Hey-” One hand reached out to give a soft pat on Langley’s upper arm, and he flinched back instinctively. Touches of that nature were not his preference, either. “You wanna know what I was really doing with all those balloons before you showed up? C’mon...” Hitting something with them would be the logical assumption. And given what acrylic was meant to do, color and cover in equal measure, it wasn’t a stretch to parlay something into someone. All in all, Dylan appeared to have gotten some enjoyment out of it. Good for him.